# The Daddy List

Dewanna Pace

A Substitute HusbandDiscovering her daughter is holding bank patrons hostage to interview daddy candidates sends widow Daisy Trumbo running to intervene. But when real bank robbers take advantage of the fake stickup, the hero of the day is Bass Parker–the man Daisy blames for her husband's death. Yet duty compels her to care for him as he recovwers from his injuries.Bass is determined to make amends to the widow and child of the fallen soldier who took his place on the battlefield. But he slowly finds himself feeling more than obligation to this independent woman and her spirited little girl. Their happiness hinges on Daisy's forgiveness, but can she let go of the past?

A Substitute Husband

Discovering her daughter is holding bank patrons hostage to interview daddy candidates sends widow Daisy Trumbo running to intervene. But when real bank robbers take advantage of the fake stickup, the hero of the day is Bass Parker—the man Daisy blames for her husband’s death. Yet duty compels her to care for him as he recovwers from his injuries.

Bass is determined to make amends to the widow and child of the fallen soldier who took his place on the battlefield. But he slowly finds himself feeling more than obligation to this independent woman and her spirited little girl. Their happiness hinges on Daisy’s forgiveness, but can she let go of the past?

Daisy smiled, happy that Bass was pleased.

Ollie moved past him and apologized. “Sorry, Bass. I must’ve left the back door open this morning. Only way Butler coulda got in the kitchen. I’ll make sure he don’t cause ya no more problems. ’Least for today.”

“I’m grateful it was only a goat. I heard somebody downstairs and thought I’d better check since I assumed I was still alone. But I couldn’t get down here fast enough to stop the initial damage. As you can see, he fought hard in the parlor until I got him roped and cornered behind the table.”

Bass brushed a hand through his dark hair, powdering it with even more flour. “But it was worth it, getting to hear your mama laugh like that.”

“You laugh pretty well yourself.” Daisy returned the compliment as his eyes studied her directly.

“That’s on my daddy list. Likes to laugh,” Ollie reminded. “Ya remember, don’tcha, Mama?”

“Yes, love. I remember.” Able to look Mama straight in the eye was on there, too.

Bass was beginning to qualify for a lot of the list’s requirements.

And Daisy wasn’t sure if she was prepared for that.

She wanted him gone, didn’t she?

* * *

“If I could only read one author this year

it would be DeWanna Pace.

Her stories always manage to touch my heart…”

—New York Times and USA TODAY

Bestselling Author Jodi Thomas

DEWANNA PACE is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author who lives in Texas with her husband and pets. She has published two dozen novels and anthologies, several of which have been chosen as book-club selections by Doubleday, Rhapsody, Book-of-the-Month, Woman’s Day and The Literary Guild. DeWanna combines her faith with her love of humor and historical romance. Let her show you the ways a heart can love.

The Daddy List

DeWanna Pace


www.millsandboon.co.uk

In all thy ways acknowledge Him

and He shall direct thy paths.

—Proverbs 3:6

This book is dedicated to:

Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda and Gail Fortune.

Thanks for the years, the tears and the persistence that made this dream come true.

Most of all, thank the Lord for leading me to Shana Asaro and the crew at Love Inspired Books.

I’ll forever feel blessed.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Praise

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Spring, 1868

Keeping her promise would wear Daisy Trumbo out before this was all over with, but keep it she would. With long strides she hurried down the planked sidewalk that led from the mercantile, where she’d been stocking up on supplies. According to a handful of outraged citizens, her seven-year-old daughter was over at the bank holding men hostage with a gun.

Daisy had agreed to consider every man her child chose to interview in the quest to gain a new father, but holding them prisoner until each passed or failed inspection was simply taking her newfound mission too far.

Where in this wild stretch of Texas had Ollie gotten her hands on a gun?

Daisy broke into a run, the hem of her skirt threatening to tangle with her long legs. If she managed to trip she’d leave these widow’s weeds in the dust so fast she’d show up in nothing but her bloomers. That would give her neighbors something to talk about.

She reached her destination without mishap. From the number of horses hitched outside the establishment, the banker had an unusual amount of customers this morning. Saturday often brought cowhands into town to collect their pay and waste it in the saloons. She’d been so busy at the mercantile she hadn’t noticed if the overland stage had already arrived and brought in more visitors to High Plains. Just how many hostages were involved? she wondered.

“Protect my child from herself, Lord,” Daisy whispered as she forced down panic. No need to burst through the door and startle anyone. That might get someone hurt. Instead, Daisy dusted her skirt, adjusted her bonnet and squarely braced her shoulders for the trouble ahead. Her fingers shook as she reached for the doorknob.

She was tall enough to see above the curtains that covered the door and front windows. From the sight of raised palms, her daughter still had the weapon aimed at somebody.

Please make these men the forgiving sort, Daisy prayed.

“Hand that gun to the banker immediately, Olivia Jane Trumbo,” she ordered, opening the door, “or you’re going to get a good talking-to all the way ho—” She stumbled as the door swung open faster than she had pushed it.

A dark-haired, blue-eyed woman stood there, blocking Daisy’s way and flicking open a lace fan held in one hand. Two more steps corrected the awkward momentum that almost spilled Daisy, giving her a whiff of fragrance that smelled like a spring breeze dancing through a meadow of wildflowers. A pleasant surprise amid the stuffiness of too many warm bodies gathered in one place.

“Your name, please?” asked the lady in a cultured voice sounding younger than her appearance. Dressed in a tea gown the blue of her eyes, her hair swept up in some fancy do, she seemed overdressed for a simple visit to the bank. “That little hoodlum told me not to let anyone in here but her mother.”

“That would be me,” Daisy informed her, wishing she had taken a little more time with her appearance this morning, “and she’s no hoodlum. Olivia just sometimes goes about things different from most folks.”

This was as much her fault as Ollie’s. She’d wanted Ollie to be older before she learned about the death of her father, but Ollie had started asking questions about Knox several months ago. Someone had obviously opened the subject of his death up for discussion. Her child finally asked why she still wore widow’s weeds since Old Miz Jenkins said the proper mourning period should be only two years, not three. Daisy simply replied that the material was still sturdy and they didn’t need to be wasteful.

Since finding out about her daddy, Ollie had a burr under her saddle, insisting she didn’t want to be hugged on too much. Daisy tended to give her daughter time on her own so she wouldn’t feel overprotected or smothered with attention. Too much time this morning had allowed the seven-year-old to get her hands on a gun and arrive at this crazy hostage scheme.

“Olivia Jane, where did you get that gun?” Daisy demanded.

“Better step aside and let her in,” Ollie warned, nodding her honey-colored head. “She used my gettin’-in-trouble name.”

Daisy moved past the beautiful lady and around some baggage next to the door.

“Did you say her last name is Trumbo? Were the two of you related to Knox Trumbo?” asked the stern-faced man who stood by himself to the left of the teller’s cage. He started to edge closer, his forehead furrowed as his gaze swept Daisy from hem to bonnet.

On a different day, she might have taken the time to study him closer, admiring his good grooming and such, but all she could do was concentrate on reaching her daughter’s side rather than answering him.

“They’re his widow and child,” informed the banker behind the teller’s cage. “Daisy and Olivia.”

Ollie waved the gun at the woman with the fan. “Don’t move any closer, mister, or I might accidentally hurt your lady friend here. It won’t take Mama but a minute to make up her mind about all you fellas then I’ll let’cha go. If she likes you, you can talk to her plenty in a minute.”

The seven-year-old’s head rose then fell as she took in the sight of him from hat to boot tip. “She’s got a real fondness for clean people, though. I should know. I got dirty bathwater to prove it all the time.” Ollie nodded toward the cowboys standing to the right of the cage. “And since you’re the only fella wearing Sunday clean, ’cept Sam, you got a pretty good chance out of all of ya to get on my list. Sam don’t count, though. He’s the banker. He’s got to dress good.”

Daisy cringed at her daughter’s outspokenness.

The clean-looking man didn’t back up the few steps he’d gained but seemed willing to wait her out. Cautious, Daisy decided. A wise man.

“Take a quick look, Mama, then I’ll be ready for some sense.” Ollie’s gaze locked with Daisy’s and confirmed that she understood totally the kind of talking-to she was about to get from her mother.

Daisy realized Ollie was deliberately avoiding an answer about the gun, so she went ahead and studied the well-groomed stranger long enough to make sure he meant no harm to Ollie. He dressed like a businessman and clearly spent more of his hours indoors than out, but broad shoulders and his muscular frame appeared strong enough to handle himself if someone wronged him. She hoped to end this situation before anything such as that took place.

“The sooner you and your daughter are finished, ma’am—” his voice held a timbre deep and resonant, making her wonder from what part of the country it had been cultivated “—the sooner my sister can return to my side and we can go about our business.”

That put a whole new light on his intentions. Daisy couldn’t fault him for wanting to protect his own. She respected such a man and would have shown him a friendlier disposition if they weren’t in such tense circumstances.

“I’m sure these fine gentlemen mean me no harm at all,” cooed his sister, flashing the cowboys a smile and fanning her face. “Please, take your time, Mrs. Trumbo.”

Ollie’s hands started to shake just from the sheer weight of the gun. Daisy faced the lineup of cowhands, deciding it best to get on with her daughter’s ploy so this could be ended as quickly as possible. Though one or two cowboys focused intently on Ollie, none appeared too worried about their safety. A red-haired cowhand in the front of the line was actually grinning.

“How about me?” the banker asked. “Can I move now that your mother’s here, Ollie?” Sweat stained his thinning hairline and darkened his shirt near the armpits.

Daisy didn’t give Ollie time to answer. “You go about your business, Sam. We apologize for this and promise it won’t happen again, will it, Olivia?”

Ollie’s twin braids swung back and forth as she shook her head. “I better not promise, Mama, ’cause I might be lying. Sometimes I do that ’fore I know what comes over me. Old Miz Jenkins says that’s ’cause I’m young and still got a bunch’a sins to sow. I don’t know what that means, but when she says it everybody around her pew gives her an ‘Amen, sister.’ You don’t want me breaking one of them commandments if I can help it, do ya?”

“I most certainly do not.” Daisy frowned, though several of the cowhands laughed and she noticed a grin flash across the brother’s face.

She should have been happy most were taking this with such good humor, but Daisy couldn’t until she had control of the gun.

Ollie took a deep breath and finished her discussion with Banker Cardwell. “Besides, you don’t have to worry no more anyway, Sam. Mama said all your whiskers would give her burns if you was a kissing kind of man. And you know that’s one of them things on my list. A new daddy’s got to be good at kissin’ Mama, and I don’t want it hurtin’ her none when he does it.”

She seemed to remember where she should be targeting and adjusted her aim. The tiny crooked last finger she’d inherited from her daddy’s side of the family stuck out as if she were balancing a teacup. “Just gonna see if any of these fellas over here will do.”

“First time I’ve ever been held at gunpoint to prove I’m a good kisser,” one of the cowboys joked.

