“Your brother wants me to stay and find out who’s behind your trouble,” Gideon said.

Ivy could figure that out for herself, but she knew her brother wanted to protect her, whether she liked the idea or not. “I’m not being threatened. Just my animals.”

“Even so, I’ll be stayin’, ma’am.” He took a step toward her, his features stony, forbidding in the amber light.

Ivy had done just fine on her own since Tom’s death, and she didn’t need a man around. She licked her lips, ignoring the way her visitor’s gaze went to her mouth. “Nothing has happened since I sent the wire.”

“But you’re spooked. You thought I was here to harm you.”

“Maybe I overreacted.”

“You said your horse was dead, ma’am.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a message of some kind.”

She agreed, but the thought of him staying rattled her.

“It can’t hurt to have another person here,” he said.

While that was true, he wasn’t just another person. The idea of his being so close made her shiver, and if she were honest part of that was due to excitement, not dread.

AUTHOR NOTE

Gideon Black and Ivy Jennings Powell were first introduced in my short story ONCE UPON A FRONTIER CHRISTMAS (part of the All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas anthology). From the moment Ivy held Gideon at gunpoint in her brother’s barn sparks flew between them.

After a marriage gone bad, Ivy has sworn never to trust another man. Gideon has his own misgivings about females, stemming from the time he served in prison as the result of a woman’s lies. When a series of escalating threats spooks Ivy into asking for help from her convalescing brother he sends Gideon.

Now this distrusting pair will have to rely on each other in order to determine who is trying to harm Ivy. But as the danger grows so do their feelings, and their relationship becomes something neither expects. Something neither of them wants.

One of the things I love most about writing historical romance is my research into the past, but sometimes getting even a kernel of information about a subject can be like pulling teeth. This was the case when I tried to find out specifically the date screened doors came into use. After much digging I found information that said wire screening was available in the US in the 1870s. There was no specific year given, so I took the liberty of having screened doors at my heroine’s house.

I hope you enjoy Gideon and Ivy’s story!

Happy trails.

The Cowboy’s

Reluctant Bride

Debra Cowan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Like many writers, DEBRA COWAN made up stories in her head as a child. Her BA in English was obtained with the intention of following family tradition and becoming a schoolteacher, but after she wrote her first novel there was no looking back. An avid history buff, Debra writes both historical and contemporary romances. Visit her website at: www.debracowan.net

In memory of my grandmother, Lottie Warren, who passed on her love of reading to me.

Contents

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 One

Indian Territory, 1873

The next person who set foot on her property would meet the bad end of a bullet. Tightening her grip on the pistol, Ivy Jennings Powell paced from one side of her large front room to the other. She had been waiting, watching since she’d found one of her horses dead three days ago.

Lightning cracked the March air like a whip. Thunder rumbled. Outside her snug frame home that served as a stage stop, the storm howled.

When lightning struck again, it illuminated the massive oaks and pines swaying in the wind. After a short drumroll of thunder, the weather calmed somewhat. A steady rain drove against her roof and the rush of the wind quieted, though she could still hear the lashing of trees. A thud sounded on her front porch and her gaze shot to the window, its isinglass shade pulled down. She tried to identify the noise. An animal?

If so, it wasn’t one of hers. They were all shut up tight in the barn or the chicken coop. From the center of the long table against the opposite wall, a lamp spread soft amber light through the room.

Since the death of her husband a year and a half ago, Ivy had been alone in this southeastern corner of Indian Territory. She and the neighbors scattered miles apart lived just over the border from Texas and Arkansas.

A movement at the window had her going still in the middle of the room. Was that indistinct shape the silhouette of a man? After the past three and a half months, Ivy half expected it. She had wired her brother, Smith, about her troubles, but he hadn’t replied yet, and she didn’t think he would arrive unannounced. His home, Mimosa Springs, was a two-day ride west.

Today’s stagecoach and its passengers had come and gone. The Choctaw people who lived around her were a peaceful lot, and there had never been any trouble between them and whites.

The doorknob rattled, and Ivy’s mouth went dry. Even so, she marched to the locked door and yelled, “Who’s there?”

A muffled masculine voice answered. With the crashing of the storm, Ivy couldn’t understand a word.

Thumbing down the hammer on her revolver, she unlatched the door. Before she could swing it open, the wind nearly jerked it out of her hand. She aimed her gun at the visitor, barely aware of the door slamming against the wall.

A giant of a man stood there, hands in the air. In the wind-whipped shadows, she could see only the impression of a hard jaw and glittering eyes beneath the hat pulled low on his head.

Lightning slashed across the sky of churning gunmetal clouds, illuminating a scar on the man’s neck.

“Are you going to pull a gun on me every time we meet up?”

Ivy tensed. She knew that voice. It was deep and gravelly and put a flutter in her stomach. Just like it had the first time she’d seen him in her brother’s barn three months ago. That meeting had been at gunpoint, too.

The man towered over her, water dribbling from the brim of his hat onto the porch. The clouds moved, and she peered through the shadows. “Gideon Black?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He slowly lowered his hands.

“What are you doing here?”

“Smith sent me.” He had done prison time with Ivy’s brother. And after his release, he had accepted Smith’s offer of work and arrived at the Diamond J just before Christmas. Ivy had met him when she returned home after learning her presumed-dead brother was alive and back in Mimosa Springs.

Gideon Black had sparked an unwelcome response in her back then. He still did.

The rain ebbed to a steady shower, though the wind still tangled her skirts around her legs. He had to be soaked to the bone. Releasing the hammer, she stepped back so he could enter. “Come inside.”

“Miz Powell, I’ve been riding for two days and I ain’t—” He stopped, then started again. “I haven’t washed up.”

“I’d say you just had a pretty good washing,” she said wryly, pushing some loose strands of hair out of her face. “I’ll get some toweling.”

She was halfway across the front room before she realized Gideon Black hadn’t followed her inside. She turned, noticing that his frame took up the entire doorway. Hat in hand, he frowned down at his mud-caked boots with a helpless look on his face. Was he worried about making a mess?

“Mr. Black, it’s all right.”

His gaze flicked over her. For a brief moment, his expression was...hungry. Then his features were unreadable.

She gave an encouraging smile. “Come in. The mud will dry, and when it does, I’ll sweep it up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He finally stepped inside.

She went to the spare room reserved for stage passengers to rest or wash up. Why hadn’t Smith come? Or their father? At Christmas, her brother had demanded that Ivy notify him if the anonymous poems and drawings she’d been receiving became suspicious or more frequent. They had. They had also turned threatening. At least to her way of thinking. Other things had happened, too. One of the horses had been killed, and her dog was missing.

From the wardrobe, she grabbed several towels, returning to find that Gideon had removed his poncho. He leaned against the door frame, taking off his boots. He put them upside down on the boot tree, just inside the door.

Something about this big man in his stocking feet put a funny ache in her chest.

He shook the rain off his hat then backed inside and shut the door. His shoulders were as wide as a wagon brace. He hung his hat on a peg near the door.

Ivy’s gaze trailed over him. Short dark hair sleeked against his head, a few strands curling against his bronzed nape. His shirt was damp and the fabric clung to his muscular back and arms, revealing clearly defined shoulders and biceps. Buff-colored trousers molded a tight backside and powerful thighs. The pants were mostly dry, probably coated with tallow for weather like this.

He turned to face her, and her gaze snapped to his and held. There was a heat in his blue eyes that burned right through her.

Then his attention shifted, moving down her body.

She tensed. What was he looking at?

“Miz Powell, do you think you could put that Colt down?”

“Oh. Yes.” She wished he wouldn’t call her by her married name. She slid the gun into her skirt pocket.

She handed over two towels because of his size. He stayed near the door, rubbing his hair and face with the cloth. Biceps knotted at the motion, hinting at a raw, leashed power. She’d forgotten just how big he was.

With her own towel, she patted at her damp hair. She’d forgotten about his scars, too. The whisker stubble couldn’t hide the long, thin mark that ran along his left jawline or the thicker one that appeared to completely circle his strong, corded neck. She wondered if he had others.

When they had first met, she had noticed the scars right off, but they weren’t what held her attention. It was his eyes. A clear piercing blue. And hard. He had a hard mouth, too. The man appeared to be hard all over. A flush warmed her cheeks.

The storm settled into a steady rain, pinging against the side windows. The damp heat of their bodies filled the room. She caught a heady draft of man and leather. Gideon’s broad chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm, but Ivy’s pulse was still haywire.

Through his near-transparent shirt, she could see the dark hair on his chest, the way it veed down the center of his abdomen. Suddenly, she was aware of her breathing. And his. It was unnerving. Unwelcome.

She frowned as he reached into his back pocket and took out a square of leather.

He opened the pouch and withdrew a piece of paper, holding it out to her. “From your brother.”

She took it, trying to ignore the jolt that traveled up her arm when their fingers brushed. A muscle flexed hard in his jaw.

The paper was dry, and she realized the pouch was deer hide. She quickly scanned the note. “This is the wire I sent to Smith after finding my horse dead.”

“Yes. I brought it so you’d know he really sent me.”

The thought that he would lie had never crossed her mind, but it should have. Ivy knew better than anyone that people lied.

Her heart rate finally leveled out. “So my brother isn’t coming.”

“No, ma’am.” Gideon frowned. “Didn’t he say so when he wired you back?”

“I haven’t gotten anything from him.”

“He sent you a telegram. I was there when he did.”

