Blogger Bundle Volume III:
Super Librarian Selects
The Harvey Girls

The Doctor’s Wife
The Lawman’s Bride
The Preacher’s Daughter

Table of Contents

The Doctor’s Wife
By Cheryl St.John

The Lawman’s Brid
By Cheryl St.John

The Preacher’s Daughter
By Cheryl St.John

Dear Readers,

Cheryl St.John is my favorite Harlequin Historical author, and her Harvey Girls trilogy is a wonderful illustration of why. In an era before dining cars, weary train passengers relied on Harvey House restaurants to feed them along their journey. They were served by Harvey Girls, young ladies in crisp uniforms who jumped at the chance for adventure, a respectable job, and a decent wage. I like to think that St.John’s fictitious Harvey Girls are not all that different from their real life counterparts. Women who have seen hard times, but are determined to make better lives for themselves and their families.

What I especially love about Cheryl St.John’s stories is that while her characters have gone through their personal trials, they never give up. They continue to move forward, put one foot in front of the other, and strive towards a better life. It is an amiable quality in any human being, and even better in a romance novel, making the happily ever after all the more sweeter for the characters and the readers.

Whether you are already a fan of Cheryl St.John, or a first time reader, I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I do.

Happy Reading,
Wendy the Super Librarian
http://wendythesuperlibrarian.blogspot.com

CHERYL ST.JOHN

THE DOCTOR’S WIFE

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Prologue

Florence, Kansas, 1879

A shimmering silver moon spied upon the girl’s halting, labored progress as she crept through the stand of midnight-cloaked cottonwoods, their long-fingered branches snagging her threadbare dress and scratching her bare arms. She held the tiny shawl-wrapped bundle protectively against her breast and stopped often, fighting the trembling that shook her exhausted limbs and the weakness that threatened her ability to reach her destination undiscovered.

Another spasm racked her belly, and she fell to her knees, curling herself around the bundle and whimpering soundlessly. A cloud momentarily obscured her vision, or perhaps she blacked out, but too much time had passed when she could once again see clearly enough to move forward through the frosted moonlight and into the sleeping town. Quickly, she found the alley.

A cat yowled, startling her, and she nearly stumbled again. She gripped her concealed burden and hurried on. Finally, she came up behind the house she’d been heading toward with single-minded purpose. No light shone from the eyelike windows, the occupants having long ago retired.

The girl watched the house enshrouded in darkness for several minutes, torn with what she must do and what her heart and her body rejected as unendurable.

The infant moved against her breast, a helpless, tiny creature needing more care and protection than she ever could hope to give it. The feeble movement tore at her heart, but prodded her forward.

Once crouched in the concealing darkness at the corner of the house, the precarious safety of this rash plan struck her hard. What if no one came to the door? What if a dog or a wild animal was first to reach the mewling infant, who still bore traces of her blood?

Exhaustion hammered at her nerves and her thoughts, but fear pushed her forward. There was more chance for survival here than where she’d come from. A rock bit into the cracked sole of her shoe, and she picked up the stone, testing its size and weight.

She pressed her nose into the shawl, inhaled the musky scent that pierced her heart anew and resolutely placed the wrapped child on the wooden porch floor, a safe distance from the back door, yet in plain sight.

Without a lingering touch or a backward glance—by sheer force of will—she slipped back into the shadows, hobbled into the alley and steadied herself against the rough wooden side of a toolshed.

In the shadows of the porch roof, she couldn’t see the shawl or the remnant of her heart that lay within. The vigilant moon illuminated the glass-paned windows of the house. She stared heavenward for a full minute, garnering strength, purpose…courage. Then, with a prayer for accuracy and the last shred of stamina she possessed, she took aim and directed the rock with a skill born of desperation.

Breaking glass shattered the fragile silence of the night.

Her lacerated heart hammered against her ribs.

Her vision blurred, then cleared.

A yellow light came on in the house.

An eternal minute passed.

Another.

With an echoing creak, the back door opened. The long black barrel of a gun preceded a tall man dressed only in trousers. He took a wary step forward. Then stopped.

Cautiously, he nudged the bundle on his porch with the rifle barrel. The trembling girl who watched didn’t breathe, and her heart stopped.

Finally, miraculously, after glancing around, he knelt and touched the shadowy bundle with his free hand. His voice carried across the backyard, the words of astonishment indistinguishable. Another light came on behind him, and a robed woman appeared, silhouetted in its gentle radiance like a delivering angel.

As soon as the woman fell to her knees on the porch, the girl’s heart resumed a frantic beat. She turned and fled into the night, the silvery glow of the silent moon the only witness to the deed that would forever scar her soul.

Chapter One

Newton, Kansas, 1885

Up ahead, the locomotive whistled a long, urgent warning that roused the sluggish passengers. The chugging train swayed and slowed, and the tired travelers jerked forward in their seats. Stockmen, herders, businessmen and women gathered belongings and children and prepared to step from the car.

Elianna Parrish clung to the handle of her one small battered satchel, and allowed impatient travelers to move ahead. She was in no hurry. She’d been on a three-day pass and didn’t need to report back to her job at the Arcade Hotel until morning.

The melancholy feeling that always accompanied her on returning from a visit with her two younger brothers washed over her like the claustrophobic taint of unwashed bodies and cigar smoke that filled the railcar. Even though she traveled to see the boys each time she could get a pass from her job, she missed them terribly. The Heaths, who farmed a few miles outside Florence, tolerated her visits and put on as if they were actually fond of the boys.

Ellie knew better. For the past year, her brothers had been laborers, expected to perform the tasks of men while receiving stingy meals and lumpy bunks in the barn. Ellie’s high hopes of immediately getting them out of there had faded as quickly as the vaporous smoke from the train’s engine. She hadn’t been able to save enough to get herself a place, let alone provide for Benjamin and Flynn.

A portly man with a smelly stogie clamped between his stained teeth jostled her, and she stepped away.

Resentment built in her like a head of steam. Why, for once in their cheerless lives, couldn’t the boys have a decent home? They deserved to know the security of a home and family before they were completely grown.

Like her.

Passengers filed out ahead of Ellie, and she waited her turn patiently. Finally, the eager crowd moved forward, and she stepped out into the sun. A dry prairie wind kicked up dust that filled her nostrils and caked her teeth. She squinted and worked at keeping her dress down around her ankles.

Several men stood on the platform, scrutinizing the arrivals. Ellie identified the fakirs, the Monte men and sneak thieves immediately, and skirted them while they made their moves on the businessmen who looked as though they had money lining their pockets.

“Come to see the city by gaslight, did you, little lady?” A man of medium height in a dusty brown suit cut off her departure.

“Pardon me,” she said, and attempted to move around.

“Here to see the elephant, hmm? A lovely young thing like you should have an escort.” Deliberately, he prevented her from passing.

She met his small gray eyes directly. “I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my way.”

His eyes widened at her bravado. “Well, la-di-da, don’t she take the whole biscuit?”

The throng of passengers converged on the hotel restaurant, jostling Ellie and the man to one side. Once again, she tried to move around him.

“You’re gonna wish you was nice to me.”

Ellie stepped back in an attempt to move another direction, but succeeded only in stumbling. A sharp yelp pierced her ears and, too late, she glanced back. She’d stepped on a small dog. The leashed animal jerked away frantically, tugging its smartly dressed female owner off balance, and the three of them lurched off the edge of the platform.

Ellie landed with her bag under her side and her arm twisted beneath it. Pain shot up the limb, and she cried out.

A handful of concerned men leaped down from the wooden platform, and a porter came running.

“Oh, my gracious!” Sitting up from her delicately sprawled position and blinking at her surroundings, the pretty young woman fanned herself with a lace hankie. She cradled the dog to her generous breasts and spoke obnoxious baby talk into its panting face. “My darling sweet pea, are you awright?”

The whining dog darted its tongue in adoration over her chin.

Those who’d run to their aid stood mesmerized, watching the woman croon and the rodent-faced canine bathe her face.

If her arm hadn’t hurt so badly, Ellie would have laughed. Instead, she sat up. Racking pain shot through her arm, and she bit back a wail.

One of the gentlemen awoke from his reverie and transferred his attention. “Are you hurt, young lady?”

“My arm,” she replied with a grimace.

“Could be broke.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“We’d best get you to the doc’s.”

Ellie moved to stand and nearly fainted.

“Stay put,” the stranger said, extending his palm to stop her. “I’ll get my wagon.”

She nodded and gratefully leaned back against her lumpy bag. It took three grown men to assist the other young woman to her feet and lead her to the stairs. The sun beat down mercilessly, and the wind blew dust across Ellie’s face and clothing. Belatedly, she glanced around, already knowing she wouldn’t see hide or hair of the con man who’d brought on this whole fiasco.

Her arm throbbed. The scorching sun beat on her shoulders. Perspiration trickled between her breasts, and her blouse stuck to her itchy skin. She blinked back tears of frustration and pain.

After what seemed like an hour, the Good Samaritan returned and, with as little jostling as possible, assisted her into the back of his wagon.

A woman and small boy sat up on the seat beside him. He called to the team and guided the wagon through the rutted streets, reining in the horse before old Doc Thornton’s place.

The chalkboard beside the door had had Back at Three scribbled on it since Ellie had first come to Newton six months ago.

After banging on the door and shuffling from one foot to the other, the man stepped to the edge of the boardwalk and took stock of Ellie in his wagon bed. “Doc must be out.”

Passed out. Or down at the Side Track Saloon, more than likely. Ellie squinted down the dusty street. It was common knowledge that the old doctor spent part of his days and most of his nights with his belly pushed up against a poker table.

The woman on the wagon seat turned. “Take her to Doc Chaney’s, Clive.”

Clive squinted at Ellie. “You trust the young doc?”

Working in the Arcade Hotel, Ellie had overheard all the suspicions and mistrust directed toward Newton’s newest physician. His youth and modern practices gave the longtime Cottonwood Valley residents pause. Local gossip had it he’d even been unable to save his own wife’s life.

“Harvard University cost the man a king’s fortune, Clive. Least he can do is set the poor girl’s arm.”

Any doctor was better than none—or one who was drunk, Ellie reasoned. Every minute with this pain seemed like a day. She blotted a perspiring cheek with the sleeve of her uninjured arm. “I—” She held back a grimace. “I agree with your wife, sir.”

He vaulted back up onto the wagon. A few minutes later, they pulled alongside the boardwalk fronting Miss Eva Kirkpatrick’s Dressmaking Shop, and the man helped Ellie from the wagon and into the alley. A hanging wooden sign and a steep flight of stairs led to the doctor’s quarters above the seamstress’s shop. At the top of the stairs, Ellie gritted her teeth and feared she might faint.

Sunspots swam in her vision. Her head grew light. The stranger caught her before she tumbled down the flight of stairs.

Ellie’s arm throbbed. A monotonous pounding in her head matched it, beat for beat.

She cracked her dry eyes open a slit and discovered it was nearly sundown. An oil lamp had been lit near the bed where she lay, casting a golden glow on the brown-haired man who looked up from the thick book he’d been reading.

“Hello,” he said, a friendly smile lighting his comely features. “How are you feeling?” Lamplight glittered from the earpieces of the gold-framed spectacles he wore.

She looked away from his too-direct eyes. “My mouth tastes like I ate a pile of buffalo chips.”

He laughed, and the deep-chested sound almost made her want to smile, too. “I have some fresh water for you. Can you sit up?”

Before she could object, he slid a strong arm behind her back to help her sit, leaning in so close she could smell the starch in his white shirt and the sun-fresh scent of his hair. She fought the uneasy feeling that washed over her and made her want to scuttle away from him.

He propped a pillow behind her and released her. Her aching left arm hung uselessly in a sling, a plaster-of-paris cast holding her elbow in a bent position against her midriff. She glanced from her swollen fingers up to where the sleeves of her good traveling jacket and the blouse beneath had been cut away in an irreparable fashion. Mentally, she weighed the cost of making new ones against doing without.

“I had to cut them away to get to your arm.”

Realizing she’d been frowning, she ran her glance over the rest of her clothing. “My skirt and shoes have gotten your spread dusty.”

“Never mind that. Here.”

Ellie realized what she’d said, took note of her surroundings and, with a start, realized she was lying on a bed. The long narrow room held an examination table, glass-fronted cabinets for medicines and equipment, and a washstand and basin. A pleated curtain could be pulled across the back sleeping area where she lay. The creeping discomfort that had started earlier spread through her chest.

“You were out cold,” he explained, as though reading her mind. “I was afraid to leave you on the table for fear you’d wake up and fall off. Now drink this.”

Ellie drank thirstily and finished, touching her tongue to her lip. The doctor’s warm gaze rested on her mouth, and Ellie’s face grew hot. She brought her fingers to her cheek, noting the travel grime had been washed away.

“I took the liberty of washing your face and hands,” he explained.

Her cheeks burned at the thought of him touching her without her knowledge. Discomfort constricted her throat.

“Cleanliness is important,” he supplied.

“Yes, I know,” she managed to get out. Working in the dining hall, she’d had plenty of instruction on cleanliness.

“You have a nice, even break.” He set the glass aside. “I heard a little about your accident from Clive Sanders.”

“Who?”

“The man who brought you in.”

“Oh.”

“He got you here before it swelled much. That was fortunate. Otherwise I’d have had to wait to put the cast on.”

“I’ll have to thank him. How long will I be like this?” she asked, dread sinking into her pores. Her disability wiped the other thoughts from her mind.

“In that cast? Several weeks at least. It will heal as good as new, I promise.”

The severity of the situation struck her full force. “But that’s impossible. I have to be at work tomorrow morning.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he countered.

“Oh, dear.”

“Is there someone to come for you? Parents? A husband?”

She shook her head.

“Where do you live? How will you get home?”

“I live in the dormitory behind the Arcade.”

“Ah. Well, I can see that you get there safely.”

Ellie’s meals and room were provided as part of her pay. What would happen if she couldn’t work? She had only small savings started toward the day when she and her brothers could live together again. Spending it on room and board until her arm healed would take it all.

Ellie closed her eyes and bolstered her purpose. She couldn’t afford to lose that money. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. The boys were depending on her to secure a place to live and bring them to Newton. She would work with one arm if she had to.

Cautiously, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and angled her hips to reach the toe of one shoe to the floor. “How much do I owe you?”

His brown-eyed glance traveled thoughtfully from her face to her arm and back again. “A dollar ought to cover the supplies and my time.”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“I can set up an account and you can pay whenever you like,” he offered.

She faced him with her chin raised. “I will pay you tomorrow.”

“That’ll be fine, Miss…” His voice trailed away, waiting for her to supply the rest.

“Parrish,” she said, turning her gaze away and using the name she’d fabricated to obtain a job. “Elianna Parrish.”

“Miss Parrish,” he said. “Clive left your bag here. I’ll carry it to the dormitory. Or I can fetch my buggy if you don’t think you can walk.”

“I can walk. Of course I can walk.” She got off the bed, but her legs were rubbery, and the motion set her arm to aching something fierce.

He must have seen the pain reflected in her face.

“I’ll leave this with you.” He took a tiny bottle of white powder from a cabinet and slipped it into the pocket of his neatly pressed shirt, drawing Ellie’s attention to the way the fine ivory fabric encased a broad chest. She looked away quickly, surprised with herself for noticing. “It’ll help you sleep tonight. Take only one teaspoonful in a glass of water every six hours.”

He picked up her shabby bag and his stylish hat and held open the door.

Ellie walked out ahead of him, gripped the wooden banister with her right hand and prided herself on limping down all the stairs without groaning aloud. Her hip hurt like the very devil, too.

The young Dr. Chaney strolled beside her, tall and lean, his boot heels thudding on the creaky boards. He greeted an occasional passerby with a courteous lift of his hat. In the fading sunlight, she sneaked a sideways glance at his profile, his warm brown hair shot with streaks of gold. Once, when he turned his face down to hers, she had a good square look into his dark-lashed brown eyes.

Finding herself in the company of a respectable and handsome man was disconcerting. If he knew who she was and where she’d come from, he wouldn’t risk being seen with her on the street. But then no one in Newton knew who she was, and she intended to keep it that way.

She pretended, for the length of time it took them to get to the hotel, that she was a young woman just like any other young woman in Kansas, and that this handsome man with the gentle caring manner and warm eyes was a friend.

She wondered what it would be like to have a friend like Dr. Chaney. Someone who’d been to college and traveled and aspired to an important profession. Someone who was smart and compassionate and smiled easily. They reached the door of the dormitory and, tight-throated, Ellie dismissed the lofty thoughts. “Thank you, Dr. Chaney. I’ll bring your payment tomorrow after I go to the bank.”

“Can I carry this bag in for you?”

“Only to the courting room. No men are allowed on the girls’ floor.”

“Okay.”

She opened the door, and he followed her down the corridor and into the room where several young women sat playing board games and entertaining guests. A few of the girls glanced up and acknowledged Ellie with wide eyes.

“What happened to your arm?” asked her roommate, Goldie Krenshaw, quickly crossing to Ellie.

The interesting cast and the handsome doctor were too much of a distraction for the others, too, and they crowded around. Ellie made quick work of the story of her misfortune, and the girls sympathized.

Diplomatically, Dr. Chaney excused himself from the bevy of chattering females. Ellie watched him leave and experienced a strange sensation akin to loss and anticipation. No one except Mrs. Conner, a schoolteacher in Florence, had ever been so kind to her, so…respectful.

Of the few Florence citizens who knew her, half looked down their noses and whispered about her. The other half pitied her. She’d rather bear scorn than pity any day.

Surprised murmurs broke out among the females, and Ellie turned to find the doctor had returned. An odd little catch tugged in her chest.

“I almost forgot.” He took her hand and pressed the bottle of medicine into her palm.

Ellie jerked back her tingling hand. “Thank you.”

He frowned. “Every six hours.”

“I remember.”

“Goodbye, then.”

“Bye.”

The looks on the other girls’ faces were far from pitying.

She was accepted here. She’d worked her way up from the pantry to the dining hall, just as they had. The Arcade hired men and women from all over. A few of her coworkers were locals, but most were from other parts of the country. Ellie had given a false name and asked a gentleman in Florence who’d known her mother to falsify references. Since she knew infinitely more about the man’s leisure activities than did his wife and neighbors, he’d complied.

Goldie carried Ellie’s bag to their room and helped her change out of her ruined traveling suit and into a flannel gown. Goldie had come from Indiana, and like many of the girls, sent much of her pay home to her family. Her fondest wish, also like most of the girls, was to meet and marry a Western man.

The two got along well because both stayed to themselves. Until Goldie became especially homesick, and then Ellie would cheer her up by popping corn and setting up the cribbage board.

This night, Goldie returned to the courting room, and though it wasn’t yet bedtime, Ellie took a spoonful of Dr. Chaney’s bitter-tasting medicine and climbed between the covers. Her trip and her accident had combined to leave her exhausted.

She turned from her side to her back and adjusted her arm in several positions until the medicine started to work and the pain turned to a dull ache. As she always did to get to sleep, she gave her mind over to thoughts of Benjamin and Flynn, and imagined what life would be like when they were all together. She’d do whatever it took to make a home and a family for them. They’d all been without love and security far too long. Ellie meant to change that. The boys deserved it. She deserved it.

She’d taken care of her brothers her whole life—diapered them as babies, cut their hair and kissed their skinned knees. She’d grown a small tobacco patch and sold cigars to the men who patronized the saloons in order to buy them food and shoes. Her brothers were as much a part of her as the grieving heart that ached in her chest at every thought of their being apart from her.

Benjamin had turned fifteen last winter—soon he’d be a man. The first thing she’d noticed when they met her at the station in Florence had been the new shirt and trousers she’d saved to buy him. Planning for the boys and providing for them eased her loneliness while they were separated.

After the state workers had discovered the three of them living in an old shack and condemned it, forcing the boys to go live with the Heaths, Benjamin at fourteen had become aloof.

Ellie never had much of an opportunity to talk to him alone. Perhaps he’d felt as helpless as she had, but he was even younger and more helpless to do anything than she to protect Flynn.

Flynn was nine, good with animals, handsome and quick to laugh…when there was something to laugh about.

Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, slid down her temples and grew cold in her hair. Flynn had always pretended hurts so he’d get hugs and kisses, then he’d break into a grin and she’d let him think she’d been fooled. This morning he’d been too self-conscious in front of the Heaths to kiss or hug her when she left. She’d climbed aboard the train with a space as big and hollow as the Santa Fe railroad’s roundhouse gaping in her heart.

Getting drowsy, Ellie took out every sweet memory she’d saved and gave them to herself now as a gift. She had to keep her memories fresh. Had to keep them vivid. There were too many ugly ones crowding in from the bleak outskirts to let the good images fade or diminish.

Ugly memories. Shameful memories. Pictures so dark and black and oppressive they could only surface at night in her sleep, when she couldn’t consciously keep them at bay.

Secrets nobody but Ellie knew.

And wished to God she didn’t.

“How’s that fine son of yours, Caleb?”

“Nate’s just fine, thank you.”

“It’s so unfortunate that your wife died so young. Such a pretty young thing, she was. And it’s so sad that the boy will grow up without a mother.”

Caleb listened to Mabel Connely’s heart for the third time in as many days, and ignored the depressing thoughts she continually rattled on about. From her two-story house on Broadway and Main and the front window of Miss Libby’s Tea Room, she made it her business to know the comings and goings of everyone in Newton. She never wasted a minute in sharing the latest bits of gossip or admonishing the citizens from her boundless perspective.

He didn’t need anyone to remind him of his situation, or that of his son, unless they had a solution. Caleb had been trying to figure out a plan for taking care of Nate for weeks.

Mabel smelled of mothballs and the garlic she’d obviously eaten for lunch; an evil combination. “Your heart sounds just fine to me, Mrs. Connely.”

“Well, it’s not, I tell you. It beats like a triphammer when I come in from hanging laundry. I have to sit on the back steps and rest in the shade. Why, your stairs out there were nearly enough to put me in my grave.” She plucked a rumpled damp hankie from the sash girding her enormous waist, and waved it beneath her bulldog chin, stirring the humid air with mothball scent. “Any doctor worth his salt would have an office on the ground floor.”

Caleb leaned back against a wooden cabinet, folded his arms across his chest and leveled his best wiser-than-his-years look on her. He had a sneaking suspicion that she’d started coming to him because she wasn’t hearing what she wanted from old Doc Thornton. She was one of only a dozen patients who’d been visiting him regularly, and he’d probably lose her business once he spoke his mind.

“I’m sure it seems that strenuous activity is putting strain on your heart,” he said.

“Land sakes, yes!” she hastened to agree. “I told Mr. Connely yesterday that I was going to need some help with housework.”

“I don’t think help with housework is the solution.”

“Why ever not?”

“It’s not the work that’s straining your heart, it’s the extra pounds you’re carrying around.”

“Why, I never!” She fanned the hankie frantically.

“You’re going to have to push away from the table a little sooner and take off that weight. Do some walking. Cut out Joe Hintz’s custard pies.”

Mabel Connely blustered, her face turning red and her posture indignant. “My mother was a large woman, Caleb Chaney.” She scolded him as though he were ten again and she’d caught him playing a Halloween prank. “We’re big-boned people.”

She hefted herself down from the examination table.

“Didn’t your mother die young, Mrs. Connely?” he asked.

“Only forty-nine.” She touched the hankie to her quivering lips. “God rest her soul.”

“All the more reason for you to take care right now and do something about your situation before it’s too late.”

“Why, that’s preposterous!”

“Not at all. A lot of health factors are passed down from our parents. Ending up overweight or with a weak heart is a chance like blue eyes or big ears.”

She snatched up her reticule and marched to the door. “Your impertinence is unbecoming, young man. Good day.”

“Come back if you’d like to discuss a menu.”

“Humph!”

She yanked open the door and Elianna Parrish, who’d been about to enter, nearly flew into the room, her good hand riveted to the doorknob. She released it quickly and caught her balance, turning to watch Mabel huff and puff down the steps.

Turning back, she cast enormous violet eyes his way, a curious expression lighting them from within. There were mysteries in those haunting eyes, a softness and a sadness that made him want to offer protection and comfort.

“A disgruntled patient,” he explained.

“Oh.” She closed the door and stood just inside. The plain brown skirt, which she wore with a crisply pressed high-collared blouse neatly tucked in, showed off her tiny waist and girlish figure. He hadn’t noticed yesterday, because she’d been wearing a jacket. And he’d concentrated on looking at her as a patient.

Today it was more difficult to see her as only a patient. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he’d walked her home and seen where she lived. Maybe because she’d flitted through his dreams last night. Maybe because his last caller had been Mabel Connely.

“How’s the arm today, Miss Parrish?”

“My fingers are black and blue,” she said, stepping forward and showing him.

The faint scents of soap and clean hair drifted to his nostrils. She wore no artificial floral or powdery smells, but her skin and clothing exuded their own pleasant feminine scent. He checked a sudden urge to place an arm around her shoulders and offer his strength. “Can you wiggle them?”

She demonstrated.

He touched her darkened knuckles gently, but she drew the hand away quickly. When he looked up, tears shone in her luminous eyes, and immediately regret pierced him. “Did I hurt you?”

She turned her face aside and shook her head. With her right hand, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a silver coin. “Your dollar.”

Caleb accepted the payment she placed in his palm without touching him. “I’ll get you a receipt.” He scribbled the amount on the pad on the counter, dropped the coin into a drawer and handed her the paper.

“Thank you. And thank you for tending my arm.”

“You’re welcome. Did the medicine help?”

She nodded.

She avoided his eyes for several seconds. He asked, “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Her mouth pressed into a firm line. She looked up, but her gaze rested on his tie, then meandered past his head to a chart on the wall. “Mr. Webb—the hotel manager—won’t let me work until the cast is off and I can carry trays.”

“I think that’s wise,” Caleb said. “You could reinjure yourself trying to do too much.”

“He’s only worried I’ll get in the way and be a nuisance. He won’t even let me help in the kitchen or pantry.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what more to say.

She took an unconscious step toward the table where he did his bookwork, and her fingers stroked the back of his wooden chair. The sight started an ache deep inside him. “I can stay two weeks without paying for my room and meals. After that I’ll have to pay, or eat and sleep somewhere else.”

“What about family?”

She angled her chin over her shoulder uncertainly.

“You said last night you had no parents, but isn’t there anyone who can help?”

She shook her head and drew her hand away from the chair.

The silver dollar in the drawer weighed on Caleb’s conscience. After her reaction to his mention of credit yesterday, he knew better than to offer to give it back to her. “I know most of the families in Newton and on the surrounding ranches,” he said. “Maybe we can find someone to take you in for a few weeks.”

“Do you think I can take the cast off sooner?”

“No.” His reply was firm. “Especially not with the type of job you do. That bone needs time to knit firmly.”

She nodded halfheartedly, as though she’d known what his reply would be, but had needed to ask anyway. For the first time, her wide violet eyes rose directly to his, and their intensity and vulnerability surprised him. Her pride held her so straight and taut, he imagined she’d snap in a stiff wind. “I won’t be a charity case. If you can find someone for me to stay with, I’ll work for them. I can do anything I’m shown how.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I’m strong, and this arm will be better soon. I heal fast. I never get sick.”

“You don’t have to sell me, Miss Parrish.”

A rose-tinged blush lent her ivory skin becoming color. “No. Of course not.”

He wanted to turn away from the instinctive desire to ease whatever pain he read in her eyes, but he couldn’t. “I’ll start inquiring today.”

She nodded and moved toward the door. “Thank you, Dr. Chaney.”

A clatter of boots pounded up the stairs and Ellie moved back out of the way just before the door flew open and a young man burst into the office. “Doc! There’s a fire out at the Bowman place! Come on!”

Chapter Two

Caleb checked his medical bag for salves and bandages, grabbed his hat from its hook and thundered out the door and down the stairs behind the fellow who had a wagon waiting on the street.

Robert Bowman had died of influenza last winter. Joanna Bowman had stayed on at the farm alone, and Caleb felt an affinity with her now, since they’d both lost their mates. Only a few weeks ago, Caleb had delivered her stillborn baby boy. How much more hardship could the woman bear?

Townsfolk were saying she’d either have to find herself a man to take over the farm or get work in town. Caleb had taken her a few supplies on his last visit.

He didn’t realize until they were almost to the Bowman property that he hadn’t excused himself from the Parrish girl before running out of his office. He hoped she’d forgive his lack of manners.

Ghostly wisps of gray smoke curled into the sky, pointing out what little remained of the charred house. The dry air carried the acrid stench of soot and ash. Held together with aged wood and dry newspaper, the structure must have gone up like kindling.

The few neighbors who had seen the smoke and come to help stood around a frighteningly limp form on the ground. Alarm knocked along Caleb’s spine. He jumped down from the wagon before it rolled to a stop and bolted toward the gathering. The men and woman parted to give him room.

Joanna lay unconscious on a soot-covered blanket, her fair lashes and eyebrows singed. Her face and hands were bright red and blistered, and her clothing had been singed.

Caleb ticked through the possibilities in his mind. She wasn’t burned that badly, but the condition of her lungs could be fatal. He bent to listen and was grateful to hear her heart beating faintly. “Who got here first?” he asked.

“We did,” Sylvia Quinn said with a tremor in her voice. “Elmer saw the smoke from our west field and we came as fast as we could. She was already out here.”

“Was she awake? Did she cough?”

“Coughed something terrible at first, the poor thing,” Mrs. Quinn said, a little sob tearing from her throat. “Like she couldn’t get any air. I didn’t know what to do for her.”

One of the other women cried softly, then turned and looked Caleb over skeptically. “Is she gonna die?”

Caleb turned Joanna on her side and pounded her back as hard as he dared. Someone behind him gasped.

Joanna coughed and gagged up black mucus. With his heart pounding frantically, he breathed a grateful sigh and eased her to her back. Efficiently squeezing ointment onto gauze pads, he covered her face and hands loosely, trying to distance himself from the patient. He worked at trying not to think of her tears the day her husband had died or of her grief when she’d seen her lifeless baby. Getting too close to his patient wouldn’t allow him the level head he needed to think and work.

“She doesn’t look good, Mrs. Douglas,” he answered finally—and frankly. “I’m going to take her back to town with me.” At the same time he tried to see Joanna Bowman as a patient who needed his medical training and his clearheaded decisions, he wondered what he would do with a patient in this serious a condition in his small, rented office.

Elmer Quinn helped Caleb lift Joanna into the back of the wagon, using the blanket as a stretcher. Caleb fought the apprehension that gripped him. What if she didn’t recover?

He looked up into pale gray eyes swimming with tears. Clella had endured many of the same hardships as Joanna. They were neighbors, friends. With a pained look of regret in her eyes, she stepped away from the wagon.

Caleb’s worried gaze took in the neighboring farmers. One by one, they turned away and started back to their homes. Resignedly, he climbed into the wagon bed and settled beside the badly injured woman.

The wagon rumbled toward town. Caleb shielded Joanna’s loosely bandaged face from the sun with a feed sack. He’d wanted to be a doctor. He’d asked for the responsibility of caring for the health and well-being of the community.

This woman depended on him, and he’d do the best he knew how to see that she pulled through. Caleb studied her still form and fought uncertainty. He’d never doctored anyone this badly burned. He wasn’t certain any treatment would help her.

So much rode on every patient he treated. If she died it would feed the mistrust the community harbored toward him. He wasn’t a miracle worker. And that was what he’d have to be to prove himself to the people of Newton.

Gazing skyward, he prayed for a miracle. What if he couldn’t save her, either?

He got help carrying Joanna up the stairs and placing her on the bed in his office. He treated the burns methodically, knowing they were not the problem. The smoke and heat she’d inhaled had damaged her lungs, and he knew of no way to correct that.

It was a blessing that she remained unconscious. Even when he pounded her back to force up the black mucus, she fortunately remained unaware. He made sure she stayed that way by giving her laudanum every few hours.

He glanced over at the cot he’d purchased and set up in case he ever needed to stay the night. It looked as if he’d be staying.

He hadn’t thought about food, about leaving, about anything except seeing to Joanna’s care since he’d brought her here, so the sound of footsteps on his stairs brought him back to reality.

The door opened, and his silver-haired mother, in one of her best dresses and hats, entered his office, a flannel-wrapped bundle in her arms.

“Mother!” he said with surprise. His father followed on her heels, a handsome figure in his fashionable serge suit.

“When you didn’t come to the ranch for Nate, I got worried,” his mother said with a frown.

“I’m sorry. There was a fire today. Joanna Bowman is here. I’ve been working on her burns and trying to make her comfortable.”

“Oh, how awful,” his mother said, clucking sympathetically.

Caleb crossed the distance and took his three-month-old son from her arms. “Hello, little man. Were you missing your daddy?”

The blue-eyed baby smiled a toothless smile. Caleb’s heart constricted with the painful reminder of his blue-eyed wife.

“We have the cattlemen’s dinner tonight, Caleb,” his father prompted from near the doorway.

“And we’re going to Florence to visit Patricia tomorrow,” his mother added. “I reminded you yesterday.”

“You did,” he agreed, “and I didn’t see a problem until this happened.”

His mother eased toward the door. “Well, it’s too late to make any other arrangements now.”

It dawned on him then that his parents intended to depart and leave Nate here with him. “Wait a minute.”

His mother brushed lint from the front of her smart jade dress. “What, darling?”

They had been nothing but helpful since Leila’s death. His mother kept Nate nearly every day while Caleb ran his practice. Their own children were grown and gone, and she’d passed middle age years ago. She and his father deserved this time to spend with each other, and with the other ranchers, to go visiting if they chose. He couldn’t bring himself to object to their leaving his own son with him.

They’d wanted him to take over the running of the ranch. All he’d ever wanted was to be able to heal people. He’d made his choice in choosing a profession that demanded his time and energy, and he had to accept the consequences.

His sister, Patricia, wanted Nate to come live with her, and she made no secret of her desire to raise him. Caleb knew the boy needed a mother. But Nate was the only part of Leila he had left, and he loved him. He couldn’t give him up. He would have to make do, no matter how difficult.

“Have a good time.” He managed a more gracious sentiment than he felt.

Three hours, four diapers and a regurgitated bottle of goat’s milk later, he placed the sleeping Nate on the cot and checked on Joanna. She had a fever and her breathing was so shallow he had to check her pulse to assure himself she still lived. He cleaned and rebandaged her burns and, with stoical persistence, succeeded in getting some water through her blistered lips and down her throat.

He’d never spent a longer night than the one that followed.

The next afternoon, Ellie climbed the stairs to Dr. Chaney’s office. That noon in the hotel kitchen, she’d heard the talk spreading through Newton that the young doc had a seriously injured patient to tend. Skeptics were taking bets on how long the woman could hang on. The doctor wouldn’t have had any time to inquire about a job for Ellie, so she’d decided to pay him a call and see if he could direct her somewhere. Perhaps he’d need some help himself today.

She knocked on the door and waited. It opened a moment later. The rumpled young doctor stood before her wearing the same clothing he’d worn the day before. His cheeks showed a day’s growth of reddish brown stubble, and his hair looked as though he’d run his fingers through it in lieu of a brush.

But more startling than the abrupt change from his previously impeccable appearance was the infant cradled in the crook of his white-sleeved arm. Her curiosity at the flannel-wrapped baby wasn’t easy to hide.

Ellie stared at the tall, dark-haired doctor and the rosy-cheeked baby who frowned owlishly and blinked back, a glistening drop hanging from his lower lip.

“Miss Parrish,” the doctor said, stepping back. “Is your arm all right?”

“Well, it’s still broken. But it’s no worse.” She glanced around, noting the curtained-off section she knew hid the bed, amazed that his first thought had been concern for her. “How’s your patient?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, demonstrating how he had achieved its disheveled appearance. “Not good.”

She could plainly see how difficult this was for him. “I’m sorry.”

He took note of her expression and nodded. “I apologize for running out yesterday. I didn’t realize until later that I hadn’t excused myself or even said a word to you.”

“You had to think of the supplies you needed. I didn’t think a thing of it, honestly. I appreciated the way you took care of me right away. I’m sure your other patients do, too.”

He made no comment, probably wondering why she’d come.

“I came to offer help.”

He stared at her curiously, and she wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. She hadn’t meant to offend him.

“I heard about your patient. I can’t work at the hotel, as you know, and I didn’t have anything to do. I thought perhaps…” The thought faded away. Coming here had been a foolish thing to do. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She turned toward the door.

“No, wait!”

Slowly, she turned back.

“I do need help.”

Ellie’s gaze swept the healthy-looking infant. He had wispy dark hair and a cherubic pink mouth and darling nose. He leaned back in the crook of the doctor’s arm and stared up at his father, his eyelids growing heavy.

“I forgot to make arrangements for Nate while my parents went out of town. Do you know anything about babies?”

The child’s eyes had closed, his lashes lying against his rosy cheeks. His relaxed fists lay nearly touching his ears. Her heart contracted. Against her will, she thought of other babies, remembered cries and curses and the sick, indescribable, suffocating feeling of being a part of something unspeakable…and the terror of being helpless.

A wave of shame gripped Ellie’s vitals for a full thirty seconds, and she feared she’d either cry or throw up. Pain so great she worried she’d never be able to keep it buried rose in her heart and squeezed the breath from her.

Immediately, she dropped her gaze to the floor and willed her emotions into control. She could never let anyone see she carried a burden so dark and ugly there was no hope for it.

“Miss Parrish?”

She had a purpose, and she was a strong person, not given to fits of emotion or moved by attacks of regret.

“Miss Parrish?”

Miss “Parrish” was a continual reminder to her that she wasn’t who he thought she was.

“You can call me Ellie.” Even her voice was strong.

“Okay…Ellie.”

Her real name on his lips made her heart catch oddly, and she tamped down her reaction. She raised her gaze to his warm brown eyes and hated the flutter in her chest.

“Could you take care of Nate for a few days…maybe a few weeks?” he asked.

Ellie glanced from his earnest face to the baby and back, wondering with a little jolt of apprehension where his line of thinking was headed.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he said. “Joanna requires all my attention right now. And with Nate…well, I can’t neglect either one.”

Ellie nodded, whether in understanding or in recognition of what was coming, she didn’t know.

“I’d be willing to pay for your services while you’re unable to work in the dining hall. It doesn’t take a whole lot of experience to learn to change and feed him. And if you should have any problems, I can help you.”

Experience? Ellie’d had enough experience taking care of babies and children to last her a lifetime. She hadn’t planned to do it again. Ever.

“He’s not heavy. I’m sure you can manage with one arm.”

She could do it blindfolded with one arm, Ellie thought, not too graciously. “I don’t know, Dr.—”

“I’ll pay you. Whatever you were making at the Arcade. More. You can work for me until your arm is healed and you’re able to go back to work.”

Exactly the opportunity she needed. But not the job she’d hoped for. Ellie made the crucial mistake of letting herself look at the baby again. His bow-shaped mouth made tiny sucking motions. So helpless. So small and yet so demanding. Dr. Chaney wouldn’t ask this if he knew her. He wouldn’t ask if he knew her family. He wouldn’t ask if he knew about another defenseless little baby….

The doctor sat tiredly on his desk chair then, shifting the infant to his lap so that his head lay cradled in the man’s huge palm. The tenderness in that movement, in the way he looked down at his son, shot something raw and painful through Ellie’s chest. Neither of her brothers had ever had an adult concerned for their well-being.

He looked up. “Am I expecting too much?” he asked. “It’s a lot to ask to care for a stranger’s child—”

“No,” she replied, cutting him off. “I can handle him.” Her mind raced with questions. “I don’t know about doing his laundry,” she thought aloud, glancing at her bruised fingers.

“I send the laundry out,” he said simply.

“Oh.”

“I’ll get you a room at the boardinghouse for the time being,” he said. “Since you can’t stay in the dormitory while you aren’t working at the hotel. All his things are at my house, and I keep a goat for his milk. You can stay there with him during the day—well you’ll probably have to stay there until Joanna…until this situation is resolved.”

She nodded, not willing to question this stroke of luck. Not only would this situation relieve her of having to pay for her room and board after next week, but she would make additional money in the meantime! Ellie didn’t see how she could turn down such a proposal. She made up her mind with a new spark of determination. “I’ll take care of him until my arm is healed and I can go back to the dining hall.”

The infant roused and puckered his forehead in a scowl. He found his fist and noisily sucked on his knuckles.

“Looks like he’s hungry—again,” the doctor said. “I’ll run over to Mrs. Ned’s and rent you a room. Her place is clean. Do you have much to move over there?”

She shook her head.

He stood and crossed the room. “Here’s a bottle for him.”

Ellie stood, unprepared to be left alone with Nate so soon. She glanced from the doctor’s somewhat relieved expression to the baby, whose face was rapidly growing red. She hoped he was hungry and that his displeasure wasn’t an indication of her new charge’s temperament.

What had she gotten herself into? She didn’t even want children of her own; caring for someone else’s was bound to wear her down. “I can go to my room later and pack a bag,” she said in acquiescence.

“You can do that after he’s fed and I get back,” he said matter-of-factly, rising with the baby. She expected him to drop the baby into her arm now that she’d agreed to the task, and prepared herself, but he seemed inclined to keep him cradled against his chest. “Can you make a list for me to drop off at the mercantile? I’ll have the things you need delivered.”

She nodded. Ellie had never met a man like Dr. Chaney. Yes, he had the gentle, caring bedside manner one would hope for in a doctor, but he also showed an even, good-natured temperament and was the most agreeable man she’d ever known in her limited, but jaded experience.

Dr. Chaney finally handed her Nate. His minimal weight rested comfortably against her breast, and she looked down into his tiny innocent features. Nothing in the world compared to the delicate feel and smell of a baby. Against her will, against everything she’d told herself and believed, something inside her instinctively softened and stretched toward the infant she cradled. Tears stung her throat and she had to clamp her lips in a tight line to keep them from quivering.

Blinking rapidly, she followed the doctor to the door, experiencing a moment of panic.

“I’ll be right back with a room key,” he said. “I doubt that Joanna will even make a move or a sound. She’s resting as comfortably as I can make her right now.”

Ellie met his eyes. He’d be right back. All she had to do was give Nate a bottle during his absence. She nodded with more confidence than she felt.

He left, closing the door behind him.

Ellie looked down into the baby’s trusting blue eyes. Her lack of confidence wasn’t in her ability to meet Nate’s needs. Far from that. She didn’t doubt she could take care of him properly. This baby would flourish under her care. The only one at risk here was Ellie herself. She reinforced the chinks in her armor with a deep breath.

Against her better judgment, she slowly raised him, slowly lowered her face to Nate’s downy head, and with her heart beating in her throat, breathed in the unique smell of him.

Her eyes closed, and a deep-seated, never-forgotten ache blossomed afresh in her heart.

What had she done?

Chapter Three

Just as the doctor had predicted, the badly injured woman never moved. In the silence, Nate sucked his fist noisily. Ellie warmed him a bottle, propped him on a table with a blanket at his back and fed him, gazing into his trusting blue eyes.

Though he was a healthier and sturdier infant than she had ever held and fed, he was still so helpless, so defenseless and completely reliant on someone to love and care for him. That utter dependence frightened Ellie, who’d seen and experienced things no child ever should. Things no adult ever should.

She studied his chubby cheeks and the creases at his wrists and elbows, comparing him to the scrawny babies her siblings had been. Resentment built in her anew, but she banished it with the discipline she’d established to retain her sanity.

Nate might be well-fed and clothed, but he’d lost a mother, she reminded herself.

“I’m sorry about your mama, little fellow,” she said with a catch in her chest. “If she’d lived…I wonder if she would have loved you. I wonder if she would have sung lullabies and held you close.”

One corner of the infant’s wet mouth released the rubber nipple and quirked into a smile. Her heart softened. He made a gurgling sound and reached for her face. Ellie slipped a finger into his fist and he clung tightly. Tears burned behind her eyes.

She remembered Benjamin as a baby…Flynn…a sister once, too. The child had been born after Benjamin, had slept beside Ellie on a pile of rags on the floor. A cold winter and lack of food had exposed them all to sickness, and the baby girl hadn’t been strong enough to survive.

Ellie had often wondered, sometimes raged at a questionable God for allowing babies to be born to people who didn’t want them, who didn’t love them or take care of them.

Nate finished the bottle, and she carried him to a chair and sat him up in her lap. He leaned against her breast contentedly, and she supported his back with her cast. She recalled nights of listening to her brothers’ bellies growl with hunger while she ignored the gnawing, hollow ache in hers. Here was a child who would never have to experience hunger or neglect. Ellie envied him. She rejoiced for him. He burped and she chuckled.

Dr. Chaney arrived, out of breath and looking more tired than ever. He held out a key, but her good arm was filled with his son, so he placed it on the nearby desk. “Your room is on the second floor at Mrs. Ned’s boardinghouse. Do you know where that is?”

She shook her head.

“It’s just across from the park on Broadway.”

“I can find it.”

“We’ll have to arrange for someone to help you carry your things over. How is Joanna?”

“She didn’t make a sound. I checked on her a couple of times, but I didn’t know what to do for her.”

“She’s sedated.” He moved to the other end of the room to check on the motionless figure. “I’ve done everything that can be done.” He glanced back at Ellie. “I suppose we should get some dinner.”

“Dr. Chaney—” Ellie began.

“Caleb, please.”

She stood and carried the baby to the end of the cot where the woman lay, frightfully still and silent. “Why don’t I just go ahead and take Nate to your house? I can stay with him until you come home—whenever that is. It will be one less thing for you to worry over. I promise you he’ll be safe with me.”

He studied Ellie briefly, and a frown crossed his weary features. Was he having second thoughts about her? She swallowed against the fear that he would change his mind. “Have you eaten?” he asked.

His words eased her worry and amazed her. His thoughtfulness in the midst of his weighty problems caught her by surprise. She had to gather her thoughts. “I—I’ll stop and get something on my way and I’ll have something sent for you,” she said at last.

He nodded gratefully. “Thank you. It would be a relief for me to think of nothing but taking care of my patient. I have no idea when I’ll be able to leave here. If you should need anything, I have accounts at Swensen’s Grocery, Hintz’s Bakery and Dymond and Arnold’s Drugstore. There is food in the pantry. A young fellow delivers ice each morning.” He studied his son, then glanced back at Ellie. “Do you know how to milk a goat?”

“I’ll manage it.” She’d milked cows and goats in the dark of night, stealing milk for her brothers.

He reached into his pocket and brought out a leather thong, slipping off another key. He went for the one he’d placed on the table, used his strip of leather to tie them together, and handed them to her.

“Head north up Main Street. When you get to Seventh, it’s the third house to the east, on the north side of the street. Mrs. McKinley is my neighbor, and she’ll help you if you need anything.”

His fingertips brushed her palm as he placed the keys in her hand. She wrapped her fingers around the keys and stepped away quickly. “We’ll be just fine.”

“Thank you, Ellie.”

She lowered her gaze from his uncomfortably. “You’re welcome.”

He packed a few things into a bag. She slung it over her shoulder and tucked the keys safely in her reticule. He took Nate from her and hugged him gently.

The vision of the tall, strong man embracing the baby with such tenderness affected Ellie in a disturbing manner she couldn’t have explained. For one thing she’d never seen a man show affection for a child before. And for another, the only treatment she’d ever received from the male gender ranged from indifference to cruelty.

His enormous palm swallowed Nate’s fuzzy head and he pressed his lips to the boy’s hair.

Ellie’s stomach quivered.

He raised his gaze and met hers.

Her heart skipped a series of beats and her breath caught. Embarrassment blistered her cheeks.

Studying her openly, he handed Nate back. Ellie carefully avoided the doctor’s eyes.

“Wait a minute,” he said.

Her heart thudded uncomfortably.

He opened a cupboard and produced a cap, which he tied on Nate’s head while Ellie studied the wall. He was so close, she could smell the outdoor scent of his hair and the medicine he’d been using on his patient.

“There,” he said. His voice startled her, and she felt foolish.

She turned to the door quickly and carried the baby down the outside stairs. Nate squinted at the sky from beneath the hat’s brim.

Relief flooded Ellie. Her plan to get away from the office and the doctor had been successful. She’d worked with the hotel manager and several of the male kitchen helpers at the Arcade, but she hadn’t been in closed quarters with them, nor had she suffered their company without others present.

“Well, let’s get your father some food and then find your house,” she said and set off at a brisk pace. At the Arcade, she ordered a meal sent to the doctor’s office, then continued on her way.

The third house on Seventh Street was a lovely two-story, the open shutters and the front door painted a fresh bright green against whitewashed siding. Fragrant red roses climbed an arbor trellis that arched above the gate Ellie passed through. Did this grand house really belong to the young doctor?

She approached slowly, climbing the porch stairs while glancing about. She fitted the key in the lock and the door opened silently. The scent of beeswax drifted to her. The dim, cool interior beckoned. Ellie stepped into the foyer.

She’d never felt so out of place. She couldn’t remember ever being in a house this grand. The only home she’d ever visited had been the Heaths’ rustic farmhouse, and she’d never been invited past the kitchen.

A small foyer held a highly polished piece of walnut furniture that served as a bench, mirror and hat rack. Ellie blinked at her reflection holding Nate, feeling as though she had entered a castle.

On a desk inside the next room she noted a scattering of envelopes addressed to Dr. Chaney, which confirmed that this was the right place.

Upholstered furniture had been grouped around a brick fireplace, and the flower-papered walls were lined with shelves of books. In awe, Ellie studied the titles on the spines. She’d been in the library in Florence, but she hadn’t known people actually owned so many books.

Perhaps if she was very careful with them and had all of her other chores done, Dr. Chaney wouldn’t mind terribly if she sat in here and read some of his books.

In the kitchen, she admired the nearly new cast-iron stove with a well for water and a shiny copper kettle atop a burner. On another wall, an enamel pan beneath a pump held unwashed dishes. Ellie placed Nate on a braided rug long enough to raise the pump handle a few times. She stared in amazement at the burst of water that gurgled and spurted across the soiled plates and pans.

The only indoor pump she’d seen had been in the hotel. What lavishness! The doctor must be wealthy beyond imagination!

An oak chest with heavy steel hinges caught her attention next. She opened the latch and cool air drifted across her midsection and up her face! Ellie reached in and touched the ready supply of butter and milk, finding them surprisingly cold. Amazed, she closed the door securely.

She picked up Nate and investigated a well-stocked pantry, a dining room without furniture, and then, with her shoulders and good arm aching, she made her way up the open front staircase.

Caleb’s bedroom was easy to find. A simple brass headboard stood against the wall, a faded quilt adorning the unmade bed, which had huge coil springs and a thick mattress. A hat and jacket hung on wall hooks, and a new black leather satchel sat against a wall.

Ellie spotted the cradle and walked toward it. The massive head-and footboards were carved with chains of spiraling ivy. Ellie studied the masterfully crafted wood.

“My goodness, Nate. You must sleep like a prince in this cradle.” She placed him in his cradle, noting his damp clothing, and stretched her aching back and arm. “We’d better find you some dry clothes.”

A nearby chest of drawers held crisply starched shirts and celluloid collars. Ellie shut the drawer quickly and opened another. To her relief, she found a pile of delicately embroidered garments with neatly pressed hems and ribbons. “You even dress like a prince,” she said. “Prince Nate. Is your name Nathan? Nathaniel? I’ll bet it’s Nathaniel.” Getting his clothing off with one hand wasn’t too difficult, but it took some maneuvering to fasten the pins and get his flailing arms into sleeves.

He gurgled cheerfully throughout the process, and Ellie had to grin. She was grateful when he fell asleep, and she could explore the rest of the house. Washing the dishes was a challenge, but pumping the water right there was such a luxury that she heated water both for washing and rinsing and had the job done quickly. By the time she’d set the spacious kitchen straight and carried in more wood for the stove, Nate was awake and howling.

She changed and fed him, then tugged a rocking chair out onto the porch where she sat and rocked him. She would get herself something to eat soon. The sweet scent of roses wafted across the porch, and Ellie closed her eyes and listened to the birds in the hedge and the sound of the train in the distance.

At the Arcade, the girls would be setting up for the arriving passengers, and the overbearing kitchen manager would be shouting directions and criticizing the table settings. Ellie felt as though she’d been given a lovely gift by being able to enjoy the evening, sitting here and resting. Yesterday her broken arm had been the worst thing that could’ve happened…today, well today it almost seemed like a favor—as long she ignored the dull throb.

Maybe this wasn’t going to turn out so badly after all. As long as she could keep her distance from the man who had hired her, everything was going to work out just fine. She and Nate were going to get along fabulously.

More tired and discouraged than he’d ever been in his life, Caleb made arrangements with the undertaker and waited for the man to come for Joanna’s body.

Three days. And during that time he’d never really had any hope. In his heart he knew no doctor could have saved her. She’d been too far gone. But he’d dreaded her death, not only because of the loss of a life, but more selfishly, because of the reaction of the townspeople.

Dr. Chaney had lost another patient.

After Joanna was gone, he wiped all the surfaces with disinfectant, cleaned his instruments, stripped the bed and carried the huge pile of laundry down the block.

Wearily, he walked home, regret and frustration churning in the pit of his hungry belly. Doctors couldn’t save all their patients. People died; it was a fact of life. His treatment hadn’t killed her. He had eased her suffering and made her death merciful, but he drew no comfort from those facts.

Fresh guilt ate at his already depleted conscience. He hadn’t seen his son for three days. Caleb glanced up at his house.

The brick walkway and stairs had been recently swept. The front door stood open to the late afternoon breeze, and through the screen wafted the smell of freshly baked bread. His mouth watered and his stomach growled.

An odd, welcoming feeling settled around him. For months he’d come home to a closed and empty house; this was the first time since he’d bought the place that it seemed as if someone lived here.

He entered the foyer and listened to the unfamiliar, but welcome sounds of habitation. A feminine voice beckoned him to the kitchen.

“Hello?” he called.

Ellie glanced over, her wide gaze startled, and recognition flared. “Dr. Chaney!”

Nate had been tied into the wooden high chair with a white dish towel, and the girl was standing on a chair, wiping the fronts of the cupboards.

When he saw Caleb, his son grinned and banged his palms against the wooden tray.

Immediately Caleb untied the knot that held him and raised the baby into his arms. He smelled good—healthy, like milk and baby and life. Caleb kissed his head and laid his cheek against Nate’s soft hair, regretting the time spent apart. Nate needed parents. For the thousandth time, he suffered distressing thoughts of this precious boy living day after day without a mother.

“Your—your patient?” Ellie asked, carefully climbing down from the chair.

Caleb carried Nate to the open back door and gazed out across the lawn. Soon everyone would know. “She died this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Me, too.”

“I baked bread,” she said. “And there’s ham.”

“That sounds good.” He kissed Nate again, placed him back in his chair and got the ham from the icebox.

“Let me do that for you,” she said, bringing a loaf of bread to the table.

“Which one of us has two good arms?” he asked, and sliced a hunk of ham.

She backed away, and he felt her watching him fix his meal. It seemed strange to have her there, in his house, in his kitchen, but her presence was comforting, especially knowing that he needed to sleep and that she’d be here for Nate. Nate looked fed and happy. She’d obviously been managing quite well.

“Have you had any problems?” he asked, sitting and biting into the sandwich he’d made.

“Not really,” she said.

“You milked the goat with one hand?”

She nodded.

Her puzzling yet appealing combination of strength and vulnerability intrigued him. That couldn’t have been easy. “The place looks cleaner than I left it,” he said. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Nate’s not very demanding,” she replied, turning and rinsing out the rag she’d been using. “I’ve had more time than I’m used to.”

“How long have you been at the Arcade?”

“Only a few months.”

“What did you do before that?”

She hung the cloth over a wooden rack to dry. “I—um—I worked in Florence.”

“Doing what?”

“The same things I’m doing now.”

Did she have a hotel job there? he wondered. He realized he was wolfing down his food and paused.

“Would you like a bath?” she asked.

Caleb glanced down at his rumpled clothing. He had changed his shirt once, but other than that he’d only washed his hands and face. She’d obviously noticed. “I would love a bath.”

Immediately she started pumping water.

“You can’t lift that,” he said, getting up but not wanting to step too close to her in case he smelled as bad as he felt. She had a kettle nearly full.

“I can as long as I don’t get it too heavy,” she replied, and moved it to the stove.

He sat back down and watched her heat the water and pump more. He carried the full pails and dumped them into the metal tub on the enclosed back porch. Each time he came for the water, she stepped well away from him and waited for him to perform the task. Once she had the kettle boiling, he carried that, too.

“This is warm enough,” he said. “Just enough to take the chill off.”

She backed away. “I’ll take Nate for a walk.”

“There’s a pram in the carriage house,” he told her. “The key’s on the peg by the door here.” He pointed.

Deliberately walking around him, Ellie took the key and removed her apron as she approached Nate. He must really smell bad, Caleb thought sheepishly.

She left and he collected toweling and a slab of soap and removed his clothing. The water felt wonderful to his tired body. He soaked and concentrated on relaxing his muscles and not thinking about the past few days. He’d done his best, and he would have to take satisfaction in that. There was nothing more he could have done. Nothing anyone could have done. If only his best had been enough.

Ellie pushed Nate in his handsome black baby carriage, chastising herself. It had never crossed her mind, after the day she brought Nate to the house, that the doctor would have little opportunity to leave his office even long enough to eat or order food. She hadn’t considered his situation, and she now regretted her lack of concern. She should have seen that he had meals sent regularly. She should have taken him clean clothing.

The late afternoon breeze grew cool. As Ellie strolled, she turned her thoughts to familiarizing herself with the nearby streets and homes.

Nate fell asleep and she grew tired, as well. She pushed him home. A woman waved from the porch next door and Ellie waved back hesitantly before maneuvering the pram up the porch stairs backward and entering the silent house. She stopped and listened.

The doctor must have gone up to bed. She’d taken the liberty of moving Nate’s cradle into a bedroom with her the first night. Dr. Chaney would have an uninterrupted sleep.

First, she’d see to dumping the tub of water. She’d done it for herself the night before, so she knew she could handle it. She left the baby sleeping in his pram in the hallway, and hurried through the kitchen.

Ellie stepped onto the back porch and drew up short, her breath catching in her chest. Dr. Chaney lay fast asleep in what had to be cold water, his dark hair washed and air-dried in dishevelment, his chest and shoulders bare above the rim of the metal tub.

Ellie stumbled back into the kitchen and flattened herself against the wall, her heart pounding, embarrassment warming her face and neck. She took several calming breaths and considered what to do.

She couldn’t leave him there, could she? How could she go about her evening knowing there was a naked man in the tub? Would he catch cold? She should do something, she was sure. But what?

“Dr.—” she began, but her voice didn’t work. “Dr. Chaney?” she called tentatively. No response. “Dr. Chaney?” Louder that time.

“M-m-what?” he replied, his voice low.

“Sir, I think you’d better get out of the tub and dry off. It’s late.”

Water splashed.

Ellie jumped away from the doorway.

“Oh, my!” He groaned, and water splashed again.

Ellie’s heart pounded and she dashed to the hallway, pushed Nate’s pram into the parlor and closed the doors. She perched on one of the wing chairs, pressed her right hand to her hot cheek and glanced around.

Good Lord, she’d walked in on the doctor in his bath! He hadn’t known she’d looked upon him, but she knew it! Would he figure it out? Would he realize she’d hurried back there and seen him? How would she face him again?

She glanced around, working to still the panic in her chest and distract her thoughts. Her gaze caught on the volumes on the shelves. She still hadn’t read one of the doctor’s books.

Ellie concentrated on standing and walking. Blindly selecting a heavy book, she carried it to the cushioned window seat and settled it in her lap.

She drew a deep breath and opened the cover. A line drawing of a man’s bare chest and muscled upper arm sprang out at her. There were words on the page, too, but her already befuddled mind closed in on the drawing. It looked very much like the doctor’s chest, but this flat black-and-white drawing held none of the life or dimension his had. In reality the skin was sleek and smooth and appealing, with intriguing shadows and…

Ellie slammed the book shut.

Gray’s Anatomy.

She practically ran back to the shelf to replace the book. The image was burned on her mind forever. Covering her face with her hands, she could still see his supple skin and muscled shoulders. Concentrate, she told herself.

This time, she focused on studying the titles and, finding one that seemed innocuous enough, she settled down to read.

There were no pictures, and the story was about a man who took a voyage on a whaling vessel. After a time she lit a lamp and curled up in one of the comfortable upholstered chairs. She’d been reading for hours by the time she looked up and realized how late it had grown.

She used the privy and closed up the house. The doctor had dumped the bathing tub, and it stood upended beside the back door. Avoiding thoughts of him, she fed Nate, then carried him upstairs to his cradle. Once he was settled for the night, she changed into her nightgown.

There was no lock on the door, so as she’d done the previous nights, she dragged a straight-backed chair from the corner and wedged it beneath the knob.

Ellie climbed into the bed and pulled the sheet up to her neck. A bed. Sheets. Regular meals. Water and soap and books. Numerous things she would never take for granted. They were worth the anxiety produced by having a man so near. Weren’t they?

It was just this one night that she had to stay near him. After this she’d sleep in the room he’d rented, but for now there was no choice. The doctor was too tired to care for Nate if he should wake tonight. Ellie had everything under control. And she had nothing to fear from Dr. Chaney. She was earning her pay by caring for Nate.

The baby woke once as he had the previous nights, and Ellie carried him down to the kitchen to prepare him a bottle. She had to lay him on the rug while she lit the lamp, and he cried in earnest. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, coming back to bend and rub his tummy. “I’ll pick you up as soon as I get your bottle ready.”

“I’ll take him.”

Ellie’s heart flew up into her throat at the voice behind her. She let out a startled cry and straightened.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the doctor said, moving closer.

Ellie backed away, and his dark gaze followed her. Wearing a full-length shiny dark robe that was belted at his waist, he picked up his son and looked at her with his forehead creasing in puzzlement. “Go ahead,” he said. “Prepare the bottle while I hold him.”

Ellie jerked herself into action, stoking the fire and warming milk with trembling fingers.

“Do you want me to take him?” she asked.

“I’ll feed him. You go back to bed.”

She placed the bottle on the table, rather than hand it to him. “His cradle is in the room I’m using.”

“He can sleep with me until morning.”

She nodded and moved to leave.

“Thank you, Ellie.”

She paused in the doorway.

“Not just for this,” he said from behind her. “But for every day since the fire.”

“I—I haven’t done much really.”

“You’ve given me peace of mind where my son is concerned. That’s a lot in my book.”

“Well…” She wasn’t sure how to respond. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had thanked her. “You’re welcome, I guess.” But she felt as if she was the one who should be thanking him. She’d been on the edge of hunger and homelessness again, until he’d offered a solution.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said.

Talk about what? She ran upstairs and barricaded the bedroom door, sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark.

Ellie glanced at the empty cradle in the darkness, finding she missed Nate’s company.

She sat for several minutes trying to remember for sure how old she was. She was certainly old enough to handle her life and have a conversation with a man. She wasn’t a helpless child any longer. She wasn’t a young girl with no means to help or protect herself.

She was an adult. And as an adult she could work and provide for herself and make choices about her life. And she’d made plenty of choices. She chose not to enslave herself to a man. She chose not to bring any more defenseless children into the world. She chose to earn a clean, honest living and make a way to provide a home for her brothers. She had decided that long ago and nothing was going to get in her way.

If fate had thrown a curve at her with this broken arm, she’d just have to make the best of it and turn it into something she could use to her advantage. And that was exactly what she was doing.

Dr. Chaney was paying her more than she’d made at the Arcade. And the work was infinitely easier and her sleeping area private.

Ellie could put up with a lot to earn these wages and make some progress toward her goal.

What she couldn’t do was allow herself to do anything reckless or impulsive, like trust this caring man or accidentally answer any of his innocent questions about her past. It would be easy to become comfortable here, to allow a seed of hope to bloom in her heart. Her only hope lay in keeping her secrets and guarding her carefully tended barriers.

Her future, and that of her brothers, depended on it.

Chapter Four

Ellie woke with a start. Sunlight streamed through the crack in the rose-patterned curtains and warmed the mattress where she lay. She leaped from the bed, glanced at the chair still beneath the doorknob and awkwardly washed with the tepid water in the basin. She had to face her employer this morning…after seeing him in his bath the night before.

She dressed in a plain navy skirt and white shirtwaist, and pulled on her serviceable black boots. She concentrated on admiring the smooth, well-polished leather. They were the first pair of shoes she’d ever worn that hadn’t belonged to someone else first, and she never got dressed in the morning without being thankful for her job at the Arcade. The pay afforded her personal effects she’d never before owned.

She’d worn a threadbare gray union suit beneath her clothing until she was thirteen, when it had become too small. After Ellie had gone without for a week, her mother had begrudgingly released an old pair of drawers and a chemise.

Sometimes the church ladies had given her and her brothers cast-off clothing and occasionally someone anonymously left a bag at their door. Nobody seemed to think of stockings, however, and she’d worn men’s socks most of her life.

She’d had a new dress once, but she couldn’t even think about that dress without the nightmares returning.

Ellie struggled one-handedly with her bootlaces, finally tucking the loose ties into themselves, and scolded herself for wallowing in bleak memories when she’d already slept too late.

She wrapped her hair into a knot and secured it in the less than tidy fashion she’d made do with since her accident. The mirror reflected a young woman she barely knew. The new Ellie.

A phony.

The real Ellie was still in there. Still as frightened and alone as ever. But she was no longer weak, and she would never be weak again.

She removed the chair and hurried out the door and down the stairs. The smell of coffee wrapped her in its welcoming morning cloak, and Ellie hurried to the kitchen.

He was seated at the table, a cup of coffee and an empty plate before him. “Morning, Ellie.”

Nate was secured in the high chair, and she observed the streak of syrup that had crusted in the front of his hair. “Morning.”

“We’ve already eaten,” he said unnecessarily. “There are buckwheat cakes in the oven.”

That was surprising considering the amount on Nate and the floor.

Dr. Chaney raised a brow at her expression and, after glancing at his son, grinned and brushed at the sticky syrup. “He grabs at every bite.”

Warmth crept up her cheeks. Their conversation seemed so normal. Was it possible he didn’t realize she’d seen him in the tub? She took a few cakes and found a fork. “I know. I give him something to hold while I feed him.”

“That’s very clever,” the doctor said appreciatively.

She shrugged and took a seat at the other end of the table, stealing a glance at him in his fresh white shirt and string tie. She could forget. She was good at that.

A lovely resonating chime sounded, startling Ellie into dropping her spoon.

Caleb glanced at her and stood. “I’ll get it.”

Get what? She watched him leave the room and hurry toward the front of the house.

Voices accompanied his when he returned a minute later.

A tall, brown-haired man and an elegantly dressed matronly woman preceded him into the kitchen.

Ellie folded her hands in her lap.

The couple studied her curiously. She knew her clothes were nice, and she had taken care with her hair. There was no reason for the sense of inadequacy and shame that flooded her, but the feelings were strong and never far from the surface.

“Ellie, these are my parents. Mother and Father, this is Ellie Parrish. She’s Nate’s new caretaker.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Ellie said, standing and feeling out of place.

“You’ve found someone to stay with Nate?” the woman asked, looking Ellie over. “You haven’t been out to the ranch all week.”

“I was taking care of my patient, Mother. Remember the woman who was burned?”

“Yes, we heard she’d died,” the gentleman said, and then to his credit, he cast his son a sympathetic look.

The woman moved over to Nate’s high chair. “Hello, sweetheart. Have you missed Grandmama? Goodness, whatever is on this child’s head?”

“Just a little syrup,” Caleb replied.

Ellie hurried for a rag to wash the baby, and the woman reached to take it from her. “I’ll do it.”

Ellie stepped back and watched. The woman obviously thought Ellie was incapable of caring properly for her grandchild.

“Miss Parrish, you haven’t touched your breakfast,” Caleb said, addressing her more formally in front of his parents. “Please sit and eat.”

Keeping her gaze lowered, she returned to her chair and picked up the fork.

The doctor poured coffee for his parents. Some stilted conversation about Nate and the weather followed.

“Where are you from, Miss Parrish?” Caleb’s mother asked finally.

“I worked at the Arcade Hotel until I broke my arm,” she replied and took a bite.

“I see,” the woman said, though her tone revealed she didn’t. “Do your parents live nearby?”

The pancake tasted like paste. She swallowed. “No. My parents are gone.”

Could be true for all she knew. Her mother was dead, for a fact. Her father might as well have been, if he wasn’t. She’d never known him. If he’d been anything like Ben’s and Flynn’s fathers or any of her mother’s other nighttime callers, she wouldn’t have wanted to, either.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Mrs. Chaney said politely, her curiosity obviously unsatisfied. She was too polite to pry any further, however, for which Ellie was exceedingly grateful.

The woman turned her attention to Nate while Caleb started a conversation with his father.

When she was sure her observation wouldn’t be noticed, Ellie studied the couple. Mrs. Chaney laughed at something her husband said, touching his arm in a familiar gesture.

He gave her a warm look Ellie couldn’t quite interpret.

She had noticed couples in the Arcade’s dining hall who interacted with each other in this manner. And she’d wondered if it was superficial…if, in the privacy of their homes, they cursed and fought. When he scowled at something she said, Caleb’s mother didn’t appear afraid of her husband. She laughed and poked a finger in his broad chest. He was a big man. As tall and broad-shouldered as his son. As capable of overpowering or hurting a woman.

The air caught in Ellie’s throat.

She forced herself to breathe evenly.

Caleb’s father didn’t look the least bit angry. In fact, the look in his blue eyes when he took his wife’s hand was tender, reaching a vulnerable spot inside Ellie.

She looked back at her plate and ordered her thoughts back into line. She made it a habit to keep her feelings neutral.

“Will you come for dinner tonight?” Mrs. Chaney asked her son. “Miss Parrish may join us.”

Ellie raised her gaze to the woman’s questioning face. “Oh, oh, no, I—”

“We really need to get Miss Parrish settled in her room at the boardinghouse,” Caleb said, coming to her rescue.

“Sunday then,” Mrs. Chaney said. “You have no excuse for not coming to Sunday dinner.”

“Of course,” he replied. “What would I do on a Sunday if I didn’t come out to the ranch? You can ride with us,” Caleb said, turning to Ellie. “You’ll enjoy it. Mother has a wonderful cook.”

Goodness, the woman employed a cook?

“It’s settled,” Caleb said with finality. “We’ll be there.”

“See you then, darling,” Mrs. Chaney said to Nate and kissed his head.

Mr. Chaney nodded politely at Ellie, and she gave him a hesitant smile. Caleb walked his parents to the door.

Whatever would she do? She didn’t know the least thing about how to behave at dinner in someone’s home. Would one of her work skirts be appropriate?

“You two have an enjoyable day,” Caleb said, returning from seeing his parents off and kissing his son. “I’ll see you around five, unless I have an emergency.”

Ellie nodded mutely and watched him leave.

Nate was due for a bath, so she warmed water and washed him in the enamel basin. He loved it, kicking and waving his arms until she was soaked. The entire time she dressed him and cleaned up the mess, she considered the upcoming dinner. As she laid Nate down for his nap, she remembered the cookbooks she’d leafed through, especially the one by the Methodist Episcopal Church ladies that had a page on table manners.

She’d set tables at the Arcade, but had never eaten in the dining room. Would the Chaneys use the same table settings, with the elaborately folded napkins?

She found the book and sat at the kitchen table, thumbing through to the chapter.

Nothing is more to be deplored than ignorance of the conventionalities of the table.

Yes, and surely they would all recognize her confusion. Oh, she didn’t want to do this!

An unwritten law covers every detail, and those accustomed to good society are themselves probably unaware of conformity to any special standard, but imitate unconsciously those with whom they habitually associate.

She could do that. She could imitate those around her.

The table is the touchstone of manners, and there a blunder is a crime. At a dinner to which guests are bidden, the gentlemen assist in seating the ladies before taking their own places.

She’d seen the men at the Arcade assist their wives in this manner.

When seated, the body should be about a foot from the table.

Ellie adjusted herself in the chair and gauged the distance between her waist and the wooden edge.

The napkin is next unfolded to the half of its amplitude, and laid across the lap. No elegance of attire can be an excuse for tucking it about the person in any way.

She read on, memorizing, practicing, getting out a table setting and a napkin and going through the motions of a pretend meal. It would be good for her to learn this. She could teach Benjamin and Flynn when they finally got to live together.

All day Ellie spent her free time reading the pages in the cookbooks that referred to manners. She scoured Caleb’s library for a book on etiquette, but found nothing and laughed at herself. Why would the doctor need a book like that? Perhaps she could take Nate for a walk to the library the following day.

Caleb arrived home when he said he would. Ellie had used the cookbook to prepare him a meal of canned chicken and dressing. He looked at the table she’d set.

“I didn’t hire you to cook for me, too. I don’t expect a meal ready every day when I get home.”

“I’m here. The food’s here. I might as well do it.”

“Do you enjoy cooking?”

She’d never thought about it. She’d scraped and scrambled for every bite that she and her brothers ever placed in their mouths. Preparing food had only been something a person did to make it edible. It was part of survival.

Here cooking was…enjoyable. “Yes. I do.”

“Lucky for me. And even luckier that you’re good at it.”

Ellie blushed and filled his plate.

He stood beside his chair, noting the single place setting. “Aren’t you eating with us?”

“I ate before you got here,” she replied. And she had. She had been delighted to taste the savory meal she’d been able to prepare with the wealth of ingredients in his kitchen and the well-stocked pantry.

“You know, you don’t have to eat alone like you’re a servant.” He seated himself.

“I am a servant.”

“But there are just the two of us. We might as well take our supper together.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“I do.”

She nodded. “If you’ll excuse me now, I’m going to get my things ready.”

“Take them to the porch. I set some crates there for you, and I’ve arranged for the Jenkins boy to bring a wagon and carry them to the boardinghouse.”

She had made a couple of trips back to the Arcade for more of her belongings, so it would have taken her more than one trip by herself. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“Nate and I will ride along to get you settled.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t you want us to?”

She didn’t know how to behave around him. She didn’t know where to look or what to say. His presence made her uncomfortable, but she couldn’t admit that openly. It wasn’t that she minded his company…it was just that he set her on edge so and she feared saying the wrong thing or giving herself away. “No. Yes,” she said, not wanting to insult the man who’d been so kind to her. “That will be fine.”

He forked a bite of dressing into his mouth. “Mmm. This is good.”

She scurried from the room.

She had her belongings packed and waiting on the porch when a young man arrived with a horse and wagon.

“This all of it?” he asked.

“I have a few more things at the Arcade’s dormitory.”

Caleb exited the house with Nate on one arm. “We’ll drop by the hotel on our way to Mrs. Ned’s.” He pulled the door closed, handed Nate to Ellie and helped the boy load a few bags and crates.

At the dormitory, Ellie left Caleb and J. J. Jenkins in the courting room with Nate and went upstairs to pack the rest of her meager possessions. Goldie greeted her with a hug.

Ellie endured the embrace, then gave her a heartfelt smile.

“I’ve missed you, Ellie. How are you doing with the doctor’s baby?”

“We get along just fine. He’s a pleasure to care for.”

“How is your arm?”

She moved to the chest that held the last of her clothing. “It’s a complete nuisance, that’s what. It doesn’t hurt much anymore, but I want to rip this cast off so I can do more. And in the heat of the kitchen, it itches something fierce.”

“Where are you taking your things?”

“The doctor got me a room at Mrs. Ned’s boardinghouse.”

“My cousin stayed there for a few months. It’s clean and quiet. You’ll like it. Let me help you with those.” Goldie gathered the clothes Ellie had piled on the bed and carried them downstairs.

A bevy of young women had gathered around the doctor, all pretending to talk to the baby. J.J. stood in the throng of females, his narrow face scarlet. He grabbed the stack from Goldie and shot out the door.

It took Caleb a few more minutes to politely disentangle himself and his son and follow Ellie outside.

Mrs. Ned’s was as clean as her friend had predicted. Ellie used the key Caleb had given her and opened the door to her room on the third floor.

The space was rectangular, with the bed and bureau at one end and a scarred desk at the other. The ceiling was slanted all along the outside wall, so that a person couldn’t stand to their full height except where the window had been set into a dormer. A cushioned bench offered enough room to sit and space beneath for storage. Braided rugs and a faded quilt made the room seem comfortable and homey.

Caleb set her belongings inside the door. “Will this be all right?”

A bed with clean linens and all this space just to herself. What wouldn’t be all right? “It’s nice,” she replied.

“It’s not too far for you to walk over in the morning,” he said, while J.J. made a stack of the crates. “That’s one of the reasons I chose this location.”

“I’ll enjoy the walk,” she replied to assure him.

J.J. went back to the wagon to wait for Caleb.

The doctor glanced around. “If you need anything…”

“I don’t need anything.”

Caleb studied her wide violet eyes for confirmation of that statement. The girl’s behavior was odd, to say the least. Her words were meant to give the impression of confidence and independence, but her expressions and the sorrowful look in her eyes implied differently. On the one hand he wished he understood the pain behind her careful control and brave demeanor, but on the other, he worried that it might be something he couldn’t help her resolve.

He felt as though he was deserting her by leaving her here alone. He wouldn’t have wanted his sister or his wife to stay alone in a boardinghouse, no matter how reputable. But he couldn’t have Ellie staying in his home, and there hadn’t been time to make arrangements with a family in town. She would be perfectly safe here. There was no choice.

But it took all his discipline to take Nate from her arms and walk back to the door. “Don’t use that arm now.”

“I won’t.”

At least she’d had female companionship at the dormitory, he thought, worrying now about the wisdom of leaving her here. “Mrs. Ned is on the main floor should you have any problems or questions.”

“I’ll be just fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes.” He left, closing the door behind him. He looked down at Nate, who blinked up at him. “You having trouble with this too, son?” On his way down the hall he glanced at the other doors, wondering who stayed behind them. There’d been only women in her previous quarters. Here there were men, and Ellie had no one to protect her.

He had known Mrs. Ned for years, he assured himself. Her boarders would all be respectable citizens. He had no grounds to worry.

It was just that Ellie seemed so vulnerable and so alone in the world. Seeing all of her possessions in only a few bags and crates had emphasized her fragility. Material belongings were no indication of a person’s worth, he reminded himself, and her lack of personal items reduced their importance even more. She’d been doing just fine on her own until she’d broken her arm.

Her quiet strength and determination impressed Caleb. But the sadness that seemed to come from deep within her disturbed him. Why was someone so young so incredibly sad? He sensed the very edge of a darkness so bleak he couldn’t imagine its source.

He’d seen her smile only once and that had been at Nate. She intrigued him, that was certain, and he was drawn to her in a way he didn’t understand. Perhaps it was just his doctor’s instinct to comfort and heal.

But he had a feeling that the comfort and healing Ellie needed was something he’d had no training for.

Ellie filled the drawers and tidied the room in which she would be staying. She would have to spend part of her earnings on having her laundry sent out now. At the dormitory, the girls all sent their clothing to the hotel laundry, and it was returned clean and pressed.

She needed to wash up before bed, so she took the heavy pitcher and carried it down the stairs, searching out the kitchen. An enormous kettle of warm water stood on the back of the stove. She scooped the pitcher full and made her way through the strange rooms and back to her new sanctuary. There was no straight-backed chair to wedge beneath the knob, but she locked the door and tested it.

After donning a nightgown, she blew out the lamp, opened the window and lay down on the bed. Sounds drifted through the walls, voices and doors closing. The roof creaked overhead.

Moonlight streaming through the window reflected a rectangle on the ceiling. She would get used to this place, just as she had the dormitory, and here she was blessedly alone.

This was going to work out fine. The doctor was paying her a handsome wage for tasks she could easily handle. She didn’t have to deal with customers, and she had only one employer who seemed more than generous.

Ellie fought down the discomfort that thought brought. This job was too good to be true.

But she was not the same person she had been. She was not young or helpless. She was making decisions about her life and choosing her future. Her independence and control over her own life meant everything.

But Dr. Chaney was a man, that irritating little voice in her head taunted. What would he want in return?

Chapter Five

A clap of thunder yanked Ellie from the bed. Her first chaotic thought was to check the door. She stumbled forward and tested the lock. Secure. She was safe. She composed herself and her heart rate settled back to normal.

The overcast sky made it difficult to tell the hour, but she guessed it wasn’t too early to get up and start the day. Lighting a lamp, she washed and dressed.

At the bottom of the stairs, a smiling white-haired woman greeted her. “Miss Parrish. How lovely to meet you. I’m Mrs. Ned.”

Ellie smiled hesitantly and said, “Hi.”

“Is your room all right? I assured the young doctor you would be comfortable here.”

“Yes. The room is nice.”

“Good. Well, come have some breakfast and meet the other boarders.”

In Ellie’s mind, the wisdom of walking into a room full of strangers rated right up there with knocking down a beehive with a stick or rolling naked in poison oak. She never knew what to say or do in front of people, and she always feared someone would know her from her life in Florence.

Ellie drew a breath. She had bolstered her courage to work in the hotel dining room, and she could do this, too.

Mrs. Ned led her into a room where half a dozen people sat around a table. Each one turned their head to see her. The four men stood, and Ellie wished they hadn’t.

Her landlady introduced the gathering in seating order. “This is Mr. Hershey, Mr. Davis, Miss Shaw, Mr. Cassidy, Mr. Montgomery and Mrs. Henderson. Ladies and gentlemen, this is our new boarder, Miss Parrish. Have a seat over here, dear.”

Wishing she’d been able to slip out without being embarrassingly displayed, Ellie took the proffered chair and the men once again sat. Having them at eye level eased her dismay marginally. Now the questions would start. She braced herself.

“It seems you’ve had an accident,” commented Mr. Davis, a short fellow with a ruddy complexion.

“Yes, I took a fall at the depot,” she replied.

Mrs. Henderson, a petite woman with a streak of white through her black hair, clucked sympathetically. “How dreadful.”

“Have you been in Newton long?” Miss Shaw asked.

Ellie fielded their questions and ate a few bites of the breakfast she would never remember afterward, then hurriedly excused herself to get to work.

“Where’s your umbrella, dear?” Mrs. Ned called after her.

Ellie paused in the hallway momentarily. “I lost it.”

“Take mine,” the woman said with a nonchalant swish of her hand. “It’s in the stand there by the door.”

Ellie escaped out onto the porch without stopping for the umbrella. Lightning zigzagged across the dismal sky, eerily illuminating the morning, and the following thunder spooked a horse in the street.

The quavering voice that calmed the animal sounded familiar, and Ellie stared through the downpour to see the young man who’d helped her move the day before waiting in a buggy.

“Wait, Miss Parrish!” J.J. called. “The doc sent me to fetch you.” He ran toward her with an umbrella and held it above her head.

She plucked the hem of her skirt above the mud and darted to the waiting buggy, climbing up into the dry safety of the leather seat before replying. “He did?”

“Yes’m,” he said, coming around to the other side. “I been waitin’ here for nigh half an hour ’cause he wanted to be sure I didn’t miss you. ‘Don’t let her walk in the rain,’ he said. When it rains I always go get the doc and take ’im to his office. Good thing he just told me yesterday that from here on I was to come get you first.”

Nothing like this had ever happened to her before, and Ellie didn’t quite know what to make of Caleb’s arrangements. That he should be concerned over her walking in the rain touched her unexplainably. Mrs. Ned appeared in the doorway to wave her off as the horse pulled the buggy away from the boardinghouse and down the puddled street. Ellie gave a self-conscious wave.

The humid air wasn’t what brought a new and never before experienced warmth to her chest. She felt like a princess riding in an elegant carriage. Ellie racked her memory for a time someone had done something thoughtful for her. Something just to make her life easier. Something nice.

There had been one instance. The time Mrs. Conner had sewn her the blue dress. She tamped that thought down firmly and savored every second of the ride.

J.J. reined in before Caleb’s house. “Take this,” he said, handing her the umbrella.

Ellie knew she wouldn’t melt if she got a little wet, but she accepted it and looked it over.

“Here.” He moved a lever and the contraption sprang out, sending raindrops flying.

Ellie held it over her head, thanked him and hurried up to the house and into the foyer, then wondered what to do with the dripping thing. She placed it open and upside down on the braided rug.

Just then Caleb galloped down the open stairway, his shiny boots loud on the polished wood. Bouncing on his arm, Nate laughed out loud and, at the sound, Caleb laughed, too.

“Did you hear that, Ellie?” he asked.

She nodded.

So swift that he surprised her, Caleb turned and ran back up the stairs. “Here we go again,” he said, and once again thundered down the stairs.

Nate giggled appreciatively and Caleb laughed. Ellie watched in fascination. With emotion welling inside, she couldn’t help wondering if another little baby she remembered had ever known someone who loved her as Caleb loved this child. She hoped with all her might it was so.

“We could play that game all day, but I have to go to work,” he said, interrupting her thoughts and handing over Nate. “He’s had his breakfast.”

He picked up the wet umbrella and collapsed it.

“Dr. Chaney?”

He turned back slowly. “Yes?”

Now that she had his attention, discomfort rattled her. He was unlike any man she’d ever known. “Thank you for sending J.J. for me.”

“You’re welcome. And I thought you were going to call me Caleb.”

She looked away, uncertain how to respond.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, then call me Dr. Chaney,” he said impatiently, and stepped toward the door.

She followed. He turned back and leaned toward her.

She sucked in a quick breath and froze.

He kissed Nate’s head, the warm scent of bay rum and starch stirring Ellie’s senses. For a moment, her head swam dizzily. He moved away, picking up his jacket, and she watched his broad back with suspenders crisscrossing the white shirt as he crossed the porch, opened the umbrella and climbed onto the seat of the waiting buggy.

Ellie stared after it, her mind in a state of confusion. He created such mixed feelings within her. As a man, he was everything she’d learned to fear and loathe. As an employer, he’d proved considerate and generous. And as a father, he was more than she’d imagined a man could be. He truly loved this baby.

Against her midriff, Nate was warm and solid. She looked down into his luminous blue eyes. In her mind, a loving parent had been only a concept until now. But now she’d seen it.

And the reality shook her previous understanding of the world. Caleb’s goodness intensified the sordidness of her own life and enhanced each of her many inadequacies. Knowing he existed was painful and wonderful, and made not feeling anything difficult.

He made her feel things. Deep, disturbing, inexpressible things.

Thunder clapped across the heavens. Nate’s eyes widened in curiosity. Ellie peered at the overcast sky and the pouring rain. So much for her trip to the library. She’d have to scan Caleb’s books once again and reread the Episcopal ladies’ cookbook. Only one more day remained until Sunday and dinner with Caleb’s family.

Ellie enjoyed that day as well as the one that followed. Both days she prepared a supper for the doctor from the recipes in the cookbook and, still too uncomfortable to sit at the table with him, ate before he arrived home. Once she’d set his meal before him she then hurried to the boardinghouse.

She had more time for herself with this arrangement, not like at the hotel where she’d worked until after dark every evening. With Caleb’s permission, she borrowed some of his books and read them by oil lamp in her room until her eyes got tired and the hour grew late.

On Sunday morning, the church bells tolled, and she watched from her window as other boarders walked to morning services. Ellie had never been to church in her life and she couldn’t imagine herself among respectable citizens in a house of worship. The only church people she’d had much experience with were either condescending or pitying, and neither trait attracted her to their kind.

She spent the morning in Mrs. Ned’s deserted kitchen, pressing her skirts and blouses.

As she waited for the doctor to arrive, her heart hammered and she paced the wide front porch nervously.

“Going for a ride?”

Ellie turned to see Miss Shaw moving to sit in one of the wicker chairs. She placed a bag at her feet and took out a small wooden hoop that held partially embroidered fabric. “I’m having dinner with Dr. Chaney’s family,” she replied.

“He do that to your arm?”

The question confused, and then startled her. What did she mean? Did she think Caleb had hurt her? She frowned, but then sensibility returned. “Oh, you mean did he fix it! Yes, Dr. Chaney set my arm.”

“Don’t be surprised if people wonder how well it will heal. He doesn’t have many supporters in Newton.”

Ellie recognized the rush of anger that swept through her. “Well, that’s ridiculous. He’s completely capable and competent and thinking otherwise is foolish.”

“Unfortunately, too many people in this town are foolish. And his wife’s dying in childbirth didn’t help. Three people he treated died of influenza over the winter, and then, recently, that Bowman woman.”

“Joanna Bowman died because of a fire, not because of her treatment.”

Miss Shaw was probably in her thirties, a slim dark-haired woman with a pleasant face. She raised a hand. “You and I know that. I just wonder if the rest of this town will figure it out.”

She poked her needle through the fabric and stretched the thread taut.

Ellie studied her and wondered what she did and why she lived in the boardinghouse. But Ellie wasn’t one to ask questions. She respected privacy. “What are you making?”

“A pillow.”

Ellie stepped closer and noted the pair of cardinals the woman had so deftly created with her needle and thread. The birds seemed to be merely resting on a slender limb before returning to flight. “I’ve never seen anything so pretty,” Ellie said with heartfelt admiration.

Miss Shaw inserted the needle and plucked it back out a few times. “They’re just simple stitches.”

“Well, it’s beautiful.”

She looked up at Ellie. “I certainly don’t need another pillow. My room is full of pillows and wall samplers. But it passes the time.” She bent her head over her work again.

Ellie sensed her loneliness. Single women were scarce in Kansas. Why hadn’t Miss Shaw married?

The sound of hooves and harness rings made Ellie turn. Caleb halted the buggy at the foot of the stairs.

“Afternoon, Miss Shaw,” he said politely, touching the brim of his hat as he rounded in front of the horses. He’d hitched two to the buggy this day.

“Dr. Chaney,” she replied. “Lovely day for a ride.”

“Yes, it is.” He assisted Ellie onto the seat. She turned to find Nate asleep in a padded basket on the wide bench in the back. Caleb climbed back up and slapped the reins over the horses’ rumps.

Ellie gave Miss Shaw a hesitant wave. “Is she one of your patients?”

“She’s come to see me a time or two,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered. Will there be many people at the ranch for dinner?” she asked after they’d left the streets of the town behind.

“Hard to say,” he replied with a grin. “My sister and her family. Quite often the preacher is there.”

Ellie observed the surrounding ranch country, noting the direction and the road she’d never traveled before. The day was warm, but Caleb hadn’t rolled back his shirtsleeves. She plucked at the front of her blouse. She’d never ridden in such a fine vehicle before J.J. had picked her up in this one. She realized it was the same buggy.

“This is your buggy?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Do you call on patients during the week?”

“A few. I’m still working on building up my practice.”

“I think you’re a very good doctor.”

He turned his gaze to her. “I wish a few more people thought that.”

“They will.”

He grinned.

She smiled shyly and looked away.

“This is all Chaney land,” he said several miles later.

Ellie gazed in awe at the grazing cattle on the far horizon. “All this?”

“Yep. My father wanted me work the ranch with him. Take over one day. I disappointed him by becoming a doctor.”

“You didn’t want to ranch?”

“Ranching’s all right. But ever since I can remember I wanted to help people. I wanted to know how to heal them. I placed my share of the Arabians and a bull up for sale so I could afford my schooling. My father wasn’t very happy about it, but once he found out I was serious, he bought the stock from me. Since I wasn’t there, he had to hire a foreman and that cut into his profits.”

Ellie listened and thought about what he was telling her.

“The thing is, I understand his feelings. He’s getting older. He wants someone to take over the ranch he worked his whole life to build. I’m his only son.”

Ellie glanced up and caught his handsome profile against the cloudless sky.

“Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing,” he said. “Maybe I should have listened to him and saved myself the expense and the trouble.”

“But look how many people you’ve helped,” she said in surprise.

“Not that many.”

“You helped me.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Just about any ranch hand can set a broken arm, Ellie.”

She was taken aback. Where was the confidence he’d always projected? How could he even think for a minute that his work wasn’t valuable?

“There’s the house,” he said before she could pull any more thoughts together.

To the east of impressive whitewashed stables sat a two-story house. The yard—if an expanse the size of a field could be called that—was bordered by a pine pole fence and dotted with shade trees and evergreens. The long drive was free of ruts and weeds, and the horse pulled them to a stop beneath the shade of a towering oak behind the house.

“Mother will give me a tongue-lashing for bringing you in through the kitchen.” He reached for Nate, who was starting to fuss.

“Maybe we shouldn’t then.”

“Nah. It wouldn’t be near as much fun.”

Ellie followed him up the porch stairs. He held the door open and she stopped uncertainly.

“Go ahead.”

Her heart hammered at the prospect of entering his family’s home, and she fought the urge to turn back and run. She stepped inside.

The kitchen was enormous and mouth-watering aromas emanated from it.

“Caleb! You should have brought Miss Parrish to the front door,” his mother said, rushing forward. “You’d think this boy was raised in a barn. I apologize for my son’s lack of manners, Miss Parrish.”

“I—I don’t mind.”

Caleb cast her a grin.

“Let’s see Nathaniel!” another woman said, moving up to touch the baby.

“Ellie, this is Mildred,” he said, kissing the woman on the cheek. “She’s my other mother.”

The woman with faded red hair and vibrant dark eyes patted Caleb’s shoulder fondly. “I work for Mrs. Chaney,” she said to Ellie. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Ellie said, using her words. They must have been appropriate, because Mildred smiled.

Caleb’s mother caught sight of something through the window that brought a broad smile to her face. She hurried to the doorway.

A fair-haired girl of about five ran up the stairs and into her waiting arms. “Don’t you look beautiful today, Lucy!”

“Mama made this dress for me an’ I wore it to church an’ then I wore it all the way here to show you.” She spun in a circle, the frilly dotted Swiss pinafore billowing.

“Unca Caleb!” she cried, spotting her uncle and running toward him.

“Lucy, Lucy,” her mother chided from the doorway. “A lady moves slowly and gracefully.”

Caleb handed Nate to Ellie and quickly bent at the knees to pick up the little girl, who immediately wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed his neck. He hugged her soundly and she placed a kiss on his tanned cheek. “Best kiss I had all week,” he said with a wink.

She giggled.

“Lucy, Patricia, Denzil, this is Miss Ellie Parrish, Nate’s new nursemaid. Ellie, this is my sister, Patricia, her husband, Denzil, and my pretty niece, Lucy.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Ellie said again.

“Delighted,” Caleb’s fair-skinned sister replied. She wore a fashionable pin-striped green dress with a white bodice. She pulled the pin from a matching hat.

“Miss Parrish,” the tall gentleman said with a nod. He was dressed as nicely as Caleb, in dark trousers and a white shirt and tie.

“Lucy, what do you say to Miss Parrish?” her mother asked quietly.

“How do you do, Miss Parrish,” she said, around the finger she’d stuck in her mouth.

Lucy’s lesson in manners placed Ellie in an embarrassing position. She had no inkling of the appropriate response. She felt her cheeks grow warm.

“You have eyes just like your uncle,” she said without thinking.

That must have pleased her, because the finger popped out of her mouth. She grinned and gazed at Caleb adoringly. “I do?”

He kissed her cheek and set her back on the floor. “Where’s that grandfather of yours?”

“He’s probably sneaked back to the stables to stare at his Welsh cob,” Caleb’s mother said wryly. “I don’t think he paid this much attention when I gave birth. Lucy, why don’t you go tell Grandpapa that dinner’s almost ready?”

Lucy clambered out the door, and her mother rolled her eyes.

Denzil followed at a more sedate pace. Patricia removed her hat to reveal upswept fair hair, held in place by pearl-studded combs. She carried her hat and bag to a cabinet where she stored them, then immediately opened a drawer and pulled out an apron. Obviously at ease and in familiar surroundings, she tied it around her narrow waist. Ellie could taste her discomfort at being out of place.

Mildred took Nate from her arms and tied him upright in a well-worn high chair. Immediately Ellie missed the security of hiding behind him.

“May I help, too?” she asked uneasily.

“You’re company,” Caleb’s mother said quickly, discouraging the idea. “And besides, your arm is in a cast.”

Ellie’s face flamed at the rejection. She’d blundered already.

“Ellie’s obviously not helpless,” Caleb said, “since she takes care of Nate every day. And she fixes my meals without help.”

Patricia glanced from her brother to Ellie, and a look of understanding passed across her features. Once again she opened the cabinet and withdrew a folded apron.

Caleb took it from her with a grin and shook it open. “Here, Ellie. Let me help. Hold your arm out.”

Ellie did as instructed and he reached both arms around her to catch the apron ties. She experienced a moment’s panic at the restricting closeness, but the next second he was behind her tying the sash, and the feeling passed.

“What can I do?” she asked.

“Why don’t you help set the table?” Caleb’s mother suggested.

She had read the section on table settings. She’d practiced with Caleb’s dishes and silverware. She moved stiffly to the trestle table. “Where are the plates?”

“Not this table,” Patricia said kindly, coming to her side and leading her out of the room and into another. “This one.”

“Oh my…” Ellie caught her breath. The room in which they stood was elegantly furnished with a glossy walnut table that stretched eight feet or more and stood surrounded by cushioned straight-backed chairs. An enormous glass-paned cabinet on one wall held gold-rimmed dishes.

“The silver is in this drawer,” Patricia explained, “the tablecloths and napkins in here. We usually set for about ten. If there are extra settings when we get seated, that’s fine.”

Ellie stared at the table, at the intimidating size and decor of the room. Her knees trembled. What if she dropped one of those plates? What if she spilled while she was eating?

“What happened to your arm?” Patricia asked.

She took out a pressed white linen cloth and shook it out above the table. The fabric floated down a little to one side, with only a few wrinkles that needed straightening. “I fell off the platform at the train depot.”

“How awful! Are you from around here?”

Ellie smoothed out wrinkles, hoping her hands were clean. She should have washed them in the kitchen. “No. I’m from up by Florence.”

“Really? That’s where we live. I’ve lived there since I married Denzil—about six years now. Whereabouts did you live?”

“Um. Outside town really.”

“Parrish. Hmm. I can’t place the name.”

Ellie closed her eyes and stood in the overwhelming silence that followed. What if Patricia went back home and asked about her? No worry, she reminded herself. No one knew her as Parrish. She’d made that name up. Besides, there were many families who lived outside of town and came in only occasionally for supplies, and Ellie had never attended school regularly. As outcasts, she and her brothers stayed to themselves. She opened her eyes and discovered the young woman was simply going about her tasks.

Patricia opened the china cabinet and took out a stack of plates. She started placing them at intervals around the table and Ellie followed her lead.

She opened the drawer Patricia had indicated and counted out ten pressed and folded napkins. She handed half to Patricia and waited for her to place one at the left of a plate, and then added hers.

She did the same with the silver, counting forks and knives and spoons, handing her half, then mimicking how she placed them. Patricia did it just as the Episcopal ladies had instructed, and Ellie followed her example without a hitch.

Ellie’s first experience with seeing huge quantities of elegantly prepared food had been at the Arcade Hotel, but it never ceased to astound her that people went to so much work and expense. She’d spent too many years scraping for enough to keep herself and her brothers alive.

As the family gathered around the table, the women carried in a platter of curried lamb and bowls of steaming savory-smelling yams and other vegetables.

Ellie studied the food in the gold-edged china dishes and thought of the simple fare she’d taken such pleasure and pride in preparing and serving to Caleb. What must he think of her pathetic attempts? Her humiliation knew no bounds.

“Afternoon, Miss Parrish,” Caleb’s father said, arriving and standing behind his chair at the head of the table.

She’d been standing back, waiting to see where the others sat. Her heart tripped a little faster at his recognition. “Hello.”

Caleb carried Nate, high chair and all, into the room and situated him near his own chair. He gestured for her to move beside him. She stood behind the chair he’d indicated the same way the men were standing.

“Ellie, this is Reverend Beecher,” Caleb’s father said.

“How do you do?” the gentleman said with a polite nod.

Ellie nodded back.

“This is our ranch foreman, Hayden, and his brother, Soapy.”

Ellie nodded again.

Soapy was the only one who seemed as uncomfortable as Ellie. He said something in his brother’s ear and Hayden said, “Soapy says he’s pleased to meetcha.”

Caleb grinned and touched Ellie’s arm, urging her forward. She thought of nothing but his fingers through her sleeve until he slid out the chair and urged her to sit.

Recalling the table-manners section of the cookbook, she sat at the same time he slid the chair in closer. Caleb’s father did the same for his mother and Denzil assisted his wife and daughter. Ellie measured the distance between her midriff and the table edge with a nervous glance.

Lucy was seated directly across from Caleb and Ellie, and she gave her uncle a broad grin. “I saw a frog last night, Unca Caleb,” she said. “It was jumping by my steps.”

“Did it scare you?”

She shook her head importantly. “No. It was just a baby frog. It was looking for its mama, I think.”

“I’ll bet you’re right.”

“Mama, do I have to eat yams?”

“Just a small portion, Lucy, to be polite.” Her mother placed a small dab of the orange glazed vegetable on her plate and reprimanded her pout with a raised brow. “Lucille…”

The child wore a disgusted expression and frowned as her plate was filled.

Having to encourage a child to eat was beyond Ellie’s experience. She’d only known hungry children who gobbled up whatever scrap was placed in front of them.

“I’m five,” the child reported, holding up all the fingers on one hand to demonstrate.

Ellie gave her a smile, noting the girl’s obvious comfort within the circle of her family and in their elegant home. The child showed no signs of neglect or fear or abuse. She was the apple of this family’s eye.

Years ago Ellie had stumbled through the night to find a home for a baby girl. So many times she had wondered how the child had fared. So many times she’d wished she could see for herself if she’d done the right thing. But she’d never allowed herself to check.

The reasons for cutting herself off were complicated. And painful.

She had to believe that the child had a home and a family like Lucy’s, that she was secure and pampered in the midst of people who loved her and saw to her well-being. Anything else was unthinkable.

Caleb’s mother raised a brow at Ellie. “Are you finding the food to your satisfaction, Miss Parrish?”

“Oh, yes.” Ellie glanced down to see she hadn’t touched anything on her plate. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her fork.

“Caleb, you oaf,” Patricia said from beside Ellie. “You haven’t cut Ellie’s meat for her. How can she be expected to do it with one arm?” She reached over and sliced the lamb on Ellie’s plate into dainty bites.

“I guess I’m just used to Ellie managing everything with one arm,” Caleb replied with a grin. “Sorry, El. Poke me in the ribs next time.”

Patricia slid Ellie’s plate back in place, and Ellie speared a bite.

“Hayden and Soapy are going to get ice later, so we can make ice cream,” Caleb’s father said.

Lucy squealed and bounced up and down in her chair. “I love ice cream!”

“Mind your manners, Lucy,” Patricia said quietly. “Eat your yam or you won’t get any ice cream.”

Lucy stilled on her chair and looked around with a frown.

Patricia involved herself in a conversation with Denzil and her mother.

Mildred brought hot rolls and served them to each person.

“Mildred doesn’t eat with your family?” Ellie whispered to Caleb.

“No. She works for Mother.”

Ellie blinked. “I work for you, but I’m eating at the table.”

Caleb glanced past Ellie’s shoulder. Reaching across the table, he speared the yam on Lucy’s plate and popped it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “You’re not kitchen help.”

“Hayden and Soapy are eating with the family,” she said, and then realized she was showing her ignorance again.

“Ranch foremen always eat in the big house. Soapy just kind of fell into it because he never leaves Hayden’s side.”

Ellie observed the conspiratorial look between Caleb and Lucy. The child took a bite of her buttery roll, her blue eyes twinkling. “My yam’s gone, Mama,” she said. “Now I get ice cream.”

“That’s a good girl, Lucy,” Patricia replied.

Ellie covered her amused grin with her napkin.

Somehow she made it through the meal without spilling or making a spectacle. And she actually enjoyed the savory dishes the women had prepared so attractively. She wasn’t allowed to help with the cleanup, so she washed Nate and gave him a bottle.

“We’ll let our meal settle,” Mrs. Chaney said a few minutes later, leading the way through the house.

Ellie glimpsed the elegantly furnished rooms they passed and wished she could peek into each one. The women all gathered on the wide front porch while Mildred cleared the table and washed dishes. Ellie was used to waiting tables at the hotel and she felt guilty for not helping, but the Chaney women were obviously comfortable with this arrangement.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Chaney,” Ellie said. She sat and adjusted Nate on her lap.

“Do call me Laura,” the woman replied. “And I’m pleased you could come. I haven’t seen you at our church. Which one do you attend?”

“I haven’t been to church since I’ve come to Newton.” It was the truth. She’d never been to church before she’d moved to Newton either, but she wasn’t going to admit that. These women assumed everyone attended church. “Are you an Episcopal lady?” she asked.

“Oh, no, dear. Our family has always been Presbyterian.”

“Oh.”

She turned to discover Patricia studying her. Had she said something dreadful?

“I suppose you’re the answer to Caleb’s problems,” Patricia said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been pestering him to let me take Nate.” She studied the boy with obvious affection and tears welled in her luminous eyes. She blinked them away. “As my own, I mean. I thought it would have been best for him to come live with us, where he would have two parents. Especially a mother to care for him.”

“Caleb loves his son very much,” Ellie said.

“Yes, I know. Part of the pressure I placed on him came from selfishness on my part.”

Her honesty surprised Ellie. She obviously wanted this baby very much. Ellie glanced at Lucy, who sat on the stairs playing with the prettiest doll Ellie had ever seen. Patricia’s child was five years old and she hadn’t had another. Even Ellie knew that was unusual for a young married woman.

She glanced across the yard at Caleb. Tall and broad shouldered, he stood beside his father, his weight on one leg and his hand on his hip while he listened to something the older man said. She also knew how difficult it was to give up a child, and she was glad Caleb had the resources to keep his son. She was grateful that for now she was able to help him do that.

But what about after her arm healed? What would happen after she went back to her job at the hotel?

Against her breast, full and content, Nate slept soundly. What if she didn’t go back to the hotel? What if she could keep this job? Oh, she shouldn’t even let herself imagine that.

Ellie chastised herself. She thought of Mildred in the kitchen doing all the dishes while the Chaney women sat on the shaded porch. That was Mildred’s job. And caring for Nate was Ellie’s job.

But somehow, right now, it didn’t seem like enough.

Besides, she had to have a place of her own where she could bring Benjamin and Flynn once she’d made enough money.

Ellie glanced around, studied the rich green land and the fat grazing cattle as far as she could see, and couldn’t even fathom how much money it took to buy or maintain a place like this.

Right now her dream seemed an impossibility. She hadn’t saved even enough to pay for the food she’d seen consumed today. How would she ever pay for a place of her own and provide food and clothing for her brothers?

The hopelessness of her situation made her eyes smart and her mouth dry. Maybe it was never meant to be. Maybe she was only fooling herself to think she could get her brothers away from the Heaths’ farm and give them the life they deserved.

If that were the truth, she didn’t know how she could go on.

What was she doing? Here she was letting herself fall for another child whom she would have to let go.

Her heart had already been broken and stomped on. Another kick and it would stop beating. She would have to toughen her hide and resist falling for Nate. Either that or find a way to make this situation permanent.

Chapter Six

When Nate woke, Laura asked to hold him, so Ellie used the opportunity to stretch her legs. Lucy followed her, picking clover, asking a myriad of questions.

She and Ellie sat beneath the shade of a maple and Ellie tied the clover stems into a chain for Lucy to wear around her neck. Loose tendrils of hair had fallen from her neat braids and lay in curls against her ivory cheek. She had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and sweet smooth rosy lips that puckered when she thought.

Ellie’s heart swelled with an aching kinship and the pain of loss. She’d had a child like this one. Her little girl probably had dark hair like hers…but it had been hard to tell that night. Ellie had been so young, so afraid, so alone…her only thought had been to save the baby from a life like hers, from a life like her brothers’, where hunger and hurt and want were all they’d ever known.

So she’d used her last ounce of strength to creep through the night and leave the baby with a young couple who had recently lost their own child to illness.

Ellie had never been sorry. She’d done the right thing.

But she’d never stopped hurting or wondering. She was a master at burying pain. But seeing this enchanting child brought it all out again, as fresh and as agonizing as when it had first happened.

Her child would be a year or so older than this one. All those years…all the times she’d never allowed herself to go see—to discover if she’d done the right thing. She had to believe she had.

The welling thickness in her chest made every breath burn like fire. Lucy smiled up at her and tears smarted behind Ellie’s eyes.

“Are you sad, Ellie?” the child asked, her expression turning to concern, her exquisite pale brows drawing together.

“No. The sun is just bright is all.”

Lucy squinted up at the sunlight filtering down through the leaves. She had a smudge of dirt on her chin that her mother would want to wipe away, but Ellie thought it was endearing. “I wonder where the sun goes at night.”

“I guess you’ll learn that at school.”

“I’ll be smart then, won’t I?”

Ellie agreed with a smile.

“This rock looks like a wolf tooth, doesn’t it?”

Ellie inspected the chip of stone, wondering if she’d ever had a youthful imagination. They made another chain before Patricia called them to come watch the ice cream being made.

Caleb and Soapy took turns turning the crank on the wooden bucket. Caleb’s father added salt and cream, and before long the mixture turned white and smooth.

Every once in a while Soapy whispered something to Hayden, and his brother would convey the message.

“Doesn’t Soapy talk?” she wondered aloud.

“Never have heard the man talk and he’s worked the ranch for seven years,” Laura said with a shrug. “Maybe he speaks when there are no women present, I don’t know.”

Ellie observed the gathering with interest, her attention moving time and again to Caleb’s stern-looking father, Matthew, interacting with his family. Though he and Caleb apparently held opposing views on Caleb’s career, Matthew treated his son kindly. He held Nate gingerly, but engulfed the child’s head in his enormous hand and touched his nose to the baby’s hair more than once. He obviously doted on his granddaughter, too, pulling her into his lap so she could reach the plank table to eat.

Ellie accepted a bowl of ice cream from Patricia and tasted the creamy vanilla flavor. The surprising cold almost hurt her tongue and made her teeth ache, but she swallowed and let another spoonful melt in her mouth.

“Like it?” Caleb asked.

“It’s wonderful! I didn’t know it would taste so cold.”

“Well, it’s ice cream.”

She blushed. “I know.”

“Haven’t you ever tasted ice cream before?”

She shook her head.

“Next time I’ll have Mildred bake you an apple pie to go under it. Now that’s a treat!”

Next time. Ellie gave him a hesitant smile. Could she ever again expose herself to the empty ache that being near Lucy carved in her heart? Could she watch Matthew and Laura with their children and grandchildren and hurt once again for what had never been hers?

Yes, she could. If he asked her, she would gladly come. It must be a sickness, this need to torture herself with the reminder of her sorely lacking life.

But she felt alive here—more alive than ever before. More accepted. More like the people whose lives she’d only observed and imagined. And if it hurt to feel this alive…then she would bear it.

But in the back of her mind, in her subconscious, she experienced a twinge of guilt. Should she be here eating ice cream while Benjamin and Flynn were being worked like slaves?

Ellie corrected her thinking. She was doing everything she possibly could toward the day when she would be able to save her brothers from that life. She was making more money working for Caleb than she’d been earning at the hotel, so she was doing something important.

Yes, she had moments of doubt that it would never be enough, but she couldn’t give in to that weakness.

Caleb’s hand rested on her arm, snagging her thoughts back to the moment. Her heart jumped and she looked at his long, hair-dusted fingers against her white sleeve, resisting the impulse to pull away.

“I’ll take your bowl,” he said, and she knew from his inflection that he’d offered before.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Are you tired, or shall we stay awhile longer? Reverend Beecher usually reads something aloud when he’s here. He has a way of reading a story that keeps us hanging on every word. Sometime Patty plays the piano.”

“I’d like to stay.”

“Is your arm hurting?”

“No.”

“Okay, come on.”

She followed him in through the kitchen, and he led the way to a room filled with overstuffed chairs and sofas, potted ferns and a piano.

Ellie took in all the furnishings and studied the framed daguerreotypes. “Who are these people?”

“That’s my father with his family. This is Patty and me when we were babies. And this,” he said, picking up one of the frames, “is my parents’ wedding portrait.”

“Oh.” Ellie leaned closer to study his parents’ youthful faces and serene expressions. They’d married long ago and had lived all these years as a pair, raising children and running a ranch. Thinking of them being together for so long, imagining the solidarity of such a life, made Ellie’s own shaky upbringing all the more wretched in comparison. “How amazing to see them so long ago.”

She straightened and looked at the likeness of Caleb and his sister. “And Nate will know what you looked like as a baby. You looked a lot like he does.”

“You don’t have any family portraits?”

Immediately, Ellie realized her mistake and backed away to take a seat on a sofa. “No.”

Caleb didn’t ask any further questions.

How nice that you know who your father is, she intoned silently, the scorn in the thought meant for herself.

The reverend read from a story by Charles Dickens, one Ellie had read only a few weeks before. She enjoyed the story much more with the man’s inflections and interpretation, and the added pleasure of watching the others’ faces.

Ellie’s reactions fascinated Caleb. The smallest thing was like something grand and new to her, and he wondered how anyone could be so obviously naive about so many things. She attempted to keep her curiosity and her awe hidden, but he’d been around her for weeks now, and had seen through her act on many occasions.

The look on her face as she listened to Reverend Beecher read matched Lucy’s youthful fascination. Ellie studied the faces of the others as they listened, too, and a wistful expression softened her delicate features as her gaze touched each one.

Her eyes met his, and Caleb smiled. She gave a shy smile in return and lowered her gaze, embarrassment tingeing her cheeks with a rosy hue Caleb found becoming.

Nate fussed in Laura’s lap, and Ellie quickly went to take him. She located the small flannel blanket he seemed to prefer, tucked it into his chubby hands and, sitting back down on the sofa beside Lucy, snuggled him close to her breast.

Comforted, the infant quieted immediately; his eyelids grew heavy. He reached a tiny hand upward and Ellie took his fingers and kissed them, all the while gently rocking.

An ache blossomed in Caleb’s chest at the stirring sight. He tried to picture his wife in Ellie’s place, cuddling and comforting their child, but the image wouldn’t come. Leila had been miserable throughout her entire pregnancy, appalled at her misshapen body and disgusted over the unfashionable clothing she was forced to wear to accommodate her growth. She had cried to move to the coast where she’d made friends while visiting Caleb at the university.

Leila had loved the parties and the theater and the whole social whirl. She’d pleaded with him to go into practice with one of the surgeons who’d offered him a position out East. But Caleb had missed his family, missed the serenity and familiarity of the stark, windy land where he’d been raised. The hardworking farmers and ranchers and their families were the ones he desired to help. There were plenty of doctors in the big cities. His skill was precious out here in Kansas, and he planned to make the citizens recognize that. He’d never made Leila understand.

Her displeasure with their Kansas home and her inconvenient pregnancy had disappointed him. He’d married a beautiful, happy young woman and he’d loved her. He’d had such hopes for their future. Perhaps if he’d given in and taken a position in Massachusetts or Pennsylvania it would have prevented her misery and ultimately her death.

Guilt tore at his insides, just as it did with every memory of his dead wife. The fact that he was happy here in Newton seemed wrong. He should have more regrets about moving here. He should resent this place that took his wife. But he didn’t.

Reverend Beecher finished the story. Laura and Patricia served coffee and cookies, and Lucy skipped off to play.

Denzil and Matthew set up a checkerboard and launched a game.

Caleb took the seat Lucy had vacated beside Ellie and offered his lap for the sleeping baby so she could rest her arm.

She lowered Nate and the back of her hand rubbed along his arm where he’d rolled up his sleeve. She drew her hand away and sat back stiffly. Her skittishness puzzled him. Was she overly aware of him as a man—perhaps attracted to him?

It was an appealing concept. Caleb nibbled the oatmeal cookies he’d snatched off the tray on his way over. “Do you know how to make oatmeal cookies?”

“I could do it if I had the recipe.”

“Ever made ’em?”

“No.”

“Ever had curried lamb before today?”

“I’ve served it at the Arcade.”

“But you’d never eaten it?”

“No.” She glanced over at him and away. “I guess the meals I fixed you weren’t what you were used to, were they?”

“I enjoy the meals you prepare, Ellie. You don’t have to cook for me, but you do. I appreciate that after a long day.”

“You’re used to having things fancier, though.”

“Just because something’s fancy doesn’t mean it’s better,” he said. “I think your cooking is excellent.”

“You do?” It sounded like the excited way Lucy would have responded.

He nodded and smiled.

Patricia took a seat at the piano and began to play. Laura seated herself and nodded in time to the music. The reverend listened with his eyes closed.

Caleb threaded his fingers through Nate’s silky blond hair, caressing the strands as the notes eased his earlier unpleasant thoughts.

A few songs later, he glanced over to see Ellie watching his fingers stroke Nate’s hair. His hand stilled.

Her gaze moved up to his and their eyes met briefly.

Ellie blushed and looked away.

What had she been thinking that had brought on that becoming rosiness? Caleb studied his innocent son, glanced at his own hands, one in Nate’s hair, the other on his gently rising and falling tummy.

Ellie was overly sensitive regarding him. Was there something there? A magnetic attraction between them?

Everything about Ellie appealed to him. Her gentleness, her delicate beauty, her quiet strength, her obvious pride. Seeing her with Nate touched him deeply. She was a loving and tender caregiver for his son. She fit into his family.

A stab of unease rose in his chest. What was he thinking?

He glanced at her arm in the cast he’d molded. She was young and healthy and had obediently followed his instructions; her arm would be perfectly healed in a few more weeks.

She would want to go back to her job at the hotel.

Suddenly, with ethereal music filling the room and his family seated comfortably nearby, he knew he couldn’t let that happen. Ellie was the best thing that had come into his life in a long time.

He could offer her a permanent position as Nate’s nursemaid.

Caleb thought of Mildred, whom he’d grown to love over the years but who was still regarded as an employee. That wasn’t the family he envisioned for Nate—or for himself.

His other option was to marry Ellie.

The thought brought a nervous thump to his heart. But why not? Marriages were made for far less logical reasons. And there was something there.

He realized this thought had been in the back of his mind for days. Marriage was the perfect idea. What could he say to convince her? His practice wasn’t exactly thriving. He had a long way to go before he’d earn the trust of the citizens of Newton. But he had a decent house and because of some wise investments he had the means to provide for her. Her life would be easier.

Patricia finished playing, and Nate woke. Ellie prepared him a bottle and Caleb fed him, wondering how to approach her with the idea. The hour grew late and they prepared to leave. His mother hugged him and Lucy begged one last piggyback ride.

Reverend Beecher didn’t have his own rig, so he rode back to town with Caleb as he had many times before. But this time, Ellie sat on the bench in the rear with Nate. Caleb stopped at the parsonage first, wished the reverend a good-night, and then prodded the horses toward Mrs. Ned’s.

He pulled up in front and Ellie gathered her skirts and prepared to get down. He stopped her with a hand on her arm.

She stared at it and froze.

Caleb released her and she settled back on the seat.

Nate fussed in the back.

This was hardly a perfect situation in which to propose marriage. But then he didn’t think a perfect situation would reveal itself anytime soon.

“Ellie, I’ve been thinking about something.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like you to think about marrying me.”

Her eyes opened wide and she faced him with a look of pure shock on her face.

“Nate needs a mother,” he said, and then realized how awful that sounded. “I need a wife. I know this sounds selfish. I make an adequate living right now and I am sure it will get better. I have a home to offer you.” What more did he really have to offer her? “You wouldn’t have to work at the hotel and you’d have more leisure time to pursue your own interests. Perhaps needlepoint or…”

A strong breeze blew a loose strand of hair across her cheek and she pushed it away distractedly. Her gaze had turned to the street, but he knew she wasn’t really seeing anything. He’d probably shocked her and he hadn’t really offered enough to be convincing. “I’ll be able to afford a housekeeper eventually.”

She turned to look at him finally.

“Just think about it,” he said, disgusted with himself. He’d bungled the whole thing. “Will you do that?”

She nodded mutely.

He got down and came around to assist her from the buggy and she immediately drew away from his touch and stood aside.

“I’ll see you in the morning then.”

She nodded and he got back into the buggy, then watched her climb the stairs and enter the boardinghouse.

Well, he’d lost nothing by asking. She would either say yes or no. He drove the team to the livery, lamenting what he’d do if she said no. For some curious reason it had suddenly become imperative that she not turn him down. His proposal hadn’t been the least bit convincing, however. What more could he have said? How could he have sweetened the pot?

Ellie seemed a practical sort; his suggestions had all been practical. Or perhaps he’d missed the mark entirely by being so practical. Maybe she would have responded better to romance. He could start over again and court her.

Caleb spent the rest of the evening second-guessing himself and wondering how he could go back and earn a chance to convince her.

Ellie’s head, which had already been filled with all the new sights and experiences of the day, was now in a whirl. Her mind replayed Caleb’s astounding words. I’d like you to think about marrying me. She’d think of nothing else for the rest of her life. The rest of her sorry, stinking, miserable life.

Caleb Chaney, a respectable man who’d been raised in a respectable family and had graduated from a respectable university…now a doctor…had asked her to marry him.

If she lived to be a hundred she would remember his voice saying the words. I’d like you to think about marrying me.

Of course she couldn’t do it.

He wouldn’t have asked if he knew who she was, who her mother had been, and where she’d been raised. He wouldn’t even allow her around his son if he knew her secret shame.

Ellie greeted Miss Shaw and Mr. Davis on the wide front porch and hurried up to her room for her pitcher and bowl so she could retrieve warm water from the well on the stove.

She carried the water back to her room, removed her skirt and blouse, her petticoats and chemise, brushed out her hair and washed the day’s dust from her face and body.

In the golden glow of the oil lamp, she caught her reflection from the waist up in the grainy mirror attached to the bureau. For once, she allowed herself to look. Her dark hair was thick and wavy and shone in the lamplight. Her features wouldn’t curdle milk by any means, and she had full, solid breasts and a narrow waist. Is this why he wants to marry me? Had she done something to encourage him in that way?

Being attractive to a man was a detriment, not an asset. She dried quickly. Ellie wasn’t so blind or ignorant that she didn’t know what she’d lost. She would have made a good wife and mother.

But her mother had ruined all that. Her mother had ruined her life and hadn’t cared. No man would ever want her now if they knew. She could barely stand to look at herself.

She pulled her white cotton nightgown over her head and laced the ribbons that held the neck closed.

Ellie ran the brush through her hair again and unwillingly met her own gaze. The stroking of the hairbrush fell still.

She’d lived with the secret this long. No one could tell by looking at her. Caleb didn’t know. His family didn’t know. No one in the entire town of Newton was any the wiser.

What if she accepted Caleb’s offer? What if she married him? She could glimpse the first shred of security she’d ever known. She could have a home. Her brothers could have a home.

Her chest ached and her fingers tightened on the brush. They could live together in that beautiful house with all the books and the full pantry.

Ellie placed the brush on the bureau and blew out the lamp. She moved to the window, raised the shade and lifted the pane as high as it would go. Leaning out the open portal, she peered into the darkness, identified a few lights and buildings and squinted, knowing full well she couldn’t see all the way to the doctor’s house from here, but imagining she could.

The warm summer breeze flitted across her face, lifted her hair and blew her nightgown against her damp skin. She closed her eyes and smelled the moonstruck air.

What about sacrificing the freedom she valued? Right now she was in control of her own life.

Some life, she thought with self-derision.

She would never allow herself to be vulnerable again, however. And the physical aspects of marriage were simply an impossibility for her.

But what about Flynn and Benjamin? Her whole purpose for the past year had been to somehow make a home for them.

Caleb Chaney needed a mother for his son. She needed a home for her brothers. Could they strike a bargain?

She hadn’t seen the boys for weeks and she ached to know if they were well and fed, if not happy. It would take a miracle and a lot of time ever to see them happy.

Ellie opened her eyes and studied the silent heavens for a sign. Maybe, just maybe, an arrangement could be made that would accommodate everyone.

She left the shade and the window open and climbed into bed.

Before he left for work that morning didn’t seem like the appropriate time to discuss a marriage arrangement with him, so Ellie saw Caleb off and went about the routine she’d established.

Everything had changed, however. She looked at the house and the furnishings with new eyes. This could be a home for her family if Caleb still wanted to marry her after he heard her conditions.

Before it grew hot, she took Nate outside and wandered in the yard, imagining a garden with towering beanpoles and fresh, leafy lettuce. She pictured flower beds with bright nasturtiums, asters and snapdragons. Remembering a book she’d seen in Caleb’s study, she carried Nate back in and pulled the volume, How to Plant and Plan Your Dooryard and Kitchen Garden, from the shelf. She placed a blanket in the shade of the side yard, propped herself beside him and began to read.

Ellie’s eyes grew heavy and she turned over, rested the book on her stomach and looked up into the whispering leaves. Nate slept soundly beside her. The scent of roses drifted across the yard. She’d never had a more perfect or restful afternoon. Her thoughts drifted to Benjamin and Flynn and she wondered what they were doing that day. She missed them terribly.

After Nate’s nap, she began work on dinner, making fresh rolls to go with the hen she was roasting and the creamed carrots Caleb had a fondness for. She stirred a pan of rice pudding and left it in the oven.

Caleb arrived home a little later than usual. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, coming into the kitchen. “I was called over to Mabel Connely’s only an hour ago and spent some time reassuring her she’s not having heart failure.”

“She’s ill?”

“She’s fat. And she won’t take my word for it that she needs to take off some pounds so she can move about more easily. Her heart will go one of these days if she doesn’t do as I—” He stopped short and studied the table. “You’re staying to eat?”

A flush warmed her all the way from her toes to her ears. “If that’s okay with you. I thought we could talk.”

“About?”

This wasn’t how she’d planned to discuss it. “About what you asked me to think about.”

“You’re not making a decision this quickly, are you? Maybe you should take some time to think about it before you turn me down. I know we don’t know each other very well, but—”

“Why don’t you sit? I’m almost finished here.”

Caleb moved to the small wooden table and folded his long body onto a chair. Ellie didn’t turn while she took rolls from the oven and spooned the carrots into a bowl, but she heard him talking to Nate.

Once all the food was on the table, she stood beside her chair.

Caleb jumped up and pulled the chair out for her. She sat.

He filled his plate, mashed a few bites for his baby and blew on them before giving him a taste. “I love these carrots.”

She knew.

He took a few bites and then laid his fork down.

Ellie looked up. “Is it all right?”

“It’s fine. It’s great. Just tell me your decision.”

She’d only taken a few bites herself, because her stomach fluttered as though a thousand butterflies had taken up residence. She touched the napkin to her lips and laid her fork on her plate. “I thought about what you asked me to think about.”

“About getting married.”

She nodded.

Nate slapped his palm on his wooden tray and Caleb gave him a bite of mashed carrot.

“Nate needs a mother, you said.”

“That wasn’t a very romantic proposal.”

“This is a hard land and neither of our situations are easy. Survival isn’t very romantic.”

He studied her, waiting.

“There’s something I need, too.”

A line formed between his brows. “What’s that?”

