He was an insensitive boor. The fact hadn’t bothered him until two nights ago when he’d pushed Constance to her limit, angry more with himself than her because she’d spoken the truth. His fury over his father’s refusal to even consider a different way of doing things, the hurt his spiteful accusations had inflicted, had festered throughout his absence. That last altercation had become fixed in Noah’s mind. Not once had he considered his father’s attitude might have changed. Nor had he given thought to his mother’s anguish, his sisters’ concern.
It had only been about his convictions, his drive to prove he was worthy of the blue uniform, and later, his injury, recovery and the ramifications of his disfigurement.
Until two nights ago, he hadn’t allowed himself to think what his loved ones might’ve endured during the war. Those Southern homes that hadn’t been used to house soldiers had been torched. If their owners were found in residence, sometimes they were granted mercy. Other times they were shot on sight. The women on the other hand... Noah’s gut clenched at the gruesome images.
Dear God, I should’ve been praying for their protection instead of nursing my wounded pride. I’m sorry. I’ve been so selfish.
His horse crested a small ridge and sped up when the barn came into view. Nearing the cabin, Noah saw Constance and the girls out by the trees. Pulling up on the reins, he dismounted and strode to join them, not happy that the anxiety that had dogged him the entire day vanished now that he had them in his sights.
Constance had made herself comfortable on the carved bench, fabric piled in her lap and needle poised midair. She wore a plain dove-gray skirt—no sign of the hoopskirt she’d arrived in—and a powder blue blouse that mirrored the sky above. Her hair streamed to the middle of her back, pearl pins securing the locks at either temple, streaks of caramel visible in the light of day.
Sure would help matters if she wasn’t so pretty, he thought ruefully.
Coming around the bench, he noticed her lingering pallor and worried she wasn’t getting enough rest after her ordeal. She’d remained in bed only until lunch yesterday, when she’d joined him in the kitchen and insisted on helping clean up the dishes.
“Hey.”
She looked up, her delicate features reflecting surprise. “Sheriff. I wasn’t expecting you until supper. Are you hungry?”
She’d stopped using his given name. The distance it put between them was for the best, but he missed hearing her say it. Besides her, only Will, Daniel and their wives called him Noah. To everyone else in Cowboy Creek, he was Sheriff Burgess.
“No. I had a late lunch at the café.” What was supposed to have been a simple meal had turned into an ordeal. Word had spread about Constance seeking a husband, and every few bites a lonely cowboy would stop by his table and ask after her. He’d wound up with a bad case of indigestion.
Tugging off his gloves, he said, “Mind if I sit?”
She glanced at the empty space beside her and scooted to make room. “Go ahead.”
He sat and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles and letting the gloves flop onto the space between them. A lazy, mint-scented breeze stirred her skirts. Water trickled between the banks, and the flutter of birds’ wings rustled the nearest cottonwood. Tenuous peace invaded him, chasing away the frustrations of the day, and he was afraid that it wasn’t the setting responsible but the woman at his side.
“Why do I smell mint?” Her needle dipped and lifted, the thin white thread stretching through the air.
“American germander. A member of the mint family. It grows wild in these fields.”
“It’s nice.”
He pointed to the cluster of purple flowers visible on the far side of the stream. “See those? That’s bee balm, useful for treating any number of ailments.”
From this angle, he could see her unusually shaped mouth and the freckle above it. The urge to trace the contours of those peach-hued lips overtook him. Curling his fingers into fists, he was relieved to see Jane and Abigail rushing over.
“Mr. Noah!” Jane was panting, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “We found a turtle!”
“It has red eyes!” Abigail added. She’d lost a bit of her shyness since he’d spent the day taking care of them.
“Did you name him?” he asked, unable to suppress a smile. Something about these girls brought out the boyish playfulness he’d thought he’d lost years ago.
“No.” Jane frowned. “We should think of one.”
“Benedict,” he suggested.
Her face scrunched.
“Wilbur?”
“Uh-uh.”
Abigail held out her hands. “There’s dirt under my fingernails, Momma.”
