Fleeing to montana a wes.., p.1
Fleeing to Montana: A Western Historical Romance Book, page 1
Fleeing to Montana
STAND-ALONE NOVEL
A Western Historical Romance Book
by
Hannah Lee Davis
Disclaimer & Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright© 2024 by Hannah Lee Davis
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.
Table of Contents
Fleeing to Montana
Disclaimer & Copyright
Table of Contents
Letter from Hannah Lee Davis
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Blurb
Prologue
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
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
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Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Your Honest Review
Letter from Hannah Lee Davis
"Life is like a bowl of soup—you've got to stir it once in a while, so all the good stuff doesn't settle at the bottom.”
Hannah Lee Davis, a spirited 65-year-old widow from Indiana who now calls Colorado home with her sister Janice as she finally embraces a long-delayed dream of becoming a published author. Her life, filled with family obligations and personal struggles including her husband's ailment, kept her pen on hold, but never stifled her imagination.
Known for her crocheting, each stitch for Ella symbolizes a crafted sentence in the heartwarming stories she's yearned to tell. Fulfilling a promise to her late husband, John, Ella's tales of enduring love and rugged courage aim to wrap readers in narratives as comforting as her homemade quilts.
Inspired by her favorite authors, Jodi Thomas, Karen Witmeyer and Francine Rivers, her stories are bound to sweep readers on their feet and transfer them back to an era where simple things mattered the most. A hug, a warm cup of coffee, an evening walk by the river.
Until next time,
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Blurb
“I didn’t come on this ranch for love, Luke."
"I didn’t expect it either... but maybe it found us anyway."
Abby, the daughter of a wealthy landowner, is about to fulfill her parent’s wishes by marrying Caleb, the man they forced her to choose. When she discovers Caleb’s schemes to entrap her, she answers a mail-order ad in a desperate attempt to escape...
Luke is a rugged rancher burdened by debt and the responsibility of raising his rebellious sister. As his last hope, he turns to a marriage of convenience, but Abby’s fiery nature unexpectedly crumbles the walls around his heart.
As they face the complexities of their new life, Caleb tracks Abby down, intent on reclaiming what he believes is rightfully his. If Abby and Luke fail to trust and rely on each other, they will lose their only chance at happiness...
Prologue
Dillion, Montana
1865
A soft breeze whisked over the dry earth, making the dust spiral and swirl under the late afternoon sun. Abby watched it dance across the farmland as she stood at her father’s study window. Despite the heat, she felt a shiver run through her as she steeled herself for the confrontation that was coming.
She heard her father’s footsteps marching toward the study door and turned around as it burst open. His familiar burly figure hastened inside, his brow furrowed, and his eyes dark and disapproving as he met her gaze.
“I won’t do it, Pa,” she said quickly. “I will not marry a man simply because you have given him your word.”
Her father scoffed, closing the door quietly behind him and marching to his desk. He did not sit, but took up a position behind it, his back straight, his hands held behind him—the very picture of authority.
Abby felt like a farmhand who’d come to negotiate a pay rise.
“You are being unreasonable, Abby; you must have known this day was coming,” he stated.
“The day my father would auction me off to the highest bidder?” she asked.
His eyes widened as he looked up at her in shock, and an angry flush rose up his neck, turning the skin a deep red.
“You watch your tongue, girl,” he murmured threateningly, his lips pressing together in an unhappy line.
It was at times like this that Abby missed her mother the most. She and her father were too alike, too hardheaded and stubborn to ever come to an agreement. If it was a battle of wills, he could dig his heels in the deepest every time.
“I am not a girl, Pa. I am a woman now, and I can make my own choices. Why should you presume to make them on my behalf?”
She expected an explosion of rage at her words, but instead, to her surprise, the fire seemed to drain out of him, his eyes skittering down to his tattered desk. Now she came to look at it, there were papers and invoices scattered across it, and a large, bulky ledger beneath, ink stains blurring the pages.
