Chapter 1

Abigail

“Slow down, girl,” Pa scolds me in the rented buggy. Our aged horse struggles with foot placement among the ruts and stones, instead of grass, on the trail. “Chester hasn’t pulled a wagon in over a year, and he isn’t as spritely as he used to be. If he goes lame on the way out, we will be stuck at Ava’s.”

Chester isn’t the only one to have deteriorated in the six years since I left for England—which is why I had to rush home to Wylder—just as my life across the pond was finally coming together. My older brother, Finn’s letters, were frantic pleas for help with our father. We are in danger of losing our stellar reputation because Pa’s mind is starting to go, but his mouth is fully functioning. Finn’s letters also warned me of the increase of ruffians moving into town, the regional quarrels over the Native Americans being moved onto reservations, and the longer-than-usual snow season last winter. You would have thought the world was ending with his rants.

“I’m just excited to see my little sister after so many years,” I say brightly. I add a sweet smile for emphasis, but Pa’s frown tells me he’s not buying my act. Ava and I fought like Kilkenny cats growing up and some things never change. After finding out from Chet the livery owner she stole my horse, most of Wylder heard me cursing her. I stomped home wearing a scowl scarier than any outlaw. No one approached me as I passed the Five Star Saloon, despite my expensive European fashion.

“No fibs, Abby,” he says with a smile. Pa is always the peacemaker and tries to convince us to bend like willow trees instead of the rigid prickles of cactus. I like to think I embraced his teachings. Growing up in Wylder, Wyoming Territory, I’ve always been known as the sweet sister. My grades were the best in the town’s schoolhouse, and I’ve never been in trouble with Sheriff Hansen.

“I do want to see her. She canceled Lady’s boarding at the livery without asking. At least she left our bedroom furniture in the house! For no other reason, I want the explanations she owes me, like—” I pause to pull my lace collar over my nose and mouth. “What is that putrid scent?”

“Your sister married a leather tanner,” Pa says between snickers at my peril. “What you smell are the urine tanning vats. Ava moved out here when she saw I’m still able to take care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve got many more years left in me, just like Chester. Right, Chester?”

The horse brays in response to his name, but I’m not convinced. Chester struggles over the gentle hills, even though there is a worn dirt path to the Sagebrush homestead. After an hour’s drive turned into two, a tiny cabin comes into view, and our horse snorts in relief. No relief for our noses.

Unfortunately, as we near the homestead, the stench intensifies. Tiny cubes, which I assume are the tanning vats Pa spoke of, dot the area between the cabin and a large teepee next to a barn. Hides are stretched across frames with their innards hanging off them in a grotesque display. My worst nightmare sits before my eyes. What has my sister done with her life?

Our mother was an untamed woman, like Ava, but she had the sense to give her daughters a fine start in life. Before she died, she secured my place with Cousin Eloise in London to come out on the British social circuit. Ava, who always loved books more than people, went to a beautiful finishing school in New York where she would hopefully meet a suitor who could tolerate her wild ways. Mother was wise to take two different approaches with her two radically different daughters so we could achieve the same goal—the opposite of what sits before my eyes.

“Pa! Abby!” Ava stands from where she was kneeling before a cowhide and runs to our buggy. I drop my collar and sit straighter. Pa waves and smiles brightly, but I can barely focus on maneuvering the buggy up the drive. My sister, who can’t handle running the counter at our mercantile in town, is scraping the guts from a stretched hide?

She wears a buckskin tunic and leggings slightly darker than the braids thumping against her shoulders as she runs. I pat my pinned, bronze curls in sympathy for her unkempt locks. Pa jumps down and takes Chester’s reins before embracing Ava. Do her flushed cheeks have freckles from working in the sun? How ghastly! The tunic moves as she lowers her arms to reveal a tan line too. She’s no more than a common farm wife after all our mother did to raise us properly.

