“There isn’t anything going on between us,” he said. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Epilogue Copyright

“There isn’t anything going on between us,” he said.

“You sleep in your room and I sleep in mine. Our conduct is entirely aboveboard.”

“Pretty much so, yes.”

“I only kissed you once.”

“I know.” She hadn’t intended for her voice to hold so much regret.

The silence grew long between them.

“Do you want me to give them some explanation? I guess I could say you’re my sister or a cousin.”

“No. I don’t want to lie. Especially not to a preacher. I hate dishonesty.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head and sighed. “Why didn’t I ever think about this before now?”

Carefully he said, “We could let them assume you’re my wife.”

She looked at him and waited for an explanation.

“It’s what they already believe. No one would question it.”

Elizabeth exploded. “But it’s not true!”

Dear Reader.

This month we’re giving you plenty of excuses to put your feet up and “get away from it all” with these four, fantasy-filled historical romances.

Let’s begin with handsome rancher Brice Graham and his darling baby girl who will undoubtedly capture your affection in The Rancher’s Wife, an emotional new Western by award-winning author Lynda Trent. Critics have described the author’s works as “sensual” and “utterly delightful.” In this pretend marriage tale, an abandoned wife moves in with Brice in order to care for his daughter. Yet complications arise when the two wish to many for real...

Medieval fans, prepare yourselves for a spine-tingling story of forbidden love in Lyn Stone’s latest, Bride of Trouville, about a young widow, forced to marry, who must hide her son’s deafness from the husband she’s grown to love. And don’t miss Conor, by bestselling author Ruth Langan, in which a legendary rogue teams up—permanently—with a beautiful lrish noblewoman to thwart a plot to murder Queen Elizabeth.

If those aren’t enough excuses to curl up with a book, then perhaps half-Apache Rio Santee will entice you in Theresa Michaels’ new sigh-inducing Western, The Merry Widows—Sarah, about two wounded souls who heal each other’s hearts.

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historcal®.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave.. P.O. Box 1325. Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Ene, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Rancher’s Wife

Lynda Trent

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LYNDA TRENT

Lynda Trent has been writing novels for twenty years, using various pen names. Her time travel romances are written under the pseudonym Elizabeth Crane, and her ghost novels as Abigail McDaniels. Romance and mainstream novels, as well as nonfiction, are published as Lynda Trent.

Among other achievements, Lynda Trent has been awarded the prestigious RITA Award by Romance Writers of America for Opal Fires, a contemporary mainstream romance novel. She has frequently been a RITA finalist for both contemporary and historical romances. In 1985 she won a bronze Porgy for Best Western Novel in the West Coast Review of Books. In 1986, she and her former co-author were named Outstanding Historical Romance Writing Team by Romantic Times Magazine. Translations of her fifty-three books are sold worldwide.

To Courtney Jade Trent—a ray of sunshine

Chapter One

Something hurled itself at the side of the sod hut and Elizabeth prayed the storm hadn’t torn loose more of the barn. It wasn’t a real barn, only a lean-to, not like the ones she had known back home in Hannibal, but it was all the mule had for shelter. Her husband was gone on the horse so the poor mule had only his own body heat to keep him warm in the winter’s first snowstorm.

Nothing had gone as Elizabeth had planned when she married Robert Parkins seven years before. She had been seventeen and eager to escape her tyrannical father at any cost. At the time she had thought she loved Robert and that they would live in a pretty home filled with love and children. But she was twenty-four now with neither home nor child. Only Robert, and her disillusionment, and the sod hut they lived in that was, at best, a dubious shelter.

Robert had won the land in a poker game. Forty acres and a gold mine in the new Oklahoma Territory had seemed like a dream come true. Elizabeth should have known better. In the past seven years Robert had been a clerk, a teller in a bank, a merchant’s bookkeeper, an apprentice wheelwright and a tinker. He never stuck with anything for long and there had been spells between jobs when he had done nothing and she had supported them by taking in washing and ironing. As fast as she could save money, Robert found it and gambled it away. She had buried the last dream when she first saw the mud hut and the hole in the ground that was supposed to be a gold mine.

The storm winds shifted and her shutters rattled alarmingly. Elizabeth put the straight-backed chair in front of them and sat in it, hoping to keep the shutters closed and the storm out. She had always feared storms and was struggling not to become terrified of this one. Robert had ridden into town for supplies but had been gone for a week on a chore that should have taken two days, three at the most.

As always he had put the journey off until they were almost entirely out of food and Elizabeth was eating as little as possible in order to survive until he returned. The nights were the worst. She lay awake for hours at a time worrying that he might have been killed or that he had simply grown tired of a wife, a sod hut and a worthless gold mine, and had left them all behind.

Robert had believed in the gold mine and had been glad there were no greedy neighbors he would have to fend off once he struck it rich. To Elizabeth, who was accustomed to living in town, the absence of people close by had been frightening. They were all alone on the side of a rocky hill, thirty miles from the nearest town and five miles from another living person.

The gold mine had never yielded a thimbleful of gold, even though Robert had worked it steadily—or at least at a pace that was steady for him. Every day, once she had finished the other chores on the place, Elizabeth helped him chip away at the rock and haul out buckets of worthless rubble. All for nothing. Even Robert finally admitted that.

The land was no good for farming and too small to raise cattle, even the longhorn kind that were said to be able to exist on practically no grass at all.

The only level piece of ground was beneath the hut. The roof was of the lean-to variety and was covered with dirt and grass. While it had provided a measure of coolness that first summer, it was always damp, and downright wet when it rained. As a further inconvenience, bugs nesting in the roof frequently burrowed through and dropped onto whatever or whoever was below. The floor was dirt interspersed with rock, as were the walls. Not one single thing was pretty about it, and the constant dampness was already rotting the treasured quilts and linens Elizabeth had brought with them.

The shutters trembled and shoved against the back of her chair, forcing a wider entrance for the icy wind that seemed determined to rob her of what little heat she had left. Fortunately the gust was of short duration and the weight of the chair closed the gap again. Elizabeth had never been so afraid. At least, she told herself, she didn’t have to worry about the hut being blown down since it was built into the hill itself. Assuming, of course, the heavy snow didn’t make the roof collapse.

She refused to cry. Ever since she could remember, Elizabeth had hated to cry. It solved nothing and only made her feel vulnerable. Instead, she tried to work up a sustaining anger against Robert. It wasn’t hard to do. He had had ample time to ride to the town of Glory, buy provisions, get drunk, gamble away the rest of their money and ride home. A man could easily travel thirty miles on horseback in a day.

So where was he? She tried to blame it on the storm. It wasn’t likely that Robert had started for home and been overtaken by the storm. She had seen it building for an entire day before it actually arrived. Robert was good at self-preservation and would not risk being caught in a blizzard just because she was alone and running out of food.

The direction of the storm’s onslaught shifted again and Elizabeth got out of the chair to pace in the small room. There was little furniture to impede her steps. The bed stood against one wall, made bright by her quilts. The table was on the opposite wall, along with the only other chair they owned. A shelf held her meager provisions. In a few short months, the rag rug that once covered most of the wet stone and dirt floor had rotted and had been relegated to the barn for use as rags. She saw no sense in making another.

Her father had been a well-to-do man. Looking back on his house with its clutter of furniture, knickknacks, fringed rugs, pictures on every surface and silently efficient servants, she thought it seemed like a palace. She didn’t miss her tyrannical father but she longed for his dry, comfortable house and her mother, who had been dead since shortly before Elizabeth married Robert.

She knew her mother would have insisted that she stay with Robert. The sanctity of marriage had been drilled into her head since infancy. Divorce was an ugly word, and those who were touched by it were no longer entirely decent people. The wives had failed at the one task God had intended for them, according to her parents, and the men were never blamed. It was always said, or at least implied, that the wife had turned despot or slattern and that the husband had been more or less forced to rid himself of her. But surely, if her mother had known what Elizabeth’s marriage was like, might she not have encouraged her to leave?

There was no use speculating. Her mother was dead and buried in Hannibal. Elizabeth had no place to go. Her father had never loved her and he would be unwilling to take her in. Besides, she didn’t want to go back to the life she had married Robert to get away from. Furthermore, striking out on her own was impossible without money, and Robert had taken all that was left to buy the supplies they would need to get through this winter.

With her lantern in hand, she went to the door and drew the bolt. Cautiously she opened the door a few inches and peered out. The frigid air was thick with wind-driven snowflakes that bit at her face and hands. The snowdrift packed against the door was already two feet deep and more was piling on top of that by the minute. Within a few inches of the door, the dim light from her lantern was swallowed by the blackness of the night and the density of the falling snow.

Elizabeth closed the door again before the rapidly accumulating snow could block it. At this rate, she would be snowed in by morning. How would she get out to the barn to tend to the mule? At least the chickens were long since eaten, so she didn’t have to worry about them being buried under snow in their makeshift chicken coop.

What would she do if Robert never came back? The answer was too horrifying to consider.

Knowing she had to get her mind on something else to save her sanity, she fetched the one book she still owned from the tiny table beside the bed. She had read her copy of The Mysteries of Udolpho so many times that the pages felt soft and fragile. It was the only thing she had taken from her father’s house other than her clothing. This had always been her favorite book and she couldn’t bear to leave it behind. Although it was ponderously long, she had memorized pages of it. On nights like this, it was her only friend and companion.

Trying to ignore the howling wind shearing over her low roof, Elizabeth sat at the table, propped up the book in the yellow glow of the lantern and began to read.

Down in the valley Celia Graham glared at her husband and nervously tapped her foot against the floor. “I hate this place!” she said for the fifth time that hour. “It’s just like you to drag me away from everyone I love and expect me to live on this godforsaken ranch.”

Brice gave her a long look. “At the time you were eager to come here and get away from your mother’s interference. And I was under the impression that I was a ‘loved one.’”

“That’s right! Twist my words about. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about anything.” Her lower lip protruded petulantly. She hated being stuck here on this ranch, away from her family and the stores she had taken for granted when they were accessible. She particularly cared that she was eight months pregnant; she was tired of being fat and awkward. “No matter what you say, I’m never having another child,” she snapped.

He glanced up from the ranch records he was completing. “What does that have to do with it? We would have had children if we stayed in Saxon. I miss Texas, too, but you aren’t giving Oklahoma Territory a chance.”

“It doesn’t deserve one.” She looked around the beautifully furnished parlor as if it were a squalid hut. “This place is ugly. Not at all like Mother’s parlor. A man has no idea how to decorate a house.”

“You liked it well enough at first. I recall you gloating and saying you couldn’t wait for your mother to see it because she would be so jealous.”

She hated it when he threw her words back at her. Brice never forgot anything. “That’s nonsense. I’ve never gloated in my life. And to accuse Mother of being jealous!”

