“I got no need of a man.”

“I ain’t offering to marry you.”

Lucy snorted. “That’s not exactly what I meant. I meant to escort me to the recitation.”

Wade refused to repent. “I still ain’t offering.” He had been alone for a long time. Preferred it that way.

They reached the schoolroom. Lucy led him to a desk near the front and they crowded in side by side. He noted how nicely she fit next to him.

Again he marveled that a body as pretty and as sweet smelling as Lucy’s—like a field of clover in full bloom—could house a heart of coal.

Thankfully it was time for the program to begin. He forced his attention back to the front of the room. Then Lucy rose.

For a moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off her, then he forced himself to remember why he was here.

Lucy—with her grey eyes and teasing smile—had succeeded in throwing open all the gates in his thoughts. But he wasn’t here to moon over a gal. He cared only for one thing—convincing Lucy to visit her father.

LINDA FORD

shares her life with her rancher husband, a grown son, a live-in client she provides care for and a yappy parrot. She and her husband raised a family of fourteen children, ten adopted, providing her with plenty of opportunity to experience God’s love and faithfulness. They had their share of adventures, as well. Taking twelve kids in a motorhome on a three-thousand-mile road trip would be high on the list. They live in Alberta, Canada, close enough to the Rockies to admire them every day. She enjoys writing stories that reveal God’s wondrous love through the lives of her characters.

Linda enjoys hearing from readers. Contact her at linda@lindaford.org or check out her Web site at www.lindaford.org, where you can also catch her blog, which often carries glimpses of both her writing activities and family life.

Dakota Cowboy
Linda Ford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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In thy presence is fullness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.

—Psalms 16:11

To God be the glory. As Jesus said in John 15:5, “Apart from me you can do nothing.” I am aware of my limitations every day and grateful for His sufficiency.

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Summer 1896, Dry Creek, North Dakota

He looked like any one of the hundred different cowboys who came in pretending they wanted a nice meal in a fancy dining room when what they really wanted was to eyeball the girl serving the food.

Yes, he looked like every other cowboy except for his steady eyes and how quiet and still he held himself, all watchful and calm.

Eighteen-year-old Lucy Hall served dozens of men like him every day—ignoring their invitations to walk her home, smiling at their jokes, ducking away from those who would steal a touch. None of them made her look twice.

Until now.

It was the way he seemed so self-assured, so peaceful with himself that drew her glance to him time after time. Often she caught a little smile on his lips as he overheard something from a nearby table. She wished she could share his amusement, grab hold a bit of his calmness. He gave her the feeling all was right with his world.

Lucy hesitated just a fraction on her way to get his order. No one would have noticed the slight pause if they’d cared to glance up from their meal. Only she knew the way her heart skittered with something akin to the nervousness she’d felt the first day she’d worked in the Dry Creek Hotel dining room.

“Morning, sir, what can I get you?” The words caught on the back of her tongue, but she would not clear her throat and cause any of the patrons to glance her way nor give them reason to tease her.

He smiled. His eyes were blue-green, like pond water on a bright day. He owned an unruly mop of blond curls.

Her cheeks heated as if seared by a July sun.

“You here alone?”

The sunshine threatened to blind her, though she knew the curtains muted the morning light. Her feeling of being shone upon had come from his smile, his eyes. She pulled her thoughts into orderly control and turned her concentration to his question. Was the man joshing? No, she sadly mused. Only like a hundred other cowboys wanting to sweet-talk her. She knew how to handle them. Tease them. Pretend to play along with their nonsense while guarding her words, her thoughts and her emotions. “Let’s see. Apart from—” she glanced around the room “—about a dozen others and Harry and Hettie in the kitchen, yup, I’m pretty much alone.”

He tipped his head back and laughed. “Guess that was a stupid question. It’s just that I was told—I wondered if there was another girl helping you.”

Lucy’s nerves danced in accompaniment to his chuckle. She sniffed in air heavy with the smell of bacon and fried potatoes. He was like a hundred others she saw every day.

Only he wasn’t. She wished she could put her finger on what made him different—besides the fact he made her nervous and excited all at once.

“I’ll have a good-sized breakfast, please and thank you.”

Please and thank you. Well, that was different. “Eggs? Sausage? Bacon? Steak? Hash browns?”

“Yup. The works, if you don’t mind. I’m feeling just a mite hungry.”

She chuckled. “Better bring a pocket full of bills if you ever develop a big hunger.”

He favored her with another white-toothed smile. That was different, too. Most cowboys neglected their teeth, allowing the tobacco so many chewed to discolor them in a most atrocious way. “And coffee, please.”

Lucy left the table, walked over to the pass-through window and called, “Starving Bachelor’s Special.”

Hettie snorted. “Pile it high?”

“Man says he’s a mite hungry.”

“Gotcha.”

Lucy reached for a fine-china teacup and saucer. She loved the way so many of the men sputtered when she handed them the dainty things. She’d chuckle and leave them struggling to figure out how to hold the tiny handle. She filled the cup with scalding coffee and took it to the cowboy who picked it up with perfect calmness. Yes, that was different, too. This man was beginning to interest her. Who was he and what was he doing in the Dry Creek dining room?

She refilled a few more customers coffee cups before returning the coffeepot to the stove.

“Bachelor breakfast ready.” Hettie wiped her sweaty brow on her wide, white apron.

Lucy grabbed the waiting plate of food and took it to the quiet cowboy.

He dropped his gaze to his plate. She could practically hear the rush of juice in his mouth. He held his fork and knife, poised as if ready to do battle with the teetering pile of food.

She sensed his reluctance to eat while she hovered at his side. “I’ll bring more coffee.”

“Much appreciated.”

Still, she hesitated wanting…she knew not what.

But she had other things to attend to and she took the coffeepot and began to refill cups on other tables.

“Lucy gal, order up,” Hettie called in her beefy voice.

“Oh, Lucy gal, you can order me up whenever you want.”

Lucy filled the leering man’s cup and ducked out of reach.

“Lucy gal, Lucy gal.” A row of patrons—all male, all ranchers and rough cowboys—hoisted their cups and leaned over, begging for refills.

Lucy hurried down the line, dancing out of reach, laughing at their teasing. There was a time they had scared her, made her tense and anxious. She soon learned the best way to deal with them was to turn it into a game. That way they all had fun. And if anyone got rowdy or out of line, Harry, Hettie’s husband and owner of the dining room, would hustle them out the door so fast they dug ruts in the polished wooden floor. Harry tolerated no unruly or rude behavior, and Harry was brawny enough that no one argued with his rules.

She took the coffeepot to the hungry cowboy and refilled his cup.

“You’re Lucy?” he asked.

She tipped her head to one side and planted a finger in the middle of her chin. “Now, I can’t imagine how you’d know that. Oh, unless it’s because the name has been hooted, bandied about and generally abused for the last ten minutes.”

He nodded, his eyes suddenly watchful, guarded even. She couldn’t think why he should look at her in such a way. But she didn’t have time to wonder for long. Duty called and she got back to work.

After she’d been back to his table to refill his cup a fourth time she stifled a giggle as she glanced at his ears. It wouldn’t surprise her none to see twin spouts of brown liquid gushing from each side of his head.

By now, only the coffee-swilling, no-longer-hungry cowboy and an older couple remained in the dining room. Lucy began to wonder if someone had smeared his chair with glue before he sat down. Wouldn’t Harry have a conniption if they had?

His presence trickled along her nerves, making her very aware of him as she put fresh white cloths on each of the tables, and set out china and silverware in preparation for the customers who would come for the noon meal.

