The Texan’s Dilemma

Bounty hunter Tom McCain works alone. He couldn’t save his childhood friend, but he’ll deliver her six-year-old daughter, Sarah Jane, to the only family she has left: a wealthy great-grandfather in Texas. But that means tangling with the fiery schoolteacher who wants to adopt her.

Katie O’Malley is determined to give Sarah Jane a fresh start away from the tragedy of her early life. Even the high-handed Mr. McCain can’t stop her. But when a secret from Sarah Jane’s past threatens the young girl’s life, joining forces with Tom is Katie’s only option. They’ll need all their courage to turn a perilous future into a home, a family—and a dream come true.

“What kind of husband would you like, Katie?”

A slow smile stretched across Tom’s face, sparking a glimmer in his eyes.

Katie stood tall and crossed her arms.

“I don’t want a husband at all.”

“Why not?” Tom scanned the length of her, then back again, as though assessing her.

Had he somehow found her lacking?

The momentary insecurity took Katie aback, and she chided herself. His opinion didn’t matter in the least.

“I don’t think there’s much chance you’ll need to worry about that.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. “What do you mean?”

Tom’s lighthearted smile faded. “You might be able to recite poetry or quote ancient philosophers, but I doubt you know enough to come in out of the rain. A man would have to be plain loco to consider asking for your hand. You’d argue even if obedience would save your own hide.”

Katie’s hands went to her hips. “And I suppose you think a woman would find you appealing?”

“You do….”

JUDY DUARTE

always knew there was a book inside her, but since English was her least favorite subject in school, she never considered herself a writer. An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy couldn’t shake the dream of creating a book of her own.

Her dream became a reality in March 2002, when Silhouette Special Edition released her first book, Cowboy Courage. Since then she has published more than twenty novels. Her stories have touched the hearts of readers around the world. And in July 2005 Judy won a prestigious Readers’ Choice Award for The Rich Man’s Son.

Judy makes her home near the beach in Southern California. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous but delightfully close family.

Lone Wolf’s Lady

Judy Duarte

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.

—Ephesians 4:31–32

To my editor, Susan Litman, for going above and beyond. Thank you for believing in me and this book.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

Summer, 1884

Pleasant Valley, Texas

“Caroline Graves is dead. And your job is done.”

Tom “Lone Wolf” McCain turned in his saddle, the leather creaking with his movement as he faced Trapper Jack, his crotchety old traveling companion. “She left a six-year-old daughter behind.”

“And the kid’s being raised by a woman who’s known her since she was born.” Trapper Jack lifted his battered hat and mopped his weathered brow with the dusty red flannel sleeve of the shirt he’d worn for the past several days. “What are you going to do? Uproot her?”

“If I have to.” As Tom met the man’s glare, he had to admit that when push came to shove, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. But he owed it to Caroline to see to it that her daughter was safe and well cared for.

If only Harrison Graves had hired Tom to find his granddaughter six months earlier, Caroline might have been alive when he’d followed her trail to Taylorsville. Then Tom would have had a chance to talk to her. He might have convinced her to go back where she belonged, to her grandfather’s ranch in Stillwater.

“You ought to just tell the old man that Caroline died,” Trapper added, as he surveyed the typical Texas town that lay nestled in the valley below. “And let that be the end of it.”

“Harrison Graves is looking for an heir.”

Trapper spit a wad of tobacco to the side. “Seems to me that Graves isn’t too fond of illegitimate heirs.”

Tom knew that better than anyone. And he’d given that some thought, too. After all, when Harrison had learned that his granddaughter was with child, he’d sent her to Mexico to have her baby, instructing her to leave it there. And he’d never mentioned anything to Tom about searching for the baby Caroline was supposed to have left behind in a Mexican orphanage—he’d only wanted his granddaughter back.

So how would the dying cattleman feel when Tom returned with Caroline’s illegitimate child in tow? Would that appease him? Would he rewrite his will, leaving everything to the little girl? Or would he insist that Tom leave her where he’d found her?

Maybe Trapper was right. Maybe Caroline’s daughter was better off not going back to Stillwater.

But was she better off being raised by a fallen woman?

From what Tom had gathered in Mexico, Caroline had run off with a former prostitute from Pleasant Valley. For the next few years, she’d managed to keep her friend on the straight and narrow—or so it seemed. But after Caroline had died, the woman had returned to the only other life she’d known, taking the child with her.

That might be true, but something didn’t sit right. In fact, a lot of things just didn’t add up.

“He could have hired any number of bounty hunters to search for his runaway granddaughter,” Trapper said. “Why’d it have to be you?”

Tom wasn’t sure why Harrison had summoned him, other than his reputation for being good at finding people who didn’t want to be found.

“That old man doesn’t deserve the time of day from you,” Trapper added. “Not after all he did to make your life miserable. I still can’t believe you’d even consider working for him.”

“I’m not doing this for Harrison Graves.” Nor was he doing it for the money. Yet when the wealthy cattleman had handed him the twenty-dollar gold piece, Tom had pocketed the coin rather than explain why he would have agreed to search for Caroline on principle alone.

Trapper chuffed. “I still think you’re making a big mistake, kid. And I’m not about to sit around and watch you make a fool of yourself. I’m going back to Hannah’s place. We’ve been away too long as it is.”

“No one asked you to come along in the first place, Trapper. In fact, if you recall, I tried to talk you out of it, but you insisted.”

“That’s only because someone’s got to look out for you, because no matter how much book learnin’ you’ve had, you ain’t got a thimbleful of common sense.”

Tom sighed and squinted into the afternoon sun. He owed a lot to Trapper. That was a fact. But sometimes the old man forced gratitude to the breaking point.

Trapper grumbled under his breath, then said, “You can’t blame me for worryin’ about you. I’ve been lookin’ after you ever since you was knee-high to a timber wolf.”

If truth be told, Tom had no idea where he’d be today if the old man hadn’t stumbled upon him about twenty miles outside of Stillwater when he’d been sick, starving and scared.

No, Tom owed his life to the man who hadn’t been afraid to take in an orphaned ten-year-old with mixed blood and treat him like the son he’d never had.

“Suit yourself,” Trapper said, turning his horse around.

Tom urged his mount forward, onto the road that ran down the hill, through the middle of town and continued along the boardwalk-lined main street, with its typical lineup of businesses—a good-size mercantile, a bank, a small laundry and a saloon.

His plan was to speak to the sheriff first. So he scanned both sides of the street, looking for the jail. He spotted it up ahead, next to the newspaper office, where, just outside the door, an attractive young woman with auburn hair pulled into a topknot studied the open periodical in her hand, her brow furrowed.

She was a pretty one, he noted. And curious, too. Otherwise, she would have waited to take the newspaper home to read it. He wondered what bit of news had caught her eye and held her interest.

Across the street, a group of boys snagged Tom’s attention as they gathered around a small girl, taunting her. Most people didn’t give much thought to childish squabbles, thinking that kids usually worked things out without adult interference. But Tom wasn’t so sure about that. Probably because, more often than not, he’d found himself on the wrong end of a fistfight meant to “teach that half-breed a lesson” when he’d been in school.

And something about this one didn’t seem right—or fair.

He pulled back on the reins and slowed his mount, just as a tall, towheaded kid shoved the little blonde girl into the dusty street.

Before he could turn his horse in the direction of the bullies, the woman on the boardwalk called out, “Silas Codwell! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Then she tucked the periodical she’d been reading under her arm and marched across the street in a huff.

The other boys froze, both startled and admonished by her arrival, but the ringleader, who was nearly twice the size of the girl, merely crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one hip.

The petite woman glared at the kid she’d called Silas as though she wanted to throttle him, and Tom knew just how she felt. He’d like to put a little fear of God into that one himself.

So he nudged his horse in the direction of the scuffle, ready to step in if the bully gave the redhead any trouble.

As if unfazed by Silas and his bluster, the lady bent to help the tiny heap of blue calico to her feet. “Are you all right, honey?”

The little girl, her bottom lip bloody and quivering, her light blue hair ribbons drooping from where they’d once adorned two blond braids, nodded.

Then the redhead turned to Silas, her eyes narrowed, her finger raised. “You’re nearly thirteen years old. Shoving a small girl into the street is brutal and inexcusable. Apologize this instant.”

The other boys began to edge away from her, but Silas only shrugged. “I don’t know why you’re so all fired—”

The redhead grabbed his ear and twisted until he cried out, “Ow! You aren’t our teacher anymore. You’d better let go of me or my father will—”

Clearly undeterred by his threat, the redhead twisted harder until the boy screeched out “I’m...sorry” in a long, drawn-out whine.

