Ranger for Hire

Willow McMurtry’s writing career could end before it even begins—unless she learns the ways of a Texas Ranger. She can’t write tales about Ranger life if she’s constantly making mistakes, so she needs handsome Texan Gage Newcomb to teach her. Willow just can’t tell him the true purpose behind her request.

Gage agrees to teach Willow how to shoot, ride and lasso—but only to keep her close. An outlaw who’s cost him dearly is still on the loose. And the hidden lawman trusts no one, especially not a feisty woman who might be working with his foe. But as the cowboy lessons progress, Willow may convince him to share all of his secrets—and his heart—with her.

“You ready to give lassoing a try?”

Gage walked over and unfastened the loop, recoiling the rope to its original position.

Willow shook her head and finally grabbed her writing instruments, taking a seat on the bench. “I want to write it all down so I can remember it later.”

She opened her journal and began recording the images so vivid in her mind.

“Like I said, practice is the way to make yourself good at it.” He turned around and built his loop again, throwing it a second time, only to miss.

She looked up from her scribbling. “Why did you miss?”

“The truth?”

“Always.” She stared and wondered why he’d even considered being anything but honest with her.

“You distracted me.”

She usually messed herself up and didn’t mind taking the blame if she was truly guilty of causing trouble for someone else, but she’d been nowhere near his target. “How did I do that?”

Gage retrieved his rope and strolled over to sit beside her on the bench.

“I let you. I was paying more attention to your hair than I was the picket.”

DeWANNA PACE is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. 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 Texas Ranger’s Secret

DeWanna Pace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

And whatsoever ye do in word or deed,

do all in the name of the Lord Jesus,

giving thanks to God and the Father by Him.

—Colossians 3:17

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

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

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

May 1868

The thunderstorm rushed ahead of Willow McMurtry, as if warning all who lived in High Plains, Texas, that she would arrive and with her came trouble.

Seeking a new path because she couldn’t stay on her last one, she prayed, Please don’t let me mess up in this town, too.

Wind buffeted the curtain meant to keep out the dust stirred up beneath the churning hooves of the horses pulling the overland stage. Lightning bolts blinked in and out as the curtain flapped back and forth, offering popping whips of relief from the oppressive heat to the only passenger who had not yet reached her destination.

With glimpses of the passing prairie, she watched uprooted vegetation tumble toward the coach searching for a barrier to the wind’s fury. But the team’s pounding hooves and the coach’s wheels crushed the wind-driven fodder or ricocheted it hither and yonder across the countryside.

“High Plains ahead!” yelled the driver, heralding the blessed fact that the long journey was near its end.

At least for now.

She would finally be inside somewhere, out of biting range of bugs and flies trying to hitch a ride.

“One-hour stop, coming up!”

The sense of stifling solitude gripped Willow even more profoundly, threatening to spill the unshed tears she’d held back when she’d said goodbye to the other passengers many miles ago. How she hated to be alone, and wanted so desperately to be among friends—a tribe of her own. A tribe made not just of family members, who were expected to include her, but friends who chose and enjoyed being in her company.

Willow called upon the light of hope living within her that this place so loved by her sisters might also prove the haven that would welcome her, rescue her from herself and become a home to her if she could not resolve her problem back in Georgia.

How much she wanted to be an asset to a community rather than an object of scorn. A blessing to someone, not a hindrance.

She took a lace kerchief from her reticule, then dabbed the perspiration dotting her face and neck, hoping to make herself look more presentable for when she arrived. Willow pinched her cheeks a little to add color, then brushed her fingers through wisps of hair that had gone astray from her upswept curls.

She put away her kerchief and lifted the emerald hat from her lap and did her best to nest it back in place at a jaunty angle. But her height in such a confined space gave little room to set it fashionably atop her head. The seat kept rocking and swaying to the point she finally just had to jab the hat pin in and hope for the best.

The plumed ostrich feather adorning the hat hung too far over her left eye, bent out of shape by the last woman who’d left the coach in Fort Worth. She’d accidentally stumbled over Willow’s long legs and ended up plopping down on one edge of the hat. Her apology had sounded so sincere that Willow hadn’t had the heart to complain. After all, she wasn’t exactly graceful herself most of the time and hoped others would forgive her lack of coordination.

Sighing in frustration, she decided it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she arrived somewhere looking disheveled. Daisy and Snow wouldn’t be surprised at all, but Willow had wanted to make a good impression on her future brother-in-law and anyone else who came with her sisters to fetch her.

She did her utmost to adjust the hat but only ended up making the feather look more like quilt padding dangling from a fishing line and her head feel like a pincushion. Maybe she’d have time to dig into her baggage and take a brush to her mop of hair and just go hatless, but the mighty winds that swept the Texas prairie almost required a soul to wear some kind of bonnet or head covering. Unless she chose to braid her hair, as Daisy always did.

She couldn’t wait to see her sisters. Daisy’s impending wedding had come as a surprise and provided a most convenient excuse for quick departure from Atlanta.

When Willow told her boss that Daisy needed her to help take care of the children while the couple honeymooned, he had eagerly agreed that her absence just might prove the perfect solution to the trouble she’d caused.

Willow had left, unsure if she would ever return to her job at the paper but knowing this leave might be the only way to improve her chances of being asked back.

Not only that, she felt that she really had to be there for Daisy and Snow. Willow only hoped she hadn’t arrived too late to attend the wedding and be of some help. Daisy would never say a word, of course, but her middle sister rarely held anything back from Willow. Now she and Snow would be spending two months together without the buffer of their older sister.

The thought made Willow pray once more that she somehow arrived on time.

“Whoa, you beastly beauties! Hold up there, now,” shouted the driver as his last pull on the reins brought the team to a halt.

Willow pitched forward into the seat across from hers. She dug in the heels of her kid boots and grabbed the side of the coach in an effort to reseat herself, only to slide bottom-first to the floor. Her hat shifted. The feather dipped low to tickle her nose, which set off a round of sneezing made worse by the billowing dust as the stagecoach settled.

She stretched out her arms to see if she could leverage herself enough to climb the walls and regain her seat, but to no avail. She’d just have to sit there like a folded accordion and scoot out the door once the driver opened it.

“Safe and delivered,” yelled the coachman. “Only half past noon.”

Half past noon? They’d been due in more than two and a half hours ago. One of the wheels had hit a rut and taken quite a while to be repaired. Her sisters would be madder than two snakes with no rattles thinking she’d missed the stage that would get her here in time for the ceremony.

Willow knew Daisy had been meeting several stages the past two months. Her sister had a right to be angry with her for not showing up. When Daisy invited her and Snow for a visit in March, Snow had gone on alone. Willow had promised to come later, wanting to arrive with a wonderful announcement of her own—a job at the respected newspaper in Atlanta.

Why hadn’t she just gone to High Plains when she first promised?

Because I wanted to prove to everybody how capable I am, she berated herself as she struggled again to dislodge her body. Now look at me. I can’t even untangle my legs.

At twenty-two, she was beginning to believe she’d never find a place where she could be proud of herself and find what she could do well.

