Silver Creek Fire, page 1
PRAISE FOR LINDSAY MCKENNA’S WIND RIVER VALLEY SERIES!
“The believable and real romance between Tara and Harper is enhanced by the addition of highly dimensional supporting characters, and a minor mystery subplot increases the tension by a notch. This is a fine addition to a strong series.”—Publishers Weekly on Lone Rider
“Captivating sensuality.”—Publishers Weekly on Wind River Wrangler, a Publishers Marketplace Buzz Books 2016 selection
“Moving and real . . . impossible to put down.”—Publishers Weekly on Wind River Rancher (starred review)
“Cowboy who is also a former Special Forces operator? Check. Woman on the run from her past? Check. This contemporary Western wraps together suspense and romance in a rugged Wyoming package.”—Amazon.com’s Omnivoracious, “9 Romances I Can’t Wait to Read” on Wind River Wrangler
“Set against the stunning beauty of Wyoming’s Grand Tetons, Wind River Wrangler is Lindsay McKenna at her finest! A tour de force of heart-stopping drama, gut-wrenching emotion, and the searing joy of two wounded souls learning to love again.”—International bestselling author Merline Lovelace
“McKenna does a beautiful job of illustrating difficult topics through the development of well-formed, sympathetic characters.”—Publishers Weekly on Wolf Haven (starred review)
Books by New York Times Bestselling Author Lindsay McKenna
SILVER CREEK series
Silver Creek Fire
Courage Under Fire
(Coming March 2021!)
WIND RIVER VALLEY series
Wind River Wrangler
Wind River Rancher
Wind River Cowboy
Wrangler’s Challenge
Kassie’s Cowboy (novella included in
CHRISTMAS WITH MY COWBOY)
Lone Rider
Wind River Lawman
Home to Wind River
Wind River Wedding (novella included in
MARRYING MY COWBOY)
Wind River Protector
Wind River Undercover
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
SILVER CREEK FIRE
LINDSAY McKENNA
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Praise
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Teaser chapter
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Nauman Living Trust
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
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.”
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-5082-7
ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5086-5 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 1-4201-5086-3 (eBook)
To all my wonderful readers
who love romantic suspense!
Chapter One
May 15
Did she have the courage to move to Wyoming?
Leanna Ryan ran her dusty fingers down the column of a piece of driftwood sculpture she had just finished creating for a client. She lived in Brookings, a small seacoast town in Oregon, and collecting driftwood during a meditative morning walk along the nearby beach was something Lea looked forward to, with her mug of coffee in hand. It was how she started her day: calm, quiet, and contemplative.
The velvety smoothness of the wood soothed her fractious inner state. Wood was alive, warm to the touch of her cold fingertips. She slid them with knowing experience as she followed the curve of the sperm whale she had fashioned. The wood soothed her, as it always had. It was another form of escape, Lea admitted to herself, but it was her passion: woodworking in all its various forms, and it was the world she chose to live within. Her father, Paddy, an Irishman from the Galway Bay area, was a master carpenter, known for his handmade, one-of-a-kind furniture. He charged high prices and his clientele was more than eager to give him what he deserved.
He was seacoast Irish; his father—her grandfather, Connor—made his living as a trawler fisherman along the Oregon coast. Boutique grocery stores along the West Coast eagerly paid handsomely for his fresh catch. Paddy didn’t want to be a fisherman, furniture was his passion, just as it was hers. Only, Lea had decided after that traumatic afternoon as a thirteen-year-old, to devote her life to woodworking. She didn’t want to be a trawler fisherman, either. Paddy had often teased her that she had his woodworking genes, not the fishing ones. Her mother, Valerie, who was well known in North America for her art quilt creations, said Lea had not inherited any sewing genes, either, and they always laughed about that. Fabric didn’t draw her. But wood always had.
Her red brows dipped, her hand smoothing the long flank of the whale she’d created, its golden-brown sides gleaming in the midmorning sunlight as it poured through the wood shop window. Sunlight was rare in Brookings. It was a tiny seacoast village that was usually hidden beneath the gray, scudding clouds over the Pacific Ocean. There was always lots of rain, too. Lea loved the rain and the moodiness of the Pacific Ocean here along the coast. It suited her own emotional nature.
Was she really ready to leave the only safety she’d ever known? Go east to Wyoming? Every time she thought about it, her stomach clenched in fear. She was twenty-nine years old. What woman stayed with her parents until that age? Single. Not interested in romance. Focused solely on her career and enhancing her master carpenter skills and wood sculpture skills.
