She Was Abandoned During A Flash Flood, The Cowboy Pulled Her From The Current And Held Her Close

…

“Breathe,” he instructed, his voice steady despite their ordeal.

“That’s it.

Just breathe.

” When she could finally focus, Catherine found herself looking up into the most startling blue eyes she’d ever seen.

They belonged to a man perhaps five or six years her senior, with sun-weathered skin and dark hair plastered to his forehead by the rain.

“My uncle,” she managed to gasp between coughs, “the others?” The man shook his head grimly.

“I saw the coach go under.

You’re the only one I could spot.

” He glanced back at the rushing water.

“I’m sorry.

” Grief washed over Catherine, rivaling the force of the flood itself.

Uncle William had been far from perfect, but he was the only family she had left in the world.

Now she was alone, soaked to the skin, with nothing but the clothes on her back.

“I’m Keegan Nash,” the man said, removing his duster and wrapping it around her trembling shoulders.

“I’ve got a cabin not far from here.

Can you walk?” Catherine nodded weakly, though she wasn’t certain her legs would support her.

When she attempted to stand, they buckled immediately.

Without hesitation, Keegan swept her into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he said again.

And this time Catherine believed him.

The rain continued to fall in sheets as Keegan carried her away from the raging waters.

Catherine slipped in and out of consciousness, the trauma of nearly drowning taking its toll.

She was vaguely aware of being pressed against his chest, of the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, and of the gentle way he held her despite the difficult terrain.

“Stay with me,” he murmured whenever her eyes fluttered closed.

“We’re almost there.

” True to his word, a small log cabin soon appeared through the curtain of rain.

It was modest but sturdy, set on higher ground than the surrounding area.

Keegan managed to open the door without setting her down, then carried her inside to the warmth of a dying fire in the stone hearth.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” he said, setting her down on a wooden chair.

“I’ll find you something dry.

” Catherine’s teeth chattered too violently for her to respond.

The reality of her situation was beginning to dawn on her.

She was alone in a strange territory with a man she didn’t know, with no possessions and no plan.

Tears mingled with the rainwater on her cheeks.

Keegan returned with a flannel shirt and wool trousers.

“These will be too big, but they’re dry.

” “I’ll step outside while you change.

” “No,” Catherine managed, clutching his arm with surprising strength.

“Please don’t leave.

” “I’ll just turn my back then,” he said gently.

“I promise I won’t look.

” True to his word, Keegan faced the wall while Catherine struggled out of her sodden clothing.

Her fingers were numb and clumsy, making the simple task nearly impossible.

The hooks and eyes of her dress defeated her completely.

“I I can’t,” she admitted after several frustrating moments.

Keegan hesitated before turning.

“May I help?” Catherine nodded, too exhausted and cold to be concerned with propriety.

He approached cautiously, his movements efficient but respectful as he helped with the fastenings.

His calloused fingers never lingered, and he kept his eyes averted as much as possible.

Once she was changed into the dry clothing, which indeed swallowed her smaller frame, Keegan built up the fire and wrapped her in a heavy quilt.

He moved about the cabin with purpose, heating water for coffee and gathering supplies.

“You’re in shock,” he explained, pressing a tin cup of something stronger than coffee into her hands.

“This will help warm you from the inside.

” The whiskey burned Catherine’s throat, but he was right, warmth spread through her chest and into her limbs.

As her shivering subsided, the events of the day crashed over her anew.

“They’re all gone,” she whispered, the reality of it settling like a stone in her stomach.

“I have nothing, no one.

” Keegan sat across from her, his own cup cradled between work-worn hands.

“I’m sorry about your uncle.

Was he your only family?” “Yes,” Catherine said, her voice hollow.

“We were going to McGill to start over.

He had a business arrangement.

” Her voice trailed off as she realized none of that mattered now.

“I know McGill well,” Keegan said.

“I deliver horses there regularly.

It’s about 10 miles from here.

” “You’re not from town.

” He shook his head.

“I have a small horse ranch.

I break and train mustangs, sell them to the mines and stagecoach companies.

” His eyes, which she now saw were a deep indigo blue, met hers.

“Once the storm passes and the waters recede, I can take you into McGill.

There’s a decent boarding house for ladies.

” Catherine nodded absently, though the thought filled her with dread.

What would she do in McGill with no money and no connections? What kind of work could a Boston-bred young woman with no practical skills hope to find? “Thank you,” she said nonetheless.

“For saving my life.

” Keegan’s expression softened.

“Anyone would have done the same.

” “No,” Catherine said with surprising firmness.

“They wouldn’t have.

You risked your own life to save a stranger.

” He looked away, seemingly uncomfortable with her gratitude.

“You should rest.

Take the bed, I’ll sleep by the fire.

” Catherine was too exhausted to argue.

The bed, tucked in the corner of the one-room cabin, was simple but clean.

She sank onto it gratefully, the events of the day pressing down on her like a physical weight.

“Miss Nicholson,” Keegan said from across the room.

“Catherine,” she corrected, “or Kitty, if you prefer.

” “Catherine,” he said, her name sounding different in his deep voice.

“I’m sorry about your loss, but you’re safe here.

” With those words echoing in her mind, Catherine fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When she awoke, pale morning light filtered through the cabin’s single window.