“I need a home for my brothers,” she blurted. “I can give you my word that I would be a good mother to Nate.” She hadn’t wanted children of her own; she’d had enough responsibility and hardship taking care of her brothers, but if her compromise would meet their needs and ease their sadly lacking young lives, she’d do it gladly.

“He would be like my own child,” she said, her voice trembling with the solemn promise. “And in return, my brothers would have a home here with us.”

He seemed to turn the idea over in his mind a few times, his gaze moving from her to Nate and back. She was the answer to his being able to keep both his son and his practice. He was the answer to her dreams of a home for her family.

“They’re not young children, is that right?”

“Flynn is nine and Benjamin is fifteen. They’re doing farm work for no pay right now. They could work, but they have to go to school. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for them.”

Caleb fed Nate another bite and took a few for himself. “I believe I can agree to that, Ellie.”

She was so encouraged she almost laughed, but then she remembered to add, “You will have to promise me that you won’t ever hit them.”

His expression was stricken. “I’ve never hit a child in my life. Nate might need a whipping or two when he’s old enough, but I do not beat children.”

She’d had to say it. She’d had to be sure. She nodded. “There’s one more thing.”

He raised a brow and studied her.

“We will not share a bedroom.” Quickly, she lowered her gaze to her plate. Her face burned, but she hardened her resolve. Better if he knew ahead that it could never be.

Nate made happy-baby noises. A dog barked somewhere outside. Caleb said nothing.

Finally she chanced an upward glance.

He was studying his fork, his brows drawn together in thought. She knew what he was thinking. He was a man, and men wanted to perform those repulsive acts with women. He was probably wondering how many others were available if his wife wasn’t. Ellie knew about that kind of woman only too well.

“What about more children?” he asked.

A little crack opened near her heart. She’d already borne one, but he would never know that. She could never have another. He didn’t deserve the anger and resentment burning on the inside of her. But that didn’t change things. “I don’t want more children.”

“You might change your mind someday.”

And she might walk out that door and find a tree growing money, too. “I wouldn’t set any store by it if I was you.”

His jaw tensed as if her words had made him mad. But he looked at Nate and the muscles relaxed. He raised his chin a notch. “Anything else?”

“That’s it.”

He picked up his fork with a smile. “All right. I’ll make arrangements with Reverend Beecher. Do you want to plan a wedding?”

She didn’t have the first idea how. “I just want to go get my brothers.”

He gave a nod and ate. “We’ll do that first thing Saturday.”

“It has to be legal.”

“I’ll see an attorney and have adoption papers drawn up. For both of us.”

She would adopt Nate? She looked at his sweet face with carrots smashed on his chin and prayed she was doing the right thing. For all of them.

Chapter Seven

The following day Caleb dropped his instruments into the water he’d boiled on the tiny stove in his office for the purpose of sterilizing them and thought for the millionth time about what he was preparing to do. She might change her mind.

He’d thought that part at least a hundred times. Surely she’d change her mind. He’d already been married to a woman who liked the idea of children, but not the reality. Leila hadn’t been entirely wild about the intimacy part, but she hadn’t refused.

If Ellie truly did not want children for whatever reasons, he could certainly take care of that. He was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. He could explain methods to prevent her from becoming pregnant. He would have liked more children, of course, but right now his concern was the child he did have and the best way to care for him.

At this moment he couldn’t see past keeping Nate with him and not having to let Patty and Denzil take him. He could make this arrangement work. If Ellie was willing to make a go of it, he could, too. He had Nate. And her brothers would be with them. Maybe someday Ellie would change her mind. After all, she didn’t really know Caleb or what kind of a husband and father he would make. And he would have the opportunity to erase the loneliness that accompanied her like a dark shadow.

He visited the reverend over the noon hour, taking a pie he bought at Hintz’s Bakery on the way. Reverend Beecher had a penchant for peaches, and his face lit up when he saw the sugary crust with golden juices glistening through the slits in the pastry.

“You sure about this, son?” he asked when Caleb told him their intent.

“Sure as I’m going to be,” he replied. “Ellie is the answer to my prayers.”

“God works in mysterious ways,” the reverend said with a nod. “Perhaps she is at that.”

They made plans for an informal ceremony on Saturday afternoon. Caleb would post a handwritten, open invitation at the post office and at the grocer’s. He shook hands with Reverend Beecher. On his way back to the office he stopped by Isaac’s Restaurant and made arrangements for food to be prepared and delivered to his house, then remembered to return to Hintz’s Bakery and order a cake.

His parents took it well when he told them that evening. He knew because his mother didn’t faint or cry, and his father didn’t try to talk him out of it. They both just looked at him with such sad eyes and pitying expressions that he knew they were thinking he was doing this out of desperation.

The fact that they were right lodged in his craw like a fishbone. But this was the only acceptable option. They were just going to have to live with it. Not every marriage was made in heaven like theirs. Their own picture-perfect lives had skewed their sense of reality.

Saturday delivered a hot, sultry Kansas morning. Caleb bathed Nate and shaved himself before he dressed. With their hair parted and slicked back from their foreheads beneath their hats, father and son traveled the distance to the livery and Caleb harnessed both his horses to the buggy.

Ellie, dressed in her plain white shirtwaist and navy skirt, a bonnet shading her eyes, was waiting on the porch when he arrived at the boardinghouse. She picked up a small battered satchel and hurried forward eagerly, not even waiting for him to assist her up onto the seat.

“Morning, Ellie,” he said.

“Morning.” She placed her bag on the rear floor.

They glanced at each other, and she looked away.

“We’ll move your things to the house tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

“That’s fine. I only brought a change and a few personal things.”

Not exactly packed for a honeymoon, he thought wryly.

She plucked Nate from his basket and seated him upon her lap so he could see the scenery and feel the breeze.

“You two will burn in this sun.” Caleb had never known a lady to travel without a parasol. Ellie was a most unconventional gal, and sometimes he felt as though she’d just arrived from a foreign country. Then she’d speak, sounding just like everyone else in Kansas, and confound him further.

She looked up at him with new worry creasing her lovely brow.

“Here.” He reached beneath the seat and handed her his black umbrella.

She expanded it and shaded herself and the baby. Caleb pulled his hat brim down over his eyes.

Perhaps she was just excited over being able to bring her brothers home. But the closer they got to Florence, the more nervous Ellie appeared. “You’ll have to show me the farm,” he said, and she nodded and shifted on the leather seat.

A few miles south of the town, she directed him along a rutted road toward a farmhouse. The morning was hot. Sweat trickled down Caleb’s spine and pooled at the waistband of his trousers. A youth stood in the blazing sun, hammering at a wooden trough, but he straightened at the sight of the buggy.

Ellie’s face broke into a brilliant smile, and she rose off the seat with Nate in her grasp.

The rear wheel hit a rut and Caleb grabbed her by the waist to keep her from plummeting off the side of the buggy.

She plunked back down on the seat and pulled away, glancing from him back to the lanky boy. “It’s him! It’s Benjamin,” she said, excitement lacing her tone. “Benjamin!” she called.

The boy dropped the tool he held and limped toward the road. He wore threadbare overalls without a shirt beneath. His thin shoulders, though deeply tanned, had blistered and peeled to an uneven, dirty brown color. A battered straw hat shielded his face, and Caleb couldn’t tell until the lad got close that his eyes were a vivid blue. “Ellie?” he questioned in a voice that cracked on the last syllable in that age-old way of growing males.

Caleb had halted the team.

Ellie fairly shoved Nate into Caleb’s arms so she could leap from the buggy and embrace her brother awkwardly with one arm. His long, slender arms wrapped her waist and back, and his hat tipped and fell. Shaggy sandy hair, thick and damp with sweat, fell forward. He pulled away self-consciously and, while glaring at Caleb, asked his sister, “What happened to your arm?”

“I fell. This is Dr. Chaney. He set it for me.”

He frowned when he looked back at her. “You gonna be all right?”

“I’m fine. This will be off in another week or two. Ben, I’ve come to get you. For good. Dr. Chaney and I are getting married, and you and Flynn are coming to live with us.”

He cocked a scornful glance up at Caleb. “That so?”

“That’s so. Your sister has her mind set on it.”

“He’s not makin’ ya do this, is he?”

“No, Dr. Chaney is a very nice man. You’ll see.”

“I bet I will.”

She touched his arm. “Where’s your brother?”

“Shuckin’ corn last I saw him. Over by the barn there.”

“Let’s go tell him!”

Benjamin picked up his hat and, favoring one foot, hurried after Ellie, who’d set out at a run.

Caleb urged the horses forward.

A woman stood on what couldn’t really be called the porch of the square, unpainted house. The yard was neat, the steps were swept, and the woman wore a clean calico dress.

Two girls sat in the shade beside the house, a blanket spread beneath them and cloth dolls on their laps. Placing the dolls on the blanket, they stood and moved up beside their mother. They wore cotton dresses, white aprons and polished brown shoes. Their hair had been braided and the ends tied with ribbons.

There wasn’t any shade except near the barn, so Caleb led the horses on, let them drink from a trough. He left them standing hitched to the buggy.

By the time he was finished, Ellie had found her youngest brother and the three of them were walking toward him. Ellie’s hand rested protectively on the boy’s bare brown shoulder. He, too, was shirtless, and Caleb frowned at the foolishness of not wearing protective clothing against the glaring prairie sun.

This boy’s hair was dark, as dark as Nate’s was light, and his eyes were a rich warm umber. The skin on his nose and cheeks was pink and peeling like that of his shoulders. Like Benjamin’s shoulders. “This the doctor?” he queried in his little-boy gruff voice.

“This is him. Caleb, this is Flynn.”

Caleb shifted Nate to one shoulder and stretched out a hand.

The child backed up an inch and moved closer to his sister.

“He wants to shake your hand,” she said coaxingly. “It’s something polite men do when they’re introduced.”

Caleb thought it a little odd that she’d thought she needed to explain something so elementary to him.

Flynn looked from his sister to Caleb and stepped forward, hesitantly putting his hand out awkwardly. Caleb shook it.

“And you saw Benjamin,” she said, nodding at the taller boy.

Caleb extended his hand.

Benjamin gauged Caleb with those icy blue eyes and ignored his hand.

The three of them stared at Caleb and he stared back, noting finally that they looked nothing alike. There was some resemblance in facial structure between Benjamin and Ellie perhaps, but one would never know they were siblings.

“What’s goin’ on?” A man’s voice echoed from the other side of the barn, and a stocky man rounded the corner and hurried toward them.

Flynn turned toward Ellie, and when he did so, Caleb caught sight of dark blotches on his ribs. The boy was so tanned and so dusty that at first Caleb didn’t realize what he was looking at. But he was a doctor. When the realization struck him, it numbed his thinking for a moment.

The boy had been injured. “Flynn, what happened to your side?” Caleb asked.

Flynn turned so that his back was against Ellie. “Nothin’.”

“You’ve been hurt. Let me see.” Caleb moved closer to inspect. The child flinched and grabbed for his sister. Caleb slid the denim strap from his shoulder and exposed his scrawny back. Bruises marred skin that blended into untanned white, and there, where the sun hadn’t reached, the purple and green shone vividly. Another area revealed yellowish, almost healed bruising.

He knew immediately that someone had done this to the child. This was not from a fall. Some of the bruises were newer than others. “Who did this to you?”

Flynn’s expression was shuttered, and he looked down at his scuffed and torn shoes.

Caleb met Ellie’s eyes where tears pooled. A single tear ran down her snowy cheek and she swiped it away quickly. He saw anger and resolution in her eyes, as well as something he hated: fear.

He jerked his gaze to Benjamin, who glared at him with a muscle jumping in his fuzzy cheek. Benjamin turned his stare to the man who had reached them, and hatred flared in eyes too old and too jaded for someone so young. His belligerent behavior immediately became clear.

“What’re you doin’ here?” the man asked Ellie. “You’re not supposed to visit for a couple more weeks.”

“I’ve come to take my brothers, Mr. Heath.” Her voice trembled, but she kept her liquid gaze squarely locked with the man’s.

“Like hell you are. The county gave me these boys and they ain’t said they were takin’ ’em away.”

“We’ve had legal papers drawn up.” Her voice gained strength and she tightened her hold around Flynn’s shoulders. “I’m marrying this man and he’s going to adopt my brothers.”

“You got proof? You got a judge in that fancy buggy?”

“We have proof that you’re not fit guardians,” Caleb said angrily, unable to keep out of the discussion any longer. Gently he turned Flynn so that his ribs and back were visible to the farmer. “This is no way to treat children.”

“He’s clumsy. He fell.”

“He did not fall.”

“Did you fall, boy?” Heath asked, jerking his whiskered chin at Flynn.

Flynn still looked at his shoes, but he nodded.

Caleb pulled Flynn’s strap back up over his shoulder and turned to Benjamin. “Why are you limping?”

The youth cast him a surly look. “I musta stepped on somethin’.”

“Let me see.”

“Go to hell.”

“Benjamin,” Ellie said with authority. “Take off your shoes right this minute.”

Benjamin looked from the Heath man to his sister, and after a moment, sat on the ground to comply. He wore no stockings inside the worn-out old work boots.

Caleb handed Nate to Ellie and knelt to examine Ben’s dirty feet. His soles were blistered and callused, and he had red, infected sores on his heels as well as on several of his toes.

Fury, like nothing he’d ever known, welled up inside Caleb, and he saw nothing but a red haze for a full thirty seconds. When it cleared, he looked up at Benjamin, but the boy’s jaw was set and he’d cast his belligerent gaze aside.

Slowly, Caleb rose to his feet and deliberately looked at the sturdy pair of boots on the Heath man’s feet before looking him in the eye. In all his life before he’d never wanted to strike a human being or an animal, but the desire to pummel this man standing before him beyond recognition was a living, breathing beast inside of him.

He could probably do it, too. He was bigger, younger…His fingers flexed and formed fists with the consuming need to make this man suffer, but that was exactly what he couldn’t allow himself to do.

These boys had seen their share of violence, and had obviously been on the receiving end more than once. Behaving the same way that this man did was not the way to show them a wiser choice. Nor would it assure them that Caleb was any better, and he suddenly wanted their trust badly.

He silently counted to ten…then to twenty…. Sweat trickled down his temple. He took a breath and relaxed his stance and his hands. Then he allowed himself to look at Ellie.

Stark terror had blanched the color from her face. That did it.

“It’s obvious that these children have been treated cruelly,” he began in the calmest voice he could manage. “Flynn has bruises in various stages of healing. They’re not the result of a one-time incident—or an accident. Benjamin’s feet are in need of medical attention. He has blisters from poorly fitting shoes, and they have become infected and gone untreated far too long.”

Because he didn’t want to frighten the boy he didn’t mention that it would take skill and probably prayer to save a couple of those toes.

“Both of them have been exposed to heat and sun without proper clothing. I’d bet my horses that they’ve had very little nourishing food in their stomachs for months. Both are underweight and appear to suffer from exhaustion. Your animals don’t look like they’ve been treated as badly as these boys.”

“What do you think you are, a doctor?” the man asked with a snarl.

“As a matter of fact that’s exactly what I am. I’m taking these boys with me, and I’m reporting their condition to county welfare.”

“You don’t have any right!” the man blustered. “Get the hell off my land.”

“Even if the papers for their adoption weren’t already filed, I’d have enough legal rights to take them away from here. You’ll never do this to another child, Heath. Your days of starving and smacking foster children are over.”

Caleb walked toward the two girls huddled against their mother’s skirts and observed their clean, healthy appearance and well-nourished complexions. They were obviously this woman’s own children—probably Heath’s daughters, but not farmhand material.

Though assured that they weren’t treated like the foster children the Heaths had taken in, the comparison sickened him, and he imagined the mental anguish of those two boys, seeing these girls being fed and pampered while they were mistreated.

He looked into Mrs. Heath’s eyes, where a deep and abiding shame was reflected. She dropped her gaze. He took a brief inventory of her face and hands, wondering if she’d received any of the abuse her husband dealt so freely. He couldn’t even think of anything to say to her.

Caleb turned and walked back to Ellie, who stood trembling. Nate looked perplexed and hot in her grasp. Caleb took his baby from her one good arm, freeing her to guide her brothers toward the buggy.

“If you have anything you want, go get it,” Caleb said. “I’ll see that Heath stays right here while you do.”

Benjamin spoke up. “I want the clothes Ellie bought me.”

“No, Ben, let’s just get,” Flynn said with a tremor in his voice.

“I want them clothes,” his brother insisted.

“Go get them.” Caleb stood between Heath and the barn while Benjamin limped barefoot toward the barn.

“You’re not gonna get away with this!” Heath bellowed his anger at losing two unpaid farmhands.

Caleb ignored him, knowing the weasel wasn’t man enough to attack someone his own size.

Benjamin returned a few minutes later and bent to retrieve his boots.

“Leave them,” Caleb ordered.

Benjamin straightened. He studied the dilapidated boots only a moment before carrying the bag and tossing it up into the buggy. He assisted Flynn up into the vehicle, then helped Ellie. He finally climbed into the back where he moved Nate’s basket and Ellie’s satchel to make room for his own long legs, then he gingerly sat.

Caleb climbed up, handed Nate over to Ellie and flicked the reins over the horses’ backs. The team pulled them away from the Heath farm.

Ellie’s heart finally settled down to a normal beat. For a while there she’d been afraid it would burst from her chest. Caleb had been furious. She’d barely breathed, waiting for something dreadful to happen, for him to yell and hit that man. What would she have done if he’d been seriously hurt?

His reaction had caught her completely off guard, and his calm and deliberate words and the meaning behind them had diffused the explosive situation.

Guilt and pain tore through Ellie’s chest, and she bit her lip to keep from crying. If only she’d known what had been happening on that farm. Why hadn’t her brothers told her? What could she have done if they had? She’d have had to take the boys and run from the county authorities, because she’d already tried to get them legally and had been denied.

Those bruises on Flynn’s skinny ribs were like arrows stabbed into her heart. He’d endured so much in his short, painful life—both her brothers had. And the thought of them hungry and hurt and without someone to love them twisted her insides into a knot of racking torture. It was so unfair…so unfair….

Nate had fallen asleep and her arm ached from holding him. “Flynn, can you help me lay Nate in his basket between you two?”

“Where’d you get this baby, Ellie?” the boy inquired as he moved the basket and clumsily helped her place the baby.

“This is Nate,” she said. “He’s Dr. Chaney’s little boy.”

“Dr. Chaney’s really gonna ’dopt us?”

“Yes,” Caleb replied, turning his head so he could glance at Flynn. “And you’re to call me Caleb.”

“If we’re ’dopted, then does that make Nate our brother?”

“I guess it does,” Caleb replied.

Flynn grinned, and his frank pleasure brought more tears to Ellie’s eyes. She blinked them away.

Benjamin sat with his hat brim over his eyes, looking out across the fields.

“Where we goin’ anyhow?” Flynn asked.

“Caleb has a beautiful house in Newton,” Ellie supplied. “You’ll be able to go to school—he promised.”

“School’s for babies,” Benjamin snapped.

Ellie glanced at Caleb, but he said nothing, just faced forward as though the horses held his attention.

“I wanna go to school.” A note of wistfulness tinged Flynn’s voice.

“You will,” she promised.

They entered Newton, and the boys studied their surroundings. Caleb pulled the buggy up in front of Gerson’s Clothing Store. “We’re all going in,” he said, reaching into the back for Nate’s basket.

They followed him without question. In a state of numbness, Ellie watched Caleb speak to the store owner, who obliged him by measuring the boys and selecting items from his shelves. With a stack of clothing and shoes already piled on the counter, the balding, spectacled little man approached Ellie and looked her over.

“I think I have a few dresses that will fit.”

“Oh, I don’t need a dress—”

“Choose something for today, Ellie,” Caleb said gently from beside her. Flynn was inspecting his surroundings with awe and Benjamin was trying to act uninterested. Apparently Caleb wanted her to have a nice dress for the ceremony.

She nodded mutely.

Joseph Gerson led her to a display of ready-made dresses. The man’s perusal of her height and size made her want to run out of the store, but he turned aside, all businesslike, and gestured. “These three should fit you without alterations.”

“I’d need to take out the seam in the sleeve for this cast.”

“My wife will do that for you. It’ll only take a minute.”

She selected one of rose fabric with a white insert bodice and a full pleated skirt. “I like this one.”

“She’ll take all three,” Caleb said. “And a pair of opera slippers, something stylish. Kid if you have it.”

Mr. Gerson’s face lit up. “I have just the pair! French kid with a bow across the arch. Let’s test the fit.”

Self-consciously, Ellie took the two pairs he handed her and sat on a stool to remove her plain black boots. They were good boots and she’d been proud to purchase them with her first pay from the hotel. The first pair of soft leather slippers fit perfectly. She tied the black bow and admired the dainty shoe.

“We’ll take them,” Caleb said. “Send me the bill.”

All that clothing had to cost a fortune! With a sick feeling in her stomach, Ellie clutched Nate and said softly to Caleb, “I—I can’t pay you back for all that.”

He cast her a gentle smile. “You’re my family now. That’s my responsibility.”

“But—”

“Money’s not a problem,” he assured her. “I lease my share of the ranch, and receive a comfortable sum each month. I also own a few horses that my father breeds for me.”

Dazed, Ellie returned to the buggy, not even noticing the heat as Caleb drove the team and pulled up in front of his house.

“This it?” Flynn asked, jumping down and eyeing the two-story structure. It must have looked like a castle. Ellie remembered her reaction the first time she’d seen it.

Caleb looked at his pocket watch. “We have time for baths—Ellie, will you help me heat water?”

She’d bathed the night before and could have managed quite well with a pitcher and bowl, but she caught his drift. The boys needed baths and their heads washed.

“One can eat while the other is bathing,” he said when they were alone for a moment in the kitchen. “Just don’t let them eat too much at a time just yet, and nothing too rich or spicy. Their stomachs will need to get used to adequate amounts slowly.”

Hearing their undernourished condition referred to in such a way angered Ellie all over again. She nodded her understanding.

Nate had awakened and was crying with an empty tummy. She and Caleb pumped water, then Caleb stoked the stove while Ellie fed the baby and prepared small portions of bread and fruit for the boys. Flynn ate, then explored the house and yard, returning often to express his delight.

Benjamin, however, sat on the back step as though unimpressed.

“Who’s first?” Caleb asked.

Flynn volunteered, and they left him alone to scrub. In spite of his protests, Ellie returned to make sure he did a good job washing his hair and behind his ears and under his nails.

Eventually both boys sat on kitchen chairs wearing spanking new knee-length union suits, the tops of which hung at their waists, while Caleb donned his gold-rimmed spectacles, then cleansed and treated their shoulders, necks, ears and faces with unguent.

“I want you to drink this,” Caleb said to Benjamin.

Benjamin looked at the cup. “I don’t have to take nothin’ from you if I don’t want to.”

“No, you don’t. But as a doctor I think you should drink it so it doesn’t hurt quite as bad while I work on your feet.”

The lad’s expression faltered, but he caught himself. “What is it?”

“Laudanum. A small dose. If I were going to poison you, I wouldn’t have traveled all the way to Florence in the heat to bring you here, now would I?”

Benjamin drank the liquid reluctantly and grimaced. Caleb waited for the medicine to take effect before starting to work. Benjamin held his expression in stoic reserve while Caleb disinfected the sores on his toes and feet, applied salve and bandaged them.

Ellie and Flynn watched his sure gentle movements. It was apparent that he took great care not to hurt Benjamin any more than he had to, and when Ben flinched, regret crossed Caleb’s features.

Ellie remembered the concern and care he’d given the Bowman woman, and wondered how his father could have missed the rightness of this occupation for his son. Caleb truly cared for the patients he treated, and that concern was evident in his every touch and glance. She remembered how much better she’d felt knowing he was tending to her arm, and drew comfort that her brothers were receiving that same special care. Surely his confidence and manner gave them ease, too.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t walk for several days,” he said, studying his handiwork through his lenses. “But I wouldn’t want you to miss your sister’s wedding, so you’re free to walk until we get back here afterward. Then I want you off your feet, except for a few minutes at a time.”

“He kin go to the outhouse, right?” Flynn asked.

That was what Caleb had meant, but Flynn spelled it out as plainly as only a child could. Caleb smiled, noting the boy’s neatly parted wet and wavy dark hair. “Right.”

Ellie studied her brothers’ clean hair and freshly scrubbed skin as they buttoned up their union suits. Flynn had begun to unfold his new trousers and shirt. Overwhelming gratefulness rushed over her and she locked gazes with Caleb. She wanted to thank him. She could never repay this debt. The clothes and shoes were material, but a chance for a new life was invaluable. And that was what he’d given them. All of them. The words stuck in her heart.

“Before this afternoon,” Caleb said, wiping his hands on a towel, “I want to let you know that you will be able to eat as much and as often as you want in this home. But right now, for these first days, we need to go slow so you don’t get sick.”

He looked at each of the boys. “Understand?”

Flynn nodded and Ben ignored him.

“We’d better change clothing now ourselves,” he said to Ellie, closing his leather bag.

She gathered her satchel and the packages and hurried up to the room she’d used before. Caleb had thoughtfully placed a walnut-framed cheval mirror in the corner.

Flynn brought her water. “I’m a’sposed to help ya if ya need anything.”

“I’ll call if I need anything.”

He seated himself on the floor outside her room and she grinned, closing the door. She washed her hands and face with the fresh water and dressed her hair, all the while replying to his muffled questions. Brushing a few wrinkles from the rose-colored dress, she slipped it on. It had a row of buttons up the back.

“Now I need help,” she said.

Flynn burst into the room, and she turned her back, indicating the fasteners.

He buttoned her dress clumsily, and she checked in the mirror to make sure he’d gotten them all.

“This is sorta like a fairy tale, isn’t it?” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What is?”

“Gettin’ to live in this fancy house and you marryin’ the doctor an’ all. I looked in the pantry room and the kitchen shelves and there’s food to last a winter!”

Ellie pulled him against her, mindful of his bruised ribs and back, and hugged him as tightly as she dared. Cupping his beloved face, she looked down into the dark, dark eyes of this boy she’d raised on her own with no means to do it and rubbed her thumbs over his freckled cheekbones. The salve Caleb had daubed on his peeled and burned nose glistened. “Nobody will ever hurt you again, sweet boy. I promise you. You’re going to eat my cooking until you pop and then eat some more.”

“Do I get ta sleep in one o’ these rooms up here? There ain’t no barn.”

“You and Ben get a room to share, but a bed all your own. Caleb had two beds sent over from the furniture store. I haven’t fixed the room up yet, but we’ll have plenty of time to do that.”

“I always wanted a feather pilla, Ellie. ’Member you had one once, but somethin’ happened to it. You shared it with me sometimes.”

Their mother had thrown it out into the yard in a drunken fit, and a dog had torn it open and scattered the feathers to the November wind. “You’ll have one all your own,” she promised.

She was making a lot of promises, placing a lot of hope in the doctor and their agreement. Keeping all those promises depended on Caleb Chaney. Once more Ellie felt completely vulnerable, something she had never wanted to feel again.

Chapter Eight

Ben came out dressed in the clothes Ellie had purchased for him, rather than those Caleb had selected. She started to object, but Caleb silenced her by saying, “What handsome brothers you have, Ellie.”

Benjamin’s disdain for Caleb was apparent in his silent glare, but Caleb took it in stride and delivered them to the church.

Ellie had never been to a wedding, so she didn’t know what to expect. She certainly hadn’t anticipated so many people, all dressed in fine clothes and fashionable hats, to fill the pews and murmur things she didn’t want to imagine. She’d never been inside a church before either, and the varnished pine walls, hanging tapestries and brass candelabras fascinated her.

At least Reverend Beecher’s face was familiar, if not the black robe and white stole with gold embroidered crosses that he wore. Facing him wasn’t nearly as frightening as facing Mr. Heath had been that same morning.

Caleb’s attire was unfamiliar as well, and obviously not ready-made. The black suit and tie and white shirt had been tailored to his tall frame and broad shoulders, and emphasized his masculinity. The cut and fabric were a subtle reminder of his prosperity, and for a brief moment Ellie resented her reasons for doing this. That first day when she’d walked beside this man, she’d imagined being his friend, pretended she was someone with whom he’d be proud to be seen.

And here she was using a made-up name to wed herself to him so she could have a measure of stability for the first time in her life. He was still as respectable and as kind and as honorable as she’d first thought—more so now that she’d really seen his nature. If she’d had any doubts before, they’d been erased this morning when he’d controlled his temper and handled the situation at the Heath farm calmly and firmly.

She had made the right decision for her brothers.

As she stood beside him and the crowd hushed, she smiled at Benjamin and Flynn in their new clothing and shoes and her heart welled with newfound joy.

The reverend spoke and she turned her attention to his words. In a matter of minutes, she’d repeated the vows he read from a slim volume, and Caleb did the same. Reverend Beecher took her hand and gave it to Caleb, and Ellie gaped at the gold ring set with an emerald surrounded by diamond chips that Caleb slid on her finger. And just like that they were pronounced man and wife.

Caleb placed his hands on her upper arms, and the unexpected touch startled her. He leaned forward and she stared at him.

He touched his cheek to hers only briefly, then released her and offered his jacket-clad arm. Feeling foolish, Ellie placed her hand on his sleeve and he led them away from the altar amidst a smattering of applause.

A sea of people appeared to greet and congratulate them, and the names and faces became a blur. She recognized Caleb’s parents—his mother with tears in her eyes—and Caleb’s sister and her family, as well as a few of the store owners she’d met while shopping with Nate. Goldie Krenshaw had turned out to see Ellie’s marriage, and Ellie couldn’t have been more surprised.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said, and took her hand.

Ellie smiled her thanks. “How are things at the dormitory?”

“Same as always. ’Cept your wedding made for a bit more exciting news this week.”

“How did you know to come today?”

“Read one of the notices posted around town. Said everyone was welcome, so I thought I’d come over since I had the afternoon free.”

“I’m glad you did,” Ellie said as Caleb took her elbow. “Real glad.”

Caleb ushered her down the church stairs and into his buggy waiting on the street. “The boys,” she said, thinking of Nate as well as her brothers.

“My parents will bring them home.”

Home. They had a home. At long last. The concept constricted her throat, and she brought her fists to her heart. Could her wish really be coming true?

“Are you all right?” he asked, slowing the team in front of the house. Concern creased his forehead, and the afternoon sun glinted off his hair.

Words failing her because of this unexpected good fortune, she nodded.

He came around, and reached up for her.

Ellie placed her hand in his and used the step to descend. “There’s someone in the house!” she said, catching sight of a figure moving behind the window, and noting that the door stood open.

“Yes.” He led her up the walk.

She glanced at him in confusion, then back at the house, hesitant to go any farther.

“It’s okay,” he said with a smile. “It’s a surprise.”

Puzzled, she walked ahead of him into the house and the savory smell of food got her attention. He gestured into the room he called a parlor. She stepped to the doorway. Two tables had been set up and draped with white linen. One held an assortment of meat and potato dishes, relishes and rolls. On the other stood a three-layered cake with fluffy white frosting, and an enormous bowl filled with what looked like lemonade. A silver ladle was propped against the rim and glass cups were stacked nearby.

“What is all this?” she asked.

“It’s customary to celebrate a wedding,” he said with the lift of one brow. The grin quickly turned to a look of concern. “You don’t like it?”

“Yes.” She admired the tables of food more closely. “I like it a lot. I just didn’t know….”

“Well, that’s why it was a surprise.” He looked at her as though she’d said something foolish and she probably had. None of the surprises in Ellie’s previous life had been pleasant.

Her mind raced and silently she cursed the Episcopal ladies for not mentioning wedding etiquette in their obviously incomplete book of manners. Thanks were always appropriate. “Thank you.”

“You’re a puzzle, Ellie.”

Guests started arriving then and Caleb’s friends and neighbors and relatives monopolized their attention. Mrs. Ned arrived and gave the women arranging the tables helpful suggestions.

Even Miss Shaw and Mrs. Henderson arrived and congratulated the newlyweds. A wedding in Newton was obviously a big event. Everyone seemed to know what to do with themselves, filling plates and cups and eating standing up or sitting on the furniture or even carrying their feast outdoors and standing in the yard in clusters.

“That’s such a pretty dress,” Patricia said. “How are you managing your clothing with that dreadful cast?”

“I’ve taken the seams out of the left sleeve of all my shirtwaists. Caleb just bought this dress for me this morning, and the shop owner’s wife took out the stitches carefully so I could repair it as good as new when the cast comes off.”

“It’s a beautiful ring, too.”

The piece of jewelry felt heavy and foreign on her finger, and with her arm held across her breast in the sling, it seemed as though everyone commented on the winking gems.

“Your brothers are certainly handsome young men, though so terribly shy. I haven’t heard either one say a word.”

“Where did you see them last?”

“Outside. Lucy is taken with your younger brother. The girl is so forward.”

Ellie thought Lucy was delightful and would have loved to see Ben and Flynn show some of her confidence. Maybe she’d be good for them.

“I think I’ll find them. They don’t know anyone here.”

Ellie spotted the children beneath the shadow of a willow tree in the side yard. The boys had removed their shoes and rolled back their sleeves. Lucy was in the process of unbuttoning her tiny leather boots and slipping them off.

“Look, Ellie,” she said with an impish grin. “We’re coolin’ our feet.”

Benjamin stared off toward the street as though he were bored.

“Lucy said you’re her aunt now.” Flynn systematically peeled leaves and twigs from a willow branch he’d broken from the tree.

“I guess I am.” Ellie settled herself on the grass beside Benjamin.

“You’re still our sister an’ that’s better.”

Lucy had peeled her white stockings down and they lay strewn in the grass. She wiggled her toes and giggled. “This feels funny.”

Her feet were as white and delicate as Nate’s, her tiny toes pink and cute. They’d probably never had sun or grass touch them before. Benjamin met Ellie’s eyes, and she knew the comparison he was making. He’d kept his new stockings on over his ravaged and bandaged feet and was resting them just as Caleb had instructed. Even wearing a new pair of shoes that were large enough must have been torture these past few hours.

She laid her hand on his tanned, bare arm. “You all right?”

He nodded.

“Did you eat?”

He shook his head.

“I did,” Flynn piped up. “Caleb helped me choose stuff. But Ben didn’t wanna go in there with all them people.”

“I’ll go get you food.” Ellie hurried into the house and returned with carefully selected portions on a plate. “I couldn’t carry a drink too, Flynn. Go get your brother some lemonade.”

Flynn scurried off to obey.

Ben accepted the plate and fork and dug into the savory dishes.

“Those two times I ate with you at the farm, and Mrs. Heath cooked a meal and we all sat in the kitchen, that wasn’t how it usually was…was it?”

“Nope. We ate on the back step and we mostly got salt pork or corn dodgers or bean porridge. Sometimes the girls brought us cookies or hunks of fresh bread. Once one of them snuck us a custard pie. I think Mrs. Heath knew, but she was scared o’ him.”

She spoke around the ache in her throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It only woulda made you feel bad. I didn’t want you to worry about us. You had your own problems. And there wasn’t anything you coulda done.”

This was the first time in months he’d spoken more than half a dozen surly words to her. “Things are going to be a whole lot better from here on,” she assured him. “You have to go to school, Ben. You have to know how to read and figure to get by.”

“I haven’t been to school since fourth grade,” he said. “I’d be the only big dummy there. I can’t go.”

“You can go. And you can make up what you’ve missed. I’ll help you.”

He shook his head.

Lucy interrupted. “I’m going to school pretty soon. You can sit by me.”

Ben’s skin turned red beneath his deep tan. He didn’t look at the little girl or acknowledge she’d spoken.

“He don’t like me.” Lucy had leaned to whisper in Ellie’s ear. She’d pressed her weight against the cast, but it didn’t hurt anything except where it pushed the plaster of paris into her ribs.

“He likes you just fine,” Ellie said softly. “It just takes him a while to warm up to people.”

Benjamin set down the empty plate just as Flynn returned with lemonade sloshing over the brims of two glass cups. “I got one for Lucy, too, since she’s so little an’ all. It’s kinda hard for her to carry stuff without spillin’ it.”

“Thank you.” Lucy’s polite words and shy smile would have pleased her mother, even if the bare feet and grass-stained dress would soon give her a conniption. She took the cup and sipped daintily as she’d obviously been coached.

“Flynn likes me though,” she said in a stage whisper.

Ellie chuckled and sat listening to Lucy and Flynn’s childish conversation while she watched the party milling on the lawn. She’d been everywhere but with her new husband—the word lodged uncomfortably in her mind—and the guests were starting to cast her odd looks.

“I’d better get back,” she said finally, picking up Ben’s plate and fork and the two cups.

“Whoa, you’re not supposed to be doing this on your wedding day,” a pretty fair-haired woman said, taking the dishes from Ellie. She smiled, showing nice teeth and attractive smile lines in her glowing cheeks. “I’m Eva Kirkpatrick.”

“The dressmaker under Caleb’s office?”

“That’s me. But I make more than dresses. I made all of the doctor’s baby’s flannels. Sewed all of his little clothes, too.”

“They’re beautiful!”

“Thank you. I have a full-time job making dresses and aprons and the like for Mrs. Connely, though,” she said with a grin. “The woman has grown a dress size every year since I’ve been in business. And you don’t find her size in the Montgomery Ward catalog.”

Ellie recalled the robust woman who’d flown past her leaving Caleb’s office once. Caleb had spoken of his concern for her health.

“I didn’t bring a wedding gift,” Miss Kirkpatrick said. “I’d like you to stop by and let me measure you for something special. We can select a color and a pattern that will compliment your hair and eyes. That will be my gift to you.”

Ellie didn’t know how to respond. She’d only had a dress sewn for her once in her entire life and now she already had so many nice clothes. She gave the woman a hesitant smile. “All right.”

“Wonderful. Stop by whenever you have a free hour. I’ll make tea.” She hurried off toward the house with the dishes.

In the parlor Ellie dipped a cup of lemonade and looked around for Nate, finally finding him sleeping on his grandmother’s lap. Laura Chaney sat in Caleb’s overstuffed chair, fanning herself with a tasseled fan. She motioned for Ellie to draw closer.

“I know it’s warm in here, but sit for a moment.”

Ellie perched on the clawfoot ottoman and sipped the sweet refreshment.

“Caleb says your brothers are your only family.”

“That’s right.”

“Your parents are dead.”

Ellie nodded.

Laura glanced around, noting no one was paying any attention to them. Most everyone had gone outside to catch the breeze. “I know it’s late for a mother-daughter chat, but I wondered if perhaps you needed someone older to talk to.”

Ellie blinked.

“You’re young. Caleb’s been married once before. It would be only natural to have some qualms about your relationship.”

“Well.” Ellie didn’t know what to say, especially to Caleb’s mother. Surely she knew this was an arrangement of convenience on both their parts. After all, they’d only known each other a few weeks. “I think we’ve both made the right choice.”

“Caleb wouldn’t have made the commitment if he didn’t believe it was the right choice.” The fan fluttered the silver hair at her temples. “There’s no way to say this but to be blunt. Have you any questions or concerns about what’s to happen in your marriage bed? I remember I was a tangle of nerves, not knowing what to expect on my wedding night. I almost fainted on poor Matthew when the guests departed and we were left alone. You must be assured that it’s not as ghastly as you’ve probably been led to believe, in fact, the physical relationship can sustain a marriage through many other problems that can arise. Why I recall…”

Her words continued but Ellie shut them out and stared hard at Nate’s cherubic face and damp hair. She couldn’t be talking about the same thing Ellie assumed.

Not as ghastly as she’d been led to believe? The woman had no idea what she was talking about. Ellie had learned about sex as a part of growing up. Her mother had allowed men into her bed at all hours of the day or night, not caring which of her children were present. Ellie had awakened to the sounds. She’d walked in on the disgusting act. Once she’d beaten a naked drunk man over the head with a chair leg, then dragged him down by the creek where he could sleep it off.

She’d cleaned up her mother after brutal attacks and she had delivered Flynn as well as a baby sister into this miserable world with no more than a bucket of stale water with which to wash them and old rags in which to wrap them. She’d buried that starved and sick baby girl herself.

Oh, she knew what happened. And it was more ghastly than this genteel woman could even imagine. And she wanted no part of it. Ever. She didn’t know what Caleb’s mother was referring to, but it wasn’t the same thing Ellie had had experience with.

“Well, thank you,” she said, finally meeting the well-meaning woman’s eyes.

A commotion outside caught her attention and she stood and moved to the window, pushing aside the curtain to see what was happening. A tall, well-dressed man stood on the lawn and the wedding guests had cleared an opening around where he stood.

A few of the women whispered among themselves and several of the men listened and nodded. Caleb appeared in the shade of the porch and stood with one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cup of lemonade. Ellie set down her empty cup, made her way to the front door and slipped out to see what was going on.

Heads turned at her arrival and she moved self-consciously closer to Caleb.

“Well, well, is this the new Mrs. Chaney?” The man walked closer to the house, shading his eyes with his hand. “Another wife for you, Caleb? Are you going to kill her, too?”

A murmur rolled through the crowd. Caleb’s body tensed.

The man’s words had shocked Ellie. “Who is he, Caleb?”

“My former father-in-law,” he replied in a regretful tone.

“She’s a pretty one. Young, too.” The man had reached the bottom of the wooden stairs.

Caleb strode to the top step and looked down at him. “I hardly think this is the place or the time for you to voice your doubts about my medical abilities.”

“Don’t want your new bride to get worried?” he asked, squinting up through the bright sunlight. “Don’t worry,” he called to her. “You’re safe as long as you don’t get sick or try to have a baby. If you do, take my advice and seek a physician elsewhere. He let his last wife die.”

His mocking voice was hauntingly familiar, and threaded a frisson of dread along Ellie’s spine. She took a few more steps closer to Caleb and looked down at the face of the man who had accused Caleb of such a despicable act.

The late afternoon sun beat down unmercifully. A few guests spoke in hushed voices and someone’s crinoline skirts rustled. The porch floor seemed to shift beneath Ellie’s feet and the sweet lemonade she’d enjoyed only moments before turned sour in her stomach. She tasted bile.

She recognized him a second before he recognized her. He looked a little older, though his hair was still dark, and anyone who didn’t know him would consider him attractive.

“Now if this isn’t a pleasant surprise,” he said, shaking his head and grinning dangerously. “Look at little Ellie all grown up and dressed like a virtuous woman.”

A loud buzz sounded in her ears and she watched his lips move, but the words didn’t follow until a few seconds later. “Your taste in women has gone downhill, Chaney.”

Caleb gave her an apologetic glance. “You two know each other?”

“Oh, Ellie and I go back a long way, don’t we, darlin’?”

Ellie wished the searing heat in her stomach would just burst into a fireball and turn her to ashes on the spot.

“I used to run into her when I had business in Florence.”

Caleb studied Ellie with a frown, and she knew her face must have paled. All her fear and self-loathing and hatred were reawakened and intensified, and she struggled to grasp a clear thought.

She’d never feared anyone as she feared this man. She’d never hated anyone as she did him. She’d never again wanted to set eyes on him—the man who had raped her.

Chapter Nine

If there was a God, and Ellie doubted that possibility more today than she ever had, then He was out there somewhere in the Great Beyond rolling dice to see what awful thing happened to torture her next.

Caleb descended the stairs. “If you’d like to eat, Winston, there’s food laid out in the house. There’s cake and coffee and you’re welcome to join our gathering. But I must insist that you not spoil our wedding day by standing out here spouting your inexhaustibly poor opinion of my character and my skill.”

“I don’t think I’ll risk the food.”

One of the ladies sputtered at that. Ellie couldn’t believe her ears. Did they think Caleb would poison them, for goodness’ sake?

“But I would like to kiss the bride.” Winston placed his foot on the lowest step.

“No!” Ellie had finally found her voice. “No,” she said again firmly, and turned and fled into the house.

Her heart hammered painfully. Her head swam with every unspeakable thought and memory she’d ever banished. She ran through the house, out the kitchen door to the outhouse and, finding it occupied, threw up in the tall grass behind.

Head throbbing, she retched until her stomach was empty and her torso muscles ached. Shaking uncontrollably, she wobbled back to the house and kept her head down and her face away from the two women in the kitchen who were stacking clean dishes. She dipped water into a pitcher and carried it upstairs, trembling so fiercely that the liquid sloshed as she went.

In her room, she propped the chair beneath the knob before washing her face and shaking hands and rinsing her mouth.

Winston Parker. Even thinking the name was vile.

She’d never told anyone what he’d done. There’d been no one to tell, no one who cared. The person who should have cared already knew. She’d tried to forget. But there was no erasing his cruelty. The scars were on her heart, in her soul.

Even if she told someone now, they’d never believe her. It was her word against his. A whore’s kid or a respectable banker—whom they would believe wasn’t much of question. How could she stay here now? How could she live in this town, sleep at night, wake up in the morning, knowing he was here? She couldn’t live with herself if Caleb or his family found out.

A rap on the door startled her, and she stifled a shriek. “Ellie?”

Caleb’s voice. The voice of reason and sanity. She placed a hand on her chest and willed her racing heart to still. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

She looked at herself in the mirror, a stricken, hollow-eyed girl, and ludicrously straightened her hair and her dress before going to the door, removing the chair as quietly as she could, and opening the barrier.

“Are you sick?” A characteristic look of concern graced his features.

“I think it’s the heat.” She stepped back and he entered.

He reached for her wrist and pressed it gently between his thumb and fingers. “Perhaps that and all the excitement,” he agreed after a minute. “You should probably get some rest. People are starting to leave.”

Ellie had to keep up appearances for his sake. “What should we do?”

“I can see them out if you’d like to rest.”

“Is he gone?”

He nodded.

“We’ll see them off together, and then I’ll lie down,” she suggested. To her own ears she sounded so calm.

Caleb didn’t make a move to leave. “I’m sorry about Winston.”

Her heart lurched and she was grateful he hadn’t been checking her pulse just then. She rationalized his words and realized he meant the incident just now on the porch. “Don’t apologize for him.”

“I wanted this day to be perfect.” His deep soft voice held regret.

She met his earnest gaze.

“For you.”

She’d never known anyone like Caleb in her life. She hadn’t known anyone like him existed in this foul world. She would never be able to face him again if he found out. “It was perfect. Thank you.”

His posture relaxed. “And the ring? Do you like it? If not I can exchange it.”

“Oh, no—I mean yes, I like it very much. But I didn’t expect something so—so…” She lifted her cast and looked at the sparkling ring on her hand. She’d never dreamed she’d have anything so beautiful.

“Symbolic?”

“No.”

“Permanent?”

“No, well, yes it’s that, but…I meant so grand!”

“Just so you like it.”

“I like it.”

“Good. Let’s go say goodbye.”

He guided her down the hallway and she descended the stairs ahead of him. Still shaky, but with a smile plastered on her face, she thanked each person who had come and accepted their good wishes.

She was a phony, but she was getting pretty good at it. It took a lot of evasive tricks to keep from losing one’s mind, but she’d learned to hide and block out and pretend so well that it took a day like today to bring it all sharply back into focus.

She spoke harshly to herself, remembering the rare gift of opportunity that she’d been given so recently. Was she going to let that man scare her into losing all she’d gained for her family?

Winston Parker couldn’t hurt her here. He was her past, and as long as she kept him there she was safe. She was safe in Caleb’s house and as his wife. This was her refuge, and she meant to hang on to it.

He can tell Caleb who you are. He can tell Caleb’s friends and family what kind of person he really married.

She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, but the warning voice was in her head. She never wanted to bring shame on Caleb and his family. She couldn’t bear the thought of the citizens of Newton learning that Caleb had aligned himself with Florence’s trash family, with a whore’s daughter.

He already had enough troubles getting people to trust him and come to him for medical attention. As it was, they liked and respected him as a person, if not as a doctor. If they knew the truth about her, he would lose that esteem, too. She wouldn’t let that happen. Somehow she’d keep the secret.

All the guests were gone, and the women from the restaurant finished cleaning up and packing their wares and left, too. Ellie gave Benjamin a spoonful of the powdered laudanum mixed in water and got him settled in the bedroom he and Flynn were to share.

“It’s been a big day,” she said. “Get some rest now.”

Benjamin looked at her with weary eyes and a grave expression only someone much older should wear. She didn’t know how much he knew or remembered about Winston Parker, and she’d never asked him. If he didn’t know—and she fervently hoped he didn’t—then she didn’t want to plant any questions in his mind. And if he did know, nothing either of them said would change what had happened.

He’d been aware of the baby growing in her belly—that wasn’t something easily hidden and he’d been old enough to understand her condition. But he’d never asked her about the child, about what had happened to it, if it had survived the birth or died. And she hadn’t told him because she’d feared her mother finding out where the baby was or, worse, Winston learning. The less Benjamin knew, the better off he was, the more he could protect himself and Flynn.

She didn’t see any hope in his eyes and that frightened her. She might have been jaded and pragmatic from a young age, but Ellie had always harbored a twinkle of hope that their situation could get better—that if she did all the right things and worked hard, someday, some way, she and the boys would have the life they deserved.

Ben’s bleak attitude showed he didn’t share her same vision. At least not yet. “Life is going to be good here,” she assured him. “I hate how you had to grow up, how we all grew up. It wasn’t normal, Ben. Other people don’t live like that. Other people live like this.” She gestured to the bed beneath him, the papered walls and the curtains at the window. “And now we live like this, too.”

“You sold yourself for all this, Ellie.”

Her ears rang. Her heart constricted, but she bristled and denied that hurtful accusation. “I did not sell myself! I am going to be Nate’s mother. That’s it.”

“He’s a man, Ellie. You know what men want.”

Why had he spoiled everything and said that? Her own fears had touched on that, but she’d stashed them and believed in Caleb’s sincerity. “He’s not like that. He’s not.”

Benjamin’s icy blue gaze rankled her further. She stood. “Rest now. I’ll bring you some milk or tea later—which do you want?”

“Don’t care.”

“All right then.” She turned and left the room.

Caleb poured water from a tub that had held ice into the azalea bushes behind the house.

“You sure have a lot of friends,” Flynn said from behind him. He’d changed into a cotton shirt and a stiff new pair of denim pants that had to be rolled at his ankles, and he tagged alongside Caleb as he carried the tub through the deepening twilight to the back porch.

“Yeah, I guess I do. Acquaintances anyway.”

“What’s acquaintances?”

“Those are people you know, but who are not necessarily your friends. I know a good many people. Few of them have proved to truly be friends.”

“How can ya tell the diff’rence?”

Caleb sat on the back steps and pondered that question. “Friends forgive you when you make a mistake. They believe the best of you and trust you. They listen if you have something you want to talk about.” He glanced at the boy when he said that, and Flynn seated himself with one foot on the second step and the other on a lower one, just like Caleb.

“And they don’t judge you,” he finished. He’d left the conversation open for Flynn to talk if he wanted to.

“Kinda sounds like Ellie, don’t it?” the boy observed.

He’d been speaking in generalities and trying to offer friendship, but now that Flynn mentioned it, yes, it did sound like Ellie. He smiled. “It does.”

In the fading light, Flynn appeared as young and innocent as all boys his age should be.

“We’d better put some salve on that nose before you go to bed.” And he needed to check Benjamin’s feet. He stood and they entered the back door. Caleb located his black bag, and dotted the unguent on the boy’s nose.

“Can I sit on the steps for a while longer?” he asked. “I seen a cat slinkin’ out there by the woodpile, and maybe it’ll come back.”

“All right. But don’t try to get too close to an animal you’re not familiar with.”

“Oh, I won’t. I just wanna see it.”

Caleb climbed the stairs and tapped on the boys’ closed door.

“What.”

He opened it and stepped in. “I came to check your feet before you go to sleep.”

“I sleep real light.”

“Do you now?” Caleb pulled his spectacles from his pocket and slipped them on the bridge of his nose. He spread a sheet beneath Benjamin’s feet and unwrapped the bandages.

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

The vehemence in the lad’s young voice and the glower on his narrow face startled Caleb. He stared. “Why on earth would I hurt your sister?”

“Because you’re a man and that’s what men do.”

Caleb rolled that one over in his mind. Had it taken only one angry man to give this boy such a damning opinion? Did he think all men beat women and children because of his experience over the past year or so? He could understand him hating the one man for his deeds. What he couldn’t comprehend was his assumption that all men were like that one.

His and Flynn’s reactions were so different, and Caleb thanked God that Flynn didn’t have this same hatred roiling inside him.

“Some men do. I can’t deny that. But not all. And certainly not me. I will never hurt your sister. Or you or Flynn. You have my word. You’re my family now. Ellie’s my wife and soon you’ll be my sons. Legally.”

Benjamin’s bitter expression showed that those words didn’t mean much to him. He snorted. “You think people don’t beat their own kids?”

“Did your father hit you?”

Ben clamped his mouth shut and looked at the wall.

“You’re almost a man. Do you hit women?”

“Ellie’s my sister!” he shouted, glaring at Caleb.

“You just said it makes no difference. Other women then—you gonna hit your wife?”

“Ain’t gonna have one.”

“Lucy, then. You plan to sock her sometime soon?”

“You just shut your yap,” Benjamin said bitterly. “You think you’re so goddamn smart ’cause you’re rich and you can boss people around with your money. Well, you can’t tell me what to do, and you can’t boss Ellie around neither. And if you hurt her, you’ll be the only one I ever sock. I’ll get a gun and I’ll blow your puffed-up brains to kingdom come!”

At that moment Caleb could believe he would do it, too. The boy had so much hatred festering inside that it frightened him.

But then Ben’s scrawny throat bobbed and his nostrils flared and he looked away, and Caleb knew those volatile feelings frightened Ben, too.

Caleb knew how to treat and heal Ben’s feet. He knew now after seeing the improvement that just this one day had made that he could save his toes. The diagnosis was plain; the treatment within his capability.

But he didn’t know how to treat and heal the boy’s spirit. The diagnosis was a mere guess. Abuse. Abandonment. The symptoms of his misery had infected his young mind and heart and Caleb had read no book or received any knowledge on how to treat a malady of the mind or soul—emotional wounds.

He’d had similar thoughts about Ellie when he’d first met her. How was it that all three of them could be so wounded? What had happened that had traumatized this entire family?

“Your toes look a lot better tonight,” he said after several minutes had passed, and Ben once again turned his face to the wall. “You’re a fast healer.”

“Have to be.”

Caleb’s hands paused only briefly before he competently wrapped Ben’s feet back up, gathered his supplies and stood.

“Good night, Benjamin. I’ll send Flynn up now.”

He expected no reply and he received none. He left the room, closing the door behind him. He hated the feeling of helplessness that engulfed him. All he knew to do was earn the boy’s trust. And that would take time.

He called Flynn inside, locked up the house and climbed the stairs. Ellie was just coming from his room.

“Nate’s been asleep for nearly an hour.” She paused in the hallway and glanced toward Caleb’s room, which held Nate’s cradle.

“Night, Caleb,” Flynn said.

“Good night, son,” he replied.

“You gonna tuck me in, Ellie?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied. Caleb gave her a kind smile and she followed her brother into his room.

She’d already told Ben good-night, and now he lay beneath the sheet, his eyes closed.

Flynn stripped down to his union suit, and Ellie folded his clothes and placed them on one of the shelves in the small wardrobe.

“Caleb’s gonna let me ride one of his horses. And he said we could go fishin’ sometimes. He knows a real good spot.”

Ellie perched on the side of the bed and brushed the near-black hair back from his forehead. “Won’t that be something?”

He nodded and yawned.

She’d protected him her whole life until he’d been torn from her and sent to the Heaths’. She’d let him down. But the experience hadn’t soured him on people, and for that she was thankful. He trusted Caleb and he liked Caleb’s family. He was still dear and innocent and she had years to make it up to him.

Ellie placed her head gently on his chest and treasured having him close while he drifted to sleep. Benjamin, on the other hand, had seen and experienced more—so much more than Flynn. His heart had been hardened and he wore belligerence like armor. But his spirit wasn’t broken, not if the fire in his eyes was any indication.

He was a fighter. He had survived the only way he knew how.

Flynn breathed slowly and evenly now. She kissed his cheek, blew out the lamp and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Caleb stood waiting in the hall.

Apprehension crept through her limbs. They had an arrangement.

“Thank you, Caleb. For everything.”

He nodded. “It’s going to take some time, you know.”

She looked up at him in question.

“For them to adjust to this new life. For them to trust.”

“I know.”

“We’ll just be patient.”

He was talking about Benjamin, and they both knew it. Standing there before they went to their separate rooms on their wedding night was more than a little awkward. “Thank you for not getting angry with him.”

“I think he’s seen enough anger for a while. At least I had the opportunity to see Heath firsthand so that I could understand a little better.”

“Yes.” Caleb was an understanding man, no doubt about that. But that only went so far. He’d never be able to accept the rest of it.

“Well, rest well.” He moved away, toward his room, and she hated the relief she experienced.

Exhausted, Ellie slipped into her nightgown and prepared for bed. She hoped that after all she’d been through that day and all that weighed on her mind, she’d be able to sleep.

In the heat and humidity, her arm itched horribly beneath the cast. She tried to ignore it and lay on the bed without pulling the sheet over her. Sleep came quickly.

Sounds woke her. A foot scraping. Muttered conversation. The clink of a bottle. Familiar sounds. Ellie prayed her brothers wouldn’t waken.

Ellie buried her head beneath her arm and adjusted her bony hip against the inadequate padding between her and the cold floorboards.

A hand clutched her shoulder, and she jerked into alertness, turning to squint into the dimness. A light shone from behind the threadbare blanket that served as a divider between this sleeping area and her mother’s. It was always a toss-up whether to use the blanket for warmth or as a pathetic veil of privacy.

Against the thin backdrop, she could see that the figure leaning over her was not her mother, but a man she knew as one of Della Foster’s many disgusting nighttime callers.

“What do you want?” she whispered, shrugging his hand from her shoulder.

“Come here. Your mother has taken a fall and I need your help to get her back inside.”

Ellie pulled the moth-eaten sweater she wore over her underwear around her and followed him around the blanket, tiptoeing over Ben and Flynn. She paused to see that her mother truly wasn’t in the cabin, and stumbled out the door into the night in her stocking feet. “Where is she?”

“Here. Over here.”

“I don’t see her.”

“In here.”

A horse and carriage sat a hundred yards from the ramshackle shack that served as her home. In there? Where would her mother have gone with him? She rarely left with anyone. And certainly never with anyone who dressed as well as this man did. She wasn’t the sort he’d want to be seen with.

She peered into the dark interior of the carriage, a wary feeling prickling along her spine. Was her mother dead this time? Or was this some sort of trick? She’d have stayed in the cabin if she hadn’t been afraid he’d wake her brothers if she refused to follow him. They’d seen and heard enough.

“I don’t see anything.”

A hand closed over her neck and squeezed. “Get inside.”

“No! No, I—”

“It wasn’t a question.” He shoved her in forcefully.

She scrambled to get her balance, but he overpowered her, knocking her flat on her stomach. The air whooshed from her lungs and her knee cracked against the wood. One hand held her fast, the other cupping her buttocks through her baggy drawers. Panic engulfed her senses.

She cried out, but he clamped that hand over her mouth until she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know which was worse. Maybe this was better. Maybe she’d die.

He jerked her over and she clawed at him, blindly reaching for his eyes, his throat. She screamed.

A fist met with her jaw and she saw stars, momentarily stunned, silenced. He tore her underwear, fabric ripping, cutting her skin.

“Stop fighting. I paid good money to be the first and I’m going to get my money’s worth.”

His hands brought more physical pain than she’d ever known. She fought them, fought him, tasting blood, tasting fear. She wasn’t strong enough to win against his strength. She wasn’t strong enough to stop him.

There was no one to help her. And no one who cared.

Ellie thought she managed a scream, but it was a mere cry of anguish that caught in her constricted throat.

So much pain. So much searing, ripping pain.

A scream finally tore from her throat and the numbing blackness receded. She still had some fight left and she wasn’t going to let him do this to her.

She pummeled his bare chest with her fists.

“For God’s sake, Ellie, stop fighting me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her mind snapped instantly awake, thrusting her from the nightmare into reality, and she stared at Caleb, panic still thumping in her chest.

He’d apparently carried a lantern in and placed it on the bureau, and the glow illuminated his bare chest and arms.

She pulled her fists to her own breast, realizing with horror that she’d struck him.

As though he’d been prepared to stop her continued attack, he held her upper arms firmly, but without hurting her.

“Oh, Caleb, I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely discernible to her own roaring ears. The nightmare was dreadfully familiar and particularly vivid, and she’d thought she’d abandoned it years ago. Obviously seeing the man responsible had resurrected the night terror.

“What could have been so frightening?” he asked, the speculative question in his dark searching eyes. “Whatever happened to you, Ellie?”

“Uh-h-ah!” The fierce snarl came from the doorway, and Ellie caught only a glimpse of Benjamin in his union suit as he flew through the air toward Caleb, a gleaming object in his hand.

Caleb threw up his arm to deflect the blow, and the brass towel holder struck his forearm. Caleb grunted and lunged toward the boy.

“Benjamin, stop it!” Ellie shouted over the grunts and growls as the two fought and Caleb got hold of the towel rack.

“I told you not to hurt her!” Benjamin’s face was red with impotent rage. “I warned you!” He limped in a circle, holding fast to Caleb’s bare torso and pounding wherever and whenever he got an opening.

Caleb threw the brass weapon down. “I didn’t hurt her. Listen to me for a minute.”

“Ben, he didn’t hurt me.” Ellie got to her knees on the bed as they fell back upon it. She clamped her good arm around her brother’s forehead and tried to pull him backward.

“I told you I’d kill you, you son of a bitch!” Ben gasped, his rage making him blind and deaf to their attempts to explain.

Ellie cried in earnest.

Another howl was added to the fray. Flynn stood in the doorway, holding a screaming Nate, and when he saw what was happening, Flynn, too, burst into tears.

Benjamin pulled loose from Ellie’s hold and his fists smacked Caleb’s bare skin. The two rolled and tumbled off the edge of the bed with an oof and a curse.

Ben was crying now, too, and Ellie wanted to stop him and hold him. She crouched on the edge of the bed, her knuckles against her teeth, watching in horror. Since they’d landed, Caleb had rapidly gained the upper hand and swiftly moved so he straddled Benjamin’s narrow hips. He caught Ben’s fists and held them fast on either side of his head.

Ben tried to buck him off a few times, the veins in his neck straining, his face scarlet.

Ellie fell to her knees above him and cupped his sweaty face in her palms. “Oh, Ben, my sweet, you are so very brave. I love you, you know that, don’t you?”

“Pardon me, but this sweet boy just tried to knock my brains loose.” Caleb panted, still holding his assailant fast, his hair fallen over one eye.

“Caleb wasn’t trying to hurt me,” she said, ignoring him and gazing into Ben’s blue eyes. “I had the nightmare and I must have screamed. You’ve heard me do that, so you know how alarming it can be. He came to make sure I was all right.”

Benjamin panted, but his struggles to escape had ceased. His bony chest rose and fell. Tears dried on his temples.

Sobs still came from Flynn and Nate in the doorway.

“He didn’t hurt me,” she said again.

Warily, Ben’s eyes moved to Caleb.

Caleb worked to calm his breathing and met the boy’s gaze steadily. His arm throbbed from the blow with the towel rack and his knee had cracked against the floor when they’d landed. He’d had better nights.

“Let me go,” Benjamin said finally.

“Please,” Ellie whispered, beseeching Caleb with her eyes.

He didn’t want to go another round with the wiry little wildcat, but neither did he want to humiliate him or disappoint his sister. He released Benjamin’s wrists and sat up.

Ellie threw herself on her brother’s chest and cried softly against his cotton underwear. His arms came up and one hand smoothed her tangled hair, the other rested on her shoulder.

Confident the worst was over, Caleb lifted away and sat on the floor. He glanced at Flynn and gestured for him to bring the wailing baby.

Flynn nearly ran to hand Nate over, then stood staring from Caleb to his sister and brother, confusion and fear warring on his youthful features.

“Thanks for getting him,” Caleb said, holding Nate to his chest and calming him.

“I heard all the yellin’ and I heard him cryin’. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You did the right thing. Why don’t you go back to your bed now. Ellie will come and tuck you in.”

Flynn nodded and padded out of the room with several backward glances.

I had the nightmare and I must have screamed, she’d said. You’ve heard me do that, so you know how alarming it can be. Caleb pieced all the fragments of information together trying to form an image he could understand. He’d known it was more than Heath’s mistreatment that had turned Benjamin sour on people.

And Ellie’s jumpiness at being touched had puzzled him several times. She’d been hurt so badly that she had a recurring nightmare about it. Someone had beaten them.

Their mother? Father? At this point he wasn’t even sure that he wanted to know. Perhaps it was better that he didn’t.

Nate was hot and clammy against his chest, but he’d quieted and his eyes closed. Caleb got to his feet, wincing when his knee popped, and carried the baby back to his cradle.

Nate’s eyes opened. Caleb spoke softly, reassuring him, and the infant drifted back to sleep.

Caleb rinsed his face in the tepid water in the bowl on his washstand, blotted his face dry and returned to Ellie’s room.

She wasn’t there. The sheet lay spilled off the side of the bed, and the brass towel stand still lay on the floor. When he turned to leave, he noticed the broken chair and the door he’d broken in his panic to get to her. The implication slapped him full force. She’d had the chair back wedged beneath the doorknob. Why had she felt that was necessary?

He padded across the hall to the boys’ room. The door stood ajar and he peered around it.

In the moonlight that streamed through the open window he made out Flynn’s sleeping figure on his bed. On the other bed, Ellie lay behind Benjamin, her fingers threading through his hair. Her whispered words were so soft he couldn’t make them out. He backed away, feeling like an outsider in his own home, and made his way down the stairs.

He poured a cold glass of buttermilk from the pitcher in the icebox and drank it on the back stairs. The cat Flynn had mentioned meowed and curled his back along the bottom step. Caleb sat and tipped the glass so the feline could lick the last ounce of milk from a puddle on the wood.

Caleb had barely fallen asleep when Ellie’s scream had awakened him. He’d realized immediately that she’d been dreaming and had tried to wake her with a gentle touch on her shoulder.

Her panic and fear at that innocent touch had startled him, and he’d had all he could do to keep her from clawing his eyes out.

Ben’s attack on top of that had come out of nowhere.

Caleb set the glass down and lowered his forehead to his palms, his elbows on his knees. He could pick ’em, couldn’t he?

The screen creaked behind him and he raised his head to see Ellie drift through the back porch and out into the night in her white nightgown. “Are you all right?”

He moved his gaze to the cat, now licking its paws. “Yeah.”

She seated herself on the top step, well away from him, but close enough that he caught the scent of her hair. “I am so terribly sorry,” she said softly.

“Who was it, Ellie?” he asked into the darkness. “Who was it that hurt you so badly?”

Chapter Ten

“H-hurt me?” She didn’t know where she found the air to speak.

“You. And Ben. Someone hurt you both, made you afraid of people.”

Caleb was a compassionate man, and a smart man. It hadn’t taken him long to see something very wrong with his new wife and her brothers. Did he already regret making her his wife?

In the kitchen window behind them the sultry breeze sucked the curtains against the screen and released them, a rhythmic rasping.

“Was it your father?” Perfectly logical, a perfect assumption. “Did your father beat you?”

Assuming one had a father and assuming that a father could scar a child, it sounded as good an answer as any. One he would definitely see as dreadful and yet not entirely shameful. “Yes,” she replied.

“And Flynn,” he said. “You protected him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” That part was true.

“I can’t pretend to know what that was like for you both.”

Of course he couldn’t. He had doting, well-to-do parents. He’d never had to wonder who his father was. Or where his next meal was coming from.

“Is that what the dream is about? About him hitting you?”

Lies came easier after the first couple hundred. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry for,” she replied.

His hand found hers in her lap and he threaded his fingers with hers. She looked at his fingers twined with hers in the moonlight, so much larger, so much stronger. He’d wrestled Ben to the floor and held him fast. Her heart skipped a twittery beat.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you again,” he said, much as she’d promised her brothers and sounding every bit as sincere. “I understand now why you made me promise not to hit them. I wouldn’t have, even if I hadn’t promised. You know that, don’t you?”

Somewhere inside the reasoning part of her mind she knew that. But who knew what anyone was capable of if they really got mad? Or drunk? People acted entirely different when they were drunk. Promises meant nothing.

He tugged her hand across the space to his trouser-clad knee. “Don’t you, Ellie?”

“I—I think so.”

He swatted a mosquito on his shoulder, the movement jerking their joined hands and reminding her that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She didn’t turn her head.

He used his other hand to stroke her fingers and the sensation made her stomach flutter. Once while waiting tables at the Arcade, she’d seen a man and woman holding hands beneath the linen tablecloth. The intimacy had embarrassed her and she’d looked away.

Now, with Caleb holding her hand, his hard palm feeling so right against hers, she realized it could be something quite pleasant. Something so gentle and fine it made her heart swell and the corners of her lips tremble.

She allowed herself to glance over at his illuminated profile, the rest of his face cast into dark shadows. He was looking at their clasped hands.

He ran his index finger over the knuckle of her thumb, up to her wrist. With the pad of that finger, he found the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist and drew lazy circles around that pulse point with his thumb.

Though the night was sultry and her skin damp, shivers ran up Ellie’s bare arm. A night owl hooted in the distance.

“You sure smell good,” he said, catching her off guard.

“Just castile soap,” she said hoarsely.

“I can smell your hair all the way over here.”

“You can?”

“Um-hmm.”

“I washed it last night.”

“Bet it’s soft, too.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s just hair.”

He looked over at her then. “Mind if I smell it up close?”

“I—” She swallowed. “I guess I don’t mind.”

He leaned toward her, his bare chest rubbing her shoulder because she wore her batiste nightgown without sleeves. Tilting his head, he buried his face in the hair at her neck and inhaled.

Of course that breath had to come out and when it did, the moist warmth fluttered against Ellie’s ear and her neck and shoulder. Goose bumps broke out on her flesh. “Yes,” he whispered, a soul-deep sound.

Ellie had turned her upper body toward him without thinking. He touched his nose to the skin beneath her ear and she stopped breathing.

He released her hand and brought both palms up to grasp her shoulders gently. The touch of his hands on her skin sent a frisson of alarm through her body, and immediately, she recoiled, bringing her forearms up and forcing his hands away.

“Ellie,” he said.

She shook her head and sat stiffly, folding her good arm over the one with the cast and protectively holding them both to her midriff.

“Ellie, there are ways to prevent having a baby. We can take precautions so you wouldn’t become pregnant.”

Shocked at his train of thought, she scrambled to her feet.

He stood and faced her. “I respect that you don’t want children,” he said. “Truly I do.”

She stared at him. Was that what this tenderness had been about? A plan to get her to his bed? “Then respect that I want no part of sleeping with you, either. We made a deal.”

“I thought it was because of the children you didn’t want.”

“It was. It is. But not completely. You gave your word.”

“You refuse to allow me in your bed even if I can promise you won’t have a child because of it?”

“That’s right. You understood that. I thought I made it clear from the first.”

He raised a hand and dropped it. “It’s clear.”

She let her arms lower and straightened. It was the middle of the night. They’d best get back to their beds. She hurried into the house and up the stairs, noting the listing door and the chair that Caleb had smashed from beneath the knob. A good lot of protection that had been.

She was at his mercy, she realized now. Neither a closed door nor a lock could prevent him from entering this room and taking what he wished from her. Only his word prevented that—only his promise.

Ellie had never placed so much hope in a promise.

He was taking a few days off, Caleb told Ellie the following morning as she stirred oatmeal at the stove. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

He placed Nate in his high chair. “I just think it would be good for us. As a family.”

Ellie’s throat got tight at the word.

“Where are the boys?”

“I think they’re out back.”

Caleb stepped onto the back porch and called through the screen. “You fellas comin’ in to eat?”

Benjamin carried in a bucket. He didn’t meet Caleb’s eyes. “I milked the goat. I’ll clean out his lean-to a little later.”

“Thank you.” Caleb took the bucket as though last night had never happened. “I guess that would be a good chore for you, lookin’ after Nate’s nanny.” He glanced at the boys. “That was a joke. The goat provides Nate’s milk and a nanny is a goat as well as someone who takes care of babies.”

“Oh.” Flynn stood awkwardly just inside the kitchen door behind his brother.

“Where do you want them to eat?” Ellie asked.

“Pick a chair and start in,” Caleb replied.

The boys moved to the table and seated themselves, casting Caleb cautious looks.

Ellie spooned oatmeal into bowls and placed one in front of each of them.

Flynn immediately picked up his spoon and dug in, barely taking time to blow on the hot cereal.

Caleb got up and brought a small pitcher of cream from the icebox. He poured some on his cereal and then got the sugar bowl from the cupboard and liberally sprinkled sugar on top.

The boys watched in fascination.

They’d never had cream or sugar as children. “Should I have put that in the oatmeal as I made it?” She sat.

He gave her a quizzical glance. “No. I like it this way, don’t you?”

She nodded.

Caleb’s spoon stopped on the way to his mouth and he looked from one sibling to the other. “Something wrong?”

They looked back at their bowls.

“Not a thing,” Ellie said, picking up the pitcher, dousing her oatmeal with cream and passing it to Ben with a strong look.

Ben did the same and passed it to Flynn.

The sugar made the rounds next, and then the three of them stirred and tasted. A smile lit Flynn’s face. Benjamin promptly cleaned his bowl and sat back.

Caleb finished eating and wiped his lips with his napkin.

All three of them did exactly the same.

He looked from one to the other oddly. Slowly, he stood. “I’m going to get a picnic lunch from the cook at the Side Track Saloon and we’re going to go fishing.”

“Hot-diggity!” Flynn said, jumping up so fast, he knocked his chair backward with a clatter. He looked at Caleb with alarm and set the chair aright.

Nobody said anything for a minute.

“Wear comfortable clothes that you don’t mind getting dirty,” Caleb continued, and Flynn released a pent-up breath. “I’ll be back shortly. Be ready.” He nodded at Benjamin. “You can take care of the lean-to when we get back.”

He exited into the hallway, and they could hear the front door open and close. Nate blinked at Ellie and she fed him the last of his breakfast.

Flynn scurried up the stairs to change.

“What did he say about last night?” Benjamin asked.

“He knows Heath beat you boys. He wanted to know if our pa hit you, too, so I just said yes.”

“If we’d had a pa he’d have hit us,” he agreed with a nod, obviously understanding her unwillingness to admit it had been their mother and any number of her callers who had struck and starved them.

“He can’t find out, Ben,” she said in earnest. “We have a home here as long as he doesn’t know where we came from.”

“I ain’t gonna tell him.”

“And Flynn?”

“I’ll talk to him,” Ben answered. “He won’t say nothin’. He likes it here.”

Ellie placed her hand over her brother’s. “I like it here, too.”

His blue eyes revealed his confusion. He would never admit to liking anything for fear it would be snatched away from him, but he had to see that this was by far the best situation any of them had ever been within sniffing distance of. He would never spoil it purposely.

Caleb returned as promised, his handsome team pulling a rented wagon, which provided more room for the delicious-smelling covered basket he’d purchased, as well as Nate’s basket, Caleb’s medical bag and three fishing poles.

The spring wagon still had two seats, so the boys perched on the high rear seat and Ellie sat beside Caleb, Nate on her lap.

Caleb took them in a southwesterly direction along a road that followed the train tracks for a time, then wound along a stream and sloped down to a flat, shady area.

The boys leaped down and Flynn ran off to discover what lay along the banks of the stream. Caleb shook out a couple of Hudson’s Bay blankets and spread them on the ground. He pulled a short-handled shovel from beneath a seat just as Flynn returned.

“I’ll get the worms.” Flynn took the shovel importantly and headed for a shady patch of weeds.

Ellie rested on the blanket and observed them from a distance. Flynn was right there beside Caleb, talking to him, turning his face up and listening. They put their lines in the water and Flynn hunkered down next to him.

Benjamin, on the other hand, situated himself a bit downstream, which in itself wasn’t unusual. He probably didn’t want his exuberant brother scaring the fish away. But in conjunction with everything else, his isolation—no matter how self-imposed—disturbed Ellie.

In the distance a train clacked by, reminding her she didn’t have to ride a railcar to visit her brothers any longer. She vowed she would never take this good fortune for granted. She watched them and relaxed.

Caleb rested his forearms on his knees and answered Flynn’s questions. Some of them, like how did the fish get in there in the first place, and where did they sleep, and did they close their eyes when they slept, he either made up answers for or engaged the lad in a game of supposition. He laughed at Flynn’s imaginative ideas and, at the boy’s urging, removed his shoes and socks.

“Ain’t never had nobody but Ben to fish with before,” Flynn said, sliding his rear end down the bank until his toes dangled in the water. “An’ he makes me be quiet. Don’t my yappin’ make ya tired?”

“No, but I’ll let you know if I need a little quiet one of these times.”

“Awright. Ain’t never been to a picnic before either. Me an’ Ben ate outside a whole lot at the Heaths’, but we didn’t know it was a picnic.”

It probably hadn’t been, Caleb thought. “It must have been hard for you when your mother died and you got sent there.”

Flynn shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

“Did they die at the same time?” He’d never learned what their parents had died of. “A sickness of some sort?”

“Same time as what? Who?”

“Same time as each other. Your mother and father.”

The boy bobbed his pole over the water. “She just died. Didn’t have no father.”

“Everyone has a father,” Caleb disagreed. “You probably just don’t remember him if he died a long time ago.”

“Everyone?”

Caleb nodded. “That’s where babies come from, a mother and a father.”

“I think it just only takes a ma sometimes,” he said quite seriously to the Harvard Medical School graduate who sat beside him.

Caleb considered the wisdom of pursuing the subject and decided there was nothing wrong with innocence. He glanced farther downstream, to where Benjamin sat with his pole, and wondered why Flynn couldn’t remember his father. Ellie had admittedly protected him from the same abuse she and Ben had received, but he didn’t remember the man? Perhaps he chose not to.

“Look at that!” Flynn cried, jumping up and pointing to the crested bird, bluish in color and flapping its wings in irregular bursts, that dived into the water headfirst and emerged with a fish in its long beak. It flew toward the stand of trees farther upstream, giving them a glimpse of its white-ringed neck and white-feathered belly.

“That was a kingfisher,” Caleb told him. “A female by the looks of that reddish brown along her sides.”

“Do you think she has a nest with some baby birds up there?”

“Kind of late in the year,” he replied. “If she had babies, they’re probably grown.”

Benjamin was the only one besides the kingfisher who caught any fish. He strung four catfish and left them staked in the shallow water while they ate.

Caleb had purchased fried chicken and cabbage slaw, pickled beets and pickles along with four jars of buttermilk.

Flynn polished off his third chicken leg and rubbed his rounded belly. “’Member that chicken Ben stoled from ol’ man Higgins that one time, Ellie? You said that chicken was so old and tough that—”

“Ben bought that chicken, Flynn,” his sister said.

“No, he didn’t, we—”

“Yes, he did. He bought that chicken.” She gave him a deliberate glare.

Flynn glanced at Caleb and back to Ellie, then picked at the bones on his plate. “Yeah. He bought that chicken. I guess I forgot.”

A silence fell over their small group. Ellie packed up the dishes and remaining food.

A horse and rider caught their attention a few minutes later. J. J. Jenkins rode up on a gray with two white stockings. He wore a hat pulled low over his forehead. “Doc!” he cried, jumping from the animal’s back and running toward them.

Caleb walked barefoot to meet him.

“Saw the note on your door and rode out to find ya. The Douglases’ daughter is havin’ a baby an’ Mrs. Douglas don’t want Doc Thornton. Her and Tyrone sent me to fetch ya. She said to tell ya that Tyrone took so long to give in that their ain’t much time left and her daughter’s in a bad way.”

“Let’s go,” Caleb said, grabbing the poles and the string of fish.

Ellie placed their belongings in the wagon and gathered Nate and her brothers. J.J. rode alongside for a short time, then galloped ahead to tell the Douglases that Caleb was on his way.

“This woman isn’t one of your patients?”

“No.” Caleb handed her the reins while he pulled on his socks and shoes. “Her husband ran off and left her a while back and I’d heard she’d gone back to live with her folks. They have a ranch this side of my parents’. Tyrone’s been pretty vocal with his opinion of doctors who got their education in a lecture hall rather than on a battlefield or as an apprentice.” He finished tying his shoe and took back the reins. “His wife and daughter must have really done something to convince him to let me attend her.”

Ellie remembered to open Caleb’s umbrella and protect Nate from the glaring sun. He got fussy and cried, refusing to fall asleep. Flynn took him and held him until they reached the Douglas ranch. J.J. had staked his horse and sat on a stump in the yard.

Tyrone stepped off the wide porch of the low, rough-wood house and shaded his eyes. “She’s in the bedroom.”

“Benjamin,” Caleb said, grabbing his bag. “Stay off your feet as much as you can.”

Ben nodded.

“Flynn, will you keep an eye on Nate here on the porch? Maybe he’ll fall asleep in his basket.”

“I kin watch ’im,” Flynn said. “He likes me.”

Caleb turned to Ellie. “Clella might not be much help if she’s worked herself into a state. I might need you.”

Ellie swallowed her distress at the thought of going in there. Caleb was trusting her to help him.

She nodded and accompanied him into the house. The interior was dim, but roomy and clean. They followed the sound of women’s voices to the bedroom.

Ellie didn’t want to go in. The sound of the woman’s distress was familiar and frightening, but Ellie bolstered her courage and stayed with her husband.

A young woman lay on the bed, her red-gold hair plastered to her forehead and neck, a thin white sheet covering her swollen body.

“Oh, Caleb,” Clella Douglas gasped, seeing him and turning to draw him forward. “She’s getting so tired, and the baby’s not coming!”

“It takes a while to have a baby,” Caleb said in his usual calm tone. “Let’s have a look at her.” He glanced around. “Do you have soap and water ready?”

She shook her head.

“Bring me soap and water and towels. Some more clean sheets, too.”

She hurried to do as he’d requested.

“When did the pains start?” he asked the woman on the bed.

“Last night they came and went, but this morning they got worse. I don’t think I can bear it.” Tears streamed from her eyes.

“Rachel, this is my wife, Ellie.”

“Hi,” she said. She had blue eyes and a thin face, prettier, Ellie was sure, when she hadn’t been crying and laboring.

“I’ve known Rachel since school,” Caleb said, turning back to his patient. “This probably seems a little awkward, does it?”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen you with animals,” Rachel said with a quavering smile. “And you’ve delivered babies before. Haven’t you?”

“I have.”

A pain gripped her then, and she straightened her body, grasping the sheets in her fists. Tendons on her neck stood out and sweat beaded on her forehead.

Ellie found herself holding her breath right along with her. The pain passed and Rachel panted.

Rachel’s mother returned with a basin and soap, and Caleb washed and dried his hands and instructed Ellie and Clella to do the same. Then he sent Clella for more clean water.

“I’m going to check the baby now,” Caleb said gently. “See where he’s at. I want you to relax. Ellie, wet a cloth and wash her face and arms. Make her comfortable.”

Ellie did as instructed, her fingers trembling. Rachel met her eyes and they shared an unspoken message. Ellie gave her an encouraging smile.

Caleb pulled the sheet down and Rachel’s nightgown up and worked his hands over her belly. When a pain came on, he tested the contracting muscles and spoke soothingly.

Ellie held her hand and rubbed her forehead with the damp cloth.

“Now I’m going to check for his head,” Caleb said, pulling the sheet back up over her belly and raising it from the bottom half of her body. He instructed her to raise her knees and look at Ellie.

Ellie gazed into her blue eyes, sharing her uncertainty and confusion. She wondered where this girl’s husband had gone and how she would raise a child without him. Her parents seemed like good people—concerned and loving.

“I think he might need a little more help getting into the right position,” Caleb said at last. “This will go a lot easier if we can get his face to your spine instead of the other way around. Before the next pain, Rachel, I want you to turn over and get on your hands and knees.”

“What?” Clella cried from the doorway.

“That will give him more room to turn,” Caleb went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “Help her, Ellie.”

Ellie did, and they got Rachel on her hands and knees before the next pain. Her arms trembled and Caleb spoke soothingly. Ellie wet the cloth and bathed her face.

“Just a few more pains should do it,” Caleb encouraged.

“I can’t,” the girl cried. “I’m too tired.”

“I know you’re tired,” he replied. “And you can rest all you want after you get this baby out. You’re the only one who can do this.”

“Oh, that John Allen!” she shouted. “If he was here I’d scratch his eyes out!” Another pain came and went, and she bawled. “He let me think he loved me and that we were going to have a wonderful life together. Now look at me! I’m dying and he’s off somewhere doing God knows what!”

“You’re not dying,” Caleb corrected with assurance. “But you have permission to cuss him good if it makes you feel any better.”

“John Allen’s a dirty rotten weasel,” she panted.

“Weasel’s strong,” Caleb said, feeling the shape of her belly. “But I don’t think it’ll hurt his feelings.”

“He’s a low-down good-for-nothing pus bag!” she screamed.

“That’s more like it. Help her out, Ellie.”

Ellie whispered a few curses in Rachel’s ear and Rachel half sobbed, half laughed them out. Clella gasped and clutched her hands to her chest.

Rachel’s next string of curses ended with a deep groan.

“Okay, Rachel, turn back over. Help her, Ellie.”

Ellie helped her maneuver her girth until she was once again on her back.

“Next one you’re gonna hold your breath and push,” he instructed.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“You can do it,” Ellie chimed in. Glad to be there for this frightened girl, she climbed onto the bed and supported Rachel’s upper body with hers. Having a doctor and another woman present had to make this less frightening. “I’m gonna hold you up and you’re going to push.”

Rachel sobbed.

A pain gripped her and Ellie propped Rachel’s head and shoulders. “Push!”

Rachel pushed until her body quivered.

“Easy now,” Caleb said, his attention directed on the emerging baby. “Wait for the next one.”

Rachel and Ellie’s combined sweat stuck their cheeks together.

“Okay,” Caleb said authoritatively. “Push!”

After two more contractions, Caleb held a slick, pink infant in his strong hands. “It’s a boy.”

Chapter Eleven

After checking him over, clearing his mouth and nose and cutting the cord, he handed the squalling infant to Clella. Tears streaking her face, she washed him while Caleb finished with Rachel. “Rachel, honey, he’s beautiful,” she said to her daughter. “He looks like you did when you were born.”

Finally, Rachel got to cradle her newborn son. “Oh, he’s just perfect,” she said in awe.

“That he is.” Caleb dried his hands on a towel, a tender expression on his face. Perhaps he was thinking of his own son’s birth. Ellie couldn’t even imagine how horrible it must have been for him to lose his young, beautiful wife.

This experience had dredged up memories for her, too. She stared at the baby, grief knotting her chest. Rachel could forget the difficulty of giving birth now that she had a precious son to hold and love. The milk that came to her breasts wouldn’t have to pain her and dry up without a child to ever suckle. Her body would heal and she would watch her baby grow. Even without a man, she still had this baby. And the Douglases would help her care for it.

This was what it was like when a baby was loved and accepted, when a baby had a family.

Ellie didn’t resent Rachel or her baby. She was sorry that John Allen was a low-down, good-for-nothing pus bag, but this family would welcome and raise this new life with love.

The sense of emptiness she’d endured her entire life had been reawakened with Winston’s appearance, then, by comparing Caleb’s family to her needy brothers, by meeting Lucy, and now by this emotionally draining experience. The horror of giving birth alone and in fear of what would happen if her mother got her hands on her baby had never been far from the surface.

What had become of her own child? It became clear to her, as Caleb packed his things and Tyrone came in to meet his grandson, that she would never know if the little girl she’d given away was loved and provided for. And because of that she would never have any peace.

Heart aching, she slipped from the room. J.J. and Benjamin were seated at the end of the porch and Flynn had found a long-haired collie who retrieved sticks. Flynn laughed and tugged one away, throwing it as far as he could. Ears flopping, the dog loped after it.

“Is she okay?” J.J. asked.

“She’s fine. And so’s the baby.”

“Good.” He stood. “I’d better go on home. My ma was sick with a fever this mornin’.”

“Maybe Caleb should come check on her,” Ellie suggested.

He looked at her as if the idea had never occurred to him. “Would he?”

“Of course he will. I’ll let him know.”

J.J. mounted the gray horse, waved to Benjamin and rode off.

Ben glanced up at her. “J.J. says there’s lots of older boys in school on account of all the time they miss during plantin’ and hayin’ and roundup.”

“Are you thinking it won’t be so bad, then?” She sat in a weathered rocker.

“Maybe.”

A few minutes later he added, “J.J. said he’d even help me if I needed some extra studyin’ to catch up.”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” she replied, not wanting to show too much excitement and scare him off the idea. He already knew how she felt about it and how badly she wanted him to go.

“Watch, Ellie!” Flynn got her attention and ran in a circle with the collie nipping at his trouser legs. He laughed and stopped to pat the dog’s head.

Ellie smiled and talked with Benjamin, but her thoughts turned back and tallied the events that had occurred over the past weeks. Those reminders renewed the uncertainty she couldn’t shake. She’d always been sure she’d done the right thing regarding the child she’d brought into this world. Always.

But now her heart needed some proof of that. And that was impossible. Proving it would mean losing everything she’d gained for herself and her brothers. They were finally experiencing the first stability they’d ever known and she couldn’t risk that. She wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

Ellie told Caleb about J.J.’s mother, Kate, and after dropping off Ellie and the boys at the house, he left to pay the Jenkinses a call.

Examining the feverish woman, he found blotches on her abdomen. She coughed roughly and covered her lips with a handkerchief.

He didn’t like her symptoms. They could point to any number of things, and none of them was good. But he hadn’t seen enough actual cases himself to be certain. “Have you vomited?” he asked.

She nodded.

Dread wound up his spine, and he looked inside her mouth, finding her tongue rough and red. “Have you been around anyone else with these symptoms?”

“My sister’s children have been sick,” she replied. “Is it bad?”

He didn’t want to scare her—or anyone—but he needed to make a swift diagnosis and do what he could do prevent further spread. “Who else have you been in contact with?”

“My family.”

“Where have you gone?”

“The mercantile. My sister’s. That’s about it.”

“Which mercantile?”

She told him. “What do you think it is?”

“I’m going to have Doc Thornton come see you because he has a lot more experience than I do. Meanwhile, I don’t want anyone else to come into this house. I’m going to examine your son and husband and order them to stay in the barn for the time being.”

She looked at him curiously, but didn’t question his judgment. “All right.”

“You just rest and don’t worry. We will decide on a treatment and get you well just as soon as we can.”

Caleb washed thoroughly before going outside. “J.J., come here.” He examined the boy, finding no signs of illness. “Have you been coughing?”

“No.”

“I want you to go find Doc Thornton and bring him out here. Don’t get close to anyone. Stay as far away from people as you can. You might be contagious.”

“I feel fine, Doc.”

“I know you do. Just do as I say. It’s very important.”

“Okay.”

“Then I want you to go to your mom’s sister’s. Tell her to bring her sick children over here so we can keep them all together.”

“Okay, Doc.” J.J. rode off.

Caleb sponged Kate’s feverish brow while he waited for J.J. to locate the older doctor. He prayed the man hadn’t passed out down at the Side Track and been hauled home the night before. Experience was still the best teacher, and Doc had seen and treated more people in his lifetime than Caleb had ever met. Getting his opinion might make the difference in saving lives.

Doc Thornton smelled of cigars, but he wasn’t staggering or reeking of stale whiskey when he entered the Jenkins house.

He looked Kate over, checking her neck and underarms, then urged Caleb out of the bedroom. Caleb didn’t like the look of dread in his bleary eyes. “Scarlet fever,” he said.

A mixture of dread and relief swept through Caleb. Though many times fatal in adults, scarlet fever caused far fewer casualties than smallpox. And he knew if the complications could be prevented, they stood a much better chance of saving these patients’ lives.

“We have to quarantine everyone who’s been exposed,” Caleb said with certainty, thinking ahead.

“This ain’t diphtheria or typhoid,” the old Doc said with a harrumph.

“It’s contagious, all the same. And you have to wash your hands before and after every patient you touch.”

“Horse dung,” the huge-bellied man replied. “I’ve been doctoring since before you were born, and no wet-behind-the-ears college boy is going to tell me how to treat patients.”

“I know you have, sir,” Caleb replied. “And I have great respect for your experience. That’s why I asked you to come. But with all due respect, medical discoveries over the past decade have enlightened our profession to the spread of disease through germs. When quarantine and cleanliness are incorporated with the antitoxin, the results are far more promising.”

Doc picked his front teeth with his thumbnail and Caleb waited for him to vocalize his thoughts.

When he didn’t speak, Caleb went on. “What do we have to lose? If I’m wrong, all we can say is I was wrong. I’ll concede. But if I’m right, we’ll stop this from spreading and save lives.”

“There ain’t no stopping this once it sweeps a town,” Doc said fatalistically. “I seen whole families die back in the forties.”

“We can prevent that.”

Doc waddled to the screen door.

“If I’m wrong, some of them will die anyway,” Caleb said, hating the words and the fact. “But if I’m right we’ll save some lives. That doesn’t leave me much choice.”

The man stared out across the dusty expanse of yard.

Caleb walked up behind him. “People trust you. They don’t trust me. If you tell them to do it this way, they’ll listen. I’m asking for your help. Please.”

Doc turned and their eyes met. His bleary expression was tired, but quiescent. “I passed my prime a long time ago. My relationship with the bottle ain’t no secret. But you’re right, some of the people still trust me. I might not trust you, and I might not like it, but you’re the future of this town….” He turned to glance across the landscape once again, then turned back. “Unless you give up.”

“I won’t give up,” Caleb said, more certain than he’d ever been.

“Didn’t figure you would. Okay.” He walked over to the basin of water on the kitchen table. “We’ll do it your way.”

His cooperation eased Caleb’s mind and gave him new confidence and hope. With Doc’s support, they’d be able to prevent a rampant spread of sickness. “Okay. First we figure out everyone Kate has been around and we quarantine them. We should quarantine anyone J.J. was in contact with, too, since he’s been exposed. Lord, that’s going to be a list.” He thought of the Douglas family he’d just left and that new baby, and a sinking feeling dipped in his chest.

His own family, he realized with a start. J.J. had been with the boys all afternoon. Suddenly all he wanted to do was go to his family and assure himself they were safe. The threat of the disease was real. “The sooner we get this going, the better. I’ll go out to the Douglas ranch myself—then to my family. Stay here and treat Kate’s sister and her kids when they arrive. I’ll be back.”

Caleb hit the door at a run.

Ellie knew the situation was more serious than Caleb let on. He didn’t want to frighten them, but Ellie felt his urgency all the same. They were to stay in the house. Groceries and ice would be delivered and left on the porch.

“Promise me you’ll stay right here,” he said, placing his hand on her arm as they stood on the front porch away from the eyes and ears of the children.

“I promise,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about them. I’ll take care of them.”

“And you won’t let anyone in the house. The threat works two ways. They could make you sick, or you could make them sick.”

“I won’t let anyone in the house.”

He took his hand away.

“I wouldn’t leave you if I didn’t have to.” His warm brown eyes held so much regret and concern.

“Your patients need you,” she said, wanting to set his mind at ease so he’d be comfortable leaving them and able to concentrate on his work. “This is why you went to the university. You can help them.”

He nodded, a less than confident gesture.

Ellie surprised herself by placing her hand on his shirtsleeve and feeling the strength of his upper arm through the warm fabric. “You’re a good doctor. You have the knowledge and the ability to heal people.”

“God does the healing, Ellie. I just administer the treatments.”

“Then go do your job. We’ll be waiting for you.”

He looked into her eyes, and she knew there must have been something more she could have said or done, but she was at a loss to know what.

“Thank you, Ellie,” he said softly.

She smiled, thinking how silly it was for him to thank her when she owed him everything.

He leaned down then, taking her chin on his forefinger and raising her face to his, and touched his lips to hers in a sweet, warm melding of damp flesh and unspoken feelings.

Ellie was so surprised, she didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t do anything but register the feel of his mouth on hers, the scent of his hair and his damp shirt, and the subtle movement of his biceps beneath the fingers she still rested on his arm.

Slowly he moved back, breaking the contact, his gaze touching her lips and her hair, and she realized she’d wrapped her fingers around his arm.

She released him immediately.

He smiled.

She blushed in confusion.

He descended the stairs, placed his supplies in the buggy and climbed up to take the reins.

Ellie’s stomach quivered with a new and not unpleasant sensation of longing and anticipation, tempered by wariness. She placed her hand on her belly, then raised it to wave.

He drove the team down the street and away.

Long after he’d gone she remembered the gentle touch of his lips against hers and pondered the implication of that brief contact. The kiss was outside her realm of experience and understanding. It had been sweet and tender, but not comfortable like kissing one of her brothers.

If he’d meant to comfort her, he’d failed. If he’d meant to distract her, he’d succeeded. Her thoughts took a whole new direction.

She fed the three boys, read to them and allowed Benjamin and Flynn to sit on the back stairs and play with the cat who’d made himself at home under the porch.

It grew late. The boys went to bed. Ellie put away a few wedding gifts and hung the exquisitely embroidered cardinal sampler that Miss Shaw had sent. She sat at Caleb’s desk and wrote a few notes of thanks, then tried to concentrate on one of Caleb’s books.

Finally, looking weary, he arrived home late.

“Are you hungry?”

He shook his head. “Just tired.”

She carried the water she’d kept warm for him to his room and poured it into the basin on his washstand. He’d already lit a lamp. “Is there anything I can get you?”

He shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed.

She hurried to help him remove his boots. Setting them aside, she looked up to find him studying her.

She thought of the kiss earlier that day and grew uncomfortable with his gaze. “I’ve taken Nate’s cradle to my room for now. I hope that’s all right.”

“It’s thoughtful of you. Is he all right? Are all of them all right?”

“They’re fine.” She stood and walked to the door. “Good night.”

“’Night, Ellie.”

She closed the door behind her and walked to her room. She gazed down at the sleeping baby, then turned and changed into her nightgown.

She slept fitfully, hearing Caleb in the hall while it was still dark outside. She dressed and hurried down the stairs.

“You’re going to eat breakfast before you leave,” she said. “I’ll have some coffee ready in a few minutes.”

He opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch, standing and peering into the early-morning darkness. Crickets chanted.

The coffee perked and Ellie poured him a cup and placed it on the table. He sat and spooned a little sugar in, stirring. “It’s been touch and go with one of J.J.’s nieces,” he said. “She seemed better yesterday, but then she took a turn for the worse. Doc Thornton stayed with her last night.”

“I’m glad you came home to sleep,” she said. “You have to take care of yourself in order to be of help to others.”

“I know. But it’s hard to leave them when they’re so frightened.”

A knock sounded on the front door. Caleb got up and entered the hall. Ellie followed.

He opened the door a crack. “It’s Luke Swensen, the grocer,” he said to Ellie, dread lacing his tone. He spoke through the opening between the door and the jamb. “Move back into the yard.”

“I need to tell you—” the man called.

“Move back, then tell me.”

Boots sounded on the wooden stairs. “My wife is sick.”

“Stay in the house with her,” Caleb ordered. “Don’t open your store today. I should have had you close it yesterday when I knew Kate Jenkins had been there.”

“I have to open my store. All my customers will go over to—”

“You’ve been exposed, Luke. Everyone who comes in contact with you now could catch the fever your wife has.”

“I’m not sick. Are you going to come see her or not?”

“I’m coming. And you’re not opening your store. Go straight home and I’ll be right there.”

The man moved away with a curse.

“I have to run over to my office for fresh supplies. I need to make an order at the druggist’s, too.”

She untied her apron. “I’m going to help.”

“No, Ellie—”

“I am. I’ve already been around J.J.—and you.”

She read the regret in his eyes. He was trying so hard. With all the people he had to help, he wanted to protect her at the same time. The knowledge did her heart good.

“You can’t do everything,” she went on. “J.J. normally takes care of your horses, so that’s added work. You need help, and I’m the logical one to do it.”

His shoulders slumped with resignation, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to reach over and touch his arm.

“Cut this cast from my arm and then give me a list for the druggist.”

“I…”

“I’ve worn it the length of time you ordered. My arm is fine and the cast is a nuisance.”

He nodded.

“And tell me how to get to the Swensens’. I’ll get the boys up and tell them they’re staying with Nate today. They’ll do fine.”

“I’ll take a horse and leave the buggy for you at the livery,” he said, and covered her hand on his arm with his own. “Thank you, Ellie.”

The touches were natural for him. He touched people every day. But the episodes were foreign and disturbing for her. She wasn’t used to being touched in a wholesome or pleasant manner, and she didn’t know how to respond.

“Well,” she said, “how do we do this?”

They went back to the kitchen, where he unwrapped a saw from his bag and cut the cast from her arm with care. A sharp pain stabbed through the limb as he pulled the pieces of the cast away. She winced.

“It’s normal for it to hurt a minute when the bone loses that familiar support,” he said.

She stared at the flaking white skin with distaste. It didn’t even look like her own arm.

“It’ll peel and grow new skin,” he assured her. “Just use good judgment and don’t lift heavy things or try to do too much too soon.” He wrote a list, then gave her directions and hurried out into the humid early-morning air.

She watched him walk in the direction of the livery, and finally pulled herself back inside to start her day. By the time she fixed her hair and gave the boys instructions for the day, the sun was up. She hurried to the livery, where Caleb had left the horse and buggy at the ready. She placed Caleb’s order at the druggist, carried the supplies and packed them in the waiting vehicle.

She found the Swensen home and drew the horse to a halt in the side yard.

Mrs. Swensen was a plump young woman, and her reddish complexion looked so natural, Ellie had to wonder whether or not the fever had caused it. The woman accepted Caleb’s treatment and advice pleasantly, however, and even calmed down her husband, who still wanted to open his store.

Caleb informed Luke how to care for his wife, admonished him to wash his hands often and he and Ellie washed and left the house.

“If only we could get more people to understand the importance of avoiding contact,” he said with a shake of his head.

“What if we print flyers and distribute them?” she said, thinking aloud.

“Or buy an ad in the newspaper,” Caleb replied. “You’re a genius!” He tied one horse to the back of the buggy and prodded the other to pull them toward the newspaper office.

Caleb conducted his business from the doorway and asked to be billed.

He headed for the Jenkins house. “They all think I’m a quack.”

She looked over at his troubled expression. “I don’t.”

His weary dark eyes displayed appreciation, and he gave her a smile that was worth more than words could say. “Thanks.”

She tucked this tenuous new affinity away in her heart and concentrated on helping him.

Kate Jenkins showed considerable improvement and was able to sip some broth that Ellie had made while Kate’s exhausted sister slept. Doc Thornton went home to grab his turn at sleep. Caleb sponged the little girl with cool water, listened to her heart and sat at her side.

She was about Lucy’s age, thinner, with two brown braids that lay against the sheet. She cried in her delirium, sometimes calling for her mother, but Caleb spoke softly to her, changing the cloth on her perspiring forehead and calming her.

The child’s feeble grasp on life frightened both of them, but Caleb behaved like a professional. Ellie tried to follow his example and stay calm and confident, but inside she was quaking. “What’s her name?” she asked, perching on a chair beside him.

“They call her Suzanne.” He lifted the girl’s tiny wrist and felt her pulse.

How did he do it? Ellie wondered. He cared about these people. He’d known Kate, maybe most of them, since his childhood. But then Caleb cared as much about strangers as he did about friends. He’d used the same compassion and tenderness with her when she’d broken her arm. He was even kind to Benjamin, who’d been nothing but hostile since their first encounter.

Caleb gave so much of himself.

Ellie admired Caleb Chaney with a reverence that went beyond appreciation or respect. Watching him in this profession he’d been called to affected her deeply. Knowing she was married to him astounded her.

If only, she thought, composing her feelings and moving to heat more water.

If only she deserved to be his wife.

Or his friend.

By the time Doc Thornton returned late that afternoon, J.J. had a cough and a sore throat. Ellie put him to bed on a pile of blankets and Caleb gave him the antitoxin.

They stayed as late as they dared, but Caleb needed to rest. They arrived home late, spoke with Benjamin and Flynn and checked on Nate. They ate a cold supper, then went to their separate bedrooms. Ellie smoothed glycerin into the skin of her itching, aching arm and climbed into bed.

Some time later she awoke to the ominous sound of coughing. She leaped from her bed and paused in the hallway. The sound came again—from the boys’ room. Ellie’s heart filled with terror and she turned and ran down the hall. She burst into Caleb’s room, the worst possible thoughts tumbling through her sleep-drugged head. Caleb sat up, his hair tousled in the moonlight shining through the window. “What’s wrong?”

“One of the boys is sick!”

He stood and grabbed his trousers, tugging them on and hurrying after Ellie. She lit a lamp with trembling fingers.

It was Flynn. He lay with his covers tossed off, his head and chest burning with fever.

“Oh, God,” Ellie said on a sob, helplessly wringing her hands as she stared at his flushed face.

“Go get water,” Caleb instructed calmly. “You know what to do.”

Benjamin sat and rubbed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s going to be all right,” Caleb said to him. “Do you have a sore throat or a cough, Ben?”

“No.”

“I’m going to give you the antitoxin anyway, just to be safe. You too, Ellie.” A concerned expression came over his sleep-lined face. “Nate will have to take it, too, but I’m not sure about the dosage. Go get the water, Ellie.”

Her chest constricted with this new and urgent fear for her own family, and she bolted away to do his bidding. She would fly into a million pieces if Caleb weren’t so calm and efficient. He knew what to do. He would take care of them. She had to stay calm and assist him. He was as tired as she—probably more.

After filling a basin and a kettle, she carried a bucketful of water and some cloths to Caleb.

“I don’t feel good, Ellie,” Flynn said. The skin around his mouth was pale compared to the rest of his flushed face and she recognized it as the way Kate and her niece had looked.

Swallowing the panic that threatened to consume her, she brushed his hair from his forehead. “I know you don’t, sweetheart. Caleb is going to take care of you and you’re going to be fine.”

She believed it. She did.

A wail carried down the hall. Torn between staying with Flynn and responding to the baby’s cries, she assured Flynn she’d be right back and hurried to tend to Nate. “Hush now, little one. Did we wake you?”

She reached to change his wet flannel and her hand met the scorching skin of his belly. She touched his chest, placed her fingers on his head. He was burning up with fever.

A little sob escaped her throat. Not him, too!

Picking him up, she ran down the hallway and carried him into the boys’ bedroom. “Caleb. Nate has the fever, too.”

She couldn’t hide the desperation in her voice.

He turned to her, masking his feelings behind his efficient manner. “Benjamin,” he said softly, “will you please bring Nate’s cradle in here? You can go sleep on my bed.”

Dressed in his knee-length union suit, Ben got up and carried back the wooden cradle. “I can’t sleep now. I’d rather help.”

Touched, Ellie exchanged a look with Caleb. Benjamin had been exposed as directly as the rest of them. Either he’d get the disease or he wouldn’t. He wanted to help and they certainly needed the extra hands. He seemed so grownup all of a sudden. “All right,” Caleb said. “You can help with the water. It’s not good for Ellie to overuse that arm.”

“I’ll pump and carry it from now on, Ellie.”

Throat tight, she nodded and placed Nate in the cradle, tearfully stripping his clothing away. His small plump body was covered in patches of a red angry rash. His hoarse cry broke her heart. The very real threat of losing one of her loved ones to this dreadful sickness tied her insides in knots.

Fevers and sicknesses like this could leave all kinds of disabilities behind, even when the patients survived. She’d heard of survivors who were deaf. Caleb certainly knew all this, too, but he worked without adding fear to her growing anxiety.

For two days they fought the fever. Caleb left only to check on Mrs. Swensen and the Jenkins family, bringing back the encouraging news that Kate had fully recovered. Suzanne had improved, but J.J. was still down with the fever.

Flynn’s difficulty breathing frightened Ellie. He struggled for breath and his eyes widened with the terror of getting no air into his lungs. She could only hold him, wash his scorching hot body and pray. His rash went away, as did Nate’s, but the fever and difficulty breathing remained.

Exhausted, frightened, she sat at Flynn’s side. Nate had fallen asleep and seemed to be resting comfortably for the first time in days. Ellie picked up Flynn’s hot, dry hand and willed healing into him with every fiber of her being.

She couldn’t lose this dear, loving boy who’d never known comfort or stability, but who deserved them as much as anyone. It was unthinkable to be faced with the devastating possibility of his death, especially now when the promise of all those things was within his grasp.

She remembered then what Caleb had said about God doing the healing. She’d never had much confidence in a God doing anything to help her out, but Caleb seemed sure. Flynn was young and innocent and deserved a chance. Surely his life wouldn’t end like this when he’d only begun to see the better side of life.

“My feet are cold,” Flynn said.

Ellie glanced to where his feet lay beneath the sheet.

“Gonna get some boots,” he said. “A pair like was in the store window on Fifth Street. Ellie’s selling lots o’ cigars tonight though. She’s gonna sell enough to buy me a pair o’ boots.”

He was delirious. Ellie glanced at Caleb where he lay dozing on Benjamin’s bed. And then she offered up a silent prayer to the God Caleb set such store by. Maybe some of Caleb’s favor had rubbed off on her.

She’d lived through things no one should have to. She’d survived any way she could. But she didn’t think she could live through losing one of her brothers.

Dread and exhaustion clawed at Ellie’s dry throat. She needed a drink of water. She filled the cup Caleb had used for coffee and drank water from the pitcher Ben kept full.

She was so tired, and the night was so hot. If she could only sleep a little, she’d feel better, but Caleb needed his rest and she had to keep Flynn and Nate cool.

She rinsed out a cloth and wet her brother’s skin once again. It was possible he felt a little cooler this time.

Her head hurt terribly and she placed the rag against her own forehead for a moment, closing her eyes.

“Ellie?” Caleb spoke to her as though through a closed door. She had no idea how much time had passed or where she was. She opened her eyes and the dim light of the lantern made her head hurt. She squinted and tried to swallow, but her throat was on fire.

“Ellie,” he said again, and this time his voice was so close to her ear it created shivers along her spine. Her whole body trembled. She did love his voice.

She loved those gentle words and the concern in his eyes. She loved the way he had of setting people at ease and taking control of a situation. She loved the way he looked at her with that little tilt to his lips when she said something that amused him.

She loved the way he made her feel when he stood close or when he turned those dark eyes on her. She loved the way he smelled, like freshly pressed linen and soap and man.

Yes. She loved Caleb.

Chapter Twelve

The dream came again that night…and the next…and Ellie didn’t have the strength to wake herself from the feverish nightmare. The hands confused her.

The hands had always hurt. But in some of the dreams the hands were gentle. The unexpected change was confusing. One moment the voice was taunting, full of spite, and the hands tortured her body. The next moment the voice was soothing and made her want to flutter her eyes open; the hands calmed and cooled.

Ellie’s head pounded with the chaos, the tumbling push-pull of the incessantly changing scenario.

She cried.

She slept.

She begged for mercy.

Caleb had thought he’d lived through the worst when Flynn and Nate took ill with the fever. All he’d wanted to do was grab up his son and hold him tightly, and he’d had to fight that panicky desire with steely determination. Flynn needed him, too, as well as so many others. He had to ignore his doubts and all the possibilities that tormented him and concentrate on doing everything in his power to help them recover.

He knew just what lengths this disease could go to. Even patients who lived could be deaf or have lung damage. Caleb had done his best to prevent its spread and save lives. He’d preached sterilization and rational thinking. Now all that fine theory and practice was being tested on his own family, and if he was wrong, he had a lot more at risk.

With little or no rest for Caleb, the days passed in a blur. When Nate and Flynn showed improvement, he thought maybe, just maybe, they’d seen light at the end of the tunnel. Nate’s fever lifted first, and then Flynn’s. The boys rested comfortably, breathed easily and still had their hearing.

Caleb didn’t even have time to be grateful.

He should have been prepared for Ellie to fall ill. He had been prepared for more patients. He was a doctor, not a fool.

Ellie was strong. She was as afraid as anyone, but she hadn’t given in to her fear. She’d been his right hand through the worst of the crisis. Now she lay helpless and suffering, and he was the only one to help her. He couldn’t give in to his fear, either.

Caleb ignored the terror that welled inside him and relied on his instincts and training.

Benjamin sat in the hall outside her room, his knees pulled up to his chest, his head on his fists. He’d pumped and carried so much water, Caleb had had to make him stop. As well as caring for Flynn, he had taken over all the routine tasks where Nate was concerned, feeding the baby and changing his flannels. He’d been more help than Caleb could have hoped for from one so young.

But now that the younger ones slept and chores were taken care of, Benjamin held a lone vigil outside Ellie’s room. Caleb suspected he’d fallen asleep.

Ellie tossed her head on the pillow. Her fever had risen and her clothing was soaked. He should have had Ben help him with it, but he didn’t want to frighten him any worse or embarrass the lad.

“Forgive me, Ellie.” He unbuttoned her wrinkled shirtwaist and sat her forward to remove it. Her skirt and stockings followed. He’d been much more successful in bringing fevers down when he’d had the patient’s upper body stripped and had bathed them often, so he apologized again and removed Ellie’s chemise. She was a patient, he was a doctor. He wouldn’t ogle her just because she was his wife—a wife whose body was still a mystery to him.

He soaked a cloth, rinsed it and ran it across the skin of her face and neck and arms. He bathed her shoulders and turned her on her side to wet her back and tuck a dry sheet beneath her.

“You’ll be doing this often,” he told himself aloud, “so get used to it.” He turned her back over, lowered the sheet and ran the cloth over her upper chest, trying to see her as merely a patient. Her white skin was flushed in the lantern light, her breasts delicate and lovely.

It was silly for him to feel so guilty for noticing; he was her husband after all. He wished with all his heart that he was seeing her body for the first time under different circumstances. He gave up and filled his eyes with the exquisite sight of her, her enchanting brow and nose, the lips that he knew were sweet, the sweep of her dark lashes, down to the graceful column of her neck and her feminine collarbone and shoulders.

Her breasts rose and fell with her labored breathing, and his gaze moved to the rosy-tipped mounds. A silvery line caught his attention and he frowned, wondering. He looked more closely, though he’d told himself he wouldn’t, and found a few more of the nearly invisible streaks.

Startled at what they implied, he pulled the sheet to her hips and opened the front of her drawers. Several pinkish scars lined her abdomen.

Shock numbed his thinking.

He sat on the edge of her bed in a state of weary astonishment.

Had Ellie given birth to a baby?

The question ate a ragged hole in his heart. Could his wife, this wife he’d never touched, have given birth to a child? Had some man, other than him, feasted his eyes upon her body? Had he touched her and made love to her and given her a child?

A feeling he’d never experienced clamped his insides in a knot. If so, where was this man now?

He washed her again, seeing her through different eyes, then pulled the sheet up over her and tossed her damp clothing in a pile. Anger and betrayal pressed in, though he didn’t want to acknowledge them.

Why did the possibility bother him so? She hadn’t lied about it—he’d never asked. He didn’t even know if she’d been married before. Had she been married? Or had she simply made a mistake and allowed some scoundrel to seduce her? If she’d had a child, what had become of him?

She’d been so fervent about not wanting a baby—about not wanting to sleep with him. That refusal hurt worse than ever now. Why had she spurned him? Had she loved someone and didn’t want to settle for less?

His mind reeled, trying to make sense of what he feared had happened. But when? Flynn? She didn’t look old enough to have given birth to Flynn.

She moaned in her fever-induced sleep and Caleb smoothed her damp hair away from her forehead. When had she become so lovely to him? When had the secrets of her past taken on such importance?

It mattered because she was his wife now, and he’d married her with every intention of being faithful and spending the rest of his life with her. It mattered because the feelings he’d had for his first wife didn’t compare to those he had for Ellie, and he’d begun to hope.

“It’s all right, Ellie,” he said softly. “Just rest.”

She coughed, and he spooned a little water between her lips to soothe her throat.

“There’s a pie cooling on the back porch,” she said in her delirium. “Cover it so the flies don’t get it.”

He smoothed glycerin into her cracked lips. “I’ll cover it.”

“Is the door locked?”

“It’s locked.”

She relaxed against the pillow. “Somebody wash that oatmeal out of Nate’s hair. Laura will think I’m not a fit mother.”

Not a fit mother. Perhaps her baby had died. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t bear to have another, if she feared the same would happen. The desperate way she had looked at Rachel’s newborn baby took on a whole new meaning. Caleb had been caught in the emotion of the moment, in the beauty of the miracle of life. He’d assumed Ellie had felt the same.

Had she watched that birth through the eyes of someone who’d done it herself—and lost a baby?

Through that night and the following day, Caleb bathed Ellie’s skin and spooned antitoxin between her lips. Her shakes and nightmares were worse than any he’d seen. Sometimes she fought him when he tried to calm her, other times she cried brokenheartedly, pleading with him not to hurt her. Even after her rash had passed, the fever persisted.

Only in the deepest moments of fatigue did he doubt his ability to save her. Flynn and Nate had improved and Ben still showed no signs of contracting the illness. The other patients had recovered, even Suzanne, who’d had a case of fever nearly as bad as Ellie’s.

His knowledge and his intuition had paid off.

In those cases, that irritating voice inside his head taunted. He’d assisted a birth, too, but no complications had arisen for him to falter over. Not like when his wife had died. He hadn’t been able to save her.

Winston Parker had asked if Caleb planned to kill another wife. Throughout another endless day, Caleb studied Ellie’s delicate profile, the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat, seeing her as a woman who’d become important to him. Damn Winston for putting those torturous thoughts in his head!

He doubled his efforts to reduce her fever.

The bell rang late in the evening, and Ben brought Doc Thornton upstairs.

“How’s the wife?” the old man asked. Hearing someone else call Ellie his wife made Caleb’s fears all the more real.

“Her fever’s no better.” He revealed her feet and showed Doc that the soles were peeling. “Did they all do this?”

Doc nodded. “All who had the fever bad. The little girl lost whole pieces of skin from her fingers.”

“No one has died?”

Doc shook his head. “No one.”

Caleb sighed with relief.

“And we’ve only had one other case. Clive Sanders’s wife.”

“She okay?”

“I’m going back out there now.” The man rubbed his beefy nose with his index finger. “She was at the mercantile the day Kate Jenkins was there.”

Caleb nodded. “We won’t be in the clear until another week has passed, though. This has about a five-day incubation period.”

Doc’s clothes were dirty and rumpled, but his hands were satisfactorily clean. He gave Caleb a sideways look. “Guess you won’t have to admit you were wrong. This could have been a lot worse if we hadn’t done it your way.”

Caleb shrugged. He’d been right, but it wasn’t as though he’d won a victory of any sort. They’d simply prevented more cases…and possibly a few deaths. That was probably the only gratification Caleb would receive, so he accepted it.

Doc shuffled over to peer down at Ellie. “Still hard to believe there’s something there so tiny that we can’t see it, and yet so dangerous. Thought it was a joke the first time I heard it.”

“Some of the bacteria you can see with a microscope,” Caleb said. “First time I saw it was in the laboratory at the university.”

“You got a microscope?”

He rubbed his face tiredly. “Matter of fact, I do.”

“Mind if I come over and have a look one of these days?”

“Don’t mind a bit.”

Doc shuffled out and Benjamin saw him down to the door.

The night that followed was one of the longest Caleb had ever lived through. He had so many questions. So many doubts. He had done all he knew to do for Ellie. He couldn’t bear to lose her. He couldn’t allow himself to imagine the ramifications if she died under his care. And how he could even think that seemed so selfish that he hated himself for the thought…and the doubt.

Her life was in the balance and he was thinking of himself.

She slipped in and out of delirium while he couldn’t rid his mind of the thought of another man touching her.

He told himself he was delusional from lack of sleep and he did the only thing he could do for her now, and prayed.

The next day her fever broke. Her skin cooled and she stopped tossing. Caleb dressed her in clean, dry nightclothes and tucked her into fresh sheets. She immediately fell into a deep, restful sleep.

He made himself a pallet on the floor beside her, removed his boots and socks and stretched out. Her breathing came easier. His sense of relief was palpable, but it was dimmed by this new and disturbing emotion. He shouldn’t have felt the ripple of betrayal that washed over him each time he thought of her having a child. He hadn’t known her until this very summer.

But the feeling was there all the same. She was his wife and he didn’t know anything about her previous life because she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him. Had she ever planned to tell him? Should he have asked? Would she have told him if he’d been insistent?

Caleb drifted into sleep with those troublesome thoughts at the forefront of his mind.

Ellie woke during the night and sat up straight in the bed.

A lamp burned on the bureau.

“Caleb?”

“Ellie!” He sat and ran a hand through his hair.

“Caleb, are Flynn and Nate all right?”

“They’re fine.”

“J.J.’s family?”

“They’ve recovered. Even Suzanne. The only case right now is Clive Sanders’s wife.”

“The nice lady who had her husband bring me here when I broke my arm?”

He nodded.

She turned to poke one foot from beneath the sheet toward the floor. “We need to go help her.”

He got up and pushed her back onto the sheets. “You need to get some rest and build up your strength. Doc Thornton is taking care of her.”

“You trust him?”

“In this I do.” She noticed then the dark circles beneath his eyes and the unfamiliar growth of whiskers along his jaw. She’d never seen him look so disheveled or tired.

Exhaustion claimed Ellie’s mind and limbs and she closed her eyes.

Waking again late in the morning, she sat unsteadily. Caleb had been lying nearby on the floor, but he was gone now, the blankets folded and lying in a pile. The past days were a blur of scorching nightmares, cooling hands and unbearable pain in her head and throat.

Caleb had been with her through all that, she was sure. His soothing voice had been her security, her lifeline. She remembered his expression of relief and the weary look he’d worn. His sacrifice touched her deeply.

Ellie wondered how many days had passed. Her mouth felt horrible and her hair was tangled and dirty. She wore one of her batiste nightgowns. She touched the fabric, then her cheek, imagining with mortification Caleb dressing her while she was too ill to help.

“Ellie!” From the doorway, Benjamin had spotted her sitting up, and cried her name.

“Ben. You didn’t get sick?”

He rushed into the room, kneeling in front of her.

She ran her fingers through his sandy hair, along his fuzzy jaw, and then rested them on his shoulder. “Flynn’s all better?”

“Caleb took care of him, and of you, the whole time.” His voice didn’t hold the contempt she’d heard before when he referred to Caleb. He was no doubt feeling as grateful as Ellie.

She brushed back her hair with a hand, coming in contact with tangles. “I really need to bathe and wash my hair.”

“I’ll bring up the tub.” He stood. “Flynn can help me carry water.”

“Wait, where’s Caleb? And who’s watching Nate?”

“Caleb went to check on the Sanders woman. And Mrs. Jenkins is here looking after Nate.”

Ellie digested all that information slowly. “Kate Jenkins? J.J.’s mother?”

He nodded. “She showed up this morning. J.J. is all better, too. She heard you were sick and she wanted to help, so she’s here.”

The woman’s kindness brought tears to Ellie’s eyes. She blinked them away.

The boys brought water, and Ellie was so delighted to see Flynn well and his freckled face filling out that tears trickled down her cheeks.

Concern filled his dark eyes. “You sick again?”

She hugged him tightly. “No, sweet boy. I’m just so glad to see you better.”

“I’m glad to see you better, too.” He pulled back. “Caleb stayed with us the whole time,” he said. “I don’t remember everything when I was sick, but I remember every day when you were. Me an’ Ben took care of Nate an’ we did a real fine job. Caleb said so. But Nate got cranky sometimes an’ we didn’t know what to do for him then, so he cried some. He wasn’t hurt or hungry or nothin’. He just cried. Caleb said he probably missed you ’cause he’s used to you an’ all, an’ you have a special way with him.”

“Caleb said that, too?”

He nodded.

She ruffled his hair. “Bring another bucket for me to rinse with now and then leave me to my bath.”

“Mrs. Jenkins said to ask if you wanted her to help you.”

“Tell her I’m doing just fine, but I’ll holler if I need her.”

“Okay.” He shot out of the room.

Ten minutes later, she submerged in the warm water and tingles of pleasure washed over her skin. It felt glorious to scrub her scalp. She used the rinse water, worked the suds out and then soaked until she got chilled.

She made her way to the kitchen, freshly washed and dressed, but unsteady. Kate greeted her with a welcoming smile. “Ellie!”

“I’m pleased to see you looking so fit,” Ellie said to the woman.

“We all had a quite a scare there, didn’t we?”

Nate pounded his palm on the tray of his chair. Ellie gave him a smile and he gurgled delightedly and emitted a squeal, raising a hand toward her. She hurried over and picked him up, hugging him against her breast. She was surprised at how heavy he seemed to her in her weakened state. She kissed the top of his head. “I was so afraid for the children.”

“Everyone’s calling Caleb a hero,” Kate said, delight evident in her tone. “Seems Doc Thornton told the newspaper how Caleb made him listen and go along with his treatment. There was an article in today’s paper saying so. There was a warning, too, for everyone to stay to themselves as long as they can until five days have passed without another case. ’Course the paper goes out no matter what, and the iceman’s been delivering in town. He doesn’t go inside, though.”

“I’ll bet Luke Swensen’s fit to be tied if he still can’t open his store,” Ellie said.

“Oh, he found a way around that. He left a blackboard and chalk on his boardwalk. People can leave their order and then come back later to pick it up.”

“And his wife is well?”

“Completely. I’m staying with you the rest of the day,” Kate informed her. “I know how weak I felt that first day, and Caleb said you had the fever longer than most. I’m caring for the baby and doing all the cooking, so you just find a place to take it easy.”

Ellie wasn’t as strong as she’d hoped, so Kate’s offer was a blessing. “This is so good of you.”

“You came to my house to help,” she replied. “You risked getting the fever yourself to help my family. Caleb says once you get it, you can’t get it again, so I’m perfectly safe. You’re the good one.”

Ellie placed Nate on a quilt someone had laid on the floor, gave him a string of spools and sat down beside him before her shaky knees gave out. “I think I’ll stay right here for a while.”

Benjamin and J.J. clomped in the back door. “Any of those cinnamon rolls left, Ma?” asked J.J.

Ben spotted Ellie and grinned.

“There’s a few under that napkin on the table. Leave one for Ellie.”

“Glad you’re better, J.J.,” Ellie said.

“You too, Mrs. Chaney.”

The name gave her a start. She had never actually thought of herself as Mrs. Chaney.

The boys sat at the table and Kate poured them glasses of milk. “We’re going to ride on over to the creek this afternoon,” J.J. said. “Maybe we’ll bring back some fish for supper.”

“Make sure that’s all right with Ellie,” his mother replied.

Ellie was so pleased to see her brother with a friend, she could only nod. Like her, he’d never been accepted in the community they came from, nor had he had the time or the opportunity to do all the things young people should do. He’d had Ellie and Flynn and that was it, until the county had separated them.

