Page 1 of Heart of the Storm (Hearts Over Wyoming #1)

One

St. Louis, Missouri

Spring 1824

Tessa stared at the blank parchment in front of her, twirling a feather quill between her fingers. A thick ledger sat open to the right of the parchment, and a stack of various papers were haphazardly pushed to the side. Several empty ink bottles occupied the rest of the space on the desk.

Golden slivers of sunlight snuck in through the single window on the wall to her right, revealing dust particles that floated lazily on the stagnant air in the corner of the room. If not for the light breeze outside the open door leading to the street, the room inside these four walls would be stifling.

Never mind the dust. The door needed to remain open, as did the window. The room was small enough as it was, more reminiscent of a jail cell than a place of business. The smell of dried leather and wood smoke lingered in the room despite Tessa’s attempt to let in some fresh air.

Her seat behind the desk provided a direct view of the open door and the creaky wooden sign that swayed just outside in the gentle summer breeze. The worn letters on the sign that spelled Missouri River Fur Company were chipped and faded from years of exposure to the elements.

Tessa toyed with the ends of the braid of her hair that was draped over one shoulder, then sat up straighter. Her eyes went to the ledger and other papers. Her focus should really be on those, but her mind was too preoccupied with other thoughts, and those thoughts needed to be recorded on paper.

With a quick flick of her hand, she tossed the end of her braid over her shoulder, then dipped her quill into the inkwell. She swiped the side of the bottle with the quill’s edge to remove the excess ink before putting the tip of the writing implement to paper.

List of goods to – she raised her quill .

A shadow from the door darkened the room, and a second later the floorboards creaked. Tessa’s jaw muscles tightened at the interruption. She raised her head to the intrusion.

A man shuffled into the room with a low grunt. The sharp odor of whiskey followed him like a dark cloud. The unpleasant smell lingered in the already stuffy air. His heavy boots thudded on the floorboards as he approached the desk like a vulture swooping in for an easy meal. Only the aroma of the man’s leather coat – the stench of someone who had gone too long between bathing – overtook the smell of whiskey.

Tessa set her quill aside and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. Her back straightened.

“Mr. Rattler. To what do I owe this visit? Shouldn’t you be gathering the men in preparation for your journey?” She neither smiled nor made an attempt to sound at all pleased at the interruption.

The burly man came to stand directly in front of the desk. He looked bigger than he was as he stared down at her, but Tessa’s eyes didn’t waver from his. If he thought his deliberate stance was going to make her feel uncomfortable, he didn’t know her very well.

“The men are getting ready, don’t ya worry yer pretty little head ‘bout that,” he said with a leer on his face. “I got some business ta discuss with yer father.”

Tessa’s eyes narrowed in a way that would have made most men hesitate. "My father isn’t here," she said quietly but with confident authority in her voice. She was used to being overlooked when someone wanted to talk business, but most men soon realized she was the one who ran the company here in St. Louis while her father spent his time in the wilderness working alongside the rest of the trappers in his employ.

Victor Rattler stared down at her as if trying to decide on his next move.

She sighed, then raised an eyebrow. “Well? State your business and then be on your way. I’ve got work to do.”

His mocking laughter filled the room. “Ain’t ya the high and mighty one?” he slurred. “My business is that I need better supplies fer me ’n the men. And while I’m here, I also need ta see about my wages. Seems you oughta be payin’ me more, seein’ as I’ve been with this outfit for several years now.”

Several years too many . Tessa kept the thought to herself.

“You’ll be paid the agreed-upon wages, just as before. They’re more than fair,” she said instead. “And as for supplies, you and the other men have always been outfitted with what you need for a season in the wilderness. My father always sees to that. He certainly doesn’t want to be in the wilderness without the proper supplies…including the whiskey you always demand.”

Her eyes briefly fell on the paper in front of her – the one she’d started scribbling on – but she quickly looked back up at Rattler.

The vile man leaned forward, placing the palms of his hands on the desk. Several pieces of paper from one of the stacks fluttered to the ground. The tension in the room settled like a thick fog, and the scent of whiskey on his breath was overpowering as he leaned over her desk.

“Ya ain’t payin’ me ‘nough ta go into the mountains with a bunch’a greenhorns. Every year, ya hire inexperienced flatlanders that make my job harder. I deserve a bigger cut.” He was almost shouting now.

Tessa stood, her chair scraping loudly against the wood. He wasn’t going to intimidate her with his tactics. He was bigger than she, but that didn’t matter. She squared her shoulders and braced against the desk, leaning in and matching his challenge with a calm but unwavering gaze. If only she could hold her breath so she wouldn’t have to inhale the man’s grotesque stench.