Her father lowered himself wearily into the chair behind his desk. The leather was worn and faded; white ovals polished into the arms where his elbows rested day after day as he pored over his accounts.
He sighed. “You are right; you are a woman now and old enough to understand the difficulties we face.” He glanced at her but did not meet her gaze. “The drought has hit us hard this year, Abby. We barely managed to make ends meet last fall, and now I fear we’re facing an even worse year to come. The land just isn’t selling as it should. We survive on our good reputation—but we cannot survive forever.”
Abby felt fear uncoil in her gut as her eyes scanned the open pages of the ledger.
Are we really in such a fix that his only solution is to marry me off?
She’d had no idea that their future was so grim.
“Would it truly be so bad?” her father continued, his expression almost pleading. “He is a good man with a good fortune. You would not want for anything.” He clenched his teeth as he scanned over his cluttered accounts. “You have no notion of what it is to be destitute.”
She advanced on him, coming to stand beside the desk, her breathing fast as her heart beat a thunderous rhythm in her chest.
“Are things so bad, Pa?” she asked, panic building as she took in his grave expression. She had never seen him look so serious. “Why did you never tell me?”
“I didn’t want to burden you. I believed the droughts would abate, and we would see it through. But I am not sure things can be turned around. I hope and pray they will, but we must be practical.”
She felt her throat convulse as she took in his unhappy gaze. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and his brow was set in a deep furrow.
“You will have to marry one day,” he continued, “and there are worse choices in this world than Caleb Thornton, believe me.”
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, but she held them at bay as she tried one last attempt to convince him.
“But I do not love him,” she stated simply. “In truth, I do not know if I could. Caleb Thornton may be a good man—”
“He is!”
Abby jumped as her father’s fist pounded the desk. He rose to his feet, his volatile temper rearing its head—any sense of gentle
“I have indulged you all your life. I acknowledge that some of your hot-headedness is my doing, but it is time you grew up and faced your responsibilities to this family. It is time you understood what it is to make sacrifices.”
He walked to the door, his back rigid with tension. As he gripped the handle, he looked back at her with a hard stare. “You will come and greet him now, and you will be polite. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Father,” she whispered. She knew him too well to argue; his decision was made, and he would not waver now.
She followed in his wake, her feet dragging on the floor, her mind screaming at the idea of the future that was being forced upon her.
As they walked from the study into the hall, her father was waylaid by Rose, their housekeeper. He gave Abby a warning glare to remain where she was as he went to speak with her.
Abby stood silently, shifting her weight, feeling her stomach roll as she considered what was about to happen.
Surely there is another way. If Pa had just confided in me, perhaps I could have helped. How could I ever marry a man I don’t even know?
But as she stood waiting to greet Caleb, she was surprised to hear hushed voices coming from the porch outside.
Flicking a glance at her father and seeing that he was still occupied, she moved a few paces over, stepping around the creaky floorboards and leaning towards the glass. When she glanced through the window, she saw Caleb standing outside with a man she didn’t recognize. They were smoking cigarettes as they looked out across the dry, dusty landscape.
“Don't fret, Arthur,” Caleb said in a low voice. “Once I marry the Turner girl, I'll have access to all their assets. This place has been mismanaged for years. We'll merge the businesses and sell as much as we can. Her father won’t kick up a fuss. It’s ours for the taking.”
“And your new bride?” the other man asked with a smirk. “What if she causes trouble?”
Caleb chuckled, blowing the smoke out in a long cloud before answering. “She’s a spoiled thing, never had to work a day in her life. She’ll come to heel when I tell her to.”
Abby blinked, feeling the blood roaring in her ears at the audacity of Caleb’s words. Before she could process what he had said, however, she saw movement behind her as Rose departed, and she leaped to where she had been standing so as not to be seen eavesdropping.
Almost as soon as her father returned to her, Caleb entered the house, a tendril of smoke spiraling away from his lips as he stubbed out his cigarette beneath his polished shoe on the entryway.
He has contempt for this property already, she thought bitterly.