The missing telegram was just the latest in a sequence of odd happenings. In the past three months, a telegraph office, a hotel and a lumber mill had opened in her growing town. “I’ll check with the telegraph office the next time I’m in Paladin or ask the stage driver when he returns. He might know what happened to it.”

Refolding the paper, she handed it back to Gideon, mindful not to touch him this time.

He seemed to move just as carefully. “When Smith found out about the horse, he wanted to come, but he couldn’t.”

“Because of spring calving?”

“Partly.” Gideon returned the message to his leather pouch and slid it into his back pocket. “And he just had surgery on his leg. He isn’t getting around too well yet.”

“Surgery?”

“Doc Miller reset his leg. He straightened it out some.”

While in prison, Smith’s leg had been badly broken in several places. Ivy was glad to hear her brother might be getting some relief from the pain he endured daily. She understood about her brother, but it wasn’t like Emmett Jennings to stay behind. “What about my father?”

“He wanted to come.”

Alarm flickered. “He’s not ill?”

“No, ma’am, but he is getting up in years. Smith feels your pa’s reflexes aren’t what they used to be. His hearing is going, too.”

From her trip home at Christmas, Ivy knew that to be true.

The large man in front of her shifted from one foot to the other. “Smith doesn’t feel either of them are able-bodied enough to protect you.”

Judging by the deepness of Gideon’s chest and the ridges of muscle that corded his abdomen, her visitor looked able-bodied enough for all kinds of things. She wondered if his arms were as steely and strong as they looked.

Irritated at herself for noticing so much about him, she cleared her throat.

“Knowing my brother, I don’t imagine he sent you all this way just to tell me something he could’ve put in a wire.”

“No, ma’am. He wants me to stay and find out who’s behind your trouble.”

She could figure that out for herself, but she knew her brother wanted to protect her, whether she liked the idea or not. “I’m not being threatened. Just my animals.”

“Even so, I’ll be stayin’, ma’am.” He took a step toward her, his features stony, forbidding in the amber light. “Till your brother says different.”

Ivy had done just fine on her own since Tom’s death, and she didn’t need a man around. She’d only sent word to Smith about this latest incident because she had promised she would.

She licked her lips, ignoring the way her visitor’s gaze went to her mouth. “Nothing has happened since I sent the wire.”

“But you’re spooked.”

“Not really.”

His eyes narrowed. “You thought I was here to harm you.”

“Maybe I overreacted.”

“You said your horse was dead, ma’am.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a message of some kind.”

She agreed, but the thought of him staying rattled her.

“It can’t hurt to have another person here,” he said.

While that was true, he wasn’t just another person. The idea of his being so close made her shiver, and if she were honest, part of that was due to excitement, not dread.

She needed some space from him right now.

“You’d probably like to change out of that wet shirt. And I’m sure you’d like to get some rest.”

He studied her as if trying to determine if she were attempting to get rid of him. Which she was.

He nodded. “In the morning, you can tell me everything that’s happened.”

She could protest, or she could graciously accept the protection her brother had sent. “All right. You can stay in one of the guest rooms.”

“The barn will be better. That way, I’ll be in a good position to see or hear anything suspicious.”

She hoped relief didn’t show on her face. “There’s a bunk out there, and the roof is sound. Let me get you some bedding.”

A few moments later, she returned with a sheet and quilt. It was likely cool outside now. He could use whichever covering he wanted.

As badly as Ivy wanted him to go on, her mother had drummed manners into her. “Have you eaten supper?”

“Your ma sent plenty of food along with me.”

“That’s good. Breakfast will be at six, dinner at noon and supper at six.”

“Are you expecting the stage?”

“It came today. It won’t be back for a few days.”

He nodded, then after an awkward pause, turned for the door. “Good night, Miz Powell—”

“Please!” she burst out. “Just...call me Ivy.”

“All right,” he said slowly, a curious look on his face.

Well, he could wonder all he liked. “Thank you.”

Who knew how long he would stay? The man was clearly doggedly loyal to Smith.

Gideon stopped to tug on his boots.

She opened the door, glad to see the rain had let up a bit. “I know you saved Smith’s life and I know he’s grateful, as am I. But why do you feel you owe him so much?”

“He gave me a chance.” Boots on, he straightened, his voice raspy. “A lot of folks wouldn’t.”

“Still, he’s asking a lot of you. A two-day ride for an unknown length of time.” She gave a light laugh. “You’re going to be very busy helping your friends if you have a lot of them.”

“I don’t.”

The hollowness in his blue eyes told her he wasn’t being flippant. She felt a sharp tug on her heart.

He paused in the doorway, looking down at her with an inscrutable expression. “I won’t cause you any extra work and I’ll help around here with whatever you need, but I ain’t—” He broke off, looking self-conscious. “I’m not leaving, either.”

“As long as you’re here, no liquor. I don’t hold with drinking.”

“That won’t be a problem, Miz Pow— Ma’am.”

She barely had time to nod before he put his hat on his head then jogged toward the barn. She stared through the haze of rain until he opened the door and drew his big black horse inside. Lifting a hand toward her, he shut them both inside.

Ivy closed the door, her chest tight, her nerves tingling.

Her visitor wasn’t bent on harming her or her animals, but he made her feel things she hadn’t wanted to ever feel again. Man-woman things.

She would figure out who was causing problems on her farm. The sooner she did, the sooner she could send Gideon Black packing.

* * *

She didn’t want him here. Not that it seemed to matter much to his brain.

Gideon couldn’t get the woman out of his head. Just like the first time he’d met Ivy Powell, the sight of her last night had put a hitch in his breathing. And again this morning.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her features were strong yet undeniably feminine. A stubborn jaw set off by a pair of plump pink lips, delicate winged eyebrows over shrewd midnight eyes. Lush breasts, gently flared hips.

He’d woken up hard and hurting, and he didn’t want to spend another night like that. Hell, he didn’t want to spend another night here period, but he had promised to find out what, if anything, was going on. The sooner he did that, the sooner he could get back to the Diamond J.

No thunderclouds in sight today. It was bright and sunny. After a breakfast of ham and the best biscuits he’d ever had, Gideon helped Ivy with the chores—milking the cows, gathering the eggs, checking the shoes on her herd of horses.

Now he stood beside her in what had been her husband’s office. The room with its front-facing window easily accommodated a standing desk and leather chair as well as a waist-high cabinet holding a lamp.

The back of the desk was raised with a set of pigeonholes across its top for filing. The lower part of the desk had drawers down both sides and one in the middle, which Ivy opened.

Her pale blue skirts brushed against his leg. Sunlight streamed in from the window behind them, gilding her raven-dark hair. Again, she wore a single braid, which revealed her elegant neck. And there was no escaping her soft magnolia scent, potent enough to knot his gut. Her skin was as fine-grained as satin. Gideon bet it felt like satin, too. Her lashes and eyes were as dark as her hair, setting off her refined features. And her mouth...

Beside him, she shifted, jerking his attention to the paper in her hand.

“Here’s the last one.” She handed him a drawing similar to several she’d already shown him.

Blood humming, he took the paper. This illustration of her house and farm was even more detailed than the others. The first sketches left on her porch had shown the property from the front in broad charcoal strokes—the trees around the sprawling white frame house, the edge of a long chicken coop that ran parallel to the east side of the structure, the corral and barn on the west side.

In each successive drawing, the view moved closer to the house. The likeness grew more detailed. The etchings had progressed from pleasing to almost...obsessive.

In this latest one, Ivy’s bedroom was shown in stark detail from the large bed near the window to the half-open wardrobe that revealed a few dresses down to the star pattern of the quilt on her bed.

“Is this an accurate picture of your bedroom?”

“Yes, right down to the quilt,” she answered tersely.

Gideon wondered how long the “artist” had been at her window. Had Ivy been in her room at the time? Anger flared that someone had gotten so close to her private space.

Beside him, she drew in a shaky breath. “What do you think?”

Her bedroom was located on the west side of the house, which gave Gideon pause. Why the change from the front view? “Do you know anyone who draws this well?”

“No.” She looked surprised. “It never crossed my mind to wonder. Do you think someone I know is doing this?”

“Could be.” The worried expression on her face bothered him, but there was no help for it. “What else has happened?”

“My chickens are disappearing.”

“That could be due to coyotes or wolves.”

“Yes, but if an animal were responsible, I think I would’ve found at least a feather or some blood in the henhouse. There’s been nothing.”

“You think a person took your birds?”

“It’s possible.” Her mouth tightened. “I wish I knew what this person wanted.”

Gideon turned around to look out the window across the grass of her yard to the red mud and puddles of the road beyond. “Have you thought about getting a dog?”

“I had one. Tug.” Ivy eased up beside him, bringing that damn scent with her, causing his nerves to twang. “He disappeared a couple of days ago.”

Needing to escape the barely there touch of her body against his, he stepped toward the door. “Let’s walk.”

He waited for her to precede him, then followed her through the front room and outside. They moved down the porch steps, angled toward the barn. Her braid hung to the middle of her back, drawing his eye to her small frame, the sharp tuck of her waist before her hips flared slightly.

Coming up beside her, he took in the corral and barn. The fence that ran around the property could use a fresh coat of whitewash, but everything was in good shape.

Gideon moved toward the back of the barn, shortening his stride so Ivy could keep up. “Is it possible your dog ran off?”

“I don’t think so. Tug roams during the day, but always returns at night.”

“Maybe he found a lady friend.”

