Wild Passion

Book 2: Montana Mountain Romance

by Dawn Luedecke

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

One of the last outposts of the American West, the Montana Territory is filled with promise and adventure for those with brave souls—and open hearts . . . Leader of the Timberbeasts, logger Simon Sanders’ biggest problem a year ago was deciding which willing woman to seduce. But since being mauled by a cougar he’s become a pariah in Missoula’s social circuit—and to himself. All he wants is to hide his scarred face and disappear into the bottom of a whiskey bottle. His plan is going well—until his sister’s best friend, Carrie Kerr, kidnaps him and forces him to deal with his demons. If he didn’t know better, Simon would swear the bossy beauty is a demon herself . . . Carrie doesn’t like to use the word kidnap. Unknowingly transport, perhaps. In any case, she can no longer watch Simon destroy himself in self-pity. Not since she lost her heart to him as she nursed him back to health. Now, whatever happens between them, she’s determined to bring him back to the one place he swore he’d never return to, the place she’s sure will reignite his spirit. But if things go awry, will she will she lose all hope for him to win back his life—much less share it with her? . . . “Well written, well researched. Like the river, this plot runs faster and faster. Readers won’t be able to put it down.” — New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas on White Water Passion

Release date: April 10, 2018

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 222

Sample

Glossary

Backcut—One of the cuts needed to fell a tree. Located on the opposite side of the trunk from the face.

Bateau—A flat-bottomed boat used to assist the rivermen. Often the men would loosen a log “nest” and then fling themselves into the bateau to avoid being sucked down into the dangerous white water beneath the logs.

Beat the Devil Around the Stump—To evade responsibility or a difficult task.

Big Bug—An important or official person. The boss.

Blowhard—Braggart, bully.

Bosh—Nonsense.

Bucker—A logger who cuts the tree into smaller, more manageable pieces as well as de-limbs the trunk.

Bulldoze—To threaten or bully. Coerce.

Chisler—A cheater.

Chute—A makeshift sloping channel constructed of special treated wood to get the logs from the forest to the lake.

Chute Monkey—Logger responsible for greasing the chute and pulling the logs across the Deck with a team of horses.

Crosscut Saw—A saw with a handle at both ends, used by two loggers to cut across the wood grain.

Curly Wolf—A dangerous person. A real tough guy.

Deadbeat—A lazy person.

Faller—The logger actively chopping/sawing down the tree.

Fisticuffs—Fighting with fists, boxing.

Flannel Mouth—Smooth talker.

Greenhorn—An inexperienced person.

Got the Bulge—Have the advantage over.

Half Turn—A partial supply of logs.

Homeboy—Loggers from the local community.

Hoosegow—Prison, jail.

Lady of the First Water—Elegant woman.

Log Nest—A log jam.

Misery Whip—A slang term for a crosscut saw that doesn’t cut well.

Mudsill—A low-life.

Peavey—A logging tool consisting of a handle (30-50 inches long) with a cant hook and metal spike at the end. Used by rivermen to keep the logs moving down the rivers.

River Drive—The movement of the logs from the lumber camp, down the rivers and lakes, and to the mill.

Riverman—A logger who rides the logs down the rivers and lakes to bring them to the mill.

River Rat—A riverman who drifts from lumber camp to lumber camp, working only as long as they want to stay in the area.

Scallywag—A person who behaves badly. Scamp. Reprobate.

Scuttlebutt—Rumors.

Shave Tail—An unexperienced person. A greenhorn.

Shin out—Run away.

The Bull—The boss of the loggers working the Grove.

The Deck—The area between the Grove and the Chute.

The Grove—The area where active logging is taking place.

Timber Beast—A logger who works the timber.

Wannigan—A cook raft constructed with a crude building on top. Often the building would contain bunks for the rivermen to sleep if needed.

Widowmaker—A dead branch balancing precariously high in a tree that could fall and kill a man without notice.

Chapter 1

Montana Territory, Bitterroot Mountain Range, Spring 1889

“I think we should find another way to kidnap him.” Carrie Kerr grabbed onto the pommel to stop from bouncing out of the saddle and straight onto the barely used road as her horse lunged up the hill. She placed her free hand over her stomach to staunch the burning sensation deep within the pit of her belly. They had to do something about Simon, but Aunt June’s plan resembled a patchwork quilt made of fine silk and threadbare burlap—enticing and solid in one square, but ready to tear apart with each hole-ridden piece in the middle. “Someone who lives this far up the mountain, and isn’t a logger, can’t be trusted.”

