Forgotten Trails Read online

  Also by Bonnie R. Paulson

  A Clearwater County Romance

  Spurs and Lace

  Secrets and Lace

  Sorrows and Lace

  Riding for Redemption

  Resisting Redemption

  Regretting Redemption

  Rewarding Redemption

  Hidden Trails (Coming Soon)

  Redemption Complete Series, Books 1 - 5

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  Bride Texas

  Bride and Prejudice (Coming Soon)

  Clearwater County, Redemption series

  Romancing Redemption

  Clearwater County, The Montana Trails series

  Broken Trails (Coming Soon)

  Forbidden Trails (Coming Soon)

  Unbridled Trails (Coming Soon)

  Forgotten Trails (Coming Soon)

  Click and Wed.com Series

  With This Click, I Thee Wed

  IDo.com

  DIY Vows

  eHoneymoon

  Keyword: I Do

  ClickAndWed.com books 1 - 3 Boxset

  Downshift Series

  Downshift

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  Odd Man Out

  Watch for more at Bonnie R. Paulson’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Also By Bonnie R. Paulson

  Forgotten Trails (Clearwater County, The Montana Trails series)

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

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  Also By Bonnie R. Paulson

  Forgotten Trails

  Book #5 of the Montana Trails

  By Bonnie R. Paulson

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Dear Reader,

  This is Rachiah’s story and part of it takes place during Stefanie’s story. You’re going to see Emma’s funeral again-she didn’t die twice; I want you to understand the time frame.

  There’s so much going on with this amazing family. Their struggles and triumphs have me wrapped around their fingers.

  Please enjoy and thanks for riding this journey with me.

  Chapter 1

  Rachiah

  Rachiah shifted on the crease of the backseat. Sleeping in her car hadn’t gotten any easier in the months since she’d started her search. Her long legs didn’t fit well and were cramped in a familiar and uncomfortable bent position to her side.

  She groaned, leaning up and cramming a folded towel under her right hip. “Come on.” Rachiah blinked blearily into the pre-dawn peachiness of the sky.

  Would she ever sleep again? Find the peace of a restful night in a proper bed with sheets and blankets?

  Would she ever get used to not being wanted?

  Well, everyone wanted her except her own father. At least that was the story. That was what she’d been chasing after for so long.

  Brushing black silky hair off her shoulder, she blew air toward the ceiling of her blue Ford Escort. Wear and tear in the gray interior hid itself well in the dim lighting.

  Could she finish the lies in her postcard she was writing to her mom and step-dad? They wanted her so badly to be happy and satisfied with who she was as well as her family, her culture.

  And she wanted that, too.

  But she had to know why he hadn’t wanted her.

  Why he’d never come back. Didn’t he know he’d left a huge hole in her life? She didn’t even remember him and her mom hadn’t kept any pictures of him.

  From what her grandmother had said, Rachiah had actually never met him. Would something deep inside her recognize him as her father?

  She got it though. Why would her mom keep reminders of an affair around? Rachiah was the “shame” no one wanted to address directly. She got it. Mason Two-Claw, her step-dad, treated her like he was her real dad.

  No one tried to convince her she was anything else.

  There were no questions about the Maverick Two-Claw, or MT, her older brother’s origins. He could be a cookie cutter of their dad. With a straight proud brow and angular jaw, he bore the Salish regal looks with nobility.

  Throwing an arm across her eyes, Rachiah blinked at the tears vividly remembering the morning she’d discovered her mother’s secrets. The pain she’d uncovered...

  Rachiah had run through the house, throwing open doors and calling out through the empty halls. “Mom, do you have my birth certificate? I need it for a passport to go with Sherri and Cyan to London.” Rachiah hadn’t even tried hiding her excitement.

  Cyan’s parents had more money than they knew what to do with and they constantly spoiled all three of the girlfriends.

  Her mom hadn’t answered and Rachiah had been too excited, too impatient, and she’d rushed into her parents’ bedroom to search the black file cabinet inside the closet.

  She had rifled through the manila folders, stopping when she found one titled “Certificates”. She pulled out her birth certificate and hardly glanced at the names.

  The closet didn’t stink, just had a more dusty scent and was colder than the rest of the house. In the shadows with sleeves from hanging shirts and bulky jackets butting against her, Rachiah stubbed her toe on the corner of one of her dad’s boots. She put the paper down on the still open drawer and raised her foot to squeeze the offended area.

  In the slits of light, her gaze landed on the fathered by line.

  Two-Claw wasn’t there.

  No. Not Two-Claw. Howard. Jeffrey Howard.

  His scribbled signature with its slanty Y and loopy F’s had branded itself into Rachiah’s mind.

  She’d pushed out of the closet, leaving the drawer open. She studied the paper, held closely to her face.

  Walking slowly into the living room, she hadn’t looked away from the official certificate aloft in her fingers as she continued staring at her parentage.

