Prologue

Virginia City, Montana

November 30, 1875

Almost midnight

“Get off me, you brute!” Edna Bryne lay beneath the heavy weight of the attacker, powerless to stop his groping hands or the leering face mere inches from her own. Struggling, she heaved her body upward in a vain attempt.

It’s useless.

She could barely move a muscle as the sweat-soaked, rancid man pressed her against the hard wood of the floor. One of the floor pegs rammed into her shoulder as painfully as a knife blade. The man’s legs pinned her down harder, and she was crushed between his chest and the unyielding floor. She couldn’t get a deep breath; his weight was suffocating.

Over the brutal man’s grunts and groping hands, she heard the slam of drawers opening, boxes dumped, the bedstead tipping over. There was a metallic bang and clatter from the oven, as though someone had kicked the door. Dishes crashed from the cupboards.

“Ma…ma…” a plaintive, little voice cried.

“Max! Mama’s here!” She twisted her head sideways and called to her child, hoping to comfort him. Fear hammered in her brain, plunging her heart into despair. My baby! “Max, I’m here—”

The man’s vile mouth pressed her lips shut, his whiskery face rubbing over her cheeks.

Bile rose in her mouth, and she gagged, jerking her face away from his tobacco-and-onion breath. He chuckled as he grabbed her nightgown, ripping it down from the collar.

“Mama,” Max cried again.

Edna turned her face to the side, silent tears of terror dripping to the floor. Tears blurred her vision as she caught sight of her small, tow-headed child cowering in a corner of the room. In his hands was a scrabbly pine branch.

Mere hours ago, he’d found it outside and called it his “Trismas tree.” He’d insisted on bringing it in the house and having her and his father Ray decorate it.

We were so happy a little while ago… And then it had all gone horribly wrong.

“Aw, now, come on and let’s have a little bit of lovin’,” rasped the man on top of her . His hands were roving over her shoulder, caressing her body, like it was his right to touch her.

A chill wind blew against Edna’s bare shoulder. She was shaking violently. Max. I don’t want Max to see …Her heart began to thunder as fury rose in her chest; she was completely helpless to protect him.

Ray! Why didn’t you protect us?

Edna turned her head to the left and came face to face with Ray’s sightless brown eyes. He lay a few feet away on the floor, one hand still clenched around a paper star he’d cut for Max’s tree. A pool of blood widened from beneath his shoulder, advancing slowly across the floor toward her.

They’d killed Ray first.

There were three of them. The man pinning her to the floor and two others. Edna had no idea why they’d come Ray kept his gold bars hidden—perhaps that was why—

“Papa!” Max’s frightened voice cried. “Hep Papa!”

“Shut up, you brat!” One of the other men walked up to Max and slapped him hard across the mouth.

The child began to scream louder. His pitiful cries beat at Edna’s ears. “You leave him alone!” she screamed, throat going hoarse.

“Hey, boss,” shouted the other man at Edna’s captor. “We’re going out to search the barn. He had to put them somewhere. Have fun,” he added with an evil chuckle.

On the way out the door, he smacked Max again and yanked the pine branch from his hand.

Her baby’s frantic cry went through Edna like a gunshot. Enraged, she screamed as loud as she could. Terror pulsed in her brain.

“Hey, now, you hush.” The evil man pressed down tighter. “Somebody might hear you.”

A second later his face was so close that Edna could see up his dripping nostrils. He was dragging her arms out above her head, pinning her wrists to the floor, stretching her taut until she feared she’d smother.

She was terrified of him, but Max’s pitiful cries enraged her more. Max! I have to save Max—!

A second later, she saw her chance. He leaned forward to pin her arms tighter to the floor, and she raised her head and bit down hard on his nose. He screamed in pain; Edna tasted blood, and she bit again. Vomit rose in her mouth, but she didn’t care.

“AWWWWW!” he screamed again and lifted his hands to clap them over the bloody nose. “Why, you—!” he snarled at her, clamping his fingers tightly over his wound. Then he leapt to his feet and reached down for Edna’s mass of red curls, yanking her up by the hair. It felt like he could pull her scalp off. “You vixen!” he spat. “See if I don’t kill you right now!”

His evil eyes were filled with vengeance, the killing kind, sending another burst of terror into Edna’s soul.

