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  The top of her right index finger still bore the ugly black bruise from a hammering mishap. “Hit it with a hammer instead of the head of a nail.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yes. I cussed a lot, but it’s healing.” She flexed the battered finger. “Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last, either.” Lady ranchers didn’t have pink and pampered hands.

  “I’ve never met a woman rancher.”

  “I’ve never met a newspaper reporter carpenter. Makes us even.” Spring didn’t mind the conversation, but she didn’t want him to think her being friendly was an invitation to something else. He was a stranger after all, and she was a woman alone. “Do you have a sister?”

  “Yes. Her name’s Melody.”

  “What would you tell her if she took in a strange man and they had to be alone together for a few days?”

  He stilled and searched her face. She waited.

  “I’d—I’d tell her to be watchful and careful, and to be ready to protect herself if need be.”

  Spring nodded. “Good advice.”

  Silence settled over the room for a few moments, before he said quietly, “You’re a very unique woman, Miss Lee.”

  “I also sleep with a Colt Peacemaker.”

  “Noted.”

  She stood and gathered up their empty bowls. “I’ll get the water boiling for your tea and then go check on the horses.”

  While the water boiled, Spring went to her room to dress for venturing out. With the windows snowed over there was no way of telling what she’d be facing outside, but the wind had stopped, a good sign.

  He was still seated at the table when she returned. His curious eyes scanned the buffalo coat as she set it on a chair, but he didn’t ask about it. In the kitchen the water was ready. After putting the bark in and letting it steep, she carried a mug out to him and set it down. Under his gaze she put on the coat, did up her muffler, and donned her battered, wide-brimmed, gray hat.

  He asked, “Do all the women here dress like you?”

  “All the ones with sense. I’ll be back shortly. Providing I can get out. If the windows are snowed over, the doors probably are, too.” Her hope was that the temperatures hadn’t dropped low enough to freeze the snow.

  Leaving him with the tea, it took a few shoves with her shoulder to get the back door open. Holding the lantern she’d lit, she stepped out into the knee-high snow covering the back porch. It was cold, the moon was just rising, and the snowfall had transitioned to flurries. Her land was covered by a beautiful glistening sea of white as far as she could see. According to her grandfather Ben, the tribes had different words for various types of snow, from heavy and wet, to light and fluffy, and everything in between. He’d never taught her the words though. With a gloved hand, she scooped some up, tossed it, and it floated light as goose down. A blessing, at least for the moment. Were it heavy with moisture, making her way to the barn would be a lengthy, tiring struggle. Due to the snow’s sheer depth though, it would still take time, but its fluffiness would make the trek easier. Unable to see the porch’s stairs, she descended carefully. The last thing she needed was to fall and break something. As she reached what she guessed to be the bottom, the depth rose to midthigh. With the lantern held high, she waded slowly. The barn was a good distance from the house. With any luck, she’d make it before summer.

  Chapter Two

  Garrett sipped the terrible-tasting tea and mused on his journey so far. Having left Washington, he’d journeyed by train to Chicago, changed trains in Denver, and boarded another for Cheyenne. From there, he’d been surprised to learn it was the train’s last stop and he’d have to travel via stagecoach or horseback to his destination, Paradise. A few questions put to the conductor informed him that the stagecoach only ran twice a week, and wasn’t due in for another three days. Not wanting to wait, he chose horseback. The conductor sent him to the livery, where after negotiating a price for the mount and a saddle, he was advised by the owner that his thin-soled back-East shoes should be replaced by boots to protect his ankles from snakebite. Uncertain as to whether the man was pulling his leg or not, he’d counted out the coin owed and spent the night at a local boardinghouse. He set out at first light and spent the next two days atop the stiff, uncomfortable saddle and wearing the tight, ill-fitting new boots. He was then waylaid by a blizzard, thrown from the horse, and forced to walk. Between his wrenched knee and saddle-sore rump, a less determined man might be ready to return home at first light. Instead, he was seated with his belly full of the best stew he’d ever tasted in the cabin of the most unconventional woman he’d ever met.

