“I wondered why you never got married. You’re more’n pretty enough.”

Eliza’s cheeks grew warm. The cover of night coaxed words into the open. “There was one special someone once. But he just…disappeared.”

“Man was a damned fool,” Jonas said with enough conviction to bring tears to her eyes. He must have noticed her reaction, because he pulled her closer, releasing her hand so he could envelop her in his warmth and strength. She didn’t resist, didn’t even want to.

She had no reason on earth to deny herself this pleasure, nothing more to lose, so she met his kiss.

She savored the warmth of his mouth, loved his hands on her waist. Eliza was starving for affection, for attention…for someone to recognize and want her for who she was. This was her moment. Her tiny dash at satisfaction, and she meant to grab it.

Her Montana Man

Harlequin®Historical

Praise for Cheryl St.John

“Ms. St.John knows what the readers want and keeps on giving it.”

—Rendezvous

“Ms. St.John holds a spot in my top-five list of must-read Harlequin Historical authors. She is an amazingly gifted author.”

—Writers Unlimited

His Secondhand Wife

Nominated for a RITA® Award. “A beautifully crafted and involving story about the transforming power of love, this is recommended reading.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Prairie Wife

Nominated for a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewers’ Choice Award. “Prairie Wife is a very special book, courageously executed by the author and her publisher. Her considerable skill brings the common theme of the romance novel—love conquers all—to the level of genuine catharsis.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews [4¹/2 stars]

The Tenderfoot Bride

“Cheryl St.John once again touches the hearts of readers…Not many readers will be able to hold back their tears as they reach the conclusion.”

—Romance Reviews Today

HER MONTANA MAN
CHERYL ST.JOHN

Available from Harlequin®Historical and CHERYL ST.JOHN

Rain Shadow #212

Heaven Can Wait #240

Land of Dreams #265

Saint or Sinner #288

Badlands Bride #327

The Mistaken Widow #429

Joe’s Wife #451

The Doctor’s Wife #481

Sweet Annie #548

The Gunslinger’s Bride #577

Christmas Gold #627

“Colorado Wife”

The Tenderfoot Bride #679

Prairie Wife #739

His Secondhand Wife #760

Wed Under Western Skies #799

“Almost a Bride”

The Lawman’s Bride #835

The Preacher’s Daughter #851

A Western Winter Wonderland #867

“Christmas Day Family”

The Magic of Christmas #915

“A Baby Blue Christmas”

Her Montana Man #923

Other works include:

Silhouette Special Edition

Nick All Night #1475

*Marry Me…Again #1558

Charlie’s Angels #1630

Million-Dollar Makeover #1688

Montana Mavericks

The Magnificent Seven

The Bounty Hunter

With thanks and appreciation to the ladies who can’t eat as much chocolate as I can, but who definitely help me out of the jams I write myself into and know how to celebrate a birthday in style. Smooches to Bernadette Duquette, Barb Hunt, Donna Knoell, Debra Hines, Lizzie Starr, Chris Carter, Sherri Shackelford and Julie Breese.

And thanks to Heartland Writers Group

for honoring my RWA milestone!

DON’T MISS THESE OTHER NOVELS AVAILABLE NOW:

#924 AN IMPROPER ARISTOCRAT—Deb Marlowe

The scandalous Earl of Treyford has no time for the pretty niceties of the ton. He has returned to England to aid an aging spinster facing an undefined danger. But Miss Latimer’s thick eyelashes and long ebony hair, her mix of knowledge and innocence, arouse far more than his protective instincts…. A scandalous Earl becomes the gentleman she’s dreamed of!

#925 THE MISTLETOE WAGER—Christine Merrill

Harry Pennyngton, Earl of Anneslea, is surprised when his estranged wife, Elise, arrives home for Christmas—especially as she is still intent on divorce! But when Harry and Elise find they are stuck with each other under the mistletoe, the magic of Christmas is just what they need to reignite their love! Mistletoe works its magic as passion is rekindled in this festive Regency story….

#926 VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE—Michelle Styles

War drums echoing in her ears, Sela stood with trepidation on the shoreline. The dragon ships full of warriors had arrived—but it wasn’t the threat of conquest that shook Sela to the core. It was her heart’s response to the proud face of Vikar Hrutson, leader of the invading force—and her ex-husband! Now the warrior must conquer his woman’s heart!

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 Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter One

Silver Bend, Montana, May 1885

Jonas Black looked up from his ledgers and flipped open his ornately engraved gold pocket watch. Nearly three already. In preparation to leave his desk, he blotted the numbers he’d just tallied, then rubbed his ink-stained fingers on his denim trousers. There was something he did every afternoon at this time.

“Gonna be trouble at the North Star!” The tall stoop-shouldered man who tended bar rapped on Jonas’s open office door at the same time as he shouted.

The North Star was the three-story hotel a few doors down, where Jonas and most of his employees lived. Jonas owned the hotel as well as the Silver Star Saloon.

“Tall fella, but not beefy,” Quay told him. “He’s hollerin’ for Mrs. Holmes.”

Jonas didn’t bother to grab his jacket. He might talk this man into leaving peaceably, but experience had taught him it might take more than a simple please to appeal to an abuser. No call to ruin a perfectly good coat.

He glanced at the holstered Colt hanging on a peg just inside the door, but deliberately walked past and locked the door behind him.

With the shutters open to the warm afternoon sun, the saloon was warm and bright. The freshly scrubbed floors, the two patrons and the woman polishing the top of the mahogany bar barely registered as he strode for the door and out onto the shaded boardwalk.

“Madeline, come out here now! Don’t make me come in and get you.”

The stranger stood in the street, a sweaty bay tethered to the post in front of the hotel. His tailored black suit was coated with a layer of dust as though he’d been pushing the mare for the better part of a day. In Jonas’s book, men who abused horses ranked right up there with men who mistreated women. Jonas had heard Madeline Holmes’s story and drew the easy conclusion that this was the man she’d run from before finding refuge in Silver Bend.

“Don’t make me come in there and drag you out!” the man shouted.

“Looking for someone?” Jonas called easily.

“Stay outta this, mister. Ain’t none of your concern.”

Jonas walked several yards toward the hotel. “Well, seems it is my concern since you’re standing there hollerin’ at the front windows of my establishment. State your business, Mister…”

“Baslow. This your hotel?”

“That it is. Jonas Black’s the name. And you are?”

“I’m lookin’ to take a woman back with me. I want Madeline Holmes.”

“Is she your wife?”

The angry man deepened the scowl on his already craggy face, and his complexion reddened. “Ain’t none of your damned business what she is. All you need to know is that she’s comin’ with me.”

“I guess we can leave that up to Maddie, now, can’t we?”

At Jonas’s familiar use of her name, Baslow turned his whole body toward Jonas and squinted. “What’s she to you?”

“A good employee. I’ll go tell her you’re here and you can ask her directly what she’d like to do.”

The man jerked his head toward the saloon Jonas had exited. Quay still stood just outside the doors.

“She’s in there?” Baslow shouted. “Whoring?”

Jonas gestured to a brightly painted wooden sign that hung on the outside of the building. “No sportin’ women in my establishment. Maddie’s one of my housekeepers.”

“The hell you say. Madeline!” he roared, stalking toward the saloon.

Jonas frowned at Baslow’s belligerent tone and aggressive stance. Eagerness for the man to try to push past him so he’d have reason to restrain him made his fingers tingle and his blood pump.

Instead, Baslow gave him a wide berth, striding to face the open saloon doors.

Casually, Jonas turned and stepped past Quay into the dim interior. This time his gaze sought and found the dark-haired woman who’d stopped polishing the bar and stood in rigid fear, her eyes as wide as saucers, her face pale. “Frank,” she said on a dry rasp.

Jonas thought she might have been pretty once, before abuse and fear had added the appearance of more years to her narrow face. Using intimidation, the man had held her in his home and his bed for eight years. Breaking away had taken courage. Following through with her decision to escape would take even more.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Jonas assured her.

“Quay and I are right here. The whole of Silver Bend would see if he tried to force you away in plain sight. You don’t have to go back with him. He can’t make you. Tell him you don’t want to leave. Make it loud ’n clear so there are witnesses.”

Her frightened gaze moved from Jonas to the doorway. He’d seen the same bleak dread on too many faces, and it made his blood boil. “You’re free, Maddie. You have a job and can take care of yourself. You don’t need him. He has no control over you except what you give him. From here on out you can live your life any way you see fit. It’s up to you.”

His words took effect, and her expression changed. Madeline Holmes placed the cloth she’d been holding on the bar and, with precise movements, removed her apron, folded it neatly and set it down. She ran her palms over her skirt in a nervous gesture, then straightened and raised her chin. “He can’t make me do anything I don’t want to, can he?”

“No, he can’t.”

She walked toward the doors. Jonas followed.

As she stepped out onto the boardwalk, Baslow’s severe gaze narrowed on her. His attention sidled over Jonas and Quay before fixing back on her as though the men were irritating flies he intended to swat later. “If you want to bring anything with you, get it now.”