Heat blazed in Daisy’s cheeks as she dismissed him and her daughter’s demand, instantly moving on to the three men who had been hanging around High Plains on weekends the past month. She had heard they were helping out at the old Rafford place during branding season. The others were probably looking for work. Dressed in work shirts, bandannas, vests and chaps to cover their denims, they didn’t appear any different than most cowboys who rode the circuit of ranches come spring.

Despite Ollie’s earlier comments about the more finely dressed man, most of the cowboys had shaved and cleaned up before riding into town. That showed respect, one of the requirements Daisy had added to her daughter’s list. She appreciated a respectful man of clean ways who traveled a good path. As she tried to do herself, though she failed at times.

If she ever did choose to remarry, not that she thought she actually would, the man must honor all of God’s ways and love her and Ollie as his own. He must put no one else but God before them. She would offer her heart to no one less. She would give Ollie no less than the best of fathers this time. Until that ever came about, she intended to be and provide everything her daughter needed. No matter how hard the struggle.

Daisy moved on to the cowboys’ faces and whether or not they could stare her straight in the eyes. Every one of them looked away before she finished, a couple of them edging their hats down low as if not wanting to be seen too closely. That made no points with her. Anyone she allowed to enter her and Ollie’s lives she needed to trust, and eyes spoke volumes about a person.

The rest of the men’s features ranged from passably pleasing to make-you-look-twice, but she put little value in appearances these days. Each of them would be a suitable match to some woman in the world somewhere, just not her.

Daisy supposed she should have never told Ollie that Knox had been the handsomest man in the county when she’d married him. Her daughter now believed having uncommon good looks was an important requirement for a would-be daddy. As Daisy had learned the hard way, a man needed something more than pleasant features to be a good husband or a father. He needed a heart filled with sincere love and kindness and a soul full of truth. She’d discovered too late that Knox had fallen short of that expectation and she hadn’t known how to help him improve.

Ollie knew only that her father had the reputation of a hero. What purpose would it serve to let her or others believe any different of him? It would only hurt Ollie in the end. Daisy decided it was better to keep the sad truth hidden away in her own heart than to crush Ollie’s.

Though she allowed Ollie to have her fun with the future-daddy list, Daisy doubted any man could ever really measure up and be able to heal the depth of that hurt in Knox and disappointment in herself. Instead, she set about proving to herself and every other member of the Trumbo clan in this community that she could make a decent living for her and Ollie and didn’t need anyone else to make them happy or earn their keep.

“Let these men go, Olivia,” Daisy said quietly, her tone filled with the pain of memories. “We’ve delayed them long enough.”

Ollie shrugged. “I wasn’t much stuck on none of ’em, either, Mama. Not a one knows a thing about threading your machine or making a shoe, so they won’t be no help with the biz’ness. They just shoo cows and keep ’em rounded up. How ’bout their eyes? Any of them got that special look you want?”

The cowboy in front thumbed back his hat and winked at Daisy. He had one of the priorities Ollie had written on the list. Taller than Mama. A lot of men fell short of matching Daisy’s height. Six feet in widow-black daunted more men than it didn’t.

“You got a real rooter-tooter on your hands there, Widow.” The winker’s grin broadened. “I might be willing to stick around to change your opinion.” His voice lowered into a husky tone that implied more than Daisy needed or wanted to know about the kind of man he was.

The lady with the fan tapped Daisy with it and gave a low throaty laugh. “I wouldn’t turn that one down, ma’am. He looks like quite a charmer.”

“Leave the dear widow to her business, Petula,” warned her brother, his gaze locking with his sister’s. “I’ve already told you, we won’t be here long enough to make any proper acquaintances.”

Petula’s lower lip pouted. Daisy took note of the undercurrent of emotion layering his tone and his stoic expression. His features were similar to but more angular than his flirting sister’s. His eyes, though, were incomparable to any others she’d ever seen. The blue-violet of the lake water in her back pasture after a spring thaw, they were layered with fathoms so clear nothing could be hidden in their depths. The kind of eyes that one might trust, she wondered, unsettled that they had stirred such a curiosity within her.

Daisy quickly pushed the question aside. He was someone just passing through. She’d had enough of trying to trust a man to settle down. To make herself important enough in his life he would prefer to stay.

The expression that now thinned the stranger’s lips and chiseled his jaw held no softness, no gentleness, only command for his sister’s obedience. He didn’t appear a man to be taken lightly.

“Proper wasn’t exactly on your sister’s mind, mister,” the winker dared.

“What are you implying?” demanded Petula’s protector, his legs firmly planting themselves apart. Massive fists rose to defend his sister’s honor. “Ladies, please step out of the way.”

His knuckles looked scarred and broken, certainly not the hands of a duded-up gentleman. This would not be his first fight or the first defense of Petula, Daisy noted.

Time to get this under control.

“Excuse them, sir,” she apologized for the cowboy’s rudeness, hoping to play peacemaker, “you’re new to these parts. Men around here love a good Saturday fight just so they can sit in church the next morning and have something to ask forgiveness for. Don’t you, fellows?”

She hoped she could make the defender see reason and not let this escalate into a brawl. “They sometimes deliberately rile somebody just to get a rise out of them. It’s a source for bragging rights so they can confess the most amount of wrongdoing and need for redemption come Sunday. That lets them enjoy the women who want to sit beside them and tame the bad boys.” She shrugged. “Just a Texan’s way of courting, so to speak.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re doing—” Winker elbowed the cowhand next to him “—courting. What you gonna do about it, partner?”

* * *

Bass Parker didn’t want to fight and wasn’t sure if he could take them all on, but he’d go down trying if forced. Maybe the mouthy winker would be man enough to meet him one-on-one instead of making this a brawl.

He appreciated the widow’s attempt to defuse the situation, but he wasn’t about to let the man’s coarse implications stand without letting him know of his disapproval.

Defending Petula’s honor had become a habit Bass hoped wouldn’t follow them West, but it seemed to be a daily occurrence now. Long before their parents’ deaths, he made a vow he would look after his younger sister and see her raised right. But the more men Petula met, the more determined she was to flirt. The more situations and comments like this could not be left unchallenged.

It might be a thrill to her to have men pursue her, but he feared Petula would take her need to experience what she thought was love one step too far someday and get into more trouble than the scandal she’d left behind or his defense of her could handle.

Bass hoped to find them a place to call home where she would want to straighten up her wayward thinking and become the lady he knew she could be. They both needed to put their troubled pasts behind them and find a way to turn their lives around for the better.

If only he hadn’t decided to stop in and try to make things right with Widow Trumbo one last time before heading on to California. The money he’d sent her years ago remained untouched in the High Plains Bank, despite several failed attempts in writing to persuade her to use it for a memorial for Knox. He’d expected continued resistance but not with this woman calling herself Knox Trumbo’s widow. She looked nothing like the woman Knox had introduced to him as his wife after signing the papers of conscription.

“I said, what are you gonna do about it, partner?” Challenge echoed deeper in the redhead’s voice. “Just stand there and think about it or actually do something before you moss over?”

“If you insist. Let the ladies be on their way and we’ll finish this.” Bass prepared himself for the inevitable. “Petula, take our bags and wait for me at the livery.”

“But—” Petula argued.

“Listen carefully. Do exactly as I say and you won’t get hurt.” Bass’s attention remained on his challengers but his words targeted the widow now. “Ma’am, it’s wise if you do the same. Take your little one and leave, please.”

The widow grabbed the gun away from her distracted daughter and moved in front of the child. “Mister, put your fists down. Nobody’s going to fight anybody. I apologize for everything that’s happened or been said.” She aimed the gun at each man including Bass. “We all say things when we’re on the edge and don’t mean them.”

Her amber-colored eyes widened with apology. “I’ve let my daughter go too far with this. It’s about to cause more trouble than she meant it to, isn’t it, Ollie?”

Ollie peeked around the widow’s skirt. “I guess so, but that sure looked like it was gonna be a great fight.”

The tyke’s humor caused a few chuckles, and Widow Trumbo’s efforts to quell the tension was admirable, but Bass didn’t drop his fists.

Ollie pointed a small finger at the rest of the cowboys in line. “Anyways, I learned plenty about these ones before ya got here, Mama. So I wrote one or two on my maybe-daddy list.”

Bass had wondered what purpose drove the little scamp’s hostage taking and now he understood. She wanted a new father. His gut twisted with knowing that, if this little girl was truly Knox’s child, and Banker Cardwell indicated she was, then he played a part in why she’d lost her daddy and needed a new one. He had to find a way to get her out of here safely and make it up to her and her mother somehow.

“They said they ain’t rich men but always got enough to get by on,” Ollie continued as if the grown-ups weren’t on the edge of battle. “So it won’t cost us nothin’ to feed ’em. And when I told them you like to run, Mama, they said they admired a woman who knows how to do that good. But him—” she stared at Bass “—I ain’t had time to ask him nothin’. He don’t say much. Figured I’d leave him for last.”

“Looks like he don’t do much, either.” With a flash of a hand, the winking cowboy drew a pistol from the holster strapped low around his right thigh. The other cowboys did the same and all aimed with deadly intent at the widow and her daughter. “Think a pair of fists are big enough to stop all of us, do you, dude?”

Bass tried to think fast. He couldn’t fight them all, but he might get most of the men down before anyone got off a shot. Down. That’s it. Get the women down first. He prayed Petula would listen to him this one time.

The widow pointed the gun directly at the winking cowboy, who seemed bent on a fight. “Stop badgering him.”

She had courage. Bass welcomed her bravery, but knew it might get her killed.

“Or you’ll do what, Widow? Take on all of us?”

“Mama, don’t try to shoot.” Apology filled Ollie’s face. “That gun’s empty on account of I didn’t find no bullets in Daddy’s old trunk. I was just foolin’ all y’all.”

“Hope you’re telling your mama the truth, little missy. Pardon me if I don’t trust you.” Winker’s weapon still aimed at the widow. “Just slide that gun this way, Mama. Do what I say...” His attention focused on Bass for a second. “And we’ll keep this easy.”

Bass made no move. He needed the perfect moment. Maybe the widow would provide it.

The redhead nodded at the banker. “Open that safe and hand me what’s in there. Don’t make any quick moves while you’re at it, either. Best keep your hands where I can see them or the kid’ll be nothing but a memory or maybe a funny story I’ll tell miles down the road. Who would’ve thought we’d be held up pulling our own bank robbery? And with an empty gun, no less.”

Bass hoped the widow was no fool. The man’s laughter was as serious as a hanging verdict. If she did what she was told it might give him the opportunity he needed. He waited, holding his breath, praying she showed the level head she appeared to have.

Slowly, she bent and slid the pistol across the room toward the winking cowboy’s feet.

“Drop now!” Bass shouted at the women, diving as the gun slid. Momentum carried his body straight into the leader, sending him and several cowhands falling like unstrung fence posts. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Petula collapse, either in reaction to his shouted order or in a dead faint. He made the mistake of turning slightly enough to check and see if the widow and the little girl had done the same. Both still stood.

Only one way to protect them now. His fists connected with flesh, echoing loud punches over the room.

Lord, let me prove myself more than the coward people think of me. Help me save my sister...

And give me time to set things right with the widow and her child.

Chapter Two

Someone got off a shot. Another.