“Maybe, but even if so, something else has happened or he would’ve come back.”

White clouds floated against a pale blue sky. As they reached the barn, red mud squished around Gideon’s boots. Ivy picked up her skirts and tiptoed through the muck. A bit of petticoat flashed beneath the hem of her practical blue day dress.

Shifting his gaze from her, he studied the fence that ran from the side of the house and around back to encompass the outbuildings. He spotted a couple of rotten wood slats, but no other signs of disrepair.

Beyond the back fence, several Holsteins milled about, grazing on alfalfa. Gideon had already seen the black-and-white-spotted animals this morning.

He and Ivy stepped through the back door of the barn and moved inside. The door at the other end was also open, and a fresh breeze blew through the sturdy watertight structure. Oats and bits of hay scattered across the dirt floor. The odors of animal flesh and earth hung on the air.

Gideon had been here earlier checking the horses’ shoes. “Where’s the horse you found?”

“I towed him to a gully using another horse.”

“Could you show me?”

She led him past the house and through the back gate around the cows. Alfalfa blanketed the field in green as far as he could see. As they walked down a slight hill, he spied the glitter of a fast-running creek cutting through a grove of pecan trees. Beyond was a line of thick timber, just like the woods in front of Ivy’s house that ran along the road that was part of the old military trace between Fort Towson and Fort Jesup in Louisiana.

Someday, he was going to have a place like this.

Realizing he’d quickened his pace, Gideon slowed, waiting for Ivy. She reached him, breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. He had a sudden image of other things that might make her breathe hard against him.

Inhaling her scent mixed with spring air, his gaze involuntarily went to her mouth. He wanted to know how she tasted and... He bit back a curse.

He hadn’t had a woman since he’d gotten out of prison. A visit was long overdue.

He didn’t understand this fascination with Ivy, this infernal awareness. Yes, she was beautiful, but his experience with another one like her had cost him five years of his life. Then, as now, he’d been trying to protect a woman, and it had left marks.

Deep, soul-scarring marks. He had no intention of getting more.

He glanced away from the rapid flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. Reminding himself that he was there for her brother, he asked, “Do you own this land?”

“Yes.”

Gideon knew Tom Powell had died about a year and a half ago. “What about your late husband?”

“What about him?” She cut him a sharp look.

“Smith said he was killed when he was thrown from a wagon.”

She nodded, lips pressed tightly together. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“How do you get along with his family?”

“Fine, though I rarely see them. Tom’s grandmother is his only living relative. She’s in Chicago. Why?”

“Just trying to figure out if anyone would want your business.”

She shook her head. “She has no interest in that or in living here.”

“I’m also trying to decide if anyone has a grudge against you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about suitors?”

She stopped, staring blankly at him for a moment. Then a look of horror crossed her features. “No one is courting me! No one is even interested.”

Gideon found that hard to believe. “Did your husband leave any debts unsettled?”

“No.” She shifted her gaze to the pasture.

Several yards away, Gideon saw a gully, its red mud walls carved out of the pasture’s earth. Overhead, ravens circled with a raucous call.

Beside him, Ivy muttered something under her breath, wrestling with her blue skirts now damp from the wet grass.

Gideon slowed. “How does your arrangement with the stage line work?”

“The mayor of Paladin has a contract with them, and he sublets the farm from me to use as a stage stop. He pays me a monthly stipend for the food I provide the passengers and for the horses I board for the stage line.”

“Does the stage change teams every time it stops?”

“Usually, not always.”

“How many of those horses in your corral belong to them?”

“Ten. The other three are mine.”

Her answers were short, brisk. Because she didn’t like that he was asking questions? Or because she could sense how she affected him?

Beneath the scents of grass and earth, he caught her musky floral fragrance, and it pulled his muscles taut. He put a little space between them. “Do you have any passengers who come through regularly?”

“A couple.”

“Have any of them ever made threats? Been unhappy with anything?”

“No.”

She lived out here alone. She’d received the poems and drawings. Her dog was gone, some of her chickens had disappeared and she’d found a dead horse, which he had yet to see. All those things had spooked her enough to prompt the wire to her brother.

They reached the edge of the gully, which looked to be six to seven feet deep. A sour, overwhelming stench reached them, and Gideon pulled his bandanna over his nose, noticing that Ivy pressed a handkerchief over hers.

The horse lay at the bottom in several inches of muddy water. The animal was stiff, its brownish-red hide chewed from neck to rump. The black tips on its ears, mane and tail identified it as a bay.

Beside him, Ivy made a soft, distressed noise, but when he glanced over, she was composed, calm, albeit pale.

“Wait here,” he said. “I want to take a closer look.”

She nodded, staying where she was as he carefully maneuvered his way down the slippery mud walls. Birds and other varmints had picked away at the horse’s flesh.

Gideon could see now that the bay was a gelding. There were no broken legs, no broken bones anywhere that he could find. After thoroughly examining the animal, he returned to study its chest. The long gash from the base of the bay’s neck to the top of his chest looked to have been caused by a knife. A large knife.

He made his way back up the slick slope, struggling to keep his footing a few times. Finally, he stood beside her, the knees of his trousers covered with red mud. He took off his hat and drew his arm across his sweat-dampened forehead.

Feeling her gaze on him, he glanced over.

She shifted her attention to the dead horse. “Who could do something like this? And why?”

“I don’t know.”

She exhaled heavily, clearly vexed.

“What will happen when the stage line finds out about their dead animal?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s possible they won’t trust me with other animals or even their business.”

“There was nothing in the contract about things like this?”

“My husband signed it, and I’ve never read the whole thing,” she said tiredly. “It’s somewhere in his desk. I’ll look for it when we return to the house.”

He nodded. “And your missing chickens? Does that significantly affect the meals you offer?”

“Yes.”

Staring at the horse, he thumbed his hat back. “Considering the chickens and the bay, this could be directed at your business. It makes you look bad to the stage line and to the mayor who subcontracted you.”

“What about Tug? And the drawings, the poems? Those seem personal, not business.”

True. “You say no one has a grudge against you. Maybe you have something they want.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “Your contract with the stage line?”

“No one else around here spoke up when the mayor asked who was interested in contracting with him for the job.”

“Maybe someone wants your land?”

“That makes no sense. I’ve worked hard to make this a nice place, but it isn’t sitting on top of a gold mine. And no one’s approached me about buying.”

Something was going on. Gideon just wasn’t sure how threatening it was. Except for the drawing of her bedroom. That weighed on him.

Turning in a slow circle, he examined every angle from the house. Only the barn roof could be seen from here. His gaze slowly swept the line of fence, the lush alfalfa rippling across the pasture. He paused at the thick line of trees running along the back of her place.

After a moment, he realized what bothered him. “I’d like to take a look at the woods in front of your house.”

“All right.”

Retracing their steps, they reached her house several minutes later then cut across the wet yard and out the gate to the road.

She hurried along beside him, her cheeks flushed. “Why are you interested in the woods?”

“None of those drawings showed the rear view of your property.”

Realization flashed across her face. “Except for the one of my bedroom, they were all from the woods bordering the road.”

“Yes, and there might be some sign that someone’s been lying in wait.”

“You mean spying on me then vandalizing my place?”

He nodded.

“They’re watching me?” She sounded more angry than alarmed.

He sneaked a look at her indignant features. If someone were hanging around, heaven help them. The woman had already held him at gunpoint twice for no other reason than just showing up.

They crossed the muddy road onto the soggy grass and reached the edge of the south woods.

“Has the railroad ever talked about coming through here?” he asked.

“Oh, they’ve been talking about it for years, but it hasn’t happened. Besides, if there were plans for a railroad, everybody would be chattering about it.”

She had a point.

As he reached the edge of the trees, she caught up to him.

“Do you really think you’ll find anything in there?”

“I don’t know.” He was checking anyway. He’d promised Smith.

“The rain will have washed away any footprints,” Ivy said.

“True, but there might be other signs that someone has been around.”

“Like what?”

“The remains of a fire, maybe, or a shelter or something.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’m coming, too.”

When he hesitated, she said, “Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

“Okay.” He led the way into the dark denseness. Thick branches still dripped with rain, and wet pine needles slid beneath his feet.

After several minutes of walking through the damp air, Gideon had found no sign of anything except rain. He wanted to find the spot that would give him the view shown in those drawings.

Looking over his shoulder, he could see daylight through the wall of trees at his back. “What’s beyond here?”

“More pasture.”

He watched as she began walking into the wooded area that faced her house. Ahead of her, between the trees and bushes, he saw a wedge of light.

He followed. At times he would see her white frame home, then it would vanish as if the branches closed up. A trick of the shadows, he realized.

As he came within a foot of Ivy, he could clearly see her house through two stubby pines. Without warning, she stopped cold. To keep from running her over, he clamped his hands on her waist. She jumped, unbalancing them both for a second. He steadied them then released her.

“Look,” she breathed, pointing at something in front of her.

He dragged his attention from the taut curve of her waist and followed her gaze to the patch of ground she indicated.

Sunlight filtered through the thickness of the trees, falling on a blackened pile of sticks. Gideon stepped around her and knelt over the remains of a campfire.

“Someone’s been here.” He touched the soggy wood. Because of all the rain, he couldn’t tell how recently.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” She moved closer, her skirts brushing his arm.

He stood. “If it’s the person causing trouble, yes.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, looking at the forest surrounding them. “Do you think someone is here right now?” she asked in a low voice.

