“We need to talk,” Jess said. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Copyright

“We need to talk,” Jess said.

Sarah fell back a step, clutching her wrapper tighter against her throat. “It’s late, Jess, and—”

“It’s late all right, Sarah. Too late for me to come to call, too late for me to pretend any more.”

She inched toward the doorway. “I—I don’t understand.”

“Yes you do.” He followed her across the room and caught her arm. “You’ve been running since the day I laid eyes on you. I thought you were running from me, Sarah, but you’re not. And it’s not that you’re worried about getting fired. It’s something else.”

She turned her head away. “No, you’re wrong.”

“Sarah, I never felt about a woman the way I feel about you. Can’t you give me a chance? Can’t you trust me?”

Forcing down her feelings, Sarah pulled away from him. He followed, not letting her go far, but without his touch soft and warm against her, she could think better.

“It’s not a matter of trust, jess....”

Dear Reader,

If you’ve never read a Harlequin Historical novel, you’re in for a treat. We offer compelling, richly developed stories that let you escape to the past—written by some of the best writers in the field!

The Heart of a Hero is a darling new Western by Judith Stacy. Judith Stacy is the pseudonym for Dorothy Howell, who has written numerous historicals for Berkley and Zebra. Here, a bad boy turned rancher returns to his small Wyoming hometown and has thirty days to prove that he’ll be a good father to his niece and nephew. The new schoolmarm, who believes in Jess Logan, teaches him how to win over the town’s biddies, and falls in love in the process!

Rising talent Lyn Stone returns with The Knight’s Bride, a heartwarming and humorous medieval tale of a very true knight who puts his honorable reputation on the line when he marries the beautiful widow of his best friend. And in Burke’s Rules by Pat Tracy, book two of THE GUARDSMEN series, a Denver schoolmistress falls for the “protective” banker who helps fund her school Don’t miss this fun, sensuous story!

Rounding out the month is Pride of Lions by award-winning author Suzanne Barclay. In this continuation of her highly acclaimed SUTHERLAND SERIES, a knight and a warrioress from enemy clans join forces when they are stranded in the territory of an evil laird. It’s great!

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

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

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

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

The Heart Of A Hero

Judith Stacy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JUDITH STACY began writing as a personal challenge and found it a perfect outlet for all those thoughts and ideas bouncing around in her head. She chose romance because of the emotional involvement with the characters, and historicals for her love of bygone days.

Judith has been married to her high school sweetheart for over two decades and has two daughters. When not writing, she haunts museums, historical homes and antique stores, gathering ideas for new adventures set in the past.

To Judy and Stacy, who are my greatest weaknesses.

And to David, who is my strength.

The author wishes to thank Nick B. Andonov, Ph.D.,

for his assistance with this story.

Chapter One

Wyoming, 1886

"I’m here to take the kids away.”

Jess Logan eyed the woman blocking the doorway. Warmth radiated from the neat, well-kept parlor behind her, but her face looked as cold as the wind biting at his ears. He’d expected as much.

Alma Garrette’s brows rose to a haughty arch. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to show your face here in Walker after all these years.”

“I’m here for my sister’s kids, Mrs. Garrette. Sheriff told me you had them.”

“Humph! Your sister has been by herself for nearly three years now since her husband ran off. And where have you been? You couldn’t have gotten here a month ago when she was ailing and needed the help? Or three days ago when she passed on? Or yesterday for the service?” Her gaze raked him from head to toe.

Jess ran his hand over his week-old beard. “I got here quick as I could.”

Her mouth curled downward as if she doubted it. “I’ll tell you right now, Jess Logan, I don’t like this one bit. I told the sheriff so myself. Those poor babies have never even laid eyes on you. What do you know about raising children, a man with your... past.”

Beneath his poncho, Jess’s hands curled into fists. “Would you just get the kids? It’s nearly dark. I want to get them home.”

“Your sister’s home, you mean.”

His jaw tightened. “Their home.”

She gave him a final scathing look and shut the door in his face. He knew it wasn’t the mud on his boots or the rain dripping from his Stetson that kept her from inviting him inside.

The door swung open quickly and a stoop-shouldered man squinted up at him. “Jess Logan? Is that you, boy? It’s me—Rory Garrette.”

“Mr. Garrette?” Jesus, what had happened to the man? He’d gotten so old.

Rory chuckled and leaned heavily on his cane. “Been a long time, boy. What? Fifteen years?”

“Yeah, about that.” Jess shifted his wide shoulders. On the trail these past weeks, every bump and sway—every memory—caused his thirty-two years to weigh more heavily on him. Now, seeing Rory Garrette, the burden lifted a little. “How you been, Mr. Garrette?”

“Tolerable, I reckon.” He nodded toward the muddy roadway and the misting rain. “Things in Walker have changed, though. It’s just not the same, not like when you were here.”

Jess didn’t answer, the past being the last thing he wanted to discuss.

“Yes sirree, them were the days. You boys were something. Fighting, drinking—kept the saloons in business yourselves, you and the Vernon boys. And the girls...land alive, weren’t no girl safe with you boys loose on the streets.” Rory laughed aloud. “And always into mischief, too. I remember the time you boys set fire to old lady Murray’s privy with her inside, she come a-running—”

“That was a long time ago, Mr. Garrette.”

“Yeah, that’s for dang sure.” His smile faded. “Town’s done gone respectable now. Got us a regular preacher over to the church, a full-time sheriff and deputy, too. Got enough ordinances and laws to choke a horse. New schoolmarm just got here, some widow woman from back East. All the ladies in town been wringing their hands since your sister took sick, wondering how we’d get us another teacher way out here. I guess you’ve seen some changes here in Walker already, huh, boy?”

He’d seen his sister’s grave. That was enough.

Alma stepped into the doorway, sending Rory on his way with a disapproving glare. She passed a small carpetbag to Jess. “Here’s their things.”

Beside her stood the children. His sister’s children. He’d never seen them before.

Little Maggie looked up at him with solemn eyes. Eyes older than her eight years. Jess knelt in front of her. The picture of her mother, with big brown eyes and blond curls. A lump of emotion rose in his throat.

“Mrs. Garrette says you’re Mama’s brother.”

“That’s right, Maggie. I’m your Uncle Jess.”

“Mama’s dead.”

His chest tightened. “I know, honey.” He turned to the little brown-haired boy peeking around Alma’s skirt. “Hey there, cowboy.”

“His name is Jimmy,” Maggie told him. “He turned five last week, but we couldn’t have a party or anything ’cause of Mama.”

Jess held out his hand. “Come here, Jimmy. You want to go for a ride with me and your sister?”

Jimmy drew back and hid his face in the folds of Alma’s skirt.

“Jimmy doesn’t talk,” Maggie said.

Alma glared down at Jess. “The child hasn’t spoken since his mother passed on.”

She made it sound as if that were his fault, too.

Jess rose. “I’m obliged to you, Mrs. Garrette, for looking after them until I got here.”

She jerked her chin. “They’ll be back. I don’t doubt it for a minute. There’s plenty of good Christian folks in this town who’d be more than glad to take these young ’uns in—you best remember that.”

Jess drew in a deep breath. “Come on, kids. Let’s go.” Carpetbag in hand, he crossed the porch.

“Aren’t you going to put his hat on for him?” Maggie asked.

“Huh?” He froze and looked back at her confused face.

“Aren’t you going to help Jimmy?”

Jess felt Alma’s glower and cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure.”

He fished the battered hat from the boy’s jacket pocket and pressed it down on his head.

“He can’t button his buttons either,” Maggie told him.

Jess fastened the jacket, his big fingers awkward on the buttons. He turned to Maggie. “Anything else?”

“No.” She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and took her brother’s hand.

Jess stood. “All right, then, let’s go.”

A hand crept into his. Tiny warm fingers curled against his palm, sending a rush up his arm. He looked down at Maggie clinging to him.

“Where are we going, Uncle Jess?”

He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Home.”

“Uncle Jess doesn’t like people coming around the house, Mrs. Wakefield. He says they’re all a bunch of nosy busybodies and ought to stay home looking after their own children.”

Sarah Wakefield held tight to Maggie’s hand as she picked her way around the mud puddles in the road. “This is different. I’m your teacher.”

The little girl shook her head, her blond curls bouncing. “Uncle Jess isn’t going to like it.”

Despite the dire warnings Maggie had given her since leaving the schoolhouse, Sarah pressed on, holding up the hem of her dark skirt, dodging puddles. Like the gray clouds overhead ready to burst with rain, Sarah had a few things she intended to say to Mr. Jess Logan, and she wouldn’t wait another day.

Maggie stopped and pulled her hand from Sarah’s. “This is where me and Jimmy live with Uncle Jess. We lived with Mama...before.”

Breath left Sarah’s lungs with a sigh of profound envy as she gazed at the cozy little house. White with green shutters and a sturdy roof, a neat picket fence bordered with shrubs and bushes, twin maples in the yard. Gray smoke billowed from the chimney, blending with the gloomy afternoon sky.

Sarah shuddered at the thought of the leaky, drafty cottage a short distance down the road near the school—her house. She told herself for the hundredth time since arriving in Walker that she should be happy with the house the school board provided. It was a place to live. And, it was a very long way from Missouri.

Maggie took her hand once more. “We always go in through the back. Mama said to keep the front clean for company.”

Sarah followed the child through the front gate and around to the rear of the house. A clothesline stretched across one corner of the yard and several weatherfaded outbuildings stood a short distance from the house.

“That’s my Uncle Jess.” Maggie bounced on her toes and pointed.

At the three-sided woodshed a man draped in a poncho slammed his axe into a log, splitting it cleanly in two. He stopped suddenly and spun around, his face shadowed by a black Stetson and a stubble of whiskers. Even from across the yard, Sarah felt the heat of his gaze upon her. She backed up a step.