It was pleasing yet painful to see him growing and establishing a new life. She’d always dreamed of this for him—for her small family. The Jenkinses were a shining example of a real family, and Ben’s spending time around them delighted her.

“Where’s your brother?” she asked.

Ben set his glass down. “Out back makin’ a fort out of the firewood. He’s still a little kid, Ellie. Please don’t say I have to take him along.”

“I wasn’t going to say that at all. I was just wondering where he was.”

He flashed her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

The boys finished eating and ran out the back door.

“Your brothers are fine young men.” Kate wiped her hands on a flour sack towel.

“Thank you. I think J.J. is quite special, too. He’s certainly a big help to Caleb.”

“He has a mind of his own, that one.” She sat in the chair her son had vacated. “He’s determined to save enough to send himself to college. His daddy and I sure don’t have the money, but he works several jobs and is so determined, I can see him doing it.”

“I can, too.” Since coming to Newton, but especially since meeting Caleb, Ellie had begun to think a person’s dreams really could come true.

She had realized something frightening the night she’d fallen sick. The sudden insight had been incorporated in her fever and fatigue, but now she sorted the thoughts and recalled her discovery.

Caleb had become important to her in a way she couldn’t recognize. The tortured beliefs of her childhood jaded every thought and relationship she’d ever had. Since meeting him, she’d learned that he wasn’t the only good person in the world. Far from it. But he was nearly the first decent human being she’d encountered.

She felt more than appreciation.

She’d believed all along that association with him would prevent others from pitying her…even ease the sense of ridicule embedded within her. His innate goodness revealed her inadequacies, however. She felt unworthy.

Loving him pointed out the impossibility of their relationship ever developing past this tenuous and wonderful new friendship.

She was incapable, and he deserved more.

A loud meow caught her attention. She got up and found the cat sitting on the back porch, flicking his tail expectantly and gazing up at the door. She slipped out the door and scooped up the cat. His purr rumbled against her midriff as she settled on the step and petted him.

She had been foolish to think she could escape the inevitable—the physical aspect of marriage. What kind of marriage had she visualized? She’d imagined Caleb going to another woman for his pleasures, but she doubted now he’d do that. Just because other men did things didn’t necessarily mean Caleb did them, too.

She still had no clue what his mother had been getting at the day of their wedding. Matthew and Laura’s touches had disturbed her since she’d first seen them together. But try as she might she just couldn’t conjure up a mental picture of Matthew huffing and puffing away on top of Laura, and her actually enjoying it.

Ellie didn’t want to think about it.

But she needed to.

She blinked away a similar blurred image of Caleb’s sister. And Kate Jenkins. Good women actually participate willingly?

Well, they must, or there wouldn’t be so many children. She closed her eyes and recalled the reverent way Caleb had kissed her.

Just because Winston had forced her and hurt her, didn’t mean Caleb would. He hadn’t. He was good and kind and gentle.

Ellie possessed the knowledge of that fact.

Now she would have to come to understand it in her heart.

She had to if she wanted to keep this family and her dream.

By the next week it became evident that the disease had passed without a full-blown epidemic. Caleb was indeed Newton’s hero. He had patients lined up on his stairs every morning when he arrived for work, and he’d hired Benjamin as his assistant.

Benjamin sterilized the instruments, cleaned the office, counted supplies and made trips to the druggist. One afternoon after everyone had gone, he finished wiping the tables while Caleb made notes in patients’ files.

“It’s payday.” Caleb took two silver dollars from the desk drawer and handed them to his new helper. “You’ve earned every penny.”

Benjamin’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and a lock of sandy hair fell over one brow.

“Once school starts, your studies will come before this work. But I believe you can do both.”

“I can,” Benjamin said. He turned the coins over in his palm. “Never had this much money all to myself before. I feel like I should give it to Ellie for food or somethin’.” His tone sounded as though he were thinking out loud.

“It’s yours. You worked for it.” It wasn’t uncommon for children to help out their families, but Caleb could afford to provide—and wanted to provide for them. “Ellie has everything she needs.”

The boy looked up. The blue eyes Caleb had always seen as icy now seemed more open. The sister and brothers were just so damned vulnerable. Sometimes Caleb felt as if he was kicking a puppy when he spoke sternly or made a gesture that he knew was misinterpreted.

Just this afternoon, Benjamin had flinched when Caleb had reached over his head for a glass jar.

“I promised you I wouldn’t hurt your sister,” he said, wishing he knew what lay behind those mistrusting eyes. “I want to take care of her, too.”

“There’s different kinds of hurtin’,” the boy said. “She’s still hurtin’. It just ain’t anything you did to her.”

For the first time Caleb felt that a rickety bridge had been strung between the two of them. “What can I do about it?” he asked, sincere in his desire to know.

Benjamin closed his fingers over the coins momentarily, then dropped them into his pocket. “I dunno.”

“If I knew what to do or say to fix things for her, I’d do it now—this minute.”

Benjamin held his jaw so that a muscle flexed. He looked aside thoughtfully. “Some things can’t be fixed. Not like Ellie’s busted arm or those stitches you sewed into that fella’s hand today. Time just knits those hurts right up, don’t it?”

Caleb nodded.

“Ellie’s hurt is like a bone that keeps breakin’ fresh every day.”

Caleb tried very hard to understand. He also kept his lips firmly clamped so he didn’t scare off this first tiny offering of trust. He just nodded.

“It has to stop breakin’ before it can be fixed.”

He might never have a better opportunity to ask, so Caleb forced himself to plunge ahead. “Does the hurt have something to do with a baby?”

Chapter Thirteen

A look of near panic passed behind Benjamin’s blue eyes. The lad worked his throat a few times, swallowed and took on a look of resignation. Didn’t he believe Caleb could help her? Or maybe he thought Caleb would beat her if he found out.

“I can’t talk about that with ya,” Ben said finally. “Ellie trusts me.”

“I understand that.” The last thing Caleb wanted was to cause friction between Ellie and her brothers. But he’d become obsessed with his lack of knowledge and the wondering. “She can trust me, too.”

The boy shrugged.

They’d only known Caleb a short time, of course. Ben hadn’t been able to trust his own father. How could he have faith in a near…stranger? “A person has to earn trust, doesn’t he?”

Ben nodded. “Don’t give up.”

“I don’t plan to. Thanks, Ben.”

Ben jingled the coins in his pocket and gave Caleb a lopsided grin.

The sight of Caleb and Benjamin walking down the street toward home warmed Ellie’s heart and brought a lump to her throat. Caleb carried his bag, and Ben kicked at stones.

They spotted Ellie holding the baby on the shaded porch, and Benjamin loped ahead. He ruffled Nate’s hair. “Hey,” he said to her.

“How was your day?”

“I got paid.” He proudly took out two coins and showed her.

“I remember what it felt like the first time I got paid at the Arcade.” She smiled at the memory. “I couldn’t wait to buy you and Flynn something special.”

“You brought us peppermint sticks and socks the first time,” he said. “And the second time you gave us each a whole set of new clothes. I still like those clothes the best.”

Caleb climbed the stairs. “Your brother’s the best assistant I ever had.”

“He’s the only assistant you’ve ever had.”

Sharing a laugh, they moved into the house where the smells of supper permeated the hall.

Ellie’s heart abounded with appreciation and hope. Her daily tasks were such a pleasure she was sure they couldn’t be called work. Her surroundings were beautiful, the supplies plentiful, and her brothers ate and laughed and filled out more each day. Nate had grown every bit as precious and dear to her as Ben and Flynn, and Caleb’s presence was the crowning cap of pleasure.

Each day revealed something new she admired about the man she’d married. She noticed the way he held his head and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and each thing that grew dear and familiar confirmed what she’d discovered.

She loved him.

Not just out of appreciation. Yes, he was kind and generous and giving, but those qualities weren’t what triggered these feelings.

Not out of admiration or respect either.

The reason was something more. Some intangible, unexplainable spark that glowed inside her when he smiled, flickered and bounced when she discovered him looking at her just so, and heated to a whole new warmth she couldn’t anticipate when their hands or arms brushed.

She often thought of that kiss he’d given her, the soul-deep sweetness and rightness of it, and envisioned it happening again. As one week passed into the next and none of the other Newton citizens came down with the fever, Caleb’s practice continued to flourish.

Each night he arrived home tired, but obviously satisfied, and he passed the evenings spending time with his son and Ellie and her brothers. On Sunday they attended church as a family, where Ellie accepted the praise and attention of the citizens who’d heard she’d helped Caleb during the scarlet fever outbreak.

“I didn’t really do much,” she said to a woman who’d stopped them after they’d shaken hands with the preacher.

“Clella Douglas says you helped birth her new grandson, and Kate Jenkins claims you tended her and her family like they was your own.”

“I just wanted to help Caleb. He knew what to do and I only followed directions.”

“Perhaps you’d join us for tea one morning soon,” Mabel Connely said, waving a hankie that wafted the unmistakable scent of mothballs beneath her double chin.

“I…I…” Ellie was so taken aback, she didn’t know how to respond. She glanced over at Nate on Caleb’s arm. “I have the children to watch,” she said finally.

“School will be starting in another week,” Caleb said after they’d moved away from the gathering. “We could find someone to watch Nate for an hour or two while you joined the ladies for tea.”

“I wouldn’t know what to wear,” she said. It had taken her an hour to select and press a plain skirt and blouse for church this morning. When they’d arrived, she’d looked around and seen the dresses the other women had worn and had felt uncomfortably out of place. “I wouldn’t know what to say to them either.”

“With Mabel, all you have to do is listen.”

She walked beside him to the buggy, Ben and Flynn lagging a few steps behind. He drove the team away from town and Ellie relaxed, enjoying the cooler weather, but nervous about taking the boys to the Chaneys’ ranch.

She’d spent two days drilling them with napkins and silverware, serving them pretend meals and drinks and making sure they were comfortable with table etiquette.

Caleb’s sister and brother-in-law had reached the ranch ahead of them, and Matthew and Denzil already had a game of horseshoes under way. The two men stopped and watched them approach.

“You remember Benjamin and Flynn from our wedding,” Caleb said to his father.

“Sure do.” Matthew looked the boys over. Waiting for his reaction, Ellie’s heart did a crazy flip in her chest. “Heard you were a mighty sick fella,” he said to Flynn.

Flynn nodded.

Matthew looked over at Ellie. “You too.”

“And Nate,” she told him.

He took the baby from Caleb’s arms and held him, fondly patting his padded bottom. Ellie suspected she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes, but he blinked and it was gone. “Good thing your daddy went to medical school and got so smart,” he said to Nate.

Nate babbled and reached for his grandfather’s nose.

Matthew grinned.

Caleb looked from his father to Ellie and then back, his warm brown eyes acknowledging his father’s acceptance. As much as he’d hoped for his son to work the ranch someday, Matthew had come to terms with Caleb’s desires and was even proud of him. Who wouldn’t be? Matthew’s admission had to please Caleb.

Ellie touched his arm without thinking, finding the flesh and muscle warm and firm through the thin fabric. She surprised herself by touching him so easily, and even more by the reaction of her senses. Touching him gave her the urge to move closer, to press against him, to inhale the scent of him. Sometimes she thought she’d just like him to hold her and not ever let go.

“You men any good at pitching horseshoes?” Matthew asked, eyeing the boys.

“Dunno,” Flynn replied. “Ain’t never tried it.”

Matthew moved to hand Nate back to Caleb, and Ellie released Caleb reluctantly. “Well, let’s check those throwin’ arms and see.”

Ben glanced over at Ellie uncertainly.

She gave him an encouraging nod and he followed Matthew and Flynn over to the stack of iron shoes. Flynn was already asking Denzil questions and pointing to the stakes in the ground several yards away.

“They’ll be fine. Let’s see what’s for dinner.” Caleb walked Ellie into the kitchen, where Mildred immediately whisked Nate away and Laura gave her son a hug. Ellie watched their embrace with longing welling in her chest. Caleb’s mother loved him—and was free to show him. The poignant moment hung suspended.

The smell of roasting beef filled the air. Potatoes bubbled in a kettle on the stove. Patricia sliced bread on a cutting board, the knife sawing through the crust.

Mildred chanted a little song to Nate that she’d probably sung to Caleb and Patricia and her own children.

Laura released her son and he stepped toward his sister to snatch a slice of bread. Laura’s eyes met Ellie’s, and Ellie quickly disguised her longing.

With a swish of skirts, the woman stepped over to Ellie and took both of her hands. “Your cast is gone!”

Ellie nodded.

Laura’s warm smile created fine lines at the corners of her eyes. “I was just terrified when I heard you and the children were sick.” She blinked back tears.

“It was scary,” Ellie agreed.

Laura enveloped her in a lavender-scented hug. Ellie had embraced her brothers, who were smaller and bonier, but she had never had a woman hold her like this. At first it felt awkward and she didn’t know how to respond, but remembering how much it hurt her when Benjamin hadn’t returned her embrace that time at the Heaths’, she placed her arms around Laura’s narrow shoulders and returned the hug.

The woman smelled powdery and feminine. Her silky silver hair brushed Ellie’s cheek. At the soft, motherly squeeze, Ellie’s eyes smarted and a newfound kinship and fondness blossomed.

Laura pulled away and laid her palm along Ellie’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re well.”

Ellie realized then that Laura had lost one daughter-in-law, and that she must have been terribly afraid for Ellie as well as for her grandson. It was difficult to imagine anyone caring about her that much, but Laura was Caleb’s mother after all, and Caleb had learned his warm loving nature somewhere. His parents were obviously wonderful examples.

Patricia tossed Ellie an apron. They shared a friendly smile and Ellie found herself more at ease with the women this time.

The boys did a splendid job at the dinner table; no one would have guessed that they’d never eaten in a dining room before today. Ellie beamed at them because she knew they were enjoying themselves.

Matthew and Laura accepted Benjamin and Flynn into their family without reserve or qualm. During dessert Laura placed her hand on Benjamin’s shoulder and spoke softly to him. The adoring and embarrassed joy on his face brought swift tears to Ellie’s eyes.

Flynn, who’d been set on being a doctor for weeks, suddenly decided to become a rancher and asked Caleb’s father endless questions about the horses and cows.

Patricia carried dishes, silverware and cups into the kitchen for Mildred. Helping, Ellie returned to the dining room to discover Matthew with his arms locked around Laura from behind. She had her hands on his forearms and smiled at something he said in her ear.

The sight embarrassed and fascinated her at the same time. She paused in the doorway, her hand on the woodwork.

Patricia came up behind her, but rather than being embarrassed, she said over Ellie’s shoulder, “Are you two at it again?”

Matthew looked over at his daughter and daughter-inlaw and winked. “Hayden and Soapy are saddling horses,” he said. “Caleb and Denzil and I are taking Benjamin and Flynn to check on livestock. You ladies have a nice afternoon.”

He released his wife and sauntered out of the dining room.

“I hope Denzil still loves me like Daddy loves you when we’re grandparents,” Patricia said to her mother.

“Keep those home fires burning,” Laura said with a smile. “He will.”

Mother and daughter laughed. Ellie followed them out into the cooling air on the porch. Had she given Patricia the same talk she’d given Ellie? Perhaps in more detail because Patricia had been willing to listen. Patricia spoke about what happened between a man and woman as though it weren’t shameful. In some corner of Ellie’s mind she supposed that what she’d been exposed to wasn’t the way it should be. Nothing in her upbringing had shown her life the way it should be.

Nate fell asleep on Laura’s lap and Patricia patiently worked on a cross-stitch sampler. Lucy brought Ellie a book and Ellie read her fairy tales.

Laura reminded Ellie of all she’d missed out on with her own mother, and Lucy reminded her of all she’d been robbed of with the child she’d given away. She longed for many more days like this, even though they pierced her with as much pain as pleasure.

She’d had a sister once, too, she thought, gazing at Patricia’s serene face as she sewed, and that had been another loss.

Being around Matthew still made her somewhat uncomfortable, but she reveled in the attention he showered on the boys. He was as kind and as generous-spirited as Caleb, and the fact that Ben and Flynn would have the opportunity to grow up in the midst of the Chaneys seemed too good to be true.

She couldn’t let anything happen to lose any of this precious and long-sought-after love and affection they’d suddenly become surrounded with. She had to do everything in her power to hang on to this family. Somehow she needed to secure their positions.

The glimmer of an idea had her sitting up a bit straighter.

She thought she knew how.

She studied Laura as she rocked the chair and threaded her fingers through Nate’s silky hair, and she thought over her wedding day advice as well as the words she’d spoken to Patricia. Ellie had been in too much of a fog that day and hadn’t wanted to listen, but Laura had said that a physical relationship could sustain a marriage.

Caleb was a healthy man with a man’s carnal appetite. Ellie could pretend all she wanted. She could tell herself he wasn’t like other men in that way, but she knew she wasn’t fooled. She might not find the act anything but disgusting, but other people liked it and found it normal. And Caleb was one of them. Besides, she cared for him. She had admitted to herself that she loved him.

It was what she needed to do to solidify their marriage. She just hoped that carrying out the physical act wouldn’t change the way she felt about him. She didn’t want to lose that special feeling she had for him. She would have to keep the two things separate in her mind, give herself to him without allowing that aspect of their relationship to mar her unblemished feelings toward him.

Could she do it? Could she let him touch her in that way? She was a strong-minded woman. She could do anything she set herself to. And Caleb was a kind and gentle man. There was no comparison to her past experience.

The boys’ obvious pleasure and animated conversation on the ride home only reinforced her decision. She wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, but she would figure it out. It was what she had to do, and she was a survivor.

A week later she still hadn’t figured anything out. The days passed pleasantly, with her brothers growing more comfortable and confident and adjusting to their new life.

Caleb worked and came home, and she watched him for some invisible sign about what to do. He was a man of his word and he’d agreed to their arrangement. Changing it now was up to her.

On Saturday night she heated water and they took turns bathing on the back porch. She bathed Nate first and fed him and put him to bed, then made sure the boys had cleaned their nails and talked with them while they settled in. After that she took her turn in the tub.

Caleb went last so he could dump the water.

Upstairs, she blew out the lamp and sat by her open window in her nightgown for a long time, listening to the night sounds, waiting for the children to fall asleep and for Caleb to finish and come upstairs.

Finally the house fell silent.

Her hands had grown cold and clammy with nervousness, but she washed and dried them again, then padded down the hall to Caleb’s room.

She must have stood in the hall for several minutes before she found the courage to knock.

She heard his feet on the floor. The door opened. “What’s wrong?”

Her heart jumped. She couldn’t see him in the near-black darkness. “Nothing. Were you asleep?”

“No.”

She stood there, uncertain what to say. She remembered that Nate was in there sleeping and she didn’t want to risk waking him with their talk. “Maybe we should talk in my room. So we don’t bother Nate.”

“Just a minute.” The room was dark, but she heard the rustle of clothing and realized he must have pulled on his trousers. His silhouette appeared in the doorway and he closed the door softly. “Is something wrong?” he asked in a whisper.

“No.” She turned toward her room.

He followed.

Her door stood open, the room dark. She hadn’t lit a lamp and he would think that odd. She slipped inside, but he paused in the doorway.

“Come in.” She stood a little to the side of the entrance.

He entered. In the moonlight spilling from her open window, she made out the white shirt he’d donned and left unbuttoned. She closed the door. He didn’t move, but she felt his probing gaze on her.

Ellie didn’t have any second thoughts about what she knew must happen. Her only doubt was how to initiate it.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said finally.

“About what?”

“About us sleeping together.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “What brought about this change?”

She hadn’t expected him to wonder that. She hadn’t actually expected him to question her. “Well, you kissed me.”

“And that kiss made you change your mind?”

“I thought you would want to.”

“Me wanting to was never the question. You’re the one who didn’t want to. I have to wonder why you’ve changed your mind.”

“Well, it’s important for a marriage. Isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

He still left the question hanging between them. Finally, after another stretch of silence, he asked, “Have you changed your mind about a baby, too?”

Heat rushed up her neck into her cheeks and ears. She didn’t want a baby. She still didn’t want a baby. “No.”

Her pulse pounded so hard she thought he must hear it.

“You still don’t want a baby.”

“No. I don’t want a baby.”

“You want to make love, but you want me to take precautions.”

Was that what she wanted? She was so nervous her fingers tingled and she grew light-headed. “Yes.”

He took a step forward and she caught herself before she jumped away. He reached for her upper arm and his palm and fingers closed around the bare skin. Shivers ran up Ellie’s shoulder. “Are you sure?”

She was sure she wanted to hang on to this home and family for her and her brothers. She was sure she’d never known anything so good or so wholesome in her life. She was sure she didn’t want to see Ben or Flynn hurt and that she couldn’t bear to lose this man who’d become so important and dear—to all of them. “Yes.”

He flattened his palm on her arm, up near her shoulder, and rubbed it in a warm circle. “I’ll be right back.”

He slipped out the door and left her shivering, though her skin was warm and the air barely cool. Her knees trembled and she backed up until she sat on the mattress.

She barely had time to wonder where he’d gone and to question whether or not she should move or lie on the bed before he returned.

He closed the door and padded to where she sat.

“Do you want to lie down?” he asked in the deep-timbred voice she loved, a voice that didn’t frighten her.

She scooted up on the mattress and lay back against the pillows. He removed his shirt and it dropped to the floor with a tick as the buttons hit the wood.

Ellie tried not to be disappointed at his eagerness to do this thing. His willingness was in her favor.

He sat with his hip against hers and the moonlight defined the shadows of his muscled arms and shoulders. He’d never used his strength against anyone. Even when he’d raged with anger at that awful Heath man, he’d focused his words and his body and had behaved with absolute control.

He’d acted in self-defense against Ben’s attack in this very room, but he’d been careful not to hurt him.

She had nothing to fear. Nothing except losing him.

She swallowed audibly.

He took her hand and stroked her fingers.

She relaxed by sheer willpower.

He placed her palm on his upper arm where she’d touched him through his shirt a few times. His skin was sleek and warm, the muscle beneath firm. Her fingers moved of their own will.

He ran one finger up her arm and into the armhole of her gown, rubbing it across her shoulder. “Do you want to take this off?”

He referred to the fabric that kept him from reaching any farther than her shoulder.

She didn’t. She really didn’t. The thought of revealing her body made her want to curl away. But she couldn’t do that.

She unbuttoned the row of buttons at her throat with trembling fingers. If he urged her to pull the gown off, she would. If he didn’t ask again, she’d keep it.

He leaned forward, though, catching her off guard by pressing his lips to the skin she’d revealed at her throat. The humid warmth of his lips moved sensuously across her collarbone, his tongue dipped into the hollow at the base of her throat, and his kisses continued down the open front of her nightgown between her breasts.

He turned his face to one side and kissed the swell. Her breath caught in her throat at the bewildering sensation.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, his breath caressing her skin. Her nipples hardened.

She pushed his name past the tightness in her throat. “Caleb?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you kiss me again?”

He raised his face to hers, which brought his trouser-clad leg against her bare one and his bare chest up to her thinly covered breast. At the tactile sensations, she caught her breath.

The purposeful contact brought pleasure and fear simultaneously. He was so strong; his limbs were so hard. With one hand he cupped her shoulder, and a trapped sensation alarmed her. She wished for a moment that she had lit the lantern so she could see his face.

He was not merely a dark, faceless shadow in the night. This was Caleb. The man she’d married. The man she wanted to please more than anything.

Quickly she brought her hand up to touch his cheek, his brow, to encourage herself with their familiarity.

“Talk to me.” She needed to hear that voice again. His voice always calmed her.

“Make up your mind,” he teased. “Either you want me to kiss you or you want me to talk to you.”

“Do both.”

“All right.” His lips brushed hers gently. Warm. Tender. Lips that had spoken only kind words. Lips that kissed a baby’s head each night and every morning.

She allowed herself to wallow in the sensation of his mouth against hers—satiny, hot. The pleasure of it surprised her, just as it had before.

He broke the contact. “Want me to say anything in particular?”

“Not just now.” She reached up to thread her fingers into his hair and guide his lips back to hers, once again losing herself. This kiss wasn’t as tentative as the last, but she found she liked it just as well. Maybe better.

His mother might have had the right idea after all.

He pressed a series of fleeting kisses against her lips, then her jaw, moved his attention up to her temple and across her brow. Sweet, so sweet.

“Caleb,” she exhaled on a tremulous breath.

He pressed an unsatisfying kiss to her lips, then traveled down her chin, along her neck and up to her ear. His tongue touched her lobe, his breath creating shivers, and she grasped his arms, his shoulder, needing to hold on to something solid.

“Ellie,” he whispered. He kissed her again, one hand coming to stroke her breast through her nightgown. She pressed into the sensation. He teased the hardened bud through the fabric and delight arrowed through her body.

She squeezed her legs together and pushed her body against him. She could do this! His touches melted her fears so easily. If what came next hurt, she would simply think back on this and bear it.

He ran his hand down over her hip, up beneath the fabric of her gown, and warm skin met warm skin. He stroked her hip, her belly, rolled them to their sides, pulling her close with her leg over his hip and smoothed his palm across her bottom, her back and up, cupping her breast, this time with no barrier.

Flames burst along her nerve endings, taking possession of her thoughts. The pleasure he created erased her qualms.

She returned his kisses with wild abandon. His flesh was hot and alive beneath her palms. Everywhere he touched—her arms, her legs, her shoulders, her back—sent pleasure spiraling until her entire being craved something even more delicious.

Catching one hand, he kissed her fingers, then her lips briefly. He moved away, disentangling their limbs, and stood to remove his trousers.

The cool air touched Ellie’s flesh. She took a breath, still tasting him on her lips, still feeling his skin in the tips of her fingers.

His trousers hit the floor and he loomed over her in the darkness, the mattress dipping with his weight. He pushed her nightgown up and ran his hands up her sides and back down, captured her breasts and wedged his knee between her thighs.

Ellie’s breath caught in her chest. Her heart pounded.

He bracketed her hips with his hands, his thumbs brushing inward. His hair-covered thigh between hers was hard and unyielding. He moved his leg upward, forcing her to open herself to him.

Her recognition of his intent startled her. Panic washed over her. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him to stop.

She brought her hands up in a defensive gesture and found his hard chest in the darkness. She pressed her fists against it.

He lowered himself down onto her, capturing one of her hands between their bodies.

In the darkness Ellie lost all sense of bearings. Time and place slipped away. Darkness crushed in and nightmarish memories assailed her. She was pinned beneath an overpowering weight and the fingers that probed her tender flesh were an unwanted intrusion. She cringed in horror.

She couldn’t breathe, and her chest was ready to burst with the need for air.

He was hurting her.

She fought him with her free hand and then with the leg she worked loose. Oh, God, she had to get away!

Chapter Fourteen

Caleb’s quickened senses rudely changed gears. The woman who’d been responsive and pliant beneath his touch only a moment ago had abruptly turned into a spitting wildcat. He didn’t think he’d done anything to hurt her or scare her, but she sobbed and fought him all the same. Confused, he attempted to comfort and quiet her with a gentle touch.

Shocked, he felt her fist tighten in his hair.

Pain ricocheted across his scalp. He yelped and rolled away from her so she’d let loose.

She did, scrambling to cover herself, her breath shuddering as if she was going to burst into tears.

“Good God, woman!” He rubbed his aching head. “If you didn’t like something you might have just told me.”

“Oh, Caleb, I’m sorry.” In the darkness her hand came toward him, but she snatched it back to the sheet at her chest. “I never meant to—I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry.”

He fingered his scalp gingerly while another part of his body throbbed nearly as much. The blunt change of gears had thrown him off track, and he struggled to comprehend what had taken place. He found a semicomfortable position in which to sit and stared across the darkness at her shadowy form. “Would you mind telling me what just happened here?”

“Caleb, I’m sorry.”

“We’ve established the fact that you’re sorry. Now will you tell me what happened?”

“You’re so angry.” Her voice was reedy thin with something sounding uncomfortably like fear. She’d been around too many angry people in her life. She’d been hurt and he never wanted her to be afraid of the same from him. His heart melted.

“I’m not angry,” he said as calmly as he could, wanting to touch her to show his sincerity, but holding back. “I was a little worked up there and I misunderstood you. I’m sorry, Ellie. Forgive me.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, you shouldn’t be sorry.”

“Well, I am.” Something had happened back there and he’d missed it. Maybe she’d been trying to tell him to slow down and it had been so long for him that he’d just pressed on like an insensitive lug. “I didn’t pay attention to your needs, Ellie, and I am entirely sorry and at fault. We got off to a bad start. It’s okay.”

Her shoulders shook then and she cried a few silent sobs that tore at his fortitude. What a heel. He’d been so eager to bed her he’d barely questioned her change of heart. Maybe she hadn’t been as ready as he’d hoped. He thought back over her words. I’ve changed my mind, she’d said and they’d straightened out that aspect. I thought you’d want to. Oh, he’d wanted to…but had she? It’s important for a marriage.

She’d never said she wanted him.

She’d obviously started out with very strong reasons for not wanting to sleep with him, and he suspected that those reasons went far beyond not having a baby. She’d trusted him to prevent that.

Maybe his other suspicions were correct. Maybe she’d loved a man so deeply that Caleb’s touch repelled her. “Ellie, have you loved another man?”

“What?”

“Was there someone else? Is there someone else? Some man who holds your heart and won’t let you give yourself to me?”

She pushed herself to a kneeling position and the moonlight made a halo of her tousled hair. She shook her head slowly.

“No, Caleb. No.” It was a mere whisper.

Should he ask her? Should he ask if his suspicions were true and if she’d had a baby? Or would that push her further away? She hadn’t told him herself. If it were so, and she wanted him to know, she would have confided in him. “Why did you come to my room tonight? Why did you bring me in here?”

“You know why.”

“You wanted us to have—relations.” Even to his ears it sounded way too blunt.

But she nodded in the darkness.

“Not for the purpose of having a baby, though.”

“No.”

“Then why?”

She brushed the fingers of both hands beneath her eyes and took a breath, sitting straighter. She gave a small shake of her head. “I want to make you happy, Caleb. Truly I do.”

He said nothing, thinking, absorbing her words and her actions.

“I’ve never known anyone like you. You’re kind. And good. All the way through. You love people. You love children. You’ve made the boys a home and given us…so much. So very much. I can’t ever repay you for that.”

The first trickling comprehension of this breathless explanation threaded its way through his previously passion-jaded mind. He almost wanted to get up and leave before she could say any more, but his practical, self-torturing mind had to know. “No one ever mentioned repayment,” he said. “You are Nate’s mother now. That was the arrangement. This,” he said, gesturing to the rumpled bed and his nakedness, “was not part of the deal.”

“I know.” She scooped the side of her hair back nervously, then released it. “It…it didn’t seem like enough on my part. You’ve done so much more. You’ve given us so much.”

That us got to him. “So you decided you had something to give me in return,” he said, his voice still soft, but taking on an edge. “For all of you.”

She grew very still.

“A payment.”

She gave her head a shake, but didn’t speak.

“Only prostitutes pay for things with their bodies, Ellie.”

He could hear her breathing. Ragged. Tortured.

“You thought you could just lie there and let me do it even though you don’t feel anything for me.”

A tiny sound escaped her. Not a sob really.

“You were wrong.” He got up and had to walk around the end of the bed and back toward her to pick up his pants. To her credit, she didn’t cower. “It didn’t work out, and now you know you can’t do it.”

There was no dignified way to stand on one leg and pull his trousers on, so he perched at the foot of the bed, well away from her, and stuck a foot in.

“No, it’s not like that at all,” she denied, finally speaking in a tremulous voice and rising on her knees to lean toward him. “Please, Caleb. Please don’t make it sound like that. Don’t make it sound…”

He turned his face toward her, placing the other foot in a trouser leg.

She had extended a hand toward his shoulder, but she drew it back. “It’s not that way, not at all.”

He stood and pulled up his pants, covering his nakedness. “How is it then? Make me understand.”

She covered her mouth with her open hand and sat back on her heels on the disheveled sheets. The hand moved to her knee. “We can try again.”

Her voice sounded so weak he wanted to laugh. “I don’t force myself on women who don’t want me, Ellie. A marriage bed is not an altar to make sacrifices on. What kind of person do you think I am?”

“I think you’re a wonderful person. Please don’t be angry.”

He cocked his head and stood grappling with his bruised feelings. She had him so mixed up right now he probably shouldn’t speak. “I get angry sometimes. See, I’m not so wonderful after all. I’m mad as hell right now.”

“I’m sorry.”

He turned to leave before he said anything he shouldn’t—before his hurt and confusion made him say things he’d regret.

“Caleb, please,” she cried behind him.

He left and closed the door with a final click.

Ellie wrapped her arms around herself and ached for him. For herself. For the person she couldn’t be and desperately wanted to become. She leaned forward until her forehead touched the mattress, and clamped her teeth shut against the anguished cry that threatened to burst from her throat and purge her agonized spirit.

Bitter regret and wretched sorrow turned inward, tying her heart in knots. If she could just be numb to this. If she could just guide her tormented feelings to a corner of her soul and lock them away. Would she ever be stronger? Would she ever be able to feel and give and enjoy as she craved doing? She couldn’t bear to live her whole life as this bottled-up weakling who couldn’t let herself feel.

If she let herself feel, she’d know that his words had cut her more deeply than any pain she’d ever endured. If she let herself feel, she’d see just how much she needed him to accept her and love her. If she let herself feel, she’d have to acknowledge that her love for him was destined to be another of her deeply buried secrets.

It was hurting him now to believe she didn’t care. If she was a human with any courage at all, she’d prevent that hurt.

It angered him that she’d felt the need to repay him. People like him didn’t want payment. They wanted love, and Caleb deserved love.

And she loved him, oh, she did. But loving him still wasn’t enough. Just saying the words wouldn’t change what had happened to her when they’d been on the verge of joining their bodies.

Ellie had no control over the panic that had seized her mind. And she could never explain it to him—not without telling him the truth. And she didn’t have the courage to do that, for if she did, she’d lose him forever.

She was still alone. And she was still empty on the inside. Only now she’d hurt the man she’d only wished to please. Her foolishness had made things worse. She curled into a ball and sobbed her misery into the pillow.

Caleb behaved as though nothing had happened. She placed a cup of coffee before him the following morning.

“Thank you.”

She took a platter of hot flapjacks from the oven and placed it on the table beside the bacon she’d fried, glad she’d arrived downstairs early enough to chip a slice of melting ice and hold it against her swollen eyelids.

If anyone noticed her haggard appearance they didn’t say anything. The boys ate and she fed Nate. Caleb and Benjamin finished their meals and stood to leave.

“Bye, Ellie.” Her brother gave her a peck on the cheek.

She returned the kiss and patted his shoulder affectionately, allowing her distressed gaze to lift to Caleb. He bent to place a kiss on Nate’s head, and she remembered thinking of that daily goodbye last night when he’d kissed her.

He straightened and ruffled Flynn’s hair. “You’ll take care of the goat today?”

“You mean Nanny?”

“Is that her name?”

“Yup.”

Caleb grinned endearingly and raised his gaze to Ellie. His smile grew stilted.

Heat rose in her cheeks. An ache swelled in her chest. She wished she could go back and change last night. Either relive the whole encounter so that she wouldn’t experience that terrible suffocating panic, or go back to the point before she’d gone to his room and make a different choice.

But she couldn’t do that. If she had the ability to change things that had already happened, her life wouldn’t have ended up where it had.

She wanted to be someone who could walk over to him and place her arms around him, tuck her head beneath his chin and rest against him, feel the beat of his heart and the warmth of his body and his love. She wished there were words that would fix what had happened and erase the ugliness from her memories.

He and Benjamin walked from the room, and no one seemed to notice that Caleb hadn’t told her goodbye. That such a trivial omission could leave this enormous cleft in her heart was amazing. She’d lived through some mighty rough times and had weathered the storms without caving in, so what made the difference?

Why did a man so gentle have the ability to hurt her in places violent people had never reached?

Ellie lived with the ache. A living, breathing wound she couldn’t patch or block out. And a discovery she hadn’t anticipated.

Love hurt, too.

Caleb remained unceasingly polite. Their life went on just as it had before. Only now there was a palpable undercurrent between them, an invisible boundary that kept their eyes averted and made certain there were no accidental touches.

The morning school began, Caleb arrived with the buggy and they delivered the boys to the schoolhouse together.

Caleb introduced Ellie to Mr. McCracken, a lean, balding man who wore suspenders over a poorly ironed white shirt. The collar appeared cinched at his throat by a string tie that bobbed comically beneath his Adam’s apple when he spoke.

But he smiled at Benjamin and Flynn and asked them questions about their education up to this point, and when one of the boys sitting at a desk in the back in the back of the room emitted a loud belch, he merely turned his head and raised a brow, and the lad apologized.

Ellie liked Mr. McCracken immediately. She shifted Nate’s pleasant weight in her arms.

Flynn had made her promise not to kiss him, so she gave him a little wave, offered Ben a smile of encouragement and followed Caleb back out the door.

Another piece of her dream was being fulfilled with the boys attending school. She couldn’t enjoy it as she wished she could, because of this rift between her and Caleb—because it didn’t feel as if they were sharing anything anymore. He assisted her into the buggy.

“You can drop me off on Main between Fifth and Sixth,” she said. “I have some shopping to take care of.”

He nodded and flicked the reins over the horses’ backs in silence.

They arrived at the corner she’d indicated and Caleb helped her down. “You won’t have Nate’s pram, and he’ll get heavy. I can go home and get it for you.”

“No, I’ll be fine. Everything will be delivered, and I’ll only have him to carry. I’ll stop and rest if I get tired.”

He bent to kiss Nate’s head, and Ellie’s stomach quivered. She tried not to notice the familiar way he smelled or allow herself to look up at him. She balanced Nate on her hip and glanced across the street.

Caleb straightened and turned away. “I’m sure I have patients waiting.”

“Goodbye.”

He gave a nod, hurried over to the buggy and climbed up, driving the horses away.

She stared after him for several seconds, collecting her wits, tamping down her disappointment. There was a nip in the air that morning, making her realize Nate and the boys would need jackets. She should visit Eva Kirkpatrick and see if it would be less expensive to buy the material and have her sew them than to purchase them ready-made. Eva had promised her a dress as a wedding gift and she needed to call on her anyway.

Ellie took her time in the stores, selecting food items and placing orders. She was learning which merchants sold items for a few pennies less than others and it was a satisfying challenge to tally how much she could save. The freedom of buying food—buying anything for that matter—was still unique. She could never take money or good fortune for granted.

Later in the morning Ellie wandered through Luke Swensen’s store. She had picked out a few jars of fruit for pies and stood looking over the canned goods. “My wife said next time you were in I was to send a bag of oranges and one of those new teakettles home with you,” he said. “I got a shaving kit from a salesman the other day and I thought maybe Caleb would like it.”

“I’m sure he would,” she replied. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I figure we owe a debt we can never repay,” the man said, coming around the counter. “Seems like just payin’ a doctor bill isn’t enough for savin’ someone’s life.”

Ellie knew how he felt. She hoped Caleb wasn’t as insulted at Mr. Swensen’s offers of appreciation as he’d been at hers.

All the merchants Ellie had spoken with in the past weeks had praised Caleb equally. He’d proved himself and been accepted by the community he desired to help. He deserved to see his dream fulfilled.

“Will you please send them to the house with the other items? I’ll be sure to tell Caleb they’re gifts from you and your wife.”

“You holler if you need anything else.”

“I will.” She had a fair walk to the dressmaker’s shop and needed to start out if she wanted to make it before the noon hour. She exited the store and hurried along the boardwalk, adjusting Nate on her hip.

A prickling sensation alerted her to someone’s presence, and she looked askance to see a man walking toward her from the other side of the street. He wore a dark suit and his hat was cocked to keep the sun from his eyes, but she recognized him immediately.

Winston Parker stepped up onto the boardwalk ahead of her, blocked her progress and tipped his hat in mock politeness.

She stopped in her tracks.

“Mrs. Chaney.” The way he said it made it seem obscene.

A few other shoppers walked around them.

Ellie started to move past, but he stepped in front of her. Her heart thudded against her breast. She didn’t want to see that face. She didn’t want to acknowledge his existence. Panic welled up inside her.

Shifting Nate, she moved sideways quickly and entered through a door without reading a note tacked to the wood. Ellie glanced around. It was a tailor’s shop. The bell over the door had rung, but there wasn’t anyone in the semidark room. Dress forms held chalked and basted suit coats with facings exposed.

She bumped her hip against a counter.

Steps sounded behind her.

She whirled to face the man she detested and feared with all her being. She clutched Nate protectively.

“Nice of you to find somewhere for us to meet alone.”

Ellie’s glance shot around the deserted work space. Surely someone in the back room would step out. This man wouldn’t risk doing anything to her in broad daylight and in a public place.

Nate whined, and she realized she was squeezing him too tightly. She eased her hold and pressed him to her breast protectively.

Winston’s attention shifted to the baby and his expression changed subtly. “I heard he was sick.”

He reached to touch Nate’s head and Ellie’s stomach quaked. She moved him away and took a step back.

“Come now, Ellie. I have every right to see my grandson.”

Her heart pounded and she wanted to throw up. This horrible person didn’t deserve any rights. Especially not to this innocent child. “You stay away from us.”

He raised his brows and grinned. “I don’t think so. I think we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other. In fact, I’m going to make some arrangements for us—you and I. I’ll let you know when and where to meet me.”

“You must be crazy if you think I’ll meet you.”

“Not at all. You’ll meet me. You don’t have any choice.” He stepped closer, backing her against a dress mannequin that toppled and hit the floor with a thud. She caught her balance on a wooden counter. Nate squirmed. “I can request a meeting with you any time I please, and you won’t say a word.”

“I will. I’ll tell Caleb what an awful person you are.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will!”

“Will you tell him your name is Foster and that your mother was a whore? I can always add those details for you. Then who would he believe? You—a whore? Or me—the father of the respectable woman he loved?”

She loathed him with very cell in her body. How dare he call her that vile name after what he’d done to her?

At the sound of a door opening and closing in the back of the building, he stepped away. “I’ll let you know when. And you’ll come to me.”

He turned, replacing his hat and exiting the shop. The brass bell clanged.

A moment later a man appeared from the back room. “Hello! Can I help you?” He walked over and removed the note from the door. “You must have seen my note that I’d be right back.”

Ellie collected her senses and stumbled forward. “No, no, I just needed to get out of the sun for a moment.”

He studied her curiously. It wasn’t a hot day compared to those they’d left behind. “Can I get you some water?”

“No. Thank you.” Rushing to the door, she peered through the glass for any sign of Winston, then darted out and down the boardwalk.

He knew where she lived.

She clutched Nate and half ran until her legs got tired and she lost her breath. Finally slowing down, she glanced behind her.

She wanted to run to Caleb’s office for safety, but even that wasn’t an option—not with the way things were between them. He would wonder why she’d come during his working hours. Besides, he was busy.

Keeping a cautious eye on the streets behind her, she traversed the distance to the house in near hysteria.

That vile man, the grandfather of this baby she loved, had the ability to take away everything she’d worked so hard for. And his price for not doing so was one she could never pay.

He was going to rape her again. Her mind wouldn’t even extend to the point of thinking that one over. He thought he could have her anytime he wanted because she wouldn’t tell.

She wouldn’t tell.

But neither would he have her.

What could she do?

Benjamin and Flynn were her main consideration. She couldn’t just up and run. She had promised to be Nate’s mother.

The house came into view in the distance. Mrs. McKinley was sweeping her steps and waved as Ellie hurried past without acknowledgment. Ellie ran up the porch stairs, fumbled with the key in the lock and flung herself inside, shutting the door, slamming the bolt and running to check the back door.

She stood in the kitchen, panting, Nate now fussing in earnest. Collecting herself for his sake, she dropped her reticule on the table and prepared him a bottle.

She changed him upstairs, fed him and tucked him into his cradle for a nap.

The familiar scent of Caleb’s room didn’t comfort her. She studied his son until he fell asleep, touched the collar lying on the bureau and sat on the foot of the bed, stricken.

For an hour she sat and contemplated all the ways to tell Caleb the truth. She’d never said the words aloud. She couldn’t. She was a coward.

Downstairs the chimes rang and she jumped. Moving to the window, she saw the grocer’s wagon in the street and hurried down to open the door for the delivery.

Another delivery came as she was putting those items away. She finished the task and started on supper.

Nate woke and the boys came home from school, eager to share the details of their day. Ellie listened halfheartedly, hating that every moment of her life continued to be spoiled by that detestable man.

Her brothers drank milk and ate slices of bread, and Ben left to attend his duties at Caleb’s office. Flynn went out back to search for the cat.

Ellie was alone with her thoughts and Nate until Caleb and Ben came home. They ate supper and conversed. Ellie fed Nate bites, but forgot to eat herself.

“Aren’t you feeling well?” Caleb asked after the boys had excused themselves and gone outdoors.

“I’m fine.”

He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back down. “I was thinking we should order a table and chairs and a sideboard for the dining room. My wife died only weeks after I bought this house. I never bought furniture for just Nate and I, but it would be nice to have a set, don’t you think? You could select wallpaper and a few paintings. Maybe you’d like a nice set of china.”

Ellie studied her plate, wondering what difference all that made. She’d thought food and a home and school were going to change everything and make life better. Those were just physical things that couldn’t fix what was wrong with her and with her life.

“Ellie,” he said softly. “We have to work past this. At least we were friends before. Now…well, I don’t want to lose that much. I know I’m partly to blame—”

“You’re not the least bit to blame,” she said fiercely. Caleb wasn’t the man who had ruined her life. “Don’t say that again. Don’t make me crazy by saying that.” She jumped up and grabbed plates from the table.

He watched her for several minutes.

Then he picked up Nate and left the room.

Ellie stared at the soapy water in the enamel pan and with every fiber of her heart and soul wished Winston Parker dead.

Chapter Fifteen

Days passed with the two of them speaking to each other in stilted sentences, only enough words to convey information and make plans. The boys had begun to look at them oddly, and Caleb tried his best to keep the atmosphere congenial.

On Saturday he took all three of the boys fishing so Ellie could have some time alone. Perhaps she’d been under too much strain lately. She’d always been quiet and reserved, but recently she’d become withdrawn and often agitated.

As a doctor, Caleb was concerned.

As a man who’d grown to love her he was worried and hated this helplessness.

Sunday, they attended church as usual. His parents were there, and Laura held Nate during the service. Ellie kept glancing over and twisting her hands in her lap.

Once, Caleb reached over and covered her hands with one of his and she tensed, rather than relaxed, so he let go.

“Why don’t we send the boys to the ranch for dinner today,” he suggested as they exited the building. “We can share a meal alone—at the Arcade or at Isaac’s Restaurant. You won’t have to cook.”

The expression that crossed her features revealed that an afternoon without the children appealed to her. Would the prospect of being alone with him tip the scales against the plan, though? She raised those luminous violet eyes and he read the doubt in their depths.

“Is that what you’d like to do?” she asked.

She was always asking what he’d like.

“Yes.”

She raised her chin just a fraction of an inch and took a breath. “All right.”

“I’ll speak to my folks. Perhaps they’ll even bring them home for us.” He found his parents chatting with the Douglases.

Rachel showed him her son, wrapped in a crocheted shawl. “There’s that handsome fella,” Caleb said. “What is his name?”

“John Mark.” Rachel beamed.

“John’s a good, solid name,” he said.

“Dr. Chaney?” She took him arm and guided him a few steps away from the others. “I want you to know I didn’t mean all those awful things I said about his daddy. John Allen is a good man. I miss him something fierce and I keep praying he’ll come back to us.”

“I hope he does, too, Rachel. Why don’t you go show John to Ellie? She’ll be surprised at how much he’s grown already.”

Rachel found Ellie in the churchyard, and Ellie smiled and admired the baby.

Caleb turned and made arrangements with his parents to bring the boys home. Ben strode across the grass to where Ellie stood. “Is it all right if I go with the Chaneys?”

“Don’t you want to?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. I just want to make sure you’re going to be all right.”

His concern touched her. He’d obviously noted her distress these past days. “I’ll be with Caleb,” she assured him.

Ben gave her a smile and hurried off to join the Chaneys.

Caleb came for Ellie.

He drove the team to the Arcade Hotel and they were seated within minutes.

Goldie spotted Ellie and stopped by their table with a friendly greeting. “You got your cast off!”

“Yes, a while ago. My arm’s all better.”

Goldie batted her lashes at Caleb. “That was sure a lucky fall you took that day, Ellie.”

“Lucky for me,” Caleb said, and gave Ellie a smile.

Goldie giggled. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone and get back to the station before Mr. Webb demotes me back to the kitchen.”

“What would you like?” Caleb asked.

She glanced over the menu. “I always wanted to try the lobster salad.”

A waitress whom Ellie knew as Irma appeared to take their orders. She looked Ellie over with admiration.

“My wife will have the lobster salad,” Caleb said. “I’d like the stuffed turkey and asparagus. We’ll try the Roquefort cheese and water crackers while we wait. Did you want coffee, Ellie?”

She glanced up and nodded.

He handed the waitress the menus and she moved away.

Ellie admired Caleb’s calm efficiency, his ability to fit in wherever he went. But then, he did fit in here. She was the one who should have been waiting tables.

He spoke to her about their fishing trip the day before, about church that morning. Their meal came and Ellie’s salad was delicious. She’d never eaten anything remotely like it.

She’d never before eaten in a restaurant, except in the kitchen of this one, and the experience was unique. She tried to respond to Caleb’s conversation, wanted to make the day pleasant for him, but her mind was enveloped by the black fog of doom Winston Parker’s demand had created.

He had the power to destroy her—and to destroy Caleb as well. If he revealed the secret of Ellie’s family, Caleb would lose the respect he’d only recently gained in the community. Kind, generous, unsuspecting Caleb. Ellie hated the possibility that marrying her could end up being his downfall.

Nothing Ellie had worked for and gained had freed her from the horror her mother had inflicted upon her.

Caleb paid for their dinner, left a generous tip and took her for a ride across countryside that was just beginning to show the first signs of autumn. She relaxed and enjoyed the time and his concern, all the while feeling guilty for causing him extra worry. Her behavior had to seem strange, but she saw no chance of improvement in the future. Every day she waited as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing any moment it would break off and plunge her into an abyss.

They returned to the house to find a note scribbled on Caleb’s blackboard. Caleb needed to call on a nearby rancher.

“I’ll have to go back for a horse,” he said, and turned to her with a frown creasing his forehead. “I’m sorry to leave you. I wanted us to have the evening together.”

“It’s your job, Caleb. Go take care of Mr. Arnold.”

He checked his bag for supplies and left. Ellie stood on the porch, watching him go. She went upstairs and changed from her church clothes. Lighting a lamp, she tried to read until the Chaneys brought the boys home.

She made them coffee and they chatted for a few minutes before heading back.

“Thank you, Laura.”

Caleb’s mother hugged her. “You’re most welcome, dear. A bride needs a little time alone with her husband now and then. Too bad he had a call.”

Matthew pulled her out the door. Ellie listened to Flynn’s excited chatter about their day, then sent her brothers to wash up.

She got Nate fed and ready for bed. He had just fallen asleep when the door chimes rang. Tucking him in, she hurried down the stairs.

“You Mrs. Chaney?”

She nodded.

The young boy jabbed a folded piece of paper at her and bounded off the porch. Puzzled, she accepted it and closed the door. Ellie opened the note.

Come to the spot southwest of town where the Caldwell tracks cross the creek. Ten o’clock. No later.

Her knees shook.

How could he think she’d come?

She couldn’t go. She’d rather die than let that man touch her again. Ellie crumpled the paper in her fist and bent at the waist to relieve the piercing pain in her stomach. She wished she’d died the first time!

“You okay?”

She straightened and composed herself, ignoring the nervous sickness in her belly. Ben stood on the stairs.

“I’m fine.”

“Who was at the door?”

“Just a boy with a note.” She raised it. “I’m invited to tea.” She attempted a weak smile.

“You goin’?”

“I’ll have to see what the week brings.”

“I wonder if Caleb needs any help with his patient.”

“I’m sure he’s doing fine.”

“Who was sick?”

“Mr. Arnold.”

“He’s the man who owns the drugstore. Was it serious?”

“Stomach pain, someone wrote on the blackboard. Could be anything, I guess. You have school tomorrow. Get your sleep.”

Ben shrugged, then turned back up the stairs.

Ellie rushed into the front parlor. The clock on the mantel read nine-twenty. She couldn’t go. She’d be stupid to place herself in jeopardy. What could Winston do? Come and drag her out of her home?

She dropped to the edge of a chair. Minutes ticked by as slowly as hours, each beat heightening her anxiety. She got a rag and dusted the furniture.

Zeb Arnold’s attack of gastritis had finally passed. Caleb left him a bottle of peppermint extract, stepped outside and peered into the darkness. Moonlight defined his saddled horse down the road. He was sure he’d tied the reins to the post. Tiredly, he carried his bag down the dirt road until he reached his mount. He strapped his bag on the back of the saddle. “What did you wander off for?”

Weeds and leaves rustled behind him. He turned toward a dark figure with an arm raised over his head. The next second pain burst through his skull and he blacked out.

Thinking she heard someone on the stairs, Ellie stepped into the foyer and glanced up. Her mind was playing tricks on her now.

The clock chimed ten o’clock and she jumped. He’d be waiting for her. No later. He’d be angry. She went back into the parlor and waited until another half hour had passed.

She left a lamp burning for Caleb and went upstairs, checked on Nate, then closed herself in her room.

She removed her shoes, but left her clothing on and lay on the bed. What would he do?

Caleb’s head throbbed. He opened his eyes. The moon peered down at him. What the hell had happened? He pushed to a sitting position in the weeds along the side of the road a good distance from the Arnolds’ place. Blinking away dizziness, he got to his feet, climbed up to the road and whistled.

An answering whinny came from the distance and his horse galloped to where he stood.

He probed the back of his head and his hand came away sticky. There was a good-sized bump there, but he didn’t seem to be bleeding profusely, so he placed his foot in the stirrup, hauled himself into the saddle and touched his heels to the animal’s flanks. He’d clean up the cut at home.

Somehow Ellie had slept. At an unfamiliar sound, she woke and sat up, squinting into the blackness. Lighting a lamp, she carried it out into the hallway.

Caleb still wasn’t home, she noted, peeking into his dark room. The light swept across the sleeping baby’s cherubic features. Shadows danced on the walls as she carried the lamp to the boys’ room and listened outside the door. All was silent.

Lifting her hem, she made her way down the stairs.

The parlor lamp had burned out.

A sound came from the back of the house.

“Caleb?” she called softly.

No reply.

Her bare feet padded soundlessly across the glossy wood floors, down the hall, into the kitchen. “Caleb?”

“He’s indisposed at the moment.”

The familiar and abhorred voice halted her in her tracks. She turned to run, but a match struck, lighting a lantern, and defined Benjamin’s shocked face in its glow. Ellie stared.

He was seated stiffly in a kitchen chair and Winston Parker stood beside him, a gun pointed at her brother’s head.

Ellie’s heart stopped beating. Her vision blurred.

The scene came into focus and she zeroed in on the rope that secured Ben to the chair. She took a step forward. “What are you doing?”

“Seems you forgot our appointment. I stopped by to remind you.”

“Let him go.”

“I’ll let him go. Just as soon as you step outside with me.”

“You’re crazy.”

He laughed.

“Where’s Caleb?”

“He had an accident along the road.”

Horror coiled up her spine. “What have you done?”

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t kill my grandson’s father. He makes a good living. He’s—shall we say—detained.”

“If you hurt my sister, I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” Benjamin shouted, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I’m real scared,” Winston said with a smirk. “Now come on, Ellie. Out the door. I’m tired of waiting.”

“Where to?” she asked.

“My carriage,” he replied. “You remember my lovely carriage.”

Her head swam. Her stomach lurched.

Winston looked her in the eyes and slowly pulled back the hammer of the gun until it clicked. He pressed the barrel directly against Benjamin’s perspiring temple.

“All right,” she said. “Put the gun away.” Maybe between the house and the carriage she stood a chance to fight him off.

Ben’s face contorted and he struggled with the ropes that bound him. “Don’t go, Ellie!” he pleaded, a vein in his temple defined by the lamplight. “Don’t go! Let him shoot me! The noise will bring someone to help.”

As if she would ever let anyone harm a hair on his head. His foolish willingness to sacrifice his life told her everything she needed to know. “Move the gun away,” she said calmly.

It took eight steps to reach the back door.

“No!” Benjamin howled in anguish.

Winston pulled the gun away from Benjamin’s head and backhanded him across the face.

Ellie moved toward her brother, but the barrel raised to point at Benjamin’s heart. She halted. Winston took a step away, the gun still aimed. “You made your choice, am I correct?”

She nodded, then walked stiffly back to the door.

Winston stepped behind her then and the minute she knew Ben was safe, she relaxed and opened the screen.

“Ellie, no!” Ben sobbed from the kitchen behind them.

The night was cool. A fog hung above the ground. The cat meowed and darted under the porch.

Winston’s hand clamped onto her arm and guided her across the yard away from the house, through an alley. Rocks and sticks pierced the bottoms of her feet, but she was numb to the physical pain.

A brief memory of running through an alley years ago flitted through her consciousness. She’d been fourteen years old and desperate to hide the baby she’d given birth to. The baby this man had forced on her. Some disjointed section of her brain wondered if she’d have another baby. Maybe she would die.

She wanted to.

He’d parked his black carriage on an adjacent street. It loomed out of the enveloping darkness like a hand reaching out to squeeze the life from her.

She stopped at the door.

He opened it.

The interior yawned, ready to swallow her in its claustrophobic depths. What choice did she have? She knew his strength. She knew his power and influence.

Ben had been ready to die for her.

Her mind cleared. She hadn’t made it this far just to give up, had she? As long as she had an ounce of life left in her body, she could resist him. If he shot her, someone would hear and rescue Ben. They would go get help for Caleb, wherever he was.

If she got inside the carriage, she’d never be able to fight him. She stood a better chance out here.

Before she could change her mind, she grabbed the door and jerked it. The corner hit his knee, and he grabbed her shoulder.

Her first kick caught his shin, but hurt her bare toes. She balled her hands into fists and pummeled his face. He hit her with his fist, and lights flashed behind her eyes. Her lip stung and she tasted blood.

He raised the gun to her head and shoved her back against the side of the carriage. “Get inside,” he hissed.

She clamped her teeth and said through them, “Shoot me.”

Nothing happened.

Caleb’s reaction when she’d grabbed his hair flitted through her mind, and in the next second, she reached up and locked her fingers against Winston’s scalp and yanked for all she was worth.

He yelped and his head shot back, dislodging the gun from her temple.

At that same moment, the sound and sight of her brother barreling into Winston and both of them losing their breath and their balance bombarded Ellie’s senses. Winston held fast to Ellie’s arm and used her to pull himself upright.

Ben had regained his feet. He raised a piece of wood and slammed it down on Winston’s head. With a grunt, Winston released her arm.

Ellie grabbed the man’s hand and bashed it against the edge of the coach door. He howled and shoved her, the gun falling from his grip.

She landed on her rump, scraping her elbow, and her teeth rattled.

Benjamin struck Winston again, and he fell against Ben, rolling on top of him, arms flailing.

Ellie scrambled to her knees.

Moonlight glimmered from the barrel of the gun where it lay in the dirt. A hand closed around it.

Ellie beat at Winston’s head with her fists. If he had the gun again, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot Ben.

A blast echoed in her ears.

The horses reared and whinnied; their harnesses jingled and the carriage rocked. The smell of gunpowder burned Ellie’s nose. She strained to see clearly in the darkness. “Ben!”

The lump of bodies moved, and he stood, a slender figure against the foggy night sky. The bigger man at his feet didn’t stir.

Ellie stared at the unmoving body. Her toes, her elbow and the bottoms of her feet throbbed.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ben said on a released breath.

She got to her feet slowly. A light came on in one of the nearby houses, then another.

“I swear I didn’t mean to kill him!”

She moved forward. “Maybe he’s not dead.”

“I said I’d kill him, but I didn’t mean it.”

Ellie turned and wrapped her arm around Ben’s narrow heaving shoulders. “I know you didn’t. I’ve wished him dead a hundred times myself, Ben. Hush now.”

She released him and knelt over Winston’s prone body, almost expecting him to reach up and grab her. With a trembling hand, she pressed her fingers to his throat, then picked up a limp wrist and felt for a pulse as she’d often seen Caleb do. She couldn’t detect a movement. “I think he’s dead.”

“Ah, hell,” Ben moaned.

“Ellie!” The voice echoed from the alleyway. “Ben!” Caleb’s voice! He was all right! Footsteps sounded as he ran toward them and emerged into the moonlight at the edge of the street.

“Ellie, my God, what’s happened?” He knelt over the man on the ground.

“I shot him,” Ellie said. “He’s dead.”

“Winston?” Caleb said in stunned disbelief.

Ben dangled the gun before Caleb, then tossed it inside the open carriage. “Look who has the gun. I shot him. I didn’t mean to. He would have killed one of us. I grabbed the gun before he could get it again. It just went off. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

A light came on in the nearest house and a person appeared on his porch with a rifle in his arms. “What’s going on out there?”

A few shadowy figures stood at the corner of a yard, carefully keeping their distance but obviously curious.

Caleb checked over the man on the ground once again, then sat crouched with one knee up and the other against the ground, staring at the two of them. “Ellie, tell me what happened.”

She couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t feel anything.

“He sent Ellie a note telling her to meet him tonight.” Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled paper. “She didn’t go.”

Caleb stood and took the paper from Ben, walked over to the carriage and lit the side lamp. He held the paper aloft and read. Ellie’s heart thundered.

She would have taken a hundred beatings to prevent the look of confusion and betrayal that crossed Caleb’s face. “Why did he ask this? Why did he think you would meet with him in a secluded spot at night?”

Numb, she shook her head.

“Ellie?”

“He thought she would do whatever he asked,” Benjamin said. “He knew she wouldn’t want him to tell anyone the truth about her. About us.”

“What did he know about you?”

“Ben,” she warned.

“He used to come see our mother—”

“Ben!”

“He knew your parents?” Caleb asked. He lowered the note.

“Not parents,” Ben denied. “The woman who gave birth to us.”

“Ben.” Ellie’s voice rose.

“Our mother was a whore,” Ben said. “He knew it. He used her himself.”

“Oh, Ben.” It was a cry now, a broken pleading cry. “No, please no.” Ellie begged him earnestly.

“Tell him, Ellie.” Ben turned to stare at her, ignoring her protests.

“Nooo,” she wailed.

“Tell him, or I will.”

“No, Ben. Please!”

“It’s the only way, don’t you see?”

“No, we’ll leave. We’ll go somewhere else.”

“I don’t want to go somewhere else. I want to stay here. Tell him.”

Her feet were stuck to the ground. She couldn’t move toward Ben to prevent the words from coming from his mouth.

“He raped Ellie.”

The pulsating scream was entirely inside her head because the night was as still and silent as the man at their feet. Ellie’s ears rang and her chest felt ready to implode.

Caleb’s frantic gaze raked across her. “Oh, my God!” He moved forward. “Let’s get her into the house.”

“Not tonight,” Ben clarified, placing a hand on Caleb’s chest to stop him. “A long time ago. When she was a girl.”

Caleb looked from Ben to her, his face shadowed in darkness once again. “Ellie, is this so?”

All the shame and the degradation of that night and the years that had followed were as acute and as suffocating as if the event had happened tonight. Having Caleb know was as ugly and as humiliating as the act itself. She couldn’t bear for him to look at her. She couldn’t bear the look she’d see on his face.

Ignoring the people now standing in clusters, watching them from a wary distance, Ellie turned and ran.

Chapter Sixteen

Everything fell into place in Caleb’s mind. He’d wanted to know the depth of that sadness in her eyes and the cause of the fear that enveloped her. He wanted to know the truth and he wanted to help. But this…He should have figured it out. But she’d been good at covering up. Her skittishness, her elusive past, Flynn’s mention of having no father, as well as the disaster that had resulted from their attempted lovemaking, were enough clues that he should have guessed.

The vivid realization sickened and angered him at the same time. He gazed into the dark alley where she’d disappeared, praying for the strength and the wisdom to see them through this.

“Shall we go after her?” a man called.

“No,” Caleb replied. “There’s been an accident here.”

“That you, Dr. Chaney?”

“It’s me.”

“Need any help, Doc?” A few men in varying stages of undress came closer.

“Who’s been shot?”

“Winston Parker. I could use some help getting the body into the carriage.”

“He dead?”

Caleb looked at the body on the ground. “I’m afraid so.”

“Who shot him?”

“I’d better talk to the sheriff first,” Caleb replied.

Ben moved off to the side while two of the neighbors helped Caleb place Winston’s body inside the carriage.

Afterward, Caleb stepped over to Ben and said gently, “Go home now.”

“I didn’t mean to shoot him.” His young voice held fear and mistrust.

“I know you didn’t.” Caleb led him farther aside. “You were protecting your sister. You did what any man would have done.”

“I tried to get the gun and it went off.”

“I want you to go watch over your sister. Make sure she doesn’t do anything foolish, like try to leave or run away. Lock her in the pantry if you have to.”

Benjamin looked up at him. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Just keep her there until I get back.”

Ben cast Caleb a skeptical glance at the black carriage. “Where are you takin’ him?”

“To the sheriff. I’ll explain what happened. He’ll need to talk to you. And to Ellie.”

“Do you have to tell him about Ellie?”

Caleb considered Ben’s question and held the same concern. “Perhaps it would be enough that he attacked her tonight. I have a feeling he’s the same one who hit me over the head and left me along the road out by the Arnolds’.”

Ben swiped a hand beneath his nose.

“Go to her now,” Caleb said. “I’ll deal with these people.”

Ben turned and ran down the alley.

Ellie lay on the bed in the dark, her head throbbing, drained of every last tear and emotion. She’d tried to get up, but Ben had pressed her back on the bed, brought cool water and bathed her face, urging her to rest. “He can’t hurt you ever again,” he whispered in the darkness.

Didn’t he know that Winston had already hurt her enough for a lifetime? “No, he can’t,” she agreed anyway.

“I was too little to help you that time. I heard you cryin’ and I pounded on the door as hard as I could. I tried to open it.”

Her lethargy lifted and she raised her hand to his face. “Oh, my boy, I’d hoped you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know, not for sure. Not until I was older. I went to get her to help, Ellie. She wouldn’t help.”

“I know,” she said, comforting him. “He would only have hurt you. Don’t blame yourself. You were just a little boy. A little boy who shouldn’t have had to know about that.”

She didn’t know how she could possibly have a drop of moisture left in her, but tears rolled down her cheeks—tears for her beloved Benjamin. “You should have had a mother to love you and a father to bring home money for food.”

“You were our mother,” he answered, breaking her heart all the more. “And you found us food.”

“You should have had a warm house and a bed,” she added.

“I have those things now, Ellie,” he said hoarsely.

She stroked his cheek. “Yes. Yes, you do.”

But did they have a hope of keeping them after this night?

“Do you hate me, Ellie? ’Cause I told Caleb?”

“No. I love you.”

Some of the tension left his body. “I love you, too.”

“Go to bed.”

“Caleb told me to take care of you.”

“You did. I’m fine.”

He left the room and she waited in the darkness. In some way she almost experienced a thread of relief that her secret was exposed. Carrying it had been a weighty burden, but now all her doubts and questions were brought sharply into focus. What would happen to them now? What would Caleb do, and how would he react to the knowledge? The minutes ticked away like hours.

After dropping off the body and explaining the situation to the sheriff, Caleb left Winston’s buggy at the livery and hurried home. He found Ben still waiting in the kitchen, his head on his hands at the table. The chair Caleb had found broken on the floor when he’d come home from the Arnolds’ now lay in pieces in the kindling bin.

Ben looked up. “Is that your blood?”

Caleb unbuttoned the shirt and shrugged out of it. “Probably. I’m glad you’re up. You can look at this knot on my head for me.” He poured a pan of warm water from the well on the stove.

Ben got up and Caleb sat in the chair he’d deserted.

“It seems to have stopped bleeding,” Caleb said. “Can you clean it out?”

Benjamin took a rag and soap and thoroughly, but gently cleansed the egg-sized bump and the gash.

“I was comin’ to see if you needed any help out there at the Arnolds’,” Ben said. “I stayed up after Ellie told me to go to bed. I knew somethin’ was wrong when Ellie got that note, and I snuck downstairs and found it in the pocket of Ellie’s apron. I knew it was from Winston. I decided to go get you, but when I went outside, he was there. He had that gun on me the whole time and he tied me to a chair.”

“I saw that chair.”

“I knocked it over and busted it against the stove. Sorry about breakin’ it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You were brave, Ben.” Caleb turned and slid an arm around the boy’s waist. Benjamin’s body trembled within his easy hold. “You saved Ellie tonight, you know.”

Ben’s chest heaved and he broke into sobs against Caleb’s hair. “I couldn’t help her the last time.”

Caleb stood, placed his arms around him and smoothed his hair, unable to imagine what this boy—and his sister—had been through. “How old were you?”

He sniffed. “Eight maybe.”

Caleb rolled that number around in his head. Seven years ago? Ellie could only have been…fourteen? He couldn’t let himself imagine it. If it was so unthinkable, what must it have been like for her to live it? And hide it? “You were too young to help her,” he assured Ben. “But you did it tonight. I’m proud of you.”

“She’s gonna hate me ’cause I told you.”

“She could never hate you. You mean everything to her. You and Flynn. You did the right thing.”

“I don’t want to leave here.”

“It’s going to be all right.”

“Will they put me in jail?”

Caleb released Benjamin and lifted his chin on his thumb, noting a few cuts on his face that needed tending. “No,” he said, praying he was right. “Nothing is going to happen to either of you.”

Ben wiped his face and nose on his sleeve.

“Put some of this ointment on it now.” He sat back down and handed Benjamin the tin he’d opened. “Then I’ll take care of your cuts. Is she asleep? She didn’t try to leave?”

“She wouldn’t leave us,” Ben replied matter-of-factly. “I made her stay in her bed and rest. She cried. I used to hear her cry a lot. It scared me. It still scares me.”

“Maybe now that the truth is out and Winston is dead, she can put those tears away,” Caleb said, hoping it was true.

“I hope so.”

“Me, too. Let me see to your face now.”

Ben sat in the chair and Caleb disinfected his wounds. He discovered Ben’s knuckles bruised and swollen and a spot on his shoulder that had begun to discolor.

“You’d better get to bed. Do you think you’ll be up to going to school tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to miss it.”

“I’ll get you there after we see the sheriff. Thank you for taking care of Ellie. And for doctoring my head. You have a gentle touch.”

Obviously pleased with the compliment and relieved about the status of his involvement with Winston’s death, Ben told Caleb good-night and went up stairs.

Caleb’s energy seemed depleted, but now—more than ever—it was important that he talk to Ellie.

A presence in the room woke her. Somehow she had drifted into an uneasy sleep.

“Ellie?”

She opened her eyes to see Caleb standing just inside the doorway with an oil lamp. The glow revealed him dressed in a clean white shirt. She blinked and rolled to her other side to hide her face.

He set the lamp on the bureau and turned it down low, sending the room into flickering shadows.

“Will they take Ben to jail?” she asked.

“No.” The bed dipped as he sat behind her. “I explained what happened to the sheriff. Seems they’ve had several accusations toward him over the past few years, but nothing they could prove. He denied attacking the girls in question, and it was his word against theirs, with no witnesses. This time there’s Ben and me.”

Winston had done this to someone else? She’d never even considered that. “You didn’t see anything.”

“I got whacked over the head and saw stars. That was his doing, I’m convinced.”

She turned back and sat up. “He said he’d done something to hold you up. Are you all right?”

He fingered the back of his head gingerly. “I have a goose egg back there, but I’m fine.”

Seeing him running from that alley toward the carriage, she had experienced frightfully conflicting emotions—relief and joy at seeing him well, but dread over what he’d come upon.

He noted the tear in the sleeve of her dress. “Can I look at that?”

She raised her elbow.

He went back for the lamp, turned it up and set it beside the bed. His sure, gentle touch only saddened her. She’d barely acknowledged her feelings for him; if only there could have been more time, if only he’d never had to know. He was treating her as kindly as he did everyone. He was looking at her as a doctor. “You have a cut that needs cleaning,” he said.

Ellie glanced at her dirty bare feet. “My feet, too.”

“I’ll be right back.” He left and returned with his bag and a pitcher of water. “I just came from cleaning up Ben.”

“Is he hurt?”

“A few scrapes and bruises. He’ll be fine. How he managed to get himself out of that chair is a marvel. He’s your hero.”

“He’s just a boy.”

“He’s a very brave young man who loves you.”

She nodded, aggrieved to the marrow of her bones.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off and put your nightgown on. Then I can treat that elbow.” He stepped out into the hall and waited until she called him back.

Ellie looked so small and so pitifully young. Her hair was a wild tangle and her eyes were red and puffy. Caleb cleaned her elbow and applied salve and a bandage. She avoided his eyes the entire time.

He placed the bowl of water on the floor beside the bed. “Might as well stick ’em in here.”

She placed one foot at a time in the water and he washed the soles of her feet and dried them. Finding a pair of tweezers, he removed a piece of gravel from her heel and she winced, then he applied the salve and wrapped her feet in gauze. “Get under the covers now.”

She obeyed like the lost little girl she’d once been, and he pulled the sheet up over her.

He turned the lamp wick down low because he knew it made her more comfortable and seated himself on the edge of the bed. They had to talk about it. Now that he knew, she had nothing left to hide. “It all makes sense to me now,” he said.

She turned her face away. “You don’t even know it all.”

“Can you tell me?”

A minute passed while he wondered if she would, but then she spoke, her voice soft and faraway-sounding. “My name is Foster. Everyone in Florence knows the name.”

“You made up the name Parrish to get a job?”

“No one would have hired me.”

“People can be so narrow-minded,” he said with a sad shake of his head.

“We lived in a shack outside of town,” she went on. “One room. There was a stove, but we never had anything to burn in it except the wood I stole from people’s woodpiles. Once I burned an old wagon that had been deserted in a field. Every night I went and broke off a few more pieces until all that was left was the metal parts. I used to hunt for newspapers in the trash.”

Caleb had difficulty picturing the life she’d begun to describe, but he focused on doing so. He wanted to understand.

“We didn’t have food most of the time. Sometimes she was sober for a day and bought some. Usually she just bought whiskey. I stole from gardens and yards at night. When I was bigger I planted a tobacco patch as well as some vegetables. I learned to roll cigars and I sold them outside the saloons and the billiard halls in the evenings.”

“You took care of the boys all by yourself?” he asked incredulously.

“Somebody had to. They were such good babies. Bright and beautiful. Not filled out like Nate. I never had enough to feed them.”

As the picture became clearer, Caleb ached for her and her brothers. He almost felt guilty for his abundant childhood.

“We had a sister once,” she said. “Between the boys. She died. She was never very strong. She threw up most of what I was able to get in her. We didn’t have beds or covers, so we slept on the pads I made from newspapers and rags, and it was usually pretty cold.

“She slept by the stove. And when men came that’s where they were—together—so we kept as far to the other side as we could.”

Caleb wondered what kind of men visited a place like that—a place where children were starving and cold and their mother took money for whiskey. Men like Winston Parker, he realized with another shock.

“First time I ever slept in a bed was when I started working at the hotel and got to stay in the dormitory.” She paused a moment. “We didn’t go to school much. I went a few years—the years that the teachers weren’t cruel. The kids were bad enough, but when the teachers were cruel, too, I couldn’t bear it, and I wouldn’t put the boys through it. I stole books and taught them to read and figure.

“What clothes we had people gave to us. Castoffs. I wore boys’ underwear most of my life. I never had anything new until a teacher named Mrs. Conner came to the school.”

Ellie had relaxed and now spoke more comfortably, though she still faced away from him.

“I thought that woman was the most wonderful person in the world,” she said. “She was. She was the kindest person I’d ever met. She took time after school to help me with my lessons. She came to where we lived once, someone, one of the other kids maybe, must have told her where it was. My mother just told her to leave her the hell alone. I thought I wouldn’t be allowed to go back after that, but Mrs. Conner never mentioned it.

“She treated me just the same as always. And one day she invited me to her house. I had to take the boys, of course, but she fed us and then she measured me. It was the strangest thing.

“The next week she had a box for me. In the box was the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen.”

Her voice cracked and she swallowed a few times. “I’ve never told anyone about the dress. I’ve never told anyone any of this.”

“It’s okay,” Caleb assured her. Wanting to hold her, he merely placed his hand on her arm. She didn’t object, so he gave her bare skin a comforting rub. “Go on.”

“It was blue. With a sash at the waist and a scalloped white collar and cuffs. It was a beautiful dress. She meant well by it. She was a kind, kind lady.

“I only wore it to school once. The others laughed. One of them said they’d never seen trash covered in fancy wrappings before. Mrs. Conner made him sit on a stool all afternoon, but when I ran home after school, they laughed and shouted and called me fancy trash. That was what they called us—the trash family.”

“Oh, Ellie.” His heart ached for her.

“I never wore it to school again.” She had warmed to telling him this story and she no longer hesitated. The words poured from her like floodwaters that had been dammed too long. “I hid the box and I wore the dress to town a few times when I sold my cigars. That’s where he saw me wearing it.”

“Winston?”

She nodded.

“Mrs. Conner got shot by a stray bullet when some robbers held up the bank. When I heard she died, I cried and cried and I wouldn’t go back to school after that.”

“I remember hearing about that bank robbery and the schoolteacher’s death.” Caleb’s mother had written him all the latest news while he’d been away at the university.

“I was too sad to wear the dress anymore.”

“What did you mean about Winston seeing you wearing it?”

“I’m getting to that. He came out to our place with that fancy carriage, and he paid my mother. Like he always did.” She turned, finally, and looked at Caleb’s face. Haunted distress filled her violet eyes. “This time she took the money for me.”

Caleb absorbed her words and the incomprehensible meaning behind them. In horror, his mind grappled with the understanding.

“He tricked me into going outdoors with him. He had the black carriage waiting and once I was inside…he took his money’s worth. He said I’d worn the dress to attract him—that I’d asked for it.”

The facts all filtered together. Her mother had been as much the perpetrator as Winston, maybe more. She had accepted money in payment for Winston to rape her daughter. It was inconceivable. But it had happened. And Ellie had been the victim and had lived with the consequences.

“And the baby?” Caleb asked around the constricting lump in his throat.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “How—?”

“When you were sick I saw your body,” he said. “I figured out that much then.”

Tears filled her eyes. She attempted to turn away, but he wouldn’t allow it. He cupped her face and gazed into her brimming eyes. “The shame is not yours, Ellie. You were a child. He forced you. You didn’t have anyone to protect you.”

The tears flowed from between her lashes and down her temple. Caleb released her face and eased himself down alongside her, fitting his body against the back of hers, with the sheet separating them. Holding her close, he stroked her hair, wanting to comfort her.

“I didn’t realize at first,” she said finally. “I thought I was sick. But then the baby started to grow inside me. My mother saw it and she cursed it and me. I did my best to stay away from her. She hated the boys and me, and I was afraid for what would happen to all of us. I hated her. I hated myself and my life. I had nightmares all the time.”

Caleb listened and stroked her shoulder, her arm.

“I was never sure what Ben knew. He was so young, and Flynn was just a toddler then. Ben knew more than I thought. He tried to help me that night, but I didn’t know it until just a little while ago. He must have figured out about the baby, too.”

“How in the world did you have that baby, Ellie?”

“When the pains came I went into the woods and hid for a day and a night,” she said. “I was afraid I might die, and if I did, I didn’t want Ben to see it. I was more afraid of what she would do to the baby. She’d made threats.”

“So you had it alone?”

“I had helped with the last two babies my mother had, so I knew what happened and about cutting the cord and all. I didn’t know it was going to hurt so much.”

Caleb thought of his wife dying even with his assistance and medical techniques. Ellie’s accomplishment was extraordinary. If something had gone wrong, she’d have bled to death in the woods…alone.

“It was a girl.”

He pictured her as a mere child, frightened and innocent, with no one to help or care. What must she have thought and felt when she brought that tiny creature into the world? He fought the urge to envelop her in his arms and hold her close. “What did you do?”

She swallowed. “I knew there was a couple in Florence—the Mastersons—who’d lost a baby to influenza not long before. I thought maybe they’d be willing to take my baby. Maybe it would even help them get over losing theirs. So I took her into town at night and I laid her on their back porch. I threw a rock at the window. They found her.”

“Did they keep her?”

A tremor went through her body. “I went back a few weeks later and saw flannels hanging on the clothesline.”

“And you never saw her after that?”

“No,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” he said against her hair. “How you suffered for so long and stayed as loving and warmhearted as you are, I’ll never know.”

“No,” she said again. She raised her clenched fists to her chest. “I have so much hate inside me, it eats up all the good parts.”

“You hate her? Your mother?”

“Yes!”

“And you hate Winston?”

She didn’t reply.

“They hurt you. Your mother should have protected you, provided for you. She didn’t and that was wrong. He hurt you, too, in a way he had no right to do. But you don’t have to carry the hurt and the secret all alone anymore.”

She brought her fist to her lips and curled, bringing her knees up to her chest.

Caleb stayed wrapped around her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t wear that dress to encourage him. You were fourteen years old and trying to make money to feed your brothers. He was a sick excuse for a human being. Thank God I wasn’t faced with the decision to save his life. I don’t know if I could have done it.”

She unfolded her body enough to turn and reply. “You would have.”

“I don’t know, Ellie.”

“You would have. I know you. You’re the kindest man I’ve ever known.”

He didn’t think that was saying much, considering the caliber of people she’d known.

“Caleb, you’re not just touching me like a doctor touches his patient.”

“I’m touching you like a man touches his wife.”

She placed her hand on his arm then. “I will understand if you don’t want to be married to me anymore.”

Caleb took her shoulder and urged her to turn toward him. They lay face-to-face, and he strained to take in her lovely features as well as the fear and regret in her eyes. “We had a deal, Mrs. Chaney. You are Nate’s mother. I am Ben and Flynn’s father. We are going through with the adoptions. Nothing has changed regarding those things. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“But now that you know—”

“I know why you’re so sad. I know why making a home is so important to you. I know why you can’t bear the thought of a man hurting you like that again. And I know you wonder about the little girl you gave away. Those are the things I know. And they’ve made me understand. But they haven’t made me love you any less.”

Those words hung between them.

Chapter Seventeen

“You can’t love me,” she said finally.

“I can. And I do.”

“But I can’t ever love you back—not like you’d want me to.”

“We can take that a little at a time.” He brushed her hair away from her temple and pressed a kiss there, careful to keep his touches light and unrestrictive, while wanting nothing less than to crush her to him and absorb all her suffering and disillusionment.

She lowered her face and pressed her forehead against his chest. “How can you love me when you know all the ugliness?”

“Because you’re the same person you were before I knew. I know you. I’ve watched your nurturing instincts toward the boys—Nate as well—and I’ve seen you take pleasure in simple things, like cooking and walking and the changing leaves. You think of others before yourself, always. Your smile lights up my world and gives me a strange but good feeling.” He took her hand and pressed it over his heart. “Right here.”

Ellie wept tears from a bottomless well inside her. Saying the words, revealing the truth, had purged her heart of years and years of grief and resentment, and the tears seemed to cleanse her soul. She was so empty and so tired she could barely move.

Caleb gently stroked her back and shoulders, smoothed her hair, restored her sanity and her peace of mind. He loved her. This wonderful, kind, generous man loved her. Like everything else involving Caleb, it was too good to be true.

Encircled in his arms, she drifted off to sleep.

She slept late into the morning, and when she woke, the house was still and silent. Caleb had propped a note on the kitchen table. Flynn had gone to school and Caleb had taken Benjamin to the sheriff’s office so he could give his version of the shooting. He’d taken Nate to the Swensens’.

The Swensens’? Ellie dressed, drank a glass of milk and nibbled on a slice of bread. Her lip hurt where Winston had hit her, but she wasn’t very hungry anyway.

Caleb returned before noon and found her taking fresh loaves of bread from the oven.

She placed them on the table and covered them with towels, then turned, seeing him in the doorway. “Caleb!”

He crossed the distance between them. His warm brown eyes darkened at the sight of her lip. She brought a finger up to the place, remembering the bruise she’d seen in the mirror.

He stood staring at her as though he wasn’t sure what to do or say. She put aside the towels she’d used to take the hot pans from the oven, and faced him. She’d come out of a groggy sleep once during the night, and his arms had been around her. She wanted him to hold her within their strength and safety always.

He wasn’t sure of her acceptance, she realized, and he waited for a signal. He’d said he loved her. How could she be so fortunate? She gave him a hesitant smile. “Everything all right?”

He nodded. “Benjamin answered questions for the sheriff and then I took him to school. Sheriff Fox wants to talk with you as soon as you’re up to it.”

She lowered her gaze to the floor where a dusting of flour had spilled. “Does he know everything?”

“Only about yesterday and last night. Ben knew you had received a note. We gave it to the sheriff. I believe Winston snuck up on me out by the Arnolds’ and gave me this knot on the head.”

“Is it better?”

“Hurts like the devil, but I’ll be fine. Ellie, last night the sheriff told me that Winston had been accused of attacking at least four other young women. None of them could prove their stories and Winston was an important banker, so their claims got swept under the rug.”

“Oh, those poor girls.” Ellie immediately sympathized with them. “Sheriff Fox owes it to each one to go and tell them what has happened.”

“I believe he will as soon as he’s talked with you and the shooting is settled.”

She removed her apron.

Their eyes met. “Nate is at the Swensens’?” she asked.

“They kept asking what they could do to repay me.” He grinned. “I took them up on it and asked Mrs. Swensen to keep Nate this morning.”

An awkward silence fell between them. Ellie remembered him holding her through the night. Throwing caution aside, she stepped forward. If he was going to reject her, she might as well know it now.

His eyes widened.

She moved right before him and looked up. He smelled like soap and outdoors. “Please hold me, Caleb.”

He obliged her willingly, taking her against his chest and pressing his face into her hair. His chest was hard against the crush of her breasts, his thighs touching hers through her skirts. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face to the front of his shirt without restraint.

He held her the same—without reserve, as though he really did love her. His heart beat a soothing tempo against her cheek. “You’ll go with me? To talk with the sheriff?”

“I will. He may want to speak with you alone, but I’ll wait right there.”

She raised her face to his. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I don’t want your thanks.”

“You have them anyway.” His lips were mere inches away. She wanted to feel them on hers again. She needed the assurance and the gratification. She stood on tiptoe, slid her hand against the back of his neck and their mouths met.

Sensing his hesitation, she pulled him closer, angled their noses and showed him she wanted this. He returned the kiss cautiously. Was he thinking of what had happened to her? Was he disgusted? The love she held for him was new and different and consuming. She wished she could be the wife he deserved, someone pure and worthy.

She ended the kiss and rested against his strength a moment longer, gaining courage. At last she pulled away. “All right then. Let’s go.”

The sheriff couldn’t have been more polite or accommodating. He seemed as disconcerted as Ellie to have to discuss the situation that had occurred the night before. She told him about Winston cornering her in the tailor’s shop and his eyebrows shot up. “Did anyone see you there?”

“The shopkeeper returned and asked me if I was all right. I was too embarrassed to tell him what had happened, so I just ran home.”

“Which shop was it?”

“A tailor’s. I didn’t look at the sign. I had just left Swensen’s Grocery and when…that man…approached me on the boardwalk I ran into the nearest building.”

“That would be Mr. Rentchler’s. I’ll pay him a visit. Glad you remembered that. What did Parker say to you in the tailor’s shop?”

Ellie told him Winston had asked her to meet him in a secluded spot. Of course she hadn’t gone, and when she hadn’t, he had shown up at their house.

“Benjamin told me what happened to him. What happened when you came downstairs and found Parker in the kitchen?”

She finished with her story, and the sheriff ushered Caleb back into the room.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this, Mrs. Chaney,” the sheriff said. “From what the three of you have told me, I’d say you and your brother were just protecting yourselves. Parker had a history of complaints from females. I’ll see what Mr. Rentchler has to say and we’ll put this to rest.”

Caleb shook his hand, then Ellie thanked the sheriff and they left his office. Relief swept over Ellie. Benjamin wasn’t going to be blamed for Winston’s death.

She made it a point to talk to her brother privately over the next few nights, and she had a feeling Caleb was doing the same. Late one evening, she found Benjamin sitting out on the back stairs.

Ellie seated herself beside him. “Whatcha doing?”

“Lookin’ at the stars.”

The night was cool and Ellie had pulled on a shawl. She gathered the fabric around her shoulders and gazed up at the sky. “There sure are a lot of them.”

“Do you think there’s a heaven, Ellie?”

She sighed thoughtfully. “After going to church with Caleb, and knowing him and his family, I just got around to believing there’s a God. Heaven is something I’ll have to think on. Why are you wondering about that?”

“’Cause I wonder where our mother is. And Winston. People like them wouldn’t go up to heaven, would they?”

“I don’t have to decide that. That stuff is up to God, I guess.”

“I guess. That preacher man talks a lot about forgiveness, don’t he?”

She nodded.

“Do you forgive me, Ellie?”

She turned toward him. “For what?”

“For not being able to help you that time. You know.”

“I told you, Ben, you were a just a boy. There was nothing you could have done.”

“Maybe there was something.”

“There was nothing. You are not to blame for anything. You have to forget it. Put it behind you and enjoy our life now.”

“Is that what you’re doin’, Ellie?”

The twinkling stars seemed close enough to touch, impossibly clear and bright. “Yes,” she said, as though wishing on one, wanting to believe it was the truth.

“Well, if you can do it, I guess I can.”

“You can.”

Ben stood. “I’m gonna black my shoes for tomorrow.”

She scooted aside so he could slip into the house.

Hating others wasn’t healthy—a person had to forgive. That was what Reverend Beecher had said. But what about hating yourself? Ellie had lived with her self-disgust and recriminations for so long, she didn’t know how to let them go. She’d been as much of a child as Ben had been, but she’d always wondered if she could have done anything differently.

She told him to let go and enjoy his life now, but she hadn’t let go. How could she? How could she forget something that had shaped her life? Maybe she’d never forget.

But she could stop blaming herself. Put it behind her and live in this moment. Enjoy this new world that had been given to her like a gift.

Her gaze raked the star-studded skies. A gift from heaven?

She had a past, but she didn’t have to dwell in it. She saw how important it was for Ben to believe that. It was equally important for her.

If Caleb could still love her, even though he knew, then she could certainly stop hating herself. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could blot it all out immediately as if it had never happened. But she was going to place it in her past and move on.

Ellie steepled her fingers beneath her chin thoughtfully. One cloud remained in the nearly clear sky of her future. If this was going to be a real marriage, she had to be honest with Caleb in all things from now on. The truth was that she wanted him. The truth was that she wasn’t sure of his feelings about what had happened to her. And the truth was that she had no control over the terror that came over her when she tried to give herself to him.

Was she brave enough to tell him all that?

Regarding the death of Winston Parker, Sheriff Fox sent word to Caleb that Benjamin had acted in self-defense and that no charges would be laid.

Caleb told Ellie the news over supper one evening.

Flynn, who’d been told of the incident in the simplest of terms, piped up. “The kids at school called Benjamin a hero.”

“Well, he is a hero,” Caleb replied.

Ben flushed and ate a slice of Ellie’s apple pie.

“Guess who came to see me today?” Caleb asked.

Ellie picked a slice of cinnamony apple from Nate’s bib and fed it to him. “I don’t know.”

“Mabel Connely.”

“Is she ill this time?”

“She’s decided to listen to my advice and follow my suggested diet.”

“Oh, my goodness! Your reputation has convinced her you know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know if it’s that or the fact that her niece is getting married next spring and has asked Mabel to be in her wedding. Seems her own mother is dead. Mabel wants to fit into the dress she wore to her sister’s wedding.”

“Is that possible?”

Caleb grinned. “Anything is possible. But the dress she wore then would still hold two of you, so she doesn’t have to lose that much to fit into it.”

Ellie laughed. “Well, that is good news. You were concerned about her.”

He wiped his lips and laid down his napkin. “That I was. Do you boys have schoolwork?”

“Yup.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Help Ellie clear the table, so you can get to it.”

They jumped up to obey.

Caleb took Nate outside while Ellie did the dishes. Finished, she found him on the front porch. The sun had gone down and fireflies dotted the yard.

“Is he about ready for bed?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll help you.” Caleb got him a bottle of milk and fed him. Ellie changed him and placed him in his cradle. He snuggled down with a sleepy smile.

“Was your wife very beautiful?” Ellie asked as she studied the baby.

“She was lovely,” Caleb replied. “She had fair hair and blue eyes.”

“Like Nate’s.”

“Yes.”

“Do you miss her terribly?”

An odd expression crossed his face. “I felt terrible about her death. I regretted that I couldn’t save her, but I knew in my heart that no one could have. It was just one of those things.”

He hadn’t answered her question, but she waited.

“I loved her,” he said. “I thought we could be happy together. But I never made her happy. She wanted to live in the East where there were more exciting things to do. She loved the parties and the theater and the whole social whirl. She never forgave me for setting up my practice here in Newton. She’d hoped to get away from here.”

“Maybe she wanted to get away from her father.”

Caleb’s expression showed the thought was a new one. “Maybe she did. Her mother died the year before we were married, but she never had anything bad to say about her father.”

“Do you think he…?”

“What?”

“Is it possible her father…” Ellie couldn’t make herself ask it.

Caleb understood, however. “I don’t believe so. She was a virgin on our wedding night.”

Ellie flushed with shame and embarrassment. “I’m sorry I asked. Most people would never think of something so awful.”

“You couldn’t help but wonder. It’s okay.”

It would do no good to regret her lack of virginity. If Ellie was going to accept herself the way she was, Caleb would have to, as well. “Caleb. Do you have any…I mean is the idea of making love to me spoiled by what you know?”

Nate had fallen asleep and they were speaking in low tones. Caleb took her hand and led her to sit on the foot of the bed beside him. “Ellie, it makes me sick to know what he did to you. I hurt for your pain and for the child that you were. But it doesn’t change the way I feel about you…or the way I want you. You had no choice. You are still innocent.”

“I’ve begun to believe that, too,” she said. “Caleb, you truly don’t get disgusted when you think of me like that?”

He touched her cheek. “No, I don’t. How can you even wonder?”

“Because I thought it of myself for so long. But having you love me has changed the way I feel. I can see myself through your eyes now, and I don’t have to hate the person I see.”

“I love you, Ellie.”

“Caleb.” The time for honesty was long overdue. “I love you.”

He smiled, a smile that touched her heart. He was glad.

“And I want you. I don’t want us to sleep apart. But I’m so afraid of what happened the last time we tried. I have no control over that.”

“You have nothing to be afraid of. That time I didn’t know what had happened to you. Now I do. I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable…and we can talk about it. But I can wait, Ellie. Until you’re ready.”

How would she know when she was ready unless she tried?

“Why don’t we give Nate his own room?” Caleb suggested. “You and I can share a bed. I want to have you close. If you don’t feel comfortable with more, we’ll be patient. There’s no hurry.”

His words set her mind at ease. And she wanted to be near him so badly. The night he’d stayed with her had shown her how much she craved the closeness. “All right,” she agreed eagerly. “Which room?”

“We’ll give Nate your room. Tomorrow you can bring your things in here. But for tonight we’ll sleep in your bed. If that’s okay with you.”

She nodded and they went downstairs to send the boys up and lock the house. Ellie carried water up and washed. She’d just slipped into her nightgown when Caleb tapped on the door and entered.

She gave him a welcoming smile.

In the lamplight he removed his shirt and she didn’t look away. He washed his face, chest and arms, then turned and cocked his head questioningly. “Want the light off?”

“No.”

He unbuttoned his trousers and removed them, tossing them over the back of a chair. He wore his knee-length drawers, just like Ben’s. She smiled. “You sleep in those?”

“Not usually.”

“Are you uncomfortable taking them off?”

“I thought it might make you uncomfortable.”

“Not yet.”

With a grin, he pulled them off, then moved to turn the wick down.

Ellie enjoyed the view of his backside. “No. Don’t turn it out.”

He paused, obeying, then turned and got into bed beside her, giving her only a glimpse of the rest of his mysteriously sleek and long-limbed body. He leaned back against the pillows and raised an arm over his head.

Ellie studied him, the smooth skin of his muscled arms, the dusting of hair that covered his chest and arrowed downward. Her gaze stopped at the sheet at his waist. Her attention traveled to his eyes: warm, brown, loving.

Caleb didn’t see fear in her eyes. That fact pleased him more than anything. He had hoped to earn her trust. He’d done everything he knew how to show her he meant her no harm and that he only desired to express his love.

By understanding her fears, he could set them to rest. He had made it clear that he didn’t want her to do anything merely to please him. The choice had to be hers—because she wanted it. Because she loved him. Oh, Lord, that knowledge warmed his heart.

Ellie had had no choices in her life growing up. She’d had no choice over her body when Winston had forced her and given her a baby. But she had choices when it came to their marriage.

“Ellie?”

“Yes?”

He explained the methods of preventing her from having a baby as directly and as thoroughly as he knew how. She accepted the information with fascination and a few discerning questions.

“The choice would be yours, of course,” he added. “Whatever you were most comfortable with. I’d be pleased to assume the responsibility.”

She gave him one of those smiles that made his toes curl and looked at him with huge violet eyes that reached a place in his heart no one had ever touched.

She seemed perfectly comfortable talking about this and she’d been looking him over with appreciation in her expression. Ellie had to have choices. She needed to be in control of her body and her desires.

And Caleb planned to give her that control. No matter how difficult it would be for him to use restraint when he wanted her so badly, he would do it.

“You can touch me,” he said. “Any time…anywhere you like.”

She appeared to think about it. “Would you like it?”

“Yes. But we’re going to concentrate on what you like, and what’s comfortable for you.”

“You have to like it, too.”

He smiled. “I’ll let you know if I don’t like something, but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”

She propped her head on her hand, her elbow on the bed, and used her other hand to trail her fingers across his chest and over his biceps. Her fingers came back and curled into the hair on his chest.

“That feels good,” he said.

She scooted closer and leaned up to kiss him, a hesitant and uncertain brush.

“That felt good, too,” he told her.

She smiled and kissed him again, this time a little more boldly, indulging him in the sweet taste of her lips and the feel of her lush breasts flattening against his chest.

“There’s a little more to this kissing stuff that we’ve never done,” he said.

“More? Like what?”

“Like getting tongues involved.”

Her eyebrows rose in disbelief.

“You might like it,” he added.

“Show me.”

“All right. Kiss me again.”

She did, and he ran the tip of his tongue along her lower lip until she opened to him. At first she accepted the kiss hesitantly, but then she returned it, moving closer and pressing her palm to his cheek. Her sweet innocence touched him anew.

She ran her hand down his neck, across his chest, and her touch set him on fire. With great restraint, he kept his own hands curled in loose fists, one at his side, the other at her back.

She ended the intimate kiss, but her lips lingered, almost touching his.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“Yes. Did you?”

“Oh, yes.” It came out as a half laugh, half groan.

She leaned back and ran her palm over his chest, down his stomach, studying him in the golden glow of the lamp. “I like looking at you.”

“Go ahead.”

Her gaze moved to his hip, partially covered by the sheet, then rose to his eyes.

“Go ahead,” he said again. “Only if you want to.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, thoughtfully, making him want to grab her and kiss her. He concentrated on relaxing his limbs.

Her hand twitched at his hip. “I can’t.”

“You don’t have to.”

Regret filled her luminous eyes.

“But if the sheet just happened to fall away, you wouldn’t mind?” he asked.

She shook her head in agreement.

Caleb stretched, flexing one leg, and pulling the sheet downward with his foot. Ellie’s eyes widened, but she didn’t look away.

He had been aching for her since she’d leaned against him and given him that first tentative kiss; he was throbbing with arousal now, but he acted as though having this woman stare at him didn’t make him want to flip her on her back and bury himself inside her.

That was exactly what he wanted to do, but even more than that, he wanted her to learn she could trust him and that neither he nor his body was anything to be feared.

Her expression showed more wonder than fear, but he asked, “Are you thinking I could hurt you?” he asked.

“It does seem…that way.”

“It only hurts some the first time,” he told her. “Because a woman has a tiny piece of flesh that is torn. But after that it shouldn’t hurt again…unless the woman is forced. That would hurt no matter how many times she’s done it before. When she’s ready to accept the man into her body, it doesn’t hurt.”

“So it wouldn’t hurt this time?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe a little uncomfortable since it’s been a long time, but nothing like what you knew then. I promise, Ellie.”

“Did they teach you this stuff at school?”

“Some of it.”

“A bunch of men in suits sit around discussing this?”

“No, they assign reading material, then ask for questions.”

“Did anyone ask questions?”

“Not as many as you do.”

She laughed and lowered herself to his chest again, bringing her legs to twine with his. “How would I know if I was ready?”

“I could show you how to know.” And he explained arousal of both sexes to her, finding it the most erotic thing he’d ever done. He didn’t know how he’d survive if this was just a warm-up and she wasn’t ready to move forward.

But she seemed eager to experience all he’d just explained. She sat up and unbuttoned the tiny buttons at her throat and slipped her nightgown off over her head, watching his eyes, gauging his reaction.

Her breasts were full and lovely, with darkened nipples that stiffened when he feasted his gaze upon them. Her waist was narrow and her hips flared becomingly, but that was all he could see because of the way she knelt beside him.

She studied his face. Her gaze flickered to his hands. He read the message clearly. “Do you want me to touch you?”

She nodded.

“Show me where.”

She took his hands and brought them to her breasts. Her eyelids drifted closed as he cupped and tested the delicious weight of her, ran his fingers over her budded nipples.

She was lost to the magical sensations and the reactions of her body. Caleb forced himself to wait for her spoken or implied demands before he did the things he ached to do. And slowly, but surely, she showed him what she liked and requested more.

He held himself in rigid control, her enflaming touches and entreaties setting him on fire. If she wasn’t ready to go through with this, he would live, he assured himself. All that mattered was Ellie.

Ellie.

Ellie was consumed with her need for this man. She loved him with every ounce of her flesh and wanted to show him—wanted to be whole and complete within his love. His words and his patient tutoring gave her a newfound courage and confidence that made her head light and her body tingle. With him she felt so beautiful, so good and so right. Love made the difference. Loving him and knowing he loved her in return.

She wanted to consume him. She wanted to envelop him. She wanted to have that elusive something that would bind them as surely and as securely as she desired.

“Now, Caleb,” she pleaded. “Will you take me now?”

Chapter Eighteen

She expected him to turn and pull her beneath him. Instead, he took care of the promise he’d made, then urged her astride, his eyes adoring her body and adding to all those signs he’d told her would prove she was ready. “You do it, Ellie.”

“I can’t…I don’t…”

“I’ll show you. Easy. Like this.”

“Oh, my…”

“Stop if it hurts.” Passion showed on his face and made his body tremble. His guiding hands were sure, but gentle as always.

“Oh, Caleb…”

“Does it hurt?”

“No-o.” The word slipped out as whispered pleasure. “I didn’t think…I didn’t know….”

“You don’t have to think.” He urged her with his words and his body. “Just enjoy. Take your pleasure, Ellie.”

She did, losing every last shred of self-consciousness and doubt at the indulgence and love that she read in his eyes. He had explained each physical detail, so she would understand and not fear. But he hadn’t been able to explain the wonder and the passion…the love…. She wanted to weep with the beauty of it. She was going to cry.

“Ellie, my sweet, what’s wrong? Stop if you want.”

“No. I don’t know. You didn’t tell me it would be this way.”

He brought his hand to cup her cheek. “What way? What’s wrong? Just tell me.”

“It’s…” She dropped her head to his chest. “It’s too good…it’s too hard…it’s frustrating.” Her body quivered beneath his hands.

He chuckled. “Trust me?”

She raised her head and nodded. He kissed her until her toes curled. Reaching between their bodies he touched her until she gasped, then he took hold of her hips, and as she welcomed that demanding, firm grasp, he guided her—raising her body until they nearly lost contact—and then pulling her back down against him with rapturous jolts.

Waves of sensation throbbed from the center of her being outward, pleasure as intense as any pain she’d ever known, as all-consuming and severe as she’d needed to make her understand—to make her forget—to make her new.

Caleb’s body convulsed in shudders as hers had, and he loosened his grasp on her hips and stroked her thighs gently. His skin glowed damp, his chest heaved with exertion.

Ellie collapsed forward, her legs trembling, and rested against him. He brought his arms around her for the first time, and she relished his embrace.

He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her. “I love you, Ellie.”

“I believe you do. And I’ll never let you stop telling me…or showing me.”

He shifted her to his side and they lay in each other’s arms while their breathing slowed and their bodies cooled.

“So.” He drew circles on her shoulder with his finger and spoke against her hair. “You didn’t say. Did you like it?”

She pulled away and looked into his smiling eyes. “Did you?”

“Oh, yeah.”

They laughed and hugged. And laughed and hugged a few more times before they fell into exhausted slumber.

“I have a surprise for you.” Caleb had dropped the boys at school and returned home.

“I like your surprises more and more all the time.” She moved into his arms and gazed up at him.

He kissed her indulgently, then drew away and held her at arm’s length. “You’re going to have your clothes on for this surprise, so let’s get going. I told Mrs. Swensen we’d drop Nate off early.”

Ellie smoothed her hair and her skirt. “Goodness. What have you planned this time?”

“You’ll see. Come on. I’ll get his things. Grab your coat.”

Ellie bundled Nate in his cap and jacket and Caleb ushered them to the buggy. A few minutes later she kissed the baby goodbye and waved to the Swensens. “I think she’s practicing to have one of her own,” Caleb said with a sidelong smile.

He flicked the reins and headed away from the grocery.

“They’re going to have a baby?”

“Well, she made an appointment for next week, so I can’t say for sure yet, but she has that look about her.”

Ellie considered the Swensens for a few minutes, imagining the prospect of having a baby with someone you loved. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

He’d headed toward Florence, and thinking that might be their destination, her stomach fluttered nervously. The closer they came, the more apprehensive she grew. “Are we going to Florence?”

“Yes.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Caleb, people will recognize me there.”

“Maybe. If they do, they’ll see that you have a husband who loves you now.”

She’d been worried about his reputation. He obviously didn’t think the fact that he’d married a Foster would reflect badly upon him. Or he didn’t care.

“This town is my past,” she said finally.

“Yes,” he agreed. “You’re right. But there’s one part of your past that still needs to be resolved.”

Winston was dead. Caleb had taught her the beauty of physical love. Her body still tingled with the fulfillment and pleasure they’d given each other. The only remaining memory that still had the power to hurt was—

Ellie grasped the edge of the seat. “Caleb, where are you taking me? What are you doing?”

“We’re going to visit the Mastersons. I wrote first. Then I came and spoke with them in person. They had a few concerns, but they welcome the opportunity to meet you and discuss them. And they have some things they want to tell you.”

Ellie’s heart tripped painfully. She grabbed his arm. “I can’t do this! What were you thinking?”

He slowed the buggy just outside Florence. “I was thinking that you’ve spent years torturing yourself over whether or not you did the right thing. And if I’m guessing correctly, you’ve spent that time wondering whether to love or hate a child who was created under such horrible circumstances.”

Ellie flushed beneath the piercing truth of his words and drew her hand back to her lap.

“I was thinking that you’ve put the rest of your childhood behind you. This needs to be opened and cleaned out, too. Like infection drawn from a wound.”

She would have laughed at that physician’s analogy if she hadn’t been terrified to the tips of her toes.

She clutched her reticule. “What do they think of me?”

“They think you were very brave. And they want to tell you what you’ve done for them.”

She studied the buildings that lay ahead. She did wonder if she’d done the right thing. She’d never dreamed she would be able to know. She hadn’t wanted to know if she’d done the wrong thing. But Caleb wouldn’t take her there to show her something that would make her unhappy. His surprise was obviously a good one.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re always right, you know. Don’t let it go to your head.”

He drove the horses onward and pulled up to the house Ellie remembered. A scattering of fall flowers bloomed near the porch and the rosebushes beneath shuttered windows had been clipped back. In the side yard a tire swing hung from a gnarled oak tree. “They know we’re coming?”

He nodded and tied the reins. “Mr. Masterson works at the rail station, but he stayed home this morning for your visit.”

“Caleb, I’m scared.”

“I know. But not any more scared than you were that night you threw a rock at their window.”

She drew a fortifying breath. “No.”

He clasped her cold hands and brought them to his lips. She gave him a feeble smile. He came around and lifted her to the ground, then held her hand as they walked through a gate and up to the house.

Children’s voices reached them from somewhere inside, and suddenly Ellie couldn’t wait to see the little girl—her little girl. She stepped forward, lifted the brass knocker and rapped it against the wood.

The door opened immediately. A small, dark-haired woman with freckles sprinkled liberally across her face and neck opened the door. A genuine smile of pleasure and recognition revealed small even teeth and charming dimples. Tears glistened in her wide gray eyes.

“Dr. and Mrs. Chaney,” she said. “Please come in.”

They entered a small foyer, and she led them to a sitting room with nice, but well-used furniture. Ellie sat on a divan with Caleb beside her, and Mrs. Masterson seated herself on the edge of a chair so her knees almost touched Ellie’s.

She leaned forward. “Mrs. Chaney—”

“My name is Ellie.”

“Ellie. Please call me Marissa. You don’t know how pleased we are that you’ve come.”

A man entered the room. He was as tall as Caleb, but more slender, with chestnut-brown hair that lay in waves against his head.

“This is my husband, Jack.”

“How do you do?” Ellie shook his hand. “I’m Ellie.”

“Your husband told us you were very young when you had Mary Michael,” Marissa said.

She grasped the first bit of information eagerly and stored it away like a treasure. “Is that her name?”

The woman nodded. “Yes.”

Ellie ran the name through her mind a few times.

“Did you know we’d lost a child?”

Ellie nodded. “I’d heard someone in town talking about it.” It had probably been someone outside a saloon, but she didn’t mention that.

“A little boy only a few months old,” Marissa clarified. “At first—when I saw the bundle on the porch—I thought someone had played a cruel joke on us. I didn’t realize it was a real baby for a few minutes. Jack picked her up and she moved. I was so confused. I was going to make him take the baby to the sheriff, but she was so tiny and helpless. I realized right then that she was a gift—from heaven. From you.”

Ellie’s throat grew thick with tears. “You loved her?”

“We love her very much,” Marissa said, choking back tears of her own. “So many times I have wanted to thank you. To tell you that your trust in us was valid and that we welcomed her. She has been such a joy. I can never thank you enough.”

A remarkable solace settled over Ellie. She glanced at Caleb and he smiled encouragingly.

Marissa placed her hand over Ellie’s, and Ellie clasped it in both of hers.

“We sure have wondered,” Jack said and cleared his throat, “about you.”

Ellie looked into Marissa’s eyes. “I was fourteen years old with no food and no money. I couldn’t keep her. I was frightened and I didn’t know what else to do. I have wondered all these years, too…if I’d done the right thing.”

Marissa’s gray eyes darkened. “Your husband said seeing her and talking to us would set your fears at ease. But, well, we’re a little worried now that—that you might want to take her away from us.”

Ellie’s heart went out to this woman who had raised her child. “Oh, no,” she said, clasping her hand tightly. “I wouldn’t do that to her—to you. You’re her family. Family is everything.”

Marissa smiled through her tears. “You can see her anytime you like. Someday, when she’s old enough to understand—or to wonder—we wouldn’t mind if she knows the truth about who you are.”

“I’m not prepared for someday yet,” Ellie told her honestly. “But I would like to see her now.”

“Girls!” Jack called over his shoulder. “Come greet our guests.”

Two girls skipped into the parlor, both dressed in ruffled pinafores and dainty black boots, both wearing their hair in braids.

The smallest of the two had freckles scattered over her nose and two dimples winked playfully when she smiled. Her intelligent eyes were wide and gray.

The taller of the two had delicate ivory skin, hair a shade darker, and finely cut features. A fringe of dark lashes surrounded pansy-dark eyes, which were an astonishing and familiar shade of violet.

“This is Dr. and Mrs. Chaney from Newton,” Marissa said.

“Is somebody sick, Daddy?” the older girl asked, her abashingly lovely eyes widening. She moved a little closer to…Jack…her father. Her daddy. He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her close. “No, darling. They’ve just come to visit.”

“Oh.” She smiled shyly. “Pleased to meet you.”

Tears stung Ellie’s eyes. “I’m pleased to meet you, too. Mary Michael?”

The enchanting child nodded.

“This is Nancy.” Marissa tapped the daughter she’d indicated on the shoulder.

“Pleased to meet you,” Nancy said at the prompting, then huddled against her mother’s skirts.

Ellie absorbed all the enlightenment she could hold. Her child was healthy and well dressed, obviously well cared for and secure within her family. She had two parents…and a sister.

She had everything Ellie had ever hoped for her to have. She had everything Ellie had craved for herself and for her brothers. “You are such pretty girls,” she said. “Do you go to school?”

Mary Michael replied, and the sisters vied for attention, relating stories of their classmates and occasionally running into another room to bring something one of them had made to show their visitors.

Ellie looked at the plaster-of-paris molds each had made in Sunday school. She allowed her fingers to trail over the imprint of Mary Michael’s hand.

“Perhaps you’d like to give those to the Chaneys,” Marissa said. “I’ll bet they don’t have anything quite like them.”

Ellie met the woman’s kind gray eyes and recognized a love and an unselfishness she would never have appreciated before Caleb had taught her that it existed in the world. The gesture touched Ellie and meant more than these girls could imagine. Maybe someday…

“I’d like that very much,” she said in a throaty voice. “That is if you girls could bear to part with them.”

“We can make more,” Nancy said.

Mary Michael agreed.

Jack brought paper and Ellie wrapped them carefully.

Marissa brewed tea and served it from a silver service. She and Jack and Caleb sipped the sweetened refreshment, but Ellie drank in the reassuring details of Mary Michael’s life.

The girl became so at ease with Ellie that she invited her upstairs to see the room she shared with Nancy.

“If it’s all right with your parents?” Ellie raised a brow.

“Of course,” Marissa supplied.

“I’ll show you, too,” Nancy piped up.

“But you were going to show Dr. Chaney how you play your scales, weren’t you?” her mother asked, distracting her.

“Oh, yes!” She reached for Caleb’s hand and drew him over to the upright piano beneath a leaded-glass window.

Ellie followed Mary Michael upstairs and admired the cheerful room. A patchwork quilt in various shades of yellow covered the feather bed. Bright curtains matched the ruffle on the edge of the quilt.

A row of dolls lined a window seat, and the window overlooked the side yard. Ellie listened to the child tell her each doll’s name and something about the birthday or Christmas when she’d received it. From beneath the bed, she drew a flat case that held changes of clothing—for the dolls!

Ellie fingered the tiny garments in awe. “Your mother made these?”

Mary Michael nodded.

It couldn’t have been chance that had drawn Ellie to this house that night so long ago. It had to have been divine guidance. This child had grown up secure and loved in a warm home with attention and food and the good things all children deserved. The things Ellie had never known and had tried to give her baby.

Ellie had loved her enough to let her go. And the Mastersons had loved her enough to accept her as their own.

Ellie had done the right thing.

As they walked down the stairs together, Ellie knew satisfaction and pride of a new and serene kind. Caleb met her gaze, and she smiled, loving him even more. He had given her yet another gift this day—the gift of closure.

“You’ll come again?” Marissa asked as they said their goodbyes and stood on the front walk.

The girls had dashed over to the swing and stopped squabbling over who would use it first long enough to wave.

“I’d like that,” Ellie said. “Thank you.”

“And you’ll bring the boys?”

“We’ll bring them,” Caleb replied.

Caleb helped Ellie up to the buggy seat. She waved at the Mastersons, who stood together in the shade of their porch.

The horses pulled away. Ellie leaned against Caleb and he caught her in one arm and drew her to his side. “How was that for a surprise?” he asked.

“As surprises go, it was probably one of the best I’ll ever have.” She tucked her head against his shoulder. She gazed up at him. Goldie had been right. The day Ellie had fallen off that platform at the railroad station had been the luckiest day of her life. Caleb had not only known how to heal her arm, but he had known exactly what she’d needed to heal all the hurts and misgivings of her former life.

Because of his love and his strength she’d been able to put her past behind her and could now look forward to her future—their future—a concept she’d only dreamed of, a future as a family. Because of Caleb she had her brothers, a newly adopted son, renewed faith in people and a newfound acceptance of herself.

She had survived and started over. Ellen Foster Chaney was a woman of character and stamina, and she had a lot of love left to give.

“I just might surprise you one of these days, too,” she said to her husband.

“How’s that?”

“Now if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, right?” She smiled to herself, trying to recall—and not remembering—all those good reasons she’d had for not wanting a baby.

CHERYL ST.JOHN

The Lawman’s Brid

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Prologue

Morgantown, West Virginia, 1878

Dense clouds parted to reveal a slice of silver moon in the narrow gap of sky above the dark alley where the fourteen-year-old girl crouched beside a stack of crates. She wasn’t afraid. No, there were plenty of things more terrifying than night. Darkness was a friend tonight, cloaking her in its haven of invisibility.

Adjusting her grip on the handle of her traveling bag, she glanced around and listened intently, making certain no one followed.

In the distance a train whistle blew, and her heart swelled at the promising sound. If she could make it to the station, she’d buy a ticket and be gone. It didn’t matter where the train was heading. Freedom was an elusive place she could only imagine.

A pattering erupted as fat drops of rain struck the rooftops of the buildings on either side of the alley, pinging against every piece of metal and wood. Enough sound to muffle her steps, she thought with a surge of hope.

She straightened and took a step. A yelp startled her and she brought her free hand to her mouth to stifle a cry. The dog she’d surprised sniffed her feet then moved on. She took a deep breath, relaxed her muscles, and her racing heart calmed.

Determined, she grasped her bag and strode to the front corner of the building. Across the street in the yellow circle from a street lamp, she made out the word LUNCHEON painted in gold letters on an expanse of window glass and knew exactly how many buildings she needed to pass to move into the opposite alley. From there she could make her way to the edge of town. She stepped forward.

“Awfully late for a stroll, isn’t it?”

Her heart dropped to her toes at the familiar voice. The black-shadowed figure of a man loomed out of the darkness. He moved in close, blocking her view of the street, thwarting her escape.

“Not the fairest of weather, either.”

Around them stinging raindrops drummed on cans and crates. The pervading smell of dampened earth was strong. She couldn’t breathe. Captivity did that to a person. Stole their ability to fill their lungs.

“You don’t know what kind of trouble awaits you on the streets at night, Ogaleesha. There are far worse fates than your easy life.”

Using the name given by her Sioux captors, Tek Garrett cunningly reminded her where she’d come from. She felt the hope that had buoyed her moments ago sink like a stone to the bottom of a river.

“I’ve ordered tea brought to my room. Doesn’t that sound good? You’ll be dry and warm in no time.”

Her hand ached from gripping the handle of her bag with such intensity. What if she ran back the way she’d come? He would catch her and her situation would only worsen.

Garrett reached to take the bag from her, his fingers touching hers in an unspoken command until she gave up and relinquished her hold.

“Come, Gabriella. Let’s get you inside before you catch a chill.”

Thoughtful words. Caring, almost. She recognized the subtle threat all the same. The annoyance emanating from his lean body screamed a warning. The way he turned and gestured for her to move along the boardwalk ahead of him left no room for choice.

Her legs felt wooden as she forced her feet to place one step in front of another and set a determined course for the hotel.

“Few young women enjoy privileges equal to yours,” Garrett told her as they reached the building. He opened the door for her to walk into the foyer ahead of him. “You’ve had excellent tutors,” he continued, nodding at the counter attendant they passed on their way to the stairs. “You’ll be one of the most highly educated young women in the country. You own fashionable clothing and lovely slippers. I dare say you have hair ribbons and jewelry to match every ensemble. Wouldn’t you agree?”

They reached the second-floor landing, and she dared a look at the lobby below, saying a silent goodbye to her last hope of freedom.

“Your speech is cultured and flawless. Quite different from when you first came to me.”

She hadn’t come to him. He’d bought her from a band of Sioux.

“You barely spoke English, as I recall.”

During six years as a captive, she’d had little opportunity to speak her own language.

“I confess I’m hurt,” he said, pausing in the hall outside their adjoining rooms. Moisture glistened on the shoulders of his fine black coat. “All I’ve done for you, and this is how you repay me?”

She studied a smear on the wallpaper to avoid meeting the chastisement in his eyes.

“I’ve been so patient.” Those words came out as a thoughtful sigh. “Quite considerate really.”

Turning, he fitted a brass key into the lock and guided her into his room. For the past two years they had traveled as father and daughter. He claimed the ruse was so that no questions would arise, but his true strategy was to keep her under his careful watch. Her door to the hall was always kept locked, and he held the only key.

“Perhaps you need more attention. A bit more of an investment in our arrangement.”

Garrett set down her bag and shed his coat to reveal the same vest and pressed white shirt he’d been wearing earlier in the evening. He was twice her age but fit and dapper with razor-sharp cheekbones and an elegant square forehead. His hair couldn’t be called fair or blond because of its dark undertones.

Reluctantly, she removed her damp shawl and hung it on the hook on the back of the door.

He bent to open her carpetbag and dumped its contents on the floral carpet. Two of her simplest dresses spilled out, followed by a book, a length of beads and a strand of pearls.

Holding the pearls in his palm, he straightened, studied them for a moment, finally closing his long fingers over the necklace.

“You wouldn’t have gotten far with such a meager stash,” he told her. “Not a wise decision.” He leaned toward her to clasp the pearls around her neck, speaking against her ear as he did so. “Not wise at all. I haven’t taught you everything yet. There is more…much, much more.”

Another stone joined the first in that riverbed of hopelessness. He reached to her throat to unbutton her collar, then unfastened the row of buttons until he reached the waistband of her skirt.

Her heart thumped in her chest, but she held her anxiety in check, her expression revealing nothing of what she felt. Show people what they want to see. He’d taught her well. She conveyed regret and submission with her downturned eyes.

Garrett slid the shirtwaist down her arms, skimming his fingertips against her bare skin. “If not for me, you would be some man’s squaw,” he told her. “You would be cooking scrawny rabbits over a fire and suckling a squalling brat. If I hadn’t fostered you, you’d be living with a mangy trapper who beat you over every small offense.”

Garrett turned her around and unfastened her skirt, pushing the fabric to the ground in a silken swish of petticoats. “You should be grateful you’ve been spared all that. Grateful you’re not down on Tucker Street, selling yourself to every drunk who comes through the doors with two bits.”

She closed her eyes, fearing what he said was true. Anything was better than the things he described. She owed him for sparing her that kind of life. He’d always provided well and he was polite. He’d taught her the craft he considered an art, rewarding her when she learned and excelled.

“Plenty of other young women would be delighted to exchange places with you this very minute, Gabriella.”

Even though she was a mere possession, Garrett was clever and handsome, well-mannered and clean. She could be a lot worse off.

Her life had been spared long ago, but spared for what? She’d gone from being a child to being a possession. The lessons she’d learned at the hands of the Sioux were as much a part of her as her dark hair and white skin, most importantly: show no fear.

She opened her eyes and met Garrett’s, watched as he turned back the coverlet on his bed and beckoned her forward.

Yes. Her life could be a lot worse.

Chapter One

Newton, Kansas, 1887

What’s a girl like me doing in a place like this?

She glanced into open doorways as she strolled down the second story hallway of the dormitory housing the young women who worked in Fred Harvey’s elegant Arcade Hotel and restaurant.

Each from good families, the young ladies were of irreproachable character and had provided references and letters of recommendation to acquire their positions in the lavish hotel and esteemed restaurant. The irony of her presence here amused her.

Emma Spearman exited her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. “Good morning, Sophie. Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you. And you?” she replied.

Emma’s bright smile revealed her pleasure. “I used to sleep in a lumpy bed with two sisters who tossed all night and stole the covers. My three noisy brothers were in a loft overhead. My nights here are heaven, thank you.” She tucked her arm through Sophie’s and said in a conspiratorial tone, “I will never admit this to a one of them, but I do sometimes miss my siblings. I’m taking the train home for a visit the first of next week.”

Sophie smiled. A bed with two sisters and those noisy brothers overhead sounded like heaven to her.

“What about you?” Emma asked. “You haven’t seen your family since you’ve been here, have you?”

So what was Sophie doing working and sleeping among people of good character? Well, she’d lied. Fabricated a background, established her own requirements and met her own standards. People wanted to believe her, so they did. She was attractive, well-educated, dressed smartly and spoke in a cultured manner. Her contrived references had been believable.

She was Sophie Hollis now, daughter of a Pennsylvania farmer, come to Kansas to broaden her perspective and earn money to tuck away.

“I’ll be traveling east very soon,” she thought up on the spot. “My father is remarrying, so I’ll be attending the wedding.”

“How exciting,” Emma said. “A wedding!”

“Who’s getting married?” Sophie’s roommate Amanda Pettyjohn caught up with them, her pretty blond curls bouncing against her neck, her fawn-colored eyes sparkling.

Maybe she shouldn’t have gone that far, Sophie thought belatedly. Mentioning marriage in this place was like dangling a juicy bone above a hungry dog’s head. Everyone knew the young women working here were eager for husbands, but two years of service was required before a Harvey girl could resign her position. Each of them had signed a contract.

“Sophie’s father,” Emma told her.

“You didn’t tell me.” Amanda’s tone revealed injury.

Sophie wasn’t used to transparent displays of emotion. “I only got the telegram last evening. I didn’t say anything, because I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.”

“Well, of course, you didn’t. Your own dear mother could never be replaced.” Amanda patted her arm as they reached the back stairs and started down. “I was devastated when my father remarried. At least you’re grown and don’t have to endure living in the shadow of step-siblings. Has your father known his new fiancée long?”

Sophie was in the process of inventing a reply when she was spared.

“There’s a train within the hour,” the starched and puffed head waitress of the dining room announced from the bottom of the stairs. “It’s going to be a hot day, so you’ll want your heavy chores completed early.” The Harvey House employees called Mrs. Winters the trail boss for good reason.

“Yes, ma’am,” Emma and Amanda chorused.

Mrs. Winters pointed an accusing finger at Sophie. “One more infraction by you, young lady, and you can pack your bags.”

Sophie listened to the continuation of the tirade she’d endured at least once a day for the past month. Her kitchen and dining room skills were improving, for goodness sake. This was her first attempt at domestic chores after all, no matter what her references said.

The woman inspected each of them with a critical eye. “Your morning duties are listed on the blackboard, ladies. Do them promptly. If the heat causes your clothing to become damp, change immediately. We must be prepared in case Mr. Harvey makes one of his sudden unannounced visits.”

She turned and marched away.

Sophie watched her lumber into the dining hall. “Sudden unannounced visit sounds so much better than sneaky inspection.”