The lady, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparked with ire, released the boy’s ear, just as Tom’s shadow eclipsed them both.

Only then did Silas appear the least bit remorseful.

“You owe the lady and the child a real apology,” Tom said. “I saw what you did. There was no excuse for it, boy.”

Silas opened his mouth, as if he had something to say in his defense. Then, after his gaze locked on Tom’s, his stance relaxed and he relented. “I’m sorry, Miss O’Malley. It won’t happen again.”

The lady, apparently the schoolmarm at one time, stood as tall as her petite stature would allow. “See that it doesn’t.”

Silas nodded, then, after a quick glance at Tom, took off to join his friends.

Tom’s gaze turned to Miss O’Malley, whose rolled newspaper had fallen to the ground.

She glanced at it, but before reaching to pick it up, she said, “Thank you, Mr....?”

“McCain.”

She nodded, then released a pent-up sigh. “You’d never know it, but Silas’s father is the minister.”

“No, ma’am. You’re right. I would have expected his father to be the town drunkard. Or maybe to hear that he’d been locked up in jail for the past ten years.”

She clucked her tongue. “Silas has a mean, spiteful side to him that his parents refuse to see. I taught school here in Pleasant Valley up until last summer and watched that boy bully the other children many a time.” She bit down on her bottom lip, as if she might be wondering if she’d shared too much with a stranger.

Her hands rested on the little girl’s shoulders in a loving, protective manner.

Satisfied that the child was in good hands, Tom doffed his hat. “Good day, Miss O’Malley.”

Then he urged the gelding across the street and on to the sheriff’s office, where he planned to ask a couple of questions and get directions to a place known as the Gardener’s House.

He might look like an uneducated half-breed, but he knew better than to ask a lady where he could find the town brothel.

* * *

Katie O’Malley held on to Sarah Jane’s shoulders as she watched the dark-haired stranger ride away.

The man was frightfully handsome, with eyes the color of fine bourbon, high cheekbones and a square-cut chin. His copper-colored skin suggested he might have a mixed-Indian heritage. And for the first time in her life, she found herself more than a little awestruck by a man’s appearance, especially one who spent his days in a saddle.

Mr. McCain wasn’t the type of man she usually had reason to talk to—or the type she should find the least bit attractive. Yet she did.

She supposed that was because he’d come to her rescue, even though she hadn’t needed him to. She did, however, appreciate the gallant way he’d made the gesture.

He’d studied her in a curious way, which had caused her pause. Then he’d simply said, “Good day,” turned his mount and headed down the street.

She wondered what business he had in town. Unable to quell her curiosity, she watched him go until he stopped at the sheriff’s office, where he left his big bay gelding tied out in front.

When he was finally out of sight, Katie returned her attention to the disheveled little girl.

“What are you doing in town all by yourself?” Katie asked.

“Blossom gave me a penny, and I wanted to buy a peppermint stick. I was going to wait for someone to take me to the mercantile, but then Sweet Heather told me to go outside and stay out of the way.”

“Where’s Daisy?”

“She wasn’t feeling good, so she went to take a nap. But she’s probably in the kitchen now. It’s her turn to cook dinner.”

Katie pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her reticule and placed it on the little girl’s small, bloodied lip, gently dabbing at the wound. She’d championed many causes in the past, but none had touched her heart as deeply as Sarah Jane Potts.

It was time once again to talk to Daisy and insist that the woman either agree to leave with Katie for Wyoming next week or that she allow Sarah Jane to go without her.

After adjusting the ribbons in the little girl’s hair, Katie took her by the hand. “Come on, honey. I’ll walk you home.”

While they made their way to the brothel at the far edge of town, they talked about important things, like why dogs chased cats and why staring into the sun made a person sneeze.

It hadn’t taken many chance visits with Sarah Jane for Katie to realize that she was an absolute delight, and the more time she spent with the charming child, the more she longed to rescue her.

As they stepped off the boardwalk and ventured to the outskirts of town, past several lots that were overgrown with weeds and littered with debris, they made their way to the green-and-white three-story structure that served as a brothel. People referred to it as the Gardener’s House, a name that seemed fitting because of its park-like grounds, manicured lawn and rows of marigolds leading to a wraparound porch.

If one didn’t know better, one would think that it was a respectable home owned by a wealthy family. But Katie knew better.

Her steps slowed as they neared the ornate wrought-iron gate, and her hold on the child’s hand tightened. She took a quick scan of her surroundings, hoping to avoid being seen by a witness prone to gossip. As it was, her welcome in Pleasant Valley had worn thin, thanks in large part to the newspaper articles she wrote in favor of women’s rights. And she’d been hard-pressed to find many upstanding citizens willing to write the letters of recommendation she needed to provide the school board in Granville, a growing town in the Wyoming Territory desperate for a schoolteacher.

Sarah Jane tugged at Katie’s hand. “Come on. Daisy made a swing for me in the backyard. I want you to see it.”

The child led Katie around to the rear of the house and pointed to an elm tree where two lengths of rope and a wooden slat hung from a sturdy branch.

“See?” Sarah Jane said. “Want to watch me swing?”

“Not yet. I’d like to talk to Daisy first.”

The sooner she could speak to the fallen dove and get back to a more respectable part of town, the better.

“Let’s see if she’s in the kitchen,” Sarah Jane said.

As they climbed the steps to the rear entrance, Katie’s heart began to pound.

Fortunately, after Sarah Jane opened the door and entered the kitchen, they found Daisy seated at the big oak table, snapping green beans.

Daisy, a dark-haired woman with a fair complexion, first glanced at Katie, her big green eyes leery.

When she spotted Sarah Jane’s swollen lip, she gasped and scooted back her chair. Then she got to her feet and crossed the kitchen. As she reached the girl, she dropped to her knees. “What in the world happened, sweetie?”

“That big boy named Silas said mean things to me again. And this time he hurt me, but Katie made him stop.”

Daisy tensed, then brushed a wisp of hair from the child’s face. “Boys can be mean.”

They certainly could. While growing up, Katie had suffered a few taunts of her own. She knew what it felt like to be different from the other children, to be singled out in the classroom for not paying attention because she’d had her nose in a book when she was supposed to be drawing a map of Missouri. Or to be teased on the schoolyard because she’d never had a mother to teach her how to properly braid her curly red hair.

But those jeers, while hurtful and humiliating at times, were nothing in comparison to the ones Sarah Jane stood to face if she continued to live in Brighton Valley.

Daisy’s gaze lifted and met Katie’s. “Thank you for seeing her home.”

But her home is a brothel, Katie wanted to shout. She bit her tongue, instead, unwilling to offend the woman before she could convince her to see reason.

She couldn’t hold back her thoughts, though. Couldn’t Daisy see the damage she was doing to the little girl by having her live here?

Katie’s first impulse was to argue her case, which was a good one. But it wouldn’t do her a bit of good to speak her mind if she wanted to convince Daisy to sign over guardianship to her or to leave the brothel behind and move to Granville.

“I don’t think Sarah Jane should go outside without an adult present,” Katie said, minding her tone and choosing her words carefully.

“She isn’t allowed to go out alone.” Daisy cupped the child’s face. “You know better than that.”

“I’m a big girl now.” Sarah Jane stood tall, while a swollen, cut lip and traces of blood and dirt on her cheek mocked her self-confidence. “I’m six. Remember? I had my birthday when we lived at the other house with Mama.”

“You know the rules.” Daisy got back on her feet, then made her way to the sink, reached for a cloth and dipped it into a bowl of water. “Come here, sweetie. Let me wash your face.”

Katie watched the woman’s maternal motions, which demonstrated that she certainly cared about the child. Still, why had they moved into the brothel the very first day they’d arrived in town? Surely Daisy realized that no good could ever come of a decision like that.

“Wyoming is a beautiful territory,” Katie said, preparing to state her case one more time. “I’d love to take you and Sarah Jane with me. You could make a new start in a territory where women are treated with dignity and respect, where they’re considered equals. In fact, they even have the right to vote.”

They’d had this conversation before, with Daisy clearly struggling with the decision.

“A move to a new community is sorely tempting,” Daisy said.

“Think of the future Sarah Jane will have if she continues to live in a place like this.”

“I have.” Daisy bit down on her bottom lip. Then she placed a gentle, loving hand on the child’s head. “Sarah Jane, why don’t you go into our room and look in the closet. I hid a surprise for you there. It’s next to your mama’s carpetbag.”

