A Gal for the Gunslinger

 

 

 

 

Charlotte Dearing

 

 

Author’s note: This is a clean, wholesome love story set in late 19th century Texas. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One

Winifred Barrington

When her brother took command of a military post in West Texas, Winnie was glad to see him go. Finally, she’d be free of Patrick’s constant demands that she marry. He had strong opinions about her refusal to wed, often threatening to withhold her inheritance.

In a month’s time, when she turned twenty-one, the money would be hers.

Winnie lived with the Schiffers, German immigrants who treated her like the daughter they never had. Ernst Schiffer was her music tutor, a kind man with a gentle but persuasive way. Hilda, his wife of thirty years, doted on her, always eager to take her shopping or for a stroll in the park. Winnie basked in their kindness. Living with the Schiffers allowed her to do as she pleased, to some degree, while enjoying some semblance of a makeshift family.

One of the best parts of living with the Schiffers was helping Ernst teach music to children. Watching a child learn to play a song on the violin for the first time filled her heart with joy. And, with Winnie’s help, Ernst could offer lessons at a very low cost, sometimes even for free.

Winnie’s life seemed perfect.

Until the day Horace Baggenstoss invited himself to tea.

Winnie fretted, wondering why he would want to visit. The morning he was to arrive, she dressed in her favorite frock, a white bustle dress she often wore to church. It was pretty, but sensible too. She set the table by the fountain in the gardens and laid out sandwiches and a tray of Hilda’s lemon sandwich cookies. Hilda had risen at dawn to bake several batches of her famous treats.

It was a lovely, late winter morning with not a cloud in the sky. She tried to take in the beauty of the garden and calm her frantic mind.

Horace arrived a half hour late, wrinkled his nose at the Schiffers’ garden terrace, and plunked his ample form into a chair. “Let’s get right to it, Winifred. I’ve come to propose marriage.”

“I hardly know you,” she finally managed to say.

“You gotta get married sometime, girl,” he blustered.

Winnie stared in disbelief, holding the teapot poised over his cup.

“It’s a bit of a surprise, to be sure,” Horace said, palming several lemon cookies from the china platter. “Your brother only wants the best for you.”

“My brother?”

Hilda rose, circled the table and eased the teapot from Winnie’s fingers. She filled Horace’s cup. Horace didn’t notice the stir he’d created. He was too busy eating the lemon sandwich cookies. However, instead of eating the cookie in a few bites, he pried the two sides apart, licked the lemon center and then discarded the wafers.

Ernst eyed the growing pile of cookie remnants, muttering under his breath in German. Hilda replied quietly, also in German.

Over the years, Winnie had picked up a little German from the Schiffers. She understood Hilda perfectly. Dummkopf. The elderly woman was not fond of Horace. Clearly.

“I might as well mention that I lent your brother a little money,” Horace said, gesturing with half a ham sandwich. He took a bite, chewed twice and shoved the rest into his mouth.

Ernst frowned at Horace, who paid him no attention. Hilda shuddered visibly. It was hard to believe that Horace had gone to military school with Patrick. Her brother’s manners weren’t perfect, but they were a far cry from those of his childhood friend. Maybe his appalling manners were the reason Horace had been expelled from school.

Winnie narrowed her eyes. “How much money?”

Horace waved a meaty hand. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.”

“I’m asking because I intend to pay it back.”

He tilted his head back and gave a laugh that made his vest strain across his stomach. “You got some sort of vocation that makes money? Don’t tell me – those little street urchins are paying for music lessons. That it?”

Ernst threw his linen napkin down. Winnie could see the elderly man grow agitated. She fretted. Ernst often had sinking spells.

Horace waved a meaty hand in the air, dismissing her concerns. “The time has come for me to take a wife. Need I remind you that I’m a very successful man?”

Winnie tried not to roll her eyes at his grand proclamation. Horace’s father had given him one of the Baggenstoss family businesses, when he’d failed in his military career. She’d forgotten which business he’d handed over, but Horace liked to put on airs as if he were a self-made man.

“I am in need of a helpmeet,” Horace said grandly. “A woman who will offer her unfailing devotion to me so I can run my button empire.”

Nobody spoke for a long moment. Winnie knit her brow. “Button empire?”

Horace reddened. “Don’t you know? I own Baggenstoss Buttons!”

Winnie sighed at the absurdity and smiled amiably at Hilda. “Would you and Ernst give me a moment to chat with Horace?”

Hilda gave her a knowing look and ushered her husband into the house. Ernst didn’t want to leave. He fussed all the way, glancing back at her, worry etched around his eyes. Winnie offered a light-hearted wave, meant to ease his worries.

“I have some money,” Winnie said when they were gone. “While many of my students pay nothing for their lessons, some pay what they can. Ernst and Hilda won’t take a penny from me, which has allowed me to save a considerable-”

“Ten thousand dollars?” Horace asked.

A chill swept over her skin. She waited for him to say more, to suggest he spoke in jest. He squinted. His eyes took on a hard look as he held her in a cold stare. Suddenly, she wished that she hadn’t dismissed both the Schiffers. Even Hilda’s gentle presence would have been welcome, despite her tendency to fuss at people in German.

Winnie gathered her frantic thoughts and spoke in what she hoped was a calm, confident tone. “That’s impossible. My brother inherited a great deal of money when he turned twenty-one. Just as I will when I turn of age.”

“In a month and two days.”

“Why, yes. That’s true.” She shivered. The afternoon tea had started out pleasant enough but had taken a decidedly unpleasant turn. Horace wore an expression of contempt mixed with something else. His gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips and lower. His eyes took on a hungry look that made her stomach twist.

“I’ve had my eye on you for a long time, girl.” He spoke in a gruff tone. “Pretty little thing like you would look good on my arm. Everyone will be green with envy when I take Winifred Barrington and make her Mrs. Horace Baggenstoss. When Patrick racked up some big losses, I saw an easy way for him to pay down his gambling debts.”

Her heart sank. In the past her brother had played cards, or visited the horse track, but she’d imagined those days were behind him. In the last year he’d been promoted, and it seemed he relished his duties at Camp Macintyre.

“I’m flattered,” Winnie said, choosing her words carefully. “But I’m not seeking marriage at this time.”

He shrugged, dismissing her sentiments.

This wasn’t the first time a would-be suitor had hinted at marriage. She’d attracted the attention of a few gentlemen over the years. Some were deterred with a gentle refusal, others needed a more strongly worded rejection. Horace, it seemed, was the latter.

She sipped her tea and considered her predicament. Horace could cause problems for her. He could make trouble for Patrick too. As a colonel in the Army, Patrick would be severely reprimanded if it were known he’d gambled and carried a debt. While she and Patrick were hardly close, she didn’t want his career to suffer. She needed to refuse Horace without upsetting him too much.

“Thank you, Horace. I would very much like to have a family. Before that day comes, I intend to continue teaching music to children.”

His gaze darkened.

Sensing that a storm brewed, Winnie forced her lips into an amenable smile. “I do, however, feel lucky that you intended to ask for my hand.”

“Your brother and I have an arrangement.” His voice was low and dangerous. “When you turn twenty-one, you’re to marry me and your inheritance will satisfy his obligation. There will be no music teaching or any such tomfoolery.”

At that moment, Hilda burst from the back door. She swept onto the terrace, looking alarmed. “Winnie, I must have your help. Ernst iss not feeling well.” She turned her attention to Horace. “Herr Baggenstoss, many thanks for this visit.”

For a long moment, Horace didn’t respond. He gave Hilda a skeptical once-over as if suspecting some mischief. Hilda played her part well. She stood her ground, clasped her hands and waited.

Slowly and with great effort, Horace got to his feet. He took his hat from a nearby chair and nodded to the women. “Thank you, Mrs. Schiffer. Give my best wishes to Mr. Schiffer.” He narrowed his eyes at Winnie. “You and me aren’t finished talking.”

Chapter Two

Justin Prescott

The satchel containing the payroll didn’t weigh much more than seventy-five pounds. It amounted to a little better than ten thousand dollars. He carried the money on a mule that he led behind his horse. The mule had tried to bite him a time or two, but he’d made peace with the animal. Sugar cubes were helpful when it came to negotiating with such creatures.

Camp Macintyre was a small, out-of-the-way military outpost. The outfit consisted of dozens of tents and barracks. The soldiers strolled around the shabby camp in no particular hurry. Perhaps there wasn’t much in the way of skirmishes around these parts, lately. Not too long ago, the military had to settle a number of feuds between cattlemen and sheep farmers, and he’d heard things were fixin’ to heat up again with the spring drives, but today, things were quiet.

He carried the satchel into the tent, stopping at the clerk’s desk. The young soldier eyed him with alarm. He looked like heck, sure, but who wouldn’t after traveling fifty miles in two days. Just that morning, he’d ridden through arid desert, when out of the clear blue a hailstorm had blown up, followed by a deluge. He’d been forced to cross a flooding arroyo with the cantankerous mule, praying the flashflood wouldn’t wash away ten thousand dollars.

“Your business, sir?” the youth asked.

“Delivery for Colonel Barrington.”

The boy looked shamefaced as he glanced at the canvas partition. The sound of a woman’s laughter floated through the panel. A man’s voice followed with words Justin couldn’t quite make out.

“I can sign for the delivery,” the young man offered. “Colonel Barrington has let me do that before.”

Justin shook his head. “This is for the colonel.”

“He’s occupied right now.”

“Tell him I’m here. I don’t care to wait. He can either speak with me or explain to his men where their wages are, come payday.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man leapt to his feet. “I didn’t realize, sir, I’m sorry.”

He went to the partition, cleared his throat and spoke with clear deference. “Colonel. The payroll has been delivered.”

“Fine, fine,” came the response.

“You’ll need to sign for it, sir.”

The canvas was snatched aside. Colonel Barrington appeared with a stony look on his face. His anger faded when he saw Justin. His gaze fixed briefly on the guns Justin wore, one on each hip, and the straps of ammunition crisscrossing his chest. When he realized he was dealing with an armed guard, his demeanor shifted.

“Come in, come in.”

Justin followed him into the inner office. A young woman knelt beside a stool with a tape measure draped over her neck. Colonel Barrington stepped atop the stool and regarded him with a bored expression. “Just a few minutes, old chap. I’m getting fitted for my new uniform. Priscilla needs to take up the hem another few inches.”

The woman smiled and nodded and resumed her work. She stuck a pin in the material, sat back on her heels and frowned at the hem.

“Mind you don’t take too much off, Prissy. I’ll be mounted, so you’ll need to allow for that.”

Justin set the leather satchel on the desk. He set the receipt beside it. “Need your John Henry.”

The colonel heaved a sigh. “Come back later, Prissy. That way we can work without interruption.”

The woman’s giggle brought a smile to the colonel’s face. He watched her leave and, once she was gone, came to the desk to attend to the delivery.

“A good woman makes these remote assignments tolerable.” Colonel Barrington glanced up and winked. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Justin arched a brow. “Is she Mrs. Barrington?”

The colonel scrawled his signature across the receipt, amidst swirls and elaborate markings. He set his pen aside. “Heavens, no. Prissy isn’t the sort of woman I’d consider marrying. She provides me with company, and I provide her with a few creature comforts.”

Justin reached for the paper, but the colonel pulled it back.

“It’s important to know who to mix with, what sort of person,” the colonel said softly. “You’re a man who commands a certain respect, I can see that. I could use a man like you around here. My recruits can’t find their backside with both hands. I could hire you for some of my more difficult jobs, like searching for the outlaws that take what they want from our supply wagons. I’m sure I could find plenty of work for you.”

“I’m not looking for work.” Justin picked up the paper, blew on the ink and folded it in half.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” he demanded.

“I am.”

“What happened to…” the colonel gestured, waving his hand in the air.

“Kemp?”

“Whatever. I liked him. We played a few card games one night. He told me outlandish stories about his time down in Mexico.”

“He’s dead. Shot taking payroll to the border.”

“What a shame.” He gave Justin an appraising look. “What’s your name, son?”

Justin smirked. Son? The colonel wasn’t more than a year older than he was. He would have liked to set the man straight but wouldn’t waste his breath. “Justin Prescott.”

The man’s eyes grew wide. His jaw dropped and remained open for a spell until he snapped it closed. “I’ve heard of you.” He gestured to Justin’s bandoliers. “That’s why you’re so heavily armed. You’re the gunslinger. They say you can hit a penny at a hundred feet.”

Justin remained silent.

“You’re the one that brought the Felton Gang down, single-handedly. How did those bankers manage to hire Dead-Shot Prescott?”

Justin scoffed at his old nickname. A sheriff called him that years ago and the name had stuck. He wasn’t complaining. It was good for business.

“They agreed to pay my price.” He tucked the paper in his pocket and turned to leave. “See you in two weeks. I’ll come in a stagecoach. Payroll is fixing to triple.”

“What do you mean, triple? Why, that must mean we’re expecting more troops.”

Justin paused at the doorway. “You didn’t know?”

The colonel reddened. He tugged at his coat. The tassels on the cavalry trim jiggled. He stood in the middle of the room in stocking feet, his pants a good six inches too long. He looked like a boy playing dress-up.

“I should read through the most recent correspondence. Perhaps there’s something there about this.” He looked sheepish. “I’ve been swamped with uniform changes. I’ll need to make plans, order provisions.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps I can wear my new dress uniform.”

Justin nodded and left the tent without another word. He went outside, unhitched his horse and mule and set off for his next job, a bounty hunting contract down by El Paso. He passed several soldiers who gave him a wide berth, eyeing him with unease. In his wake, he heard the muttering. Pistolero. Gunman. Vigilante. Loner. What he was called depended on the time of day, and the place, and whether he was walking toward or away from the one speaking.

Chapter Three

Winnie

Music filled the conservatory as the quartet played. Ernst perched on the edge of his chair, swaying slightly in time with the gentle cadence. As always, he had a faraway look in his eyes.

When the musicians finished their final piece, the audience clapped politely.

Gemma Whitley, their hostess, held these small concerts the first Sunday of every month. She’d started the tradition after her husband passed some twenty odd years ago. Clad in an elegant emerald gown, her dark hair, tinged with gray, was swept into a demure chignon. She had long been considered by the townsfolk of St. Michael to be the matriarch of the gentle society. It was through her generous support that the symphony kept a roof over their head.

She stood before the group, and when the room quieted, she thanked the musicians and her guests. “I do hope you’ll stay for refreshments in the library. I’ve had the staff make a few favorites. Lemon tarts for Mrs. Williams. Cherry Jubilee for Mr. Rothchild. And, of course, strudel for Mr. Schiffer.”

A ripple of laughter moved over the group. Slowly, they wandered out of the conservatory. Hilda took Ernst’s arm. Winnie heard her fuss at her husband in German, no doubt telling him to limit the sweets. Ernst was under a doctor’s care for an assortment of complaints and Hilda took it upon herself to enforce the doctor’s orders.

“I’ll be along shortly,” Winnie said as they passed.

Hilda nodded. Ernst hardly noticed. He was too intent on getting to the library and surveying the offerings. Sometimes, Winnie thought he enjoyed the delicacies as much as the music.

From across the room, Gemma caught her eye. She spoke to her guests as she made her way to Winnie. Always the gracious hostess, she took her time to say a few words to each person.

When she came to Winnie’s side, her smile gave way to a look of alarm. “I’ve heard all about Horace Baggenstoss’s barbaric offer. You can’t possibly be considering marrying that oaf.”

“Absolutely not,” Winnie assured her. “I have no need of his money.”

“The nerve of the man,” Gemma hissed.

“He claims my brother owes him money, which is absurd. I have little recollection of my dear parents, but I do know they left us a sizeable inheritance. Patrick would never be so foolish to gamble his money away. And as far as my money, it’s safe in the trust my parents left.”

Gemma pursed her lips and regarded her thoughtfully. “He can’t access the funds?”

“He wouldn’t,” Winnie insisted. “He’s a military man which means he’s very disciplined, of course. Horace claims my brother owes him money, but upon giving it some thought, I’ve decided Horace isn’t right.”

Gemma sighed. “I know Patrick. I’ve known him since he was just a youth.”

Winnie narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

Gemma shook her head and gave her a look that seemed very much to feign innocence. “Nothing at all. Just that I know your brother.”

“And?”

“Patrick, I mean, he’s a good boy.” Gemma shrugged.

“Good boy? He graduated from Stone’s Military Academy, twentieth in his class. He’s in command of a very important outpost in West Texas.”

Gemma set her hand on Winnie’s arm. “When was the last time you saw your brother?”

“It’s been a little over a year. He’s been busy. I wrote him the day Horace came to visit and offered his outlandish proposal, two weeks ago.”

Gemma looked relieved. “Thank goodness. I’m glad. What did he say?”

Winnie shifted on her feet, a prickle of distress moving across her. “He hasn’t replied.” Warmth drifted across her face. Her heart thudded against her chest. “He’s a very busy man.”

“Yes, you mentioned that,” Gemma said, giving her a gentle smile. “I suppose there’s nothing to do but wait.”

“I’m considering a trip to Camp Macintyre.”

Gemma’s eyes lit with pleasure. “How lovely. I haven’t heard of Camp Macintyre. Do they have mineral springs? I’ve considered traveling to a resort as well. Perhaps I should look into this Camp Macintyre. We could go together!”

Any other time, Winnie might have laughed. “You wouldn’t like Camp Macintyre.”

Gemma looked disappointed. “Why is that? The chef’s no good?”

“Camp Macintyre is a military outpost. Patrick’s in command.”

Gemma set her hand over her heart. “Gracious, Winifred. Have you taken leave of your senses? Do you have any idea of the hardship you’d endure traveling to such a place? Heavens! It’s not even a proper fort! You can’t embark on such a trip by yourself. I forbid it!”

Winnie bit her lip to suppress a smile. “I’m not going alone. If I don’t hear from Patrick by Tuesday, I’ll set off. The Schiffers are traveling with me. They’ve offered to come along as chaperones. Ernst thinks a little travel would do him good.”

Gemma threw her hands in the air. “Well, you’ve certainly set my mind at ease. Ernst and Hilda are taking you? Why didn’t you say so? I’m certain they’ll strike terror in the heart of every outlaw and cutthroat.”

“You’re sweet to worry about me.”

“I’m not sweet. I intend to kill Horace the very next time I see him.”

“Please don’t commit murder on my behalf,” Winnie said. “I don’t think you would like prison accommodations. It’s just a misunderstanding. I intend to travel to see my brother, explain the circumstances and make arrangements to receive my inheritance. If Patrick doesn’t want me to manage my affairs, Ernst can help me.”