“Did she refer to sweat?” Emma asked, mischievously covering her lips as though she’d said a curse word.

“Surely she knows Harvey Girls simply glow,” Amanda added.

“Whatever did you do to make her take such a dislike to you?” Emma asked.

Sophie shrugged.

“Every man who comes in does a double take when he sees Sophie,” Amanda told her. “Maybe the trail boss is jealous.”

The three of them shared a giggle and, joined by coworkers, hurried to their morning tasks.

Clay Connor crossed his ankles and leaned back in his chair, the Newton Kansan and a cup of steaming coffee his only concerns in the world. Or so it should seem to the other occupants of the hotel dining room. On his left, an elderly mother and her son discussed the details of disposing of their husband and father’s clothing and personal items. The son kept bringing the subject around to a land deed.

On his right, three merchants from Florence had several catalogs open and were bemoaning the fact that Montgomery Ward could offer items at a lower price than they could.

Straight ahead at the lunch counter, a slender fellow in a worn serge jacket folded his napkin and prepared to leave without paying for his dinner. The manager had sent for Clay when he’d first seen the man who met the description of someone who’d pulled the same stunt at another Harvey House in Wichita.

Without turning his head, Clay glanced out the window and confirmed that Owen Sanders, one of his deputies, was still out front on the loading platform. With the dining hall and lunch counter filled with Sante Fe passengers eager to return to their train cars and continue their journeys, a low-key arrest was imperative. Even though he didn’t see a gun on the man, Clay wouldn’t take chances with the well-being of innocent bystanders.

The patron under the marshal’s scrutiny had seen the upside of forty. His clothing and shoes were well-cut and of fine material, but on the verge of shabby. With impeccable manners he finished his meal—breaded veal and vegetables, cheesecake and coffee—neatly folded the white linen napkin, and fished in his pocket as though searching for a tip.

The man waited until all the waitresses were occupied and the manager was out of sight before grabbing his hat and heading for the door.

Clay folded his newspaper, then nonchalantly rose to his feet and followed.

The fellow, settling a bowler on his head, was hell-bent on making a beeline for the deserted passenger car. As his foot hit the first step, a pair of boots appeared on the metal platform above, and he looked up into the barrel of Deputy Sanders’s Colt. As if to escape, he turned, but came up short against Clay’s .45. Eyes as wide as silver dollars, he raised his lily-white hands above his head.

“What’s your name?” Clay asked.

He didn’t meet Clay’s eyes, but glanced around with a feigned expression of bewilderment. “Er—gentlemen, is there a problem?”

“Problem is you forgot to pay for your meal back there.”

“Oh! Oh, my.” He started to lower one hand.

“Keep ’em in the air,” Clay demanded.

His hand shot back above his head. “How careless of me. Uh. Let me just run back in and take care of my bill.”

“Too late for that.”

“But—”

“You just forget to pay for your breakfast in Wichita, too?”

“Well, I—I, uh—”

“What’s your name, I asked.”

“Willard. Willard DeWeise.”

“Well, Willard Willard DeWeise, you’ll be gettin’ three squares a day in my jail until you have a hearing. Won’t have to pay for those meals, either.”

“You see, Marshal, I’m a bit down on my luck right now. I kept the tickets and I fully intended to repay the hotel when I could.”

“Oh, you’ll repay them. And you’ll do your time. Never knew a man down on his luck who couldn’t earn a meal along the Santa Fe. Got a bag in there?” Clay jerked his head toward the railroad car.

DeWeise nodded.

“Throw it out here.”

Owen accompanied DeWeise into the car. Seconds later, the two of them descended the metal stairs and DeWeise dropped a scuffed leather satchel on the loading platform. Clay gestured for Owen to open it, and the deputy searched the contents. Shaving gear, a wrinkled but clean shirt, socks, and a packet of letters were its only contents.

Clay ordered DeWeise to place his hands behind his back and clamped handcuffs around his wrists. “Lock ’im up. I’ll go talk to the manager.”

Owen prodded his prisoner toward Oak Street.

Clay headed into the hotel.

Harrison Webb had followed Clay’s movements and watched the interaction from a front window. Now he gestured for Clay to follow him back to his office.

“He didn’t seem dangerous,” Clay told him. “Smalltime thief from the looks of ’im. He’ll get a hearing, and the Wichita manager will have a chance to say his piece.”

“We have to press charges,” Harrison said.

“Rightly so,” Clay agreed.

“Your coffee’s on the house,” the manager said, extending a hand. “Supper too, if you want to come back later.”

Clay shook his hand. “I’ll do that.”

He exited the man’s office just in time to collide with a young woman on her way through the pantry area.

The stack of plates she’d been carrying slid sideways, and Clay made an ineffective lunge to keep them from falling.

A mountain of white china struck the floor with an ear-splitting clatter, shards flying in every direction.

The lovely dark-haired waitress with whom he’d collided gaped at the pile of debris. “Shit, shit, shit,” she sputtered.

The exclamation from such a sweet-looking young lady was a surprise that made him want to laugh. Instead, he pursed his lips and composed his expression.

Her shocked expression raised and her round dark gaze locked on Clay, then dropped to the silver star pinned to his shirtfront. Her attention slid to the .45 holstered at his hip.

The shrill whistle of the departing train seemed to jolt her into action, and she knelt to pick up pieces of china.

“Careful,” he said, kneeling quickly and covering her hand to stop her. “You’ll cut yourself.”

She stared at his hand on hers, and his gaze followed, seeing his dark-skinned fingers over her smaller pale ones. She drew away as though he’d bitten her.

“This does it, Miss Hollis.” A woman’s harsh voice caught Clay’s attention, and he straightened. The barrel-shaped kitchen manager glared at the young woman at his feet. “You had your last warning. This is the end of the line for you.”

Miss Hollis stood and brushed her hands together, raising her chin and meeting the stern woman’s accusatory glower straight on. For a woman so young and pretty, she sure had grit.

Sophie stared back at the woman who had it in for her. She held no hard feelings for Mrs. Winters. The woman’s position was at stake, and she’d given Sophie more chances than she should have. In most cases, the first mistake was a Harvey Girl’s last.

The room she shared with Amanda wasn’t the fanciest, but it had been adequate. Not only were three meals a day provided, but they were prepared by a gourmet chef. Looked like she would miss her favorite dessert tonight, that heavenly rich chestnut pudding made with cinnamon and red wine.

She wasn’t afraid, just angry at herself for not being able to carry out her plan. She would have to move on and utilize a back up strategy. Luckless shame. She really liked it here. “I’ll clean this up and then pack my things,” she told Mrs. Winters. “I’ll get a broom.”

“Now wait a minute.” The marshal had a voice pitched so low that a person felt its vibrations through the floorboards.

She and Mrs. Winters gave him their surprised attention.

“This wasn’t the lady’s fault.” He gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. “I barreled out o’ Mr. Webb’s office right into her. She didn’t see me comin’ or have time to move.”

When it looked as though Sophie wouldn’t be sent packing after all, Mrs. Winters’s expression revealed disappointment.

“I’ll pay for the damages,” the marshal went on. “It would be my fault if she was to lose her job because o’ my two left feet.”

Harrison Webb was now standing beside the marshal, staring at the mess on the highly polished wooden floor. “If Marshal Connor says so, it’s a fact,” he told Mrs. Winters. “This man’s the law.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Winters said. “Just clean it up. There is another train arriving shortly.”

“You will not pay for the damages, Marshal,” Mr. Webb declared. “As you said it was an accident.”

Sophie hurried to the back room for a broom, a dustpan, and a paper-lined crate. The sooner she got this mess removed, the sooner the incident would be forgotten. Just her luck for something like this to happen when Mrs. Winters was aching for her to make a mistake. Maybe she would use her three-day pass and travel while the dust settled. She’d already invented the story, she might as well follow through.

The marshal was waiting for her when she returned. She drew up short at the sight of him.

He reached for the dustpan. “You sweep. I’ll dump.”

She didn’t let go. “You don’t have to help.”

“My fault.” He tugged.

She held fast. “Not really. I was in too big of a hurry.”

The man propped a hand on his hip and squinted down at her. “You arguin’ with a lawman?”

His eyes were blue. A blue made softer and brighter by the color of the chambray shirt he wore. That silver star gleamed in a beam of light filtering in from the dining hall.

It was the August heat that stuck the high white collar of her starched black shirt to her neck and sent beads of perspiration trickling down her temple. She wasn’t given to fits of nerves or emotion, but this was definitely more than a glow.

She handed him the dustpan.

Beneath the stiff white apron and black skirt that made up her plain uniform, her damp skin prickled. She was definitely going to have to change before she served customers. She knelt and picked up the largest pieces of china and piled them in the crate.

Marshal Connor hunkered down to gather a share of debris. The bay rum he’d used after shaving that morning was a familiar scent. She’d detected it on several occasions while serving him at the lunch counter. She’d always tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

A waitress stepped around them on her way to the dining hall, craning her neck to watch. Sophie gave her a glare, and she hurried on.

The man beside her hadn’t noticed the interaction. Sophie’s sideways glance found a closely shaven dark square jaw, ebony brows and lashes. The hair that fell over his collar was the rich deep color of strong coffee. Perspiration rolled along her spine. Running headlong into the marshal certainly hadn’t fallen into her plans for not attracting attention to herself. He glanced up and caught her perusal.

“Clay Connor,” he said with a nod.

“I know. Sophie Hollis,” she replied.

His blue gaze traveled across her face and hair before he turned back to his task.

They finished cleaning up, and Clay picked up the crate. “Where to?”

She wasn’t about to tell him the waitresses’ most well-kept secret. All accidentally broken china was smuggled from apron pockets to outhouse to keep the damages from being deducted from their paychecks.

“There’s a rubbish bin out back.”

She led him through the sweltering kitchen to the rear door. The dry Kansas wind plastered tendrils of hair to her damp cheek, but the air felt better than the confinement of the building. She pointed out the bin.

A piercing whistle rent the summer day, preceding the arrival of the one-twenty. She glanced at the watch she wore on a chain around her neck. Orders for forty-seven had been wired ahead and she had to be at her station in a clean crisp uniform when they arrived. “I have to go,” she told him.

He dumped the crate and set it on the ground with a nod. “Sorry for the mess.”

She shook her head. She had to say something. “Thank you. For helping me.”

“Least I could do.”

Gathering her hem, she ran for the back entrance, pumped a pitcher of water, and flew up the stairs to her room. After peeling off her damp clothing, she washed with a cool cloth and dusted herself with lilac talcum powder.

She was Sophie Hollis, and no one had reason to think differently. Boldness and confidence were convincing. You are who people want to believe you are.

A disturbing thought nicked her self-assuredness. Before today she’d remained inconspicuous, just one of the girls. Now the city marshal had taken notice of her. Had a good clean look. A good enough look to remember her. Good enough to recognize her face on a wanted poster.

Chapter Two

The marshal returned for supper. He was at one of Emma’s tables, but Sophie spotted him the moment she carried a dinner tray from the kitchen. No worry. She had this role down perfectly. She knew her strengths, and being convincing was one of them.

The plate fiasco had been the highlight of conversation around the dining hall that afternoon. Sophie was weary of the looks and questions. These girls lived for a whiff of excitement, she told herself, refusing to become irritated.

“He’s having the flank steak, sautéed mushrooms and a roasting ear, with cheesecake for dessert,” Emma whispered from behind her as Sophie filled two cups from the gigantic silver coffee urn.

“I didn’t ask,” she whispered back. She hadn’t had her own dinner yet, and she got a little testy when she was hungry.

“He’s partial to that cheesecake,” Olivia Larson said on her way by.

“I don’t care.” She looked over her shoulder to find the two females grinning at each other. “Very well, enjoy yourselves at my expense,” she said lightheartedly.

After placing the filled cups on a tray, she carried them to her customers, two cattle ranchers who’d just had the filet mignon cooked in brandy.

Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her gaze from drifting across the room to the marshal. He sat at a corner table where he could watch both the door to the street and what was happening outside the front windows.

He met her gaze and offered a nod.

Sophie quickly turned back to her table. “Are you gentlemen ready for dessert?” she asked.

“I am a man who appreciates sweets,” the older of the two men replied with a wink.

“I’ll have the applesauce cake,” the other answered.

“And you, sir?” she asked the first gentleman.

“What’s your favorite?” he asked.

“I’m partial to the chestnut pudding.”

“Then that’s what I’ll have,” he decided.

“I’ll be right back.” She carried the tray to the kitchen and asked for their desserts.

When she returned and set plates in front of them, her newfound admirer asked, “Do you like the opera, miss?”

“I do.”

“Will you join me this Saturday evening?”

“I’m afraid I have to work the dinner shift,” she replied easily. “It’s kind of you to ask, however.”

“Perhaps the following week.”

She refilled their coffee cups. Enough girls had been hired after her that she never had to work Saturday evenings unless she volunteered. “I’ll have to see whether or not I’m on the schedule to work next Saturday evening.”

As though encouraged, he smiled and picked up his fork.

She hadn’t meant to encourage him. She wasn’t interested in what he had to offer. All she wanted was to be in control of her own destiny, and being bound to a man wasn’t part of that plan.

She attended to her other patrons and eventually returned to the coffee urns.

“What did he say to you?” Emma whispered.

Sophie glanced at the marshal who was finishing his cheesecake and a cup of coffee. “Who?”

“Charles Barlow. They say he’s the richest rancher between here and Wichita.”

“Oh, him. He invited me to the opera house.”

Emma looked as though she would swoon. “You’re the luckiest woman in all of Kansas.” She fanned herself with the hem of her apron. “He’s taken a shine to you, hasn’t he?”

“He’s a man,” Sophie replied dryly. “Men take a shine to anything in skirts.”

“When are you going to the opera?”

“I said no.”

“What?”

“I told him I had to work.”

Emma touched her fist to her forehead in a frustrated gesture. “Any girl here would give a month’s wages for that invitation. Why didn’t you say yes?”

“Because I don’t want to go with him.”

“Trade me tables.”

“What?”

“Trade me tables. Maybe he’ll ask me.”

“Mrs. Winters would have my hide,” Sophie objected.

“She’s gone for the evening. Come on, why not? Give someone else a chance. I won’t take your tip. Please, Sophie.”

She didn’t share Emma’s passionate need to endear herself to a man, but neither did she have the heart to stand in her way. Sophie waved her off. “Go. They’re ready for coffee refills.”

Emma kept her squeal discreet, composed herself and picked up the pot Sophie had just filled and set it on her tray. With a determined nod, she headed for the table where the cattlemen sat.

Sophie observed as Emma greeted the ranchers. The Barlow man said something to her, and she blushed and giggled.

Shaking her head, Sophie wiped her hands and glanced at the table she’d traded for. Marshal Connor had finished eating and was glancing around for his waitress. Darn it. She gathered herself and approached.

“Would you like more coffee?” she asked him.

He glanced up at her. “No thanks. I’ll be makin’ myself a pot when I get back to the jail. I have work to do tonight.”

“What kind of work keeps you busy in the evening?”

“I make a weekly report to the county court, one to the railroad, as well.” He took coins from inside his leather vest and laid them on the table. “I have a stack of papers this high on my desk that I never seem to get through.” He held his palm a foot above the tabletop.

“I’ll see that Emma gets her tip.” She stacked his plates and set the empty cup on top. She couldn’t help asking, “Get a lot of mail, do you?”

“Telegrams mostly. Why?”

“Well, you said you have so many papers on your desk.”

“If someone’s wanted by the law you say he has a paper out on ’im.”

“I see. You mean wanted posters.”

He nodded.

“How much do those papers actually look like the criminals? I mean, can you actually recognize an outlaw from one of those drawings?”

“Depends mostly on the artist.” He stood and pushed in his chair. “Pinkertons have the best artists.”

They glanced at each other and she looked away.

“Have a good evening, Marshal.”

He picked up his hat from the seat of a chair and held the brim a moment before settling it on his head with a nod. “Evenin’, Miss Hollis.”

He turned and strode out the door.

For the rest of the dinner shift, Sophie thought of little else than that stack of “papers” on the marshal’s desk. She didn’t even taste her chestnut pudding as she sat in the employees’ dining room after her shift.

It was probable that her likeness was on one or more of those wanted posters. But she’d used so many disguises that even the most talented Pinkerton would have trouble capturing her true image, she assured herself. If there was a drawing, it was most likely a picture of a young woman with fair hair and a beauty spot. Or of a curly-haired redhead wearing wire-rimmed glasses. None of her personas resembled the way she looked and dressed today.

Here, she couldn’t disguise herself beyond her darkened hair. Mrs. Winters did periodic checks of their faces with a damp towel. No hussies allowed in the Harvey House.

Sophie added her dishes to a pile, thanked the kitchen workers and found the lad who carried wood and kept the stoves free of ashes. “Jimmy.”

“Miss Hollis.” He was stacking wood on a canvas sling.

“Did you run my errand for me?”

“Yes’m.” He reached into the bag that hung on his hip.

She placed her hand on his arm to halt him while she took a moment to glance around. “Okay. Where are they?”

“Right here.” He produced three cigars.

Sophie gave him four coins from her tip money and closed her fingers around the cigars with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, miss.”

She hid her stash in her skirt pocket and made her way up the back stairs to change clothing. She needed to get out and get some fresh air. Speculating was getting her nowhere.

It was unlikely that the marshal would connect any of the faces on those posters to her, but she couldn’t afford to take any chances.

Willard DeWeise snored loudly from his cell at the back of the building. His dinner tray, licked clean, still sat on the corner of Clay’s desk. Clay picked up a rib bone and whistled low.

Sam, his aged hound, made his ambling way to Clay and stuck his nose under his hand. “Here, fella. Can’t ya smell it?”

Clay stuck the bone between Sam’s yellowed teeth and scratched one scarred and floppy brown ear. Sam settled himself at Clay’s feet with a grunt and licked the bone.

“Why don’t you put that damned dog out of its misery?” Hershel Vidlak, the other marshal asked. “Thing cain’t see, cain’t smell, cain’t take a piss lessen you walk him out and hold it for him.”

“Why don’t you shut your yap before I put you out of your misery?” Clay volleyed back with his usual lack of humor. It was dark, but the confined office was still sweltering. If the lawmen were cranky, he couldn’t imagine what the rowdies in the saloons would be like.

He got up and grabbed his hat. “I’m gonna make rounds.”

“I’m leavin’, too,” Hershel told him. “The missus made a strawberry pie this mornin’.”

“See you tomorrow.” Clay walked out behind Hershel and locked the door. They walked along opposite sides of the street, Clay checking the stores he passed.

Discordant music blared from the open doors of the Side-Track Saloon, yellow light spilling across the boardwalk. He pushed open the batwing doors, peanut shells and grit crunching beneath his boots.

“You workin’, Marshal?” Tubs McElroy, the burly gravel-voiced bartender, wiped beer from the polished bar with an already soggy cloth and paused with his beefy hand on a glass mug.

Clay rested his boot on the brass rail and thumbed his hat back on his head. “I’m callin’ it a night. Set one up for me.”

Tubs slanted a mug beneath the barrel spigot and foam ran over his sausagelike fingers onto the floor. He sat the brew on the bar with a whack.

Clay reached into his pocket for a quarter.

“Nope.” Tubs held up a glistening palm. “Mr. Dotson don’t let me take no payment from marshals or deputies. Havin’ a lawman sittin’ in stops a whole lot o’ trouble from ever startin’.”

Clay shrugged and sipped the lukewarm brew. He wasn’t the sociable type. His presence might raise the eyebrows of the regulars, but a stranger to town, like the one he’d come to observe, wouldn’t know this wasn’t his usual routine.

There were many establishments nicer than the Side-Track for killing an evening if one had a mind to, but this was where the fellow registered at the Strong Hotel as Monte Morgan had chosen to spend the last few evenings.

Clay glanced into the grainy mirror behind the bar and observed the other men standing on both sides of him, the haze of blue-gray smoke that hung near the low ceiling a ghostly backdrop behind their heads. He turned enough to speak to the man on his right in a friendly fashion, one elbow on the bar, both eyes casually scouring the crowd.

A few stockmen and herders sat at one of the green felt poker tables, seriously attending to their game. Cowboys, gamblers and soiled doves filled most of the other tables.

“Heard a new family from Vermont bought the Bowman place,” Clay said, just to come up with something to say.

The store owner beside him looked up in surprise. Everyone in Newton knew the marshal wasn’t one for small talk. “Bought himself a whole rig over at the livery, he did,” he replied.

From a platform at the rear of the building, a tall skinny man in faded trousers and a leather vest preached and read passages from his Bible. After several minutes he was replaced by one of the scantily-clad girls, who belted out an off-key rendition of “When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder.”

“The daughter’s easy to look at,” he went on. “One of these cowboys’ll snatch her up fast.”

Clay nodded, feigning interest in the conversation. Monte Morgan sat with a bunch of well-dressed men who were taking turns listening to the singing and preaching while patting the bottoms of the girls who sat on their laps. Morgan was lean, but Clay sensed whipcord muscle beneath the dark suit, silk vest and string tie. The weapon at his hip was an ivory-handled .45, a six-shooter in an embossed holster. Pretty.

Morgan’s confident smile and grandiose mannerisms gave him the larger-than-life quality ladies liked. That was apparent by the fawning and almost laughable way they maneuvered themselves, trying to be the one who got his attention. Maybe he tipped well.

Clay couldn’t put his finger on why the man troubled him. Newton was the home of the Sante Fe roundhouse and hundreds of strangers passed through each week. It was impossible to watch or even check out each one of them. Morgan hadn’t done anything to draw attention, hadn’t so much as tossed a match off the boardwalk. But something about him made Clay wary. Morgan didn’t seem like just another rancher. Clay’s gut instincts had paid off more than once, and he figured he should go through the papers to see if there were clues to this Morgan’s past there.

Sophie strolled along Oak to Broadway where the darkened park beckoned. There were gas lamps along the street, but in the one square block between Broadway and Seventh, only the moon lit the dark brick walkways, hedges and flowers.

The park wasn’t much farther than the boardinghouse from the railroads tracks, but it was a good bit farther from the roundhouse where men worked and switched the tracks all night long. Both of Newton’s public parks were in the First Ward, nestled in housing areas and away from businesses, saloons and billiard halls. It was the closest thing to being out of the city she could find, and she loved the impression of peace and privacy, no matter how false.

Taking a tin of matches from her skirt pocket, she settled on a stone bench still warm from the day’s heat, lit a cigar and blew a smoke ring into the star-filled sky. Hours like these presented more freedom than she’d known in all of her twenty-three years. With liberating calmness, she attempted to clear her thoughts, lying back on the bench to study the night canopy overhead.

She thought of the coming weekend, of three days she could spend any way she chose. She could take a train to Wichita and shop. She could don a disguise and attend the opera right here in Newton. Her lips curled up at the idea. There was something wickedly gratifying about carrying out a pretense such as the last one she imagined. No one would be harmed in the process.

Those thoughts led to others of former guises and the reason she had a need for anonymity. The image of those wanted posters swam against the sky, the stars twinkling like the city marshal’s badge. She’d feel so much better if she knew he wasn’t going to shuffle through a stack of papers and wonder why a drawing of a certain female criminal looked familiar.

She eased the chain from the collar of her shirtwaist and squinted at the face of the dainty watch. Only an hour left until the doors of the dormitory were locked for curfew. Her fingers curled around the sleek leather case in her pocket and her mind raced. She’d secretly let herself back in on more than one occasion. She could do it again.

She hurried to the northwest corner of the park where she stubbed out her cigar and scuffed dirt over it with the toe of her shoe. One more block to the north and a little farther west, and she made out the wooden-framed jail. No light shone from the windows. Confident in her skills and her ability to talk her way out of any situation, she continued on.

After peering through the panes of glass into the darkened interior, it took only seconds to work her magic on the lock. The door swung open, and she closed it behind her quickly, acclimating herself to the dark. Snoring droned from a hallway at the rear of the building.

She drew the shades and lit the lamp on the largest desk, turning the wick down low.

A scratching sound and an oomph made her heart leap, and she whirled, expecting to find someone who’d been waiting in the darkness. She readied herself to run.

A big old dog struggled to its feet from a pallet near the wall, and, with nails scratching the wood floor, padded over to where she stood poised.

Her whole body slumped with relief. She bent and rubbed the animal’s head and soft floppy ears, and it turned its nose into her hand and gave a halfhearted lick.

The stack of wanted posters was in plain sight and nearly as thick as the marshal had described. A brass key ring was being used as a paperweight. She gave the dog one last pat and sat, subconsciously noting the leather seat of the chair had been worn to fit the contours of the man. She set the keys aside. In silence broken only by rustling paper, the hiss of the lamp, and the resonating snore from the depths of the building, she turned pages, scanning drawings and descriptions.

She’d learned that there was more than one marshal in Newton, and several deputies: so, if someone should catch her here, she would say another had let her in to wait.

From somewhere in the back, the prisoner gulped air and mumbled in his sleep, startling her. She paused to listen until the monotonous snore resumed. The dog went back to its pallet and lay down with a grunt.

Two names and drawings caught her attention and snagged her breath from her chest. Gabriella Dumont and Joseph Richardson the caption read. Garrett had been darkening his mustache the last time she’d seen him. He’d had his head shaved, and the baldness had completely changed his appearance.

She’d have been offended at the drawing of her if she hadn’t been so grateful for the artist’s lack of talent. Plain eyes, plain nose, plain mouth, nondescript hair—the likeness could be any young woman.

But beneath the drawings and descriptions were the words theft and extortion and a specific list of petty crimes. One word in bold type leaped off the page and brought a sick lump to her throat; the allegation she’d most dreaded and feared: murder.

Sophie shuffled through the rest of the papers, found two more depicting her and folded the incriminating evidence into her pocket before straightening the pile and returning its order. She set the key ring exactly as it had been on top.

She extinguished the lamp and raised the dusty shades before stepping out the door. Hopefully anyone returning would think that the last person had forgotten to lock the door. She was halfway to the corner, when an odd whooshing sound stopped her. She spun on her heel.

Flames rose above the jailhouse from the back wall.

Chapter Three

Sophie’s heart stopped, thinking of the prisoner who’d been sleeping in a cell, of the old dog inside. She glanced around, not seeing anyone nearby. Icy dread compressed her chest. Minutes ago she’d been glad the street was deserted; but now she wished for someone to appear so she wouldn’t have to reveal her unexplainable presence there.

She never did anything impulsively, but instinct took over this time. Running back, she threw open the door and nudged the dog who still lay on its bundle of blankets. “Go outside! Get!”

She grabbed the keys. A hallway brought her to a row of cells lit through the barred window by the nearest streetlight on Main. Thick acrid smoke filled the entire rear portion of the building, and flames licked at the outside corner. A man she could barely make out through the haze clung to the bars of the cell where he was trapped. He attempted to shout at her, but only coughed.

Sophie knelt to the cell door and wasted precious seconds wiping tears from her burning eyes. She couldn’t take a breath without her lungs feeling as though they would burst. The waves of heat were terrifying and the acrid smell of burning wood cloying.

“Get me outta here!” the man shouted.

“I’m trying!”

The ring slipped from her fingers and clanged on the floor. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Lady, ple-e-ase!”

Sophie fumbled for the right key and slid it into the lock, twisting until the tumblers rolled and the door swung open, clanging against the next cell.

The choking prisoner stumbled past her.

“Is there anyone else?” she called after him.

He was gone.

The other doors were slightly ajar, indicating empty cells so she ran toward the front, pausing at a wheezing sound. The dog.

“Where are you, fella?” She stumbled across the room, smoke billowing from the rear now. Her lungs ached and her eyes burned. She couldn’t draw a breath that didn’t taste like ash.

“Anybody in here?” someone called from the open doorway.

“Yes!” She coughed. “I’m looking for the dog!”

“Get outta there, lady!”

Following the wheezing whine, she found the animal cowering under the desk. She had to get down on all fours and use every last ounce of strength to catch its front legs and drag the mutt toward her.

“Lady!”

The dog weighed as much as she did, and she was out of breath, but she tugged with all her might, inching the trembling animal toward safety.

The man met her at the doorway, and helped her lift the dog. Together they stumbled away from the burning jail until she collapsed in the middle of the street with the dog across her lap.

Several men gathered around and stared.

“Did someone go for the fire department?” she asked, her voice a rasp.

“Harry went,” was the reply. One by one they turned to watch the fire.

She coughed until her chest ached. Sophie moved the dog aside and used the hem of her skirt to wipe her running eyes.

When she could squint, she glanced around. The prisoner was nowhere to be seen. Sophie collapsed backward in the dust. Of all the luck.

What seemed like an eternity was only minutes as she waited. Finally the firemen turned out with their horse-drawn wagon holding barrels of water.

Marshal Vidlak and another deputy arrived and helped Sophie out of the street and over to a patch of dry grass. “You’re one o’ them girls from the Arcade, ain’t you?”

Sophie glanced at the man and nodded.

The younger deputy had gone back for the dog and laid him beside where Sophie sat. The poor animal sounded as though it couldn’t catch a breath.

“I’m surprised that damned dog made it out,” the marshal said. “Cain’t walk further’n two feet at a stretch.”

“I pulled him out,” Sophie said.

“The hell you say.”

“Sam!” came a concerned shout.

The dog’s head jerked up.

“Sam!” Unmistakable, that voice.

“Over here, Clay,” Marshal Vidlak returned.

Clay ran toward the gathering and hunkered down on one knee, looking from the dog to the girl with the soot-streaked face.

“Lady here saved your worthless mutt,” Hershel said.

“You saved Sam?” Clay turned his attention to the rescuer. Her midnight-dark hair was loose and falling over one shoulder. Even though the black streaks on her face melded with the darkness, he recognized her. “Miss Hollis?”

She nodded, turned her head aside and coughed so hard, it sounded downright painful.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine,” she replied with a hoarse voice.

Sam’s breathing didn’t sound so good, but he licked Clay’s hand. Clay studied the smoke and ash rising from the nearly destroyed jail where the firemen were directing the water. He couldn’t turn the thought of Willard DeWeise over in his mind without bile rising in his throat. He glanced at Hershel, and the two men shared an uneasy look.

“Hell of a way to die,” Hershel said with a grimace.

Clay’s gut knotted.

“If you’re talking about your prisoner, he got out,” Miss Hollis croaked.

Clay turned and stared down. “He what?”

“He got out,” she repeated.

All three lawmen turned to listen.

“I—I was—” A racking cough halted her explanation. “I was in the park.”

Her voice was so low and raspy, they knelt to hear.

“The park across from the First Ward School?” Clay asked.

She nodded. “From the corner there I saw the flames. I ran this way. As I got closer, I saw the man you arrested from the lunch counter that day running out the door.” She pointed to the south. “He went that way.”

Clay was relieved to hear the man hadn’t turned to a cinder inside the jail, but the question of how he got out of a locked cell was damned puzzling.

“I heard the dog whining, so I just went in and helped him out.”

Clay and Hershel exchanged another baffled look.

“How the Sam Hill did DeWeise get out of that cell?” Hershel asked aloud.

“Someone had to have unlocked it,” Clay surmised. “One of the deputies.”

They turned and looked at the building. If one of the lawmen was still inside there, he was dead now.

“Account for all the men right now,” Clay ordered the young deputy.

“Yessir.” John Doyle shot away from them.

Miss Hollis attempted to get to her feet, and Clay helped her up with one hand under her arm and one around her slim waist. Her hair smelled like smoke. Few people would have risked their life for a dog’s. “Bet you were sorry you risked your neck once you saw the old mutt,” he said.

She glanced up, but when their eyes met, she looked away. “No.”

Another bout of coughing bent her at the waist.

“I’m takin’ her to Doc Chaney’s,” he told Hershel. “You make sure John reports back so we know if anyone’s missin’.”

“No. I’ll be fine,” the young woman protested.

“Don’t be foolish.” He called to one of the bystanders, “That your wagon? Give us a lift over to the doc’s, will ya?”

He assisted her into the back of the wagon, then settled the dog in. Clay jumped up beside them and nodded for the driver to move the horses forward. “Drive past Doc Chaney’s place on Seventh. Most likely he’s at home.”

Most of the fire was out, but smoke poured into the night sky. The entire ride Clay watched it rise. He wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until all his men were accounted for.

Shortly after Clay turned the bell, the young doctor answered the door. “Evening, Marshal.”

“Doc. Have one of the Harvey Girls out front. The jail’s on fire. She pulled my dog out and now she’s coughin’ mostly. That’s my main concern.”

“Anything coming up when she coughs?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Is she burned?”

“Don’t think so.”

Caleb Chaney turned to the woman who walked up behind him. “The marshal says one of the Harvey Girls breathed in smoke, Ellie.”

“Bring her into the kitchen,” she said immediately. “Don’t waste time taking her to the office.”

Clay was grateful Miss Hollis would be taken care of quickly. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Chaney accompanied Clay to the wagon and assisted Miss Hollis up the walk and across the porch.

Inside it smelled like apples and cinnamon. He’d been treated a few times at the man’s office—scrapes on a couple occasions and a bullet wound a year or so ago—but Clay had never been in the doctor’s house before. Doctors earned a hell of a lot more than marshals, he surmised, taking note of the furnishings. Then he remembered Doc Chaney came from a well-to-do ranch family.

The doctor’s wife pulled a rocker toward the kitchen table. “Sit here,” she offered.

Sophie took a seat and the woman lit several oil lamps.

“Can I do anything else, Caleb?” she asked.

“I’m guessing these two could use some water,” he suggested.

“I’m fine, ma’am,” Clay told her. “It’s Miss Hollis needs attention.”

Sophie coughed.

Doc asked her to lean forward. “I’m gonna thump you on the back and see if there’s anything that needs to come up,” he told her.

Sophie nodded.

He used his flattened palm to hit her good and hard a couple of times. The awful sound and the resulting expelled breath gave Clay a lump in his chest. He understood the treatment was for her own good, but he sure didn’t cotton to watching.

Ellie Chaney met his eyes with sympathetic understanding. He looked away and rubbed a hand down his face. He’d feel the same about anyone.

“See if you can drink now,” the doctor told Sophie.

She drank a whole glass of water and wiped her chin with the back of her hand.

Mrs. Chaney soaked a cloth and wrung it out. “Let me wash her up a bit now.”

The young doc backed away, giving his wife room to reach Sophie.

“I think she’s fine,” Caleb told Clay. “Doesn’t seem as though her lungs were affected.”

“She can go home then?”

“Isn’t the dormitory locked by this hour?” Mrs. Chaney asked.

Sophie nodded. The whites of her eyes were reddened. “Past curfew.”

“She can stay here,” the woman suggested. “I’ll take the baby into our room and Miss Hollis can sleep on the cot in the nursery.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sophie protested.

“What else would you be doing?” the woman asked. “You’re locked out of the dormitory, so you’ll stay here. Caleb and the marshal will explain to Mr. Webb in the morning. I’ll find something for you to wear.”

After a moment, Sophie said, “That’s very kind of you.”

“What do I owe you for your time, Doc?” Clay asked.

“I will pay my own bill.” Sophie’s emphatic objection started another bout of coughing.

“You wouldn’t have had need of the doc if you hadn’t gone into the jail for my dog, Sophie.”

“I made the choice. I’ll pay my own bill.”

He studied the fractious woman, stubborn and proud as all get-out. Even with remaining black smudges on her chin and forehead and her dark hair a disarray of tangles, she was something to look at.

“Let’s not worry about that tonight,” Dr. Chaney interrupted. “Everyone needs some rest.”

“Make yourselves useful and heat some water,” Ellie directed the men. “Sophie needs a bath before I take her upstairs and get her settled.”

Clay helped pump water and heat it on the stove, then he and the doctor walked out to the front porch.

Caleb raised his face to the sky. “There’s still smoke in the air.”

“Better go see what’s left of the jail. Got some figurin’ out to do, I reckon.”

“Don’t worry about Miss Hollis,” Caleb told him. “She’s going to be just fine.”

Clay took a coin from his pocket. “Will a dollar cover it?”

Dr. Chaney closed his fingers around the coin with a grin. “I have a feeling she’s going to be madder’n a hornet when she finds out you paid.”

“She’ll just have to get her mind right about that,” Clay replied. He glanced out at the wagon still on the street. “Know anything about animals?”

“Know a little about horses.”

“Dogs?”

“Your dog out there?”

Clay nodded.

Caleb followed him down the walkway and through the arbor trellis laden with fragrant roses to the wagon bed.

Sam raised his head with a soft whine.

Caleb petted the animal, then turned him over and put an ear to his chest. “He was probably low enough to escape most of the smoke, unless he was directly in the fire.”

Clay shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“He’s getting up there in years, isn’t he?”

Clay nodded. “Can’t see or hear much anymore. Doesn’t move farther than a few feet on his own.”

Caleb scratched behind the dog’s ear. “His old bones probably hurt something fierce.”

“I know there isn’t a miracle for the old boy.” Clay leaned a hip against the tail gate. “Just don’t have the heart to put ’im down.”

“An injection would do it. It wouldn’t hurt him.”

Clay absorbed the words. “You could do it?”

The doctor nodded.

“I’ll be thinkin’ on it, Doc. Thanks.”

The driver was still waiting on the seat. “She gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” Clay called and offered the doc his hand. “Thanks again.” He climbed onto the wagon seat. As the driver pulled forward, Clay glanced back at the big white two-story house.

It was tough to imagine someone running into the burning jail for the sake of a dog. The impression he had of Sophie was one of a capable women. A woman sure of herself.

She claimed she’d seen the fire from the park and come to have a look. Alone in the park, an unprotected young woman on the streets of Newton at night—she was either fearless or foolish. It was his job to care which.

Ellie Chaney picked up a sleeping infant from the crib. “I’ll be right back as soon as I lie him down in my room.”

Sophie nodded. All she wanted was to sleep and with any luck escape the burning pain in her chest and throat. This kind stranger had helped her bathe and wash her hair, but the stench of smoke remained.

Ellie returned a few minutes later with a cotton night rail. “In the morning I’ll find something for you to wear home.”

“How did you know Mr. Webb’s name?”

“I used to work at the Arcade,” she replied. “Until I broke my arm. Caleb hired me to take care of his son, Nate, until I was better, and one thing led to another. Now here I am, crazy in love and married to him.”

“How old is your baby?”

She turned back the covers on the narrow bed with a smile. “Seven months. His name is David.” She paused a moment, then fluffed up a pillow. “I wasn’t sure I wanted a baby. Caleb had his own child when I married him, and we’re raising my two younger brothers. I had kind of a history, you could say.”

“I understand history.” Sophie had never said anything quite as revealing to anyone, and surprised herself by doing so. It must be because she was so tired and her chest burned so badly. She couldn’t resist asking, “What made you change your mind?”

She’d never believed she would make a good mother, so it was better that she spare a child the suffering.

“Caleb changed my mind. I didn’t know any good men before I met him. It took a while but I learned to trust him. And I learned to trust myself. Our life was good. Our marriage would have been fine just the way it was. But choosing to have a child together formed a deeper trust.”

Sophie studied the other woman, wondering what kind of history she spoke of, wondering if Ellie Chaney had a past that could even compare to Sophie’s. If she knew the people Sophie had known, she would have thought twice about bringing another child into the world. “Well, you seem very happy.”

“We are. Caleb is the kindest, most gentle man I’ve ever known.”

“You’re very fortunate.”

Ellie turned the wick on the lamp low. “I would never ask questions,” she told Sophie. “I know there are some things that can’t be shared. But if you ever need a friend or someone to talk to, I want you to remember I’m here.”

Had Ellie somehow seen right through her? Sophie’s throat tightened, adding to her discomfort. Her eyes had done nothing but burn and streak tears since she’d escaped that jailhouse. The high level of tension from the evening had obviously weakened her defenses. She wasn’t an emotional person. She was stronger than this. “Thank you.”

The woman wished her a good night and closed the door on her way out. Silence wrapped around Sophie. She imagined the handsome doctor and his pretty wife in their bedroom with their baby lying between them. They were kind and compassionate, unfamiliar qualities where she’d come from. Their generosity unsettled her thinking, shook her world. Were they normal? Was this what other people were like? She compared them to Amanda and Emma and the families they’d spoken of.

How many good people like these had been victims of Sophie’s deceit in the past? She couldn’t bear to think of it.

She glanced at the window, where the parted curtain revealed a slim portion of night sky. Newton was filled with dozens of neighborhoods and rows of houses just like this one—well, not all quite as nice, but similar homes where families dwelled.

Sophie squeezed her eyes shut and remembered a time many years ago, a time before her father had sold their home and bought a covered wagon, a time when she’d had older brothers—when her mother had tucked her in at night. The long forgotten memory of a rose-papered room and a small simple bed wavered at the edge of her mind. With that memory drifted the scent of lilacs on a summer night. Her mother’s perfume or fragrant bushes outside the window? She struggled to make the elusive memory clear, but it wavered and vanished.

All that was good and safe had changed along the westward trail when a Sioux war party had attacked their wagon train, and killed her father and her brothers. She and her mother had been taken captive. The chief had taken Sophie, adopted her and treated her well. Her mother had been given to a brave and had conformed to her life as a captive. She had advised Sophie to do the same. “You’re a brave girl, Sophie,” her mother had whispered. “Do whatever you must to stay alive.” Sophie had been following that advice all the years since.

They’d been in the Sioux camp five winters when her mother caught the typhus and died. In mourning her mother’s death, pain over the loss of her father and brothers surfaced, pain she’d avoided facing before. Acute loneliness had become her constant companion. To comfort her, the old chief had given Sophie her mother’s possessions, among them her mother’s gold wedding ring. Tek Garrett had taken the ring for safekeeping, that loss becoming the one regret she had in running away from him. She hadn’t dared tried to find it and suspected he kept it on him.

Sophie barely remembered family, scarcely remembered feeling loved. Her memories were distorted by time and anger. Getting up, she padded to the open window, drew aside the gingham curtain and peered into the night. The doctor’s house was one of the tallest in the neighborhood and afforded an expansive view of the neighboring rooftops.

The sky to the north was still hazy with smoke. Had the marshal bought her story? How crazy would it make him, wondering how that prisoner had been freed? The keys still hung in the lock, and the iron doors would be standing there when the marshals looked the place over tomorrow.

Damned sloppy job of making herself invisible.

Chapter Four

The next morning Ellie brought Sophie a pitcher of water and clothing. “You’re taller than I am, so I looked for the longest skirt I could find. Fortunately you’ll only be wearing it until you get to your dormitory.”

“It’s fine, thank you. Can I help you with anything this morning?”

“Just come down to breakfast. Everything will be ready in a few minutes.”

A short time later, dressed in Ellie’s fresh-smelling clothing and with her hair braided over one shoulder, Sophie found her way to the kitchen by listening to the chatter and following her nose.

The chairs around the table were nearly filled, and Ellie was carrying full plates from the stove. The enticing smells of sausage and coffee made her stomach rumble.

Ellie greeted her with a wide smile. “There you are.”

“Good morning, Miss Hollis,” the doctor said, standing.

The young men followed his lead and stood until she was seated.

Ellie rested her hand on a tall slender young man’s shoulder. “Sophie, this is my brother Benjamin.”

“How do, miss.” He was probably about seventeen, tall with bright blue eyes and fair hair.

“Benjamin.”

“And my youngest brother, Flynn,” Ellie added.

Flynn was dark complected, with brown eyes and a bashful, dimpled smile. “I’m having a birthday soon. I’m gonna be eleven!”

“Well, happy birthday,” Sophie told him.

“This little man is Nate.” The toddler hid a bashful smile in Ellie’s white apron. “And that’s David.”

The baby Ellie had carried from the room the night before was awake and sitting in a wooden high chair. He paused in drawing one stubby finger through a puddle of oatmeal on the scarred tray to give her a toothless smile.

“You have a lovely family.”

The doctor and his wife shared a smile.

Ellie handed her husband a plate of eggs; he helped himself to a couple and passed it. “After school Benjamin works with my husband. He’s going to go to medical school.”

“That’s an admirable goal,” Sophie told him.

“I been thinkin’, Ellie,” Benjamin said.

“What about?” She set a stack of pancakes on the table and Flynn immediately stabbed two.

“Guests first, little brother,” she scolded him.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“I been thinkin’ about studying to be a veterinarian,” Benjamin went on. “Instead of medical school.”

His sister paused with a tray of sausage.

“It’s an animal doctor.”

Ellie smiled and handed him the tray. “I know what a veterinarian is, Ben. I think you’ll be good at whatever you set your mind to.” She touched his hair in a loving gesture, and his lean cheeks tinged pink.

He leaned away. “C’mon, Ellie.”

“I’m sure Miss Hollis isn’t shocked. She probably has brothers and sisters of her own. Don’t you, Miss Hollis?”

Sophie set down the fork she’d picked up, keeping her expression placid. “Of course I do. I have a whole family back in Pennsylvania.”

“What’s in Pennsylvania?” Flynn asked.

“Boys a lot like you,” she replied with a practiced smile.

The rasp of a cranked doorbell sounded.

“I’ll get it!” Flynn shouted and jumped up to run for the front hall.

He returned moments later with Marshal Connor.

Clay toyed with the brim of the hat he held. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning, Marshal.” Ellie rose to grab a cup. “Join us for breakfast.”

“Oh, no thank you, ma’am. Just came for Miss Hollis.”

The impact of those particular words zigzagged an alarm inside Sophie’s skull. He’d come for her? Had he learned something? Sophie studied the lawman standing in the Chaneys’ kitchen. One moment she’d been swept into the family atmosphere and the next, familiar tension crept into her muscles.

“She’s having her breakfast,” Ellie said easily. “Have you already eaten?”

He glanced at the table, his attention clearly on the food now. Sophie relaxed a degree. He’d come to escort her to the Arcade, not to jail.

The doctor got up and scooted Flynn’s chair and the baby to make more room, then reached for Clay’s hat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Looks good,” he agreed and took a seat.

Ellie fried a few more eggs and poured him coffee.

“All the men are accounted for,” he told them.

“That’s good news,” Caleb said.

“That it is.” The marshal took a sip of his coffee. “But it sure leaves me wonderin’ how that prisoner got away. Keys were left in the cell door.”

“Do you have any idea how the fire started?” Ellie asked.

“No, ma’am. If the man had an accomplice, it would make sense that someone broke in and let him out. Someone might’ve started a fire thinkin’ there was a marshal inside and that the fire would distract him. But anyone halfway smart would’ve watched the jail and known where all my men were. Still, can’t quite picture DeWeise with a partner though. He didn’t seem the type. Just a freeloader, travelin’ from one place to the next.”

Sophie had never heard him string so many words together all at once. “Is it common practice to leave the jail unattended when there’s a prisoner locked inside?” she asked.

Marshal Connor appeared uncomfortable at her question. He used his napkin. “No, miss. That’s a mistake I take the blame for.”

“You had no way of knowing what would happen,” Ellie assured him.

“Makes no difference,” he replied. “A lawman has to be prepared.”

Ellie changed the subject by asking Sophie if she knew Goldie Krenshaw.

“Yes, of course. Her room is down the hall from mine.”

“I used to be her roommate,” Ellie said. “We’re still good friends.”

Once they’d finished breakfast, Clay picked up his hat. “Thank you kindly for everything, Mizz Chaney. Doc.”

Sophie stood and picked up her plate.

Ellie stopped her. “You run along now.”

“Thank you for your generosity. It was a pleasure meeting you and your family.”

Ellie touched her arm. “I’m sorry about the circumstances, but I’m glad we met.”

“Be waitin’ out front,” the marshal said.

Sophie glanced at his broad back in the leather vest and followed slowly. Her skirt was an inch or so too short, revealing her boot tops and stockings, and she felt awkward.

“Your clothing is in here.” Ellie handed her a bundle. “I’m afraid it smells like smoke.”

“Not a worry,” Sophie assured her. “Our laundry is done for us, as you know. I’ll instruct them to throw it away if it smells too bad.”

Dr. Chaney was standing near the front door when they reached it.

She thanked him again. “I’ll bring your payment around tomorrow.”

“No need. The marshal paid.”

She raised her gaze to his.

He shrugged. “Told him you wouldn’t be happy.”

He opened the door and she preceded him out to where the marshal waited.

Sophie glanced from the horse and buggy to the stone-faced man. “I could have walked.”

“I’m sure you could’ve, but I brought a rig so you wouldn’t have to.”

Secretly glad she wouldn’t have to parade down the busy streets of Newton with her boot tops and stockings on display, she let him assist her to the springed seat.

The Chaneys waved from the porch of their home as the buggy drew away.

“Nice folks,” the marshal said.

He had told her he would make things right with Mrs. Winters and the manager, so Sophie was going to have to let him do that.

“Breathin’ easier today?”

She nodded.

Horses and vehicles lined the street they turned onto. The wood platforms and bricked area in front of the Arcade were crowded with passengers waiting to get back onto the two trains that stood on the tracks, smoke bellowing from the stacks on the black steam engines.

“Looks like we’ll have to leave the buggy here and walk,” Clay said. He stopped and helped her down.

The train crews had eaten and were the first allowed back into the cars. Passengers crowded in close behind them.

Clay took Sophie’s hand and blazed a path through the tight gathering. “Looks like you just missed a big rush.”

“Undoubtedly there’s plenty of cleanup before the next arrival,” she replied.

He said something else, but loud voices distracted her. In a language Sophie understood perfectly, two braves were arguing with a man in a black jacket and a bowler. She identified the man right off as a fakir, a man who picked pockets and sold worthless tickets and land deeds to unsuspecting travelers.

The plains Indians were drawing attention from the crowd.

“That man…the one there.” She pointed him out to Clay. “He doesn’t look like a passenger, does he?”

“Which one?”

“The one with the hat who’s arguing with those Sioux.”

Clay maneuvered them closer. The Indians were talking among themselves now. Clay shrugged. “There does seem to be an argument.”

Shit, shit, shit, Sophie thought. Why wasn’t he picking up on what was going on? Convinced he’d catch on in a minute, she bit her tongue. The Indians were digging into their pouches now, and Sophie couldn’t waste another minute. “He’s one of those men who sell fake vouchers to the passengers.”

Clay shouldered his way through the crowd to confront the man she spoke of. He spotted Clay, slapped his hand on his bowler, and turned to flee. Clay waded through the crowd, but the man had disappeared, impossible to find.

Before he returned Sophie quickly explained to the dark-skinned brave who wore a flannel shirt with fringed deerskin pants that they shouldn’t trade their money for papers. There wasn’t a word in their language for lie. “No food vouchers. You buy food with your coins.”

“Did you give him any money?” Clay asked, coming up to them.

The man replied, but Clay only frowned. Another Indian beside him added something as well.

“No money was exchanged,” Sophie told Clay. “You chased him off before he got their money.” She pointed to the pieces of paper in their hands. “No good,” she said with a hand gesture and took the papers. “The marshal will take these.”

The Indians spoke among themselves and Sophie drew Clay away.

“How did you know what was going on?” he asked.

“I’ve seen that man out here before.” She hadn’t of course, but she knew his kind.

A woman placed her hand on Sophie’s arm. “Kathryn? Kathryn Fuller?”

Sophie recognized her immediately as someone with whom she’d had dealings in another city. Shit, shit, shit! Her pulse increased at the surprise, even as she shrugged off the woman’s touch. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“But I was certain. You look just like the woman. Your hair is different…and your eyes now that I look more closely. Look, Robert, isn’t she the spitting image of Mrs. Fuller?”

The tall thin man at her side peered at Sophie through gold-rimmed spectacles. Sophie heart hammered. Would he recognize her, whip a poster from his pocket, scream “aha!” and ruin her new life? She concentrated on appearing bored and inconvenienced.

“There is perhaps a vague similarity.”

Relief flooded over Sophie. Perspiration had formed under her clothing.

“Come dear, our train will be leaving shortly.”

“Excuse us now.” Clay took Sophie’s arm and led her away.

That had been another close call. Sophie was like a cat with nine lives, but the stress was wearing and those lives were quickly getting used up. When she showed up in the busy dining hall with the marshal, all attention diverted to them. Mrs. Winters quickly whisked them away from the prying eyes of customers and employees. Minutes later they stood in Harrison Webb’s office, the small wood-paneled room smelling of lemon wax.

“A night away without a pass is cause for immediate suspension, Miss Hollis.” Mrs. Winters wore her haughtiest look. “It’s inappropriate behavior for one of Mr. Harvey’s employees. Especially if you are in some sort of trouble with the law.”

“Hold your horses.” Clay stopped her cold, then turned to Harrison. “How’re you doing?”

“Not complaining,” the man replied with a nod.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Winters stiffened. “We have an errant girl here.”

“You heard tell of the fire at the jail last night?” Clay went on.

“I did,” Harrison replied.

“What does that have to do with my employee?” Mrs. Winters asked.

Clay gave them an explanation of the previous night’s events. “Miss Hollis ran into the burnin’ building in search of lives.” His deep voice and solemn inflections made the story even more dramatic. He told of Sophie’s role in saving old Sam’s life and her consequent night at the doctor’s home.

“Thank you for looking after Miss Hollis,” Mr. Webb said. “And for coming in like this to explain.”

“Miss Hollis risked her neck. There could’ve been an injured deputy in there for all she knew. Or prisoners.”

“Er. Wasn’t there a prisoner?” the hotel manager asked. He knew all about DeWeise.

“Got away during the excitement,” Clay answered.

Mr. Webb grimaced. “Mr. Harvey won’t be happy about that.”

Clay turned his hat by the brim as he spoke. “None of us are real happy about that.”

“Heard the jailhouse is burned clear to the ground.”

“We’re settin’ up temporary quarters in a building across the street from where we were. Liveryman used the old bars to put together a couple o’ cages. They’ll do for cells while a new building is built.”

With a nod, the marshal excused himself and Mrs. Winters marched away, clearly displeased.

Sophie was left facing the manager. “I don’t know whether what you did was brave or foolish, Sophie,” he said.

“I couldn’t not do it.”

He nodded, his face a study of concern. “I must insist you keep a far less public profile from now on. None of us can afford for you to bring this much negative attention to yourself. Harvey Girls have a strict standard to uphold. Your record must be impeccable.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Are you up to performing your duties today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well.” He gave her a stern look. “See that you stay in Mrs. Winters’s good graces.”

That had always been her intent, she thought, leaving his office.

The bundle Ellie had sent was still in the hallway where Sophie had left it. She carried it up the back stairs and emptied the pockets of her smelly skirt. Adding her clothing to the nearest laundry bag in the hall, she took time to include a note.

Back in her room, she dressed in a clean pressed uniform, dabbed lilac water on her wrists and throat and arranged her hair. She paused with the folded papers in her palm. She needed to destroy these posters. Hiding them wasn’t good enough.

It was easy to slip down to the overheated bustling kitchen, slide aside a stove lid, and drop the papers into the fire. Pleased with herself, she stepped back. The whole task had taken a turn down a dirt road last night, but she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do. Now no one was going to run across those drawings and connect her to her past.

She could truly breathe easy again.

After a long blistering meeting with the city and county officers and an exchange of telegrams with the county seat, Clay met with George Lent, a mason, and a carpenter named Frank Prouty to create a list of supplies. He then sent a wire to Topeka ordering brick.

Al Greene pushed a stack of telegrams across the counter toward him. “All these came this afternoon. I knew you’d be back so I didn’t send a runner.”

Clay thanked him and took the messages.

Standing in the shade of the roof over the boardwalk, he thumbed though the papers. He read a couple of follow-up notes regarding the construction of the new jailhouse followed by replies to his queries to neighboring counties and states.

None of the lawmen had information about anyone meeting Morgan’s description. So far the news didn’t flesh out his instincts. He stuffed the messages into his pocket and reached to unloop his horse’s reins from the hitching rail. He still had a full day of getting a temporary office put together ahead, and he had yet to visit the gunsmith and the hardware store.

Mounting, he headed toward north Main. The same group of plains Indians he’d seen earlier were loading supplies into the back of a wagon with the help of one of the mercantile owner’s hired men.

Clay nodded to the men and tipped his hat to the women. The females greeted him with smiles. “No paper,” one of the women said to him.

“No paper,” he agreed, with a grin.

Odd how Sophie had spotted that con going on right there on the platform with so many people crowded together. But then Newton was the place for it, the railroad hub, and everyone who came through by rail passed that station. The people who worked at the Arcade probably saw more than anyone else.

He found himself wondering if he’d have a chance to visit the dining hall with all he had going on. Eating there had become much more appealing of late.

Chapter Five

That night in their room, Amanda had a hundred questions.

“I just did it,” Sophie replied for the third time. “I didn’t think about it.”

“What were you doing in the park so late?”

Sophie wished she was there right now, lying on a warm stone bench, peering into the limitless heavens. “I go there to think sometimes.”

“You’re so brave. I’d be too afraid to be out alone at night.”

“And you’d be smart to be afraid,” she assured her quickly. “There are dangers out there that you’re unprepared for.”

“What about you? Are you prepared for them? Could you protect yourself?”

Sophie glanced at the girl sitting on the other bed. “I know how to take care of myself, Amanda. Have you heard from your father?”

“Not directly. I had a letter from my mother’s sister though—my aunt June. She said father’s doing well. My cousin Winnie is going to have her baby any day. I wish I could be there when he’s born.”

“You can go visit as soon as you hear.”

“Winnie is so fortunate to have found a wonderful man to love her. She’s so happy. I want someone to love me like that.”

Sophie turned back her covers and lowered the wick on the lamp. “I know, but just think about how good you have it here and be patient.”

“I’ve been patient. I thought coming here would open up new opportunities, but so far the only young men who’ve invited me out have asked half the other girls as well. It’s as humiliating as being back at home.”

“What do you mean?”

“My stepmother always treated me like I wasn’t as good as her children.”

Sophie understood wanting to be accepted. She’d been resented by the Sioux children because she was white and the chief had treated her as their equal. “She was probably jealous because your father loved your mother.”

“Probably. But here I am with competition again.”

“There is quite a buffet of young ladies at the Arcade,” Sophie mused aloud. “I suppose it’s difficult for the gentlemen to have so many choices. Rather like a boy with a penny standing before the candy counter at the mercantile.”

Amanda laughed, but then her expression dimmed. “Suppose I’m not the most appealing gumdrop in the jar?”

Sophie heard the wistfulness in her voice and ached for that naiveté she’d never known. She climbed into bed. “I rather think you’re a delectable twist of licorice. Not everyone likes licorice, but those who do find its appeal irresistible.”

“Do you really think so, Sophie?”

“I do.”

“I’m a licorice whip.” Amanda grinned and appeared to think a moment. “What are you?”

Sophie snuggled into her covers and closed her eyes. “I am a lemon drop.”

The following day Sophie watched for the marshal to arrive for lunch. By one-thirty, he hadn’t come, so she took her meal break and walked the sun-baked streets of Newton to Eighth Street. The blackened shell of the old jail sat alone on the south side of the street. The smell of smoke still hung in the humid summer air.

Two men were moving what looked like a large cabinet of some sort into a building across the street. When she recognized one of them as the marshal, she walked closer and watched as they maneuvered the wooden piece through the doorway. After much grunting and a couple of curses, they disappeared inside the building.

“Marshal Connor,” she called from the open doorway.

His shirt was damp, and a trickle of perspiration meandered down his cheek. He took a kerchief from his pocket and mopped his face and neck. “Miss Hollis. Come on in.”

Inside was as hot as the outside. The musty smell was stifling. There was a desk hobbled together out of an old door and a couple of chairs that had seen better days. A paint-chipped table held odds and ends of dented cups and a few supply tins.

“If that’s it, I’ll be headin’ out,” the other man said. He tipped his hat and left the building.

The old dog lay on a blanket, but raised its head to sniff the air. It didn’t look toward Sophie.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Seems fine. How are you?”

“What is that?” she asked, nodding toward the big cupboard against the interior wall.

“New gun cabinet,” he answered. “This is our temporary jail.”

She noted the freestanding cages that had been rigged together. There wasn’t a piece of paper in sight. It had struck her round about dawn that her escapade had been for naught since everything in the jail had been burned up without any help from her. Wasn’t that just her luck?

“I brought you this.” Reaching into her pocket, she produced a coin and held it out.

Clay saw the dollar, and knew she meant for him to have it. His first instinct was to refuse to accept it, but something in her expression warned him to reach for it.

She dropped the coin into his palm. “We’re straight now.”

“Hardly.”

“What do you mean?”

“You saved Sam from burning to death.”

“Yes, well you stood up for me that day. Over the broken plates I mean. You saved my job.”

“That was my fault anyway, so it’s not the same.”

“Just say we’re even.”

Beneath the brim of her beribboned straw hat her eyes were dark and deep, filled with feminine mysteries. Her delicate beauty belied the strength she exhibited and the wide stubborn streak he’d had cause to come up against. For some reason it was important to her that she not be beholden to him. Right then he understood and respected her even more. “We’re even.”

She glanced around the nearly empty room. “All right then.”

He didn’t want her to go. “Let me know if I can do anything for you.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

She turned on her heel and headed back into the bright sunlight. Once again Clay felt the heat. Eventually the subtle scent of lilacs dissipated and all that remained was the austere room, and the disturbing memory of Sophie.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Glad for that, Sophie took her three-day leave as planned. Bag packed, she showed her pass to the ticket agent and boarded a train headed for Wichita, though everyone believed she was going to meet an aunt in Kansas City. She’d heard recommendations for a moderately priced, clean and safe hotel, so she checked in and spent two days shopping and two evenings at the theater.

On her last night in a hotel room similar to the many others she’d lived in over the years, she sat near the window watching the street below and relishing her freedom by puffing on a two-dollar cigar.

Her reflection in the pane of glass showed an attractive young woman, a woman who received attention and invitations from men. She considered Amanda, a lovely girl with honey-colored hair and a bright smile, a wholesome and attractive young lady, and wondered how it could be that no one had taken a fancy to her yet. Was she too eager? Too available or unassertive? Perhaps when Sophie returned she might mention the appeal of mystery. Amanda deserved the husband and family she desired. It wouldn’t be long. Soon she would be married and have moved on to a new life.

An image of the Chaneys’ kitchen in Newton wavered in Sophie’s thoughts, and she remembered the family seated around that table. The vast differences in her life from everyone else’s struck her anew. The fact that she never returned interest in men set her apart from other women. What about five years from now, should her luck hold that long and her identity remain a secret? Ten years. Where did she see herself?

But she wasn’t looking for the same things, she assured herself. She had a different plan. She was setting aside money to start her own business. But somehow she needed to speed up the process.

Eventually no one would tell her what she could do or what she could wear or how to act. She would be…The reflection in the glass revealed smoke curling around her head into the room behind her. The empty room.

Was this how she intended to live her life from now on? Independent, but unattached? Free, but…

Dare she recognize the thought?

Lonely.

An all-consuming ache welled inside her chest and played havoc with her plans and her beliefs. She had nearly a year remaining on her contract. If she didn’t have enough money saved by then she could sign a new one. As long as she played things safe, her strategy was secure.

She would be set for the future. There was nothing wrong with that.

A spinster. She was making plans to be a spinster.

Independent, she corrected. In charge of her own life. Her destiny was something she wasn’t willing to let go of.

But she didn’t have to be lonely, did she? The other girls accepted invitations to dinner, attended local dances. They blended in more that way, she realized, fit themselves into the community.

She could do that.

Sophie made a decision. She wasn’t going to be lonely. The next time an acceptable man offered her an invitation, she was taking it.

“Would you attend the dance at the Social Hall with me this Saturday, Miss Hollis?”

Louis Tripp owned a photography studio and ate in the dining hall three evenings a week. On several occasions he’d offered invitations, but she’d declined each time.

Sophie swallowed and remembered her vow before she spoke. He was boyishly handsome with a lean face and a cap of fair curly hair. His clothing was well-cut and pressed, and he displayed courtesy and good manners. Definitely an acceptable sort. “I’d be pleased to attend the dance with you, Mr. Tripp.”

Her answer caught him off guard, and his glance shot from her to his dinner plate and back again. “You will? I mean great. I mean, what a pleasure! I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

He grinned, showing straight teeth and laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t believe you said yes.” Immediately, he looked embarrassed to have spoken that aloud.

“Would you like another glass of milk?”

“I would! Thank you, Miss Hollis.”

“You may call me Sophie.”

“You’re the prettiest girl here, Sophie. And I the luckiest man.”

“You’re the most persistent for sure.”

He chuckled and she moved away.

“He ordered the veal,” Amanda said as Sophie poured milk at the counter. “The marshal.”

“I don’t care.”

“Black-eyed peas and mashed potatoes on the side.”

“Why is the marshal’s dinner of concern to me?” she asked.

“Come on, Sophie. Are you denying you have a yen for him?”

“Here’s a tidbit for you. I accepted an invitation to Saturday’s dance.”

Amanda’s wide pale eyes sparkled. “From who?”

“Louis Tripp.”

She squealed, and Sophie shushed her. “He’s so tall and handsome! Sophie, you never let on he was your type.”

“I don’t have a type. It’s just a dance, not a wedding.”

“I don’t believe you don’t want a husband. Every woman wants a husband.”

“How about a jailer? Do they all want one of those?”

Amanda slanted a questioning look at her, and Sophie knew she’d gone too far. She picked up the tray holding the glass of milk and walked away.

At precisely seven on Saturday evening, Louis was waiting for her in the same courting room where a dozen other men stood, hats in hand, hair slicked into place, like a row of shooting targets at a carnival.

When he saw Sophie, his face lit up. “You look beautiful—but you always look beautiful—what I meant to say is you are beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look quite nice yourself.”

His ears turned pink. “Shall we go? I have a buggy outside.”

“Will you help me with my shawl?” She held out the delicate lace and fringe scrap of fabric, and he slipped it over her shoulders.

He extended an elbow, and she took it.

He had indeed rented a buggy, complete with gas side lamps, which were as yet unlit since the sun hadn’t set.

“Have you been to the Social Hall on many occasions?” he asked.

“A few times when the girls had birthdays. Once when there was a wedding reception.”

“Do the girls marry often?”

She grinned. “As often as they can.”

He chuckled. “That didn’t come out right.”

They were among the first to arrive, and the musicians were warming up on the platform. “I guess we’re a little early,” he said. “I was in a bit of a rush.”

“That’s okay. Would you mind if we went for a walk?”

“Not at all. Where to?”

“I’m fond of the park.”

“Want to take the buggy?”

She shook her head.

They strolled along Eighth Street until they reached the trellis that marked the entrance to the park. Climbing yellow roses created a fragrant bower to pass through.

“I don’t walk to this park as often. It’s farther from the dormitory.” She offered him a smile. “This is nice.”

Bachelor buttons along the brick path drooped from the day’s heat.

“So you like to walk,” Louis said.

She nodded.

“What else, Sophie? Tell me more about you.”

“I’m just a boring Pennsylvania farm girl. Tell me about you.”

He told her how he’d become interested in photography as a young man. “One of the most regaled photographers of our century is coming to Newton in two weeks’ time.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. A. J. Russell has been commissioned by the railroad, surely you’ve heard.”

She shook her head.

“His shots of the newly expanded west are making history. The railroad has given him his own coach, and he sets up his equipment on a flatcar so he can shoot from the train. He’s assigned to photograph Mr. Harvey’s hotels and restaurants. All the employees will be photographed, too. Just think of it. You’ll be immortalized by a famous photographer. I plan to meet Mr. Russell while he’s here.”

Sophie’s brain stumbled over the “employees will be photographed” part, and she started planning how she would avoid participating. There were less prominent places she could have found work, but none of them paid as well as this job.

Her escort continued his earnest tale of how he had worked to buy his storefront and equipment, and she turned her attention back to what he was saying. “Someday I want a house and a family,” he added.

All those girls at the Arcade wanted exactly the same thing and yet he’d picked her. “Louis.”

“Yeah.”

“Just so you know. I’m not her. I’m not the wife you’re looking for.”

His expression didn’t fall. “You could be.”

“No. I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t feel right letting you think otherwise. This is as honest as I get. I’m tired of all the questions as to why I don’t accept invitations. The reason is because I’m not looking for a husband like most of the other girls. If you’re shopping for that wife, you need to look back there.” She gestured over her shoulder. “If you want to spend time together without thinking of it as something romantic or a prelude to more, I’m your girl.”

His gaze scanned her face, perhaps searching for some weakness, something to give him hope. Finally, he nodded and glanced away.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she hurried to add. “You’re handsome and smart. And a really good catch—for someone else.”

“That’s a grand comfort.”

With nothing more to say, she shrugged.

“Well.” Louis stopped beside a tree and used his thumb to pick away a loose chunk of bark. “You surely didn’t give me much of a chance.”

She didn’t respond.

“But you didn’t let me make a fool of myself either, so I’m thankful for that.”

She could have done it easily. Played him all the way to the end—wherever that would have been. She was trying to change her life, end the deception, but it was impossible. Every day was a deception. As honest as she’d been with Louis about their relationship, everything else about her was a lie.

A shameless, glittering lie.

The Social Hall was one enormous room with a polished wood floor and open rafters. A platform stretched across one corner, and men of diverse ages and sizes played instruments with varying degrees of talent.

Benches had been built the entire lengths of the south and west walls, and the east wall held tables for food and drinks. The décor changed with events and decorators, and tonight the remnants of July Fourth remained, with red, white and blue streamers sagging from the overhead beams and paper stars dangling in the breeze.

Louis was attentive and charming as well as an excellent dancer. Sophie felt admiring eyes on them as they traversed the floor in time to the music. She’d been instructed by the best dance tutors in New York and Philadelphia, and Louis was obviously no stranger to the steps.

Out of breath, they paused and Louis went to pour punch.

“Sophie, you are positively magnificent,” Emma gushed from beside her.

Amanda and one of the other girls joined them. “Mr. Tripp is handsome and incredibly agile on his feet,” Amanda added.

“Will you teach us?” Emma asked. “To dance like that?”

“Oh, yes, please say you will,” Rosie MacPhee begged.

“Yes, all right,” Sophie agreed.

A figured loomed over Sophie’s shoulder and the marshal’s soul-deep voice was unmistakable. “Glad to see you’re sufferin’ no ill effects from your brush with death, Miss Hollis.”

“Please, Marshal,” she replied. “You make it sound far more dangerous than it actually was.”

“Is it true that Sophie ran into the fire, Marshal?” Emma asked. “She doesn’t want to tell us about it.”

“It’s true,” he replied. “I’m afraid old Sam wouldn’t have made it without her help.”

“She’s very brave.” Admiration was clear in Amanda’s voice.

“And an accomplished dancer.” The marshal indicated the dance floor with a nod.

“She’s going to teach us,” Rosie told him.

The marshal raised one brow speculatively. “Pennsylvania farmers must hold some fancy barn dances.”

“Pennsylvania farmers possess all kinds of skills,” she replied.

The music changed, and a few dancers left the floor while others took their places.

“And you, Marshal,” Sophie said with a long glance. “Are you here to dance?”

Chapter Six

At that moment Louis returned with Sophie’s cup of punch. His expression dimmed when he saw the man standing beside her. “Marshal Connor.”

Clay seemed to size him up with one dark glance. “Mr. Tripp.”

Sophie sipped the sweet fruity liquid.

Marshal Connor glanced from Sophie to Emma. “Would you care to dance, Miss Spearman?”

Emma took his arm immediately. “I’d love to.”

They moved into the crowd, and she looked back over her shoulder with a wide smile.

“I wouldn’t mind sitting for a few minutes.” Sophie glanced meaningfully at Rosie and gave Louis a hard stare. “Perhaps you’d like to dance with someone else while I rest.”

“Oh.” Louis understood her intent. “Will you dance with me, Miss MacPhee?”

Rosie blushed and accompanied him to the dance floor.

Amanda and Sophie chose seats along the wooden benches that lined the wall.

“I still haven’t heard word of my cousin’s baby,” Amanda told her.

“You’ve saved your passes?”

“Oh, yes.” After a moment, Amanda leaned close. “I met someone the other day.”

“Who?”

“A man, silly.”

Sophie turned to study her. “Yes?”

Amanda was absolutely glowing. “He’s very handsome and charming. Kind, too, with impeccable manners. He asked me to have dinner with him at the hotel.”

“Did you accept?”

She nodded. “He thinks I’m smart and pretty.”

“You are smart and pretty,” Sophie told her.

“It’s nice to have a man say it.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” She patted Amanda’s hand. “You will have to tell me all about it.”

“I will.” A moment passed. “I don’t think my father would approve, however.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a few years older than I am.”

Sophie didn’t want to sound discouraging. “That probably means he’s established,” she said. “He already has a profession and some of the worldly things he wants, and now he’s looking for more in the way of a special person so he can share those things.”

“I knew you’d understand.” Amanda gave her shoulders a squeeze.

Sophie caught a glimpse of the marshal with Emma. The girl smiled as though he’d caught a star for her. Another couple blocked them out, and Louis and Rosie waltzed into their view.

“Mr. Tripp is a nice man,” Amanda commented.

“That he is. He says a famous photographer will be here soon. A man taking pictures to document the Harvey Houses.”

“I would never have had the chance for a job like this if not for the Harvey Houses,” Amanda said. “A job where a woman is treated well and respected is a true phenomenon. Not to mention pay equal to a man. Why, I make as much as any of my step-brothers. How about you?”

Sophie agreed with a nod. “I’m saving for my own business.”

“I admire you and your family,” Amanda told her. “I’m sure if my father didn’t need the money, I could be saving up, too.”

“What you’re doing is admirable,” Sophie said.

Amanda shrugged. “Most of the girls send their earnings home. It’s a lot of money when you’re struggling to keep a family fed.”

“Your father’s fortunate to have you.” Sophie gave her an assuring nod and turned to watch the dancers.

A wailing sound caught their attention over the music, and Sophie realized the wind had picked up. Within minutes rain pelted the roof overhead. The sound always reminded her of a night long ago and a man she prayed never to see again. It took all her fortitude to swing her thoughts to the present. She possessed an abundance of fortitude.

“Do you think it’s a tornado?” Emma asked as the marshal escorted her to the benches.

“No, I don’t think so,” he answered.

She wore a worried expression. “I heard all about tornados.”

“Thanks for the dance. I have rounds to make, so I’ll be movin’ along. Good night. Miss Pettyjohn. Miss Hollis.”

“Marshal.” Sophie tried not to watch him go.

Louis returned Rosie just as thunder rumbled overhead. Emma shrieked and scuttled closer to the other females for comfort.

They stood to form a protective circle around her and Amanda patted her back. “It’s all right. Are you afraid of storms?”

“Maybe a little.”

“It’s just rain,” Sophie told her. “Nothing to be afraid of tonight.”

Clay paused beside the door and turned back to observe the townspeople gathered in the Social Hall. The four waitresses from the Arcade huddled together on the opposite side of the room. As usual, they were among the most well-dressed women. He didn’t know much about fashion, but he knew the girls made enough to dress well and spend their fair share in Newton. The shopkeepers and dressmakers loved them.

Funny how much he resented that nice Tripp fellow just for escorting Sophie. It was nothing to him who either one of them kept company with. Was it? This nagging feeling was too much like jealousy for comfort.

And he didn’t like the way the wind had come up. Most likely the ruffians would be trapped in town overnight if they didn’t ride out soon: he should probably move on to make rounds of the saloons.

Rain pelted his hat and shoulders as he made his way to the temporary office. He shook water from his hat and studied the brass ring of keys on a nail for the hundredth time, still trying to determine how Willard DeWeise had escaped the cell and a gruesome death that night, and how that fire started. He had a tough time letting the puzzle go.

Thunder shook the windows and rain clanged on the stovepipe. The reek of damp ashes emanated from the stove.

Boots struck the boardwalk and John Doyle stuck his head through the doorway long enough to shout an alarm. “Marshal, there’s trouble over at the Red Ace!”

Clay grabbed a rifle from the case, jammed his wet hat on his head and locked the door before running back out into the downpour. All of their slickers had been lost, and he hadn’t thought to purchase a new one yet.

An hour later he had three drunks in the two makeshift cells and a fire lit in the stove. He took off his shirt, wrung it out and hung it on a nail.

After getting out his cleaning materials and rags, he cleaned and oiled all three of his guns.

Sam dragged himself from his spot by the heat with a grunt and stood at Clay’s feet.

“You gotta go out now? Don’t that just figure.” Clay didn’t bother with the shirt, he just grabbed his hat and walked the dog out beside the building. Old Sam could barely make it back, and Clay had to boost his rump up the last step and over the sill.

He found a length of toweling that didn’t smell like oil, dried his hair and chest first, then dried the dog best he could. By now Sam was shivering from the cold rain.

“There you go, boy. Lay by the fire and you’ll warm up.” After rubbing the mutt’s damp ear, Clay stood. He’d had mixed feelings ever since the night of the fire. Feelings that made him feel like a blackened soul. Of course he wouldn’t have wanted Sam to die a frightened and painful death, but maybe just being overcome by smoke wouldn’t have been such a bad way to go.

Cowardly, that’s what his thinkin’ was. Mean and cowardly. Clay knew what was best for his old friend. Knew what had to be done. He’d been putting it off for nearly a year while Sam got weaker and lost more of his senses. He would take Sam by the doc’s place first chance he got.

“I’m a big coward, boy,” he told the dog. “You wouldn’t have made me suffer if it was the other way around.”

“Let me the hell out of here!” Gil Tucker shouted. “These apes stink!”

“You’ll get out in the mornin’ after you’ve slept it off,” Clay called back.

“Who the hell kin sleep in this place?”

“I didn’t tell ya to get drunk and shoot up the saloon,” he answered. “Now you’re just gonna hafta make the best of it.”

The man cursed and flopped on the bedroll he’d been given. “Hell of a place for a man.”

Clay stretched out on one of the bunks at the front of the room. The city marshals had decided among them that there would be someone present at all times whenever a prisoner was being held. Clay had told Hershel to go on home to his wife. Clay didn’t have anyone waiting for him, after all.

Lightning brightened the interior in sporadic bursts, followed by darkness and a clap of thunder. Come to think of it he wouldn’t mind someone waiting for him when he got back to his place. Wouldn’t mind it at all.

“Oh Sophie, he’s a perfect gentleman. He knows about art and literature and music. He’s been to Spain and to London, and has even met the president. He’s been to exciting places and done so many things.” Amanda leaned across the cutting table and squeezed Sophie’s arm. “And I think he’s rich. Really rich.”

They were in the spacious sewing room of the dormitory early Sunday afternoon, and Sophie cut a salmon-colored sleeve around a pattern piece for Amanda’s new brocade dress for fall. “What does he do?”

Amanda took straight pins from her mouth to reply. “Some sort of investments for cattlemen. He’s planning a trip to Switzerland, can you imagine?”

Sophie merely raised her brows with a nod.

“He’s staying at the Strong Hotel. That’s where we had dinner. He ordered champagne! Have you ever tasted champagne? It was bubbly.”

“It sounds as though he went all out to impress you,” Sophie replied.

“I was impressed,” Amanda assured her. “But Sophie, he likes me. He thinks I’m funny and interesting. Isn’t that the most outrageous thinking?” She bubbled with laughter. “Why, he’s the one who’s absolutely fascinating. And handsome. Not to mention polite. Did I say that already?” She pressed a hand to her breast. “He’s almost too good to be true.”

Exactly what Sophie had been thinking. “You be very, very sure of his intentions before you accept more invitations,” she warned, wanting to say more, but regretting she sounded like a paranoid mother.

“He’s a nice man, Sophie.”

“He seems like a nice man. You don’t know a man’s true character right up front. Not everyone is what they seem at first.”

“Sometimes you say things like you know bad people firsthand,” Amanda told her.

Sophie laid down the scissors and picked up the sleeve she’d cut. “What do you mean?”

“I just get a feeling that there are things you don’t say.”

“All I am saying is be careful. Don’t jump into anything or make any commitments until you’re one hundred percent sure.”

“I’m not a child, Sophie. I won’t. I just want to be happy.”

Sophie held her tongue. Amanda was as fresh and innocent as a child, which often touched Sophie, but more often terrified her. She almost felt like a parent. Life lessons had given her a steely maturity she’d never asked for. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Amanda said quietly.

Sophie looked up.

“Not just with the dress, but for caring about me.”

Sophie didn’t know how to answer. She hadn’t been close to anyone since she was a child. She simply nodded. “I’ll be working on my own creation after this is finished,” she told Amanda. “I have the fabric and trim ordered. I saw it in a catalog at Miss Brimly’s hat shop. I even ordered white gloves, and extra satin trim to make them match.”

“I’ll help you,” Amanda promised.

Olivia paused in the doorway and spotted them. “Sophie! Is it true you’re giving dance lessons this very afternoon?”

“It’s true.”

“Is there room for me in your class? How much is a lesson?”

Sophie blinked in surprise. “Of course there’s room for you. And…” She’d never given a thought to charging for lessons. The whole thing had come about so unexpectedly.

“Your first lesson is free, isn’t that so?” Amanda caught on to the concept quickly and was giving Sophie a chance to think on it some more.

“Oh!” Olivia clasped her hands together. “That’s wonderful. I’ll be there. In the courting room?”

Sophie nodded.

After Olivia had gone, Amanda grinned. “This is a golden opportunity for you to add to your savings. Dance lessons are costly, and most of these girls have never had the opportunity.”

“I’m not a professional,” Sophie objected.

“It doesn’t matter. You have an ability and can offer a service that will benefit others.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Surely you see how the girls admire you and wish to have a measure of your same composure and style. You’re a fine example, Sophie.”

Amanda’s generous words pierced Sophie’s conscience anew. If she was their example, they were all in a lot of trouble. Sophie could become anyone she wanted or contrive an elaborate scheme, but she truly didn’t know the first thing about really being a young lady of quality. Or a friend for that matter.

Pinning a sleeve together, she came to a conclusion. She could pretend to be a dance teacher, though, and she could be darned good at it.

News of Sunday afternoon’s lesson had made the rounds at the dormitory, and eight girls showed up. The courting room was tastefully furnished with tufted Roman divans and an assortment of chairs. Velvet draped windows overlooked the front street. Sophie rolled up the floral print rugs, wound up the Victrola, and paired the young ladies.

“You are in charge,” she told them. “Remember that at all times. You are women of destiny, your own destiny. Your job is to become the woman of his desires. You must deliberately fashion your image and create the situation you can command. Men will feel more powerful and more desirable because they’re in your company.”

The girls looked at each other and back at Sophie like dogs with new bones.

“Think of it, ladies! Think of the women that men admire most. Men are fascinated by someone who is not easily flustered or embarrassed. They’re intrigued by confidence. You are strong and clever. You are resourceful and charming. Size up the person you’re going to impress and give him what he wants. Show him the woman he’s looking for.”

“Is that why all the men pay attention to you, Sophie?” Rosie asked. “You’re the woman they want?”

“They think I’m the woman they want,” she replied straightforwardly. “There’s something very attractive about a much-sought-after partner, isn’t there? There’s mystery and appeal in the one who is confident and, yes perhaps even aloof. Show me aloof.”

Expressions changed one by one as her row of pupils practiced.

Sophie stepped up to Freeda Barnhart and bowed from the waist. “May I have this dance?”

Freeda immediately stepped forward.

Sophie urged her back into her place and took a spot at the end of the line. “Now ask me.”

Freeda slipped forward with a shy grin. “May I have this dance, Miss Hollis?”

Sophie deliberately touched her gaze on Olivia standing beside her before slowly bringing it to Freeda. She studied her with seeming disinterest for a moment, then extended her hand.

“Did you see the difference?” she asked of the gathering. “I’m doing this man a favor by accepting his invitation. He’s not in charge. Do you recognize my control over the situation?”

Chatter buried her next words.

“Let me try!” Emma begged.

Sophie gestured for Emma to take her place in line. Slowly, Sophie strolled along the row as though taking measure of each. When she reached Emma, she asked, “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Spearman?”

Emma raised one brow in an amused question before glancing at the girl beside her. As though deciding, she gave a slight nod. “Why yes, thank you.”

The girls all burst out with exclamations and excited laughter.

“I thought we were going to dance,” one of them called through the noise.

“Oh, we’re going to dance,” Sophie returned. “But not until each of you possesses the correct demeanor. Not until each one of you knows she is a gift to the man who will be her partner.

“You are young ladies from good families who are respected for your discipline and sense of adventure. Anyone can come west on a wagon train, but only a real lady can become a Harvey Girl. Your title and position carry prestige.”

One by one the girls straightened their postures. “Sophie’s right,” Emma said. “We’re always the most popular at the dances. And for good reason.”

The Victrola had wound down, so Sophie cranked it up again. Now was the time to show them how to dance in graceful steps, how to hold their heads erect, to use their hands for effect and stand with their spines straight. By evening she watched as they paired up and waltzed one another around on the carpet.

Since meeting these girls there were so many lessons she now wished she’d never learned. Sometimes she sat back and envied their lack of sophistication and their youthful naiveté. They’d led such carefree uncomplicated lives that she felt like a spoiled apple in the bin. Some of her knowledge was too valuable to keep to herself, however. The way they interacted with men appalled her. If she could prevent any of them from losing their self-respect, she would.

Maybe she did have a service to offer that would actually benefit these girls. Depending on how well this first lesson went and how they applied what they learned, she could consider charging for sharing her skills. It could be one more way to add to her savings and earn her way to freedom.

Just the word encouraged her: freedom.

That week Sophie attended the Saturday-night dance with the rest of the waitresses, watching as her protégés applied their lessons. By ones and twos the women were asked to dance. Sophie recognized the ranges of response they’d practiced, everything from coy hesitation to aloof confidence in their expressions. Emma even looked over her shoulder to wink at Sophie as she accompanied her partner onto the dance floor.

Only Sophie remained standing at the side as the others danced. What must it be like to be carefree and anticipate a promising future? They had the right to make choices for themselves, and she wanted them to make the best decisions. She was so caught up in watching their graceful movements and the rapt faces of their partners that she was caught off guard by the man who stepped up beside her.

“Miss Hollis.” That voice was unmistakable, as was the accompanying shiver along her spine.

“Marshal.”

“Nice evening.”

“It is. How’s Sam?”

“Had a little more spunk than usual this week. It was good to see.” He studied the dancers. “Care to take a spin around the floor?”

She wasn’t acting when she brought her gaze to his face and studied his expression. Her girls would have applauded her hesitation, but she was merely sorting her thoughts. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe when he stood near, and she was a master at composure, physical as well as mental. He made her feel things she had trouble stifling. He was the last person she should let affect her, but also the last person anyone on her trail would expect her to associate with.

With a flutter in her belly as though she was preparing to jump off a cliff, she extended her hand.

Chapter Seven

He took her hand. His fingers were long and hard and hers felt tiny in his. The flutter in her belly turned into a quaking and wreaked havoc with her senses.

He led her into the crowd and faced her squarely. Sophie rested one hand on his shoulder, and he took the other in his solid grip. She didn’t want to lose herself. He was the one person in this town who made her feel vulnerable, and she didn’t like it.

“Mr. Tripp didn’t escort you tonight.”

“No.”

“Did you discourage him?”

She studied the marshal’s intense blue eyes, sensing no hostility. “Perhaps.”

“Shame.”

“For whom?”

“For him.”

She glanced into the throng of dancers with half a smile. “He doesn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects.”

His gaze followed hers. Louis was dancing with Rosie, his expression one of fascination while she gazed over his shoulder with an indifferent smile.

“You may be right,” the marshal agreed.

Sophie nodded. “I am.”

“I take it the dance lessons have been going well?”

She brought her attention to his face.

“The girls mentioned you were giving lessons.”

“Quite well,” she answered.

“I was wondering if you’d like to take a ride tomorrow afternoon.”

His invitation surprised her. “Horses?”

“Do you ride? I can rent a rig if you don’t.”

Sophie thought the idea over with battling degrees of longing and hesitation. Getting away from the city and seeing more of Cottonwood Valley than the train tracks would be a treat. She pictured peaceful landscapes and imagined an afternoon with less pretense to keep up. Agreeing to a tryst with this man didn’t set well however. As one of the city marshals, he was among the last people she should be dallying with.

She’d been toying with a notion, but recently it made more and more sense. Why avoid him? How much more unlikely was it that a fugitive would be right under the law’s nose all along? She was an expert at playing to people’s perceptions. She could be the person he wanted to see.

“I’ve always wanted to ride again,” she told him, imagining what a girl with her supposed history would say. “It’s been years. I’m afraid I don’t have appropriate attire, however.”

“How about we take the rig out tomorrow and then next week—after you’ve had time to find clothes—you can ride?”

“I would enjoy the opportunity to see some of the countryside, Marshal.”

“Think you could call me Clay?”

They were so close she could feel the heat from his body. The scent of bay rum made her pulse throb in uncomfortable places. Clay. She nodded. The musicians wound down, and the dancers milled about, exchanging partners, going for refreshments.

Clay didn’t release her hand. She liked the feel of their entwined fingers entirely too much. “Do you have lunch plans?” he asked.

“No. I usually eat with the girls in the staff hall.”

“I could come early and we could have lunch out of doors together.”

She thought a minute. She didn’t want to sit in the dining hall with an audience. “I’ll purchase a picnic lunch. We can eat somewhere pretty.”

The fiddle player began a lively tune, and the piano man joined in. Pairs of dancers swirled around them.

“I have time for another dance before I make rounds,” he told her.

This time Sophie’s smile was genuine. Being with this man was a different experience than she’d ever known. He was a pleasant partner, agile for being so tall and broad, and his arms were hard and muscled.

Sophie spared a glance up at his face. She liked him. Enjoyed his company. Found herself interested in what he had to say, in what he thought. And it had nothing to do with keeping an eye on him or protecting her interests. That realization was new and surprising. She liked the scents and feelings she associated with him. That he was kind and respectful added to the mystery of the attraction and to her emerging pleasure. She’d never known a man who didn’t push his will on a woman.

Still she purposed not to become too lax in her guard. She might be in the last place anyone would expect her to be—in the marshal’s arms—but life had a way of turning the tables at any moment.

Sophie had to be prepared.

She secured her hat against the dry Kansas wind with a gloved hand and studied the landscape from the seat of the buggy. She’d traveled aplenty by train and stagecoach, always with a purpose, always with caution for what lay behind. She’d never deliberately set out for an afternoon of unhampered leisure.

“Not as pretty as Pennsylvania, I’d guess,” Clay said from beside her.

Sophie tried to remember what little she knew of the countryside in Pennsylvania. Philadelphia was no farm community, and that’s where she’d spent time. “It’s not as flat there, and it’s greener.”

“What does your pa grow?”

“Hay. For the horses and cows.”

“What about a cash crop?”

“Wheat.” They grew wheat everywhere, didn’t they? She studied the flight of a noisy jay that swooped across their path.

“You lived on a farm, so you’re pretty good with a horse.”

Well, that sounded right, didn’t it? “I rode as a child, but it’s been a long time, and we didn’t use saddles. I’ve forgotten how.”

Clay headed the horses toward a slope where the grass was vibrant green and cottonwoods grew along a riverbank. Gurgling water spilled over rocks farther up the bank, but at this spot the water was clear and calm. “It’s cooler here. I’ll stake the horses where they can drink and crop grass if you want to get the blanket and the basket.”

Sophie’d seen many a Hudson Bay blanket like the one Clay had placed in the back of the wagon. The Sioux traded beads and moccasins for them, and she’d slept beneath one for most of her childhood. Something about its familiar simplicity was comforting. Avoiding exposed roots, she spread the blanket under the knobby branches of a tree, removed her hat and gloves and unwrapped fried chicken.

Clay set his hat on the corner of the blanket and eased himself down to reach for one of the jars of lemonade.

They ate in comfortable silence, commenting only on the food or the sound of the river. A chattering squirrel inspected their feast from a safe distance, scampering off after Clay tossed it a crust of bread.

He scooted back against the trunk of the tree. Overhead shiny leaves rustled in the breeze. “Did your mama teach you to cook?”

She shrugged. “She’s a wonderful cook, but I’m afraid I never acquired the knack. What about you? Tell me about your family.”

“Not a very excitin’ story.” He plucked a clover leaf and twirled it between long blunt fingers. “My father lost nearly everything we owned gambling. Eventually he just ran off or got himself killed, we never knew which.”

Sophie had expected a pleasant tale of home life and family, so she didn’t know what to say.

“My mother cooked and cleaned for the ladies in Florence. I worked at the mill ’til I was old enough to be on my own. A few years ago she got married again and moved east.”

“I’m sorry,” was all she could manage.

“Nothin’ for you to be sorry about.”

“It sounds as though you had a difficult childhood. Did you have brothers or sisters?”

He shook his head. “My mother made sure I went to school. I had clothes and enough food, and she’s a kind generous woman. She deserved to find a good husband.”

“What about…?”

“What?” he asked.

“Have you ever been married?”

He studied something in the distance, giving Sophie a chance to observe how blue his eyes were in the bright daylight. “I herded cattle up from Texas for a few years, learned to use a gun. Did some sheriffin’ from time to time.”

He hadn’t answered her question, but she had no room to pry, so she held her curiosity in check.

“There was a woman once.”

Sophie pretended interest in the flow of the river over the rocks, but her attention was riveted on his words.

“Settled here with her pa. He was a newspaperman. I called on her. We made plans to marry.”

Reaching for his hat, he used it to swat away a bee. As though deep in thought, he ran his fingers through his dark hair. She prepared herself for a tragic explanation of his fiancée being struck down by a carriage in the street or pierced by the stray bullet of a bank robber.

“Cowboy passed through one spring. Young, he was. Full o’ piss’n vinegar.” He grimaced. “Sorry.”

Sophie waved away his apology. “What happened?”

“She took a shine to ’im. Packed everything she owned plus her pa’s valuables and left a note.”

“What did it say?”

“Said she was sorry to disappoint him, but that she had to live her life the way she wanted.” He flicked the clover away. “Guess she wanted that cowboy.”

He picked a blade of grass and shook his head. “Soon after I took this job and came here.”

“So you think all women are untrustworthy now?”

He grinned. “That would be unwarranted, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose.” The relentless prairie wind caught Sophie’s hat where it lay on the edge of the blanket and swept it into the air. She jumped up to chase after it, and Clay followed.

The lightweight straw hat tumbled end over end until it reached the bank, where it sailed out into the slow-moving water.

Sophie stood with her fists on her hips. “Shit!”

“How much do you like that hat?” Clay asked, shading his eyes with a hand. His own hat was lying safely on the blanket behind them. Amusement turned up one side of his mouth.

She realized she’d just sworn in front of him again. “It was the first thing I bought with my pay from the Arcade,” she told him honestly. She owned several nice hats, but that one symbolized her freedom of choice.

Quickly Clay bent over and removed his boots. He unbuckled his gun belt, laid down the holsters and loped along the bank to get ahead of the hat as it was carried by the current. Without hesitation he waded out into the water.

With a mixture of disbelief and appreciation she watched as he plunged in.

“Ouch! Damn!” he muttered, apparently discovering the rocks beneath his feet. Fortunately the hat was bobbing along only a few feet from the shoreline. He was in water up to his thighs by the time he reached it.

He gingerly climbed back to dry ground, made his way to Sophie and extended the prize he’d recovered. “I don’t usually take a swim with my clothes on.”

She accepted the hat with a lump in her throat. His kindness was still new and surprising. She was used to greed and didn’t know how to react to this man’s unselfishness—she’d never felt anything like this before because she never allowed herself to feel. Apathy was how she protected herself.

He picked up his boots, socks and guns.

“Thank you,” she managed and followed him back to the blanket.

He sat and motioned for her to join him. Below the darkened denim of his wet trouser legs she couldn’t help noticing his long feet, his toes dusted with dark hair. He curled them into the grass. “Feels pretty good.”

Sophie settled a couple feet of away and plucked soggy silk daisies from her hat. She laid a rock on the brim so it wouldn’t blow away. “I can replace the flowers.”

He was wiggling his toes. “Try it. Take off your shoes and stockings and put your feet in the grass.”

She wanted to. She’d gone barefoot all her summers with the Sioux, and the daily discomfort of shoes had been a big adjustment. Choosing, she unlaced her boots and removed them.

“Be a gentleman and look aside,” she told Clay, and then unrolled her stockings and folded them away. The cool shady grass felt delightful under her toes.

Clay grabbed his hat and shot toward the stream. He returned with it brimming and trickled the water over her bare white feet.

She had the prettiest toes Clay had ever seen, though he hadn’t really looked closely at a lot of toes. He imagined the rest of her skin was as white, as soft-looking…calves…thighs…

Dangerous thinking.

When she smiled like she was doing right now, her pretenses seemed to slip aside, and that sweet vulnerability twisted a knot in his belly. She was more beautiful than any woman he’d known, curvy and dark-eyed, with full perfectly shaped lips and hair that begged a man to sink his fingers into its silky tresses.

He didn’t stop to think, he just followed his instincts and dropped to his knees beside her. She glanced up in surprise, and her lips parted, though no sound came out. Wide-eyed, she studied him in return, her gaze falling to his mouth.

Irresistible. Clay leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. She tasted like the lemonade they’d shared, sweet and tangy. She made a sound of surprise or pleasure and raised her fingers to his jaw.

At her touch, Clay lowered himself over her, pressing her back against the blanket without separating their joined lips. He was astonished by the sweetness and rightness of this first taste of her, by the way his mouth fit perfectly over hers.

He didn’t want to end the bliss he’d only just discovered, but he wanted to look at her, assure himself she was flesh and blood and not a fantasy, so he eased away. Her eyes were deep dark pools of wonder, her lips damp from their kiss.

He threaded his fingers into her hair. “It’s as soft as I imagined.”

She skimmed her fingertips over his jaw until one reached his lower lip, where she drew a line. “I never imagined.”

Clay felt a little disoriented, as though he was in a dream. He was strangely hungry, though he’d just eaten. Drunken, though his only drink had been lemonade. He was dizzy from wanting her. He knew every moment since he’d met her had been leading to this one, and he was afraid this flash of pure joy would disappear before he could capture it. “Don’t wake me up.”

Their lips met again, a bond of warm sensations. Teasing, yet complete. Enticing and absolute. Everything he needed. Nothing compared to what he wanted. He wanted her, Sophie Hollis. Pennsylvania farm girl away from home for the first time.

Clay eased kisses across her chin to her neck, where he tasted her skin, felt her pulse against his lips and inhaled lilacs and woman. With resolve, he sat back and pulled her up with him.

Sophie straightened her hair without meeting his eyes.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

She shook her head. “You didn’t.”

“Meant no disrespect.”

“None taken.”

“Can we still meet again next week?”

She looked up then and their gazes locked. “Yes.”

Sophie polished the last of the silver and washed her hands, hoping Mrs. Winters didn’t come looking for her for at least another hour. The week had been blistering hot, and as she worked she kept thinking of that riverbank with the shade trees. Maybe this Sunday she would dangle her feet in the water. Maybe Clay would kiss her again.

She knew better than to get involved, than to lead him on—especially a lawman! But she’d never known there could be pleasure in a man’s kiss. The new discovery kept her awake nights. Kept her thinking of little else.

She was losing her control, and she needed to be more guarded.

She returned the silver to its wooden trays and got herself a drink of water. Maybe she should slow down a little, stretch out the tasks. Dawdling didn’t suit her, however, and she’d just as soon be busy.

“Miss Hollis!”

Sophie turned at Mrs. Winters’s voice to be sure she hadn’t conjured it up. “I’m finished with the silver.”

“I’d like you to run and buy sugar. We shouldn’t have run out, but there was none on the train yesterday. I’d go myself, but my foot’s bothering me something fierce.”

“I’d be glad to,” Sophie replied.

“You remember where?”

“Iverson’s on Seventh.”

“That’s right. Charge it to our account. Can you carry twenty pounds?”

Sophie nodded and hurried out the door, pleased for the opportunity to get out of the hotel and walk. The day would be a scorcher later, but for now a breeze stirred her hair and rustled her skirts. The sun was pleasantly warm on her face.

Rigs and wagons of all types passed her on the dusty streets. Shop owners waved from their doorways and the few women she met on the boardwalk greeted her courteously. As always, she marveled at how the uniform lent her respect. Mrs. Iverson hurried to take her order and left to fill a bag with sugar.

Enjoying the change of scenery, Sophie wandered about the cool confines of the mercantile, absently looking over the supplies, paying scant attention to the other customers.

“Well, well. I wondered when our paths would cross again.”

At the sound of that voice her world turned inward.

The hair on the back of Sophie’s neck stood on end.

Dread and recognition tumbling in her stomach, she turned to face the man behind her. The man she’d hoped never to see again. Tormenting thoughts of him had shadowed every moment of her life for the past two years. Yes, life certainly did have a way of turning the tables.

“Tek,” she whispered in stilted horror.

Chapter Eight

Sophie refused to show the fear numbing her scalp and propelling her heartbeat.

“Mr. Morgan,” he corrected.

It would have taken her a moment to recognize him had she not heard his voice. The man she remembered usually wore a thick mustache, so the shape of his mouth was unfamiliar. His hair was darker and longer, but his eyes were unmistakable: steel gray and chilling in their intensity. “How did you find me?”

His relentless cool gaze assessed her clothing, but she refused to wince at the caustic smile that creased his otherwise handsome cheek.

“A Harvey Girl. That’s rich.” He laughed aloud, attracting the attention of other patrons. “Positively rich.”

“Hush,” she warned, glancing to the side and questioning the miserable luck of him finding her. With all of Kansas to search, with the entire West to cover for that matter, he’d uncovered her refuge. Sophie didn’t even know a curse word fitting enough for this situation.

“Is everything all right, miss?” A fatherly looking rancher in dungarees and a faded work shirt ambled toward them, appearing genuinely concerned. “Do you know this man?”

Sophie stiffened, angry at having attention drawn to her in the company of this man. How could Garrett be so stupid as to attract the notice of the other patrons? “Thank you for asking, sir. No, I don’t know him. He was inquiring about the food at the Arcade. I’ve assured him that the best fare in the West is available along the Santa Fe.”

The ranch hand nodded. “That’s so.”

“Well, then I’ll jest mosey on over there and get me some vittles,” Garrett deliberately drawled in an insulting imitation of Midwestern speech.

The man’s eyes narrowed, but his voice still held its friendly quality, as though unsure if Garrett was mocking him.

“You do that.” With a nod to Sophie, he said, “Miss,” and retreated to the back counter where he kept a protective eye on the two of them.

Garrett’s gaze narrowed on her. “You’re a gem,” he said with that superior, gall-provoking smile lurking at the edge of his naked mouth. “My most apt and ingenious pupil. I can’t wait to hear how you passed the requirements for employment.” One eyebrow rose suggestively. “Mr. Harvey make an arrangement with you?”

Anger welled inside her chest, but Sophie held herself in rigid check.

“What are those lucky customers finding on the menu these days? Two bits for a cup of coffee and a quick grope under that dowdy skirt?”

Hating him, Sophie turned her head. If his attire was any indication of how he’d fared since their last encounter, he’d come up smelling like the proverbial rose, as usual. He wore deep-green trousers with matching vest and a loose white shirt rolled back at the cuffs in deference to the temperature.

“I want the money.” His tone was deadly.

“I don’t have it,” she snapped.

He grabbed her wrist. “Oh, you have it.”

She jerked away. “I said I don’t.”

“Sugar’s ready, Miss Hollis!” Mrs. Iverson called.

Sophie looked Tek Garret square in the eye. “Leave me the hell alone. You don’t own me anymore.”

Gathering her skirts, she moved past him, thanked the woman, and hurried from the store. She paused on the shaded boardwalk to catch her breath and wait for the furious beating of her heart to abate and her knees to stop shaking.

She’d prayed never to see that loathsome face again. Never to hear his repugnant voice or stand on the same ground he’d tread. There was no one she hated as much. No one who had as much power to destroy her.

Newton had just become a lot more dangerous. Her life hung in serious peril.

Should she run? Garrett’s appearance had proved that pointless. He would find her again. In his eyes, she was his most valuable commodity.

She would have to make her stand here.

“Sophie! What’s wrong?”

Sophie flung the heavy bag of sugar on the long table that ran down the center of the kitchen. “What do you mean?”

Amanda stared at her. “Why, your face is beet-red and your hair has flown a dozen different directions. You look as though you’ve been running from a wild animal.”

Sophie touched her hair self-consciously. “It’s unbearably hot and I ran an errand uptown.” She glanced around the room to see if others were watching. Fortunately the cooks were occupied. She grabbed a pail of water. “I’ll freshen up.”

She felt Amanda’s curious gaze as she ran up the stairs. A wild animal couldn’t have been any more frightening or dangerous than the man she’d just encountered. She dashed to their room, shut herself safely inside and leaned against the door.

All her plans were at stake. Her safety was in peril. Her worst fears were nearly realized. The man who had controlled every facet of her life had found her once again. The man who’d bought and paid for her body and soul, who had made certain she was malleable and indebted before shaping her into the person he wanted, had returned.

How she despised Tek Garrett.

Sophie undressed and washed, wishing she could shed her past and wash away the corruption of her character as easily. She put on a fresh uniform, then brushed and arranged her hair before composing herself to carry on with her day. She had a job to do. She needed this position. Garrett could hardly waltz into the Arcade and point her out as a criminal. He’d been the one who’d pulled the trigger and killed that man in Denver. If he informed on her, he would implicate himself. She had that small fact in her favor. But knowing him, he would find a way at her sooner or later.

He wanted the money. He got what he wanted.

There had been several thousand dollars on the table the night Garrett lost control and shot one of their marks. In the ensuing confusion, Sophie had seen her golden opportunity. A chance to escape Garrett—and a chance to do so with a bankroll.

She’d grabbed the cash and run for her life.

It had been effortless for her to disguise herself and travel. She’d been doing it for years. She’d become even better at it than her teacher. That probably had infuriated him as much as her taking the money. As much as the fact that she’d had the courage. As much as the fact that she’d eluded him for so long.

A weak, spineless internal voice taunted her, saying that it was pointless to continue. He’d find a way. He always did. She wasn’t as strong or as smart or as evil as he. Give up. You can’t win.

Another part of her, the desperate, instinctively self-preserving part proclaimed that if she couldn’t succeed, she was better off dead. But she wasn’t dead yet, and while she was still kicking and able, she was going to fight. She wouldn’t be sucked back into his clutches. She was a new person. She was Sophie Hollis, the person she wanted to be. And nobody was going to take that from her.

Clay stopped the wagon in front of Doc Chaney’s. The doctor had opened this office a little over a year ago, giving him more room on a ground floor. His first place had been over Eva Kirkpatrick’s dress shop.

There was no writing on the blackboard that hung beside the front door, and Clay took that to mean the doctor was in. He jumped down from the wagon. In the back, Sam raised his head. “Stay.”

Trusting and obedient to the end, the dog lay his chin back down between his front paws. Clay had drummed up the gumption to come this far; he wasn’t losing his grit now. He steeled himself to carry out this inevitable task.

Caleb Chaney was washing instruments in a basin of steaming water when Clay entered.

“Afternoon, Marshal. What can I do for you?”

“I brought old Sam. I figured it’d be the kind thing to give ’im that shot you spoke of.” Clay took a deep breath to steady his voice. “He’s ready.”

Caleb stopped what he was doing. “I can do that for you,” he replied. “Do you want to leave him?”

Clay shook his head. “No. I’ll stay, take him and bury him after.”

“All right then. Whenever you’re ready.”

Clay had done a good many unpleasant things in his life. Carrying Sam from the wagon to the doc’s office was one of the most difficult. He felt like a traitor. A traitor with a sick ache in his belly. He stroked Sam’s ears and looked into those trusting eyes for the last time.

Less than an hour later, Clay stood with his hand on the handle of a shovel, sweat blurring his vision. He wiped a kerchief across his eyes and tied it around his neck, glad to be alone and unobserved. A grown man shouldn’t get so choked up over a mutt.

Leaving a worn blanket wrapped around the dog’s body, he lowered Sam into the hole he’d dug and scraped in dirt. This mutt had been his closest companion for a good many years. Wouldn’t seem right not having the old boy by his side.

When there was nothing left to do, he laid down the tool and stood back. The hardest part had been turning him over to Dr. Chaney and then watching as his old friend slipped into eternal sleep.

Clay surveyed the spot he’d picked, a woodsy area a fair distance from the house on the three acres he owned at the edge of town. In his younger days Sam had run wild and free on this land, chasing rabbits and digging for gophers. Many an unfortunate critter had fallen prey to the energetic canine.

Sam had been Clay’s housemate on snowy winter nights, his companion on lazy summer afternoons. Clay felt foolish for getting all sentimental, but saying goodbye to a friend wasn’t easy.

“You were a good dog,” he said, needing to finalize the deed, but feeling inadequate. “I hope there are rabbits wherever you are now.” Clay wiped his nose on the kerchief and carried the shovel to the back of the wagon.

Sophie closed herself in her room that evening, but Amanda brought Emma in to ask advice about shoes they’d seen in a catalog.

“Visit the shoemaker,” she advised them. “You’ll get a more comfortable fit and better quality.” Going to her bureau, she slipped a cigar and match tin into her skirt pocket, then turned to them. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Be careful,” Amanda told her.

Sophie hurried down the stairs and along the boardwalk toward the First Ward. Glancing around, she assured herself she wasn’t being followed. It was still light enough to be able to detect if Garrett was on her trail.

She hated looking over her shoulder. She hated the person and the life he’d molded her into. She wanted an uncomplicated existence like the girls with whom she shared jobs and living space had. She resented being cheated out of a normal childhood and silently railed against the way her formative years had shaped her.

She was Sophie Hollis now, she told herself, but the reminder didn’t sound altogether convincing this time. Sophie was the person she wanted to be. The real her was a small scared girl who’d lost her family, a young woman who’d become a captive and a possession. Whenever she tried to remember her real family, other memories and a vault of lies distorted the truth. She had played so many parts, it was hard to remember who she really was. She’d been so many places she could scarcely remember them all.

With the money she’d snatched that fateful night, she’d made it her mission to find as many people as she could whom they had scammed and to pay them back. Garrett would kill her when he found out. But while she was still alive, she was going to do the best she could.

As she passed opposite the billiard hall, a sound alerted her to a rider coming up behind her. She spun around. Atop the horse was a broad-shouldered man wearing a familiar hat.

“Evenin’, Sophie.”

“Clay,” she said in relief.

“Where you headed?”

“The park.”

He slid from the saddle and fell into step beside her, leading his horse by the reins.

She fingered the cigar in her pocket wistfully.

“How’s Sam?” she asked finally.

Clay took a minute to answer, and at his hesitation she looked at him. “Buried ’im today,” he said.

“What happened?” she asked, halting in surprise.

He paused beside her. “I asked Doc to take care of it with an injection. Sam just went to sleep and didn’t wake up.”

“I’m so sorry,” she answered, feeling inadequate.

“He could hardly get around anymore.” Clay resumed walking, prompting her to join him. “It was time,” he assured her.

At the nuance of emotion in his voice, Sophie studied his expression. She doubted anyone else would have picked up on that tiny crack in his composure he’d almost succeeded in hiding. “That’s good then.”

He thumbed his hat back on his head and she could see his eyes more plainly. “It was tough bringin’ myself to do it.”

“You’re a kind man.”

“’Bout average I expect.”

She studied his profile against the streaks of orange in the sky to the west. “I hardly think so.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Most men are solely concerned with themselves. Making money any way they can. Finding women to do their bidding.”

He studied her a moment. “You say that like you’ve known a lot of selfish men.”

She shrugged. “Enough.”

“Is your father like that?”

She hadn’t had a father for years, but she tried to imagine what Sophie Hollis’s father would be like. “No, my father is kind to my mother and concerned for the welfare of his family.”

“Who were all these bad examples you’ve known then?”

She gestured with an uplifted palm. “I overhear conversations in the dining hall. I read the newspaper.”

“I see.”

“You buried Sam somewhere?”

“My place.”

She’d never heard him mention his home before. “I don’t even know where you live.”

“Northeast a ways.”

“You have a house?”

“Didn’t want to live right in town, even though it would’ve been easier most of the time. I wanted to be able to get away and didn’t want neighbors spyin’ on my every move.”

“What’s it like? Your house?”

“Just a house. Nothin’ fancy.”

Residents sitting on the porch of Mrs. Ned’s Boarding House on Broadway waved to them as they crossed the street to the park. Clay tipped his hat, and Sophie wondered if there would be speculation concerning the two of them now that they’d been seen together more than once.

Clay tethered his horse to one of the cast-iron rings set into the ground at the park entrance.

“You’re coming with me?” she asked.

“Is that all right?”

“Sure.” It couldn’t hurt to have the law by her side if Garrett decided to show up. For a crazy second she considered telling Clay about Garrett, but then she would have to explain everything, and she imagined the look on Clay’s face if he learned what she’d done before she’d come here.

They strolled deep into the park to one of the stone benches, and Sophie perched on the edge. “This is where I usually sit.”

He took the opposite end.

“What thoughts are in your head tonight?” he asked.

“Just silly girl things.” She fingered the cigar in her pocket.

“I have trouble believin’ that.”

“Why?”

“You’re not given to the same silliness as the other girls, that’s why.”

“You find them all silly?” she asked.

“Find ’em all obvious.”

“Meaning?”

“Just that they’ve got their caps set on findin’ husbands. I get the feeling it’s something else that you’re looking for.”

“And you think you know me?”

He tilted his head. With a self-deprecating grin, he replied, “I don’t know what women think on. I’m sure it’s a lot different than what men think about.” He glanced around. “What is it you like about this place?”

“It’s private.”

“It’s right in the middle of town,” he disagreed.

“You’ve never lived in a dormitory with twenty women. This is private.”

“Does it wear on you bein’ around the others day and night?”

She nodded. “Not that they aren’t lovely girls. I just don’t share much in common with them.”

“I can see that.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “You’re different from them. I don’t mean that in a bad way, Sophie. They seem…younger.”

He was right. They were innocent girls fresh from the bosoms of their families, just as Sophie’d thought a hundred times. She was a magpie in a cage full of canaries.

“Not that you’re on the shelf or anything,” he added quickly.

She touched her pocket. “No offense taken.”

“What did you do before you came to Newton?” Clay asked.

“I told you I lived on a farm with my family.”

“Where you didn’t learn to cook.”

“Right.”

“And you didn’t ride after you were small.”

“That’s right.”

“What did you do? With your days? Can you sew?”

“I can sew. And I was tutored.”

He glanced at her. “No wonder you’re so smart. Why a tutor? Why didn’t you go to school?”

If she was smart, she wouldn’t be trapped in this lie. “My mother was ill, and my father wanted me nearby in case she needed me.”

“You said before she did all the cookin’. She did that even though she was sick?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who takes care of her now that you’re not there?”

“She’s better now.” It was getting more and more difficult to keep her story consistent. She’d never had to sustain a lie for so long and to so many people. She was used to the short con. She changed the subject. “You said your mother sent you to school.”

“She did.”

They glanced at each other. Sophie wasn’t eager to continue an exploration into her fabricated past, so she persisted. “So this place of yours…what’s it like?”

“Just a small house on a few acres of land. I bought it from a family who fell on some bad luck and moved on. I could show it to you—Sunday if you’d like.”

“I would like that.”

A few minutes passed before he spoke again. “Are you lookin’ for a husband?”

“I’m not.”

His deep voice was intimate when he asked, “What do you want, Sophie?”

Chapter Nine

Sophie paused, uncertain how much to reveal about herself.

“I want to be able to take care of myself. I want my own business and to make decisions for myself.”

“Did some man do this to you? Make you not want marriage?”

“Why would you think that?”

“You sound like you know a different way is all.”

She didn’t reply.

“You’re not afraid of me.”

“No.”

“But you don’t trust me.”

She looked at him in the twilight. “I think I do. And because of that it’s me I don’t trust.”

“Are you afraid of what you might feel if you let yourself?”

She looked away without answering, studied the half moon shining down from the darkening heavens.

“Just how did you discourage Mr. Tripp anyway?” he asked.

“I told him I wasn’t the wife he was looking for, but that there were plenty of other eager prospects.”

“So he moved along to one of them.”

“Seems he has.”

“And you’re not jealous?”

“Goodness no.”

“You haven’t discouraged me.”

“Do I need to?”

“You askin’ if I’m going to pursue you if you don’t?”

“I’m not asking anything. You’re the one with all the questions.”

“Sorry. Just my nature I reckon.”

“It’s what makes you good at your job.”

The night stretched silently between them until he asked, “Where do you want this to go, Sophie?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know and she couldn’t say. All she knew amidst the confusion that was her life was that Clay had become part of her existence in a way she’d never anticipated any man could. That fact terrified and soothed her at the same time. If she was smart she’d call a stop to this right now. She wouldn’t let things get any more complicated than they were.

She’d had small selfish thoughts of using him for protection, of staying near so Garrett wouldn’t be tempted to seek her out or continue his threats. But she couldn’t do that. She’d be no better than the person she’d been before. Than the person Garrett had taught her to be.

A realization came to Sophie at that moment. A realization she wasn’t sure she could afford to recognize since she needed to be safe.

She wanted to change.

She’d been lying and deceiving people for so long that it had become second nature. She’d come to think of deceit as normal. But it wasn’t.

Clay wouldn’t lie if someone had a gun to his head. He had more character than a dozen of her or a hundred of Garrett put together.

But how could she change now? How could she tell the truth regarding anything without condemning herself to prison? She couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She would be assuming identities and pretending for the rest of her life.

Or she’d be in jail.

Not much of a choice.

An uncharacteristic sense of hopelessness swept over her. She blinked back the sting of tears.

But he’d seen. “Sophie? What is it?”

How could a person be so kind? She’d never known tenderness or kindness, and the touch of his hand on hers made her want to let down her defenses and sob.

But she didn’t. She was stronger than that. She was a survivor. She’d been through a lot worse than this and she wouldn’t crumble now.

“What makes you so sad?”

She shook her head.

“Can I help?”

Only if he could find Tek Garrett and shoot him in the heart without any questions asked. She shook her head again, stood and studied the now dark sky. In the distance the jangle of an off-key piano blended with laughter and a far off train whistle, but she felt safely cocooned where she was.

Clay remained seated but took her hand and raised it to his lips. His warm breath and a soft kiss sent a tingle up her arm, and her breasts tightened unexpectedly.

Sophie brought her other hand to her breasts in surprise and closed her eyes to the night, giving herself over to the sensations he created within her.

“Your fingers smell like…tobacco.”

She attempted to pull her hand away, but he grinned and held on. Clay kissed each of her fingertips, then turned her hand over and pressed his lips against her palm.

She turned toward him then, her heart racing and her head a jumble of confusion. “What is this insistent yearning you make me feel?” she asked. “What causes this flurry of anticipation and expectancy? Why is it I can’t turn away or run or do what I know is best?”

Releasing her hand, Clay got to his feet where he towered over her and bracketed her face between his hard palms.

“I don’t have fancy answers for you, Sophie. My life has always been simple. Black and white. I take life as it comes, and I just know I feel good when I’m with you. And I think about you when we’re not together. It’s not complicated for me.”

A good man. An honest straightforward man. He was as different from her as the moon was from the sun. She shouldn’t let this go one moment longer, because thinking of the two of them together was hopeless.

She shouldn’t let the way his touch warmed her twist her thinking or allow the beauty of having him favor her with kindness cloud her judgment.

She was weaker than she’d ever imagined. All that resolve about being strong was a joke. But she wanted to have a piece of goodness more than she could say. More than anything she wanted to savor something clean and decent and know what it was like.

Kiss me, she cried silently. Kiss me and let me feel the beauty just for this one night.

Sophie grasped his upper arms as though she might spin away if she didn’t hold on. Beneath his sleeves, his skin was warm and solid, the muscles toned. As though her touch was a signal, he leaned to capture her lips in a kiss that made her heart skitter in her chest. The sounds of the night and the heat faded away, and all she knew was the rightness of having this man desire her.

In the back of her mind she knew she was sneaking something that didn’t truly belong to her, something that belonged to the woman he believed her to be, but she was greedy and selfish, and she didn’t want to lose a moment of the heady experience.

Clay released her hand to wrap his arms around her and draw her close. She relished the feel of his hard body, the strength of his embrace. She wrapped an arm around his neck and met his kiss with all the longing she’d kept dammed up inside.

When his tongue touched her lower lip, she understood the invitation and welcomed the deepening kiss and the heat of his mouth.

Sophie was no stranger to a man’s desire. She wasn’t ignorant of what happened between men and women. But Clay had introduced her to feelings. He was introducing her to respect as well, and she knew that if she pulled away right at this moment he would honor her wishes. He wouldn’t use coercion or force to get what he wanted.

Some insidious little voice inside her prompted her to test him. If a mean streak surfaced it would be easy to write him off and walk away. She eased her mouth from his…looked into his face in the moonlight.

He stroked her spine with a thumb, but his hold on her was loose, his posture and expression undemanding. His breath fluttered against her chin. Testing him, she’d robbed herself of something she hadn’t known she needed with all her being.

“I want to kiss you,” she said.

“That’s what we’ve been doin’.”

“No.” She cupped his jaw. “I want to kiss you.”

“You won’t have to tie me up, darlin’.”

The tender endearment spurred her nearer. She pressed her hand to his chest, urging him to sit once again. His eyes didn’t leave hers.

She sat beside him, but that wasn’t close enough, so she eased herself onto his lap. As though he couldn’t resist touching her, he threaded his fingers into the hair at her neck.

She ran a finger over his jaw, traced the shape of his wonderful mouth, used her thumb to part his lips. He touched his tongue to the pad of her thumb and she felt the damp heat all the way to the core of her will.

Sophie framed his jaw with one hand and kissed him square on the lips. He closed his eyes and seemed to hold his breath.

She ended the kiss and nuzzled her nose along his cheek to his ear. His hand tightened in her hair, but he held the rest of his body in check.

“What game are you playin’, Sophie?” he asked.

“No game,” she replied near his ear. “Just a little test.”

“Am I passin’?”

She kissed him again, parting her lips over his and savoring the indulgent pleasure before pausing to answer, “With flying colors, Marshal.”

She shouldn’t be enjoying kissing him so much. She shouldn’t be using him. He had no idea how powerfully seductive his gentle compliance was to a woman who’d never before had a choice.

He had no idea she wasn’t innocent. For all he knew she was tasting seduction for the first time. He trusted her to be who she said she was.

What would Sophie Hollis do?

With a last delicious kiss, she pushed herself up from his lap and smoothed her skirts. “I’m embarrassed I did that.”

“Why?”

She looked away.

His voice was low and uneven when he asked, “You think it’s shameful to kiss a man?”

“No. No, I’m…embarrassed at the feelings.”

“Nothin’ wrong with honest feelings, Sophie.”

She couldn’t even look at him after those words. “I’d better get back before I get locked out.”

He stood and quickly fell into step beside her. “We’re still on for Sunday?”

She walked ahead. “We’re still on.”

Even as confused as she was, she wouldn’t miss the next time for anything.

Midweek Mr. Webb closed the dining hall and instructed all employees to change into fresh uniforms and report back within fifteen minutes.

Sophie joined the curious Harvey Girls who climbed the stairs to their rooms and returned in crisp clothing. Murmurs of speculation trickled through the gathering.

A whistle announced the arrival of a train that hadn’t been on their lunch schedule, which indicated something unusual, like the train that sometimes brought Fred Harvey for an unannounced visit. This time neither Mrs. Winters or Mr. Webb were barking orders or sending waitresses scurrying, however. And the restaurant had never been closed before. Even the kitchen help had been summoned.

Minutes later a commotion drew them outside. Sophie and Emma standing together on the platform spotted half a dozen men carrying cases and arranging them between the tracks and the building.

Another crew was roping off the perimeter of the platform as well as the front of the hotel and placing men in positions to keep the onlookers out.

A man who seemed to be in charge of things stepped forward and called out. “We have forty minutes before the next train arrives,” he called. “Form lines in front of the building, in order of duties, with kitchen help in the back, dining hall workers in the front and the managers on each side. I would like the chef front left, please.”

Recognition dawned on Sophie too late. She could have escaped when they’d been ordered to change, but now it would be obvious if she left. This was the renowned photographer Louis had told her about. She took a place among the waitresses, moving back several rows by saying, “I’m tall, you stand here.”

There were at least sixty people gathered. Who would recognize her in clothing like everyone else, within a sea of faces? Who would even see the picture? When the photographer was ready, she could edge her face behind the person ahead of her. This wasn’t a problem she couldn’t handle gracefully and without drawing attention.

The sun was hot and the workers grumbled at having to stand in the heat. Sophie endured the perspiration trickling down her back under her starched dress, and scanned the crowd that had gathered. She spotted Louis Tripp making his way to the front of the crowd and talking with one of the posted guards. She knew how badly he wanted to come forward and meet A. J. Russell.

The guard hurried to say something to the man setting up the camera, and he motioned for Louis to come closer.

“I believe I have time to use the necessity,” Sophie said and inched her way to the end of the line and toward the side of the building.

“Miss Hollis!”

She stopped in her tracks and faced Mrs. Winters. “Ma’am.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To use the outhouse, ma’am.”

“Not until you’ve been excused you won’t. You had time to take care of that when you were changing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This time she edged her way back another row. Mr. Russell called instructions to his helpers and to the subjects who were getting restless.

He ducked his head and shoulders beneath a black cloth and counted backward from five.

As he reached one, Sophie leaned inconspicuously to the right, just enough for her face to be obscured behind Constance Jenkins’s hair.

“Don’t move! One more,” he called.

Sophie had a sudden itch and raised her hand in front of her face to scratch her forehead. She was happy Louis was able to meet the man he admired and had never been so glad to go back to work.

“Monte’s coming for me in a few minutes,” Amanda said, aquiver with excitement. “You’ll meet him tonight.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“My dancing is much improved, thanks to you. He’ll be impressed.”

Sophie gave her a humble nod. She’d been wondering all day if the marshal would show up at the Social Hall like he usually did during the course of a Saturday evening.

Amanda checked her blond curls in the mirror one last time and picked up her white gloves before hurrying out of their room.

Sophie enjoyed the calm and quiet for a few minutes, feeling no need to rush. There were always carriages waiting out front of the Arcade on Saturday evening, and it was easy to catch a ride with a group or a couple.

Amanda had helped her button the lemon-colored cotton lawn dress she’d recently finished, and now she donned her soft kid leather slippers. She arranged her hair with a matching ribbon wound through the curls that hung down her back. Choosing her own clothing and accessories lent a sense of power she’d craved. Anyone else would take it for granted, but she didn’t. She gazed at her white ruffle and lace bodice and satin cuffs in the mirror with pleasure.

It felt good to be Sophie Hollis. It felt good to interact with others and develop friendships. Most of the guilt was stashed away where it couldn’t gnaw at her. She couldn’t let herself think that every relationship she had was based on a lie or she’d loose this euphoric feeling. She was going to see Clay tonight, and tomorrow they were going to go riding.

