Table of Contents

Cover Page

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

Excerpt

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

About the Author

Copyright

10TH ANNIVERSARY
Special thanks to our well-wishers, who have contributed their congratulations and support.

“The best historicals, the best romances. Simply the best!”

—Dallas Schulze

“Bronwyn Williams was born and raised at Harlequin Historicals. We couldn’t have asked for a better home or a more supportive family.”

—Dixie Browning and Mary Williams, w/a Bronwyn Williams

“I can’t believe it’s been ten years since Private Treaty, my first historical novel, helped launch the Harlequin Historicals line. What a thrill that was! And the beat goes on…with timeless stories about men and women in love.”

—Kathleen Eagle

“Nothing satisfies me as much as writing or reading a Harlequin Historical novel. For me, Harlequin Historicals are the ultimate escape from the problems of everyday life.”

—Ruth Ryan Langan

“As a writer and reader, I feel that the Harlequin Historicals line always celebrates a perfect blend of history and romance, adventure and passion, humor and sheer magic.”

—Theresa Michaels

“Thank you, Harlequin Historicals, for opening up a ‘window into the past’ for so many happy readers.”

—Suzanne Barclay

“As a one-time ‘slush pile’ foundling at Harlequin Historicals, I’ll be forever grateful for having been rescued and published as one of the first ‘March Madness’ authors. Harlequin Historicals has always been the place for special stories, ones that blend the magic of the past with the rare miracle of love for books that readers never forget.”

—Miranda Jarrett.

“A rainy evening. A cup of hot chocolate. A stack of Harlequin Historicals. Absolute bliss! Happy 10th Anniversary and continued success.”

—Cheryl Reavis

“Happy birthday, Harlequin Historicals! I’m proud to have been a part of your ten years of exciting historical romance.”

—Elaine Barbieri

“Harlequin Historical novels are charming or disarming with dashes and clashes. These past times are fast times, the gems of romances!”

—Karen Harper

The Courtship Of Izzy McCree
Ruth Langan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Isabella Mary Shrader And her proud parents, Mary and Dennis Her sisters Caitlin Bea, Ally and Taylor And big brother Bret

And for Tom For a lifetime of courtship.

Matt dragged her closer.

“I can’t give you pretty things, Isabella.”

All she could feel was his breath, hot against her temple. And the wild stutter of her heartbeat as those big, work-worn fingers kneaded her arms, her shoulders, then began trailing fire along her spine.

“I don’t need things, Matthew.” This is what I need. The feel of strong arms surrounding me, soothing me. Protecting me. Arousing me.

She’d never known such a rush of feelings. Intense, seething emotions. Fire. Ice. Need. All rushing through her system, leaving her stunned and breathless.

He lowered his head until his lips were pressed to a tangle of hair at her temple. “I’m no good with pretty words either, Isabella.”

She shivered. “I don’t…need the words.”

As he continued to torment her by keeping his mouth just inches from hers, she said softly, “This is what I want. Just this.” She couldn’t bear to wait another moment. Standing on tiptoe, she brought her mouth to his.

“Matthew. Kiss me. Please kiss me.”

Chapter One

The California-Nevada border, 1880

“How soon, driver?” Izzy poked her head out the window of the stage and shouted above the pounding hooves and creaking harness. The rushing wind tugged at her hat and would have whipped it loose if she hadn’t clamped a hand to it.

“I told ye. The name’s Boone. And ye’re already on Prescott land, ma’am.”

“I am?”

“Yes’m. Been on it for the last couple of miles. Should see the ranch house just over this next rise.”

Izzy dropped back to the hard seat and stared out the side window. Who would have thought? All this land belonged to Matthew Prescott. Though the countryside looked forbidding, with rocky fields climbing upward to high, snow-covered peaks, Izzy couldn’t help but be impressed. Her husband-to-be owned all this. She clasped her hands to her cheeks, which had suddenly become flushed.

Working quickly, she opened her satchel and removed a pair of shoes. They’d been too fine to wear, so she’d carried them all the way from Pennsylvania. Over three thousand miles she’d carried them. On the train. On a succession of stagecoaches. Handling them like a treasure. Though her traveling gown was soiled and coated with a layer of dust, and her hair beneath the fussy bonnet was windblown and tangled, her shoes were polished to a high shine.

She removed her scuffed boots and stuffed them into the satchel, then slipped her feet into the shoes and carefully laced them. And all the while she rehearsed the lines she’d been preparing.

Isabella McCree. Member of the First Pennsylvania Congregation. So pleased to make your acquaintance.

When she glanced up, she had her first view of the ranch house.

Her heart sank. It looked to be no more than a rough cabin surrounded by several equally rough outbuildings. The structures were dwarfed by the forested peaks of the Sierra Nevada rising up directly behind them.

The horses strained against the harness until they crested the hill. The ground leveled off, and they sped across a high meadow until they came to a shuddering halt at the cabin.

“Here you are, ma’am.” The grizzled driver leapt to the ground and yanked open the door to the stage.

Izzy handed him her satchel before stepping down. The new shoes were stiff and uncomfortable, but to her delight, her gait was sure and even. Money well spent, it would seem.

“I don’t see anyone, Boone.” She glanced uncertainly toward the door of the cabin. “Could Mr. Prescott have gone somewhere?”

The driver grinned, showing teeth stained brown with tobacco. “He’s out in the fields, I expect.” He handed her a packet of mail. “Haven’t been out this way in more’n six months. He’ll be happy to get this. Oh, and to see you of course, ma’am.”

He heaved himself up to the driver’s seat and caught the reins. With a crack of the whip, the horses lurched forward, hauling the stage in a wide turn. Within minutes the team and driver had disappeared below the tree line.

Izzy glanced uncertainly at the closed door. Though her journey had left her weary beyond belief, she didn’t think it would be right to let herself into a stranger’s cabin. And so she stood, hand lifted to shield her eyes from the thin autumn sun, staring at the distant hilltops.

Within minutes she spotted a figure on horseback coming at a brisk pace from the nearby woods. Running alongside was a baying hound. From the opposite direction came another horse and rider, racing through a stream. Several more hounds ran alongside. In the sunlight the water splashed out in a rainbow of color, making a dazzling display. But before she could admire the beauty of it, she heard barking directly behind her and a child’s voice.

“Well, I’ll be. Del, look. It’s a…lady.”

Izzy whirled to find herself facing three scruffy children. All were dressed in tattered britches and faded shirts with the sleeves rolled to their elbows. All had straggly hair cut in identical fashion, chopped just below the ears, falling in bangs that covered their eyebrows. The youngest had fine blond hair; the middle one had red gold; the tallest had coarse dark hair. Except for the similar haircuts and shabby clothes, they looked nothing alike. These couldn’t be Matthew’s children.

Circling her were a handful of hounds, sniffing at her ankles, yapping so loudly she knew it would be impossible to make her voice heard.

Still, she was determined to try. “Hello. I’m…”

Before she could continue, the two horsemen reined in their mounts and dropped to the ground, keeping their rifles trained on her. The younger of the two wore his pale yellow hair exactly like these three. The other one was taller by a head. It was difficult to tell what he looked like. Thick black hair hung below the collar of his shirt, and his cheeks and chin were covered by a bushy dark beard, masking his features.

The newly arrived dogs joined in the chorus of barking until their master gave a curt command. At once all the animals dropped to their bellies.

In the silence the older man’s voice seemed even more commanding. “My name’s Matt Prescott.”

“Yes. I know.” With a warm smile Izzy handed him the packet of mail. “The stage driver left these for you.” She then offered her hand. “I’m Izzy…” She nearly groaned aloud. All these miles and all these hours to prepare, and still the old hated name had almost slipped out without warning. “Isabella McCree.”

Instead of accepting her handshake, he pocketed the mail while keeping his rifle pointed at her. “I thought that was the stage I spotted in the distance. Why did Boone drop you here in the middle of my land?”

Her smile faded. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said my name is—”

“I heard you, Mrs. McCree. What I’d like to know is what you’re doing on my land, handing me my mail.”

“What I’m…?” She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “It is Miss McCree. And I am here at your invitation, Matthew.”

At her use of his given name, he shot her a frigid look that had her taking a step back.

“Now, what’s that supposed to mean, woman?”

“I came in answer to your letter.” She could tell by the look on his face that none of this was making any sense to him. She sucked in a breath as the realization dawned. “Sweet salvation. You never got my reply to your letter?”

“Miss McCree, not only did I not get your reply, but I don’t have any idea what letter you’re talking about.”

“The letter you wrote seeking a wife.”

“A wife?” His voice thundered, and several of the hounds began to whimper.

She fumbled in her satchel. When she finally located the paper she’d been seeking, she waved it in front of his nose. “This letter addressed to the First Pennsylvania Congregation, seeking a good woman with the courage to make the journey to your home and assume the care of your family.”

He barely glanced at the words on the paper. “If this is some sort of joke, I fail to find the humor in it.” He lowered his rifle and turned away. Over his shoulder he called, “Children, get back to your chores. There’s still an hour or so of daylight.”

“But, Pa…” Aaron, the oldest boy, who stood nearly six feet, seemed torn between obeying his father and dealing with their visitor. “What about the lady?”

“She can go back where she came from.” Matt pulled himself into the saddle.

Izzy felt faint For a moment she trembled and feared that she might sink to her knees. Instead, she gathered her courage and found her voice. “That is impossible.”

Matt stared down at her from the back of his mount. “Why?”

“Because I spent everything I had to get here.”

He gave a savage oath, then caught himself when he saw his children watching in silence. He slid from the saddle and handed the reins to one of the boys. “Take our horses to the barn and unsaddle them, Benjamin.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy grabbed the reins and hurried away.

To the others Matt said sternly, “Take the lady’s things inside.”

