Mission: Children

Rounding up a gaggle of orphans isn’t Wyatt Reed’s specialty. Still, the bounty hunter is being paid handsomely to bring these children from Evans Grove to the next town. And then he sets eyes on one pigtailed, pint-sized complication, and the beautiful widow who needs his help.

Charlotte Miller’s marriage lacked love, but at least it gave her the right to adopt little Sasha. Now without a husband, she can’t be a mother. Wyatt agrees to be her groom-for-hire—only until Sasha is hers. But the man who couldn’t wait to leave town is finding unexpected reasons to stay…and glimpsing a future surpassing any fortune he’s known.

“I won’t lose my daughter.

I’ll do anything to keep her.”

Wyatt flinched and looked away. “I’m sorry. I tried my best.”

“I know.” Charlotte boldly grasped his arm, forcing his gaze back to her. “Thank you.” The time had come. “Will you help me again?”

Confusion clouded his expression. “How?”

She opened her bag and pulled out the wallet. “Charles left me some money. Whatever Mr. Baxter paid you, I’ll pay double.”

He pulled back. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is.”

“No, it’s not. The Orphan Salvation Society has an agreement with Greenville. If the judge rules that the children must go to Greenville, then I have no choice but to take them.”

Charlotte shook her head. He didn’t understand. “I’m not talking about all the children. I’m talking about Sasha.”

Instead of walking away or shouting at her, he spoke firmly. “There’s nothing I can do to help you keep Sasha.”

“Yes, there is.”

He stared at her. “No, there’s not.”

“You can marry me.”

CHRISTINE JOHNSON

A small-town girl, Christine Johnson has lived in every corner of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula. She loves to travel and learn about the places she visits. That puts museums high on her list of “must see” places and helps satisfy her lifetime fascination with history.

A double finalist for RWA’s Golden Heart award, she enjoys creating stories that bring history to life while exploring the characters’ spiritual journey—and putting them in peril! Though Michigan is still her home base, she and her ship captain husband also spend time exploring the Florida Keys and other fascinating locations.

Christine loves to hear from readers. Contact her through her website at www.christineelizabethjohnson.com.

The Marriage Barter

Christine Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Special thanks and acknowledgment

to Christine Johnson for her contribution

to the Orphan Train miniseries.

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

—Romans 8:28

For those who’ve lost earthly parents,

may Our Heavenly Father hold you close.

My deepest gratitude to fellow authors, Allie Pleiter and Linda Ford, whose gracious guidance and assistance helped me through many a rough patch. You taught me so much!

Also, thanks go to Elizabeth Mazer,

whose insights opened my eyes to new possibilities. It’s been a pleasure working with you.

Above all, the glory goes to God,

without whom there would be no story.

For out of weakness, He brings strength.

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

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Evans Grove, Nebraska

Late April, 1875

Get in, do the job and get out.

It sounded simple, but Wyatt Reed knew that “simple” jobs seldom turned out that way.

All he had to do was escort a bunch of orphans to Greenville. That’s what the town’s wealthiest citizen, Felix Baxter, had told him. Apparently, the kids had gotten off in Evans Grove when robbers held up their train. They were supposed to continue on to Greenville the next day. Two weeks had passed, and still no sign of the children.

Baxter had sent telegrams and only got excuses. The town was fed up with waiting, and wanted the children now. That’s where Wyatt came in.

The thing he couldn’t understand was why. From what he could tell, the orphans had been rounded up out of Eastern cities and sent west by one of those do-gooder charities, the Orphan Salvation Society. Families were found for the children along the way, and Greenville was the final stop. They’d only get the worst of the lot, the children that hadn’t been taken in anywhere else. Logic said this would be a rough bunch of kids, yet Baxter, claiming to speak for the town, had pounded his fist on his desk when demanding they come to Greenville as promised. The town wanted those children badly—too badly.

It made no sense, but Wyatt wasn’t hired to ask questions. He was a tracker. He found what needed finding, and he wasn’t about to turn down the kind of money Baxter had spread out in front of him.

Get in, do the job and get out.

With luck, he’d finish before the catch in this supposedly simple job reared its head. If not, he’d hightail it out of Evans Grove on his trusted mount, Dusty.

Wyatt dismounted in front of the hotel, his bum knee stiff after the twelve-mile ride from Greenville, and surveyed his surroundings. Baxter said he’d find the orphans here. The town was quiet, cozy, the kind of place where everyone knew everyone. No place for him.

He could spot a few signs of last month’s dam break that he’d read about in the newspapers. Water stains marked the wood siding of the hotel at porch height. The lower floor must have escaped flooding. The front door stood open and a couple of gnarled old men sat on the bench outside spitting into a cracked chamber pot that served as a spittoon. Otherwise, the place looked deserted.

“Hotel open?” he asked. Locating eight missing orphans would take more than a couple hours. Any hitch, and he’d need a room.

The men on the porch eyed him warily before the one with a mangled ear managed to grunt in the affirmative.

“Thank you.” Wyatt tipped a finger to his well-worn Stetson. “Got a town hall?”

The cabbage-eared man pointed north, across the street and toward a grove of hackberry trees. Beyond them stood a single-story building large enough to house a meeting room. Must be the place, but would the mayor be there at four-thirty in the afternoon? In towns this small, the mayor usually worked his business by day and officiated in the evening.

He absently patted his ill-tempered Arabian. The horse nipped at his hand as if to tell Wyatt that he should settle them both for the night, but he wanted to see what he was up against. When a boy came bounding out of the hotel, eager to set Wyatt and Dusty up with quarters, Wyatt let him lead the horse to the livery but told the lad he’d register for a room later. For now, he had business to attend to.

First step in tracking is to get your bearings. Wyatt looked past the hotel to a saloon. Piano music tinkled out the open door. Some men fell prey to the lure of whiskey and gambling. In the end, they always lost. Wyatt should know. He’d done his share of stumbling in the war, but he hadn’t touched a drop since the march through Georgia. He set his jaw against the swell of memory.

He had a job to do. The sooner he got it done, the better. Baxter had only given him a quarter of the fee up front. The rest would come upon completion.

He looked past the saloon to the creek. Piles of brick and lumber stood between the grain mill and the other creek-side buildings that had suffered the greatest damage. Rebuilding had already begun.

In the opposite direction, the street stretched east toward a pretty little church with a white steeple pointed high into the blue sky. It could have been plunked down here from any New England town. That old longing for the faith he used to know welled up out of nowhere. Wyatt pushed it aside. God wouldn’t want someone like him.

Beyond the church loomed an unmarked building and then the general store. Wyatt strolled in that direction. A wagon rumbled past, and several women picked their way around muddy potholes. One glanced his way, and he nodded politely. She looked away and whispered to her companion, probably wondering who he was. This sure wasn’t a town where a stranger could go unnoticed.

The cries of children rang out in the distance. The orphans? Or just the local boys and girls? He had no way of knowing. Orphans didn’t wear signs. They didn’t look any different than any other child. Except, like him, they didn’t have a home. Like him, they belonged to no one. Like him, their future looked bleak, and they’d know it. They wouldn’t be laughing and squealing. Those playing children couldn’t be the orphans. No, orphans didn’t belong in a hopeful town with scrubbed buildings and spring blossoms any more than he did.

He absently patted the front of his buckskin jacket and his too-thin wallet. After this job, he’d have enough to settle in San Francisco. He wouldn’t have to track another fugitive or desperate soul. Maybe he’d open a shop, do something respectable. Yep, once he got paid in full, he’d never again have to take orders from men whose honor he couldn’t trust. But he hadn’t gotten paid yet.

Wyatt had lived in Greenville less than two months, but it was long enough to hear rumors about Baxter that made him doubt the man’s sunny promise of a simple, quick and completely legal job.

“Mamaaaaaa!”

The plaintive cry halted Wyatt in his tracks. A child. Very young. Female. His tracker’s instinct clicked into place. Her hiccups and wordless sobs came from very close, between the church and the unmarked building. These weren’t the ordinary cries of childhood. This girl was terrified.

He slipped into the narrow alley between buildings, but a pile of empty crates blocked his view.

“Ma.” Hiccup. “Ma.”

Wyatt paused before the crates. What was he doing? He didn’t know the first thing about children, and he didn’t know a soul in this town. Where would he take her once he found her?

He started to back away until a string of unintelligible words came out at a fevered pitch, followed by what sounded like choking. If someone didn’t calm that child down, she’d stop breathing. Seeing as he was the only one nearby, that someone would have to be him.

He skirted the pile of empty crates, but she wasn’t there. He followed the sobs to the back of the building and a muddy lane where a small, thin child with raven-black pigtails sat in the dirt. He wasn’t much of a judge of children’s ages, but she looked younger than school-age. Maybe three or four. Too young to be wandering around on her own.

Wyatt hesitated, unsure what to do as she lifted her tear-stained face to take in his considerable height. The sobs stopped. Her blue eyes widened so big they seemed to take over her whole face. One grubby hand went into her mouth, just like...

