The Rancher’s Ready-Made Family

Nate Colby came to the Dakota Territory to start over, not to look for a wife. He’ll raise his orphaned nieces and nephew on his own, even if pretty schoolteacher Sarah MacFarland’s help is a blessing. But Nate resists getting too close—Sarah deserves better than a man who only brings trouble to those around him.

Sarah can’t deny she cares for the children, but she can’t let herself fall for Nate. Her childhood as an orphan taught her that opening her heart to love only ends in hurt. Yet helping this ready-made family set up their ranch only makes her long to be a part of it—whatever the risk.

Nate’s own silence came from the closeness of Sarah.

She had chosen to sit next to him on the wagon seat so James and Margaret could sit together. The children lay down in the bed of the wagon. At every bump and turn Sarah’s skirt brushed against his knee, keeping him constantly aware of her presence.

She must have been as tired as all of them, though. She didn’t say a word until they reached the cabin on Williams Street.

“Thank you for the wonderful day, Nate.” Her voice was soft, and she smiled as she spoke.

“We sure appreciated your company.” He tore his gaze away from those deep blue eyes. They had spent too much time together, walking across his land and making plans.

Plans that she wouldn’t have any part in, if he had his way. Life with him—well, he wouldn’t ask anyone to share the kind of life he had lived so far. But he couldn’t keep from watching her walk into the cabin.

JAN DREXLER enjoys living in the Black Hills of South Dakota with her husband of more than thirty years and their four adult children. Intrigued by history and stories from an early age, she loves delving into the world of “what if?” with her characters. If she isn’t at her computer giving life to imaginary people, she’s probably hiking in the Hills or the Badlands, enjoying the spectacular scenery.

A Home for His Family

Jan Drexler

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

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

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

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

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

—Matthew 6:19–21

To my mother, Veva, 1929–2014.

Thank you for teaching me to love stories.

I miss you more than words can say.

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

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Deadwood, Dakota Territory May 1877

“Sorry for the delay, folks. There’s a bull train on the trail ahead of us, and they’re hogging the road. It won’t be long until we’re moving again.” The stagecoach guard acknowledged Sarah MacFarland and Aunt Margaret, the only ladies in the cramped stage, with a tip of his hat. Water sluiced off the brim onto the feet of the male passengers. “The good news is that we’re only a few miles from Deadwood, and the rain is easing up a bit.”

“Thank you.” Sarah answered him with a nod, but kept her face classroom-firm. She had already learned women were few in this western country, and men were eager to take even a polite smile as permission to overstep the boundaries of propriety. Aunt Margaret had the notion Sarah might find a husband out here in the West, but Sarah had no such dreams. Twenty-eight years old put her firmly in the spinster category and she was more than happy to remain there.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Mr. Johnson shifted his bulk and reached under his seat. The man’s cigar jammed between his teeth had bothered Aunt Margaret the entire journey from Sidney, Nebraska. “If you’ll oblige, I’ll take my bag. Since we’re this close to the camp, I might as well walk the rest of the way.”

He grabbed his satchel and squeezed out of the crowded coach. The other men spilled out after him like a half-dozen chicks from a grain sack.

“Are they all walking to Deadwood from here?” Aunt Margaret adjusted her hat as she peered through the open door.

Peder Swenson pushed himself up from his spot on the floor. “I’m not. But I am going to stretch my legs and see what’s going on.” The blond eighteen-year-old had kept them entertained with stories of his native Norway on the long journey.

As Sarah watched Peder stride away on his long legs, she couldn’t sit still another minute. “I am, too.”

Aunt Margaret grabbed her sleeve. “You will not. Who knows what you’ll find out there? We’ve seen enough of those bullwhackers along the trail to know what kind of men they are.”

Sarah held her handkerchief to her nose. Rainy weather kept the heavy canvas window covers closed, and even with the men gone, the heavy odor of unwashed bodies was overwhelming. “I’ll be careful. I have to get some fresh air. I’ll stay close by, and I won’t go near the bull train.”

Aunt Margaret released her sleeve, and Sarah climbed out of the stagecoach, aching for a deep breath. With a cough, she changed her mind. The air reeked of dung and smoke in this narrow, serpentine valley. She held her handkerchief to her nose and coughed again. Thick with fog, the canyon rang with the crack of whips from the bull train strung out on the half-frozen trail ahead. She pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders and shook one boot, but the mud clung like gumbo.

A braying sound drew her attention to a wagon a few feet from the coach, leaning precariously close to the swollen, rocky creek at the side of the trail. She stepped closer to get a better look and nearly laughed out loud at the sight of a black mule tied to the back of the covered wagon. The creature sat in muddy slush as it tried to pull away from the rushing water and noise.

A tall man, soaking wet and covered in mud from his worn cavalry hat down to his boots, grabbed for the mule’s halter. “Loretta, if you break that rope again, I’m going to sell you to the first butcher I find.”

The mule shook her head, and he missed his grab, landing flat on his back and sliding down the slope toward the edge of the creek. As he fell, the animal flicked her gray nose toward him and snatched his hat in her teeth.

A giggle rose in Sarah’s throat at the sight, and her shoulders shook as she fought to keep it in.

The man rolled over, lurching to his feet as he grabbed his hat from the mule. “You stupid, dumb, loco...” He muttered all kinds of insults at the animal, who only tossed her head as he slapped the hat against his legs in an effort to clean the mud off it.

A young boy appeared at the back of the wagon, pulling the canvas cover open. He couldn’t have been older than eight or nine, with a straw-colored cowlick topping his forehead. Would he be one of the students in her new academy? Uncle James had written that several families lived in and around Deadwood and that some of the parents were desperate for a good school. Sarah had brought a trunk full of books and supplies for boys just like this one, and for the poor young women trapped in the saloons. She smiled at the thought. Dr. Amelia Bennett would be so proud of her.

The boy caught her attention again, shaking his head as he watched the man and the mule. “She was only trying to help.”

“Charley, the day that mule helps me do anything will be the day I eat my hat. I’ve never seen a more useless...”

“Not Loretta.” Charley’s voice rang with boyish confidence. “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

The man leaned one gloved hand on the corner of the wagon box while he raised a boot to dislodge the mud with a stick. “Then why does she keep fighting me every time I try to get her to do something?”

“Because she’s smart. She doesn’t want to go any closer to this creek.”

The man stomped his foot back onto the ground and lifted the other one. “The horses don’t have any problem with it.”

Sarah glanced at the four-horse team at the front of the wagon. They stood with their backs hunched as the rain gave way to a cold wind that threatened to snatch her hat away. She pushed it down tight and turned back to the scene in front of her.

“The horses are stupid.”

The flabbergasted expression on the man’s face as Charley pronounced his judgment triggered another giggle. Sarah slapped a gloved hand over her mouth, but a snort of laughter escaped between her fingertips.

“Ma’am.” The man locked eyes with her, then released his foot, stomping the heel on the ground. “I’m happy to see we amuse you.”

“Oh, I’m...” She snorted again. “I’m so sorry. But the mule, and you and those poor...” She couldn’t talk through her laughter. “Those poor horses. I think the mule is right.”

“See, Uncle Nate? I told you.”

“Charley, get back in the wagon.” The boy ducked inside as the man called Nate strode across the few feet of trail toward her. “So you think the mule is right?”

Sarah’s laughter died. No answering smile lit his dark eyes and his lips formed a thin, tight line. She was the only one who had found the incident funny, but he didn’t need to condemn her. She lifted her chin. “You drove into a precarious spot. One misstep and your wagon and all its contents could end up in the creek.”

“You think we ended up there on purpose? The stagecoach...” He looked at the coach, and then at her. “Your stagecoach about ran us off the road.”

Sarah’s face heated in the cold air. A muscle in one of his stubbled cheeks twitched. “I apologize. I should have realized you were at the mercy of the crowded trail.”

He pulled his hat off and wiped a weary forearm across his brow. “Yes. The crowded trail, and the rain, and the forty freight wagons all trying to head into Deadwood today and the cold.” He turned away, gazing into the fog-shrouded pines looming above them at the edge of the canyon, and then faced her again. “And now it’s my turn to apologize. I’m letting my frustrations get the better of me.”

Sarah observed him as he waited for her reply. His apology had turned the corner of his mouth up in a wry grin.

“Of course, you have my pardon.” She smiled, breaking her self-imposed rule. “Anyone would be hard-pressed to let a day like today not frustrate him.”

As he smiled back, a gust of wind ruffled his short dark hair.

“You and Charley are on your way to Deadwood?”

“Yes, ma’am, we are.”

Sarah searched his eyes for that wild gleam of gold fever—the look that made the men she had traveled with lose all their common sense—but his brown eyes were calm and clear in spite of the tense lines framing them that spoke of exhaustion and many days on the trail. He met her gaze with his own interested one. Something foreign fluttered in her stomach.

“My uncle has started a church in town, and I’m a teacher. I’ll be opening a school soon, and I hope Charley will be able to attend.”

His smile disappeared. “Wouldn’t count on us, ma’am. We’ll be busy getting settled.”

The flutter stilled. “But you can’t let a boy like Charley grow up without any education.”

