Mail-Order Matchmaking

Newly minted Cowboy Creek sheriff Noah Burgess doesn’t want a wife—despite his friends insisting that he needs one. So when they send for a big-city single mother to be his mail-order bride, he’s fit to be tied. Even if vivacious Grace Longstreet might just be the only person who can see past Noah’s scars...and help him heal.

Grace needs a husband to keep her and her twin daughters out of her brother-in-law’s grasp. And she’ll do anything—including taking on her cousin’s identity—to find one. But as the attraction between Grace and the lawman sparks higher, she begins hoping for a real marriage. So she needs to tell the truth...or a mail-order match that’s meant to be could crumble.

“I’m afraid you’ve come all the way out here from...”

“Chicago.”

“Chicago.” Of course. Lots of wealthy industrialists in that fine city. Was there a shortage of acceptable men her age? Both sides of the war had lost significant numbers.

With the rush of adrenaline fading, he began to notice details about her. Miss Longstreet wasn’t a classic beauty. Her features were too interesting. Slightly playful. It was the eyebrows, he decided. Sweeping over large, expressive eyes, the dark slashes formed a natural arch and were set in perpetual inquisitiveness.

No, it wasn’t the brows. It was her unusually shaped mouth. Soft and pink, the top lip curved in a smooth arc above the full lower one. A tiny freckle hovered above it on the right. Definitely intriguing.

He blinked those thoughts away. Intriguing or not, the city girl wasn’t staying.

Folding his arms across his chest, he delivered a glare that made most townsfolk quiver in their boots. “The trip was a waste, Miss Longstreet. I am not, nor will I ever be, in the market for a bride.”

* * *

Cowboy Creek: Bringing mail-order brides, and new beginnings, to a Kansas boomtown

Want Ad Wedding—Cheryl St.John, April 2016

Special Delivery Baby—Sherri Shackelford, May 2016

Bride by Arrangement—Karen Kirst, June 2016

KAREN KIRST was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. A lifelong lover of books, it wasn’t until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.

Bride by Arrangement

Karen Kirst

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself.

—Philippians 2:3

To Elen Matuszkova—even though thousands of miles separate us, you’re still close to my heart. We love and miss you.

Many thanks to editor Elizabeth Mazer for choosing to work with me again. It’s been a pleasure. And to my fellow authors in this continuity, Cheryl St.John and Sherri Shackelford. I’ve enjoyed working with you both.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Cowboy Creek, Kansas

June 1868

Noah Burgess wasn’t cut out to be sheriff. He’d worn the badge less than three days and had already failed the town he’d helped found. Seemed one simple task—rounding up the Murdoch brothers and their band of outlaws, men who’d managed to relieve the bank of its gold and end Sheriff Davis’s life—was beyond him.

Muscles stiff from long hours in the saddle, his shirt clinging to his sticky, sweat-slicked skin, he welcomed the sight of his homestead rising up from the sea of prairie grass. The steadfast sun painted everything in a butter-yellow haze. The one-and-a-half-story cabin wasn’t grand or vast like his friends’ houses. In fact, with its awkward roofline and porch awning dissecting the front facade, the home he’d designed and constructed was somewhat of an eyesore.

Unlike Daniel Gardner and Will Canfield, his best friends and cofounders of Cowboy Creek, he didn’t plan on taking a wife and filling his home with offspring. His cabin may not impress folks, but it was practical. Kept him warm during the brutal prairie winters and cool enough during the summer months. Kept the rain and snow out. What critters managed to breach its walls the cat took care of.

He’d done a better job with the barn. Granted, he’d gone a tad overboard. The structure was large enough to house five wagons abreast and ten deep. Straight ahead, stately cottonwoods lining the creek bank blocked the frequent breezes sweeping across the undulating plains. Above him, a hawk’s cry sliced the air, the bird’s broad wings outstretched as it dipped and peaked searching for a meal.

The tight ball of tension between his ribs unraveled as his sorrel horse, Samson, carried him closer. This slice of Kansas granted him sanctuary and tenuous peace after years of fighting on chaotic battlefields and months of inescapable suffering in filthy field hospitals.

Ranching was in his blood. Working the land and tending livestock came naturally. Running thieves and outlaws to ground? Not a profession he’d ever aspired to.

Noah was headed for the barn when he noticed the cabin’s front door ajar. Pulling up the reins, he slid out of the saddle and had his revolver unholstered by the time his boots hit the ground. His senses sharpened. The vegetable garden was undisturbed, and the fields dotted with shorthorn cattle revealed nothing unusual.

Multiple scenarios ran through his mind. Outlaws like the Murdochs wouldn’t think twice about helping themselves to others’ property. An unattended homestead presented the perfect pickings. Indians in these parts weren’t too pleased with the locals, either, the needless slaughter of buffalo solely for their hides provoking some to violence.

His ears strained for unfamiliar sounds.

Jerking down the loading lever, he fumbled in his tiny cap box for the percussion cap. When he had it in place, he gently replaced the hammer. He could get off one good shot. Weapon outstretched, he eased the door open inch by inch. Narrow steps ascended into the loft. Perfect place for a body to hide. He scanned the half wall’s top ledge. Farther in, the pie safe and hutch came into view, as did the Waterloo step-stove he’d ordered because it was the same kind his ma had used.

A chair creaked and Noah reacted.

He lunged into the room. “Make another move, and I’ll shoot you where you stand...” He trailed off, jaw sagging. Had he entered the wrong house?

“Don’t shoot! I can explain! I—I have a letter. From Will Canfield.” A petite dark-haired woman standing on the other side of his table lifted an envelope in silent entreaty. Her jewel-adorned fingers trembled. “Are you Noah Burgess?”

At the mention of his friend’s name, he slowly lowered his weapon. But his defensive instincts still surged through him. It was difficult to make sense of encountering a female in his home. Not an ordinary female, either. This one belonged on the finest streets of Paris, France or New York City. What she was doing in an isolated, male-dominated Kansas cow town he couldn’t fathom.

From the polished boot tips peeking beneath her bell-shaped skirts, to the orderly perfection of her hair swept up and off her neck, she oozed sophistication. Elegance. She may as well have stepped from the pages of a child’s fairy tale. He got an impression of creamy, rich fabric, dainty pink bows and skirts that formed a cascading cloud of perfect folds. A thin pink ribbon encircled her neck. Noah had no words for the hat atop her crown. Too small to provide shade, the ivory-colored contraption was drowning in pink and red bows.

She was dainty. Ethereal. And clearly lost.

When he didn’t speak, she gestured limply to the ornate leather trunks stacked on either side of his bedroom door. “Mr. Canfield was supposed to meet us at the station. His porter arrived in his stead... Simon was his name. He said something about a posse and outlaws.” A delicate shudder shook her frame. “He said you wouldn’t mind if we brought these inside. I do apologize for invading your home like this, but I had no idea when you would return, and it is June out there.”

Her gaze roamed his face, her light brown eyes widening ever so slightly as they encountered his scars. It was like this every time. He braced himself for the inevitable disgust. Pity. Revulsion. Told himself again it didn’t matter.

When her expression reflected nothing more than curiosity, irrational anger flooded him.

“What are you doing in my home?” he snapped. “How do you know Will?”

“I’m Constance Miller. I’m the bride Mr. Canfield sent for.”

“Will’s already got a wife.”

Pink kissed her cheekbones. “Not for him. For you.”

Shock nailed his boots to the floorboards. “Excuse me?”

“You are Mr. Burgess, are you not?”

She looked deliberately to the tintype photograph propped on the mantel. Three young, naive soldiers stood proudly in their freshly issued uniforms. He was in the middle, flanked on either side by men who had become like brothers, Daniel Gardner and Will Canfield. The same men who’d followed him out here as soon as the war ended. Men who’d pestered him to pitch in for the bride train and order one for himself.

His throat closed. They wouldn’t have.

“That’s my name,” he forced past stiff lips.

“I was summoned to Cowboy Creek to be your bride.” She was looking at him with encroaching desperation, silently imploring him to confirm her statement.

He closed his eyes and mentally pummeled his blockheaded friends. They’d stirred up a hornet’s nest with this one. How many times had he told them he wasn’t interested? Why couldn’t they accept he was resigned to a solitary life?

“Your friend didn’t tell you.” The dismay coloring her tone snapped his eyes open. A sharp crease brought her brows together.

“I’m afraid not.” Slipping off his worn Stetson, Noah hooked it on the chair and dipped his head toward the crumpled parchment. “May I?”

Miss Miller didn’t appear inclined to approach him, so he laid his gun on the mantel to unload later and crossed to the square table, keeping it as a barrier between them. He took the envelope she extended across to him and slipped the letter free, aware of an undertone of vanilla. Was it coming from her? He’d expected garish perfume, not sweet subtlety.

The words scrawled in neat, succinct rows were indeed Will’s. The handwriting was unmistakable. Heat climbed up his neck as he read the description of himself. His friend had embellished his finer traits while downplaying the disfigurement he’d earned during the battle of Little Round Top.

Tips of his ears burning, he stuffed it back inside and tossed it on the tabletop. “I’m afraid you’ve come all the way out here from...”

“Chicago.”

“Chicago.” Of course. Lots of wealthy industrialists in that fine city. So why hop a train out here? Was there a shortage of acceptable men her age back in the Midwest? Both sides of the war had lost significant numbers...

With the rush of adrenaline fading, he began to notice details about her. Miss Miller wasn’t a classic beauty. Her features were too interesting. Slightly playful. It was the eyebrows, he decided. Sweeping over large, expressive eyes, the dark slashes formed a natural arch and were set in perpetual inquisitiveness.

No, it wasn’t the brows. It was her unusually shaped mouth. Soft and pink, the top lip curved in a smooth arc above the full lower one. A tiny freckle hovered above it on the right. Definitely intriguing.

He blinked those thoughts away. Intriguing or not, the city girl wasn’t staying.

Folding his arms across his chest, he delivered a glare that made most townsfolk quiver in their boots. “The trip was a waste, Miss Miller. I am not, nor will I ever be, in the market for a bride.”

* * *

He hadn’t been expecting her. Clearly. Grace Longstreet stared at the walnut gun handle angled on the mantel and swallowed tightly. Fear tasted coppery in her mouth. Guilt oozed through her veins like black sludge. If she didn’t pull off this masquerade...