Her hands trembled, but with obvious deliberation she hid them in the folds of her skirts. Jonas cheered silently for her brave front.

“I have a job now. And my own room at the hotel,” she said, her voice louder than he’d expected, though a slight tremble betrayed her nervousness. “I’m content to stay right here.”

Baslow’s thunderous expression darkened even more noticeably.

A few citizens had gathered on the boardwalk across the street and were watching the goings-on with interest. Wouldn’t be the first time a fight had erupted in front of his place, Jonas thought, his blood pounding with keen awareness, and it wouldn’t be the last. He had never minded a good fight to clear the air.

“You choosing a life of whoring over comin’ with me?” Baslow bit out between clenched teeth.

Jonas kept his mouth shut. He’d already told the man there weren’t any sporting women at his place, and everyone in town knew it. This was Maddie’s chance to speak her piece.

“That’s what I felt like when I was with you,” she said, coming straight to the heart of the matter. “I don’t want to live that way anymore. I’m not your wife.” Her voice and demeanor showed renewed strength in her decision. “Nobody hits me,” she declared. “And I get a fair wage for a day’s work. I can take care of myself just fine.”

Baslow headed toward Maddie. “I don’t know who fed you that hogwash,” he said, “but you belong to me, and you’ll do as I say.”

She backed away.

Jonas met him before he could reach the shade of the boardwalk. “Remember the brother’s war, Baslow? It’s against the law to keep slaves.”

They stood three feet apart. Baslow’s right eye twitched with anger. Jonas’s palms tingled.

“Get outta my way, mister, before you regret it.”

“Can’t do that. Maddie’s my employee, and I take care of my people.”

Baslow lunged toward Jonas. Jonas dodged his first attempt to reach him, spinning with hands locked together to land a blow on the back of the man’s neck.

Caught off guard, Baslow fell to his hands and knees in the dirt, losing his hat. Slowly, he shook his head, and then scrambled to his feet to come after Jonas. The fight was on.

The growing crowd pushed forward for a better look.

Energized now, Jonas raised both fists and bent his knees in readiness. Baslow faced him and they squared off, circling in avid concentration. The man’s eyes bored into Jonas’s with contempt. Jonas studied his stance, his movements, waited to see how he hit. Faster than Jonas anticipated, Baslow landed a blow to Jonas’s shoulder that forced him to catch his balance and got him mad. He retaliated with a quick right that landed on the man’s jaw with a crack and drew a grunt from his opponent and a murmur from the crowd.

Jonas didn’t feel the hits that came next, though he knew one landed against his ribs and another at his temple. Adrenaline lent him strength and numbed the pain. In the minutes that followed he used the reprieve to his advantage, skillfully finding opportunities to put down punches.

Half-a-dozen solid hits later Baslow’s lip was bleeding. He had a cut over his left eye, and he was breathing hard. Jonas watched for and found an opportunity, hit his eye again, then positioned all his muscle into landing a blow to his gut.

The man moaned and doubled over, dropping to his knees in the dirt. He glared up at Jonas, one eye red from streaming blood. “You got no right to keep Madeline.”

“You’re finally right,” Jonas answered. “Nobody’s got a right to hold her. She’s free to leave, she’s free to stay.” He turned to Maddie, who’d been watching with both hands clasped under her chin. “You want to go?”

She shook her head and released a pent-up breath. “No.”

“You sure? ’Cause we don’t want any misunderstandin’s. You’re free to leave any time you want.”

“I want to stay.”

“There you have it.” Jonas’s knuckles were stinging now. “Need any more convincing?”

Marshal Haglar parted the crowd and made his way to stand on the brick street a few feet away. He took in both men’s appearances. “What in blazes is goin’ on here?”

Maddie immediately ran forward to explain what had taken place. When she’d finished, the marshal turned to the spectators. “That how it happened? Anyone see the whole thing?”

Jonas couldn’t remember if anyone had been there during the initial exchange of words. He scanned the faces nearby. People had an aversion to getting involved, especially when a dangerous-looking fellow like Baslow glared at them as though daring someone to speak against him.

The marshal eyed the crowd, and one after another, the bystanders glanced at the person beside them and then away. Jonas figured his reputation and position on the town council would have enough sway. He wasn’t a troublemaker, but he never ran from a fight, either. He didn’t want to put Warren Haglar in a bad position, and the indifference of the locals irritated him.

Townspeople turned as movement caught their attention, and Jonas looked, too. From the opposite boardwalk, a slender woman in a blue-and-white gingham dress and a straw hat held the hem of her skirts above her shoes and stepped down onto the paving bricks. She walked to within four feet of the law officer. An unexpected tremor stabbed at Jonas’s belly.

“I saw the entire incident, Marshal,” she said. “I saw that man ride up and shout for Mrs. Holmes.”

Of course. Jonas’s three o’clock obsession. She’d been on the boardwalk the whole time. Eliza Jane Sutherland was rather tall for a woman, and on the rare occasion that she’d been without a hat, he’d seen that her hair was black and glossy in the sunlight. Jonas had never heard her speak more than a one- or two-word greeting, so now her magnificent silky voice, more than the words she spoke, caught and held his attention.

“Mr. Black came out of his establishment and suggested that he—” she pointed to the scowling stranger “—leave.” Her bright amber gaze moved to Jonas.

Something in his chest throbbed at the direct look, something ragged and weighty, something more alarming than facing a dozen angry men in the street.

The marshal asked her several questions and she replied directly. Jonas couldn’t take his eyes from her.

Every afternoon, rain or shine, Eliza Jane walked to the small tea shop that was a red brick storefront nestled on the corner beside Earl Mobley’s tailor shop on the opposite side of the street. Once inside, she seated herself at a table before the front window, where Bonnie Jacobson brought her a china cup and a pot of tea. Most days Jonas observed her ritual from just inside the door of the saloon where she couldn’t see him, but occasionally he found a reason to run an errand to the hardware store across the street in time for her arrival.

Once or twice he’d paused on the boardwalk as she passed and tipped his hat. As soon as she’d raised those amber eyes, his heart thudded in his chest and he’d chastised himself. Nothing and no one intimidated Jonas Black.

Apparently the marshal had no problem accepting the true story now that Eliza Jane had verified it, because he turned to Baslow. “Time you moved on.”

Baslow shot Maddie a look of seething rage. “You ain’t seen the last of me, woman. Don’t think your friends can protect you forever.”

“Anything happens to Miss Holmes, and we’ll know who to look for,” the marshal told him. “I’ll be wiring the county seat to let ’em know about this disturbance.”

Baslow located his hat where it lay in the street. He snatched it up, whacked it against his thigh and settled it on his head before walking toward his horse and untying it. From the clumsy way he mounted, Jonas suspected he was masking a couple of cracked ribs.

Marshal Haglar watched as the man turned his mount away and galloped out of town. “Stay out of sight, but follow him a ways to make sure he’s headed home,” he told one of the young men who had a horse tethered across the street.

Once Baslow was out of sight and the man he’d sent was tailing him, the marshal approached Maddie.

“Thank you, Marshal,” she said.

“I had the easy part,” he replied. “Looks like Jonas got the worst of it.”

Maddie looked Jonas over, but after noting the onlookers, a tinge of embarrassment stained her cheeks. “Sorry,” she said low enough that only Jonas and the marshal could hear.

“You handled it perfectly,” Jonas told her. “You had a crowd of witnesses while Frank was bullyin’ you, and when you stood up for yourself, you gained the respect of each one. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

He could tell the moment when it no longer mattered that she’d been humiliated on a public street. Maddie had just gained respect for herself. She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, but couldn’t hold back a smile. She brought her palms to her blazing cheeks. “I shouldn’t be so pleased when you’re standing there bleeding.”

He looked down at his knuckles, which had taken to throbbing like the very dickens.

The marshal tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Miss Holmes,” he said as though they’d just encountered each other on the boardwalk.

“Marshal.”

Jonas searched the crowd and noted that Eliza Jane had returned to the other side of the street. She was just entering the tea shop. Well, hell. He’d had the perfect reason to speak to her and had let it slip by. Now he was going to have to go after her. His stomach lurched. Confused the tar out of him why that thought was scarier than anything that had happened so far.

“Come in and put some ice on your hands,” Maddie suggested.

“I’ll be right there.” He gestured for her to go back to the Silver Star without him and crossed the street. He needed to thank the witness for verifying his story.

Chapter Two

A couple of the men spoke to him, commenting on the incident. The last few remaining townsfolk headed back to their jobs and errands.

Jonas moved on, pausing outside the tearoom, his ink-stained and bleeding fingers on the door handle. Scoffing at his uncharacteristic hesitation, he walked in, surprised to hear the delicate tinkle of a bell. It rang again as he closed the door and glanced around. Silence and the scents of cinnamon and spices engulfed him. He couldn’t imagine feeling more out of place.