She should have never risked taking the position as printer’s helper at the Weekly Chronicle, knowing she’d promised Daisy the visit.

If only her boss hadn’t mentioned his love of anything Texas that first day of work, she might have kept her mouth shut.

But no, she couldn’t wait to share some of her late grandfather’s tales of his legendary days riding with Captain Jack Hays, one of the bravest captains in the Texas Corps of Rangers.

That was just the start of her troubles. If only she’d been aware of what she’d stirred up at the time. Then again, she never recognized the exact moment she set herself up for failure. Did anyone?

What was taking the driver so long? She didn’t have that much baggage. Surely he would let her out first before changing the team.

Her legs cramped but she didn’t want to seem impatient with the man. After all, he wasn’t aware that she’d jammed herself between the seats. She’d just have to sit here and keep her mind on something until he opened the coach door and rescued her.

Willow’s thoughts returned to the days that followed her boss’s unusual interest in learning more of Texas. She’d told him of how her grandfather had read to her and her siblings the eight-page newspaper serials called story papers and that she’d preferred the frontier tales of derring-do about adventurous heroes.

She spouted a wealth of the jargon, giving him lots of details regarding the lifestyle and ways of the men who worked the ranging companies, feeling proud she recalled so much after all these years.

Biven Wittenburg Harrington III decided to take a risk and develop a limited series of story papers based on a fictional Texas Ranger and see how well the readers responded. Literacy was up and her boss-editor-publisher said he believed readers yearned for something to take their minds off the hard news of Reconstruction.

When he turned to her, Willow first realized she might be headed for more trouble than she knew how to handle.

He asked her to write the fictional stories under the name Will Ketchum, based on her grandfather’s tales. She should have listened to her initial hesitation, but she was being offered the biggest blessing of a would-be writer’s lifetime. A chance to reach readers.

Willow asked herself if she was ready for her dream. Was she capable of meeting such a challenge? The only way she would find out was to put aside her hesitation and do her best.

But her best proved as frustrating as pinning her hat back on today. Critics railed her efforts as pure fiction with no foundation in truth. Though the stories were never presented as anything but fable, the “no foundation in truth” complaint hurt her feelings. She had besmirched her grandfather’s memory and failed her boss’s expectations.

After researching further, she discovered Grandfather had taken creative license and jumbled parts of the facts. She even learned that a few of the stories he’d told hadn’t happened until after he’d retired from life as a Ranger and moved to Grandmother’s hometown in Florida. The criticism about lacking believability proved justified.

She understood now where she’d inherited some of her traits.

Surprisingly, when she went to Biven about what she’d discovered, he assured her that he expected the more conservative critics to berate any fiction he included in the paper, but it was clear from other readers’ letters that they wanted equal parts fact and fiction in the serial. He’d decided on a delay in future stories about Ketchum until she could improve that balance.

Exhaling a huge sigh, Willow hoped High Plains would provide the solutions needed to set things right with his expectations...or at least offer a hideout from anyone learning she had authored the tales that had stirred up so much gossip.

She probably wouldn’t have to worry about either if they found her all shriveled up between the coach seats.

“About ready to get out of there, miss?”

No, I enjoy my knees poking me in the chin, she thought, but called upon the only gracious bone left in her body when she hollered instead, “Yes, please. I need help down, if you don’t mind.”

The coach door swung wide and the driver’s darkly stained leather glove thrust inside, offering a hand. “Problem?”

“I’m kind of stuck.” Willow inched her slender frame toward him, finally managing to scoot sideways enough to twist her legs without shifting her crinoline petticoats too high. Use his language, she reminded herself. “Thank you, partner. I’m much obliged.”

“Better hurry—you’ll want to get inside somewhere,” he warned. “Looks like it’s fixing to drop buckets out here.”

“How ’bout I help? You take care of getting her bags down,” offered a deeply masculine voice. “Then we’ll both change out the team.”

What had they been doing? Discussing the weather?

A hand twice as big as the driver’s reached in and latched on to Willow’s forearm, giving a mighty jerk that unfolded her.

“Thank y—” Her breath escaped as momentum carried Willow out, one of her boots skidding off the first step down, the other meeting only air.

Out she tumbled, tripping on the step, only to land face-first into the broad chest of a massive-sized man and knock him flat on his back.

He roared with laughter and batted away the feather sprawled on his face. “Welcome to High Plains, lady. Glad to meetcha.”

“Oh, do pardon me, partner.” Her lashes blinked rapidly, trying to widen her dust-filled eyes enough to see clearly.

“Bear. The name’s Bear. Blacksmith and liveryman.” Amusement shone in his brown eyes as he waited for her to stand. “And I figure that was most of my doing. My wife says I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

The bald man stood and handed Willow her hat, an apologetic expression slanting his lips to one side. “Guess I’m gonna have to buy ya a new one, miss. That bird looks plenty plucked.”

She accepted her hat and shook her head. “No need, Mr., uh...” She realized she didn’t know if the name he’d given was his first or last. “Bear. The hat was already ruined before I got out of the coach.” She launched into a brief explanation.

“Anybody else in there?” He looked past her.

“No, I’m the only one left,” she informed, wondering if he’d deliberately cut her explanation short.

“Well, then is there anything else I can do for ya since I handled ya too rough?”

Willow glanced around the immediate vicinity, taking note of the people milling on the sidewalks, a couple of vendors hawking their wares, a wagon parked in front of what she thought she remembered was a mercantile. She hadn’t been here since she was fourteen years old, when her niece was born. She’d not really paid that much attention to the town at the time. Boys were too much her focus back then. Willow supposed that was where she’d gotten her imaginings of what Will Ketchum might look and sound like. Texas males had a swagger about them and an interesting accent.

“Can you tell me if Daisy Trumbo or Snow McMurtry have been here today asking for me?” she finally inquired. “I’m their sister, and they were supposed to meet my stage.”

Bear walked to the back of the coach and took the baggage the driver lifted down, then set the mail sacks closer to his quarters. “So you’re the one,” he said. “Come to think of it, you kind of look like them, and they said you’d probably arrive without a bonnet.”

Did she have to be so predictable? And what did he mean when he said, “So you’re the one”? “Then they’ve been here and gone?”

“Told me they still had too much to do for the wedding tomorrow to stick around for a late stage. Some never arrived at all and several you’ve missed, according to Tadpole. Oh, sorry, that’s what I call your niece, Ollie. She’s my fishing partner. Guess you can understand the sense of their thinking.”

Relief and frustration washed through Willow as she brushed back her hair. She hadn’t missed the wedding as she’d feared but the man knew from dealing with stage arrivals and her niece that Daisy had expected her long before now. Some first impression she’d made on Bear.

“I’m supposed to tell ya they’ll check back around three to see if the stage made it or not.”

They meant if I made it or not. Willow wished she didn’t always disappoint them. That was something she really meant to work on while she was here. Though both loved her deeply, she wanted them to be proud of her, to see that she could improve and to have faith in her when it counted most. She didn’t want to fail them or herself anymore.

