Debra Holland

by Stormy Montana Sky

  Montana Sky Christmas is available now.

  ~ ~ ~

  In Painted Montana Sky, a NOVELLA from the acclaimed Montana Sky Series, USA Today bestselling author Debra Holland brings together two people who have turned their backs on love and relationships.

  In 1894, Lily Maxwell, aspiring painter, travels to Sweetwater Springs, Montana, with her precious cocker spaniel to work on an artistic project that could launch her career. For years, Lily has denied herself happiness because of her equestrian accident that left her with a damaged hip, a limp, and a sense of unworthiness. Her inability to bear children has kept her from giving her heart to anyone.

  After rancher Tyler Dunn’s wife abandoned him and their son, he wants nothing to do with women. But this new girl in town, with her lovely violet eyes and her wonderful talent, stirs feelings in Tyler.

  After Tyler rescues Lily’s dog from being swept away by the river, Lily develops a friendship with him, the people on his ranch, and his young son, Oliver. Yet the two of them dare not give in to their feelings for each other.

  Can these lonely souls find their hearts’ desires under the majestic Montana Sky?

  BOOK EXCERPTS FROM OTHER AUTHORS

  MONTANA DAWN

  Book one in the McCutcheon Family series, sweet historical Western Romance

  by

  Caroline Fyffe

  Montana Dawn was voted by readers as

  Best Western Romance of 2010

  at Love Western Romances Site

  MONTANA DAWN

  by Caroline Fyffe

  Copyright © 2012 Caroline Fyffe

  Chapter One

  Montana Territory, August 1883

  An eerie keening echoed through the trees. Luke McCutcheon straightened in the saddle, and his filly’s ears flicked forward, then back. “Easy, girl. Don’t dump me now.” Not with ten miles to go, he thought as he felt the green-broke filly hesitate. Lightly reining her to the solid side of the slippery embankment, he pressed her forward. Still, she balked at a mud-covered tree stump, snorting and humping her back.

  Rain came down in sheets now, drenching them both. Squinting through the darkness, Luke scanned the clearing for any sign of the others he’d split from some three hours before.

  A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, followed by an explosive boom. Chiquita whirled a complete circle and crow-hopped several strides, sending an icy rivulet gushing from the brim of Luke’s hat.

  “Hell.” Luke squeezed with his legs, pushing her onto the bit. “Flighty filly,” he said under his breath. “You’d be a great one if you’d ever settle down.”

  Cresting the rise, Luke searched the horizon through the downpour. Nothing. Nobody in sight. “Long gone.” Frustrated, he slapped his gloved hand against his thigh and spun Chiquita in the opposite direction. He’d head back to camp and try again at daybreak.

  Suddenly the uncanny cry came again, peculiar in its tone and just as troubling as the first time he’d heard it. “What…?” He’d never heard anything like it in his twenty-six years. He reined up for a moment, listening.

  A minute slipped by, then two. Still nothing but the unrelenting storm. A wounded animal? No. That queer sound was totally unfamiliar. He headed in its direction to investigate.

  His efforts proved useless, and after several minutes he stopped. As if called, a streak of lightning lit up the landscape, revealing a dilapidated wagon half-hidden in the brush. It listed to one side, the wheels buried up to the axles. As quick as the light came, it vanished, leaving him in darkness.

  He dismounted, cursing the jingle of his spurs. His gloved hand dropped to his sidearm and slid the gun from its holster. Another ghostly cry emanated from the wagon, raising the hair on his neck. Silently, he made his way over the uneven ground. With his back to the wagon’s side he reached around with his free hand and cautiously pulled back the canvas cover.

  “Hello?”

  Only the wind answered, whipping a smattering of rain against his face. Not daring to take his eyes from the dark opening, he steeled himself against the chilly water dripping down his neck. He flexed his shoulders, willed himself to relax. Then a sound, like the rustling of a mouse, caught his attention. He held his breath.

