Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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
Epilogue
Praise for the Romances of Catherine Anderson
“Anderson comes up with another winner by deftly blending sweetness and sensuality in a poignantly written story.”—Booklist
“Catherine Anderson has a gift for imbuing her characters with dignity, compassion, courage, and strength that inspire readers.” —Romantic Times
“A major voice in the romance genre.”
—Publishers Weekly
Star Bright
“When opening an Anderson novel, readers encounter great characterization as well as complex emotional issues. Poignant and funny yet laced with danger, this is a truly enchanting read.”—Romantic Times (4 stars)
Morning Light
“This is a story not to be missed. Morning Light delivers on all levels, and is a fantastic read that will touch readers at the very core of their being.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
Sun Kissed
“This smart, wholesome tale should appeal to any fan of traditional romance.”—Publishers Weekly
“Another heartwarming chapter in the Coulter family saga is on tap in the always wonderful Anderson’s newest release. . . . Anderson is at her best when it comes to telling stories that are deeply emotional and heartfelt.”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars)
Summer Breeze
“Anderson understands the inner workings of the human soul so deeply that she’s able to put intense emotion within a stunning romance in such a way that you’ll believe in miracles. Add to this her beautiful writing style, memorable characters, and a timeless story, and you have an unmatched reading adventure.”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars)
“The kind of book that will snare you so completely, you’ll not want to put it down. It engages the intellect and emotions; it’ll make you care. It will also make you smile . . . a lot. And that’s a guarantee.”
—Romance Reviews Today
My Sunshine
“With the author’s signature nurturing warmth and emotional depth, this beautifully written romance is a richly rewarding experience for any reader.” —Booklist
Blue Skies
“Readers may need to wipe away tears . . . since few will be able to resist the power of this beautifully emotional, wonderfully romantic love story.” —Booklist
“A keeper and a very strong contender for Best Contemporary Romance of the Year.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Bright Eyes
“Offbeat family members and genuine familial love give a special lift to this marvelous story. An Anderson book is a guaranteed great read!”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars, top pick)
Only by Your Touch
“Ben Longtree is a marvelous hero whose extraordinary gifts bring a unique and special magic to this warmhearted novel. No one can tug your heartstrings better than Catherine Anderson.”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars, top pick)
Always in My Heart
“Emotionally involving, family-centered, and relationship-oriented, this story is a rewarding read.”
—Library Journal
“[A] superbly written contemporary romance, which features just the kind of emotionally nourishing, comfortably compassionate type of love story this author is known for creating.”—Booklist
Sweet Nothings
“Pure reading magic.”—Booklist
Phantom Waltz
“Anderson departs from traditional romantic stereotypes in this poignant, contemporary tale of a love that transcends all boundaries . . . romantic through and through.”—Publishers Weekly
OTHER NOVELS BY CATHERINE ANDERSON
“Coulter Family” Novels
Phantom Waltz
Sweet Nothings
Blue Skies
Bright Eyes
My Sunshine
Summer Breeze
Sun Kissed
“Harrigan Family” Novels
Morning Light
Star Bright
The Comanche Series
Comanche Moon
Comanche Heart
Other Signet Books
Always in My Heart
Only by Your Touch
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
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First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, January 2010
Copyright © Adeline Catherine Anderson, 2010
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-15969-9
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Years ago, when Keegan’s Lady was published, the book was supposed to have been dedicated to my great-niece, Wendy, who was my inspiration when I created the character Caitlin O’Shannessy. Sadly, my mother passed away, and at the last minute I changed my mind, dedicating Keegan’s Lady to her instead. Wendy understood, and I assured her that Eden
Paxton’s love story would be dedicated to her. At the time, I had no idea that I would get locked into writing contemporary novels for so long! Now, finally, Eden Paxton is making her appearance in Early Dawn, and my wonderful great-niece is getting the promised dedication.
This book is dedicated to Wendy, who has
brightened our lives with her gorgeous red hair,
laughing blue eyes, indomitable spirit, and
most wondrous of all, her baby boy, Lucas.