Instinctively, Daisy turned, threw her body over Ollie’s and rolled, pinning her daughter beneath her. A shotgun blast layered the air with the acrid smell of gun smoke, splattering a hole in the wall and raining slivers of wood everywhere.

Sam! Daisy remembered the shotgun behind the counter. He must have fired a round. She dared to look, but someone returned fire. The banker fell backward out of sight. Daisy screamed as her eyes slammed shut, praying he was still alive.

“Trouble at the bank!” yelled a voice outside, though it moved away from them instead of toward. “Somebody get the sheriff.”

The sound of flesh punching flesh, grunts and bodies scuffling continued as Petula’s brother tried to subdue the robbers with only his fists. Daisy prayed fast and hard for the brave stranger, asking God to protect the man who defended them.

“Get out of here now,” Winker ordered, his voice full of pain amid the bone-crunching blows. “Grab the money and ride!”

Another shot fired. The punches stopped. Daisy’s eyes flashed open, fearful of the fistfighter’s fate. A need to remember him, his face, his eyes, the trust she’d questioned earlier seemed important now to bring into focus. She willed him not to die though his slumped-over figure did not move.

A frantic scraping of boots and spurs sounded the retreat amid another hail of bullets. Daisy braced herself for the impact of hot lead, her hands frantically trying to protect Olivia from being hit. Help me, Lord. Keep her safe. Her prayer kept pace with her pulse. Don’t let me lose her, too.

Another volley of traded shots shattered glass from the door and windows, then a thunderous pounding of hooves eased into a silence so quick Daisy could hear her heart beating as if it was lodged in her ears. Her blood raced like the Guadalupe River at flood tide, her tongue drying as if it was a slab of jerky, leaving her unable to speak.

Daisy waited for someone to enter the bank. Anyone to assure her the shooting was over, the robbers away and the townsmen who had shot back still outside and alive. She needed to check on Sam and the two strangers, but she was afraid to move away from Ollie yet.

No one entered.

“Is everyone all right?” she asked, finding nerve enough to speak and needing to hear each voice in return.

“They shot him. They shot my brother,” screamed Petula. She crawled over to him as his frock coat darkened with the spread of blood.

“Don’t cry, Pet,” their rescuer whispered, motioning his sister to stay away. “Don’t come closer. I’ll be all right.” He crumpled and passed out.

“Get some h-help, Daisy,” Sam pleaded from behind the counter.

“I’m so relieved.” Daisy released a long breath of air, realizing both men still lived. “I thought you might have been... Just hang on, Sam. I’ll get Doc.”

“He’s in town. Maybe at his office or M-Meg’s.” Sam paused and took a few breaths. “Sounds like her brother needs help quicker than I do. See if anyone else is hurt.” Pain filled his voice despite his words. “I...I can hold on.”

“You sure?” She wanted to check and see for herself.

“Do what you’ve got to do, Daisy. Quick.”

“Yeah, let me up, Mama. I can’t breathe.”

Daisy stood and helped her daughter stand. She examined Ollie for any sign of injury and found only minor scrapes from flying glass and splinters caused by the shotgun blast. Filled with relief, she lifted Ollie and hugged her so tightly the child complained again.

“That’s enough, Mama. You keep squeezin’ me and I’m gonna be a goner for sure.”

“It’s never enough, honey. Never.” Daisy pulled back and studied the tiny face one more time. She had to keep Ollie safe. This time. Every time. “You sure you’re not hurt anywhere?”

She frowned. “Just where you hugged me.”

Daisy set her down and stared squarely into eyes that mirrored her own. “Then do you think you can go find Doc for us? That way I can stay here and help do what I can until he gets here.”

“My brother,” Petula stressed, kneeling beside him to rest his head in her lap. At the sight of his wound, her words became shrill. “Hurry, he’s all I have.” She brushed her hand across his brow and glanced up at Daisy, her eyes glazed with worry. “Make him stop bleeding.”

“We’ll get help,” Daisy assured her then hesitated. Memories of the outraged citizens who told her about the hostage-taking rushed in to caution her. Someone outside might think she or Ollie had started the shooting. What if they decided to shoot first and then ask questions? She couldn’t take that chance. “Stay here, Ollie. Let me make sure it’s safe for you to go.”

Daisy exited the bank and froze, waiting, looking. She had lost her husband to violence as he bled out on some needless battlefield where the opposing forces didn’t know a cease-fire had been called and the war ended. Tears she hadn’t shed when he died suddenly blurred the images before her now.

She hadn’t been there and couldn’t have helped Knox, but their longtime friendship and practical marriage demanded that she love Ollie enough for the both of them and keep her safe always.

That single clear thought stemmed the flow of Daisy’s tears and shook her out of her frozen panic.

A crowd began to run this way and that, shouting words so fast that Daisy couldn’t determine who said what. Someone lay in the street wounded. Another man slumped over a water trough near the livery.

The blacksmith, a bald giant of a man who often fished with Olivia, reached Daisy first.

“Oh, Bear, I’m so glad it’s you.” Relief rushed through her. “We need help. There’s been a robbery. People are hurt.” She brushed the tears from her face, her voice breaking as she added, “O-Ollie’s inside.”

Bear bolted past Daisy only to come to an abrupt halt when a tiny voice said, “No, I ain’t, Mama.”

Daisy swung around to find Ollie reaching up to tug on her skirt.

“You scared the hide off me, Widow.” Bear’s exhaled breaths looked as if he was pumping his bellows hard at the smithy. His brown gaze swept over his fishing partner from braids to kid boots. “I thought Tadpole had caught her last catfish.”

“What are you doing out here, honey?” Daisy frowned. “I told you to wait inside until I was sure it was safe.”

“But I heard ya cryin’, Mama. Are ya hurt?” Concern darkened Ollie’s eyes. “Ya didn’t give me time to see if ya got hurt.”

Daisy bent and hugged her. She hadn’t even considered Ollie’s worry for her. Of course the poor baby feared losing another parent. “I’m fine, sweetheart, but I’d feel much better if you’ll stay with Bear until I’ve finished here.”

Daisy offered an apology to the blacksmith for scaring him then added, “I don’t know where her uncles are today. I think they’ve gone boar hunting. Do you mind if she goes with you to get the—”

Bear didn’t let Daisy finish the question. He grabbed the seven-year-old and lifted her onto his shoulders. “Don’t worry about Tadpole. We’ll find the sheriff then me and my missus will take care of her.” He motioned up the street. “Doc’s headed this way. He just came around the corner of the mercantile with some men.” His attention refocused on Daisy. “You sure you don’t want me to stay instead? Let you and Ollie go on home?”

“I’m sure. There’s a lady inside. Her brother’s hurt, and she’s been through a lot. I think she needs another woman with her right now. Since this is our fault, I must stay.” Images of the violence threatened to return, but Daisy willed them away. “Ollie doesn’t need to see any more of this.”

“Ahh, Mama. I can take it.” Ollie tried to sound tough. “Besides, that stranger’s talkin’ again. Says he needs you to come see to his sister. She’s white as Old Bessie’s milk and bawling like a calf that can’t find her mama.”

“Go on.” Daisy shooed them away. “She’s probably just scared. I’ll check on her.”

She watched her daughter’s honey-colored braids bounce against her back as the burly blacksmith trotted down the street. Assured that Ollie had a chaperone who wouldn’t let her get back into harm’s way, Daisy returned to the wounded inside.

“Where is everybody?” Petula glanced up from fanning her brother. Fear and anger mixed to darken the blue of her eyes against her ashen face. “Didn’t you bring someone? He’s going to bleed to death.”

“Now, Pet, she’s doing all she can.” His voice sounded weaker with each word. “I’m not the only one hurt.”

Daisy hurried and bent down beside him, staring at the fistfighter’s face. Pale and splattered with blood, she couldn’t tell if it was from the wound in his shoulder or from something more. She took off her bonnet and pressed it over the shoulder trying to stem the flow. “Are you hurt anywhere else, sir?”

“Just t-there,” he informed, staring at her as if he wanted to say more but didn’t have the strength.

There was serious enough, she thought as she noticed his uninjured arm reaching out to his sister, patting her hand to reassure her. He seemed a truly caring soul, his love for his sibling stronger than his obvious pain.

Daisy felt herself invisibly adding his qualities to Ollie’s list, then realized her foolishness. If he didn’t get better help soon he’d be no part of any list. He would bleed out on this floor. Daisy’s heart beat faster with another fervent prayer that he would survive. She needed to be able to thank him for saving her and Olivia’s lives.

“Doc and a group of men are just a few businesses away.” She smiled trying to assure him that all would be well and the situation was firmly in hand. “They should be here any second.”

“Just promise me,” he said, as his breaths became shallow and he looked as if he might lose consciousness again, “make sure my sister is taken care of. She doesn’t handle things like this well. Hopefully your banker is hearing this. Cardwell, make sure she gets paid well for her efforts.”

“I h-hear you.”

The way he said “sister” filled Daisy with compassion. Daisy nodded. “I promise, but I need no money.”

The words barely left her mouth before Doc Thomas appeared, followed closely behind by others who carried a stretcher.

“This man’s shot in the shoulder. He’s lost a lot of blood,” Daisy informed the physician. “He’s breathing but it’s shallow.”

She pointed toward the teller’s cage. “Sam’s behind there badly hurt, no matter what he says otherwise. I heard it in his voice.” She explained that the banker wouldn’t let her take time to examine him.

“You two men watch over Sam ’til I check on this one,” instructed Doc Thomas, a reed-thin man with spectacles who looked older than his forty-some-odd years.

He motioned for two others to come closer as he pulled white cloth from his medicine bag and bent to examine the fistfighter. He laid Daisy’s bonnet aside, studied the wound and placed the clean cloth over it. “’Fraid that goes to the scrap bin, Widow, but it helped. Good thinking.”

He stood and gave his assistants instructions. “Carry this man to my office and somebody make sure you keep this over the wound until I get there.”

“But he can’t wait. He’s going to die if you don’t take care of him now. Here.” Petula’s fear rose with each word.

“He belongs to you?” Doc asked.

Petula nodded, her voice breaking, “He’s m-my only kin. My brother.”

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Just sick to my stomach.”

He handed her another cloth. “Then keep this pressed down hard on his shoulder while those two men carry him. Keep changing it with new bandages until I get there. That’ll stem the flow. You’ll find clean cloths stacked on my shelves.”

She shook her head again and moved her hands away as if he were asking her to grab a snake.

“The sight of blood makes me sick. I might faint. I can’t press hard enough anyway.”

Impatience etched Doc’s face, making him look even older. He shoved the bandages into Daisy’s hand. “Widow Trumbo, will you help?”

The wounded stranger’s blue eyes opened for a moment only to close as quickly as he lost his words. “I need—”

Daisy wanted to stay and help Sam, but she couldn’t leave this man’s care to his hysterical sister. She owed him that much. “I’ll do my best, Doctor.”

She pressed the cloth firmly against the darkest part of the bloodstained shoulder. The stranger flinched, groaning from the pressure. His body reacted and tried to jerk away from her touch.

“Keep him still,” Doc Thomas ordered. “The more he moves, the more he bleeds.”

