The Strong One (Cutter's Creek Book 2) Read online

  THE STRONG ONE

  A CUTTER’S CREEK NOVELLA

  Book 2

  VIVI HOLT

  www.blacklabpress.com

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  ABOUT THE STRONG ONE

  CUTTER’S CREEK (BOOK 2)

  1866

  Sarah Songan is a woman on the run.

  In an attempt to find peace with their neighbors, the Apsáalooke chief has promised her hand to a soldier at Fort Smith, and Sarah’s determined not to be traded or bartered like an ornament. She strikes out on her own, leaving behind everyone and everything she has ever known. However, a woman travelling alone in 1866 Montana territory can fall prey to unscrupulous men. Sarah must confront her fears and draw on an inner strength she didn’t know she had, as well as a new-found hope in God, if she is to survive.

  Bill Hanover is a tired and lonely cowboy. After four long years fighting in the War Between the States, he returns to his family ranch in Montana only to discover it’s no longer his home. He heads south to Cutter’s Creek, where he encounters a beautiful woman whose feisty spirit takes his breath away. But she’s hiding a secret, and her past is about to catch up with her. Bill turns to God for help and guidance, and encounters a new kind of love.

  Set in beautiful, wild, and untamed nineteenth century Montana, this novella will take you on a journey back in time to the perilous life of a pioneer on the western frontier.

  Copyright © 2016 by Vivi Holt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  About The Strong One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Excerpt From New Beginnings (Annie Boone)

  Other Books By Vivi Holt

  Dear Reader

  Follow Vivi Holt

  Historical Note

  About The Author

  Acknowlegements

  Chapter 1

  1866

  Sarah Songan stuck the end of one dirty finger into her mouth and chewed anxiously on the tattered nail. The nail was already so short there was nothing left to bite off. She flicked the finger from her mouth and strained her eyes across to the other side of the camp to watch the group of men gathered around the chief’s wickiup. She shuddered, and returned the finger to her mouth.

  “Sarah!” admonished an older woman sitting with a group of womenfolk beside the embers of a waning fire.

  Sarah knelt next to them and went to work slicing bison meat into thin strips, making sure to leave a nice layer of fat on each piece for added flavor. As she finished each cut, she glanced back at the group, noticing the chief gesturing emphatically to the elders to punctuate some point he was making. She shivered again, considering what they were likely discussing. She knew that she was the topic of conversation, but what were they saying about her?

  The smoke from the fire wafted into Sarah’s eyes, making them smart and blocking her view across the camp. She coughed and shifted around to the side of the fire circle. Behind her, the doorway of the wickiup flapped gently in the breeze, and the feathers hanging near the peak of the structure bent and swayed in time to the soughing of the long, green grasses surrounding the campsite.

  The camp itself was set on one side of a lush valley, and the rolling hills on either side were garnished with yellow buttercups, blue asters, and sweet, pink, wild roses.

  Sarah sighed in contentment, sweeping her gaze across the colorful landscape and feeling the peacefulness of the valley filtering into her soul for just a moment. Then she caught sight once again of the group of elders huddled together discussing her fate and her heart jumped in her chest. What would they decide? The flap over the doorway of Chief Mutaweer’s wickiup opened for a moment, and a flash of brown swept through the doorway and disappeared into the heart of the camp.

  Sarah smiled and bent her head over her work. She thought quickly, then rose to her feet.

  “I need a drink of water,” she said to the upturned faces of the group. Then she turned to run downhill to the nearby creek bed before any of the women could object.

  Reaching the side of the creek, she knelt and scooped a handful of clear, sweet water up to her mouth, savoring its cool refreshment. In a moment the flash of brown was there, giggling and splashing creek water into her eyes.

  “Ky! Stop!” she laughed, falling onto her side against the tall reeds and grasses at the water’s edge.

  Ky sat beside her with a thump and pushed stray strands of her thick, black hair away from her face. It was decorated lavishly with beads and feathers, and her buckskin dress had lines of multi-colored beads sewn into it as well, indicating her status as the chief’s daughter.

  “So?” asked Sarah, her wide, green eyes watching Ky’s face intently.

  “So, they say you’re to be married,” said Ky, her expression becoming serious. She pulled a stalk of grass from the ground and chewed on the end, pensively.

  “Married? To who?”

  “Some white man over at Fort Smith.”

  Sarah threw herself back against the creek bank, her hands over her eyes. Ky lay beside her, squinting up into the bright sky above with one eye closed, the end of the stalk still moving about in her mouth.

  “I don’t want to get married. Especially not to some white soldier I’ve never met. I can’t leave my family to live at that Fort with a bunch of strangers. I don’t want to leave you; you’re my best friend. What am I going to do?”

