When the Heart Falls (30 page)

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FINDING STRENGTH IN A NEW LAND

Briarwood, Montana Territory–October 1882

It seemed almost impossible that Brenna now stood in the middle of a dusty street on a brisk autumn morning thousands of miles from everything she knew and treasured. Almost impossible, but not quite for there she stood in the town of Briarwood in Montana Territory. The arduous journey left her weary and homesick: the seemingly never-ending crossing of the Atlantic, the miles of train tracks, the stink of unwashed people the farther from civilization she got, and the rattling stage ride. But this is where her grandfather lived. Or so the telegrams she received months past indicated.

It had not taken long to discover the whereabouts of Nathan Hunter. Once Brenna arrived on Boston’s soil, a place so foreign to the country she loved, she had sent telegrams to the postmarked address in Texas from where Nathan Hunter’s last letter was sent. A reply arrived less than two days later informing her that Nathan Hunter no longer lived in Texas. He moved to the Montana Territory some years back. With a dozen more telegrams and the services of a costly private detective, she found him.

If Brenna’s mind had not been filled with questions and worries, perhaps she could have better appreciated the grandeur of the place where she now stood. Mountains higher than she’d ever imagined jutted upward from the earth. So different from home, for those in Scotland stood as mere hills compared to the towering peaks surrounding the valley, which seemed to stretch farther than she could see. The fresh pine-scented air reminded her of the long walks she used to take with her father back home, when she picked bundles of heather for her mother. Blue skies so vast there seemed to be no end to the journey an eagle could take. Wildness and beauty unlike anything she’d ever imagined surrounded her.

Unfortunately this majesty was wasted on Brenna those first moments. Her thoughts focused elsewhere. Brenna held her reticule close to her bosom, thinking of the letters tucked safely inside. She had found two more missives when she went through her father’s belongings. Neither told her anything more about Nathan Hunter than what she already surmised. She detested the man and the facts began to support her feelings. In fact her hatred still lurked below the surface, even though she knew it likely hurt her more than him.

Brenna didn’t need to look at the letters. She had memorized their content on the sea crossing. Those worn papers gave her a small measure of courage, misplaced though it felt right now.

Many times on the journey here, she questioned her decision to leave behind her beloved Scotland to find this man who destroyed his family. Of course her mother had been happy. Rebecca loved Duncan Cameron more than life itself, but the kindest part of her soul still believed that her own father could someday soften his heart. Brenna learned something about her mother in those letters. Rebecca Cameron had possessed one of the most forgiving hearts she’d ever known a person to have.

Brenna had no intention of trying to spark a family relationship with Nathan Hunter, but her stubborn nature refused to let the matter of the letter’s content go without answers. The most puzzling thing of all was the mysterious item that he claimed his daughter took from him. The other two letters spoke of nothing but that, though bereft of details.

With a deep sigh, Brenna set those thoughts aside for the moment as practicality weighed in. She must learn her way around this foreign land and find accommodations for her duration. Reports indicated that the territory was a hard land and her solicitor used every last bit of persuasion trying to convince her not to go. Brenna’s determination won, though she felt grateful at least one person knew where she’d gone.

The crisp wind blowing across the grass-covered valley caressed Brenna’s face. She pulled the fine, wool scarf, the last Christmas gift from her mother, tighter around her neck and shoulders. Her long, heavy, wool coat kept the rest of her warm enough. Although, she felt it fair to admit to herself that it wasn’t the weather that brought on a sudden chill. Twenty-five years of Scottish winters made her impervious to the cool breezes she encountered in this country. The chill came from fear.

She felt fear as she had never before in her life. Through the length of her journey here, she had been only angry and saddened about leaving home. Fear didn’t have a chance to settle into her mind until she faced the stark reality of what she’d done. The questions surfaced again.
What if he’d left Montana? What if I never find the truth about my parents?
Brenna preferred not to think of “what if.” She had plenty of money to survive and even start a new life here if she so chose. Her parents provided well for her, though some of that remained a mystery to her for the funds she now carried in her reticule had been tucked securely at a bank in Boston. Brenna’s only clue had been a bank draft found among her father’s papers in his study and later confirmed by his solicitor.

The other passengers alighted from the stagecoach, though her thoughts were not on them either. Nor did she notice at first the damp dirt on which she stood.

One man watched from the door of the general store as the passengers alighted from the stage. It seemed as though every day new folks made their way north. Some for opportunity, others for adventure, and some to find a bit of peace. He could usually tell by the looks of a person what brought them along and it didn’t take long to tell which ones would be hightailing it back to from wherever they came once they’d had a taste of winter. Most of the men and women stepping down appeared to be well-seasoned to frontier life—except one. He stepped away from the general store, slowly making his way across the street to get a better look at a beauty he felt quite certain fell into the group of those who couldn’t possibly handle life in his wilderness.

Brenna took in her surroundings. Briarwood appeared to be exactly what replies to her inquiries reported—a small settlement content to grow at its own pace with wide streets and a good-sized general store located next to a barber shop. Another large building, void of sign but well-tended, stood to the other side. A doctor’s office stood down the street near the livery. The hotel saloon, where she had been dropped off, was across from the general store and appeared clean enough, but she cringed at the thought of sleeping in a saloon and decided she’d find other accommodations.