Eliza Jane had taken a seat at her usual table by the window and removed her straw hat. Bonnie had just set a fancy rose-patterned cup and saucer on the pristine white tablecloth. Eliza Jane watched him cross the room toward her. His boot heels were glaringly loud on the wood floor. Her amber eyes held surprise…and wariness.

“I wanted to thank you…for speaking up the way you did,” he said. She held his gaze, and he got that funny feeling in his belly.

“I simply told the marshal what I’d seen.”

“A lot of people wouldn’t have done that with Baslow standing right there glarin’ at them.”

She shrugged. “I did it for the woman.”

Jonas nodded. “You did a good thing.”

Bonnie bustled from the back room with a cloth in her outstretched hand. He knew her from the town council meetings, since she ran her own business and most often attended. “Put this on your cheek there, Jonas. And come to the back and wash those hands.”

He accepted the wet cloth and touched it to his cheek where numbness had been replaced by a stinging sensation. Some impression he must be making, standing there bleeding. Coming here probably hadn’t been his wisest choice. “I’m not gonna bleed on your tablecloths, Bonnie. I’m not stayin’. I just wanted to thank Miss Sutherland.”

“I wasn’t worried about the tablecloths, I was concerned about your face and hands.”

“I’m all right.”

“You want a cup of tea?”

“No, thanks.”

She glanced at Eliza and back at him. “All right then. I’ll bring your tea right out, Eliza Jane.”

Once they were alone again, she met Jonas’s gaze. “Is that woman, the one he was after, is she your…I mean are you two…?”

Her blunt question surprised him. He shook his head. “Maddie works for me. She warned me about Baslow, so I knew what to expect. Nobody has a right to push another person around just because they’re bigger or stronger. The man had worse comin’ to him.”

Eliza studied the man standing in front of her with a new perspective. She’d seen him on the street a few times, knew of him and his enterprises, but they’d never had occasion to speak. Her brother-in-law had no use for Jonas Black, calling him a slave trader because he sold employment forms to itinerant workers seeking jobs. Silver Bend was a thoroughfare between the States and the British border, and scores of men sought work with threshing crews, in logging camps and orchards, even mines.

She knew about hiring migrant workers. She’d worked in her father’s brickyard since she’d been old enough to dig clay. Later she’d handled bookkeeping and accounts with enough skill to help buy railroad and bank shares. She’d managed the finances until well after her father’s death—until her sister’s health declined and Jenny Lee needed her more and more. Now she spent her days caring for her invalid sister and her young nephew.

No doubt about it, there were unscrupulous employment agencies. Many times workers had shown up at The Sutherland Brick Company to find out that two or three times as many forms as there were positions had been sold. Eliza didn’t know if this man was one of those agents or not. His father had been the town doctor for a good many years. Rumor had it that Dr. Black’s wife had been killed and he’d never gotten over it.

Bonnie brought Eliza Jane’s pot of tea. “Piping hot,” she said, placing it on the table. “Care for a cup?” she asked Jonas.

“Thanks, no,” he said with a shake of his head.

Bonnie headed back to the kitchen.

Jonas had left Silver Bend years ago, and since his return Eliza hadn’t had opportunity to do more than see him in passing. She didn’t have much firsthand knowledge at all, except that he was polite whenever he greeted her. It was common knowledge that he owned and ran the saloon and the hotel, and she’d never heard anyone other than her brother-in-law speak poorly of him.

She had learned one thing today, however. Without hesitation for his own safety, he had protected the Holmes woman from a man she obviously feared. The way he’d stood up to her tormenter spoke volumes about Jonas’s character.

“You should probably take care of that hand,” she said.

He glanced down at his knuckles. A nasty gash and blue-tinged swelling were evidence of the pain Baslow would be feeling for a while to come. Jonas flexed his fingers with a nod. “It’ll be fine.”

Bonnie returned with a rose-patterned plate holding a frosted tea cake.

Jonas glanced from Eliza to Bonnie. “Ladies.”

Eliza nodded a farewell.

“Jonas,” Bonnie replied.

He turned and exited the shop. The bell tinkled twice, echoing into the subsequent silence.

“What do you make of that?” Bonnie asked.

Eliza looked at her, puzzled.

“I’ve seen the man toe-to-toe with miscreants before, but I’ve never known him to set foot in here. You must’ve made a powerful impression.”

“I don’t know about that,” she replied, quickly looking down and stirring sugar into her tea.

“How is Jenny Lee today?” Bonnie asked, changing the subject.

“Sit down for a few minutes,” Eliza invited, then tasted the lemon-frosted pastry and dabbed her lips with her napkin. “It’s a fair day, as her days go.”

Bonnie sat with her hands folded under her chin, studying Eliza. “And she still insists that you take time for yourself every afternoon.”

Eliza picked up her cup and blew across the surface of the fragrant liquid. “She’s concerned she’s a burden. Of course she’s not, but she says the least I deserve is an hour a day to myself. I come to walk Tyler home from school anyway, so I may as well arrive in town a little early.” She glanced at the brooch timepiece pinned to her dress. “My time’s been cut short today.”

She took her coin purse from her pocket.

“Your refreshments are complimentary today.” Bonnie extended a hand to prevent Eliza from producing a coin. “You barely had time to enjoy it.”

“Regardless, you brewed it.”

“You’re my best customer,” Bonnie argued. “I can give you a cup of tea now and then if I like.”

Eliza smiled and picked up her hat. “Thank you.”

After Bonnie walked her to the door, she exited the shop and headed east. Nearly every structure along Main Street was made of brick. Prior to firing them, she could remember stamping the bricks, like those that comprised Brauman’s Leather Goods, alongside her father and three other men.

A loaded wagon rumbled past. Eight years ago they’d sold the bricks that paved the street for a dollar seventeen a thousand. She’d overseen each wagon that left the yard. She’d be leaving a part of her behind when she left this town.

Eliza abandoned Main Street for the open lots between the businesses and the school yard. Three weeks of sun and little rain had dried ground that had been soggy from melted snow only a month ago. Reaching the shade of an ancient sycamore, she sat on the grass, tucking her skirts around her, to await dismissal.

Four years ago she’d persuaded the town council to replace the wood frame schoolhouse with brick by telling them of the hazard from flying sparks cast by the woodstove. They’d insisted on painting the building white, and she’d had no problem with that as long as the children were safe. She’d supervised construction herself, as well as donated half the bricks, plus a fireplace and chimney.

A team and wagon driven by a young farmhand in a straw hat rolled to a stop near the sound little structure. The same fellow came to town each day to collect sons and daughters from outlying farms. School remained in session until fall when the children were needed to work in the fields.

The door opened. Miss Fletcher used a hook and eye from the door to the rail on the banister to hold it open. A line of children streamed from the building into the sunlight, some running, others chatting with friends.

Tyler’s pale blond hair stood out from the others’, and Eliza Jane’s heart swelled with tenderness as it had every time she’d seen him since the moment he was born.

He walked between two other boys, their heads bent over something Timmy Hatcher held in his cupped palm. Timmy spoke and Tyler and the other boy nodded and laughed.

Eliza stood and walked to the hard dirt path that led from the school toward town. Girls with braids passed with shy greetings.

Tyler looked up and spotted her waiting. He said a hasty goodbye to his friends and continued forward. He used to run to her, eager for a hug, but he would turn eight his next birthday, and he saved his hugs for bedtime now. She extended a hand, but he pretended he didn’t see it and walked beside her, two books under his arm.

“Did Miss Fletcher give two assignments for this evening?” she asked.

“Yep. The arithmetic is hard, too.”

“Fortunate for you, you’re such a smart boy,” she replied.

He nodded in all seriousness. “Mikey Kopeke has a harder time. And his dad don’t let him do his homework cause he has chores.”

“A lot of the children have chores,” she said. “Their parents need them to help with the animals and the crops more than they need them to memorize times tables.”

“Papa says when you know your times tables and letters you don’t have to work so hard all your life.”

Eliza Jane felt a little sick, the way she always did at the sight or mention of Royce Dunlap. “Papa’s right about getting a good education,” she told him. Tyler loved Eliza Jane’s brother-in-law with the fierce loyalty a boy felt for his father, even though Royce was forever preoccupied with new business ventures and office matters. More often than not her heart ached for Tyler. No child should go through what he had with an ill mother and an emotionally distant father. Especially not this child.

“Mama’s having a pretty good day today,” she told him, trying to sound assuring. Days like this were so much easier on him.

“But she won’t get better,” he said, without looking at her.

Her chest ached at the truth as well as the fact that someone so young and vulnerable had to face it. It was unfair that he had to learn about life this way. “No, Tyler. She won’t get better.”

He glanced up at her then, his blue eyes sad and trusting. If she could change the world for this boy, she would. She hated feeling helpless. She hated feeling responsible.

But most of all, Eliza hated feeling guilty.