While the two older ones carried her satchel between them, the youngest one raced ahead to open the cabin door.

Matt turned the full power of his glare on her. “Come along, Miss McCree. Let’s see if we can get to the bottom of this.”

Without waiting for her reply, he strode to the cabin, leaving her to follow behind. She entered the cabin, then paused just inside the door to stare around in dismay.

The floor was littered with assorted clothing, guns, dog bones and even chickens, hopping and strutting about, leaving a mess in their wake. The windows were layered with so much dust and grime the sunlight could barely filter through. The room smelled of animals, dung and rotted food.

“Del,” Matt snarled at his youngest. “You let the damned chickens in again. How many times have I told you about this?”

“But, Pa, if I don’t lock them up, the coyotes will get them while we’re off doing our chores.”

“Then lock them in the barn where they belong. You heard what I said. Not in the house.” He picked up a broom and sent the chickens squawking and leaping out the doorway. Then, with a sweep of his hand, he cleared the table of all the clutter.

“Aaron, Clement, as long as we can’t get any more work done, you may as well start supper.”

“Yes, sir.” The two boys began bustling around the cabin.

“Sit, Miss McCree.”

Izzy crossed the room, picking her way through the debris, and ran a hand over the rough wood of the chair before sitting. She watched in fascination while the oldest son removed a hunting knife from his belt, wiped it on his pants and began carving slices from a side of beef that had been roasting on a spit. Blood from the meat sizzled into the fire as he sliced, sending a cloud of steam toward the roof. His brother ladled liquid from a blackened pot hanging over the fire. And the youngest poured glasses of thick, clotted milk, handing one to her.

“Ah. Buttermilk.” Izzy took a long, grateful swallow. “I must confess I’m parched from my travels.”

But it wasn’t buttermilk. She nearly gagged as she realized that what she had swallowed was warm, curdled milk. For the space of a few seconds she feared that she would embarrass herself. But after several attempts, she finally managed to get it down, then prayed it would stay down.

When his fourth child returned from the barn, Matt called them all to the table.

Izzy stood. “Would you mind if I washed up first?”

They all looked at her in surprise. Without a word Matt poured water from a pitcher into a bowl and finally located a clean square of linen in a cupboard. Knowing they were all watching made Izzy awkward and clumsy. Her fingers fumbled as she removed her hat and set it aside. With quick, nervous movements she washed her hands, her arms and her face and patted them dry. That done, she made her way to the table and took a seat.

As they began reaching for the food, Izzy bowed her head and closed her eyes, then whispered a blessing.

“What’s she doing, Pa?” the youngest asked.

“Praying.” Matt paused a moment and waited until she opened her eyes before passing her a platter of beef.

“Why? Is she scared?”

“Little Bit, some people pray even when they aren’t scared,” the oldest boy said with authority.

“You’re lying, Aaron.” The youngest turned to Matt. “He’s lying, isn’t he, Pa?”

“No, Del. Some people pray even when they aren’t afraid. Toss me a biscuit.”

Izzy stared in surprise as the youngster tossed a biscuit across the table. Matt caught it and popped it into his mouth. “Hard as rocks,” he said after a couple of bites. “Clement, that’s the last time you make the biscuits.”

“Yes, sir.” Following his father’s lead, the boy ducked his head and continued to shovel food into his mouth.

While Matt and his children ate, the hounds circled the table, snapping up scraps tossed to them. Occasionally two or three of the dogs would get into a fight over a morsel, until Matt called out a warning. Then the animals would crouch and wait for the next scrap of meat. And the next fight.

The children behaved no better. They tossed biscuits among themselves. They stole meat from one another’s plates. Benjamin waited until Clement had his fork to his mouth, then nudged him roughly, causing Clement to miss his mouth entirely and spill his food down the front of his shirt. That brought a roar of laughter from the others.

Matt glanced at Izzy, who had pushed aside her plate. “Had enough, Miss McCree?”

“More than enough, I’m afraid.” She swallowed hot, bitter coffee in the hopes of washing away the foul taste of sour milk and meat that was barely cooked. Her plate was swimming with beef blood. The sight sickened her almost as much as the smell of the cabin and the complete lack of civilized behavior exhibited by its inhabitants.

“Good.” Matt leaned back, sipping his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup. “Then I guess we can get to this other business. Where’s your home?”

“It was in Pennsylvania.”

Was. The word grated. “As I understand it, you came here thinking I needed a wife.”

“And your children needed a mother. That’s what your letter said.”

He clenched his teeth. “Let’s get one thing straight. I never wrote any damned letter.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t hold with swearing, Matthew.”

“Damn it.” He stood, nearly upending his chair. “Don’t call me Matthew.”

“Pa…” his oldest son began.

“Not now, Aaron.” Matt swung back to Izzy. “And don’t say I wrote a letter when I didn’t, woman.”

“Pa…”

Matt turned on him. “Didn’t I tell you not now?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy’s cheeks were suffused with color. He glanced at his father, then away. “But there’s something you ought to know.” He stared at a spot on the table and waited several beats before saying softly, “I wrote that letter.”

Everyone stared at him in complete silence.

Matt rounded the table to stand over him. “Say that again.”

“I…wrote the letter. But it was more’n a year ago, Pa. I figured, since I never heard, that it had been lost or something. Then I…” He shrugged. “I just forgot about it.”

Izzy’s eyes were wide with shock. Sweet salvation. She had made this long, hazardous trip at the whim of a boy.

Matt’s tone was low with fury. “Why the hell would you do such a thing, boy?”

Aaron pointed to the others around the table. “Look at us, Pa. With Ma gone, we don’t live much better’n the hogs. In fact, I think they live better’n us. Last time we went to town, folks were staring at us ‘cause our clothes were torn and dirty.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little dirt. We’re ranchers, not fancy bankers.”

“It’s not just the dirt. Look at Little Bit here. She doesn’t even have any idea how to be a female.”

At that, Izzy had to stifle a gasp. The youngest was a girl? With her hair chopped off and in her brothers’ cast-off clothes, Izzy had just assumed…

“I figured if we had a woman around the place, we’d all be better off, Pa.”

Matt’s anger was growing with every word. “And what about me? Didn’t you think to talk this over with me before you did such a fool thing? Didn’t you think I’d mind?”

“I…” The boy looked away from his father’s accusing eyes. “I figured it didn’t much matter. You never smile anyway. You’re never happy anymore since Ma…” He swallowed, seeing the look of pain and rage that crossed Matt’s face. “But it’s not fair to the rest of us. It’s not our fault. We can’t do anything about Ma. But at least we can give Del a chance.”

Matt’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “When we’re through here, you go to the barn and prepare for a good tanning, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Choking back his anger, Matt strode to the fireplace and rolled a cigarette, then held a flaming stick to the tip and inhaled deeply. Those few precious minutes gave him time to compose himself. He turned, determined to remain calm and logical. “I’m sorry about this, Miss McCree. But as you can see, you’ve come here for nothing. Since the nearest town, Sutton’s Station, is almost twenty miles from here, I’m afraid you’ll have to spend the night. In the morning I’ll take you to town and you can catch the stage back home.”

“Back home? But I can’t…” The sour milk was forgotten. As was the fatigue she’d suffered only a short time ago. Now there was only panic. She pushed back her chair and faced him. “That is impossible. You see, I have no home to return to. I…sold all my worldly goods to get here. And the journey took all the money I had.”

He took a long, deep drag on his cigarette while he mentally uttered every rich, ripe oath he could think of. His mind reeled at the seriousness of the situation facing him. He had some money saved. But he’d hoped to buy Amos Truesdale’s bull. And there was the addition he’d planned for the cabin. And the seed he would need in the spring.

“Maybe she could just stay on, Pa…” Aaron began.

Matt rounded on his son. “We may live poor, but we aren’t trash. We have our honor. An unmarried lady doesn’t stay under my roof.”

“Then why can’t you just marry her?” he demanded.

“Because it isn’t right. She came here thinking we all wanted her. And the only one who did is you.”

“I don’t mind if you marry her, Pa.” Benjamin, closest in age to Aaron, stuck up, as always, for his older brother.

“Me, either,” Clement chimed in.

The youngest, Del, looked from one brother to the other, clearly influenced by everything they said and did. “If Aaron and Benjamin and Clement don’t mind, then I don’t, either. But she can’t turn me into no lady.”

“Well, I have something to say about all this, and I do mind.” Matt tossed his cigarette into the fire, then stomped out of the room, returning minutes later with a blanket over his arm. “I’ll sleep in the barn tonight, Miss McCree. You can have my bed. In the morning I’ll drive you to Sutton’s Station. I’ll give you what money I have. If that isn’t enough—” he shrugged “—you’ll have to take a job in town and earn the rest until you have enough to get back home.”

He turned to his oldest son. “I’ll see you in the barn, Aaron. As soon as you’ve checked out the herd.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The rest of you get on up to bed. Since I’ll have to miss a day’s chores to take Miss McCree to town tomorrow, you’ll have to take on mine as well as your own.”

“Yes, sir.” Seeing the fire in their father’s eyes, the children scurried to a crude ladder and escaped to a loft.

Matt yanked open the door and the hounds milled about, eager to follow their master. Aaron trailed behind.

When the door closed behind them, the cabin grew strangely silent. Izzy stood in the middle of the room, staring about with a dazed look. Apparently, though it was barely dusk, the children would do their father’s bidding and retire for the night. Perhaps it was just as well. At least now she could try to sort through what had just happened.

She thought about the letter that had arrived in their small town in Pennsylvania. It had been the object of ridicule, not only because of the crudely printed words, but also because folks agreed that no woman in her right mind would ever accept the invitation to live in such a wilderness. But the words had touched her. Had stayed with her through the long, cold winter. She had secretly memorized the address and had finally mustered up the courage to accept the challenge.

