Chapter One

“Oh, Cat! Can you believe it? Only four more months until I become Mrs. George Staton III!”

It was the same conversation Catherine Brings had gone through with her employer’s daughter every morning, afternoon, and evening for the past seven months. The twenty-four-year-old, head housemaid responded with a warm, caring smile. “No, milady. It seems truly unbelievable that your marriage is almost here.”

Cat had started working officially for the Millers at the age of sixteen after her mother, Elaina Brings, had died unexpectedly. Elaina had been a faithful employee of the Millers for nine years as the housekeeper of Braddon Park in Richmond, Virginia. After Elaina’s death, the Millers took pity on Cat and hired her on as a kitchen maid.

“And you are truly blessed to have found such a perfect, wonderful man,” Cat added.

Margret drifted her eyes up to the tall bedroom ceiling. “Cat! George truly is a perfect, wonderful man. I have never loved another as I love my betrothed. He is handsome and charming and beautifully rich. He’s learning his grandfather’s business to take it over himself in a year!” Margret rose from her seat on the chaise lounge and spun in a circle, sending her satin skirts swirling about her. “Can you just picture it, Cat? Dinners and dancing and social events with carriages and trips overseas and our very own house on his family’s land! Oh! What a fantastic life I’m going to have!”

Margret spun herself into exhaustion as she flopped down on the chaise lounge, throwing her arm over her pale face. “Enough of whatever you are doing over there, Cat. Come sit and read me the latest gossip in the Richmond Whig.”

Cat had known Margret Miller nearly her entire life. Being six years older, Cat considered Margret as something like a younger sister. Of course, social status could never allow for such a personal connection, but Cat knew as much about Margret as Margret knew about herself, and possibly more.

“Cat! Did you hear me? I’m eager to know who the talk of the town is this month. I cannot go to Elizabeth’s party being the only one without any knowledge of what’s happening.” Margret’s golden curls bounced as she furrowed her brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Elizabeth thinks she knows everything in this town. She thinks every man wants her and every woman wants to be her.” She shook her head, glaring down at her thumbs twiddling in her lap. “But not this woman. And not my man.”

Sensing Margret’s melancholy would soon lead into one of her usual self-pity fits, Cat set down her sewing and took her place on the floor in front of the chaise. Taking the magazine from the side table, Cat began to peruse with pretended interest.

“Alright, let’s see here. Ah, yes. First things first. The governor has approved expansion for farmers and cattle ranchers who wish to extend their properties.” Cat lifted her eyebrows. She had always been interested in the rural side of life. Her mother used to tell her stories of how father had worked day and night on the Brings family land to make it productive and successful.

Cat had always dreamed about how things might have been for their little family if her father had not died when she was only three.

Margret’s drawn voice pulled Cat from her daydream. “Cat, how many times must I tell you?” Glancing up, Cat caught sight of Margret waving her hand in the air. “None of that interests me. None of that will benefit me around the dinner table with Elizabeth and her guests. Read me something that actually makes a difference in conversation.”

Cat took a steadying breath, leafing through the magazine. “Isn’t this something?” Cat pulled the periodical closer to her face as she skimmed the writing across the page.

“What! What is it, Cat? Tell me, tell me!” Margret sat up.

“Here’s an ad for a mail-order bride. A rancher in Montana is looking for a wife….”

Margret’s loud cackle jerked Cat from her reading. “Oh, how wretched! Can you imagine someone responding to such a request? The woman would have to be mad with desperation to consider giving her life away to a man she never met clear across the country!” Margaret said. Cat sat perfectly still and silent. “Besides, he’s most likely old and terribly unattractive. I’m so lucky to have George. I don’t have to worry a single moment about dealing with such a situation as answering an advertisement for someone to fall in love with me.”

Though she did not show it, Cat struggled to keep her thoughts in check. Listening to Margret made the heat start to rise up her neck. She could feel her heart pound quickly.

“Cat! Don’t tell me you think the advertisement has some worth. I thought you a much smarter person than to fall for such absurdity.”

Realizing her thoughts were beginning to show, Catherine adjusted her brow and gave her usual sweet smile. “Don’t be silly, milady. I’ll never be one to marry. I have you to look after, and then, once you leave for Thornton Hall, I’ll be here tending to your family’s needs as I always have, just like my mother before me.”

Margret rose from her seat and stared down at her with a look of pity. “You and your mother have always been so good to me and my family. You truly are where you belong, Cat. I hope you never leave us.”

Cat continued with her smile. “Thank you, Lady Margret. I appreciate your kind words.” Knowing Margret spoke only out of a selfish desire for herself and her own household, Cat did her best to not let the mundanity of being “where she belonged” bring her spirits down.

“I think I’ll take a rest before supper, Cat. Can you please let Mother know? I don’t feel like traipsing downstairs only to climb them once more for my sleep.”

Cat rose to her feet, tucking the magazine in her cotton skirt pocket. “Shall I turn your bed down for you?”

Margret waved her hand in the air dismissively as she flopped onto her large canopy bed. “No need, Cat. Just do as I say, so I don’t have to talk to Mother.”

Cat nodded her head and excused herself from the room, closing the large oak door behind her. Leaning up against it, Cat closed her eyes and let out a long, deep breath.

Father God, please help my hurting heart. Help me to hold my tongue and keep a positive attitude.

With that, Cat made her way to the drawing-room to relay Margret’s message to the lady of the house.

As she descended the stairs, Cat could not help but clamp her hand on the magazine in her pocket. Her mind drifted back to the advertisement that had caught her eye. The idea of finding someone she could fall in love with brought hope to her suddenly weary soul. She had longed to have a love of her own ever since her mother read her the story of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.