Harry charged into the room and glanced around. He took note of the lone cowboy before he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down to read some papers.

He glanced again at the cowboy and slid Lucy an inquiring look. She read his silent message. Is this fella bothering you?

She shrugged. How did she explain the way she felt drawn to him? Hoping…for what? That he’d hung about waiting for a chance to speak to her? Lots of the patrons waited for such a chance. If he had something to say, best he come right out and say it.

Not one to play coy games, she grabbed the coffeepot and headed in his direction. He was no different than any of the other cowboys who came and went. Most of them she didn’t give a passing glance. A few she favored with a walk out, or accompanied to a play or some activity put on by the cultural society. If this one asked, would she agree to go? Yes, she would because there was something different about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it. She only knew there was something in the way he didn’t look at her. His stare was not openly curious and measuring like so many of the cowboys—as if they were checking her for conformity, estimating her hardiness—judging her like she a good beef animal.

“Another refill?”

He pushed away his cup. “No, thank you, ma’am. Mighty fine it was, though.” He edged his chair back and looked at her, a hard glint in his eyes.

Lucy hesitated. What had happened to change the softer, kinder look she’d first noticed? But what did it matter? He was only one of hundreds of cowboys she served.

Wade Miller struggled to get his mind around the discovery that this was Lucy Hall—Scout’s daughter. At first glance, he had been mesmerized by her bubbly personality that had every pair of eyes in the full dining room following her with amused appreciation. Who would know from the way she acted that beneath the surface lay a heart as cold as river ice? What kind of girl would return her father’s letters unread and refuse continued invitations to visit?

He was here to change that.

She hovered at his side with the bottomless coffeepot. He planted his hand firmly over the top of his mug. His eyeballs were already drowning.

“I’m done. Thank you very much.”

She nodded and told him the total for his breakfast.

He made to pull the money from his pocket and paused. Slowly, cautiously, he brought his gaze to her. She wore the same amused expression he’d observed throughout the morning.

“Something I can do for you, mister?”

He didn’t like tipping his head to talk to her and pushed his chair back so he could gain his feet and full height. That was better. Now she had to tip her head, which set her pale brown hair to quivering. He’d once seen hair that color on an old dog he was particularly fond of. The animal had the smarts of a fox and the heart of a saint. For a dog the fur had been silky enough but he was willing to believe Lucy’s hair was a whole lot silkier. And a thousand times sweeter smelling.

He jerked his thoughts back to reality. Nice hair did not change the cruelness of her heart.

“You’re Lucy Hall, I take it.”

“Where you plan to take it, mister?”

He grinned. She’d given him the perfect opening. “I’d like to take it and you to see your father.”

She stepped back and curled her lips like he had a bad smell.

“My father sent you?”

Coming here had been his idea, not Scout’s. “He figured you hadn’t received his letters.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “You tell him I got them just fine. You tell him I don’t care to hear from him. You tell him—” She gasped in air like a horse that had been rode too long and too hard.

He wasn’t about to give up just because some little filly was all tangled up in some sort of hornets nest. “He’s sick. Wants to see you. Seems reasonable enough.”

She leaned forward, her chin jutted out, her eyes warning of approaching thunder. “Mister, you had your say. I suggest you move on.”

“Trouble, Lucy gal?” The big man Wade took to be the owner breathed down his neck. Every nerve in his body jerked to full alert. He knew better than to mess with a man that size and with that warning note in his voice.

“I’m on my way.” But he’d be back.

He left the dining room and swung into the saddle. He rode past a rowdy bar. Knew the cowboys would be filling up the hotel rooms come nighttime. He could buy himself a bed but he was used to his own company. Preferred it to the sort he’d find crawling around town.

He reined his horse toward the thin stand of trees where he intended to set up camp. He unsaddled Two Bit and tossed him a handful of oats. He’d let him roam, picking what he could. The horse would come as soon as he whistled.

After finding a rock to lean his back on, Wade settled down to think. The heat beat at his skin. It caused the landscape to sway like grass in the wind. Nothing blocked his view of the town. A struggling prairie town with high hopes, few trees.

Nothing about this scenery compared to the ranch in the hills, to the west. There, grass grew high as a horse’s belly, a house sat in the shade of cottonwoods, and a pretty little creek made a beautiful sound as it washed over rocks. No one could see the ranch without loving it. Not even someone like Lucy. He was equally certain that if she saw Scout she would forget whatever little tiff had made her shut him out of her life.

He could drive a herd of cows and rope a wild mustang but how did a cowboy persuade a reluctant, beautiful woman to go where she didn’t want to go?

He intended to find a way. Maybe he could even use some help from God. He hadn’t put much stock in the faith his mother had taught him until last winter, but there was no denying God had answered his desperate prayer back then. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to ask anything more of the Man up above but figured it wouldn’t hurt.

God, Scout looked about to die when I left. He hoped he could fulfill this task he had given himself before the man drew his last breath. Seems only reasonable that he get the chance to see his daughter before he does. Might help if You show this Lucy gal that she should pay her father a visit.

He returned to town a few hours later and passed some time nosing about. As the evening shadows lengthened, he thought of riding to the front door of the dining room and going in for supper, but Harry had been a little less than welcoming in his final goodbye. But having asked around, he knew Lucy would be done as soon as the supper crowd left. He’d not been able to discover where she lived. People tended to be a little suspicious if his questions were too direct.

He decided he’d wait at the back of the Dry Creek dining room and reined his horse in that direction. Sooner or later he’d get a chance to talk to her, persuade her to visit her father. Once she knew the precarious nature of Scout’s health, there’d be no way she could refuse.

He slid from Two Bit’s back, and let the horse lounge in the shade provided by the board fence at the side of the alley. He leaned back against the rough lumber and got himself comfortable, pulling his hat low to shade his eyes. Anyone seeing him might think he slept on his feet. They’d be wrong. His ears registered every skittering bit of dirt, every creak of the fence, every footfall.

He cracked one eye at the patter of running feet. A small ragamuffin of a boy skidded to a halt fifteen feet away and stared from Wade to Two Bit. He heard the boy’s sharply indrawn breath, took note of his sudden wary stiffening and hid a smile as the youngster just as quickly donned a sullen expression and a slouch before he plucked a blade of grass from beside the fence, stuck it in his mouth and swaggered to the door of the dining room to lean back as bold and unconcerned as if he had his name on the deed.

Wade used one finger to tip his hat back. “Howdy.”

“Howdy.” The boy gave a barely there nod and a bold, uncompromising stare.

Wade lowered his hat again and settled back.

“You waiting for something?” For a youngster so scrawny Wade could practically count his ribs through his thin shirt, he sure did have a challenging way of talking.

“Just waiting.”

“You hoping to see Lucy, ain’t ya?”

“It concern you if I am?”

The boy scowled something fierce like a kid used to fighting his way through life. “Lucy don’t care for drifters hanging about.”

“Can’t say as I blame her.”

The boy snorted.

Wade shoved his hat back and came off the fence so fast the boy flattened himself to the wall. “Name’s Wade. Wade Miller.” He shoved his hand toward the boy.

“Roy. Just Roy.” He took Wade’s outstretched hand. His grip surprisingly firm for such an under-nourished-looking body.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Roy.” He leaned back, studying Roy. “You waiting for Lucy?” Did the boy have some claim on her? Too old to be her son. Maybe a brother, though Scout had never mentioned such.

“Just waiting.”

Wade gave him a steady look. He didn’t say it but he thought, Kid, don’t bother trying to whitewash the truth with me.

Roy must have read the unspoken words in Wade’s eyes. He rolled the end of the grass around in his mouth to inform Wade he might or might not choose to tell him more. “Lucy gives me a plate of food every night.”

