Lawman with a Secret

Hiding his true identity is the only way for US Marshal Jesse Cole to bring bank robbers to justice. But the lovely widow whose Wyoming ranch he stumbles onto reminds him of everything he’s sacrificed for the law. When his job is done, he’s resolved to leave Lenora Pritchard behind—until she and her son are threatened. Now the only way to protect them is to make her his wife.

To conceal her late husband’s guilt, Lenora hid his stolen haul. And with a ruthless gang leader determined to retrieve it, she needs Cole’s protection for herself and her son. It’s a marriage in name only, founded on dangerous secrets...but could it possibly lead to a true and loving family?

“So what makes you restless, Cole?”

He opened his mouth to deny the claim, then gritted his teeth.

“You once said you were looking to settle down, but you haven’t yet. And send for your mother, but you haven’t. And now you’re dragging a pregnant mare across country—looking for the perfect spot?” She shook her head. “There is no such place.”

Her perception stunned him. Just seven months ago, his ma had asked him how many criminals he needed to put behind bars before he was satisfied. Twenty? Fifty? A hundred?

Just one more. That had been his justification. But after arresting one outlaw, Cole would hear of another that needed to be stopped. And another.

With parted lips, she watched him. For the first time in his life, someone out-silenced him.

“Way past my bedtime.” He was off the porch and halfway to the barn before he realized he hadn’t said good-night.

However, it was the wisest thing to do. If he turned around and went back, he’d tell her things best kept secret. For now anyway.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed reading The Marshal’s Mission as much as I enjoyed writing it. I based this story on my great-grandfather’s life—he was an undercover US Marshal. Then I found out that though he had been married to my great-grandmother, he wasn’t directly related to me. What a woman—she outlived five husbands!

The West has always fascinated me. It was a pleasure to research the lives of the tough men and women who shaped our country.

I’d love to hear from you. Write to me at anna@annazogg.com or PO Box 1642, West Jordan, UT 84088. Please visit my website at annazogg.com.

Anna

ANNA ZOGG has long been fascinated by the West—ranch life, horses and the tough men and women who tamed it. Ever drawn to her Native American roots, she and her husband, John, reside in the heart of the West. Visit annazogg.com to learn more about her love of music, her eclectic taste in fiction and some very special children.

The Marshal’s Mission

Anna Zogg

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for Thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.

—Psalms 4:8

To my dear friend and sister in the Lord, Marilynn Rockelman. Without you, this story might never have been told.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

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

Chapter Twenty-Three

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Wyoming Territory, 1882

Who is that?

Hand poised over a scoop of dried beans, Lenora Pritchard peered out her kitchen window. Across the ranch yard, a form ducked out of sight. Was that Toby? Her son had left an hour ago to look for his missing dog. Why was he skulking around the barn?

Wiping her hands on her apron, she stepped onto the porch and stared. Nothing. She was certain she saw someone slink around the building not two minutes before.

A sudden gust of chill wind whipped her long skirts. She shivered as she gripped the porch’s column. Was rain coming? All afternoon the sky had been clear and beautiful.

As she looked upward, she gasped. A bank of ominous clouds rolled in from the north. Marching like an army, the mass devoured the warmth and light of the mid-April day. Many an unprepared traveler had died of exposure because of weather changes this time of year. Though her son wore his coat and hat, would they be enough to protect him in freezing temperatures?

“Toby!” The roaring wind swallowed her call. She ran down the steps and into the yard. It was then she spied a half-dozen chickens, pecking in the long grass alongside the house. They were supposed to be locked in the fenced-in area attached to the coop. How...?

Darting between the shed and barn, Lenora yelled for her son again. When she saw the mangled enclosure, she gulped. The small, wooden building leaned at a crazy angle, held somewhat upright by the attached lightweight fencing. Had the wind blown it over?

As though in answer, a blast of air snatched the combs from her hair and spun it like a tornado. A single splat of icy rain hit her skin. She had to get the chickens inside. Now.

“Toby,” she called again. Her ten-year-old was nowhere in sight.

With the coop useless, the barn would have to do.

“Shoo. Shoo!” With arms spread, Lenora tried to herd the hens toward the open door. Cackling in alarm, they scattered in every direction other than the one she wanted. Her frustration rose to an impossible level. Why was her husband dead when she needed him most? Nothing like this ever happened while Amos lived.

After she managed to get a few chickens into the barn, she peered around the empty building. Had she imagined that lurking form?

“Ma!” Toby loped uphill from the direction of the stream, his green eyes wide. “I found Blister, but he—”

“Help me get the chickens inside,” she panted.

“But, Ma...”

“Hurry.” She bolted to find the rest.

The wind built, catching the birds’ feathers and nearly toppling them. Dirt stung Lenora’s face. A distant rumble of thunder warned of the impending downpour. Together she and Toby ushered the stragglers into the barn.

Out of breath, she counted those corralled in a corner stall. Thirteen. While the hens settled in one corner of the shadowy barn, the rooster strutted around his flock.

“Okay, Toby. Shut the door.”

Leaning out, he yelled, “Blister! Come on, boy. Come on.”

Lenora gnawed her lip. Would their dog pester the chickens? Blister usually ignored them. However, this arrangement would have to do. For now.

As the dog slunk inside, her mouth gaped. A tight rope wrapped around his neck and torso. Dirt caked him. And he looked skinny, like he hadn’t eaten in the four days he’d been missing. Where had he been? Though he usually wandered, he never stayed out more than two.

“Bring him closer.” She fumbled to light the lantern.

Amos had always kept one handy in the barn. And a shotgun. Out of sight from the entrance, the weapon rested on a crossbeam’s pegs.

As her son pulled his dog into the circle of light, she hung the lantern on a nail.

“What in the world?” With her back to the barn’s wall, she squatted to examine the dog. It appeared as if someone had lassoed Blister with a fine length of rope. A three-foot piece dangled, frayed in the middle as though he had tried to gnaw his way loose. But clearly someone had cut the end.

“This is what I was trying to tell ya, Ma.” With his hand resting on his dog’s head, Toby’s gaze met hers. “Who did this?”

“I don’t know.” But even as she spoke, she knew Jeb Hackett could have. He hated their dog. “Let’s get that rope off.” The noose had rubbed Blister’s skin raw in one spot. For several minutes, she worked at the knot in vain. The dog began to pant.

“I’ll have to cut it.” She was reaching for her knife when the sudden rattle of the barn door startled her. With a squeak of alarm, Lenora shot to her feet.

A man’s silhouette filled the doorway. Arm gripping Blister, Toby swiveled his head.

Too frightened to move, she glanced at the gun hanging out of reach, then back at the faceless form.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am.” The man’s deep voice sounded low, even apologetic. He stepped forward, sweeping off his hat in one fluid motion. “Wondering if I could spend the night here. Got a mare with foal. Bad storm’s a’coming. Freezing rain.”

As though punctuating his words, sleet clattered on the roof for several seconds. A rumble of thunder shook the barn.

She shivered from more than just the chill in the air. “I—I’d have to ask my husband. Up at the house.”

“But, Ma,” Toby protested. “He ain’t—”

“Hush.” She hardened her voice. “Don’t interrupt.”

Blister’s panting filled her ears. She glanced at him. Why wasn’t he barking at the stranger?

“I’d be much obliged, ma’am.” The tall man nodded as he took a step closer.

“Go to the house, Toby.” Lenora hoped her stern tone masked fear. Was this the man she had seen earlier? Prowling by the barn?

Obviously, he was in with Jeb Hackett. Was he trying to play on her sympathies? She saw right through his lame story of traveling with a pregnant mare. No fool did that in Wyoming Territory. Leastways not this time of year.

She tightened the muscles of her leg, assuring herself that her hidden knife was still strapped to her calf.

Because her son hadn’t moved, Lenora grabbed the end of the dog’s rope and spoke in a no-nonsense voice. “Tobias Joseph, do as I say.”

“Yes’m.” Toby sidled past the man and ducked out the door. Not until she heard the fading patter of his feet did she relax a fraction.

The stranger indicated Blister with a tilt of his head. “Looks like you’ve quite the task.” Before she could respond, he tossed aside his hat and shrugged out of his slicker. A gun hung low on his hip. “Mind if I help?”

She raised her chin a notch. “What about your horses?”

“They can wait a few minutes.”

As he strode toward her, she backed behind Blister. She glanced at her shotgun, now farther out of reach.

After turning up the lantern’s flame, he knelt before Blister.

“Easy, boy,” the stranger crooned as the dog growled low in his throat. “What’s his name?” When Lenora didn’t answer, he met her gaze.

In the lamp’s light, the deep blue of his eyes gleamed. Sandy hair curled over a smooth, tanned forehead. Two or three days’ growth of whiskers shadowed his face.

“B-Blister.”

“Hey, Blister. Take it easy.” The man held out a tentative hand. Panting, the dog turned his head away. “That’s it. I won’t hurt ya.” Still on one knee, the man scooted nearer. “Appears as though someone lassoed him.”

Her grip tightened on the rope. “I suppose.”

If Jeb was responsible, she needed to play dumb. Blister always bristled and barked when he showed up. Since Amos’s death, the dog had become more aggressive. Because of that, Jeb no longer dismounted. If he rode too close to the house, the dog would nip at his horse’s heels.

Even if this man had no connection to Jeb, she planned to stick to her story. The sooner she barricaded herself in the house with Toby, the better.

Thunder boomed. A torrent of rain began to beat the roof like a pounding drum.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed as though considering her. “Whoever did this likely dragged Blister in the middle of nowhere.”

How could he know that?

“Tied him up and left him to die.” Anger inflamed his rising voice. “Convenient way to get rid of a dog. You the one responsible?”

Lenora twitched. “What?”

“I asked if you did this.” Pointing, he rose. “And are you hiding the truth from your son?”

“Get away from my ma.” Toby’s young voice rang as he stood by the barn door.

The man spun. When Lenora saw her husband’s six-shooter in her son’s hands, she gasped. She didn’t realize he knew about the hidden pistol, tucked behind the mantel clock in the house.

With both thumbs, Toby struggled to cock the gun. “Did ya hear me?”

The stranger spread his hands. “Take it easy, son.”

“Leave my ma alone.”

Lenora’s grip on the rope tightened. “Toby—”

“I mean no harm.” The stranger took a step toward her son. “Either put the gun down. Or shoot me.”

“Don’t—don’t hurt him.” She panted the words, not sure whom she addressed. If her son injured this man, Jeb Hackett would accuse Toby of attempted murder and string him up in the nearest tree.

Was this what Jeb hoped? Have an excuse for him and his men to descend on her ranch? Ever since her arrival in Amos’s buckboard twelve years ago, Jeb had never hid the fact that he had his eye on her.

The tall man blocked the way, standing between her and Toby. Arms still spread, he moved closer to her boy. “You pull a gun on someone, you best be prepared to use it.”

