Renegade on the run

When Cort Stanton and Aubrey Huxley try to claim the same land in the Oklahoma Land Run, Cort offers a deal—one that could help him keep his freedom. After taking the blame for his brother’s crime, Cort needs to lie low, so he gives Aubrey the land for her horse ranch...if she’ll hire him. Now he just has to avoid growing too close to the gorgeous seamstress, who can never know his secret.

Aubrey refuses to depend on any man, even one as handsome and kind as Cort. Yet, as they work together to make her dream a reality, it’s impossible to imagine life on the prairie without him. And though Aubrey knows Cort has secrets that stand between them, she can’t help but wish she could stake a claim on his heart.

“It’s your land.” Aubrey’s voice cracked. “You can come and go as you wish.”

“What if it wasn’t my land? I mean, what if I let you...” Cort expected he would regret his next words. “What if I just worked a piece of it until I leave? What if you registered the land in your name?”

Miss Huxley narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying, Mr. Stanton?”

“One hundred and sixty acres is big enough for both of us, is all. What if you let me lease the land from you?”

Miss Huxley’s lips parted. She blinked several times before whispering, “You’d give it to me?”

“Sure. Doesn’t seem right that I keep it all to myself when I might—” Cort cleared his throat. “I’ll be away more than I’d be working it.” And sooner rather than later if that surveyor recognizes me.

“I—I don’t know what to say.” She clamped her mouth shut. Her lips grew thin as she frowned. “What’s in it for you, Mr. Stanton?”

ANGIE DICKEN credits her love of story to reading British literature during life as a military kid in Cambridgeshire, England. Now living in the American heartland, she blogs about author life along with her fellow Alley Cats on The Writer’s Alley blog. Besides writing, she is a busy mom of four and works in adult ministry. Angie enjoys eclectic new restaurants, authentic conversation with friends and date nights with her Texas-native husband. Connect with her online at www.angiedicken.com.

The Outlaw’s Second Chance

Angie Dicken

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.

—Ephesians 2:10

To my dad, who raised me to dream big, and to my husband, whose support is unwavering.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The Cherokee Strip

September 15, 1893

Aubrey Huxley rushed over when her father shoved his bony finger against the customer’s shoulder.

“You’re crossing a line there, boomer,” he threatened. Aubrey cringed as she approached the tense business negotiation. Of course, her brother was nowhere to be found. It was up to her to deal with Pa. Ed Huxley would try to sell a jar of the red Oklahoma dirt and label it “Gunpowder,” if it meant an easy profit. Just the same, the skinny horses with matted manes did nothing to live up to the sign tacked on the fence post: “Fastest in the West.” Yet he’d talked himself blue trying to convince any challenger that afternoon.

After all, it was the day before the land run. Thousands of settlers bustled around the sprawling camp, preparing for the next day’s race for free land. Each one had a flag, waiting to stake their claim at the precious markers dotted about the prairie. Leave it to her father to take advantage of the poor land-hungry boomers who’d need a horse to claim their own quarter section tomorrow.

She sucked in her dignity with a swallow of air. “Excuse me, sir.”

The disgruntled customer turned toward Aubrey, and her breath caught. Beneath his cowboy hat, green eyes squinted with cynicism—a handsome, stirring cynicism that made doubt look like a cool drink on a hot Oklahoma day. Aubrey doubted she’d change his opinion at all.

“Ma’am, this isn’t any concern of yours.” He smiled cordially then tipped his dusty hat. Her temptation to melt slid away with his smoldering look. She was not a pretty little fixture to be brushed off. This stubborn man, adorned with a shadow of stubble along his jaw and dark hair curling against a sunburned neck, had no idea he was dismissing the wrong girl.

Aubrey cleared her throat when he tried to turn his attention back to her father. “This is as much of my concern as it is my father’s.” But their reasons were as polarized as the sun to the moon. Her jaw ached from clamping her mouth shut day in and day out during this shady operation. Her mother would have never agreed to any of this. She was probably stomping around in Heaven knowing her beautiful horses had been sold to double Pa’s inventory with these pathetic creatures.

“Oh?” A grin hooked one corner of the man’s mouth. “Is it?” He leaned an elbow on the corral fence, which creaked beneath his weight.

“Yes, boomer.” She lifted her chin and ignored the flutter in her chest. Must he stare at her that way? She shoved her hand out for a shake. “I am Aubrey Huxley. If you have any questions, please direct them to me.” She spoke those last words through her teeth, trying to sift through the desperation in her voice. The last thing she wanted was to arouse Pa’s anger. Not when she was this close to completing her plan.

“Good day, Miss Huxley. I am Cort Stanton.” The cowboy’s grip was firm.

Aubrey tried to mimic his strength in her own grip instead of allowing it to distract her. Swooning at the first handsome man who crossed her path on the prairie would not add any courage to what she intended to accomplish.

“Mr. Stanton, please address your concerns with our horses—” she raised her voice over the yells of men pouring into the next-door tent set up as a temporary saloon “—to me.”

Mr. Stanton whistled a minty breath more pleasant than the mangy odor of her merchandise. “I’ve never been much of a businessman. But I know horses. And if you’d like to call that a horse...” He arched an eyebrow and wagged his head. “Then those pretty brown eyes of yours might need checking.”

Anger coursed through Aubrey’s veins, red-hot like the setting sun bleeding on the horizon beyond the myriad of tents. “I know horses just fine, thank you. You don’t know me, or the specimens we’ve sold before this.” Well, they were at least decent, anyway. Why was she fighting him? This would be her last day as an accomplice to her father’s schemes.

“Believe me, any specimen is finer than that one.” He threw another glance at the tawny mare and kicked his boot on the fence post.

Her father puffed out his chest, looking like he was ready for a duel, but then a holler from the saloon stole his attention. “Aubrey, take care of him.” He flung open the gate. “Got some business to take care of yonder.”

A heavy weight settled in her stomach as Pa abandoned their only customer in hours. He slipped into the pulsing tent. Exactly why she was leaving him. Just like Mama couldn’t trust him when she was alive, Aubrey couldn’t trust him to follow through, either. As much as she’d tried to revive her affection for the broken man, the ache of all he’d inflicted was too much to bear.

She’d had enough.

“So, Mr. Stanton, are you interested or not?” Aubrey folded her arms across her torso, the steam of the challenge changing its course with the wind of surrender. Her efforts to help Pa this one last time deflated, because he’d just walked out on her once more. Even if this cowboy, with his rich voice and gorgeous eyes, encouraged her to snap back, she just didn’t have it in her to continue this charade.

“Sorry, ma’am.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll have to look elsewhere.” His face softened with true regret as if he felt he owed her more. Her heart sped up at the small glimpse of compassion from the rugged man. It’d been a long time since someone showed concern for her feelings.

“Fine, then.” Why did his split-second glance of tenderness inflict such a fury of emotions deep within her? She brushed a strand of hair from her face and tucked it into her braid. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got to clean up before nightfall.” And get ready, myself.

Her nerves frenzied at the urgency of all she had to do.

First, she needed a horse. That was her only way to have a fighting chance tomorrow. The only fools who ran by foot in the last race ran the night before, even with the risk of getting shot for running early. Every time she spied the scouts guarding the line, she nearly buckled in fear.

“Are you running tomorrow?” Mr. Stanton seemed perfectly content to stay and chat awhile, even leaning up against the fence with one worn-out cowboy boot crossed over the other.

Aubrey tilted her head and studied his face for any sort of malice. While there were many good-hearted folk around, she’d met her share of scoundrels in these three long weeks. This cowboy had nothing but a kind smile.

She lifted her shoulders, arching her eyebrow.

“Just wondering.” He held his hands up like she’d threatened him. Perhaps she had. Aubrey didn’t have the restraint to control her emotions like she used to.

Mr. Stanton took out a handkerchief and wiped the back of his neck. “Just some friendly advice from one of the thousands of men running tomorrow.” He squinted into the crimson light beyond the camp then pushed away from the fence. “I think you’d do better running the race on foot.” He glanced at the horse, shook his head and then walked onto the crowded path. “Good evening, Miss Huxley.”

Aubrey rolled her eyes. Arrogant boomer.

Temptation to race the cowboy to a better horse deal pulled her toward the fence. She could cut through the tents, but she had to wait on a customer until seven. If Aubrey was any bit of her father, she’d do what was best for herself and forget the appointment. Yet she couldn’t follow Pa’s selfish way, could she?

Besides, she’d do nothing to hinder this chance to start over—to fill a dream at last, her mama’s dream. Provoking Pa to anger by shirking her duties was the last thing she wanted to do. If she did him wrong by leaving now, he’d make sure she’d pay for it. No matter how much money she’d leave behind.

Hiding among a hundred thousand men on wild horses would be her only chance to escape, whether on foot or on horseback. Either way, she would leave Pa in his misery and find land of her very own.

* * *

Cort inhaled the aroma of a mesquite campfire and tried to ignore the tug in his heart. If he’d allow his footsteps to follow his heartbeats, he’d turn himself around and insist Miss Huxley give him a chance to redeem himself. How could he treat a woman that way? Mock her mangy horses? Or worse, socializing as if he had any hint of a future to offer a woman? Her brief look of hurt after her father abandoned her had Cort almost consider a purchase of one of those miserable beasts. Perhaps then he’d see her smile. But that could be torture in itself. And between the unknown of when he’d get caught again, and the known of all that had happened, he had enough torment to contend with. His future was as bleak as the Texas Panhandle where trouble found him. No use daydreaming about a pretty smile. A woman would only complicate things.

Two boys scaled chests and furniture securely fastened to a wagon. Their creeping shadows crawled across Cort’s path. He watched the boys as they played a game of keep-away just like he’d seen his nephew do a hundred times. There was nobody more important than Trevor right now—because he was the first of a generation that could change the Stanton ways. To become noble and right. Kind. Pure. Everything the Good Book preached about that had only begun settling in Cort’s heart this past year. His brother, Charles, had promised to change, too, when Cort was arrested for that murder Charles had committed. Charles had said he’d raise his son right, and Cort had agreed to take the blame because of his nephew. A boy needed a father. The Stanton brothers knew that the hard way.

