by Annette Lyon
Table of Contents
Hazel of Heber Valley
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
Rocky Mountain Romances
About the Author
Chapter 1
Hazel of Heber Valley
By Annette Lyon
Chapter One
City of Midway in Heber Valley, Utah
July 24, 1897
Pioneer Day. Nothing good ever happened to Nathan on that holiday. Just the thought of it was enough to make Nathan nauseated. Every time he thought he’d managed to create a happy memory about the twenty-fourth of July, fate had a way of showing him otherwise in the most painful manner. Today marked fifty years since the Mormon pioneers first entered Salt Lake Valley. That meant the celebrations would be bigger and louder than ever.
Not succumbing to his annual dark day of summer would take everything he had. So far, all he’d managed to do was make fresh lemonade and sit on his front porch, scowling at Main Street. Granted, it was only morning, but he had a long day of festivities ahead to contend with. Even the ice in his glass, from the store he’d cut from Utah Lake over the winter, wasn’t enough to cheer him, though it was some of the last to survive the cellar and insulating sawdust.
If the heat of the day hadn’t been bad enough, he had the last two Pioneer Days to remember and be miserable over. Most days he managed to forget those events, set them aside. But distracting oneself from past heartbreaks tended to be hard do when on the anniversary, a parade marched past your house, the town’s residents gathered at the nearby square for food and dancing, and fireworks boomed at night, lighting up the sky and twisting the knife with each explosion.
Back in ’47, even Brigham Young was miserable on the twenty-fourth, Nathan thought. The man had been so sick he had to ride in a wagon that was backed up to the edge of the valley. There he slowly propped himself up on one elbow and peered down then weakly said that they’d found the correct valley. Hardly the majestic, powerful image people tended to envision of him standing boldly, striking the ground with his cane, and proclaiming, “This is the place!” Instead, he’d been ravaged by mountain fever. Two years later, Young decide that the celebration marking their arrival would be on the twenty-fourth, even though by then, several men were already there — and had acres plowed to boot.
Nathan took another cold drink and leaned back on his wood chair. He’d tried to make decisions that were arguably as bold as Young’s had been, changing what had once been a hard day into something worth celebrating. It had worked for Young. But all Nathan had to show for his efforts was a visceral need to withdraw and grouse every July twenty-fourth.
Maybe I should go back to work, he thought, drawing his thumb across the beads of water on the glass. The lemonade’s mix of sweet and tangy eased his parched throat, but it hadn’t been enough to distract him. Heaven knew he always had plenty of work to do between his own land and cows and his parents’. Chopping firewood, fixing the loose door in the barn, and a hundred other jobs might help him forget for a few hours.
But that wouldn’t prevent him from lying awake late at the end of the day, staring at the ceiling as firework lit up the sky in the distance. He had no one to cuddle under a blanket with this year. Last year he had Meredith, and Hazel the year before that.
The fiftieth anniversary. Bigger and louder fireworks. He groaned. And a longer display.
Thanks to his proximity to the Swiss-looking town square, he’d hear the parade and the dancing and everything else, all day long, even if he tried to escape it by fixing the blamed barn door. No, nothing would ease the pain until the day itself had passed.
He wanted to like the holiday; he truly did. But how? This year, he had no one to watch the parade with, no one with which to exchange silly remarks about it. After the town picnic, he had no one to dance with beneath the big brown gables that had curly designs carved by those who’d come from homes with similar designs in the Alps. He’d even enjoyed listening to yodelers and clapping along to accordion players, back before things went sour with Hazel.
Happy memories of boyhood Pioneer Day celebrations included family activities and lots of food — watermelon and strawberries from the garden, peach pie made fresh from their own trees, and corn on the cob so delicious you didn’t need it to be slathered in butter to have juices dripping from your chin. Nathan always added butter anyway. Pioneer Day and Christmas were the only times Ma didn’t chide anyone for using too much butter. For that matter, she traditionally splurged for Pioneer, making her famous ten-egg cake. That was something the family didn’t get on Easter, Christmas, or Pa’s birthday.
The ice in his lemonade was fast melting, but as Nathan took another swallow and set it on the table near him, the cubes still clinked. The sound used to evoke feelings of happiness and summertime. But he was no longer the boy who could sneak away from chores to climb trees, fish in Soldier Creek, or otherwise get into trouble with his brother. Now, Nathan was a grown man, with a modest house of his own next door to his parents. He’d bought land of his own, which butted up against the family’s acreage, and he tended to it now that Pa was getting on in years.
Nathan eyed the lemonade, wondering if this moment would be the best part of his day. Even a glass of his favorite drink wasn’t enough to overcome the bitterness that the holiday brought with it.
Two years ago, he’d spent the holiday with Hazel. He’d had eyes for her for a decade, and everyone assumed they would soon be engaged to marry. When they were children, she joined the boys’ activities. He’d assumed that she could play baseball and shoot marbles as well as any of them, and though some of the other boys balked at the idea of a girl joining them, she proved him right. She wore a dress, but only because her mother would have fainted away if Hazel had so much as suggested wearing trousers. Dress notwithstanding, she’d earned her place as one of the boys.