Her fingers curled into balls, causing her many rings to bite into her skin. Failure didn’t bear thinking about. She must convince this intimidating homesteader of two essential facts—that her name was Constance Miller, and that he had a responsibility to marry her. There wasn’t room for her conscience or pride. Her little girls’ well-being hinged on the success of her subterfuge.

Sunlight streaming through the bare window set his fair hair ablaze and made his flinty gaze appear to radiate blue fire. Noah Burgess was a blond, blue-eyed Norse Viking clothed in cowboy gear. He had nothing in common with the men in her social circle, with their expensive suits, slicked-back hair and soft hands. This man lived and breathed the great outdoors. He was one with nature. Strong and virile. He wore a pale blue button-down shirt, tan vest, canvas trousers and brown leather boots caked with trail grit. A red-and-white bandanna was knotted around his neck. A powerful-looking man, his biceps and wide shoulders strained the fabric, folded as they were over a chiseled chest that narrowed to lean hips and thick, muscular legs.

She tried not to stare at the scars. Raised, uneven webs of pink skin fanned over his lower left jaw, extended under his ear and onto his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt collar. Grace wanted to ask what had hurt him. Mr. Canfield hadn’t given her details, saying only that Mr. Burgess had sustained an injury in battle. But she’d sensed his recoil the first time she’d noticed them, and so she refrained.

Whatever the case, it didn’t distract from his rugged presence. He possessed strong features. His mouth, set in a hard, straight line, looked as if it hadn’t curved into a smile for quite some time.

When she’d discovered her cousin had agreed to come West and marry a complete stranger, Grace had seen only an opportunity to escape the city. She hadn’t given a single thought to whom or what she’d find at the other end of the tracks. It wasn’t until she and the girls were safely on the train, Chicago’s skyline gradually fading into the distance, that she’d paused to consider the possible ramifications of her impulsiveness. Fact was, she didn’t know anything about Constance’s intended groom. Her cousin hadn’t been able to tell her much. With no suitable marriage prospects in her impoverished neighborhood, the younger girl had been anticipating a fresh start, despite the inherent risks in such an undertaking. Grace had gifted her with a satisfactory sum for letting her switch places. Right about now, her cousin was undoubtedly searching for another eager groom in a different territory.

During the long, uncomfortable journey, Grace had contemplated the contents of Will Canfield’s letter—Constance had read it to her enough times for her to have it memorized—and had been comforted by his description of Noah Burgess as an honorable man. She’d prayed a lot, too. With her soul conflicted, she’d begged for God’s understanding and forgiveness. What choice had she had, in the end?

Noah shifted, the silver badge over his heart glinting, catching her eye for the first time.

“You’re the sheriff?” she blurted, hard put to hide her distress. There’d been no mention of it in Mr. Canfield’s letter. Then again, that gentleman had apparently left off more than one piece of pertinent information.

Conning an ordinary homesteader was one thing. But a lawman? Her already upset stomach tightened further into hard knots.

“It’s a recent development.” His lips firmed. She couldn’t tell if he was perturbed with her, his own situation or both. “Our former sheriff, Quincy Davis, was shot and killed several days ago. The town needed a replacement.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Kneading his nape, he heaved a sigh. “Look, Miss Miller, you’ve a right to be upset. My friends meant well. They’ll fix this. Will owns the Cattleman, Cowboy Creek’s premier hotel. You can stay there at his expense while you await the return train to Chicago.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry about the cost of the ticket, either. It’ll be taken care of.”

Grace grasped for the right words. “Have you ever considered your friends may be right?”

His hand slapped to his side. “I don’t take your meaning, ma’am.”

“Perhaps they see a need in your life you haven’t yet acknowledged. Why else would they do something so outrageous as to arrange a marriage for you without your consent?”

She could practically hear his teeth grinding together. “Are you suggesting I don’t know my own mind?”

Grace was accustomed to men’s displeasure. She’d endured Ambrose’s for five years. Ambrose was gone, however. If she had only herself to think about, she’d accept this mistake and walk away. But her daughters’ future was at stake. Her brother-in-law, Frank, would do anything to make her his, including threatening to separate her from Jane and Abigail if she didn’t comply with his wishes. She had to pursue her daughters’ best interests, no matter if she had to get on her knees and beg this man to take her as his bride.

“I’m suggesting you give marriage to me some thought before you send me packing. I’m a proficient housekeeper.” She indicated the cabin’s clean but sparse interior. “I can sew. Cook. Surely you don’t have time to prepare adequate meals with all your other responsibilities.”

His expression frustratingly inscrutable, he raked her with his cool blue gaze. His clear dismissal threatened to deflate her already shaky self-confidence.

Humiliation licking her insides, she lifted her chin. “I may appear incompetent, but I assure you, Mr. Burgess, I know how to make myself useful.”

He studied her a moment longer. “Go back to your pampered life in the city, Miss Miller. I don’t know what sort of glamorous accounts you’ve read about life out here, but they ain’t reality. One week on this homestead, and you’d be begging me to send you back.”

Surely it was her appearance he was judging, not her, the woman. He didn’t know her. Couldn’t see her soul, her heart. “You’re wrong. I can prove you’re wrong.”

A long-suffering sigh pulsed between his lips. “Let me be plain. It doesn’t matter to me whether you’re prairie material or not. I don’t want a wife. I don’t want you or any other woman.” He jerked a thumb to the open doorway. “I’ve just come off a three-day search for a gang of outlaws. I’m tired and hungry, and I need to see to my horse. So if you’ll excuse—”

Behind her, the bedroom door creaked open. “Momma?”

Grace froze. Exhausted from the interminable train ride, the girls had been drooping by the time they’d reached the homestead. She’d put them in the only bed in the house.

The intractable sheriff’s focus shot past her, his eyes going wide. He blinked several times.

“You have a kid?”

“As a matter of fact, I have two.”

Chapter Two

Kids? She had kids? “I thought it was Miss Miller.”

“You assumed.”

The ardor with which she’d spoken moments ago cooled, and Noah witnessed a mother’s protective instincts surface. She beckoned to the little girls hovering in the doorway, a loving smile urging them not to be frightened. They had obviously been sleeping in his bed. Through the opening, he could see that the plain wool blanket atop his straw-stuffed mattress was creased.

Children were a rarity in these parts. As were females, which was precisely why Daniel, Will and the other businessmen had conspired to locate willing mail-order brides. The railroad terminus had boosted their itinerant population, but they needed families to grow this town.

Huddling close to their mother’s side, they watched him wordlessly. Their dark brown hair and delicate features resembled hers. White aprons overlay their dresses, both solid navy blue, and frilly pantaloons were visible from the knee down. Sturdy round-toed shoes completed the outfits.

“Girls, this is the gentleman I told you about. Mr. Burgess owns this homestead. He’s also the sheriff of Cowboy Creek.” She ran a hand over the nearest one’s rumpled sausage curls. “This is Abigail.”

Big chocolate-brown eyes regarded him solemnly.

Constance reached over and touched the second one’s shoulder. “And this is Jane.”

Jane’s bright blue eyes danced with curiosity. Her skin was a shade lighter than her sister’s, and freckles were sprinkled liberally across her nose and cheeks.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Jane offered.

Abigail kept silent. Circling her mother’s waist with her tiny arms, she hid her face in the voluminous skirts.

“How old are they?”

“They recently celebrated their sixth birthday.”

Twins. Not identical, but there could be no mistaking they were kin.

Noah’s gaze skimmed Constance’s petite but curvaceous frame. Back home in Virginia, a neighbor woman had died giving birth to twins. The babies had perished, as well. He’d overheard his ma saying how dangerous the business of birthing one child could be, much less two. And that woman had been several inches taller and larger boned than the one standing before him.

“Where’s their father?”

“Passed on a year ago.”

There wasn’t a flicker of grief in Constance Miller’s steady gaze. The girls didn’t react, either, which told him they were either too young to grasp the permanency of death or they hadn’t shared a close relationship with the man.

His interest grew. Why was she dead set on hitching herself to a complete stranger? Had he misjudged her financial status? For all he knew, the clothes and jewelry were all that was left of her late husband’s wealth. She could be destitute. With small children depending on her, of course she’d be willing to marry anyone who struck her as decent.

Had she somehow discovered Noah’s worth? The Union Pacific had paid him a small fortune for his original homestead because of its proximity to town and the terminus. He’d used a portion of that money to purchase this new tract of land farther outside town. The rest of it he’d placed in the bank for a rainy day.

The trio stood watching him, waiting for him to speak. His ire stirred anew. His friends had put him in an untenable position.

Snagging his hat, he settled it on his head. “I’m going to take care of my horse, then ready the wagon. You have about an hour before we leave for the hotel.”

Ignoring the widow’s quiet gasp, he pivoted and strode for the exit, not stopping when he heard her order the girls to remain inside. His boot heels thudded across the porch, grew muted when he reached the short grass. The early-summer heat closed around him. Looping Samson’s reins around his palm, he scowled. She sure was desperate. Had to be if she was willing to overlook his disfigurement.

The day his gun exploded in his face, Noah’s life had altered course. In those first days and weeks, he hadn’t known whether or not he’d survive. The risk of infection had been great. As time passed and he began to heal, slowly and painfully, he’d had trouble coming to terms with his new appearance. It had taken even longer to accept that love and marriage were out of his reach. Who could love a freak like him?

These days, he steered clear of mirrors. He couldn’t stomach the sight of the twisted, nightmarish flesh. How could he expect any woman to regard it day in and day out? He couldn’t even grow a beard to hide the damage to his face.

The door clicked shut, and his hold on his temper slipped.

“Listen, lady, I’m sure you’re accustomed to men doing your bidding, but this ain’t Chicago. I—”

All of a sudden, she launched herself at him. “Wild animal,” she exclaimed, seeking shelter behind him, her grip on his arms viselike.

Samson shifted uneasily. Noah dropped the reins and, bracing himself, searched for the source of her fear. When he spotted the rangy black wolf loping across the yard, golden eyes zeroed in on him, Noah’s muscles relaxed.

“That’s not a wild animal. That’s Wolf. My pet.”