Satisfied with her appearance, she tugged on her satin-trimmed gloves and floated down the stairs. Louis had brought a buggy for Rosie. He cast Sophie a hesitant smile, and she nodded her approval. He grinned and offered her and Olivia a ride.

Charles Barlow greeted Sophie and Olivia as soon as they entered the already noisy building.

“Miss Hollis,” the rancher said, smiling as though delighted to see her. “Will you join me for this dance?”

Not intending coyness, Sophie glanced at Olivia, then back. “Thank you, Mr. Barlow.” She offered him her gloved hand.

“Charlie,” he corrected.

“Charlie.”

“Nice to see you have a Saturday night off,” he said as they waltzed.

“Y-yes.” Only then did Sophie remember telling him she worked most Saturday nights.

“Next time you’re not on the schedule, why don’t you send word so we can attend the opera?”

“I do enjoy the opera.”

A cowboy in a new shirt and dungarees and with his hair and mustache pomaded asked her to dance next. After an hour she was hoping for a chance to sit out a few dances.

She hadn’t seen Clay yet. She’d been watching, subtly, of course. She excused herself from the dance floor and was headed toward the benches when he strolled up beside her in the crowd.

“Ready for some punch?” His voice was like maple frosting on a sponge cake. Deliciously dark and sweet.

“I’m ready.”

“Seems you have a camp of followers.”

“The girls, you mean?”

He laughed, and she liked the low-pitched sound. “The men.”

She glanced around. “Oh? Just a couple.”

“All ready for tomorrow?”

“I have a riding skirt and proper gloves.”

He glanced at the gloves she’d trimmed with satin bias and seed pearls. “I’ll rent a horse for you. The liveryman will choose a well-mannered one.”

“What color?”

“Color.” His gaze rose to her eyes. “The horse?”

She nodded. “I wondered what color you’d get for me.”

Amusement inched up the corners of his mouth. “What color would you like?”

“Does the liveryman own a paint?”

“I’ll check.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

She looked up into his intense blue eyes. Catering to her whim gave him pleasure? “Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Sophie! There you are! I’ve been searching all over for you.” Out of breath, Amanda touched Sophie’s arm. “Here’s the person I wanted you to meet.”

Sophie turned, only to find herself looking directly into Tek Garrett’s cleanly shaven face, his expression one of barely constrained glee.

Chapter Ten

Her head swam.

“Sophie, this is Monte Morgan. Monte, this is my friend, Sophie.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, gallantly bending at the waist in greeting.

She girded her composure. “And I of you.”

“Monte, this is Marshal Connor. Marshal, Mr. Morgan.”

The two men sized each other up. Neither extended a hand.

Finally Clay reached out. “Morgan.”

Garrett grasped his hand. “Marshal.”

Sophie’s head spun with the shock of seeing Garrett in a place she’d felt safe. Seeing him shake hands with the marshal. He was Amanda’s newfound beau!

Seething anger rose up and heated her face. Her heart was racing. She resisted clenching her fists. She was a professional at creating an image, and the image she was portraying was one of cool calmness and mild interest. It wouldn’t do to panic. Fear was an inhibitor, not a facilitator.

She looked at Amanda, flushed with the dew of infatuation, gazing up at Tek Garrett as though her knight in shining armor had galloped in on a white steed. Sophie wanted to yank Amanda away from him and take her far from this place and far from the man who had only evil in his heart and manipulation on his mind.

He knew exactly what to say and do to make Amanda think she wanted him, needed him. He could make her believe she couldn’t live without him. Amanda wanted to be loved so badly she was an easy acquisition. She was too sweet and too vulnerable, a pliable and needy soul Garrett could use to his own advantage for as long as it suited him.

A feeling of guilt nagged at her conscience. Was she doing the same thing to Clay?

“Amanda is so light on her feet,” Garrett said to Sophie. His hand at the small of Amanda’s back made Sophie’s skin crawl. She wanted to crush his heart. “I could dance with her all night.”

Amanda beamed.

“Join me for another dance,” he urged.

They swept back onto the dance floor.

The gall of the man! He knew Sophie wouldn’t run away and leave Amanda in his clutches. He also knew Sophie wouldn’t tell Amanda who he was. He would use any means possible, including Amanda, his new trump card, to coerce Sophie into turning over the money he still believed was in her possession. He obviously wouldn’t believe she no longer had it.

“I’ll bring punch if you want to sit a spell,” Clay said from beside her.

Feeling unsteady, she took a seat along the benches.

Moments later he returned with two cups and sat beside her.

Thanking him, she accepted hers and sipped the cool, sweet liquid.

The fiddle player presented a solo in the middle of the song, and the sound of people’s feet on the wood floor was loud.

Sophie strained to spot Amanda and Garrett. She found them and kept her attention riveted. His heart was as black as she remembered. She wanted to cut it out.

“Somethin’ botherin’ you, Sophie?”

Realizing her intent stare might be too revealing, she glanced at Clay. A frown creased his forehead as he turned to watch the crowd. Sophie paid attention and recognized he was watching the same couple. “No. Anything bothering you?”

“Just a feelin’ I get about that fella. I’ve been watchin’ him since he got to town.”

A dismayed shiver crept down her spine. Since he got to town?

Her stomach dipped with nervous dread. Clay’s perceptions were accurate. What if he’d gotten close to her because he perceived something artificial in her?

She was getting crazy now, she assured herself. There wasn’t a deceptive bone in the man’s body. If he suspected her he’d be forthright about it. He hadn’t bothered pretending to be cordial to Garrett, after all. She focused her thinking on the new information. “How long has that been?”

“A few weeks.”

Weeks! Garrett had been biding his time before revealing himself. Smart. A good con man always took stock of his mark. “What kind of feeling do you have?”

Clay pursed his lips a moment before answering. “Just a gut reaction to the man. Can’t explain it. I’m usually not wrong.”

Sophie’s scalp tingled with anxiety. “A feeling like what?”

“Like I should keep an eye on ’im. Like I should check all the papers for his picture…and if I had any papers left I would.”

The good news and the bad news. “They all burned?”

“Yup. Sent telegrams to other counties and nearby states askin’if they’d had dealin’s with anyone meetin’ his description.”

A little quake of alarm rolled up Sophie’s spine.

“Nothing has turned up,” he added.

Relieved, she turned to study the crowd again. “He’s too old for Amanda.”

Clay raised a brow.

“Well. He is.”

“Plenty o’ Harvey Girls have married widowed ranchers. Man’s not over the hill till he has a long white beard.”

“You’re defending him.”

“I’m stickin’ up for mankind.”

She should have been able to laugh, but nothing about Garrett was funny. He was dangerous. She knew it, and she’d done her best to avoid him. But Amanda didn’t have an inkling that she was playing with fire. If something didn’t happen to save her, she’d be caught up in Garrett’s blaze of deception. She was being set up because of Sophie. Because Sophie’d led him here. Because Sophie had handed him the perfect tool to use against her.

“I’m not feeling well,” she told Clay. “I need to step outside for a moment.”

“I’ll come with you.” He set their cups aside before leading her to the side door.

Clay led her away from the cacophony of talk, laughter and instruments. As the door closed behind them, the sound was muted. Sophie walked a few feet away from the building.

Clay followed. “You gonna be all right? I could take you home.”

“No. No, I want to stay. I can’t leave Amanda.”

“Okay.”

She touched her fingers to her temple. “It’s probably just the heat.”

Clay stepped close and brushed her hand aside to gently massage her temples with his fingertips. She let her eyes drift shut and sighed, and the sound shot straight to his loins. Sophie’s scent and nearness drove him mad. He’d begun spending too many of his minutes away from her thinking on the meager minutes they were together. “You can’t feel poorly. We have plans for tomorrow.”

“I am looking forward to riding,” she said.

“Hall’s a mite crowded and stuffy tonight.”

“Yes.” She rested her hand on his shirtfront as comfortable as you please, and her touch was gratifying.

“Worried about your friend?” he asked, and let his hands drop to her shoulders.

She nodded. She could tell him right now. Just blurt out the truth and be done with it. He’d arrest Garrett and Amanda would be safe. He would arrest her, too, though. And he’d lose respect for her—a respect she didn’t deserve anyway—and he’d never look at her with admiration or longing again. She’d spend the rest of her life in jail sorting regrets.

“I could take a ride to Florence,” he said. “Look through their papers. I’ve been thinkin’ on it anyway.”

The thought panicked her. “There’s no crime to being older than her now, is there?” she asked. “I’m just being a worrywart.”

“Thinkin’ of those selfish men again,” he teased.

“And you always know what I’m thinking. You have anything lurking in your past?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

“Like an extra ten years?”

“Very funny.”

“I told you all about me. Not much else to know.”

“You’re an open book, are you?”

“Would I be more appealin’ if I had secrets?”

She didn’t answer. Everyone had secrets.

“That must be a yes.”

“It’s a definite no. I’m just being ladylike and not saying what I really think.”

“Sparin’ my feelings?”

“Your ego.”

He chuckled, then thought a minute. “Never laughed much before I knew you.”

Clay wanted to wrap her in his arms and not let go. He liked the way she felt against him, loved her lilac scent and her soft skin. Kissing her was a pleasure he could get used to. Having feelings for her wasn’t something he’d anticipated, but the feelings, and the desire, were there all the same. Now that he’d admitted to himself that he wanted her, he had to know how she felt about him.

She returned his kisses with tender passion. Sometimes she looked at him in such a way that made his stomach weak. In the park she’d seemed to be fulfilling a desire by initiating their kisses. He’d be glad to fulfill her desires any old time. He wouldn’t fool himself by denying he was falling fast and hard for this woman who was still such a riddle.

“Never known anyone like you, Sophie. You seem wise, yet you’re young and unsure ’bout a lot of things. Other things you have your mind made right up.”

“Are you going to kiss me or talk me to death? I have a curfew, you know.”

Her question prompted another laugh. He could definitely get used to this women askin’ for his kisses.

He pulled her close, and if her sighs were any indication, both their desires were fulfilled with an eager melding of their lips. Sophie clutched the fabric of his shirt and held him close.

A loud gunshot startled them both. He released her, immediately pushed her behind him and drew his .45.

Shouts and the sound of a scuffle came from the front of the building. “Stay here!”

He dashed toward the noise. Two men were grappling in the street, their hands on each other’s throats. Clay ran closer and spotted a gun several feet away both men were trying to reach. He grabbed the pistol and fired his .45 into the air.

Behind Clay the door to the Social Hall had opened and people were spilling out to see what was going on.

“On your feet, both of you,” he ordered.

One of the young men took a last swing at the other, scrambling to stand as Clay jerked him back by the collar. “What the hell’s going on here?”

“Son of a bitch not only wore my shirt, he danced with my girl.”

Clay recognized them as hands from a nearby ranch. James Duffy wiped blood from his mouth with his sleeve.

“Which one of you fired the gun?”

“That was Lumpy. Damned fool. He coulda shot my foot off,” James said.

“You two are gonna settle this peaceful-like or I’m gonna have to take you to the jail. You wouldn’t like it there, so you might as well make peace.”

A young redhead in a frilly blue dress slipped in and sidled up to Duffy. “Are you all right? Lumpy didn’t mean any harm. He was only bein’ friendly.”

“Too friendly from where I was standin’.”

The two men eyed each other warily, and after talking quietly the couple announced they were leaving.

“You can get your gun at the jail tomorrow,” Clay told Lumpy.

Lumpy brushed the dust from his clothing with his hat and headed back inside the hall, probably to set his sights on someone else’s girl.

Men and women chattered among themselves as they crowded through the doorway and reentered the well-lit building.

Clay hung back, watching to make sure the cowboy and his girl were gone. Sophie met up with him.

“Sorry you saw that,” he told her. “Behavior more fittin’ a saloon.”

“Their behavior doesn’t reflect on you,” she replied.

They faced each other. He slid his .45 back into its holster and tucked Lumpy’s pistol into his waistband.

“I have work to do,” he told her with regret.

“I suppose you have important marshal duties even on Saturday night.”

“Always somethin’. Only Owen and me are unmarried men. I don’t cotton much to the saloons, so it’s never mattered. I’ve always stopped by the Social Hall to greet a few people and that’s been good enough.” He glanced at the light spilling from the noisy building. “Maybe it’s time to change that.”

“Change your work schedule?” Sophie asked.

“Only if you think you’d want to spend some Saturday evenin’s together. Don’t wanna be pushy.”

“You’re not pushy, Clay.”

But she didn’t say she liked the idea. The other day he’d been considering how unfulfilling their time together always seemed. She didn’t seem averse to his attention or his company, though she always held something back. “Well, guess I’ll be movin’ on. Evenin’.”

“Good evening.”

At the corner he looked back. She’d gone inside. There was so much left unspoken between them. They talked, but he never felt as though they communicated.

Tomorrow he’d see her again. Another chance to learn more about her. Clay shook his head at his boyish enthusiasm. He wouldn’t get his hopes up, but he wanted to know everything about Sophie Hollis.

With her jaw set in exasperation, Sophie observed Garrett the rest of the evening. She didn’t have to wonder what he was up to. She knew he was up to no good. Period.

When he returned Amanda to the benches and came toward Sophie, it was all she could do to not flinch.

“Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Hollis?” Garret’s tone sounded innocent as could be.

Sophie turned her surprised glance on her friend, and Amanda nodded with a smile. “Go ahead, Sophie.”

“I’m tired,” she objected.

“Oh, go on,” Emma said and gave her a little push from behind.

She followed, but didn’t take the hand he offered. She faced him on the dance floor, his eyes boring into hers, that smirk at the corner of his narrow lips telling her he knew how much control he could still wield over her with a mere look. It was like watching a snake that could strike any moment, and she didn’t dare look away. Insidious memories cut away the present, blotted out the music and the people until she was fourteen years old again. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and her head felt light.

You would be cooking scrawny rabbits over a fire and suckling a squalling brat. If I hadn’t fostered you, you’d be living with a mangy trapper who beat you over every small offense.

His gaze was like a touch that made her skin crawl. You should be grateful you’ve been spared all that. Grateful you’re not down on Tucker Street, selling yourself to every drunk who comes through the doors with two bits.

I haven’t taught you everything yet. There is more…much, much more….

Chapter Eleven

It became apparent that others were starting to look at her odd reaction to the man. She reminded herself that all that darkness was in the past. She was her own person now. She made her own choices. So, Sophie steeled herself and took his hand, allowed him to rest his touch on her back and quelled a shudder.

He’d touched her too much in her lifetime.

“You belong to me,” he said in that superior tone she recognized with the parts of her she’d tried to bury. “I own you, body and soul. Did you think you could get away?”

“I have.”

“Don’t be foolish, Gabriella. I made you who you are. You’re a perfect extension of me.”

“I want nothing to do with you.”

“A display of bravado might impress someone else, but this is me you’re talking to, remember? I fed you, clothed you, taught you everything you know. You are indebted to me with your life.”

Sophie had never wanted to hurt anyone, but if she had a weapon she feared she could kill this man without a second thought. Her body was rigid with loathing.

“And—you have something that belongs to me.”

“I told you I don’t have it.”

His grip on her hand became painful. “Where is the money?”

She wanted to wince and pull away, but she’d be damned if she’d let him see the pain. “It’s gone.”

“Gone where? You haven’t bought an estate or fled to Europe. You have nothing to show to account for that much money.”

“I paid it back.”

His step faltered. “You what?”

“I found as many of the people we’d conned as I could and I paid them back. Not nearly all the money, of course, and not all the people, but a nice little dent on the debt.”

He stopped his movements in the middle of the dance floor, his grip crushing her hand. He’d always controlled her with subtle threats and manipulation, his true temperament hidden for the most part. This burst of fury revealed his true nature, and she took a gratifying measure of delight from being the one to peel away his malicious composure. Couples on either side cast them curious glances.

“You stupid, stupid little bitch,” he hissed, pulling her against him and leading her back into the steps of the dance. “What did you hope to gain from a move like that?”

“A small part of my self-respect,” she replied.

“And what did it get you? Nothing but my ire. You will pay for this. One way or another, you will pay.”

“I owe you nothing. You don’t control me anymore.”

“What do you think you’re going to do?” he asked, leaning away and smearing a look of contempt over her. “You might have a few people fooled, but you’re still the same person. No other man is going to want you or marry you after the things you’ve done with me. You can’t give those sins away like you did my money, now can you?”

Dirty and used was how he always made her feel. “Leave me alone. Leave Amanda alone. Go away or I’ll turn myself in to implicate you.”

He barked a laugh. “You wouldn’t. You’d want to die before being locked in a cell for the rest of your life. Before letting your marshal know whose bed you’ve occupied.”

Sophie cringed at those words.

“You are a whore,” he said matter-of-factly, his voice low enough for only her ears. “Bought and paid for at quite an excessive price, but a whore all the same.”

She pulled away, shame and anger scorching her cheeks, pounding in her chest. She stared at the face she hated, the man she detested with every fiber of her being.

He took her arm and led her toward the side of the room. “Come to your senses, Gabriella. There’s still time to make amends and ingratiate yourself into my good graces before anyone gets hurt.”

“If you hurt Amanda, I will kill you.”

“Come now, I don’t hurt women, as you well know. I treat women well. Spoil them, actually. That’s what’s wrong with you.” Then his tone changed. “Marshals are another matter altogether. Lawmen are killed in shootings everyday. A small coin buys a big gun in a town like this.”

Panic threatened to take control of her, but she tamped it down and tugged from his hold. “I know too much about you. You’d never get away with it.”

“You’re right about knowing too much,” he answered. “And don’t forget it. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt right now. You’re still an asset. Trust me, Gabriella. You don’t want to become a liability.”

He turned and threaded his way through the crowd.

His threat had done what he’d intended. She had so many words in her head she could barely hear her heart anymore. Sophie dropped onto a bench and covered her ears with both hands.

You’re a whore, a whore, a whore.

You don’t want to become a liability.

You’re a whore.

No other man is going to want you or marry you after the things you’ve done. You’re still the same person…a whore.

“Are you all right, Sophie?” Emma touched her shoulder.

Her insides were shaking and she felt as if she had to throw up. Sophie raised her head and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Fine.”

Emma studied her curiously.

“Really. I was just thinking.”

She stayed where she was, her thoughts a turmoil, her supper turning over in her stomach. She spotted Rosie with Robbie. Across the room, Louis Tripp was watching the couple as well. Sophie looked for Amanda and found her on the outskirts of the dance floor with Garrett. Sophie wasn’t taking her eyes off them for an instant.

At a little before eleven Amanda came to her. “Monte is taking me home now.”

“You’re going straight to the boardinghouse.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll ride along with you. I’m ready to leave.”

Garrett’s expression was unreadable when she showed up with Amanda. He was either pleased that she was falling into his setup by coming along to protect her friend or he was angry that he wouldn’t be alone with Amanda. Or both, she figured. There was no way she was leaving Amanda alone with him.

The young woman chattered all the way to the Arcade, effectively covering up the quivering animosity between Sophie and Garrett, and Sophie was relieved Amanda didn’t notice anything.

Why should she? She was trusting and goodhearted. She’d never anticipate someone deliberately using her.

Sophie felt Garrett’s eyes on her while he helped Amanda down. Sophie had jumped out of the opposite side of the carriage and now stood waiting.

“Thank you for your company this evening,” he said to Amanda. Seeing his hands on Amanda made Sophie shudder. She wanted to run over and kick him where it would hurt his grandchildren. “You’re a wonderful dancer and a delightful companion,” he added.

“Thank you,” Amanda replied breathlessly.

“A pleasure to see you, Miss Hollis.”

Sophie took her elbow and steered Amanda toward the front door of the dormitory.

“Ouch!” Amanda pulled away. “What’s your hurry?”

Sophie determinedly led her inside.

“Did you notice how he paid attention to me all evening?” Amanda asked. “Dancing with him was, oh it was divine. I’m so grateful for your lessons. He likes me, and he’s complimentary. He couldn’t be more of a gentleman.”

Once inside, Sophie waved Amanda up the stairs. “I’ll bring a pitcher of water.”

Amanda gathered her skirts and cheerfully ascended the steps. She hummed and the sweet tune floated from the upstairs hallway. “Did you notice the looks we were receiving as we danced?” she called.

Several minutes later Sophie poured water into the basin they shared. The pitcher and bowl stood on a stand behind a folding screen. Amanda had removed her dress, shoes and stockings and padded behind the screen carrying her white cotton nightgown.

“Dixie Peterson was green with envy, could you tell?”

When Sophie spoke she tried to keep her tone casual. “Mr. Morgan’s quite a bit older than you.”

“Isn’t maturity refreshing?” Amanda replied. “He’s not stumbling over his feet or acting all awkward.”

“However…he must be all of forty.”

There was a long pause before Amanda said, “Sophie, you were the one who said an older man is established and knows what he wants. He’s probably looking for a special person to share the things he’s acquired? Sound familiar?”

Sophie distractedly checked her gloves for spots and tucked them into her bureau drawer. Garrett knew what he wanted all right, but he was looking for someone he could use to get it for him. “How much do you actually know about the man? I don’t think you know enough.”

“I’ve just been telling you.” Amanda came from behind the screen tying a white satin bow at her neck. “He’s dashing and polite and confident.” She paused in listing perceived qualities and stared into their mirror for a long dreamy moment.

“I mean how much do you know about what he does and who he is?” Sophie prodded gently.

“I told you. He does investing for cattlemen. He’s from the east somewhere.”

“That’s not much.”

“Sophie! I know everything I need to know.” Her tone had grown exasperated at Sophie’s questioning.

No you don’t! No, you don’t. Sophie couldn’t let her roommate fall into Garrett’s clutches. She wouldn’t. She removed her yellow dress and hung it in the armoire they shared. “You really don’t know enough about the man—”

“Isn’t that the purpose of courting?” Amanda asked. “To learn more about each other? He doesn’t really know anything about me either.”

He does. Oh, he does. He knows you’re young and malleable and susceptible. Tears sprang to Sophie’s eyes, the depth of keen and intense emotion a surprise after being barren of feelings for so many years. What was happening to her?

Grabbing her nightgown, she hurried behind the screen. She scooped her hair away from her face with a ribbon and washed, the water and the splashing covering her tears and the soft sobs she couldn’t hold back. She wasn’t going to let Amanda be buffaloed into falling for Garrett. He would use Amanda to get to her without blinking an eye.

Perhaps Amanda would recognize his intent?

He didn’t own Amanda, after all, Sophie tried to assure herself.

But what if Amanda learned too late? He could seduce her—or force himself on her. The sordid images in Sophie’s head sickened her.

At the very least Amanda would have her heart broken and her reputation ruined.

After calming herself, Sophie dried her skin and undressed. “Please don’t see him alone.”

“Sophie, you’re going riding with the marshal tomorrow. Alone.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It is the same.”

“No. Clay is the city marshal. Everyone knows he can be trusted. He is established in this town and has a good reputation. As a matter of fact he finds Mr. Morgan a trifle suspicious.”

Dressed in her nightgown, Sophie came around the screen to find the other girl waiting for her, indignation in her expression.

“It’s unfair of both of you to accuse a man you don’t even know of being untrustworthy. Don’t you think a good man could be attracted to me?”

“Of course I do, but…but…” Garrett was not a good man. She knew it. “I just care about you.”

“Then show it by being happy for me.”

Oh, how she wished she could. All Sophie could do was wrap her arms around her. Caught by surprise at the uncharacteristic display, Amanda held herself stiff for a moment before returning the affection. Sophie was experiencing new feelings all the time now.

This must be what it felt like to have a sister, Sophie thought. Amanda had undoubtedly hugged her family members hundreds of times, fought and made up, but Sophie had never shared that kind of affection or felt so protective.

Amanda turned down the wick and they climbed into their beds. So great was Sophie’s concern for her roommate’s safety, she wanted to cry again, but she reminded herself of her uncommon strength and vowed to protect her friend no matter what it took.

Sophie had purchased a ready-made split riding skirt at Miss Kirkpatrick’s dress shop, and it had needed only minor alteration, which she’d done herself.

Sunday morning Amanda helped style her hair so it wouldn’t escape her straw hat, which she’d adorned with fresh new flowers and a lavender grosgrain ribbon that trailed down her back.

Goldie Krenshaw burst in, exclaiming that the marshal had arrived.

Hat in hand, Clay waited in the courting room, half a dozen young women directing questions and fluttering their eyelashes at him. Relieved to see Sophie, he ran an appreciative gaze over her spring-colored lavender shirtwaist and serge riding skirt and offered a smile. “You look lovely, Miss Hollis. Ready for a ride?”

“I am, Marshal.”

She took his arm and he led her out of doors where two saddled horses waited at the hitching post. One of them was a brown-speckled Appaloosa, taller than an Indian pony, but bearing familiar color and markings. Her smile was genuine. “He’s beautiful!”

“She.” He guided the horse close to the porch so she could climb easily to its back. “Hold on.” He indicated the pommel of the saddle. “Your foot goes here, then pull your weight upward with your arms and use your foot for leverage. Once you’re high enough, throw your leg over.”

Effortlessly, she did just as he directed and beamed at him from atop her mount. Just as she reached for the animal’s mane, Clay handed her the reins.

He mounted his horse, nudged it forward with his knees and instructed her to do the same. It all came back to her, though she couldn’t remember ever riding with a saddle, and that took some getting used to. It was more comfortable than feeling every movement of the animal’s hips as it stepped.

The morning was cooler than any day had been in weeks, the sun partially hidden by a layer of filmy clouds. Sophie drew in a breath and detected the fresh smell of the countryside. It was good to smell something besides burning coal or horses or food.

“It won’t rain, will it?” she asked.

“Doesn’t smell like rain.”

She let the breeze blow her hat off. She’d wisely added a ribbon that caught around her neck and let the hat hang on her back. The gentle wind in her hair felt delightful.

Clay held the horses to a moderate gait, and she was grateful for the chance to get accustomed to the brisk bouncing. The clouds dissipated and the sun warmed her clear through. By the time they reached the same riverbank lined with cottonwood trees, Sophie was ready to slide to the ground. She did so without his assistance.

“Shoulda let me help you,” Clay said.

She nodded. “I should have. My body didn’t want to wait.”

He chuckled and tethered the horses in the shade where they could crop grass.

“How far is your place from here?” she asked.

“Couple o’ miles that way.” He indicated a north-westerly direction.

“Are we going there today?”

“Still want to?”

She nodded.

“Then yes. I’ll make us lunch. Nothin’ fancy.”

They took seats on the lush grass. She took off her hat and secured the brim with a stone. “You can cook?”

“I said nothin’ fancy. I can slice ham and bread. You only have to wipe an apple on your sleeve before you eat it.”

She enjoyed his easygoing manner, appreciated how comfortable it was to talk to him. No putting on airs. No forced politeness or artificial pretense.

Of course this was all a pretense, she corrected herself. Sophie Hollis was a pretense. How weary she was of that.

“I’m accustomed to doin’ for myself,” he said with a grin.

“Was your mother a good cook?” she asked.

He nodded. “Every boy’s mama is a good cook.”

“What was your favorite?”

He didn’t even think about it. “Bread. Hot and crusty right from the oven.” He set his hat aside. “What about you? You said your mama was a good cook.”

Sophie tried hard to remember something her mother had made. She pictured her with her fair skin darkened from the sun, tanning hides and stringing dried deer meat. With her dark hair and eyes she’d blended in with the women of the tribe.

“Lemon-frosted tea cakes,” she said finally. “With sweet tea.”

Here she was lying again.

Lying to get a job. Lying to save face. Lying to save her neck. Lying to people who thought she was their friend. Lying to this man who stood for justice.

She’d fooled herself by thinking she wanted to change, but how would that ever be possible?

Just to hold conversation with the man she had to come up with stories. If she was going to change, she was going to have to start somewhere. Maybe she could start here with a small step. Maybe one less lie. She straightened her posture in preparation. “I haven’t been completely truthful.”

Chapter Twelve

Sophie felt sick at the confession she was about to make.

Clay’s blue gaze rested on her face without obvious concern.

The breath Sophie drew shook. “I’ve led you to believe my mother is alive,” she said. “But the truth is she’s dead.”

A crease formed between the brows he drew together. “Sorry. You could’ve just said so.”

“I’ve never talked about her.” That was one hundred percent the truth, and an exhilarating rush of relief pumped through her veins at this minimal unburdening.

“You don’t have to now,” he told her.

The cottonwood leaves rustled overhead. A bird chirped from a nearby tree and another answered.

“I just wanted to be like other people.” Her explanation sounded lame even to her own ears. “So there you have it. My mother’s dead, and I barely remember her.”

Sophie bit her lip in self-disgust. She’d tacked another lie on to that one tiny harmless truth! She did remember her mother. Now she was avoiding telling him the way she remembered her.

Clay studied her for a lengthy moment. “You didn’t think you were like other people.”

She knew she wasn’t.

“You wanted to feel normal. Understandable. What else do you want?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “What else?”

“For your life?” he clarified. “You’re not lookin’ for a husband, so a family isn’t on your list.”

“I want…time and space to figure out what I want. I don’t want anyone telling me my future.” Another truth rose up plain as day. “I don’t know who I am or what I want. But I want to learn those things more than anything.” That and freedom from the man who meant to either own or destroy her again were her heart’s desire. Sophie wanted to forget Garrett. She wanted him to disappear.

“Working at the Arcade is somethin’ you wanted.”

“Yes. I love the sense of accomplishment and purpose it gives me.”

He nodded. “Admirable.”

She enjoyed the sparkle in his blue eyes when they touched on her. “I’ve never had a friendship like ours before,” she told him, another truth. “I’ve never been close to anyone. Comfortable like this.”

“Same for me.”

She had come to enjoy their time together. Talking like this was a rich satisfaction she appreciated with all her heart. Sophie studied the handsome line of his jaw, the sheen of his dark hair as the leaves above rustled and allowed little rays of sunshine to dapple his head and shoulders. “What about the girl you were going to marry? You never mentioned her name.”

“Susan. It was years ago, but I can’t remember wantin’ to know all about her. Talked about herself all the time regardless.”

“Was she pretty?”

“She was.”

“What did she look like?”

“Small-like. Hair the color of a wheat field in the sun.”

“How poetic.”

He grinned self-consciously.

“What else do you remember?”

He studied the green landscape as far as the river wound. “Remember feelin’ like somebody dug out my heart with a rusty spoon.” He rubbed his chest as though the ache was still vivid. “Couldn’t catch my breath for a week.”

Sophie’s emotions surfaced again at his disturbing description of heartbreak. He was a brave man for not being ashamed of those feelings. Far braver than she.

She’d had to close off feelings in order to survive.

“I’m so sorry.” She reached over and covered his hand on his chest with hers.

Clay took it and pressed her palm to the front of his shirt, keeping her closer. “Been feelin’ that way again lately.”

“You loved her that much?”

“Not because of her.” His low-timbered voice made her insides quiver.

“What then?” She dreaded the answer. Couldn’t wait to hear it.

He flattened his hand over hers and she could feel the accelerated beat of his heart. “Because I’m fallin’ for another woman who wants somethin’ else more than me.”

His clear blue eyes held a sincerity that took her breath away. Did she? How was it conceivably possible to want something more than what he offered? All her years of conditioning had convinced her men were selfish and greedy. Garrett was typical of the men she’d known, the only kind of people she’d been exposed to.

She remembered Ellie Chaney’s words about not having known a man she could trust before she met the doctor. From him Ellie had learned to trust.

Meeting her, meeting the diners at the Arcade, knowing the girls at the dormitory, and learning about Clay had shaken Sophie’s perception of the world. A whole new view of people had been opened up to her, and she was still sorting it all out.

How much truth could she tell him without giving herself away and landing in jail? Without putting him in a position where he’d have to choose justice over her? She couldn’t do that to him.

She was on her knees beside him now. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Just that much of an admission made her heart thump. “A lot of things I can’t share.”

“You will when you’re ready.”

“I never want to hurt you. Ever. That’s the truth. And it’s from my heart,” she told him. “But things have happened that won’t let me be the person you need me to be.”

A muscle in Clay’s jaw leaped. “Is this how you discouraged Mr. Tripp?”

That question hurt because he’d hit on part of the truth. “I didn’t care about him, Clay. I didn’t want to waste his time—or mine.”

“Are you wastin’ my time?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

“You’re a risk I’m willin’ to take, Sophie.”

She wept inside, ached because a man as good and kind as this one cared enough about her to be willing to hurt that much all over again. She closed her eyes for a moment to experience the words he’d just spoken. To fully absorb the meaning.

“You could care that much for me?” she asked with her eyes still shut. “You see something in me worthy of your heart?”

Clay raised her hand and she felt warmth and moisture as he kissed her palm. “You already have my heart, Sophie. Don’t you know that?”

She looked at him then. Threading her other hand into his hair she let herself feel the emotions he unleashed inside her. This good man loved her.

Loved her?

“What does it feel like?” she asked on a whisper. “Does love make you want to laugh and cry at the same time? Does it fill up a hole inside that you never knew was there before? Does it make you feel smart and pretty and all fluttery inside?”

“All except the pretty part,” he answered, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Her lips were nearly touching his, and now his eyes had drifted closed.

She covered his lips with hers, aching for closeness, yearning for a more intimate bond.

“Sophie,” he said against her mouth.

“My real name is Sophia,” she was impelled to tell him. “It’s what my father named me.”

“As beautiful as you.” He kissed her, slanting his head and sending blood pumping through her veins in a rush. “Sophia.”

How many years since she’d heard her own name aloud? Overwhelming gratification welled inside at her given name on his lips. He was speaking to her, the real Sophia. The urge to cry was strong and she masked it with a heartfelt embrace and by losing herself in his kiss.

All of Amanda’s handiwork was gone in seconds when he delved into her hair and removed the pins so he could splay it over her shoulders and run his fingers through.

Sophie explored the contours of his chest and shoulders through the soft fabric, sliding her hand inside his collar to touch the warm skin of his neck.

He inched away, touched his hand to his top button and met her eyes.

She nodded and helped him unbutton it and strip the garment away, eager to have her hands on his skin. His chest was broad and muscular, silky dark hair curling around her fingers. She couldn’t get enough of him and dared to test the sleek feel of his rib cage.

He drew her onto his lap, and she wrapped her arm around his neck. Their kisses grew more heated, his tongue teasing hers until her pulse pounded in her head. What was it he did to her? How was it she found herself returning his kisses and craving more? This was so new, so shocking and exciting, she could hardly absorb it.

He cupped her breast through her dress and groaned, then suggestively skimmed the row of buttons with a fingertip.

Sophie’s pleasure dimmed. The lies were undermining what she felt for this man. Clay had always been honest with her. If he knew all about her he wouldn’t want her, wouldn’t find her so worthy. If they gave in to this all-consuming fire, he would know he wasn’t the first. She owed him that much honesty ahead of time.

He toyed with the top button, and she pulled away enough to look into his eyes.

“Didn’t mean any disrespect,” he said.

“Clay.” She took his hands between hers and moved from his lap so she could think. “There’s so much you don’t know about me.” Seeing Garrett had reminded her afresh of everything he’d stolen from her, her innocence, her chance to have a life with a wonderful person like this one.

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered.

She couldn’t even enjoy this experience to the fullest because of the lies. “It matters to me, and it will matter to you.”

“Tell me then.”

The only way to enjoy this was to tell him. “I’m scared. You won’t want me if you know.”

“Try me.”

She hated Garrett. Despised him for putting her in this position. Now it all came down to whether or not she trusted Clay. The irony in that fact didn’t escape her. She wanted to experience the happiness she knew was waiting for her with this man. If she was going to go through with what she wanted, she had to clear this part of her conscience and be honest with him.

Amazingly, the sky hadn’t fallen when she’d told the truth about her mother. It would still be overhead after he knew even more. And at least she would have been truly loved for the first time since she was too young to remember.

“Why don’t you show me your place now?” she asked.

“Don’t have to if you’re not comfortable.”

“I definitely want to.”

He shrugged into his shirt and assisted her onto the horse.

“You’re better at this than you let on,” he said. “You sure it’s been years?”

“Guess it all comes back,” she replied and secured her hat before taking the reins and nudging the Appaloosa into motion.

Clay mounted and led the way. Riding gave her a giddy sense of freedom. She enjoyed the feeling of control.

They passed farmland and fields of bright yellow sunflowers waving in the breeze. They led the horses through a field, and the flowers brushed the hem of Sophie’s skirt. It seemed as though they were in a fantasy world of vibrant color. Clay leaned over to pick her a sunflower and break off the stem. She tucked it in among the silk flowers on her hat.

“Ahead is my land,” he told her. “It’s just a few acres. But there’s a stream and a wooded windbreak.” The closer they got, the better she could make out the stable and another outbuilding as well as the square one-story house.

When they reached the dooryard she slid from the horse’s back and stretched. Her posterior had grown a little sore.

“I’ll give the horses water,” Clay said. “The necessity’s out back there.”

She didn’t reply, but made a quick trip. Returning to watch him with the animals, she wondered how difficult his days and nights had been without Sam. Clay’s attachment to his dog had touched her.

Her experience with the Sioux had shown her that men were hunters and warriors and that women and children were servants. She’d been an asset to Garrett, like a valuable horse, and he’d taught her how greed blinded men. She had never detected that trait in this man.

Clay’s profession declared what kind man he was. He was honest and hardworking. Though kindhearted, there wasn’t a weak bone in his body. He was strong and brave and human all at the same time. He had never treated her less than special. He showed true interest in her as a person of merit.

How could she not be falling in love with him?

He led her to the house where he ushered her through the back doorway into a large kitchen. The room held open shelving, a stove and a counter holding a basin and pump. He pumped water so they could wash their hands.

“I’ll slice ham and cheese and bread. You set the table.” He gestured to a shelf with a few plates and cups.

Seeing him in his home, learning how he lived seemed quite intimate. His hospitality spoke again of trust.

If she told him the truth about her past and it disgusted him, she would have to move on and get over him. Being disenchanted would spare him hurt later. Him withdrawing would take the decision away from her.

However, his change of opinion would break the heart she’d only today realized was alive and vulnerable. Honesty was a huge risk. But she owed him the truth.

Clay made sandwiches, but she only broke off pieces of meat and cheese. Her stomach was so nervous she didn’t have much appetite.

He finished eating and explained how he’d made a few changes to the house since he’d bought it half a dozen years back. Getting up, he took cups from a shelf. “I only have water,” he said. “I could make coffee.”

“No, no, don’t heat the house up by starting a fire.”

He poured two glasses of water, then turned to a towel-draped pan. “The First Baptist ladies supply me with bread. The Methodists bake me a cake or pie every week.” He drew off the towel. “Apple.”

“Just a tiny slice for me.”

The apples were tangy and the cinnamon not overdone. She finished her slice and watched him enjoy his.

Their eyes met as he finished chewing. “Want more?”

She shook her head.

He laid down his fork.

“I’ve noticed several churches in Newton. Amanda invites me to hers on occasion.”

“Plenty of volunteers,” he replied. “The Lutheran ladies clean the jailhouse, cells and all, and the Congregational women offer Bible readin’ if there’s a prisoner.”

“I haven’t heard you say anything about the new jail.”

“Ordered brick this time. Unloaded a rail car into three wagons to get it all there without taxin’ the teams. Foundation’s done. Walls are almost up. Next week the roof goes on.”

“I’ll have to have a look.”

He stood and gestured for her to follow. “I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

Someone had wisely built the dwelling beside a row of trees whose spreading branches provided shade in the afternoon.

Clay showed her a simply furnished room with a fireplace and two comfortable chairs. A shelf held several books and a collection of small animals carved from wood.

“Did you make those?”

He shook his head. “Belonged to my mother. Her father made ’em.”

Sophie stepped closer to examine the tiny figures. “How lovely to hold a piece of your family’s history.”

“Don’t you have somethin’ that belonged to your ma or pa?”

“I had my mother’s wedding ring.”

“Had?”

“Someone took it from me.”

His expression showed sympathy. “Family here before me had a passel o’ kids,” Clay told her. “That’s why there are three bedrooms.”

One wood-paneled room had bare bunks built into two walls. The other bedroom was empty. The third held a rope bed constructed from sanded and stained logs, a chest of drawers and two trunks. A table by the bed held a lamp.

Sophie studied the plain wool blankets on the bed. Everything about his home was so like him. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.

“I like your home, Clay.”

“Simple,” he said.

She nodded. “That’s what I like the most.”

Memories of elegant hotel rooms and fancy dining cars spun through her head. No expense had ever been spared in their accommodations when she’d traveled with Garrett. He’d insisted on the best, the most lavish. As quickly as the money was gone, there was more to be made. He always wanted more, even from her. Everybody owed him—especially her.

It was time for her to get past her anger and helplessness. Clay didn’t deserve all the resentment burning inside her. She’d been holding herself in check for as long as she could remember.

She made up her mind once and for all to tell him the truth about her background. Maybe then she could let some of her past go and build the new life she wanted so badly.

“I have some things to tell you. About me,” she began. Her knees felt so weak at the words she’d managed to get out, she sank onto the side of his bed.

Clay took off his holster and hung the gun belt on a hook beside the door. He got a wooden chair from the corner, sat it directly in front of her and seated himself.

It was hard to meet his eyes. Hard to face herself in their depths. She looked everywhere else in the room and then forced her gaze back to his. “I told you I hadn’t been honest. And the reason is because I’m ashamed. Well, one of the reasons.”

Without a word, he nodded.

“It’s true my family was from Pennsylvania, but I was too young to remember much at all. I have early memories of my parents and brothers, but they’re vague and jumbled up with so many other memories.”

The blanket under her fingers was rough, and she grounded herself in its simplicity. “I was about five when we were part of a wagon train headed west. I’m not sure of our destination.”

Clay’s expression changed as though he expected bad news. “You sure you wanna talk about this?”

She’d come up with this much courage, she wasn’t stopping now. “I have to.”

He nodded.

“A party of Sioux attacked us. My father and my brothers were killed.”

He held his mouth in a grim line as he listened.

“My mother and I were taken captive. We became part of the tribe. My mother was given to a brave and she took care of his children and cooked. It was all right because we saw each other often.”

“And you?”

“The old chief took a liking to me and took me into his tent. I was regarded as a favored child. I learned from his wife and his grown daughters.”

“That’s how you understood what was going on with the Indians in front of the Arcade that day. You speak their language.”

Sophie nodded. “I played out of doors, had plenty to eat. But the other children never accepted me because I was different and because I received preferential treatment.”

“But you’re such a lady. Your speech, your manners…the dance lessons. Where did you learn all that?”

“That was only a small part of the story. I’m not finished.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees.

“One winter an epidemic spread through the camp. My mother took ill and died. She had taught me all along to be brave and strong and to adapt. Since we hadn’t shared the same tent, I pretended she was still there and I could see her whenever I wanted.”

“You were brave,” he said.

“Or unrealistic,” she said with a shrug.

“You did what you had to.”

“It got me through. I was about twelve when the chief died. It’s hard to know exactly, because the days and the years were marked by hunting seasons and tribal celebrations. Even though we weren’t sure of which day it was, my mother had reminded me of my birthday each spring. Once she was gone, I lost track.

“I was sad when the old chief died because he’d been kind to me. Once she was gone, I was afraid of what would happen. That same season I was taken to a trading post where the tribe traded furs and beads, and I was offered up for sale.”

Clay’s eyes revealed shock and then anger.

“A man bought me.” She didn’t know if she could go on. The rest of this tale was one of shame and degradation. But she’d made up her mind. Suddenly she was sure he would be disgusted and what they had would end before it went further. She didn’t have a hope that he would accept her the way she was.

But Sophie hardened herself to continue.

Chapter Thirteen

She refused to analyze and fret over any more of Clay’s silent reactions from here on out. “I was frightened,” she said. “But he seemed kind enough. He bought me clothing. Hired tutors for my education, speech and deportment. He taught me to be a lady.

“We never stayed in one city long. I was always locked in the hotel room at night while he went about his…business.”

By not mentioning his business, she was leaving herself a margin of safety. She cared too much for Clay to place him in the position of knowing her part in their crimes. She was telling him the part he needed to know now.

“He’s the one who took my mother’s ring.”

His expression was indecipherable. Pausing in her story, she looked away from his face and held back her humiliation so she could think about her next words. “There came a time when I realized I was as much a prisoner with him as I had been with the Sioux. I had to get away. I packed a few things in a small bag and picked the lock while he was out one evening.

“It took all my courage to overcome years of submission and do this one thing. I got out and I ran.”

“Good for you.”

“I didn’t even make it across town before he found me. He took me back.” Sophie concentrated on breathing evenly. Here the story took another sordid turn, and she gripped the wool under her fingers. Now that the floodgates had been opened there was no holding this back. This was the part he needed to know.

An ache welled inside her chest at bringing this truth to the light and forming the words. She trembled inside. “That night our arrangement changed.”

Her ears rang with what she was going to reveal. “After that…I—I didn’t have my own room or a separate bed.”

Clay swiped a hand down his face and dropped his gaze to look at the floor.

Her heart was beating so fast she worried it would burst. Was this the end of it, then? He couldn’t bear to look at her?

“How old were you?” he asked, his deep voice troubled.

“About fourteen.”

He looked up and met her eyes with dark emotion in the depths of his. “He forced himself on you?”

The memory of Garret’s hands on her body still turned her cold inside. The way he took her in insensitive greed, all the while telling her she belonged to him, always boasting that he owned her and convincing her she was no more than a possession made the shame fresh. “I submitted. I stayed alive.”

His gaze touched on her hair, and she felt his compassion like a warm wave of sensation. She held in the cry that threatened to spill from her throat.

“It was another six years before I got away,” she finished.

Clay got up and walked to the window where he pulled aside the plain muslin curtain and stared out at the sunny afternoon.

Sophie’s body trembled as she studied his rigid posture, trying to gauge his reaction.

He clenched and unclenched his fists. “What’s his name? Where is he?”

“He’s not worth it,” she told him.

By keeping Garrett’s identity a secret, she was preventing Clay from having to choose the law over her. By sharing only this much she could have now. Today. Just enough so that he knew she cared for him and was willingly choosing him. “I’ve never told anyone. I made up a family and a story because I was ashamed. I’m sorry, Clay. Sorry I wasn’t strong enough. I tried so hard to keep to myself and keep my secret. Secrets are so consuming. And I’m tired of keeping things…from you.”

“Where is he now?”

Forcing out a lie now would be a backward step in the progress she’d just made. “It’s over,” was all she said.

He turned to look at her, and she could feel the nervous vibration of his anger in the air between them.

“I understand if you’re disgusted,” she told him. “I know I’m not worthy of the kindness you’ve shown me.”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Stop blamin’ yourself for somethin’ that wasn’t your fault. You sayin’ you don’t know where he is?”

“I got away from him in Boulder. That was two years ago.”

“Let me find ’im.”

“No.”

“He should pay.”

“No.”

Clay came to where she sat and encircled her wrists in a gentle grasp. “What he did was a crime. What if he’s doin’ it to someone else right now?”

Sophie’s heart ached. He is! He is! Clay was right, Garrett deserved to pay. She would have to tell the rest eventually. She would have to protect Amanda, no matter how much she implicated herself. But not yet. Not like this. Not until she’d known a bare measure of goodness.

“No more,” she whispered. “Not now.”

The pain in his eyes was so fresh and deep she recognized he would take all the hurt from her if he could. If she would let him.

“What we have is the best thing I’ve ever had in my life,” she told him with a trembling voice. “If I’ve lost that because of the truth…because of him…I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers. She recognized the sting of tears forming behind her eyes and closed them so he wouldn’t see. This man’s touch was her salvation, his love a flood that could wash her clean of all the ugliness. She needed him more than she needed her next breath. Was this what love felt like?

At that moment Garrett’s threat rose in her mind, and she was afraid for Clay. Afraid to lose him. Afraid to tell him the rest. Her secret was a burden of guilt that hurt inside. Love shouldn’t be as painful as hate, should it?

“I’m so sorry, Sophia. Sorry you had to learn the hard side of life. Especially the dark side of a man. You shouldn’t have had to feel trapped and alone.”

Clay recognized the shame she’d accepted as her own. All the times she’d avoided him, all the questions she’d sidestepped made sense now. Little inconsistencies in her stories were accounted for. That feeling he’d always had that there was so much she wasn’t saying had been right on the mark.

Her insistence on making her own decisions was perfectly understandable. She’d been some man’s property growin’ up. Sophie needed choices.

He remembered the day she’d asked to kiss him. Just kiss him. And how she’d enjoyed it. She’d discovered the wonder in choosing to receive a man’s affections. He’d asked her what she wanted and she’d said she wanted to decide things for herself. It was all clear now.

“When you’re through decidin’ what you want…I hope it’s me.”

“You’ve shown me true strength,” she told him. Her lower lip trembled. “You taught me kindness. You allowed me to discover who I was.”

Sophie cradled his cheek in her palm and studied his face, tenderness evident in her eyes. Clay had a lump of hurt in his belly for the child she’d been, for her suffering and loss.

“I’m not anything special,” he denied.

“I can’t agree with that,” she told him. “I’ve had so few good things in my life, and I can’t be sorry for wanting the best thing I ever knew. I’m not ashamed of wanting you.”

“I’m willin’ to wait for you. As long as it takes ’til you’re ready.”

“I’m not. I’ve waited long enough. I want to know why I get this feeling when you’re near me. Why your kisses turn me to jelly. I need to know kindness. I need you.”

Clay didn’t require any further encouragement. Meeting her desires would be the best thing that ever happened to him. He kissed her, and the emotion he felt in her response assured him of her willingness.

“Remember where we were before?” she asked.

It took him a second to comprehend. “I do.”

He reached to find pins in her hair and let down the tresses.

She raised her hands to the row of buttons at her collar. When she had them undone, she reached to her side to unfasten her riding skirt and stepped out of it. He helped her ease the shirtwaist from her shoulders and arms, then draped it over the end of the bed. She took the initiative to sit and remove her ankle-high boots and black stockings. She stood in her prim drawers and chemise, her bare toes white against the dark wood floor. The scent of lilacs enveloped him. So feminine. So sweet.

“I’ll wash,” he said.

She stepped against him and touched her nose to the fabric covering his chest. “I like you just the way you are.”

Clay was awed by her lack of hesitation, her eagerness for his touch. Knowing all he knew now, he hesitated for fear of stepping over an invisible boundary that would frighten her or remind her of the treatment she’d endured.

Her nimble fingers made quick work of his shirt, and it landed on the worn wood floor with a soft tick of buttons. She kissed his chest and his neck, and his blood pounded.

Sophie raised her face, and he kissed her reverently, as tenderly as he knew how.

She untied the ribbons that threaded through eyelet lace to hold her chemise together in front. The dainty garment gaped open, revealing pretty rose-tipped breasts. He was glad for the daylight.

“Beautiful,” he managed, his throat dry with desire. Every breath he took held the scent of lilacs. He wanted to know the warmth and silkiness of her skin so badly his fingers tingled.

She glided her palms over his shoulders and neck, and still he didn’t touch her. Despite her eagerness, she seemed so small suddenly, so fragile and vulnerable. Desire pounded everywhere.

He raised his knuckles to her delicate cheek in wonder, stroking as though she were made of spun glass.

Sophie let the chemise drop to the floor. Her shoulders seemed so small, her body so slim.

He swallowed hard. Kissed her gently.

She let her head fall back so he could press his lips along the column of her neck. She released a breathless sigh, and he wanted to take her right then and there, but held himself in check. The shame in her voice when she’d told him what had happened had made him want to erase her past with new experiences. The thought of that nameless, faceless man forcing a helpless young girl to submit made him sick at heart.

She had always seemed so strong and confident, so sure of herself. What she’d revealed today gave him a glimpse of a completely different side. He marveled at her power to overcome and thrive.

She was so beautiful, her features incredibly delicate and feminine. A knot formed in his chest at the image of someone mistreating her. Using her body. Breaking her spirit.

She raised a hand to his neck and pulled herself up into the kiss, which pressed her naked breasts against his chest. At the titillating contact he sucked in a breath.

Clay took his mouth from hers to keep his senses. He kissed the shape of her ear.

Sophie eased away, and he let her go. She took a step back, her lovely breasts rising and falling. He devoured her with his eyes.

Hers held dark concern. “Are you…do you feel disgust for me?”

It took his brain a minute to catch up with her words. “What?”

“Do you find me…repulsive now that you know my story?”

She was exquisite. “Hell no.”

“You’re holding back. It feels different.”

“I—I…” He jammed his fingers into his hair and tried to find words.

“I’ll understand,” she told him. “If your perception of me has changed and you don’t feel the same.”

“Shut up a minute.” He stood staring at her, his chest heaving with what he felt and what he wanted to say. “I don’t wanna push myself on you. You should have…choices.”

The sharp defensiveness in her expression dissolved. “I made a choice to come here. I made the choice to tell you about my past so you wouldn’t feel cheated afterward.”

“I’m not cheated, Sophie,” he assured her. “I’m honored.”

“So am I, and this is my choice. You are my choice.” She gestured with both palms toward him. “I need something that’s mine. Something I want.” Her fingers curled into her palms.

Her voice came out a whispered plea. “Don’t hold back. Don’t cheat me.”

Chapter Fourteen

He reached her in one stride, picking her up and falling onto his bed with her beneath, his arms solid on either side of her. She grasped his bicep, touched his face and dropped her gaze to his mouth.

In a kiss hotter than the Kansas summer, his tongue probed the succulent recesses of her mouth. Palms on his chest, she splayed her fingers wide, her nails scraping his skin, and he understood. Understood that she needed this experience for herself.

It was his privilege that she’d selected him. He kissed both corners of her lips, her chin, the column of her neck and the hollows in her collarbone. He began a sensory discovery, inhaling her soft feminine scent as he pressed his lips along her silken flesh all the way down to her belly and back up to the pebbled tip of one breast.

He took her into his mouth and she trembled.

“I have shivers through my whole body…” she said on a sigh.

He captured her mouth in a kiss once more, then slid the tip of his tongue to her other breast.

It occurred to Clay that he still wore his boots and trousers, so reluctant had he been to miss one second with this woman now in his bed. He drew to the edge where he perched to remove them.

As though she was equally as unwilling to miss a moment together, Sophie raised to her knees behind him and pressed herself against his back. The crush of her soft, damp breasts set him on fire. She kissed his neck, touched her tongue to his ear and a shudder coursed through him.

Clay turned and urged her onto her back, finding the ribbon that tied her drawers and tugging them down her legs. With one knee on the mattress he leaned over her and pressed his face to her soft belly and cupped her hips. She threaded her fingers into his hair. She was in his head now, filling his senses, pumping through his veins.

Divesting himself of his trousers required releasing her, but he kicked them to the floor and stretched his body out half over hers, his burning skin sliding against her soft contours.

She cupped his cheek and offered a smile of sincere enjoyment. He tucked a tendril of dark hair away from her temple. Catching his hand, she pressed her lips into his palm. “I’ve never felt like this,” she told him. “I never knew how right it could be.”

He’d never known he was so lonely until now. Until she filled up all the missing places inside him with her sweet smile and inflaming kisses. Until she’d trusted him with her dark, paralyzing secret, trusted him to know what to do to blot out that part of her past.

Breathless now, a burning need pulsed low and heavy in his body. She acknowledged his arousal by rubbing against him.

With his face buried against her throat, Clay spoke encouragement with soft senseless words, stroking her limbs and testing her readiness. Sophie clutched him to her with surprisingly fierce strength. He rose over her and kissed her, his chest tight with emotion.

“Say my real name,” she whispered.

“Sophia. Beautiful Sophia.”

She stifled a sob by catching her lower lip with her teeth while her eyes pleaded with him to continue.

He lowered his weight, eased himself inside her and shuddered with the sheer pleasure of being one with this woman. Perfection. Completion. He never wanted this moment to end.

If he was interpreting her eager movements and rapturous sighs, Sophie wasn’t ready to be patient. Determined to be everything she needed, he gritted his teeth against the intense pleasure. “Patience, Sophie.”

“May I kiss you?”

“What a thing to ask.” Realizing then that a lover’s kiss was far from her experience, he lowered his head.

She touched her tongue to his lower lip, parted her lips and met him with a kiss so intense and deep, his heart threatened to stop. “You’re going to kill me, woman.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“You do everything so right I can’t breathe.”

“And you want me.”

“I—want you. Sophia. Beautiful Sophia.”

Her body grew taut beneath his. Perspiration made their straining bodies slick. Sophie held her breath and closed her eyes and her body convulsed around him. Clay took his own fulfillment more leisurely, but afterward she didn’t release him.

“Don’t move,” she said.

“I’m not in any hurry,” he answered, resting his weight on his elbows and kissing her moist neck, then her swollen lips.

She pushed damp hair from his forehead, then let her arms go slack so he could move. “Let’s cool off.”

“Sorry I got you sweaty.”

“Horses sweat,” she informed him. “I’m glowing.”

With a grin Clay found his shirt at the end of the bed, dried her glistening torso before wiping his face and chest. He stretched out beside her, and the breeze from the open window wafted across their cooling bodies.

After several minutes of silent communion she sat up, bringing her knees up in front of her and wrapping her arms around them. Her dark hair was a mass of damp tangles. He admired the line of her slim back, the curve of her hips and the curvaceous side of her breast. He drew his finger up the bumpy ridges of her spine, then splayed his palm against her back, his tanned hand dark against her white skin.

She turned to him, her expression undecipherable.

Sophie studied Clay’s relaxed features, the defined outline of those lips that gave her such pleasure, the breadth of his shoulders and chest…and marveled at his restrained strength. How any woman could have rejected this man she couldn’t understand.

“You and Susan,” she asked. “Did you ever…?”

“No.”

Of course not. His fiancée had been a respectable young lady, and gentleman that he was, he hadn’t compromised her reputation. “Who then?”

He peered at her through slitted eyelids. “You wanna know?”

She nodded.

“Dance hall girls mostly. A widow lady west of here I visit now and then.”

She hadn’t expected to feel jealousy, but here it was in all its unpleasant glory. She recognized it as a feeling of resentment and possessiveness. Was this what love felt like? “No wonder they’re willing…with you, I mean.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“I didn’t know it could be…special.”

“It’s usually just ordinary,” he told her. “Not like that.”

“No?”

He moved his head slowly from side to side. “No. It’s not.”

Sophie couldn’t resist stretching out along his side, her cheek against his chest. This man had done something no other had been able to. He’d made her feel things. Things intense enough to frighten her.

“I bought you somethin’.” She felt the rumble of his deep voice against her cheek.

“You did?” She raised her head to look at him. “A gift?”

He nodded.

“Where is it?”

He untwined their legs so he could perch on the bed’s edge and reach for his trousers. He pulled them on and caught a clean shirt from a drawer to toss to her. She shrugged into it and rolled the sleeves back.

Clay padded out of the room, and Sophie tried to imagine what kind of gift he’d buy for her. She’d pretend to like it no matter what it was. Candy? Ribbons? No, she would love it.

He returned with a small wooden box. Sophie saw the paper label on top. Whatever he’d bought her was small enough to fit in a cigar box.

The mattress dipped as he handed it to her, joining her again.

“It’s heavy,” she said. She studied his expression a moment. His face gave nothing away.

Sophie opened the lid.

Her gaze rested upon row after row of slim, perfectly rolled cigars. The tantalizing aroma reached her, and she blinked.

She met his eyes.

The corner of his mouth inched up. He produced a tin and flint from his pocket and extended them.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“They’re your favorite,” he answered.

Something in her heart swelled to exquisite fullness. “How would you know that?”

He grinned. “I’m the law, Miss Hollis. I have my ways.”

“But how did you…?”

“You carry a cigar to the park when you take a walk.”

Sophie wrapped her mind around his acceptance of her eccentricity. The feeling in her chest was so intense it was almost painful. She adored his gift because it wasn’t a bribe. Nor was it something he wanted her to have. She loved him, this man who wanted only to give to her. “You truly don’t mind?”

“I’ll try one with you. That is if you don’t mind sharin’.”

She grinned and plucked out two cigars. Clay lit them both and they propped pillows against the headboard and watched smoke rings curl into the air toward the pine ceiling. Sophie felt young and happy for the first time she could remember.

“Mrs. Winters would have a fit of apoplexy,” she commented with a contented sigh.

“Over the cigars or over you bein’ naked in my bed?”

Sophie coughed and he pulled her forward to pat her back.

“Both,” she answered.

“It’ll be our secret,” he said with a grin.

Several minutes passed and Sophie enjoyed the quiet and the sense of well-being.

“Sophie,” he said finally.

“Hmmm?”

“When you’re deciding what you want, maybe you’d give a thought to marryin’ me.”

She stared at him.

“I’m not proposin’ or anything. I wouldn’t lay that burden on you. I’m just sayin’ I’d be more than willin’ if you wanted. That’s all.”

Sophie’s head rang with those words. If she didn’t have an even bigger secret hanging over her life, she would love nothing more than to marry Clay. To spend the rest of her life basking in the warmth of his goodness.

“You know I have a Harvey contract,” she said.

He held up a hand. “Don’t make any excuses,” he told her. “Don’t say more. Just store the idea up here.”

He tapped her head with a gentle finger.

She’d choose him over life if she had the option. Even if his acceptance of her was all based on a lie, Clay had become her heart’s most compelling desire.

But she couldn’t make a decision like that. She didn’t have the right. Nor did she have the right to love him. There was still another shoe waiting to drop; there was still Garrett to deal with.

The day’s pleasure evaporated into the sultry air as thoughts of the man who meant to control her by any means possible returned. Something had to be done about him. And about Amanda before Sophie could think of herself again. This day had been purely selfish. Purely a greedy taste of what life might have been like.

Her love for Clay was another one of her secrets now. All along Sophie had been thinking of herself. Now she had more to think about. Being Sophie Hollis wasn’t about pretending anymore. It was about caring. She had to protect Clay from himself. If he learned, he would have to make a choice. His feelings for her weren’t good for that purpose.

“I’d better get back,” she said finally.

“Like to bathe? I’ll fill the tub and wait outside.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Be pleased to.” He got up and left the room. Minutes later she heard the scrape of the metal tub as he set it on the floor in the kitchen.

She padded out to watch as he poked kindling into the stove.

“It doesn’t need to be warm,” she told him. “Cool will feel good.”

He pumped several more buckets full and brought her soap and toweling. He took a step back.

Sophie sensed his intent to leave the room. Once again he was seeking her pleasure and comfort. “You don’t have to go unless you have something you’d rather attend to,” she told him.

He grinned with the cigar held between his teeth and remained.

She draped his shirt over the back of a chair. Clay’s appreciative gaze swept over her, and he took a long stride forward to take her hand as she stepped into the water.

Sophie settled down into the cool water and leaned her head against the tall back. Puffing on her cigar, she blew smoke rings into the air. “You certainly know how to treat a lady, Marshal.”

Clay sat backward on a kitchen chair to watch. “Wanna go riding next Sunday, too?”

It was late afternoon by the time Clay brought Sophie back to the dormitory. She ate supper in the employees’ dining hall, thoughtful and subdued while the others chattered. She kept going over her poor selection of options. The most appealing was to buy a gun and shoot Garrett in his black heart. Tempting. But she didn’t have it in her. She was a lot of bad things, but a murderer wasn’t one of them.

She could march down to the jail and tell Clay the truth right then and there, let him deal with Garrett and put himself in the position of arresting her alongside him. Not tempting.

She had nothing to hold over Garrett’s head, nothing to scare him off. He held all the cards.

She could tell Amanda the truth and pray she’d listen and not turn her in.

She could pack her things and run. She wouldn’t get far, but she could spare Amanda, because Garrett would follow. Clay wouldn’t understand, though. She’d be another woman who didn’t want him enough to stay, enough to choose him.

If her options were cards, she’d shuffle them and see which one came out on top. She wasn’t playing a game of chance, however. More than her own life was at stake.

She couldn’t forget that Garrett had threatened Clay’s life. Now that she’d sealed a relationship with the marshal, Garrett would have all the more reason to want him out of the picture.

The most palatable of all the options was telling Amanda. As evening arrived and the girls settled into their various activities in the sewing and courting rooms, Sophie thought the idea through.

Finally deciding, Sophie called Amanda aside. “I need to talk to you.”

Amanda followed her to their room. “You look so serious, Sophie. What is it?”

“I have to warn you about something, so there are things I need to tell you.”

“Warn me? What’s this about?”

“It’s about Mr. Morgan.”

Amanda bristled. “Are you going to lecture me again?”

Sophie took her arm. “I knew him before I came to Newton. I knew him for several years actually. We were together.”

Amanda just stared at her in stunned disbelief. “What are you saying?”

“I told you that you don’t know what kind of man he is, because I do. I know he’s not who he seems. This is all an act. He wants to manipulate me, so he’s using you to get to me.”

Tears welled up in Amanda’s eyes. “You are being cruel! Why don’t you want me to be happy? You have all the admirers you need! Why are you trying to spoil this for me?”

“I’m not. Please believe me.”

“You’re saying Mr. Morgan doesn’t care about me? That he really wants you?”

“Not in a good way,” Sophie said. “To control. That’s the kind of person he is. You have to listen.”

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’re so selfish and—and—jealous that you’d stoop to something like this! It’s hurtful, Sophie. Plain hurtful. And mean.”

“I know how it seems,” Sophie said, her throat tight with regret. “I’m so sorry. You got caught in the middle through no fault of your own. You’re in this position because I came here and let down my guard enough to make friends. I know your feelings are hurt, but I can’t let this go on. I can’t let him use you. It would only be worse.”

“You think he’s using me because he loves you?”

“No. He only wants to hurt me,” she answered. “To get what he wants.”

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Amanda’s voice quivered.

Sophie barely knew herself. Her life was a mess, and she was a big fraud. She’d put the people she cared for in danger. “Can you trust me when I say I know he’s not good for you?”

“We can’t be friends anymore.” Amanda’s lips pursed tight as though she was holding back more.

“I am your friend,” Sophie pleaded. “Please, listen.”

“I’m not listening. Ever again.” Amanda turned and fled from their room.

Sophie bit back the sting of tears and collected her wits.

There was still one more alternative. One option she hadn’t shuffled with the deck of ideas.

She could buckle to Garrett’s manipulation.

Chapter Fifteen

Sophie studied her likeness in the mirror. It was her or Amanda now. And she wouldn’t let it be Amanda. She dressed her hair and changed into her walking boots. Minutes later, she’d run down the back stairs and was headed for the Strong, the only other hotel as nice as the Arcade. It being a Sunday night, he probably hadn’t gone to a gaming hall. All the wealthy men were home with their families.

She found him in the hotel dining room. Garrett looked up from his newspaper. He set a teacup in its saucer.

That self-important smile spread across his face. “Well, well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

A waiter immediately swooped in to pull out a chair for Sophie. He brought her a rolled napkin, silverware and a water glass. “I’ll come back for your order, miss.”

“I’m not eating, thank you.”

“What do you want?” she asked, as soon as the waiter was out of earshot. “What will put a stop to this and make you go away?”

“You’re not thinking clearly if you think you can get rid of me.”

“What do you want from me? Besides the money, which I’ve told you is gone.”

“I want you to recognize the error of your ways, my dear, and make your indiscretions up to me.”

“How?”

He leaned back and laced his fingers on the tabletop. “I’ll let you work it off. Once the entire amount has been amassed you can be free.”

“Steal that much money?”

“Come now. Steal is such an insulting word. We relieve greedy people of the excess they’re perfectly willing to hand over.” He picked up his cup.

She couldn’t do what he was demanding in Clay’s town, under his nose. She couldn’t not do it or she would endanger the man she loved. “Pay it all back?”

He took a leisurely sip. “Surely you don’t think I’d settle for only a portion. Not after you took it all?”

“The money we took was always all yours,” she told him. “I never got a share. I never chose how you spent it.”

“I gave you everything you ever needed,” he argued. “The finest clothing and jewelry.”

“That you selected and made me wear. I never had what I needed or wanted. What I needed was freedom.”

Anger flickered across his narrow features. “Does your lawman give you freedom? Tell me, did he set you free today?”

Shocked, Sophie asked, “What do you know about him?”

“I know everything about you. You belong to me, remember?”

“Leave him out of this. This is between you and me.”

“You leave him out of it, Gabriella. For both your sakes. Take my instruction and don’t stand too close. Word is out that I will pay well for the bullet that pierces his heart.”

Sophie’s heart chugged with horror at the information. The realization sunk in at last. If she was no longer of use to Garrett, she became a liability. She knew too much. He wouldn’t think twice about killing her. To him she was and always would be an acquisition. “What do you want?”

“I’m working on a cattleman. You will be the clincher.”

Sophie knew the routine. She disguised herself and lured the cattleman to a hotel room. Garrett showed up once they were both naked and took the man for all he was worth not to tell his wife and expose him to other public humiliation. The same schemes she’d run away from and hoped were in her past. Now he wanted her right back where she had been before. “And then what? Then you’ll leave?”

“I’m being generous here. I have an investment in you. A big investment. I could always take it further. I could turn you into the highest priced whore this country’s ever known.”

Her stomach lurched at his pronouncement, at the superior way he spoke as though he still controlled her every move.

“But I haven’t done that yet, have I?” His voice was as syrupy sweet as though he was proclaiming love. “You must appreciate my generosity. If you know what’s good for you, you will cooperate. A couple of takes like this one and I’ll be set to move on.”

Sophie knew better. She would never work enough off to get out of his clutches. He always wanted more, more, more. This would be no different. The degrading feeling that accompanied all those years settled on her shoulders like a weight.

However…going along would buy her time. Time to get Amanda away from him. Time to tip off Clay.

“And Amanda. If I do this, you’ll leave her alone?”

“As long as you’re my girl, I won’t need her, now will I?”

Sophie summoned all her fortitude, accepted the weight of what she had to do and called upon her inner strength. “Very well then.”

Garrett raised his cup with a self-satisfied smile. “I’ll send word when and where to find him. I’ll make sure he’s had the required drinks. The rest is up to you. You know the signal. Turn the light off and on. Open the window.”

She knew. She’d done it more times than she could count. For Garrett the beauty of all this was in the perfection of the con. He appreciated the art of a perfect scheme. She’d always been exceptional. She stood. “Don’t hurt the marshal.”

“His fate is entirely up to you now, my love.”

Sophie turned and hurried away.

Amanda didn’t speak to her that night, and Sophie couldn’t blame her. She would most likely feel the same way in her place. She lay awake long after the sound of her roommate’s soft breathing told her she was asleep.

Guilt had been a part of her for so long, she didn’t know what a night felt like without it. Telling Clay partial truths had relieved her conscience about taking what she wanted with him. She’d fooled herself into believing she wanted to change and that she could actually take the steps to do so. But she was still a coward. Still being controlled by her own fears.

When was she truly going to stop playing a role and actually be the honest normal person she wanted to be? Neither Amanda or Clay knew how dangerous Tek Garrett was. Her life wasn’t about pretending or trying anymore. The only true changes that had taken place were in her heart, and they were disturbing changes. Her life had become more about caring than about hiding or protecting herself.

She was sick and tired of lies. Sick and tired of running and of being afraid. It was time to face her fear head on and make the only choice that really counted. She was ready to make the ultimate decision and risk her freedom.

She was ready to tell the truth.

But she needed a plan. Clay would want to think the best of her if she blurted out the whole story right now. He would be tempted to reason and excuse, and she wouldn’t put him in that position. He had no evidence that she or Garrett had done anything wrong. She had to provide that first.

Sophie’s head reeled. Giving herself up was the only way to expose Garrett. This was her chance to do that, and she had to do everything right. As much as it tortured her to think of it, convincing others of the truth would be easier if she cut some of the bonds she’d formed. It would be easier for them all the way around once she was arrested and sent to jail.

There was a measure of irony in all this. She was planning how to make the truth convincing! Mind made up and her emotional guards reconstructed, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

As much as she had taken pride in her position at the Arcade, as fond as she was of Amanda and the other girls, by far the biggest loss of all was going to be Clay. She’d been selfish in letting that bond develop. In letting herself care. In letting him care. He didn’t deserve what she’d done. Or what she was going to do. He deserved to love a good woman.

The next morning Sophie tugged a wrinkled apron from her laundry bag and pulled it on over her uniform. She hauled her valise from under the bed and used kohl around her eyes, rouge on her cheeks and lips and powdered her nose.

Amanda stared at her, but she didn’t say a word. She hesitantly followed Sophie down the stairs. Olivia and Goldie noticed Sophie and followed at a safe distance.

Sophie checked the blackboard for morning duties. Her name was listed under silver polishing yet again. She erased it and rewrote her name on the list of girls waiting tables, then took a place on the floor.

It only took Mrs. Winters seven minutes to spot her and double check the board. She huffed into the dining hall, her cheeks bright pink. “Miss Hollis! What is the meaning of this?” She stopped in her tracks. “Is that—is that—what is that on your face? I want to see you in Mr. Webb’s office right now.”

Sophie followed.

Mrs. Winters hammered the door with a fist, then raked her agitated glare over Sophie’s apron and back to the offending color on her face.

“Come in.”

The woman gestured for Sophie to lead the way into the room. “Three deliberate offenses right before our eyes,” she sputtered. “And certainly no accident this time. Just look at the impudent girl.”

Mr. Webb rose from his chair and studied Sophie’s appearance.

“And she changed her assignment on the duty board!”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Miss Hollis?” the manager asked in bewilderment.

“I’ve polished silver every Monday for the past month. Mrs. Winters gives me that assignment purely to irritate me, I’m convinced.”

“Mrs. Winters may assign any duties she chooses. It’s a privilege to work in a Harvey House.”

“It’s a drudge,” she replied. “We’re treated like schoolchildren. What’s the harm in tasteful cosmetic enhancement?”

“You see, it is deliberate,” Mrs. Winters confirmed. “She had one last chance.”

“You’d been doing so well,” Mr. Webb said, disappointment clearly audible in his tone. “I don’t understand this change that’s come over you. Your appearance and conduct are unacceptable, as you well know.”

Sophie turned her concentration to a single daisy in a glass of water on his desk and waited.

Her skin prickled beneath her uniform.

“Then you are dismissed, Miss Hollis. You are no longer a Harvey Girl. You may pack your belongings and leave without pay.”

“What about my contract?”

“You’ve broken the terms of your contract. You are fined your most recent earnings. You may spend one more night. After that you will not be allowed in the dormitory.”

“I won’t need another night. I’ll be gone today.”

“Turn in your uniforms and aprons,” Mrs. Winters ordered.

Sophie untied her apron and whisked it over her head with a flourish before tossing it toward a startled and red-faced Mrs. Winters. “With pleasure.”

She turned and swept from the room, her heart hammering.

That had been easy. Strange how her livelihood had been so fragile that it had dissolved in a matter of minutes. Working here had never been about the position or the esteem. It had been about integrity, about earning her own way and gaining respect. She was putting her true integrity to the test now.

Several girls were staring as she exited the hallway and made her way through the dining hall. She could have taken the back route through the kitchen, but this was better. This way they’d all know.

Emma hurried to walk beside her. “Sophie, what happened?”

“They let me go,” she said.

With a stricken expression, Emma touched her arm. “What will you do?”

“I’ll be fine. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Will we see you?” Rosie asked, joining them. “Or will you have to go back home now?”

“I lied about that,” Sophie told them. “I don’t really have any family in Pennsylvania. I just made it up to get this job.”

She felt Amanda’s gaze from the other side of the room. There were no customers at this hour, and their voices carried. She glanced and found her roommate looking.

Amanda looked away.

“You mean—well, where is your family, then?” Olivia asked.

“I don’t have one.” She turned to Rosie. “If you see me it won’t be like you’re thinking. I’ll be staying in Newton a while longer, but I won’t be going to any dances.” She was letting them all down. They’d befriended her and trusted her. They’d even looked up to her for advice. What a fake she was.

Amanda didn’t follow her upstairs, and Sophie hadn’t expected her to. She went straight to her room and packed everything she owned into two satchels and a trunk Jimmy brought up from storage. She tipped him, and paused. “Jimmy.”

“Miss?”

“Did you and Marshal Connor have a talk recently?”

“Haven’t seen the marshal ’cept in passin’.”

“You didn’t tell him about our arrangement?”

“My errands for you? No, miss. Gave you my word I wouldn’t tell no one.”

“Thank you, Jimmy. Can you get a wagon? I’d like you to move my things to a hotel this afternoon. I’m going to make the preparations right now.”

“Sure. You’re leavin’ the Arcade?”

She nodded. “I’ve been dismissed.”

“Sorry to hear that. Don’t sound quite right.”

“Oh, it’s right. And I’ll be fine.”

He nodded and ducked from her room. He was only allowed on the floor under special circumstances, and his first task was finished.

Sophie put on her most comfortable shoes, her porcelain-blue dress with embroidered trim, then settled her straw hat on her head and left the Arcade.

The city directory at the post office listed fourteen hotels, and she knew some of those to be boardinghouses. She wrote the addresses on a piece of paper and tucked it into her reticule. All of the establishments were on Fifth, Sixth or Main Street, centrally located near the heart of town.

She selected three to look at, toured the rooms and facilities and decided on the Enterprise Hotel on North Main. She had enough money to pay for her room and anything else she might need for at least a month or more. If what she had planned all fell into place, she wouldn’t make it near that long.

After returning to give Jimmy directions, she went back to her new room to wait for him. Within the hour he arrived and delivered her belongings. She paid him generously and he wished her well.

Sophie unpacked her clothing, hung it in the armoire and filled the bureau drawers. She had accumulated a lot of clothing during her time in Newton. She would miss access to the sewing machines. As if making new dresses mattered.

What was she thinking? She would miss a lot of things, like her own clothing and her freedom. She’d miss a lot of people, too.

Her throat constricted with regret and grief.

Taking the wooden box Clay had given her from a bag, she placed it right out in the open on her bureau. She ran her hand over the paper label and the wood, opened the lid and let the pungent tobacco aroma drift to her.

As bad as things were, she reminded herself how liberating it was to shake off more shackles and have her own room without constricting rules. She could smoke all the cigars she wanted right here. She could likely sit in the dining room with a cigar if she didn’t mind some raised eyebrows.

A small writing desk was positioned beside the window. She took paper and pen and perched there to list the people she would contact and their cities of residence. On another page she wrote out what she wanted each missive she sent to say, and then she put on her hat and hurried to the Western Union Telegraph Company beside the train depot.

The long-necked angular man who read her letter and the list of recipients tipped his head back to squint at her through the spectacles on the end of his nose. “One dollar each, fifteen cents extra for New York.”

“I suppose one would send a letter if she had more time,” she replied.

He continued to squint.

She plucked fifteen silver dollars from her reticule and made a neat stack on the dusty counter. Beside it she placed fifteen cents and challenged the man with a raised brow.

“Whatever you say, lady.” He took the coins and her papers and folded himself onto a creaky chair behind the counter. Sophie listened to the frantic clicking as he sent the messages, one after the other.

She had remembered several names of people she had helped Garrett swindle. Her messages asked for descriptions of the con artists. She was sending the law in Denver a request for information about the couple wanted for killing the man in the gaming hall. She also asked them to send wanted posters on the next train, and to deliver the package directly to City Marshal Clay Connor.

This was it. A chance to make her most important choice. A choice to do the right thing. Now all she had to do was wait. And pray Garrett didn’t send for her before she had the proof she needed.

Clay stopped by the Arcade twice without seeing Sophie. He’d normally eaten at the lunch counter, until he’d taken an interest in her and changed his routine to sit in the dining hall. It was rare that he didn’t glimpse her during the noon hour. On Wednesday he deliberately came by midafternoon between trains.

“Have you seen Sophie?” he asked Emma Spearman.

An odd look came over her face and she glanced behind him, then to the side. “No. Um. I haven’t.”

Clay turned his gaze toward another waitress. “Maybe someone else knows where she is.”

“She’s not here.”

He turned at Amanda Pettyjohn’s voice. “Day off during the week?”

“She was dismissed on Monday morning.”

And she hadn’t contacted him? Concern rolled over him. She must be crushed. This job meant so much to her. “What happened?”

“She took a high and mighty attitude with the managers,” the girl said, shifting a stack of tablecloths in her arms. “I don’t know who she is anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Amanda gestured for him to follow her out of earshot. “She told me she knew Mr. Morgan before she came here. That he followed her. We argued. I don’t understand why she said that. She was hoping to scare me away from him. She has you—she doesn’t need any more beaus.”

Clay digested that odd piece of information and shook his head without a reply.

“Then when she was leaving, she told us she never really had a family in Pennsylvania. That she made it all up to get this job.”

She’d told him the same thing. Clay’s head swam with all the conflicting stories. “Where is she now?”

“I have no idea. She said she’d be in Newton for a while.”

Clay walked away from the Arcade wondering what to believe. Anger blotted out the confusion. He mounted his horse and started checking hotels.

He found her registered at the Enterprise, the sixth place he checked. He rapped his knuckles against the smooth cherrywood door and waited with a knot in his chest.

Chapter Sixteen

“Who is it?” Her voice on the other side of the wood barrier.

“Me.”

A key turned in the lock and the door opened. The sight of her took his breath away. She wore a dark blue skirt. Her white ruffled blouse was sprigged with tiny blue flowers. She’d fashioned her hair in a loose upsweep he’d never seen her wear before, soft and flattering to her delicate features.

“Clay,” she said simply.

She backed up to allow him room to enter, closing the door behind him.

He looked around, noticing womanish fripperies. The hinged wooden box on the bureau. The room held the scent of a recently smoked cigar. He looked at her. “What happened?”

“I was dismissed.”

“For what?”

“An accumulation of things as you might guess. I’ve been a pain in Mrs. Winters’s backside since I first took the position.” She didn’t sound the least bit disturbed over losing her livelihood. “It’s for the best.”

“I could talk to Harrison. Straighten things out.”

“No. I don’t want that. I’m going to do just fine.”

He wanted to touch her. The memory of their day together was fresh and vivid on his heart. She’d been so open.

She was still so achingly beautiful, but she seemed so different. There was a harder edge to her as though she’d closed up, pulled away. The transformation didn’t sit well with him. “Amanda told me what you said to her.”

Sophie met his gaze without flinching. “Which part?”

“That you knew Monte Morgan before comin’ to Newton. That he followed you here. That true?”

She look him square in the eye. “I’m never going to lie to you again.”

“Is it true?”

“Yes, it is.”

“What—?” The things she’d revealed to him finally whirled into place. His blood thrummed in his veins. “My God. He’s the one. He’s the man who bought you and forced himself on you.”

She moved in front of him in an instant, as though she feared he’d run from the room.

Images of the man’s face and long-fingered hands made Clay sick. The man who’d mistreated Sophie had a name and a face now. “He’s mine.”

“No!” She grabbed his forearms and held on in a fierce grip. “Not like this. Not in a confrontation. Not in public. Not where he has a chance to get away if he suspects you know. Not while he still has the opportunity to kill you or me or Amanda.”

“I’m not lettin’ him get away with it.”

“But you couldn’t prove it. He’d lie. I know him. He’d make me out to be a whore. He would lay the blame on me, claim he rescued me, treated me like a daughter. He’d say I got us chased out of every town. People will believe him because he’s convincing. Trust me, Clay. Not like this.”

Trust her?

“There’s more to this story. More to pin on him than his mistreatment of a young girl. I can prove it if you’ll let me. We can see him hang for murder.”

She had his full attention now. “Murder?”

“Everything I told you the other day is the truth. I will never lie to you again, I swear to that. But I still didn’t tell you everything. There’s more. A whole lot more. It’s ugly, and it’s going to implicate me right along with him.”

“Damn, woman!” He took off his hat and threw it across the room.

“I’m so sorry, Clay. Sorry you had to be involved. Sorry Amanda got caught in the middle. I can make it right if you give me a chance.”

Clay took several steps back and forth in the confines of the room. The window was open to the sun and the breeze, the curtain billowing against the sill. How could things look so normal when nothing was as it seemed? How could a woman be so beautiful and have such dark secrets?

His gut instinct had been to tear out of here and kill Morgan with his bare hands. That would have been a critical mistake, and Sophie had been right to block him. He needed all the facts, and apparently Morgan wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

Without another word, he pulled out the spindly chair from the writing desk and perched on the seat.

Sophie clenched her hands together and paced at the end of the bed. “I told you before how he paid for my education. Everything always had to be the best. The best tutors, the best seamstresses, the finest hotels, the most extravagant meals. In his mind it’s all owed him.

“His family lost their land and home during the war. He thinks his birthright was stolen from him. Everyone owes him for that. Especially me. I’m an investment.”

Clay couldn’t speak, and he wondered how she could. How she could talk of this without tearing her hair or clothing or railing against the unfairness of life. She was as calm and in control as she always seemed.

“When he felt I was ready, he began tutoring me in his craft. I was rewarded for succeeding and punished for failure. I learned quickly.”

Clay didn’t ask what that craft was, but the question was a giant in the room. He didn’t have to wait.

“He’s a con man. A good one. High class, nothing petty. I was coached to use people’s greed against them. And no doubt about it, people are greedy and selfish. He was right about that. Those were the only people I interacted with. It became a game to create a cunning plan and value the beauty of it. Executing the scheme was treated as an art.”

“I’ve seen his kind,” Clay told her. “Maybe not con men as high class, but I know his type.”

“I was a prisoner, Clay. I was a tool he bought to help him trick people. He trained me to be an extension of him. The more time that passed and the more cons we accomplished, the clearer it became to me. I was a possession. He used me to gain people’s confidence so he could take their money.

“When I was young, he had a favorite scheme. I’d leave a violin with a business owner, saying I had an errand where I couldn’t take it and tell him that I’d be back that afternoon. Garrett would then go into that establishment, see the violin and tell the owner it was valuable. Garrett offered him a huge amount of money. The man couldn’t sell it to him, so Garrett would promise to come back in case I didn’t return for it. When I did return the store owner would offer to buy the instrument from me for about half the supposed value. I’d sell him a worthless violin for two or three thousand dollars and we’d be on our way.”

Clay shook his head. “Takin’ advantage of the man’s greed?”

“It’s awful, I know. Those people had families at home. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep at night thinking of the money we’d taken from their wives and children.”

She stopped and seemed to study the grain of the polished wood floor. “I told you I tried to get away once.”

“And he found you.”

“Things were worse after that, and I was afraid to risk another change. The schemes involved just enough seduction to lure the men into the web. He held the power to make my life even more miserable. But I planned. And I waited. All I needed was the perfect opportunity. He never knew what I was thinking because I’m—I was a master at deception. I was the perfect accomplice, exactly the person he’d trained me to be. A puppet.”

Clay remembered her words. I submitted. I survived. He didn’t want to believe what she was telling him, but why would she make up a story that implicated herself?

“We’re wanted in at least six states,” she told him. “I’m a fugitive.”

He jerked his attention to her face. Her lovely serene face. She said it as though she was telling him the time of day. He’d never seen her shed a tear now that he thought of it. Not even when she’d told him he wouldn’t be the first.

A flash of regret crossed her features just then however, and he prepared himself for the next admission. With a swish of silken petticoats she moved to the bureau and took out a slim leather case. She opened it to reveal a set of peculiar tools. “I picked the lock on your jail and stole the wanted papers with our pictures. I knew that DeWeise fellow was sleeping in the rear because I heard him snoring.”

Clay got to his feet slowly. “Did you…set the fire?”

“No! I swear I didn’t. I had those papers in my pocket and was already to the next block when I heard a sound and turned to discover the flames. I’d seen your dog. I knew DeWeise was in there, too. No one was coming, so I ran back and let the man out. The cell keys were right on top of the stack of papers. I grabbed them, unlocked it, and he took off. I had to find the dog and drag him out.”

Clay rubbed his chin in thought. “The hell.”

“I couldn’t risk you or one of the others seeing those papers, so I broke in and took them. But I swear the fire was not my doing.”

She went back to the bureau, replaced the tool set and withdrew a stack of small papers. He recognized them as Western Union missives.

“These will prove what I’ve been telling you. They’re telegrams from places where we’re wanted. The descriptions differ somewhat because of the disguises, but I can show you those, too.”

She knelt in front of a trunk set against one wall and opened the lid. He didn’t know whether to read the telegrams or look at the pile of wigs and makeup and padded clothing she produced. His head was a jumble of unwanted information.

Finally he thumbed through the telegrams. They all had one thing in common, the approximate age and heights of two people, a man and woman who were wanted for various con schemes. Hair color, dress, mustaches, beauty marks were all obviously changeable.

There were recurring names mentioned as well. Most often Joseph Richardson and Gabriella Dumont. “You called him Garrett. His name’s Joseph Richardson?”

“No more than mine is Gabriella Dumont. It’s what he named me. It’s what he calls me. We used other names, too. Plenty of them.” She turned from the pile of costumes and got to her feet. “His name is Tek Garrett. Today’s train is delivering a set of wanted posters to you at the jail. You’ll find drawings that will identify us.”

Not knowing what he was hoping to see, he studied her expression.

“Both of us.”

He let that soak in.

“He can’t suspect that I’ve told you—that you know. He’s hired a gunman.” She touched her lip, then brought her hand down to twine with the other in an uncharacteristic move. “To kill you,” she finished.

For the first time a crack in her composure opened, and he sensed her fear. He supposed the thought of a hired gun terrified her, but Clay’d had a gun aimed at his heart before, and the news didn’t shake him.

“He’s contacted me and used Amanda in the threat. He believes I’m going along with his plan to pay back the money I took from him.”

Clay sat back down. “Had a feelin’ there was more.”

“I told you I was waiting for an opportunity. It came one night in Denver. We were setting up some wealthy cattlemen for a scam. They’d been playing cards nights on end.”

“Garrett does card game swindles?”

“Nothing that small. Playing cards with the marks is his way to get into their good graces. He puts on a display of having plenty of cash and works at just breaking even.

“This night we’d gone to a hotel dining room for a late supper. I was there to soften up the mark. One of the men kept irritating Garrett. He’d been an irritant in the plan ever since we’d been working the scheme. This night Garrett lost his temper and went a little crazy. He shot the man straight in the chest—killed him outright.

“The whole place broke out in confusion. Someone grabbed for Garrett, and I saw my chance. I snatched the satchel with the money and ran.

“He must have escaped shortly behind me, because he wasn’t caught. It was too risky for him to come looking for me though. I disguised myself as a young miner and caught a ride out of town.”

“You’re wanted for the same shooting?”

She nodded.

“You’ll have a trial. You’ll get to tell your story.”

“Who would believe me, Clay?”

He rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands to stare at the floor. He didn’t even know if he believed her anymore. She’d told so many lies. How much had she played him already? For what gain?

“I’m not denying my part. And I did pay back some of the money. I used nearly all that I took that night to return to people we’d swindled. Family men mostly. I was trying to clear my conscience. They didn’t deserve to lose what was theirs. I didn’t deserve to have it.

“That’s why he’s so mad now. I don’t have the money. He said if I didn’t work it off he’d hurt you…or Amanda. I played along. He has a plan and he’ll send word when I’m to do my part.”

She seemed so detached from what she was saying, as though there wasn’t anything of importance at stake. He knew different. “What’s his plan?”

“It’s a cattleman he’s had in his sights. He knows exactly how much the man is worth, where his cash is, his weaknesses, and then he sends me in as the setup.”

“What’s your part?”

“I’ll tell you, but I want you to go along with it, Clay.”

“Why?”

“I want to catch Garrett at it. I want him to know I set him up. I want to see his face and know I had the last word.” She moved forward, almost reached for him, then drew her hands back. “I know you don’t owe me anything. Not after the way I lied to you and pretended to be someone I’m not. You probably don’t think you can trust me, but I’m not trying to get out of anything, I swear to you.

“I’ll pay my time just like I deserve. You can watch me so that I don’t try to leave. You can assign your deputies to watch me. I’m going to play along just like I’m his pawn again. As soon as I hear from him I’ll get word to you. And when Garrett comes to exact his blackmail, you’ll catch him red-handed.

“If I’m going to sit in a jail cell for years, I want to know that he had to face the fact that he didn’t own me after all.”

Finally a flicker of emotion crossed her features. Enough for him to know how important this was, enough to sense her desperation. Clay couldn’t think about her locked in a jail cell. But even though her position in all this wasn’t her fault, he was angry. Why his town? Why him?

“If I was to go along with this…how does it work?”

“I keep the gentleman company, skillfully reel him in.”

Clay didn’t like the idea at all. “Seduce him?”

“I invite him to my hotel room. Leave the door unlocked.”

Not one damned bit.

“I get naked—”

“The hell you will.”

“Okay, I’m supposed to get naked, and then I signal Garrett by turning the light off and on, then opening the window. Garrett barges in with a witness. The mark has to hide his indiscretion from his wife and family, so he pays through the nose. We take the cash and disappear.”

Clay scratched his chin. “I suppose I could be right here waiting for him.”

“Yes.”

“Have a couple o’ deputies in the next room.”

“Yes.”

“You would have all your clothes on.”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t a bad plan at all. But he stared at her, feeling like he’d never even met her before. “This is crazy. Are you using me, too? Is this what Sunday was all about? Softening me up to help you?”

Her expression couldn’t have shown more shock if he’d grabbed her by the neck and squeezed. She placed a hand on her breast as though it was caving in.

Without another word he crossed the room, picked up his hat and left.

Chapter Seventeen

Clay stabled his horse and strode the block and a half to the jail. Across the street the bricklayers had finished and hammers rang as carpenters worked on the roof.

It was perfectly believable that Sophie had been there the night of the fire. The blaze could have started in any number of ways. A spark from the stove, a cigarette tossed by a careless passerby. He’d even considered the possibility that DeWeise had a partner or friend who’d lit it as a distraction. That would have been a pretty risky thing to do. Stupid, considering DeWeise would have cooked in there if Sophie hadn’t let him out.

It made more sense that someone had picked the lock to get in earlier, then turned around to free the man from a horrible death. Why would she lie about that?

Why not? Apparently she’d been lying about a lot of things for a good many years, and she’d lied through her teeth since she’d met him.

When he really applied his mind to the facts about Sophie, they all came together to form a kind of warped logic, however. If she had come to Newton to start over, she would have been forced to make up a suitable background and create enough references to get her by. Then one lie led to another until she’d been buried under a mountain of them.

It was perfectly conceivable that she’d be ashamed of what had happened to her, of what Garrett had turned her into. The way she’d told him, the look on her face testified to her humiliation. If Clay had let himself believe all of it at once, he couldn’t have let Garrett draw another breath. Clay might be a lawman but he was flesh and blood, human, fallible. Mad as hell.

She’d been right to stop him from acting on his gut reaction. Without proof of the man’s identity or of his crimes Clay could have killed him and been arrested himself. He had to take a step back, as impossible as that seemed, and do his job. He couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that this might be another of her well-substantiated lies.

After entering the stifling building, he left the door standing wide open. There was a large envelope lying on his desk. He read his name and ripped it open to unfold a stack of posters.

He studied ink drawings which had been duplicated on a printing press. The names were the same as those he’d read on the telegrams. Clay pulled those from his pocket and compared.

The poster from Denver was a drawing depicting a bald man with a mustache. When Clay covered the top of the man’s head with another paper, the eyes were Monte Morgan’s. Sophie’s claim hadn’t really surprised him. He’d had a gut reaction to the man the first time he’d seen him. He just wished he’d been more convinced before he’d seen this proof.

Gabriella Dumont was another matter. He’d never suspected Sophie was anything other than who she claimed to be. Yes, there had been little things that he’d excused or overlooked now that he thought of it, but swallowing all of this at once was difficult. The artist had drawn the young woman as a beauty. The dark eyes were difficult to conceal, but her hair was different. Clay laid the pictures out on the floor and took a couple steps back to glance at them from another perspective.

Recognition was unmistakable. Without a doubt Gabriella Dumont was Sophie Hollis. Fugitive from the law.

Confidence shark.

Accomplice to murder.

Was he once again falling for a story? Had she been a willing partner? Her lack of emotion when she shared those things that she’d supposedly endured made her seem cold or insincere…or what? Definitely detached. Was that how she survived? How she kept her heart and her head from being torn apart? How did he know for sure she hadn’t been a willing partner in those crimes? She could be playing a part in a long line of cons. But to what purpose?

If she’d wanted to convince Clay of a lie, she was an accomplished actress. She could have feigned a display of emotion to draw his pity. But she hadn’t. She hadn’t asked for or expected any sympathy.

But he credited himself with being a good judge of character, and he’d never had the least suspicion she wasn’t who she claimed. She’d matter-of-factly wanted to tell him those things—first so he wouldn’t be shocked or disappointed in her lack of innocence, and later because she thought she needed to protect him and Amanda.

Amanda did need protection, that was for sure. Clay could take care of himself.

The proof was right in front of him; he had to believe this final story. But what was he going to do about it? Arrest them both and let them be taken back to Colorado for trial? He wouldn’t have any control over the situation, and she could be sentenced and…hung. He’d seen men hung, and it was a disturbing practice. His imagination wanted to soar and picture Sophie with a noose lowering around her neck, but he banished those dark thoughts from his head.

Sophie had revealed Garrett for what he was. She’d given Clay everything he needed to set up the man. Catching him red-handed in one of his schemes would be rewarding. If Clay wanted to do that, how much more must Sophie want to see it happen?

Judging by the dates on some of those papers, she’d been a child when Garrett had gotten her in his clutches. Would a judge and jury see that she’d been too young and too afraid, that she’d feared for her life if she hadn’t gone along?

He would check into her story of making restitution in several of those cases. That would go a long way to show her good intent.

Clay hadn’t wanted to believe her involvement because he’d fallen for her. He couldn’t deny her confession and this proof, but he couldn’t arrest Garrett without arresting her, too. He imagined putting her in a cell himself, and his gut clenched.

He couldn’t let either of them go free, but neither could he risk the chance that she might fall into Garrett’s clutches again. She’d have no choice but to go back to what she’d been before.

He was being ripped in two different directions. His thoughts had jumped around so much he didn’t know what was logic anymore. Guilty and playing him? Innocent and needing him? Neither. Both. It all came down to the fact that he wanted to believe her. He had to.

She had a crazy plan. A plan to catch Garrett red-handed. If Clay caught him in a crime right here in his town, he’d have more authority to influence Sophie’s fate before the law.

And Sophie could prove herself by helping trap the man. Maybe her assistance would keep her from being tried and convicted in Colorado.

Clay picked up the posters, buried them along with the telegrams in his desk drawer and headed back out.

What choice did he have really? He loved her. He would never look at the world or meet a day without wanting to share it with Sophie. He would go along with her plan. Now he had telegrams of his own to send.

Sophie was going to try the same tactic with Amanda that she’d used with Clay. Proof. She feared the girl would refuse to speak with her, but she sent a note with a young boy and waited at a table inside the front window of Almira Wheeler’s cozy pastry shop where tea was served of an evening.

She remembered the schedule well enough to know Amanda would be finished with her duties for the day. At six the blonde stepped through the doorway and glanced around.

Sophie waved to her, and, without a smile, Amanda joined her at a table.

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t know if you would.”

Amanda didn’t say anything. She looked uncomfortable being there and didn’t meet Sophie’s eyes.

“I guess you were just curious about what I wanted.”

Amanda’s gaze finally rose, and Sophie recognized hurt and betrayal. “I’m hoping you want to apologize.”

Sophie took a breath. “All I ask is that you listen.” She took posters from her reticule and flattened them out on the tabletop. “I know you don’t want to believe me. I understand. Garrett is convincing and can be as charming and attentive as he needs to be. But this is him.”

She pointed to the wanted papers she’d received that day. “And this is me.”

Amanda looked from the drawings to Sophie’s face with disbelief.

“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me or beg you to understand and be my friend. I’m pleading with you to spare yourself any further danger.”

She gave Amanda a brief explanation of how she’d come to know Garrett and the way he’d controlled her. Amanda needed to know enough so that she would believe he was dangerous and that her safety was at risk.

Amanda’s expression showed that the explanation was sinking in and making sense. She raised her fingers to her temple and rubbed as though the thought process gave her a headache. “This is so hard to believe.”

“I know. All I want is for you to be safe, and you’re not safe while he’s still here.”

“So you traveled with Monte? Ever since you were how old?”

“About eleven or twelve,” Sophie answered.

“He took care of you?”

“I ate well, had nice clothing, studied with tutors if that’s what you mean. He never behaved like a parent. I was like a dog trained to fight or a horse raised to win races. I was like a pet who made money for him.”

Amanda was obviously taking it all in. “Are you turning yourself in so that he’ll be caught?” she asked.

Maybe down deep Amanda had suspected that Sophie was telling the truth, but she hadn’t been able to accept it. “I’ve already confessed everything to the marshal,” Sophie told her. “I want to set a trap to catch Garrett, but you have to be gone. You can travel free, and Mr. Webb knows you’ve been waiting to go to your cousin Winnie when her baby comes. He’ll accommodate you taking a leave to see your family. I know he will.”

“I’ve been hoping to hear something any day,” Amanda said, the subject distracting her.

“You didn’t go early because you couldn’t afford to lose the pay.” Sophie took an envelope from her reticule. “Take this. Don’t worry, it’s not stolen, it’s the money I earned giving dance lessons. You’ve sent most of your pay home, and I’ve been saving mine. I won’t need it where I’m going.”

Amanda frowned and then recognition dawned. She blinked in surprise. “You’re going to jail?”

“I’ll be okay.”

Amanda stared at the envelope. Tears welled in her eyes. “This is all true, Sophie? You weren’t trying to get Monte for yourself?”

“His name isn’t Monte,” she replied. “You don’t have any reason to trust that I wouldn’t do something like that to you. But he has an evil heart and you have to trust me on that for your own good. I’ve wanted nothing more than to get away from him since I was twelve years old.” She covered Amanda’s hand on the table. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing him because we made a deal, but if you do, you mustn’t tell him you know anything or that I told you.”

“I’m going to talk with Mr. Webb as soon as I get back to the Arcade,” Amanda said. “I’ll get my ticket and be out of here by tomorrow.”

Sophie felt as though a boulder had been lifted away from her.

Amanda raised her hand to squeeze Sophie’s. “I’m sorry I got so angry.”

Sophie shook her head. “No apologies. I would have been thinking the same way if I’d been in your place. Don’t sell yourself short, Amanda. You’re going to meet someone deserving of you.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I feel so stupid. What’s wrong with me to get caught up with a phony like him?”

“There’s nothing stupid about you,” Sophie assured her. “He’s a master at using people. You want to be loved and needed, and he zeroed right in on that need. He’s good at what he does, so don’t ever think differently or feel like it was your fault. It wasn’t.”

Amanda took a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes and nose.

They ordered cups of tea and Amanda filled her in on the latest gossip and shared details about Mrs. Winters’s cranky attitude the last few days. Finally, Amanda gave Sophie a hug. As though reluctant to let go, she held Sophie’s hand as she backed away, then released her and headed back to the Arcade.

A burden had been lifted, but there was much to happen yet. She couldn’t imagine where she’d be six months from now. The thought was daunting…frightening. But she had her mind set to do the right thing from here on out. She intended to enjoy her last days of freedom and see Garrett get what he deserved.

That evening most of the lights in the buildings along Main Street had been extinguished, but several remained bright. Late guests were arriving at a hotel across the street, and Sophie enjoyed her new vantage point from her window. She could still hear the train whistles and the bursts of steam as the engines halted in front of the depot, but she couldn’t see the crowds or hear the voices.

She’d enjoyed another quiet dinner alone in the hotel dining room. The manager and the staff treated her well. A man in a gray serge suit had asked if he could join her for dinner, but she’d politely declined.

Telling Clay the whole truth and withstanding his reaction had been a torturous mix of relief and disappointment. Either he refused to believe her or he was angry with her. Or both. Since she hadn’t seen or heard from him, he was obviously disappointed. And disgusted. His hasty rejection hurt, but she understood.

She didn’t have many choices left. She’d taken her best shot in confiding in him and coming up with a plan. She was finished lying and she was done running. After tomorrow Amanda would be safely out of Newton, so if Sophie didn’t hear from Clay by then, she would go to the jail and turn herself in to Marshal Vidlak.

Garrett would be their problem after that. She’d be tucked away in a cell. She’d never allowed herself all these raw emotions before. She’d never dealt with feelings. Even though she’d been alone for most of her life, she was now experiencing loneliness in a new and acute way. Sophie needed someone to talk with.

Pulling on her walking shoes, she exited her room and locked the door. It was a fair distance to the doctor’s home, but she remembered the streets and enjoyed the walk. Lights shone from the windows of the two-story house as she approached. The home, she corrected. The sound of a child’s laughter reached her and found a place inside that remembered family. Dredged up a long-lost feeling of security.

It had been many years since she’d felt safe. Never once since the day she and her mother had been captured.

She’d never felt more like an outsider than she did standing at the gate in front of the Chaney home. She didn’t know what she’d come here for. There was no magic cure for what ailed her.

“Hey! Miss Hollis!” Out of the darkness, a small figure dashed from beside the house and ran to where she stood. She recognized Ellie Chaney’s youngest brother as he drew close holding a jar filled with flickering lightning bugs. “I ’member you. Come in. Ellie will be glad to see you.”

“I wouldn’t want to bother her. I was just out walking.”

“At night? C’mon. She made cinnamon buns today.”

She let him lead her toward the house and up the porch stairs. He set down his jar, then opened the screen door with a creak of hinges.

“Ellie! Miss Hollis is here!”

The doctor’s wife entered the foyer from the comfortably furnished room at front of the house. “Sophie! How nice to see you. Please, come in.”

“I was just out walking. I don’t want to interrupt your evening.”

“Don’t be silly. Come in and have a seat.” Behind her the doctor was playing on the carpeted floor with the baby. He called a greeting to her.

“Hello, Dr. Chaney,” she said, then more softly to Ellie, “Really, I was just passing by.”

Ellie touched her arm. “Don’t move. Stay right there.”

She spoke to her husband a moment, then took Ellie’s arm and led her out the front door and around the side of the house.

In the darkness, Sophie made out a wooden swing on a frame in the side yard.

“Have a seat,” Ellie told her.

Sophie sat and Ellie perched beside her before setting the swing in motion.

“Did everything work out all right at the Arcade?” Ellie asked.

“I got myself fired.”

“Oh, no!”

“On purpose.”

“Why?” Ellie’s question held a note of compassion.

“It’s quite a long story. And it probably doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“Caleb will put the children to bed. You have my undivided attention. I promise you can’t shock me.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Your hair might stand on end.”

“Sophie.” Ellie took a deep breath. “My mother was a drunk and a prostitute. We lived in a shack with no heat. My brothers and I had no clothing or food except what we stole or the church ladies gave us. After Flynn was born whenever my mother had a baby, she buried it. Once I saw a dog dig one up.”

Sophie stared at the other woman. “Oh, Ellie.”

“Still think you can shock me? I can’t remember how old I was when my mother took money to let a man have sex with me.”

Sophie felt the helpless urge to cry.

“When I found out I was pregnant I tried to hide it from her. I gave birth to a baby girl alone and was terrified for her life. I ran out in the night and left her on a back porch. I stayed hidden until the couple came to the door and I saw them take her in.”

Sophie’s chest ached and tears welled in her throat.

“When my mother died, I tried to take care of the boys, but the state took them and put them in a foster home where they suffered another kind of abuse.”

“What happened?” Sophie managed.

“I got a job as a Harvey Girl to earn enough to get them back and take care of them, but I broke my arm and couldn’t work. Caleb doctored me and asked me to take care of Nate. Caleb was recently widowed. He taught me to trust. He showed me love and care, but it took a long time. My past was a wall around my heart. He even took me to see my little girl so I’d know she was happy and well-cared for.”

“And she is?”

Ellie smiled. “She is. She doesn’t know I’m her mother, but I visit her every so often. It’s a sad-sweet joy to know her. Her parents are wonderful people. I did the right thing.”

“What about…?” She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

“The man who fathered her was killed.”

Sophie accepted that information with a nod.

“Benjamin did it. The man tried to abduct me.”

Sophie couldn’t hold back a little gasp. Ellie and her family seemed so happy and normal, it was nearly impossible to believe the things Ellie had just shared with her. What courage the woman possessed! What an enormous amount of love it had taken to heal.

All the fear and rejection and regret she’d stifled for a lifetime boiled over the surface of Sophie’s emotional reservoir, and her throat ached with silent sobs.

“Let it out, Sophie,” Ellie told her. “It’s okay to feel the hurt and the pain. It’s okay to hate whoever did this to you. It was wrong and you deserved to be taken care of and loved.”

Sophie nodded. “I—it was wrong, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what Caleb always told me.”

“And you finally believed him?”

“I did. Just like you will. You’ll believe you are a good person. A person worthy of love.”

Sobs took over and Sophie’s whole body quaked from the force of them. Tears poured from her eyes, and her shoulders shook. Ellie just held her, comfortingly rocking the swing back and forth in a gentle soothing rhythm.

Sophie cried until her throat hurt, until her eyes burned and she was emotionally exhausted. Her breaths became shudders, but eventually the tears subsided and she collected herself. The hem of her dress was soaked from holding it to her face.

“I’ll bet it’s been a long time since you did that.”

Sophie wiped her nose. “Never.” She sat up and looked at the other woman’s kind face. “Thank you. For your honesty. For knowing I needed to hear those things.”

“I just wanted you to know you could talk to me,” Ellie said, her voice soft.

So Sophie told Ellie about her childhood. She revealed the things that brought her the most shame and regret. And she told her about Amanda…and about Clay.

“I’ve never loved anyone before,” she said. “I don’t want him hurt, but I’m afraid it’s too late. How can he love me after all I’ve done? After the lies I’ve told—even to him?”

“Love doesn’t keep count of offenses,” Ellie told her. “Love is bigger than mistakes, bigger than our pasts. That’s what Caleb taught me. You can believe it, too.”

Ellie rubbed Sophie’s shoulder. “The marshal is a good man. He’ll know the right thing to do. The best thing for everyone. Have a little trust in him.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. “I love him, Ellie. The only reason I’m afraid of going to jail is because I’ll lose him.”

“You’re very brave. I’m going to believe that this is all going to work out for the best.”

Sophie looked at the young wife and mother beside her. “I think I knew all along that you were someone I could talk to. The girls at the dormitory are kind and caring, but I’m so different from them, sometimes I’m surprised we even speak the same language.”

“I felt the same way,” Ellie told her. “Like an imposter.”

Sophie shrugged. “I’ve always been an imposter, so I’ve never known anything else.”

“I used a made-up name, too.”

At that Sophie started to laugh. She threw back her head and let the laughter roll over her and from her.

Ellie joined in, and they laughed until they cried, then they laughed again.

Finally Sophie wiped her eyes on her already soaked skirt. “You don’t know how much I needed this.”

“I think I can guess. Want to come in for a cold drink now? I made lemonade earlier.”

Caleb had put the children to bed. Benjamin sat at the kitchen table with a book. Sophie remembered what Ellie had told her, and her heart went out to the young man and this family.

Caleb joined them for a glass of lemonade, and then he insisted that Benjamin walk with her to the hotel.

“Your sister is a very special person,” Sophie said to him.

He nodded. “She’s the only mother Flynn ever knew. She was more of a mother to me than the woman who birthed us.”

“How do you handle that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Mostly I don’t think about it. I think about the people who care about me.”

“You’re a wise young man. And you want to be a veterinarian.”

“Yup.”

“You’ll be good at it.”

“Here’s your hotel, Miss Hollis.”

“Thank you for accompanying me. Good night.”

He turned and ran back the way they’d come.

Sophie watched him go, then entered the lobby and climbed the stairs to her floor. The unknown was still disturbing, as was the fear of losing Clay. But she had the satisfaction of knowing she’d done things right. Finally.

If she had to go turn herself in tomorrow, she’d always know he’d cared for her. There simply was no way things could have been different for them. She was who she was. She’d lived the experiences she had through no choice of her own—and made the best of it.

A pitcher of water stood outside the door. She carried it in, lit one of the lamps and undressed. Brushing out her hair, she made a point of noticing her roots where her hair was growing in a lighter brown. No need to touch up those again.

Sophie wet a cloth and raised it to her face. A movement in the mirror caught her eye, and her heart stopped. Dropping the cloth with a splat on the wood floor, she turned.

Garrett moved forward from the shadowy corner, and his gaze raked over her. “Some things haven’t changed, Gabriella.”

Sophie grabbed her wrapper from the screen where she’d hung it and pulled in on. “Nothing about our agreement allows you to be in my room,” she told him.

“Couldn’t have anyone seeing us together without you in disguise, so I stopped by.”

“Picked the lock, you mean.”

He grinned. “I’m still the best.”

“What do you want?”

“I noticed you cutting all your ties, and I wanted to warn you not to be obvious or make a spectacle of yourself. The less attention you draw the better.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore what people think of me,” she told him. “Once we pull off this job, they’ll never see me again.”

“You should have kept your disguise at the Arcade.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve never had to wait tables or be polite to every person who comes through the door.”

He moved closer, and Sophie’s heartbeat accelerated.

“I’m no longer a naive young girl,” she told him. “I’ve joined you in this scheme of yours and I will work the craft as you taught me, but I make the decisions about who shares my bed.”

A scowl creased his forehead, and he pierced her with a contemptuous look. “Don’t think too highly of yourself and your ability to make that choice just yet.” He moved forward, grabbed the front of her wrapper and jerked her up to face him.

She turned her head so that his nose grazed her cheek.

“You conceited, ungrateful little bitch. What do you think you’d be without me? I made you into a woman men lose their heads over. I gave you your abilities and talents. You don’t tell me who makes decisions, or have you forgotten the punishment for displeasing me?”

With a determination and courage she hadn’t known she possessed, she yanked her clothing away from his grip and faced him with a fierce glare. “I haven’t forgotten your abuse for a moment, not for a second. But I’ve put it behind me and washed myself of the taint.”

Garrett’s expression revealed his shock and anger.

“I’m old enough now,” she said, “wise enough to know there are worse things than being coerced or manipulated, and one of them is the loss of respect. Not respecting myself. I’ll scream and fight or I’ll jump out that window before I’ll ever submit my body to you again.”

He straightened his shirt and tie. “Think more about that, Gabriella. Consider other people who might have more to lose in all this than you.”

Clay. Amanda. She’d already considered. “You said you’d leave them alone if I went along with your job. If you want to trust me to do what you ask, don’t go back on your word now.”

“We’re not finished,” he told her. “Not nearly finished. Once we’ve moved on and you don’t have your friends and your marshal, you’ll see things my way.”

Sophie’d said enough. She held back anything more she might have spewn at him and asked, “How much longer will it be?”

“Any time. He’s ready. Be prepared.” He took a few steps toward the door and pointed to a liquor bottle she hadn’t noticed sitting behind the door. “He likes brandy…and blondes.”

Sophie’s heart hammered long after he’d left and she’d locked the door. She leaned against it, thinking what tissue-thin protection a locked door was.

Finally, she moved. Noticing the wet rag on the floor, she picked it up and rinsed it out. Her skin was hot and clammy, so she washed before donning her nightclothes, then extinguished the lamp.

She sat before the window and concentrated on thinking about her meeting with Ellie. Garrett had stolen much of the relief she’d felt, but she wasn’t as lonely as she’d been before.

As bad as all this was right now, Ellie had survived worse. She remembered Ellie’s advise and made up her mind to trust Clay no matter what.

She had nothing to lose.

A knock startled her. Jumping at the sound was foolish. Anyone who meant her harm wouldn’t knock. Garrett certainly wouldn’t bother. She padded to the door in the dark. “Who is it?”

“Me.” His voice.

Chapter Eighteen

Her heart slammed against her ribs with joy at hearing Clay. She opened the door and ushered him inside. “You came.”

She stepped to the bureau and relit the oil lamp, then another on the writing desk. He looked so good, so tall and handsome, his skin burnished from the sun, his thick dark hair unruly as though he’d run all the way in the wind. He smelled like fresh air and safety. She wanted to run to him, press herself against him and never let go. But she didn’t.

“The posters came today,” he said.

She studied his expression. And waited.

Seeing her took away Clay’s breath as it always did. She looked like the same woman he’d fallen in love with, maybe even softer and more lovely in her green satin wrapper and bare feet. Her dark hair was spread over her shoulders in shining waves. Was she the same woman he thought he’d known? Was she who she said she was?

“I think your plan will work. I’ll let the others know and have the men at the ready.”

Sophie rushed forward and flung herself against him. “Oh, thank you, Clay!”

He was so surprised, he didn’t make a move to respond, and she drew away as though she’d been struck. She backed into the center of the room. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any right to do that.”

Her eyes expressed such uncertainty and fear, he could barely stand to look. He took a long forward stride to reach her and pulled her into his arms. She didn’t let herself relax against him.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Sophie,” he told her. “I had hoped—well, it don’t matter what I’d hoped.”

Sophie took a step back and looked up at him. “It matters to me what you hoped. Tell me.”

Before he’d heard the rest of her story he’d hoped that she’d decide she wanted to marry him. He’d even voiced it, but she hadn’t responded. “I had a pipe dream that we could start a family.”

The first real emotion he’d ever seen displayed crossed her features. Regret filled her lovely dark eyes. “He stole my life, Clay. He’s the reason I can’t have friends or a husband or a family. I’ve never been free, and now I’m going to jail.”

The disappointment and hurt in her tone sounded real. She didn’t seem afraid, just…sorry. “Garrett’s gonna pay,” he assured her. “He’s gonna hang for that killin’.”

He thought he saw relief cross her features.

“He couldn’t steal my love or my dreams,” she said.

He ached to hold her. To believe in her.

“Amanda is leaving in the morning to visit her family for a while,” she told him.

“Good.”

“Telling the truth spared her, didn’t it?” she asked.

“You spared her.”

“You think less of me now, don’t you?” she asked.

“Not less. It’s just…I thought I knew you, but I didn’t. You’re not the person I thought you were.”

“Yes, yes I am,” she argued in a quivering voice. “I’m the same Sophia who went riding with you and shared a picnic lunch. I’m—” her words caught, but she finished “—I’m the same woman who smoked cigars in your bed.”

Her mention of that day hurt like a surprise punch to the gut. That had been one of the best days of his life. Hers, too, he’d thought. “You’ve closed up.”

She shook her head. “I tried to barricade myself from having feelings again, but it didn’t work. It’s just…” She crossed her hands on her breast. “I thought I had so much to lose. Freedom. Self-respect. You. None of them were ever mine anyway.”

Maybe she truly had risked everything to tell the truth. What purpose would a lie serve now? He’d been as angry with himself as he’d been with her. He’d felt like a chump, falling for her while she’d been lying to him. “Thinkin’ over your options in all this, I see how you thought you had no choice but to do things the way you did. You went out of your way to avoid the law. To avoid me.”

“I’m sorry you got pulled in, but I’m not sorry about a single minute I spent with you,” she told him. “Not a minute. I lied about my past, Clay, but I never lied about the way I feel about you. It wasn’t fair to let either one of us think there was a chance for anything more, but the woman you were with that day was me. The real me.”

He stepped forward to wrap his arms around her.

This time she folded into his embrace and laid her head against his chest. She was small and soft and the wonderful scent he couldn’t forget filled his head.

As though she’d just thought of something, she looked up. “You didn’t let anyone know you were coming here tonight, did you?”

He shook his head. “Don’t want Garrett to know what we’re up to.”

“And you can’t let anyone see you coming here or let them know you’re more than the city marshal to me.” Her eyes were a deep dark umber in the lamplight.

Her words restored his hope. “Am I?”

“You’re the only good thing that’s ever happened to me,” she told him. “You’re what I never even let myself dream about or imagine. But you and I can’t happen. You’ll meet a woman who deserves you.”

The thought was absurd. “Do you really think I’d want anyone else now?”

“Time makes a difference,” she assured him. “Once I’m gone you’ll find someone to make you a good wife.”

She believed she was going to jail, and he couldn’t tell her differently. “I can’t think past what we have to do,” he told her. “Can’t see past the woman in front of me. All I want to consider is you in my arms right now.”

Sophia rested her head against his chin. She didn’t want to think past this moment either. At least not yet. She had so few good memories to take with her. Selfishly she wanted more. Enough to fill her heart for all the cold lonely hours that would be hers soon enough.

“I have some first-rate cigars,” she told him. “I’d be glad to share.”

“Hold that idea,” he told her.

He stepped away and twisted the key in the lock, then unbuckled his holster and hung the guns on the back of the door.

Sophie waited expectantly.

He took off his boots and moved toward her. “What is this?” he asked, untying the ribbons over her breast.

“My nightwear.”

“Mighty fancy nightwear for a Harvey Girl.”

“No uniforms at bedtime,” she informed him with a smile.

He spread the front apart and let it fall down her arms. Sophie tossed the wrapper on the foot of the bed.

He fingered the satin edging above her breasts.

Her skin tingled everywhere he touched her.

Clay glanced toward the bowl on the washstand.

“Go ahead,” she offered. “It’s cold by now though.”

He unbuttoned his shirt. “I won’t notice.”

She backed up to the bed and watched him wash, appreciating the smooth contours of his back, the play of muscle in his shoulders and arms. He was a pleasure to look at, pleasure to touch. Even the sound of his voice was a pleasure she wanted to engrave into her memory forever.

She wanted him with her forever, too. The thought that he might forget her and assign his affections to an other woman was almost more than she could endure. He was hers. Hers for tonight. Hers for right now, anyway.

And he would remember her.

Chapter Nineteen

She hurried to tug the curtains closed over the open window and turn down the wick on the nearest lamp before folding back the covers on the bed. Sophie removed her nightgown while he was still occupied with a towel. The summer air kissed her skin.

Clay draped the towel over the brass holder, extinguished the lamp and turned. His expression would be in her memories for all time. He didn’t move, just studied her with hooded eyes. The breeze sucked the curtain out the open window and blew it back in.

“Beautiful Sophia,” he said at last.

Her heart ached with loss already. She took bittersweet pleasure in the way his gaze glided from her body to her face and hair. He was everything she wanted and nothing she deserved.

He moved forward to capture her lips in a kiss of possession and purpose. She didn’t need to breathe again because he was her air. Her heart never had to beat again; he was the life force that sustained her. His kiss was her nourishment, his groan of desire a cleansing drink.

Whatever happened, she would have this. She had trusted him to make the right decision regarding Garrett. Now she was trusting him with her heart. It wasn’t fair to say it to him, so she showed him her love with kisses and touches that came from her soul.

She hoped that a month from now, a year from now, he would still feel she’d been a risk worth taking.

She wanted to kiss him hard and keep him with her forever. She wanted to let him go before it hurt more than this, before he could be hurt more. But she was selfish enough to want this night.

His kiss was so tender, she would have cried if she hadn’t already purged every tear earlier. He unbuttoned his trousers, dropped them to the floor, and eased her onto the crisp sheets. His lips trailed down her neck, blazing a path between her breasts. “So beautiful…soft everywhere…smell is in my head…”

He cupped her breast and kissed her.

She arched toward him, eager for his touch, famished for tenderness, for the sheer joy of each intimate moment in his arms.

“Sophia,” he said on a gruff sigh. “I can’t get enough of you. Sophia. Yes, kiss me like that.”

How was it he could wound her with words of love and kill her with tenderness when another man’s cruelty had never pierced her armor? She clung to each kiss as though it could be the last, carved his face and body into her memory with her hands. He would remember her; she would see to it. She wanted to love him so well and so thoroughly that she would be a part of him forever.

When he joined their bodies, she was so overcome by the sheer beauty and inconceivable goodness that her throat constricted and tears welled in her eyes. She gulped them back, but an emotional flood had been unleashed, and there was no restraining it. Her chest heaved with her feeble efforts to hold back, and a wail escaped her lips.

“Sophia?” he asked, holding her gently, pushing her hair from her face with one hand.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Please d-don’t stop.”

“But you’re cryin’.”

“Yes. And it’s s-so good. It’s such a relief to feel.”

Clay pressed his lips to her wet cheek, tasted her tears, kept his movements slow and easy. From that moment on nothing would ever be the same. She’d never voice it, but she loved him. Loved him enough to want to protect him. Loved him enough to open herself up to him. Loved him enough to cry.

Her eyes fluttered closed when he wanted to see them, wanted to know what she was thinking…feeling…He wanted more. He wanted promises. He wanted forever. The desperate way he wanted her hurt.

“Look at me, darlin’.”

Her eyes were dark and wet with tears that still flowed.

He’d wanted more than physical possession. He wanted her to be his. Not in the way Garrett had wanted to own her, but in an intimate, almost spiritual way.

With an ache he needed to ease, he drank at the sweetness of her lips, threaded his fingers into the silken texture of her hair. He forgot she’d never said the words because her demonstration spoke to his heart.

He loved to say her name, loved her reaction when he did.

“Sophia.”

She trembled.

“Sophia.”

She kissed him, openmouthed and tasting of tears.

Was this her goodbye then? “You cryin’ because it might be the last time?” he asked.

She cradled his cheek. “I’m crying because it’s the first time,” she answered.

He had never expected to experience the hollow ache of loss again, but here it was, a claw ripping at his gut. He wouldn’t lose her. He’d do whatever it took to keep her with him.

She met him kiss for kiss as he realigned his mouth over hers. He rolled her with him so they lay on their sides and eased her thigh over his hip. She became impatient with his leisurely lovemaking and moved to straddle him, surprising them both, releasing a soft gasp, and then discovering her position of control.

In the nearly-diminished glow of the lamp, she fulfilled all the dreams he’d ever had. Her expressions were real, her inexpert movements endearingly erotic. She wasn’t crying now. She was concentrating, her breathing telling him she’d found her way.

He caressed her breasts.

She caught her lip and dropped her head back.

Her thighs trembled.

He cupped her bottom and helped her.

This wasn’t the last time. He wouldn’t lose her. She was everything he wanted. He would find a way, and he would make her happy for the rest of her life.

With a series of delicate gasps, Sophie collapsed on his chest. He turned her beneath him, shuddered in release, then held her protectively in his arms.

“Please stay with me,” she whispered.

She’d never asked for anything that he could remember. “I won’t leave.”

Moments later, her soft breathing told him she slept. He wondered how she could when her future—their future was questionable. She had developed so many other protective instincts, perhaps learning to close off fear and uncertainty was another survival instinct she’d perfected in order to stay sane.

He woke during the night with her head on his chest, his arm still around her. The wick had burned out and moonlight highlighted the curve of her hip, the length of her leg. He wanted to pick her up and carry her away where no one would ever find them. He wanted them to live out the rest of their lives in a place where the past and the future didn’t matter. If only there was such a place.

Sophie woke at the sound of a buckboard on the street below. Clay’s solid warmth told her he still held her. Lifting her head, she discovered the tenderness in his blue eyes. “Did you sleep?”

He nodded. “Some.”

She sat, pulling the sheet to her breast, but away from his torso. He didn’t seem to mind and neither did she. “Thank you for staying the night.”

“My pleasure.”