Prologue
June 1887
Matthew Coulter awakened to a soft hissing sound, the faint smell of kerosene, and the dim glow of lantern light. A nearly blinding pain knifed from his left eyebrow into his temple, and as he struggled to focus he was filled with a terrible sense of dread. When his eyes had adjusted, he realized that he was abed in his childhood sleeping nook, a rectangular space with rough plank walls that was barely large enough to hold a cot, battered dresser, and small wardrobe. Strange. He’d been married five years ago and hadn’t stayed overnight at his folks’ place since. But there was no mistake. The familiar scent of his mother’s Irish stew drifted in from the kitchen to tease his nostrils, the air redolent with pan-browned lamb chops simmered to perfection, and the unmistakable fragrance of thyme, a spice his wife, Olivia, seldom used.
Matthew yearned to slip back into the darkness of sleep that had so recently enveloped him, but that niggling sense of dread grew stronger as he came more awake. Something was wrong, horribly wrong, but his head hurt so badly that he couldn’t remember what.
“Ma?” he croaked, and pushed up onto one elbow with a low groan because a sharp stitch in his side nearly took his breath away.
The room spun around him, the shadows that lurked beyond the sphere of light seeming to dance and sway. He wrapped a hand over the mattress edge to keep from pitching off onto the floor. What in Sam Hill? It felt as if every bone in his body had been broken, and the pain in his temple throbbed with each beat of his heart.
“Ma!”
A blurry female figure dressed in blue appeared in the archway. “Matthew! Thank God!” The lilt of her faint Irish brogue was as familiar to Matthew as his own voice. “We were starting to think you might never wake up.”
Matthew lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes as his mother sat beside him and placed a cool, soothing hand on his right cheek. The gesture reminded him of the early days of his childhood, when she’d checked him for fever or fussed over him when he was sick. He let himself enjoy the sensation for a moment before prying his eyes open again to fix his gaze on her face. Even at fifty-six, Hattie Coulter was a lovely woman, with black hair and eyes the deep blue of a summer sky. The years had lined her skin, but on her the traces of age were like the tiny cracks on the surface of an old oil painting, only adding to its beauty.
“Where’s Livvy?” Matthew asked hoarsely.
She withdrew her hand from his cheek and brought it to rest on her lap in a tight fist. Matthew knew then that something really was amiss. The thought that it might involve his wife filled him with panic.
“Ma?” he pressed. “Where’s Olivia?”
Hattie pushed to her feet. “I’ll be back in a moment, dear heart. I need to tell your father that you’re awake.”
Matthew watched her hurry from the room. Something dark hovered at the back of his mind—something so ominous and unthinkable that he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He flung his forearm over his eyes to shield them from the light and immediately regretted it when pain exploded in his left temple. Gingerly he explored with numb fingertips to discover that his head was wrapped in gauze. An injury of some sort? He couldn’t recall having an accident, but after working with horses most of his life, he knew he might not remember if he’d been kicked in the head.
Matthew had almost convinced himself of a horse’s kick when he heard the heavy tattoo of his father’s boots on the kitchen floor. An instant later, Matthew Coulter Senior filled the doorway, his weather-bronzed face creased with worry, his blue eyes shadowed with sadness. He slowly approached the bed, his wife hovering behind him.
In that no-nonsense way of his, he wasted no time hemming and hawing. In a brogue much more pronounced than his wife’s, he said, “Your ma says you don’t remember what happened, son, that you been askin’ where Olivia is.” He cleared his throat. “You need to brace yourself, boy, ’cause I can’t think of no easy way to say this, and I ain’t good with words at the best of times. Your Livvy was kilt by a gang of ruffians. Happened nigh onto three weeks ago now.”
“What?” Matthew couldn’t wrap his mind around the words bouncing inside his head. He pictured Olivia’s precious face, her soft brown eyes and gentle smile. Dead? She was so young. That couldn’t be. His father had to have it wrong. “No,” Matthew grated out. “No!”
His father shook his head and sank heavily onto the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, son. It pains me more’n you can know to be the one to tell you such a thing. We loved her, too, your ma and me. She was like a daughter to us.”
Though the discomfort was excruciating, Matthew shook his head in denial. “No.”
Even as he whispered the word, Matthew knew by the dark sorrow in his father’s eyes that it was true; Olivia was dead. The ensuing silence drove that home to him. His ma didn’t interrupt to say that his pa had it wrong, nor did she offer Matthew any assurance that everything would come right in the end.