“Hi, Uncle Jess.” Maggie skipped across the yard to him.

Jess knelt and gave her a one-armed embrace. “Did you do all right at school today?”

She nodded, then pointed back at Sarah. “This is—”

“Go on in the house, Maggie.” Stern, but not angry, he stood and gestured toward the back porch with the axe clenched in his fist. Maggie looked back at Sarah and waved before disappearing into the house.

For an instant, Sarah wanted to call the child back as she stood alone, facing Jess Logan. She’d heard the talk about him. Generally, she disregarded other people’s opinions in favor of making up her own mind. Now, she questioned the wisdom of her decision.

He took a step toward her, the shroud of the poncho widening his big shoulders and increasing his height. Sarah gulped.

“What do you want, lady?”

Sarah straightened her shoulders. “Mr. Logan, I’m—”

“I don’t care what your name is. What do you want?”

Not a shred of tolerance warmed his tone. She expected townspeople here to be different from the folks in Missouri, but she hadn’t expected a Jess Logan so soon after her arrival. “I want to talk to you about Maggie. She—”

“Goddamn it!” Jess slammed the axe into the chopping block. “How many more of you nosy heifers is the church going to send over here?”

Her eyes widened. “Pardon me?”

“Look, lady, don’t stand there pretending you don’t know what I mean. I’ve been here less than a week, and every goddamn time I turn around one of you good-intentioned Christian busybodies is poking your nose in around here. I’m telling you for the last damn time—”

“Uncle Jess! Uncle Jess!” Maggie pushed open the back door. “Something’s on fire again!”

He spat a mouthful of curses and raced across the yard. Not bothering with the steps, he leaped onto the porch and pulled Maggie from the doorway. “Stay out here.”

Sarah hurried onto the porch. Surprisingly, the child looked unconcerned. She dashed into the house, Maggie on her heels.

Black smoke coiled from the cookstove as she stepped into the kitchen. Jess pulled the door of the oven open with the toe of his boot, grabbed a towel from the sideboard and fanned the billows of smoke pouring into the room. He reached into the oven and pulled out a pan full of charred remains. Coughing, he threw open the window above the sink.

“Dammit.” Jess kicked the oven door closed. “Goddamn it!”

Calmly, Maggie ventured closer and peered at their burned meal. “It’s all right, Uncle Jess.”

“Sonofa—” Seeing Maggie he clamped his mouth shut and held in the curses until his cheeks puffed out. He yanked off his Stetson then grabbed a handful of his poncho and ripped it over his head, wadded the garment in a knot and flung it onto the sideboard.

Sarah took a step forward, then stopped.

He had on an apron. A pink, bibbed apron with ruffles around the edges, red hearts embroidered on the pockets and green vines twining up to two bluebirds kissing on his chest.

A giggle escaped Sarah’s lips and she slapped her hand across her mouth.

Jess glared at her, then looked down at the apron. Color rose in his cheeks, pink, like the apron, but he ground his lips together and drew himself up to his greatest height.

Sarah cleared her throat. “Maybe I could help you prepare something else for supper?”

“I don’t need any help, lady.” He snarled the words at her like a rabid dog. “I’ve got everything handled.”

Sarah’s gaze scanned the room. Crusty dishes overran the sink. A makeshift clothesline sagged above the table. Flour sifted across the shelf and onto the floor. Pots and pans balanced precariously on the sideboard.

She nodded. “Yes, I can see that you do indeed have everything under control.”

“Are we going to have to eat eggs for supper again, Uncle Jess?” Maggie looked up at him with solemn eyes.

He blew out a big breath, visibly calming himself. “I’ll figure out something, honey.”

“It’s okay if we do.” Maggie looked at her brother peering around the table. “Isn’t it, Jimmy?”

The boy scurried behind Maggie and ducked his head.

Sarah’s heart ached at the sight of the two children and she even felt a pang of compassion for their uncle. The red flannel shirt beneath his apron outlined his muscular arms and wide shoulders. His brown hair grew a trifle too long, and that gave it an unruly wave across the back. Dark trousers and boots emphasized his height. He should have been riding the range, not cooking a roast for two small children.

Jess plowed his fingers through his hair and turned to Sarah again. “Look, lady, if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.”

His invitation to leave stirred her conscience again. “There’s a very nice restaurant on Main Street where you could eat tonight.”

He cringed and waved away her suggestion with both hands. “I don’t need your help and I don’t need your suggestions. I told you, I can handle anything. Anything.”

“Uncle Jess? Jimmy wet his pants.”

Jess groaned softly and his shoulders sagged.

Sarah tried again. “I could—”

“Just leave, lady. Okay?” Wearily, he held up one hand. “I’m sure you’re anxious to tell everybody in town what you. saw here, anyway.”

“Mr. Logan, I have no intention of telling anyone in town anything. I’m Maggie’s teacher.”

He froze, then his gaze impaled her. “You’re the schoolmarm? You?”

Heat Hushed her cheeks and ran the length of her as his bold gaze covered her. At once she was conscious of the mud on the hem of her skirt, the mend in her cloak, the press of her blouse against her throat, the wisps of her light brown hair loosened by the breeze. She felt her cheeks pinken and heard her heart pound in her ears.

Determinedly, she squared her shoulders and inched her chin higher, reminding herself that at age twenty-five and with several years’ experience, she was well qualified for the job; surely, that was the reason behind the look he gave her.

“Yes, Mr. Logan, I’m the schoolmarm. And I am here because today, for the third time this week, Maggie has come to school without a proper meal.”

His brows furrowed. “I sent her lunch pail today.”

“It was empty.”

His shoulders sagged farther. “I forgot to put food in it?”

“If you’re unable to send her with adequate nourishment, I will talk to the school board and see what can be arranged.”

His back stiffened again. “Now just a damn minute. Don’t you go talking to—”

“That’s all I came to say. Good day, Mr. Logan.” Nose in the air, Sarah glided out of the kitchen.

The cool, damp wind hit her square in the face as she rounded the house and went through the gate. What had gotten into her? What had she been thinking? First, offering to help with supper, then threatening to go to the school board? She’d broken her own rules—something she’d sworn wouldn’t happen.

Keep to herself. That’s the promise she’d made when she’d taken this job. She’d been lucky enough to find this position out here so far from everyone she knew—everyone who knew her—that she wouldn’t risk losing it. If that happened, where would she go next?

Sarah lifted her skirt and hurried down the road less concerned about the puddles than putting some distance between herself and Mr. Jess Logan. A man with a past. That was the rumor she’d heard. She shouldn’t provoke him. She was a woman with a past and she had far more to lose than Jess Logan if the good people of Walker found out what she’d done.

After all, who would want her for a schoolmarm once they found out how she’d killed her own husband?

Chapter Two

Golden rays of sunlight sifted through the pristine priscillas, rousing him gently. Jess groaned and rolled over, punched his fist into the pillow and snuggled deeper into its softness. He closed his eyes, ready to drift off again, then shot straight up in bed.

“Good God! What time is it?”

Tangled in the quilt, he scrambled out of bed, reaching for his trousers with one hand and his pocket watch with the other. Nearly nine o’clock. Damn.

“Maggie! Maggie, get up!”

Jess hopped into his trousers, fastening them as he hurried down the hall. At the door to the bedroom the children shared, he stopped. Both Maggie and Jimmy were gone.

“Dammit. Maggie!”

“I’m here, Uncle Jess.”

He ducked into his own bedroom again, grabbed his shirt and boots and followed his niece’s voice to the kitchen. Maggie. and Jimmy sat at the table.

“I slept too late, Maggie. We’ve got to hurry or you’ll be tardy for school.” He shoved his arms into his pale blue shirt and rummaged through the sideboard. “You’ll have to eat quick, then get dressed.”

“We already ate.”

Jess looked back at the bread and jam on the table. “Oh, yeah. Okay, then, get dressed and—”

“I am dressed.” Maggie slid from the chair. “See? So is Jimmy.”

“Okay. Yeah, that’s good.” Jess raked his fingers through his hair. “Get your books, then.”

Maggie disappeared down the hallway as Jess balanced beside the table, pulling on his socks and boots. Outside, the school bell began to clang. He mumbled a curse and looked at Jimmy. “Let’s go, partner.”

The boy bit into a slab of bread; strawberry jam squished out and dripped onto his shirt. He chewed slowly, making no move to leave.

“Maggie! Hurry!” Jess grabbed a towel from the sideboard and wiped at Jimmy’s shirt. The child grunted, pulled away and shoved the rest of the bread into his mouth.

Jimmy still hadn’t spoken and only occasionally tolerated Jess’s touch. Jess tried to wipe the child’s sticky hands, but Jimmy grunted again and slid them both down the front of Jess’s shirt, smearing jam all the way down.

“Jesus....” Jess jumped back and looked down at the mess. He ran the towel across his shirt, but only managed to make it worse. Outside, the school bell clanged again. Resolutely, he lifted Jimmy out of the chair. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

Jimmy ran down the hallway ahead of him.

“Maggie!” Jess tossed the sticky towel aside. The last thing he needed was to be tardy for school and have the schoolmarm poking her nose into his business again. He headed down the hallway. “Come on, Maggie, let’s get going.”

She came out of her room, books in one hand and two red ribbons in the other. “Braid my hair.”

Jess stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

She shook the ribbons at him impatiently. “Yesterday, Mary Beth Myers had her hair all braided and she said her hair was prettier than mine and it’s not. I want my hair braided today.”

His jaw slackened. They were already going to be late for school. There was no time to braid hair, even if he knew how.

Jess pulled the ribbons from her hand and tossed them aside. “It doesn’t matter what Mary Beth Myers says. Come on, now, we’ve got to hurry.”