When Sarah Jane dashed off to do as she was told, Daisy returned to her seat at the table and pushed the bowl of green beans aside. “Sarah Jane’s mother was like a sister to me. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for her. And I love Sarah Jane as if she were my own. After the funeral, when she and I left Taylorsville, we didn’t have a penny to our names. Please believe me when I say that I don’t plan to work here very long. I just need to earn enough money to repay a debt. Then we can make a new start in a town far away from here, where people won’t know me.”

Now that she knew what had been causing Daisy to hesitate, Katie was finally able to formulate a convincing plan, thanks to the inheritance she’d invested wisely. “If you’ll leave with me, I’ll help you pay that debt. And I promise that you’ll find that new life you’re looking for in the Wyoming Territory.”

“That sounds promising, Miss O’Malley. But why would you do this for me? You don’t even know me. Pardon me for asking, but what are you? Some kind of church do-gooder, bent on saving my soul? You have no idea how many people have tried that, including Sarah Jane’s mother, but I’m afraid my soul is already lost.”

A smile tugged at Katie’s lips.

Daisy cocked her heard, clearly perplexed. “What’s so funny?”

“There are a few church do-gooders in town who think I’m the lost soul.”

“You?” Daisy’s eyes widened, and she all but laughed.

“Actually, some of the townsfolk don’t like me speaking my mind about a lot of things, especially women’s equality. In fact, I’ve even had a few run-ins with the minister, who went so far as to complain to the Pleasant Valley school board, which resulted in my being replaced as the schoolteacher last fall.”

“They replaced you because you believe women should be allowed to vote?”

“Well, the good reverend also complained that I couldn’t control the children, although that wasn’t true. It was only his son who gave me trouble. And if I’d had the least bit of paternal support—” Katie bit back the rest of her angry retort and clucked her tongue. “Anyway, needless to say, it’s been nearly impossible for me to attend services on Sundays with a joyful heart. So I wouldn’t call myself a church do-gooder.”

Daisy arched a brow, fresh suspicion etched across her face, which was far prettier today without all the powder and paint she usually wore.

“It’s not that I don’t read my Bible or believe in God, it’s just that I...” Katie blew out a sigh, not sure how to explain herself—or why she even felt the need to. “You see, I’ve always been a champion of the downtrodden. And when I take up a cause, I’m rather outspoken about it.”

“I see. So Sarah Jane and I have become one of your causes.”

Katie wished she’d chosen different words. “I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s just that Sarah Jane is a bright, beautiful child. She deserves a better future. And, Daisy, so do you. You must be a smart, resourceful woman to have come so far on your own. But neither of you will get that if you stay in Pleasant Valley, even if you move out of the Gardener’s House and try to make it on your own. So I’m offering you both a way out. That is, if you’ll take a step of faith and go with me when I leave for Wyoming next week.”

Had Katie said too much, pushed too hard? She hoped not, but the words had come straight from her heart.

Daisy seemed to ponder her options for a moment, then said, “The debt is sixty dollars. I’ve already managed to save twenty-three. If you’re willing to pay off the balance for me, as well as provide traveling expenses, I’ll go with you to Wyoming. Then, as soon as I’m able to find work, I’ll begin to repay you.”

“You have yourself a deal.” Katie reached out her arm, and the two women shook hands.

Daisy glanced around the kitchen and smiled. “I’m actually a pretty good cook. Maybe I can find work at a restaurant in Wyoming.”

Before Katie could respond, a knock sounded at the back door, and her heart lurched, then railed against her chest wall as if trying to break free. The last thing she needed was to be seen by one of Daisy’s “callers.”

Katie didn’t usually put much stock in what others thought of her, but she had reason to be cautious now. Thanks to Reverend Codwell and a few other more conservative citizens of Pleasant Valley, she was running out of people to approach for those letters she needed for the school board, and she couldn’t show up in Granville empty-handed. So the instinct to escape was strong.

But unless she wanted to run through the brothel and go out the front, the only other possibility was the kitchen exit, which was now blocked.

Daisy crossed the room and swung open the door, revealing Mr. McCain, the handsome, dark-haired cowboy Katie and Sarah Jane had met on the street. His dark-eyed gaze snaked around her, nearly squeezing her heart right out of her.

Surely he didn’t think she belonged here, did he?

About the time she feared that he did, he turned and gazed at the fallen woman. “I’m looking for Daisy Potts.”

Chapter Two

“I’m Daisy. What can I do for you?”

After Tom had talked to Sheriff Droeger and had his suspicions confirmed, he’d learned that a child named Sarah Jane and a woman now going by the name of Daisy Potts had moved into the Gardener’s House a few months ago. Because the sheriff said Daisy did most of the cooking and cleaning at the brothel, Tom had decided to bypass the front door and use the rear entrance.

He hadn’t been surprised when Daisy answered his knock, but the red-haired schoolmarm standing in the kitchen like she owned the place knocked him completely off stride.

Of course, Miss O’Malley appeared to be more than a little surprised by his arrival, too.

“I’m afraid I need to leave now,” she told Daisy. “But I’ll be back on Saturday morning. We can talk about our trip to Wyoming then.”

Tom had no idea what the two women planned to do in the Wyoming territory, but they wouldn’t be taking Sarah Jane with them until he was convinced that she wasn’t Caroline’s daughter.

If he had reason to believe the girl was Caroline’s child, she was going with him to Stillwater, where she belonged.

Of course, that was assuming that Harrison Graves had really softened and would actually claim an illegitimate child as his heir. And, to be honest, Tom had his doubts.

Miss O’Malley glanced his way one more time, her eyes as blue as the Texas sky.

She was a pretty one; that was a fact. And judging by the starched cotton blouse she wore buttoned to her chin, she didn’t belong in the same room with one of the women who worked at the Gardener’s House and, according to the sheriff, went by flower names.

She watched him doe-eyed, like a fawn sighting a man from across a thicket, curious yet ready to bolt at the slightest movement. Then she seemed to rally her courage.

“Good day,” she said, as stiff and proper as the schoolmarm she’d once been.

He gave her a slight nod as she pushed past him, then watched as she let herself out.

When the door snapped shut behind her, he returned his gaze to Daisy.

The fallen woman, who was attractive in her own right, appeared to be in her early twenties and about the same age as the schoolmarm. “How can I help you?” she asked again.

“I was sent by Harrison Graves to find his granddaughter, Caroline. And my search led me here.”

Daisy stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve been to Casa de Los Angelitos,” Tom said, “where you and Caroline met. And I followed her trail to several different towns in Texas, ending up in Taylorsville, where you both lived for the past year. You went by the name of Erin Kelly back then and worked as a cook at the restaurant until the owner went out of business. Caroline was a clerk at the hotel.”

Daisy drew back but didn’t deny it. Finally, she said, “If you’re looking for Caroline, she’s not here. She died a few months back.”

“I know. And she’s survived by a daughter, a girl who’d be about six years old now.”

Before he decided how much to divulge of what he already knew, the child who’d been bullied on the town street entered the kitchen, carrying a handmade rag doll, and approached Daisy.

Tom hadn’t noticed a resemblance to Caroline before, although he hadn’t thought to even look for one. But he studied her carefully now.

Her blond hair was a bit darker than her mother’s, more the color of sunflowers than fresh-churned butter. Yet there were other similarities—green eyes, a turned-up nose.

The fairness of her skin, too, which had made young Caroline appear to be angelic to a boy with mixed blood.

Had she also inherited her mother’s kind heart, the inner beauty that had allowed Caroline to befriend the boy known as Tom Lone Wolf when so many others in Stillwater had turned their backs on him?

Daisy reached for Sarah Jane and drew her close. “I’m afraid I’m not able to talk to you now, so you’ll have to leave.”

Tom wasn’t about to get into specifics in front of the child. Nor did he want to tip his hand about a possible inheritance at this point, especially with a woman who clearly could be purchased.

“I brought the child a gift,” he said. “May I give it to her?”

Sarah Jane looked up at Daisy, her eyes wide, seeking approval. Finally, it came with a nod.

Tom reached inside his vest pocket and pulled a pair of beaded moccasins, as well as a small medicine bag he’d made for her when he’d learned Caroline had not only borne a daughter but kept her.

“When I was a boy,” he said, “I knew a little girl who looked a lot like you. Her name was Caroline Graves. And one day, she did something very brave. As a reward for her bravery, my mother made her a pair of moccasins just like these.”

“Thank you,” Sarah Jane said, as she reached for the soft deerskin gifts. “That was my mama’s name.”

