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Chapter One
Freemont, Montana, Winter, 1880
“All right, Mr. Johnson, that’s you seen to. I’ll call in on you tomorrow and see how you’re getting on,” Tara Culden said, straightening as her patient looked up at her and smiled.
“What would I do without you, Nurse Culden?” he replied. “I’d have been in the clinic for weeks if it wasn’t for you coming out here each day to dress my leg. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Oh, you don’t need to thank me. It’s my job. And you’ve been an easy patient,” she replied, patting the old man’s hand.
This was Tara’s last house call of the morning. Burt Johnson’s ranch lay at the far end of the Freemont Pass, and she had ridden up from the town, through the snow, to dress his leg. He had sepsis, but it was getting better, and with a few more changes, the dressing would be ready to come off.
Tara enjoyed her visits to the ranch. Burt was a kind man, and his wife always had a pot of coffee on the stove and something sweet to offer.
“Take these cookies to Doctor Reardon. But make sure you have some yourself, too,” Mrs. Johnson said, holding out a tin to Tara as she packed up her medical bag.
“Oh, that’s very kind of you, Mrs. Johnson. You really didn’t have to. Every time I come, you give me something,” Tara said, shaking her head as the rancher’s wife handed her the tin.
“If it wasn’t for you coming up here every day, Burt would be in the clinic, and I don’t know what I’d do then. A tin of cookies is the least I can do. Are you looking forward to Christmas? I suppose it won’t be easy for you. We all miss your father terribly.” Mrs. Johnson put her hand on Tara’s arm in a gesture of sympathy.
Tara gave a weak smile. Mrs. Johnson was right. It hadn’t been an easy few months for her. Her father had died unexpectedly in the summer, leaving Tara with a small holding to manage, and animals to take care of. Life hadn’t been easy since then, but Tara was determined to finish her nurse’s training, and she had had a great deal of support from the community in Freemont, who had rallied to help her in her hour of need.
“It’ll just be a quiet Christmas, I think. I’ll probably spend it with the Fentons. They’ve been so kind to me. Everyone has,” Tara said, and Mrs. Johnson smiled.
“We’re so lucky to have Sheriff Fenton. When we had that trouble with the cattle rustlers, he saw to everything. We’ve never had any trouble since. Have we, Burt?” she asked, and her husband shook his head.
“No, I won’t hear a word against Sheriff Fenton,” Burt said. “You couldn’t ask for a better man as sheriff of this town. But we’re keeping Nurse Culden from getting down the pass, Marilyn. There’s more snow coming.” He glanced out of the window at the gray skies above the ranch.
Tara looked out, too. Her horse, Stanley, waited patiently at the hitching post, but the skies were growing menacing, and it looked as though Burt Johnson was right. The track down the pass could be treacherous even in fine weather, and Tara had no intention of finding herself caught up in the storm. She said goodbye to the Johnsons, thanking them again for the cookies, and stepped out into the chill of the wintry morning.
Stanley stomped his hoof impatiently, and she smiled at him, patting his nose as she untethered him from the post.
“Let’s get going. I’m ready for my bed, and I’m sure you are, too,” Tara said as she climbed up into the saddle.
The morning rounds had concluded a busy night of caring for patients at Doctor Reardon’s clinic. He ran a small clinic on the edge of Freemont, in what had once been a mission station on the Pacific trail, and Tara had worked there since she was seventeen. Being a nurse was all she had ever wanted to be, and despite the difficulties of recent months, she was determined to fulfil her ambitions.
“Follow your dreams, Tara,” her father had always told her, and that was precisely what she intended to do.
She urged Stanley along the track from the ranch, past tall pine trees, following the course of the frozen stream that in the summer gushed down from the mountains above. In the snow, the pass was strangely quiet, the soaring peaks above dusted in a white coat as though sprinkled with sugar. And with no breeze in the air, the snow clung to the trees, looking as though great icicles were rising into the sky above.
“Steady, Stanley. I don’t want you falling,” Tara said as they reached a bend in the track, where the path fell away to one side with a sheer drop to the steam below.