She sank down on a chair, biting back raw, bitter tears. Oh, the dreams she had spun. The plans she had made. She had seen herself greeted by a courtly gentleman, surrounded by his loving children. She had pictured herself presiding over a genteel household, cooking fine meals, sewing fancy clothes. She would rescue this lonely, helpless family, and they would forever bless her name.

She raised one foot and was horrified to see what was stuck to the brand-new sole. Oh, those hateful chickens. She got to her feet, frantically scraping her shoe against a rung of the chair. Was this why she had traveled three thousand miles? To live worse than hogs? To be tricked, humiliated and ultimately rejected?

Rejected. She brought her hands to her cheeks. That was the worst of all. The cold, cruel rejection by that hateful man.

Tears stung her eyes and she forced herself into action. Unless she plunged herself into some work right away, she would find herself wallowing in self-pity. And once she allowed that, there would be no stopping the flood.

Work had always been her refuge from the rejections she had suffered through the years. And there had been enough to last a lifetime. She blinked furiously, then decided to tackle the dishes. She would think about sleep later.

Chapter Two

“Oh, my. Where to begin.”

Izzy rolled up her sleeves and set to work. While she waited for the water to heat over the fire, she located a cache of lye soap. She was surprised at such a find, since the cabin smelled as though it hadn’t seen disinfectant in a year. She stacked the dishes alongside the basin, then scrubbed the kitchen table and chairs until the rough wood gleamed. While she worked, strands of her hair slipped from the knot atop her head and began to fall in sticky tendrils around her face. She swiped at them with damp hands before resuming her work.

When the water was hot enough, she tackled the dishes. As she washed and dried the first plate, she held it up to the firelight. It was a pretty thing, pale and translucent, with one perfect pink rosebud on the rim. She washed a cup and held it up admiringly. It bore the same small rosebud design. As she continued washing, she thought how lovely that here in this rough wilderness, so far from civilization, she had discovered a complete set of matched china. In her life she’d never seen such a thing before. To Izzy, it was an amazing treasure.

Matthew’s wife must have been a lovely lady. As lovely as her china. No wonder he got so angry at his son. How could anyone be expected to take the place of such a fine woman?

Matthew. He wasn’t at all what she’d been anticipating. Well, maybe somewhat. He did look like a rough mountain man. The kind of man who would settle in a primitive place, determined to tame it. But from his letter she had expected him to have a tender side. A kind nature. Instead he had already shown himself to be a harsh, unyielding man. One who would order his son to the barn for a thrashing.

Izzy shuddered. Poor Aaron. Her heart went out to him. She knew only too well what he would have to endure. And now that she knew that he had been the author of the letter, she felt even more sympathy. It was Aaron who had been the kind, sweet, gentle soul revealed in his words. He had probably inherited that sweet nature from his mother.

She opened a cupboard and carefully stored the precious dishes away, then tackled the pots and pans and utensils, crusted with burned food. These required a great deal more effort, and she immersed them in boiling water and scrubbed until her knuckles were bloody. But at least, for the moment, she had managed to put aside her troubles.

In the barn Matt crouched beside the lantern, sifting through the packet of mail. Only one held any interest for him. The familiar handwriting had the blood throbbing at his temples as he tore open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. He read it quickly, absorbing first shock, then pain, and then slow, simmering fury. Then, like a man possessed, he read it again, and yet again, until every single word was committed to memory. By the time he’d read it more than a dozen times, he felt the anger beginning to drain away. In its place was a sort of numb acceptance.

He wondered if old Webster Sutton had felt this way when he’d lost his hand.

Like Webster, a vital part of him had been torn away, and he’d mourned and suffered and tried to function without it. But he had tempted himself, again and again, with the idea that somehow that vital part would grow back. Now, finally, he had to face the fact that it was lost to him forever. He would never get that part of his life back.

He should be relieved. He should welcome the numbness, after the pain he’d suffered. But for a few minutes more, he actually found himself wishing he could embrace the pain. Maybe it would be better than what he was feeling now.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the rough, cold wood of the stall. What was he feeling? He couldn’t put a name to it. But maybe the closest thing would be…relief.

Impossible. He couldn’t be relieved by such cruel news. Still…that was exactly what he was experiencing. It was finally, irrevocably over. No more sleepless nights, wondering, waiting. Now, like it or not, he knew. And though the things he knew were painful, at least, hopefully, he could begin to heal. He could find a way to get on with his life.

At last he returned the letter to the envelope and shoved it into his pocket.

His glance fell on another envelope and he opened it more slowly. The handwriting was neat, precise, almost childlike. The words were simple but meaningful. He read this letter with a sort of detached fascination.

Dear Matthew,

Your words touched me deeply. I can already see your sweet, motherless children and your lovely, sprawling ranch snuggled in the bosom of the Sierra Nevada. I realize we will be strangers to each other, and that we will have much to learn. But I cannot resist the lure of your family. As soon as I can put my affairs in order, I will begin the journey to our new life together.

Sincerely,

Isabella McCree

The barn door was abruptly yanked open.

“All right, Pa. The herd’s fine.”

A gust of cold air fluttered the paper in Matt’s hand.

Aaron closed the door and turned to face his father. “You can whale away on me if you’d like. I guess I deserve it.”

Matt took his time folding the letter and lifting the lantern to a post above the stall. Then he studied his son, whose eyes were downcast. At nearly fifteen, Aaron was more man than boy. The years of hard ranch chores had layered muscle on his six-foot frame. If Aaron wanted, Matt knew, he could give his father a hell of a fight. But that thought wouldn’t even occur to Aaron. As firstborn, the boy was diligent, disciplined and devoted, not only to his father but to his younger brothers and sister, as well. In fact, he had always been like their second father. And mother.

“I’m not going to hit you, Aaron.” The thought was absurd. It had been years since he’d even had to reprimand this boy. “But tell me, son. What in the world made you write that letter?”

Aaron shrugged. “It was Christmastime. The younger ones were missing Ma. I got to thinking if they could get a new ma, maybe things wouldn’t seem so…bad around here.”

Matt absorbed the pain. Would it ever end? Would he ever be able to hear them speak of her without feeling this terrible emptiness?

“Why Pennsylvania?”

“I read about it in that paper you brought from Sutton’s Station. It said the minister of the First Pennsylvania Congregation led a prayer for the soldiers heading to California. So I just wrote the letter, and the next time we went to town I left it with Boone.”

“You couldn’t bring yourself to tell me?”

Aaron looked away. “No, sir.”

“I know I’ve been pretty tough to live with. I guess…” Matt hesitated, then plunged into uncharted territory. “I guess we haven’t talked much about men and women.”

Aaron flushed clear to the tips of his ears. “I’ve seen the farm animals. I know enough.”

“Then you ought to know that men and women like to know each other, and feel some…sweetening toward each other, before they get married.”

“Sweetening?”

“Something that’ll attract them, like bees to honey.”

“I know that.” The boy’s Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed hard. “But how’re you ever going to meet a lady out here and feel any…sweetening?”

It was his father’s turn to flush. “So you thought the solution would be to send for a stranger?”

“Pa, do you remember the time the mother duck got killed by a coyote? We gave the ducklings to one of our hens, and she raised them like her own.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying any mother’s better than none?”

“I guess that’s what I’m saying.”

“Then I’ll remind you what a poor substitute that hen was. She stood squawking on the banks of the river every time those ducklings started swimming. And when they joined a flock of geese and flew off in the fall, she took to her nest in mourning.”

The boy nodded. “But you have to admit, she took good care of those babies until they could take care of themselves, Pa.”

Matt nodded reluctantly. “Yes, she did.”

“They’d have died without her mothering.”

The two fell silent for long minutes. Finally Matt cleared his throat. “We’re not talking about ducks and chicks now, Aaron.”

“No, sir. But Miss McCree seems nice enough.”

“I guess she is. But she’s a city woman. What does she know about surviving a winter in the wilderness?”

Aaron shrugged again. “Not much, I’d wager. But we’d be here to help her.”

When his father said nothing more, he looked up, studying him carefully. For the first time he felt a flicker of hope. “You thinking of asking her to stay?”

“I might be.” Matt’s eyes were hidden in shadow. But the lingering pain was still in his voice. “After all, I was outvoted. And there’s the money. It’s going to cost more than I have to send her home. It doesn’t seem fair to ask her to work in town until she’s saved enough.” At least those were the arguments he was willing to admit to. But the truth was, that damnable letter had changed everything. It wasn’t that he wanted a wife, he told himself. But Aaron was right. They needed a woman around the place. And Del needed a mother. And now, right this minute, his back was to the wall.

He indicated the blanket he’d tossed on the straw. “You go ahead and get some sleep. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Yes, Pa. And, Pa?”

Matt opened the door, then turned.

Across the barn, his son looked suddenly young and scared, with the blanket draped around his shoulders, his eyes wide in the lantern light. “You might want to try asking Miss McCree, instead of making it sound like a command. You know, like honey instead of a stick.”

Matt nodded. “Thanks, son. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Izzy looked around the bedroom, which was as filthy as the rest of the cabin. Some of Matthew’s clothes hung on pegs along one wall. A couple of shirts. Some pants. The rest had been dropped on the floor. A parka made of some kind of animal fur. Boots, one near the door, the other clear across the room. As though he’d tossed them, or more than likely kicked them, in a fit of temper.

There was a dust-covered dresser, with drawers that had fancy knobs. Above the dresser was an oval mirror, cracked down the middle. She turned away, not wanting to look at herself.

She thought about tidying up the room, but the truth was, she was exhausted. And she still had to wash her clothes in preparation for the difficult journey ahead, since these were the only clothes she owned.