Chapter Three

It was a warm sunlit afternoon, and they walked the rest of the way home in silence, pausing at the wrought iron gate to admire Sutherland’s finest cherry-red brick, the clean lines of the white window caps and functional green shutters. Eliza loved the irregular Italianate architecture. There were two stories and an attic in the main section and two stories in the jutting side section where the sitting and dining rooms were down and an immense sunroom up. In front, the main part featured a jutting two-story section with windows on three sides on each floor and a balcony atop.

A Queen Anne porch had been added for her mother several years after the original construction. The home and its rooms held memories of her parents and many good times when her sister was young and not feeble. They were memories Eliza treasured, even though her heart broke with each recall. They entered the house, and she sent Tyler upstairs for time alone with Jenny Lee.

Nora Cahill, their neighbor, greeted Tyler on her way down the stairs to the foyer. She turned to watch him climb to the top and disappear along the hallway to Jenny Lee’s room. Nora turned a saddened gaze on Eliza. “I don’t even know what to say to the child anymore.”

Eliza’s parents had lived in this house from the time Eliza had been a toddler, and Nora and her husband had lived next door all those years. As children she and Jenny Lee had played with Nora’s daughter, Vernelle, who had eventually married and moved East. When Eliza’s mother’s heart had weakened and she had lingered for weeks, Nora had been a blessing. Years later Nora had comforted the adult sisters when their father had died.

“None of us thought Jenny Lee would hold on this long. Your mother used to dread her dying. Maybe it’s best she’s not here for the end.”

Eliza loved Nora like an aunt, but that comment silenced her. She would much rather have her mother alive today, no matter what.

“Thank you for these afternoons,” she said with heartfelt gratitude. If Jenny Lee hadn’t insisted a year ago that Eliza take an hour to herself each day, there would probably be weeks at a stretch that she never left the house or her sister’s side. She needed the nourishing time to draw on inner strength, to think and to plan.

And she had a plan.

“You know I’m happy to come over any time,” Nora told her. “I left a couple loaves of bread rising. You can bake them later.”

Eliza leaned to give her a quick hug and then saw her to the door. Closing it, she turned to gaze up the stairway. It had grown more and more difficult to keep a cheerful attitude and guard her expression. Her sister looked nothing like the fun-loving, lovely young girl Eliza wanted to remember, but she steadfastly held her sorrow at bay. Jenny and Tyler needed her now more than ever.

After a difficult moment, she drew a fortifying breath, gathered her skirts and purposefully trod one stair at a time. The worn banister was familiar and comforting to her touch. She knew the number of steps and which ones creaked. The house was her solace, her haven. She could find her way around in the pitch dark without effort. The thought of leaving had always been too much to bear…until now. Any comfort she’d once drawn here had been spoiled by her brother-in-law’s presence.

The door to Jenny Lee’s room was always open unless Royce went in to visit her alone, which happened rarely anymore. A year ago, he’d moved to another room down the hall. Eliza had offered to bring a cot for him if he was afraid of disturbing his wife’s rest; she had even suggested two smaller beds instead of the one that had been her parents’, but he declined.

She thought he could have been more attentive and helpful. His moving from the room caused Eliza more work. Now she needed to check on her sister throughout the night. But she’d learned that defying Royce’s decisions and demands only caused more trouble, and she had to keep things calm for Jenny Lee’s sake.

Tyler was sitting on the side of the bed, his expression animated as he finished telling Jenny Lee something about Timmy Hatcher. Jenny’s adoring smile was already thin. As much as she loved to hear about Tyler’s day and cling to those last vestiges of normal life, she could only mask the pain and fatigue for brief spells. When she saw Eliza Jane, regret and relief warred in her sunken eyes.

Immediately interpreting unspoken clues, Tyler kissed Jenny Lee’s cheek before easing himself to stand beside the bed. “I’ll come back to see you after supper, Mama.”

“I love you, Tyler. You don’t know how much.”

“I love you, too, Mama.”

The sisters watched him leave the room, and then their eyes met. Jenny Lee’s held tears.

“Do you need your medicine?” Eliza asked.

“Please.”

She fed Jenny two teaspoons of the elixir Dr. McKee provided for pain, then helped her turn on her side and adjusted a few pillows for comfort. Eliza pulled the chair close beside the bed and took a seat.

Jenny Lee reached for her hand. Her sister’s cool fingers felt alarmingly slim and frail and Eliza was always afraid of hurting her. Jenny was wearing a smile, though, when Eliza’s gaze rose to her face. Her skin was unnaturally translucent and white, her eyes too shiny.

“Remember when we were girls, Liza, and we couldn’t wait to get home from school with Vernelle? We’d all go up into the attic room and play for hours. Mother used to shoo us out of doors for fresh air, and we’d take the same fantasy game we’d been playing to Nora’s backyard behind those big lilac bushes.”

“I remember,” Eliza answered. Nora had brought bouquets of lilacs from those very bushes into Jenny Lee’s room all that spring. “You always wore Grandma Pritchard’s rose evening dress and the bead necklace.”

“Those were pearls,” Jenny Lee insisted. “And you liked Mother’s blue dress with the ruffled sleeves.”

“We were quite the fashionable ladies, weren’t we?”

“I felt rather deserted when Vernelle married Robert and moved East,” Jenny Lee confided.

“As did Nora.”

“And then I married Royce.” Jenny Lee’s gaze wandered away for a few moments and then returned. “Did you feel I’d deserted you?”

“Of course not. You were only across the neighborhood.”

Royce and Jenny Lee had rented a small home. Shortly after Henry Sutherland’s death, Jenny Lee’s health had declined to where she needed more and more attention, and she was unable to care for Tyler. Moving here had been the practical and necessary thing for all of them. Eliza had quit her bookkeeping position at the brickyard and devoted herself to her sister and Tyler. She’d never been sorry, and she never would be.

Confirmation of Royce’s true nature had come soon after. The truth of what she’d suspected for some time had been unraveled in startling increments and ugly realizations. Eliza covered up his disinterest in Jenny Lee and Tyler to protect them. Her sister was dying. She didn’t need the hurt of knowing her husband had married her to get his hands on The Sutherland Brick Company and their other investments.

Henry had left a portion of the business to each of them, and they’d had equal say in decisions. Most often Royce had been able to sway Jenny Lee to his point of view on investments and holdings, and Eliza hadn’t been willing to fight him in front of her sister. The few times she’d tried, the hurt look on Jenny Lee’s face had discouraged her.

She didn’t want to plan for her sister’s death, but she had to be realistic. Once Jenny Lee was out of the triangle, Royce would own the major share of the brickyard and could do whatever he pleased.

His intentions didn’t stop there. A shudder ran up her spine and infused her with ominous panic. With controlled effort, she fought down the feeling.

Eliza Jane had a plan.

She’d stashed away and hidden her savings—not in the bank, because they owned a share of the bank and Royce could look at accounts anytime he wanted. But in a safer place. When the inevitable time came to escape, she would be able to take care of herself and Tyler.

“Remember how Father used to read to us in the evenings?” Jenny Lee asked, and Eliza was grateful to return to a happier time with her. “Mama would sit in that brown wing chair and work on her quilts while he read us stories. He was a good father, wasn’t he?”

Eliza sensed the disappointment her sister felt that her husband had never been a caring or loving father to Tyler. It had always seemed to Eliza that he’d tolerated the boy just to pacify Jenny Lee and her father. Now she knew it was so.

“It’s so unfair that I got this puny heart,” Jenny said with a catch in her voice. She rarely spoke in such a hopeless fashion.

“I’m going to take care of Tyler.” Eliza looked right into her sister’s eyes and assured her.

Jenny Lee squeezed her hand without much strength. “I know you will.” The medicine had taken its effect, and her eyes drifted closed. “I’m going to rest for a few minutes.”

Her lashes lay against the dark hollows under her eyes. With her blue eyes closed, she didn’t even look like herself. Eliza often washed and curled her hair, but it was thin and lank. Eliza swallowed a painful lump in her throat and fought tears. A show of emotion wouldn’t help a thing. Strength would.

“I love you, Liza.” Jenny hadn’t opened her eyes, for which Eliza was grateful. Pain was sure to be evident on her face.

“I love you, Jenny.”

Once she was sure her sister slept comfortably, she slipped out of the room. In the hall, she stood with her back against the wall, a great weight crushing her heart, and the pull of tears threatening her last shreds of composure. As sorrow washed over her in cresting waves, she clasped both hands to her breast, and pressed her fingers to her lips to hold back sobs. If she started now, she would never stop.

After several minutes, she took a deep breath, collected herself and made her way downstairs. She found Tyler working on his arithmetic assignments in the kitchen. She stoked the oven and checked the temperature to bake the bread. “I remember sitting here doing my schoolwork when I was your age.”

Jenny’s talk had kindled memories, and Eliza ached for happy carefree times. Jenny Lee had never been strong, not even then, but the seriousness of her heart condition hadn’t been apparent. They’d simply been two young girls with two parents, sharing the comfortable home their father had built for them and that their mother ran with aplomb.

