Thundering sunset, p.1
Thundering Sunset, page 1
Thundering Sunset
Thundering Mountain Ranch
Book Six
Nicole Neiswanger
Copyright © 2025 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 critical articles and book reviews.
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.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
For questions or comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at calicopublicationsllc@gmail.com.
Publisher: Calico Publications, LLC
Cover Design: Covers and Cupcakes, LLC
Editor: Telltail Editing
Digital ISBN: 978-1-960600-15-8
Print Edition ISBN: 978-1-960600-17-2
For my father, Doug Fleming,
Your unwavering support and love means the world to me. I was certainly blessed with the best parents and couldn’t be more lucky.
Love you always.
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
Epilogue
Thundering Sunrise
Author’s Note
Extended Epilogues
About the Author
Also by Nicole Neiswanger
One
December 1902
Michael wiped the sweat from his brow as the heat from the fire roared in front of him. He flamed the fiery blaze bursting from the forge and inserted a heavy metal rod. The rod turned orange and then a deep red as the high heat seared it. When it reached the right temperature, he pulled out the rod and shaped the metal with his hammer, his muscles bulging from the force of the blows.
Once it was the desired shape, he inserted it into the metal bucket of cold water. The water hissed as the heat was extinguished, steam rising and drifting toward his face. He tilted his head to avoid being burned by the rapidly climbing moisture.
Church bells rang, telling all who could hear that it was noon. He was at a stopping point, so he placed the metal rod on the bench behind him and the hammer on the wall rack. Michael pulled off his heavy black apron and hung it on the hook next to his tools before dunking a metal cup in the bucket of drinking water he kept handy and drank deeply of the warm liquid. He would’ve preferred icy water to the heat that burned around him, but as thirsty as he was, he wasn’t too choosy.
After he’d gotten his fill, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, probably further smearing the dirt and grime on his face, but he didn’t mind. Michael enjoyed what he did. It was satisfying work, and he did well for himself, especially being in the heart of Helena. His older brother, Ben, wanted him to work on the family ranch, but he enjoyed working in town.
He’d never wanted to be a rancher. Cow chasing just wasn’t something he was particularly fond of, especially once he got a taste of city life. Michael was in the thick of things in Helena. He had plenty of work to keep him busy and friends with whom he socialized regularly. Ben thought he needed to settle down with a good woman, but Michael wasn’t in a hurry. There was no need to start a family, not when he had plenty he wanted to do before then.
“Hello,” a familiar deep voice echoed from behind him.
Michael turned and grinned. “Hey, what are you doing in town?”
It was as though he had conjured his older brother with his random thoughts.
“I had business at the bank, so I thought I’d stop and say hello. You’re still planning on coming home for Christmas, right?” Ben leaned up against the door to Michael’s smithy. He was bundled up in his thick sheepskin coat, leather gloves, and a worn Stetson.
“Of course.” Michael pointed out the window. “As long as the weather holds.”
“Elizabeth will be mighty upset if you don’t show.”
Michael chuckled. Ben’s wife, Elizabeth, liked to have everyone close by, especially around the holidays. Any chance she was given to have everyone home, she took advantage of it. Michael didn’t want to disappoint her, so he’d find a way to go to the family’s ranch.
Michael ran his fingers through his hair. “Tell her I’ll try to be there by Christmas Eve.” He wasn’t sure how he’d make it work, but he’d find a way.
Ben frowned. “That late? She was hoping to have everyone there the whole week.”
“I’d like to, but I’ve been busy here of late and can’t take the time.”
“What happened to your help?” Ben looked around the corner, likely expecting to see the young man he’d hired earlier that year.
“He up and quit on me two weeks ago. Found the woman of his dreams.” Michael had tried to talk him out of leaving, but he’d been determined to go. “Without his help, it’s been difficult keeping up, so unless I get help soon, I’ll be lucky to be there for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”
“I understand, but try to make it if you can. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.” Ben slapped his hands together. While it was warm inside the smithy, the raw air blowing outside was enough to send pinpricks so fierce you’d rather be dragged by a horse than stay outside too long.
“I’ll try.” Michael picked up his thick coat and pulled it over his shoulders. While he’d been burning hot a moment before, the chill could sneak inside his bones mighty quick if he stayed still long enough. “You here long?”