For a moment, Katherine was disoriented.

The unfamiliar surroundings confusing her sleep-addled mind.

Then the memories came rushing back, the flood, her uncle, the stranger who had pulled her from certain death.

Keegan Nash was nowhere to be seen, but a small fire crackled in the hearth, and a pot of something that smelled like coffee sat nearby.

Katherine sat up slowly, her body aching in places she didn’t know could ache.

Her head throbbed, and her throat felt raw from swallowing floodwater.

The cabin door opened, and Keegan entered carrying an armful of firewood.

His eyes widened slightly when he saw her sitting up.

“You’re awake,” he said, setting down the wood.

“How do you feel?” “Like I nearly drowned yesterday,” Katherine replied, attempting a weak smile.

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly.

“Understandable.

Are you hungry? I’ve got some biscuits and jerky.

It’s not much, but it’ll keep your strength up.

” Katherine nodded, suddenly aware of her empty stomach.

Keegan moved about the cabin with the ease of long habit, preparing a simple breakfast.

She watched him covertly, taking the opportunity to study her rescuer.

In the daylight, she could see him more clearly.

Keegan Nash was tall and broad-shouldered, his frame solid from what was clearly physical work.

His dark hair was slightly too long, curling at the nape of his neck.

The stubble on his jaw had grown thicker overnight, giving him a rugged appearance that reminded her she was far from the drawing rooms of Boston.

“The rain stopped during the night,” he said, handing her a tin plate.

“But the creek’s still running high.

It won’t be safe to travel to McGill for at least another day, maybe two.

” Katherine accepted the plate, not certain whether to feel relieved or anxious about this news.

“I don’t want to impose on your hospitality.

” “You’re not imposing,” Keegan said firmly.

“I couldn’t in good conscience send you off without knowing you’d be safe.

” They ate in silence for a few minutes, Katherine finding herself surprisingly hungry despite everything.

When she’d finished, she set the plate aside and gathered her courage.

“Mr. Nash.

” “Keegan,” he corrected.

“Keegan,” she amended.

“I need to be honest with you.

I have nothing.

My uncle was carrying all our money.

My belongings were in the stagecoach.

I don’t even have proper clothes.

” She gestured to the oversized garment she wore.

“I don’t know what I’ll do when we reach McGill.

” Keegan considered her for a long moment.

“Do you have any skills? Something you could use to find work?” Katherine thought about it.

“I’m well-educated by Boston standards.

I can read and write.

I speak French.

I play the pianoforte.

” She gave a bitter laugh.

“None of which seems particularly useful out here.

” “You’d be surprised,” Keegan said.

“McGill’s growing.

There’s a small school that might need a teacher.

The assayer’s office might need someone who can keep books.

It’s not Boston, but it’s not quite the wild frontier anymore, either.

” His words offered a small glimmer of hope.

“Do you think someone would hire me without references?” “I’d vouch for you,” he said simply.

“My word carries some weight in town.

” Katherine was touched by this offer from a man who barely knew her.

“Thank you.

That’s very kind.

” Keegan shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable with her gratitude.

“In the meantime, we should see if we can salvage anything from the stagecoach once the waters recede a bit more.

Sometimes the current deposits things downstream.

” “Do you think?” Katherine hesitated.

“Do you think we might find the others?” Keegan’s expression grew solemn.

“It’s possible.

If we do, we’ll give them a proper burial.

I promise you that.

” Katherine nodded, fighting back tears.

The reality of her situation was still sinking in.

Waves of grief alternating with moments of pure panic about her uncertain future.

“I should be doing something,” she said suddenly, looking around the cabin, “to earn my keep while I’m here.

” “I could cook or clean or rest,” Keegan interrupted gently.

“You’ve been through an ordeal.

Today, just rest.

” But Katherine had never been one to sit idle, even in her comfortable Boston home.

After breakfast, she insisted on helping with chores.

Keegan reluctantly showed her how to feed the chickens that pecked in a small coop behind the cabin.

He had six horses in a corral, magnificent creatures that watched them with intelligent eyes.

“They’re beautiful,” Katherine said, reaching out tentatively to stroke the nose of a dappled gray mare who had approached the fence.

“That’s Tempest,” Keegan said, a note of pride in his voice.

“She’s special.

Wild as the wind when I found her, but with a heart bigger than Montana Territory.

” The mare nuzzled Katherine’s hand, making her smile for the first time since the flood.

“She’s gentle.

” “With some people,” Keegan agreed, looking slightly surprised.

“She doesn’t usually take to strangers.

” “Maybe she knows I owe my life to her master,” Katherine suggested.

Keegan’s tanned face colored slightly.

“I’m nobody’s master, least of all hers.

Tempest chooses to stay.

She could clear that fence anytime she wanted.

” Katherine stroked the mare’s soft muzzle, understanding something about Keegan from the way he spoke about the horse.

He valued freedom, his own and others.

They spent the morning tending to the animals and the small vegetable garden beside the cabin.

Katherine insisted on helping prepare their midday meal, though her cooking skills were limited to what she’d observed in her family’s kitchen in Boston.

“I’m afraid I was never taught to cook,” she admitted as she struggled to knead the dough for biscuits.