  Her mom stood at the kitchen counter talking with MT. She turned, glancing at Rachiah and smiling. She held up a finger, “I’ll have to check for you. I don’t think I ha—” But she saw the paper in Rachiah’s hands and covered her mouth.

  Shaking her head, she choked on her words. “Rachiah, I...” She squeezed her eyes tight, then opened them to pierce Rachiah with regret, shame, and guilt.

  Rachiah didn’t raise her voice. “You’re not going to deny it? No excuses? Nothing?” Demanding answers and begging for something that was her right wasn’t her style.

  After an indeterminable amount of time marked with MT shifting in his leather boots, Rachiah had nodded, turning on her heel to escape to her room.

  She cried herself to sleep, that night and almost every other one since. Most importantly, she’d never asked her parents any
thing about the glaring name or brought the situation up with them again.

  No. That would’ve been too easy. She’d had to go behind their backs and ask her grandparents, visit the reservation’s gossip who gleefully shared multiple confusing versions of the story, sneak through her parent’s file cabinet when they weren’t there. Basically do everything she could think of to find out as much information as possible without actually asking her parents about the truth.

  As far as she knew, they still didn’t know where she’d gone. At least, she hadn’t told them.

  Not yet.

  But that didn’t mean her friends hadn’t told someone.

  Rachiah couldn’t face the fact her parents had lied so horribly to her. This wasn’t a Santa or Tooth Fairy lie.

  This was a... betrayal.

  She had to know about her father.

  She had to know. What if he wasn’t Salish? What if he was... gulp... Cherokee? Or Kootenai? Or Sioux?

  She’d always focused on learning Salish, and the fact that she might be something else was a little disconcerting.

  Living her whole life with the assurances she was full Native American, Salish, only to find out they hadn’t been honest with her from the start, stung.

  Maybe her bloodlines weren’t as pristine as she’d always believed.

  Her musings didn’t make the postcard write itself. She rolled as much as she could to the side of her backseat and grabbed the abandoned card and pen.

  Scribbling as fast as she could, Rachiah mouthed the words she printed. “Hi, I’m doing good. The weather is great. Not sure where I’m heading next. Love, Rachiah.” Mom and Dad didn’t have her address because she didn’t have one. She dropped random cards along the way so they wouldn’t alert the authorities.

  The next morning was as good as any to toss the curt note in the mail. Or rather, that morning.

  She stared at the extra postcard, the one she’d gotten with Damon in mind.

  A postcard. Rachiah snorted into the silence of her car. How impersonal when he continued calling her to check on her and asking Sherri about her.

  She appreciated his attentions, but the wedding hadn’t exactly been her idea of a dating ground. But oh, his eyes and the angle of his forearms when he’d rolled up his sleeves. The few times she saw him had been brief but he’d seemed genuinely interested in her and what she said. Not many men were.

  Sighing, she pushed the card away. He was white. She couldn’t date him with that fact blinding her to everything else.

  Racism wasn’t the problem. She loved all cultures. The weight of the Salish people pulled at her. There were only a handful of full blooded Salish in her generation and they weren’t encouraged to date anyone but each other unless of course there was a marriage arranged with a different tribe, like from the coast. Then there was no dating whatsoever encouraged by anyone.

  Rachiah wasn’t matched to anyone. Her options were few and unappealing. One of the men worked as a bartender at the casino at the reservation and he was almost fifteen years older than her.

  She shuddered when she remembered his beady black eyes staring at her when they’d been introduced at a tribal gathering.

  Proving how desperate the Salish community had become, her father suggested she date him with a grimace on his lips. Even to him, it was bitter to even contemplate.

  Her phone rang. Only Cyan would call her at five-thirty in the morning. She knew Rachiah didn't sleep.

  “Hello?” She knew it was Cyan, but she loved teasing her friend.

  “Rachiah, I know you have caller ID. It's me.” An edge to Cyan’s tone suggested she didn't have a lot to be happy about.

  “What's wrong, Cy?” Rachiah sat all the way up in the back of the car. Her shoulders pushed against the glass of the back window. Her head bent painfully to the side as she adjusted her bedding.

  Her voice broke on a sob as her words tumbled over the line. “Emma is even sicker. I don't know what to do. I feel awful. Stephanie asked me to help her with the loan. My dad's helping her. I don't know if money can do any good. We're probably going to lose the house. Or they are anyway.” She sighed, the silence filled with worry.

  Then Cyan spoke again. “I’m sorry. You didn't run down to Wyoming to hear all about this. What's going on down there? Did you find him? I haven't heard from you in a few days.”

  Rachiah's phone beeped. She was almost out of battery and her car charger didn’t work unless the car was running. Gas wasn’t expendable when her funds ran low consistently. “Cyan, I’ll have to get back to you. My phone is about to die. Can I call you later?” Her friend agreed and they hung up.

