Staking His Claim

Recently widowed Carly Richards is shocked when a bounty hunter declares her seamstress shop belongs to his sister. But Nate Sergeant has proof—the deed her lawless husband gambled away without her knowledge. Now Carly must fight for her home and her son’s future. And until a judge arrives to settle ownership, she’s not budging…despite Nate’s surprisingly kind demeanor—and dashing good looks.

Nate’s faced the meanest outlaws in the land—but this petite, strong-willed seamstress may be his greatest challenge. He owes his sister his life, so he’s determined she’ll have the property that’s legally hers. But as Nate and Carly battle for ownership, Nate realizes there’s something he’s overlooked—the hope of building a family with Carly and her adorable son.

“I’ll be back.” He flashed a smile. “Don’t let the anticipation overwhelm you.”

That towering hulk of a man threatened the harmony Carly prized. Yet as she stared into those eyes, an unwelcome thrill of attraction slid through her, shooting heat up her neck and into her cheeks. She groped for a rebuke that would conceal the turmoil churning inside her. “One thing I can say for certain, Mr. Sergeant. Nothing about you overwhelms me.”

He arched a brow, and then had the audacity to wink. As if he had read her mind and found her claim amusing.

Carly shut the door behind him, then leaned against it and took a deep breath. No matter what she’d said, Carly had never felt more overwhelmed. And of all things, by a bounty hunter.

A handsome bounty hunter, her heart whispered.

She pulled away from the door and steeled her spine. A handsome strong-minded bounty hunter who would stop at nothing to see that his sister owned this shop.

JANET DEAN grew up in a family with a strong creative streak. Her father and grandfather recounted fascinating stories, instilling in Janet an appreciation of history and the desire to write. Today she enjoys traveling into our nation’s past as she spins stories for Love Inspired Historical. Janet and her husband are proud parents and grandparents who love to spend time with their family.

The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption

Janet Dean

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

As far as the east is from the west, so far hath He removed our transgressions from us.

—Psalms 103:12

For Heather: precious daughter, loving mother, loyal friend, a strong woman of faith. You’re a real-life heroine.

Acknowledgments

To my critique partners, Shirley Jump and Missy Tippens, a simple “thank you” can’t express my appreciation for your savvy input and steadfast support.

To assistant editor Emily Krupin and executive editor Tina James, thank you for all you do to make my books the best they can be. I’m privileged to work with you.

To my friend Mary Overmeyer, thank you for sharing the childhood memory of your mother, Jennie Smith, standing at the bottom of the stairs singing the first stanza of “Father, We Thank Thee for the Night,” and of you and your six siblings singing the second stanza back to her. I love how this song connected your family to each other and to God and couldn’t resist using it in my book. The author of “Father, We Thank Thee for the Night” was Rebecca J. Weston (1818–1890), a teacher in the Boston schools.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

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

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Gnaw Bone, Indiana, March 1898

A woman should mourn the loss of her husband. Or so Carly Richards once believed.

No doubt she looked the part of the grieving widow as she stood alongside Max’s grave clothed in black, her gloved palm resting on her young son, unnaturally quiet and still beside her. Yet the eyes Carly bowed shed no tears. In her chest, her thudding heart beat to a steady tempo of relief.

A fearsome man to live with when he chose to make an appearance, Max had destroyed her love for him years ago.

She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed the square of linen to her nose. Though the air carried the scent of mowed grass, spring flowers and fresh-turned dirt, the vile odors that had clung to Max filled her nostrils still, as if he stood at her side, not laid out at her feet. Stale tobacco, fresh moonshine, foul breath, permeated with the odor of sweat.

Sweat of a hardworking man, Carly admired. Sweat of a man coming off a three-day drunk roiled her stomach.

She’d never again endure the man’s stench or his unpredictable temper. That knowledge purged her, freed her, promised her better days ahead.

Carly bent, cuddling her seven-year-old son close. Henry smelled of soap, innocence, the hope of new beginnings.

Across the way neighbors and members of her church had gathered to see Max into the ground. The tension that had been tangible whenever Max had been around was gone, buried with him. Now no one need keep an eye peeled for an unreasonable man itching for a fight.

Pastor Koontz closed his Bible, offered a prayer for Max’s soul and then eyed his parishioners. “Thank you all for coming on this somber day.” He turned to her. “God bless you and your son, Mrs. Richards,” he said and then stepped aside.

Folks edged toward her, giving her and Henry a hug, mumbling condolences, avoiding her gaze, then hurried toward the wrought iron gate in quiet groups of three and four, eager to escape. Not a single soul grieved Max. He had no family. No friends. At least none Carly knew of.

Henry, his dark brown hair lifting in the gentle breeze, pointed to the hole in the ground. “Is Pa staying in there?”

Carly met his troubled eyes; eyes far too old for one so young. “Yes. Your pa’s passed on.”

“Like our old hound dog? Pa ain’t coming back?”

“That’s right.”

Her son gave a nod, then stepped to the dirt piled at the edge of the grave and stomped the soil with his scuff-toed shoe.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Henry pivoted back to her, lips quivering, eyes welling with tears. “He can’t hurt you now, Mama.”

The heartbreaking truth sank to Carly’s belly like a stone. Henry had not forgotten the last time his father had returned home. The first time Max had slapped her with more than words. The force of the blow had knocked her to the floor, terrifying her son.

Oh, Lord, why didn’t I take Henry and leave long ago?

Fear.

Always imprisoned with the certainty that if she fled, Max would do as he’d threatened. Track her down, catch her unaware and kill her, leaving her precious boy at his mercy. Mercy wasn’t a notion Max understood.

Nor evidently had his killer, a bounty hunter who’d come to take Max to Kentucky to stand trial for murder. Carly hadn’t known Max was wanted by the law. But she hadn’t found the news surprising. After almost eight years of marriage to the man, nothing surprised her.

Until now.

Even with all the prayers she’d uttered, asking God to protect her and Henry, even with abundant evidence God had protected them in countless ways, she’d never expected Max would be the one laid out in the ground instead of her.

An oppressive weight slid from her shoulders. She’d no longer dread Max’s footfalls after weeks of unexplained absences. She’d no longer dread that every word out of her mouth could trigger his fiery temper. She’d no longer dread what the next day, the next week, the next month would bring.

A knot of remorse tightened around Carly’s heart and squeezed. Forgive me, Lord. What kind of a woman found comfort in the death of anyone, much less the father of her child?

Had Max been cut down by a bullet before he’d had a chance to ask God’s forgiveness for the blackness in his life? Had he gotten a moment to repent, a moment to prepare to meet his Maker? She hoped he had.

Whatever awaited Max, his eternal future was up to God. She would take care of herself and Henry. She’d run the shop. Earn a living. What she’d always done. Perhaps one day she could afford to hire another seamstress, opening more time to spend with her son.

Not that Max’s death changed her finances. He hadn’t supplied much except trouble. Still, she was grateful for his mother’s shop and would never regret a marriage that had blessed her with this child.

Nevertheless, she’d learned a valuable lesson. She’d been a fool to hitch herself to Max Richards. She’d never trust a man again.

Never.

Carly grasped Henry’s hand and then, with one last glance at the grave, at the overall-clad men already covering the casket with shovelfuls of dirt, stepped away from her past.

* * *

A woman stood between Nate Sergeant and a young boy like a petite, beautiful fortress. Pink lips, flushed cheeks, her fair complexion in sharp contrast to her coal-black hair, the delicate female couldn’t outweigh a hundred-pound bag of grain. Under slashing brows, dazzling blue eyes met his, sizing him up, her expression wary, alert.

Those penetrating eyes ripped the air out of his lungs like an uppercut to the gut. “Didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am,” he said, doffing his hat. “I’m Nate Sergeant—”

“I’m not scared.” Those cornflower blue eyes turned steely, confirming her claim. “And I know who you are.”

How could she know his identity? Nate hadn’t seen her before today.

Out front, a sign shot full of holes read Lillian’s Alterations and Dressmaking. Lillian Richards was dead. Who was this woman? “Do you work here?”

She ignored his question and gathered the boy to her. As she ruffled her fingertips through his hair, dark like hers, her eyes softened like melted butter. “While you were in school, I made cookies. Go to the kitchen and have a couple while I talk with Mr. Sergeant.”

The boy turned curiosity-filled eyes on Nate. A gentle nudge from his mother and he trudged toward the rear of the shop. At the doorway he stopped, his gaze traveling between Nate and his mother. As if he picked up on the tension in the room, his brow furrowed in a pint-size warning to treat his mother right.

In that boy Nate saw himself as a youngster. Whether he believed it or not, Nate knew the lad was far too young to wear the breeches in the family.

“Go on,” his mother murmured, then watched until he disappeared into the back. With her son out of earshot, Mrs. Richards’s gaze traveled to the pistol strapped on Nate’s thigh. “You’re the bounty hunter who killed my husband.”

A chill slid through Nate, pebbling the skin on his forearms. When he’d shot Max Richards, he’d made this woman a widow and her young son fatherless. Nate had been fifteen when he’d lost his parents in a train holdup. The boy must be less than half that age.

“I’m sorry it came to that, ma’am.” Nate rubbed a hand over his nape, taut as a stick of timber. “How’d you know me?”

“I’m not likely to forget the name of Max’s killer.” Somehow this petite woman standing across from him managed to look formidable in a prim, high-necked shirtwaist with its wide collar and tiny waist. “Even if I had, Sheriff Truitt came by earlier to warn me that he’d seen you ride into town.”

Truitt was looking out for the widow’s welfare. Someone needed to. As much as Nate wished things were different, that man wasn’t him. He was here to protect his sister’s interests, not this woman’s.

How many women had suffered from actions taken by the men in their lives? Including his? He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, refusing to think about that now.

“Max was known for his temper. Still, far as I know, he never shot at a complete stranger.” Her eyes narrowed, filling with suspicion. “Why would he fire at you?”

“He killed my sister Anna’s husband. Shot Walt in the back. That made it personal.”

She winced, as if seeing the cowardly act.

“When I explained I’d be taking him back to Kentucky to stand trial for murder, he...”

“He didn’t want to go.”

“No, ma’am.”

“So what happened then?”