Wade ran his gaze over the scrawny kid. “Looks like you could do with a good feeding.”

“Lucy says it’s impossible to fill a growing boy.”

“How old are you, Roy?”

“Ten. But I can do a man’s work. I work over at the livery barn. Mr. Peterson gives me a place to sleep in exchange for cleaning the barn and seeing the horses have feed and water.” The words came out in a rush as if Roy needed Wade to understand his value.

“Where’s your ma and pa?”

Roy’s expression grew indifferent. “Ain’t got none.”

A rattle at the doorknob pulled their attention to the Dry Creek dining room. Lucy stepped out with a plate piled halfway to the roof. “Hettie said there were lots of leftovers today. You’ll get a good feed tonight.” She ruffled Roy’s hair and beamed at him. “I see you washed up.”

Roy had his face buried in the food but spared her a pained look. “’Course I did. What you think I am? A…a…?” He couldn’t seem to find a fitting word and tilted his head in Wade’s direction instead. “Who’s he?”

Lucy jerked back, finally realizing his presence. Her expression grew a whole lot less welcoming. “What are you doing here?”

Wade snatched off his hat. “Ma’am, I just want to talk to you.”

“I think you already said all I want to hear.”

“What’s he want?” Roy spoke around a mouth crammed with food.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. He’s nobody. Just another cowboy. I see hundreds of them.”

Roy wisely ignored her comment and continued shoveling in food but his eyes darted from Lucy to Wade.

“All I ask is that you allow me to explain the whole thing.” Once she knew how desperate the situation was, she’d surely agree to visit the ranch.

Roy paused from inhaling food. “You got no one to take you to the recitation tonight. He could take you.”

At the look Lucy gave Roy, Wade wondered if the boy would have singe marks.

“I don’t need an escort.”

Roy shrugged. “You said you don’t like walking home alone after dark.”

“You must have misunderstood me.”

Roy stopped chewing. He looked like she’d personally called him a liar. Like her approval of him meant more than the food itself. The boy scraped the last of the food into his mouth and ran his tongue over the plate. Well, maybe not more than food. But he was obviously hurt by Lucy’s remark.

Lucy saw it, too. Her expression flicked toward regret. “I’ll be fine, Roy. Don’t you worry about me.”

Wade saw his chances of Lucy agreeing to accompany him slipping away. “This here recitation—it’s like a meeting thing?”

“Lucy has a poem to say.” Roy sounded as proud as a papa.

“It’s the literary society.” Lucy’s tone made it plain that a cowboy wouldn’t enjoy such.

“I like recitations.” A lifetime ago he’d hovered behind a half-closed door and listened to recitations and music playing in the drawing room of the house where his ma worked. “I’d like to go if it’s open to cowboys.”

She didn’t miss his mocking tone and looked slightly regretful.

“Go with him,” Roy urged. “Ain’t you the one to always say a person shouldn’t be afraid to take a chance now and then?”

Lucy closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Roy, do you write down everything I say and commit it to memory to quote at the most awkward moments?”

Roy got that hurt look again but Lucy smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder.

“You’ll go?”

“Of course I’ll go. I’m going to recite.”

Roy shook his head. “I mean with him.”

Lucy studied Roy a long moment. “I don’t see why it’s so important to you.”

“I want you to be safe.”

Lucy ruffled his hair. “For you, I’ll do it.” She faced Wade, an expression of pure stubbornness on her face. “On one condition.” She waited for him to accept.

“Can’t hardly agree to something when I don’t know what it is.”

“You promise not to talk about my father.”

He swallowed, weighing his options. His primary reason for wanting to go to the event had been to explain why Lucy must visit her father. But a pack of other reasons overtook that one. It had been a lifetime or two since he’d heard poetry. He imagined Lucy speaking with the laughter in her voice that she seemed to reserve for everyone but him. But poetry and a musical voice mattered not. He had to convince Lucy to visit her father. Perhaps if he bided his time, she would get curious and ask after Scout.

“Deal.” Yes, he’d promised not to talk about her father. He hadn’t, however, promised not to talk about himself.

Chapter Two

Wade couldn’t help but stare at Lucy. When he’d first seen her, serving in the dining room, she’d worn a black skirt, a white top and a crisp white apron with frills along the edges. Her hair had been up in a tight bun although bits of it had come loose. She now wore a dark pink dress with a wide pink ribbon around her tiny waist. A few more strands of hair had also fallen loose from her bun. She looked very pretty. Like some kind of candy.

Wade glanced down at his trousers, suddenly aware he might not be fit to attend a literary society function. But having gained Lucy’s agreement to let him accompany her, he wasn’t about to let his lack of Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes hinder him.

She tilted her head in the direction they were to go.

He whistled for Two Bit to follow, nodded goodbye to Roy and fell in at Lucy’s side.

She waited until they turned from the alley into the street before she spoke. “I’m only doing this for Roy.”

Her words were so unnecessary he couldn’t help but laugh. “And all this time I thought it was my irresistible charm. You sure do know how to cut a man down to size.”

She looked vaguely troubled by his comment. “I got no need of a man.”

“I ain’t offering to marry you.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant I don’t need a man to escort me to the recitation.”

“I still ain’t offering.” He had been alone for a long time. Preferred it that way.

They reached the schoolroom that apparently served as home to the literary society and crowded inside with the others. All the windows had been shoved up and the doors at both ends propped open to let in air. Still, the place was like an oven ready for baking bread. Lucy led him to a desk near the front and they crowded in side by side. It was a tight squeeze. He noted how nicely she fit at his side, her head inches above his shoulder so every time he turned her way he could study how straight and fine her nose was. He could admire the color of her hair again and see how it shone in the slanting light from the open door. He squeezed his hands together to keep from touching her hair, aching to know if it felt as silky as it looked. He realized he still wore his hat and snatched it off to scrunch it to his lap.

Again he marveled that a body as pretty and as sweet-smelling as Lucy’s—like a field of clover in full bloom—could house a heart of coal. He tightened his mouth. He’d endure her pressed to his side, tolerate how nice she smelled and ignore the way her hair begged to be touched all for the sake of finding a chance to persuade her to show some human decency and visit her father.

Thankfully, it was soon time for the program to begin and he could concentrate on the proceedings.

A man with a handlebar moustache stood and welcomed everyone. And then the recitations began. Wade laughed at the story of a man searching for his horse and running into all sorts of calamities. His amusement grew by leaps and bounds as he met Lucy’s laughing eyes. He forced his attention back to the front of the room as a frail lady recited two Psalms. A young girl did a sweet poem of hope and love. Then Lucy rose. She fairly glowed as she began to speak, putting her heart into every word.

Wade had heard the poem before and knew what to expect, but enjoyed it just as much as the others who alternated between laughter and tears.

Lucy returned to her place at his side amidst clapping, cheering and shouts of “Bully for you, Lucy gal.” Twin roses bloomed on her cheeks. She gave Wade a look he could only interpret as triumphant.

For a moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off her then he forced himself to remember why he was here and what she was like beneath all that charm and good humor.

Three more recitations and the program ended. Wade bolted to his feet, his chest tight with a nameless anxiety. He had to get Lucy alone so he could talk to her, explain why it was so necessary to make the trek to the ranch.

But before his muddled brain could devise a plan, a black-clad woman called for their attention. “Tea and cake will be served outside. Ten cents each. Remember the money all goes to buying a bell for our church.”

“Let’s go.” Lucy grabbed his arm. “I want to get a piece of Mrs. Adam’s chocolate cake.”

