CHAPTER 1
March 1870
Silver Dollar, Montana Territory
Jonah Coulter gripped the stack of posters bearing Patsy's description as he strode down the bustling main street of Silver Dollar, the latest in an endless string of mining towns in this exhausting, fruitless search. After four months of hunting, he was bone-weary, but he’d done almost nothing by way of actually locating little Anna’s aunt.
The only real progress he’d made was ruling out women and towns from his list of possible places Patsy of unknown surname could be. Had he really thought he could find a woman in this vast Montana Territory with only her first name and hair color? A fool’s delusion.
As he approached the weathered facade of the Silver Dollar Saloon, the raucous laughter spilling from within turned his stomach. Would Patsy frequent this kind of place with her new husband? If so, would she even be a suitable guardian for the seven-year-old girl he’d found in the woods on his family’s mountain ranch. But he’d promised to search for Anna’s Aunt Patsy and,if she still remained in the Montana Territory, to find her and bring her back. The poor girl’s grandmother, who’d been traveling with her, had died, and this aunt was her only remaining family.
Jonah stepped up to the board beside the saloon door, where other notices were posted, and pulled a nail from his satchel. He positioned it so his blow would secure the paper into the wood. Patsy's vague description, penned in his most legible script, stared at him from the topmost sheet. He drew a steadying breath and stepped forward for his task.
A few men drifted from the saloon as he finished nailing the notice. They seemed interested, so he stepped back in case any of them recognized the description.
The pungent aroma of sweat, tobacco, and whisky clouded the fresh air as one of the men murmured something indecipherable to another. They both chuckled.
A third fellow, his dark beard matted enough to hide a small animal, raised a tin cup in salute. "Sounds like a looker. She your’n?"
Jonah gave a hard shake of his head. “My family’s taken in her niece. She’s the girl’s last kin. If any of you know of her, I’d appreciate you pointing me in the right direction.”
The man who’d first laughed with his companion gave a toothy grin. “I knew a redhead once. She was a feisty thing.”
Jonah raised his brows, a seed of hope planting in his chest. “She still around here?”
The miner shook his head. “Naw. That was back in Indiany. She was the kinda gal who stuck with ya, though.”
The guy had the nerve to wink, and Jonah had to clench his jaw to keep from giving the man a lesson about how women should be treated. The men in these towns were all the same. They had no useful information. They just wasted Jonah’s time with their crude remarks.
He was ready to move on to the next establishment when thebearded man spoke up again. "Ya know, I might've seen a gal like that a few months back. She was passing through on a freight wagon, heading west outta town."
Hope tried to break through Jonah’s exhaustion. "You're certain? A young woman with red hair?"
The miner scratched his matted beard. "Couldn’t miss that fiery mane o’ hers. Overheard her telling the driver she was meeting up with her new husband."
Newhusband. That matched what Anna had said. "Any idea where they were headed?" Jonah worked to keep the desperation from his voice.
The man shrugged. "Sorry, friend. Didn't catch that part. But there's only a couple of towns big enough for settling down in that direction. You might try Sweetwater Springs or Prospect Falls."
Jonah nodded his thanks but felt anything but encouraged.
More towns, more dead ends. But he couldn't return to Anna and his family empty-handed, couldn't fail this last bit of purpose that kept him going.
He tipped his hat to the man. "Much obliged." He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving the men to their vulgar comments.
As Jonah paused outside the town’s mercantile to post his next flyer, he gazed out at the mountains rising in the distance, their snow-capped peaks tinted orange by the late afternoon sun. Somewhere out there was a woman who held the key to a little girl's future. And come drought or snowstorm, he aimed to find her.
May 1870
Missoula Mills, MontanaTerritory
Patience shuffled the deck of cards with practiced ease, the worn edges slipping through her fingers like water over river rocks. The room was thick with cigar smoke and the sharp scent of whiskey, a heady mix that she'd grown accustomed to in her time working at the saloon. Her gaze swept over the players at her table, reading their tells and sizing them up with a gambler's instinct honed by necessity.
One man in particular drew her focus like a lodestone. He hunched over his cards, a scowl etched deep into the lines of his weathered face. The barkeep had pulled her aside when the fellow walked in, warning her in hushed tones to keep a watchful eye on him.That one's got a temper on him,he'd muttered.Liable to blow at any moment, and Lord help whoever's in his path when he does.
Patience watched him now, noting the pressure coiled in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed and twitched toward the holster at his hip.
Like a snake preparing to strike.