Why ask? Surely she didn’t want to hear the gruesome details. Still she waited for his answer. Unable to cope with a weepy female, Nate fought to keep his tone detached. “He grabbed his gun from his holster and fired. I reeled away, pulling my revolver, and answered before he got off the next round.”

“Max wasn’t much of a shot, leastwise not with a moving target.”

Nate clutched his hat, turning the rim ’round and ’round in his hands. “No, ma’am.”

Not much of a man, either. No point grinding that truth into his widow. Perhaps she already knew. She wasn’t wearing widow’s weeds and appeared more somber than distraught. But then, everyone handled grief differently.

Well, she’d be distraught soon enough, once he got to the point of his visit. Mrs. Richards seemed like a good woman, a good mother with a small boy depending on her. If only he could express regret for taking a life, perhaps do a chore or two and be on his way.

But he couldn’t. Anna needed this chance. For once in her life she’d have a way to handle her future, set her own course.

The widow considered him and then nodded, as if she’d accepted his lack of options. “I’m sorry about your sister’s husband.” Moisture welled in her eyes. “Please give her my condolences.”

He shoved past the tightness in his throat. “I will.”

“If that’s all, I need to check on my son.” Mrs. Richards turned away, as if finished with the conversation.

“Ma’am.”

She turned back, eyes wide, as if surprised to find him standing there instead of heading for the door. “Yes?”

A gust of air escaped his lips. No decent man relished bringing a woman trouble. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“Worse than killing my son’s father?”

At a loss for words, Nate merely stared at her.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sergeant. That was uncalled-for, but I have a boy who needs my attention and a shop to run.” Her gaze traveled to the door, her desire for him to walk through it abundantly clear.

No point in putting off what he’d come to say. “This shop is mine,” he said, settling his Stetson in place.

The air stilled, caught in the heavy hush of surprise. She took a breath, then another; in, out. Her gaze hardened. “You’re mistaken. The deed to this shop is in my possession.”

“My brother-in-law Walt won the deed in a poker game. Your husband killed him for it, and then terrorized my sister Anna, who had no idea where Walt had hidden it. Richards never found the deed before he rode off. But recently I did. As my sister’s representative, I’m here to take possession.”

“That can’t be true!”

She met his gaze. As if seeing the truth in his eyes, the blazing confidence in hers ebbed.

With a gasp she whirled to a small wheeled safe on the back wall. The dial clicked right, left, right. Then, with the chink of moving tumblers and the clank of the latch, the thick door opened on quiet hinges. She knelt, reached inside, patted the interior. Came up empty.

She staggered to her feet and crossed to him, her skin ashen, eyes dazed. “It’s...it’s...gone,” she said in a reedy, strangled voice.

Then she wobbled, as if the starch had gone out of her. In one slow motion she crumpled, limp as a rag doll.

Nate caught her before she hit the floor. With the pale woman in his arms, his mind zipped back and remembered another woman.

“Mama!”

Nate’s head snapped up, his vision cleared.

Eyes wide with fear, the son ran toward them. “Is she dead?” he said.

Rachel was dead. Not this woman.

Poor tyke had lost his pa and now must believe he’d lost his mother, too. “Your ma’s fine. She’s fainted, that’s all.”

“What’s fainted?”

“It’s like falling asleep.” Nate forced a reassuring smile. “She’ll wake up soon.”

Beside Nate, the little boy settled on his haunches and patted his mother’s arm. “Mama, are you tired?”

Nate removed his hat and fanned the widow’s face. Smelling salts would bring her around. Not something Nate carried in his line of work.

He brushed a tendril of hair off the widow’s pale cheek. Under his fingertips, her skin was soft as silk.

The click of a clock’s pendulum echoed in the silence. With each passing tick, the boy’s bravado crumbled. “Mama, wake up! Please!” he said, tears spilling down his face.

In way over his head, Nate groped for words. He’d never been around children. How could he comfort this one?

The widow groaned, rolling her head from side to side.

Her son gazed up at him, panic sparking in his eyes. “Something’s wrong with my mama. Help her! Please, mister!”

“I’ll help her, I promise.” As soon as the words left his lips, Nate knew he’d made a hasty promise to stop the boy’s pleading. A promise he couldn’t keep.

Once again. Another failure. More lives ruined.

He tamped down the remorse swirling in his gut. This woman wasn’t his responsibility. How could Richards wager his family’s future on the turn of a card? His wife and son deserved better.

A temptation to give back the deed slid through him. Only for a moment. Nate couldn’t sacrifice his sister’s future. Not after what she’d sacrificed for him.

Once Mrs. Richards had time to think about it, she would know, as he did, she’d lost the shop. Though he didn’t relish the pain he would cause, Nate would not help the widow as he’d promised her son.

All he would bring Carly Richards was trouble.

Chapter Two

Where am I?

Carly closed her eyes, giving her head a little shake, and then opened them again, the scent of soap, leather and peppermint filling her nostrils. Shadows slowly came into focus.

She peered into gray eyes. Gray eyes rimmed with charcoal and filled with concern.

Intriguing eyes. Who was—?

A small face popped into view. Henry. Tears spiking his lashes and running down his cheeks. Why was he crying?

Her son’s lower lip trembled. “Mama.”

“I’m all right, sweetie,” she said, though she had no idea what had happened.

Then the memory came rushing back. Those eyes she’d gazed into, those eyes she’d found intriguing, belonged to Nate Sergeant. Max’s killer. A dangerous man out to seize her shop.

And yet she lay nestled in the varmint’s arms, thinking how good he smelled. As if his touch burned her flesh, Carly jerked upright and gathered her son close.

“You’re not dead!” Henry beamed up at her.

She kissed her boy’s wet cheeks. “I’m fine, Henry,” she said. “Just fine.”

But she wasn’t fine.

Carly had poured her life’s blood into this shop. Found satisfaction in the work. Earned a living here. She’d made a life for herself and her child in the four small rooms at the back. Without this shop, how would she manage? Where would they go?

“I won’t give up my business,” she said, her voice high, thin, almost a screech.

“Don’t worry, Mama.” Henry pointed at Max’s killer. “The man said he’d help you. He promised.”

Carly’s eyes darted to Nate Sergeant. Under the force of her gaze, he all but squirmed. He’d help her, all right. Help her lose her shop and everything in it.

Still, she’d lashed out at the man, not a good example for her son. “Let me up, Henry.”

Her son scooted out of the way.

In one fluid motion, the bounty hunter sprang to his feet. Before she could stop him, he took her hand and helped her rise. The startling warmth and gentleness of his touch felt nothing like Max’s cold, hard grip.

Chiding herself for falling for such trickery, Carly pulled herself erect and faced her enemy.

Broad-shouldered, feet apart, he towered over her, expression closed, gaze firm, as if trying to squash her with a mere look. Well, she wasn’t some helpless bug.

Not with her pistol buried in the deep pocket of her skirt. She’d bought the Smith and Wesson and learned to shoot, determined to do whatever she must to protect her son.

She bit back a sigh. No matter how strong the temptation, she couldn’t shoot this sidewinder for claiming her business.

Still, no one was going to take away that security. No one.

“I want you to leave,” she said. “My son has had a scare. I won’t allow you to subject him to more.”

His brow furrowed. “We have to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about. Come, Henry,” she said, guiding the boy toward the back. “Go to your room and close the door. I’ll be right there.”

Henry complied with lagging steps and backward glances.

She waited until she heard the door to their quarters click shut, then rounded on him. “The only person I will be speaking with is Sheriff Truitt. Max’s name may be on the deed, but as you well know, my husband is dead. As his widow, everything he owned is mine. He had no right to gamble his son’s future.”

“I agree with you, Mrs. Richards, but the fact is he did.”

“If you actually have the deed, you’d show it. I don’t believe a word you’ve said.”

“I left the deed with my sister for safekeeping. Her husband hid it so carefully, took me a month to find it.”

“So you claim.” She flung out a hand, pointing her forefinger at him. “I will fight you! This shop provides our living and our home. I’ll do whatever I must to protect that.”

“Sorry to bring more trouble to your door, ma’am, but—”

“I’ve faced trouble, Mr. Sergeant. All a man could throw at me.” She straightened her shoulders and slapped hands on hips. “I’m not intimidated.”

“I’m not trying to intimidate you.” He exhaled. “I’m trying to make you understand the outcome is beyond your control. Your husband lost the deed to my brother-in-law before he died.”

“How convenient he can’t deny your claim. And you—” she raised a hand and pointed a steady finger at him “—did the killing.”

“I had no choice. It was either him or me.” Jaw jutting, face flushed, the bounty hunter clamped his hat on his head. “The law will decide who owns this property.”

“Gnaw Bone doesn’t have a lawyer, much less a judge—”

“At some point, a circuit judge will pass through. In the meantime, I’ll bring my sister—and the deed—to town. She’ll be the one running this shop. You might want to look for someplace else to live.”

“I will do nothing of the sort.” She stalked to the door, opened it. “I suggest you make other arrangements for your sister, Mr. Sergeant. Good day, sir.”

As the door closed behind him, Carly wilted into a chair. “Why, Lord?” She spoke aloud. “Why, after all we’ve been through, have You allowed a new threat? Do You even hear my prayers?”

* * *

Nate strode out, the widow’s sarcasm in the “sir” and the slamming door behind him ringing in his ears. He’d let his temper get the best of him. Still, the widow had all but called him a liar and had pointed that dainty finger at him like a gunslinger taking aim.

He unwound the reins from the hitching post, swung into the saddle and rode toward the livery he’d seen earlier. Each clop of Maverick’s hooves thudded against his conscience. Why should the widow trust his word? He’d killed her husband. Claimed he had a deed he hadn’t produced. When he came back with that deed, she’d fight him tooth and nail. Carly Richards wasn’t a woman to take things lying down. No doubt life with that scoundrel of a husband had made her hard, tough.

If a husband’s property belonged to his wife as much as to him, a judge might rule Richards had no right to gamble away shared property. But from what Nate had seen, even if that property belonged to his wife, a husband had the authority to do with marital assets as he saw fit.

Once Carly Richards realized Nate had no intention of backing down, she’d give up the fight.

Where would she and the boy live then? How would she earn an income? Who would look after them?