  Rachiah didn't want to go into the details with her. Or anyone.

  She didn't want to admit her failures. She hadn't found her dad in all that time, in all those years of looking for more information around the reservation.

  Finally, when she had gathered enough nerve to actually go in search of him, every step had been more failure than success. She’d been pushed past the point of knowing what exactly she was searching for.

  She couldn't tell anyone she didn't have it in her to find out he really didn't want anything to do with her. Not Cyan. Not Sherri. Not Damon.

  The persistence with which Damon pursued Rachiah endeared him into her thoughts. Her mind kept returning to him, the blonde waves in his hair and the blue in his eyes.

  She had never been drawn to the dark looks of her Salish brothers. They all looked too much like her. The dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes. Something about Damon's golden boy persona enhanced with charming smile appealed to her even more.

  When they talked though, and he asked about her internal struggles and what she was going through, he reached past the physical, the aesthetics, and became... more. This in all honesty was the most frightening reality of them all – past the abandonment of her father, the lies from her mother, and the desertion of her self-identity.

  Rachiah didn't have time for the emotions he stirred in her though.

  She couldn't call him anyway. Her money was keeping it so she wouldn't be able to charge her phone until she’d exhausted all the leads in North Fork, Wyoming and was moving on.

  The fact that he was off-limits was probably what made him so appealing. Maybe she needed to mess with him a couple times, and get it out of her system. She heard of other women in her tribe doing exactly that. The men were a given.

  Everyone needed to get the blonde out of their system.

  Her step-dad used to say that as a joke. Her mother had always hushed him.

  Rachiah didn't even care why her dad had left. The details wrapped up in intentions and emotions muddied facts.

  He had to want her. Maybe he didn't know what would happen. Maybe he was called away on an emergency.

  Something kept him away from her. The dream she’d had since finding out consisted of a tall, dark Indian warrior riding a horse toward her. His features were obscured by the sun glaring behind him. He reached down his hand to the little girl she was in her dream and he scooped her onto the back of his horse. She would ride away with her daddy.

  She shook her head, pulling a brush through her long hair. Those were the dreams of a little girl trapped in a woman's body.

  Rachiah wanted acceptance. For some reason, the one man who didn't want her was the one man who could make her feel whole again. She hoped.

  She arched backwards, pulling her jeans up over her hips. After buttoning them, she flipped her static-induced hair back into a ponytail.

  The small car bounced with her movements.

  She stopped moving and stared down the empty street. Blinking heavily, she longed to go home, back to who she was before she’d found out about Jeffrey Howard. Before she discovered she wasn’t who she’d been taught she was. She shook off the melancholy and tightened her jaw. She had a mission to complete. Self-assigned or not, she would do what she set out to do.

  So what, if she didn’t know what her next steps were? Where would she go?
>
  “Start with your lists, ‘Chiah.” The corner of the tattered notebook she kept her information in poked from beneath her scrunched pillow. She grasped it, yanking the spiral bound mess fully from its hiding place.

  In North Fork, Wyoming, she had a bunch of questions to ask. She'd driven in late the night before and couldn't ask anything. Opting to sleep in her car under the trees, she didn’t have the lay of the land yet. But now she was there and ready to check things out.

  The only place open that early would be a café or a diner.

  She crawled over her version of furniture, huffing as she settled into the front driver’s seat. How sad that her dashboard doubled as a table.

  In the cold, she would welcome the chance to turn on the heater as she drove further into town.

  She turned the old motor over, wincing as the belt whined. She didn't have time to tighten it.

  Rachiah liked working on engines and motors and other car stuff. Her biological father had been a mechanic on the reservation until he left. At least that's what her Mima told her.

  The small town North Fork Diner claimed the southern corner of Main Street. She parked a half a block away to keep her options open. She could walk the short distance in the early morning light.

  She zipped her jacket against the fall air, brisk at the higher elevation. Even with the trees around her and the promise of a warm day, the night had been unforgiving, dropping many degrees into a very chilly, very frosty temperature. Her car had held the warmth better than she’d thought it would.

  Tucking her hands into her jeans pockets, she lengthened her stride as she tackled the uneven concrete sidewalk toward the diner.

  A neon “open” sign above the glass door zipped on. The red light glowed bright in the wakening morning. She pushed the doors open, triggering bells to jingle.

  As if out of nowhere – Rachiah certainly hadn't seen them on the street – a group of five or six older men walked in behind her, quietly brooding. They all claimed seats as if preassigned at the counter.

  An older with gray hair peeking out from under a worn republican hat poked his finger at the empty mugs already in place. “Marla?”

  The waitress, her hair tight in a French braid, with a polo T-shirt as her uniform, approached them with a carafe of coffee. “You guys got here just in time. Fresh off the burner.”