Table of Contents

Cover Page

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

Excerpt

Prologue

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

About The Author

Copyright

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The Wedding Promise
Carolyn Davidson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to the memory

of Arnold “Jake” McDonnell,

brother-in-law and friend, a wounded warrior

who spent over 40 years in his wheelchair.

He was a hero to the end.

and

To Mr. Ed

Sweetheart, husband, lover and friend—

Father and grandfather extraordinaire—

A man who knows the meaning of romance

“I didn’t frighten you?” His grin widened.

She met his gaze, her blue eyes shiny with the tears she had not shed. “I liked the kiss. I just didn’t think it was proper, with me working for you, and all. I can’t stay here if you intend to…”

“I won’t take you to my bed, Rachel.”

Her quick look was skeptical. “I don’t know much about men, Cord McPherson, but my mother told me that when a man takes a kiss, he usually plans on…Well, anyway, she said I should be sure that a man has honorable intentions when I let him kiss me.”

“Ah…there’s the hitch, honey. You didn’t let me. I just went ahead and stole the kiss without permission.” His gaze was filled with the wonder of her, the glowing color she wore like the armor of a virgin bride…

Prologue

“There’s no way on God’s green earth you young’uns can travel by yourselves.” As if he pronounced the fate of the three people facing him, the weathered wagon master issued his ultimatum. “If your pa had listened when he should have, you’d have two good oxen pullin’ your wagon instead of those horses. You’d have stood a chance, maybe.”

The big man took off his hat and shaped it with a fist, his gaze avoiding the eyes of the young woman in front of him. “I asked around, Rachel. There’s plenty of churchgoin’ people in Green Rapids that’ll be glad to give homes to all of you.”

Rachel Sinclair’s arms stretched like the wings of a mother hen to encompass the narrow shoulders of her small brothers. “I can tend to my family,” she muttered stubbornly. “I don’t need the charity of a bunch of church folk.”

“You’re nothin’ but a child yourself, girl.” With a rush of exasperation, Mr. Clemons denied her claim. His brow furrowed as he scanned the waiting wagons behind her. “You’re a good girl, Rachel. You’ve held things together for your brothers real well, but the truth is, these men are in a hurry. They’re haulin’ freight, and besides that, I can’t expect the rest of the people in the group to look out for you when things go sour. We’re goin’ to leave you here with the sheriff and that’s that!”

Rachel’s slender fingers tightened their grip, as if she must imbue her brothers with a trace of her determination. “Go on then,” she told the man in front of her. “We’ll be just fine.”

A look of sheer relief brought an easing of Tom Clemons’s frown. “Sheriff’s on his way. Y’all just stay put here and he’ll make some arrangements for you. I already talked to him.” His gait was hurried as he made his way past the three young people, none of whom turned to watch his departure.

“Is he really leavin’ us here, Rae?” Barely a whisper, the voice reached her ear and Rachel bent momentarily to brush a quick kiss across her brother’s dark hair.

“We don’t need him, Jay,” she murmured.

“What are we gonna do, Rae?” came the query from her other side.

He reached her shoulder, this ten-year-old who looked so much like his daddy that it made her heart hurt to look at him. Her smile was sweet as she met his worried gaze.

“We’re going to climb back into our wagon and head out before the sheriff gets his hands on us, Henry.” As a spur-of-the-moment suggestion, it had as much merit as any other notions she’d come up with in the past day or so. Rachel Sinclair was plumb out of ideas. But standing in the middle of the dusty street, halfway between the hotel and a general store, she had reached a conclusion.

“There’s enough food in the wagon to keep us for a while. We’ve got a barrel of water and two good horses to pull the wagon. It’ll be a cold day in you-know-where when we can’t figure out some way to keep body and soul together without a bunch of busybodies pokin’ into our business. Just hike yourselves into the wagon, boys.”

Her dark hair swung in a long braid down her back and slim legs were briefly exposed as Rachel Sinclair scrambled atop the high seat. Her brothers joined her in seconds, even as a rangy lawman sauntered from his office to head in their direction.

His hand lifted in a silent gesture and his mouth opened, only to snap shut as the trio huddling on the wide seat ignored his beckoning fingers. Shaking his head in puzzled resignation, he watched them go, until they were just a speck on the horizon.

Chapter One

The line of clothing snapped in the brisk west wind. Four small shirts billowed, the sleeves filling like the sails of a boat. Next to them hung overalls, one pair a little larger than the other. Stockings draped over the line in a dark parade, and his gaze followed their lead, beyond the pale assortment of undergarments to where a skirt caught the breeze.

“Damned if there isn’t a passel of nesters squattin’ on my doorstep!” Talking to himself had long been a habit, and Cord McPherson was more than comfortable with the sound of his own voice.

His hands rested on the pommel of his saddle and he slouched just a bit as he leaned forward to better view the small valley that rimmed the north side of his property.

He’d ridden this far only once this spring, more than a month ago, and nothing unusual had caught his eye. Only the leafing out of the trees along the stream and the greening of the meadows had pleasured his vision. This was another thing entirely.

His gaze narrowed on a small figure just beyond the ramshackle building at the edge of a patch of trees. Dark haired and slim as a reed, a young boy scampered into full view, his voice a piping song.

“Rae! Listen to me! I can whistle just like that bird over there,” he called, and then proceeded to do a creditable imitation of a robin.

Cord’s mouth twitched, amusement and annoyance vying for a place there. “What the hell is that kid doin’, prancin’ around in my back forty?” he grumbled beneath his breath.

And then his eyes caught sight of another figure, this one not nearly so reedlike…slender, but well rounded. A female, no doubt of that, he decided quickly, what with the curves that threatened to spill over the front of her petticoat.

“Jay, I sent you to the stream to fill a bucket with water. I need to finish the washing.”

She’d turned, coming to a halt with her back to him, and for a moment Cord silently urged her to turn around. He’d thought her to be but a child at first glance, but the sight of rounded hips beneath the clinging petticoat and the memory of curves he’d caught only a glimpse of sent that thought scampering.

“I’m gonna!” the child answered cheerfully. “I just was watchin’ the birds for a minute, Rae.” The dark head turned, the small face scrunched against the morning sun as he faced the woman, and even from a distance, Cord caught a glimpse of terror in the boy’s hurried movements.

“Rae! There’s a man watchin’. Over on that rise, there’s a big man lookin’ at us!” His bare feet were a blur as the boy ran to the woman and she clutched him against herself in a protective gesture, her head bending low over his.

And then she turned. With one hand she swept the youngster behind her, facing the unknown with a measure of bravery that brought an admiring chuckle from Cord’s throat. Even as he eyed her stance, his heels tapped the sides of his big gelding and he sat deeply in the saddle as the horse picked his way down the shallow slope of the hill.

“Go in the house, Jay,” the woman said, her voice carrying in the morning air. Low and steady, yet with an authoritative quality he could not miss, her command sent the boy running. She waited, unflinching in the brilliant sunlight as Cord approached, her eyes shaded by the hand she lifted to her forehead.

“Morning, ma’am.” He hadn’t forgotten his manners, even when faced with a half-dressed female in his own backyard, so to speak. His gaze on her face, he was only too aware of her state of dishabille, and his treacherous eyes narrowed as they widened their focus to include the lush curves she made no attempt to hide.

“What do you want?” She lifted her head as he neared, her eyes remarkable in their fearless daring. Not a twitch of muscle in that suntanned face betrayed her. Nor did her hands tremble as she lowered the right to meet the left at her waistline. Her chin was a bit too firm for his liking, but the mouth that spoke a challenge in his direction was soft and full, her flesh clear, her cheeks flushing a bit as he rode close to where she stood.

“I was about to ask you the same question, ma’am.” His words were mild, his senses instinctively lulled by the sight of a defenseless woman and a small child.

She shrugged with deliberate defiance and her jaw tightened. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I don’t want anything from you, mister. Just to be left alone.”

Cord McPherson was a man of few words, but the ones that came to mind this morning weren’t what he could in all good conscience spout in her direction. His hands itched to circle that narrow waist. His body twitched in a too long neglected fashion as he allowed his gaze to openly scan her form.

Not for the life of him could he be so blunt as to tell her she was about three feet from a randy man.

He shifted in the saddle, discomfort a reality now. “I’m wonderin’ just what you’re doin’ on my property, ma’am.”

Over her shoulder, a taller version of the small boy she’d sent scampering peered around the corner of the shack.

Cord nodded at him. “Another one of your bunch?” he asked politely. And then his eyes glittered with a dark menace as the youth lifted a shotgun to his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, boy.” As far as from dawn to full dark, his voice plunged to a low, growling threat, the affable visage only a memory.

The woman spun about, her head shaking a warning. “Henry, put the gun down!”

The barrel wavered and fell, its weight pulling it almost to the ground, and the boy glared, a passionate threat, unhampered by his compliance. His dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, he waited, as if one movement from the horseman would bring his heavy weapon into line once more.

The young woman turned to Cord again, as if caught between two opposing forces. “He’s only a boy and no threat to you.”

“Hate to gainsay you, ma’am, but any hand holdin’ a gun is a threat in my book. I’d suggest you have him put that shotgun on the ground, or I’ll have to see to it myself.”

“Put down the gun, Henry. Right now.” Without looking back over her shoulder, the woman issued the order, her tone of voice speaking confidence in his obedience.

And he obeyed. Without hesitation, he leaned forward and deposited his weapon on the grass. His mouth twisted in a mutinous grimace and his eyes burned with a thwarted gleam, but he obeyed.

Cord swung from his saddle, dropping his reins to the ground. With two long strides, man and woman were in touching distance and Cord’s mouth twitched as he caught sight of the alarm she could not hide at his approach.

She stepped back, her hands rising distractedly to spread across her breasts, a purely female gesture, honed by the instincts inbred in women, and he recognized it for what it was. She’d only now remembered her state of undress, her vulnerability to his masculine strength.

In the heat of the first few minutes of their encounter, she’d been aware only of the danger his presence offered to the young boys she guarded with her very body. Now she was apprehensive for her own sake, and her eyes were wary as she faced him.

“We haven’t got anything you’d want, mister. There’s just me and the boys. Our pa will be back any time now, but—”

Cord’s eyes flickered to the telltale clothesline, strung between two sturdy maple trees. “Not much on that line that’d fit a full-grown man.”

Her eyes met his, a defiant look alive in their depths. “I haven’t gotten to his things yet.” The softness was gone from her lips as the blatant lie fell from her mouth. She swallowed, a visible breach in her composure, and her cheeks flushed crimson as she turned away, her hands moving to spread over the bare flesh above the bodice of her petticoat.

He followed an arm’s length behind her, his gaze sweeping over the length of her slim body. The petticoat was too short for fashion, exposing bare feet and ankles and just a suggestion of curving calves. Her shoulders were smooth, creamy and inviting, and his hands clenched as he felt the urge to touch the softness he knew would meet his caress.

