Sophie stepped to the window and drew the lace curtain aside. There they were—the glorious peaks rising majestically from the plains, their snowcapped summits sparkling in the afternoon sun. They were beautiful from afar, but what she had been unable to convey to others was their compelling call, as if they were summoning her back to life. No longer content merely looking at them, she wanted—no, needed—to be in them. Everyone had been too polite to call her crazy, but she knew that’s what they thought. To be charitable, those who loved her also feared for her safety. That was one worry she didn’t have. Realistically she knew she would encounter harsh weather conditions, wild animals and the lack of creature comforts. She’d heard the stories, read the travelogues, seen the drawings. But the beauty and freedom awaiting her made up for any deprivations. She was a rancher’s daughter, accustomed to hard days driving cattle and haying, and a fair shot if she did say so herself. If Englishwoman Isabella Bird could trek through the Rockies alone in 1873 and write a book about her adventures, Sophie Montgomery could likewise flourish there.
She went to the closet and removed the last of the garments she was taking to the mountains—a plain green dress, a knitted scarf and a shapeless felt hat like the ones her brothers wore. Tonight, in celebration of her upcoming adventure, she would wear a fine gown of ice-blue satin. It would be the last time in many months. Please, God, let this be a beginning. I’ve had enough of endings.
* * *
Tate Lockwood folded the document and stowed it in his inside coat pocket. Done. The money he got from selling his stock in the Central City mine coupled with his recent inheritance from his parents’ estate had made him a wealthy man, so he could speculate in the silver fields opening up at Leadville and on the western slope of the Rockies. Leaving his Denver lawyer’s office, he turned down Broadway and strode toward his hotel. He took satisfaction from how far he’d come since the grueling days of getting his hands grubby in mining operations to now, when his livelihood resulted from investing and reaping profits. There was much he missed about the culture of a mining camp—the competition, the rapid changes of fortune, the streets bustling with all manner of men—but it was no place to rear two young boys. It had been a good decision to build a house in Estes Park, where they could grow in the peace and quiet of the high mountain air and learn to hunt and fish. He smiled to himself, recalling little Toby’s tussle last summer with the rainbow trout he’d finally landed.
Of course, his wife had left him little choice when she’d abandoned them four years ago. His jaw worked as he fought the rage that could still take hold of him when he recalled Ramona’s perfidy. He’d worked his fingers to the bone to raise the money for his young family to come from Philadelphia to join him in Central City. He’d built her a magnificent two-story house on the hillside and furnished it with items imported from the East. He had promised Ramona splendor and ease, and he had succeeded in providing it. But apparently he had misjudged her and miscalculated what it took to please her. From the moment she set foot in Colorado, she had made it known daily that she had never bargained for steep, unpaved sidewalks, a view of shanties in the distance or a husband more often in smelly work clothes than a suit. Nor had she found any joy in motherhood. A crying baby was a source of headaches and a tumbling toddler, a nuisance beyond bearing. Only rarely could Tate remember how he’d ever fallen under the spell of whatever charms she’d initially seemed to possess. Looking back, he admitted he mistook frivolousness for fun, flirtation for adoration and self-indulgence for beauty. More fool he. Never again would he fall under the spell of a female.
Dodging a buggy careering down the street, he groaned. Females. Why in the world had he burdened himself with escorting an idiot woman up to the park tomorrow? If he didn’t think so highly of Robert Hurlburt, his mother’s cousin, he would never have agreed to such folly. No doubt Miss Montgomery had read the recently published A Lady’s Life in the Rocky Mountains and figured she could replicate Isabella Bird’s adventures. Not likely. He certainly hoped the major didn’t expect him to play nursemaid. Once he deposited her at the cabin she’d rented, she was on her own. He hoped she had made arrangement for adequate provisions, but he seriously doubted she had. Folks up in the park were good enough about sharing, but had little tolerance for those who looked upon a trip there as a lark.
Well, he’d take her measure tonight at the dinner party. Fortunately it wasn’t required that he like her.
* * *
No matter the occasion, the dinner clothes that had been like a second skin in the East had come to feel suffocating to Tate. He adjusted his collar and cravat before knocking on the Hurlburts’ door. He hadn’t long to wait. Effervescent Effie flung open the door and embraced him in a cloud of lavender fragrance. “Tate Lockwood! Dear boy, it is a treat to have you here once again.”
“The pleasure is mine, Effie. As always I will enjoy your company and that of Robert, and your fine meal will help fortify me for the trip home.”
“Ever the flatterer.” She took him by the arm. “I’m eager for you to meet our friend Sophie.” She led him into the parlor, where Robert stood by the fireplace, one arm on the mantel, talking to a small woman with a nimbus of red-orange curls perched on a straight-backed chair. “Tate Lockwood, may I present Sophie Montgomery.”
He made his way across the room and picked up her small hand. “Miss Montgomery.”
Her hazel-green eyes sparkled. “It’s lovely to meet you. I am so appreciative of your offer to escort me to Estes Park.”
My offer? Little did she know it was only as a favor to Robert that he was undertaking such a mission. He turned and shook hands with Robert. “A pleasure to see you again, sir. What word of our family?”
The major’s recitation kept Tate from dwelling on the woman sitting across the room. He had expected a hatchet-faced, sturdily built female, not a tiny one with lustrous hair, twinkling eyes and a dusting of freckles, wearing a becoming and stylish gown. She wouldn’t last a week in the high country.
After the news of the relatives had been shared and thinking it might be ill-mannered of him to ignore this Miss Montgomery, of whom Robert and Effie were obviously quite fond, he addressed her directly. “Have you known Effie and Robert for some years?”
“I had never met them until earlier this spring, but I have long heard wonderful stories about them. My brother Caleb was stationed at Fort Larned, Kansas, then under the major’s command. It was there he met the post surgeon’s daughter Lily Kellogg. If I’m not mistaken, our Effie was a bit of a matchmaker.” Sophie smiled at Effie. “Am I right?”
Effie nodded vigorously. “Those two. Born for each other, they were, but blind as bats about it. It would be fair to say I gave them a bit of a nudge.”
“And it worked!” Sophie was alight with pleasure. “Lily is now my dear sister-in-law.”
“That’s not all,” the major interjected. “After Caleb mustered out and married Lily, they settled in Cottonwood Falls, Kansas, and Lily’s father and sister moved there, too, and even without Effie’s assistance, another match was struck.”
“A perfect match,” Sophie added. “Lily’s sister Rose and my brother Seth, neither of whom ever thought they would marry, found each other.”
Effie leaned forward, eager to add to the conversation. “Here’s the great part. They were brought together when a little half-breed boy was abandoned in Rose’s barn. While Rose and Seth were falling in love with the boy, they ended up falling for each other at the same time.”
“That’s quite a story.” Tate didn’t know what else to say. Apparently some people were lucky in love. He wasn’t one of them.
Effie stood. “You and Sophie have a big day tomorrow, so let’s adjourn to the dining room.”
The four of them sat around a circular table laden with a beef roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, stewed tomatoes and yeast rolls. “You haven’t lost