She pulled a very small, very sharp knife from its sheath beneath her sash and hid it under her pillow. Then she sat down tentatively on the edge of the bed. The mattress was rough and scratchy. And lumpy. She wasn’t surprised. It suited this place. With slow, tired movements she untied her new shoes and set them carefully aside. At once her feet began to throb and she had to wiggle her toes for long minutes before she could stand. Then she stripped off her gown and petticoats and peeled off her heavy cotton stockings. Finally she slipped out of her chemise and stood shivering until she was able to pull on her night shift.

Carrying all her clothes to the other room, she dropped them into the basin and filled it with hot water. Quickly, efficiently, she scrubbed her clothes, then draped them over the rough kitchen chairs to dry. That done, she added another log to the fire and made her way to the bedroom.

The bed looked sturdy enough, having been carved from rough logs. And at least, she thought, the chickens hadn’t invaded this space.

She blew out the lantern, then climbed into bed.

She wished she’d been able to do more work before giving up, but the truth was, she was utterly exhausted. And she was facing a long, arduous journey in the morning.

Hugging the blanket to her chin, she huddled into a little ball and fell asleep.

Matt let himself into the still, silent cabin, then breathed deeply. It smelled different. It smelled…clean. Surprised, he stared around. Though it was by no means spotless, it was cleaner than he’d seen it in a year. Much of the rubble had been swept up, and the rest lay in piles along one wall. The indignities left by the chickens had been cleaned up, as well.

By the light of the fire, the filmy, feminine clothes draped over the chairs looked like ghostly specters, mocking him. He walked closer and touched a hand to the delicate chemise. It was as soft as a cobweb and he found himself remembering things better left forgotten.

With a thoughtful frown he walked to the fireplace and, reaching into his pocket, withdrew an envelope and tossed it into the fire. He watched as the blaze licked along the paper, curling it, then bursting it into flame. In an instant the envelope, and the letter inside, had burned to ash.

Odd, he thought. He ought to feel something. Instead, he felt nothing. No pain. No sorrow at his loss. Nothing. Only a sort of numbness where the ache had been for so long.

He struck a match and lifted it to the lantern’s wick. Holding the lantern aloft, he walked into the bedroom.

He felt a momentary shock when he saw the woman lying in his bed. It jolted his already overcharged system to see the spill of plain brown hair curling softly on the pillow. The blanket had slipped, revealing a creamy neck and shoulder and, beneath the modest neckline of a nightgown, the darkened cleft between her breasts.

He walked closer, lifting the lantern for a better look.

That’s when she sat up with a cry of alarm.

“Who…? What…? Sweet salvation. What are you doing here?”

The blanket dipped lower, showing an expanse of flesh that had him sweating.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to…I came here to…” He stopped, swallowed, then tried again. “Seeing as how my children do need a ma, and a woman could be a help around here, I thought I’d give you a choice.”

“Choice?” She was more awake now, though still confused. Behind her, her hand went automatically to the knife beneath her pillow, closed around it. “I don’t understand. Aren’t you going to take me to Sutton’s Station in the morning?”

“Yes. Of course.” He nodded for emphasis. He was handling this badly. But he was determined to bluff his way through, now that he’d started. “But what we do there will be up to you. You can take what little money I have saved, and see how far it will get you. Or—” he swallowed and forced himself to finish before he lost his nerve “—we can find a minister and have a proper wedding, so you can live here as my wife.”

“Your…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. Maybe she was still asleep and dreaming.

No. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. Matthew Prescott was standing here, leaving the choice to her. She could go back to the life she’d always known, or risk it all for a life with this harsh, unyielding man.

“I won’t push for your answer now.” He abruptly lowered the lantern and turned on his heel. He had to get out of here. Now. While he still had some of his senses. The sight of those soft female curves had his heart racing and his temples throbbing. “Sleep on it. You can tell me what you’d like in the morning.” At the door he paused, his look dark and unfathomable. “I’ll understand if you can’t find it in your heart to stay.”

“Matthew…”

“Good night.” He strode quickly from the room.

She heard the door shut, heard the crunch of his footsteps receding as he made his way to the barn.

She released her hold on the knife and lay in the darkness, wondering what to make of their conversation. Had he really had a change of heart? Or was there something else going on here? Something she ought to be wary of?

She hugged the blanket to her chin, grateful for the brief sleep she’d had before he had intruded. It would probably be all the sleep she would get the rest of the night.

Chapter Three

The sky was still awash with stars, but Izzy knew there was no point in staying in bed. She had replayed in her mind every detail of her arrival in this strange place. She had repeated every cutting word, every stinging remark that had been uttered by Matthew Prescott. What could she possibly hope to gain by marrying him and staying here? From all she had witnessed, most men didn’t improve with age. If anything, they got worse. Could she possibly embrace the harshness of the life that loomed before her?

Still, the plight of his children tugged at her. It was obvious that they needed help. Aaron had said it all. The hogs lived better than they did. She’d seen that for herself.

And there was one other thing. She couldn’t think of a better option. She could marry Matthew Prescott or return to the life she’d left behind. And she would rather die than go back.

She only hoped that, in time, death wouldn’t prove to have been the wiser choice.

She wrapped herself in the blanket and made her way to the other room in search of her clothes. Instead of the still, silent cabin, she found a blazing fire and Matthew, seated at the table, drinking coffee.

She came to an abrupt halt. “I thought…you’d still be sleeping.”

“Long day ahead.” No sense telling her he’d been up all night, fretting. “Thought I’d get an early start.”

“Yes. I…thought the same.” She circled the table, collecting her clothes. When she picked up her chemise, she saw the way his gaze fastened on it, and her cheeks flamed.

As she started toward the bedroom, his words stopped her in her tracks.

“You’re limping, Miss McCree. Did you hurt yourself?”

“No. Yes.” She swallowed and tried again, keeping her head averted. “Nothing serious. I…stubbed my toe.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He scraped back his chair. Before she could escape he was touching her, his hand on her arm, his voice full of concern. “I’ll get a lantern.”

“There’s no need.” But she couldn’t flee. Couldn’t move. The touch of him caused a flare of heat that caught her by surprise.

“I guess, because I’m so familiar with this old cabin, I forget the need for more lanterns.” Up close she had a clean soap-and-water smell that was appealing. Even her hair smelled fresh, like a windswept meadow after a rain.

“It’s just me.” She swallowed, hating the nerves that had her quivering. But he was too close. Overpowering. She needed to step back. But the touch of his hand had her frozen. “I’ve always been clumsy.”

“I find that hard to believe, Miss McCree.” Very carefully he lifted his hand. But the heat of her body stayed with him.

“I’ll just—” she turned away, feeling confused and breathless “—get dressed now.”

In her haste to flee, her limp was even more pronounced. When she reached the bedroom, she closed the door, then leaned against it, breathing hard.

Sweet salvation. What had she been thinking of, going out there barefoot? The last thing she had expected was to find him already in the house.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the bed, where she deposited her clothes. Then, dropping the blanket, she dressed hurriedly. When she had smoothed down her skirts and carefully brushed and tamed her hair, she slipped on her new shoes and tied them.

She took a few more minutes to make up the bed and tidy the room. Then she walked slowly, evenly, to the door.

As she’d feared, Matthew was still seated at the table. To make matters worse, the children had drifted down from their sleeping loft and were busy making breakfast. Aaron, still picking straw from his hair, ambled in from the barn, carrying a bucket of fresh milk. The hounds bounded in on his heels and began sniffing around the table.

“There’s coffee on the fire,” Matt said as he lifted his cup.

“Thank you. Would you like me to help with breakfast?”

“There’s no need. The children will take care of it.”

That’s what she’d feared. Already Aaron was slicing the bloody beef, and Clement was heating last night’s biscuits over the fire.

“I could fetch some eggs,” she volunteered.

“That’s Del’s job.” Aaron wiped his knife on his pants and set a platter of beef on the table.

The little girl entered the cabin carrying a basket of eggs.

“How many did you get?” her brother asked.

“I could only find seven that weren’t broken. The hens laid some of them right in the straw where the cows walked. There were smashed eggs everywhere, Pa.”

Matt winced. “That’s all right. As long as the cows didn’t step on your hens, they’ll lay more tomorrow. Go ahead and fry up what you found.”

Del broke the eggs into a skillet, picking out eggshells as she worked. Then she set the pan over the fire. A few minutes later she carried a platter of congealed eggs to the table and everybody began spooning some onto their plates.

“Pass some to Miss McCree,” Matt commanded.

“No, thank you.” Izzy handed the platter to Benjamin and nibbled on a biscuit. She had softened it by dipping it into her coffee.

“That’s all you’re having?” Matt studied her. If anything, she looked even more pale and delicate than when she’d arrived yesterday. And far too skinny.

“I’m really not hungry.” She wondered how anyone could work up an appetite for such fare.

“I’ll have a couple of those eggs, Del.” Matt took the platter and slid a blob onto his plate.

Izzy watched in silence while the children and their father shoveled food into their mouths and ate mechanically, washing it down with gulps of milk. Whenever they bit into something hard or distasteful, they merely spit it into their hands and opened up their fingers behind their backs. One of the hounds would snap it up.

“You’re awfully quiet this morning, Miss McCree.” Aaron stopped eating for a moment to study her carefully.

“I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess—” Izzy nodded “—I guess I am.”

“Because you’re leaving?” Del asked.

“No. Just because today is a…special day.”

“What’s special about today?” Matt asked.

She turned to him and felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, Matthew, it’s our wedding day.” There. She’d said it aloud.

The children stared first at her, then at their father.

Aaron let out a whoop. “You mean it, Miss McCree? You’re going to marry Pa?”

She nodded. “As long as he agrees.”