Willow exhaled a long breath, setting her shoulders to the two-and-a-half-hour wait, wishing that was all the time it would take to improve herself and give her an idea how best to get started learning fact from fiction. She’d considered different ways to go about satisfying her editor’s request in the time she’d be here watching the children. After all, who knew better about Texas than Texans?

Bear took her baggage to the livery and set it just inside the door. “We’ll keep these here until your sisters turn up. You can go about your business for a while and your bags will be waiting for ya.”

When she didn’t move, he motioned to his quarters next to the livery. “My wife’s taken ill or I’d invite ya in. Are you a Miss McMurtry or a Mrs. Somebody?”

She realized she hadn’t given him her name. “Miss Willow McMurtry. I’m the youngest of the three.”

“If you’ll give me some time to help Gus get the team changed and the stage on its way, Miss McMurtry, I’ll see what I can do about getting ya some tea.” He motioned across the road. “Of course, you could always wait over at the diner. I can let your sisters know where you are when I see them. You must be hungrier than a polecat if you’ve been traveling all morning.”

Though she would have loved to go inside, Willow shook her head, which served only to loosen her top knot of curls. “Not hungry at all, and I don’t want to put you to any trouble, especially with your wife sick. I’ll wait until I’m at Daisy’s.”

The last thing she wanted was to make her first public appearance in a crowd looking this side of insane. It was embarrassing enough that Bear had seen her this way. Visiting the diner was out of the question. “Mind if I just wait out here?”

She explained that she wanted to put her best foot forward, so to speak. Even though she hadn’t, in fact.

“No problem.” Bear glanced up at the overhanging clouds and started backing up. “I’ve got to get that mail in and sorted before it gets wet. Feel free to take shelter inside the livery. I always keep a couple of fresh blankets on the shelf, if ya get chilled. There’s a lantern or a stove, if you need it. Like I said, I’ll let the ladies know you’re here if they don’t spot ya right off.”

“I appreciate it, and I hope I get to meet Mrs. Bear when she’s...” Willow could tell he was eager to be about his business. She’d learned that people tended to back up from her when she kept prattling and they really wanted to be on their way.

The driver said something to the smithy and Bear took the opportunity to dash away to grab the mailbags.

Maybe she ought to make a list of all the don’t-dos she needed to remember. One: don’t get too chatty, she chastised herself, even if the Texan is chatty himself. She’d always been told Texans were known to be the strong silent types. She’d have to revise that old belief. They liked their women less talkative than themselves.

Her eyes focused on the town again, and she thought it might be best to take this time to familiarize herself with what she remembered about High Plains. She didn’t want to leave the livery yard. That way her sisters could easily spot her, and she preferred not to be by herself in the livery. She hated being alone. At least out here, she could watch people milling around.

It was then she saw him.

A dark-haired stranger standing in the alley between the boarding house and the mercantile, leaning against one of the outer walls. Tall and lean, he wore a long black duster that hung to the top of his spurs, and his boots stretched clear to his knees. The duster was pulled back over a pistol-filled holster that rode low on his right thigh. His right hand remained gloveless, making anyone aware he was proficient at shooting from that side. Her gaze swept past his broad chest, and she noted he favored a scruff of a beard and mustache. A hat shaded his eyes. Though she couldn’t determine their color, the force of their intensity touched her even this far away as she sensed him staring at her.

A chill of recognition ran up her spine, yet she’d never met the man. A handsome stranger who’d suddenly stepped out of her imagination? A hero? A villain?

Whoever he was, he looked exactly as she’d pictured Will Ketchum in her mind. Like the kind of man who would have ridden with her grandfather in his days of ranging. Her fictional character had sprung to life as a flesh-and-blood man right in front of her.

Would he talk like Ketchum?

If the stranger proved to be on the right side of the law, he just might be an answer to her prayer.

She started pacing, wondering how she could gain a proper introduction to him. Maybe she needed to practice saying “howdy” a little better.

* * *

The stage had come and gone. Still, the slender reddish-blond-haired woman remained in front of the livery talking to herself. Gage Newcomb thumbed up his hat brim and admired her persistence, if nothing else. How long would she wait for whoever was supposed to have met her there?

He’d made it his business to check out and make himself familiar with every new male or female who landed in High Plains these past few weeks, learning early on that Stanton Hodge knew no remorse in enlisting anyone to help him escape the long arm of justice. Lady, gent or fresh-out-of-short-britches lad could be party to Hodge’s plans, so it wouldn’t surprise Gage at all if this shapely newcomer had come to town to lend the outlaw aid.

But Hodge hadn’t shown yet. Maybe the sidewinder was waiting for the weather to blow over.

Wherever the elusive horse thief might be holed up at this point, Gage meant to find him and turn him in or die trying. After that, he’d ride off into the Davis Mountains downstate and live his life alone, far away from so-called civilization. Far away from pity. Far enough to make sure he became a burden to no one.

That was the only way he could deal with accepting a future he’d wish on no soul.

He had tracked his longtime adversary here, ready to put an end to their six-month cat-and-mouse game before he gave his notice that this was his last manhunt as a Texas Ranger. He’d always brought in his man before. He didn’t plan to fail his captain this time either.

Hodge had managed to stay out of sight so far. Gage suspected the viper was playing it slippery until things settled down from the recent bank robbery and town-burning attempt that were so fresh in everybody’s mind here in High Plains. The thief probably wished he’d headed some other direction when he found out about the recent crime spree. Hodge liked rattling about his feats and the wait to pull his next theft must have been eating at his ego.

That was the one thing Gage could count on. Lack of bragging rights would lure Hodge from his snake den to make a quick strike before things got too dull. Gage knew that was when he’d catch him off guard. The outlaw had been curled up and cozy too long now. Gage sensed the man would be getting anxious, and the woman pacing across the street might just be the pretty twist of petticoat Hodge would use to carry out his next crime.

He sure hoped not, but she wouldn’t be the first woman he’d had to lock up.

As a man who saw the world as dark and the people in it as ready to do whatever they could to get away with something, Gage rarely gave the benefit of the doubt. He’d learned the hard way that a woman could be just as nefarious as any man.

But a man was his focus now. Gage rubbed the scars beneath and around his eyes, feeling the raised flesh and vowing vengeance once more upon the man whose actions were forcing him to choose a new way of life for himself. Being a Ranger was everything to Gage. If he lost that, he would be nothing. His failing eyesight would take his soul, his heart, his whole life. If a man looked weak, he’d forever bow down to others. Gage couldn’t bear the thought of losing his whole identity.

Stanton Hodge had stolen something far more precious than the horses Gage was tracking him for.

He pushed aside his self-pity, and despite the clouded day and the threat of rain echoing in the thunder that rumbled above, he squinted hard to define this new arrival’s approximate age.

Long years of riding saddle all over Texas made distances seem farther than they appeared, but she couldn’t have been more than forty or fifty feet from where he stood. Still, he couldn’t quite catch the color of her eyes or whether she had freckles. All he noted was that she was in her late teens or early twenties, and she had stealth to her walk, which revealed a long stretch of legs and decent health.

Maybe she would prove the break he was looking for in the case. Hodge often chose a young, impressionable gal able to travel fast.