“You’re on my property,” he reminded her. Her shoulders lifted, as if she’d caught her breath at his words, and she halted.

“We didn’t know anyone lived here. It was empty and neglected and we…” Her words trailed off and her head shook, a negative gesture. “We can pay a little for the use of the place. We’ll only be here for a while, just till we make some decisions.”

It was a fair offer. But Cord McPherson was used to doing business face-to-face. Looking at her back was a pleasure, but the memory of what she had become so conscious of in the past few minutes gnawed at him.

“Turn around and look at me if you want to do business, ma’am.” His words were low, but unwavering, an ultimatum in any man’s language.

“I can’t.” She whispered her denial of his demand. Her head turned, just a bit, and he caught sight of her rosy cheek, her lashes sweeping its heated surface.

It was enough. He’d managed to embarrass her beyond her endurance, and his good sense took command.

“Go put a dress on and get yourself back out here.”

She fled. With slender feet brushing aside the grass, she ran the few steps to the shack, one hand grasping the arm of the watching boy as she turned the corner.

“Rae!” The protest rang out in the silence and was hushed by a soft murmur from beyond his sight.

Cord cast one measuring glance around the empty clearing, then, lifting an empty wooden bucket from his path and leading his horse he headed for the stream.

She’d known it was too good to be true. That they would find an empty house…no, not a house, a shanty really. But sufficient for their needs for now.

She’d cleaned it up, sweeping the dirt floor with her mother’s good broom, scrubbing the crude wooden table and chair with an old shirt of Pa’s. The stove worked, once she’d carried out an accumulation of ashes and set a small pile of kindling to burning in its depths. The draft worked and the chimney drew well.

The boys had taken over the single bunk, one at each end for sleeping, and she’d been content to roll up by the stove at night, the shotgun placed in front of her. It had almost been idyllic, this three-week stretch of time, with her marking the days in her mother’s journal.

Somehow, it was important that she know when Sunday came. And just the other day she’d sat beneath the trees to read from Pa’s Bible, knowing the boys would only pay attention for a short while. She’d sung with them, reminding them of the words they stumbled over, yearning for an hour in the white church back home in Pennsylvania.

Home. Her mouth tightened as the word nudged her memories. She bent to find her blue dress in the trunk beside the boys’ bunk, her fingers busy as she unfolded it and pulled it over her head. No sense in getting maudlin over the past. This was here and now and she was committed to making the best of things.

The buttons slid easily into the handmade buttonholes her mother had worked with care one winter’s evening. Rachel Sinclair allowed only a moment’s grief for that memory as she prepared herself to face the man waiting outdoors.

Crying never did anyone any good as far as she could see. She’d shed her tears when the bodies of the people she loved most in the world were lowered into their graves, each a day apart from the other, more than a month ago, beside the trail in Missouri.

Then she’d gathered up the reins and taken charge. Any grown woman, eighteen years old, had better be equipped to tend to her family these days, or she’d be showing a decided lack of good upbringing, she’d vowed on that day.

And she’d done just that. Taken charge of her brothers and turned her face west. In the direction of her father’s dream…a dream she vowed would not die with him.

This shack was only a temporary stopping place. Somehow she’d find a way to continue on, to where she might find a place for the boys to grow and flourish. A place where she might find a man willing to take on a ready-made family.

A man. She blinked at the reminder. You’ve got a man waiting right this minute, Rachel Sinclair. You need to go on out there and face him and do some dealing. The memory of the small nest egg in the bottom of the trunk reminded her of the limits of her bargaining power and she shrugged off the daunting thought

At the door the boys waited, watching the tall intruder as he walked from their sight, heading for the stream. Preparing to join them, Rachel brushed back her hair with agile fingers as she approached the door, feeling for the braid that hung down her back.

“What’s he doing?” she asked quietly. Hastily, she rolled up her sleeves to just beneath her elbows. He’d already seen pretty near everything she owned. No sense in being overly modest, she decided stoutly.

Washing clothes in her petticoat had seemed safe enough. Besides keeping her dress dry and clean, she’d enjoyed the breeze blowing against her bare shoulders and arms, keeping her cool. She’d scrubbed out the boy’s overalls, rinsing them in the bucket and wringing out the water before she hung them on the line to dry.

And then, just as she’d sent Jay to the stream for clean water to wash the rest of her own things, the stranger had come, destroying what little peace of mind she’d been able to find in this place.

She was ready to face him, as ready as she’d ever be, but she hesitated at the threshold. His demeanor had overpowered her, more so than the gun she’d spied behind his saddle, which she was dead certain he could handle with an expert touch.

He’d not threatened her, not bodily, but his eyes had paused to survey every living inch of her, especially the parts the bodice of her petticoat had failed to cover.

She blushed anew at the thought. And so it was that she watched him, reins in one hand, bucket in the other, striding up the fresh path from the stream, worn down only by the repeated steps of Jay and Henry over the past weeks, the grass still green beneath his feet

He carried the bucket easily, its weight a barely noticed hindrance to his easy gait. His hat was pushed back a bit and she caught sight of dark eyes, their intensity focused on her, his nose flaring just a bit as he came to a halt in front of her.

“I figured you needed water. Thought I’d save you a trip to the stream while I watered my horse.”

“Yes, thank you.” He’d put her at a disadvantage already, being nice. She drew in a breath, reaching for the handle of the bucket.

“Let the boy get it.” He nodded, his movement a silent command, and Henry eased past her to take the bucket from his grasp. “Take it in the house, son.”

“Yessir,” Henry said quietly, obviously subdued in the presence of subtle strength. His eyes had lost their challenge, if not their wariness; but as if he sensed no danger for the moment, he turned from his sister to obey the stranger’s command.

Rachel buried her hands in the pockets of her dress and faced her visitor. “Can we come to an agreement, mister? Maybe reach a fair price for us staying in this place?”

“Are you dead serious about staying out here by yourself?” The stranger faced her, his expression disbelieving as he surveyed his surroundings. “This shack isn’t fit for animals. The door’s hangin’ by one hinge and there isn’t even a floor. You can’t tell me you’re set on livin’ here.”

“For now, I am,” she answered, her mouth firm as she staked her claim.

“How much you plan on payin’ for rent?” His gaze swung back to her as she defied his judgment. “What are you thinkin’ to live on?”

Rachel thought of the dwindling supplies she’d stashed with care in the rude cabinets against the wall inside the shack. “We’ll make do,” she told him proudly. “There’s good fishing in the stream and Henry is a good shot.”

Her mind worked quickly as she defended her position. “We noticed the berries are ripening up along the stream and there’s more greens growing than we can ever eat, even with the rabbits getting their share. We’ve got plenty of food.”

Plenty, if we dole it pretty thin and the rabbit population holds out, she amended silently.

A nicker from beyond the shack caught his attention, and Cord’s gaze shifted from the woman before him. For all her claims of independence, he’d warrant she was barely holding her own out here. And yet, beyond the shelter she’d found, somewhere past the shack, was a horse.

Another nicker joined the first and his gelding answered the challenge, lifting his head from where he’d buried his muzzle in the lush grasses.

“How many head of horses you got out there, ma’am?” His query demanded an answer, his words delivered with a hard edge.

“The team is not for sale,” she answered quickly. “They belonged to my pa.”

“Belonged?” The single word made mockery of her claim. There was no father about to return. These three were alone here, on the edge of his land, ten miles from the nearest town.

“They’re mine now,” she told him bluntly.

“It’s not safe out here for a woman alone, with two young’uns.”

Her eyes flashed defiance. “We haven’t seen another soul, till you came up over that hill.”

“And you might not again. But then again, you might. And the next man to ride up on you probably won’t be willing to ride away without giving you some trouble.” His words were roundabout, but the look on her face told him he’d managed to get his meaning across.

That slim body was tempting enough in its blue covering, the modest dress buttoned up to the neck. Any man worth his salt would have been tempted mightily by the sight she’d presented just minutes ago, prancing around in her undergarments.

That thought alone was enough to give him pause and he silently cursed the urges that ran rampant in his body. Too long without a female wasn’t good for a man, and he’d about reached his limit

“How much do you want for rent, mister?”

Her demand caught his ear and his thoughts returned from their meandering. She waited, watching him, and the cautious hope in her eyes was his undoing. full-blown, a picture sprang to his mind, and his words gave it life.

“Maybe we can work something out,” he said. “Looks to me like you’re pretty good at washing clothes, ma’am. How about if you come up to the house and do up the laundry and maybe see what you can do in my kitchen a couple of days a week?”

His lips thinned as he waited for her reply. What the hell was he thinking of? He’d do well to send her and her brothers on their way, or at least take them to town and find a place for them to roost, out of danger. No sense in saddling himself with any more of a load than he already had.

The girl shook her head, denying his offer. “I’d just as soon pay a bit for the place to stay, mister. Maybe till we get our mind made up about what we’re going to do.”

So much for that plan. Ill formed as it was, he’d decided in a hurry it might be her salvation. That she would be a temptation to every roving cowhand and stray rider in the county was a fact.

Once the word got out, she’d be under siege. Fool woman stood there like an unwary doe just before dawn, with danger all around, and not enough sense to take cover.

“We can come to an understanding, I’m sure,” he said, not wanting to douse her hopes. She was so valiant, so willing to do what had to be done for her family. “Let me think about it.”

The boys came from the doorway to flank her, lending their mute support, and her arms lifted in an automatic gesture to lie across their shoulders. He suspected she’d lent them her strength on a regular basis over the past few weeks or months. How long they’d been alone was anyone’s guess. Maybe she’d open up a little more next time. For now, he figured he’d about gone as far as she’d let him. Further than she’d wanted.

“I’ll be back,” he said, easing into the saddle with a lithe movement. One tanned, broad-backed hand reached out to her. “My name’s Cord McPherson.”

She moved toward him, accepting his hand, her own enclosed by his fingers, and he felt its slender strength against his palm. He held it for a moment, silently urging her to reply to his words of introduction. And she complied.

“Rachel Sinclair. These are my brothers, Jay and Henry.”

As if she begrudged him the intimacy of knowing her name, she ducked her head, drawing her fingers from his grasp, stepping back.

He tipped his hat and turned his horse away, aware of her gaze on his back as he rode. Her length of dark hair, the braid thick and heavy against her back, nudged his thoughts. She looked good in blue, he decided. Matched her eyes.

But the memory that edged out the others, that haunted him on his ride back across the fields and meadows he traveled, was that of womanly curves, of slender arms and smooth shoulders, gleaming in the sunshine.

Chapter Two

It was a long trip, and her heart beat at a rapid pace as the town came into sight. Coming to Green Rapids was a calculated risk, she knew. The sheriff was bound to see them, unless he should by chance be gone from town this morning.

The thought of a confrontation with the law was far from appealing, although the lawman had probably thanked his lucky stars to have them off his hands. Nevertheless, Rachel had her jaw set and her spine stiff as a ramrod, ready for the encounter should it come about.