Gemma shook her head. “I’m sure this doesn’t matter, but you do not have my blessing. There’s no train to west Texas. What do you intend to do? Take a stagecoach?” She gave a small inelegant snort at the idea of going by such uncivilized means.

“I do intend to travel by stagecoach. In fact, the staging company has assured me I’ll be safe since I’ll be traveling with armed guards and the paymaster.” Winnie offered a confident smile. “So, you see? There’s nothing to worry about.”

Chapter Four

Justin

The dreams always returned when he went home. In the midst of his sleep, he’d hear his father’s voice, tired and raspy as he lay on his deathbed. Then he’d become aware of neighbors coming and going, ladies crying. And then the burial. That was always the worst. Saying goodbye to the only parent he’d ever known.

The sounds of his own ragged breath always woke him, jerking him from the terrible dream. He lay in bed, soaked in perspiration. Slowly, he realized where he was.

Home. The Prescott Ranch.

When he was on assignment, his thoughts were steady. His sleep, when it came, was peaceful. Maybe not peaceful, but dreamless. Things were different at home. Returning to the ranch always stirred up painful memories. He considered not coming back, but that would mean not seeing his family, and his brothers, and his sister and pesky nephews. His family was most important to him.

The trip to El Paso had gone well, but now it was time to get back to work. Time to deliver payroll to Camp Macintyre again.

He rolled out of bed, leaving a swath of twisted sheets in his wake. He washed and dressed and went downstairs to find his sister, Rachel, cooking breakfast. She glanced up from the skillet of eggs and gave him a tired smile.

“Smells good,” he said.

“I wish you didn’t have to go so soon. It seems as if you just got here.”

Rachel was the eldest of the Prescott clan. She ran the books, okayed the sales of horses and cattle, all while keeping an eye on her own brood as well as her brothers. Soft-spoken, iron-willed, none of the Prescott brothers ever bothered second-guessing her expertise.

Charlie, her youngest son, padded down the hall, dragging his blanket, his thumb in his mouth. The boy held him in his gaze, big dark eyes filled with yearning. He shook his head and said one of the only words he knew.

“No.”

Justin crouched to give the boy a pat on the shoulder as he looked him in the eye. “Next time, I’ll take you fishing. How would that be? We’ll go to the box canyon.”

Charlie nodded and wrapped his fingers around Justin’s collar, as if to keep him from leaving. After a long moment, the boy let go and patted his shoulder.

“He sits by the window waiting for you,” Rachel said quietly.

“Is that because you want fish for dinner, Charlie?”

The boy smiled at him, his eyes shining with happiness. Rachel liked to tell him that Charlie reserved all his smiles for his Uncle Justin, but Rachel would probably say anything to keep Justin from leaving the ranch and doing the work he did.

Rachel served the food and brought the plates to the Prescott dining table. Justin took a seat opposite his sister and beside Charlie. No one in the family, his older brothers included, ever sat in their father’s chair at the head of the table. Nor did any take the seat on the other end. His mother’s chair had been unfilled ever since a week after Justin’s birth.

Justin, Rachel and Charlie ate breakfast together. Between bites they talked about the Prescott Ranch. His older brothers drove a herd of longhorns to Fort Worth, along with Rachel’s other boys, Frank and Walter. Justin didn’t care for the notion of his sister staying at the ranch house alone, but at least there were a few trusty ranch hands around to help out. Still, he could tell Rachel was lonesome. Times like this, she missed her late husband even more.

When Charlie finished eating, he wandered off to play with blocks. He sat in a sunny corner of the room, close enough for them to see him, but far enough away not to hear their conversation.

“You could stay a few more days and keep me company,” Rachel said. “They won’t be back until next week.”

“I’ve got a job to do.”

She looked at him, a somber expression etching her eyes. It seemed each time he returned home, his sister had aged more than seemed right. It had been two years since her husband had passed. Her grief weighed heavily on her shoulders, no matter how much he and his brothers tried to lighten her burden.

Justin didn’t care to come home at all. The memories were too painful, but he didn’t ever want to go too long without seeing Rachel or Charlie. He could take or leave his brothers for longer spells, but his sister, the eldest, had been much like a mother to him. She still fussed over him and fretted every time he left the ranch. Rachel knew he didn’t care to sleep in the family’s homestead, which was why she’d built him a pretty little house on the neighboring ridge. It stood empty. Justin had no intention of coming back to the ranch to live, but Rachel never gave up hoping for his return.

An hour later, he said his goodbyes. He swung into his saddle, starkly aware of the gun belt missing from his hips. Rachel didn’t approve of wearing guns in the house or anywhere around Charlie.

“I’ll see you soon, buckaroo,” he called to Charlie. “You take care of your mamma while me and your uncles are gone.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. He pulled his thumb from his mouth and waved. Justin rode away, glancing back every so often. The boy never moved but watched from the porch steps.

Justin rode two hours south to the town of Granite Shoals and straight to the blacksmith and livery shop. Hitching his horse, he strolled past the cold forge and into the back rooms. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of old beans and sour coffee. Ben Jameson dozed in his bunk. He slept with his mouth open, frowning in his sleep, as if puzzling over one of life’s troubles.

Justin kicked the side of the bunk. “Wake up, Ben. I’ve got a job for you.”

Ben rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head.

“You’re going to want to be awake for this.” Justin leaned against the doorway. “The job’s dangerous. The last two payroll couriers who traveled to Camp Macintyre got shot for half of what I need to deliver.”

Ben yawned and scratched his jaw, which was in dire need of a shave, and muttered from the depths of his bed. Something that sounded like go away.

“I’ll pay you double.”

He opened one eye, shrugged, got to his feet, groaning as he stumbled to the stove in the corner. He held up the coffee pot. “Coffee? Made it just yesterday.”

“None for me,” Justin said. “I try to stay away from swamp sludge.”

Ben grunted and took a swallow of coffee. “So, you sayin’ that two other fellers before us are pushin’ up daisies?”

“That about sums it up. What do you say? Why not take a break from all that horse-shoein’ you’re pretending to do and earn some good money?”

Ben lifted his mug. “I’m in.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Justin said. “We leave tomorrow mornin’.”

Chapter Five

Winnie

The three of them, Winnie, Ernst and Hilda, traveled to Granite Shoals where they would take a stagecoach to Camp Macintyre. They arrived a day early and took a hotel room overlooking a lovely little stream. Ernst had taken one look out the hotel window and insisted they needed to walk down to the water’s edge. The moment they got to the stream’s bank, he announced he wanted to wade in the clear water.

Ernst and Hilda argued for a spell, a heated debate in German. Winnie waited. She knew Ernst would get his way. He’d convince his wife that a little adventure was good for a man’s heart. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he sat on a boulder and removed his shoes and socks while Hilda frowned.

“Ernst is a country boy at heart, Hilda.” Sitting at the stream’s edge, Winnie watched Ernst pick his way through the shallows. He’d rolled his trouser legs up to his knees and walked, arms outstretched for balance. The water flowed over the rocks, gurgling as it passed. Ernst slipped but caught himself before falling into the stream.

He chuckled and grinned at Hilda and Winnie. “I used to play in the stream when I was just a boy in Bavaria. The water was much colder than this.”

“If you get soaked, we won’t let you into the stagecoach,” Winnie called. “You’ll have to ride on top with the trunks.”

Ernst chortled, obviously taken with the idea.

“Ach, don’t give him ideas, Winnie,” Hilda chided.

“If only I had my fishing rod,” Ernst muttered. “Then I’d show you girls.”

Hilda shook her head and gave Winnie a weary look. Winnie could hardly hold back a smile. Ernst Schiffer was known both as a brilliant violinist and exceptional music teacher. In all the years she’d known him, he’d always maintained a quiet dignity. So it was with amusement and affection that she watched him wade in the stream, his feet and calves so white, they seemed to glow. He looked both ungainly and joyful.

He slipped again and laughed at the hilarity of almost plunging into the shallows.

“Jetzt. Endlich!” Hilda urged from the shore.

Hilda wanted him to finally get out of the water. Winnie couldn’t predict who would prevail. To her surprise, Ernst complied, returning to the streambank where Hilda waited with a towel.

When Winnie’d come to live with Ernst and Hilda, she’d just graduated from finishing school in St. Michael’s. She’d known Ernst and Hilda for years, and since she could hardly accompany her brother on military assignments, the Schiffers insisted she come live with them. They treated her like their own flesh and blood. Even now, Hilda gave her a look of long-suffering, one she’d given her a hundred times before. Ernst followed with a shrug and threw his hands in the air as if justifying his mischief.

“Shall we return to the hotel?” Winnie asked. “You two can rest before dinner. We have an early morning ahead of us.”

Ernst sat on a boulder on the side of the stream and put on his socks and shoes. “That was very refreshing. A nice start to our adventure, ja?”

“Maybe they’ll have another stream near Camp Macintyre. We’ll be there in two days’ time,” Winnie said. “I can’t wait to see Patrick. He’ll be so surprised.”

Hilda gave what sounded very much like a snort. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him? Months, no?”

Winnie noted the hard edge to Hilda’s question. “Close to a year.”

Worry twisted inside her. She hadn’t told Hilda and Ernst too much about Horace’s insistence she accept his marriage proposal. They had some idea but probably brushed him off as a starry-eyed admirer, not a man who might threaten her brother’s military career if she refused. She tamped down her concern, telling herself that Patrick would explain everything and would lay her fears to rest. Horace was merely being a bully. That was all.

When they got to the hotel entrance, Winnie parted ways with Ernst and Hilda, explaining that she needed to go next door to confirm their seats on the stagecoach line, Wilbur and Sons. They bid her goodbye and went inside. Winnie turned to the stagecoach offices a block away. The company did a brisk business.

By the time she reached the clerk’s window, she’d been jostled several times by men toting boxes and shipments, or simply by men who weren’t paying attention. If Ernst had come along, he would have shooed her out the door and insisted on waiting on her behalf.

The clerk, a young portly man, eyed her up and down. “Help ya?”

“I’d like to confirm passage for three people to Camp Macintyre tomorrow.”

He shuffled through a stack of papers, muttering as he searched. When he found what he was looking for, he frowned as he read the details. Winnie’s heart sank. She prayed there wouldn’t be a delay of plans. Ever since they’d left St. Michael’s, Ernst had grumbled about her paying for their travel. She’d insisted. If they needed to stay on at Granite Shoals, she might have to swallow her pride and ask Ernst and Hilda for a small loan.

The clerk ran his finger along a line of writing. “Yep.”

Winnie set her gloved hands on the windowsill and leaned closer. “Do you mean to say everything is in order?”

The man tilted his head, scowling at her. “Ain’t that what I jus’ said?”

Several men standing in line behind her grumbled. One of them muttered, “C’mon, girlie. You heard the man.”

They crowded her. Her skin chilled with a prickling unease. Still, she refused to leave until she confirmed the precise details of their travel. “We depart at eight in the morning?”

“Right.” The man drummed his fingers. “You’ll meet the stagecoach behind the bank, leave at eight on the dot, pass Fort Stockton at noon for a change of mules, then reach Camp Macintyre by nightfall, assuming you don’t run into trouble. Anything else?”

She wanted to ask what he meant by ‘trouble’, but the complaints coming from the men behind her grew louder, more insistent. Instead, she thanked him and edged away from the throng of men. Unfortunately, she stepped directly into the path of one of the rougher-looking men.

The impact very nearly knocked the wind out of her. It was as if she’d hit a brick wall. He stared down at her, boring holes into her with his dark, disapproving glare. Despite his threatening appearance, he didn’t abuse her like the men who waited for the clerk. Her gaze drifted to the ammunition he wore strapped across his broad chest. She shivered. The man was loaded for bear, a few dozen bears by the looks of things.

To her surprise he apologized.

“Didn’t see you walking, ma’am.”

“I was trying to leave.” She had to look up to meet his gaze. “It’s very crowded.”

Another man bumped her, sending her crashing into the stranger again.

The impact of hitting the gunman made the air whoosh from her lungs.

To her shock and utter dismay, the stranger took her elbow. “Some of these boys tend to forget their manners.”

She swallowed hard, wishing once more that she’d asked Ernst to come with her to look into their travel plans. She always tried to shield him from excitement, but the thought of him by her side gave her a measure of comfort.

Her pulse raced. Her throat tightened. The man’s grip on her arm was gentle but firm. Men moved out of the way, their widened eyes on her companion. She stole a glance at the man and could see why he had their respect. He held a commanding presence, quiet authority and the look of a man who lived a life on the edge of danger. It was the same reason her heart thudded against her ribs.

His hat shadowed his eyes. A rough, short beard darkened his jaw. His shirt was clean, a brilliant white against his tanned skin. But it was the rest of him that drew a soft murmur of dismay from her lips. Along with the straps of bullets across his chest, he wore a gun belt, low on his hips, toting a pistol on either side. She would have liked to know who he was, and what he did. She couldn’t summon the will to ask.

They moved easily through the crowd of men, arriving at the door in a fraction of the time it would have taken her had she attempted the distance on her own.

He stopped in the doorway. She had no choice but to stop as well. When he released her elbow, he took off his hat. It was then that she saw his eyes. They were light gray with flecks of amber. His expression was stern but not unkind.

He studied her for a moment before speaking. “This is no place for a lady.”

She nodded and swallowed, trying to summon a response. His deep, resonant voice unraveled her thoughts. Rarely was she at a loss for words.

“Are you traveling alone, ma’am?”

She shook her head. His lips quirked. He must think she was daft.

“Glad to hear. Next time you come to Wilbur and Sons, have your husband come with you. Or better yet, send him on his own.”

“I don’t h-have a husband.”

His gaze drifted to her lips and slowly back to her eyes. “You shouldn’t come alone, miss. You understand me?”

The tone and his domineering manner struck her as overly familiar. She didn’t dignify his words with a response. Instead, she turned away. Hurrying down the sidewalk, she didn’t stop until she was a half-block from Wilbur and Sons. She felt his gaze following her. Turning, she saw that he stood where she’d left him, in the middle of the stagecoach company entrance. He watched her. She shivered, turned away and hastened to the hotel.

The memory of the man’s touch lingered in her mind. The sound of his voice drifted through her thoughts, distracting her for the rest of the evening. She ate dinner with Ernst and Hilda. Neither noticed that she was withdrawn. They were too excited about setting off for a remote military camp in the morning. They talked about the coming trip throughout the meal. After dinner, they debated Ernst’s dessert choice. Ernst wanted an éclair. Hilda insisted he should have a dish of fruit. In the end Hilda got her way. Ernst ate his dish of strawberries and sulked.

That night, Winnie lay in bed, trying to fall asleep. Her arm tingled. She rubbed the spot where the gunman had held her. The feeling kept her awake for a long while. It was her conscience, she told herself. She’d never allowed a man to treat her in such a forward manner. Women from good families didn’t allow strangers to touch them or speak to them in such a domineering way.

The nerve of the man! She tried to summon her outrage.

She ran through the events of the afternoon and imagined the dignified way she might have responded to his untoward manner. Several possibilities presented themselves. Each scenario had her saying just the right thing to the pistol-toting rogue.

Wasn’t that the way it always worked? She could think of the perfect reply every time she got into a bind. Sadly, she’d think of it several hours too late.

She turned her blame to Horace Baggenstoss. He’d upset her greatly. Once she got to Camp Macintyre and spoke to Patrick, she could set her frantic thoughts aside. She could proceed with her quiet and refined life and her careful, well-thought plans, far away from men like Horace, or impudent gunslingers.

Chapter Six

Justin

Justin woke in the predawn darkness, his first thoughts of the girl at the livery barn. Standing in the crowd of cowpunchers and roughnecks, she looked completely out of place. The men had jostled her, some deliberately, others unwittingly. Just the same, she was getting bumped and bruised, and would have been injured even more, if he hadn’t whisked her to the door.

She was maybe ten years younger than his thirty-two years. She might not even be twenty. What was a girl like that doing in the livery barn in Granite Shoals? The town was a crossroads for cattlemen and miners, no place for a delicate female. If he closed his eyes, he could still recollect her sweet scent.

He could also recall the way she’d narrowed her eyes at him, as if he were the reason she’d been treated roughly, instead of the man who had helped her. He dressed in the darkness, a smile playing on his lips as he pictured the way she’d ignored his warning about coming to the livery alone.

She didn’t have a husband. Interesting. Likely she’d left a string of broken hearts in the wake of her haughty refusals.

He continued to think about the girl while he looked for Ben. He found him in the kitchen of the boarding house. They drank a cup of coffee before setting off. In the quiet of the early, overcast morning, they walked to the bank, both resting their hands on their pistols. There wasn’t much threat here in town, but old habits die hard.

His first job for the bank had been as a bounty hunter, several years ago. He tracked the thieves who preyed on the paymasters. The work had been gritty and dangerous. It paid very well, but he objected to the thieves’ tendency to shoot at him. At times they even came close to hitting him. By the time Justin collared his third man, he’d come up with a solution to the bank’s trouble with stagecoach robbers. Instead of chasing down the criminals, he’d simply guard the payroll.

The way he figured, it cut out the middleman.

The bankers agreed. At times, the payroll was some paltry sum, less than twenty thousand. That he could take on his own, as was his preference. When it was much more, he brought extra gunpower.

A trustee of the bank met him at the entrance and ushered the men to the back. There they found agents from the stagecoach company as well as a few men from the livery. The stagecoach stood in the courtyard. The liverymen held fresh mounts for Justin and Ben.

“Only one stagecoach available,” the banker grumbled. “I’ve had my men bolt the safe to the floor. The president won’t be pleased you’ve allowed passengers.”

Justin stopped in his tracks. “Come again?”

“I’ve given my approval,” the man said. “They don’t look like much a threat.”

“What are they? Recruits?”

“Nah, a husband and wife. I talked to the husband. He says they’re traveling to speak to Colonel Barrington. I didn’t press the issue. I didn’t want any trouble from Barrington.”

Justin scrubbed his hand across his face and felt his features tighten into a snarl. “Bankers don’t want trouble with anyone.”

“We don’t get paid for trouble. That’s your job.”

From the shadowed depths of the stagecoach, he saw a passenger peer out the window. Just as quickly, the person disappeared. He didn’t like carrying extra people. People meant problems. It was clear the banker wanted to stay in the good graces of his boss at the bank and the brass at Camp Macintyre.

“You want to send passengers, you’ll pay an extra two hundred,” Justin said.

“You can’t change the agreement ten minutes before you’re set to leave.”

“I could say the same.”

The man sputtered. He yanked his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. His eyes flashed angrily.