He flicked a glance over his shoulder before heading to make an offer on the stallion down by the land office. Miss Huxley busied about the corral, the burned orange light kissing her midnight hair. Cort sighed. He’d never met a woman with such a fighting spirit, yet brimming with softness beneath.

A man approached Aubrey from the many tents crowding around the makeshift corral, stalling Cort’s attempt to dismiss the lure of temptation. Perhaps Miss Huxley was taken, anyway? That’d help ease his gnawing interest.

Miss Huxley placed her hands on her hips and both she and the man focused on the mare. But before she turned toward the man, Cort saw it. The scouring look of a dangerous man.

The stranger inched closer to her, his teeth resting on his bottom lip. Words seemed to slip from his mouth, and Miss Huxley spun around. Her neck flushed crimson, and she spoke words no doubt sharpened with the same bite that Cort had witnessed earlier. The man snatched her waist, provoking a quick slap across his face.

Cort tunneled through the crammed tents and wagons. His heart pounded against his chest, and an angry heat crawled up his spine, invading his neck and ears with fire. The man, unable to keep his hands to himself, pathetically assaulted her, giving Cort the chance to redeem his own rude behavior to Miss Huxley.

“Hey now.” Cort grasped the man’s shoulder and yanked him around. The man’s surprised expression turned to one of vehemence.

“Are you her husband?” the culprit growled.

“No. But I know when a man has overstayed his welcome.” Cort returned the hateful stare, slowly moving his hand to his holster, just in case. “Leave the lady alone.”

A quick glance at Cort’s hand dimmed the spark in the man’s eyes, and he backed off. “She ain’t worth it,” he muttered and stumbled away.

Aubrey smoothed down her skirt and kept her eyes lowered.

Cort’s throat was tight. He shoved through the corral gate. The woman was a whole head shorter than him. Her ivory brow was framed by silky ebony hair gathered in a loose braid across her petite shoulder. A strand skimmed her lowered nose. Cort clenched his teeth. The desire to gather that rebellious hair between his fingers and tuck it behind her ear rattled his senses. He tried to take a step back, but her dainty aroma of lavender soap tempted him to stay close. He breathed deeply. His hand lifted regardless of the battle within him, and he reached out to tilt her chin up. Was she crying? Or, perhaps, humiliated by that man’s forwardness? Aubrey lifted her eyes and met his gaze.

He jerked his hand back to his cowboy hat and tipped it. “Are you okay?”

Her chocolate eyes were perfectly dry, and her mouth was set in a curt rosy smile. There was nothing unsure about this woman. She even held her shoulders in a soldier-straight line, her chin perfectly angled in confidence. Only a slight ripple across that ivory brow softened her cool demeanor. Cort swallowed hard. This woman intimidated him, no matter that he was nearly twice her size and towering over her.

“Thank you, Mr. Stanton. I do believe I could have handled him, though.” With a large grin, she patted her skirt pocket and eyed his holster.

Torture. The smile brought torture just as he’d expected.

He nearly shoved his hands in his pockets. “Good to know you’re not a woman to be messed with.” The horse behind her whinnied and stomped its knobby leg. “I’d better let you get back to your business, Miss Huxley.” He stepped back. Yes, that was the wise thing to do. Walk away.

He didn’t need any prospective distraction. If he gave himself an inch, the implications would be a mile long and would hurt more than the torturous smile that now burned in his memory. But as much as he tried to focus on the busyness of settlers around him, he couldn’t escape from the Aubrey-induced fog in his mind.

Could a woman clothed in such God-given beauty be so utterly content in her own skin, even in the face of strange men on the wild prairie? Perhaps Cort had been around too many women who used their looks only to gain advantage or a marriage proposal. But it didn’t seem that Miss Huxley depended on her outward beauty in any way, exuding only a strength he could hardly reckon with in his baffled state.

“Wait!” She rushed up to him and put a hand on his arm. “Are you on your way to buy a horse?”

Cort dared a look in her bright eyes. “I am heading over to the dealer by the land office.”

“Mind if I join you?” She glanced away and scrunched her nose. Her petite frame lifted with a deep sigh. “I mean, I’d like to see the competition.” The words came out as more of a question than a statement.

“You think you’ll have much more business out here?” He looked beyond her shoulder at the deep pink clouds painted with the setting sun. “I mean, the race is at noon tomorrow.”

“You haven’t found your horse yet, Mr. Stanton.” She crossed her arms, cocking her head to one side. “Who’s to say that there aren’t a few more negotiations left tonight?”

“You have quite an eye for business, don’t you, Miss Huxley?”

She looked over her shoulder. “One day I hope to use it for my own ranch.” When she looked up at him, there was a flush in her cheeks and her eyes brimmed with moisture. “May I join you, Mr. Stanton? Please. I...I just need to get away.” Her soft admission allowed him a glimpse of her vulnerability in that moment. Cort’s fierce desire to protect her was stronger than it had been just moments ago in the face of that rascally man. But now, he had no idea what he would protect her from. Just that there was something threatening her strength.

He held out his elbow and she placed her small hand in the crook of his arm.

“Thank you,” she said as they strolled forward.

When they arrived at her competitor’s corral, the owner rode up on a slightly older male horse. Cort worried that his own advice to Miss Huxley about it being too late to buy a horse was his own fate.

“Sir, didn’t you have a stallion earlier?”

Miss Huxley left his side and went up to the horse as the owner dismounted.

“Yes, sir. He’s out back. Got this one for sale, too. Just purchased him from a poor guy who’s been struck by the heat and won’t be racing tomorrow. Paid a pretty penny.”

“You have two horses for sale?” Miss Huxley’s voice cracked, and her face lit up like she’d stumbled across gold. When her gaze crossed Cort’s, she cleared her throat and brushed her fingers through the horse’s fine black mane.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s back behind the tent. Those boys over yonder were getting him all stirred up.” He began to jaunt across the dusty dirt. “Let me bring him ̓round.”

Miss Huxley stayed by the horse, stroking his nose. A loud whinny from behind turned Cort’s attention to the stallion being led by its owner.

After negotiating a price, they both paid for the horses. Aubrey was content with the older male, while Cort paid a little more for the stallion.

“You will do wonderful in the race with that horse,” she said over her shoulder as she led her own horse out of the gate. “Wish I could see him run.”

“Maybe you can come see me off.” Cort chuckled. A pain reached across his chest—something he’d much rather focus on than the dangerous trail of thought leading his senses astray. The good Lord may have softened this ranch hand, but his edges were still rough. Cort was certain if he let anyone get too close, they’d feel the sting. And he promised himself no more regret. He had enough already. It was too much to bear most days.

She stopped her horse and spun around. A mischievous grin appeared. “Don’t think I’ll be around to see you off. But I do wish you the best, Mr. Stanton.” She walked up to him and offered an awkward handshake. “I think I’ll cut through between the tents and head behind the corral. Don’t forget us if anyone needs a horse.”

“That one is sure to be gone soon,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow, and he did the same. What was she thinking? Or plotting? “We also have goods for sale like saddle soap.” She clutched her skirt, avoiding a puddle near a water trough, then briskly led her horse out of view. Not a trace of lavender left in his dim surroundings.

Good. Only good would come from widening the distance between himself and Miss Huxley. He tried wrapping his mind around the relief of avoiding heartache since his days of freedom might be limited. If she knew he was an outlaw, she wouldn’t stick around long anyway. They’d never see each other again, and that realization should be a salve for his wounded soul.

Then why did he feel like he was walking away from hope when Aubrey left him behind in the fading light of dusk?

Chapter Two

Aubrey couldn’t sleep. Pa had returned to his own tent clear after nightfall and was snoring loud and long. How did her brother, Ben, put up with it? How could he put up with many of Pa’s ways like he did? Ben was eighteen and a little puppet for their father.

She tried to breathe in rhythm with the snoring next door, but could only grimace with her effort. Her eyes caught the outline of her flag sticking out of her bag. She tried focusing on the waiting land and on staking her claim, but Cort Stanton crept into her mind. Even if she was offended by the cowboy at first, Cort had redeemed himself when he came to her rescue. She’d never let on what it meant to her.

But it meant something. It had been a long time since someone looked out for Aubrey Huxley. After Mama passed away, she’d never felt cared for. Not until this afternoon when that handsome cowboy threatened that horrible man at the corral did Aubrey realize how much she longed for such honorable attention.

The sound of nearing footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Who was about at this time of night? Maybe sooners? In past land races, they’d been known to steal into the night looking for land—would they take a horse also? As she dressed, she slipped her pistol into her pocket, ready to fight for her new horse.

The warm night air was coated in fire smoke and murmurs of folk preparing for tomorrow.

“Hey there, sis.” Ben startled her before she could look for a prowler. He held open the flap to his and Pa’s tent.

“Were you walking around just now?” She peeked about the corral, then quickly glanced behind her tent. Her horse was still tied to the hitch. She blew out her tension. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was trying to convince that neighbor to take our last mare.” Her eighteen-year-old brother was taller and broader than their father, but he wasn’t much different than Pa. Always ready to help his father take advantage of a customer. “Wouldn’t budge. Ah, well. Guess Pa will have to sell her back in Kansas.”

“Or you can. Maybe get that money for your wedding. Liza’s already got the dress,” she said, recalling the details she’d sewn on the gown.

“Yeah, true.” He scratched his head as he peered at his boots. He leaned forward, whispering low, “You sure you’re going to run tomorrow?”

Her throat thickened. “Course I am. And you promised to keep Pa from looking for me. I left the money I earned for sewing in the bread box. If only I’d found Mama’s savings for the ranch. Can’t stand knowing that if he finds it, he’ll squander it.”

Ben shrugged. “You don’t have to leave at all if you don’t want to.” His forehead crinkled.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ll write. Just as soon as I’m settled.” He returned the hug then stepped back and opened the tent, releasing Pa’s heavy snores as he disappeared inside.

Aubrey’d never fall asleep now. She meandered toward the campfire lighting up the clearing just beyond their fence. In the flickering light she could make out a few men crouched down in a huddle, no doubt planning their route tomorrow. Two of the women she’d grown acquainted with this past week rocked their babies on one side of the fire. They’d brought their children over to pet the horses and make small talk.