“I don’t intend to, miss. The children will get all the education they need.”

Sarah pressed her lips together. Did this cowboy truly think a child could get a decent education while mining for gold or running wild in the streets?

Her reply was interrupted as the stagecoach driver climbed back up onto his seat. “You’d better take your place, miss,” he said over his shoulder. “We have a way cleared and are going on into town now.”

“Yes, all right.” As she turned to the coach, Charley’s uncle reached out to open the door for her. As he leaned near, she caught the scent of leather and horses.

“Thank you, Mr....”

“Colby. Nate Colby.”

He smiled as he offered his hand to steady her climb into the coach.

“I hope we’ll be able to continue discussing Charley’s education at another time.”

He waited until she was seated and then leveled his gaze at her. “I think we’ve finished with that subject. The children’s schooling is already taken care of.”

Sarah opened her mouth, ready to deliver the stinging words that would put this cowboy in his place, but as her eyes locked with his, the argument died in her throat. He smiled, nodded to Aunt Margaret and closed the door. He was gone.

“Why, Sarah.” Aunt Margaret began, straightening Sarah’s skirt as she took her seat. “Who is that man? You promised you would stay away from the bull train.”

Sarah rubbed at a splash of mud on the hem of her skirt, turning away from her aunt. She was certain her face held a telltale blush. “He was driving an immigrant wagon and has his nephew with him.”

And he had mentioned children, so more than only his nephew.

“But still, you haven’t been properly introduced. We don’t know anything about the man, and you’re letting him...”

“I allowed him to be a gentleman and open the door for me. It isn’t as if he is courting me.” She patted Margaret’s hand in assurance.

The driver called to the six-horse team and cracked his whip. She fell back in her seat as the coach started off with a jolt. The opposite door flew open, and Peder jumped in.

“Uff da, I made it!”

As Peder launched into his description of the stalled bull train for Aunt Margaret, Sarah turned in her seat and lifted the corner of the canvas window cover. Nate Colby stood in the center of the muddy trail, his feet planted far apart and his arms crossed over his chest, watching the stage. She let the curtain fall and braced herself against the rough road. He certainly wasn’t the kind of man she had expected to meet in the notorious Deadwood.

* * *

Nate shook himself. He had no time to stand watching a stagecoach wind its way along the muddy trail between the freight wagons, even if it did carry the most intriguing woman west of the Mississippi. He had a family to take care of.

He turned to the wagon, tilted on the bank between the road and the creek, and that stubborn mule still pulling on the halter rope with all her might as if she could keep the whole outfit from tumbling into the water.

Olivia appeared in the opening of the wagon cover. At nine years old she was the image of her ma, from her upturned nose to her golden hair. “Uncle Nate, are we almost there?”

“We should be in town this afternoon.” Nate tied down a corner of the canvas that had pulled loose in the rising wind. “You get back in the wagon and take care of Lucy. I’ve got to get us off the creek bank and back up on the trail. It’s going to be bumpy.”

Eight-year-old Charley popped his head up next to Olivia’s. “Who was that, Uncle Nate? I’ve never seen a prettier lady.”

Olivia gasped. “Charley, you can’t say that. No one was prettier than Mama.”

“Mama was a mama, not a lady.”

Nate tightened the end of the canvas. “Your mama was a lady, Charley,” he said, drawing the opening closed with a tug. “She was the prettiest lady who ever lived.”

“I told you so.”

Nate hardly heard Olivia’s words as he moved around the wagon, checking every bolt, tightening every rope. She was right; no one had been prettier than Jenny, and no one had been happier to have her as a sister-in-law than him. But if anyone came close to Jenny, it was that girl from the stage. Instead of Jenny’s golden light, she had the beauty of a rare, dark gem, with black curls framing her face. Her eyes had seemed nearly purple in the gray afternoon light, but no one really had purple eyes.

Olivia’s voice drifted through the canvas cover, singing Lucy’s favorite song. Nate pushed against the familiar worry. Lucy would get better soon. Once they were settled, she would get back to the bubbly and energetic five-year-old she had been before the fire. All she needed was a safe and secure home with her family, and she would be back to normal.

But how long would it take until they had a home again? He went through the steps in his head.

Find his land. Good land with plenty of meadow grass for the horses. That was first. Then file the homestead claim. Next would be to build a house, outbuildings, make sure water was accessible.

Nate worked a wet knot loose and pulled the canvas tight before tying it again. He moved on to the next knot.

Find more mares for his herd. Some of the mustangs he had seen here in the West had descended from quality stock, he could tell that. And with some work and gentling, they’d make fine broodmares. Their colts, with his Morgan as the sire, would make as fine a string of remounts as the US Cavalry could wish for.

Test the next tie-down. Loose. He pulled at the soaking knot. The plan had to work. What would become of the children if this chance didn’t pay out?

He retied the rope, tightening the wet cover against the rising wind. The plan would work if it killed him.

Nate pressed his left cheek against the damp, cold canvas, easing the burn of the scars that covered his neck and shoulder and traveled down both arms to the backs of his hands. The constant reminder of his failure to save Andrew and Jenny. The reminder of what his cowardice had cost the children. A chill ran through him. What if he failed again? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Olivia’s song filtered through the canvas, a song of God’s protection and care.

With a growl, Nate pushed away from the wagon and headed toward the horses. When had the Lord protected them? When he was nearly blown to pieces in Georgia during the war? When Ma and Pa died in ’64, leaving Mattie alone to fend for herself? When Jenny and Andrew were burning to death? When three children were left homeless and orphaned?

He could live without that kind of protection. God had His chance, and He hadn’t come through. They would just have to get along on their own.

And they’d get along without any busybody schoolteacher stepping in. As if he’d let some stranger take care of Andrew and Jenny’s children. It didn’t matter that the scent of violets curled like tendrils when he stepped close to her, pulling him deeper into those eyes.

He shook his head. The children were his responsibility, and he’d make sure they had everything they needed.

When he reached the team he checked the traces, and then each horse. Pete and Dan, the wheel horses, stood patiently. Ginger, his Morgan mare, tossed her head as he ran his hand over her legs. At just three years old and growing larger with her first foal, she had the lightest load of them all, but she’d have to throw her shoulders into the harness to get the wagon back on the trail. She could do it, though. Morgans were all heart.

Last was Scout. The stallion rested his nose on Nate’s shoulder, mouthing at his neckerchief as Nate scratched behind the horse’s left ear and smoothed the forelock back from his eyes. This horse had saved his life more times than he could count during the war and carried him all over the West as he had searched for Mattie the years since then. Nate owed him everything.

Scout nudged his shoulder.

“Sorry, boy. No carrots today. We’ve got work to do.” He stroked the dark cheek under the bridle strap, holding Scout’s gaze with his own. The horse understood. He would get the wagon back onto the trail.

With shouts from the bullwhackers and the crack of whips, the train started out. Nate called to his team, “Hi-yup, there!”

The horses strained, the wheels turned in the mud and the wagon lurched up and onto the road. But as it did, Nate heard a sickening crack. Halting the team, he stooped to look under the wagon, dreading to confirm his fears.

The front axle was splintered and twisted along a narrow crack from one end to the other. A stress fracture. But it was still in one piece. He’d have to try to drive the wagon into Deadwood for repairs.

He stamped his feet to get some feeling back into them. The weather was turning bitter, and fast. He had to get the children into some sort of shelter for the night. The wind seemed to take a fiendish delight in whistling down the length of the canyon. If he didn’t know better, he’d think this weather was bringing snow behind it. But this was May. They couldn’t have snow in May, could they?

He’d have to walk to keep the strain off the axle. He glanced up at the wagon. Should he have the children walk, too? He shivered and buttoned the top of his coat. No, they’d be better off in the wagon, out of the wind. He pulled at Scout’s bridle, and the horses started off.

Glancing upward, he breathed out a single word. “Please.” As if he really believed someone would hear him. The wind pulled water from his eyes, and he ducked his head into the blast. When the gust eased, gathering itself for another onslaught, he looked straight up into the pewter sky, at the light breaking through the gray clouds in golden rays. He had to keep the children safe. He had promised.

* * *

“Oh, not again!”

Sarah caught hold of the branch of a juniper shrub as her boot slipped on the muddy creek bank. The night spent in the snug cabin Uncle James had built when he came to Deadwood last summer had been a welcome relief after days in the stagecoach, but she was quickly getting chilled and miserable again on this afternoon’s mission of mercy.

“Are you all right?” Aunt Margaret puffed as she tried to keep up with Uncle James’s pace.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Sarah pulled at the juniper until she was on the trail next to her aunt again and brushed a lank strand of wet hair out of her face. Uncle James reached out a hand to steady her, shuddering as a gust of wind struck them.

“This storm is getting worse, and it’s starting to snow. We need to be getting home.” Uncle James took Aunt Margaret’s arm.

“I’m glad we went, though. Mr. Harders would have been frozen solid by morning in that cold cabin with no fire.” Sarah buried her chin in her scarf.

“The poor man.” Margaret clicked her tongue under her breath. “If he was this sickly, he should never have come to Deadwood.”

James tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “His doctor told him to come west for his health.”

“And this place is healthy?”

“Wait until the weather clears, my dear. I know you’ll love it as much as I do.”

Sarah took her aunt’s other arm. “Let’s hurry and get home where it’s warm.”

“Wait.” Margaret clutched at James. “What is that? An Indian?”

Sarah peered through the brush along the creek. “She doesn’t look like a Sioux, unless they wear calico skirts.” Sarah started toward the girl, who was now bending to dip a pail in the creek. A few steps took her around the bushes and face-to-face with the barrel of a shotgun.

“You stop right there.” The gun barrel wavered as the eight-year-old boy holding it stepped into view. The same boy she had seen yesterday afternoon, peering out of the covered wagon. Charley, wasn’t it? She looked past him to the empty trail. Her stomach flipped at the thought of seeing Nate Colby again.

“Young man, put that gun down right now.” Margaret’s voice was as commanding as if she was reprimanding one of the Sunday school boys.

“Uncle Nate said to keep a gun on any strangers coming around, and that’s what I mean to do.” Charley squinted down the barrel and raised it a bit higher to aim at Margaret’s head.

This was getting nowhere, and Sarah was wet and cold.

“Come, now, surely you can see we’re no threat.” She smiled, but Charley only swung the gun barrel around to her. The gun wavered as he stared at her. “I know you, but I don’t know them.” He turned the shotgun back toward Uncle James.

“Charley, what are you doing?” The girl with the water pail came up the path behind him, and the boy tightened his grip on the gun.

“Keeping a gun on them, just like Uncle Nate said.”

The girl, half a head taller than the boy and a little older, eyed Sarah as she pulled a dirty blanket tighter around her small body.

“Are you two out here alone?” Sarah smiled at them. “Where is your uncle?”

The children exchanged glances.

“No, ma’am, we aren’t alone,” the girl said. “Uncle Nate went hunting, but he’ll be back soon.” She pulled at her brother’s sleeve. “Come on, Charley. We have to get back.”

Charley let the gun barrel droop and backed away.

“There aren’t any cabins around here.” James sounded doubtful, as if these children would lie.

“We have a wagon. We’ve been traveling the longest time.”

Charley turned on the girl. “Olivia, you know Uncle Nate said not to talk to strangers.” His voice was a furious whisper.

“They aren’t strangers. They’re nice people.” The girl’s whispered answer made Sarah smile again.

“Why don’t you bring your family to our cabin for a warm meal? You can wait there until this storm blows over.”

The two looked at each other.

“Uncle Nate said to stay with the wagon.” Sarah could hear doubt in the boy’s voice.

His sister pulled on his sleeve again. “Lucy is already cold, and night’s coming. It’s just going to get colder.”

“We have stew on the fire,” Sarah said. The thought of the waiting meal made her stomach growl.

“Why are you even asking them?” Margaret stepped forward and took each of the children’s hands in her own. “Now take us to your wagon, and let us take care of the rest.”

The children looked at each other and shrugged, giving in to Margaret’s authority. They led the way to the covered wagon, listing on a broken axle, at the side of the trail. The canvas cover whipped in the wind. So Mr. Colby had made it almost all the way to town before breaking down. Another half mile and he would have reached safety. But where they were now... Sarah glanced at the bare slopes around them, peppered with tree stumps.

As they drew close, Olivia dropped Margaret’s hand and ran to the wagon.

“Lucy! Lucy, where are you?”

A curly head popped over the side of the crippled wagon, and a young girl with round eyes stuck her thumb in her mouth and stared. Sarah guessed she looked about five years old.

Out here, away from the shelter of the trees and brush along the creek, the wind roared. Sarah marveled at its fury, and the children huddled against the gust.

Margaret stepped to the end of the wagon and looked in. “Is this all of you? Where is the rest of your family?”

Olivia’s teeth chattered. “There’s only Uncle Nate. We’re supposed to wait here until he gets back.”

Sarah stamped her feet to warm them. Mr. Colby should know how dangerous it was to wander around this area alone. Uncle James had warned her and Margaret to never go anywhere outside the mining camp without him after they had arrived last evening. Between claim jumpers and Sioux warriors scouring the hills, even visiting a sick neighbor was a risk.

She stepped forward and put her own warm cloak around Olivia’s shoulders. “He can find you at our cabin. We need to get in out of the weather, and you need a hot meal.”

Charley looked at her, his lips blue in the rapidly falling temperatures. “How will Uncle Nate find us?”

“I’ll leave him a note.”

Olivia and Charley exchanged glances, and then Olivia nodded. “All right, I think he’ll be able to find us there, if it isn’t too far.”

Sarah scratched a brief message on a broken board she found near the trail and put it in a prominent place next to the campfire. She raked ashes over the low coals with a stick and stirred. The fire would die on its own.

She took Olivia’s hand in hers as Margaret lifted Lucy out of the wagon. Uncle James untied the horses, Charley took his mule and they started up the trail toward home.

Sarah’s breath puffed as they climbed the steep hill, her mind flitting between worry and irritation with the children’s uncle Nate. These children needed her, no matter what their uncle said. Somehow she would see that they received the care and education they deserved.

* * *

As the snowfall grew heavier, obscuring the distant mountains, Nate gave up. He’d been wandering these bare, brown hills since midmorning and hadn’t seen any sign of game. He and the children would just have to make do with the few biscuits left from last night’s supper.

When the wagon axle had finally broken yesterday afternoon, he thought the freight master would have helped them make repairs, but the man had only moved the crippled wagon off the trail and then set on his way with the bull train again.

“We’re less than a mile from town—you’ll be fine until we send help back for you. Just keep an eye out for those Indians.”

And then they were gone, leaving Nate and the children alone.

Less than a mile from Deadwood? It might as well be twenty, or fifty, when everything they owned was lying by the side of the road. By the time the gray light of the cloudy afternoon started fading, Nate knew the bull train driver had forgotten them.

They had spent the night on their own with little food and a fitful fire. Morning had brought clouds building in the northwest and he’d hoped he’d be able to find a turkey or squirrel before too long. But here he was coming home empty-handed.

As he hurried over the last rise, Nate’s empty stomach plummeted like a stone at the sight of the wagon. The wind had torn one corner of the canvas cover and it flapped wildly. Why hadn’t Charley tied that down? Didn’t he know his sisters and all their supplies were exposed to this weather?

And why hadn’t they kept the fire going? They had to be freezing.

The hair on the back of Nate’s neck prickled. The wagon tilted with the blasting gusts of wind. It was too quiet. The horses were missing. Even Loretta was nowhere in sight.

Nate broke into a run.

When he reached the wagon, he closed his eyes, dreading what he might see inside. They were just children. He had been so stupid to leave them. He had let his brother down again.

He gripped the worn wooden end gate and slowly opened his eyes. Nothing. Just the barrels and boxes of supplies. The children were gone.

Why had he taken so long? He should have stayed closer to the wagon. He had been warned about the Indians in the area, attacking any settlers who were foolish enough to venture out without being heavily armed.

He knew why he had taken the risk. No game. No food. He had had to leave them for a few hours.

He turned into the wind and scanned the hills rising above.

“Charley!” A gust snatched his voice away. “Olivia! Lucy!”

A wolf’s howl floating on the wild wind was his only answer as he slumped against the wagon box, his eyes blurred with the cold. It had been the same when he and Andrew had returned from the war, back home to the abandoned farm. The wind had howled that afternoon, too, with a fierce thunderstorm. But they were gone. Ma, Pa, Mattie... Ma and Pa were dead, but Mattie was lost. None of the neighbors knew where she had gone, or even when. Years of searching had brought him only wisps of clues, rumors that this cowboy or that miner had seen her in Tombstone, or Denver or Abilene, but she was gone without a trace.

Nate’s legs gave way as he sank to the ground.

The wolf’s howl came again, answered by several others. A pack on the hunt? Or a Sioux raiding party?

Nate scrambled to the fire, pulling his rifle with him. He blew the coals to life again and fed the flames with a few small sticks left near the wagon and a stray board that he threw on when the blaze was strong enough. A fire should keep the wolves away, at least until dark. Until then, he could search for some sign of which way the children had gone.

He took a deep breath, shutting down the panic that threatened to consume him. The panic that would make him freeze in a shuddering mess if he gave in to it. Closing his eyes, he whooshed out the breath and filled his lungs again. Where could they be? Think.

The wind gusted again with a force strong enough to send the canvas wagon cover flapping. With the rising wind, perhaps the children had gone to seek a better shelter than the crippled wagon. He clung to that hope. The alternative—that they had been stolen along with the horses—was too horrible to consider.

Chapter Two

The walk back to the cabin wasn’t more than a half mile, but Sarah’s feet were frozen by the time they climbed the final slope up from the trail at the edge of town. The wind pierced her wool dress.

Charley and Uncle James took the horses and mule into the lean-to where they would get some shelter, as Aunt Margaret led the way into the house. Warmth enveloped Sarah as she stopped just inside the door. She took the cloak from Olivia and guided the girls closer to the fireplace.

Lucy watched the glowing coals while Olivia folded the blanket her sister had been using as a wrap and laid it on the wood plank floor.