“I thought that it might be.”

The girl studied the handmade shoes and the medicine bag, then gazed at Tom. “What did she do that was brave?”

“She saw a grown man being mean to an Indian boy, and she told him to get off her ranch and to never come back.”

Sarah Jane’s eyes grew wide. “What did the man do to her?”

“He was afraid that she’d tell her grandfather, Harrison Graves, who was a very powerful man. So he left the boy alone.”

Daisy glanced down at the child, then at a bowl of green beans that sat on the kitchen table and back to Tom. “Thank you for your gifts, Mr. McCain. And for sharing the story. But I meant what I said. Now isn’t a good time to talk.”

“It won’t take long. I just want to ask you a few questions and get some honest answers.” Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out the twenty-dollar gold piece Harrison had given him. “Would this be enough to tempt you to find the time?”

Daisy’s eyes, while wary, studied the coin for only a moment. “Come back Thursday morning. Most of the girls sleep in. If you come around eight, I’ll be in the kitchen. And I’ll have a pot of coffee on the stove.”

“Fair enough.”

Again his gaze settled on little Sarah Jane. Would Harrison see a resemblance to her mother? If so, would he take that into consideration?

Would he be pleased to learn that Tom had found Caroline’s daughter? Or would he cast out the illegitimate child, just as he’d done to Caroline when he’d learned she was pregnant without a husband in sight?

Time would tell, he supposed, but first things first. In two days, he’d have to convince Daisy to let Sarah Jane go with him back to the Lazy G.

And if Daisy didn’t agree?

He’d take her anyway. Caroline’s daughter didn’t belong in a place like this. And Tom wasn’t about to leave her here.

* * *

On Friday morning, Katie hurried down the boardwalk to the newspaper office, her skirts swishing with each brisk step she took. She intended to pick up her copy of the Pleasant Valley Journal fresh off the press, just as she always did.

As she opened the front door, a bell tinkled to let the clerk know she’d arrived.

The bespectacled young man glanced up from his desk. When he spotted Katie, he smiled. “Here to read the latest rebuttal to your last article, Miss O’Malley?”

“Yes, Harold.” Katie slipped off her gloves and tucked them into her reticule. “What does Reverend Codwell have to say this time?”

“He doesn’t mention any new arguments, if that’s what you mean.” Harold adjusted his eyeglasses, pushed his swivel chair away from the desk and got to his feet.

While he went for her copy, Katie scanned the small office, breathing in the scent of ink and admiring the intricate machinery that worked the printing press. She’d actually considered the idea of becoming a reporter or even an editor herself. Edward Townsend, Harold’s boss, had once offered her a job, but he’d told her she’d have to temper some of her outspoken comments if she wanted to work for him.

Katie, of course, had refused to do that.

Noticing the publisher wasn’t around, she asked about him. “Where’s Edward?”

“He went to visit...” Harold flushed a brilliant shade of scarlet, then adjusted his shirt collar. “Um...I’m not sure where he is.”

Katie placed her hands on the countertop and leaned forward. “Harold Decker, you’re holding something back. Why is that? What don’t you want to tell me?”

“I’m sorry, Miss O’Malley. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It just isn’t proper.”

Katie arched a brow. “Where is this improper visit taking place?”

Harold ran a hand over his slicked-down hair, then looked at Katie as though he wanted her either to ask someone else or to forget the question completely, but she wasn’t about to do that.

She crossed her arms like a parent scolding an errant child. “Harold?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. Edward went to see...one of the women from...um...the Gardener’s House. She was assaulted and nearly killed yesterday.”

Katie’s hands unfolded and slipped to her sides. “What happened?”

Harold’s ruddy cheeks grew a deeper shade of red with each tick of the clock. “Why don’t you ask Edward when he gets back? I don’t feel right talking to you about it.”

“You might as well tell me. There will be an article in the paper, and we both know that Reverend Codwell will be proclaiming it from the pulpit. You heard him bring up Miss Potts and Sarah Jane last week, which caused a rash of public outrage against the woman and the child.”

“You’re right, I suppose.” He ambled toward the counter and sighed. “And I certainly hope that didn’t have anything to do with the assault.”

“Why would it?”

“Because Daisy was the one who was attacked.”

The unexpected news slammed into Katie like a hammer on a blacksmith’s anvil. “Oh, no. At the brothel?”

“No, while she was coming to town to do some shopping at the mercantile.”

“Who attacked her?”

“No one knows. The little girl was the only witness, but she’s not talking. Doc Hennessy says the child is in shock.”

“Dear Lord,” Katie whispered out loud, as she launched into a silent prayer. Please look after Sarah Jane until I can get to her.

“Don’t worry,” Harold added. “There’s a group of concerned citizens who plan to take the child away from there and put her in an orphanage. Anything would be better than being where she is right now.”

A thousand thoughts swirled in Katie’s head, the foremost being the need to protect little Sarah Jane. She eyed Harold carefully. “What time do you expect Edward to return?”

“I’m not sure. After checking on Daisy, he was going over to the saloon to take up a collection for her. She’s a nice woman.” Harold stiffened. “I mean, she’s nice for a...” He cleared his throat, then chuffed. “Oh, never mind.”

Katie ignored the man’s discomfort. Her only concern was for Sarah Jane. Daisy had already agreed to go to Wyoming. After all, she couldn’t very well change her mind about leaving now.

Either way, Sarah Jane needed a champion, someone who would take her far away from this unforgiving town, someone who wouldn’t allow her to be placed in an orphanage.

And Katie was just the one to do it.

As she turned on her heel and strode for the door, Harold called out, “Miss O’Malley, you forgot your newspaper.”

“I’ll get it later.” Katie slammed the door behind her, nearly jarring the little bell off its perch.

She wasn’t sure what the townspeople would say when she announced that she would be the one adopting Sarah Jane, particularly if the Reverend Codwell stepped in to raise a fuss, but she was taking Sarah Jane and Daisy to Wyoming.

And she was prepared to fight anyone who stood in her way.

* * *

Tom nursed a cup of coffee while he sat in the red-and-gold parlor of the Gardener’s House, waiting for a chance to see Daisy again. The doctor was with her now, and as soon as he was finished with his exam, Tom planned to take her and Sarah Jane to a place they’d be safe.

The attack had been brutal. And there’d been no reason for it. Daisy had been on her way to the mercantile. Sarah Jane had been with her. At some point, she’d screamed. Blossom, one of the other women at the brothel, had heard her and come running. She’d fired a shot at the man, and he’d fled before anyone could get a good look at him.

Daisy, who’d been battered senseless, had no recollection of the assault. When Sarah Jane was asked if she could describe the man who’d attacked them, she’d shaken her head no. One day later, and she still hadn’t uttered a single word.

The doctor said the little girl, who bore bruises along one of her arms, had been traumatized. Poor little thing. Tom had no idea what her life had been like so far, but losing her mother so young...and now this.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gold watch. What was taking the doctor so long? He was hoping to get out of town as soon as Daisy was able to travel. Unfortunately, Daisy couldn’t mount a horse in her condition, even if she’d wanted to. And since Tom couldn’t rid himself of the suspicion that the attacker had intended to kill Daisy for some reason and might want to follow them so he could finish what he’d started, it would be difficult to hide their wagon tracks.

Something else niggled at him, too. Something that could be a coincidence. But why had the two women moved so many times since meeting in Mexico? Had they been running from someone?

Too bad Trapper Jack had already gone home. Tom could have used the man’s help today, even if he would have had to listen to his infernal jabbering and advice.

To make matters worse, Tom also had to look after Sarah Jane. And as much as he wanted to do right by Caroline’s daughter, he didn’t know squat about kids—especially little girls. And Daisy wasn’t going to be much help since she couldn’t even see to her own needs right now.

The doctor didn’t think her skull had been fractured by the blows to her head, but she’d suffered a serious concussion.

If that weren’t enough, that safe place he had in mind was a three-day ride from here.

Needless to say, Tom was growing too antsy to sit any longer. So he stuffed his father’s gold watch back into his pocket and got to his feet. He might as well do something useful, like head to the livery and get that wagon. But before he could cross the room, a sharp rap sounded at the door.

Sweet Heather, a plump blonde wearing a black, low-cut gown, sashayed toward the entry. “I’m comin’, sugar.”

As she swung open the door and a familiar redhead strode into the parlor with a determined step, her smile drooped to a frown and her hand fisted against her hip.

This ought to be interesting, Tom thought, as he studied the lady who was clearly out of place.