He glanced down, seeing a flare of alarm in her eyes. She hid it well, but she was worried. He wanted to reassure her, which made him snort. He was hardly made for that.

Still, he tried. “It’s so quiet that I think we would hear if anyone else was nearby, and I haven’t heard anything.”

She nodded, but her gaze darted around.

He focused again on the slant of light through the trees and stepped to the left, completely concealed behind a thick pine. From here, he could see Ivy’s house clearly. Everything, including the barn, the corral, the road leading to her home. Just like the drawings.

It was a perfect spot to observe the farm and matched the view of the illustrations.

Nerves taut with the same instinct that had kept him alive in prison, Gideon studied the ground then bent to pick up a broken pine branch. With his boot, he cleared a spot on the soft ground then laid the branch next to the tree where they stood.

“What are you doing?”

“If someone does come back, they’ll likely build a fire here again.” He anchored the wood on either end with small rocks. “Not only because it’s a perfect place to watch your house, but also because I doubt they’ll risk marking another spot.”

He checked the other side of the tree, pleased to discover the Powell farm wasn’t visible from there. “When they get in place, they’ll break the twig.”

“That’s smart,” she murmured, “but an animal could break it.”

“Yeah, but if a person does it, there will be some other sign of that. A boot print, marks on the tree maybe.”

“That means you’re going to have to check here every day.”

“Right.”

“We can take turns.”

“I’ll do it.”

“I can help.”

“Miss Ivy, your brother sent me here to do this job.”

“I’m helping,” she said baldly.

She might look softer than velvet and be a whole lot prettier than Smith, but she probably had every bit as much grit as her brother. And she might need it.

The dead horse and the campfire remains proved someone had been here. To frighten Ivy? Or for something worse?

Gideon had to find out. Which meant he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how badly Ivy might want him to.

Chapter Two

Gideon Black’s face had gone from blank to grim upon seeing the remains of that campfire.

By the time they sat down to lunch, Ivy was impressed with the man, though she didn’t want to be. For whatever reason, she hadn’t thought to look in the woods for signs of the person causing her trouble.

Maybe because she was so tired. She’d barely slept last night for replaying the night of Tom’s death over and over. She’d managed to stop the memory, but not the guilt. As a result, she had slept poorly, and she couldn’t blame that on her guest.

Gideon gestured to the platter of ham and corn bread. “This is good.”

“Thank you.” Sitting across from him, her skin felt prickly.

And hot.

The man was the size of a mountain. He dominated the space, making even the table that could seat ten people look small. His face, rugged and strong, was weathered by the sun and life. Grooves cut on either side of his mouth hinted that he must’ve smiled a lot at one time. She’d seen no evidence of it.

Using the cloth napkin she’d laid next to his plate, he wiped his lips then took a sip of coffee. “When does your contract with the mayor end?”

So he was still trying to figure out why someone might want to cause trouble for her. “In a year.”

“Is there anyone who might want that?”

“Not to my knowledge.” She sighed. “The mayor will have to be told about the horse. I’ll need to drive into Paladin.”

“I’ll go with you.”

The thought of riding all that way in the wagon with him made her skittish. “It’s not necessary.”

“Still, I’ll go.”

Her own food sat untouched as he forked open another piece of corn bread and spread it with honey. Why had Gideon been in prison? Maybe it had been due to a mistake like her brother being wrongly identified as a train robber. A clerical error had incorrectly listed him as dead rather than as one of the prisoners transported to Leavenworth.

“Mr. Black?”

“Gideon.”

“Gideon. How long were you in prison?”

His head came up, those blue eyes burning into her. Wariness etched his features. “Five years.”

“Why were you there?”

He laid down his fork. A long moment passed. “For murder.”

She drew in a sharp breath. There was no need to ask if he was serious. His eyes hardened, squelching a brief flare of remorse and anger.

“And were you guilty?”

“Yes.” He watched her carefully, as if expecting her to order him to leave.

She wasn’t afraid of him. If Smith thought Gideon was dangerous, he never would’ve sent him.

Just as he took another sip of coffee, she asked, “Who did you kill?”

He shook his head.

“I think I have a right to know, Mr. Black. You’re living here.”

Looking pained and irritated at the same time, he set his cup down. “A rancher’s son.”

“Did you kill him in self-defense?”

“No.” His jaw tightened as he held her gaze, his entire frame rigid with tension.

She wanted to press him for more, but the raw bleakness in his face reached right into her chest and squeezed. She couldn’t do it. “Thank you for telling me.”

He said nothing, just resumed eating.

For a moment, the only sounds were the scrape of forks on the plates, the occasional call of a bird. The man clearly didn’t want to discuss himself. That was fine. She had other questions.

“Smith won’t talk much about his time in prison.”

Resignation chased across Gideon’s face, and he again set aside his utensils. His voice was flat. “He doesn’t want you to know.”

Because it had been horrible. Ivy’s throat tightened. Her brother was home. That was what mattered. Their parents and his wife, Caroline, were helping him heal. Who was helping Gideon Black? Did a murderer deserve help? Smith thought so. “Do you have any family?”

“No, ma’am.”

“No one at all?”

“No.”

His tone was polite, yet she could sense his agitation. “How did you and Smith become friends?”

After a longing glance at his food, he said, “There was a, um, misunderstanding between him and some other inmates. I helped straighten it out.”

His words were so careful, so deliberate that she knew he wasn’t telling her everything.

“Was that when you saved his life?”

“Yes.” His muscles were drawn taut beneath his buff-colored work shirt, his shoulders straining at the fabric.

“Was that when his leg was broken?”

The jerky nod and coiled energy in his body warned her off, but she couldn’t help another question. “Is that how you got those scars?”

His face completely closed up. She’d never seen anything like it. His features turned to granite, blue eyes blazing, his mouth white with restraint. Angry color slashed across his sharp cheekbones.

He rose, his massive frame blocking out the sun. “Would you like me to take my meals somewhere else, Miss Ivy?”

“No.” She stood, too. Would he really go? Absolutely, she realized. There was no bluff on his face. “Please, finish your meal.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then started to sit. The sound of an approaching horse had them both turning toward the open screened door. A couple of chickens squawked and hustled out of the way of a brown mare, its hooves flinging red mud as it trotted toward the house.

She held back a groan. “I wonder what he wants.”

Gideon strapped on the gun belt he’d shed for their meal. Plucking his hat from the peg beside the door, he looked at her over his shoulder. “You know him?”

“Yes. It’s Conrad, the stagecoach driver. Neal Conrad, but he goes by his last name.”

“Didn’t you say he was just here yesterday?”

“Yes. I can’t imagine what he wants.”

She stepped onto the porch, and her guest followed. An enticing mix of man and leather floated to her. She could feel the powerful width of Gideon’s chest at her back. While she appreciated the gesture, Conrad was an annoyance, not a threat.

The stage driver, a man with sharp features and flowing blond hair, jumped off his horse and whipped the reins around the hitching post. “I came as soon as I could.”

Giving Gideon a narrow-eyed look, Conrad reached her in two strides, arms outstretched.

She stepped back, managing to avoid contact. He was always touching her, and she didn’t like it.

His blue-checked shirt and dark trousers were clean. His eyes were deep brown, his features as perfect as a drawing and he possessed about as much substance as a piece of paper. He was trim and well built, a handsome man. And he knew it.

“What brings you out two days in a row, Conrad?” Ivy asked evenly.

“I came to check on you. See how you fared in the storm.”

“Just fine.”

He turned his attention to Gideon, his eyes hardening when he saw how close the other man stood to her.

“Who are you?” he asked sharply.

Ivy barely stopped herself from snapping that it was none of his business. Before Gideon could answer, she did. “Conrad, this is Gideon Black, a family friend.”

“Are you staying here or just passing through?”

As if that were any of his concern. Ivy fought the urge to order the stage driver off her property, but that wouldn’t be smart, businesswise. “He’s my guest, Conrad. He brought a message from my brother.”

The man scrutinized Gideon before his gaze swung to Ivy. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Gideon and I are just having a visit.”

The subject of the conversation had yet to say a word, but Ivy didn’t miss the shrewd glint in his eyes as he sized up the other man. She also didn’t miss the way he kept one hand on the butt of the revolver in his holster.

“I drive the stage,” Conrad announced unnecessarily.

“So Miss Ivy said.” Gideon folded his arms over that broad chest. With a scowl on his compelling features, he looked as approachable as a rattlesnake.

Seeming to dismiss Gideon, Conrad turned to her with a smile and took her elbow, towing her inside.

As he always did, he walked into her house without an invitation. Gideon followed them over the threshold, disapproval pulsing from him.

When Ivy pulled away, Conrad paused at the dining table, his smile still in place. “You were probably frightened last night. That storm really kicked up a fuss.”

“I wasn’t frightened,” she said stiffly.

“Maybe you’ve got some of that delicious coffee?” Conrad’s gaze fell to the two plates on the table. The two cups. Mouth tight, he sat in the chair next to hers.

She didn’t like it, but she didn’t need to upset the man who recommended her stage stop and was responsible for bringing passengers here.

Gideon remained at the door like a sentry. Tension arced in the room, and she thought she could physically feel him willing the stage driver to leave.

Conrad drummed his fingers on the table.

She took another tin cup from the cabinet that held the tin plates and mugs reserved for the passengers. Going to the stove, she wrapped the hem of her apron around the hot handle of the coffeepot.