Nate clamped his jaw. He couldn’t get soft about the widow’s plight. Anna had no other means to make a living. Carly Richards was able-bodied; a good housekeeper and cook from the tidy appearance of her shop and the robust look of her son. Surely she had numerous skills to find another job in Gnaw Bone. Perhaps she had family nearby.

He had to focus on his sister, the one person he owed everything. Anna was depending on him to make things right, which he would do.

Then he’d settle the score with Shifty Stogsdill, the outlaw he hunted.

At the thought of hitting the trail, Nate’s stomach twisted. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was tired. Tired of huddling near a campfire and eating lousy food. Tired of sleeping under the stars on the hard, cold ground. Tired of endless hours in the saddle chasing lawless, brutal men.

As weary as he was of his life, he was a skilled bounty hunter. Bringing Stogsdill to justice would silence his loved ones calling to him from the grave.

The reward money, along with the proceeds from the shop, would set Anna up for life. Then he would have kept his promise to his parents and repaid his debt to his sister. No amount of money would compensate for the handicap she would live with her entire life.

Stogsdill’s trail had gone cold, but rumor had it the outlaw was sweet on a woman living in the area. The reason Nate had ridden this way, planning to bunk with Anna and Walt while investigating the rumor.

If only he’d arrived four hours earlier, he might have saved Walt’s life. One more if-only Nate couldn’t fix. A long list of regrets that plagued him.

But he could move his sister to Gnaw Bone. It meant hiring a wagon to haul her possessions. Not all that many, certainly nothing of material value, but she’d never leave family keepsakes behind.

Outside the livery Nate looped Maverick’s reins to the rail. A hand-painted for-sale sign caught his eye. If the lettering over the doors meant anything, how did the proprietor, Morris Mood, hope to sell this run-down property?

Hmm, the small print indicated the sale included a vacant house. If it was habitable, perhaps Nate could work out a deal with the owner. Now that he’d met the pretty widow and her small son, he couldn’t stomach the idea of evicting them from their home.

Inside the stable, he inhaled the scent of hay, leather and manure; heard the soft whinnying of horses, easing the tension in his neck and zipping him back to the time he’d wrangled horses on a Texas ranch. The pay had been lousy. Not nearly enough money to provide for Anna, but that year had taught him plenty about horses.

Maybe, just maybe, he could do this: run a livery and settle in one place. He tamped down the silly notion. He was not good at staying put, but he was good at his job.

Still, with Walt dead, Anna had no one to look after her but him. He couldn’t ride off as he’d done many times before, leaving his sister behind with the hope his inept brother-in-law would make a decent living. This time he had to stay long enough to see Anna find her place in the community. Once she was settled in the rooms behind the seamstress shop, he’d be on his way.

He strolled down the aisle between the stalls, studying the horses. Unlike the dilapidated barn, the animals looked healthy, their coats groomed, their bedding clean, water buckets full. Clearly the owner cared about his horses.

Nate passed the tack room, then stopped outside the door leading into the office. A stoop-shouldered man with grizzled hair hunched over a ledger, his spectacles sliding down his nose. A broken bit and two shabby halters lay scattered on the desk, alongside a tattered saddle cinch and a rusty horseshoe. The owner and his office looked as frayed as his business.

“Mr. Mood?”

With a startled squeak, the elderly gentleman jerked up his head and then staggered to his feet, his face tinged with pink. “Didn’t know anyone was about. Need a horse? Rig?”

“A wagon.” He motioned toward the entrance. “And information about that sign out front.”

“You’re new in town.” The old gent tugged at his suspenders. “Looking to buy this place?”

Why would Nate do that? “Nope, don’t have the money. But in exchange for a place to live, I could work here.”

The owner chuckled. “I don’t have the money to pay you a wage, neither. Reckon that makes us even.” He pointed to a bale of straw. “Take the weight off,” he said, plopping into his desk chair with a sigh. “I wouldn’t be looking to sell, exceptin’ my wife needs a dry climate. If I can find a buyer, I’d take Betsy to Arizona. Good weather for consumption.”

“I’m sorry your wife’s sick.” Nate sat, his gaze roaming his surroundings. “I could restore the place. Make the livery more attractive to a buyer.”

“I can’t keep up with repairs. Reckon it’s as run-down as I am.” He drummed knobby fingers on the desk. “All that hammering and sawing could spook my horses. You know how to handle ’em?”

“I spent a year as wrangler on a spread in Texas.”

“That don’t mean you’ll treat ’em right.”

“I’d never mistreat a horse—any animal.”

Yet only minutes before, Nate had mistreated a woman. The truth of that gnawed at him. No matter how tough she’d tried to appear, he’d seen the fear beneath Mrs. Richards’s bluster. She’d reminded him of an abused horse, alert and skittish, ready to rear and kick, expecting trouble, prepared for battle. His stomach clenched. Had Richards abused his wife?

“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Mood said. “I could use the help, but as I said, I can’t afford to pay a wage. What if I applied what you should earn toward buying the place?” He pointed over his shoulder. “And throw in the living quarters behind the livery? Me and the missus live a few miles out now, so the house sits empty. Has two bedrooms, kitchen, small parlor—nothing fancy but it’s livable and furnished.”

“I’m not interested in buying the livery, but I’m moving my sister to Gnaw Bone. We’ll need a place to bunk.” His gaze roamed the cobwebbed corners, the glass in the window caked with dirt. “Anna is, uh, persnickety.”

“The house is in better condition than the stable. I’ll spiff the place up, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

Mood’s plan didn’t fence Nate in. He could make improvements until the judge settled the shop ownership. Nate offered his hand. “I’m willing to try each other out, see if the arrangement fits.”

The old codger reached a blue-veined hand and shook, his grip surprisingly strong. “Gives us both time. You might like working here and change your mind.” He gave a nod. “If I like you, trust you with my horses, you could finish buying the livery on contract, a set amount each month.”

Nate wouldn’t be changing his mind. He had no interest in staying in this two-bit town tethered to a livery and half a dozen horses. Nate had spent much of his adult life wandering. He had no idea how to handle that kind of permanence. The one time he’d tried to settle down had ended in disaster. A moving target was safer for everyone.

Nate paid the rate for a wagon and team. “I’ll return the rig tomorrow,” he said, following Mood toward the stalls.

Anna wanted him nearby. Nate would give her that for now. He had enough money to ignore the wanted posters in his saddlebags. If the circuit judge ruled in Anna’s favor, as Nate expected, she’d have a solid income to handle her bills. Then he would leave the good folks of Gnaw Bone before Stogsdill came looking for revenge and someone got hurt.

Mood tramped toward him, leading two draft horses. Nate joined him and they moseyed to the open end of the livery where a wagon waited, its green paint peeling. While in Gnaw Bone, Nate would scrape and repaint that wagon.

Perhaps if he kept busy enough, he could hold memories at bay.

A yellow, shaggy dog crawled out from under the wagon, his tail giving a slow wag.

Mood reached a hand. The dog stepped into his touch. “She’s got me pegged as a softy.” He raised the dog’s chin. “Soon as I get this team hitched, I’ll share my lunch. But I’ll be moving West, too far a trip for you.” Mood glanced over his shoulder at Nate. “She’d make a fine watchdog, if you’ve a mind to keep her.”

The mutt couldn’t harm a flea. “I’ll be moving on, too.”

“She’d be good company for your sister.”

A dog underfoot might trip Anna. Mood would see that soon enough.

With slow, patient motions and gentle words to the horses, the old man hitched the team to the wagon. “This here is Mark. The other is Matthew. Named ’em after the Gospel writers. Feed, water and rub them down tonight.”

As if Nate hadn’t the faintest idea how to care for horses. “Yes, sir.” Nate tied Maverick to the rear of the wagon. “Once we’re settled in, I’ll start making repairs.”

“Your coming proves the Good Lord is watching over me and Betsy, that’s sure.”

Mood wouldn’t believe Nate was the answer to his prayer if he knew the trouble he was bringing Widow Richards.

With a nod, Nate climbed into the wagon, released the brake, and drove down the alley behind the livery, passing the cabin where he and Anna would live.

Across the alley, what had to be the backside of the seamstress shop, a female dashed out the door and across the yard as if chased by a pack of rabid dogs.

Ah, Mrs. Richards. Where was she going in such an all-fire hurry? She caught sight of him, slowed and dropped her skirts, then strode on, her mouth set in a grim line.

He hauled back on the reins. “Is something wrong?”

She gored him with her gaze. “Perhaps. I’m on my way to speak with Sheriff Truitt. About you.”

“I have nothing to hide.”

“So you say.” She motioned to the wagon. “Glad to see you’re leaving town. Don’t let me hold you up.”

“Only be gone long enough to bring my sister and her possessions back to Gnaw Bone.”

Mrs. Richards’s cheeks paled. “Morris wouldn’t rent you that wagon if he knew your intentions.”

“Mr. Mood has hired me to make improvements to the livery. Anna and I will be staying in his vacant house.”

Chest heaving, she plopped dainty hands on her hips. A female version of David pitted against Goliath. The stones in her sling of the verbal variety. Yet the fire in her eyes made her a formidable foe. She’d stop at nothing to protect her child’s future.

Nate had dealt with violent men, cagey men, the vilest of men, but he had no idea how to handle this tiny woman’s colossal loathing. Of him.

What did she despise him for most? Killing her trigger-happy, back-shooting husband? Or threatening ownership of the shop? Well, he wasn’t here to win anyone’s approval, especially a woman trying to stand in the way of his sister’s new beginning.

“If you think by working and living under my nose, you’ll bully me into giving up what’s rightfully mine, you’re wrong.”

“The judge will decide who’s entitled to the shop. Until then, my sister and I need a place to live.”

“In that case, I suggest you keep your distance.”

She hustled off. A woman on a mission, no doubt hoping Sheriff Truitt would ride him out of town, tarred and feathered.

Well, he had no desire to remain longer than necessary. The life of a bounty hunter suited him. He had two purposes; locking up violent men who preyed on the innocent and seeing Stogsdill pay for his crimes.

“Move on, Mark, Matthew.” As he turned onto Main Street, a strange, unsettling awareness sank to his gut. In the livery, for the first time in ages, he’d felt at home, at peace. The prospect of staying put dredged up a long-buried desire to belong somewhere, filling him with a yearning he didn’t understand.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the foolish notion. To stay meant settling down, letting others in. The mere idea tightened an invisible band around his neck.

