Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Broken Trails
Book #1
Montana Trails series
Clearwater County Collection
By Bonnie R. Paulson
Prologue
Nate
1999
Perfect day for a double funeral.
Nate stiffened his collar against the brisk wind and prying eyes of other mourners. They wanted to see him cry. Wanted to see him break.
Well, Nathan Rourke didn’t fail, and he certainly didn’t cry.
In front of people.
He straightened his spine, conscious of his squared shoulders and his two younger sisters sobbing beside him.
Nobody should have to worry about losing their parents at twenty-one.
His poor sisters, Stefanie and Hannah, had more to cope with at only fourteen and eleven. Their parents’ death would be harder for them. Nate had to be strong for them, keep his sanity together.
The grave attendees motioned for Nate to step forward as they straightened their gloves and jackets in the cooling weather.
“As young Mr. Rourke says his final goodbyes, I would ask the rest of us to observe a moment of silence.” The rent-a-pastor tugged at his cuff, watching Nate like he too expected tears and blubbering.
Clenching two long-stemmed red roses, Nate stepped forward, lifting his chin. He’d be damned before he’d say or do anything in front of the group watching him. Not one of them knew his family like they should. No other family had shown up. Did he even have family out there in the world anymore? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t place anyone.
None of that mattered. He was just stalling, trying not to say goodbye one last time. Not to his Mom. Not to Dad. If he threw the flowers in, the workers would cover his parents in dirt.
But for a moment – the smallest of moments – Nate could save them from that. He hadn’t been able to save them from the accident, but this one second – he could save them this one second in time.
Then his second was over. He couldn’t stare at the coffins forever.
He tossed the flowers backhandedly into the not-so-empty graves and turned his back.
Mom and Dad weren’t in those holes.
They couldn’t be.
Chapter 1
Nate
2001
Storming through the craftsman-style home, Nate bellowed, “Hannah, I’m going out.” He couldn’t find his hat. Normally he hung the darn thing from the hook by the door. Where was it? He ignored the empty elegance echoing back his footsteps. If he thought too hard about the things he’d gotten rid of, the guilt would overwhelm him.
Impish at thirteen, Hannah poked her head around the corner from the kitchen. A small spot of flour dotted her shirt. She frowned. “Stefanie, again?”
Nate glared. “Something tells me you already knew.” There, behind the door his wide-brimmed cowboy hat peeked out. He swooped down and snatched it from its hiding place. If not for the creamy-colored walls to contrast with the dark mahogany hard wood flooring, Nate would never have seen the dark brown bucket.
He plunked the hat on his head and stalked slowly toward Hannah. “Did you know? Where is she?”
Blue-eyes wide, Hannah backed up, hands lifted in the air as if in surrender. “Hey, I know what you know. I just guessed. She’s always making you mad.”
He yanked supple leather riding gloves on. Hannah wasn’t the type to hide things. She most likely wasn’t. More likely Nate’s irritation and worry over Stefanie’s whereabouts made him doubt and suspect everyone and everything.
Even Hannah.
“Sorry to bark at you, I’m just worried.” He ground his teeth, fuming. Add raging to his concerns and Nate wasn’t controlling his emotions very well. Riding his horse would help. That always helped.
He slammed the door shut and the fresh green growth on nearby willow trees quivered from the force.
Nate was pissed and the longer it took to find Stefanie, the harder his anger would be to control. He wouldn’t snap, but her consequences would grow.
A neighbor had spotted Nate out on the field earlier not that long ago and made a comment about kids being kids when they’d exchanged pleasantries.
Not Nate’s favorite saying.
After pressing for more information, Nate culled information from the neighbor about high school students ditching class to go burn a bonfire and party out by Old Man Ruger’s pond.
Nate had gotten in his own trouble out that way when he was in school. The last thing he needed was Stefanie drunk and sleeping with some over-sexed farm boy who didn’t know anything about protection or women.
Especially when that woman was Nate’s younger sister.
The run-down barn had an attached stable that sat off to the side like a lean-to. Everything was wood – wood siding, wood trim, wood slats for roofing. The place was a veritable pile of kindling waiting for a match to fall and spur it to an inferno. But the building was all they had for a barn. In the back, Nate’s dad had built a solid cement-walled room for forging. Somehow the presence of cement didn’t make Nate any less leery about the safety of the rest of the tinder box.
Nate had to open the door a specific way with a combination of moves done exactly right, or the old door would squeak and grown but not open. First, hit the top corner of the barn door with the flat of his palm just so. Next, yank on the wooden long handle while at the same time yank his hip to the side. Nate wouldn’t be surprised, if one day he had to enter with a password – he already had to do the special handshake.
Normally they left the door slightly ajar, but Stefanie had put the horses away last and she wasn’t one who cared about making things easy for others.
Dust motes drifted inside the time-bleached building. Afternoon sunlight filtered through overhead fiberglass slats Nate’s father had installed for windows.
Closing the door enough to block the wind, Nate shut out the chaos of the world. He simply existed for a minute within the peacefulness of the barn.