Gage decided he’d watch her, find out her identity and make sure she was not sister, sweetheart or any other connection whatsoever to the man he would bring to justice.

The wind got up again, wailing through the alley and buffeting him hard enough that he had to rock back and forth on his spurs to catch his balance. A quick glance at the pretty lady revealed she fought the gale, as well, swatting down her billowing skirt.

A loud crack of thunder echoed across the sky. Then within seconds, large pellets of rain splattered the ground, leaving rows of golden eagle–sized dots. Grayish-yellow clouds dipped so low he could almost touch them, signaling their weight would not be contained any longer. High Plains was about to receive an onslaught of hard, pounding rain that would become a gully washer by the time it ended. Best to seek shelter until the Texas sky finished its tantrum.

Most folks took heed and headed inside the closest door available. Not the newcomer. She put her hat back on and glanced up at the sky, swiping at the dangling feather as if it were a pesky fly biting her. The wind suddenly spun her around so fast she fell to her knees. Gage bolted toward her to help, but she jumped to her feet and shook the dust from her skirt.

The steam of her anger seemed to radiate across the thoroughfare as the downpour came, soaking her from hem to haphazard hat.

The bull of a blacksmith ran out of his quarters and spoke to the woman. Gage halted in his tracks, waiting to see what she would do. The smithy pointed to his home, but she shook her head and elected to disappear inside the livery instead.

Gage’s curiosity got the better of him as he watched the blacksmith dash home. Feather Hat’s stubbornness made him wonder why she refused the better place to wait out the rain. He’d met Bear and his wife not long ago. Both were kind people who seemed to be well liked by everyone. That meant Feather Hat wasn’t from around here. She was a stranger who didn’t know them well enough to trust their hospitality. All the more reason to find out her identity and connection to Hodge, if any.

Soaked to his boot tops, Gage took off at a dead run for the livery. If she questioned his presence there, he would just tell her that he’d taken shelter in the nearest place he could find. That should allow at least some polite conversation between them and maybe he might learn a few things about her.

He stepped out of the rain and shook water from his duster, then tilted his hat to empty its brim. The sound of a match being struck against wood flared his nostrils as the pungent odor of sulfur and hissing kerosene filled the air.

“Ouch, that hurt!” exclaimed a female voice, then, “Oops! No! Oh, please, no, not that!”

Instinct made Gage look for a stove or a lantern, but reality flared in front of him as flames crept up one of the stall walls.

She had dropped the match.

* * *

A low, angry voice cut the air like a whip. “See if there’s water in any of those buckets. Hurry!”

Willow heard the man’s command before she saw him. He didn’t sound like Bear. Not taking time to look at him or wonder who he was, she did as instructed and ran into the first stall ahead of her. Sure enough, one of the water buckets remained half-full.

“Here’s one.” She thrust the pail toward him and assumed he would take it.

“Throw what you’ve got over the flames and grab another,” he ordered. “I’ll beat out what I can with this.”

She heard him beating something against the wall and, with a quick glance backward, realized where he’d come from. He’d taken off the trail coat she’d noticed earlier when she studied him in the alley.

Will Ketchum to the rescue, she thought, wishing this stranger could be the man she dreamed might someday come true.

“I—I broke my nail when I struck the match against the board.” She shook her forefinger, embarrassed that such a small pain had caused all this. “It made me drop the match.”

Horses whinnied in their stalls, their powerful legs dancing to get away from the threat that sent gray vapor spiraling into the air.

The stranger kept beating his coat against the wall. Orders fired in rapid succession. “Find another bucket, lady. Be careful. Don’t go near the horses. They’ll stomp you to death. Got to get this out before it reaches the loft. That hay goes up, we’ll all go up with it.” One glance in her direction told her he wasn’t worried about the finger she still held up.

She hurried, only to find nothing in the next three stalls. All that remained were the feed tins with the horses. Thunder roared overhead and a crack of lightning rent the air, telling her that it had struck close by.

Please, Lord. Don’t let this happen to me. Don’t let me burn down the livery on the first day here. And while it’s raining, at that. If You’re going to let it rain, let it be enough to put this out, please.

“There’s no more. What do I do?” She searched for the blankets Bear had said were stored somewhere and found them on a shelf above where her baggage had been set.

Why hadn’t she just grabbed one of them to keep warm instead of trying to light a lantern so she could see to make a proper fire in the potbellied stove?

She’d made a fire, all right.

Willow grabbed a blanket and shook it open to help him beat out the flames. A daddy longlegs spider ran across her hand. She screamed in fear.

The man raced toward her, swatted the spider away and exchanged his now-charred coat for the blanket.

“That kind of spider isn’t poisonous even if it bites you,” he assured her as he ran back and attacked the flames even harder.

The fire seemed to be climbing faster.

“Take empty buckets,” he insisted. “The trough is outside closer to the blacksmith’s quarters. Bring back what you can carry without spilling. Fast as you can. And don’t worry about your nails.”

Nails were the last things on her mind. Being burned or bitten occupied her every thought. She grabbed the pails and ran, determined to carry both back full and in time. She spotted the trough quickly and the first bucket wasn’t that hard to fill. The second proved almost unmanageable once she was done and tried to lift both.

With every step, the water sloshed over the sides until she had to take slower ones to keep from spilling it. Her pulse raced, thrumming in her ears, lodging in her throat in a dry knot that felt as if it were drumming to her heartbeat.

As she finally reached the livery, she had to set a bucket down to open the door but forgot to move it back far enough to allow her enough space to enter. Not now, she prayed. Please let me prove helpful. I’ve got to save him. The horses, too.

What to do? What to do? Willow took one boot and scooted the bucket backward. It inched away. Another scoot. Too hard this time. The bucket tilted.

“No, don’t spill!” She couldn’t keep her prayer silent. Her boot hurried to sweep around the pail to prevent it from turning over. She misjudged the distance and ended up stepping directly into the tin container, sloshing water everywhere.

Willow grabbed the door and jerked it backward as she removed her foot from the almost empty bucket. One would just have to do for now.

She gathered the remaining pail in hand and ran toward the cowboy, relieved to see his battle with the fire had taken a turn for the better.

He emptied a bucket on the flames.

Where had he gotten that from? One of the horse stalls? How brave!

“Move out of the way,” she shouted, wanting to let him rest a moment while she took over. It was the least she could do.

Instead of stepping aside as she threw the water from her pail, he turned.

A faceful of her helpfulness drenched him just before the liquid hit its true mark, extinguishing the threat of fire.

“Oh, my,” she said, dropping the pail as her hands shot to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to do that, mister. Honestly. The bucket was so heavy and you didn’t... I mean... I guess my aim was off.”

He sputtered and tipped the brim of his hat so the water could run off. Before he settled it back on his head, he wiped his eyes with his forearm and blinked hard. “Actually, your aim was perfect, pretty lady. Your timing stinks. You could use a little improvement there.”

His admonishment hit her right where she hurt most—her past. Her need of a better future. But she heard the truth in his criticism. Timing was everything. It might just be the one skill she needed to learn in order to improve all the others she wanted to handle better.

After all, learning to do everything right the first time would sure make everything easier and save her lots of embarrassment.