  Ky wrinkled her nose, and sat up to face Sarah. “They said that you’re too much of a risk to keep here. You’re not really a true Apsáalooke, seeing as how your father was a white man. Your mother always fought to keep you here, and because she was the old chief’s daughter they respected her wishes. But now that she’s dead, they say you can’t stay.”

  Sarah jerked up beside her, her heart pounding in fear. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened.

  “You look too much like a white woman, and with your green eyes every warrior who sees you, wants you as his bride. They’ve already had to fight several skirmishes with the Sioux and Cheyenne because of you. And if the white man finds out you’re here, they’re worried that he’ll come after you as well.”

  A frown creased Sarah’s forehead, and her lips tightened as she pictured the elders speaking with the chief about her future as though she were no more valuable than horse flesh or buffalo hides.

  “They want to strengthen their alliance with the white soldiers, since the Sioux and Cheyenne are always baying at our door. They say a Crow alliance with the White Man is the only way we can hope to survive. So, they’re going to use you to build that bridge.”

  Sarah had been studying the length of a reed beside her as Ky spoke. Its h
eavy head bent toward the ground as though it were bowing to the bubbling creek below. She pulled it up from the root, threw it to the ground with a hiss, and stood to her feet, stamping her moccasins in the damp soil.

  “I won’t let them use me like a set of beads or a coat of fur to trade for favors. My destiny isn’t to be a slave for a white soldier. My mother taught me to speak English so that I could one day make my way in the white world if I needed to. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll run away and decide my own fate.”

  Ky’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Run away? You can’t do that. What will my father say? Where will you go?”

  “I don’t care what he says, and I’m not staying to find out. I’ll leave at dusk. Maybe I’ll be able to get a job in Hardin. They say that town is growing like the prairie grasses in summer. I’ll go there, and make my own way in the world. Only, I do wish I didn’t have to leave you behind.”

  Sarah’s voice softened, and she stepped forward to grab Ky’s hands with her own, holding them tightly as tears formed in her eyes.

  “You’re the only one left on this earth who cares about me.”

  Ky pulled her close, and wrapped her arms about Sarah’s shoulders. She cried softly into Sarah’s wavy brown hair, and sniffled.

  “Then don’t go.”

  “You heard your father, I have to leave – one way or the other. I’d rather do it on my own terms.”

  “I guess that’s true,” began Ky, stepping back and wrinkling her nose, “though maybe I can talk to him.”

  “No, you know him well enough to realize that wouldn’t do a bit of good. In his eyes we’re not nineteen. He still sees us as those five-year-old girls who squeezed onto his lap to hear stories of the ancestors’ battles.”

  “You’re right. He would pretend to listen to what I have to say, and then, when we least expected it, he’d ship you off to Fort Smith without telling me.”

  Sarah nodded in agreement. Her expression dejected, she turned to face the camp, nestled in the clearing in front of them. Winding trails of smoke climbed slowly skyward, the smell of roasting bison meat wafted to them on the breeze, and the cozy wickiups reminded her of nights spent nestled together with her mother with the icy Montana winds whistling overhead.

  “All right, well at least let me help you. And make sure you don’t get caught; they’ll just send you right back here, and then you’ll really be in for it.”

  “I could use your help to get away from the camp without being noticed. Don’t worry though, I don’t plan on getting caught,” said Sarah. Her gaze roamed across the camp where the steady beat of activity carried on as usual in preparation for the evening meal, while Sarah’s world crumbled around her.

  “I can do that.”

  “Thank you. You’re a good friend.” Sarah’s eyes filled once more, and she pushed away the tears with her fist, drawing a deep breath of the fresh, southern Montana air into her lungs.

  “I’ll never forget you Sarah Songan,” whispered Ky, tracing the curve of Sarah’s cheek with her fingers. Her tanned face was splotched with red, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “You, too, Ky.”

  Chapter 2

  The brush underfoot scratched at Sarah’s calves, tearing at her skin. She whimpered quietly, and ducked down into the undergrowth for cover. Her hair fell across her face, having worked its way out of the clip at the base of her neck, and fell in long, curling tendrils down to her collarbone. Her bosoms heaved against her corset as she puffed hard, trying to quiet her breathing so she could listen. She regretted the decision to wear a corset so that she could blend in with the white women in Hardin.

  The sound of footsteps and hooves on the nearby road made her eyes widen with fright, and she fell quickly onto her stomach in the scrub and grasses. The song of crickets pierced the night’s silence and filled her ears, making her wince as she strained through their song to hear any other noise. There it was again, the unmistakable crunch of a booted foot on gravel, only this time it was closer than it had been before.

  Sarah lurched to her feet and scurried over the wooded knoll, lifting her skirts high above her knees in an attempt to muffle the sounds of her escape. A full skirt with a corset, petticoats, and tightly laced kidskin boots were no match for a man’s riding pants and boots in this terrain, but she could outrun his horse in dense brush.