Old as it was, run-down as it had become, the barn was a different world full of comfort and serenity. Muted nickering and the quiet lifting and chewing of hay mingled with the random clip and clop of hooves.
Nate sighed, a little less amped up, but no less worried.
He clucked his tongue. “Hey, girl, where are you?” He played the same game with his mare every day, pretending she wasn’t in the middle stall with her name painted above her in pink. “Missy, where are you?” A soft whistle usually signaled her to poke her caramel brown head out and – yep, there she was. “Hey, girl. Ready to go for a ride? We need to take Pluckster with us.”
The mention of her name pulled the attention of the dark sorrel mare from the feed box. Her ears twitched and she watched Nate stop at the tack closet and pull out the necessary items. He prepped his horses with care, but almost as an afterthought since he’d done the job so many times.
He led the horses out of the barn, careful to close the door before mounting Missy. He wrapped Pluckster’s reins around Missy’s pommel and set off at an amble. He didn’t need to push the animals into a sprint and risk injury, especially when he couldn’t af
ford more than a 30.06 bullet for care.
Old Man Ruger’s place spanned over a thousand acres along the northern border of the Salish reservation. Mr. Ruger didn’t check his land much. Nor did he pay the ranch hands who worked the place enough to secure the properties from partying kids. According to rumor, some workers even joined in once in a while.
Two miles down the dirt road, Nate passed in front of the Benson place. He didn’t want to look obvious as he studied the small patio and windows. Would she be there? Would Emma poke her head out? Was she even in town? Nate hadn’t seen her in years.
But the time didn’t dim his affections or his anxiety to see her – catch a glimpse of her.
Lights didn’t even flicker in the house. Nate accepted her rejection in high school for the billionth time and nudged Missy further down the road.
Turning right and headed south, Nate ran through all the possible scenarios he could find his sister in.
She wasn’t a drinker, so that one wasn’t a huge possibility. Would she be swimming in the pond? Nah, the sunlight was warm, but the water was usually frigid in early May, at least in the northern section of Montana where Taylor Falls, Clearwater County was located. Stefanie hated being cold – with a passion.
“Come on, girl. We’re doing good.” Nate didn’t fight the quiet. Since his parents died, the noiselessness unsettled him somewhat, but not enough to ramble on to no one in particular. He hadn’t gone crazy, for crying out loud.
A downed pole of a split rail fence gave away the position of the trail wending its way off into the thickly grassed fields. Not more than a hundred yards or so away from the fence, trees created a natural border where the tilled grounds gave way to the forest. Old Man Ruger raised beef and he let his cows have their freedom in the wilds of his own forest.
Free-ranging beef was something Nate understood. He appreciated.
The trail was well-maintained with years of numerous parties and secret rendezvous wearing down the grass and plants.
Nate came to the tree line and ducked under low-hanging pine branches as he passed, clucking to his horses.
The scent of smoke and burning damp wood lingered on the late afternoon air.
Eyeing the skyline, Nate tapped Missy’s flank with the toe of his boot. He’d be hanged before he’d waste his time trying to find Stefanie in the woods in the dark. She had no qualms running onto Salish land, with or without permission, and Nate would never find her then.
Missy climbed the gentle sloping land easily, lowering her head as she picked her way through the trees and bushes. Like she’d been that way before. He pushed those memories behind him, leaving them to fall under Pluckster’s hooves.
Carefree laughter reached Nate through the wakening evergreens. He tightened his jaw. The rumors were true, sticking in his craw like a bur stuck between a jean and sock. Damn Stefanie for lying to him. She was supposed to be at school and then at her girlfriend’s place.
This wasn’t the first time he’d caught her lying and sneaking around.
But he’d be damned, if it wasn’t going to be the last.
“Whoa,” he murmured. If he announced his arrival before actually getting there, the teenagers would scatter.
He knew the rules.
Hell, he’d invented some of them.
Dismounting, Nate led the horses to a tree off the path and out of the way. He tied their reins with enough give they could still munch on nearby foliage if they were so inclined.
He braced himself on tree trunks as he passed. Minimal noise came from his slick, well-worn cowboy boots as he crossed over grass, rocks, and twigs. The recent rains had left everything moist and even the dried pine needles from the previous fall didn’t break or snap as he walked over them.
In seconds, the bright orange-yellow of the bonfire blazed before him at the center of the clearing. Flanked by trees and surrounded by a pond the size of a football field, the clearing was the perfect place to lose one’s inhibitions. An inlet stream and outlet creek added the noise of moving water to the ambiance.
Nate glared at the mass collection of students. Some looked young enough to be in Hannah’s class and a few looked like they might have graduated about the same time as Nate.
He stopped beside a large Bull Pine a few feet back from the line of sight. If any of them peered into the woods, they’d most likely spot him. Yet the odds of the self-absorbed teenagers thinking of even looking out of the circle of light were more in Nate’s favor than he wanted to admit.