“Cat?” A familiar, elderly voice broke into Cat’s memories. Glancing across the foyer, Cat’s gaze landed on the matriarch of the estate.

“Good afternoon, Lady Miller.” Cat slipped her hand from her skirt pocket and crossed her arms at her waist.

“Is everything alright, dear? You look a little flushed.” Corliss Miller sashayed toward Cat. “You were standing there as if you were lost in deep thought.”

Cat quickly adjusted her facial features to mask her true feelings. “Forgive me, milady. I did not see you. Yes, everything is just fine. In fact, I came down to let you know Lady Margret won’t be joining you for tea this afternoon.”

Corliss lifted her delicate fingers to the chest area of her petite frame. “Oh, my heavens! Is she alright? I hope she isn’t coming down with something.”

Cat smiled at her mistress. “There’s no reason to worry, milady. Lady Margret simply needed to rest her eyes. She told me to tell you she will be down for supper this evening.”

Cat had always been grateful to Corliss Miller. Lady Miller had been the one to promote Cat to head housemaid, which included the charge of caring for the only daughter of the Miller family.

Corliss patted her graying, auburn hair, causing some loose tendrils to fall from their tight bun at the nape of her neck. “Hmm. I always worry when she strays from our daily routine. But I suppose you know her better than any of us.” The lady of the house let out a deep sigh before turning to the drawing-room behind her. “I’ll be reading in the drawing-room until teatime.”

Catherine remained steady and sure as she replied, “Linny will bring in your tray momentarily, Lady Miller.”

Corliss waved her hand in the air with gratitude and smiled over her thin shoulder. “Thank you, my dear. I have no doubt you will keep everything in line. You’re becoming more and more like your mother every day.”

Catherine’s breath caught in her chest, and her eyes stung from happy tears. It was one of the kindest comments anyone had ever made about her. And it meant even more to have them come from the very lips of the woman who knew both Elaina and Cat. Cat cherished her mother and missed her greatly, and she had come to cherish Corliss Miller in a motherly way as well.

Though she would never truly experience the mother-daughter relationship from the days of her past, Cat cherished these small moments as treasures for her lonely heart.

***

A few weeks had passed since Cat’s discovery in the Richmond Whig. She did not have many chances to dwell on the daydreams the advertisement had stirred up in her. Usually, she could count on some alone time when she was taking care of the wash or lending a hand in the kitchen or mending Margret’s clothing in the evening, but after a surprising announcement from Linny that she was leaving service to get married, Cat suddenly added more duties to her regular responsibilities. On top of tending to the guest rooms and the family rooms and fulfilling the duties assigned by Mrs. Holmes, the housekeeper, Cat continued her responsibilities of caring for Margret Anastasia.

“Cat! Cat!” the panicked and irritated voice of Margret screeched across the second-story floor of Braddon Park. “Cat! For goodness sake, where are you girl? Cat!”

Cat bounded up the steps of the grand staircase with her long legs. She grabbed a hand to her cap to keep it from slipping from her pinned-up hair. Cat had been taking a much-needed break at the servant’s table that had turned into a slouching slumber in her seat, when she had been awakened by the ring of the servant’s bell connected to Margret’s pull cord in her room. Cat had not planned on losing track of time, but with the new duties and the constant bending to Margret’s every beck and call, Cat felt she would never catch up.

Reaching the mezzanine, Cat quickly adjusted her apron before fixing a smile on her face. “I’m here, milady. Forgive my absence.”

Margret threw her lanky arms in the air, her voice rising to a high-pitched squeal. “Just where have you been, Cat? I’ve been ringing for you for nearly a fortnight. I cannot believe you forced me to cry out for you. You know father detests a woman raising her voice in the home, especially a lady-in-waiting such as myself. He says if George ever heard such a sound coming from my mouth, he’d break our betrothal off in an instant.”

Cat resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Margret Anastasia’s dramatics. She knew Margret’s outburst was simply a cry for attention.

Margret was a selfish girl. And, deep down in Cat’s heart, she knew she would always be one, no matter the situation of others around her.

“Again, Lady Margret, I apologize for my tardiness. I lost track of time in the servants’ kitchen working on the mending and the washing.”

Margret spun around, sending her royal blue, satin skirts into a swishing motion. “Excuses! Nothing but excuses from you, Cat. That’s all I have been hearing for the past week.” Margret’s crisp blue eyes peered over her thin shoulder and narrowed at Cat in a serpent-like manner. “You do know, Cat. I could call for father right this instant and tell him to fire you.”

A heat of nervous fear rushed over Cat, and she ducked her head. “Yes, milady.”

Margret turned her focus out the large, picture window and waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind, Cat. I don’t need you here with me after all. I’d rather be alone now.”

Cat nodded as she turned to leave. Reaching the door, she heard Margret’s final warning. “Don’t forget what I said about father, Cat. He would fire you without question.”

Cat closed the door behind her as her mind raced. I must be careful. I wouldn’t know what to do if I was ever fired. I have no place to go. No family. No home. Nothing to my name.

Chapter Two

“The sun’s goin’ down, Steve. Got to be gettin’ home to the wife,” said the wrangler from his horse to the young rancher kneeling beside the fence line. “Eh! Some of us got folks waiting on us, here.”

Without turning his head, twenty-nine-year-old rancher, Steve Priddy, waved his free hand in the air, gripping the nearly repaired barbed wire fence.

“Ehyep.”

