The Lady Has a Secret

No one would ever imagine a fresh-faced young woman could be robbing stage bandits of their ill-gotten fortunes. But Jennie Jones is desperate to save her family’s ranch from foreclosure. And the risks seem worth it, until her upright new ranch hand offers a glimpse of how much is really at stake.

Former bounty hunter Caleb Johnson is ready for a new, clean start. With a woman like Jennie, he could build a future there in Utah territory. But only if his gentle faith can guide her in a choice between the land she’s fought so hard to save and a future by his side.

Her left arm throbbed.

Jennie stared down at her bloody jacket and remembered the stage bandits shooting at her from the second-story room. The bullet grazing her arm. The escape. She had to get out of Fillmore—now.

Mounting a horse, she headed for the road. The steady movement of the horse beneath her and the unrelenting pain in her arm lolled Jennie into a state of semiwakefulness. Ahead of her, she could see the angry faces of the thieves she’d robbed.

Then another image rose unbidden. The handsome features she’d grown to know so well. Unlike the others, Caleb regarded her with tenderness. But too quickly his expression changed to one of pain and anger.

He doesn’t despise me now, but he will if he ever finds out what I’ve done. How would she explain her gunshot wound to Caleb and her family?

“Can’t I have the ranch and Caleb, too?” she asked the heavens. The rumble of distant thunder was her only reply.

STACY HENRIE

has always had an avid appetite for history, fiction and chocolate. As a youth, she enjoyed reading historical novels, dabbling in creative writing and poetry, visiting museums, exploring ghost towns and daydreaming about life in bygone eras. While she had a goal to write and publish a book one day, she turned her attentions first to graduating with a bachelor’s degree in public relations. Not long after, she switched from writing press releases and newsletters to writing inspirational historical fiction as a stay-at-home mom.

Stacy loves reading, interior decorating, romantic movies, her famous chocolate-chip cookies and, most of all, laughing with her family. She lives in central Utah with her husband and three kids, where she appreciates the chance to live out history through her characters, while enjoying all the modern conveniences of life in the 21st century.

Lady Outlaw

Stacy Henrie

For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.

—Isaiah 41:13

To Peter

This story is as much ours as it is mine.

Thanks for never doubting.

Acknowledgments

First, foremost and always, thank you to my family—especially my husband who read the manuscript about as many times as I did, who gave me the time I needed to revise, and who never gave up on my dream, even when I wasn’t so sure myself.

Thank you to my mom and grandma for instilling in me a love of reading, and to my dad for passing on his interest in history and helping me with the idea for Jennie’s outlawing ways.

Thank you to my writer friends for their advice, encouragement, suggestions and laughter—especially Ali Cross, Elana Johnson, Jenn Wilks, Sara Olds, Becki Clayson and Rachel Nunes.

Thank you to the ladies in book club for their interest in my writing journey through the years. I hope this book gives you lots to talk about—after I leave the room.

Thank you to Jessica Alvarez for her vision and support, and to Elizabeth Mazer who loved the story as much as I did and was willing to give me a second chance.

A final thank-you to my Father in Heaven for guiding my path, giving me this gift and teaching me to trust. Thankfully we don’t always get what we want when we want it—typically the blessings are far greater than we could imagine when we least expect it.

Contents

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

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Utah Territory—September 1869

“Regrettably, the answer is no, Miss Jones.”

The bank president’s apologetic tone might have fooled her, but Jennie caught a glint of satisfaction in Albert Dixon’s gray eyes that contradicted his sympathetic words.

“I’m sure things have been more difficult on the ranch since your father’s death, but you haven’t made a payment on your mortgage in over a year.” He cleared his throat. “That’s eighteen hundred dollars you already owe us. We’ll need to see five hundred of that before the end of the month, if you wish to keep your property. The full debt will be due next August—no exceptions.”

Jennie gripped the handle of her purse so hard her fingers hurt. No matter the sum, she wouldn’t give up the ranch. “And if I don’t have the money...”

Mr. Dixon dropped a glance at the sheet of paper before him, then slid the document across the desk. Jennie read the words written in bold, black ink at the top—Notice of Foreclosure.

“If you can’t produce the minimum amount, we’ll have to terminate the loan.” He shook his head and rose from his chair. “I wish there was more I could do. I’m deeply sorry.”

“I’m sure you are.” Jennie grabbed her small suitcase off the floor and came to her feet, eyeing him coldly. “But let me make something quite clear, Mr. Dixon. The only part of my father’s cattle ranch you’ll ever own is a steak dinner—and I hope it gives you a bad case of indigestion. Good day.”

The bank president’s round face and balding head turned a satisfying shade of red before Jennie headed for the door. She could hear him sputtering for a reply as she left the bank. She marched in the direction of the stage office, the heels of her boots stomping out a hard beat.

“I’d like to take a branding iron to that man,” she muttered under her breath as she wound her way along Fillmore’s storefronts.

She contemplated a number of other ways she might lower the bank president’s arrogance before her fury changed to despair. As her anger ebbed so did her determined pace and finally Jennie came to a stop at the corner of the general mercantile.

Where would she find five hundred dollars to keep her ranch? She’d barely scraped together enough cash to finance her trip to Fillmore. She had no relatives to borrow money from and couldn’t afford to sell any of their cattle, either. Since rustlers had cleaned them out of calves and half the herd in the spring, they had to keep every last cow in order to increase the number of cattle next year. Besides, what good is a cattle ranch with no cows?

A hat display in the window beside her caught Jennie’s eye. Latest Styles from the East, a handwritten sign below the hats read. She loved hats—her father had always bought her a new one on his trips to Fillmore. The one she wore today, with a rounded brim and green braiding that accentuated her red hair, was the last one he’d purchased for her. That had been a little over a year ago, just before her twentieth birthday. On that occasion, he’d bought her a brooch, as well.

Jennie’s fingers went to her throat, sliding over the simple but pretty cameo her father had said reminded him of her. She could just picture him in the store, happily chatting with the clerk as he picked out gifts to bring home. She fought back the tears that sprang to her eyes at the image.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped toward the mercantile. She couldn’t replace her father in so many ways, but at least she could look around for some small gift to bring home. The southbound stage wasn’t likely to leave for another thirty minutes or so, and she needed a diversion from her depressing thoughts. Despite her limited funds, she hoped to spare one or two coins to buy Grandma Jones and Will some candy or a penny trinket instead of bringing back only bad news.

* * *

Caleb looked up at the tinkling sound of the sleigh bells hanging from the mercantile’s doorknob and watched the young lady walk in. His time as a bounty hunter had honed his skills at taking the measure of a man—or woman—in a matter of moments, and it only took a glance for him to guess at the girl’s story.

The clothes, neat and clean but worn, made it clear that money was tight at home. But she held her head high, coffee-brown eyes sharp and keen, a nice contrast to her red hair. He read pride and determination in her posture and expression. Times might be tough, but clearly this lady wasn’t one to give up.

He’d had that kind of determination, once. After the death of his fiancée, he’d been filled with determination to find the bandits involved, and see them all brought to justice. But in the aftermath of the deadly confrontation a year ago, his determination had fled. All he wanted now was to earn enough money to start a small business of his own—something far different from the farm life he’d planned to share with Liza...and worlds away from the bounty hunting business he’d left behind too late.

He watched as the woman nodded to the store clerk, then headed toward the glass jars of brightly colored candies that sat on the long counter. He felt a moment’s idle curiosity wondering what she’d choose before his attention was snagged by the two men talking at the end of the counter.

“Somebody wired the sheriff and told him the bandits were headed south,” one of the men said. “He sent out nearly twenty men looking for ’em, but I think they must’ve slipped past.”

At the word bandits, Caleb found himself straightening up automatically, then he forced himself to relax. He was done with bounty hunting—those bandits were someone else’s responsibility now.

“When did they rob the stage?” the other asked.

“Yesterday afternoon. They met up with the coach about fifteen miles south of Nephi.”

“How much money did they steal?”

“Two thousand dollars.”

Two thousand dollars? Caleb was shocked...not just by the amount, but by the loud crash that followed the announcement. He glanced over to see that the young lady had accidentally struck one of the candy jars with her suitcase. The container had toppled off the counter and smashed on the floor, spraying glass and peppermint sticks around everyone’s feet. Caleb only caught a glimpse of her hotly embarrassed blush before she dropped to her knees and began picking up the candy with trembling hands.

Shaking hands and broken glass made for a dangerous combination so Caleb crouched down beside her to help. Reaching for one of the larger pieces of glass, his fingers almost brushed against hers. When she lifted her head to look at him, he was struck by just how pretty she was, with that fiery hair and warm brown eyes. Nothing like Liza, of course, Caleb thought to himself, heart twisting as it always did at the memory of Liza’s dark hair and sweet smile, but very pretty all the same. Especially when she blushed like that.

“You don’t have to help,” she murmured.

“I’d like to.” He slipped the glass from underneath her fingers and placed it to the side.

“No, that’s all right. I can clean up the mess myself.” Apparently he’d been right about the pride and determination. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He continued to gather up the broken shards, acting as if he hadn’t heard her. When the store clerk appeared with a broom, Caleb took hold of it and swept the glass into a pile while the young lady finished collecting the candy.

“I’m so sorry,” she said to the clerk as she stood. She set the peppermint sticks on the counter. “I don’t have enough to pay for the damage and purchase my ticket home, but...” She reached up to her collar, her hand covering the brooch pinned there. “Maybe I could trade—” Her fingers tightened over the piece of jewelry and Caleb could see that it hurt her to even think of giving it up. Maybe that was what prompted his next words.

“I’ll pay for the candy.” The hope of starting up a freighting business of his own had had Caleb saving every penny for the past year. As a result, he had plenty of cash on hand. The broken jar and candy shouldn’t put him back by more than a dollar or two. He could spare that well enough. Digging around in his pocket, he extracted some cash, along with the letter he’d come into town to mail—yet another attempt to mend fences with his disapproving family. “I’d like to mail this letter, too,” he said to the clerk. “So how much do I owe you?”

The girl shook her head. “I can’t let you do that. I’d want to repay you, and I can’t.”

“I think two dollars oughta cover it,” the store clerk said, seemingly in agreement with Caleb to ignore her protests.

Caleb handed over two bills along with his letter, then scooped up the candy. The clerk took the mail and money and returned to his post beside the cash register.

“You shouldn’t have done that—paid for the candy, I mean.” The lady frowned at Caleb as she collected her purse and suitcase. “I could have given him my brooch to make up the difference.”

Certain any mention of how obviously she’d wanted to keep the brooch would just upset her, Caleb tried a different tactic. “Probably so, but I can think of a way to repay me,” he said as he went to pick up another handful of peppermint sticks they’d missed near the door. When everything was gathered together, he turned to face her again.

