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  TOUCHED BY FIRE

  A Novel by

  Gwyneth Atlee

  Gwyneth Atlee is the historical romance pseudonym of RITA and Daphne du Maurier Award nominee Colleen Thompson. Colleen is the author of numerous novels of historical romance, romantic suspense and mystery, including her recent #1 Kindle bestseller Triple Exposure. Her passions include history and wildlife, the desert and the sea. Visit her on the web at www.colleen-thompson.com.

  Books by Colleen Thompson:

  From Dorchester Publishing:

  Touch of Evil

  Beneath Bone Lake

  Triple Exposure

  The Salt Maiden

  Head On

  The Deadliest Denial

  Heat Lightning

  Fade the Heat

  Fatal Error

  From Silhouette Romantic Suspense:

  Deadlier Than the Male (with New York Times Bestselling Author Sharon Sala)

  From Harlequin Intrigue:

  Capturing the Commando

  Phantom of the French Quarter

  Books written as Gwyneth Atlee:

  From Kensington Publishing:

  Touched by Fire

  Night Winds

  Canyon Song

  Against the Odds

  Trust to Chance

  Innocent Deceptions

  Copyright 2011 by Colleen Thompson

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors’ imaginations, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  “We have felt, we still feel, the passion of life to its top . . . In our youths, our hearts were touched with fire.”— Oliver Wendell Holmes

  PROLOGUE

  The hardest part was stealing the fresh blood. True, the shabby boarding house where Hannah Shelton now resided was just around the corner from the butcher’s, and often the smell of death loomed large. Truer still, the old meat dealer was a drunkard, but even so he normally locked the slaughterhouse.

  It took Hannah two weeks to find a night he’d been so drunk he’d left it open. Two weeks more for the fabric of her dress to grow still thinner. Two weeks more to live on beans and half-stale bread. She’d been willing, even desperate to find work, but none would have her. Shelton Creek’s fine citizens wanted no part of the likes of her.

  That wasn’t true, she thought with a frown. There were some parts they wanted, at least the men in town.

  Since she could not survive on that pittance the courts saw fit to leave her, Hannah thought it better if she died. As she slipped out through the back shed with a half-bucket of fresh steer’s blood, she sincerely hoped the townsfolk would suspect that Malcolm killed her.

  After all, in many ways he had.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Whole blamed place looks like nothing but a tinderbox.”

  “Gonna go up like a match head if we don’t get some rain.”

  Hannah Lee Shelton ignored the deck hands’ observations. She peered, instead, beyond them off the bow and toward the Peshtigo dock. Would her future husband be there? Her gaze searched the small assemblage of loggers and farmers for a kind face, but nothing in the men’s expressions eased her worry.

  May God forgive my deceit, she prayed silently as she waited for the boatmen to tie off the steamer. Surely, if John Aldman guessed who — and what — she was, he would drown her in this very river instead of taking her to home and hearth. There might be a shortage of women even now, in 1871, among the towering woods of northeastern Wisconsin, but still . . .

  Hannah pushed back her shoulders and straightened her posture. She gathered the folds of her sensible gray skirt as if she were a princess and not a twenty-eight-year-old mail-order bride. If she were to survive here, she must first of all impress upon this strange man that despite the fact that she was bought and paid for, he would have to win her yet.

  The moment she stepped onto the dock, a hairless, stooped man shuffled forward. Several teeth were missing, and he reeked of caked-on sweat.

  Dear Lord, she thought, is this what my treachery has earned?

  “Need a hand to carry your bags, ma’am?” he asked.

  “I-I don’t believe so. Thank you.” Hannah thanked her God as well. She fished in her bag for a clean handkerchief, which she used to dab at her own perspiring forehead. For mid-September, the afternoon was warm, and the smell of wood smoke thickened the air. The drought that plagued her own Pennsylvania extended here, and a boatman had told her the woods were dotted with small wildfires.