Once he’d been complacent. Had believed he could be a small-town sheriff and have a wife and children. Whenever he got close and cared about others, people got hurt or...died. He’d never again take that risk.

Chapter Three

Carly gave a shove and the door rattled shut behind her. The desk was cluttered with stacks of paper, a pair of shiny handcuffs and a coiled rope, but the office chair sat empty.

“Sheriff Truitt?”

The lawman stepped from the back, a holster riding his hips, a tray in his hand. “Why, howdy, Mrs. Richards.” His gaze landed on the spotless dishes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say a dog lapped these plates clean. Reckon the Harders brothers appreciated the stew, Miss Sarah’s special today.”

Max used to say food was good at Sarah Harvey’s café, but one look at the cook gave a man heartburn. Max had a jab for every man and woman in town.

“Shore did, Sheriff,” a voice called.

Through the open door, Carly caught sight of the Harders twins peering at her from a cell. Even as they sat side by side on the bunk, Carly couldn’t tell Lloyd and Lester apart from here. The two went everywhere together, getting into one scrape after another. Their latest escapade—using the sign outside her shop for target practice.

“Food’s way better’n Ma’s, but don’t you be telling her I said so, ma’am.”

Carly had tasted Mrs. Harders’s cooking at church potlucks and couldn’t disagree. “I’d never hurt your mother’s feelings.”

“We’re right sorry for shooting up your sign, Miz Richards.”

“Yep, plumb ashamed of ourselves.”

“I sometimes suspect you two get into trouble just to get some decent victuals,” Sheriff Truitt grumbled. “Well, your feet will be under your ma’s table by suppertime.”

“Aw, can’t you keep us another night, Sheriff?”

“This ain’t no hotel. I aim to make your lives so miserable you’ll think twice about another drunken shooting spree.”

The sheriff closed the door to the brothers’ groans and turned toward Carly. “They’ll spend the month doing chores for you, Mrs. Richards. Work ’em hard. The nastier the job the better.”

Carly gave a nod. But had no idea what they could do. The Harders brothers didn’t appear to be good at much except carousing.

“They should pay for a new sign, but money’s scarce and their ma—”

“Sheriff, I’m here on another matter.”

“What’s that?”

Carly met the sheriff’s inquisitive gaze. “That bounty hunter paid me a visit.”

“From the look on your face, I’d say he didn’t come to apologize for killing your husband.”

Anyone who hunted down outlaws for the bounty was surely driven by greed. “Could he have gone after Max for the reward?”

“Nope, no time for Max to make the wanted posters.”

“Well, he’s looking to make money from Max’s death.”

“How so?”

“He claims his sister’s husband—the man Max killed in Kentucky—won the deed to my shop in a poker game. He says his sister has the deed and that makes her the owner.”

The sheriff frowned. “Do you believe him?”

“No! I don’t trust the word of a killer.” Carly sighed. “But I checked. The deed’s not in my safe.”

“Then he could be speaking the truth.”

“Well, yes. But Max could’ve moved the deed.” She paced the room, then turned to the lawman. “Sheriff, I want you to do something. You can’t let some stranger ride into town and take my property,” she said, unable to keep her voice from trembling.

“No need to get worked up, Mrs. Richards. No one is taking anything while I’m around, leastwise not illegally.”

Carly breathed in. Out. In. Out. Until her racing pulse returned to a steady rhythm. “If the bounty hunter has the deed, he could’ve stolen it, even killed Max for it. Max can’t accuse him from the grave.”

“If Max anted the deed and lost—”

“He had no right to risk our livelihood and the roof over our heads!”

“No moral right.” The sheriff rubbed his nape. “Not sure about his legal right.”

“Are you saying I could lose the shop?” Carly shoved each shaky word from her mouth, barely louder than a whisper.

“No point borrowing trouble. Time will tell.”

Easy for the sheriff to say. “I have no legal recourse?”

“If you were asking about horse stealing, I’d know the law. Property rights ain’t my specialty.”

The door to the sheriff’s office opened. Nate Sergeant stood in the opening. Tall, broad-shouldered, a six-shooter strapped to his hip. Even from across the room, Carly could feel the power radiating from him.

He removed his Stetson and gave Carly a nod. “Sheriff, I suppose Mrs. Richards has explained the situation.”

“She has.”

“I’ll be bringing my sister to Gnaw Bone tomorrow, along with the deed to Mrs. Richards’s shop.”

“If you’ve got that deed, I’d like to see it. Better yet, I’d like to keep it here in my safe until the circuit judge can straighten out this mess.”

Nate Sergeant gave a nod. “Any idea when that will be?”

“Depends on the number of cases he’s hearing.”

“Sheriff,” Carly said, “can you check his itinerary?”

“I’ll send a wire and see what I can find out, Mrs. Richards.”

“Thank you.”

Carly said goodbye, then strode toward the exit. Sheriff Truitt had been no help. She heaved a sigh. The sheriff wasn’t the troublemaker in town. That label belonged to Nate Sergeant, the man holding the door for her as she strode through, and then followed her out.

“Mrs. Richards...” he said.

Carly stopped and turned toward him, steeling her spine against whatever he had to say.

His gaze was surprisingly soft, gentle. “I’ve brought harm to way too many. I surely don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his eyes filling with despair so wretched Carly couldn’t look away. “I wish things were different, ma’am.”

Carly had an urge to try to ease his torment, to offer absolution. She reached a tentative hand toward his jaw. Close enough to feel the warmth from his skin.

At the gesture, his pupils flared into smoldering pools of black.

Carly’s breath caught. She jerked her hand away.

Without a word he turned on booted heel, strode to the wagon out front and clamored aboard.

As she watched him drive off, her stomach tumbled. How could she have connected with a man determined to ruin their lives? Nate Sergeant might regret harming her, but that wouldn’t stop this driven man accustomed to getting his way.

Inside her gloves, Carly’s hands chilled. He had appeared confident, as if he’d known the law was on his side and she was destined to lose her shop. If the judge agreed, she’d have to move, start over. Leave everything she’d worked hard to build.

Lord, why did You allow a new threat? Hasn’t my son been through enough? Why?

Well, she would handle this. Henry would be home from school soon. No time to search. After she tucked him in tonight, she’d look for that deed, proving the bounty hunter was lying through his even, white teeth.

* * *

Carly sat on her son’s bed. Across from her Henry tugged his muslin nightshirt to his knees, his head bent low, revealing his slender nape and the curve of his velvety cheek.

With a grin Henry scrambled up beside her and cuddled close, gazing up at her. “Mama, is that nice man coming back?”

“What nice man?”

“The man that promised to help you. When you was asleep.”

Henry thought that bounty hunter was nice? Nate Sergeant would most likely show up tomorrow with his sister in tow and try to toss them out.

Well, she wouldn’t budge. “I expect he will.” I expect he will help us to the street. But she couldn’t say that without scaring her son.

She gazed into his guileless blue eyes. “Why do you call Mr. Sergeant nice?”

“You fell down and he caught you. He looked scared. Not scary like Pa.”

Uninvited images surfaced in Carly’s mind, of a full head of dark hair, the shadow of beard along his chiseled jaw, gray eyes laced with regret, the pupils rimmed in charcoal. Those pupils had enlarged, and she’d felt the strangest pull.

Ridiculous.

Nate Sergeant might be handsome, manly, even uneasy about snatching her shop, but that wouldn’t stop him.

“I thought you was dead, Mama. I was afraid.”

“Oh, sweet boy, I’m sorry I frightened you.”

His chin trembling, Henry clutched her arm. “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m healthy and strong. Why, I could wrestle a grizzly bear and win.” Carly tugged him onto her lap.

He smiled up at her, his fear forgotten. “I’m strong, too,” he said, fisting his right hand and gazing at the tiny swell beneath his sleeve. “See my muscle?”

“You are strong. Now climb into bed, my little monkey.”

Henry grabbed the stuffed elephant she’d made for him, its trunk bent and droopy, and scrambled under the covers, pulling them up until only his eyebrows stuck above the quilt. “I’m sleepin’, Mama.”

“Is that so?” Carly leaned forward and peeled back the edge of the blanket with one finger. “Well, I don’t see a sleeping boy. I see a pretending boy.” She leaned in, pressed a kiss to Henry’s forehead, pausing long enough to inhale his sweet, innocent fragrance. He filled her heart with joy, made her world complete. “I expect a story will make you sleepy.”

The blanket inched down until she could see mischievous blue eyes, an impish grin. “I love stories.”

Book in hand, Carly slid into the space beside her son. “That’s good, because I love reading you stories.”

Head cradled on his hands, Henry curved toward her, a sixty-pound bundle of energy that brought infinite happiness to her life. Moments like these were what mattered. Moments like these filled her life with meaning. Moments like these had gotten her through the worst days with Max and had her counting her blessings twice over.

Henry listened intently to every word, only interrupting to mimic the sounds made by the animals in the story.

Carly tucked the book on the nightstand. “Time for our bedtime song.” The nighttime ritual reminded Carly of her mother’s faith and the memories of the happy times they’d shared.

Carly cupped her son’s cheek in her palm, and then sang, “Father, we thank Thee for the night and for the blessed morning light. For food and rest and loving care and all that makes the day so fair.”

Lying back on the pillow, his features sweeter than a rosy-cheeked cupid on a postcard Valentine, Henry tilted his face to the ceiling, as if singing for God Himself. “Help me do the things I should and be to others kind and good. In all I do in work or play to grow more loving every day.”

Henry rolled his head toward her and smiled. “Does Grandma hear us singing?”

“She might. If she does, she’s proud of her grandson.”

“She’s proud of you, too, Mama.”

What had Carly ever done to deserve this precious boy? Her throat knotted. She was all that stood between Henry and the ugliness of this world. Was she up to the task of guiding her son to become a man who loved God, a man who thought of others, a man who lived the words of this bedtime song?

To protect Henry and ensure that happy life she wanted for him, she must first save their home and livelihood.

Help me, Lord. Please, save my shop.

She kissed Henry on both cheeks, and then walked to the door. “Sleep tight.”

“’Night, Mama.” Henry’s eyelids were already lowering, his mouth opening in a wide yawn.

