Gift of Hope

by Shanna Hatfield

  He motioned toward the cabin ahead of them. “Is that your place?”

  “Yes,” she said, sniffling again.

  “Can you walk?” He took a step closer to her and caught sight of a lock of hair the breeze blew free from her cloak. It clung to the edge of the woolen covering, dancing with the snowflakes that began falling harder.

  He ignored the curl and took another step forward. “I could help you up on Happy if you want to ride.”

  She sidled away from him a few paces. “I can walk.”

  Without another word, she marched toward the cabin. The snow had to be halfway to her knees, but she slogged ahead, not once faltering as she made her way to the structure.

  Grady had half a mind to mount up and leave, but something compelled him to follow her and make sure she made it safely to her door.

  She knocked her boot-clad feet against a stump then trudged up the three steps to the tiny cabin’s porch. He stood with the lantern in one hand and Happy’s reins in the other at the base of the steps, trying to figure out what kind of half-wit would leave a woman alone in the woods. Or maybe her husband had been beating on her in a drunken rage and she’d run outside for safety. Or…

  Grady put a halt to his thoughts before he got carried away. There could be any number of explanations as to why she was out in the storm, crying and upset. Only he couldn’t think of a rational reason for it to happen.

  Filled with concern, he watched as she gathered several pieces of wood from a small stack by the door. He had no idea the cabin existed even though he had ridden within a quarter mile of it dozens of times. How long had it been there? How long had she been there? Surely, she wasn’t tucked up in the woods by herself.

  “Are you here alone?” he asked. Her back stiffened in response to his question.

  Finally, her shoulders shifted, as though she squared them. “No… and yes,” she replied, leaving him even more confused. She paused at the door, pushed the hood off her head, and glanced back at him.

  Grady nearly dropped the lantern at the sight of the woman. She was the most glorious, beautiful female he’d ever encountered, at least what he could see in the shimmering golden beams cast by his lantern and the light coming from the cabin’s solitary window.

  “You best come in and warm up,” she said, then rushed inside, leaving him gaping after her, wondering if he was in the throes of a strange dream. The cold biting at his hands and feet, though, assured him if he was dreaming it was more along the lines of a nightmare.

  A barn loomed behind the cabin, so he led Happy inside and left him in a stall across from a cow that continued chewing her cud with no interest in him or the horse.

  “Be good, Happy,” Grady said, patting the horse on the rump after he made sure he had feed and a bucket of water.

  On impulse, he grabbed his saddlebags and headed back to the cabin. After stamping the snow off his boots, he swept the hat from his head, tapped on the door, then pushed it open.

  Warmth slapped against his cheeks as he stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him. His gaze roved over the cabin, taking in a small table with three chairs pushed beneath the window. In the center of the table rested a large lantern. If it hadn’t been there, he might never have found the woman. Although, from the looks of her, she would have been perfectly fine without his interference.

  The female in question stood at a cookstove that looked like it had fallen out of the back of a wagon for all the dents it carried, even if it was polished to a high shine. She stirred something in a pot. The smell of spices hung heavy in the air, mingling with the aroma of coffee. Grady’s stomach growled in response and she cast a glimpse his way at the sound.

  “Please, sit,” she said, motioning to the table with the spoon she held in her hand.

  Grady removed his coat, gloves, and scarf, leaving them by the door, then set his hat on top of the pile. The saddlebags he left on the floor next to a chair at the table then he walked over to the cookstove. He noticed a large bed in a dark corner of the cabin where he could see a mound beneath a colorful quilt that made him wonder who slept there.

  There wasn’t a fireplace, or Grady would have gone to it to warm his cold hands and feet. As it was, he longed to remove his boots and let his toes thaw by the heat of the stove. Instead of giving in to the urge, he moved around the woman to where a pump rested on the edge of a deep sink and worked the handle. The icy water that trickled out did nothing to warm him, but the splashes on his face left him invigorated and fully aware of his surroundings.

  With hands aching from the cold, he moved back around the woman and held his frigid fingers out to the heat of the stove.