Aubrey took careful steps as she neared them, wanting to say goodbye but not wanting to disturb their sleeping infants. Someone else caught her attention, though. All by his lonesome, Cort Stanton sat on a barrel, reading a book. What was it about Mr. Stanton, besides those emerald eyes and compassionate grin? Tiny flutters filled her stomach.

He caught her staring at him across the fire. “Evening, Miss Huxley.”

She stepped around the steady flames, lowering her face as humiliation washed her from head to toe. Gathering breath in her lungs and willing her heartbeat to calm down, she gave him a curt smile upon her approach. “Good evening, Mr. Stanton.” He stood up and tipped his hat. “What are you reading there?”

Good. He’d think her blatant attention toward him was out of curiosity for his book choice.

He held it out beneath a sincere smile. “The Good Book. Nothing better.” He winked.

Aubrey swallowed. “I see. And I must agree.” Her shoulders relaxed. He offered her his seat, pulling up a wooden crate for himself. “Shouldn’t you be resting for tomorrow?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He gave a slight wince as he stared off into the fire. “There’s a lot at stake tomorrow.”

“Yes, there is.” What if she didn’t get to the land she’d need to fill Mama’s dream? “What kind of land are you looking for, Mr. Stanton?”

“Just land. I want to work and live. That’s all.” He looked down at his Bible.

“Yes, me, too.” She bit her lip. “I mean, working and living are what I want also.”

He narrowed his eyes her way. “You are racing, aren’t you?”

She gave a quick nod. “If my father found out, he’d ruin my chances to run. Can’t risk anyone knowing.” Aubrey wagged her head and let out a sigh. “Guess you know now. You and my brother are the only ones.”

“It’s okay. I won’t say a word. Believe me, I know how to keep a secret.”

“You do?” She arched her eyebrow, feeling a connection with this near stranger. He didn’t pry, just gave her assurance.

“It’s the only reason I’m here, Miss Huxley. To keep a secret safe and sound.” His face hid beneath the brim of his cowboy hat and he turned to the next page of his Bible. “And the funny thing is, my brother’s the only one that knows about it, too.” His jaw clenched, and he shook his head.

“Seems we have much in common, Mr. Stanton.” She didn’t look at him, just stared into the flame.

“Miss Huxley.” He said her name in a rich, deep tone. Aubrey met his gaze. Fire danced in his intent, lively eyes. He opened his mouth as if he’d speak, then shut it again. His face grew dim with a sorrowful smile. “Be careful tomorrow.”

“I will,” she said. “You, too, Mr. Stanton.” What was it about this man that made her feel safe? “Good night.” As she walked back toward her tent, she wondered why he hesitated. What was he going to say? Would he have shared his secret just like she shared hers? Whatever it was, she’d be careful to stay clear of that cowboy on the start line tomorrow. Her finely crafted defense from years of dealing with Pa’s shenanigans quivered next to this man.

As she neared her tent, a whinny came from her horse. She held her breath, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Pa and give away its hiding spot. Thankfully, the snoring continued.

Only a few more hours and Pa would find the note and the money. Her brother would keep him calm. Ben had promised he would after she made the wedding dress for his sweetheart without payment. Soon, the Huxley men would be back up in Kansas where they belonged, and Aubrey would have a piece of the Cherokee Strip.

She couldn’t resist a smile as she ducked inside her tent.

Readying for tomorrow morning, she carefully placed her pistol in her bag. As she sat on her cot, she strained her ears. Did she hear whispers on the other side of her canvas wall? She stilled every breath and movement, hoping her imagination had got the best of her. Nothing but cargo and her horse were on the other side of the tent. It was a perfect hiding place from Pa and anyone else. Or so she’d thought. Another very loud, very real whinny startled her quieted body, and she sprang from her bed. Rummaging through her bag for her pistol, Aubrey burst into the darkness.

She kept her eyes lowered, careful to not trip over any tent stakes. When she came round to the back of the tent, her heart plummeted to her stomach.

Her horse was gone.

Rattled by anguish, she nearly lost her grip on her bag. Could all these months of planning slip away with a rotten thief? She thought about the years of marriage her mama had endured with a thief. Her anger grew. Her mama’s dream was so close to coming true, she’d not let anyone get in her way.

Her legs had never moved so fast. The warm prairie air tunneled through the alley of tents. She barreled into the open at the edge of a lonely grove of post oaks. About twenty yards away, she spied a shadowy figure of a man climbing on top of her horse near the perimeter of the encampment.

“Hey! That’s my horse,” she whispered loudly, acutely aware that the camp behind her was asleep and the scouts ahead were no doubt awake. They most likely waited along that charcoal-gray horizon, ready to fire at sooners trying to run early.

The thief turned his head then leaned down close to the body of the horse. Surely he knew the danger ahead. But before she could reach him, he darted into the forbidden prairie. Her temples pulsed with fiery blood at the sheer obstinacy of the thief. She couldn’t let him get away with this. There was no way another crooked man would take away her mama’s dream to build a ranch so easily.

Lord, protect me.

She screwed her face up as if she were about to enter a tightly spun briar patch and ran into the black of night. Prayer sprouted from her heart as she ran, begging God that the scouts were sound asleep. She sliced through the warm night air, keeping her eye on the tiny figure ahead. Sweat slid down her hairline and across her jaw. She licked her lips, tasting the salt of her perspiration. Soon, her eyes blurred. Was it sweat or tears? She couldn’t tell, but there was no doubt that her eyes wept at the effort. The fright of being out in the open hung in the back of her mind. She dared not look back to see how far she was from Camp Kiowa now.

Her legs couldn’t push her through the tall grasses fast enough, and the thief grew smaller, disappearing for a moment. The distance between them seemed to stretch as wide and vast as the prairie, shrinking Aubrey’s hope. He wouldn’t get away with this, would he? She couldn’t let him. No, she’d get her horse back—for Mama.

An explosive shot rang out. The silhouette of her horse lifted up on his hind legs, not as far away as she’d expected. A muted whinny met Aubrey’s pulsing ears as she dropped to her stomach. Before tucking her head behind a stand of tall grass, she spied her horse, riderless, galloping across the horizon, running as fast as her dreams of racing tomorrow crumbled.

How could she even try to catch him? He was spooked by the gunfire. Did the rider take a bullet? A flood of terror and uncertainty filled her heart. She just wanted her horse back. Now blood was spilled and her horse was frightened away.

She squinted, hoping to catch another glimpse of her horse’s silhouette. Jagged sobs filled her throat as the weeds scratched her cheek. Her heart thumped hard against the packed soil. The earthy aroma filled her nostrils as she dragged herself toward the direction of her horse.

The ground beneath her began to rumble, and every inch of her stiffened again.

“I didn’t find anything,” a man called out.

“We’ll find him in the morning. I know I got him. Probably wounded,” another man said. “Let’s go to the watering station and then return to our posts. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” Their horses’ trotting faded as they rode away.

When she was certain only stillness filled her surroundings, she relaxed her clenched fists and stilled her grinding teeth. She continued crawling through the coarse grass. If she could just find her horse, she’d return to camp and run the race. The moon was bright now. While her eyes adjusted, her ears played tricks on her. She cocked her head. What she thought was a whinny ended up being a distant train whistle. The locomotive’s rhythmic trudge across the land gave it away. She crawled forward but stopped at a nearby rustle ahead.

A wave of fear skittered across her heart.

Just a few feet in front of her, boot soles inched forward through the tall grass. A white flag was tucked in the back pocket of the culprit, bobbing in and out of view. Aubrey’s nostrils flared and she bit her lip, scouring the contents of her shoulder bag. She’d packed her flag issued by the land office earlier at camp. Now it was gone. A wave of realization struck her like a twister hitting the ground. All her fright turned upside down.

She knew the thief all too well.

When she was close enough to grab his familiar boot, her courage bolstered, she lunged forward, hooking her arm around his neck.

“Ben Huxley. How dare you?” she seethed in his ear as he tried to wriggle away. Years of wrestling him gave her the advantage of surprise. He splayed flat, giving up immediately.

“Get off, Aubrey.” He tried squirming, but she tightened her grip on his neck and dug her knee into his back.

“Why would you steal from me?” Her voice wobbled. Emotion was thick in her throat. “I am so disappointed.” She let go with as much force as she’d tackled him, then snatched her flag out of his back pocket. The storm inside her drowned out the fear of being caught now. She sat up and draped her arms across her knees.

Ben sat up carefully, rubbing his neck. “I just got tempted. The thought of having land to sell...”

He was just like her father. Bending the rules, hurting those who might love him, all for his own gain.

“I thought I could trust you with my plan.” She should have known better. There was not a man in the world she could trust.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Got spared back there. Heard the bullet whiz by my ear.” His hand was shaking as he rubbed the side of his stubbly face. “I give up. You can keep the flag.”

“Oh, really?” She fiddled with the one-by-one post. “Of course I can keep it. It’s mine! Now I need to figure out how to get my horse and get back to camp without being killed.”

She looked across the horizon behind her. No horse in sight. The sky was silver with the onset of dawn. Sadness overwhelmed her.

“There’s something I wanna show you, Aubrey,” Ben whispered.

She wouldn’t budge. Defeat bolted her to the warm ground.

“Come on, sis. It’ll make up for all this, promise.”

He began to crawl deeper into the prairie.

“Wait. Aren’t you going the wrong way?” She tried to grab his ankle but he was too quick.

“I’m not going back and risk crossing those scouts’ path,” he said.

He was right. She felt trapped between her dream and the law. How did this happen? Because she was a Huxley. That was how.

Ben stopped and sat up again. “Look. Saw it as I rode. Just before the scouts shot at me.” Ash-colored light peeled away the darkness of night more rapidly now. Aubrey followed his pointing finger. A flutter of movement hooked her gaze and quickened her heartbeat.

A marker, just like the land official had explained when she registered for the race, stood by its lonesome about half a mile away.

The marker waited for her like a treasure.

Ben poked his head above the prairie floor, swiveling as he spied all around them. “Come on, Aubrey. It’s safe. Let’s stake your claim.” He stood up.