Celia hoisted her swollen body out of the chair and glared accusingly at Brice. It was all his fault she had lost her tiny waist—probably forever—and that her hands and feet were swollen and her insides sore from the baby’s kicks. She detested children and she couldn’t wait to have this ordeal behind her.

She waddled to the carved oak desk and dropped down into the chair. Even crossing the room had been an odious chore. She took out pink stationery and dipped her pen in the inkwell. Dear Mother and Father, she wrote.

For the next half hour she poured out all her hatred of Brice and a lengthy description of all the faults of the ranch. That she wasn’t accurate didn’t bother her in the least. She was unhappy and that was all that mattered.

The mellow voice of the mantel clock sounded the hour. Celia suspiciously checked the time with the gold watch she wore on a chain about her neck. The mantel clock was one of Brice’s purchases and she was waiting to discover it in error.

She ended the letter, put it in an envelope and sealed it. Awkwardly she stood and crossed the room to the door. Her house slippers made no sound on the Oriental rug.

In the central hallway Celia stopped and called out, “Consuela!”

A dark-haired woman several years older than Celia hurried to her.

Celia handed her the envelope. “Have Manuel post this tomorrow.”

Consuela glanced at the front door, which rattled beneath the storm’s assault. “There is much snow, Señora Graham. He might not be able to get to Glory tomorrow.”

Celia gave her a cold stare. “You heard my orders, Consuela. A bit of snow won’t hurt your husband.”

“Sí, señora.”

“I’m ready to go to bed now.” She turned and started up the stairs. She didn’t tell Brice good-night, nor did he call out to her, though he probably heard the entire exchange. She had left the door to the parlor open so the room’s heat would be stolen by the near-freezing hall.

By the time she reached the top of the stairs, Celia was exhausted. She did as little as possible these days; any exercise at all made her heart race and caused a headache to pound in her temples. She passed Brice’s bedroom and went into her own room with Consuela close behind.

She waited impatiently for Consuela to take out her warmest nightgown and turn down the bed’s cover. Although the brazier had been lit, the room was still uncomfortably cold.

As Consuela undressed her, Celia said, “I hate being so fat and ugly. I hate it!”

“No, no, señora. A woman with child is beautiful,” Consuela said quickly,

“Your hands are so cold. Can’t you hurry? As for me being beautiful—that’s horsefeathers!” She thought for a moment “What do your people do to hurry a birth? I’m sure you must have some way.”

Consuela’s hands paused, then she continued unlacing Celia’s dress. “There is no safe way. And you are still a month or more away from your time.”

“I don’t see how a few weeks could matter to the baby and they matter a great deal to me.” She pouted thoughtfully. “There must be some way to hurry this birth along.” Celia was still pondering when she went to bed.

By morning the storm had passed, moving quickly south and east up and over the Ouachita Mountains. Through her window on the south side of the hut, Elizabeth could see that a few muddy clouds straggling behind the fierce storm were just making their way up the foothills. To her immense relief, the sky overhead was making an effort to brighten.

Using her dishpan, Elizabeth scooped most of the snow away from her door and began cutting a path toward the barn. Her progress was slow but relentless. She finally made her way to the barn and was able to tug open the doors.

At first the tiny, dark room was cold and still, and a lump formed in her throat with the thought that she was the only living thing that had survived the night. But then a shuffling sound pierced the darkness and hope rose in her. As her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior. she saw her mule in the far corner of the barn still on his feet. When she stepped toward him, the mule saw her and began making a raucous noise of welcome.

She hurried to him and patted his furry brown neck. “I’m so glad to see that you’re all right. I’ve been worried about you.” He snorted and flicked his tail. Beneath her palm she could feel him shivering. “I’m sorry you’re so cold. This barn has cracks in the walls I could put my hand through.” She should have been more insistent that Robert repair the barn before winter came, but how was she to know he would leave and not come back for so long?

“I can’t leave you out here to freeze,” she said firmly. Desperate conditions called for desperate measures. She tipped over the water tub and kicked it until the ice inside fell out.

Carrying the tub with the bag of feed inside and leading the mule, she went back to the hut. The mule balked at going into the house but she tugged on his halter until he reluctantly stepped over the threshold. The hut had been small to start with. With the mule inside it was more crowded that she had thought possible.

“I hope I’m not making a big mistake with this,” she muttered to herself as she tied him to the back wall. “At least he won’t freeze.”

She filled the mule’s tub with snow and put it within his reach. He would have water to drink as soon as it melted. The mule made a poor companion and a smelly one, but she was no longer alone or worried that he was freezing to death in the barn. She put another log on the fire and took up the quilt she was making out of her oldest dress and Robert’s worn shirts. When Robert came home, he would most likely be angry at her having the mule in the house, but Elizabeth didn’t care. She would do whatever she had to do in order to survive.

Another three days went by and Robert still wasn’t home. The snow had partially melted and, with the warming trend, the mule had gone back to his former lodgings. Elizabeth’s entire store of food consisted of two handfuls of commeal, twice that much flour, two strips of dried venison and a handful of beans. Her lamp oil would be gone after another night, maybe two, and she would be left in the dark. She could wait no longer for Robert to return; she had to find food.

She went to the barn and put the bridle on the mule. There was no saddle; the only one they owned was on the horse Robert had ridden to town, but Elizabeth didn’t mind that. She had learned to ride bareback soon after their arrival. With one of Robert’s sheathed hunting knives tucked into the pocket of her woolen cloak and his rifle in hand, she led the mule to the stump she used as a mounting block. The only problem with riding bareback was that if she got off the mule away from the house, she couldn’t always get back on him. But that was just something she would have to deal with.

She swung her leg over his back and as she righted herself astride him and tightened her knees against his ribs, she noticed he was considerably bonier than he had been when she had ridden him last. His feed was almost gone and she had been able to give him only half rations for the last few days. Settling herself as comfortably as possible, Elizabeth nudged him forward. He flicked his ears back and forth in protest but crossed the yard and started down the hill.

Elizabeth had never shot a rifle in her life and wasn’t sure how to take aim on game, but she had to try. If she couldn’t find food she would have to attempt the ride to town and that would be dangerous, because she wasn’t entirely certain of the way. She had only been there once and the Territory had all been so new to her that she hadn’t remembered much about it. At the time she had thought she would have no reason to need this information. She tightened her month and kicked the mule into a trot.

She continued moving downhill because it stood to reason that game would head for the warmer valley below and away from the windswept hills, some of which were almost as tall as mountains in Elizabeth’s opinion. Besides, the going was easier in this direction.

Once she saw a rabbit sit up on its haunches and freeze, its nose twitching, but by the time she put the rifle to her shoulder, it began running away and she knew she had no hope of shooting it with it bobbing and darting about. She also wasn’t too sure what the mule would do if she fired the gun while astride his back. Certainly Robert had never taken him when he went hunting.

For that matter, if she shot anything much larger than a rabbit, how would she carry it home? Even if the mule would stand still while she draped a dead animal over its back, how could she lift a deer that high? She wasn’t even positive she knew how to dress one. She fought back a wave of panic and let the mule pick his own way through the drifts of melting snow.

Several hours later Elizabeth topped a low hill and found herself looking down at the ranch of her nearest neighbors. A two-story frame house stood in a grove of native cottonwood trees, its sides as white as new snow. Behind it was a proper barn—not like the one that housed her mule—and several pens made of unpainted boards. In the corral closest to the barn were horses and a couple of milk cows. Dotting the slopes on the far side were quite a few white-faced cattle, obviously the property of her rather affluent neighbors. The scene was as pretty as a picture in the books Elizabeth had left behind in Hannibal.

Without thinking, she smoothed her dark hair back into its bun and straightened her dress beneath her wool cloak. From the looks of the place, she felt sure their pantry was well stocked. She hated to have to ask for food, but she had no other choice.

By the time she rode into the yard, two barking dogs came to meet her, their tails wagging. Not far behind them was a tall man with broad shoulders and chestnut-brown hair. He smiled at her. “Afternoon, ma’am. We don’t get many visitors out here.”

Elizabeth found it difficult to speak. His eyes were a warm brown and his skin tanned by the sun. Despite his size, his voice was gentle and held a hint of what she thought might be a Texas drawl. When she realized she was staring at him and hadn’t spoken, a blush rose in her cheeks. Quickly, she looked away for a moment, then said, “Hello. My name is Elizabeth Parkins. We’re neighbors.”

“We are?” He looked puzzled. “I didn’t know anyone had settled around here.”

“We live up the hills from here. On the place that used to belong to Mr. Snodgrass.”

“Snodgrass?” Understanding lit his face. “Do you mean Old Zeb’s gold mine?”

“That’s the place,” she said with a sigh.

“Come in and warm up. My wife will be pleased to meet you.” He grinned up at her. “My name, by the way, is Brice Graham.” He held the mule so she could dismount.

She couldn’t help but notice that his dark eyes were on her, not staring, not leering, but nevertheless not straying either. Breaking eye contact, she shifted the rifle from one hand to the other, not sure how she was going to gracefully get off the mule without dropping the gun. Unexpectedly, she found herself wondering why a graceful dismount was suddenly so important. The sound of her neighbor clearing his throat drew her attention, and when she looked back at him, he had extended a hand as if he might be intending to hold her at the waist to help her down. Before she allowed herself another thought, she thrust the rifle into his hand and hurried herself to the ground, almost losing her balance in the process. Feeling a bit awkward and unsettled at the direction her thoughts had been heading, she cast him a quick smile, then busied herself straightening her clothing again.

“Are you alone?”

She looked back at him and this time found his rather intent gaze unsettling in a way she didn’t dare examine. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she answered, “Yes. I was trying to shoot some game.”

“I see.” He tied the mule to the porch rail and motioned for Elizabeth to precede him up the broad front porch steps. “I believe you said ‘we’ live in Old Zeb’s place?”

“I’m married.” She almost winced at the admission. “My husband—his name is Robert Parkins—has gone to town for supplies. I’m alone at the present.” She hoped she didn’t sound too stilted. Robert was forever telling her she tried to put on airs. For some reason it was important that this man know she was married and not available. Or maybe all those thoughts were on her side alone.

As he opened the door for her, he said, “Forgive me for asking, but if your husband has gone to town, why are you having to hunt for food?”

Elizabeth stepped into the wide entrance hall and sighed with pleasure, distracted by the beauty of her neighbor’s home. Ahead of her a massive staircase curved gracefully up from the polished oak flooring of the foyer to the second floor and was flanked by wallpaper in a lovely floral design. To her right was a tastefully decorated parlor with garnet-colored upholstered furniture and small marble-topped tables. To her left was a library. A real one, like the ones in Hannibal. She automatically took a step toward it before she remembered herself.

“Ma’am?”

He had asked her a question. Elizabeth drew her dignity about her again. “Robert has been gone for weeks.”

“Glory is only a day’s ride from here.”