Justin shrugged. “Find another man, if you like.”

“Where am I going to find someone like you?”

“You can’t. I’m not a patient man. If you keep me waiting, I’ll raise my price.”

“No!” the man yelped. “We’ll pay the extra fee.”

Justin stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “And don’t try to pull something like this again. I don’t…” he lowered his voice, “like surprises.”

Chapter Seven

Winnie

First, she heard the angry voices. She listened. The sound of one of the voices, in particular, sent a rush of alarm through her. She peered out the window. The tall figure, standing with his back to her, had to be none other than the man from the stagecoach office. She drew a sharp breath as she studied the expanse of his shoulders and the holstered guns.

He spoke with a shorter fellow, the one who had overseen the installation of the safe. The large, steel box had been bolted to the floor by a pair of workmen. Winnie and her companions thought little of it since the ticket agent at the stagecoach office told her they’d travel in a transport wagon.

What of it? She hardly cared. All she wanted was to get to Camp Macintyre. Ernst and Hilda had been delighted with the added adventure of transporting an untold sum of money to the camp.

Winnie watched the gunman. He stood a head taller than the banking clerk. He was powerfully built. Despite his muscle-bound physique, he moved with fluid, cat-like grace, checking the outside of the wagon. He surveyed the wheels, the mule team, the harnesses. She pressed against the window to try and catch a glimpse.

When he glanced at the window, he scowled.

Ducking out of view, Winnie jerked away from the window and pressed her back to the seat. “Oh, dear,” she whispered.

Hilda and Ernst sat across from her and chattered in their native tongue. Every so often, Ernst gazed with rapt admiration at the safe bolted to the floor on the other side of the stagecoach. Or he’d let his attention drift to one of the armed men standing outside. All of it pleased him immensely.

Winnie waited, hiding out of sight. Any minute the man would yank the door open and fix his furious glare on her and the Schiffers. He’d toss the three of them out on their ear. She coaxed breath into her lungs. The wagon’s driver called to the mule team and the stagecoach lurched forward. The armed companions rode on either side of the wagon.

The only sound she heard was the jangle of the harness, and the creak of the wagon axles. They traveled through the quiet streets of Granite Shoals. The wheels rumbled over the hard-packed dirt.

Winnie’s dismay faded as the morning wore on. She tried to set aside thoughts of the heavily armed men who accompanied them. While the various guns made her nervous, she told herself that the protection they provided would benefit her and the Schiffers if they were to run into trouble.

Ernst and Hilda dozed on and off. Hilda set her head on Ernst’s shoulder. Ernst rested his head against the upholstered headrest. They slept despite the bumpy ride and clatter of the stagecoach.

Winnie looked out the window and watched the rugged landscape. Brushy mesquite lined the road, but every so often the view opened to offer a sweeping vista of the land. Cliffs edged the distant horizon. The land was lonely and desolate. After several hours of travel, they met with no other passing stagecoach.

Her stomach rumbled. She eyed the picnic basket Hilda had packed. It sat beside the safe, its checked cloth a cheerful contrast to the grim black steel.

Winnie would have liked to peruse the contents of the basket, but out of politeness decided to wait for Ernst and Hilda. With a weary sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to rest. If she could sleep, the trip would pass more quickly, but instead of sleeping, she found her mind wandering to thoughts of the nearby gunman.

He rode somewhere near the stagecoach. She sensed his presence. Whether he knew she was one of the passengers remained a mystery in her mind. Another mystery lurked there too. Why he’d had such a strange effect on her sensibilities. She wasn’t one to get carried away with girlish fascinations. Despite her resistance to his nearby presence, she listened for the sound of his voice and wondered more about the stranger with the hard look in his eyes.

Chapter Eight

Justin

The stagecoach driver was going to be a problem. Clearly. Justin kept abreast of the wagon, riding directly to the right of the driver so he could keep an eye on the man.

“Warm day,” Justin said.

The man flinched, nodded and wiped his brow for what had to be the tenth time. He was young, maybe twenty or so, heavyset with deeply-set eyes. He gripped the reins more firmly than he needed too.

“Got a canteen up there?” Justin asked.

“Course. It’s empty, but I expect to fill it in Fort Stockton.”

“Sometimes they give us some grub when they change the mules. Reckon we could all use a bite.”

The driver gave a brittle nod. His eyes darted restlessly, searching. Justin dropped his hand to his pistol and eased it out. Riding on the other side, Ben spoke soothingly to his horse. Amidst the soft words, Justin heard him cock his gun.

It was possible the driver was nervous for some reason that had nothing to do with the safe inside the coach. More likely he had plans for the payroll locked inside the stage. The man had assumed there would only be one armed guard, and no passengers.

“Don’t believe I’ve seen you around before,” Justin said amiably. “You’re new?”

“I am.”

Justin motioned to Ben and holstered his gun. He waited, counting to three, and in a single, swift motion, he dismounted from his horse and pulled himself to the wagon seat. His horse shied at the quick movement. Ben held back to capture Justin’s horse.

The driver cursed and threw a fist. Justin dodged the blow, then threw a punch of his own, landing it to the man’s jaw.

“Where are they?” Justin snarled.

The driver tried to free his gun. Justin knocked the pistol from his hand, and the weapon clattered off the side of the wagon, firing when it hit the ground. Ben cursed.

The gunshot startled the mules and they broke into a run. The driver swore and swung his fist. Justin dodged it easily. With a surge of determination, Justin gave the driver a punch that nearly sent the man off the bench. The man slumped over, unconscious.

Justin took control of the team, slowing them to a trot and then a walk. Ben rode behind the wagon. He gripped his arm. Blood stained his sleeve. “It’s fine,” Ben muttered.

Justin nodded. He pulled the stagecoach to a halt and set the brake. He grabbed a coil of rope from his saddlebag and tied the driver’s hands behind his back. He bound his ankles too. The man wasn’t going anywhere, but Justin wouldn’t take any chances. Hoisting the man to his shoulder, he carried him to the cabin of the stage.

He wondered why the passengers hadn’t emerged from the stage to see what was happening. Glowering, he yanked the door open.

The sight of three civilian passengers made him stop mid-sentence. An elderly couple stared at him, slack-jawed. On the other side of the stage sat a young woman. Not just any young woman, but the girl from the office of Wilbur and Sons. She looked as stunned and frightened as the elderly couple.

“You!” he snarled.

She recoiled.

“What are you three doing in this stage? You could have gotten shot.”

The older woman let out a whimper. Her husband spoke to her. The girl, pale and shaking, bit her lip. Her gaze drifted to the man slung over Justin’s shoulder.

“Did you kill that poor man?” she whispered.

“I didn’t kill him,” Justin growled. “Don’t intend to, if he behaves.”

The girl swallowed hard. The movement drew his attention and served to roil his anger even further. The small gesture emphasized her vulnerability. What was a girl like her doing in a stagecoach heading to Camp Macintyre? The elderly couple didn’t seem like they belonged any more than the girl.

Shots rang out. The girl flinched. The elderly couple muttered to each other in some foreign language. He stepped into the stagecoach, crouching down to fit through the doorway. The girl jerked her feet out of his way. She snatched a piece of her luggage to her side.

“Don’t step on my violin.”

She spoke with a haughty tone that set his teeth on edge. “Keep it out of my way and I won’t.” He dropped the unconscious man down on the floor, shoving him unceremoniously so his sprawling limbs were out of the way.

“You intend to leave that man inside with us?” the man demanded, his accent heavy. “With the women? May I point out that they’re ladies?”

Justin scowled at the driver, lying on the floor. The man was out cold, his jaw slack, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Justin brushed off his hands. “Don’t worry. He won’t cuss. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Before anyone could offer more objections, Justin shut the door. Ben had ridden ahead and found the would-be robbers. Ben could probably take care of them himself, but Justin wanted to catch up with Ben as quickly as he could.

He stalked to the front of the stage and climbed up to the seat. He released the brake and snapped the reins, his mood darkening. The banker had assured him the passengers were a couple. He’d assumed the gentleman was a military officer, not some old, frail man. Not one of the people sitting in the back belonged out here in West Texas.

Images of the girl drifted through his mind. The way she’d looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. The way her hands trembled, and the honeyed scent he’d caught as he passed her inside the stagecoach.

He took the mules at a quickened pace to find Ben and make sure things were good. He had his gun ready, but doubted he’d need it. And he was right. By the time he caught up with Ben, there were two men lying face down in the dirt, one with hands tied behind his back. Ben was kneeling on the other, tying his hands too.

Justin helped Ben load the outlaws, one next to him on the driver’s seat and one on his horse. They soon set off again for Fort Stockton. Justin intended to leave the three outlaws with the commanding officer. The military could deal with them. Right after that, Justin would have a word with the girl and the elderly couple. He’d explain the dangers of riding on a payroll transport. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle the entire fiasco, but one thing was certain.

He wouldn’t allow any of them back on the stagecoach.

Chapter Nine

Winnie

The poor man groaned pitifully as he stirred. Ernst and Hilda grew distraught as he shifted and strained against the rope that bound him. Fortunately, they arrived at the fort not long after they’d gotten the new passenger.

Soldiers surrounded the stagecoach, staring at them with clear curiosity as they passed. Winnie still couldn’t understand what had happened or how they’d wound up with a beaten and bloody man inside the coach. Ernst insisted that there had been an attempted robbery. Hilda dismissed the idea, steadfastly refusing to believe anything so outlandish. She had no explanation for the gunshots, however.

The stagecoach came to a halt. A moment later, the tall, angry-looking gunman pulled the door open. He glanced at her briefly before hoisting the driver over his shoulder. The hard look in his eyes seemed to carry a tacit command for her to stay put.

Ernst rubbed his head. “I don’t feel well. I’m a little dizzy.”

“You need some fresh air,” Winnie said. She rose, pushed open the door and stepped out. “Let us stretch our legs while we wait.”

Her pulse raced. She expected the gunman to descend like some sort of fearsome angel of death and heap his fury upon them for daring to disobey. She didn’t care. They’d paid their passage and the gunman had no right to order them around.

Hilda helped Ernst out of the stage. A dozen or so soldiers milled about, all of them eyeing the newcomers with interest. Three or four nodded and said a few words of greeting. Winnie pretended not to notice, of course. If the soldiers thought they could draw her into a conversation, they were sadly mistaken. Instead, she took Ernst’s arm and led him around the center of the camp, staying near the stage.

Ernst leaned on her. With each step it seemed she supported more and more of his weight. She turned to search his face for a sign of some distress. To her dismay, Ernst was as pale as parchment. Hilda trailed behind, chattering in German. Ernst mumbled a reply, also in German. His legs gave way. He collapsed in the dirt. Hilda shrieked, calling his name over and over.

The soldiers she’d just ignored rushed over. Winnie knelt beside Ernst and brushed his hair from his clammy forehead. “What’s wrong?”

Ernst closed his eyes and groaned. Winnie let out a small sob. This was her fault. She’d asked to come to Camp Macintyre. Sweet Ernst and Hilda had insisted on coming along, and if something happened to Ernst, she’d never forgive herself.

A moment later, two men arrived with a gurney. They shooed the women out of the way, heaved Ernst onto the gurney and carried him to a nearby building. Winnie took Hilda’s arm and they followed behind.

They were prevented from entering the infirmary. A young man told them they’d need to sit outside while the medics tended to Ernst. Winnie urged Hilda to a nearby bench. She’d never seen Hilda so distraught. She cringed inwardly, wishing they were at home, sitting in the conservatory, playing music. She took Hilda’s hand in hers. They prayed first in English and then Hilda added her own prayers in German.

The moments passed slowly. She went over the events of the afternoon. It was shocking that someone had tried to rob the stagecoach. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she recalled the sound of a gunshot. With all the soldiers around, she told herself the danger was past. She also considered that it had been lucky the gunman had subdued the robber.

Finally, a doctor appeared. He wore a smile and drew a chair up to speak to them.

“Mr. Schiffer has had quite an upset. I understand he’s been under a doctor’s care for heart trouble. I don’t believe he’s suffered any injury. Just a little excitement. It would be best if he remained here for a few days.”

Hilda murmured with dismay. “We were taking Miss Barrington to Camp Macintyre to see her brother.”

The doctor nodded. “I understand. I’d like to keep Mr. Schiffer for observation. You’re welcome to bunk with him in the infirmary. It would do him good to have his wife nearby. I only have space for one, however. I’m sure we can find accommodations for Miss Barrington.”

“She’s not staying here.”

Winnie turned to find the gunman standing behind her. He nodded at the group, tipped his hat. “Justin Prescott.”

The doctor frowned. “What do you suggest?”

“I’ve just learned that her brother is Colonel Barrington. It would be best if I take her to Camp Macintyre. He wouldn’t approve of his sister staying overnight in a military camp without a chaperone. And clearly this gentleman isn’t well.”

The doctor nodded and got to his feet. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to upset the colonel. I’ll let you all discuss your arrangements. I’ll be inside, Mrs. Schiffer.”

The doctor bid them goodbye and returned to the infirmary. Hilda heaved a sigh of relief.

Winnie did as well. Ernst needed to rest and recuperate from the trip. The news was good, clearly, but it would mean that Winnie would continue the journey without Ernst or Hilda. She wouldn’t be alone, but she could hardly count the tall, scowling gunman as much company. It was unseemly to travel unchaperoned, yet it was hardly proper to remain in a military camp without a chaperone or family.

“Miss Barrington, I’ll be by to collect you in a quarter hour,” Mr. Prescott said, his tone stern. “The commanding officer is sending men ahead of us as lookouts. My partner will need to have his arm tended to, and will stay on to look after your friends. We’ll leave as soon as we have a fresh team.”

His words gave her a jolt. Fifteen minutes! “Heavens,” she whispered.

Hilda patted her hand. “You should go. Ernst and I shall wait for your return. I only wish I could be by your side when you speak with your brother.”

“It might be for naught.” She wilted, imagining her inheritance plundered by her brother.

“Even better,” Hilda said. “You don’t need the money. Ernst and I have more than enough for all of us. If there’s no money, he can’t bother you anymore. I only wish I could go to give him a good Ohrfeige.”

“You want to smack Patrick?”

Hilda nodded, a gleam sparked in her eye. “Almost as much as Ernst wants to smack him.”

Winnie regarded Hilda thoughtfully, wondering if that was part of the reason the Schiffers were so eager to set off to Camp Macintyre. If that were the case, it might be best if they didn’t go with her. Ernst didn’t need any extra excitement.

Her thoughts spun. She felt eager to speak with Patrick. And yet the notion of leaving the Schiffers upset her, especially after Ernst’s sinking spell. Traveling with Mr. Prescott hardly set her mind at ease.

“The sooner you go, the sooner we can go home. This is for the best, Winnie. You can speak to Patrick, tell him you don’t wish to marry. If you inherit money, you can do as you please with your life. If you don’t…” Hilda smiled and patted her hand. “You will have to stay with the boring Schiffer’s.”

Usually Hilda’s motherly ways could bring a smile to her face, but today her heart was filled with foreboding. Most of her concern was for Ernst, of course. The other, smaller part of her worry came from the notion that she’d be alone with a man like Justin Prescott.

“Come say good-bye,” Hilda said gently.

They went into the infirmary. All the beds were empty except for one. Ernst rested, looking frail, his eyes closed. His cheeks held a touch of color. The pale, rosy hue was an improvement over the ashen look he’d had when they arrived. The floorboards creaked under their feet as they approached his bedside. His eyelids fluttered.

“My girls,” he said, his lips tilting into a smile. “I’m sorry for all the fuss.”

Hilda murmured a few words in German, leaned over and kissed his forehead. “The nice man is going to take our Winnie to see Patrick.”

Ernst blinked. “What nice man?”

“The nice man with all the guns,” Hilda said pleasantly.

Ernst looked aghast.

Before he could protest, Hilda stopped him with a finger over his lips. “She’s going to be back before you know it. And then we will go home. That will be very nice, yes?”

He tightened his grip on the blanket. “Is that safe? We don’t know him.”

“We don’t, but he’s in charge of that big box of money. He will take good care of Winnie, just like he takes care of the gold and silver. Say good-bye, so she can go with the nice man.”

Hilda glanced at Winnie and tilted her head the direction of her husband. “A nice little auf wiedersehen and we will see you tomorrow.”

Winnie coaxed a smile to her lips, bent down and brushed a kiss over Ernst’s forehead. His frown didn’t soften. He lay in his bed, muttering in German as Hilda ushered her out of the infirmary.

Chapter Ten

Justin

Justin waited for the girl to say good-bye to the old man. He never had viewed any young woman in a possessive or protective way, but for some reason he was attached to this girl. She stirred a protective part of him. Why that was, he couldn’t fathom, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The girl exited the infirmary, walking with her nose in the air. She boarded the stagecoach as if she were Queen Victoria herself. Her dress swished with each step as she ascended. Gathering her skirts around her, she sat on the far side of the coach and turned so that her attention was directed away from him.

How had he ended up saddled with a fussy female – especially this fussy female? He wondered that for a brief moment right until he shoved the thought aside. He didn’t need the distraction of a pretty woman. He had a job to do. He had to safeguard the payroll and now he had to guard a woman too, heaven help him.

Fortunately, the trip to Camp Macintyre wouldn’t take more than three hours, four at most. Ben would stay behind and get his arm tended to.

Justin climbed aboard the stage. A regiment of soldiers rode ahead of him to provide added security.

A little better than halfway there, Justin stopped to water the mules. The soldiers followed suit a hundred paces upstream.

The girl climbed out of the stage a few moments after he stopped. She gave him a sassy look as if daring him to fuss at her. She walked to the river’s edge, a smile playing on her lips.

The breeze blew across the river. She wore her hair up, but a few tresses had escaped, and the breeze toyed with the strands. Absentmindedly, she brushed the hair from her face as she looked out across the water.

“How much further, Mr. Prescott?”

Her words startled him. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. “Another couple of hours.”

She turned to face him, still wearing a smile. In that moment, he couldn’t help wondering how old she was, again. Why did he care how old she was? What did it matter? But there he was, wondering if she was twenty-two, or twenty, or eighteen…

She spoke again. “I have a picnic basket packed with sandwiches and whatnot. Can I offer you some refreshment?”

Her voice and demeanor seemed overly friendly. Not untoward, or flirtatious, none of that, sadly, but she spoke as if she might want to barter her picnic for something he could offer. His curiosity burned inside him. What could she want? To linger by the river, perhaps. To take a detour to visit a beau? Hardly likely in these remote parts. That didn’t stop a flicker of jealousy.