As she poured, he said, “It would’ve been better if you’d been in town last night, not out here all alone.”

“I was fine.” Her words were short as she handed him the cup. She glanced at Gideon, noticing that his face hadn’t changed one bit. It still looked carved out of stone. Forbidding. Conrad was either blind or not intimidated.

“You know how I feel about you being out here all by your lonesome,” he said.

Yes, and she didn’t give two figs about it. It took effort to keep her voice level. “I appreciate your concern, but I can’t leave my home.”

“You shouldn’t be running this place by yourself.” He sipped at the steamy brew. “You shouldn’t be running it at all.”

“Conrad,” she said sweetly, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve been running it since Tom passed, and I intend to keep doing so.”

“Now, now, don’t get your back up.” He clumsily placed his cup on the table, liquid sloshing out as he stood and moved toward her.

Gideon took a step in her direction. Only one.

It was enough to stop the other man. Conrad blinked then turned to Ivy. “I’m only thinking of you. You need a man around here to help you.”

She certainly did not.

“She has one,” Gideon said.

Surprised, Ivy shot him a look.

The stage driver’s lip curled. “I meant someone she can depend on regularly.”

With the exception of her brother and father, there were no men she would depend on. If she needed a man on the farm, she would hire one.

She walked out to the porch, hoping the stage driver would take the hint. “Everything is fine, Conrad. Thanks for checking on me.”

After another slit-eyed look at Gideon, the man gave her a quick hug, moving away before she could remove his arm. He touched her often, never with permission, although he’d never tried more than a hug. Which was good, because Ivy wouldn’t hesitate to use the pistol in her skirt pocket.

“Is your stock all right?” Conrad asked. “All accounted for?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t telling him about the dead mare.

“I’ll check the horses. If any of them need shoes, I brought some.”

“That’s not necessary, Conrad.”

“It’ll just take a minute.”

“Only one of them needed to be shod, and Gideon did it this morning.”

“That’s really not your—” He broke off, glowering at Gideon before giving Ivy a sideways look. “That’s nice, but I usually take care of that for you.”

“And I appreciate it, even though I can take care of it on my own,” she said sharply. She was sick to death of Conrad acting as if she were helpless. At least Gideon hadn’t acted that way. Yet.

Wanting to hurry the stage driver along, she moved down the steps to his horse. “I’ll see you on your next stage run.”

“Yes, all right.” Coming to stand beside his mount, he looked over her head at Gideon, but spoke to her. “I’ll see you soon.”

She made a noncommittal noise as he mounted up and finally rode off.

Ivy exhaled, glad to be rid of him.

“Is he always like that?” Gideon asked in a low voice.

“Yes.” She turned, in no mood for him to start any of that silly man-take-care-of-woman business. “And I can handle him just fine.”

“You sure can. He must not know about that pistol in your skirt pocket. Why do you put up with the way he treats you?”

“He could discourage passengers from staying for a meal.”

“And that would cost you money.”

“Yes.” She moved past him and back into the house to clean up the dishes. Gideon followed, but stopped in the doorway. Sunlight haloed his giant frame.

“Besides, he leaves a lot quicker if he thinks he’s getting what he wants.”

A half smile tugged at Gideon’s mouth, and it made her smile in return.

She carried the plates and cups across the room and past the stove.

“You say he was here yesterday?” Gideon asked.

“Yes.”

“Before that, when was his most recent visit?”

“Four days ago.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”

“That means he was here the day before—”

“The day before I found my horse killed,” she breathed, hastily putting the dishes in the dry sink. “Do you think Conrad had something to do with that?”

“Can you remember if he was around just before the other incidents?”

“I can’t remember about the chickens, but...he wasn’t here the day Tug went missing.”

Gideon frowned. “That you know of.”

“That’s right.” Did he take anyone’s word for anything? She bet not. Was that because he’d been in prison, or was there more to it? “He could’ve been in the woods, and I wouldn’t have known. He could’ve come across Tug. If he did something to my dog—”

“Hey, we don’t know anything yet. What motive would he have for causing you trouble?”

“To make me decide I need a man around here,” she muttered. “That I need him. I know it sounds ridiculous.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Since Tom and I married, almost ten years.” She appreciated that Gideon didn’t dismiss her theory.

Her guest looked her over slowly, sparking all her nerve endings. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Does he always put his hands on you like that?”

“He didn’t pay me much mind until Tom died.” And he had certainly never made her feel halfway dizzy the way Gideon just had with only a look. “Do you think he might be behind this?”

“I’m considerin’ the possibility. He wants you.”

“Well, it isn’t mutual,” she said hotly. The idea made her shudder.

Gideon turned and stepped off the porch, kneeling near the hitching post.

Ivy followed him outside. “What are you doing?”

“Checking his horse’s tracks.”

So if he saw them again, he would recognize them, she realized. She should do the same. She moved behind him and to his other side. He wore his hat now, drawing her attention to the nape of his corded neck. Skirts brushing against his shoulder, she bent over to study the hoofprints, too.

“Is there anything distinctive about them?” she asked.

He pointed to the impressions in the mud. “His mount lists to the right. Like she has one front leg shorter than the other.”

Too aware of the way his powerful thigh muscles pulled his trousers taut, she forced herself to look at what he was showing her.

When he half turned to study the stage driver’s boot prints, she did the same.

“I can’t tell anything about them,” she said.

“Yeah, they’re just scuff marks in the dirt. I plan to keep an eye out for him. If something happens tonight, we’ll have some tracks to compare, and maybe we can start to figure out who’s doing these things.”

She nodded.

His gaze trailed over her almost impersonally, as if he were checking to make sure she was all right. He tipped his hat. “If you need me, I’ll be around the barn doing chores.”

Conrad’s visit had almost made her forget what had happened at lunch with Gideon. The way she’d ambushed him with all those questions.

“Do you want more coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

“All right.” She watched him walk away, taking in the broad line of his shoulders. The way they narrowed to his lean hips.

The reason he wasn’t coming back inside was probably because she’d opened old wounds with her questions. The information was a curiosity to her, but it was his life, his past. A clearly painful past he didn’t want to share.

That was fine. Gideon Black could keep his secrets. And she would keep hers.

* * *

Now Ivy knew he’d done murder. Once she’d had time to absorb that he had killed a man, he’d see the familiar revulsion and wariness in her eyes that he saw in everyone’s, except Smith’s and Smith’s parents.

Gideon eased out a breath. He didn’t like her stirring up the past, and he wasn’t having it. He would never tell her about the man he’d killed or the woman he’d killed for.

He was living here, so she might deserve to know a few things, but she had no right to get inside his head. Inside him.

She hadn’t liked that he wouldn’t answer every question she asked, especially about Smith. Too bad. There was no way he was telling her that he had saved her brother’s life after fighting off five men who were beating the hell out of him. He also wasn’t giving up to her how Smith had saved him after Gideon had been jumped and strung up by the neck in his own cell. And she wouldn’t be learning that he had other scars he’d gotten before going to prison.

Ivy didn’t need to know any of that.

He didn’t intend to answer any more questions. If she didn’t like it, she could send him packing. Or try. He wasn’t leaving until he figured out what was going on. Regardless of what Ivy did, he wouldn’t let Smith down. And he didn’t have to be her friend in order to protect her.

He could do what needed to be done without taking his meals with her, although it would be difficult to walk away from good food after years of prison slop. Still, he’d done harder things.

He’d keep to himself as much as possible. He was used to solitude. It was what he knew and understood. What he wanted.

If Ivy had told Gideon before lunch that a man might be causing trouble on her farm in hopes that she would turn to him in her time of need, Gideon would’ve thought the idea was far-fetched. But after seeing Conrad with her, Gideon couldn’t dismiss the idea, no matter how downright addled it was.

He hadn’t cared for the man’s manner at all, especially hadn’t liked how often he touched Ivy. Because of their business dealings, he understood why she hadn’t run the guy off her property at gunpoint, but that didn’t mean Gideon wouldn’t if he had cause.

After replacing a cheek billet on a bridle then a worn cinch, he strode out of the barn and across the backyard in search of Ivy. When he didn’t find her at the garden or the chicken house, he circled around to the front porch.

He knocked on the door. “Miss Ivy?”

“Yes.”

Gideon shaded his eyes to see inside, but she wasn’t in the front room.

“What is it?”

He opened the door and poked his head in. Still no sign of her. “I thought I’d look for your dog and also see if I could find anything that might help me figure out what happened to your missing chickens.”

“I thought I might look again, too.”

He turned toward her voice, coming from his left. Her bedroom. “Does Tug have a favorite spot?”

“There’s a place on the river that runs through the woods beyond the back pasture.” She stepped into the large front room. His pulse jumped. It took his brain a second to register what he saw.

Hell for breakfast.

Ivy was wearing trousers. Ill-fitting and too large, but definitely trousers.

A plain white blouse was tucked into dark pants that were cinched tight at her tiny waist. Though the pants weren’t tight, they shadowed the slender line of her thighs, the hint of her calves. Despite her petite frame, she was perfectly proportioned and all woman.

He clamped his jaw tight to keep it from dropping.

She must have noted his astonishment because she stopped in the middle of the room, angling her chin at him. “What? I’m not wearing a blasted skirt to look for my dog. The grass is wet, and that will weigh me down. Besides, we might have to go through some brush.”

“Makes sense.” He had no problem with her wearing a garment that showed so much of her shape, though he was glad no other man was around to see her. “I’ve just never seen a woman in pants.”