He didn’t looked pleased. He looked the way he had the night he’d told her he’d buried old Sam. He’d spent the night because she’d asked.

She almost wished he was asleep, so she could look him over without embarrassment. She placed her palm against the flat plane of his belly. Over the place on his broad chest where his heart beat beneath. The heart of a kind, strong man.

She’d never seen him show fear. Never seen him act rashly or in anger.

She’d seen him arrest a man. She pretty near knew everything he ate. She knew he danced fairly well.

He closed his eyes and she looked her fill. Skimmed her fingertips over his muscled arms and the taut brown circles of his nipples.

This man had run along a riverbank and waded into a river for her straw hat. She could still see him, feet bare, denim trousers darkened and saturated to his thighs. The image would always make her smile.

She knew all about his kisses and the tender way he made love.

“What’re you thinkin’?” he asked.

She lifted her gaze to his. “I’m saving everything I know about you.”

He frowned. “Sayin’ goodbye?”

She blinked back the sting of tears. Once she’d given in to them, she could barely keep them at bay. “No.”

She found her wrapper at the foot of the bed and slipped it on.

A knock at the door had them exchanging a look.

Clay got up and found his pants on the floor. Sophie called out. “Yes?”

“Message, ma’am.” A youthful voice.

“Just a moment.” She got a coin from her bureau drawer, unlocked the door to ease it open a couple of inches, then took the note and handed the young man a tip. He thanked her and she closed the door to tear open the envelope.

On Strong Hotel stationery she read Garrett’s distinctive handwriting. “Tonight. Eight-thirty. The Silver Spike.”

She glanced at Clay to ask, “Gaming hall?”

“Fancy one.”

She folded the note and looked at him.

“This is it then,” he said.

She nodded.

“I’ve already rented the rooms on either side of yours.”

“Good.”

“You will not take any chances,” he said firmly.

“I’ll do what I do. I’ll bring the man to this room. Garrett will give me about five or ten minutes and then he’ll show up. He’ll pretend to be my offended lover and blackmail the man with a threat to tell his wife.”

Clay cast her a curious glance. “It won’t make any difference this time, but what would happen if the man didn’t care and told him to go to hell?”

“It’s never happened. Garrett knows people’s weaknesses. He wouldn’t use this scheme if the man wasn’t a prime candidate. He’ll be someone who thinks highly enough of himself to believe he can seduce me. It will all look like his idea. He will also be a man who will want to protect his marriage.”

“I guess I’ll be interested to see who it is.” Clay sat at the edge of the bed and Sophie picked up his shirt for him. He didn’t take it, but instead just looked at her. “How did you ever keep from thinkin’ all men were alike?”

She held the shirt open and waited for him to stand. “The chief who took me in was a good man. Over the years there were men who couldn’t be conned into our schemes. I saw some with integrity, so I knew they existed.”

Clay stood and turned away from her to place his arms in the sleeves of the wrinkled shirt.

“Make sure you go out the back way,” she told him unnecessarily.

He buttoned up, tucked the tail into his trousers and buckled on his gun belt.

“Thanks for staying,” she said.

He found his hat and adjusted it on his head in that familiar way she found endearing. Without a word, he snagged her around the waist and drew her against him in a bone-crushing embrace.

Sophie was comforted by the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, the strength of his arms around her, and the knowledge that she was loved. Whatever happened from here on out, she had that.

Clay released her. Backed away and turned without another look. Opened and closed the door, shutting himself away from her.

Sophie stared at the back of the door, her chest aching with loss. Emotion that had been buried for so long welled up, and she flung herself on the bed. The sheets smelled like him, making her cry harder.

Minutes passed. An hour. The sun had risen hot, and the room held the promise of another sultry day. She lay on her back, drained. This was it. Her sad-sweet day of liberation.

Her determination in place, Sophie rose and began preparations. There was much to do to be ready.

Clay looked up from the discussion he and the other marshals were having when two women entered the jail. Two grim-faced lads followed at reluctant pace.

“May I have a word with you, Marshal Connor?” the taller of the two women said.

Clay handed Owen a list he’d been holding and guided the citizens to his desk, where he cleared a stack of papers from one chair and a pair of spurs from another. With a quick swipe of his hand over the seats, he gestured for them to make themselves comfortable. The boys remained standing, one on each side of who he assumed were their mothers.

“We’ve come with some disturbing news, Marshal,” the taller woman said. “I’m Grace Hadley and this is my boy, Quentin.”

“Prudence Saddler,” the other woman said by way of introduction. “This is Lawrence.”

“Pleasure,” Clay said, hoping they’d hurry with whatever they’d come about so he could get back to the tasks at hand.

“I’m not sure you’ll find it such a pleasure when you learn why we’ve come,” Mrs. Saddler said.

The two women looked at one another, then at their sons.

“Quentin and Lawrence have something to tell you,” she added.

Clay narrowed his gaze and leveled it at one lad and then the other.

“Quentin?” his mother warned.

“Din’t mean no harm, Marshal,” the boy said, his face flushed and damp. “We was trying some of Larry’s pappy’s tobacco.”

“Could you come to the point, son?” Clay asked.

“We was smokin’ behind the jail—the old jailhouse that is. Thought we wouldn’t get caught there.”

“Quentin was the one what dropped the match,” Lawrence finally piped up.

“But you brung the tobacco an’ matches,” Quentin accused.

“Newsprint don’t work so well for rollin’ smokes,” Lawrence added. “Burns too fast.”

What these boys were stammering to confess became clear and Clay rose to his feet. “It was you two that caught the jail on fire?”

The boys cringed back and toward their mothers. “Weren’t on purpose!” Quentin shouted.

The other marshals caught the drift of the conversation and came closer to hear the rest.

“I only learned this yesterday,” Mrs. Hadley told them. “I went to Pru and we decided to bring the boys here for you to decide their punishment.”

Clay was decidedly relieved to have an explanation for the mysterious fire that had burned the jail to the ground and started the rest of the recent events in motion. The fact that the culprits were two mischievous young boys was easier to take than any of the other, more sinister, possibilities that had crossed his mind.

“It’s a serious act,” Clay told the boys. “Even if it was an accident, you should have stayed and owned up to it.”

Tears ran down Lawrence’s cheeks. “I’m awful sorry, Marshal. My Pa already done whupped me good, an’ my Ma ain’t givin’ me no desserts for a month.”

Quentin’s hand strayed to his backside as though remembering a tender spot from the encounter. He looked fearfully at Clay. “Are you gonna lock us up now?”

“I guess we’ll have to talk that over.” Clay motioned Owen and Marshal Vidlak across the room where they remarked about the confounded luck of havin’ a couple kids burn down their jail.

When the men came back, the boys appeared thoroughly shaken. “We’ve decided not to press charges,” Clay said, though they’d never even discussed the possibility. “You’ll be doin’ your time sweepin’ floors and hauling wood and ashes for the next six months. I don’t think that can even come close to payin’ for the new building, but you’ll learn the value of a day’s work and of takin’ responsibility for your actions, mistake or not.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He directed the boys to wait outside while he briefly spoke with their mothers. The women were grateful for his decision.

“You’re a fair man,” Mrs. Saddler said. “It’s going to do Lawrence good to work around here.”

Clay made arrangements for the boys to begin working off their debt and wished the women a good day.

At least the fire was one thing he didn’t have to concern himself with any more. If only the rest of the mess he faced could be solved so easily.

At eight o’clock she stood before her mirror. The room was straightened, but with a few dispensable items remaining visible so the room appeared lived in. She had packed her belongings and stashed the bags beneath the bed so it would look to Garrett as though she was ready for the quick getaway.

Despite her dark eyes and brows Sophie’d always been able to pull off blond wigs. She simply stained her skin a shade darker and played up her lips.

She wore a blue satin dress that bared her shoulders and dipped dangerously low in the front. With so much cleavage showing, men never spent much time analyzing her eye color. She checked the delicate watch she usually wore on a chain around her neck but had tucked into a pocket she’d designed on a garter.

She wore pearls at her throat and on her ears. Classic. Sophisticated. She had twenty-five minutes left, and this morning she had timed the walk. It would take ten to get there.

There was a tap on the door.

She opened it to discover Marshal Vidlak. She gave the man credit for keeping his eyes on her face. “Clay said to make sure you knew we was right next door,” he told her.

“Thank you, Marshal. I don’t expect to leave the Silver Spike until after eleven. You’ll be watching?”

“We have two men watchin’ the Spike. Soon as you leave, one’ll follow, the other will run ahead t’ let us know you’re comin’.”

“That’s reassuring. Thank you.”

He touched the brim of his hat and backed away. She stared at the door, wondering why Clay hadn’t come himself. He was busy getting things ready, she assured herself.

She knew what Garrett was doing now, playing a friendly game of cards with his new best friend, making sure the mark barely broke even or lost a little. He was creating the atmosphere, buying drinks and swapping stories.

Sophie had done this more times than she could count. There was always an anticipatory tingle of nerves which Garrett had taught her was good. That little jolt that said she wasn’t complacent, that she wouldn’t be taken unaware by anything that transpired.

Waiting had never felt quite like this before, though. There’d never been so much to lose.

Much as she regretted it, she was still a professional. Sophie calmed her nerves, breathed slowly and evenly and dabbed on flowery cologne. She was ready.

The walk took nine minutes. She entered through the double doors into the foyer of the Silver Spike. Since it was a gaming hall and not a saloon, the appearance of a woman drew less attention. Men often brought wives and female partners to these fashionable halls. And there were a few women, widows mostly, who frequented the tables without male companions. Sophie pretended to be one of those women.

Garrett had known about what time the games would break and when the tables would change, and he’d been sitting with their mark the entire evening.

She leisurely surveyed the tables, working her way to where he sat with three companions.

“Mrs. Saxton!” Garrett pushed back his chair and rose to greet her. “I didn’t know you were arriving today.”

“Just this morning, Mr. Morgan. You may recall that a cousin of my late husband is employed at the Sante Fe’s Western Union. I accepted an invitation to accompany his daughter on a trip, so I’m here to meet her.”

“How nice for you. I’m thinking of setting up an office here. I’ve found one or two investors.”

“Well, you are in the business of multiplying money, and this is an excellent place to do so. You’re looking well.”

“Thank you. Please, you must meet some friends of mine. Frank, meet Mrs. Saxton. Frank Wick here.”

The man pushed back his chair and stood. “Pleasure, Mrs. Saxton.”

“You may call me Elizabeth. Any friend of Mr. Morgan’s is a first-name friend of mine.”

With a smile, Frank showed his true pleasure over that comment.

“This is Rudy Jacobson, Max Cline, and over here John. Never caught your last name, John.”

The man nodded to Sophie. “Just call me J.J., ma’am.”

Garrett turned to acquire an empty chair from another table. “Do sit in and be my good luck this evening.”

“That’s not fair,” Frank interrupted. “Mrs. Saxton should sit by me.”

“You’ve been winning all night, you hardly need her,” Garrett objected good naturedly.

Sophie detested this role, but she was in it come hell or high water now. “I’ll sit between you two gentlemen,” she said with a laugh. “And the winner may take me to breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Garrett feigned a look of jealousy that he quickly hid.

She settled onto the chair, and Frank parked again, his attention momentarily riveted by her display of cleavage when she sat forward to smooth the wrinkles from the skirt beneath her. She deliberately jiggled herself into a more comfortable position.

As usual, Garrett had done his work well. Frank Wick had an eye for the ladies. And, because she knew Garrett so well, she also knew Frank had a bank account as big as his appetite. It was a given that he had a respectable wife and a batch of little Wicks at home.

“What are you playing?” she asked.

“Texas hold ’em,” Frank replied. “Little game us ranchers like to play.”

“You have a ranch?” she asked, wide-eyed. “With cows?”

“Decent spread,” he replied. “I run a couple thousand head.”

“I’m impressed. Do you ride a horse around your ranch and everything?”

He grinned. “I do.”

She strategically placed a hand at her breast and sighed. “There’s something breathtaking about a handsome man astride a horse.”

Frank Wick was a shoe-in. He puffed his chest out and reached into his vest pocket to withdraw a cigar. Sophie didn’t let herself watch Frank light it and puff importantly. She’d have been tempted to yank it out of his hand. How ungentlemanly that he hadn’t offered her one. “What did your husband do?” J.J. asked.

“Boring bank work,” she replied. “He owned the Seattle Merchant Bank and a couple of others. He was a dear man. A good husband, even though he never rode a horse. City slicker I guess you men would’ve called him.”

“Come now, Elizabeth,” Garrett said lightheartedly. “That boring bank business is what afforded you the lifestyle you enjoy today.”

She laughed. “I said it was boring, I never said it wasn’t wise…or profitable. And my Herbert was a very generous man.”

“Would you care for a drink?” Frank asked.

“Why, yes, a glass of sherry would be delightful, thank you.” And fork over one of those cigars while you’re at it.

Sophie wanted to check her watch. This couldn’t be over soon enough. But she was in character now, and the wheels of deception were moving smoothly. Two hours, she assured herself. Two hours, give or take a few minutes, and this whole chapter of her life would have come to an end.

Old resentment rose up inside her, the conviction that men like this deserved to be deceived because they were pigs. She corrected her thinking this time. No one deserved to be deceived, and this man was being lured by his own weakness. Everyone had weakness, and she had no room to stand in judgment, especially since she goaded them on. She’d changed her thinking, changed her goals, changed her life.

What was left of it anyway.

An hour dragged by. She sipped her sherry while Frank downed several snifters of brandy and finished two cigars.

He was still plenty coherent, plenty aware of her, but his judgment was now conveniently impaired.

She worked her chair closer to his.

“You and Morgan,” he said in a low voice. “You, uh, you have strings?”

“He’d like to think so,” she replied in the same conspiratory tone he’d used. “I choose my friends as I see fit, however.” She slanted him a flirtatious glance. “And you look like a very good fit to me.”

He couldn’t keep his eyes from the neckline of her dress, and after a while she had a struggle keeping his hand away from her thigh under the table.

Garrett was letting him win. J.J. won a few hands, but all in all, it was Frank hauling the dollars across the table. He was feeling on top of the world, Sophie thought, showing off for her, feeling important and in no pain.

Another hour passed. She excused herself to use the outhouse behind the gaming hall and glanced past the path lit by gas lamps, wondering if Clay’s men were watching her. On her return, she checked her watch, then tucked it back into her garter. It was time.

“I’m feeling rather tired,” she told the men several minutes later. “I had a long trip. I believe I’ll head back to my hotel. Perhaps we’ll see each other again?”

She looked at Frank deliberately.

“Where are you staying?” Garrett asked as a prompt.

“At the Enterprise Hotel. It seems quite sufficient so far.”

“Well, Elizabeth, you shouldn’t walk all alone,” Frank said right on cue. He turned over his cards and swept his money from the table into his pocket. “I’m out for the night.”

“I’ll feel safe with you walking me home,” she told him, and linked her arm through his.

Garrett exchanged a look with Rudy, but shuffled the cards without comment.

Now Frank Wick was thinking she’d chosen him over the dapper Monte Morgan, and his ego was full to bursting as planned.

She’d worked this routine a hundred times, she could do it again. She didn’t have to sleep with the man. He only had to think she was going to.

They exited the hall and she kept her arm tucked through the crook of his. It was safer that way. He wasn’t free to touch her, and she was in the position of control.

She didn’t look to either side or check behind her, but she sensed Clay’s man following. Perhaps Clay himself? She wasn’t afraid of the man beside her. Frank wasn’t the criminal here. She was.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to take along somethin’ to drink,” he said, his words slow and deliberate.

“I have a bottle of brandy in my room,” she answered smoothly. “Would you like to come up?”

“I would indeed.”

Ten minutes seemed like hours. The risk was always in the mark sobering up from the walk and the fresh air, but she didn’t sense that Frank had walked off much of his brandy.

He seemed reluctant to approach the front door of the hotel. “I—um—wouldn’t want to tarnish your good reputation,” he said.

He couldn’t care less about her reputation; he was concerned about someone recognizing him.

But she played along. “Why don’t you walk around to the back door? I’ll make sure no one is paying any attention, and then I’ll open it for you.” She steeled herself to flatten her hand over the front of his shirt and look up at him suggestively.

“I’d feel better ’bout that,” he said with a loose nod.

He reached for her, but she slipped away and walked toward the front entrance.

Chapter Twenty

The man who worked the night shift was dozing in the leather chair behind the counter as she passed. His soft snores followed her along the hallway and through the dark dining room until she reached the kitchen. She eased back the bolt and opened the door.

Frank must have been leaning against it, because he lost his balance and fell inward. She caught him with both hands on his chest, helped him steady himself and relocked the door.

“The night clerk is sleeping,” she told him. “But we’ll bypass the front desk anyway.”

Frank kept up and climbed the back stairs behind her.

She glanced at the dark space under the door next to hers, found her key, and unlocked her door. The rest shouldn’t take longer than ten minutes, she thought, the quiver of nervous anticipation sharpening her wits. She lit one lamp, but left the curtains parted.

She opened the brandy and splashed generous portions into two white hotel coffee cups.

“To new friends,” she said, raising her cup to Frank’s.

“New friends.” He swallowed deep, then glanced around, taking note of the dressing gown on the screen. Sophie filled his cup again.

He was probably Garrett’s age, maybe not yet forty. Lines had formed at the corner of each eye from working in the sun. He was average height, his waist not thick. His wife probably truly loved him. His children were no doubt handsome. His family attended school and church and activities right here in this town. What would happen once Garrett was caught and the story of what had taken place here got around?

Sophie had never let herself think about the blackmailed men left behind to explain their financial losses to their families and the community.

“They can afford it. They deserve it,” had been Garrett’s philosophy. Sophie simply hadn’t wanted to question—to have to feel guilty. To face her part in tearing apart lives.

She filled his cup again. He’d made himself at home on the end of the bed.

He was playing right into her hand, but she resented his forwardness anyway. She’d always felt that way. Detested the men who were so willing to be led to destruction.

“Goodness, it’s warm up here tonight. Maybe you’d like to take off your jacket.”

He smiled a lecherous smile. “Would be cooler, now, wouldn’t it? Are you too warm, Elizabeth?”

She gave him a fetching smile. “I have something cooler I can slip into. Would you mind unbuttoning my dress?”

“Nah.”

She held up her “hair,” careful not to dislodge the blond wig. Frank fumbled with the row of buttons, finally ripping a couple off in his clumsy haste. “Sorry ’bout that. I’ll get you a new dress if you’d like.”

“You would? I love gifts.” She moved away to step behind the screen. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

She peeked around the side and mentally readied herself. “We could just skip these awkward steps if you’d like.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her.

“The male body doesn’t offend me. Go ahead and get yourself ready and get into bed.”

She didn’t wait for his expression. She removed the dress, making sure to toss it over the screen where he could see it, and pulled her wrapper on over her undergarments. She listened, waiting for the sounds that told her he was incriminating himself item by discarded item.

When she heard the bedsprings, she breezed out from behind the screen. He was propped on the pillows, his chest naked above the sheets. It was plain he wore a shirt out of doors, because his chest was white against his face and neck.

“I’ll open the window to give us some air,” she said, and slid it open.

She turned out the lamp and walked to the end of the bed.

“I have a little secret to share with you,” she told him in a coy tone. “Since we’re going to be such good friends and all.”

“You can tell me anythin’, little lady.”

“Well, truth is I wanted one of your cigars all evening. It would have been improper to ask in public, but since we’re alone, would you have another you could share?”

His eager expression faltered. Taking time for a smoke wasn’t what he’d had in mind. “In my jacket pocket. Down there somewhere. Help yourself.”

“I’ll have to turn the light back on.”

That was Garrett’s final signal. He’d be crossing the street now.

She found a cigar and a match tin. “Do you want one?”

He shook his head. “Couldn’t that wait until—Couldn’t that wait?”

“Are you in a hurry, Frank?” She puffed on the cigar. Her heart chugged a little faster, knowing the marshal’s men were ready to spring. Not knowing how Frank was going to react. Thinking of Garrett’s reaction when he knew he’d been set up. The wisdom of this plan suddenly seemed in question.

She took off her wrapper, and Frank’s expression fell.

She managed a dry laugh. “You didn’t think I wasn’t going to let you watch, now did you?”

She suggestively untied the strings that held the front of the corset together, and dealt with the fact that the lawmen were going to barge in and see her in her drawers.

The cigars Clay had given her were better than Frank’s. “Sorry about this, Frank.”

He blinked. “What?”

She drew back the sheet and got on the bed. “Nothing personal.”

“Lady, this is pretty personal.”

“Let’s do away with the sheet,” she suggested. Timing was everything.

Frank had that sheet off in record time. He reached for her, and she raised the cigar away. “I’d better set this down.”

She turned and he grabbed her from behind.

Sophie was attuned to the sound of the door opening, though it took Frank’s brain a minute longer. He was groping for her breasts when she turned directly toward the door as though in shock. “What’s this? How dare you!”

Rudy Jacobson was Garrett’s witness of choice, a man who probably had a bone to pick and was loving catching the other man at something unscrupulous. Rudy’s eyes widened at the sight of a naked Frank and Sophie in her beribboned corset and drawers. Garrett was right behind him, having pushed Rudy in first.

“What have we here?” Garrett asked, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. “Mr. Jacobsen, did you have any idea what you were going to behold this night?”

Frank had to roll over the other side of the bed to grab for the sheet. “What the hell is this, Morgan? Get your ass out of this room or our deal is off.”

“Oh, perhaps our dealings have only just begun.” A sly grin tilted his lips.

Sophie stood and reached for her wrapper.

“Stay right there, Elizabeth,” Garrett said to her. “I’ll deal with you later.”

She settled back on the mattress like a docile paramour.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve comin’ in here like this,” Frank said to the two men. “What the hell are you thinkin’?”

“I’m thinking we’d better send Rudy away now. I’ll come to the Silver Spike shortly,” Garrett told the man. “After I’ve had a word with Frank and I send Elizabeth packing.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Rudy backed out through the doorway. Sophie wondered how far he’d make it before a lawman detained him.

Garrett reached to take the cigar from Sophie’s fingers and clamped it between his teeth. “Get dressed.”

She stood.

“Margaret would be very disappointed if she knew what you’d been up to this evening,” Garrett said to the other man. “What do you think she’d do if she knew you’d been caught in your altogether in a beautiful woman’s hotel room?”

“How do you know about Margaret? And how would she find out?”

“I know everything I need to know. And she’d find out when Rudy and I went to your home to do the right thing and let her know that her husband is a fornicating bastard.”

“You wouldn’t.” A nervous sheen of sweat glistened on Frank’s face and chest. “Why would you?”

“I would if I didn’t have motivation not to.”

“You that sore of a loser, Morgan?”

“You’re the loser, I’m afraid. Don’t feel bad, though. There are only a handful of men alive who can resist Elizabeth’s charms.”

Frank looked from Garrett to Sophie. She shrugged. It all became perfectly clear in that clarifying moment, and his befuddled expression turned thunderous. “You son of a bitch! You set this whole thing up!” He turned a glare on Sophie then, and she looked away before he could call her names.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to work something out,” Garrett told him. “You’ve just transferred all those funds from cattle sales.”

“My investment money, you wanted it all along.”

Where was Clay? Surely they’d heard enough by now. He was here, wasn’t he?

Frank turned his fury toward Sophie. “You tramp! You set me up. You no good whorin’ bitch!”

He lunged toward her, and Garrett jumped out of his way. Frank reached her as she turned to run. He grabbed for her and came away with a fistful of blond hair. His momentary shock gave Sophie time to move away to a safer distance. Where was Clay?

Garrett drew his pearl-handled gun and aimed it at Frank. “Don’t make it any more difficult on yourself than it needs to be. Let’s discuss money and leave her out of it.”

This was going all wrong. Garrett had never pulled his gun on the mark before! Sophie’s heart pounded at this unplanned development. She’d been eager for Clay to arrive, now she prayed he didn’t.

Frank threw the wig toward Sophie as the voice split the air.

“Hands in the air, Garrett.”

Clay was here.

He stood with his .45 directed at Garrett’s back. “Drop the gun. Your game is over.”

After a mere second of shock, Garrett cast Sophie a hateful scowl.

She cringed under the magnitude of his fury and sensed desperation take over his instincts. Slowly, he turned the barrel of his revolver so that it pointed to her chest. “Go ahead. Let’s see who can shoot first, shall we?”

Marshal Vidlak and Deputy Owen Sanders flanked Clay inside the doorway, all three with weapons drawn.

Clay glanced from Garrett to Sophie and back again. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Three to one is pretty good odds in my favor,” he said, his voice a soul-deep reassurance.

Garrett turned slowly without changing the direction his pistol was aimed until he faced the three lawmen. “You’re probably right.”

Shit, shit, shit. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Sophie’s heart was beating so loudly she was afraid it would drown out their words ’til she couldn’t hear.

“You would probably kill me,” Garrett said matter-of-factly. “But I’ll kill her first. Any time you’re willing to risk it, go right ahead.” He used his thumb to cock the hammer, and Sophie could almost feel the air leave the room as the men all drew a breath. The thought of dying flitted through her mind, and she wondered if death would be quick or if she’d linger in pain.

Clay’s eyes never left Garrett’s face. A trickle of sweat rolled down his cheek. “Just put down the gun, and nobody gets hurt.”

Garrett chuckled. “And you’re the big hero, and I swing from a rope. Not an option for me, get it?”

They would hang him for murder. Maybe her, too. He would never give himself up, Sophie realized.

“Risk it.” Sophie’s words hung in the humid night air. “Shoot him, Clay. If he hits me, I might live. If not, it’s okay. If he’s a bad shot, don’t let me suffer.”

“Now, isn’t that touching?” Garrett said. “When did you become so brave, Gabriella? You’ve always been stupid and ungrateful.”

“Shoot him, Clay,” she ordered. “Don’t let him get away with it. With any of it.”

Clay understood what she was saying. She was begging him not to let Garrett get away with what he’d done to her. She knew how livid Clay had been when he’d learned Garrett had taken advantage of her as a young girl. The stories Sophie’d told him were vivid images in his mind. I submitted, she’d told him. I survived.

The man before him had used her body and soul for his own gain. He’d manipulated and demeaned and controlled—but he hadn’t broken her. She’d waited for the time and the place to escape him. She’d planned this whole fiasco to trap him and make him pay. Sophie needed to show Garrett he hadn’t gotten the best of her.

“Her name’s Sophia,” Clay said. “Not Gabriella, not any of the dozen other names you’ve given her. Sophia.”

“What the hell do you know?” Garrett asked. “You’re one of the pawns she’s using to get what she wants. I should know. I taught her how.”

Garrett was a master at using people’s weaknesses—some sixth sense had alerted him to Clay’s internal struggle.

“Guess we’ll just have to see who has the last laugh,” Clay said. “After all, she set you up on this one.”

Garrett’s nostrils flared. He glared daggers at Sophie.

She figured poor Frank had probably peed himself and the sheet by now if he hadn’t already jumped out the window. She didn’t dare look.

“You’re a revoltin’ excuse for a human bein’,” Clay told him. “You bought a young girl and used her for illegal gain. Used her just like you use everybody. But you couldn’t turn her into you. And you couldn’t break her spirit. She waited for the right time and place and she hightailed it away from you.”

“I found her, though, didn’t I? She didn’t want to hide that badly.”

“You didn’t win, Garrett. She set you up. You thought you had her under your thumb, that you were settin’ up this night, when all along, she was the one with the reins. She told me exactly what you’d do and exactly how to catch you. She used your own bait and trapped you.”

The air in the room was static with tension.

Garrett’s face was beet-red above his white shirt. “Guess I just have to kill her then.”

This was it. Clay had no choice. If he told his men to stand down and let Garrett go, Garrett would take Sophie with him. Clay should have planned for something like this.

Sophie’s words played in his head. Risk it. Risk it.

He’d told her once she was a risk he was willing to take. But not like this. Not risking her life.

Either way was a risk. This entire setup had been dangerous. A chance Sophie had been willing to take.

Clay wasn’t sure who moved first. With a flurry of green satin, Sophie flung her wrapper over Garrett’s gun hand. A burst of gunfire exploded and she was thrown back on the floor. Clay fired. More gunfire erupted. Clay squatted and the men on either side of him ducked and rolled.

Garrett’s body bucked from the force of the bullets pounding into it. He fell to his knees and his gun hand, encased in green fabric, fell to his side. With eyes wide open, his upper body swayed. The cigar he’d been holding fell. He collapsed forward with a slam.

Clay looked at both the other lawmen who immediately jumped toward Garrett’s prone body. He scrambled to Sophie where she lay on the wooden floor and rolled her to her back. She clutched at her side, curling her body protectively. Blood pooled in the cracks between the floorboards and ran in a rivulet away from her body. The entire side of her white corset was soaked in crimson.

Chapter Twenty-One

He’d seen dozens of men shot. The sight had never affected him like this—as though the world spun out of control and his own life hung in the balance. He grabbed a towel from the washstand and pressed it against the wound in her side. “Go get the doc!”

Sophie was staring up at him, her dark eyes glistening. “Is he…did he?”

Clay glanced at Hershel who shook his head.

“He’s dead,” Clay told her.

She tried to turn to see for herself, but Clay held her down with a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t move. You’ll bleed more.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. Her breath was coming short and fast. “We did it.”

“You did it, Sophie.”

“Thanks,” she managed. “For those things you said to him.”

“Don’t talk now. Dr. Chaney will be coming.” He glanced at the doorway in panic. “You hurtin’ bad, Sophie? Course you are. Damn.”

“Get me a sheet or something. I’m in my underwear.”

Clay stood and turned to Frank Wick, forgotten in the chaos. “Hand over the sheet and get your clothes on before anyone sees you here.”

Frank just looked at him.

Clay jerked the sheet away. “Get the hell out!”

Clay covered Sophie while the man fumbled with his pants and shirt, then edged toward the door. No one stopped him.

Clay plucked away the pins that had held Sophie’s hair in place under the wig and ran his fingers through the dark tresses. “You were brave.”

She bit her lower lip against the pain. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost her.

It would be his fault for not foreseeing that Garrett wouldn’t docilely be arrested and led off to trial. The man had no scruples; Clay should have known he wouldn’t hesitate to turn a gun on Sophie to save his hide.

“Sorry,” he said. “Should’ve known he’d do somethin’ like that.”

“Thank you for taking the risk,” she said with a weak smile.

“I didn’t. You moved first.”

“I was mad.” She closed her eyes.

“Stay awake until the doc gets here.”

She blew out a couple of harsh breaths. “It hurts like the very devil.”

He grasped her hand and held it to his lips. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. “The doc’s comin’.”

There was a commotion on the stairs and Caleb Chaney entered the room, carrying his bag. He paused over Garrett’s body.

“He’s dead,” Clay said. “She’s the one needs a doctor.”

Caleb knelt over her. “They said she was shot?”

Clay edged over so the doctor could move in. Caleb pulled the sheet aside and raised the blood-soaked towel.

“Is it…is it bad?” Clay asked.

“There’s so much blood, it’s hard to tell.” He looked at Sophie’s face. He checked her pupils. “I think the corset is helping staunch the blood flow. Let’s move her to my office before I take it off to examine her.”

Dr. Chaney motioned to the men just inside the doorway. “Bring in the stretcher.”

Clay lifted her upper body by grasping her under the arms.

“Shit!” she shouted.

They maneuvered her onto the canvas sling, Clay taking one end as Owen got the other, and carried her down the stairs.

By the time they put her in a wagon and arrived at the doctor’s office, Sophie was unconscious.

“It’s okay,” Caleb assured him. “I don’t think she’s in shock. It’s probably just her body’s way of dealing with the pain.”

“What can I do?”

“Go take care of things, make your report. I’ll take good care of her.”

“She might wake up and call for me.”

“I’m going to make sure she’s out, Marshal. She won’t be in any pain once I give her an injection. I have to see how much damage the bullet did and whether or not it’s still in there. You won’t be any help to me.”

Clay pursed his mouth in a hard line, hating the helplessness.

“Let me do my job,” the doctor said finally.

Entrusting Sophie to the man’s capable hands was the most difficult thing he’d ever done. He backed out of the building and stared sightlessly at the lights in the windows before turning away.

Sophie came to consciousness in a dizzying wave of pain that radiated from her left side. The sun coming in the window of the room where she lay was blinding.

Caleb Chaney looked into her eyes one at a time. “I’m going to give you something to let you sleep a while longer.”

Thank God. She nodded.

“Before I do, the marshal would like to say something to you.”

Clay was there.

“Sophie?” His hand was warm and large as he enveloped hers. “I have something for you.”

“What?”

He held up a shining gold ring—a wedding band. Was he proposing? What an odd time to think about marriage. She didn’t know if she was going to live or die, and if she did live, she wouldn’t be free to be a wife.

“Garrett had it on him. It’s yours, Sophie.”

She blinked at him.

“Your mother’s ring. It has your parents’ names inside.” Clay slipped the ring on her finger. It was warm from his skin. The weight was solid and satisfying. Tears formed in the outer corners of her eyes and rolled back into her hair. Clay wiped them with his thumbs.

She grasped his hand. “Thank you,” she said, her voice hoarse.

He kissed the backs of her fingers.

“He’s dead then?”

“He’s dead.”

Somehow she didn’t feel this was over, couldn’t shake the feeling that Garrett might appear at any moment. He’d controlled every second of her life for so many years, she couldn’t shake the sensation that he was hovering just out of sight.

Her side throbbed.

“That corset saved your life,” he told her.

She listened.

“Doc says the bullet glanced off a bone stay and tore a groove along the flesh. It’s all stitched up, but it will heal.”

“I’m not going to die.”

She thought she saw a glimmer of moisture in his eyes before he closed them and whispered, “No, thank God.”

Jail then…or a noose.

“You’ll get well and there will be a hearing. I’m doin’ everything I can,” he promised. “I won’t let anythin’ happen to you.”

What could he do? He couldn’t turn back time. He couldn’t change the things she’d done.

“Clay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not holding out much hope.”

“I’ll hope for the both of us, then.”

Oh, she loved this man. Loved him with all her being. If he was another casualty in her long line of victims, she would never forgive herself. It took a great deal of strength to raise her arm, but she wanted to touch him. She grazed her fingertips over his brow, along his cheek, pressed them against his lips.

He tasted her fingers with a kiss. “I love you, Sophie.”

“You deserve better,” she assured him.

“No. I deserve you.”

“I want to sleep now.”

He took her hand and tucked it under the sheet, then turned to where Caleb Chaney had been waiting. “Give her somethin’ for the pain now.”

The doctor swabbed Sophie’s arm and she felt the prick of the needle. Delicious mind-numbing warmth flooded through her veins and she slept.

Sophie’s identity had been revealed, and Clay’s relationship to her was now common knowledge. He had a responsibility to uphold the law, maybe even more so to make certain there was never any question about his integrity. She wasn’t going anywhere, but he still had to follow procedures. He assigned a deputy to stand watch outside the room.

Two days later, Dr. Chaney couldn’t keep her in bed any longer. She was on her feet and had insisted on using the outhouse and sitting at a table for breakfast. “My side hurts, but I don’t want any more of those shots. Thank you very much, I wanted them when I first got here…but I’m getting better.”

“You have to let that flesh heal,” he told her.

“I’m going to dress, and then I’m leaving,” she told him for the hundredth time.

“All right, Sophie. I can’t tie you up. Ellie went to your hotel room and brought you loose-fitting clothing. It’s in the cabinet right there. If you need help dressing, I’ll send for her.”

“No, I can do it.”

“Don’t do any bending or stretching that pulls on those stitches. Come back tomorrow, so I can look at them. If you see any bleeding, send for me.”

“Yes, Doctor. I promise.”

“I’m ordering a buggy brought around.”

She consented. Walking was too much for her today.

After he left the room, it took her a good fifteen minutes to get into her clothing. Ellie had thoughtfully picked out a loose chemise and shirtwaist. Sophie worked up a sweat bending over to put on her stockings and shoes, and almost quit twice, but resolved to be self-sufficient.

With her clothing in place and her hair in reasonable order, she exited the room.

John Doyle jumped up from the chair where he’d been sitting. “You can’t go anywhere!”

“I’m not escaping, Deputy,” she told him. “No need for handcuffs. I’m heading for the jail right now.”

He fell into step behind her.

Dr. Chaney was sitting at the small desk in the next room.

“How much is my bill?” she asked.

He told her, and she promised to send the money the following day. He ushered her through the waiting room to the door.

Ellie’s brother Benjamin was waiting for her with a buggy at the curb. “Miss.”

He assisted her to the seat, and she sat with her hand protectively over her sore side.

“Where you headin’?” he asked.

“The jailhouse,” she said.

“Which one?”

“Wherever Marshal Connor is.”

“He’s workin’ in the new building,” the deputy said from where he stood beside the rig.

Benjamin guided the shiny black horse to pull the buggy along the streets, and John Doyle followed on horseback.

“Bet you’ve never delivered a prisoner to the jailhouse before,” she said.

“Ellie said some bad stuff happened to you,” he answered. “Me’n Ellie, we know all about takin’ care of yourself. Don’t any of us Chaneys think less of you.”

His compassion touched her deeply. “Thank you, Benjamin.”

“Talk around town is you’re a hero.”

She waved that comment away.

They turned right from Main onto Eighth. The new jail did indeed look finished. “I’ll check an’ make sure he’s here before you bother t’ get down,” Benjamin offered.

He tied the reins, climbed down, and disappeared inside the brick building.

Clay appeared a second later, his dark hair shining in the sun, a frown on his face. He took in Deputy Doyle where he’d tethered his horse and stood watching. Clay turned his face up to where she sat. “What’re you doin’?”

“Help me down.”

He and Benjamin both hurried to assist her from the buggy to the ground.

“Wait here, will ya?” Clay asked Benjamin.

The young man agreed with a nod.

Sophie walked toward the door and Clay followed. The inside was much larger than their old building; their desks were new, and the whole place smelled like freshly cut wood and varnish.

Hershel Vidlak sat with his feet propped on a desk, reading the Newton Kansan. “Afternoon, Miss Hollis,” he said, sliding his feet to the floor.

A deputy she didn’t recognize was screwing a rack of some kind to the back wall. At Marshal Vidlak’s greeting he turned and nodded.

“Why are you out of bed?” Clay asked. He rolled a new chair with a brown leather seat and backrest toward her. “Here.”

She ignored it. “I want to see him.”

He got a crease between his dark brows. “Who?”

“Garrett.”

Clay paused. “He’s dead.”

“I want to see the body.”

“Why? Why put yourself through that? You’ve been through too much.”

“I have to see for myself. I have to know. You’ve told me, and I believe you. My head acknowledges that he died that day. But I can’t shake this feeling hanging over me. It’s like he’s still there, waiting…shadowing everything.” Sophie searched his eyes for understanding. “I can’t go the rest of my life, however long or short that is, without knowing for certain, for once and for all, proof positive, that he’s gone.”

Clay stared at her for a long moment. The familiar sound of a train whistle echoed in the distance.

“I’ll be takin’ Miss Hollis to the undertaker’s,” he said finally, speaking to the other men. Clay grabbed his hat and led her to the door.

“Reckon I don’t need to follow,” John Doyle said.

“Got it covered,” Clay told him and led her out. “Mind givin’ us a ride to George Monday’s place on Main?” he said to Benjamin.

“Ain’t he the dentist?”

“Yup.” Clay was careful not to touch Sophie’s side as he helped her back into the buggy, but she gasped and placed her hand over the spot anyway. Her face was too pale.

“You can lock me up after this,” she said.

He climbed up beside her. “You should have stayed at the doc’s.”

“I couldn’t. I had to come here.”

“Cells aren’t ready in the new place yet,” he told her. “We aren’t set up for prisoners. And I won’t put you in the temporary jail. No privacy. You’re gonna hafta stay at your hotel. Your things are all still there.”

She glanced at him with a hopeful expression in her dark eyes.

“I’ll post a guard during the day and take the night shift myself.”

Her smile revealed a mixture of relief and expectation.

“Don’t go thinkin’ I’m gonna risk hurtin’ your wound.”

She simply shrugged as though they’d discuss that subject when they got to it.

Benjamin pulled the rig up in front of a small copper-roofed building. The shingle outside the door read George Monday, Dentist, Undertaker.

“Wait here.” Clay climbed down and entered the building. After a few minutes, he came back and helped her down. “Meet us ’round back in a few minutes.”

“What are you going to do?” Sophie asked.

“He’s in the ice house. We’ll bring ’im out.”

Sophie glanced at the watch around her neck. She fingered the ring on her finger for assurance, smiled nervously up at Benjamin.

“You okay, Miss Hollis?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

She checked her watch again.

Finally, she made her way around the side of the building.

Clay and a short heavyset man waited for her in front of a small structure. Before them on the ground was a long form draped in white cloth.

“Keepin’ ’im on ice ’til I hear what I’m supposed to do with ’im,” the man said. “Too hot to leave ’im out.”

Sophie stared at the profile beneath the sheeting.

Clay handed her a handkerchief.

Monday bent and folded the drape down and away from the body.

He’d been washed and groomed and dressed in a three-piece suit with a green sheen. Obviously something they’d found in his hotel room, because it was his flamboyant taste and style.

Sophie had expected to gaze fearfully upon a sleeping man who looked as though he could sit up and reclaim her at any moment. She hadn’t expected this person’s shrunken appearance. His eye sockets and cheeks were sallow, and under his lips and cheeks, it looked as though his teeth were too big for his mouth. His skin was a sickly gray, and the hands folded over his chest didn’t even look real.

It was Garrett, though, his hair and features unmistakable.

Clay seemed to be waiting for her to crumple or fall apart. Sophie walked forward without a second’s hesitation and gave Garrett a solid kick in the side.

No sound. No movement.

She glanced up.

Clay was watching as though he saw this kind of thing every day. The undertaker wore an expression of horror, however. Her need to prove to herself Garrett was dead may have been extreme, but she didn’t care.

“This is it then,” she said simply. “Thank you, Mr. Monday.”

Side throbbing, Sophie turned and headed back for the buggy. She needed to lie down.

It only took another week for Judge McNamara to arrive in Newton for the scheduled hearing. A lawman stood watch outside her door during the day. Clay spent every night in her hotel room with her. Each night he held her and told her he loved her, and each night she withheld words of similar sentiment that wouldn’t be fair.

Ellie came to visit her two different mornings. Emma stopped by on her day off, bringing chestnut pudding made fresh that day, and Rosie brought her a sampler the girls had worked on together. The cross stitch held a friendship sentiment.

Sophie prepared for the hearing with a clean conscience and a fresh resignation to handle whatever came her way. She’d made friends, she’d known love. And she was living her life as herself. Still, she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t frightened.

Clay came to escort her to the hearing that had been scheduled as the last appearance of the morning. She was scared to death. All the things she’d kept hidden were about to be public. The most shameful secrets of her past would be revealed. In one way baring that burden would surely be as purging as when she’d told Clay. But Clay had cared about her.

“Just the truth, Sophie,” Clay told her, warming her cold hand between his comforting warm ones as their buggy was drawn toward the courthouse.

It was a square brick building, set back from the street and surrounded by well-tended shade trees and overflowing flowerbeds of red and white petunias. She walked the brick path to the door and waited for Clay to open it.

A bald man ushered them into a room, and Clay told her he’d be sitting with the other lawmen. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and took his place. She took notice to see that there were only one or two people besides the law officers there to observe. She moved to stand before the table where a white-haired man sat. Beside him a younger man waited with pen poised over a tablet.

Judge McNamara cut an impressive figure in his brown pin-striped suit. “You’re the young woman all the fuss is about?” he asked.

“My name is Sophia, sir.”

“Last name is Hollis?”

“I don’t remember my real last name. I’ve been going by Hollis.”

“Well, take a seat right here,” he said, indicating a chair at the side of the table.

She sat gingerly, and the judge took notice of the way she favored her side. “I’ve gone over all the reports,” he began. “Seems we have a bit of a dilemma here. It’s your word against a dead man’s.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Judge McNamara.” Clay’s voice.

“Marshal,” the judge acknowledged.

“Her name is Sophia Hollister.”

Sophie turned and stared at Clay. The name resounded in her head, an elusive memory trying to focus.

The judge slid his glasses onto his forehead and studied Clay. “And how do you know this when she doesn’t even recall her own name?”

Clay carried a stack of documents forward and presented them. “She’s wearin’ a ring there that belonged to her ma. I took it off the dead man. Two names are inscribed inside. The same names are on a passenger list from a wagon train that the man and wife traveled with. Records I found at army forts match the family’s travels right up to the time and the area where reports say they were killed.”

The judge shuffled through lists and telegrams, the rustling paper loud in the large room.

Sophie digested the fact that Clay had searched records and hunted until he found her family and her real name. He could have mentioned this before. She gave him a dumbfounded look. He ignored it.

“Ward and Sela Hollister and their five children were reported killed by a Sioux war party,” the judge said after review. “Miss Hollis’s story fits this family’s right up to that point in time. May I see the ring?”

Sophie took off the band and handed it to Clay who walked round the table and gave it to the judge. The judge used his glasses like a magnifying glass to read the tiny inscription Sophie hadn’t remembered. She hadn’t removed the ring since Clay had returned it to her.

The judge handed Clay the ring to give back to Sophie. Clay returned to his seat. “Okay, we know who you are. But you’re accused of quite an extensive list of crimes. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“If you name them off for me sir I’ll tell you to the best of my recollection whether or not I participated.”

The judge raised an eyebrow in surprise, then held his glasses away from his face so he could read a list of names and the crimes associated with them through the lenses.

“Yes, sir. That was me. That one, too.”

He continued, and she admitted responsibility for taking part in each one. “I’m not sure about those,” she said at one point, “but that was one of our usual scams, so I can’t deny it.”

Ten minutes later the older man leaned toward her. “Young lady, you’ve just admitted to over sixty acts of crime. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Just the truth, she remembered Clay saying. She swallowed hard. “Did any of those papers tell you that Garrett bought me? I was about twelve.”

The judge’s expression showed his surprise and interest. “Bought you?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. I remember standing on a public street in the fall. It was a couple years after my mother had died. The Sioux were selling hides and jerky. I’d never been taken on one of their trips before. I had this ring with me.” She fingered the band. “Hidden on a leather thong under my tunic. I wanted to touch it for comfort, but I knew I shouldn’t let anyone see it.

“I saw the goods trade hands, but didn’t realize what was going on right away. Whiskey. A rifle. And then I was being pushed toward the white man. The sun was warm on my face and head, and I remember the way he looked down at me.”

Sophie paused. It felt good to have the truth about her life out in the open at last. “Could I have a drink of water, please?”

The judge’s assistant got up and poured her a glass of water. She took a fortifying sip. “Thank you.”

She told how Garrett had purchased clothing for her. How he’d paid for tutors and teachers of deportment. How he held his own session each day, coaching her to recognize people’s weaknesses, how to play into those, how to play a role.

Occasionally Judge McNamara asked a question.

Sophie didn’t leave out a single detail. Her explanation of when and how their relationship had changed made the men in the room uncomfortable. Sophie noticed they shifted in their chairs. But Judge McNamara looked right at her without flinching.

“How did you come to be here today?”

She went on to explain how Garret had killed the man in Denver and that she’d taken the money and run.

At that point Clay spoke up again. “Judge, there’s someone who’d like to say somethin’ now.”

“Who is it?”

Clay gestured to a woman sitting in one of the rows of seats Sophie’d avoided looking at.

A woman wearing a homespun dress raised her hand tentatively, then stood. “I’d like a chance to make mention of what I know about Miss Hollis’s character.”

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Gretchen Forrester.”

“Come on up here, then.” The judge motioned her forward.

The woman stood three feet from the table. “Miss Hollis or Dumont or whoever she is…” she pointed at Sophie. “She came to my home nearly two years ago and returned money that had been taken from my husband.”

“How did your husband lose the money?”

“An investment of some sort that he told me went sour. He didn’t wanna admit he gave it to a flim-flam man. But then when this lady came and offered it back, he told me what really happened. That was money I’d inherited from my father, and I intend to send my son to university with it.”

“I hope your husband has learned his lesson.”

“Oh, he has, sir. He has.”

“You can sit down, Mrs. Forrester.” Judge McNamara turned to Sophie. “What happened when the money ran out?”

“I saved enough back to see me through if I didn’t find work. I was in Dubuque when I saw the advertisement for the Harvey House positions. So I came up with letters and references and traveled here.”

“What did you hope to gain in coming to Kansas?”

Sophie took a moment to form her answer. “I wanted to live like other people. I had to lie to get the position, but lies were all I knew how to do. I figured if I could set aside a nest egg, I could start my own business eventually. I’d be independent. Most of all I wanted to be in control of my own destiny. That’s all I ever thought of really.”

The judge looked to Clay. “How’d you find Mrs. Forrester?”

Clay stepped forward. “Once I started tracin’ Sophie’s trail, the Pinkertons caught on. They’d been lookin’ for Garrett. We shared information, and I got names of people she’d visited.”

Clay glanced at Sophie before addressing the judge again. “What I’m hopin’ you’ll see, Judge, is that Miss Hollis—er—that Sophie was a scared kid doin’ what she had to just t’ survive. She got away. And when she did, she paid back many of the people they’d taken money from.”

“Paying back stolen money with more stolen money doesn’t right the wrong,” the judge replied.

Clay’s expression was grim at that remark.

The judge leaned back in his chair. “I’m beginning to see something here. Have you done all this research into Miss Hollis’s background purely as your official duty?”

Clay looked uncomfortable with the question, and she hoped it was because he didn’t want to compromise the facts and not because he was embarrassed about their association. “No, sir, I didn’t. It’s more personal than that.”

“Did you ever wonder, Marshal, if she was pulling a con over on you?”

Clay nodded, regret evident in his posture. “Wouldn’t be human if I hadn’t. I had feelin’s for her, and as a lawman I wondered if I was lettin’ those shade my judgment.” He glanced at her. “Sorry, Sophie. We’re tellin’ the truth today.”

“It’s okay,” she said.

The judge looked at her again. “Sophia, did you use the marshal?”

She felt like she’d been struck. She couldn’t catch her breath for a moment and her ears rang. Used Clay? Used him?

“Well, I—I guess in a way it would seem I did. I mean I knew he cared for me and that he wanted to help.”

“Have you ever asked him to do anything for you?”

“Yes, sir, I have.”

Clay frowned at her, but she went on.

“I asked him to help me trap Garrett. And—” She’d asked him to spend the night with her, but she couldn’t say that, even if it was the truth. She raised a hand as she thought of something else. “I asked him to let me see the body once Garrett was dead.”

“So, Marshal, the plan to catch Garrett in one of these blackmail schemes was entirely Miss Hollis’s?”

Clay shifted uncomfortably. “It was.”

“But you agreed to go along with it. Care to explain why?”

“Had no idea the man would be killed, o’ course,” he answered. “I thought once he was caught right here in Kansas, there’d be a better chance of a trial here, rather than escorting him directly to Colorado.”

“And what did you hope to gain by holding his first trial here?”

“I was hopin’ Sophie’d stand a better chance of pardon.”

Clay moved to pick up another stack of letters and telegrams and handed them to Judge McNamara. “More people want to say somethin’ on Sophie’s behalf.”

The judge gestured with a sweep of his arm. “Where are they?”

One of the other marshals went to the door and opened it. One by one a dozen or more men and women filed into the room and took seats.

Sophie stared, recognizing some of them as either people she’d returned money to, others as girls from the Arcade. Louis Tripp was there, and even Mr. Webb had come! Her heart could hardly contain her joy that so many people cared and believed in her enough to speak on her behalf.

Clay sat down and one by one the judge let each person say their piece from where they sat. A Pinkerton agent shared his findings. Citizens thanked her for her honesty in bringing them their stolen funds, others shared her kind deeds or her work ethic. They would’ve been passing out lemonade in hell if Mrs. Winters had shown up, she thought.

The door opened again and Caleb and Ellie Chaney entered.

“Dr. Chaney, I suppose you wanted to say something about Miss Hollis’s character, and I suppose too that it would all be glowing.”

“It would.”

Ellie gave Sophie an encouraging smile and Sophie’s throat tightened with humble appreciation.

“One more, Judge,” Clay said.

Deputy Sanders strode to the door. A young woman accompanied him back. Blond hair. Amanda! Sophie covered her trembling lips with her hand.

“I’m Amanda Pettyjohn,” she said. Her cheeks were bright with color. “Your honor, Sophie is a dear and loyal friend. She taught me to dance. That’s not why you should let her go, though. You should let her go because she saved me from getting mixed up with Monte—I mean Tek Garrett. She risked our friendship and a lot more to tell me the truth. And then she gave me money she’d earned so I could go home when my cousin Winnie had her baby.” She turned a beaming smile on Sophie. “It’s a girl!”

Sophie smiled through tears.

“Thank you, Miss Pettyjohn. Take a seat.”

Amanda sat two chairs away from Deputy Sanders.

The judge laid his glasses on the tabletop. “I don’t see much sense in taking this any further.”

Sophie anticipated the worst.

“I pretty much had my mind made up after reading the reports and the documentation, little lady. But your marshal here and all your friends intrigued me, so I listened to them. Not all my days are this interesting.”

He looked at the people occupying the chairs. “Sophie was a child when this Garrett got hold of her. He purposefully corrupted her to his way of life and used her.”

Sophie listened, hope growing.

He turned his attention to her again. “I’m of a mind that whatever wrongs you may have participated in before, you had no plans for any further con work.”

“No, sir,” Sophie assured him. “I wanted to put those days behind me.”

“And you risked your life to catch the true criminal.”

This was sounding more hopeful every minute!

“Marshal, you will notify the proper authorities that Tek Garrett was killed while carrying out a criminal act. Also alert them that Miss Hollis has been cleared of all accusations subject to my authority and that I am petitioning a federal judge to make certain she is absolved of her part in any and all charges not included here today.”

Sophie stared at the man in disbelief. “You mean I’m free? I’m not going to jail?”

“You’re free, Sophia. Punishing you would just be more cruel and unfair treatment, which you’ve already endured. Go. Create that destiny you’ve wanted for so long.”

Sophie stood. “Oh, I will, Judge. I will! Thank you. Thank you.”

She turned her attention to Clay. He was smiling from ear to ear. She rushed forward and he opened his arms to enfold her, careful of her tender side. “It’s over, Sophie,” he told her. “You’re free.”

Sophie’s friends and acquaintances gathered around her to give her gentle hugs and share their support and pleasure in the judge’s findings.

Sophie made a point of finding Judge McNamara and thanking him before he left. The judge’s assistant picked up papers and folders, and followed the older man from the room. Others were filing out, too, now.

Clay hadn’t left her side. She turned to embrace him. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d done all that?” They hung behind to speak privately. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew my real name?”

“You said you didn’t want to get your hopes up. I wasn’t even sure how much good my efforts would do. I just had to try.”

“You risked your reputation as a lawman for me.” She leaned back and looked up into his clear blue eyes.

“Said it before. You’re a risk worth takin’.”

Oblivious to their surroundings now, without thought to anyone left in the room, Sophie cupped his jaw and raised her face for a kiss.

Clay obliged her, telling her with searing passion that it had all been worth it to hold her like this, to know she was in control of her own life from here on out.

Sophie leaned back to say, “Today is all about the truth.”

His gaze steadied on her lips.

“There’s something I have to tell you now,” she said.

Two tiny lines formed between his black eyebrows.

She hadn’t meant to stab him with concern. “I love you. I couldn’t say it before. I didn’t have the right, and I wasn’t free to. Now I can tell you. I love you, Clay Connor.”

His arm tightened across her back. “I love you, Sophia Hollister.” He kissed her gently. “You only just found out that name an’ all, but before you go getting used to it, I was hopin’ you’d be willin’ to change it one last time. For good this time.”

Hope surged in Sophie’s heart. She’d never anticipated anything this good, this right being hers. She closed her eyes to remember this feeling. She never wanted to forget the way her heart felt as light as a butterfly.

“Open your eyes and say you’ll marry me.”

Her smile came from her soul. She opened her eyes and had to blink back tears of joy. “Only if you promise to kiss me like that forever.”

“I can do better than that.”

“Can you love me forever?”

“I will.”

“Can I smoke in bed?”

He chuckled and she loved the sound. “Only if I’m there with you.”

“In that case I trust you with my heart’s destiny, Marshal.”

He kissed her well, proving his word that he could do better.

“Let’s go celebrate,” he suggested. “I heard cheesecake’s on the menu at the Arcade today, and I haven’t been there since you quit.”

They drew apart, but held hands as they walked toward the doorway. “Good idea,” she agreed. “I have a few bridesmaids to share the rest of our good news with.”

He drew a face. “Just how many would that be?”

“Is twenty too many?”

He laughed and wrapped his arm around her. “Funny, that’s how many children I was countin’ on, Sophie.”

Her laughter echoed throughout the empty room.

The Preacher’s Daughter

CHERYL ST.JOHN

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Prologue

Florence, Kansas, 1878

Sounds woke him. A shoe scraping against the floor. Muttered conversation. The clink of a bottle. Familiar sounds. The smelly fire had gone out hours ago, and the tiny cabin was cold.

Ben buried his head beneath his arm, adjusted his bony hip against the inadequate padding between him and the floorboards, and slid closer to his younger brother for warmth. Flynn’s belly growled in his sleep. They hadn’t had a meal since early that morning, and it had consisted of eggs and milk his sister had stolen.

“Wake up.” A man’s voice. Gruff in the silence of the room.

Ben peered through the darkness to see the man touch his sister’s shoulder. Several feet away, she jerked and sat up. A light shone from behind the threadbare blanket that served as a divider between this sleeping area and their mother’s, enough light to see that the figure leaning over her was one of Della Foster’s nighttime callers.

“What do you want?” Ben’s sister whispered, shrugging the man’s hand from her shoulder.

“Come quickly. Your mother has taken a fall and I need your help to get her back inside.”

Ben sat up. “I’ll help.”

Ellianna pulled on her moth-eaten sweater over her underwear. “No, you stay here with Flynn,” she whispered and tiptoed around their younger brother where he lay. “It’s just Mama needing help to get to bed again. I can do it.”

She followed the man around the blanket curtain.

Ben sat up and looked at Flynn. Getting to his feet, he peeked to see that his mother truly wasn’t in the cabin. Sometimes she had trouble walking right. And she could be really heavy when she was like that. After tiptoeing to the door in stockinged feet, he stepped outside.

From a little farther on Ellianna asked, “Where is she?”

“Here,” the man replied. “Over here.”

“I don’t see her,” she answered.

“In here.”

Ben followed behind quietly. A horse and carriage sat a hundred yards from the shack. Mama was in that buggy? She never went anywhere.

Ellianna was peering into the carriage.

Ben had a bad feeling. Was Mama dead? Had something really bad happened to her?

“I don’t see anything,” Ellianna said.

Winston Parker grabbed her around the back of the neck. “Get inside.”

“No! No, I—”

“It wasn’t a question.” He shoved her into the carriage and she fell. “Get in!”

“Stop!” Ben scrambled forward, reaching them just as Winston pushed Ellianna all the way inside and tried to climb in behind her and shut the door.

“Let her out of there! Where’s Mama?” Ben grabbed the man’s arm, and Parker flung him away. He pushed Ellianna flat on her stomach and she cried out.

Parker clamped a hand over her mouth and she clawed at him, blindly reaching for his eyes, his throat. His hand slipped and she managed a scream.

Terrified now, Ben beat at the man’s back and head with all his might. A fist met with his jaw and he fell back on the hard earth, seeing stars, momentarily stunned.

The carriage door slammed shut.

Ellie’s muffled cries shot terror through him. “Mama!”

Ben turned and ran for the house. “Mama! Help Ellie! You have to help Ellie! That man’s hurting her!”

Ben had to help her. But how? His eight-year-old brain thought over the meager contents of the room and settled on an iron skillet. He grabbed it and ran out the door.

His mother came stumbling onto the porch at that moment, a bag in the crook of her arm.

“Mama! Help Ellie! Hurry!”

She pushed him away and yanked the squeaky door open.

Ben grabbed her arm. “You gotta help her! He’s hurtin’ her!”

She pulled away and carried her bag inside.

Ben stared after his mother for a moment, then shook himself into action and tore back to the carriage. There was no one but him to help Ellianna. No one but him who cared.

He pounded the carriage door with the skillet, beat the handle until it fell to the ground, but still the door didn’t budge. Inside he heard muffled crying, and it wasn’t long until his own wail drowned out his sister’s.

He wasn’t big enough or strong enough to help her.

Chapter One

Newton, Kansas, 1894

Her mother had died of boredom. Tedium. Monotony. Lorabeth Holdridge looked up from the worn Bible on her lap to her father, sitting with his eyes closed in prayer. She was convinced that no one could spend every night of their life in this manner without a little piece of their dreams drying up and dying week by week, month by month, until finally there was nothing left alive and their spirit simply left their body.

Beneath her backside, the hard wooden chair deliberately kept her from being too comfortable or allowing her mind to wander. Her father would consider it sinful, but her imagination had been her escape to alluring places ever since she’d been old enough to know there was more to life than this.

She glanced at her seventeen-year-old brother. She’d been waiting to make waves until she was sure he could take care of himself without her here. Until she knew he’d be okay. Simon stifled a yawn behind his hand and raised dark eyes, dull from boredom, to hers.

She crossed her eyes.

The corner of his mouth twitched in an effort to keep a smile from forming.

Ambrose Holdridge reached over and thumped Simon on the knee. He gave Lorabeth a stern look that told her he knew she was the instigator of this disruption.

A knock sounded on the back door. It wasn’t unusual for a caller to arrive of an evening, a parishioner needing prayer or a bit of advice.

“Continue in my absence,” their father said, and left the room.

As soon as Lorabeth heard voices in the kitchen, she whispered, “I’m dying here, Simon.”

“You’ll meet a man,” he began.

“Where? Where will I meet a man when I stay at the Chaneys’ all week, then obey Father’s demands and come home on Friday evening so I can clean, do laundry and tend the garden all weekend? Sundays I play the piano for church, prepare your dinner, bake and iron. Monday morning I head back to the Chaneys’ until the next Friday night. My only moments to myself are late at night after the Chaney children are asleep.”

“You convinced Father to let you take that job,” he said.

“And I love it. I do,” she said earnestly. “I’m not complaining about the work. It takes me away from…from this.” But she’d been functioning at this frantic pace for nearly two years. Now that she’d seen how other people lived and the freedom they enjoyed, she could no longer wait.

Only three chairs remained around the hearth. Her older sister Ruthann had married and now lived in Florence with her husband and new son. Her younger brother Jubal had married and was farming a few miles away.

“I’ve prayed hard for that husband, Simon.” She curled one hand into a frustrated fist. Though Lorabeth slept very little, when she did, she often dreamed of a man with a wild untamed spirit like hers. Someone handsome, Lord, she constantly entreated, but not taken with himself. Someone filled with life and vitality who would slash open new horizons and show her the world she craved.

“I know how badly you wanted to attend university,” Simon said with regret in his eyes.

Her father had staunchly refused. University was too worldly for a pure young woman, held too many risks and offered far too much exposure to unseemly conduct. She had responsibilities to the family and to the work of the church.

“I’d be happy for you if you got to go,” she assured him. She’d always gone through the motions and done what was expected, but she’d never really felt alive or content until she’d worked in the Chaneys’ home, until she’d lived in the midst of their family. But glimpses weren’t enough. Hearing their laughter and watching her employers with their children exposed the aching emptiness that had existed hidden inside Lorabeth her entire life. The memory of her mother, thin and pale on her sick bed, begging Lorabeth not to settle for less than her dreams had been nagging at her every waking moment.

For months she’d been thinking that perhaps there was an answer besides the elusive husband she’d been praying for. Perhaps there was a way to take those last few steps away from her father’s suffocating control.

“I have a plan,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You’ll be left on your own for now, but before long you will leave, too. You’ll find someone special. All the young ladies in church are taken with you.”

He grinned. “What’s your plan?”

The back door closed and footsteps sounded on the wooden floor in the hallway. Promptly, brother and sister sat back and composed themselves.

Lorabeth closed her eyes and waited with her heart pounding.

Her father’s chair creaked. “Mrs. Jenkins brought eggs,” he said.

“I need to speak with you, Father,” she said. Carefully, Lorabeth worked out the correct words in her head.

He fastened his stern gaze on her. “Can it not wait, daughter?”

“I have waited,” she told him. A lifetime. Her memory dredged up images of her mother, more weary, more downtrodden as each year passed and hope steadily ebbed away. “This is the only chance I have that I’m not baking or doing laundry or sitting in church.”

He raised a censuring eyebrow. “A virtuous woman looketh well to the ways of her household and eateth not the bread of idleness.”

That same Proverbs Thirty-one woman had a husband who praised her and children who rose up and called her blessed, but Lorabeth bit her tongue instead of pointing out that this was not her own household. Arguing that she was quite inconveniently the last Holdridge female left would only be hurtful, and she would never hurt him. “It’s just that this is my only opportunity to speak with you,” she said as respectfully as she knew how.

“Very well. What’s on your heart?”

Ellie Chaney hadn’t asked Lorabeth to work any more days than she already did, but Lorabeth’s future depended on her belief that the woman would be glad to have her living with them full-time. She chose her words and said, “Mrs. Chaney is expecting another child soon.”

Her father lifted the same dark eyebrow.

“She could use more help on weekends.”

“What about your duties at home?” her father predictably asked. “It’s well and good that you are able to help the doctor’s wife with her children, but not at the cost of your own family.”

“I’m twenty-one years old, Father,” she pointed out. “Ruthann was living away from home when she was nineteen.”

“She had a husband of her own to care for. You do not.”

As if she needed that pointed out. Her neck and cheeks warmed at his reminder. She composed her thoughts before speaking aloud. “I believe I’m old enough to make important decisions for myself.”

His fingers twitched on the Bible he held on his knees. With her heart racing, she anticipated his objections.

Simon darted a look at his father. He seemed to be waiting as breathlessly as Lorabeth.

“I do want your approval and your blessing, of course,” she added. “And I don’t wish to leave you without help. I’m sure I could arrange to come over one or two mornings a week to do laundry. Perhaps I could mention to the Widow Hinz that though the pies she brings you are welcome, bread would be more practical.”

The woman who had taken over as proprietress of the bakery after her husband’s death five years ago supplied the Holdridge men with pastries each week.

“And of course I’ll still be in church on Sunday mornings.” She was proud of herself that her voice hadn’t been pleading or begging, though her heart was on callused knees in supplication.

Simon studied his father for another minute, but clamped his eyelids shut when Ambrose glanced in his direction.

“As you say, Lorabeth, you are a grown woman,” Ambrose began. “I can see that you’ve given this matter much thought.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ve trained you up in the way you should go. Now that you are older, I must trust that you will not depart from those ways.”

Her relief was like a weightlessness that started at her feet and worked its way upward. His consent was all she’d hoped for. “I won’t, Father.”

“I will talk with Dr. Chaney to remind him of the enormity of his responsibility while you are living under his roof.”

“He’s a wonderful man, Father. And Mrs. Chaney is a remarkable woman. I’m completely safe in their home.”

“I would be more confident if he attended services on a more regular basis.”

“He’s a doctor. He’s often called away to help people. Mrs. Chaney is always in church with her children and her brothers.”

Her father nodded. “Very well, Lorabeth. You have my blessing to live in the Chaneys’ home.”

She wanted to jump up and hug him, skip and dance around the parlor, shout her joy to the rafters—sing, even! But she held it all inside, a warm tingling expectation that buoyed her young woman’s heart and sang hallelujahs through her veins until her limbs quivered.

“Now we shall continue with our prayer time,” Ambrose directed.

Lorabeth felt like a butterfly that had emerged from its cocoon inside a glass jar and the lid was finally being unscrewed.

Oh, thank You, Lord! Thank You that by next week I will be free! Thank You I can buy some pretty things for my room at the Chaneys’. Help me find time to stop at the library. Oh, and please help Simon find a good wife.

Lorabeth closed her eyes and smiled with her heart.

Lorabeth could hardly contain her excitement the following morning. She hummed a cheerful tune as she snipped flowers from the tidy garden and arranged them in a vase to place before the pulpit, then picked up her pocketbook and Bible. Simon held open the back door and she met his eyes as she passed him.

“I’ve seen the doctor’s home,” he whispered. “It’s big. Do you have your own room?”

“I do. The quilt on the bed was one of Mrs. Chaney’s wedding gifts. It’s red and blue, Simon. She wears colorful dresses and she laughs and plays with the children. The doctor reads them bedtime stories from books of fables written by a man named Aesop. I wish you could see it all. I wish I could take you with me.”

She took her place beside her brother as they walked the width of their yard behind their father to the United Congregational Church next door.

“They truly are good people?”

“Truly,” she assured him.

He gave a nod and touched the back of her hand. “Don’t worry about me, Lorabeth. This is my last year of school and then I plan to apprentice to one of the tradesmen in town.”

He was a thoughtful young man, and she appreciated his effort to set her mind at ease regarding his welfare.

This morning she didn’t mind arriving an hour before service or straightening the hymnals on the backs of the pews or dusting the organ and the windowsills.

Her father handed her a sheet of paper listing the hymns they would be singing that morning, so she took a seat at the organ and practiced the chords and notes she could play without music. She turned to the pages anyway, because her father thought it looked prideful and careless to have the music memorized.

When the people began filtering into the building, she watched for the Chaneys. Eighteen-year-old Flynn, Ellie’s younger brother was the first family member she saw, and he was carrying three-year-old Anna on his arm. Her red-blond hair had been threaded with blue ribbon and fashioned into two braids.

Lorabeth noted that her father was occupied in a conversation before hurrying to the aisle where the Chaney family had begun to settle. Five-year-old Lillith greeted her with a hug, so Anna leaned from her uncle’s arms to do the same. Nate and David, ten and eight, had their heads together as though they were concocting a scheme, but David looked up to notice her and both boys grinned ear to ear. Nate was the spitting image of his brown-haired father while David had Ellie’s violet eyes and delicate chin.

Finally she reached Ellie. Caleb was holding his wife’s elbow to guide her into their row. Lorabeth had to hurry to the pew ahead and lean over the back to speak to her employer. “Ellie! No, don’t get up.”

“Good morning, Lorabeth.” Ellie stood for a hug anyway, a challenging task because of the girth she carried out front. Her friends were predicting twins. Her lilac-colored dress made her eyes look almost purple. Her delicate appearance belied a strength of character Lorabeth had grown to appreciate. “You’re positively glowing this morning.”

“I have exciting news,” she explained. “My father has given his blessing for me to stay with you permanently. I can be there with you even on Saturdays and Sundays from now on.”

Ellie’s smiled dimmed slightly.

Lorabeth’s breath hitched in her chest.

“This is such a surprise,” Ellie said. “I don’t know what to think.”

Lorabeth had placed all her hopes on Ellie accepting her. She’d faced her father and won his approval. If Ellie didn’t want her full-time, her dream would be dashed. She’d been so sure. She’d been so…impulsive.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Ellie asked, concern creasing her brow. “You’re a young woman, Lorabeth. You deserve time for yourself. I don’t expect you to work seven days a week. You do so much for me now, and I can’t afford to pay you what you’re worth.”

“My pay is sufficient, that’s not a problem. And I won’t work seven days. If it’s all right with you, I’ll take a couple of mornings off during the week.” Lorabeth’s heart pounded in apprehension.

“But of course it’s all right.” Ellie grasped Lorabeth’s hand. “I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re the best present I ever got.”

Relief lifted the cloak of concern from Lorabeth and she could breathe again. Tears smarted behind her eyes.

“No more than you deserve, my dear.” Caleb Chaney had overheard and now wrapped his arm protectively around his wife’s shoulders.

“If you’re certain this is what you want, then I’m delighted,” Ellie told her, still clinging to her hand.

There was no doubt in her mind. She had promised her mother she wouldn’t abandon her dreams, and this was an important step toward keeping that promise. “I’m certain.”

The room had grown quiet. Lorabeth turned to find people settled in their pews and her father casting her a stern look from his place behind the pulpit. She gave Ellie a last appreciative smile, then squeezed her hand before releasing it and hurrying to her seat at the organ. She played the introduction to the first hymn, and the people stood.

A tall, broad-shouldered latecomer entered, casting a long shadow in the patch of sunlight on the smooth wooden floor before closing the door behind him. He removed his hat, revealing sandy-colored hair, and moved forward along the outside aisle to join his family.

Benjamin Chaney, Newton’s young veterinarian, took a seat beside his brother, Flynn, at the end of the Chaney pew, and little Anna immediately reached for him. He and Flynn weren’t actually Chaneys, from what Lorabeth understood. Shortly after Caleb and Ellie were married, the doctor had adopted her two brothers.

Benjamin had his own place and was still somewhat of a mystery to Lorabeth. Though he’d established his practice the better part of a year ago, all she knew of him was what she observed on Sundays and the occasional brief times he stopped by the house, and that was that he was part of a close-knit family unlike anything she’d ever experienced in her own household.

Lorabeth didn’t know much about Ellie’s life before she’d married Caleb. No relatives other than Caleb’s ever visited or were mentioned. From all she’d observed, the Chaneys were a tight-knit, loving family.

And they were the key to liberation she’d always wanted and yearned for. Lorabeth played with new determination, glancing up often to appreciate the family into which she had ingratiated herself. Becoming a permanent part of their household would be a dream come true. The past two years had been the best of her life, but to truly fulfill her wishes she would have to work doubly hard and prove herself. She prayed she was up to the task.

Chapter Two

“Benjamin, you should sell the house in town and live in the other one,” his sister Ellie said as she placed a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes on the table. “How can you keep up both places when you’re so busy?”

It was a customary Sunday dinner at his sister’s. Ben still wasn’t used to this house. He hadn’t been living with them when they’d moved here. He’d gone to university only a few years after Caleb and Ellie had married, and during that time more children had been born to them. As their family had grown, Caleb and Ellie had needed more space. The seven-bedroom dwelling had belonged to a railroad tycoon and had sat empty for a year before Caleb bought it.

“It’s just a house,” his sister was saying. “Be practical. Sell it.”

The house she referred to was the one they’d all lived in together. Ben was buying it from Caleb on monthly payments, but he’d also purchased property and buildings on the outskirts of town for his veterinary practice. He had needed stables and a place to do surgery. The new place had been a necessity, but he couldn’t let the old one go. There were too many memories in those rooms.

“You might as well be talking into a bucket,” Caleb said to his wife.

Ellie looked at Benjamin. “You’re not listening to me, are you?”

He shook his head with a grin.

“Sit down, Ellie.” Caleb pulled out a chair and insisted that his wife take a seat. “I’ll bring the rest of the food from the kitchen. Flynn will help.”

Ben’s brother jumped up to assist. Caleb was more like a father to him than a brother-in-law. Flynn would walk over hot coals to please Caleb.

Though Flynn was eighteen, he was still finishing school. He’d only attended one or two years before coming to live with Caleb and Ellie. He hadn’t caught up as quickly as Ben, though he’d accomplished a significant achievement and would earn his diploma this year.

Ben discussed school with Nate and David until the food was all set and bowls passed.

Caleb paused behind Ellie, his hand on her shoulder, and leaned down to speak near her ear. She turned to look at her husband with such tenderness in her expression that an ache expanded in Benjamin’s chest. She cupped Caleb’s jaw, and their lips touched briefly.

None of the children had noticed the typical display of affection. Ben looked away, spooned up some potatoes and placed them on Lillith’s plate.

Ellie was the mother every child deserved. If Ben ever had children he would want them as content and safe as Ellie’s. On occasion he’d thought about having his own family, but always dismissed the idea in a hurry. He wouldn’t want to mess them up.

“You’re a good cook, Mama,” Nate said.

Ellie cast him a grateful smile. “Why, thank you.”

It had never made a lick of difference to his sister that Nate had been born of Caleb’s first wife, Ben thought. The children had always been treated equally and fairly. Just like it had never made a difference to Caleb that his wife and her brothers didn’t even know who their fathers were. You were who you were in this family, no matter where you came from.

“Do horses hafta eat nasty ol’ green beans, Uncle Ben?” Lillith asked.

“No, horses eat oats and hay and sorghum with a little molasses added. They crop grass, too. Have to watch they don’t get into weeds though, ’cause they’ll twist their insides.”

Lillith’s eyes widened. “What if green beans do that to my innards?”

“They won’t,” Ellie replied. “You’re a little girl, not a horse. Little girls need vegetables to grow strong.”

While his sister was helping Anna with her meat, Ben leaned over and stabbed a heaping forkful of beans from Lillith’s plate and popped them into his mouth. She looked from him to her mother and grinned.

“I saw that,” Ellie said.

Everyone at the table laughed, but a knock at the door interrupted their humor.

“I’ll get it.” Ben pushed back his chair and gestured for Ellie to stay seated. “If it’s a patient, I’ll come get you,” he told Caleb.

His boots echoed across the floor of the huge wood-paneled foyer before Ben reached the door and opened it.

“Hi.”

Ellie’s helper, Lorabeth, stood on the porch, her arms filled with an overflowing crate. The drawstrings of a lumpy cloth bag hung from her elbow. Another stack of packed items stood on the painted floor behind her. Her presence here on a Sunday was surprising, as was the sight of the preacher behind her, still in his dark suit and starched white shirt. He stood holding his hat by the brim.

“Miss Holdridge. Reverend. Come on in.”

She moved past him and glanced toward the dining room. “Did we interrupt dinner? Perhaps I was in too much of a rush.”

Ben reached for the preacher’s hat, but the man held on. “I won’t be staying.”

“We were just startin’ to eat. You’re welcome to join us.” He gestured toward the other room.

“We’ve already eaten,” Reverend Holdridge said.

“Well, come have a seat, anyway. I can see Lorabeth is achin’ to talk to Ellie.” He took the crate from her arms and set it on the floor at the foot of the stairs. “Movin’ in?”

Her bright, tawny eyes sparkled. “Yes.”

He’d been kidding, so her reply took him by surprise. She set down the bags and removed her bonnet. Shiny curls the color of honey fell to her shoulders. During the week she wore her hair in a more practical braided fashion.

She hadn’t changed out of the high-necked spring-green dress that she’d worn while playing the organ that morning. He glanced at the stern-faced man waiting just inside the door. He was watching Ben like a hawk, and Ben appreciated the man’s protectiveness toward his daughter. “Inspiring message this morning, Reverend.”

“Thank you, Benjamin. Which part did you especially appreciate?”

Ben knew he was being tested to see if he’d paid attention. “I liked what you said about pressing toward the goal with singular determination. Looking at the circumstance on the left or the right can get mighty confusin’.”

Reverend Holdridge’s eyebrows rose in appreciation. “It blesses a preacher’s heart to see a young man such as yourself in church every Sunday. Unmarried young men of your age are often feeling unwell on Sunday mornings.”

Ben couldn’t help grinning at his elusion to the men occupying the saloons till the wee hours of the morning. “I’m not a drinkin’ man, sir.”

“Admirable,” the reverend replied. He glanced around at the furnishings and decor. “Please tell Dr. Chaney that I require a moment of his time.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll join the others in the dining room,” Lorabeth said.

Ben nodded and gestured for her to move ahead of him. She usually smelled more like bread and babies than the soft floral scent floating behind her now, and he wasn’t sure why the difference disturbed him. Lorabeth made Ellie’s life easier, and anything that made Ellie happy was fine by Ben.

She reached the wide doorway ahead of him, but paused as if unsure of her welcome.

“Lorabeth is here,” he announced from beside her.

The picture of the Chaneys seated around the table made Lorabeth feel like an outsider for mere seconds until she reminded herself she was here to join them. Heads turned, and they greeted her with smiles.

Lillith jumped down from her chair and Lorabeth knelt for a hug. At the warm welcome, her heart swelled.

“Reverend Holdridge would like a word with you,” Ben told Caleb.

Lorabeth glanced over from where she knelt and noticed Caleb and Ellie exchange a glance. Caleb laid down his napkin and stood. “Excuse me.”

“Uncle Ben ate my green beans,” Lillith whispered in her ear.

Lorabeth glanced up at Benjamin who waited with her chair pulled out. She gave Lillith a gentle hug and stood so she could be seated.

“Ben, will you get Lorabeth a plate?” Ellie asked, as Lorabeth got settled.

“I had a quick bite at home—I mean at my father’s,” she corrected herself. This was home now. “I could get a plate myself though. I’m not company, you know.”

“No, you’re not. Stay seated, anyway,” Ellie insisted and smiled at Ben.

He headed into the kitchen and returned with a plate and silverware. She’d never had a man wait on her in this manner, and she noticed his long thumb and fingers as he set down the rose-patterned china in front of her.

“Where are the napkins?” he asked, his voice near her shoulder.

He stood closer to her than any man except her father or brothers had ever stood, and his nearness unnerved her. Without thinking, Lorabeth gestured toward the built-in sideboard. “In the second drawer there.”

He got one and shook out the folds before handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and he resumed his seat on the opposite side of the table, but several chairs away.

“Lorabeth is going to be living here,” Ellie announced.

“Even Saturdays and Sundays,” Lorabeth added unnecessarily.

“But you will take your two mornings off,” Ellie insisted. “And you’ll have minimal responsibilities over the weekend. You need time for yourself and your own interests. Seeing friends and the like.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lorabeth answered, a wee bit troubled over misleading Ellie about her intentions for her mornings off. Promising to handle her father’s household on those days had been the only way she could make this work, but she wanted to be here so badly that she would have made any sacrifice.

She helped herself to small portions of food as Benjamin and Ellie passed the dishes. She picked up her fork while conversation ebbed around her. She’d eaten many meals with this family over the past two years, and she never lost her appreciation for their easy chatter and the relaxed atmosphere. Growing up in her father’s home, she and her siblings had been required to sit straight and eat quietly.

“I’ve purchased a piano for the parlor,” Ellie announced. “It should arrive sometime next week.”

“Who plays the piano?” Flynn asked.

“Aunt Patricia plays the piano at Nana’s house!” Lillith replied.

“You children will play once you’ve had lessons,” Ellie told them.

“I don’t wanna play no piano,” Nate declared with a frown.

“I’m certainly not going to force you.” Ellie dabbed her lip with her napkin. “But I do ask you to try before you say no.”

In his father’s temporary absence, Nate looked to Benjamin as though he might get some support from the only man at the table.

Lorabeth couldn’t help wondering how Ellie’s handsome brother was going to respond.

Benjamin didn’t hesitate before saying, “If you try playing and don’t like it—or you can’t get the hang of it—there’s no shame in making the effort and decidin’ it’s not for you.”

Lorabeth smiled at that reasoning.

“I bet it’s hard,” David said. “Is it hard, Miss Lorrie?”

Benjamin turned his distracting gaze to Lorabeth. His eyes were piercingly blue and expectant and the direct look made her stomach quiver.

She had to look away and gather her thoughts to answer David’s question. “Not that difficult, dear. You’ll learn to read the notes. You’re all bright children, so it won’t be a problem. Then you’ll learn where to place your fingers on the keys, and after that it simply takes a lot of practice.”

“Maybe Miss Lorrie can give us our lessons,” Lillith suggested with a hopeful smile.

“Miss Lorrie does enough already without adding more to her list of duties,” Ellie told her daughter.

“But she can play for us, can’t she?”

“If she wants to.”

“Will you, Mith Lorrie?” Anna asked. “Will you play for uth? We can thing!”

“I like ‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean,’ don’t you, Mama?” Lillith asked.

Uncomfortable warmth flooded Lorabeth’s neck and face. “I’m afraid I don’t know that one.”

“Then, ‘Turkey in the Thtraw!’” Anna shouted.

She regretted disappointing the children, and more than that she was embarrassed at her incompetence. Lorabeth’s knowledge and experience was so narrow she’d never known anyone who owned a piano for a purpose other than worship. “I don’t know that one, either.”

Lillith got that charmingly inquisitive crease between her pale eyebrows. “But you play music every Sunday.”

“I only know hymns,” she explained. “But I could learn to play those songs you like if I had the sheets of music.”

“Can we help you put your dresses an’ stuff away, Miss Lorrie?” Lillith asked in a typically abrupt change of subject.

“Miss Lorrie is capable of putting away her own clothing,” Ellie told the girls. “Ben will carry her things up the stairs. Do you have much more to bring?”

Lorabeth shook her head. “It’s all in the foyer.”

She glanced at Benjamin and their eyes met for an uncomfortable moment while she wondered what he was thinking. The Chaneys weren’t ostentatious by any means, but they were well off, living with fine furnishings and wearing fashionable clothing. All of her modest belongings were in those few crates and bags. She lowered her gaze and looked away. It was a big wide world, and she only knew a tiny fraction of it.

She remembered her father’s visit and strained to hear any snippets of conversation coming from another room, but the house was large, and Caleb had most likely taken him into the parlor and closed the doors. Her father had agreed to her plan, and she prayed there would be no reason for him to change his mind or add any more ultimatums. She could only imagine what he was thinking of Dr. Chaney after seeing his lavish home.

They had finished eating by the time Caleb returned to the dining room alone.

Lorabeth’s heart fluttered nervously, waiting to hear what he had to say, praying her father wouldn’t change his mind.

Chapter Three

Lorabeth clutched her hands in her lap, compelled to explain. “My father has very rigid ideas about propriety, Dr. Chaney.”

“He’s concerned for the welfare of his unmarried young daughter,” Caleb replied, his voice as kind as she’d always heard it. “Which I can appreciate.”

Lorabeth stood. “Let me reheat your dinner for you.”

Caleb raised a palm to stop her. “My food is fine.” He placed his napkin in his lap and picked up his fork.

Smoothing her dress beneath her, Lorabeth eased back down, her attention focused on Caleb. “Was he…did he say anything to discourage you from wanting me here?”

“I assured him I had your best interests in mind and that I’ll look after you as a member of my family.”

Relief washed over her, then pleasure at his reference to treating her as part of the family. A grateful ache blossomed in her chest. “Thank you, Dr. Chaney.”

“We’ve come to rely on you. Living with us now, you’ll be an even bigger help when the new baby comes.”

Ellie smiled at her husband and then at Lorabeth.

Lorabeth flicked her gaze from one child to the next, finally reaching Benjamin. She’d always had the nagging feeling that he didn’t like or approve of her, not because he’d ever been unkind, but because she sensed his reserve where she was concerned. Her joy dimmed a fraction, but she caught herself and offered him a smile.

Benjamin returned it hesitantly, then seemed to notice Ellie’s glance. He got up to get the pies from the sideboard and set them in front of his sister to cut. Lorabeth’s mouth watered at the dark red cherries and juice visible through the lattice crusts. She watched Ellie slice thick wedges.

“There’s a horse auction this week,” Flynn said. “Did you know about it, Caleb?”

“Seems I did hear something. Don’t need any more horses, though.”

Ellie’s younger brother wore a hopeful expression. Flynn talked a lot about horses.

“I heard mention that a fella from Arkansas is selling a couple of Missouri Fox Trotters,” Benjamin commented.

Flynn sat forward. “Ever seen one of ’em?”

“Never have. Maybe we should go have a look.”

Benjamin promised they’d attend the auction together.

Flynn’s pleasure shone in his smile.

“I saw Martha Wick the other day.” Caleb directed the comment to Benjamin.

Benjamin glanced up from his pie. “Who?”

“You went to school with Martha,” Ellie reminded him. “She married that Pratt fellow who farms to the west.”

“They live with her father-in-law, Milo Pratt,” Caleb said. “Milo’s been laid up with a leg injury.”

Their discussions fascinated Lorabeth. She studied each family member with keen interest.

“Lillith and Anna, will you help me set up for croquet?” Caleb asked, pushing his empty plate away. Anna was barely more than a baby and would require his supervision, but Lorabeth had noticed that he always included her. “Nana and Papa will be arriving soon.”

The two girls jumped up and down with excitement and Ellie helped Anna from her seat.

Ellie turned to Lorabeth. “You remember Caleb’s parents. They attend the Presbyterian church in Florence with his sister Patricia’s family, but every other Sunday they come to Newton for the afternoon.”

Lorabeth nodded. She had seen them several times when they’d stopped by the house during the week. “My sister and her family live in Florence, too.”

“You must take pleasure in their visits,” Ellie said.

“They don’t visit much,” she answered. She hadn’t seen Ruthann or her brother, Jubal, for over a year.

Caleb glanced at his sons. “You two young men clear the table, and be mindful of the good china.”

Nate and David looked at each other before obediently rising to scrape plates. Lorabeth had never before heard their father ask a kitchen chore of them.

“I can clear the table,” she offered.

“No,” Ellie replied. “The boys will handle it while you see to your things.” She glanced across the table. “Ben?”

Benjamin placed his napkin beside his plate and stood. “I’m not sure which room is yours,” he said to Lorabeth.

Without hesitation she stood. “I’ll show you.”

He followed her to the foyer and bent to pick up a substantial stack. “Lead the way.”

She gathered one of the remaining drawstring bags and climbed the stairs ahead of him.

Ben watched her hand on the banister so he wouldn’t be tempted to study her curvaceous backside swaying beneath the green dress.

Lily of the valley, that was the delicate scent that floated behind her. Her skirts rustled as she walked, the fabric whispering secrets he couldn’t quite make out. He didn’t pay much attention to women’s apparel, but he knew that it wasn’t a fancy dress she wore. In fact, now that he really noticed, the garment was rather plain, without lace or trim or ornamentation of any kind. She didn’t need any; she was as pretty as a spring day.

He caught himself and worked determinedly to arrest those unacceptable thoughts.

She stopped in the hallway and gestured to a room, indicating where he should take her things.

He stepped into the square interior. He’d seen all of the bedrooms at one time or another, knew there were one or two extras at this end of the hall, but he hadn’t been upstairs much since she’d been staying here during the week.

A wide window overlooked the side lawn and gauzy white curtains were draped to each side, revealing the branches of a cedar tree. A cushioned rocking chair sat beside the window. He wouldn’t have guessed she used this room if he’d gone looking on his own. There were no personal items in sight.

The metal bed frame was plain, and a red-and-blue quilt neatly covered the mattress. He pictured her sleeping here, and discomfort scratched at his self-possession. He wished Ellie hadn’t assigned this task to him.

He set the stack of crates on the floor.

She moved farther into the room and placed the bag she’d carried on the bed.

“I’ll get the rest.” He had the remainder of her belongings carried up in two more trips.

He set each individual crate down on the floor so she wouldn’t have to lift them from a stack. It appeared the contents were mostly clothing. He averted his gaze and spotted what looked like a sewing box.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Can I help with anything else?”

“It’s only clothes I need to hang or put in the drawers.”

To distract himself from thoughts of her clothing, he glanced at the papered walls. “You should have a picture or two.”

She drew her brows into two slashes of concern. “I realized when I was packing that I don’t own much.”

He hadn’t meant to point that out. He’d been making conversation to distract himself.

“My father is opposed to storing up treasure on earth where moth and rust can corrupt,” she said.

He didn’t know what to say to that. “Didn’t mean any offense.”

“None taken.” She glanced at the bare walls. “Ellie said they’d never used this room.”

“I have a few framed pictures at the house that Ellie left behind,” he said, sorry to be the one to chase the cheer from her voice. “I could bring one for you.”

“That’s so thoughtful!”

Her smile would have lit a dark night, and it almost embarrassed him because he hadn’t done anything extraordinary to earn her delight.

“You bought their old house, didn’t you?” she asked.

He nodded. “Don’t stay there often, though. My office and examining rooms are out at my other place. Horses, too, of course. And I almost always have a few ailing animals to look after.”

“So you have two homes?”

“Ellie nags me about it every week,” he replied with a nod. “I keep the house in town in case I need to stay over.” He glanced around. “I’m glad you’re here for Ellie.”

She gave him a half smile. “I’m glad to be here, too. There’s so much more I can accomplish now.”

He’d never noticed before that her eyes were a rich caramel color. Expectancy made them sparkle. Her statements intrigued him. “What do you want to accomplish?”

She folded her hands over her heart as though searching for a way to explain. His attention followed her hands and rested on her breasts beneath her dress a moment too long before he tore it away. Never in the last couple of years had he given her as much consideration as he had in the past hour, and noticing her this way made him uncomfortable.

“I want to meet people and learn all I can.” The yearning in her voice surprised him. “I want to read every book in the public library and walk through all of the shops in town. I’d like to take a walk at night. Maybe even go somewhere on the train.”

Her aspirations didn’t sound very high to Ben, but her desire to do ordinary things told him quite a bit. She’d been living under her father’s guidelines, and now she apparently had an agenda of her own. Maybe she hadn’t appreciated a parent who cared about her.

A frown creased her features and her gaze fell to the top of the bureau as though she was thinking.

Ben couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What’s the matter?”

She glanced up. “Oh. Nothing, really. I was just thinking I still wouldn’t have much time for all of that.”

“Ellie gave you two mornings off each week,” he reminded her.

She nodded. “Yes.” Her smile seemed a trifle forced. “She did.”

“You can go to the library and visit the shops on those days, can’t you?”

She’d never voiced her dreams before, and after revealing an aching piece of her heart to a near stranger, Lorabeth experienced a twinge of embarrassment. Benjamin didn’t look particularly surprised or judgmental, in fact, his ice-blue eyes showed a flattering measure of interest.

She nodded, bent to pick up one of the bags and placed it on the foot of the bed. “Yes, of course.”

She’d had her fill of holding back and living up to expectations. She was curious about the opposite sex, fascinated by the relationship her employers shared and eager to spread her wings and experience life to its fullest.

He could never know how glad she was to experience a taste of the life she’d missed out on. For the first time she felt as though she could actually take a deep breath. The air smelled cleaner. The sun shone brighter. Even this room looked bigger than it had when she’d left it late Friday evening.

Life was ripe with possibilities. She wanted to pick and taste every last one of them.

Benjamin took several steps toward the door. “This shouldn’t take you long. You can join us for croquet when you’re finished.”

His suggestion caught Lorabeth by surprise. Of course she’d heard them talk about playing, but she hadn’t imagined…“I’d be welcome, do you suppose?”

A line formed between his sandy-colored eyebrows, but his expression quickly smoothed into a teasing smile. “Of course you’re welcome. In fact, the girls will plead for you to be on their team since Ellie will be sitting out. The first game is always boys against girls. Not sure why. See you in a few minutes.”

He left, closing the door and leaving her alone in the room.

Lorabeth turned in a wide circle, reveling in the buoyant sense of freedom. She still had just as much work to do, in less time actually, but for some reason just the fact that she was here for good made the weight of it all seem so much lighter.

The sound of childish voices reached her, and she hurried to slide open the window. The cedar tree blocked much of her view of the yard, but through lower branches she could make out the girls’ colorful dresses. Caleb was helping them do something in the grass.

The sound of a team and buggy at the front of the house arrested her attention. She couldn’t see the front from her room, but it wasn’t long until the girls squealed and greeted the newcomers. Lorabeth recognized Caleb’s parents, but she’d never seen the other couple.

Eager to discover what the family was doing, she quickly unpacked only the things she would need this evening, leaving the rest for later. After taking a few minutes to check her hair and dress in the mirror, she hurried down the stairs.

No one remained in the house. She replaced the crocheted tablecloth Ellie kept on the mahogany dining table, then dried and put away the pans that had been left on the drain board.

Making her way out the back door, she paused on the shaded porch to familiarize herself with those gathered on the lawn. Her attention was so focused, Ellie’s voice from behind startled her.

“Did you get settled?”

Lorabeth turned and found her employer and Caleb’s mother seated in two of the comfortable wicker chairs. Ellie had her feet resting on one of the footstools from the parlor. In the shade behind her chair, David’s cat, Buddy Lee, lay with all four paws tucked neatly beneath him. He spared Lorabeth a blink before closing his eyes.

“Yes,” Lorabeth answered with a nod.

“You remember Caleb’s mother,” Ellie said.

“Yes, of course. Pleasure to see you, ma’am.”

“And you, dear. I hear we’ll be seeing more of you from now on.” The handsome woman wore her faded red hair in an elegant upsweep.

Lorabeth smiled. “I hope so.”

Ellie rested a hand on her rounded belly and sighed.

“Can I get you anything?” Lorabeth asked.

She shook her head. “This baby is either a dancer or a runner like Ben.”

“Benjamin’s a runner?”

“A fast one,” Ellie replied. “Wins all the local competitions. He won footraces at the university, too.”

“I’ll remember not to try to beat him to the dinner table.”

Ellie laughed, then called, “Patricia! Denzil, come meet Lorabeth.”

The couple strolled arm-in-arm across the lawn and stood in the grass below the porch rail.

“This is Lorabeth,” Ellie told them. “For the last couple of years she’s helped with the children during the week, but now she’s moving in with us.” To Lorabeth, she explained, “Patricia is Caleb’s sister, and this is her husband, Denzil. Their daughter, Lucy, is out there by Flynn.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Lorabeth said. “The girls have told me you play the piano when you’re all together at Mrs. Chaney’s home.”

The fair-haired woman offered her a kind smile. “I’ve heard all about you, too.”

Anna bounded up the stairs as fast as her short little legs allowed. “Nana! Nana! It’th time for the girlth to beat the boyth. Weddy to pway?”

Mrs. Chaney lifted the child onto her lap and kissed her pink cheek. “Nana’s going to sit here and visit with your mama today, darling.”

“You’re not gonna pway?”

“Not today. Next time.”

Anna scooted from her lap and ran to take Lorabeth’s hand. “You’re gonna help uth win, right, Mith Lorrie?”

Lorabeth glanced from Anna’s hopeful expression to the yard where the family was gathered. “I’ve never played croquet before, Anna. You’ll have to teach me.”

Anna’s eyes widened big as saucers, and she turned to her mother. “Mama! I’m gonna teach Mith Lorrie!”

Ellie laughed at her daughter’s delighted expression.

Anna grasped Lorabeth’s hand and led her down the stairs where they followed Patricia and Denzil into the side yard. “We’re the black-and-blue team!”

“Goodness! Is the game dangerous?”

“Only if you stand too close to another player who’s swinging his mallet,” Benjamin replied, walking forward with a crooked grin. “Or you hit your own foot, of course.”

“That’s where the black-and-blue part comes in?” she asked.

Lorabeth liked the sound of his laughter, though she wasn’t entirely comfortable that it was at her expense. He explained, “The girls will be hitting the black and blue balls, the boys the red and yellow.”

She took note of the curved wires protruding from the ground in two diamond shapes with double wires and stakes at each end.

“Do you know the point of the game?” he asked.

She shook her head. “But I want to learn.”

“Okay, well, there’s a pattern here,” he told her. “The object is to get your ball through all the wickets in this double-diamond pattern. You want to try to hit the other team’s balls. If you do, you get an extra turn, and you get to hit their ball in the wrong direction.”

“You get an extra strike for scoring a wicket or hitting the turning stake, too,” Flynn added. “Watch out for Ben, ’cause he likes to send another person’s ball flying.”

“It sounds rather complicated,” Lorabeth said, voicing her concern.

“Nah, it’s easy,” Flynn replied.

“You’ll get the hang of it as we go,” Benjamin assured her.

“I’m apposed to be teaching Mith Lorrie,” Anna admonished her adopted siblings.

“So you are,” Dr. Chaney agreed, setting a coin on the bent knuckle of his thumb. “Heads or tails?” he asked Anna.

“Heads!” she answered immediately.

With a flick of his thumb, Dr. Chaney sent the nickel soaring into the air and caught it. He slapped it onto the back of his hand with an impressive flourish, then raised his hand away. “Heads it is.”

“Hurray! We getta go firtht!”

Listening to garbled instruction from a three-year-old made learning a challenge, but every so often, Caleb or Benjamin would explain Anna’s meaning or supply a rule the toddler wasn’t aware of.

Lorabeth’s heart pounded as she prepared to take her first swing. She felt everyone’s attention, but was most concerned over Benjamin’s. She glanced up and found him watching.

“You should have let her practice!” Ellie called from the porch.

Benjamin waved away her comment and pointed to the black wooden ball in the short-cropped grass. “Go ahead,” he told Lorabeth. “You want the ball to land over here.”

Lorabeth swung her mallet and sent the ball in the wrong direction. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my.”

“That’s okay,” Caleb called. “It’s just takes a little practice.”

She discovered she wasn’t the only one with a wild swing. The balls the girls struck rarely landed where they were intended. She caught Benjamin subtly rolling Anna’s blue ball closer to a wicket with the toe of his brown polished boot, and when he looked up to discover her watching him, he shrugged sheepishly.

He strolled closer. “We’d never get the game over this afternoon if we didn’t make a little magic happen,” he said in a low conspiratory tone.

On her second round through the wickets, Lorabeth accidentally hit one of the other team member’s balls. She grimaced. She really didn’t want to send one of the Chaney men’s game pieces in the wrong direction.

Groans escaped the men. Ellie cheered her on from the porch. “Whose was it?”

“Ben’s,” the elder Mr. Chaney replied.

“Whack it a good one, Lorabeth!” Ellie called.

“Yeah!” the little girls chorused.

“Oh, I don’t think I can.” Lorabeth gripped her mallet in hesitation.

“Sure you can,” Patricia said, good-naturedly. “He won’t hesitate to send yours flying, trust me.”

Lorabeth exchanged a look with Benjamin. There was an element of daring in his eyes.

Patricia demonstrated the technique Lorabeth had seen the others use. She placed Lorabeth’s ball against Benjamin’s and touched Lorabeth’s with the toe of her dainty leather shoe to hold it in place, then drew back the mallet as though she would swing to hit it. “Hold it lightly, just like that so you don’t hit your foot or trap his ball.”

Lorabeth glanced at Benjamin, assuring herself his expression was one of amusement.

Lorabeth did as Patricia had instructed, feeling self-conscious and inept as she placed her left foot on her ball and visualized striking it with enough controlled force to send Benjamin’s across the yard.

She didn’t do so well for her first attempt, only managing to send the ball about four feet, but the girls on her team cheered for her, anyway.

Their team won, though Lorabeth couldn’t for the life of her figure out how. The only players with any accuracy had been Patricia and fourteen-year-old Lucy. She suspected either Benjamin or Dr. Chaney had nudged a good many more blue and black balls with the toes of their boots than she’d actually observed.

“Nana and Ellie have set out cookies and lemonade.” Patricia rested her mallet in the wooden rack and gestured for the others to join her. She shooed Buddy Lee from the banister, and the cat sprang over the side into the yard.

The Chaney family laughed and teased each other as they picked up sweating glasses of lemonade, helped themselves to cookies and spread out in chairs and on the wide stairs of the enormous porch.

Comparisons slipped into her thinking, memories of Sunday afternoons spent reading their Bibles under her father’s watchful eye while the rest of the world shared meals and played games. On the very rare occasion that her father accepted an invitation for dinner, she and her siblings were instructed to sit silently throughout the meal and to decline offers of amusements with other children. Even her mother was expected to sit silently and show no interest in their hostesses’ furnishings or nonsensical chatter. But Lorabeth had seen it in her eyes. The yearning. The disappointment. And eventually, the hopelessness.

The Chaneys’ interaction and gaiety was all so natural, so informal and unlike anything Lorabeth had ever participated in that she was numb from taking it all in.

“We’re gettin’ a piano,” Lillith told her aunt. “Then you can play for us when you’re here, just like at Nana’s. Miss Lorrie’s going to learn to play songs we like, too.”

“Won’t that be grand?” Patricia said as though impressed. She gestured for Lorabeth to join her on a wicker settee. “Where did you learn to play?”

Lorabeth settled on the other end and rested her napkin and cookies in her lap. “My mother taught me.”

“Do I know your mother, dear?” the elder Mrs. Chaney asked.

“She died when I was twelve. You may have known her, but I doubt it,” she answered. Lorabeth’s mother had been hardworking and devoted to her family and the church. Socializing had never been a part of their life. If it didn’t relate to the church, they didn’t participate.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Mrs. Chaney said. “It must have been difficult for you to grow up without a mother.”

Lorabeth nodded. At her father’s decree, she’d taken over all the household chores and the church duties that her mother had performed. “I’ve played the organ every Sunday morning for the past seven years…except once when the roof was damaged during a storm and we were forced to hold service at city hall. There was no piano.”

“I remember that,” Caleb said thoughtfully.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Patricia asked, and Lorabeth told her about her siblings.

“Lucy is our only child,” she said with a smile for her daughter. “She’s fourteen already.”

Lorabeth had had trouble taking her eyes from the lovely young woman with the dark hair and flawless fair skin. Dressed in a pale yellow dress with ruffled hem and bodice, she carried herself with incredible poise for one of such a tender age. The girl couldn’t know how fortunate she was to have this family in which she could flourish and be herself.

Not once today had any of the young people been asked to keep their voices down or hang back from the others so as not to appear forward or coarse. Outbursts of laughter appeared as natural as breathing air. And there was plenty to laugh about. Lorabeth felt as though she’d been transported to a bright new land where people interacted with one another and enjoyed life.

For a split second she thought of Simon left at home to sit through solemn meals and hours of evening prayer. But she’d made her own way, as had Ruthann and Jubal, and her younger brother would be fine. One more year and he’d be working in town. She turned her thoughts back to where she was.

Benjamin observed the pretty young woman who seemed to have become a part of the family today. She’d lost her mother, and her father had done his best to guide and protect her. Lorabeth Holdridge was unlike any of the girls he’d known while attending school. She was less worldly and more disciplined than the girls he’d seen at the university. She’d been sheltered her entire life.

A young woman’s main goal was usually to land a husband to care for her and give her children. Lorabeth probably wanted those same things, but she didn’t seem the kind to care about social standing or monetary things.

He glanced at his sister to find her observing him with a question sparkling in her eyes. “How do the cookies suit you today, Benjamin?” she asked.

Coconut macaroons were his favorite as she well knew. “Nobody makes better,” he replied with a grin.

She returned a smile as fond as those she gave her own children.

“Are we going to change teams for the next game?” Flynn asked. “I want Miss Lorrie on my team this time.”

“Ask Miss Lorrie if she wants to play again,” Ellie suggested. “She may have had enough of your tomfoolery.”

The children turned hopeful gazes toward her.

“I’d be happy to play again.” She lent enough enthusiasm to her reply to assure them she meant what she said.

“You’ll have to do without Papa this time,” Ellie said, referring to her husband. “I’d like him to join me for a while.”

Caleb gave his wife a look with a measure of concern attached. When they divided into teams, Mrs. Chaney joined them, giving her son and his wife privacy on the porch.

They weren’t far into the match in which Lorabeth seemed completely absorbed, when Ben noticed that his sister and Caleb had gone inside. She’d looked tired all day, and he’d read the concern on his brother-in-law’s face. Benjamin lost interest in the game.

A twinge of something like fear stabbed his chest. Ellie held his world together. If anything ever happened to her, he wouldn’t know what to do. He glanced at his younger brother, laughingly engaged in a battle of boasts with their pretty cousin, Lucy.

Caleb’s father stood in the shade beside Ben. A tall handsome man with gray shot through his thick hair, he ran a ranch and his family with a stern but fair hand.

“Something botherin’ you, son?”

Matthew often called Benjamin “son,” and Ben didn’t take any offense to it. He held the man in high regard.

“Ellie’s looking a mite tired, don’t you think?”

“Probably no more than any woman ready to birth a new life,” Matthew replied. “Can you imagine the world if that chore had been left up to us men?”

Ben gauged his expression. “No, sir, I can’t.”

Matthew chuckled. He scratched his chin with a thumb. “I wanted my son to ranch with me, did you know that?”

“Probably seemed like the natural course,” Ben answered.

“He had a mind to be a doctor. Wanted it so bad he sold off a share of inherited land to pay for his first year of education. After I saw how much his dream meant to him, how bad he wanted it, I kicked in the next year.”

Ben nodded to show he was paying attention.

“He’s a damned good doctor. There’s nothing more important to him than your sister and this family. He’ll take care of her, you don’t worry yourself.”

Matthew was right. Ben had learned to trust his brother-in-law to do the best by all of them, and Caleb had never let them down.

Ben gave Matthew a nod and they strolled back to referee a disagreement between Nate and Lucy regarding a ball that had glanced off a wicket.

The sun was an orange sphere heading for the lavender-streaked horizon when Matthew and Denzil gathered their families. Ben had unhitched Matthew’s horses and tethered them in the shade, so he gave them water and hooked them up to the traces. Caleb’s father headed the black buggy toward Florence.

“Where’s Mama?” Lillith called as they entered the house.

Caleb loped down the staircase. “Did they head home?”

Ben nodded. “Just a few minutes ago.”

“Where’s Mama?” Lillith asked again.

“Mama’s tired and her ankles are swollen,” Caleb replied, including the entire gathering. “I’ve told her to stay off her feet. You’ll all have to mind me and help with chores.”

“Tomorrow is a school day,” Lorabeth said to the boys immediately. “Go lay out your clothing and books for morning. I’ll do the evening preparation for lunches.”

“Ellie told me earlier that there’s a ham to be sliced,” Flynn told her. “I’ll get it from the cellar.”

“That’s thoughtful,” she told Flynn, and he hurried off to his task.

“You’ll read us a story before bed like Mama always does, Miss Lorrie?” Lillith asked.

“Of course, dear.” She ushered the children up the stairs.

Ben gave his brother-in-law a direct look. “She’s all right?”

“She’s perfectly all right. She just needs some rest.”

Ben trusted him to know what was best. “Tell her I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“You can go tell her.”

He shook his head. “No. Tomorrow will be good. I’ll clean up the yard and carry in the dishes before I go.”

Ben counted wickets and balls and carried the croquet set to the shed behind the house. His attention was drawn to the mallet with the green rings and he remembered Lorabeth holding it as though it might break or vanish in her grasp. She’d seemed happier than a pup with a new bone to join them today.

He thought back to the first times he’d participated in family dinners and activities with the Chaneys and how out of place he’d felt. Lorabeth’s hesitation hadn’t seemed to be because she didn’t feel like she belonged, but more as though she was tiptoeing to make sure she didn’t wake herself up.

That was an odd thought, but it fit his observations. Her presence here was going to make the difference for Ellie getting the rest she needed. The fact that Lorabeth triggered his interest and piqued his curiosity was a distraction he could ignore. And intended to.

Chapter Four

Later that week, Benjamin stood on his back porch in the yawning silence of the evening and studied the last fading streaks of orange in the darkening sky. A battalion of fireflies had flickered to life to dot the alfalfa field behind the barn. It was the last day of September and, while the crisp air felt good on his face, it reminded him that a long winter was in store.

The wide wooden stairs creaked beneath his weight, and he headed for the rows of stacked boxlike cages with chicken-wire doors that lined the side of the barn. A three-legged cat meowed, and he opened the door to scratch her ear. “Don’t be gettin’ used to chicken livers and cream,” he told the accident-prone feline called Lazarus by his owners. “Few more days and you’ll be back to catchin’ mice at the Fredericks’s place.”

The cat meowed a reply, and he hooked the door shut.

He stopped at the end of the row of cages where he’d been keeping an owl isolated and peeled a gunnysack curtain away.

“Well, Hoot, it’s your big night. Time for you to go back to your kin and your favorite knothole.”

The enormous bird blinked at him and waddled sideways away from his touch.

Ben urged the heavy bird onto his forearm and lifted him out. Three weeks ago, the Stoker kids had told him about the injured owl, and Ben found the creature on the bank of a creek, its wing broken. It appeared to have been there for some time, exposed to the elements and hungry, and Ben hadn’t been sure if the animal would live.

Carrying the owl to the front of the barn, he raised his arm. “Go on. Go home.”

The bird didn’t need any encouragement. It flapped its wings, slapping Ben in the face as it pushed away from his arm. The owl perched on the corner of the barn roof for a full minute, head swiveling as though getting its bearings. A moment later it flew into the darkened sky and soared overhead before disappearing into the night.

Closing his eyes, Ben listened and imagined he could hear the sound of wings in the distance. The heartfelt sense of satisfaction and fulfillment that always accompanied an animal’s healing and recovery cleansed Benjamin’s soul and set his world to right. He got too close, too attached, took it too personally when, in that occasional instance, an animal died in his care. He valued the life of all creatures. He lived to heal and care for them.

He’d killed a man.

Whenever the night was heavy with stars and loneliness rolled over him like a dark wave, Ben pondered loopholes in that “thou shalt not kill” commandment. The incident had been years ago. He’d been young, and the law had deemed it a defensive act.

That commandment was pretty cut-and-dried, but if God was Who the Missionary Baptists and the First Episcopals and the United Congregationalists said He was, then He’d known what kind of man Winston Parker was anyhow.

If he closed his eyes he could see that night all over again, just as vividly as if it had been yesterday. He’d been seventeen and had only recently come to live with Caleb and Ellie. Caleb had been called away that night and Ben had been attacked when he’d gone down to the darkened kitchen.

He’d recognized the man. Knew he was the same man who’d haunted his nightmares since childhood.

Ellie had struck a match, lighting a lantern and defining three people in its glow. Her face had blanched with shock. Ben sat tied to a chair with a rope. Winston Parker stood beside him, a gun pointed at Ben’s head. Ellie took a step forward. “Let him go.”

“I’ll let him go. Just as soon as you step outside with me.”

Ben struggled against the bindings, fear clawing at his heart. “If you hurt my sister, I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!”

“I’m real scared,” Winston said with a smirk. “Now come on, Ellie. Out the door. I’m tired of waiting.”

“Where to?” she asked.

“My carriage,” he replied. “You remember my lovely carriage.”

She grabbed her stomach in revulsion.

Winston slowly pulled back the hammer of the gun until it clicked. He pressed the barrel directly against Ben’s perspiring temple. Strangely enough Ben was more afraid for Ellie than for himself. Death was certainly less painful than the life he’d endured until now.

“All right,” she said. “Put away the gun.”

“Don’t go,” Ben pleaded. “Let him shoot me! The noise will bring someone to help.”

She looked at him with tender appreciation. “Move the gun away,” she said calmly.

“No!” Benjamin howled in anguish.

Winston pulled the gun away from Benjamin’s head and backhanded him across the face. Ben’s lip caught fire and his head throbbed.

Ellie moved toward him, but Winston moved the barrel to point at Benjamin’s heart.

She halted, then walked stiffly to the door.

“Ellie, no!” Ben screamed. It was all happening just like before. Just like the last time when he’d been eight and unable to help her. He wouldn’t let this happen again. With every ounce of his strength, he strained against the bonds, rocked the chair sideways and turned it over, banging his head against the stove in the process.

He shook his head to clear the flash of dizzying white, ignored the pain shooting through his arm and shoulder where he’d hit the floor, and swung his legs so that the chair crashed against the stove. He did it again. And again. That man was taking his sister farther and farther away with each passing moment.

Finally the wood splintered and his ankles came free. He kicked out of the rope and stood, banging the back of the chair against the doorway until the pieces fell and he was loose. Without pause, he shot into the cool foggy night.

With dread clawing at his chest, he ran through the bushes and gardens in neighboring yards to the adjacent street. There, looming out of the enveloping darkness was the black carriage.

Winston was trying to shove Ellie inside, but she was putting up a good fight. Ben caught the man off guard, lighting into him with years of pent-up helplessness adding strength to his seventeen years.

He spun Winston toward him and pummeled his face with a fist. Winston returned the punch and lights flashed behind Ben’s eyes. He tasted blood.

Winston turned, raised the gun to Ellie’s head and shoved her back against the side of the carriage. “Get inside,” he hissed.

She clamped her teeth and said through them, “Shoot me.”

He glared.

She reached up, locked her fingers into Winston’s hair and yanked for all she was worth. He yelped and his head jerked back, dislodging the gun from her temple.

Ben regained his footing and barreled into Winston with all he was worth. With a grunt, Winston released Ellie. She grabbed the man’s hand and bashed it against the edge of the coach door. He howled and shoved her, the gun falling from his grip.

Ben struck him again and Winston toppled onto him, arms and leg flailing. Ellie beat at Winston’s head with both fists. Winston pressed Ben’s face into the ground until Ben thought his jaw would break. Moonlight glimmering from the barrel of the gun lying in the dirt caught his attention. He stretched out his arm, flexed his fingers and closed them around the barrel. This time he could help her. This time he could keep his sister safe.

In the next second a blast echoed in his ears.

The horses reared and whinnied and harnesses jingled; the carriage rocked. The smell of gunpowder burned his nose.

“Ben!” Ellie screamed.

On top of him, Winston’s body lay still and heavy. Ben rolled him off and staggered to his feet.

Ellie stared at the unmoving body. Looked at the gun in Ben’s hand.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ben said on a released breath.

A light came on in one of the nearby houses, then another. She knelt over Winston’s prone body and she pressed her fingers to his throat, then looked up at her brother. “He’s dead.”

When the truth about Winston Parker had been exposed, Ben had been pardoned. Sometimes the truth still haunted him. But he wouldn’t change what he’d done.

He’d do it again today if he had to.

Inside the barn Ben lit a lantern and saddled his black ranger with its characteristically white-spotted rump. Titus turned an intelligent-looking face toward Ben and nodded as though anticipating a run.

“We’re stayin’ on the road, you know,” Ben told him. “Not takin’ any chances of you steppin’ into a hole in a field. It’s a pretty night. Maybe we’ll see Hoot out there.”

He led the horse outside, closed the barn door and mounted.

Titus pranced and Ben patted his neck with a smile. “Well, all right then.” He nudged the horse’s sides, and the animal shot forward.

This particular breed was not that old, descending from two horses presented to General Ulysses Grant by a Turkish sultan maybe twenty years ago. Bred from an Arabian and a Barb and then later crossed with a Quarter Horse, they were known as Colorado Rangers. Because if its pedigree, Ben had paid a pretty penny for the colt four years ago. He liked to imagine Titus’s ancestors carrying sultans and princesses in exotic lands.

Titus carried him swiftly, sure-footedly anticipating the bends in the road and responding to the slight tension on the reins as they came within sight of Newton.

Ben reined his mount to an easy halt and viewed the lights of the city. Sometimes he thought about leaving Kansas behind. Making a start somewhere with mountains and cold rivers. Somewhere without the oppressive history this land held for him. But his older sister’s abiding love and his feelings of responsibility toward his younger brother held him fast. Ellie told him he spent too much time living in his head, that he needed more than animals for companions. In his opinion there weren’t many humans that were equal company or comfort. People were a disappointing breed.

The night breeze caressed his hair, and he gazed upward at the stars. Maybe Ellie was right. She was sure happy with her family and friends. Maybe he should try a little harder, work to discover and possess what was missing in his life.

Just the idea made his stomach burn. He leaned forward in the saddle and patted Titus’s neck. “What is missing?” he asked aloud.

The animal’s ears twitched.

A picture of his sister touching her husband’s chin with a look of adoration flitted across his thoughts, followed by another disturbing image: Lorabeth standing beside the bed with the red-and-white quilt.

All Ben knew of family life was what he’d observed from the outside looking in. What he knew firsthand about men and women wasn’t fit for a respectable person to think on.

Ben knew the dark side of men. He wasn’t afraid of what they could do to him. He’d already endured more than his life’s share of bad treatment, and he’d grown strong and capable in spite of it. He wasn’t afraid of hunger or poverty or even the judgment of other people. He could take care of himself, and he didn’t set much store by opinions or gossip.

What scared the wits out of him was that he was a man. And as a man what he was capable of. Choices were what set him apart. Good choices were what kept him from being like those others. He’d had no option but to kill once. But he could choose to live the rest of his life with honor and integrity, exercising self-control and challenging himself to become stronger.

But if what was missing was something inside him, he didn’t know if he could fix that. Where did a person look to find a piece of himself?

Lorabeth’s first full-time week couldn’t have come at a better time. Ellie had been so tired and her body felt so weighted and achy that she was more than grateful to have her competent young helper close. She didn’t remember this fatigue with her other pregnancies, but Caleb assured her each time was unique and that she had no reason for concern.

She felt positively slothful each time Lorabeth brought a tray to her in bed. Caleb spent as much time at home as possible, and even Ben stopped by nearly every day.

One morning midweek she’d asked Lorabeth to let the girls come play at the foot of the bed and later she read them stories while Lorabeth prepared ahead for the evening meal.

Ellie had just concluded The Ugly Duckling, and Anna was asleep on her shoulder when Ben leaned head and shoulders into her room.

“Is this a bad time?”

Ellie laid down the book. “Of course not. Come in.” She gestured for him to come to the side of the bed.

He pulled the chair close.

“Would you mind laying her down in her own bed?” she asked, indicating the sleeping child.

With a grin at Lillith, her brother gently lifted Anna and carried her, cradled in his arms, from the room.

“You, too, sweet pea,” she told the impish five-year-old. “Lie down for a nap and don’t wake your sister. Kiss.”

Lillith hugged her around the neck, pressing her sweet lips to Ellie’s cheek before scampering from the bed. She nearly collided with Ben in the doorway, and when he hauled up short, she raised her arms for him to carry her, as well. He obliged her, hushing her giggles as he strode from the room.

Minutes later, he returned.

“You look refreshed today,” he told Ellie, sitting beside her and taking her hand.

“I look tired and puffy, and you know it, but I don’t want to talk about me today. Tell me all about your animals.”

“Well, let’s see. I told you I spotted Hoot the other night, didn’t I? And the Olson brothers brought me a frog they think is sick. I’ve never done frog resuscitation before, but I think the little bugger’s gonna live. Oh, and I’ve adopted a goat.”

“Not a goat, Ben.”

“She’s a good companion around the place and she gives milk, so she’s not just another mouth to feed.”

“Companion, huh?”

She smirked and he grinned.

“I suppose you’ve named her?”

“Delilah.”

“You’ve named a goat Delilah.”

“It’s a good name.”

“It’s a fine name, it just doesn’t sound like it belongs to a goat.”

“How many goats have you known?”

She met his pale eyes, and knew he was alluding to something from their past. “A couple, as you well know. Remember the goat Caleb kept when Nate was a baby?”

But that wasn’t the same animal that had come to mind first. As a girl, she’d stolen out in the dark of night more than once to bring milk back to her younger brothers. There was a time when she’d grown a tobacco patch and rolled cigars to sell to the men outside the saloons just so she could pay for a few groceries. She’d stolen chickens from coops and vegetables from gardens, and still there’d never been enough.

“This is a good life,” she said, never forgetting for a moment how fortunate they were.

“I can’t explain what I feel when I look at those youngsters,” Ben said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know.” He didn’t have to explain. She knew well enough. The differences in their childhoods and those of her children were a universe apart. As far as from where they sat in this room to the outermost star. “The past has to be the past, Ben.”

“It’s where I came from, Ellie.”

“But it’s not who you are.”

“I am who I am because of where I came from.”

“In spite of where you came from,” she said. “You’ll never completely move on until you let go.”

“Is that what you’ve done?”

“Yes.”

“But you haven’t forgotten.”

“I can’t erase the past, but I don’t have to punish myself with it.”

“Is that what you think I do? Punish myself?”

“Sometimes.”

There was a light tap on the open door and Lorabeth carried a tray into the room. “I brought your lunch.”

Ben straightened in his chair.

“I’m positively spoiled,” Ellie said, smoothing the covers in an attempt to find a spot on her nearly obliterated lap.

“You deserve it,” Ben told her.

Lorabeth stepped forward to settle the legs of the wooden tray in an easy-to-reach position. She straightened and rubbed a palm against her apron. Her hair hung in a thick braid that draped over her shoulder. “If you haven’t had lunch, I can bring you a sandwich and a glass of milk,” she said to Ben. “You can eat with your sister.”

“Much obliged, Miss Lorrie,” he said, adopting the name the children called her.

At that Ellie observed the becoming color in her helper’s cheeks with growing interest.

Lorabeth flashed an easy smile and hurried out.

Ben noticed a bunch of violets arranged in a tiny milk-glass jar on Ellie’s tray. “She brought you flowers.”

His sister smiled and raised the delicate blooms to her nose. “She’s a godsend.”

He gestured to the food on her tray. “Don’t wait for me.”

A few minutes later Lorabeth arrived with another tray and held it toward him. “Dr. Chaney had two pies delivered with the bread this morning. Would you care for a slice of peach or raisin, Mr. Chaney?”

Her eyes were the warm color of clear honey, and he liked the direct way she looked into his. “Ben,” he replied.

Lorabeth held his gaze, and a flush crept up her cheeks.

“I’ll get a slice later,” he told her. “Thanks.”

He noticed the way her hair shone in the sunlight from the window, then snared his thoughts.

“I’ll take peach,” Ellie said with a smile in her voice.

Lorabeth glanced toward Ellie with an embarrassed nod, then hurried from the room.

He picked up half a sliced beef sandwich, took a bite and caught Ellie looking at him. He chewed before asking, “What?”

She bit into a small shiny red apple with a satisfying crunch. “Nothing.”

Half an hour later, Ellie was ready for a nap. Ben took both trays and carried them down to the kitchen where he found Lorabeth at the table scraping carrots. She laid down the knife and started to rise, but he waved her back down.

“Don’t stop what you’re doin’. I’m going to help myself to a slice of that raisin pie.”

He poured milk from the ice chest on the back porch, then sat down with the full glass and a huge slice of pie.

“Ellie’s going to nap,” he said.

She nodded and continued to scrape carrots.

“I don’t suppose it’s a good week to make headway on those accomplishments of yours,” he said.

She glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“You know, taking the long walks, reading all the books in the library…your train trip.”

She dipped her head and raised one shoulder. “All that sounds foolish when you say it.”

“It’s not foolish,” he disagreed. “I was just thinking that you’re spendin’ all your time looking after Ellie and the children.”

She looked up, her hands falling still. “That’s my job.”

“But your free time,” he mentioned. “Your free time is monopolized this week, as well.”

“Mrs. Chaney needs me, and I’m pleased to be here for her.”

“Maybe I could pick up a few books for you. At the library.”

Her eyes widened in apparent interest.

“It’s probably not as much fun as picking out your own. Caleb has a huge library, too. You could find a number of interesting subjects in there. I read through his books when I lived with them.”

“I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “I’m not family, and I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Books are made to be read,” he told her. “Caleb won’t mind if you help yourself, but I’ll mention it to him so you’ll be assured. And I’ll check out a few books until you can get to the library yourself.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing that for me?”

“I appreciate you taking care of Ellie. And the way you do it is more than just a job,” he said. “You do things from your heart. With kindness.”

He had a moment’s regret for saying something so personal. But the way she looked at him then, with surprise and pleasure, made him feel as though he’d said something important.

“The Bible does say that whatever I do I should do it as unto the Lord,” she replied.

He took a drink of milk. “What does that mean?”

“I believe it means that each task, no matter how mundane, is a service unto God as long as we’re doing it with pure motives and a right heart. No job is small or unimportant in God’s eyes.” She sliced the carrot lengthwise on the cutting board and placed it in a tin pan.

“Take scraping this carrot,” she went on, holding up another. “It seems like an ordinary task, boring even, and perhaps it is. Some jobs are thankless but necessary. However, these carrots will nourish the Chaney family. The doctor is strengthened to go to work and save lives. Your sister is nourishing the child she carries and gaining strength to bring a new life into this world.

