The dust cloud trailing behind the stage of coach dissipated into the scorching New Mexico air as it rumbled to a halt outside the makeshift trading post of Redemption Springs in the summer of 1876. Nobody paid much attention to the battered leather trunk that tumbled from the roof, nor to the slender figure that was roughly pushed out after it, collapsing into the dirt without so much as a whimper. Nathan Harding pulled the brim of his hat lower against the harsh afternoon sun, observing the scene from his position on the porch of the general store. His weathered hand instinctively moved to the revolver at his hip when he saw the woman crumpled to the ground, her once fine dress now torn and soiled. The stage a coach driver merely tossed her small carpet bag after her climbed back onto his seat and with a crack of his whip continued on towards Santa Fee.
"Damn it all," Nathan muttered, striding across the dusty street. "Aroached, he could see the woman attempting to rise, her arms trembling violently with the effort. Purple bruises marked her exposed wrists, and a deep cut marred her lower lip. Her attempts to stand failed, and she collapsed once more into the dirt.
"Nathan knelt beside her, his shadow offering momentary relief from the blistering sun. "Madam," he said gently, she flinched away, her eyes wide with fear as she tried to shield her face with shaking hands. "I ain't going to hurt you," he said, his voice softening. Without waiting for a response, he carefully slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all. She was light too light, and the way she tensed at his touch told him more than words could about what she'd endured.
Her breath caught as he cradled her against his chest, and Nathan looked down into eyes the color of a stormy sky. No one will hurt you again," he promised, his voice low and certain as he carried her toward Doc Sullivan's office at the end of the street. Rebecca Porter had never felt more alone than she did in that moment, carried in the arms of a stranger across a town whose name she'd only learned from the stage a coach manifest. Her ribs achd with each breath, and the sunlight pierced her head like needles.
The cowboy's face was partially shadowed by his hat, but she could see the firm set of his jaw, the concern in his eyes. "I can walk," she whispered, though they both knew it was a lie. "Sure you can," Nathan replied, not breaking his stride. "But humor me anyway. Rebecca had left Philadelphia with dreams of teaching at the new schoolhouse in Santa Fe.
Her fiance Charles had insisted on accompanying her west, promising adventure and protection. Two days into their journey, she discovered the true nature of the man she'd agreed to marry. His charm had dissolved into drunken rage when she'd questioned his gambling away their travel funds. The beating that followed had been the first of many. "Almost there," Nathan said, nodding toward a small building with a handpainted sign reading J.
Sullivan, MD. He shouldered open the door without putting her down. Good lord, Nate, came a gruff voice from within. What have you brought me now? Found her outside the trading post. Stage a coach just dumped her there.
Rebecca felt herself being lowered onto a clean but worn examination table. The room smelled of carbolic acid and whiskey. The doctor was an older man with kind eyes and steady hands that belied his apparent fondness for the bottle. I'm fine, Rebecca protested weakly. I just need to rest.
She needs looking after Doc, Nathan said, stepping back but not leaving. I'll cover whatever it costs. I can pay my own way, Rebecca insisted, though her reticule contained barely enough for a night's lodging. Charles had taken everything else before abandoning her to the stage a coach driver with instructions to drop the troublesome baggage wherever convenient. The doctor's examination was thorough but gentle.
Three broken ribs, extensive bruising, mild concussion, and dehydration," he concluded. "Who did this to you, miss? Rebecca looked away. "It doesn't matter now. It matters to me," Nathan said, his voice quiet, but hard as steel.
Rebecca studied him properly for the first time, tall and broad-shouldered with sun darkened skin and eyes the rich brown of coffee. His clothes were worn but clean, and he carried himself with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to hard work and harder decisions. "My former fiance," she admitted finally. "He's long gone now, headed to California with what was left of my money. Nathan's expression darkened.
"Got a name, Nathan," the doctor warned. "Let the law handle it. "What law? Nathan scoffed. "Marshall hasn't been through in 2 months.
Please, Rebecca said, I just want to forget him. The doctor finished binding her ribs and mixing a powder for pain. She needs rest. Can't stay here, though. My wife's sister is arriving tomorrow, taking my spare room.
The boarding house is full with those railroad surveyors, Nathan said thoughtfully. She can stay at my place. I've got a spare room. Rebecca stiffened. That's very kind, but I'll be in the bunk house with my ranch hands, Nathan added quickly.
House will be all yours until you're back on your feet. I couldn't impose. You could try the saloon, the doctor suggested dryly. I'm sure those rooms are available by the hour. Nathan shot him a withering look.
Not helping Doc. Rebecca closed her eyes, exhaustion overwhelming her pride. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. "Thank you," she whispered. Just until I can find work.
Nathan owns the largest cattle spread this side of the territory, the doctor said. Half the town works for him already. Sullivan. Nathan warned. The doctor smiled.
Just providing context for the lady. An hour later, Rebecca found herself in Nathan's wagon, propped carefully on pillows the doctor's wife had insisted on sending along. Her trunk and carpet bag were secured in the back. The pain powder had dulled the worst of her discomfort, but each jolt of the wagon sent fresh waves of agony through her body. Nathan kept the horses at a gentle walk.
"Not much further," he assured her, noticing her palar. "Doubleh ranch is just beyond that ridge. As they crested the hill, Rebecca gasped. Sprawled before them was a vista that took her breath away. A large, well-built ranch house stood proudly amid several outbuildings, corrals, and a bunk house.
In the distance, cattle grazed on green pastures fed by a winding stream. Mountains rose majestically in the background, still capped with snow despite the summer heat. "It's beautiful," she said. Nathan's expression softened with pride. "Built most of it myself.
Started with nothing but a claim and 20 head of cattle 8 years ago. You've accomplished a great deal, Rebecca said sincerely. Had my share of setbacks, he replied, guiding the wagon toward the main house. Range war nearly wiped me out in 72. Drought almost finished what the rustlers started in 74.
Yet you persevered. Nathan glanced at her, a hint of a smile touching his lips. Ain't much choice out here but to keep going. The house was larger than it had appeared from a distance with a wide verander wrapping around three sides. Inside, Rebecca was surprised by the comfortable furnishings and touches that spoke of care curtains at the windows, books on shelves, a piano in one corner of the main room.
My mother's, Nathan explained, following her gaze to the instrument. Never could bring myself to part with it after she passed. Do you play? Rebecca asked. About as well as a bear with mittens, he admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle.
You I taught music in Philadelphia before deciding to come west. Nathan led her to a bedroom at the back of the house. The space was simply furnished but clean with a bed, dresser, wash stand, and a small desk beneath a window that overlooked a kitchen garden. "It's not fancy," he said, suddenly appearing uncomfortable. "But it's quiet.
It's perfect, Rebecca assured him. I don't know how to thank you. No need for thanks. Rest up. My housekeeper, Mrs. Fenton, comes by three times a week.