Seemed everyone had the same idea. A stampede tried to squeeze out the door, pushing Lucy tight to Wade’s side. He discovered she not only fit like they were meant for each other, but that it was going to be nearly impossible to keep his thoughts on the purpose of his visit. He grunted as someone elbowed him. “Trouble with being at the front is you’re the tail going out,” he murmured.

Lucy groaned. “I know all that chocolate cake will be gone.”

A young man in a suit and tie, with a complexion the color of biscuit dough, allowed himself to be jostled against Lucy. Wade felt her stiffen, knew she didn’t appreciate the boldness of this dandified man. Wade edged forward just enough to push the man away. And then they were through the door, in the open where a person could breathe without inhaling someone else’s air. He grabbed Lucy’s elbow and hustled her to the table. ’Course he didn’t have to do much hustling. He was hard-pressed to keep up to her as she made the hundred-yard dash to the table covered with a selection of cakes. He dropped twenty cents into the plate and got two cups of tea in exchange.

“Look, there’s a piece left.” She dived for it and emerged crowing with triumph. A thought seemed to choke her pleasure. She glanced from the cake to Wade. Doubt clouded her face. “I could…”

She was considering giving up her cake after wrestling it from the kid behind her who now glared daggers at her. “You’d never forgive me.” He did not need her to hold a grudge over some cake. And to prove his point, he scooped up a large piece of spice cake with brown sugar icing, followed her away from the table to one of the benches and sat down.

Lucy ate the cake like it was a matter of life and death. She licked her fingers. Barely resisted licking the plate. He was so fascinated with her enthusiasm he forgot to test his own piece of cake.

She must have seen the wonder in his expression. “You have no idea how delicious it is.”

“Was.”

She eyed her plate.

“You ate the whole thing.”

“I offered it to you.”

“Yup.” He took a bite of his own selection. “This ain’t half bad either.”

“Like comparing beans and peaches. Both good but—” She shrugged, letting him know he got the beans but she wasn’t a bit regretful.

He mused about how best to bring up the topic of the ranch without mentioning her father. “I heard that poem before. My ma used to work in a house where they had literary gatherings. She loved that poem. Guess that’s why I like it.”

“You mean the poem I recited?” She grinned. “Or the one about chasing the horse?”

Far as he was concerned, only one poem stood out as being worthy of mention. “Yours. It made me miss her.”

“Where is she?”

“Died some years ago.”

“I’m sorry. My ma is dead, too.”

Another thing Scout neglected to tell him. “I guess you never stop missing your ma.” Though he’d started missing his ma long before she died. Once she started working for the Collins family after Pa’s untimely death, she’d never had time for him.

Lucy nodded. “I don’t expect I’ll ever forget my ma or the lessons I learned from her.”

He wanted to talk to her, ask her about her mother, tell her about the ranch but a continual string of people came by to say howdy-do to Lucy. She laughed and joked with them all. She had an easy way about her, as if life fit her well.

Someone came by and picked up the empty cups and plates.

Lucy sprang to her feet. “I could of done that. I’ll help with the dishes.”

The lady, the same black-garbed woman who had announced the refreshments, tittered and batted her eyes at Wade. “No, no, dear. You enjoy your beau.”

“My beau?” Lucy sputtered so hard Wade whacked her between the shoulder blades. True, he did so a little harder than necessary but the way she had said beau, as if he had as much appeal as a seven-day rash, kind of rubbed him the wrong way. He could be her beau if he wanted.

She stopped sputtering and shifted away from his patting, giving him a look fit to fry his brain.

“Wouldn’t want you to choke to death,” he said.

“I was in more danger of having a rib broke than choking.” She moved with the determination of a filly eager for freedom. “I’m leaving now.”

She didn’t need to go away in a huff. He hadn’t patted her that hard. He glanced around and realized the yard was emptying out. Lucy was already headed for the gate. Did she think to leave him standing in the middle of a vacant pen? He charged after her. “I’ll see you home.”

“I know the way. Probably better than you.”

“I might be nothing but a rough, tough cowboy, but I’m gentleman enough to see a lady home.”

“Perhaps you ought to go find yourself a lady, then.”

He laughed. “You’ll do.”

She stopped so sharp he ploughed into her, staggered to keep his balance and steady her, too.

She spun about.

He winced back at the fiery light in her eyes. Had he said something offensive?

“I’ll do? I’ll do?” Her voice rose with every word.

“You don’t think so?” How could she object to that? He’d meant it as admiration.

She clamped her lips together and continued down the street. Wade lifted his hands in confusion. Give him cows or horses any day over womenfolk. Who could understand them?

She stopped in front of the Dry Creek dining room. “This is where we part ways.”

“You’re going back to work?”

“No. I’m going to bed.”

“In the dining room?”

She rolled her eyes. “I have a room in the back.” She squinted at him as if suspecting shenanigans from him. “Right next to the room where Harry and Hettie sleep.”

He grinned. “I had no plan to search out your sleeping quarters.”

Her cheeks reddened. “I didn’t suggest you did.”

He kind of liked seeing her flustered. He shepherded his thoughts back to the reason he had looked her up. “I only want one thing from you.”

She opened the door and stepped inside. “Good night.” The door closed.

He raised his voice. “Don’t you want to know why it’s so important?”

Her muffled voice came through the wood. “There aren’t enough words in the world to make me change my mind.”

He stared at the closed door for some time before he whistled for the patient Two Bit and rode to his camp. A man with an ounce of sense would admit defeat and ride away, but he had made himself a promise to pay back Scout’s kindness by bringing his daughter to visit. He wasn’t about to give up. Lucy needed some persuading was all. And he was a patient man. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to be too patient. He’d like to get back in time to see Scout before his friend departed this life.

He wondered how Scout was doing. Wade had arranged for an old cowboy friend to stay with Scout when he’d left to find Lucy. But Wade didn’t figure Scout had many days left in him. He needed to hurry along Lucy’s change of mind. He again prayed—a still unfamiliar activity. God, help me accomplish the task I’ve chosen.

Lucy shut her bedroom door and began to prepare for bed.

She didn’t want to know anything more about her father. She’d spent too many pointless years waiting and hoping for him to do more than flit in and out of her life. She’d seen far too clearly how her mother had pined after a man who had made promises he never kept. After her mother died, still hoping for her father to make good on his promises, Lucy had sworn never to need or want anything more from her father. Nothing Wade could say or do would change that.

She sat cross-legged on her bed and opened her Bible. It had been her mother’s. In the front were the family history pages. Lucy stared at them. Her name and birth date entered by her mother. Her mother’s death in Lucy’s handwriting. The births and dates of death of her mother’s parents and her mother’s brother who had died when he was only three months old. She turned to the conspicuously empty page for registering marriages. No marriage between her parents had ever been entered because her father failed to marry her mother and make an honest woman out of her, despite his many promises to do so.

Lucy sighed. It was old news. She no longer cared. Turning the pages carefully, she paused at the bookmark and read a chapter before gently replacing the Bible in its place of honor on her bedside table. She said her prayers as she’d done from her earliest remembrance. She knew—because her mother told her often—there had been a time when their lives didn’t include churchgoing, Bible reading and prayer. A time when her mother had been a rebel and a run away. But she thankfully did not recall that period. Her father was part of her mother’s BC time—Before Christ—and Lucy did not want any share of it.

She lay staring at the narrow window high in the wall opposite her bed. Often she wished she could see outside without standing on her tiptoes, but Harry and Hettie were more than generous to provide her a room. She had only to think about Roy to realize her life without family might be a whole lot worse.