“I’ll kill you.” Toby’s voice rose as he aimed at the stranger’s chest.

“I’m prepared to die,” the man said in a maddening, unperturbed tone. “But are you prepared to be a killer?”

Face contorted, Toby’s hands shook so much that Lenora feared he would accidentally pull the trigger.

Dear Lord, please don’t let him.

Outside another thunderous rumble reverberated. The sound matched the frantic hammering of her heart.

“What’s it to be, son?”

When Toby stiffened, the stranger swooped forward and grabbed the six-shooter. Before Lenora could blink, he released the hammer and emptied the bullets into his hand. Chest heaving, her son appeared more relieved than frightened.

Now what? The tall man fingered the shells. Measuring the distance to her shotgun, she commanded her paralyzed muscles to unlock.

“You did right.” The stranger nodded to her boy. “It’s a terrible burden to live with a man’s death on your soul.”

She stumbled forward and seized her gun. As soon as she released the rope, Blister sidled to Toby, positioning himself between the man and boy. She stared. The dog never acted like this. Why wasn’t he bristling or growling?

The stranger barely glanced her way before tucking the six-shooter into his belt. To Toby, he said, “I want you to bring my mare inside. She’s gotta get out of the rain. Can you do that?”

Hesitating, her son shot a look her way.

Lenora gave one sharp nod.

His green eyes squinted up at the stranger. “Yessir.”

“After that, see to my geldings. They’ll be fine under the lean-to.”

After another glance her way, Toby disappeared out the door. He secured it so his dog wouldn’t follow.

Still wary, Lenora clenched her shotgun while the man pocketed the bullets.

He snapped his fingers at the dog. “Come here, Blister. Let’s get that rope off you.”

Head low, the dog slunk beside the man.

“Good boy.” After the stranger pulled out a huge knife, he looked up and spoke to Lenora. “I’d feel a lot better if you quit pointing that barrel at me and helped.”

Squelching her fear, she set aside her shotgun. After she crouched next to Blister, the man took her fingers and placed them on the dog. “Keep him quiet.” His rough hand guided hers as together they stroked the dog. He spoke in a calm, mesmerizing voice. “That’s it. You’re doing good.”

Something amazing happened to the dog. His drooping eyelids seemed to freeze into place. He stopped panting as though listening. Did he understand this stranger was there to help?

Lenora shifted her gaze from the dog to the man.

Though weathered by the sun, his face appeared to be kind. His smooth brow reflected the absence of worry or anger. Contemplative. Smile lines settled in gentle creases by his eyes and mouth. But clearly he wouldn’t shirk from the tough things in life.

Not like her. Amos had always taken care of the bone setting, the chicken killing and the bloodletting while she hid in the house. Lenora had grown up a city girl with a gentlewoman’s ways. Before her husband carried her to the untamed West, the most ghastly event she’d witnessed was the birthing of kittens.

Now that he was gone, an avalanche of needs pressed on her. She had to hang on a few more months until she could sell the ranch.

The stranger adjusted the dangling rope as though ascertaining the best place to cut. She held her breath as the gleaming knife poised over the dog’s throat. With care, he sawed through the tough fibers. All of a sudden, they gave way.

“There.” He pulled the remaining pieces off Blister before sheathing his blade. “Good boy.” He patted the dog’s head, then examined the fur. “T’appears he lost a little skin, but he should heal just fine.” He felt along the torso while the dog licked his hand.

What had come over Blister? And herself? Ten minutes of her life had disappeared without her knowing. Unsteadily, she climbed to her feet and smoothed down her rumpled skirt.

In the corner of the barn, a blood bay mare waited. The horse nickered, the sound tender, welcoming. The barn door flew open.

A wet Toby came in, shaking off rain. “I’m all done, mister.”

“You unsaddle my horse? And untie the other?”

“Yessir. Put your gear under the lean-to, so’s it won’t get any wetter.”

“Many thanks.” The tall man turned back to her. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’ll see to my horses now. And I’ll pay for feed.” A hint of a dimple appeared in one cheek. “Assuming that’s okay with your husband.”

Did he suspect no man was around to ask? She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. All she could manage was a nod.

After a two-fingered salute, he walked toward his mare.

“Blister!” Toby dived to his knees and hugged him. “He’s going to be okay now, right, Ma?”

Her throat tightened. “I reckon so.”

She studied the man across the barn as he wiped down his horse with an empty feed sack. Lowering her head, the mare rubbed against him in obvious affection. He certainly had a way with animals. And with her son. As Lenora recalled the feeling of his fingers on her hand, her skin tingled.

Amos had been dead only five months, and she was flustered by a stranger’s kindness? What was wrong with her?

Loneliness. The long winter months with just her and Toby had affected her more than she wanted to admit.

Then she hardened her heart. No longer was she an impressionable sixteen-year-old who could be ensnared by a man’s charisma. After she married Amos, she discovered he offered little else. She would never again fall for good looks or flattering speech.

As she watched the stranger tend to his horse, she determined that he had better not try charm on her or she would fill his hide with buckshot.

Chapter Two

“So are we friends now?” As US Marshal Jesse Cole settled his saddle in one corner of the barn, he spoke to the yellow dog.

With a grunt, Blister rested his head on his front paws like he was apologizing for his earlier hostility.

“’Bout time, after all I did for you.”

Earlier that day, he had come across a howling and frantic animal, tangled in scrub pine in the middle of nowhere. The moment Cole cut him free, the dog took off in a dead run. That should have been the end of the story. But what if the rope snagged on something else? He had followed to make certain Blister reached safety. Foolish decision. In his worry for the dog, he had not stopped when his mare stumbled. Had she stepped in a hole?

Running his hands over Sheba’s fetlock, Cole decided it felt a little swollen. Nothing broken, though.

He straightened as footsteps splashed toward the barn. The woman’s son? The earlier torrent had died down. Now rain tapped the roof in a gentle staccato.

The door creaked open. “Hey, mister. Y’hungry?” Dark hair plastering his forehead, Toby stood just inside. He carried something wrapped in a towel, held close to his chest. Food?

Cole smoothed his hand over the mare’s still-damp rump. “Tobias Joseph, right?”

“Yessir.” The youngster’s chest puffed up. “Named after my ma’s pa.”

When his gaze shot to Blister, he seemed to forget Cole. “Hey, boy. How’re you doing?”

The dog’s tail thumped on the dirt floor as the youngster loosened the cloth and dropped a meaty bone.

Cole grinned. His assumption that the towel-wrapped item was his meal proved unfounded. Or was it? Either way, he was glad he hadn’t agreed to supper. The sooner he sacked out, the earlier he could get started in the morning. This ranch held too many a mystery—starting with the lassoed dog. Although Cole admired his gun-toting hostess, he had already spent too much time dwelling on the endearing way her hair fell across her cheek. And her lips, pursing in fabricated determination.

Did he believe her comment about her husband? Not in the least.

“There ya go, boy.” Toby backed away. After grabbing the bone, the dog retreated to a corner. Despite the sleepy purr of the chickens, Blister kept a wary eye on them.

Cole studied the youngster who looked to be somewhere between nine and twelve. His lean frame took after his mother’s. She appeared to have dark eyes whereas Toby’s were light. Green? Difficult to tell in the shadowy barn. Likely the boy would sprout up and pass her in height, but his shoulders would never be broad. His pensive forehead mirrored the woman’s gentle nature.

Cole cleared his throat. “I was named after my grandpa too.”

Mouth puckering, the boy toed the straw at his feet. “Ma said he died before I was born. Same time as my grandma. Back east a’ways.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Stepping closer, he pointed at the mare. “D’ya mind my asking what kind of horse she is? Never seen a blood bay like her before.”

“You got a sharp eye. Sheba’s a Morgan. I’m hoping she’s the beginning of a great line of horses.”

“Wow.” Without fear, the youngster approached the mare. He let her nose him before stroking her neck. “And she’s pregnant?”

“Yes, but she’s not far along. I expect she’ll foal late August.” Cole again questioned his decision to bring her with him. However, his mare was the perfect cover for his Wyoming Territory mission.

“She sure is a beaut.” Toby studied her with a critical eye.

“What’s different about her?”

The boy stepped back and scratched the top of his head. “Her muscles seem kinda bunched. And the arch in her neck is unlike others I’ve seen.”

“Good. What else?”

He planted fists on his hips. “Her eyes have a look about ’em. I could almost tell what she’s thinking.” He stepped closer to rub her soft nose. “And she’s good-natured. Not like Chuck and Midge’s horse. She was always mean.”

“Who’re Chuck and Midge?”

“Our hired help. Well, not anymore. One day, they just up and left.” The youngster ran his hand over the mare’s shoulder. “I love her dark mane and tail.”

Cole grinned at the boy’s horse sense. Reminded him of his brother, for some reason.

“Sheba,” Toby repeated, smoothing his hand across her. He threw a glance over his shoulder. “So what’s your name, mister?”

“You can call me Cole.”

“Thanks, Mr. Cole.”

“Nah, just Cole. Been that ever since I was your age.” He tilted his head and studied the boy. Something seemed to be weighing him down. Cole knew he didn’t have to pry. Folks volunteered all sorts of information if he remained quiet.

He didn’t have long to wait.

“Thanks for helping Blister. He means the world to me.”

“Glad to.” He paused, yielding to his curiosity about the dog. “You give him that name?”

“Yep.” The boy grinned. “A man in town didn’t want him no more. ’Bout three years ago. Pa said I could have him, if I wanted. I had a blister on my hand that looked the same color as his fur. Seemed only natural to call him that.”

“It’s a good name.” Cole leaned against the stall’s column and crossed his arms. “Tell me, do you know how he ended up with a rope around his neck?”

Had someone tried to hang the dog? Somehow Blister had escaped, only to get tangled up in scrub pine.

Toby’s mouth compressed. “Nope.”

“Y’sure? I can’t abide cruelty to animals.”

The boy wouldn’t meet his gaze as he stroked Sheba. Because his mother had schooled him about what to say? He managed a tight shrug. “Blister’s always roaming. Ma thinks he wandered too far.” He turned. “She would’ve cut the rope off him if you hadn’t come along.”

Should Cole ask about the boy’s father?

When he had first arrived and banged on the door to the house, no one answered. After seeing only the woman and Toby in the barn, he concluded the boy’s father was drunk, dead or absent. Which was it?

Given the woman’s overreaction earlier, he settled on her being a widow. One way to find out for certain.

As Cole spread his bedroll, he chose his words with care. “Wouldn’t your pa have helped?”

The youngster’s expression grew stony, fingers tangling in Sheba’s long mane. “I reckon.”

So, he and his mother are alone.