“Oh bosh.” Aunt June, Carrie’s godmother, leaned forward in her saddle—a trick Carrie had used many times to help stay centered on the horse during a steep ascent. “Plenty of people choose to live away from the bustle of the city, and most of them aren’t bad at heart. They’re simply eccentric.”

“I don’t think an eccentric doctor is what we need right now. We need one we can trust. How long has it been since he practiced medicine? What if he kills Simon?”

“You and I will both be there. We can ensure that will not happen. In any case, we don’t need a doctor who is trustworthy. We need one with no morals. It will be fine. Wait and see.” Aunt June smiled in reassurance, but Carrie didn’t feel the effects of the grin. Simon wasn’t going to be happy once he woke up to find they’d tricked him onto a train. For his own good, of course. At least she hoped it would do him good. These days, there was no telling what might set Simon into a downward spiral of self-pity and irritating surliness. Some days he behaved as he always had—with a jaunty spring in his step—but most days he hid in a deep bottle of amber poison.

If she were going to fix Simon, he needed to get past his scars and trauma from the previous logging season. He needed to find a new passion in life, one that would keep him well for the remainder of his days.

A dilapidated cabin came into view surrounded by equally rough outbuildings. Chickens pecked the ground beside the house, and tucked behind them a mud-bogged pigpen barely held in its overfed occupants. Outside, a large man wearing a yellow-stained cotton shirt leaned into a wagon. Aside from the mud covering the wheel, the wagon was about the only thing on the homestead that looked to be in good shape. The man stood up tall, scrunched his reddened face, and blocked the sun with his hand as Carrie trotted her horse up next to Aunt June’s and stopped before the man.

Aunt June dismounted. “Doctor Larry McGuinn?”

“’Pends on who’s askin’.”

“Are you the traveling doctor who does his business between here and Seattle?”

“’Pends on who’s askin’,” he said again, and spit on the ground. “Did I sell you my miracle serum?”

“Heavens no.” Aunt June clutched the base of her throat. “Do I look like I need a miracle serum? No, sir. When God made me, he made perfection. We’re here because we’re in need of your medical services.”

“Oh?” He spit again. This time the brown stream landed on the front of his shirt, right smack in the middle of the stain. He narrowed his eyes and smoothed his long, greasy hair back. “How’d you know where to find me?”

“Mary Lou sent me. She said your going rate is ten dollars a visit, but I’m willing to give you more. Ten for your services and twenty to keep your mouth shut.” Aunt June curled her lip and stared hard at the disheveled doctor. Carrie mimicked her godmother’s stare. If this half-cocked plan was going to work, they needed the doctor.

The man smacked his lips together, no doubt envisioning all of the tobacco and booze he could procure with the money. “What exactly is it you’re needin’?”

Carrie slid another glance to gauge her godmother’s reaction. Nothing about this situation felt right. In fact a hole formed in her stomach and led straight to the bottom of her feet. She probably wouldn’t eat until after Simon’s inevitable outburst once he got to the mountain. Aunt June’s shoulders relaxed and the corners of her mouth twitched as if she held back a smile. “I heard there was a concoction we can get that makes a person go into a deep sleep. We need a bottle of that.”

The doctor scratched his head. “Well, now, I don’t know about a deep sleep, but my miracle serum could make one pass out, if you take enough.”

“What I’m looking for is the potion given to Queen Victoria back in fifty-three. It’s still in use today, I presume.”

“Well, now, chloroform isn’t something I got a lot of and it can be deadly if too much is given. It’ll cost ya forty dollars for a dose.”

“Thirty,” Carrie said, and narrowed her eyes to match Aunt June’s hard-bargaining glare.

He shook his head but took a few steps over to the side of his wagon and began to rifle through the contents. “Forty is my final offer.”

“We’ll give you forty, but you have to come with us to administer it, since it’s deadly and all.”

“Forty for the chloroform, ten for the visit, plus the fee to keep my mouth shut. I think that tallies up to one hundred and ten dollars.” Good gracious! To Hades with eccentric, the man was a downright bunko artist. No way Aunt June would give in to such extortion. Carrie bit her tongue against the urge to respond, and waited for the sharp retort her godmother was sure to give.

Instead, and to Carrie’s consternation, Aunt June simply crossed her arms over her chest. “Ninety.”

“One hundred even.” He spit. “I’ll need to stay overnight in a hotel.”

