Thundering mountain, p.1
Thundering Mountain, page 1
Thundering Mountain
THUNDERING MOUNTAIN RANCH
BOOK ONE
NICOLE NEISWANGER
Copyright © 2023 by Nicole Neiswanger
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including AI generation tools, information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a critical articles and book review.
Excerpt from Thundering Meadows by Nicole Neiswanger, Copyright © 2023
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For questions or and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at calicopublicationsllc@gmail.com.
Cover Design: Covers and Cupcakes, LLC
Publisher: Calico Publications, LLC
Digital ISBN: 978-1-960600-00-4
Print Edition ISBN: 978-1-960600-01-1
To my husband, Bryan and my mother, Debbie for being supportive of a dream I’ve had for years. Without either of you, I would never have had the courage to chase my dreams.
To my friends, Jamie Dodge, Hilaree Collins, Natalie Workman, Erin Torres, and Jessie Carol. You were patient and supportive as I ran my crazy ideas past you. I love all of you and couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you for coming along on my wild ride.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Thundering Meadows
About the Author
One
August 1892
“Elizabeth, what in the name of all that’s holy did you just do?”
The blood-speckled rock slid from Elizabeth’s fingertips, rolling, tumbling across the brown dirt before it stood still, mere inches from a mud-covered, blackened boot. The stranger lay crumpled in a heap, a well-used rifle between his limp fingers. Dark red blood matted the back of his head and seeped from the wound she had inflicted. She wasn’t trying to kill him, but she had to stop him from harming her brother, James.
“I saved your hide,” she grumbled.
After what it took to find her brother James, she wasn’t about to lose him. If the stranger had to hide on a hill like a coward while her brother’s gang robbed the stagecoach, then he deserved what he got. A real man wouldn’t have hidden like a rabbit from a coyote, but would’ve gone into the fray. Of course, she had to be grateful he hadn’t gone down the hill with guns blazing. He might have shot her brother, and she wasn’t about to let that happen.
“You disobeyed me and could’ve been killed,” James snapped, his eyes flashing with anger. “I didn’t want you anywhere near here while I did my last job. What if this man had caught you?”
Why didn’t he treat her like a grown woman going on twenty-two? One with determination, grit, and a desire to be independent when every man, except her poor excuse of a pa, wanted her to depend on them as though she were a helpless, dainty society lady.
She bent to pick up the man’s rifle, and her hat tumbled into the dirt and her braided brown hair fell over her shoulder. She scooped up the rifle and her hat before facing her brother’s irritating tirade. “He didn’t, and it seems to me I saved you from a hanging. You should thank me.”
“Thank you? I told you to stay at the cabin,” he said, his eyes narrowing into thin slits.
Had she pushed him too far? “I told you I was coming. It’s not my fault you didn’t check to see if I’d follow.”
“Elizabeth.” His voice deepened. “You…”
“What did I do that was so awful?”
He sighed as he shoved his kerchief into his trouser pocket. “It’s not important. Leave the rifle. We don’t want to be caught with it.”
She emptied the chamber of the Winchester rifle, dropped it on the ground, and pocketed the cartridges. James was right, but she’d stop the stranger from shooting it anytime soon.
She shook off the dirt from her hat before slapping it on her head. “Are we going to argue or leave before he wakes?”
“You’re unbelievable.” He pointed his finger at her. “We need to head on out, but don’t think this conversation is over.”
Biting her lip to hold back her grin, she said, “I suppose nothing ever is.”
She catapulted herself into her saddle and nudged her horse forward. Looking behind her, she said, “Are you coming? We’ve been here long enough.”
A few hours later, Elizabeth, James, and his men gathered in a secluded, ramshackle cabin far off the beaten path. Considering the state of the cabin, the likelihood of anyone discovering them by happenstance was minimal.
Elizabeth stood next to her brother, watching the calculated movements of him and his men as they divided up the stacks of green money and bags of gold dust. She was unnerved by her own anticipation of the potential rewards from the bounty and a deep dread of the consequences if they were ever caught.
She’d never been involved in anything of this nature and although it had been one of the most exciting days she had ever experienced, a fear settled deep in her gut. She hadn’t expected her brother to be a criminal and wasn’t sure her life would improve with him at her side. He claimed this was his last job, but did she know that for sure? Her pa made promises as well, but never kept them.
James had said little on the way back to the cabin and the silence was daunting. Would he send her back to her pa or would he be willing to keep her by his side as their ma had wanted?