“Well, now you have.”

Oh, yeah. And he liked it. But as much as he enjoyed the front view, he nearly swallowed his teeth when she turned away and he got a look at her backside outlined perfectly in the loosely fitted garment. His mouth went dry.

“Let’s go out the back door,” she said.

Unable to take his eyes off her, he followed her like a half-wit across the front room and down the hall. His gaze slid over her narrow shoulders, the sleek curve of her waist, and lingered on her hips. The urge to touch had him curling his hands into fists.

How was he supposed to focus on anything when he was faced with that view?

After plucking a wide flat-brimmed hat from a peg on the wall, she settled it on her head as she pushed through the back door. She started for the fence, and Gideon lengthened his stride to catch up to her. They headed toward the river he’d only seen from a distance.

Bright sunlight and a clear sky gave no hint of last night’s storm. The ground was springy from the recent rain. The air was fresh and cool, filled with the smells of mud and grass and animals.

He and Ivy called out several times for the dog. Branches and limbs were scattered across the pasture. There was no sign of Tug or the chickens.

They topped a small rise, and Gideon saw the glitter of water through the trees ahead and to the left.

Ivy gestured toward the spot. “This is the Kiamichi River.”

“Little River is the one outside Paladin, isn’t it? Where the gristmill operates?”

“Yes.” Her soft floral scent drifted on the air.

During their few minutes of brisk walking through the damp grass, Gideon found his gaze on her more than he liked. Finally, they reached the river. The bank sloped gently to the water, slightly cloudy from being stirred up by last night’s rain. The river bottom was lined with flat rocks of all sizes.

The cattle and horses had kept the alfalfa grazed near the ground. Here and downstream, mature pecan trees and oaks spread wide canopies of shade. Farther upstream, where the channel narrowed, limbs tangled and arced over the water, hanging so low it would be difficult to guide a canoe through without getting smacked in the face.

Ivy pointed to a thick, scarred oak several feet away. “That tree has been here forever. There’s a hollow on the other side, and Tug likes to chase squirrels into it.”

As they made their way over to it, Ivy called out, “Tug! Here, boy!”

Birds flew out of the trees, and squirrels scurried across the branches.

Gideon’s gaze panned the area as they neared the tree. Ivy tromped ahead through ankle-high grass and stopped on the opposite side of the oak.

“Oh, Tug.” She braced one hand on the tree, her eyes troubled as they met Gideon’s.

He closed the distance between them, then ducked his head to look inside the hollow.

A large dog with dark, matted fur lay curled on its side, rigid and lifeless.

Ivy knelt, touching the animal’s stiff body. “This is why he didn’t come home.”

Her voice quivered, and tears slid down her cheeks.

The pain in her voice lashed at him. She choked out a sob then another. And another. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never had a pet so he didn’t know how it felt to lose one, but he did know how it felt to be alone. She’d lost her husband and now her dog.

She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Gideon’s heart squeezed. Finally, tentatively, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

She flinched, and he quickly drew back.

After a moment, she straightened, wiping her eyes on her shirtsleeve. “I’m sorry.”

For crying or for jumping like he’d taken a branding iron to her? “There’s no need to apologize.”

“You startled me.”

Gideon heard a faint whine and looked down at the dog.

Leaning in for a closer look, he saw a pup nestled in the circle of Tug’s curled legs. “There’s a puppy.”

“Oh, my.” Still on her knees, Ivy leaned in and carefully picked it up. “It’s so tiny.”

“Looks like Tug was protecting it.” The whelp would fit comfortably in Gideon’s palm. Its coat, a mottle of black, brown and gray, was matted.

Ivy looked up, eyes still wet from her tears. “Maybe you were right about him finding a lady friend at some point and this is his pup?”

“Maybe so.” Gideon went to his haunches, pointing at the animal. “Or maybe he didn’t come home because he was hurt. His right back leg is at an odd angle.”

“No. That was broken the night Tom—” She stopped. “That was broken a while back.”

What had she been about to say? Maybe that Tug’s leg had been broken the night her husband died? Gideon could see how that would be a painful memory.

“Was he in the wagon with your husband and thrown out, too?”

“No,” she said tersely.

He could’ve sworn he saw guilt flash across her delicate features, but he must have read that wrong. Why would she feel guilty about a dog’s broken leg?

She didn’t seem inclined to give details, and he wondered why not.

The pup whimpered, and its eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Ivy gently examined the animal. “It’s a female. Do you see any more pups?”

Gideon stood and searched the nearby area. “No. Don’t see a mother, either.” He returned, noticing the sharp points on the pup’s ears. “This baby is half wolf.”

Ivy glanced around. “If the mother were alive, she would be taking care of the pup. Something must’ve happened to her, too. Maybe that’s why Tug has the pup.”

“Maybe.”

Ivy rose, lifting the pup to eye level. “See the black stripe up the middle of her muzzle? Tug has one just like it. I think he sired this pup. She looks like she might not make it.”

“If we get some food in her, she might surprise us.”

Ivy’s gaze shifted to the adult canine. “I want to bury him near the house. I’ll bring the wagon down later to get him.”

“I can carry him back right now.”

“Would you?” The relief and gratitude on her face did something strange to Gideon’s insides.

Going down on one knee, he leaned in and gently pulled the dog from the hollow. A few minutes later, he had the big animal in his arms and was walking with Ivy back through the pasture to the house.

“Do you think someone killed him?” she asked quietly.

He figured she had been wondering that since they’d spotted the dog. He had, too. Now that he had the animal in full sunlight, he could see blood on his coat along with the mud. And a knife wound just like the one he’d found on the dead horse.

Anger blazed inside him. “He has a stab wound in his neck.”

“It’s likely that the same person killed Tug and the horse.”

He nodded.

Ivy’s throat worked, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Do you think Tug died trying to protect the pup?”

“It’s possible.”

“Who would do this to my dog? Why?”

Gideon wanted to know, too. Thanks to the rain, there were no signs of who might’ve killed the animal.

Ivy glanced over at her lifeless pet, saying wistfully, “Tug was the runt of the litter, but he didn’t stay that way, as you can see.”

The dog was huge. And heavy. “What breed is he?”

“I don’t know. Just a mix.”

He could see stark pain in her midnight eyes. “How long did you have him?”

“From the time Tom and I married.”

The animal had been with her through her entire marriage. And her husband’s death. Now she had another loss to deal with. Gideon didn’t know anything about relationships of that duration. Smith was his longest association, and that added up to a sum total of two years.

They stopped at a grouping of mature pecan trees where Ivy said she wanted to bury the dog. When she started to go for a shovel, Gideon stopped her.

“I’ll do it.” He wasn’t letting her dig dirt or bury her animal.

In short order, the dog was resting in the soft ground. Ivy still held the pup, staring down at the fresh grave with a broken look on her face.

Gideon felt as if he were intruding. “I’ll feed the pup if you want to take some time here.”

“Thank you.” She carefully handed over the little female.

“Milk in the pitcher?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Grasping the shovel in his free hand, he started past her.

Ivy touched his arm. “Thank you for carrying Tug and for putting him to rest.”

“You’re welcome.” He left her with her pet and her memories.

Once, he glanced back. She sat next to the grave, her head bowed. She looked slight. And alone. Gideon wanted to return to her. And do what? he jeered at himself. Comfort her?

He needed to watch his step with that. Earlier, he hadn’t been able to turn away from her suffering. He’d first gotten tangled up with Eleanor for the same reason.

He was here to protect Ivy. He couldn’t allow himself to be drawn in by her.

Chapter Three

Gideon fed the pup what little milk she could eat, then made a doghouse for her out of an empty apple crate and added a nest of fresh hay. He put her in the box and set her next to his bunk. For the next couple of hours, he was in and out of the barn, keeping an eye on the whelp.

After pumping the horse trough full of fresh water, Gideon stepped back inside the barn to check on the dog. She was awake, dark eyes watching him warily.

He carefully scooped her up, running a finger lightly over her head. She mewled weakly as he turned for the barn door, intent on getting more milk from the house.

“Mr. Black?”

He looked up to see Ivy walking toward him carrying a small chipped porcelain bowl. She still wore those infernal trousers. His gaze slid over her full breasts and nipped-in waist to her slender hips.

Lust punched him square in the gut, and his whole body went hot. With all he could see of her shape, it didn’t take much to imagine her naked. She must’ve read the expression on his face because her step faltered.

Trying to blank his face, he bit the inside of his cheek. He hoped she wasn’t going to wear those britches all the time. The last thing he needed was her coming around looking like...that. He wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel.

Ivy’s gaze skittered from his to the pup. “How’s Thunder doing?”

“Thunder?”

“We found her after that storm. The name seems appropriate.”

He frowned down at the animal. “She’s a girl.”

“What would you call her?” Ivy asked lightly. “Princess?”

Was she teasing him? “Pup sounds just fine to me.”

“She needs a real name.”

“All right.” He held the whelp up to eye level. “Thunder’s ready for her second feeding.”

Ivy gestured to the crockery she held. “I brought milk.”

“She doesn’t have the strength to lift her head so I had to hand-feed her before.” Gideon eased down onto his bunk and offered Ivy a square of red flannel. “I dipped a rag in the milk, and she sucked the liquid out.”

Ivy took the soft fabric, then moved between his legs. So close that the heat of her body teased him.