“You girls must be frozen.” Aunt Margaret added a few sticks to the fire and swung the kettle over the flames. “Sit right here while we warm up the stew. Supper will be ready soon enough.”

She left the girls to get settled on the blanket while she pulled Sarah to the side of the cabin where Uncle James had built a cupboard and small table.

“What can we feed them? I do wish we had been able to bring Cook out West with us, and Susan. They’d know what to do.”

She wrung her hands, but Sarah stopped her with a touch. “You said you wouldn’t complain about leaving the servants behind in Boston.”

“That was before I found out we would be cooking over an open fireplace. How can we have guests in conditions like this?”

Sarah put one arm around the shorter woman’s shoulders. “We’ll put another can of vegetables in the pot and some water to stretch it out. Meanwhile, we’ll make a batch of biscuits. That will fill everyone’s stomachs.”

“I’m so glad you know your way around a kitchen.” Margaret glanced at the girls, content to sit near the fire. “I’ll learn as quickly as I can, but I don’t think I could make a biscuit if my life depended on it!”

“Then we’ll do it together.” Sarah put a bowl on the table, along with a can of flour and Uncle James’s jar of sourdough starter. She squelched the irritation that always rose whenever Aunt Margaret’s helplessness showed its face. One thing Dr. Amelia Bennett had expounded upon frequently at her Sunday afternoon meetings was the careless way women of the privileged classes in Boston wasted the hours of their days, while their less fortunate sisters in the mills and saloons longed for the advantages denied them because of lack of education. But with all the education available to her, Aunt Margaret had never even learned to do a simple task like baking.

Sarah took a deep breath. Dr. Bennett wasn’t here, but she was. She would help her aunt in any way she could, even if it was only to teach her how to make sourdough biscuits.

While they mixed the dough, James and Charley came in the door, bringing a fresh blast of cold air and stomping feet.

“It’s getting even colder out there as the sun goes down.” James sat in his chair near the fireplace and pulled off his boots.

“But Loretta and the horses will be safe in the lean-to, won’t they?” Charley hung his coat on a hook and joined his sisters by the fireplace.

“Sure they will. Animals can survive pretty well as long as they have food and shelter.”

“What about Uncle Nate?” Olivia turned to Uncle James, and then looked at Sarah. “Will he be all right?”

Sarah smiled at her. “We’ll pray he will be.”

A dull ache spread across her forehead as she rolled out the dough and cut biscuits. Nate’s crooked smile swam in her memory. Was he warm enough? Would he be able to find the cabin? She didn’t have any choice but to trust God for his safety.

“What made your uncle decide to bring you to Deadwood?” Uncle James asked.

The two children exchanged glances.

“There were some ladies in our church who wanted us to go to the orphans’ home,” Olivia said. “Uncle Nate said he wouldn’t do that. He said he could take care of us.”

“They called the sheriff to arrest Uncle Nate.” Charley scooted closer to the fire.

“Charley, don’t exaggerate. They only said they might. They said will’s fare was at stake.” Olivia looked at Sarah. “What does that mean?”

Sarah laid the biscuits in the bottom of the Dutch oven. “I think they meant welfare. That your welfare was at stake. It sounds like they wanted what was best for you.”

“Yes, that’s it. That’s what they said. But Uncle Nate said they didn’t know the situation and he’d see what was what if they tried to take us away from him.”

Aunt Margaret cleared her throat and Sarah saw her exchange glances with Uncle James.

“What was your situation?” Uncle James leaned back in his chair, ready to hear the children’s version of the event.

“There was a fire...” Olivia bit her lip.

“Our house burned.” Charley picked up the story as Olivia fell silent. “Pa and Uncle Nate got the three of us out of the house and then went back in to get Mama.”

The children stared at the fireplace. Sarah set the Dutch oven in the coals and then sat next to Olivia with her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to tell us the rest, if you don’t want to.”

Charley went on. “When Uncle Nate came out of the house, his clothes were on fire.” His voice was hollow, remembering.

Olivia hid her face in Sarah’s dress. “I could hear Mama,” she whispered. “She and Papa were still in the house.”

“But Uncle Nate,” Charley said, his voice strengthening, “he didn’t want to give up. He kept trying to go back inside, to save them, but the neighbors were there, and they wouldn’t let him. And then the roof fell down and everything was gone.”

“Uncle Nate was hurt awful bad.” Olivia sat up and took Charley’s hand. “He almost died, too.”

“That’s when the ladies at church said we should go to the home.” Charley wiped at his eyes. “But Uncle Nate just kept saying no.”

“It sounds like your uncle loves you very much.” James laid his hand on Charley’s shoulder.

Charley leaned against Uncle James’s knee. The children fell silent, looking into the fire.

Sarah watched Lucy. She didn’t look at her sister or brother, and she hadn’t seemed to hear what they had been talking about. She sat on the folded blanket, staring at the flames, lost in a world of her own. During their walk from the crippled wagon to the cabin, the little girl hadn’t made a sound, but had passively held Sarah’s hand as they walked.

At the time, Sarah had thought Lucy was cold and only wanted to get to the cabin. But now with the others talking and in the warm room, she was still closed into her own thoughts. Could it be that she was deaf? Or was something else wrong?

The biscuits baked quickly in the Dutch oven, and supper was soon ready. Everyone ate in front of the fire, and Sarah was glad to see how quickly the biscuits disappeared, except the ones Olivia had insisted they save for their uncle along with a portion of the stew.

After they were done eating, Lucy climbed into Sarah’s lap. The little one melted into her arms without a word, the ever-present thumb stuck in her mouth.

“You stay where you are,” Margaret said as Sarah started to put Lucy back on the floor so she could help clean up from the meal. “Her eyes are closing already.”

Sarah settled back in her chair, enjoying the soft sweetness of holding a child in her arms. These children had suffered so much, and their story brought memories of her own losses to the surface. How well she remembered the awful loneliness the day her parents had died, even though she had been much younger than Olivia and Charley. She had been about Lucy’s age when she had gone to the orphanage.

She laid her cheek on Lucy’s head, the girl’s curly hair tickling Sarah’s skin, pulling an old longing out from the corner where she had buried it long ago. The room blurred as she held Lucy tighter.

All those years in the orphanage, until Uncle James returned from the mission field when she was seventeen years old, she had never had the thought that she would marry and have children. She had changed enough diapers, cleaned enough dirty ears and soothed enough sore hearts to have been mother to a dozen families.

Marriage and children meant opening her heart to love, and she refused to consider that possibility. Loving someone meant only pain and heartache when they died. She wouldn’t willingly put herself through that misery again.

She still enjoyed children, but only when they belonged to someone else. Teaching filled that desire quite nicely.

Sarah hummed under her breath as Lucy relaxed into sleep. Charley and Olivia had settled on the floor in front of the fire, where they were setting up Uncle James’s checkers game.

Where was their uncle? She prayed again for his safety in the blowing storm.

* * *

Nate stood in the abandoned camp. His hastily built fire was already dying down, and the empty canvas flapped behind him. Snow swirled. Before too long any traces of where the children had gone would be covered.

The wind swung around to the north, bringing the smell of wood smoke. A fire. People. Friends? A mining camp?

Or an Indian encampment.

He needed to find the children. He had to take the risk.

Setting his face to the wind, he followed the smoke trail to a line of cottonwoods along Whitewood Creek. He had reached the outskirts of the mining camp, and the thin thread of smoke had turned into a heavy cloud hanging in the gulch. He paused on the creek bank. Ice lined the edges of the water. The children had either been taken away, or they had run off to hide. It wouldn’t take long for them to freeze to death on an evening like this one.

There. Hoofprints in the mud. Nate followed the trail up away from the creek until he came to a cabin sheltered among a few trees at the edge of the rimrock. A lean-to built against the steep hill behind the cabin was crowded with horses. Even in the fading light, he recognized Scout and Ginger. Pete’s and Dan’s bay rumps were next to them, and then the mule’s black flank.

Nate tried not to think of what kind of men he might find in this cabin. This was where the horses were, so horse thieves, most likely. But were they kidnappers? Murderers?

He pounded on the heavy wooden door and then stepped back, gripping his rifle.

The middle-aged man who cracked open the door wasn’t the rough outlaw he expected. The white shirt, wool vest and string tie would fit in back home in Michigan, but Nate hadn’t seen a man dressed this fancy since they left Chicago in March.

“Yes, can I help you?” The man poked his head out the door.

“I’m looking for some children.”

“Uncle Nate! That’s Uncle Nate out there!”

Charley’s voice. Relief washed over Nate, leaving his knees weak.

The man smiled and he opened the door. “Come in. We’ve been expecting you.”

Nate stepped into the warmth. Charley jumped up from a checkers game on the floor in front of the fireplace and ran toward him, wrapping his arms around Nate’s middle without regard to his soaking and icy clothes. Olivia joined her brother in a hug, but Lucy stayed where she was, asleep on the lap of...

Nate dropped his gaze to the floor. Lucy was in the lap of the young woman from the stagecoach. Willowy, soft, her dark hair gleaming in the lamplight, the young woman held the sleeping child close in a loving embrace. He couldn’t think of a more peaceful scene.