  Spring Lee was seemingly as untamed as the Wyoming mountains, and frankly, just as impressive. Unlike some of the women he knew at home, there was no artifice or pretentiousness. She was candid and frank. The question she’d asked about his sister had been unexpected yet sent the message she wanted to convey: if he got out of line she’d shoot him. He planned to mind his manners and be on his best behavior.

  This was his first trip west of Chicago. Having learned of Dr. Colton Lee from a family friend, Garrett and his father thought their paper’s subscribers would be intrigued by a Colored doctor practicing medicine in a place not usually associated with members of the race. Spring mentioned a grandfather. Garrett wondered just how long the family had lived in the Territory and why’d they’d settled there. Their story would be a feather in the cap of his father’s struggling newspaper, the Crier. As far as Garrett knew, the Washington Wasp, the leading Colored paper in the District, had never run anything like the story the Crier planned to publish, and that would no doubt anger its owner, Emmanuel Beal. Beal prided himself on having the most influential and most subscribed-to newspaper around and took great joy in poking fun at those lacking his funding and readership. If the Crier could show Beal up just once, Garrett’s being subjected to the stiff saddle and the agony of his new boots would be well worth it.

  He’d exchanged a few wires with Dr. Lee to set up the interview, and hoped the man was still open to being questioned. He didn’t relish having come all this way only to return home empty-handed. If that occurred, he’d at least have the memories of Wyoming’s mountainous beauty and meeting the remarkable Spring Lee.

  After downing the last of the tea, he set the cup aside and wondered how his hostess was faring outdoors. Hearing a scraping sound, he glanced around the room to determine the source. When he heard it a second time, he turned to the snow-covered window beside him and saw a square piece of wood drag the snow down the pane. His hostess was clearing the windows. Aided by the light of the moon and bundled up in the hat, muffler, and burly brown coat, she resembled an eerie apparition. The gentleman in him felt guilty watching her work alone, then reasoned, she’d still have to accomplish the task were he not there, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Men worked. Women rested. At least where he was from. After a few more passes the window was cleared, and she moved on.

  Although his nap had restored him somewhat after his long unnerving day, he needed more sleep. Much more. The weariness coupled with the effects of the bark tea and his full stomach had him on the verge of nodding off when he heard her return.

  “I heated the boiler,” she said, freeing herself from her outerwear. “Water should be hot enough for a bath in a few hours if you’re willing to wait, or have one in the morning.”

  That her cabin had indoor plumbing also raised questions, but he kept his curiosity for another time. “How long has your family been in Wyoming?”

  “Since the twenties. My grandfather Ben was a trapper. He and his friend Odell opened a trading post that eventually became the town of Paradise.”

  Her response gave rise to more questions. He watched as she removed her boots and set them by the fire.

  “Where was your grandfather born?”

  “Canada.”

  “Was he enslaved?”

  She shook her head. “His parents were indentured servants to a French fur trader in Quebec. After th
ey cleared their debt, they founded a small trading outfit of their own. My grandfather became a trapper and a guide for the French and English wanting furs.”

  “And your grandmother?”

  “What about her?”

  The tight tone of her voice matched the frank, dark eyes. He almost told her to ignore the question, but his curiosity propelled him forward. “Who was she?”

  “A Shoshone woman who left him soon after my father was born because Ben has always been a terrible person. Anything else?”

  Her abruptness gave him pause. Having interviewed many people, Garrett had learned to delve beneath the surface of their answers to gain a truer sense of the response, and what he saw and heard under her tough, no-nonsense exterior was bitterness and pain. “No. Nothing else.”

  “Good. I’m exhausted and going back to bed. If you’ll be up for a while, make sure you douse the lamps and throw more wood on the fire. It gets cold in here at night.”

  “I will. And thanks again for the rescue.”

  She responded with a terse nod and left him alone.