“That’s not the only place you have dirt,” Constance remarked wryly.
Indeed, both girls’ aprons bore signs of their play. He was surprised that Constance didn’t reprimand them. The pampered socialite he’d assumed her to be would have. But she wasn’t pampered or snobbish or idle. And out here, she wasn’t a socialite.
Jane grabbed her sister’s hand. “Let’s go before he gets away.”
Holding hands, the girls raced to their spot downstream.
“They love being outdoors,” she said, a note of satisfaction twined with wistfulness in her voice. “The fresh air. The wide-open spaces. Being in nature. It’s good for them.”
“Without their sausage curls and your fancy clothes, the three of you could almost pass as native Kansans.”
The multiple rings on her fingers destroyed the illusion. They looked cumbersome and out of place. He wanted to ask why she insisted on wearing them but refrained. He didn’t need to know. He shouldn’t want to know.
Her honey-hued gaze met his, and her lips curved into a tentative smile. “I’m glad.”
He fingered the yellow-and-white-striped fabric. “You’re an accomplished cook. You sew and scrub floors. Those aren’t lessons generally taught to upscale ladies like you, are they?”
“You’re judging again,” she said without heat. “I grew up very poor. We lived in the impoverished section of Chicago. I was only ten years old when my father died. Things were tight with his income, so after his death my mother had to work several jobs to support us. I started work at fourteen.”
The revelation stunned him. It also explained a lot. “Doing what?”
“I was fortunate to find work with an affluent family, the Murphys. I started out in the kitchen washing dishes. When I expressed interest in food preparation, the cook kindly took me under her wing. Later, I graduated to cleaning rooms. At seventeen, Mrs. Murphy invited me to help care for her toddler.” Her expression turned dreamy. “I loved spending time with Jimmy. He was a delightful child. So curious. We spent many mornings in the parks around their neighborhood, chasing butterflies and watching toy boats in the fountains.”
Her nurturing instinct must’ve been apparent to the mistress of the house. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have trusted her child with Constance. From what he’d seen, she was a loving mother. If his life had gone differently, if fatherhood had been a possibility for him, he would choose a woman like her to be the mother of his children.
Not a woman like her. You’d choose her. Constance.
His lungs constricted with the sting of loss. Want choked him.
Her whimsical beauty, her spirit and courage, along with the loneliness in her golden-brown eyes called to him, tempting him to throw caution to the wind and take a chance. He battled the impulse to take her small hand in his and give in. To agree to Will’s original plan.
With effort, he kept to his side of the bench. “Were you working at the Murphys’ home when you met Mr. Miller?”
“Mr. Miller?” A light dawned in her eyes and she frowned. “Oh. Yes, well, I met Ambrose several years later. The Murphys had moved to New York, and they’d helped secure another nanny position for me with friends of theirs, the Johnsons.”
“He didn’t mind your employment?” Seemed to Noah that men like Miller would choose wives from among their own social circles.
“He didn’t know at first. He assumed I was a member of the Johnson household. A distant relative he’d never met. I didn’t give him that impression,” she hurried to clarify. “I didn’t lie. I thought he knew.”
“Let me guess. By the time he figured it out, he was already smitten.”
He glimpsed pain and regret in her expression before she ducked her head.
“I suppose.”
Sensing her unease with the subject, he nodded to her project. “What are you working on?”
Pink surged in her cheeks. “Curtains for the cabin. I—I hope you don’t mind. I noticed the space lacked color, and I thought to do this as a thank-you for your hospitality.”
Shame washed over him at the abysmal way he’d treated her. “Where’d you get that material?”
“It used to be one of my dresses.”
“I wish you hadn’t sacrificed your clothes for my home.”
“I don’t lack for clothes.” A crease appeared between her winged brows. “But if you don’t like the color or design, I can purchase different fabric from the store.”
“That’s not it. I don’t deserve your thoughtfulness. I said some things I’m not proud of.” Hooking his arms on the back of the bench, his chest rose and fell on a ragged breath. “I haven’t handled this situation very well.” He turned his head to look at her directly. “I’m sorry, Constance.”