A round woman dressed in stylish brown bustled up to the little group. “Oh my, you must be frozen. You just come right in and change out of those wet clothes. We saved some supper for you.”

Nate ran his fingers over the cheeks of both the older children. Yes, they were here, safe, sound and warm. It was hard to see their faces, his eyes had filled so suddenly.

“I thank you, ma’am, for caring for the children like this. I can’t tell you how I felt when I got back to the wagon and they were gone.”

“Didn’t you get our note?”

Nate met the young woman’s deep blue eyes.

“Uh, no, miss. I didn’t see any note.”

“We found the children alone with the storm coming up, so we brought them here.” Pink tinged her cheeks as she spoke, her voice as soft as feathers. “I left word of where we were going on a broken plank. I leaned it against the rocks around the fire.”

“A piece of wood?” The piece of wood he had laid on the fire when the wolves were howling. He could have saved himself some worry if only he had taken the time. Then Nate looked back at Charley and Olivia, their arms still holding him tight around the waist. If he had lost them, after all they had been through, he would never have forgiven himself.

“No matter. You’re here now,” said the man. He put his arm around the shorter woman. “I suppose some introductions are in order. I’m James MacFarland, and this is my wife, Margaret.”

“Ma’am.” Nate snatched the worn hat off his head and nodded to her.

“And our niece, Sarah MacFarland.”

She had a name. He nodded in her direction.

“I’m Nate Colby.”

“Well, Mr. Colby, there are dry clothes waiting for you behind that curtain. While you’re changing, I’ll dish up some stew for you.” Mrs. MacFarland waved her hand toward the corner of the little cabin where a space had been curtained off.

Nate untangled himself from Charley’s and Olivia’s arms and ducked behind the curtains. On the small bed were a shirt and trousers, faded and worn, but clean. When he slipped the faded gray shirt over his head, he paused. There was no collar. Nothing to cover his neck.

The children had gotten used to the angry red scars left by the burns that had nearly killed him, but these people—Sarah...Miss MacFarland—what would they say?

“Uncle Nate, aren’t you hungry?” Charley was waiting for him.

Nate pulled the collarless shirt up as high as he could and gathered his wet things. He didn’t really have a choice.

* * *

Sarah stroked Lucy’s soft hair, surprised she still slept after all the noise Olivia and Charley had made when Nate came in. She had felt like shouting along with the children, she was so relieved to see him safe.

When he stepped out from behind the makeshift curtain, Sarah couldn’t keep her gaze from flitting to his collar line. When the children had told of how their uncle had been burned in the fire, she hadn’t realized how badly he had been injured. Scars covered the backs of his hands and the left side of his neck like splashes of blood shining bright red in the light. Suddenly aware she was staring, Sarah turned her attention back to the girl in her lap, but not before she saw Nate’s self-conscious tug at the shirt’s neckline, as if he were ashamed of the evidence of his heroism.

“Come sit here, Uncle Nate.” Charley directed his uncle to the chair closest to the fireplace and Olivia gave him a plate of stew and two biscuits she had saved for him. Nate didn’t hesitate, but dug his spoon into the rich, brown gravy and chunks of potato.

Uncle James pulled a footstool closer to the fire while Olivia and Charley went back to their checkers game on the floor, relaxed and happy now that their uncle was here. Aunt Margaret settled in the rocking chair with her ever-present knitting.

“The children tell us you’ve had quite a trip,” James said after their visitor had wiped the bottom of his plate with the biscuit. “You’ve come to get your share of the gold?”

Nate reached out to tousle Charley’s hair. The boy leaned his head against his uncle’s knee.

“Not gold, but land. My plan is to raise horses, and this is the perfect place. When the government opened up western Dakota to homesteading, I knew it was time.”

“You’ve been out here before?”

Nate’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the fire. “I’ve made a few trips out West since the war.” He glanced at the children. “It’s a different world out here than it is back East. A man can live on his own terms.”

“I’m gonna be a first-class cowboy.” Charley grinned up at Nate.

When Nate caressed the boy’s head, Sarah’s eyes filled. No one could question that he loved the children as much as they loved him.

“That’s the boy’s dream.” Nate leaned back in his chair and smiled at his nephew. “Providing remounts for the cavalry is my goal, but I need a stake first. We’ll start out with cattle. With the gold rush, I won’t have to go far to sell the beef.”

“There’s plenty of land around here, if you’re looking for a ranch.” James was warming up to his favorite subject—the settling of the Western desert. “The government has opened this part of Dakota Territory up to homesteading, but with the gold rush going on, not too many are interested in land or cattle.”

Margaret rose to refill Nate’s plate, her face pinched with disapproval. She hated the greed ruling and ruining the lives of the men they had met on their journey to Deadwood. Would she keep her comments to herself this time?

“Have you struck it rich yet?” Nate asked James between bites of stew.

James glanced at Margaret. His work here had been a bone of contention between them ever since Uncle James had decided to move west. “It depends on what you mean by rich. I’m a preacher, seeking to bring the gospel to lost souls.”

“If Deadwood is like other gold towns I’ve heard about, there are plenty of those here.”

Margaret let loose with one of her “humphs” and Lucy stirred on Sarah’s lap. The little girl opened her eyes and gazed at Sarah’s face with a solemn stare before sticking her thumb in her mouth again and settling back to watch Nate eat. There was still no sound from her. Sarah smoothed her dress and buried her nose in her soft curls again.

Nate saw Lucy was awake and winked at her, and then his eyes met Sarah’s. His smile softened before he went back to eating his stew.

James went on. “Deadwood is the worst of the worst. Too many murders, too many thieves, too many claim jumpers, too many...” He paused when Margaret cleared her throat. “Ah, yes,” he said, glancing at the children, “too many professional ladies.”

Oh yes, those “professional ladies.” Sarah had heard Aunt Margaret’s opinion of them all the way from Boston. There were few enough women in a mining camp like Deadwood, but most of them wouldn’t think to darken the door of a church. Sarah shifted Lucy on her lap and glanced at Margaret. What would her aunt do if one of those poor girls showed up on a Sunday morning? Or if she knew of Sarah’s plan to provide an education for them?

“Have you had any success?”

“We have a small group of settlers, families like yours, who meet together. I’ve recently rented a building in town, and now that Margaret and Sarah have arrived, I hope more families will come. You and the children are welcome to join us.”

Nate shoveled another spoonful into his mouth.

“Could we?” Olivia looked into Nate’s face. “Oh, could we? We haven’t been to church ever since...”

Charley gave his sister a jab with his elbow, but Nate, scraping the bottom of his second plate of stew, didn’t seem to notice. Aunt Margaret took the empty dish.

What had happened? One moment Nate was discussing Uncle James’s work, and the next Olivia and Charley were fidgeting in the uncomfortable silence. Lucy slid off Sarah’s lap and crossed to Nate. He took her onto his lap and stroked her hair while he stared at the fire.

“We’ll be busy building the ranch,” he said, looking sideways at James. “I doubt if we’ll have time for church.”

He shifted his left shoulder up, as if he wanted to hide the scars, and glanced at Sarah. It sounded as if going to church was the last thing he wanted to do.

* * *

Nate woke with a jerk, the familiar metallic taste in his mouth. He willed his breathing to slow, forcing his eyes open, trying to get his bearings. The MacFarlands’ cabin. They were safe.

Head aching from the ravaging nightmare, he rolled onto his back, waiting for his trembling muscles to relax. He might go one, or even two, nights without the sight of the fire haunting him. Before Jenny and Andrew died last fall, the nightmares had almost stopped—but now they were back with a vengeance. Whenever he closed his eyes, he knew what he would see and hear: the cavalry supply barn going up in flames. Horses screaming. The distant puff and boom of cannon fire. The fire devouring hay, wood, boxes of supplies, reaching ever closer to the ammunition he had managed to load onto the wagon. And those mules. Those ridiculous mules hitched to that wagon, refusing to budge. Over and over, night after night, he fought with those mules. And night after night the flames drew ever closer to the barrels of gunpowder. And since last fall, Andrew had been part of the nightmare. He stood behind the wagon, in the flames, yelling at him, telling him to hurry...hurry...to leave him...don’t look back...

And then Nate would jerk awake, shaking and sweaty.

He glanced at Charley, lying beside him on the pallet in front of the fireplace. At least the boy hadn’t woken up this time.

Nate looked around the cabin. Still dark, but with a gray light showing through a crack in the wooden shutters. Close to dawn. Almost time to get the day started.

Above him, in the loft, the girls slept with Sarah MacFarland. He hadn’t missed how quickly Olivia and Lucy had become attached to her. Lucy had even let Sarah hold her, something she hadn’t let anyone do except himself in more than six months. They were safe here. Safer and warmer than they had been since they left home eight weeks ago.

Was he wrong to bring the children to Deadwood? Was this any place to raise them?

The women of their church back in Michigan had made it clear the only right thing for him to do would be to put the children in the orphanage. The Roberts Home for Orphaned and Abandoned Children. As if they had no one to care for them.

Absolutely not. They would take these children from him over his dead body.