Once satisfied her son was asleep, Carly began her search for the deed. In the attic, Max’s trunk was tucked in a dark corner of the back wall, off by itself. Much like the man. During the eight years of her marriage, Max had dwelled on the fringe of her life. What did she know about him, really?

Inside the trunk under a pile of photo albums, Carly found Lillian’s Bible, the binding wobbly, the pages worn, verses underlined. Stuck beside the Twenty-third Psalm was an envelope addressed to Max, the flap open. She pulled out and unfolded a single sheet of paper, the words written with an unsteady hand.

Dearest Max,

I pen this letter knowing my time on earth is coming to an end. I love you, son. I will die with a prayer for you on my lips, that you will return to the Lord and one day we will meet again.

Your loving mother

Tears stung Carly’s eyes. From what she knew, Lillian’s prayer had gone unanswered. If she’d tried harder, could Carly have led Max to the Lord? Or would she have paid dearly for suggesting he needed God and should attend church?

The choice had been Max’s to make. The consequence, his doing, yet Lillian had also paid a price for her son’s rebellion.

What would Carly do if Henry made bad choices, turned his back on God? To be both father and mother to her son weighed heavily on her, but better to rear him alone than to expose him to another bad influence, another heartless man.

“I’m sorry, Lillian. So very sorry.” With a sigh, Carly returned the letter to the envelope and closed the flap. If only she could shut out her regrets as easily.

Life was never that simple.

Please Lord, if the deed is here, help me find it.

Filled with a surge of energy, Carly scoured every nook and cranny, then left the attic. She would turn the house inside out and upside down, search every drawer, clothespress and cupboard. The deed had to be here somewhere.

* * *

What could Nate say to convince his sister that her future depended upon that deed lying on the table in front of her?

Dressed in black, her tidy bun perched high on her head and her mouth set in a stubborn line, Nate knew all too well that Anna was prepared for battle. Yet Nate knew he would win. He had logic and necessity on his side. Even his softhearted sister would see she must accept reality.

Still, that deed would force another widow from her home, from her place of business. Who would help Mrs. Richards move her things? What would happen to her and her son?

Nate steeled his spine. The widow was able-bodied and strong-minded; like a cat, she would land on her feet.

“Are you ready, sis?” he said, reaching for the deed.

Anna thrust out her hand, palm up. “I don’t want anything to do with that shop. Walt lost his life over that deed, same as his killer. And you could’ve been killed.” She shook her head as if trying to rid her mind of such ugliness.

“I didn’t want to kill Richards. He forced my hand.”

“You’d never kill anyone unless you had to,” Anna said, her tone gentle without a speck of condemnation. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want any part of that deed.”

Nate tapped his forefinger on the document. “Anna, this piece of paper means you’ll have a place to do your stitching, a business with customers ready to pay for your efforts. God’s bringing good out of bad, giving you a fresh beginning.”

“I know God’s in control and I need to trust Him, but I hate change, you know that. I’d much rather stay here.”

“The new tenants are moving in tomorrow.” He grinned. “Doubt they’re expecting a boarder.”

Anna fiddled with her handkerchief. “What if things don’t work out in Gnaw Bone? Just the name of the town makes me think twice. I’ve never run a shop before.” She shoved the deed away. “This could be a mistake.”

“Or an opportunity. Last I knew, you were mighty good with a needle. Did you make that dress?”

“Yes. I had enough black fabric to make a couple dresses and a skirt.”

“To own a dress like that would give any woman confidence. Think what your talent could mean to ladies living in a town with the name of Gnaw Bone.”

Anna chuckled. “You should consider becoming a salesman.”

With a wink, Nate scooped up the deed and slipped it into his saddlebag before Anna changed her mind, then helped his sister to her feet and out the door.

All morning Anna had dithered here and there, cleaning nonexistent dirt from the corners and under the bed. Scoured the sink, watered the flowers and garden, straightened the curtains covering the windows, putting off the inevitable.

Nate understood it was hard to leave memories behind. “Thought we’d stop at the cemetery on our way past so you can say goodbye to Walt.”

“He wanted only to give me an easier life...” Anna fell silent, blinking back tears. “Now he’s gone.”

The pain in Anna’s soft gray eyes told of her love for Walt Hankins, a gentle, unassuming man, but not much of a provider. He’d risked and lost the family farm. Then year after year, he’d toiled on this tenant farm for half the crop, barely scrimping by. Whenever Nate earned a reward, he’d sent Anna money. Money that Walt soon lost on one fool scheme after another. More than once Nate had been tempted to knock some sense into Walt. If he had, perhaps his brother-in-law would be alive today.

He inhaled the cool morning air and let his gaze travel the shed and barn, then on to the rolling fields and budding woods beyond. The nearest farm was barely visible over the next rise. With Walt gone, Nate would rest easier knowing Anna lived in town surrounded by people. Had a doctor nearby.

At the wagon, Nate tugged the brim of his Stetson low to block the glare of the rising sun, then shoved the last trunk further into the back crammed with every item Anna owned.

She turned to him, disquiet in her eyes. “I won’t know a single person in that town.”

No doubt reeling from the sudden changes in her life, his sister had grown timid, not at all like her. Once they were settled, Anna would handle the move as she’d handled every hardship in her life, with strong faith in God.

“Won’t take you long to get acquainted.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “I’ll be there ready to step in should an unhappy matron complain you made her hem too short.”

A gentle smile riding her lips, Anna laid a palm on Nate’s cheek. “My protector,” she said. “You’re always looking after me. How can I thank you?”

“Make me a cherry pie, sis, and we’ll call it even.”

“A cherry pie it is.” She accepted a helping hand onto the wagon seat. “Now, if you had a wife, she’d make all the pies you could eat.”

“Why bother, when you make the best pies anywhere?”

Nate tied Maverick to the back of the wagon, then tossed his saddlebag on the seat and clambered aboard.

He shot his sister a grin, to keep her from seeing how much the responsibility for her weighed on his shoulders. Not just for her, but for all the defenseless. He’d seen firsthand how quickly life could make a detour, how quickly life could end.

He had promised God he would do whatever it took to protect Anna.

Walt had left her with no home, no money, in a mess. Nate had spent his life cleaning up the messes others left behind.

This time he’d clean up the mess created by Max Richards and see that Anna got the future she deserved.

* * *

Up ahead, Nate caught a glimpse of a small white church, void of stained glass and steeple. Not much of merit compared to the grand churches he’d seen on his travels. Except here in this simple house of worship, at the age of twelve, he’d given his heart to Jesus. He’d been young, innocent.

No longer. The path he’d chosen stood between him and God.

He drove past the church to the cemetery, following the beaten-down grass winding between the rows of gravestones. Near the back, he stopped the team with a spoken word, set the brake and helped his sister down.

As he unhitched his horse to graze, a pair of cardinals darted into the evergreens surrounding the property. From the small barn across the way, a cow lowed. A reminder of his youth when he’d helped Pa milk their Holsteins twice a day, every day, all year long.

Nate offered his arm and Anna slipped hers through the crook. They climbed a small slope and stopped in front of the simple headstone marking their parents’ grave. Weeds grew at the base, tangling up and onto the engraved surface.

He knelt, ripped out the vines and tossed them aside.

“Who’ll do this when we’re not here?” Anna said, her voice as bleak as the black she wore.

“We’ll get back.”

Though he saw the doubt in her eyes, she gave a nod, then gathered the weeds and carried them to the compost.

As she walked on to Walt’s grave, seeking a private moment with her husband, Nate sat back on his heels at their parents’ headstone.

He traced the inscription, his fingers slipping over crevices forming the names Ephraim and Victoria Sergeant. Beloved parents. Good, hardworking, God-fearing people. They’d taken the first trip of their lives to visit Ma’s sister in Kansas. They’d never made it. Outlaws robbed the train, killing four passengers, his parents among the dead.

For what? A few dollars and a paltry sack of jewelry.

Shifty Stogsdill had been the leader of the gang.

Nate saw Stogsdill’s face in every fugitive he tracked down.

Before his parents had left, they’d asked him to look after Anna, always concerned someone would take advantage of her sweet, giving nature.

He’d tried. With everything in him, he’d tried.

A gust of air heaved from his chest. In truth, the very day Anna married Walt, Nate had left home, compelled to bring Stogsdill to justice. More than once, he’d come close to capturing the villain. But somehow Stogsdill had managed to slip away.

Then he’d met Rachel, a pastor’s daughter, a sweet, gentle young woman, and he’d gotten complacent, thinking he could trade the life of a bounty hunter for a small-town sheriff’s badge.

Until the day Stogsdill had come to Rachel’s hometown, gunning for Nate. As they’d crossed the street, Rachel had been chattering about their upcoming nuptials.

The thud of pounding hooves raised the hair on his nape. Drawing his gun, Nate whirled toward the road.

A flash of red, the glint of metal from Stogsdill’s hand.

A blast.

Nate fired just as a bullet whizzed past.

Rachel tumbled. Down, down, down.

Stogsdill’s aim had been off, a few inches to the right, and Rachel, an innocent young woman, lay on the street, her shirtwaist oozing red as life seeped out of her.

Tears stung his eyes. He’d been a fool to put aside the life of a bounty hunter for a sheriff’s job, enabling Stogsdill to track him to Rachel’s hometown. Even four years later, Nate could barely live with his failure to avenge her death.

If it was the last thing he did, Nate would see that Stogsdill got what he deserved. He couldn’t expect God to help him. Not when he had blood on his hands and vengeance in his heart.

A gentle hand pressed into his shoulder. “You okay?”

Nate slowed his breathing. “I’m fine.” He forced a smile. “And eager to see your handiwork walking the streets of Gnaw Bone.”

“Walking dresses?” Anna laughed. “That’s something I’ve got to see.”

The jingle of the horses’ harness brought Nate to his feet. “We’d better get going if we hope to reach Gnaw Bone by supper.”

As they walked to the wagon, a blue jay squawked from a tree branch overhead. Puffy clouds inched across the topaz sky. In this peaceful moment, the earth had righted on its axis.

Yet, out there somewhere, Stogsdill waited. Armed and dangerous. Nate had given up normalcy, peace, to protect the defenseless.

His grip on Anna’s arm tightened.

“Is something wrong?” Anna said.