Matt had been busy swallowing his fourth biscuit. Now it stuck like a stone in his throat, and he had to gulp a cup of scalding coffee to get it down. He glanced at his four children, then at the woman who was watching his face with such intensity. “I believe I said my piece last night, Miss McCree. All I needed was your answer.”

“Now you have it.”

With absolutely no expression he studied her, as though searching for something in her eyes. Abruptly he pushed away from the table. “I’ll hitch up the team. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

“What about the children?” she called to his retreating back.

He turned. “What about them?”

“I think it would be nice if they came along.”

He could see the pleading in the children’s eyes and tried to ignore it. “They’re needed here. To do the chores.”

“Maybe if we all pitched in,” she suggested, “we could do at least the necessary chores and leave the rest until we returned.”

“I’ll do double duty tomorrow, Pa,” Aaron promised.

“Me, too,” Benjamin put in quickly.

It was on the tip of Matt’s tongue to refuse. Instead he turned away, calling over his shoulder, “One hour. But we’ll have to catch up when we get home.”

He didn’t stay around long enough to see the excitement in the children’s eyes. But Izzy saw it and was warmed by it. Maybe what she was about to do wouldn’t seem so bad, as long as she knew they would benefit.

Wasn’t that why she had suggested they come along? She’d like to think so. But the truth was, she hadn’t wanted to be alone with her husband-to-be.

The horses and wagon had been heading downward for hours. When they had started out in the mountains, the air had been crisp and cold. But now there was only bright, clear sunshine and a breeze so fresh and clean it almost hurt to breathe it in.

Izzy was crowded onto the seat beside Matt, with Aaron next to her. In the back Benjamin, Clement and Del were laughing and teasing, clearly overjoyed at the thought of escaping their daily chores for a rare visit to civilization.

The horses crossed a long, flat stretch of meadow before splashing through a stream. Izzy held tightly to the seat of the wagon as the horses fought their way up the bank.

“Careful.” Matt caught her when she swayed. Like the first time he’d touched her, the flare of heat was instantaneous, and she had to fight the urge to push away.

“I’m fine.” She lowered her shawl and lifted her face to the sun. “Why did you build your home so high in the mountains, when the weather seems so much gentler here?”

“Look around you.” He pointed to several ranch houses in the distance. “That’s the way most folks think. They want to settle where it’s easy. Where they’ll have friends and neighbors. And pretty soon someone else will be making the rules for them. They won’t be able to move without stepping on someone else’s property. Then they’ll find themselves fighting someone else’s battles and even breathing someone else’s air.”

Izzy breathed deeply, hoping to diffuse the anger simmering in his tone. “It smells fresh and clean to me.”

“Give it time, Miss McCree. With enough people, they’ll find a way to foul even the air.”

She shot him a quick, sideways glance. “I take it you don’t have much use for people.”

“I can take them or leave them. Long as they don’t cross me or mine.”

He flicked the reins and the team moved smartly. After crossing another meadow, they looked down on a pretty valley. Clustered in the middle were several houses, as well as a saloon and a general store.

“That’s Sutton’s Station. Old man Sutton was the first to settle here. He runs the boardinghouse and stagecoach stop.”

As they drew closer, Izzy saw hat one of the houses was a dispensary, and another bore a wooden sign proclaiming it a house of worship.

When Matt turned the team toward the general store, Izzy pointed toward the church. “Shouldn’t we be looking for the preacher?”

He nodded. “That’s what I’m doing. But he won’t be there. He’s only there on Sunday. The rest of the week he can be found at the saloon.”

He pulled up in front of the store and climbed down to secure the team. Then, leaving Izzy and the children in the wagon, he made his way to the saloon.

Izzy watched his smooth, easy stride until her glance was caught by movement in the upper window of the saloon. A woman wearing what appeared to be nothing more than a chemise and petticoat stood in full view, watching her. Then she abruptly lowered the curtain and disappeared.

Izzy sat very straight and tall, wondering if the children had noticed the brazen display. But they were busy watching a group of children who had abandoned their game of hide-and-seek to walk closer and look over the newcomers.

“You here to trade goods?” a little boy called.

Aaron, Clement and Benjamin remained silent, refusing to even look at the boy.

“Uh-uh.” When her brothers refused to respond, Del chose to answer for all of them. “Our pa’s getting married today.”

“Why?” a little girl asked.

“So’s we’ll have a ma.” Del stood up in the back of the wagon and proudly tapped a hand on Izzy’s shoulder. “This is Miss McCree. She’s going to be our new ma.”

“Why would you want to take on that mangy litter of pups?” a bigger boy taunted.

His friends laughed.

“We aren’t pups,” Del shouted back. “These are my brothers. And I’m their little sister.”

That had the whole group of children laughing and pointing. “A girl? Liar. You ain’t no girl.”

“Am, too.”

“Well, if you are—” the bigger boy glanced at his friends for support “—you’re the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen.”

In a flash Aaron leapt from the wagon and grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt, lifting him off his feet. “You take that back, right now, or you’ll never be able to say another word.”

“Won’t,” the boy managed to say before Aaron turned him around and wrapped his arm around his throat. Without a word he began to squeeze.

“Aaron, stop,” Izzy shouted, but he ignored her and continued to shut off the boy’s air.

When the rest of the children moved in closer, Benjamin and Clement jumped down from the wagon and held them at bay, leaving the bigger boy alone to defend himself against this young giant.

“I…take it back,” the boy finally managed to croak.

“Say you’re sorry.” Aaron’s gaze was fixed on his little sister, whose eyes were filled with tears of shame.

“I’m…sorry.”

Aaron gave the boy a shove that sent him sprawling in the dirt. “Don’t you ever call my little sister names again. Or you’ll answer to me. Understand?”

The boy nodded, too frightened to speak.

When Aaron and his brothers returned to the wagon, the boy struggled to his feet and raced away to join his friends.

It had all happened in the space of a few seconds. And yet, Izzy realized, it had widened the chasm between Matthew’s children and these children here in town. Her heart turned over at the hunger she could read in the eyes of Benjamin, Clement and Del. As for Aaron, he looked as stiff, as unyielding as his father.

“Would you like me to talk to them?” she asked. “Maybe if I did, they would ask you to play.”

“No, ma’am.” Benjamin spoke for all of them. “We’re not welcome here. They call us trash.”

“But why?”

“’Cause our ma…”

Aaron shot him a look and he turned away with a shrug. “Just because.”

In the distance Izzy could make out the shouts and laughter of the children. And the cruel taunts aimed at the strangers in the wagon.

Some things, she thought with a rush of remembered pain, never changed.

She glanced at Del, whose tears trickled down her cheeks, making dirty streaks. In an effort to soothe, she drew her close. “Shh. Don’t cry, Del. They don’t mean anything by it. A lot of folks just don’t know how to treat strangers. So they say things that are hurtful.” She wiped the little girl’s tears with the hem of her skirt. “You’re so lucky to have big brothers to look out for you.”

Del sniffled. “Do you have a big brother, Miss McCree?”

Izzy shook her head. “No. But there were times when I surely wished I did.”

Aaron touched a hand to her sleeve. “You won’t tell Pa what I just did, will you?”

“But why not, Aaron? I should think he’d be proud that you stood up for Del.”

“No, ma’am. Pa doesn’t hold with fighting.”

“But…” She thought about the war that had divided this country and sent so many of its fine men to their graves. Could it be that Matthew Prescott had refused to fight? Or had he run away, as so many had, when faced with the horror of it all?

She nodded. “I don’t see any reason to mention what you did, Aaron.”

He gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Miss McCree.”

She glanced at the open door of the store and saw an old man with his hands tucked beneath a dirty apron, studying her with grave interest.

A tiny trickle of sweat made its way between her shoulder blades and down her back. What was taking Matthew so long?

She heard strangers’ voices. A woman’s, then a man’s. Both raised in anger. Glancing at the swinging doors of the saloon, she saw the woman from the upstairs window now standing beside a bewhiskered man who seemed to be pulling on his clothes. As Izzy watched, he tucked his shirt into the waistband of his pants, then slipped his suspenders over his shoulders. Matt helped him into his jacket and handed him a hat. He accompanied Matt outside, while the woman remained at the door, looking visibly annoyed.

As the two approached, the stranger stumbled and would have fallen if Matt hadn’t caught him and held him upright. With his hand beneath the man’s elbow, Matt paused beside the wagon.

“Aaron, help Miss McCree down.”

As she climbed down, the stranger, in a courtly gesture, doffed his hat and made a slight bow. “Miss McCree, I understand you’ve come to marry this fine gentleman. This is indeed an honor. I am the Reverend Jonathon Carstairs. At your service.”

She took a step back, evading the stench of his breath. The reverend was as drunk as a skunk. And as aromatic.

She glanced at Matt. “I think…”

“You’re right. Come along, children.” He caught her hand and dragged her along, all the while holding up the preacher, while the rest of the children scrambled out of the wagon and trailed behind. “The lady thinks we should get this over quickly.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Carstairs said as he coughed, hacked, then spat in the dirt. “The night looms ahead and I still have a great many…” He glanced at Izzy and the children before finishing lamely, “Hymns to sing.”

He climbed the steps and pushed open the door to the meeting hall. After fumbling through a drawer, he came up with a dog-eared book. Then a thought occurred. “You’ll need a witness.”

“What about the children?” Izzy asked.

“How old are you, boy?” the preacher asked Aaron.

“Almost fifteen,” he replied.

“To make it legal, we need an adult,” Reverend Carstairs announced.

Matt headed for the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Within minutes he returned with the man Izzy had seen in the general store. “Miss McCree, this is Webster Sutton. Web, this is Isabella McCree, my…intended.”

