Best Kept Secrets

PROLOGUE

March 1889 at the Gunderson's farm

Blizzards that winter had been more severe than Happy Valley folks had experienced in years, and after months of fighting their way through snow and ice between house and barn, finally a let-up in the weather seemed to be on its way. The thermostat outside the Gundersons' kitchen window registered at 5 degrees Fahrenheit for the fourth day in a row, and even though it was still pitch dark at four o'clock, Olaf already had his wagon loaded and ready to drop off feed to stranded cattle out on the range – as soon as he finished milking the cows.

"My pretty little mignon, he chuckled, using his pet name for his sleepy-eyed wife. It's still colder than a witch's tit out there. Stomping his boots on the porch, he handed her an armload of kindling for the firebox. Just get the fire going, and put on the coffee. Then dive under the covers till things warm up a bit."

Billy and I can help, Ollie. Mitzi struck a match and set the wood shavings ablaze inside the potbelly stove. The work will go faster with all three of us lending a hand.

"Ja, and get yourself a bad case of the sniffles, I bet ya. He grinned, his voice mock-gruff as always when he was asserting his will as head of the house. You and the boy stay in where it's warm. I'll be back for that thermos of coffee, just as soon as I milk the cows."

Have it your way, you big old grizzly bear! Smiling, Mitzi turned to stir up the fire in the stove and went about her usual morning routine. There was no way she was going to send Olaf out in this weather without a warm meal under his belt!

Icicles hung from the edge of the roof, and great sheets of snow and ice were piled high. It was hard to think of a drearier way to start the day.

The coffee pot came to a boil, filling the cabin with the rich aroma of strong coffee. Smiling, she cracked eggs into her skillet and toasted a thick slice of bread over the fire on a two-pronged fork. She was just turning the eggs, when she heard a loud rumble of heavy snow and ice break loose from the cabin roof and crash to the ground.

More roofing repairs, come spring! she thought, shaking her head, as she bustled around her kitchen. She had the table set, his plate of fried eggs and sausages warming on the back of the stove, and his lunch sack and thermos ready. Only thing needed now was fresh warm cream for his coffee.

What can be keeping him? she wondered. Olaf was famous for having the fastest milking fingers in the valley. Expecting to see him stride from the barn with two steaming buckets in each hand, instead Mitzi saw three rough-coated horses tied to the fence. Saddled, malnourished horses that certainly bore no resemblance to the Gundersons' string of sleek-flanked horses.

Perhaps they belong to travelers who lost their way in last night's storm? she thought. Who knows? She was about to set extra plates at the table for three wayfarers when a loud explosive blast went off. She'd only heard a gun that powerful go off once before, when a big grizzly bear broke into the cabin for food, and Olaf had to drive it off with his shotgun.

Startled, she rushed to the stone mantelpiece and retrieved his shotgun. Ollie rarely carried weapons, certainly never while doing chores, and only when he was hunting game. Shivering, she checked to make sure his gun was loaded. Just as a precaution.

In case those strangers had ulterior motives.

But who would want to draw down on him, and why? There wasn't a more peaceable man within miles than her Ollie.

Please, God, she prayed, peering out the window worriedly.

What to do, what to do? Instantly her thoughts flew to their son Billy, still sound asleep in the other room. She needed to protect their son. Whatever these men's intentions, she knew Olaf would want her to protect Billy.

I must get him away from here, she decided. Summon help.

Gripping the shotgun, she ran to her son's cot in the back room and shook him awake.

Ma? He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Hurry, Billy! she whispered, stuffing his arms into his thick overcoat. I need you to run to the Petersons for help. There are armed men in the barn with your father.

He yawned. What men?

I don't know, but I heard a gun go off.

Ain't Pa's. He never uses a gun, except to shoot game, he argued, while she stuffed his long-johns into his coveralls, then pulled up his suspenders.

Stay calm. Panic only leads to paralysis, she told herself. She yanked on his boots, fastened his snowshoes, and gave him a quick kiss. Tell Mr. Peterson to come quick and bring his gun. Loaded. You understand?

She unlatched the window, threw up the sash. Run as fast as you can, and no matter what happens, don't look back! She gave Billy a brave smile. Now scoot!