“Wait!” Aubrey tackled him to the ground. “You might have forced us into this situation, but I am not breaking any more rules. We’ll wait until noon.”

“You and your rules,” he grumbled. She narrowed her eyes and waited for him to relent. He flicked his head, and she crawled past him.

Just beyond the marker, they came to the top of a steep bank. They slid down. Relief coursed through her now that they were no longer in the open. A shallow stream snaked through the narrow creek bed. They crept along some rocks and came to a bend where the bank had eroded and left a cave-like nook. A perfect hiding place. Aubrey crawled inside the nook first. Ben cozied up next to her, his head skimming the muddy ceiling while his body blocked most of the opening. Aubrey’s eyes pricked with exhaustion.

“If we wait just past noon after the race begins, then I’ll stake my claim fair and square. At the same time as everyone else.” She brushed off dirt from her skirt and rubbed her tired knees.

“Don’t you worry, sis. I’ll make sure you do.” Ben yawned.

If she could only believe that. Last night was proof that she needed to get away from the likes of Ed and Ben Huxley. Even yesterday, he was nowhere to be found when that customer had tried to take advantage of her just before Cort Stanton came to her rescue. The handsome cowboy’s gallant gesture shone bright amid the dark memories of all the times her father had proved he couldn’t care less. Mr. Stanton didn’t know her at all, and yet he’d tried to help her in a time of need. If she had made it to the land race this morning, would she have been tempted to find him on the line?

Aubrey pushed her back into the packed dirt and closed her eyes, shoving away any more thoughts about the handsome distraction. Ben’s breathing was slow and rhythmic, lulling her to a dreamy state. They hid out in this little nook that she’d soon own. Chills squirmed their way up her crouching spine. Miss Landowner. Mama would never believe it. Aubrey couldn’t contain her smile. She spied the other side of the creek bed through the crowded opening. Untouched soil, wild grasses and freedom.

She was in the same sleepless predicament as she had been back at camp. How could she manage to rest at a time like this?

But when her eyes grew heavy and her smile faded, there was only one thing to do before sleep invaded her. She forced a little prayer:

Wake me up when it’s time to stake my claim. Quarter past noon would be best.

* * *

He really shouldn’t do it. The intense glare of sunshine promised the day would be agonizing enough. During the morning of the race the only thing Cort should be doing was preparing for his venture on the prairie—finding his spot among the other settlers, waiting for the start and then racing to land of his own. Why did he choose to go find Miss Huxley instead?

He did run out of saddle soap. That was a good excuse. A fine reason to visit that shoddy corral and its beautiful owner once more. But, as he went against the flow of settlers, away from the starting line, he knew his notorious Stanton bloodline would be the death of him. He was just drawn to making wayward decisions, it seemed.

The Huxleys’ tents were all sealed up, but Mr. Huxley was outside, his feet propped up on a barrel as he snoozed in a rocking chair. Two old horses knocked around an empty pail with their dusty noses, and the gate of the corral swayed in the hot wind. Cort approached, closing the gate behind him. He pulled off his hat as he walked up to the old man.

“Excuse me, sir?” he said, but the man kept snoring. Cort spied the saddle soap on a table under a small canopy. He went up to the closed-off tent and cleared his throat. “Uh, Miss Huxley?”

He felt as ridiculous as a schoolboy trying to prove himself to be a man. He crammed his hat on his head. He could do without the saddle soap. As he turned, his boot crushed a piece of parchment.

It was crumpled up in the red Oklahoma dirt. He blew it off. It was a letter, not addressed to him, yet he couldn’t help but read the elegant handwriting:

Dear Pa,

By the time you read this, I’ll be riding in the race, praying that I have the chance to find some land of my own. Ever since Mama passed, I’ve wanted to honor her with a proper horse ranch of her dreams. I know you weren’t able to give that to her, but as her daughter, I must try.

Please don’t look for me. I am twenty-two years old and need to find my own way apart from you and Ben. I have left you the last of my savings from sewing, which should help with your expenses to get back home and even buy a couple decent horses for profit. That’s the last I can offer you, Father. I’ll send word once I am established. Take care of Ben. He needs you, and you need him. But right now, I just need to do this on my own.

Your daughter,

Aubrey.

Cort let out a long whistle. Mr. Huxley slept in his rocker even though his daughter had just bidden him farewell forever?

Cort and Aubrey had talked about their secrets last night. Aubrey’s was out in the open now. The hope Aubrey had kindled in him as they parted ways last night flooded him now. He wondered what it might feel like to have his secret out. Sure, it would clear his name. Give him a chance at freedom, but at what cost? If he told anyone the truth, he’d risk the chance of his brother being taken away from his young family forever. Cort would never forgive himself.

No. His innocence would never be found out. It would jeopardize his brother’s freedom and his nephew’s future.

He lifted his gaze from the letter to the distant horizon already shimmering in the heat.

She was somewhere along the start line, ready to build a ranch of her own. Now that Cort was a praying man, he said a prayer for Aubrey’s safety. And then, against his own reasoning, he prayed that one day they’d meet again. He couldn’t look for her today, but one day. And he hoped it would be a day he wasn’t ruled by the fear of the law catching up with him. Perhaps when he was certain of his freedom, he might even share his life with a woman like Aubrey Huxley by his side.

He shook his head. Dreaming was no pastime for a cowboy who’d run out of chances. He may be free now, thanks to his dear friend Sheriff Conway, who’d allowed him to escape that prison fire and run away. But now that the sheriff had died of typhoid, he didn’t stand a chance against the rest of the state of Texas. Cort Stanton could outrun his fellow land seekers, but he couldn’t outrun his past. If anything, he should pray that God would keep him far away from Miss Huxley.

Before he left the corral, he crumpled up the paper again and threw it down where Mr. Huxley had tossed it. He would only focus on the race now.

The swarm of settlers fled the camp, yanking their whole lives in wagons, carts and packs. Cort was blessed in that way. He had nothing but what was in his small pack. Once he untied his horse and led him to the start line, he swung himself on top of his saddle. The anticipation around him frenzied like a kicked beehive. It was a day of all days. The day where he would cling to living and leave everything else behind. Live in the moment and do what he did best. Work the land.

“Whoa, boy.” He tried to calm the horse as he kept his place in the bulging line. It was tough to expect much from the animal amid the chaos, but talking to him was at least calming Cort’s own nerves.

Was he really this close to possessing his own piece of land? His heart stuttered. Just two years ago he was content working someone else’s land clear up in Wyoming. But now?

He loosened the bandanna around his neck. Either the heat was getting to him, or his conscience was starting early. Usually, he did well to not think about it until the quiet of nightfall. Perhaps the quieting mass as they neared noon gave him too much room to ponder. Ironic to think of this as a thought-provoking place. He was packed in between thousands of horses, hundreds of carts and sweating settlers hungry for what a fourteen-dollar registration fee bought them—a slim chance at acreage. A baby’s cry pierced the aggravated silence. Regret niggled in Cort’s core while he tightened the grip on his reins, leaning forward as most everyone did around him. He’d yet to have a family to provide for. Would he ever? His costly mistakes before now may have jeopardized any chance for that.

Aubrey Huxley slipped across his mind again. How could one woman have such an effect on him in such a short amount of time? One thing was certain: he could not endanger her happiness by linking his future with hers. No, he couldn’t pull anyone else into his life now.

His horse slung his head back and snorted.

When an explosion coursed through the stifling heat and the line lurched forward, Cort kicked his horse to a roaring gallop. He left behind the billowing dust and toppling wagons, focusing only on one thing—staking his claim where God knew best.

Chapter Three

Aubrey woke up with a gasp. Ben was leaning most of his weight on her, blocking any view to the creek bed.

She shoved him. “Wake up.” The air was hot and the light outside was a bold afternoon shine, not a weak morning glitter.

What time was it?

Ben stretched his arms, but Aubrey couldn’t wait. She scrambled over him, elbows and knees battering her brother in the process.

“Ow!”

“We overslept. I know it.” Her voice was as hoarse as the train whistle in the distance. She grabbed her sack and ran down the creek. “Come on, Ben. Look at the sun. Is it straight above?” She refused to consider that it was on more of a western crawl.

Please, let there be time.

She heaved the sack on the higher ground then pulled herself up. The clip-clop of hooves grew louder, louder still. Her heartbeat skipped ahead of the noisy gallop. Upon the horizon, a man appeared, racing straight toward the marker.

“No!” She yanked out her stake from her sack and clambered to her feet. Her legs were weak from the marathon run last night. As she took her first stride, her knees buckled. The rocky ground met her splayed hands while the stake lay without purpose just beneath her.

“Are you okay?” Ben rested a hand on her shoulder.

Aubrey whipped her head around and screamed, “Go!”

Her hands burned like fire, yet she could only focus on one thing—the man leaping off his horse and racing her brother to the marker.

Ben was closer—she was sure of it. That was, until the man swiped the marker away and lifted his stake above his head. When he pierced the ground, Aubrey’s dream came crashing down like pouring rain after the final crack of thunder.

Everything she had planned—to break free from her father, to revive her mama’s dream, to make something of this life—slipped into a sour memory. Her stomach twisted. How could this happen?

A wild groan erupted from Ben. He flung himself at the man, wrapping his arms around the man’s knees. They rolled away from the stake and Ben’s fists pounded into his opponent. Aubrey knew Ben’s effort was futile. The man had claimed the land. Nothing would change that. Yet a swell of awe struck her as her brother fought—for her. But when Aubrey spied the man’s holster on his hip, panic puffed her with fear.

She must warn her brother. “Stop!”

Ben looked up from the brawl and the other man hunched over, his shoulders heaving with big breaths. Ben’s brows turned downward into a sharp V. She’d seen that look when he was planning a devious scheme. She began to take brisk strides toward him. He couldn’t continue, especially with the rightful owner retreating. Before she could speak, Ben swiveled around and barreled toward the unaware stranger. His head lodged in the man’s ribs. Grunting and groaning eclipsed Aubrey’s screams. Ben wouldn’t relent. Every time the man tried to escape, he’d clutch at him.