It was about a mile to Freemont, and from the height of the pass, Tara could see the town spread out below, the roofs of the buildings covered in snow like a scene from a Christmas card. Freemont was a small town, once at the very edge of the frontier. Tara’s grandfather had come there with the first settlers.
He had been a fur hunter, and Freemont had been a center of the trade in beaver skins, sent back to the fashionable boutiques of New York and Paris. But it was Tara’s father who had established the small holding, making a living out of rearing animals, along with growing crops of vegetables he would sell to the local inhabitants. Tara could see the small ranch from the ridge, and now she thought of all the jobs she had to do that afternoon before she could rest.
“But you’ve certainly earned your oats, Stanley,” Tara said, patting the side of the horse’s head.
Stanley whinnied, shaking his mane. Tara smiled. He was a faithful companion, and never complained—apart from the occasional stomping of a hoof. Tara was looking forward to getting home and getting warm. She would light the stove and make herself a cup of cocoa to warm herself through. Tiffany Fenton, the sheriff’s wife, had brought her a pan of soup the previous day, and Tara would have that, along with the remains of a loaf of bread she had baked the day before.
And then I’m going to bed.
But just as she was thinking about how nice it would be to snuggle down in her blankets and go to sleep that afternoon, a noise disturbed the stillness of the wintry scene. And as she looked around, Tara was surprised to hear someone calling for help.
Chapter Two
“Help… will someone help me? Anyone?”
Tara paused, reining Stanley in as she listened, wondering where the voice was coming from.
“Where are you? Are you hurt?” she called out, wary lest it should be a trap.
Tara had heard of such deceptions—a robber pretending to be injured only to spring on the unsuspecting victim who came to their aid.
“Down here. I fell…” the voice replied, and Tara slipped from the saddle, and went to peer down from the path toward the frozen stream below.
There, on the scree, was a man slumped over a fallen tree. He had been lucky—had the tree not been there, he might have fallen all the way to the stream below. As it was, he was only a few feet off the path, and Tara edged her way cautiously down to him.
There was clearly no deception. He was badly injured, with a nasty gash across his forehead and his leg wedged at an awkward angle against the tree. She wondered where he had come from, and where he had been going. The path only led to the pass, and from there the trail wound its way through the mountains—as inhospitable a way as could be imagined. There was no sign of a horse, but the man was smartly dressed in a waistcoat and breeches, with a brown overcoat. He was young—perhaps thirty—with a handsome face, dark hair, and a muscular figure. Tara had never seen him before, and given the size of Freemont, she felt certain he was a stranger to the town.
“Goodness me, how terrible. Are you able to stand? We need to get you to the doctor. Here, put your arm around me. I’ll get you back to the path,” Tara said.
Time was of the essence. The man would be getting cold, and it wouldn’t be long before a chill set in.
“My leg… I think it’s broken, but—” He exclaimed, wincing as he tried to move.
Tara put her arm around him, trying her best to support him. “It’s all right, lean on me. I can hold you.”
Her petite frame hid a strength acquired through growing up on her father’s homestead. Tara could lift hay bales, hold the reins of an excitable horse, and move fence posts as well as any man, and now she heaved the stranger up the scree, gritting her teeth as she did so.
“I’m sorry… I… I feel dizzy,” the man said as the two of them collapsed onto the path above, gasping for breath.
“It’s all right. That’s the worst part over. Let me get you some water.”
Her saddlebag was filled with practical considerations, including a small hip flask of medicinal brandy, along with water and supplies of food, lest she should find herself trapped on the trail. Now, she held the flask to the man’s lips, urging him to drink.
“Are you hungry? I’ve got some nuts here. You should eat something to keep out the cold,” Tara said, examining the extent of the man’s injuries.
His leg was almost certainly broken, but it was the wound to his head Tara was most concerned about. He appeared confused, though the fact he was conscious was of some relief.
“Nuts… yes,” the man said, and Tara went to the saddlebag, returning with the bag of nuts, and urging him to eat.
“Where did you come from? How did you get here? Is your horse somewhere near?” she asked, and the man shook his head.
“Maybe I fell out of the sky,” he said, smiling at her as she had him take another sip of brandy.