She helped him over the windowsill, and he fell with a plop into a pile of hard crusty snow. Struggling to his feet, he headed out, zig-zagging through the trees nearest the cabin. Only when he reached the open pasture did he look back.

Go, go, Mitzi gestured frantically. Closing the window, she picked up the shotgun and ran back to the kitchen.

The coffee was bubbling over, but she had no time to worry about that! From the kitchen window she saw four men armed with rifles and a shotgun walk out of the barn. They were headed straight for the cabin.

Her heart in her throat, Mitzi ran to bar the front door before they got there. She needn't have bothered. These were no well-mannered cowboys. They smashed the front window with their rifle butts and stepped over the sill, boots crunching broken glass, as they advanced on her with a lust for murder and rape in their gloating eyes.

And her in her nightgown!

The first man to reach her plucked her husband's shotgun from her nerveless fingers and tossed it to one of his accomplices. Well, lookee here, he drawled. A fine lookin' woman to whet our appetites, and breakfast to see us on our way!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Fighting to recover Olaf's gun, Mitzi kicked her captor in his privates. Sensing the futility of attempting to get away, her best hope was to stall for time while Billy alerted the neighbors. Trying to fatally injure or outrun four outlaws was a hopeless cause. She twisted away, snatched a bundle of kindling stacked beside the fireplace, and began hurling it, piece by piece.

Ducking, the men came after her, tearing at her nightgown, as she raced to the kitchen stove. Never having been under attack before, she might easily have given up at this point. She could almost hear her strait-laced mother's voice in her head: "Now, Mitzi, you know how a proper lady should behave . . . "

Fortunate, indeed, that her mother had never found herself in a predicament like this! Perhaps some latent prehistoric gene surfaced, blocking out her mother's rigid standards of etiquette. Call it instinct, or a fierce determination to survive. Whatever the reason, Mitzi's upbringing flew up the chimney.

A strength far greater than her own overcame her, as she fought back, snarling and spitting. Calling down the wrath of God on her attackers, she bombarded these vile outlaws with everything she could lay hands on. She clawed, she kicked, she punched. She grabbed up a bread knife and slashed at them.

And still they came at her.

Making a game of it. Circling, knowing the odds were in their favor.

We got us a real wildcat! Grinning, the man nearest hitched up his pants.

They kicked chairs aside, circling, and still she fought. She spat and clawed at the ringleader's eyes. Driven by instinct, she used her elbows, teeth and nails, biting, spitting and clawing. Still they advanced, spewing out vile threats of what they intended to do to her.

Trapped by the stove, she picked up the coffee pot and dashed scalding coffee in one man's face. Half-blinded and screaming vengeance, the outlaw grabbed her by the hair and wrapped his claw-like hand around her throat. Bitch! For that, you're going to die a slow and horrible death!

Staring into the face of pure evil, she spat in his eye. She was half-naked, but not about to give up – not by a long shot. Fumbling blindly, her fingers closed around the handle of her heavy cast iron skillet. Wham! She broke teeth and noses and just kept on swinging that skillet. Swinging it, and breaking and bloodying her attackers' evil, leering faces.

But then one of them got in a lucky sucker punch.

Stunned, she sank to her knees like a collapsing house of cards. All the fight knocked out of her, the world went dark.

CHAPTER ONE

Feeding cattle during such unpredictable weather required all the neighboring ranchers to work together. Standing in the back of Len Peterson's wagon, throwing down bales of hay, Walker Simmons from the S-G-S Ranch was the first to spot what appeared to be a large penguin flapping its arms, as it came floundering over the hill in a red snow suit.

Am I going snow-blind, or is that a mirage? he asked, squinting against the sun's glare on the snow.

Sure havin' a rough time keeping his balance. Len shook his head. It's not one of my boys, I can tell you that much!

Help! With a gasp, the boy tripped on his snowshoes and fell flat on his face.

Guess we'd better find out who he belongs to. Taking long strides, Sam Gallagher quickly made his way to where the bedraggled young boy fought to regain his footing. Why, it's Gunderson's kid! he exclaimed, pulling him out of deep snow.