“Everything’s fine.”

Or would be. Once Nate saw Stogsdill rot in jail or buried six feet under.

Chapter Four

The grand dame of Gnaw Bone, all three of her stacked chins quivering with intensity, leaned toward Carly. “Surely you can handle my daughter’s wedding gown and trousseau. I’ll pay you well. More money than you can earn in six months or more,” Mrs. Schwartz said, her no-nonsense tone carrying an edge.

An edge that held a warning Carly couldn’t miss.

The wealthiest family in town, the Schwartz women gave Carly considerable business. Business she welcomed and appreciated. But the sketch of an elaborate creation Mrs. Schwartz had laid on the counter wasn’t just any dress that could be whipped up in a couple of days. This confection was to be Vivian Schwartz’s wedding gown.

A spoiled young woman accustomed to the finest. In Vivian’s estimation, the finest wedding gown could only be created in Paris, France. Not Gnaw Bone, Indiana. Vivian had made that abundantly clear—twice—in today’s meeting.

The bride’s glum expression conveyed her resentment of turning to a small-town seamstress. A miscommunication with the French fashion designer meant the gown and trousseau would arrive long after the ceremony. Telegrams back and forth had riled the designer, who’d refused to rush the order. Apparently the matriarch of Gnaw Bone was no match for a Paris modiste.

Her auburn hair and pale green eyes partially hidden by a flower-festooned hat, turned up in the back and held in place by two hat pins, Vivian jabbed a manicured nail at the front and back sketches on the counter. “Can you reproduce this dress exactly as you see it here?” she said, her young voice rising to an unladylike shrill. “And I mean exactly, down to the last button.”

Carly forced a patient smile. “With less than a month till your wedding, there’s no time to send for the exact lace and silk you specify.”

“Gracious,” Mrs. Schwartz said, her ample bosom heaving, setting the ostrich plumes on her hat in motion. “We would have told you sooner if we’d known about this debacle. Surely you have something similar. At least you had a decent array of imported lace and fabric when I made the selections for my dress.”

A dress that was almost completed. Almost. And now adding a large complicated order to an already tight schedule...

Carly’s smile wobbled. “I’m sure I can duplicate the Paris design. I have a bolt of white silk and several options for lace. Would you care to look, Miss Vivian?”

“Is there no other choice?” Vivian turned to her mother, as if she expected to be whisked off to Paris that very afternoon.

The melodramatic sigh sliding from Vivian’s lips had Carly wondering if this young woman was mature enough to handle life’s disappointments, much less enter a marriage.

For Carly they’d been one and the same.

Would things have been different if she’d waited, been older, more sure of herself and her place in the world? As she was now. She would have seen Max for what he was—a man with no sense of right and wrong—and would have known to refuse his proposal.

She didn’t plan to marry again, but if she did, she’d marry a man of faith who shared her values.

Well, that thought was foolish. Besides, no such man was available.

Nate Sergeant is available.

Absurd. The bounty hunter was another Max—violent, unreliable and chasing after trouble.

“Well, are you going to show us the options?” Mrs. Schwartz asked, jerking Carly back to the task at hand.

“I’m sorry, of course.”

“Mother...” Vivian whined. “Do I have to?”

Mrs. Schwartz took her daughter’s emerald-bejeweled hand. “Yes, unless you want to postpone the wedding.”

“No! What would people think?”

“Then you must be realistic. I’m perfectly happy using Carly for my dress. She’s familiar with both our measurements, and her work is excellent.”

Vivian’s lower lip protruded. “I had my heart set on the wedding dress of my dreams.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but your dream gown wouldn’t have done you much good riding the high seas on your wedding day. To think that snobbish woman refused to rush the work, as if our order was of no consequence. The reason I prefer using Carly, thereby keeping the work in the country.”

“If you’ll follow me, Miss Vivian, I’m sure you’ll find something just as beautiful,” Carly said, leading them to her stock of the finest fabric and lace tucked inside a case, protected from sun and dust.

Across the way, Lester and Lloyd stopped scrubbing the shop window to wave at her, and then returned to the task. Even from here, Carly could see smudges they’d missed.

“This is it?” Vivian’s nose wrinkled, as if picking an unacceptable pig from a poke, but then with a sigh, she begrudgingly made fabric choices from the case and cupboards.

Carly showed her several designs for gowns and day dresses, and then entered selections into a notebook under the S page for Schwartz. “Miss Vivian, I have a record of your measurements from six months ago.”

“That should be fine. Vivian never gains an ounce.” Mrs. Schwartz handed Carly a list of the number of undergarments, nightgowns, day dresses, traveling suits and evening gowns they’d discussed. “Can you finish everything in three weeks? We’ll need a week to pack her trousseau.”

Carly couldn’t risk alienating her best customer. Yet how could she finish all these garments in time?

Somehow she’d find a way, if she had to work day and night.

What if the circuit judge ruled against her, forcing her out of the shop before she could finish this order? Carly’s hands trembled. What would she do then?

She straightened her spine. She couldn’t think about that now. “I’ll have them ready before the wedding,” she vowed.

“Thank you, Carly. You’ve lifted a terrible weight off our shoulders.” Mrs. Schwartz patted the bride’s cheek. “Now come along, Vivian, and I’ll buy you a sweet cake.”

The two women left the shop. Lester and Lloyd doffed their hats and bowed at the waist, as if greeting royalty. Were they poking fun? Or merely acknowledging what everyone knew? The Schwartz family ran the town.

The bell jingled. Lester stuck his head in the door. “We finished the window, Miz Richards. See you tomorrow, first thing,” he said, then joined his brother.

They sauntered across the street toward home; their idea of a full day apparently included an afternoon siesta.

Actually a nap sounded good. Carly dropped onto the settee, surrounded by a pile of tagged fabric and laces. This order was far more than she’d expected. Her pulse skipped a beat. If the judge ruled against her, perhaps with the money she would earn, she could entice Nate Sergeant’s sister to sell. That is, if Carly could finish all those garments in time to earn payment.

No one else in town had the expertise to create Vivian Schwartz’s wedding finery. Normally nothing would please Carly more than turning lovely fabric into fashionable gowns. But this time she might’ve taken on more than she could accomplish.

Lord, I asked for a big job, but now I don’t know how I can manage. Please help me finish in time.

Carly sighed. She’d wanted more time with her son not less. But what choice did she have?

The clock on the shelf chimed three. Soon Henry’s teacher would release the students for the day. She’d walk to meet her son, give herself a chance to think of how to proceed and to ease the tension knotting her stomach. Somehow things would work out.

She flipped the sign in the window from open to closed and hustled out the door.

Into a wall. A wall of hard muscle.

Large hands steadied her.

Heart thundering, she met Nate Sergeant’s dark gaze. “If you came back here to coerce me into giving up my shop, you’ll deal with the sheriff.”

As if he believed she might bite, the bounty hunter set her away from him and took a step back. “Quite the contrary, Mrs. Richards. I brought the deed.”

Carly closed her eyes and fought to slow her breathing before she again fainted on the ruffian. “Where is it?”

He waved a hand toward a wagon. On the seat sat a pretty woman dressed entirely in black. She was wearing a stunning black traveling suit befitting a well-dressed widow that immediately caught Carly’s attention.

Carly’s stomach dipped. The newcomer looked too much like Mr. Sergeant to be anyone other than his sister, the woman who held the deed to the shop and had lost her husband at Max’s hand.

“Mrs. Richards, this is my sister Anna Hankins.”

At the mention of Carly’s name, Mrs. Hankins gave a tentative smile, her eyes filling with uncertainty. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

With every ounce of her well-honed will, Carly fought for composure, and then said the only true and nice thing she could think of to the woman who had the power to ruin her life. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you.” Anna smoothed her skirt with gloved hands. “I designed and made it myself.”

Tiny tucks adorned the bodice, each one exactly like the next. Covered buttons down the front and on the cuffs had not the slightest pucker. The buttonholes were neat and evenly spaced. From collar to waist, the bodice fit Mrs. Hankins’s slender frame to perfection.

Apparently the woman had the skill to create exquisite clothing. Skill and time and most certainly an interest, but that didn’t mean she had the know-how to operate a seamstress shop.

“I love to sew,” Anna said. “I can while away an entire day making a dress. I’ve only done a little sewing for ladies at my church. Just pin money, really.” She waved a gloved hand at the shop. “I admire your talent for running a business.”

The compliment didn’t match Carly’s image of Nate Sergeant’s sister. “Well, thank you.”

“I know the circumstances are unusual, even uncomfortable,” Anna said, shooting her brother a pointed glance. “I’m very sorry about all that’s happened.”

The bounty hunter clamped his jaw, wisely keeping his own counsel.

“Me, too. You have my sympathy,” Carly said, her face heating with humiliation that Max had not only killed this woman’s husband, he’d threatened her life.

“As you have mine.”

Did Mrs. Hankins actually believe Carly grieved for a man like Max? “From what the sheriff said, the decision on the shop’s ownership rests with the circuit judge.”

“When’s the judge expected?” Nate Sergeant said.

Carly shrugged, refusing to discuss the matter with him and turned to his sister.

“I’d love to spend a day in your shop,” Anna Hankins said. “The idea of running a business feels a lot like jumping into a dark pool without knowing what rocks lay hidden beneath the surface.” She sighed. “I know I’d be way over my head. Not that I expect to need the information,” she added quickly, her cheeks flooding with color.

Without wanting to, Carly found herself connecting with Anna Hankins. Almost liking her. Almost.

Carly didn’t want to help this woman succeed if the judge ruled in Mrs. Hankins’s favor. Still, Carly well remembered those feelings when she’d first reopened the shop.

Anna Hankins had talent and a sweet spirit. Carly’s breath caught. Could she be God’s solution to Carly’s dilemma? She’d prayed for help making the wedding trousseau, never expecting that help to come from her adversary. But no one else had the time and that kind of skill.

“You’re welcome to spend a day in my shop.”

From the look on Nate Sergeant’s face, he found Carly’s offer startling. Had he expected her and Anna to put up their fists and fight for ownership? Probably. What bounty hunter could conceive of peaceful opponents?