Wyatt stared.

By all the stars in the sky, she looked just like his kid sister, Ava, had at that age. Same pigtails. Same blue eyes. Same need to suck on her fingers.

The girl examined him with curiosity. She’d probably never seen such a tall man.

He knelt, his knee protesting. “Howdy, there. My name’s Wyatt. What’s yours?”

The hand didn’t budge out of her mouth, but those sky-blue eyes continued to stare at him. What lashes! They practically brushed her eyebrows. One day this little girl would break men’s hearts.

Today he needed to find out why she was crying and where she belonged. “Do you have any scrapes or cuts?”

She just stared.

He tried again. “Can you move your legs?” They looked fine, not obviously broken, but he wasn’t a doctor.

She didn’t budge. Clearly she wasn’t going to answer him. Either she was too scared or too shy.

“Are you lost?”

Nothing again.

This was getting frustrating. “Can’t you nod yes or no?”

Naturally, she didn’t move her head one inch.

He rubbed his chin and attempted to ignore his aching knee. He’d try the obvious. “Did you lose your mama?”

“Mama,” she echoed, somehow getting the word out despite the fingers in her mouth.

“Great.” Finally, he was getting somewhere. He stood to take the pressure off his knee. “Where did you last see her?”

She went back to staring silently.

“Of course she doesn’t know that, Reed,” he chided himself. Some tracker he was if he couldn’t remember that a lost child would be disoriented. Trouble was, he couldn’t quite figure out what to do. Missing children weren’t his specialty. He’d never worked with children until this job. Could this child be one of the orphans? He shook off the idea. She’d called for her mother. This girl had a family. In a town as small as Evans Grove, someone would know where to find her ma or pa.

He crouched again, ignoring his knee’s protest. “If I pick you up and walk around town, do you think you can point to the last place you saw your mama?”

The girl answered by sticking out both arms.

She trusted him.

The knowledge kicked him in the gut. No one trusted Wyatt Reed. Not since before the war, anyway. If this girl only knew what he’d done. If she’d heard the screams of terror, she wouldn’t trust him now or ever. But she didn’t know who he was or what he’d done. She just trusted him.

“Get ahold of yourself, Reed.” The girl didn’t know anything about him. She trusted him to get her home, and he’d do it, the same as any paying job.

His big hands more than encircled her tiny waist. He lifted, and her thin arms wound around his neck. So trusting. This girl would crack his tough veneer if he wasn’t careful.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s find that mother of yours.”

And soon. He couldn’t take much more undeserved trust.

* * *

Charlotte Miller fingered the paltry selection of ribbons in Gavin’s General Store. The emerald-green one shone against her pale fingers. The lovely ribbon would match her best dress, but she must buy the black. Custom dictated she hide beneath heavy black crepe for the next year or more while mourning the husband she’d never loved.

Charles Miller had treated her kindly, but all his love had been reserved for his deceased first wife. His marriage to Charlotte had been a business arrangement. She’d needed a husband when her parents died months after they arrived in Evans Grove. He’d needed a housekeeper and cook. Simple and sensible. Yet deep down, she’d hoped their marriage would one day develop the warmth and love that would usher in a large family.

She sighed. At least he’d agreed to take in one of the orphan girls. If not for Sasha, she would have no one.

Charlotte cast a glance toward the toys where Sasha and Mrs. Gavin’s granddaughter, Lynette, were playing with the dolls. The two looked so much alike they could have been twins. Each wore their dark hair in pigtails. Today they wore nearly identical dresses in the same shade of blue. The Gavins had stocked a large quantity of that particular fabric, and most of the girls in town sported play dresses in royal blue.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, dearie,” Mrs. Gavin said as she cut a length of ribbon sufficient to adorn Charlotte’s hastily dyed bonnet. “At least you’re still young.” Mrs. Gavin tried to lift her spirits as she handed Charlotte the ribbon.

At thirty-one, Charlotte didn’t feel terribly young. After a year or two of mourning, she’d have lost even more childbearing years.

She dug in her bag for payment, but Mrs. Gavin refused to take her money.

Unbidden shame rose to Charlotte’s cheeks. “Charles provided for me.” Unlike her parents, he’d left her enough to last three or four years if she was frugal. And she would be. Thirteen years might have passed, but not the memory of the empty cupboards and gnawing hunger following her parents’ deaths. Charles’s proposal had filled her belly if not her heart, and for that she would always be grateful. It had taught her to fight for what she needed. Never again would she let herself become that destitute. Never would she let Sasha endure the pain and humiliation she’d faced. “I can pay.”

The plump proprietress patted her hand. “It’s something we do for all widows.”

Widow. The word ricocheted through Charlotte’s head. A widow had few options. If she wanted to provide for Sasha once Charles’s money ran out, she must either work or marry. But what man would marry a woman who appeared unable to bear children? To any outsider, thirteen years of childless marriage meant she was barren.

Sooner rather than later she must find work. She couldn’t run Charles’s wheelwright shop. The flood had destroyed it. Charles’s apprentice had rebuilt the forge portion, and she’d accepted his generous offer to assume Charles’s debt in exchange for the business.

No, she must look elsewhere. Perhaps Mrs. Gavin needed help.

“I wonder if—” she began to ask, but the proprietress had hurried off to help Holly Sanders, the schoolteacher and Charlotte’s friend.

“Miss Sanders,” Mrs. Gavin exclaimed. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Congratulations?” Charlotte drew near her friend.

Holly blushed furiously. “Mason proposed.”

“He did? Oh, Holly. How wonderful.” Charlotte enveloped her friend in a hug. “I’m so happy for you.” Truly, she was, though the irony of their situations didn’t elude her. She, once married, was now a widow. Holly, who’d admired Sheriff Mason Wright for ages, would now be married.

Holly pulled away. “Enough about me. How are you doing?”

Charlotte couldn’t believe Holly would think of her at such a time. “I’m doing better. Having Sasha to care for helps pass the time. She’s such a dear.”

“How is she handling it? She seemed so bewildered at first.” Holly had gotten to know all the orphans in her role as part of the orphan selection committee responsible for placing the orphans with families. She’d grown very attached to the children since their arrival in town.

“The poor girl has seen so much death. Losing her parents, and then Charles.” Charlotte shook her head. “I had no idea his heart had weakened.”

“No one did.”

Charlotte fought the rush of memories. “There’s so much to take care of. I should go through his things, but I can’t bring myself to do it.”

“Would you like help?”

Charlotte couldn’t believe Holly would consider helping her when she had a wedding to plan. “Aren’t you busy with the wedding?”

Holly waved a hand. “It won’t be anything fancy. Besides, we haven’t set a date yet. I can certainly manage an hour or two for a friend.”

Then there was no escaping the task. Since Charles’s death, Charlotte had avoided the loft, the place where he’d lived his life apart from her. She’d respected his privacy when he was alive, and now that he was dead, it felt like even more of an intrusion to set foot up there. Maybe Holly’s presence would make it easier.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I don’t know what to do with it all. Perhaps someone who lost their belongings in the flood could use the clothes, but who?”

“I’ll ask around.” Holly smiled encouragingly and again grasped her hand. “Shall we do it Saturday morning?”

So soon? Charlotte’s heart sank. She didn’t know if she could face the task, but it must be done. She stiffened her resolve. “Saturday.”

“Anything else, Miss Sanders?” asked Mrs. Gavin as the busybody spinster Beatrice Ward stepped into the store.

Considering the glare Miss Ward cast at Holly, she’d heard the news of the engagement and disapproved. Charlotte wondered if she had any reason to dislike the match, or if she simply felt no one should make major decisions in town without consulting her.

“Not today.” But Holly’s gaze drifted toward the dress goods after Mrs. Gavin left to wait on Beatrice. “I must admit that rose-colored satin is pretty.”

Holly’s uncharacteristic interest in fabric caught Charlotte’s attention. Of course! Holly needed a wedding dress, something that would show off the beauty she didn’t realize she had.

“The color suits you,” she urged. “It would make a lovely gown, wouldn’t it? Oh, Holly, let me make it for you—as a gift.”

Holly cast aside the idea. “No, no, it would be frivolous. I’ll wear the dress I wore to Newfield.”

Charlotte couldn’t let her friend get married in a travel suit. Her vow of frugality evaporated in the face of a friend in need. She would make that dress, whether Holly approved or not. It was a gift, and gifts didn’t require approval.

“I’ll make it in the latest fashion,” she insisted. “Mason’s heart will stop when he sees you walk down the aisle.”

“No, please,” Holly said frantically as Beatrice Ward drifted closer. “Thank you, but no.” Her gaze darted toward Beatrice. “I should get back to the schoolhouse. I have so much work to do before school tomorrow.”