Traffic on the dusty road was heavy, probably not more so than usual for a Saturday, but Rachel was counting on the assortment of buggies and wagons to conceal her passage down the main street.

Her eyes scanned the business places lined up alongside the broad, wooden sidewalks. Just ahead, the wooden sign of Green Rapids Emporium and Dry Goods came into view, and she brought the horses to a halt.

Henry jumped from the seat and snapped the lead in place on the harness, then tied the team to a hitching rail convenient to the store. “All set, Rae,” he called out, tugging one more time at the leather strap, testing the security of his knot.

“Thank you, Henry. You and Jay come along now, and remember, no treats today. We’re only here to buy the things we absolutely need.” She spoke in an undertone, ruing the warning she gave, wishing for a hundred pennies to shower on her brothers, with no thought for the expense.

“I know, Rae,” Jay whispered on a wistful sigh, his nostrils flaring as they entered the store.

The smell was always the same, Rachel thought, aware of the deep breaths her brothers had taken. Drygoods stores the country over, at least the parts they’d traveled, had that selfsame scent of leather and lye soap, mixed with the starched aroma of fresh bolts of fabric.

A whiff of molasses reached her nose, countered by something freshly baked, perhaps bread or cake. So much temptation, she thought, and so little hard cash to spend.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Rachel looked up quickly as the clerk approached, her eyes widening at his elegance. Pomade slicked his hair back neatly, a heavily starched collar clenched his throat and his shirtsleeves were buttoned firmly at the wrist. A genial smile curled his mouth and his eyes were faintly admiring as he nodded a greeting.

“Yes,” she answered, fumbling in her pocket for the list she’d written. As if she needed prompting to remember the few items she’d scribbled on the brown scrap of paper: sugar—a pound or two, depending on the price, a bag of cornmeal, a pound or so of lard and perhaps some eggs. Maybe even cans of milk for the boys’ oatmeal.

She’d yearned for weeks for the taste of a fried egg. Not that she could afford that luxury. These, if they weren’t too dear, would be used for baking. Jay and Henry had responded to the bribe of a cake, should they do their chores and carry water without complaining.

They’d been more than compliant, she realized, once they were settled in and ready to call the tumbledown cabin their dwelling. They’d followed her lead, straightening and settling in, making a home of the place they’d found.

“We got some new dimity in from St. Louis just the other day,” the clerk said, recalling Rachel from her thoughts.

He probably thought she could use a new dress. And he was right. Her smile was grim as she shook her head. “No, we just need a few items today. Some cornmeal to start with.”

She read off her short list and watched as the clerk moved efficiently behind the gleaming wooden counter. He filled a cloth sack with her sugar, surely more than a pound, she thought, her eyes narrowing as she watched his deft movements. The lard was next, dealt with quickly, then three cans of evaporated milk.

Finally, wrapping four eggs individually in brown paper, he placed them carefully inside the bag of cornmeal. “That’ll keep ‘em from breaking if they get jostled,” he explained, tying the neck of the bag once more.

He rested both palms on the counter, leaning just a bit in her direction, his smile more eager now. “What else will you have today?”

Rachel’s mind moved quickly, counting up her spending against the coins she’d brought with her. Such strict rationing of money was a burden, but one she was willing to assume, given the alternative. There was no way she would give over the care of her brothers to strangers, no matter how well off they might be.

“How much is a small bag of tea?” she asked.

He turned from her without reply, opening a tin on the shelf behind him. From within rose a pungent aroma as he turned with it to face her. His smile was inviting as he scooped out a generous portion into a metal box.

“I don’t think I can afford that much,” Rachel protested as he closed the lid tightly on the enameled container. Covered with painted roses and green leaves, intertwined over the top and down the sides, it beckoned her, silently tempting her.

“Well, why don’t we just call it a welcome present from Green Rapids, ma’am. You’re a stranger here, and we like to make newcomers feel at home.”

As a gesture of friendship, it was more than she had expected. But from the look in his eyes and the ready grin he bestowed upon her, she suspected he’d taken a shine to her.

“I don’t know you, sir,” she said quietly, aware of the silence of her brothers as they flanked her in a silent show of support.

“Conrad Carson, proprietor, ma’am,” he announced, offering his hand politely. “At your service.”

His bow spoke of old-world manners and good upbringing and Rachel was mollified. Her hand felt cool as she placed it against his smooth palm for a moment Clean, with well-kept nails, it touched hers with assurance.

She was reminded suddenly of the hand she’d taken hold of just two days ago. That hard, callused hand that had held hers with care. A far cry from this storekeeper’s.

“Thank you, Mr. Carson,” Rachel said, withdrawing her palm from his touch. She fumbled in her pocket for her small change purse and drew it forth. “How much do I owe you?”

“Well, let’s see now.” Quickly, he scratched out figures on a piece of brown paper and told her the total of her purchases before he wrapped the bits and pieces together in the heavy paper.

Rachel counted out her coins and breathed a sigh of relief. She had enough and a bit left over. Recklessly, she handed each boy a penny. “You can buy a piece of candy, if you like,” she told them beneath her breath.

“Really, Rae?” squeaked Jay.

“Can we afford it?” Henry whispered, standing tiptoe to speak closer to her ear.

She nodded and smiled at the two of them, these dear boys she would defend with her very life if need be. And then she watched as they marched quickly to the glass case that held jars of assorted candies.

He’d give her a week, he’d decided, riding back to the ranch house. He’d let her eke out an existence in the shack, living on fish and rabbits and whatever else she had stowed in that pitiful excuse for a house. And then he’d go back. She’d be ripe by then for another offer.

He lasted three days.

Thoughts of her filled his waking hours. Dreams of that womanly body haunted his sleep, and the pure imaginings of his mind were the impetus that sent him on his way early on Monday morning.

Surely he hadn’t been so long without the companionship of a female that he couldn’t control his own needs.

Certainly he was capable of running his ranch, tending to his stock and overseeing the men working for him without allowing the memory of a slender woman to take precedence over the operation he was heading.

Derisively, Cord shook his head at his own folly. The slim creature he’d been obsessed with for three days would be merely an ordinary woman when he saw her again. No more and no less than any other he’d run across in his life.

Once he set eyes on her again, he’d be able to vanquish the assortment of urges he’d been fighting for three days.

The miles were long beneath the reaching strides of his gelding. The far corners of his ranch had never seemed so distant before. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her alone out here. What if someone had come upon the small family and taken advantage of their pitiful situation?

His heels dug into the sides of his mount and he searched the horizon for the line of trees that rimmed the uppermost ridge of the small valley he sought.

The best approach would be to offer her a job. Not just a couple of days a week, as he’d suggested the other day, but a full-time, everyday job that would necessitate moving her and her brothers, bag and baggage, to his place.

And then there would really be fireworks to deal with, once Jake had his routine disturbed.

He’d have to depend on Sam Bostwick to keep Jake in line and away from Rachel. No sense in scaring her off first thing. The thought of his brother brought a frown and a deep-felt sigh.

Jake wouldn’t take well to a female around the place.

The Circle M employed five ranch hands, none of whom was capable of putting a decent meal on the table, as far as Cord was concerned. Finding help had become almost a farce in the past year. The gold strike was a thing of the distant past, but there were always the hopeful ones making their way west

The fact was, getting decent ranch hands here in Kansas, and keeping them, depended in good part upon the food you put in their bellies.

The gradual rise before him was a sea of wildflowers, topped by a ridge of trees. The sun was brilliant against the horizon. A hawk skimmed the treetops, a silent hunter against the cloudless sky.

And there, kneeling beneath the freshly born leaves of a maple sapling was the slender woman who’d occupied his thoughts for the past three days.

She lifted her head, her eyes wide as she watched him approach. As his horse came to a halt just feet away, she stood. Her dress showed the effects of many wash days, its color nondescript, with faint images of flowers against a faded pink background.

It was too short, even though the hem had been let down, and he felt a quick surge of gladness at that fact, his gaze pausing on the slim ankles and bare feet she made no attempt to conceal.

“Mr. McPherson.”

It was a greeting of sorts, accompanied by a slow nod of her head, her eyes wary as he slid from his horse to stand before her.

“Miss Sinclair.” He stopped abruptly. Then, as if his senses had deserted him, his tongue refused to speak.

She was watching him in a grave, sober fashion that was not encouraging to his proposal. What he wanted to say would be insulting to a lady, and she deserved that designation.

How could he ask her to gather up her family and come home with him? He could offer no chaperon, no other woman to protect her name while she occupied his home. And yet the desire to be in her company had not eased with the passing of time. His best bet was to put it on a business basis, he decided.

She’d thought about him for three days. And now he was here, appearing at the crest of the long slope, atop his big horse, making his way to where she stood.

“I came out to see if you were needing anything, ma’am.”

Rachel considered the man standing before her. He’d been studying her with a penetrating eye, all the way up the hill, as if he could somehow see beneath the wash dress she wore. And then he’d offered a neighborly suggestion.

Did she need anything? Here she stood, fresh from praying upon the highest spot available in the valley, as if the height of the small hill could somehow make her more noticeable to heaven’s eye. She’d just asked God’s help in stretching her pitiful supply of money. There was about enough left to feed her brothers for another week or so, but not much longer.

With the oatmeal about done for and the flour gone weevily when she made biscuits this morning, she’d had to face the facts. She’d shuddered as she sifted the small brown bugs from her measuring cup, and cast them out the door of the shack. She’d manage to feed the boys a while longer, but even after the trip to town, the end of her supplies was in sight.

And so was the bottom of her small cache of coins.

Now here, as if he bore a message from the Almighty, came the man who’d not been far from her thoughts since Thursday, when he’d announced his ownership of the very spot they’d taken over as their own.

“Do we need anything?” She repeated his words and her voice was alive with wry incredulity. “I suppose I should be polite and tell you that my brothers and I have everything under control, Mr. McPherson.”

Vainly, she tried to smile, but the worry of the long night hours had left her without a trace of good humor.

Cord McPherson swept his wide-brimmed hat from his head and slapped it against his thigh. “I’m not looking for niceties from you, ma’am. I’d take the truth over a polite denial any day of the week.”

“We can survive for a while,” she said finally, her breath escaping in a sigh. “We had enough food to last a month or so, when we got here, with fresh meat and fish to fill in. But we’ve about reached the bottom of the barrel, and I don’t know how many more trips to the store in Green Rapids we can afford.”

“Green Rapids? You’ve been there?”

She nodded. “I wasn’t sure I could find the way back there, to tell the truth, but we made it.”

He nodded. “Any problems in town?”

“No.” She smiled, remembering the welcome they’d received. “The shopkeeper was pleasant. He gave me a tin of tea as a gift.”

His brow lifted in disbelief. “Conrad?”

“He seemed very nice,” she said primly, her eyes lowered, her cheeks flushing, unable to meet his gaze.

“I’ll just bet he did.” His words were gruff, and he settled his hands against his hips.