  “Here,” she said, placing a chipped mug filled with coffee into his hands.

  Grady breathed deeply of the fragrant steam, inhaling the scent of coffee along with something soft and tantalizing that had to come solely from the woman.

  In the glow of the lantern light, she looked exotic and entirely too enticing for his snow-addled brain to handle. Neither tall nor short, everything about the woman oozed strength. He couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, made him think that, since she had a trim waist and delicate-looking long fingers. But he also saw her hands appeared capable. Her utterly feminine features were robust although her olive-hued skin looked silky and smooth.

  As he sipped the hot coffee and hovered near the side of the stove, he observed her face, taking in the dark, arched eyebrows, slightly rounded chin that seemed determined if not altogether stubborn. Lush lips appeared so rosy and full they almost looked puffy, as though they’d been stung by bees.

  For a moment, he couldn’t help but contemplate what it would be like to kiss lips such as those. If ever lips had been fashioned for kissing, it had to be hers.

  Annoyed with himself and the direction of his musings, Grady gave himself a mental lecture about staying away from pretty faces and swallowed more of the hot brew in his hands.

  “Couldn’t have been homely or cross-eyed, could you?” he muttered under his breath.

  When he chanced a glance at the woman, he found himself captivated with her eyes. The unusual shade of pale amber, that looked like a jar of honey held up to a candle, proved both unique and intriguing. Heavy, dark lashes surrounded her eyes and accented her unconcealed beauty.

  Loose and long, her hair glistened in the lantern light as it spilled over her shoulders and down her back in thick waves. From what he could see, it was a rich coffee-toned hue, shot with strands of gold.

  The woman put him in mind of a tiger, from her strange-colored eyes to the light streaks in her hair. Even the way she moved with smooth efficiency made him compare her to a sleek jungle cat, not that he’d ever encountered one in person. But from the pictures he’d seen and the stories he’d read, he could easily imagine this woman walking through verdant foliage with a big tiger beside her.

  Amused by his fanciful thoughts, Grady was surprised when the woman pulled a chair up to the stove then pushed on his shoulder.

  “Sit down and take off your boots so your feet can thaw.”

  He did as she ordered, liking the husky quality of her voice far more than he should. Hadn’t he been running back to the mine to escape the humiliation of being jilted by Ethel when he happened upon this woman? Had he gone daft, already thinking amorous thoughts about another female? For all he knew, this one could be married with ten children, although she didn’t strike him as being old enough to have more than a few.

  Only a man without use of his brain would be thinking the thoughts he was about this glorious stranger when he’d so narrowly escaped becoming engaged to a woman who would have eventually made his life miserable. Instead of being enraged at Ethel, he ought to be grateful she’d been so flighty and run off before he’d made a huge mistake in asking her to wed.

  Grady removed his boots and stretched out his legs to absorb all the heat he could from the stove.

  The woman set a chair on the other side of the stove and draped his coat
, gloves, and scarf on it so they’d dry.

  “Thank you,” he said, watching her as she pushed her hair away from her face then stirred the pot on the stove again.

  Plumes of steam wafted from it as she took a bowl from a shelf and filled it with soup.

  “I don’t have bread,” she said, holding the bowl out to him. He set his empty coffee cup on a plank of rough wood fastened to the wall that served as a counter and took the bowl from her. The broth held an assortment of vegetables. Grady had never been one to get excited about a meal that didn’t include meat, but hunger had him sending up a brief word of thanks for the unexpected food.

  He lifted the spoon to his lips and took a bite. Although the soup lacked the heartiness of beef, an explosion of flavors skidded across his tongue.

  “It’s good,” he said, smiling at the woman as she poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the sink. She stood holding the cup with both hands as she tossed wary glances at him.

  Grady ate, waiting for her to speak, but she remained oddly silent. The nourishing soup warmed him and filled the empty places in his belly. When he’d spooned the last bite, she took the bowl from him then refilled his coffee cup.