  “Coming in,” Luke warned. He trusted his instincts, and it didn’t feel like someone had a gun pointed at him. Cautious, however, his boot on the wheel axle, he lifted himself slowly through the opening. He paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dark interior.

  The aroma of musty canvas engulfed him. And the smell of something else. Fear? Bending low he inched slowly through the cramped interior. He winced: a sharp edge. Fire and ice coursed up his leg. He stopped. Something was in the corner.

  With his teeth, he pulled his glove from his hand and reached into his inside pocket for a match. He struck it and held it high. It winked brightly for only a moment and was extinguished by a gust of wind. But not before he saw a woman crouched down, her eyes the size of twin harvest moons.

  “You’re hurt?”

  A soft panting was her reply.

  “Your lantern. Where is it?” He felt around the rafters. Finding a lamp, he lit it and turned down the wick until a soft light glowed around the cramped area.

  He knelt beside the woman. Beads of sweat trickled off her brow and her breath came fast. Eyes wide with fright were riveted on the gun he held. Then he noticed a stick clenched between her teeth. His gaze flew downward. Her knees were drawn up and a blanket covered the lower half of her body. But there was no mistaking what was underneath.

  Luke leaned toward her, intending to take the stick from her mouth when excruciating pain exploded in his head and shot down his neck. “What the…?” He turned. Stars danced before his eyes and he fell to the wagon floor. His gun slid from his grasp.

  * * *

  A groan was all Faith could manage before she was overcome by an all-consuming urge to bite down on the stick with all her might. She wanted, needed, to keep her eyes open and on the stranger, the large man who’d climbed into her wagon, sending her heart skittering up her throat. But it was no use. Another contraction began, and it was next to impossible to keep her eyes open; the icy fire gripped her stomach with a grasp as strong as the devil’s.

  Mentally counting, she wrestled against her impulse to tighten up as burning beads of sweat dripped into her eyes. Eight…nine…ten. Ten seconds of sheer torture. Then the hurt eased, and Faith lay on her pallet, spent. The stick dropped from her teeth.

  Summoning what strength she had she pushed up on her elbow. “Why’d you hit him, Colton?” she asked the wide-eyed boy, a frying pan dangling in his hands. “I hate to think how mad he’ll be when he wakes up.” Dread rippled within her as she studied the cowboy lying within an arm’s reach.

  “Thought he was gonna hurt ya, Ma.”

  Faith drew in a shaky breath. “Quick, give me the gun.”

  Colton carefully picked up the revolver. Faith took it, feeling its steely cold weight in her hands.

  The man moved slightly and his lashes quivered on his darkly whiskered cheek. His face, hard with angles and chapped from the cold, lay flat against the wagon bed. He moaned as his face screwed up in a grimace, which sent Faith’s heart careening. The rest of him looked mighty big under his rain slicker and leather chaps.

  Overwhelming despair descended. Just today she’d dared to dream that she and Colton had escaped her brother-in-law Ward, and that he’d given up his hunt for them. Horses couldn’t drag her back to Nebraska to marry him and subject her children to the cruelty of that family. Their despicable plot framing her for Samuel’s accidental fall was evil. Truth didn’t matter, though, when they had the law, or lack of it, on their side. She felt like crying every time she thought about it. The Browns wanted her farm in Kearney and would stop at nothing, it seemed, to get it. So far this journey had been extremely difficult—long days and nights full of danger and fear—and one she wasn’t ready to see end futilely.

  And now this! In her mi
nd she weighed their chances against the man before her. When her gaze moved back up to his face, her heart stopped.

  To Read more go to www.carolinefyffe.com

  If you like Westerns, read:

  A Snowy Christmas in Wyoming

  by

  E. Ayers

  A Snowy Christmas in Wyoming

  By E. Ayers

  Copyright © 2012 by E. Ayers

  Chapter 1

  Caroline Coleman hadn’t seen the place look this good since she was a teen. The flowerbeds were mulched and tidy. There was a new coat of green paint on the shutters and front door. Garlands of fresh pine wrapped the porch rails that encircled the log house, and a pretty, matching, pine wreath hung on the front door.