“I didn’t expect you back,” she said finally.

“I told you I’d come.”

Her shrug was answer enough, he decided. She’d probably hoped he wouldn’t show up, if he knew anything about it.

“Anybody give you any trouble here?” He looked beyond her to where the shack huddled in the small valley, the two horses tethered on the other side of the stream, the empty wagon under a tree.

“No.” She shook her head. “A man rode up yesterday and looked things over. But he left after a few minutes.”

“Probably Moses havin’ a look-see. I told him if he got a chance, to check on you.”

“Moses?” She rolled the name on her tongue, her quick mind nudging her dormant sense of humor. “Do you suppose he thought he’d discovered the promised land?” The wave of her slender hand encompassed the shack and its surroundings.

His chuckle warmed her. “And here I thought you didn’t have a lick of jocularity to your name.”

She caught a glimpse of white teeth beneath his dark mustache when he smiled. She’d had little to brighten her days lately, other than meeting Conrad Carson. And even that small bit of pleasure had not been enough to lift her spirits for long.

In fact, until this very minute, she’d about decided life had reached rock bottom.

The small valley had seemed an Eden of sorts for a while. Only when the store of supplies began running out had she faced facts. Eden would soon pale once the cornmeal and sugar sacks were emptied.

“You asked me to come to your place and do your washing, Mr. McPherson. Does the offer still hold?” Unbidden, the words rushed from her lips and she hesitated, her cheeks flushing with her own temerity as she waited his reply.

His fingers gripped the dented top of his hat and he swept it from his head. “Matter of fact, that’s the very reason I came out here this morning,” he said politely.

Her heart skipped a beat and she felt a rush of warmth flow through her veins. That her prayer should be answered so quickly was surely a sign.

“You want me to go back with you and work on your laundry?” she asked, her mind already speeding ahead to the preparations she must make, were that the case.

His mouth quirked at one corner, and she wondered if he were mocking her eagerness. And then he grinned outright, a smile that carried a welcome message. “More than that, I want you to take on some cooking chores, if you will.”

“If there’s any great amount of washing to do, it may take the rest of the day,” she countered. “I might not have much time left over to spend cooking a big meal for you.”

He ran long fingers through his hair, scratching a spot at the crown, as if he pondered her words. Then the big hat went back in place over his dark hair and he set his jaw, as if he had reached a decision and would not be swayed.

“I’d thought you might be persuaded to take on the ranch kitchen. Just to see if you could handle it. It’s probably too much of a job for a girl like you to cope with, but—”

“I’m far from a young girl, Mr. McPherson,” she said sharply, interrupting him. “I’ve been cooking and scrubbing out the washing on a board for several months now. I’m sure I can handle cooking for a man and doing his clothes without much effort at all.”

Her mouth set primly, she awaited his reply, her pride the issue now. If he thought for one minute she was too puny to be of any use, he could just…Just what? Find someone else for the job? When she so desperately needed the security of cash money in her hand and food for the table?

“Well…” He seemed to hesitate, and she urged him silently, her mouth firm, her eyes intent on his, her breath stored tightly in her lungs, as if she feared to release it before he made up his mind.

“It’s not just for me,” he told her. “There’s my brother, too. Plus four ranch hands and Sam. He’s been cookin’ for us, but I doubt he’ll ever be able to put a decent meal together to save his soul. That’s seven men to cook for. The washing is just for me and my brother, but if you wanted to earn more money, I’m sure the men would be happy to get their duds scrubbed out on a regular basis. They like clean clothes come Saturday night, usually.”

Seven men! The image was daunting, but Rachel swallowed her urge to spew the words aloud. She caught her breath, her mind in a whirl. If the ranch house was farther than an hour away, she’d spend much of the day driving the wagon back and forth and never have time to do her own work here.

And then there was the question of the boys.

“Can I bring my brothers along for the day?” she asked, her heart beating rapidly as she bargained.

His shrug was casual. “Don’t know why not They can give you a hand, maybe. Or just pitch in with the barn work.”

She glanced at the shack, where Jay had just appeared in the doorway. “They’ll need to eat, too. If I’m cooking for you, it will be for nine, not just seven.”

“Ten,” he corrected her. “I’ll expect you to share the table with us, Miss Sinclair.” His eyes lit with a glow of triumph and she noted it uneasily.

“How far from here is the house?”

“Better than an hour in a wagon,” he told her. “Little less on horseback.”

“It’ll take me a few minutes to get the boys ready and set things to rights here.” She brushed her hands against the front of her skirt. “I probably should change my clothes too.”

He cleared his throat, looking past her to where Jay stood near the shack. “Why don’t you just plan to stay on at the house, long as you’re going to be working there anyway?”

She blinked, attempting to digest his suggestion. “You want all of us to move to your house?” The thought was beyond her comprehension.

His nod of agreement stunned her. “Reckon that’s what I had in mind, ma’am. Thought you might load up your wagon and follow me back. I’ll give you a hand with your things.”

“Rae, what’cha doin’ up there?” From the shack, Jay’s reedy voice lifted on the still air.

Rachel’s head turned and she looked down at her small brother, dressed in too-short pants and a shirt he hadn’t grown into yet. His dark, stubborn hair stuck up at the crown, ignoring his efforts at the stream to plaster it against his scalp, and one bare foot rubbed against the other as he watched her.

“I’m talking to Mr. McPherson, Jay. I’ll be right there. Go get your brother out of bed.” Her words carried easily to where the child stood and he nodded agreeably as he turned back to the shack.

“You’ll go with me?” Cord asked, and she cast him a knowing glance.

“Look around you, Mr. McPherson. If you were trying to tend two boys and keep them fed and clean and had to worry about where you were going to land once you set out from here, would you turn down an offer like the one you just made me?”

He nodded, his lips parting in a smile of approval. “I see what you mean. I think you’re a smart lady, to tell the truth. Workin’ for me will give you time to figure out what you want to do next.” He grasped his horse’s reins and walked ahead of her, down the rise and across the grassy clearing.

Rachel followed in his wake. He sure as the world had it all figured out, didn’t he? Her feet dragged as she considered the man striding down the shallow slope before her.

He was taking an awful lot for granted, organizing their lives this way. Pa’s vision of claiming land farther west was still alive in her soul and if she agreed to stop here, the boys would never see the West their father had dreamed of.

“Mr. McPherson, why don’t we make this a sort of temporary thing, me working for you? Just in case I’m not satisfactory for the job.” She’d managed to halt his progress with that one, and a small sense of triumph buzzed within her as he paused in front of her.

He hesitated, just for a moment, then swung to face her, his eyes alight with an emotion akin to amusement. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll work out just fine, Miss Sinclair. I’ll give you time to learn the ropes, get your feet wet, so to speak.”

He waved expansively at the clearing ahead of them. “If you can make a home here, with nothin’ to do it with, I’ll warrant you can run rings around the help I’ve got in my kitchen now.”

The web he was weaving wrapped around her, its elusive threads beguiling her, and she made one last valiant effort to establish her ground.

“I need money, Mr. McPherson. Not just a place to stay. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll need a stake to get us where we’re going.”

He nodded slowly. “I guess that’s only fair. Why don’t we give it a year’s trial?”

“A year!” Her voice lifted, the words a squeal, and the hard-won dignity she’d managed to don like a Sunday dress fell about her feet, leaving her exposed to his dark gaze.

His nod was emphatic. “A year. You can’t head west in the autumn. Even if there were any supply trains at that time of year, it would be suicide. And any shorter time than that wouldn’t be a fair trial, would it?”

The words sounded reasonable, the way he put it, and she cleared her throat, her mind boggling at the idea of spending a year in the company of this man.

Enough that he was tall and well muscled, his shirt fitting him as if it were tailor-made to cover those broad shoulders. Add to that the very masculine presence he exuded, all tanned and well-put-together, with those dark eyes gleaming as if they knew secrets beyond her comprehension.

He almost frightened her, this benefactor who had given her the choice of eking out an existence on the edge of his property or following him to his home. He seemed kindly enough, but there was about him a power she didn’t understand, as if a magnetic field surrounded him and she was being drawn into its depths.

Now he watched her, with a patience she wouldn’t have credited him with, as if allowing her to choose. When in reality there was no choice. Behind her was Green Rapids and the sufferance of strangers. Ahead, only the uncertainty of the unknown.

And smack in the middle was Cord McPherson.

“All right, but not quite a year. Come spring, March or April, I’ll decide, soon as the first chance to go west comes in sight. I’ll have to have enough money on hand to buy a pair of oxen.”

Tom Clemons had been right, she admitted to herself. Horses weren’t sturdy enough for the rigors of the trail.

She bit at her lip, determined to give the man an honest bargain. “And if it doesn’t work out before then, if you find that I’m not suitable for the job, you’ll let me know,” she offered.

His eyes made a quick survey of her, his broad hands spread wide against his hipbones, the reins trailing from between his fingers as his horse waited patiently.

“All right.” He nodded finally, his gaze dark, his eyes holding a subdued excitement. “If you can’t make the grade, I’ll let you know.” His mouth twisted into a shadow of a grin, as if he would not allow any levity to dilute the serious aspects of their agreement.

Rachel wiped her palm against her skirt and offered it in his direction. “Do we have a deal, Mr. McPherson?” she asked firmly, her breath catching in her throat as she realized the enormity of this undertaking.

His lean, callused fingers grasped hers and he held them firmly. “We have a deal, Rachel.”

It took less than an hour to load their pitiful belongings into the wagon, close up the shack and be on their way. Cord harnessed the horses, admiring their plump, sleek lines, due probably to the lush grasses of his valley, he surmised with a subdued grin.

He worked rapidly, leading the team to the cabin door, where Rachel waited beside an assortment of crates and boxes. In moments, he had the wagon in place, the reins tied to a low branch of the nearest tree, lest the horses take it in their heads to return to the rich pastureland on the other side of the stream.

“How long you been here?” he asked, satisfied finally that the team was secure.

“A few weeks.” She lifted a box he deemed beyond her strength and he took it from her, their hands brushing as he eased it from her arms.

“I can get it!” Her pride glittered from blue eyes that scorned his aid.

He nodded. “I imagine you can, but there’s no need.”

She turned away, bending to lift one end of a trunk the boys were struggling to shove through the doorway. And then as she stood erect, he was there once more, close behind her.

His big hands gripped her waist and he spoke gruffly against the dark braid she’d coiled on top of her head.

“Stand back, Rachel. I’ll tend to this. The boys can help me.”

She shivered in his grasp and he heard her indrawn breath. “I’m stronger than you think,” she told him, her voice containing a faint breathlessness. And then she lowered the trunk, stepping away to retreat toward the waiting wagon.

“I’ve not underestimated you, Rachel,” he said, lifting one end of the trunk with ease. He waited till her brothers passed the doorway, then, lifting the bulk of the weight, he helped them ease their burden into the wagon.