Work. If Charlotte was going to make Charles’s money last more than a few years, she needed to ask Mrs. Gavin if the store was hiring, but she hesitated with Beatrice within earshot. The woman opposed letting any of the orphans stay in Evans Grove. Worse, she was on the orphan selection committee. According to Holly, the mayor had given Beatrice the position in an attempt to placate her, but the woman had done everything to thwart placements. If she thought Charlotte didn’t have enough money to raise a child, then she’d scheme to take Sasha away. No, she’d have to ask Mrs. Gavin about work later.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” she said to Holly. “Eight o’clock?”

Holly nodded. “Saturday morning it is. Say hello to Sasha for me. I look forward to having her in school after summer.”

She darted off, leaving Charlotte stunned. Sasha in school? So soon? The summer would flit by. Why, Charlotte had barely enjoyed two weeks with her.

She turned to retrieve Sasha from the toy display and saw the girl gazing at the expensive doll with the porcelain head and sky-blue dress. It was beautiful but far too dear. She’d make Sasha a pretty doll with black hair and big blue buttons for eyes. She had everything necessary in her sewing basket except the black hair. She eyed the ribbon. A much better use than on her bonnet.

Sasha stood on her tiptoes, her back to Charlotte, and reached for the doll. Her fingers grazed the doll’s feet, and it teetered precariously on the shelf.

“No,” Charlotte cried, running to save the doll from being shattered on the floor below.

The girl turned toward her, eyes wide.

It wasn’t Sasha.

Charlotte’s heart stopped. The doll toppled harmlessly onto the shelf, but Charlotte no longer cared about a doll. Her daughter was gone.

“Where’s Sasha?”

Lynette backed away as tears rose in her eyes. “I dunno.”

Charlotte’s heart went out to her. “Oh, Lynette, it’s not your fault.” It’s mine. A sickening feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. She should have watched Sasha more closely. She should have seen her daughter walk away from the toys. “I’m sure Sasha just went to look at something else. I’ll find her.” The words carried more confidence than she felt.

Charlotte swept around the barrels of flour, her black crepe dress rustling as she moved through the store, checking every aisle and corner. Not in the hardware section or meandering among the groceries. Perhaps she’d gone to the candy counter. Charlotte spun around and saw only Mrs. Gavin and Beatrice Ward. Oh, dear.

“Sasha?” Once again she swept the length of the store. Her panic escalated with every step.

Sasha wasn’t anywhere.

Miss Ward looked up sharply, her pinched mouth gloating in triumph. “That’s the way those filthy urchins are. It’s bred into them. I could have told you she’d run off. You can’t trust their type for an instant.”

Charlotte blanched at the cruel words. “She’s only four and doesn’t know her way around town yet.”

“Now, don’t you worry, Mrs. Miller,” Mrs. Gavin said calmly. “She can’t have got far.”

But worry was exactly what Charlotte felt, along with shame and fear that washed through her in ice-cold waves. Why hadn’t she noticed that Sasha had left? She hadn’t even realized the difference between Sasha and Lynette. What sort of mother was she? Now Beatrice Ward would tell everyone what had happened, and they’d say she was unfit to raise a child.

They wouldn’t take Sasha away, would they? Charlotte’s heart rattled against her rib cage. Sasha was all she had, her only family, the only person she had to love.

She raced from the store, her feet barely touching the three wooden steps. She looked left. Then right. Horses. Pedestrians. A stray dog. No little girl.

Where was Sasha?

She ran first one way and then the other. Sasha. Sasha. Her name beat into Charlotte’s brain in time to her pounding footsteps.

Then she saw her. In the arms of a stranger. A tall, lean man with the piercing gaze of a hunter cradled Sasha with the gentleness of a father.

Her steps slowed, stopped.

Starkly handsome, the man’s dark hair swept the collar of his buckskin jacket. Dark whiskers dusted his cheeks. His eyes, shadowed under the brim of his well-worn hat, stared straight at her. He did not smile. He looked like... Charlotte swallowed hard. He looked like an Indian. Or a gunslinger. An outlaw.

Yet Sasha clung to his neck with total trust, her head nestled on his shoulder.

“Sasha?” The word caught in her throat.

The man’s stony gaze swept her from head to toe. He must not have found the assessment pleasing, for his stern expression never changed and he made no move to hand Sasha to her.

Her panic escalated.

Who was this man, and what was he doing with her daughter?

* * *

Wyatt couldn’t stop staring at the woman. Sun-gold ringlets, touched with a hint of sunset, peeked from beneath the black bonnet. The heavy, black dress only made her porcelain skin look more fragile. Clearly, she was in mourning. Just as clearly, she was this girl’s mother, though the two looked nothing alike.

“Sasha.” Her gentle voice trembled.

Sasha? He stiffened at the peculiar name, but the girl stirred and turned to the familiar voice.

“Mama.” The thin little arms reached for the porcelain-skinned woman, who rushed forward.

“Where have you been? Where did you go?” In seconds the girl was out of his arms and into her mother’s. The woman kissed the girl’s dirty face and hair. “Don’t ever leave me again, understand? I was worried to death.”

Instead of answering, the girl burrowed her head into her mother’s perfectly formed shoulder.

The woman nodded at him, half in fear and half with gratitude. “Thank you. You have no idea how worried I...” She gulped and averted her gaze. “Thank you, truly.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

He wanted to tip that pretty face up so he could get a second look, but she kept her focus on her daughter.

“Yes, well, I should get home to fix supper.” She backed away a step.

“My name’s Wyatt Reed.” Now, why in blazes had he done that? He liked to keep contact with strangers to a minimum. Get in, do the job and get out. No emotional attachments.

“Charlotte Miller.” Her gaze darted up for a moment, and her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink.

He wanted to touch that cheek to see if her skin was as soft as it looked, but beauties like her weren’t meant for men like him. Still, he couldn’t stop staring. A man didn’t see all that many pretty women on the frontier. Who could blame him for taking an extra-long look?

“Like I said, I should go home,” she murmured, again backing away.

He cleared his throat, reluctant to let her go. “I don’t suppose you could tell me where to find the mayor.” It was the only thing he could think to ask, even though he already knew where the town hall was located. “Evans, is it?”

“Yes, Mrs. Evans.” Her pretty little chin thrust out with pride.

“Mrs.?” Baxter hadn’t mentioned that little detail.

“Pauline Evans is a fine mayor, every bit as good as her late husband.” She started out strong defending her mayor, but with every word her certainty faltered, as if she’d lost her nerve.

For some reason, he wanted to encourage her. He dug around for a suitable response and found none. “I have business to take care of. Don’t suppose you’d know where I can find her?”

Again, she ducked her head. “You might try the town hall. If not there, then she’d be at home.”

“Town hall?” He pretended he didn’t know where it was to gain a few more seconds with her.

Her color deepened. “I’ll show you there. It’s on my way.”

A peculiar thrill ran through him. She would willingly walk with him through town? It had been ages since any woman walked in daylight with Wyatt Reed. And this one was a beauty. She’d match up to any ballroom belle back in Illinois.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered to Sasha.

Home. The old ache came back, hard and furious. Wyatt Reed wouldn’t find home until he set foot in San Francisco.

“Can you walk?” Charlotte murmured to Sasha, her face aglow with love for her daughter.

Sasha nodded solemnly and slid to the ground. “Go home.”

For the first time, Wyatt noticed the girl’s peculiar accent. Her voice had been too garbled by tears earlier, but now the foreign lilt was unmistakable. Sasha must not be Charlotte Miller’s natural daughter. A knot formed in his gut. That meant she could be one of the orphans.

His simple job just got a whole lot more difficult.

Chapter Two

They found Mayor Pauline Evans huddled over the table at the front of the meeting hall with the Newfield banker, Curtis Brooks, at her side. Whatever they were discussing, it held their attention so thoroughly that they didn’t hear Charlotte and Wyatt enter the room.

The mayor stabbed her finger at a piece of paper. “It’s all detailed here, if you want to read it.”

Mr. Brooks, his dark hair lightly salted with gray, struggled to hold back a grin. “Now, Mrs. Evans, I’m not questioning how the project is being handled. That’s up to you. The bank sent me to supervise the distribution of your town’s loan—nothing more. And from what I can see, you’re doing a fine job with the chore groups and the distribution of the funds. The bank simply needs a report of expenditures, which I see you have right here.” He slipped the paper away from the mayor. “Now, as to the matter of young Master Liam.”

“I believe we’re agreed on that.”

Charlotte felt like she was intruding on private business. Yesterday, Liam McLoughlin, one of the orphans, had run away after Beatrice Ward called him a thief. The poor boy had hidden in a cave until Sheriff Wright found him. Since both the mayor and Mr. Brooks served on the orphan selection committee, they must be discussing what action to take against Beatrice for causing such a fracas.

She motioned to Wyatt that they should come back later. Instead, he rapped on the door frame.

Mayor Evans and Mr. Brooks looked up, startled.

“Charlotte.” A smile sprang to Pauline’s lips. “What can I do for you?” The auburn-haired mayor hurried toward her with genuine warmth. “And Sasha, too.” The formidable woman’s handclasp and smile conveyed sympathy and something else. Worry? No, pity.