She was such a coward. Oh, no one accused her of being that, but inwardly, Lea knew that she was. And it shamed her in ways she couldn’t give words to. Any man who flirted with her, or asked her out, she said no to. Luckily, she had plenty of women friends and she was more than grateful for them being a part of the fabric of her life. Her friends were her lifeblood. Full stop.
“Well,” Paddy said, entering the wood shop, “looks like this will be the last sculpture you create here, colleen.”
Warming to her father’s Irish brogue, she turned, wiping her hands on her canvas apron she wore while working. Her goggles to protect her eyes were hanging around her neck. Lea smiled as her father wandered over to the table, his blue eyes twinkling as he halted opposite her. She saw him admiring her work and he looked very pleased with her efforts. “Looks like,” she agreed.
“This is already sold,” he said. “I’ll box it up for you and make sure it’s crated properly.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, loving the whale that she had created, rising in a breach, the tail in the water. Looking around, she whispered, “I’m really going to miss you and Mom . . . this place,” and she gestured around the large, clean shop that had many windows to allow in plenty of light.
“Well,” Paddy said gently, “it’s time, Lea. I’m glad you’re leaving to fulfill your dream.”
She nodded. “Who knew when I was thirteen years old, that I’d read My Friend Flicka and Green Grass of Wyoming by Mary O’Hara, and want to live where she wrote those books.”
“As children, we dream without inhibition,” Paddy said, sitting down on a nearby stool, clasping his sixty-five-year-old gnarled hands. “And you’ve always wanted to go to Wyoming. It’s a good thing to bring a lifelong dream to reality,” he assured her.
Lea took another cloth, a clean, dry one, and began to wipe down her whale one last time. “Isn’t it funny, Dad? How after I was beaten up by those boys as a girl, that I found Mary O’Hara’s books? They were like an anchor to me, a homing beacon to overcome my shock and trauma, and focus on something good, beautiful. That was the beginning of my dream to go live in Wyoming.”
“Your mother found them for you at the library,” Paddy agreed, frowning.
Laughing softly, Lea continued to wipe the four-foot-high whale until the molten gold color of the driftwood gleamed. “I guess I didn’t realize at that time how traumatized I was by that one incident.”
“Hmph, it was more than an incident, Lea. Those boys broke your nose and fractured your left cheek. They meant to hu
“Some days, Dad? It seems like it was yesterday.” Gently moving the cloth across the head of the whale, she added, “And other days? The incident doesn’t bother me at all.”
“Unless you run into strange men at the grocery store or any other public place,” Paddy said, sadness in his tone. “And then it all comes back and you react.”
“I can’t help my reaction, Dad. I wish I could. And two or more strange men nearby will send me into a panic that I can’t control, either.”
“Your brain sees these situations as a danger because of what happened to you,” he agreed sadly.
Lea put the cloth down on the table. “I have to get on with my life. You and Mom have taken care of me long enough. Time for this baby bird to leave the nest.”
“We’ll miss you, but it’s good that you’re going,” he agreed. “That letter from that rancher in Wyoming, Mr. Logan Anderson, wanting to hire you to come and do woodwork for him in the kitchen and living room, was your ticket to the life you’ve been dreaming about, Lea. It’s a new door opening up for you. I’m glad you took the challenge and agreed to meet with him and look at the year-long project he has laid out for you.”
Nodding, Lea pulled up a second wooden stool and sat down across from her father. “He’d wanted you, Dad. But you handed over the assignment to me. When I saw it was Wyoming, I wanted to go despite my issues with feeling unsafe out in the world. I’m glad you gave it to me. It’s time for me to get on with my life and stop hiding from it.”
“And when you talked to the rancher, you seemed settled.”
“I asked him a lot of questions,” she said, smiling a little. “He was patient. He seemed . . . well, nice . . .”
“But not a threat to you?” Paddy asked, prying.
“No.” Lea shrugged. “For whatever reason, he didn’t scare me like most male strangers do. I can’t explain why not.”
“Maybe the lure of Wyoming has dissolved some of this fear within you?” he asked her.
“I’m not sure, Dad. All I know is that while I’m battling a fear of leaving the place I’ve lived my whole life, the yearning to go to Wyoming just got stronger because we talked to one another.”
“Your mother and I think you should give Wyoming a try. It’s a long-term project and it sounds like he’s got the money to support your efforts. He’s seen your work on our website, and he likes it. The unfamiliar is always scary for all of us.” He gave her a soft smile, holding her unsure gaze.
“If he hires me, that will be the best, but if not, I can always get another job. Time to go,” she agreed. “As I get older, I’m not as afraid as I used to be, and that’s a good sign that the past isn’t controlling me.”