Afternoon sunlight peered through the front window and glistened upon her red hair, highlighting shades of fire and autumn. Expressive blue eyes blazed in a passionate array of emotions—worry, concern, nervous indignation, he guessed.

In spite of the modest apparel, he had to admit that she intrigued him far more than any of the women who lived and worked at the Gardener’s House.

As she scanned the parlor, the room grew still and intense with silent fury, like the air before a Texas twister.

“You again?” Sweet Heather asked. “What do you want this time?”

The redhead swept past her. “I just heard what happened. I came to see Sarah Jane and to talk to Daisy.”

Sweet Heather crossed her arms under her ample bust. “I told you before. You aren’t welcome here, so you’d better skedaddle.”

“I’m not leaving until I see them.”

Sweet Heather laughed heartily, her bosom bouncing like a bowl of calf’s-foot jelly. “Then I guess you’ll be here for a long, long time.”

“I can wait.” The redhead surveyed the room. When her gaze moved to Tom and recognition sparked, her breath caught.

Tom had to admit she had guts. Most decent women would rather drop dead than walk into a place like this.

“I told you to go,” Sweet Heather bellowed, her face reddening, her mouth set in grim determination. “We lost two customers the last time you came here.”

Sweet Heather looked like a ruckus ready to happen, and if the lady knew what was best for her she’d leave now.

Miss O’Malley didn’t flinch. Instead, she strode deeper into the parlor, her head still held high. “Then I’ll wait for someone to tell me where to find Sarah Jane.”

Sweet Heather closed the gap between them. “You’ll get out even if I have to pick you up and throw you out myself.”

About that time, the women who’d gathered at the top of the stairs began to file down the steps.

Realizing things could get out of hand, Tom made his way to the lady. “Miss O’Malley, I think you’d better leave. Sweet Heather would actually favor a fight.”

Miss O’Malley stood a bit taller, if that was possible. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. McCain, but I’m not going to leave until I’m ready to do so. And that’s not going to happen unless someone tells me where I can find Sarah Jane.”

Tom scanned the length of her. He could throw her over his shoulder and force her to leave, but it really wasn’t any of his business.

How involved did he want to get?

He figured he might as well head to the livery stable.

As he made his way to the door, Sweet Heather called out to him. “Where are you going, handsome?”

Tom stopped long enough to turn and say, “I’ll be back.”

But that didn’t seem to appease Sweet Heather, because she grabbed a vase and threw it at Miss O’Malley, who ducked just in the nick of time.

As the glass shattered on the floor, Sweet Heather looked as smug as a fat cat with its paw pressed down on a mouse’s tail. “The next thing I break will be your teeth.”

Tom sighed heavily. He sensed a real fight coming, and, in spite of his better judgment, he sauntered toward the redhead, lifted her feet off the floor and threw her across his shoulder like a sack of grain.

He’d been prepared for the weight of her—but not the delicate scent of lilac on her clothes and hair.

“Put me down this instant,” she cried, her words coming out in raspy shrieks. She kicked her feet and pounded her fists on his back like an ornery cougar kit that had been caught and placed in an empty feed sack.

As feisty as the former schoolmarm was, she might actually hold her own in a tussle with Sweet Heather.

He wrapped one arm around her knees and tried to still her flailing legs as he carried her outside and down the porch steps to the lawn in front of the brothel.

“I said, put me down!” she shrieked.

“Stop fighting me and I will.”

She took a deep breath, then groaned in exasperation before ceasing her struggle. He took in one last whiff of lilac, then lowered her to the ground. As he did so, she slid down the front of him, leaving them both standing in awkward silence.

Their eyes locked, and for one brief moment, something passed between them, something that stirred the senses. But Tom didn’t have time to lose his focus.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but your presence was creating more trouble than either of us need. Now get out of here before the sheriff is called and your reputation is in shreds.”

“I don’t give a fig about my reputation right now. I’m going back in there, even if I have to climb in a window or slip down the chimney.”

If that were the case, Tom would either have to let her go—or wrestle her himself. And right now, tangling with her any more than he already had didn’t seem to be a wise option. Still, maybe he could ease her mind and send her on her way.

“Don’t worry about Sarah Jane,” he said. “I’m taking her someplace safe.”

“That’s not necessary. I already have plans to take her and Daisy to Wyoming just as soon as Daisy has recovered enough to travel. They’ll both be able to make a fresh start there. Daisy will find respectable work, and Sarah Jane will have...well, rest assured that I’ll provide her with opportunities she’d never have otherwise.”

Tom lifted his hat, then readjusted it on his head. “First off, I don’t think it’s in either of their best interests to remain in town long enough for Daisy to recover fully. And, secondly, while I appreciate your concern for the child, I have reason to believe that she has family in Stillwater.”

That gave Miss O’Malley pause. “You have reason to believe? You’re not sure?”

Actually, he knew that she had a great-grandfather. But he wasn’t convinced the dying old man would welcome her with open arms. “Let’s just say that I’m sure enough.”

The schoolmarm seemed to think on that, and as she did, she worried her lip. All the while, the sun continued to shine on her hair, dancing upon the glossy strands.

The autumn color was remarkable. Tom wondered what it looked like when she removed the pins, brushed out the tresses and let them hang long.

When she finally glanced up, her expressive eyes, the shade of bluebonnets, caught his. “But if she has a family, where have they been all her life? Why is she living in a place like this?”

“I’m still trying to figure out how that might have come about.” He’d tried to talk to Daisy earlier, but her throat had been badly bruised by the near strangling. The doctor had given her something for pain and to help her rest, and she’d dozed off before he could get anything out of her.

“What if that family Sarah Jane supposedly has doesn’t want her?” Miss O’Malley asked.

He’d thought of that possibility more than he dared to admit. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

Apparently, that wasn’t enough to appease her, because she crossed her arms and lifted her chin in defiance. “I won’t let you take Sarah Jane anywhere.”

Tom snorted at her hollow challenge. “I wouldn’t recommend fighting with me, Miss O’Malley.”

She studied him a moment, as if calculating the odds, then softened her stance. “Daisy is Sarah Jane’s guardian. And the two of us have reached an agreement. We’re taking Sarah Jane to Wyoming.”

“Daisy also goes by the name of Erin Kelly,” he said. “Did you know that?”

A twitch at the corner of a single blue eye suggested that she didn’t, yet she brushed off his comment. “I’m not surprised. I didn’t think her name was actually Daisy Potts.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know.”

She stiffened. “I’m sure that’s true. Nevertheless, Daisy—or whatever name she’d prefer to go by—has agreed to go with me to Wyoming. And I plan to leave town just as soon as Dr. Hennessy says she can travel.”

“I’m afraid her plans changed when she was attacked and nearly killed.”

“It seems to me that would be all the more reason for her to want a new life. And I can help her attain that dream—in Wyoming.”

“And just whose dream is that, Miss O’Malley? Yours or Daisy’s?”

She seemed to ponder that a moment, as if he’d finally tossed something her way that she hadn’t expected. Then she seemed to shrug it off. “Does it matter? Some people become so downtrodden that they forget how to dream.”

The fool woman had an answer for everything.

“At this point,” he said, “the only thing that matters is getting Erin and Sarah Jane out of town before that man comes back and tries to finish what he started.”

Her lips parted, and the color in her cheeks drained. “Do you think the man will come back and try to kill her?”

“Come now. You’re a bright woman. Think about it. The man attacked a woman and child in broad daylight. He certainly wasn’t a drunken, unhappy customer. And when another woman interrupted the attack, he ran off before she could get a good look at him. But as far as the attacker knows, there are still two witnesses.”

She bit down on her bottom lip again as she considered what he was suggesting, so he continued to make himself clear. “From what I’ve been told, Erin has no memory of the attack—at least, not now. And Sarah Jane hasn’t uttered a word since that morning. The doctor thinks she’s traumatized by what she saw, and who knows if or when she’ll speak again. But the attacker doesn’t know that.”

Tom didn’t see any point in telling Miss O’Malley that he’d been following Caroline’s trail for the past three weeks, from Casa de Los Angelitos in Mexico, where Sarah Jane was born, to the town of Taylorsville, where Caroline had died after a fall down a flight of stairs.

And that was another thing that just didn’t sit right with him. Caroline had been a healthy and vivacious twenty-four-year-old. How had she managed to take a fatal tumble like that? And why had Erin left right after the funeral?

Something about that just didn’t make sense. The women had put down roots several different times in the past six years. And then all of a sudden, they would up and move again.

Had one or the other been running from something?