Thinking of Roy brought her thoughts round to Wade. No doubt after her rude dismissal he’d ridden out for wherever it was he headed. Made no difference to her. He was like a hundred other cowboys she saw.

Only—she regretfully admitted—no other cowboy had insisted on accompanying her to a recitation, nor admitted bold-faced how he missed his ma and her favorite poem.

She would doubtless never see him again and that, she told herself, was a good thing.

The next day was Sunday and Lucy headed out to church. Hettie and Harry had never asked her to work on Sunday. They had another gal come in to handle the Sunday crowd.

As she sat enjoying the organ music before the service began, someone slipped into the pew beside her. Wade!

She couldn’t tell him to move along—not in church. Not that she didn’t want to. But she feared she would incur the wrath of God if she acted on her unkind thoughts, so she gave him a smile that went no further than the corners of her mouth. Indeed, her lips said, “Good morning.” But her eyes said something entirely different.

“Nice to see you at church,” he whispered.

“You thought me a heathen, did you?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Now why would you think such a thing?”

Why, indeed? But her conscience smote her. She’d been rude and dismissive. And him being a stranger in town. Hadn’t the Lord commanded them to be careful to entertain strangers? A grin filled her mouth as she thought of the rest of the verse—entertaining angels unawares. She had her doubts about Wade being any sort of an angel.

“Care to share the cause of your amusement?” he whispered as the pews filled up around them.

She couldn’t restrain herself and told him about the verse. She then added, “It doesn’t say what those who aren’t angels turn out to be.”

He managed to look sad even though his eyes shone with amusement. “I would not expect anyone to consider me an angel. But I guess that means you’re obligated to entertain me this afternoon.”

Obligated?

Her mind said no—she wanted nothing to do with a cowboy who knew her father and expected she would be glad to pay him a visit.

Her heart said otherwise. Obligation, cowboy, father—none of it mattered. The idea of an afternoon in this man’s company sounded fine.

Her mouth said, “I guess I’m obligated.”

He grinned. “I guess I am, too. No cowboy in his right mind would turn down such a generous invitation.”

Knowing he realized as much as she that it had not been one bit generous, they both laughed. Seems he didn’t mind the obligation any more than she, which was somehow all wrong. This man had made his intention perfectly clear—he only cared about spending time with her in order to persuade her to visit her father.

Just as she’d made it clear as a spring morning she wouldn’t be persuaded. So, what harm was there in spending a sunny afternoon with him? It wasn’t as if she was about to let this man, or any man, share anything but fragments of time. She had no need nor desire to give a man the right to twist her life into disarray as her father had done to her mother.

And herself.

She managed to postpone how she would deal with the afternoon until the service was over and she turned to see Wade grinning at her, his eyes dancing with amusement. She got the feeling he knew she’d boxed herself into a tight corner and he was enjoying her discomfort far too much for her liking.

She lifted her head. This was nothing she couldn’t handle. “Let’s get some lunch from the dining room.” Hettie would willingly give them a portable lunch. Lucy thought she’d take him to the park where the young people tended to congregate on Sunday afternoons. Safety in numbers.

When they arrived at the dining room and she told Hettie what she wanted, the woman practically crowed. “Off to courting corner, are you?”

Lucy gave her a look of devout distaste, grateful Wade had waited outside, out of hearing distance. “I’m not interested in courting, only in having lots of people around so I don’t have to personally amuse him.”

Hettie chortled. “I suppose that’s why all the other young people go there, too?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Now, don’t get all prickly with me, Lucy gal. I recall a time or two you’ve been there with some anxious young man.”

“I don’t need a man.”

“So you say. You’ll change your mind soon enough when the right one comes along.” She handed Lucy a basket full of food. “Now, off you go. Have fun. Who knows? This might be the right one.”

Lucy thanked Hettie and waited until she was almost out the door to add, “Not in a million years.” She’d never trust her happiness and future to any man.

Thanks to Hettie’s comments, she felt conspicuous as she led Wade to the park where she was certain everyone she met had the same sly look in their eyes, and similar thoughts in their heads.

At least Wade had no idea how people viewed a harmless little jaunt to the park.

She saw a spot under a sprawling group of trees where several others she knew gathered. Mr. and Mrs. Nolan sat by themselves on a nearby bench. With three daughters of courting age, they usually spent the afternoon at the park, providing proper supervision.

“Over there.” Lucy pointed toward the group.

“They your friends?” Wade looked toward a more secluded spot where an umbrella of branches provided an alarming amount of privacy. “It’s quieter over there.”

“They’ll be glad to let us join them.” She didn’t give him a chance to say yea or nay. She had no intention of being shepherded to a place where they would be alone, knowing he would likely consider it an opportunity to tell her how she ought to visit her father. She led him to her choice of location and introduced him to the group—most of whom had been at church earlier. After a round of greetings, she found a roomy spot and allowed Wade to spread the blanket Hettie had put in the basket.

The afternoon heat made everyone mellow. Lucy was glad no one prodded her with questions about Wade. She didn’t want to talk about him. She didn’t want to explain who he was, what he was doing here.

Hettie had packed fried chicken and fresh buns for Lucy, which they’d both enjoyed. Lucy took out a plate of cookies and offered it to Wade.

He took one. “I see there are certain advantages to working in a dining room.” He slanted an amused look toward the next couple who’d had only syrup sandwiches.

“I don’t think they noticed.” It was the youngest Nolan girl and a farm boy.

“If they did, they didn’t seem to care.” Wade leaned close. “I think they’re more interested in their sparking.”

His breath warmed her cheeks, filling her with a curious sense of longing.

She pushed away the idea. Only thing she longed for was her self-sufficiency. Life was meant to be lived, enjoyed, embraced, not spent clasping hopeless dreams based on empty promises from a man.

She would not be like her mother.

Wade still leaned close, his gaze warm as sun flashing on a quiet lake, his expression curiously watchful, as if wanting something from her.

She shifted away, turned to gather the remnants of their lunch into the basket. She knew what he wanted—for her to visit her father. But she wouldn’t do it. She’d already given her father too many chances, wasted too many hopes and dreams on him.

Lawrence, a young man who seemed to escort a different gal to the park every week, picked up his guitar and began to pluck out a tune. He had a liking for popular ballads, which made him a hit with both sexes. He began to sing “Oh! Susanna.” Soon, more young people crowded around, joining their voices to his as he went from one popular tune to another.

Lucy loved the songs and joined right in. She didn’t have to look directly at Wade to see he wasn’t singing. At first she thought he didn’t know the newer songs, but even when they sang some old hymns he didn’t join. She tried to remember if he’d sung at church, but she’d been too busy mentally kicking herself for agreeing to spend the afternoon with him to pay attention.

She focused on the next song, and tried not to think of Wade sitting there quietly. He shifted, stretched out his legs, and leaned back on his right elbow. Was he bored? Restless? Through some perverse idea that God wanted her to entertain this stranger, she’d volunteered her afternoon. If Wade chose to be not entertained by the music, that wasn’t her problem. She’d done all that could be expected of her.

He sat up straight and pulled his knees to his chin. She didn’t miss how he shuffled about so he could stare at her.

“An angel wouldn’t stare,” she whispered.

“You’ve known a few, have you?”

“No. But I know they wouldn’t.”

“Well, see, I’m not so sure. I think they watch us all the time.”

She rolled her eyes to signify how silly she considered this conversation.

“Let’s go for a walk.” He bounced to his feet and held out a hand before she could refuse. She automatically let him pull her to her feet but withdrew from his grasp before they had gone two steps.

They headed past Mr. and Mrs. Nolan. Mrs. Nolan was writing a letter. Mr. Nolan was lying in the shade, his hat pulled over his eyes.