“Deal.” Aunt June extended her hand and the doctor shook it. “Be at 106 Pine Street at nine o’clock tonight. I’ll have your money waiting.” Carrie followed as Aunt June wheeled her mount around to head down the mountain, but stopped. A part of her wanted to interject, face the dirty doctor and void the deal. The other wanted to see Simon happy once more. The latter won her internal battle, so she kept her mouth shut. Simon was special to Aunt June, but he was also her best friend’s brother, and a dear friend to Carrie.

“Nine o’clock sharp,” Aunt June said to the doctor. “With each minute you’re late, I will take off five dollars.” Aunt June ended her statement by kicking her horse to a trot.

Carrie snapped the reins and leaned forward in the saddle to urge her horse to follow.

When they were far enough down the trail to be out of sight from the uncouth man behind them, Aunt June slowed her horse to a walk next to Carrie’s mount. “That man is definitely a bunko artist, but he is also the only doctor in the valley who will keep his mouth shut and do what we need, and he knows it.”

Carrie’s horse stumbled over a rock jutting from the ground, but she caught herself in the saddle without toppling over the top of her bay mare’s head. “I don’t trust that man. How do you know he is going to be sober by the time he comes to your house? What if he gets the dose wrong and kills Simon?”

“Don’t you worry about the doctor. Simon will be fine once we get him to the lumber camp. Wall and Blue will be by my home at eight tonight, and Elizabeth and Garrett are standing by with the train to get us all to the camp by sunup. Only thing you need to worry about is what to cook for them hungry loggers tomorrow morning. I’ll be dealing with Simon, who’s sure to be as friendly as a skinny grizzly bear in late fall. At least we’ll have a few of the Devil May Cares there to help us. Once we get Simon up the mountain, he’ll be back to the flannel-mouthed scoundrel we all adore. He just needs to remember who he is.”

Carrie nodded and turned her attention toward the steep decline of the mountain trail. If only Simon could find his way back to the man he’d once been, then all would be well. Before the accident, he’d stolen her heart. But she chalked her infatuation up to the days she’d spent nursing him back to health and the fact that he was her best friend’s brother. She loved him as Beth did—at least that’s what she told herself after he’d dipped into a shadow of self-pity and alcohol. Now she vowed to live as Aunt June—independent and fighting hard until her dying breath. But first, she had to remind Simon who he had been once upon a time. After all, it was her fault he’d become desolate and brash in the first place. If only she hadn’t pushed for him to see his wounds. If he had had more time to come to grips with his accident, maybe he wouldn’t have changed.

* * * *

Simon paced before the fireplace. The cold, black ashes within were a representation of his soul—once alive with fire and light, but now cold and lifeless. He didn’t want company. Hated the look people gave him whenever they saw the ugly scars. Pity. Shock. Terror. Like he was a monster. Mothers shuffled their children away at the sight of him, and men turned their backs when he approached. The women he’d once romanced now whispered behind their gloved fingers. Bully them. They could all burn with the devil for all he cared.

So why did Carrie continue to show up at his home to torture him with promises of balls and social events? A year ago, he’d wanted to take the presumptuous beauty in his arms and show her everything she could be, but not now. She deserved better than to lose her innocence to half a man. He slumped back into his large armchair. “Go away, Carrie. Leave me be.”

“So you can wallow in self-pity and bourbon?” She plucked his almost empty bottle of liquor off the small table next to his chair, sniffed it, and then put it on the sideboard well out of his reach. “Fine. I’ll have no part of your debauchery.”

She turned to leave.

“No. Wait.” He stood and reached out as if to grab her, but pulled his hand back to his side. The chair beneath him groaned when he plopped back down as he squeezed his eyes shut. He’d more than likely regret his next words. “You can stay.”

He opened his eyes in time to see Carrie twirl around with a grin. One that made him want to shock her enough to put her in a daze of confusion. He wouldn’t be opposed to playing games with her, but the one she no doubt planned was not what he had in mind. He picked up the decanter of liquor and held it out. “How about tonight, you partake with me?”

She crossed the room and stood before him. “Sorry, I can’t do that. You are coming with me. My carriage is waiting outside.”

He stood, bringing his body mere inches from hers.

“No.” The answer came out more as a growl than a word, but he didn’t care. Her flowery scent filled his senses, and he leaned closer. His eyes drifted shut as the fragrance brought him to a place of calm. Visions of the meadow at Mother Goose’s Cottage, deep in the forest near the logging camp, filled his thoughts. In his mind Carrie ran from flower to flower, reveling in the earthly beauty with nothing on but what God gave her. She’d circle around back to him and press her body close for a kiss.