She watched him warily and her hesitant air amused him. He had her on the run, off balance and acquiescent. Just as he’d hoped, she was going along with his plan. Now if he could keep her moving, he’d have the thing accomplished before she caught her breath.

“This won’t take long.” With a hand on each of their heads, Cord turned the two boys back toward the shack.

Willingly, they followed his lead and in minutes, the motley assortment of boxes and crates had been loaded. Her mother’s rocker and feather ticks, along with her hand-carved dresser, topped the load. Their faces alight with admiration, Jay and Henry watched as the pile was secured with a rope taken from Cord’s saddle.

“That didn’t take any time, did it, Rae?” Jay’s enthusiasm was evident, his cheeks flushed with excitement as he launched himself over the tailgate.

She shook her head, scraping up a smile for the small boy’s benefit. “No, you were a big help, Jay.”

“You want to take a look in the shack, make sure you haven’t forgotten anything?” Cord’s husky voice prompted her and Rachel nodded, hurrying toward the doorway.

It was cool inside, only a trace of sunlight slanting across the floor from the single window. She looked around, taking in the dilapidated furnishings, the dirt floor and the dust motes that filtered down from the rafters. Already, the place held a deserted air.

Another few days and the last trace of crumbs on the floor would be eaten by stray critters, the wind would whistle through the broken door at night, and it would be as if they had never been there.

She shivered at the thought and turned away. “I think we’re ready,” she said, squinting against the sunlight as she passed through the doorway.

Cord set the door in place and gave her his hand, lifting her to the wagon seat. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

Rachel lifted the reins and looked down at Henry. He’s growing, she thought. His head comes above my shoulder now. From behind her, Jay was making impatient noises, and she cast him a glance of warning.

Cord’s big gelding moved ahead of her, leading the way. She slapped the leather straps against the broad backs of her team, urging them to move out.

“He’s nice, isn’t he, Rae?” Henry’s words were soft, meant only for her ears, and she nodded her reply.

The boy reached into his pocket, lifting on one hip to snake the long licorice whip from its depths.

“You’ve still got candy left?” she asked, smiling at his frugality.

“Yeah. Want a bite?” Gnawing off a length, he offered the treat in her direction.

“No. Thanks anyway.” Perhaps he’d have more than a piece of candy now and then, once she managed to save a little money. Maybe she could afford to do better by the boys if this job panned out

She drew a deep breath, glancing up at the sky, where clouds rode in billowing herds…where the sun cast its muted rays on the earth below. And then that brilliant orb burst forth from behind a cloud bank, allowing the undiluted splendor of sunlight to wash over her surroundings.

As if it were a sign, a prediction of good things to come, she basked in its warmth. Her gaze drawn again to the man who rode before her, she smiled, admiring the straight line of his back, the easy movement of his body as he sat astride his horse.

And wondered at the shiver of delight that coursed through her body as she considered him.

Chapter Three

“Damn dog belongs outdoors, Rachel!” Cord’s brows were lowered over stormy eyes as he confronted his new cook. The front of his shirt wore a lavish display of hot coffee, and his fingertips held the wet fabric as far away from his chest as possible, as he roared his disapproval.

Rachel’s lips were pressed tightly together and her eyes widened with dismay as she beheld her employer’s anger. “I’m so sorry, Mr. McPherson. The boys gave Buster a bath when they got up. They let him in the house so he wouldn’t roll in the dirt. I had him shut in the pantry during breakfast. He must have gotten out when I was clearing up.”

Cord’s fingers worked at the buttons of the shirt he’d donned, fresh from his drawer, only an hour ago. Undoing them and stripping the wet garment from his body, he muttered his thoughts aloud regarding the mutt who watched from behind the pantry door.

“Rules are rules, Rachel. Dogs belong outdoors.” He handed her the gray shirt and she reached to grasp it.

“Let me get some butter to put on the burn,” she offered, her gaze intent on the flexing muscles in his upper arms as he moved. “It will take out the sting.”

“A cold cloth will do as well,” he told her. She turned to the sink where a dish towel was pressed into service as she pumped water to wet it before wringing it out Rachel handed it to him, watching as he spread the cool cloth against his flesh.

He was tall, well muscled, his arms and shoulders seeming more powerful without the covering of a shirt. Her gaze was drawn by the width of his chest, her eyes fixed on the curling dark hair that centered there. He was big. There was no other word to adequately describe the man. His arms were long, thick with muscles and pale above the elbows.

She clenched her hands, fearful that the urge to touch him would somehow gain control of her, that her traitorous fingers would reach to flex against the flesh he bared to her eyes.

“Will you go up and get me a clean shirt?” He motioned to his boots, dusty from the barn. “I don’t want to track on the carpets. My room’s the one at the head of the stairs.”

She’d paid scant attention last night, once she’d put together a meal for ten. Though only nine had been around the big table in the kitchen. Cord had muttered something about Jake eating later and Rachel could only be relieved at one less to wait on.

The men had made short work of her fried ham and mashed potatoes, scraping every last smidgen from the bowl. Jay and Henry had eaten their share, silent for a change as they attempted to follow the fast-paced conversation. Rachel had only held her breath in hopes that the men’s monstrous appetites would be satisfied before the food ran out.

“Rachel?” Cord waited, hands on hips as his lowvoiced reminder prodded her into action. “The shirt?”

She nodded, feeling a flush paint her cheeks as she dropped her gaze, hurrying from the room. He’d think she was foolish, gawking at him that way. As if she’d never seen a man’s chest before! Pa had often stripped to the waist to wash up before a meal, in front of the sink in the kitchen.

But he’d never looked like Cord McPherson, she admitted to herself, her feet flying up the stairway as she hurried to do his bidding.

Matter of fact, she’d never seen a sight anywhere to match the man downstairs.

She opened his bedroom door and paused for a moment. It was a man’s room, no doubt about it, with no frills to be seen. A huge bureau sat against the far wall, between the two windows. She slid open the first drawer, only to find short stacks of undergarments. Her cheeks ablaze, she slid the drawer shut and opened the second.

Success. His shirts were folded neatly, four altogether, still bearing iron marks where the hot sad iron had imprinted itself.

Even fresh from the ironing board, they bore his scent, an aroma lye soap could not overcome. She’d noticed it on the shirt she held in her hand, that smell of leather and fresh air, the faintly musky odor that had caught her nostrils at the supper table as she served the food.

Snatching at a neatly folded shirt, she closed his bureau drawer and scurried toward the doorway. If he should see her standing like a dolt, staring at his belongings, he’d likely send her packing. The man had offered her a job in his house, not the right to moon over him like a…

She shook her head against the thought Whether or not she admired the sight of Cord McPherson’s body, he was her employer, and she’d do well to remember it.

Her feet skimmed the stairs as she hurried to where he waited and then she slammed to a full stop as she caught sight of him once more.

He was facing the sink, his back to where she watched at the kitchen door. His hands were occupied with wringing out the cloth he’d held against his reddened flesh and his skin stretched tightly across his back as he lifted his hands to apply the cooling towel once more.

Rachel’s gaze was caught by the exposed flesh, her eyes widening as she viewed the pale stripes crisscrossing his body. A sound of despair she could not recall slipped from her lips and she lifted one hand quickly to cover the lapse.

He spun to face her, his eyes dark and threatening as he scanned her wary stance. “You might have let me know you were there,” he said, lowering the towel he held in one hand. “Give me the shirt.” He reached for it, his palm outstretched, and she moved to obey.

He clasped the soft fabric and in the doing managed to grasp her fingertips. She’d gripped the fabric tightly, so stunned by the sight of his scarred flesh she’d been unable to release her hold. And then the warmth of his palm enclosing her fingers brought her to her senses and she murmured a soft sound of protest as she freed herself from his grasp.

He slid his arms into the sleeves and rolled them up, an automatic gesture that bespoke his usual mode of dress. His fingers worked the buttons rapidly, and then his mouth twisted in a dark, mocking grin that brought a flush to ride her cheeks.

“Would you like to turn your back while I tuck it in?” His hesitation gave her the moment’s grace she required and she spun to face the doorway, aware of the sound of his denim pants being opened, the brushing of his hands against fabric as he completed the donning of his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,” she managed, aware of his gaze upon her, straightening her shoulders as if she must assume a cloak of dignity before she turned to face him again.

He cleared his throat. “No, I’m the sorry one, Rachel. I embarrassed you, and I apologize.” His hands rested on her shoulders and he turned her to face him.

The vee of his neckline was before her eyes, a few strands of dark hair curling against the gray cotton and she felt stunned by the intimacy of it. He held her inches from his body, just a finger’s touch from his flesh, and from his skin rose that faintly musky scent she yearned to inhale.

“You’ve been hurt.” The whispered words were all she could manage.

His shrug was a mute dismissal of her concern, even as his fingers slid to tighten against her upper arms.

She trembled in his grasp and rued the emotions that ran riot throughout her. Sorrow, that he had been hurt. Anger, at the culprit who had damaged him so badly.

And most of all, fear, for herself, for the woman she’d become in these few short moments.

Cord McPherson held it within his power to ruin her, her mind proclaimed, the knowledge quickening her heartbeat. His strong hands could tug her against his body and she would go, willingly. His mouth could lower to hers and she, who had never known a man’s caress, would welcome the touch of his lips.

She’d made an unwise choice, coming here. An even graver error in judgment, pledging her presence in his home until springtime next year. With only the weight of his hands against her shoulders, he’d been able to melt her store of resistance to his greater strength.

With just a look from those dark eyes, he could send her insides churning in a whirlwind of emotion she had no ability to guard against

From girl to woman, she had turned the corner in these few minutes of time, and her heart ached with the knowledge of her own vulnerability to this man.

“Rachel? Are you all right?” His hands shook her, clasping her firmly as if he would support her entire body by the hold he had taken on her upper arms.

She blinked, roused from her soul-searching, and met his gaze with what she grimly hoped was a sensible smile of accord.

“I’m fine, Mr. McPherson. Just fine.” Her spine held her erect as she stepped back from him, her flesh cooling as his hands slid to his sides.

She was too tempting by far, this piece of womanhood he’d brought into his home. Cord’s mouth tightened as he considered his folly, not to mention his carelessness in shedding his shirt in her presence. And so his measuring glance was harsh, his words a warning.

“They’re old scars, Rachel. Too old to worry about now, and none of your concern.”

She lowered her lashes until she could no longer see his upper body, and she concentrated on his words, as if unwilling to meet his gaze any longer. “You’re right. I made a fuss over nothing. I’ll tend to my own business from now on.”

She watched his hand clench into a fist, there at his side, and then his fingers flexed and he rested his palm flat against his thigh.

“You’d better soak that shirt or the coffee will stain it,” he said, grumbling the order as he turned away.

“Yes…” Her whisper followed him, as did her bewildered glance, looking up from the clean, wide boards of the kitchen floor as he allowed the screen door to slam behind himself.