He shepherded her out the back door, then nearly stepped on her when she stopped suddenly.

“Where’s Jimmy?”

Jess slapped his hand over his face. Jesus, he’d nearly forgotten the other kid. He yanked open the back door again. “Jimmy! Come on!”

Seconds ticked by and finally Jimmy appeared, licking his fingers. Jess led the way around the house. At the gate he stopped, remembering to shorten his strides so the children could keep up.

In the house across the road the curtain in the parlor window parted ever so slightly and Jess saw Mrs. McDougal peek out. He cringed at the sight of her. Not once since he’d moved into his sister’s house had the woman come outside and spoken to him, but she kept constant vigil at her window, spaying on his every movement. He fought back the urge for an obscene gesture, then strode off with both the children at his side.

The schoolyard was empty when they got there, the small, one-room school building quiet. Red with white trim, it sat sedately among tall oaks and elms, an even lawn surrounding it, and several wooden tables and benches at the side. Jess’s stomach tightened and he pushed the image of his sister from his thoughts.

“Mrs. Wakefield must have started class already.” Maggie looked up at Jess. “I’ve never been late for school before. Am I going to be in trouble?”

“No, honey. You’re with me. It’s okay.” He gave her hand a little squeeze. The day he couldn’t handle a schoolmarm was the day he’d call it quits for good.

Jess pushed open the door and strode inside. The students, seated in neat rows of desks, turned and stared. Mrs. Wakefield stood at the head of the class. She looked up at Jess, folded her hands in front of her, and gave him a look that froze him to the floor.

“Mr. Logan.”

It was not a question or a greeting, but a reprimand, plain and simple.

Jess fidgeted, suddenly feeling as if he were a student in the little schoolhouse again. “Sorry we’re late,” he mumbled.

Her frosty glare warmed not one iota. “Maggie, you may take your seat.”

Maggie gave Jess a little smile and went to her desk; Jess winked at her.

In the back of the room, an older boy laughed. “Hey, it’s not like he robbed the bank or anything.”

The students giggled.

“That’s enough, Luke,” Sarah said.

Jess glanced at the boy in the desk near him, a scrawny-looking kid, maybe fifteen; he was grateful that icy stare of Sarah Wakefield’s was focused on someone else.

Warming to the attention of the students, Luke laughed again. “Maybe we should get the sheriff over here, have them locked up.”

Sarah’s gaze turned sterner. “Luke, I said that will do.”

The boy threw his head back and laughed. “Or maybe—”

Jess reached down and grabbed the boy by the shirtfront. He hauled him out of his seat and leaned down until they were nose to nose. “The teacher told you to shut your mouth.”

The boy’s eyes rounded and he pulled back.

Jess gave him a shake. “Understand?”

Luke gulped. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good.” Jess released him and he clattered into his desk. He hadn’t yelled at anyone in a long time; it felt good.

A startled hush fell over the classroom and all the students shrank back, their eyes wide, mouths gaping. Jess suddenly felt like a brute, towering over the children. He shifted uncomfortably, gave a curt nod to Sarah and strode out of the school.

“Feel that chill?” Jess mumbled to Jimmy as they walked down the steps. “That woman can lay down a blanket of ice quicker than Jack Frost.”

The child remained silent, so Jess was startled when someone called his name. He spun around and saw Sarah on the steps of the schoolhouse, glaring down at him.

“Mr. Logan, in the future, I will thank you to keep to yourself when in my classroom.”

She was all drawn up like a banjo string ready to pop, glaring at him as if he were one of her disobedient students. He’d expected a kind word for shutting up that kid, or at least a thank-you, but not this.

“Is that so?”

Her chin crept up a little. “I will not have you undermining my authority, Mr. Logan. Is that clear?”

Lordy, she was a pretty thing, all puffed up and full of vinegar. She stood straight and tall, her ample bosom rounded against the hundred little buttons up the front of her dress. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a bun, but stray wisps curled around her face. Her dark eyes sparked with fire.

Jess shook his head. What was he thinking? She was the schoolmarm, for God’s sake.

“The boy was shooting off his mouth. I wasn’t going to stand there and put up with it.”

She folded her arms under her breasts. “I will handle situations like that, Mr. Logan.”

“I didn’t see you handling anything, Mrs. Wakefield.”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t interfered, you would have.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, pardon me all to hell.”

Color rose in her cheeks and he saw the quick intake of her breath as she clamped her mouth closed. But instead of feeling pleased that he’d shut her up, he was embarrassed by his foul language.

“Look, Mrs. Wakefield, I—”

She turned on her heels but stopped at the door and looked back at him. “You have jam on your face.”

Jess felt his cheeks pinken as she disappeared into the school. He dragged his hand over his chin and looked down at Jimmy. “Thanks a lot, partner.”

The boy just stared up at him.

“Come on.” They headed home.

After getting cleaned up and having breakfast, Jess headed for town, Jimmy at his side. He’d put it off as long as he could, but now his shelves were too bare to delay another day.

The late morning sun shone brightly on the hills in the distance, turning them greener than expected, thanks to the spring rains. Jess tried to look at them, tried looking at the sky too, but eventually had to turn his attention to the houses they passed.

His heart rose in his throat. God, it had been a long time since he’d walked down this road.

Cassie came into his mind, and recollections of the two of them running, playing with friends filled his head. Growing up here—the early years, at least—had been magical. He’d done most of his mourning on the trail getting here, but still it hurt, being here, thinking of her. Cassie, gone. His only relative in the world.

Except now for these two kids. Jess looked down at Jimmy skipping along beside him and he forced down the swell of emotion. He’d gotten over the other deaths. He’d get over this one, too.

They passed the schoolhouse as the road curved slowly toward the west. Across from the school squatted a tumble-down shack and Jess wondered why somebody didn’t just tear the thing down; it didn’t look inhabitable. On the other side of the road stood the church and a nice house, both with tended lawns.

“They’re new,” Jess said to Jimmy. “In fact, all of this is new. It was all farmland back when I lived here.”

Jimmy looked up at him for a second, then gazed off at the house.

“That was a long time ago. Before you were born. Me and your mama used to play here.”

Jimmy stopped suddenly and his bottom lip poked out. Jess knelt and pushed his Stetson back on his head.

“It’s okay if we talk about her. I know you miss her.”

Jimmy jerked away and ran ahead of him. Slowly, Jess got to his feet. His heart ached, sharing the pain the boy felt. He just wished he knew how to help him.

Jess pulled his Stetson lower on his forehead and followed the boy into town.

The place had grown, Jess realized as he stepped up onto the boardwalk. Lots of new businesses had cropped up. The streets were full of horses, wagons and people, all looking prosperous. He gazed around until he finally spotted something familiar. Jess crossed the street to the Walker Mercantile.

The bell jingled over the door as he stepped inside. Jimmy ran in ahead of him. All sorts of merchandise filled the shelves, the pickle barrel stood by the door, and cane-bottom chairs that had seen better days surrounded the potbellied stove in the corner. Behind the counter was an array of teas, coffees and tins.

Cautiously, Jess surveyed the store. The merchant was tallying an order for another customer, and Jess’s tension eased a bit when he recognized the customer as Rory Garrette. At least he knew one friendly face in Walker.

“Morning, Mr. Garrette.”

The older man leaned on his cane and squinted up at him. “Jess, where you been, boy? I thought you’d left town again already.”

Before he could answer, the merchant looked up.

“Jess Logan?”

A moment ticked by before Jess recognized the man in the apron. Years had creased his face and peppered his dark hair with gray, but there was no mistaking that distinctive voice, deep and strong.

“Leo Turner.” Jess said, and nodded, unsure of the welcome he’d get here—or anywhere in Walker. “Good to see you again.” He offered his hand and they shook.

“Last I heard, you’d died in a Mexican prison. Good to see you, too. Sorry to hear about your sister.”

“Thank you.”

“Jimmy?” Leo took a licorice from the glass jar beside him and held it up. “Want one?”

The boy scampered over and Jess lifted him onto the counter. He took the candy and bit into it.

Leo chuckled. “That boy loves sweets.”

Rory offered a gap-tooth smile. “Who don’t?”

“Cassie used to bring him in with her every Saturday, you know, give him licorice if he was quiet while she shopped.”

“He’s not talking much these days,” Jess said. “Maybe this will do the trick.”

“Bribing the child into talking? I should hope not.” A woman breezed in through the curtain from the back room and stared disapprovingly at the men. “Leo, I think you’d know better.”

“Now, Emma, honey,” Leo said, “we’re not hurting anything.”

Efficiently she straightened the counter beside Leo and gave Jess a glance. “You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you, young man.”

Memories stabbed him like a knife, Leo’s wife looking at him in that way, using that tone of voice, those exact words so many years ago. Years had changed her looks, but that was all.

Jess nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Your sister was a treasure in this town. We’ll miss her.” Emma brushed the countertop with a linen cloth.

Rory coughed and sagged against his cane. “What about you coming over to the house and sit a spell, boy? Have supper with us?”

He could imagine the look on Alma Garrette’s face, seeing him walk into her parlor and sit down at her dining-room table. “Can’t today. Some other time.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, boy.”

The bell jingled as . the door opened again. Leo waved. “Morning, Sheriff.”

Rory’s lip curled down. “Horse’s ass,” he muttered.

“Morning Leo, Emma.” The sheriff sauntered to the counter, hung his thumbs in his gun belt and reared back, giving Jess the once-over. His lips curled down. “I know who you are, Logan.” .

Jess’s back stiffened. He hadn’t especially liked Sheriff Buck Neville when he’d first arrived in town and asked about his sister’s children. Now, looking at the stocky, muscular man with the tin badge pinned to his vest, he liked him even less. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s so.” Sheriff Neville leaned forward, crowding Jess. “I know about you. I know about what you did over in Kingston.”