She knew she angered James with her defiance, but if he had trusted her and let her come along, then she would’ve been a better lookout. Her pa had raised her as if she were a boy, his rough hands a testament to his displeasure whenever she did wrong, but a helping hand when gutting a deer she had fallen with her rifle. She knew how to ride, to shoot, was quick on her feet, and stronger than anyone expected. She was not one to weep, wail, or fall faint. James could trust her at her word and depend on her in any situation.
When she had handed him the letter her ma had written, he had read it, stuffed it into his coat pocket, and then asked, “Are you sure you want to come with me?” She had looked at him hard before nodding and that had been that. A few days later, she had found herself protecting the brother with whom she had believed would protect her.
She had found the letter a few months back when she discovered an old trunk of her ma’s buried in the attic above her room. It had been addressed to James but never sent. She had read the letter and shed tears at the words of the woman she had barely known. Their ma had begged her oldest son to watch out for Elizabeth. Would he respect their ma’s wishes and or would he be like her pa?
James told the men to be alert. They needed to steer clear of the law or their efforts would’ve been for naught
“Last thing I want is to be is caged like a bear or on the end of a long rope,” James said.
Each man chuckled as they left the cabin. They tightened the cinches on their saddles and headed out in different directions. Within minutes, only Elizabeth and James remained.
“Are you ready? We can’t stay here,” James said.
Elizabeth nodded and wiped the sweat from her palms onto her trousers. She then tightened the belt, securing them around her waist. They were much too big for her slight frame, and they were even baggier considering how little she’d eaten the past few weeks. The little money she took had gone to feed for her horse and whatever she could scrounge for herself as she searched the countryside for her brother.
His muscles strained as he loaded the money bags on the back of his pack horse. The animal shifting uncomfortably before he settled under James’s steady hands. How much had James taken from the robbery? She wanted to ask, but wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Best to be in the dark if the law were to catch up with them.
She scratched her horse’s muzzle, his soft whiskers tickling her fingers as he nestled against her. Her touch gentle before grasping the horn and catapulting herself into the saddle. Adjusting her hat so it covered her face, she tightened her hold on the reins and looked at her brother. “Where are we headed?”
“A small town where no one knows us.”
“That ain’t much to go on.”
“I know.”
“Can you tell me
“You’ll know when we get there.” His gaze forward, his hands resting on the pommel, his packhorse next to him.
“Why can’t you tell me now?”
“Are you always this contrary?” he asked, nudging his horse forward.
“Yep, so you best get used to it.” She grinned and followed. Her life and circumstances had changed, and she was going to make the best of it.
Hours after leaving the secluded cabin, Elizabeth and James arrived at the ranch James had purchased a month before. It sat a few miles west of Spring Creek, a small town south of Helena, Montana. The sun settled behind the mountain range, red and orange streaks of light covering the blue peaks. The reins rested between Elizabeth’s fingertips as she slowed her horse. His head dropping to the ground to munch on the sweet grass before them. James’s horse brushed against her leg as he reined to a stop next to her.
The wind rustled through the meadow with visions of green, sweeping, rolling waves as far as she could see. A smattering of pink and orange wildflowers before them. She inhaled and the fresh scent of wet barley filled the air. It must’ve rained recently.
During their journey, James told her he wanted to settle his roots and make an honest living. “Spring Creek is small but thriving. There’s lots of opportunity here, especially since they built the rail station.”
“You chose well. How’d you find it?” she asked. She could see the hidden possibilities.
His lips lifted into a wide smile. “I saw sales notices when I was in Helena last spring. I couldn’t resist. It needs work, but I figured I’d hire a ranch hand to help with the heavy lifting. It has potential.”
She grinned. “You don’t need to hire a ranch hand. I can help.”
“The house itself’s a disaster, so I’ll need a man’s strength,” he continued, as though he hadn’t heard a word she said.
“I can do it,” Elizabeth interrupted, anger boiling inside like a volcano ready to explode. It was just like a man to assume she couldn’t do an honest day’s work.
“You might think you can, but…”
“Damn it,” she said, her voice raising in volume, almost like a squeaky wheel that hadn’t seen a touch of grease in months. “I worked on Pa’s ranch as hard as any hired hand.”
“Mayhap, but we can’t draw attention to ourselves. I can’t have anyone looking at me and wondering why I can’t control my sister.”