No sense pushing the boy for the truth. Besides, it was none of Cole’s business. By morning he would be on his way. He wanted to reach Silver Peaks before noon. After he found a place to stable his horses, he would check into a hotel and call it home for a spell. Should he reveal he was a US marshal to the town’s sheriff? Cole again weighed his options. Best to get to town first and check out the lay of the land.

“Are your geldings Morgans too?” Toby climbed a stall’s lower rung to rest his arms and chin on the stall’s top board. “I couldn’t tell for sure in the dark.”

“Nope. They’re not.”

“They’re pretty gentle too. Except one tried to bite me.”

Cole chuckled as he settled against his saddle. “That would be Nips. Sorry I didn’t warn you about him. I haven’t been able to break that bad habit.”

“And the other?”

“The sorrel’s Rowdy. He can get his dander up pretty quick, but overall he’s steady.”

“Toby.” The woman’s voice called over the gentle patter of rain. “Toby, where are you?”

He ran to the door. “Coming, Ma.” The youngster swiveled. “So are you coming up for supper, Cole? Ma saved over some stew from dinner.”

“Nah, I’m more tired than hungry.” Besides, he didn’t like being beholden to them any more than he already was. A worry pebble had lodged in his gut. What about them troubled him?

Toby grinned, his expression betraying wisdom that exceeded his age. “Too bad. Ma’s the best cook in Laramie County. And she makes a fearsome pie.” He took off across the sodden yard.

When Cole’s stomach growled in protest, he looked down at his concave abdomen. “Oh, hush.” Jerky and hardtack would suit him just fine.

Before first light, he would hit the road and distance himself from this place. Nothing and no one would distract him from his mission.

* * *

“What?” Aghast, Lenora’s grip tightened around the large serving spoon. “You invited him for supper?”

“I thought that’s what you said.”

“I told you to ask if he was hungry.” If so, she would have sent Toby to the barn with a bowl of stew. She wasn’t quite ready to have a stranger come into her house, no matter how friendly he had been.

“Don’t matter.” Her son rested an elbow on the table. “He said he was tired.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She finished serving leftovers into his bowl. “Please don’t use slang. You know I can’t abide it.”

“Yes’m.” He leaned his head against his fist as he slumped in the chair. “Cole sure has some nice horses. Especially Sheba.”

“Mr. Cole.” She finished laying out the remainder of the meal.

“He said to call him Cole. Without the mister.”

Lenora frowned.

“I’m sure, Ma.”

“Very well. Since he insisted.” She slid into the seat next to him. “Please don’t slouch.”

As her son straightened, he grimaced—displaying his thinking face. “Do you like Cole, Ma?”

The direct question took her aback. How much could she say to her ten-year-old? Though he sometimes acted grown up, she couldn’t forget he was still a child.

“I like him just fine. But we can’t forget he’s a stranger.” She stared at her hands, clenched in her lap. “And now that your pa’s gone, we have to be cautious. That’s all. Remember what we talked about?”

Toby fingered the spoon beside the bowl. “I s’pose.”

The nearest town was located several hours away. No doubt her son was lonely. But she didn’t want him to latch on to the first stranger who had ridden onto their ranch since Amos’s death. Though something about Cole tugged at her to trust him, she resisted.

“Let’s pray.” After they clasped hands, Lenora bowed her head. “Thank You, Lord, for Your provision. May we truly be grateful.” She paused, suppressing a barrage of anxiety-riddled requests. “Thank You for returning Blister. In Your Son’s name. Amen.”

“Amen.” Toby scooped a large spoonful of food into his mouth.

Before she took three bites, he finished one bowlful. She served him more while he wolfed down a hunk of bread.

“I declare, you eat more than your pa...ever did.” She smoothed his dark, damp hair, hoping he didn’t notice her slip of the tongue.

Grinning, Toby ate two bites in quick succession. “After I’m done, can I go check on Blister?”

“I’d rather you didn’t disturb our guest. He’s probably sleeping by now.”

Scraping the spoon across the bottom of the bowl, Toby frowned. “Think he’ll stay, Ma?”

“Cole?”

“Yeah.” Eyes hopeful, her son looked up.

Her cheeks warmed as she considered that possibility. “I expect he’s on his way somewhere important. Probably be gone first light.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Oregon Territory. Or California. People are still crazy with gold fever.”

“Couldn’t you ask him to stay? Maybe hire him? Seein’ as how Chuck and Midge are gone.”

She took care answering, not wanting to raise his hopes. “I’d have to think on that some.”

Should she confide to her son that she planned to sell the ranch? Frank Hopper, their nearest neighbor, had not yet responded to her proposition.

Toby scratched the top of his head with his knuckles. “Why do you think Chuck and Midge left? They didn’t even say goodbye.”

Debating how much to speculate about their sudden and secretive departure, Lenora chewed her lip. “I’m sure they had a good reason.”

Last fall, Amos had begun building a small place for the couple. The frame of a building stood across the corral that was in the center of the yard. He’d even carved Midge one of his rocking chairs for which he was famous. Had Jeb Hackett bribed or threatened them? With them gone, she and Toby couldn’t manage the ranch by themselves.

In silence, she and Toby finished their meal. The fire popped and crackled, the damp logs hissing. The sound reminded her she’d have to chop more wood soon. Their winter stacks were almost gone. As soon as Lenora entertained that worry, a dam broke of all their other needs. They not only had the garden to tend to, but the cow to milk, pig to slop and chickens to feed.

The weight of each concern grew heavier.

New seedlings were just poking their heads up through the rough soil. Had she planted too early? The freezing rain may have damaged them. Then their cow was drying up. Could they hold out until their other one calved? The pig was getting so big, he would have to be slaughtered soon. But which neighbor could she call on to help?

Staples were running low as well as their smoked pork and venison. She pushed aside the unpleasant thoughts of shooting, then gutting a deer. How could she process all the meat by herself? Toby, of course, would be a great help, but the two of them didn’t have time to do everything.

She wouldn’t even begin to consider the bigger needs of the ranch—the calves that had yet to be branded and castrated, the fences that needed mending and a host of other chores. After Chuck and Midge had disappeared, she reconciled herself to selling out while she could. Though she hated the thought of taking Toby away from his home, he would eventually adjust to city life. At least he would no longer be lonely.

Appetite gone, Lenora rose and scraped the remainder of her stew into the slop bowl. Her shoulders hunched as she sighed. “You can take this to Blister in the morning. And don’t forget the pig.”

Toby slipped his arm about her waist and leaned his cheek against her shoulder. My, but he was getting tall!

“It’ll be okay, Ma. You’ll see.”

“I know.” Her chest heaved as she considered moving away.

“I been praying every night that God would send help. Do you think He sent Cole?”

Had He?

“That’d be nice.” When her voice cracked, she cleared her throat. “But let’s not make plans until we find out what Cole intends to do.”

Her son squeezed her waist before turning away to clear the table.

Later as she lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, she dared to whisper, “God...?” Her plea stuck in her throat.

How many times over the years had she begun a prayer, then stopped? Because she asked the same things over and over?

The nights Amos didn’t return home, she fervently prayed it wasn’t because he was thieving or gambling. When she smelled whiskey on his breath or cheap perfume on his clothes, she refused to let him kiss her. But no matter how hard she prayed, he never turned from his wicked path. He still rode with the outlaw gang.

As tears slipped down her temple, Lenora brushed them away. With a rueful heart, she thought of her husband buried in the backyard, a simple tombstone marking the spot. Under his coffin rested a satchel of stolen money.

That terrible and dark secret would remain entombed—not only with Amos, but in her heart.

As Lenora pulled the blanket higher, the same plaintive questions whispered in her mind. Why did he get shot robbing that bank? Why hadn’t Jeb Hackett been killed instead?

Chapter Three

In the early-morning hours, the tramping of horse hooves sent a shaft of fear down Lenora’s spine. She threw a towel over her biscuit dough and yanked open the door. A quick swipe of her fingers across her apron removed the dusting of flour. One hand fumbled for the barrel of her rifle, standing just inside the doorjamb.

Where was her son? She hoped he was still abed in the loft. When she saw who came up the road, she gulped. Please let Toby stay asleep.

No telling what her son would do when he saw Jeb Hackett.

He and two of his men thundered into the yard, their horses kicking clods of mud high into the air. Though the sun had not yet crested the horizon, rosy light painted the mountains to the west and the grassy plains in the south. Someone had let the chickens out already. Cole? The hens that had wandered to the rutted road scattered and squawked as the riders approached. Somewhere in the distance, Blister began to bark.

“Halloo.” Jeb reined his dappled gray beside the corral in the middle of the yard.

“Morning.” She wove a thread of politeness into her tone as she remained in the open doorway. No sense irritating him unnecessarily. Another reason she kept the rifle out of sight.

“Well, ain’t you a sight to behold.” Jeb smirked. “Your hair is done up real purdy. Like you was expecting me.”

Tightening her lips, she hoped it resembled a smile.

He pushed back his hat. “Looks to be a fine day, ’Nora. How about you come a’riding with me and the boys?”

Her jaw clenched. Over the last five years, he’d used that horrid nickname. Every time she’d bristled, Amos had told her it meant nothing. Jeb was merely teasing.

That only proved her husband had no backbone. Not only was he a thief and a liar, he fraternized with thieves and liars. Jeb Hackett was the biggest one of all.

No doubt many a woman had fallen for his handsome face, curly blond locks and icy blue eyes. His handlebar mustache might disguise the cruelty of his mouth, but nothing could hide the wickedness of his heart.

“You know I can’t, Jeb. I’ve work to do.”

“Well, now, we can solve that today.” After swinging one leg over his horse’s neck, he hooked his bent knee on the saddle horn. He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his leg. Like he had all the time in the world. “Since we’re neighbors an’ all. We could join our property and have a nice-sized ranch.”

His friends guffawed, one punching the other in the arm.

“Frank Hopper is thinking of buying me out.” She kept her tone level. “You paying more than him?”

“F’sure.” Jeb grinned as he twisted the end of his mustache. “What I’m offering is better than money.”

Her cheeks flamed. “Why you low-down—”

“Ma,” Toby’s voice called. “Ma!”

Lenora tensed as her son ran across the yard. How much of the conversation had he heard? From inside the barn, Blister continued to bark up a storm.

With clenched fists, Toby stationed himself in front of her. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and pulled him closer. If need be, she could yank her son into the house and slam the crossbar into place. There they would be safe.

For a little while at least.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the little man himself.” Jeb sneered. “I was wondering when the itty-bitty cockerel would show up. That your mangy dog I hear? Thought he’d be dead by now.”

Toby stiffened. Jeb’s buddies chortled.

Her mouth went dry. Was Jeb confirming that he’d lassoed Blister?

Her son spoke first. “What’d you want, Hackett?”

“Hain’t you learned to speak respectful to your elders, boy? If you were mine, I’d teach you to hobble your tongue.”

“Well, I ain’t yours.”

Jeb’s scowl deepened.