Of course Pauline pitied her. She knew the pain of widowhood. Robert Evans had been a fine man, an excellent mayor and a loving husband. His death following the flood had been a harsh blow to the town. Everyone had expected him to take charge of the rebuilding. Only a woman with Pauline’s will and determination could have fulfilled his dying request to take over as mayor.

“I’m not here for myself,” Charlotte said softly as Sasha clung to her skirts. She glanced at Wyatt, who waited in the doorway, hat in hands. “This is Mr. Wyatt Reed. He said he has business to discuss with you.”

Pauline looked genuinely surprised. Contrary to what Wyatt had implied, she must not have been expecting him. “Mr. Reed.”

“Mrs. Evans.” He stepped forward, his boots rapping on the plank floor. “I wonder if I might have a word with you.” He glanced at Charlotte and Mr. Brooks. “Alone.”

Though Charlotte understood that whatever he had to discuss was none of her affair, part of her hated to leave the man. He’d shown kindness to Sasha and had proven worthy of her daughter’s trust.

Mr. Brooks, however, took umbrage. “What is your business, Mr. Reed?” He positioned himself beside Pauline, clearly ready to defend her.

Pauline saw it differently. “I am fully capable of handling city business on my own.” Her curt response left no room for argument. “Your bank might have loaned us money to rebuild, but it does not have any place in council chambers.”

Curtis Brooks, thoroughly chastened, left any protest unspoken. Bowing stiffly, he begged his leave and departed.

Charlotte had to go, too. She cast a shy smile at Wyatt and Pauline. “I should get Sasha’s supper.” Then she left the meeting room.

In the vestibule, she stopped to straighten Sasha’s dress. Rising, she spotted a notice tacked to the wall. In the poor light she could just make out that the orphan selection committee was meeting tomorrow. Maybe someone had stepped forward to take one of the remaining four children. If Pauline removed Beatrice from the committee, more people might step forward. At least there wouldn’t always be someone pointing out each child’s flaws.

Just thinking of the way Beatrice had acted when families first came forward to take in the children made Charlotte fume. If only she could take in more children... But her resources were limited since Charles’s death, and she doubted even a selection committee without Beatrice Ward would entrust another orphan to her.

“I’ve come from Greenville,” she heard Wyatt Reed say.

Charlotte knew she shouldn’t listen, but his voice carried so clearly that she could hardly avoid hearing what he said. She glanced at the door. To leave, she had to cross the entrance to the hall, which would make it clear she’d overheard them. Best to linger here until an opportune moment and then slip away.

“A prominent citizen hired me to find out why the orphans didn’t arrive there as promised.” His words sent a prickle of unease up her spine.

She leaned a little forward for a better view and saw Pauline’s elbow jerk in irritation.

Still, the mayor’s response was calm and collected. “Which prominent citizen?”

Wyatt hesitated long enough that she wondered if he wasn’t supposed to reveal the answer. “Mr. Felix Baxter, but he’s just the one who hired me. He’s acting on the town’s behalf. They’re wondering why the children have been delayed.”

“I believe Miss Sterling wired Greenville about the situation immediately after arriving in Evans Grove. She needed to await instructions from the New York office after the train robbery forced them to stop here.”

Charlotte pressed her hands to Sasha’s ears at the mention of the train robbery. Holly had told Charlotte how the robbers waved guns and crowded aside Miss Sterling—one of the agents from the Orphan Salvation Society—and the orphans in their quest to steal the loan money Holly and Mr. Brooks had brought from Newfield to rebuild Evans Grove. Thanks to Holly’s quick thinking and the orphan boy Liam’s bravery, Sheriff Wright had been alerted in time to capture the robbers. Unfortunately, their victory had come at a terrible price.

“I wasn’t told all the details, ma’am,” Wyatt was saying, “but I understand the Orphan Salvation Society sends two agents with the children. If Miss Sterling was indisposed, couldn’t the other agent have escorted the children to Greenville?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Arlington was shot during the robbery and died before Doctor Simpson could treat him. Since he was the senior agent, Miss Sterling felt she couldn’t in good conscience move forward without the Society’s counsel.” Mayor Evans wrapped up her argument. “As you can see, there was no one available to escort the children to Greenville.”

“Maybe not at the time, but it’s been two weeks,” Wyatt pressed. “Surely Miss Sterling has recovered and gotten her orders from the Society by now.”

“She has, and they accepted our offer to place the orphans here in Evans Grove. So you see, there’s no need for an escort. The children will be staying.”

“No, ma’am, I’m afraid they won’t. The Orphan Salvation Society had a prior agreement with Greenville, and I aim to see that they deliver on the terms. They can’t go changing their minds halfway through.”

“The Orphan Salvation Society is the children’s caretaker,” the mayor reminded him.

“That is not my point. They already had an agreement. Those children are supposed to go to Greenville. Now, if there’s no one to escort the orphans there, I’ll take them myself. There are eight, I believe.” Wyatt Reed’s words shot through her.

All eight? Charlotte gasped and clutched Sasha to her side. He would take her daughter away from her?

Never!

Without the slightest concern of being overheard, she scooped up Sasha and fled the building.

* * *

Wyatt heard the gasp and turned in time to see a shadow of black flit across the doorway. Mrs. Miller. She must have heard every word.

If the mayor saw her, she gave no indication. “Several of the children have already been placed. Surely the citizens of Greenville would not want to tear children away from their new families.” A triumphant smile slid into place. “For instance, Mrs. Miller—the woman who brought you here—took in Sasha Petrov.”

So Sasha was one of the orphans. An icy finger of doubt slid into his well-constructed plan. Focus, Reed. You need that money to get to San Francisco. He took a deep breath. The mayor said several of the children, not all.

“How many?” he said between his teeth.

“How many what?” she asked cheerfully.

So, she would play a game, would she? “How many of the orphans are already taken?”

She hesitated, as if counting. “Four of the eight, but other families are in the process of selecting children. One of the boys was just claimed, pending the selection committee’s approval. I expect the rest will be placed soon.”

Wyatt quickly calculated his options. If he insisted on taking all eight, Evans Grove would fight him. The new parents would fight him. That orphan society might fight him. He could lose all eight and the rest of his fee. Better to settle for something.

He stared down the mayor. “But only four are now placed.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “At this moment, but as I said—”

“The four can stay.”

Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“The four children who’ve already been taken can stay, but the rest go with me to Greenville tomorrow.”

The mayor raised herself to her full height, completely in control of her emotions, which at this moment indicated she would not budge one bit on this subject. “It is late, Mr. Reed. I suggest we continue this conversation tomorrow afternoon with the entire selection committee present.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow afternoon.” The woman’s firm command was beginning to irritate him. “The train passes the Evans Grove whistle-stop at noon. I’ll need to arrange in advance for the train to stop. Let’s make it a morning meeting. Say nine o’clock.”

Her smile faded, but just for an instant. “The committee members do have businesses to operate. One of the members, our schoolteacher Miss Sanders, will need to arrange for someone to watch her class. In truth, Mr. Reed, tomorrow evening would be best.”

He had to give her credit for quick thinking. She’d managed to push the time even later. At this rate, he wouldn’t be out of Evans Grove until Saturday.

He pushed back. “Ten o’clock, Mayor. In the morning. No later. I expect to put those children on the noon train to Greenville tomorrow. Miss Sterling may accompany them if she wishes.” It seemed a generous concession at this point.

“That is up to her,” the mayor said stiffly, “but I will convey your demands—and your offer—at once.”

He nodded, and picked up his hat. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mayor.”

“Ten o’clock, Mr. Reed.” Her words were tough, but she looked worried.

She should be. Wyatt Reed always got his man.

* * *

Even after feeding Sasha, Charlotte still quaked with fear. What could she do? Where could she go? Who would help her? Since Charles’s death, life had been filled with uncertainty, but never as much as right now.

She couldn’t lose Sasha. The little girl meant everything to her. But now Wyatt Reed was trying to take her away. She had to do something.

The sun’s waning rays illuminated the Bible sitting on the trestle table. Charlotte ran her fingers over the leather binding. God’s Word had brought her comfort in the past. It helped her understand the loss of her parents and Charles, but could it gird her for the loss of her daughter, too?

“Mama?” Sasha’s voice trembled, and Charlotte realized the little girl had seen her tears and was frightened.

She blinked away the moisture and folded her arms around Sasha. “It’s all right. Everything will be all right.”

Still, the girl shook, and a sob wrenched out.

Charlotte smoothed her hair. “Look at me, dearest.” When the girl finally lifted liquid eyes to her, she smiled with more confidence than she felt. “Everything will be fine. Understand? I love you, and I will always love you. You’re my little girl, my forever little girl.”

Unable to hold back the tears any longer, Charlotte hugged Sasha close and kissed her repeatedly until the trembling passed. She must do something to cheer Sasha.