“We had a housekeeper who did all that.

” “You’re doing fine,” Keegan assured her.

“Nobody’s born knowing how to make biscuits.

” His patience surprised her.

The men she’d known in Boston would have been exasperated by her lack of domestic skills.

Keegan simply showed her what to do without judgment.

After their meal, he suggested they check the creek to see if it had receded enough to search for any sign of the stagecoach or its passengers.

The walk through the mud-soaked landscape was difficult, but Katherine was determined.

She needed to know what had happened to her uncle.

The creek that had been a raging torrent the day before had indeed subsided, though it still ran swift and brown with mud.

Keegan held her hand as they picked their way along the bank, searching for any sign of the disaster.

About a mile downstream from where he had pulled her from the water, they found the first evidence, a trunk, broken open and half-buried in mud.

Katherine recognized it immediately.

“That’s mine,” she said, hurrying toward it.

Most of the contents had been ruined by water and mud, but a few items remained salvageable.

Her mother’s silver hand mirror, tarnished but intact.

A book of poetry, its pages swollen but the leather binding holding.

A small locket containing miniature portraits of her parents.

Katherine clutched these treasures to her chest, overwhelmed with gratitude for this small mercy.

“I thought I’d lost everything.

” Keegan watched her, his expression gentle.

“Sometimes the current gives back what it takes.

” They continued their search, finding scattered pieces of the stagecoach embedded in the muddy bank.

And then, in a tangle of brush, they found what Katherine had been both dreading and needing to find, her uncle’s body.

William Nicholson lay face down, his clothing torn and his body battered by the flood.

Katherine sank to her knees beside him, tears flowing freely now.

“Uncle William,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry.

” Keegan stood respectfully back, removing his hat.

When her initial grief had subsided, he helped her roll the body over.

William’s face was peaceful despite the violence of his death.

“We’ll bring him back to the cabin,” Keegan said softly.

“Give him a proper burial tomorrow.

” With gentle efficiency, Keegan fashioned a travois from branches and his coat.

They laid William’s body on it, and Keegan pulled it behind him as they made their way back to the cabin.

The physical labor was considerable, but he never complained, understanding Katherine’s need to see her uncle properly laid to rest.

Of the stagecoach driver and the other passenger, a traveling salesman whose name Katherine had never learned, they found no sign.

Keegan promised to alert the authorities in McGill when they reached town, so a proper search could be conducted.

That evening, as darkness fell, Catherine sat at the small table in Keegan’s cabin, her salvaged possessions laid out before her.

The reality of her situation was stark.

She was alone in a territory she knew nothing about, with only a few ruined belongings to her name.

“What will happen to him?” she asked quietly.

“To Uncle William.

” Keegan paused in his task of mending a bridle.

“There’s a small rise behind the cabin.

Good view of the mountains.

We can bury him there if you’d like.

I can make a marker.

” Catherine nodded, grateful for his understanding.

“He wasn’t a perfect man,” she said after a moment.

“He gambled and drank more than he should, but he took me in when my parents died.

He didn’t have to do that.

” “Family is family,” Keegan said simply, “perfect or not.

” “Do you have family?” Catherine asked, realizing she knew almost nothing about about the man who had saved her life.

A shadow passed over Keegan’s features.

“Not anymore.

My parents died when I was young.

I had a brother, but he was killed at Gettysburg.

” “I’m sorry,” Catherine said, understanding his loss all too well.

“It was a long time ago,” Keegan said, though his eyes suggested the wound was still fresh.

I came west after the war.

Couldn’t stomach going back to Pennsylvania knowing Kyle wouldn’t be there.

” “So you started training horses.

” Keegan nodded.

“Always had a way with them, even as a boy.

Out here, a man who can gentle a wild mustang can make a decent living.

” He set aside the mended bridle.

“It’s quiet, but it suits me.

” Catherine looked around the small cabin, noting the neat simplicity of it.

There were books stacked on a shelf, surprising in a frontier home, and hand-carved furniture that spoke of skill and care.

“You built all this yourself?” “Every board,” he confirmed.

“Took me 2 years.

Started with just a tent.

Added to it bit by bit.

” Catherine tried to imagine the determination that must have taken building a life from nothing in this remote place.

Her respect for Keegan Nash grew.

The next morning, they buried William Nicholson on the rise behind the cabin.

Keegan had risen before dawn to dig the grave, refusing Catherine’s offers of help.

He’d fashioned a simple wooden cross with William’s name and the date carved into it.

Catherine had no black dress for mourning, but she cleaned herself as best she could and borrowed a clean shirt of Keegan’s to wear over her salvaged skirt.

Standing beside the grave, she felt a complex mix of emotions: grief for her uncle, fear for her uncertain future, and gratitude for the stranger who had shown her such kindness.

Keegan stood bareheaded beside her, respectfully silent as she said goodbye to her last blood relative.

When she had finished, he stepped forward.

“I didn’t know William Nicholson,” he said, his deep voice carrying in the clear morning air.

“But I know he raised a niece with courage and grace.

May he rest in peace.

” The simple words touched Catherine deeply.

When the last shovelful of earth had been placed on the grave, she placed the wildflowers she had gathered that morning on top.