Y-you gotta come . . . save my Ma and Pa! Billy gasped. Something real bad . . . going on, and Ma . . . needs you to come quick –. And . . . don't forget your guns, 'cuz there's bad men with guns – and I heard Ma screaming—

Easy, son. Sam brushed off the snow and carried Billy to the wagon, where he wrapped him in a spare blanket. Did you see these men?

No, 'cuz my Ma pushed me out the back window and told me to run fast. His chin quavered, and he burst into tears. I heard her screaming. Oh, please hurry, Mr. G!

Pulling hunting rifles from beneath the buckboard's front seat, Walker handed one off to Sam. Len, your place is closest. Might be best to leave Billy with your daughters. Meanwhile we'll take a couple of your men and check things out at Olaf's place.

Good thing we brought extra horses, Sam said, mounting up. Don't worry, Billy. We'll get there quick.

Walker winked reassuringly at the boy. You did just as you should, Billy. We'll take it from here! He swung into the saddle and spurred his horse, following the icy wagon tracks toward Gunderson's place. Sam and two of Peterson's men were right behind him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

As they rode hell-for-leather, all four men kept a sharp eye out for anything out of the ordinary. There'd been increased problems of late – mostly harassment by outlaws hired by the Executives Club in Cheyenne. Brought into the territory by railroad, these lawless killers had been laying siege on isolated ranchers and homestead farmers. Once they were run off, Club members would quietly file adverse possession claims down at the Courthouse, and transfer title to straw buyers. This left the original homesteaders out in the cold, with little or nothing to show for all their long years of hard work and sacrifice.

Not that Club members had the guts to wage war against the ranchers themselves. No, they relied on outlaw gangs, who treated the ranchers like trespassers. Meanwhile Club members kept a sharp eye on the plummeting stock market, waiting for just the right moment to make their next move and permanently remove ranchers from their land by whatever ruthless means it took.

Usually a good scare was all it took. If the homesteader was financially hurting, he and his family might pack up and hit the trail for friendlier climes. If a family showed a stubborn attachment to the land, the outlaws applied more pressure. Maybe killed off a family member or two. Got rid of any slow learners to the way the game was supposed to be played out. Smart-mouth troublemakers were also considered expendable. In an extreme case, where a family still refused to budge, arson usually worked like a charm.

Whoa, Walker said softly, as they took a detour through the woods to the Gundersons' place. I pray we're not too late.

Hopefully not, Sam murmured, checking the load on his six-shooter.

The hayloft in Gunderson's barn was already smoldering, and the high-pitched whinny of three shaggy-coated horses fighting to get free from the corral fence told them the whole place was about to go up in flames.

Grim-faced, Walker crouched low and ran for the corral, carrying his rifle. Freeing all three horses, he delivered hard slaps to their rumps and sent them bucking and galloping into the icy road out front. At least the outlaws would be on foot now, evening up the score a bit.

Hearing the wild neigh of horses, three outlaws burst out the front door of Olaf's cabin. They ran toward the barn, revolvers blazing.

A wild piercing scream broke Walker's concentration. It came from the cabin. Mitzi! Normally a crack shot, he was so rattled it took him five shots to stop the first two men in their tracks. A third man got past him into the barn – no doubt hell-bent on stealing a mount.

Walker raised his rifle, keeping the open barn door in his sights. Sam, he called softly, I've got a bead on this guy. Now's your chance to sneak around back and rescue Olaf's wife.

Hellfire! Sam spotted a fourth man, crouched low and running through the woods to where they had their own horses tethered.

Don't let him steal our horses! Walker muttered, still focused on the man in the barn. "Come on, come on–! Make your move!"

Suddenly a powerful north wind swept down the hill, sending a violent chill down Walker's back. In seconds, the hayloft ignited, and the entire barn erupted into an enormous ball of fire. Gazing in horror at the crackling flames, Walker stood helpless, deafened by the tortured cries of helpless cattle and the beautiful draft horse Olaf took so much pride in.