Holding her at arm’s length, Charlotte asked, “Would you like a new doll?”

Sasha’s eyes brightened. Clearly, the promise of a doll had distracted the little girl. Charlotte pulled some blue muslin from the bottom of her trunk. “Won’t this make a pretty dress for her? She’ll have black hair, like you, and blue eyes. Would you like that?”

Sasha nodded vigorously and stretched out her hand for the fabric.

Charlotte almost told her to wait, but Sasha had waited for so much already—parents and love and a real family. And it could all be taken away tomorrow. Why make her wait for anything more?

She dug some more in the trunk and found her tattered old rag doll. “This is the doll I had when I was your age. You can play with her while I make your new one.”

Sasha hugged the ragged old doll.

Charlotte smiled to think Sasha could like something so misshapen. “Let’s think of a name for your new doll.”

“Katya.”

Charlotte wished she would have chosen a more common name like Katy or Katherine, but she supposed the girl couldn’t help but hang on to her Russian roots. Unfortunately, people like Beatrice Ward would frown on the foreign name and hold it against Sasha. But for now, it was better to please a little girl than a bitter old woman.

“What a pretty name. Katya it is.”

If only keeping Sasha could be handled so easily, but that man, Wyatt Reed, wanted to take her away. Moreover, she’d trusted him! How foolish. She should have known he was trouble from the start, but she’d been misled by his tenderness toward Sasha. How could a man who’d held Sasha so gently turn around and tear her and the other children from their homes?

A rap on the door startled her from her thoughts. Even Sasha swiveled in her chair, worry creasing her little brow.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Charlotte said, forcing a smile, but all she could think about were Wyatt’s words. He’d come to take away the children. Was he here now?

Her heart pounded as she grasped the door handle. What could she say to persuade him to leave Sasha with her?

“Charlotte, it’s me,” said a female voice on the other side of the door. “Holly.”

Holly? Relief coursed through her until she remembered that Holly should be with Mason tonight. Something must have come up. Maybe she wanted to help Charlotte tonight instead of Saturday.

She opened the door. “I can’t sort through Charles’s things tonight.”

Holly shook her head and motioned for Charlotte to step outside. “There’s news.”

Judging from the distress on her face, Charlotte knew what that news was. She closed the door behind her.

“This man came from Greenville to take away the orphans,” Holly said breathlessly.

“I know.”

“You know?”

“We met already.” Charlotte swallowed hard. How could she have misjudged the man so badly? Worse, she’d led him straight to the mayor. “I overheard him talking to Pauline.”

Holly drew in a shaky breath. “Then you know that Liam would have to leave.” She choked. “Oh, Charlotte, I can’t lose him. Mason can’t lose him. We...we love him.”

Charlotte wrapped her arms around her friend, marveling that they found themselves in a similar situation. In the past couple weeks, they’d both come to love a child. Holly adored Liam, and Sasha had claimed Charlotte’s heart.

“I know, I know. I can’t bear to lose Sasha, either.” Charlotte fought back tears of her own. “What will we do?”

“We’ll fight.” Determination fired Holly. “The mayor had Rebecca cable the Orphan Salvation Society office. Then she called an emergency town meeting for first thing in the morning. Nine o’clock. She told the Greenville man to come at ten o’clock. By then we’ll have figured out what to do.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hands. “Pauline is on our side. She won’t let anyone take away our children.”

That anyone meant Wyatt Reed. Charlotte felt sick that she’d trusted him.

Holly let go of Charlotte’s hands and dashed toward the street. “I have to tell the Hutchinsons, the Hollands and the Regans. We’ll win this, Charlotte. With Mayor Evans in the lead, we’re bound to win.”

As Holly flew off into the night, Charlotte hugged her arms against the chill wind. She hoped Holly was right, but hope alone wouldn’t do it.

She cast a prayer high into the star-filled sky. Lord, You love all Your children. Be with us tomorrow. Show us the way to keep Sasha and Liam and all the children here where they’re loved. We’re counting on You.

In the meantime, Charlotte would do all she could to stop Wyatt Reed.

Chapter Three

The next morning, Wyatt sat in the hotel dining room eating breakfast and waiting for the ten o’clock meeting. From his seat at the window, he could see people scurrying through the grove of hackberry trees toward the town hall. He checked his pocket watch. A quarter to nine. Something was afoot, and he wouldn’t put it past Madam Mayor to work some shenanigans ahead of the scheduled meeting.

He left enough money on the table to cover his meal and strode out onto the porch, where he put on his hat. When he saw Charlotte Miller hurry from the general store toward the town hall, he knew he’d guessed right.

It took less than a minute to catch up to her. “Good day, Mrs. Miller.”

She jumped but didn’t slow.

He matched her stride. “How is Sasha this morning? Any ill effects?”

She shook her head, but her shoulders squared defensively. “She’s visiting her friend, Lynette Gavin.”

He hadn’t accused Charlotte of losing the girl, but she’d clearly taken it that way. He tried again. “You’re sure in a hurry this morning. Anything I can help you with?”

“No.” Her reddened cheeks said otherwise.

The rosy tinge became her, and again, Wyatt fought the urge to touch her cheek. “I’d gladly help.”

“You’ve done quite enough already.”

Her sharp words caught him in the gut. She wasn’t embarrassed. Those flushed cheeks came from anger. Why? He wasn’t going to take her daughter away from her. But had she heard that part? He thought back to yesterday. The gasp. The slamming of the door. Had it come before or after he’d agreed to let Sasha and the other placed children stay?

Charlotte accelerated her pace.

He chased after her. “Let me explain.”

“There is nothing you can say to me,” she choked out.

“But I—”

“Y-y-you heartless man.” She halted and faced him, her fists balled and her eyes blazing. “How could you?”

“I—”

“Innocent children.” She shook a fist at him. “You’re taking innocent children from their homes. What sort of man are you?”

Wyatt’s temper piqued. He’d done plenty that he wasn’t proud of, but not this time. He wasn’t taking any children from their homes. He was trying to give homes to the orphans who hadn’t been selected. But Charlotte got him so addle-brained that he couldn’t piece together the words.

He settled for pointing out the facts. “I’m a man doing a job.”

“A job.” She trembled with emotion, which only made her prettier. “You’re ruining children’s lives for money?”

She said the last word with so much distaste that he couldn’t keep back a smile. If she’d just give him a chance to explain, most of that anger would go away. “First of all, I’m not ruining children’s lives. Second, if I didn’t do it, someone else would. But you need to understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” She lifted that gorgeous little chin, her eyes afire. “The only thing you care about is money. Well, if that’s all you want, then maybe we can work something out. How much are you getting paid?”

He stared at her. She was offering to top Baxter’s fee? He wouldn’t take money from a widow, especially when it wasn’t necessary. “More than you can afford.”

Her cheeks darkened, and her spine straightened. “I see.”

But he could tell she was struggling to hold back tears. “Let me explain.”

“I don’t want your explanations, Mr. Reed.” Without waiting for a reply, she stormed off toward the town hall, where quite a crowd was forming.

He started after her, but she quickly fell in with a pale, somewhat plump woman. Wyatt rubbed his chin, half frustrated by Charlotte Miller and half intrigued by what was going on. Once the last person entered the hall, he made his way to the wooden steps and carefully cracked open the door. A gavel pounded on a tabletop, and the murmur of voices hushed.

Ten o’clock meeting, eh? According to his watch, it was nine o’clock. He slipped inside and let the door glide shut. Mayor Evans wasn’t going to surprise him with this little early meeting. He’d hear every word.

* * *

Charlotte tugged at her bonnet strings as she settled onto a seat in the crowded room. Even at this cool hour, the hall was hot and her old wool mourning dress pinched at the waist so she could barely breathe. So much had happened since Charles’s death that she hadn’t found time to dye one of her everyday dresses. She’d have to do that soon or suffer through the heat of summer in thirteen-year-old dresses that had been made for wintertime. Still, that prospect, miserable as it would be, couldn’t top her distress today.

That man, Wyatt Reed, had made her lose her temper, something she never did. But how could she remain calm when he was going to take Sasha away? For money, no less. Tears stung her eyelids. She’d thought he was a good man. He’d held Sasha so tenderly. He’d rescued her. Or had he? Maybe he’d been whisking her off when Charlotte saw him carrying Sasha down the street. Anger welled up again. He’d dismissed her offer to pay him to keep the children in Evans Grove without even hearing her out. Men like him had no heart.

Mayor Evans called the meeting to order with a rapping of the gavel. “Good morning.” Her strong voice carried above the chatter, and talk ceased in seconds. “I’m pleased to see so many of you here at this early hour.”

Theodore Regan stood. He and his wife had taken in one of the orphan girls. With three boys already, Helen Regan had wanted a girl, and snapped up little Galina Denikin at once.

Mr. Regan’s thick shoulders and arms gave him an imposing figure. “We heard Greenville’s tryin’ to take away our children.”

A murmur of protest rose until Mayor Evans put it to a stop with an upraised hand.