  “Thank you,” he said again, then decided if any talking took place, he was going to have to be the one to instigate it. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” she said, her gaze sliding across the room to the bed where the covers mounded over a body. A sound like a snuffle or a soft snore drifted across the room. Someone was definitely snoozing in the bed. He had no idea how they could sleep through his arrival, but they had.

  “Why did you scream?” he asked, deciding it was best to be forthright or he might never get the answers he sought.

  The woman seemed to intently focus on the floor near her feet instead of answering. He’d about given up when she lifted those honey-colored eyes to his. Pain and fear mingled with desperation in them.

  “I was just so angry and frustrated I couldn’t bottle it up anymore. With the storm brewing, I didn’t think anyone would hear me. I apologize for disturbing you.”

  A dozen more questions popped into his head, but he merely held her gaze. “You didn’t disturb me. At first, I was sure it was a cougar and kept on riding. Then I heard you cry out and that’s when I thought it best to investigate the matter. These hills aren’t a fit place for a woman, especially not alone at night in the snow.”

  Her chin lifted a notch. “I can take care of myself.”

  The urge to raise his voice in frustration made him take a tighter grip on his cup. “I’m sure you can, but what had you so upset you were outside screaming?”

  She drew in a deep breath and Grady expected the details to explode from her in a flurry of words. If he was a betting man, he’d place money on a drunken husband being the cause of her problems.

  “My bambinos,” she said on a sigh, her gaze darting back to the bed.

  Grady had worked around enough Italians to know the meaning of the word. “Your children sent you into a rage?” He looked across the room, wondering what kind of little heathens would drive their mother out into a snowstorm.

  “Not my babies, but the…” Abruptly, she ceased talking in English and switched to Italian. From the motions of her hands and the fury on her face, she was certainly worked up about something. Grady caught a word here and a phrase there he recognized, but not enough to understand everything she said.

  If he wasn’t mistaken, she said something about her husband and a horse. That didn’t make sense, but nothing in this very long day had.

  “In English, please, Mrs…” He stared at her. “I don’t even know your name. I’m Graydon Gaffney, but everyone calls me Gaff. Except my mother. She always referred to me as Grady.” He had no idea why he told her that. No one had called him Grady in years.

  “Mr. Gaffney.” The woman gave him a long look. “I’m Mrs. DeVille. Giavanna Angelina Esposito DeVille. The two little bears grunting in the bed are Matteo and Gwendolyn, my children. Matty just turned five and Gwennie is almost three.”

  Grady grinned in the direction of the bed where the children made noises in their sleep then looked back at Mrs. DeVille. “And your husband?”

  “Lost. Gone. Run off.” She sighed and set down her coffee cup then wrapped her arms around herself.

  Grady wasn’t certain if the action was to ward off the cool air or hold herself together.

  “Your husband disappeared?” he asked, trying to piece together what drove her out into the snow in a fit of overwhelming emotion.

  She nodded.

  It wasn’t uncommon for men to disappear in mining towns. Baker City, and the surrounding areas, were teeming with mines. Men often left behind their families as they went off to make their fortune. Some were killed in accidents while others died in disputes or were the victims of foul play. Some just kept searching for an elusive gold strike, wandering from place to place and never returning to their loved ones. And some did disappear without a trace.

  “When did it happen?”

  “He left in February,” she said quietly.

  “February!” Grady exclaimed.

  The woman shushed him then looked toward the bed. The children didn’t seem bothered in the least by the noise.

  “He’s been missing for eight months?”

  Another nod. Mrs. DeVille took a drink of her rapidly cooling coffee then set it aside. “He said he was going to see about getting a job at a mine and would be back that night, but he never returned. He took the horse with him, so I…” Her voice trailed off.

  “You couldn’t leave. Not with the children and no way to get them off the mountain,” Grady said, understanding her predicament. “You’ve been alone up here all this time?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Alone.”

  No wonder she was outside in a snowstorm screaming like she was deranged. He’d have gone mad long before this if he had no way to leave and no one to talk to for months and months on end.