“I can’t eat all of these by myself. How about taking a few off my hands?” He offered her a fistful of candy.

The absurdity of the whole situation made her smile, just as he’d hoped. “All right,” she said. “I’ll take some.”

She shifted her things to one arm and took the candy from him.

“I hope you enjoy them,” he said, smiling back. “Always a pleasure to help a pretty girl.”

For some reason, his compliment left her looking close to tears. Her reaction made him want to take her hand, ask her what was wrong. But if he tried, he was certain she’d tell him it was none of his concern. And she’d be right. Besides, now that he’d mailed his letter, it was time for him to be moving on. Tipping his hat, he gave her one more smile.

“Good day, miss,” he said, then headed for the door.

* * *

Not until the stranger had disappeared did Jennie think to ask him his name. The unexpected kindness of this man almost made her forget Mr. Dixon and the debt, and she suddenly realized that she’d never even thanked him. Hurrying to the door, she tried to spot him, but he was already out of sight.

Oh, well, Jennie thought as she left the store. There wasn’t really time to talk to him anyway. If she didn’t hurry she might miss the stage that would take her home to Beaver and she certainly didn’t have money to stay a second night in the boardinghouse.

She tucked the candy into her purse with her money and the four-shot, pepperbox pistol she always carried while still toting her suitcase, then she hurried to the booking office. The stagecoach stood out front, its six horses already hitched up. The man inside informed her that the driver would be along any minute.

Jennie purchased her ticket and sat outside on a nearby bench to wait. With nothing to read or do, except think over her mostly horrible morning, her mind soon filled with recollections of home. She pretended she was already riding her horse Dandy down the familiar wagon-rutted trail toward the ranch, past the corral fences and empty bunkhouse. Past the faded red barn where fourteen-year-old Will would be shoveling hay to the other pair of horses. Up to the two-story frame house with its front porch where Grandma Jones would be sitting in her rocker, mending clothes—the smell of her freshly baked bread mingling with the scent of meadow grass.

The possibility of losing everything she’d worked for and held so dear made her chest tighten. “What am I going to do?” She stared at her hands as if the gnawed fingernails and cracked knuckles held some kind of answer.

The sound of footsteps approaching brought up Jennie’s chin. She watched as the stage driver made a thorough inspection of the coach before coming over to greet her.

“Afternoon, miss.” He nodded, and Jennie forced a smile as she stood. He placed her suitcase on the top rack of the stage. “I hear it’s just you and me today.”

“Not a bad thing,” she said, thinking of the crowded stagecoach she’d ridden in for two days before reaching Fillmore.

“Up you go then.” He held her elbow in a gentle grip and helped her inside.

Being the only passenger, Jennie had her pick of one of the three benches. She chose the one facing forward. She settled onto the lumpy, cracked leather next to the window and set her purse in her lap.

As the driver moved to close the small door, two gentlemen sprinted up to the stagecoach, each holding a piece of luggage. Jennie gathered they might be brothers with their matching dark hair, bushy eyebrows and brown suits.

“We got seats on this stage,” the older-looking one said. He held up two stubs of paper.

From the window Jennie watched the driver inspect their tickets before nodding.

“I can place your bags on top, gentlemen.”

The one with the tickets shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you, we’ll keep ’em with us.”

The driver shot him a puzzled look, but he didn’t insist they use the top rack. The men climbed into the stage and sat on the rear-facing seat. They squeezed their two bags in the narrow space beside their feet. Jennie noticed each man wore impeccable clothes, without a trace of dirt or signs of heavy wearing, and each carried a revolver in a holster beneath his jacket.

The younger and stockier brother eyed Jennie and grinned. “You traveling by yourself, little lady?”

Jennie responded with a simple nod as she slipped her hand into her purse and fingered the handle of the pistol. The young man likely didn’t mean anything by his flirtatious manner, but she wanted to be prepared if things turned sour.

“Don’t worry, miss,” he continued. “Should we run across any Injuns or bandits...” He held open his jacket and tapped the butt of his revolver with a fat thumb. “We’ll protect you.”

“Shut up, Horace.” The older brother drove an elbow into Horace’s side. “You’ll have to pardon my brother’s rambling. Learned it from our ma.”

With a scowl, Horace twisted in his seat to face his brother. “What you talking about, Clyde? We ain’t seen Ma for eight years, so how do know what she did and didn’t do? I told you, we oughta gone back home this winter, hole up before our next—”

“There he goes again.” Clyde clapped a hand over Horace’s mouth and smiled. “Can’t help himself.”

Jennie lifted her brows in amusement. The brothers’ rough manners and speech didn’t match their fancy clothes. What type of work did they do? Before she could ask, the stagecoach lurched forward. Jennie gripped the window ledge to keep from bouncing off her seat.

“Should’ve ridden those good horses we had, instead of takin’ the stage.” Horace righted himself and straightened his skewed hat.

“Here, have a drink,” Clyde said. He pulled a silver flask from his jacket and wiggled it in the air. Horace seized the container and guzzled before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

This ought to be interesting. Jennie began chewing on her thumbnail. They’ll either drink themselves into a stupor or get fresh. Given how her day had gone so far, she couldn’t trust that they’d choose the option she’d prefer. She didn’t feel like talking much—not after her long morning—but a little conversation might divert their attention from the alcohol.

“What exactly is your line of work, gentlemen?”

Horace chuckled again and glanced at Clyde. “I’d say we’re in—”

“The money-making business,” Clyde finished, a deadpan expression on his face.

Jennie waited for them to elaborate, but neither one did. Horace returned to his drinking, and Clyde stared out the window.

“Are you from around here?” she tried next.

Turning from the view, Clyde sized up Jennie as if trying to determine the reason for her questions. “Nope,” he said after a long moment. “We’re a ways from home.”

“What sort of money-making business brought you to Fillmore then?”

Horace smiled. “She’s a real talker, ain’t she, Clyde? Not shy or silent like a lot of other girls.”

“Give me that.” Clyde snatched the flask from Horace. “That’s enough talkin’.” He gave Horace a stern look and took a long swig. Lowering the silver container from his mouth, he frowned at Jennie. “If it’s all the same to you, miss, we’d prefer to do our drinking in peace and quiet.”

“Suit yourself,” Jennie muttered as she faced the window. Silence enveloped the inside of the stagecoach, except for the sound of the brothers passing the flask between them and gulping the liquor.

Jennie watched the sagebrush and distant hills moving past for a long time before she grew tired of the monotonous scenery. Leaning her head back against the seat, she shut her eyes. As rough as the ride could be, she preferred resting over watching two men become inebriated in front of her.

A headache began building at her temples and she tried to relax to keep it at bay. Thoughts of the bank president and her debt filled her head, but she chased them away with plans for what the ranch needed in preparation for colder weather.

A short time later, she heard loud whispering between Horace and Clyde. Curious, she pretended to still be sleeping and focused on their words.

“I told you wearing these fancy duds and takin’ the stage would work,” Clyde said in a slightly slurred voice.

“We sure showed ’em,” Horace said, his speech thicker with intoxication than his brother’s. “Slipped right past the sheriff. Bet he didn’t think we’d be walkin’ into town, all respectable.” He snorted in obvious delight.

“Two thousand dollars, Horace! Now we can buy us some horses and land—whatever we want.”

Horace murmured in agreement. “I’d like to go back to Wyoming soon and live by Ma, but I don’t think she’d like knowin’ we’re bandits.” He sighed heavily, then added in a brighter tone, “Maybe we could buy her somethin’ real nice, so she ain’t too mad. Whatdaya think she’d like?”

Jennie missed Clyde’s response as her mind raced. They’re the bandits I heard about in the store—the ones who stole the two thousand dollars.

Her first impulse was to jump out the door. She might not live through such a fall, but staying put could also mean death if the men realized what she’d overheard. That left her two choices: sit tight and pretend she hadn’t heard a thing or try to disarm the men herself and hand them over to the stage driver.

At the pricking of her conscience, Jennie chose to act. But not just yet. Better to hold off until they were at their weakest. Perhaps all the alcohol they’d been drinking would work out in her favor in the end. She waited until their whispering turned to snores and opened her eyes. Both bandits were passed out on their respective sides of the stagecoach, mouths hanging open, their relaxed jaws bouncing with the stage’s movement.

Jennie shifted her gaze from them to the luggage beside their feet. Which of the two bags held the money?

If only I had that cash...

She shook her head, though she couldn’t rid the wish completely from her thoughts. Slowly, the innocent desire for money became an idea—a bold, dangerous idea.

If she took the money, would it really be stealing? She’d only take what she needed to pay the bank at the end of the month and buy herself time to raise more funds. The ranch would be temporarily saved, and she and her family wouldn’t lose everything. The brothers had already spent some of the money—their new clothes showed that. No one would expect the full two thousand to be recovered. It’s just my informal reward for turning in these men.

Before she changed her mind, Jennie scooted to the edge of her seat. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears and her hands grew clammy. Sliding onto the middle seat, her back to the door, she leaned over to grab hold of the suitcase next to Clyde. She hefted it onto the bench and quietly cracked it open. Desperation surged through her at finding nothing but a faded bundle of sweat-and-campfire-scented clothes inside.

Jennie placed the bag back on the floor. She had to hurry before either man woke up. She scooted down the bench to reach Horace’s bag and saw that one boot rested against it. With a sigh, Jennie pivoted on the bench to face Horace straight on. She bent down and gripped the boot with both hands. She gently slid his foot toward her. The drunken Horace didn’t stir.

Exhaling with relief, she lifted the bag into her lap and unfastened the clasp. Peering inside, she sucked in a quick breath. She’d never seen so much cash in one place. She could pay the ranch’s debt in full with that much money.

No, she told herself firmly. Only what we need to buy more time. Grabbing two bundles and hoping it was enough, she shoved the money into her purse.

“What are you doing there?” Clyde demanded.

Startled, Jennie pushed the money bag behind her. Thankfully the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the creak of the wheels muffled the sound of the bag hitting the floor.

“I...uh...needed some air,” she said, motioning to the window above the coach door.

“You sick?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine.” She fanned her flushed face with her purse. “Just a tad warm.”

“It can be dangerous sittin’ in the middle there,” Clyde said in a drowsy voice as he blinked heavily.

You have no idea. Jennie willed herself to smile as she took several calming breaths. She set aside her purse and busied herself arranging her skirts and examining her fingernails until Clyde fell back asleep. When she was certain he was unconscious, she retrieved the money bag, closed it up and put it back beside Horace’s boots. Now she needed to get those guns and hand over these men to the stage driver.