“I know. I’m not sure of the exact day he left. We have no calendar.” She had been recording the passage of time by making notches in a stick. Robert thought that was foolish, but she had been determined to hold on to whatever civilization she could.

Brice’s brow furrowed in concern. “Perhaps something happened to him. I’d be glad to send one of my men to look for him.”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary.” As much as Elizabeth hated being alone, she didn’t want anyone to go in search of Robert. Her husband’s temper wasn’t that even these days and he would resent her fetching him home like an errant child. Just the thought of him left her cold inside. “I imagine he’s doing business of some sort.” She supposed it could be loosely termed that if Robert was gambling. At least it was business for the saloon.

“Let me send some supplies home with you. That’s the least I can do.”

“I hate to oblige you.” It was true. Having to ask strangers for food and lamp oil was galling to her pride.

“I insist.” He smiled down at her and she felt the ice around her heart melt. “Come into the parlor and rest a bit. You must be tired. This gun isn’t light.” He stood the rifle in a corner of the foyer and showed her into the parlor.

The house had been decorated in a way Elizabeth thought would please any woman. The soft upholstery’s color was echoed in the rich draperies flanking the windows. White lace covered the glass panes, yet let sunlight stream through. The walls were light in color for a parlor but Elizabeth liked the idea of sitting among pink roses and twining vines. The parlor was separated from the dining room by portieres of gold damask with a deep fringe. “Your home is beautiful! Your wife has excellent taste. Have you been here long?”

“I was the first settler in these parts. Once I had the ranch established, I brought Celia here as my bride.” He saw a woman enter the far end of the hall. “Consuela, will you tell Celia we have company?”

The woman stared curiously at Elizabeth before hurrying away.

Elizabeth moved about the pador, trying not to behave as if she had never seen luxury before, but letting her senses drink in the rich fabrics, snowy laces and tatting, the clean smell of a room with a real floor.

She heard footsteps approaching the room and turned to smile at the woman who was entering the parlor. As Brice made the introductions, Celia’s gaze traveled over Elizabeth as if she wasn’t sure she wanted her in the best parlor. If Celia was glad to see a neighbor woman, she showed little sign of it. Elizabeth self-consciously touched her faded gingham dress.

“Do be seated,” Celia said coolly. “You’ll have to forgive my appearance. I didn’t expect company.”

“I didn’t intend to come calling,” Elizabeth said awkwardly. “I was hunting game and found your ranch by accident.”

Celia wrinkled her nose. “You hunt?”

Brice said firmly, “I knew you would be glad to meet our neighbors. You see? We aren’t as isolated as you would think.”

His wife gave him a dismissing glance. “I apologize for the state of my house. Brice had it furnished before I ever laid eyes on it, and you know what peculiar tastes men have.”

Elizabeth watched the exchange of veiled animosity and wasn’t sure how to reply. She settled for a silent smile. Eager to find a neutral subject, she said, “I see you’re expecting a child. Is this your first?”

Celia nodded vehemently. “It’s my only one. Do you have children?”

“No. We have no children.” She still felt guilty for not having borne a child after seven years of marriage. The years ahead would be so lonely without children in them.

“I’ll have Consuela gather some provisions for you,” Brice said. “You’re welcome to stay and visit for as long and as often as you like, Mrs. Parkins.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied.

When he was gone, Celia leaned forward to say, “It’s so nice to have a woman to talk with. I detest this place. It’s so lonely!”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, it is. This is nothing like I expected.”

“Nor I!” Celia looked gratified to hear someone agree with her. “Brice thinks it’s wonderful here but I would rather move back home. Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t have much to go home to. There’s only my father, and he wouldn’t welcome me. You see, Robert and I eloped and he never forgave me.”

“He may have changed his mind and be unable to let you know. We get almost no mail in this awful place. Once this baby is delivered and I can travel again, I’ll go back home. Brice can follow or not, as he wishes.”

“I’ve often wanted to do just that! It’s amazing how alike we are.”

“I would say we have little in common. Brice thinks I’m terrible for wanting to leave. He’s keeping me here entirely against my wishes.” She glanced toward the door.

“Is he cruel to you?” Elizabeth whispered.

Celia rolled her expressive blue eyes. “I couldn’t begin to say what my life is like. I never knew a man could be so cruel. Mother was right when she warned me against him.” She sighed with dramatic misery. “How I’ve wished I could change the past and be a carefree girl again.”

“It’s as bad as that?” Elizabeth was too familiar with Robert’s rages and abuse to take such a statement lightly. “Would your father not come after you if he knew you were so unhappy?”

“Of course he would. Father is the dearest of men. But I can’t travel like this.” She opened her shawl slightly to indicate her pregnancy. “No, I can’t escape until the baby is born and I regain my strength.” She shuddered. “I tremble to think what Brice will say or do when he knows I’m leaving.” She paused dramatically.

“How terrible! To look at him, you’d never guess he’s mean tempered.”

“I know. That’s how he duped me into marrying him. I’m sadder but wiser now.”

“When will the baby arrive?”

“Soon, I hope.”

“Please send for me when it’s time. I live in Mr. Snodgrass’s hut.” Elizabeth hesitated at the look Celia gave her. She no longer appeared quite as friendly. “But I don’t know anything about birthings.”

“Consuela will do all that. I suppose I should have someone else with me when the time comes.”

“Of course. I’ll come as soon as I hear from you.” Elizabeth was determined to befriend this woman. She looked at the mantel clock. “I have to be going now. It’s later than I thought.”

“Must you?” Celia asked petulantly. “We’ve only begun to talk and I’m so lonely here.”

“I might lose my way if I wait until nightfall. I’m not too familiar with the Territory.”

“Very well. It wouldn’t do for you to lose your way.”

They stood and Elizabeth pressed Celia’s hand in friendship. She smelled of talcum and rose water. Elizabeth was again aware of her faded and patched dress. It had been so long since she had been able to dress like a lady and indulge in handwork that was pretty rather than utilitarian. It was a shame such a fine lady was trapped in an abusive marriage. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.” She left Celia behind in the parlor. It was obvious that walking or even standing was uncomfortable for her.

Brice heard Elizabeth in the hall and came to her. He held two gunnysacks tied together. “You have enough supplies here to last several days. I put in some lamp oil as well.”

“Thank you.” Elizabeth felt awkward around him now that she knew he was cruel to his wife.

“Is something wrong? Did Celia say something to upset you?”

“No, no! I mean, nothing is wrong.” He was so handsome, she thought, and his dark eyes looked so kind. One could never tell by looking that he was so terrible.

“It’s nice to know the nearest neighbor is less than an hour away,” he was saying as he walked her out the door.

“I’m that close? I mean, I’ve ridden for hours.”

“The quickest way home is to head for the rocks shaped like sheep, then turn past them and go toward the mountain with the gap in it. I only saw Old Zeb a few times, but I know the way to his hut.” He gazed thoughtfully at her. “I had no idea someone was living there now.”

“Robert won the place in a poker game. We’ve been there several months.”

“You’ve had time to improve it, then.” He laughed. “Old Zeb was content if he had rocks to scratch in for gold and a shed over his head. He was always convinced there was gold in that hill somewhere. It didn’t matter to him that no one has ever found any around here.”

He seemed so friendly, so pleasant. It would be easy for a girl such as Celia to be swept away by him. “The place was a letdown, I’ll admit. Robert believed he had found a bird’s nest on the ground.” She heard the exasperation in her voice and blushed. A wife wasn’t supposed to speak ill of her husband, certainly not to a man she had met less than an hour before. “The mine will make a good root cellar,” she added brightly. She neglected telling him that she had been unable to get even potatoes to grow in the poor, rocky soil.

“Are you certain that you don’t want me to send a man to look for your husband?”

“No, that’s not necessary. Robert is the sort to stay gone for as long as it pleases him. Not that I fault him for that,” she added quickly. “He will come back any day now. He may even be there now for all I know. I’ll pay back the provisions when he arrive.”

“No. Please. We grow most of the food ourselves and lamp oil is cheap. I want you to accept these things as a welcoming gift. I’m only sorry it’s been delayed”

Elizabeth tried not to show the reluctance she was feeling at having to leave. At least she knew now how to find Celia and the ranch. But how could she visit? Robert wouldn’t want her away from home for hours. There was always so much work to do there.

Brice put the bags over the mule’s back and balanced them so they would ride well. “You ride bareback,” he commented.

“We only have one saddle. I don’t mind, except it’s difficult to mount.” She started to lead the mule to the steps so she could get on him.

Before she knew what he was about to do, she felt Brice’s hands on her waist The next minute she was in the air and sitting astride the mule. He handed her the rifle and stepped away. There was an expression in his eyes that she didn’t fully understand. The feeling of his strong hands on her waist, even for so short a time, was indelibly impressed on her memory, and her blood raced faster because of it. No, it wouldn’t do for her to come for a visit. “Thank you,” she said, noticing her voice sounded breathless, In a steadier voice she added, “You’ve been more than generous.”

“Think nothing of it, ma’am. On the frontier we look after one another.”

She told herself she was being foolish. He was only being friendly. How could he be as bad a person as Celia had said and have such a warm smile? She gave him a shaky smile and kicked the mule into motion. She could feel his eyes on her as she rode away and her body responded in a way she couldn’t explain, given all she knew about him and the fact that she was a married woman. It took an effort not to look back.

When she reached the hut she lugged the bags off the mule’s back, surprised that they were so heavy. Brice had lifted them so easily she had thought they weighed much less. She took the mule to the pen beside the barn and turned him loose. As she went back to the hut, she dusted mule hair from her skirt. What an impression she must have made in that immaculate parlor. She only hoped she hadn’t left mule hair on the garnet cushion of Celia’s chair.

Elizabeth took the bags into the hut and put them on the table. Opening them was almost as exciting as opening gifts on Christmas morning. Brice hadn’t been stingy. There was a good-sized bag of flour and another of cornmeal, a string of peach leather and two of apple leather, a cone of sugar, several strips of venison and beef jerky and enough lamp oil to last much longer than he had indicated.

Elizabeth carefully put the provisions away. Even though she had enough basic supplies to rest easy now, she wasn’t going to be so foolish as to waste any of it. Especially the lamp oil. The nights were too long and black when a lamp couldn’t be lit. She felt almost tearful with gratitude.

For a forbidden moment she remembered how provocative his gaze was when his eyes had met hers and how his teeth were white and straight when he smiled. If she didn’t know better, she would say he smiled often—but smiles were at odds with a mean nature. She put her hands on her waist where he had touched her. He was strong yet he had seemed so gentle. She would have to be careful when she visited Celia and not let herself begin to trust Brice. He seemed to be the opposite of all Celia had confided.

She felt guilty for wondering if Celia had been truthful. Surely no woman would say her husband was abusive unless he really was. She had every reason to believe her yet all she could think of was how different he seemed to be from Robert. And how she still seemed to feel the way his hands had touched her when he put her on the mule and how her pulse had raced when their eyes met.