A clod of dirt received a swift kick, his hat was mercilessly swatted against his thigh, and words his mama had never taught him spewed forth from Cord’s mouth in a muttered litany. Each stride was a thudding release of the anger he directed at himself, jarring his teeth as he clenched his jaw.

“Shamus!” The roar was almost enough to rattle the rafters in the big barn. From inside, a growling reply met Cord’s ears and he halted in the wide doorway.

“You needn’t scare the bejabbers out of the mare, McPherson.” Bending over a hind hoof, Shamus Quinn spoke around the nails he held between his teeth. Beyond him, the mare turned to look at the noisy intruder, her placid manner belying the fright attributed to her by the man fitting her with the last of her new shoes.

Cord cocked one hip, his fist resting against the angle, his abused hat tugged low over his forehead. “When are you gonna learn who’s boss here?” he snarled, his jaw jutting fiercely.

Spitting the nails he held in his mouth into his palm, Shamus dropped them into the front pocket of the leather apron he wore. Lowering the mare’s foot to the earthen floor, he eased his back, stretching to one side, then the other.

“Don’t know as I’ve got a problem with that, McPherson.” His sandy hair was a riot of curls atop his head, and one hand rubbed slowly over the thick mat as he eyed his employer. His bowlegged stance and sunleathered skin proclaimed him a horseman, but the ease with which he handled the mare added credence to that title.

“Thought I told you to see to the new stud next.” Cord’s words were harsher than he’d intended, his ire easing as he watched the man who’d been his friend since childhood.

Shamus nodded. “So you did.” Moving back to the mare’s side, he lifted her foot and rested it against his leg.

“Hold still, girl,” Shamus murmured to the horse. “We’re about done with you.” With ease, he worked at the shoe, fitting it carefully, his pliers nipping at the exposed nails.

“I’m wanting to ride him today.” Cord’s voice had resumed a normal volume and Shamus cast him a sidelong glance.

“He’s ready for you. I took care of him first thing when I got up. Before breakfast in fact.” Easing the mare’s foot to the floor, Shamus stepped back. “You sure hirin’ that gal on was a good idea?”

Cord’s eyes narrowed. “What does Rachel have to do with anything?”

The other man shrugged. “Dunno.” He peered at Cord, a grin edging his mouth. “Seems like you been on edge ever since she got here yesterday. Havin’ a female around ain’t good for you. It makes you ornery. S’pose maybe you need a trip to town?”

Cord’s glance was fierce, his demeanor defensive. “We needed a cook. Sam’s got his hands full with Jake.” He frowned, thinking of his brother. “I haven’t taken time to see him yet today. Right now I need to get the rest of the calves penned up for branding this afternoon.”

He thought of the woman he’d left in the kitchen. To beat all, he’d snarled at her and stomped off in a fit of temper. He didn’t need a woman fussing over him, even though the thought of Rachel’s slim fingers brushing against the old, silvered scars he bore made him shiver involuntarily.

Just as well he’d snapped at her. She was too good a cook to lose, and if he let his urges loose on her, she’d be hightailing it up the road, sure as the world.

Shamus was on his way to the back of the barn with the mare, and Cord followed him. “Bring me my saddle from the tack room,” he called, halting before the big box stall enclosing his new stallion. The horse eyed him cautiously, then bobbed his head and approached, stretching out his neck and flaring his nostrils.

Cord’s big hand snagged the leather halter and drew the animal closer. “Remember me, boy?” His voice was low, his movements easy. “We’re gonna get on just fine, you and me.”

Easing open the door of the stall, he led the stud through the opening, snatching up a bridle from a hook on the outside of the enclosure.

His hands were deft as he exchanged the halter for the bridle and bit, dropping the reins to the ground as he worked. From the rear of the barn, Shamus whistled tunelessly inside the tack room. And then the door closed behind him as he headed back up the broad aisle to where Cord waited.

“Buck and Jamie been sortin’ out the last of the calves. I think that holdin’ pen’s about full already. They’ve been at it a while now, since right after breakfast.”

“I’ll check it out,” Cord answered, swinging his saddle to rest on the broad back of the stud with a lithe movement.

“Jake under the weather?” Shamus’s question was carefully casual. “He wasn’t around for supper last night and Sam didn’t mention him this morning.”

“Just a bad spell,” Cord muttered. “He gets in a mood and won’t eat. Sam just has to let him get past it on his own.”

“What does your new cook think about takin’ care of him?” Shamus asked guardedly.

Cord lifted into the saddle. “She doesn’t know about him yet, and she won’t be doin’ the takin’ care of anyway. I’ll talk to her at dinnertime.”

Shamus grunted his displeasure. “You better hope he doesn’t take to havin’ a tantrum in there.” His head nodded at the big house. “She’ll be skedaddlin’ to town faster than you can blink.”

His chuckle was low and his eyes lit with humor. “Damn, that gal sure can bake up a good pan of biscuits, McPherson. You better hang on to her.”

His stallion sidestepped in a skittish dance as Cord cleared the barn door and he held the reins firmly, his voice low as he spoke to the animal. Beside the corral fence, Rachel’s brothers watched, wide-eyed as the big horse vied for control with the man atop his back.

“You boys lookin’ for a job to do?” Cord called out.

Henry nodded. “Yessir, we can help out. Rachel said we were to pitch in.”

“Go inside the barn and tell Shamus I sent you. He’ll put you to work gatherin’ the eggs and tendin’ to the chickens.”

Henry’s smile lost its shine. “I thought maybe we could help with the horses, sir.”

“Start with chickens and work your way up, boy. Your sister won’t have time to tend to them this morning.”

“I brushed down my pa’s horses,” Henry said quietly, unwilling to be relegated to tending the hens.

Cord’s eyes narrowed as he took in the boy’s stance, shoulders back and chin uptilted. “Take care of the hens today, and I’ll let you give a hand tomorrow morning with the yearling colts.”

Henry’s eyes brightened with excitement and he nodded quickly. “Yessir, that’ll be just fine. Me and Jay can sure learn how to feed chickens in a hurry.”

Jay nodded his agreement, standing almost behind his brother. “Yessir, we can do that.”

Cord jerked at the brim of his hat, forcing it firmly against his forehead. “Don’t get into trouble, now.”

Two small heads swung in unison. “Oh, no sir, we won’t,” Jay warbled, poking at his big brother. “Did you hear, Henry?” he asked in his clear treble voice. “We get to be in the barn tomorrow.”

Cord’s stallion moved out quickly, and he watched as the two boys scampered toward the barn door, Henry calling for Shamus as they went.

Across the yard, Rachel stood on the back porch, shaking the dust a dozen feet had deposited before breakfast on the small braided rug she held. Her hair gleaming in the morning sunshine, she watched as he rode past the corral, meeting his gaze across the grassy expanse.

“Probably ought to take time now to talk to her about Jake,” Cord muttered to himself, regretful that he hadn’t said something last night.

From beyond the barns, a shout caught his attention and he swung in that direction, where a cloud of dust bespoke activity. A spiral of smoke from a fire caught the breeze and he sniffed at the scent of burning wood. The men were setting up shop without him, it seemed.

With a nudge of his heel, the horse beneath him turned in the direction of the holding pen, and within minutes Cord was enmeshed in the branding of his calves.

Setting a pot of beef to simmer on the back of the stove, Rachel surveyed her kitchen. Though it belonged to Cord McPherson, it had become hers the moment she donned an apron yesterday afternoon.

Already, she had rearranged the pantry shelves to her liking, adding her own meager stores to the bountiful supply of tins and sacks gracing the shelves. That any one household should be so blessed by an abundance of foodstuffs was almost beyond belief.

A thrill of anticipation brightened her eyes and lightened her steps as she gathered the ingredients for the beef stew she planned for the noon meal. The meat was cut up and browned right after breakfast, with several onions adding a tangy scent. She’d found a sack of sprouting potatoes and upended them in the sink, sorting and scraping at the lot.

Somewhere outdoors, she decided, there must be a cellar where the garden produce had been stored for the winter.

The pantry held cans of peaches and she determined to make a cobbler, with sweet biscuits crusting it. Then she’d discovered the jars of home-canned applesauce and her eyes had widened at the sight of such luxury. Traveling from Pennsylvania had inured her to the prospect of dried and unpalatable fruit, not to mention the absence of fresh meat, except for the rabbits her father had managed to shoot along the way.

Her heart sang with the pleasure of putting roses in the cheeks of Jay and Henry once more, too long fed with oatmeal and cornbread, a handful of greens and an occasional fish. Henry had brought down a few rabbits, but she’d had a hard time cleaning the small specimens he’d managed to bring home.

Her mind wandered as she peeled potatoes, setting them aside in a pan of water to wait for the stew to be ready, her mouth shaping the words of a song as she sang beneath her breath.

The memory of a piano she’d spied in the front parlor yesterday afternoon entered her mind, and she thought with longing of the music hidden in those black and white keys.

Cord McPherson had walked her past those open double doors guarding the formal room at one side of the house, affording her but a glimpse of the beautiful instrument. Perhaps she could just take another look, maybe even open the other doors on that long hallway.

A house of this size was a wonderment. That Cord McPherson was a man of means had been a given. After all, he owned the ranch. That his home should be so fine was a pleasure beyond her imagining.

Wiping her hands on the dish towel she’d tucked into her apron, Rachel looked around the kitchen. Midmorning sunshine splashed across the pine floor, too strong to be stopped by the streaked windows.

She’d do well to get out a keg of vinegar and wash them, instead of considering poking her nose into the nooks and crannies of Cord McPherson’s home, she thought virtuously. And then with a twirl of skirts and a girlish laugh stifled with her open palm, she left her apron behind and set off down the hallway.

The parlor was magnificent, with a plush sofa much like the one that had graced their own parlor in Pennsylvania. The library desk beneath the window held an assortment of pictures and small ornaments that beckoned her invitingly.

She paused beside the mantelpiece, admiring the brass figures and marble pieces gathered there for display, then hesitated in the middle of the room to turn in a full circle. Coming to a halt, Rachel faced the piano, her mouth opening, a soft, yearning sound passing her lips.

Her feet moved soundlessly across the carpet in the center of the wooden floor, her soft-soled shoes a whisper. With reverent fingers, she lifted the lid that covered the keys and eased it to its open position. One finger touched white ivory, and she tilted her head as she heard the clear tone of hammer striking string within the instrument.

“Ohhhh…!” It was more than a whispered exclamation of delight From the depths of her soul, the yearning of her hungry heart expressed itself.

Music. The gift that eased the longings of her spirit, that fed her, nourishing her with beauty beyond bearing.

The temptation was more than she could resist. Rachel slid onto the bench, yielding to the attraction of the sounds held captive within the depths of the instrument before her. Lifting her hands, she placed them on the keys.

A melody flowed with liquid beauty from beneath her right hand, the fingers of the left adding a counterpoint of chords and running trills. Her eyes closed with the sheer ecstasy of it and she bent her head, her ear attuned to each note.