“Please, sir, don’t move,” she whispered in his ear, hoping he was conscious enough to hear her. Daisy motioned the men to lift him onto the stretcher while she attempted to distract him. “I’m sure it hurts, but it won’t take us long to carry you if you’ll stay as still as you can. Your sister’s coming with us.”

Petula finally stood and moved away from her brother.

Daisy’s words seemed to reach him through the pain. “I...I’ll try. Thank you for watching over her.”

His body tightened as if he was bracing himself to endure the pressure. Daisy’s eyes riveted on Doc’s. “He’s ready to move. You’ll let me know about Sam first thing?”

“Quick as I can. Got to see how bad the men outside are shot up.”

Daisy wanted to shut away the image of the body lying over the trough, but she had to keep focused on the bandage so she wouldn’t slip off the wound. She said a quick prayer for the townsman and stood in unison as the assistants rose with a firm hold on the stretcher and patient. Her unusual height equaled the men’s, easing the problem of adjusting their balance. “Are you coming with us, miss?” she asked the squeamish sister.

When she didn’t answer, Daisy used the woman’s Christian name. “Petula, I think you want to come with me.”

Petula blinked, looked at her hands then began to scrub them. She walked toward the door, muttering, “Mother’s going to be so angry. I’m not supposed to get dirty.”

Sympathy filled Daisy. The poor thing was dazed with worry. When they reached the unhinged, bullet-ridden door, Petula faltered. She stopped sniffling and her knees bent suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Concern echoed in her brother’s tone. “I don’t hear my sister.”

Just about the time Daisy thought Petula might faint, the young woman reached for two heavy-looking valises next to the door. “She’s fine, sir.” Daisy felt compelled to reassure him. “Just picking up what must be your baggage.”

“Too heavy for her,” he gasped, trying to lift his head and shoulders as if he meant to get off the stretcher.

A considerate soul, Daisy noted.

“Got a handle on things in here?” asked a man who poked his head around the door, his piercing coffee-colored gaze intent upon studying each person. “Need any help?”

“Got it all in hand,” Doc said, “but I’d appreciate you making sure everybody’s got help outside, Teague.”

“Already done and the sheriff’s taken a posse and set out after the gang.”

Daisy wasn’t surprised to find Teague checking on things now. He had the fierce look of a predator, with eyes squinted by long days in the sun. Broad shoulders were cloaked in a worn duster, his legs stretching long from denim to boots that had seen better days. He looked like a man accustomed to riding hard trails, but he’d been hanging around High Plains lately.

All Daisy knew of him was that he was kind to Ollie and made a point of getting her home if she strayed too far.

“Could you help me carry my bags?” Petula seemed suddenly coherent enough to ask for assistance.

“You headed to Doc’s with them?” He linked one arm with hers and grabbed the baggage.

“Who’s that?” asked their patient, his body tensing.

“Someone who just wants to help.” Daisy tried to calm him. “Don’t worry.”

Doc Thomas’s office was around the corner from the mercantile and only took a few minutes for the men to carry him there. Daisy managed to hold the cloth steady on its target, but the real effort came from keeping the curious crowd away from the procession. By now, most in town knew of the robbery and wanted to help in some way. She suggested they check with Doc or secure the bank for Sam.

Doc’s office door was never locked. Teague set the baggage down just inside the entryway while Petula dismissed the parlor that had been made into a waiting room and disappeared into a hallway of doors. A few seconds later, she poked her head around the corner and motioned them all forward.

“In here,” she said, “there are a couple of beds in this room.”

Getting through the doorways proved harrowing since Daisy didn’t dare take her hand off their patient’s shoulder. She barely managed to squeeze through, bumping her elbow hard enough to leave a bruise. Daisy just managed to keep the pressure on the wound while they got him settled on the bed.

Only then did she notice the quality of her patient’s slightly worn but well-tooled boots, something her livelihood as a shoemaker made priority on most first meetings with strangers. He obviously appreciated skilled handiwork but wasn’t afraid to put some wear on it, either. A man of means but a working man no less. Her interest in getting to know more about him sparked.

One assistant interrupted her thoughts. “We’ve got to get this stretcher back to Doc, so we’re going to leave you ladies and that other fella with him for now. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

She nodded and checked on her patient. His eyes opened again to stare at Daisy, their blue-violet depths coherent despite the pain.

“We made it?”

“Yes, you did well.” She needed him to remain still and relaxed. “And so has your sister. Teague,” she said as she nodded at the baggage handler, “how about keeping this pressed down for me while I look for clean cloth?”

“No problem.” Teague didn’t hesitate and moved up to accommodate her.

“I can hold it myself.” Her patient’s hand reached up to wave him away.

“You’re going in and out too frequently.” Daisy gently grabbed his hand and pushed it back down. “I’ll hear no argument.”

“Sounds like she’s got her apron tied, friend. She means business,” Teague warned. “Best just lie still.”

Daisy gathered her will and braced herself for the challenge ahead. “Petula, help me get him cleaned up and the wound dressed as best we can before Doc returns. That will help speed things up.”

Helplessness darted over Petula’s face and she scrubbed her hands again. “I’ve never doctored anyone before.”

“I’m not asking you to. Doc will take out the bullet. Do you think you can put a pot of water on to boil in the kitchen?” His sister certainly didn’t have the same consideration her brother offered.

“He doesn’t have servants?”

Servants? Petula revealed more about them in that one question than if Daisy had spent the past few hours interviewing them for the list. They were people of means. “Doc doesn’t. It’s up to us. You’ll need to help, too.” Daisy added a stiff, “Please.”

“I’m afraid I’ve pampered my sister, ma’am,” her brother apologized. “Really, it’s no problem to wait until the doctor arrives.”

“It is a problem and we’re not waiting if I have to do this by myself.” Daisy rarely allowed her temper to flare, but the events of the day had worn down her best behavior.

Petula headed into the hallway, reluctance in every footfall. “Can someone show me how to heat the stove?”

“I’ll show her so you can stay here with him,” Teague offered. “It shouldn’t take long if Doc’s already got wood chopped.”

Petula turned, accepting his offer with a breath of relief that ended in a smile. “Thank you, sir. I always heard you Texans were such gentlemen.”

“Make sure you help and not hinder Mr.—” warned her brother.

“Teague,” the man finally introduced himself properly to all. “Just Teague.”

Daisy didn’t have time to comprehend the meaning behind the two men’s locked gazes that followed, but then she’d never really understood most men all that well anyway. Petula, on the other hand, had the look Daisy clearly understood.

“Tell you what, Teague,” she said. “You get his coat and shirt off while I’m grabbing fresh cloth, then I’ll send you and Petula to deal with the stove.”

Minutes later Daisy returned to find her patient’s upper garments lying in a bloody heap on the floor, but the yellow duster Teague had worn now acted as a sheet to offer the man some modesty. Ollie’s friend had handled someone wounded before.

“Send some of these back now, damp, please.” She handed Teague several cloths. “I know they won’t be hot yet. Just heat the water as quickly as you can.”

Daisy managed to hold the blood at bay until Petula showed up, gripping a pan with pot holders.

“The stove was hot. Your doctor must have made a pot of coffee not long ago because the pot was still warm and he already had a kettle heating up with water in it. We put another one on to boil, but it’ll take a few minutes. At least this one’s a little warm.”

She set the pan down on a small table that separated the two beds and dipped a cloth into the water and wrung it out for Daisy.

“Keep those coming,” Daisy instructed, hoping if she kept Petula’s hands busy the distraught sister might stay composed. Daisy accepted the cloth and warned her patient, “This is going to hurt a little more. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” he whispered, the word a slow hiss.

When Daisy made the first stroke, he nearly jumped off the cot.

Petula started crying.

The blood kept coming.

Time after time Daisy exchanged cloths.

“I’m all right, sis. No need to cry.” No criticism filled her brother’s voice, his tone soft and reassuring. “It hurts, but it’ll get better, don’t worry.”

Respect for the man’s endurance and kindness grew by the minute. Daisy marveled how he managed to maintain his composure under the circumstances. She didn’t know if she could have done the same.

Teague returned with the other kettle just as Doc arrived with Sam in tow. Bandages wrapped the banker’s entire chest and one stretched across his forehead and left eye. His mustache and whiskers looked half shorn off as if a bullet had razor-creased its way across his face.

Daisy barely caught a glimpse of the rise and fall of his chest before having to turn back to her own patient. She pressed yet another cloth against the wound. “Is Sam all right?”

Doc Thomas stood beside her now that they’d settled the banker on the second cot. “Hurting but sedated for the time being. Bruised a couple of ribs, and he won’t be blowing any bugles for a while. Nearly got one eye shot out, as you can see. You ready for me to take over here?”

“Gladly.” She rolled her shoulders, setting off a sharp reminder that her elbow had been bruised. If he’d been much longer, she would have done her best to dig out the bullet, but doctoring was not a talent she had any bragging rights to. And considering everyone else’s wounds, she had no right to complain about a bruise.

“The widow’s done a great job, Doctor,” her patient rasped.

“Good, I see you’re conscious. That’s helpful.” Looking down the bridge of his nose through the ever-sliding spectacles, Doc Thomas examined all Daisy had done. “Mighty fine work, Widow. Couldn’t have done better myself. Now let’s see the exit wound.”

He pushed the glasses up again. “You strong enough to sit up, son?”

He nodded, but Teague lent a hand.

Daisy caught the first glimpse of her rescuer’s back. No wonder he was losing so much blood. She’d been so worried about stemming the flow in front that she never considered the bullet might have exited. Had Teague noticed it when he removed the shirt and coat? Surely he would have told her if he had. Trying to handle him and take off the clothing at the same time must have blocked the sight.

“You two new to town?” Doc Thomas probed the wound. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Fresh off the stage,” gasped the fistfighter as he flinched.

Petula stood in one corner so she couldn’t see her brother’s grimaces. “We haven’t even gotten a room yet.”

“No relatives here in town?” Doc Thomas poured some kind of liquid on two cloths and pressed them against both wounds. “Hold him still, Teague. That’s going to burn like fire, but it’ll stop much of the bleeding.”

“No relatives,” Petula finally answered.

“Just passing through,” her brother whispered through gritted teeth.

“That’s a shame.” Doc frowned, grabbing instruments to sew stitches. “I was hoping you had a place you could settle in for a few days to recuperate. You’re going to need to gain some strength before you do much else, and certainly no traveling for a while.”

He reached up and pushed his spectacles higher before dabbing the exit wound dry and beginning to stitch. “Trouble is, the boardinghouse and hotel are stocked full of people in town for the race tomorrow, so I doubt there’s a room to rent anywhere. Guess you can stay here in this bed for a couple of days, but I can’t promise your sister much more of a place to sleep other than the davenport out in the waiting room. I can’t stick around and wait on you hand and foot ’cause I’ve got more shot up like Sam here and no telling what kind of ruckus the crowd will stir up tomorrow.”

Daisy realized he was deliberately being long-winded to distract their patient.

Doc finished one side and switched to the other.

Petula spoke up. “But I don’t know how to take care of—”

“You won’t have to.” Daisy flared but quickly decided that would serve no purpose. The privileged young woman didn’t know how or didn’t want to know how a lot of things were done.