The stocky fellow he’d been conspiring with was nowhere to be seen. Caleb’s eyes zeroed in on her immediately, and he ambled over, his brown hair swept back, green eyes twinkling, and a friendly smile on his face. He was the picture of an average gentleman, and handsome to boot, but Abby could barely stand to look at him.
“Miss Turner,” he said warmly, removing his hat and giving her a shallow bow. “It’s a pleasure to see you as always; you look very fine this evening.”
Abby forced a smile under her father’s watchful eye.
“Mr. Thornton, it’s good to see you, too,” she forced out.
Her father held out a hand, which Caleb shook, and then led him into the parlor room. Abby followed dutifully behind them, a weight settling on her shoulders so heavily that she felt she might buckle beneath it.
I will never marry you, Caleb Thornton, she thought angrily. I will not salvage my father’s reputation simply to have it dashed to pieces by the same man he chose to save it.
With growing dread, she realized that if she wished to take control of her own life—her own future—there was only one option available to her.
She would have to escape this place and forge a new future far away, where they would never find her.
Chapter One
Abby sat on the seat below her bedroom window, looking out into the darkness and wishing she could be as free as the breeze, and swirl away into oblivion.
The meeting with Caleb had been awkward and far too long for her liking. She had sat stiffly beside her father while Caleb asked her a few questions about herself, but he soon gave up when her answers were polite but lacking any detail.
She wasn’t surprised when Caleb seamlessly changed tack and asked her father about his business holdings, assets, and the past year's profits. She was convinced that Caleb knew more about their situation than he was letting on.
She wasn’t sure if it was what she had overheard or the forced nature of his presence in her life, but every time she looked at Caleb, an unpleasant feeling crept over her skin. He was handsome, to be sure, but too slick, too charming to be real. She had begun to believe that everything he did was an act.
God must have a bigger plan for my life than this, she thought fitfully.
A knock sounded at the door, and her handmaid, Christine, bustled in, carrying a bundle of linens, placing a fresh sheet on the bed, and fussing about the room for a few minutes. Finally, she walked over to Abby and stood beside her with her hands on her hips.
As the silence grew to an unbearable degree, Abby slowly looked over at Christine and noted the sympathy in her gaze.
“I see you are as melancholic as I expected,” Christine said, not unkindly, and held out a hand, which Abby took gratefully as they walked across the room to her dressing table.
She sighed as she sat down, looking at her own pale reflection and the tight lines around her mouth. Christine’s nimble fingers danced over her hair as she removed one pin after the other. Abby watched the dark locks fall as she stared into the mirror and wondered what Caleb had made of her. He clearly thought her spoiled—did he find me handsome?
Many people in her life had told her she was pretty, but she had never been sure if her looks would attract a man. She certainly didn’t have any interest in dwelling on it like her friend, Sally, whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to ensnare a husband.
“You’re taut as a snare, Miss Abby,” Christine murmured, her warm hand coming to rest on Abby’s shoulder. “Things aren’t so bad, are they?”
Abby felt the tears she had kept at bay all day well up again, and she dashed at her cheeks as they began to fall. Christine immediately came and knelt beside her, taking her hands and squeezing them tightly.
“Will you tell me?” she asked. “I know Mr. Thornton came callin’ today. Are you not happy at such a prospect?”
Abby scowled. “He only wants me for Father’s land, Chrissie. I heard him talking about me today as though I were a clause in a contract he had to sign—he called me a spoiled child. Marryin’ me is a useful consequence of takin’ Pa for every penny he’s got.”
Abby stopped speaking abruptly. She did not wish to worry Christine unduly about the state of their affairs. Christine had been in the household for over a decade and was a loyal and dependable woman who had shown Abby some of the warmth she had lacked since her mother died. Abby didn’t want to alarm her with tales of drought, debt, and duty.
“He truly said that about you?” Christine asked, her mouth puckering with disapproval. “You would think an upstandin’ businessman like Mr. Thornton would have more integrity.”
