we can make this trip in one day, but ice will slow us from this point on. Best get going if we’re to make the valley by nightfall.” He refolded the oilskin and put it in his pocket, then took off his hat and ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair. “’Course, if we encounter delays, the ground will be your bed.”
“That will be a comfort after the long ride.”
She thought she heard him snort as he walked away. As if she hadn’t slept under the stars on every cattle drive she’d ever been on. The prudent course of action under the circumstances was to keep her mouth shut, difficult as it was to do, and show the man she was equal to any hardship. One thing was certain: she was not a conventional woman, whatever that might be.
* * *
Much as he’d hoped to make it home from Longmont in one day, Tate wasn’t surprised when that didn’t happen. At several points they had been forced to push the wagons over icy spots, and once, they’d even had to hitch two teams together to haul each wagon around points where avalanche debris had blocked the trail. It had been a grueling day, but to his surprise and relief, Sophie Montgomery had been more help than burden.
Easing his aching muscles, Tate lounged by the fire idly watching sparks ascend into the night air and fade into the darkness. Curly, Sam and Pancho were rolled up in their blankets beneath one of the wagons. Miss Montgomery had carefully prepared a bed of pine boughs under an overhanging rock ledge and had lain down and covered herself with her bedroll blanket. Despite the campfire, the evening was cold. Earlier, he’d noticed her pulling her coat tighter and often reaching her gloved hands toward the warmth of the flames. If she thought it was cold now, wait until she reached her cabin at 7,500 feet above sea level. She probably had no idea they would be lucky to reach Estes Park before another spring snow blanketed the mountains. He hoped to deliver and store the provisions before that happened. Over the winter and early spring, snows had kept him and his men from getting to Denver, although he had been able to work in one quick trip down the canyon to Lyons.
Crossing his legs, he picked up his tin cup and took a welcome sip of hot coffee. He hoped Marcus and Toby would like the books he’d picked out for them in Denver. Very soon he should hear from the Ohio tutor he’d engaged for his sons. There was no school in Estes Park. His boys loved the place, but he himself was no great shakes as a teacher. He didn’t want them to grow up without an education, yet it wouldn’t do to send them off, even if he knew of a suitable place for them. They’d had enough of change and loss in their young lives. Leaving their home was not an option. This prospective tutor, a recent graduate of Oberlin College, had solid academic credentials and claimed to crave a mountain adventure. However, thumbing through the mail he’d picked up in Denver, Tate had seen no correspondence from the young man, despite the fact he was scheduled to arrive at the end of May.
Throwing the remainder of his coffee into the fire, he got to his feet, knowing from the position of the moon that he needed to get to sleep. The haul from here to the park would demand grit. He turned to study the small form huddled beneath the blanket, shaking his head. She might be dressed in drab, utilitarian clothes, but there was no hiding her femininity. He wondered what had prompted this young woman to undertake not only this trek, but a prolonged solo stay in the mountains. Did she, too, have demons chasing her? Well, it was none of his business.
Before he settled under the second wagon, he wrestled with himself. Miss Montgomery, being so small, might be cold, despite her blanket. By morning the temperatures would be below freezing. It wouldn’t do for her strength to be compromised. He eyed the buffalo robe enclosing his bedroll. He untied the leather thongs and spread out the robe. He had a blanket and his coat was plenty warm. He scooped up the robe and started toward the woman’s resting place. Then he stopped, arguing with himself. She wanted to be independent, didn’t she? Why should he concern himself with her comfort? Yet he knew the toll such frigid nights could take on a person. Before other arguments occurred to him, he carried the buffalo robe to where she lay nestled on the pine boughs. Kneeling beside her, he gently spread it over her, struck once again by how small and vulnerable she seemed, especially for one so fiercely determined to make her way in inhospitable country.
Back under the wagon, wrapped in his own bedding, he chastised himself. He could not assume responsibility for Miss Montgomery after this trip ended. He had enough to worry about managing his ranching and mining affairs and, of course, caring for his boys. That having been decided, he rolled over on his side, freed from concern. Until just before he drifted off. Until he was honest with himself. Tate Lockwood would never turn his back on a woman in need.
* * *
Sophie awoke with a jolt, trying to work out in her mind why she was so cozy, covered in a heavy layer of warmth. Then, smelling coffee, her mind focused. The trail. She was on the trail. Sitting up, she noted it was still dark, but flames illuminated the immediate vicinity. Tate Lockwood and the others sat around the fire. Carefully she stood up, leaning back to unkink her spine.
“Breakfast,” Tate said, pointing to the cast-iron skillet. The others looked up, studying her.
“I’m starving,” she said, advancing toward them. Sam handed her a cup of coffee, and Pancho folded a piece of ham in a flapjack and brought it to her. Finding a stone, she sat down, aware only now of a faint lightening in the eastern sky. Yet here in the canyon darkness lingered. The chill morning air, though invigorating, made her long once again to be cocooned under the blankets. No one spoke while they ate, and she certainly wasn’t going to intrude upon their silence to ask how much farther they had to travel or what time they might arrive at the valley. She trembled with excitement—at last the day had come! The prospect of locating her cabin and exploring new possibilities elated her.
“Can’t delay,” Lockwood said, rising to his feet. “Let’s pack up and move out.”
Sophie gobbled the last bite of her flapjack, washed it down with a swig of hot coffee and moved to her sleeping place to gather her things. Once there, she stopped in her tracks. No wonder she’d been so warm. Atop her makeshift bed lay a thick buffalo robe, certainly not hers. She turned around to see who might have provided her with such comfort. Holding up the robe, she caught Mr. Lockwood’s eye. He shrugged, then turned away. She didn’t know whether to be irked by his presumption that she didn’t have adequate blankets or pleased that he had a protective side. She smiled to herself. Maybe his bark was worse than his bite. No matter, she had slept well. Then she remembered. A man had come to her, covered her with warmth and then lingered by her side. At the time she’d thought she was dreaming of Charlie.
She folded the robe and walked over to return it. “Thank you, Mr. Lockwood. I slept very well.”
“Courtesy of the West, miss.” He took the robe and nodded. “Didn’t figure you’d counted on quite how cold it can be up here.”
She bit back the retort on her lips. Despite all her planning, he was right—she’d underestimated the temperatures. “I trust my other preparations will be more effective.”
“You’d best hope so. It’s a long ways between houses in the valley. You’ll be fending for yourself.”
She understood both the rebuke and warning in his words. “I will, of course, do everything I can not to be bothersome to others. That having been said, may I count on your friendship and goodwill?”
He looked at her, as if assessing her mettle. “Friendship and goodwill? No gentleman would turn his back on a woman in distress.”
Hardly the heartiest of endorsements. She voiced what he had left unsaid. “Nevertheless, I’m sure it is your hope I will not pose such inconveniences for you.”
“I
