Hope's Highest Mountain (Hearts of Montana Book #1) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - M. Beller Misty

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136 pages

English

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Ingrid Chastain readily agreed to accompany her father to deliver vaccines to a mining town in the Montana Territory. She never could have anticipated a terrible accident would leave her alone and badly injured in the wilderness. When rescue comes in the form of a mysterious mountain man who tends her injuries, she's hesitant to put her trust in this quiet man who seems to have his own wounds.Micah Bradley left his work as a doctor after unintentionally bringing home the smallpox disease that killed his wife and daughter. But his self-imposed solitude in the wilds of Montana is broken when he finds Ingrid in desperate need of medical attention, and he's forced to face his regret and call on his doctoring skills once again.Micah can't help but admire Ingrid's tenacious determination despite the severity of her injuries, until he learns the crate she brought contains smallpox vaccines to help quell a nearby outbreak. With Ingrid dead set on trekking through the mountains to deliver the medicine--with or without his help--he has no choice but to accompany her. As they set off through the treacherous, snow-covered Rocky Mountains against all odds, the journey ahead will change their lives more than they could have known.

Sujets

Historical romance

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 octobre 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781493421701
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	3 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0360€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Cover
Endorsements
“This is a gripping tale that made my heart ache for the oh-so-believable characters. Misty Beller is a new author well worth watching out for.”
—Lauraine Snelling, author of T HE R ED R IVER OF THE N ORTH series
“I’ve long been a Misty Beller fan and her bo ok Hope’s Highest Mountain didn’t disappoint. Misty tells a wonderful tale of adventure and romance as her characters face challenges from the past and present that threaten their ability to deal with the future. My only negative thought is that I’ll have to wait much too long for her next book.”
—Tracie Peterson, bestselling author
“ Hope’s Highest Mountain is a nonstop mountain adventure. Misty M. Beller takes her characters to the edge of disaster time and time again, while still telling a hope-filled, inspiring story. Readers will be delighted.”
—Regina Jennings, author of The Lieutenant’s Bargain
“With a heart-pounding opening, Hope’s Highest Mountain keeps a breathless pace, each broken yet beautiful character overcoming their own mountainous hurdles while navigating the epic yet treacherous Montana Rockies. Hope is indeed the shining thread in this first novel of the series, sure to captivate historical fiction fans. Misty M. Beller brings the nineteenth-century American frontier to vivid life!”
—Laura Frantz, Christy Award–winning author of The Lacemaker
“The exciting opening captured me in the Montana mountains. I fell in love with the well-developed characters and experienced their highs and lows. Misty is a master storyteller. Her richly evocative word choice bring everything to life. I’ve loved all her books, and now this one is my favorite.”
—Lena Nelson Dooley, author, editor, and speaker
“This Rocky Mountain wilderness story is one of romance, adventure, and survival, and it kept me enthralled. It reminds me of Charles Martin’s The Mountain Between Us , with the added elements of faith and hope. I couldn’t put Hope’s Highest Mountain down until I’d finished the last page.”
—Shelia Stovall, executive director, Allen County Public Library
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2019 by Misty M. Beller
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-2170-1
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Author is represented by Books & Such Literary Agency.
Dedication
To my editor, Raela Schoenherr, for believing in me and not giving up on me until God’s perfect timing. You’re an amazing lady, and I’m blessed to work with you!
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
1
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32
Epilogue
Sneak Peek of Misty M. Beller’s upcoming novel
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Epigraph
If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.
Psalm 139:9–10 KJV
one
My Darling Rachel,
You were everything to me. You still are. Don’t ever forget that.
I saw a beaver today that reminded me of you. The creature paddled to the edge of the river and peered up at me through the water, just like that summer you learned to swim in the Ohio.
Your mama could barely pull you from the river to eat and sleep, you loved swimming so much. When you did come home, water dripping from your red curls, you always carried some treasure you’d gathered—smooth river rocks or a pail of tadpoles you planned to keep as pets. That was the summer you earned your nickname, sweet Ducky.
Mama didn’t care for the title at first, but the name captured your personality so well, I couldn’t help myself. Always swimming. Always smiling. My little Ducky.
I only wish I would have watched you swim more often instead of spending long days away from you and Mama. So much I missed. If I had it to do over again, I’d have kicked off my shoes and dove into the water with you. Played games to see who could reach the shore first or who could hold their breath the longest. I would have joined in any amusement you thought of, just to spend another marvelous hour with you.
I miss you every hour of every day.
Papa

