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Rocky Mountain Redemption
Pamela Nissen
Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesPamela Nissen is an award-winning author with a love for creating. Whether characters, cooking, scrapbooking or other artistic endeavors, she delights in putting things together for others to enjoy. While homeschooling her children in 2000, she started handwriting her first novel, and after finally stepping into the computer age, she won first place in the 2007 Heart of the Rockies Inspirational Romance category. Since then she hasn't looked back.Pamela lives in the woods in Iowa with her husband, two boys, her Newfoundland dog, cats and one churlish bunny. She loves watching her children pursue their dreams and can be found cheering on the sidelines at her boys' games or being moved to tears as she watches her grown daughter perform on stage.If she's not writing or serving lattes at the local Starbucks, she enjoys scrapbooking weekends with her sister, coffee and conversation with friends and running in the rain. Having glimpsed the dark and light of life, she is passionate about writing "real" people with "real" issues and "real" responses.
“Your brother told me to find you.”
The words fell from Callie’s lips, stiff and measured and loaded with things unsaid.
Ben faced her. “What do you mean? Max sent you here?”
“That was his last sentiment.” The words sounded as if forced from her lips.
“His last words were about me?” Rubbing his temples, he dragged in a deep breath.
The nod she gave was slow and painfully measured. And seemed meant to sever any further inquiry he might have.
“Tell me what this is all about, Callie. Why are you here, anyway?” His voice had risen a good notch. “Because, had I not come along when I did, you likely would’ve frozen to death on my doorstep. Why would you put your life at risk like that?”
When she slowly rolled away from him, he knew he’d pushed too far, too fast.
“I’m sorry. I’m just glad that you turned to me.”
When he pivoted to leave the room, he could’ve sworn he heard her whisper, “You were my last resort.”
PAMELA NISSEN
loves creating. Whether it’s characters, cooking, scrapbooking or other artistic endeavors, she takes pleasure in putting things together for others to enjoy. She started writing her first book in 2000 and since then hasn’t looked back. Pamela lives in the woods in Iowa with her husband, daughter, two sons, a Newfoundland dog and cats. She loves watching her children pursue their dreams, and is known to yell on the sidelines at her boys’ football games, or cry as she watches her daughter perform. She relishes scrapbooking weekends with her sister, coffee with friends and running in the rain. Having glimpsed the dark and light of life, she is passionate about writing “real” people with “real” issues and “real” responses.
Pamela Nissen
Rocky Mountain Redemption
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.
—Romans 8:28
In loving memory of Mom
Your laughter delighted
Your generous love deeply motivated
And your courage…your courage inspired
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
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Help Wanted…
Callie blinked against the wind-whipped snow that swirled in curling waves onto the small porch where she huddled. She fastened her weary gaze to the simple black and white placard, staring at those two words: Help Wanted.
She’d gladly snatch up the job her brother-in-law, Doctor Ben Drake, advertised in the front window of his office. He certainly wouldn’t mistake her sudden appearance here for some heartwarming family connection.
Clamping her teeth against their chattering, she scanned down the road to the heart of Boulder. Only a few horses stood tethered to hitching posts, their broad, saddled backs flocked with fluffy, white snow. Apart from the welcome lantern’s glow spilling from a few windows into the dark of night on this early October evening, the town seemed as if caught in a dreamy, blissful slumber.
So where in the world was Doctor Ben Drake?
She’d never even met the man and already had a mountain of bias against him. The two long days she’d spent journeying from Denver to Boulder on foot, she’d recoiled at the thought of asking Ben Drake for charity like some beggar.
The idea of another debt hanging over her head sent repulsion snaking through her veins. If she could offer her services and get paid…now that was far more appealing.
Perhaps there existed a slim thread of hope in her frayed life. A second chance. An opportunity to start over and find some peace.
Callie gave a solid knock on the door, her icy cold hand throbbing as she waited for him to answer. She gave another determined knock then, with frozen-to-numb feet, hobbled left a few paces to the long window. Cupping trembling hands around her eyes, she peered inside. But there was no sign of life, just like the hollow, dark look in her husband’s eyes when he’d died in her arms six months ago.
Images she’d just as soon lay to rest swirled into her mind. Max, wracked with pain and delirium from a gunslinger’s fatal shot. His inconsolable groan for help, when it was clear he was beyond help. On a ragged whisper and dying breath, he’d said, “Find my brothers. Find Ben. He’ll see to you.”
Even then, in the midst of Callie’s frantic fight to keep Max alive, those words had stunned her as much as they did now. He’d wanted nothing to do with his brothers, so why would he drive her to their doorstep with his last breath?
Battling back the haunting memories, she peered inside the office again. No oil lamp flickered to life. Not even the weighted sound of hurried footsteps advanced this way.
Shaking and frustrated, she drew her lightweight wool cloak snug around her shoulders in a vain attempt to shield herself from the storm that barreled through the quaint mountain valley. The small, covered porch gave no protection from the sting of icy snow. The cast-off satin dress she wore from the brothel did precious little to insulate her from even the whisper of a breeze.
Even so, this didn’t seem half as bad as the uncontrollable hardships of the last seven years. At least now she had some control over her future, and if she froze to death, it would be because she decided to do so.
When a harsh cough tore through her lungs, she braced her pounding head against the siding. Irritation mounted with each frosty breath in winter’s threat.
“Where are you, Ben Drake?” Her words sputtered between chattering teeth.