“You know, you got a few waiting on ya, too,” the man added.

“Thanks for your help, Lou. See ya in a few days.” Steve was aware of what he had waiting for him at home. He did not need an old friend reminding him every time he worked past sundown.

The wrangler tipped his hat before turning the reins. “I’ll be seein’ ya, Steve. I’ll send Jenny over sometime this week to help out Honey.”

Steve twisted on the wire with one last frustrated motion        before rising to his feet. “My sister is doing just fine. Jenny can           just stay at home. I’m sure there’s plenty to do around your place.             No          sense in coming to the ranch. Honey’s got it all cared for.”

Steve kept his gaze strong and hard at Lou. It was not that he didn’t appreciate the kindness of Lou and his wife. Steve just did not feel any need for anyone to waste their time on his family. They were fine. They were doing just fine.

“Alright, Steve. All right.” Lou turned his horse and headed down the road.

Steve sauntered to his trusty steed that was waiting at the large oak tree. The large gelding glared at him.

“Quit looking at me like that, Branson. I’m sorry it’s so late. I’m finally ready to go.” Steve pulled a canteen from his leather saddlebag and took a long swig of water. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, slipping his empty canteen back into the bag.

He took a last look around before getting up into the saddle. He owned the largest herd of cattle within three counties. The Lord had been good to him over the years, but it didn’t make up for all He’d taken from Steve.

A few miles of travel later, Steve reached the moonlit two-story log cabin that sat on his land. Soft, candlelight burned in the main floor windows revealing two figures sitting side by side at a table.

“I told her to stop waiting for me to eat,” Steve grumbled under his breath. The air had turned colder while he rode. Cursing himself for not grabbing his thick coat, he dug his heels into Branson’s flanks. “C’mon boy. I’ll get you some fresh hay before turning in myself.”

After finishing in the stables, Steve pulled the large double doors closed and marched heavily toward the wrap-around porch. A hard breeze whipped through the air, and Steve quickened his pace. With his head lowered, he barreled up the steps and shoved open the large front door.

“Dada! Dada!” Steve’s young son smiled up at him from his seat at the table. “Home! Home!”

Steve closed the door behind him and tossed his hat onto the hook on the wall. As he moved to the fireplace, where a warm fire crackled, his son continued to jabber excitedly from his seat at the table.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to acknowledge your son who is just excited to see you,” said a beautiful, blonde-haired young woman, as she tore a piece of bread from the slice on her plate.

“Don’t start, Honey, please. It’s been a long day, and I’m really tired.” Steve hunched on the edge of his rocking chair that had been pulled close to the fire. “I already got an earful from Lou. I’d rather not have you coming at me too, little sister.”

The boy’s voice carried through the chilled cabin as Steve’s sister carried on with her lecture. “Knowing Lou, it was probably an earful you needed to hear.” Honey turned and smiled at her nephew beside her. “Isn’t that right, Tommy? Yes. Yes. You are a sweet boy.”

Steve could not take the noise any longer. “Honey! Just take     Tommy to bed! It’s way past his bedtime!”

“I’m still eating, Steve,” she said. Honey always seemed to find her stubborn streak when it annoyed Steve the most.

“I told you that you don’t need to wait for me to get home to start eating. You never know when I’m gonna be home.”

“But we want to wait for you, big brother. We enjoy your company. When I’m done eating, I’ll take Tommy and put him to bed.”

Steve stood up with a sigh. “Why must you always go against everything I tell you to do?”

Honey glanced up from her plate and leveled a strong gaze at her tall brother. “I don’t go against everything, Steve. I listen to you practically every day, but when you get in one of your moods, I decide to do what’s best for this family instead of what’s best for you and you alone.”

Steve crossed his arms over his burly chest. “One of my moods?”

Honey dabbed her mouth with her napkin and set it on the table beside her empty plate. “One of your moods, Steve. Like the mood you are in right this minute. You get like this when things aren’t going your way or when something happens you don’t particularly agree with.”

Steve stared long and hard at his sister. Even though she knew how to stir up his fire when he got complacent, and cool his annoyance when it flared up, Honey needed to learn her place. She was still young and had so much to learn about life and caring for a home.

“Give your dada a hug and a kiss goodnight, Tommy. It’s time to go to bed.”

Steve’s two-year-old son wobbled on his chubby, little legs across the cold, planked floor to Steve.

“Nite nite, dada.” Tommy waved his arms up in the air.

Steve took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders momentarily to show his son some love. “Goodnight, Tommy. Sleep well.” Steve lowered down to one knee and wrapped his arms around the little strawberry-blonde-haired boy. “Now go on with Aunt Honey.”

“I love you, dada.”

Steve patted Tommy’s head as he turned him toward the staircase where Honey stood waiting with open arms.

“C’mon, sweet boy. Let’s get you into bed.”

Tommy ran over and jumped into her arms. Steve watched as the two interacted with complete love and affection. A slight twinge pinched at his heart. He turned around and marched back over to his rocking chair to get more heat to warm his cold body.

What’s wrong with me? He’s my son. My only child. I’m truly blessed to have such a sweet angel for a son. Steve listened as Honey prepared Tommy for bed. He dropped his head in his hands. Why does he have to remind me so much of her? It hurts so bad. I miss her so much!

Cora Ellen Priddy had been unlike any woman Steve had ever known. She was kind and selfless and gave everything she had to make sure everyone had everything they needed. Cora made sure they knew they were loved and cared for. She knew how to cook and clean and sew and take care of a homestead without complaint or disgust. Cora was the greatest woman Steve had ever known, and he had loved her with every fiber of his being.