It was only natural, she told herself hastily. Robert had been gone for weeks, and even when he was home, making love with him was no longer pleasurable. Looking back on it, she wasn’t sure it ever had been. Not when he was usually finished before she began to warm toward him. She had tried to convince herself that it was always like that between a man and woman. Men were supposed to enjoy sex but ladies were not. She, like most women, had received that message obliquely all her life.

Elizabeth didn’t believe it.

She was a lady born and bred, but there had been times she had enjoyed having Robert touch her. Sometimes she had liked it a lot. If he were willing to go slower and wait for her to reach his fever pitch, wouldn’t she enjoy lovemaking as much as he did?

Her mind drifted back to Brice. Would it be different with a man like him, strong and gentle?

She resolutely put her mind on the mundane chores of her daily living. Thoughts along that line would only lead her to trouble.

Chapter Two

After telling Elizabeth how miserable she was, Celia was more determined than ever to hurry the birth of the baby and leave Brice. He dearly wanted this child and she smiled to think how it would hurt him to see her leave with it. It was no more than he deserved for bringing her here.

She bullied Consuela until the woman produced a concoction of mandrake, bitter apple, cotton root and squaw vine. It tasted foul and left a bitter residue in her mouth, but within an hour she felt the first contraction.

Consuela put her to bed and sent word to Brice in the pasture that the baby was coming. He arrived sooner than Celia thought possible. Between contractions she berated him for putting her in this condition. As the contractions grew stronger and she began to hemorrhage, her reproaches grew shrill with her panic. She hadn’t expected so much pain. She could tell by Consuela’s face that something was wrong. The baby should be small and easy to birth since it was a month from full term. Why was she having such pain?

When Brice had first come into the room, Celia saw Consuela hide the empty bottle in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe that blocked the doorway that connected this room with Brice’s. If something went wrong and she lost the baby, Celia intended to show the bottle to Brice and blame it all on Consuela.

But why wasn’t the baby coming?

Brice ached to see Celia’s pain. He had known she didn’t want children but he had believed she would change her mind once she had one. Besides, there was no effective means to prevent pregnancy except for abstinence. Celia hadn’t wanted him in her bed and that made her pain and misery all his fault. Since she moved to this room, he had allowed himself one lapse in respecting her wishes and this was the result of it.

Brice was a kind man and he hated knowing Celia was suffering because of him. “Do you want me to send a man after Elizabeth Parkins?” he suggested to cheer her.

“No!” Celia snapped. “You know she lives in Old Zeb’s mud hut. I don’t want white trash around me. Certainly not at a time like this. I want my mother and my aunts!”

“Elizabeth struck me as a good woman. She certainly isn’t white trash. And she’s a lot nearer than your mother and aunts.”

“Go away, Brice! Get out of my sight! I wish you were dead!” She screamed at him so hysterically a bead of spittle ran down her chin. She didn’t notice.

Brice left without a word.

Cal, his closest friend, had come in from the bunk house and was waiting downstairs in the back parlor. He was called Wandering Cal because of a cast in his right eye. Brice didn’t know his last name or where he came from, but they had been friends for years and Cal was his right-hand man on the ranch.

“She doing all right?” Cal asked. He was a man of few words.

“I don’t know. It’s too damned early for the baby to come. It’s too early!” He paced to the hearth, then to the window. “What if I lose them, Cal?”

“Probably won’t.” Cal sat by the fire and picked up a piece of kindling to whittle. He looked entirely out of place in Celia’s back parlor, even if it wasn’t as grand as the formal front one. Cal was more suited for the barn.

“I should have sent her back home when I saw she didn’t like it here. I kept thinking she would change her mind after a while. I was wrong.”

“Wives belong with their husbands.” Cal didn’t like Celia and never had. He had only come into the house to keep Brice company. Celia never allowed him, or any of the other hired hands, nearer than the back porch.

An agonized scream made Brice cross to the door, hesitate and go back to the window.

“Go to the barn,” Cal suggested. “I’ll come tell you when it’s over.”

“No, I have to stay here. If Celia can live through it, I can stand to listen.” But the next scream drained the blood from his face.

Cal looked up at the ceiling and paused in his whittling until the sound died away.

Brice started pacing again. He had to keep moving, even if he wasn’t going anywhere. Every sound from Celia’s bedroom tore at him.

The terrible wailing continued. Hours later Celia’s voice had grown hoarse. Brice went up the stairs and back into her room. She no longer looked like herself. Her skin was pasty-gray and her blond hair hung in damp strings about her face. Circles like dark bruises lay under her glassy eyes.

Consuela looked at him in fright. “The baby is not coming. It still does not show. I think it is turned sideways.”

There was no need for her to explain to Brice what this meant. He had seen enough calvings to know it couldn’t be born this way. “Can you turn it?”

Consuela shook her head. “Senora Graham will not let me try.”

Brice went closer to the bed. “We have to turn the baby, Celia.”

“No! I don’t want either of you to touch me!”

He sat beside her on the bed and held her arms gently but firmly. “You don’t have a choice in this. You’re getting too weak. Consuela, can you do it?”

“Sí,” she said reluctantly. She was clearly afraid of her mistress, but she prepared to turn the baby nonetheless.

Celia screamed as if she were dying, but Brice held her, speaking to her gently in spite of the names she was calling him.

Minutes later, Consuela went to the washbasin and washed her hands. Brice released Celia, who struck him repeatedly until he left the bed. “Well? Did it turn?”

Silently she shook her head.

“I’ll try.” He went back to Celia and tried to steel himself to her string of curses. A few minutes later he found a tiny foot, then another one. “I have him!” he said triumphantly. “Push, Celia!”

Soon the baby lay screaming on the bed, waving her fists in protest at being born. “It’s a girl, Celia!” he called out. “She’s so tiny!”

He finished tying off the cord and held her up so Celia could see her. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Ugly,” Celia croaked out. “She’s ugly!”

“No,” he said with a laugh as he went to sponge her clean at the washbasin. “She’s going to be a rare beauty someday! Celia?” The room was suddenly too quiet.

Consuela stopped cleaning Celia and stared at her face. Then she looked at Brice, her eyes filled with fear and dread.

“Celia?” he repeated. He wrapped the baby in the towel and went to his wife.

Celia’s eyes were fixed and growing dull. Her pale lips moved. Brice leaned closer to hear what she was saying.

“I hate you. And I hate your baby.” The last word was so broken as to be almost incoherent. A sigh of breath escaped from her lips and she didn’t draw another one.

“Celia!” Brice shouted. “Celia!”

Consuela eased away from the bed. “Señora Graham is dead. I see her spirit leaving!” The woman’s eyes were dilated with fear.

Brice stared at Celia’s body in disbelief. She couldn’t be dead! Sometimes women were in labor for days and lived. Celia bad only labored for a few hours. She was young!

Nevertheless, she was dead.

The funeral was simple. Cal and some of the other men built a coffin, and Brice, with Consuela’s help, laid Celia in it.

Numbly Brice decided to bury her a little distance from the house. He and Cal dug the grave.

Because no one was available to serve as the baby’s wet nurse, Consuela made a baby bottle from an empty whiskey bottle and diluted cow’s milk to a strength the baby could digest.

Brice went through the necessary motions of laying Celia to rest and caring for the baby, but part of his mind refused to accept the truth. They had no longer loved each other and Celia’s last words had been of her hatred for him, but he still felt a deep loss. Was part of it guilt? He had indirectly put her in mortal danger. She had never been robust and the pregnancy had been hard on her. And her heart had given out because it couldn’t stand up to the stress of hard labor. Still, she shouldn’t be dead. She was young. Brice spent the next few days in a fog.

When he woke up one morning to discover Consuela and her husband had left in the night, the strength of determination began to build in him. He had lost Celia. but he was not going to lose the baby as well!

From that moment on, Brice began to heal.

By now Elizabeth was becoming accustomed to the idea that Robert wasn’t coming home. At times this still terrified her because she had the rest of the winter to contend with alone. At others she was almost glad. With him gone there was no one to argue with or tell her she was wrong every time she opened her mouth. No one to chip at rocks while she did all the chores, no one to mess up the hut once she had everything in order.

She was beginning to realize how little Robert had done and was becoming resentful that she had allowed him to get away with it. If he came back, she vowed, it would be different. He would pull his own weight or leave.

Such thoughts sobered her. She had no way of enforcing them and, even if she did, why would she want this hovel to herself? If Robert wasn’t coming back, she would be smarter to go back to Hannibal, swallow her pride and return to her father’s house, begging his forgiveness. That alone was thought enough to make her know she would never return. There were worse situations than the one she was now in.

In the long days of solitude she taught herself to hunt. At first she missed everything she aimed at and got a bruised shoulder for her efforts. But gradually she started hitting the game more often than she missed and finally became a fairly good shot. The lack of money to buy more ammunition gave her incentive. She wasn’t sure what she would do once the bullets were gone. When the ground was clear of snow, she gathered hay and grass for the mule.

Elizabeth was good at making provisions last. She had learned it by necessity over the past seven years. She ate only what she really needed, and when she killed game, she didn’t waste any parts that could be boiled, dried or fried. She was even learning to tan hides so she could replace the soles of her shoes when they wore out. Little by little she had come to think of Robert as gone forever, and struggled to fill the void he left.

Loneliness was the worst part. There were times when she thought she would go mad if she didn’t hear a human voice. During these times she sang or talked aloud to the mule or quoted the poems she had learned in school or did verbal math problems. Anything to hear something other man wind and silence.

Frequently she considered going back to the ranch to visit Celia, but the weather was so unpredictable she was afraid to go so far from home. Also, she knew Celia and Brice would insist on giving her more provisions, and she was too proud to accept charity when she had no means of repaying it, even though her meal and flour were almost gone.

There was the constant worry of how to replace the things she couldn’t make for herself, such as the lamp oil, the bullets, cotton cloth for a dress when her two remaining ones became threadbare. She had no money at all and no way to make any. A few times she even went into the mine and chipped halfheartedly at the barren rocks in hopes of finding the gold she knew wasn’t there.

Another snowstorm came and she was again stranded with the mule in her hut. The mule didn’t seem to like the arrangement any better than she did, but she wouldn’t leave him in the barn where he might freeze. The second day of the storm, she realized how fortuitous her decision had been when the weight of the wet snow caved in one end of the barn’s roof. Had the mule been inside, he would almost certainly have been injured or killed. Elizabeth tried not to think about the ponderous load of snow over her own head or to wonder how much more weight the roof could bear without collapsing.

When the snow finally started to melt, a portion of the roof crumbled into her hut and landed on her table as she ate. She would have been hard-pressed to say which upset her more, the hole in the roof or the loss of food she could ill afford to replace.