Charley turned toward him in his sleep and snuggled close. Nate put his arm around the boy and pulled him in to share the warmth of his blanket.

The sound of dripping water outside the cabin caught his attention. The wind had died down, and the temperature was climbing. The storm was over, and from the sounds of things, the snow was melting already. And that meant mud. As if he didn’t have enough problems.

Shifting away from Charley, Nate sat up. He pulled on his boots and stepped to the door, opening it as quietly as he could. No use waking everyone else up. Standing on the flat stone James used for a front step, he surveyed the little clearing.

Last night, James had told him he had been in Deadwood since last summer, building this cabin before sending for the women back in Boston. He had built on the side of the gulch, since every inch of ground near the creek at the bottom had already been claimed by the gold seekers. This cabin and a few others were perched on the rimrock above the mining camp, as if at the edge of a cesspool. Up here the sun was just lifting over the tops of the eastern mountains, while the mining camp below was still shrouded in predawn darkness.

Saloons lined the dirt street that wound through the narrow gulch. The sight was too familiar. Every Western town he had been in had been the same, and he had stopped in every saloon and other unsavory business looking for his sister. But Mattie’s trail had gone cold a few years ago. No one had seen her since that place in Dodge City where the madam had recognized the picture he carried. She had to be somewhere. Could she have made her way to Deadwood? Fire smoldered in his gut at the thought of where Mattie’s choices had taken her.

The door opened behind him.

“Oh, Mr. Colby. I didn’t realize you were out here.”

Nate moved aside to make room for Sarah on the step. The only dry spot in sight. She had already dressed with care, her black hair caught up in a soft bun. Her cheeks were dewy fresh and she smelled of violets. He resisted the urge to lean closer to her.

“I’m an early riser, I guess.” He chanced a glance at her. “I heard water moving and thought I’d check on the state of things. Our wagon is still on the trail back there, mired in the mud by now.”

“I had to see what the weather was like, too.” She smiled at him, and his breath caught. “After yesterday’s storm, this morning seems like a different world. I’ve never seen weather change so quickly.”

“That’s the Northern Plains for you. It can be balmy spring one day, and then below zero the next.”

“I suppose we’ll have to get used to it.” Sarah pushed at a pile of slush with one toe. She wore stylish kid-leather boots with jet buttons in a row up the side. They would be ruined with her first step off the porch. “Your children are so sweet. I’ve enjoyed getting to know them.”

Nate rubbed at his whiskers. “They seem to like you, too. You have a way with children. I’ve never seen Lucy take to anyone so quickly.”

“I hope you’ll reconsider sending them to school when I open the academy next week.”

He shot another glance at her, wary. “They won’t have time to attend any school. They’ll be with me all day. I’ll see they get the learning they need.”

She leveled her gaze at him, tilting her chin up slightly. Nate straightened to his full height, forcing her chin up farther. “Mr. Colby, I’m sure you know children do best when learning in a safe, secure environment. Can you provide that for them while you work to find your ranch?”

“I can provide the best environment they need, and that’s with me.” Nate felt the familiar bile rising in his throat. The busybodies back in Michigan had used the same arguments.

“But what about school?”

“President Lincoln learned at night after a day’s work. Charley and Olivia can do the same.”

“But surely you don’t think—”

“Surely I do think I know what’s best for these children. They’re my responsibility, and I’m going to take care of them.”

She stared at him, her eyes growing bluer as the sun rose higher over the distant hills. And here he’d thought he’d escape these do-gooders when he came west. No one was going to take his children away from him. He slammed his hat on his head.

“I’ll be waking the children up now. We need to work on getting the wagon repaired and head on into town.”

“You can leave the girls here, if you like, while you and Charley take care of the wagon.” She reached out one slim hand and laid it on his sleeve. “You are right, that the children are your responsibility, but that doesn’t mean you can’t let others help you now and then.”

Nate considered her words. She was right, of course. With all the mud and the slogging to town and back to get that axle repaired, it would be best for the girls to stay here and enjoy a day in the company of women, in a clean, safe house. But it galled him to admit it.

He nodded his agreement to her plan. “I’ll take Charley with me. But only for today.” He lifted a warning finger, shielding him from those gentle eyes. “The children stay with me. They’re my responsibility and I aim to do my best by them.”

“Of course you want the best for them. So do I.”

She turned to look down into the mining camp as it stirred to life in the early-morning light. Somehow, he didn’t think her version of what was best for the children would be the same as his.

Chapter Three

“I can help. Let me help.” Charley hopped on one foot, a flutter of movement in Nate’s peripheral vision.

Shifting his left foot closer to the wagon, Nate shoved again, sliding the wagon box onto the makeshift jack. He ran a shaking hand across the back of his neck.

“Charley, some jobs are just too big for an eight-year-old.” Who was he trying to kid? This job was too big for a thirty-year-old. If Andrew was here...

Nate looked into Charley’s disappointed face. If Andrew was here, they’d still be living in Michigan, and Charley would still have his pa. But a man couldn’t bring back the past, and he couldn’t always fix the mistakes he’d made, no matter how much he wanted to.

He squeezed Charley’s shoulder. “I’ll need your help with the next part, though.” Charley’s face brightened. “We need to get that broken axle off there and find a new one.”

“Loretta can help, too, can’t she?”

Nate looked at the mule, tied to the back of the crippled wagon. It flipped its ears back and stomped its front foot in response.

“I suppose she could carry the axle to town.”

“Sure she could. Loretta can do anything.”

Nate glanced at Charley as he knocked the wheel off the broken axle. Where did the boy get such an attachment to a mule? The animals were outright dangerous when they took it into their heads to go their own way.

He knew the answer to his own question. Andrew had given Loretta to the boy years ago, when Charley was barely old enough to ride. Andrew held that mules had more sense than horses and that she’d keep Charley safe wherever he wanted to take her. Nate had argued, tried to change Andrew’s mind, but Loretta became one of the family.

And now? Charley had already lost so much. He wasn’t going to be the one to take the mule away from the boy. No matter how much he hated it.

Nate fumbled with the ironing that held the axle to the bolster above it. Sometimes he could use a third hand.

“What can I do? I want to help.”

Nate glanced at the boy again.

“Here you go, Charley. Hold the axle up against the bolster while I get it unfastened.”

With Charley’s help, Nate released the ironings with a quick twist, and the axle was free. He glanced at the mule again. It was wearing the pack harness that Charley used for a saddle. It had come in handy on the trail when Nate needed to bring some game back to camp or haul water. Would the thing carry the axle for him?

Nate approached the mule, hefting one part of the heavy axle in his hands. “Whoa there, stupid animal, whoa there.”

The mule rolled its eyes and aimed a vicious bite at his shoulder.

“She knows you don’t like her.” Charley stood off to the side, watching.

“Of course I don’t like her. Help me get these axle pieces on her harness, will you?”

When Charley climbed up onto the animal, Nate was sure the mule winked at him. But it let him load the axle on the harness, and Charley fastened the straps, balancing with his weight on the other side of the mule. Nate looked at Charley’s grin as he perched on the pack saddle. In spite of the work still ahead to get the wagon back on its wheels, Nate had to grin back at him. What he wouldn’t give to be a boy again.

He fixed his eyes on the trail ahead. Those days were long gone.

* * *

Sarah scrubbed the hem of her traveling dress on the washboard. Mud seemed to be everywhere in this place.

“Here’s some more hot water for you.” Aunt Margaret came out the back door of the cabin to the sheltered porch where Sarah and Olivia bent over tubs of soapy water.

“Thank you.” Sarah pushed a lock of hair out of her face with the back of her arm. “It’s so wonderful to be able to do laundry in the fresh air this morning.” She smiled at Olivia as she took the steaming kettle from Margaret. “I would imagine it was hard for you and your uncle to keep up with chores like this along the trail.”

“We didn’t take time for anything,” Olivia answered, swishing a pair of socks in her tub. “Uncle Nate said we had to keep up with the bull train.”

Sarah turned the heavy skirt in the water and tackled another muddy stain. Her thoughts wandered to Nate Colby. Again. Was he having any success with his wagon? Would he be able to get the axle fixed? He’d have to take it into Deadwood to find someone to repair it.

“Did Uncle James say when he was going to show us the building he rented?” she asked Margaret.

Her aunt looked toward the roofs of the mining camp below them. “He said we would go this afternoon although I can’t see why we need a building down there.”

“Because that’s where the people are. And the academy needs to have a place, unless you want the children studying in the cabin.”

And with the church and school in the center of the mining camp, she would have ready access to the unfortunate young ladies she intended to find and educate.

Sarah looked up at the towering pine trees that climbed the steep hill behind the cabin. On those Sunday afternoons last winter in Dr. Amelia Bennett’s crowded parlor on Beacon Hill, she had never imagined the fire that had been lit in her would bring her to such a place as this.

Dr. Bennett was a pioneer. A visionary. Her plans for educating the women of the docks and brothels of Boston were becoming reality in the opening of her Women’s Educational Institution, and Dr. Bennett had urged Sarah to spread the work to the untamed wilderness of the American West, as she had called it. Sarah intended to make her mentor proud.