Her throat worked. “I understand how trying this ordeal has been for you—a single man having three people foisted upon him with no warning. The timing hasn’t been ideal, either, considering your recent responsibility to the town.”
Noah’s response was lost when a pair of approaching riders crested the ridge. He stood, his hand going to the pistol at his hip, but relaxed moments later when he recognized the mounts.
Holding a hand out to Constance, he helped her stand, the contact with her skin and the way she clung to him sending warm sensations ricocheting through him. “No cause for alarm. Those men are my friends. Suppose their impatience to meet you became too great.”
Loath to release her, he forced his fingers to slide away. She busied herself fluffing her skirts, flipping her hair behind each shoulder, checking her collar. The tension in her was palpable, and he wondered at it.
* * *
Grace was about to come face-to-face with the man responsible for her trip to Kansas, the man who’d made her escape from Frank Longstreet possible. Will Canfield had no inkling of the role he’d played in her life. He believed he was meeting the real Constance Miller.
Thankfully, her cousin had written only a single letter answering his advertisement. Constance hadn’t gone into specifics about her history. Instead, she’d focused on her skills, her likes and dislikes, and her hopes for the future.
As she observed the gentlemen greeting Noah with hearty handshakes and claps on the back, nervousness buzzed beneath her skin like an angry swarm of hornets. Beneath the fall of her hair, her nape was damp with sweat. She despised this subterfuge. Hated the lies. Her mother had been a devoted follower of Christ’s teachings, and she’d always stressed to Grace the importance of honesty.
How disappointed she’d be. Lord Jesus, I know asking You for help in this is wrong. But if Will Canfield was to figure out I’m not who I’m claiming to be, my chances of remaining in Cowboy Creek would disappear like a puff of smoke. I wouldn’t know where to go from here.
The West wasn’t exactly known for its safety and hospitality. Traveling to Kansas had been a risk, for sure, but at least she’d had a recommendation. An invitation of sorts from one of the town founders. The prospect of starting over in a new place and not knowing a single soul was too overwhelming to entertain.
“Constance Miller, I’d like you to meet Daniel Gardner and Will Canfield.”
She shook their hands in turn, praying they wouldn’t notice the clamminess of her palms. “How do you do?”
Both men were tall, dark-haired and wore authority like a second skin. The tintype image sprung to mind. Like Noah, these men had lost the exuberant innocence of youth, their wartime experiences having carved character into their countenances. But unlike their friend, Will and Daniel didn’t appear to have thrown up walls to keep people out. Both were married and heavily involved in town business.
The shorter, clean-shaven man, Daniel Gardner, was clad in rancher’s gear. Understandable, since he owned the stockyards. His chestnut hair begged a trim—several times in the past minutes he’d pushed the strands out of his piercing green eyes. Will looked more the part of a town official. His navy suit, crisp white shirt and boots shiny enough to use as a mirror were all of the finest quality. His hair was almost military short, his beard and goatee neatly trimmed, and his eyes were a coffee brown. They were gazing at her with an inquisitive intensity that had her on the verge of confessing.
He knows. Somehow, he’s guessed. Grace’s fingernails bit into her skin. He can’t know. You’ve said all of one single sentence to the man!
Turning her head, she intercepted Noah’s perusal, and she experienced dread on his behalf. For the first time, she considered how her deception might affect him. As the sheriff, his judgment could be called into question. He’d be the object of gossip and ridicule. His friendships with Will and Daniel might even suffer.
Her heart knocked against her rib cage. I don’t want to hurt or humiliate him, Lord.
Will palmed the ornate handle of his walking stick. “How did you fare during the train ride, Mrs. Miller?”
“Very well, thank you.”
He looked slightly puzzled. “You weren’t bothered by the close confines? You mentioned in your letter that you struggle with feelings of anxiety in those environs. I was concerned about the length of the trip.”
Grace’s mouth went dry. How could she have forgotten her cousin’s trouble with tight spaces and crowds? What else was in the letter that might raise suspicion, and had he shown it to Noah?
