During the Comstock mining era, a beautiful, but mysterious woman crosses paths with bank president Hudson Foreman and his life will never be the same. As they grow closer to one another, he gradually learns of her identity, and why she can’t stay with him, but he’s willing to follow her no matter the risk.

Mountain Passion

The sunset was a brilliant scarlet as a gentle wind blew through the cornfields, rustling the dried stalks. Hudson Foreman shook the reins of his horse making the small carriage roll and bounce along the rutted road, jolting him every now and then when a wheel hit a bump. The cold air on his face felt refreshing after being cooped up in his bank all day, but also brought the realization that summer had ended. Hudson dreaded the winter because the snow and freezing temperatures kept most people locked away indoors. This meant his days were spent balancing and rebalancing the same ledger sheets without any new accounts or transactions to deal with. The farmers had no need to come to the bank, the gristmill workers were largely unemployed due to the weather and the miners were deep in the tunnels that were too hot during the summer. The winter was lonely.

Hudson always imagined himself married with two children, a girl and a boy, living in his tidy two-bedroom cottage, coming home every evening to a hot meal and a pleasant wife. Instead, he worked as the president of the Genoa Bank and Trust handling other people’s money while his life passed him by. It wasn’t that he was old, far from it, but at 33 he felt the weight of despair closing in on him because he hadn’t acquired a family yet. Marriage was expected, as his parents constantly reminded him, especially for a handsome gentleman holding such a responsible position in the community. His parents lived in Sacramento, 120 miles from the small town of Genoa, Nevada. Genoa was nestled snugly against the east side of the towering Sierra Nevada Mountains and was the oldest settlement in Nevada. His parents made it a point every few months to write a letter stressing their concern about his marital status. They’d even been so brash as to send some photographs of eligible young ladies from their neighborhood. That was almost a year ago, and now Hudson secretly wished he’d kept the photos.

His horse snorted her relief to be home and headed for the small barn at the back of the gabled house. Hudson shivered in the breeze and unhitched Maggie as quickly as he could, leading her into the barn and filling her trough with a scoop of oats.

“There you go, my girl, pleasant dreams,” he said, patting her thick, muscular neck affectionately. “Pleasant dreams,” he sighed, walking slowly to the back door of the house.

It was hard to see in the diminishing daylight, but he fumbled in the near dark for a box of matches and lit the nearest lantern. The kitchen was neat and cold without a hot meal simmering on the stove. There was a small icebox in the corner where he kept a slab of cooked beef. He cut off a few slices, lay them between two pieces of bread and called that dinner. It wasn’t worth the effort to light a fire or the stove, so a cup of water would suffice instead of coffee.

He sat at the table, his lone lantern throwing eerie shadows across the walls, and ate his meal in silence. He pulled a folded newspaper from his coat pocket and spread it on the table, scanning the headlines for anything interesting. He found it on the second page.

“Second Carson City Bank Robbery in One Week,” he read out loud, then continued, “Suspected Hewson Gang struck the First National Bank in broad daylight. The robbers made away with over $1,000, but no patrons were injured in the impetuous theft. Sheriff gathering posse and following good leads.”

Finishing the article and his sandwich at the same time, Hudson pushed the paper to the center of the table and stretched. The wind was picking up speed and whirling around outside, shaking the shutters on the windows. A horse whinnied, but it didn’t sound like Maggie. Hudson instinctively pulled open a drawer and lifted out a Colt .44 that he kept for emergencies and peered into the darkness through the window. As a boy, he’d been taught to shoot and always felt strangely comforted when he was holding the pearl handle of his father’s Colt.

He heard several horses shuffling around near the barn, then Maggie’s alarmed whinny thundered above the others. Someone was stealing his horse! He couldn’t see anything through the window, but decided to take a chance and confront the rustlers. Jogging outside, he squinted, trying to make out the figures on horseback. There were two of them with one bandit on foot tugging on a rope around Maggie’s neck, leading her from the barn.

“Maggie!” Hudson shouted above the whistling wind.

The rustler holding the rope turned around with a start, but Hudson couldn’t see his face clearly because he held a bandana over his mouth with one hand and a large hat was pulled down low to hide his eyes. Maggie strained to pull free, lifting her front legs off the ground and kicking at the robber.

“That’s my horse!” Hudson called, rushing forward with his gun drawn.

The two men on horseback positioned themselves in front of their friend on the ground and pointed their guns directly at Hudson. Stumbling on a rock, Hudson fell, his finger slipping and pulling the trigger. The two horsemen reacted and fired. The rustler let go of Maggie and collapsed to the ground. Hudson’s ears were ringing and his stomach was on fire. Everything was muffled and seemed to be moving in slow motion. The two riders scooped up their fallen companion and rode away. Maggie spun around wildly and took off in the opposite direction. Hudson rolled over, letting his gun fall from his hand, and looked down at his shirt stained red with his blood.

“Help me…” he mumbled feebly, as unconsciousness closed in around him.

(This excerpt is from the continuing serial story that can be purchased for only $3.33 a month-twice weekly issues-at www.keepitcoming.net. You'll find Mountain Passion under Alternates/Westerns.)