  She knocked once and opened the door. “Grandmamma. It’s me! I’m home.”

  “Thank goodness, you’re here,” a voice from a distant room called back. “I was worried about you coming in with this snowstorm on its way.”

  The stress of her journey slipped from her shoulders as she breathed in the familiar scent of home. Caroline let go of her rolling suitcase and looked around. Inside, everything looked the same, even though it was decorated for the holiday. A beautiful Douglas fir tree, covered with ornaments, stood in front of the window. Its tiny lights twinkled as if they were welcoming her.

  The house was neater, cleaner, except there was a basket of toys next to the sofa. But everything else was exactly the way it had been all of her life. That familiarity wrapped her in a warm blanket.

  “Darling, I’m so glad you’re here. You’re needed. This storm is going to be bad.” Barbara Coleman said.

  Caroline turned to her grandmother. The woman was holding a toddler whose eyes were filled with tears.

  “What are you doing? Babysitting?” She hugged her grandmother and offered to take the child, but the child clung to the older woman.

  “I guess you could call it babysitting. I’m trading, and I got the best end of this bargain. This is Sarah Anne Coyote. Isn’t she a cutie?” Barbara took the child to a highchair in the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “Thanks. I’ll get it. How did you wind up with a child?”

  “Long story. You remember Margaret Simpson?” The older woman started fixing a snack.

  “Double T ranch, of course.”

  “Her kids are selling everything since she died. Remember when I told you I was buying some of her land?” She put a handful of baby carrots on a plate, and stuck them in the microwave.

  “Yes.” Caroline poured a cup of coffee, then watched her grandmother fix a cup of milk with a sipping lid, and hand it to the toddler.

  The child’s enormous chocolate brown eyes were still washed in unshed tears and her long eyelashes were clumped with moisture. Chubby hands grabbed at the handles on the sippy-cup and tipped the cup of milk to her mouth. She watched Caroline with a reserved curiosity.

  “Are you thirsty? Did you just wake up from a nap?” Caroline asked the child.

  Little Sarah pursed her lips and banged on the tray in front of her. “Milk.”

  “How old is she? She’s adorable. She’s got the prettiest eyes.”

  “Thirteen months. She’s a little handful. She’s really coming out of her shell since she’s been here.” Barbara put several crackers spread with cheese on the child’s tray. “Eat, sweet baby. You like creamed cheese.” The microwave beeped and Barbara lifted the plate of baby carrots off the unit’s carousel and put them on the child’s tray after checking each one. “She’s such a good thing. Just never thought I’d be playing with a baby at my age.”

  “Why did you nuke her carrots?”

  “It slightly softens them. Makes them easier to eat. She doesn’t have all her teeth.”

  “Grandmamma, you still haven’t told me how you’ve wound up with a child.”

  “Well, I’m buying the eastern portion of Margaret’s land, which includes her house and barn because it backs up to mine.”

  “Nice house.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m hoping to rent it. The one barn is in perfect shape, but the other barn has some problems and that’s going to take more money.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. Sarah giggled.

  “Anyway, when Margaret died, her foreman lost his job.”

  “Oh, no. Sarah is one of those Coyotes?”

  The back door opened and Andy Coyote walked into the kitchen. “Miz Barbara…”

  Caroline stared at Andy. He wasn’t the scrawny kid she’d known most of her life, and if it hadn’t been for the scar across his cheek, she wouldn’t have recognized him. His shoulders were broad and he’d grown very tall. The long straight nose, strong cheekbones, and his coloring conveyed his Crow Indian heritage, except he was taller than most.

  “Excuse me, I didn’t know you had company.” He took his jacket off and hung it on the peg by the back door.

  “Company? I doubt that anyone would call me company,” Caroline shot back at him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him, maybe high school.

  He looked at her for a brief second, then grabbed a mug, and poured a cup of coffee.

  “Caroline, you remember Andy?” Barbara asked.