Her feet were bare, but that didn’t matter. She knew where to kick a man to do the most damage. A surge of rage flooded her limbs, and she drew both legs back and then struck at him, full force.

A choked whimper escaped him, and he doubled over, clutching himself and moaning in agony. Edna scrambled to her hands and knees, glancing around desperately for a weapon—a gun, a rope, anything. An iron skillet lay near Ray’s outstretched hand. She snatched it up, leapt to her feet, and swung with abandon just as the man was rising to his full height. The iron rim of the pan crashed into his temple, and he dropped like a fallen log.

Legs trembling, Edna ran to Max, snatched him up in her arms, and hurried to the front door of the cabin. As she ran past the coat hook, she yanked Ray’s old jacket from its peg and wrapped it around the child.

Trembling with terror, half-expecting the man’s breath on her neck, she charged out of the cabin and streaked toward the woods as fast and as quietly as she could go.

Barefoot, in her tattered nightgown, Edna slipped away from the house and into the dark woods along the road. Where can we go? What can we do? The questions pounded against her skull like her footsteps on the frozen ground.

Their cabin was on the outskirts of town, but still near enough that she could have asked for shelter from a neighbor.

If anyone had been willing to give it. Edna had made no pretense about her life and Ray’s. They were not welcome anywhere.

“Me told,” Max whimpered. “Told, Mama.”

Cold. He was cold, and so was she. “Mama’s cold too,” she whispered, trying to snuggle him deeper in Ray’s flannel jacket. Snow was beginning to fall heavily, coating the road in a soft, white blanket.

The snow…tracks in the snow. If the men saw, they’d surely follow. Edna staggered deeper into the woods, over into the prickly, dead grass. Rocks bit into her feet, and once she felt the sudden sting of a cut on her heel as some sharp edge sliced through.

It didn’t matter. Her feet were becoming numb, anyway. Nothing mattered but getting Max away, saving him somehow. If she had to cover him with her body until someone came, she would. Even if they froze to death, it would be far better than having that scarred man abuse her before he killed her.

As she stumbled along, her feet like lumps of ice, Ray’s face blazed to life in her brain.

She’d loved Ray … but in a way, this was all his fault. Those men must have been from his gang. Even though she’d never seen them before, Ray had seemed to know them. He’d let them into the cabin. Spoken with them …

I’m so cold.

Edna slowed to a painful limp. There was no feeling in her feet; they were mere lumps of flesh at the end of her legs. The wind chapped and stung her cheeks; snow caught in her dark eyelashes and coated her reddish hair. The only warmth in her body was where Max’s face pressed close to her breast, snuggled under the jacket.

She walked as long as she could, deeper and deeper into the cold, silent woods. The silence so enormous that she could almost hear each snowflake as it kissed the earth.

So tired … so cold. Edna had never known such a piercing cold. It ached to breathe. Every gasp of air was an icicle stabbing down her throat. Was it hours, minutes, years …?

Time lost all meaning.

Suddenly, Edna found herself stumbling into a clearing. At its center was an enormous hollow tree. Shelter.

She crawled inside, pulling her tattered nightgown around her feet, drawing Max’s tiny, cold limbs to her chest. The thin flannel did little to warm her. A cold moss kept her off the frozen earth, but it crackled with icy dew.

Her legs grew numb where she sat. It helped to have Max on her lap, but he complained in a shivering voice. “Me toe hurt … me head told.”

Edna took the bottom of the nightgown and managed to wrap it over his head. In a warm cabin, the flannel would have been soft and comforting. But outside, the vicious wind stabbed through the nightgown like thin paper.

The silent, deadly snow continued to sift from the sky; the wind picked up and whistled through the trees. It rattled the winter-dry leaves like bones above the skeleton of the tree; it pierced Edna’s ears with a mournful howl like the cries of the dead.

She could no longer feel her fingers or toes. Death would be welcome …

Chapter One

Five Hours Later

Dawn, December 1, 1875

Harlow Ranch

No! Nicholas! Don’t go in there … stop, Nicholas!

Joseph Harlow was trapped in a nightmare. The same nightmare, over and over again, unfolding in all its grim detail.

I let my brother die.