“Ben Huxley. You stop this instant,” Aubrey yelled from the back of her throat. The man tried to push him off, and Ben’s foot slipped from under him. He didn’t let go. Suddenly, they fell in a heap, Ben trapped under his opponent. The thud shook the ground beneath Aubrey’s feet.

She ran to them. “Ben, are you okay?” The man rolled off. Her brother lay there, moaning and reaching for his leg. “Ben, talk to me.” His leg was bent in an awful shape and his eyes fluttered open then rolled back.

“Ben!”

Slapping his face did nothing. His head became a heavy boulder in her arms.

Silence hung in the air, thicker than the dust that refused to settle from the fight. It seemed everything floated in a trapped moment of time. Aubrey listened as Ben’s heart began to slow from its quickened beat. The same rhythmic breathing from earlier this morning tickled her arm as she swiped away his hair to check for any open wounds. She tried to gently shake him awake.

His eyes fluttered open. Then he screwed his face up, reaching his hands down toward his legs. “It hurts, sis.”

“Just don’t move. We’ll get you help.”

A shadow blanketed her. Aware of her vulnerability now, Aubrey held her breath and skimmed her gaze upward. The man stood with a ray of sunshine around his silhouette. His body was indeed a shadow, dark and indistinguishable against the bright Oklahoma sky.

“Is this man with you?” His voice rolled away Aubrey’s timidity. She knew that voice. Her mouth fell as she tried to make out his features.

She swallowed hard and said, “He’s my brother.”

“Miss Huxley, I didn’t mean for it to go this far.” Cort Stanton squatted in front of her, and his face came into focus. His chiseled cheeks and strong jaw were covered in a thick layer of black dust, no doubt from the stampede of horses at the race. His green eyes pierced hers eagerly. There was that compassion again. He swiped his hat from his head, hanging it on his knee. “I tried to step away. I—I...” A crease appeared between his eyebrows, and he placed a hand on her arm. “I am so sorry.”

Aubrey stared at his strong, sun-stained hand—brown against her cotton sleeve—the hand of a hard worker but the soft touch of a dear friend. “He’s in pain, Mr. Stanton.” She searched his face once more for any sign of malice. If only she could find it then she wouldn’t feel so bad that he was the one person who’d destroyed her chance to own land.

His face transformed with an apology, but it would never be enough to comfort her. After all she’d gone through, she’d not only lost her one hundred and sixty acres, but injured her brother in the effort. A tender look on a handsome face did nothing to soothe her broken heart or restore her shattered dream.

“I can’t tell if you’re devising a plan of revenge, or if stealing my breath away is revenge enough.” Cort managed a smile that would’ve tempted many a woman to swoon and forget their current situation. But Aubrey was not just any woman. His charm only trivialized her loss.

“I do not intend to devise a plan.” She cleared her throat. “My only plan is ruined.” All her hope skittered away when he staked her claim.

Aubrey encouraged her brother to rest then carefully left his side. She brushed off her skirt, making sure her ankles were hidden away. Her world might be falling apart, but she needn’t lose her dignity. Her boots crushed the grasses as she headed toward her belongings. Sensing Mr. Stanton following her, she stopped and spun around.

“Do not accuse me of stealing away your breath, or anything, for that matter.” Aubrey leveled her gaze, her nose just barely aligned with Mr. Stanton’s dimpled chin. “ I am the one who’s been robbed. My horse was taken before I even had a chance to run. And another thing has been stolen right beneath my nose. Thanks to you, Mr. Stanton. You, sir, have stolen my land.”

* * *

Cort didn’t understand how delusion could look so beautiful. Under no circumstance was this Aubrey Huxley’s land. He glanced at his flag flapping in the hot breeze, looked about the land, then tilted his face toward her. “I am confused. How’s this your land?”

Miss Huxley flared her nostrils and narrowed her eyes. The prettiest little “hmph” came from behind her lips. She flicked her dark hair over her shoulder, freshening the air with the scent of spring flowers, then took brisk strides and snatched up her lifeless flag.

He eyed her brother’s crooked leg.

Please, Lord, forgive me for hurting him. I tried not to—

Cort’s horse grunted behind him. “Hey there. Decided to stick around?” Loyal after a day? What a creature. He hitched him to a tree. Cort had thrown himself off so fast when he’d seen the man running for the flag, he didn’t even consider his horse’s whereabouts. His only belongings were strapped to the back of the horse. And really, nothing was worth much in a change of clothes, cooking utensils and some blacksmith tools. But his pay from horseshoeing these last couple of months would get him started on building. His fingers itched to work land of his very own.

Miss Huxley tied a bonnet around her hair, the straight long locks fanned out upon her shoulders. If ever there was a beautiful mess, it was those dark strands catching the breeze.

Enough, Cort.

Where in the world had his reason gone?

Miss Huxley returned to her brother. Kneeling down, she held her hand high above his face, seemingly blocking out the sun. A whimper bleated from her lips, and her tiny figure began to tremble. She was crying. He steeled himself. He did not need to be a hero right now by rushing to her side to console her. Besides the fact that every fiber in his being told him to do just that and he couldn’t trust himself, he was tired of what she did to him when she was close. To see those large brown eyes swimming with tears? Well, that would be the end of him.

“Miss Huxley, I’ll get some water for him,” he offered and didn’t wait for her answer before heading toward the creek. When he returned, Miss Huxley approached him with her own canteen in hand. A crude tent made from a quilt draped over an upright shovel and her unused stake shaded the injured man.

“Here.” He handed her his canteen.

“Thank you.” She hesitated. “I’ll go fill mine for good measure.”

“Here, I’ll do that. You stay with him.”

Miss Huxley swiped her moistened forehead with the back of her hand. Tilting her head to one side, she examined his face. “That’s kind of you.” Lowering her focus to the canteen, she reluctantly gave it to him.

He hesitated, wondering how they’d ended up in this predicament. “Miss Huxley, did you run by foot? You said your horse was taken.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Your father didn’t sell your horse, did he?” The thought of that sleeping man with the crumpled-up letter at his feet frayed Cort’s nerves.

Aubrey cocked her head, her lips parted in a slight smile. “No, he did not. But I lost my horse to another thief.” She glanced over at her brother. “Chased him through the night. The horse ran off before I got him.”

“Wait—you ran early?” Cort asked.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Tried to get my horse back,” she said. “Doesn’t matter, though. Should’ve stayed put.”

“That’s a long run for coming up empty-handed,” he muttered.

Her lip trembled. “This is not how I expected to end up, I promise you that.”

His insensitive remark surely prodded her next sob. Cort didn’t hesitate to gather her in his arms. Her shaking body was warm against his chest. She melded into him, prompting a powerful instinct to tighten his grip and assure her that he’d protect her. His cheek rested on her bonnet while she cried. Lavender mixed with the dry prairie air filled his nostrils. That strange storm of hope brewed again, filling him with a boost of life.

Oh, Lord, give me strength.

Miss Huxley began to quiet, and as she did, her body stiffened. She pulled away. “All I care about right now is that my brother heals. I didn’t expect to take care of anyone but myself out here.” Her eyes were red, just like her flushed cheeks. “But I was also planning on having land of my own.” Her mouth turned downward.

Cort remembered the letter she’d written. This woman was trying to escape her past, just like he was. A twinge of sorrow plucked his heart. “You mean, you were going to run by yourself today?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Well, having a horse would have been nice.” She rolled her eyes then sighed. “I know plenty about working the land and caring for horses in a proper way. Not like my pa. This was my chance to get away from him once and for all.”

Cort swallowed away his guilt. It was not his fault that he got there first. “You should’ve claimed it, then.”

Her eyes flashed with frustration. “And I planned to, after the race had started. Fair and square.” She pouted. “If you don’t mind, my brother and I will stay here until he recovers. Then we’ll get off your land, Mr. Stanton.” Her dress rippled behind her as she took brisk strides to her brother. She offered him a drink from the canteen.

Fine. Stubborn woman could throw a fit about not getting her way. He couldn’t allow his heart to soften toward her anymore. What did she expect? For him to pull out his flag and give her one hundred and sixty acres out of sympathy?

When he returned with a second canteen, Miss Huxley was leaning against a lone tree, facing the sunny prairie just to the north. He set the canteen by her brother, who was asleep beneath the quilt.

A horse appeared upon the horizon to the north, barreling their way. Cort grabbed his holster. Would he have to ward off another person from his land?

“Miss Huxley, why don’t you come beside your brother. I’ll take care of this.”

“You forget, Mr. Stanton, I can take care of myself.” She walked over to her bag, pulled out a small pistol and shoved it in her pocket.

“Fine. You can help guard my land if you’d like.” He smirked. She glared at him in response.

The rider slowed to a trot. When he was on the edge of the western tree line, he waved above his head.

Miss Huxley shaded her eyes with her hand. “It’s a soldier.”

Cort’s stomach fell. The law. He tried to maintain his confidence. He couldn’t help but consider the fact that anyone dressed in a uniform might be his doomsayer. A part of him knew he was being irrational. The man couldn’t have known who he was—yet. Cort was different without his beard. And it was not as if he had his name written on his forehead.

But he couldn’t hide forever. If anyone knew how small this part of the world was—no matter its million acres of prairie—it was Cort Stanton. He’d seen firsthand how quickly familiar faces popped up when you least expected them. Wasn’t Aubrey Huxley proving this to be true right in the middle of the Cherokee Strip? He would take it as a warning to be more careful.

“Hello there.” The soldier stilled his horse just a few yards away from them. His attention fell on Miss Huxley’s brother. “Is that man okay there?”

She stepped forward. “His leg appears to be broken. Do you know if there’s a doctor nearby?”

“I sure don’t. But I’ll keep my ears open for one. I’m riding around informing everyone that a land office is set up about two miles west of here, near the Alva depot. The quicker you get there the better.”

Cort rubbed his hands on his trousers. Why was he sweating so badly? This wasn’t Texas.

“I’ll get there soon. Thank you, Officer.” Cort pulled at his collar.

The scout tipped his flat-brimmed hat. “I’ll be sure to send a doctor over if I come across one.” He nodded at Aubrey. “As quick as everything’s happening, there’s bound to be one around here soon. They’ve already brought in a land surveyor from Amarillo. Y’all will have a town quicker than you can say ‘Alva.’” He galloped away.