And when Cora left the earth giving birth to their son, Thomas James Priddy, Steve’s soul had left with her. He couldn’t believe the Lord would give him such a wonderful woman, only to take her so quickly from him. They still had so many years left to share, so many children to create, so many memories to make their own.

It was why his young sister had moved into the large cabin. Steve had built the house with his own two hands. He had built it for Cora. Every inch was exactly how she had wanted it to be. But when she left him with a newborn son, Steve had lost more than the sense of being a husband. He had lost all sense of being a father.

A clatter in the small kitchen jerked Steve from his memories.

“You know, it’s okay to tell your son you love him. There’s nothing wrong with letting your only child know you actually care.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed, and his jaw clenched. He stared into the flames.

“I don’t think Cora would be happy with the father you’ve turned out to be. I doubt she would want you to treat Tommy with such cold, unfeeling emotions. I…”

Steve jumped up from his chair, baring his teeth at his sister.  “Cora’s not here, Honey! She hasn’t been here for two years!”

Honey continued to clear the table. “No, she’s not, Steve. And yes, she hasn’t been. I thought you would have realized it by now.”

“Realized what, Honey? That I have no wife? That the woman I loved is gone and never coming back? That when I look at my son all I see is Cora!” Steve felt his heart pounding in his chest. He felt his legs getting weaker by the second.

“Yes, Steve. Our Cora is gone. But life is still going. It’s time you start letting the past go and start moving toward your future. Or at least start living in the present.”

Steve backed himself up to the large chair and dropped his heavy body down, holding his head in his hands.

“There’s so much more living you need to do, big brother. Tommy is growing up every day. He wants to spend time with you. He wants to learn from you. He wants to love you.”

Steve shook his head. “Stop, Honey. Just stop.”

Honey wiped her hands on her apron, crossed over the floor, and lowered to her knees beside him. “It’s time to start loving again Steve. It’s time to start living again.”

Steve could not listen to her any longer. He had endured a long, hard day of repairing fences. He had listened to his old friend lecture about staying away from his family. He had seen his young son. Even if he was grateful for everything Honey did for the family, she grated on his patience at the end of the day. She was too young to understand his pain.

Without another word, Steve pushed up from the chair and headed for his bedroom behind the staircase.

“Where are you going?” Honey’s voice called out from the floor.

Steve did not miss a stride. “I’m going to bed.”

“But we’re not done talking.”

“We are for tonight, Honey.” Steve could hear his sister’s protest, but he did not let it stop him. He wanted the sanctuary of his bedroom. He wanted the quiet of sleep.

The next morning, he found Honey standing over the large, four-burner wood stove attempting her hand at breakfast. Her heart was as big as the Montana sky, but Honey’s knowledge of housekeeping and tending to a family was spare to say the least.

“I told you there’s no need for making big meals anymore,” Steve grumbled out as he walked past her to grab a cup hanging from a nail in the wall.

“Well, good morning to you, too. It doesn’t hurt to at least try. I know I’m not the best, but at least I’m willing to change things around here.”

Steve poured himself a cup of hot, black coffee. He needed as much fuel to get through the day as possible. “Please, don’t start this again, Honey. Let me get this down before you come at me.” Steve walked slowly to his chair at the table and slid into the seat.

“I’m not starting, big brother. I’m continuing. You didn’t let me finish our conversation last night.” Honey set down a basket of day-old biscuits in the middle of the table. She poured her own cup of coffee and joined her brother at the table. “Here.” She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.

After cringing from his bitter sip of coffee, Steve glanced at the parchment. “What’s this?”

“It’s an advertisement,” she said.

“What kind of advertisement?”

Honey shrugged her shoulders. “It’s an advertisement to get you a new wife.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Honey! I don’t need a new wife. And, if I did, I wouldn’t advertise for one!”

Honey responded calmly. “Yes, you do. And there’s nothing wrong with seeking a wife through the post.”

Steve jumped up from his seat. “Don’t send that advertisement out. Do you understand me?”

Honey sipped her coffee.

“Honey! I’m serious! Don’t send it! I don’t need a wife! I don’t want a wife!”

Steve grabbed his cup and a handful of biscuits and turned.

“Where are you going, Steve?”

“I’ll eat these in the tack room,” he said.

He shrugged into his coat, slammed his hat on his head, and stomped out the front door into the brisk Montana morning air with his small breakfast in hand.

God, please help me to have a better attitude today. Help me to find the patience I so desperately need. 

Steve tilted his head to the sky. “Help me, God! Somehow. Some way. Just please, help me!”

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Chapter One

A cool wind blew up from the west, chilling Diana to her core. She supposed it was appropriate for the occasion. The whole town had turned out for Papa’s burial. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t break down in front of all these people. Her father deserved the dignity of a proper funeral. When she got back to the silent house attached to the smithy, she could fall apart all she wanted. No one needed to know.

Papa deserved dignity at his funeral because he hadn’t found it in death. Sheriff Harris had been kind and told her he’d hit his head, but Diana knew the truth. Papa had been as good to her as he could be, but he had his demons. His horse had thrown him, it was true, but he’d landed on soft ground. A sober man could have gotten up again.

She pushed her resentment from her mind. She had little right to judge him, and he was past any hope of reform by now. All she could do was grieve and try to go on as best she could.

Reverend Watts, who had buried Diana’s mother, bowed his head as Papa’s casket was lowered into the grave. “Let us pray.” His voice was as cold and cutting as the wind.