Her grip loosened a hair, but she remained pressed against his back, using him as a shield against perceived danger. She peered around him. “That’s no pet. That’s a beast!”

To a city gal like Constance Miller, the Kansas prairie must seem like a wildly beautiful yet untamed land. Made sense she’d be alarmed at the thought of a wolf as one’s pet.

Her vanilla scent enveloped him. Noah hadn’t been this close to a female since before his enlistment. His ma had been liberal with hugs, much to his discomfiture, and his three younger sisters had begged him constantly for piggyback rides about the farm. As they were family, they didn’t count.

Maneuvering around to face her, he gripped her shoulders and edged her back a step so he could concentrate. The top of her head came even with his throat. She had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze, putting her loveliness on full display. Her eyes weren’t an ordinary brown, he noted, but the hue of warm honey. Undeniable intelligence shone there. And indomitable spirit.

“Wolf won’t hurt you. He’s half wolf, half dog. I’ve raised him from a pup.”

Her attention shifted beyond him. “He looks...”

“Intimidating. I know.”

“I was going to say hungry for human flesh.”

“I was just appointed sheriff,” he informed her. “How would it look if I allowed a visitor to our fine town to be eaten on her first day?”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Take my hand. I’ll perform the introductions.”

She stared at his outstretched hand for long moments before laying her palm against his. Noah sobered. Her skin was incredibly soft and warm, the sensation too agreeable for his peace of mind. He focused on how her jewelry felt unnatural and prevented their hands from fitting together.

Turning to greet his faithful companion, he signaled for him to stop with his outstretched hand. Wolf obeyed at once. Resting on his haunches, pink tongue lolling, he awaited their approach.

“He’ll sense my fear and devour me,” Constance muttered under her breath.

Noah fought a rare grin, astounded she could evoke humor in him when little else had these past years.

“Wolf, meet Constance.” Moving their adjoined hands, he allowed the animal to sniff her. He could feel her stiffness, the jolt that shot through her the moment Wolf licked her fingers.

“That’s his seal of approval,” he murmured, studying her profile. “Ready to pet him?”

“Not yet.”

That implied she was staying, and she most certainly wasn’t.

Disengaging his hold, he pointed to the cabin. “You should wait inside while I get ready for our departure.”

“Mr. Burgess, please... Won’t you give us a chance?”

The entreaty in her expression was at odds with her dignified stance. Noah averted his face. Regret and frustration pulsed through him. “You don’t want to build a life with the likes of me. Trust me on this.”

Signaling for Wolf to follow, he fetched Samson and headed for the barn situated directly across from the cabin, a wide expanse of land between them. He didn’t look to see whether or not she’d heeded his command.

* * *

What was she supposed to do now?

Grace remained where she stood as the sheriff and his pet disappeared into the mammoth barn. Her corset dug into her ribs. The numerous layers of undergarments and skirts were heavier and more cumbersome here on the plains. Was it because, amidst the city’s brick and stone buildings, her view limited to whatever street she happened to be traveling down, she didn’t have the crazy urge to throw out her arms and twirl in a circle and race through fields of tall grasses and wildflowers?

Cupping her hand over her eyes, she surveyed the endless prairie. The air here was fresh and earthy. After the hustle and bustle of the city, the quiet was somewhat unnerving. Her ears were accustomed to the clack of horses’ hooves on cobbled streets, the shouts of vendors hawking their wares, the cadence of a dozen conversations. They weren’t accustomed to nature’s music...the breeze rustling through the grass stalks, birds’ cheerful twittering, cattle calling to each other, insects buzzing.

Noah Burgess had carved out a mighty nice life for himself.

His rustic cabin, while not comparable to the Longstreet mansion, had its own charms. The barn and outbuildings appeared well constructed. In fact, the entire homestead looked as if it had been planned in a thoughtful, orderly manner.

Her daughters would flourish here. Grow strong beneath the Kansas sun. Learn to appreciate people based on their character, not their social standing or worldly possessions. Most important, they’d be out of her brother-in-law’s reach. A sick feeling stole over Grace as Frank Longstreet’s coldly handsome features swam in her memory. Frank coveted what had belonged to his brother, and now that Ambrose was gone, there was nothing standing in his way. He was determined to step into her late husband’s shoes. Her feelings didn’t matter. She and the girls were like some sort of trophy to him.

A large grasshopper landed on her outer skirt. Having only seen one on the pages of a book, she studied its fat green body for long minutes before urging it to land elsewhere. Scooping up the bulk of the stiff fabric with both hands, she pivoted and went inside, the opening not nearly wide enough for her dress. If she did succeed in becoming this homesteader’s wife, she’d need a more practical wardrobe.

Why did her cousin’s intended groom have to be the most stubborn man this side of the Mississippi River? Why couldn’t she have been met by a man eager to end his solitude? If Frank ever managed to discover her whereabouts, a husband would help put an end to his relentless pursuit.

Mr. Burgess’s refusal to even consider marriage complicated things.

Jane sat playing with her doll at the only table in the room. Like the chairs and kitchen furniture, it was constructed of rough timber. Had he crafted everything himself? The cabin walls were made of shaved logs, the spaces between filled with a mixture of clay and other materials. A loft area ran along the right side. She couldn’t see what was up there because of the half wall running its length. The ceiling rafters soared high above her head, giving the living space an airy feeling. Or perhaps that was due to the limited amount of furnishings. There were only four chairs in the home, each seated around the table. The windows on either side of the massive stone fireplace didn’t have curtains. Neither did the one in the kitchen.

This home—brown, boring and bare—was in desperate need of sprucing up. Grace moved to the mantel and ran a finger along the top edge. Dust coated the surface. She examined more closely a carved wooden replica of a plantation-style house. The craftsmanship was exquisite. Painted white with black shutters flanking the windows, there were four miniature columns along the veranda and chimneys flanking the roofline.

The sheriff had spoken with a slow drawl. Perhaps this was a memento to remind him of his family’s home.

Picking up the tintype she’d seen earlier, she studied the sheriff’s younger image. How handsome he’d looked in his uniform. Or was it his carefree expression that made him seem so different? There was a zest for life and adventure in his countenance that the real flesh-and-blood man lacked. The man she’d met carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

What had he meant by what he’d said? Was he truly so traumatized by his changed appearance that he didn’t feel worthy of marriage? The thought saddened her.

“Momma?”

Replacing the frame with care, she looked up and frowned. Abigail was reclining on the sheriff’s bed again. Sweeping past Jane, she entered the bedroom and sat on the mattress edge, crinoline and skirts billowing about her.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I don’t feel well.”

Grace tested the warmth of her forehead and cheek. Her skin was hot and flushed. Concern swept through her system. Her quieter daughter wasn’t one to complain.

She smoothed her dark curls. “Does your head hurt? Or your tummy?”

“My head.” Her deep brown eyes bore witness to her misery.

Grace smoothed the alarm from her face to avoid upsetting Abigail. “I’ll get you a drink of water and a cold compress for your head. Perhaps Mr. Burgess has some tea on hand.”

She called for Jane.

The chair scraped across the floorboards. Stopping at the foot of the bed, she clutched her porcelain doll to her chest. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Sit with your sister while I go and locate the well.”

Leaving them in the spacious, utilitarian bedroom, she searched the kitchen for a water pail, discovering a dented tin one on a lower shelf of the long counter opposite the stove.

New worries brewed like a summer squall. Illness, especially in children, could turn deadly in a matter of hours. Did Cowboy Creek even have a qualified doctor? Residing on her mother-in-law’s estate, they’d had access to the finest medical care in Chicago. Here, she was among strangers. She didn’t know Noah Burgess well enough to guess whether he’d have compassion for a sick child or whether he’d force them to remove to the hotel as he’d stated, no matter the circumstances.

Father God, I know You’re probably angry with me. Deception is not something You take lightly. I understand that. But I beg of You, please don’t let this sickness be serious. Please let Noah be sympathetic.

She went outside again, and the heat struck her with more force this time. The air had gone still. She explored the yard and discovered the well behind the house, halfway between it and the stream. The procession of towering cottonwoods and the generous swath of shade they cast called to her, a sheltering oasis on the vast prairie. The entire time she was at the well, she expected to encounter the sheriff. But he was nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t until she was back inside, arranging a damp cloth on Abigail’s forehead, that he finally showed.

His impatient stride carried him through the cabin. He hovered in the bedroom entrance, gloved hands braced on either side. “I’ve got the wagon out front. Do you have a preference for how the trunks are stowed?”

Straightening, Grace smoothed her hands down the front of her bodice, which seemed to have grown tighter with his arrival. He’d washed the grit from his face, and his hair was damp, rendering it a deeper hue, like pan-heated syrup.

“No preference.”

Nodding, his light blue gaze touched on Abigail huddled beneath the blanket and Jane, who stood on the opposite side of the bed, her demeanor subdued. He inclined his head toward Abigail.

“Something wrong?”

Grace forced herself not to cow before his commanding presence. She wasn’t a docile girl who shattered at a single unkind word or dark glare. Not anymore. She could handle his annoyance.

What if he’s the type to act out his anger? a small voice prodded. Ambrose’s impatience with her had mostly manifested itself in fuming tirades. Occasionally he’d taken her by the shoulders and shaken her until her neck ached and vision swam. Only once had he risen his hand to her.

Shutting out the unpleasant memories, she stiffened her spine. Sure, she wasn’t exactly welcome in his home, but this development was out of her control. Besides, his friend had given him a glowing recommendation. One of the original town founders, Will Canfield was also a wealthy and powerful property owner. Surely he wouldn’t have misrepresented the sheriff’s sterling reputation.

“I believe she has a fever.”

Pushing into the room, he came close and studied her daughter. “What are her symptoms?”

“Her head hurts, and her skin’s dry and hot.”

“Anything else?”

“Not yet.”

His penetrating gaze lifted to Grace. “Has she been in contact with any sick folks?”

“I’m not aware of any. The train car was crowded, but no one displayed outward symptoms.”

Noah’s inspection was shrewd. Did he not believe her? This she wasn’t lying about.

“What about you?” he asked abruptly. “And the other girl?”

He wasn’t asking out of concern for their health, of course. They were a burden to him. A disruption in his ordered life, one he’d been on the verge of getting rid of.