A dressmaker’s shop with simple versions of the latest fashions stood next to a small bank bearing a clock above the sign. A café and small newspaper and telegraph office were nearby. Farther down, a few houses lined the street and in the distance stood a proud white church next to a well-kept churchyard. A small red schoolhouse was located off to the other side of a meadow near the church. It appeared to be freshly painted. Despite the population growing in the southern part of the territory, Briarwood seemed to move to its own rhythm. Ignoring the faster progress of other towns, the peacefulness of this settlement reminded Brenna a bit of home. She held back the tears and replaced them with the determination that brought her this far.

Brenna watched as the stagecoach drove away leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. She watched her last link to the life she left behind as the rambling transportation disappeared across the land. In her mind, there was no turning back until she found the answers she so desperately sought.

Brenna picked up her small valise and noticed that the driver had left her trunks on the side of the road. Taking yet another deep breath, she turned and then nearly collapsed.

“
What in darnation did you think you were doing Riley?” The angry bellow followed a scrawny man who nearly aided Brenna in her fall to the sludge below.

A strong pair of hands caught her from behind and pulled her quickly back to the boardwalk. Forgetting those hands for the moment, Brenna watched the man she assumed was Riley, fall face first and consume a mouthful of the grimed street in the process. A disturbing and apparently angry man pushed open the swinging doors and stormed out to the street. Riley picked himself up off of the ground before the goliath could kick him in the ribs, which is where his booted foot almost landed.

“
That’s right. You run off now and don’t let me catch you back in here until you’re old enough to drink and whore!”

A small crowd gathered around and a few unapproved glances shot toward the rangy and unfortunate-looking man who had just shouted. He yelled at the onlookers who then dispersed and went about their business. Brenna just stood there, not knowing what to think about the people of this new land so foreign to her own. She had witnessed her fair share of brawls, unbeknownst to her overprotective parents, but these people appeared to be so open about it. And she had heard people call the Highlanders barbarians.

Brenna also found herself somewhat fascinated and couldn’t seem to step away. The same disturbing man who had thrown the smaller man he called Riley onto the street, took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh a few times, transferring dust from his pants to his hat, before turning and noticing her. A small smile formed on his mouth, showing the barest hint of crooked teeth. Brenna found herself feeling uncomfortable as his eyes roamed freely up and down her body. She felt exposed, despite all of the fabric she wore.

“
Howdy ma’am,” the stranger said. “My name is Bradford James and it’s sure a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Brenna found herself wishing for an escape and her heart nearly leapt in her chest at the sound of the deep, smooth voice coming from directly behind her.

“
Quite a show you’ve put on for us today James.”

If Bradford had been paying attention, he might have noticed the giant standing behind the lady before then. Brenna saw the subtle change come over Mr. James and almost feared looking behind her. The strong hands. She now remembered them pulling her to safety. She would bet anything that those hands belonged to the man who seemed to be the cause of Mr. James’s angry discomfort.

“
Now Gallagher, this ain’t any of your concern. Just a little family disagreement,” he said and then turned his attention back to Brenna. “I didn’t catch your name ma’am.”

“
She didn’t give it.”

Goodness, that voice could scare the fierce Scottish winds off of their currents
, she thought. Brenna had never remained quiet for so long, but she willingly deferred this particular argument to her mysterious protector, so she kept her peace and waited.

Bradford realized that he wouldn’t get anywhere with the lady as long as Gallagher stood there and he was annoyed for it.
Lordy she’s a pretty thing
.
All of that pretty red hair and soft milky skin.
He wondered what it felt like to touch it.
Yep, the prettiest thing to ever come to these parts and I’m not about to lose her to a Gallagher. That family would take the entire territory if given the chance,
he thought
.
If Bradford acknowledged the truth, they almost did own the entire territory—at least the parts they weren’t fighting over with his boss. He tipped his hat to the mystery lady and sauntered back into the saloon.

Brenna let out a slow, quiet breath, grateful that Mr. James departed. Everything about that man made her skin crawl. Remembering why the stranger had left, Brenna slowly turned around and found herself staring into a wide chest covered in a clean black shirt and dusty coat. She looked up, nearly a foot above her, and found a grin. Then she saw the most beautiful blue eyes ever to be found on a man—not even a regular blue. Those eyes looked almost gray, but so dark, like the night sky when the moon shone. His dark brown hair seemed to escape from under the wide-brimmed hat she’d seen so many of the men out here wear. His face didn’t appear to have met a razor in a few days. The result should have made him look unkempt, but instead he looked dangerous. The high cheek bones and square jaw combined with those dark eyes were only magnified by his deeply tanned skin. Obviously her rescuer—a cowboy a gentleman on the train would have called him—didn’t always wear his hat.

“
Not exactly a place for a lady to be standing on her own,” the man drawled.

Ethan noticed that it took the woman a moment to realize he had spoken. When she did and decided to respond, her lyrical brogue surprised him, the effects stirring him.

“
Yes I realize that sir, but the staged stopped here, so this is where I stand.” Brenna took another deep breath wishing to find her grandfather. She used that term in the loosest of forms. She also needed to find a hotel.

Subtlety and patience were two traits she did not possess. She said, “I don’t suppose you know of a Nathan Hunter residing in the area?”

The grin slowly faded and those grayish-blue midnight-colored eyes became even darker if that was possible.

“
Yes, he lives around here.” The cowboy’s voice turned hard.