A land surveyor from Amarillo? This wasn’t Texas, but it sounded like Texas was coming here. Cort would’ve never expected to see someone from his hometown in the Cherokee Strip. He began to head over to his horse, praying that his weak legs would carry him that far.

I just wanted more time.

If he risked showing up at the land office with an Amarillo man about, then his time may as well be up. He’d seen wanted posters with his name on them on his way out of the Panhandle. Even if he changed his name, the Amarillo man would recognize him, wouldn’t he? This whole venture to hide seemed useless now.

“Mr. Stanton, I wonder if you could ask around for a doctor also? The faster we find one, the quicker we can leave.” Miss Huxley’s voice was as unstable as Cort’s heartbeat. He could hear the hurt.

“You can stay as long as you like.” His shoulders slumped.

“Believe me, it’s better than what’s waiting for me in Kansas. But I assure you, I don’t need the reminder of all I’ve lost.”

All she’d lost? Guilt began to swim around with his hopelessness. He’d taken the land from beneath her nose, and he might not even be able to keep it. What right did he, an outlaw, have to hoard land when this woman’s whole future lay ahead of her?

He grabbed the horn of his saddle and pulled himself up. When he turned his horse around, he spied Miss Huxley squeezing her brother’s hand. She bent her head and mumbled. Cort’s throat tightened.

Lord, what should I do? I just want some time.

Maybe he could buy some time? He clicked his tongue and tugged the reins. The horse approached the two siblings. Miss Huxley stood as Cort dismounted. An awkward silence passed between them. She stroked his horse’s mane while he tried to form words.

“You know, this is an awful big chunk of land for a man to live on by his lonesome.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m not even going to stay long. It’d be vacant for most of the time.” He swallowed hard.

How yellow can a man be to give all this up for a chance to hide?

“It’s your land. You can come and go as you wish.” The longing in her eyes ignited an ache in Cort’s chest. She wanted to run horses. She wanted it badly.

“What if it wasn’t my land? I mean, what if I let you...” Cort expected he would regret his next words. “What if I just worked a piece of it until I leave? What if you registered the land in your name?”

Miss Huxley narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying, Mr. Stanton?”

“One hundred and sixty acres is big enough for both of us, is all. What if you let me lease the land from you? Maybe one day, if I stay, I’ll buy a parcel of it. But until then, all I’d want in return is a chance to work it. I am a pretty decent farrier once you’re stocked with horses.”

Miss Huxley’s lips parted. She blinked several times before whispering, “You’d give it to me?”

“Sure. Doesn’t seem right that I keep it all to myself when I might—” Cort cleared his throat. “I’ll be away more than I’d be working it.” And sooner than later if that surveyor recognizes when I go to town.

“I—I don’t know what to say.” She clamped her mouth shut. Her lips grew thin as she frowned. “What’s in it for you, Mr. Stanton?”

* * *

Every hair on Aubrey’s arms stood up on end. In the distance, a covered wagon blurred in and out of vision as she considered all that Mr. Stanton might be saying.

Giving up his land? And offering it to her?

He took a step closer. “I just want to work the land, Miss Huxley. Every decent man enjoys hard work. I might be long gone before winter, anyway.” He gazed across the plains over her shoulder. “Have you ever wanted to run away and not be found, Miss Huxley?”

The cowboy searched her face with such intensity, she wondered if he could see into her heart and know that she didn’t want to be found, either.

“That’s why I’m here, Mr. Stanton,” she half whispered. “But how can I trust you?” They’d spoken of their secrets last night. But he had never revealed his. What secret could be so big that a man would give up a piece of land?

“I promise you, all I want is honest work. I am a gentleman and a hard worker. You have my word.” He took his hat off and placed it over his heart. A tousled mess of dark hair was slightly smashed on his head. Moist brown curls framed his suntanned forehead, and his emerald eyes sparkled.

Against every beat of her overactive heart, she wanted to believe this man. Why was that? Both dubious men in her life, her pa and Ben, forced her to believe that trust was an ideal more than a virtue. How could she be tempted to give it to this stranger? If his generous gift wasn’t the exact thing Aubrey had placed her heart’s desire on, then she would turn and run the other way.

But now this handsome cowboy waved his property flag in her face, even offering to help her get the ranch started. Agreeing to such an arrangement wasn’t as much a matter of trust as a matter of business. Wasn’t it? There wasn’t a boomer in all of Oklahoma who wouldn’t take such an offer as this. Maybe she could ignore the fact that he had secrets. This was her only chance to continue with her plan.

“It’s a deal.” She pushed her chin to her neck, smiling while tears slid down her cheeks. Mr. Stanton held out his hand. She shook it. “You might have something to hide, but whatever it is, it has made me a brand-new landowner today.” She squeezed his hand. His face beamed even in his own loss.

“You can thank the horse for getting me here just in time.” Mr. Stanton winked. “Guess it’s a good thing you ran on foot after all.”

Aubrey slipped her hand away. No need holding on to him any longer. She shouldn’t entertain him any more than a rattlesnake on the toe of her shoe. Even if he was her first tenant and employee, exchanging as few words with him as possible would help keep him from becoming a distraction or a future regret.

Mr. Stanton offered his hand once more and helped her onto the horse. Her heart leaped at the thought of riding to the land office to officially register the land in her name. But she spotted Ben’s collapsed body beneath her makeshift tent and gasped. She had nearly ridden off and left him with a practical stranger.

“Don’t worry about him. I’ll be sure to dodge any flying fists.” Mr. Stanton winked again, an unnerving habit, to say the least.

A wave of nausea stopped Aubrey from acknowledging his jest. Could she really leave her brother with this man who hid something big enough to give up one hundred and sixty acres?

He closed his hand upon hers as she gripped the reins. “Miss Huxley, you have my word. And if that doesn’t mean anything to you, you can rest assured that I won’t do anything unworthy with such a window to the heavens as the Oklahoma sky.” He cast his tender green gaze upward. A warm smile revealed a dimple beneath his stubble.

She might be leery of him, with his hidden motives for giving up his land, but he’d been a noble refuge twice yesterday—on the way to purchase horses, and last night, around the fire as he read his Bible and discussed their secrets. Perhaps his secret was the very thing that gave Aubrey this sweet providence?

“Very well, Mr. Stanton.” She breathed in the hot prairie air. “I’ll hold you to it.” Patting the horse and clutching the reins, she squinted upward. “May that window above remain wide-open,” Aubrey mumbled as they trotted along.

When she arrived at the land office, she stood among hundreds of people eager to register their land in the already thriving town of Alva. She couldn’t believe the haggling that was already taking place among settlers who had just run the race of their lives. Tents were set up just like at the camp before the run—saloon tents, lawyers and even a doctor tending to many men and women who’d been injured in the shuffle. Aubrey was able to speak with him about Ben and he had said he’d follow her home after the town’s first church service tomorrow morning. Although she was glad to leave behind the chaos in town, Aubrey was also thrilled to be counted among these settlers who were not lazy about making life here and making it quick.

Aubrey galloped most of the way back. She hadn’t planned to spend so much time away, and her anxiety was heightened as she thought about Ben. When she approached the grove of trees on the western part of her property, though, she slowed to a trot. The peace of the prairie invited her back like she’d been living there for years. Every shadow, every blade of dry grass upon which they would now tread, was hers. Mr. Stanton walked over and offered his hand to help her off the horse. The excitement roaring through her veins made it difficult to refrain from wrapping him in a celebratory embrace. Instead, she crossed over to check on Ben. He was breathing just fine and had a wet handkerchief over his forehead. She twisted a bandanna in her hands and walked up to the cowboy poking at a fire near the ridge above the creek bed. “Thank you for caring for him.”

“Glad to help. Don’t think he knows who I am. Barely opened his eyes when I offered him a drink.” He gave a warm smile and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m not sure what you’re hiding from, Mr. Stanton, but it can’t be too bad.” Should she say what was on her mind? She’d thought about it all the way home. “You’ve been quite the gentleman today.” And yesterday, for that matter. She fixed her eyes on the flame as she gave him praise for his chivalrous ways, hoping he’d stay accountable to those ways throughout the evening.

“That’s kind of you, Miss Huxley.” His scratchy voice tempted her to look up at him. The dancing flames were trapped in his eyes. He grinned warmly.

She sat down and leaned back on her hands. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. I’m planning on building my first sod house.”

Mr. Stanton threw back his head and chuckled. “That’s quite a feat, Miss Huxley. I told you I was here to help.”

Her neck crawled with heat. She scooted back from the fire. “You’re better off taking care of yourself, sir. I don’t want to depend on anyone, especially a stranger.”

“Aubrey—” He curled his lip in, then continued, “Do you mind if I call you that?”

She shook her head, trying to ignore the delight of hearing her name on his lips.

“I said I’d help you get the ranch going, and I will. I’ll do my best to not disappoint you.”

Aubrey stood to her feet and began to place her hands on her hips, but reconsidered and dropped them to her sides. “Mr. Stanton—”

“Cort.”

She swallowed hard. A nervous stampede pelted its way across her stomach. How could such a rugged cowboy not only cast off his land, but swear by his word in such a way that every ounce of her spirit believed him? She refused to depend on him, though. No matter how much he offered his assistance. Leaning on him would wreck the independence she had finally found after escaping a man like Pa. Anything else would lead toward her demise, just like Mama found out after years with Pa.

“Cort. It’s obvious that you try to be a man of your word. You kept it while I was away, and for that, I thank you. But don’t think that I am ever going to count on anything you say you’re going to do, or anyone says, for that matter. I am only here for one person—my mother. If I get help along the way, then so be it. But I have my assumptions that your leaving might not be of your own accord. I can only take what you offer to do with a grain of salt.”

If Cort’s stare could, it would burn the very fire that blazed between them. His look barreled through her. Was he angry? Why in the world would she turn away the only able person who’d help her willingly? She must preserve her hope and expectations. It was the only way she could stay strong enough to do this.

“Okay, Aubrey.” He leaned back on an elbow and crossed his feet on one side of the fire. “I’ve got my own sod house to build anyway. But of course, only if you say so, Miss Landowner.”