“That’s for certain,” snickered one of his men. The two laughed. The instant their leader glared at them, they quieted.

Lenora took an unsteady breath. “I appreciate you all coming by. I’m sure you have to be on your way now.”

Jeb squinted. “Not going to invite us in? Or feed us? We rode all this way to discuss some business.”

Business? A chill nipped her bones. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t have anything prepared.”

“We can wait, can’t we, boys? Y’see, I’m thinking you’ve been without a husband long enough, ’Nora. How ’bout you and me getting hitched?”

Marry Jeb? Her heart chugged to a stop as the sun burst over the horizon, spotlighting his handsome face.

“If I don’t suit ya—and I don’t see why not—you could always pick Charlie here. Or Dandyman. They’d do you right fine.”

Identical leers passed over the faces of all three men.

Dear Lord... Lenora didn’t know what to pray.

Instead of warming, the sunlight grew brittle, spearing the air with shards of yellow crystal. She could hear nothing but the whistling wind and the horses as they stamped and blew. Even the morning birds stopped their happy chirping. Her chest tightened until she feared she would faint.

The barn door slammed, drawing her attention.

Cole walked across the yard with studied nonchalance. Like he lived there.

Is he in with them? Lenora choked down the panic that rose in her throat as she shoved her son behind her.

Cole pulled up short as though surprised by the men on the other side of the corral. Thumbing back his hat’s brim, he glanced between them. “G’morning.”

Jeb’s eyes squeezed to slits. “Who’re you?”

He smiled as though oblivious to the man’s rudeness. “The name’s Cole.”

Jeb shot Lenora a glance. “You didn’t tell me about him.”

“I...” She coughed and tried again. “I didn’t have a chance.”

As Cole rested a boot on the fence’s lowest rung, the polished gun at his hip flashed in the morning light. “The lady’s been kind enough to let me rest up my horses.”

“Is that so?”

“My mare stepped in a hole yesterday. Hopin’ she won’t be lame long.”

Irritation erupted on Jeb’s face as though he had no idea how to respond to small talk.

Lenora piped up. “You can stay as long as you like, Mr. Cole.”

Jaw jutting, Jeb glared at the stranger. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pack up the minute your horse recovers and move on.”

Grinning, Cole leaned his left elbow on the fence. He casually hooked a right thumb in his belt, directly above the butt of his revolver. “Actually, I’m thinking of settling down around here. Maybe you could recommend a good location. I plan to breed horses. Fine stock.”

Cole couldn’t be in with the Hackett gang. Not with Jeb’s open hostility.

Convulsively swallowing, Lenora glanced between the men. How would Cole fare if it came down to shooting? The sun at his back would be no advantage with one man against three. Besides, no one ever stood up to Jeb. His father, Eli Hackett, was rumored to own half of Laramie County. Time and again, his outlaw son had weaseled out of trouble. Regardless of how heinous his crimes, Jeb had not spent one night in jail.

He scowled at Cole. After swinging his leg back over his horse’s head, he thrust his boot through the stirrup. “I ain’t done with you yet, ’Nora.” He jerked the reins and kicked his horse into a gallop.

Not until the men were out of sight did she sigh in relief.

With narrowed eyes, Cole stared after them, mouth flattened into a grim slash. Only when he looked in Lenora’s direction did his expression relax. After a nod, he turned on his heel and headed back to the barn.

“I’ll send Toby when breakfast is ready,” she called.

Cole turned. “Sounds real good. I’ll clean up.” He squeezed the brim of his hat.

Still shaking, Lenora breathed a prayer of thanksgiving aloud. “Thank You, Lord.”

Perhaps God had sent him.

Toby came from behind her. “Jeb Hackett won’t come back, will he, Ma? Leastways not while Cole is here, right?”

“I hope not.” She passed the palm of one hand across her heated neck.

What if Cole stayed for more than a couple of days? Would Jeb take that as a personal insult? He would think nothing of having ten of his cronies thrash any man who dared challenge him.

Perhaps it would be best if Cole left as soon as his horse recovered.

But what would happen the next time Jeb dropped by when she and Toby were alone?

* * *

“Meal was excellent. Thanks.” Cole leaned back in his chair. When had he last eaten that well? He vowed to split a cord of wood in payment. The stack leaning against the house seemed low. It might last a mere week or two.

“Another biscuit? They’re best fresh.” The woman Hackett called Nora extended a plateful.

He declined with one hand as he patted his stomach with his other. “No, ma’am.”

After Toby wiped his mouth with a napkin, he grinned. “Told ya Ma is the best cook in the county.”

“Sorry I doubted it.” Cole regretted skipping supper.

Determined to be on his way, he had arisen long before sunup. However, his mare had limped just enough to warn him they shouldn’t travel another mile until she rested a spell. In the predawn, Toby had surprised him by showing up at the barn. Together they had led the three horses into the back pasture. Sheba had rolled in the grass, apparently happy to stay put. The geldings had bucked and played.

If Cole had left at first light as planned, he would have missed the arrival of the three visitors. When Toby had whispered Jeb Hackett’s name as they peered through the barn’s slats, Cole couldn’t believe his ears.

Hackett was the very man he sought.

And had Cole left, he would have forfeited this incredible meal. Fried potatoes, eggs, bacon, beans, fresh coffee and hot, flaky biscuits—what more could a man want?

Sighing again in pleasure, he contemplated a nap. Nah, he had wood splitting to do.

“Can I take this to Blister, Ma?” Toby scraped leftovers into the slop bowl.

“Certainly. But you keep feeding him like that, he’ll get fat and lazy.”

When Toby laughed, his adolescent voice cracked. She glanced at Cole, hand pressed to her chest as a soft smile graced her lips. Because her motherly heart swelled at the proof that her boy was growing into a man?

Grinning, Cole watched the youngster hasten out the door.

Once they were alone, he met Nora’s dark eyes. A slow blush crept up her cheeks. Light coming from the window glanced off her honey-brown hair, braided and pinned up. She smoothed a stray strand into place.

Realizing he’d been staring, he cleared his throat. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

“Minneapolis. My aunt ran...well, used to run a restaurant. Before she moved back east. After my parents died. But that was a long time ago.”

He considered the obvious discomfort in her tone. “She’s one...incredible teacher.” He took care to mind his words. It had been a long while since he had spent time in the presence of a lady. This woman’s gentle ways and modulated speech left no doubts about that.

How had she ended up in the wilds of Wyoming Territory without a husband? And why hadn’t she yet remarried? Any man would count himself blessed to have a wife who was not only talented, but beautiful.

Truly modest, Nora inclined her head. Another mark of one gentle born.

He glanced around as he sipped his coffee. Nice house—not the usual soddy other homesteaders lived in. They sat in a large open room with two windows that faced north and west—so she could see who was coming up the road? Pegs lined a space by the door where he had hung his hat and coat. A pump poised above a large basin—another extravagance in a frontier home. Two chairs clustered by a fireplace. A built-in ladder lined the back wall, leading to a loft. Where Toby slept? The only other door likely led to a bedroom.

Dragging his gaze away, Cole focused on the blue and white dishes that lined the mantel. “My mother has bone china similar to yours. Where’d you get them?”

“My great-grandmother. She brought them from England.”

He finished his coffee. “Nice to see so many in one piece.” A few had chips, but most were intact.

“I used a scandalous amount of straw to pack them.” She nodded to his plate. “Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?”

“Yes, thanks again.” When she rose, he jumped to his feet and grabbed some dishes. “If you don’t mind, Nora, I’d like to repay your kindness by doing some chores.”

White petticoats flashed as she spun to face him. He didn’t understand the sudden hostility that flared across her face. Before he could react, she grabbed her rifle and shoved it in his chest.

“Whoa.” Cole froze.

What had he said? Or done? This was nothing like the night before when she had held her shotgun like a shield.

Knuckles white and mouth set, she looked every bit like she would use the rifle. “What did you call me?”

“I...” His mind went blank. “Nora, I believe.”

“You’re in with Jeb.” Her teeth clenched. “Is he outside now? Laughing?”

“Lady, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Arms still extended, he clutched the dishes between tightening fingers and thumbs.

Fury seared her face. He sucked a sharp breath when she cocked the rifle.

“He better not’ve touched a hair on Toby’s head, or I’ll shoot you dead right here as you stand.”

A she-bear with cubs would be less intimidating.

“Just a minute.” Understanding dawned. “I heard Hackett call you Nora. Remember? Isn’t that your name?”

Her eyes narrowed. The tension in the room eased not one bit.

Sweat beaded on his upper lip. If Toby came running back into the house and startled his mother, her twitching trigger finger would end Cole’s life.

She seemed to take even more careful aim. Like she would make certain not to miss.

“I’m setting these down now. Slow like.” He lowered the plates to the table. With two fingers, he lifted his Colt Single Army Action revolver from its holster and set it on the table within her reach. “I’m unarmed. Except for a knife in my boot. The one I used on Blister last night.”

Her gaze darted to his gun and back.

He again raised his hands and leaned away from the rifle’s muzzle. “I had no idea what your name was. We never quite got around to introducing ourselves.”

Chest heaving, her fingers tightened on the barrel.

He tried a different tack. “I got that pistol from my father who fought in the war between the states. Because of his exemplary courage, he was awarded this gun. Before Pa passed away, he gave it to me. That’d be two years ago next month.”

“What about your mother? And if you lie...”

“She lives in Dodge City, Kansas. I regret to say I haven’t visited her in about seven months. But I hope to see her after...” He stopped before saying, After I put Hackett behind bars. Or swinging from a rope. This woman would assume he was lying—trying to get into her good graces considering her obvious abhorrence of the man. Instead, Cole amended, “After I settle and start my horse ranch. I plan to send for my mother. Now that it’s only me and her.”

At least that was the whole truth. The woman’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.

“Like I told your son last night, m’name’s Cole. Ma called me that because...” He paused, confounded at his desire to confess. “Well, it is my family name. But when my little brother got shot...” He stopped yet again. Would the guilt continue to burn for the rest of his life? “Andrew was about your son’s age. I was fourteen. That’s when Ma stopped using my first name. I think it hurt too much to call only one son to dinner. So that’s when I became just plain ol’ Cole.”

Her mouth quivered ever so slightly. The rifle in her hands lowered an inch. “How’d your brother get shot?”

Surprised at the question, he took a moment to answer. “We were playing behind the mercantile when we heard a ruckus. Andrew ran out of the alley to find out what was going on. A man was robbing the store, saw my brother out of the corner of his eye and fired.” The painful memory stuck in his throat. “He died in my arms.”

He relived the memory of sand soaking up his little brother’s blood. The sickening smell of copper. The whole street, a river of red, still drowned Cole in nightmares.

That was the day he decided to become a lawman. He’d never looked back.

Until today, he had withheld the details from everyone. How had this woman so easily lulled him into sharing?