Jess felt every gaze in the room bore into him; apparently everybody knew about Kingston. Jess’s gut tightened but he didn’t flinch.

“I run a clean town here. I don’t like your kind hanging around. You so much as spit wrong, Logan, and I’ll throw your ass in jail so fast you. won’t know what hit you.” Sheriff Neville jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you forget it.”

He left the store and slammed the door behind him.

A long awkward moment dragged by before Leo spoke. “Don’t pay him no mind, Jess.”

Rory squirted a wad into the spittoon. “Mighty uppity for a lawman in a sleepy little town like Walker.”

“Well, I think Sheriff Neville is doing a fine job,” Emma declared. “I don’t know where you could find a better lawman.”

Rory waved away her comment. “He thinks he’s some big-time sheriff, stopping train robberies and rounding up gangs. Just like—what’s his name? That lawman in them dime novels. Who is it, Leo?”

Leo laughed. “Oh, yeah, I know who you mean. He thinks he’s Leyton Lawrence.”

“Show him.” Rory pointed at the display of dime novels behind the counter. “Show ol’ Jess.”

“Just got these new ones in yesterday.” Leo took the slender book off the shelf and held it up. “See? Leyton Lawrence, The Legendary Layman.”

“Yeah, that’s him.” Rory laughed, then fell into a coughing fit.

“Honestly, you men.” Emma breezed past them. “You’ll all be singing a different tune if the Toliver gang heads this way. You’ll be glad Sheriff Neville is on the job.”

Leo shook his head. “Oh, Emma, the Toliver gang hasn’t been to these parts in months.”

Rory squinted up at him. “I’ll bet ol’ Neville wishes they’d come this way. Maybe he could have got a book writ about him, too.”

“Don’t be silly,” Emma said. “That Leyton Lawrence isn’t real.”

Leo shrugged. “You wouldn’t know it by the way these books sell. I can’t keep them on the shelves. Everybody wants to read about the next adventure of the Legendary Lawman. You ever read these things, Jess?”

Jess eyed the book, then blew out a heavy breath. “Read them? No.”

“Ol’ Sheriff Neville does—I’ll guarantee it.” Rory laughed again.

“I need some supplies, Leo.” Jess passed the dime novel back to him.

“Sure thing. Your sister ran an account with me.

You want me to add it to hers?”

Jess caught Emma’s disapproving glare. He shook his head. “No, I’ll pay cash. Did Cassie owe you anything?”

Leo waved him away. “Nothing worth mentioning.” ,

“I want to make it. right.”

Jess ordered his supplies and paid for them, including Cassie’s tab, and made arrangements to pick them up later on the way out of town.

“See you later, boy,” Rory called. “And watch out for that Legendary Lawman.”

Jess chuckled as he guided Jimmy but of the mercantile ahead of him. That laugh caught in his throat, though, as Alma Garrette stepped up onto the boardwalk in front of him.

“Morning, Mrs. Garrotte.” Jess tipped his hat.

She bristled. “I’didn’t see you at services on Sunday. Everybody wanted to know why. Your sister always brought the children to services, you know.”

He hadn’t felt like praying lately, and certainly not in this town where he knew everyone would stare a hole through him if he walked into the church.

Alma bent and pulled Jimmy closer. “Now, let’s have a look at you.” She tugged at his clothes and peered behind his ears. “Thin, mighty thin. And in need of a good scrubbing, too. Did you let him bathe himself?”

Jess frowned. Was he supposed to wash the boy? He’d set out soap and a pan of water for him in the kitchen, wasn’t that enough?

“Humph! I thought so.” Alma’s lips drew together in a tight pucker. “The good people of Walker aren’t going to stand by and let your sister’s children fall to ruin, Jess Logan. You best remember that.”

She pushed past him and into the mercantile. Through the window, Jess saw her huddled together with Emma Turner. He knew they were talking about him.

Well, damned if he cared. Jess strode off down the street, a knot hardening in his belly.

“Those two old biddies can talk all they want,” Jess said to Jimmy. “They made up their minds about me, anyway. A long time ago.”

As they passed the Green Garter Saloon a hand reached out. Jess spun around and grabbed his Colt Peacemaker on his thigh.

“Whoa, there!” The saloon keeper threw up both hands and laughed heartily. “Pretty fast on the draw. I guess what they said about you is true, Jess.”

He relaxed marginally and glared at the barrelchested man with the bushy mustache.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember me, after all that liquor I slipped you and Nate when you were kids.”

“Saul?”

He laughed again and patted his round belly. “That’s right. Come on inside and have a drink.”

Jess holstered his gun and nodded toward Jimmy. “I got the boy here.”

“Won’t take a minute. Sit over here, son.” Saul pointed to the wooden bench alongside the saloon and urged Jess inside. “We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Jess looked back over his shoulder at Jimmy swinging his feet, still eating licorice. “You stay put.”

A couple of men sat in the corner, but Jess didn’t recognize them. More new faces in the town he used to call home. He edged up to the bar.

“Bring back some memories?” Saul slid him a beer.

Jess looked at the faded picture over Saul’s head, the dusty shelves and the scarred floor. “Nothing much has changed.”

“Seen the Vernon brothers since you’ve been back?”

“Are they still around?”

“Shoot, yeah. And you’ll be glad to know they ain’t changed a whit.” Saul leaned his elbows on the bar. “Remember the time you and the Tompkins boy got drunk—well, hell, I guess you weren’t ever in the place that you weren’t drunk—and you climbed up on the bar here and shot out the lights in the store across the street. Then the two of you took off out of here when the sheriff came in, and ran smack into Mrs. Murray and knocked her right into the horse trough. Lordy, I thought I’d bust a gut laughing.”

Jess leaned on the bar and chuckled at the memory. “How is old Mrs. Murray, anyway?”

Saul’s face grew solemn. “She passed away a couple of years back.”

Jess averted his eyes and sipped his beer.

“Sorry to hear about your sister. She was a good woman, teaching at the school, fending for herself and those kids all alone. Everybody in town thought the world of her.” Saul laughed again and chucked Jess on the arm. “Fact is, couldn’t nobody figure how she ended up with a no-account fellow like you for a brother.”

Jess shifted uncomfortably and drained his glass. “I got to be on my way, Saul. Thanks for the beer.” He . tossed coins on the bar.

“keep your money.” Saul pushed the coins back at him. “Having you in town again is going to send my profits right through the roof!”

Jess pulled his Stetson lower on his forehead and left the bar, sucking in a big gulp of fresh air. Somehow, being in the Green Garter again seemed stifling.

The crowd on the street had picked up some. It was nearly noon and his belly reminded him of the meager breakfast he’d had; he’d lost most of his appetite cleaning strawberry jam off the table, chair, floor, Jimmy and himself.

He motioned to the child still seated on the bench. “Let’s go eat.”

With no desire to run into anyone else who remembered him, Jess chose the Blue Jay Cafe. It looked crowded and that was a good sign, so he went in and took a seat in the corner.

“Nice place,” he said to Jimmy as the boy climbed into the chair across from him. Jess looked around at the clean, orderly restaurant. “Don’t recall the last time I ate on a tablecloth.”

Jimmy squirmed onto his knees and said nothing.

Jess laid his Stetson on the chair beside him as the serving girl headed his way. A pretty woman, he decided, though he wasn’t usually partial to blondes. He preferred dark-haired women, with equally dark eyes. Round, soft women. Women like Sarah Wakefield. Now, there was a woman who could—

Jess plowed both hands through his hair. What was he doing, having such thoughts? About a teacher, no less. A prim and proper teacher.

His belly warmed suddenly, reminding him of the weeks he’d spent on the trail getting to Walker. Weeks of hard riding, with no stops for taking care of life’s necessary pleasures. He wondered if Miss Flora still had her parlor house at the edge of town. He needed to pay her a call soon. Real soon.

“What are you two gents wanting today?”

The soft, feminine voice caused Jess to jump and he looked up at the blond woman standing over his table; for a moment he imagined she could look straight through him and see what he really wanted. She was shapely, maybe twenty-three, and had a pretty smile.

“Jimmy likes the chicken.” She smiled down at him and tickled the boy’s chin. “You must be Cassie’s brother. I’m Kirby Sullivan. Welcome to Walker.”

She was the first person to utter those three words to him, and they sounded good. Jess got to his feet and introduced himself; he accepted her condolences when she offered her sorrow over his sister’s death.

“Jimmy used to stay with us while Cassie taught school. I live just down the road from the schoolhouse with my folks. We miss having Jimmy around.” Kirby fluffed the boy’s hair and he pulled away. “Nate told me you two used to be friends.”

“You know Nate Tompkins?”

“Sure. You ought to stop by and see him while you’re in town. He’s at the jail.”

Jess chuckled. “Jail, huh? That figures.”

Kirby smiled gently. “Nate’s the deputy sheriff.”

“Nate? The deputy? Well, damn....” Jess shook his head. “I guess a lot of things really have changed in Walker.”

“Yes, and no one more than my Nate.” An easy smile crossed her face. “So, what do you say? How about the chicken plate?”

“Sounds good.” Jess eased into his chair and watched as Kirby disappeared into the kitchen. How could a worthless bastard like Nate Tompkins have gotten a fine-looking woman like her? His belly heated up again.

Trying to distract his thoughts, Jess turned back to Jimmy. “So, you like chicken, huh?”

Jimmy ignored him and fiddled with the silverware.

“I’ll bet your mama used to make the best chicken in the state. Even when we were kids, she was a good cook.”

Jimmy folded his hands on the table and laid his head down.

Jess sighed. “Come on, Jimmy. Talk to me.”

The boy looked up suddenly and stuck out his tongue.

Stunned, he felt a laugh slip out. “Well, I guess that’s a start,” Jess said.