Bending forward again, Jennie peeled back part of Horace’s jacket to reach his revolver. As she inched her fingers toward the barrel, she heard a snort. She jerked her head up and found Horace watching her, a puzzled expression on his face.

“You had a bee on your knee,” Jennie said, thinking fast. “I moved up to swat it away.” She blushed as she straightened.

Horace cocked his head to one side and lifted his eyebrows. “Oh...um...thanks.”

She hoped he’d join his brother in drunken slumber, but Horace stretched and sat up instead.

“How much farther we got to the next town?” he asked.

Jennie peered out the window at the afternoon sun. “We still have several hours until we stop for the night at Cove Fort. It’s a way station for travelers.” Plenty of time to get those guns, but how?

“You ever been to Wyoming?” Horace scratched at his hairy jaw.

“No,” Jennie said curtly. She needed to formulate a plan, not waste more time chatting with Horace.

“That’s where me and Clyde come from. I want to get back up there someday. Our ma’s still there.” Horace glanced out the window and exhaled a long sigh. “Sure do miss her cookin’. And my horse, Jasper.”

Jennie tried to ignore his reminiscing, but he kept on.

“Clyde made me leave Jasper behind. Probably ’cause I ride better than he does. Can shoot better, too. Pa taught me to shoot anything with a trigger.”

His words prompted similar memories in Jennie’s mind—times when her father had shown her how to draw a gun and shoot straight.

That’s it.

Jennie heaved a dramatic sigh and batted her eyelashes like she remembered her girlhood friends at church doing. “I don’t know the first thing about guns. Why, I wouldn’t know how to go about defending myself. I wish somebody would teach me.”

“I’ll show you.” He hurried to sit beside her on the middle bench and pulled his gun from its holster. “This here’s a .44 Remington revolver.”

“Is that right? Well, imagine that,” she said.

“Once it’s loaded, you wanna pull the hammer back.” Horace lifted his thumb and pantomimed the action, then aimed the gun out his window. “You point at your target, squeeze the trigger and shoot.” He shrugged and passed the revolver to Jennie. “Nothin’ to it.”

Jennie pointed the gun out her window, hoping he didn’t see her hands shaking with nervous energy. “Seems easy enough.” Setting the gun on her right side, where Horace couldn’t easily reach it, she smiled coyly. “What about your brother’s gun?”

“Works the same.” Horace leaned across her to pull out Clyde’s revolver from beneath his jacket. Clyde twitched, peering at them through half-opened eyes. “I’m borrowin’ your gun for a minute,” Horace explained. His brother grunted, and to Jennie’s relief, his eyelids shut again.

“Clyde’s gun’s a Colt revolver.” Horace lifted it up for her to see. “His isn’t as fast-loading as mine since he can’t just slip a full cylinder in.”

“How do you load it? Can you teach me that?”

Horace nodded. He pushed the revolver’s cylinder to the left side and pointed to the six chambers. “The bullets go in there, but you see how you wanna leave one hole empty so the gun don’t fire if it’s dropped?”

“May I try?” Jennie asked, swallowing back the panic rising in her throat. If Horace gave his brother back the gun, her plan wouldn’t work.

He looked from her to the gun and over to Clyde. “I s’pose.” He dumped out the bullets and extended the gun toward her. “Here you go.”

She took the revolver and stuck out her hand for the bullets. Horace rolled them into her palm, but as she drew her hand back, she purposely let the bullets slip from her grip to the floor. “Oh, dear. How clumsy of me.”

“I’ll get them.” Horace knelt in the tight space and tried to capture a bullet that rolled and jumped with the stage’s movement.

Clyde sat up, rubbing his jaw. “What in tarnation are you doing, Horace?”

“Pickin’ these up.” He finally got a hold of a bullet and held it up for Clyde to see. “We dropped ’em.”

Cursing softly, Clyde leaned down to help gather the ammunition.

Now’s my chance. Keeping an eye on the two men, Jennie tossed both revolvers out her window. Her heart crashed against her rib cage as she reached inside her purse and cocked her pistol. She slowly removed the gun. Forcing herself to breathe evenly, she aimed the pistol at Horace and Clyde.

“What were ya doing with the bullets out of the gun anyway?” Clyde barked as he shoved bullets into his pocket. Neither of them paid any attention to Jennie, which gave her enough time to steady her hands and plaster a no-nonsense expression on her face. “Where’s my gun? If you ruined it, so help me, Horace...” Clyde gave a vehement shake of his head.

The back of Horace’s ears reddened with anger. “I ain’t done nothin’ with your gun. I was just showin’ the lady here how to use one.” He turned to Jennie, and his eyes went wide as saucers at the sight of the pistol in her hand. “Where’d you get that?”

“Go sit by your brother,” Jennie ordered in an even tone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clyde’s face blanch, then turn scarlet.

“You idiot.” Clyde whopped Horace on the side of the head as he scrambled onto their seat. “Looks to me like she already knows how to use a gun. What’d you tell her while I was asleep?”

Horace blinked in obvious confusion. “I...uh...told her about home. I didn’t say nothin’ about us robbing the stage, honest, Clyde.”

Clyde lifted his hand to strike his brother again, but Jennie pointed the gun in his direction. “Leave him alone. He didn’t say anything. I learned all I needed to know from your drunken whispers earlier.”

“Whatya goin’ do with us now?” Horace asked, frowning.

Instead of answering, Jennie pointed the pistol at the floor and fired a bullet between the men’s boots. Both of them yelped and jumped aside. “That’s a warning,” she explained. “I shoot even better at long-range, so I wouldn’t suggest making a dash for it. You’d likely break every bone in your body if you tried to jump anyway.”

The stagecoach came to an abrupt stop, as Jennie had hoped, and the driver soon appeared beside the door. He had a shotgun in his hand and a look of pure annoyance on his weathered face.

Throwing open the door, he glared at Horace and Clyde. “What do you mean firing a gun while we’re moving? You’ll scare the horses, or the lady here.” He glanced over at Jennie, and seeing her pistol, his eyes widened.

“Forgive me. That shot was meant to alert you.” Jennie smiled apologetically. “I overheard these men talking. I believe they’re the bandits who robbed that stage yesterday.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The driver scratched at his head beneath his hat, his gaze flitting from Jennie to the brothers and back again. “And the money?”

Swallowing the twinge of guilt that rose inside her, Jennie pointed her gun at the bag by Horace. “I believe it’s in there.”

The driver leaned into the stage and proceeded to grab the black bag, but Clyde snatched the other side of the handle and refused to let go. “You can’t have it,” he argued. “We worked and planned for months to get this cash.”

“Let go, young man, or you’ll be eatin’ bullets.” The stage driver trained the shotgun on Clyde. The two locked gazes before Clyde finally released his grip on the bag. The driver passed his shotgun to Jennie. “Hold this on ’em for a minute, miss, while I grab me some rope.”

Jennie nodded and took the shotgun in hand. Shifting the pistol in Clyde’s direction, she pointed the driver’s gun at the sullen-looking Horace.

As soon as the driver disappeared from view, Clyde glowered at her. “You won’t get away with this, missy,” he hissed. “If you think I’m going to rot in jail and lose two thousand dollars ’cause some female has a hankering to be brave, you don’t know me.”

“Perhaps you ought to have considered that possibility before you robbed the stage,” Jennie said, edging her pistol closer to him.

The stage driver returned and tied the men’s hands and feet together. With Jennie holding both guns on them, neither one made an attempt to struggle.

“You might want to ride up with me, miss,” the driver said when he’d finished.

“I believe I will.” She handed him back his gun, but kept hers in her grip. The driver climbed out, and after gathering her purse, Jennie hurried to follow.

“We’re goin’ to find you,” Clyde shouted as she descended the steps. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done this. Horace and I will—”

The stage driver slammed the door against Clyde’s protests and led Jennie by the elbow to the front of the stage. “Don’t pay him no mind, miss. You’ve done a brave thing. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He helped her up onto the seat. “Afraid we’ll have to turn back though, so we can turn those two rascals over to the law in Fillmore.”

Jennie nodded in agreement as she tucked her pistol into her bag alongside the cash.

The stage driver joined her on the seat and gathered the reins. He turned the stagecoach around, heading north again. Jennie did her best to ignore Clyde’s occasional shouts from below. She concentrated instead on the thrill she felt as she imagined marching into the bank tomorrow and slapping the five hundred dollars on Mr. Dixon’s desk. Let him wonder how she came up with it so fast. At least the ranch would be safe from his greedy hands, for now.

Chapter Two

Seven months later

Caleb let his horse Saul pick its own way along the faint trail through the sagebrush while he sat in the saddle, finishing his cold supper of dry bread and jerky. He didn’t have time to stop to eat if he was going to find lodging and a warm meal in Beaver by sundown.

He brushed the bits of bread from his chaps, and almost of its own accord, his hand rose to pat the pouch hidden beneath his shirt. Three hundred dollars sat inside—three hundred dollars his parents couldn’t complain hadn’t been earned through honest labor. Not that any amount of honest work would reconcile them to the fact that he wasn’t coming home to the Salt Lake Valley. They hadn’t liked it when he’d left, and they certainly hadn’t been pleased when he’d become a bounty hunter. But the real divide had come when he’d stopped bounty hunting...and still refused to come home.

Didn’t they understand how hard it was for him to think of returning to the place where he’d hoped to build a life with Liza? He’d settle down soon, but it would be someplace new—somewhere he could have a fresh start. And with God’s help, he’d be ready for that soon. One more job, maybe two, and Caleb would have enough money to outfit his own freight business.

“We’ll come back,” he murmured to Saul as he gazed from beneath his hat at the juniper-covered hills and the distant mountain peaks. He’d come to love this rugged country. “Next time, though, it’ll be with a wagon full of goods and a strong pair of horses.” Saul’s ears flicked back and the horse gave a long whinny. Caleb chuckled. “My apologies. But you wouldn’t want to pull a loaded wag—”

The sound of a large animal crashing through the underbrush silenced Caleb’s words. Reining Saul in, he twisted in the saddle, trying to discern which direction the noise came from. He gripped the butt of one of the revolvers in his holster. Neither gun was loaded, but Caleb figured whoever was headed his way wouldn’t know that.

A moment later, a horse and rider burst from the trees a dozen yards up the trail. “Look out,” a female voice yelled as the pair raced toward Caleb.

A woman? Out here? Caleb released his grip on the gun and wordlessly jerked his horse out of the way.

“You should leave,” the woman added, thundering past him. Her dress flapped in the wind, revealing men’s trousers under the skirt. Long red hair spilled out from beneath her cowboy hat.