Diana bowed her head with the rest of the town as Reverend Watts spoke in measured tones about her father. Papa was the last in a long line of Millers in Dickson, all well-respected practitioners of their trade. If Reverend Watts knew Papa had been the town blacksmith, he didn’t say so. Not in so many words, anyway. The rest of the town knew. It had been Papa who’d mended their wagon springs and shoed their horses, who created the fine iron fences around the homes of the wealthy, and who made the sharp, reliable hunting knives for the rest of the men. Smiths might be a dying profession in New York City, but upstate where the real business of New York was done, smiths were still in great demand.

That knowledge stiffened Diana’s resolve and helped her to keep her composure through the long burial service, even as the sexton’s assistants shoveled dirt over the simple pine box she had chosen for him. Diana and her father were frugal people, and no amount of sniffing from the carpenter was going to change that.

It was only when the last of the dirt had been replaced, lying in a cold heap over her father’s remains, that Diana felt comfortable leaving.  The mound would settle soon enough, and she could come back with flowers for both Papa and Mama in the spring. For now, the grave would have to suffice as it was.

She walked the long trail back to the forge and house alone. None of the townspeople had thought to stay with her, and to be fair, she would have been poor company. She valued the silence at a time like this. Papa’s death weighed heavily on her, but the chirping of the occasional bird overhead and the bright yellow of forsythias struggling to return to life soothed her.

She had little enough to look forward to in the small house attached to the smithy. The familiar routines of hearth and home seemed foolish now.  What was the use of lighting the fire and cooking for one? She groaned at the thought.

You may as well get used to it. This is the life you have now. Her reasonable self gave the rest of her a little shake. Perhaps once she’d had other options, but she’d turned down proposals from both of Dickson’s single men in favor of caring for Papa. It had been the right choice, the only choice, but as the snow crunched under her feet, she couldn’t help but wonder what was left for her.

I’ll figure it out. She wasn’t exactly helpless. She had the house. She had the smithy, and while she was no blacksmith, another was sure to come to Dickson, eventually. In the meantime, she might be able to sell some of the manufactured steel items coming in from Connecticut or Massachusetts. None of them were as good as handmade goods, but a customer would take what he could get in a pinch.

By the time she made it back to the house, she thought she might have the beginnings of a plan. She needed to flesh it out. Papa had been frugal in his ways when he was sober, but he could get carried away when in his cups. He couldn’t bear to turn people away, either—he’d trade services before he’d tell someone no. Everything hinged on just how much capital she had to work with.

She’d hoped to have some time alone to go through the finances and see what she might make of them, but she soon realized it wasn’t to be. She recognized Reverend Watts’ buggy right away, having only just seen it. Sheriff Harris’ horse stood beside the carriage, a feed bag strapped to his face. The presence of another horse, this one entirely strange, made her heart catch in her chest.

Somehow, she doubted the sheriff had found relatives on either side willing to take her in.

After a moment of resentment toward the people who could not leave her to her grief in peace, Diana realized that while she saw the carriage and she saw the horses, she did not see the people associated with them.

She took a deep breath. While she had the right to expect her privacy at a time like this, Dickson was a country town with country manners. People often felt free to let themselves into a home, especially in March when the weather could be so unpredictable. She could not afford to lose friends by yelling at them, not now.

She kept her head bowed as she mounted the plank stairs to the front door and let herself in. She found the sheriff and Reverend Watts in the parlor with a man she’d never met before. The stranger was of average height with a drooping, thick mustache. He wore a red vest under his coat, as though today was a festive occasion.

He also smoked a cigar, in a stranger’s house.

Sheriff Harris took off his hat. “Miss Miller. Let me say again how sorry I am for your loss. I know it was a sudden thing and very upsetting for you.”

“Yes, of course.” Diana glanced around at the familiar items in the parlor. She’d seen them every day when she went in to dust them, although she rarely spent time in there. Papa hadn’t put much stock in formal entertainment and had essentially left it as it was when Mama died. Still, Diana liked to keep it tidy so she couldn’t help but notice how a few things had been moved. Mama’s few books had been shoved out of their places on the shelf and stacked on a table. The lamps had been moved, and an end table had a drawer still partially open.

“Is there something you may have been looking for, that I can help you find?” She struggled to keep her voice neutral. What kind of civilized men went pawing through other people’s homes, especially after a funeral?

“The books for the smithy would be a good start.” The stranger wrinkled his nose at her. “I assume you know how to read well enough to know which ones they are, yes?”

Reverend Watts stepped between Diana and the stranger. “Mr. Ormsby, there’s no need for rudeness. A simple question would have sufficed.”

“She is a trespasser upon my property, and I want her removed this instant.” The stranger, Ormsby, waved a hand as if sweeping Diana out of her house.

“This is my home, sir, and I’ll thank you to leave it at once.” Diana pointed toward the door.

Sheriff Harris cleared his throat. “Er, well, you see, Miss, it seems that’s not exactly the case.”

Ormsby curled his lip, took a drag from his foul cigar, and blew smoke into her face. Diana kept her head up and didn’t flinch, even though the smell was odious.

“It seems your father—well, I hate to speak ill of the dead, Miss, but he had his problems. And he was putting those problems on full display the other night at Sarah Gladshaw’s house.” Harris tugged at his collar.

Diana knew just enough about the goings-on at Sarah Gladshaw’s to know she didn’t want to know any more. “I see. So, he was… he’d been drinking. He’s been grieving Mama’s death for nineteen years.”

“Time enough to get over it, don’t you think?” Watts curled his lip.

