I’ve had the pleasure to read and review both of Caroline Fyffe’s books, Where the Wind Blows and Montana Dawn, and each time when I closed the books after reading the last word, I was left with a feeling of contentment, of rightness, of experiencing something special.

For me, Montana Dawn is about family, that one constant in our lives that, while dealing with one member or another may not always go along a perfect path, they are still there for us at all times, tease us unmercifully, argue with us vehemently, and any number of other things that family do, but they always love us unconditionally. That is never in doubt.

Both Luke and Faith of Montana Dawn find this out in a variety ways throughout their story. Luke is taken by surprise at his feelings for the infant he helps deliver; he internally has issues concerning his heritage, thus impacting his relationship with his father and brothers, but he still realizes how lucky he is to have the family he has. Faith is on the run from the family she gained by marriage, wishing she had in her life the multitude of blessings Luke has. Even the children in this story are not left unaffected by needing and wanting family. And there are those people on the periphery of their lives who aren’t related to Luke and Faith, but they’re family just the same. Of course, there is the beautiful romance between Luke and Faith. It blossoms and flourishes, but it all happens with family in the background.

With that, here’s the summary for Montana Dawn:

Luke McCutcheon found Faith Brown unprotected and about to give birth, crouched in the corner of her dilapidated wagon. Though his family’s cattle drive was no place for a widow and a newborn, neither was the open trail. Honor demanded he bring them along.

Delivering her child was only Luke’s first kind act. Honest and wholesome, handsome and strong, the cowboy seemed a knight from some long-ago tale. Faith could tell they longed for the same things. But, fleeing the past, trust was a luxury she could little afford. It lay at the end of the road like a warm hearth and home, like a loving family, like a bright Montana Dawn.

Now enjoy an excerpt from the first chapter of Montana Dawn:

Chapter One

Montana Territory, August 1883

An eerie keening echoed through the trees. Luke Mc-
Cutcheon straightened in the saddle, and his filly’s ears flicked
forward, then back. “Easy, girl. Don’t dump me now.” Not with
ten miles to go, he thought as he felt the green- broke filly
hesitate. Lightly reining her to the solid side of the slippery
embankment, he pressed her forward. Still, she balked at a
mud- covered tree stump, snorting and humping her back.
Rain came down in sheets now, drenching them both.
Squinting through the darkness, Luke scanned the clearing
for any sign of the others he’d split from some three hours
before.

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, followed by an
explosive boom. Chiquita whirled a complete circle and crowhopped
several strides, sending an icy rivulet gushing from
the brim of Luke’s hat.
“Hell.” Luke squeezed with his legs, pushing her onto the
bit. “Flighty filly,” he said under his breath. “You’d be a great
one if you’d ever settle down.”

Cresting the rise, Luke searched the horizon through the
downpour. Nothing. Nobody in sight. “Long gone.” Frustrated,
he slapped his gloved hand against his thigh and spun
Chiquita in the opposite direction. He’d head back to camp
and try again at daybreak. Suddenly the uncanny cry came again,
peculiar in its tone and just as troubling as the first time he’d heard it. “What . . . ?”
He’d never heard anything like it in his twenty- six years. He
reined up for a moment, listening.

A minute slipped by, then two. Still nothing but the unrelenting
storm. A wounded animal? No. That queer sound was
totally unfamiliar. He headed in its direction to investigate.
His efforts proved useless, and after several minutes he
stopped. As if called, a streak of lightning lit up the landscape,
revealing a dilapidated wagon half- hidden in the brush. It listed
to one side, the wheels buried up to the axles. As quick as the
light came, it vanished, leaving him in darkness.

He dismounted, cursing the jingle of his spurs. His gloved
hand dropped to his sidearm and slid the gun from its holster.
Another ghostly cry emanated from the wagon, raising the
hair on his neck. Silently, he made his way over the uneven
ground. With his back to the wagon’s side he reached around
with his free hand and cautiously pulled back the canvas
cover.