Locate Stefanie. Where was she? A sliver of hope that she wasn’t there invaded his anger. He studied the crowd as it moved and changed. Some people were in the water, their splashing and catcalling diverting Nate’s attention momentarily. He shivered at the thought. As it was, he’d worn a duster to keep any possible chill off.
Teens were so stupid. He should know, he’d been one of the dumbest.
At least his sister was smart enough to keep her butt out of the water.
A group had planted themselves in front of the fire. Girls on guys’ laps and some lying on the ground with their heads on each other.
There she was. Stefanie stood off to the side with her friend – Nate could never remember her name – and stared at a boy on the other side of the fire. Longing was strong in the downturn of her lips and the narrowed focus in her eyes.
Nate glanced at the boy then back at Stefanie. Drake Benson. He wasn’t who Nate wanted for his sister. Her crush was evident, even to Nate who’d just arrived. Why wasn’t Drake curled up with Stefanie? Maybe the kid was smarter than he acted. Or maybe he wasn’t interested in the Rourke girl.
Like his sister wasn’t interested in the Rourke boy.
Nate lifted his foot to barrel in and drag Stefanie’s butt home.
Crashing from the east stopped him. He turned with all the others in the clearing, and watched as a tall, willowy, dark-blonde woman took the area by storm. She stopped at the start of a different trail from Nate’s, frozen. Her fury was palpable as it rode the wind.
Emma Benson. The glimpse of her Nate had craved. Her eyes flashed as she surveyed the crowd. Once her gaze landed on Drake, she returned to her dynamic movement and propelled toward his group. A stark white bandage covered her wrist and elbow.
Her brother shrank at her arrival, pushing the girl he’d been whispering to away. He lurched to his feet and frantically searched the crowd, probably for the fastest escape. Eyes lighting on Stefanie, Drake rushed around the circle, throwing his arm around her and pulling her lips to his.
Concern for Stefanie’s safety morphed into concern for Drake’s. One thing Nate wouldn’t tolerate was some boy messing around with his sister’s emotions. Would Nate’s anger finally land him in jail? He clenched his fists and stepped further into the clearing, but no one noticed him as they watched the drama unfold.
Emma burst through the circle like she didn’t care about the people in her way. A boy lounging on his back grunted when her toe connected with his ribs. She didn’t glance down as she stomped toward Drake. “Drake Benson. You get your butt home. Now.”
Nate couldn’t drag his eyes from Emma as she thrust her finger at the ground and took a stance a few feet from Drake and Stefanie.
“Go away, Emma. You’re not scaring anyone.” Drake turned his face away from Stefanie’s dazed expression long enough to comment before turning back and continuing their kiss.
Nate puffed his chest to get as big as possible, and he wasn’t a small guy. He stepped into sight. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I was pretty frightened.” Nate met Emma’s startled gaze with steadiness. She’d never had anything solid in her life. Nate knew it.
He’d lost her once because of it.
Drake thrust Stefanie from him, eyes wide. “Nate. Um, Nathan… um…” He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and avoided meeting Stefanie’s eyes by looking down at the ground and then back to Emma.
Nate didn’t blame the boy. If looks could scald a person to death,
Drake would be past the boiling point and on into steamed and limp.
“I’m here for Stefanie.” Nate didn’t raise his voice or move farther than he had to. He postured there, under Emma’s watchful gaze and pretended to be completely unaffected by the girl from his past in front of all of the town’s teenagers. Gossipers by trade.
Stefanie stepped toward Nate, her eyes bemused like in a trance from the solid kissing Drake inflicted on her. Nate tried not to growl under his breath.
“Stefanie…” Drake reached out, gripping her upper sleeve in his fingers.
Hardness erased the bewilderment from Stefanie’s expression. She turned her head, slowly melting Drake with her eyes. “Oh, no, Drake. I’m not good enough for you, remember?” Jerking away from his touch, she continued toward Nate, comfortable in her skin and who she was. Her girlfriend stayed behind, standing closer to Drake and watching Stefanie with narrowed eyes.
Bending down to grab her cowboy hat, which rested on a rock by a pile of jackets, towels, and six-packs of beer, Stefanie didn’t break stride. She joined Nate. “Let’s go.” She disappeared into the forest line where he’d come from.
Nate glanced Emma’s way, anxious to connect on some level. She redirected her gaze from him to Drake, ignoring Nate with an effective wall she constructed in seconds.
Ignoring the catcalls from the other kids aimed at Drake, Nate shook his head. Drake would be effectively labeled as the target of jokes and pranks for at least a week. Until the next mess up came along at least.
Nate remembered his mistakes with corrupt clarity.
Emma happened to be one of his biggest.
At twenty-three years old, a man didn’t want to have too many of those to count. Not yet. Not when they walked on legs that went up for miles and stared a man down with eyes so dark a brown they challenged walnut wood for coloring.
No, Emma could be a mistake, but she’d never be a regret. Not when Nate had never stopped caring about her.
He tromped through the woods after Stefanie, no longer worried about who could hear him. If he was lucky, Emma would hear his movements and he’d crash through her thoughts that way.
Broken Trails Page 1