Question was, she wondered as a possibility sparked in her mind, did he have the necessary skills to teach her what she needed to learn—and would he even want to?

Looking up into his warm eyes, she thought for a blink she saw laughter. Would he be someone who’d help? Someone who’d understand? Or someone who’d judge?

Chapter Two

The barn burner grabbed another blanket off the shelf and carefully fanned it out, he supposed to make sure no more critters had set up house among the folds. She approached Gage as if she meant to cover him with it.

“Here, let me help you dry,” she offered.

He allowed her close enough to smell the hint of some flower that had wilted and lost part of its fragrance. Peach blossoms, maybe. Dying on the vine. Probably the effect of the long stage ride on whatever perfume she wore mixed with her sodden clothing. Sweat didn’t smell any prettier on a woman than it did on a man.

Gage waved away her effort, not wanting the blanket’s coarse material anywhere near his face. After six months of suffering from the tender flesh beneath his eyes and not being able to wear a bandanna over his nose all winter, he avoided anything getting close enough to cause further pain. “I’m fine. Keep the blanket for yourself. You’re wetter than I am. You didn’t get that much on me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to soak you.” Feather Hat looked genuinely apologetic.

“Won’t be the first time I got water thrown in my face. Besides, I was still wet from the rain.”

“I’ll make it up to you, sir.” She wrapped the fresh blanket around her. “Just as I plan to replace the wood for Mr. Bear.”

“Just Bear.” Gage gathered the pails and returned all but one to the stalls. The horses were calming down now that the fire was out and the haze of smoke moved higher into the rafters. “Bear and his wife, Pigeon, prefer you call them by their first names. The Funderburgs probably won’t let you repay them for the damage or they’ll make it easy for you to repair it. They’re good people.”

“Good people deserve respect, too.” Her gaze swept to the charred wall. “I’ll make it up to them. I’ll figure out some way.”

He didn’t know her from seed to high cotton, but the determination in her eyes impressed him. She meant business. Bear was about to get himself a new livery wall. Maybe he could lend a hand in helping her fix it.

She seemed to be waiting for him to speak or do something and Gage wasn’t sure what. He’d been so focused on determining her odd eye color, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him or if this really was her true shade. Not quite honey colored, but like brand-new buckskin. Palomino pretty. Something he was glad to have a chance to see before he no longer could.

Gage decided to clean up the mess for Bear and maybe that would give him and the lady some time to get to know each other a bit before she had to go. When he took a pitchfork and raked some of the ashes into the last pail he hadn’t returned, she tried to help by holding the pail steady and managed only to streak her cheeks and hands with soot.

She was about the most interesting woman he’d seen in a long time. Crazy hat and tangled hair, eyes the color of his favorite kind of horse and a smell that could make a man want to stand upwind of her. This woman made some kind of first impression.

He guessed he was like other men, favoring a pretty filly who kept up with her appearance and made him proud to walk beside her, but he didn’t care for fussy women who took preening too far and ate up a man’s time with vanity.

As intrigued as he was by her, he needed to make sure he remembered his primary goal—to learn if she was strong willed on the inside or easily coerced.

Feather Hat had been watching him expectantly, and finally she unwrapped the blanket and spread it over a squared-off bale of straw, then sat. After clearing her throat, she asked, “And you are?”

So that was what she’d been waiting on. His name. Not one to apologize for anything, Gage merely said, “Newcomb.”

She waited longer, then finally asked, “First or last name?”

“Last.”

“You Texans don’t talk much, do you?” She eyed him from head to toe.

Check that question off his list about her. She hailed from another state. “Not much except when there’s something big to say. You from back east?”

“Occasionally.” She shrugged her shoulders.

That got his attention. What was that supposed to mean? She either was or wasn’t. “You care to be more specific?”

“I grew up in Florida, but I tend to move around a lot. I’ve lived north, east, visited the Deep South, Georgia, and now here I am in the West, though I haven’t gotten any farther than Texas yet. Have you been here long?”

He wouldn’t tell her much, just enough to make her feel more comfortable in revealing details about herself. “Been in town for about six weeks now. It’s got a lot to offer if you’re looking for a place to settle. You plan on sticking around or will you be moving on soon since it’s clear you like to wander?”

“I’m here for my sister’s wedding. She’s getting married tomorrow.”

“Oh, so you’re the one.” That explained a lot and helped set aside some of his suspicion about any connection she might have to Hodge. Still, she was the perfect type for his foe to enlist. Better keep watch over her while she stayed. Wouldn’t want her making the wrong kind of friend and not being able to leave when and if she wanted to.

She stood, her fists knotting at her hips. “Does everyone in this town know I’m late?”

“Most everyone, near as I can tell. You’re the source of a good many wagers over at the Twisted Spur anytime the stage is due in. They’ll be mighty disappointed to see you’ve finally arrived. You’ve made some of the fellas a pretty penny this spring.”

“The Twisted Spur?”

“The saloon.”

“Just wonderful.” Her fists unknotted and her palms flung upward. “I’m already the subject of gossip and I haven’t even been here a few hours. I’ll never make friends with anybody in the ladies’ society, that’s for sure.”

Insecurity echoed behind her anger. She wanted people to think kindly of her. From the way she talked, Gage slightly altered his first estimation of her. This woman wasn’t the sort that would easily take up with Hodge. She probably wouldn’t even visit anywhere the thief normally caroused. Still, Hodge wouldn’t let that stop him if he took notice of her and decided to make her a target or an accomplice. Stanton Hodge didn’t care what others thought of him or whom he hurt.

Protective instincts stirred in Gage and he added one more goal to his last manhunt. If she proved as innocent as she appeared, he would make sure the man he tracked did not lure her into his conniving ways.

“Speaking of friends, when will your sisters come after you?” Gage had expected she would have been picked up by now.

Her palms fell back to her side. “Bear said around three o’clock. That should be anytime now, don’t you think? I can go check outside. I noticed a clock on the water tower behind the livery.”

She headed to the door but halted when Gage’s words stopped her. “No need. They’ll probably show up after the rain stops. Might as well keep dry as you can. I’ll go ahead and light the lantern. You warm enough or you need the stove heated?”

“I’ve had enough fire for one day myself, but if you’re cold, suit yourself. You’ll probably do a better job of getting it going than I did.”

She sounded defeated. Something buried long ago that he hadn’t allowed himself to dig up since he was eleven years old twisted inside him. The last thing his father had ever teased him about was having gangly legs and broomstick arms, being a late bloomer.

That day, he’d been expected to watch for signs of the lobo attacking their herd. Gage had tired from his duty and started daydreaming, writing poetry in his thoughts, losing track of time. Next thing he knew, his father screamed at him to shoot to kill. Two cows were down, his father’s leg caught and bleeding profusely in one of the traps set for the wolf. Champion tumbled in a vicious battle with the lobo, the dog’s and the wolf’s snarls jerking Gage to his feet.

All of a sudden, a high-pitched yelp tore from Champion’s throat and he fell backward. The lobo had taken the last breath from the dog’s body.