This situation was all hers and Ollie’s doing anyway. If she hadn’t left Ollie alone long enough to get a gun and hold hostages, this man would not have been shot. He and his sister wouldn’t have to be concerned about needing a place for him to recover or someone to watch over him.

Only one thing would make it right.

“You and your brother are welcome to stay at my house,” Daisy offered, setting her shoulders to the task ahead. “I’ve been expecting my sisters for a visit, but they’ve missed the last two stages so I’ve got extra rooms for now. It’s the least we owe you for the trouble we’ve caused. My cook and I will help take care of your brother.”

“Really?” Relief eased Petula’s expression. “We’d be so grateful, wouldn’t we, Bass?”

Bass? An ominous feeling raced over Daisy like a storm threatening blue-fired lightning in the sky. Surely, no two men in the world shared the same dastardly name or could possibly show up here to unsettle her.

Life couldn’t be that cruel, could it?

“Extremely grateful—” Bass nodded then seemed to think better of the painful motion “—since we stopped here just to meet with you, Widow Trumbo.”

It’s him, Daisy’s heart thundered as the storm of reality swept through her. Bass Parker had come to High Plains.

And she’d just invited the man she blamed for taking Knox away from Ollie to stay in their home.

Chapter Three

Bass Parker struggled through the pain forcing himself awake. Strange images swarmed in his brain making no sense. A small girl with a gun. A tall woman with eyes the color of warm honey and hair the shade of ripening wheat. Dressed in black.

His mind began to surrender to sleep again, but Bass shook his head trying to ward off the darkness threatening to engulf him once more. Petula, not safe! His fists connecting with another man’s body. Gunfire. Bank robbers! The child and her mother. He must protect the innocents.

Bass bolted upright as reality rushed through him. He groaned and grabbed his left shoulder, praying the burning would subside as quickly as it had blazed. The sight of his half-bandaged body assured him he had somehow survived the shoot-out, but where was Pet? Was she hurt?

He concentrated harder. Vague images of her holding his hand, riding in the back of a wagon with his head in her lap, the sound of her voice thanking someone named Teague for coming with them to the ranch, all reassured Bass that Petula was alive. But had she managed to stay out of trouble? That was the question.

Taking stock of his surroundings, Bass found himself in someone’s home and the comfort of a bed. An armoire took up most of one wall in the room and a table and chair set next to the four-poster, offering a lamp for reading. No fancy lace curtains or doilies adorned the room that contained only practical, functional furnishings.

The sheets were clean and the patchwork quilt comfortable but frayed. He’d apparently kicked the quilt off due to the oppressive heat, but whoever attended him was kind enough to leave open a window to bring in a breeze. His host was certainly thoughtful.

He strained to remember who that might be.

You can stay with us.

The widow’s generous words came back to him. He’d been stunned by her offer. Surprised at the gentle care she’d given him in tending his wound until the doctor arrived. He hadn’t expected such charity from the woman who had avoided even written contact with him previously.

Despite being shot, he adjusted his feelings about stopping at High Plains instead of just sending money and messages by way of Banker Cardwell as he’d done before.

He was especially glad he’d come since the banker and the doctor both confirmed Daisy as Knox’s true widow. He needed to find out just how long the widow had known each of them and why in ’60 Knox had introduced another woman as his wife. He hoped Knox Trumbo would not prove himself to be anything other than the hero Bass thought him, but if this was truly the man’s wife and child, there was a mystery to be solved in the matter.

Bass pushed aside the sheet that barely covered him. He wore no shirt, most likely to allow for changing the bandages easier.

But bloomers? Whose idea of a joke was this?

“Petula, I’m awake,” he announced strongly. “Come here, please. I need you.” He knew full well she wouldn’t have dared be any part of changing his clothes. Or any other man’s, despite the scandal that followed her from one end of the country to the other.

“I’m comin’ in. You nekkid, Mr. Parker?” asked an oddly familiar voice from beyond the door.

When he remembered the light-toned, Southern accent, Bass scrambled to grab the sheet and quilt. He wouldn’t put anything past a little girl who toted a gun easily, empty or not. “I’m covered. Will you tell my sister that I need to speak with her, please?”

“Can’t.” Olivia Trumbo opened the door, carrying paper, a book and a pencil. “She’s off in the barn with Teague. It’s just you and me and Mama and Myrtle in the house right now. They’re fixin’ you somethin’ to eat and they’ll be up here in a minute.”

She grabbed the chair at the small reading table and scooted it next to the bed. Plopping herself down, Olivia rested the book on her lap and the papers on top of it, then stared him square in the eye. “Ya ready?”

“For what?” Bass pulled the quilt up a little higher despite the heat. How could a child feel so intimidating?

Because she’s capable of holding men hostage. He felt as if he had his back against the wall and couldn’t make a move without shocking him or her.

The little Trumbo’s amber eyes disappeared into her upper eyelashes, as if she were asking God to intervene for her.

“For my questions,” she said with a sigh of impatience. “I told ya at the bank, I wanted to ask ya some questions. But things got a little wicked and I had to wait. Now I got to catch ya while I can or Mama will make me leave ya alone ’til ya get better. Who knows how long that’ll be?”

“Why is my sister in the barn with that man?”

“I’m supposed to be asking the questions, not you.” The child’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Answer that and I’ll answer a question for you.”

She hesitated then nodded. “Okay, Mama always says fair is fair. Your sister is learnin’ how to muck out a stall so Teague can keep him and his horse there. She only wanted to watch, but he told her she had to help if she was goin’ out there instead of helpin’ Mama. Said he’s gonna stick around here for a while to make sure Mama don’t need him to help with ya or anythin’.”

“Who is Teague?” Bass wondered if the man just offered his presence as a measure of protection or had other motivations for wanting to stay. Petula didn’t need to make male acquaintances here in High Plains until he could get back on his feet to chaperone her.

“Uh-uh. It’s my turn.” Olivia glanced down at her paper and readied her pencil. “How tall are ya countin’ them fancy boots?”

Bass reluctantly gave in to her stubbornness. “Six feet without. I never measured what I am with them on.”

“Mama would say about this much more, I’d guess.” She stretched her thumb and forefinger vertically.

Bass estimated. “About three inches?”

She nodded. “Yeah. She makes boots and stuff, so she’d know. That might do. How much money ya got?”

“Whoa there, that’s two questions for my one, and a man usually doesn’t disclose...tell...that kind of information about himself to a stranger.”

She put the book and paper on the edge of his bed and stuck the pencil through one of her braids to rest on her ear. The child stood and offered him her left hand. “You can call me Ollie. Now we ain’t strangers no more.”

Offering his hand, Bass leaned over and shook hers. “Bass Parker. Glad to meet you, miss. You can call me Bass.”

“Oh yeah,” she said when their hands released. She grabbed one edge of her overalls and curtsied. “I forgot. Mama said I have to do this when I meet somebody, but I like a good old handshake myself, don’t you?”

“I think mamas always know best.”

“Figured ya’d say that. So how ’bout it?” She grabbed her writing instruments then resumed the interview. “How much money do ya have, Bass?”

Persistent little soul. “Enough to pay for meals and board while we’re staying here.”

The child scratched down words then answered his second question. “Teague’s one of my pals. He comes and goes, but mostly he notices things. I watch him watchin’ other people. He does that real good. Says he likes to keep his eye out for bad men, so I think he must be some kinda special marshal or somethin’. He’s letting the sheriff chase the robbers this time. Somethin’ about jury’s-friction, whatever that is. I figure he’s gonna make sure the town’s safe during the races tomorrow while the sheriff and the posse’s gone.”

Ollie leaned in a little closer as though she was sharing a secret. “When I ask him about being a lawman, he says he won’t tell me I’m right and he ain’t bashful about telling me when I’m wrong. I’m sticking with it ’til I find out for sure, so he’ll see how smart I am, even if I’m only seven and a half. I got him on my for-sure list for Mama, though, if he’s a good man. And he seems pretty good so far.” She exhaled a long breath. “Whew! I ought to get two questions for that big ol’ answer.”

“So Teague is interested in your mother?” Not Petula, Bass was glad to know that. About the widow? She’d grieved more time than most did. He respected her for that. Showed love and devotion. Something Bass respected above all else.

Ollie shrugged. “He likes Mama just fine, but there ain’t no sparkin’ goin’ on. You know that kissy kind of stuff. Now, how ’bout you? Are ya good at kissin’ and do you think you’re handsome?”

Bass acted as if he was rubbing his chin in thought but he needed his hand to hide a grin. “I can answer the one and the other is none of your business, Little Friend.”

Her eyes rounded in surprise.

“I don’t discuss kissing with anyone but whoever I’m kissing and, as far as my looks go, I am not anywhere near as handsome as your daddy was.”

Her mouth gaped. “You knew my daddy? You seen him in real live person?”

Her astonishment hit Bass in the gut. He hadn’t realized Ollie had never seen her father.

Still, it made sense. Daisy must have been with child when he met Knox. Knox died after the war ended, killed in a battle by men who didn’t know a cease-fire had been agreed upon. He must have never made it to his new home in High Plains during his years of conscription. Never held his child in his arms.

Bass’s guilt worsened, twisted something deep in his heart. He owed Daisy Trumbo and Ollie much more than he realized. If only he hadn’t hired Knox, giving him the money to take his place in the war. Reasons that seemed so strong then didn’t measure up to the price the Trumbos had paid. No wonder the widow refused his help and his money. She obviously considered him, not the war, the reason Knox had lost his life. The reason Ollie had never met her father.

Full of remorse, Bass struggled to find appropriate words. Finally, he whispered, “Your daddy was a truly heroic man, Ollie. Handsome and gallant to the ladies, brave and a leader to his men. Knox won many battles. I followed all his victories in the papers, wrote him letters to say how proud I was of him. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. I want to help your mother if she’ll let me.”

By doing so, he could put his guilt about the whole matter behind him and lead him and his sister to a better place. A happier path.

“Then you was his friend?”

“I’d like to think so.” Bass looked around the room, studying the furnishings. The widow had a right to be living much better than this. He could help make that happen if she’d just let him. “Do you know if there’s a stone marker on your father’s grave yet?”

“There’s a perfectly good wooden cross posted,” announced Daisy Trumbo, entering the room with a tea service, “and fresh flowers when the weather allows.”

Tall and thin, she reminded him of a stalk of wheat standing defiant to the wind, exuding a strong silent will that he suspected couldn’t be buffeted easily.

“I help clean up the grave real good every time, don’t I, Mama?” Ollie glanced up from her chair.

“You sure do, honey.”

Behind the widow, carrying another tray, followed a woman whose body was as round as it was tall. Gray hair streaked through her temples and in the chignon pinned atop her head, making her dark hair look salted. Her green eyes could have cut him, they appeared so sharp in color.

“Your money’s still in the bank where you sent it.”

The rotund woman answered what he’d really wanted to know from the widow, challenging him with a lift of double chins.

Bass waited until his hostess set her tray on the table and actually looked at him before shifting his gaze toward the interfering woman. “Is this your cook?”