Or from someone?

If so, Tom didn’t like the idea of Sarah Jane being caught up in the backlash of whatever the adults in her life had been involved in—or running from.

He hoped he was wrong, but the only one who could answer his questions was Erin, and she was in no condition to talk yet.

“How do you plan to travel with a child and an injured woman?” Miss O’Malley asked.

That wasn’t going to be easy. And Tom didn’t expect to do much sleeping on the three-day ride to Hannah’s house, where he intended to leave Daisy to heal.

“I can see that you haven’t thought that through,” Miss O’Malley said, her tone and stance a little too smug for her bustle.

“Actually,” Tom said, “I’ve done a lot of thinking.” More than she would ever know—and not just while he’d been on the trail looking for Caroline.

“Perhaps we should compromise,” she said.

“About what? The way I see it, Miss O’Malley, you don’t have a dog in this fight.”

As though his words had fallen on deaf ears, she continued to speak her mind. “Erin and Sarah Jane need to get out of town fast, correct?”

“That’s the way I see it.” What was her point?

“And Sarah Jane might or might not have a family who might—or might not—want her. Is that a safe assumption?”

“I suppose so.” Where was she going with this?

“If she has no family—or if they don’t want her—she’ll need another home.”

He didn’t dispute that.

“And if they want her, we’ll need to determine whether they deserve her. And if they don’t, then we’ll still need to find her another home.”

We? Who included Miss O’Malley in any of this?

“So you see, it’s all very simple.” Miss O’Malley crossed her arms and smiled. “I’ll go with you. And if Sarah Jane needs a home for any reason, I’ll be prepared to take her and Erin with me to Wyoming as planned.”

She couldn’t be suggesting that he travel for three days with her, an outspoken, headstrong schoolmarm. He’d be a fool to even consider such a notion. A woman like Miss O’Malley, no matter how pretty she was, would make the trip as unbearable as a throbbing ingrown toenail.

“Miss O’Malley, thank you for the kind offer, but I’m afraid that won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“To be honest, I’d run naked through a briar patch before I’d travel with you any longer than necessary.”

Up went that pretty little chin again. “Traveling with you wouldn’t be a picnic, Mr. McCain.”

“It certainly won’t. I’m not packing silver tea service or linen napkins.”

“How dare you accuse me of being prissy. I’ve made it a point to not be cast in that mold.”

“The mold of a lady?” He asked, awaiting a slap—or a sharp retort.

Instead, she uncrossed her arms and tossed him a pretty smile. “I don’t really care what others think of me, Mr. McCain—you included. But that’s beside the point right now. You’re going to need help traveling with an injured woman and a traumatized child. And it looks as though I’m the only one willing to go with you. So the way I see it, you don’t have much choice.”

Trouble was, as much as he hated to admit it, she was right.

Chapter Three

McCain glared at Katie as though she’d gone daft, then he shook his head. “Be ready in an hour—and not one minute more. We’ll leave from here.”

Before she could object to the unreasonable time limit, the man left her standing in front of the brothel and strode away as though it wouldn’t take much to change his mind or to alter his travel plans.

While she should feel somewhat victorious, she had to admit that she felt as unbalanced as a blindfolded child in a sack race.

How in creation was she ever going to pack for a trip like that in so little time?

Well, she couldn’t very well stew about it a moment longer, so she hurried home as quickly as her skirts would allow. She did, however, stop briefly to let Ian Connor know that she’d be leaving town.

Ian, who’d been a dear friend and a colleague of her late father, had suffered an attack of apoplexy last year that left the right side of his body so weak that he’d had to retire from his law practice. He now lived with his widowed sister in a white clapboard house just down the lane from Katie.

As she’d expected, Ian greeted her with a warm smile. “Katie, my dear, it’s always good to see you. Please come in.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have time to come inside. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be leaving and will be away for a week or so.”

Ian stroked his right arm and furrowed his brow. “Where are you going?”

“I’m taking Daisy Potts and Sarah Jane out of town.”

Ian stiffened. “You’re what?”

“I take it you heard about the attack. Poor Miss Potts was assaulted and nearly killed. I’m going to escort her and the child out of town.”

“Yes, I heard about the attack—and her injuries. But why in the world are you getting involved in that?”

“You know me.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I do.” Ian blew out a weary sigh. “May I remind you that you’re an unmarried woman, Katie? Traveling the country with a small child and a battered prostitute is dangerous and...well, it’s uncalled-for. Think of your reputation.”

“I’ll have an escort—Mr. Tom McCain. So I’ll be perfectly safe.”

Ian clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Why are they leaving? Wouldn’t it be best if Miss Potts stayed here in town until she recovered?”

Katie didn’t dare mention the danger Daisy and Sarah Jane might be in, so she chose another reason for their hasty departure. “The town hasn’t been kind to the child, and there’s been talk of sending her to live in an orphanage.”

The dear old man who, along with his sister, had become as close as family members to her, especially since her da’s passing, blew out a weary sigh. “Sending that poor child away isn’t necessarily a bad idea, Katie. People around here aren’t likely to ever forget what her mother did for a living.”

“I don’t know much about her real mother, God rest her soul. Sarah Jane once mentioned that she used to work at a hotel.”

“That’s probably what the child considers the Gardener’s House to be.”

“You may be right, but a little girl shouldn’t be punished for her mother’s mistakes.”

“I agree. However, that’s the way of it, Katie. When are you going to learn there are some things you can’t change or fix? I’d think that after getting arrested last November for creating a public disturbance at the town hall meeting you’d be smart enough to figure that out.”

“First of all, I’m not the only woman in this community who spent time in jail for speaking her mind.” Katie leaned against the doorjamb. “And secondly, I have given up. At least, here in Pleasant Valley.”

“What do you mean by that?” Ian asked.

“I’m going to leave as soon as I return from escorting Miss Potts.”

His face paled. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She understood his concern. And the last thing she wanted to do was to hurt him or to cause him any undue worry. “I’m going to Wyoming. The school board in Granville is looking for a teacher.”

“I thought you didn’t like teaching and that you gave it up for good.”

“Well, I’ve had a change of heart. Since I can’t get through to the adults in this community, I’ve decided to use another tactic. I’ll begin by training the children when they’re still able to see reason.”

Ian blew out a weary sigh. “I told your father that I would be happy to oversee your trust fund, but he didn’t take me up on the offer, giving you full control. If he’d known that you’d become so independent, he might have listened to me.”

“Da always admired my independence.”

“He wouldn’t have in this instance.”

Katie watched the emotions play across Ian’s face, and she knew she was in for a battle. But try as he might, he wouldn’t be able to change her plans.

“I can’t allow you to go to Wyoming. Your father would roll over in the grave if I let you traipse across the country unescorted.”

“I won’t be alone, Ian. If things go as planned, I’ll be traveling with Miss Potts and Sarah Jane.”

“You’re going to travel with a prostitute?” His voice rose an octave, and his face grew rosy and bright. “Have you lost your mind completely?” Ian slapped his good hand upon his hip. “Katie, listen to reason for once in your life. Women of virtue don’t go to the Wyoming Territory, especially with soiled doves. They stay home and wait for a man to court them.”

It was the same argument he’d used each time she showed her stubborn streak, so she wasn’t surprised. Still, her answer was always the same. “That’s not going to happen. Getting married would strip me of what few rights a woman has in this world.”

“Well, it’s probably just as well that you remain a spinster. You’d drive your first husband crazy and the second to drink.”

“You may be right,” Katie said with a chuckle. “But if I should suffer a blow to the head causing me to reconsider marriage, I’ll look for a man as fair-minded as you or Da.”

“Humph. Don’t try to flatter me.”

Katie stepped forward and wrapped the old man in a warm embrace. “I love you, Ian. You know that, don’t you?”

The tension in his stance eased, and he hugged her back. “I love you, too, Katie. You’ve been the daughter I never had.”

Ian would be as angry as a hornet in a bowl of honey if he knew all the details of her trip, of the possible danger, of her determination to adopt Sarah Jane in the end, but he’d settle down in a day or so. He always did when he realized her mind was made up. And it was.

Katie was going to take Sarah Jane to Wyoming, and nobody was going to stop her.

* * *

Needless to say, Katie had packed her clothing and toiletries into a valise as quickly as possible, then she’d hurried to the livery stable and rented a gentle roan mare. After mounting and adjusting her skirts, she rode to the Gardener’s House to meet Mr. McCain.