A few minutes later when the food was served, Jess ate hungrily, satisfying at least one of his suddenly pressing needs. The food tasted delicious, a far sight better than his own cooking. He finished off his own plate and the remains of Jimmy’s, plus a thick wedge of apple pie and two cups of coffee.

“You might want to bring Jimmy over to the church. My papa preaches there. We always have children’s Bible study on Thursday nights.” Kirby took away their plates. “Bring Maggie, too.”

Jess rocked back in his chair and patted his belly. “I’ll see—Holy Jesus!”

He surged from the chair, nearly knocking the dishes from Kirby’s tray. Maggie. He’d forgotten Maggie’s lunch pail this morning. He’d been in such a rush it had completely slipped his mind. And surely this time that Mrs. Wakefield would go straight to the school board.

Kirby gasped. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Jess pulled at his neck. “I just thought of something else I need. Could you box up some food? Chicken, bread, maybe?”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“No—yes.”

Jess drew in a deep breath. Yes, he needed something else, something that would appease a certain schoolmarm. And he knew exactly what it would be.

Chapter Three

Damn. He was too late.

A few children still sat at the benches, but most played in the schoolyard. Girls jumped rope while several boys shot marbles in the dirt. Other children ran squealing around the schoolhouse while a few older ones huddled under the shade of the elms. Jess clutched the box lunch as he crossed the schoolyard looking for Maggie. Finally he spotted her standing beside Mrs. Wakefield. Of course.

Jess pulled his Stetson lower and sucked in a deep breath. “Hi, honey. I brought you something special.”

“Uncle Jess!”

He gave her a hug and passed her the box. “I wanted to surprise you. Sorry I’m a little late. I didn’t think your teacher would have you eating so early.” He felt Sarah glare at him but he refused to look at her.

“Thanks, Uncle Jess.”

“I brought something for your teacher, too.” He pulled out a big, red apple and presented it to Sarah.

“Come on, Jimmy. You can eat with me.”

“There’s cookies in there. Enough for the both of you,” he called as Maggie headed for the tables at the side of the schoolhouse.

He watched the two children, determined not to acknowledge Sarah Wakefield standing three feet from him. She could stare at him until her eyes crossed, if that’s what she wanted to do.

The breeze shifted and a delicate scent tantalized his nose, winding its way inside him. His gaze came up quickly and settled on Sarah. Good God, was it her that smelled so sweet?

But that expression of hers wasn’t sweet at all. She didn’t buy the special meal excuse, not for a minute. And the apple hadn’t helped at all.

“Mr. Logan, Maggie was quite upset that she had nothing to eat.”

“I know, I know.”

“It’s extremely important that she have continuity in her life. Especially now with all the changes that have taken place.”

“I know that, too.”

“She’s at a very vulnerable point that could—”

“Would it make you feel better if you just got out your ruler and busted my knuckles?”

Sarah stiffened. “As appealing as that sounds, Mr. Logan, I sincerely doubt it would be effective.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s exactly right.” Sarah softened her voice. “You needn’t take this personally. I’m only thinking of what’s best for Maggie.”

He hated it when other people were right. It seemed like a good time to change the subject.

Jess gestured at the children in the schoolyard. The boy he’d had the confrontation with in class this morning lounged beneath an oak. “That kid still shooting off his mouth?”

Sarah followed his gaze across the schoolyard. “Luke Trenton? He’s not so bad, really. But he lacks self-discipline. He’s the youngest of twelve, I understand, and apparently his folks grew weary of parental responsibility several children ago.”

“Twelve kids, huh?” Jess whistled low. He couldn’t keep up with two. “Looks like he’s got himself a girlfriend.”

Seated on the ground beside him was a young girl about his age, with soft brown hair.

“That’s Megan Neville. Her father is the sheriff. Have you met him?”

Jess’s stomach tightened. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

“Megan and Luke are nearly inseparable.”

“Pretty sweet on each other, huh?”

Sarah shook her head. “I don’t think they’re more than good friends. They don’t display any of the usual signs, so far.”

“Signs?”

Sarah’s cheeks flushed. “Yes. Signs. Passing notes, holding hands when they think no one’s looking, making eyes at each other.”

“You pay attention to those things?”

“I make it a point to pay attention to everything about my students.”

Jess looked at her and some of her frostiness evaporated. He’d never in his life had a teacher pay any attention to him, until it was time to swing a hickory stick, of course.

“Megan’s lucky to still be in school at her age,” Sarah said. “Some girls are married by fifteen, with children of their own.”

“Were you?” Urgency clenched his gut. Suddenly, he had to know.

Well, there it was. The first question about her past. Sarah steeled her feelings. “No.” The word barely slipped through her tight, dry throat.

“No, what? No, not married young? Or no, no children?”

Sarah cleared her throat and forced herself to face him. “No, I did not marry young, and no, I do not have children. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Logan, I have lessons to prepare.”

Jess watched her climb the steps to the schoolhouse, her back rigid, her shoulders square. That conversation had turned her deathly white. Somebody had said she was a widow. Was it the fact that she had no children that upset her? Maybe. Every woman wanted kids. But if she hadn’t married young, that meant she’d married more recently. Very recently, perhaps. And recently widowed, too. That would account for her reaction to his question.

She wasn’t wearing a mourning dress, so at least a year had passed. Time meant nothing, though, when it came to losing your loved ones. He’d learned that the hard way when he was only twelve years old. For an instant Jess was tempted to follow her inside the schoolhouse, but didn’t. The farther he kept from everybody in Walker, the better off he’d be. And that sure as hell included Sarah Wakefield.

“Thank you for inviting me, Reverend Sullivan.”

Sarah stepped into the warm parlor of the preacher’s home next door to the church, more grateful for the invitation to supper at the Sullivans’ than anyone could know. She smiled at Emory Sullivan as he took her cloak. How wonderful not to eat another meal alone, in that horrible house she called home.

Emory nodded, lamplight reflecting off his balding head. “We’re just so pleased to have you in our town, Sarah, just so pleased. Thank God for bringing you to us. Isn’t that so, Fiona?”

His wife clasped her hands together. “We were all worried silly about getting another teacher out here. We ran newspaper advertisements everywhere. Walker isn’t exactly St. Louis.”

Thank God for that, too, Sarah thought. “Good evening, Kirby, Nate.”

She’d met the Sullivans’ daughter and Nate Tompkins, the deputy sheriff, at church on Sunday and they’d seemed close, displaying some of the same signs she’d seen in her students, on occasion, so she wasn’t surprised to find Nate here for supper. Tall, broad-shouldered with a head full of black wavy hair, Nate looked comfortable, as if he’d spent many an evening in the Sullivans’ parlor. But the other man rising from the settee was a stranger, and a feeling of foreboding crept up her spine.

Fiona smiled brightly. “Sarah, I’d like to present Dwight Rutledge. Dwight is one of our most prominent businessmen. He owns Walker Feed and Grain on the other side of town.”

A tall, older man with a round chest and thinning hair, Dwight took her hand delicately in his. “Glad to make your acquaintance.”

A flash of light glinted in his eye. She’d seen that look before. She offered a silent prayer, hoping it would carry more weight emanating from the preacher’s home, but Dwight’s hand clung to hers a trifle longer than necessary.

“Shall we all go in for supper?” Dwight looped his arm through hers, then followed Fiona into the dining room. Sarah ended up seated at Dwight’s elbow; she was certain it was by design and not chance.

“How are things going at the school?” Kirby asked from across the table where she sat beside Nate. The dining room was cozy, like the rest of the house, the table set with nice dishes and a lace cloth. Apparently, the congregation in Walker was a generous one.

“Quite well, actually.” Sarah passed a bowl of potatoes on to Emory. “The students and I are adjusting to each other, getting to know one another. It’s all gone very well, actually.”

“At least you don’t have any of the Gibb boys in class.” Fiona shook her head. “A more disreputable family I’ve never known.”

“You’ve got Zack Gibb working for you, don’t you, Dwight?” Nate asked as he spooned peas onto his plate.

“I was reluctant to take him on. Bad blood in that family.” Dwight leaned closer to Sarah. “Inbreeders. Keep marrying their cousins, the lot of them.”

Sticky heat rolled off him; Sarah blushed.

Fiona gasped. “Mr. Rutledge, really.”

“It’s the truth. And the Lord knows it.” He glanced at Emory at the head of the table. “Zack’s not so bad. He’s the youngest, twenty years old now. Seems to have a good head on his shoulders, despite his upbringing. Of course, you never know.”

“Got word at the jail the other day that Zack’s brother, Gil, was in a gunfight down in Laramie. Heard Gil’s quite the shot. And not too particular about who he shoots at. Wouldn’t be surprised if I saw a Wanted poster come in on him.”

Sarah felt her stomach flip over. She’d known Walker would be different from St. Louis, but this different?

“There, there, now. Don’t be frightened.” Dwight covered her hand with his. “You’ve nothing to fear.”

Kirby smiled proudly at Nate. “We have very competent lawmen here in Walker.”

Dwight laughed suddenly. “Yeah, with Leyton Lawrence on the job.”

Everyone laughed but Sarah.

“The Legendary Lawman,” Dwight explained. “In the dime novels.”

Sarah nodded. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of him. Those books are quite the rage. I recall reading in the newspaper that sales have set records.”

“Surely you read that before you got to Walker,” Kirby said. “Our little newspaper hardly carries any news from back East.”

Fiona smiled. “That’s why it’s so good to have new people in town.”

“I don’t think many people are saying that about our other newcomer.” Dwight reared back in his chair and sucked his gums. “That Logan fella is causing a stir, the way I hear it.”

The name sent a tingle racing up Sarah’s spine. She’d heard a few comments here and there about Jess, but didn’t allow herself to be drawn into gossiping.