“I’m Myrtle,” the angry-looking woman spoke for herself. “Cook and most everything else around here, mister. Particularly, friend and protector to the Trumbos. Daisy’s already told me what I need to know about you.”

Bass introduced himself properly anyway to both women since he’d never really officially met Daisy. “We stopped in town wanting to visit with you, Mrs. Trumbo, before continuing on to California, where we’ve sent our things. I hope you’ll change your mind about accepting the money or at least allow me to erect a memorial to Knox in the town square. I’m sure you’d like to see that he has a more permanent marker for his grave. I won’t feel I’ve done him justice until I take that worry off your mind.”

“You should have thought about that when you hired him to take your place fighting.” The cook glared at Bass. “She didn’t want your coward’s money then, she sure doesn’t now.”

“Now, Myrtie.” Daisy held up one palm as if to ward off her cook’s fierce defense. “Why don’t you set your tray down and go about your duties. I’ll feed our guest so he’ll get some rest and be able to get on his way sooner.”

That was the politest way Bass had ever been told neither he nor his money were welcome, but he was determined to put his guilt at rest. To convince her that she should accept his offerings. His stomach rumbled as he got a whiff of something that smelled wonderful.

“Drink this first.” Daisy poured from the tea service and handed him a cup, squarely meeting his gaze. “Verbena tea with a touch of mint will strengthen you faster. That’s the point here, Mr. Parker. I owe you for saving my and Ollie’s lives earlier, but that’s where this ends. I want nothing else from you than for you to get well and continue on down the road.”

“Clear enough.” He took a sip of the tea. She intended to continue fighting his good intentions. He wouldn’t allow that. He couldn’t go on to California with no closure about Knox. He must somehow make her understand he felt it a duty he owed them and he didn’t leave duties undone. As soon as a room at the hotel or boardinghouse became available, he’d thank her for her caregiving and find another way to convince her to take the money she should have accepted long ago.

But first he needed to find out what had happened to his clothes. “May I ask who put these bloomers on me and why?”

She hesitated and looked uncomfortable for a moment. “We left your belongings at Doc’s office and my supplies at the mercantile to be quicker. I had to pick up Ollie and we thought it best to get you here as soon as possible and settled in, then go back and load everything else. Teague will help me fetch them in a—”

“Stop spit and sputtering about those bloomers, Parker.” Myrtle’s fists rounded on her hips now that her hands were free of the tray. “That handsome drink of water out there and me managed to put those on ya. Bloomers was all we had handy. You best be glad Daisy had an old pair and she’s so tall. Otherwise, you’d be wearing mine.”

Ollie giggled.

The widow shooed Ollie out of the chair and took her place. “Why don’t you and Myrtle go see about those poor chickens or they’re going to lay sour eggs. You can ask him more questions tomorrow after he’s good and rested.”

“Ahh, Mama,” Ollie grumbled. “He was tellin’ me all about Daddy. He said he met him.”

The widow’s body stiffened and long golden lashes closed over her eyes. It took her a second, but she finally spoke quietly. “After you get your chores done, Ollie, I want you to take a bath and scrub yourself good. Don’t worry about the bathwater. I’ll pour it out later.”

“But I took one last night, Mama. Can’t I skip one?” Ollie complained.

“I won’t have you running around at the race tomorrow looking like a dust storm. You know what your uncles will say.”

“Uncle Maddox will dunk me in the horse trough and pin me to a clothesline, but that’s kinda fun sometimes.”

“They’ll be out here afterward trying to tell me how to raise you, that’s what.” The widow exhaled a breath, obviously attempting to keep calm. “I’d like to skip at least one gathering without them knocking on my door afterward to tell me what I’m doing wrong with you, please.”

“Best come on now, before you get yourself in a heap of trouble,” Myrtle warned, taking Ollie in tow and heading out the door, deliberately raising her voice but looking over her shoulder at Bass. “Ain’t you learned when your mama’s about to blow her top at somebody and doesn’t want you to see it? Let’s go ruffle some chicken feathers.”

Bass waited for the yelling to begin, but instead Widow Trumbo stared quietly at his cup.

“Are you finished with your tea? Would you like some more?”

He handed it back to her, aware something had changed in her but he couldn’t define what. “No, thank you. It tasted as good as it smelled, though.”

She stood and took a cover off a bowl on the other tray, grabbed it and a spoon then sat back down. “This is stew. Are you ready to eat now?”

Her words were neither friendly nor stiff, just precise and efficient to the task. Bass wondered if this was the quiet that came before her storm.

He blinked at her unwavering gaze. A yawn filled him, though he tried to squelch it. “I’m suddenly feeling a little sleepy again, although I am hungry. I’m not sure I won’t spill it.”

“I intend to feed you.” She leaned over to offer him a spoonful of stew. “Doc gave us something to put in the tea to make you rest. Take a bite. You need to eat as much as you can.”

Bass accepted the spoonful and enjoyed the beef, particularly the broth. He appreciated her treating him with such kindness, though he suspected she was doing her best to hold her temper in check.

She lifted another scoop after he finished the first. “I make one demand of you while you’re in my home, Mr. Parker.” The authority in her voice brooked no argument. “You and your sister are not to talk to my child about Knox without my permission. I, alone, will tell her what she needs to know about him.”

Petula knew so little of Knox, she would be no threat in the matter. Bass sipped the second spoonful as he mulled over why Widow Trumbo might want him to keep such information secret from her daughter. Did it have anything to do with the other woman he’d thought was Knox’s wife? Did Daisy know about her?

“Mama,” Ollie hollered from downstairs. “All the uncles just rode up. Uncle Maddox looks madder than a rooster run out of the chicken coop.”

“Tell him I’ll be right down.” Daisy stood and offered Bass the bowl. “You’ll have to finish this without my help.”

Bass shook his head. “I don’t want any more. Please put it on the tray before you go.”

Her cheeks paled, though her back stiffened once again as she braced herself to face this new turn of events.

The widow had quite a day so far. A daughter who’d held hostages, surviving a shoot-out, saving his life and now nursing someone she clearly didn’t want in her home. Rarely had he seen such grace under pressure.

Bass thought he should ease her mind before she went downstairs to face the new trouble that had come calling. “Mrs. Trumbo...Daisy...I give you my word. I won’t talk with Ollie anymore about Knox unless you say it’s all right.”

“I’ll hold you to it, then, Mr. Parker.” Her hand trembled as she set down the bowl, rattling the porcelain against the tray. “But you may not have to concern yourself with it after today. Her uncles may take her away from me if they found out you’re here.”

Chapter Four

Daisy stepped aside as her brothers-in-law carried the Parkers’ baggage inside the house without bothering to knock or offer a greeting.

All three claimed the broad shoulders and considerable height of the Trumbo clan, but the doors of this house had been built to accommodate the comings and goings of Viking-sized kin. The only real differences in the three sandy-bearded men’s appearance were the angle of their broken noses and the length of their tied-back hair. From the looks of things, one of them had enjoyed a recent fight. She supposed she’d hear about it in church tomorrow.

Maddox, the oldest and tallest of the trio, shifted his gray eyes upstairs then glared at her looking like a wolf studying its next supper. “Doc says these belong to a couple’a boarders you took in. Figured we’d save you a trip and bring out these and the supplies you left. Where do you want ’em?”

“Just set the baggage by the coatrack, please. I’ll carry them up later. And thanks for being so thoughtful. I was just about to head into town and pick up everything.” Daisy’s pulse did double time as she maneuvered her body to block the Trumbos from heading upstairs. What else had they learned about today’s events?

“Myrtle will want the supplies in the root cellar and salt shed like usual.”

Maddox nodded at his brothers. “Y’all drop what you got and I’ll do the rest in here. See that you make Myrtle happy with the storing then find out where Ollie ran off to and fetch her inside. Meet me upstairs after you’re done.”

They dropped their load and the door shut abruptly behind them.

Daisy stepped backward and stood on the first stair, blocking the way, trying to appear calm and in control. It wouldn’t be fair to subject her patient to Maddox’s fury until he was stronger.

The fact that Maddox wanted Ollie present didn’t bode well, and Daisy wasn’t all that sure why she felt so compelled to protect Bass. She ought to just turn him over to her in-laws, but keeping her word had to be honored. “I’m sure Doc Thomas told you what happened. My guest is hurt and needs some rest. I can deliver their belongings to them later.”

“We heard one was a man. I’m going to look him over some. Make sure I don’t need to run him off now.” Maddox moved up and stood there waiting for her to let him pass with the baggage under each arm. “Got any reason why I shouldn’t?”

Maddox would go up whether she liked it or not. A sigh of resignation escaped Daisy as she finally relented and stepped aside, allowing him to take the stairs two at a time. All she could do was pray that he would control himself in dealing with Bass Parker. He was already injured enough.

* * *

Any thought of dozing fled from Bass as a giant of a man barreled into the bedroom and dropped baggage on the floor without ceremony. If the stranger meant him any harm all he’d have to do was pull off the covers. Bass would have died of pure embarrassment being caught in a pair of pantaloons to defend himself. The giant didn’t need to offer any introduction. Clearly this must be one of Knox’s brothers. The resemblance to Knox was jarring.

“You Parker?” A scowl hardened his features into stoned angles as he towered over the side of the bed.

Bass tried to clear his head from the tea-laced medicine he’d drunk to make him sleep. Though at a disadvantage since he was unable to stand in Trumbo’s presence, Bass leaned forward, offered a hand and answered the question. “I am and you must be one of the Trumbos.”

To his surprise, the man accepted and returned the handshake. Not knowing how the brothers felt toward him and his role in Knox’s conscription, he half expected to be flipped out of the bed and his skull crushed.

“Maddox,” the giant introduced himself. “Oldest. Grissom and Jonas will be up here in a minute.”

“I see the resemblance.” Knox’s facial features had served him long whereas this brother’s had obviously been adjusted occasionally, yet there was no denying the kinship. Bass could sense someone standing behind Maddox and noticed the black hem of Daisy’s skirt, but the breadth of her in-law consumed the space and didn’t allow a better view of her.

“Heard what you done for Ollie and Daisy. Much obliged for that but don’t much care for you staying here. We want you gone once the crowd clears.”

Silence ticked by as Bass studied Maddox’s fixed gaze and knew the man would tolerate no compromise on the subject.

Bass nodded. “I hear you. I’ll get a room elsewhere as soon as one opens up. And so that you know, my sister and I will be no burden while we’re here. I’ll pay our board and keep.”

“If Knox hadn’t took money to stand in for you, you’d be six feet under by now for getting him killed,” Maddox assured him, “but fighting’s in our blood and he always wore restless boots. He was headed to war anyway. Just happened to be your thousand dollars that got him there.”

“I’d like to offer more than that if Daisy or you and your brothers would let me.”

Quickly explaining his purpose for being in High Plains, Bass hoped Maddox might see reason where Daisy had not concerning the memorial.

“Just how much money we talking about?” Maddox swung around to eye his sister-in-law before turning back to Bass.