From the hallway a roar of disbelief sounded, a bellow of rage that halted her hands in their melodious pursuit. She spun on the bench, one leg half-bent beneath her as she looked over her shoulder.

Framed in the wide doorway was a man, sitting in an invalid’s chair. Empty pant legs hung lankly to the foot rest, only one knee curved over the seat. His hair hung to his shoulders in dark disarray. Bearded and hunched, looking like a beast set on ravishing the cause of his anger, he leaned in Rachel’s direction.

“I’m so sorry I disturbed you.” It was barely more than a whisper, spoken from between trembling lips. Her hands were clenched between her breasts, her heart beating a rapid cadence beneath her fists.

But he paid her apology no attention, his whole being seemingly bound by the furious rage that impelled him. His hands gripped the wheels and he spun them, sending his vehicle surging in her direction. Dark eyes, narrowed and blazing with an unholy anger, stopped her breath in her throat as she met his gaze with dismay.

And then he halted, midway across the room, and snarled a curse that fell on her ears and caused her to draw an unbelieving breath. He spun the wheels once more and the chair bumped against the piano bench, jarring her from her frozen pose of horror.

One hand reached toward him, as if to fend off his attack, and he cast the trembling fingers a look of such scorn as to cause them to fall back in her lap.

“I beg your pardon, sir…” The words were stronger this time as her mind raced, seeking an answer to the appearance of this creature before her.

And then he spoke, the words spaced as if uttered in the presence of an idiot, to whom he must make himself clearly understood.

“Who the hell are you?”

Chapter Four

Rachel caught her breath with a shuddering gasp, her words barely a whisper. “My name is Rachel Sinclair.” She swayed where she sat, expecting to be shunted from her perch momentarily.

The rolling chair backed a few inches and thumped again against the padded seat, jarring her. Her hand grasped for purchase and she caught her balance, her long, slender fingers clutching at the arm of the chair.

Horror-stricken, her eyes fastened on the man before her and she flinched as he plucked her fingers from his chair, dropping them from his grasp with contempt. He brushed his palm against his patchwork lap robe and her gaze was drawn to the gesture.

Long, elegant fingers, pale with winter’s flesh, wiped her warmth from his skin. It was an insult she could not ignore.

“I beg your pardon. I wasn’t aware that I was disturbing anyone with my playing, sir.” Pleased at the even tenor of her words, she lifted her chin to face the disheveled intruder.

Beneath lowered brows, his gaze was fierce, his voice rasping. “Who gave you leave to be in here? This piano is not to be touched. Not by anyone.”

Rachel lowered her leg to the floor and slid from the bench, easing beyond the end of the keyboard. Retreat seemed to be in order. “Mr. McPherson didn’t say…I’m afraid I’ve overstepped, sir.”

The doorway looming over his shoulder was wide and inviting. Rachel eyed it, wondering if he would attempt to stop her should she scamper past him. His agility in the chair he’d maneuvered so easily gave her pause as she considered.

“What are you doing in this house?” His query was forced between taut lips, his flaring nostrils adding to an air of fury that was punctuated by the spacing of his words.

“I’m the new cook,” she managed. “Mr. McPherson hired me to do the laundry and fix meals.”

And if Cord McPherson knew what was good for him, he’d have a dandy explanation for this little episode.

The intruder’s snort of derision was accompanied by the spinning of wheels as he turned his chair about and headed for the double doors of the parlor. “Out of my way, Sam,” he directed, rolling past the bewhiskered man who watched from the hall. “Cord’s brought home a play toy.” His glance back in her direction was mocking. “Take a gander.”

Rachel’s cheeks burned at the slur as she lifted one hand to cover her mouth, lest she let loose the response that burned to be spoken. How dare he? To insinuate such a thing was reprehensible, a grievous smear against her honor.

“Sorry, ma’am.” Sam Bostwick’s head bobbed as he tendered his apologies. “Jake’s been out of sorts for a couple of days now.”

“That’s Mr. McPherson’s brother?” Her eyes widened at Sam’s nod. “I thought…” She shook her head. What had she thought? Perhaps that the elusive brother was an invalid?

And apparently he was. But a more hateful man she’d never met. Her back stiffened as she considered the words he had flung at her.

He’d called her Cord’s play toy. She, who’d been a churchgoing woman all of her life, who had been above reproach in all things, had today been referred to as a man’s…Her mind could not even form the thought

Surely she could no longer stay in this house, not when her reputation was in danger of being dragged through the mud of scandal.

“Ma’am, I’m sure sorry Jake took on thataway,” Sam said quietly, his sad eyes fastened on Rachel’s countenance. “I knew Cord shoulda told you about him last night at the supper table. But, honest to God, Mr. Jake’s not usually so downright mean.”

Rachel brushed her hand against Sam’s sleeve. “He just wasn’t what I expected, Mr. Bostwick.” She edged past him, heading for the kitchen.

“Damnation! Just when we got ourselves a decent cook, things gotta blow around here.” Disgust was in Sam’s voice as he watched the young woman’s hurried escape. Behind him doors slammed, and the sound of breaking glass caused him to wince as he turned to trudge reluctantly back to the rear of the house.

Rachel was primed to blow. Her eyes met Cord’s as he walked through the kitchen door, and a sense of dread slowed his steps. Quickly, he scanned the kitchen, breathing easier when he caught the aroma ascending from the steaming kettle on the stove and noted the platter of biscuits in the center of the table.

A crock of butter and a bowl of jam nudged the plate, and he set his jaw as he considered the young woman who was noisily scattering silverware and plates down the length of the bare table.

“Smells good, Rachel. Want me to call the men in for dinner?” That they were already washing up at the pump was obvious, their raucous joking audible through the kitchen window. Rachel ignored his offer, turning to the stove to fill thick crockery bowls with beef stew.

“Heard tell you had a fuss in the parlor this morning.” Cord was beside her as he spoke, his big hands taking the bowls as she filled them, setting them in place on the table.

She cast him a sidelong glance. “You didn’t tell me your brother was a madman, Mr. McPherson.”

His face reddened at her choice of words, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply. “I don’t know as I’d call him mad, Rachel. That’s a pretty strong statement.”

She handed him the last bowl. Her look was direct, her face flushed with remembered embarrassment. “You weren’t there.”

He cleared his throat. “Sam told me what happened. Seems Jake took offense at you playing the piano.”

“Your brother insinuated you had brought me here for your—”

“I heard about that,” Cord cut in quickly. “I’ll set him straight.”

“You could have told me about him. You could have warned me not to infringe on his territory. And you could have let me know about his vile temper.”

Cord’s shrug acknowledged her accusations, his nod accepting blame. “I wanted you to see the house and give you a chance to look things over first. I thought knowing about Jake would put you off. Putting up with his moods is enough to discourage a saint.”

“And I ain’t anywheres near a saint,” grumbled Sam Bostwick from the kitchen doorway. “I’ve about had it with that brother of yours, Cord. If I hadn’t known the man before the war, I swear I’d never spend another minute takin’ his guff.”

“He calmed down yet, Sam?” Cord asked.

“Yeah. But he sure was a sight to behold, goin’ after this young’un. It’s a wonder she didn’t hightail it outta here.”

“Would you like to take him some dinner?” Her innate sense of courtesy nudged Rachel into making the offer as she filled another bowl with stew.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Sam said, taking a wooden tray from atop the cabinet near the stove. Scooping up silverware from the table, he piled several biscuits on a plate, dolloping jam and butter on the side.

“I’ll be back out here to eat with y’all presently,” he said, carrying his laden tray from the kitchen.

“Doesn’t your brother ever eat at the table?” Rachel asked.

“Once in a while. Not often.”

She glanced at Cord, her ear attuned to the bleak response. “Is he always so fierce?”

His grunt of laughter was without humor. “That’s a good word for him. Fierce. Maybe bitter would describe him more accurately. He hasn’t found much to laugh about in the past years.”

Not like this bunch coming in the door, Rachel thought, an unbidden smile twisting her lips as the noisy cowhands invaded the quiet kitchen. Jostling for position, they fit through the doorway, finding their seats at the long table.

The stew was an apparent success, devoured with much lip smacking and accompanied by praise from the hungry men. They laughed and joked and ate at a rapid pace, as if racing to a finish line.

Indeed, Rachel had barely begun eating when chairs were shoved back and the crew took their leave. Cord watched her assessingly from the other end of the table, his own meal half-consumed.

“It seems you’ve got a job, Miss Rachel,” he said with satisfaction. “Old Sam said he hadn’t had such good food in a month of Sundays.”

Rachel’s spoon halted midway to her mouth. “I don’t know how you could hear him, with all the noise. Did he take your brother any coffee? I think he went on out with the rest of the men.”

Cord grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Why don’t you trot on down the hallway, and find out for yourself. Jake’s in the library, last room on the right. Makes it handy, with the wheelchair.”

“I don’t think so,” Rachel said quickly. “My last encounter with your brother Jake didn’t give me a taste for a second helping.”

Cord’s smile faded and he allowed his chair to settle on all four legs. “He’s a handful to deal with, Rachel. We all know that In fact, it’s almost too much for Sam these days.”

“And you want me to stick my nose into that room and get it cut off?”

“He’s probably cooled down by now. The piano playing was what set him off.”

Rachel’s brow furrowed. “He doesn’t like music?”

“That would be a mercy. Music was his life, before the war. He’d trained in New York City to be a concert pianist, and then when the war broke out, he felt compelled to join the army.”

He laughed, a mirthless sound. “We were all so worried about his hands. Instead, he lost his legs. One above the knee, the other below.”

Rachel nodded, shaking her head as she acknowledged the loss. “He can’t play because he can’t use the pedals.”

“Exactly.” Cord rose from his chair and walked to the door, looking through the screen to where Henry and Jay hung over the corral fence. “He wanted to have the piano burned at first. Then, when he’d thought better of it, he decided to give it to the church.”

“Why didn’t you?” Rachel asked.

“It wouldn’t go in the door. We measured every which way and it wouldn’t make it.”

“And so it sits and gathers dust. What a loss.”

Cord turned to face her. “I hear from Sam that you play well.”

She shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose. I certainly worked hard enough at it. We had to sell my piano when my folks decided to come West”

“It must have broken your heart.”

Rachel shook her head. “No, it broke my heart when I buried my mother and father two months ago. Selling the piano was small potatoes compared to that”

“They died two months ago? On the trail?”

She nodded. “Pa collapsed one day after we crossed a river. The horses were in trouble and Pa was done in when he finally got them up the bank. His chest began hurting and then he collapsed. We buried him there. The doctor in the next town said it was probably his heart.”

“What about your mother?” Cord asked.

Rachel’s voice was thick with the unshed tears she hoarded within herself as she whispered the tragic words she still found hard to believe as the truth. “Mama wandered off the next night while we were sleeping in the wagon and got bitten by a rattler. The scout found her the next morning.”