Gage’s broomstick arms could hardly lift that big old rifle back then, but he vowed to stop the wolf from turning on his father. He kept that vow and his gangly legs and arms managed to get his father home and his dog buried. Two weeks later, he’d buried his father beside his dog. From that day since, he’d never allowed another soul to see any sign of weakness within him.

He couldn’t allow Feather Hat to feel defeated. There was always strength to be learned just from trying. From believing you could do something.

“You did all right.” Not being around much of anyone but criminals, Gage didn’t give compliments easily. “Maybe next time keep your nails clipped shorter.”

She stared at her fingertips. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

Gage laughed. “Is that a fancy way of telling me to mind my own business?”

“Quick study, aren’t you?”

“When I need to be,” he answered, noting the challenge that sparked in those Palomino eyes. He liked that kind of sass.

“You must have a lot of skills at your disposal,” she announced.

If her eyes had been pitchforks, they’d have been raking him from hat to spur.

She must be trying to use one of her better skills on him now. Gage noticed that she suddenly appeared a lot prettier than a few minutes ago, or else the smoke was clearing enough to let him see her much better. Maybe it was just the amber glow of the lantern light causing her to look all soft and her hair to look fluffed up a bit. Her skin could have been carved from a pearl-colored tusk of ivory he’d once seen on a ship in Galveston.

No matter how she’d managed to make herself more attractive, she still didn’t smell any better.

“I’ve got a few skills,” he admitted, deciding he’d let his mind wander way too much on the subject of what he could see of her. “Which one appeals to you most?”

“What if I said all of them?”

Suspicion blazed inside Gage like a fire that had been kindling below the surface and suddenly flared. Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as he’d first believed. In his wondering about her identity, he’d never considered she might already know plenty about him. Who had told her? Hodge? “Why would you want to know what I can do?”

“I’d like to make you a proposition, Mr. Newcomb.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“True, but you look like a man who knows how to handle himself well. You certainly showed me how to put out a fire.”

“Desperation goes a long way in making a man think fast on his feet.”

“It also goes a long way in making a woman think she’s found the right man to teach her a few things. I’m willing to take a chance that what I need to learn could be learned from you, and I’m willing to pay you to teach me. I have a few questions I’d like to ask, if you can spare the time.”

He had no time to spare for anything but his pursuit of Hodge. “You’ve got me till the rain stops. So shoot.”

* * *

“That’s exactly one of the questions I have.” Willow had been uncertain how to proceed with her curiosity about Mr. Newcomb without his suspecting anything. She needed to learn any of his skills, his ways of thinking, how he interacted with people and why, all without disclosing anything about her pseudonym. “Can you teach me how to shoot, ride, lasso a stump and a few other Texas specialties?”

Her boss was willing to give her a chance to straighten out the mess if she could make Will Ketchum believable. She wanted to prove she could. Maybe getting this Newcomb fellow to teach her some things would prove the answer to her dilemma.

“Any Texan worth his salt can teach you those kinds of things. Even your sisters could. Why me?”

Newcomb thumbed back his hat and it was then that she finally got a good look at his eyes. A knot twisted in her stomach as she tried not to stare, but she knew he heard her gasp.

“Go ahead. Get it out of your system.” He pulled off his hat and stared back at her, challenging her to peer closer. “It took me some getting used to myself.”

“What happened?” She wished she weren’t so curious, but the fact that he encouraged her to study his face helped her examine it more closely. A thick forest of dark lashes sheltered eyes the color of midnight with a touch of amethyst in their depths. They were so startling that the raw red welts spotting his face beneath and around each of them seemed a rude cruelty to mar his once-handsome features.

She wanted to smooth away the welts, say a prayer over each and ask God to be merciful and remove them. But when her hand reached up impulsively, he took a step backward. She had gone too far. Her desire to help always made her make a wrong move.

“Please tell me what happened,” she repeated, her eyes moistening with sympathy. Clearly this was an injury he’d suffered not that long ago. Some of the skin had healed, but not all. What kind of man was he that he could suffer such a tragedy and still go about his business as if nothing were amiss? He was truly braver than most she’d ever met. What had he called it, a “Texan worth his salt”?

“Don’t do that.” His voice came gruff, his gaze targeting hers so quick that if it could have shot bullets, she’d have been stone-cold dead. “I won’t be pitied.”

He sure was touchy. She preferred a man who had a pleasant nature and was not so quick to show his temper. That was, she would if she ever decided to spend time with another one for courting purposes.

“That was the last thing I was thinking,” she countered. “Maybe astonishment that you weren’t afraid to show me. Certainly admiration for your being courageous enough to deal with the scars as if they didn’t take a smidgen of handsomeness away from you.”

“So you think I’m handsome.” He lost his somber expression long enough to allow a quirk of a smile.

Willow thought that if she hadn’t needed Newcomb so badly to help with research, she might have slapped his arrogant face. After all, he hadn’t properly introduced himself. She still didn’t know his first name, and now he was flirting with her.

He certainly didn’t lack any confidence. She could use that characteristic to make him more believable as a Ranger. Rangers were known as men who lived by their own codes. As a reader, she found a confident hero easier to admire. Confident, not arrogant or egotistical. There was a fine difference.

“Yes,” she conceded. “You’re handsome and unafraid. You’ve got skills and you don’t mind being honest with me. We just need to decide on a schedule that’ll work for both of us.”

“Let’s get this straight.” He settled his hat back on his head. “You’re hiring me for something, which you haven’t yet told me what for. It’s not a problem that I’m only kind of handsome, and I’m supposed to teach you a set of skills, one of which is shooting. Does that about sum it up?”

She gave him a thumbs-up. “We understand each other perfectly.”

“Like I said before, your sisters could teach you everything.”

Willow shook her head. “I want a man’s perspective. To make it believ— To learn it the way a man knows how.” She’d almost slipped up.

“I’ll have to think about this,” he told her frankly.

“Willow!” shouted a familiar voice from outside the livery. “Willow McMurtry, are you in there? It’s Daisy. We’re here, sis!”

“Be right out,” she yelled in reply. “Give me just a second. Got to gather my bags and straighten up a few things in here first.”

“Remember it’s raining,” came a less easygoing voice.

“I’ll hurry,” she promised, hearing the impatience in Snow’s voice. Willow wondered if Bear and his wife had had any hint of the fire. Had they been able to smell it? She asked Mr. Newcomb why he thought the blacksmith hadn’t already come out to check on the odor.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain what happened. He’ll get a whiff once the rain stops. You need to go on with your sisters and get home while you can.”

Grateful she could be in better sorts when she apologized to the blacksmith, Willow thanked Newcomb and pointed to the soiled blanket lying next to his duster. “I’ll be glad to take those with me and wash them with this one. When I return the blankets, I’ll bring back your coat, too.”

“No need. I’ll take care of them.” He picked up the items and grabbed the one she held as he headed to the door.

He didn’t seem eager to have reason to visit her. She didn’t know whether to be appreciative for his kindness about taking the washing off her hands or insulted that he wanted to avoid further contact with her as much as possible.