“We’re feeling fine.”

A resigned sigh lifted his broad chest. Massaging the curve between his neck and shoulder, he said, “I can’t take her to the hotel and risk exposing the other guests to whatever this is. You’ll stay here until she improves.”

Grace had to dig deep for gratitude. Her child was sick with who knew what, and all he was worried about were the fine people of Cowboy Creek.

Dipping her head to hide her true feelings, she said, “I appreciate your generosity of spirit, Mr. Burgess. We’ll do our best to stay out of your way.”

Chapter Three

The widow’s words pricked Noah’s conscience. Generous? Hah. Anxiety and frustration built inside like a cannon about to blow. Grinding his back teeth together, he studied the wee girl.

Her mussed curls were damp, and errant tendrils clung to her neck. She shivered a bit beneath the thick wool blanket. Not a good sign considering the air was hot and stagnant with the windows closed.

He had no idea how to help her. Children in general made him antsy. Sick children made him downright skittish. To his shock and dismay, numerous soldiers had had their wives and children join them. The women had cooked meals and washed and mended uniforms. The children had assisted in these chores, their eyes haunted by the gory sights and sounds of war. One small boy had gotten caught in the cross fire—killed instantly by a stray minié ball.

Noah had steered clear of the lot of them. They’d had no business being there.

Abigail whimpered. Constance adjusted the compress, murmuring reassuring words. Alarm punched him in his midsection. Whatever was ailing the little girl could be serious. And while he hadn’t asked for their presence, they were under his protection for the time being.

“Want me to fetch the doctor?”

Constance’s head snapped up. “There’s one in Cowboy Creek? I wondered... Can you tell me about his reputation?”

“Doc Fletcher set up his practice several years ago. While I personally haven’t needed his services, folks around here have nothing but good things to say about him.”

Her lips pursed as she considered his words. “If she isn’t improved by morning, then I think that would be best.”

He saw the unease and fear beneath her brave facade. She’s far from home. Her expected groom has blasted her plans to pieces. And her daughter is ill. Of course she’s afraid.

As the urge to take her hand and reassure her fought its way to the surface, he backed up a step. Compassion was an unfamiliar emotion, one he’d thought the army had drilled out of him. “I’ll return the wagon to the barn and rustle us up some supper.”

“I can help. Show me what you want me to do.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Noah hadn’t had a decent meal in days. He wasn’t about to let a pampered socialite loose in his kitchen. Constance Miller probably didn’t know the difference between a spatula and an egg beater.

Not giving her a chance to respond, he left the house and tended his team, all the while mentally forming a rebuke that would singe the hair on Will’s and Daniel’s heads. Constance and her daughters shouldn’t be here. If Will hadn’t butted his nose where it didn’t belong, Noah would’ve been able to give the town’s problems his full attention.

The bank heist wasn’t his only concern. There’d been other unsolved crimes in recent weeks. Poisoned cattle. A sabotaged lumber delivery that had delayed construction of several important buildings. An invader in Will’s private quarters at the Cattleman. The Murdoch brothers were a troublesome bunch, bent on getting rich off others’ hard-earned money. But they weren’t all that smart. Noah suspected someone else was behind the town’s troubles. Someone with an agenda.

In the far-left corner, Wolf rested in the straw-strewn dirt, golden eyes tracking his jerky movements. Noah hung the bridles in the tack room.

“We’ve got a fresh set of problems, old boy. The chief one’s name is Constance.”

Wolf’s pointy ears perked up.

“Can you believe she was scared of you?”

The animal’s eyes closed as if in disbelief.

“Crazy, huh?”

Constance’s reaction wasn’t abnormal. Most folks kept their distance from Wolf, which suited Noah just fine. Since the wolf dog accompanied him most everywhere, it meant they kept their distance from Noah, as well.

He forked fresh hay in the horses’ stalls. The damaged skin on his shoulder and upper chest protested the movements. Since his release from the hospital, he’d made a habit of applying honey mixed with lavender to keep the skin soft and supple. Skipping the past several days hadn’t been a good idea.

“One of the twins is sick.”

Wolf blinked.

“Hope it’s nothing serious.” Leaning his weight on the pitchfork, he stared out the double opening to the cabin framed by gently rolling plains. “I thought my scars would disgust them, but they didn’t seem to notice.”

He’d expected Constance to recoil as so many others had upon first seeing him. The first time it occurred had been days after his doctor proclaimed him on the mend and suspended the lead paint treatments. The coverings had been removed, and he’d been allowed a mirror to see his new appearance. Just as he’d been confronted with the monster he’d become, a wife or sister of one of the patients had passed by, taken one look at him and clapped her hand over her mouth. Her horror had seared itself onto his brain.

He’d thrown the mirror to the floor, smashing it to bits, and sunk into a soul-deep melancholy that had lasted for months. If not for Daniel and Will, he might never have left the sick ward.

Striding to the corner stall, he checked on his dairy cow. “Hey, Winnie.”

Twisting her head, she gazed at him with molten brown eyes.

“I see Timothy was here this morning to give you relief.”

He hadn’t had to hire help until getting pinned sheriff. Daniel had suggested his employee’s adolescent son, and Noah had taken his advice. It appeared the boy had done a decent job, but he’d check the springhouse to see if the milk had been stored properly.

The pangs in his stomach became audible. Pushing off the ledge, he left the barn and headed straight for the henhouse. His plans to dine at the Cowboy Café after settling the Millers at the hotel having been thwarted, he’d have to fix something fast and easy. Scrambled eggs and fried ham wouldn’t take but a few minutes. There wasn’t time to make biscuits, but he was sure the blue-eyed girl—Jean, was it?—would like flapjacks.

The thought of little girls and flapjacks had him thinking about his sisters. The three of them had argued over the best way to eat them. Lilly had preferred them smothered with butter and jam. Cara insisted on molasses. The youngest, Elizabeth, wouldn’t eat them unless there were sausage links rolled up inside.

In the henhouse, he tried to push aside thoughts of his family and failed. Lilly, Cara and Elizabeth were no longer little girls. They were in their early twenties now, likely married with children. His parents would’ve aged considerably. Were they well? Struggling due to the South’s defeat? He couldn’t help wondering how his family had fared during the long years of fighting.

He could remedy that by writing them, but that last spectacular row with his father prevented him. That, and the fact he didn’t wish them to know that he was a shadow of his former self, that his inner self was as twisted by the war as his outer appearance.

Quickly gathering the eggs into a basket he left hanging inside the henhouse door, he chose a container of milk from the springhouse and hurried to the cabin. He could imagine the widow’s disdain over this simple meal. Oh, she wouldn’t let it show. No doubt she’d had lessons on how to hide her true feelings. But the image of the refined lady tucking into a five-high stack of syrup-smothered flapjacks put a smirk on his face.

When he entered, Constance emerged from the bedroom, her expression shadowed.

“Abigail is asleep, and Jane is amusing herself with a picture book.” Her skirts swayed and swished as she moved to meet him beside the counter he’d crafted. “Since you won’t allow me to assist in the meal preparation, may I ready the place settings?”

Her formal speech matched her appearance. He indicated the wall behind him. “The plates and utensils are in the hutch.”

She worked without speaking as he lit the fire inside the stove box and mixed the flapjack batter. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed her frequent glances and wondered what was going on inside her head. He had little experience with females outside his family. He’d joined the army before he’d had the chance to properly court any of the local girls. His nurses had been kind and proficient, but they hadn’t had the time or desire to socialize.

Having company in his home felt odd. Daniel and Will stopped by occasionally. Mostly they gave him space and waited for him to come to them.

Noah snagged the kettle from the row of shelves above the dry sink. “Do you drink coffee?”

“I never acquired a taste for it. Do you have any tea?”

“Tea’s for ladies and little girls.”

One flyaway brow arched, and he suspected she’d like to blast him with a tongue-lashing. Her composure fully intact, she said, “Milk will suffice.” Approaching the counter, she laid her ringed hand on the container. The gaudy jewels sparkled. “Do you mind if I pour some for Jane and myself?”

“Be my guest.”

Turning away, he procured a knife and, placing the ham slab on the plate, began to carve thick slices. He was acutely aware of her position in the room as she moved about. By the time he had the food ready to dish up, his skin prickled with tension and his appetite was long gone.

“Where would you like for us to sit?” She stood framed by the window, Jane—not Jean—beside her.

“Doesn’t matter.” He hated feeling flustered in his own home. The sooner this meal was over and he could make his escape, the better.

Constance chose the seat opposite his. The girl sat on his right.

Noah scooted his mug closer and cleared his throat. “I normally say grace in my head.”

“Momma always offers the mealtime prayer.” Jane looked from her mother to him.

Constance grimaced. “This isn’t our home, sweetheart.”

“He’s gonna be our pa soon enough. You said so.”

Jane’s large, cornflower blue eyes pinned him to his chair. This was a fine barrel of pickles. “Let’s get on with it,” he groused at the woman across from him. “I’ve got an errand to tend to.”

An errand he wasn’t about to put off until tomorrow.

* * *

During the ride into town, Noah nursed his temper, the torturous meal replaying in his mind. His self-consciousness about his scar had trumped all else. Seated directly across from him, the widow had had a clear view. There’d been nowhere to hide. So he’d ducked his head, tucked into his meal and done his best to ignore his uninvited guests.

Undulating fields gave way to the town proper. As his homestead was situated west of Cowboy Creek, he didn’t have to traverse the main thoroughfare to reach Will and Tomasina’s place. He traveled up Third Street. A handful of clapboard houses were interspersed between the businesses. Not as crowded in this section, but there was still a fair amount of activity as men went about their daily routines.

On his right, a reed-thin man wearing an apron was in his shop’s entrance sweeping out debris. “Howdy, Sheriff!”

Seconds passed before Noah realized the man was addressing him. You’re the sheriff now, remember? Folks normally didn’t initiate conversation. They treated him with wary respect.

He belatedly touched a finger to his brim. The man’s gaze slipped to Wolf trailing behind and, smile slipping, he turned and reentered his shop.