  “How could I not remember Andy?” Memories of the young man and his family flowed through her brain like a bad news story.

  Sarah squealed with delight as Andy took her in his arms. “How’s my baby girl?”

  The child pointed to Caroline.

  “Yes, that’s Caroline,” Andy said with a big grin. “Have you been playing with her? I thought you just got up from your nap.”

  “She did just get up from her nap as Caroline came through the door. I brought her in here for her snack. She hasn’t had a chance to play.”

  He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and looked at it. “We’re in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Barbara asked as she cleaned up the crumbs off the child’s tray and handed the toddler the last tiny carrot. “Are you talking about the storm?”

  Andy turned on the TV and watched the weather channel. “I’ve been watching the storm track on my phone. I’m gonna need help getting that herd down here. I can’t do it alone. If I can find help, I’ll leave tonight. That is if you don’t mind keeping Sarah for me.”

  Barbara turned to her granddaughter. “Caroline’ll go with you.”

  Andy turned around and stared hard. “You? You think you can ride herd?”

  “Darn right, I can ride. Won’t be the first herd I’ve ever brought in, but I…” She bit her tongue.

  “But what?”

  She forced a smile. “Let’s just say I always ride with a gun, and I know how to use it.”

  “Good. So do I. We’ll leave at six. Make sure you’re saddled and ready to go.”

  Hot anger boiled through Caroline. “I’ll be ready.”

  She stormed out of the kitchen, grabbed her suitcase, and headed for her room.

  ***

  “She’d better be able to ride. This isn’t going to be an easy cattle drive,” Andy said.

  “That little thing knows every square inch of this ranch and this business. My husband used to say, ‘Let her go, and when she’s done, she’ll come back.’ I hope he was right.”

  “Ma’am, I don’t need a prissy female. I need a man for this job or I’ll never get that herd back here.”

  “Oh, she can do it. She and her grandfather moved herds all the time. She’s knows what she’s doing and she knows this land. Listen to her.”

  Andy kissed his daughter’s nose and put her to the floor. “Are you sure you can handle her overnight?”

  “I can handle your daughter overnight.” Barbara laughed. “Just don’t try to handle my granddaughter, or she’ll be bringing you back in a sack.”

  “Miz Barbara, one female in my life is plenty. I don’t need anymore.”

  ***

  Caroline cinched the saddle and adjusted the stirrups before tying on her pack. Her mind drifted over the stories of Jessie and C
lare Coleman and the things that they endured to start this ranch in the 1840’s. She had vowed to write their story one day. Clare was barely fifteen when she married Jessie and went west with him. The handwriting in that diary was difficult to decipher, but Caroline managed to read it when she was a teen. Snowstorms were nothing new, and if Jessie and Clare could survive them, there was no reason why she couldn’t do it today. Except instead of doing it with her grandfather at her side, she had Andy Coyote. She grimaced as bile rose from her stomach.

  “You ready to ride, Caroline?” Andy asked.

  “Yes, I’m ready.” She pulled her scarf over her head and shoved her old felted Stetson over the hot pink angora.

  “Don’t wimp out on me. I need another man for this job, not a fancy Washington, DC, TV news anchor.”

  “Well, I have a job to do, and the idea of having you along for the ride has no appeal. As far as I’m concerned, you’re strictly brawn, and you’d better do as I say.”

  “This is gonna be hell,” he mumbled as he yanked on his horse’s reins.

  “That’s right, and don’t forget it.” Caroline put her foot into the stirrup.

  Caroline pulled her scarf tighter around her face. An occasional snowflake floated down as they rode. She wasn’t going to let on that she was dead tired, but she was certain that if she’d blink her eyes, they wouldn’t open again. She had worked yesterday doing the six and eleven o’clock nightly news broadcasts, and then caught an early morning flight out of DC. Three hours of sleep was not enough.

  “Caroline!”

  She gasped and righted herself.

  “You’re falling asleep.”

  She looked over Andy and frowned.

  “If you talked to me, you might stay awake,” he suggested.