“We’ll have to connect later on, then,” she said, “after the wedding tomorrow. Unless you’re a friend of my sisters or Bass Parker, my future brother-in-law. If you’re invited to the wedding, we could visit a little at the reception. Maybe by then you’ll have a decision about working for me?”

“I’m invited, but I’d rather talk you out of it. You’re better off finding someone else to help you.”

Her hands clapped softly together, ignoring his attempt to dissuade her. “The reception will give us some time at least to talk further.”

And make it easier for Snow not to fuss with her about spending time with the stranger once Daisy and Bass left for their honeymoon. If he was already a friend of the family, then Snow would consider him a proper enough acquaintance to allow him into Daisy’s home or to allow Willow to meet him in town.

How she disliked those times when she became little sister again, treated as though she must have a protective mother hen to watch over her. Willow couldn’t wait until the day both Snow and Daisy saw her as grown and not the baby of the family. After all, she was relatively a spinster’s age.

“Before you go, Willow—” Newcomb’s use of her name revealed he’d listened well “—I’ve got one more question before I’ll consider teaching you anything.”

He’s truly considering it!

Another fine trait to add to her characterization of Ketchum. Note #2: Texas men pay close attention. “And what question is that, Mr. Newcomb?”

“We’re getting soaked out here,” barked Snow, “and it’s a long fifteen minutes home.”

She and Snow loved each other but were as different as night and day. Being someone who preferred things calm, quiet and orderly, Snow had the hardest time putting up with Willow’s slower efforts.

“I’ll answer you in just a minute. We forgot to turn out the lantern. I’ll be right there.” Just as she reached to grab it, Willow saw where the daddy longlegs had taken up a new home and nearly knocked the lamp over.

“Owww, that’s hot.” She jerked her hand back but managed to keep from spilling the kerosene and setting another fire.

“You need help?” Newcomb demanded and turned around, her baggage in his hands.

“No! Everything’s just fine. I’m right behind you.” She used the edge of her petticoats for a pot holder and set the lantern on its base, turning off the key to the kerosene. For good measure, she blew at the wick just to make sure no flame remained.

“I’m sorry, horses,” she whispered as she used the lightning flashes to help her see the way out to her sister’s wagon. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow after the wedding if you’re still here, okay? Don’t know about you, but I need to calm way, way down. I know you will when I’m out of here.”

When she reached her sisters, she found them sitting side by side on the driver’s box. Snow shared a parasol with Daisy, but it did little to fight off the rain. Both started asking all kinds of questions.

“Let me thank Mr. Newcomb for his help,” she told them. “Then I’ll answer everything along the way, okay?”

“Of course,” Daisy replied, appearing unwilling to turn around and greet them face to face. “Thank you, Gage, for lending her a hand. That’s kind of you. Do forgive us for being so... Well, we took a chance on leaving our curlers in, hoping we’d be here so briefly that no one would actually see us except Willow, maybe Bear. He would understand, of course.”

Gage. So that was his name. Willow filed it back in her memory for future reference.

“You all right?” he asked, targeting his question to Willow instead of making any comment about her sisters’ embarrassment about their hair. He lifted her bags into the wagon, then offered Willow a hand up as she climbed in the back.

When their fingers touched, she winced. “I will be. The lantern was hot when I turned it off.”

“Too sore to lasso a stump?” His eyes studied her carefully.

“No. I’m ready to learn from you. The quicker, the better.” If she hadn’t known any differently, she’d have suspected he was trying to help her ease how angry she was with herself. But he didn’t know her at all. Note #3: Texas men sense when to lend a hand.

“Then, as I started to ask before, I need your word that nobody’s going to get hurt from me teaching you to shoot and everything else you’ve mentioned. That this involves nothing illegal.”

Maybe he truly was a lawman of some kind.

“All I can say is that’s my intention at the moment, but I’ll be honest with you, partner.” She gave her best nasal imitation of Texas twang. “My intentions get out of sorts more often than not. Will you just trust me on this?”

He mulled it over hard. Too hard, in her opinion. Maybe she’d have to ask someone else, but he seemed the perfect teacher.

“Trust is the key word here, Willow.” He took off his hat and put it on top of her head. “Don’t ever give me reason to doubt you.”

She shuddered, either from the cool rain or the threat tempering the warning he’d just given her.

She tried to return the hat but he backed away.

“Next time it rains, bring a parasol with you. You’ll stay a lot drier,” he ordered, then headed toward Bear’s quarters without giving her a definite yes.

Chapter Three

The wagon seemed to speed up despite the rain. Willow reached up and pulled Gage’s hat down, making sure it didn’t blow off.

“The horses are smelling home,” Daisy announced. “They want out of this as much as we do.”

Willow’s heartbeat accelerated to match the team’s eager gait. She was anxious to be done with the long day’s travel. She hoped her sisters didn’t question her about why she’d been in the livery with Gage. After all, he’d simply taken refuge from the storm, just as she had.

She wasn’t sure how much, if anything, she was ready to tell them about the other reason she’d come to High Plains. Saying anything about hiring Gage Newcomb and her reason for doing so could wait until she was certain he agreed. Besides, she hadn’t decided for sure she wouldn’t change her mind and use someone else.

The team made a turn. A gust of wind whipped Gage’s hat off Willow’s head but she managed to grab it in time. Fearful that she’d lose it again, she tried to tuck it under one thigh, despite the rain. The wagon rocked and swayed hard, sending her sideways. Her hip crushed the hat crown.

She sat upright again, wondering if Gage would be more understanding about her accidentally crushing his hat than she’d been of the lady who’d done the same to hers.

Was there a way to fix it before he found out?

The man made her nervous. That was for sure. But a man like her character should make people want to right their wrongs, shouldn’t he?

She crammed the hat back down on her head, hoping the crown would pop into shape again. Hardly. She’d have to try something else.

Disgust rode with her the rest of the way.

Finally, the horses stopped in front of a large two-story house with a couple of outbuildings and a corral. Willow exhaled a breath of appreciation as the journey ended.

“Shepard, we’re here!” Daisy hailed, setting the brake. “Ollie, Thad, come grab a bag, will you? Tell Myrtle to warm up the coffee for us.”

The rain chose that moment to stop.

“Naturally,” Snow uttered in her sarcastic way and closed her parasol, revealing her normally solid-white hair had not been protected from the dampness of the rain.

From the barn, a man in a slouch hat, a shirt and chaps came running out to take the reins from Daisy. Willow noticed his black hair had a streak of gray running across the left temple.

“You done for the day, Mrs. Trumbo?” he asked, one of his gloved hands stroking the horse closest to him as if it were a treasured pet. “You want me to brush ’em down or will you be headed back to town for any reason?”

“I’m finished. We’ve still got too much to do before morning and I’m sure my groom doesn’t need to see me looking like this.” She headed to the back of the wagon to help Willow down. “Shepard, this is my sister Willow. Miss Willow McMurtry, my ranch hand, Mr. Shepard Hutton.”

“Howdy.”

The ranch hand tipped his hat and revealed eyes the color of cottonwood leaves when they shimmered in the wind. Silver-green. Freckles dotting his nose made him look younger than the gray streak implied. He was about a head shorter than she was, she’d guess, and she noted he stored a coiled bullwhip handle-up in one side of his holster, a gun in the other. He smiled and revealed a tooth on the left side that reminded her of a golden fang. The man exuded a curious mixture of innocence and danger about him. “Glad to meet you, miss.”