Mind apparently made up, she returned the gun to its spot by the door. She licked dry lips and spoke in a stilted voice. “My name is Lenora Pritchard.” She lifted her chin. “As you’ve probably guessed, I don’t have a husband. He died last year. Buried out back. Along with two of our babies that...” She tilted her head in the direction behind the house.

Cole clamped his jaw shut when he realized it hung open.

Lenora Pritchard?

It couldn’t be...

Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Amos Pritchard was your husband?”

Her gaze snapped to his. “What if it was? What do you know about him?”

He slowly sank into a chair. “I heard tell of an Amos Pritchard in Cheyenne. At the Inter-Ocean Hotel. Quite a gambler if memory serves.”

All true, although Cole only knew about him secondhand. Rumors abounded about the six-member gang—and Amos Pritchard was Hackett’s right-hand man. Their leader was a gambler, cheat, liar and womanizer among other things.

Amos’s widow had gone white. “He didn’t cheat you, did he?”

“What?” Cole momentarily forgot what he’d told her. “No, ma’am. I don’t gamble.”

She frowned, clearly uncertain about what to do with his tale. Though Cole disliked hiding the truth, he decided to keep his US marshal status secret. For now. Perhaps remaining undercover while he ferretted out the secrets of the Hackett gang was the best plan.

If so, he might to live to tell the tale.

Two other lawmen had come to Wyoming Territory on the same mission. Neither had been heard from again. Cole had no intention of disappearing like them.

But Lenora...

He stared up at her. How had a lady like her gotten hooked up with a spineless flash in the pan like Amos Pritchard?

Before Cole got stupid and said too much, he rose, the heavy chair screeching on the smooth wooden floor. “If you’ll excuse me.” He brushed by her.

“Mr. Cole.”

He turned.

His revolver rested in her open hand. Their eyes met. Obviously, she not only believed him, but trusted him enough to return his gun. Acknowledging her courage with a nod, he slid the weapon back into its holster.

“Much obliged.” He grabbed his coat and hat before heading outside.

Of all God’s green earth, how had Cole ended up in the camp of the very men he sought to bring to justice?

God had led him there. Had God also caused him to run across Blister in the middle of nowhere? And made his horse go lame? Cole wrestled with the uncomfortable possibility that God superintended his life.

The woodpile rested between the house and shed. Despite the nip in the April air, he peeled off his vest, and tossed hat and coat aside. After rolling up his sleeves, he grabbed the ax’s handle.

So Amos Pritchard was dead—that fact unknown until today. From where Cole stood, he could see a tombstone rising from the spindly, brown grass behind the house. Two smaller markers rested nearby. What did Jeb Hackett want with his friend’s widow? Did he seriously propose marriage? He didn’t seem the marrying type. Lenora was a beautiful woman, to be sure, but she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with the likes of him.

After positioning a good-sized log on the chopping stump, Cole swung down and split it clean in two. He pulled his gloves from his waistband before chopping the wood into smaller pieces. No sense blistering up his hands.

What if God had led him there? If so, why not stay put on the ranch? Because of that morning’s exchange, Hackett would believe Cole was looking for a place to settle—the perfect cover while he conducted his investigation into the gang. He had six months to put together his case before reporting in.

While at Lenora’s ranch, he could pump her for information. If she proved reticent, Toby promised a wealth of knowledge—as long as Cole handled the youngster with care. The boy and his mother were tight. Which was good. Real good.

Cole split another log and a third, his muscles warming to the task. After being in the saddle for so many days, the activity felt great.

With Lenora and Toby alone on the ranch, they likely had an unending list of chores. After helping them with some critical tasks, Cole would move on. Ten days should be more than enough time to discharge his debt and gather the information he needed.

Not for one moment would he rest until he proved Jeb Hackett had robbed that Cheyenne bank five months ago.

Chapter Four

Later that afternoon, Lenora grabbed her sunbonnet and went to see what could be done about the chicken coop. The raised building still leaned at a crazy angle with only the attached framed wire fencing keeping it upright. Had the wind really blown it over? Amos had always promised to shore up the base but had never gotten around to it. Perhaps the flimsy wood had finally given way. The contorted fencing left gaps that would allow in predators.

But how to make it usable again? First things first—she needed to push the small coop upright. Then she could determine what else needed to be fixed.

“Toby?” Where had that son of hers got to? Earlier she’d heard him chatting with Cole while he chopped wood.

She shoved one corner of the building. It moved a little. She pushed harder, but it wouldn’t budge any farther. Lenora yanked open the wobbly door and went inside the fenced enclosure.

The reason she couldn’t right the building became obvious in a moment. One of the foundational posts was cracked. In the soft dirt under the coop, the partial outline of a boot print showed.

Lenora sucked in a breath.

The memory of the lurking form rushed at her. No doubt a cowboy boot made this print. And it had to have been before the torrent. Did Cole damage the coop?

Her breathing slowed as she wrestled with herself. What about that morning? The stories about his father, mother and brother? He looked like a gunfighter with the way he toted a gun on his hip, not a rancher.

“Was he lying?” She tightened the chin strap of her bonnet.

Their conversation after breakfast came back to her. Cole had referred to Jeb by his last name. She distinctly remembered calling the outlaw by his first. How had Cole known?

“You didn’t tell me about him.” Jeb’s words came back to her. Not because he didn’t know Cole, but because he hadn’t expected to see him? If so, they had put on a good act for her.

What did Cole want?

Pressing her hand to her forehead, she determined to keep him at a distance. Be polite, but uninvolved. Make sure he understood she tolerated his presence, but not welcomed it. As soon as he figured out she wasn’t an easy mark, he’d move on.

With that resolved, her gaze rested on the chicken coop. This had to be fixed, but how?

“Toby? Can you hear me?” she again called. Perhaps they could right it. Then she could secure the fencing and the coop would again be usable.

“Coming, Ma. Where are you?”

“By the coop.”

Her son soon joined her. Alone.

“We need to push this upright.”

Toby squinted at her in the bright sunlight. “Want me to get Cole to help?”

“No, we don’t need him.” Her sharp words cut the air.

Though he made a face, he said nothing more.

Together, they shoved against the building. It budged a little.

“Let’s rock it. Maybe that’ll do the trick.”

The two of them pushed rhythmically. Slowly they gained more ground. The fractured board suddenly gave way with a loud craack, and the building shuddered into an upright position.

Lenora stepped back. Even with one post broken, the coop appeared stable. “Let’s get some stakes to anchor the fencing.”

Toby looked at her as if she were crazy. However, he said, “Yes’m,” before heading to the shed. He soon returned with two hammers and an armful of stakes.

Thankfully Amos stored an abundance of tools and woodworking supplies.

She and Toby began the tedious task of pounding stakes into the ground. Soon perspiration trickled down her temples. Through her sunbonnet, the sun seared the back of her neck.

“Need some help?” Cole’s voice interrupted the thumping of the hammers on wood.

“No, thank you.” Lenora didn’t bother to look up as she spoke.

“But, Ma...” Toby piped up.

She shot her son a warning glance. “We are perfectly able to take care of this ourselves.” Rising, she faced Cole, aware of her heat-bruised cheeks and damp clothing. She spoke in a cool tone. “I appreciate your chopping wood. You’ve done more than enough.”

His eyes narrowed.

A trickle of sweat ran down her throat. When his glance strayed that way, she swiped it with the back of her hand. She forced her breathing to slow. And not be the first to break the silence.

“Suit yourself.” Cole turned on his heel.

“Ma,” Toby’s soft voice protested. “He ain’t—”

“Isn’t.” She whacked the stake with extra force. Before continuing, she glanced around to make certain Cole wasn’t nearby. “Tobias Joseph, we are not discussing Mr. Cole again. And I don’t want to hear you asking him for help. Do you understand?”

He took a long time to respond. Too long. “Yes’m.”

She caught her breath when he added, “But I’m still going to pray.”

For a moment, she gaped at Toby’s open defiance—the first time in his almost eleven years. He really was growing up fast.

Her eyes stung a little as she bent to her task. And it wasn’t just because of perspiration.

* * *

“I brought your supper, Cole.”

He looked up from his occupation to see Toby loitering by the barn door. Behind him hovered his faithful sidekick, Blister.

Was that how it was going to be? Though Cole had no idea what had come over Lenora earlier, he would oblige by staying out of her way. Her obvious dismissal—not only when he’d offered to help with the coop and now the glaring lack of a supper invitation—left him to conclude he was no longer wanted.

Had she rescinded that offer to stay as long as he liked?

“You want it?” Toby gripped the towel-covered tin pan.

For a moment, he nearly declined. But that would be stupid. “Much obliged.” He set aside the six-shooter he’d been cleaning. After Toby handed him the dish, he leaned against his saddle. “Want to join me?”

Now why had he said that? No doubt the boy’s supper awaited him at the house.

However, Toby’s face lit up. “Sure.” He sat nearby. A crooked grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “If we run out, I know where to get more.”

Cole found himself grinning, as well. “Good. I’m hungrier than a hibernating bear.” Chopping wood had fired his appetite. Or perhaps his temper because Lenora had been so cold?

Blister sat on his haunches nearby. Tongue lolling, he was already salivating for handouts.

Lenora had sent her son with a generous portion of beans. With the pan between them, they used the accompanying biscuits to scoop up the juices. Blister whimpered and pawed the air when Toby ignored him too long.

“Sorry, boy.” He broke off a morsel and dabbed it in the mix before feeding his dog. “But that’s it.”

He gulped down the offering, then panted for more.

“No, go lay down.” The boy frowned at his pet. “That’s all you’re getting.”

After one grumble, the dog slumped onto his belly. However, his eyes continued to follow the boy’s every move.

Cole grinned, glad that the dog was well loved. And trained.

Worry lines marking his forehead, Toby ate slowly. “Cole?” When he looked up, the boy continued. “You mad at Ma?”

His frankness took him aback. “Nope.”

The boy licked his lips before continuing. “You say something to make her mad?”

His and Lenora’s showdown in the morning flashed through his mind. That was done and settled, right? “Not that I know of.”

Toby scrubbed a fist across the top of his head, a habit when he seemed puzzled. “I don’t get why Ma is mad now.” Food forgotten, he stared at nothing.

“Maybe she’s just scared.” The words surprised Cole.

A long-forgotten memory of his parents arguing came back to him. It had been late, and Cole was supposed to be asleep. Was he nine? Ten? He had crept partway down the stairs and listened to his mother accuse his father of uprooting their family because he would never be satisfied with their location.

When Cole had later asked his father about it, that’s how he had answered—Ma was scared. Now as Cole looked back, he understood why. Pa’s kind of discontent unsettled a woman.

An inevitable and more recent recollection followed. The last time Cole had seen his mother, she had accused him of that very thing—restlessness. Only he wasn’t looking for the perfect place to settle like his pa, but of trying to right the world of all its problems when that was none of his business.