A sniff was Margaret’s only reply as she went back into the house. Lucy stopped playing with the pinecones she had found and stared after her.

Olivia wiped an arm across her forehead. “Is she always so...”

“Disapproving?” Sarah finished Olivia’s question. She wrung the water out of her skirt. “My aunt didn’t want to come out West. She’s trying to make the best of things, but it is hard for her to adjust to this life.”

“Why did she come, then? Why didn’t she stay at home?”

Sarah looked from Olivia’s earnest face to Lucy’s wide eyes. Why did any of them leave their homes? “My uncle said God was calling him to preach to the gold seekers.” She put one of her uncle’s shirts into the warm water. “Aunt Margaret came because he asked her to.”

“Why did you come?”

Olivia’s question struck deep. Sarah moved the shirt through the gray water and smiled at the girl. “I wanted adventure, and I wanted a purpose in my life. When Uncle James wrote that there were families here with children, I knew what this town would need is a school.” A great center of learning, for young and old. That was how Dr. Bennett phrased it.

“Can I go to your school?”

“May I...”

“May I go to your school?”

Sarah thought back to her conversation with Nate. Olivia would be such a charming pupil in the academy, one she would love to share the knowledge of the world with, but could she promise such a thing if the girl’s uncle was opposed to it?

“We’ll have to see what your uncle says.” Olivia’s face showed her disappointment as she went back to her scrubbing. “But even if you can’t come, I’ll certainly share my books with you and help you learn.”

“Would you, really?” Olivia’s face shone as if the sun had come clear of a swift cloud. “And will you help me teach Lucy to read?”

Sarah glanced at the five-year-old, who had gone back to her pinecones. It looked as if she was building a house with them. She leaned closer to Olivia. “I’ve never heard your sister say anything. Does she talk?”

Olivia shook her head. “She used to. Before Mama and Papa...” She bit her lip, and Sarah put an arm around her narrow shoulders.

“She hasn’t spoken since you lost your parents?”

At the shake of Olivia’s head, Sarah pulled the girl into a closer embrace. There had been a boy at the orphanage who had never spoken, from the time he came to live there until he passed away a few months later. The matron had said he died of a broken heart, but Sarah had known better. He had died because he couldn’t face life with no hope and no family.

She watched Lucy put the pinecones in lines, framing the rooms of her house. She put rocks into the spaces for furniture and used small pinecones for people that she walked in and out of the doors.

She could learn to speak again. Surely her life wasn’t as hopeless as the boy at the orphanage. Lucy was still surrounded by family, and she was healthy. Surely with love and nurturing she had hope for a normal, happy life. Resolve to assist these children filled her heart.

“I’ll help you teach Lucy to read, and we’ll make sure Charley works on his studies, too.”

Sarah held tight as Olivia’s arms squeezed around her waist. Had she just made a rash promise she couldn’t keep?

* * *

By the time Nate found a wheelwright who could make a new axle, noon had passed. He fingered the coins in his pocket.

“Is there any place to buy something to eat?” he asked the wheelwright.

“The Shoo Fly Café has good pie.” The burly man gestured with his head up Main Street.

“What about a grocer’s?”

“The closest is Hung Cho’s, right across the way there.”

“Thank you. We’ll be back to pick the axle up around midafternoon.”

Nate guided Charley across the muddy street with one hand on the boy’s shoulder, making sure he stepped wide over the gutter in the middle. Hung Cho’s was a solid wood building with a laundry on one side and what looked like a hotel on the other. Some of the signs were in English, but most had what Nate guessed were Chinese characters.

Charley stared at the short, round Chinese man who approached them as Nate sorted through the wares on the tables outside the store.

“Yes, yes, sir.” The man bowed slightly. “You want some good food for your boy, yes? Hung Cho carries only the best. Only the best for our friends.”

Nate glanced at the man. He had run across men from China before, but Charley hadn’t. Hung Cho’s smile seemed genuine, his expression friendly.

He fingered the coins in his pocket again and looked at the items on the table. He recognized some apples, dry and wrinkled from being stored all winter, but apples nonetheless.

“How much for one of these?”

“Oh, these apples. They are very fine. Make a boy very healthy, yes? Only one dollar.”

“I only want to buy one, not all of them.”

“Yes, yes. I understand.” Hung Cho’s head bobbed as he nodded. “Apples are very dear. One dollar.”

Nate pulled out a dollar coin, along with a two-bit piece. “I’ll take one. Do you have any crackers, and maybe some cheese?”

Hung Cho leaned forward to peer at the coins in his hand, and then slid his look up to Nate’s face. His smile grew wider. “You have coin money, not gold? You are new in Deadwood.”

At Nate’s nod, Hung Cho reached under the table and brought out two apples in much better shape than the ones he had on display. “For cash money, I give you two apples, one pound crackers and cheese. Nice cheese, from back East.”

They followed the little man into the dim interior of his store. The odor of dried fish in one barrel overpowered the close room. Hung Cho squeezed between it and another barrel filled with rice. He scooped crackers out of a third barrel and weighed them in a hanging scale, then sliced a generous wedge of cheese from a wheel behind the counter. He wrapped it all in a clean cloth and handed the bundle to Charley.

“One dollar and two bits, please.”

“Why the change in price?”

“Cash money is hard to come by. Bull train drivers want cash from the Chinese instead of gold.” The man’s smile disappeared as he shook his head. “They do not trust the Chinese. Will not accept gold dust from us for fear it is not pure.”

Nate handed over the coins in his hand.

Hung Cho bowed as he slipped the money into some folds in his robe. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”

They left the store and then turned right, toward the center of the mining camp. As they crossed an alley and stepped back up on the boardwalk in front of a row of businesses, Charley tilted his head up to look at him. “Where are we going to eat, Uncle Nate?”

They were passing an empty space between two canvas tents. A couple barrels stood close to the boardwalk. “How about right here?”

They settled themselves on the barrels and divided the food between them. Charley shoved the crackers into his mouth two at a time.

“Whoa there, boy. Those crackers won’t disappear. Take your time.”

Charley grinned at him and Nate took a bite of his apple as he settled in to watch the traffic on Main Street.

Two doors down was a saloon, and beyond that were signs for several more. Across the street, a large building had a sign, The Mystic Theater, but from the look of the young women leaning over the rail of the balcony, much more than theatrical entertainment was available there. James MacFarland had been right about the saloon girls—they seemed to be everywhere. This must be the Badlands of Deadwood he had heard the bullwhackers mention.

Nate took another bite of his apple and looked closely at the women on the balcony. The youngest seemed to be no more than sixteen, while a couple of them wore the bored look of years of experience in their business. The apple turned sour in his mouth. He swallowed that bite and then offered the rest to Charley.

Mattie, if she was still alive, would be the age of those older women. Did her face bear that same expression? She would be thirty-two years old by now, and it had been almost fourteen years since she had disappeared.

He watched the two women, their mouths red slashes against their pale, white faces. The dresses they wore had been brightly colored at one time, but now looked sadly faded next to the younger girls, like roses that clung to a few blown and sun-bleached petals.

He hoped that Mattie had found her way out of that life.

He sighed and took a cracker. Turned it in his hands. The last time he had searched for his sister and come home again with no news, Andrew had told him to give it up. If she wanted to come home, she’d find her way.

But Andrew didn’t live with the memory of her face the night he told her he was running away to join the army. The hard, crystalline planes that shut him out.

“You’ll kill Ma and Pa,” she had whispered as she tried to wrest his bundle of clothes from him. “And then what will I do?”

He had turned from her, bent on following Andrew, but she had been right. By the time he had come home after the war was over, Ma and Pa were dead, and Mattie was gone.

He looked back up at the balcony of the Mystic. He’d never give up looking, hoping that someday he’d find her before... The cracker snapped between his fingers. He refused to listen to that voice inside that kept telling him it was too late.

When Charley finished his lunch, Nate wrapped up the rest of the crackers and cheese.

“Let’s go see what the town looks like.”

The street was crowded with men all going nowhere in particular and Nate pulled Charley closer to his side. Between the coarse language and the open bottles of liquor, he knew this wasn’t a place Andrew and Jenny would want their son to be. But this was where they were.

The businesses crowded together between the hills rising behind them and the narrow mudhole that passed for a street. Nate slowed his pace as the storefronts turned from the saloons to a printing office. Next came a general store and a clothing store, with a tobacconist wedged in between. Across the street was Star and Bullock, a large hardware store that filled almost an entire block.

And in the middle of it all, just where the street took a steep slope up to a higher level on the hill, men worked a mining claim. Nate shook his head. In all his travels through the West, he had never seen anything quite like Deadwood.

“Look, Uncle Nate. There’s Miss Sarah!”

Charley ran ahead to where the MacFarlands stood at the end of the block. Nate halted, watching Sarah’s face as she greeted the boy. She looked truly happy to see him. From what he had seen, busybodies from schools and orphanages never seemed to like the children they claimed to care so much about.

She didn’t fit the mold. She didn’t fit any mold.

Charley pointed his way and she looked for him. Another smile. The crowded streets seemed to fall silent, and Nate saw several of the men on the boardwalk look in her direction. He hurried to catch up with Charley.

