Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Montana Promise
A McCutcheon Family Novel
Book Ten
Caroline Fyffe
Also by Caroline Fyffe
McCutcheon Family Series
Montana Dawn
Texas Twilight
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Evie
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Heather
Moon Over Montana
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Kathryn
Montana Snowfall
Texas Lonesome
Montana Courage
Montana Promise
Prairie Hearts Series
Where The Wind Blows
Before The Larkspur Blooms
West Winds of Wyoming
Under a Falling Star
Whispers on the Wind
Where Wind Meets Wave
Stand Alone Western Historical
Sourdough Creek
Stand Alone Contemporary Women’s Fiction
Three And A Half Minutes
Montana Promise
Copyright © 2017 by Caroline Fyffe
All rights reserved by the author.
www.carolinefyffe.com
Montana Promise is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is wholly coincidental.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording, by information storage and retrieval or photocopied, without permission in writing from Caroline Fyffe.
Cover design by Kelli Ann Morgan
Interior book design by Bob Houston eBook Formatting
Proudly Published in the United States of America
ISBN# 978-1-944617-06-6
Table of Contents
Also by Caroline Fyffe
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Read on for an excerpt of Heart of Eden!
Other Books by Caroline Fyffe
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Excerpt from Heart of Eden
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Dedicated to my dear sister-in-law, Lauren Roe Nesbit, with love.
Chapter One
The woman stared at the body splayed across the floor of her tiny cabin. The man’s empty eyes gazed unseeing at the wooden beams above. Blood trickled from the gash on the side of his head, creating a dark crimson halo on the pine floorboards. Rings of sweat marred his plaid work shirt, and dust covered his boots. Until a moment ago, Benson had been her husband of one year.
Heat scorched her face. A burning chunk of coal had replaced her heart. Benson never returned before noon! At least, not until today. She fisted her hands, and her nails bit into her palms. The man beside her still clutched the fire iron. “Look what you’ve done!”
“I had no choice,” the man gritted through a clenched jaw. “He saw us. Through the window. You couldn’t explain your way out of this. I did the only thing I could.” He gestured to the gun in Benson’s holster. “He would’ve killed me. Maybe you too.”
Blanche clutched the base of her throat. That was fact. As kind and patient as Benson had been, he had a temper too. She’d seen signs when their marriage had begun to sour. He’d warned her enough times what would happen if she ever looked elsewhere. Benson wasn’t a saint.
Her gaze darted to the window, and her throat tightened. Morning shadows from the mountains covered the aspens and pines nestled near the cabin. Still, the day would be here within minutes.
With a shaky hand, she fingered her hair and tried to swallow with her dust-dry throat. She hadn’t believed a marriage to a freighter would be so horribly boring. Living out here on the outskirts of town, away from everyone, had been suffocating to say the least. She glanced
sideways at her cohort, thinking she should be thankful he’d had the guts to actually take action when he did. She couldn’t have. Blanche slowly returned to the middle of the room.
“What should we do with the body?” she asked softly, as if an animal skulked about that might hear her words and scamper to town to alert the people. “And what will I say when folks start asking questions? You know his sister can’t go two days without her dear darling brother coming for a visit.”
The man nudged Benson’s shoulder with the toe of his boot, not minding the blood. “I’ll put him in the river. He’ll wash away fast enough.”
“And if he doesn’t? This time of year the river is low. Too many rocks and branches. We can’t take that chance.” She gripped the folds of her skirt. “We’ll have to think of something else.”
“I’ll dig a grave where no one will find him. That’s our best choice.”
That decision was risky. Keeping the body anywhere might be a mistake. The newness of this relationship had already worn off. Their affair was over. After what they’d done, she couldn’t stomach another encounter. But what if he wouldn’t go away quietly? Would he blackmail her? Turn her in? Say she was the one who killed Benson? She discreetly eyed Mr. Romantic, thinking he’d do just that to spite her. She needed to be extremely careful.