“What’s Ma scared of?” Toby’s green eyes met his steadily.

“Not rightly certain.” Finished with his food, Cole brushed off his hands. “Your pa’s gone now. Maybe she’s worried about how she will take care of you and the ranch. All by herself.”

“But I can help.”

“Yes, and you do. But she’s facing some adult-sized chores. I know your ma’s tough, but I think she’s scared about getting it all done.”

Half-eaten biscuit still in his hands, the boy seemed to ponder. “Do you reckon that’s why she cries?”

Cole scratched his chin.

“I heard her last night. She didn’t cry much though. Not like before.” Toby’s frown deepened. “When Pa was alive, she used to cry a lot. I reckon she was really scared, huh?”

At a loss how to answer, Cole said nothing. How much did Toby know about his father? No doubt how the boy felt about Hackett. From inside the barn, Cole had witnessed hostility in Toby’s stance and tone of voice. But why such animosity toward the outlaw? Especially if Amos Pritchard and Hackett were so close?

“Toby.” Lenora’s voice reached them inside the building.

He ran to the door. “Be there in a sec, Ma.” Toby shoved the rest of his food into his mouth while Cole gathered the towel and empty dish.

“Oh, let me get your pa’s gun too.” Earlier, he had taken time to show Toby the proper way to disassemble it for cleaning. However, the work on the chicken coop had interrupted them. “Give me a second, and you can take it up to the house.” He quickly put the pieces back together.

The boy took the gun. “Can I ask you something, Cole?”

He grinned. “Sure.” Toby was an endless well of questions.

“You believe in God, right?”

“Of course.”

The youngster took a deep breath, face twisted in thought—another habit Cole had begun to notice. “I prayed that God would send someone to help Ma.” He squinted up at Cole. “Do you think God sent you?”

Cole straightened with a jerk. Hadn’t he himself wondered about God moving mountains? Only that morning?

“Can anyone know for certain the way God works?” He answered slowly, reluctant to agree but not willing to deflate the boy’s faith.

Toby hung his head, but it wasn’t in defeat. “If it ain’t you, I guess I need to keep praying.” Without another word, he turned on his heel.

For many minutes, Cole remained rooted in one spot. A dislike—of being dismissed—grated on him. Especially since Toby had unwittingly done it. The meaning seemed clear—if Cole wasn’t the answer to the boy’s prayer, then someone else would be.

Dismissed.

Toby wasn’t the only one. Earlier, Lenora had done that very thing. And Cole had no doubts which way she leaned. She wanted him to clear out. The sooner, the better.

Because she was hiding something?

His gut told him no. Over his career, not many fooled him. He saw no deceit in Lenora Pritchard’s deep brown eyes and clear forehead. How had she remained untainted by her outlaw husband? She was a delicate rose in a weed patch.

Maybe he should leave her in peace. She had enough to worry about. He didn’t need to add to it.

“Maybe she’s scared.” His own words pounded against him as dusk descended on the land. It didn’t take all his book learning to see that she had fallen behind with ranch work. Likely that would continue until she ended up clearing out. Then what would happen to her and Toby?

“It’s not my business.” The argument rose and escaped his lips as he stretched himself on his bedroll. But even as he spoke, the callousness grated on his soul. She was a woman in need. And he couldn’t call himself a man if he tucked his tail and slunk off just because she was slightly hostile.

Very well, he’d stay. Whether Lenora liked it or not. The only way she would force him to leave was if she stuck the rifle’s barrel in his chest and demanded he get off her land.

Chapter Five

Why was Cole still there? Lenora leaned forward to peer out the window as the sun peaked in the afternoon sky. With the barn door open, he leaned a hand on the doorjamb chatting with her son. Hadn’t she made it clear that she did not want him around?

She had purposed to not invite him for breakfast—and hadn’t allowed Toby to either. However, she later saw Cole down by the corral, fixing a wobbly fence post. When he replaced the broken post on the chicken coop, she waffled between being annoyed and grateful.

Why hadn’t the man gotten the message?

Clearly ecstatic, Toby bubbled with enthusiasm as he explained how Cole had replaced the board without disturbing the chickens. That morning, the hens had laid two extra eggs, proof that their visitor had sweet-talked them.

Lenora tended to believe it had more to do with all the extra bugs they’d eaten when they’d run around the yard. And reveling in their temporary freedom.

Guilt had finally caused her to invite Cole for their noon meal with Toby the happy message bearer. Throughout dinner, she listened while they chatted about fishing. Her son promised to show Cole the best spot in the nearby stream.

After the meal and his solemn thanks, she sighed in relief. Maybe he would leave right after? Nope. She heard him chopping more wood. No doubt Toby kept him company.

Why wouldn’t Cole go?

Later that afternoon as Lenora checked on her pie in the oven, she half listened to the staccato of feet, running across the yard. Toby called her name, sounding out of breath.

“Ma!”

Catching the note of panic in his voice, she straightened.

In another moment, his boots pounded up the porch stairs. He burst into the house.

One look at his face told her he was scared.

“What is it?”

“You gotta...” He paused, gulping air. “Something’s wrong with Porky. You gotta come quick.”

Their pregnant heifer?

After Porky’s mother had died giving birth, Toby had adopted the skinny calf and hand raised her. Lenora couldn’t remember exactly why he named her Porky, except he likely misunderstood Amos’s explanation about the orphan. Had their son thought they were discussing a piglet? Somehow the name had stuck, a family joke. Now Porky was pregnant with her first calf.

Without waiting, Toby spun on his heel and disappeared out the door.

Lenora pulled the unfinished pie from the oven and moved pots from the stovetop. With her son already several yards ahead of her, she lifted her skirts and ran.

Behind the barn, a splotch of black and white huddled in the middle of the pasture. Why was Porky lying down? Had Amos erred by breeding her last fall to their great big beast of a bull? She was not yet due.

When Lenora reached her, one look proved something was seriously wrong. Head extended, the heifer strained as though to push out her baby. One of its hooves briefly made an appearance before sliding out of sight. It was obvious she’d been trying to calve for hours. Most alarming was the sunken look in her eyes. She appeared exhausted.

We can’t let her die. Toby’s heart would break.

“Let’s get her up.” Lenora grabbed the rope halter, one Toby had braided.

While she tugged, her son pushed on Porky’s rump and yelled. Nothing. After several halfhearted tries, she slumped back into the soft grass. Again, she strained to push out her calf. Again, her ribcage heaved as she failed.

For several minutes, Lenora paced, at a loss about what to do.

“Is she gonna die, Ma?” Toby’s young face screwed up with fright.

“I don’t know, son.” Another moment passed until she made up her mind.

Tamping down revulsion, she unbuttoned and pushed up her sleeves. She had witnessed a cat giving birth—this situation couldn’t be much different. And she herself had brought three babies into the world, although Toby was the only one who had lived. After getting to her knees, she felt inside the birth canal, trying to determine why the calf couldn’t arrive on its own.

Hands slick with birthing fluid, she touched a small foot and leg inside its mother. Calves were supposed to come hooves first, followed by the head. She should be able to feel the soft flesh of the muzzle. Why not?

No matter. Lenora grasped the hoof and pulled while Porky strained. The leg made it out a little farther but, as soon as the contraction passed, it disappeared back into its mother. For countless minutes, she pulled. Porky strained with each contraction but failed to deliver her calf. Confounded, Lenora rose. Shoulders cramping, she wiped her hands on her apron.

The nearest ranch was Jeb Hackett’s. No way would she ask him for help. Frank Hopper’s homestead was six miles distant, but the afternoon waned. Besides, by the time Toby rode there and back—assuming he could even find Mr. Hopper on his acreage—Porky could be dead. The next closest neighbor was too far away.

“Do you think Cole could help?” Toby’s lips pressed together, as though he feared how she would respond.

Would Cole even want to? After the way she’d treated him?

She had heard him chopping more wood, but after a couple hours he disappeared. How could she even ask him for a favor?

She stared again at Porky, the last shreds of pride fluttering away. This situation was beyond her. Again. But anything was better than Toby’s pet dying.

“Go see if you can find him. Ask him...” She paused to reword her request. “Tell him that I’m asking for his help. Please.”

Toby took off like a shot.

While she waited, she patted Porky’s neck. “It’ll be okay, girl.”

Head sinking lower, the animal appeared to have given up.

It seemed a week passed before Lenora saw two forms appear around the side of the barn. Cole broke into a trot with Toby hard on his heels.

“Thank you for coming.” She sounded out of breath though she had done nothing but wait. While Cole watched the heifer succumb to another contraction, she explained what she knew. When she heard herself babbling about how important Porky was to them, she bit her lip. Cole appeared to pay no attention.

Would he deride her for caring so much for an animal? Or tell them this was their problem and walk away?

Without a word, he knelt to slide his palm across Porky’s bulging belly. His frown deepened as he muttered, “This isn’t good.”

Like Lenora, he rolled up one sleeve and reached inside the birth canal.

Less than a minute later, he rose. “Calf’s the wrong direction.”

“A breech?” A wave of terror washed over her. She pressed a hand against her throat as she fought the sudden faintness that gripped her. Almost three years before, she had lost a baby because he was breech. And nearly her own life.

The memory of her tiny boy, skin ashen, still brought tears to her eyes. He had looked like a miniature of Toby with fine, dark hair. After Amos had put the baby in her arms, she had wept uncontrollably. Lenora remembered little of the passing days while she had mourned the loss of Baby Amos. A tiny marker in the backyard stood as a silent sentinel for the infant who never had a chance to live.

Cole’s gaze met hers steadily—the first time since he had joined her in the pasture. With the late-afternoon sun beating down on them, the blue of his eyes appeared all the more intense.

“I could try to shift the calf.” He glanced up into the fading light. “But we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Couldn’t we take her to the barn?” Toby asked.

“She’s pretty weak.” Cole shook his head. “Doubt we could get her to her feet at this point. But out here, she’d be helpless with the...” He broke off when Lenora began to twist the apron between her hands.

Because of coyotes? Or a mountain lion?

Please, please, do something.

As though she had pleaded aloud, he stripped off his vest and shirt. He tossed them aside. At first he was kneeling, then lying flat on the ground, toes digging into the grass for leverage. Was he trying to swivel the calf? Porky didn’t help as she labored against him.

After several minutes, Cole was panting hard. “Just a little...” He grunted as his hold apparently slipped. Finally, he sat back on his heels. Chest heaving, he seemed to consider the options. He peered at Lenora. “Are you up for helping?”

“Anything. Just tell me what to do.”

He turned to her son. “Go fetch rope, the finest you have. Several lengths. Check my gear for some if you don’t have any.”

“Yessir.” Toby again raced across the pasture.