Lucy waited until they were far enough away from the music to be able to converse easily before she spoke. “I noticed you didn’t sing.”

“If you heard me you’d know for sure I was no angel.” His tone carried a hint of self-mockery. “Cowboys normally sing to the cattle at night to calm them. I tried it once. The cows all signed a petition requesting I stop.”

She laughed at the idea of cows signing a piece of paper. “Did they read it for you, too?”

“Read it myself but the head cow stepped on my foot to emphasize the point.” He paused to rub at the toe of his boot as if his foot still hurt.

She laughed harder at his silliness. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, yes it can.”

Now she wanted nothing more than to hear and judge for herself. “Show me.”

He held up his hands as if warning her. “I don’t want the afternoon to end on a sour note. Or a flat one.”

“You think I’d run home if I heard you sing?”

“I know you would, with your ears covered, begging me to stop.”

He kept a deadpan expression so she couldn’t know for sure how serious he was but she couldn’t believe he meant all he said.

She held a hand up as if swearing honesty before a court of law. “I vow I would not run away if you sang.”

Their gazes locked and for one still moment, nothing existed apart from the two of them and the promise of something exciting between them.

“Would you run for some other reason?” His words were low and soft, teasing.

She tried to find an answer to his question. “I can’t say.” At that moment, she could think of nothing that would send her running. Not when her heart had developed a sudden ache to know more about him.

He took her hand.

She let him.

They reached the edge of the park but didn’t turn around. Instead, they crossed the street, walked the half block to the edge of town and continued along the dusty road bordered by yellowed grass swaying in the breeze.

“This country is as flat as pie dough rolled out,” he said.

“Great for farming, they say. Best number one hard wheat grown right here. Much of it on bonanza farms. Can you imagine one farm with thousands of acres under crop? I’d like to see that some day.” Why was she running over at the mouth about farming? Only thing she knew about it was what she overheard at the dining room where some of the big landowners met with bankers and investors to discuss things.

Wade made a dismissive noise. “Farming is okay. But for real pretty scenery you should see ranching country. When I see the hills and trees and vast stretches of grass, I just want to put down roots like a big old cottonwood tree and never leave.”

Lucy turned to stare at him. “I never knew a cowboy who wanted to settle down.”

Wade gave an embarrassed grin and shrugged. “Never thought about it like that but now you mention it, the idea sounds kind of nice. But the ranch I mean belongs to your father.”

She pulled her hand from his grasp.

“Lucy, he’s sick. Near death. All you have to do is visit him. How hard can that be?”

She backed away with every word he uttered. Her eyes felt overheated, the air too heavy to breathe. “I will never visit him.”

“Why not?”

“Because when my mother died I decided I would no longer allow him any part of my life. He hurt her time and again with empty promises. I won’t let him do the same thing to me.”

“Just a little visit.”

“Never.”

Wade’s jaw muscles flexed. “He’s very sick.”

“I’m sorry.” She headed back to town like she was trying to outrun a thunderstorm.

He easily caught up to her. “I’ll not leave until you change your mind.”

“It will never happen.” She mentally kicked herself all the way back to the dining room and slipped into her room. How many times had she vowed not to let her heart yearn for any man—not her father, and certainly not a run-of-the-mill cowboy? She wouldn’t let herself care if the King of Spain showed up to court her. No. Her heart belonged to no one. Ever. She’d witnessed the incredible pain and suffering in her mother’s life and would have no part of it.

Yet she’d let her conscience, her duty, the warm sun and a pair of bright blue eyes momentarily make her forget.

Well, not again. Besides, Wade was only spending time with her in hopes of talking her into visiting her father. Wade said he was sick, dying even. But he’d been dead to her for years so what did it matter? Any little pang of remorse she felt was only for what she had once wanted.

And never had.

Chapter Three

Wade alternately stared at the ashes of his campfire and the dusty toes of his boots. Three days. Three long days he’d hung about trying to convince Lucy to do her duty as a daughter and a decent human being and visit her father before he died.

Wade had haunted the dining room waiting for opportunities to talk to Lucy until Harry had stomped out with a spoon the size of a bucket hanging from his ham-hock fists and ordered him to leave Lucy alone.

Wade had no desire to come to blows with the larger man or any of his primitive kitchen utensils, so he’d waited for an opportunity to speak to Lucy away from the eagle eyes of Harry.

He’d found such opportunity when he watched her and Roy settle on a rough plank bench in the shade of the livery stable. He followed at a distance, undetected, and slipped around the barn until he could listen and watch unobserved. It took him a moment to realize Lucy and Roy were bent over a book, their heads almost touching as Lucy taught the boy to read.

Huh. Wade sank back on his heels. Why would she spend that much time with Roy yet refuse to visit Scout—her own flesh and blood?

He moseyed around the corner and confronted the pair.

Roy glowered at him. “She don’t want to see you. Thought she made that plain.”

Wade wanted to laugh at the boy’s belligerence. He posed no threat, carried no oversize kitchen spoon but he was every bit as protective of Lucy as Harry was. Having no desire to mock the boy’s spirit, Wade kept his face expressionless. “I think she owes me a chance to explain.”

Roy jumped to his feet, fists curled at his side and donned a scowl fit to curdle Wade’s supper.

Lucy rose to Roy’s side and dropped an arm across the boy’s shoulders. “Let it be, Roy. I can defend myself.” The way she stuck out her chin and gave Wade a look fit to set his hair on fire made him squirm.

“No need to get all prickly around me. I mean no harm.”

“Just going to make a nuisance of yourself because you won’t take no for an answer.”

He thought some on that. Finally, he let out a long-suffering sigh. “I guess there’s no point in hanging around any longer. ’Sides, I’d like to see Scout before he passes. You’ll find me camped in that piddly patch of trees on the other side of town if you change your mind or decide you want to hear why I think the man deserves a visit from you.” He purposely waited, hoping she’d be curious to know why he owed the man this, but she just stared.

“Fine.” He spun around and marched away without a backward look, without saying all the hot words that pushed at the top of his head. The woman was a lost cause. Too bad for Scout, but perhaps it was best the man yearn after a girl he remembered as sweet and loving rather than face the truth about her coldheartedness.

He’d ride out first light. Or maybe he’d endure a train ride as he’d planned to do when he figured to have Lucy with him. He wanted to make it back in time to bid Scout farewell.

Though he hated to face the man and admit he’d failed to get Lucy to accompany him.

Even though he’d prayed. Guess a man couldn’t expect God to jump to do his bidding. Being rescued by prayer once was more than most ever experienced and he would never forget the occasion, nor how it had made his faith in God grow like desert flowers after rain.

It was an experience that meant a lot to him. He might have shared the details with Lucy in the hopes it would convince her to visit Scout.

God, I know I ain’t got the right to ask for more than what You’ve already given, but if You could do something to prod Lucy to consider allowing Scout to see her once more before he dies…

He returned to his campsite and settled back against one of the puny trees. He’d wait until morning to leave. Give Lucy a chance to reconsider. Give God a chance to do something to persuade her.

Dusk turned the street gray and darkened the shadows along the buildings to indigo. Grasshoppers and crickets sought to outdo each other in their creaky nightly chorus. Birds settled in for the night, calling to each other one last time.

Lucy and Roy leaned against the livery stable wall. The worn wood hoarded the heat of the day and baked their backs, but they were too content to move. She’d been reluctant to return to her solitary room after the way Wade had stalked off, anger evident in every step. Her heart clenched. Seems Wade had found friendship, perhaps belonging, maybe even a home with her father—something she had wanted most of her life. But her wanting had brought her nothing but disappointment and pain. She would not let Wade’s insistence and pleading trick her into walking headlong into a repeat of those emotions.