“My God, Rachel. How did you bear up under it?” Cord asked in a strained voice. He shook his head, as if he groped for words.

“I can see where the loss of your piano wasn’t nearly so important anymore,” he said finally.

“I wish I had it now,” Rachel whispered. “Music soothes the soul.”

“Maybe…” Cord hesitated, then gestured at the coffeepot. “Give it another try, Rachel. I’d be willing to bet Jake enjoyed his dinner. Pour a cup and take it in to him.” His lips curved as he tried on a grin for her benefit.

“If he throws something at you, duck. Chances are he’ll just grouse for a few seconds. Jake enjoys nothing in this world more than a cup of coffee.”

Her chin jutted as Rachel listened unbelievingly to his instructions. She glared at him, her mind torn from the sorrow she’d been reminded of for a few moments. “You owe me, Cord McPherson. I didn’t bargain for catering to an invalid, but I’ve a notion that’s exactly where I’ll be heading, once Sam Bostwick sees me waiting on Jake.”

Cord lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Maybe you can deal with him, Rachel. God knows no one else gets anywhere.”

“I’m not taking him on, Cord.” Her mouth set in a determined line as she plunged both hands into her apron pockets. “I’m your cook, and I’ll wash your duds, but ducking every time I open your brother’s door is out.”

“Not even once, Rachel? Just one cup of coffee?” The teasing grin was gone.

The vision of the unkempt man who’d so rudely interrupted her few moments of joy burst inside Rachel’s mind, and she shook her head. “I doubt he’d welcome me, even with a cup of coffee in hand.”

Cord’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Can’t blame me for trying, Rachel.” He reached for a heavy cup from the cupboard and filled it from the blue-speckled pot “I’ll deliver it myself. Send in the troops if I don’t come back in five minutes.”

Breakfast was barely devoured the next morning when Cord stepped back into the kitchen, hat in hand. “Rachel, I’m going to town to the emporium. Anything we need for the house?”

She turned from the dishpan, wiping her hands on a towel. “Do you think I could go along? The boys need some boots if they’re going to be working in the barn, and I thought I could get them each a pair.”

“I can pay you for your first week here, if you need the money,” Cord said.

She shook her head. “No, I have enough, so long as I know I’ll be earning some right along. Shamus wants me to do up his laundry every week, and Buck and Jamie asked if I’d iron them each a shirt on Saturdays.”

He laughed. “That’s so they’ll look pretty when they go into town Saturday nights.” He shook his head. “You won’t make much cold hard cash ironing two shirts, Rachel. Better charge them a pretty penny.” He turned back to the door. “Come on ahead, then, if you’re riding along.”

She untied her apron and hung it on the hook in the pantry, running back to the stove quickly to check the black kettle where a stewing hen was simmering. With a practiced eye she gauged the bubbling liquid and slid the pot toward the back burner, clutching the handle with a heavy flannel pad.

“I’m ready,” she announced, her hands quickly smoothing back her hair. “I just have to run up and get my money.”

“Five minutes,” Cord said, heading out the door.

Jay and Henry were kicking their heels on the back of the wagon when Rachel crossed the porch, her bonnet strings trailing from her fingers.

“Mr. Cord said we could go along,” Jay piped up.

“He said you were gettin’ us some new boots.” Henry’s voice rose at the end of his sentence, as if he questioned the validity of such an idea.

Rachel nodded, her heart lifting as her brothers poked at each other with delight. She could even spare them each a couple of pennies for candy again, she thought, imagining their delight.

“Can we get high tops, Rae?” Henry asked wistfully.

“We’ll see,” she answered doubtfully, unsure of the cost of such a luxury.

“Looks like you need to get them some britches to go along with the boots,” Cord said, lifting himself to the wagon seat.

“Theirs have a lot of wear left in them,” she put in quickly. “Maybe next week we can look at new overalls.”

Cord reached down a hand to her as she peered up at him. “Let me give you a hoist up,” he offered.

Accepting his broad hand, she placed her foot on the wagon hub, and he lifted her to sit beside him. “They’ll be happy with boots,” she told him, settling her skirts around her.

He bent to her, watching as she tied her bonnet in place. Then, following an urge he’d resisted more than once in the past few days, he brushed at a stray wisp of hair that clung to her face.

She flushed at the gesture and turned her head, her fingers rising to spread across the rosy surface of her cheek. His touch had been gentle and unexpected, his fingertips a bit rough from the calluses he bore.

“Rachel?” He reached for her again, this time to cradle her chin within his grasp, turning her to face him.

“We need to be on our way,” she mumbled, unwilling to meet his gaze, flustered by his attention. “I can’t be gone all day with dinner cooking on the stove.”

“Look at me.” It was a command, delivered in a low, yet forceful voice, and she obeyed.

“You have no reason to fear me, Rachel,” he said firmly. “I’m old enough to know my place and decent enough to remain there.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat

It was a lie. There was about him something she feared, some unknown threat he offered that caused a trembling in her belly.

The level look he sent in her direction across the kitchen sometimes was enough to set her heart scampering, and his kindness to her brothers gave her a warmth deep inside, and made him tall in her sight.

“Aren’t you?” His eyebrow quirked as if he doubted her brave words, and then he flicked the reins against the backs of his team and they set off for Green Rapids.

There was no doubt about it. Mr. Conrad Carson was more than taken with Miss Rachel Sinclair. Cord watched from his post next to the cracker barrel as his cook chose boots for her brothers. And all the while, Conrad smiled and joked as he offered one pair, then another for her approval.

Kneeling before the boys, he took their measure, then tried on the boots Rachel pointed out. With only a moment’s hesitation, he assured her that her limited resources would be sufficient to cover the cost of two pair, and then his gaze rose, his eyes meeting Cord’s with a trace of warning in their depths.

“I’ll handle the difference, if she runs out of funds,” Cord said, his mouth twisting in a parody of a polite smile.

Conrad flushed a bit. “Miss Rachel can choose what she pleases, Mr. McPherson. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Rachel’s eyes widened as she looked first at one man, then the other. “I thought—”

“You have enough money for the boots,” Carson cut in smoothly. He grinned at the two boys, who were stomping their feet and marching up and down the aisle, admiring their new footwear. “Probably even enough for a couple of licorice whips for each,” he added, counting Rachel’s meager funds into his cash drawer.

Jay’s head turned quickly at the mention of candy. “Can we, Rae?” he asked hopefully.

“We got boots, Jay,” Henry reminded him quickly, as if he would relieve Rachel of the burden of refusal.

Cord cleared his throat. “I expect my two new hands have enough wages coming to them to buy a bag of candy, Conrad. See what they want, will you?”

Rachel’s gaze met his and she bit at her lip. “I don’t want you putting any more money out than is right, Cord.”

She was more than a temptation, he thought. And too much woman for Conrad Carson.

Cord took two long strides to where she waited by the counter, one hand rising to rest on her shoulder.

“They’ve been a help, Rachel. I’m sure at least a nickel’s worth each.” He raised his voice, catching the attention of the trio who were intent on the contents of the candy jars. “Give them each a bag and let them choose five cents worth, Conrad.”

The younger man looked up, nodding, and then halted, his eyes narrowing as his gaze swept over Cord to Rachel, fastening on Cord’s possessive gesture. He’d gotten the message, Cord decided with satisfaction. Rachel was not up for grabs. His fingers tightened for just a moment, squeezing the narrow bones beneath her supple flesh, and she looked up at him in surprise.

“We need to be getting back as soon as I help Conrad load my supplies on the wagon,” he told her.

She nodded. “All right. I’ll have the boys change back to their old shoes and we’ll be right out”

“Let them wear the new ones, Rachel. They can save the others for mucking out the chicken coop and cleaning stalls.” His mind traveled back quickly to childhood memories.

“There’s nothing like a new pair of boots to set a boy’s heart to thumpin’ real good,” he said with a grin.

He’d carried out nails and a roll of wire, come back in for the can of kerosene and met Conrad at the door, his arms wrapped around a wooden crate of fresh vegetables.

“You don’t have a garden growing, Cord,” Rachel put in quickly. “Conrad gave me a good price on the peas and carrots. He’ll have fresh beans in by next week, he said.” Her explanation was hurried, as if she worried over his reaction, and Cord shook his head, watching as Conrad settled the crate on the back of the wagon.

“You buy whatever you want, Rachel. The men are sick of canned stuff. Maybe it isn’t too late to put in a kitchen garden. I’ll ask Conrad for seeds.”

“I’ve already told Miss Rachel I’d make up an assortment for her to plant,” Conrad said from the doorway. “I’ll bring them out to you tomorrow afternoon, if that’s all right,” he added, his gaze hopeful as he stepped into the store, watching the young woman for a sign of her acceptance.

“I’d appreciate that,” she answered, a tentative smile touching her lips. “I’ll save you a piece of pie.” Her look at Cord was tinged with defiance as she turned to leave the store, and he grunted his own goodbyes.

“Put everything on my bill, Conrad. I’ll pay up at month end,” he instructed harshly, casting one last look at the jaunty smile the storekeeper wore.

Cord made a production of helping Rachel into the wagon, lifting her to the seat before he circled to the other side to take his place beside her.

“I could have gotten up alone,” she said quietly, turning to him with a puzzled look.

He lifted the reins, cracking them briskly over the backs of his team as they moved out at a smart pace. “Conrad’s wanting to court you, Rachel.” He hadn’t planned on being so blunt, but the words had come unbidden. “If you’re not thinking along those same lines, you shouldn’t encourage him.”

“Encourage him?” Her voice rose sharply on the words. “I was polite, no more. If the gentleman wants to be accommodating and is willing to make a trip to bring out the garden seeds, I can surely offer him a piece of pie. That’s only being courteous, Mr. McPherson.”

Beneath lifted brows, her cheeks bore rosy flags and her mouth was firmly drawn. Rachel was upset with him.

He hid a smile as he took inventory of her. Stiff and unbending, she rode beside him, her fingers retying the strings of her bonnet, her mouth primly closed. The deep breaths she took as she fanned the flames of her anger lifted her bosom in an enticing fashion and he allowed the smile to widen as his gaze rested there for a moment.

She could fuss all she wanted. Rachel Sinclair would be his, perhaps not as quickly as he’d like, but sure as the summer brought longer days and shorter nights, Rachel would belong to him.

In all of his years of considering the females he’d come in contact with, he’d not found one so pleasing to the eye as the young woman sitting beside him.

Others might have been more beautiful, more voluptuous, clothed with silks and satin, but the fresh innocence of Rachel Sinclair, garbed in a faded cotton dress, spoke to him in a way he found he could not resist Despite his words of assurance, he was not certain he could keep his place without more effort than he was willing to expend to that end.

With her gentle curves and creamy skin, her blue eyes, her dark vibrant hair that tempted his fingers to its depths, she was exactly what he had been waiting for.

Now he only needed to persuade her in that direction.

Chapter Five

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