“They did send a Mr. Wyatt Reed to request the orphans continue on to Greenville as originally scheduled.”

“Well, Reed can’t have ’em,” Regan said.

A jolt of emotion shot through Charlotte. Could the town succeed where she’d failed? Could they convince Mr. Reed to leave without the children? She started to tell them he’d refused her offer to pay him, but the grumbles made her realize they were already angry enough to run Wyatt out of town, perhaps at the end of a pitchfork. She didn’t need to do a thing.

Mayor Evans calmly regained control. “Let’s not act in haste. Even though the Orphan Salvation Society office in New York confirmed the agreement with Greenville, Mr. Reed agreed that those children already placed in homes could stay.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped. Had she heard correctly? Considering the nods of approval and diminishing anger in the room, she had. Wyatt wasn’t going to take Sasha away. She could keep her daughter. Was that what he’d been trying to tell her outside when she kept interrupting?

She bit her lip. Maybe she should have listened. She should have given him a chance. He had arranged for her to keep Sasha. She felt like crying out in joy, but not everyone was pleased.

Holly looked stricken. “That solves part of the problem, but it doesn’t help the children who haven’t been approved for selection yet.”

The crowd shouted in agreement.

Charlotte battled despair as she recalled how much Holly and Mason adored Liam. Of course they would want to take the boy in once they married. She pressed a hand to her mouth. Poor Holly. Poor Mason. Poor Liam.

“They have been through so much,” Holly continued, battling her own fears with such bravery that Charlotte marveled at her fortitude. “I’m positive homes can be found for every one of them right here in Evans Grove. Why should they be wrenched away when they’ve just started to hope?”

“Because they don’t belong here.” Beatrice Ward stood to make her point. “The Orphan Salvation Society’s agreement with the town of Greenville came first, did it not, Miss Sterling?” She briefly glanced toward the elegant orphan agent and gave her only time to nod before continuing. “It would not only be morally wrong to deny Greenville the children they desperately want, but it would be illegal to break the agreement. The children—all eight children—must go to Greenville.” With a look of smug triumph, she settled back into her seat.

The crowd erupted, mainly in protest, but Charlotte saw a couple of people nod in agreement with Beatrice. Her stomach knotted yet again. Beatrice couldn’t win, could she? She anxiously looked toward the doorway, hoping Wyatt would appear and counter Beatrice’s claims. The opposition came from another quarter.

“That’s not quite correct, Miss Ward.” Curtis Brooks, the dapper banker from Newfield, faced the crowd. He exuded such confidence that people instantly quieted.

After safely delivering his bank’s loan to Evans Grove despite the attempted robbery, Mr. Brooks had garnered a lot of respect in town. Then he’d insisted on staying to oversee the loan distribution, and Mayor Evans had asked him to serve on the Orphan Selection Committee. His dedication in the following weeks had led people to trust his opinion. He’d struck Charlotte as a thoughtful, perceptive man. Perhaps he had the answer to this mess.

“From what I’ve seen of the paperwork Miss Sterling showed me,” he said, “I’d say Greenville’s legal claim might be on shaky ground.”

Charlotte’s stomach unknotted a little as the crowd cheered. They seemed to take his words as proof Evans Grove would win this dispute, but Mr. Brooks had said the claim might not hold up to scrutiny. He didn’t say it definitely wouldn’t.

Beatrice Ward must have heard what the crowd did, but she didn’t have the same reaction. Not at all. Her eyes practically bulged from her head, as if her tightly bound gray hair had stretched even tighter. Her lips pressed into a thin, straight line, but she rallied quickly. “If you’re going to challenge Greenville’s claim, shouldn’t you address their representative?”

Mayor Evans sighed as the crowd focused on her. “Miss Ward is right.” She looked at Sheriff Wright. “Please summon Mr. Reed. I believe he is staying at the hotel.”

Charlotte felt sick. What would Wyatt say? What would he do? Would Beatrice convince him to take Sasha away? She tried to pray but couldn’t find the words. Surely God understood. Surely He would protect the innocent.

She didn’t have long to wait. Wyatt Reed must have stayed near the town hall, because he arrived almost at once.

Every head turned when Wyatt strode into the room. He stood taller than any other man in town, and his hardened yet startlingly handsome face sent whispers through the women present. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but he’d shaved off the stubble of yesterday, revealing cheeks honed to a hard plane and tanned by the sun.

He addressed himself to the mayor. “Ma’am.” He removed his hat and held it in both hands.

“Mr. Reed.” Mayor Evans showed not one ounce of discomfort before the intimidating man. Though considerably shorter in stature, she stood equally confident. “There is some debate over the legality of your claim.”

Mr. Brooks rose beside her, creating a strong and united front. “As I understand the agreement, which Miss Sterling graciously allowed me to peruse, Greenville will have the opportunity to select any of the children that have not yet been taken by the time the Orphan Salvation Society agent reaches their town. It stands to reason that if all the children have been claimed before Greenville, none will be available for selection. There was never a guarantee that any of the children would come to Greenville. Thus, the agreement has not been violated.”

Wyatt’s jaw tensed as he pondered Mr. Brooks’s words. The tiniest flicker of a smile indicated he’d found a crack in that argument. “The way I see it, you’ve forgotten two points. One, the Orphan Salvation Society doesn’t have a formal agreement with Evans Grove. That means this town never had a right to the children in the first place.”

The crowd murmured, but Mayor Evans wasn’t daunted.

“We received approval from the Society to form the selection committee and hold a distribution.”

The murmurs turned to cries of agreement, especially when Rebecca Sterling confirmed everything the mayor had said.

Wyatt showed no sign of retreat. “Second.” He waited for the crowd to quiet down. “As I said, I have two points. The second is that all the orphans haven’t been picked yet. Even though Evans Grove got approval to take some of the orphans, you still have to follow the rules. I understand that the standard procedure is that any children who weren’t claimed after a town’s distribution have to get back on the train and go to the next town. That means those orphans that weren’t taken at the distribution here must go to Greenville.”

Holly’s face fell. Liam hadn’t been officially placed yet. In fact, only Sasha, Lizzie and Galina had been selected at the distribution. Friedrich had gone to the Hollands later.

Pauline rapped her gavel. Judging from the set of her jaw, she wasn’t giving in, either. “All the children might not be placed in families yet, but they’ve been claimed by the town. We’re committed to finding homes for every one of them, right here in Evans Grove.”

Wyatt had to wait for the cheering to die down. “With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t imagine a town has ever been approved to claim the children. Have they, Miss Sterling?”

Rebecca Sterling had grown pale as ash. “N-n-no,” she finally conceded.

“But there’s nothing that specifically forbids it?” Mr. Brooks asked her with a gleam in his eye.

A little of Rebecca’s color returned. “No. No, there isn’t.”

“In that case,” Mr. Brooks said smoothly, “I’d say the agreement is officially in dispute. The only resolution I can see would be to bring the matter before a judge. Wouldn’t you agree, Madam Mayor?”

Pauline gave him a stiff yet clearly grateful nod in return. The mayor might chafe at Mr. Brooks’s oversight of the loan, but his handling of this incident had apparently raised him a few notches in her estimation.

“Yes, Mr. Brooks, that is the clear course of action.” Pauline turned back to Wyatt. “Mr. Reed, I believe I speak for the town when I say that you must make your case before Judge Broadside.”

Again, Wyatt didn’t show any emotion at her decision, but his question came out clipped. “Where can I find the judge?”

Pauline offered a dismissive smile. “He is currently on circuit and is next due in Evans Grove on Monday. That gives you the weekend to prepare your argument.”

He barely flinched, but Charlotte saw it. “Greenville won’t be pleased. They’re expecting the children to arrive on this afternoon’s train.”

Mayor Evans didn’t blink. “The town, and Mr. Baxter, may react however they wish, Mr. Reed, but the law will decide this matter.”

He must have known he’d been bested, for he nodded curtly and strode out of the room, his eyes dark and unreadable. Was he upset? Would he fight them? No small part of Charlotte hoped he would reconsider and end this before the judge ever showed. He had already agreed that Sasha and the other placed children could stay. Surely it would only take a little more persuasion to get him to spare all the children.

But who could convince him? Wyatt had disregarded her plea. Perhaps Mr. Brooks had the answer.

She watched Brooks join Mayor Evans, Holly, Beatrice and Sheriff Wright at the front table. The Orphan Selection Committee. Of course. They were supposed to meet today. Perhaps more children had been selected. Maybe the committee would have even let Holly and Mason take in Liam before they wed, but now, with this mess, the prospective parents would have to wait for the judge’s ruling. Charlotte ached for them, but at least they had hope. And she had Sasha. She breathed in that single wonderful fact.

Curtis Brooks stood, and the room quieted. The man exuded genteel authority, and given that he had been the one to suggest Greenville had no case, everyone wanted to hear what he would say next.