“The children are growing bodies and minds that will accomplish great things one day. Who knows?” Her vibrant expression lit her features. She’d been caught up in her passionate explanation, but she suddenly looked at Ben. “One of them could start a school or a hospital or give birth to a scientist that cures a disease or to a missionary who travels the world. We’re just minuscule parts of an infinite picture.”

Ben recognized all the joy and hope his own life was lacking. He envied her vitality and her optimism. She represented all the things he was starved for, and resentment and longing scared the spit out of him. He would never be that innocent again, never share her idealism. The fact that the inability was through no fault of his own dredged up reservoirs of anger.

Their eyes met for a heart-stopping moment.

No one had ever challenged his self-control as strongly as this woman did simply by being open and expressive. She stood for everything he strove for. And everything he wasn’t.

Chapter Five

He leaned across the table and plucked a carrot stick from the pan. “I think I’m needin’ one of these. Who knows what’s in store for me this afternoon?”

He bit it with a resounding crunch.

Lorabeth raised one eyebrow as though concerned that he was mocking her.

“You’ve convinced me,” he assured her. “Each task is important.”

He chewed and thought of the various wild animals he’d treated and set free, wondering how his part in their lives affected nature. He didn’t understand people who didn’t feel compassion for animals or their fellow man, but he could understand Lorabeth’s passion for the small tasks she performed every day. Everyone needed to believe they were making a difference in the world, that there was a purpose and a function for their lives beyond just getting through this hour and this day.

“Ellie asked me to come by again later,” he said. His sister never asked much of him, but she wanted him to check on Lorabeth and the children.

“Why is it you don’t come for supper during the week?” Lorabeth asked out of the blue.

He shook his head as he considered her question. “Ellie asks me. Sometimes I accept. I guess I figure the weeknights are their family time.”

“You are family.”

He shrugged.

“I’ll put a few more carrots in the pot.”

Ben wasn’t comfortable spending more time than necessary around Lorabeth, but if Ellie and Caleb needed him, he’d be here.

The rasp of the front doorbell caught their attention, and Lorabeth got up, wiping her hands on her apron. A moment later she returned.

“It’s a man looking for you.”

Ben strode through the hallway to the foyer where Matt Dearborn stood hat in hand, clearly uncomfortable in the Chaneys’ expensively furnished home.

“Matt,” Ben said.

“D’you have time to come by and look at my bay? Pennie’s bloated and she’s not eating.”

“I’ll come right now,” Ben told him. “My other appointments can wait until later in the afternoon.”

“Much obliged, Doc,” the other man said with a look of relief.

Ben turned to find Lorabeth holding his hat. She extended it toward him.

He thanked her and followed Matt into the sunlight.

Late that afternoon, Ben finished his work at the Iverson ranch where he’d inoculated Pete Iverson’s yearlings and examined a mare with matted eyes. He’d applied salve and left a tube with Pete after showing him how to pull down the mare’s lid and squeeze a line of ointment into its eye once a day.

He mounted Titus and rode into town. The library was already closed as he rode past. He stopped for a few supplies at the mercantile. As a last thought, he asked Hazel Paulson for a couple scoops of jelly beans and tucked the bag into the pocket of his jacket after paying.

Relieved he didn’t have to cook for himself, he rode toward his sister’s, reminding himself this visit was at Ellie’s request. He reined in and tied Titus to the post beside the front gate. The sight of all four youngsters and Flynn sitting in a row on chairs across the front porch brought him up short.

Flynn loped down the stairs, and the others followed. Buddy Lee followed at their heels, meowing. The children all spoke at once.

“Mama’s having the baby!” Lillith said excitedly.

“Caleb’s been up with Ellie since this afternoon,” Flynn said.

“Mrs. Connor is here, too,” Nate told him.

“I’m hungwy,” Anna piped up.

“It’s time for dinner,” Ben said, guiding them back toward the house. “I’m hungry, too.”

“Mith Lorrie’th fixing it by herthelf,” Anna replied.

“Why didn’t a couple of you help her?”

“David and me was helping, but she told us to watch Anna,” Lillith replied.

Ben could imagine how much help David and Lillith had been.

He pointed to the swing in the side yard. “Why don’t you girls swing while I go check on your dinner?”

Lillith and Anna ran down the stairs. Flynn accompanied Ben into the house. “How long does this baby stuff take?” Flynn asked with a furrow between his brows. “I don’t remember it taking this long when Anna was born.”

“I don’t think there’s a hard-and-fast rule,” Ben told him.

He found Lorabeth in the overly-warm kitchen, strands of her honey-colored hair stuck to the back of her neck.

She glanced up from the bowl of potatoes she was mashing and gave him a quick smile. “Hello, Benjamin.”

He opened the back door and the ceiling-high window to let in some air. Buddy Lee immediately shot inside, and Ben spent five minutes getting the cat out from under a cupboard and back out. “How are you faring?” he asked Lorabeth.

“Things got a little chaotic this afternoon. I ran an errand for Dr. Chaney and ended up getting supper started late.”

“Flynn and I will help.”

A look of relief crossed her features, but she said, “That’s not necessary.”

“Probably not, but we’re helpin’ anyhow. What can we do?”

“You can take the roast out of that pan and slice it. I didn’t get the potatoes peeled in time to cook them with the meat, so I boiled them. The children like them better mashed, anyway. Flynn, will you please set plates around the table in the dining room? It will be cooler in there. Ask the boys to wash their hands and help you with silverware and napkins.”

Ben removed the lid from the roasting pan, and the savory aroma of beef and browned carrots made his stomach growl. He found a large fork to lift the roast from the pan to a platter and sliced. A small piece fell to the side and he tasted the tender meat. “You’re no stranger to a kitchen. This is perfect.”

“I’ve been cooking since I was old enough to fire up a stove. What about you? You seem to know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve helped Ellie a time or two.”

She moved beside him to spoon the carrots into a bowl. “Were you young when your mother died?”

Ben simply nodded.

“But your father had already passed away by then?”

Ben never lied. And he detested avoiding a question. He glanced to see if Flynn had returned, but his brother was still in the dining room. “Never had a father.”

Of course everyone had a father. It just sounded worse to say he didn’t know who his was.

She took the pan from him, placed it on the stove, and stirred flour into the drippings. Ben couldn’t help noticing her efficient yet graceful movements. She wore a plain brown skirt and a white shirtwaist with her sleeves rolled back to her elbows. “Would you mind watching this for a moment? Just keep stirring.”

He took over the gravy while Lorabeth scraped a heaping mound of mashed potatoes into a serving bowl and made a well for a dollop of butter.

“Have you seen Ellie or spoken with Caleb?”

She nodded. “Her back was hurting something fierce when she woke up from her nap this afternoon. Caleb came around two to check on her. That was when he said it wasn’t going to be long before the baby was born. I stayed with her while he went and canceled the rest of his appointments.

“She asked me to get the children from school, and once they were home and she’d seen and hugged them all, she told them to busy themselves. That was when Dr. Chaney sent me to get Mrs. Connor.”

Sophie Connor was a friend of Ellie’s. She’d been a Harvey Girl at the Arcade Hotel and restaurant before meeting and marrying the city marshal. Sophie had a couple children of her own. “Sophie’s been down for water and tea a few times.”

Lorabeth gave the gravy a final stir and used her apron to protect her hands from the hot handles as she poured the steaming liquid from the pan into a serving bowl. She reached for a ladle on a wall hook.

Ben unwrapped two loaves of bread and sliced both, stacking the slices on a plate.

“The carrots and green beans are warming back here,” she said, taking bowls from the back of the stove.

Ben picked up the platter and followed her into the dining room. The boys had done a pretty decent job of setting the table.

“Nate, will you call your sisters now, please?” she asked. “I’ll go let Dr. Chaney and Mrs. Connor know that the food is ready and see if they want to eat.”

Ben nodded and watched her head for the stairs, the braid swinging across her back.

The children were subdued as they took their seats around the table. Their parents’ chairs were glaringly empty. Ben and Flynn served portions and cut meat into bites for the young ones.

Ben didn’t give Lillith any green beans.

Lorabeth returned.

The kids looked at her and then at Ben. “Who’s gonna say grace?”

Lorabeth asked a blessing for their meal and included a petition for Ellie’s comfort and the baby’s health.

Ben didn’t look up, but the confident words of her softly-spoken prayer stayed with him throughout the meal.

Caleb arrived a few minutes later, his shirtsleeves rolled up and a look of preoccupation on his face.

“Mama’s doing just fine,” he told his children.

“When’s the baby gonna come?” Lillith asked.

“When he’s ready,” Caleb replied. “It won’t be long now.”

“Maybe you should go back,” David said with a frown of concern.

“Mrs. Connor is with her, and it will be a little while longer.” He glanced at Lorabeth. “I’ll send Sophie down to eat once I’ve finished.”

“I saved some broth from the meat,” Lorabeth told him. “When Mrs. Chaney is up to it, I’ll take her a tray.”

“That was a good idea. Very thoughtful, thanks.”

Lorabeth nodded.

Caleb ate and left the table. It wasn’t long until Sophie joined them. The pretty dark-haired woman was smiling and cheerful, assuring everyone that Ellie was indeed doing well.

Lorabeth asked Flynn to heat water and then she and Nate stacked the plates and washed pans and dishes. Ben and David dried while Lorabeth wiped the table and counters.

Nate and David had school assignments, so she settled them at the clean kitchen table. Minutes later she was pointing over David’s shoulder to show him a step he’d missed.

Without missing a beat, she took cigar boxes from a shelf and set the girls to drawing and cutting.

Ben sat beside Lillith and pointed to a row of paper figures. “What’s this you’re makin’?”

“Miss Lorrie helps us draw pretty dresses for our paper dolls,” Lillith told him. “She looks at the clothes in the catalog and then makes ours just like them.”

“I never did things like this as a girl,” Lorabeth told Ben with a sheepish shrug. “It’s fun.”

Ben knew all about missing out on things as a child, but he couldn’t figure out how Lorabeth fit the picture. She had a respectable family, a concerned father, and lived in a nice home right here in Newton.

She had certainly stepped up and handled things for his sister’s family this past week, and she’d knocked herself out to make sure the children’s routines weren’t upset. His admiration grew by leaps and bounds each time he was around her. She put her energy and talent to good use, and he acknowledged that.

Ben remembered the treats in his jacket pocket and excused himself to go get the bag. When he returned, he found a glass bowl in the cupboard and poured in the brightly colored candies. He set it on the kitchen table. “Each take five the first time to keep it fair,” he told them. “And they can’t all be the same color.”

Anna stuck out her lower lip, but he’d done this before. “Others like red, too,” he admonished, keeping his voice cheerful.

She looked up and tilted her lips into a cherubic smile, and all was well.

The candy made the rounds with each Chaney selecting five jelly beans until the bowl came to Lorabeth. She held it as though she’d been given a stolen diamond. Her wide tawny eyes looked to Ben in surprise. “They’re for the children.”

“Don’t you like them?”

“I think so. A friend of my mama’s gave me some a long time ago.”

“Well, choose yours,” he said with an encouraging nod.

Lorabeth carefully selected five and passed them on. She bit into the first one, and her broad smile gave him an odd hitch in his chest. She appeared every bit as childishly delighted with his surprise as Lillith and Anna.

Flynn came to the doorway and asked Ben if he’d read over an assignment for errors, so Ben gave Lorabeth a glance and headed for Caleb’s den.

After watching him go, Lorabeth ran her tongue across her teeth to glean every last sugary bite. When the dish came to her again, she took five more candies and tucked them into her apron pocket for later.

Dr. Chaney entered the room and asked her for a cup of broth. She handed him a napkin along with the steaming cup. Preoccupied, he returned to his wife.

Lorabeth lit the lamps and lanterns and went upstairs to lay out the children’s nightclothes and turn down their beds. Soft voices could be heard from behind her employers’ closed door. The whole mystery of Ellie’s pregnancy and this process of giving birth fascinated Lorabeth. All she knew about how babies were conceived she’d read in the Bible. “Caleb had ‘known’ Ellie” was vague and mysterious. All that metaphorical stuff about does and lilies in the Song of Solomon made it sound lyrical and lovely. The unknown was bewildering and alluring at the same time.

She escorted the girls to the outhouse and then washed their hands and faces in the wash room behind the kitchen.

“I want Ben to tuck me in,” Lillith told her.

She sent them upstairs with a warning not to disturb their parents and sought out Benjamin. He and Flynn were seated in comfortable leather chairs in the doctor’s handsomely furnished wood-paneled library.

“The girls asked for you,” she said to Benjamin.

He stood easily, coming to his full impressive height. “Best indulge the little darlin’s so they’ll get to sleep.”

“Are you set for tomorrow, Flynn?” she asked. Almost a full-grown man, Flynn was a student, as well. She’d never known anyone so cheerful or easy to please.

“I’m fine, Miss Lorrie,” he told her with a grin.

She followed Benjamin from the room, and he paused at the foot of the stairs for her to go ahead of him. She was reminded of the day she’d brought her things and he’d carried them to her room.

She led the way to the bedroom Lillith and Anna shared. The walls were papered with pale lavender violets, and the bureau and two small beds had been painted with matching flowers. Dolls lined the window seat and an enormous dollhouse occupied one corner. Lorabeth’s breath had been taken away the first time she’d stepped in and seen the fantasy-inspired room created for their enjoyment.

Anna bounced on her bed and Lillith squealed at the sight of her uncle.

Lorabeth tucked Anna under her covers while Benjamin spoke with her sister.

“I am missing Mama,” Lillith told him with a pout.

“It’s only one night,” he assured her. “She’s busy, you know.”

“Bringing us a sister,” Lillith replied delightedly.

“Could be it’s a brother,” he reminded her.

“We got lots of them, but we only got me and Anna for sisters, so we need another.”

“I want a puppy!” Anna called from her bed.

Benjamin looked across at her and grinned. “You’ll have to talk to your mama and papa about that.”

“Wake me up when the baby comes,” Lillith told him in all sincerity.

Benjamin glanced at Lorabeth, but she wasn’t familiar with the customs of this family and didn’t know how to answer. She waited for him to reply.

“We’ll wake you,” he promised.

“’Night, Mith Lorrie,” Anna said in her sweet baby voice.

“Good night, Anna.”

Lorabeth traded places with Benjamin and he gave Anna a hug and kiss while Lorabeth spoke to Lillith. Finally she turned down the wick until the room was in darkness and padded toward the door.

Benjamin was right behind her, so close she could feel the heat from his body as she stepped into the hall lit only by a single reflecting tin lamp.

She was tempted to stop and experience the moment, but the door to Caleb and Ellie’s room opened and Sophie came out carrying a tray. Lorabeth hurried to take it. “Can I get you something?”

“I can manage,” she replied, keeping her hold on the tray. “But you must be exhausted. You’ve been working since dawn.”

“I’m pretty tired,” Lorabeth admitted. “I don’t think I could sleep, though.”

“Why don’t you go out for some air?” she suggested. She turned to Benjamin. “Lorabeth needs a change of scenery. Ellie said she’s been running after her and the children all week.”

“It’s no problem,” Lorabeth assured her while the thought of getting out of the house appealed.

Sophie wasn’t going to be put off. “No arguments now. Are the children all in bed?”

Ben explained that the girls were down and the boys would be next.

“As soon as Nate and David are tucked in,” Sophie said, “Flynn can listen for a problem. I’m here for Ellie and Caleb. Benjamin, take Lorabeth out for some air.”

Lorabeth’s body was physically tired, but she never slept more than five hours a night. She read until her eyes were weary, and then she fell asleep only to wake while it was still dark. The thought of a walk in the night air with the heavens stretching out above sounded far better than attempting elusive sleep. And the anticipation that she would go walking with Benjamin rejuvenated her immediately.

Lorabeth thanked her and turned to him. “If you want to send the boys up, I’ll get a shawl from my room.”

Several minutes later, man and horse stood silhouetted by the moon, both handsome, both restless. Benjamin said something to the animal, patted its neck.

“Where to?” she asked.

“We don’t necessarily need a destination, but if you’d like a plan, we’ll walk to the park.”

“The park? Lovely!”

Lorabeth wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and appreciated that he didn’t seem inclined to walk slowly on her behalf. Darkness had settled over the city, and the moon was a mere sliver of silver in the sky. A train whistle blew, a melancholy sound that reminded her of all the places she’d never been and all the things she wanted to do.

“Where did you attend university?” she asked.

“Chicago.”

“Is it exciting, the big city?”

“It’s bigger…all hustle and bustle like the train station.”

She took a jelly bean from her pocket and extended it to him. He shook his head, so she placed it on her tongue where the sweet flavor melted. “Did you visit museums and the theater?”

He nodded. A gas lamp cast his face into interesting shadows. “Sometimes.”

“I read about Chicago in the Florence Herald. Dr. Chaney subscribes to that and the Newton Kansan, and sometimes he leaves them for us to use in the kitchen. I don’t read them when I’m supposed to be working, of course. I wait until bedtime. And in the morning I return them to the rubbish bin.”

“I’m sure Caleb doesn’t mind you reading the newspapers.”

“I asked his permission.”

Of course she had. Her interest made it sound as though she’d never read a newspaper until recently. “Doesn’t your father read the newspaper?”

“Oh, no. It’s not edifying.”

He’d sat through a good many of her father’s Sunday sermons, but had never heard Reverend Holdridge express concern about people spoiling their minds with current events.

She glanced at Ben with a new look of concern. “Do you think less of me for reading a worldly publication?”

As though it mattered what he thought of her. “No. I read the news myself. Would your father disapprove of me reading it?”

“I couldn’t say. He requires more discipline of himself and of his children than of others.”

Benjamin didn’t think it was undisciplined to read the newspaper, but he didn’t want to speak against her father or his convictions, so he said nothing.

They reached Broadway and neared the entrance to the darkened park. There had been gas lamps along the street, but in the one square block between Broadway and Seventh, there were only dark brick walkways, hedges and fading flowers lit by the moon.

“It’s so dark,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We don’t have to go into the park, we can walk around the outside…or we can head back.”

“No. No, I want to go in.” She took a forward step, but halted. “I want to, but it’s a little frightening.”

“Let’s head back—”

“No.” She extended her arm. “Just hold my hand, will you?”

Touching her was a liberty he didn’t feel he should take. The time they’d spent together already was too much.

His pulse thumped guiltily.

She was waiting. She would feel safe with him holding her hand, how ironic was that? This young innocent preacher’s daughter trusted him to keep her safe. She was the most naive person he’d ever known. He wouldn’t be the one to spoil that.

“Let’s turn back,” he said abruptly, and turned away from her.

She walked to his side, and he headed back the way they’d come.

“I’m sorry,” she said, staying beside him. “I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay. Forget it.”

The easy conversation they’d shared was behind, and it was okay, because he should never have let his guard down in the first place. Keeping it like this would be easier.

They walked in silence all the way back to the Chaney home where the only light from an upstairs window shone from his sister’s room. He held open the front door, and Lorabeth entered into the foyer ahead of him.

“If you’d like to lie down, I can make up a bed for you,” Lorabeth offered, always kind, always thoughtful.

“I’ll wait in the library,” he said, accustomed to holding back, keeping himself apart from others. “You go ahead and rest.”

She moved toward the rear hallway.

“Aren’t you going to your room?” he asked.

“I’m going to use the wash room first,” she told him.

He turned away, feeling more foolish than ever.

Lorabeth drew water from the back of the stove and carried it to the wash room. She was exhausted, it was true. Every new experience was exhilarating, and she didn’t want to miss out on a thing. Benjamin hadn’t wanted to take her hand, that had been the problem, she guessed, and she felt awkward and ignorant. In her excitement, she’d made a blunder that had put a wrinkle in things between them.

She was confused, and confusion was an unfamiliar feeling. She was used to having things straight in her head. She’d always known what she wanted. Or she thought she’d known. She’d wanted more. A way out. A life without censor or deprivation.

And here she was, living in the town doctor’s home, privileged to a way of life she’d only dreamed of until now. She should have been content.

But she did want more. There was still so much to explore and dreams to indulge.

Benjamin stirred up all those dreams and longings she’d held dear for so long. He was the first man besides her father and brothers that she’d spent any time with, and he intrigued her.

He was waiting for her when she returned, and the sight created a warm glow in her chest.

She studied him in the golden flicker of the lamp that hung on the foyer wall. He had nice eyes, friendly but sort of sad, a straight slim nose and a generous mouth that rarely curved into a smile. Looking at him made her stomach feel funny.

A thin wail traveled down from the upstairs hall.

Benjamin’s face tilted upward in expectation. The cry was the only sound in the enormous house. Seconds ticked by and their gazes met and held in expectancy. Gooseflesh rose along Lorabeth’s arms and down her spine.

Finally the wavering cry ended, and a door opened and closed. Dr. Chaney appeared at the head of the stairs wearing rumpled clothing and a tired grin.

“It’s a girl,” he said, making his way down to where they waited, and Lorabeth had to move aside to let him pass on the stairs.

“Ellie?” The single name was Benjamin’s only question.

“Ellie’s just fine,” Dr. Chaney assured him. “Tired but fine.”

Relief crossed Benjamin’s features.

“As soon as Sophie helps Ellie change and freshen up, you can go in and see them.”

Lorabeth thought Benjamin might simply head on home now that he knew everything was all right, but he nodded and perched on the bottom stair to wait.

Dr. Chaney enlisted Lorabeth to help wake the children, share the news and ferry them one at a time from their beds to their mother and back. Each child was given a few minutes alone with their parents and new sibling while Lorabeth stood near the door and waited. More than once she saw Caleb and Ellie gazing upon their new child, on their older children, and sharing loving smiles.

Once Dr. Chaney leaned over Ellie and pressed his face to her hair as though she was the air he needed to breathe. The moment was so precious, so painfully intimate, that Lorabeth’s heart ached with yearning for a similar bond, a tender belonging.

By the time the last child had seen the new sister, Lorabeth had dozens of tender images stored in her mind.

“I’ll be heading home now,” Benjamin told her after he’d seen his sister. He plucked his hat from a hook on the coat tree in the foyer. “I locked the kitchen door and checked all the windows.”

“Thank you.” A lonely ache had swelled in her chest until she felt close to tears for no good reason.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “Good night.”

“Thanks for supper,” he added.

“Thank you for all your help.”

He settled the hat on his head and strode off the porch.

Lorabeth watched him mount the black horse that whinnied at his approach and listened until the sound of hoof beats on the brick street faded into the distance.

After turning down the remaining lamp wicks, she climbed the stairs to her room.

There’d been a time when she’d seen the bleakness and toil of her mother’s days and dreaded growing up into the same kind of life. Her mother had known there was more, too. She’d been powerless to change things for herself, but she’d made certain to encourage Lorabeth to strive for more.

Now Lorabeth knew that one day she wanted her own home and a family. She’d worked for the Chaneys for two years, and in that time she’d had plenty of opportunities to be certain of what it was she wanted for her own life.

From her bedroom window, she gazed out into the dark night and tried to imagine where the park was. Why had she been so hesitant to go in? One of her dreams of freedom had been fulfilled this night, but she’d been afraid to plunge in all the way and dare the unknown.

Never again. She’d never again miss anything by holding back.

Chapter Six

Appreciating the physical exertion that same week, Ben tossed down hay from the top of a stack in the barn and forked it to the stalls in the rear. He’d put a lot of enthusiasm into commanding his head and his will into submission over the past several years. He worked to use his energy in good ways because he had to be a man of strong character.

His life had been all about self-control, but it had been too easy. He should have known. He’d never been tempted from his purpose or distracted by physical or emotional desires. Until now.

Lorabeth was his weakness. He recognized it. He resented it. She was all he valued and respected. She was pure and innocent.

Doubly dangerous because of her perfection. She stirred up responses that he had vowed never to allow.

The sound of a buggy alerted him to the presence of a visitor or a patient. Dropping the pitchfork with a flurry of swirling dust motes, he strode out into the sunshine and met the female driver who stepped down.

“Mornin’, ma’am. Fine day for a ride.”

Her straw bonnet hid most of her face from view as she turned to the rear floor of the conveyance and took out a crate covered with an afghan. “I’ve brought my Minnie for your help, Doctor. It seems the foolish girl has managed to get a fish hook stuck through her paw.”

A loud mewl from inside the crate told Benjamin that the feline inside wasn’t any happier than its owner.

He stepped forward. “Let’s have a look at Minnie.”

The woman held the crate forward at the same time she introduced herself. “I’m…I’m…” She flattened her palm against her chest and stared at him as though she’d seen an apparition. “Oh, my.”

“Ma’am?”

“I’m—Susanne Evans,” she said haltingly.

Ben took the crate, but her eyes didn’t leave his face.

“You’re Dr. Chaney?”

“My brother-in-law is the medical doctor, as I’m sure you know. I’m the vet. Call me Ben.”

He guessed her to be in her mid-thirties.

She had black hair and ebony-winged brows above green eyes. She was a striking woman, full-figured and apple-cheeked.

She stared at him. Then, as though realizing she hadn’t let go of the crate, she jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…”

“What?”

Her skin seemed unusually pale.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Evans?”

She nodded.

“Do you want to come into my office while I look at your cat?”

She nodded.

“Do you need a drink of water or somethin’?”

She cleared her throat. “No.”

He peeled away the afghan to have a look at his patient. The animal was a long slender Siamese with sleek silver fur, black ears and facial tinting and narrow blue eyes. “She’s a beauty.”

“She was a gift from my husband.” Mrs. Evans followed him into the house and to the area he used for his office and examining rooms.

Ben spoke to the animal in a low comforting tone to gain its trust, petted her and fed her a tiny piece of jerky.

Mrs. Evans was now making him self-conscious with her stare.

He looked her in the eye. “Is there a problem?”

She shook her head without a word and glanced away. Her attention fastened on the glass jars where he kept treats for his patients.

“It looks like the candy counter at the mercantile, but with bits of jerky and—what’s that?”

“Dried apple. When did this happen?”

“This morning. She got out when the children left for school and I found her in the shed where my husband keeps his fishing poles. I had to cut the poor thing loose from the line. Why the man left a hook on the line is more than I can figure out.”

“She’s gonna be just fine,” Ben assured her. “Why don’t you help me hold her.”

Once he had the cat’s trust, he hooked a short leash to her collar and secured her to the examining table.

“Look away and don’t breathe this,” he instructed Mrs. Evans.

Talking in a soft tone, he doused a cloth with ether and held it to the feline’s nose. The cat tried to pull away for a panicky moment, but succumbed to the fumes and fell limp on the table.

The cat’s owner released the pet and sat in a nearby chair to watch.

Ben quickly poured disinfectant over the paw, then cut the hook in two with a small pair of wire cutters. Once the prongs were disposed of, he pulled the hook out and firmly pressed a wad of cotton to the wound to stop the minimal blood flow, all the while aware of the woman’s scrutiny.

Within minutes Minnie’s paw was dabbed with ointment and bandaged. He washed his hands and placed his instruments in a pan of disinfectant.

“How much do I owe you?” Mrs. Evans asked.

“Two bits should do it,” he answered, drying his hands.

She took a coin from her purse and handed it to him. “You have a gentle touch. Confident and capable.”

“She’s gonna wake up groggy and disoriented. Maybe mad as a hornet.” Ben wrapped the cat in the afghan and handed her over like a sleeping baby. “I suggest you put her in the box and keep her there for a time so she doesn’t hurt herself when she wakes up.”

Mrs. Evans nodded and lowered the animal into the crate. “We’re fortunate you chose to practice in Newton.”

“Never thought about anywhere else,” he said, picking it up for her and leading the way out of doors. “Family’s here.”

“Your parents, too?” she asked, following.

“No. My sister and her family and my brother.”

He set the crate in the back floor of the buggy.

The woman’s questions continued. “Have you lived in Newton your whole life?”

The way she kept looking at him made him uncomfortable. “No, ma’am. We grew up nearby though.”

“Forgive me, but I’ve met Dr. Chaney—the other Dr. Chaney, I mean—and if you’re not his brother, how can your name be Chaney, too?”

It was a logical thing to wonder. Sometimes Ben questioned taking the Chaney name and the respect and history that went along with it, like borrowing the name as though it was a pair of shoes that didn’t fit.

“My brother-in-law adopted me and my brother,” he answered simply.

“So…your mother…is she…?”

“She’s dead. You wouldn’t have known her.”

That look of curiosity and suspicion that he hated to see in people’s eyes made him angry. He found a lap blanket and tucked it around the crate, so the cat wouldn’t wake up and escape.

“You must think I’m awfully rude,” Mrs. Evans said.

Without comment, Ben straightened and assisted her up to the seat.

“It’s just…”

He waited.

“I’d like you to meet my husband,” she said finally.

He nodded. “I’m sure it’d be a pleasure, ma’am.”

She gave him a last long look and shook the reins over the horses’ backs.

Ben watched her go, shrugged off his irritation and went inside to clean up his exam room. It was still early enough to make a trip to the library.

“Ben, I want you to take Lorabeth to Zeta Payton’s home social this Saturday night.”

“What?” Ben looked at his sister. It was Sunday evening, and they were sharing a simple meal. The extended Chaney family had headed back to Florence a short time ago.

It had been Baby Madeline’s first day at church, and the family was in good spirits.

Lorabeth had carried dishes into the kitchen.

“Sophie and I talked about this. The young people hold socials every Saturday night. They play games and the like. I’ve never known Lorabeth to take any time for herself. She even helps me all weekend and late into the evening. And I’m beginning to have my suspicions about her supposed mornings off.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think she goes to her father’s and does all their laundry and cleaning on those days.”

Ben thought about it and remembered Lorabeth’s mention of no time to go for walks or visit the library.

“She needs to get out and mingle with people her own age,” Ellie added. “Working all the time isn’t healthy. Please do this for me. I want to see her get out and have fun, and she’ll be more comfortable if you’re there to introduce her.”

“I don’t go to things like that,” he objected.

“It won’t hurt you, either,” she insisted.

“Ellie, you know I’m not like all those others.”

“Oh, you’re too special to associate with the commoners?” she asked with a raised brow.

Caleb shot Ben a look that said he might as well give in and do her bidding while he was ahead.

Ellie asked so little of him, and Lorabeth was her right hand. He could do this for both of them. “Oh, all right.”

Ellie smiled in satisfaction. “I’m going to get the girls ready for bed now.”

Caleb rose from the table. “Nate and I will take care of the dishes.”

Flynn had gone to visit friends for the evening.

“Lorabeth,” Ellie addressed her when she returned, “take off your apron and get some air now.”

Lorabeth glanced at her employers, immediately removed her apron and headed for the door.

Ellie stared at Ben pointedly.

He pushed back his chair and stood to follow her to the porch.

She was sitting on the top step, her forearms crossed on her knees. She glanced up at his approach.

He leaned against the column and studied the darkening sky. “The home social is at Zeta Payton’s this Saturday night.”

“What is that?”

He’d been a couple of times in the past. Those who attended had been classmates the short time he’d been in school in Newton and they invited him on occasion. “They drink punch and play parlor games.” He didn’t like participating because he didn’t know the children’s nursery rhymes they took for granted in some of the games. “Kind of silly. You might know a few of the girls from school, though, and it would be a good chance to make some friends.”

She was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Will you go?” he asked.

“A party? Have you invited me to a party? I’ve read stories about dances and social events, but the only activities I’ve ever been allowed to attend were church functions. I doubt I have the proper clothing. I would have to shop.”

“Ellie will help you.”

“We’re going then? To a party? Young people and maybe…maybe dancing?”

“Maybe dancing,” he answered with a lopsided grin.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks as though they stung. She dropped them immediately.

“What if my father finds out? He might make me go back.”

“Caleb and Ellie approve, and they’re serving as your guardians, aren’t they?”

“I suppose they are at that.”

“You’re safe with me, and I could always assure him of that.”

“I have to start thinking like an adult, don’t I?”

He gave her a grin.

“There’s another worry,” she said. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“It’s not hard,” he told her. “I’ll show you. Ellie will show you. Flynn’s a really good dancer.”

“Now? Will you show me now?” She stood expectantly.

With no music? And alone out here on the porch? Warning signals went off in his head, but he silenced them and straightened. How could he say no and dim the excitement in her eyes? She was eager and fragile, and he couldn’t reject her. He could endure anything for Ellie and for the young woman who took such good care of his sister and her family.

So he did something he’d avoided, something he knew wasn’t safe: he took her right hand in his left and placed it at his waist. He took her other hand and folded it in his while he rested fingertips on her back. He stood with Lorabeth in his arms, the scent of her fragrant hair under his nose.

Her nearness challenged his restraint, and there wasn’t a man in all of Kansas who worked harder at self-control. He had to.

The fact that she’d never been held by a man or danced in his arms humbled him and gave him courage. At that moment there wasn’t anything he’d rather do than teach her to dance.

Cicadas provided the background music, and he explained the steps and the count. She fell right into the pattern and followed him effortlessly. Each time they turned and passed before the light from the parlor window, the joy on her face took his breath away.

“I’m dancing!” she exclaimed, her voice breathless.

She laughed, and the sound whittled away defenses he’d built for the safekeeping of his heart and pounded at barriers that protected his sanity. He felt an overwhelming desire to draw her against him and bury his face in her hair. His body reacted with purely male instincts.

Ben fought to rebuild that wall, mentally corrected himself and took a step back, releasing her. What was Ellie thinking? “I have to go.”

She clasped her hands to her breast.

He opened the door and reached inside for his hat. “But I have something in my saddlebags for you.”

“What is it?”

He went to the horse and withdrew the books he’d checked out of the library with her in mind. Carrying them to her, he placed the stack in her hands.

“You remembered.” Her voice revealed awe. She closed her arms around the books.

“Just picked a few I thought you’d like.”

“Thank you.”

He looked away.

“I’ll see you on Saturday, then,” she said.

He hesitated. He’d made a promise. “Yes.”

He couldn’t reach Titus fast enough. A look over his shoulder showed him she was leaning against the pillar where he’d been earlier, watching him go.

He untethered the horse, placed his foot in the stirrup, launched himself onto the saddle and rode like the hounds of hell were on his heels.

Distance wouldn’t help. He couldn’t escape himself.

Chapter Seven

Saturday’s plans were never far from Lorabeth’s thoughts, no matter the task that week. On Thursday morning, Ellie readied the children, and they left them with Sophie Connor for a few hours so they could shop.

“I’ve always appreciated the shops in Newton,” Ellie told her. “They buy for travelers and for the Harvey Girls who have spare cash and eyes for a pretty dress, so there’s always a good selection.”

Eva Kirkpatrick had an assortment of dresses for sale in her shop. “Ellie!” she cried, upon seeing the woman. “You look lovely. And you have a new daughter, I’ve heard.”

“She’s just perfect,” Ellie told her. “Have you met Lorabeth?”

“I don’t believe so.”

Ellie made introductions.

“You’re the reverend’s daughter, then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Lorabeth needs a dress for this Saturday. Something pretty for a social.”

“Are those kids still doing those socials? I remember being that age.” She led the way to racks of clothing along one wall. “You’ll be easy to fit, Lorabeth. You’re a perfect size, and though you’re a little tall, I’ve left the hems out of most of these so they can be custom lengths. With your coloring, I’d suggest green or yellow. What would you like?”

Lorabeth was in awe of the lovely dresses Eva showed her, one after the other. There were so many to choose from! Time and again her eye was drawn to an ivory taffeta with a high neckline, a gathered yoke bodice and three layers of eyelet at the hem.

“I made this on a whim,” Eva said, taking it out and showing them. “It’s so feminine, isn’t it? This wide sash cinches at the waist. Why don’t you try it on?”

Lorabeth retreated to a curtained-off dressing room and changed clothing. When she returned, Ellie and the dressmaker stared.

“It’s stunning on you,” Miss Kirkpatrick declared. “Your hair and eyes are accentuated because of the soft color.” She took the sash from Lorabeth and tied it around her waist. “Do you like it?” She turned her toward a full-length mirror.

An unfamiliar woman gazed back at Lorabeth. She looked feminine. She felt special.

“I think she’ll need more besides this one,” Ellie said. “Once the bachelors see her, she’ll have invitations for every weekend evening from here on out.”

Lorabeth blushed at the thought and the flattery. “How much is this one?” she asked.

“This one’s my gift,” Ellie told her. “Now pick out a couple more.”

“I can’t let you do that,” she objected.

“You will let me,” Ellie said, and she smiled as though she was thinking of something. “It’s a gift to let you know how much I appreciate you.”

“I already know—”

“No more objections. Find dresses.”

Lorabeth was delighted to obey.

The day became even more interesting when Ellie escorted her to Aunt Tibby’s Tea Parlor. They drank tea from rose-patterned china cups and saucers and ate delicate frosted cakes.

Lorabeth told Ellie about the books she’d been reading, stories that Benjamin had checked out of the public library for her. Ellie listened intently, a smile on her face.

Lorabeth’s thoughts returned to the upcoming weekend, and her stomach fluttered in anticipation. How much more exciting could life get?

Ben didn’t sleep well Friday night. He woke several times with recurring nightmares that left a bad feeling behind. He spent the following afternoon at the house in town. He’d experienced his first taste of family in these rooms, known his first measure of safety and acceptance. Here he clung to the good memories and drew strength and comfort.

It surprised him that Ellie didn’t understand his need to keep this place he thought of as home. But then she had Caleb now, and she had learned security as a couple and a family.

Ben couldn’t let go of this place.

He dressed and arrived at Ellie’s promptly. He let himself in and found Caleb and Ellie in the study. Baby Madeline was sleeping in a bassinet a few feet from where they sat.

Ben strolled over and studied her miniature features. Another child to love and cherish. Another life couldn’t make up for those lost in their childhood, though. He looked up and found Ellie studying him as though she knew what he was thinking.

“She’s beautiful,” he managed through the sheen of tears that blurred his vision.

“Ellie thinks she looks like you,” Caleb said with a grin.

Ellie got up and came forward to lay her hand on his for a moment. When she looked up, the sadness he’d glimpsed was replaced with joy. “I’ll go let Lorabeth know you’re here.”

Several minutes later, Ellie returned with Lorabeth.

Ben couldn’t take his eyes from her, and he couldn’t think of anything to say.

She was the most beautiful and captivating creature he’d ever seen. Her hair, looking soft and shiny, was swept from her face and hung in curls down her back. She wore a soft-looking dress in a color that reminded him of a new duckling, pale yet alive. Her tawny eyes sparkled with excitement.

And…anticipation. Ellie was looking at him, too. Caleb gave him a nearly imperceptible nod.

“You…um…” He stopped and caught himself before he stuttered. “You’re beautiful, Lorabeth.”

She beamed.

Ellie nodded approvingly.

“I’m so nervous,” Lorabeth admitted, and pressed a hand to the sash at her unbelievably narrow waist.

“Nothing to fear,” Ellie told her with a quick squeeze around her shoulders. “You’re lovely and smart and you’ll make lots of new friends in no time. You’ll have all the fellas eating out of your hand.”

Lorabeth’s smile confirmed her unease had been set aside. She turned that heart-stopping gaze on Ben.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“I figured you’d enjoy walking,” he told her as they stepped from the front porch. “The Paytons’ is only about as far as the park.”

“Next time,” she said, “if you want to walk through the park, I’ll go in.”

He regretted his own hesitation that night. She’d led such a sheltered life and it wasn’t fair to withhold simple things from her just to protect himself. “Next time,” he told Lorabeth, “I’ll hold your hand.”

Another promise.

A train rumbled in the distance, and from inside one of the houses they passed a baby cried.

Ben extended his arm and she hooked hers through as they walked. The streets were lit by gas lamps, but the brick walks weren’t perfectly even. It would be no hardship to be a friend to Lorabeth.

They strolled in companionable silence.

“Your sister gave me the dress as a gift,” she told him after a few minutes.

“It’s pretty.”

“She’s a wonderful person.”

“I know.”

“I never knew a family could be so caring.”

“Your father cares for you,” he pointed out. “He made a good home for you all your growing-up years, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did,” she agreed.

“I’d have traded my childhood for one like yours in an instant,” he told her.

She looked up at him. “What was wrong with your childhood?”

He shook his head, refusing to think back that far, let alone talk about it. “Never mind.”

“I’m sorry to have sounded ungrateful. I didn’t mean to. Everything is so new and exciting, and I don’t have much to compare to.”

“I should warn you,” he said, changing the subject, “the punch at these shindigs is usually spiked.”

“Spiked?”

“With liquor.”

“Oh! Goodness! Isn’t it wicked to imbibe in spirits?”

“Has some wicked aftereffects, I assure you. I don’t set much store by drinkin’ myself. Makes people do foolish things.”

A buggy passed them, and passengers got out a few houses farther up the street.

“We’re almost there.”

She raised her hand to her hair in a self-conscious gesture.

Bright lights shone from all the downstairs windows, and the tinny sound of music reached them.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A Victrola.”

“I’ve seen the advertisements, but I’ve never heard one. Do you know the song?”

Ben listened for a moment. “‘Molly Malone.’ It’s an Irish folk song.”

“How do the words go?”

Zeta opened the door of her parents’ home and greeted them, sparing him. “Ben! What a wonderful surprise! And who’s this?”

He introduced Lorabeth.

“Welcome, Lorabeth. Come in and meet the other guests.”

The vivacious redhead drew Lorabeth into a large room where young men and women milled in groups. Benjamin stayed close beside her.

Lorabeth remembered Carrie Bennett and Frances Adler from school. She was introduced to a petite blonde named Jenetta Wisdom, as well as a handful of young men.

Carter Tibbs had wavy russet-colored hair and sparkling dark eyes. The slim young fellow attended church with his parents, so he was familiar, but Hobie Dearborn and Damian Wick were new acquaintances.

She clung to Benjamin’s arm, unwilling to lose her safe connection.

“Where are your parents tonight?” Hobie asked Zeta.

“At the cattleman’s club as usual,” she replied. “Miss Pratt is our chaperone.”

“I think she’s referring to the Paytons’ housekeeper,” Benjamin supplied.

“Frances is apprenticed at the Newton Kansan,” Zeta told Lorabeth.

“Oh, I’ve read it,” she answered.

A couple of them laughed as though she’d made a joke.

She glanced at Benjamin. “I have.”

He nodded with a smile.

“Let’s have punch and sandwiches, and then I have some very special parlor games planned,” Zeta suggested.

“What are the games?” Lorabeth asked quietly as they mingled with the crowd around the table in the dining room.

“Charades, guessing games, proverbs, things like that,” he replied.

“I know a lot of proverbs,” she assured him.

He gave her a weak smile.

“Is it liquor?” she asked of the punch.

He dipped a ladle, poured liquid into a small glass cup and tasted it. “Yup.”

She glanced around the room. Studied the huge bowl with orange slices floating on top. Looked at the cup. The liquid was orange and fruity looking. She didn’t intend to disregard her father’s teachings and reflect poorly on him. Surely a sip wouldn’t hurt. She’d promised herself never to hesitate and miss out again. “I’ll have a little taste,” she said.

Without expression he handed her the cup he’d just sipped from.

Lorabeth tasted the cold liquid. It was sweet and fruity and had a little sting that made her nose tickle.

Lightning didn’t strike her dead. “It’s quite refreshing.”

Ben poured himself a cup from a pitcher of lemonade. She asked the question with her eyes and he answered with a shake of his head. Plain lemonade.

Benjamin handed her a plate and she followed him behind the line of guests, selecting a couple of dainty sandwiches. He led her to a long low divan and took her plate so she could adjust her dress to sit. He left and returned with a plate for himself.

Lorabeth was amused by the chatter around her and took pleasure in the playful banter. Her father would be appalled at the frivolous waste of time and money. There wasn’t anything edifying about the evening thus far. She was loving it.

The hostess strolled past with a tray of full cups, and she traded her empty one for a full one. The second cup of fruity punch was even better than the last.

Benjamin finished eating and took their trays.

“Jenetta will keep track of forfeits this evening,” Zeta announced.

“What does that mean?” Lorabeth whispered.

“Each time you lose, you add a forfeit to your tally. At the end of the games you have to pay.”

“With what? I didn’t bring any money.”

“No, you pay with whatever the forfeit is at that time, like a song or a joke. The forfeits are just another part of the games.”

“Oh, I see.”

“We’re moving into my father’s study for the first game,” Zeta said. “It’s all set up.”

The gathering merged down a hall and into a large room lit only by a flickering light. A sheet had been hung to divide the entrance of the room from the fireplace, she realized.

Murmurs and chuckles erupted from the crowd.

“This is a shadow game,” Benjamin supplied.

They all walked around the sheet and took seats on chairs and the floor by the fireside.

“Draw a number,” Zeta said, and passed a bowl of paper slips.

Lorabeth drew seven. Benjamin had twelve.

“Number one!” Carrie called. “Who’s going to start?”

Jenetta jumped up and moved to the back side of the sheet.

Zeta motioned for Frances to get up. The girl took her hair down from its chignon, shook it out and tucked her arms close to her body and walked before the sheet.

Lorabeth realized then that Frances was backlit by the fire and only appeared as a shadow to Jenetta on the other side of the sheet.

“Who is it?” Zeta asked.

“It’s Carrie,” Jenetta guessed.

“No!” the gathering shouted.

“Lorabeth?”

“No!” they cried again.

“One more guess and you take a forfeit,” Zeta called.

“It’s you, Zeta.”

“No!” they cried in unison.

Lorabeth understood the game and that Frances had tried to disguise herself. The next fellow turned up his collar and tucked in his chin, but the guesser recognized him anyway.

“It’s your turn, Lorabeth,” Zeta announced. “Go take the seat.”

Lorabeth walked around the sheet and took her place on the chair. After a few whispers and a thump, two figures loomed on the other side of the cloth. The taller one, obviously a man, leaned over the smaller one until their noses met and their shadows merged. She was so surprised that she slapped a hand to her breast. “Oh, my!”

“What are they doing back here?” Zeta called.

“They’re, um, they’re…” Her neck and face grew uncomfortably warm with embarrassment. “I think they’re having a private moment.”

The girls erupted in giggles.

“One of them is Carrie. Who do you think the other is?”

“Carter?” she asked, trying to recall everyone’s names.

“No!”

“Hobie?”

“No!”

“Damian, then.”

“No, it’s Ben!”

Ben kissing Carrie? She couldn’t even comprehend it.

“Come see!”

Lorabeth got up with her heart pounding and made her way around the white curtain.

Benjamin and Carrie weren’t even touching. They faced each other, but stood in such a way that their shadows reflected an embrace.

The young people burst into laughter.

“It’s such fun to play that prank on someone new,” Frances said, coming to link her arm through Lorabeth’s.

Lorabeth couldn’t explain the relief that flooded over her or the embarrassment that climbed her cheeks and made it difficult to meet Benjamin’s eyes. When she finally dared, she noted he wore an amused expression.

The guests filed back to the dining room where they filled their cups. Lorabeth held hers out for Zeta to ladle punch in.

“This was Ellie’s idea,” Benjamin said near her ear. “If you’re not comfortable, we can leave anytime. I won’t mind.”

“Oh, no. I like it,” she assured him and sipped her drink.

“Men are going to flatter the ladies now!” Zeta called.

The females in the room murmured their enthusiasm over that suggestion.

“Lorabeth,” Zeta told her. “The requirement is that each young man will go from one lady to the next and say six flattering things about her. But tonight—” she paused for effect “—he cannot use the letter L.”

The males groaned.

“We’ll go around the room and, Carter, you’re first.”

Lorabeth watched with interest as Carter complimented a fair-haired Ida Hunter with statements such as, “Your hair is shiny” and “You are very good at charades.” When he used the word helpful a chorus of voices tagged him with a forfeit.

Carter reached Lorabeth, and she smiled expectantly. The etiquette books she’d read had advised her it was inappropriate for a lady of quality to encourage flattery from a young man, but flattery was the object of the game.

“You—” Carter caught himself and started over. “Your…oh, my…your finger work—that’s it! Your finger work at the piano is very good.”

Everyone laughed at his frustration to get his meaning across.

“Thank you,” Lorabeth said.

He grinned. “You are, um, you have good manners.”

“Thank you,” she said again.

“Your hair is a unique and an attractive—shade.”

No one had ever said that to her before. “Why, thank you, Carter.”

A few of the guests chuckled, and Lorabeth realized she didn’t need to thank him each time. She blushed.

“Your eyes are incredibly—”

“Forfeit!” the cries came.

She was disappointed he’d used an L. She wondered what he’d meant to say about her eyes.

And so the game went, with the young men tripping over their tongues. When it was Benjamin’s turn, he told Zeta her party was nice and that the sandwiches were good. He told Frances Adler she wore a becoming shade of rose. When he got to Lorabeth, she waited expectantly.

“You make me…um…with you I, um, you make my face happy.”

Lorabeth laughed at his avoidance of the word smile.

“You’re kind and generous.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you.”

“You catch on to new things fast.”

“Like croquet?” she asked.

He grinned. “You’re sweet and innocent and not at—not the—not jaded or affected.”

“How many was that?” someone asked.

“You have a good heart,” he added.

“One more,” Zeta said.

“You’re the prettiest woman I know.”

One of the ladies beside Lorabeth sighed.

Lorabeth blushed to the roots of her hair, and Benjamin took his seat beside her.

Conversation swelled around them, and she looked over at him. “Truly?” she asked.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, even in a game.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” Zeta called. “The ladies will compliment the gentlemen now.” Carrie Bennett began, making rounds and earning three forfeits. Frances was next, but she made it all the way around the gathering without a penalty.

When it was Lorabeth’s turn, her heart fluttered. She didn’t relish making a fool of herself, but that seemed to be the sport of the evening and everyone took it with good nature.

She approached Carter first, because she knew him from church.

“You are prompt,” she told him.

He nodded in amusement.

“You are good to your mother.”

A few guests “awed” at that comment.

“Your—” She stopped herself before she said clothing or always. “Your attire is fresh and neat.”

Pleased with her first attempts, she smiled and glanced at the accepting expressions of the others. For the rest of the young men she commented on their smiles and clothing, earning a forfeit when she told Hobie he made her laugh.

She reached Benjamin and her mouth went dry. So many things came to mind when she looked at him, but none of them were appropriate for a game and most of them contained Ls. She smiled, and the corner of his mouth inched up in return.

“That,” she said, pointing to his mouth, “thing you do is very handsome.”

He raised his brows in wordless response.

“You’re good with—the young ones.”

He nodded.

“You’re a good teacher.”

But so much more than that.

“And a good friend.”

“Two more!” Zeta called.

“You don’t judge. You’re smart—and kind-hearted.”

The gathering clapped as she finished. Lorabeth gave Benjamin a last look before moving on to Damian and commenting on his neat appearance and shiny hair.

By the time they played Grecian statue, everyone had enough forfeits to make the party finale interesting.

Zeta placed a fish bowl in the center of the room on an oak pedestal.

“Draw as many slips as you earned forfeits,” she instructed.

They plucked folded slips of paper from the bowl, and Zeta explained they would go around and pay them one at a time. Hobie was first, and he had to recite a poem.

He chose a silly one about a cat in a rowboat, and the game moved on. Carrie’s first forfeit was to give something she was wearing or holding to another person. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and gave it to Carter.

Jenetta’s forfeit was to crawl on her knees like a kitty and rub against the legs of the person beside her.

Beside her sat Damian, and he quite enjoyed Jenetta’s catlike performance.

Benjamin unfolded a slip of paper.

“Kiss a person of the opposite gender,” he read.

Lorabeth widened her eyes at that request. She’d thought the kitty had been risqué!

Benjamin seemed to consider his options for a moment, then got up and walked across the room to lean over Carrie Bennett and kiss her right on the lips!

The crowd applauded, and Carrie blushed. Benjamin returned to his seat beside Lorabeth without meeting her eyes.

Frances Adler caught the attention of the room with her next forfeit. “Five minutes in the coat closet with the person of your choice.”

Laughter and surprised comments erupted.

“Parker,” she said, crooking a finger. Lorabeth couldn’t remember hearing his last name.

He was tall and dark-haired with a lock that fell over his forehead in a becoming manner.

Zeta opened the coat closet and closed the door behind them.

Lorabeth glance at Benjamin. He met her eyes and raised an eyebrow.

“Watch the time,” Zeta instructed Ida.

Lorabeth’s first forfeit was to recite a proverb backward, and she was relieved because proverbs were something she knew forward and backward. She thought it through first, then said, “Rubies above far…is price her for…woman virtuous…a…find…can…who?”

Laughter rang out as the friends deciphered and approved of her rendition.

“How does that go?” Ben asked while the others were occupied.

“Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.”

“That Solomon knew his stuff, didn’t he?” Benjamin’s next forfeit was to give away a possession. He took a pocketknife from his trouser pocket and handed it to Lorabeth.

The utensil was warm, the bone handle worn smooth from use. She held it self-consciously.

Jenetta and Parker were released from the closet and took their seats amidst jeers and cheers. Jenetta smiled as though quite pleased with herself, and Parker wore a wide grin.

Lorabeth stumbled reading her next forfeit. “K-kiss a beau on your left.”

Frances was directly to Lorabeth’s left and next to Frances sat Parker.

“Parker! Your lips are getting a workout this evening!” someone called and the others all laughed.

Lorabeth looked at Benjamin. His expression didn’t give away what he was thinking, but he did say, “You don’t have to. It’s just a game.”

“She has to draw two if she refuses this one,” Carrie reminded them.

Lorabeth hadn’t expected anything like this. She wished she could kiss Benjamin and not this other fellow, but she wanted to play the games and do everything the others did. She stood on legs that trembled and moved around Frances’s knees to stand before Parker.

He smiled up at her. He was handsome and friendly looking. Her stomach quivered nervously. She’d seen Ellie and Caleb share a kiss now and then, and she knew they enjoyed it.

Taking a deep breath, Lorabeth leaned forward until she was face-to-face with Parker. His brown eyes held little gold flecks in the lamplight.

She feared closing her eyes because she didn’t want to miss her target or fall headlong over him, so she kept them open and touched her lips to his.

His lips were warm. Not unpleasant feeling at all. Not what she’d expected, either. But the contact was too intimate for this public display. Her cheeks burned.

Spectators applauded.

Lorabeth straightened, returned Parker’s smile and went back to her chair. This time she avoided Benjamin’s gaze.

Ben would have left an hour ago if Lorabeth hadn’t assured him she was having a good time and wanted to be there. He wouldn’t have come at all if Ellie hadn’t insisted.

The games had become a lot more risqué since the last time he’d joined this bunch.

He sure as hell hadn’t been about to kiss Lorabeth in front of these people, and he hadn’t expected her to kiss a man. He should have known, though. She was open to experiencing all the things she’d missed, and the activities here were beyond her limited experience.

He wished the forfeits were over so they could leave.

Several more kisses and a few badly sung nursery rhymes and it was time to go.

Benjamin thanked their hostess and led Lorabeth out the door. The fresh air felt good on his face. He took off his jacket and slung it over one shoulder.

“Are you chilly?” he asked.

She shook her head.

They walked along the brick path, hearing guests leaving and buggies pulling out behind them.

Benjamin reached for Lorabeth’s hand. She didn’t resist.

“I feel like walking a little farther,” he said.

He led the way to the park and guided her along the darkened paths. “Scared?” he asked.

“No.”

They reached the center of the park where stone benches shone pale in the moonlight. He released her hand.

“Were you shocked?” he asked finally. “At the games?”

She giggled. “I was pretty surprised.”

“I don’t think Ellie knows exactly what goes on at those house parties.”

“If my father knew, he’d be holding a prayer vigil on the street,” she said.

“He’d be disappointed in me for takin’ you, I know that,” Ben added.

Lorabeth sighed and tipped her head back to study the heavens. “He’s disappointed a lot.”

“What did you think?”

Her laughter was spontaneous and light. “It was fun.” She turned in a circle, then faced him, her features composed. “Why did you pick Carrie?”

Silence yawned between them.

“For the kiss,” she clarified unnecessarily.

He thought about how to answer.

“Didn’t you want to kiss me?”

Chapter Eight

Ben’s stomach dipped. “I didn’t want to kiss you like that. Not in front of everyone.”

“Oh.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Seconds passed. “That was my first kiss.”

Damn. He shook his head in self-disgust. “I should have kissed you. Even in front of everyone. I should have kissed you so I would have been the first.”

“It wasn’t a real kiss, was it?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“It couldn’t have been as real as when two people care about each other and choose to kiss because they want to, not because it’s a silly forfeit, like a riddle in a game.”

Lorabeth deserved a special kiss. A kiss as perfect as she was. “You’re right. I don’t think it was a real kiss.”

“Good.”

“Are you cold?”

“A little.”

He settled his jacket around her shoulders. The scent of her hair drew him like a bee to a sweet flower. He leaned over her and inhaled the scent of Lorabeth.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” she asked.

“Oh, I want to.”

She paused a moment before asking, “Then why…?”

Ben dipped his head and brought her chin up on the knuckle of his forefinger to capture her mouth and hush her questions.

Her mouth was a sweet discovery, her lips soft and pliant beneath his. He wrapped her close in his embrace and she fit against him perfectly, her curves pressed to the plains of his body. His chest swelled with expectancy and his thoughts of reason dimmed as pleasure took over his senses and feeling ruled out hesitation. He loved her honesty, admired her zeal for life…but most of all he appreciated her innocence and purity. She was a fresh clean breath of air in a stagnant world.

She was light in the midst of darkness. She was unspoiled and naive, and he loved those things about her.

His body reacted quite naturally, and he eased himself away from her so as not to spoil this moment.

She raised a hand to his cheek, and the touch of her fingers made him feel clean. Young again.

He caught her hand and pressed his lips against her skin, tasting her, absorbing her goodness.

“That was a real kiss, wasn’t it?” she asked breathlessly.

His eyes closed tight against the night, against the world. “Yes.”

“I liked it,” she said in her usual childlike straightforward way.

“I liked it, too,” he answered.

“And I like being alone with you like this,” she admitted.

He knew three or more cups of Zeta’s punch were making her giddy and he had a responsibility to her, to her father. “Lorabeth…”

“What?”

He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “It’s unsafe for you to be alone with just any man. You know that, don’t you?”

“My father warned me enough times.”

She couldn’t understand, and he didn’t want to shatter her illusions. “You wouldn’t be safe here like this with anyone besides me. I need you to understand that.”

“All right. Will you kiss me again next time we’re alone?” she asked.

He leaned away from her then, steadying her before he released her. “I’ll have trouble resisting.”

She smiled in the moonlight. “I hope we’re alone a lot, then.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying…or what you’re hoping.”

“Maybe not. But I want to learn.”

It was obvious she wanted to learn—about everything. And it was apparent he would be doing battle with himself at every turn. He took her hand. “Let’s get you home.”

They were silent most of the way. When they reached Ellie’s, Ben walked Lorabeth to the front door and watched as she used the key Ellie had given her.

“This is the first time I’ve used a key.”

“Are you going to tell Ellie?” he asked her.

“About what?”

“About the parlor games.”

She pushed open the door and turned to him. “Do you want me to?”

He shrugged.

“If she asks directly, I’ll tell her, of course.”

Of course she would never lie.

“But if the subject never comes up—and why would it?—then I won’t say anything. I never knew it would be so enjoyable to be around others that way, just to have fun for the sake of fun.”

The pleasure on her face could have lit the night. How refreshing to see her delighted with such simple things. She was unique and special, and her eagerness scared him.

She moved inside and stood back from the doorway. “Are you coming in?”

He thought of mentioning next week’s social, but couldn’t make himself say the words. Like a coward, he shook his head.

“Good night,” she called behind him.

Titus had been tethered near the back gate. Ben loosed him, walked him out to the street and mounted.

Looking back at the house, only one light was on, and it shone from the side of the house on the second floor.

Ben urged the ranger to walk toward the fence that bordered the acreage and watched as a shadow fluttered behind the curtains of that upstairs room.

His insides knotted at the thought of Lorabeth preparing for bed. Undressing…washing…brushing out her hair. He’d never seen a woman perform any of those nighttime rituals, but his imagination was filling in the blanks.

It was a domestic scene he pictured, a scene where man and woman shared a home and a bed….

What did he know about domestic? He’d grown up in a shack with no food and a mother who drank herself blind every day. What did he know about men and women other than whores and men with twisted desires and unholy unions…perverted desires? He’d witnessed sex in exchange for booze money. He knew about lack of responsibility. About lust. He knew how men cheated on their wives under cover of night. He dreamed crude distorted dreams that disturbed and aroused.

Ben didn’t know the first thing about decent men and women except what he’d observed between Ellie and her husband. There were good men in the world, but all he understood for sure was weakness, and he’d made a stubborn vow never to show any. Without self-control he was nothing.

By allowing this association with Lorabeth, he was placing himself in a position he’d shunned all his adult years. He had chosen not to be the kind of man he abhorred. He’d held himself apart. He’d never let himself weaken or lose control.

And unleashing those desires was a weakness and a danger.

The weight of the burden he carried had increased. That experience with Lorabeth scared Ben more than he cared to admit. He stayed away from his sister’s house that week. He didn’t want Ellie asking him to take Lorabeth to another home social.

Saturday arrived and Ben spent the day in town. He used his time and energy refinishing the kitchen floor and replacing boards near the thresholds.

As evening came and went, he prepared himself a simple meal of fried eggs and toasted bread with the strawberry jelly Ellie had given him.

He was exhausted at bedtime, but lay atop the covers wide-eyed with his head reeling. Finally he tugged on his denim trousers, shirt and boots and grabbed a jacket from near the door. A walk would do him good.

The town hadn’t gone to sleep yet. Buggies traversed the streets and about half the homes had lights burning behind their windowpanes.

He walked all the way to Ellie’s corner and stood behind a forsythia hedge where he could see the house and the lights. The room he knew belonged to Lorabeth was dark. He pictured her asleep, wondered if she’d missed him that week.

A horse drew a buggy toward the house from the other direction and pulled up before the gate. Not an unusual occurrence to see a patient call on Caleb at odd hours.

A tall man climbed down and reached back up to assist someone to the ground. A wife or daughter perhaps.

The woman’s laughter arrested his thoughts, and Ben squinted through the darkness for a better look. She gathered her skirts and walked toward the door, the man close behind.

Lorabeth!

His head spun for a moment, the surprise scattering his thoughts. Her room was dark because she had been out with a gentleman caller!

And Ellie had encouraged this?

Anger welled in his chest. Lorabeth was too naive to be cavorting with the likes of the young men in this city. She had no idea of the vulnerable position she was placing herself in.

She was too impressionable to be out alone.

Ben held himself in check, not wanting her to know he’d been standing here as they arrived. She would think he was jealous or overly interested.

What about Caleb’s responsibility? Caleb had made a promise to her father to see to Lorabeth’s well-being. The reverend would never approve of this.

The couple was standing on the porch now, and the roof hid them from the moon and the streetlamps. Ben couldn’t see what was happening, but the front door hadn’t opened.

It didn’t take this long to say a courteous good-night and take your leave.

Ben strode out onto the walk and under the trellis where the path led to the house. His steps were loud and hurried.

He made out two separate shadowy figures just as Lorabeth called, “Benjamin?”

“Evenin’, Lorabeth. Who’s that there with you?”

Carter Tibbs approached the edge of the top stair and reached for Ben’s hand. “Evenin’, Ben.”

“We’ve just come from Ida Hunter’s,” Lorabeth told him, excitement lacing her voice. “Her home is nearly at the edge of town, and it’s beautiful! Her mother made candies and there was a tray of caramel-covered apples on sticks.”

Enthusiasm poured from her as she shared everything she’d seen and done. “Hobie was funny tonight! One of his forfeits was to act like a pig!” She laughed.

She shared her excitement with him as though he was her closest friend and she couldn’t wait to tell him. “We played pantomimes and blindman’s bluff. It was quite fun. I’m sorry you missed it.”

“I had work to do,” he told her, but he was sorry he’d missed it, too. Sorry he’d missed her reactions. He’d cheated himself by holding back.

“Well, perhaps next time,” she said just as friendly as you please.

“Definitely,” he replied, with a pointed look at Carter.

“What are you doing here so late?” she asked.

Carter seemed curious for an answer, too.

“I was going to speak with Caleb if he’s still up,” he replied.

She seemed to accept that explanation. “I see. Thank you for accompanying me,” she told Carter. “It was a lovely evening.”

“Thank you for agreeing to be my partner,” he replied. “You’ve taken to the group like a duck to water. Everyone likes you.”

Ben should have stayed behind the hedge.

He should have stayed at home.

He should have shown up this week and invited her himself.

He shouldn’t be standing here humiliating himself in front of Carter Tibbs. “Good night, Tibbs. See you in church in the morning?”

Carter nodded and backed toward the top stair.

“Good night, Lorabeth.” He returned to his buggy, picked up the reins and guided the horse away.

“Come on in and we’ll see where Caleb is,” Lorabeth told Ben.

“If he’s not in his study, I’ll just talk to him in the mornin’.”

The study was dark as Ben had suspected it would be.

“Lock the door behind me,” he told her.

“Good night, Benjamin.”

He closed himself out on the porch and listened for the turn of the lock and the sliding of the bolt.

Carter certainly hadn’t wasted any time inviting Lorabeth to be his escort. Ben wondered why Carter had the impression that Lorabeth was free to accompany just any person who asked her.

Lorabeth was free to accompany any person who asked her. The admission hit him over the head like a well-aimed two-by-four. Benjamin’s stomach knotted, and the night air was suddenly too close to breathe comfortably.

He didn’t want to want her.

What kind of man refused to acknowledge his desire for a woman and yet denied anyone else the privilege?

He’d pondered what was missing inside him. Was it the ability to be like other people? Was it confidence? Was he dishonest with himself? He fought down the irrational feelings of helplessness and set a determined course toward home.

Ben didn’t sleep well that night and awoke with the same thoughts on his mind.

Lorabeth was seated at the piano when he arrived at church to sit with his family. He acknowledged her smile with a nod and slid into the pew beside Flynn.

Lillith immediately scooted down from her father’s lap to work her way in front of Flynn’s knees and ease her fanny up until Ben tugged her onto his lap.

He kissed her ear and smelled the delicate scent of her hair. Ellie’s children gave him hope. Their lives and happiness were slowly changing his jaded view of the world. They were delicate treasures, and he loved them wholeheartedly. “Mornin’, sweet pea.”

Confident of her welcome, Lillith snuggled in comfortably until the hymns began and he urged her to stand. She took his hand and sang along while he held the hymnal low, even though she could only read a few words.

Lorabeth was wearing a blue dress with matching ribbons in her hair. She sang along with “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder,” her gaze only occasionally touching the songbook in front of her. When the singing was over, she took a seat beside her brother in the front row, and Reverend Holdridge approached the pulpit.

Ben seated himself again and Lillith tucked herself into a comfortable position with her head under his chin.

Ellie glanced over and smiled. Baby Madeline slept soundly on her lap, and on her other side Nate and David fidgeted in their seats.

Ben loved Sundays. He loved seeing his family all dressed in their best and enjoying the service. Loved going back to the house with his belly growling and helping set the table and see to the children. He loved family dinner and games and being around Caleb’s parents.

He’d always felt as though he was sharing the benefits illegally somehow, as though this family life he so desired wasn’t truly his. Somehow Lorabeth’s presence exposed those insecurities for the truth.

He wasn’t like all of the Chaneys—he was wired differently. Ellie would disagree because she’d made the needed adjustments and become like them.

Ben had never learned how. He knew where he came from. He knew where he wanted to go. He just didn’t know how to get there—how to set aside the burdens that weighed him down. Was he even worthy to keep company with people like the Chaneys? Was he right to feel unworthy yet protective of someone like Lorabeth? He stored the doubts in a little cubbyhole in his mind and ignored them.

The reverend read the story of Joseph and how his jealous brothers sold him into slavery, and Ben’s thoughts drifted to the kiss he and Lorabeth had shared. Her father would run him out of town on a rail if he knew.

Last night rose up and taunted him. Which was worse? Ben sullying Lorabeth’s innocence or another man making the attempt?

The other man, of course.

He couldn’t stop himself from turning and seeking out the man who’d been on his thoughts all night and this morning. He located the Tibbs family on the other side of the church, a few pews back.

Carter’s parents appeared engrossed in the message. Carter’s older brother and his wife stole secret looks at each other and held hands. Carter was studying the front pew where Lorabeth sat with her younger brother on her left and her older brother and his wife on her right.

Carter’s intense gaze traveled from the front of the church to fasten on Ben. He cast a barely perceptible nod. The greeting wasn’t as much of a hello as it was acknowledging the competition.

A warning that had been flickering to life inside Ben burst into flame. For now his focus zeroed in on protecting Lorabeth. He could best do that by keeping her safe. By not neglecting her or forsaking her to the wolves in sheep’s clothing.

He wasn’t completely fooling himself. He couldn’t deny that the idea of being Lorabeth’s guardian appealed to him on more than one level. He accepted the challenge in that moment while his gaze was locked with Carter’s.

The reverend summed up his message with a prayer. With Lillith on one arm, Ben quickly made his way to the front to escort Lorabeth from the church.

A short time later they were riding toward home in the buggy Caleb rented on Sundays. Lorabeth was seated with Lillith and David on either side of her, and Ben had sandwiched himself in the rear with Flynn and Nate. Anna was asleep on his lap.

A thought occurred to him in that instant—an awful thought. What if Lorabeth preferred Carter Tibbs’s company to his?

“Did you hear me?” Lillith asked over Lorabeth’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, what?” Ben asked.

“I said why did God make fleas? Mama said I should ask you ’cause you know all about animals.”

He thought that one over, seeking logic and finding none. “Maybe Lorabeth should answer that one. She knows more about God than I do.”

Lorabeth turned to give him a look that said, Thanks a lot.

Caleb and Ellie exchanged amused glances in the front. Ben gave Lorabeth an innocent smile. Her tawny gaze held a measure of amusement.

“Some things we just don’t know,” Lorabeth replied easily. “God is much wiser than all of us, so if He thought fleas were a good idea, who are we to question Him?”

Ben was highly impressed when Lillith calmly accepted that answer and resumed her seat.

He made sure he maneuvered his duties so that he was in the kitchen with Lorabeth as she took a ham from the oven and placed it on a platter.

“I’ll slice,” he offered, reaching for a knife.

She used a masher on a pan full of potatoes and whipped them until they were fluffy.

“So you had a good time with Carter last night?” he asked as though it was of no concern to him one way or the other.

“Mr. Tibbs is quite nice. Did you have a chance to say hello this morning?”

“We acknowledged each other.” He stacked slices of meat. “I trust he was a gentleman.”

“Very much so. He was attentive and thoughtful.”

“Lorabeth.”

His serious tone caught her full attention. She turned a wide-eyed gaze on him.

“I’m concerned for you. You’re not used to the pranks and the games. You’ve led a very sheltered life.”

“Why are you concerned?” She frowned. “Are you disapproving of me wanting to make friends and have fun?”

“Of course not,” he answered quickly. “It’s just that, well, I’d feel responsible if anything were to happen. I introduced you to these people. You’re too unworldly to know the dangers.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What are they?”

The deeply buried memory of a dark night many years ago throbbed to life, seizing Ben’s mind and voice. All the helplessness and horror flashed into his awareness now. At a loss for words, he was relieved when Ellie joined them, her clothing changed.

She donned an apron. “My, aren’t the two of you an efficient team?”

She squeezed Ben around the waist affectionately and gave Lorabeth a little hug from behind.

Lorabeth turned to her in obvious surprise.

“I’ll pour milk and make sure the hooligans are washed and have the table set,” Ellie said, sweeping toward the back porch and the icebox.

Ben and Lorabeth worked in silence until Ellie returned with two pitchers and carried them to the dining room.

Gathering his thoughts, Ben finished with the ham and wiped his hands clean. “The dangers are probably beyond your understanding,” he told Lorabeth. “Men aren’t always who or what they seem. One of them could seduce you before you knew what had happened. Or…or worse.”

Lorabeth was stirring the contents of a pan on the stove, but she turned and stared at him. “Worse?”

He remembered the screams. The feeble cries. “Ignore your innocence and your wishes and compromise you.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “That’s pretty unclear.”

His anger was actually apprehension for her safety now that he thought it through. “All the more reason to be careful.”

“You’re truly afraid for me?”

Now that she’d put it so baldly, he had to admit it. “I am.”

“You know more about these things than I, Benjamin. I trust your judgment. I do so enjoy the home socials. So should I stop going?”

“No. It’s important to you. I’ll take you. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Like the wolf guarding the sheep, he thought momentarily, then dashed that nagging worry away. He would keep her safe.

“That’s kind of you.”

“No, it’s selfish.” He’d be honest. She was honest.

“Because?”

“Because I don’t want to worry about you.”

Ellie returned and peered over Lorabeth’s shoulder at the smooth dark gravy. “Perfect.”

She reached into a cupboard for two china gravy boats and then helped pour.

“Are you as hungry as I am?” she asked Ben.

“Pretty hungry,” he answered.

They picked up the platters and bowls and proceeded to the dining room.

The wind had increased, bringing with it rain that tapped on the steamed-over windows in staccato bursts. The sound of geese overhead was a reminder of winter ahead. Inside it was warm and comfortable, and all seemed right with Ellie’s world.

With an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, she looked from her husband to her brothers and children. Madeline lay sleeping in her wooden cradle in the corner of the room. Ellie dabbed at her eyes.

“Something make you sad?” Caleb asked, leaning close to take her hand and touch a fingertip to her cheek.

She shook her head and smiled through the sheen of tears. “Something makes me very, very happy,” she said. “You’ve made me happy, Caleb.”

He kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand. “I love you.”

Their family swelled around them, laughing, passing food, and Caleb turned to take the warm roll Anna was pushing at him.

Ellie glanced from her husband to her brothers. Flynn was as happy and carefree as a lad his age should be, thanks to Caleb. And thanks to Ben.

She turned her attention to Ben, and her pleasure dimmed ever so slightly. The picture of him as a skinny, terrified eight-year-old flitted across her memory, replaced by images of formative years and teen years, and his contorted and perspiring, gaunt face the night he’d offered his life in exchange for hers.

She probably understood her brother better than he knew himself. He thought he had all his ducks in a row. He held himself in strict judgment to prove he was a person who mattered. Being hard on himself somehow made up for their past and the sins of others.

Ben took slices of ham for himself and Lillith and sliced Lillith’s into bite-size pieces. Each of these children had cut through his defenses right to his heart. How much more would it take for a woman to do the same?

Ellie’s gaze moved to Lorabeth. Ben had never shown interest in a particular woman before, and Ellie understood his hesitation. He’d seen too much during his formative years, things that had skewed his perspective of men and women. He wouldn’t want to do the same things he hated in others.

Inside Ben was a tender heart seeking acceptance, a wounded soul needing fulfillment. Caleb’s love had mended Ellie’s emotional wounds. Love would do the same for her brother.

Chapter Nine

Ben felt so much better about the situation with Lorabeth that he slept all night without the recurring dreams that normally haunted him, dreams in which he was helpless to protect the people he loved. This morning he awoke refreshed. As a rule he liked Mondays because they represented a fresh start on a week.

He was making rounds of his caged patients when a familiar buggy pulled close to the barn. He recognized Suzanne Evans. She had a man with her this time.

The tall, sandy-haired fellow assisted her to the ground and they walked toward Ben. The man wore an expression of puzzlement and concern. Something about him, about the impressive width of his shoulders and sheen of his fair hair in the sun struck Ben as oddly familiar, though he knew he’d never laid eyes on the man before. Unexplainable apprehension nagged at his gut.

“Mrs. Evans,” Ben said, striding forward. “Is Minnie in trouble again?”

“No, Doctor. I’ve brought my husband.”

“I’m not a people doctor, ma’am. That’s my brother-in-law’s job.”

“I know,” she answered. “Wes isn’t ill.”

Ben’s attention traveled from Suzanne to the man standing beside her. That strange and uncomfortable sensation crept up his spine and raised the hair on his neck. “Who are you?”

“Maybe we should sit down,” the man suggested.

Stiffly, Ben pointed to the front of the house, and Suzanne headed for the porch. He followed a few steps behind Wes. “Chairs are dusty,” Ben said. “Don’t sit here much.”

“It’s all right.” Suzanne took a seat.

Ben waited for Wes to follow suit, then perched warily on a painted bench.

The man took a breath as though fortifying himself. “Was your mother Sylvia Foster?”

The air left Ben’s lungs. He stiffened his spine and narrowed his gaze. How would this man know that? “Who are you?”

“Well…” His disturbing eyes moved from his wife to Ben. “I think I’m your father.”

The words hung in the air. The drone of a bee was the only sound save the pounding in Ben’s ears. “I don’t have a father.”

“Everyone has a father,” Wes answered.

Ben had thought the same thing a hundred times, but a biological fact didn’t make a family. Ben stood and moved to the bottom of the stairs as though preparing to get away. “What are you trying to pull?”

Suzanne spoke up then. “I’m the one who asked Wes to come here and see you for himself. You two are the spitting image of each other.” She gestured by jutting an upraised palm toward her husband. “Look at him!”

Ben’s instincts were on alert. He didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to recognize any such thing. He knew the circumstances of his conception, and he didn’t need to imagine them. But the oddly familiar sense he’d gotten at first sight of Wes nagged at his peace of mind.

Wes hadn’t moved from his perch on the wooden chair, though his body was rigid. The man had hair the same color and texture as his own; his eyes were the same shocking blue that startled Ben each time he looked into a mirror. The man’s hands were large, his fingers long, nails flat and blunt. Looking at Wes’s hand was like looking at his own, except for the added years.

Ben had always known that his father could have been any of a hundred men. It should be no surprise to discover a man who looked exactly like he would in twenty years.

“My mother was a whore,” he said flatly. “If what you say was true, it wouldn’t say much for you.”

He glanced at Suzanne, realizing she was learning that her husband had paid a cheap whore for sex.

“Wes and I have been married eighteen years,” she told him as though guessing his thoughts. “And the situation wasn’t what you’re thinking.”

The anger and resentment that were never far below the surface welled up in a ball of rage in Ben’s belly.

“Your mother was Sylvia Foster, wasn’t she?” Wes asked. “You have an older sister named Ellianna.”

Ben’s gaze shot to Wes, and he placed one foot on the bottom stair in a move toward the man. “What the hell do you know about her?”

“I told you I knew your mother.”

“And my sister? You knew my sister?”

“Saw her when she was a tiny little thing is all.”

“Get off my land.”

“Dr. Chaney, please listen,” Suzanne begged.

“You don’t have anything to say that I want to hear,” he told Wes. “My mother was a whore. If you knew her, that’s your sad story. I don’t need it, thanks. I don’t know what you want from me or why you came here, but I don’t want anything to do with you.”

With a pained expression, Wes glanced at his wife. She shrugged and stood to reach for his hand. He took it and they moved past Ben into the yard. The man paused and turned his head to the side as though he wanted to say more. Apparently he thought better of it and continued on to the buggy.

Ben strode to his barn and waited for the sound of horses and harnesses to assure him they’d gone.

He looked at his hands and found them shaking. He curled his fingers into fists and pressed them against his eyes.

Years of safely guarded emotions clawed at his soul like demons gaining a foothold to scramble out of a pit. He knew where he came from. He’d dealt with it. He couldn’t change it. He didn’t need anyone except his family. Ellie. Caleb—the Chaneys who’d become his family by choice—because they wanted him.

He sure as hell didn’t need the hellish reminders that man wanted to dredge up, and Ben refused to acknowledge Wesley Evans as his father and buckle to the depravity of being sired by a whore.

What would it prove?

Ben replaced hay in stalls and pens, then untethered Delilah the goat and let her follow him as he worked. The animals were his solace; helping them had healed him. He spoke to them—nonsensical things, important things—as though purging himself of all the confusion and anger could heal him. Delilah was a good listener, and followed him from barn to house.

He donned a jacket and pulled up the collar against a late-afternoon chill. Minutes later a galloping rider approached from the road.

Ben recognized Riggs Webb, son of the Arcade Hotel manager.

“Ice wagon ran over Mrs. McKinley’s dog, Doc!” Riggs managed out of breath. “She’s hurt bad.”

“I’ll grab my bag,” Ben called. “Can I take your horse and you follow with my wagon?”

He was only a few minutes away from town, and the dog still lay in the street when he arrived. A small crowd milling around the injured animal parted when he arrived.

The dog wasn’t bleeding from his head or mouth, but his back legs looked crushed, and the high-pitched whine was pathetic. Ben filled a hypodermic needle and immediately gave the canine a sedative.

Mrs. McKinley sobbed into a lace hanky. “Beau was right beside me in my garden. I was covering my bulbs with straw. Then he heard the dismissal bell and ran toward the schoolhouse. He likes to follow the children home, you know. Can you help him, Dr. Ben?”

Mrs. McKinley lived right beside Ben’s house in town, and Beau greeted him with a friendly yip and a visit each time he saw Ben come and go.

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

The ice truck was stopped several feet away. “Somebody fill a gunnysack with ice and bring it to me.”

Robbie Rentchler hurried to do Ben’s bidding, and Ben placed the ice on the dog’s hindquarters. “Help me get him on this blanket so I can take ’im to my place.”

Robbie helped him, and they placed the now-unconscious dog in the back of the wagon.

Mrs. McKinley cried like a little girl who was losing her best friend. Eva Kirkpatrick had come out of her dress shop, and she draped an arm around the woman’s shoulders to comfort her. “Why don’t you come in and I’ll make us some tea? Benjamin will let you know how Beau is doing.”

Ben thanked her with a nod and took the dog home.

The most serious injury was a broken hip. He worked on the animal through the evening, setting the bone and keeping him sedated while he made the cast and let it set.

He believed the animal would make a recovery, but he wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to get around afterward.

Eva drove Mrs. McKinley out to see the patient that evening. Ben greeted them and offered them cups of coffee.

“How come no woman has caught your fancy yet, Benjamin?” Eva asked in her friendly manner as they sat at his kitchen table. She glanced around the spacious, obviously little-used room. It looked pretty much like it had the day he’d moved in.

He shrugged good-naturedly. When he’d first come to Newton, Caleb’s first office had been above Miss Kirkpatrick’s dress shop. Ben had been Caleb’s helper until leaving for college, so he’d had plenty of opportunities to get to know the kindhearted woman. “Don’t know, Miss Eva. None compare to you, I reckon.”

She laughed. “None compare to that sister of yours is more likely.”

“That woman is a dear,” Mrs. McKinley agreed. “Taking on all she has, what with you boys and Dr. Chaney’s son, and now her own children. Watched you boys grow from skinny young things to strappin’ men under her care, I did.”

“I don’t know if you can entirely credit Ellie with their remarkable size and strength,” Eva chided. “Heredity may have had something to do with it.”

Her friendly remark jolted Ben’s thoughts back to the man who’d been there that morning. He and Flynn had survived in spite of family origin, thanks to Ellie.

Mrs. McKinley waved away Eva’s comment and added another spoonful of sugar to her coffee. “I’ll be so lonely without Beau tonight,” she said, and a tear rolled down the thin pale skin of her cheek. “He sleeps across the foot of my bed and keeps my feet warm even in the dead of winter.”

“Why don’t you come stay the night with me?” Eva suggested, patting the elderly woman’s arm. “We’ll play a game of cribbage in front of the fire.”

“That’s kind of you, dear. Thank you.”

Ben took them to see Beau again before they left. The mutt was awake and raised his head and thumped his tail at his mistress’s attention. Ben took it as a good sign that the animal was alert, though he planned to keep him sedated and resting for several days until he let him go home.

Beau was the focus for his thoughts and attention the next two days and nights, and Ben was glad for the distraction. When he felt the animal was recovered enough so that Mrs. McKinley could care for him, he drove the wagon to town and got him settled.

Ben ate supper at the Arcade and once it was dark, rode to the Chaneys’. He let himself in the front door and stood in the foyer listening to the heartwarming sounds of life and family. This was what was missing in his house. Children’s voices carried from upstairs. It was bedtime.

He found Flynn in Caleb’s study.

“Hi, Ben! I heard about Mrs. McKinley’s Beau.” They’d been neighbors with Mrs. McKinley for years, and it was a family joke to call the dog Mrs. McKinley’s Beau. “How’s he doin’?”

“I think he’s gonna be all right. Where is everyone?”

“Caleb got called out. Ellie and Lorabeth are upstairs. I’m finishin’ my studies.”

“Would you mind askin’ Ellie to come talk to me in the kitchen when she’s finished?”

“Don’t you want to go tell her yourself?”

“I don’t want to get the kids all excited. I’ll just wait.”

“Okay.” Flynn left and returned a few minutes later. “She said she’ll be down shortly.”

Ben watched Flynn tally a row of figures and eventually wandered into the kitchen, where he pulled out a chair and waited. He considered pouring a cup of coffee, but apprehension made his stomach refuse that idea. He needed to find out whatever Ellie knew, but he was afraid of what the facts might be. She would be straight with him; she always had been.

A few minutes later Ellie showed up. She leaned over him to smooth his hair and press her face to his temple in a motherly gesture.

Ben caught her hand. Emotions welled up and he fought for control.

With her hand still in his, his sister sat on the bench beside him. Her look flickered over his face and hair. “Something wrong?”

He dropped his gaze to the tabletop and composed his thoughts and his words. “Had a visitor a couple days ago.”

“Who was it?” she asked.

“Man name o’ Wes Evans.” He brought his attention to her face to observe her reaction. “Ever heard of ’im?”

Ellie’s lifted brows and slow blink showed a measure of surprise. “Wes? What did he look like? What did he want?”

“Matter of fact, he looked a lot like me.”

A floorboard creaked overhead and the clock in the hallway chimed, but neither of them flicked an eyelash as they stared at each other.

“Do you remember him, Ellie?”

“Vaguely. She—” they never called her mother “—had a friend named Wes for a time. I was too little to remember much. He was kind, I think. I don’t recall things being so bad around that time. They got worse later. Ben, what did he want?”

“A week or so ago his wife brought her cat for treatment, and she stared at me the whole time. I know why now. Apparently she went home and told her husband she’d seen me. I have no idea what that conversation must’ve been like…but she brought him to see me.”

Ellie stared at him wide-eyed.

“He thinks he’s my father.”

She blinked a few times. Opened and closed her mouth. Gripped his fingers and then let go to press both hands to her breast as though her heart was a speeding train threatening to jump the rails.

“Why would he admit to that?” he asked. “Why would he tell his wife he fathered a kid with a whore?”

She shook her head, apparently trying to reason or remember. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him to leave me the hell alone.”

“Oh, Ben.” She stared at him wide-eyed. “We haven’t talked about this for a long time. I think about it every day. I don’t need to take it out and beat myself with it, too.”

“You’re the one who said I shouldn’t punish myself with the past.”

She conceded with a begrudging nod. “But you’re the one who told Caleb the truth about Winston and what he did to me—what she let him do to me—because you wanted to stay with Caleb so badly, remember? You told him that night after Winston came after me again.”

“I doubt I’ll ever forget.”

“So we admit the truth, but we don’t punish ourselves with it,” she insisted.

“The truth is our mother was a whore and we don’t know who our fathers are,” he said bluntly.

“But if you had a chance to know,” she said, her voice intense now, “would you take it?”

He looked at her. “A man like that isn’t worth opening a vein for, Ellie.”

“Can you be sure what kind of man he is?”

“He was one of them.”

She closed her eyes. A tear slipped beneath her lashes, and the sight made his chest ache.

“Ellie.”

“I’m not sad for me, Ben, I’m aching inside for you.” She opened her eyes. “You’re the only one who can decide if you want to give this man a chance or not. If you want to know the truth. If you can handle it.”

“What good would it do?”

“I don’t know. And neither do you. But you have a chance to find out.” She stood and gazed down at him. “You’re not him. You’re not any of them. Maybe that’s what you’d learn. Or maybe you’d learn he’s not the piece of dung you’ve believed he is all these years, and you just don’t want to stop hating him because hate is easy.”

Her words found their mark and sank in. He placed his elbows on the tabletop and laced his fingers over the lower half of his face.

Soft footsteps sounded, and Lorabeth stepped into the semidarkened kitchen. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting you?”

She turned as though to leave.

“No,” Ben said before she could go. “Come on in.”

He got up and turned up the wick on the wall lamp.

Lorabeth held a book against her midriff. “I was going to make some tea and read.”

“I’m tired,” Ellie said with a weak smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m heading upstairs.” She leaned over and pecked Ben’s cheek with a light kiss.

“’Night, Ellie.”

Lorabeth laid the book on the table, pumped water into the kettle and stoked the fire in the stove. “Will you join me?”

“Sure.”

The water boiled and she poured it over leaves in the teapot, then let them stand while she got cups from the cupboard. “How’s your patient?”

“News sure travels,” he answered. “Dog’s doin’ well.”

“There’s no home social this week because the Iversons are holding a dance at their place. A barn dance, Ellie called it. She and Caleb are planning to go, and she said her mother-in-law will come stay with the children so I can go, too.”

The harvest dance was a yearly event, but his thoughts had been elsewhere, and he hadn’t given the festivity any consideration. “Will you let me escort you?” he asked.

She gave him a bright smile. “I would love that. This will be our chance to really dance, won’t it?”

He nodded. “It will.”

She poured their tea and set the sugar bowl in front of him. “Is everything all right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

“Of course. I liked all the books. I’m reading this one a second time.”

“I’ll return them and bring you more.”

Her smile showed her delight. She appreciated small things, things others would deem inconsequential. He liked that about her. He understood. He knew what it was like to miss out on things others took for granted and to be grateful for them when they were finally yours.

Recent events had ripped open emotional wounds and shed light on unresolved fears he had never wanted to face. Maybe he didn’t want to face the truth about Wes because it would place some of the responsibility on himself. Responsibility to accept and understand and forgive instead of hating and blaming. He needed wisdom to put his life in order.

Chapter Ten

“Can I ask you a question, Lorabeth?”

She picked up her cup and blew lightly across the surface of her tea. “Sure.”

He absently stirred a spoonful of sugar into his. “What does the Bible have to say about fathers?”

“Well, all the stories about fathers are stories of men who loved their children. Men like Joseph and Abraham and David. The apostle Paul tells us we’re supposed to honor our fathers and mothers.”

“Yeah, I heard that. What about parents who don’t deserve honor?”

She frowned and a little crease formed between her brows. “You ask tough questions, Benjamin.”

“Does your father deserve honor?”

She nodded. “I respect him and I respect his position as my parent. I may not have always agreed with all of his mandates, but I recognize his right to have those opinions and make the rules.”

Ben rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “What if he’d been cruel to you and your brothers and sister? What then? What if he’d never provided for you or even cared if you lived or died?”

She brought her gaze to his in the lamplight, and he hoped his emotions and confusion weren’t plainly displayed on his face.

“My father taught me to always take the verses in context, so let’s look at that one in its context.”

He shrugged. Did she mean she needed a Bible?

“Children obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.” Obviously she didn’t need a Bible. “Honor thy father and thy mother, which is the first commandment with promise—that it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth.”

He was gonna die any minute if that promise held true.

“And ye fathers,” she continued. “Provoke not your children to wrath, but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” She sipped her tea and set the cup back in its saucer. “I suppose if my father provoked me and neglected me, I wouldn’t be bound to honor him.”

After a moment, she added, “Maybe I haven’t done so well in that department lately.”

“Mothers, too?” Ben asked as though he hadn’t heard her.

“Probably the same would hold true for either parent.”

“I don’t want to put myself in that place,” he said at last. “If I couldn’t be a good parent, then I wouldn’t want to have young ones. It’s too risky.”

Lorabeth prayed she knew how to answer Benjamin’s questions correctly. His face was etched with deep concern and confusion, and intuitively she knew this was an important conversation. She’d never heard him or his sister talk about their parents, and the one time she’d asked, he’d told her he’d never had a father.

“Some people’s best is better than others. I’m no expert,” she told him with a shrug.

“I didn’t ask you because you’re an expert,” he said. “I asked because you’re a friend and you’re smart about that kind of thing.”

I asked because you’re a friend. She’d known he thought of her as a friend, but hearing him say it tweaked her confidence. “Perhaps if you need a wiser answer you could ask my father. Ellie has invited him to dinner this Sunday.”

“Your brother, too?”

She nodded. “We’re often asked to dinner after church, but my father rarely accepts. I suspect he did this time so he could gauge how I’m faring here.”

“I’d like to know your brother better,” he told her. “I’ll think about talkin’ to your father. I think he’s a fine preacher, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t know if I want to, well, ask him questions like this.”

“That’s okay,” she answered.

“Thanks for answering,” he said.

“I’m pleased to talk with you anytime, Benjamin.”

A vivid blue fire blazed in his eyes as he studied her. His perusal warmed her skin and made her stomach flutter. She felt a connection to him that she’d never experienced before, something special and tender and exciting. She didn’t want to miss out on a moment with him.

Getting up from the bench and moving to the other side of the table, she perched beside him.

“Thanks for caring about me,” she told him.

“A lot of people care about you, Lorabeth.”

“Your reasons aren’t family obligations, though. It’s not the same.”

He had a full lower lip that curled up becomingly when he smiled, and that smile had a powerful effect on her, especially right now when she was so close to him. “No, I don’t suppose it is,” he said.

“You don’t feel toward me like you feel toward Ellie, do you?”

His expression sobered. “Sure don’t.”

It felt right to raise her hand to his face and rest her fingertips against his cheek. It was an intimate touch, that brush of sensitive skin against the rough texture of his jaw. Foreign. Forbidden. Exciting. She moved her fingers and experienced the rasp of his beard with a jolt of sensation that shot through her body.

His nostrils flared as though her scent disturbed him, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

“This is dangerous, Lorabeth.” His low voice was almost a growl.

“Because you want to kiss me?”

He nodded without speaking.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

He turned and took her head in both hands, pulling her to him for a meeting of lips more greedy and less delicate than the last time. The kiss detonated, setting off a robust clamor in her heart and a throbbing rush of heat to her limbs. She wanted to climb onto his lap and make herself part of him.

Lorabeth’s senses reeled. Nothing had ever prepared her for this rush of desire, for the desperate craving she had for this man. She wanted to belong to him, possess him, crush him to her and never let go.

She draped one arm around his neck and curled the fingers of her other hand into the front of his shirt. Benjamin wrapped his arms around her and pulled her right up beside him, hip to hip, breasts crushed against his ribs, where he held her tightly.

His tongue darted across her lips, and Lorabeth parted them, meeting his tongue with eager thrusts and surging passion.

Benjamin moved his body away and bracketed her face with his hands, staring into her eyes, his chest heaving.

“Oh, the wonder of it,” she whispered. “The beauty and perfection. Did you know? Did you know it could be like this?”

He shook his head.

She didn’t want him to release her. She didn’t want the moment to disappear. “Don’t let me go,” she pleaded.

“I have to leave.”

“Hold me a moment longer.”

He crushed her against him, her ear to his chest, where his heart pounded in a frantic rhythm. Lorabeth knew in that moment that she didn’t want this overwhelming need for him to be snatched away or criticized or met with disapproval.

Her existence had purpose now. Benjamin Chaney’s presence made colors brighter, made scents sweeter, and the fact that he wanted her buoyed all her dreams and desires and made her want to shout with gladness.

“Benjamin,” she whispered. “You make me feel alive.”

He threaded his fingers into her hair, and the way he held her made her feel precious.

After a few minutes Benjamin ended the embrace and gave her a final sweet kiss before standing. “I’ll come for you Saturday evening,” he told her.

“I can hardly wait,” she answered.

She walked him to the front door and bolted it behind him. Parting the lace curtain on the long foyer window, she peered into the darkness, trying to make out his retreating form.

She couldn’t see anything, so she turned down the last lamp and ran up the stairs to her dark room where she hurried to the window and caught a glimpse of him as he rode beyond the trees and nudged the horse into a gallop on the street.

Was he her answer? Was Benjamin the husband she’d prayed for? Could he be the mate she’d dreamed of so many times? He’d been places beyond her tiny world, had seen things he could share with her. He was educated and kind, as endearingly handsome as she’d dreamed for, but he wasn’t taken with himself. In fact, he was attentive and unselfish. He’d shown her things she’d been curious about, had already introduced her to a way of life she craved knowing.

Would there be anything wrong with hoping he was the husband she’d waited for? What would her father have to say about him? she wondered. Benjamin had attended their church on a regular basis for years. He had his own veterinary practice and a home—two homes for that matter! What kind of objections would stand in the way of something she wanted with all her heart?

She lit her lamp and studied her reflection in the mirror over the washstand for a moment. It might not be good to want this too badly, Lorabeth reminded herself. Even if her father came up with an objection, Benjamin might not have the least inclination to marry her.

The chance made an ache blossom in her chest. She may not be the woman of his dreams. She thought about Zeta and Jenetta and Carrie and their lovely dresses and the way they knew all the games and had so many friends. Frances and Ida had pretty smiles and fashionable hair. Why would Benjamin choose her over any one of them?

She unbuttoned her shirtwaist and plain skirt, stepping out of them and turning back to the mirror in her cotton undergarments. As plain as all her clothing, as all her belongings. She’d dressed her little wards many mornings and undressed them at night, and even the children wore drawers and chemises with delicate lace and pastel ribbons.

She took the tie from the end of her braid and brushed out her hair until it crackled and shone. She separated the mass into three sections, then stopped herself. She let the tresses fall over her shoulders and down her back and turned this way and that to see herself in the mirror.

Taking a fresh nightgown from a drawer, she flipped it out and changed. White cotton. Plain and practical. Like her life.

Lorabeth padded to the bureau and opened her top drawer. Under more cotton chemises and ironed hankies was a small wooden box Simon had made for her. She opened it and looked at the layers of bills.

Her brother Jubal had convinced her to start an account at the bank, so this was only a small portion of what she’d earned working for the Chaneys the past two years. She’d barely touched her wages in all that time. Her father had paid for clothing and food. Meals were provided and her needs were met here, too. Occasionally she purchased shoes or a hair comb, but the amount spent had never been much. She’d never had an opportunity or a reason to spend this money. Or an inkling of what to spend it on.

Lorabeth had an idea. She closed the box and the drawer.

Turning up the wick on the lamp, she nestled into the comfortable chair with her feet curled beneath her and picked up the book she’d left there. She could have clothes as feminine and pretty as the others—shoes, too. She could be the woman of Benjamin’s dreams.

Chapter Eleven

“Can I ride with you and Lorabeth?” Flynn asked. He had his fiddle case tucked under his arm.

Benjamin stood in the foyer in his best black trousers, white shirt and tie, waiting for Lorabeth.

“Of course you can,” she said from the top of the stairs.

She gathered the hem of her dress and descended as gracefully as anything Ben had ever seen. The dress was the color of a fresh summer peach, with lacy stuff at her neck and on the cuffs. The closer she got, the more clearly he noticed how the shade complemented her skin and made her eyes look dark and luminous.

“Holy cow, Miss Lorrie!” Flynn exclaimed. “You look beautiful!”

“Thank you, Flynn.”

Ben nodded his agreement.

Caleb ushered Nate and David down the stairs. “Papa’s ready to take on you two boys in a checker championship.”

Ben had seen Matthew and Laura’s buggy out front, the horse still harnessed. “I brought my rig,” he said.

“We’re taking my folks’,” Caleb replied.

Ellie came from the hall that led to the kitchen, carrying Madeline wrapped in a light blanket. “Your mother’s baking cookies with the girls,” she said to Caleb. “I need to grab a shawl.”

Madeline was still too small to leave behind for that many hours, and she slept most of the time, anyway, so she was coming along.

Lorabeth took her shawl from over her arm and draped it around her shoulders. “I made pies,” she told Ben.

Flynn picked up the crate that must hold her covered desserts, handed it to Ben, and they made their way to Ben’s buggy. While Ben stowed the pies, Flynn helped her up to the seat.

“What kind are they?” Ben asked, taking up the reins. “The pies.”

“Pumpkin. Do you like pumpkin?”

“One of my favorites.”

Lorabeth had to sit close in order for Flynn to fit on her other side, and the cramped space was no hardship. He enjoyed her presence beside him, her sweet fragrance reaching his senses immediately.

“Where do the animals go when people are dancing in their barn?” Lorabeth asked.

Ben exchanged a look with Flynn, and his brother looked away as though the countryside suddenly held particular fascination.

“The farmer herds them all into pens and corrals and pastures while he cleans out the barn during the day. He leaves them there for the evening.”

“And they don’t mind?” she asked.

Flynn wouldn’t look at him.

“The cows and horses? No, I don’t think they mind.”

“Do the Iversons have a Victrola?” she asked.

Ben wondered what difference that made, then figured it out. “There are musicians,” he told her. “Plenty of local talent in these parts.”

Lorabeth looked to Flynn. “That’s why you’ve brought your violin? To play with the musicians?”

Flynn nodded with a grin. “Yes’m.”

“Well, this will be more of a treat than I’d even imagined.”

“Wait till you see. All the schoolgirls line up near the front to watch ’im,” Ben teased.

“Nah, they don’t,” Flynn replied, and a smudge of ruddy color tinged his lean cheek.

“Wait and see,” Ben told Lorabeth.

She laughed at their good-natured joking.

Lorabeth asked questions about the farms and fields they passed. The purple and red streaks across the skies disappeared into inky darkness as night descended. The lights from the Iverson barn were visible as they approached from the road.

“This makes me think of Simon,” Lorabeth said softly. “I do wish he could share in things like this.” She reached over and grabbed Flynn’s hand, and Ben turned to observe her expression of excitement and apprehension. He glanced at her hand clenching his brother’s and felt a stab of possessiveness.

Even though he was a young man, Flynn was one of her charges, he chided himself. And surely Flynn reminded her sharply of her younger brother. His own hands had been occupied with the reins. He pulled the horses to a stop and looped the reins around the brake handle.

Flynn had stepped away from the buggy so that when Ben got around to the other side, Lorabeth was waiting for him. Ben bracketed her waist with both hands, and she stepped off the stair. He lowered her to the ground and immediately took her icy hand.

“Are you scared?” he asked, rubbing it.

“Only a little.”

“Nothing to fear,” he assured her. “You’ll be the prettiest girl there.”

Her gaze shot to his in surprise.

He smiled and went to get her desserts. They followed Flynn toward the barn.

Two woodstoves warmed the interior, which still held the smells of hay and livestock. Makeshift tables had been constructed along the west side in front of empty stalls, and already their surfaces were covered with trays and bowls of food. Ben held the wooden box out to Lorabeth, and she lifted out her pies and placed them on a table with a dozen delicious-looking varieties. Ben stored the container.

A keg sat on a workbench in the rear by the other set of doors which were closed in deference to the cool night. A crate of clean, empty jars stood on the floor beside it.

The platform that the townspeople took turns storing between dances had been constructed on the right, and J.J. Jenkins had brought the piano he had painted red a few years back.

A hum of conversation filled the building, which probably held forty people already. Flynn headed straight for the platform and the other musicians who were tuning up in a splendid clash of notes.

“Lorabeth! What a gorgeous dress!” Carrie Bennett came up beside them and ran an appreciative gaze over Lorabeth’s costume. “Did Miss Kirkpatrick make that for you?”

“She did,” Lorabeth answered.

“Lorabeth splurged this week.” Ellie joined them, Madeline swaddled in her arms. “Isn’t she a vision in that color?”

Carrie nodded.

“I’d better go make sure Caleb knows what to do with the sandwiches I brought.” Ellie hurried away.

“A few of the others are already here,” Carrie said. “You two must come sit with us.” She motioned for them to follow and led the way to the open area beside the platform where several chairs were gathered. Hobie and Carter stood to greet Lorabeth and Ben.

Ben didn’t like the way Carter looked at Lorabeth.

“These dances are so passé,” Zeta said, joining them, and pulled a long face. “But it’s a tradition and all, so I come with my parents.”

“I like the dances,” Carter said.

“Well, we can still have entertainment of our own fashion.” Carrie leaned forward. “I have an idea.”

“What is it?” Zeta asked.

“Why don’t we put all of our names in a hat and draw for dance partners throughout the night?”

“Will you keep the boys and girls separate or might a person draw their own gender as a partner?” Carter asked with a frown.

“You could draw a person of your own gender,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye. “And if you don’t dance with the person you drew, you have to pay a forfeit.”

Murmurs rippled.

Ben didn’t like the idea and he didn’t mind saying so. “I brought Lorabeth tonight, and I intend to dance with her. If she wants to accept invitations, that will be her choice, but count me out of the mix.”

“I’d rather not play this evening, either,” Lorabeth said, and her agreement pleased him.

He stole a glance at her, and she offered him a smile and took his hand.

“Have fun,” Ben said to the others who quickly formed a circle to plan their evening’s entertainment.

Half a dozen musicians had gathered. The man holding the guitar tapped out a rhythm and they jumped into a song.

“Are you hungry?” Ben asked. “I didn’t have supper, so the food tables look pretty good to me.”

“I’ll eat with you.”

He grabbed two tin plates from a stack, and they selected their fare. He led her to several long tables made out of planks and sawhorses, where they seated themselves so they could observe the goings-on. Ben ate one of Ellie’s sandwiches and a chicken leg while Lorabeth picked at a little sandwich she’d made of cheese and ham.

Deputy Sanders and his wife, Amanda, were the first on the dance floor, joined soon after by several other couples. Lorabeth watched with interest. “Do you know them?”

“Yep. That’s Owen Sanders, one of Marshal Connor’s deputies. His wife used to be a Harvey Girl. She and Sophie and Ellie are all friends.”

“Do they have children?”

“Don’t reckon I’ve heard. You might ask Ellie. Not hungry?”

She glanced over. “Not so much.”

He could see she was itchin’ to get out on that dance floor. He could really go for a cup of coffee and a piece of cake, but first things first. He wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Want to dance?”

Lorabeth turned to him. “Oh, yes!”

He took her by the hand and led her into the throng of couples moving to the lively strains of a song she’d never heard. She glanced at the others beside them, then tried to move the same way they were.

“Don’t think about your feet so much,” Benjamin told her, holding his elbows out and his back straight. “We’ll just do an easy count. Think about moving toward the side and then back this way. One two three four, one two three four.”

It only took a few minutes for her to fall into the pattern and feel comfortable dancing. Benjamin’s patience and gentle guidance touched her. One by one he was giving her experiences that had been out of her reach. Lorabeth felt part of this community for the first time. No longer was she the preacher’s invisible daughter. She wished Simon could be here.

By the next song, she laughed and spared glances at the other dancers and the musicians. Fiddle under his chin, Flynn grinned at her as his fingers flew, and he wielded the bow with expertise she hadn’t imagined he possessed.

“How did your brother learn to play like that?”

“Caleb’s dad first taught him to pick, and then Ellie got lessons for him. He’s quite the fiddle player, isn’t he? Look there.” He nodded in the direction he wanted her to turn.

A row of schoolgirls with ribbons tied at the end of their braids stood beside the platform, some talking behind their hands, others swaying to the music. When Flynn played a particularly difficult sequence of notes, they clapped and cheered.

Lorabeth met Benjamin’s amused gaze with a laugh. “It’s just as you said!”

His expression was warm as he studied his brother. “He’s gonna be a fine man. Caleb and Matthew have been good influences.”

“What about you?” she asked. “You’re closer to him than anyone, aren’t you?”

His bright blue eyes seemed to darken somewhat at her comment. “He’ll grow up better’n me.”

“I don’t know that there are any men finer than you, Benjamin.”

His gaze locked on hers. “I’ve never enjoyed myself at one of these the way I am tonight,” he told her.

The music slowed, and a few of the dancers left the floor, but Benjamin placed his arm behind her back and gave her a reassuring smile. She could smell the starch in his shirt, feel the controlled strength of his arms, and her heart beat as fast as it had when he’d kissed her. She could remain like this forever and never tire of his arms around her.

A couple of songs later he said, “I know you could probably do this all evenin’, but I need somethin’ to drink.”

“I’m thirsty, too.”

He poured her a jar of lemonade and sweetened a cup of coffee for himself. Caleb and Ellie were sitting side by side, the baby on Ellie’s lap, watching the dancers when Benjamin and Lorabeth approached.

“I’ll hold Madeline for a while,” she told Ellie. “You two go dance.”

“This is your night, Lorabeth,” Ellie objected.

“And I’m having a wonderful time,” she said. “But we’re going to rest and have our refreshments, so you two take some time for yourselves.”

Ellie handed Madeline over with a grateful smile, and the two of them threaded their way onto the floor.

Madeline was awake, and had probably just nursed, because she looked sleepy-eyed and content. She blinked up at Lorabeth and the side of her tiny wet mouth slid into a grin. Lorabeth kissed her soft warm head and placed her over her shoulder, snuggled in the blanket. The baby smelled like fresh laundry, warm milk and possessed a sweet fragrance all her own. Her slight weight was a welcome presence against Lorabeth’s breast.

Benjamin sipped his coffee and looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. Someone had placed two slices of layered white cake with a berry filling in front of them.

“You going to try that?” she asked.

“What about your pumpkin pie?”

“I can make you one anytime. You may never get to try this again.”

He picked up a fork and took a piece of cake, but instead of eating it, he held the bite toward her. “You first.”

She opened her mouth and took his offering, sweet and delicious with a mouthwatering raspberry bite. “Mmm.” She chewed slowly and swallowed. “Delicious.”

“More?”

She nodded.

He fed her several more bites before trying the cake himself, then started on the second slice. “Are you having a good time?” he asked.

“I am.” A couple caught her attention. “Look.”

He turned his head.

Carrie and Ida were dancing together, laughing as though they were schoolgirls. Parker and Zeta worked their way through the crowd to find a spot beside them. Lorabeth was glad Benjamin hadn’t wanted to play their silly games tonight. She was delighted to have him all to herself.

Someone moved up beside Benjamin then, and she glanced up at Carter. “Care to dance, Lorabeth?” he asked.

She looked from Carter’s boyish face to Benjamin’s. She’d been content right here, but she didn’t want to be rude.

Benjamin’s expression was unreadable, but he reached for Madeline and cradled the baby in the crook of his left arm as capably as you please. “Go ahead. I’ll stay here until Ellie comes back.”

Madeline gazed up at him with a little furrow between her brows, then sleepily closed her eyes. Obviously content, she moved her lips in an endearing little sucking motion.

With a puzzled look at Benjamin, Lorabeth stood and followed Carter to the dance floor. Just as they reached an opening, the music changed to a slow song, and Carter took one of her hands and placed his other at her waist.

Lorabeth tried to peer around his shoulder to see Benjamin.

“Are you and the doc exclusive?” he asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Has he voiced any intentions? Asked you not to accept offers from other men?”

She shook her head with regret. “No.”

“So I still have a chance, huh?”

She glanced up at him. “A chance to what?”

“Win you. Be in your favor. You know.”

She didn’t know. She’d never been in a position to accept dance offers or invitations of any sort. If there was some kind of unspoken protocol, she wasn’t aware of it. “Exactly what does being in my favor involve?” she asked.

Carter’s complexion reddened. “Why, courting, Lorabeth.”

She blinked. “Courting?”

She knew what it meant. A gentleman sought out a lady’s favor by spending time with her. A few of the books Benjamin brought for her had been fictional novels with story lines where the gentlemen romanced their intended wives.

“What does courting involve, exactly?” she asked.

“Invitations to dances and socials. Gifts. Kissing, of course.”

“Everyone is kissing at the home socials,” she thought aloud. “It hardly seems special in that setting.”

“I would have to agree,” he answered. “But kissing is different in private.”

Indeed it was. “If a gentleman kisses a lady in private, is he courting her?”

“Quite likely,” he replied.

Lorabeth fell into the steps of the dance, turning at every opportunity to seek out Benjamin. Occasionally they moved his direction, and the crowd parted enough so she could spot him where she’d left him, the baby nestled on his arm.

He’d kissed her more than once. Was that courting?

The music ended, and she moved away from Carter and headed back to the table. She reached for Madeline, but Benjamin said, “She’s fine.”

Hobie came by and handed Benjamin a jar filled with dark liquid and foam on the surface.

Lorabeth glanced at his retreating back, then at the jar. “What is it?”

“Beer.” He turned and set it untouched on the table behind him. Then he met her gaze, apparently reading her curiosity. “Wanna try it?”

“May I?”

He picked up the jar and handed it to her.

She raised it to her lips and the pungent yeasty aroma met her nostrils. She drew her head away and blinked. Determined to taste it, she held her breath and took a sip. The unpleasant taste made her shudder.

Benjamin grinned and pointed to her mouth.

“Oh.” She flicked her tongue across her upper lip.

“Like it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not especially.”

She glanced from his face toward the crowd and back. He was studying her. Their gazes locked. His fell to her mouth. Embarrassed, she looked away.

Zeta came by with a tray and handed Lorabeth a jar of lemonade.

“Thank you. This is more like it.” She’d worked up a thirst, and the beer was awful. She took a long drink. “Oh!”

“Spiked?” Benjamin asked with a raised brow.

“Uh-huh.” She set it on the table. “These people enjoy their strong spirits, don’t they?”

Caleb and Ellie returned, and Caleb took Madeline from Benjamin.

“Oh, that looks good,” Ellie said, spotting the full glass of lemonade. “May I?” She reached for it and took a deep swallow before Lorabeth could say anything. Her eyes watered, and she fanned herself with a hand. “Oh, my.”

Benjamin laughed. “That’s what Lorabeth said.”

She quickly set the glass back down. “Go on, you two,” Ellie said, waving. “Have fun.”

Benjamin took Lorabeth’s hand, and they made their way back out. After dancing to a few brisk tunes, the music slowed again. She loved the way Benjamin’s hand rested at her waist, the way she could smell his hair and clothing and feel the warmth of his body. “I don’t want to dance with anyone but you,” she said.

“Good.” He studied her, his gaze touching her hair, her eyes. “I don’t want you to dance with anyone but me.”

Was this what Carter had asked about? “Benjamin?”

“Yes.”

She wanted to know about exclusiveness and courting, but she couldn’t form words to ask.

In the split second while the strains of a song dwindled away and dancers parted and headed toward the sides of the room, Benjamin’s demeanor changed. His body stiffened and his face looked pinched.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

He took her hand and led her toward the chairs. “Nothing.”

She studied him, but he avoided her eyes. She turned her attention to the others in the room, but couldn’t figure out why he’d suddenly become tense and withdrawn.

Ellie came to stand beside Benjamin then, and the two of them looked at each other, then at the crowd of dancers.

“Is something wrong?” Lorabeth asked again.

“No.” Ellie turned away and joined a gathering of women that included Miss Kirkpatrick.

Benjamin seemed to be studying someone, but Lorabeth couldn’t figure out who or what had changed his mood.

With a sick feeling growing in his belly, Ben watched Wes Evans escort his wife from the dance floor toward the side, where several youngsters greeted them. Two were blond-haired girls around ten or twelve with braids and calico dresses, another a dark-haired boy of maybe fourteen or fifteen who resembled Suzanne.

A startling realization flooded over him. Uneasiness riled his nerve endings and set his heart racing. A few of those children in that gathering obviously belonged to Wes and Suzanne.

Ben had siblings he hadn’t known about.

One of the girls elbowed the other, and they laughed. Wes leaned forward and said something to the young man, resting his hand on his shoulder as he did so.

At the sight of the Evans family’s interaction, Ben turned away. Those children led normal, happy lives, were well fed and had nice clothing. Their parents treated them lovingly. No doubt they had a decent house and attended school.

Ben couldn’t bear the overwhelming envy and sadness that enveloped him. He drew a breath and gathered his composure.

“Do you want to leave?” Lorabeth asked from beside him.

He glanced at her concerned expression and nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

Ben found Lorabeth’s wrap draped over the back of a chair and nestled it around her shoulders. “We’re headin’ out,” he said to Caleb.

His brother-in-law nodded.

The crisp night air held the scent of fall.

“That was fun,” Lorabeth said.

Ben helped her up to the buggy seat. “Glad you had a good time.”

“Where are you spending the night? I mean, at which house?”

“I like to spend Saturday night in town. I’m closer for church in the mornin’ that way, but I really need to go check on the animals tonight, so I might as well stay out there.”

“I’d enjoy riding along if you want to go tend to them now, then come back to town.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“All right, then.” He headed the horse toward the outskirts of Newton. “There’s a lap blanket back here,” he said, reaching under the seat and pulling out a Hudson Bay blanket. “Air’s nippy tonight.” He wondered what Evans did for a living.

She covered herself. “Look at all the stars.”

He scanned the expanse of dark heavens with its winking lights. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Ben couldn’t think much past Wes Evans’s appearance at the harvest dance. Had the man attended local dances before? Had he recently moved to Newton from Florence? Ben had been born in Florence, and he didn’t remember seeing the man before now. Suzanne would have spotted Ben sooner had they been at the same activities. Ellie would have recognized Wes. Or would she?

His head spun with questions, and for once Lorabeth was silent and contemplative.

The picture of those youngsters was burned into his mind. Half brothers and sisters? As close in blood relation to him as Ellie and Flynn. Did they know about him? Of course not. Wes hadn’t known about him, and Ben was sure the man hadn’t hurried home to tell them he had an illegitimate son.

How could Ben go on living in this community if that man and his entire brood were going to show up unannounced every time he turned around?

They reached Ben’s property, and he pulled the buggy up in front of the barn. He must have been sitting with the reins in his hands and the night closing around them for a few minutes before Lorabeth spoke, startling him out of his reverie.

“Are you all right, Benjamin?”

He glanced at the reins and tied them. “Yeah. Just tired, I reckon. Come inside the barn with me. I’ll light the stove there and you can keep warm while I check the animals.”

“Don’t go to any trouble,” she told him. “You don’t need to light a fire just for me.”

He helped her down and escorted her through the side door where the familiar scents of hay and animals enveloped them.

Delilah bleated from her pen.

“What’s that?” Lorabeth asked.

“That’s Delilah.” He let out the goat, and it sniffed Lorabeth’s skirt and shoes, then tried to nibble the hem of her skirt.

Lorabeth squealed and tugged the fabric away. “What’s she doing?”

“Bein’ nosy. Delilah, leave Lorabeth’s dress alone.”

Ben checked the occupied cages along the inside wall, made sure each of the animals had food and water, and examined a few healing wounds. A pigeon ruffled its feathers and pecked at the grain in its dish.

“What’s wrong with the dog?” Lorabeth asked.

“That’s Hoover, Marshal Vidlak’s huntin’ hound. Got his hind leg caught in a trap. It’s nearly healed now.”

Hoover stood with his black nose against the wire door, his tail wagging.

“What about her?” She pointed to a calico cat with a gold and black face.

“Him. Almira Wheeler found him in the alley behind her shop. He was skin and bones, pretty scraped up.”

Lorabeth placed her hand on the front wire of the cage, and the cat backed into the rear corner. “Are you afraid, kitty?”

“He doesn’t even let me pet him, and I’ve been feedin’ him for a couple of weeks.”

“What’s his name?”

“Doesn’t have one. He’s a stray.”

She bent to peer into the cage. “You look like a Mittens to me. Your paws are all a different color fur than the rest of you.”

“Not a very manly name for a tom,” he commented.

“He likes it.”

Ben came to stand beside her and studied the animal. “How can you tell?”

“His ears stood up when I said it. Watch. Mittens?”

Sure enough the feline twitched his notched ears and gave her a superior green-eyed stare.

“What will you do with him?”

“Let him go, I guess. There are already half a dozen barn cats around here. Another won’t hurt. Takes care of the mice.”

He was standing close enough behind her to detect the soft floral scent of her hair. Instead of the braid she wore during the week, she had fashioned her hair so that it hung in rippling waves down her back. Every time his hand had brushed it that evening he’d experienced a twinge of longing.

“Your hair is so soft and shiny,” he told her.

She straightened and turned so that she was looking at him over her shoulder. “I had it trimmed this week. And Ellie helped me do an egg treatment.”

“Eggs? Really? What do eggs do?”

She smiled. “Make it shiny, I guess.”

They stood that way for a moment.

“You can touch it if you like.”

He didn’t need an engraved invitation. Ben reached tentatively and took a tress between his fingers and thumb, noticing the cool, silky texture. Then he threaded all five fingers into the mass and brought it to his nose. He touched the satin smoothness to his lips.

Lorabeth turned so that she was facing him and watched his expression, obviously not caring if her hair was mussed.

“Nice,” was all he could say. He released her hair and grazed his fingertips along her jaw.

Her eyelids fluttered shut and trembled before sweeping open and fixing him with a yearning gaze. He could get lost in the depths of her tawny eyes and never want to find his way out.

Without hesitation he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers.

Chapter Twelve

She inhaled and sighed as though taking in the essence of him. He loved kissing her. He’d never realized this simple expression would be so tender and feel so wholesome and right. Her lips felt good against his.

The rightness was because she was pure and innocent and her reactions were chaste. A man like Carter might take advantage of that. Ben cared too much about protecting her.

He backed away. “Ready to go?”

“Aren’t you going to show me your house?”

“Not much to see,” he said with a shrug. “But sure.”

He turned down the wicks to extinguish the lanterns and made sure she pulled her shawl around her shoulders before leading her out and across the yard to the house.

“I use the back door.” He opened the screen door with a creak of hinges.

He found matches and lit the lamps as well as a lantern he could carry to show her the rest of the house. “This is pretty much how it looked when I bought the place,” he told her. “Haven’t done much except clean it up and stock the pantry.”

Lorabeth followed him as he led her into a hallway and showed her the dining room, the tiny parlor and his bedroom. The rooms were clean, the furnishings practical and serviceable, but there wasn’t really much of himself here.

“It’s nice,” she said, as though feeling obligated to comment.

“It’s just a place to work.” With a shrug, he led her back to the rear door. “The house in town is more like a home.”

“Will you show me?”

“If you like.”

He took her hand to lead her across the darkened yard to the buggy and helped her up. Lorabeth pulled the blanket around her shoulders for the ride.

“Time to get winter coats out,” he commented.

“I’ve ordered a new one from Miss Eva’s catalog,” she told him. “It has a matching hat and a fur-lined muff. Quite fashionable.”

“Sounds warm. And pretty.”

The horse pulled them toward town.

“I have several paintings for you to choose from,” Ben said. “Never got around to bringin’ ’em to you.”

“Paintings?”

He nodded. “Remember when you moved your things into your room? I told you I had pictures for the walls that Ellie had left behind. You’re welcome to ’em.”

“I might like one or two,” she replied.

The house was dark, of course, though next door Mrs. McKinley’s lights were burning in her downstairs windows. Ben pulled the buggy back to the carriage house and took Lorabeth’s hand again.

Enormous spirea bushes flanked the back porch stairs, their blooms long gone. Ben unlocked the door and lit lamps.

He observed Lorabeth’s reaction to the enormous kitchen with its long trestle table and scarred chairs. The floor was smooth and shiny from the recent refinishing. Ben gestured to the brick chimney. “There’s even a fireplace. The pictures are in the dining room. I leaned them up against the wall.”

She followed him as he carried the lantern and lit more lamps.

Lorabeth knelt to the framed paintings along the wall and looked from one to the next. “They’re all lovely,” she said. “Why didn’t Ellie take them?”

“I think Caleb’s first wife might’ve picked ’em out. Ellie bought more for the new house when they moved.”

“Oh. I see.” The paintings Benjamin offered her were done in beautiful colors and of various subjects. She passed over the country scenes, drawn to a depiction of two young girls sitting in a meadow. Their skirts made circles around them in the grass as they created dainty flower chains. “I like this one.”

“Good. It’s too girly for me.”

She glanced up at his smile. “How about this one?”

She pointed to a portrait of a young girl wearing a bonnet. A bluebird had perched on a nearby limb. The colors were red and blue with soft white accents.

“Good choices for your room.” He picked them up. “I’ll put them near the back door.”

He took her farther into the house, then, showed her a large parlor with an expanse of windows, and a study with bookshelves built along the walls and a heavy dark wood desk. A framed oil painting of hunting dogs hung over the fireplace.

“Bought that one myself,” he told her. “Brought it back from Chicago.”

“I would love to see Chicago.”

“Newton’s a big city itself, you know,” he told her. “Some of the towns along the railroad are made up of a train depot, a livery and a couple of saloons.”

“Truly?”

He nodded.

“I guess it’s not necessarily the big city I want to see as much as the world outside of my small existence.”

“Your dream of takin’ a train trip,” he remembered aloud. “Did you ever think about workin’ at the Arcade? Those girls get free tickets to wherever they want to go.”

“My father wouldn’t even consider allowing me to work there. Or to go to a university. It took months of assurance for him to let me work for your sister.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully. “He was protectin’ you.”

“He was smothering me,” she said, and then immediately regretted her words. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken so unkindly. You’re right, he always had my best interests in mind.” She shivered and rubbed her palms together.

“Want somethin’ warm to drink?” Benjamin asked. “I can make coffee.”

“Do you have milk and cocoa? We could have hot chocolate by the fireplace. I can do it.”

He nodded. “I’ll help you start the stove and then set a fire in this grate.”

It was obvious that Benjamin had spent more time and energy making this place a home than he had the other house. Even for a bachelor’s home, the kitchen was well stocked and the cupboards held matching dishes and adequate cooking utensils.

She found mugs and a tray and carried their hot drinks to the study where Benjamin had a fire blazing. She set the tray on the braided rug and they seated themselves on the floor.

“I would spend all my time in here if this was my house,” she told him.

He took the mug she held toward him. “It’s my favorite room. It was Caleb’s study when they lived here.”

Lorabeth imagined the house filled with voices and laughter, the smell of Sunday dinner in the air. “You’re blessed to be part of the Chaney family.”

His gaze traveled to hers.

“Dr. and Mrs. Chaney have something rare and special,” she said. “You mentioned Dr. Chaney’s first wife. I don’t remember her.”

He looked at the fire for a moment. “Matthew told me she was never happy here. She wanted to live in a big city.”

“I don’t want to live in a big city,” Lorabeth told him. She didn’t want him to think she’d be a discontented wife. “I’d just like to see one.”

“She died after Nate was born. He needed someone to take care of Nate and that’s how he and Ellie met.”

“Was your mother alive then?” she asked.

“No.”

“You must’ve been pretty young then. Where did you and Ellie and Flynn live?”

Ben took a sip of his drink before forming a reply. “Ellie was workin’ at the Arcade.”

“That’s right. She was a Harvey Girl.”

He nodded. “Flynn and I were working on a farm near Florence.”

“Working? You were just children.”

“The state gave us to a foster family.”

She hadn’t known anything about that. “So this other family took care of you?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” His tone revealed pain she was sorry to dredge up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You weren’t pryin’.” But he didn’t say any more on the subject.

Would talk of his growing-up years always be off-limits?

“I enjoyed takin’ you to the harvest dance. I was real proud to dance with you.”

“I wasn’t very good at it.”

“I didn’t mean because of your dancin’ ability, I mean because of what a fine woman you are.”