O CTOBER 1866 M ONTANA T ERRITORY
T hey say the last man who attempted this died in the doin’. Rest his soul.”
A frigid gust of wind ripped around the freight wagon. Ingrid Chastain pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She tucked her chin into her collar, blocking out both the icy air and the images their driver’s morbid words conjured. This rugged cliffside might be as perilous as the old man described, but the staggering beauty of the mountains around them caused her chest to pulse, as though she was just now coming alive.
The mules plodded ever upward as the side of the mountain fell away on their left. It seemed a wonder this road could have been carved into the edge of such a jagged cliff. Every difficult step carried them higher, almost eye level with the majestic peaks surrounding them. This land possessed a strength she’d never imagined possible.
“Was the traveler properly prepared for the elements?” Her attention shifted back to the unlikely pair on the bench seat in the front of the wagon. Father, with his newly purchased fur coat, sat upright and confident beside their driver, a hunched gray-haired man in worn buckskins. Father spoke again, “Any endeavor worth doing can be harmful if not attempted correctly.” Of course he would look at the story from the most logical approach.
Ingrid slid a glance at Beulah, their quiet maid, perched across from her. The supplies almost buried Beulah’s ample curves but didn’t hide her dark gaze swimming with worry. She looked away from Ingrid, down to their pet dog who’d nestled in her lap. Did she regret her determination to accompany Father on this trip of mercy? The gentle maid had been with them as far back as Ingrid could remember and had as tender a heart as any woman alive. When the desperate wire came, begging Father to send smallpox vaccines to an obscure mining town in the Montana Territory, Beulah had insisted on accompanying Ingrid and her father. There would likely be a need for nurses if the smallpox outbreak had spread.
Their driver didn’t answer Father’s words right away, merely hacked a raucous cough, then spoke to the mules as they climbed upward on the rocky trail. “Git up, boys.” He added more encouragement with a flick of the reins. At last, he sent a sideways glance to Father. “I reckon’ Angus Jones knew about these mountains as much as anyone. I ’spect he did as well as he could.”
A moment of foreboding silence hovered in the air, mingling with the cloud of breath from their driver’s words. “We’ve already passed the spot that did him in.”
Father’s shoulders relaxed. “Well then, Mr. Sorenson. We’ll make it through just fine. I have faith in you, these mules, and especially in our Lord, who has promised to be our Salvation and Deliverer.”
Mr. Sorenson didn’t respond but hunkered down a little more, his elbows pressing on his legs. He coughed again, a rough bark this time, shooting another white cloud into the air.
“When we camp, I’ll prepare a tea that will help your ailment.” Father’s voice hummed low, the tone he used with his patients.
Their driver leaned forward and flicked the reins on the mules’ backs again as the brutal slope steepened. Ahead, the road bent in a switchback as it climbed toward the summit. The choice Mr. Sorenson made to use only a two-mule hitch to pull their substantial load made sense now. The tight turn would be a difficult angle for a longer rig pulled by more animals.
He guided the mules wide to take the turn, and another cough jolted the man’s shoulders. He collapsed over with a ragged gasp.
“Sorenson?” Papa’s shout came just as the driver dropped the reins. The leather straps bounced unguided against the wooden brace.
Ingrid’s heart surged to her throat. She lunged forward, over the bench, scrambling for the leathers. Father grabbed Sorenson, and she slid her willowy frame under his arms as she closed her hands around the thick straps.
A mule let out a blood-curdling bray, and the wagon seemed to hover for a second. Or maybe a long minute.
Then the conveyance slid. The mule cried out again, this time sounding hoarse and strained.
The flap of Father’s coat hindered her view of the animals. She clutched harder at the straps in her hands. Though panic stole her breath, she attempted to shake the reins, the way Sorenson had when urging the mules forward. “Git up!” Her voice didn’t hold the strong command of their mule-whacker. Only shrill fear.
A loud crack splintered the air.
The wagon slid backward. Her grip tightened on the straps, clutching with every bit of strength. Though the wagon shifted beneath her, the animals hitched to the leathers didn’t seem to move. The mules pulled her forward as the wagon slid backward, hauling her up on the bench between her father and their driver.
Fa