Caleb peered after the retreating figure. Where would she be going in such a rush and why would she tell him to leave? Shaking his head in bewilderment, he faced forward again. Only this time he heard the faint but unmistakable sound of several horses riding hard in his direction. Someone was coming down the trail after the woman.

Out of instinct, Caleb scanned the area for a place of defense against those coming his way. To his right, on a small rise above the trail, a patch of trees provided both cover and a lookout position. He wouldn’t take action—not yet, anyway. This wasn’t his fight. He didn’t know the circumstances and he didn’t want to run the risk of being killed, or worse, having to kill a man—again. Still, from the sounds of it, there were several men coming after that woman. He’d stay out of the conflict for now, but if they appeared ready to hurt her, he’d be on hand to intervene.

He watched the woman rider until she disappeared behind a clump of trees and underbrush. She didn’t reappear. If she stayed hidden, she might be all right. Maybe nothing would come of this after all.

Caleb guided Saul up the incline, behind the juniper trees, then he dropped from the saddle. He tied Saul’s reins to a thick branch before lowering himself to his knees. He removed his bullet pouch just as five men rode into sight.

The riders’ clothes were tattered and dirty, and each of them sported scruffy beards or mustaches beneath their dusty cowboy hats. All five had guns and wore the same hardened expressions he’d seen on the four stage robbers he’d hunted down, including the last one whose face was on the wanted poster he kept in his saddle bag.

The tallest of the five stopped within yards of the woman’s hiding place and fired his rifle into the air. “Fun’s over, missy,” he sneered. “We know you’re here, and we want what’s ours.”

Caleb quickly loaded one of his revolvers and crept closer to the hill’s edge, making certain to stay hidden behind the trees. Would the woman keep silent or make a stand? Either way, Caleb didn’t plan on letting her be caught or shot by these ruffians.

“I’d watch it if I were you, Bart. You’re surrounded,” the woman called back. To her credit, Caleb didn’t detect an ounce of fear in her voice. “I’ve got the sheriff with me and his posse’s waiting down the trail for you.”

Caleb scanned the nearby mountainside, but he saw no movement, no reinforcements. She had to be lying. A heavy silence followed her brave words. In the stillness, Caleb heard the distant trill of a bird. He tightened his grip on his gun, fully expecting a volley of shots in response to her bluff. But the quiet stretched on for nearly a minute.

“You’re lying,” Bart finally shouted back. “And you’ll soon find out what we do with lying, thieving...”

Time to act. “Howdy, boys,” Caleb hollered from behind the trees. All five men whipped their heads in his direction, disbelief radiating from more than one face. “Nice to see y’all are friends. Makes sharing a jail cell more enjoyable.”

“It’s the sheriff,” a baby-faced fellow cried. “Let’s split.”

“Hold on. I still say she’s bluffin’ about him bringin’ a whole posse,” Bart said, scratching his motley beard. His narrowed gaze jumped from the hill, to the clump of trees beside the trail and back in Caleb’s direction.

Before anyone could make a move, the woman fired a round of shots that hit the ground near one of the bandits. The man let out a loud yelp and jerked his horse away. Caleb aimed at a patch of sagebrush near another of the riders, hoping to spook the horse into bolting.

The riders attempted to return fire, but the bullets whizzing past them drove them into a tighter group on the exposed trail. Caleb could see the horses—and the riders—getting more agitated by the minute. Before long, one of them turned his horse and galloped away toward Caleb. Caleb let him ride past.

Another hurried after him. “We’re outnumbered, Bart,” the man screamed over his shoulder.

Bart fired once more before pointing his horse in the direction the other two had charged. “Let’s go!” He threw an ugly look toward the trees, then up the hill as he retreated, the last two bandits behind him.

Caleb waited another minute to ensure they didn’t double back. When the trail remained empty in either direction, he replaced his gun in its holster and untied Saul’s reins.

The woman still hadn’t emerged from the trees yet. Anxious to know if she’d fared well through the gunfight, Caleb led Saul down the incline and across the trail. Skirting the copse of trees, he entered the shelter they formed and found himself staring down the barrel of the woman’s pistol.

“Whoa—don’t shoot.” He dropped the reins and lifted both hands in the air. Saul whinnied softly beside him.

“You’re the one who pretended to be the sheriff.” To his relief, she lowered her gun. “I thought I told you to leave.”

“Are you all right? Why were those men chasing you? Have they...” He rubbed the back of his suddenly warm neck. “Have they laid their hands on you in any way?”

Her cheeks flushed. “No. Oh, no. They knew I had some money with me—that’s all.” She pushed up her hat, revealing amused brown eyes—not the green he’d expected. “I’d say they got the worst of it.”

He’d only ever seen one other girl with red hair and coffee-colored eyes, in a mercantile in Fillmore when he’d done some work up there last fall. He suspected that young lady, though, wouldn’t go around fighting in shoot-outs or wearing men’s trousers under her skirt.

“By the way, thanks for the help.” She stuck her pistol into the holster tied around her skirt and reached for her horse’s reins.

“What were you doing out on the trail by yourself?”

Her chin lifted a notch. “No one could be spared to come with me, and besides, I can handle myself just fine.”

“Apparently, but what would you have done if I hadn’t come along?”

“I would have figured something out,” she said as she climbed into her saddle. “I usually do.”

Caleb swung onto Saul’s back. “Going up against a group of armed thugs is a regular pastime of yours?”

“Hardly.” One corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “What about you? You play sheriff for hapless females on a regular basis?”

It was Caleb’s turn to smile. “Not hapless in your case. But it is always a pleasure helping a pretty girl. Wouldn’t mind that as a regular job.”

Instead of blushing, a peculiar expression passed over the woman’s face. She stared hard at him a moment before she visibly relaxed again. “Are you looking for work?”

“You hiring?”

“Maybe. What can you do?”

“Farming, freighting, a little carpentry.” He purposely left bounty hunting off his list. That part of his life had ended abruptly a year and a half ago, and Caleb wanted to keep it that way.

She nudged her horse forward, in line with Saul. “Do you know anything about cattle ranching?”

“Can’t say that I do.” The question brought a twinge of disappointment. He’d never fancied himself living the life of a cowhand—a little too close to farming for his tastes. “The only cows I’ve handled in the past are ones that needed milking.”

Her brow furrowed as she shook her head. “You don’t milk these cows. What we need is some extra help on our ranch. It’s only me, my grandmother and my younger brother. I’ve been doing most of the work myself for the past twenty months.”

She set her hat on the saddle horn and rearranged her hair into a bun. “You could help with branding and looking after the few cattle we have. There are other chores around the ranch that need another set of hands. I can’t pay you a lot—maybe twenty dollars a month.” She stuck her hat back on and finally regarded him again. “I might be able to give you a little more when we sell the cows in the fall.”

Twenty dollars wasn’t much, especially when he’d heard of cowhands making closer to forty dollars in a month. Surely he could find another job—one where he could earn more money in less time.

Caleb fiddled with Saul’s reins, ready to refuse her. But the words grew cold on his tongue. He hadn’t missed the desperate tone behind her offer. Clearly she needed his help. He could work for a lower wage if it wasn’t for long, couldn’t he?

“I might consider working for you,” he answered at last, “except I don’t usually accept jobs from nameless employers.”

A trace of a smile showed on her lips and then disappeared as quickly. “My name is Jennie. Jennie Jones.”

“Miss Jones.” Caleb pulled down the brim of his hat in greeting as if they’d met on the street and not in the middle of the desert—after a shoot-out. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Caleb Johnson.”

“Will you accept the job then, Mr. Johnson?”

As had become his habit since he’d quit bounty hunting, Caleb searched inside himself for some inkling, some impression from God, that this course wasn’t the one for him. None came.

Smiling, he waved her forward. “Lead the way, Miss Jones.”

* * *

Through the blue twilight smearing the western sky, Jennie spotted the familiar outline of the corral fence. Home. “That’s the ranch,” she said, her first words during the long trip. Caleb had been equally as quiet.

She peered sideways at him, wondering why she hadn’t recognized him before. His earlier comment about helping pretty girls had sparked her memory. The man from the general store who’d come to her aid last fall had said something similar and he, too, had deep blue eyes.

After nearly an hour riding beside him, Jennie was certain the two men were one and the same. He didn’t seem to remember her, though, to her relief and slight disappointment. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been that day when he had paid for the candy they’d shared.

What I am doing? she asked herself for the hundredth time. She never should have pressed him into working for her. What if he said something to the family about Bart and his gang? What would he do if he knew this was her third time robbing stage bandits?

“Something wrong?”

Jennie jumped in the saddle, causing her horse Dandy to dance to the side. “No. Why?”

“’Cause you’ve been chewing that thumbnail of yours for the last five miles, and I’m wondering if there’s any of it left.”

Jerking her hand from her lips, Jennie stared at her thumb. All of her nails were worn from constant work, but the one on her thumb resembled the jagged edge of a saw blade. This fingernail always worked its way between her teeth when she was nervous or had a lot on her mind.

“I’m fine,” she said, shrugging off his keen observation. She pretended to focus on the road ahead, though she knew every rut and bump from memory.

Her thoughts soon returned to the man beside her. Surely she could get along without help a little longer—she’d been doing things alone ever since her father had died. And having a stranger around the place might interfere with her plans to save the ranch.

Yanking back on Dandy’s reins, she twisted around to face Caleb. He tweaked an eyebrow at her sudden movement, but he pulled his horse to a stop, as well.

“If you don’t want to take this job, I’ll understand. We can split company right here.” Thankfully she couldn’t see his face very well in the fading light. “I appreciate all you did for me today, but like you said, you don’t know much about cattle ranching.”

“Am I being let go?”

Jennie blinked in surprise. Was he teasing her? Her jaw tightened, and she drew herself up. “I didn’t mean that. But you and I both know there are other better-paying jobs. You can stay the night with us, and then in the morning—”

“I’d like to at least have the job a full day, Miss Jones, before you decide anything.”

She frowned at his amused tone. It was a risk to employ him after what he’d seen on the trail, and yet, she wanted him around. He was the first person in a long time to offer help without ulterior motive—first in the mercantile, then again today.

“All right.” She rubbed the reins between her fingers. “You can try the job for six weeks. I’ll pay you for your work then. If we’re both not satisfied, you’re free to move on.”

“Fair enough.”

They moved their horses forward a few steps before Jennie felt compelled to stop again. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about the shoot-out with those men. I wouldn’t want to worry my grandmother.” For more reasons than one.

“I’ve found it’s better sometimes to leave well enough alone,” he said, his face turned toward something in the distance. “No need to drag the details into the light.”