Why had her father insisted year after year to keep this man in his employ? There were men other than Victor Rattler who could be counted on more to fulfill the role of second in command of a fur trapper brigade.

“If you led the men more effectively, they wouldn’t quit or get killed before the season is even over, and we wouldn’t have to keep hiring new men, Mr. Rattler.”

His eyes twitched and gleamed with something that should have made her shrink back in fear, but she was not going to give this repulsive man the pleasure of seeing her discomfort.

“Ya think ya know what it’s like out there?” he growled. “Ya ain’t fightin’ fer survival every day, or facin’ the cold when food runs low. Not ta mention havin’ ta worry about gettin’ scalped. An’ all ta make the Missouri River Fur Company rich. Yer jes comfortable behind yer desk, actin’ all high’n mighty.”

Tessa didn’t back down, not for anyone, and especially not for men like him who thought they could bully their way into getting what they wanted.

“I’m not a fur trapper, Mr. Rattler.” Her voice was without emotion. “I do, however, run this company, and I’m not going to cater to your whims. You’re getting exactly what’s been promised to you, and the supplies are more than adequate. If you’re not happy with your contract, you can always find employment elsewhere. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have work to do.”

For a long moment, Rattler didn’t move. His face twisted into a sneer.

“Ya really think I’ll let ya talk to me like that, girl?” His voice was low and menacing, and he reached for her arm with a move as quick as a striking snake that sent a wave of shock down her spine. His hand closed around her wrist, squeezing with the force of a beaver trap.

Tessa’s heart hammered in her chest, but she retained her outward calm. Her free hand shot to the small pistol she kept in the pocket of her skirt. Her finger wrapped around the grip with practiced ease. With a swift and fluid move, she pointed the barrel of the gun between Rattlers’ eyes.

“You’d best let go of me immediately, Mr. Rattler. I would rather not have your brains splattered all over my dress.”

The sneer on Rattler’s face froze into a look of surprise. The gleam in his eyes faltered, and for a moment, he simply stared at the gun, then at her unblinking eyes. Clearly, he’d realized that the upper hand he thought he had was now hers. His grip loosened, and he took an unsteady step back.

“Yer crazy,” he muttered.

“I’ve heard that once or twice,” she muttered. “Now get out of my sight, before my finger gets tired,” she hissed. “Go back to camp and gather your belongings. Your services with the Missouri River Fur Company are no longer needed.”

His eyes widened, and anger once again blazed like a lightning strike. He laughed. “Ya can’t get rid of me. Ya ain’t got anyone who can lead yer brigade.”

“I’m not going to say it again, Mr. Rattler. We don’t need the likes of you in this company. If I find out that you haven’t left camp by tomorrow morning, I’ll have the magistrate arrest you for assault and trespassing on company grounds. And if you take anything with you that is the property of the Missouri Fur Company, I’ll add theft to the charges.”

His glare was as sharp as a knife. “You think I’ll forget this?” he sneered. "This isn’t over, girl. I’ll make sure yer father knows about this. He ain’t gonna be pleased if he has ta take a bunch of sorry milk saps into the mountains on his own."

Tessa didn’t flinch. "He’ll hear about it from me first," she said flatly. “I’m not going to tell you again, Mr. Rattler. Get out and stop wasting my time.”

He stood motionless for another second or two, then abruptly spun around and stormed outside and quickly disappeared from sight.

Tessa didn’t move. She slowly expelled the breath she’d been holding and lowered her weapon. The tension eased from her shoulders, but her hand shook slightly as she placed the gun next to her quill. Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk while her heart rate began to slow.

She sank back into her chair and ran her fingers through her hair, catching the strands that had escaped the braid and framed her face. Her cheeks were hot from the confrontation, but it was over now, and she had work to do. There would always be another problem, another confrontation, and when it happened, she’d handle it just as she’d handled this incident.

Victor Rattler had been getting more and more demanding each year, yet her father had allowed it because he’d relied on the man to be his second in command in the wilderness. Father wouldn’t be very happy with her once he found out that she’d sent Rattler packing. Surely, there had to be men more qualified than Victor Rattler who were capable of leading a fur trapper brigade.

She drew in a deep breath. The man’s stench and the smell of alcohol lingered in the air. Taking up a piece of paper, she fanned it in front of her. She glanced over her shoulder at the large beaver pelt that was nailed to the wall, its coarse fur glistening faintly in the dim light.