Similar exchanges were repeated as he proceeded along the dusty street. By the time Will’s manor came into view, Noah’s hand was tired from all the waving. He hadn’t pursued this position. He’d been asked to fill Quincy Davis’s spot after that man’s untimely death. Some said it was because he was one of the founding members, and they trusted him to do right by the townsfolk. Noah suspected it had more to do with the wild tales of his battlefield exploits that circulated about town. He didn’t consider himself a hero. Sure, he’d had to work hard to dispel the stigma of his Southern roots, to prove he was committed to the Union’s cause, but he hadn’t done anything to warrant the label of hero.

And while committed to keeping Cowboy Creek safe, he wasn’t prepared to involve himself in the social goings-on.

Guiding his sorrel onto Will’s property, they followed the grass-flattened path made by wagon deliveries. His friend’s new home was about 90 percent complete and promised to be a stunning testament to Will’s success. The front facade was designed to impress. Thick white columns supported a rounded rotunda high above. Arched windows lined the bottom floor, while the second-floor windows were rectangular in shape. Behind the columns and above the front entryway was a stone balcony. Open porches flanked both ends of the central structure.

The sounds of hammers and men calling to each other greeted him. The newlywed couple, who’d spent their first few days as husband and wife on the trail of outlaws, had decided to move in before the house was complete. Noah didn’t blame them. A hotel suite wasn’t the place to begin their new life together.

Still, the constant activity had to be irksome at times.

When no one answered his summons, he stalked around the perimeter to where workmen were busy attaching pale-hued brick to the rear wall. Scaffolding covered the entire structure like a wooden spine. Behind the house, the lush, tree-dotted lot backed up to the church, its spire reaching for the blue expanse above.

Noah scanned the milling workers. They cast wary glances at him and Wolf. Ignoring them, he spotted his quarry standing apart from the activity. Slightly taller than the other men, Will tended to be the finest-dressed gentleman around, his short brown hair covered by a smart derby hat. The silver-handled cane he was rarely without had been imported from Italy and was rumored to contain either a hidden blade or gun. Will had injured his leg in the same battle Noah had suffered his accident. He’d come close to being forced to having it amputated. Ignoring the doctor’s warnings, Will had chosen to forego surgery and wait and see if the wound healed. The risk had paid off. With the cane, his limp was hardly noticeable.

Skirting a platform of bricks, Noah picked his way through the construction site. Will was in deep conversation with Gideon Kendricks, the Union Pacific’s representative, in town to sell railroad stocks.

Gideon noticed his advance first and lifted his hand in a wave. Like Noah, the man hadn’t changed out of his trail-dusted gear following their unsuccessful search. Will, on the other hand, had taken the time to clean up.

“Noah.” Will’s smile was rueful, but his brown eyes lacked contrition. “I’ve been expecting you.” He nodded at Noah’s companion. “Good day, Wolf.”

His forehead pounded. “I would’ve been here sooner, but there was a complication.”

Will looked intrigued. “What sort of complication?”

Noah cut his gaze toward Gideon. While he’d grown to like the newcomer, he didn’t want to air his business in front of him. “I think you’ll agree it’s a private matter.”

Gideon smoothed a hand over his dirty-blond locks. “I’ll take my leave.”

“Wait.” Will put a hand up. “Before you do, I believe Noah would be interested in hearing the latest news.”

“What’s that?”

“We’ve had word that Cowboy Creek is being considered for the county seat. A Webster County representative is coming to tour the town before deciding if we’ll be in the running.”

Gideon let loose a low whistle. “Sure would be a boon for your town.”

“The temporary seat is in Ellsworth,” Noah said, distracted from his purpose. “You know as well as I do they have the advantage.”

“Their population has stalled in recent years.” Will rested his weight on the silver handle. “Now that we’re a prime destination for drovers and their longhorns, we’re poised to expand our numbers significantly. If we’re chosen, think of the tax benefits.”

“A courthouse would be built here,” Gideon added.

“What about crime? If the rep learns of our recent mishaps and our failure to discover the perpetrators, he’ll move on to another terminus town.”

“You’re the new sheriff. Surely between you, Daniel and I, we can figure this out.”

“I’ll be glad to assist, as well.” Gideon’s gray eyes were serious.

“I never did thank you for joining the posse,” Noah told him. Gideon wasn’t a permanent resident and, as far as he knew, had no plans to become one. His loyalty was to himself and his employer, but he’d volunteered to help in their time of need.

The gentleman lifted a shoulder. “I don’t like seeing good, honest people robbed of their money. I’m just sorry we didn’t catch up to the scoundrels.”

A sigh gusted out of Noah. “I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid they’ll come back for more.”

“If that’s the case, I hope to be here when they do. They won’t be so fortunate next time.” Extending his hand, Gideon said, “I’ll leave you both to your private discussion.” A smile flashed as he shook their hands.

Noah remained silent until he was out of earshot.

Will lifted his cane toward the trees and grassy knolls. “Let’s walk.”

“Good idea, Captain,” Noah quipped, deliberately meaning to irk the other man. Will hated any and all references to the war, refused to discuss the battle that had left him with a permanent limp. “Wouldn’t want your employees to witness what’s coming to you.”

He grimaced but didn’t voice his displeasure. “Simon told me about your mail-order bride and her daughters. To my credit, I didn’t know about the children. Mrs. Miller didn’t mention them in her letters. What do you think of her? Is she acceptable in the looks department? I’ve heard some ladies have the tendency to embellish facts.”

Noah took his attention off the ground and glared at his friend. “How could you do it, Will? I told the two of you that I wasn’t interested. I came home this afternoon and almost blasted the woman with my weapon!”

Will stopped and studied Noah with a smirk. “Not the best way to welcome a lady into your home, Noah.”

“I want her gone.”

The church bell chimed the six-o’clock hour. The clanging startled the meadowlarks in the slender oak nearest them. He watched them take flight.

“We simply wanted you to have what we have. Now that Daniel and I have found love, we don’t want you to be alone.”

“You don’t see how arrogant that is?” His hand sliced the air. “To think you could pluck a random female from a mail-order-bride catalog and I would automatically fall in love with her?”

“Perhaps love was a poor choice of words. You could do with companionship though, Noah.” Will’s dark brown eyes were earnest. “The reason we took matters into our own hands is you’re too stubborn to admit you’re lonely. You don’t want to end up like Gus and Old Horace, do you?”

He rolled his eyes at the mention of the town busybodies, who spent most every warm day with their bottoms glued to the mercantile’s porch chairs, scrutinizing the townsfolk’s comings and goings.

“If I do, that’s my business. Not yours.” Absent-mindedly exploring the uneven texture of his neck with his fingertips, he scuffed the ground with his boot heel.

Will plunged his fingers into his hair, an unusual show of impatience. “This preoccupation you have with your disfigurement is exasperating, you know that? So you’re not perfect. So what? Neither am I.” He motioned up and down his bum leg. “No one is. Sure, some women might be put off. Vain, shallow women. But there are some who wouldn’t give it a second thought.”

A multitude of emotions boiled inside him. Will clearly wasn’t going to admit he was wrong. Spinning on his heel, Noah stalked in the direction they’d come, leaving the other man to gape after him.

“Noah! Hold on!”

Not slowing, he pressed his lips together, afraid to speak. Afraid he’d utter something foul and damaging. Perhaps something he might not be able to take back.

“We can sort this out.”

He did halt then, tossing over his shoulder, “The complication I told you about? One of her daughters is ill. As soon as she’s recovered, the three of them will be removing to your best suite. I’ll have the bill sent to you.”

Continuing on, he’d reached the work site when he caught sight of bright red curls. Tomasina waved and smiled in welcome. He managed to corral his upset long enough to tip his hat and nod in greeting.

“Noah. I didn’t realize you’d stopped by.” Her vivid green gaze slipped past him and landed on her husband. The love and affection shining there increased his upset. “Come inside for coffee.”

Will caught up to them. Giving Noah a wide berth, he moved beside Tomasina and curved an arm about her waist, tugging her close. “Do as the lady says, my friend. We have more to discuss.”

He’d observed their tendency to stick close by each other during the search for the Murdochs. As a former cattle driver and rodeo star, it hadn’t been all that unusual for Tomasina to accompany them. Besides, she wasn’t the type to stay home and miss out on the action. Good thing Will acknowledged that fact.

“Maybe another time.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she said with a saucy grin.

He made his way to where his horse grazed, Wolf loping behind him. He was happy that his friends had found their perfect mates, but he wasn’t meant to have what they had. It wasn’t just his scars, either. The breach with his family and the atrocities of war had hardened him. Noah didn’t have it in him to please a woman.

Sooner or later, his friends were going to have to accept that.

Chapter Four

“This is our first night in our new home.” Jane exuded excitement. “May we explore the ranch tomorrow?”

Praying for wisdom, Grace removed Noah’s wool blanket from the bed and replaced it with a cheery quilt from her trunk. Pinwheels of yellow, purple and green spun against an ivory backdrop. The colors brightened the room.

“Perhaps. We’ll have to wait and see how your sister is feeling.”

“I’d like to see the chickens.” She traced a pinwheel with her finger, her blue eyes dancing with anticipation. Eyes very much like her father’s. “And the pigs. I wonder if Mr. Burgess has rabbits.”

A curious child, Jane had an affinity for learning. In the estate’s library, she’d spent hours scouring encyclopedias and nature tomes. The Kansas prairie must surely have captured her imagination.

Curling on her side, Jane tucked one hand beneath her cheek. “Where’s Mr. Burgess going to sleep, Momma?”

“I’m not sure yet.” She dimmed the lamp’s flame. Shadows flickered in the room’s corners. “We’ll figure something out.”

During his absence, curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she’d peeked into the loft. There wasn’t a bed, unfortunately. Only a desk and chair, and wall-mounted shelves with books and cabinets with closed doors. The cabin lacked a sofa, so that wasn’t an option.

“Are you ready to say your prayers?”

Yawning widely, Jane nodded. Grace began to kneel beside the bed before recalling this wasn’t her bedroom suite in Chicago and there wasn’t a plush rug to cushion her knees. The floor here was bare and in need of a good scrubbing. Perching on the mattress edge, she placed one hand on Jane and the other on Abigail.

“I’m going to pray for Abby.”

“That’s a wise idea.”