  Suddenly, she felt eyes on her, eyes that must be taking in her slender body, the thick brown hair, a few strands falling from an otherwise respectable upsweep, the fine features of her porcelain face. She imagined the shock of his appraisal, for she had never been called plain. Her reasons for entering into this abominable arrangement had been graver.

  “You must be Mercy Wilder,” a deep voice informed her.

  She nodded at the alias, then turned toward an enormous man. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. He put her to mind of the buffalo she’d seen once in a traveling exhibition. Even through the plain tan fabric of his shirt, his muscles bulged and gathered. His dark brown hair curled near a simple band collar, and his hands looked powerful enough to mash fistfuls of walnuts. Still, for all his size, the giant’s face was well formed.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Are you — are you John Aldman, then?”

  He shook his head, and the mane of dark waves gave off a fresh-washed smell. “I don’t hold with paying any woman’s passage sight unseen.”

  He followed his curt words with a sweeping gaze that seemed to measure her every curve. Frowning sourly, he added, “Though I suppose if looks are all he’s after, my brother will be pleased with his good fortune.”

  How dare he ogle and insult her in such a manner? He might have been assessing a hog or a horse he intended to purchase! Hannah fumed silently and prayed that her fiancé had better manners.

  After an awkward pause, he extended his right hand with obvious reluctance. “I’m Daniel Aldman, John’s baby brother. John’s had some trouble with his mare, so he sent me.”

  “You —” Hannah stammered, “—you’re the baby?”

  Daniel laughed, the roar of a grizzly. “Don’t fret, Miss Wilder. My brother’s no mountain. I brought the wagon for your baggage.”

  “There’s very little,” Hannah told him, for some reason embarrassed. Malcolm had robbed her not only of her name and reputation, but of her inheritance as well.

  Once again, she squirmed beneath the weight of Daniel’s gaze. Maybe it was her imagination, but his frown looked suspicious.

  “Don’t suppose you’d be here if you had a pot to —” He interrupted himself with a quick shake of his head. “Never mind. That’s just less for me to tote. You’re to be put up in our Aunt, Lucinda Pangburn’s, house. She’s a widow-woman, and she dearly loves to entertain. But she’s particular about her place. You keep your things neat?”

  Hannah nodded. “I’m a good housekeeper, as I explained to Mr. Aldman in my letter.”

  “I suppose that you would say that. You quiet?”

  “I engage in no boisterous behavior,” she answered with all the dignity she could muster.

  “Good,” Daniel said. “Then you and Aunt Lucinda will get on just fine. But as for myself, I think it’s too bad.”

  “Too bad? What’s that?” Hannah asked.

  “About the boisterous behavior. If you enjoyed that sort of thing, I might be tempted to distract you from my brother.”

  Hannah felt anger heat her face. “I will not tolerate these insults, Mr. Aldman. Surely you realize that Mr. Harlan’s service excludes a
ny — ah — disreputable young ladies.”

  Daniel grinned good-naturedly, as if he’d enjoyed provoking her reaction. “I’m just ribbing you, Miss Wilder. There, are these your bags?”

  Daniel loaded her scant possessions and helped her into the wagon, a rather nice buckboard drawn by a handsome pair of chestnut-colored horses. Hooves and wooden wheels raised clouds of sawdust as he drove past a noisy sawmill and a large, three-story building with a sign that marked it as a boarding house. A crowd of red-shirted rowdies laughed and drank in plain sight on the porch, even though it was the Sabbath. A trio of women, disgracefully dressed, laughed as loudly as the men.

  “Found yourself another so soon?” called an apple-cheeked redhead. Hannah blushed at the names the woman’s two friends shouted. She wasn’t sure if they referred to Daniel or herself.

  “Ho, Daniel! Come join us for a mug!” A man with a thick, black mustache waved an arm to hail them. Another, a fellow with jagged front teeth, made a rude suggestion.

  “Sorry, Miss,” Daniel apologized. “The shanty boys only come in from cutting timber once a week. They don’t see decent women much.”

  What sort of man would have such awful friends, she wondered. God help her if John Aldman kept the same company as his ill-mannered younger brother!