Warding off a rush of uncertainty, Aubrey pulled her shoulders back and spun around on her heel. She’d better get some rest if she wanted to be the first to borrow that neighbor’s steel plow she had her eye on.

“Good night, Mr. Stanton,” she said.

“Cort,” he retorted.

Goose bumps plucked her arms and she walked away.

Now to figure out where her house would go, and how many acres she should place between Cort Stanton and herself.

Chapter Four

The last of the embers died, snuffing out Cort’s view of Aubrey’s makeshift tent. He could just see the soles of her boots sticking out as she lay next to her brother.

Stubborn woman.

How could she expect to manage a plow and the task of building four walls of sod all by herself? Cort winced as he lay back and tucked his bag beneath his head. She would have had her brother’s help if it weren’t for him.

Wasn’t that just typical of Cort Stanton? To fight for something that wasn’t really his and hurt people in the process? He’d proved this back in Wyoming during the range war. He’d protected his boss’s land but ended up fighting against his own brother. Charles had joined the unlawful gunslingers, forcing Cort to choose between standing up for good and his own flesh and blood.

How many ill deeds had Cort witnessed because of his loyalty to Charles?

Cort slung his arm across his face and tried to calm his mind and get some sleep. Before he could even consider blinking away the image of Aubrey’s brown eyes from the backs of his eyelids, an unsettling groan drowned out a chorus of crickets.

“Ben, just stay still.” Aubrey’s voice rang out.

Another agonizing noise. Cort skittered to his feet and dug through his bag for his lantern and a match. By the time he made his way to Aubrey, she was frantically rummaging through her own belongings. Cort knelt down. The light shone bright upon Ben’s face as he gasped, squeezing his eyes tight.

“Don’t move, Ben.” Aubrey laid her hand on his forehead then swiped it downward along his cheek.

“It’s killin’ me.” Tears streamed down Ben’s cheeks.

“I know, brother.” She cast wide, questioning eyes in Cort’s direction. As if he had answers. He wished he did. But the only sure answer was that her brother’s hurt was all his fault.

“You spoke with a doctor?” Cort whispered.

She confirmed with a quick nod. “He’s coming tomorrow.”

“Good.”

Aubrey’s petite fingers clasped Cort’s hand tightly. He shot a look of confusion at her. She grabbed Ben’s hand and bowed her head.

“Heavenly Father, watch over Your child tonight. May Your healing hands lie upon Ben’s body and begin to mend whatever might be broken. Give the doctor wisdom tomorrow, and let Ben rest well tonight. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”

As quickly as she’d held his hand, she let go and turned completely toward her brother. The hair on Cort’s arms stood up on end. Her earnest prayer moved him.

Aubrey’s hum trickled into the night air, blessing any listener with its melody. The crickets’ lullaby met its match. He tried to forget the warmth from her touch and the aftermath of her prayer on his heart. She was wise to not attach herself to Cort’s promise to help. He wondered if he could follow through himself. A woman of such courage and tenderness would only be destroyed in the long run if he pursued her. He shouldn’t wait for the authorities to come looking. He should leave now while he had her complete confidence in his unreliability.

Then again, she may not know it, but she was a woman in need of immediate assistance. No woman, or man, could care for a brother with a broken limb and build a dwelling in good time. In the heat of this drought, Aubrey and Ben Huxley would not find much relief beneath a rudimentary tent for more than another day.

The only way he knew how to begin to make up for Ben’s circumstance was in a way that he’d always done well. He’d work.

Cort bade her good-night and headed back to his bag. He settled down again and managed to sleep on and off. Finally, at daybreak, he stretched his arms to the gray morning sky then headed to the creek.

After splashing his face with the lukewarm water, he clambered back up to higher ground. Aubrey was sleeping, curled up next to Ben. He fought the urge to peek in at her and, instead, explored the wide plains around them. In the near distance, their neighbors had already started on a soddie. While he’d stayed with Ben yesterday, it’d seemed that every time he glanced over that way, there was a growing stack of sod bricks.

A moan came from beneath the tent. Cort winced, remembering the gnawing pain of a broken bone. He was only eleven when he’d broken his wrist, but the undulating ache was seared in his memory. An urgency to ease Aubrey’s burdens swelled up inside. Mostly because Ben’s condition was his doing, and it was the only compensation he might offer. But there was something else, and no matter how much Cort tried to shove it away, it clung on like a cocoon in the shade of a broad leaf.

What were the chances that the very woman he’d prayed for back at camp would be the first woman he’d meet on this expanse of land?

Now they were tied to each other in a way. Their destinies were bound together because of a desperate bargain to work the land she longed to own. If only he could offer her a future based on more than a “maybe.”

Settling by his pack, he read a couple of Psalms while eating leftover corn cakes he’d carried from camp in his bag. Once he inspected the steep embankment of the creek bed, he decided he would at least make a dugout home for the Huxleys until they’d purchased or borrowed the supplies for a proper home. If he had time, he’d get started on his own down the creek a ways. No reason to live right next door.

“Good morning, Cort.” Aubrey startled him as he unstrapped his shovel from his pack. “Mind if I take your horse to the church service in Alva?”

He stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Of course not.”

Her face was pallid, a troublesome color compared to its usual creamy ivory. “Ben and I just ate. He’s trying his best to keep his leg still. Told him you were nearby if he needed anything.”

“I’ll keep my ears open.”

Weariness cloaked the woman. Her shoulders drooped, and her eyes were red. If he could gather her up in another embrace like yesterday, he’d beg her forgiveness for this mess. Forget any strength of his own. He clenched his teeth and pushed away his spiraling thoughts. He knew the woman beneath the worrisome shell. She was strong, adamant and not to be pitied. At least, that was what she would demand. It had only been a couple of days, and Cort was pretty sure his impression of Aubrey Huxley was correct.

So instead of an embrace, he helped her prepare his horse, saw her off, then got to work.

At first, the dry, packed earth resisted his shovel’s blade. Cort leaned his whole body against the handle. It was nothing like the moist soil of northern Wyoming. He fought against the memory, but his mind had already stumbled backward. He may as well have been digging post holes for the south fence along John Buford’s small cattle operation. John had been a good boss. One who had given Cort the chance to escape the Texas heat and the family name—or at least to live as a Stanton with no recognition by any townsmen in Buffalo, Wyoming.

Cort wiped away the sweat dripping down his nose with his sleeve and grunted at his next plunge into the earth.

John Buford had spoken on salvation many times as they worked his cattle. Cort had even attended church with the Buford family. But it seemed like family loyalty had caught up with him just as he surrendered to the Gospel as truth.

He’d seen much adversity growing up in Texas and had played along when his brother wormed his way out of trouble time and again. Could Cort truly see the goodness in this life without being pinned down by his cumbersome roots? How did a redeemed man truly find forgiveness on this side of Heaven?

A faint rumble came from above as Cort stepped back and examined the four-foot-wide hole he’d dug. A couple more feet were needed on each side. And then there was the problem of a good front wall. He’d start cutting sod with his spade tomorrow. Aubrey could string up her quilt until then.

He left his shovel and climbed up the embankment. Aubrey had ridden up with a man on a black horse following behind. They tied the horses to the only two trees that seemed secure enough.

“Dr. Mills, this is Mr. Stanton, my tenant,” Aubrey said.

Cort tipped his hat then followed in step behind the doctor, praying that God would redeem this situation and at least take away this most recent guilt.

* * *

“You appear to have a fracture below the knee.” Dr. Mills looked over his spectacles at Ben, then turned to Aubrey. “Might take a couple months to heal.”

Her spirit dimmed. Shame swarmed her like fierce mosquitoes. She’d yelled for him to go fight for her land. She’d pushed him into it. Just like Pa dragged him into his schemes.

She was no better.

Aubrey fluttered her lashes to ward off tears. “Will he be able to walk normally again?” The thought knifed her. She knew what it meant to break a leg. Mama’s best friend, Maureen, was never the same after falling off a horse.

Ben’s eyes widened.

“I think he’ll be able to, eventually. But it will take time to heal. I’m going to give him a splint for now. Hoping to get some plaster in the next shipment so I can make him a cast.” Dr. Mills adjusted his hat and placed his spectacles in his front pocket. “The heat is unrelenting. I’m more worried about him dehydrating out here than dealing with a broken bone. It’s crucial to get him to shelter before another day of this heat.” He gave a quick glance to the pile of their recent shelter. They’d taken down the quilt for Ben’s examination.

“Yes, sir,” Aubrey mumbled, feeling as small as a mouse. There was no way she could build shelter that quickly. Cort gave her an assured nod. Even with his extra help, surely a shelter wouldn’t be possible so quickly.

Cort came up beside her, gently cupping her elbow. “Don’t you worry about shelter, Miss Huxley.”

Before Aubrey could question him, Ben growled, “What’s he still doing here?” He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, his brown eyes lit with anger.

“Ben, you need to calm down—”

“That’s the man who did this to me!” He curled his sweaty lip against white teeth and glared at Cort.

“Son, you must calm yourself.” The doctor rushed over, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Doc, wonder how my leg broke? That’s the cowboy who did it.” Ben’s knuckles bulged as he held them in tight fists. His glare remained fixed on Cort.

“I tried to stop you... I didn’t want any trouble.” Cort removed his hat, wiping his hands through dampened curls.

Aubrey placed a hand on Cort’s arm. “Let’s discuss this later.” She glared at Ben, who just narrowed his eyes. The doctor didn’t need to witness this dispute. Her skin crawled with the memory of every outburst she’d witnessed from the Huxley men over the years. Some men walked away from conflict and others, like the Huxley men, tended to barrel right into it without a thought. Just as Ben had taken Cort head-on the day of the race, he was now wanting to pick a fight even in his miserable state.

While Dr. Mills applied a splint, he advised, “You must keep your leg still. We’ll try to get a nice flat board to move you tomorrow. There’s supposed to be a railcar full of lumber delivered to Alva’s square. A stretcher would be best, but that’s one more day out here.” He peered up at the baking sky and lifted his brow in uncertainty.

“We’ll get to work on a better shelter right away.” Aubrey pulled her shoulders back and offered a hand for a shake. “Thank you, Dr. Mills. We may not have come as prepared as most, but thankfully we have a creek nearby for plenty of water.”