“And Mama, too? Did she do her arithmetic right here?”

“That she did.” She cut him a wedge of cheese and poured him a cup of milk.

“Is she as good at numbers as you are, Aunt Eliza?”

Eliza put on a kettle of water for tea and sat across from him. “Her strengths tend to lie in word studies, subjects like spelling and English. As I recall she was very good at geography, as well. We always dreamed about the faraway places we would see one day.”

“Did you ever?”

She studied his fingers on the pencil. “No. We never traveled farther than Denver.”

“Maybe we could all go.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. He had confirmed his understanding that Jenny Lee would not get better, but did he truly comprehend that she was going to die?

A stab of pity snatched her breath and formed an aching knot in her chest. He was too young to learn this particular life lesson. “Tyler,” she said, approaching the subject cautiously. “You understand that Mama is very, very sick, don’t you?”

He nodded, keeping his gaze on his paper.

“And you know that…” She pursed her lips to keep them from trembling. “You know she won’t be with us much longer.”

He didn’t look up. “She’s gonna die.”

“Yes.” She barely managed a whisper.

“She told me.”

Eliza studied the curve of his cheek, the delicate sweep of his pale eyelashes and experienced a swell of love. Of course her sister had prepared him. Jenny Lee loved him more than life. Again, she blinked back the sting of tears.

At last he raised those bright blue eyes to hers. Eyes as earnest and clear as Jenny Lee’s had once been. “She said not to be afraid ’cause you’d take care of me always. Will you?”

Nothing could stop her. Nothing. And no one. She got up and placed her cheek against his. “Of course I will. Always. I promise.”

Jenny Lee didn’t have much appetite, but that evening Eliza managed to get her to sip a cup of broth and take some tea before giving her the medicine and making her comfortable.

She had tucked Tyler into bed and returned downstairs where she sorted laundry in the washroom beyond the kitchen. She sent out bedding and most of the clothing, but she washed her own and Jenny’s Lee’s delicate garments herself. She packed the laundry into bags, which would be picked up the following morning, and set her wash load aside.

A sound alerted her to her brother-in-law’s presence, and her senses went on alert. Alarm prickled along the skin on her arms and neck. She stepped to the doorway.

Royce stood on the far side of the kitchen. His shrewd gaze crawled over her. He was dressed as impeccably as always in a dark coat and white shirt, his brown hair parted so that it waved away from his forehead. “I’ll take my supper now.”

“I’ll get your plate from the oven.” She walked around the opposite side of the table and grabbed one of the flour sacks Nora had layered and sewn for protection from hot pot handles.

Royce’s boot heels struck the wood floor in a rapid cadence a split second before he reached her.

She whirled to face him, her body stiff.

He stopped inches from her. He wore closely trimmed sideburns and a ribbon-thin mustache on the very edge of his upper lip.

Eliza turned her face to the side to avoid his unbearable nearness and drilling gaze. His breath touched her chin. Hairs rose on her neck and arm.

“You’re looking lovely tonight.”

“You’re married to my sister.”

“A tenuous bond at the very least.”

Her heart thundered against her rib cage. “How can you treat her death so callously?”

He leaned forward without actually touching her until his heat scorched her cheek and seared her body. “It’s business, my dear.”

The sensation of being trapped sent a shudder of revulsion along her spine. She closed her eyes in the futile hope that she’d open them to find this encounter had only been another menacing nightmare.

“Don’t be so priggish, Eliza Jane. You’re no unblemished paragon of virtue.” She started at the touch of his finger as he ran it along her jaw. “I expect you’ll be quite an enthusiastic partner once you’ve resigned yourself to the next phase of our relationship.”

“We don’t have a relationship.”

“Ah, but we will.” His hand circled her wrist, and she spun away from him then, escaping from the heat of the oven behind her and his menacing overtures.

She darted to the opposite side of the table and stood with her hands on the spindles of the chair back, bile rising in her throat. “You disgust me.”

“I find the chase quite titillating, actually.” With a swagger, he moved to a chair and seated himself before the place setting she’d prepared. He adjusted the cutlery in precise alignment before leveling a warning gaze on her.

“Don’t get carried away, however. There’s a time and a place for everything, and soon your time for coy resistance will run out. Once Jenny Lee is gone and we’ve served a respectable mourning period, you will become my wife.”

Eliza stood with her heart in her throat, trapped in this house and under this man’s rule for the time being. She couldn’t leave Jenny Lee or Tyler. They needed her. He knew it. And he used her love for them to his advantage.

“It’s the natural course of things in anyone’s eyes,” he added.

A hundred nights she’d lain awake into the wee hours of morning, listening for him, dreading his next move, imagining endless scenarios of telling Jenny Lee the ugly truth, of going to the marshal, yet always coming to the same hopeless conclusion: she could not break Jenny Lee’s heart. She would never let her sister know that Royce had married her for a percent of the brickyard…and that he was awaiting her death to amass the final ownership.

Once that happened, he would have control. All Eliza could do was bide her time and endure. Shelter her sister. Protect Tyler. And avoid this deplorable excuse for a human being until—until their situation changed.

She moved to the oven, took out the hot plate and set it in front of him while guardedly keeping her distance. Sometimes she was so angry with her father for allowing this to happen that she didn’t know what to do with those feelings.

“You’re quite transparent, Eliza Jane,” he said. “But resenting me isn’t going to do any good.” He picked up his fork and knife and sliced the roast. “We both know why you’ll comply.” He took a bite and chewed before looking up at her again. “But you’ve already figured that out, haven’t you?”

Her heart skipped a beat.

Anger distorted her vision for seconds and she clenched her teeth, unable to speak.

“You have no legal rights to Tyler unless you marry me.”

“You aren’t human,” she finally replied, venom lacing her tone.

“And you will marry me. Because I have knowledge that will hurt both of you. And you don’t want me to tell.”

“I could kill you in your sleep,” she said. And God help her, she’d already thought of it. But she was too much of a coward. What if she went to jail and left Tyler here alone?

Royce actually smiled, something he did rarely, and she suspected it was because one of his front teeth overlapped the other. “I shall remember to sleep lightly.”

Why should he sleep any better than she?

Once Jenny Lee was gone, Eliza would be forced to put her plan into action, take Tyler and escape. This house her father had built, the town she called home, all the precious memories, none of it mattered as much as protecting Tyler.

The bell on the front door screeched as a visitor twisted the handle. Relieved at the interruption, Eliza tossed down the towel and hurried to answer the call.

A young man in a flannel jacket and mended dungarees stood on the porch holding a fistful of white daisies. “Miss Sutherland?”

“Yes.”

“These is for you.” He thrust the bouquet into her hands and turned away.

“Wait!” she called, but he was already out the gate and running down the street, where dusk was turning Silver Bend to shades of gold and deep lavender. She glanced at the rocky buttes in the distance, then down at the flowers she held.

“Who was it?”

Royce stood behind her. She turned to meet his thunderous expression. He spotted the bouquet. “Who sent those?”

“I don’t know.”

She spotted the small note tucked between the blooms at the same time he did. He snatched the card, catching several delicate white petals that fell to the polished wood at their feet.

Royce read the note, then his ominous gaze rose to level on her. He set his mouth in a disapproving line and grabbed the bunch of flowers from her hand. “Don’t be getting any ideas. You’ll be sorry if you cross me.”

He threw the daisies to the floor and crushed them beneath the heel of his boot, grinding until stems and petals and leaves were a mass of ruin.

With deliberate intimidation, he tore the note into pieces and tossed it onto the debris.

“I want coffee in the study after I’ve eaten.” He turned and walked back toward the kitchen.

Confused, Eliza looked down at the trampled flowers. She would have to get a broom and dustpan. Kneeling, she picked up the strewn scraps of paper and fitted them together on the floor like a jigsaw puzzle.

The handwriting was square and neat, unfamiliar.

“Hopefully these will make a better impression,” she read. No signature. Nothing that should have angered Royce to the degree it had. But then he didn’t need much prompting.

She tucked the bits of paper into the pocket of her skirt. No signature had been required for her to know the daisies had come from Jonas Black. He’d already thanked her for telling the marshal what she’d seen. This gesture had been unnecessary…but she found it touchingly kind.

There was no way Royce could have known who sent the bouquet. He’d have been even angrier if he’d suspected they’d come from the “slave trader,” the man she’d seen fighting in the street that day.

Jonas had sent flowers. She didn’t know what to make of that, but she didn’t have the time or energy to figure it out. She had too much to handle right here. A faint regret for what she could never have, tried to edge its way into her thinking.

The rapid echo of bare feet in the upstairs hall drew her attention, and she lifted her gaze to see Tyler slide to a halt and grip the banister. “Aunt Eliza!” he called down, his young voice squeaking with urgency. “Come quick! It’s Mama!”