Fiona dipped her head wisely. “I understand he was quite the troublemaker here in Walker.”

“Now, Fiona, that was years ago when he was just a boy, and we didn’t even live here then.” Emory waved away her comments. “It’s not our place to be spreading rumors and gossip.”

“I’ve heard the talk,” Dwight said. “And it doesn’t sound like rumors to me.”

Kirby turned to Nate. “You know what really happened. You grew up here. Jess was a good friend of yours, wasn’t he?”

Despite herself, Sarah’s ears perked up.

Nate put down his fork and chuckled. “I can’t say it was all Jess’s doing. We were both pretty wild back then. But we were just kids.”

“So it’s true?” Sarah asked. “The stories about the shooting and drinking and...other things.”

“Yeah, they were all true.” Nate laughed again.

“I say it’s disgraceful,” Fiona said.

Dwight thumped his fist on the table. “For all the joking we do about Buck Neville, at least we don’t have those problems in town now. It’s safe for decent, law-abiding people.” He cast a sidelong glance at Sarah. “Of course, a man would still want to protect his woman himself.”

Sarah turned away, avoiding his eyes.

“Alma Garrette told me Jess Logan was into all kinds of trouble even after he left Walker.” Fiona pursed her lips. “And to think, someone like him is raising Cassie Hayden’s children.”

“Fiona,” Emory cautioned. “The Lord stands in judgement, not we ourselves.”

“Of course.” She dipped her eyes contritely. “But, look at how well Cassie did for herself after her husband ran off. Teaching, caring for those children, always helping out any neighbor who needed it. She even bought that nice house and kept it up herself. And don’t you think it would have been easier for her if Jess Logan had been here to help? Where was he when his sister needed him?”

Dwight nodded. “You do have to wonder about a man like him raising those two children all alone. A man with his past.”

“I heard he turned his back on Walker and everybody in it years ago,” Fiona said. “Took off. And hadn’t been heard from until Cassie passed on. Now, I ask you. Is that the right thing to do?”

“There’s something you should know about Jess.” Nate wiped his mouth and laid his napkin aside. “Back when we were kids, Jess lost almost his whole family in a fire. His ma and pa, his two sisters and little brother. He was only twelve years old. Just he and Cassie got out of the house alive. His pa picked him up, threw him out the window. He’s got a scar on his arm where the glass cut him. Must be pretty hard, looking at a thing like that every day of your life, remembering the screaming and the flames.”

Everyone at the table fell silent. Sarah’s heart pounded.

“Cassie settled in with the Newton sisters here in town but they wouldn’t take Jess. He got passed around from one family to another. He got worse every time, too, and that just got him handed around more and more. He never had a home or a family. Never had anything he could call his own. Not after the fire.”

Sarah’s heart squeezed nearly to a stop. At that moment she wanted to take Jess in her arms and hold him close, take away all the pain and misery he’d suffered. The feeling nearly overwhelmed her.

“So that’s why he’s here,” Kirby said softly. “He doesn’t want the same thing to happen to Maggie and Jimmy.”

“Good intentions don’t make good actions. What’s best for those children is what’s important.” Dwight nodded curtly.

“But all of that happened so long ago,” Sarah said. “He certainly could have changed.”

A hush fell over the table. Fiona’s brows arched. “Talk like that will do you no good, Sarah. After all, you have a position in the community to maintain. I’m sure you wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

Sarah felt her cheeks flush. “No. Of course not.”

A schoolteacher’s job hung by the slender thread of her reputation, her reputation as perceived by the school board and the townspeople. They wouldn’t entrust the minds of their children to just anyone. Sarah knew she had to be careful, particularly where Jess Logan was concerned.

Dwight thumped his fist on the table. “That Logan fella may have good intentions, but I doubt he’ll be around for long. Probably will take off again, just like he did before.”

Sarah squirmed in her chair. She’d had enough of this conversation.

“Make plans now to come to the school a week from this Saturday,” she said. “I’m planning a pie social that afternoon and everyone’s invited.”

“Pie, huh?” Nate smiled broadly. “Count on me. I’ll be there.”

Sarah smiled. “Good. I’ll put you down for an apple cobbler.”

Everyone chuckled as Nate blushed. “I can’t bake anything. But I know a certain restaurant in town where I can get something good to bring.”

Kirby swatted him on the arm. “Mighty sure of yourself, Nate Tompkins.”

“I just know good pie when I eat it.”

A special look passed between Nate and Kirby that touched Sarah’s heart and left her with a profound feeling of happiness...and envy.

After supper Dwight helped her with her cloak, then latched onto her arm. “I’ll see you home.”

“No, thank you. It’s just a short walk.”

He leaned closer. “I insist.”

Behind him, Fiona smiled and bobbed her brows. Sarah felt everyone staring at her. She didn’t want to make a scene. “Well, all right. Thank you.”

Dwight patted her hand. “And, I’m going to show you the sights of Walker, such as they are. We’ll have supper, too. Tomorrow evening.”

“Really, Dwight, I don’t mink—”

“I insist.” He wagged his finger at her and led her out the front door.

Dwight talked about his feed and grain business as the cool night air swirled about thsm, but Sarah hardly listened. Dwight was nice enough—and certainly respectable—but she didn’t want to become involved with him. She’d vowed to keep to herself, not draw attention to herself. Fiona had been right. Talk circulating about her in town so soon after her arrival would do her no good.

. Lights shone in the window of Jess’s house a short distance down the road and Sarah found her gaze drawn to it like a beacon on a stormy night. A figure moved across the window. It had to be Jess—big, sturdy, nearly blocking out the light. The place seemed inviting, with the children inside and, of course, Jess.

Sarah’s stomach tightened as she stopped in front of her own home. A single dim lantern burned in the window, illuminating the sagging porch, chipped paint and broken steps.

“I’ll see you inside.” Dwight’s voice spoke directly into her ear; she felt his hot breath against her skin.

Sarah pulled away. “No, Mr. Rutledge. That would hardly be proper.”

“You’re not in St. Louis anymore. Things are different out here. People in Walker don’t stand on all that formality.”

“Perhaps the people of Walker don’t, Mr. Rutledge. But I do. Good evening.”

Sarah hurried up the rickety steps, Dwight’s soft chuckle resting on the evening breeze. She went into the house and turned the lock.

A more unappealing meal she’d never seen, and it took all the control Sarah could muster to sit by and not offer some of her own food to Maggie.

The midday sun shone through the white, billowing clouds as most of the children closed their lunch pails and hurried off to play. Seated next to Maggie at the benches beside the school, Sarah looked down at the food the child picked at.

Chicken, probably. It was hard to tell under all that charred crust. And that black, hard lump might have been a biscuit.

“I see your uncle packed your lunch today.” Sarah smiled down at her as she ate her own meal.

Maggie nodded. “Uncle Jess cooks all the time. He lets me help. I read Mama’s recipes to him. But they don’t taste the same.”

Sarah’s stomach rolled. “No, I don’t expect they do.”

“That’s ’cause I don’t know all the words.”

“Then maybe your uncle should read.” Anything would be an improvement.

“He says for me to read ’cause it’s good to be able to read.”

Mildly surprised, Sarah nodded. “Does your uncle ever read to you?”

“No. Mama had lots of books. She used to read to me and Jimmy sometimes at night. But Uncle Jess doesn’t read them.” Maggie pulled off a crust of chicken. “He makes up stories. He says they’re better than book stories.”

“And are they?”

Maggie laughed. “They’re funny. Uncle Jess makes up funny stories. He tells us one every single night.”

Sarah laughed, too, unable not to. “Still, wouldn’t you like to hear the stories in the books and look at the pictures?”

“Uncle Jess says he can paint the pictures in our heads with the words. He says you don’t have to be able to read to make good stories.”

Sarah’s stomach knotted. Was that the reason for the unpalatable meals? Jess couldn’t read?

“Can I go play now?” Maggie licked her fingers.

“Certainly, dear.” Sarah’s thoughts ran wild, imagining Jess’s childhood, the horrible death of his family right before his eyes, then bouncing from home to home having little guidance. He’d been such a behavior problem, maybe no one had taken the time to teach him. Maybe Jess Logan couldn’t read.

Sarah pushed herself to her feet and stalked across the schoolyard. No. No, she wouldn’t get involved. She couldn’t. She had to keep to herself. She needed this job and she needed this town. She needed a home. And she would be a part of Walker—albeit a distant, detached part—no matter how much her heart ached to help.

With a deep, cleansing sigh, Sarah climbed the steps to the schoolhouse. Absolutely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt, she would not get involved with Jess and the children. She would not.

“It’s just a simple stew. I thought you and the children might like some.”

Sarah held out the black kettle, bearing up under Jess’s harsh gaze from the back porch.

“I made too much for myself.”

His eyes narrowed.

“It’s beef and vegetables.”

His brows furrowed.

“It’s good.”

The line of his mouth hardened.

“It’s heavy.” Sarah winced and braced her outstretched arm with the other one.

He came down the steps and took the kettle from her, but still just stared at her.

“Besides, I owe you.” Sarah rubbed her forearm.

“For what?”

“Luke Trenton.” She waved him toward the door. “Put that on the stove before it gets cold.”

Jess looked at the kettle, then at her, at the house, then back to Sarah again. “You want to eat with us?”

A lump rose in Sarah’s throat. She shouldn’t even be here, let alone go inside. But it was doubtful anyone had seen her come to Jess’s house; the only close neighbor was Mrs. McDougal across the road and Sarah knew she was having supper with the Sullivans tonight.

She glanced around. “Well, all right.”

Jess held the door open for her and Sarah walked inside. He seemed bigger, growing taller and wider each time she saw him. And somehow it made her feel smaller, weaker, until her knees trembled, and made it harder to breathe.