“Thank you.” His compassion brought her a twinge of guilt when stacked against the truth, but Jennie easily pushed it aside.

She led him up the road, past the bunkhouse, to the barn where they both dismounted. The doors stood ajar, and through the opening, the soft glow of a lantern spilled out. Will had obviously anticipated her arrival.

With a grateful sigh, she pushed open the barn doors and guided Dandy into his stall. She gave him an affectionate pat on the rump as she closed the pen door. “You can put your horse in that last stall,” she told Caleb.

The other two ranch horses, Chief and Nellie, whinnied at the new company.

“Would you mind unsaddling them both?” Jennie removed the full saddlebag and flung it over her shoulder.

“You don’t waste time putting your hired help to work, do you?”

“I need to take care of something,” she said, ignoring his teasing. “There’s hay in the stalls and the currycombs are over there.” She waved a hand at the crude table littered with brushes. “I’ll meet you back here to take you up to the house and introduce you.”

Caleb tipped his hat. “Will do.”

Jennie left the barn. She headed at an angle toward the house, then doubled back in the direction of the empty bunkhouse. She tried to force thoughts of hiring Caleb from her mind. There was one more task she needed to do, and she’d need all her wits about her. She’d been successful today in getting more money to save the ranch.

Now she had to pay the price.

Chapter Three

Jennie approached the bunkhouse from the back, pausing in the shadows. She set down the saddlebag and called in a low voice, “Nathan?”

The only sound was the chirp of crickets, but Jennie knew better. Brandishing her pistol, she managed one step forward before an arm wrapped itself tightly around her waist.

“Evening, love.” Nathan’s deep voice murmured in her ear. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece.”

The scent of alcohol and cigar smoke that typically accompanied him made Jennie wrinkle her nose. She pushed the barrel of her gun into his side. “Let go.”

Nathan laughed, but he released her. “Were Bart and his gang where I said they’d be?”

“Yes. Everything went exactly as we planned.” She decided not to mention Caleb’s help. Though in her mind, the deal she had with Nathan Blaine was strictly business, she knew he wouldn’t be pleased to hear about a new man in her life.

She stuck her gun back in place and knelt beside the saddlebag. Opening it, she rummaged through the supplies and drew out two thick wads of cash. She stood and handed him his money. She hated parting with half of the four hundred dollars she’d taken, but Nathan’s help was worth every cent. His ability to mingle discreetly with outlaws had provided Jennie with the information she needed to accomplish her second and third robberies.

Nathan ran his thumb through the money and slipped it into a knapsack on his shoulder. “I knew you had pluck,” he said, leaning too close, “the moment you walked into the saloon with your chin all stuck out and your eyes all determined.”

Jennie cringed at the memory of standing in the noisy, suffocating saloon, searching the crowd of leering men for someone to help her. “Is that why you agreed to work with me?” she said in a teasing tone even as she took a deliberate step back, putting needed space between them.

“Maybe, maybe not.” He grabbed her hand and placed it against his chest. Jennie squirmed, but Nathan wouldn’t let go. Even in the dark, she could sense his ogling gaze. “Why not give up tryin’ to save your ranch and come make some real money with me? With your beauty and the way you handle a gun, we could take on banks or trains. We’d live like royalty.”

Pulling her hand free, Jennie stared past him at the barn and house. The moonlight shone down on the peeling paint of both buildings and the corral fence with holes large enough for a calf to squeeze through. There were other problems she couldn’t see, but they were as apparent and real as the tattered ranch around her—the looming deadline from the bank and the two or three sets of bandits she’d still need to take from in order to meet it.

But I would never stoop to become a bandit myself.

“No, Nathan,” she said, shaking her head. She wouldn’t quit. She needed this land, and it needed her. “I’m going to make this place what it used to be.”

He shrugged, but his disappointment hung in the air between them. “So long, love.”

Jennie watched him swagger away before picking up her saddlebag. She slipped into the bunkhouse and knelt in the corner opposite the door. Pulling up the loose board, she placed her two hundred dollars inside the small space. She’d keep it hidden here until she could travel to Fillmore and give some of it to the horrid Mr. Dixon.

After replacing the board, Jennie stood and brushed off her skirt. A thin layer of dust typically covered the unused bunkhouse. It served as another reminder of the failing condition of the ranch. Even before her father had died, they’d been forced to let go of their three ranch hands. With so few cows, she and Will had managed to keep up, but the new group of calves meant more work now.

Thankfully the money she’d relieved Bart of would pay for Caleb’s help and hopefully keep the ranch going a little longer. Maybe Bart and his thugs would even see the futility of robbing innocent people. At least she only took money from crooks and used it for far better purposes than drinking or gambling or immoral company. Once my debt is paid in full, I’ll be done with all of this.

Leaving the bunkhouse, she walked quickly to the barn. She wanted to see her family, introduce them to Caleb and climb beneath clean sheets.

The barn doors were shut, though Jennie was certain she’d left them open when she went to meet Nathan. Shrugging off her forgetfulness, she entered the barn. The building stood dark. Jennie hurried back outside and scanned the yard. Where had Caleb gone? She glanced at the house. A light in the kitchen threw shadows against the curtains—three shadows.

“The nerve of that man!” she muttered as she marched toward the porch. Why had he gone to the house without her? What would he tell her family about fighting Bart and his thugs? She quickened her steps as anger rose inside her. Hiring Mr. Johnson might prove to be a bigger disaster than she’d imagined.

* * *

“Did you get enough to eat?” Jennie’s grandmother, Grandma Jones as she’d introduced herself, asked from across the table.

Caleb finished up his last bite of rabbit stew and patted his stomach. “Yes, ma’am. Best meal I’ve had in months. Better than any boardinghouse, for sure.”

He hadn’t meant to come inside without Jennie, but the moment his boots had hit the porch steps, her brother and grandmother had come to the door. He’d hurried to explain his presence, choosing to voice just the basic facts, as Jennie had requested. He and Jennie had met outside of town, and she’d hired him when he had mentioned needing a job. Jennie’s grandmother had welcomed him with a warm smile and invited him right in for supper.

“You could learn a thing or two about manners from Mr. Johnson, Will,” she said to the boy seated on Caleb’s right.

Will rolled his eyes as Grandma Jones took Caleb’s plate to the sideboard. The boy and his grandmother looked alike with the same green eyes and brown hair, though hers was streaked with gray.

The front door slammed shut, and a moment later, Jennie appeared in the kitchen doorway, a frantic look in her eye and a smear of dust across one cheek.

“There you are, Jennie.” Grandma Jones walked over and wiped away the dust on Jennie’s face with her apron. “I stalled supper as long as I could, but you know Will—always hungry.”

Her brother paused long enough over his second helping of stew to smile at his sister.

“Would you like supper?” Grandma Jones asked Jennie.

“Yes, please.” Jennie scowled at Caleb as her grandmother crossed to the stove to fix up a plate. “I thought we were coming in together, so I could properly introduce you.”

Caleb didn’t miss the tense quality to her voice. She thinks I told them about the ruffians chasing after her. He gave a quick shake of his head, trying to communicate that he hadn’t broken his word, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“No need for such formality.” Grandma Jones smiled at Caleb over her shoulder. “We heard somebody outside and found this handsome, half-starved young man standing there.” She set Jennie’s supper on the table and sat down. “Did you have a good trip into town?”

Jennie nodded before frowning at Caleb. “I’ve hired Mr. Johnson to help us around the ranch.”

“I told them why I was here,” Caleb said, matching her level look with one of his own.

“You did?” Jennie sank into an empty chair, glancing at each of them in turn. The delicate muscles in her jaw tightened.

“What a blessing you two ran into each other,” her grandmother said. “It’ll be nice to have an extra pair of hands around here, what with all the new calves.”

The tight lines in Jennie’s face relaxed and she shot Caleb a grateful smile. “It will, won’t it?”

“You a cowboy?” Will asked him.

“No. But I’m a fast learner.”

Grandma Jones stood and lifted Will’s empty plate. “Take the lamp from the parlor, Will, and show Mr. Johnson to your father’s old room.”

“I couldn’t intrude like that,” Caleb said. “I don’t mind sleeping in the barn or the bunkhouse—”

“Nonsense.” Grandma Jones waved away his protests. “As long as you’re working here, you’re welcome to the room. It’s a bit dusty, but it’s a far cry better than the bunkhouse or barn. And if there’s anything else you need, Mr. Johnson, just holler. Breakfast is at dawn.”

“Thank you. And please, call me Caleb.” Smiling at her, he rose from his chair and gathered up his things from where he’d set them in the corner. “Good night to you both.”

“Thank you,” Jennie mouthed to him when Grandma Jones moved to the sink. Caleb doffed his hat to her, glad she knew he’d kept his word.

He met Will in the hallway and followed him up the stairs. At the first landing, Will opened a door on their left and stepped inside.

“This is Pa’s old room.” He set the lamp on the dresser near the door.

Caleb surveyed the small but tidy room. After sleeping in barns, out in the open, or in crowded boardinghouses for almost three years, the thought of having his own water basin and a real bed all to himself made him feel like a king. Perhaps the accommodations and the family’s kindness would outweigh the low pay.

“Looks comfortable,” Caleb said, dropping his pack onto the bed’s faded patchwork quilt. “How long’s it been since you had hired help?”

Will leaned his long body against the door frame. “Before our pa died. The only man that’s come around recently just talks to Jennie.”

“She hire him to help, too?”

The boy shook his head. “I thought that’s what she was doing, but she’s never introduced him or invited him up to the house. He seems a bit rough, though, you know?” He lifted one shoulder. “I haven’t asked. I’m just glad you look a bit more...respectable.”

“I appreciate that.” Caleb placed his few belongings in the dresser.

Sounded to him like Jennie had a beau. Seemed like everyone his age did, though Caleb didn’t mind so much. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever care that deeply about a person again. Maybe his only chance for love and marriage had died when Liza did.

“I’m glad you took the job, even if you are a tenderfoot.” Will grinned. “Jennie’s been running things pretty much by herself since Pa passed. I try and help, but we need more than the two of us to make this place good again.”

“Mind my asking what happened to your father?”

“No.” Will put his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. “Some Indians were rustling our cattle and Pa went after them. He was shot in the stomach with an arrow. He died before the doctor could get here.”

“I’m sorry.” Caleb hated how trite the expression sounded, conveying so little of the sympathy he felt at the family’s loss.

Will lifted his head and offered another shrug. “It’s all right. I just don’t think Pa meant for Jennie to do so much by herself. That’s why I’m glad you’ll be helpin’ us, Mr. Johnson. I mean, Caleb. Good night.”

“Night, Will.”