During her heartfelt prayer, Grace couldn’t take her gaze off her sick offspring. Abigail had rested fitfully throughout the evening. Even gotten sick once in a pail Grace had thought to bring into the bedroom. Thankfully, the sheriff hadn’t been around to see it. He acted as if he’d never seen a child before.

His discomfiture during dinner had been obvious. There could be no question he wanted them gone at the first possible opportunity. Noah Burgess was a hard-nosed, implacable man. He wasn’t going to change his mind. She’d had the fleeting idea to offer him money in exchange for his name and protection, but she’d dismissed it. He wasn’t dumb. No ordinary mail-order bride would do such a thing.

The last thing she needed was to arouse a sheriff’s suspicion. She’d tried explaining Frank’s dastardly behavior to her mother-in-law, only to be ridiculed and accused of trying to make trouble. Helen Longstreet hadn’t approved of Grace marrying her eldest son and had hinted that she’d married him to access his wealth and societal connections. Helen had refused to believe her younger son, Frank, would want her, too. Grace had been tolerated by her husband’s mother and targeted by his brother.

Jane ended her petition with a sleepy “Amen,” and Grace realized her thoughts had strayed during the entire thing. Familiar guilt pinched her. Not only was she duping the sheriff and anyone else she might come into contact with, she’d had no choice but to instruct her girls to go along with her story. Surely that made her the worst mother of all time.

I’m sorry, God.

Her divine Father had carried her through many dark days, His comfort her sole source of strength when everyone around her had proved an enemy. He’d been a friend when she’d been friendless. Disappointing Him in this manner wore at Grace’s soul.

Lord, if he’d agree to marry me, I could make things right. Once we’ve been married a little while, I can reveal the truth.

The outer door clicked, and the floorboards resounded with a heavy tread. Grace’s pulse tripped nervously.

Leaning down, she dropped a kiss on Jane’s cheek. “Sleep well, my love.”

Already drifting, Jane wriggled deeper beneath the quilt. Grace extinguished the lamp. Closing the door behind her, she remained where she was, watching as Noah removed items from a sack and lined them up on the wooden counter.

He flicked her a glance. “How’s the sick one?”

“Her name is Abigail.”

His mouth tightening, he continued his task.

“She’s about the same.”

Holding up a sachet, he filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove. “Elderberry tea will help with the fever.”

Surprised at his thoughtfulness, she advanced into the room, studying his efficient movements as he took kindling from a tin container in the corner and chucked it into the stove’s firebox. While waiting for the water to heat, he unpacked the remaining items and put them in their proper places. He set an enamel mug on the counter.

“You must be exhausted,” she said. “I can prepare the tea for Abigail.”

He gave her another considering glance that screamed dismissal. “You’re a guest in my home.”

In other words, it was his kitchen and she wasn’t welcome.

Grace tamped down her rising irritation. “I noticed we’ve taken over the only bed. And there’s no sofa.”

His arms folded across his broad chest, he kept his gaze trained on the kettle. “I’ll sleep in the barn.”

“With Wolf?”

He grunted.

“Where does he normally sleep?”

“By the fireplace.”

“So we’re not only displacing you, but your pet, as well.”

He pierced her with his cold blue gaze. “It’s temporary. I spoke to Will, and he’s committed to making your stay at the Cattleman a comfortable one. As soon as your daughter is well, I’ll check the train schedule for a return trip to Chicago.”

Grace bit the inside of her cheek. Arguing with him would get her nowhere. She had to use what little time she had to show him the many ways her presence would make his life easier. If she wanted to stay in Cowboy Creek, she had to make herself indispensable.

* * *

“Mighty thoughtful of you to bring me breakfast, Sheriff.”

Noah set his pail on Sheriff Davis’s desk—his desk now—and cocked a single brow in Deputy Buck Hanley’s direction. In his midtwenties, Hanley’s upbeat and sometimes flippant attitude initially had Noah questioning Davis’s decision to hire him. The more time he’d spent in his company, however, the more his positive traits became clear. Hanley was levelheaded and in possession of well-honed instincts vital for a lawman.

Noah balanced his battered Stetson on one of the chair’s upright slats and, adjusting his gun belt, sat and began to remove the pail’s items one by one. Wolf found a spot beside the desk to lounge in, his golden eyes assessing the lanky deputy.

While Hanley didn’t act afraid of Wolf, he didn’t approach him, either. His attempts to talk to the animal resulted in Wolf ignoring him.

Noah examined the row of cells to his left. Three cowboys were sprawled on cots, sleeping off the previous night’s excitement. A whiff of stale cigars and sweat assaulted his nose.

He tossed Wolf a sausage. “Busy night?”

Hanley nodded. “Yep. Broke up a fight on the south end of town shortly after midnight. These three weren’t keen on cooperating, so I offered them a place to sleep for the night.”

“Any property damage?”

“Nah.”

“Good work.”

Noah turned his attention to his breakfast, one he should’ve been enjoying at his own table, his grandfather’s Bible or a newspaper laid out in front of him. Instead, he was here, avoiding the widow and eager to be alone with his foul mood.

The younger man edged toward the door. “Well, I suppose I’ll go on home and rest up for tonight’s shift.”

He didn’t bother lifting his head. “You do that.”

The glass pane in the door rattled and Hanley’s footsteps faded. Sighing, Noah bit off half a boiled egg and offered the other half to Wolf. He surveyed the jail’s interior. He hadn’t spent much time here because his first days as sheriff had been spent chasing after the Murdochs. The interior boasted a high ceiling, rough-hewn walls decorated with maps, the American flag and wanted posters. Five cells lined the wall, facing the entrance door and windows flanking it, each with their own cot. The desk was made of oak and sported coffee-ring stains and a jagged gouge in the corner. He followed the gouge with his fingertip, wondering how it had gotten there, wondering how he had gotten here.

He should be tending his ranch and livestock. He’d never aspired to be a lawman. He’d experienced enough violence to last a lifetime. The war had altered him, not only his appearance, but his way of thinking. Mentally, he’d aged decades, his soul irreversibly tarnished by the atrocities he’d witnessed. He’d come to Kansas in search of a fresh start, away from the constant reminders of the state of their nation.

Abandoning his meal, he moved to the nearest window. The jail sat at the intersection of Eden and Second Street. At this early hour, the streets were mostly deserted. All was quiet in front of Will’s hotel, as well, the curtains at the windows drawn. A clerk swept the boardwalk in front of Booker & Son general store. Across the street, an elderly man was knocking on the doctor’s door.

Noah released a ragged breath. He was responsible for the residents of Cowboy Creek. The weight of that duty fully registered for the first time, and he almost lost his breakfast. His mind rebelled.

What had possessed him to accept the town leaders’ request? Had to have been a moment of insanity, that’s what.

An ungainly figure trundled around the corner, and Noah recognized the boot-maker’s wife, Opal Godwin. Her determined air gave him pause.

He met her at the door. “Mrs. Godwin. What can I do for you?”

She stood in the doorway, one hand supporting the huge mound of her belly, her squinty brown eyes darting between him, Wolf and the prisoners. “I have an issue to discuss with you, Sheriff Burgess. Do you have time now?”

Noah motioned to the bench pushed beneath the window he’d been stationed at a moment ago. “Let’s talk out here on the boardwalk.”

The sun’s rays slanted across their feet. The thick air indicated the day would be a muggy one. Opal carefully lowered herself onto the hard seat, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position. The woman was due to have that baby any day. He prayed today was not that day.

“My husband and I, along with the other affected shop owners, want to know what you plan to do about our falsified deeds. Our livelihood is in jeopardy, Sheriff.” Her severe hairstyle highlighted the shadows beneath her eyes. According to Daniel’s wife, Leah, a midwife who had been consulting with Opal, the young woman had endured a challenging pregnancy. “If you don’t fix this, we might lose our business. And then how would we provide for this baby?” Her voice wobbled, and through the unshed tears, he glimpsed expectation.

She and Amos, her husband, were counting on him to save their business. They all were.

His gut twisted.

Noah paced from the corner post to just past the jail entrance and back. The guns resting against either hip were heavy and cumbersome. He wasn’t used to carrying firearms, especially with the no-gun policy imposed within the town limits. But as the sheriff, he was Cowboy Creek’s appointed guardian. He had to be prepared to protect the residents, especially with the Murdoch gang running amok. Those scoundrels had already proved they were without conscience, going so far as to interrupt a church service and robbing the parishioners of their money and jewelry. He well remembered Leah’s unhappiness over the loss of her wedding band.

On top of the chaos the brothers had wreaked, Noah had inherited a whole host of other sticky issues from his predecessor—the mystery of the falsified store deeds being one of them. Opal herself had discovered the forgery. Without an authentic deed, the bank wouldn’t extend loans for new purchases.

“I’m going to review Sheriff Davis’s notes on the matter, then I’m going to interview everyone involved again. See if I can dredge up new information.”

She didn’t appear impressed. “Would you be willing to meet with the shop owners to discuss your plans to rectify this situation?”

“Of course.” He adopted a confidence he didn’t feel. “Give me three days to complete the interviews. We’ll meet at the Cattleman on Friday.”

Opal was quiet a long moment. Then, with a jerky nod, she struggled to her feet, waving off his extended hand. “I’ll pass the word along. I pray you’ll have more success than Sheriff Davis did.”

Noah watched her leave. He had some serious praying to do himself.

He spent the morning examining the contents of Davis’s desk. His notes about the shop deeds were pathetically brief. Noah paid the land office a visit. While the gentleman working there was willing to assist in the investigation and gave Noah access to the office paperwork, he didn’t have any useful information. Frustrated, Noah returned to the jail to find three cranky cowboys demanding water, food and their freedom. He listened to them whine for an hour before their fellow drovers arrived to pay the fine for disrupting the peace. Once they were gone, he made a list of all the shop owners he needed to interview. He stayed busy, yet the widow remained on the edge of his thoughts. He’d prepared enough breakfast for her and her daughters. But what would they do for lunch? Images of his cabin burning to the ground taunted him. No way did he want a mollycoddled socialite tampering with his kitchen.