Chapter Four

Just because Eliza had known the time was coming didn’t make her sister’s death any easier to accept. She hadn’t had any close friends since grade school; Jenny had been her friend. They had shared everything—or nearly everything. There at the end, Eliza had kept Royce’s true nature a secret. She suspected Jenny had been disappointed, but she’d been as brave about her disenchantment with her marriage as she had about her illness.

The past two days had been a blur. Now that the funeral service was over and she’d ridden home with Tyler and Royce, Eliza remembered that she hadn’t eaten that day. She tried to recall if she’d eaten the day before and assumed she must have. Upon hanging up her shawl, she hurried past the rooms where furniture had been moved and chairs arranged, to the back of the house. A few of the ladies from church were already setting out food.

The aromas of savory beef, apples and cinnamon, and freshly brewed coffee would normally have teased her appetite, but today they made her feel queasy. She surveyed the abundance of food on the table. “Oh my goodness!”

“I think everyone in town brought something.” Penny Wright stepped close. Eliza and Penny had handled many a meal such as this in their duties as members of the Ladies’ Aid Society, but Eliza couldn’t remember seeing this much food since her father’s funeral. The Sutherlands were well thought of. She pressed a hand to her midriff as if the touch could hold back the pain of loss and the poignant appreciation for her neighbors’ thoughtfulness.

Penny wrapped an arm around Eliza’s shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. Realizing she’d never hug her sister again, Eliza’s chest throbbed with a hollow ache. Pulling a lace-edged hankie from her pocket, she dabbed her nose and focused on the dining room table with all the leaves in place. The ivory lace cloth that had been her mother’s was now nearly hidden by steaming casseroles and delectable-looking cakes and pies. This was the day she had dreaded and welcomed at the same time.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Eliza turned as Nora entered the room, carrying yet another covered dish. Penny scurried to make a spot for it.

Nora took Eliza’s hand and squeezed her fingers. Her pale face and puffy eyes showed evidence of the strain she shared. Eliza used the same strength Penny had offered to give her friend a hug. They’d already heard a plethora of trite things people said at a time like this. Jenny Lee’s suffering was over. She was in a better place. But mere words couldn’t fix the pain or emptiness left by this unfair loss, so they shared a silent moment of grief.

A rap sounded on the front door. Eliza straightened and tucked her hankie into her sleeve in preparation.

Two and three at a time, the men and women of Silver Bend arrived in their Sunday best and milled about waiting for the reverend to pray over the meal. Reverend Miller finally parted the crowd in the parlor and gave a brief blessing. Penny directed mourners to the sideboard, which was stacked with plates and flatware.

Nora cupped Eliza’s elbow. “Let’s get you a plate.”

“Tyler—” Eliza began.

“Marian is taking care of Tyler.”

She allowed Nora to walk her through the line and fill a plate for her. The woman ushered her to a chair in the parlor. “Now sit and take some nourishment.”

Eliza accepted the plate without noting what it held. As always, Nora’s presence was a blessing. It would be impossible to thank her for all she’d done for their family, but Eliza would have to find some small way to show her appreciation. A special and meaningful gesture was a must. She scanned the gathering and found Tyler sitting on the wide brick hearth with Timmy Hatcher and Michael Kopeke. Miss Fletcher sat nearby, wearing a smile and engaging them in conversation.

His life would go on. Eliza’s life would go on. They had to learn to make that happen without Jenny Lee. And some way—without Royce.

From the other room his voice broke through her reverie. The mere sound made her skin crawl. He was talking about the Horace Vernet painting in the hallway, the one her father had purchased during a trip he and her mother had taken abroad many years ago. Royce spoke of the French painter and the history of the piece as though he had something to do with it. As though it was his.

Nora had always admired that painting. Eliza took a bite of Delores Cress’s signature stroganoff, knowing it tasted better than sawdust, but she had no appetite.

“Miss Sutherland.”

She drew her gaze upward from a pair of polished black boots to pressed black trousers, past a matching tailored coat and smart bow tie before recognizing Jonas Black. She set down her fork. “Mr. Black.”

Eliza Jane attempted to rise, but Jonas stopped her with an outstretched hand and seated himself on the chair beside hers. Her usually luminous skin was pale and her eyes showed she hadn’t slept. She probably hadn’t eaten, and here he was interrupting her meal.

“I’ll get a plate and join you.” He hurried through the wide opening to the hall and found the dining room, returning a few minutes later. “You won’t have to cook for a week.”

“Everyone feels helpless,” she answered. “They want to do something.”

He nodded and took a bite of chocolate-frosted cake, even though there was plenty of other food on his plate. He caught her looking and grinned sheepishly. “Sweet tooth.”

Side by side, they ate in silence. He finished, and Delores Cress came by to take his plate and return with a cup of coffee. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Eliza held her half-empty plate out to Delores.

“Would you like coffee?” the other woman asked. “I have water on and can make you some tea.”

“No, thank you.”

Jonas sipped the brew, then turned to find a spot on a side table to set the cup. He leveled his gaze on Eliza.

“When my father died, you were one of the ladies servin’ food and coffee.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “I remember.”

He looked away, searching his mind for words. “I recall your kindness that day. You told me that my father was a good man and that you would miss him.”

“He was a good man.” Her gaze rose to his then.

“And I’ve missed him. He was kind to my family. Diligent. He always came out day or night, rain or shine to take care of Jenny or my parents.”

“That day…I knew you understood,” he told her,

“that words were inadequate. You didn’t say all the things people normally say at a time like that. You had already lost your mother.”

Eliza shrugged. “Words are cheap. It’s what we do that determines who we are.”

Her straightforward manner surprised him, but he admired her practical philosophy. He wondered if she was thinking about him fighting Baslow in the street the other day, wondered if she thought that scuffle defined who he was.

Her gaze was steady, sending the same disturbing feeling it always elicited across his nerve endings. Why was it her presence made him look into himself with questions? Did that fight define him?

She unsettled him.

“Thank you for the flowers.” Her cheeks turned pink, bringing fresh color to her pale complexion. She held his gaze only a moment longer, then glanced away, confirming her embarrassment.

“Appreciate that you spoke up,” he answered.

“You’d already thanked me.”

He had. But the words hadn’t felt adequate. Well, truth was he’d groped for an opportunity to paint himself in a better light in her mind. Why in tarnation he gave it a second thought was a concern, though.

Across the room, a woman spoke to a youngster, and he rose from where he sat on the hearth to leave with her. The remaining platinum-haired boy stared after them, then his gaze moved across the people crowding the room toward the hallway. Jonas sensed confusion and fear. Finally, the child spotted Eliza Jane. He got up and crossed the room to them. “Aunt Liza?”

She reached out to place the backs of her fingers against his cheek in a loving gesture. “Your friends left?”

He nodded, his blue eyes wide and shining. Then so softly that Jonas could barely hear him, he asked, “Could I sit on your lap for a little while?”

Eliza Jane’s composure must’ve been tested, because she pursed her lips and tilted her head, but recovered and answered swiftly, “Of course you may.”

She smoothed the skirts of her black dress, and the boy raised one knee and sidled onto her lap. Her arms came around him, one hand smoothing his hair from his forehead. She pressed a kiss against his temple, and her eyelids drifted closed as though his very scent was a comfort. He snuggled against her.

Jonas’s chest got a tight feeling. Her sister’s child. When he’d heard the news of Jenny Lee’s death in town the day before, he’d also heard clucking and lamenting about the poor dear child and grieving husband she’d left behind. He knew what it was like to lose a mother.

Jonas halted that train of thought. “Your nephew?” he asked.

“This is Tyler. Tyler, meet Mr. Black.”

Tyler obediently sat straight and looked at him.

“How do, sir.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, young man.”

Tyler looked to Eliza for approval, and she smiled. He tucked himself right back with his head under her chin. “Are you sleepy?” she asked.

“Only a little.”

“All this company is tiring, isn’t it?”

“Are they all Mama’s friends?”

“They came because they cared for her, and they want to show that they care about you, too.” She rubbed his shoulder. “Why don’t we go upstairs? You can change out of your suit jacket and lie on your bed for a little while.”

“I don’t want to go yet,” he answered.

“All right then. You may sit with me a while longer.”

Jonas thought perhaps he should go, but just as he was about to excuse himself, Eliza spoke. “How is Miss Holmes?”

“Good, I reckon. She’s a fine worker.”

“Housekeeping you said?”

“Uh-huh.” Oh, he was a witty conversationalist.

“Do you employ a number of people?”

“About twenty.” He explained about the operations of the hotel and the saloon and how many it took to keep both businesses running. “Handle the employment vouchers myself.”

“How does that work exactly?”

“Well. You know a lot of men have been lured West by gold or adventure or the dream of land. Reality of it is most of ’em end up needin’ jobs. Oh, a few strike it rich and are the moneymakers, but the rest are the real workers. The ones who actually dig trenches and tunnels and drive spikes. Ones who harvest crops and fell trees.”

She nodded, showing her interest.

“Those kind of jobs move around with the railroad and with the seasons. Railroad, farmers, mine owners and the state all let me know when they need laborers. I sell vouchers for those jobs and the industry owners pay me commission when they hire.”