“Just overnight. Need to meet with the lawyer and order a few supplies. The weather isn’t looking promising, though. I told Elizabeth I’d stay the night so I don’t worry her by traveling in the dark. Not sure I can get out of here before the snow blows in, so I might be here longer than I’d planned.”
“You staying at Luke and Louisa’s?”
Their brother Luke and his wife, Louisa, had moved back East so Louisa could attend medical school. He and Ben were keeping an eye on their place, Thundering Ridge, while they were away.
“No. The family that was renting the place took everything, lock, stock, and barrel. There ain’t a stick of furniture left.”
“What happened to Luke and Louisa’s furniture? They didn’t take it when they left town.”
“It’s stored in the attic, and I’m not inclined to pull down a mattress and frame for the night.”
“That makes sense.” A breeze whipped through the open doors, and Michael tightened his coat.
“But I promised Luke we’d keep an eye on his place. I want to check on it and make sure nothing needs repairing before I try to rent it again.”
“You’re welcome to stay with me, but it’d be on the sofa back there.” Michael pointed to the two small rooms at the back of the smithy.
Ben crossed his arms. “Yeah, I’ve seen your sofa. It’s lumpier than the rutted road to the old homestead. I’ll take a room at the hotel. Besides, you snore louder than a freight train coming down the tracks.”
Chuckling, Michael shook his head. His place wasn’t big or particularly comfortable, but it sure beat having to pay for a room. “Not sure how Elizabeth sleeps through your caterwauling, but if you change your mind, you’re always welcome.”
Ben grinned widely, likely knowing he was right. “I appreciate that, but I ain’t above paying for a bed at the hotel. Would you like to have dinner later?”
“Yeah, I’d like that. I’ll meet you at Mimi’s Diner? It’s gonna take me at least that long to finish today.” He pointed to the pile of work waiting for him.
“Sounds like a solid plan.” Ben left, the wind picking up the flaps of his coat and almost taking his hat with it before he disappeared out of sight.
Michael’s belly rumbled, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten in some time. He strode to his combined office and kitchen, where it was a tad warmer than outside and where he could rustle up something to eat. The space was cozy, with a small cookstove next to a small wooden cabinet where he stored canned beans, canisters of flour, sugar, cornmeal, and rice with two shelves above that held his metal plates, cups, a few utensils, and a chocolate cake a neighbor had given him just the day before.
His small desk played a dual purpose
He’d left the smithy’s wide doors open, along with a sign out front telling any customer to holler if they didn’t see him. As much as he would’ve liked to close the doors to keep the heat in, without an assistant, there was no choice but to keep them open. He wanted it to be clear to everyone in town that he was still open for business.
Grabbing a loaf of bread, he cut two thick pieces, slathered cold butter on them, and found a few pieces of ham from dinner the night before. He settled back in his chair and put his feet up on the small stool he had just for that purpose. After a few minutes, the rumbling in his stomach ceased.
As he took the last bite, cursed screams and the dull thud of wheels crashed outside. Horses neighed, people screamed, and footfalls pounded along the dirt road.
“What the hell?” He jumped to his feet and rushed outside, just in time to see a carriage wheel fly past him. A small buggy had crashed mere feet from his fenced-in corral.
He ran to calm the horses, who squealed and pranced in fear. They shook their heads and rose on their hind legs, trying to release themselves. He grabbed the bridle of one and held it still as another man calmed the second horse. After a few minutes, the agitated horses settled. Once that was done, Michael turned and saw a tangled mess of a blue skirt, ruffled white petticoats, and trim ankles encased in black cotton stockings. He should avert his eyes, but he couldn’t help but enjoy the view.
The unladylike cursing coming from inside the carriage ruined the image. Pulling away from his not-so-innocent thoughts, he scrambled to the edge of the carriage to help. He had to swing his body sideways to avoid her kicking legs as she tried to sit. Because of the angle of the seats and her awkward position, she wasn’t able to gain enough leverage to heave herself out of the carriage.
He grabbed one of her ankles, and she shrieked, “Unhand me, you… you reprobate!”
Startled, he stepped back. “Just trying to help, ma’am.”
“I don’t need your help,” she muttered, along with a few mumbled curses.
“As you wish.” He smothered a grin at her angsty tone. An elaborate hat covered her face, so he couldn’t get a good look, but what he did see was something to whistle at.