“Hello?”
Only the wind answered, whipping a smattering of rain
against his face. Not daring to take his eyes from the dark
opening, he steeled himself against the chilly water dripping
down his neck. He flexed his shoulders, willed himself to relax.
Then a sound, like the rustling of a mouse, caught his
attention. He held his breath.

“Coming in,” Luke warned. He trusted his instincts, and it
didn’t feel like someone had a gun pointed at him. Cautious,
however, his boot on the wheel axle, he lifted himself slowly
through the opening. He paused, letting his eyes adjust to the
dark interior.

The aroma of musty canvas engulfed him. And the smell
of something else. Fear? Bending low he inched slowly
through the cramped interior. He winced: a sharp edge. Fire
and ice coursed up his leg. He stopped. Something was in the
corner.  With his teeth, he pulled his glove from his hand and
reached into his inside pocket for a match. He struck it and
held it high. It winked brightly for only a moment and was
extinguished by a gust of wind. But not before he saw a woman
crouched down, her eyes the size of twin harvest moons.

“You’re hurt?”

A soft panting was her reply.

“Your lantern. Where is it?” He felt around the rafters.
Finding a lamp, he lit it and turned down the wick until a soft
light glowed around the cramped area.

He knelt beside the woman. Beads of sweat trickled off her
brow and her breath came fast. Eyes wide with fright were
riveted on the gun he held. Then he noticed a stick clenched
between her teeth. His gaze flew downward. Her knees were
drawn up and a blanket covered the lower half of her body.
But there was no mistaking what was underneath.

Luke leaned toward her, intending to take the stick from
her mouth when excruciating pain exploded in his head and
shot down his neck. “What the . . . ?” He turned. Stars
danced before his eyes and he fell to the wagon floor. His gun
slid from his grasp.

A groan was all Faith could manage before she was overcome
by an all- consuming urge to bite down on the stick with all
her might. She wanted, needed, to keep her eyes open and
on the stranger, the large man who’d climbed into her wagon,
sending her heart skittering up her throat. But it was no use.
Another contraction began, and it was next to impossible to
keep her eyes open; the icy fire gripped her stomach with a
grasp as strong as the devil’s.

Mentally counting, she wrestled against her impulse to
tighten up as burning beads of sweat dripped into her eyes.
Eight . . . nine . . . ten. Ten seconds of sheer torture. Then
the hurt eased, and Faith lay on her pallet, spent. The stick
dropped from her teeth.

Summoning what strength she had she pushed up on her
elbow. “Why’d you hit him, Colton?” she asked the wide- eyed
boy, a frying pan dangling in his hands. “I hate to think how
mad he’ll be when he wakes up.” Dread rippled within her as
she studied the cowboy lying within an arm’s reach.

“Thought he was gonna hurt ya, Ma.”
Faith drew in a shaky breath. “Quick, give me the gun.”
Colton carefully picked up the revolver. Faith took it, feeling
its steely cold weight in her hands.

The man moved slightly and his lashes quivered on his
darkly whiskered cheek. His face, hard with angles and chapped
from the cold, lay fl at against the wagon bed. He moaned as his
face screwed up in a grimace, which sent Faith’s heart careening.
The rest of him looked mighty big under his rain slicker
and leather chaps.

Overwhelming despair descended. Just today she’d dared to
dream that she and Colton had escaped her brother- in- law
Ward, and that he’d given up his hunt for them. Horses
couldn’t drag her back to Nebraska to marry him and subject
her children to the cruelty of that family. Their despicable
plot framing her for Samuel’s accidental fall was evil. Truth
didn’t matter, though, when they had the law, or lack of it, on
their side. She felt like crying every time she thought about
it. The Browns wanted her farm in Kearney and would stop
at nothing, it seemed, to get it. So far this journey had been
extremely difficult— long days and nights full of danger and
fear— and one she wasn’t ready to see end futilely.

And now this! In her mind she weighed their chances
against the man before her. When her gaze moved back up to
his face, her heart stopped.