Something had to be done. Elizabeth was becoming more and more aware that she couldn’t stay here indefinitely. But where could she go? If she went to Glory she might be able to earn her living by washing clothes and ironing, but, until she had money, she would have no roof over her head. Without a house, where would she wash and iron? She could try to sell her land and the sod hut, but who would be fool enough to buy them?

She considered going to Brice’s ranch and asking for a job as housekeeper. By now Celia’s baby would have been barn and Elizabeth had always liked children. Perhaps she could be the baby’s nanny and later its tutor. She was well educated and there was no school in the valley. Such a job would be a joy.

But with such an arrangement would come the problem of living under the same roof with a man who was already in her dreams too often and whose temper was reportedly as bad as Robert’s.

Elizabeth hated herself for her dreams about Brice. In them he was far more than a friend. Brice could never be her lover. Not every. She was married to Robert and was stuck with him, like it or not. And Brice was married to Celia. All marital obstacles removed, Elizabeth vowed to avoid another abusive man.

Faced with no recourse but to relocate to Glory, Elizabeth began thinking in terms of how to find the town. All she remembered about that leg of their journey was her anticipation of finally reaching their new home and that it had been all uphill. She would start off in the direction Robert had taken the day he left and hope that she’d recognize enough of the landmarks to avoid getting completely lost. The mule wouldn’t travel as fast as the horse, but she would get there eventually. There had been no trouble with Indians that she knew of, and being a laundress wasn’t the worst fate in the world. At least she’d be alive.

As she was planning for her departure, she heard a horse ride into the yard. For a moment she was frozen. Could it be Robert? She ran to the door and threw it open.

Instead of Robert, Brice was dismounting from a prancing bay. He pined at her and her heart skipped. “I hope I’m not barging in,” he said as he tied the animal to a bush.

“No. Not at all. Come in.” She was heartily glad she had moved the mule back to the pen and had cleaned the hut as well as possible. All the same, she was embarrassed at him seeing where she lived.

Brice ducked in order to get through the doorway into the hut, his hat in his hand. His eyes glanced about and his face was carefully expressionless. He took the chair she indicated and laid his hat on the table. “Is your husband around?”

“No, he never came back.” Her illicit dreams hadn’t done Brice justice. He was far more handsome than she remembered and his voice was deeper and seemed to resonate somewhere within her. She abruptly looked away.

Brice leaned forward as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. “He didn’t? You’re still alone?”

She refused to meet his eyes. “I don’t believe he’s going to come back. Not after being away this long. I’m planning to move to Glory.” Almost defensively she added, “I can’t make it here on my own.”

He glanced up at the sky that showed through the roof over her head. “I don’t see how you’ve made it this long.”

Tears rose in her eyes and she blinked them back impatiently. “I manage quite well. Better than you might expect. I finally learned to shoot, and I found a spot down the stream that is level enough to plant a garden, which I’d planned to do come spring. I’m only going to Glory because I can’t figure out how to buy bullets or calico or lamp oil. Other than that, I could make it here just fine.”

“I wasn’t finding fault. I was complimenting you.”

Elizabeth drew in a steadying breath. “I’m sorry for the way the place looks, but there’s not much you can do with a sod hut.” She still felt as if she should defend herself and her life-style.

Brice was quiet for a moment. “I want you to come back to the ranch with me.”

Her eyes met his. “Why?” If he was offering her charity she didn’t think she could stand it.

He looked away. “A lot has happened since you’ve been gone. Celia had the baby.” He paused for a long time. “The baby—a girl—is well. Celia didn’t make it.”

Elizabeth reflexively took a step forward. “No! Celia died?”

He nodded. “It was a terrible thing. There was nothing we could do. When the baby came, I thought she would be out of danger. But she died before she ever touched the baby.”

“How terrible!” Elizabeth felt stunned. It had never occurred to her that Celia would die. “She was going to send for me when she started labor. Why did no one come?”

Brice gave her a measured look. Quietly he said, “She changed her mind. She told me not to send for you.”

Elizabeth stared at him. She didn’t believe a word of it. Her stomach turned at the idea of Celia crying out for the company of a woman and Brice refusing to send for her. He really must be a monster as Celia had said.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

“No reason.” She averted her eyes.

“Consuela left. She didn’t give me any warning. One morning she and her husband, along with all their belongings, were gone. She never liked it here. I guess I can’t really blame her. But that leaves me without anyone to look after Mary Kate. I hate to ask you, but I need the help. In addition to room and board, I’ll pay you a salary.”

He was offering her the best possible of alternatives. He might be abusive, but she would have to take her chances. For now, she still had her pride. Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I will care for your child. I have an education. As she grows older, I’ll be able to teach her to read and write and do arithmetic.”

“It sounds like a perfect solution.” His soft voice warmed her like a summer’s breeze in spite of her dislike of him. “I came here thinking I’d have to argue your husband into letting you come, at least until I could find someone to take Consuela’s place.”

“But I’m not coming because I have no other option. It’s important that you understand that.” Celia was gone, but she could at least keep the baby safe. That might be necessary for its survival.

He smiled. “I understand. You’ll still have this place and the land it stands on. I can send a wagon up for your belongings.”

“That won’t be necessary. I can tie it all in a quilt and put it on the back of the mule. Most of this can stay right where it stands.” She would have no need for a rain-stained table and two chairs that didn’t sit evenly, or a bed whose mattress hadn’t been really dry since summer. Her few personal belongings wouldn’t even fill a quilt.

“I’ll go catch the mule for you,” he offered.

She looked around the room for the last time. The colorful quilt she’d covered the bed with seemed to be struggling in vain to make the place bright and cheerful. The other was draped over the table to hide the stained wood. She folded the smaller one and put it in the center of the larger one, then plucked her other dress and nightgown from the peg that had been hammered into the rock of the back wall and laid them atop the folded quilt.

There was no need to take Robert’s clothes. She had no use for them, and he might come back at some time.

She put her precious copy of The Mysteries of Udolpho in the center of the quilt and tied the opposite corners to make a pack. Again she looked around the room. She had lived here for months, yet all she had to take with her was a bundle that she could carry in one arm. With a sigh she went out to meet Brice and the mule.

He tied the bundle behind his saddle, then, as he had done before, he encircled her waist with his massive hands and lifted her onto the mule’s back. His touch sent her senses reeling even more this time than before. She reminded herself what sort of person he was. Why did she always find herself drawn to the wrong sort?

Trying to keep her composure from slipping away entirely, Elizabeth said, “Although I’m coming to live in your house, Mr. Graham, it’s to be understood that I’m only taking care of the baby and doing the housekeeping. You and I... That is, I’m only taking Consuela’s place as nursemaid and housekeeper. Is that understood?”

“It’s all I’ve asked of you,” he said quietly.

Elizabeth felt a blush rising. “I know. I just wanted it to be understood from the very beginning.”

“Of course. Your bedroom door has a lock on it, but you won’t need it. I’m a man of honor. I have no intention of taking advantage of you.”

“Good,” she said as she tapped her heels against the mule’s sides. She hoped she wasn’t putting herself in danger by agreeing to live in his house. She was fairly certain no other adult lived there. But by his own admission, he had no interest in her, and that would make her job easier. She should be glad of it. This way they each knew what the other expected.

All the same, she wished she hadn’t brought it up.

“Why the name Mary Kate?” she asked as they rode down the hill.

“It’s my mother’s name.”

“It was a good name.” But wouldn’t most men have named her after the wife they had just lost? This seemed to be further proof of his coldness toward Celia.

When they topped a rise and Brice’s ranch came into view, she couldn’t conceal her quick intake of breath. The ranch was even more beautiful than she remembered.

Brice noticed her reaction and smiled. “I know. It affects me the same way.” His manner was matter-offact, not in the least boastful. “I love the West. This part of the state reminds me of my boyhood home in Texas. The winters here are tougher, though.”

She glanced at him as they rode down the incline. “I would imagine so, Texas being all desert and tumbleweed.”

He chuckled. “No offense intended, but I’d bet even money that you’ve never been there. It’s actually quite beautiful, even the part out west that’s like a desert. The eastern side where I was raised is rolling hills and piney woods.”

“If you love it so much, why did you leave?”

“My brother inherited our ranch when my father died. My stepmother and I never did see eye to eye on anything, and Papa always believed everything she said against me. There were hard feelings between my brother and me, so it seemed like a good idea for me to pack up and leave. Papa did, however, leave me money, and I bought this place from one of the sooners who rushed in here to homestead when the government opened the Territory for settlement. He had only been here a short while and had done nothing with the land.”

“I would think the money would have been the better inheritance.”

He grinned again. “Not if you’re a Texan.”

“I gather you met Celia in Texas?”

He nodded. “We married after I built this ranch. Her parents weren’t at all happy about me taking her so far away. They blame her death on me.”

Elizabeth studied his face for any expression of guilt. There was none.

“Celia was never robust. She was sick off and on all her life. Maybe if we’d stayed right there with her family she would have died anyway. I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry about your loss,” she said sincerely. “Losing her in childbirth must have been very difficult.”

Again he was silent. “It’s a funny thing about the frontier. It seems to bring out things in people that, in settled places, they never discover.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t think she should press him to explain.

They rode to the barn and left the animals with one of Brice’s hired hands, who looked at her with curiosity but didn’t ask any questions. Brice carried her bundle as if it weighed nothing at all.

The back of the house had a porch almost as long and wide as the front. A broom and a mop in a bucket stood beside the chimney. A gray cat lay on the step in the sunlight. The back door was covered with wooden gingerbread that matched the front entrance. Brice had spared no expense on this house. Elizabeth was again struck at the disparity between this house and her hut.

The kitchen was large and built inside the house, unlike many of the older homes in Hannibal, which had their kitchens in a separate building. The hearth was deep, high enough to walk into, and of a width that would accommodate the roasting of a whole steer. Hanging on the walls and from a rack suspended from the rafters were utensils of every size and description. Elizabeth was glad she hadn’t bothered to pack the single iron skillet and iron pot she owned. Everything she could possibly need was here.

“We had a cook for the first couple of years but she became homesick and went back to Texas. Consuela was her cousin, and I’m surprised that she stayed as long as she did. When the cook left, everything fell onto Consuela’s shoulders.”

“Where is the baby? Surely you didn’t leave her alone here while you went after me?”

“Of course not. Wandering Cal is with her.”

“Wandering Cal?” she asked doubtfully.

“He’s my foreman. He’s called that because his right eye has a way of wandering off to one side. Cal has been with me since a year or two after I came here. Mary Kate is safe with him.”

“I think I should go get her.”

Brice led her into the wide hall that served as a foyer and across to a back parlor. “We’re back. Mrs. Parkins, this is Cal. Cal, has Mary Kate given you any trouble?”