He was looking at her. Waiting for a response.
She pulled back her shoulders. “You’re right. I’ll say Benson never returned from his last job. After a while, people will come to believe something must have happened on his way home. We’ll roll him up in a blanket, and then tonight you can take the body south, maybe all the way into Wyoming.”
He smirked. “You have this all figured out, don’t you? Won’t people wonder when I don’t show up for work?”
His sarcastic tone set off alarm bells. She swallowed. Placing a hand on his arm, she tried to smile. “Thank you for taking action. I think you saved our lives.” His color was still high. She’d never noticed before how his lips twitched when he was nervous. She’d need to be shrewd. Her word against his. She gasped and whirled to the window.
“What?”
“His pack animals! If Benson is here, that means his animals must be outside in the corral.” She paced to the wall, her breath coming fast. “It’s already morning. We can’t get rid of three mules, a horse, all his gear, and Benson’s body without leaving evidence behind. Someone will see us.”
Shaking overtook her hands, and then her arms. Surely they’d both hang for what they’d done. “If this is a nightmare,” she moaned through a tight mouth, “please, please wake me up.” Another look at Benson made her stomach squeeze painfully. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Her companion reached to pull her into an embrace.
She stepped away. They had too much to think through. No time existed for his one-track mind.
“We have to do something. Before any more time is wasted, I’ll dump his body in the river. That’s our only chance.”
He was so stupid! She tried not to watch as he wiped an unsteady hand across his mouth. The face she’d thought so handsome before sharpened. What had inspired her to start carrying on with him in the first place?
“You can’t. His mules are here. And his horse. No one will believe he came home and then just disappeared.”
“Then you say he got kicked in the head and fell down the bank. Before you could help, he’d slipped into the water.”
She flung her hand toward the corral. “By those mules? They’re as docile as lambs. Besides, he was an expert. And the river is a quarter mile away. No, no, that won’t work.” Her eyes kept straying back to Benson’s surprised face, his expression mocking. He would exact his revenge on her cheating even in his death.
Outside, the whinny of a horse brought her around. Fear ricocheted through her body. Was that one of Benson’s animals or someone else? She ran to the window. “Someone’s coming!”
“Do I have time to hide the body?”
“No. He’s already dismounted by the leaning pine and will be at the door in a moment.”
“Who is it?” he whispered.
“Don’t know. He’s tall, whiskered. Looks untidy. I don’t recognize him or his horse.”
“A drifter?”
“Yes. I believe so.” Did she dare? She placed her hand on his chest. “Do you think you should get rid of him too?”
He roughly gripped Blanche’s shoulder. “I’m not killing anyone else! You’ll have to yourself if that’s what you want.”
The scowl on his face sent a chill up her spine.
A small smirk replaced his glower. “He’s probably looking for something to eat or directions. Out this far, can’t be any other reason. We’ll pin this whole mess on him.”
The pressure on her shoulder increased threateningly.
“You hear that, Blanche?” His brows bunched in a frown. “No matter what, he doesn’t come in. Then, when he’s gone, you’ll have the perfect alibi. There’ll be tracks and all. I’ll have to rough you up a bit, but that can’t be helped.”
“What?” Her mouth fell open as a strong knock sounded. After one last glance at Benson, she cracked open the door and slipped out.
Chapter Two
Priest’s Crossing, Montana Territory, July 1887
“McCutcheon!” The cheerful greeting rang above the din of thirty or so people crowded into the warm, medium-sized schoolhouse where Luke and his adopted son, Colton, stood with their backs to the wall, hair combed, wearing their Sunday best. Each held a cup of punch. The building, which also doubled as the church on Sundays, was decorated with streamers, paper hearts, and vases filled with wildflowers. The pine floor had a newly polished shine, and the four glass-paned windows were open to let in the breeze.