Outside, the muted sounds of St. Louis drifted through the open door. The rumble of wagons, the distant clatter of footsteps, horse’s hooves, and the shouts of men who worked at the loading docks by the river, were nothing unusual. Yet, a sense of unrest pressed in on her. No doubt it was the lingering effects of her confrontation with Victor Rattler.

She shook her head, then glanced down at the blank parchment in front of her. She’d only scribbled a hasty heading before the interruption. Taking up the quill, she once again dipped it into the ink bottle. Victor Rattler’s appearance was exactly the reason she needed to get her thoughts on paper, so she could present them to her father when he returned from his business trip.

He was due home any day now. Their brigade of hired men was eager to head out into the wilderness west of the Missouri for another season of trapping beaver in the wild mountains to the west. Each man had hopes and dreams of making his fortune in the fur trade, but the truth was that most men labored endlessly, put their lives on the line, and returned to St. Louis at the end of each season with pelts that only made the owners of the fur companies rich, including her father.

There had to be a better way to serve the men in their employ. The ones who stayed on were mostly good men, and they were loyal. The competition between the companies was fierce. Every year, brigades ventured further and further into the unknown wilds in search of the best places to trap, and returned later and later in the season.

Victor Rattler may be a vile man, but he did have a point when it came to the supplies. Although Tessa always made sure that the men left on their venture well-stocked, the rations and supplies certainly couldn’t last as long as the men were out in the wilderness. To remain competitive, she had to have a different plan.

She smiled. “I have a plan, and I hope you’re going to like it, Father,” she murmured and began to write again.

She’d proven herself to him over and over with her skills at keeping records, paying the bills, and making sure they hired enough men, something for which he had no time. In order to run a successful fur company, those skills were needed, too, and her father had realized it early on when he’d decided to go into business for himself.

“I can do this, Father. I can be of great help to you. Give me a chance. Let me prove to you that you need me in this venture.”

Tessa’s heart swelled with pride. After five years in business, he depended on her more than anyone else. She’d grown up understanding the harsh realities of the fur trade, and the men in the employ of the Missouri River Fur Company respected her…at least most of them did. There were always exceptions, like Victor Rattler, but she’d learned how to deal with them, too.

Her father had been absent from her life more than he’d been present. The death of her mother nearly a decade ago had only made her more resilient and eager to prove to him that she could handle a ledger as easily as she could handle a rifle. She was a valuable asset, even if she wasn’t the son he’d always wanted.

It took only a few minutes to compose her list. She set down the quill then studied what she’d written. There were probably things she had forgotten, but those could be added later as she thought about them.

“I think you’ll be pleased, Father,” she whispered then eyed the ledger that required her attention.

She set the parchment aside then pulled the heavy book in front of her. She was about to open it when quick footfalls brought her attention to the open front door once again. Another man stormed inside the small room.

Tessa stiffened. Her hand went to the pistol that still rested on the desk. Her heart skipped a beat in annoyance as she exhaled slowly and braced herself for the next interruption. Now what?

The man’s wide eyes darted around the room, then came to rest on her. He was breathing as if he’d tried to outrun a group of renegade Indians. He rushed up to the desk with frantic urgency.

“Sorry to barge in like this, Miss Tessa.” He gasped. Unlike Victor Rattler, this man wasn’t dressed like a fur trapper, and certainly didn’t smell like one, either. His thinning hair stuck to his forehead. “It’s your father. He’s been hurt.”

Tessa bolted to her feet, knocking over the chair in her haste. Her heart jolted as the chair toppled over with a loud clank against the wooden floor. The blood must have drained from her face as her mind processed the man’s words. Her throat tightened and her pulse pounded in her ears. The office seemed to spin as she moved around the desk to stand before the man in one swift motion.

“Hurt? How badly? What happened?” she demanded. Her sharp voice disguised the sudden panic flooding her chest.

The man wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “It was a fall, Miss Tessa. From his horse,” he gasped. “We were on our way back to St. Louis. His horse took a bad step and fell…Your father got caught underneath the animal. I took him straight to the doctor’s place.” He stared, his wide eyes filled with dread that must have reflected in Tessa’s own gaze. “He’s bad off,” he finished in a faint whisper.

Tessa grabbed her pistol from the desk, then rushed past the man and out into the bright sunshine. The man’s feet scraped against the wooden floorboards as he followed, but Tessa didn’t wait. She rushed up the bustling street along the riverfront. Her heart raced wildly as she hurried to where Doc LaRoche lived and kept a small practice.

He’s bad off .

The messenger’s last words echoed in her mind. The horse must have crushed him. He could already be dead. She shook her head as she scurried past dock workers and other people going about their business. Father had always come back from months of trapping in the unknown wilderness unscathed. For years, she’d accepted that he was gone from her life more than he was in it. He couldn’t possibly die now, right here in St. Louis. He was tougher than that. She wasn’t going to lose him to a riding mishap.

