Author: Charlene Whitman
Publisher: Ubiquitous Press
Pages: 412
Genre: Sweet Western Historical Romance
Format: Kindle
1875 ~ Beset by a
sudden spring storm on the Front
Range, newlywed
Grace Cunningham watches in horror as her husband, Monty, is swept downriver.
Pregnant and despairing, she stumbles into Fort Collins and tries to make a life for herself,
praying that one day the man she loves will walk into town and back into her
life.
A year after Grace’s
tragic loss, Monty enters the dress shop where she works—with a beautiful woman
on his arm. Shocked that he has no recollection of her, Grace is determined to
win back his heart. Somehow she must help him regain his memories and his
buried love for her—and not just for her sake but for the sake of their infant
son, Ben.
Monty, miserable in
his marriage to a woman he hardly knows, is inexplicably drawn to Grace. Every
time he’s near her, memories surface, but they are hazy and troubling. He’s
torn between his vows and the desires of his heart, for he cannot stay away
from Grace.
Grace’s hope is
sparked when Monty starts recalling glimpses of his past. But when murderous
outlaws come to town, she is thrust into grave danger. Monty risks his life to
rescue her, only to face even greater perils in the treacherous mountains. Can
she truly hang on to hope when she is about to lose all she loves?
May 16, 1875
A fierce wind
whipped Grace Ann Cunningham’s hair, yanking at the long strands and pulling
them free from their pins. She squinted through the haze of the blustery day
and stroked her bulging belly, trying to comfort her baby, who seemed just as
agitated by the sudden storm.
Her back ached from
sitting on the hard buckboard bench all these miles—much less comfortable than
the plush sleeper car they’d enjoyed last week on the train from Illinois to Cheyenne.
She frowned at the
dark roiling clouds that had moved in and quickly blotted out the sun.
What had been a
pleasant uneventful morning was now turning into an ominous and unsettling afternoon
on the open prairie.
Grace sucked in a
breath as the baby again kicked her ribs in protest. Her sweet husband’s sun-browned
face tightened in concern as he caught her gesture. He pulled on the reins of
the two draft horses—sturdy ones they’d bought yesterday in Cheyenne. Surefooted, the seller had told them. And
Monty knew his horses, so she trusted his purchase and assurance that they’d
haul them without
incident to Fort
Collins.
But looking at her husband’s face now, seeing the subtle telltale signs
indicating that he hadn’t expected this squall nor felt at ease about it, gave her
pause. And her normally talkative husband had been too quiet this last hour,
eyeing the sky and listening to the roar of the nearby river, as if hearing
their complaints and trying to suss out
nature’s intentions.
“The baby all
right, darlin’?” He scooted over on the buckboard seat to look her over, then took
her hands in his.
Warmth from his
gentle grip comforted her, but not as much as the love streaming from his adoring
gaze.
“I think so,” she
told him, then smiled as he laid his hand firmly on her belly.
Grace thanked the
Lord in a silent prayer for this wonderful man who’d married her in a simple
ceremony last September. All those years she’d lived with her doting aunt
Eloisa in the boardinghouse back in Bloomington, she never imagined she’d be blessed with
such happiness.
When Montgomery
Cunningham had first stepped into the parlor to take a room before starting college
at Wesleyan University, she’d been a shy, giggling girl of ten. Neither
of them foresawthe love that would spark six years later when he showed up
again unexpectedly, about to head west to explore and survey lands unknown.
Monty closed his
eyes, his hand still on the baby in her womb. She imagined him communing with
their baby, speaking to it the way he spoke to rivers, to trees, to the land he
traversed by boat and on horseback and on foot. Something had happened to him
when he returned from the Hayden Yellowstone Expedition. He had changed from
boy to man, yes—but it was more than that. He had fallen in love with the West,
and with rivers in particular. Although he’d studied geology in college with
John Powell, water captured his heart, and he sought out trips that had him
navigating whitewater. Nothing made his eyes sparkle more than talking about the
way water moved and sang as it cascaded and carved the face of mountains and
spilled into waiting valleys. Well, except the way he looked at her.
Monty may have
loved rivers, but Grace knew he loved her more. So much more, for he gladly
gave up his exploring to settle down and marry and start a family. Although,
Grace thought moving to the new town of Fort Collins, Colorado, was adventure enough. She hoped he’d come
to see it that way as well and not be into the wild.
No comments:
Post a Comment