Since she preferred not to butt heads with Sweet Heather again, she decided to wait outside. So she dismounted and tied her mare next to McCain’s big bay gelding and the snorting team of horses harnessed to a buckboard.

Someone had already packed the wagon and lined the bed with several quilts. They’d also rigged a small canvas tarp over the top to provide the injured woman with a bit of shade. Katie wondered if one of the fallen women had thought of it—or if McCain had.

Before she could consider the thoughtful gesture, the brothel’s front door swung open, and McCain stepped onto the porch with Daisy—or rather, Erin—in his arms. The injured woman wore a light blue dress—a plain and simple style with long sleeves and a delicate bow tied at the neckline. With her dark hair swept up into a modest topknot, she appeared to be as proper as any of the other ladies in town.

Katie thought it made a clever disguise, if one could call it that.

As McCain carried Erin down the porch steps, Katie caught a glimpse of the black eye and the nasty bruise that marred one side of her face, mocking the ladylike clothing. As they crossed the yard, Katie had a better view of her injuries and winced at the brutality of the attack.

She’d been so taken by the sight of the battered woman that she just now noticed Sarah Jane trailing behind. The child, her head downcast, wore a yellow calico dress and a small pair of moccasins on her feet.

Katie made her way to the little girl, then dropped to her knees and hugged her close. But instead of returning the embrace, Sarah Jane’s arms hung loosely at her sides.

“Oh, honey,” Katie said, hoping to infuse a little warmth and joy back into her. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Katie’s heart ached at the thought of what the child had witnessed, what she’d been through.

“Come on,” McCain said. “We don’t have time for idle chitchat. Let’s get them in the wagon.”

Katie didn’t intend to dawdle. For goodness’ sake, she wanted to get the child—and herself!—as far away from the brothel as they could. But she couldn’t help being concerned about the girl and ignored the man long enough to satisfy her curiosity.

“Are you all right, honey?” Katie asked.

Sarah Jane nodded.

“Who hurt you?”

The child’s gaze dropped to the small, beaded moccasins she wore.

Katie placed her fingertip under Sarah Jane’s chin and lifted her face. “It’s all right. I’m here now, and I’ll protect you. You can tell me what happened.”

“She can’t talk,” McCain said.

Katie knew she’d been traumatized, but she’d thought, well, hoped that her arrival, her presence and voice, might soothe the frightened girl, might comfort her.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Katie turned to see a tall blonde carrying a large basket in the crook of her arm. A stocky brunette followed behind toting a white ceramic chamber pot.

“I’ve packed some vittles for you to take,” the blonde said. “It’ll be suppertime before you know it. And since Doc don’t want Daisy to walk or move around very much, we thought it might be best if you took this pot along, too. That way she won’t have to climb in and out of the wagon.”

Katie knew Daisy had been injured, but she hadn’t realized how laid up she’d be on the trip. But that didn’t matter. Katie was prepared to take care of her, as well as Sarah Jane.

She’d nursed her da for several weeks before he passed, so she was used to tending the sick. And while being on the trail would be different from being at home, she was prepared to do whatever needed to be done.

According to McCain, the trip would take several days. Katie wondered what they would eat after they’d finished the food in the basket. She hated to think that they’d have to scavenge the countryside for berries, seeds and wild game. Surely someone had thought to pack more supplies. But if they hadn’t? Well, she’d think of something. She always did.

Katie stood, shook the dust from her skirts and reached for Sarah Jane’s hand. “Come on, honey. We’re going on a grand adventure.”

McCain, who’d helped the injured woman settle into the bed of the wagon, glanced her way and frowned.

Didn’t he realize that Katie simply had been trying to reassure the child? She certainly wasn’t looking forward to spending the next few days sleeping outdoors and eating whatever they managed to find, especially under his watch. Would she ever see his gaze untouched by judgment? A small part of her couldn’t help wishing so.

“By the way,” Katie said to McCain, deciding she deserved more information than he’d given her. “Do we have any pans for cooking? Or maybe a coffeepot?”

His scowl confirmed that he might have agreed to take her along, but he certainly wasn’t the least bit happy about it. When he finally spoke, his words came out short and snappish. “This isn’t a picnic, Miss O’Malley.”

Under other circumstances, Katie might have let loose with an angry retort, but she bit her tongue, knowing it wouldn’t do her any good to irritate him further, at least until they were too far along for him to change his mind and send her home.

“Tom,” the blonde said, “I’ve got one more box to go on that wagon, and I’ll need some help lifting it.”

“There’s not much room, Rose.”

“It’s not big, just a wee bit heavy.”

McCain started toward the house, then paused when he reached Katie. “Help Sarah Jane into the wagon.”

If Katie weren’t so eager to get the child away from the brothel and this town, she’d remind him that she didn’t take orders, and that a “please” and a little respect would go a long way. But she let it go this time and helped Sarah Jane settle into the back of the wagon, next to where Erin lay.

Once the child was seated, Katie leaned against the side of the buckboard, reached into the bed and placed her hand on the prostitute’s arm. “Mr. McCain told me that your name is Erin, which is what I’ll be calling you from now on.”

Erin, her eyes a bit dazed, merely nodded.

“I’m sorry things aren’t working out the way either of us intended,” Katie added, “but don’t worry. Once you’re feeling better, we’ll leave for Wyoming.”

Erin merely closed her eyes and sighed.

Boot steps sounded on the porch, and Katie looked over her shoulder to see McCain approach the wagon carrying a small wooden crate. After he placed it under the wagon seat, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold watch.

He lifted the lid and glanced at the time. Then he circled the wagon and approached Katie. “I’ll help you up.”

“You don’t need to,” she told him. “I’m not as helpless or as troublesome as you think. I can do it myself.”

In spite of what she’d told him, he slipped behind her and offered his assistance, gripping her elbow and reaching for her waist.

His hands were strong, his touch warm, his movements deft. Yet it was the scent of him, a manly combination of leather and soap that caused her breath to catch.

Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she climbed up, settled onto the seat and adjusted her skirts.

She was just about to reach for the reins when McCain tied his horse to the back of the wagon, beside hers.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “I can drive a buckboard.”

“We’re all going to ride in the wagon. From a distance, maybe we’ll look like a family.”

Katie nearly snorted at the thought of her and McCain as husband and wife, but she kept her reaction to herself.

It was all part of the masquerade, part of the plan to get Sarah Jane to safety.

Yet as McCain climbed into the seat beside her, like a husband would do, her heart gave a funny little flutter.

“Everybody ready?” he asked the passengers in back.

“Are you sure we have everything we need?” Katie asked, hoping he’d thought of the things she might have included had he given her enough time to plan.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re going to make do with what we have. We’re burning daylight as it is.”

She wanted to object, but she had to admit that McCain was right.

The sooner they left Pleasant Valley, the better.

* * *

Traveling with two women and a child wasn’t going to be easy, and Tom doubted he’d get much sleep over the next few days. If he’d had the luxury of waiting until tomorrow morning, he would have planned to set out before daylight.

The fewer people who saw them leaving, the less chance there was that the attacker would catch wind of it and follow them. Hopefully, the man had fled to parts unknown, but Tom wasn’t taking any chances. According to Sheriff Droeger, they hadn’t uncovered a motive for the assault—no robbery, at least, not that anyone knew. So was it personal? Had the man gone after Erin for some other reason? If so, that would give him reason to come back and finish the job.

Tom had purchased the wagon at the livery, and, fortunately, the old man who ran the place had been more interested in pocketing the cash than in asking questions.

So now here they were, about twenty miles outside of Pleasant Valley. Tom would have pushed harder so they could have traveled farther, but Dr. Hennessy had warned him not to jostle Erin too much. Of course, the doctor had also given her something to make her sleep, so she’d rested easily all afternoon.

They’d finally reached a good place to set up camp. Tom remembered this spot when he and Trapper had ridden through a few days earlier. With a creek nearby, its water clear and fresh, and the scattering of trees to hide them from the road, it was a good place to spend the night.

But he still wanted to scout the area and assure himself that the women and the child would be safe, even though he planned to watch over them while they slept.

So, after unhitching the horses, leading them to water and waiting for them to drink, he returned to the campsite and tethered them to a tree.

“I’m going to have a look around,” he told Miss O’Malley. “Do you think you can handle things here?”

“Yes, of course. Should Sarah Jane and I gather some dried twigs for a fire?”

“Wait until I come back.” He didn’t want them to wander too far or build a fire until he was sure they weren’t being followed.

Fifteen minutes later, after taking care to hide their wagon tracks, he’d circled back to the campsite. All the while, he’d watched and listened for any sign that they weren’t alone while keeping his right hand close to his holster.