Tara smiled. Despite his injuries, he hadn’t complained. He had a gentle disposition about him, and Tara wondered if perhaps he had been the victim of a robbery. She had to get the man to the clinic. Doctor Reardon would know what to do. But first she bandaged up the wound to the man’s head, cleaning it first and securing it in place as Doctor Reardon had taught her.
“Head injuries can be dangerous. A concussion can take many forms and last for weeks. Always keep the patient talking,” Doctor Reardon had told her. It was essential to get help for the stranger as quickly as possible.
She put her arm around the man, ready to lift him up onto the saddle.
“Out of the sky or not, we need to get you to the clinic. You’re lucky I was passing. This is a lonely trail, and I don’t think anyone else would’ve come this way today,” Tara said. She heaved the man up into a standing position, supporting him on his good leg, and balancing herself against Stanley as she did so.
“You’ve been very kind… I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble,” Tara replied. “I’m a nurse. It’s my job to help people, though this wasn’t quite what I was expecting.”
With some difficulty, she managed to get the man onto the saddle, where he lay across Stanley’s back, his legs dangling down. It was the best she could do, and now she took Stanley’s reins, urging the horse on down the trail.
“Come along, Stanley. Let’s get our patient to Doctor Reardon,” she said, glancing back at the man, who now had his eyes closed. “Are you still awake? Don’t go to sleep.”
“I’m here… I feel so sleepy, though,” the man replied.
“Tell me about yourself. Where do you come from? Why were you walking up the path? Or did you ride?” Tara asked.
There had been no sign of a horse, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one, or that the man hadn’t simply forgotten.
“I… from upstate… the east… that’s right,” he replied, though the answer was vague.
“Well, you’re in Freemont, Montana. It’s November 30th, and my name’s Tara. What’s your name?” She kept one eye ahead of her on the trail as she picked her way down the path.
“That’s a pretty name. A very pretty name,” he replied. “It’s foolish, but… I can’t remember my name.”
Tara glanced back at him, fearing his concussion was getting worse. She had heard of cases where patients had entirely lost their memory, but Doctor Reardon had told her it was common to forget certain things and remember others, and it seemed this was the case with the stranger, too.
“It’s all right. Concentrate on what you can remember,” Tara replied. “Do you know what you were doing on the trail? You’re a mile or so out of town. Did you pass through Freemont on the way?”
Tara was trying to help him to remember, but it seemed he was only getting more and more confused as she questioned him.
“I don’t know… I don’t remember. I know I fell. I think I slipped… I must’ve done, mustn’t I? But then you were there, and… that’s as much as I remember,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll remember soon enough. We’ll be at the clinic before long. It was a mission station once. Freemont was at the end of the trail. But there was always further to go,” Tara said.
As a child, she remembered her grandfather telling stories about the first settlers and the adventures they had had. She had always been fascinated by such tales, imagining herself as one of the pioneers of the old west. She had dreamed of adventure, but circumstances had kept her in place, and Tara had never journeyed farther than in the opposite direction to visit an aunt a hundred miles to the east. Freemont was the limit of what she knew, and with her responsibilities growing, it seemed to Tara as though she would never come to realize her dreams.
“Freemont… that’s where I was going,” the man said, and Tara turned to him and smiled.
“Well, it looks like you’re going to be staying in Freemont for a while yet. Do you know someone here? Perhaps we can find someone who knows you,” she said, but again, the man drew a blank.
He was a mystery—an enigma. What was his name? Where had he come from? Where was he going? Tara was relieved to see the picket fence of the old mission station and see the bell through the snow-covered trees. By her reckoning, it was almost noon, and Doctor Reardon would be just finishing his ward round. It was a small clinic but served a wide area, and there were patients from across the territory being treated for all manner of illnesses and ailments. As she approached the gate leading into the stable yard, she was met by one of the orderlies, Peter, who acted as porter and had come running at the sight of Tara with the stranger draped over her horse’s saddle.
“Nurse Culden, we were getting worried about you. Doctor Reardon just sent me out to walk up the trail to meet you. What’s happened?” he asked, and Tara gave a brief account of her encounter with the stranger.