The man stood and gingerly handed the baby to Elizabeth. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Nope, her and me’s been playing.” His deep, gravelly voice sounded at odds with his words. He was as tall as Brice, several years older and far more grizzled. He looked more like a bandit than a nursemaid. Elizabeth automatically held the baby closer.

Mary Kate regarded her solemnly with large blue eyes. Then she spotted her father and gurgled happily and waved her plump arms and legs.

Brice grinned, and when he touched her arm with his forefinger, Mary Kate grabbed it and tried to put it in her mouth.

Elizabeth found herself smiling and felt love growing in her heart. No one could see this baby and not fall in love with her. “She’s beautiful! And her eyes are as blue as Celia’s.” She looked up at Brice’s dark ones.

“One baby looks pretty much like another, if you ask me,” Cal said in a rumbling voice.

Mary Kate cooed to him as if she saw right through his facade of disinterest. To her relief, Elizabeth saw a faint smile lift his lips. He immediately removed it.

“I’m going back to work if you don’t need me no more.” He looked at Brice as if he was going whether he was needed or not.

“Go ahead. I’ll be out as soon as I get Mrs. Parkins settled in.”

Cal nodded as he grabbed his hat and left without a word to Elizabeth.

“He’s talkative today,” Brice commented when they were alone. “I’ve spent days on the trail with him and not heard him say a word. Mary Kate is a good influence. I guess.”

“What do you know about him? He looks as if he chews bullets as a pastime.”

Brice laughed “Cal is a mystery. He has no past, no family, no ties to any place or thing. He owns only his clothes, a horse and tack. He was a drifter, and for some reason decided to settle here.”

“You don’t know anything about his past? How do you know he isn’t wanted somewhere by the law?” She couldn’t get over the foreman’s rough appearance, in spite of the gentleness he had shown with the baby.

“That’s not unusual on the frontier. A lot of people make no mention of their pasts and no questions are asked. If they’ve made some mistakes back home, they’ve come west for a new start, and that’s what they’re due.”

“But what if—” she began.

“He won’t answer any questions, so you may as well not ask him. All I know is he’s reliable and smarter than he seems. He’s pulled me through some tough times. No, don’t worry about Cal. He won’t do you any harm. More than likely he’ll ignore you altogether. That’s how he treated Celia. She never liked him but she got used to him.”

“It’s really none of my business.” She hugged the baby. “What do you feed her?”

He took her back outside to the spring house that straddled a small brook not far from the rear of the house. Elizabeth wrapped the baby beneath her wool cape as she followed him. “The cows give milk but it’s too rich for her. Consuela and I experimented until we hit upon a combination of milk and water that doesn’t upset Mary Kate’s stomach. That’s it in the crock there.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Her bottles are lined along that wall.” Brice indicated a shelf of empty whiskey bottles that had been fitted with rubber nipples. “Consuela found it easier to fill them out here than to carry the crock to the house, fill one and bring it back to the spring house.”

“This time of year I can’t see much need to keep them here. The back porch should be cool enough in the shade.”

Brice nodded. “I think so, too.” He gave her a searching look. “I’m glad you’ve come. I can’t manage all of it on my own. Not and keep the ranch running.” His voice was soft and sincere.

Elizabeth drew her cape closer around the baby. “I’ll have no trouble doing these things. We’ll get along just fine.” Mary Kate lifted her head and studied Elizabeth closely, her tiny brows furrowed in infant thoughtfulness. Elizabeth found herself smiling.

Brice was watching her. “You have a pretty smile.”

At once it disappeared. Elizabeth wasn’t used to compliments. She stepped out of the spring house and started across the gentle slope to the house.

“Did I upset you? I didn’t mean to.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You look upset.”

“Well, I’m not.” She refused to look at him, even when he held the back door open for her.

“Come upstairs. I’ll show you to your room and Mary Kate’s.” He picked up her bundle from where he had left it in the kitchen and led her through the house and up the stairs.

Elizabeth was glad to follow him. This way she could look at him without being seen. His compliment had left her feeling uncomfortable. He was newly widowed. He had no business complimenting a woman. He was still in deep mourning, even if he wasn’t wearing black. And for that matter, why wasn’t he? In Elizabeth’s opinion, no recently bereaved man should be able to smile, let alone to smile in a way that made her world rock. She had been alone too much. That had to be it.

Brice indicated the first door in the upstairs hall. “This is my room. If you ever need me in the middle of the night, all you have to do is call out.”

“Why would I need you in the middle of the night?” she asked suspiciously.

“In case the baby gets sick.”

“Of course.” She felt her cheeks warming and hoped he didn’t notice.

“Your room is here.” He opened the door to the bedroom that adjoined his own. “In the summer you can leave the veranda door open and the room will be cooler. There’s always a breeze here in the summer. We share the veranda, but you can trust me to respect your privacy. As you’ll notice the door between the rooms has been blocked shut by Celia’s armoire.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He looked around at the room as if he were deep in thought “This was Celia’s room. During her pregnancy she was ill quite often and preferred to sleep alone. But even before that she had taken this room for her own. It was the way she wanted it.”

Elizabeth gazed around the room. That explained why the wallpaper was sprigged with roses and violets and why the curtains were lace. Not one item in the room was masculine.

“This is rather delicate, but I don’t know of any other way to say it,” he began awkwardly. “Celia’s clothes are still here. I didn’t know what to do with them, and they didn’t fit Consuela. If you’d like them, you’re welcome to them. I think you’re about the same size. Otherwise, I guess I’ll have to burn them.”

“It would be a waste to burn clothing!” Elizabeth exclaimed. All the years of her marriage, she had seldom owned more than two extra dresses. The thought of burning a garment was unacceptable. Cloth was too difficult to acquire. Dresses weren’t simple to make. “I can make them over if they don’t fit. But won’t they be unpleasant reminders to you? I don’t want to offend you.”

“No, I would rather someone get some use out of them. She had some she never even wore.” He stepped back into the hall. “You can have anything in the room.” He went across the hall to a room painted in a shade of pale rose. “This is Mary Kate’s nursery.”

There was no need for him to have pointed that out. It was obvious that someone had spent hours making baby blankets, gowns and bonnets. Crib-sized quilts lay folded at the end of the baby’s bed. It didn’t escape Elizabeth that pink was the predominant color. If Mary Kate had been a boy, several baby things Celia had made would have been too feminine for his use.

As if Brice were following her thoughts, he said, “Celia’s mother sent all these things. As you can see, she was determined that the baby would be a girl. I don’t think she has much use for males. Celia came from a house full of sisters and two maiden aunts, in addition to her parents. The absence of women out here was very disturbing to her.”

“I see.”

“I had hoped she would become friends with you.”

“I hoped so, too.”

“You can change anything you like in the nursery or your room. All I ask is that you leave mine alone.”

“I’ll only go in there to clean.”

Their eyes met, and Elizabeth was aware of the intimacy of their surroundings. She stood there holding his child and speaking of his bedroom in the most ordinary of tones. She had to look away. She wasn’t entirely sure she could trust him not to take advantage of her.

“Do I make you nervous?” he asked.

“No,” she said a bit too quickly. “Why would you wonder such a thing?”

“Maybe it’s because you make me nervous as hell.” He turned and left the room without further explanation.

She stared after him.

Chapter Three

Brice tugged at the leather strap he was threading into the buggy harness. The air in the barn was still and colder than the air outside but he didn’t mind. He could use some cooling off.

Elizabeth had been at the house only half a day, and just knowing she was there was driving him to distraction.

“Damn!” he muttered as he yanked on the strap. It twisted and lodged firmly behind the concho. He frowned at it.

“Want me to do that?” Cal asked from the nearby stall. He was grooming a mare that was due to foal soon. Cal was much better with animals than with humans.

“No, I can do it.”

Cal turned back to the horse. The rhythmic sound of his brushing picked up again After a while, he left the stall and passed Brice on the way to the tack room. Brice could hear the man’s unspoken oomment They had worked together so many hours that words were seldom necessary.

“That bright bay can draw the buggy,” Brice responded. “She’s a smart trotter and she’ll look good in harness.”

“Yep.”

“It’ll be good for Mary Kate to get out in the fresh air. Children need sunshine, too.”

Cal only glanced at him and tossed the horse brush into the box by the tack door. He reached through the doorway and got a lead rope.

“I’m doing it for Mary Kate, not Elizabeth.”

Cal took a long time looping the lead neatly in his left hand. “I thought her name was Mrs. Parkins.”

“That’s what I said. Mrs. Parkins.”

One of Cal’s rare grins spread across his wrinkled, weathered face as he sauntered back to the stall.

Brice tugged the strap through the concho and this time it threaded straight. “You talk too much, Cal I’ve noticed that about you before.” He grinned at the man.

Cal only granted. He snapped the lead. onto the pregnant mare’s halter and led her out of the barn to the feedlot to graze on hay he’d spread there earlier.

Brice picked up the other end of the strap and started working it through the other side of the harness. He heard footsteps behind him and said without turning, “She’s pretty. Did you notice that, Cal?”

“Who is?” Elizabeth asked as she looked around. “Are you talking to me?”

Brice jerked his head around. “I thought you were Cal.” Politely he got to his feet and nodded a greeting.

“He’s turning a horse out into the feedlot.”

“I was saying the bay mare I bought to pull this buggy is pretty,” Brice improvised. He noticed Elizabeth was small, several inches shorter than Celia had been. In the dim light of the barn her hair was as black as a crow’s wing. Unlike what he had remembered, her eyes weren’t dark also, but gray. A silvery color like storm clouds. “The harness strap was in bad shape and I thought I’d better repair it before the buggy is needed.”

“You really have a buggy?” she asked.

“It’s right over there.”

She went in the direction he nodded and found the buggy in the area behind the stalls. “It’s beautiful! And the lamp is brass!”

He smiled. It was good to do something for someone who noticed an effort had been made. “It didn’t look that good when I bought it. There’s been some elbow grease put on it, I have to admit.” He had polished the lamp to a brilliant shine rather than return to the house and Celia’s constant complaining.

“I haven’t ridden in a buggy in so long!” Her voice was filled with wonder. “I hadn’t thought I ever would again.”

“Where’s the baby?”

“Asleep. She took a whole bottle of milk and fell asleep while I rocked her. I came out to thank you again for bringing me here. I already love her. You’re a very lucky man.”

Until today he would have argued that there was no truth in her last statement, but things had already changed. “She’s a good baby. I don’t think she’ll give you much trouble.”

Elizabeth came back to him and touched the harness. “Do you take the buggy out often?”

“It hasn’t been used since I brought it home. I thought Celia might like to use it but by then she wasn’t well. I got it for her.”

“How thoughtful of you.” She looked at him in surprise.

“Once the weather is warmer, you and Mary Kate might like to take it for outings.”

“Thank you. That would be nice.” She went to the stall and looked at the horse inside. “I’ve always loved horses. We had one almost this color back in Hannibal.”