“If we want to see the orphans stay here, we can help our case by ensuring the remaining children have good homes. If we can demonstrate to the judge that the town is capable of taking in all the orphans, he may look more favorably upon our position.”

“Let’s do it,” cried more than one person.

Holly and Mason Wright nodded, as did Mayor Evans. Only Beatrice didn’t.

In fact, she glared at Mr. Brooks. “As Mr. Reed clearly stated, any children who weren’t chosen at the distribution should have been put immediately on the train to Greenville. We can’t continue to break the rules by letting people claim children now.”

Charlotte’s heart sank for Holly and Mason’s sake. The rest of the committee wouldn’t listen to her, would they?

Beatrice pressed on. “And that’s assuming that the distribution we held here was even legal. According to the original agreement, all the children should go to Greenville.”

“No one is going to Greenville until after the hearing before the judge,” Pauline Evans insisted.

Beatrice shot her a scathing look, but Mayor Evans backed down to no one.

“We will let the judge decide the case.”

Beatrice clearly struggled with the possibility that the judge might rule against her. “But whatever he decides must apply to all of them, correct?”

Charlotte held her breath.

“Not to my girl.” Theodore Regan stood, looking like he would take off Beatrice’s head if she so much as threatened to come near his farm. “We followed all the rules and got her fair and square. Lina stays with Helen and me.”

Mel Hutchinson, Charles’s apprentice, chimed in, “And Lizzie isn’t going anywhere, either. Marie won’t stand for it.”

Beatrice frowned, but even she saw the wisdom in avoiding conflict with the burly men. She opened her mouth and snapped it shut again until her gaze landed on Charlotte.

Panic beat hard against Charlotte’s rib cage, but what could Beatrice do? She alone couldn’t take Sasha away.

“Perhaps you have a case for your two families,” Beatrice said coyly, her lips curving into an ugly smile, “however, Mrs. Miller is now a widow. If I recall the rules correctly, an unmarried person cannot have an orphan.”

Charlotte felt all eyes turn to her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t stop shaking. This couldn’t be happening.

“The placement must be revoked,” Beatrice crowed, fixing her gaze on each of the committee members in turn. “If the judge rules that only the unplaced children must go on to Greenville, then Sasha must go with them.”

Charlotte looked hopefully to the committee. Surely they would disagree. But Curtis Brooks frowned. Sheriff Wright took a deep breath. Mayor Evans cast her eyes downward. Charlotte looked to Holly. Surely her friend would stand up for her. Yet even Holly stayed silent, though stricken.

The room buzzed, narrowing as Charlotte’s head began to spin.

“Give her air,” someone said, and Charlotte sensed the people around her moving. Someone instructed her to breathe deeply. Another person fanned air toward her. The window squeaked as it was raised.

Gradually, Charlotte came to her senses, but nothing had changed. The selection committee still sat in front. Curtis Brooks was whispering something to the mayor, who rapped on the table to recall everyone’s attention.

“I’m sorry, Widow Miller,” she began.

Charlotte knew what that meant. She knotted her hands together until her knuckles turned white. She bit the inside of her lip until it bled, but physical pain could not dull the pain of her heart. Tears streamed unhindered down her face.

Pauline Evans gave her a look of sympathy, but her words still hurt. “I’m sorry, but Miss Sterling confirmed that the Orphan Salvation Society makes no allowance for widows or widowers. You must be married to take in an orphan.”

“But Sasha,” Charlotte squeaked, her heart breaking more than she thought possible. “She’s talking and playing like normal now. She calls me Mama.” She choked, unable to continue. How could they do this? She fought to regain enough composure to speak. “I’ve just lost my husband. Now you’re taking away my daughter?”

Not Sasha. Please, not Sasha.

“There is one solution,” Curtis Brooks said calmly. “You could marry.”

Virtually everyone gasped at the scandalous suggestion.

“Marry just days after she buried her husband?” Beatrice practically shouted. “She’s in mourning. If she married now, she’d dishonor her husband’s name. You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious.” Mr. Brooks fixed his gaze on Charlotte alone. “In difficult times, convention must be set aside in favor of the greater good. Jesus himself ignored the rules when the situation demanded it. On more than one occasion he worked miracles on the Sabbath to heal those in need. If Widow Miller is inclined to wed, we shouldn’t forbid it, lest we be like the Pharisees.”

That quieted Beatrice, though she looked none too pleased. But Charlotte couldn’t see how this helped. Who would marry her so quickly? Who would make Sasha a good father? She glanced around the room and saw only husbands and men too young or too elderly to take on a thirty-one-year-old wife.

She drew in her breath. “How long?” The question trembled in the warm air like a butterfly just emerging from the cocoon, weak and unable to fly.

Somehow the committee knew what she meant. Mayor Evans glanced at Mr. Brooks for confirmation before she spoke. “Three days. You would need to marry before the judge hears Greenville’s case.”

Three days? How could she find a husband in three days?

Chapter Four

The meeting ended, and many of the women gathered around Charlotte in support. She struggled to regain her composure, but Mayor Evans’s words echoed in her head.

Three days.

Marry in three days.

“It isn’t right,” one woman said.

Others echoed the same sentiment. Amelia Hicks squeezed Charlotte’s arm in sympathy.

Charlotte could only nod. Her eyes were so blurred she couldn’t tell one woman from another, but she did know that none was Holly. She desperately wanted to talk to her friend. Holly would know what to do. She had a cartload of smarts, sky-high faith and bone-deep courage.

Unfortunately, Holly had darted out of the room as soon as the meeting ended. Mason was gone, too. They were probably discussing what to do about Liam. Then Holly had to return to the schoolhouse to relieve whoever was watching the children. Charlotte would have to wait until after school to talk to her friend.

“Poor dear.” Mrs. Ingersman, one of Beatrice’s cronies, hovered over her. “Such a ridiculous idea. Remarry when you’ve barely begun to mourn.” She clucked her tongue. “I can’t believe that banker would even suggest it. It’ll be hard at first to say goodbye to the girl, but it’s for the best. How could you ever hope to support a child all by yourself? Whatever Charles left you won’t last forever, you know, and you’re not a young woman anymore.”

Amelia Hicks paled, but Charlotte’s hackles rose with every word. How dare anyone think she would give up Sasha? She wouldn’t. She’d do anything to keep her.

Even marry. Marry! And she had to do it within three days. The only question was who. Who would be brave enough to step forward? She again scanned the men in the room. Every one of them had gathered across the room around Curtis Brooks. Not one looked in her direction.

No wonder. They were all married.

“It’ll be easier to find a husband without a child,” offered another of Beatrice’s cohorts. “Men don’t like to take on someone else’s family. They want their own children. They sure don’t want some hand-me-down foreigner.”

Charlotte’s ears rang. The insufferable comments, the women pressing around her and the mock sympathy left her light-headed. “I think I need some air.”

“Of course you do.” Mayor Evans cut through the crowd and steered her out of the hall and into the sunshine and fresh air.

Charlotte gulped but still fought the light-headedness. Though still morning, the day promised to be a warm one, and the muggy air closed around her. Only a faint breeze tickled the bright green spring leaves.

“Now take a deep breath,” Pauline said firmly, “and keep breathing slowly until your head clears.”

Charlotte fought the swirl of fear, anger and tears as she took her breaths. What was she to do? Her head cleared, but not her distress. “I can’t lose Sasha. Please help me find a way to keep her.”

Pauline patted her back the way a mother would console a daughter before pushing her out to face her fears. “I wish I had a better answer for you, but Mr. Brooks’s suggestion is the only option we could find.”

“But how can I marry? Who?”

Giles DeGraw ambled down the street in their direction. He was helping rebuild the mill and was probably on his way to the general store. The twenty-two-year-old bachelor halted the minute he saw Charlotte and did an about-face, hustling away at double speed.

“Oh, dear,” Charlotte said. “Is that how every bachelor is going to react when he sees me?”

“Maybe for a day or two, but they’ll get over it.”

Pauline’s encouragement didn’t help. A day or two was all Charlotte had. Clearly no man would step forward of his own account. That meant she had to convince someone to marry her. But how? Beatrice was right about one thing. A lifetime commitment shouldn’t be entered into casually. Yet, for Sasha’s sake, Charlotte must find a man willing to marry her.

“Ah, good. Miss Sterling.” Pauline withdrew her comforting arm to wave down Rebecca. “Perhaps you can see to Charlotte. I need to speak with Mr. Brooks.”

As Pauline left, the Orphan Salvation Society agent approached with Amelia Hicks trailing behind her. Rebecca looked just as stricken as Holly. It took a second for Charlotte to realize why. Rebecca would have to take Sasha away from her and return the little girl to the schoolhouse, where the unclaimed orphans were staying. Charlotte’s heart pounded. Rebecca wouldn’t take her daughter away today, would she?

Rebecca wrung her hands, elegantly covered in white lace gloves. “Charlotte?”

Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face.

Rebecca averted her gaze and took a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.” She nibbled her lower lip. “Mr. Armstrong—he’s the head of the Society—insists we adhere to the rules.”

