Lori Connelly Read online

  Contents

  Lori Connelly

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About Impulse

  Copyright

  Lori Connelly

  I was born and still live in Oregon. Despite being a good student, my teachers complained about my tendency to daydream. The tales dancing through my imagination were frequently far more entertaining than real life! As far back as I can remember I made up stories; to calm my sister after a nightmare, entertain myself in boring classes and write in countless notebooks, and many never again to see the light of day. I earned a BS from Eastern Oregon State College and married my best friend almost twenty years ago. I’ve three brilliant, handsome sons, one amazing daughter-in-law, a grand baby to be and two spoiled dogs. When not writing I love to read, hike, camp, rock hound, and take long walks with my husband just after it rains. You can learn more about me at my blog http://loriconnelly.blogspot.com/.

  In loving memory of my Grandma Martha Evie and for all those who believed; my Bear, my kids Jason, John, Michael, Sara and Cubby, my mom Judy, my aunts Kaye and Karen and my sister Teri.

  Chapter One

  Cedar Ridge, Idaho – Spring 1891

  Her eyes popped open. In the darkness that enveloped her, Evie Rolfe swallowed hard. Sometime during the night, her lamp died and left the young woman alone. Her fingers tightened into a white knuckled grip around the rifle while she listened for anything unusual. She didn’t dare move, waited untold minutes locked in fear until light trickled through the cabin’s only window.

  While ebony grayed, shadows faded, she gained a measure of courage. Evie scanned the modest room in search of what had woken her. A simple chair sat beside her in front of the stone fireplace. Cast iron pots and a frying pan were stacked on the hearth by short rounds of pine. Along the walls was a long low bench with towels folded neatly on top, a four-drawer dresser, a metal pail then a bed in the corner. Nothing appeared out of place so far.

  Nervous Evie twisted so she could look at the wall behind her. A gap in the window curtains allowed a glimpse of crimson sky. Against the door, a crudely made wood table remained snug with the oil lamp in the center. To the right of that her cloak and a large tan wicker basket hung side by side. A rough broom she’d fashioned stood propped in the corner. Relief seeped through her.

  The breath she’d held released. Evie sagged against the chair her grandfather made. Her left hand lifted, rubbed over her face then lowered to slide palm down over a scarred, oak arm. Loneliness, a muted ache, haunted. The worn rocking chair was all she had left from her family. She sighed, soft almost soundless.

  A distinct thud carried through the log walls. Her short-lived calm vanished. Blood raced through her veins. Heart in her throat Evie gathered the edges of the quilts close around her. Slow, cautious, rifle cradled to her stomach, she pushed up to her feet then turned to face the window.

  A minute then another passed. Evie heard nothing, saw nothing. She drew in a breath and stepped close to the glass pane. With the rifle muzzle, she pushed the washed out material aside. Her gaze found the source of the sound, what likely woke her, right away. Fear evaporated.

  Drained, her grip loosened. The blankets slipped, sagged around her waist. Anger whispered. Evie turned around and, jaw clenched, stalked to the fireplace. She hung the weapon back on the hooks above the mantle where it belonged. The hard packed dirt floor chilled her bare feet, hastened her pace as she moved to the corner.

  Beside the empty bed, Evie stilled, stared at it for a few seconds, her lips compressed into a hard thin line. With a snap of her wrists, she spread the thin patchwork quilts over the mattress. Sadness, resentment and frustration crashed over her in waves as she pulled her nightgown over her head, tossed it on the covers. Goose bumps soon dotted her skin. In quick, jerky movements, she donned stockings, undergarments, a faded blue long sleeved shirt and a brown ankle length skirt.

  Another thud sounded. Evie ground her teeth. She sat down on the bed and pulled on well-worn black boots. Her hair fell across her face in the process. Exasperated, she plucked her hairbrush off the wall where it hung by a leather thong.

  With the ease of long practice, she swiftly tamed her waist length dark brown hair into a single thick braid that hung down her back. Evie stood and slapped the brush back in place. Her hands shook as she stomped over, shoved the table away from the door.

  Orange and pink stained the clouds on the horizon when she stepped outside. Tall pine trees populated the landscape to her right, a sea of green as far as the eye could see. On her left lay the road to town and a couple of small cleared fields. Daisy, her cow, called out, impatient. Four hens scratched the grass for bugs. Evie noted it all but focused on what brought her out at dawn.

  A mare, all black except for a short white stocking on each leg stood just outside the barn. Its open door swung in the gentle wind. It hit against the wall, and again created the sound she’d heard while inside. Evie hissed through clenched teeth, irritated, as she moved with swift steady strides to the horse.

  Her temper simmered as she led Sugar into the fenced area attached to one side of the barn. Evie stripped off the mare’s tack, propped the saddle against a fence post. With bridle in hand, a pat and promise of oats later, she headed to the barn.

  Evie stepped into the shadowed interior of the weathered structure. While her eyes adjusted to the low light, she took a couple of hesitant steps forward, one hand on the interior wall for assurance. She hung the bridle where it belonged then moved on.