She didn’t respond, and he couldn’t read her expression. “I already know your brother-in-law doesn’t have any use for what I do.”

She glanced away and then back at him. “I don’t understand why he calls you a slave trader.”

“Maybe he wishes he’d thought of it first?” he suggested with half a grin. “Dunno. They aren’t slaves, they’re hardworking men. I’m doin’ ’em a service by locating the jobs. They call themselves hoboes, you know.”

“I didn’t. What does that mean?”

“Just means a migratory worker.”

“Not tramps.”

He shook his head. “Tramps and bums beg and don’t want to work. These men are the backbone of industry all the way from here to the Dakotas and up into Canada.”

“What about their families?”

“Most of ’em have never been married. Some are immigrants who left wives behind in other countries.”

Jonas glanced over and noticed Tyler had fallen asleep in her arms. He was a good-sized boy and must be getting heavy. “He’s asleep.”

She nodded. “I could tell. He was exhausted. He never sits on my lap anymore. The fact that he did today, not caring who saw, says a lot. Do you think you could help me?”

“What can I do?”

“I don’t think I can lift him from where I sit, and I’d never make it up the stairs. I’d hate to wake him to get him to his bed.”

Jonas glanced around, not spotting Tyler’s father. He stood and bent to take the boy from her arms, getting one arm behind his knees and another around his back. Jonas’s arms brushed Eliza Jane’s as she released Tyler, and she met his eyes.

Heat like quicksilver ignited in his belly at the combination of that innocent touch and the spark of her amber gaze. She noticed something, too.

She stood, smoothing her skirts, and touched his arm. “Upstairs.”

She led the way to the foyer and up the broad, carpeted staircase, her black skirts swishing. He glimpsed white lace above her heels with each stair she climbed ahead of him. He didn’t allow himself to look up, knowing her backside would be at his eye level.

He followed her along a hallway lined with polished mahogany doors and framed art until she opened one and gestured for him to enter ahead of her. The house smelled like candles and lemon wax.

He carried Tyler into a well-lit room with a heavy oak bedstead and bureau, a chest against one wall, and a row of wooden soldiers at attention along the windowsill.

Eliza Jane tugged at the drapery tassels, letting the material fall over the opening and cloak the room in semidarkness. Moving forward with a rustle of skirts, she pulled back the blue-and-white patterned quilt and a crisp sheet.

Jonas lowered Tyler to the bed, easing his head onto the pillow and straightening his legs.

His aunt removed his boots. Jonas reached to take them from her and set them aside. She pulled the covers up over Tyler and rhythmically threaded her fingers through his hair, as though she was in no hurry to leave him. Jonas couldn’t help noticing the pain and adoration on her face when she looked at the boy. She was hurting for him as well as for her own loss.

Bending at the waist, she pressed her nose to his hairline. Her lips touched the skin at his temple. Her eyes closed and Jonas caught the glimmer of a tear as it dropped on Tyler’s cheek. She wiped it away quickly and stood. Composing herself she touched her skirt with both hands as though pressing out wrinkles.

He recognized the gesture as something she did without thinking when she was uncomfortable. Following her out into the hall, he stood waiting as she pulled the door closed.

“I’d like to do that myself,” she said. “Lie down and obliviously sleep away the next several hours…or days.”

“Go ahead.”

She looked up at him. The hum of conversation from downstairs seemed to swell and fade. After a second, she shook her head. “The house is full of guests.”

“They would understand.”

“It’s a small thing to honor my sister and let people pay their respects.”

He’d been curious about her for months, watching her daily walks to the tea shop, wondering about her life. He suffered a twinge of guilt that perhaps part of his reasoning for coming today had been out of curiosity. It felt odd standing in the home where she had lived for so many years, seeing her in her surroundings, watching her with her nephew. Yet he still didn’t know her any better than before.

“This is interesting.”

Eliza Jane jumped and turned to face the man who’d spoken.

Royce Dunlap had apparently come up a back flight of stairs and was standing several feet away, looking as though he’d caught them doing something wrong.

Eliza Jane’s demeanor changed, her back straightening and chin lifting in a defensive posture. “Mr. Black carried Tyler to his bed. Tyler’s had a difficult time and needs to rest.”

Royce’s gaze slid to Jonas. “Why, how kind of you to assist my son, Jonas. You are a man of many talents. One never knows what you’ll be applying yourself to next.”

For years Jonas had locked horns with Royce in town council meetings. One discussion or another always led them to a disagreement. Royce had a bone to pick with him for some reason, and Jonas just plain held little respect for the man and his ill treatment of the workers in his employment. But this wasn’t the time or the place to air their differences. “I came to show my respects for your wife.”

“Yes, we’re torn over our loss,” Royce replied, but the words and his tone didn’t hold much sincerity.

Jonas didn’t like the impression he was getting. “I believe I’ll finish my coffee now.” He turned to Eliza Jane. “Miss.”

“It’s probably cold,” she told him. “I’ll get you a fresh cup.”

“No bother. I’ll help myself.”

Eliza watched his broad back in the black coat as he descended the stairs. She sensed Royce’s displeasure and heard him step closer. “He’s not our kind, and he’s not welcome in this house again.”

She frowned, but didn’t look at his face. “We don’t turn away kind folks who call to pay their respects. He’s a perfect gentleman.”

“He’s a slimy opportunist.”

“What are you talking about?” Turning away, she headed for Jenny Lee’s room. She and Nora had already cleaned it and replaced all the bedding with new, except for the wedding ring quilt that had been Jenny’s favorite. It lay folded over the foot of the bed. The sight made Eliza catch her breath.

She ignored the overwhelming recollections the room stirred up and went directly to the bureau, where she pulled open the second drawer. The wooden box that held Jenny Lee’s jewelry was gone. She looked under delicately scented scarves and handkerchiefs that tried to evoke more memories, but there was no jewelry box. Puzzled, she opened and searched each drawer.

Dawning realization kicked her heart into a frantic rhythm. She gave the room a quick once-over and then ran back into the hall.

Royce lounged on a chair that stood alongside a table with a vase. With a smug gaze, he watched her approach.

“Where is Jenny’s jewelry box?”

“Why, it’s in safekeeping, of course.”

“I want to give the jade necklace and earrings to Nora.”

He gave a snort of disgust. “Where would that old bag wear jewelry like that?”

Heated anger built in Eliza’s chest. “It’s of no concern to you where she would wear it or if she wore it at all. It’s a gesture of appreciation. Nora cared for Jenny Lee as tenderly as a mother would have. She’s like family to us. I want to give her a token of some sort. Something sentimental.”

“She’s not family. She’s not anything to us. Jenny Lee’s belongings are not yours to disperse.”

“That necklace was our mother’s. I want Nora to have it.”

Royce moved so quickly that Eliza had no warning. Grasping her upper arms, he pushed her against the wall. “Don’t defy me, dear sister. Not now. Not ever.”

He sidled closer, pressing his thigh between hers.

Eliza struggled to escape, but he raised one hand to her throat and applied enough pressure to cut off her air. “This isn’t a game. There are no choices. You’re going to marry me. What was Jenny Lee’s is mine, and what was yours will be mine.”

Her blood pounded in her ears, and she struggled for a much-needed breath. Royce pushed until the bones of her pelvis ached from being pressed between his body and the wall. “Let…go of me,” she managed in a hoarse whisper.

He lowered his face close, and she turned hers aside to avoid him. He touched his nose to her cheek. “Don’t concern yourself with how I handle things from now on.”

Eliza used all her strength to slowly twist sideways, forcing a space between their bodies. When Royce eased away a fraction, she lunged her knee upward between his legs as hard as she could. The contact was swift and solid.

He yelped and released her, doubling over in pain. “You’re going to be sorry for that,” he said on a groan, but at the moment, his words didn’t hold much conviction.

She couldn’t shake the descending worry that Jenny Lee’s jewelry wasn’t the only thing he’d taken. She turned and ran to the end of the hall and up the stairs into the attic. Light streaming in through the arched window at the end of the room allowed her to go directly to the stack of trunks in the corner, where she knelt and reached behind them to grasp blindly.

Her fingers came in contact with the cigar box she’d hidden and relief swept through her in a wave. She’d saved every spare cent she could squirrel away in planning their escape.

As she stood, she realized the box was too light and didn’t rattle. She opened it to stare at the bottom. Empty. Her hidden savings were gone. Her means of escape for herself and Tyler…gone.

He’d found it. Royce had deliberately destroyed her plan.

Chapter Five

Eliza trembled with alarming fury and raging fright.

She dropped the cigar box. It landed on the wooden floor with a muffled thud. She stared at the rafters above her head, riding a torrent of fear and panic and regret.

Everything. She’d lost everything. What would she do now? She couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t live with Royce’s constant threats and manipulation. She couldn’t bow to his control.

She couldn’t marry him, God help her. She wouldn’t.