When he’d convinced himself that they were safe, he headed back to camp. Not far from where they’d left the horses and wagon, while he was still near the stream, twigs snapped and skirts rustled.

Tom turned to the sound and spotted Miss O’Malley and Sarah Jane heading back to camp. They each carried a canteen, so he figured they’d been getting water. The woman also held a black valise.

He glanced at the setting sun. It would be dark soon. He was just about to call out, letting them know that he was nearby, but he stopped short when he saw Miss O’Malley drop to her knees and tend Sarah Jane with gentle hands and a soft voice.

Fascinated, he watched the attractive redhead gently run a silver-handled comb through the child’s tangled locks.

“You have the prettiest hair,” she told the girl. “Just like captured sunbeams.”

Sarah Jane raised her eyebrows with a look of such obvious hope that Tom’s heart melted. The poor kid had been through far more than was fair—the recent death of her mother, the assault of the woman who’d been caring for her.

Miss O’Malley reached for a white ribbon and handed it to Sarah Jane. “Hold this, honey.” Deftly forming a long braid, she took the satin strip and tied a bow to hold her work together. “There you go.”

Then the woman removed a small bottle from her bag, twisted the lid open and placed a dab of the contents behind each of her ears. All the while, the child watched with rapt attention.

And so did Tom.

“It’s lilac water,” Miss O’Malley said. “It’s my favorite scent. Would you like some?”

When Sarah Jane nodded, the woman smiled and applied a bit behind the girl’s ears, too, her movements slow and gentle.

It was nice to see a softer side to her. Apparently there was more to her than met the eye, although what met his eye was rather appealing. In fact, the sight was almost mesmerizing.

But Tom couldn’t very well continue to gaze at her like an awestruck kid with a crush on the schoolmarm. What if she caught him doing it?

The last thing in the world he needed to do was to let down his guard with a woman as outspoken as Katie O’Malley, no matter how pretty she was, no matter how softhearted she might appear to be.

He’d seen the feisty side of her. And right now, he had enough trouble on his hands.

For a moment, his resolve waffled. If circumstances were different, if he were just passing through, he might have said or done something stupid. But he had a job to do, a child to protect. And there was another issue he couldn’t ignore.

Katie O’Malley was also white.

And Tom McCain wasn’t.

That might not make a difference to people like Hannah and Trapper Jack, but there were others who’d object. Others who’d made it more than clear that Tom wasn’t to step foot on their ranch.

Tom had been about nine years old when he’d gone to the Lazy G to deliver a pair of moccasins his mother had made for Caroline. The girl hadn’t been home because she’d gone into town with the housekeeper, but Randolph Haney, Harrison’s friend and solicitor, had been there.

He’d responded to Tom’s request to speak to Caroline with a shove that had knocked him to the ground.

“She doesn’t need anything from the filthy likes of you. Get out of here. And don’t ever come back.” Then, for good measure, Haney had kicked him while he was down, splitting his head open with the toe of his boot.

Tom still bore a scar from the attack, a reminder to keep his distance from the Lazy G, which he’d made a point of doing. But nearly a year later, at the urging of his mother, he’d gone back with her one cold, rainy afternoon.

Haney had answered the door that day, too. His mother had begged him to let her talk to Harrison. Haney had left them outside and gone into the house. A few minutes later, when he returned, he’d pulled his gun and ordered her off the property.

And take your whelp with you.

It had been a hard lesson, a painful one—because Tom’s mother had died several days later.

That was why Trapper had objected to Tom taking the job to find Caroline in the first place. But there were some things a boy didn’t forget, some promises meant to be kept.

So after taking Sarah Jane back to the Lazy G, assuming Tom was convinced that she’d be treated as a rightful heir, he’d leave Stillwater for good. He had no need for Randolph Haney or Harrison Graves.

He didn’t need Miss O’Malley, either—except for the next few days. After that, when he got to Hannah’s place, he’d ask Trapper to escort the troublesome redhead back to Pleasant Valley. Then he’d be done with her for once and for all.

Yet he continued to watch her until she glanced up and spotted him. As their eyes met, their gazes locked.

He knew how she felt about women’s equality. But how did she feel about equality for all people, even those with darker skin?

He supposed it really didn’t matter.

Either way, he couldn’t let her think that he was fawning over her. So he’d better put some distance between them. They might have to share a seat on the same wagon, but there were other ways to create distance. One way would be to let her know who was boss.

“It’s time to eat,” he said. “There are some supplies in the wooden box under the seat of the wagon, but Rose packed a basket of food for us to eat this evening. That’s probably going to be the easiest and best-tasting meal we’ll have for the next few days. So when you’re finished with whatever you’re doing here, you can start setting it out.”

Miss O’Malley pondered his request for a moment, then she straightened, crossed her arms and tossed him a pretty smile. “I’ll be a while yet. So if you’re hungry, then maybe you ought to do it yourself.”

It’s not as if Tom had never set up camp before or fixed supper for himself and Trapper. But he wasn’t about to let the schoolmarm order him around as though he were one of her students, and she may as well get that straight.

Of course, he wasn’t about to have a showdown in front of the child.

“Sarah Jane,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket and withdrawing a small paper bag. “Go see about Erin and, if she’s awake, offer her one of these. You can have some, too.”

Without the least bit of reluctance, Sarah Jane pulled free of the woman’s grip on her shoulders and approached Tom with an outstretched hand.

When she reached him, he handed her the bag. She peeked inside before heading back to the campsite.

“What did you give her?” the schoolmarm asked.

“Lemon drops.”

When Sarah Jane was out of earshot, Tom crossed his own arms. “It seems that neither of us likes taking orders, but let’s get one thing straight. I’ll be making all the decisions on this trip. You’ll do what I say—and when I say it.”

“I don’t mind yielding to you because of your experience and know-how, but I’m not going to take orders blindly, just because you’re a man and I’m a woman.”

“Like I said, you’ll do as I say. And you won’t question my reasons or motives. That means you’ll handle the meals.”

“Apparently you didn’t hear me.” The petite redhead stood firm. “I’ll return to camp when I’m good and ready. And if you have a job for me to do, you’ll ask me to do it, rather than tell me. You’ll also use words like ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”

“Listen here, Miss O’Malley. You’re not in charge. I am. And you’re lucky I don’t throw you on the back of that nag you call a horse, turn it around and slap its rump to send you back to town in a dead run.”

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” she asked, her voice coming out a bit wobbly.

“Do you scare easily?” he asked.

“No, I don’t.”

He flashed a taunting smile. “I suppose you’re too smart to be afraid.”

“I’m bright,” she admitted, “and better educated than most—male or female.”

“That might be true, but driving a wagon and crossing rugged territory takes more knowledge than you can find in a book. It takes common sense, instinct and courage—things you can’t learn in school.”

“What I lack in experience, I make up for in determination.”

“A determined fool won’t last a day on the trail.”

She clenched her fists at her side. “I’m no fool, and I have far more courage than you think.”

While he’d like to believe her, especially when he wasn’t sure what they might face down the road, he couldn’t help thinking of her as a young, trigger-happy cowboy out to prove himself. But he doubted arguing with her would get either of them anywhere.

“I guess that’s left to be seen,” Tom said. “Now let’s get out of here.”

“All right.”

Yet neither of them made a move.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

“For you to go first.”

When she didn’t move, he said, “Listen, Miss O’Malley, I can be your ally or your enemy. It’s your choice.”

“I choose my friends wisely, Mr. McCain.” She flashed an insincere smile then headed up the incline toward the wagon, passing him as she went and leaving a scent of lilac lingering in the air.

Tom raked a hand through his hair. He was going to need help with Erin and Sarah Jane over the next couple of days. And right now, the only human he had to rely on was a troublesome redhead who, given time, could surely provoke a gentle and pious preacher to spit and cuss.

Over the years, Tom had learned to trust God to see him through every difficult situation he had to face. The first time he’d called out to his father’s God—he’d been a ten-year-old half-breed, cold, hungry and alone in a hostile white world.

Not ten minutes later, Trapper Jack had come along to change all that and to take him to live with Hannah McCain. She’d not only loved and cared for him, she’d shared her faith, and before long, Tom had become a believer himself.

Last night, Tom had prayed for guidance and help in protecting Sarah Jane and finding her a loving home. He knew God would answer that prayer. He surely did.

Trouble was, he feared that this time, instead of blessing him with a woman like Hannah, God had seen fit to punish him with Katie O’Malley.

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