His heart pounding wildly, Walker wrenched his thoughts from the trapped livestock. All lost. Beyond hope. Up yonder on the hill, Sam and Peterson's ranch hands was busy hog-tying the man who'd tried to make off with their horses. Clearly it fell to him to rescue Olaf's wife.

Every other thought crowded from his mind, he stumbled out into the open. Never knowing if a sniper's bullet had his name on it, and frankly not giving a damn. All that mattered was to hold her in his arms one more time.

The barn aflame at his back, his heart pounding in his ears, he raced toward the cabin. Using the butt of his rifle, he cleared broken glass and stepped through the shattered front window..

Hey, girl, it's me – Walker! he shouted, and then stopped, feeling a little foolish. Did I actually call her that?" he asked himself, as he ran from room to room, searching frantically. Calling her 'girl' made it sound as if she belonged to him! But the word was already out of his mouth; he couldn't very well take it back, now could he? So he kept silent, not wanting to be disrespectful of her. How he felt about Mitzi Gunderson should forever remain a secret known only to him and God.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Walker found Mitzi's limp, violated body sprawled naked across her marriage bed. The bed she had shared with Olaf for the past eleven years. She lay so still and pale, at first he thought she was dead. "Aw, no. Please, God, nooo! He crashed to his knees beside the bed with its torn, bloodied sheets. Not Mitzi, Lord!"

It was bad enough to lose one of his best friends, but to find Olaf's wife like this – A sweeter woman he'd never met! It just tore the heart out of him to find her this way. So vilely disrespected and still.

In all the years he'd known Olaf, Walker had been extra careful never to reveal his secret feelings for Mitzi. Partly out of respect for Olaf, who was one of his best friends, but mostly because, as a Christian, he had sworn to obey the Ten Commandments. Regardless of his private feelings, a man had to respect the sacred bond between a man and his wife. Even now, touching her might mean he was violating his oath to God, for what if Olaf wasn't in that burning barn? What if he was off somewhere feeding his cattle, or running an errand? It was entirely possible that Billy's story was only partially correct, and Olaf might not –

Whoa! Whatever else Billy may have got wrong, he was for damn sure correct about outlaws paying the Gundersons a visit. There was certainly enough evidence that they'd come to rob and destroy. Holding Mitzi close to his parka, Walker began to shiver violently. If only he and Sam could have gotten here faster! He pressed his chapped lips to her limp fingers. Forgive me, Lord, he wept. I'm the vilest of men, for even now I cannot deny my love for this woman!

As if confirming his fallen state, he gathered her in his arms even more gently. Seeing all the bruises and scratches on her soft breasts, he laid his cheek against her heart and made a passionate vow: By all the love I hold in my heart for you, by all the angels in heaven, I promise I'll care for little Billy and to love him as if he were my own.

To seal his vow, he planted a fervent kiss on her pale lips.

Then he glanced down, hoping to gaze into her beautiful eyes one last time. He recalled how crystal blue they shone. Like the bottomless lake where he fished for bass every summer.

Suddenly she moaned, and he recoiled guiltily.

Slowly her eyelids fluttered. Her eyes looked dazed and slightly unfocused, as if she was just regaining consciousness.

W-Walker? she whispered hoarsely. How did you get here? she whispered.

If he could have disappeared right then, he'd have done so gladly. But then he might never find out how her happily-ever-after turned out, or if Olaf was still around to take care of her and young Billy. Though chagrined by his secret admiration for her, he decided he needed to own up to his good intentions, at least partially.

Sitting up abruptly, he covered her with the bed sheet. Thank God you're alive! For a moment I wasn't so sure, he stammered incoherently,

I-I must be. She touched his cheek. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, talking to you.

Well, you're safe now, he said gruffly. Sam and I took care of the men who attacked you.

Olaf?

He shook his head. Haven't seen him. Hopefully he gave 'em the slip. Not wanting to add to her pain and anguish, he changed the subject. The main thing is you and Billy are safe. Would you like to wash up a bit? Put on some warmer clothes?

Her fingers ran through her tangled tresses. Then she peeked under the sheet and blushed. Walker, I-I''m bleeding!

Stay right where you are, Mitzi, he stammered. I-I'll heat some water and be right back. He disappeared, then stuck his head around the door. Where do you keep the soap and towels?