She should return to her room. If Harry and Hettie knew she was out alone after dark they would both scold her. But she wasn’t exactly alone. Roy had no place to go but the corner of the loft where he slept, so he willingly kept her company.

They had no need to talk but sat in companionable silence listening to the night and bits of conversation floating on the still air.

A harsher, louder sound caused them both to jolt upright.

“It’s just the door into the barn,” Lucy said.

Angry voices rose and fell. She made out a few words. “Cheat.” “Pay back.”

Curious as to what it was about, Lucy looked around, saw a tiny circle of yellow light and pressed her eye to the hole in the wall. Roy found another spot. From her spy hole Lucy got a clear view of Smitty. She resisted the urge to spit. Smitty was a scoundrel and the town could well do without him. He bullied and threatened his way around, acting like he owned the town and its inhabitants. He spent time in jail on a semiregular basis for minor offenses. Too bad someone couldn’t prove one of the many bigger things they suspected him of.

Another man faced Smitty, someone Lucy had seen only a time or two. She’d noticed the man had eyes that seemed to see everything, yet reveal nothing. But he sure looked scared right now. He held his hands out toward Smitty.

“I got no gun.”

That’s when Lucy saw that Smitty held a pistol aimed straight at the other man’s heart.

Her breath stalled halfway to her lungs and she clawed for Roy’s hand but found nothing but raw, slivered boards. She should leave. Run as far and fast as she could but she seemed tacked to the wall watching the two men, their forms wavering uncertainly in the flickering lamplight.

Smitty’s teeth gleamed in a sneer. “Dead men tell no tales.” Light flared from the end of his pistol and the noise of a gunshot rattled against the walls.

The second man clutched at his chest. He stared at his blood-covered hands, then gave Smitty a look of surprise before he pitched to the ground.

“Is he dead?” Roy whispered.

Smitty, who had leaned over to put a second gun in the fallen man’s hand, glanced toward them.

“Shh.” Lucy didn’t dare move for fear of giving away their presence.

Smitty stepped back, turned to a third man that Lucy hadn’t seen until this point. She recognized him, too. Smitty’s half-brained sidekick, Louie. The man wore a perpetual smile that revealed a whole lot more meanness than humor.

Smitty spoke to the man and nodded toward Lucy and Roy’s position. Louie jerked his head in compliance and strode for the door.

Lucy’s blood burned through her body. “They know we’re here.” She turned, grabbed Roy’s hand in a death grip, held her skirts with her other hand and ran like her life depended on it, which she was quite sure it did. They didn’t stop until they crossed behind the blacksmith shop where they pressed to the wall. Lucy held her breath hoping they hadn’t been spotted. She hoped they were invisible. She prayed the men might think they’d been mistaken in thinking someone had seen them.

“Who’s there?” Louie called.

Lucy clutched at Roy’s hand knowing he was as scared as she.

“Maybe I seen a kid and maybe someone else. Thought it was a woman.”

Lucy’s heart rattled against her ribs. Please, God, let them think they made a mistake.

“It’s that kid who sleeps here,” Smitty grumbled. “And I know who the girl is. Only one person spends any time with the kid. Never mind them now. We know where to find them. We’ll get you later,” he called.

Lucy knew he meant the words for them just as surely as she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do to them the same thing he’d done to that man in the barn.

Other voices called. She recognized the sheriff’s voice asking what happened.

She leaned over her knees and tried to catch her breath.

“What we gonna do?”

“Let me think.” They had a few minutes while the sheriff investigated, but she knew Smitty had set it up to look like self-defense when it was clear and simple murder. Only Roy and Lucy knew the truth. And Louie, who would never tell. He’d probably been cheering in the background when Smitty shot the unarmed man.

Her heart rate spiked again. Smitty wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of anyone who could testify against him.

How long would it take for everyone to accept Smitty’s version of what transpired? How long did it give her to come up with a plan of escape?

“Come on.” She practically dragged Roy toward the dining room. They couldn’t stay there. It would be the first place Smitty would look. All he had to do was wait for her to…

Her heart climbed up her throat and clawed at the back of her mouth.

“Hurry. We have to find someplace to hide.” She burst into her room and grabbed up her Bible, which held her meager life savings in an envelope. She grabbed a battered valise Hettie had given her and randomly threw some articles of clothing on top of her Bible having no idea where she would go. She only knew that it wasn’t safe here.

She headed for the door, paused. She didn’t want Hettie and Harry to worry so she scribbled a note and left it on her pillow. “Went to visit my father. Will contact you later.”

It was an excuse they would believe.

“What are we gonna do?” Roy’s voice thinned with fear.

She grabbed his hand. “Follow me.” She had no plan except escape.

They slipped out of her room and clung to the black shadows as they made their way to the edge of town opposite the livery barn. A commotion indicated the sheriff was still investigating along with every curious citizen who had come running at the sound of a gunshot.

Smitty wouldn’t be able to look for them until that was settled.

Roy yanked away. “If we’re leaving, I’m taking Queenie.” Mr. Peterson had given Roy an old nag of a horse. Roy diligently tethered her where she could nibble grass and faithfully carried water to her.

“Roy, we don’t have time.”

“We could ride her.”

There was something to that. “Where is she?”

He named a place and they head in that direction. “We’ll stop and get her.”

They just might get away in time.

Two Bit whinnied.

“What is it, boy?” Wade tipped his head and listened. He heard it a minute later—the sound of an approaching rider.

He scooped up his rifle and lounged with deceptive casualness. In his experience only trouble came riding into camp before dawn.

“Wade, are you there?”

His heart skidded sideways and crashed into his ribs. “Lucy, is that you?” What was she doing out before the sky had begun to lighten?

She rode up to him.

He grabbed the bridle of her horse, all the time alert for signs of danger. When he saw none, he relaxed. “You’ve decided to come with me?” he teased. She’d made it abundantly clear wild horses and six mad bulls wouldn’t drag her to the ranch.

“On one condition.”

He wished he could see her better. Assure himself she was teasing because, plain and simple, he didn’t believe she meant it.

“Yeah.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Wade, I mean it. I’ll go with you to see my father if you agree—” She glanced over her shoulder. Roy peeked around her arm. “You agree to take Roy.”

Wade wasn’t much for fancy talk. Sometimes he had to search for words. It came from spending most of his waking hours with nothing but cows, horses and equally untalkative cowboys. But for the life of him he couldn’t find even one word in his surprised brain. Not one word to say to this gal who had changed her mind faster than Dakota weather.

“Wade, we’ll go with you. But we have to hurry.” Her urgent tone caused his brain to burst into a gallop.

“What’s the rush?” He could feel the nervous tension vibrating from the pair. No way was he taking a step anywhere until he knew what was going on.

“I’ll tell you everything on the way.”

No mistaking the way her voice quivered. He guessed it was fear or nervousness. “What’s the hurry?”

“Smitty is after us.”

He knew about Smitty. Anyone who had been in town more than a few hours knew of the man. Either by word of mouth or by encounter. Wade had seen him in the store a couple of days ago. Had been forced to witness the man blatantly threaten a farmer over some disputed fence line. From what Wade gathered, the farmer was within his rights but it was plain as dirt on a white shirt that Smitty didn’t care about what was right. And certainly didn’t intend to let it interfere with his plans.

After the pair left, he asked the store owner why the sheriff didn’t do something. The man said, “He’d like to, but so far no one will testify against Smitty.”