Harris glowered. “Far be it from me to chastise a clergyman for casting judgement.” He softened as he turned back to Diana. “It seems he wasn’t just drinking, ma’am. He was also taking part in a bit of a game, too.”

Watts snorted. “And here you said you couldn’t possibly marry. Someone had to stay home and take care of your father.  You certainly didn’t excel in that department, now, did you?” He rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t keep him from the demon rum, you couldn’t keep him from gambling, and you couldn’t keep him from making a miserable end facedown in the snow.”

Diana’s breath caught in her throat. Everything Watts said was true, but she’d done everything in her power.  A daughter could only do so much.  “I do believe he had several outstanding bills with you, Reverend. You can feel free to settle up before leaving.”

Watts gasped, hand to his chest. Ormsby let out a little chuckle. “She’s got spirit, I’ll give her that much.”

Harris managed a little grin. “She’d have to, to keep a roof over their heads all these years.” Then he sobered again. “The problem is, Miss, just before he passed, your father and Mr. Ormsby here got into a game with fairly high stakes. Mr. Ormsby’s farm in Maine against Mr. Miller’s house and smithy here. And well… your father lost.”

Diana swayed on her feet. Only the memory of her father, of the good times they’d had in this place, kept her upright. “That can’t be right. He’d have had no use for a farm in Maine. He’s never tried to grow a crop in his life.”

“Not my problem, I’m afraid.” Ormsby shrugged. “I’m thinking I’ll shut down the smithy. No one needs a blacksmith anymore, anyway. I’m going to turn the building into a saloon and the house into a hotel. The way I see it, Dickson needs a respectable place for travelers to stop for a night. And a man needs a place to stop for a drink that isn’t a house of ill repute, too.”

Watts sucked in his cheeks. “Must you? There’s a lady present.”

“A trespassing lady. Your father may have had his faults. He may have been as drunk as a lord. But he signed that deed over fair and square. I’ve been patient because of your situation, but I’m sure you heard me mention the need for respectable lodging.” Ormsby raised an eyebrow. “Right. Now you can just gather your things and get.”

Diana clutched at her neck and turned to Bowen. “This can’t be legal. Sheriff, tell me there’s something I can do. My father was so drunk he probably couldn’t see straight.”

“Well.” Harris inhaled sharply. “There’s definitely an argument to be made. I can see where you might have a chance, but you’d need one heck of a lawyer. And here’s the thing, Miss. The only lawyer we’ve got in Dickson—well, he’s just not that good. And I’m pretty sure he was born when they signed the Constitution. I’m not saying he’s bad, but…”

“But I wouldn’t trust him to handle the will of a person with no estate.” Watts sniffed. “You’re welcome to try your luck, but the other side of pressing a lawsuit is that lawyers cost money.”

“And money, my dear, is something you don’t have. I own this house, so you can’t borrow against it. I own the store, so you can’t borrow against that. You can sell off all the furnishings, you can sell off all your mama’s jewelry, and it still won’t get you enough to buy someone to plead your case in front of a judge.” Ormsby blew smoke in her face, again. “That deed is legal, no matter how much whiskey your daddy drank before he signed it. Get to packing.”

“I’d get to it.” Harris wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You can stay with me and the missus, for a couple of weeks, anyway. Until you land on your feet.”

Diana turned on her heel and headed for the stairs. She didn’t have much choice. She was going to have to stay with Harris, at least until she figured out a course of action.

As she rushed from room to room, gathering everything her family had ever owned, she bit her tongue to force back the tears. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt so helpless, and then this Mr. Ormsby had shown up and suddenly everything in her life was gone.

She gathered her property and put it into the pastor’s carriage, without regard for packaging or propriety. She had little choice. Anything that made it back into town would probably have to be sold.

Before they left, she turned to Mr. Ormsby. “I’ll have a receipt, if you please.”

“You aren’t in a position to be demanding much of anything, Miss Miller.” Ormsby hung his hat on her father’s favorite peg.

“I won’t be having any funny business after the fact. I’ll have a receipt, witnessed by these gentlemen, that I did vacate the premises at the appropriate time.” She straightened her back and waited, hands loose at her sides.

It was such a little thing, but Diana had kept her father’s books since she’d been a small child. She knew to get and give receipts. This Ormsby fellow struck her as a scoundrel, and she’d already lost everything to him once. She wasn’t going to leave herself vulnerable again.

Chapter Two

Cole paused as he tossed another bale of hay down to Gus and Will, who waited down below. Thanks to good planning on his father’s part, he could see the entire ranch from up here. He had a view of every pasture, every bit of grass, every stream, and every barn. The Badlands loomed in the distance, painted in colors more beautiful than any painter back east could have imagined by the rising sun. The only sign of human life had been built by Cole’s father, or by Cole himself. Sure, the work was hard and the hours long, but a view like this made everything worth it. Father always said so, anyway.

“Would you get on with it?” Gus looked up at him with a big grin. “We still got to get our feed on!”

Cole chuckled and threw another bale down to the waiting men below. None of the other ranch hands would talk to him quite that way. For them, Cole was the guy holding the purse strings. They’d been here for a while, most for years, but they still had a fear of being let go. The Dakota Territory wasn’t so crowded that they could count on finding work right away.

Not that Cole would fire someone for a little good-natured ribbing. He wasn’t that kind of guy.

Gus was different. He’d come out west with a whole bunch of orphans from all of those packed, dirty places back east. Cole could still remember the day when Father had brought him back from town, shivering and terrified and so skinny he might have been a skeleton.