Cole ran his knuckles under his chin. “I’m going to try to slip a rope around the front hoof. Both, if possible. Then I’ll push against the calf while you pull the rope. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“I gotta warn ya—this may not work. Could tear up her insides. Or break the calf’s neck.”

“We have to do something. I can’t just...” She waved toward Porky.

“Worst case, we’ll lose ’em both.” His cheek muscle flexed as he rose. “But there is another option.”

She waited.

“I could cut her open. Save the calf. Maybe.”

Lenora squeezed her eyes shut at the thought.

“That’d be the last resort. I’d wait until you were up at the house. Toby and I’d handle everything.”

“Mr. Cole. Cole,” she amended, injecting firmness into her voice. “I trust you’ll do what you can. And I thank you for your help. No matter what happens.”

He seemed to size up her words. After a single nod, he squatted by Porky. “She’s looking mighty tired. I hope...” He rested a hand on the animal’s rump.

Her son soon returned with a length of rope.

“Toby, you’re up front. Lenora, stand behind me.”

The youngster grabbed Porky’s halter while she positioned herself. She wrapped one end of the rope around her wrist while Cole reached inside the birth canal with the other, a small loop tied in place. After some maneuvering, he panted for Lenora to gently pull.

“I got one hoof.” He felt around inside the heifer. “Pull a little harder. Head feels like it’s coming around. Gently. Yes, that’s it.”

After a few moments, he reached in the birth canal with the other end of the rope. This one gave him more trouble, but finally he grunted in relief. “Got it.” As he lay flat on his stomach, Cole twisted his head to look back at her. “Keep steady pressure on both lines. Don’t pull too hard. Don’t jerk.”

“I’m ready.” Positioned inside the circle of rope, Lenora kept it taut.

“Toby, you’re doing great.”

Her son took a firmer grip on the halter.

“Lenora, lean your weight on those lines a little more. Perfect.” Digging his boots into the soil, he rasped as Porky strained against him. “More pressure.”

With the rope around her waist, she was nearly leaning backward. Cole seemed to be pushing as hard as he could to shift the calf. Porky strained while Toby stood spread-eagled at her head.

“That’s it, Lenora.” Cole grappled with the slick line. “Harder.”

Rope cutting into her, she groaned. One moment she was leaning back with nearly her full weight, the next toppling head over heels as Porky gave a huge bellow. With a gush of birthing fluid, a small form slid from its mother.

Lenora staggered to her feet as Cole untied the calf’s hooves.

“A heifer.” He met Lenora’s gaze, mouth tight. The little baby lay unmoving, a small heap of slick, black hair.

Before she could entreat him to do something, he was already on one knee, clearing the mouth and blowing into her nostrils. He thumped the calf’s rib cage and rolled her to her chest several times. After endless moments, the baby coughed and shook her head.

Cole grinned at Lenora. “Looks like she’s gonna make it.”

Throat tight, she merely nodded.

“What about Porky?” Toby piped up.

The new mama appeared exhausted, head hanging low, nose nearly touching the ground.

Without answering, Cole dragged the newborn under Porky’s nose. She seemed not to care. Struggling to hold up her wobbly head, the calf gave a sharp bawl. As though awakened in an instant, Porky snuffed at the twitching form. In minutes, she was making low sounds in her throat as she cleaned her baby with a long tongue.

Clutching her hands to her chest, Lenora released several pent-up breaths as she watched the miracle of a new mother with her calf. Embarrassed when she caught Cole staring at her, she brushed a tear off her cheek.

Dusk had begun to settle on the landscape, but enough daylight remained for her to see Cole’s mud-streaked chest. She knew she, too, must look a fright, but she didn’t care. When their gazes met, she smiled.

“You did good. Real good.” The warmth of his approval beamed from his nod and crooked grin.

“Thank you.” She could barely get the words out.

When the calf fought to stand on unsteady legs, Porky staggered upward. As she licked the stiff black hair, she knocked the calf over several times. Lenora made a sympathetic sound when the newborn toppled yet again.

“Glad we got her out in time.” Cole pointed to the darkening horizon. “Daylight’ll be gone sooner than we think.”

Purple streaked the sky. The deep color reminded her of...

“My pie,” she blurted. Had she left it in the oven? She couldn’t recall. By now it would be burned to a crisp.

“Go on to the house.” Cole indicated the direction with his head. “Toby and I’ll make sure these two get settled in the barn.”

Lenora bolted. When she reached the porch, she tossed aside her filthy apron before going inside.

All her cooking was as she had left it. She blew out a breath of relief. Now she recalled taking the pie out and the pans off the stove. After washing her hands, she stoked the fire. A glance in her bedroom’s mirror confirmed she looked a sight. Dirt smeared her face while her hair streamed across her shoulders.

Before Cole and Toby arrived, she changed out of her dress and washed herself with cold water. She didn’t bother trying to fix her hair beyond raking fingers through the tangles and tying it with a loose ribbon.

Was her partially baked pie still edible? Back in the kitchen, she assessed the gooey crust, soaked with the juices of the wild berries. Perhaps if she heated the oven hotter than usual and rebaked it, the pie could be rescued.

Two sets of footsteps on the porch alerted her the men had arrived. Toby entered first, grinning while Cole remained by the door.

“Porky and calf are safe in the barn. I’ll keep an eye on them tonight.” Cole stood just inside, fingers gripping the handle. His shirt and vest were back on, but she could see a streak of filth across his neck that disappeared under one button. “Thought I’d let you know before I bed down for the night.”

“You’re staying for supper, aren’t you?” She bit her lip at how eager she sounded.

He hesitated a moment. “Don’t want to be any trouble.”

“You aren’t. Just cold beans and bread.”

Still, he appeared to vacillate.

Toby glanced between them. “I’ll go wash up, Ma.”

After her son went to the outside basin, Lenora spoke. “Cole, I—”

“You don’t need to—”

They both stopped.

He tilted his head. “Ladies first.”

After taking a deep breath, she again started. “I wanted to thank you.”

“I believe you already did that in the pasture.”

“Yes, but...” She paused, aware of the heat that singed her cheeks. “But I needed to repeat it. You didn’t owe us...me any favors. Not after the way I—”

“Say no more.” He held up a hand.

“Please, allow me to apologize.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

Though she still didn’t know how the coop had been damaged, she hoped it wasn’t because of him. She didn’t want it to be.

Lord, please don’t let me be wrong about Cole.

She took a quick breath. “And my earlier offer still stands. Feel free to stay as long as you like.”

Head tilted, he seemed to contemplate her words. “I’d be pleased to accept, Lenora. As long as you don’t mind my doing some chores in exchange.” He turned, but stopped and again faced her. “I’ll be back after I wash up.”

He disappeared into the dusk. Heavy boots tromped across the porch and down the steps. She pressed cool hands against her cheeks. When Toby burst into the room once more, she swiveled so he wouldn’t see her face.

He began setting the table. For three.

“Come up with a name for the calf yet?” She strove to keep her tone light.

“I was thinking Coal. On account of her having no white markings at all.”

Pondering how to voice her concern, Lenora chewed her lip. “Shouldn’t you check with Cole first? He might not like having a calf named after him.”

“Already did.” Toby smiled up in her eyes. “He laughed, Ma. Told me it was a grand name.”

Lenora smoothed her son’s hair. “Then I guess it’s settled. Coal is perfect.”

Long after their guest continued on his way to his destination, they would have something by which to remember him.

Then the thought of Cole’s leaving struck her. It would be hard to see him go. And not just because he was useful around the ranch.

Then she shook herself. In a few short months she planned to leave Wyoming Territory. What about Cole? He seemed to be traveling west. Perhaps she needed to consider going that direction too.

Chapter Six

As he relaxed in his chair after the meal, Cole watched Lenora and Toby. With supper bedded down, he felt no hurry to follow suit.

“Okay, young man.” She smiled at her son. “You are done with arithmetic for the night.”

“Hurray.” Toby stood up to gather his slate.

“But not with your spelling.”

With a groan, he slumped.

Trying to squelch his amusement, Cole slouched in a chair, one foot extended in front of him. Lenora gave her son a list of words. Jamming the heel of his hand against his forehead, Toby sighed. He bent over his work, mouth puckered in frustration.

Just like me when I was his age.

“That is misspelled.” She pointed to his slate. “What is the rule about I and E?”

“I don’t know.” Her son’s tone betrayed his exasperation.

Lenora’s eyebrows rose as she waited.

“Is that the ‘I before E, except after C’ rule?” Cole volunteered.

She threw him a mock glare. “Shh. No helping.”

“You did. A couple times already.”

“That’s because I’m the teacher.” She turned back to Toby. “A few more words and we’ll have dessert.”

“Are we having p-e-i?” Cole inserted.

Lenora swiveled, jaw thrust in mock irritation. “Keep that up, mister, and you won’t get any.”

Grinning, Toby’s eyes met Cole’s.

“Good, because I’d rather have p-i-e.” He rose to pour himself another cup of coffee. That also gave him an excuse to look at the pastry, cooling on the sideboard. Though Lenora had fussed that the dessert was practically ruined, it still looked good enough to eat. What had Toby said about her pies? They were fearsome?

Cole would soon find out. Turning, he leaned against the sideboard as he watched mother and son. What a pair they made.

A memory—of his ma and Andrew—flashed through his mind. His brother had been working on spelling too. Because they had relocated so much, Ma always had them do their book learning at home. And she was a strict teacher. This one time, Andrew had squawked about how unfair it was that Cole didn’t have to do spelling anymore. Their mother explained that was because he was three years older. And soon enough he would be doing his own work.

Then Cole remembered. That was the night before Andrew died.

Lenora’s eyes met his. “Having second thoughts?”

“S’cuse me?” He straightened with a jerk. It wasn’t often he allowed himself the luxury of losing himself in memories.

“About the pie.” She nodded at the pastry. “I know it looks terrible, but I’m hoping it tastes better than it appears.”

He shoved away his recollections. “So far, I haven’t been disappointed by anything you’ve made. See no reason to start now.”

Smiling, she turned to study her son’s spelling.

“That one is right.” She pointed to Toby’s slate. “What about that one?”

Her son growled before erasing his work and trying again. “Can this be the last word, Ma? Please?”

“Of course.” She kissed the top of his head before approaching the sideboard.

As she pulled the pie closer to cut it, Cole scooted out of the way.

“No, I meant can this be my last spelling word forever?” Toby glanced at Cole, then his mother. “I don’t need any more spelling or arithmetic. I’m almost eleven.”

“Age has nothing to do with learning,” she answered in a serene voice as she dished up generous portions.

When Toby still didn’t appear convinced, Cole added his two bits. “Almost eleven? When does this happen?”

“Next month.”

“I mean how many days?”

“It’ll be in...” The youngster’s forehead wrinkled, and his lips moved as he calculated.