“Thank you,” she said to Keegan as they walked back to the cabin, “for everything.

” He nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable as he always did when she expressed gratitude.

“The creek’s down enough that we could make it to McGill tomorrow if you’re ready.

” The prospect filled Catherine with both hope and anxiety.

“Yes,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“I should find work as soon as possible.

” Keegan glanced at her, something unreadable in his expression.

“You could he began, then stopped.

“I could what?” He shook his head.

“Nothing.

It wasn’t my place.

” Catherine placed a hand on his arm, surprising both of them with the familiar gesture.

“Please tell me.

” Keegan looked down at her hand, then met her eyes.

“You could stay here for a while until you get your bearings.

of work to be done around the place if you’re worried about earning your keep.

” The offer stunned Catherine.

“You barely know me.

” “I know enough,” Keegan said simply.

“You’re alone.

You need time to grieve and to figure out your next steps.

The cabin’s small, but I could sleep in the lean-to with the tack.

It wouldn’t be proper, exactly, but “Yes,” Catherine interrupted, the word escaping before she could consider it fully.

“I mean, if you’re certain it wouldn’t be an imposition.

” Relief flickered across Keegan’s face so quickly she almost missed it.

“No imposition.

Like I said, there’s plenty of work.

The garden needs tending and I’m a terrible cook.

” Catherine smiled, feeling as though a weight had been lifted.

The prospect of going to McGill, of trying to find work and lodging with nothing but the clothes on her back, had been overwhelming.

“I can’t cook either,” she reminded him, “but I can learn.

” “We’ll figure it out,” he assured her, “together.

” That word, together, stirred something in Catherine that she wasn’t ready to examine too closely.

For now, it was enough to know she had a safe place to stay and time to mourn her uncle properly.

The next few days established a routine of sorts.

Keegan rose before dawn to tend to the horses, while Catherine learned to cook breakfast over the cabin’s small stove.

Her first attempts were disastrous: burnt biscuits, scorched coffee, eggs so overcooked they bounced when dropped, but Keegan ate every bite without complaint.

“This is terrible,” she said on the third morning, frowning at the charred remains of what was supposed to be cornbread.

I don’t know how you can eat it.

” “I’ve had worse,” he said, chewing stoically.

“During the war, we ate hardtack so old there were weevils living in it.

” Catherine grimaced.

“That doesn’t make me feel better about my cooking.

” Keegan surprised her with a genuine laugh, the first she’d heard from him.

It transformed his usually solemn face, crinkling the corners of his eyes and revealing a glimpse of straight white teeth.

“You’ll improve,” he assured her.

“Nobody’s born knowing how to cook over a wood stove.

” His confidence in her was heartening.

And true to his prediction, Catherine’s skills did improve.

By the end of her first week at the cabin, she could produce edible meals, though nothing fancy.

Keegan taught her to make sourdough bread, a skill he’d learned from a mining camp cook in his early days out west.

For his part, Keegan seemed to enjoy having someone to talk to after years of solitude.

Though reserved by nature, he gradually opened up to Catherine, sharing stories of his childhood in Pennsylvania and his experiences during the war.

He’d served with the Union Cavalry, his natural affinity with horses making him a valuable scout.

“Is that how you learned to train horses?” Catherine asked one evening as they sat by the fire, she mending a shirt while he carved a small wooden figure, a horse, she realized, watching his skilled hands shape the animal from a block of pine.

“Partly,” Keegan said.

“My father raised horses before the war.

Good stock, nothing wild.

But out here, mustangs are plentiful if you know where to look.

They’re smaller than eastern horses, but tougher, better suited to the terrain.

” “Like the people,” Catherine observed.

Keegan glanced up, a slight smile on his lips.

“You might be right about that.

” “Takes a certain stubbornness to make it out here.

Am I stubborn enough, do you think?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Keegan studied her for a long moment, his blue eyes serious.

“You survived that flood.

You’re learning to cook on a wood stove after growing up with servants.

You buried your last relative and didn’t fall apart.

” He nodded slowly.

“I’d say you’ve got the right kind of stubbornness, Catherine Nicholson.

” His words warmed her more than the fire.

For the first time since the flood, Catherine felt a flicker of hope that she might actually find her place in this harsh, beautiful land.

As April turned to May, the landscape around the cabin transformed.

Wildflowers carpeted the meadow where Keegan’s horses grazed.

The vegetable garden, which Catherine had taken over entirely, sprouted tender green shoots.

Life, it seemed, was determined to go on.

Catherine’s grief for her uncle remained, but it softened around the edges, becoming something she could carry without being crushed by its weight.

She visited his grave daily, sometimes talking to him about her new life, sometimes sitting in silence with her memories.

It was during one of these quiet moments, about 3 weeks after the flood, that Keegan found her.

He approached hesitantly, respecting her private ritual.

“Catherine.

” He called for supplies.

Thought you might want to come along.

She turned, surprised by the invitation.

Though they had discussed going to town eventually, Keegan had never suggested it until now.

“Yes,” she said, standing and brushing grass from her skirt, one of two she now possessed, as Keegan had salvaged fabric from a trunk in his attic that had belonged to his mother.

Catherine had used her limited sewing skills to fashion simple garments that, while not fashionable, were at least her own size.