She continued to struggle in the carriage, trying unsuccessfully for a few minutes before finally stopping. She huffed and then sighed. “Well, don’t just stand there. Help me out, would you?”
“Don’t want to overstep, ma’am.” He certainly didn’t want to catch more of her ire.
“You aren’t overstepping. Just get over here and help.” Her irritated tone conveyed her inability to do it herself.
“But you said you didn’t need my help.”
“Forget what I said.”
“Oh no, ma’am. You made it quite clear you could get out on your own.” He was being obstinate, but the women in town had been increasingly disagreeable of late. One of those famous suffragettes had descended on Helena just one month ago, and since then, women had been strutting around town, holding signs and exclaiming they didn’t need a man, that they needed equal rights, and that anything a man could do, they could do as well.
Not that he disagreed with ‘em, but if you tried to hold a door open for one, you likely took your life in your hands due to how irritated they became over simple gentleman gestures. He’d been taught to do things proper like and wasn’t sure what to do with the women who thought his behavior was unseemly.
“Humph.” She unsuccessfully tried once again to climb out of the carriage, but the angle made it impossible. Finally, she sighed and pushed her hat out of the way. “Would you be so kind as to help me out of the carriage?”
Grinning, he stepped forward. He’d made her suffer long enough. “I’d be happy to.”
With that, he reached in and grabbed her tiny waist, lifting her effortlessly up and out of the carriage. Her black hair, the color of the midnight sky, tumbled down her back. As he helped her gain her footing, her trim body slid against his until her feet hit the ground. She used his shoulders for leverage, and for a brief moment, he stared into her silvery blue eyes.
She sighed breathlessly, and ungentlemanly urges coursed through his body. He hadn’t held a woman in his arms in years, much less one as lovely as her. She reminded him of someone, and it tickled the back of his brain, but the conscious part of him had just been replaced with a fiery round of lust, and all he could think about was kissing her plump pink lips.
She stared at him for a moment before trying to ease away, but he hadn’t released her waist. He didn’t want to, but common sense prevailed, and he regretfully let go, retreating to give her room. He had been raised to be a gentleman, and his ma would’ve slapped him upside the head if he had done anything to besmirch her honor.
“Thank you.” Her voice certainly didn’t scream sincerity.
“My pleasure, ma’am. Are you hurt?”
“What? Oh, no, I’m fine.” She yanked off her hat to push back the locks of hair that had fallen across her forehead.
“Are you sure about that? The carriage hit the ground mighty hard.”
“I said I was fine.” She glared at him. Something akin to fury flashed in her eyes.
Well, all righty then. She’s a feisty one.
“Didn’t mean to imply anything, just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt. I’d hate not to call the doc to get you some help if you were injured.”
“Why is it that men always assume we aren’t all right if there’s been an accident? If we say we’re fine, then we’re fine.” She slapped her hat against her thigh and then rested her hands on her hips. Her elaborate hat was filled with feathers, ribbons, and bows that bulged out from the rim and rested next to her as though she had a baby on her hip.
“I assumed nothing, ma’am.” Although she was right. He had.
“Didn’t you? And quit calling me ma’am. I’m not my mother.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She glared at him, annoyance flashing from her eyes. He wanted to chuckle, but her gaze made it abundantly clear that that would be a dangerous idea. The woman didn’t appear to appreciate his humor.
“Hmmph.” She then dangled her hat on the nearest fence post, turned away, lifted her thick black hair, quickly twisted it, and shoved a few pins inside to keep it in place. Her skirt had torn and was hanging haphazardly from her waist, but she didn’t seem to notice, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her. The gentleman in him knew he should say something, but she definitely wasn’t receptive to him. She placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the scene in front of her.
Before he could stop her, she bent, pulled the back of her skirt through her legs, and tucked it into the waist, which only tore the back of her skirt farther. The rip reverberated through the air and startled her. She groaned, looked behind her, and tried to assess the damage.
“Your skirt’s torn, ma’am.”
“Well, why didn’t you say something? And I said, quit calling me ma’am.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Didn’t think it was my place to tell you, as you appear to be quite independent. My ma always told me to treat women with respect, ma’am.” He was saying ma’am just to aggravate her, and it was certainly working.
He could see the consternation in her blue eyes as she struggled with how to respond. A blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She tightened her hands into fists and was likely trying to decide if she wanted to punch him in the nose.