“Of course, if you’d rather not eat, I’d understand,” she went on to say. “Hilda Schiffer is a terrible cook.” Her smile widened as if he might share in the joke. “Probably some nice ham sandwiches. Cake. Or maybe some of her cookies.”

She taunted him. He heard the clear teasing in the lilt of her voice. He crossed his arms. “All right. I’ll take you up on your offer. I have the feeling you’d like something in exchange. Why not just lay your cards on the table?”

She snickered, a sound that made him smile despite his exasperation. Without answering his question, she went to the stagecoach, climbed inside and emerged a moment later with a picnic hamper.

In a few moments she clasped a sandwich in one hand and a cup of lemonade in the other. He should have waited to see what she wanted but couldn’t help himself and accepted the food and drink. He took a bite of the sandwich, keeping his gaze fixed on her while she nibbled the edge of her sandwich.

“Would it be all right if I rode beside you?” she asked.

He stopped chewing.

Her cheeks pinked under his scrutiny. “My brother wouldn’t like it.” She spoke shyly but with a mischievous smile tugging at her mouth. “And that’s why I want to ride on the front of the stage instead of inside.”

Justin finished chewing and swallowed. He washed the food down with a drink of lemonade to give himself more time to consider the question. He’d never had a woman ask if she could ride next to him. Then again, he’d never had a woman passenger while guarding payroll.

She went on, a playful gleam in her eye. “My brother always thinks he knows what’s best for me.”

“Maybe he’s just looking out for you. I have a sister too. Rachel, my sister that is… she’s older, but still.”

“You think you know what’s best for her?”

A twinge of guilt hit him. He recalled Rachel’s sad eyes. Worse, he pictured the look on Charlie’s face when he’d ridden away. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t know. I know I love her. Probably don’t go home often enough.”

“Did you decide who she’d marry?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, my brother has practically auctioned me off to the highest bidder.”

Justin studied her expression, wondering if she exaggerated. His thoughts drifted to Colonel Barrington and the crude way he’d spoken about his seamstress. The man treated women like they were his to do with what he wanted.

The soldiers finished watering their horses and mounted. They waited patiently for a sign that Justin was ready to proceed.

Miss Barrington glanced at the men and went on hurriedly. “You see, I want to arrive in Camp Macintyre in style. I want to show him I won’t allow him to use me as collateral for his debts. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this but-”

“You can ride with me,” Justin said, not waiting for her to finish. “I don’t mind. I’d welcome the company.”

She blushed. A pang of remorse twisted inside him. He didn’t tell her that he disliked her brother and relished the idea of irritating the man. She was sweet, far different from her small-minded brother.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “You’re a nice man.”

“That I am.” He smiled, wondering if lightning might strike him. “Thank you, Miss Barrington.”

“Now that we’re co-conspirators, you can call me Winnie.”

“Winnie?”

“It’s short for Winifred.”

He nodded and let his gaze drift over her features. He took in her pretty eyes and her captivating smile. “All right, Winnie. I suppose, if we’re on a first-name basis, you can call me Justin.”

“Justin…” She laughed softly. “Sounds fine to me.”

Chapter Eleven

Winnie

It wasn’t like her to be so forward. Normally, she wouldn’t even dream of asking to ride on the front of the stage with a stranger. Winnie could almost hear Hilda and Ernst chiding her. She could picture them shaking their heads with deep disapproval. She was being petty, perhaps even childish, but she couldn’t help herself. The thought of vexing her brother pleased her more than she could imagine.

Patrick would disapprove even more vehemently than Hilda and Ernst. Arriving to his camp, seated beside the handsome gunslinger, would cause a stir, to be sure. It would also make clear that she would not be ignored. Patrick would see that she was a strong-willed, independent woman, not some naïve girl who could be forced into marriage.

They rode through the countryside. She held her parasol to shield her fair skin from the sunshine.

“So does your brother have someone in mind?”

His voice pulled her from her wandering thoughts. “Pardon me?”

“You said he wanted to offer you in exchange for the highest bidder. And I’m guessing he would get the loot, not you. So, is there one fella in particular, or a passel of them, vying for your hand?”

“You’re… teasing me?”

“Maybe a little.”

His eyes glinted with humor suggesting that he was teasing her a great deal and enjoying it too.

“What’s the going rate for bride blackmail?” he added.

He was provoking her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting angry. “You are not a very kind man. I take back the compliment I paid you earlier.”

She spoke the words with a calm, determined tone, not caring if he were insulted. Instead of acting offended, however, he grinned. The cad! He seemed to enjoy her insults. She eyed the bullets tucked in his bandolier and the gun belt. He’d certainly looked the part of the deadly serious gunman or had looked the part earlier. Now his eyes sparked with mirth as he laughed at her expense.

Smoothing her gloved hand over her silken skirts, she tried to recover a small part of her dignity. “There’s just one fellow, thank goodness. Unfortunately, it’s my brother’s friend, Horace.”

“Horace, huh. Shame there are not a few fellas for you to choose from. Instead you’re stuck with Horace.” He sighed and shook his head.

The cad, amusing himself at her expense.

“Tell me,” she said amiably. “Is there a Mrs. Prescott?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t intend to get married anytime soon. Maybe never.”

She made a sympathetic tsk, tsk. “Sounds like the stoic gunslinger had his heart broken.”

He shook his head. “I don’t care to settle down, is all. How much does Patrick owe Horace, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the only reason I can figure that a man would auction off his sister is because he owes a lot of money, more money than he expects he’ll ever be able to pay back. So I’m just curious, that’s all, as to how much money that would be.”

“I’m not sure.”

While that was true, it wasn’t very forthcoming. Horace had told her ten thousand dollars, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe him, or to give Mr. Prescott even more ammunition for his teasing. Surely Horace was exaggerating the amount. It wasn’t possible her brother could have that much debt. She sighed forlornly.

Justin pursed his lips with mock dismay. Taking the reins in one hand, he patted his pockets with the other. “I might have a little spare change.”

“Very funny. I don’t know for certain how much my brother owes Horace, or even if he owes Horace. I assume it’s more than a little spare change but thank you for the kind offer.”

“You don’t want to marry Horace?”

“Heavens, no.”

“You got another beau in mind?”

“I don’t want to marry anyone, just like you. I want to teach music to children.”

He turned to face her, searching her eyes. For the first time since they’d started chatting, he looked surprised. Her skin warmed under his gaze. After a long moment, he turned away. They rode in silence as the mules pulled the stagecoach up a hill. From the top of the hill, Winnie saw the cavalry escort. Beyond the soldiers, she saw what had to be Camp Macintyre.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. In a moment, she’d come face to face with Patrick.

The camp was nothing more than a ragtag array of tents, a far cry from Fort Stockton. When Patrick had assumed command of the outpost, he’d made it sound as grand and majestic as anything he’d ever seen. With a sudden and unmistakable certainty, she knew her brother would be furious that she’d come without telling him.

They entered the camp and Justin drove the team to one of the bigger tents. They stopped at the entrance. Justin set the brake and climbed down. Soldiers milled around, ragged and grimy-looking. They eyed her with blatant interest, making her skin crawl. A heavy, stale odor hung in the air. She couldn’t imagine Patrick living in such abject squalor.

A young man shambled out of the tent and squinted at the mules.

“I need to speak with Colonel Barrington,” Justin said. “Tell him I’ve brought his payroll and his sister.”

A small whimper escaped her lips. She hadn’t imagined how she might greet Patrick, but she didn’t want one of his soldiers to announce her arrival. The youth looked up and his jaw dropped.

“You brought a girl? Here?”

“Colonel Barrington. Get him,” Justin growled.

The young man paled. “Colonel Barrington isn’t here, sir. He’s taken the commanding officer of the Phillips regiment over to Dawson City for some rest and relaxation. He left Captain Corelle in charge. I’ll let the captain know you’ve arrived.”

Winnie remained seated on the bench. Her pulse raced. Her skin felt cold and clammy. She watched while Justin spoke with the captain. Papers were signed. A contingency of men arrived to unload the payroll from the stagecoach. When she realized the men would enter the confines of the stagecoach, she grew more alarmed.

“Justin,” she hissed. “My belongings are inside.”

He frowned. “And?”

“I mostly worry about my instrument. Can you make sure they don’t disturb it?”

“Your instrument?”

“My violin.”

He stared in disbelief. His astonishment gave way to amusement. With a chuckle, he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Right. I forgot you had your violin.”

“Are you going to take me to Dawson City?” She swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. “Or are you leaving me here?”

“I’m not leaving you here. I’ll take you back to Granite Shoals, along with the Germans.”

She wanted to speak more about his plan, but the men were ready to take the funds from the steel box. Justin took a key from his pocket and disappeared inside the stage. The money contained in canvas bags was handed out one at a time. Each of the soldiers carried two bags into the large tent. Justin slammed the iron box shut with so much force, it shook the stagecoach.

A moment later, he climbed back up and sat beside her. He snapped the reins and put the mules into a trot. Winnie’s thoughts twirled inside her mind. Justin probably thought he was protecting her by returning her to Granite Shoals, but he was ruining any chance she had at happiness.

“I stand to come into a lot of money, Justin,” she said, her tone tentative. She watched for a sign of his willingness to help her.

He eyed her, giving her an appraising look. “You sure about that?”

“Of course, I am. You’re a businessman.” She forged ahead, a flicker of hope sparking inside her heart. “I can pay you for your time.”

He said nothing. They trotted past the sentries posted at the entrance of Camp Macintyre. The two men sat on overturned crates, playing cards. They stared at her with a feral gleam in their eyes, making her shiver.

“Justin, please.” Her voice trembled. “You’re my only hope.”

Chapter Twelve

Justin

It wasn’t the promise of payment that made him give in to her pleas. It was the desperation in her eyes. He tried to ignore the look. They drove for a spell in silence. He could feel her glance over every so often to look for a sign he might help her. As much as he wanted to refuse, he couldn’t. Finally, he relented, and when he agreed to her plan, her response made it almost worth the trouble.

“You’re my hero,” she said, her voice trembling.

He groaned inwardly as he considered all the pesky consequences from doing a good deed. The livery barn would gripe about the extra days with the stagecoach and mules. He’d have to put off other jobs and cancel a trip to see Rachel and Charlie. The entire ordeal had all the signs of being a disaster. Patrick Barrington would not be happy to see his sister and would blame him for bringing her. That part was the thing he cared least about, but still, it was a consideration.

Despite all the very good reasons for keeping out of her affairs, he felt pleased to have a little more time with the girl. He enjoyed talking with her. He liked the playful banter. Heck, he liked the sound of her voice. What was wrong with him, he wondered. He suppressed a wry grin. Maybe he was coming down with something.

An hour outside of Camp Macintyre, they came to the Rio Calderon. The stream, usually a gentle stream, roared past. The area upstream must have received a lot of rainfall. Justin gritted his teeth and stared at the muddy, churning water. It was a good five feet higher than usual, and twice as wide. There was no way to cross, of course. The only thing to do was to wait and see.

Dawson City lay fifteen miles on the other side of the river. A day’s drive. He watched the river thunder past. He walked along the bank and studied the water, searching for wreckage from upstream. The flooded river carried very little in the way of debris, leading him to believe the river had crested and would recede overnight. He didn’t know, of course, but he based the notion on a gut feeling and what he saw. He’d heard a little about rainfall in other parts, but that had been a day or so ago.

He returned to the stagecoach. “We’ll have to camp overnight.”

“Overnight?” she asked, her voice edged with alarm. “Here?”

“The mules can’t cross until the river goes down.”

He turned the stage around and searched for a good spot to camp. He found a clearing in the midst of an oak grove and unhitched the stage. The sun lowered in the sky as he picketed the mules. Winnie cast him apologetic and slightly nervous looks as she gathered kindling for a fire.

He made a fire as the sun went down. The campfire crackled, a sound that usually cheered him. A blaze at dusk always marked the final, peaceful spell at the end of a long, hard day. He should be crawling into his bedroll and bedding down. Instead, he was listening to Winnie carry on about whatever thought entered her head while they ate a little of the provisions from the basket.

She was more skittish by the minute. That’s why she chattered so.

Dusk gave way to night. The stars twinkled above. In the distance, a lone coyote yipped. Another coyote offered an answering call. He thought she might comment about the coyotes, but she didn’t. It wasn’t the untamed lands that frightened her. She seemed to be more concerned that she was alone, in the wilderness, with him. He made plenty of people nervous. He knew that. It was the reason his work as a courier and bounty hunter earned him triple what other men earned.

After they ate, she sat on his bedroll, arms wrapped around her knees and prattled on about her music, then her brother’s hard work. She added a few mentions of how kind he was to help her and then she’d start all over again.

“My brother won’t be pleased at first, but after I explain my idea for teaching music to children along with Ernst and Hilda, I’m sure he’ll see it’s a fine idea.”

Justin leaned against a tree on the other side of the fire. “Ernst and Hilda?”

“The couple that traveled with me. The Shiffers. Ernst has been my violin instructor since I was a child. Hilda is his wife and she’s… well, she’s the only mother I’ve ever known. They took me in when I finished school since Patrick was far too busy, what with his important work with the cavalry.”

“When I take you to him tomorrow, he might object to the fact that you and I spent the night together. Alone. Am I right?”

Averting her eyes, she didn’t respond right away. When she spoke, her tone was soft, tentative. “It will be fine. He doesn’t concern himself too much with my life.”

Justin couldn’t hold back the low rumble that rolled across his chest. Her brother didn’t concern himself, that much was clear. And that was the problem. Justin recalled the way the man fussed about his new uniform. Patrick was too interested in his own illustrious career to give much thought to his sister. If he had really bartered her off to Horace, the man was more despicable than Justin had imagined.

She yawned and lowered to rest her had on the bedroll. “My word, I’m tired tonight. Isn’t the fire lovely? I like watching the sparks rise skyward. And the embers glowing in the dark are magical, wouldn’t you agree? Where will you sleep?”

“Over on this side,” he said. “A respectable distance from you so your brother doesn’t shoot me.”

She gave him a shy smile as she pulled the blanket over her shoulders. With a deep sigh, she closed her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Justin. I know you’d rather not be encumbered with this task. I’m very grateful.”

“It’s no trouble, Winifred.”

Her eyes flew open. She frowned. “I go by Winnie.”

Justin suppressed a smile. Something about teasing her pleased him more than it ought to. “You’ve never gone by the name of Fred?”

Pursing her lips, she closed her eyes and drew a deep sigh. “I appreciate your help but I’m not sure if you’re a nice man.”

“Well, I like you all right,” he replied with a playful tone. “Fred.”

Her brow knit. A silent rebuke to his teasing. She sighed softly. Her features softened as sleep came for her. A few moments later her breathing was even and deep. He smiled as he watched her drift off to sleep. How could Patrick Barrington leave this sweet girl to fend for herself? She was innocent, kind-hearted, and wanted to help children. She had no business out here in the wilds of Texas with the likes of men like him. He’d keep her safe, of course, but if anyone knew he’d spent an unchaperoned night with a girl like Winnie, they’d assume the worst.

He left her to check on the mules one last time. They dozed in the moonlight. The stagecoach sat, unhitched, the paint gleaming under the rays of the moon. In the distance, the river rumbled past. Tomorrow they’d set off, he and Winnie, seeking her brother at some far-flung military encampment. If everything went well, the brother would give Winnie her inheritance and she’d carry on with her well-ordered life. She’d live with the German couple and teach music.

A wave of protectiveness came over him. What if Colonel Barrington demanded he leave Winnie with him? Justin knew he wouldn’t allow it. For some reason, he felt bound to care for her, to help her get what she wanted. Why that was, he couldn’t imagine. He patted one of the mules and wondered why he concerned himself with the affairs of a girl he hardly knew.

There was something about her.

She was fancy, and fussy, and a whole lot of trouble. Who in the world brought their violin to a rough-and-tumble military camp? But she was sweet, and sassy and kind-hearted. She smelled like spring flowers and summer sunshine. She was so pretty he found himself staring at times, probably looking like some lovesick boy. He was too stubborn and too jaded to stare at a pretty young girl and wonder if she’d ever been kissed.

With a heavy sigh, he returned to the campfire and bedded down, a respectable distance from Winnie.

Chapter Thirteen

Winnie

In the darkness and cold, she awoke with a start, crying out with terror. She shook beneath her blanket. The terrible dream vanished, but she panted with fright, clutching the edge of her blanket. Someone crouched near her. A man, his body silhouetted against the dying firelight.

“It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “It’s me, Justin. You were having a bad dream. You were crying.”

She wiped her face only to discover her cheeks were wet from tears. Slowly she realized where she was, lying on a bedroll, near a campfire. Justin… he was here beside her.

“You had a nightmare,” he said.

“I suppose. I don’t recall very much of it.”

Shame burned inside her as she wondered if she’d made a fool of herself. “I’m so sorry to trouble you, Justin. This happens to me every so often. You must think I’m...”

Her words drifted off. She wasn’t certain how to finish the sentence, her thoughts whirled with fear and embarrassment. A new thought dawned in her mind, the certainty that he would stay with her until her fears faded. To her surprise, she felt relieved and comforted by his presence. He loomed over her, large and imposing. She felt sheltered. His powerful shoulders, a broad shadow against the starlit sky, made her feel protected and safe.

“I woke you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“S’all right. I get bad dreams too, every so often,” Justin said quietly. “Whenever I go home, I dream about my father.”

Winnie held her breath, wondering. The silence stretched between them. He was no more than an arm’s length from her. He crouched beside her bed and she should insist he remove himself, but she remained quiet and still.

Justin drew a deep breath. “My father drowned when I was a boy. The memories come back when I return to my family homestead.”

Her heart quaked. His voice sounded soft with an edge of melancholy that made her eyes sting. She could imagine what it took from him to reveal that to her. She reached, found his hand and held it in hers. Never before had she held a man’s hand. His hand felt warm and strong and comforting. The work-toughened skin felt rough against hers, and yet, the sensation was so very agreeable. She didn’t want to draw away and relished the way his broad hand enveloped her smaller hand.

He wrapped his fingers around hers and gave her a gentle squeeze. “We all have broken parts. Don’t we?”

“I suppose we do,” she said. “If we didn’t, we might not lean on the Lord.”

She cringed, a pang of guilt twisting inside her. The Lord might not look kindly on her sharing such an intimate moment with a man who wasn’t her husband or family. She hoped He would forgive her. Justin’s attention didn’t feel untoward. If anything, his words and actions were kind and tender.