If the woman worked in the shop, perhaps Carly could learn exactly what had happened at that poker game. If the judge ruled against Carly, Mrs. Hankins might agree to sell. Or as they got to know each other better, she might see that taking Carly’s shop was akin to taking food out of Henry’s mouth.

“I’ve got a big job I might be unable to manage alone,” Carly said. “Since we have no idea when the circuit judge will arrive, I suggest we set aside our differences and do the practical thing. I need help. You want to learn how to run a shop. Would you be willing to work here?”

Mr. Sergeant choked out a laugh. “You want my sister to work for you.”

“With me.” Carly folded her arms across her middle. “Proof, Mr. Sergeant, I’m not as awful as you insinuate. Working in the shop will benefit us both.” Carly arched a brow. “Maybe once your sister gets a firsthand look at running a business, she’ll change her mind about wanting that pressure.”

“Don’t think that you can—”

“I can speak for myself, Nathanial.” Anna turned to Carly. “I’d love the opportunity. Thank you.”

For the first time since Nate Sergeant had walked in her door, Carly smiled. Truly smiled. If not for the obstacles between them, she could imagine forging a friendship with Anna. “Shall we discuss the particulars inside, Mrs. Hankins?”

“Anna, please.”

“Call me Carly.”

“I’d like that.”

His fierce expression an indication of his disapproval, the bounty hunter helped Anna down. She took his arm and leaned on him as they walked toward the entrance.

With each step, Anna dipped and rose like a small sailboat on a stormy sea. Carly’s heart tumbled. Anna Hankins was handicapped. Was each step as painful as it appeared?

Max had ended Anna’s husband’s life. Now she must fend for herself. Well, not entirely, not with that gun-toting brother at her side. Still, Anna’s disability must complicate her life.

Did her lameness explain her brother’s resolve to take the shop? Carly resisted the temptation to respect this man; a brother fighting for his sister’s well-being. No, he was a bounty hunter, a violent man who didn’t deserve admiration. But also a man with regrets. Something she understood all too well.

Inside the shop, Anna moved around, soaking up every detail, oohing and aahing as she examined cases of fabric and trimmings.

She turned to Carly. “Your shop’s beautiful, prettier than I’d imagined.”

“Thank you. Would you like to see a finished gown?”

“Oh, yes!”

Carly opened the armoire and motioned to the dress hanging on a hook. “It’s just waiting for the bride to come in for the final fitting.”

“What a sweet neckline,” Anna said. “I used batiste to make my wedding gown. A cool fabric for a summer wedding.”

As Anna moved on to examine the case of gloves, out of earshot, Nate leaned in. “I understand you’re trying to protect your son. But I hope you don’t use this job as an opportunity to talk my sister into giving up the deed.”

Heat flooded Carly’s cheeks. “I merely offered her a job,” she said. “The judge will decide the rest.”

“I’ll be close by until the judge rules.”

As close as now? Two feet away? Close enough to catch his fresh manly scent. To stare into those gray, deep-set eyes. To touch that chiseled jaw and those powerful shoulders.

Everything about the man shouted danger. He’d killed Max, spent his life tracking outlaws, and now threatened her way of life. So why did she feel this strange sense of safety in his presence? As if he would allow nothing or no one to hurt her.

Had Nate Sergeant been telling the truth when the man had told Henry that he would help her?

She bit back a snort. The man would stop at nothing to see that his sister owned the shop.

Eyes sweeping every nook and cranny, a dreamy smile on her face, Anna inched toward them with hitching steps.

The bounty hunter’s gaze softened. “Now you’ve met Anna and can see her options are limited. My sister is a good-hearted soul and doesn’t want to benefit from your misfortune. It would be tempting to take advantage of her sweet nature,” he said, lowering his voice.

Carly’s gaze skittered away from those probing, suspicious eyes. The bounty hunter didn’t trust her. Had he somehow read her mind? Suspected she wanted information, even a bond with his sister in the hope Anna would hesitate to claim the shop?

Well, she wouldn’t badger Anna, but she had to find a way to protect her son.

“Anna, are you ready? I want to get settled in.”

“Yes, I’m eager to see the cabin.” She turned to Carly. “Thank you for giving me the job. I’ll be here first thing Monday morning, before the store opens.”

“If you’re not too tired tomorrow, I’d like to invite you to First Christian Church. Services start at nine o’clock.”

“Thank you.” Anna’s gaze darted to her brother. “I’ll be there.”

At the door the bounty hunter stepped aside, letting his sister precede him, then turned to Carly. “I’ll be back.” He flashed a smile. “Don’t let the anticipation overwhelm you.”

That towering hulk of a man threatened the harmony Carly prized. Yet as she stared into those eyes, an unwelcome thrill of attraction slid through her, shooting heat up her neck and into her cheeks. She groped for a rebuke that would conceal the turmoil churning inside her. “One thing I can say for certain, Mr. Sergeant. Nothing about you overwhelms me.”

He arched a brow and had the audacity to wink. As if he had read her mind and found her claim amusing.

Carly shut the door behind him, leaned against it and took a deep breath. No matter what she’d said, Carly had never felt more overwhelmed. And of all things, by a bounty hunter.

A handsome bounty hunter, her heart whispered.

She pulled away from the door and steeled her spine. A handsome, strong-minded bounty hunter who would stop at nothing to see that his sister owned this shop.

Chapter Five

The yellow mutt Nate had seen yesterday sprang from where she’d been napping on the cabin’s front stoop, as if she somehow knew where to find her next meal.

“Oh, is the dog yours, Mr. Mood?” Anna said, running a gentle hand along the dog’s ruff.

The stray leaned into her. If Nate didn’t know better, he’d say the dog was smiling.

“Well, she’s been hanging out at the livery, but from the looks of it, she’d like to be yours.”

Nate frowned. “A dog underfoot could trip you, Anna.”

Ignoring the warning, Anna lowered herself to the step and gazed into the dog’s eyes. “Do you want to live with Nate and me, girl?” The wagging tail and short yip put a wide grin on Anna’s face. “Do you know her name, Mr. Mood?”

“Nope. Been calling her ‘dog.’”

“She needs a proper name.” Anna ran her fingers through the dog’s thick fur. “Her coat’s the color of corn, of maize. I’ll call her Maizie.”

“Well, now, that’s a purty name. I’ll leave you and Maizie to get settled,” Mr. Mood said, grinning from ear to ear. “The Good Lord is working it all out, like only He can do.”

Mood had also seen Nate’s construction skill as God-sent. Now he was suggesting God had brought this pooch to their door. As if every little thing fit into a master plan.

Nate’s hands fisted. If the liveryman believed God was sovereign over every aspect of their lives, how would Mood explain Anna’s handicap and Rachel’s murder? Two women who’d never done a cruel thing in their lives.

Nothing in his life made sense except finding Stogsdill.

As soon as he got Anna settled in, Nate would make some inquiries. See what he could learn about Stogsdill’s rumored girlfriend. With the hope she’d lead him to the outlaw.

As Anna preceded Nate into the house, he averted his eyes from the rise and fall of her gait, a constant reminder of what his carelessness had cost his sister.

He owed Anna his life. She’d saved him, a careless ten-year-old boy, from the stomping hooves of runaway horses. And paid a high cost. Saving his life had ruined hers, had limited her choices. Probably the reason she’d married Walt.

Anna turned back and clapped her hands for the stray waiting in the doorway. “Maizie, aren’t you coming?”

A wag of her tail and the dog slipped in at Nate’s heels.

“Do you mean to make her a house dog?” Nate asked. “She’ll shed all over everything.”

“She’ll mind her manners and stay on the floor. Nothing I can’t sweep up in a jiffy.”

In the parlor, the afternoon sunshine flooded the room through tall windows on either side of a brick fireplace. The coat of white paint on the walls was in sharp contrast to the floor’s dark wood planks, the cracks wide enough to slip a dime between the boards.

“Isn’t this nice?” Anna gushed as she surveyed the room. “Why, the floors and tables don’t have a trace of dust. Someone’s cleaned the place. My braided rug, Mother’s Currier and Ives prints and one of Grandma’s quilts draped over the sofa will make this place homey.”

“You could make a jail cell cozy.”

Anna cocked her head at him. “Sometimes I wonder if you perceive settling down as a prison sentence.”

“Of course not.” He shifted on his feet. “You know why catching Stogsdill’s important.”

“Could you let it go? Leave his capture to lawmen?” She raised a gaze begging him to reconsider. “We’ve lost them all, Nate. Promise me I won’t have to bury you, too.”

Nate shot her a smile. “Don’t worry, sis. I’m good at what I do.” Still, if Max Richards’s bullet had been accurate, his sister would be alone now, fending for herself. “Once that shop is yours, I’ll have peace knowing that whatever happens, you can make a living.”

“What about Carly Richards? She’s a widow with a child. How can I live with myself if I take the shop away from her?”

“I’m not happy about Mrs. Richards’s plight, but you didn’t take the shop. Max Richards lost it to Walt. Walt paid for it with his life, a high price. The shop will be your future.”

That is, if the circuit judge saw things as Nate did.

Nate trailed Anna to the kitchen. Simple cupboards, large cookstove, small potbellied stove, a table and four chairs. He walked to the window over the sink with a view to the back and the alleyway beyond.

Anna clapped her hands. “Oh, look, Nate, an indoor pump!”

“Good. When I leave, you won’t have to haul water.”

“I thought you were certain I’d be living behind the shop.”

“I am, but if I should have to leave before the ownership is settled—”

“Enough of that talk. Let’s look at the rest of the cabin.”

They moved on to the bedrooms, both small but adequate, each with a double-paned window, brass double bed, built-in clothespress and chest of drawers. Not fancy, but nicer than Nate had expected.

“I’ll take the room next to the kitchen, if that’s all right,” she said.

“Fine by me.”

He walked to the window and gazed at the back of the seamstress shop, the Richards’s living quarters. The widow’s generous attitude toward Anna had surprised him. But then Anna had a way of bringing the best out of people.

“I’ll get your things,” he said, “then help you set this place to rights.”

Within minutes of his hauling trunks, boxes and crates inside, Anna had started building a nest. By the time he’d driven the team to the livery and returned to the cabin, Anna had made up the beds, topping the linens with colorful quilts.

Then set him to nailing bed sheets at the bedroom windows for privacy.

