Gift of Grace Read online

  “How’d that work out for you, Gaff?” he asked on a derisive snort as he left the road and cut through the trees to take a shortcut to the mine. He’d ridden the path so many times, he could find it blindfolded which was just as well since the snow hampered his vision.

  He swung back onto Happy, eager to return to the solitude of the mine and his snug cabin. Although it wasn’t overly large, his cabin was warm and clean, and had been his home for the past several years.

  Thane Jordan was a good employer, one of the best in the area if a man wanted to work in a mine. Grady earned a generous wage and was treated fairly, and with respect.

  When he was younger, he used to waste his money like so many of the other miners, spending it at the saloons in town. The morning he woke up at the doctor’s office with a hole in his side from a gunshot wound, he realized it was time to change. He’d been so drunk, he couldn’t even remember getting shot. That was the moment he knew he had to turn his life around. He quit drinking and traipsing off to the saloons whenever he got paid, saving his money and dreaming of the day when he could purchase land of his own. He wanted to raise cattle, and he thought he might grow a few crops, too.

  Unwisely, he thought Ethel was the one to help make his dreams for the future come true. How stupid he’d been! She would never have been content as the wife of a miner and Grady had no intention of taking a job in town. No, it was best things had worked out as they had, even if he was so mad at the girl for running out on him, he could spit nails.

  “Women are nothing but a bushel of trouble. Isn’t that right, Happy?” he asked the horse, rubbing a hand along the gelding’s neck.

  Happy’s ears twitched and his head turned to the right, as though he heard something.

  Grady held up the lantern, struggling to distinguish any sound through the gloom enveloping him. He couldn’t see anything beyond the hulking shapes of nearby trees. “Get on up, Happy. Let’s go home.”

  The horse continued up the trail about a hundred yards when Grady heard something that sounded like a woman’s scream.

  A shiver slithered down his spine. The last thing he needed was to run into a cougar in the dark. They sometimes made a sound like a woman screaming. Considering how far they were up the mountain, it seemed much more logical to assume the noise came from an animal than a human.

  He urged the horse onward. “Come on, boy.”

  Grady strained to hear any noise beyond that of his own breathing and the creak of the saddle beneath him. He listened as snow continued to fall around him, shrouding him in an eerie atmosphere of frosted shadows and silence.

  An anguished cry floated across the night to his ears and he tugged the horse to a stop. He’d probably regret it, but he turned Happy toward the sound. On the slim chance it was a human, he couldn’t just ride off and leave her in the storm.

  With the lantern casting shards of light into the storm, he rode through the trees until a dim glow began to grow brighter in the distance. Focused on the light ahead, he almost rode over a woman as she sat on the ground, swathed in a dark cloak, head buried against her upraised knees.

  He managed to avoid trampling her and pulled Happy to a stop. The woman’s sobs made him want to turn around and flee, but he held his ground.

  “Ma’am? Are you okay?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the storm and her hysteria.

  Consumed by her tears, she had no idea he’d nearly ridden over the top of her. Her head whipped up and a squeak of surprise burst out of her as she jumped to her feet, as though she prepared to run from him. Her cloak and skirts twisted around her legs and she fell forward into the snow.

  Grady swung off the horse, hung the lantern from his saddle horn, and bent down by the prone form of the woman.

  Much to his dismay, when he placed his hands on her arms to help her up, she turned to him while tormented sobs wracked her body. She buried her face against his chest and cried.

  Caught off guard, Grady didn’t know what to do, other than pat her back and murmur expressions of comfort.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Everything will be fine.” Even if he wasn’t convinced of the truth of his words, they sounded assuring.

  His knees were wet and numb from where he rested in the snow with the woman held to his chest. He had no idea how long she cried great gulps of agony that seemed to come straight from her soul. It seemed like hours that he held her, comforted her, wondered what calamity drove her into the storm to expel such boundless sorrow.

  Suddenly, she yanked away from him and scrambled to her feet.