  “If you like, I could…”

  She flapped a hand in his direction, cutting him off. “I’ve burdened you enough, Mr. Gaffney. I do apologize for crying all over you outside and for screaming and… I’m not usually hysterical.”

  “It’s quite alright,” he said, wanting to reassure her, even if he couldn’t fully grasp why it mattered so much to him.

  “No, it isn’t. I used the last of my coffee today and we’re out of supplies, other than what I grew in the garden. The cow keeps us in milk and the chickens are still laying eggs, but I’m not sure what I’ll feed them or the little ones through the winter. Something snuck into the chicken coop and killed two of my best layers this afternoon. On top of that, Matty accidentally broke my sugar bowl, not that there was any sugar in it, but it was a wedding gift from my mamma. The hinge on the barn door is sticking and I have no idea how to fix it and…” Sheepish, she snapped her mouth shut. “Again, my apologies. It was just one of those days when I had more than I could bear.”

  Grady offered a commiserating grin. “Believe me, I do understand.”

  She poured the last of the coffee into his cup then returned to leaning against the sink. “I didn’t ask, but you must have a reason for riding up the mountain on a dark, snowy night like tonight.”

  Aware he was drinking the last of the woman’s coffee, he wanted to hand his cup to her and insist she enjoy it. Afraid of offending her, he took a long sip before he answered. “I’m the foreman at a mine about an hour from here.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize we were that close to a mine.” She stared at him with interest. “We’re about three hours from Baker City, aren’t we?”

  “Yep. It’s not a quick trip down the mountain.”

  “I remember the trip up when we first came here. It felt like it took half of forever. Matty chattered the whole time, but Gwennie was so tiny then.” For the length of several heartbeats, Mrs. DeVille looked as though her thoughts took her far away. A tear slid down her cheek and she brushed it away.


  Grady experienced the strangest yearning to hold her in his arms and offer her comfort again, as he’d done outside. Unsettled by his feelings, he drained the coffee from his cup and set it in the sink. “I best be on my way. Thank you for the soup and coffee and letting me come in to warm up.”

  “You’re welcome, but I don’t think you should go anywhere in this storm,” the woman said, motioning to the window.

  Grady lifted the lantern from the table, opened the door, and thrust the light out into the dark where snowflakes blew in a blinding flurry. Even if he could make it to the barn, he wasn’t convinced he’d be able to find his way back to the mine. Blizzards had a way of disorienting a body until they couldn’t tell up from down or right from left.

  The last thing he wanted to do was stay at the cabin with the woman, but he had few choices, other than sleeping in the barn with Happy and the cow.

  “I’ll make a pallet for you on the floor by the stove,” Mrs. DeVille said, taking the lantern from his hand and closing the door against the cold rushing inside.

  “It wouldn’t be proper.” Grady had no idea why he was protesting spending the night at her home, humble as it might be. Cracks in the chinking let the frigid air seep in and he’d noticed a spot where moisture dripped from the ceiling.

  Despite that, staying at the cabin was a far better plan than dying out in the snow. The only reason he was so eager to escape was to go back to his own place where he could sulk in solitude.

  One of Mrs. DeVille’s dark eyebrows winged upward and she gave him a challenging look. “You don’t strike me as the type of man who cares a whit about propriety.”

  Grady shrugged and accepted the worn blankets she handed to him. He spread them on the floor in front of the stove. She yanked the cushion from the rocking chair near the bed and tossed it to him. He caught it with one hand.

  “Thank you, Mrs. DeVille.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for…” Pink bloomed in her cheeks but she held his gaze. “Thank you for letting me cry.”

  Grady nodded then settled himself in the blankets. At least if he slept by the stove, he’d stay warm and could keep it stoked during the night. There was enough wood piled in a box behind it to last until morning. Before he left, he would chop a stack to last Mrs. DeVille for a week or two. He’d see about making a few repairs, too, if she’d allow it. He had the distinct idea he’d need to battle her pride to accomplish much of anything.