  She glanced surreptitiously at his handsome face, but it gave away nothing. Perhaps he could have taken her by another route. Might he be testing her reaction to the vulgarities? Unsure, she ignored him as they drove through streets lined with a blacksmith’s shop, a company store, and prim rows of wood frame houses.

  A few houses past the righteous white face of the Congregational Church, Daniel pulled the horses to a stop. “Despite what you must think of me, my aunt’s a proper woman. She’s promised to act as chaperone until you get to know my brother. She might act friendly, but she’ll let him know what type you are, all right, and if he’s wasted his money after all.”

  A pang of guilt tore through Hannah’s breast. Of course John Aldman had wasted his money. He wanted a virtuous wife, a woman with whom he could raise a big farm family. If he only knew what she was, he’d turn her loose right now. She thought of those wild-looking girls lolling near the boarding house, and her stomach clenched. She hadn’t been raised to end up like that. But besides this marriage, what else could she do?

  She didn’t know how to respond to Daniel, so she didn’t try. He helped her out of the gig, his huge hand lingering on her arm an instant too long. Then, releasing her, he took up her three satchels as though their weight were a trifle. She followed him toward the two-story house and admired its neat, white, painted angles. Along the walk, bright autumn chrysanthemums nodded in the dry breeze. Their vigor, amid the wilted town landscape, spoke of constant attention from some unseen hand.

  A skinny child of about six burst out of the house and ran toward Daniel. “Papa!” she cried delightedly and leapt into his arms.

  “Amelia, there’s a girl.” He gave her wispy blond locks a tousle.

  Hannah could barely believe that Daniel had a child. Could this mean the coarse brute was married, too?

  The child’s sparkling blue eyes turned toward Hannah. “Will this be my new mama?”

  The girl’s question answered Hannah’s. No doubt his wretched manners had driven off the mother.

  Daniel gently put the child down. “Oh, no, Amelia, honey. Remember what we told you? This lady’s here for Uncle John. Miss Mercy Wilder, may I present to you my daughter, Miss Amelia Lee Aldman?”

  Amelia giggled at the mock-seriousness of his introduction.

  “We have the same middle name, Amelia. Mine’s Lee, too,” said Hannah. At least she could be honest about that.

  “Then that means we’ll be friends,” the child told her earnestly. “Let me show you your room. It’s going to be right next to mine.”

  She took Hannah by the hand and would have led her into the house, except for the appearance of a pudgy woman with gray hair tucked into a neat bun.

  “This must be Miss Mercy!” she cried with the voice of one who can barely hear her words. “Hope you don’t mind if I call you that, young lady.”

  “Not at all,” Hannah said. Perhaps if she heard it often enough, she would soon grow used to the false name. “You must be Mrs. Pangburn. It’s so kind of you to allow me to stay here.”

  “Call me Aunt Lucinda, child. And kindness has nothing to do with it,” the old woman told her. “I’ve been telling that nephew of mine to find himself a wife time out of mind. I feared I’d never live to see the day.” Aunt Lucinda’s dark gaze swept over her and judged her in a twinkling. “You’re none too stout. You sure you’re tough enough for farm life?”

  Hannah smiled politely. “I’m stronger than you’d guess.”

  Lucinda nodded her approval. “If I weren’t a Christian woman, I’d wager you’re right.”

  Amelia darted around her aunt like a rambunctious puppy as Lucinda showed Hannah to a small room with an oak dresser and a narrow bed. The girl bounded ahead and jumped onto a beautiful blue and rose quilt that lay across the mattress.

  “Off you go,” Daniel told his daughter as he set Hannah’s bags onto the bed.

  “Go into your room now, child,” the old woman scolded, “or our Miss Mercy will think we’ve raised a savage.”

  “Please,” Hannah interrupted, “just call me Mercy. And Amelia, come back later, and we’ll have a nice visit.”

  “I’m gonna comb my Sally’s hair, so I can introduce her too!” Amelia said with an excited grin. She raced off to her own room.