“That’s right. Our pain can draw us closer to Him.” He stroked his thumb across the top of her hand and with a sigh, set her hand on the blanket. “It will be dawn soon. Maybe another hour. You ought to rest a bit more.”

She couldn’t imagine falling back to sleep. She fretted. What if she had another bad dream and made an absurd display? Her chest filled with cold dread. She trembled beneath the blanket. Hopefully, he couldn’t see her distress. He circled the fire and looked back and frowned, clearly noting her anguish.

“I’ll be on the other side of the fire, Winnie,” he said gently. “I’ll watch over you.”

A small murmur of surprise spilled from her lips. “I’ve never had someone to watch over me.”

“You do tonight.”

His words stole her breath clean away. She’d never imagined Justin could say such kind and tender things as the sweet sentiments he’d spoken solely to comfort her. A blush warmed her face, making her grateful for the partial cover of night. He tossed a log onto the fire and returned to his bedroll. He sat on the blankets. The firelight cast shadows over his face. He gazed into the fire with a pensive expression and she wondered what he thought about.

He didn’t have a wife, but did he have a girl? And did memories of his girl steal into his thoughts? Winnie pushed the idea aside. It was none of her concern. Justin offered his help probably because he felt sorry for her. He’d comforted her after she’d awoken frightened from a silly dream. He was kind man. A good man. But he wasn’t a man who wanted a woman in his life. If he had a girl, it wouldn’t be for long and it certainly wasn’t for her to question or dwell upon the notion of his romantic affairs.

She closed her eyes and forced her thoughts away from the man sitting on the other side of the fire. She dozed off, slept without dreaming and woke as dawn lightened the eastern sky. She sought him out at once. When she spied him by the river, she felt a warmth spread through her, a sort of comfort she’d never known.

Turning on her side, she tugged the blanket over her shoulder and watched him. He stood at the riverbank and studied the water. The river had receded. They would, most likely, be able to cross which meant they would leave their small camp. Soon. Probably within the hour.

Her heart sank. Why that was, she couldn’t say. The small camp they’d made at the river’s edge was rough and primitive. They were running out of food. She’d love nothing better than a bath. And yet, she knew she would miss the quiet moments she’d shared with Justin. What would happen when she met with Patrick was something she couldn’t begin to fathom.

Justin approached their camp, returning from the river. When he spied her still in her bedroll, his mouth curved into a smile. “The water’s down. You’re in luck, Fred.”

He hadn’t wasted any time in returning to his impossible teasing. She tried not to smile at him, failing miserably. He noticed and chuckled. She put her boots on and fixed her hair as best she could, but she had the distinct impression Justin was ready to go. That she should hurry. She was grateful he made no mention of her bad dreams. She hated to think he might consider her childish. As she tidied her bedroll, he said nothing of the dreams, and yet he seemed to treat her differently.

When he helped her aboard the stagecoach, his hands sent a warmth across her skin. As they drove, he glanced at her a time or two, a smile playing on his lips. She began to wonder if he might tease about her dreams after all.

“What’s so funny?” she asked tentatively.

“Your brother’s going to have something to say about you and me camping out together. It isn’t proper. I’d be mad as heck if some fella camped out with my sister.”

She was relieved he hadn’t mentioned her outburst. “Does your sister like camping?”

“I do. Quit changing the subject.”

“I want to know more about your sister, that’s all. Tell me all about Rachel.”

“She’s twelve years older than me. She has three sons. The youngest is Charlie. Anything else?”

“No. Nothing else. Just that I always wanted a sister.”

He grumbled as if having a sister was some sort of terrible burden, but she could tell his complaining was for show. His eyes held a glint of humor. A wistful smile played upon his lips.

“You love your sister,” Winnie said. “You just don’t like to talk about it. You love Charlie too.”

He shrugged, his mouth curving into a smile. “She’s not near as bad as my brothers. I will say that about her.”

His expression sobered and he grew quiet.

“What is it?” Winnie asked.

He gave her a puzzled look. “What is what?”

“Something about your voice,” Winnie said. “You’re concerned about Rachel, aren’t you?”

He drew a deep sigh. “I suppose I am. She’s widowed. Lonesome. Trying to do her best to raise her boys without a father around.” A heaviness fell over his features. “I ought to go back more often than I do.”

She couldn’t think of how to respond. She’d only had one sibling and Patrick never had time for her. Her heart hurt for Justin’s sister who probably missed him terribly. Her heart hurt for Justin too. He seemed very close to his sister and that endeared him to her.

“What does your sister think of your work as a gunman?”

“She doesn’t care for it. Most of the time I’m guarding payroll. That job’s a little easier than bounty hunting.”

“You just ran into trouble just yesterday.”

“Money knows how to stay put. It just sits there. Everyone wants it, but it’s not going to run off, act foolish or lie.” He gave a lopsided grin. “Money’s easy. People are hard.”

His amusement brought a smile to her lips. “You certainly carry a lot of ammunition.” She eyed his bandoliers and gun belt. Between the three, he probably carried a hundred bullets. It made her feel a little nervous around him. Despite her fretfulness, she couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Is it because you’re not a very good shot?”

His eyes flashed.

“My goodness, Justin. I’m sorry to mention it. Trust me, I won’t breathe a word. The secret of your poor marksmanship is safe with me.” She pretended to button her lips.

He narrowed his eyes and sighed. “Sassy girl,” he muttered.

She patted his arm. “I’m sure it’s very difficult. With your hands shaking. Gut-wrenching nervousness and whatnot. Why, I get nervous when I play my violin in front of large groups. Nothing to be ashamed about.”

He didn’t reply immediately. They drove a short while in amiable silence. She considered that after he washed his hands of her, he would return to his work. Her throat felt tight. Just yesterday a man had wanted to shoot Justin. It was too terrible to imagine. Patrick liked to talk about the danger surrounding his work, but somehow, she doubted him. Justin, on the other hand, seemed to live and breathe danger.

She spoke quietly. “Of course, I hate to think of what it is you actually do. It sounds perilous. I shouldn’t make light of it.”

They came upon a rise in the road. The breeze blew across the land. The mule’s hooves sent a swirl of dust in the air. Her heart felt as heavy as cinderblock and she wished she hadn’t teased him about shooting guns or missing his target.

“I don’t care for violence.” His voice was gruff. “I only draw my gun to protect others or myself.”

The hard edge of his voice sent a flutter across her senses. The notion of him being drawn into a gunfight threaded more worry around her heart, but his tone reminded her that he was hired to wield a gun. He might joke and tease, but there was another side to him that was hard. Unforgiving. To her surprise and dismay, she was drawn to him. She wanted to know more about both sides of him.

“We’ve got another river to cross,” he said.

They drove closer to the river. The sound of the water grew louder. From where she sat, the water looked fast, but not terribly deep. Still, a flicker of alarm sparked inside her. Justin was at ease, relaxed, as if driving a stagecoach across a river was a thing of no importance.

The wheels splashed as they entered the water. Winnie held her breath. The mules plodded on, indifferent to the water swirling around them.

Halfway across the water, Justin turned and gave her a pointed look. “Don’t mention anything about us spending the night alone, Winnie. Not unless he asks.”

“Of course not,” she said. A prickle of unease washed over her. Once they passed the raging river, she’d have another obstacle to contend with, her brother. “Patrick doesn’t approve of anything I do. I don’t need to give him more to complain about.”

Justin shook his head. When he disapproved of something, he looked rather fearsome, Winnie decided. She’d need to be certain that Justin and Patrick didn’t spend too much time together. It might not go well at all.

They crossed the middle of the stream. The wagon lurched to one side. Winnie grabbed Justin’s arm and held on to him tightly. He snapped the reins as he shouted encouragement to the mules. The mules forged on. They seemed entirely unconcerned about the rushing water. When they reached the far side of the river, the team strained against the harnesses to pull the wagon across the muddy embankment.

He drove the team onto the road but stopped them a moment later. Setting the brake, he grimaced. “I need to check something.”

He climbed down and circled the wagon. She waited for him to return, flinching when she heard him mutter angry words. Merciful heavens, what now? When he climbed back up, his brow was knit with frustration.

“The axle has a crack. It’ll hold for now, but we’ll need to get it repaired in Dawson City.”

A broken axle. She didn’t know much about stagecoaches or wagons. The world she knew revolved around music and art, nothing practical like wagon axles. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for all the trouble he was going through.

“With luck we’ll get it taken care of in Dawson City,” he said. “Might need to charge you for the axle, Fred.”

He regarded her with an appraising look. She couldn’t tell if he was taunting her. He was a horrible tease, she decided, when she saw the edge of his mouth quirk.

“I don’t actually have any money right now,” she said primly. “But I will when I come of age.”

“Unless Horace takes it all.”

“You’re impossible, Justin. Teasing me right when I’m about to meet my brother and find out if he’s sold me off.”

“Don’t you worry. I won’t let anyone sell you off.”

She turned away and ignored him. Soon enough she’d see her brother and clear up this misunderstanding. She’d do her best to make arrangements to pay for the axle and compensate Justin for his help. With a flurry of dismay, she realized they hadn’t agreed to his fee. Without looking, she was certain he wore a smirk. She resolved to ask him about his price later when he wasn’t in a teasing mood.

Chapter Fourteen

Justin

When they arrived in Dawson City, Justin went straight to the wagonwright. The shop’s foreman told him he’d get to the stagecoach axle as quickly as he could, but the earliest would be the next morning. His workers unhitched the mules and took them to a corral where they were fed and watered.

Justin unloaded his belongings and Winnie’s as well. The two of them crossed the street to the Dawson City Hotel, the only hotel in town. He ordered a room for himself. He assumed Patrick would tend to Winnie’s accommodations, but he wasn’t sure. He considered ordering another room but decided against it. It would be untoward. An unmarried woman couldn’t have her room paid for by a man, not unless the man were her father or brother.

Worry tugged at his thoughts. He didn’t want Winnie left without some sort of arrangement. “Is Patrick Barrington staying at the hotel?”

The clerk shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Check your guest book. I know he’s in town, visiting with company. I’m sure they must be here.”

The clerk glanced past him and eyed Winnie. “Unless they’re staying at Miss Sally’s boarding house.”

“The saloon?” Justin asked. “With the gambling and the ladies?”

“Not too many folks refer to them as ladies.”

Justin muttered under his breath. How would he explain that to Winnie? She might be perturbed with her brother, but likely didn’t imagine he frequented houses of ill repute.

He paid for his room, tucked the keys in his pocket and turned to face her. “The hotel has a tea room. Would you like to eat a bite while I track down your brother?”

“I’d like to go with you.”

“You’re not coming. I need to search in one of the local establishments that is no place for a lady.”

Her lips parted and then closed as her eyes widened with alarm. “You’re mistaken.” She swallowed hard and then added, “I’m certain.”

The fear in her eyes told him that she wasn’t certain at all. He felt a wave of sympathy for her. He sensed her shame about her brother and wished he could spare her.

“Maybe,” he said, trying to sound amenable. “Just the same, I’d like you to stay here.” Noting the determined look in her eye, he added, “the sooner you agree, the sooner I can try to find him.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but she relented. He had their belongings taken to his room. He followed the porter and left his guns with his bag. He wouldn’t be allowed to take them into the saloon. It was a fact that didn’t sit well with him, but he would allow it for Winnie’s sake. After he left his room, he returned downstairs to find Winnie waiting. He ushered her to the restaurant, got her situated at a table overlooking the gardens and set out for the saloon.

He’d never been inside Miss Sally’s, but he’d heard plenty about the saloon. People traveled from far and wide to visit, and it was likely Patrick had come to this town for the sole purpose of entertaining one of his superiors at Miss Sally’s.

Music spilled from the saloon doors as he drew nearer. Shouting filled the air, making him wonder if there was a brawl unfolding inside. It wouldn’t surprise him too much. Probably some gamblers squabbling over a bet. He pushed inside the doors and found that the shouting came from the bartender and a customer. They argued about the price of whiskey. Justin ignored them, gritting his teeth, and scanned the room for Patrick.

He didn’t find him right off. Over the course of the next half hour, he roamed the downstairs rooms of the saloon. The place was noisy, lively. Even the back courtyard where he found men gathered at tables, drinking and talking about business, everything from railroads to cattle drives. He wandered back into the main saloon. This time he found what he was looking for. Winnie’s brother sat in the corner, with one of Miss Sally’s girls on his knee.

At the table were two other men in uniform and a heavyset man in civilian dress. Patrick’s face brightened when he saw Justin. He motioned him over.

“Hello, there, Mr. Prescott! I’d forgotten you were coming to the camp for an important delivery. Everything went well, I presume?”

“I need a word with you, outside.”

“Something about the payroll?”

“The payroll was delivered without a problem.”

“Well, then, sit and have a drink with us. This is Major Bevins, Colonel Johnstone and my friend Horace Baggenstoss.”

Justin jerked his head around. He studied the man Patrick had just introduced. So, this was the man who wanted to blackmail his way to getting Winnie’s hand in marriage? Hot anger surged through him. He imagined tossing the man off his chair. He would have liked to explain, in no uncertain terms, how Winnie was far, far too good for the likes of him. Horace must have felt the same about him, judging from the scowl on his face.

“I don’t care to have a drink,” Justin growled.

“I’ve heard about you,” Horace said, his words slurred. “The colonel mentioned you, noting your accomplishments with admiration. It sounded to me like you’re nothing more than a hired gun. And yet, you’re too good to sit with us?”

The other two men at the table regarded him with suspicion. Justin could see from their glassy eyes, they’d been drinking too.

“Why are you so standoffish?” Patrick asked. “I can tell you’re a man of substance, but when we met a few weeks ago, you acted all uppity. Like you couldn’t wait to get away. Men like us should consort. C’mon now. Sit a spell. Then you can tell me what’s on your mind.” He smiled, a greasy grin and gestured to their surroundings. “Maybe you’ll see something that catches your eye.”

The girl sitting on his knee giggled. “You’re so smart. No wonder you’re a general.”

Patrick frowned. “Not yet, sweetheart. By and by.”

Justin wished he could simply talk things out with Patrick. The moment he’d stepped into the saloon, he realized he wouldn’t ever allow Winnie to depend on her brother. Patrick was no good. Horace was worse.

A woman approached the table. She was older than the other women, heavily rouged and powdered. Justin assumed she was Miss Sally.

“You boys are going to have to leave. All of you.”

“What are you talking about, Sally?” Patrick snapped. He shoved the girl from his knee and stood up to face the woman. “I’m one of your best customers.”

“Your friend, the chubby one, threatened to strike my girls. He told her if she didn’t charge him less, he’d backhand her.”

Horace reddened. His lips twisted with anger. “I shoulda backhanded the little-”

“Shut your mouth,” Sally hissed. “Or I’ll show you the back of my hand, you fat little turd.”

Horace roared with anger and lunged towards the woman, forgetting about the table between them. His considerable weight made the table wobble. The bottle of spirits tipped over. The major reached for it but missed. The bottle fell to the floor and shattered. The girl who had been sitting on Patrick’s knee darted away.

“Hey,” Patrick called. “I didn’t catch your name, darling.”

“And you won’t,” Sally huffed. “Because you’re leaving. The sheriff’s waiting for you outside.” She turned her furious gaze on Justin. “Every single one of you.”

Justin held up his hands. “Hold up a minute there, ma’am.”

“Nobody ma’am’s me! Everybody out,” Miss Sally screeched.

Justin groaned and muttered as he turned for the door. “This is what happens when I try to do a good deed. This is exactly what happens.”

The group shuffled out of the saloon, Justin leading the way. When he pushed through the swinging doors, the sheriff and his deputies greeted him, all of them wearing wide smiles. Justin rubbed his jaw, grimacing, knowing full well that the sheriff would assume the entire lot of them was guilty. Winnie would be left alone. At least she was safe in the hotel. Hopefully, she’d find her way to his room.

“Well, boys,” said the sheriff. “We’d like to show you some Dawson City hospitality.” He pointed to a squat building across the street. A painted sign above the doorway said Dawson City Jail.

“Sheriff, I just came here to talk to one of these fellas,” Justin said.

The sheriff grinned and nodded. “You can try that story with your missus. She might buy your tall tale, but it won’t fly with me.”

Justin heaved a deep sigh. “I figured as much.”

“Good try, though,” the sheriff said with a grin. “Ain’t never heard that one before, have we, boys?”

The deputies chuckled. They walked unhurriedly, guns drawn, and escorted Justin along with the other three men across the street to the jail. Justin shook his head, scrubbed his hand down his face as he gave a bitter laugh and muttered, “Unbelievable.”

Chapter Fifteen

Winnie

The food at the hotel was delicious. Maybe it was because she hadn’t eaten a proper meal since she’d left Granite Shoals with the Schiffers. She indulged herself, ordering soup, a main course and not one, but two desserts. The afternoon wore on and she felt awkward sitting in the dining room by herself. With almost no money in her wallet, she felt even more awkward when she realized she needed to sign Justin’s name to the bill. She’d repay him, of course. That’s what she told herself as she went to the front desk.

The clerk looked up from his desk. “Your husband’s not back yet?”

She laughed nervously. “Well, you see-”

“And he took the only key, I’ll bet.” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure I have an extra key here. I can show you to your room so that you can rest and wait for him.”

She bit her lip, guilt resonating deep in her conscience. There was no doubt in her mind that she should speak up and correct the young man. Justin wasn’t her husband. The words rang in her mind but that didn’t mean they were forthcoming from her lips. No, she kept her lips buttoned. The notion of resting, even for a short spell, held such strong appeal that she said nothing. It was wicked, but she was suddenly bone tired.

The young man took her to the room on the second floor, unlocked the door, pushed it open and with a slight bow, handed her the key. She entered the room, feeling very much like a thief in the night.

“I hope you enjoy your stay, Mrs. Prescott,” he said from the doorway.

“Oh, yes. Well, it’s fine. It’s lovely. Thank you.”

He smiled, offered another half-bow and shut the door behind himself.

Alone in the room, Winnie felt even more like an imposter. This was his room. She had no business here. Justin had gotten a rather fancy room, she noted, looking around. It surprised her, to be sure. She couldn’t imagine a rough sort of man like Justin would seek out creature comforts. He was a gunslinger, after all. A man who made his way in the world with violence, or the threat of violence.

The room had a balcony and large windows that filled the space with sunlight. The four-poster, canopied bed dominated the room. Tables flanked each side.

This was his room, and she stood in the middle of it. What would Hilda say to this? She let out a long sigh and crossed to the windows.

Where was he? Why was he taking so long?