The dream never varied. Scene by scene, it would unfold with sickening surety, while his heart pounded and his blood raced in his veins. Always, he was running, his heavy booted feet as slow as sap in springtime. Nicholas was a few yards ahead. Unaware, he would turn to smile, his pudgy cheeks creased in a smile, guileless blue eyes glowing.

And Joseph would scream. NO! Come back—! But the louder he screamed, the closer Nicholas came to danger…

… Right into the sniper’s bullet. Even after the Minie ball left the gun, spattered half of the baby-soft cheek away, always there was the grim curve of an uncomprehending grin – right before death filmed Nicholas’ gentle eyes, and he collapsed onto a mossy hump of ground.

A mound of death, in the blue uniform he’d been so proud to wear.

NO!

A final shout woke Joseph, and he sat up, sweating, breathing hard, fighting the sheets twisted around his legs. Strands of long, blond hair were matted across his sweaty face, and he brushed then impatiently back.

He shoved off the sheets with an angry hand and staggered out of bed, striding toward the window. The first blush of dawn was just beginning to light the pane. Scrubbing his hand across his bearded face, he yawned and blinked. The frightening images still beat at his brain.

I should have protected him. Or died in his place.

Outside, a rooster crowed the dawning of a new day.

Time to get up, anyway. Another long, cold day for a cattle rancher. How he hated these cold mornings. Still … there was one good thing about winter ranching. It kept him from dwelling too much on Nicholas.

Even though the calendar kept reminding him that December twenty-fifth was coming again.

Christmas. Joseph shuddered. Yet another day that was a reminder of death.

A bark outside startled him. He leaned his forehead to the cold windowpane and looked down into the yard, shaking off fragments of the dream.

Daphne’s bark must have woken him. He’d found the border collie five years ago when she was only a pup, lost and alone in one of his meadows. At the time, he hadn’t wanted something else to depend on him. Now, she was one of the best parts of his life, a fiercely loyal companion.

She paced below the window, her brown-and-white fur ruffling in the wind. New-fallen snow covered the ground, showing signs of her pawprints.

Joseph groaned. It was probably so cold that they’d need to spend time breaking the ice on the watering holes for the cattle. Winter was not a good time of year.

Yawning, he lit the oil lamp and poured water into a washbowl. Outside the window, Daphne began a low bark, almost a growl. She looked up, barked again, then turned toward the woods at the edge of the property. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she growled low again.

Strange. Jospeh lifted the window sash and looked down. “What’s wrong, girl?” An eerie chill crawled along the back of his neck.

Daphne looked up at the window, wagged her tail, and then began to bark again, low and determined. She kept her eyes trained toward the woods.

“I’m coming, girl.” A sense of urgency kept Joseph moving quickly as he tugged on trousers and a flannel shirt, covered it with his sheepskin jacket, and plunked a wide-brimmed hat on his head. A pair of leather gloves in his pocket helped to warm his hands.

After all the trouble lately with gangs and the Indians, it paid to be wary of warnings. On more than one occasion, Daphne had alerted them to trouble on the ranch. He grabbed his Colt and its holster before he left the house.

He opened the front door and stepped outside into a wintery desolation. Icicles hung from the edge of the porch roof. The water in the rain barrel had a good two inches of ice on top. More snow was still falling in lazy, got-all-day flakes.

Daphne barked her low warning bark again, and began trotting out to the small patch of woods. She looked back once or twice to see if Joseph was following.

“I’m coming, girl.” But first, on the way to the woods, he knocked at his foreman’s cabin. If there was trouble in the woods, he’d need help.

The door swung open. “Yup.” Otto the foreman stood there in his long, red underwear, scratching under his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Joseph didn’t want to raise the alarm just yet, but an odd prickling on the back of his neck warned him there was something amiss. “Daphne’s acting odd. I’m going to follow her into the woods. You better come along, too.”

“Be right there.”

Joseph waited until Otto came outside a few minutes later, bundled up for the weather. The small German man looked like a round, bundled sheep in his brown wool coat and heavy woolen trousers. A beaver skin cap over his bush of wild brown hair made him look like a bear. Black boots came almost to his knees, and bright red mittens covered his hands. At Joseph’s questioning eyebrow, Otto muttered, “My sister knit them for me. They’re warm.”

The two men set off on a brisk stride towards the woods. Daphne was already dancing back and forth by the forest’s edge. When they were within a few yards of her, she let out a sharp bark and plunged into the trees. “What’s going on, girl?” Joseph called after.