When Bass told him, Maddox shot around quickly, his voice thundering across the room at Daisy. “You mean you had that kinda money all this time and done nothing but plant a few flowers around my brother’s grave? Taken up all that fancy footracing and shoemaking to prove you can feed my niece a decent meal? Let her run around in clothes not fit to use for tote sacks? Done all that so people won’t know how much you don’t need Knox and probably never did? He deserves to be remembered, Daisy, no matter his failings, and Ollie needs more.”

Regret filled Bass. He hadn’t meant to break open an old wound between Daisy and her brother-in-law.

Though her face paled, Daisy’s gaze dared to lift to Maddox’s as she defended herself. “I see to it Ollie and her clothes, which she loves to wear, by the way, are clean and warm. That she’s fed before any of us eat. I don’t give her everything she wants, but she gets all she needs. No, I’ve never touched a penny of Mr. Parker’s money. If it’s still in the bank then he kept it there, not me. I’ve never even seen it. Check with Sam Cardwell if you don’t believe me.”

“Plan to first thing tomorrow if he’s up to it.”

“But if you think that I didn’t accept or use it because I wanted to dishonor Knox in any way,” Daisy responded, anger darkening her eyes to burnished gold, “you’re sadly mistaken. I wish every day since he died that he could be here to watch Ollie grow up. That I could have been enough to keep him settled in one place. I’ll go to my grave making sure Knox is held in honor by this town, but I’m not going to take anyone’s blood money to do it with.”

Knox may have been the one who’d gone to war, but Daisy Trumbo apparently had waged her own here. Bass decided she could be a formidable opponent and he definitely needed to tread cautiously about his plans to honor Knox or help her any other way.

She took a deep breath and continued, “And, if there’s any way I can stop that money from being used, Maddox, neither will you or your brothers.”

Her anger focused on Bass, including him into her vow. “What you all don’t understand is that this is Ollie’s and my right, not yours, to see that he’s remembered well. Until Ollie is old enough to truly understand the sacrifice her father gave, it’s going to be our decision when and how we honor him. Can I make that any clearer?”

Bass knew he’d been sorely put in his place, but silence claimed the Trumbos as if battle lines were being drawn again. The two headstrong people had challenged each other’s will before. He remembered Daisy had feared openly that her in-laws might take Ollie from her upon their arrival, but here she was standing her ground with the giant of a man.

Admiration for her grew and Bass sensed that she was holding herself together as best she could on what she felt was right.

She needed a friend. Someone to support her decision. Maybe she would accept his friendship and that, in turn, would eventually help her accept the money. He’d already separated Ollie from her father. Bass didn’t want to cause a rift among the in-laws.

“How about if I just leave the funds in Ollie’s name and she does with it what she wants when she reaches the point you think best?” Bass suggested, trying to ease the tension and let her know he was on her side.

“The money is not the real issue here, Mr. Parker,” Daisy insisted. “My brother-in-law doesn’t think I’m capable of caring for my own child. I’ve done just fine without anyone else’s help and I’ll continue to do that until I have no further breath in my body.”

An undercurrent of words were being spoken and Bass realized Maddox resented that Daisy had proven herself worthy so far of being both mother and father to Ollie. What lay behind such resentment?

“She’s a handful, that’s for certain,” Bass defended Daisy again, feeling that the scamp would be a challenge for anyone to handle. A whole room of men and women had failed miserably earlier this morning.

“Hey, Uncle Maddox! Uncle Jonas said you want to see me.” Ollie came running into the room and skidded to a halt, interrupting the adults’ serious discussion.

Maddox’s palm shot out and ruffled Ollie’s hair setting the braids to bouncing. He swept her up into his arms and let her straddle his right shoulder. “You being good?”

Ollie seemed to weigh her answer carefully. “Uh, good as I get most times.”

Maddox chuckled and Bass was grateful the child’s words cooled the tempers that had been simmering moments ago.

“You got plenty to eat?” Maddox’s gaze swept over her as if examining her for good measure.

“Yep. Too much sometimes. Mama always says to clean my plate and not waste stuff, but I get Butler to help me if I can’t.”

“Butler?” Maddox frowned. “You still keeping that goat in the house?”

“Not since he ate Myrtle’s darnin’. She made me turn him loose in the barn a couple of days back. Says he needs to butt heads with somebody else but her. All he does is knock himself silly.”

“Is your mama doing right by you?” Maddox faced her mother.

Ollie didn’t hesitate, not looking threatened at all by Daisy’s intense expression. “She’s huggin’ on me a lot and I don’t like it much, but she could’ve taken a switch to me this mornin’ and she didn’t. Old Miz Jenkins will prob’ly pray about me tomorrow for sure.” Ollie proceeded to tell him about holding the men hostage.

Maddox chuckled as he set her down and bent on one knee to search her eyes. “Ya little wildcat. Guess ya can’t help yourself. Ya got your daddy’s fire in ya, don’tcha? You’d tell me if ya ever wanted to come live with me and your uncles instead, wouldn’t ya?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Y’all snore a bunch.”

Maddox snorted, wrinkling his nose into a twisted angle. She giggled. “See what I mean? Mama don’t snore like that. She snuggles me up when the lightnin’ comes. You uncles just snore it all away. I’m gonna stay with Mama, if that’s okay with you and God.”

Maddox tucked a thumb up under Ollie’s chin and raised it. “What’s God got to do with this, Little Britches?”

“He didn’t let Daddy stay with Mama. I’m just hopin’ He’ll hurry up and let me find her someone to hug on in case He don’t let me stay with her, too.”

* * *

Daisy’s heart tightened as if someone had struck her with a mallet. She never dreamed that the reason Ollie wanted to find a new daddy was because she feared leaving her mama alone. She’d assumed Ollie was tired of being smothered with affection and wanted it focused on someone else. At first, her interviewing and list-making seemed endearingly funny and sometimes frustrating, but now Daisy felt only selfish and unworthy of her daughter’s true concern. Ollie had lost a father and feared losing her as well to her uncles’ decisions.

“You’re not going anywhere, Ollie.” Daisy crossed the room to stand beside her. “So there’s no need to worry about that, is there, Uncle Maddox?”

Daisy stared at Maddox, hoping that her voice sounded more certain than she felt, praying it held no hint of begging. Surely he could see that Ollie needed the security of all she’d known, of a mother’s love, of living with someone who would never let her father’s name be dishonored. Even by the truth.

“I’ll chew on it for a while. No need to pick more bone for now.”

“What does ’zat mean?” Ollie looked puzzled.

Bass Parker chimed in. “That means he needs some time to make up his mind. Right, Mr. Trumbo?”

“If you’re gonna sleep under my brother’s roof you might as well call me Maddox.” Maddox rose to his six feet five inches of height. “And you’re right. I’ll hold off ’til you move to town. By then I’ll know more what I’m going to do about you and why you’re here. Ain’t decided if I’m gonna tolerate it yet. Can’t speak for the boys. They’ll decide for themselves.”

He held out his bear-paw-sized palm. “It’s been a waste of good boar-hunting weather meeting you, Parker. I can see by your knuckles you got more than good manners in ya and you can see by my nose I ain’t squeamish about shifting bones. So I hope we get through this without having to trade blows. We’ll be checking in on ya and making sure you’re healing good. People’ll get to gossiping and such if ya take too much time mending, being you’re under Daisy’s roof, ya know what I mean?”

Bass started to speak but Daisy interrupted him. “He’s hurt in the shoulder, Maddox. His ears are just fine. And don’t be threatening him if you want him out of here as soon as possible. The more he’s hurt, the longer he’ll have to stay.”

Her defense filled Bass with gratitude and more than a measure of surprise.

Ollie leaned over the side of the bed and took a good look at his knuckles. Her eyes softened as she studied him. “I better pray good and hard for ya tomorrow at church, Bass. Nobody, but nobody’s ever whupped Uncle Maddox. It would be the best fight ever, though, but you’d get hurt for sure.”

Maddox roared with laughter just as his brothers came running up the stairs and entered the already crowded room.

Jonas, the youngest of the three brothers, closest to Daisy’s age of twenty-four, ripped a bandanna from around his neck and handed it to Maddox. “What’s got ya gushing?”

Grabbing the bandanna and wiping his eyes, he also blew his crooked nose before handing the bandanna back to Jonas. Daisy almost withered with embarrassment right there on her planked flooring.

Maddox told his brothers what Ollie had said to set him to laughing so hard he’d cried.

Grissom, whose nose had fresh purple-and-yellowish hues that now wound into a second curve, looked down his odd-shaped snout. “I thought we came up here to kick him into the hereafter.”

Despite the fact that Bass looked as if he was struggling to stay awake, he spoke up and informed the newly arrived brothers what all had been said, discussed and judgment passed on concerning his reason for being here. He focused the conversation on himself, targeting the possible threats only at him and not at her custody of Ollie.

Daisy really took in the sight of her dark-haired patient. Though weak and obviously tiring more each moment that passed, his blue eyes were full of kindness and unspoken defense of her. A wounded knight in tarnished armor. Yet he guarded her. Though reluctant to admit it to herself, she appreciated him doing so and finally accepted something from Bass Parker gratefully.

“Maddox here said he’d give me time to heal my shoulder before he decides whether or not to adjust my nose,” Bass finished. “I hope you two gentlemen will do the same.”

“Maddox? All that true?” Grissom exhaled a long breath that revealed he had been holding in a readiness to add his fists to a fight.

“True as boogers on bandannas,” Ollie announced before Maddox could reply.

Male laughter erupted in the room.

“Lord help us, child.” Daisy tried to keep a straight face. She didn’t know whether to laugh or be exasperated yet again. She wasn’t even sure if she meant keeping her in-laws at bay or getting her daughter raised. “Are any of us up to this challenge?”

Ollie pointed to their houseguest and leaned in to whisper to Daisy only. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll keep my eye on everybody. And I won’t let them hurt Bass, ’least ’til I make sure he ain’t the daddy I been askin’ God to send me.”

Chapter Five

Bass woke Sunday morning sore but feeling better. The house was quiet and he wasn’t sure if anyone else was awake. He liked this time of day when he could review the previous day and set a goal for making this one work well for him.

But yesterday had been eventful. Of all the things that occurred, the one conclusion that came from it was to focus on getting to know Daisy Trumbo better so she’d let him fulfill his obligation. Let him make up for his role in Knox not coming home. What little she’d shared of herself so far intrigued him, and he had to admit he was grateful to have met the real woman to whom he owed the obligation.

He knew the Trumbo brothers were a huge challenge, and she faced them with great courage. He admired her bravery and liked that she stood her ground with them concerning her rights to keep and raise Ollie. Bass envied having a parent who was able to love that much. Negative thoughts concerning his own mother and father threatened to seep inside his musings, but he pushed them away. That was troubled water already crossed and no amount of wading through the memories would do anything but drown him in sorrow.

Focusing again on what he’d discovered about Daisy, he smiled at her stubborn spunk, her readiness to defend even him and the kindness of her heart. She’d been able to put aside what she disliked about him and was still willing to help him recover. Daisy was fair and just. It had been such a long time since he’d met anyone like her.