Tears built up in her eyes, blurring her vision, as her mind raced with possibilities about her father’s injuries. She nearly collided with a horse, but she dodged it at the last second, cursing at the animal’s careless rider for not watching where he was going. In her haste to get to the doctor, she didn’t stop or slow down.

Tessa knocked on the door of the modest brick building when she arrived. Not even five seconds later, he knocked again more urgently. She raised her fist to knock again when the door swung open.

“Dr. LaRoche,” she said on an inhale of breath. “My father…”

The Frenchman nodded and stepped aside to grant her entry.

“This way,” he said in his thick accent and led her down the narrow hall to a room. The faint smell of alcohol – not the drinking kind – filled her nose, along with scents of various herbs she couldn’t name. None of it calmed her nerves.

“How is he?” Her voice was shaky, but she had to know. The doctor certainly hadn’t said one way or the other if her father was still alive.

Dr LaRoche came to a stop in front of a closed door then turned to her while his hand rested on the doorknob. “He has suffered some serious injuries. I cannot be certain of their severity internally. I have set his broken leg for now and wrapped his broken ribs.”

Tessa stared at him. “But he’s alive?”

The doctor nodded. “I gave him something for the pain, and he is resting. Perhaps you should wait until after I perform another examination before you see him.”

Tessa shook her head and raised her chin. “I want to see him now.”

A faint smile passed over the doctor’s lips, and he nodded. “I knew I couldn’t dissuade you, but I had to try.” He turned and opened the door for her, standing aside to let her into the room. “Only for a few minutes,” he warned.

Tessa rushed in. There were two cots in the room. One was empty, and the other was occupied by her father. She rushed up to him, dropping to her knees. He was pale and sweating, and his eyes were closed.

“Father,” she whispered, touching a hand to his damp forehead.

His eyes opened slowly, and he turned his head slightly to the sound of her voice. He grimaced, but his lips parted in a weak smile. Pain clouded his usually-sharp eyes.

“Afraid I took a fall,” he rasped. “Bought all the supplies for the upcoming excursion, though.”

Tessa shook her head. “Never mind supplies or excursions. We need to get you well.”

“LaRoche says I won’t be fit to head into the wilderness this year.” His words were slurred and came slowly with each breath he took. “Maybe he’s right.”

Tessa reached for the cloth on the simple table beside the cot, on which sat a bowl of water. She dipped the cloth into the bowl and wiped her father’s forehead.

“Of course he’s right. He says you have a broken leg, some broken ribs, and might have other injuries inside that he can’t see. Time will tell, but you’re not fit to go anywhere. If you even think you’re going to lead a trapping brigade this season, I’ll tie you to the bed myself.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. He squeezed his eyes shut and his face contorted again in pain.

“Go find Victor Rattler,” he said after his chest rose and fell weakly several times. Breathing definitely caused him pain, as did speaking. “He’s gonna have to lead the brigade alone this year.”

Tessa stiffened. She dabbed the cloth against her father’s cheeks before she spoke. “Rattler no longer works for the Missouri River Fur Company,” she said firmly. “I terminated his employment earlier today.”

Her father shifted on the cot as if he wanted to bolt out of bed. “You did what?” His heated question was followed by another grimace and he eased back against the mattress.

Tessa placed her hand on her father’s arm to keep him from moving again. “He’s been nothing but trouble. You know that.” She kept her voice even, but firm. “He made demands and then threatened me. I told him to pack his things and leave. We don’t need the likes of him.”

He stared up at her, apparently speechless to respond, or maybe he realized that if he reacted again, he’d pay with more pain and discomfort.

“We got no one to lead the brigade,” he finally said. “If we don’t get out into the mountains, we’re done for. The other fur companies will take full advantage of one less competitor.”

Tessa stood. She moved to the window and stared out onto the busy street. Her father was right, of course. In order to stay in business, they had to have men in the mountains. The fur trade was cut-throat enough. Missing even one season could be the end of their company.

In her haste to get to her father, she’d forgotten the parchment she’d prepared for him to look over. Her idea. Would it now be useless? Her back straightened. No. That couldn’t happen.

Her plan was a good one, and it would serve not only the men in her employ, but also others who were in the mountains and too far from St. Louis. She could still make it happen, but time was running short. She spun around and sat on the side of the cot, looking her father squarely in the eye.

“I’ll do it,” she said, daring him with her stare to argue. “I’ll lead the men into the wilderness this season.”