“You and your husband, you mean?” It would do him good to remember she was married.

“No, my father.”

“Do you like it out here?” he asked.

“No, I don’t. Life is too liand here.” She was thinking of the privations in the sod hut and Robert’s abandonment. “I intend to go back to Missouri eventually.” She touched the horse’s velvety nose.

He hadn’t expected this answer. Elizabeth was so independent he had thought she would love the freedom of the frontier. “if I hear of a train returning east, I’ll let you know,” he said stiffly.

“Thank you. I won’t be able to afford it for quite a while. And then there’s Robert—wherever he is.”

“You shouldn’t worry too much about your husband. There are a lot of things that can hold a man up out here. It could be his horse went lame and can’t travel.” It was the only excuse Brice could think of. Even that didn’t hold water. If he were Robert and had a wife, especially one like Elizabeth, waiting for him out in the hills, he would buy another horse or walk home before he would leave her stranded for so long.

“Robert can take care of himself. He always does.” She glanced up at him as if afraid she had given too much away. “I should be getting back to the house. I don’t want Mary Kate to wake up and be alone.”

He watched her go to the barn door. At the entrance she turned.

“Would you like a ham for supper?”

“That would be great.”

“How many do I cook for?”

“Just me. The men eat in the bunlehouse.” He was looking forward to not eating with them. Ezra Smart might be all right at trail cooking, but a man could tire of beans and beef after a while. Brice had liked Consuela’s cooking well enough but she put red peppers in everything, and after a while that grew tedious as well.

“I’ll have it ready just after sundown.” She gave him a smile and stepped out of sight.

Brice stood staring after her. She even knew to time meals to the hours a man could work! Celia had insisted on dinner at six o’clock year-round because that was the time her parents had always eaten. She hadn’t even tried to understand that some days he had to work for as long as there was daylight. Ham. His mouth watered just thinking about it.

“You look like somebody whopped you in the head with a poleax,” Cal commented as he strolled back into the barn. He went to the gray gelding’s stall and opened the gate.

“She just came out to say the baby is sleeping,” Brice said defensively.

“Is she going to keep you posted every time that girl nods off?” Cal hooked the lead to the gray’s halter and led him to the tack mom.

“Of course not.” Brice went back to working on the harness. “She’s cooking ham for supper.”

Cal grunted. It was a customary sign of his approval.

“You want me to ask her to set an extra plate? You know you’re welcome at my table anytime.”

This time the man’s grunt had an edge of humor.

“Celia isn’t there now and her opinions don’t matter anymore. You’re my foreman and my friend. If you want to eat in the house with us, it’s fine with me.” He was thinking that might be safest. If Cal was there he wouldn’t be alone with Elizabeth. “I’ll tell her to set you a place.”

“Nope. Rather have beans.”

Brice shook his head. “You’re an odd one, Cal. How you can eat Ezra’s food every night is a mystery to me.”

“He ain’t fussy.”

Brice knew Cal would never forget or forgive Celia for driving him out of the house, even if she was dead and buried now. It was still her dining room as far as Cal was concerned and he had vowed not to set foot in it again. Celia had been too picky about most things. A man couldn’t work around cattle and horses all day and not smell like them from time to time. Or at least a man like Cal couldn’t. He was barely house-trained at all. Just the same, Celia could have been more tactful.

He remembered every word Elizabeth had said and how she had looked when she said it. The brief visit had told him a lot about her. She was conscientious or she wouldn’t have cared if Mary Kate woke up alone, and she appreciated a good buggy when she saw one. And she wasn’t that fond of her husband.

Brice found himself dwelling on that information. He couldn’t blame her for feeling the way she did about her husband. The man was a bastard for leaving her in a situation like that. But she was still married, whether she liked the man or not. Brice had to remember that. He also had to remember she was no happier in the Territory than Celia had been.

He was lonely. He knew that all too well. Even before Celia had died, he had been lonely. That wasn’t hard to do in the house with a woman like Celia. What he had taken for shyness when he was courting her had burned out to be mere shallowness. Her delicate health that had stirred him to such protectiveness had been an irritation when she used it as a weapon to keep him at a distance. He was wiser now and more wary, but he was also damned lonely for a woman’s company.

He worked the strap into place and buckled it. Finished at last! For a while there he had thought the harness would win the struggle.

“I’m taking Partner out for a ride,” Cal said as he tossed a blanket and saddle over the animal’s back. Partner flicked his ears back in protest and lifted a back hoof as if considering a kick to Cal’s leg. Cal slapped him on the flank and Partner put his hoof back on the ground.

“I’ll see you in a day or so.” Brice grinned at Cal. It was a standing joke between them. Cal broke horses by saddling them and riding out onto the range. He came home when the horse learned to obey bridle signals and not before. It was the easiest and quickest way to successfully train one.

“I’ll be back before dark,” Cal assured him as he tugged on the saddle cinch.

“I wouldn’t put money on it. The day is pretty well gone.”

Cal responded with another guttural sound. This time the utterance seemed to mean he disagreed. He led the horse outside before mounting.

As soon as he was in the saddle, Partner flattened his ears and tried to get his head down to buck. Pulling up on the reins, Cal held the horse’s head firmly up. Partner lunged forward, and by the time they topped the hill, he was running full out.

Brice laughed softly to himself. The horse couldn’t throw Cal, and one way or another, Partner would know something about reining before he saw the barn again. Cal was kind to animals—but he was more stubborn than they were.

Mary Kate was an easy baby to tend. Elizabeth laid two kitchen chairs on their sides in one corner of the kitchen to form a pen of sorts and put the baby there with an assortment of wooden spoons to play with until supper was prepared. Elizabeth had to remind herself over and over not to become too attached to the baby or the house because she had no intention of staying. if Robert returned, he would certainly insist that she go back to the sod hut. If he didn’t, she would go back home to her father and hope he would forgive her for leaving with Robert.

She also couldn’t get too attached to Brice. That was a different matter altogether and a far more difficult one. She clearly remembered that Celia had said he was cruel to her, no matter what his attitude toward Elizabeth might be. After living with her father and Robert, Elizabeth found cruelty easy to believe of any man. Elizabeth always seemed to be drawn to the men who were bad for her. Even if she were free, she would do well to avoid an entanglement with Brice. And having Mary Kate just a few feet away was a constant reminder that Brice had only been a widower for a short while.

When supper was ready and staying warm in the brick warming oven, she made a puree of potatoes mixed with juice from the ham for the baby. Elizabeth had older cousins with infants and she had known how to care for babies for years. Her father had often sent her to stay with cousins for months at a time to help care for their children. Without her mother’s milk, it was important for Mary Kate to eat food as soon as possible.

She held Mary Kate in her lap and slowly fed her spoonfuls of food. The baby grabbed at the spoon and gulped as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. Elizabeth laughed. “You’re a greedy little one, aren’t you? That’s good. You go for everything you want in life and don’t let anyone hold you back.”

Mary Kate gurgled happily and potatoes rolled down her dimpled chin.

When she had eaten all she wanted, Elizabeth changed her into a clean gown and diaper and rocked her as she fed her a bottle of milk. Mary Kate gazed up at her as she drank the milk, occasionally giving her a toothless grin that dribbled milk onto her cheek. Elizabeth felt a tug of pure love that touched something deep inside her.

The baby soon fell asleep and Elizabeth put her in her bed. As she pulled the quilt over the baby, she touched the soft golden down on Mary Kate’s head. Nothing was softer than a baby, she decided. Mary Kate sighed and snuggled into the familiar warmth of her quilt Elizabeth put a stuffed bear in the bed so that Mary Kate wouldn’t be lonely when she woke up, then went downstairs.

By the time she had the table set, she heard Brice washing up at the pump on the porch. When he came inside, his hair was damp from the water. He stopped when he saw her bending over the spider on the hearth to stir the beans. She looked back at him and smiled. “Ready to eat?”

“I’ll run up and change my shirt.” He backed toward the inside door. “I won’t be but a minute.”

“There’s no rush,” She started ladling the beans into a serving bowl She hadn’t cooked much because she wasn’t used to having many choices in what she ate. Even during the better times, she and Robert rarely could afford more than a meat and one other dish. Ham, beans, potatoes and corn bread were like a feast to her. She had even baked some of the dried apples into a pie. Would he think she was wasteful? She wanted to keep this job. It was her ticket back to civilization.

When she heard Brice coming down the stairs, she lit the other two lamps that made the dining room bright enough for the meal. To save lamp oil she had set the table in the dimmest light possible. She brought in the steaming bowls and put them nearest the head of the table where she assumed he would eat. Although she wasn’t sure she was supposed to join him, she had put her plate to one side.

“Is this all right?” she asked when he came into the room. “I can eat in the kitchen if you’d rather.”

He gave her a long look. “No, I want you to eat with me. You aren’t a servant, Eliz—Mrs. Parkins. I never meant that you should feel you are one.”

She felt the blush rising again. “I just didn’t know. In my father’s house only the family eat at the dining room table. I didn’t want you to think I was overstepping my boundaries.”

He held her chair and she slid into it hastily. Robert had never once done that for her. He sat at the end of the table and said, “This looks wonderful!”

Elizabeth smiled but didn’t meet his eyes. “I also made an apple pie. I know it’s extravagant, but I felt...I wasn’t sure if you like desserts.”

“You can make whatever you please. I’m not picky. Just hungry.”

She passed him the corn bread. “Mary Kate has been an angel I made her a place to play in the kitchen and she was no trouble at all. She’s upstairs asleep,” she added.

“Do you have brothers or sisters?” he asked.

“No, I was an only child. I have many cousins, though. That’s where I learned how to care for babies. I had hoped to have a large family, but apparently that won’t be.”

“You’re young. They may still come.” He watched her for a moment but gave no clue as to what he was thinking. “Beans?”

“Thank you.” She put some on her plate and left the bowl where he could reach it for seconds. She was trying so hard to do everything perfectly that she was barely allowing herself to breathe. “You said you have a brother. Are there others?”

“No. Just the two of us. We’re half brothers, really. James used to remind me of that often. We never got along all that well. Otherwise we could have worked the ranch together and I would have stayed in Texas.”

“Do you regret the move?”

“Not anymore. I can be my own person here and not have to answer to anyone.”

She looked at him in amazement. “That’s almost exactly what I told myself not long ago!” She caught herself. “Of course it’s different for a man.”

“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like.”

Elizabeth pushed the beans around on her plate. “We’ll have to see what happens. We don’t always get to do exactly what we want to do. Especially not if Robert shows up. I have obligations. Things are expected of me.” Her voice trailed off and she glanced at him. He was watching her in that oddly exciting way. Hastily she straightened and handed him the potatoes.

“I already have some.” He seemed amused at her eagerness to change the subject.

“So you do.” She put down the potatoes. “Is that the baby crying?”