The town appeared quiet. Her eye was drawn to a commotion. It unfolded a block away. The sheriff herded a band of misfits into the jail. Degenerates, most likely. She squinted, her curiosity getting the better of her, but she couldn’t make out the details of the criminals. She couldn’t see the men, and yet the notion that the sheriff would round up the wrong-doers put her mind at ease.

She let out a sigh and crossed the room to the luggage. Justin’s satchel sat beside her violin. She knelt down and ran her hand over the strap. She tugged it free. His coat lay on top of his other possessions. She lifted it and sniffed the fabric. The scent made her smile. Justin had a masculine, woodsy scent about him and just a little sniff flooded her mind with thoughts of him.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered as she tucked the coat back into the satchel.

She rose, forcing herself to get some distance from Justin’s belongings. It wasn’t right to rifle through a man’s things. She was already intruding into his room, posing as his wife. She wouldn’t make thing worse by snooping through his belongings.

Instead, she went to the bed, sat on the edge and took off her boots. A wave of exhaustion overtook her as she sank back to the pillow. In her heart, she knew it wasn’t right to enter a man’s hotel room and take a nap on his bed. She’d been raised to be a lady, and the Schiffers, especially Hilda, liked to emphasize this point. But she was tired. So tired. And surely a short nap wouldn’t hurt.

Chapter Sixteen

Justin

As much as he tried to reason with the sheriff and his deputy, Justin made no headway. They hauled him off to the jail along with the others. He was pushed into a cell and could do nothing as the lawmen swung the door shut with a jarring clang. The sun sank behind the horizon and Justin knew he was going to spend his supper hour behind bars. Perhaps even the whole night.

The only consolation was that Patrick and his cohorts would be locked up too, which meant Winnie would be safe at the hotel. He prayed she’d found her way to the room he’d paid for.

With an irritable grumble, he settled on the cot. The others milled about drunkenly in the cells next door. The more he listened to Patrick, and especially Horace, the more he felt certain that he needed to keep Winnie far from the uncouth men. They embodied everything he despised.

Especially Horace.

Justin listened to the man carry on about the women at Miss Sally’s, and women in general, none of it particularly flattering to the fairer sex. Justin could hardly fathom why Patrick would consider letting this foul-mouthed man anywhere near Winnie. If Justin hadn’t been stuck in a jail cell, he might have taught Horace a lesson or two. As it was, he had to suffer the man’s foolishness from the other side of iron bars.

The warden served the men a dinner of beef and biscuits. He told them that the judge had decided they would spend the night in the jail and be released in the morning. Justin could hardly believe what he was hearing. He paced his cell, wondering and worrying. He debated telling the warden to send someone to check on Winnie but decided against it. He didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that a single, young woman was staying at the hotel.

The men in the other cells dropped off to sleep. The jail grew quiet. Even the warden snored, slumped in his chair. Justin finally gave in to the need to close his eyes. He pushed his concerns about Winnie aside and rested on the hard, wooden cot. The night stretched endlessly. He slept in fits and starts. Just before dawn, he awoke. With a groan, he rose, and crossed the cell as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Good morning,” the sheriff said, with a cheerful grin.

“If you say so,” Justin muttered.

The sheriff came to the cell’s door, a ring of keys jangling in his hand. “Your friends left an hour ago.”

Justin squinted. “How come they got out early?”

The sheriff pulled a pocket watch out, rubbed it on his shirt and showed it to Justin. “Always wanted a pocket watch. The fat one told me it was mine if I’d spring them before breakfast. I suppose they didn’t care for the grub we serve. Imagine that?”

“Go figure,” Justin ground out.

The sheriff unlocked the door and let it swing open. “Maybe your friends kept you a seat at the table.”

“They’re not my friends. And I don’t care to eat breakfast at the saloon.”

The sheriff laughed. “The saloon? Miss Sally doesn’t serve breakfast. Those girls won’t be up before mid-afternoon.”

Justin left the cell and stopped at the jail’s front door. “Where do you suppose they got a bite to eat at this time of the day? It’s not even daybreak.”

The sheriff scratched his head and pondered.

A wave of unease washed over Justin. His pulse quickened. Without waiting for a response, he turned and hurried out of the jail. He was halfway across the street when the sheriff yelled from the doorway.

“There’s only one place they might a gone for breakfast. The Dawson City Hotel.”

Chapter Seventeen

Winnie

Sitting up in bed, she looked around, wondering where she was. Slowly, it dawned on her. She was in the Dawson City Hotel. In Justin’s hotel room. Sleeping in his bed. She jumped off the bed, scrambling to the other side of the bedroom as if the bed was a nest of hissing vipers. Did vipers hiss? Who knew? What mattered was that she had no business in the hotel room, or the bed, of a gunslinger.

She glanced around the room, noting his baggage and guns. Dawn lit the sky. The slow, shocking realization came over her. Justin hadn’t come back all night. Or had he? Perhaps he’d come into the room and found her sleeping on his bed.

Taking a few moments to make herself presentable, she fretted about the notion of him finding her in such a compromising position. What must he think? She summoned her courage and went downstairs. The aroma of bacon and freshly baked biscuits wafted through the air. Her stomach grumbled.

The clerk looked up and smiled at her. “Mrs. Prescott. Will you be joining us for breakfast this morning?”

She flinched at the sound of the name that wasn’t hers, but only slightly. It was a lie. Yesterday, the lie had pained her. Today, she found she wasn’t nearly so troubled. “Breakfast sounds delightful,” she replied. “But first, I must ask if Mr. Prescott has returned.”

“No, ma’am. I haven’t seen him.”

“Perhaps he got delayed.”

“Shall I tell him you’re in the dining room if I see him?”

“Yes, thank you. I don’t believe I’ll wait on him.” She gave an awkward smile. “I admit I’m famished.”

With that she went to the dining room where she’d had tea the afternoon before. The meal had been lovely, sandwiches and cakes, peaches and cream. She’d fallen asleep soon after and slept through the dinner hour. Waiters bustled back and forth, carrying plates heaped with ham and eggs. Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled.

“Winifred?”

She turned the direction of the person calling her name. Her brother sat at a table on the other side of the room, gaping at her.

“Patrick!” she exclaimed. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

Her brother stared, thunderstruck as she crossed the room. He sat alone, but it was clear from the scraps on the neighboring plates, he’d dined with others.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

A waiter came to the table to clear the plates and cups. Winnie ordered a cup of tea and two eggs over-easy. Patrick regarded her as if she’d sprouted a second head.

“You look a sight. You’re very lucky you didn’t come five minutes earlier.” Patrick seethed.

Winnie narrowed her eyes. “Speak for yourself. You don’t exactly look like a freshly picked daisy. I’ve never seen such a rumpled uniform. What did you do?” She snorted. “Sleep in it?”

Patrick didn’t reply. His face reddened.

“Why would I care who was here five minutes ago?” she asked.

The waiter brought a cup of tea. She dropped two lumps of sugar in the steaming brew and added a splash of milk. Patrick watched and wrinkled his nose. Hilda liked to take her tea with milk and sugar. It never failed to irritate Patrick for some reason. He knew she’d picked the habit up from the German woman.

Winnie sipped her tea and arched her brow. Resentment simmered inside her. Patrick hadn’t bothered to reply to her letter, and yet had the nerve to fuss at her when she finally tracked him down.

“You were saying,” she said. “Who was here five minutes ago?”

Patrick straightened and tugged his jacket. He gave her an imperious look, the one he likely used on his men. He always seemed to think he could order her around like one of his underlings. She lifted her chin a notch to show that she wouldn’t be bullied.

“Horace Baggenstoss.” A smug smile curved his lips. “Your fiancé.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Winnie hissed. “I won’t be bartered off.”

“Of course not. Horace intends to court you and woo you.”

“I want nothing to do with him.”

Patrick shrugged, trying to look indifferent, but his face reddened with anger. “Fine. But you’ll have to break off the engagement in person, if you want your inheritance.”

Winnie tried to tamp down her anger. Break off her engagement in person. She hardly thought so. Not without Justin going with her. That, of course, would never happen. She couldn’t ask anything more of Justin, but she knew she would not meet Horace face to face. Never again.

“More tea, Mrs. Prescott?” the waiter asked.

“Lovely, thank you.”

Under other circumstances, Winnie would have waited for the waiter to leave before she continued arguing with her brother, but she was far too indignant to remember her good manners.

“I don’t follow orders, Patrick.”

His eyes bulged as he looked at the waiter and then to her. She wasn’t certain why the waiter offended her brother, but she didn’t care to ask. Let him be as angry as a hive of hornets. She wasn’t a child anymore.

“I have my own plans,” she said, her tone icy. “I intend to teach music. The Schiffers will help me.”

The waiter left. Patrick’s lips twisted into a snarl. Winnie couldn’t imagine why he’d suddenly grown so furious. She’d expected a strong reaction, but this was much more than what she would have predicted.

Patrick leaned forward, curled his fingers into a tight fist and spoke in a low, dangerous voice. “What did that fool just call you?”

Chapter Eighteen

Justin

Stalking back and forth in his hotel room, Justin searched for a sign of Winnie. It was clear she’d slept on his bed because the blankets were rumpled. He moved the bed and ran his fingers over the pillow. It still had a small depression where she’d laid her head. Under other circumstances, he might have smiled at the thought, but worry twisted inside him.

His hands shook as a new emotion took hold. What if Patrick and Horace had found her and taken her? His apprehension faded and anger spiraled. Winnie didn’t belong to those men. She was gentle and good-hearted. She was sassy, to be sure, but he had the feeling she only indulged in that sort of thing with him. She enjoyed teasing him, and he enjoyed teasing her back.

Horace wouldn’t tolerate that sort of behavior in a woman. Miss Sally had asserted that he’d threatened to backhand one of the saloon girls. The thought made Justin sick.

His desperation grew. None of her belongings were missing. He spied her violin sitting on a chair in the corner. For some reason the sight of her instrument comforted him. She wouldn’t leave her violin behind. Surely. He knelt beside the chair. With a gentle touch, he let his fingers trail down the leather case, running over the stitching and taking in the subtle curves of the music piece.

“Winnie,” he whispered. “Where are you, sweetheart?” His heart thudded heavily. “Dear God, keep her safe.”

She was gone. A gut feeling came over him. She was no longer in Dawson City. He got to his feet and scrubbed his jaw thoughtfully. He needed to push his worry aside and think like a gunman going after an outlaw. Patrick might have taken her home or to Camp Macintyre. Either way, he would have needed to hire a buggy to take her.

He left, locking the door behind him and went downstairs.

The clerk looked alarmed when he saw Justin. His face paled and he retreated a few steps from the front desk. A stack of ledgers toppled to the floor, thudding heavily on the floorboards. Justin could tell the young man had information about Winnie.

“Have you seen the woman who came with me?” Justin asked, trying not to look too menacing.

The young man nodded. “Mrs. Prescott left a quarter hour ago.”

Justin didn’t bother to correct the young man. If the youth wanted to think that Winnie was his wife, so much the better.

“Do you know where she went?” he ground out.

“She left with a m-man.”

“A short man in a military uniform?” he demanded. Hotel guests turned to look at him. They stared. He heard their frightened whispers.

“She said the man was her brother.” The young man shrank back, drawing his hands up in a defensive gesture. “They ordered a buggy from the livery. Mrs. Prescott didn’t take any of her things.” The young man offered a trembling smile. “M-maybe they’re coming right back.”

Justin shook his head and gritted his teeth. Patrick hadn’t taken Winnie for a Sunday drive. Justin had known men like Patrick, gamblers and carousers, men who would do anything to satisfy their appetites. Patrick had taken Winnie to sell her to Horace, or maybe someone else. Maybe someone worse than Horace.

Chapter Nineteen

Winnie

The tent smelled musty, like old socks, and the wind blew right through the threadbare fabric, chilling her to the bone. She shivered. If only she’d had a chance to retrieve her shawl from the room before Patrick had practically dragged her out of the hotel. He’d hired a buggy to take her to Camp Macintyre. They arrived mid-afternoon. Patrick had left her at the door of the shabby tent with the promise that he’d return for her within the hour. The hour had come and gone and still no Patrick.

She went to the door to find it guarded, not by one soldier as it had been earlier, but by three. Their eyes widened with surprise when they saw her.

“Miss, you need to stay inside.”

“I’d like to take a walk.” She lifted her chin and tried her best to assume a commanding air.

None of the soldiers seemed impressed. They gaped, staring indecently, but they didn’t step out of her way. She folded her arms, narrowed her eyes, but to no avail. Her efforts went without notice. The men muttered, two of them elbowed each other as they smirked.

“That’s enough,” the older fellow commanded.

“You cannot keep me cooped up. I’m not a prisoner.” She cringed inwardly as her tone wavered. As much as she wanted to escape her confines, the men’s rude stares had intimidated her. She was beginning to think strolling around Camp Macintyre would be a poor idea. She recalled how insistent Justin had been that she not spend time amongst the rough military men.

The soldier shrugged carelessly. “You are, in fact, a prisoner. Until the colonel comes back.”

“Why that’s absurd! An outrage. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Colonel Barrington says you’re his ward. You’ve behaved recklessly. He’s left you here for your protection while he carries out his duties. He promised to collect you for dinner.”

She recoiled. The soldier’s words struck her as a rebuke. Patrick had told them lies to justify his treatment of her. The smirks on their faces sparked a rush of emotions inside her, shock and humiliation, but even more, a burn of anger.

“Is that so?” she snapped. “Well, I’ll be ready. I’ve never been treated so shamefully in my life.”

None of them replied. They simply stood silently, letting their gaze roam over her. She burned with humiliation. Unable to endure another moment of their lewd scrutiny, she turned away, retreating into the tent.

Inside the tent, she paced and tried to fend off the tears that threatened to spill. Her eyes prickled. A sob welled deep in her chest. A wave of fury grew inside her. Any moment, she’d dissolve into a shameful, prolonged angry cry. Some girls cried beautifully. She was not one of them, especially when she wept out of anger.

If she dissolved into an angry cry, she’d make a fool of herself, humiliating herself further. Patrick would argue that she was a simple-minded woman who needed the guiding hand of a man.

Her thoughts went to Justin and the tender, protective way he treated her. Sometimes he poked fun at her. Calling her Fred just to rile her. Her anger faded. A sad smile tilted her lips.

Horrid man, she missed him terribly.

Her heart quaked inside her as she thought of him. It was too much to hope that he might come to her aid. She had already caused him a great deal of trouble. He owed her nothing. If anything, she owed him. He might even sell her precious violin to recoup some of his money.

She rubbed her temples. She couldn’t deny that she did miss Justin. Thinking about him had made her feel a deep anguish, but at least she wasn’t angry anymore. The threat of tears diminished. Feeling utterly dejected, she sat in the chair. A feeling of numbness came over her as she imagined living the life Patrick wanted for her. She felt hollow inside.

“Mrs. Horace Baggenstoss,” she whispered. “How ghastly.”

A movement at the door startled her from her thoughts. Patrick entered the tent, followed by several soldiers carrying dinner trays. They set the food on a table. An aroma filled the tent, but Winnie was too upset to notice. Glaring at Patrick, she waited until the men left before speaking.

“You tricked me into coming here.” She got to her feet and crossed the tent.

“Of course, I did.” Patrick sat at the table. “After I learned of your friendship with Justin Prescott, I had to take drastic actions.”

“Justin is a wonderful man.”

Patrick snorted. “Sit down. Eat. And then I’ll tell you about this wonderful man.”

“You won’t change my mind about him.” A rush of warmth came over her, stealing her breath. She set her hand on her breast and coaxed a breath into her lungs.

“Are you going to swoon,” Patrick sneered, “over a rogue like him?”

He looked at her with alarm, his linen napkin crumpled in his hand.

Winnie shook her head. She stumbled to the table and lowered to the chair. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Do you care for that man?” Patrick demanded.

“I do,” she said quietly.

“Winifred, that man is a scoundrel. I saw him backhand a saloon girl. Sent her sprawling with a bloody lip, poor dear. He’s an uncivilized and wild beast. He’s a loner. One look will tell you what sort of man he is.”

Winnie swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. Justin was head and shoulders taller than her. Broad-shouldered, powerfully built. If he ever struck a woman… well, it was too terrible to consider. “He didn’t hit a saloon girl. It’s not possible.”

“He’s probably abused a few. I hate to bring up something so indelicate, but he likes the sporting girls.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Patrick shook his head, shoved his napkin under his collar and set into his food like a feral dog. He cut a hunk of steak, shoved in his mouth and chewed angrily while staring at her. Winnie recoiled in shock. She’d never seen her brother act in such an uncouth manner. It had to be the primitive living conditions of the military camp that brought out his rough ways.

He swallowed and pointed his fork at her. “Fine, don’t believe me. But you should know that he’s a bounty hunter.”

“I know that.”

Patrick slammed his fist on the table. “He’s a killer.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“Everyone knows! Ask any lawman who brought down the Felton Gang. He killed Jesse and Vincent outright. Then he tracked Babyface for three days, beating him half to death before bringing him to face justice. He died two days later, swearing he was innocent. Never mind that with a name like that, the boy was probably scarcely more than a child.”

Winnie trembled, biting her lip. “He probably felt he was doing the right thing.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. He spoke in a falsetto, mocking her voice. “He probably felt he was doing the right thing.”

Oh, but he made her mad when he imitated her and repeated her words. Patrick was far older than her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stoop to childish ways. He knew she hated when he mocked her. She glared at him. “Really, Patrick, what are you? Four?”

He reddened. “Keep your voice down. Do you want my men to hear you say that?”

Suddenly she wanted to laugh. The entire day had been like a terrible dream, and yet here they were, brother and sister, squabbling as usual. She might be eight years younger than Patrick, but she could still provoke him just as easily as he provoked her.

“Maybe I do want them to hear,” she snapped. “Maybe I should tell them how mother and father had to make a rather large donation to your school, so they’d overlook your less-than-stellar grades.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Or how they wouldn’t allow you to have a dog because of how you mistreated Mother’s terrier.”

He smirked. “You can’t prove that.”

She laughed softly, crossing her arms. “And that when you were little, your friends nicknamed you-”

“Shut up!”

“Something I recall to this day.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Stinky pants.”

He threw down his silverware and jerked to his feet. “That’s enough. I won’t hear another word. If you tell anyone anything, you’ll be eating nothing but bread and water.”

She saluted him. “Yes, sir, Colonel Stinky Pants.”

He went to the door and ordered the soldiers inside to clear the dinner trays. He kept his menacing gaze fixed on her while they worked. She stared back, wrinkling her nose and waving her hand in the air.