  “Sally’s her doll.” Aunt Lucinda’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “They’re very close since we lost Amelia’s mother three years back.”

  Hannah felt a twinge of guilt. That meant that Daniel’s wife had died, not run away.

  Daniel’s voice was flat. “Amelia’s been out shopping for a replacement. Wants to know if every woman she meets might be her new mama. She gets attached too fast.”

  “Particularly when the women come and go so quickly,” Aunt Lucinda added reproachfully.

  Hannah didn’t want to intrude into this conversation. Instead, she became absorbed in a cross carved from dark wood that hung above the bed’s headboard. Beside the dresser, she noticed a washstand containing a pitcher already filled with water.

  “I thought you might want to wash up and rest a spell,” Lucinda said.

  It sounded like a fine idea, but Hannah answered, “As soon as I’ve unpacked. I’d hate to meet Mr. Aldman in a wrinkled dress.”

  Daniel cleared his throat. “John won’t come today, Miss Wilder. Usually, I tend the sick stock, but that mare of his is something precious. He won’t leave her with the colic.”

  Hannah nodded, half-relieved. Although she was slightly insulted to be ignored in favor of a horse, she needed time to feel comfortable in her new surroundings, time to think about the enormous risks of this arrangement. The letters she’d received from her prospective husband had been stiff and formal, revealing little more than the prosperity of his farm, the long hours that he worked, and his desire for a “woman of good character” with whom to share his life. He was thirty-two and didn’t object that she was only four years younger. In that respect, at least, she had been honest.

  “Will you be seeing your brother, then, Mr. Aldman?” she asked Daniel quietly.

  “Sure. We live in the same house.”

  “I see,” Hannah said. “Then please give him my regards, and tell him I hope his mare is better. When my father was still living, I spent many an hour one cold night walking his best stallion. It was all we could do to keep the horse from rolling and twisting his gut.”

  Daniel nodded gravely. “I’m glad you understand why he can’t come. You can’t leave a colicked horse a minute, or he’ll roll for sure. Did you save your father’s stallion?”

  “I’m afraid not, despite everything we did.”

  “Sometimes even our best efforts aren’t enough,” Aunt Lucinda
said as she brushed some unseen lint off of the quilt. “Oh, dear, Daniel, you tracked in those dead leaves. Let me get a broom.”

  Hannah spared the withered foliage outside the window a brief glance. “There was talk on the steamer about the drought and all the brush fires. Surely, your farm is in no danger?”

  “There’s always rain this time of year,” he told her. “Then we’ll all be safe. Until then, the men have formed committees. I come into town and join a brigade from the woodenware mill whenever John can spare me. We take care of any fires that get too close to Peshtigo. I wouldn’t worry. Someone’s always keeping watch.”

  Reassured, Hannah put aside her concern. But another nagged her even more insistently. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how bold she might be. Then she took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “What will you tell your brother about me?”

  Again he turned his dark eyes to survey her in a way that sent a cold thrill up her spine. “I’m going to tell him you’re too beautiful,” he answered. “And that I wonder why you’ve really come.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Malcolm Shelton glowered across Jeb Fulton’s desk.

  “What do you mean, you can’t make me the loan? The old Lee farm is mine, and I still own the horses. I assure you, these setbacks are only temporary.” He puffed on his pipe like a freight train.

  “May I be frank, Captain Shelton?” the portly banker asked. Perspiration dotted his bald pate.

  Shelton nodded, glad at least that Jeb still called him by his former rank. His war wound and his veteran’s status sold a lot of horseflesh in these parts.

  “It is the — ah — rather indelicate matter of the — er — former Mrs. Shelton’s disappearance. When a gentleman deals in the horse and carriage trade, his good name is of paramount importance —”

  “That inquiry proved nothing!” Malcolm thundered. He slammed a clenched fist on the banker’s desk. “We don’t even know that Hannah’s dead! And if we did, perhaps one of her lovers slew her. We all know what kind of company she kept.”