  She slipped on a tuft of crab grass, and fell forward with a thud onto outstretched hands. Twisting her wrist, she rolled onto her back and pressed one fist to her mouth to stifle her cry of pain. Her soft shoulder bag fell to the ground beside her.

  “Where are you, girl?” came the sound of a man’s voice drifting over the knoll. It was filled with mockery, and his tone made Sarah shiver.

  Sarah pushed herself back onto her feet and threw the bag over her shoulder. Clutching her throbbing wrist with her free hand she ran forward, stumbling over protruding roots and fallen branches. She wished for a moment she was back in her buckskin dress and moccasins. She felt ungainly and slow in this cumbersome clothing.

  She saw the outline of a building up ahead where the trees seemed to thin, forming a clearing. As she reached the edge of the tree line, Sarah was able to make out the shape of what looked like a chapel in the dim light of the moonless night. It was a small building, dark in color. The roof had a steep pitch and there was a small bell tower over the church entrance with a cross sitting atop the apex. Beyond it she could see a small town sleeping through the chill of the early morning hour.

  She hurried toward the chapel, and skirted around the outside, looking for a way in. The front door was open, but that would be the first place her pursuer would look when he reached it. Rounding the back of the building, she saw her opportunity. A broken square of cross-hatched paneling jutted out at an angle close to ground level. Sarah grabbed hold of it and shimmied it back and forth, working it free. She pushed her bag through the opening, then slipped into the darkness beneath the building. Then she placed the broken square back in the gap.

  The sound of running feet along the road in front of the chapel filled the still and quiet night. He must have left his horse behind to pursue her through the woods. The town lay across the clearing past the church, and the footsteps appeared to stop in front of the building and consider which direction to take. Her pursuer walked quietly around the church and in through the front door. She could hear the heavy thud of boots on the timber floor above her head as he made his way up and down the aisle, stopping and shuffling back and forth to check every last crevice inside. Then, he traipsed back down the stairs, and headed along the center of the road and into town.

  Sarah released the breath she’d been holding in a loud gasp. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with one hand, relieved to have escaped. She lay down on the ground, one hand beneath her cheek. Motionless in the dirt, she let her mind wander over the events of the past six months.

  Since her escape from the Apsáalooke campsite at dusk, all those months ago, she’d been on the run so many times she’d lost count. She’d worked in various villages and inns, always having to leave as soon as someone fixed their mind on the idea of having her. The man pursuing her this night had found her working at an inn in the town of Hardin where she’d been for the past few months. She’d had a good job there, waiting tables and helping behind the bar when needed. Peter, the barkeep, had taken her under his wing, teaching her how to make drinks, cook wholesome meals, and manage the cash box.

  But then a dark, bearded stranger had sauntered into the saloon three nights ago. He’d taken one look at Sarah, and had settled on a bar stool for the night, his gaze firmly fixed on her as she went about her work. Uncomfortable with so much of his attention focused on her, she’d asked Peter if she could work out back for the rest of the night, and he’d agreed.

  When they spoke about it later, Peter had mentioned that the stranger’s name was Angus Colt, and that he’d asked a lot of probing questions about Sarah. Though Peter assured h
er he hadn’t told the man anything, she knew it was just a matter of time until someone else in town did, and he’d discover that she was all alone in the world. An easy target. No one to defend her, no one to notice if she disappeared. She knew his type. He wanted to use her up and throw her away, never giving her a second thought other than the money and momentary pleasure she could bring him.

  Sarah decided that night she would leave town as soon as Peter paid her the wages he owed her for the week. And she had, two nights later. The stranger was still there, eying her closely from his perch at the bar. She’d slipped out without a word to anyone, and headed for Cutter’s Creek, careful to keep to the side of the road. She had almost made it to her destination when she first heard the thunder of hooves on the road and knew that he’d found her. Taking to the woods beside the road, she’d managed to stay out of his grasp, but she knew he’d keep looking until he was sure she’d moved on.

  I didn’t run from the only home I’ve ever known just to fall into the hands of a scoundrel like Angus Colt. I only wish I could stop running and find a place to rest. I’m so tired. I have no home on this earth and no family to call my own. No place to lay my head. No one to love me, or to love in return.

  Beneath the chapel, Sarah stifled a quiet sob. With a deep breath, she worked to calm her racing heart and bury her misery. She missed her mother and Ky so much that her chest was filled with the heavy pain of grief. Before long, with the cold seeping into her bones, Sarah’s eyes drooped shut and she fell into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Bill Hanover pressed his bay mount forward, galloping steadily along the wagon track and away from his family home. Daisies waved in the breeze beside the trail, and he watched as a herd of deer bounded away in a field to his right. They headed into a small thicket of pines, their white tails flicking with each step, their ears spinning back and forth as they listened for his approach. Bill smiled at the sight, and relaxed in his saddle, enjoying the beautiful fall day in the lush Montana valley.