  Slowly, with careful movements, Grady rose and lifted the lantern from the saddle. “I don’t mean you any harm, ma’am. Are you injured?” he asked, holding the light out toward her and attempting to study her. All he could see was a form swathed in a heavy dark cloak. Even her face remained hidden beneath its folds. “I heard you scream.”

  “I’m s-s-sorry,” she stuttered, keeping her face shadowed beneath the dark recesses of her hood. He heard her sniffle twice, as though she struggled to gain her composure.

  Grady didn’t know whether to leave her alone or insist on seeing her back to the cabin he could barely see in the distance. If she was his woman, he wouldn’t want her out on such a cold, snowy night, especially in such a state of distress.

  Then again, what did he know about women? The one he thought he wanted to marry was on a train with a shyster headed goodness only knew where.

  Regardless of his personal experience, he just couldn’t ride off and leave a woman who was obviously in pain alone in the woods at night.

  He motioned toward the cabin ahead of them. “Is that your place?”

  “Yes,” she said, sniffling again.

  “Can you walk?” He took a step closer to her and caught sight of a lock of hair the breeze blew free from her cloak. It clung to the edge of the woolen covering, dancing with the snowflakes that began falling harder.

  He ignored the curl and took another step forward. “I could help you up on Happy if you want to ride.”

  She sidled away from him a few paces. “I can walk.”

  Without another word, she marched toward the cabin. The snow had to be halfway to her knees, but she slogged ahead, not once faltering as she made her way to the structure.

  Grady had half a mind to mount up and leave, but something compelled him to follow her and make sure she made it safely to her door.

  She knocked her boot-clad feet against a stump then trudged up the three steps to the tiny cabin’s porch. He stood with the lantern in one hand and Happy’s reins in the other at the base of the steps, trying to figure out what kind of half-wit would leave a woman alone in the woods. Or maybe her husband had been beating on her in a drunken rage and she’d run outside for safety. Or…

  Grady put a halt to his thoughts before he got carried away. There could be any number of explanations as to why she was out in the storm, crying and upset. Only he couldn’t think of a rational reason for it to happen.

  Filled with concern, he watched as she gathered several pieces of wood from a small stack by the door. He had no idea the cabin existed even though he had ridden within a quarter mile of it dozens of times. How long had it been there? How long had she been there? Surely, she wasn’t tucked up in the woods by herself.

  “Are you here alone?” he asked. Her back stiffened in response to his question.

  Finally, her shoulders shifted, as though she squared them. “No… and yes,” she replied, leaving him even more confused. She paused at the door, pushed the hood off her head, and glanced back at him.

  Grady nearly dropped the lantern at the sight of the woman. She was the most glorious, beautiful female he’d ever encountered, at least what he could see in the shimmering golden beams cast by his lantern and the light coming from the cabin’s solitary window.

  “You best come in and warm up,” she said, then rushed inside, leaving him gaping after her, wondering if he was in the throes of a strange dream. Th
e cold biting at his hands and feet, though, assured him if he was dreaming it was more along the lines of a nightmare.

  A barn loomed behind the cabin, so he led Happy inside and left him in a stall across from a cow that continued chewing her cud with no interest in him or the horse.

  “Be good, Happy,” Grady said, patting the horse on the rump after he made sure he had feed and a bucket of water.

  On impulse, he grabbed his saddlebags and headed back to the cabin. After stamping the snow off his boots, he swept the hat from his head, tapped on the door, then pushed it open.

  Warmth slapped against his cheeks as he stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him. His gaze roved over the cabin, taking in a small table with three chairs pushed beneath the window. In the center of the table rested a large lantern. If it hadn’t been there, he might never have found the woman. Although, from the looks of her, she would have been perfectly fine without his interference.

  The female in question stood at a cookstove that looked like it had fallen out of the back of a wagon for all the dents it carried, even if it was polished to a high shine. She stirred something in a pot. The smell of spices hung heavy in the air, mingling with the aroma of coffee. Grady’s stomach growled in response and she cast a glimpse his way at the sound.