The boy left the room, shutting the door behind him. Caleb wandered over to the window and pulled back the thin curtains. Shadowed hills merged into mountains in the distance. He let the curtains drop back into place and removed his money pouch from his shirt. He set it on the dresser as he prepared for bed.

Before climbing beneath the covers, Caleb knelt on the hardwood floor. He thanked God for the new job, even with the low wages. Clearly he was needed here. “Help me be an instrument for good with this family,” he prayed. “And grant me patience as I work toward my plans.” He ended his prayer and slipped his pouch under the mattress before he got into bed.

Every dollar he earned put him one step closer to starting his freight business. One step closer to that new life he’d planned for, free from all reminders of his past. Compared to that, a few months being a cowhand was a small price to pay.

Chapter Four

Jennie scooped up a bite of stew, suddenly starved. She savored the taste of the rabbit meat and potatoes and smiled.

“He seems like a real gentleman.” Grandma Jones sat down beside her. “Not to mention a face that could melt a girl’s heart.”

Jennie choked on the piece of potato in her mouth and hurried to wash it down with some water. “Grandma!”

Her grandmother chuckled, bringing her wrinkled hands to rest beneath her chin. “I still know a handsome man when I see one. Reminds me a bit of your grandfather. Quick to smile, a bit forthright. Your father didn’t inherit his personality. He was more serious—a thinker, like you.” She released a soft sigh, and Jennie wondered if she was thinking of all the people she’d lost in sixty-five years of life—her parents and sisters, a husband, two sons and a daughter-in-law. “Did you get the supplies we needed?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Jennie pointed her spoon at her saddlebag by the door. She’d made sure to purchase the nails, leather straps and thread they needed in Beaver before encountering the bandits.

Her grandmother murmured approval. “I’ve got one other question and I don’t want you gettin’ all angry. How are you going to pay Mr. Johnson?”

“I have enough,” Jennie said, trying to keep the defensiveness she felt out of her voice. “I only promised to pay him twenty dollars a month.”

“And we have twenty dollars after buying all our supplies?” Grandma Jones raised her eyebrows.

“I sold some things.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Jennie had sold a number of the family’s belongings last year to buy them a little more time on the ranch.

“Your mother’s things, you mean?”

Jennie pushed her remaining stew around her plate. “Why does it matter? She isn’t coming back for them.”

Her grandmother’s hand closed over hers, and the familiar warmth brought the sting of tears to Jennie’s eyes. “You may not remember those first few years after we moved south to Parowan. Your mama and papa worked so hard to make a living there. Then she lost the baby.” Grandma Jones increased the pressure on her hand until Jennie looked up. “I think her will just gave out after we moved to the ranch. Maybe she didn’t feel like she could start all over. Maybe she was scared. I don’t know. What I do know is she didn’t love you and Will any less when she left.”

Jennie gently removed her hand and set it in her lap. “Does that make it right then?” She hated how her voice wobbled with emotion. “To leave us to fend for ourselves?”

“Perhaps she thought we were more capable of adapting than she ever was.” Grandma Jones stood and came around the side of the table to kiss the top of Jennie’s head. “I think if she were here now, she’d tell you how well you’ve done under the circumstances, Jennie girl. I’m real proud of the way you and Will have turned out. But I’m even more proud of you for asking Mr. Johnson to help. Asking others for help was something your mother never quite learned to do.”

A wave of shame ran through her as Jennie thought of the money hidden in the bunkhouse. She might have swallowed her pride enough to hire Caleb, but she hadn’t bothered to include anyone else in solving the ranch’s financial troubles.

Her grandmother and Will knew the ranch might go under, but Jennie had kept the seriousness of the situation and the bank deadline a secret. What else could she do? Telling them the truth would only worry them. And besides, she had the situation under control. She’d spent too many days working under the hot sun and too many nights dreaming of what the ranch could be to give up now.

“I’ll see to the lamp,” she said.

Grandma Jones patted her shoulder. “Good night, Jennie girl.”

Jennie listened to her grandmother’s footsteps shuffle down the hall. She remained in her chair, thinking back over the events of the day. She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there before she took the lamp and went upstairs to her bedroom, but the house echoed with silence.

She changed into her nightclothes, but instead of climbing into bed, she knelt beside the large trunk against the windowsill. She lifted the lid, breathing in the smell of cedar. It evoked happy memories of bringing out the thick quilts for winter and wrapping up in them to listen to her mother read.

Reaching inside Jennie lifted out two envelopes. The first had never been opened, addressed to her from her mother, Olivia Wilson Jones. From the second, she removed the telegram that had come two years before her father’s death. She stared at the black, unemotional type, her chest constricting at the recollection. She could still picture the way her father’s face had crumpled into tears when he’d read the few words.

OLIVIA DEAD STOP CONSUMPTION CITED AS CAUSE STOP

No other details from her mother’s sister. No condolences for a grieving husband and children. Nothing.

Jennie felt moisture on her face and realized she’d started to cry. Rubbing away the tears with the back of one hand, she returned both envelopes to the trunk.

Twice she’d survived the heartache and pain of her mother leaving: first from the ranch and then in death. I made it through then, and I can do it again. I won’t give up like she did.

After closing the trunk, Jennie extinguished the lamp and slipped into bed. Grandma Jones’s words from earlier repeated in her mind: I’m even more proud of you for asking Mr. Johnson to help. Asking others for help was something your mother never quite learned to do.

“But I don’t really need to ask others for help,” she whispered into the dark. “Not really. Not when I can handle things myself.”

Most of the time, she refused assistance, especially from those she loved. In that, perhaps she and her mother weren’t so different after all. But her mother hadn’t been able to handle things here. Jennie could. And would. With that resolution in mind, Jennie turned onto her side and tried to sleep.

* * *

Leaving the stuffiness of the barn, Caleb shut the double doors and breathed in the cool evening air. His first day on the ranch had mirrored those of his youth on his father’s farm. He’d repaired the roofs on the house and barn and mended a hole in the loft. Jennie had told him at supper they would go round up the calves from off their range in two days. The delay before dealing with the herd suited Caleb just fine. Though he hadn’t taken to farming, even with his own parcel of land, he preferred those familiar tasks over wrangling cattle.

A series of gunshots to his left made him spin around and reach for his holster out of habit before remembering he’d stowed his guns in his room. Then he saw Will, shooting at cans along the fence line.

Taking off his hat, Caleb wiped at the sweat on his forehead with his shirtsleeve and strode toward the boy. Four cans sat in a row on the top rail of the fence. The scene provoked memories of countless evenings spent shooting targets with his uncle.

“How many did you hit?” Caleb asked.

Will frowned. “None.”

“Let’s see.”

The boy reloaded his revolver and aimed. He fired all six rounds at the cans, but every shot missed its mark.

“I can’t even shoot one.” Will growled in disgust and started for the house.

“Hold up, Will.” Caleb motioned him back. “Try it again, but this time remember to relax. If you’re too stiff, you’re going to jerk and that throws your aim off.”

With a sigh, Will stalked over to him. He reloaded his gun and lifted his arm.

“You relaxed?”

“I guess so.”

Caleb studied the boy’s stance. “Let your shoulders drop a little more.” Will obeyed. “Now make sure you bury your first sight in the second one when you aim.”

Will stared down the barrel of the gun and adjusted the height of his arm.

“All right,” Caleb said with a nod. “Take a nice even breath, and when you feel ready, go ahead.”

Will fired the revolver and a can flew into the air. “I got one.” He grinned at Caleb over his shoulder before shooting again. This time the bullet flew wild. “What’d I do wrong that time?”

Caleb chuckled. “You just gotta practice relaxing and getting your sights lined up. Then you’ll be able to hit all four cans in seconds. May I?” He extended his hand toward Will’s gun.

“Sure.” The boy placed the gun in Caleb’s grasp. “You wanna try all four?”

“You bet. I’ve got to show you how’s it done.”

Will slipped between the fence posts to retrieve the can he’d hit. He set it up beside the others and returned to Caleb’s side.

Caleb aimed the gun at the first can, his eyes narrowing. His mind cleared and instinct replaced thoughts. He squeezed the trigger and shot the first can from the post with a satisfying crack of metal on metal. He dropped the second and third cans just as quickly.

He paused for a split second to readjust his aim and squeezed the trigger, but the last can shot up into the air before he could hit it. His bullet sailed over the empty fence post. Turning his head, he saw Jennie lower her pistol to her side, a pleased smile on her face.

“Thought I needed some help?” he teased.

“No. I thought I’d join in the fun.” She walked over to them.

“Caleb was helping me,” Will said. “I even hit a can off myself.”

“That’s great, Will.” Jennie glanced from him to Caleb. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” He liked the note of admiration he heard in her question.

“My uncle was a sheriff up north. Whenever he came to visit, he’d take me out back and make me target practice until we couldn’t see the cans in the dark.” Caleb passed the revolver back to Will. “Keep at it, Will, and you’ll be a crack shot like your sister.”

Will beamed and hurried back to the fence to set up the cans again. Caleb started for the house. Jennie fell into step beside him.

“Thanks...for teaching him,” she said, her voice low.

Caleb turned to see Will taking aim. “Mind my asking why you haven’t taught him?”

“I guess I didn’t see the need. He’s not quite fifteen.”

“Every young man wants to learn to shoot.” He allowed her to go ahead of him up the porch steps. “He’d probably prove to be a real good cowhand, too, if given the chance.”

Jennie clenched her jaw. He’d made a mistake telling her what to do.

“Not that I want him taking over my job, mind you,” Caleb quickly added with a smile.

Her face relaxed as she stepped through the front door. “You know anything about roping?”

“Sure. I roped stumps as a child. Even caught the family dog a time or two.”

Jennie laughed as she shut the door behind them. Caleb liked the singsong inflection. He hadn’t made a pretty girl laugh in a long time.

“I meant, have you ever roped something moving?” she asked.

“You should’ve seen how that dog ran.”

She shook her head, her brown eyes still bright with amusement. “Have you used a lasso before?”

“Not exactly,” he said, “but I can assure you, Miss Jones, I can handle any job you throw at me.” Compared to bounty hunting, cattle ranching looked as simple as babysitting a bunch of cows.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Well, then. Let’s see how well you do tomorrow. You can practice with a lasso and a sawhorse.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

* * *

The next morning he opened his door to find a bright bandanna, a lasso and a newer pair of boots waiting for him on the landing. Slipping back inside his room, he tied the bandanna around his neck and replaced his old shoes with the new ones. With a slight twist of apprehension in his gut at his boasting the night before, he swung the lasso over his shoulder and headed downstairs for breakfast.