“You’ve made a lot of progress, Lea. Always pat yourself on the back for that. It takes courage to live, not just survive and breathe.”
Grimacing, she folded the canvas apron, putting it away beneath the large, long table. “There’s so much more to do.” She straightened. “If you’d told me that one incident could wreck a person’s life, I wouldn’t have believed you. But”—her voice grew hoarse—“I do now.”
Paddy stood and came around the table, giving his only daughter a strong, loving hug. “A day at a time, colleen, a day at a time.” He released her, clasping her upper arms. “Just think, you’re going to Wyoming, the place you’ve dreamed about. That has to excite you and make you happy. Everything is packed and we’ve put it in the back of your truck with a waterproof tarp over all of it. Your carpenter tools are in there, as well. Your sculpting tools are in your black nylon bag sitting on the front seat. You’re ready to go.”
Lea forced a smile for her dad’s benefit. She hated being a wet blanket to her parents and often masked her reaction for their benefit. “You’re right. Off on a new and glorious adventure.” So why didn’t she sound more enthusiastic?
May 24
Dread was replaced with excitement as Lea drove her Ford three-quarter blue and white truck closer to Silver Creek, Wyoming. The valley sat south of Thermopolis, below the archeological and dinosaur area of Wyoming. She’d just driven through Bighorn Canyon National Recreation Area and it was spectacular! There were plenty of mountains around the huge canyon area, but right now, the highway leveled out, descended several thousand feet to a huge plain below. Silver Creek Valley was filled with lush grass, ranches, and rolling hills dotted with stands of pine and deciduous trees here and there.
Her gaze was always on the types of trees in the area, most of them pines of the species she’d identified so far. The mountains were still clothed at the very top with white, gleaming snow.
It snowed often in May, she was told by a waitress when she’d stopped at a restaurant several hours ago. She’d seen several bighorn sheep, males and females, which had been thrilling. Lea had stopped and photographed them whenever she could safely pull over and take the shots. She’d never seen bighorns before!
With every mile, her heart lifted with a carefully shielded and closeted joy. The southern half of Wyoming was plains, desert, and some gorgeous sedimentary buttes that looked like torte cakes created by soil, in white, red, and cream layers. She’d taken photos of them, too. Then, she’d rolled into central Wyoming where the Wind River mountains and Indian reservation inspired her. Her hometown of Brookings was surrounded with thick, green, old-growth forest; that part of Wyoming reminded her deeply of it, soothing some of her homesickness. She could see huge natural gas rigs dotting the area the farther north she drove. If she didn’t miss her guess, they were fracking, which she disliked and didn’t believe in. That bothered her because she was environmentally oriented. Each rig, and she lost count of how many dotted the landscape, reminded her that it was an oversized hypodermic needle slammed through the skin of the Earth, sucking life blood out of her, harming her. She knew not everyone looked at it like that. Natural gas was a cleaner fuel than oil or coal, no argument. But she’d heard about the many earthquakes created by fracking, breaking through the layers of sedimentary rock beneath the surface in Oklahoma, and the damage it was doing above and below ground to get to this natural resource. Oklahoma had more earthquake tremors than nearly anywhere else in the U.S.
As she approached the town of Silver Creek, the plain flattened out and she left the mountains behind. Now the hills were softly rounded, clothed in dark, thick, green grass, ranches to her right and left off the highway. This was a lush, verdant valley. To her artist’s eye, it reminded her of a dark green emerald, faceted into the earth, full of life, vigor, and vitality. She saw many herds of Herefords in different pastures along the way, all heartily eating the nutritious fare. There were some patches of snow here and there, but the green grass had the say and Lea was sure the cows were very, very happy with their lives at the moment.
Traffic increased as she drove past the SILVER CREEK sign at the right side of the two-lane asphalt highway. It said: POPULATION 10,000. Below it, the sign said that the town was incorporated in 1905. She’d seen photos of this magical place that reminded her of a gypsy-like, Bohemian hideaway. But photos she’d seen online couldn’t match what she saw in person as she slowed to twenty-five miles per hour in midmorning traffic. There were bright wooden crests on nearly every business, looking like a colorful hat for each one. Some had silver or gold outlining the color of the wooden building’s headdress. She saw a light blue hardware store, the crest darker blue and outlined in silver. There were narrow alleys in between these 1900s-era buildings. The donut shop was painted a fuchsia color with a pink crest outlined in gold, flashing in the morning sunlight across the clear blue sky. On the other side was a bright red Dairy Queen, with a white crest outlined in red, the company colors, with a flash of gold.