“How?” Matthew forced himself to ask. “Ru-ruffians? We don’t have . . . It’s safe hereabouts.”
“The sheriff says it was the Sebastian Gang.” Matthew Senior cleared his throat. “You’ve heard tell of ’em. We read about ’em in the Crystal Falls Courier a few months back. A couple of days after the attack on you and Livvy, they struck again over near Medford. Shot a boy dead for tryin’ to stop them from stealin’ some horses. Them Sebastians are wanted damned near everywhere west of the divide. A posse out of Sacramento was hot on their heels, and the gang took a detour through here, tryin’ to shake ’em off.” The elder man’s voice had gone almost as hoarse as Matthew’s. “You and Livvy—well, near as we could tell, you was on the way home from a picnic by the crick. The gang must’ve come out of the trees, all of a sudden like, and surrounded your wagon. You wasn’t armed, and there wasn’t much you could do. Livvy . . . she was—” He broke off as if the words had stuck in his throat. Then he passed a gnarled, work-roughened hand over his craggy face. “Well, we can only pray she went quick and didn’t suffer overmuch. Doc believes you was already unconscious by the wagon when it happened. Pistol-whipped, kicked after you went down, and then shot in the chest and left for dead. Doc did all he could, but you was in sorry shape with busted-up ribs, a hole near your heart, and an injury to your head he couldn’t fix. If not for your ma’s prayers and nursin’, we might’ve lost you, too.”
Wringing her hands in her apron, Matthew’s mother moved closer to the cot. “It’s true, dear heart. I’ve barely slept a wink since they brought you in. It’s been touch and go. We were afraid you might never come back around.”
Matthew wished he hadn’t. His sweet Livvy, dead? He didn’t want to believe it. How could something like that have happened and he had no memory of it?
Embarrassed to lose control in front of his father, Matthew rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face into the pillow to stifle his sobs, even though the pressure against his temple hurt like hell.
“Have a care, Matthew,” his mother cried. “You’ll reopen your wounds.”
But Matthew was beyond caring about his wounds. He hoped they’d break open so he could bleed to death. Livvy. On their wedding day, he’d vowed to keep her safe from all harm, and he’d failed her in a way no husband ever should, all because he hadn’t taken a weapon with him on a stupid picnic.
He felt his father’s hand come to rest on his shoulder. “We’ll leave you be for a bit. There’s times when a man needs to be alone, and I reckon this is one of them for you.”
Matthew held his breat
h until his parents left the room. Then he released a sob that shook his whole body. Livvy. He’d loved her since boyhood. How would he face the rest of his life without her?
From the hallway, he heard his brother Hoyt murmur something he didn’t quite catch.
Matthew Senior replied, “I don’t think he remembers much, and I didn’t think it was a good idea to fill in the blanks just yet. No point in hittin’ him with too much at once.”
“But, Pa!” Hoyt protested, louder now. “You gotta tell him. If you don’t, somebody else will say somethin’ without thinkin’. Better to break it to him gentle-like.”
“Shh. Hush, you two,” Ma urged.
Matthew rolled onto his back to better hear the conversation taking place in the hallway. What had his father neglected to tell him? Livvy was dead. What the hell could be worse than that?
Lowering his voice again, Hoyt said, “His wife was brutally raped, for God’s sake, and then the sons of bitches carved on her with a knife before they slit her throat! You can’t keep that from him. He’s bound to find out sooner or later, and it’d be easier for him to hear it from you.”
“Maybe,” his father agreed, “but not this minute. That boy needs to heal some first.”
Matthew squeezed his eyes tightly closed. Oh, God. The memories of that afternoon were coming back to him now, fast and hard. The unthinkable darkness at the back of his mind had slipped into the light of day. He tried to block the pictures that swirled through his mind, but they just kept coming. Livvy. He could see the sunlight slanting down through the tree limbs to dapple her sweet face, hear the sound of her laughter. During the picnic, she’d told him that she was finally in the family way, and they’d been so happy, anxious to get home so they could share their joy with his parents and hers. Then six men on horseback had spilled from the nearby woods and encircled their wagon. Oh, God.