“I would like that very much.

” An hour later, they were in Keegan’s wagon heading toward McGill.

Catherine wore her best attempt at a presentable outfit, the better of her two skirts, a shirtwaist she’d made from one of Keegan’s old shirts, and a bonnet fashioned from straw and ribbons salvaged from her ruined trunk.

She knew she looked nothing like the fashionable young woman who had left Boston, but she held herself with as much dignity as she could muster.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Keegan said as the wagon rattled along the rutted trail, “about McGill.

” Something in his tone made Catherine turn to look at him.

“What about it? It’s changed since you were last there, or rather, since you almost made it there.

” He kept his eyes on the trail ahead.

“The silver strike last winter brought in a lot of new people.

It’s grown.

” “Isn’t that a good thing?” Catherine asked, confused by his serious expression.

Keegan shrugged.

“Depends on who you ask.

More people means more business, also means more trouble.

There’s gambling halls now, saloons, the kind of places that follow mining booms.

” Catherine considered this.

“Are you worried about me seeing such places?” The corner of Keegan’s mouth quirked up.

“No.

Just thought you should be prepared.

It’s not Boston, but it’s not the quiet frontier town your uncle might have described, either.

” “I appreciate your concern,” Catherine said, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“But I’m not as sheltered as you might think.

Boston has its share of unsavory establishments, even if proper young ladies pretend not to know about them.

” Keegan’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Fair enough.

” As they crested a rise, McGill came into view in the valley below.

Catherine gasped softly.

What had been described to her as a small settlement was now a bustling town with at least a hundred buildings.

Smoke rose from numerous chimneys, and even from this distance, she could see people moving along the main street.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” she admitted.

“Silver does that,” Keegan replied, flicking the reins to urge the horses forward.

“Turns camps into towns overnight.

” As they drew closer, Catherine could make out more details.

The main street was lined with businesses, a general store, a hotel, several saloons, a barbershop, and numerous other establishments.

Behind these were rows of smaller buildings, homes and boarding houses, she presumed.

On the outskirts, she could see the headframes of several mines silhouetted against the sky.

Keegan guided the wagon down the main street, nodding to several people who called greetings.

It was clear he was well-known and respected, just as he’d claimed.

“Keegan Nash.

” A portly man called from the doorway of the general store.

“About time you showed your face in town.

Thompson’s been asking about those horses you promised.

” “Tell him they’ll be ready next week,” Keegan called back.

“Harry, this is Miss Catherine Nicholson.

Catherine, Harry Simmons.

” “He runs the general store.

” Harry tipped his hat to Catherine.

“Miss Nicholson, new to these parts?” “Yes,” Catherine replied.

“I was meant to arrive last month, but there was an accident.

” Harry’s expression sobered.

“The stagecoach that got caught in the flash flood, we heard about that.

No survivors, they said.

” “They were mistaken,” Keegan said, his voice taking on an edge Catherine hadn’t heard before.

“Miss Nicholson was the sole survivor.

I pulled her from the creek myself.

” Harry’s eyes widened.

“My apologies, miss.

That’s That’s miraculous.

” “Mr. Nash is the miracle,” Catherine said softly.

“He risked his own life to save mine.

” Keegan looked uncomfortable with the praise.

“We need supplies, Harry, and Miss Nicholson could use some things.

Fabric, notions, whatever ladies need.

” “Of course, of course,” Harry said, ushering them toward his store.

“Come in, come in.

” The general store was well-stocked, a testament to McGill’s growing prosperity.

Catherine found herself drawn to the bolts of fabric, running her fingers over cottons and calicos she could fashion into proper clothing.

There were ready-made shoes, too, a luxury she hadn’t expected to find.

“Get whatever you need,” Keegan said quietly, coming to stand beside her.

“Don’t worry about the cost.

” Catherine turned to him, alarmed.

“Keegan, I can’t let you do that.

You’ve already done so much.

” “It’s not charity,” he said firmly.

“You’ve been working hard at the cabin.

Consider it wages.

” She wanted to argue, but could see from his expression that he wouldn’t be swayed.

And truthfully, she did need these things if she was to have any hope of establishing herself, whether in McGill or elsewhere.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“I’ll repay you somehow.

” While Catherine selected fabric, shoes, and other necessities, Keegan gathered the supplies they needed for the cabin, flour, coffee, sugar, ammunition, nails, and various other items.

Harry Simmons watched them with undisguised curiosity, clearly wondering about the nature of their relationship.

“Will you be staying in McGill, Miss Nicholson?” he asked as he wrapped her purchases.

Before Catherine could respond, a woman entered the store, immediately commanding attention.

She was expensively dressed, her red hair elaborately styled beneath a feathered hat.

“Keegan Nash,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of Southern drawl.

“I thought that was your wagon outside.

” Keegan straightened, his expression carefully neutral.

“Miss Loretta, good to see you.

” “It’s been months,” the woman said, moving closer to him than propriety strictly allowed.

“You’ve been neglecting your friends in town.

” “I’ve been busy with the horses,” Keegan replied, stepping back slightly.

Loretta’s gaze shifted to Catherine, her green eyes assessing.

“And who might this be? Catherine Nicholson,” Catherine said before Keegan could answer, extending her hand.