Cole again took his seat as Lenora set a hunk of pie in front of him. Glancing up, he caught her grin before she smoothed it out of existence. Because she knew why he was asking Toby the date?

Her son finally resorted to counting on his fingers. “Seventeen—no, eighteen days.”

“See there.” Cole grabbed his fork. “Your arithmetic skills just came in handy.”

The youngster glanced their way with narrowed eyes. Like he knew his mother and Cole were ganging up on him?

“Okay, put your homework away and let’s have pie.” She set his piece down.

It didn’t take long for Toby to do as he was told. They both dived into the tart dessert. After the first bite, Cole gave Lenora a thumbs-up as it simultaneously melted in his mouth and made it pucker. She smiled and took a delicate forkful. Mindful of his manners, he forced himself to eat slowly. Somehow, he got the feeling that she preferred good deportment.

Again, just like his ma. Once upon a time, he recalled her threatening the three men in her family with no dinner if they acted like pigs diving into their slop.

He considered. Why so many memories of Andrew lately? For sixteen years Cole had been successful in suppressing them. With the remembrances came the uncomfortable feeling that he was shirking his duty—the whole reason he had come to Wyoming Territory. Because he hadn’t been more aggressive about pursuing the Jeb Hackett gang?

Truth was, Cole liked it there. It would be easy to set down the burden of his life’s mission for a spell.

“Hey, Cole.” In the warm glow of the lantern light, Toby’s mouth was stained red from the pie’s berries. “I was thinking about Sheba.”

“Oh?” He smacked his lips.

“If she has a filly, you should name her Queen.” The youngster grinned at him. “You know, the Queen of Sheba?”

Lenora and Cole both chuckled.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The youngster certainly had a knack for naming critters.

In no time, Toby finished his pie. More than once, he rubbed his eyes, his dark, tousled hair falling over his forehead. Cole noticed that the boy had failed to get all the grime from behind his ears.

Had Andrew once been like that? In Toby, Cole felt like he was seeing a portion of his little brother’s life that he had missed. An odd longing to see the boy grow up echoed through him.

But Lenora...

The comely brunette reminded him of a path that he had chosen not to pursue so that he could become a lawman. When she laid a gentle hand on her son’s shoulder, Cole couldn’t help his thoughts. What would it feel like to have her caress his shoulder? Or impulsively hug him? When she looked at Cole, her soft smile did something funny to his heart.

He abruptly rose. “Thanks for the pie.”

Two sets of round eyes gazed at him.

Before Lenora asked, he volunteered, “Been a long day. I want to get an early start tomorrow.”

She blinked as though she’d not heard him correctly.

I need to leave.

Forget the ten days he’d promised himself to stay. He should pack up and move on. Regardless of his reasoning though, that would be wrong. Especially since Lenora needed help. But what about the investigation? The accusation pounded him. He should find another spot—less entangling—from which to investigate the Hackett gang.

How could staying and going both be the right thing to do?

“We usually finish the evening off with Bible reading and prayer.” Lenora’s lovely voice soothed his rising tension. “You’re welcome to stay. If you like.”

“Some other time perhaps.” He edged to the door.

“Oh. Cole?”

He was already halfway out when her words stopped him.

“Thank you again for saving Porky.” She smiled as she added, “And Coal.”

He gripped the door so hard his fingers stung. “You’re welcome.” He dragged his gaze away from the endearing scene.

“Good night, Cole,” Toby called. “See ya in the morning.”

With more force than he intended, he shut the door.

As he strode toward the barn, his mission kept pounding in his head. He was there to solve the mystery of the Cheyenne bank robbery, prove Jeb Hackett’s guilt and arrest not only him, but his gang. They had absconded with nearly twenty-one thousand dollars. Not one bill had been recovered.

What would Lenora’s reaction be when she found out who he was and why he was there? Cole slumped down on his bedroll and pulled off his boots. No doubt she would be pleased to see Hackett behind bars. But how would she feel about Cole not telling her he was a US marshal?

She’d think I was a liar. Just like her lying, thieving husband.

Cole pressed his forearm to his eyes as though to blot out his thoughts. Later, he could explain why he didn’t come right out and tell her. The hurt on her face materialized in his imagination.

But why should he care how Lenora felt?

As he flopped to his side, he yanked a blanket over his body. He shouldn’t be worried about her emotions.

Even so, he admitted that he did care. Perhaps a little too much.

* * *

He came back.

After Lenora had risen early, she saw from the open barn door that Cole had left. Yet a couple hours later, he rode back into the yard, a duck carcass in hand. He’d gone hunting? Or had that merely been an excuse for his return?

As she sat on the porch doing some mending, she watched him smack barbed wire with the side of the pliers. Cole moved to the next spot in the fence that needed repairing and repeated the procedure with quick ease.

Like he’d been doing it his whole life. Well, perhaps he had.

Many times she was tempted to ask him if he had been skulking around the barn several days back. He couldn’t have been the one who broke the chicken coop. But what did she really know about him? He could be an outlaw, hiding out on her ranch.

But better him than Jeb Hackett.

Since Cole had ensconced himself there, Jeb hadn’t returned. And she wanted to keep it that way. Every day, she expected the outlaw to show up and do some unspeakable evil. Or force her to marry him or one of his buddies.

She recalled the last time Amos had invited Jeb for dinner, her protests unheeded. The way he had addressed her with that despicable nickname in a sneering, condescending way made her stomach clench even now. When she had caught him openly staring, he had not bothered to avert his gaze. Like he owned her. She shivered as her imagination summoned a man-sized reptile, paralyzing her with a chilling stare.

Pushing unpleasant memories away, she concentrated on the man across the yard while she rocked and sewed. Cole had repaired several wobbly fence posts, fixed the chicken coop’s mesh, replaced several boards in the stalls, and who knew what else. Earlier he’d told her that he planned to repair the house’s roof before it sprung a leak during the next heavy rainfall. He pointed out several shingles that appeared loose.

But first, he wanted to finish the barbed-wire fencing around part of the yard to keep roaming cattle from trampling her garden. He asked her if she planned to fence off all her land. Last year, Amos had mentioned that as well, but had never gotten around to it. A lot of ranchers and farmers were doing that since the open ranges were becoming more and more overgrazed.

Perhaps she should buy more fencing materials.

Then she drew herself up short yet again. In a month or two, she hoped that fencing wouldn’t be her problem, but Frank Hopper’s, her neighbor. He said he would give her an answer by May about whether or not he would buy her ranch. Well, it was pert near May, and she had heard nothing. Had he decided against it, but neglected to tell her?

Her gaze strayed again to Cole. What if he stayed? The three of them could handle the ranch’s workload at least until the fall when she could sell off cattle. With the money, she could hire some reliable help. Did she dare ask?

I want him to stay. Lord help me, I don’t want him to go.

When he approached the porch, she bent over her darning, pretending that she hadn’t spent near an hour staring at his strong back and broad shoulders. When he cleared his throat to get her attention, heat climbed into her cheeks.

“How’re you doing?” She looked everywhere but into his deep blue eyes. Or at the dimple that creased one cheek when he smiled.

“Good.” He tossed his hat onto the straight-back chair on the other end of the porch. “I got a good start on repairing the fences.”

“Sweet of you to help out. Are you nearly finished?”

“Yep. Only about ten thousand miles or so to go.”

“That—that sounds great.” She stared past his head and rubbed her ear, nearly jabbing herself with her darning needle.

His grin deepened, as though aware of the reason for her consternation.

Ducking her head, she drew her mending more closely to her face. This repair would require a longer needle than the one she’d been using. She wove the shorter one through her shirt’s collar to keep it handy.

“I was wondering,” Cole began.

“Hmm?” She squinted at the hole in Toby’s sock. Land sakes, that boy could wear them out faster than she could fix them.

“My glove. Got a bit of a tear. Mind sewing it? Would make the fence fixing a little gentler on my hand.”

Tempted to chide him, the teasing died in her throat when she saw blood by the jagged hole. “Oh.” She bolted up, dropping the sock and dumping her sewing basket. Her spool of thread bounded away, unraveling at the speed of lightning. Scissors clattered and other items scattered. Cole bent about the same time, barely avoiding hitting her head with his.

When Lenora overcompensated, she staggered and ended up falling against him. “I beg your—”

“My fault. Sorry.” He grabbed her arms until she stood upright.

For a moment, their faces were mere inches apart.

Cole straightened and stepped back. After scratching his chin, he pointed. “You sit. I’ll get this.”

“But your hand...”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known you don’t like the sight of blood.”

“It’s not so much that, it’s just that you’re bleeding.” As soon as she spoke, she clenched her hands and pressed them against her skirt. “What I meant to say—” she spoke with care “—is that you were injured doing me a favor.”

He grinned and held up his palm. “This is hardly an injury.”

Her disquiet grew. No matter what she said, it was wrong.

Finally she gathered her wits. “Well, you should have made a bigger deal of it. When Toby gets hurt, he hollers until I promise him an extra piece of pie.”

Cole threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“In the meantime...” She hastened into the house. “I have some salve that’ll help.”

He pulled on a sandy-colored curl above his forehead as though he were using that instead of his missing hat to salute her. “Much obliged.”

Where was that salve? She grabbed a jar off a shelf in the kitchen area. “It’d heal faster if you wash your hands before I put this on.”

He did as she bade, using a rough rectangle of soap and wiping his hands on a small towel.

After scooping out the creamy ointment with one finger, she cradled his hand and pulled it to her chest. Barbed wire had caught and torn the flesh in the meaty part of his thumb. It had to hurt. She got a better grip, preparing to apply the salve.

Suddenly realizing this wasn’t Toby, she jerked back. Cole didn’t comment about her abrupt movement. With his strong hand resting on hers, she rubbed the healing concoction deep into his skin.

They stood so close, she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Her heart began to hammer. Did she imagine it or did his breath quicken too?

“There.” She coughed to clear her throat. Somehow she managed to turn and tighten the lid on the jar without meeting his gaze. Or breaking anything.

“Ow!” His sudden yell made her jump.

She spun. “What’s wrong?”

Grinning, he held up his hand. “You said I might get an extra piece of pie if I hollered. Better late than never?”

Lenora grabbed the towel he’d used and flung the balled-up material at him.

Catching it, he merely laughed, the sound somehow making his blue eyes deepen in color. She lost the war to keep from grinning back at him.

It felt like forever to say something. Finally she found her tongue. “Break time’s over. Get back to work, mister.”

“Anything you say, Lenora.”

She sucked in a slow breath, pleased to hear him call her by name. The way he drawled out the second syllable, like he was caressing the word...

She was the first to look away.

“Thanks for fixing me up.”

After he stepped onto the porch, she called, “Leave your glove, and I’ll tend to it directly.”

By the time she put the salve away, he’d repacked all the contents of her sewing basket. It sat by her rocking chair. Cole’s glove rested on the arm.

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