  It didn’t take long before she found him near Sugar’s stall sprawled face down on some loose hay.

  For a second, intense emotion seized her. Evie shook with the force it. Although the desire to turn around and leave held strong appeal, she just couldn’t do that. She knelt down beside him, leaned in and whispered his name. He didn’t react. With both hands, she shook him, called his name with force. As she half expected, Ben still didn’t respond.

  Evie got to her feet and with some effort, rolled him onto his back. Shaggy brown hair fell across his face. She crouched down, reached out and swept the mass to one side. His familiar features stirred a storm of conflicting emotions.

  Tears burned tired eyes. It’d been some time since they’d been affectionate, intimate and, unable to resist, her fingers ran down the side of his neck, a light caress. Scratches and purple bruises marred his skin. Her hand came back up to rest her palm on his cheek. As upset as she was, Evie savored this simple physical contact.

  Caught up in the moment, his groan startled her. She gasped. A hand came up, covered hers. His eyes opened and sorrow pierced her. The amazing forest green eyes that had captured her fancy years ago were so bloodshot it was painful to witness. A crooked smile spread across his face.

  “Hey doll,” His voice low, rough, almost playful.

  Strong whiskey fumes slapped her and Evie reared back as if physically struck, sparking her temper. His hand dropped to his side when she pulled away. She couldn’t contain the words she’d mulled over for months. They spilled out at a furious speed but only moments later, she fumed in frustrated silence. Eyes closed he’d passed out again.

  Evie started to rise then noticed a small bag at his side. She leaned o
ver, picked it up and the weight made her stomach churn with nausea. Her hand opened, dropped it on the ground, its contents spilling over. There was no honest way for him to have that amount of coin.

  Evie Rolfe sat back on her heels and looked at the mess that was her husband.

  Ben’s shirt, ripped and stained, offered further evidence he’d been in another fight. It was hard to believe her husband had become this man. As she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, her mind drifted to the past and longed for the man of memory.

  One hot August night five years ago a stranger had walked into a dance at her church. His stance radiated confidence. A crooked nose sat in a face of raw, rugged features that intrigued her. And as soon as he saw her, the man strode directly to her.

  Easily towering over her by several inches, with broad shoulders and a wide, well built chest, a he instantly made her feel protected.

  “Dance with me,” Eyes the deepest green charmed her . Her heart pounded. Without even asking his name, she’d given him her hand, captivated. In his arms, from the first moment, she’d felt a profound sense of belonging.

  Daisy, voicing loud displeasure, snapped her back to the present. Frustrated, Evie ignored the cow and instead reached out to shake Ben awake and then stopped herself. She knew from experience that a few hours rest increased the odds that her husband would actually listen to her – and last night had made it clear that he needed to today.. Her hand hovered between them for a moment then dropped. The day had just begun. She’d let him sleep.

  Evie stood, grabbed an old grey wool blanket they had for the horse, covered Ben with it and took one last look him before going off to care for Daisy. Sun streamed in through the doorway and warmed her as she milked. She had a difficult time focusing on the task though as her gaze kept wondering back to Ben.

  The bonds between them frayed, strained but not yet broken left her emotions a mess and she couldn’t stop her thoughts from circling around the conversation to come.

  When she turned the cow out to graze the cloudless sky failed to cheer her. She continued with her chores, checking on Ben occasionally but misery dogged her. The morning hours passed. She kept busy. Restless, she grabbed some laundry and headed down to the creek.

  A pair of ravens glided in the cool breeze above her to perch on the upper branches of a maple tree. Evie knelt by the water and as she reached into the basket and drew out a red and black checkered shirt, the tears began to well. Eyes closed, she buried her face in the flannel, breathed in the scent of pine and Ben.

  She wondered how it was possible to miss a person with every fiber of your being when that person shared your home, your bed.

  After a moment, Evie set the shirt aside and pulled out the rest of the washing. Soon, her fingers reddened from lye soap, ached from icy water.

  A chipmunk darted along a fallen log near her, a welcome distraction as she wrung the excess water from heavy wool. Faint sounds of movement carried on the breeze. She looked up toward the cabin and caught a glimpse of her husband’s familiar form before he disappeared into the cabin. Her conviction remained solid. The time had arrived for a tough discussion.

  Nerves stretched taut, she would wait for him to come to her.

  Clear blue sky peeked through tree boughs that provided a generous amount of shade. She had rinsed her last item for several unnecessary minutes when the dull thuds of footsteps broke the peace. When he sounded close, she glanced back. The sight of him walking through the shadows of the trees caused a sweet flash of memory.

  Ben had coaxed their wedding party outside that glorious spring day, with everything green or blooming. His good humor infectious, he’d claimed that nature’s beauty would bless their marriage. Eager to take on the world, life to him was a grand adventure. As she walked to where he waited with the minister, beneath a canopy of branches, she’d fallen in love with him even more.