“Where are your gloves and your skirts? Your decorum?” I pepper her with questions while she hugs me with too thin arms. Over her shoulder, two large Arapaho men lift a dripping skin from a vat on large poles. The horrible smell intensifies when it splashes into the next vat.

“Those silly things would get ruined out here. Come to think of it, you may want to remove your white gloves, sister dear. The fumes coming off the vats will tan them.”

“Remove my gloves in mixed company? I would never.” I pull my handkerchief from my sleeve to cover my nose. The fabric muffles my voice and will probably be tanned as well. “We came to retrieve Lady and will be on our way.”

“Fiddle faddle,” Ava says with a wave of her hand. “Lady can’t go anywhere in her condition. She’s taken a shine to Fools-Gold and is determined to foal his young—”

“You are breeding my horse without my permission!” My cheeks flame with ire. I will not depend on Chester or my own swollen feet to get around. I can’t be seen traipsing about Wylder when my condition shows. It is on the tip of my tongue to tell Ava why I must have Lady when Pa steps between us.

“Now girls,” he says in his quiet voice. “Lady was a gift to both of you from your uncle when you were children. There must be something we can do.”

“There is,” thunders an Arapaho man from two feet above me. Cold black eyes glare down his proud nose at me. His strength is emphasized by the bulging biceps crossed his chest. As my gaze travels back up the miles of muscle to his expression, it changes. He sees too much.

“Far be it from us to stand in the way of a determined…mother-to-be—” his rumbling voice and omniscient eyes raise the hairs on the back of my neck“—So might I suggest Miss Wylder take Strawberry back to town for the time being. The mare never got on with my wife, who is about a week from giving birth herself. It seems the season for motherhood is upon us or there is something in the water.”

“I can attest the water is fine,” Ava whispers, placing her hand over her flat belly.

“Our marriage is young, my heart,” says the second Arapaho man in a quiet voice. “The Creator will grace us with a baby when we are deemed ready.” He loops his arm around Ava’s shoulders and kisses her temple.

He must be Ikshu, her new husband. Thank goodness. He seems much gentler than the tall one who still scowls at me like a judge, jury, and executioner stuffed into one muscular person

I’ll tell Ava, Pa, and all of Wylder about my condition when Pierpont arrives. We will announce our wedding as if we had a long, formal engagement in England. I have until after the wedding, but before my belly shows to get Pa’s affairs in order.

Pierpont and I will return to England as man and wife. We will have our baby in a respectable fashion. As long as no one calculates the timeline too accurately, there won’t be a scandal…and I won’t let a giant, urine-soaked man ruin my plans!

“Nartan Sagebrush, this is my sister, Miss Abigail Wylder. It is very kind of you to lend her Strawberry instead of separating our lovebirds. I believe you may be a romantic at heart,” she says with a mischievous grin, at which the man deepens his scowl. “Abby, this is my husband, Ikshu Sagebrush, and his older brother, Nartan. Don’t mind Nartan’s sourpuss. His face always looks that way.”

“Please to make your acquaintance,” I say quickly to save my sister from herself. “I would love to take you up on your generous offer, Mr. Sagebrush.”

“It would please me to take the temptation to ride from my dear wife, Olive. She doesn’t realize how fragile a woman with child can be,” he rumbles with a tilt of his chin. I wish he would quit looking at me as if he can smell my pregnancy amongst the tanning fumes. Pa mentioned Nartan was a medicine man, but it must be my imagination. If he sees the baby within me, will he have the manners to keep my secret to himself?

“Fragile? I’m as fragile as the ground you stand on Nartan Sagebrush—fragile, my bloomin’ butt!” The feminine roar turns our heads to the porch steps of the cabin. Down waddles a heavily pregnant woman with wild curly hair bouncing on her shoulders. Her bare feet slap against the wooden planks as she joins us. She wears a leather tunic shorter than Ava’s scandalous length and little else.

“Olive, meet my sister Abigail Wylder,” Ava says with a mouth full of giggles. She takes my hand and drags me to the bottom of the steps, where I’m pushed into a suffocating bear hug.

“Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture? Ava said you were a finefied lady, but you make us Sagebrush ladies look like turnips,” she shouts right into my ear.

“Thank you,” is all I can muster as I extract myself from her strong arms. The edges of my white lace collar are tinged brown from the urine-saturated air. My gloves and handkerchief aren’t faring much better.

“Why Miss Olive, you glow with the beauty of motherhood,” Pa says as he removes his hat. She gives him the side-eye at his compliment before laughing. Why is Nartan looking at me again? I’m not far along enough to glow. Although I am thankful, I could blame my initial morning sickness on the journey from England to Wyoming.

“Mr. Wylder, your daughter has her famous chestnut pie cooling on the windowsill. If you throw those sweet, soft soldier words her way, we might steal a few slices,” she says.

All the male eyes swing to my sister as if she’s the one dressed head to toe in European fashion. Ava’s pies are palatable at best. All the time we spent with Mother in the kitchen was wasted on her unless she blossomed while I was away. However, I’m dying to know what’s inside the cabin and how they plan to fit two families into it.

“I’m sure Abigail would love to get out of the heat in her heavy dress,” Ava says with a mischievous smirk. I dab my handkerchief on my forehead to blot away the shine before I can stop myself. She laughs at her ability to command my movements as she loops her arm through mine. Pa offers Olive his elbow and Nartan rushes around us to her other side. It takes both men to keep the round woman upright as she waddles up the stairs.

“I don’t know why I can’t just carry you or better yet, you holler at us to bring the folks to you,” Nartan mutters.

“I heard that,” Olive snaps. “I refuse to be wrapped in cotton until our boys arrive. If I were so breakable, the Creator wouldn’t have blessed us with so many babies at once. I’m going to be active much longer in our next pregnancy too. I let you talk me into bed rest way too early, you Nervous Neilly!”

The proud, scary man bristles at her comments but doesn’t retaliate. “Let’s get these babies into the world before you start wishing for more,” he whispers, lightly caressing her round cheek.

The tenderness between them sits in my belly like a rock. Pierpont’s insistence that I go ahead to Wylder, and he would join me after the start of the social season, echoes in my mind. He suggested I hurry home after I told him about the baby. Nartan, for all his uncouth ways, helps the mother of his children up the stairs while Pierpont, with his aristocratic upbringing, urged me to cross half the world alone.

My father settles into a seat at the plain wooden table as if he is a frequent guest. Ava leans over Ikshu as she cuts the pie and they share indecent smiles. Would Pierpont fit in at this table? Do I?

Pierpont would turn his nose up at them like I almost do.

Shame spreads like storm clouds in my heart. The taunts of the other debutants in England haunt me. They made fun of my American fashion, accented speech, and simple hairstyles until I evolved. They weren’t being Christian with their judgment of me, and I won’t spread that hatred to the Sagebrushes. I must remember I’m in Wylder, where I act as an example to all the young ladies in town.

“I would like to thank you for the use of Strawberry. Why don’t I throw a baby shower for your little ones at The Wylder House?” Like an actress in a play, I will pretend to be simply Abigail until Pierpont arrives and makes me a duchess. Then my fairytale will be on display before all of Wylder and London to see. Mama will be proud as punch, watching from her place in heaven.

“A wonderful idea,” Ava agrees while her husband goes white as a sheet. “Everyone in town will come to see the babies. Abigail is the perfect hostess.”

“That sounds fine as cream gravy. We would love it,” Olive says, extending her arms for another bone-crushing hug.

“Thank you,” I say when Nartan pulls an extra chair to the table for me. They may be civilized in their own way after all. I must extend a peaceful hand to my sister, too. “It’s cozy and pretty in here. Ava, which part of the cabin is yours and which part is Olive’s?”

“Oh no,” she says before sucking pie filling from her thumb. I wince at the smacking sounds she makes. “I live with Ikshu in his teepee.”

Mama, will you smite me from heaven if I neglect to introduce Ava to Pierpont?