Maggie and Jimmy were both in the kitchen, oblivious to the dirty dishes, the pile of dust under the broom in the corner, the disarray. They sat at the table, drawing with nubby pencils on sheafs of white paper.

“Hi, Miss Sarah.” Maggie smiled broadly. “We’re making pictures, aren’t we, Jimmy.”

The boy spared her a glance and turned back to his drawing.

Sarah stood in the corner, feeling uncomfortable. “I brought stew for supper. Anybody hungry?”

“Uncle Jess said we could make oatmeal cookies for supper. I told Mary Beth Myers we were.”

Sarah looked at Jess. “You giving the children cookies for supper?”

“After supper.” He pushed aside a greasy frying pan and sat the kettle on the stove. “Anything wrong with that?”

“No, of course not.” Sarah took off her cloak and unpinned her hat. “Let me help you.”

He glared at her. “I can do it.”

“I’m only offering to help with supper, Mr. Logan, not bear your child.”

The kettle lid slipped from Jess’s fingers and clattered onto the stove, then flipped onto the floor. His gaze riveted her in place.

Sarah turned away, her cheeks flaming. What on earth had she said? Why had she blurted out such a suggestive remark?

“See my picture, Miss Sarah?”

Grateful, Sarah peered over Maggie’s shoulder, admiring her drawing of a house with trees and flowers in the yard. Her own home, obviously.

“That’s lovely, Maggie. Let’s have a look at your brother’s work.”

Sarah pursed her lips as she gazed at Jimmy’s picture, crude sketches of bared teeth, narrow eyes on angry faces. She walked to the stove.

“I thought drawing might help him,” Jess said as he stirred the stew. “Since he won’t talk, maybe he’ll say what’s on his mind with the pictures.”

Sarah glanced over her shoulder at the table. “He’s very troubled.”

“With good reason.”

“What has the doctor said about him?”

Jess shuddered. “I’m not taking that boy to any doctor.”

“I understand Dr. Burns is very capable—”

“No.”

His reasoning was only too obvious. Sarah pursed her lips. “Really, Mr. Logan, just because you’re afraid of the doctor, doesn’t mean—”

“Afraid?” His gaze riveted her. “Who said anything about being afraid?”

She gave him an indulgent look.

Jess shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not taking Jimmy to any doctor, and that’s all there is to it.”

“What’s best for you, Mr. Logan, isn’t necessarily what’s best for Jimmy.”

Dammit. There she went, being right again. Jess clamped his mouth shut.

“At least consider it. Won’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I will.” Jess looked down at her standing at his elbow. “Since I’ve got these two children already and don’t need anymore borne for me tonight, would you mind setting the table instead?”

Sarah’s cheeks pinkened, but she laughed, and to her surprise, Jess laughed with her, a deep, masculine laugh that rippled through her.

Together they got the meal on the table, Sarah’s stew, old coffee that was too strong, milk for the children, and warmed-over lumps of what were probably intended to be biscuits. Next time, she’d bring bread, Sarah thought, before she could stop herself.

The children ate two bowls full and Jess had three, scraping the last of the stew from the kettle and licking the spoon standing at the stove.

“Can Miss Sarah stay and bake cookies with us,

Uncle Jess?” Maggie gathered dishes from the table.

Sarah’s gaze met Jess’s. She couldn’t tell what he wanted, but knew she should go.

“I have lessons to plan for tomorrow.”

“Please stay.” Maggie took her hand. “Please. - Make her stay, Uncle Jess.”

“Stay if you want.” Jess pushed dirty dishes around on the sideboard. “Besides, since I owe this meal to that Trenton boy I’d like to know what exactly 1 have to thank him for.”

“Oh yes, Luke.” Sarah carried a stack of bowls to the sink. “After your little talk with him in class the other morning, he’s behaved much better. I guess he doesn’t get much discipline at home. So, I wanted to thank you.”

Jess gave the spoon a final lick. “For stew this good I’ll rough up every kid in the class. You just say the word.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners and danced with flecks of blue. Sarah laughed with him.

A knock sounded on the back door. Jess pointed with the spoon. “Get that, will you, Maggie?”

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat as the door opened and Nate Tompkins walked into the room. He raised an eyebrow at seeing her there, but didn’t say anything.

Jess shook his hand. “Sit down. Have some coffee, Nate.”

“I can’t.” The deputy looked uncomfortable.

Jess stopped in the center of the kitchen and braced himself. “What’s wrong?”

“Sheriff Neville sent me over here, Jess. They’re having a hearing in town tomorrow. You’ve got to be there.” He looked at Sarah. “You, too.”

She touched her throat. “Me? What for?”

“Yeah, Nate. What’s going on? What sort of hearing?”

“Circuit judge will be here.” Nate pulled at his neck. “Sorry, Jess. They want to take the kids away from you.”

Chapter Four

Jess paced the boardwalk across the street from the Walker courthouse as townspeople streamed inside. He punched his fist into his open palm. Damn them. Damn them all. Bunch of busybodies who ought to be taking care of their own problems, not nosing into his.

He shook his head, anger tightening his chest. He ought to go into that courtroom and tell them off—every one of them.

“Jess?” Nate Tompkins rounded the corner and stopped in front of him. “I want you to know, Jess, I had nothing to do with this hearing.”

Jess jerked his jaw toward the courthouse across the street. “I know who’s behind it. The same people who’re always causing problems in Walker.”

“It’s Sheriff Neville who started it.”

“The sheriff?” Jess’s brows pulled together in a tight scowl. “What does he care about Cassie’s kids?”

“It’s not that, Jess.” Nate drew in a deep breath. “What you did over in Kingston, you know, with the sheriff there? Well, that sheriff was Neville’s cousin.”

Jess blanched and fell back a step. “Damn....”

“The other folks in town, well, I guess they’re really concerned about the kids. Everybody loved your sister, Jess. They want to see Maggie and Jimmy taken care of proper.”

“I don’t believe that, not for a minute.” Jess shook his head.

“Truth is, a couple of families already spoke up for them.”

Jess’s stomach tightened. Some other family raising Cassie’s children? No, he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t let Maggie and Jimmy be handed over to strangers.

“You watch yourself in court today,” Nate said. “Judge Flinn would like nothing better than to throw you in jail. And Sheriff Neville would like nothing better than to be the one locking you inside.”

Jess nodded. They crossed the street and went inside the courtroom.

“All right, all right. Come to order.” Judge Percy Flinn rapped his gavel, silencing the murmur that rippled through the crowd. He shuffled papers and peered over the rim of his spectacles. “Jess Logan? You here, Logan?”

He and everyone else in town. Jess fought his way through the crowded aisle, feeling every hot gaze in the room on him. Damn bunch of nosy bastards, gawking at him like a circus sideshow. He wanted to slam his fist into each and every face, curse at them all until the knot in his gut unwound. Instead, he kept his eyes forward and stepped in front of the judge.

Judge Flinn gave the papers another cursory glance. “Logan, your past has brought into question your fitness to raise the children of your deceased sister. And judging from these reports, your actions of late only confirm it. What have you got to say for yourself?”

Jess squared his shoulders, blocking out the people leering at him. They were all here, Alma Garrette, the preacher, Emma Turner from the mercantile. Even Mrs. McDougal peeked in through the window. All here, all waiting to see him fail.

“Cassie was my only sister. When I found out she’d passed on I knew it was up to me to take care of her kids. I didn’t want them raised by strangers.”

The judge peered over his spectacles. “But you’d never seen them before. You’re a stranger to them, aren’t you?”

Jess shifted. “I’m their family.”

“I don’t like your past, Logan. I don’t like what happened down in Kingston.” Judge Flinn jerked his thumb toward an empty chair. “Sit down.”

Buck Neville rose and hung his fingers in his vest pockets. “I’ve got people willing to testify, Your Honor.”

“All right. Get them up here.”

Jess mumbled under his breath as Alma Garrette threw him a smug look and eased her wide frame into the chair at the corner of the judge’s desk.

“Well, Your Honor, we were all shocked that Jess Logan showed his face in town after all the trouble he’d caused here before. Wanting to raise those children—why, he never lifted one finger to help his sister and he never even laid eyes on the children before.” Alma jerked her chin indignantly. “I saw him in town with little Jimmy, and the boy looked like he hadn’t bathed in a week. His clothes were wrinkled and soiled. Jess Logan was wearing his gun, like some sort of gunslinger. I’d heard that’s what he was.”

A murmur rippled through the courtroom.

Alma pursed her lips. “I heard he’d been paid to shoot the governor of Texas a few years back.”

The crowd rumbled and Judge Flinn rapped his gavel again. “Order!”

“Well, then—then—I saw him leave little Jimmy sitting all by himself outside the Green Garter Saloon so he could go in and drink.”

Jess winced as the crowd grumbled, and Alma Garrette sailed back to her seat, her nose in the air.

Buck Neville glared at Jess. “Mrs. Turner, you want to come on up here?”

Emma, from the Walker Mercantile, took the chair. “I don’t know much about Jess since he left Walker years ago, except what I heard around town. And that story of how he disgraced that young woman down in Galveston, then refused to marry her really upset me.”

“Tell the judge about Jimmy,” Buck instructed.

“Oh, yes, that.” Emma cleared her throat uncomfortably. “The child refuses to speak, Your Honor. But Jess had him in my store bribing him with licorice to get him to talk. I just didn’t think that was right.”

The judge grunted and jotted a note on the papers in front of him. “Anybody else?”

Lottie Myers took the stand next. “Little Maggie goes to school with my Mary Beth. They’re good friends. Well, it seems Mr. Logan lets the children eat whatever they want for supper. One night all they had was cookies. And that poor child’s hair is a snarl of tangles. Cassie used to keep it so pretty. But it looks like no one is tending to her now.”