“Even the most prepared didn’t have the chance to hunker down out here. You’re blessed to have your quarter section and water. They’re selling it by the bucket in Alva. Just be careful of sunstroke. I’ve already seen plenty die of it during my stay at the camp.” He looked around the vast prairie sprawled out like a grassy cloth on earth’s barren table. “I’ll be back soon. Comfort him as best as you can. I gave him some laudanum. It will help ease the pain, but may make him sleepy. Be sure to drink plenty, son.” Ben nodded weakly.

Aubrey saw him off, then remembered that Cort had disappeared shortly after Ben’s accusation. His horse was grazing in the shade, so he hadn’t gone too far. A tremor of defeat threatened to crush her. How could she manage to build a home, care for her brother and find work to afford the expenses of starting a horse ranch?

Lord, show me Your will in all of this.

If she thought of Mama—how she worked as a seamstress, her fingers bleeding, how she had stashed away her money in the jar at the back of the pantry, and she’d poured out every ounce of her energy for this dream—then the least Aubrey could do was make it come true. Even if the jar had been raided often by greedy paws, and the dream was dashed by her father’s dishonest deeds. Aubrey’s own pay from the dress shop was her assurance that Pa would leave her be. At least she didn’t have to worry about that. She had come this far, and she must persevere regardless of what might stand in the way.

Dr. Mills disappeared beyond the mesquite trees. He had called Aubrey blessed for surviving the land run with something to show for it. She thanked God for the land and the creek. In town, pails and barrels of water were being sold for a price. Yesterday, she’d breathed in the black dust that hung over the newborn town of Alva, smelling the sweat of hundreds who had settled for a small plot in town instead of a homestead on the prairie. It was time Aubrey rekindled her determination.

No, she wouldn’t give up. She had dealt with the challenges of living under the same roof as Ed Huxley all these years, hadn’t she? Nursing a broken leg and building a ranch from scratch couldn’t be any worse than that, could it?

“Aubrey, why’s that man hanging around?” Ben called to her.

“I’ll talk with you soon, brother,” she said. He looked like he might get up and chase her down. “Don’t you move.” She didn’t want to face his anger yet. First things first. Take the good doctor’s advice and get some water.

Aubrey slid down the ridge to fill her canteen. A large mass of dirt was piled against the embankment to the east. The soft plodding of tossed soil alternated with labored breathing. She wormed her way around the pile that was close to damming up the very creek that she’d thanked God for. Cort’s back was to her, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows while he shoveled soil in a constant rhythm. The muscles along his tanned forearm flexed with each movement and his shirt clung to his skin with perspiration.

Aubrey filled her lungs with a jagged breath and glanced away. “Mr. Stanton?”

He stopped midshovel. When she managed to look his way again, she saw that earth smeared his glistening face.

Aubrey’s mouth went dry. Their eyes locked on each other. The freshly disturbed dirt scented the air just as it had done when she’d crawled through the night. Cort had crossed her mind more than once during that long venture. Now he was part of her new beginning. For how long, she didn’t know.

She cleared her throat. “I do wonder why you are digging on my land?”

Cort cocked his head but kept her in his sights from the corner of his eye. Was he trying to gauge if she jested? She did not. It seemed he was building himself shelter without even consulting her on its placement. It was a fine hole, though. Big enough that he could probably lie in its width or its depth with room to spare.

“Well, I figured if you owned land, you would need a shelter better than a quilt strung over a shovel.” He placed his finger on his upper lip as if trying to contain a smile.

Aubrey swallowed hard. “This is for me?”

“And Ben, I suppose. Dr. Mills seemed pretty adamant.”

“But I told you, I was going to build a sod house...” Her voice was barely audible. His work had stolen her boldness.

“This is temporary but necessary in this heat. A soddie will take time to build.” He released a broad, charming smile showcasing white teeth and his usual dimple.

“Oh.” Aubrey diverted her eyes. How could she stop the flood within her? Her emotions were at war. Gratitude leaped higher than her reservation. This man was stubborn in keeping his word to help, wasn’t he? A gentleman to a fault? How in the world could she protect herself from dependence when Cort Stanton kept on like this?

“That’s mighty nice of you, Mr. Stanton—”

“Cort. Using my first name is fine by me.”

“Okay, Cort. This is a fine shelter.”

“Thank you. I just can’t sit by and—”

“For you.”

Cort’s mouth hung open like he’d been snagged by her words.

“I’ll build my own, though.” She forced herself to appear unwavering, with a cool facade and a confident posture—even if her insides were melting by his gesture.

The cowboy’s brow pulled over his eyes like an angry storm cloud above broken land. All joy dissolved from his face, unveiling an undeniable defeat. He gathered up his shovel and approached her in such a deliberate move that she took a step back.

“Fine. If you’re so stuck on being self-sufficient, start digging.” He pushed the shovel toward her, the handle inches from her nose. As soon as her fingers wrapped around it, Cort slid between her and the dirt pile and stomped down the creek bed.

She blinked away tears as she stared at the product of all his effort.

Of course the man was angry. He’d done all this for her. She’d allowed her stubborn walls to deflect his act of kindness.

How could she so easily reject the nicest gift that she had ever received?

* * *

Cort maintained his attention on the distant flame, his only sure proof that he was heading back in the right direction. He had spied Aubrey building a fire through the hazy dusk while he became acquainted with the neighbors. Frank and Mildred Hicks were kind enough, no doubt friendlier now that they’d exchanged the use of their plow for Cort’s help in getting the rest of their house up. He would work with them until the noon hour then use the plow for himself and return it first thing each morning. The downside was that he’d work on his own soddie in the heat of the day. But that was the price he would pay for the use of a plow to cut sod.

His stomach was a tumbleweed of nerves after the way he’d left things with Aubrey. It was probably for the best, though. Now he was sure that he wouldn’t grow any attachments. He’d be a good tenant and help only if she asked. Besides renting a small section of land from the woman, he really had no other reason to associate with her at all.

Except, of course, if he let her magnetic strength and wits have anything to do with it.

Lord, give me self-control.

He sure needed that fruit of the Spirit with a woman like Aubrey Huxley as his landlady.

By the time he trotted over to his horse’s sleeping spot, the pinpricked quilt of the night sky twinkled above. Cort ignored the tug to look around for Aubrey.

Self control, remember?

He traipsed toward the ridge and tried to look forward to sleeping in the hole he’d supposedly dug for himself. It’d be nice to sleep on dry dirt and not the coarse grass of the prairie. It was cooler down in the creek bed, too. Cort talked himself into it, moving at a more certain pace until Aubrey came around from the small fire and stood in front of him.

“I just have one thing to say to you.” She crossed her arms over her torso. Her face was dark except for an orange shaft of firelight cutting across her cheek and highlighting a deep carved line between her brows. He was captured by the medley of color in her eye. “We had agreed the only thing I owed you in this whole land exchange deal was a plot of land for you to work yourself. I know you offered help until you supposedly leave, but there’s one thing about that.” Her nostrils flared. “I need to know why.” The wrinkle between her eyebrows smoothed.

“Why? I dug it for you because it was the right thing to do.”

“No, not that.” Aubrey dismissed his defense with a wave of her hand. She took a half step forward. “I mean, I understand. And I really do thank you for doing that.” Relaxing her rigid posture, she stared downward as she fiddled with her fingers. “Why don’t you know how long you will stay?”

Cort inhaled the spicy smell of burning wood. It comforted less than the question tormented him. What could he say? He couldn’t lie. Lying would make him no better than the other Stantons. Every Stanton was a liar, a cheat and a—

He closed his eyes and prayed the verse, Put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness. He was stuck between the old and the new, hoping he could earn his new self from here on out, no matter the cost.

Aubrey’s hands trembled while she stood there waiting for his answer. He wondered if she’d guessed it already. “What do you think?”

She clicked her tongue then frowned. “I—I can’t say. It could be a million things.”

“But you have a guess, don’t you?”

Her hands fell to her sides, and he couldn’t tell if the right one still shook, or if it was the firelight dancing upon it. “I suppose.”

“Then tell me. I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

“Are you in trouble, Cort?”

Cort’s insides began to quiver. He’d been in trouble for so long. But to hear someone else say it? Defeat rained down upon him and he was drenched with shame.

“Has it got something to do with the law?” Aubrey spoke this with more certainty. Did he just imagine her spreading her hand upon her dress pocket where she kept her pistol? The woman did not trust him in the least.

Why would she?

“I’d followed in the wrong crowd, Aubrey, until I gave myself to Jesus. But it wasn’t long after that when I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Cort stepped closer and Aubrey’s hand slid up to the mouth of the pocket.

“Was it the law, Cort?” She spoke through her teeth.

“Yes.” He clenched his fist, knowing she’d only see him as a criminal now. “I don’t blame you for wondering or even for being scared. Trust me when I tell you that I would never bring you harm. I hope to never bring harm to anyone.”

“What did you do?”

While she might eventually trust him, he couldn’t tell her what had occurred. He had never spoken it to anyone, nor would he for fear of destroying his brother’s family. He had given his word, and now he must stick to it for any kind of true redemption. Besides, claiming his innocence would make him appear more guilty. Cort reached his hand out instinctively, hoping to clasp her arm with an assuring touch.

Aubrey twisted her body away from him and stumbled backward. “What did you do, Cort?” She spoke louder now.

“Please, Aubrey. Don’t make me say it. It’s in the past. I’ve been given a second chance.”

“A second chance?” She narrowed her eyes.

He thought back on the prison fire. After he’d been given permission by Sheriff Conway, he had run faster than he’d ever run before. That was as good as freedom, right? Conway had always liked Cort and knew that he was nothing like his brother. The sheriff had tried getting the whole story out of Cort during his few weeks behind bars. The law was on his side in that respect. As Cort ran from the burning cell and his only friend, he’d sobbed and prayed.

Aubrey dug her fist into her hip, her elbow sharply bent. “A second chance by who?”

“By who?” Cort backed up a couple of steps. “By the good Lord, Aubrey. Only by His grace, and only by Him.” He walked toward the ridge. There was nothing else he could say tonight.

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