Hall cupboard. She stared up at the ceiling, wiping her tears on the edge of the bloodied sheet.

Walker returned quickly, bearing a basin of warm water. Sam walked in right behind him, rolling up his sleeves. Let's take a look at you, Mitzi, he said briskly. By all appearances, you put up quite a fight.

Where's Olaf? she asked, and burst into tears.

We won't know until Len Peterson and his men put out the fire in the barn, Sam said calmly. Meanwhile I'd better treat any injuries you've sustained, and take you and Billy back to my place for a few days. Meg can make you more comfortable, while we clear things up around here—

I'm n-not l-leaving here, not until I p-personally put a b-bullet in every one of those vile murderers! she said, struggling to sit up. She was so dizzy and weak that Walker had to rush around the side of the bed to keep her from falling on her face.

Don't t-touch me, she hissed at him. Sam, give me your gun! She held out her hand imperiously.

Sensing Olaf's wife was in severe shock, Sam laid her gently back against the pillows. We've already taken care of that. He smiled down at her reassuringly. Len's men are looking to bury them right away.

No! I won't allow them to be buried here! she shrieked. Rolling over, she crawled out of bed on the other side and stood there, wobbly as a newborn colt. She snatched a pair of Billy's coveralls from the mending pile to cover herself. I w-will not permit it!

What about Olaf? Sam asked gently. In case he died in the fire?

Oh, but he can't die! She looked pleadingly at Sam and then Walker. Don't you see? I'm carrying his baby! And on that startling revelation, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fainted dead away.

Walker caught her in his arms. Boss, she's bleeding real bad down there. We're got to do something!

Sam nodded. "Go tell Len's men we'll contact the sheriff. Let him bury those lawless bastards in a pauper's grave – so far out on the prairie that even the devil himself can't find them."

Walker nodded. If she loses her baby, should we bury it with Olaf?

Sam shook his head. Right now she's in too much emotional and physical pain to decide.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Once Sam determined the extent of her injuries, he knew they had to rush her back to the S.G.S Ranch, where he kept his surgical instruments and emergency supplies. Not that he hadn't patched up numerous members of the Happy Valley community on the spot, when they got injured. He'd even set Walker's left arm a few years back – did a good job of it, too. But after what these vicious animals had done to Mitzi? Sam swallowed hard, fighting a queasy stomach. Never had his skills been so challenged as a country doctor.

And he wasn't the only one rendered speechless by the atrocities committed by these lawless outlaws. Walker's face turned bloodless, as he hurried from the room to fetch Sam's emergency kit.

After bandaging Mitzi's wounds as best he could, Sam gently wrapped Mitzi up in warm blankets to prevent severe shock. By then, Walker had returned from talking with Len Peterson's ranch hands. The ground's frozen too hard to dig a grave, he reported, warming his hands over the potbelly stove. They'll store the bodies in the shed behind the Grange Hall till the roads are clear enough to drive the outlaws into town.

Makes sense, Sam nodded.

How's Mitzi doing? Walker asked anxiously.

I did what I could to slow the bleeding, but she needs surgery, he said quietly. There isn't much I can do without my surgical supplies.

Then what are we waiting for? Walker exclaimed. I found Olaf's feed wagon, all hitched up and ready to go! I'll drive, while you see to Mitzi.

Together they carried her outside. Sam climbed into the back of Olaf's wagon and laid down more blankets. Meanwhile Walker held her in his arms, using his body to shelter her as best he could from the fierce north wind.

After a moment, Sam dropped down from the wagon again. As the two men started to transfer her frail body into the wagon, his eyes met Walker's anguished gaze and promptly changed his mind. With roads in such terrible condition, he wasn't sure his patient would survive the ride. The unspoken plea in his foreman's sad eyes confirmed his worst fears.

On second thought, Sam said abruptly, We'll make faster time on horseback than bumping around in this rickety old wagon.

Walker nodded. Give her to me, boss. She's light as a feather. Won't slow Chance down a bit. Shifting Mitzi to Sam's arms, he untied his horse's reins from the back of the wagon and swung into the saddle.