He opened his eyes, but his vision grew hazy as Carrie’s chest rose with a deep breath, revealing the deep plunge of the valley between her flawless breasts. Flawless. Perfect. A reminder that she deserved better. God, it had been a while since he had had a woman beneath him.

He let his nostrils flare as his heart plummeted back into the pit of darkness from whence Carrie had lifted it with her breasts. With a growl, he plucked the bourbon off the table where she’d left it, and drew distance between them before he could give into the temptation to put her in her place with a well-placed kiss. Something he would have done in the past. Not now. With his face distorted and hideous, a kiss like that would do nothing more than make her vomit on his shoes. The blasted woman! Why couldn’t she leave him be?

He tipped back the drink and let it burn down his throat. His cheek twitched near the scar. “If you won’t leave me to my misery, then hike up your skirts and come over here. At least then you can be of some use.”

To the damned woman’s credit, she did no more than blink in surprise and quickly squared her shoulders. She stared hard and took the remaining distance between them. She pressed her hand to his chest and lifted her chin, bringing her face so close his breath mingled with hers. His heartbeat kicked up and he prayed the thick layers of fabric between her fingers and his heart were enough to hide his response. She pressed her body against him, heating his skin wherever they touched. What was she doing?

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her mouth when she pinched the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. Air dried out his tongue, and he swallowed as she stretched onto her tiptoes and brought her face close. A mere inch separated their lips. The sweet fragranced air from those damned flowers she always left was all that stood between him and the one thing he’d wanted since she nursed him to health—Carrie’s mouth pressed against his, her chest panting with the need to have him inside her. At least that’s what he hoped she wanted. Like any good thoroughbred, he fancied himself an expert in the art of seducing the opposite sex. Knowing how to take a woman’s innermost thoughts and draw out her desires was the first step in seduction. But this was Carrie. She was different.

She lifted one soft finger and traced the sensitive scar on the side of his face, and he flinched. She smiled like a cruel temptress. “You’re a fool to think you can scare me away with such inappropriate talk, Mr. Sanders.” The long black lashes that had fluttered coyly many times before, tempting him, blinked rapidly as she took a step back. “Now, get your coat. There’s a slight chill in the air.”

All he could do was swallow to try and force moisture back into his mouth as he made sense of what had happened. Before he could process the moment, she pressed her fingers into his chest like his sister had done many times before and pointed toward the door. He moved despite the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him to take control. What the hell happened to him whenever she drew close?

Blasted woman!

He neared the door and scooped up his jacket from where he’d deposited it last night. Relief spread through him at the weight of the flask he’d hidden in there yesterday when his sister and her new husband—his best friend—visited. If he was going to be bullied into leaving, at least he had the cheap bar liquor to tide him over.

He slid his coat over his double-breasted vest and yanked open the door, not waiting for Carrie as he took the stairs. The sight of her surrey brought him to a halt. The only women who’d driven him around were his grandmother when he was a lad and later his sister when he taught her how to drive. No way was he letting Carrie take the reins.

Carrie brushed past him, and he could focus on nothing but her small frame as she approached the large horses. “Yes, that’s right,” she said with a smug gleam in her eye. “I’m driving. That way you can’t disappear on me like the night Beth and I attended the Governors Dance. Now. The least you could do is help me up the steps.”

“If you would mind your own business, I wouldn’t be forced to use such trickery. There’s no way I’m going to be chauffeured about like some woman.”

She mounted the surrey without help from him. Not that he offered any. Although he would have if she’d waited a fraction longer.

Carrie’s narrowed eyes bored a hole straight through him. “Get in or I will put you in myself.”

“I doubt you’ve ever lifted an ax let alone a grown man.” There was no way she could force him inside the carriage, but he didn’t want her touching him again. He settled into the seat, placed his hand over the flask beneath his jacket, and scooted toward the edge of the bench to put distance between them.

“I’ll have you know, I gained a lot of cooking skills from Aunt June last summer. While I may have grown up not having to work, I no longer choose to live in such a way. I quite like Aunt June’s lifestyle, and anyway my threat worked to get you in. Now settle down.” She snapped the reins, and the buggy jerked into motion. The gentle clop of the horse’s hooves over the dirt roads filled the silence between them. Why did he torture himself so much by allowing the little minx into his home on a daily basis? She did nothing but toss demands about and order him to better himself. Well, bully her. He had no intention of improving anything except his liquor supply.