When the men left, Patrick smirked. “You’ll learn to keep a civil tongue after you marry Horace.”

She drew a sharp breath. Her skin chilled and she shivered. “You can’t make me marry him.”

“Oh, yes, I can,” Patrick sneered. “Horace will be arriving this evening and the chaplain will marry you in the morning.”

He moved to a box that had been set on a chair by one of the soldiers. It held a lace dress. He lifted it and showed her the frock. “I had my seamstress lend one of her more becoming dresses. It should show off your feminine charms quite nicely.”

Winnie gasped in shock. The gown was a flimsy, gauzy excuse for a dress. Clearly, the neckline dipped past what any woman would consider decent. “I won’t wear that. Patrick, you can’t mean to make me wear something so revealing.”

He crossed the tent, the dress gripped in his fist. “Put it on, Winnie. Tonight, in case Horace wants to pay you a visit.”

She shook her head, too shocked to reply.

“You can put it on, or I’ll have my soldiers dress you.”

He pushed the dress into her hands, turned and stormed out of the tent.

Chapter Twenty

Justin

On the other side of the canvas fabric was a girl who sounded like her heart was breaking. Justin listened, his blood burning in his veins. Winnie, his Winnie, was crying. He crouched behind the tent, out of view of any soldiers. Wincing, he set his hand on the fabric. He wished he could go to her, but that would have to wait.

Behind him, in the darkness, his horse pawed the ground.

Justin had hired the gelding from the livery, a solid, reliable mount who had gotten him to Camp Macintyre quickly, but now the horse wanted to be untacked and bedded down, most likely. He might also smell the cavalry horses and yearn to join them. Justin also hired a pack mule to carry his and Winnie’s belongings. The mule, an ornery and lazy creature, probably dozed.

Justin got to his feet, slipped through the shadows around the tent. From the side he could make out the sentries posted at her door. Patrick had only left guards at the door, not considering that his sister could easily cut through the tent and escape through the back. The colonel was even more of a fool than Justin had imagined.

The guards talked amongst themselves. They debated who would check on the girl. Each of the men tried to make the argument that they should make sure she hadn’t run away. They grew argumentative. When one of them muttered something Justin couldn’t understand, they laughed. Justin curled his hand into a fist. He could easily take the three men, but that would be a mistake. Instead of correcting the men with a few well-aimed blows, he tamped down his anger.

He waited and watched, and when one of the men set aside his rifle to head into the brush, Justin made his move. He circled back into the mesquite and stopped, listening intently. The moonlight lit the rugged terrain as the moon appeared from behind a cloud. Justin moved noiselessly as the man relieved himself. When he finished and turned, Justin struck him square under the chin. The soldier crumpled without a sound.

The moon vanished, giving Justin a cover of darkness. Given the task, he would have appreciated a little light, but it couldn’t be helped. He removed the soldier’s jacket, shirt and pants. He stripped his own clothes and dressed in the uniform. The pants were too short. The jacket barely closed over his chest and the sleeves stopped several inches too short.

Fortunately, the man was tall and built like Justin. The clothes didn’t fit, but it could have been worse. He left the man sprawled on the ground and backtracked. Emerging from the brush, several tents down, he circled back to Winnie.

“Gentlemen, Colonel Barrington has asked me to stand guard tonight.”

The men turned to face him squarely.

“Who are you?” The bigger one demanded.

“Captain Prescott.”

“You’re new?”

“Just arrived this evening, escort to a civilian friend of the colonel.”

The men didn’t reply right away. After a stretch of silence, the taller one spoke. “I ought to check this with Colonel Barrington.”

“Go right ahead,” Justin said, his tone indifferent. “He’s busy right now, talking to his…”

“His what?”

Justin chuckled. “Well, he said she was his seamstress. Prissy, I think was her name. She didn’t look like any seamstress I’ve ever seen. Guess that’s because I’m not the CO.”

The men muttered and shifted uncomfortably.

Justin gestured the direction of Patrick’s tent. “I can wait.”

The men shook their heads, clearly not pleased that they’d been dismissed, but not willing to disturb their commanding officer. Without another word, they shambled away. Justin watched their figures as they retreated into the shadows. He waited, his heart thudding. He wanted nothing more than to rush inside to comfort Winnie. He resisted the fierce need to ease her fear and waited for some time to pass. He could hardly afford the men to return and find him gone from his post.

The clouds drifted overhead, blotting out the moon, darkening the camp. After a short spell, they’d skim past. The moonlight cast a shroud of silvery light, making the ragged camp look almost picturesque. He listened intently for any sound that might come from the wretched tent behind him, but Winnie either slept, or had given up her tears.

A jolt of fear struck him. What if she had slipped out the back of the tent? Unable to resist checking on her, he cracked the door. A lamp burned in the corner, casting soft light across the tent. She lay on a grimy cot. Asleep. He let out a deep breath. She was there in the tent and safe.

She wore a different dress, one that left her shoulder bare. He frowned, wondering if it was a nightgown. When she shifted, he spied a narrow strip of the bodice and noticed it was beaded with an array of decorative pearls.

He couldn’t see much of the dress, but it was clear she’d been given something that would serve as a wedding gown. Gritting his teeth, he tried to tamp down his fury.

Beneath a threadbare blanket, she looked small and vulnerable, and the sight of her, held captive, tore at his heart. Her hair spread across the cot and spilled over the edge. He imagined gathering her in his arms, comforting her and carrying her out of the tent, out of the camp and sheltering her.

He considered abandoning his plans of waiting and simply settling things his usual way, by force. It would be a mistake. Dangerous. He needed to wait until the camp was quiet. Then he’d make his move. He’d have Winnie far away by morning. He closed the door gently and returned to his spot. He crossed his arms, widened his stance and settled in for a period of waiting.

A smile tugged at his lips as he considered the prospect of stealing Winnie away and taking her to his home. In the past, he’d only gone home out of a sense of obligation. Now, he’d return to offer shelter to Winnie. The plan was reckless, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t allow Patrick to bully Winnie. That much he knew. What he’d do with Winnie once he was home, he didn’t know. He was just making his plan as he went along.

She might not be happy with his actions. She might, in fact, be quite unhappy. So be it. He’d dealt with ornery folk before. Usually he had the option of cuffing them. This time he’d have to sweet-talk his ward, or captive. And this time there wouldn’t be a handsome bounty to collect, but this time he’d relish the venture more than any other.

A smile curved his lips.

In the distance, he heard the approach of horses. He listened intently. A few minutes later, three horsemen rode into the center of camp. In the darkness, he heard a distinctly familiar voice. Horace.

Justin clenched his jaw.

“I wanna see my bride,” Horace bellowed.

He was drunk. Clearly. Justin recalled the girl he’d struck in Dawson City. A surge of protectiveness came over him.

“She’s probably sleeping.” Patrick’s voice came from the darkness. “Come inside. I have company.”

“I wanna see Winnie,” Horace slurred. “I brought her sumpin. My mamma’s emeralds. You can’t keep me from the girl I love with all ma heart!”

“Oh, Horace,” Patrick said with a chuckle. “I suppose we can visit the girl for a spell.” He went on in a chiding tone. “But no mischief. I intend to safeguard my sister’s honor until she’s a married woman.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Winnie

Her sleep came in fits and starts. She drifted in and out of bad dreams and awakened to find that her circumstances were as frightening as her nightmares. Shivering beneath her blanket, she wondered if Patrick would follow through on his threat to marry her off to Horace. She’d put on the hateful dress and found it to be worse than she’d imagined.

The threat of a wedding loomed in her mind. It was impossible. Surely her brother wouldn’t stoop to such cruelty. If he forced the issue, she’d refuse to say her vows. It was her only hope to escape her brother and Horace.

She felt utterly helpless. Ernst and Hilda were at Fort Stockton. Justin was likely disgusted with her, probably imagined she’d simply left him without saying goodbye, perhaps to avoid paying him. The thought that Justin might regard her with contempt pained her terribly.

Horace and Patrick, she could fend off. Hopefully. But she might never see Justin again, never have the chance to explain. Her eyes prickled with tears. Her heart squeezed with agony.

She closed her eyes and pushed her sadness aside, praying for sleep and for morning when she could face her brother. She sank into the bedding and sighed. The soldiers spoke outside, arguing about the sentry post as she drifted to sleep. A breeze stirred around the tent, muffling their voices. Her dreams swirled, this time bringing visions of her gunman.

She dozed. Horace’s and Patrick’s voices echoed in her mind. Horace offered emeralds. Patrick suggested something about a companion. The voices grew louder, more boisterous. A jolt of panic yanked her from her slumber. She lay on the cot, holding her breath, wondering if she still dreamt.

Patrick stepped into the tent, followed by Horace.

She rubbed her eyes and blinked. “Please tell me I’m dreaming.”

Her brother grimaced, his lips twisting. Horace simply stared, grinning like a fool.

Justin appeared behind them, dressed in a soldier’s uniform that looked two sizes too small. She squinted at him and then laughed softly. “Just a dream. Thank goodness.”

Patrick spoke to Justin without taking his gaze from her. “You’re dismissed, Captain.”

“We’re getting married in the morning, Winifred,” Horace said, his eyes shining with a maniacal light. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Young. Beautiful. Innocent. My, that’s a lovely dress.”

Justin stepped closer, out of the shadows. Her confusion gave way to shock. This was no dream. Justin was here. In her tent. Wearing a soldier’s uniform. She was either dreaming or going mad.

“Winnie’s already spoken for,” he said, matter-of-factly.

Horace and Patrick turned to face him. Both men stumbled back in astonishment. Justin stood between them.

“Guards!” Patrick said, his voice quavering. “Guards!”

“You’re right, Horace,” Justin said. “Winnie is young and beautiful. Especially when she’s sleeping. That night we camped by the river, I watched her all night long. Couldn’t tear my eyes from her.”

Winnie pushed herself up to a sitting position. She stared in horror. He wasn’t a dream. She wasn’t going mad. Justin was here and he was going to ruin her. And maybe save her. She couldn’t decide what she hoped for.

Patrick sank into a nearby chair, his face white.

“You spent the night with my fiancée?” Horace demanded. “Alone?”

“Not all of us have your scruples.” Justin winked. “A man has needs.”

Winnie drew a sharp breath.

“Is it true?” Patrick asked, looking at her in disbelief.

She lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. Searching Justin’s eyes, she saw him give her a barely perceptible nod.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I spent the night with him.”

Horace let out a roar of anger. He lunged towards Justin, driving his fist into Justin’s stomach. Justin hardly seemed to notice.

He shrugged. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Horace threw another punch, this time hitting Justin’s jaw. A drop of blood turned to a trickle. He touched his lip, glanced at the blood and smirked. Winnie’s stomach churned. She tossed the blankets aside and jumped to her feet.

“Stop it, Horace. Right now. I can’t stand it.”

“I came here to give you jewels,” Horace screamed. “My mother’s emeralds. I didn’t come here to listen to you defend your lover.”

“Please, stop. Both of you. Can we discuss-”

“I won’t discuss anything with you,” Horace snapped. His face reddened. “You’re nothing but a whore.”

In one quick motion, Justin had Horace face down on the ground. He twisted Horace’s arm behind his back. Gripping his hair, Justin forced Horace to look at her.

“Take it back, Horace,” Justin demanded.

“I won’t.”

Patrick looked aghast. He rose unsteadily. “Gentlemen!”

Justin tugged Horace’s arm, twisting it more. Horace screeched. Patrick let out an anguished cry and dropped back to his chair.

“I’m sorry, Winifred!” Horace whimpered.

“For what, Horace?” Justin asked. He tightened his grip on Horace’s arm.

Horace yelped. “Sorry to call you a whore.”

Justin let go. He got to his feet. He gave Patrick a menacing look as Horace picked himself up.

Horace backed away from Justin in wide-eyed terror. He stood by the door, panting and shifted his gaze to her. “My mother’s emeralds,” he whispered.

“I don’t want them,” she said. “I never wanted them.”

Justin brushed off his hands and crossed the tent, stopping a step away from her. He lifted his hand and cupped her jaw. “The only gems that Winnie will ever wear,” he said quietly, “will come from me.”

Horace let out a wail and fled from the tent. Justin dropped his hand from her face and turned toward Patrick, his eyes glittering with a feral anger. As much as Patrick had upset her, she couldn’t bear to see Justin hurt him.

She set her hand on his arm. “Please, don’t harm my brother.”

“I’ll pay the debt,” Justin said. “Whatever you owe Horace, I’ll pay. In exchange, you’ll let me take Winnie.”

Patrick’s mouth opened and closed several times before he finally spoke. “It’s ten thousand dollars.”

Winnie’s heart sank to hear the staggering amount. Up until this point, she’d hoped Horace had lied or exaggerated. Now she knew it was true.

Justin seemed unperturbed by the sum. He nodded. “You have my word, I’ll pay every penny.”

A slow grin spread over Patrick’s face. He chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “Of course, we’re men of substance. I know you’re a man of your word. I won’t stand in your way. If you’ll excuse me, I have somebody waiting for me.” He wandered out of the tent without another word.

Winnie stared after her brother in shock. He hadn’t even said good-bye. Turning her gaze to Justin, she noted that the anger had faded from his eyes. He regarded her with mixture of tenderness and protectiveness.

She grew aware of the shameful dress she wore. Blushing, she turned away. “I’m not decent.”

He took off his jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders and coaxed her around to face him. “Don’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

Her eyes stung with the threat of tears. “I didn’t want to wear this dress. If you tease me about this shameful dress, I couldn’t bear it.”

He shook his head, lifted her chin and brushed his lips across hers. She gave a murmur of surprise. Slowly, she lifted her arms to loop them around his neck. He tightened his embrace, drawing her closer as he deepened the kiss. The kiss was tender, yet possessive. The brush of his short beard grazed her cheek, but she relished the sensation.

He trailed kisses along her jaw, stopping just below her ear. “Let me take you away from all this.”

“Yes,” she replied, in a trembling whisper.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Justin

They rode out of Camp Macintyre as the moon sank in the western sky. Justin had gotten his clothes back. Winnie wore the soldier’s jacket over her dress. She rode astride, her dress tugged down as much as possible to cover her legs.

He drew her arms around his waist, relishing the feel of her. They rode in silence, and not long after they left the camp, he felt her weight sink against him. She rested her head against his shoulder and slept. He smiled, noting the slight sting on his lip. Horace had managed to land a decent punch. In the morning, when the reality of what he’d done dawned on Winnie, she might smack him too.

He’d ruined her reputation. Patrick wouldn’t repeat what Justin had said, but Horace might.

They arrived in Fort Stockton at dawn. Disheveled. Tired. Dusty.

Hilda and Ernst met them at the fort’s guest quarters. The couple stood on the porch as Justin rode up to the building. Ernst glowered at him. Hilda looked stricken.

“Winnie,” he said quietly, patting her hand.

“Mm,” she said on a sigh.

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I think I’m in big trouble.”

She stirred, lifting her head from his shoulder and looked past him. “Ernst and Hilda. My goodness, aren’t they a sight for sore eyes.”

When they drew closer, the Schiffers descended the steps.

“Schweinehund!” Ernst exclaimed, shaking his fist as he glared at Justin.

“I don’t suppose that means, ‘glad to see you’,” Justin drawled.

“Not exactly.”

He felt her stiffen and could tell she grew alarmed. He turned his head and spoke quietly. “Hey, it’s going to be all right. Trust me.”

“I trust you,” she said. “Of course, I do.”

She tightened her hold on him and how he liked the feel of her arms around him. “But?”

“I don’t want to upset the Schiffers. Ernst is very…”

“What?”

“Protective of me.”

They drew nearer and when they got a few paces from the guest quarters, Ben emerged from the building.

“Hey, boss,” Ben said. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

Justin shook his head warningly but could hardly summon the will to argue. He likely did look pretty bad.

“The two Germans ain’t particularly happy with you. They expected you to bring the girl back sooner. They’ve been fretting.” Ben squinted and peered at Winnie. “Well, dang. That ain’t good.”

Winnie gave a small murmur of dismay.

Justin stopped the horse and dismounted. He lifted Winnie down, pausing before he took his hands from her slender waist. He gave her a long and lingering look, one meant to convey what he couldn’t explain just yet. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with worry and perhaps even fear. He wanted to erase the events of the prior night, to gather her in his arms and promise her everything would be fine. He’d stand by her, care for her, love and shelter her forever.

He’d considered telling her on the way to Fort Stockton but hadn’t wanted to talk about such things from the back of a horse. Winnie was a lady. She deserved better.

He dropped his hands from her waist, turned from her and took off his hat, and nodded to the Schiffers. Ben came down the steps, offered him a good-luck-you’ll-need-it smile and wrapped his fingers around the gelding’s reins.

Justin motioned for him to wait. He went to the mule, untied the string to his saddlebag and took the violin out. “All right, Ben. I’m done.”

Ben left with the animals. Justin held the violin out to Winnie. She stood motionless, her hand over her heart, staring at the violin.

“You didn’t think I’d leave that behind, did you?” he asked.

She smiled at him, her eyes shining.

He felt the Schiffers’ scrutiny. They waited to speak to him, likely ready to give him a stern rebuke for bringing Winnie back in such disarray. Thank goodness she still wore the soldier’s coat. He knew what it must look like and understood their distress. Before he spoke to them, he wanted to ask Winnie an important question. He wanted her to marry him, not just because he wanted to protect her from Horace or Patrick, but because he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

His heart thudding in his chest, he offered Winnie her beloved violin.

With a trembling hand, Winnie reached for the instrument and lifted it from his hands.

“I’m sorry I said those things,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to ruin you in the eyes of anyone, much less your brother, but I couldn’t let Horace take you against your will.”

Cradling the violin, she nodded.

“I’d do anything for you, Winnie.” He stepped closer and cupped her shoulders with his hands. “I’d do anything because I care for you. I paid the debt so that your brother would let you go, but I don’t want you to feel beholden. I’ll always protect you, even if you decide you’d rather not marry.”

“Thank you, Justin.” She searched his eyes. “My brother told me you hurt one of the girls in the saloon.”

A flash of anger sparked in his mind. Her eyes widened. “I would never lift my hand to a woman or child.”

“What about Babyface Felton? I heard you beat him very badly and that he was no more than a child.”

“Babyface was no child. I might have been a little rough when he came at me with a knife. It was less than he deserved. He and his brothers killed at least two dozen men.”

She bit her lip as she considered his words.

He pushed his fury aside, tugged her hand from the instrument and pressed her palm to his heart. “What do you believe?” he asked. “Tell me.”