Ducking into the Cattleman, he sought out young Simon, Will’s hotel porter. Since Constance had already met Simon, she wouldn’t be alarmed to see him riding onto the property. He arranged for the boy to pick up lunch from the Cowboy Café and take it out to her, assuring the boy the errand wouldn’t get him in trouble with his boss. Will was responsible for Constance’s presence; he could spare his employee for a couple of hours.

By the time five o’clock came around and another deputy, Timothy Watson, showed up to relieve him, Noah was antsy to return to the ranch. As instructed, Simon had reported back to him, saying that Mrs. Miller had seemed surprised but pleased with the delivery. Simon hadn’t seen Abigail, which meant she must still be confined to bed. He’d let slip something that had Noah worried. He’d said that when he arrived, Constance had been busy cleaning the cabin. The furniture, what little he had, had been pushed against the wall and buckets of soapy water stationed about the living room.

He didn’t want her cleaning, didn’t want her touching his belongings.

What would a woman like her know about caring for a home, anyway? From the looks of things, Constance Miller and her girls had lived a life of extreme ease. No doubt she’d paid people to cook and clean for them.

Saddling up, he pushed Samson faster than usual. Halfway between town and his spread, a small herd of buffalo watched him ride past, shifting nervously at the sight of Wolf loping after him. Wild turkeys scattered when he thundered onto the worn-thin trail leading to his cabin. He slowed when he caught sight of his vegetable garden. The short rows had been weeded in his absence.

Dismounting, he mumbled a prayer for fortitude and let himself inside. Noah’s abrupt entrance startled the two occupants. The bowl in Constance’s hands tipped precariously. Jane’s initial surprise transformed into a welcoming smile. Bounding over to him, she took hold of his hand as if they were longtime friends.

“Sheriff, look what I picked for you.”

Scrambling to make sense of several things at once, he allowed himself to be tugged over to the table, where the girl was chatting and waving her hand at the mason jar filled with a combination of orange, blue and yellow wildflowers.

“Aren’t they pretty?” she finally asked, big blue eyes blinking up at him.

“Huh.”

The floors were still damp from their scrubbing. Not a speck of dust littered the mantel. The windows sparkled, the clean glass admitting more light and allowing a clear view of the cottonwoods and the stream.

He registered the smell of grease and chicken the same moment he spotted a bucket of feathers in the kitchen corner. Leaving the girl, he prowled over to where Constance stood at the stove, her skin dewy with exertion and tendrils of chocolate-hued hair skimming her cheeks. Chin lifted, she stiffened with apprehension.

Noah plucked a feather that had gotten caught in the lace of her dress. “What did you do to my chickens?”

Chapter Five

The sheriff examined the feather, drawing it through his blunt fingertips, a look of incredulity on his face.

Grace floundered for a response. Because of his height, his hard, muscled chest filled her vision, as did the strong, tanned column of his throat, the warped flesh on the left side disappearing beneath his shirt collar. His body gave off the scent of honey and something floral, a unique combination.

Not knowing what to expect, she sent Jane outside to gather more flowers.

“Don’t you like fried chicken?”

His gaze traveled from the feather to the platter on the counter, then to her. He tilted his head a fraction of an inch. His assessment made her conscious of her disheveled appearance. She’d donned her most basic skirt, navy with thin white stripes, and a coordinating blouse. She hadn’t even bothered with a hoop skirt. After a full day of scrubbing floors, polishing windows, dusting surfaces and tending to Abigail, she was dirty and sweaty and exhausted to the point of light-headedness.

“Did you ask Simon to kill the bird for you?”

“Simon? No. I did it myself.”

“And where,” he drawled, his Southern inflection deepening, “did a woman like you learn to pluck and gut a chicken?”

Annoyance boosted her energy. “A woman like me?”

“A city woman. From the looks of things, you haven’t had to fend for yourself in a very long time.”

“I haven’t always lived an advantageous life, Mr. Burgess. You’re making assumptions again.”

“You’re right,” he conceded. “I know very little about you.”

“And I know only what your friend Mr. Canfield told me about you.”

“It hardly matters, does it?”

Jane burst through the door, waving fresh blooms. “Are these enough, Momma? I’m hungry.”

Noah put distance between them and, taking the bowl of green beans from her hands, placed it on the table. Jane put the flowers into the jar with the others, not a bit intimidated by the brooding sheriff. “There. That’s better.” Lifting the bouquet again, she said, “Smell them.”

Looking disconcerted, he bent his head and sniffed. “Uh, they smell nice.”

Jane smiled in satisfaction and touched a fingertip to one of the petals. “I like the yellow ones best. Momma said I could put some in Abigail’s room later.”

Grunting a noncommittal sound, Noah came back for the chicken. “How’s your other daughter?”

Grace glanced at the closed bedroom door. “Abigail was sick several times during the night, but her fever has subsided.” As she’d worked throughout the morning and afternoon, she’d talked to God, asking Him to ease her child’s misery. A deep well of gratefulness overflowed inside her. “She’s resting comfortably now.”

“Good news.”

Aware that his relief stemmed from an entirely different reason than hers, she helped him carry over the remaining dishes and chose the seat across from him. After a moment of awkwardness, it was decided that Jane would offer grace. When she thanked God for providing her and her sister with a new pa and asked that he be nicer than her first one, Grace wanted to sink through the floorboards. Her face aflame, she avoided the sheriff’s perusal by focusing on filling Jane’s plate.

She expected him to eat in grumpy silence as he had the evening before, so she started at the sound of his roughened voice.

“Did you make these buttered rolls?” He snatched a second one from the pan and bit into it.

“Jane and I baked them.”

“They’re delicious. Better than the ones the café serves.” He pointed to the half-eaten chicken leg on his plate. “Tasty chicken, too. You’re an excellent cook, Mrs. Miller.”

Jane darted her a furtive look, one that broke Grace’s heart. What kind of example was she setting for her children, urging them to go along with her lie? If Frank had accepted that she wasn’t interested in being with him, they could’ve remained in Chicago. Granted, she would’ve found a different place to reside in. Living with her mother-in-law and a mansion full of bad memories had become too difficult to bear.

She lowered her fork and reached for her water glass. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I helped prepare the dessert, too,” Jane announced proudly.

He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Dessert?”

“Yes, sir.” Her eyes twinkled, and her fat curls danced along her wide dress collar as she bounced in her seat. “Pound cake with berry preserves. We would’ve made an apple pie but couldn’t find any cinnamon.”

“I hope you don’t mind we used your supplies. I will replace them.”

“That’s not necessary,” he said gruffly. “I should’ve stuck around this morning and showed you where I keep the foodstuffs.”

Grace thanked him for sending Simon out with lunch and lapsed into silence. Not one to sit still, Jane fidgeted and hummed as she ate. The behavior had irritated Ambrose’s mother, Helen. Many times after a tortuous family meal, Helen had taken Grace aside to admonish her for allowing it. No amount of scolding or instruction had been successful, however. From birth, Jane had been the more energetic of her girls.

Now she watched the sheriff from beneath lowered lids to gauge his reaction. He didn’t appear to notice or care. His eyes on his meal, he seemed preoccupied with whatever was going on inside his head. She glanced at the tintype resting on the mantel. Curiosity welled up inside her, taking her by surprise. What terrible experiences had he endured that had so altered him from that young man in the photo?

In Chicago’s elite circles, she’d been shielded from much of the war’s gruesome reality. It was only through her church’s charitable work that she’d gotten any significant information. The tales she’d heard had shocked her. Reports of inadequate supplies and disease. Debilitating injuries. Soldiers committing horrific acts against innocents. Noah had lived the war day in and day out.

“That carved plantation house on the mantel. Is that a replica of your childhood home?”

His brow knitted. Not looking at the object in question, he nodded but didn’t speak.

“Where is that exactly?”

His chest heaved with a sigh. “Virginia.”

“You were a Union soldier though, right? I saw your uniform in the photo. How—”

“I don’t like to discuss my family or the war.” His features were shuttered in warning.

More questions arose in Grace’s mind. Noah Burgess was a mystery, one that wouldn’t be easy to solve. Not that he was about to give her a chance.

“Well, it’s a beautiful piece. The craftsman is extremely talented.”

“Thank you.”

She stared at his bent head and then at his large, capable hands, unable to reconcile the intricacy and beauty of the house, the creativity and artistry required to produce it, with the tough, aloof man before her.

“You made it?”

His light blue eyes were guarded. “I like to create things in my free time. It’s a skill I learned as an adolescent.”

“I’d love to see your other pieces, if you have any.”

His shrug was noncommittal.

Stunned by how badly she wanted to learn more about her host, she dropped the subject. When they’d finished dessert and Grace told Jane to assist her in cleaning up, he held up a hand. “I’ll take care of it. But first, I’d like a word.”

His expression warned she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

Leaving Jane to play with her miniature tea set and dolls, Grace accompanied him to the stream, where he showed her to a bench carved out of a massive tree trunk.

“Did you make this, too?”

He buried his hands in his pockets. “I come down here sometimes to read or think, and I needed a place to sit.”

It was a nice shady spot with a view of the green fields stretching to the distant horizon. “You like to read?”

“That surprises you.”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Because I’m a soldier or because I’m a Southerner?”

Grace shrugged, ashamed she’d judged him again. “You simply didn’t strike me as the bookworm type.”

He scowled. “It’s a good thing we’re not getting hitched. We have a bad habit of judging each other as lacking in one way or another.”

Unable to sit still beneath his enigmatic gaze, Grace stood and crossed to his spot near the water’s edge. Her plan was on the verge of collapsing.

“That’s because this is an unusual situation. Given time, we’ll learn each other’s personalities.”

He grasped her hand and lifted it for his inspection. “You’re not wearing your rings.”

“Th-they would’ve gotten in the way.”

Noah examined her reddened palm, his hold surprisingly gentle. She was almost sorry when he released her.

“You shouldn’t have overexerted yourself. While I appreciate the meal and the effort you put into cleaning my cabin, it doesn’t change a thing. You’re not staying.”

Desperation shivered through her. “I thought you were an honorable man. Mr. Canfield clearly exaggerated your finer qualities.”

A tiny vein at his temple throbbed. “My honor isn’t in question here, Mrs. Miller. I never promised to marry you.”

His body shifted into a warrior’s stance and the anger practically spiraled off him. Okay, so questioning a former soldier’s honor was a dumb thing to do.