  “Please, sit,” she said, motioning to the table with the spoon she held in her hand.

  Grady removed his coat, gloves, and scarf, leaving them by the door, then set his hat on top of the pile. The saddlebags he left on the floor next to a chair at the table then he walked over to the cookstove. He noticed a large bed in a dark corner of the cabin where he could see a mound beneath a colorful quilt that made him wonder who slept there.

  There wasn’t a fireplace, or Grady would have gone to it to warm his cold hands and feet. As it was, he longed to remove his boots and let his toes thaw by the heat of the stove. Instead of giving in to the urge, he moved around the woman to where a pump rested on the edge of a deep sink and worked the handle. The icy water that trickled out did nothing to warm him, but the splashes on his face left him invigorated and fully aware of his surroundings.

  With hands aching from the cold, he moved back around the woman and held his frigid fingers out to the heat of the stove.

  “Here,” she said, placing a chipped mug filled with coffee into his hands.

  Grady breathed deeply of the fragrant steam, inhaling the scent of coffee along with something soft and tantalizing that had to come solely from the woman.

  In the glow of the lantern light, she looked exotic and entirely too enticing for his snow-addled brain to handle. Neither tall nor short, everything about the woman oozed strength. He couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, made him think that, since she had a trim waist and delicate-looking long fingers. But he also saw her hands appeared capable. Her utterly feminine features were robust although her olive-hued skin looked silky and smooth.

  As he sipped the hot coffee and hovered near the side of the stove, he observed her face, taking in the dark, arched eyebrows, slightly rounded chin that seemed determined if not altogether stubborn. Lush lips appeared so rosy and full they almost looked puffy, as though they’d been stung by bees.

  For a moment, he couldn’t help but contemplate what it would be like to kiss lips such as those. If ever lips had been fashioned for kissing, it had to be hers.

  Annoyed with himself and the direction of his musings, Grady gave himself a mental lecture about staying away from pretty faces and swallowed more of the hot brew in his hands.

  “Couldn’t have been homely or cross-eyed, could you?” he muttered under his breath.

  When he chanced a glance at the woman, he found himself captivated with her eyes. The unusual shade of pale amber, that looked like a jar of honey held up to a candle, proved both unique and intriguing. Heavy, dark lashes surrounded her eyes and accented her unconcealed beauty.

  Loose and long, her hair glistened in the lantern light as it spilled over her shoulders and down her back in thick waves. From what he could see, it was a rich coffee-toned hue, shot with strands of gold.

  The woman put him in mind of a tiger, from her strange-colored eyes to the light streaks in her hair. Even the way she moved with smooth efficiency made him compare her to a sleek jungle cat, not that he’d ever encountered one in person. But from the pictures he’d seen and the stories he’d read, he could easily imagine this woman walking through verdant foliage with a big tiger beside her.

  Amused by his fanciful thoughts, Grady was surprised when the woman pulled a chair up to the stove then pushed on his shoulder.

  “Sit down and take off your boots so your feet can thaw.”

  He did as she ordered, liking the husky quality of her voice far more than he should. Hadn’t he been running back to the mine to escape the humiliation of being jilted by Ethel when he happened upon this woman? Had he gone daft, already thinking amorous thoughts about another female? For all he knew, this one could be married with ten children, although she didn’t strike him as being old enough to have more than a few.

  Only a man without use of his brain would be thinking the thoughts he was about this gorgeous stranger when he’d so narrowly escaped becoming engaged to a woman who would have eventually made his life miserable. Instead of being enraged at Ethel, he ought to be grateful she’d been so flighty and run off before he’d made a huge mistake in asking her to wed.

  Grady removed his boots and stretched out his legs to absorb all the heat he could from the stove.

  The woman set a chair on the other side of the stove and draped his coat, gloves, and scarf on it so they’d dry.