He even found her oddly striking in appearance and that surprised him most. Tall, slim, hair the color of harvest wheat, eyes the color of what? He wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything worth their comparison. He’d have to think about it awhile. For now, maybe he’d settle on the amber of the crystal chandelier that graced one of the mansions he’d visited in Biloxi on Plantation Row.

She just didn’t fit the description of any woman he’d ever shown any interest in before. His occasional choice of dinner companion, more often than not, was a dark-haired beauty of shorter stature and quick wit. Not that he’d had all that many social engagements.

From the time he was a boy he’d seen his parents use love as a weapon to turn on each other, so he didn’t want to love like that. Bass told himself if he hardened his heart then no one could hurt him and he would never anchor anyone down who wanted what he couldn’t and didn’t know how to give. He planned to focus solely on doing his duty and raising his sister. He would never allow his heart to love.

A rooster crowed shaking Bass from his reverie. He decided to see how much movement he could endure, hoping his injury would at least allow him to get out of these bloomers and dressed for the day.

Bass threw back the covers and sat up. Someone had redressed his wound last night and he had been too sedated to remember who. He’d have to be sure and thank Myrtle or even if it was the man named Teague.

The thought of the stranger and Petula spending time out in the barn yesterday urged Bass’s feet to shift over the side of the bed.

Too quick a movement. He steadied himself a moment before looking for the baggage that Maddox had dropped near the armoire. His own was still there. Petula must have taken hers sometime after the Trumbo men left.

He wanted to get dressed so he could discuss matters with her, and he’d feel much better doing that downstairs in the parlor. No matter how shaky he seemed, staying abed would never give him back his strength. He might not be able to travel far, but he’d heal quicker upright.

Bass stood, testing the strength in his legs. Though wobbly, he garnered his will to manage a slow walk across the room. An attempt to lift his baggage proved more than a little troublesome. The weight bit into his injured shoulder and forced him to simply take out the garments he needed and leave the rest alone to unpack when he felt more stable.

The walk back to the bed and exchanging the bloomers for trousers tired him. Bass gratefully sat on the edge of the bed again to catch his breath a moment before fastening the buttons on his shirt. His fingers trembled as he began the effort. Too much, too soon, he guessed. The doctor was right. He wouldn’t get far down the road like this.

A knock on the bedroom door surprised him. Someone else was awake. His fingers fumbled with the remaining buttons as he acknowledged, “Yes?”

“Mr. Parker, I heard you milling around. Please don’t overdo it today. We’ll be in town much of the morning, and I’m going to have to count on you to pretty much take care of yourself while we’re gone. Myrtle and I will have your breakfast ready in a few minutes. I hope you like buttered flapjacks.”

Daisy’s voice sounded excited, not at all tired from yesterday’s events. He did enjoy flapjacks and hadn’t eaten homemade ones in a long time. “Sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

“I’ll see to it that your sister’s awake and ready if she wants to go to church with the rest of us. I’m sure she’ll enjoy the gathering for the races. She’ll have an opportunity to meet some of the other young women in town.”

The races were today, he recalled. Something obviously important to the widow. Though he didn’t much care that Pet would be able to meet the young men as well, he knew he must start trusting his sister at some point. If he held her at too tight a rein, she would rebel. He couldn’t blame her for that. He’d done the same with their parents’ expectations of him, hadn’t he?

His mother and father had reminded him constantly that he was the reason they didn’t reach their goals or failed. He didn’t want Pet to end up feeling unworthy of being happy, as their criticism had often made him feel. Bass refused to become that hard-hearted or let Pet become the same.

Perhaps it was time to be a little lenient with Pet.

Time to dust off his own prayers and hope for the best.

Everyone would be gone for quite a while this morning, probably even the afternoon. That would give him plenty of time to properly groom himself without anyone trying to help. Maybe he could even manage to get his own breakfast and save them effort.

“Don’t trouble yourself for my sake,” Bass replied, looking forward to being alone. “I’ll see to my own care, Widow Trumbo. Go on with what you need to do to be on your way.”

“Hey, Bass,” a childlike voice added followed by a second knock. “Can I come in?”

He hurriedly finished the last button on his shirt. What did the little minx want now? “I’m dressed now. You may come in.”

A whispered argument echoed from the other side of the door before they finally opened it and entered.

Ollie stood there all decked out in a calico dress and Mary Jane shoes spit polished to a glossy black shine. Her blond hair had been brushed and tied back with a ribbon the color of bluebonnets in fresh bloom.

Daisy looked equally as becoming, outfitted in a lovely gray dress with lavender piping and buttons. A social acceptance of color to bring into play after at least two years of grieving, Bass remembered from his own experience after they’d lost their parents. Petula had hated wearing black and wanted to get to the lavender stage as quickly as possible.

This was probably Daisy’s Sunday best.

Her long braid had been pinned into a coil, making him assume she’d probably done that to keep her hair out of her face as she raced. In a dress?

He’d never really thought about how women raced. He knew it was all the rage back East for them to show their ability for sport as equally as men did, but apparently the trend had reached farther West. It didn’t quite seem fair that they were forced to participate with disadvantages men didn’t suffer.

Embarrassed that he’d just sat there staring at each of his hostesses, he needed to say something. “My, don’t you both look nice.”

Ollie took a seat in the chair beside him and frowned at her mother. “I look scrubbed, ya mean.”

“Olivia Jane, what do you do when someone gives you a compliment?”

“Oh yeah.” She stood abruptly, grabbed a hunk of calico at her hip and curtsied. “Thanks, Bass. I guess I...what do you big fellas call it? Cut mustard?”

“Muster. And you certainly do.” He imagined the lovely lady she would make someday if she ever allowed any boy to court her. Probably as lovely as her mother.

The child’s gaze swept from him to Daisy.

“Well, what about you, Mama?” she challenged. “He said ya look nice, too. What’choo gonna do about it?”

Daisy’s cheeks reddened as she bobbed quickly. “Thank you, Mr. Parker. That was kind of you to say so.”

It gave Bass an opening to finally express some of what he’d been thinking. “My pleasure, indeed, Mrs. Trumbo.”

Ollie sighed and wrinkled her nose. “Y’all just call each other Bass and Daisy, okay? Them long ol’ names make me tired. Why don’t y’all shake hands like me and Bass did, then y’all can be friends?”

Bass offered his first and Daisy slowly shared hers in return.

“Bass.” She squeezed gently in acknowledgment.

“Daisy.” He did the same with a sense of gladness. Another step in breaking the ice that might allow them to warm into friendship. He truly wanted to become her friend, someone she trusted. The urge to help her pulsed even stronger in his blood like a log heading into a fast current. “I hope you do well with your races.”

“Thank you.” Her hand lingered for a moment before slipping slowly from his.

When she turned and headed for the door, he fought the compulsion to tell her he would join her and the others at the breakfast table. To lengthen this truce between them. To spend more time talking with her about something of interest only to her. To learn anything she’d allow him to know that would give him a clue how he might best proceed with his plans concerning her and Ollie.

Daisy had set up strongly in his thoughts since he’d met her, allowing an old dream to resurface. Could such a woman like the widow actually turn his heart from stone? Could any woman for that matter?

Bass had prayed that such a woman might enter his life and teach him how to love, but the prayers went unanswered. Now so long denied, he scoffed at the idea. He’d known Daisy hours, not days. She despised him and wanted him gone. She’d made that clear. He willed the dream away, presuming he’d simply found some of her qualities fitting for the kind of woman that might have appealed to him had he made a list similar to Ollie’s.

Before he could get his thoughts back in line and offer to join the Trumbos for breakfast, Daisy turned and told Ollie, “Finish your business with Bass so we can let him rest and be on our way. Time’s wasting.”

There would be no lingering at breakfast. Bass focused on Ollie. “What business?”

Ollie left her chair, grabbed his hand and pulled him downward. “Can you get on your knees?”

She took to hers at the side of his bed. He joined her, even though it was mighty painful.

“Put your hands like this.” She pressed her palms together in front of her.

Bass did the same. Since his prayers went unanswered, he hadn’t been on his knees in a long time and suspected the discomfort was from more than being shot.

“Now bow your head, brother.” Ollie bumped her shoulder against him and winked. “That’s what they say in my church.”

Bass bowed his head and closed his eyes, anticipating what was about to be said. Another doozy of enlightenment, he supposed.

“Old Lord, me and Bass have come callin’ on Ya. We need Your help real bad.”

Bass stole a glance at her.

“And forgive him, Old Lord, for peepin’. Mama says we gotta conscience-trate when we pray. He might not know no better, just like me sometimes.”

His eye slammed shut.

“Ya see, Old Lord, my mama’s got it in her head that Bass needs the preacher to come callin’ and to say some kind of healin’ words over him. ’Fact, I heard her tell Myrtie what she’s gonna do since he can’t go to town with us is bring church back to him.”

Her voice got squeakier. “Gonna bring the preacher and some folks so he can get to know ’em! This is just too much for me, Old Sir.”

She sighed heavily. “I barely do good in one service, much less two, in the same day. Ya said somethin’ like if two of us ask, then that’ll get it done. So we’re askin’ and there’s two of us here. I counted. I knew Mama’d be mad if she heard me askin’ Ya, but I figured my friend—” she opened her eyes to stare pleadingly at Bass “—wouldn’t mind. He ain’t ready to meet some of these folks around here, and You and me both know it. And I ain’t ready for too much more preachin’, if Ya don’t mind. I’ll prob’ly forget some of it.”

Knowing he wasn’t prepared to meet others who might disapprove of his reasons for being in Daisy’s home, in any part of her life, and now in a truce with her, Bass whispered, “Amen to that.”

* * *

Tired from church services, the race and the level of interest stirred up by the leather wares she sold and took orders for after the race, Daisy almost wished she hadn’t asked Preacher Thistlewaite and the others to visit Bass this evening.

She needed to get started on making the shoes and boots as soon as possible. Most wanted them when they came back to see the final race at the end of the month and that would take a good deal of time to meet the deadline. What had she been thinking?

She could have just waited until Bass was strong enough to attend regular services himself, but she owed him this kindness until he felt better. Christian duty required her to treat him as she would have wanted to be treated under the same circumstances.

Daisy steered the team toward home, glad that it took only about fifteen minutes from town. Fortunately, Teague had rounded up Ollie out of the crowd and got her, Myrtle and Petula settled on the wagon before heading off to make sure the horde of visitors dispersed in a friendly manner.

Seemed he’d gotten news the sheriff and the posse were on their way back empty-handed, so he was going to stick around until they returned and keep things on an even keel.

Petula finally broke her silence that had lingered on the ride home. “Sorry you didn’t win the race.”

Daisy shrugged. “Second place allows me to be in the next round, so that’s all right with me. As long as I place in the top five each time, I’ve got a real chance to win the big purse in the last one. That’s when all the finalists compete against each other.”

“Bass will be sorry he missed this. He’ll want to see you run when he’s better and can watch.” Petula fanned herself and offered a compliment. “He’s always admired women who aren’t afraid of showing all they’re capable of. If he ever marries he’ll choose someone like that. Not that I think he will. He’s pretty much set on not taking a bride. Me? I plan to marry a man who’ll make me respect him and want nothing else but to be his wife. No man I can wrap up in knots, that’s for sure.”