Skewering her with a look, he demanded with narrowed eyes, “Why are you so determined to stay where you’re not wanted?”

That hurt. More than it should. Grace didn’t know him, and yet, he was another in a long line that didn’t want her around.

Holding her deception close to her heart, she seized on the most obvious answer. “I came here in search of a better life for my girls.”

“Cowboy Creek is short on women and long on marriage-minded men. If you’re determined to stay, you’ll have your pick of candidates. It’s not personal. Before the war, I might’ve made a good husband and father, but I’ve changed.” He touched the raised pink flesh on his jaw. “This isn’t the worst of it. It’s what you can’t see that’s truly horrific.”

Grace thought he meant the physical scars beneath his shirt.

“I don’t care about your scars.” Normally, she wouldn’t reveal private details of her life, but despair trumped pride. “I was married to a handsome man whose inner character rendered him ugly. I care about integrity. Loyalty. A good work ethic. Mr. Canfield wrote a glowing report of your character, Mr. Burgess. I desire that for my daughters.”

“You misunderstand. I didn’t mean what’s under here, although my physical deformity would be difficult for any woman to accept.” He rubbed his flattened palm over his shirt. “I meant what’s in here.” He tapped his heart first, then his temple. “The war changed me in ways I can’t begin to describe. I don’t trust like I used to. I don’t hope. Don’t believe in the basic goodness of human beings. I don’t have the ability to make anyone happy.”

The bleakness in his features robbed her of speech.

“Since your daughter is on the mend, I’ll make the necessary arrangements for you to remove to the hotel tomorrow afternoon.”

He walked away from her again, something he was rather good at.

* * *

For the second day in a row, Noah ate his breakfast at the jail. He wasn’t happy about it, either. The early-dawn ride into town had passed in a blur. One of the Murdoch brothers could’ve swooped in and he wouldn’t have known it until the last second. He’d lost his concentration and focus because of the comely young widow.

Constance Miller. Funny, the name Constance didn’t really suit her.

Adjusting his gun belt, he smashed his Stetson on his head, ordered Wolf to stay put and left the jail.

Sticking around this morning would’ve been the polite thing to do. Constance and her daughters were his guests, unwelcome though they may be, and his ma had instilled good manners in him and his sisters. But he’d found himself growing captivated in the brief moments he’d spent with her. She was a woman of contrasts. Beneath that feminine, fragile exterior lay fire-purified strength and the determination of an approaching storm. What she’d managed to accomplish in one day both stunned and impressed him. Noah would never admit it, but hers was the best fried chicken he’d ever tasted, even better than his ma’s. And that moist, dense cake bursting with flavor... His mouth watered thinking about it. He could get used to coming home to fine meals like that.

But would she ever get used to welcoming a man such as him?

Constance said she didn’t mind the scars, but she’d spoken the words in haste. She would say anything to get him to agree to the marriage Will had promised her. Well, she could have her Cowboy Creek husband—it just wasn’t going to be him. She’d thank him later.

Noah was in the middle of the intersection on his way to the Cattleman when he recognized his friend Daniel Gardner. He and his new bride, Leah, were preparing to enter Booker & Son general store. Changing course, he lifted his hand and called Daniel’s name.

They both turned at the same time. Leah’s shining blond tresses rippled in the breeze. Her apricot dress was let out at the waist to showcase her expanding form. Thanks to Leah, Opal and the reverend’s daughter, Hannah, their town’s population was on its way up. More mail-order brides meant new families, cementing Cowboy Creek’s future. Constance’s impish countenance flashed in his mind. If she settled on one of their businessmen or ranchers, she’d likely add to the population, as well.

The thought felt like a hot poker plunged in his gut. Calling up his annoyance at Daniel’s actions, he strode to meet the couple.

“Noah.” Daniel’s deep green eyes searched his, gauging his mood. “I was going to stop by the jail once we’d finished our shopping.”

“Good morning, Noah.” Leah glowed with good health, her smile a testament to the success of her and Daniel’s union.

Will, Daniel and Leah had grown up together in Pennsylvania. She and Will had gotten engaged at a young age, but the distance during the war had taken its toll on the relationship. Leah ultimately married a Union officer and moved away, so discovering she was on their first bride train had shocked both men. Even more of a shock was the fact she was widowed and expecting a baby. Wanting to provide a stable, secure life for her, Daniel had hidden the feelings he’d never declared behind an offer of a marriage based on friendship.

Fortunately for his friend, love had blossomed between the two. It was that love and happy marital state that surely must’ve prompted Daniel to go against Noah’s wishes and do the unthinkable.

“I went to your office about an hour ago,” he told Daniel. “They said you hadn’t come in today.”

Fiddling with her earbob, Leah blushed. “That was my fault. I needed my husband at home this morning.”

The smile Daniel bestowed on her spoke of a happiness Noah could only dream of.

“Why don’t you go on in while I speak to Noah? I’ll join you in a bit.”

Nodding, she balanced her weight against his arm and, leaning into him, planted a kiss on his cheek. “See you later, darling. And you, Noah.”

“Take it easy, Leah.”

By silent agreement, they moved along Second Street until they came to the deserted churchyard. This side street wasn’t as busy as the main thoroughfare. Through the wooded area behind the church building, the roof of Will and Tomasina’s house was visible.

“I saw Will yesterday.” Seeking out the shade of a sixty-foot-tall box elder tree, Daniel removed his derby hat and dusted off the crown. A hank of chestnut hair slipped into his eyes, and he impatiently shoved it aside. As owner of the stockyards, he favored cowboy attire. Today, however, he was dressed like Will, in a fine brown suit and polished boots. “He told me about the widow and her daughters. What’s she like?”

“That’s your first question?” Noah demanded, throwing his hands wide. “I thought your first would be to ask how I’m coping with this latest problem in a long string of them. One I didn’t ask for and didn’t see coming. I never dreamed my closest friends would go behind my back and do something so underhanded.”

Daniel looked disconcerted. “We didn’t do it to add to your burdens. Our goal was to force you out of this ridiculous solitude you’ve consigned yourself to.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” he ground out. “You know why I’ve chosen this life.”

“I was in the war, too, remember?” he said quietly. “Man or woman, adult or child, I’m not convinced you’d find anyone in this nation who came through it unaffected. That doesn’t mean you have to give up on life. You’re as worthy of happiness as the rest of us, Noah.”

“I don’t agree. The way I feel inside... I’m a different man than I used to be.”

“Different doesn’t necessarily mean worse.”

They would never have like minds on the subject. “I wish you and Will had discussed your scheme with me before you acted. This woman you’ve brought here has her mind set on staying. She’s convinced our town will prove a fine setting in which to raise her young daughters.”

“Is she not someone you can envision building a life with?”

Noah tilted his head back and stared at the knotty branches and matte undersides of the leaves suspended from them.

“I don’t believe we’d get along,” he said.

“How do you figure?” One dark brow quirked up.

“We have the bad habit of making assumptions about each other.”

A stout, hairy man emerged from the hardware store across the street, a sack swinging from his right hand. He smiled when he saw them, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. “Howdy, Sheriff! Fine day to be alive, ain’t it?”

Noah lifted a hand in acknowledgment, catching sight of the grin Daniel tried to hide.

“I pin on a badge and suddenly folks feel it’s their duty to speak to me.” He scowled.

“It’s a nice change from how things used to be. You started this town. No reason you shouldn’t interact with the grateful residents.”

“We started this town. I’m happy to leave the mingling to you and Will.”

“Back to the widow Miller. How did she react to your scars?”

“Didn’t seem to mind. The girls, either.” He squinted at Daniel. “Don’t get that look.”

“What look?”

“The dopey one that makes you look like you’re seven,” he shot back, wondering where his anger had gone. Maybe if they’d meant it as a joke or as a way to hurt him, he could’ve nursed his ire. But it had been a misguided attempt to improve his life. “I’m not marrying Constance. In fact, I was on my way to the hotel to secure her a suite. Will’s largest and finest, as he’ll be footing the bill.”

He started walking through the grass toward the dusty street. Daniel blocked his retreat.

“Whoa. Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

“It’s the logical choice.”

“Tell me what she looks like,” the other man prodded. “Is she pretty?”

“Pretty isn’t the right word. She’s like an exotic bloom that needs an awful lot of care and attention.”

Daniel’s gaze intensified. “An exotic bloom, huh?”

The tips of his ears burned. “Why does it matter?”

“You don’t remember the crush of men at the train station the day Leah and the others arrived? The locals are starved for female companionship. If you put Mrs. Miller up at the Cattleman, she’ll be accosted by marriage-minded men, not all of them worthy of a woman’s hand.”

“Not my problem.” Sidestepping him, Noah continued walking.

“You’re refusing to marry her.” Daniel spoke to his back. “In doing so, you’re putting her and her daughters at risk. Do you not feel an ounce of responsibility toward them?”

Noah halted, his gaze on the bustling traffic ahead—wagons, single riders and pedestrians. Clusters of crude, rowdy cowboys whistling and gesturing to Pippa Neely, one of the original mail-order brides and the town’s resident actress, as she traversed the boardwalk.

Daniel came abreast of him. “It’d be a shame if she chose the wrong sort of man. You’d be forced to see the evidence of her poor choice for the rest of your life.”

Noah ground his teeth. He couldn’t deny that if he found out she or the twins were being mistreated, he’d wind up locked in a cell for beating the guy within an inch of his life. “There’s another possibility.”

Settling his derby on his head, Daniel waited.

“She might fancy a drover,” Noah pointed out. “She wouldn’t be sticking around then.”

“That defeats our purpose. We want to grow Cowboy Creek, not provide brides for itinerant cowboys.”

He threw up in his hands in frustration. “What do you propose I do?”

“Allow her to stay at your place until the three of us—you, me and Will—help her make a wise and proper choice.”

Noah snorted. “She’s not the sort of woman to be led about. Despite her helpless appearance, Constance knows her own mind.”

“We won’t make her choice for her. We’ll simply be advising her on her suitors’ characters and reputations.”

He closed his eyes, wishing he could rewind time a couple of days. “Fine,” he growled. “They can stay for the time being.”

“Do you want Will and I there when you explain things?”

“Oh, no. It’s best if you leave the explaining to me.”

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