The aroma of fried eggs and biscuits greeted him as he stepped into the kitchen. He joined the family at the table, hanging his hat and the lasso on the corner of his chair. “Smells delicious,” he said. He ladled food onto his empty plate and began to eat.

“Have another.” Grandma Jones pushed the platter of biscuits toward him. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Caleb heard the snickers and caught the meaningful glance that passed between Jennie and Will. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Look, Will,” Jennie said from behind her cup. “It’s our very own mail-order cowboy.”

“What’s that?” Caleb stabbed another bite of eggs.

“A cowboy with all the right getup,” Will volunteered, “but no experience.”

Caleb wagged his fork at the boy. “I’ve got experience, boy. It just ain’t in cow handling.”

“Well, that will change in the next few days.” Jennie stood and cleared away her dishes. Instead of a dress, she wore a billowy blouse and breeches. Caleb had never met a woman who liked wearing men’s pants—his mother and sisters had always worn skirts or dresses, even to work around the farm.

“All right, you two.” Grandma Jones frowned at her grandchildren but she couldn’t keep it up for long. The twinkle in her eyes betrayed how much she enjoyed their bantering. “Go easy on him this week.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Jones.” Caleb leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms, regarding Jennie. “I’m always game for a challenge.”

After breakfast, lasso over his shoulder, he trailed Jennie outside, trying his best to appear unaffected by his new responsibilities. The apprehension in his stomach grew and he wished he’d declined his third biscuit.

Jennie easily vaulted the corral fence, dropping to her feet on the other side, and Caleb followed suit. She went to the sawhorse sitting on one side of the corral and dragged it into the center.

“Let me see your lasso,” she said. He handed her the rope. “It’s really quite simple. The trick is to keep your wrist relaxed as you swing and then extend your arm toward the sawhorse as you release.”

She held the coils of rope in one hand as she spun the looped end over her head with the other. In one fluid motion, her wrist dropped and she thrust the lasso forward. The loop sailed through the air and around the neck of the sawhorse. She jerked the rope tight.

“Any questions?”

Caleb’s jaw went slack with surprise. She made cattle roping appear as easy as walking. Embarrassed to ask her to repeat the lightning-speed lesson, he cleared his throat. “If I do have questions?”

“I’m going to start work on the fence down by the bunkhouse. You can find me there.”

Caleb watched her walk away, her long braid swishing against her back, then he straightened his shoulders and marched over to the sawhorse. “I’ve tracked down wanted criminals before, how hard can this be?” he muttered as he unhooked the lasso.

He backed up a few feet, swung the end of the lasso like Jennie had, and released. The rope flew through the air and landed in the dirt, a good six feet from the sawhorse. His second and third throws landed closer, but the only thing hitting the “cow” square on was the dust.

Several more attempts had him working up a sweat—but with nothing to show for it. Blowing out his breath, Caleb admitted he’d met his match with cattle ranching. But he’d made a promise to Jennie to work this job for six weeks, and he intended to keep his word. Somehow, he needed to figure this out. And right now, it looked as if the only way was to admit he couldn’t do this one on his own and ask for help.

He’d paid a heavy price in the past for his pride and vanity, and he wouldn’t do it again. Climbing over the fence, he headed in Jennie’s direction, hoping she wouldn’t gloat too much.

Chapter Five

Jennie pushed down on the post in her hands and secured it into the hole she’d dug. Stepping back, she scrutinized her work. Another rail, and the fence would be nearly as good as new.

Hearing footsteps, she turned to see Caleb approaching. “Have you mastered it already?” she called to him.

“I came to ask for another lesson,” he said, stopping a few feet from where she stood.

Jennie stared at him for a moment before deciding she could spare a few minutes. “One more,” she finally said, wiping her grimy hands on her breeches.

“Show me what you’re doing,” she said when they arrived back at the corral.

Caleb demonstrated tossing the lasso, but he missed the sawhorse by a foot.

“You need to rotate your wrist a little more as you’re spinning the rope, and make sure the loop is open to the sawhorse before you release.” She picked up his rope and swung it over her head, feeling the motion, anticipating the release. At the right moment, she dropped her arm and sent the loop around the sawhorse. “Did you see that?”

Caleb’s brow furrowed, but he dipped his head in answer.

“Here, we’ll try one together.” Jennie moved behind him and helped him position the coils correctly in his left hand. Stepping to his side, she placed her hand over his right wrist and let her other hand rest at the center of his back.

“Start to swing the loop,” she directed, her hand moving with his. His gaze darted to hers, and she laughed. “Don’t look at me, cowboy. Keep watching your target. On the range, that calf is going to move fast. You have to train your eye to follow the cow’s moving feet.” She waited for him to relax his wrist, then continued her instructions. “Using the forward momentum, when you’re ready, drop your wrist in line with your shoulder and let go.”

After a few more swings, Caleb lowered his wrist and released the lasso. Jennie watched with held breath as the rope flew through the air and circled the neck of the sawhorse.

“Wahoo!” Caleb threw his hat into the air.

“You’re not done,” Jennie said with a laugh. “You have to pull the rope tight or he’ll get away from you.”

He returned to her side and together they yanked back on the rope. Peering up at him, Jennie realized how close they stood, close enough to feel his warm breath against her cheek and smell the musky scent of his shaving cream. She tried to step away, but her hands were still holding the rope beneath his. Her heart began thudding loudly in her ears.

“Thanks for the help,” he said with a grin.

Jennie managed a nod. She’d never met someone like Caleb Johnson—someone kind and good-looking and irritating all at the same time. She hadn’t socialized with any young men in years—not since the family had stopped attending Sunday services. Occasionally on trips into town, she’d run across some boy she recognized from her time at church or school, but she’d been too embarrassed to strike up a conversation. She felt like an outsider, mostly because of her mother. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t found it hard to talk to Nathan that first time. Here was someone else on the cusp of society.

Nathan. Thoughts of him brought her traitorous pulse to almost normal speed.

Jerking her hands free, Jennie stumbled backward. “I think you have it,” she said, her words still coming out shaky. She forced a cleansing breath. “Keep practicing until you can do it with ease. Then come help me with the fence.” Without waiting for his response, she spun on her heel and hurried across the corral.

She couldn’t like him—she wouldn’t. Her focus had to remain on doing what she must to save her home. No charming, would-be cowboy was worth losing her ranch.

* * *

Muscles strained, Caleb held tight to the squirming calf while Jennie applied the branding iron near the animal’s rump. The smell of burnt hair filled Caleb’s nostrils, and sweat ran down his back from working close to the fire. It didn’t help that the day was unusually warm for mid-April. His clothes were now damp, dirty and speckled with blood. He wished he’d worn his old boots for this messy work, instead of the newer ones he’d been given yesterday.

It’s all for the freight business, he told himself. If he could survive the next few months, he’d never have to look at another cow rump again.

The calf bellowed and twisted in protest as Jennie put down the iron and took up her knife to cut a small notch in the animal’s right ear.

“All right,” she said, using the back of her hand to brush hair from her glistening forehead. “He’s done.”

Caleb untied the rope from the calf’s feet and released it. He jumped out of the way as the animal scrambled through the brush in search of its mother. “How many have we done?”

Jennie blew out a long breath and plopped down in the dirt. “Twenty calves in all. We had twice that many last spring. It took me and Will three days to round them all up and brand them. We’ve lost quite a few since then.”

“What happened?”

“A few died over the winter, but mostly it’s been rustlers.”

“You mean the Indians that shot your pa?” She looked up sharply at his words, so he quickly added, “Will told me what happened.”

She nodded. “They took some, yes. But I think one of the other landowners around here might be stealing from us, too.”

Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would you think that?”

“The Indians might want a few head of cattle here and there, but since they don’t have the setup to handle anything more, there’s no cause for them to take very many. But the other landholders...they could add my calves to their stock with no problems at all, and have the bonus of driving us out at the same time. There are plenty of folks who think I can’t handle this ranch on my own. I think someone’s trying to prove it.”

Her voice was strong and steady, but Caleb could see how tired she looked, how the responsibility for running and protecting the ranch wore away at her. A surge of protectiveness filled him and he promised himself that, for as long as he worked on the ranch, he’d help lift some of that load. But that brought up another question. Would his wages take away from the family’s ability to survive? Could they support another mouth to feed? “Can you afford to pay me?”

He realized she’d misunderstood the motivation behind his question when her cheeks flamed red.

“That’s not what I—”

“I said I would,” she interjected. “It’s going to take another set of hands to make this place what I want, what my father wanted.” She climbed to her feet and threw him a haughty look. “I can afford to pay you when our agreement is up. Just as I promised. And I’ll pay you for every month you stay after that.”

“Then I’m not a mail-order cowboy anymore?” he teased, hoping to defuse her anger.

She scowled at him, but only for another few seconds, before she laughed. “I’ll admit you’ve done well.”

Will approached them carrying a calf, its ankles tied. “I think she’s the last one.”

“Caleb and I’ll finish up,” she said. “Why don’t you go get some drinking water from the creek?”

Nodding, Will transferred the calf into Caleb’s arms and headed off into the brush with one of the buckets.

As Caleb wrestled to keep the calf still, Jennie crouched beside the fire and pulled out the white-hot branding iron. When they were finished, Caleb let the calf go and stood to stretch his sore back. “You’re good with that iron.”

“I should be.” She dropped the branding iron into a nearby bucket. The hot metal sizzled against the water inside. “My mother hated this part of ranching, but I found it fascinating. I was always getting in the way during branding season until my father finally agreed to teach me what to do. I’ve been branding cattle since I was twelve.”

“Where’s your mother now?”

Jennie eyed him with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

Caleb shrugged, unsure why the simple question had struck a wrong chord in her. “Just wondered, since she’s not around.”

Frowning, Jennie picked up a cloth and wiped off her knife. “My mother passed away two years before my father did. She wasn’t living with us, though. She went to live with her sister when I was thirteen and Will was six.”

The casualness of her words didn’t disguise the pain Caleb heard behind them. He sat down on the ground and stretched out his legs, thinking of how to redeem himself. He hadn’t meant to dredge up hurtful memories. Sometimes they were best left buried in the past.

“I’m sorry.”

She stared off into the distance, the knife and cloth motionless in her hands. “You didn’t know.”

“That must’ve been tough.”

“The next few years were difficult.” She finished cleaning her knife and set it aside. “This is the point when you tell me it was all for the best. She couldn’t care for us. She was obviously ill in mind and body. We were better off without her.”

“Why would I say that?”

“Because that’s what people said after she left.” Jennie sat on the bare ground and wrapped her arms around her knees like a frightened child. Her vulnerability made Caleb want to put his arm along her stiff shoulders, but he didn’t. She was his boss, after all.