Now Izzy understood why Sutton had kept his hands hidden beneath his apron. His left hand was missing, and his shirtsleeve hung limply over a bony wrist.

Webster offered his right hand to Izzy, looking her up and down as he did. “Ma’am. Like I said, Matt, I can’t spare much time. The wife’s ailing. How do, Aaron, Benjamin, Clement, Del.”

Before the children could acknowledge his greeting, the preacher said abruptly, “Time’s a-wasting. Let’s get started.” He was leaning heavily on a wooden stand that held a hymnal, and he probably would have toppled forward without its support. “Did you two come here of your own free will?”

Izzy and Matt avoided each other’s eyes as they nodded.

“Will you, Matt…” He squinted. “What’s your given name?”

“Matthew Jamison Prescott.”

“Will you, Matthew Jamison Prescott, take this woman for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do you part?”

Matt’s tone was hoarse. “I will.”

“And will you, Isabella McCree, take this man for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do you part?”

Izzy chewed her lip. “I will.”

The preacher glanced at Matt. “Did you bring a ring?”

Izzy felt the heat of embarrassment color her cheeks. But to her amazement, Matt reached into his pocket and withdrew a small gold band.

“You may place the ring on her finger, Matt.”

Matt did as he was told.

“Now repeat after me. With this ring I thee wed.”

Matt’s voice was low and deep, more nearly resembling a growl as he repeated the words.

“I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

At the same moment that Matt bent forward, Izzy stepped back. The thought of kissing him for the first time in front of his wide-eyed children, a drunken preacher and an impatient shopkeeper had her face flaming.

To cover the awkward moment, Matt shook hands with Webster Sutton and Jonathon Carstairs, slipping the preacher a dollar as he accepted a signed document. Then he caught Izzy’s hand and led her and the children outside.

“Well.” He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. “I thought I’d pick up some supplies before we leave. Do you need anything?”

She shook her head and walked along, struggling to keep up with his impatient strides. “I’ll go inside with you, though.”

“We can’t spare much time.” He waited for her to precede him through the open doorway.

Inside he gave Webster Sutton a list of supplies, then he and the children helped load them into the back of the wagon. There were sacks of flour and sugar, a pouch of bullets, another pouch of tobacco and a packet of coffee beans.

Matt came up behind Izzy, who was standing at the counter staring at the jar of candy sticks. “Would you like one?”

“Oh, no.” She glanced away. “I was just thinking about the children.”

“Wouldn’t want to spoil them,” he muttered.

“No. Of course not.” She swallowed her disappointment and turned away, heading toward the wagon, where the children had already settled.

A few minutes later Matt shook Webster’s hand before walking out. He climbed up to the wagon seat and flicked the reins. The team started up with a jolt. And within minutes, the town of Sutton’s Station was left in their dust.

When they were once again climbing toward their mountain cabin, Matt reached casually into his pocket and withdrew a handful of candy sticks.

The children’s eyes went wide with surprise and pleasure.

“Miss Mc—” He cleared his throat and started over. “Isabella wanted you to have something to celebrate our wedding,” he said as he passed the candy around.

Izzy experienced a jolt of pleasure so unexpected she had to stare hard at her hands to keep from clapping them together in delight. She had wanted so desperately to erase the jeers and insults the children had endured. And now, at least for a few minutes, they would know only sheer joy.

“Ooh.” There were long sighs and exclamations as the children accepted the special treats and popped them into their mouths.

Matt handed one to Izzy. “I thought you might like one, too.”

“Thank you.” She took a long, slow taste. “Peppermint. It’s my favorite. How did you know?”

He seemed suddenly pleased with himself. “I didn’t know. I had to guess. I just liked the color.”

“Did you get one for yourself?”

He shook his head. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll have a smoke.”

He lifted the cigar from his pocket, studying it a moment. Back at the store, he had debated the expense of such luxuries. Now, when he saw the happiness in his children’s eyes, not to mention his new bride’s, it seemed the perfect touch.

He scratched the end of a match, holding the flame to the tip. Breathing deeply, he emitted a stream of smoke that curled around his head before dissipating into the air.

“Miss McCree, now that you’re married to Pa, what should we call you?” Del asked from the back of the wagon.

“How about my given name, Isabella?”

“Isabella.” Del managed the word around the sticky candy, since she couldn’t bear to take it out even for a moment. “It sounds…musical.”

“If you’d rather not…”

“Oh, no. It’s pretty. I like it,” the little girl assured her. “It’s just so fancy. But it sure does suit a fancy lady like you.”

As the team ate up the miles, Izzy was left to ponder what she had just done. Was it wrong to pretend to be something she wasn’t? Was that the same as lying?

She chanced a quick sideways glance at the rugged profile of the man beside her. If he learned the truth, would he have the right to declare their marriage a lie, as well, and order her back to Pennsylvania?

And what of the children? What would they think if they ever learned the truth about her?

To calm her racing heart she reminded herself that she was thousands of miles away from anyone who had ever known her. Her past was dead and buried. She was now Mrs. Matthew Jamison Prescott. From now on, her life was whatever she chose to make it.

Chapter Four

“We’d better rustle up some supper, Pa.” Aaron had long ago finished his candy and licked his fingers until there was no trace of the sticky sweetness left.

“I was just thinking the same thing.” Matt stubbed out his cigar after smoking only half, saving the other half for later. “We’ll stop over by that stream and see what we can find.”

He slowed the team to a walk and finally brought them to a halt in a clearing. “Get your rifle, Aaron,” he called as he climbed down.

Matt started to turn away, then, remembering his manners, extended a hand to help Izzy down.

The moment their hands touched, she felt a tingling along her spine that had her jumping. It wasn’t Matthew, she told herself as she struggled to calm her racing pulse. It was just the excitement of the day. She glanced at his face, to see if he had felt the jolt. But all she could see was his familiar frown. And those dark, penetrating eyes looking back at her.

“You and the children can gather wood and twigs for a fire. As soon as Aaron and I finish hunting, we’ll start supper.”

“Here?”

“You’re in the wilderness, Isabella. One place is as good as another.”

“Yes. Of course.” She turned away, eager to put some distance between them.

When he and his oldest son melted into the woods, Izzy and the others began searching for firewood. Before long they had enough for a bonfire.

“I wish Matthew had left us some matches,” Izzy muttered, drawing her shawl around her shoulders.

“We don’t need matches.” Benjamin took a flint from his pocket and huddled over the wood, which he’d layered with a patch of dried grass. In no time he had a tiny flame, which he soon coaxed into a blaze.

“Oh, Benjamin.” Izzy knelt in the grass and held her hands to the warmth. “That’s so clever of you.”

The boy beamed with pride. “It’s easy, once you know how.”

“I’ve never lived in the mountains before.” Izzy glanced at the three children, sprawled comfortably around the fire. “There’s so much I’ll need to learn.”

“We could teach you,” Del offered. The little girl glanced uncertainly at her brothers. “Couldn’t we?”

Clement nodded, intrigued by the thought of teaching an adult what he took for granted. “Pa says the only ones who can’t survive in the wilderness are fools who never learned to use their heads.”

Izzy gave a shaky laugh. “Then I certainly hope I learn to use mine before I lose it.” She glanced at the wagon. “All those sacks of supplies, and no way to cook them. I wish I could make some biscuits and coffee, but I don’t have anything to make them in.”

Benjamin grinned. “We don’t have any kettles. But we do keep an old pot in the wagon for emergencies. It’s under the flour sack. And I’ll bet if I look around I can find something for you to cook the biscuits on.”

Izzy walked to the wagon, returning with a handful of coffee beans and a battered old pot, which she filled with water from the stream. Soon the wonderful fragrance of coffee filled the evening air.

When Benjamin handed her a flat, round stone, she was puzzled, until he said, “This ought to work as well as any pan. Give it a try.”

Mixing flour and sugar with a little water, she pressed the batter around the flat stone and set it on the fire.

A short time later Matt and Aaron returned from the forest, balancing on their shoulders a young sapling on which was tied a deer. The weight of it would stagger most men, yet they handled it with ease.

“You’re going to cook the whole thing?” Izzy blanched, thinking about the half-cooked side of beef back at the cabin. She was ravenous. But she didn’t think it would be possible to choke down another bloody meal.

To her relief, Matt shook his head. “We’ll take it with us. But we can cut off enough to cook for a quick supper.”

He and Aaron unsheathed their knives and set to work, skinning the animal and slicing a portion for their use. Izzy and Del cut the meat into chunks and threaded them onto sticks, which they set over the flames to cook. Soon they all gathered around the fire.

After his first bite Matt looked up. “Benjamin, these are the best biscuits you’ve ever made.”

“I didn’t make them, Pa. Isabella did.”

He turned to her. “What did you do to them?”

At his probing look, Izzy flushed clear to her toes. “Nothing special. I just used what I had. Sugar and flour and water. They would be better with a little lard. But it was Benjamin who found the stone to bake them on. Without that, we’d have been eating raw dough.”

“That was good thinking, Benjamin.” Matt’s praise added to the boy’s pleasure. Then he muttered, “We’ve made do with much worse than raw dough.”

He broke off another portion of biscuit, before passing it to the others. With a sigh he ate more slowly, savoring each bite. Finally he leaned back and sipped strong, hot coffee.

Turning to his daughter, he said, “You’ll have to pay attention to how Isabella makes her biscuits, Del.”

“Why, Pa?”

“So you’ll know how to make them when she lea—” He gulped coffee, hoping to hide his slip of the tongue. But he saw Izzy glance at him across the fire and knew she’d heard.

So. He expected her to leave. Her nervousness must be even more obvious than she’d thought. But if he believed that, why had he married her? She stared down at her hands. Maybe he had begun to realize that she was the only woman foolish enough, or desperate enough, to take a chance on a ready-made family and a man who barely eked out an existence in this wilderness.