“Miss MacFarland.” He found himself smiling, and he turned to the elder MacFarlands. “Mrs. MacFarland. James.” Lucy reached for him and he lifted her into his arms.

Sarah’s wide skirts swung as she turned toward him. “Was your errand a success?”

“The broken axle is being repaired as we speak.”

“We were just on our way to see the new storefront Uncle James rented. Would you and Charley like to come along?”

“Say yes, Uncle Nate. Please?” Charley clung to his free hand, while Olivia hopped up and down. He couldn’t say no to them.

“We’ll be pleased to accompany you.”

They all followed James as he turned down a side street and led the way toward a boarded-up saloon. Nate let Sarah go ahead of him, Charley and Olivia each holding on to one of her hands, while he followed with Lucy. Anyone watching would think they were a family.

Nate let that idea sift through until it soured his stomach. A family? He hugged Lucy close as he carried her. These children were all the family he needed, and he didn’t deserve even this.

* * *

When they reached the building on Lee Street, a few doors from the corner at Main, Sarah took Lucy’s and Olivia’s hands while Nate and Uncle James pulled the slats from the boarded-up door. Once there was an opening, Uncle James led them in.

“This is a church?” Olivia let go of Sarah’s hand and stepped farther into the room. “It looks like a saloon.”

Uncle James cleared his throat as Margaret followed Olivia to the bar that extended from one end of the room to the other. “The latest tenants ran a drinking establishment, and it needs work.”

Aunt Margaret stared at him. “You said you had found a storefront.”

Lucy tightened her grasp on Sarah’s other hand at the ice in Margaret’s voice. Sarah gave her small hand a reassuring squeeze. “It does need a lot of work, but I can see the possibilities.” She led Lucy to the center of the room to get a feeling for the size of the space. “If that bar is removed...”

“And that hideous mirror behind it.” Aunt Margaret waved her hand in the direction of the gold-flecked monstrosity on the wall. A narrow hole in the center radiated spiderweb cracks in all directions.

“There will be room enough for whoever comes to worship.” Sarah glanced around the room again. A piano listed to the side in one corner. Perhaps there would be someone in town who knew how to repair it.

She glanced back at Nate, standing in the doorway. He was removing nails from the wood slats, one by one. He didn’t seem to want to come any farther into the dusty building.

Margaret sniffed as she ran one finger along the top of the bar and inspected her glove.

“You need to see this place as I do, dear.” Uncle James crossed the room to his wife and pulled both of her hands into his own. “With some effort, we can redeem this place for the Lord’s work.” He turned to look around the room. Sarah had to smile at the grin on his face. Uncle James was a hopeless optimist.

No, not hopeless. He had confidence in the Lord’s leading.

“What I see is a den of iniquity.” Margaret’s voice softened. “But if anyone can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, it’s you, James MacFarland.”

“When we started the church in China, we didn’t even have a building. Only a stone slab and rubble.” James sighed, the smile still on his face. “Here we have a good roof, a good floor and two large rooms. The Lord has blessed us, indeed.”

“Two rooms?” Sarah had planned to teach in this room, but if there was another...

“Right through that door.” James nodded toward the far end of the bar.

Sarah picked up Lucy and started across the dirty floor, skirting a broken chair on the way. Olivia and Charley came behind them. When she opened the door, Charley crowding past, she nearly dropped Lucy. A man stood in the center of the room, a white felt hat and cane in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. He looked up when she gasped.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought this room was vacant.” Sarah stepped back, pulling Charley with her.

The man smiled as he took a step toward her. “There’s no need to go. I am to meet my client here. A Mr. MacFarland?”

Uncle James was at her side. “Mr. Montgomery.” The two men shook hands. “You’re early. I was just showing the building to my wife and niece.”

“Wilson Montgomery, at your service, Mrs. MacFarland. Miss MacFarland.” He bowed his head in Margaret’s direction and then in Sarah’s. His voice was cultured and his manners impeccable, except that his gaze lingered on Sarah a little too long before he turned back to Uncle James.

“Mr. Montgomery is from the bank. He’s handling the lease on this building.”

“Why don’t we ladies inspect this room while you and Mr. Montgomery attend to your business?” Aunt Margaret shooed Sarah and the children into the back room and closed the door behind them.

“Well, what do you think?”

Sarah looked around the room. It had its own entrance from the alley on the side of the building, and with a window next to the outer door, the room was light and airy.

“I like it.” She walked from one wall to the other, mentally placing benches and a chalkboard.

“No, no. Not the room. Mr. Montgomery.” Aunt Margaret’s words hissed in a loud whisper.

“Mr. Montgomery?” Sarah eased Lucy down to the floor. Olivia took her sister to the window to join Charley.

“Don’t you think he’s perfect? James told me about him last night. He’s from Boston.”

Aunt Margaret ended her pronouncement with a smile. Sarah grasped her aunt’s meaning.

“You don’t mean you think that he...” Sarah shook her head. “Don’t start matchmaking, Aunt Margaret. You know I’m too old to marry, and no man will appreciate a spinster being thrown at him.”

“Oh, now,” Aunt Margaret sputtered, “I would never throw you at him. He attends the church and is a very eligible bachelor. He is the manager of the First National Bank of Deadwood, and his father is the owner.”

As she ended her sales pitch, Sarah sighed. “If he is that eligible, don’t you have to ask yourself why he isn’t already married? In my experience, once a man reaches a certain age without being married, there is usually a good reason for it.”

“In your experience? My dear, you haven’t had that much experience.”

Sarah watched the children at the window. Charley had found a spider and the three of them were engrossed in its meal of an insect caught in its web. She would rather not talk about men with Aunt Margaret. Her aunt had been thirty-five when she met Uncle James, fresh from the mission field in China. Since she had married late in life, she held that there was hope for every woman. But a man, at least a good man, was a rare bird.

Nate opened the door between the two rooms and stepped in.

“It’s time for Charley and me to head back to the wheelwright’s. The axle should be done by now.”

Sarah turned to greet him. His timing couldn’t have been better. Maybe he would take Aunt Margaret’s mind off Wilson Montgomery.

“I’m so glad we met in town so you could inspect the new church and school with us.” She crossed the room, slipped one hand into the crook of his elbow and swept the other across the room with a grand gesture. “This is our academy. What do you think?”

His gaze followed the sweep of her hand. “It’s a right fine room. But you’ll need desks, won’t you? And a chalkboard? And books?”

Margaret was watching them, so she leaned a little closer. “I brought books with me, and Uncle James will build benches for the students to use.” She looked up at him. “I’m not sure what to do about the chalkboard. Do you have any ideas?” She considered batting her eyes, but she had never done that to any man, and she wasn’t about to start now.

He lifted her hand off his arm and stepped away. “I’m sure you’ll think of something, Miss MacFarland.” When he grinned, a dimple appeared in his chin. She hadn’t noticed it yesterday. Shaving certainly made a difference in a man’s looks.

Nate walked over to the window. “Charley, it’s time to go.”

He ushered the boy toward the door leading to the alley and turned to Sarah. The shadow of his smile still lingered. “We’ll come for the girls as soon as we get the wagon fixed.”

“You’ll stay for supper tonight, of course.” Aunt Margaret’s voice denied any argument.

Nate turned his hat between his hands and looked at Charley. “I appreciate it, ma’am, I surely do. But the children and I need to set up our camp.”

Sarah’s throat tightened. Once he left with the children, would she ever see him again?

Her face heated with a sudden flush. Where had that thought come from? But still, something made her want to have more time with him. And the children.

“You must eat supper with us tonight.” His eyes met hers. “And I think I know where there is a perfect spot for you to camp, right near the cabin.”

He glanced at the children, watching him. They were waiting for his decision with bated breath, just like she was.

Finally he shoved his hat on his head. “I know when I’m outnumbered.” He turned to Aunt Margaret. “I’m certainly beholden to you for your hospitality, ma’am. I don’t know how I’ll be able to repay you.”

“Pishposh.” Aunt Margaret waved her hand in the air. “You don’t need to repay anything. We’re glad to have the company.”

Sarah followed him to the door and stepped outside. Charley wandered toward the front of the building, but Nate turned to her. Sunshine had chased all the morning clouds away, and it shone brightly into the alley. She shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked up at him.

“I’m glad you decided to have supper another night with us. I would hate to give up the children’s company so soon.”

“Is it their company, or are you still going to try to talk me into letting them come to your school?”

“You know already that I would love for them to attend and that I think it is the best thing for them.” Nate started to turn away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “But I will respect your wishes concerning them.”

He looked at her, his chin tilted just enough for her to see she hadn’t convinced him, but his teasing grin lingered.

“You won’t mention the school, to me or to the children?”

Could she just give up on making sure those children had an education? On the other hand, Nate was their uncle. Maybe she could convince him that they both had the children’s best interests in mind.

Without mentioning the school.

“I promise. As long as you promise we can be friends.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Friends? All right, friend.” He stepped backward. “I’ll see you at suppertime.” He caught up with Charley at the corner of the building and disappeared.

Yes, he certainly was a rare bird.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

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

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