Charlotte waited for the rest to fall.

Rebecca hesitated. “I—I just wanted you to know. If it were up to me, I’d let you keep Sasha. She clearly adores you.”

Tears misted Charlotte’s eyes as the lump in her throat grew. “I can’t lose her,” she choked out. “Is there any other way?”

Rebecca slowly shook her head.

Charlotte held her breath, waiting for the woman to ask her to bring Sasha to the schoolhouse, where the unclaimed orphans were staying.

At last, Rebecca lifted her gaze and squared her shoulders. “The rules don’t say when I must take Sasha back. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be all right for Sasha to stay with you until Monday, until everything’s settled with the judge and...and...well, maybe you’ll find someone.”

She gave Charlotte a hopeful smile, but Charlotte felt only the rush of relief. She could keep Sasha for three more days. And then... The pain came back, even worse.

“That was all I wanted to say.” Rebecca edged away. “I should see to the children.” She hurried off, leaving Charlotte in despair.

“What am I going to do?” She clutched her arms around her midsection.

Amelia gently laid a hand on Charlotte’s clenched arms. She’d been so quiet that Charlotte had forgotten she was there. The petite woman lifted liquid eyes. The depth of sorrow and pain in her expression stunned Charlotte. Amelia wasn’t the prettiest woman in town, nor the most talkative. She tended to keep to herself and skitter off nervously whenever her husband drew near. Who could blame her? She’d married the most obnoxious drunken fool in town. But she was a good woman, who had been very kind to the orphans since their arrival in town. Charlotte, who had barely known her before that, was starting to consider her a friend.

“There are worse things than being alone.” Amelia’s voice was so soft that Charlotte had to listen carefully to hear her.

Such as marrying the wrong man.

“I know. But Sasha...” Charlotte’s throat clotted again. “She’s my little girl.”

Amelia’s tears threatened to overflow. “I hope you can keep her.” She sniffled and pulled out a worn handkerchief. “It’s not fair that we have to marry to...to...” She never managed to finish her sentence, but Charlotte knew what she meant. To have a family.

It wasn’t fair, but she still had to do it. Somehow. Whoever she could get to agree to marry her, she prayed he wouldn’t turn out to be a drunkard or a wife beater.

* * *

Wyatt held his temper in check until he’d left the town hall. Bring his case before the judge? Madam Mayor had some nerve. No doubt she and that Mr. Brooks had concocted this plan overnight. From what Wyatt had learned, the banker wasn’t even from Evans Grove. He also didn’t doubt that the pretty mayor was the source of Brooks’s interest in the matter. He’d seen the way the man looked at her the first time he’d talked to Mayor Evans. Protective. Defending her against all attacks.

The way Wyatt had protected Charlotte Miller by letting her keep Sasha. He’d had to force himself not to look in her direction or risk losing his focus.

What good had that focus done? Thanks to Madam Mayor and her conniving banker friend, he had to convince a judge on Monday that he was right or lose every penny of his fee. How could he sway a judge? He wasn’t a lawyer nor could he afford to hire one.

Wyatt stormed toward the livery. Whenever he had to think things through, he saddled up Dusty and headed for open country. The endless sky and untamed land helped clear his head, and after this little fiasco, he sure needed to do some clearing.

Sweet stars, he’d already made an enormous concession by letting Sasha and three other orphans stay. Baxter would never have agreed to that. The man told him the town wanted all eight. Bring them all, the man had said. What was so special about these eight orphans that two towns were fighting over them?

He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. He’d thought the town would give him more respect if he shaved. Clearly not. They were set on keeping those kids. Greenville was equally determined to get them. Wyatt shook his head. Who knew how long those kids had gone unwanted. Now everyone wanted them. Life was sure full of mysteries, but he suspected the answer to this one could be rooted out with a little effort.

The woman sweeping the porch of the general store shouted out a greeting, jolting him from his thoughts. He mumbled a response and tugged the brim of his hat lower before continuing on to the livery. By the end of the day, he would become the town enemy, and no one would speak to him, not even pretty Charlotte Miller.

His gut knotted a little at the thought of disappointing her. Like the rest of the town, she wanted all the orphans to stay. The best he could do was let her keep her daughter. Sasha’s wide blue eyes danced into his head. He could still feel her trusting arms around his neck. Her trust had felt good, really good.

He found the stable boy dozing on a pile of straw in an empty stall, pitchfork cast aside. Wyatt smiled. No doubt the lad had been up since dawn mucking out the stable. Wyatt’s father had worked him just as hard. A farmer’s work is never done, his pa had told him more times than Wyatt could remember. But Wyatt didn’t love the Illinois farm the way his father had. For as long as he could remember, he’d dreamed of adventure. When the war started, he’d enlisted and never went back. Now it was too late; too late to make amends, too late to explain, too late to tell his father that he’d made the wrong choice. If only they’d reconciled before Pa died.

Life was littered with regrets. Wyatt let the stable boy sleep. He could saddle his own horse.

Dusty snorted when Wyatt drew near, as if to say he didn’t think much of being stuck in a stable. Like Wyatt, his horse spent most days out in the open. They’d traveled across the country together and slept under the stars at night. Dusty had been his only friend. He was also just as stubborn and ornery.

Wyatt flung the saddle blanket on Dusty’s back, and the horse’s ears pricked in anticipation.

“That’s right, boy. We’re heading out onto the prairie.” He patted Dusty’s flank. “A little air’ll do us both good.”

“Leavin’ town?”

Wyatt whirled around to see Sheriff Mason Wright standing outside the stall. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The sheriff didn’t betray an ounce of emotion. “We all got a job to do.” His hard blue eyes pierced through Wyatt, as if trying to read his motives, but Wyatt was good at masking his intentions.

He turned back to saddling Dusty. “You’re right about that. It’s a job.”

“Must pay right fine to work for someone like Baxter.”

Wyatt narrowed his eyes. His gut had warned him not to trust Baxter, and now the sheriff had seconded it. He wasn’t about to tip his hand, though. “Well enough.” He hefted his saddle off the rail.

“Then you are going before the judge.”

“I was hired to bring the orphans to Greenville. Your mayor can drag her heels all she wants, but in the end, they’re going where they belong.”

The sheriff didn’t argue that they should stay in Evans Grove like pretty near everyone else here. Instead, he stroked his mouth, deep in thought. “I see you’re a man of conviction. Probably no use trying to change your mind.”

“That’s right.” Wyatt set the saddle on Dusty’s back. “I trust you’ll uphold the judge’s decision.”

“That’s my job.” But he didn’t sound pleased. A slight tick at the corner of Wright’s mouth betrayed more than passing interest in the outcome of that decision.

Wyatt had no idea what that interest might be, nor did he want to know. A tracker did not get personally involved in others’ lives. “Glad to hear it.”

He hoped their conversation was over, but the sheriff showed no sign of leaving. “Thought you might give up.”

“I never give up.”

“That’s what I heard.”

Ordinarily, that would be a compliment, but Wright said it like he was condemning Wyatt for being inflexible.

“You of all people must understand the law can’t be broken.”

The sheriff had a casual manner about him that belied his true intensity. “It can be changed, though.”

“Too late for that.” Wyatt was getting tired of this conversation. He wished Wright would either get to the point or leave him alone. He cinched the saddle. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”

“Now, that’s going to be tough, isn’t it? Take Widow Miller, for one.”

“Mrs. Miller?” Wyatt’s hands stilled as the pretty woman’s face floated into his head. Something about her drew him like iron to a magnet. “I said the orphans already taken could stay.”

“But she’s a widow now, and only married couples can take in an orphan. Sounds to me like you’ll be taking Sasha with you.”

Wyatt stiffened. Sasha was the whole reason he’d agreed to let the already-placed orphans stay. He couldn’t rip the little girl from Charlotte’s arms. Never in a million years. He couldn’t take Sasha, who had trusted him wholly, to Greenville to be given to another family, end up in Baxter’s orphanage or go back to New York. The whole idea made him sick.

The sheriff drove his point home. “How’s that going to feel, knowing you took a four-year-old girl from her loving mother?”

Wyatt steeled himself. Get in, do the job and get out. No emotional attachments. He couldn’t afford them if he was ever going to get to San Francisco. “That’s not my problem. I’m just upholding the law, the same as you.”

The sheriff grunted. “Guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

“Do you have another way?” Wyatt snapped.

“Like I said, only married couples can take in orphans.”

Wyatt didn’t miss the emphasis on married. The man must be out of his mind. “What do you expect me to do about that?”

Wright tapped his fingers on the stall door. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Neither would I.”

Still, Wright didn’t leave. “You could help the other families. If those kids have to go to Greenville, there’ll be more broken hearts.”

“That’s not my problem, Sheriff. I’m here to do a job. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Too bad.” The sheriff paused before backing away. “Just want you to know that I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Reed.”

Now, that sounded like a warning.

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