  Ben stepped out of the shadows. The bittersweet echo of what had been, faded quickly. The years fashioned clear changes. Scarred by hardship. His current expression typical of the man she lived with now; hard, defensive. Pale from a certain hangover, his steps slow and measured, the contrast to the past wasn’t kind.

  “Hey,” his voice low, tense he stopped about a foot away.

  Her fingers curled up in the soaked material she’d been washing. Ben stood so close if Evie stretched out an arm, she’d touch him. Emotions twisted in a knot, each breath shallow, painful, her head throbbed. She felt every inch of the small but deliberate distance he placed between them. The wounds of recent events still raw, and for a second she had a childish urge to ignore him.

  Instead, knowing that would solve nothing, she lifted her chin. “Benjamin,” she acknowledged, his name stiff, formal.

  “I’m sorry.”

  His gaze focused past her, his tone flat, the muttered apology didn’t move her. Evie looked down at the shirt in her hands. She twisted it, wrung out water. “No you’re not.”

  “You’re upset.”

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  Silence, heavy and expectant, hung between them. She knew he expected her standard angry accusations or tearful pleas but offered neither. They hadn’t made a difference. The pattern remained the same. Her husband refused to alter it. She looked back up at him. For better or worse, things would change.

  Ben shrugged. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I mucked out the stalls.”

  “Good.”

  “And put the saddle in the barn.”

  “Fine.”

  “Brought in some firewood.”

  “Okay,” Impatient, irritation crept into her voice.

  “What do you want from me?

  “You want me to say I’ll stop drinking?” He asked as his gaze met hers for a split second before looking off into the distance again.

  “No.” Ben looked back at her, eyes wide, shocked. Pleased to have his complete attention, Evie stated her point. “Actually I want you to not drink yourself into a stupor whenever life gets a little hard.”

  “A little hard,” Ben bit out.

  “Yes.”

  “They took all my horses.”

  “That you captured on the Triple B.”

  “I didn’t know that then.”

  She gave him a soft-spoken reassurance. “I know.”

  “Months of hard work gone.”

  “I know.”

  “Then you should understand.” Anger made his words harsh.

  “It’ll be a struggle to recover but it’s doable.”

  Ben snorted. “Impossible.”

  “Only if you continue to cheat your neighbors.”

  “Excuse me,” His face a study of outrage but in his voice notes of defiance and satisfaction rang clear.

  Evie stood. “You sold Spice.”

  “We needed the money,” his gaze wouldn’t quite meet hers.

  “You didn’t say he was only green broke – you let them believe he’d been broken in by a trainer.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Let the buyer beware.”

  A sick feeling settled in her gut. Evie shook the shirt she held out hard. To have a moment, steady her thoughts, she moved over to where the rest of her wet clothes hung and threw it over a free branch to dry. She drew in a breath then turned to face him again.

  “Eddie Talbert was thrown.”

  His face impassive, Ben didn’t say a word. No remorse. Her heart sank but hope died hard and Evie prayed some remnants of the man she’d married lay hidden under that brittle shell.

  “He broke his arm.”

  “He didn’t die.”

  Stunned she couldn’t hide her shock, “Ben.”

  “What? I should feel sorry some rich boy took a tumble?”

  “You should accept responsibility for your part in it.”

  “I didn’t put him on the horse.”

  “No but you didn’t tel-”

  “Drop it,” His tone stone cold.

  Evie held her temper in check, just.
Her fingers curled so her nails bit into her palms. “Some of Talbert’s hands were here last night.”

  “Oh?” He angled his face away. “What did they want?”

  “Mr. Talbert wants his money back.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Ben they were six men - angry, armed, men. Nothing I said satisfied them. I went in the house, shoved the table in front of the door while they rode around outside shouting threats.”

  “Just trying to scare you,” Ben dismissed her words with a wave of his hand.

  Her jaw dropped. Their homestead was a good hour from the town, Cedar Ridge, the nearest neighbor miles away, unspeakable things could happen to a woman alone out here. Ben knew that.

  “Well it worked. I was terrified long after they left, sat up all night with the rifle in my lap.”

  “So you were fine.”

  Her body went rigid with indignation. “I was not fine.” She spoke slow, precise, each word distinct. “You should have been here.”

  “I can’t be hereto baby you, all the time.”

  “I don’t expect that,” Anger as bitter cold as the snowmelt fed creek she stood beside knotted her insides. “But when you kick up a hornet’s nest, you should face the consequences.”

  “Fine,” The cold, hard word shook her to the core, no trace of regret in his voice. “I’m leaving, have work to do.”

  “Like you did last night? And what sort of horse training is done after dark?” Bitterness, sharp and painful, seasoned her words, crafted to provoke him.

  “Don’t start in again,” His gaze locked on hers. “I needed to unwind.”

  “You were full as a tick.”

  “That’s my business.”

  Her jaw clenched. Evie looked down, brushed an imaginary bit of dust off her skirt. A breeze caressed her face, brought the scents of moss and recent rain. “I don’t want to argue.”