To cover the sudden silence she turned her attention to the children. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves? Aaron? I remember hearing you tell the preacher you’re almost fifteen.”

“Yes’m.” At a look from his brothers he added, “Well, I will be in a couple of months.”

She tried to hide her surprise. “You seem much older.”

He ducked his head. “Pa says there wasn’t much time for being a baby out here in the mountains.”

“I suppose that’s so.” She turned to Benjamin. “And you are…?”

“Twelve,” he said proudly. “And Clement’s ten and Del’s eight.”

Izzy glanced at Del. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Is Del short for Delphine?”

“No, ma’am.” The little girl glanced at her father before saying, “Delphinium.” She made a face to show her disgust.

“Why, that’s a lovely name. Did you know it’s the name of a flower?”

Del seemed intrigued. “A flower? What kind?”

“It’s like a buttercup. I believe it’s also called a larkspur. It has lovely ruffled flowers as yellow as your hair.”

At her words the little girl was positively glowing. “Maybe my name’s not so bad. But I’d still rather be called Del. Or Little Bit.” She glanced adoringly at her oldest brother.

“Little Bit?” Izzy glanced from one to the other.

Aaron tousled his sister’s hair before glancing at Izzy. “That’s just a name I’ve always called her. What about you, Isabella? How old are you?”

She felt a ripple of unease. She didn’t want to talk about herself. “I’m twenty-three.”

“Why’d you wait so long to get married?” Benjamin asked.

“I guess…” She felt the first stirrings of panic. “I guess I just never met the right man.”

“Until Pa,” Del said innocently.

“Yes. Until now.”

The little girl was still obviously pleased with her new knowledge about her name. “Were you ever called anything besides Isabella?”

Izzy thought about the taunts she’d endured for a lifetime. Names so cruel, even now, just thinking about them caused her pain.

“No.” She reached for the coffee, averting her gaze. “Just plain Isabella.”

Beside her Matt watched, wondering what had caused her abrupt mood change. One moment she’d been relaxed, animated. The next she seemed nervous, wounded. He watched as she poured coffee, then topped off his cup, before placing the blackened pot back on the coals. Her hands, he noted, were rough and work-worn, the nails torn and ragged. Not the hands of a refined, elegant lady. And he’d noticed something else. Though her gown was spotless, the hem and cuffs were frayed and the fabric was nearly threadbare.

She’d arrived with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a small valise. Where was the accumulation of a lifetime? Clothes, linens, dishes, treasured mementos? Years ago, when he and his family had set off from home across the country, Grace had insisted on bringing every single one of her treasures. In fact Grace had…

Annoyed at the direction of his thoughts, he stood. “Time to get moving.”

Aaron got to his feet and helped his father load the buck into the back of the wagon. The others, as if by some unspoken command, set to work dousing the fire and packing up whatever food remained. In no time their campsite was nearly as clean as when they’d arrived.

The children climbed into the back of the wagon and settled themselves comfortably among the sacks of supplies. Matt climbed up to the driver’s seat and offered a hand to Izzy. With a flick of the reins they started off.

As they climbed higher into the mountains the air grew sharper, clearer. Izzy drew her shawl tightly around her shoulders and looked up at the big golden moon, the stars glittering in a velvet sky.

“Cold?”

Matt’s voice beside her had her jumping. “No. I’m fine.”

“There are some blankets in the back of the wagon.”

She shook her head. “Leave them for the children. I expect they’ll be asleep soon.”

He nodded. “It’s been a full day for them. And for you.”

When she remained silent he said, “I’m sorry about the preacher.”

“You couldn’t help that he was drunk.”

“No. But we…caught him at a particularly bad time.”

She turned to glance at him. “Is there a good time?”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t see him much. But I expect he stays sober on Sundays, at least until his service is over.”

After a long moment of silence he said, “I was afraid he’d keel over before he could finish the ceremony.”

The warmth of unspoken laughter in his deep voice had Izzy smiling. “He would have, if it hadn’t been for that music stand. I’m sure it was the only thing holding him up.”

Laugh lines crinkled Matt’s eyes. “Did you notice that he had his pants on backward?”

“No. Really?” Izzy’s hand flew to her mouth, but she couldn’t smother the laughter that bubbled. “That explains why he kept tugging at his suspenders. I thought he seemed to be dressing when you first went to fetch him.”

“I found him upstairs over the saloon with Lil. Interrupted him before…” A deep chuckle turned into a roar of laughter. “I don’t know who was madder. The preacher or Lil. But I told him I’d give him a dollar if he could be dressed and downstairs by the count of ten. He made it with seconds to spare. And I’m sure by now Lil has that dollar tucked into her bodice.”

Izzy knew that she ought to be shocked by what she was hearing. But she couldn’t help herself. The silly mood and the rumble of laughter were contagious.

As the horses and wagon climbed ever higher, she and Matt continued laughing about the preacher and his unholy ways, until she heard a sound that had her blood freezing.

“What was that?”

“A wolf, calling to his mate.”

“A…wolf.” Fingers of ice pressed along her spine. “I didn’t realize there were wolves in these mountains. Will they attack?”

“If they’re hungry enough. Or cornered. But don’t worry. Mostly they attack livestock. They would only attack humans as a last resort.”

“How—” she touched a hand to her throat “—comforting.”

When the darkened outlines of the cabin and outbuildings came into view, Izzy turned to glance at the children. “They’re all asleep,” she said in hushed tones.

“They’ll be glad to climb into their beds,” Matt muttered. “And so will we.”

We. Whatever remained of Izzy’s light mood vanished. She had known, of course, that he would want to sleep in his own bed tonight With her. But she hadn’t allowed herself to think of it. Until now. Sweet salvation. What was she going to do?

She shivered.

“You’re cold.”

“No. Just…”

Ignoring her protest, he removed his cowhide jacket and draped it around her shoulders. That caused her to shiver more violently. She could feel the heat of his body, and the dark, musky scent of him that lingered in the folds.

As they neared the cabin the hounds leapt out of the darkness, setting up a chorus of barking that had the children sitting up, rubbing their eyes. Even before the wagon came to a stop the dogs had jumped into the back, tails thumping, tongues licking as they greeted their family.

“You can all get out here,” Matt called, “except for Aaron. He and I will get this carcass into the barn and gut it before we go to sleep.”

“Yes, sir.” Though the boy had been sound asleep just minutes before, he helped Izzy down, then climbed up and took the space beside his father.

Izzy watched the silhouette of man and boy as the wagon rolled toward the barn. When it disappeared inside, she turned and followed the others into the cabin.

Benjamin, half-asleep, was busy getting a fire started. Clement struck a match to the wick of a lantern and set it on the table. Del raced around collecting her precious chickens and shooing them out to the barn. When their chores were completed, the three children climbed the ladder to their sleeping loft.

“Good night, Isabella,” they called.

“Good night.” Izzy stepped gingerly around the chicken droppings and made her way to the fire, where she stood shivering. It wasn’t the chill of the cabin that had put this ice in her veins, she realized. It was knowing what was to come.

She’d known, of course. When she’d answered the letter. When she’d pulled up stakes and headed across the country. When she’d set foot on this mountain. She wasn’t addled. She knew what a man expected of a wife. And she was fairly certain she could comply. It’s just that it was so…unappealing to her. No, that wasn’t the word. It was frightening. Terrifying. Sickening. Loathsome. But she would find a way to get through it, as she had found a way to get through so many other disgusting and painful things in her life.

She picked up the lantern and a basin of warm water and made her way to the bedroom, taking care to close the door. She set the basin on a small table and took no notice of the litter as she sank down on the edge of the bed and began to undress. As she had the previous night, she placed the knife under the pillow, then removed her gown and petticoats, her shoes and stockings and chemise. One by one she washed them in the basin and hung them on pegs to dry. Then she proceeded to wash herself.

She was shivering by the time she slipped the simple ivory night shift over her head. She carefully fastened the row of buttons that ran from throat to waist. In the bottom of her valise she found the hairbrush with the worn handle. Unpinning her hair, she began to brush until the tangles were smoothed. She set the brush on the dresser top, refusing to glance at her reflection in the cracked oval mirror. It wasn’t necessary. She knew what she looked like.

She’d been plain all her life. Plain and…invisible. At least for the most part. Of course, there were times when men had noticed her. But she had always dreaded those times even more. Because then she’d had to fight to hold on to the only thing no man had ever been able to take from her—her honor.

And now she was about to relinquish it willingly. Not for love. But for some feeble attempt to belong. She closed her eyes a moment, struggling against the tears that threatened. Then she straightened as she heard the cabin door open and close; heard muted voices as father and son bade good-night; heard the creak of the ladder as Aaron climbed to the loft She felt the hair at the back of her neck rise as the bedroom door opened and closed.

She turned to face Matt and felt a jolt to the midsection. His clothes, his hands, his arms to the elbows were covered with blood. It streaked his beard and was smeared down the front of his shirt.

“Sorry.” Seeing the way she was staring at him, he began to unbutton his shirt. “Gets pretty messy gutting a deer. I usually clean up in the barn, but there wasn’t any water in the bucket, and it was so late and so cold, I figured I’d just do it in here.”

“Yes. Of course.” She forced herself into action. “There’s a basin here. When you’ve finished washing, I’ll soak your clothes overnight. I should be able to get most of that blood out.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and nudged off his boots, then peeled away the bloody shirt Crossing to the basin, he began to scrub the blood from his hands and arms, his torso, his face.

While he washed, Izzy stood to one side watching. She couldn’t seem to look away. Never had she seen such a man. His skin was tanned and bronzed from his years in the sun. His body was lean and hard and muscled. With each movement the muscles of his back and shoulders bunched and tightened. At the sight of it, she gave an involuntary shiver.