Sam carefully lifted Mitzi up to Walker's waiting arms. I'll be right behind you!

See you back at the ranch! His reins clamped tight in his jaw, Walker held onto Mitzi for dear life, as he spurred his horse to a gallop. On a fair day, he could have made it to the S-G-S ranch in under ten minutes. Today, it would take a miracle to get through all this snow and ice in less than a half-hour. Not that he was feeling particularly lucky. But when a man's holding the only woman he's ever loved in his arms, he'll try anything.

Veering off into the trees, he took a shortcut across the frozen pond. A little risky, but Chance was sure-footed and could handle the weight. Behind him, he could hear Sam grumbling, but Walker stubbornly persevered. Deep down he and Sam both knew it was up to the Lord whether Mitzi made it through this tragic day – or not.

It was a rotten day for miracles, but he was claiming one anyway.

CHAPTER TWO

I don't care what you say, Pa. I'm going with you, Hildy Peterson insisted, climbing into her father's buckboard and wrestling with him for control of the reins.

Lord A-mighty! Where'd I get such a stubborn daughter? Len snatched back the reins. C'mon, Billy, I suppose you'd better come along, too.

Yessir, I reckon so. Wiping his tear-streaked cheeks on his sleeve, Billy took Hildy's outstretched hand and pulled himself up beside her on the seat. Bein' as I'm all my Ma's got left in this world.

Oh, things aren't as bad as all that, Hildy said, with her usual determined cheerfulness. Why, one look at your cute freckle face, and your Mama will be right as rain in no time.

"She's just got to get well, Miss Hildy." His voice broke, and he began to sob.

Hold onto this for me, Billy. Len handed over his handkerchief. In case another snowflake lands in my eye. He winked at the boy. See those big puffy clouds up yonder? Looks like we'd better make tracks, because more snow's on the way!

Hey, where are we going? Billy protested, noticing that Mr. Peterson was heading away from his father's ranch.

It's all right, Billy. Hildy smiled reassuringly. Your Mama's safe now at the Gallagher's ranch.

But who will milk old Bossy, now that Pa's gone? His eyes filled with despair, and his chin began to wobble. "That should be my job!"

And it will be, later on. Hildy wrapped her arms around his thin shoulders. But right now your Mama needs you more than any dumb old cow does.

Len brushed another annoying snowflake from his eye. Giddap! he said gruffly, urging his horses to a fast trot. Dag-nab-it! He hated to see a young'un cry.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Clutching her frail, broken boy against his pounding heart, Walker bargained with God as never before during that frantic ride. Taking the lead, he pushed his horse hard. The snow made it tough going at times, but he and Sam managed to beat the incoming blizzard to the S-G-S ranch, though not by much.

Together they had Mitzi down off his horse Chance in no time. Inside the main ranch house, a warm crackling fire awaited them. Almost immediately Meg saw what was needed and took over. Directing Walker to carry Mitzi into the spare bedroom, she was off like a shot to the kitchen. That left him in something of quandary: Was he supposed to disrobe the patient, or what? He decided just to hold onto Mitzi's hand and pray.

Meanwhile Sam tossed his instruments into a pot of boiling water on the stove and began to scrub for surgery. Still bustling about Meg scrubbed the dining room table with disinfectant. While all that was going on, Len Peterson dropped off Mitzi's son Billy, along with his daughter Hildegard Peterson at the Gallagher's front door and skedaddled. I've got kids at home! he yelled, and with a crack of his whip set off for home.

Hildy, who had helped Dr. Sam with surgery several times, shooed Walker and Billy out of the patient's bedroom. Walker, you take Billy over to the bunkhouse and keep him busy. You're both just in the way around here, she said briskly.

I-Is my Ma gonna die? Billy asked.

Tsk! What a foolish question! she said, searching for a chemise for Mitzi to wear.

Y'know, you're downright bossy! the boy informed her.

That's why you better not mess with me! said Hildy. Now shoo! How can I get your mother ready for surgery, when you're so full of questions?

Walker stretched and stood up. Give you Ma a kiss, so Miss Hildy can help her get well, he said, giving Billy a hug.

You, too, Walker – out! Hildy insisted. "You two are