Several minutes passed while she pondered her predicament. She owned plenty of assets, including stock in the bank and a portion of the brick company, but she didn’t have a nickel she could lay her hands on today or next week or even next month, not without exposing her plan.

How had Royce known about the money? Had he spied on her? Did he search the attic and other rooms on a regular basis? The magnitude of his uncanny power sickened her. Making her way down the narrow stairs and along the hall, she didn’t encounter him. She entered her room and washed her face and hands in the tepid water left over from morning. With disgust, she glanced around, imagining him going through her belongings. When did he have time? She was only gone from the house an hour a day.

But he always knew which hour.

After brushing out her hair and collecting it in a fresh chignon, she dabbed glycerin on her hands and face and studied herself in the oval mirror over her washstand. A flush of indignant anger had replaced her pallor and the mounting feelings prompted her to take action.

She wasn’t giving up yet.

In his room, Tyler still slept soundly. She tucked the covers around his shoulders and descended the stairs to where townspeople still milled, unaware of the drama being played out behind the scenes in the Sutherland home.

“Nora,” she said, finding the woman in the dining room, sponging potato salad from the oval Persian rug.

“Put that down and come with me.”

Nora handed the sponge and a dish towel to Marian and took the hand Eliza extended.

“Please,” Eliza said brightly, leading her toward the wide, open entryway. “I’d like all of you to hear what I have to say.” Most of the guests in the parlor and the dining room could hear her from there. The crowd quieted in expectation.

“First I’d like to thank everyone for coming today, and for your prayers and the flowers and food. All of you who knew Jenny Lee know how much she enjoyed being around her friends and family. You were all special to her.

“There are several people who have been especially kind and have given so much of themselves over the years. I’d like to take a minute to thank them.” She smoothed her skirt nervously, but pressed on. “Most of you remember Dr. Black. He was a godsend to the Sutherlands. I still miss him as I’m sure many of you do.”

Neighbors nodded in agreement.

Her gaze found Jonas standing beside George Atwell. Jonas nodded in recognition.

“More recently,” she continued, “over the past couple of years, Dr. McKee was Jenny’s doctor. She trusted him, and he did all he could to make her more comfortable. Dr. McKee, you have a kind heart.”

Hands in pockets, Kerwin McKee looked at his shoes. The man next to him nudged his shoulder.

“I’d like you to have my father’s desk set,” Eliza told him. “It’s carved teakwood and there’s a humidor and some other pieces that can sit on your office desk.”

“No call for that, Miss Eliza Jane,” the doctor said.

“No argument. Jenny would want you to have it,” Eliza told him. “So do I.”

Continuing, Eliza turned to her friend. “You all probably know what a godsend Nora has been to my family. She was always here for my mother. She helped Jenny and me through our father’s illness. I couldn’t have made it through without her. There’s no way to say thank you for such selflessness.”

Tears welled up in Nora’s eyes. Her husband came and stood beside her and put his arm around her waist. “Your mama was my dearest friend,” she said with a sniffle, and took a hankie from her pocket to dab her nose. “She would have been so proud of you.”

Eliza ignored the emotions that tried to undermine her purpose. She had to save herself and Tyler, and she was going to do it right. “I have a little something for you, too, Nora. Just so you know how much you are loved by the Sutherlands.”

Eliza walked several feet into the hallway, and a few people moved aside to make way for her. She reached up and took the Horace Vernet painting from where it hung on a cord from the crown molding and carried it to Nora. “You always admired this. We want you to have it.”

The observers murmured and a few whispered.

Nora looked at Eliza with surprise, but genuine pleasure touched her wary features. “What a generous gift!” she said with a tearful smile. “I never dreamed to own something so lovely.”

“Well, it’s yours.” Eliza glanced at the nearby faces, seeing smiles and a few tears. Her gaze moved unerringly until she found Royce standing stiffly near the dining room doorway. He wore a fierce scowl, and his neck was brick-red against the white collar of his starched shirt. She remembered his hand at her throat and his smug pleasure at robbing her. She could still do something to save herself.

“Since rumors spread so quickly,” she said, deliberately allowing her gaze to linger on her brother-in-law for a moment before looking away. “I’d like all of you to hear this firsthand. Tyler and I will be going to stay at the hotel temporarily. My sister is no longer here, and Nora won’t be at the house daily. It would be inappropriate for my brother-in-law and I to live under the same roof without a chaperone.

“I don’t wish to burden my brother-in-law with domestic concerns, so Tyler will attend school as usual and I will care for him as always.

“We haven’t had time to make any definite plans or sort things out, and…Well, the truth is, I need some time away from this place where all my memories are so fresh.” Eliza didn’t have to fake the tremor of emotion that wavered in her voice.

“Of course you do, dear,” Miss Fletcher said. “You’ll have plenty of time to decide what to do after the two of you have observed a mourning period.”

Eliza nodded, and with quiet words of encouragement, the other guests agreed.

Edward Phillips, the banker, turned to Royce and laid a hand on his shoulder. Royce drew his ominous stare from Eliza, and Luther Vernon blocked her view.

She had never been sure what position Luther held to earn his place on Sutherland Brick’s payroll. He never dressed like a factory worker and most often accompanied Royce. But all of her questions about the operations of the business had been met with contemptuous instructions to stay out of Royce’s way.

She’d won this hand. She’d bought herself a couple of months at the most. Royce couldn’t defy her public decision to observe propriety, but he would be biding his time until the allotted weeks of mourning had passed. And then he would play his trump card. By then Eliza needed to have a better plan. There was still time to set aside some cash for train fare and travel—if she could get a job.

There was one person she could ask to help her find a job and keep it a secret from Royce. Her gaze sought and found him. He appeared to be listening to Reverend Miller, but his awareness was focused on her.

She was placing her last hope on Jonas Black.

Jonas paused in the hallway. A torrent of complaints, punctuated by the clattering of pots and pans, streamed from the kitchen at the back of the hotel on the ground floor.

“Told ya she’s been howlin’ like that for half an hour,” Quay told him. “Phoebe came and got me, but I barely got m’ head inside the door afore she started throwing skillets.”

Jonas glanced at the massive door, wishing he could just leave until the storm passed. He had to be the one to assuage Lilibelle’s temper however. “I’ve got this. You go check in the delivery that’s pulling up in the alley.”

“Thanks, boss.” Quay lit out before Jonas could say another word.

Jonas glanced at his pocket watch, relieved that breakfast guests were well on their way for the day and there were no guests in the foyer or dining room. He strode along the polished oak floors until he reached the kitchen door. After only a momentary pause, he pushed it open.

“What’s all the racket about, Lily? You’ve sent the girls runnin’ for cover. Is it your intent to chase off the kitchen help?”

“It’s my intent to prepare salmon steaks with mustard sauce for supper this evening, but I can’t make salmon steaks if I don’t have salmon!” Lilibelle gestured wildly with the wooden spoon she held. The starched white apron that covered her ample bosom and rounded belly drew attention to the fact that not only was she twice the size of any other person who worked in the kitchen, but twice as clean. Lilibelle Grimshaw cooked for the hotel dining room, and she was a stickler for setting and following rules, and that included menu plans.

“I do see your dilemma,” Jonas said with all seriousness. “That would be the recipe with parsley and butter I like so well?”

“The very one!” She struck the spoon against the cast-iron stove and it shot out of her hold to flip in the air and clatter on the smooth oak floor. “The train’s come and gone and Pool tells me they didn’t bring the salmon. I sent him off to the telegraph office with a piece of my mind.”

“Well, the supplier deserves that, if not worse for disappointin’ you.” Jonas walked around the long worktable that separated him from the cook and stooped to pick up a kettle, then glanced at the open back door and the crates outside. “What did they deliver?”

“Duck!” she shouted and slammed a skillet on the worktable.

“I guess duck is a lot more difficult to prepare than salmon,” he said, as though wondering.

“Duck needs to be roasted slowly,” she replied, then turned to pick up a white towel and dab her red face with the damp corners.

“How do you make that sauce that goes on it?”

“With grated orange peel and wine, a little Worcestershire and cayenne. It’s not all that tough.”

“That’s sounding awfully tasty to be truthful. And your rice always turns out just right.”

She picked up the wooden spoon from the floor with a grunt and mumbled.

“I’m thinking duck would be a good choice for this evenin’,” he told her. “You can make salmon once that incompetent warehouse puts your order together correctly. I’ll handle that myself.”

“They should reduce the cost for the inconvenience,” she said with a haughty flick of her pudgy fingers.

“I’ll see that they do.”

“Get on about your day then, and let me get to work on dinner,” she told him. “Where are those silly girls who are supposed to be peeling apples?”

“I do believe you scared ’em all away, Lily. Remember some of these girls have been boxed around a mite. They take to cover when tempers flare and things start flyin’.” He fixed her with a square look.

She acquiesced to his wisdom with a quick nod and a grimace. “If you see the shrinking violets out there, tell ’em I’m not going to bite their heads off,” she replied.

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