Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Freemont, Montana, Winter, 1880

"All right, Mr. Johnson, that's you seen to. I'll call in on you tomorrow and see how you're getting on," Tara Culden said, straightening as her patient looked up at her and smiled.

"What would I do without you, Nurse Culden?" he replied. "I'd have been in the clinic for weeks if it wasn't for you coming out here each day to dress my leg. I can't thank you enough."

"Oh, you don't need to thank me. It's my job. And you've been an easy patient," she replied, patting the old man's hand.

This was Tara's last house call of the morning. Burt Johnson's ranch lay at the far end of the Freemont Pass, and she had ridden up from the town, through the snow, to dress his leg. He had sepsis, but it was getting better, and with a few more changes, the dressing would be ready to come off.

Tara enjoyed her visits to the ranch. Burt was a kind man, and his wife always had a pot of coffee on the stove and something sweet to offer.

"Take these cookies to Doctor Reardon. But make sure you have some yourself, too," Mrs. Johnson said, holding out a tin to Tara as she packed up her medical bag.

"Oh, that's very kind of you, Mrs. Johnson. You really didn't have to. Every time I come, you give me something," Tara said, shaking her head as the rancher's wife handed her the tin.

"If it wasn't for you coming up here every day, Burt would be in the clinic, and I don't know what I'd do then. A tin of cookies is the least I can do. Are you looking forward to Christmas? I suppose it won't be easy for you. We all miss your father terribly." Mrs. Johnson put her hand on Tara's arm in a gesture of sympathy.

Tara gave a weak smile. Mrs. Johnson was right. It hadn't been an easy few months for her. Her father had died unexpectedly in the summer, leaving Tara with a small holding to manage, and animals to take care of. Life hadn't been easy since then, but Tara was determined to finish her nurse's training, and she had had a great deal of support from the community in Freemont, who had rallied to help her in her hour of need.

"It'll just be a quiet Christmas, I think. I'll probably spend it with the Fentons. They've been so kind to me. Everyone has," Tara said, and Mrs. Johnson smiled.

"We're so lucky to have Sheriff Fenton. When we had that trouble with the cattle rustlers, he saw to everything. We've never had any trouble since. Have we, Burt?" she asked, and her husband shook his head.

"No, I won't hear a word against Sheriff Fenton," Burt said. "You couldn't ask for a better man as sheriff of this town. But we're keeping Nurse Culden from getting down the pass, Marilyn. There's more snow coming." He glanced out of the window at the gray skies above the ranch.

Tara looked out, too. Her horse, Stanley, waited patiently at the hitching post, but the skies were growing menacing, and it looked as though Burt Johnson was right. The track down the pass could be treacherous even in fine weather, and Tara had no intention of finding herself caught up in the storm. She said goodbye to the Johnsons, thanking them again for the cookies, and stepped out into the chill of the wintry morning.

Stanley stomped his hoof impatiently, and she smiled at him, patting his nose as she untethered him from the post.

"Let's get going. I'm ready for my bed, and I'm sure you are, too," Tara said as she climbed up into the saddle.

The morning rounds had concluded a busy night of caring for patients at Doctor Reardon's clinic. He ran a small clinic on the edge of Freemont, in what had once been a mission station on the Pacific trail, and Tara had worked there since she was seventeen. Being a nurse was all she had ever wanted to be, and despite the difficulties of recent months, she was determined to fulfil her ambitions.

"Follow your dreams, Tara," her father had always told her, and that was precisely what she intended to do.

She urged Stanley along the track from the ranch, past tall pine trees, following the course of the frozen stream that in the summer gushed down from the mountains above. In the snow, the pass was strangely quiet, the soaring peaks above dusted in a white coat as though sprinkled with sugar. And with no breeze in the air, the snow clung to the trees, looking as though great icicles were rising into the sky above.

"Steady, Stanley. I don't want you falling," Tara said as they reached a bend in the track, where the path fell away to one side with a sheer drop to the steam below.

It was about a mile to Freemont, and from the height of the pass, Tara could see the town spread out below, the roofs of the buildings covered in snow like a scene from a Christmas card. Freemont was a small town, once at the very edge of the frontier. Tara's grandfather had come there with the first settlers.

He had been a fur hunter, and Freemont had been a center of the trade in beaver skins, sent back to the fashionable boutiques of New York and Paris. But it was Tara's father who had established the small holding, making a living out of rearing animals, along with growing crops of vegetables he would sell to the local inhabitants.

Tara could see the small ranch from the ridge, and now she thought of all the jobs she had to do that afternoon before she could rest.

"But you've certainly earned your oats, Stanley," Tara said, patting the side of the horse's head.

Stanley whinnied, shaking his mane. Tara smiled. He was a faithful companion, and never complained—apart from the occasional stomping of a hoof. Tara was looking forward to getting home and getting warm. She would light the stove and make herself a cup of cocoa to warm herself through. Tiffany Fenton, the sheriff's wife, had brought her a pan of soup the previous day, and Tara would have that, along with the remains of a loaf of bread she had baked the day before.

And then I'm going to bed .

But just as she was thinking about how nice it would be to snuggle down in her blankets and go to sleep that afternoon, a noise disturbed the stillness of the wintry scene. And as she looked around, Tara was surprised to hear someone calling for help.