Happiness surged through Luke as he put up his hand and waved. Joe Brunn, his father’s good friend from way back, weaved his way through the guests, his new wife’s hand clutched in his own. The wide smile on Joe’s face and his high color were good indications he was having the time of his life. The bride looked to be close to Joe’s age. She wore a soft blue dress and matching hat.
Been a while since I was in Priest’s Crossing. A lot had happened in four years. This was where Ward Brown had carted Faith off to all those years ago, as well as her stepson, Colton, and newborn, Dawn, and forced her to marry him. Luke cut a quick look out the open windows to the undertaker’s building down the street, where she’d been roughed up by Ward amid Dawn’s cries of distress. The fact no one had stepped in to help Faith still rankled. Colton had filled Luke in on every moment of that horrible day. Of course, the marriage had been invalid, but that didn’t stop a blackness from descending over Luke. He reached forward and grasped Colton’s sturdy shoulder, the hold erasing away the bad memories.
“Luke, you son of a gun, you came!” Joe glanced around. “Where’s Flood and Claire? And your brothers?” After a second, his brow creased into a frown. “They’re not here?”
“Everyone’s real sorry. With all that’s happened over the brutal winter, Flood’s off to Cheyenne with my mother, Mark, Matt, Brandon, and Charity to the Stockgrowers Association annual meeting. As you know, ranchers were hit viciously hard this past year. The loss of cattle has wiped out countless breeders. Any other time, they would have skipped the meeting, Joe. They’re disappointed not to be here for you but send their sincere congratulations.” He smiled at Joe’s wife.
Joe sighed. Flood and Joe had traveled together to Montana Territory when they were strapping young men. They had a long history. “I understand. We were affected here as well. But I wonder why Brandon went? Being sheriff, I’d think he’d stick around town.”
Luke nodded. “You’re right. He and Charity are taking that long-postponed honeymoon. They’re sightseeing while the others are at the meeting.”
“Makes sense.”
Luke hoped his good friend understood. After the winter they’d just lived through, everyone needed a break. “Won’t you introduce
us to your beautiful wife?”
Joe slipped his arm around the woman’s waist, bringing a smile to her lips. “I’m sorry. In all the excitement, my manners have flown right out the window.” He gently pulled the medium-height, delicately built woman closer as he gazed into her eyes. “Dear, this is Luke and Colton McCutcheon. Son and grandson of my good friend, Flood. They hail from Y Knot. Luke and Colton, this is Pearl Van Gleek, now Pearl Brunn.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brunn. You’ve lassoed yourself a good man,” Luke responded and then waited a moment to give Colton a chance to speak up. As much as his son had come out of his shell, the lad still got tongue-tied around the opposite sex, even with someone old enough to be his grandma.
“Ma’am,” Colton said softly. “I’m pleased to meet you.” With everyone’s gaze on him, Colton’s cheeks darkened to a ruddy bronze.
Luke smiled to himself, proud of Colton’s manners. The boy didn’t spend a lot of time around the womenfolk and was normally a little shy, even for twelve. Boys his age were usually awkward at a gathering of strangers. Luke needn’t have worried about him. He was doing fine. With everyone else off to Cheyenne, the journey to Priest’s Crossing had turned into the father-son excursion he’d wanted for some time. They’d had quite a few enlightening conversations along the way as Luke taught him about camping, ranching, and life. They’d talked about Luke’s true heritage, the fact that he was half Indian, and that Flood wasn’t Luke’s real pa. Luke’s darker hair and skin. Things a boy his age might wonder about but lack the courage to bring up. Each night, as they stared into the campfire, Luke waited for his son to voice any questions he might have about women or queries along a more personal line, but none came. Perhaps the boy got some answers from Billy, Luke’s nephew, who was a year older than Colton. They had brought along Colton’s new rifle Luke bought last Christmas at Stan Lock’s in Waterloo. And this was War Bonnet’s, Colton’s horse, first time off the ranch. His son had a lot on his mind.
Pearl fluttered a small fan in front of her face. “Thank you, Luke, Colton. The pleasure’s all mine.”