“No. I don’t hear a thing,”

“I left her door open so I would know if she wakes up. I don’t want her to cry and me not hear her.”

“You’re kind. I knew you would be.”

“I don’t hold with letting babies any. Suppose it’s a weakness of mine—perhaps not having had one of my own. All they need is food or a hug or...” She bit off the rest of her sentence. Diapers weren’t a fit subject for the dinner table.

“Consuela thought crying would make her lungs strong.”

“I won’t let her cry. Not unless I can’t find how to make her happy. I never saw a child spoiled by being loved and treated with kindness, so if you don’t agree with that, it’s best that we clear the air now.”

“Why are you so determined to argue with me?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Is that what you think? I never meant to leave that impression. I’m not bad-tempered. Not at all. I...” She flushed with embarrassment. He was the one who was bad-tempered, and now the word lay between them.

“Hold on. I didn’t mean it that way. You go off on tangents faster than any woman I’ve ever known.”

“I talk too much. Robert is always telling me so. I’ll try to be more careful.” She sighed as she broke off a bit of corn bread from the wedge on her plate.

“I like hearing conversation. Cal never makes a sound unless it’s necessary. It’s damned lonesome when no one is talking.” He caught himself. “I’m sorry. I should be watching my language. It’s been a long time since I had a conversation with a woman.”

“I don’t mind,” she said honestly. What did it mean he hadn’t had a conversation with a woman in a long time? Celia hadn’t been gone so very long. Surely they talked before she died. Still, months of silence when you were used to having a wife about could seem like a longer time. “Sometimes Robert and his poker friends would turn the air blue. It doesn’t embarrass me.”

“He allowed his friends to talk like that in front of you? Why would he do that? Why not go to a saloon where no one cared how anyone else was talking?”

“He was of the opinion that the house was his and that I should adjust to it. My father would have agreed with him in principle, even though he hated Robert and would have cut out his own tongue before admitting that they saw eye to eye on anything.”

“It sounds as if your life hasn’t exactly been a bed of roses, even before moving to Zeb’s sod hut.”

“My parents had a nice house in Hannibal My father built it for my mother as a wedding gift.”

“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned her.”

“She died.”

“I’m sorry. You must miss her.”

“She never made much of a wave as she passed through life,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “Some people don’t, you know. They can live out their entire lives without others taking particular notice of them. She wanted me to be more like that. She said I would be happier if I could learn to be accepting of whatever came to me. But I can’t. I just can’t sit back and never express an opinion of my own.”

“Neither can L Celia certainly wasn’t like that She wanted life to conform itself to her whims. She wasn’t always easy to live with.”

Elizabeth frowned at him and pushed the bread plate in his direction

“What did I say to upset you?” Brice asked.

“How can you ask that? Celia is barely in her grave and you’re discussing her faults? I found her quite likable. We had a lot in common.”

“Did you?” he asked in a cool tone.

“Mr. Graham, I feel we must be honest with each other if we are to live under the same roof. I’m married and I came here only for the job and for the sake of the baby. You and I don’t have to like each other. Although I only saw Celia once, I considered her to be my friend and I’m loyal to her memory. No other relationship between us is possible.”

“You’re assuming a great deal. It takes more than one visit to make a friendship. And, I assure you, Mary Kate’s well-being is my top priority.”

“Celia was the first woman I had seen in months. I must insist you treat her memory with respect, at least in my presence.”

“I knew her better than you did and you have no right to call me to task.”

“I see.” Elizabeth stood and picked up her plate. “I think the less contact we have, the better it will be.”

“I think you’re right.”

She swept past him and finished her meal alone in the kitchen. It wasn’t the way she had intended the first meal to turn out, but she felt it was better to get everything out in the open from the beginning. Otherwise she might make a fool of herself.

That night Brice awoke to hear Mary Kate fretting in her bed. Automatically he swung his feet out from under the cover. He had pulled on his pants and was halfway to the door before he was really awake. With a yawn he went out into the hall and down to the nursery door.

At the doorway he stopped.

Elizabeth was already there. The baby was in her arms and she had started to sing to her softly. She opened the window to get the bottle she had left there to stay cool. Her hair was loose and flowed down her back in thick waves to below her waist. Her gown was white and loose but the lamp light showed him tantalizing glimpses of her silhouette beneath the concealing fabric. She looked younger and more vulnerable than she had during the day.

She turned to take the baby to the rocker, and Brice stepped back into the dark hallway before she could see him. He was wearing no shirt or shoes and he didn’t want to alarm or embarrass her. When he heard the sound of the rocker moving in pace to her song, he looked back around.

Elizabeth was rocking and feeding the bottle to Mary Kate while she sang softly and smiled down at her. They made such a scene of domestic tranquillity that Brice felt emotion tighten his throat. As Elizabeth’s hair swayed with the rocker and undulated about her, he wondered if it could possibly be as soft as it looked. Certainly it was longer and thicker than he had guessed. Mary Kate reached up a pudgy arm and gathered a fistful of it and held on. Elizabeth smiled at her.

Quietly Brice backed away from the room and retreated down the hall without making a sound. Once in his room, he closed the door and sat on the side of the bed. Maybe it had been a mistake to ask her to come here.

At the time it had seemed only logical. He needed a woman to take care of the baby and the house; she needed a decent place to live. But it wasn’t working out so simply. She had made it plain at dinner that she didn’t like him and would prefer not to be around him. The unfairness of it hurt him, because he had offered her room and board as well as a salary. Why did she dislike him so? At least, he consoled himself, there was no chance of him forming an attachment with another woman who disliked his ranch. When she left, there would be no regrets.

Although her song was too soft for him to hear from his bed, Brice listened to it in his heart. It was a tune any mother might sing to a child, but Elizabeth’s voice was beautiful, and the loving way she had looked down at the baby had touched him deeply. He would never be able to ignore her presence in the house the way he had done Consuela’s. He would have to be very careful with his feelings toward Elizabeth.

Brice got to his feet, strode to the veranda door and stepped out into the night. The air was much too cold for comfort but he welcomed it.

He stayed there trying not to think those thoughts that had driven him out into the cold until he heard the quiet sound of Elizabeth’s bedroom door closing and the rustle of her bedclothes. The walls were too thin at times. Listening to Celia move about in that room and knowing he would never be welcome there had been galling but not so tempting as to hear Elizabeth settling into the same feather bed. Drawing a deep breath, Brice went back into his room and closed the door against the night air.

He gazed for a long moment at the door that connected his room to hers. Celia had blocked that passage with a heavy armoire. Unless Elizabeth had looked closely, she probably hadn’t noticed the door was there at all. Celia’s gesture had been purely antagonistic; she had known he would never force himself on her. And once she was with child, she had made it clear that he would never be welcome in her bed again. The baby had fulfilled her duty as she saw it. To prove she meant it, she moved permanently into the other bedroom. He had spent a lot of sleepless nights after that.

He was only fooling himself to think he could live with Elizabeth in the same house without her presence having an impact on him. Something deep in his soul had come to life the first time their eyes met. It was a measure of his desperation over Mary Kate’s welfare that he had thought they could live tranquilly under the same roof. There was only one decent thing to do. Tomarrow he would send Cal in to Glory to look for Robert. He should have done so right away.

He took off his pants and tossed them over the arm of the chair beside his bed. The sheets felt uncomfortably cold when he slid between them. Brice hated to sleep alone, and he had never been able to sleep in a nightshirt. That was one of the first matters he and Celia had argued about—if you could call it an argument when her side consisted of crying and pouting and making him guess what was wrong for days before unloading her grievances on him at the top of her lungs.

Elizabeth would never be that indirect. She had proved that at dinner. Elizabeth would tell him straight out and in no uncertain terms what he had done that displeased her. He found himself smiling in the dark. Such honesty would be refreshing. As much as he hated to argue, he wouldn’t mind so much if he could be certain what the subjects were from the beginning.

But she didn’t like him for reasons he didn’t understand, and her primary goal was to leave the Oklahoma Territory and return to her people in Missouri. It was for the best that her stay at the ranch was temporary, given the way she disliked him and how he didn’t dislike her at all. Yes, he had to find Robert for Elizabeth and another woman for Mary Kate. And he needed to do it soon, before emotions exploded between them.

Chapter Four

By the time Elizabeth had been at the ranch for two months, she found herself actually enjoying living there. Brice had sent Cal into Glory to look for Robert, but he had been unable to find him. A few people remembered seeing him months before yet no one had any idea where he might have gone. Elizabeth had taken the news with an outward show of calm but Robert’s disappearance only cemented her inner conclusion that he had deserted her and never intended to return at all.

Mary Kate now knew Elizabeth well and considered her to be her own personal possession. Her small face would light up as soon as Elizabeth came into the room and she’d hold up her hands with an angelic smile on her face to signal that she wanted to be picked up and carried. Elizabeth loved the baby as much as she would have if Mary Kate had been her own child.

Brice was a larger part of Elizabeth’s life than she would have preferred. Because she considered it part of her job, she planned her day around those times when he would appear for meals, and centered the menus around his likes and dislikes. He still had shown no sign of cruelty, but Elizabeth was certain he was capable of it. As were all the men she had known well. She had to remind herself constantly that Celia had had no reason to lie about it and that she mustn’t read more into his kindnesses than might be true.

After supper Brice liked to sit in the library and go over the ranch’s accounts or read. Elizabeth had been drawn to that room since her first glimpse of it. When Brice was gone during the day, she often went into the library and stroked the leather spines of the books and read the titles. To do more seemed like an invasion of his privacy. But eventually her desire to read overcame her reticence.

After putting Mary Kate down for the night, she went to the library door and paused. Brice sat at his mahogany desk, the lamp making a puddle of yellow light on the polished surface. He was bent over several papers, adding numbers and making notations beside the columns. He must have sensed her presence because he looked up. “Yes?”

Her mouth went dry. What if he refused to let her read his books? Her father had always discouraged her from reading. “I was wondering...” She hesitated, not sure how to go on.

He put down his pen. “Yes?” he repeated.

She went to the nearest shelves and touched the books lightly. “Have you read all these?”

“Yes, I have. I like to read.”

“So do I. I was wondering if, well, if I might borrow a book from time to time. I would be careful with it and be certain to bring it back when I’m finished.” She looked at him beseechingly.

“You like to read?”

The hint of amazement in his tone rankled her. “I told you I can read. My mother taught me even before I started school.” She was trying not to sound defensive but was doing poorly. “Forget I asked.” She turned to leave the room.

“Wait.” He leaned back in his leather chair. “I never said I wouldn’t let you read my books. I’d be glad to share them with you.”

Elizabeth turned back to him, embarrassed and feeling more defensive than ever. “Are you making fun of me? You may have found me living in a sod hut, but I do have an education. If I’m here that long, I’m quite capable of tutoring Mary Kate.”

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