The worry faded from her eyes. Her expression softened and her lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. “I believe you’re a good man.”

He nodded. “And I believe that I love you.”

Her lips parted with surprise. Her smile grew wider and she gave a small, breathless laugh.

He continued. “I also believe that I’m about to get whooped by a small, elderly violin teacher.”

She laughed again. “Maybe so.”

Leaning down, he whispered. “My only hope of winning him over is if you agree to marry me.”

Standing a few steps away, Ernst cleared his throat and muttered.

Justin chuckled. “He’s mad that I’m touching you and whispering so close to you. Marry me, Winnie. Save me from Ernst. Don’t make me beg.”

“I will marry you, Justin.” She spoke softly, a spark of amusement lighting her eye. “I’ll save you from Ernst. Even though it’s Hilda you should worry about.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Winnie

Winnie found her thoughts in complete disarray. Her plans had been upended, spun around and turned inside out. Aside from the fear and humiliation she’d suffered at Camp Macintyre, she was so very happy about the sudden astonishing changes of the last few days.

Hilda ushered her inside the guest quarters and into a hot bath. She stepped out to give Winnie privacy and bustled about the room next door.

“Justin says he wishes to take you to his home in the morning,” Hilda said from the next room.

Winnie lay in the hot water, relishing the feel of the warmth. “I hope you and Ernst will come with me. I’d hoped for a send-off. And I have so much to tell you.”

Hilda muttered under her breath. Winnie’s heart grew heavy. Perhaps Hilda and Ernst were weary of traipsing around the countryside with her. As pleased as she was by the idea of leaving with Justin, she couldn’t bear the thought of parting with the Schiffers.

“Ernst and I will not permit you to travel alone with that man.”

Winnie smiled at the steel in Hilda’s voice. She sighed happily. Hilda and Ernst would go with her despite the fact that they’d already been gone for longer than they’d planned.

“The doctor told Ernst that it would do him good to visit the country,” Hilda said.

“It’s decided then. We’ll go together.”

They set off the next morning with a small military escort. They rode in a buckboard, the Schiffers in the back, chatting and admiring the pretty views.

Winnie rode up front beside Justin. “I should confess, I probably won’t inherit a penny when I turn twenty-one.”

Justin pretended to look affronted. “Why, you haven’t even paid my fee, or for the broken axle.”

She sighed. “I am very sorry about that. I had every intention of paying you. I’m not a person who collects debts.”

He smiled. “There’s no debt, sweetheart.”

She blushed, suddenly overcome with awkwardness.

He noticed and patted her hand. “I tell you what, I know how you can pay me back.”

Her lips parted and she glanced over her shoulder at the Schiffers. “You better mind your manners. Hilda still looks like she wants to box your ears.”

Justin clicked his tongue. “I’m not suggesting anything untoward. In the night, I woke up and thought about you.”

Her blush deepened.

“I thought to myself, I haven’t heard Fred play her fiddle.”

She sighed and shook her head.

“Maybe you can play me a jig,” he teased.

“It’s not a fiddle, Justin.”

His teasing smile faded. “Just the same, I’d like to hear you play.”

She looked up at him, her heartwarming inside her chest. “I’d like that very much.”

“Maybe on the porch, tonight after dinner.” He shot a look over his shoulder. “Of course, we’ll need our chaperones to make sure I’m on my best behavior.”

In the mid-afternoon, they arrived on the outskirts of the Prescott Ranch. The road ran along a high ridge overlooking fields and pastures. Cattle grazed, belly-deep in grass. The Schiffers spoke in German, their speech quick and excited as they took in the beauty of the ranch.

He drove down to small lake, glittering in the afternoon sun. Rock walls bordered the water. Reeds rustled in the breeze.

“This is a box canyon,” Justin announced to Winnie and the Schiffers. He turned the horses into the canyon and smiled as the Ernst and Hilda chattered. He stopped the team near a rocky outcropping where flights of swallows swooped.

“See the nests stuck to the rocks up high?” he asked. “The swallows build their nests out of the mud from the lake. They come every year right around now and leave in August.”

Ernst shielded his eyes from the sun and grinned with the enthusiasm of a young boy. Hilda smiled to see her husband so delighted.

“Well, if Ernst and Hilda were still mad at you, they aren’t anymore,” Winnie said quietly.

“You think I’ve redeemed myself?” Justin asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Winnie patted his arm. “Well done, Mr. Prescott, well done.”

He chuckled. They watched the birds dart over the water, gather mud for their homes, and fly back with their loot. The birds were a busy hive of activity. After a short while of bird-watching, Justin turned the wagon back to the road, with the promise to bring them back for a picnic.

He drove the wagon along a low ridge. He pointed out the house his sister and brothers built for him years ago. Built of rough-hewn stone, it had two chimneys and a porch that wrapped around the sides. The sight of the house stirred emotions inside of Winnie. The house looked beautiful, but lonesome too. She gazed in wonder, trying to imagine a life there with Justin.

“It’s been empty all these years?” Winnie asked.

Justin nodded. He gave her a gentle smile. “I never wanted to live there, until now.”

“You didn’t want to come home?”

“My mother died when I was born. My father drowned trying to save his horse during a flood. I was eight years old. It hit me hard, I suppose. My dad and I were close, did everything together. I was his buddy. He used to tell folks I was his partner. After he died, nothing was the same. I never sleep well when I come back, bad dreams and whatnot.”

He spoke thoughtfully and Winnie found herself looking for signs that he might regret his return to the family homestead.

“What about now?” she asked, hardly daring to question him. “Do you want to live here now?”

“I do,” he said solemnly, holding her gaze.

“You changed your mind.”

“I did. I reckon I found a reason to come home.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Justin

The scent of wisteria filled the small country chapel. Justin stood at the front, waiting. Aside from slightly clammy hands, he felt fine. Better than fine. He could do without the necktie and intended to loosen it after the vows were said.

Little Charlie looked almost as uncomfortable as Justin. The boy sat in the front pew with his mother. He tugged at his necktie and squirmed. Rachel looked lovely. For the first time since Justin could recall, his sister smiled. Hilda sat beside her. While the German woman wasn’t exactly smiling, she wasn’t glaring at him with clenched fists. Justin took it as a sign of progress.

Ben had traveled to the ranch for the wedding, and stood with Justin’s brothers, but seemed to be eyeing Rachel. Justin frowned at the gunman, but Ben hardly noticed. Justin made a mental note to question Ben after the wedding. He wasn’t entirely sure he approved of the cantankerous fellow taking a shine to Rachel.

Pastor Williamson came to his side. “Ready, Justin?”

“Yes, sir.”

The pastor patted his shoulder. “Had almost given up on you coming back to church. Never thought I’d see the day that you returned to get married.”

“I’m a little surprised myself. But when you know, you know.”

The piano music started. The guests rose. The doors at the back of the chapel opened. Winnie wore a simple lace gown. Justin watched, hardly able to draw breath. Ernst escorted her down the aisle, tears rolling down his cheeks. He sniffled audibly.

Charlie murmured in surprise, as did a few of the other wedding guests. With each step, Ernst’s weeping grew a little louder. Justin hadn’t ever seen such a display from a grown man. He glanced at Hilda, who gave him a look of bemusement. He hoped Ernst wouldn’t object to the vows.

When Ernst and Winnie got to the end of the aisle, Ernst managed to compose himself somewhat. He lifted her veil, kissed her on the forehead, and narrowed his eyes at Justin before hurrying away. Ernst took his seat beside Hilda who offered him a lace handkerchief.

Justin took Winnie’s hands in his. She gazed up at him, dry-eyed, thank goodness. The wedding service was little more than a blur in his mind. Neither Ernst nor Hilda voiced any objection.

The pastor pronounced them man and wife. “You may now kiss the bride,” he said.

Justin smiled, released her hands and drew her close for a kiss. “You look so beautiful, Mrs. Prescott. Like an angel.”

She blushed. “Thank you, Mr. Prescott. You look quite handsome.”

He took her hand, led her down the aisle and out of the chapel. They rode a buggy to the Prescott Homestead and joined their guests for an early dinner. Ernst said the blessing, first in English and then added a short, German prayer.

The spring breeze skimmed over the wedding celebrations held outside, under a wisteria arbor. His brothers and cousins offered toasts to the new bride and groom. After dinner, Hilda and Ernst led them to the wedding cake. Hilda and Rachel had worked together to bake and decorate the two-tiered confection. Winnie clasped the cake knife as Justin wrapped his hand around hers to help cut the first piece.

Everyone clapped. Even Ernst.

Rachel and Hilda served the cake as the afternoon gave way to dusk.

At twilight, Justin and Winnie left their wedding guests. Justin drove a buggy to the house his family had built for him. Justin’s family had prepared the house for their arrival. Fires crackled in the fireplaces. Flowers adorned the mantles.

Justin kissed her gently. “You must be tired.”

“A little.” Her cheeks pinked.

Slowly, and with as much tenderness as he could muster, he tugged the hairpins from her hair. With each hairpin, a swath of her glorious tresses tumbled past her shoulders. When he’d plucked the last of the pins, he set them on a nearby table.

“Would you like me to take the spare room, so that you can rest more easily?”

She bit her lip but said nothing.

“It’s fine, sweetheart. If you’d like to have your room to yourself.”

She shook her head. “I don’t, Justin. I want to be near my husband.”

Stroking his thumb along her jaw, he kissed her lightly. “And I want to be near my wife.”

With that, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to their room upstairs. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face against his neck. He took her to their room, set her down and kissed her once more.

He trailed his fingers through her hair and whispered. “We’re home, Mrs. Prescott. We’re home.”

Epilogue

Four Years Later

 

Justin

Charlie stood in the shallows, gazing intently into the rippling water. He held his fishing pole steady, waiting patiently for the line to tug. Every so often he’d reel in, check his hook, then throw his line out again. In the past year, Charlie had become quite the fisherman, and he seemed very serious about catching a big fish.

Ernst fished some distance away, wading across a slight bend in the river. He had become not-so-good a fisherman, but not for a lack of trying. He’d become a fan of the sport, and truly loved the time spent outdoors with Justin, but he hadn’t exactly figured out how to be successful at it.

Justin fished from his favorite spot, a flat rock in the middle of the river where he could cast into the swiftly moving current or the dark depths on the opposite side of the rock.

Despite the peace and quiet, a fierce competitiveness stretched between the fishermen, especially Charlie and Ernst. Justin noticed the two glancing at each other every so often. He grinned. The last time they’d fished, Charlie had caught the bigger bass.

Ernst had grumbled that day, all the way home.

Charlie enjoyed a good rivalry as much as any boy, and, since that trip, he gloated about his fish and his fishing skills. He talked about how good his fish was, the way momma had fried it up. And how big it was, especially compared to how small he was. And he mentioned Ernst’s catch, saying it wasn’t much bigger than the minnows they were using as bait.

Naturally, that hadn’t set well with Ernst, and he was determined to do better this time.

The water shimmered in the late afternoons sun, flowing swiftly in the rapids, and swirling in dark eddies beneath the live oak limbs. Charlie wore a contented smile, as did Ernst, despite the clear competition between the two.

Suddenly, Ernst yanked his fishing pole, yelping as the fish leapt from the water. Charlie gave a gasp, his face lit with joy as he watched Ernst work to land the fish. An instant later, Charlie cried out with surprise as his own line went taut. Justin abandoned his fishing pole so he might help Charlie and Ernst. After hard-fought battles, they both landed their fish, each one a beauty.

They celebrated for a few minutes, reliving what all of them had just done and seen. After the fish were secured, and the merriment finally started to fade, they decided they’d had enough success for one day. They packed up their gear and set out for home with their catch. Charlie and Ernst talked about the day’s success and laughed about their good fortune. When they reached the crest in the path, Justin fixed his gaze upon his home.

Like always, as soon as he could see the house, he searched for a sign of Winnie. This time of the day, he could often find her sitting on the porch swing with baby Jane on her lap and their son, Joe, playing nearby.

Today, it was Hilda who sat on the swing, baby Jane on her knee. She waved, rose from the swing, and pointed their direction. Jane waved and laughed, the sweet sound carried on the early summer breeze. The girl was six months old and starting to crawl and seemed happy nearly all the time.

Justin set the poles against the porch and held his hands out to the baby. She chortled and reached for him. “Sweet, baby, Jane. Won’t be long before you catch the biggest fish of all.”

Joe came running out of the house and down the steps. Justin bent down to scoop the boy up. He kissed his forehead and went up the steps. “We’re going to have a fish fry for your birthday, son. What do you think of that?”

Three-year-old Joe wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like fish.” His lips tugged into a smile. “Aunt Hilda made dinner.”

Justin climbed the steps and gave a deep growl. “Are you saying Aunt Hilda’s cooking is better than my fish fry?”

Joe giggled and lay his head against Justin’s shoulder. “It’s my birthday.”

“All right, all right,” Justin grumbled. “I suppose I’ll let it go. More fish for me and Baby Jane.”

Jane grinned, showing off her first tooth. When she smiled, Jane’s eyes sparkled just like Winnie’s. Jane didn’t understand his words but seemed to catch the teasing tone he used with Joe. She had a quick smile. Joe, on the other hand was a little more reserved. He liked to think things over and offered smiles only to a few, trusted folk.

Carrying a child in each arm, he met Winnie at the door. Her hair was neatly done, swept up into a twist. She wore a pretty, pale yellow dress. She looked lovely, as always, stealing his breath. He bent to kiss her lips.

She gave a breathless laugh. “I’ve just heard the most astonishing news.”

“What is it?”

“I promised not to say a word. I hope you’re hungry. Hilda and I have cooked enough for a regiment.”

Joe wriggled and asked to be put down. Justin lowered him, keeping Jane close in his other arm. His son scampered off to the kitchen, probably to seek out Hilda. As Justin strolled into the kitchen, he was reminded of why Joe adored Hilda. Just as he rounded the corner, he spied Hilda offering Joe a cookie.

“What about spoiling his appetite?” Justin asked.

Hilda’s smile lit her face. “Did you hear?”

“What?”

Hilda swung Joe to her hip and rested her head against his. “The news. Did Winnie tell you?”

“No one’s told me anything.” Justin frowned. “What news?”

With a soft chuckle and wave of her hand, Hilda dismissed him. “I’m not saying a word.”

Justin sighed and made his way to the dining room. Through a cracked window, he heard Ernst and Charlie talking. They tended to the fish while they debated the best bait for bass. Jane laughed when she heard their voices. He patted her shoulder as he stopped in the dining room doorway.

Winnie moved around the table, placing silverware at each place setting. She wore a soft smile on her lips. A wispy, chestnut-colored tress had escaped its confines and clung to her neck. He imagined kissing the delicate expanse of skin and thought how well she fit in his embrace. How much he needed her next to him every day and each night.

Since marrying Winnie, he slept peacefully, as did she. Everything had changed. He’d set aside his guns, his bullets and his restless ways. He no longer had a reason to seek adventure or escape. Instead, he relished his life, every detail. Even watching his wife set the table for a birthday dinner seemed special to him. Sometimes, it was the ordinary moments that made him feel so immensely blessed.

She looked up and drew a sharp breath. “I’m not saying a word, you rascal. You always manage to get secrets out of me, but you won’t get this one. Rachel would never forgive me.”

At the sound of Rachel’s name, Jane cooed. If Hilda was Joe’s favorite, Rachel owned Jane’s allegiance. She wriggled with happiness, craning her neck to look down the hallway, in hopes that Aunt Rachel was on the way.

“Something about Rachel?” Justin asked gruffly. “She finally wise up and tell Ben to make tracks?”

Winnie gasped. “Hush your mouth, Justin. You know we’re all hoping for Ben to stay on at Prescott Ranch. To make things permanent.”

Justin shrugged and frowned at his daughter. “Can we agree you’re never getting married?”

Jane gurgled and patted his chin. He took her hand and kissed her palm. “That’s a good girl.”

At first, Ben had come to work a few weeks at the ranch, shoeing horses. Then he signed on to work the remuda for a cattle drive. After that it was some other task that kept him. The cantankerous gunman found excuse after excuse to stay on at the Prescott Ranch. Next thing anyone knew, Ben had proposed to Rachel, but she’d refused, telling him she’d never marry again.

Ben had tried to stay away, leaving every so often to take a bounty hunting job or working as a gunman for a cattle drive, but he never could stay away. He was getting older, he liked to say, too old to chase after outlaws. What he wanted was a wife and home. Over time, Justin saw his stubborn sister softening to Ben, even missing him when he was gone.

The dogs barked at the front of the ranch house.

Winnie’s eyes sparkled. “That’s probably Rachel now.”

“Can’t you give me a hint why everyone’s grinning and talking about news?”

“All right. I’ll give you a hint. Ben fell off the roof this morning while fixing Rachel’s leaky gutters.”

Justin crossed the house with Winnie half a step behind him. “I suppose you want me to ask if he’s all right.”

“That would be nice.”

“What I want to know is if he fixed the gutters before he fell?”

She gave a murmur of dismay. “Justin Prescott, you’re terrible,” she chided.

He stopped to wrap his arm around her waist, tucking her close to him.

“He probably fell off the roof and landed on his feet. He’s likely fit as a fiddle. I’ve seen him get shot straight through his shoulder and go spend the night playing cards. Nothing can hurt Ben.”

Winnie huffed. “Except your sister.”

They went out the front door just as Ben helped Rachel down from the buckboard. Ben looked up at him and grinned. He turned his attention to Winnie and Hilda who had followed Justin out. Taking his cowboy hat off he nodded to the women.

“Winnie, Mrs. Schiffer. It’s mighty nice to see you. Thank you for inviting me to Joe’s birthday. It’s an honor to be here with you fine people.”

“Ach, Benjamin, just tell us the news,” Hilda exclaimed. “I can’t stand it anymore. I don’t like secrets.”

Ernst and Charlie joined them.

Ben gave Justin a sheepish look. He held up his arm, displaying the bandage wrapped around his wrist. Lowering it, he took a few steps closer, drawing to the bottom of the steps.

“This morning, after years of asking Rachel to marry me, she agreed. If I’d known that all I had to do was fall off the roof, I’d a fallen off a long time ago.” He shook his head and grinned as he wrapped his arm around Rachel. “The good news is that she agreed. Finally.”

Some cheered. Everyone clapped. Even Jane.

 

 

THE END

 

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A Texas Ranger Meets his Match in the Girl Next Door
Levi Calhoun has never met a woman as exasperating as Pearl Duval. He must, however, work a deal with her. She needs money to save her ranch and he needs access to the spring on her property.

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Cattle rancher Baron Calhoun needs an heir

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