Of course, none of the boys truly forgot, even for a moment, that Hazel was a girl — a smart and fast one, but a girl no matter how you sliced it. A pretty girl to boot. Downright beautiful, when she spent the slightest amount of time at her vanity table, doing her hair just so, wearing pearls and a fancy dress. But then, Nathan found her devastatingly gorgeous even after falling face first into a puddle.
That day several years ago, she’d laughed so hard she cried. Hazel scrambled to her feet, slipped, and fell into the mud again. By the time she got out, she was covered head to toe in mud. Yet she didn’t utter a word about her mussed hair or her stained dress. She just laughed and wiped her tears, smudging mud across her face even more.
That moment, Nathan fell unapologetically, completely in love with her.
But while he saw Hazel as a woman, and as the sole object of his desires, she took longer to see him as an object of attraction, or at least as a man she’d consider. At last they did court, but two summers ago on Pioneer Day, after the fireworks, it all ended badly. He’d gone to bed heartbroken.
After several months of trying to mend his ego and his heart, he gave his attentions to Meredith Chancery. Last Pioneer Day, they’d announced their engagement, and he thought he’d forever remember the day as a magical, happy one.
What a joke that turned out to be. Nathan grabbed his glass and downed the dregs of his lemonade, wishing he were the kind of man who
got drunk. A pint or two would certainly be a welcome distraction.
At least Meredith is gone. The thought didn’t exactly provide comfort. She left town last October, three months into their engagement and three days after he found her with Joey Archer, a man who’d come to the valley to work the harvest season. He found her not just with him, but, well, knowing Joey. In the Biblical sense.
Nathan hadn’t the heart to make public the reason their engagement ended, but Meredith sowed plenty of rumors. Every last one was a lie designed to ruin the town’s opinion of Nathan. Each twisted the knife of betrayal that she’d already plunged into his chest. Only his brother Peter knew the full truth, although Hazel had likely guessed; she knew Nathan better than anyone besides his own mother. Thankfully, she’d never believe rumors of his infidelity. She’d laughed at them with almost as much gusto as she had the mud puddle.
Meredith conveniently found a position as a nanny in Connecticut and left town amid a shower of sympathy. He hadn’t heard from her since, a fact he was quite happy about. The town seemed to have a short memory, because after a matter of weeks, only Meredith’s family whispered when they saw Nathan, and he’d stopped hearing new rumors. His life returned to normal, or as normal as it could without his old easy friendship with Hazel.
What if Meredith had been the woman he thought she was? In that case, he’d have someone to spend Pioneer Day with today. Spend it happily. Perhaps by now, he would have had a wife to enjoy the festivities with.
A wife. The word brought a face to mind, but it wasn’t Meredith’s. It was Hazel’s. He breathed out a frustrated grunt and refused to think on her — or on the fact that by trying to court before, he’d irreparably damaged their lifelong friendship. Oh, they were still friends, in a manner of speaking. Hazel would never be so cruel as to cut him off. But instead of feeling comfortable talking with her about any old topic, their interactions had a strained element to them. A distance seemed to have grown between them that he could not bridge. Instead of having a fiancée or wife to snuggle under a blanket with below a black sky decorated with explosions of color, today he sat alone.
He was reaching for the pitcher on the small, glass-topped table to pour himself another glass when a streak of pale blue caught his eye. His heart thumped hard in response, knowing the dress and the woman wearing it well before he’d consciously recognized Hazel. Having a house on Main Street tended to have nearly as many negative points as it did positive ones, and seeing Hazel about town as often as he did? Well, that fell into both categories.
When she drew closer, she looked his way and waved with a slight smile. He waved back and tried to return the smile, but it was forced. He hoped it didn’t look fake from her vantage point across the street. She continued walking breezily and greeting townspeople almost as casually as she’d greeted him. No, that was unfair. Hazel was naturally kind to everyone. That was simply her way.
After their brief courtship had fizzled like a burnt-out candle, they remained close, like brother and sister. Or so Hazel declared time and again. But Nathan would never see Hazel Adams as a sister. Not after the brief kiss they’d shared. That’s when she seemed to panic at the idea of the two of them courting, fearing the loss of their friendship. So she’d broken it off, and inevitably, the thing she’d feared came about: a piece of their friendship did die.
Once, he’d relished the fact that she never smiled at anyone quite the way she did at him. In the last two years, however, he’d become the recipient of the same smile she gave everyone else. Their relationship lacked the old feeling where he neither had to worry about what silly thing he might say or do, nor grow anxious that she would misinterpret his meaning, even if he made an utter mess with the wrong words.
Hazel used to give him the benefit of the doubt, perhaps gently ribbing him when he said something potentially offensive. He’d never taken been hurt by her words. Rather, the opposite. He always felt grateful that she had a gentle, kind way of pointing out the errors in his ways. He was a better a man for it. A better man for Hazel’s influence. A better man for being her friend. But now, only that — a friend. And an awkward, distant friendship it was at that.
Yet Hazel Adams would forevermore be the woman he’d wished had accepted his hand.