He was so big. So strong. A man like that could be rough. Or cruel. She shivered again.

When he was finished washing, he lathered his face, picked up a straight razor and began to remove his beard.

Izzy watched in fascination, wondering what he would look like. With each stroke his features became more visible. Now the lower half of his face matched the thoughtful forehead, the dark, penetrating eyes. He had handsome, sculptured cheekbones. Wide, firm lips. A cleft in his chin. He looked so much younger. No more than perhaps thirty-five, she calculated. When she caught him watching her in the mirror, she blushed and turned away, busying herself with his discarded clothes.

Matt continued watching her while he finished shaving. He couldn’t quite figure Isabella out. There was an earthiness about her. In the way she’d laughed when they discussed the preacher. Some ladies might have been outraged by the display of drunkenness. But though she’d been shocked, she hadn’t seemed offended. And there was an innocence in her, as well. In her eyes, when she thought no one was looking. In the way she seemed to devour everything in sight, as though trying to take it all in at once.

She was a bit small for his taste. Too fragile looking. But she had beautiful eyes. It was the first thing he’d noticed about her. Eyes more green than blue. Unless she was angry. And then they took on an amber hue that was fascinating. Like storm clouds rolling over a summer sky.

Her hair defied description. He’d thought it to be brown, until the sunlight had touched it today. Then he had discovered rich red strands, and some the shade of honey. He liked her hair like that, long and loose and curling around that small, fair face.

He felt a purely male reaction to her, enjoying the contrast between the pristine gown buttoned clear to her throat and the spill of lush hair inviting him to touch. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad arrangement after all.

He rinsed off the lather and dried his face. When he turned, Izzy was just picking up the last of his clothes. As she carried them to the basin, he noticed her foot.

“You’re limping again. You’ve hurt yourself.”

“No.” Shocked, she stopped and turned to face him.

“You have. Give me those.” He crossed to her and tried to take the soiled clothes from her hands.

She hugged them to her like a shield. “That isn’t necessary.”

“It is. You’ll get blood all over your clean gown.” He yanked them free and dropped them into the basin of water.

When he turned, she was still standing where she’d been, holding her arms across her chest, looking like a bird about to fly.

“What’s wrong, Isabella?”

“Nothing.” She backed away. The movement only served to emphasize her limp.

“You have hurt yourself.” He stared down at her bare toes peeking from beneath the hem of her gown. “Don’t be afraid to tell me.”

“It’s…nothing. A little pain from the stubbed toe. It comes and goes.” She limped to the door. “I’ll get some lye soap to soak the blood out.”

In quick strides he crossed the room. Reaching over her head, he pressed a hand to the closed door. “Leave it. The clothes will keep until morning.”

She couldn’t bring herself to face him. With her back to him she said, “I could make some coffee.”

“No coffee. It’s too late. Let’s just go to bed.” He dropped a hand to her shoulder and she flinched as though he’d struck her.

She flinched? Sweet heaven, was she afraid of him?

At once he lifted his hand away. But in that one instant he’d determined that she was shivering. Violently.

“I realize I’m not like the men you probably knew in Pennsylvania.” His voice was low, the tone intentionally soothing. “Out here, so far from civilization, we sometimes forget about the things we once took for granted.”

When she didn’t move, he grew bolder and touched a hand to her hair. It was as soft as it looked. Thick and lush and inviting. He leaned close, breathing in the clean woman scent of her as his fingers closed around a silky strand.

Though she was standing very still, she couldn’t hide her reaction. Tremors ripped through her, leaving her quaking.

He withdrew his hand, curling it into a fist at his side. “Get into bed.” His tone was rougher than he’d intended.

“What?” She looked up, confused by his abrupt command.

“I said go to bed. You’re freezing.”

“No, I…”

“Now, Isabella.”

Seeing the look in his eyes, she limped across the room and climbed under the blankets.

He waited until she had carefully tucked the blankets around her, leaving only her face exposed. A face that seemed as pale as the bed linens. And eyes big and round with fear, watching him warily.

What was going on here? She was more than afraid. She was terrified. Of him. Or of…

It struck him like a bolt of lightning. Of course. She was afraid of what they were about to share.

He swallowed back his disappointment. He had been so long without a woman, and he’d thought, hoped, that the drought would end tonight. But he could wait another night.

She was bound to be exhausted from all her travels. And the truth was, he was weary, as well.

He crossed to the dresser and blew out the lantern. In the darkness he made his way to the bed and climbed in beside her.

Izzy lay, stiff and frozen, steeling herself against his touch. He’d seemed so angry. She would probably have to get used to his many moods. When he was angry like this, would he be cruel? After such a long time without a woman, would he use her like a brute?

After long, agonizing minutes, she chanced a glance at the figure next to her. He was lying on his side, facing away from her. His breathing was slow and deep.

As she listened, she realized that he was asleep.

It was her wedding night, and her new husband was asleep beside her.

She nearly wept with relief. She had escaped, at least for one more night, the thing she most feared. And if she had to deal with it tomorrow night, well, that was for tomorrow.

For several minutes she watched the man beside her. Watched his chest rise and fall with each measured breath. Studied the broad shoulders, corded with muscles.

Now that she had a moment to think, she had to admit that his touch had been unexpectedly gentle. She was truly ashamed of her reaction. But she’d been expecting something vastly different. By the time it had registered in her brain, it was too late. The damage had been done. She’d stood there, quaking like a leaf.

Oh, what must he think of her? There was no way she could possibly explain. The thought of speaking about something so intimate was too shocking to imagine.

She studied the dark hair that reached almost to his back. She even lifted a hand to touch it as he had touched hers. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead she lowered her hand and closed her eyes. And, like the man beside her, fell into an exhausted sleep.

Chapter Five

“Sweet salvation.”

Izzy awoke with a start. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, then glanced quickly toward the other side of the bed. It was empty. She’d been so sound asleep she hadn’t even heard Matthew moving around the room.

His bloody clothes were still soaking in the basin. But his boots and jacket were missing from the floor.

Without bothering to wash, she pulled on her clothes and shoes and hurried out of the bedroom.

The cabin was empty. There was a fire burning, and dirty dishes littered the table.

She draped a shawl around her shoulders and went in search of the others. The sound of voices led her some distance behind the barn.

The first thing she spotted was Del, staring up a tree. Benjamin, high above her, was inching his way slowly along a branch, holding a smoking torch in his hand. Just above him was a beehive. Swarming around his head were dozens of bees.

“Benjamin.” Izzy’s voice was choked with fear. “Look out. You’re going to get stung.”

“I guess he’s been stung a hundred times or more.” Del’s voice rang with pride. “But it’s the only way he knows to get their honey.”

As Izzy watched in amazement, the boy held the torch near the hive. After a few minutes the activity around it seemed to slow down, as the bees were overcome by the smoke. In one quick motion Benjamin reached into the hive. When he withdrew his arm, it was black with bees. He merely brushed them off as he shinnied down the tree. Once on the ground he held out his prize, which he broke into pieces to share with the others.

“Here, Del.” He gave the biggest piece to his little sister.

“This is for you, Isabella.”

She accepted the sweet treat and smiled as she licked the honey from the comb. “If you find more, I’ll be happy to use them for a special dessert.”

“There’s plenty more.” Benjamin pointed to the trees that towered over them. “I know of a dozen or more hives right around here.”

“He brings me honey whenever I get hungry,” Del said proudly.

Izzy studied the boy with new respect.

Then, feeling she owed the children an apology, she said, “I’m sorry I slept so late. My journey must have left me more weary than I realized.”

“It’s all right.” Del gave her a smile that was sweeter than the honey that dripped from her lips. “Pa said to let you sleep as long as you wanted.”

Izzy glanced around. “Where is your father?”

Benjamin nodded in the direction of the mountain. “Pa and Aaron went up into the hills to track a herd of mustangs.”

“What for?”

“That’s how Pa earns his living. By taming wild horses to saddle for the army.”

“I thought he was a rancher.”

Benjamin mopped his brow with his sleeve. “That’s what Pa wants to be. But right now, until our herd is big enough, he has to do something else to pay the bills.”

“Isn’t it dangerous, chasing after wild horses?”

Brother and sister shared a knowing smile.

“It isn’t the chasing that’s dangerous,” Benjamin said. “It’s breaking them to saddle. Pa’s been thrown off a horse so many times, it’s a wonder he can still walk.”

Izzy felt her heart lurch at the image. “Will he and Aaron be back for supper?”

The boy shrugged and returned his attention to the honeycomb. “We never know. Sometimes they’re home in a day. Sometimes, when they find the tracks of mustangs, they follow them for days or weeks.”

“Weeks?” Perhaps she had won a reprieve. It could be weeks before she would have to deal with her private fears. Suddenly another thought intruded. “But what about you children? Do you mean you’re left alone for weeks at a time?”

“Yes’m.” Benjamin seemed surprised by the question. “It doesn’t matter. We just go about our chores, the same as always.”

“But what if you should have a need of your father or older brother?”

“What for?” the boy asked innocently.

Izzy’s mind raced. “I don’t know. An accident, for instance.”

“One of us would head up into the hills for Pa. And the other would go to town for the doc.” Benjamin pointed to the rifle resting against the trunk of a nearby tree. “Pa taught us how to handle a gun as soon as we were old enough to hold it. And he taught us a signal to use in case of any kind of trouble. Three shots, one after the other, would bring him and Aaron running.”

“Well, that’s certainly comforting. If he’s close enough to hear.” She felt sick at heart thinking about these children, who were apparently raising themselves.

Just then she glanced up to see Clement emerging from the woods. Over his shoulder he carried a fistful of pelts. “Have you been trapping, Clement?”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.