Jess’s chest tightened as Lottie stepped down. Nosy busybodies. They didn’t know what the hell they were talking about—any of them. His anger and hatred for the people of Walker grew.

Reverend Sullivan spoke next. He, at least, had the decency to offer Jess an apologetic look.

“No, Mr. Logan hasn’t brought the children to church or to Bible study. But I figured it was just a matter of him getting settled here in town.”

“Thank you, Reverend.” Sheriff Neville turned to the crowd again. “Mrs. Wakefield?”

Sarah’s heart rose in her throat as she made her way to the front of the room. Settling into the chair she chanced a look at Jess. He appeared composed, maybe even at ease. But Sarah saw the tic in his cheek, the tightness in his jaw, the blue of his eyes harden to cold, steely gray. The people of Walker were going to take the children away from him. She knew it. And it was obvious to her that Jess knew it, too.

Judge Flinn consulted his papers. “You’re the schoolmarm here in Walker. Just moved here. Is that right, Mrs. Wakefield?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Her voice was a tight whisper.

“Speak up, ma’am.” The judge whipped off his spectacles. “What have you observed about Mr. Logan, the children, and their living conditions?”

She glanced at Jess, then cleared her throat. “Admittedly, Mr. Logan isn’t the best housekeeper I’ve ever met. And, too, there’ve been times when Maggie’s lunch could have been better. But Maggie is very happy, Your Honor. She speaks highly of her uncle. He helps her with her reading, and tells the children stories every night at bedtime. He’s very affectionate with them.”

The judge peered down his long nose at her. “Is that so?”

“Yes, Your Honor. And it’s true that Jimmy won’t talk, but that problem existed before Mr. Logan even got to town. I don’t know why he would have come here in the first place if he wasn’t interested in their well-being. He seems to genuinely care for the children. They care for him, too. And isn’t love just as important as proper meals and clean clothes?”

The courtroom fell silent. Sarah felt every gaze in the room boring into her as she took her seat again.

Jess heard his heart pounding in his ears as Judge Flinn settled his spectacles on his nose once more and looked down at him. He rose to his feet.

“Seeing as how you’re the children’s only blood kin, the court will give you time to prove you can take proper care of them. But you see here, Logan, I don’t like you and I sure as hell don’t like what happened in Kingston. I’ll be back next month, and if I hear that you’ve as much as spit downwind in this town, I’ll give those children to somebody else. Understand?”

Jess gave him a curt nod. “I got it.”

The judge pounded his gavel. “Next case!”

The crowd grumbled and headed for the door. Sarah pushed her way outside, anxious for some fresh air. On the boardwalk, Alma Garrette caught her arm.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself. The judge would have given those children a proper home if it hadn’t been for you.”

Sarah’s breath caught. “I told the truth, Mrs. Garrette. That’s all.”

“The truth? You don’t know the truth.” Alma leaned closer, her eyes narrowed. “The truth is that Jess Logan gunned down the sheriff over in Kingston. Shot him in cold blood. And went to prison for it, too. Now, do you still think he’s the kind of man who ought to raise two small children? Do you?”

Breath left Sarah’s lungs in a single huff. Passersby on the boardwalk glared at her. She heard someone mumble her name.

Alma tossed her head. “The judge will be back in a month. You’d better think long and hard about what you say next time.”

Sarah stumbled away, her mind racing. Prison? Jess had been in prison? He’d shot a lawman—in cold blood?

She wrung her hands as she hurried down the boardwalk. Why had she gotten involved? She should have refused to testify. She should have kept to herself. She’d broken the vow she’d made and now look at what had happened. The town was turning against her. She could lose her job. And all because of Jess Logan.

He should have told her about his past He should have known what she’d say in front of the judge. But he hadn’t opened his mouth. He’d let her stick out her neck, all for his own good.

Anger rose in her throat, pulling her heart with it.

Jess stepped out in front of her at the comer of the bank. He was mad, too.

“Bastards.” He flung his hand toward the crowd of people still filing out of the courthouse. “Nosy hypocrites. I’m not living my life to suit them—any of them. And if they think I’m going to kiss their butts just to keep those kids, they can all think again.”

Sarah rounded on him, fury roiling in her. “Oh, is that right? You listen to me, Mr. Jess Logan. They’ll take those children away from you in a heartbeat—and enjoy doing it. Don’t think they won’t. So if you really care about your sister’s memory, if you really want what’s best for Maggie and Jimmy, then I suggest you pucker up.”

Sarah whipped around and stalked away.

While she’d have preferred to bury her head under her pillow and never show her face in town again, Sarah met Dwight Rutledge at the Blue Jay Café for supper, as she’d promised. Dwight, at least, was respectable company. Being seen with him couldn’t hurt.

“Quite the doings in court today.” Dwight settled back in his chair across from her.

“Were you there? I didn’t see you.” Maybe now he wouldn’t want to be seen with her. Sarah’s stomach soured. Goodness, what had she gotten herself into?

“I think it was a good thing you did, speaking out like that.” Dwight nodded emphatically, then grinned slowly. “I didn’t realize you had such strong feelings about children and...love.”

She wished he’d stop looking at her that way. “I told the truth. That’s all. Of course, I’m not sure everyone else in town feels the same way as you.”

Dwight reached across the table and laid his big hand over hers. “You did the right thing. It shows integrity. I like that in a woman.”

“Thank you.” She eased her hand away, wondering if the rest of the town would see her single-handed influence on the judge in such a favorable light.

Kirby Sullivan stopped by their table to take their supper order. “I heard what happened at the courthouse this afternoon. I’m glad Jess got another chance.”

Relieved that not everyone had turned on her, Sarah sighed. “I hope it works out for him.” But in her heart, she didn’t see how it could. Not with the way Jess felt about the townspeople.

Dwight ordered steaks for them both and talked about his business straight through to dessert. The sun was slipping toward the horizon, painting the sky a gorgeous blue as they stepped out onto the boardwalk.

“Let me show you my store while we’re in town.” Dwight tugged proudly on his vest. “Doing quite well, if I say so myself.”

A look at Walker Feed and Grain was only marginally more appealing than spending another evening alone at her house, so Sarah agreed. They walked, Dwight pointing out places he considered interesting. Shops and businesses had closed and the boardwalk at this end of town was nearly empty. Seeing Megan Neville was a surprise.

“Oh! Hello, Mrs. Wakefield.” Megan touched her brown hair and smoothed her skirt, seeming as surprised as anyone at the chance meeting.

“Hello, Megan.”

“What brings you down here at this hour?” Dwight frowned at her. “Mighty late to be out and about. Does your pa know you’re here?”

She glanced nervously at him, then back at Sarah. “Actually, I—I’m looking for Papa. Have you seen him?”

“Is something wrong?” Sarah asked.

“No. No, nothing. Nothing at all. I’d better go.” Megan hurried away.

Dwight watched her leave, then looked down at Sarah. “Such a delightful child. Turned out real good, what with her ma dying and all. Been hard on Buck Neville, too, handling his sheriff duties, raising a child. A man needs a wife. Don’t you think?”

Sarah turned toward his store, deliberately ignoring his question. “Is that a light on’ inside? I thought you’d closed up.”

“I did.” He pulled the big brass key from his pocket and opened the door. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Mr. Rutledge. It’s Zack.”

Peering around Dwight, Sarah saw a tall, lanky young man step in from the back room. He looked to be about twenty, with even looks and black, curly hair.

He pushed both hands through his hair, smoothing it in place, and shoved his shirttail deeper into his trousers. “I stayed late to get a jump on tomorrow’s work, Mr. Rutledge. That’s all.”

“All right. Lock up when you’re done.” Dwight closed the door. Finding someone already inside, Dwight seemed to have little desire to show Sarah around. She wondered why.

He linked his arm through hers as they walked back down the boardwalk. “That’s Zack Gibb. You remember, I told you about his family.”

The inbreeders who married their cousins. How could she forget?

“Working late, without being asked.” Dwight nodded slowly. “Family ties are tight with those Gibbs. Zack and Gil, especially, even though Gil is a real hothead. Remember, I told you he was the gunfighter. But it looks like I picked the right Gibb to work for me. That Zack. A dedicated worker.”

Sarah glimpsed Megan Neville disappearing around the corner ahead of her. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Twilight settled as Sarah reached her little house across from the school, Dwight beside her. After hearing him talk all evening, she felt sure she could open her own feed and grain store.

Dwight suddenly stopped short and squared his shoulders. Sarah’s breath caught as she saw Jess sitting on her front steps, Maggie and Jimmy playing in the side yard. A myriad of emotions surged through Sarah, causing her heart to beat harder.

Jess rose slowly, put away his pocket knife and tossed aside the stick he’d been whittling.

“Logan.”

“Rutledge.”

The men glared at each other.

Sarah stepped away from Dwight. “Thank you for supper.”

He tore his gaze from Jess, a scowl drawing his features together. “I’ll come to call after services on Sunday.”

Sarah glanced at Jess and saw his shoulders stiffen. “No, I won’t be here. I’m having supper with the Sullivans.”

His expression soured. “Another time, then.”

Dwight stared at Jess again. Jess braced his arm against the porch roof support column, making it clear he didn’t intend to leave. Finally, Dwight touched the brim of his hat. “Good evening.”

Sarah watched him until he faded into the gray shadows stretching across the road. She turned to Jess and his bravado dissolved.

“I, ah, I brought back your kettle.” He gestured to the black pot sitting on the porch.

“You didn’t have to wait.”

“I didn’t wait. I just got here.”

The heaping mound of wood chips he’d whittled told a different story.

Jess ignored her unspoken challenge and walked down the steps. He waved his hand at the house. “Do you really live in this place? It looks like it’s ready to fall down.”

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