They followed her pawprints deeper into the woods until they caught up with her. She was still barking, picking out her path with unerring certainty, forging forward a few yards, then waiting for them to follow.

Despite the snow, Joseph began to recognize their location. He clenched his teeth, almost sure where they were headed.

The tree.

He and Nicolas used to play in the old hollowed-out tree. It was their fort. A hideaway. Their secret meeting place.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, they emerged, breathless and gasping, in the small clearing. Daphne was whining, trotting back and forth between them and the hollow tree.

“What’s she got?” Otto grumbled. “Laws, if she’s gone and found a dead animal, I’m gonna skin her alive!” Doubtless he was remembering the time Daphne had come home smelling of skunk.

“I don’t think it’s an animal.” Joseph pulled his Colt from the holster and walked cautiously forward.

He ducked his head into the tree and let out a sharp gasp. He almost couldn’t believe his eyes. There was Daphne … licking a foot … a bare foot … so blue, he wondered if they were already too late to save its owner.

Daphne let out another bark and nosed along the motionless heap of flannel. Joseph leaned forward, and his heart sank in his chest. “Otto! It’s a woman! And … a child …”

They were curled up together. The woman lay on her side, clad in nothing but a tattered nightgown, arms wrapped protectively around the child, who lay on his back, clutched close to her body. For a brief second, he saw Nicholas in the little boy’s face. Then Daphne whimpered and nudged at the boy’s face.

His heart skipped a beat.

At first Joseph was too stunned to wonder if they were alive or dead. He’d seen plenty of death in the war, but he’d never expected to find a body in the place where he and Nicholas had once played.

Surely no one could survive even a few minutes in this bitter cold, even with the protection of the tree …

And then little boy’s lips moved, chapped and raw, his cheeks bloodless and pale. “Ma-ma…” he muttered in a trembling voice. “Told.”

Joseph drew back with an exclamation. “Daphne, back,” he said firmly, and she retreated obediently to the side of the tree.

“Be they alive?” Otto asked, his footsteps crunching up behind Joseph. He brushed at his dark mustache with a red mitten. There was a frightened expression in his brown eyes, almost as if he’d rather be facing a skunk.

“It appears the boy is.” Joseph reached in and lifted the small bundle from the woman’s limp arms. “He’s got a coat on, at least.” The boy was wrapped in a plaid jacket that still smelled faintly of cigar smoke. He had on shoes and clothes, too … something his mother didn’t. If she is his mother…

The boy and his coat were lifted away, exposing the woman’s body. Her tattered flannel nightgown didn’t cover much.

Heat infused Joseph’s cheeks. He turned away quickly and handed the child out to Otto. “Take him on to the house. I’ll get the woman.”

Otto obeyed with alacrity and started off with the heavy bundle.

Joseph worked quickly. We have to help her … we have to help her. In ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t dare look at her again, but she would die if something wasn’t done soon.

He squeezed with some difficulty into the hollowed tree. There was barely enough room for the two of them in there. He did his best not to look at the woman as he pulled off his heavy sheepskin coat. Once she was covered, he wrapped it carefully around her bare chest. The coat offered little protection to her shapely legs, but it might warm her a little. The cold pierced him through, and he grimaced. How did she survive out here with nothing but a nightgown?

“Ma’am, I’m going to take you up to the house,” he announced gruffly, although he had no way of knowing if she could hear. He thought he saw a slight pulsing in her throat, but he was too chilled and shaking to be certain. He stooped awkwardly and slid one hand under her shoulders, another under the crook of her knees,

Just as he lifted her, her eyes fluttered open, and she stared up at him with startling green eyes.

Her mouth opened slightly, and she writhed in his arms. “You’re all right,” he said gently. “You’re safe now. My name is …”

And that was as far as he got. Her eyes closed and she went limp in his arms. But she was still breathing. He knew that much.

Daphne was still sitting silently beside the tree trunk, waiting for her master. As soon as he wriggled his way out of the trunk with the precious burden in his arms, she leapt to her feet, whining and licking at the woman’s bare feet.

As Joseph started for the house, the collie rang ahead in figure eights, coming back and forth to see if he was hurrying.

“Good girl, Daphne; good girl,” he reassured her. She’s likely saved two lives today.