“Pleased to meet you.

” Loretta took her hand briefly, her grip surprisingly strong.

“Loretta James.

I own the Palace Hotel and Gaming Hall.

” She looked back at Keegan.

“Your sister?” “Miss Nicholson is a friend who’s staying at my cabin temporarily,” Keegan said, his tone making it clear he didn’t appreciate the insinuation in Loretta’s question.

“She survived the stagecoach accident last month.

” Loretta’s perfectly arched eyebrows rose.

“Did she now? How fortunate for her that you were nearby.

” She turned back to Catherine.

“If you’re looking for more suitable accommodations, my hotel has several rooms available for a lady of your background.

” The implication was clear, Loretta thought Catherine’s presence at Keegan’s cabin was scandalous at best, immoral at worst.

“Thank you for your concern, Miss James,” Catherine said, keeping her voice level despite the flush creeping up her neck.

“But Mr. Nash has been kind enough to offer me shelter while I decide my next steps.

His cabin may be rustic, but it’s perfectly respectable.

” Loretta’s lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Of course it is, dear.

I meant no offense.

” She turned back to Keegan.

“Will you be staying in town tonight? I’m hosting a poker game that I know you’d enjoy.

” “We need to get back before dark,” Keegan said, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Another time, perhaps.

” Loretta pouted prettily.

“You work too hard, Keegan.

All those horses and no time for pleasure.

” She glanced at Catherine again.

“Though perhaps you’ve found your pleasures elsewhere.

” Catherine felt her cheeks burning at the blatant insinuation.

Keegan’s jaw tightened.

“If you’ll excuse us, Miss Loretta,” he said, his voice cold.

“We have other errands to attend to.

” He turned to Harry.

“Put everything on my account, please.

” Outside the store, Catherine took a deep breath of the clear mountain air, trying to calm her racing heart.

“I take it Miss James is an acquaintance of yours.

” Keegan looked uncomfortable.

“Loretta’s been in McGill since the first silver strike.

Smart businesswoman.

” “She started with one saloon and now owns the biggest hotel in town.

And she has a particular interest in you, Catherine observed, unable to keep a note of something from her voice.

Not jealousy, surely.

She had no claim on Keegan Nash.

Loretta has an interest in any man who isn’t already spoken for, Keegan said dismissively.

And a few who are.

Don’t let her bother you.

But Catherine couldn’t help feeling bothered.

Not just by Loretta’s insinuations about her relationship with Keegan, but by the realization that the town might view her presence at his cabin in a similar light.

Her reputation, already precarious as a young woman alone in a frontier town, could be irrevocably damaged.

Perhaps I should look into the boarding house you mentioned, she said quietly as they loaded their purchases into the wagon.

People will talk.

Keegan paused, a sack of flour half lifted.

Is that what you want, to move to town? Catherine hesitated.

The truth was, she had grown comfortable at the cabin.

More than comfortable, she had found a sense of peace there that she hadn’t expected.

The thought of leaving made her heart ache in a way that surprised her.

No, she admitted, but I don’t want to cause problems for you.

Your reputation, my reputation, can withstand a bit of gossip, Keegan interrupted.

Can yours? It was a fair question.

As a young, unmarried woman, Catherine’s reputation was far more fragile than his.

In Boston, the mere suggestion of impropriety could ruin a lady’s prospects forever.

But this wasn’t Boston.

I don’t know, she said honestly.

I don’t have much left to lose, but I also don’t want to be a burden.

Keegan set the flour in the wagon and turned to face her fully.

You’re not a burden, Catherine.

If you want to stay at the cabin, you’re welcome for as long as you like.

If you want to move to town, I’ll help you get settled.

But don’t make your decision based on what Loretta James or anyone else might think.

His sincerity touched her deeply.

Thank you.

I’d like to stay, at least for now.

If you’re certain it’s not an imposition.

I’m certain, he said, and the warmth in his blue eyes made Catherine’s heart beat a little faster.

They completed their errands in town, visiting the post office, where Keegan reported the stagecoach accident and confirmed Catherine’s survival, and stopping at the livery stable, where Keegan discussed a potential sale with the owner.

Everywhere they went, people greeted Keegan with respect and Catherine with curious glances.

By late afternoon, they were heading back to the cabin, the wagon loaded with supplies.

Catherine felt a strange mixture of emotions.

The visit to town had been overwhelming in many ways, reminding her of all she had lost, but also showing her possibilities for her future.

What did you think of McGill? Keegan asked as they traveled the now familiar trail.

It’s livelier than I expected, Catherine replied.

More established.

Does that make you more likely to want to settle there? Or less? Catherine considered the question carefully.

I’m not sure yet.

It has opportunities, certainly, but it also has Loretta James.

Keegan laughed, the sound still rare enough to make Catherine smile in response.

Loretta’s not as bad as she seems, just territorial.

About you specifically, Catherine observed.

Keegan’s expression grew more serious.

There was a time after I first came to Nevada when I spent more nights in town than at the cabin.

Gambling, drinking, not my proudest days.

You and Loretta were close? Catherine asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Keegan glanced at her, then back at the trail.

Not in the way you’re thinking.

Loretta likes to collect people she considers useful.