No one would ever know Gus had been one of those half-dead kids from the East to look at him now. He’d grown into a tall, strapping man, more of a brother to Cole than a hired man, and he had no problem giving Cole grief when Cole got distracted.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cole laughed as he reached for another bale. “Brick’s got breakfast duty today, so I don’t know why you’re in such a rush.”

Groans rose up from the ground beneath him, almost indistinguishable from the cattle Freddy, George, and Hank were bringing out for their first meal. Sure, the beasts could feast like kings out there on grass and whatnot. Plenty of ranchers, especially the newcomers, did just that. One of these days they’d lose half their herd or more to a cold snap and Cole would laugh all the way to the bank.

“If you’d told me Brick was cooking today, I’d have taken my chances with the cattle feed.” George made a face and clutched at his stomach. “I heard he got run off of his last job for making everyone sick with one meal!”

Cole climbed down from the hayloft. He laughed just as much as the rest of them. “Pretty sure he didn’t want to waste the eggs, George.”

“Instead, he near wasted ten men.” Freddie glared toward the house. “A darn shame.”

“Good thing we don’t have eggs around here.” Cole kept an eye on the cattle as they trotted obediently into the pen where they would eat.  He narrowed his eyes at the herd. The Heggarty Ranch wasn’t the largest in the Dakota Territory at only five thousand head, but he was sure he missed a familiar face or two. Of course, a man couldn’t be certain, not this early in the morning and not with so many faces.

Father had only had two thousand head of cattle, back when the fever had taken him.

Cole wouldn’t think about it, not right now. He had too much to do.

“I wouldn’t mind having eggs. And some chickens, now that you mention it.” If Hank noticed the missing cattle, he didn’t say anything about it.  He just scratched at the stubble on his tanned cheeks and headed indoors.

“Chickens are too much work, and they attract foxes. We’ve got enough trouble keeping watch over the cattle. We can’t spare the time to go chasing off after chickens too.” Cole remembered the things his mother used to do with eggs, or the occasional stewing hen too old for laying. Of course, she knew what she was doing in the kitchen. Cole did not.

He joined the rest of the hands as they headed in for breakfast. Brick had rustled up some sausage from somewhere. Cole didn’t know where it had come from, but breakfast smelled better than the gravy Cole himself had made for yesterday’s breakfast.

The biscuits, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired. They hadn’t risen, at all, and turned out to be doughy lumps in the gravy. All in all, the whole mess was about as appetizing as one of the stalls after a long night. Even the coffee smelled off.

It wasn’t like they could afford to do anything but choke it down. None of them could do any better, and at least they knew it would fill their bellies.  Dinnertime was a long way off, and they’d be doing back-breaking work in the meantime. They needed the fuel.

He poked at a misshapen lump in the gravy. When it didn’t poke back, he was almost surprised.

“Brick, where the heck did you learn to cook?” Will grimaced as he swallowed a spoonful of the vile goo. “Tell me the truth. Was it in Purgatory, or at the very gates of Hades itself?”

“Go on, let’s see you try to do better.” Brick didn’t get mad. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how bad the chow was. “Remember that time you served us meat so rare it was raw?”

“It was my first time cooking meat! What did you expect?” Will pressed a hand to his chest, cheeks turning red even under their light coating of dust.  “It’s not like they teach fine cooking at the Olathe Lutheran School.”

George hooted with laughter. “Can you imagine? Cooking in school! Hey Cole, when are you going to bring some good woman on to do the cooking around here? I know you’ve got to be just as tired of the chow as the rest of us.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Cole didn’t bother to hide it. The only difference between them and him was where he slept, and even Gus had a room in the house. “I’ve asked around in town for someone looking for work, but so far there haven’t been any takers. There are two ladies in town.  Missy Montgomery, who’s got plenty of work on her hands as the pastor’s wife, and Widow Johanssen, who’s about ninety years old and doesn’t speak English. I’m pretty sure her hands are too sore to cook for herself, never mind the bunch of us.”

“And let me guess, you’ve been checking up on her and making sure she’s got enough provisions.” Gus shook his head, smiling.

“Well, it’s only right. Someone has to. I’m sure Pastor Montgomery does the same, but you know she helped take care of Mother and Father when they had the fever.” Cole sat back with a little smile. No one could shame him for looking in on an old lady.  They could try, but they’d never succeed.  “There’s no harm in it. She’s earned a little care, don’t you think? But she’s definitely in no shape to keep up with the likes of us.”

Brick cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve got something you might want to look into if you want to be able to keep looking in on your friend there.  We lost another ten head of cattle last night.”

Cole could barely swallow his coffee past the lump in his throat. They’d lost ten last week, and twenty the week before that. Sure, Cole had a decent sized herd, but every missing cow still meant money out of his pocket.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hank scowled at him. “That’s over thirty-five hundred dollars just walked on out of here!”

Cole could speak now. “You think I don’t know that?” he demanded. “That’s obscene. That’s more than most people’s pay. That’s…” He wiped at his face. “But it shouldn’t be happening. After that first time, we kept them penned up at night. I thought at first it might be the native folks—my father had trouble with them when he first came out here.”

George, whose mother had been Lakota, shook his head. “Nah, they don’t come in this far. And they’re not going to mess with cattle. They’ve got no interest in ranching.”

Cole nodded. “Right. That’s why I figured it wasn’t them pretty quick. I’m kind of out of options, though. If it was an animal, there would be signs. Claw marks. Blood. Cattle yelling in the middle of the night, that kind of thing.”

Will scratched his head. “What kind of an animal drags off ten cows at once, anyway?”