Simon touched the jagged scar running down the side of his face and past his jaw, only to stop at his neck. Beneath his layers of shirt and vest fabric, remnants of the predator’s teeth and claws sliced down to dip below the waistband of his pants. Although healed, the scars were still sensitive to touch. Before last season, his face never failed to melt the resolve of every woman he chose to seduce. Not now. Not after the cougar attack that almost took his life. He’d survived, but he’d lost his face and soul. “Where are we going tonight? A dance? Dinner party? Drinks with the president?”

“If President Harrison visited I doubt you’d clean yourself up enough to attend anything in his honor.”

“There’s nothing for me out there.” He motioned toward the far-off buildings of downtown Missoula.

“If you weren’t obsessed with self-pity you’d see there are many people around you who love you despite your scars—and attitude.”

“What? Like you?” He spit the words out with contempt, but like before his remark failed to make her react as he wished. The moment thickened with silence, neither offering a response.

After a few uncomfortable minutes, Carrie spoke up. “I’m taking you to see a doctor.”

“Of course,” he snapped. “And that’s why we’re traveling the back roads, right? Can’t be associated with the monster of Missoula.”

She snapped her gaze to him. “Where did you hear that?”

“Isn’t it on everyone’s lips these days? After that reporter in the Herald got hold of my story, it’s been all the rage.”

Carrie focused once more on guiding her horses through the streets. “Let them talk, Simon. They’re all catty imbeciles with no grasp of reality beyond the dances and teas they attend.”

Simon didn’t respond. What could one say to her? To the knowledge that the only woman left in the world who will look at you was searching for a way to be able to stomach your company. “Are you certain this doctor is reputable?”

Carrie squirmed in the surrey seat next to him and snapped the reins, not yet offering a response.

“So, not reputable then? So why in Sam Hill did you bulldoze me into coming? And why did we have to take your buggy? I could have walked just fine.”

“Dr. McGuinn comes highly recommended by Aunt June.” She yanked hard on one rein and the horses turned onto Pine Street. “And I will not risk you running back to your hole to hide.”

Simon searched his inside pocket for the flask. If he was lucky, he could down the entire pint before Aunt June caught him with it. The blasted woman was likely to lay into him like a gospel sharp to the devil. There was no way he could deal with this whole evening sober. Even if the doctor was as good as Carrie claimed, he couldn’t fix the scars on his soul.

Simon turned his body to face away from his sister’s bosom friend. His elbow bumped the back of the padded seat as he shielded his face with his coat jacket with one hand and took a swig of cheap, back-alley liquor. The buggy shook as it rolled over a divot in the ground, and what remained from the flask drenched the front of his shirt. The booze he’d swallowed burned down his esophagus and he coughed, trying not to spit out the only relief he had for this hellish night ahead. Dammit!

He wiped frantically at the front of his white cotton shirt as the liquid soaked into the fabric.

The liquor spread through his veins, and he gave up. He buttoned his jacket as Carrie pulled up in front of Aunt June’s home and set the brake. The spring-supported leather bench groaned as Carrie squared her body to his. His pulse raced, whether from the drink or her scent drifting on the breeze past his nose he didn’t know. Did it matter?

In the fading daylight, he caught the gentle firming of Carrie’s lips before she spoke. “You are going to go in there and give this doctor a chance to help you. Do you understand me? I cannot go to the lumber camp until I know that you aren’t going to drink yourself to hell while I’m gone.”

“Don’t be a fool, Carrie. I’ve been damned for years. Trying to save me now is like trying to float a log down a dried up riverbed.” Without thought to Carrie’s sensibilities, he tipped back the flask to take in any remaining drops of booze, then held it out to her. The only woman left in his life who seemed to truly care. Well, she shouldn’t. “Why don’t you be a good girl and fill this up for me when Aunt June isn’t looking? She keeps the good stuff in the bottom cupboard of her sitting room sideboard.”

She snatched the flask from his fingers and tucked it into a pocket sewed to the folds of her skirts. “I will do no such thing, and neither will you. Now, I hope you haven’t forgotten your manners.” She flicked her eyes to the steps of the surrey.

Simon grumbled as he leapt to the ground and in a few steps reached up to help her down. Normally he didn’t need to be reminded to be chivalrous, but today he didn’t feel much like catering to the demanding female desires.

Carrie took his arm and led the way toward Aunt June’s door. Simon’s stomach dropped at the thought of the doctor and what he could possibly do for him. Could he fix him, or was the man just another bunko artist peddling false hopes and disappointed dreams? Most likely the latter.

Simon couldn’t ge. . .