The wind howled across the desolate prairie as Faith Summers clutched her 5-year-old daughter's hand tightly, pulling their worn wagon to a halt at the edge of Redemption Creek. The year was 1877, and the Montana territory offered little mercy to a young widow with a child. Faith's honey blonde hair whipped across her face as she surveyed the dusty Main Street with tired blue eyes that had seen too much heartbreak for her 24 years. "Mama, are we home now?" Little Emma asked, her small voice barely audible above the creaking of wagon wheels and distant saloon piano. Faith forced a smile.
"Yes, sweetheart. This is where we start again." The journey from St. Louie had drained their meager savings and faith spirit. Her husband Thomas had succumbed to tuberculosis 18 months ago, leaving her with nothing but memories, a curious daughter, and the address of a distant cousin who supposedly ran a boarding house in this frontier town. The promise of work and shelter had been enough to gamble their future on.
Redemption Creek looked like every other boom town sprouting across the West. A haphazard collection of wooden buildings, muddy streets, and dreams built on equal parts desperation and hope. A general store, livery stable, and church stood alongside three saloons that seemed to be doing the most business on this Thursday afternoon. "Mrs. Jenkins boarding house should be just past the merkantile," Faith murmured, checking the creased letter in her pocket once more.
She clicked her tongue, urging their tired mare forward. The boarding house sat on the quieter end of the main street, a twostory clapboard structure painted a faded blue with white trim. It wasn't grand, but it looked wellmaintained with curtains in the windows and a small garden attempting to flourish despite the arid climate. Before Faith could climb down from the wagon, the front door swung open, revealing a plump woman in her 50s with graying hair tucked beneath a cap. You must be Thomas's widow, the woman called out.
I'd recognize those Summer's eyes anywhere. I'm Martha Jenkins, your husband's second cousin once removed. Faith helped Emma down from the wagon before turning to greet their new landlady. Faith Summers and this is Emma. Thank you for offering us shelter, Mrs.
Jenkins. Martha's warm hands clasped Faith's. Call me Martha, dear. Family is family, distant or not, when I heard about Thomas. Well, she paused, her eyes softening as she knelt to Emma's level.
And who is this beautiful young lady? Emma twisted the fabric of her worn dress, suddenly shy. I'm Emma. I'm 5 and a half. Well, Emma, I've got freshly baked cookies inside for brave travelers.
Would you like one? The child's eyes widened as she nodded enthusiastically. A commotion from down the street drew their attention horses, hooves pounding against packed dirt, men's voices raised in boisterous laughter. A group of cowboys rode into town, dust billowing behind them as they headed toward the largest saloon. "The Circle T boys," Martha explained.
Ranch hands coming in for supplies and entertainment. Their boss, Yates Turner, runs the biggest spread in the county. Faith noticed one rider lagging behind the others, a tall man with broad shoulders and a straight back. Unlike his companions, he didn't head for the saloon, but continued down the main street toward the general store. Something about his solitary figure stirred something in faith, but she quickly dismissed the feeling.