Maybe he’d landed in some saloon, drinking and gambling away the night, just like his brother, Max.
Shivering, weak and exhausted, Callie slid down the thick clapboard. She tugged her cloak tighter and pulled in a deep, steadying breath to calm her irritation. When the bitter air hit her lungs, a spasm of wrenching coughs doubled her over, threatening to cave in her resolve.
Still, she closed her eyes and pictured herself snuggled before a warm, crackling fire. A soft groan escaped her lips as she imagined her hands cradling a steaming mug of cider—or cocoa, maybe. Nestling deeper beneath the thick luxury of a cozy quilt and sleeping till she could sleep no more.
A mean gust of wind whipped across the porch, slapping reality in her face once again. She didn’t have the job yet, and until she rectified the situation that loomed like some noose before her, she was a prisoner to her past, a slave to her present and a hostage to her future.
With a stuttering sigh, she closed her eyes. She should probably be angry that Max had left her standing alone down one of life’s dark dead ends, but really, she just felt numb. The irony of that sunk deep as she shivered, slipping slowly into sleep. Yes, she was definitely numb—she could barely feel her arms, her legs, or her heart.
“Ma’am?” A deep, mellow voice stirred her senses. “Are you all right?”
“Ma’am?” Ben Drake tried again, keeping his voice low.
The woman raised her head, sending a wave of relief washing over him as a stark curtain of snow lashed across the porch.
She was alive—that much was good.
When he’d arrived home just moments ago and had spotted a dark form huddled here on his office porch next door, a sick sense of dread had roiled in the pit of his stomach. The thought of someone seeking him out for help, only to die waiting for his return, would likely haunt him for the rest of his days.
“Come on…let’s get you out of the cold.” He scooped up her rail-thin frame.
With a grunt, she stiffened arrow straight, squirming out of his arms. When her feet met the floor with a dull thud, she sliced a sharp breath through her teeth. “Oww…”
“What’s the matter?” He hunkered over to get a look at her as she sagged against the building. “Are you hurt?”
From beneath a tattered hood, the young woman peeked up at him. “My feet. They’re cold as ice.” The woman’s unfamiliar, raspy voice hit him square in the heart.
“Well, then, let’s get you inside.” He made quick work of unlocking the door. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
“Are you Doc—Doctor Drake?” Her teeth chattered.
“Yes, I’m Ben Drake.” When he braced an arm at her back, she dodged it as though he meant to hog-tie her. “Have you been waiting long for me?”
“Long enough,” she muttered, shuffling inside, each shivering, wobbly step piercing his heart more than the last.
She pulled her cloak tighter, but the way it puddled on the floor, hanging like a big, old drape, he wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to maneuver ten feet in such a garment.
The lingering feel of her thin, quivering frame and her wariness to his touch sent compassion thrumming through his veins, especially when she produced a harsh cough.
“That cough of yours sure doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s nothing,” she answered, her teeth chattering. “Just an everyday kind of cough, that’s all.”
“Well, it sounds like more than that to me. Good thing you came when you did. Follow me,” he said, leading the way through the dark waiting area into the exam room where he lit a lamp. “I’ll get a fire going so we can get you warmed up.”
When he wrapped two warm quilts around her quivering frame, he had to hold his confusion in check when she shrugged them off as though they were some disease-ridden rags. She possessively clutched her arms around something as though he might snatch it away, and he tried not to react. This woman was mistrustful and guarded and set against a little help. She eyed him as though she’d seen his face plastered on some Wanted poster.
“Why don’t you sit down here by the woodstove so you’ll be close to the heat?” Gesturing to a chair, he barely contained a wince when she avoided his outstretched hand as though he meant her harm. “It shouldn’t take long for the place to warm up.”
She sat on the edge of the chair. Bunching her shoulders up tight, she made a valiant effort to stop shivering, but as long as she kept that thin and wet cloak on, she’d likely never warm up.
While he banked the coals and loaded fresh kindling in the stove, he stole furtive glances at her shadowed, pale face, looking for signs of bleeding. Or broken bones.
She coughed then grabbed her side, and Ben’s blood ran cold through his veins. His hair prickled at the back of his neck. That she might be another unfortunate bride of some no-good excuse for a husband, who treated his wife worse than his livestock, made him push back a ready curse.
When her whole body heaved with a sudden cough, he hunkered down next to her. “Easy, now. That sure doesn’t sound like an everyday kind of cough. How long have you had it?”
At her dismissive shrug, he gently laid the back of his hand against her forehead, concern mounting at the heat that met his touch. “You’re fevered, too. That’s not good. I hope you’ll forgive me for not coming sooner.”
She flicked her gaze to him, cagey as a mouse in a barren field. Edging away, she angled her focus downward, intent on unknotting tattered ties that held her cloak together by mere threads.
His heart squeezed. He had to bite back a groan of sympathy at the sight of her shabby, wet shoes that poked out from her cloak. When she tipped her head back, nudging her hood off a mat of auburn waves, his throat grew tight.
And when she glanced up at him with the most beautiful almond-shaped blue eyes he’d ever seen, he struggled to gather his wits. She looked like an ethereal waif who’d been to the depths of darkness and back.
The glassy-eyed look veiling her gaze quickly snuffed out his fascination.
He struggled to find his voice. “I think you could use some hot tea about now.”
Her focus skidded to a halt at him, her lips lifting at one corner with the faintest look of pleasure.