“Control…” she sputtered, “that’s absurd. No one ever questioned Pa.”
“Maybe they should’ve.” He rested his forearms on the pommel of his horse, his hat pulled low over his brow. The silence stretched between them. “When we’re on the ranch alone, you do what you please and even wear those trousers you’re so fond of.”
“What’s wrong with them?” she said, heat radiating off her like a torch from a smithy.
“No need to get all riled up. Most women your age try to catch themselves a man and dress more…” he paused as though deliberating his next words. “More like a woman.”
“Don’t want a man and certainly don’t need one either,” she said.
“Not sure why’d you feel that way.” He held up his hand at her protests. “I reckon I ain’t an example to set your sights on, but one day you’ll want to have a home of your own, maybe a passel of children.”
She’d have to take the man to get the children, so she’d live without both. Taking a deep breath, she said each word carefully, so he’d understand. “It’s not something I’ll ever want.”
He shook his head in either frustration or consternation. She wasn’t sure which.
“So, as to keep our lives from becoming a battleground, perhaps we strike a compromise. You wear what you want on the ranch. When in town, you act like a lady.”
“Fine, but…”
“But what?” he asked.
“I… I don’t own a skirt or a dress. Pa never thought I needed ‘em, and since Ma passed, there’d been no one to tell him otherwise. No one brave enough to tell him, truth be told.”
James said nothing, just waited. The silence stretched between them like an accordion that was waiting for the climax of the song. She wasn’t sure how much to tell him or what to tell him. She wanted to forget.
“It never bothered me.” She removed her hat and swiped at the loose hairs. “Pa was a force to be reckoned with. I couldn’t defy him... until I left. You know it better than most, I suspect.”
He stared straight ahead, almost as if remembering the past. “I suppose I do. At least I can fix that. I’m gonna head to town tomorrow to pick up supplies, and I’ll see if I can find you a skirt or two. You stay at the ranch and decide where we should begin.” He turned in his saddle, the leather shifting across the horse’s back, and faced her. “Do you think you could do that?”
“Yes.” The corners of her mouth lifted. She always did what she wanted regardless, but for the sake of keeping him out of jail and for keeping the peace, she’d honor his wishes as long as he never raised a hand against her. She already had one man take a fist to her. She’d do what she could to avoid another.
James laughed, the edges of his eyes crinkling with delight. She reckoned he was in for a few surprises when it came to her.
Two
Ben’s head ached as though a hammer pounded on an anvil. He tried to open his eyes, but they were glued shut and heavy, as if weighted down with stones. After a moment, he wrenched them open and regretted it as the intense sun burned, causing the pulsating throbs to increase.
His head rested between bags of feed on an old wagon and the tangy sour smell of rotten oats surrounded him. The wagon bumped and jolted, intensifying the pain with every passing second. Reaching behind his head, he discovered the cause of his pain, a large, sticky, blood-covered knot. His stomach turned, and he swallowed hard to keep his morning meal where it belonged.
The wagon creaked and pulled to a stop. The world rotated in an intricate sequence of colors as he pushed his aching body to a sitting position. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the crazy spinning. He reopened them, and an old man with a toothless smile grinned at him. His eyes twinkled as though he held Ben’s secrets in his hand.
“You alright, son? Ya took a nasty hit to the head.”
The man wore dingy clothes and the scent of ripe horse manure poured off him. Had he rolled around in it? Ben turned his head downwind, trying not to appear rude. The stench was overpowering.
“I seem to be,” replied Ben. “My head’s pounding something fierce. What happened?”
“Not sure, son. You was lying dead to the world when I came upon ya.” He waved his arm, revealing sweat stains along the side of his ratty shirt.
Ben groaned. “Where’s my horse? My rifle?”
“Horse’s tied to the back of the wagon. Rifle sitting next to ya and a mighty fine one at that.” Ben glanced at his fingertips and sighed. The rifle had been a gift from his pa and he treasured it.
“You remember anythin’?” the man asked.
“I…” Struggling to recall the last few hours, he said, “Gunshots. I tied off my horse and crept up the hill to see what was happening. The stagecoach was being robbed.” Shifting to ease the pain in his head, he asked, “Was anyone hurt?”
“Nope. Others are fine. Marshal’s with ‘em getting what information he can about them there outlaws. Since you was the only one hurt, Marshal asked me to get you to the doc.”
“I don’t want to put you out.”