I was new to the area, good with horses, and she thought I might be an asset.

But I figured out pretty quick that wasn’t the life I wanted.

And what life do you want? The question slipped out before Catherine could stop it.

Keegan was silent for so long that she thought he might not answer.

Then softly, a simple one, my land, my horses, peace.

He paused.

Maybe not always alone.

The last words were so quiet that Catherine almost didn’t hear them.

When their meaning registered, her heart skipped a beat.

But before she could respond, Keegan changed the subject, pointing out a red-tailed hawk circling above them.

The moment passed, but Catherine found herself replaying his words as they continued toward the cabin.

Maybe not always alone.

Was he suggesting what she thought he was? And more importantly, how did she feel about that possibility? As they crested the final rise and the cabin came into view, Catherine was surprised by the wave of emotion that swept over her.

This place, which had been a stranger’s home less than a month ago, now felt like hers, too.

The small vegetable garden, the chicken coop, the corral where Tempest and the other horses grazed, all of it had become familiar and dear.

And the man beside her, this quiet, honorable cowboy who had pulled her from the floodwaters and held her close when she had nothing and no one, he, too, had become important to her in ways she was only beginning to understand.

It’s good to be home, she said softly, the word home slipping out naturally.

Keegan glanced at her, something warm kindling in his eyes.

Yes, he agreed.

It is.

The weeks that followed established a comfortable routine.

Catherine rose early to feed the chickens and tend the garden, which was flourishing under her care.

Keegan worked with the horses, breaking and training the wild mustangs he captured from the surrounding hills.

In the evenings, they sat by the fire, reading from Keegan’s small collection of books or simply talking.

Catherine learned to cook properly, mastering sourdough bread and venison stew.

She sewed new clothing from the fabric purchased in town, feeling a sense of accomplishment with each finished garment.

She was changing, becoming more self-sufficient, more confident in her abilities.

Keegan changed, too, in subtler ways.

He smiled more often.

The cabin, which had been functional but sparse, began to reflect Catherine’s presence, wildflowers in a jar on the table, curtains at the windows, small touches that made the space more welcoming.

They never spoke about how long Catherine might stay or what would happen next.

It was as if both were afraid to disturb the delicate balance they had achieved.

June brought the first real heat of summer.

The creek that had nearly taken Catherine’s life was now a placid stream, perfect for laundry and bathing.

One particularly hot afternoon, while Keegan was checking fence lines on the far side of his property, Catherine decided to wash her hair in the cool water.

She knelt at the creek’s edge, letting the water run through her long, auburn hair, enjoying the relief from the heat.

So absorbed was she in this simple pleasure that she didn’t hear the approaching hoofbeats until the rider was almost upon her.

Well, well, a familiar voice drawled.

What have we here? Catherine looked up, water dripping from her hair, to find Loretta James sitting astride a magnificent black gelding.

The woman was dressed for riding in a fashionable habit, her red hair perfectly arranged beneath a small hat.

Miss James, Catherine said, scrambling to her feet and wringing out her wet hair.

This is a surprise.

I was just passing by, Loretta said, though the cabin was miles from town and not on any main trail.

Thought I’d check on how you’re settling in.

The implication in her tone was unmistakable.

Catherine lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated.

Very well, thank you.

Mr. Nash has been most accommodating.

Loretta’s painted lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

I’m sure he has.

Keegan has always been accommodating to a pretty face.

Catherine felt her cheeks flush with anger.

If you have something to say, Miss James, perhaps you should say it directly.

Loretta’s eyebrows rose at Catherine’s boldness.

Very well, I’ll be direct.

You’re living alone with a man to whom you’re not married in a cabin miles from town.

In most places, that would make you a certain type of woman.

And what type would that be? Keegan’s voice, cold as winter, came from behind them.

Both women turned to see him dismounting from his horse, his expression thunderous.

Catherine had never seen him angry before, and the transformation was startling.

The usually gentle cowboy looked capable of violence.

Keegan, Loretta said, her tone instantly softening.

I was just having a friendly chat with Miss Nicholson.

Didn’t sound friendly to me, he said, moving to stand beside Catherine.

Sounded like you were insulting a lady in my home.

Loretta’s expression hardened.

A lady living here unchaperoned.

Don’t be naive, Keegan.

Miss Nicholson survived a disaster that killed her only living relative, Keegan said, his voice dangerously quiet.

I offered her shelter because it was the right thing to do.

There’s nothing improper about it.

The town doesn’t see it that way, Loretta retorted.

People talk.

Let them, Keegan said dismissively.

Now, if you don’t mind, I believe you’re trespassing on my property.

Loretta’s eyes widened at the clear dismissal.

For a moment, she seemed ready to argue further.

Then, with a toss of her head, she gathered her reins.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you, she said to Catherine.

When he tires of you, and he will, McGill won’t be welcoming to a woman with your reputation.

With that parting shot, she wheeled her horse around and galloped away.

Catherine stood frozen, water still dripping from her hair, Loretta’s words ringing in her ears.

She had known there would be gossip, but the viciousness of the woman’s attack had caught her off guard.

I’m sorry about that, Keegan said, his anger fading to concern.

Loretta has always been territorial, Catherine supplied, remembering his earlier description.