“You’re not going to solve it all in a day.” Brick stood up and brought his tin plate over to the washbasin.  “When you find someone to take up the cooking and the cleaning around here, maybe you’ll find someone who can think about those thefts too.”

The rest of the ranch hands laughed. Cole made himself laugh with them, but the farthest thing from his mind right now was humor.  Someone was out there stealing his cattle.

And considering the fact that people were still spread out pretty thin on the ground here in the Dakota Territory, it had to be someone close by. Someone he knew. Someone he trusted.

Brick had been right, though. Cole wasn’t going to solve these thefts in a day, and five thousand head of cattle weren’t going to bring themselves out to pasture. He sent Gus with Brick and Will out to the far field with a big chunk of the herd, most of the cows and a few of the oxen. Freddy, George, and Hank could handle a trip to the nearer field with the steers, who were more of a handful this time of year.

It was on Cole to figure out how to stop the rustlers from stealing his cattle, so he stayed back to work on the cattle barns themselves. There wasn’t anyone else to take care of it. Cattle theft was illegal, sure, but the long arm of the law didn’t quite reach Spring Sky. Cole would have to do things on his own, the way he had for years. Even before his parents died, he’d been a pretty self-sufficient man. He’d had to be. And when a man was on his own, he learned how to set priorities.

Stopping things was a higher priority than getting revenge.

He checked every barn he had, even the ones where he kept the horses. He found an old magnifying glass his father used to use when the lawyers sent contracts and brought it out to check things over, just in case his naked eyes missed something. He couldn’t find the slightest sign someone had forced the doors. He found plenty of horseshoe prints, and hoof prints from cattle. That part only made sense, though. Maybe if Cole had gotten out to see the ground before anyone else had tried to do their job, he might have been able to notice someone else’s horseshoes around the place.

As it was now, he couldn’t hope to discern one horse from another.

It wasn’t the first time he wished he had someone to help out around the ranch. He had the guys, the ranch hands, but they were hired help. They didn’t have a stake in the place. Even Gus, for all his attachment to Mother and Father, drew a wage like everyone else. Cole needed an equal, someone who had just as much stake in this place as he had. Someone who would put as much energy into finding the culprit as he would.

They couldn’t be just like him, though. They’d need to bring in a different set of skills. Cole was good at managing cattle and managing land. He needed someone who could handle building maintenance, the cooking, and maybe keeping the books too. He needed someone who could make his mother’s house seem less like a barracks.

Maybe this mysterious person could make his cows fly while he was at it. This place didn’t get a lot of newcomers, which was what made it good ranch country. The chances that this person would just show up one day and solve all the ranch’s problems were slim to none.

But since he was wishing, he might as well wish for this mysterious stranger to be a detective. One who could make sense out of these cattle thefts.

He gave up after a while and made a mental note. He would be going into town soon, sending part of his herd to Omaha and picking up some supplies while he was there. He’d be sure to find something nice for Widow Johanssen, too, even if he couldn’t manage to ask her what she needed.  She’d either make use of it or trade it for what she wanted. The poor old lady could probably use something to brighten her day.

And while he was in Williston, he’d find the blacksmith and invest in some good iron padlocks. That should help cut down on the cattle rustling.

He started work on the evening meal once he’d done what he could to find the cattle thief. He didn’t have a lot to work with, just beans, but beans had kept the Dakota Territory going for a good long while. It might not be flavorful, but he’d take it.

Maybe he could put an advertisement in one of those newspapers back in Centralia. The thought of bringing someone from so far east as that—or even further—made his skin crawl, and honestly, he wasn’t sure life on a cattle ranch was suited to a woman. Sure, she wouldn’t be out there riding on the trail with the rest of them, but frontier life wasn’t easy on anyone. It had killed Mother, and she’d grown up with it. Someone who’d come up with all the softness and convenience of more settled life would shrivel up and expire once exposed to the extremes of a Dakota winter.

He couldn’t help but wonder if that soft Eastern woman he couldn’t even picture might not do something better with these beans than he could.

The men brought back the cattle just before sunset. Cole counted each and every beast that went into one of the barns, and they brought back every animal they’d gone out with. No one groused too much about the dinner of beans, and afterward they all sat around by the fire telling stories. It was March, and while the land might be waking up, it was still cold enough to enjoy a nice, roaring fire.

The hired men went back to the bunkhouse as the hour grew late. Much as they all enjoyed one another’s company, everyone knew they had to get up good and early to start things all over again tomorrow. Cole tidied up a bit around the small house with Gus’s help, and they headed off to their own bedrooms.

“You think it might be nice?” Gus’s tone was wistful, his eyes far away in the half-light of the candle in his hand.

Cole blinked. “Finding the cattle thief? Yeah, I do.”

Gus snorted. “No. I mean yeah, that would be fantastic. I mean having a woman around the place. Someone to cook and clean, maybe to keep us all in line a little bit.”

Cole managed a little bit of a smile. “Maybe. I mean things were certainly better in Mother’s time, that’s for sure.” He looked away and caught an old blue glass bauble of Mother’s, still in its place of honor over the window.  “She didn’t have an easy time of it, though.  And I can’t think of many women who would want to come here out into the wilderness just to take care of a bunch of ranchers.”

“Maybe not.” Gus laughed a little and shuffled off to bed.

Cole shook his head and headed into his own room. The quilt his mother had made him as a child no longer covered his body, but he didn’t have the skills to make a new one. He’d bartered for a few new blankets in town, but nothing beat the warmth of his old quilt.

Maybe it might be nice to have a woman around the place. He couldn’t think for the life of him why she’d come.

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