She rolled the cloth into a tube and dunked the end in the milk then held it to the pup’s mouth. The animal lay listless, eyes dazed. Ivy rubbed the wet fabric lightly against Thunder’s lips, but she didn’t suck.

Gideon tried, with the same result. He then stuck the tip of his pinkie finger in the liquid and put it to the pup’s mouth. A little tongue swiped against his skin.

“There ya go,” he murmured, glad to see the animal was holding her own.

He dipped his finger again and offered it to her. When she licked off the liquid, he continued to feed her slowly. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t concentrate fully on the young dog because Ivy was still standing between his legs.

She might be dressed like a man, but she sure didn’t look like one. Or smell like one, either. Her skin was dewy from their earlier exertion, and her sweat smelled clean. Beneath that, he caught a hint of magnolia.

Gideon wanted to close his thighs and draw her closer. If he leaned forward slightly, he could put his mouth on her velvety neck. Her delicate ear.

She looked up. “You’re really good with the pup. You must’ve had a pet before.”

“No.” He had tended wounded animals before—calves, horses, a crow with a broken wing at the prison.

Gideon continued to feed the whelp drop by drop, but he was completely taken by the woman in front of him. She put a hum in his blood by doing nothing more than standing there.

Ever since he had confessed to murder, Gideon had waited for revulsion to darken Ivy’s eyes. He searched her face for it now, but she seemed intent only on the dog.

“Earlier, you said you had no family.”

And that he’d killed a man. Was that where she was headed?

“When did you lose them? In the war?”

Because the question wasn’t what he expected, it took a second for him to answer. The war had taken so many, entire families in some cases, though not from Gideon. “Never had a family.”

“You’re an orphan?”

He nodded. Her brother was the closest thing to family Gideon had ever had.

“Smith didn’t tell me that.”

He figured there was a lot Smith hadn’t told his sister. As long as Ivy didn’t ask about their prison time, Gideon didn’t mind answering some questions. Although he wouldn’t talk about the man he’d killed, or that he’d done so because of Eleanor’s lies.

Ivy was quiet for a moment, her teeth worrying her lower lip. “Where did you grow up?”

“In Kansas.” His gaze traced her features, the ivory satin of her skin.

“Did you live with anyone?” At his frown, she clarified. “Did you have a home?”

“When I was ten, a widow lady, Ruby Whitten, took me in, but she passed away after about two years and I was on my own again.”

“Then what did you do?”

Though she appeared genuinely interested, the anxiety squeezing his chest didn’t ease. If she were going to ask more about his crime, he wished she would get on with it. “I hired on at a ranch.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve, but I looked older.”

“You were bigger than other boys your age.” Her gaze traced slowly over his shoulders and arms, making his body go tight.

Want tugged low in his belly, and he knew by her sudden flush that she felt it, too. He cleared his throat, wishing she would step out of the circle of his legs. “Yes.”

Damn, he wanted to touch her. He refocused his attention on the small animal in his hand. The poor thing weighed about as much as a baby bird.

“Did you fight in the war?”

“Didn’t everyone?” Even seven years gone, the thought made him tired.

“Sure seemed that way.” Sadness pulled at her features as she stroked the pup’s head. “Did you work at another ranch after the war?”

He nodded. Hiring on with Eleanor’s daddy had been the beginning of his journey to hell.

If she was going to ask so many questions, Gideon had some, too. “Did your husband fight?”

She stilled for a heartbeat. If he hadn’t been so close, he would’ve missed her reaction.

“Yes, he did.”

“Earlier, you said his family was from Chicago. How did the two of you meet?”

“Before the war, he came to Mimosa Springs looking for land,” she said stiffly. “He wanted a place that wasn’t settled, so he looked farther east and decided on this area.”

When her eyes hardened, Gideon knew it had to do with her past, not his. She stepped back. “Tomorrow, I’ll go to town and speak with the mayor about the dead horse.”

That had sure been a quick change. Was it still too painful for Ivy to talk about her husband? The frantic tapping of her pulse in the hollow of her throat told Gideon the subject obviously vexed her.

“I’ll see you at supper.” She turned and walked out the door.

Gideon watched her go, trying to sort out his jumbled thoughts. Whenever she was around, his brain seemed to engage a second too late. He was here to protect her, and that was all. Instead, he had an insane urge to hold her. To comfort her.

Hell. Not getting drawn in by her was going to be more difficult than he’d thought.

* * *

Why had she told him anything about Tom? She didn’t like talking about her dead husband, ever.

After breakfast the next morning, Ivy and Gideon set off for town. They had left the pup in her crate, inside the house. The wagon bumped along the rutted road now dried out from the rain. The wooden seat creaking, she stared blankly at the grass and trees they passed.

She wanted to believe her guard had been down last night because of Tug, and maybe that was part of it, but she also knew it had to do with Gideon. For those moments in the barn watching him feed the pup, Ivy had been aware of only him.

No man had ever looked at her like that, as if his next breath depended on her. Which explained why she’d had trouble falling asleep. That and the times she’d gone to the window, wondering if more of her animals were in danger, if someone was out there watching her house.

She smoothed her navy-and-white-striped skirts, and settled her navy reticule in her lap.

Maybe Gideon’s being here was good. Maybe a man of his size could discourage the low-down snake who was making trouble for her. Though she didn’t like the thought of needing a man for any reason, Ivy couldn’t deny that he’d been only help so far.

Neither of them spoke much during the drive to Paladin. The scents of grass and dirt and clean air drifted around them. The occasional purple flower dotted the green alfalfa fields that spread as far as the eye could see on either side. Once, a redbird swooped over the wagon road.

She was uncommonly aware of the man beside her. More aware than she’d been of any man since Tom’s death. As much as she tried, she couldn’t ignore the granite-hard line of his thigh against hers, the leashed power in his massive frame, the large callused hands that worked the reins so easily. Those same work-roughened hands had handled the pup as gently as she would have.

She sneaked a glance at him. He smelled of leather and soap, and she could see a tuft of dark hair in the open V of his homespun work shirt.

Ivy didn’t want to notice any of those things about Gideon Black, yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. Feeling suddenly hot, she fiddled with the button at the neck of her white bodice. She might be attracted to him, but the first time he showed his true colors—and he eventually would—her interest would fade.

The day was clear and bright, and they arrived in Paladin before noon. Laid out in a quasi-horseshoe shape with the church at its apex, the small town was bustling as people made their way around town or across the wide main street. At the blacksmith’s shop attached to the back side of the livery, a hammer rang against metal.

Besides the mercantile, smithy, bank and jail, Paladin now boasted a telegraph office, a gristmill, a hotel and a sawmill. Nearby, both Little River and Kiamichi River provided water for the town and surrounding farms. Tom wouldn’t have liked how the town had grown, how many people had moved here. She’d learned the hard way that wide-open space wasn’t the only reason he had wanted away from her family.

She and Gideon braked the wagon in front of the livery and walked around the building. Just outside of town and a few yards away was Mayor Jumper’s lumber company. Behind the main office, saws whined and boards cracked; sawdust and wood chips shot into the air. Ivy felt more urgency to go to the bank for a loan to restock her horses and poultry, but she preferred to get her conversation with the mayor out of the way first. She didn’t look forward to telling Leo about his dead horse.

She and Gideon stepped inside the lumber company’s small, neatly kept office. Outfitted with a standing desk as well as a small corner desk and chair along the back wall, the space was spotless. A couple of ledger books were stacked neatly across the top of the taller desk and just behind it squatted a large safe.

Leo Jumper, dressed in his usual three-piece suit, moved out from behind his work area. He stopped in front of her, using a cane with an intricately carved wooden head. There was nothing wrong with his legs; he carried the expensive walking stick to show off his wealth. The sunlight streaming through the windows on either side of the door turned his neatly trimmed hair a fiery-red.

“Mrs. Powell, how are you today?”

“Just fine.” Palms clammy, she introduced Gideon.

“Ah, yes, Conrad told me you had a young man.”

Ivy bet that wasn’t all the stage driver had said. She didn’t bother correcting Leo.

The mayor extended his free hand to Gideon. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

She noticed that her guest’s hand nearly swallowed the older man’s. Curiosity burned in Jumper’s whiskey-colored eyes as they went from her to the rugged cowboy, but Ivy had no intention of inviting questions.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Powell?”

“I have some bad news.” Tension stretched across her shoulders as she explained about finding the dead mare.

His mouth tightened, his gaze narrowing. “Killed with a knife?”

“Yes.”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“Was the horse roaming?” Jumper’s tone was accusatory. “Wasn’t it in the corral?”

“She was turned out to pasture with the others.”

“This is going to cost me money, Mrs. Powell.”

“Yes, sir.” As it would her. She was counting on the bank loan to help her get by. “And I’m sorry about that.”

Before she could ask if he planned to nullify their contract, the mayor said, “I won’t be boarding more animals at your place. I think the stage line will agree with me.”

Well, that answered that. “What would you like to do with the other horses?”

“Until I can move them, you should take better care and put them up at night. At least the ones that belong to the stage line.”

“I will,” she said stiffly, inwardly cursing whoever had harmed the bay and Tug.

Beside her, Gideon stared unblinking at the other man. Though Ivy didn’t feel threatened by the mayor, she was glad she wasn’t facing him alone.

“I’m on my way out of town so it will be a few days before I can arrange to move the others,” Leo said.

“Very well. I’ve read the contract and know the loss of the animal voids it, but I can offer the use of my horses, free of charge, until I’m able to replace the one that was killed. That way, the stage can continue to run.”