  As he sat there, the crackling of the fire played softly against the silence. There were so many things he wanted to know about Spring Lee. What kind of life had she led? How had she been shaped by it? She’d mentioned her grandfather twice now, giving Garrett the impression that they were at odds. Was the acrimony tied to more than her refusal to marry the man she’d described as an old snake? He had no answers. He was intrigued though. Yes, she was beautiful with her ebony skin, jet-black eyes, and the thick braid down her back, but what drew him more was the fierce granite-like strength. Deciding to head to bed, he remembered her request and added more wood to the fire before dousing the lamp.

  The next morning, after a good, long soak in the tub filled with hot water, Garrett’s knee was less stiff, his bones no longer frozen, and he almost felt human again. Spring had been correct about the cabin being cold. Overnight the fire in the grate had burned down to embers and he was surprised there weren’t icicles hanging from his nose. He quickly dressed, layering on as much as he needed to stay warm, and added more wood to the fire. Pulling his thin, back-East work boots out of his carpetbag, he put them on. Moving on the less painful knee he went in search of breakfast. The cabin was quiet. He didn’t see her or hear her moving about, so he guessed she was either outside checking on the animals or still asleep. Not seeing her big coat hanging from the peg on the door made him assume the former. The view through the window showed a blue sky and sunshine sparkling on a world covered in white. Wispy eddies of snowflakes danced in the breeze and off in the distance—the mountains.

  In the small kitchen he found eggs, bread, and bacon. Being unmarried, Garrett was accustomed to taking care of his own needs. If he didn’t cook, he didn’t eat. Hoping he wouldn’t be shot for helping himself to her eggs, he cracked a few into a bowl and lit the stove. He was stirring a bit of cream into the eggs when he heard someone knocking on the front door. Unsure if he should answer, he waited a few moments to see if Spring would appear. When she didn’t, and the knocking came again, louder this time, he left the bowl and made his way there.

  He opened it to find an old man with a long white beard and a coat similar to Spring’s on the other side. Hair the color of the snow streamed from beneath his hat made of furs. “Who the hell are you?” the visitor asked pointedly.

  “Garrett McCray.”

  “Where’s Spring?”

  “I believe she’s out checking on her animals.”

  The confusion on his face might have been amusing if the sky-blue eyes weren’t glaring with such hostility.

  “And you are?” Garrett asked.

  “Odell Waters.”

  Recognizing the name from last night’s talk, Garrett was tempted to let him in, but again, he didn’t want to be shot by the lady of the house for being presumptuous. He also wanted to let the old man inside because it was too cold to be conversing in the open doorway.

  “Let him in, McCray.”

  He turned to see Spring removing her coat and hat. Her weary tone matched the weariness in her face. It was plain she needed more sleep. Garrett stepped aside.

  Still exuding suspicion, Odell took a moment to take off his snowshoes before entering. Garrett closed the door.

  Removing his coat and hat, Odell asked Spring, “What’s he doing here? Who is he?”

  “Name’s McCray. Back-East newspaper reporter here to interview the good doctor. Found him walking in the storm yesterday. Got thrown by his horse.”

  He sized Garrett up again. “He giving you any trouble?” Odell hung the coat and his hat on one of the pegs nailed to the door.

  “No.”

  Garrett wanted to announce that he could speak on his own behalf, but the old man seemed intent upon ignoring him. Grumbling inwardly, Garrett spoke to Spring. “I hope you don’t mind me eating your eggs, but I’m cooking breakfast. Do you want a plate?”

  She paused and did some sizing up of her own before replying, “Sure. Two eggs.”

  “Bacon? Toast?”

  “Both.”

  Odell finally addressed him, “If there’s more eggs, I’ll take two. Bacon and toast for me, too. Any coffee? Cold out there.”

  Garrett wondered how wanting to repay Spring for her hospitality by offering her breakfast had turned him into a diner cook. “Where’s your coffee, Miss Lee?”

  “Come. I’ll show you. Odell, have a seat.”

  Odell asked, “You sure you’re okay with having him here?”

  “If I wasn’t, he’d be out in the snow waiting to be turned over to Beck.”