“He’s gonna kill us.” Roy’s voice shook. All the kid’s bravado had vanished.

Roy’s fear sent Wade’s nerves into full alert. “Why?”

“Smitty killed a man in cold blood. We saw him. Smitty doesn’t want any witnesses.” Lucy’s voice trembled so bad he wanted to scoop her from the horse and hold her tight, assure her he’d keep her safe.

“You going to help or just stare at the horse’s nostrils?”

Wade laughed. “Lucy gal, you sure do have a sweet way of asking.”

“Phweet. If I’d known you expected sweet talk I’d give it, but right now I think urgency is a little more important.”

“Why don’t we just to tell the sheriff the truth?”

“You don’t know Smitty.” Her voice was tight, signaling her fear. “He’ll convince everyone the shooting was self-defense. He’ll already have half a dozen men as nasty as him watching for us. We wouldn’t make it two steps in town before he or one of them would grab us. We wouldn’t get anywhere near the sheriff.” Her words grew more urgent. “The best thing we can do is go somewhere and hide.”

“I expect you’re right. Good thing I was ready to go.” He settled the saddle on Two Bit, stuck his rifle in the boot and swung up. He paused to have a good look at the other horse in the gray light. “Where did you find that old nag?”

“She’s a good old horse.” Roy sounded a whole lot more like himself as he defended the bag of bones.

“Emphasis on old,” Wade muttered. “Come on, let’s make tracks.” The “good old horse” would have found Roy a load let alone the pair of them. She probably found her skin almost more’n she could handle. He edged up beside Lucy. “Roy, get on behind me. We’ll have to take turns carrying you.”

Just a few hours ago Wade had asked God to melt Lucy’s stubbornness. Little did he expect things to turn around so suddenly or in such an alarming fashion. He scanned the horizon, saw no sign of pursuit and prayed for God’s protection. He briefly considered his options. Seems he had only two—head for the train, or ride west. Riding left them exposed and vulnerable. He could likely outride and outmaneuver any pursuers, but doubted Lucy or Roy were up to the challenge. Certainly not on the old nag they had brought along.

On the other hand, he’d picked a campsite on the far side of town away from the rail station. Didn’t make any sense to ride through town.

He made up his mind. They’d head for the railway but not through town.

“Let’s ride.” He urged Two Bit into an easy lope. They rode from the shelter of the trees and headed west. A few minutes later, he glanced over his shoulder to check Lucy’s progress.

She kicked at the old horse’s side and slapped at the animal with the end of the reins. The horse managed what might pass for a jog.

“I can walk faster than that.” Someone had not gotten a good bargain on horseflesh.

He waited for the struggling pair to catch up. Lucy looked about ready to chew a handful of nails for breakfast. “Where did you get that old hay burner?”

The look she shot him made him winch. “Mr. Peterson gave her to Roy.”

He sputtered with surprise then the humor of it hit him and he roared with laughter. Two Bit perked up his ears and danced sideways. Roy clung to his waist. Wade wiped his eyes and continued laughing despite Lucy’s pinched look.

“Did you think we stole her?” she demanded.

Wade managed to choke back his enjoyment of the idea of someone persuading Roy he was doing him a favor though he couldn’t stop it from circling his words as he spoke. “Mr. Peterson saved himself the price of a bullet and left Roy with the responsibility of feeding the old thing. Got to admire a man with such business savvy.” Even free was too much for this sorry piece of horseflesh. He whooped with laughter.

Lucy fixed him with a hard, unyielding frown.

Wade forced himself to put on a sober face, though inside he continued to chortle. “If we hurry we might make the rail station by nightfall.” He reined toward his destination, knowing now he could hope for nothing more than a plodding walk.

The pair of them seemed to think a walking glue factory was a wondrous gift. It amazed him. Delighted him. Filled him with admiration for the kind of spunk his Lucy showed.

His? Was his brain addled from surprise and too much laughter? She wasn’t his. Never would be. She had only agreed to accompany him because she needed to get away from Smitty. Would she stay on the ranch any longer than it took to say “Hello, Father. Goodbye, Father.?” Then reality hit him square between his eyes. Lucy couldn’t ride away after a hurried goodbye. Not until Smitty had been locked behind bars. The idea of that man posing a threat to Lucy or Roy made his fists coil.

They inched across the flat prairie. Although he took a circuitous route that kept him away from town, he felt as exposed as the sun. His skin itched at how easy it would be for someone to spot them and ride after them. Running from pursuers was impossible. But getting back to Dry Creek and catching the train was equally impossible. By the time they got there, Smitty would have every way in and out of town guarded by one of his cohorts.

He pulled up. “This ain’t going to work.”

Lucy’s shoulders drew back. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

He chuckled at her determination. “You planning to push that nag all the way across Dakota?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Now, how gentlemanly would that be? If someone is to push…” She left the rest unsaid. But he understood her message. If anyone had to do the pushing, she expected it to be him.

He eyed the tired old horse. “I could try riding her. Maybe I could convince her to go a little faster. Otherwise, we’ll be spending the winter out in the open plain.”

Lucy scowled. “You’d whip her, I suppose?”

Roy dropped to the ground and rushed to the old nag’s side. “You can’t hit her. She can’t help if she’s old.”

“Don’t suppose either of you thought to bring wheels?”

Two pairs of eyes regarded him suspiciously.

“The way I see it…” He pushed his hat back on his head and leaned over the saddle horn as if contemplating one of the universe’s darkest mysteries. “Either we plan to inch across the prairie—easy for anybody to see us, easier for them to chase us down—or we put wheels under that thing and I’ll drag her.”

“’Course we didn’t bring any wheels.”

He sighed. “I feared that might be your answer. Like I said, this isn’t going to work.”

They all stared at the horse.

“She happen to have a name?” Somehow, it might be easier to deal with her if she was more than a nameless pile of skin draped over protruding bones.

Roy wrapped his arm around the sorry animal’s head. “’Course she has a name. It’s Queenie. ’Cause she’s like a queen.” His tone dared Wade to question the name.

In order to restrain his laughter, Wade drew his lips in tight hoping he looked thoughtful. He slanted a look at Lucy and when he saw her eyes brimming with merriment, he had to bite the inside of his lip.

But their lack of speed was no laughing matter. They had to find some other way of getting across this open land. He studied the landscape trying to come up with a solution. Wheels were not the answer. Unless…he stared southwest. “We’ll go that way.”

“We aren’t going back, are we?”

“Lucy, we’re going to find some wheels.”

“Who’s going to push?”

“The iron horse.”

“A train?”

“Yup.” He’d planned on catching the new SOO line that was direct to Minot and from there they would ride. But if he dropped down to the Northern Pacific line and the less direct route, it might serve their purpose even better, make it a little harder for any pursuers to know for sure where they were headed. And the line was considerably closer if his reckoning was right.

Lucy brightened faster than the sun that now sat several degrees above the horizon, promising another searing day.

Wade eyed the flat land. Being out on the unprotected prairie didn’t seem like the best plan a man could devise. “Come on, Roy. Climb on.” He reached out a hand.

“Will we get breakfast when we get there? I’m awfully hungry.”

“Roy, you’re always hungry.” Lucy’s tone warned him not to complain.

Wade lifted the boy to the back of his horse. “I’m feeling kind of hollow myself. I’m sure we’ll be able to rustle up something.” If he was correct they should connect about the same place as the little town of Anders. They’d find food there. Plus water and relief from the unrelenting heat.

Three hours later, the heat shimmered unmercifully and between them they had downed his entire supply of water.

Wade began to wonder if they’d missed the line entirely and were doomed to wither into nothingness in the baked grass.

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