In the parlor, she draped another quilt over the sofa. Satisfied with her efforts thus far, she made a list of the supplies they’d need while he hung two Currier and Ives idyllic prints above it.

They moved on to the kitchen, where they unpacked jars of cherries, applesauce, tomatoes, beans—all canned by Anna—and stowed the Blue Willow dishes from their childhood in a cupboard, as well as all the paraphernalia needed to cook and serve a meal.

Anna shook out a tablecloth and let it float onto the scarred table. “If you can find two rods at the mercantile, I’ll make proper curtains tonight from my stash of fabric,” she said, setting a blue-striped crock in the center.

The errand would give Nate the perfect opening to ask questions. “I’ll head over there now.”

With a soft groan, Anna dropped into a ladder-back chair. The stray dog nudged Anna’s hand and got a perfunctory pat, then curled at Anna’s feet, head propped on her paws.

“You’ve overdone it. Now your hip’s bothering you.”

“I’ll rest a minute and be fine.” She glanced around her. “Once the curtains are made and up, this will look like home.”

He suspected Anna was making a home not only for herself but for him. “Don’t get too attached to the place. You’ll soon be moving behind the seamstress shop.”

“If the judge should rule the shop is mine, I won’t displace Carly and her son. The boy just lost his father. I won’t let him lose the only home he’s probably known.”

“Anna,” he said, trying to make her see reason, “this cabin will sell with the livery. Where will you live then?”

As if he hadn’t spoken, Anna handed him a list, then flapped her hands, shooing him out like a pesky fly. “Please. Get those rods and the items I need.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting her with a grin. “I’m at your service.”

Anna appeared mild-mannered, but she possessed a spine of steel. The reason she’d dealt well with her handicap, her incompetent husband and now his violent death.

“I’ll fix a nice supper. Get whatever looks good from the butcher. I intend to fatten you up.” She leaned down and patted the mutt. “You, too, Maizie.” Tail thumping against the floor, the dog raised her head, tongue lolling.

Anna probably hoped her home cooking would entice Nate to stay, as much as food enticed the stray. He had put on weight with her delicious meals. If he stayed, living a life of ease, he’d get soft. “Be back soon as I can.”

As Nate stepped onto the porch, Mrs. Richards and her son strolled toward him. The widow carried a pot, holding the handles with dishtowels, as if the metal was hot.

In three strides Nate reached her side. “Can I help with that?”

“Thank you, but I’ve got it.”

Henry beamed up at Nate. “You came back.”

“Yes, and brought my sister with me,” Nate said, unable to resist rubbing a palm over Henry’s cowlick. As soon as he removed his hand, the tuft sprang aloft.

Henry gazed up at his mother. “Is that the lady that’s going to help you sew?”

“Yes,” Carly said, her gaze darting to Nate, then away.

It didn’t take a mind reader to see her disquiet about relying on the woman who held the deed to her shop. That order she’d mentioned must be a whopper.

“I thought Anna might appreciate not having to cook.”

“Chicken and noodles,” Henry said.

“My favorite.” Nate inhaled. “Smells delicious.”

“I like chicken and noodles best, too!” Henry all but danced around Nate’s knees. “I could eat with you.”

“It’s not polite to invite yourself,” Carly said, tugging her son close, obviously unwilling for Henry to spend time with a bounty hunter. “Besides, I saved some for us.”

Nate didn’t blame her. He wasn’t someone a boy should look up to, but with Max Richards for a father, Henry had no idea what made a man admirable and might latch on to any man.

As he reached the stoop, Nate opened the door and called to his sister. He couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to sit at the table with Carly and her son. To enjoy a meal and a bit of conversation, assuming they could squeeze a word in between Henry’s little-boy chatter.

Anna appeared in the doorway. “Carly, what a lovely surprise.” She smiled at Henry. “This handsome young man must be Henry.”

“We bringed chicken and noodles for your supper.”

“How thoughtful.” She opened the door. “Please, come in.”

At his mother’s side, Henry turned to Nate. “Are you coming?”

“My sister asked me to run an errand, but I’ll see you around.”

The light in Henry’s eyes dimmed. “Oh, okay. ’Bye,” he said, taking the hand Anna offered and walking inside.

Nate tipped his hat at Mrs. Richards. “Thanks for supper. That was considerate of you.”

Her sapphire eyes held a chill. “Don’t be misled, Mr. Sergeant. If not for you, Anna would not consider taking my shop. That makes you and me adversaries. I’ll do what I must to ensure my son’s future.”

“As I will with my sister’s.”

“We understand each other, then,” she said, closing the door with a click.

Carly Richards might be hospitable to Anna, but she obviously viewed him as the enemy. She somehow knew Anna would forgo ownership of the shop if not for his insistence. And that was why he would stay until the judge ruled.

Nate strode past the livery out to Main Street. Always alert for trouble, his gaze spanned the street and buildings as he turned toward the mercantile.

Most businesses in town looked prosperous and well kept. Ruffled curtains hung on either side of the window of Sarah’s Café. A red-and-white-striped pole heralded the town barbershop. First State Bank, the name hand-lettered in gold across the glass, looked as solid as its stone facade. On down the street Nate spied a grocery and doctor’s office.

Apparently the livery was the only run-down building in town. Gnaw Bone was a nice place for his sister to settle. From what he’d seen, folks here had pride of ownership and weren’t afraid of work.

Nate stepped through the open double doors of Stuffle Emporium, the scents of spices, kerosene, soap and vinegar warring in his nostrils. He zigzagged through a maze of tables piled with stacks of readymade clothing, linens, pots and pans. Along the back wall he found wrought iron rods that would fit the bedroom windows. The curlicues on each end would please Anna. He gathered them up, along with supports and screws. No need to buy a hammer when Anna had Pa’s metal box filled with tools.

Toting his finds, he walked to the long counter. Behind it, shelves reached from the wooden floor to the stamped-tin ceiling. J. B. Stetson hats lined a section of one shelf. A brown Stetson caught his eye. An exact replica of the hat Pa had given Nate on his twelfth birthday. “When you do a man’s work, you need a man’s gear,” Pa had said, placing the hat on Nate’s head. Though his father’s praise had been overstated, Nate had worn the hat with pride and tried to live up to his words.

A lanky, tall man, his large hands folded over the apron covering his middle, stepped over and flashed a smile. “I’m Clarence Stuffle, proprietor of this here establishment. You must be new in town.”

“Name’s Nate Sergeant. My sister and I just moved into Morris Mood’s house.”

“Ah, that makes you the bounty hunter planning to fix up the livery.” He thrust out a hand and they shook. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Morris can use the help. Like an old clock, he’s harder to wind and keep a’tickin’.”

“I’m glad for the work.”

“So what brings a bounty hunter to Gnaw Bone?”

Nate had no intention of sharing his reasons. But, word would get out. “Gnaw Bone seemed like a nice little town for my widowed sister to make a new life for herself.”

“Carly Richards is doing the same. I reckon you’d know about that, having killed her husband.”

Nate straightened, holding the proprietor’s gaze.

Stuffle raised a palm. “Not that I’m not holding it against you, leastwise as long as you keep that revolver holstered. Most folks didn’t cotton to Max.”

“I’m not a threat to anyone on the right side of the law.” When had Nate spoken a bigger lie?

“In that case, welcome.” Stuffle motioned to the items Nate had laid on the counter. “Our blacksmith made the rods. A wooden rod, even a strong cord would do, but womenfolk like things fancy.” He glanced at the paper in Nate’s hand. “Anything else you need?”

Nate handed over the list. Apparently, Stuffle hadn’t gotten wind of the controversy over the shop’s ownership. Once the judge arrived, the entire town would know. If the judge ruled in his sister’s favor, as Nate expected, would Anna be an outcast? As if his occupation didn’t already bring enough censure.

Nate’s jaw tightened. He might have the skill to track and bring outlaws to justice, but he had no way to protect his sister from mistreatment. If folks gave Anna a chance, they’d like her. How could they not? She always thought of others, put them first. Still, to ensure her happiness, he would come back to Gnaw Bone as much as he could while pursuing Stogsdill.

Obviously not a man to hurry, the proprietor shuffled back and forth from the shelves to the counter, piling up the items on Anna’s list. Finally he rang up each on the brass cash register and told Nate the tally.

If Stogsdill’s rumored girlfriend lived in the area, he might’ve been in this store. “I’m guessing you don’t have many newcomers in town,” Nate said, doling out the money.

“Not many.” Stuffle shut the cash drawer, then handed Nate his change. “Reason you’re big news.”

Nate wouldn’t show the proprietor Stogsdill’s wanted poster or give the outlaw’s name. If he recognized the man, word might get out and scare Stogsdill off. Nate’s best chance was to locate the rumored girlfriend.

As Stuffle boxed the purchases, Nate leaned in. “I’ve heard an outlaw I’m pursuing has a girlfriend in these parts.”

Stuffle frowned. “Some woman from here is entertaining a criminal? What’s her name?”

“Don’t know. Can’t describe her, either.”

“Reckon finding a nameless, faceless woman is harder than locating a copper penny in a pigsty. My wife works Fridays and Saturdays. She would remember a new face in town, especially a woman. Most likely know all about her before she got out of the store.” He grinned, revealing a gap between his front teeth. “My Myra’s got a nose for news.”

“I’ll be back to speak to your wife.”

“Oh, better yet, talk to Mrs. Richards. Ladies like to ogle lace and feathers while their men do business at the bank.” He chuckled. “Or in the saloon.”

“Thanks for your help and the advice.” Nate gathered the box and strode toward the livery and the small house out back.

Tomorrow he’d stop in at Mrs. Richards’s seamstress shop to ask if she’d waited on a newcomer in town. Hopefully one of these ladies would have what he sought: a lead to Shifty Stogsdill’s girlfriend. That girlfriend could lead him to Stogsdill. A ruthless killer who’d taken Rachel’s life—a lovely, innocent young woman who’d never harmed anyone.

Until Nate brought Stogsdill to justice, he would never be free to settle down, never have a wife and children, never have the comfort of a normal existence. Nothing would make him happier than to end the outlaw’s reign of terror.

Nothing that is, except seeing Anna settled behind the shop counter with her name on the sign out front, knowing his sister had a future, even if Stogsdill saw that Nate lost his.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.