Something like that.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Catherine had come to recognize as a sign of agitation.

What she said about the town, do you think she’s right? Catherine interrupted, needing to know.

Will my reputation be ruined by staying here? Keegan was silent for a moment, considering.

McGill isn’t Boston, he finally said.

People are more practical out here.

Yes, there will be talk.

But if you decide to stay in town eventually, to teach or work in a store, most folks will judge you by what you do, not where you lived when you had nowhere else to go.

His words reassured her somewhat, but Loretta’s visit had cast a shadow over the peaceful existence they had built.

For the first time, Catherine was forced to confront the reality of her situation from an outside perspective.

What would her parents have thought of her living alone with a man to whom she wasn’t married, regardless of the circumstances? What would society back in Boston have said? And more troubling still, was there truth to Loretta’s implication that Keegan would tire of her presence? Had she overstayed her welcome without realizing it? Perhaps it’s time I considered moving to town, she said quietly, unable to meet his eyes.

I’ve imposed on your hospitality for too long.

Catherine.

The way he said her name made her look up.

Keegan’s blue eyes were intense, his expression more open than she had ever seen it.

Is that what you want, to leave? The directness of the question caught her off guard.

Did she want to leave? The answer was simple, no.

Despite the impropriety of her situation, despite Loretta’s cruel words, Catherine had found happiness at the cabin.

She had found purpose in the garden and the chickens, in making the cabin a home.

And she had found something else, too.

Something she hadn’t expected, feelings for this quiet, honorable man who had saved her life in more ways than one.

No, she admitted softly.

I don’t want to leave, but I can’t stay forever as your houseguest.

Keegan took a step closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes.

What if it wasn’t as my houseguest? Catherine’s heart seemed to stop, then race ahead.

What do you mean? For a moment, Keegan looked almost vulnerable, the confident cowboy replaced by a man taking a risk.

I mean what if you stayed as my wife? The word hung in the air between them, changing everything.

Catherine felt dizzy, as if the ground beneath her feet had shifted.

Your wife? She repeated, certain she had misheard.

I know it’s sudden, Keegan said, the words coming faster now.

And I know I’m not the kind of man you probably imagined marrying back in Boston, but these past weeks, having you here, it’s felt right, Catherine, like you belong here, with me.

Catherine was speechless.

Marriage had been far from her mind since the flood, her focus entirely on survival and rebuilding her life.

And yet, as Keegan’s words sank in, she realized that what had been building between them was more than friendship, more than gratitude for her rescue.

You don’t have to answer now, Keegan added quickly, misinterpreting her silence.

I know it’s a lot to consider, and if your answer is no, I’ll still help you get established in town.

Nothing changes about that.

Keegan.

Catherine stepped forward and, in a moment of boldness that would have shocked her Boston self, placed a hand on his chest.

Through the thin fabric of his shirt, she could feel his heart racing.

Are you asking because of what Loretta said, to protect my reputation? He covered her hand with his own, larger one.

No.

I’m asking because the thought of you leaving makes me realize how much I want you to stay.

For good, not as my housekeeper or friend, but as my partner, my wife.

There was no artifice in his face, no hidden agenda.

Just honest emotion from a man who had risked his life to save hers, and who now risked his heart as well.

I don’t need time to consider, Catherine said softly.

My answer is yes.

For a moment, Keegan simply stared at her, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

Then slowly, a smile spread across his face, not the small, restrained smile she was used to, but a full, joyful grin that transformed him.

Yes, he repeated, as if he needed confirmation.

Yes, Catherine said again, her own smile growing to match his.

I’ll marry you, Keegan Nash.

In a swift movement that took her breath away, Keegan gathered her into his arms, lifting her off her feet in an exuberant embrace.

When he set her down, he kept his arms around her, looking into her eyes with wonder.

I never thought he began, then shook his head, unable to find the words.

Neither did I, Catherine admitted.

When that flood took everything, I thought my life was over.

I never imagined it was just beginning.

Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, Keegan lowered his head.

Their first kiss was gentle, tentative the kiss of two people discovering each other.

When they parted, Catherine felt as though something fundamental had shifted inside her.

This man, this place they were becoming her home in a way Boston never had been.

When? she asked, still held loosely in his arms.

When shall we marry? Keegan considered.

There’s a circuit preacher who comes through McGill every few weeks, or we could ride to Carson City, find a justice of the peace there.

Soon, Catherine said, surprising herself with her certainty.

I don’t want to wait.

Keegan’s smile returned.

Neither do I.

They decided to ride to McGill the next day to inquire about the circuit preacher’s schedule.

As they walked back to the cabin hand in hand, Catherine felt a lightness she hadn’t experienced since before her parents’ deaths.

The future which had seemed so uncertain after the flood, now stretched before her full of possibility.

That evening, as they sat before the fire, their conversation turned to practical matters.

Keegan spoke of his plans for the horse ranch, how he hoped to expand his breeding program beyond just breaking wild mustangs for sale.

I’ve been saving, he told her.

For a proper house, eventually.

Something bigger than this cabin, with real glass windows and maybe even a second story.

Catherine could picture it, a sturdy ranch house overlooking the valley, with room for children to run and play.

Continue reading….
Next »