Jumper pursed his lips, irritation making his freckled features even more ruddy. “Very well. After I return from my trip, we’ll finish this business.”

She nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. The loss of income would severely hamper her ability to operate the stage stand, but a bank loan would help a great deal.

The older man exhaled loudly. “I’ll stop on my way out and report this to Sheriff Farrell.”

“I’m planning to do that, too,” Ivy said.

“No sense in both of us going.” His gaze narrowed. “Tell Farrell I’ll stop by when I return.”

“I will. And again, I’m sorry, Mayor.”

He nodded, pulling out a gold pocket watch and checking the time.

Ivy took the hint and left with Gideon. As they made their way back into town, she blew out a breath. “I’m glad that’s over.”

“Did it go the way you expected?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Irritation flared at the mayor’s condescending attitude. “I don’t expect special treatment, but this is the first problem to arise in the five years since the contract began. You’d think he might take that into account.”

“Not big on second chances, is he?” Gideon’s voice hardened.

“No, although I guess he can afford to be less than forgiving.”

At Gideon’s questioning look, she explained. “Besides the lumber company, he owns a stake in a couple of other businesses and the bank. I need to stop there, too.”

“Since your contract with the mayor is likely ended, could you strike a deal with the stage company on your own?”

“Yes, I could.” Smiling, she stopped abruptly in front of the livery’s open doorway. “I should’ve thought of it myself. Thank you, Mr. Black.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured.

They continued walking and Ivy halted at the next building, a pine structure with two wide steps leading up to its landing. A sign over the door read Jail, Paladin, Indian Territory.

“I need to have a word with Sheriff Farrell.”

“I’ll wait for you out here. No hurry.”

Ah, yes, he probably had an aversion to cell bars. As she turned to go in, he said, “Miss Ivy?”

The low, deep way he spoke her name sent a shiver through her. Intent on trying to dismiss the sensation, she almost didn’t hear his question.

“Is the sheriff someone you trust?”

“Yes, why?” She shifted to face him. Even though she stood on the second step, she still had to tilt her head back a bit to meet his gaze.

He rested a hand on the wooden stair railing. “If you haven’t told him everything that’s going on at your farm, you should. Especially now that two of your animals have been killed.”

She agreed. “Josh knows some of it, and I’ll tell him the rest. Did you check the woods this morning?”

“Yes. The branch was unbroken. Didn’t look as if it had been touched at all.”

“Good.” She opened the door. “I’ll only be a moment.”

She returned shortly. “Josh is out at a nearby ranch handling a dispute. I left a message for him to come out to the farm if I don’t stop back by today.”

Deputy McCain, who was watching the jail in the sheriff’s absence, had asked about Ivy’s “young man.” Conrad could never be accused of keeping his mouth shut.

Pausing on the bottom step, she glanced across the street at the bank. “I was planning to see Mr. Rowland at the bank next, but I think I’ll send a wire to the stage line manager in Boggy Depot first. Butterfield Overland no longer uses our line for their mail, but Territorial Stage Company keeps a regular schedule for passengers. There are quite a few stage stops just like mine across the Choctaw lands. Maybe I’ll hear right back and perhaps have a new contract.”

Gideon’s attention moved to the imposing redbrick building.

“You don’t have to go with me to the bank if you’d rather visit the mercantile or somewhere else,” Ivy said.

“I’d feel better if you weren’t alone.”

For a moment, she’d almost forgotten he was here to protect her. “All right.”

Since the telegraph office sat next door to the jail, they were shortly inside. In the morning sunlight, her brother’s friend cast a tall, intimidating shadow. As Ivy’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, Gideon made a low noise in his throat.

She followed his gaze. The counters and floor were covered with scraps of brown paper and newspaper. Except for the small patch on the desk where the telegraph machine sat, envelopes and letters covered every inch of the surface. No wonder she hadn’t received Smith’s wire. It might never be found in this chaos.

Elmer Wright stood in the far corner, pawing through a box. Full of more letters and telegrams!

The barrel-shaped man squinted through the haze of light and dust. “What can I do for you, Miss Ivy?”

“I’d like to send a telegram to the stage line manager in Boggy Depot, and I’m also looking for a recent wire from my brother.”

The older man hobbled around a desk and came toward her. “Who’s your young man?”

Why did everyone assume she and Gideon were a couple? “He’s not my— This is Gideon Black, a friend of my brother’s.”

Gideon shook the man’s hand as she studied the cluttered space. “It looks as if you might have trouble locating the message from Smith.”

“No, no.” Elmer shoved a hand through his thick gray-streaked hair, making it stand on end. He looked around helplessly. “It just might take me a while. I can’t seem to find my spectacles.”

“These spectacles?” Smiling, Ivy picked up a pair of glasses in plain view on the counter.

Giving her a sheepish look, he slid the glasses on and began digging through the clutter on the counter. He thumbed through a stack of correspondence, muttering.

Gideon stood quietly by, but Ivy moved about impatiently. “You should get some help in here, Elmer.”

“Yes, yes. The sheriff’s brother starts today after his schoolin’.”

“That’s good.” Fifteen-year-old Coy Farrell was dependable and smart. And surely more organized than this.

“Aha, here it is.” The older man smiled triumphantly and handed her the telegram.

It was indeed from Smith, and a quick glance confirmed everything Gideon had said upon his arrival. Though having the message in hand didn’t much matter now that her brother’s friend was already here, Ivy was glad to have it anyway.

“Now.” Elmer cleared a stack of paper from atop the telegraph machine. “Let me find the information for the stage line office.”

Ivy grimaced. “Are you sure you have it?”

“Yes, yes.” He set aside a scribbled note and looked up, his blue eyes troubled. “I can do this, Miss Ivy. It don’t matter what the mayor says. I can still run this telegraph office.”

Though Ivy wasn’t sure of that, she could see it meant a great deal to Elmer. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but this was too important to mess up. What if he couldn’t even get her message to the right place?

“It’s okay, Elmer. I can just write a letter.”

“No, no.” His voice cracked.

Gideon leaned close. “Are you worried he can’t tap out the right message?”

“Yes,” she said under her breath.

“Let him do it. I learned Morse code during the war. I can tell if it’s right or not.”

She looked up at him in surprise, as much because of his knowledge as because of his kindness to the older man.

“Here it is!” the telegraph operator exclaimed.

“Okay.” She leaned toward Elmer. “This is what I need to say.”

Minutes later, Ivy and Gideon stepped outside and began walking to the bank.

Despite her disappointment that she hadn’t received a quick response from the stage company, she tried not to dwell on it. She glanced at Gideon. “I can’t believe Elmer didn’t make a single mistake.”

“He’s probably done it for so long that he could tap those letters out blind.”

They crossed the street and angled past Howe’s Mercantile. As they neared the bank, Ivy spotted Conrad coming out of the saloon down the street.

When he started in her direction, she inwardly groaned. She had neither the time nor patience to deal with him today.

Gideon touched her elbow, sending a spark of heat up her arm. He tipped his head, showing that he had also spotted the stage driver.

Blocking her body with his, he opened the bank’s tall front door for her. “I’ll be right here. Take as long as you need.”

Peeking around his broad frame, she saw Conrad turn and go in the opposite direction. “Thank you.”

He nodded, his blue eyes warm on her face.

The look had her going soft inside. Aaargh! Flustered, she went through the door. The spacious interior boasted gray slate floors and stone walls. Three teller’s cages, constructed of gold-trimmed wrought iron, greeted visitors. Each space had a desk, and on the wall behind was a wide vault door.

She approached the manager’s office, her stomach knotting. She’d never asked for a loan. She’d also never been in this situation before.

A few minutes later, she was sitting in front of tall, lanky Titus Rowland’s desk. Her spine went rigid. “What do you mean, you can’t loan money to a single woman?”

“It’s bank policy, Ivy.”

“But...but you know me.” She curled and uncurled her reticule strings, her gaze falling on the tintype of Titus and his late wife, Lolly, on the wall behind him. “You’ve known me for years.”

“I’m sorry.” Sincere regret stamped his homely features.

“I was married longer than I’ve been a widow. Why should I be denied help just because I lost my husband?”

The gangly man shifted uncomfortably. “This isn’t my decision in the end.”

“I plan to use my farm as collateral, and I’m waiting to hear if I have a new contract with the stage line. That has to count for something.” A greasy knot formed in her stomach. She couldn’t just give up. “I see no reason why you can’t help me.”

Especially since she had put more sweat and effort into the stage stand than Tom ever had. Jittery with anxiety, she forced herself to remain seated, though she scooted to the edge of the leather chair. “I’ll lose the business altogether and maybe my farm, too, if I don’t get this loan. Please, Titus.”

His shrewd gray eyes softened. “You’ve sure given a lot to make a go of it.”

“And I’ll continue to work hard. I will pay back the money. You know I will.”

“I’ll talk to the other members of the committee and try to convince them to waive the policy.”

Ivy jumped up and snagged his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Titus. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. What if I can’t change their minds?”

“You will. And you won’t regret helping me. I promise.”

His smile transformed his gaunt features. “It will be a few days, but I’ll let you know.”

He walked her out of his office and across the slate floor, opening the front door for her.

She patted his bony arm. “Thank you again, Titus.”

He lifted a hand in farewell as she stepped outside. Feeling more optimistic than she had since all the trouble at the farm had begun, she joined Gideon at the bottom of the stone steps.

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