  Confused, Garrett asked, “Who’s Beck?”

  “Town undertaker.”

  “Oh.” He had no further questions.

  As they ate, his hostess and their visitor talked while he listened. Odell had spent the morning checking on his snowbound neighbors. Garrett had no idea how large an area that entailed, but the idea of a man his age venturing out on such a mission was impressive.

  “Everyone okay?” she asked.

  Forking up some of the scrambled eggs on his plate, Odell nodded. “Seems so.”

  “How’s the road?”

  “Impassable still, but temperature’s rising. Another day or two and it should melt enough for folks to get out.” He glanced Garrett’s way. “How long are you staying?”

  “Just long enough to get what I need from Dr. Lee for my story.”

  Odell studied him. “Good.”

  Garrett tried not to take offense, but it was difficult.

  “Quit poking at him, Odell.”

  “Just don’t want him getting any ideas.” He gave Garrett another hard stare. “I’m a man. I know how they think. Woman alone.”

  She shook her head in response but didn’t say more.

  Holding on to his temper, Garrett asked, “Mr. Waters, would you mind being interviewed for my story?”

  “Thought you were here to talk to Colt.”

  “I am, but Ms. Lee said you and her grandfather founded Paradise. My readers might be interested in hearing a bit about that, as well.”

  Odell grumbled for a moment before responding, “Ain’t saying yes. Ain’t saying no. Let’s see how you get along with folks first.”

  Garrett’s eyes met Spring’s. Hers revealed nothing. “Okay, sir. I’ll ask again at another time.”

  Odell turned to Spring. “How’d Ed’s foaling go?”

  She replied softly, “Not well. Foal was stillborn.”

  Odell’s blue eyes showed sympathy. “How’s the mare?”

  “He may lose her, too.”

  “Sad news. Was Colt there to help?”

  “No. He was up at Rock Springs. Not sure if he’s back yet or not.”

  Garrett had hoped to conduct his interview and promptly return home. He hadn’t considered medical emergencies, a blizzard, or snow-clogged roads. Also not considered was a woman he wanted to know more about, and an insulting old curmudgeon Garrett wished would put
on his snowshoes and depart.

  Odell asked Garrett, “Where’s home?”

  Garrett told him.

  “You ever been West before?”

  “No.”

  “Figured that. You losing your seat and all.”

  Garrett shot him a look.

  “Odell,” Spring cautioned.

  “Good thing he won’t be staying,” the undaunted Odell continued. “Man can’t handle his horse should stick to those fancy back-East streetcars.”

  “Are you always this rude?” Garrett asked, glaring.

  “Depends.” But Odell was smiling. “Just wanted to see how long you’d let me poke at you, newspaper fella. Good to see it wasn’t long.”

  Garrett wasn’t sure how to respond but was glad he’d passed the test.

  Odell pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “Thanks for breakfast.”

  Garrett nodded. A glance Spring’s way showed a small smile above her raised coffee cup.

  Spring walked Odell to the door. After returning and seeing the displeasure Garrett didn’t bother masking, she said, “Don’t mind Odell. He’s my godfather and likes to needle. The day my sister-in-law arrived from Arizona, she shot my brother. Odell teased her mercilessly.”

  Shocked, Garrett echoed, “She shot your brother?”

  “Yes. Mistook him for an outlaw.”

  “Do you think she’d let me add that to my story?”

  “Only Regan speaks for Regan.”

  He was now anxious to meet the doctor and his wife. “That’s quite a tale.”

  “My brother will never live it down.”

  “Was he seriously injured?”

  She shook her head. “She plugged him in the shoulder. He was fine.”

  Garrett wanted to know more but knew not to pepper his hostess with the dozens of questions the story had given rise to. He’d learn all, eventually. He hoped.

  She began clearing the table. “Thanks for breakfast. How’s your knee?”

  “Better.” Where he came from it was considered ill-mannered to discuss bathing in front of women, so he said simply, “Thanks for lighting the boiler.”