“There were some taxing moments, to be sure. I tried to focus on my daughters and what we stood to gain by coming here.”
Daniel broke off his study of the girls to address her. “How do you like Kansas so far? I hope Noah has been a proper host.”
Noah’s grunt garnered a smirk from Will.
“The prairie is breathtaking.”
“My wife, Leah, would like for you and the girls to call on her tomorrow afternoon, if it’s convenient for you,” Daniel said.
Will thumbed his derby farther up his forehead. “Tomasina will be there, as well. Our wives are thrilled to have another lady in town and very eager to meet you.”
“Thank you for the invitation. However, I’m not sure...”
Warm fingertips grazed her elbow. Noah’s touch, no matter how brief or impersonal, never failed to evoke a deep, breath-stealing yearning for more. Why must he be the one to have this effect on her?
“I can come home for lunch and take you into town afterward. A change of scenery might do you and the girls good.”
She managed a smile. “I’d like that.”
“Wonderful,” Daniel said. “I’ll let Leah know to expect you.”
Looking to Noah for direction, she gestured to the cabin. “Would you like for me to make coffee? There’s cinnamon butter cake to go with it.”
Will uttered a sound of approval, and Daniel’s smile widened. “Noah’s been bragging on your cooking abilities, Mrs. Miller.”
“Oh?” Flustered, she shot him a sideways glance.
His head bent, he appeared to be intrigued by something beneath his boot.
Grace excused herself to admonish the girls not to wander from the stream. The men’s presence made the cabin seem fuller than usual. Self-conscious, she busied herself with her tasks. Noah surprised her by helping gather the plates and utensils.
When they were seated around the table, Will was the first to break the silence. “Mrs. Miller, I’d like to express my apologies for what’s happened. Daniel and I had the best of intentions in bringing you here. As Noah has no doubt told you, we’re committed to helping you make a suitable match.”
Seated on her right, Noah stiffened.
Daniel set his fork down and, wiping the crumbs from his mouth, retrieved a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Unfolding it, he held it across to her.
“Will and I started on a list of potential husbands.”
Will sipped his coffee. “We will tell you a little about each candidate, and you can decide which men you’d like to meet.”
The tidy handwriting meant nothing to her. She cast a helpless glance at Noah, who hadn’t taken a single bite of the cake, he who savored sweet treats.
He extended an open palm. “Let me see it.” His scowl grew more severe as he read through the names. Grace squirmed with awkwardness. This struck her as wrong. “Surely there’s another way to go about this. It’s like I’m perusing a catalog advertisement.”
“I understand your discomfiture.” Across the table, Daniel’s eyes were soft with compassion. “When my wife, Leah, arrived on the first bride train, she was an expectant widow. We were prepared to help her in a similar manner.”
“Until you volunteered for the position.” Chuckling, Will socked him on the shoulder.
Daniel’s chuckle held no apology. Apparently, the union was a happy one.
“Mrs. Miller, most of the local bachelors are good, hardworking, God-fearing men,” Will informed her. “As in any town, there are a few bad seeds. We’re simply trying to steer you away from those types.”
Noah’s lingering stoical silence had his friends exchanging a look.
“Of course, the final decision is entirely up to you.” Daniel held his hands up.
Will sampled another bite and, rubbing his middle, jabbed his fork at the list. “If any of those men get a taste of your cooking, Mrs. Miller, we’ll have a problem on our hands.”
Daniel polished off the remaining bites and settled against the chair back with a satisfied groan. “Noah, are you sure you want to let this one get away?”
Lowering the paper, he looked first at his friends and then at her.
Grace braced herself for one of those stinging retorts he seemed to store up for her.
“If I was in the market for a wife, then no, I wouldn’t let her go.”
She stifled a gasp. Grace felt as if she was drowning in the blue storm-tossed sea of his eyes and the starkness of a lost opportunity.
He seemed to collect himself and, tearing his gaze from hers, turned it on his untouched food, his blunt fingers lining up the utensils. “But that’s not the case. If you’ll give me a pencil, Will, we’ll get started on this list.”