“Tell Doctor Reardon there’s a concussion, as well as a broken leg,” she said. “And send someone out to help me get him down from the horse.”
Peter ran off to do as he was told, and a moment later, two more orderlies appeared from the door of the mission station, carrying a stretcher.
“We’ll take him, Nurse Culden. Get yourself inside. You must be frozen,” one of them said.
But Tara wouldn’t go inside until she had seen to Stanley. Her father had always taught her the importance of caring for animals, and especially horses.
“If a creature carries you on its back, the least you can do is repay it by taking care of it before taking care of yourself,” he had once told her, and Tara had taken those words to heart.
There were stables attached to the clinic, and Tara led Stanley into one of the stalls, fetching him some oats and putting a blanket over him to keep him warm.
“There, now. We’ve had quite an adventure,” she said, patting the horse’s rump. “But I’d better go and see what needs doing inside. Hopefully, we’ll find some answers.”
As she made her way inside, Doctor Reardon came to meet her, shaking his head with an anxious look on his face. He was an elderly man, but bright and alert, with graying hair and big blue eyes. He had been a physician for many years and was an expert in all manner of diseases and ailments encountered on the frontier and the trail.
“Thank goodness you found that man. He’d be dead if it wasn’t for you,” he said, ushering Tara into the warm clinic.
It had that familiar scent of carbolic soap, and from one of the side rooms, Tara could hear the groans of a man undergoing an operation at the hands of Doctor Reardon’s assistant surgeon, Joseph Hemingway. The main ward, with six beds, lay at the far end of the corridor, and Doctor Reardon led Tara to where the new patient had been laid in a bed by the window. He had his eyes closed, and blood seeped from beneath the bandage wrapped around his head.
“He’ll be all right, though, won’t he?” Tara asked, but the doctor shook his head.
“It’s difficult to say. I don’t know the man, and I don’t know if he’s got any other medical problems that might exacerbate his condition. He’s confused, but I’ve given him a sedative—something to help him sleep. He doesn’t even know his own name. For now, we’ll just call him John Smith. When he wakes up, I hope he might be able to tell us something more about himself. Broken bones I can set, but broken minds…” His words trailed off as he shook his head again.
Tara looked down at the man lying on the bed. He was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic motion. He looked peaceful lying there, yet Tara felt certain he would be in some distress when he woke up. Was someone even now expecting him? Missing him?
“I’ll stay and nurse him,” she said. “I found him, and I’d like to be here when he wakes up. He fell… and he’d have fallen farther if it wasn’t for the tree lying on the scree.”
“You did a good job today, Tara. I’m proud of you. This man owes you his life. But you’ll be no good to anyone if you don’t get some rest. Stay for half an hour, but then I want you to go home. He won’t wake up for a few hours yet. You can come back later,” the doctor said, and Tara nodded.
She was tired—exhausted, in fact. But something about the man compelled her to stay. Looking down at him, Tara felt a sense of familiarity toward him, as though she knew him from somewhere even as she knew she could not possibly do so. He was a stranger, and certainly not of the surrounding area. She pulled up a chair and sat down at the bedside.
“Who are you?” she asked, but the man remained fast asleep.
Tara reached out and took his hand in hers. It was cold to the touch, and she rubbed it gently in her own hands, trying to bring back the warmth.
“I wonder if Sheriff Fenton might know who you are. I’ll have to report what happened to him. I’ll ask him if he knows of a well-dressed man expected in Freemont today,” Tara continued.
But still the man gave no response, and Tara sighed, realizing Doctor Reardon was right. She was tired, and she would be no good to anyone—least of all her patients—if she didn’t get some sleep. With a reluctant last glance at the man lying in the bed, she rose from the chair at his bedside and, nodding to the other patients with a smile, left the ward.
“Peter, will you look after Stanley for me? I’m just going to walk home. It’s not fair to drag him out of the stable. He’ll be all right here until tomorrow,” Tara said as she passed the orderly in the corridor.
“No problem, Nurse Culden. I’ll see to him, don’t worry. I hope you manage to get some sleep. You’ve certainly earned it,” he said, smiling.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Courageous Hearts of the West", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
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