  “Thank you,” he said, watching her as she pushed her hair away from her face then stirred the pot on the stove again.

  Plumes of steam wafted from it as she took a bowl from a shelf and filled it with soup.

  “I don’t have bread,” she said, holding the bowl out to him. He set his empty coffee cup on a plank of rough wood fastened to the wall that served as a counter and took the bowl from her. The broth held an assortment of vegetables. Grady had never been one to get excited about a meal that didn’t include meat, but hunger had him sending up a brief word of thanks for the unexpected meal.

  He lifted the spoon to his lips and took a bite. Although the soup lacked the heartiness of beef, an explosion of flavors skidded across his tongue.

  “It’s good,” he said, smiling at the woman as she poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the sink. She stood holding the cup with both hands as she tossed wary glances at him.

  Grady ate, waiting for her to speak, but she remained oddly silent. The nourishing soup warmed him and filled the empty places in his belly. When he’d spooned the last bite, she took the bowl from him then refilled his coffee cup.

  “Thank you,” he said again, then decided if any talking took place, he was going to have to be the one to instigate it. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” she said, her gaze sliding across the room to the bed where the covers mounded over a body. A sound like a snuffle or a soft snore drifted across the room. Someone was definitely snoozing in the bed. He had no idea how they could sleep through his arrival, but they had.

  “Why did you scream?” he asked, deciding it was best to be forthright or he might never get the answers he sought.

  The woman seemed to intently focus on the floor near her feet instead of answering. He’d about given up when she lifted those honey-colored eyes to his. Pain and fear mingled with desperation in them.

  “I was just so angry and frustrated I couldn’t bottle it up any more. With the storm brewing, I didn’t think anyone would hear me. I apologize for disturbing you.”

  A dozen more questions popped into his head, but he merely held her gaze. “You didn’t disturb me. At first, I was sure it was a cougar and kept on riding. Then I heard you cry out and that’s when I thought it best to investigate the matter. These hills aren’t a fit place for a woman, especially not alone at night in the snow.”r />
  Her chin lifted a notch. “I can take care of myself.”

  The urge to raise his voice in frustration made him take a tighter grip on his cup. “I’m sure you can, but what had you so upset you were outside screaming?”

  She drew in a deep breath and Grady expected the details to explode from her in a flurry of words. If he was a betting man, he’d place money on a drunken husband being the cause of her problems.

  “My bambinos,” she said on a sigh, her gaze darting back to the bed.

  Grady had worked around enough Italians to know the meaning of the word. “Your children sent you into a rage?” He looked across the room, wondering what kind of little heathens would drive their mother out into a snow storm.

  “Not my babies, but the…” Abruptly, she ceased talking in English and switched to Italian. From the motions of her hands and the fury on her face, she was certainly worked up about something. Grady caught a word here and a phrase there he recognized, but not enough to understand everything she said.

  If he wasn’t mistaken, she said something about her husband and a horse. That didn’t make sense, but nothing in this very long day had.

  “In English, please, Mrs…” He stared at her. “I don’t even know your name. I’m Graydon Gaffney, but everyone calls me Gaff. Except my mother. She always referred to me as Grady.” He had no idea why he told her that. No one had called him Grady in years.

  “Mr. Gaffney.” The woman gave him a long look. “I’m Mrs. DeVille. Giavanna Angelina Esposito DeVille. The two little bears grunting in the bed are Matteo and Gwendolyn, my children. Matty just turned five and Gwennie is almost three.”

  Grady grinned in the direction of the bed where the children made noises in their sleep then looked back at Mrs. DeVille. “And your husband?”

  “Lost. Gone. Run off.” She sighed and set down her coffee cup then wrapped her arms around herself.

  Grady wasn’t certain if the action was to ward off the cool air or hold herself together.

  “Your husband disappeared?” he asked, trying to piece together what drove her out into the snow in a fit of overwhelming emotion.