To his left, the screen door creaked open. That could mean one thing: his elder brother, Peter, stood there, likely leaning against the door jamb. Nathan braced himself, returning his attention to the pitcher. “Want some lemonade?” he asked without looking over.
“Only if you’re sure your pining heart can spare a glass.” Peter chuckled and stepped onto the porch. The screen door clanged twice as it bounced and settled into position. Peter crossed in front of Nathan to the two-person swing, which hung from chains on the side of the porch. He sat in the middle and pushed off with both feet, making the swing glide back and forth. Then he crossed his arms and eyed Nathan with an amused, crooked grin.
“What are you up to?” Nathan said, pitcher midair. “You look like a fox who’s had his fill in the hen house.”
“And you,” Peter said, “look like a puppy who has lost a beloved ... bone.”
When Nathan’s only reply consisted of a glance of annoyance, Peter held out his arms innocently. “Oh, did you want the swing? I didn’t realize you were expecting to use it for sparking. I’m so sorry. Never meant to interfere with a puppy love between my younger brother and a certain young woman.”
So he’d seen Hazel’s passing, as well as Nathan’s reaction to it. Puppy love, he thought with irritation. Peter wouldn’t know genuine love if it bit him in the rear.
Chapter Two
“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.” Nathan had no need to say what or to whom he referred; they both knew. He held out the filled glass.
Instead of taking the glass, Peter grinned. The man was quickly growing tiresome as a source of teasing. Nathan had absolutely no desire to admit how much his jokes hit a bit too close to the mark. He doubted anyone knew how much he still loved Hazel. But even if Peter knew only of Nathan’s recent pain over Meredith, one would assume an elder brother would think twice about making jokes about matters such as romance.
On the other hand, Peter had never been particularly sympathetic. He reveled in rubbing salt in wounds. If Peter had ever fancied a girl, he never let on about it. Perhaps therein lay Nathan’s mistake; he’d allowed a meddling brother to become privy to a tender emotion. The man probably had no idea what it felt like to be spurned by the woman who’d claimed your heart completely, or what it felt like to lick your wounds and try to care for another woman, only to be betrayed by her.
When Peter didn’t move to take the drink, Nathan extended his arm farther. “Take the blasted glass, or I’ll dump it on your trousers.”
“All right, all right.” Peter raised one hand in surrender. “No need to get your feathers in a fuss.”
Nathan had every intention of purposely spilling a bit of lemonade onto the porch just to needle his brother, but before he had a chance, he spotted a strange man on a horse a pace down the street. Not just a strange man on a strange horse, either, but one who’d stopped and was talking to Hazel from his saddle. Right there on the corner by Bonner’s Mercantile.
Had that been all, Nathan would have noted the moment but assumed the stranger was a visitor in need of directions. But that wasn’t all. Even from two blocks away, he could tell by the how Hazel carried herself that the stranger was flirting with her. Worse, she seemed to be enjoying it. Her laughter rang out, easily reaching Nathan on the porch. He gritted his teeth. She giggled and tossed her long braid over her shoulder. The sight of the auburn rope trailing down her back, her head cocked, followed by the sound of yet another giggle, all combined to send a surge of emotion through him. He didn’t trust the stranger over there any farther than he could throw him. He stood suddenly, and Peter jumped to his feet.
“What the—”
Nathan had spilled the lemonade all over his brother’s t
rousers without meaning to. He had time for only the slightest smirk of triumph before thrusting the mostly empty glass into Peter’s hand then hurrying down the steps.
“What are you going to do,” Peter called, “challenge the man to a duel for asking directions from your girl?”
As Nathan reached the street, he paused briefly to look back at the porch. “She’s not my girl.” When Peter rolled his eyes at the assertion, Nathan insisted, “She’s not.”
“Sure she isn’t,” Peter said casually as he wiped ice and excess lemonade from his trousers.
“I’m going over there to make sure that man has no ill intentions toward Hazel — or anyone else in town.”
“Just don’t go challenging the man to a duel. He’d kill you.” The twinkle in Peter’s eye belied the serious tone.
Nathan shook his head and crossed the road, jogging toward the corner of Main and First East, where Hazel and the man conversed. The closer Nathan drew, the less he liked what he saw. Hazel looked positively flushed, her cheeks twin apples of pink. With less than a block to go, he slowed to a walk.
“Hello there!” he called to the stranger, smiling with his teeth and raising an arm in a wave. “You new in town?”
Hazel turned at the sound of his voice, eyes wide — surprised, but also pleading. For him to go away, or for him to intervene? He didn’t tell for certain, but he knew men, and he knew that lascivious look in the stranger’s eye. Nathan sidled up to Hazel, grinning broadly at the man who was still astride his horse. Hazel made a move to step away, but Nathan quickly slid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.
“I see you’ve met my fiancée,” he told the man. “She’s a firecracker, I tell ya.”
The rider’s face turned inscrutable. His gaze slid from Nathan to Hazel and back again. “Your fiancée, you say?”
“That’s right.” Nathan reached up, hand extended. “I’m Nathan Siddoway. And you are...?”