“Maybe that’s why my father stopped going to church,” she said. “He couldn’t stand people’s feigned sympathy.” Her eyes, dark with anguish, met his. “I couldn’t stand it, either.”

The urge to comfort her grew stronger, so he busied himself with opening the saddlebag that held their supper things. He unloaded the jerky, bread and dried fruit that Grandma Jones had packed for them. They’d stay tonight on the open range and return to the ranch tomorrow, once they’d doctored the few cows that needed it.

“I felt like that before,” he finally said.

“What?” She spun her head around and blinked at him as if she’d forgotten his presence.

“There was a time I felt alone and angry, and couldn’t stand it when people tried to sympathize.”

“Why?”

Caleb took a long breath, steeling himself against the rush of memories. “It was right after my fiancée, Liza, died.”

“Your fiancée?” Jennie brought her hand to her mouth. “What happened?”

“She...um...came down this way on the stage to visit her aunt, about a month before our wedding.” He regarded a group of trees in the distance, embarrassed to see the pity he imagined he’d find on Jennie’s face. It had been more than a year since he’d last recounted the story, but the pain felt as fresh as ever as the words spilled from him. “There was...an accident with the stage, and she was killed instantly.”

“I’m so sorry.” She set her hand on his sleeve for a moment. “That must have been devastating.”

“We attended the same church congregation with our families. I tried going a few times after Liza’s death, but I couldn’t take the pity I saw reflected in everyone’s eyes, how they’d stop their whispered conversations when I came close. I quit going to any kind of church for a long time.” He tore his gaze from the landscape back to hers, hoping to make his next point understood. “About a year ago, after making peace with God, I finally realized those people who knew Liza weren’t being cruel or unkind on purpose. The real reason I’d quit going to church back then had nothing to with them, and everything to do with me.”

With a shake of her head, Jennie scrambled to her feet. “You make it sound so easy, but it’s not. You don’t know what they said about my mother, the horrible rumors that they spread. Not that the truth was much better. Do you know she only wrote me once in those five years before we got the telegram about her death? Once.”

Caleb couldn’t fault her entirely for her reaction; he’d been stubborn about giving up his past hurts, too. “What’d your mother say in her letter?”

“I don’t know.” Her cheeks flushed red. “I never read it.” She stalked away from him, calling over her shoulder, “I’m going to see what’s keeping Will.”

Breaking off a chunk of bread from the loaf at his side, Caleb opted to appease his growling stomach while he waited for Jennie and Will to return. He ripped off a smaller piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. He didn’t regret telling Jennie about Liza, despite the sadness it still stirred inside him. Rather than pitying him, she’d shown sympathy. At least before she’d gotten mad and left.

Caleb ate another bite of bread as he thought over what Jennie had told him. He was honored she would share as much as she had about her own past, but it concerned him, too. He’d grown comfortable with only having to be responsible for himself, and he didn’t like the idea of having people dependent on him again. It left too much potential for disappointment, and loss. Life was a whole lot simpler on his own.

Chapter Six

Caleb crept through the grayish mist of the nightmare, the voices of the two stage robbers arguing somewhere unseen ahead of him. He felt none of the anticipation he had that fateful day a year and a half ago when he’d discovered the final two members of the gang who’d robbed Liza’s stage were together again. In the dream he felt only dread at what he knew was coming.

He moved toward the cabin and peered through the dirty window. The two men hunkered around the small fire, their weapons neglected on the nearby table. Brandishing his revolvers Caleb slipped silently to the door. He paused, the hatred he felt for these men thrumming as hard as his heartbeat. Lifting his boot, he kicked in the door and rushed inside.

“You’re both under arrest!”

One of the men scrambled up and tossed his chair at Caleb. Caleb leaped out of the way but the split-second distraction allowed the man to lunge through the back window with a horrific crash of glass. Caleb fired a shot, hitting the man in the foot, but he still escaped.

“Get down on the floor,” Caleb barked at the other bandit.

“Blaine,” he screamed as he lowered himself to his knees and put his hands in the air. “You gutless coward, get back here!”

Keeping one gun trained on the man, Caleb stuck the other in his holster and reached for his rope. He approached the bandit. “Don’t worry about your partner. I’ll find him, too.”

The man scowled, then hung his head.

Caleb tossed the loop in his rope over the man’s head and waist, but just as he prepared to tighten it, the bandit leaped up, slashing at the air with a knife. The rope fell to the floor.

“Put the knife down,” Caleb shouted as he jumped back to avoid the blade. “I don’t want to take you in to the sheriff dead.”

“I ain’t going no other way.”

The man rushed him, his arm cocked. Caleb backed up and felt the wall hit his shoulders. He was cornered. He dropped to his knees as the man came at him, hoping to throw the bandit off balance, but Caleb found himself wrestled to the floor.

Caleb tried to work his gun free from the man’s weight, but his arms were quickly growing tired from keeping the knife at bay. The blade inched nearer to his skin.

The bandit grinned, releasing foul breath into Caleb’s sweaty face. “So long, sonny,” he hissed.

Caleb put all his remaining strength into wrenching his arm loose. He angled his gun against the man’s shirt and squeezed the trigger. The bandit’s eyes flew open wide in shock before he crumpled onto Caleb’s chest, dead.

At this point the dream whisked Caleb away from the horror of the cabin to the sheriff’s crowded office.

“It was self-defense, Mr. Johnson,” the sheriff said. “No judge would convict you otherwise.”

“Self-defense,” Caleb repeated, if only to convince himself. “Self-defense.”

* * *

“Caleb? Caleb, wake up.”

Grabbing his guns, Caleb jerked upright in his bedroll. In the moonlight he saw Jennie crouched next to him.

“It’s all right,” she said, drawing her coat tighter around herself. “I think you were having a dream. You kept muttering something.”

“I—I’m sorry to wake you.” He rubbed at his eyes to clear the sleep from them.

Her shoulders rose and fell. “I couldn’t really sleep. I wanted to...” She ducked her head, her next words directed at the dirt. “I wanted to apologize for my...behavior earlier. I don’t like talking about my mother leaving, but it wasn’t right to lash out at you, either.”

“Apology accepted.” He steeled himself against the questions she would likely ask about his dream, but to his relief, she moved back to her makeshift bed. Caleb glanced at Will. The boy snored softly from his cocoon of blankets. At least he hadn’t awakened him. “You going back to sleep?”

Jennie slipped into her bedroll, but she shook her head. “You?”

“Not yet.” He needed to occupy his mind with something else, instead of the haunting images of his nightmare. Sometimes he’d had it twice in the same night. “You mind if I stoke the fire? It sure is chilly.”

“Go ahead.” Wrapping her arms around her blanketed knees, Jennie rested her chin on her legs as Caleb built the fire into a small but steady flame. “So does your family live around here?”

Caleb poked at the fire with a stick. “No. My folks live on a farm up north, in the Salt Lake Valley.”

“What are you doing down here then?”

“Earning money. I want to have my own freight business.”

She shifted closer to the fire. “Weren’t there any jobs up north?”

“There were.” He stared into the dancing flames. “I couldn’t stay up there, though. Not with Liza gone.”

“Were your parents sad to see you go?”

“Sad, yes, but more disappointed.”

He sensed Jennie watching him. “Surely they understood your grief?”

“In a way.” He let his stick grow black at the end and then pulled it out of the heat. “But I don’t think they knew what to do about me. I quit farming the piece of land they’d given me—me and Liza. I quit going to church, like I told you. The memories of her were everywhere, and one day, I couldn’t stand it anymore.” A shadow of that desperation filled him and he clenched his jaw against it. “I went and told them I was leaving. Told them I knew I made a lousy farmer and I wanted to do something else with my life.”

“Do they like the idea of you having your own freight business?”

“I think Pa’s disappointed that I didn’t stick with farming, but really I don’t know if they care what I do as long as I’m working hard at something and helping others. What they really want is for me to come home. But that’s not going to happen. It’s time for me to make my own way.”

Jennie bobbed her head in agreement. “I can relate to that—deciding to make your own way and not wanting others to step in. That’s why I didn’t want you paying for the candy I ruined in the mercantile seven months ago.”

The candy? He studied her, her red hair brighter in the firelight, her brown eyes peering back at him. “You were the woman in the store?”

“I didn’t want to feel beholden to you.”

“I guess that’s one way to look at it. But I’d say we’re just about even, since you gave me a job. That was definitely worth the money to pay for the candy. And to see you smile.”

She tucked her chin back down, but not before Caleb caught that same soft smile he’d seen in the store lifting her mouth for a moment.

“What were you doing up in Fillmore?” he asked.

“Meeting with the bank president about our loan.” Her next question came quickly as if she couldn’t change the subject fast enough. “When was the last time you saw your parents?”

“Three years ago, but I try to write every few weeks.”

“It isn’t the same, though, is it?”

“No.” A feeling of loneliness swept over him. He hadn’t realized until he had entered the close-knit circle of Jennie’s family how much he missed his parents and siblings.

“I hope you get that freight business.”

He cleared his throat to rid it of emotion. “Thanks. It’s a lot more exciting than farming. You get to travel, meet new people.”

“Sometimes a life like that isn’t so adventurous.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Jennie released her hold around her knees. “I think I’m ready to sleep now. Good night, Caleb.”

She stuck out her hand and Caleb shook it. He liked Jennie’s firm but feminine grip. “Good night, Miss Jones. It was a pleasure talking with you.”

Her cheeks colored, but he guessed it was from facing the fire. “You can call me Jennie.”

“Jennie,” he repeated. He banked the fire and moved back to his own bedroll. Tucking his arms behind his head, he shut his eyes and exhaled a long breath. His nightmare didn’t come again. This time he dreamed of a girl in a green dress with a pretty smile and a pile of candy around her knees.

* * *

After a morning of doctoring the cattle that needed it, Jennie couldn’t stand the smell of smoke and sweat in her hair any longer. She left Caleb and Will napping and walked to the creek to wash her hair, armed with soap, a cup, a blanket and her gun.

She removed her dusty boots and socks and dipped her feet into the water. The cool wetness on her bare toes brought a quick intake of breath, then a sigh of contentment.

When was the last time she’d taken a break in the middle of the week? She had Caleb to thank for that. For a farmer-freighter, he handled the cattle rather well, and she had to admit she was glad to have him around.

She had enjoyed talking with him the night before. Maybe too much. She didn’t need him distracting her from her goal to save the ranch. Which meant she needed to keep their friendship professional—like Nathan’s. But Nathan didn’t cause butterflies in her stomach when he teased her or when he smiled, and she didn’t care one whit what Nathan thought of her appearance.

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