His high opinion, along with the radiating heat from the fire, warmed her through and through. She draped her shawl over the arm of the chair behind her. “Just a simple Kansas girl,” she said with a shrug. “Never been farther than Topeka, and I don’t know beans about much other than gardening or keeping house.”

“Now, that’s not so.”

“No? What else do I know about?”

“Croquet and paper dolls and playin’ the piano. Flynn said you help him with his mathematic assignments. You kiss bumps and bruises. You’re wise and honest. And I’ve personally seen you talkin’ with a cat.”

She laughed. “Yes, of course. Cat language is one of my gifts.”

“Just one of many,” he added. “This is probably the best hot cocoa I’ve ever tasted.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.” He paused, ducking his chin as though he was embarrassed. “I bought somethin’ for you….”

Her heart lifted in expectancy. Gifts were unheard of in her upbringing. “What is it?”

“You might think it’s silly.”

“I won’t. What is it?”

“It’s not much really. I was just thinkin’ of you when I was in the mercantile.” He got up and went to the desk, where he opened the top drawer and took out something flat and rectangular. He carried it back and sat across from her, extending the object.

“What is it?”

“Look.”

She accepted it and read the blue wrapper. “Chocolate. Made in Switzerland.”

“Do you like chocolate?”

“I think so. I’ve never had one of these. I use cocoa powder to bake.”

“Well, unwrap it and try it.”

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

She carefully peeled away the wrapper and tin foil, exposing a solid bar of chocolate.

“Go ahead. Break off a piece,” Benjamin said.

She did, then placed the bite in her mouth and let it melt on her tongue. Lorabeth closed her eyes. Chocolate was a hundred times better than jelly beans! It melted into a creamy-textured delight.

After swallowing, she ran her tongue over her teeth and the roof of her mouth. “Imagine,” she said. “The people in Switzerland must try this every day while they’re making it.”

“Gonna share?”

She extended the wrapper for him to break off his own piece. He chewed slowly.

“Could be they do,” he replied. “In between bites of cheese, o’ course.”

They laughed together over that.

Lorabeth put another bite of chocolate in her mouth. This time she chewed.

Benjamin reached between them to touch his thumb to the corner of her lips. A twig in the fire snapped and a log hissed. She met his eyes with a yearning desire to have more and know more…to have it all. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Seems I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, Lorabeth.”

“What is it you think of?”

“Your smile. Your shiny hair.” His gaze caressed her lips and hair. “About kissin’ you.”

“I think about that, too,” she admitted.

He leaned toward her and she met him halfway. They both moved in closer, and Lorabeth rested her finger tips on the front of his shirt.

With their lips nearly touching, she said, “Sometimes I think about you so much, nothing else seems real.”

Their lips met, and Lorabeth noticed the warmth, tasted the chocolate. His kiss was too gentle and unsettling for the hunger that quivered inside. She hooked her arm around his neck, and he responded by folding her into a hard embrace.

She loved the feel of her breasts crushed to his hard chest, his strong arms banding her. She’d never been this close to another person, never felt lovable or desirable or wanted. Benjamin’s embrace awakened her body to the hard planes of his chest and the wild beat of his pulse under her palm. She wanted to hold on to his solid presence, press herself into his heart and make herself indispensable.

He tore his mouth from hers to trail fiery kisses across her chin and down her neck. Lorabeth let her head fall back while shivers of pleasure washed across her shoulders and encompassed her whole being. If she’d been standing she would have collapsed in a heap.

Benjamin brought his lips back to hers, and she eagerly framed his face in both hands. He leaned over her, and this time their bodies lowered from where they sat until they lay side by side, Benjamin’s welcome weight pressing against her.

Giving herself over to yearning, she threaded her fingers into his hair, along his scalp, and pressed one hand to the back of his head. He trailed his fingertips down her neck and brought his hand to the front of her dress. At the feel of his touch against her breast, Lorabeth’s heart raced.

His touch was as lyrical as a poem and his mouth as sweet as the ripest fruit. Set me as a seal upon thine heart, she prayed. Make me his. He’d become her heart’s desire. I am my beloved’s, and his desire is toward me. The fact that he desired her was amazing. Almost too good to be true.

Lorabeth cherished the perfection of being in his arms, the tender way he held her. Her senses were more acute than they’d ever been. She smelled the soap he’d used that day, felt the heat of the fire along her side, saw the golden glint on his hair and lashes.

All her yearning, magical dreams were coming true. Her secret yearnings were being fulfilled one by one, and it was even better than she’d hoped. Benjamin was the man she’d prayed for.

His thick silken hair in her hands was a sensual thrill. Lorabeth trailed her fingers through it, along his neck to his jaw.

She wanted to touch more of him. She caressed his broad shoulders through the crisp fabric of his shirt, loving the solid feel of muscle beneath smooth warm flesh. He was so much broader and stronger than she, creating a perfect foil to her softness.

Benjamin cupped his palm around her breast and kneaded in a gentle yet breathtaking fashion. She’d never imagined that intimacy could feel so good and so right.

She loved the feel of his lips on hers, the weight of his body along her side.

Benjamin drew his mouth away and dropped his head into the crook of her neck. His breath fanned her skin there, sending shudders through her body.

“I prayed for you,” she whispered.

Ben raised his head. “What did I need prayer for?”

“No, I mean I prayed for you,” she said again. “For God to send you to me.”

He wasn’t so sure he was God’s answer to anyone’s prayers. The way he felt toward her right now wasn’t exactly holy. He’d wanted to kiss her again, had craved a taste of her, but it wasn’t enough. The feelings he had were taking on new proportions.

She was a preacher’s daughter, raised in a strict environment and protected her entire life. Until now. Until she’d met him.

A pulse of concern beat in his heart. Her father had entrusted his precious daughter with Ben’s family. He’d turned Lorabeth’s safety over to them, and Ben didn’t want to give in to becoming the kind of man he’d vowed never to be. How could he protect her when he was the one she needed protection from? All he wanted right now was to touch her all over, take her up to his bed and make her his.

Heat engulfed him, and he moved away, taking her hand and helping her to a sitting position.

“I should get you home,” he managed.

She straightened her clothing and hair, and the sight of her breasts beneath her dress speared him with want.

“I know all about self-control,” she told him. “My whole life has been about self-control. I’ve had my fill of holding back and living up to other people’s expectations.”

He glanced at her in surprise. Her lips were pink and swollen from their kisses, and he wanted to capture her mouth again, but he looked away instead. He knew all about self-control, too. He was a master at it.

He’d worn belligerence like armor as a youth, hadn’t trusted a soul except Ellie until Caleb had come into their lives. Impotent rage had been his constant companion until he’d had to let it go or lose his mind. He may be jaded and pragmatic, but he wasn’t living an illusion or pretending to be anything other than who and what he was. And what he was scared the hell out him most of the time. More so now than ever because he’d learned how weak he really was. Lorabeth had revealed his weakness. And it was her.

He wanted her.

But she was so unaffected and eager and beautiful that she scared him. She was a butterfly emerged from a cocoon and riding the winds of waking up to a whole new world that had opened before her.

She was bright and eager and trusting. Too trusting.

What would happen if he didn’t shield her? He had warned her, and he could continue to warn her, but warnings weren’t experience.

“Tell me what you asked God for,” he said, sitting back with one knee in front of him like a barrier.

“Well, someone handsome,” she said hesitantly, “though that wasn’t the first trait or the most important, but I didn’t want a man I didn’t find appealing. I hope that’s not shallow of me. But I didn’t want a vain person, of course. I asked Him for a husband filled with life and passion who would show me everything I’d been missing.”

“Husband?” Ben asked, hearing that word above all the others.

“Carter said what you and I have been doing is courting. And courting suggests marriage, does it not?”

He hadn’t planned to court her, hadn’t thought the words in his head, but he’d wanted to monopolize her, keep her to himself. Was he courting her?

Her idealism and romantic hopes touched him. She was open and guileless. She thought he was what she’d been praying for. The thought made his chest ache at the probability of disappointing her. She had no idea.

She needed a protector, though, and he saw himself as that person. He definitely wasn’t the worst man she could end up with. He would respect and honor her the way she deserved, the way her father would approve of. He could take care of her and make a home for her.

At the thought of Lorabeth in this home with him, of them eating meals together in the kitchen, of her playing a piano in the parlor, a wondrous hope bloomed.

He could buy her a piano for the parlor.

The firelight cast one side of her lovely face in shadow, and he leaned forward to place his knuckles under her chin and turn so he could see her eyes. She was lovely. The most angelic-looking woman he’d ever known.

They couldn’t go on the way they had been, because he couldn’t trust himself. And he couldn’t back away. Ben could become worthy of her if he tried hard enough. There had been changes taking place in him ever since he’d met her. Changes for the good. If he was as unacceptable as he’d always believed, she wouldn’t be so drawn to him. What was it about her that made him a better person?

“You really believe I’m the answer to your prayers?”

She nodded. “I’ve known it for some time.”

He already knew she was the perfect woman for him. “Then I’ll talk to your father tomorrow.”

A joyful glow touched her face. Her smile reached his heart. “Oh, Benjamin, you will? You truly will?”

He nodded.

Her smile dimmed. She leaned toward him and grasped the front of his shirt. “He must approve of you, Benjamin! He has to!”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never thought about it. Never faced a father whose daughter he wanted to marry. He was respected in Newton, was well able to care for her. Unless the man could see into his past or miraculously knew of the shame of his birth, Reverend Holdridge didn’t have any reason to deny Ben.

Lorabeth’s desperation didn’t have much basis for Ben. Not because he was a great catch, by any means, but because she could have her choice of any man she wanted.

A sick feeling dropped into his belly. What if the reverend didn’t approve?

He couldn’t think on that.

“It will be all right,” he told her.

“You don’t know him the way I do,” she said. “He expects perfection in all things.”

He took hold of both her arms by her elbows. “What is the worst thing that could happen?”

She blinked. “That he wouldn’t approve of you?”

“That he thinks I’m an unsuitable mate for you. What then?”

She studied him without a reply.

“Would we say, ‘Well never mind then’ and forget about it?”

“No!” She shook her head.

“What then? What if he hates me?”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Suppose.”

He could tell she was thinking it over, and he knew the moment she came to the realization he’d hoped for. “I would marry you anyway. That is if you wanted me to. And we would have another preacher marry us.”

Overwhelming emotion rose up, and Ben had to take a deep breath in order to talk. “Okay. The worst thing that could happen is that you would have to choose to defy your father. Could you do that, Lorabeth?”

She raised a hand to rest along his jaw and her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she replied, “I would.”

He urged her closer and kissed her gently, with a new expectation and level of excitement. Lorabeth wanted to marry him. This beautiful innocent perfect woman.

This house would truly be a home again. He would be a good husband. He would protect and love her.

“I’d better get you back now, so you can get a good night’s sleep and be fresh for tomorrow.”

“I don’t need much sleep,” she told him. “I’ll be praying tonight.”

He got up and took her hand to help her stand. Couldn’t hurt to have a wife with so much fervor when she prayed, could it? He found her shawl and banked the fire.

If Ellie was asleep when he took Lorabeth home, he would wake her. She would be the first to hear his plans.

Chapter Thirteen

Lorabeth played the piano with an extra flourish the following morning. She planned to do everything she could to be on her father’s good side that day.

She had told Benjamin the truth. She wanted her father’s blessing more than she could say, but she wanted Benjamin as her husband even more. It would break her heart not to remain in the reverend’s good graces, but she would make a new life. There were many people who cared for her.

When Benjamin had arrived that morning, her stomach fluttered at the sight of him, broad-shouldered and tall, as he entered the building and strode to the pew which was as yet unoccupied.

She’d met his eyes across the room, and they shared a private look, a look that conjured up the heat and sensations of the night before. Lorabeth’s body tingled remembering the way he made her feel with his kisses and touches.

And he would make her his wife. Soon. She would know all the mysteries and pleasures of being a woman then. She would taste life and know it was good.

Benjamin turned and greeted Kate Jenkins and her son, J.J., then took a seat. It was only a minute or so later that the rest of the Chaneys filed into the church.

The congregation sang and Lorabeth’s father took the offering, then preached on David defeating the giant in his life. The giants they faced today were sin and corruption, he told them, but Lorabeth was too distracted to pay much attention.

As the service ended, Simon turned to her. “We’re having dinner together.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“I miss you, Lorabeth.”

She hugged him. “I miss you, too. This will be fun. I can’t wait for you to get to know the Chaneys and see the fun they have. The afternoon promises to be warm, so Dr. Chaney and Benjamin can show you how to play horseshoes.”

“I’ve heard the other boys talk about playing. Do you know how?”

She frowned now that she thought about it. “Only the men throw horseshoes.”

“Suppose Father will object?”

“It truly doesn’t edify, but it sure looks fun,” she answered. “Maybe he’ll stay occupied long enough for you to give it a try.”

Simon grinned.

“I’ll be helping Ellie with the meal and the children,” she told him. “I want to show Father I’m not remiss in my duties. He must be pleased by what he sees today.”

The whole time Lorabeth removed the jackets from the potatoes that had baked while they were gone and stirred together potato salad, she wanted to drop what she was doing and run to watch for her father to arrive. Because she wanted him to know she took her duties here seriously, she stayed put. She would hear the doorbell, she reminded herself.

When it rang, she dropped the spoon she was using to stir the creamed peas.

Ellie looked up from slicing a ham to give her a knowing glance. “You’re as jittery as a long-tailed cat under a rocking chair. Are you upset that I asked your family to dinner?”

“No, I’m delighted. Just a little nervous. I want Father to be pleased.”

“Well, calm down, dear. Go ahead and join them if it helps you feel better.”

“No, I need to be in here helping you. Dinner will be served in a few more minutes and I’ll see what’s going on then.”

Lorabeth avoided Ellie’s delighted gaze and used some of the squash a patient had given Dr. Chaney to make a casserole while Ellie sliced fresh bread. She wanted to ask if Benjamin had told her their news, but she didn’t want to take the privilege from Benjamin if he hadn’t. She should have asked him.

Once the table was set, Ellie sent Lorabeth to call people. She found the girls in their room playing baby dolls, scooted them downstairs, then located the boys and finally found the men in Caleb’s study. Her father’s somber presence in his pressed black suit seemed out of place in this house where laughter rang and children played. He was sitting on one of the leather side chairs, his expression unreadable.

“Dinner is ready,” she said, wishing for a moment to speak alone with Simon.

Dr. Chaney gestured for Lorabeth and her father to go before him. The men followed her, and Ellie showed the reverend to a seat beside her and placed Simon next to Flynn. The boys knew each other from school, and Flynn grinned amiably at his dinner companion.

It was the Chaney family’s habit to bow their heads and wait while Caleb said grace, and this day was no different. Lorabeth was delighted for her father to observe how the children automatically waited for the prayer.

After the amen, the quiet was immediately broken as Lillith asked if there were green beans and Nate exclaimed over the bowl of potato salad.

Lorabeth sat with her hands folded in her lap, glancing from her father to each child who piped up. David said something to Nate, and the two of them chuckled. No one had ever spoken without permission at the reverend’s dinner table.

Ambrose showed no expression, however, silently taking the platter of meat as it passed and spearing a slice.

“Lorabeth?” Benjamin had taken to sitting beside her on Sundays, so he was the one offering her creamed peas.

“Oh.” She took the bowl and added a spoonful to her empty plate. She passed the dish on to Simon. He met her eyes and she saw the same dawning awareness that she’d experienced her first meal at this table.

Mealtime was not a somber occasion nor a time for children to be paralyzed for fear of making a mistake. Dinner was for sharing, an occasion when family members talked about their week, their lives, and enjoyed each other’s company.

Her father cut his ham into same-size pieces and buttered a roll.

From beside him, Ellie’s sharp-eyed gaze traveled from Benjamin to Lorabeth. “I enjoyed the sermon this morning,” she told the reverend.

“Thank you, Mrs. Chaney.”

“Do you work all week on a message like that?” she asked.

“I have my messages planned out a month in advance.”

“How interesting.” She offered him salt and pepper. “I’m so glad you could join us today. We’ve been wanting to have you and Simon over for a long time.”

“It is our pleasure, Mrs. Chaney.”

“Your daughter has been such a blessing to this family,” she told him. “I don’t know what we would do without her.”

The statement held a double meaning for Lorabeth, as though Ellie suspected that doing without her might be a future possibility. She met Lorabeth’s gaze and her eyes held a twinkle.

“Idleness has never been Lorabeth’s downfall,” the reverend replied. Which left a question remaining in Lorabeth’s mind that he did believe she had a downfall.

“My brother Benjamin is a hard worker, too,” Ellie added. “He earned only the highest grades at the university.”

Lorabeth’s father nodded. “That is admirable.”

“He was my husband’s assistant every afternoon even when he was going to school here in Newton,” she went on.

Caleb gave his wife a questioning look at that comment.

Lorabeth sensed Benjamin’s discomfort with the topic.

“I help my dad now,” Nate said. “I sterilize his instruments and make sure his bag is ready in case of a ’mergency.”

“And a fine job you do,” Caleb told his son. The meal was about halfway through. “We won’t have many Sundays warm enough to play outdoors,” he added. “What will it be today without Nana and Papa?”

“I thought the girls and I would work on our knitting,” Ellie said. “That will leave you fellas to entertain yourselves.”

“How about horseshoes?” David asked with a bright-eyed expression. “Teams. An’Flynn can be on my team.”

Flynn was the best horseshoe player in the family, rarely ever missing the stake.

“That sounds about right,” Caleb said. “Reverend, how’s your horseshoe arm?”

Lorabeth’s father hadn’t spoken or smiled once during the meal so far, and at the direct address he laid down his fork.

Lorabeth’s heart began a jittery beat that made her head light. She, too, laid down her fork and wiped her lips on her napkin. She sought out Simon and their gazes met across the table. Was this where he’d admonish that their day and their talk and games were all folly and not respectful of the Sabbath? Would she be embarrassed in front of everyone? Would she be forced to make a choice she didn’t want to make?

Lorabeth’s last bite of ham stuck in her throat like a rock.

Ambrose Holdridge leveled his gaze on Caleb and cleared his throat.

“I was hopin’ the reverend would go for a ride with me.” Ben’s suggestion drew all eyes. His palms were already sweating. “I’d appreciate some of your time, sir.”

“Certainly, young man. My calling is to be available to my flock.”

“Well, that’s settled then.” Ellie gave Ben a satisfied smile and offered the reverend another roll.

His sister had been casting impatient looks from Ben to Lorabeth throughout the meal. She’d been ecstatic when he’d told her of his plans to ask the reverend’s blessing on a marriage between him and Lorabeth. Nobody knew him better than Ellie, so she knew how nervous he was right now.

By the time they’d eaten apple pie and had coffee, Ben’s heart was racing. He’d never spoken to the reverend in private. They had nothing in common, save Lorabeth. The man had to know what was on Ben’s mind. But his stoic expression never changed enough to tell the difference between curiosity or anger, so it was impossible to guess what he was thinking.

Why had it suddenly become so important that the man approve of him? Lorabeth said she would marry him regardless. Because her father’s blessing was important to her.

Without a word, Lorabeth stood and cleared plates and glasses from the table. Her occasional surreptitious glances clued Ben that she was even more wary than he of her father’s reactions.

He got Reverend Holdridge’s coat from the tree in the foyer and shrugged into his own. He led him out of doors, Buddy Lee mewling at their heels, and to the buggy he’d brought that day. “I’d like to show you somethin’. Won’t take long.”

“Very well.”

Ben directed the horses toward his house several blocks away and stopped the team on the street.

“This is my house.”

“Dr. Chaney used to live here as I recall.”

“Yes, sir.”

The reverend climbed down and followed Ben up the brick walk to the porch. Lorabeth had been Ben’s first visitor. Ben noticed now how solitary the bentwood rocker appeared. He used his key to unlock the door and ushered Lorabeth’s father into the foyer.

“I kept a few of the pieces of furniture that Caleb and Ellie left behind, but it looks a mite empty, I guess. The house has three fireplaces. Last year I bought a Glenwood kitchen range. It’s back here.”

The reverend followed, nodding at each item Ben pointed out on the way through. “Handsome home,” he said finally. “Not excessive or ostentatious like some I’ve visited.”

“I like things simple,” Ben agreed. “I have another property, too, where I work. Here’s the range. Cast iron, and it has two hearths, see here? One in front and one on the left. Trim and hearths are nickel plate. Oven is airtight so it holds the heat and doesn’t get the kitchen all hot in the summer.”

He was rambling, so he clamped his mouth shut.

“A good range,” the man said with a nod.

Ben showed him the other rooms, and finally they stood in the study. Ben couldn’t help but think of what had taken place between himself and this man’s daughter the night before. He was going to make that right, though. He hadn’t wasted a minute.

Reverend Holdridge raised one eyebrow nearly to the center of his forehead. “What is on your mind, Benjamin?”

Ben resisted the urge to clear his throat and risk sounding even more nervous. “I didn’t just bring you here to show you the kitchen range. I was, uh, tryin’ to show you somethin’ about me. This place means a lot because it’s the first home I ever had.”

The reverend didn’t reply.

“The Chaneys—Caleb and his family, I mean—were the first people who ever cared about me and Ellie and Flynn.”

“I don’t know how you came to the Chaney family.”

How would the truth affect the good reverend’s opinion of him? A lie stuck in Ben’s craw. Last night he’d lain awake thinking about this, had dreamed that Ambrose Holdridge had whipped him with a cane. The memory of that dream wafted in his thoughts.

“After our mother died, Flynn and I went to a foster home.” That was the truth, the honest-to-God truth. “Finally Ellie married Caleb and they took us in.” Ben had never told the true story to anyone—not even Lorabeth, the woman he intended to marry. He didn’t want to reveal it now, but if he wanted to marry this man’s daughter, the reverend needed to know. And Ben couldn’t be less than honest in this crucial situation.

“I never knew my father,” he said. “Ellie and Flynn and I each have different fathers. Our mother didn’t care if we lived or died, and most of the time I thought death would’ve been a whole lot kinder.”

Reverend Holdridge seemed to be taking in that information.

The most critical question he’d ever asked of anyone formed and Ben worked to get it past his lips. “Are the circumstances of a man’s birth important to you?”

The man’s mouth was set like a deep slash across his face. He didn’t have many lines in his skin, and Ben figured that was because he never smiled. If this was where he’d earn disapproval, Ben was prepared. If his family history was the deciding factor, did he want his blessing based on a lie?

On the other hand, he didn’t intend to lose Lorabeth over something he couldn’t help. “If genealogy matters, I probably don’t hold much esteem in your eyes.”

“Jesus’s genealogy is traced all the way back to Adam,” the reverend replied.

Ben thought about that. “Wasn’t Rahab in there, somewhere? A harlot?”

The reverend didn’t reply, but he looked at Ben with dawning appreciation.

“I have a successful veterinary practice. I don’t have debt. I’m not a drinkin’ man. Or a gambler.”

“One would think you were trying to sell me something.”

“I am.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I’m tryin’ to sell you on the fact that I’m responsible and hardworkin’.”

“I already know those things about you, Benjamin.”

Ben glanced away and gestured for the reverend to have a seat. That’s when he realized they were still wearing their coats. It didn’t matter now. He had to get to the point. “I’m just gonna say it.” He took a breath and his heart hammered. “I want to marry your daughter, and Lorabeth and I want your blessing on our marriage.”

Heat rushed into his face and his heart pounded in his chest the very second the words were out. What could he expect from a man who had raised and sheltered and taught a young woman the way he had? Lorabeth had assured him she would marry him anyway, but this moment was momentous—life-altering—to both of them.

Chapter Fourteen

Lorabeth had offered to do the dishes while the girls worked on their scarves and hats and the males played horseshoes. She was drawn to the side porch every five or ten minutes to see how Simon was doing. He and Flynn were a team against Caleb and the younger boys, which seemed pretty fair, considering Flynn was the best and Simon was just learning.

From the laughter and jibes that were flying between the two teams, it appeared that Simon was fully enjoying himself. The sight blessed Lorabeth’s heart to no end. Just the fact that her father had accepted the invitation still astounded her. They’d been on pathetically few visits to other people’s homes during her growing-up years, and she didn’t remember ever getting to join in the families’ leisure activities. Leisure was synonymous with idle hands, and the Holdridge siblings knew how their father felt about idle hands.

Flynn looked over, spotted her and waved. Simon turned his attention, too. She gestured for him to come and raised the hem of her skirt to descend the stairs.

“I haven’t got one to actually hook on to the stake yet, but I’ve struck it several times.” He beamed with delight.

“Good for you!” She clapped, excited that he was having such a good time doing the things ordinary people did all the time. Sobering, she leaned forward and said, “Simon, I want to tell you something.”

“What?”

“It’s about Benjamin and Father. Benjamin asked him for time alone so he could ask him for his blessing.”

Simon waited as though not quite understanding.

“Benjamin asked me to marry him.”

A look of surprise quickly turned into sheer joy. “I can tell you’re happy about it.”

“I am. I’ve never been this happy. I just want Father to approve.”

“Why wouldn’t he? Benjamin is an acceptable mate. Father approved of Ruthann’s choice.”

“You’re right. Benjamin is more than acceptable.” She gave her brother a quick hug. “Go have fun.”

He grinned and jogged back to the game in the side yard.

She returned to the house, finished drying the pans and put them away. The clock in the hallway chimed. It had barely been an hour since Ben and her father left, but it seemed like forever. She couldn’t bear to imagine their conversation one more time, so she rubbed glycerin into her hands and located the girls in the parlor. Flynn had laid a fire for them, and the flames were warming the room. Madeline had just started to fuss.

Lorabeth crossed to where the baby lay on a palette on the floor and scooped her up. “Is she hungry?”

“She shouldn’t be,” Ellie replied, “but if an hour has passed since her last feeding…” She shrugged and smiled.

“Maybe she just wants to see what’s going on with her big sisters.” Lorabeth carried her to a chair beside the sofa where mother and daughters sat and turned Madeline so she could see them.

Ellie looked at the contented baby and laughed. “Maybe she just knows it’s Sunday, and on Sunday there’s usually someone who wants to hold her.”

“Well, we can do something about that, can’t we, sweetie?” Lorabeth nuzzled Madeline’s fine hair and kissed her ear.

Ellie’s hands fell still on the red yarn in her lap. Tears came to her eyes. “Thank you for loving my children.”

Her remark surprised Lorabeth. She did love these children. She loved all of the Chaneys as though they were her own family. “They’re easy to love,” she replied. “Thank you for treating me like one of you.”

“You are a part of our family,” Ellie answered. “I can’t imagine you not being in our lives, and not just because of the things you do for us.”

Lorabeth couldn’t imagine it, either. The possibility that she might soon become a real member of their family humbled and amazed her.

Ellie was looking at her as though she was waiting, as though she knew there was something life-changing in Lorabeth’s next words.

“Ellie?”

“I’m listening.”

Lorabeth took note that the girls were sitting right there listening, too. But she and Ellie had developed ways to communicate in front of the younger ones without them being aware of what they were saying. She chose her words carefully. “The noun we were just using…”

Grinning, Ellie nodded and lent a feeble effort to her pearl stitches so the girls wouldn’t catch on.

“The likelihood of that becoming more so is real.”

Ellie seemed to think a minute. Her hands barely stilled before she said, “One of my siblings mentioned his intentions.”

Lorabeth nodded. “A proposal was suggested.”

Ellie smiled with approval. “Was the proposal all you’d dreamed of?”

Lorabeth glanced at the girls who had picked up on their mother’s excitement. “Affirmative.”

“What’s formative mean, Mama?” Lillith asked.

“The way the stitches are made, darling. Dinner today was important. And the ride…”

“More important,” Lorabeth replied.

Ellie grinned. “Our favorite canine physician…”

“Conversing with our mutual man of the cloth,” Lorabeth answered.

Ellie gave her an encouraging look. “It will go well, you’ll see.”

“What, Mommy?” Lillith asked. “What’s a mammoth claw?”

“It’s like a Danish roll, dear.” Ellie smiled at Lorabeth, and the two of them broke into giggles.

Ellie got up and knelt in front of the chair where Lorabeth sat holding Madeline. “I couldn’t be happier.”

Careful of the baby, Lorabeth leaned into a hug with tears blurring her vision.

Ellie sat back on her heels. “He seemed so anxious. Are his fears justified?”

“Our mutual mammoth claw will insist that everything be proper and orderly in his sight.”

A look of concern passed Ellie’s features.

“Not to worry,” Lorabeth told her in a whisper. “I love him. We will be married with or without my father’s blessing.”

Her words didn’t seem to assure Ellie if her eyes were any indication, but she managed a smile and patted Lorabeth’s hand. “Good for you.”

“Do you know what the Bible says about husbands and wives?” Ambrose asked Ben.

Ben was glad he’d studied those parts. “I do, sir. It says that a husband should love his wife the way Christ loved the church.”

“Do you know what that entails, son?”

Ben had given it a good measure of thought. “I reckon it means that a man should love his wife enough to die for her.”

A beat of silence passed between them.

“And is that how you love my daughter, Benjamin?”

“Yes. I’d give my life for her, sir.”

“She is unspoiled,” the reverend said. “I trained her up in the way she should go. She believes I am a harsh taskmaster, but I raised my daughters to be good wives and God-fearing women.”

Ben should have taken off his coat. The room was sweltering. “You are a good father.”

“I have prayed for her to have wisdom in all things.”

Benjamin waited, perspiration prickling under his starched collar.

“I prayed for her husband to be a man of faith, a disciplined man. A good man.”

Benjamin met his eyes, surprised in that instant to find them the same golden-brown color as Lorabeth’s.

“Are you that man?”

Ben’s heart chugged to a stop and then started again. He thought over Lorabeth’s options. He knew exactly what bad men were like, and he’d disciplined himself to be the best man he could be.

“I’m not perfect, sir, but I believe I can be that man.”

“I believe you can, as well,” the reverend agreed.

Ben absorbed those words slowly.

“She will remain untouched until your wedding night. Becoming one flesh is a solemn and holy occasion.”

Ben’s head buzzed. “Of course.”

“You will honor her and value her above rubies…and kitchen ranges.”

The man’s expression hadn’t changed, so that hadn’t been a jest. “Of course.”

Ambrose wasn’t a man who minced words. “You have my blessing.”

Ben jerked out of the chair and extended his hand. “Thank you, sir! Thank you.”

The reverend shook Ben’s hand and then pulled his own back when Ben clung too long. “You will set a close date for the wedding. Paul said it is better for a man to marry than to burn.”

Ben would have to think on that one some. “Soon,” he agreed.

“Let us return then.”

“Yes, sir.” Ben led him toward the front door.

As relieved as he was with the reverend’s faith in him, doubt still crowded in. He couldn’t fail this man who’d placed his trust in him. And he couldn’t fail Lorabeth.

But his prevailing doubt remained. He’d taken a man’s life. He’d been justified, vindicated in the eyes of the law. Ben never let that demon out and he couldn’t now. Not when the stakes were so high. He couldn’t afford to give himself qualms. His measure was yet to be proven.

The sound of footsteps on the front porch alerted Lorabeth and Ellie that Ben was back. With a smile, Ellie took Madeline from Lorabeth’s lap. “Not that I don’t trust you…”

Lorabeth ignored her jest and watched the doorway. Frozen in place, she waited.

Caleb appeared first, and her heart sank. The boys all clambered in next and took seats around the room. Simon settled beside Flynn on the floor. Where was Benjamin?

Her father appeared next, his face as inscrutable as ever. Her heart pounded in anticipation anyway.

Benjamin entered. And he was wearing a smile!

“I asked everyone to come on in,” he said.

Ellie slipped her hand into Lorabeth’s and gave it a squeeze.

“I have a piece of news,” Benjamin said.

Lorabeth remained on her chair, unmoving.

“The reverend has given his blessing, and Lorabeth has agreed to marry me.”

For one split second, deafening silence encased the room. And then chaos broke loose. Lorabeth jumped up and ran toward Benjamin. He met her halfway and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He cupped her head in his palm and looked into her eyes. She could hardly see him through the blur of tears.

Ellie ran up and crushed them both in a hug. Madeline, somewhere in the middle, broke into a whimper that led to a full-blown howl. Caleb came and took the baby while Lorabeth backed away and let Ellie embrace her brother.

Lorabeth turned and crossed to her father who was standing behind one of the settees. She laid her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Father.”

“You and God are the ones who made the good choice,” he replied.

The Chaneys had all flocked around Benjamin and now turned to envelop Lorabeth in their hugs. Over Flynn’s shoulder, she spotted Simon on his knees before the hearth, a look of wonder on his face. She gave David a last hug and went to her brother. “Happy for me?”

He stood to his height several inches above her. “It’s like you said, Lorabeth.” Awe tinged his voice. “And you will be one of them.”

“I’ll always be your sister, and I’ll always be here for you.”

“You didn’t need to say that. I know you.”

They embraced, and Lorabeth was glad she and Simon weren’t as standoffish with each other as her father had always been with them.

She turned to find Benjamin watching her, waiting for her, and her heart leaped. “You’ll have a new brother,” she told Simon.

“Will you have Sunday dinners at your house?” Simon asked.

“I hadn’t given it any thought. Why?”

“Because if you do, I might get to play horseshoes again.”

She laughed. “You can count on it.”

She hurried to Benjamin, and he took her hand. Her heart was so full, she didn’t know how much more joy it could hold. All of her dreams were coming true.

Chapter Fifteen

They set the wedding date for three weeks away. Plenty of time to make arrangements, Ellie had assured Lorabeth. Plenty of time to make a gown and address invitations and plan the menu.

Lorabeth went from euphoria to nervous exhaustion and back several times a day in the weeks that followed, and it became even more difficult to sleep.

Benjamin arrived one afternoon, scolding Buddy Lee back out the kitchen door when the cat tried to get in around his feet.

Lorabeth had been stirring together a recipe of rice pudding to set in the oven for that night’s supper. “Benjamin!”

She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to greet him. Smiling, he gave her a brief hug and a chaste kiss.

He looked around and discovered they were alone. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Me, neither. But then I never sleep much.”

“You don’t?”

“No. What were you thinking?”

“There’s so much we haven’t talked about. I think we need to spend a little more time together.” He didn’t remove his coat.

“We haven’t made the final arrangements yet,” she answered. “I have a list.”

“Let’s go somewhere and talk,” he said. “I want to surprise you today.”

“Well…”

Ellie came into the kitchen. “Go. Take her. She needs a free afternoon.”

Lorabeth didn’t waste any time removing her apron. “I’ll change and be right back.”

“Wear something nice,” he suggested.

Ben watched her hurry from the room.

“Are you hungry?” Ellie asked. “There are a few pieces of chicken left from last night.”

He shook his head. “I want to take her to supper. Can you manage without her?”

“I’m going to have to learn, aren’t I?”

He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I doubt she’ll want to stay as many hours a day as she does now after you’re married.”

“Probably not.” He said what he’d been thinking. “She doesn’t have to work at all if she doesn’t want to.”

“I’m not going to scold you for stealing away my help,” she said with a smile. “It will work out.”

A few minutes later Lorabeth returned wearing a dark green dress and carrying her new coat. “I’m ready.”

“Ellie and I were talkin’,” he said as he helped her into it. “After we’re married you won’t have to work unless you want to. But if you’d like to spend a few hours a day or a few days a week helpin’ Ellie, it will be all right with both of us. We want you to do what pleases you.”

“I…I can’t imagine not being here,” she said, a furrow between her brows. “But of course I’ll have another house to keep, won’t I?”

“We’ll work it out,” he assured her.

“’Bye, Ellie,” Lorabeth said with a little wave. Ben led her out of doors where his buggy waited. “Where are we going?”

“I thought we’d browse a few of the shops this afternoon, then have dinner together.”

“Not come home, you mean?”

“That’s right. I want to take you to the Arcade Hotel’s dining hall. Ever been there?”

She shook her head. “Where Ellie and Sophie used to work? Does Ellie know?”

“I told her.”

“What a treat this will be!”

The first place he took her was Miss Tibby’s Tea Parlor. He’d never been there himself, but he knew the ladies liked it. Ben felt completely out of place as they sat at a table with white linen and ate tiny frosted tea cakes and sipped from delicate china cups, but he wanted Lorabeth to have all the experiences she’d longed for.

“We’ll live in my house in town, of course,” he said. “I’ll ride out every day to work at the other place.”

Her smile displayed her pleasure. “It’s a beautiful home. I can’t believe I’m so blessed.”

“I want to talk about some new pieces of furniture,” he told her.

After tea, they strolled the boardwalks along Main Street and Broadway, browsing in clothing stores and a tailor’s.

Eventually they reached the mercantile. The crowded store was bustling with activity. Dirk Paulson was gathering supplies for a dusty cowboy, and Tubs McElroy, the bartender from the Side-Track, was looking at boxes of cigars. Two women were comparing colors of cloth and thread while three small children clung to their skirts.

One of the women glanced up and recognized him. “Dr. Ben! How unusual to see you in town of an afternoon.”

“Hi, Mrs. Henley.”

The woman admonished one of the toddlers to wait for her and walked toward them, her curious gaze flitting to Lorabeth.

“Have you met Lorabeth Holdridge? Her father is the Congregational preacher.”

“Hello, dear.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Lorabeth said.

“Lorabeth and I are to be married in two weeks.”

The other woman overheard and joined them to ooh and aah. Lorabeth’s blush was so pretty that it made Ben’s chest ache.

Eventually the women went back to their shopping and Ben showed Lorabeth the catalogs. “What kind of rugs and curtains would you like in our rooms?”

“I’m sure what you already have is serviceable,” she replied.

“But we should have new for our new life together.”

Her eyes shone with interest and surprise. “All right, then. Let’s look.”

They scoured the pages for colors and fabrics and selected rugs for the parlor and bedroom. They ordered bolts of fabric for curtains to coordinate.

“How long will these take?” Ben asked Hazel Paulson who ran the store.

“They come from the factories by rail and usually don’t take no more’n a week or two,” she replied.

“Is there someone who can come measure windows and make the drapes for us?”

“You’re in luck. My daughter Beverly is the best drapery maker in town. Her place is ’round the corner.”

“There’s been nothing in that front hall since I’ve had the house,” he thought aloud to Lorabeth. “Let’s choose a hall rack. Maybe one with a mirror.”

Instead of a huge piece, they both liked a golden oak hall seat with storage inside and a separate matching mirror with hooks for coats and hats.

“Our first purchase,” he told her with satisfaction. “Now. Let’s select a bedroom suite.”

“Benjamin, is that a wise expense? Don’t you have a bed and chests of drawers?”

“All hand-me-downs,” he replied. “Not good enough for our new life. Let’s see how expensive they are.” He flipped through the pages of a catalog, past tables and desks and bookcases until he found iron bed frames and on the next page found sets. “Look at this one,” he said, pointing to the full-page depiction entitled, High-Grade Bedroom Suite with Ornate Hand Carvings.

“I don’t even think I could sleep in a bed that costs that much,” she whispered.

“It’s not that much,” he told her. “I earn that from nearly every rancher in the spring when I do inoculations and exams.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re rich?”

“I guess to some people I’m rich. We’re rich,” he corrected. His ability to afford a home and all they needed was a far cry from his humble beginnings. “How about this one, then? See here, it says exceptional value.”

“Three hundred and ten pounds,” she read over his shoulder. “How much will it cost to ship?”

He turned to look at her.

She gave him a hesitant smile. “A good wife is frugal.”

“I’m thankful that you’ll be lookin’ after our household, then. You’ll do a good job. Isn’t frugal also buyin’ good quality and makin’ the best deal possible? We’re not spendin’ money foolishly here. I want to provide these things, Lorabeth. It’s why I worked hard in school and sacrificed to start my business. So I never had to be poor.”

“In that case,” she said, “I’ve always admired Ellie’s armoire.”

Ben smiled. “Well then, that’ll be my wedding gift to you.”

They were among the early diners at the Arcade that evening. The wood-paneled walls, elegant chandeliers and white linens caught Lorabeth’s attention immediately. Gleaming silver coffee urns lined one wall, and girls in immaculate black dresses and crisp white aprons bustled about with trays.

A man in a black suit led the way to a table, and one of the girls handed them menus. The table was set with sweating glasses of ice water and pressed napkins. Lorabeth studied the menu in awe. She had no idea what a blue point was, but it came served on a shell. She read the list: filets of whitefish with madeira sauce; young capon; roast sirloin of beef au jus; pork with applesauce; stuffed turkey; salmi of duck; prairie chicken with currant jelly; sugar-cured ham; pickled lamb’s tongue; and lobster salad au mayonnaise.

She raised her gaze to Benjamin’s. “They have all this food ready to bring us?”

He nodded. “Pretty incredible, isn’t it?”

“Where do they get all this?”

“Fred Harvey pays his chefs more than anyone else in his employ. I hear some of ’em are from France. Food arrives fresh every day by train.”

“Have you ever eaten lobster?” she asked.

He nodded. “Had it once when Caleb brought us here for Ellie’s birthday.”

“Pickled lamb’s tongue?”

He shook his head and grimaced.

“So the fish is fresh from the coast? That’s what I’m having. I’ve only eaten catfish and trout.”

The waitress took their orders and brought them coffee. After she’d moved to another table, Lorabeth said, “Everything is so elegant. It’s all just perfect.”

“All the Harvey Houses along the Sante Fe are set up the same. All staffed with attractive young woman like these.”

“You’ve eaten in more than one?”

He nodded. “A couple along the railroad. One right in Florence.”

“Sometimes I think I’m going to wake up and all this will have been a dream.” She folded her hands on the edge of the table. “It’s almost too good to be true. You’re almost too good to be true.”

“I’m not that special,” he answered.

“You are to me.”

“I find that too good to be true.” He winked.

She smiled, and he placed his hand on top of hers.

Movement caught his eye and he noticed the waiter leading a family to a table on the other side of the room. He immediately recognized the man’s hair and wide shoulders. All the heartwarming confidence the afternoon had generated evaporated as the Evans family took seats around a table.

Ben looked away sharply. He tried to push Wesley Evans out of his thoughts so he could get on with his life, but fate kept throwing the man and his whole stinkin’ family in his face.

Part of the rage he’d directed toward the world for so much of his younger days surfaced, and being so angry scared the hell out of him. Men were capable of terrible things when they were angry or drunk, and Ben never got drunk.

He studied Lorabeth’s serene countenance as she admired their surroundings. The same peace she possessed was his desire. She was perfect for him in so many ways. He relaxed somewhat just looking at her. Her calming influence would always be a balm to his spirit.

Tell her. Get it out. Secrets are destructive and you’ll lose her trust. The voice in his head wouldn’t be silenced, and the clincher was, Ben knew his conscience was right.

The waitress served their food. Lorabeth tasted her fish and her lashes drifted down over her incredible eyes. She opened them and Ben read her delight. “I’ve never tasted anything like this,” she said.

Ben cut a slice of his ham. He had to tell her about Evans. He’d told her father, thinking that had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. This would be worse. This woman he held in such high esteem would know his sordid secrets.

He worked at making the most of their meal time together, refusing to look over and be tortured by Wes Evans eating with his perfect little family.

The waitress offered them dessert, and Ben was hoping to leave, but Lorabeth’s eyes lit up at the mention of cheesecake. He realized in that moment that it was a good thing she was an unselfish and sensible woman, because he doubted he’d ever be able to say no to her.

Once it arrived, she offered him a bite, and he leaned to accept the morsel from her fork. She gave him a bashful smile and a flush rose in her cheeks.

Ben made up his mind not to be run off, and they sipped coffee until Lorabeth was ready to leave.

He paid, leaving the waitress a generous tip, and helped Lorabeth into her coat.

“I need to talk to you,” he said as they left the Arcade.

“What about?”

He stopped and turned to her. The wind had picked up since that afternoon and a brisk chill swept around their ankles. “Somewhere where we’ll be alone.”

He led her to where they’d left the buggy, and drove to his house. Once inside, they hung their wraps, and Ben laid a fire. He stoked the range and pumped water for coffee. “I made a fool of myself showin’ your father the house,” he told her.

Lorabeth wandered the room as though taking better note of the layout. “You couldn’t have made too big a fool of yourself. He approved of you.”

“He liked the range.”

She cut him a glance.

“It’s your kitchen now,” he told her.

“I’m going to love everything about it. About the whole house, and…” She paused in her inspection of the room to study him. “I’m going to love everything about being your wife.”

At those words new heat burst to life in Ben’s body. He busied himself getting down mugs.

Lorabeth seated herself on one of the benches that flanked the long table. “What did you want to talk about?”

He didn’t like his reactions. His childhood made him feel inadequate, and letting her see the inadequacy made him vulnerable. He didn’t want to tell her, didn’t want to be less in her eyes.

He had to.

“Ellie and I don’t talk much about where we came from,” he began. “How we grew up.”

“I noticed.”

“Some things are too painful to talk about.”

Her lovely eyes held understanding. “Are you sure you want to now?”

He nodded, then shook his head. “No. I don’t want to. But I have to. I have to tell you this so that it’s not between us.”

Lorabeth was curious about the past and the family that Ellie and Benjamin had been evasive about. She would never have pried, but she was interested.

Benjamin didn’t meet her eyes as he told her the circumstances of his birth, how he and Ellie and Flynn didn’t know who their fathers were because their mother had been a prostitute.

Lorabeth absorbed that information and tried to process it. “Prostitutes are in the Bible. I just didn’t know any lived around here.”

“Yeah, well, it’s an age-old profession for sure,” he said.

“I’m sorry to be dense,” she told him, feeling completely ignorant. “I can’t even imagine what you’re saying.”

“You’re not dense, Lorabeth. Decent young ladies don’t know about things like that, and that’s good.”

“Does my father know?”

“I told him.”

“I see. Well, what your mother did can’t be held against you, Benjamin.”

“What my mother did made me who I am today,” he argued.

“No.” She reached to take his chin in her hand and turn his face so she could look him straight in the eye. “What you did with your life, going to school, attending college, coming to church, becoming a veterinarian—those are the things that made you who you are today.”

“Hold those kind thoughts until you hear the rest,” he said.

Lorabeth rested her arm on the table and leaned toward him. “There’s more?”

Benjamin got up and strode across the kitchen and back, displaying his agitation. “There’s so much more, it would make your head hurt hearing it all. And you don’t need to hear it all. But you need to hear this.” He walked back to where she sat and stood beside her.

Lorabeth had to look up.

“The man who fathered me approached me a few weeks ago. His wife had seen me and suspected I was his son.” He went on to explain the events of the past several weeks.

Lorabeth’s heart broke at the pain in the words he chose so carefully so as to disguise the hurt. She couldn’t even imagine the life of poverty and shame that was his childhood, but he had lived every moment of it. And now he knew that all the while he’d been struggling for existence, there had been a man out there—a father living a comfortable life. A father with a respectable wife and legitimate children he loved and for whom he provided while Benjamin and his siblings had gone hungry and cold. That knowledge had to be eating a hole in his heart.

“It wasn’t fair to keep it from you,” he told her. “You should know what kind of man you’re marryin’.”

“I know what kind of man I’m marrying.” She reached and took his hand. “You’re nothing like the woman who gave birth to you, Benjamin. You’re a good kind man. You take your responsibilities seriously.”

She got up and moved to place her hand over his heart and looked up into his eyes. “More important, you have a pure heart and a lot of love to give.” They stood like that while the coffee perked on the stove, the aroma filling the warming room.

Benjamin’s eyes closed and he dropped his forehead against hers. A moment later he hugged her close. Finally Lorabeth leaned away and asked, “Why did Wes come to see you? What did he say?”

Ben released her and took a seat. “Didn’t really say anything.”

“He came to see you, but didn’t have anything to say?”

“I—well, I didn’t give ’im much of a chance.”

She sat and covered his hand with hers. “What do you mean?”

“I ordered him off my property. Said I didn’t want to talk.”

“Maybe you should have listened, Benjamin. Maybe he wanted to apologize.”

“He can’t make amends for my life.”

“No, but he can ask your forgiveness. And even if he doesn’t ask, you can forgive him.”

Benjamin pulled his hand away. “You don’t know what you’re askin’.”

Lorabeth paused, unsure of how much to say or if she had the right, but his misery was so complete that anger and resentment had to be eating him up. She stayed seated while he poured coffee and set mugs on the table, then placed a sugar bowl between them and sat. She calmly spooned sugar and milk into her cup and stirred.

“You’ve asked more than once about what the Bible says on different subjects,” she said.

He sighed and pursed his lips as though he didn’t want to hear what was coming.

“So I know you think it’s good advice.”

He said nothing.

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do, Benjamin, but I will tell you what the Bible says about forgiveness.”

“Turn the other cheek?”

“That if we want to be forgiven, we have to forgive.”

He met her eyes then. She didn’t see any resentment, for which she was relieved. “You think I should talk to him.”

“You didn’t let him talk, did you?” she answered.

He raised a palm in a supplicating gesture. “He can’t explain away my childhood.”

“No, he can’t. But you learned how the truth eats away inside and needs to come out. Maybe it’s the same for him.”

“I don’t owe him anything.”

“Forgiveness is a gift, Benjamin.”

He studied her, his expressive blue eyes taking in her face and hair before softening. “I asked for this, didn’t I? Marryin’ a woman so kind and wise?”

Their hands met on top of the table, his large and warm around hers.

“Will you come with me?” Ben asked. “To talk to him?”

“I’ll always be here for you,” she assured him.

He believed her. He didn’t know what he’d ever done to deserve someone so wholeheartedly good and kind and generous, but he was grateful. And he vowed he would never take her devotion lightly. He was going to be the man she deserved.

Chapter Sixteen

Benjamin visited the town hall to read the directory of Newton residents and businesses and discovered Wesley Evans’s home address.

He told Ellie what he was going to do and gathered Lorabeth to accompany him the next evening. He drew the buggy before a modest home in the Third Ward.

“Accordin’ to the dates recorded in the city directory,” he told Lorabeth, “he bought this place less than a year ago.”

He helped her down and she took his hand as they approached the front door. Ben raised and lowered a brass knocker several times. Lorabeth squeezed his fingers. Her reaction to the truth about his mother still took him by surprise when he thought about it. Could she care for him so much that it didn’t matter? Or was it her nature to be forgiving of all?

The door opened. One of the young girls he’d seen with Wes and Suzanne stood in the opening. Two platinum-blond braids hung over her shoulders. Her eyes were startling blue—like his own. “Can I help you?”

“I’ve come to see your father.”

“Come on in.” She opened the door wide and ushered them into a small hallway. “Have a seat in the parlor and I’ll go get Daddy.”

Ben and Lorabeth entered the room she’d indicated. The furnishings were not new, but had been well cared for. Needlepoint pillows rested in every sofa and chair, and delicate lacy antimacassars were pinned to the backs.

Solid footsteps along the wooden boards of the hallway alerted Ben to someone’s arrival.

Wes Evans halted in the doorway, surprise evident on his face. He composed his expression. “Benjamin?”

“Hope it’s okay I came like this.”

“Of course.” Wes entered the room. “I’ll take your coats.”

Ben helped Lorabeth out of hers and shrugged off his own. Wes left momentarily and returned. “Oh. Sorry. Sit down. I’m a little flustered.”

Ben gestured for Lorabeth to be seated on the sofa and he perched beside her.

“Is this your sister?” Wes asked.

“No. This is Lorabeth Holdridge, my…fiancée.”

Lorabeth offered her hand and Wes shook it before sitting down across from them. “Congratulations. To both of you.”

“Thank you,” Lorabeth replied.

“This is awkward for all of us,” Wes said.

Ben nodded.

Suzanne entered the room then. “I came to see if you and your guests would like—” She halted when she recognized Ben.

“Join us,” Ben said, and she took a chair. He introduced Lorabeth. “Lorabeth thought I needed to come hear you out,” he began. “I was just madder’n all get-out that day you came to my place. Not in much of a mood to listen, I reckon.”

“I’m glad you came,” Wes said. “I understand.”

They looked at each other.

“Your sister is a touchy subject apparently,” Wes said. “I appreciate that you’re protective of her.”

Ben bristled. “She raised me. We took care of each other.”

Wes nodded. “I don’t know your situation or anything about what happened to your mother or Ellianna.”

At the word mother Ben clenched his jaw.

“Ellianna was just a tiny little thing when I met her. No more than three or four.”

“Where did you meet her?” Ben asked. “My…mother.”

“In Florence at an Independence Day celebration. I thought she was a widow at first. Until I found out where she worked and learned she’d never been married.”

Ben couldn’t imagine his mother at a celebration in town. He’d never known her to drag herself farther than the saloon or the outhouse.

“I cared for your mother, Benjamin,” Wes said.

Ben’s body tensed. “Why feed me this bullshit?”

“Benjamin!” Lorabeth said from beside him and clenched his hand tightly. “Let the man talk.”

He looked at her, at the encouragement and confidence in her eyes and took a deep breath. “Go on.”

“Why would I lie to you? Why would I come find you at all if this wasn’t so? I was just as shocked as you when Suzanne came back from your place that day and told me her suspicions. I didn’t believe it until I saw you. After meeting you, I’m convinced I’m your father. I don’t want anything from you except a chance to talk.” His expression showed his earnestness. “Maybe a chance to know you.”

With disbelief Ben asked, “And it took twenty-four years?”

“Please. Let me explain.”

The sick feeling in his belly right now couldn’t even compare to the nights of hunger and cold that had been his wretched life. Ben raked shaky fingers through his hair and surveyed the room without seeing anything except that filthy shack. He looked at Wes, and by this time his body was almost twitching with anger. “Tell me how that can fix all those years of me and my little brother and older sister goin’ to bed with a belly so hungry it hurt. Tell me how talkin’ can change Flynn and me havin’ no one except a scared sister who cared if we lived or died.”

All his resentment poured out in the words he couldn’t stop now. “Flynn was so little. He should’ve had better. Some of the babies she had just—” Unable to sit any longer, he jumped to his feet and gestured. “Disappeared. Ellie knows what happened to them, but she won’t tell me.”

He was shaking now.

Lorabeth gasped. He couldn’t stop. He wanted this man to know exactly what his lack of concern had caused.

“Ellie stole for us to eat. When our mother died, Flynn and I were sent to a foster home. We were starved and worked like animals. I nearly lost all my toes from sores and blisters.” He looked at his shoes as though the pain was in the present.

Wes’s eyes filled with tears and they ran down his cheeks uninhibited.

Suzanne sat with a stunned expression.

Lorabeth looked up at him, and she was trembling. He couldn’t look at her any longer so he faced Wes.

“So go ahead,” Ben ground out. “Explain all that so I can understand.”

“I can’t,” Wes said in a ragged voice. “But, Ben, all those years aren’t my fault, either. I didn’t know about you. I can’t change what happened, but you have to understand that I’d have taken care of you if I’d known.”

Ben looked at Wes and felt as though a chunk of his heart was hanging out raw and bleeding. “No one ever cared about us.”

“I care now,” Wes said. “I cared about your mother, too, but she wouldn’t let me help her. I tried.”

Ben waited for something more. Something to make a difference in how he felt.

“I was twenty when I met her. I’d been riding herd with a drive and we shipped cows from there. She was working at the Junction Saloon in Florence. Just serving drinks and dancing, but she drank as many as she served. She was living in a room over one of the storefronts and she had a little girl. I started calling on her.

“She always drank, even during the day and no matter the occasion. I tried to get her to leave the saloon and I offered to take her east when I went. She refused.

“I asked her to marry me, but she just laughed. I suspected I wasn’t the only man keeping company with her. The drinking had such a hold on her that I got concerned for the girl. I suggested she give Ellianna to someone to care for until she was better able. That just made her furious. She told me to never come back.

“I left on another drive and when I came back through this way, I couldn’t find her. Nobody knew where she’d gone.”

Ben looked him over with a critical eye. What would it benefit Wes to tell a story with no basis? He didn’t have to expose himself as Ben’s father. If he was telling the truth and really had cared about his mother and Ellie, he wasn’t the selfish man Ben had imagined all those years. Ben would be forced to change his thinking.

“I know it doesn’t change the past,” Wes said, “but I’m sorry for how you came into the world and were treated. She was sick. I’d never seen a person who was controlled by a need for alcohol. Scared me so much I quit drinkin’ myself.”

Ben understood that. “Scares me so much I’m afraid to have my own kids for fear of bein’ like her.”

“You’re nothing like her,” Lorabeth insisted. “You can’t even bear to see animals suffer, let alone children. You adore your nieces and nephews.”

“Your childhood breaks my heart,” Wes said as though he hadn’t heard her. He sat head down, face in his hands. “If only I’d known.”

Suzanne leaned toward her husband and placed her hand on his back. She rubbed it in a circle consolingly. “You had no way to know,” she told him.

“I’m not the one who needs comforting,” Wes said with a break in his voice.

Suzanne drew her hand back, but Wes caught it and held it. He raised his gaze to Ben’s. “If only I’d found you back then, I’d have taken you both and made a family for you.”

Ben read a thousand useless regrets. And he believed him.

Wes was a good man who’d had the misfortune to love a bad woman. Ben had no right blaming him for circumstances out of his control. He took a few steps away and stared at his reflection in the windowpane.

Ellie had told Ben that he couldn’t live in the past, and she was right. Moving forward had worked for her. Lorabeth had told him he needed to forgive to be forgiven. “Really can’t think of a reason why you’d lie about this,” he said at last and turned back to the room. “Wouldn’t profit you.”

“It’s the God’s honest truth,” Wes answered. After a minute he said, “Last year we moved from California to Kansas so I could work with the cattlemen. I’m an investor now. Suzanne and I have three children.”

“I’ve seen ’em.” Ben paused and glanced from husband to wife and back. “Will you tell ’em about me?”

“If it’s all right with you I will. It’s not because I hid you from them that they don’t know. It’s because I didn’t know. Those are two different things. You’d have been part of this family if I’d had a say.”

“You’re not…ashamed of me?”

Wes’s throat worked. “I could ask you the same question.”

Ben thought it over a moment. He’d lived with shame his whole life, but a father who really cared about him wasn’t embarrassing, was he? He glanced at Lorabeth, and she smiled encouragement through glistening tears. He wasn’t ashamed of Wes.

“Guess I upset your life by moving here. It will be all right if you don’t want to explain who I am to people,” Wes told him. “We should probably agree. I’m going to tell my children. But if you don’t want anyone else to know, then…maybe we can just be friends.”

“I’m weary of hidin’ my past,” Ben told him. “I’m not ashamed, and I don’t want to make up a story.”

“Good.” Wes looked relieved. “It’s gonna be awkward for a while. We don’t really know each other. But I want to know you. I don’t even know how you became a veterinarian.”

“Ellie’s husband loaned me the money.”

“The other Dr. Chaney?”

“First decent man I ever met. His father is another.”

Silence enveloped the room.

“I spent a lot of years hating,” Ben said, opening another vein. “Hating all the men who used her. Hating the man I believed was my father.”

“That’s a lot of hate to let go,” Lorabeth said. “You must feel light as a feather.”

Gazing into her eyes, Ben looked inside himself and discovered she was right. A burden he’d carried a lifetime had been eased because he’d learned the truth. He glanced at Wes. “I don’t think you need forgiveness, but I’m lettin’ go of the resentment.”

“Thank you,” Wes answered.

Suzanne left and returned a few minutes later with a tray of tea and served them. Their conversation eased into the easy give-and-take of people getting to know each other. Eventually Ben thanked Suzanne for tea and mentioned it was time for them to go.

The Evanses followed them out the door and stood on their porch. Wes put his arm around his wife.

Ben observed the gesture and realized he was happy for them. Grateful that Wes had found a good woman to be his wife. Waving, he guided Lorabeth to the buggy. She leaned and whispered in Ben’s ear.

He hesitated. Turned back and looked at Wes. Her suggestion made Wes’s warning about this transition more clear. But he didn’t care what people thought. “Lorabeth and I would like you to come to our wedding next week.”

The band played “Cockles and Mussels” for the fourth time, and when Ben raised his eyebrow, Ellie explained that Lillith kept requesting the comic song. He didn’t much care what they played, because he wasn’t listening half the time. He was processing what had taken place that day and thinking about what was yet to come.

“I want you to meet the Evanses now,” he told his sister.

Ellie had been astonished when she’d learned that Ben had asked them to the wedding. Her feelings about Wes Evans were confusing. He was nothing to her.

Ben took hold of her arms. “It’s gonna be all right, Ellie.”

She nodded, digesting the change slowly. She’d seen them at the ceremony earlier, but they hadn’t had an opportunity to meet until now. “I’m glad you’ve found him, Ben,” she said. “I really am. And I’m happy you—and him—and his family are working all this out so amicably.”

“Are you embarrassed about this?” he asked.

“No. We’re not explaining every detail to the wedding guests and all of Newton. Even if we did, Caleb wouldn’t care.”

He leaned to kiss her cheek. Ellie watched her brother cross the room, seeing that skinny boy who was her champion, the boy who had been ready to die for her, who had killed a man to protect her. She was happy for him.

Wes Evans was handsome and pleasant, resembling Benjamin in a startling way, down to the manner in which he spoke and the turn of his lips when he smiled. Suzanne was charming and pretty, complimenting Ellie on her fine-looking children.

Fourteen-year-old Ginny and sixteen-year-old Booth had the same fair hair and blue eyes as Ben and their father. Twelve-year-old Clara was dark-haired and dark-eyed like her mother.

Nate and Simon immediately took Booth into their company, and Nate produced a bag of marbles.

“Is there enough light for them to do that outdoors?” Ellie asked.

“Nate snagged a lantern on his way,” Ben answered.

“You’re the same age as our niece, Lucy,” Ellie told Ginny.

“I don’t know her,” the girl said.

“She goes to school in Florence,” Ellie explained. “But I’m sure you two will have something to talk about.”

“I’ll go introduce them,” Lorabeth said, taking Ginny’s hand.

Suzanne and Clara left to find a hair ribbon Clara had dropped, leaving Ben and Ellie alone with Wes.

“It’s probably gonna seem awkward for a while,” Wes said to Ellie.

“Nothing will ever excuse my mother or what she did to us,” she said to him. “There are things you don’t know.” The touch of anger that surfaced surprised her. “Just the fact that you ever had anything to do with her makes it hard for me. I’m not an unforgiving person, but…”

“We’re all trying our best with the situation we have,” he answered. “I can tell you’re a fine person. I’m glad your life turned out the way it did.”

None of what had happened to them was this man’s fault, she reminded herself.

“You’ve met Caleb already?” Ben asked Wes.

“Oh, yeah. Booth manages to smash or cut something at least every other month. I’m sure you know about that with all your boys,” he said to Ellie.

She agreed with a smile.

“Well, let’s go find him,” Ben said and placed his hand on Wes’s shoulder as they walked away.

Ellie was struck anew by how much Ben resembled the man. Their hair, the broad shoulders, and now the way they walked. She was happy for her brother, she truly was.

And she tried not to feel hurt that he had found a father and a whole new family.

Chapter Seventeen

Ben’s nervousness grew as the evening passed. It hadn’t helped that when Luke Swenson had offered Ben a beer and he’d refused, Deputy Doyle had jokingly remarked that Ben was keeping a clear head for the night ahead.

Caleb had been standing among the small gathering of men. He’d given Ben a slap on the shoulder and led him away from the others. Next to Ellie, Caleb was the only one who even partially understood the strict standards Ben had set for himself and the reasons why. They stood side by side at the edge of the dance floor.

“Don’t let ’em get to you,” Caleb said.

Ben searched for Lorabeth in the crowd.

“She’s your wife now, and making love to your wife is a good thing. Nothing like what you saw as a boy, Ben. Nothing like it.”

“I know.” At that second, Flynn’s fiddle screeched, sounding like a young girl’s screams, and his heart pounded faster. “In my head, I know it.”

“The way she feels about you is all over her face,” his brother-in-law told him. “Just love her back.”

Ben studied the crowd and found her.

Lorabeth was the most beautiful woman Ben had ever laid eyes upon. In her ivory pearl-studded dress, she took his breath away. Her father had performed the ceremony and they’d taken their vows only hours ago. They’d been deluged with guests and gifts and cake ever since. When he looked at her across the social hall, he still couldn’t believe she was his wife.

She made her way around clusters of guests until she reached him. “Dance with me again,” she said, her eyes glowing, her cheeks pink with excitement.

He took her hand and followed her onto the dance floor, into the midst of friends and family who flowed aside and made a place for the bride and groom.

Apparently Flynn had noticed the crowd parting, and immediately the music changed to a slower more appropriately romantic tune. Ben took her in his arms.

“Are you happy?” he asked as they swayed to the music.

“Isn’t mine the happiest face here?” she answered with a question of her own.

He had to agree. She was absolutely glowing. He didn’t want to do anything to disappoint her. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever.

He’d made those vows and made them solemnly. This pure and innocent woman had chosen him, and it was his duty to honor her.

Just love her back. Was he capable of the kind of love she deserved?

He’d started out wanting to protect her, but now he was involved. His head was involved, his body…his heart. He wasn’t feelin’ much like a protector. Hurting her would kill him.

“Caleb and Denzil have loaded all the gifts into the back of your buggy,” Ellie told them a few minutes later. “You can pull it into your carriage house until you have time tomorrow or the next day to unload it.”

“Sure,” Ben replied.

His sister gave him a smile. “It’s a custom for the bride and groom to leave early.”

Ben glanced at Lorabeth. “You’re right. We should go.”

Ellie laid a hand on the sleeve of his black coat. “Don’t be surprised if some of your friends pay you a late-night visit.”

Ben had never participated, but he’d heard the young people talking about the pranks they played on newlyweds. “You didn’t give ’em a key to my house or anything, did you?”

Ellie looked insulted and slapped his arm. “Of course not.”

“Just makin’ sure.”

He and Lorabeth exchanged a look and she gave him an uncertain smile. He’d put off leaving as long as he could. With a backward glance at his sister, he found their coats.

Whispers and catcalls followed them to the door, so he hurried her along. Once they were in the buggy, she took his hand. Her fingers were cold. They both knew what was on the other’s mind, but they hadn’t discussed it. He wouldn’t have known the first thing to say.

“We got lovely gifts,” she said.

“Yep.”

“I especially like the clock from your—from the Evanses.”

She was every bit as nervous as he, of course. More so, because she was the woman, the one admonished to submit to her husband.

“I’d never deliberately hurt you, Lorabeth. You believe that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. You didn’t need to tell me.”

He stopped alongside the back porch. “I’ll stoke the stove before I put up the horse, so you can have warm water.”

Once he had a fire going, he pumped a kettle of water and set it on a burner. “You have some time now while I handle chores.”

She nodded.

Ben wiped down the animal, got him a bucket of water, then stood in the carriage house watching the bay twitch its ears and munch oats.

He had no idea how long it would take Lorabeth to prepare for bed. He was probably doing things all wrong and should have gone upstairs with her.

Minutes later he climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom to discover his thoughts were right. She was standing in the circle of golden light created by the lamp on her dresser, still wearing the gown she’d worn all day.

“My dress buttons up the back,” she told him.

So it did. He crossed the room and she turned her back to him. Several buttons at the top were undone and several at the bottom, but the center of the row remained fastened.

He fumbled with the tiny pearls until the back of the garment parted. Beneath it she wore delicate satin garments edged with lace and pastel blue ribbon. She let the front fall forward, and he saw then how stiff and heavy the beading had been.

“I’m itching,” she said, pulling her arms free and rubbing them, reaching for her shoulders. She made an attempt to scratch her back.

“I could rub in some glycerin for you,” he offered.

Her expression was relieved and embarrassed at the same time. “I had no idea this dress would get so uncomfortable.”

“I wasn’t wearing it, but I’d have to say it was worth it, seein’ you in it, I mean.”

She stepped out of the dress and Ben reached to pick it up. The weight surprised him. “You must feel like a horse free of saddle and blankets,” he said with a grin.

She placed a hand on her hip and said teasingly, “I don’t think I’ve ever been compared to a horse before.”

Seeing her in her underwear must’ve scrambled his brain. “Sorry.”

She laughed. “Guess I’d better get used to animal comparisons since I’m married to a vet.”

The familiarity of her acceptance touched him. He laid the dress across the cedar chest that sat under one of the windows. “You’ll take care of it later, I suppose.”

She moved to the dressing table he’d bought for her. She was slim and shapely in her delicate drawers and chemise, not as hesitant to face him as he might have imagined. But then what did she have to be ashamed of? She was beautiful. She was perfect. She was pure. And it was her wedding night.

He felt a muscle near his eye jump.

Lorabeth returned to him with a jar, twisted off the lid and offered it.

Ben took the glass container from her and dipped his fingertips. She turned her back and raised her hair away from her neck and shoulders, and his mouth went dry.

He smeared the cool substance across her irritated pink skin. Beneath his fingers every place he touched was smooth and soft.

“That feels so good,” she said.

Once her neck and shoulders were soothed, he worked the glycerin into her arms. They were slender and delicate like the rest of her. A gentle rise and fall beat at the base of her throat above the pearls she wore. He applied a cool dab to the pulse point.

She looked at him, her tawny eyes trusting. “What am I supposed to do, Benjamin?”

He wished he knew. He didn’t have a reply.

“Do you know what to do?”

It was his job to follow through with this act, to consummate their marriage and fulfill his obligation. The responsibility of being a husband weighed heavily on his conscience. “In theory.”

He desired Lorabeth. He was drawn to her like a honeybee to a sweet, sweet flower. But he didn’t want to ruin what they had by allowing lust to taint this moment.

She was a virgin, pure and untouched. He was a virgin, too, but he wasn’t pure by any means. He knew how to respect and honor his wife, but he was a man with carnal desires. If he frightened her or if she looked at him in disgust, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

“I like it when you kiss me,” she said, her tone suggesting he do so now.

“Lorabeth.” He glanced at the jar he held and set it aside. “It doesn’t have to be tonight,” he told her to assure her he had no intentions of rushing this. “If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Tonight or tomorrow night or a week from now, it will still be the first time,” she said logically. “And waiting might just make us more tense.”

Ben removed his topcoat and hung it on the back of a straight chair, then unfastened his tie and collar. Her gaze never left his movements.

He was the husband. Just love her back, Caleb had said. Love her as Christ loved the church, her father had reminded him. He’d observed that love was the element that made all the difference.

His hesitation became perfectly clear. Crystal, sparkling clear. These feelings of protectiveness, the worry of disappointing her, the fear of shaming himself…had all arisen from the fact that he loved this woman.

Loved her beyond reason or practicality or circumstances or responsibility.

A loud clattering sounded from outside, metallic banging, shouts and whistles. Lorabeth pressed her hand to her breast. “Whatever…?”

Benjamin sighed. “The shivaree.”

“The what?”

“It’s a mock serenade done for newlyweds as a prank.” After turning down the wick until the lamp was extinguished, he moved to the window, where he pulled the new drapes to the sides and tugged open the window. Clattering and banging accompanied an off-key rendition of “Beautiful Dreamer.”

Benjamin waved at the singers. “It’s the whole gang,” he said. “Parker, Zeta, Hobie, Ida. Carrie and Damian are with them, too.”

He closed the window and turned back. The pranksters tired of their singing quickly and moved on. “They’re gone.”

It had taken a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Lorabeth remained where she’d been, her satin undergarments glowing white in the moonlight that streamed through the windowpanes.

Ben removed his shoes and socks, then his shirt. Stepping close to her, he ran his fingertips down the soft pale skin of her arms until he reached her wrists. He took both hands and brought the backs of her fingers to his lips.

She trembled in his touch. He wrapped his arms around her and held her against the thud of his heart, feeling her soft breasts against his chest. “Please don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.”

He tangled his hands in her hair and removed the combs and pins that had held honey-colored ringlets in place all day.

When he combed his fingers against her scalp, she groaned. The mere sound of her pleasure brought his body to ardent life.

He leaned forward to kiss her, learning again her exquisite taste and textures. She pressed into him and raised one palm to his bare chest.

Her touch on his skin sent a hundred signals from his nerve endings to his brain and body. She tested his flesh with the tips of her fingers. When he moved his head to change the angle of the kiss, she flattened her palm and breathed a sweet sigh against his mouth.

Ben raised a hand to cup her cheek, feathered a caress down her neck until he touched the warm pearls. He broke the kiss to lower his face to her neck.

Tilting her head aside, she accommodated his kisses under her ear, along the column of her throat. After fumbling for the clasp, Ben removed the necklace and slipped it into the pocket of his trousers.

Lorabeth raised a hand to pluck earbobs from each ear and hand them to him. He dropped them into the pocket with the necklace.

Lorabeth’s skin tingled and she burned from inside. Growing warmth spread through her limbs. Each place Benjamin touched her fueled the intensity of this growing need to have more. His hands were slightly rough, a contrast she quickly learned to appreciate. His touches were gentle and inquisitive, thoroughly inflaming in a way she hadn’t imagined.

Her first tentative exploration of his chest had amazed and enthralled her. His body was broad, hard-muscled, and his skin held a spicy scent that tantalized her senses until her head swam.

She delved into his hair, finding it thick and silky, liking the shape of his head, the turn of his ear, the rasp of his jaw.

“I can shave again,” he said against her neck.

“No,” she answered. She didn’t want to interrupt what was happening between them. “Not now.”

“My chin doesn’t scratch?”

“No.” She wanted to hold on to him. Benjamin kissed her again, and she reveled in the tender caress of his lips, the inconceivable way he made her feel special and wanted.

She remembered the night he’d touched her breast through her clothing and the way she’d wanted the touch to never end.

She stepped back slightly, and he instantly released her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and reached for the lace on her neckline to untie the satin ribbon with a little tug. Eight tiny buttons fell under her determined fingers and she shrugged from her chemise.

She wanted to feel his bare chest against her. He stood as though rooted to the floor, not making a move to touch her. Her heart thrummed so hard, he had to have heard it. Maybe he was waiting for more…

She untied the drawstring, let her drawers slide down her hips, then stepped out of the puddle of satin. She stepped closer to discover his eyes were shut. “Are you disappointed?” she asked, hurt.

His eyes flew open. “No! You’re beautiful. More beautiful than I imagined. You could never disappoint me.”

He touched her breast then, a tentative caress that tested the fullness, then cupped her. With an open hand he stroked her nipple. Lorabeth felt the glorious sensation all through her body.

Her nervousness about what was to come was overridden by the thrill of this new experience. Fascination set her nerve endings ablaze. All-encompassing pleasure heightened her senses and kicked aside any hesitation or embarrassment. At last she was breaking out of her stifling mold.

She’d sat awake long nights imagining liberation, dreaming of a soul-reviving taste of life. She didn’t intend to miss a minute of the experience by being timid. She’d vowed never to miss anything by holding back or being afraid of new experiences. Benjamin was fulfilling her dreams one by one and she meant to enjoy each step of the way.

She wanted to be the wife Benjamin needed. She never wanted him to regret choosing her. She had no idea what was going to happen or exactly how it would, but she knew they’d figure it out. Men and women had been doing this since the days of Adam.

She flattened her palms against his chest and raised her face for a kiss. He obliged her, skimming his hands down her sides and around to her back. He stroked the flesh of her buttocks and Lorabeth shuddered.

Ben lost himself to the sensations and textures and scents of his eager new wife. He hadn’t expected her touches, though he had anticipated the feverish response of his body. He cautioned himself to go slowly, take his time, be respectful.

When she pressed against him, her soft breasts crushed to his chest, his head roared. Sensation took over reason. His head was filled with the scent of her hair and skin, his hands craved discovering all of her. His body thrummed with pent-up desire.

He urged her to the bed and they collapsed into its softness. Intuition took over and skill had nothing to do with what came next. Sheer instinct drove him. The ache of unfulfillment compelled him until fire consumed reason and caution.

Nothing existed except Lorabeth, warm and willing with no idea of the madness her explorative touches and throaty murmurs caused. He’d forgotten everything he’d promised himself.

Lorabeth gasped, the sound echoing, transforming into something piteous. The bed creaked beneath their movements, forcing his memory to recall another place, another time. Lorabeth cried his name in passion, but he heard pain and alarm.

She clung to his neck and wept, her body convulsing.

He hadn’t been tender or respectful. He’d allowed lust to drive out all his good intentions. Sense returned and his world turned dark.

“Don’t cry.” His own voice was hoarse with self-disgust. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I’m not scared,” she told him.

He laid his cheek against hers. “Please don’t cry.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

He rolled away from her, recognizing the cool sheen of sweat on his body, the harsh sound of his breathing.

“I hurt you.” The knowledge tore a ragged crater in his heart. He turned to look at her, pale and beautiful in the moonlight. He peeled down the bedding and helped her underneath the covers. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Lorabeth.”

“Not so much,” she said. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he disagreed. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, and I did.”

She turned toward him and rested her hand along his cheek. “Only a little pain. Far more pleasure.”

He wasn’t listening to her assurances. Something he’d dreaded his whole life had taken over his will and his body, and he’d given himself over to it, like dry kindling touched by a match. He’d been lost to everything but the fire of wanting her.

He hated his weakness. “I’m just like those men I hated my whole life,” he said aloud. “No better.”

Lorabeth sat up, holding the sheet to her breasts. Her hair was gloriously tousled in the shadows. “You’re nothing like those men,” she insisted adamantly. “If you’re like them, then you’re saying I’m like your mother.”

“Never,” he denied, his heart pounding in slow agonizing thuds. Even breathing hurt when she spoke those words. “You’re nothing like her. You’re pure and innocent and perfect.”

“Am I wicked then for wanting to do that with my husband?”

“No, Lorabeth.”

“Then don’t ever say that again. And don’t think it. You’re my husband, Benjamin. Husbands are supposed to take pleasure in their wives. Aren’t they?”

He nodded. That was what Caleb had assured him.

“Say it,” she told him. “You’re a good and loving husband.”

“I’m a…”

“Say it.”

“I’m a good and loving husband.”

“My wife loves me,” she added.

She was so beautiful, it hurt to look at her. And she loved him. “You can’t, Lorabeth. Still?”

“More,” she told him and leaned to kiss him, caressing his cheek as she touched her lips to his.

He loved her, too. Loved her with all his heart. But the words wouldn’t push past his lips. He needed to deserve her love. And he didn’t.

Chapter Eighteen

Lorabeth lay awake for what seemed the entire night. The clock downstairs had only struck twice, however. She’d never slept more than a few hours a night, and usually sat up reading. She didn’t want to disturb Benjamin. He was a fitful sleeper, turning his head, moving his limbs, occasionally muttering something incoherent. Right now he seemed to be sleeping peacefully, so she closed her eyes and tried to relax.

His soft, even breathing was a sound she cherished, though it was like a freight train rumbling past for all its oddity in her experience. Something magical had finally happened to her. She’d become a bride. And her husband was handsome and clever and not at all stuffy or pretentious. She adored him.

She lay on her side and studied his profile in the dim light. Her mind kept returning to the sights and sounds and sensations of their coupling earlier. Just thinking about it made her heart flutter. She’d tried to imagine, but her limited knowledge hadn’t allowed her to even dream up the actuality of such an incredible act. How perfectly they were created! How clever of their Maker to plan such a wondrous thing.

Thank You, she breathed silently.

Her husband stirred beside her, rolled on his side to face her and his hand brushed her arm. She knew the moment the touch woke him. He drew away in surprise.

Lorabeth took his hand, locking her fingers through his. She loved the contact, reveled in the warmth and magnitude of his body beside hers. The wedding ring she’d bought for him was warm, and she loved the solid smooth feel of the gold on his finger.

“You’re awake?” he asked, voice husky with sleep.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Was I snorin’?”

“No. Go back to sleep.”

A few minutes later she could tell he’d done just that. The house was more familiar to him, the room one he’d used for some time. She would grow comfortable here, too.

She hadn’t known what to say or do when he’d seemed so upset after their lovemaking. She’d assured him he hadn’t hurt her. His regret tortured her. He’d seen too much during his formative years and knew only the dark side of a man’s nature.

Now that she knew—really knew what it was his mother had done for money—she tried to better understand his concerns. He’d known that act as something shameful, not as an expression of love between two people. She would help him understand the sanctity and purity within the bonds of marriage.

Lorabeth was on the edge of sleep, somewhere between exhaustion and blessed relief, when the mattress jerked and the bedcovers were tugged away as Benjamin sat straight up in bed. “No!”

“Benjamin?”

He raised a muscled arm and swiped his hand down his face. As he became more alert, he turned to find her propped on one elbow watching him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

“What was the dream about?”

He adjusted his pillow and rested back against it. “Don’t remember.”

“That’s probably good.”

“Yeah.”

“Benjamin?”

“What?”

“I never shared a bed with anyone before. I think I’m going to like it.”

“Not if I don’t let you get any sleep.”

“I’m not much of a sleeper. Did I ever mention that?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m not. I do a lot of reading late at night.”

“Why’s that?”

“Don’t know. Maybe because night is the only time I have a chance to do something just for me.”

After a minute he said, “Not anymore. You can read in the day if you like.”

She closed her eyes and listened to a soft patter against the roof. “It’s raining. I love to hear the rain at night.”

“I saved a present for you,” he said.

“You did?” She was wide awake again. “Another present? You bought me a dressing table and mirror, what more could I need?”

“We arranged for you to have several days away from my sister’s,” he reminded her.

“She insisted.”

“I’m taking a few days off, too,” he told her.

She smiled in the darkness. “That will be nice.”

He scratched his jaw. “We’re gonna take a little trip.”

Lorabeth raised up. “We are?”

“Yup.”

“Where are we going?”

“How does Denver sound?”

“Colorado? All the way to Colorado? Oh, my goodness!” She would never sleep now! “On the train?”

“Yup.”

“Where will we stay?”

“Plenty of hotels there. It’ll be our wedding trip.”

“Maybe I am asleep,” she said. “But if I am I sure don’t want to wake up.”

“You look awake to me,” he replied. “Go to sleep now. In the morning we’ll shop for anything you need before we leave. Tomorrow you can pack, and the following day we’ll head out.”

She leaned over, rested a hand on his chest and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Sleep now,” he said. And with that he rolled to his other side, adjusting the covers and finding a comfortable position.

Lorabeth settled back on her side of the bed and focused on calming herself. It wouldn’t do to look haggard and tired in the morning. She needed to discipline herself to rest. Her life just kept getting better.

Lorabeth loved the train ride. They had berths in a sleeping car and spent one night crammed into bunk-style beds one above the other as the locomotive chugged and swayed and cinders hit the window glass on the curves.

They ate in the dining car, mostly sandwiches and fruit, but each meal was an experience to cherish. She visited with other passengers, and Ben taught her to play gin rummy with a deck of cards he produced from the pocket of his topcoat. She’d beaten him three hands in a row when the conductor called their stop.

Lorabeth was almost sorry to see their train adventure end, but there was still more ahead. Denver was a bustling city filled with new sights and sounds. Their hotel was modest, but clean and adequate. Lorabeth anticipated their time together after the train ride, eager to be alone and to recreate the night of their wedding.

Benjamin provided her with privacy while she dressed and bathed, but as he had the second night of their marriage, he made no move to kiss or touch her. She sat in the chair with a lamp burning low beside her and read a book of poetry he’d purchased for her. His restless sleep concerned her as from time to time he’d mumble or his body would jerk.

Once, when he groaned and sat up, she crept onto the mattress behind him and eased him back down, threading his golden hair away from his face and pressing her cheek to the back of one shoulder. She imagined reasons to explain his lack of interest: travel had been tiring; perhaps relations weren’t acceptable when they were away from home; he hadn’t enjoyed that night together as much as she.

The last possibility made her chest ache. In the recesses of her heart she’d known this time had been waiting for her. That Benjamin Chaney had been destined for her. She would let nothing spoil her newfound happiness.

Instead of being overly concerned with Benjamin’s seeming disinterest in lovemaking, Lorabeth enjoyed herself in the stores where they shopped for clothing and accessories for the house, in the restaurants where he introduced her to new foods and especially during an evening at the theater.

He bought her gifts and asked her preferences about everything. Benjamin went out of his way to see to her daily needs and give her all the experiences she’d dreamed of. She worked to douse nagging doubts that plagued her about the lack of intimacy since their wedding night. Perhaps this was all normal. Perhaps men needed time between experiences. Perhaps there was more she should be doing.

Maybe she simply didn’t know how to please him or encourage him.

Denying himself what he wanted was wearing on Ben’s composure. The least little smile or touch from his new wife had him grinding his teeth in frustration. He’d thought the trip would help, that they’d be too busy and distracted for the physical issue to be a concern temporarily. But he hadn’t planned on the days and nights with little separation and without the buffer of him going to work.

He admired Lorabeth’s lack of inhibition and appreciated her childlike joy over every little thing. He learned she liked to get up early to see the sunrise. She didn’t mind getting wet when it rained, and she preferred walking to taking cabs. The things he was growing to love about her, like spontaneity and passion, were the same things he feared in himself.

On their last night in Denver they shared dinner in a restaurant and then attended the performance of an orchestra at the opera house.

“Wouldn’t Flynn have enjoyed that?” she asked, linking her arm through Ben’s as they walked from their cab to the hotel door.

“You think so?”

“I do. All those violins playing in harmony was incredible.” She smiled up at him. “You knew I’d enjoy that, didn’t you?”

“You enjoy everything, Lorabeth.”

He climbed the stairs beside her and turned the key in the door that led into their room. “I’ll find a newspaper down in the lobby while you’re gettin’ ready for bed.”

As he had every night, he departed, leaving her to enter the room alone. Polite was good, but how would they ever get comfortable with each other if he kept being so standoffish? Benjamin had entered the room and turned down the lamps each night without so much as a glance at her.

Opening the armoire, she took out yet another delicately embroidered and trimmed nightgown that she and Ellie and Sophie had painstakingly worked on for her trousseau and that Benjamin hadn’t seen.

During the day he was attentive and he had showered her with gifts and concern. But at night she might not have been there for all he noticed. She washed and changed into the gown. The fabric was cool and satiny against her skin, unlike the plain cotton and woolsey she’d worn all her life.

Undressing her hair, she stacked the pins and ran her brush from scalp to ends. She hadn’t worn a braid since she’d been married. Her gaze fell to the wedding band on her finger and she turned her hand, watching the light catch the gold.

The key turned in the door, and she met Benjamin before he could take more than a few steps into the room. The fabric of the gown swished around her ankles as she moved. She stopped before him. “It’s our last night in Denver.”

He kept his attention on her face and replied, “We’ll come back another time.”

“The maid brought hot water only a little while ago. It will still be warm for you.”

“I washed in the bathing chamber at the end of the hall.”

As he had each night. And each morning.

She stood between Benjamin and the lamp. He removed his black topcoat and hung it in the armoire. After busying himself with his tie until it came away, he removed his shirt.

With both lamps burning, she had her first opportunity to look at him. His skin was tanned and his chest broad and firm.

“When do you go without your shirt in the sun?” she asked.

“Cuttin’ grass, puttin’ up hay.”

She took a step closer and noted raised marks on one shoulder that were lighter in color. “How did you get those scars?”

He glanced at his shoulder. “Long time ago. Doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me.”

He looked aside and then back at her. “Heath.”

She frowned, thinking. “Wasn’t that the name of the foster family that took in you and Flynn?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t mean by accident, either. The man whipped you?”

“I took care of myself. And then Ellie and Caleb came for us.”

“What about Flynn?” she asked in horror. “He could’ve only been—”

“Heath didn’t hurt ’im. I saw to that.”

She studied the face of this proud kind man who’d endured cruel treatment yet grown into a loving and protective adult. Understanding dawned on her. “You took his beatings, too, didn’t you?”

“I was older. Stronger.” He moved to step around her then, but she placed her hand on his arm, preventing him from evading her.

“Any other scars?” she asked, holding his arm and moving around him. The muscle and sinew of his back was defined by the shadows, a sight so stunning it took Lorabeth’s breath away. She’d seen pictures of Greek and Roman statues, but pictures of cold marble couldn’t compare to Benjamin’s strong male body in the flesh. Here and there a faded scar marred the perfection of his skin. She couldn’t resist placing her hand on his shoulder and running her palm over the planes and across his shoulder blades.

Her blood pounded in her veins, and boldly she stepped right up behind him, wrapping both arms around his waist and pressing her lips to the center of his back. He smelled so good she wanted to cry with the pleasure. Ironed linen and spice and man.

Benjamin took her wrists in his gentle grasp and caressed the delicate insides with his thumbs.

“Benjamin,” she whispered.

He turned and folded her against him. She pressed her cheek to his warm skin and he ran his hands over her back, down her sides, to her bottom and pressed her against him.

He wanted her. The certain knowledge buoyed her spirits and produced a lilting song of joy in her heart.

“I love you,” she assured him. “I love the man you are. I’ll love whoever you want to be.”

She thought she loved him because she didn’t know enough to jade her romantic notions. He covered her mouth with his, silencing her. With open mouths they tasted and explored as tension built and heat rose. Breathing became difficult. Thinking became impossible.

Benjamin raised his head and played his lips over hers in slow damp strokes, pausing at each corner to press a firm kiss, halting a hair’s breadth away to taunt her with his absence.

She wrapped an arm around his neck and took the kisses she wanted. Her head swam with delight and promise. Pleasure rose and possessed.

Moments later they sprawled on the bed, bodies sliding and straining in a rhythm as natural as breathing. Stars burst behind Lorabeth’s eyelids. Benjamin spoke her name and a tremor shook his body. Remarkable longed-for sensations flooded through her and she clung to him.

There was no yesterday and no tomorrow in his arms. Only this moment, this night.

He released her to sit on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to read?”

She wanted him to hold her. “No.”

He got up and turned down the lamps, affording her a view she appreciated before the room went dark. Returning to the bed, he lay beside her, close enough to touch, but distancing himself in silence.

He had liked it, she knew he had. He would realize it soon. Realize how perfect they were together.

Chapter Nineteen

Lorabeth’s confidence faltered in the weeks that followed. Benjamin’s demeanor was decidedly cooler once they returned to Newton and settled into their daily routines.

She helped Ellie three mornings a week, and the other two mornings she still went to her father’s home and did the wash and cleaned house. That left her afternoons for her own home, and often hours into the night after Benjamin had fallen asleep.

One day, after noon, she returned to the house to find him seated on the porch. The day was chilly, and it was obvious he’d been waiting for her.

“Hi,” she said. “Did you come home for lunch?”

He nodded. “And to bring you somethin’. This wasn’t your day at Ellie’s, where were you?”

She had never revealed the fact that she was still doing her father’s chores, but she couldn’t lie. Her husband had asked her directly. “I was at my father’s.”

“Oh.” He looked surprised. “I didn’t know you visited him during the week.” He picked up a blanket-draped crate from beside the floor and she held the door open for him to enter first.

He set the crate down inside the foyer and removed his coat. Lorabeth did the same and hung it on the coat tree. “Benjamin.”

He looked at her.

“I go to my father’s two mornings a week to take care of the domestic chores.”

He seemed to absorb that. “How long have you been doin’ that?”

“When I only worked for Ellie during the week, I did it all on the weekend, but once I moved into the Chaney house, I used those two mornings off to tend to my other duties.”

“I said you could work or not, whatever pleases you, Lorabeth, but I don’t think it’s right for you to continue the chores that were yours when you lived at home. Your sister doesn’t do it.”

“My father doesn’t have a wife.”

“I sympathize with that, but you have your own home now. You can’t work every wakin’ moment to do it all. He’s the preacher and a widow. I’m thinking the church ladies could organize themselves to help.”

Lorabeth knew he was right. She’d been entrenched in providing those household services alone for so long that she’d come to think of it as her duty. “You’re right. In fact I’ll make the arrangements myself. There’s a laundry on Fifth Street. If he can’t take his dirty wash and pick it up himself, one of the ladies can manage that task. I’ll set up an account for him.”

He nodded his pleasure at her decision.

“Now what did you bring home?”

Ben turned and removed the blanket from the top of the crate to lift out the mostly gold and black calico cat she’d dubbed Mittens.

“He’s letting you hold him!”

“Yep. I worked on it ever since you met ’im.”

“Think he’ll let me?”

“Dunno.”

“Hello, Mittens,” she said to the tomcat. He’d gained weight and his fur had filled in over bare spots, though he still bore scars on his ears and nose. “Do you think we can be friends?”

Slowly, she reached to pet his head. He squirmed and meowed until Benjamin released him. Mittens stood a moment, his green eyes surveying the surroundings and coming back to blink at her in disdain. Then he moved to inspect the baseboards and the thick navy and cream carpet runner. He sat and blinked. “Meow!”

“Did you bring him home for a pet?” she asked Benjamin.

“Thought you’d like him around the house. You take over feeding and looking after him and he’ll come around.”

“Are you planning to spoil me for a lifetime?” she asked teasingly.

He looked away momentarily, then back, but he wasn’t wearing a smile. “Just wanna see you happy.”

She stepped forward to take his hand. “You make me happy, Benjamin.”

Their eyes met and a fire flickered in the depths of his ice-blue ones. He dropped his gaze to her lips. For a moment her heart dared to lift in anticipation of the desire she thought she sensed. His hand twitched in hers. And then he looked away, removing his hand from her touch. “Have you eaten lunch?”

He walked back toward the kitchen and she followed, fighting disappointment. “Not yet.”

Mittens meowed and trailed behind them.

Benjamin took bread from the cupboard and cut four slices, then found ham she’d left in the icebox. He set the crock of butter out.

Lorabeth watched him with her heart heavy and aching. She could be a good wife if only he’d let her. He’d been holding back from her ever since their last night in Denver. Oh, he bought her presents and arranged schedules and events to make her life easier. He’d taken her to dinner at the Arcade twice. Yesterday he’d brought her another Swiss chocolate bar, and he’d been working with the cat for weeks to bring her a pet.

All the kind gestures and generosity in the world wouldn’t replace what she truly wanted. What she needed. Couldn’t he hear her heart crying out for him?

Please, Benjamin. She wanted him to love her. She wanted that one flesh that she’d dearly hoped was hers. Lorabeth was a butterfly that had hatched inside a jar. Every day she beat her wings against the sides where freedom was clearly visible. Benjamin held the power to free her.

The following day Lorabeth had the first conversation with her father wherein she felt like an adult in control of her own life. Taking charge was liberating. While the first snow of the season fell on Newton, she made arrangements at the laundry and with several of the women of the church who were only too glad to take turns caring for the parsonage.

She planned for another church member to spell her at the piano on Sunday mornings so she could sit with her husband every other week. In the weeks that followed, they had her father and Simon over for supper twice.

She inquired if Benjamin would like to have the Evanses over for Sunday dinner, and the afternoon went splendidly. Now that he knew his father would have had a relationship with him if he’d known of Benjamin’s existence, he was obviously reevaluating beliefs about men and about himself that he’d held all his life. Lorabeth was determined to be patient and supportive.

The following morning she spent helping her sister-in-law organize Christmas dinner.

“Suzanne Evans is a very nice lady,” she told Ellie. “She was quite active in politics when they lived in California.”

“What did you fix for dinner?” Ellie asked.

“One of the farmers gave Benjamin a couple of turkeys,” she answered. “I stuffed one and made baked yams.”

“I’m sure it was nice.” Ellie didn’t say anything more. Madeline had begun to fuss in her cradle near the fireplace, and she swept her up. She wore an expression Lorabeth hadn’t seen before.

“Knowing how Wes feels about him is helping Benjamin,” Lorabeth told her.

Ellie sat in the kitchen rocking chair and opened the placket in the front of her dress for Madeline to nurse. “It’s good for him,” she agreed.

“It’s helped his self-worth to know his father isn’t the reprobate Benjamin imagined all these years,” Lorabeth told her.

Ellie nodded but didn’t meet Lorabeth’s gaze.

Lorabeth placed a slip of paper in the recipe book to hold her spot and moved to sit on the hearth facing Ellie. “You close up whenever the subject of the Evanses comes up.”

Tears came to Ellie’s eyes and she looked to the side, blinking them back.

“What is it?” Lorabeth asked. “You can tell me.”

“It’s completely selfish and I’m probably just tired. I’ve been crying a lot lately. For no good reason.” She looked down at Madeline and finally at Lorabeth.

“Ben and Flynn have always been like my own children,” she said. “I don’t know if you can understand that.”

“I think I can. You took care of them.”

“I don’t think I’m jealous, but maybe I am. Flynn has Caleb and thinks of him as his own father. I don’t think it matters a bit to Flynn that he isn’t. Maybe down deep I resent the fact that Ben has a real father. And I don’t.” Her eyes revealed a measure of pain Lorabeth hadn’t expected. “I feel like I’m losing him, and I know that’s silly.”

Lorabeth got down on her knees in front of Ellie and took her free hand. “It’s not silly at all. Like you said, Benjamin is like your own child. You raised him and loved him and did everything you could to give him a good life. Then I came along and at the same time Wes showed up. I’m sure most parents feel a sense of loss when their child gets married. Your child got married and added more members to his family all at the same time.”

Ellie tilted her head in acknowledgment.

“And, Ellie, I can’t reassure you enough that from everything I know about Benjamin—which admittedly isn’t a vast amount—that he appreciates and holds you in high esteem. I confess I didn’t know how I would ever hold a candle to your sainthood in his eyes, but I’ve settled in with the fact that we’re not vying for his affections. It’s the same with you and Wes. You both love Benjamin, and he loves you both in different ways. Both good.”

Ellie smiled and a little laugh burst through her tears. “Are you always so wise?”

“Heavens, no. I can be a complete dolt when facing matters of importance.” She released Ellie’s hand and sat back on her heels.

Ellie swiped at the last tears on her cheeks. “Like what?”

Lorabeth’s face warmed with humiliation. Could she talk about this with Benjamin’s sister? She would feel disloyal to her husband if she did, so she softened her concerns. “I just worry that Benjamin regards me more highly than I deserve.”

“I doubt that. You’re perfect for him, Lorabeth. Just like you’ve always been the perfect helper for me.”

“Yes,” she replied without feeling.

She was just perfect.

Ellie raised Madeline over her shoulder and patted her back. Instead of burping, the infant emitted a gurgling sound and all the milk she’d just consumed shot over Ellie’s shoulder and the back of the rocker.

Lorabeth stood up too quickly to grab toweling. She caught her balance and helped wipe Ellie’s dress and the baby.

Dr. Chaney appeared with a wrinkled shirt in his hand at that moment. “Ellie, can you—Oh.”

“I’m going to go change,” Ellie told him and handed him the baby. “She’ll want to eat again since she just lost it all.”

Caleb balanced Madeline on one arm. “I have a meeting in a hour. I need to iron this shirt.”

Lorabeth took the garment from him. “You hold her a minute and I’ll do it.” She took the shirt and set the iron on the stove to heat. The wave of dizziness she’d experienced had passed, and she unfolded the ironing board and steadied herself against it. A moment later, bile rose in her throat and she tore out the back door to the outhouse and lost her breakfast.

Returning on shaky legs, she washed her face at the kitchen sink and patted her skin with a damp towel. “Madeline and I must have caught the same thing. Is she okay? Does she have a fever?”

He looked at Lorabeth thoughtfully. “She’s perfectly fine.” Dr. Chaney kissed the baby’s head. “She just had an air bubble. I doubt you’re sick, either.”

“I just lost my breakfast. Ugh,” she said at the reminder.

“How have you been feeling lately? Tired?”

“Well, kind of. But I never get a lot of sleep.”

“Do smells bother you?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Now that you mention it.”

“Lorabeth? Have you had your menses since you and Benjamin were married?” he asked. “Are your breasts sore or swollen?”

Shocked at his personal questions, she blushed hot and looked away, grabbing the shirt and spreading it over the ironing board. Her head swam.

“I am a doctor,” he said kindly. “I ask those kinds of questions all the time. And I’ve seen those exact same symptoms each time Ellie has been expecting.”

Slowly she raised her head and stared at him. Expecting?

A rush of delight washed over her in the seconds that followed. If God had seen His way to bless her with a baby so quickly, her marriage must be pleasing in His sight.

Her happiness dimmed as quickly as it had come. “Benjamin is hesitant to have children. Afraid he’ll be a rotten father.”

“That’s out of the question.”

“Not to him.”

“I know,” he answered.

“Don’t say anything.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even to Ellie. Not yet. I need some time to tell him.”

“All right. Make an appointment and come for an examination.”

She grabbed the handle of the iron and pressed Dr. Chaney’s shirt. She wasn’t going to imagine that a baby would endear Benjamin to her. He hadn’t touched her in weeks.

New fears and doubts crowded in. Every time she was around Caleb and Ellie she couldn’t help but compare her marriage to theirs. Each time they exchanged a smile or Caleb rested his hand at Ellie’s waist, Lorabeth’s heart sank a little more.

She’d had so many hopes and dreams, and happiness didn’t seem unattainable for her in-laws. Would she end up being as lonely as her mother had been?

And what would happen when a baby came along? Benjamin would never be a cold and distant father—he was open and loving with his nieces and nephews. Clearly, she was the one he held at arm’s length. Something must be wrong with her.

She wanted this marriage so badly, she’d been determined to make it work. She wasn’t going to give up already. She refused to settle for the life her mother had. She would not wither up and die before her time.

And she had a sweet secret, one she intended to cherish for a time.

Chapter Twenty

Benjamin bathed and changed clothes after a day in the barns. That day he’d taken the wagon to the railroad station and picked up supplies that had arrived. He tied a small crate containing something special he’d ordered for Lorabeth to the back of his saddle and rode Titus home.

He put up the ranger in the carriage house and found himself whistling as he approached the back door. The windows were steamed over, and warm moist air laden with the scent of savory beef assailed him when he entered.

She turned from the stove with a smile. “I saw you ride up.”

He set the crate at the end of the table.

She glanced at it.

“It’s for you,” he said. “Open it.”

She got an ice pick and sliced open the edge. Delving through layers of shredded newsprint and tissue, she discovered a ruby glass water pitcher and tumblers. She unwrapped the set and placed them on the table. Wild roses and gold trim decorated the sides.

“It’s blown glass,” he told her. “Hand painted, and that’s real gold on the edges.”

“It’s a lovely set,” she told him, but her voice didn’t hold much enthusiasm. Hadn’t she liked his gift? “They’ll look elegant in the china closet you bought last week. Thank you.”

“Can I help you with anything?”

She turned back to the stove. “No. I made a stew and biscuits. Simple fare.”

“I love stew.”

“We’ll sit in here if that’s all right. The dining room seems too big and formal for just the two of us.”

“I like it in here,” he agreed.

The table was already set with two place settings at one end, and he took a seat.

Lorabeth spooned rich dark beef and vegetables over split biscuits and set their plates on the table.

Ben had assumed the duty of saying a blessing before their meals because that’s what Caleb had always done, and he knew Lorabeth was accustomed to her father’s leading as well. He gave thanks for their health and their food and picked up his fork.

Lorabeth’s plate was half as full as his, and she ate slowly. He told her about his day, and she shared hers. Her face was becomingly flushed from the heat of the kitchen, and she’d done something different with her hair, fashioning it in a knot on the back of her head.

“You look real pretty tonight.”

“Thank you.”

They finished eating, and he helped her do the dishes. “Want to read in the study for a while?” he asked.

“I’d like that.”

He laid a fire and she settled on the settee with the book she’d been reading the night before. She was beautiful, his wife. He loved her beyond reason. He found himself watching her more than reading his book.

She noticed and set aside her story. “Since the china closet was delivered I’ve been thinking I’d like to paint the dining room. Perhaps wallpaper above the wainscot.”

“Just pick out the colors and paper, and I’ll find someone to do the work,” he told her.

“Oh. All right. Ellie can help me select them. I think I’ll go wash the water pitcher and glasses and put them away.”

Ben got up to follow. “I’ll help.”

He added kindling to the fire, pumped fresh water and set the kettle on the stove. After picking up the packing material, he carried the crate out to the burn barrel at the back property line and returned.

Lorabeth had finished washing and drying the pieces and he carried the tumblers to the dining room for her.

She placed the set on display in the cabinet where only a few items graced the shelves.

“Thought the cabinet looked empty,” he said.

Back in the kitchen she took the wet dish towels and hung them on a short line she’d strung behind the stove. It already held the towels from their supper dishes.

“It’ll be bitter cold soon,” he told her. “No reason for you to do the laundry on the back porch and hang it outside over the winter. We can take it out.”

“I’ve been doing laundry once a week every winter for as long as I can remember,” she answered. “But if that’s what you’d like…” She stared off into nothingness for a moment.

Mittens meowed in his loud feline manner, drawing their attention. He’d entered the kitchen and stood with his curving tail swinging over his back.

Lorabeth got a white ironstone cup from the cupboard and filled it halfway with cream from the icebox.

She knelt and placed it on the floor but remained beside it. “Here you go, pretty boy.”

The cat looked from the cup to her and blinked haughtily.

“Come on. You like cream. It’s right here.”

The cat sat back on its haunches with a superior glare for each of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her voice holding a surprising edge. “If you want this, you’re going to have to come get it.”

And then she plopped down on the smooth wooden floor he’d spent hours sanding and varnishing as though she was going to wait out the cat’s aloof resistance.

“You all right, Lorabeth?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I’m tired of him avoiding me. I’m a perfectly nice person, and he knows it. He’s just being stubborn.”

“He’s scared.”

“Of what? Do I look frightening to you?” She turned her gaze on him and an unanticipated fire lit those tawny eyes.

“Other people have hurt ’im, starved ’im,” he reasoned. “Other cats have picked on ’im. You don’t know what happened before he came here. He’s not intentionally mistrusting.”

“Well, I want him to let me close. I feed him, I change his sandbox. He needs to give me a chance. I’m not the one who hurt him.”

“You’re mad,” he figured out at last.

“Yes.”

“What’s eatin’ at you?”

“Nothing.” But she stood and banked the fire in the stove with purposeful movements. “I’m going to bed. Join me if you wish.”

And she swept past him.

Ben stared at the doorway through which she’d disappeared. Mittens stood up and padded over to the cup on the floor and lapped the cream.

“If I’d known you were gonna hurt her feelings I’d have dumped you back in that alley.”

The cat looked up at him, swiped a pink tongue over its lips and went back to slurping up its treat.

Ben went after his wife. “Lorabeth, what in blazes is wrong with you?” he asked from the doorway.

She’d seated herself at her dressing table and was taking the pins from her knot of hair. “I guess I’m tired.”

“Come to bed tonight instead of stayin’ up reading,” he told her.

“Is that what you’d like?”

He just looked at her. “I’m not tellin’ you what to do, it was a suggestion.”

She picked up her brush and ran it through her hair. “You could let me know what you’d like, since it obviously isn’t me.”

He took off his shirt and tossed it on the end of the bed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turned on the bench to face him. “Benjamin, do you think I’m wicked?”

His mouth opened before he spoke. “Of course not!”

She craved closeness, yearned to be the woman he wanted and needed. Her dreams seemed to be dissolving until she felt lonelier than she had in her father’s house. “What’s wrong with me that I can’t be the woman you want?”

She got up and deliberately crossed the room to stand before him and place her palms against his bare chest.

His eyes smoldered, but he cast his glance over her shoulder.

“Have I been expecting too much?” she asked. “Is it too much to ask you to fill a place in my heart that you don’t want? Have I set you up unfairly by expecting you to love me?”

Emotions crossed his face, among them panic, regret, fear. “I’ve tried to show you how I feel, Lorabeth. I thought you liked the things I bought for you.”

She backed away to look him full in the face. “The gifts are all lovely. The dressing table, the books, the chocolate…the water glass set. Lovely. I’m not ungrateful. I’m not. But they’re things. Things! I want you to give me your heart!”

Tears formed in her eyes, and the sight of her misery tore Ben’s heart to shreds. He wanted to step forward and fold her into his arms. Her anger had surprised him, but her displeasure was a hundred times more effective at chipping away his defenses. Had his concern about his own doubts and fear been so selfish that he hadn’t seen he was hurting her?

He’d been trying to be the best man he knew how. Could he fix this and still protect her?

There was a commotion out on the street, and Ben stepped to the window. Out front a carriage was stopped and an angry man was shouting. Ben unlocked and slid open the window.

“I said move you worthless hay-burnin’ pile o’ dung!” A whip cracked, and in the moonlight Ben made out a horse as it reared and tipped a carriage. “Move! H’yaw!”

This time the horse stood on its hind legs and the carriage toppled over, taking the horse down with it. The animal struggled to its feet and tried to leap forward, bound by the weight attached to the traces. The driver cracked the whip against the horse’s neck and the animal screamed in fright.

“Stop that!” Ben shouted from the open window. “Stop!” He turned and ran out of the room.

“Benjamin! What’s the matter?” Lorabeth followed, but he was faster and exited the front door well ahead of her, shooting along the path to the street.

Hesitantly she stood on the porch for a moment, watching in horror as a stranger whipped a horse that was tangled in the traces that held it to an overturned buggy.

“Stop, mister!” Ben shouted and the man turned toward Ben.

“Benjamin!” she shouted, running out to the curb.

Benjamin lunged toward the man. They grappled and fell to the ground with a chorus of groans. The man cursed a blue streak, and Benjamin determinedly grabbed the lash from his hands.

“That’s enough!” he shouted, his outrage evident.

Being bigger and younger, he had the upper hand. Lorabeth watched him compose himself while the other man cursed and ranted from his spot on the ground. In one swift movement that caused her heart to leap, Benjamin grabbed the fellow, spun him around and tied his hands behind his back with the whip.

“I’m gonna see to the animal, and you’re gonna lay right there. Got it?”

Ben spoke softly to the horse, letting it smell his hand before he tried to get close. The poor thing finally lay its head on the pavement in exhaustion.

Several of their neighbors had gathered on the street, and Ben gestured to one of the men. “Go for the marshal, will ya, Hanley?”

“Sure thing, Ben.”

Two other men came and stood close enough to the stranger that he wasn’t going to be getting up and fighting. “Damned piece o’ meat cain’t pull ’is own weight no more,” he grumbled.

Benjamin looked at the horse’s eyes and listened to its breathing. “This animal’s sick.”

Lorabeth joined him, her skirt forming a puddle around her as she knelt. “What will you do with the poor creature out here on the street like this?”

“I could try to get him into a wagon bed,” he told her. “Take him out to the stables where I can treat him. He’s not old and appears to be from good stock.”

“I’ll get my team and wagon,” one of the men said from behind Lorabeth.

“I’m coming with you,” Lorabeth called to him. “Let me grab clothing and lock the house.” She turned.

“You don’t have to…” he called, but she was dashing in through the front door.

Minutes later, dressed and carrying a bag, she watched from the curb with the other ladies as the men got the horse on its feet and into the back of the wagon.

“Can you ride back here with me, Jack?” Benjamin asked.

Determined not to be left behind, Lorabeth scrambled up to the seat beside the driver.

Once they arrived at the barns, the men assembled a ramp for the horse and led it down and inside. She went into the house, lit lanterns and made coffee, then brought each man a full cup. They drank and thanked her before leaving.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” she asked Benjamin.

The horse was down again, and Ben was examining his head and ears. “Have you heated any water?”

“No, but I can.”

“Not boiling. Just warm enough to dissolve a powder.”

“All right.” She hurried to the house to do his bidding and returned later with the teakettle.

Benjamin held a jar containing a white powder. He poured water into a bowl, then measured the white substance in and stirred. Finally he tested the temperature, let the liquid cool a bit, then used a huge glass dropper to dribble the medicine into the horse’s mouth.

“Just look at his lips and gums,” he grumbled angrily.

Lorabeth observed bleeding sores.

“I’d like to put a bit in that man’s mouth and jerk him around by the reins until his temperament changes.”

Benjamin’s compassion for the animal touched Lorabeth. “Can you save him?”

“At this point I think it will depend on this boy’s gumption to live,” he replied.

Lorabeth tentatively stroked the animal’s neck, and his skin quivered under her touch.

“Look at that,” Ben pointed out. “He even has tender skin. A horseman should notice things like that about his own stock.” Once he’d administered all the liquid from the bowl, he handed her the utensils. “If you’d wash those so I can use ’em later.”

“Certainly.”

He left and returned with a bottle and a clean rag. “Think you can hold his lips back while I dab this on those sores?”

“I think so.”

The horse turned a cunning brown eye on her, but didn’t fight their attentions.

“It’s almost as though he knows you’re helping him,” she said.

“Horses are smart critters,” he replied. “He knows I mean him no harm.”

“Unlike cats,” she observed.

He glanced at her, then continued with his task.

She watched him, grateful for a helping task. This was the first time she’d felt useful, the first time he’d seemed to need her for anything, and she was glad she’d insisted on accompanying him. Sometime later he covered his patient with blankets and sat back against the wall.

“You should go get some sleep,” he told her.

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay to make sure he rests through the night. I have more blankets and I’ll bed down here.”

“I can stay with you.”

“No, you go be comfortable. Tomorrow I’ll need to go into town to tend to my horse. You can stay with this one then.”

“Okay.” She gathered her skirts and stood, picking up the items he’d used. “Good night, then.”

“Good night, Lorabeth.”

They didn’t discuss the argument they’d had. Things weren’t exactly tense between them, but it was apparent that nothing had been resolved. Lorabeth visited Caleb at his office, and after an examination, he assured her that she and the baby were healthy. This should have been the time to tell her husband the news, but she hesitated in fear of his reaction.

The injured animal made a remarkable recovery in the week that followed, and Marshal Connor made the horse’s owner sell it to Benjamin. The surly man left town on the train.

On Saturday night the Barlows held a holiday dance in their barn and invited the townspeople. Lorabeth had never visited one of the ranches before, so Benjamin drove her out early to show her the stables and the outbuildings. Charles and his wife were well-to-do and their home was evidence. Lorabeth helped the friendly woman carry food and drinks from the house to the enormous barn.

As the guests arrived, Lorabeth realized how full her world had grown since she’d known the Chaneys and fuller since her marriage to a respected and well-liked man with standing in Newton. Everyone welcomed and greeted her. Their acceptance delighted her.

Her in-laws arrived, and Lorabeth hugged the children and Ellie. She exchanged a look with Caleb. She wanted to tell Benjamin about the baby, but she was concerned over how to do that.

Ellie shifted Madeline on her shoulder and patted her back. “The Evanses are here.”

Lorabeth turned to see Suzanne placing pies on the dessert table. “I hope she brought her raspberry pie.”

“I was jealous of them, you know.”

“Of the Evanses?”

Ellie nodded. “It took me a while to see that Benjamin wasn’t being disloyal by getting to know his father. His feelings for me won’t change. I’m truly happy for him. And for you.”

Lorabeth took Ellie’s hand. “I’m jealous of you,” she confessed. “I’m jealous of your marriage to Caleb. And of course I’m jealous of you and Benjamin. His loyalty to you is unshakable. Benjamin depends on you. He…he needs you.”

Ellie looked at her in surprise. “My brother worships the ground you walk on.”

Lorabeth shook her head. “I know he cares for me. But he doesn’t need me. I want to be—” preparing to speak these next words was as painful as opening a raw wound “—I want to be the air he breathes…the first thing he thinks of in the morning and the last at night…I want to be needed—like food or water.”

“How can you not see what I see when I watch the two of you together?” Ellie asked. “When I see the way he looks at you?”

“He doesn’t…” Lorabeth’s throat got tight, and her eyes filled with embarrassing tears. “This isn’t the time or the place.”

“Stay right there.” Ellie turned and found her husband visiting with the Connors and Hollisters and handed Madeline to him. Returning to Lorabeth, she said, “Let’s get our coats and go to the house for a minute of privacy. Pru won’t mind if we sit in her kitchen.”

Once inside, the stove gave off enough heat that they didn’t need their coats, so they shed them. “Now tell me what has you so unhappy,” Ellie said.

“I’m embarrassed to talk about it,” Lorabeth answered hesitantly.

“Some things need to be said.”

Lorabeth glanced around the room before looking at her hands and searching for the right words. “Benjamin doesn’t…touch me. We’ve only been, you know, intimate like husband and wife twice since we were married, and that was weeks and weeks ago.”

Ellie’s expression was grim. Had Lorabeth revealed something too personal for a sister to know? Was Ellie shocked that Lorabeth would even care?

“Is that normal, Ellie? Because I don’t know. If it is, then I must be a wicked person, because…” She couldn’t even go on. Her face burned with shame.

Ellie took a deep breath and pulled out two wooden chairs to face each other. She gestured for Lorabeth to take one, then she sat. “Ben has no idea of what’s normal and what isn’t,” she said. “Ben and I saw things in our childhood that no one—child or adult—should ever have seen. Children are impressionable, and what we witnessed was…well, it was sinful and disrespectful. Our mother entertained her ‘clients’ in the same room where we slept,” she said. “I never knew whether to use the threadbare blanket for warmth or as a curtain to shield the view.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie. You don’t have to tell me this.”

“Ben won’t tell you. So I do have to. Ben won’t tell you about something that happened to me that shaped his whole life. It’s my secret to tell, so I’m going to.”

Lorabeth was so intrigued that she couldn’t deny her desire to possess this knowledge.

“When I was just a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, my mother took money to let a man have sex with me.” She took a deep breath. “Ben stood outside, pounding on the carriage door trying to get in and help me.”

Horror flooded Lorabeth. That this kind, generous woman had experienced such horror was inconceivable. And Benjamin had been there…and had been unable to help her. Unable to protect her.

Ellie leaned forward. “He was only eight years old, Lorabeth. Eight years old.”

Tears stung Lorabeth’s eyes. Her husband’s concern about her well-being and his agony over the brief pain he’d caused her made perfect sense now. He’d been trying to protect her from something he knew as only bringing hurt and shame.

“He knows that what happened to me was not what takes place between a man and a wife,” Ellie said. “Just like I knew it when Caleb and I were married. But he has to understand it in his heart—and experience love to truly understand.”

“He has nightmares,” Lorabeth said softly.

“I thought maybe he’d outgrown those.”

Lorabeth shook her head.

“His helplessness ate him alive. He was angry and tortured for so long. He resented Caleb when we were first married…until he grew to understand Caleb’s love for me—for all of us—and believed that Caleb meant me no harm.”

“He’s probably afraid of his own feelings toward me,” she said perceptively. “He keeps himself held in such tight control all the time.”

“You know my brother well,” Ellie said.

“I thought his reluctance was because of me,” she said. “Something wrong with me. I’ve been so selfish.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Let me tell you the rest.”

“There’s more?” Lorabeth asked.

Ellie went on. “When our mother died the boys went to a foster home.”

“He told me about the Heaths.”

“I got a job as a Harvey Girl, hoping to earn enough to get them back and take care of them. But I broke my arm and couldn’t work. Caleb doctored me and asked me to take care of Nate. He was recently widowed. He taught me to trust. He taught me love and compassion, but it took a long time to break through. My past was a wall around my heart.”

“Ellie, you’re so brave and strong,” she said.

“I wasn’t then. But listen. One night the man who had raped me lured away Caleb with a fake message and came to the house. He hit Benjamin, then tied him to a chair and abducted me. It was going to happen all over again.”

“What happened then?”

“Somehow Benjamin got loose and came after me. There was a scuffle and…Ben got the man’s gun away. He shot him.”

“The man died?”

“Yes. Caleb explained to the law, and after questioning all of us, they ruled it was self-defense.” Ellie’s voice revealed deep emotion. “Ben risked his life for me. He saved me. But I think the fact that he was angry and scared enough to shoot a man—even protecting me—has colored his view of himself.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“This was my story to tell you,” Ellie said. “And now that you know, I hope you’ll be able to help Ben.”

“If love is what it takes, then I have plenty of that to offer.”

Ellie leaned forward and hugged her.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lorabeth looked at her protector differently throughout the rest of the evening. He was the man she wanted to share the rest of her life with. He was everything she’d dreamed of and more. She’d vowed not to hold back and miss anything, and she was going to make good on that claim now.

The banjo player called ladies’ choice for the upcoming dance, and Lorabeth found Benjamin and led the way through the crowd to the dance area.

Even without a word between them, awareness was as strong as ever. Halfway through the song, she said, “I’d like to go home now.”

“Are you feeling poorly?”

“I feel fine. I just want to go home.”

“All right.” He guided her to the side of the room and left her while he found their coats, then they said their goodbyes to his family.

A light snow was falling as he drove the buggy toward town. He halted the horse near the back porch and assisted her down.

She accepted his help, knowing his need to do so. Inside she hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom where she laid kindling in the small heater and started a fire to take the chill from the air.

She had changed into a silver-blue gown by the time he came up the stairs to join her. Before he could reach the lamp, she stepped in front of him. “I’d like it if you left the lamps burning tonight.”

He met her gaze assessingly, then agreed. “All right.”

He untied his tie and removed his shirt. His boots and stockings came next.

Lorabeth turned her back and moved to sit on the bed. She got comfortable in the center.

“You want the wicks down low or left as they are?” he asked.

“They’re fine as they are,” she replied.

She could tell he was indecisive about what to do next. If he was coming to bed he’d have to remove his trousers.

“Benjamin?”

He turned his gaze on her, and his eyes shone vivid blue in the lantern light.

“I want a husband who isn’t ashamed to want me.”

He was careful to guard his expression, but she caught his initial wariness.

“I want to know all the secrets lovers share. Are you shocked?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want you to touch me the way a man touches his wife.”

A muscle in his jaw worked. He held her gaze.

“And if someday you could find it in your heart to love me, I mean truly love me, I would be the happiest woman there ever was.”

Finally he moved, kneeling on the bed and pushing her back against the pillows to lean over her. “I made a mistake,” he said. “With all the presents.”

“I liked them…”

“But they were a poor substitute. And I understand now. It’s just…Lorabeth, you’re so perfect, and I couldn’t bear to hurt you or do anything to dishonor you.”

“Benjamin.”

“What?”

“Do you recall the tantrum I threw the other day in this very room?”

“You were angry with me. It was justified.”

“Would a perfect woman lose her temper that way?”

“You were right.”

“I’m not perfect, and I’m tired of trying to be perfect. I don’t want to be on a pedestal where you can’t touch me. I spent too many years living up to my father’s standards to want to try to please another man the same way. Please don’t expect perfection of me. I’m human—a flesh-and-blood woman, and I want to be treated like one. I want to feel like one. I want to make mistakes and find out the hard way. Is that so wrong?”

He leaned down to kiss her. “No,” he said against her lips. “It’s not wrong at all. I’ve been unfair to you.”

She framed his face between her palms and studied the face she loved. “Don’t hold back anymore,” she begged him.

The flicker of pain that passed in his eyes told her it was time to lay it all out.

“I know,” she told him.

He frowned. “Know what?”

“Everything. Ellie told me. She told me what happened to her. How you tried to help her when you were so young.”

His face revealed surprise. Then concern.

“About what happened later when the same man came for her. And you—”

“I killed him,” he finished for her. He leaned away and moved to a sitting position.

Lorabeth rose to face him. “You saved her. You risked your life for her.”

“I’d do it again,” he said.

“Of course you would. You would protect her at any cost. You would do the same for me. Wouldn’t you?”

“What does that make me? I killed a man.”

She reached to thread her fingers through his. His wedding band caught the light. “It makes you brave. And self-sacrificing.”

“It scared me that I had that in me,” he told her.

“You didn’t shoot him out of anger, you shot him in desperation to save your sister—and yourself. You’re not a killer,” she told him. “You’re a healer. You just did what you had to do. Now I know why you’re so hard on yourself. You’ve set standards for yourself so high you couldn’t possibly meet them. I know why you couldn’t bear the thought of hurting me. I know why passion seems like a weakness to you.

“You’re not responsible for the whole world, Benjamin. There was only one man who ever was, and He did the job well enough.”

Ben had listened to every word with growing acceptance and incredulity. It hadn’t been his place to tell about Ellie, and he would never have asked his sister to uncover these things. But she’d cared enough about him—and about Lorabeth—to reveal it all.

The amazing part now was that none of the shocking truths about his life had turned Lorabeth away. Not even his ignorance or blind stubbornness had changed her determination. She was incredible.

“I do love you, Lorabeth,” he said at last. “I’ve loved you since we first met. I never let myself dream like you did. I’ve been afraid to trust. I was always afraid of bein’ like the men I hated. Like the father I imagined. Since I met you—since I met Wes—I’ve had to change all my thinkin’. It hasn’t been easy.”

“You’re a most determined man,” she said. “I’m sure that once you’ve made up your mind to change, you’ll do it.”

He pulled her down alongside him. “And you’re a determined woman.”

She laid her hand on his warm skin and pressed a kiss to his chest.

He caught her hair around his wrist. “I want you, Lorabeth. In my heart I know you’re willing and that lovemaking is a good thing. Sometimes my head doesn’t quite catch up, so be patient with me.”

He put all his feelings into the kiss he gave his delightfully impatient and impulsive wife. He was a fortunate man. In that moment he chose to trust her with his heart.

“There’s something else,” she said when he paused to trail kisses down her jawline to her neck.

“What is it?” he asked against her skin.

“It’s about one of the gifts you gave me.” She paused. “Remember that love never fails.”

“I love you.”

“We’re going to have a baby.”

His lips paused under her ear. Beneath her palm, his heart kicked into a gallop.

“When I first learned it, I knew God had blessed our marriage. All you have to do is love our children, Benjamin. Everything else will follow.”

He raised his head to look at her.

“They won’t be perfect,” she told him. “And neither of us will be perfect parents. But we’ll love them. And we’ll give them all we never had and more.”

“I believe you,” he said, laying his palm along her cheek. He loved to look at her. Loved to touch her. He’d known there was something special about her from the moment they’d met, and now…now he understood that there was something special between them. They were good together. Meant for each other.

Trailing kisses from her lips and along her jaw, he enjoyed her quick intake of breath. He whispered words of love and promise against her ear and felt the shudder of pleasure that cascaded through her body.

“Is this all right?” he asked, slipping the gown from her shoulder and touching his lips to her silky skin.

“Definitely all right.”

“What about this?”

“I love your hands on my skin like that.”

“Like this?”

“Yes. And…oh…like that.”

Ben kissed her with all the emotion and need he’d held back for a lifetime. Lorabeth framed his face with both hands and met every kiss with wholehearted abandon. How he loved this woman. He turned and took her hand, tenderly kissing each of her fingers, then the inside of her wrist. With slow deliberation, he worked his way up her arm, across her chest, bringing a flush to her skin. Her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat.

“No holding back, Lorabeth.”

“No holding back,” she agreed with a smile that told him his promises and actions pleased her.

Much later, after the fire in the stove had dwindled and the wicks in the lamps had burned low…after Ben had made Lorabeth feel like a real wife, he said to her, “I think there’s just one thing you were wrong about.”

She smiled sleepily. “What’s that?”

“You are the perfect wife—for me.”

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-4895-7
Copyright © 2010 Harlequin Books S.A.

The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

The Doctor’s Wife
Copyright © 199 by Cheryl Ludwigs

The Lawman’s Bride
Copyright © 2007 by Cheryl Ludwigs

The Preacher’s Daughter
Copyright © 2007 by Cheryl Ludwigs

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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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