What a man he’d make for either a hero or an outlaw! She couldn’t wait to find out more about him and how he used his whip. Did handling animals require the use of one or was it simply a choice?

“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Hutton.” She held out her hand to shake his, but when she asked, “Have you worked for my sister long?” he didn’t offer his in return.

She let her hand slide down to her side.

“Not long,” he mumbled and started unloading cargo her sisters must have bought in town from the wagon.

Evasive, Willow delegated him in her notes. Outlaw. Has manners Ketchum would never display.

Willow was just about to ask Daisy and Snow how long they’d known the man but stopped when two little children came charging out the front door of house.

“Aunt Willow,” exclaimed the little blonde girl in braids and overalls, throwing her arms around her in greeting. Genuine welcome shone in her amber-colored eyes. “’Zit true ya came all the way from Florida to watch us?”

“Actually, I’ve been in Geor—” Willow almost said too much, but she refused to lie to her niece. Instead, she said, “I’d come a lot farther to take care of you if you needed me.”

And she meant it. She should have already been in Ollie’s and Thad’s lives long before now. She’d make sure she made her stay here with them memorable and something they would never forget...but in a good way.

Willow hadn’t expected Ollie to be so friendly right off. A refreshing prospect after Gage’s bent of bossiness.

Her niece barely knew her. Daisy must have been kind in relating anything about her to the children. For that she’d always be grateful to her sister. She wanted them to enjoy being with her, and now she wanted both to miss her if she ever left.

But Thaddeus didn’t seem enthusiastic at all about her arrival. He didn’t hug her, just grabbed one of her bags, as his mother had instructed.

“Thank you for taking that in for me.” She tried to make him comfortable with talking to her. He was the spitting image of his late father—sandy-colored hair and gray eyes. But she’d never known Knox Trumbo to be shy, especially around women.

Daisy had said the boy had been orphaned by both his parents, but her sister still hadn’t revealed how she’d learned about the existence of her now-adopted son.

The fact that Thad and Ollie were the same age stirred lots of speculation in Willow’s overactive imagination, but she would wait to satisfy her curiosity until Daisy was ready to talk about those circumstances.

“Oh, yeah, I’m s’posed to grab the other bag.” Ollie unwrapped her arms from around Willow’s waist. “Mama said I get to show you which room you’re sleeping in. You’ll like it real good. I made sure I cleaned out the spiders and stuff.”

“Spiders? What kind of stuff?” Willow had heard about some of her niece’s antics from Daisy’s letters through the years. Where Willow’s mishaps were accidental, Ollie seemed to have a knack for deliberate shenanigans that went awry.

Hopefully, there would be no more meetings with Texas spiders for the rest of this trip.

“Ollie-Golly likes to play jokes on people.” Thaddeus glared at his sister. “Especially me. I told her you might be one of them prissy ladies who don’t like bugs and worms and crawfish or fleas in your taters.”

“Thaddy-Wumpus ain’t no do-gooder either. He’s trained Butler, our goat, to catch you bent over and—”

“Olivia Jane Trumbo, you two have got two months to catch your aunt up on all those wonderful little details.” Snow McMurtry interrupted the list of torture techniques each child had devised for the other. “Now, why don’t the both of you do what your mama asked? Let’s settle Willow in and we all can meet in the parlor once we’ve changed out of these wet clothes. Shepard, go ahead and put up the team and wagon.”

The ranch hand took the reins and started to lead the team away.

“I ain’t changin’ no clothes. I ain’t wet.” Ollie eyed Willow’s raggedy appearance. “You don’t look like you’d mind much.”

Willow suddenly realized the ranch hand had seen her like this and she’d totally forgotten how she appeared. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to shake her hand. Maybe she’d been too quick to criticize his standoffishness.

“I don’t much mind at all, but your aunt Snow’s right. I’d appreciate some sprucing-up time. Is that okay with you? I don’t normally look this bad.”

“You don’t look bad, Miss McMurtry,” Shepard called back over his shoulder. “I think you’ll clean up real good.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Hutton. I’ll certainly try my best.” When he disappeared into the barn with the team, she smiled, deciding maybe he could be a good sort after all. Maybe he could teach her a thing or two about the way Texas men treated ladies, especially if Gage Newcomb chose not to. Or she didn’t take Gage on after all.

Daisy and Snow shared a glance and laughed. Willow knew that look too well. Matchmaking thrived in their blood anytime the three sisters were together but particularly now, when a wedding was already on their minds.

They didn’t understand she had no interest in marrying yet. Not until she had value of her own and didn’t need to count on being Mrs. Somebody to be respected.

Willow had a certain kind of man in mind if she ever married. One who valued her opinion and never judged her. Most important, she wanted him to need her. She could never love a man who could live a better life without her. Until she came across such a man, she’d just be a spinster aunt.

“Uh-uh,” she told them, heading inside, “you can just put those thoughts out of your head. I’m here to watch over the children, not find a man.”

A believable character, maybe, but not a husband.

* * *

“May I speak to your husband, ma’am?” Gage eyed the blacksmith’s wife and waited for her to allow him to step inside their quarters. The fragrance of ginger cookies permeated the air, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything today and needed to. That would have to wait even longer. Though he looked wetter than a duck in a flood and needed to get out of his soaked clothes, he’d made a promise to Willow McMurtry and he’d keep it.

“It won’t take but a minute,” he promised, wishing he still had his hat so he could pull it down and spare Pigeon the sight of his scars.

But then Willow would have had to ride back home without anything to protect her from the rain. That that caused him any concern had been as much a surprise to him as offering to clean the blankets for her. She brought out a consideration for people he thought he’d lost in long years of riding herd on criminals.

Bear’s wife pulled her shawl a little closer around her but stepped aside and let him in. “The rain cooled things off some.”

“Sure did, ma’am.”

She wore a frailty about her. Her rosy cheeks looked flushed from fever, not good health, and her breathing seemed shallow and brief.

“Mind if I stay right here on your rug so I don’t track up your floors? Wouldn’t want to put you to any more trouble.”

“No trouble.” She smiled kindly, but her eyes looked tired, her gray hair braided to one side as if secured for bedtime even though it was barely late afternoon.

“Come on in and pull up Bear’s rocker next to the fire. Dry yourself off some and I’ll fetch my husband. He’s sorting the mail, getting it ready to post over at the mercantile and such.” She excused herself and went into a room farther back in the cozy decorated home.

Gage knew and such meant that on the days the stage didn’t run, the smithy made a habit of taking mail to folks he knew who had a hard time picking it up from the mail slots located at the mercantile for that purpose.

At first, Gage had thought Bear was too eager to help out with the mail and wondered why. But then he’d discovered that Bear and Pigeon always handed out ginger cookies to the children who waited while their parents read letters and decided whether they would write one in reply. The couple lent a hand in reading or writing the missives for those who couldn’t do so themselves. Gage thought the Funderburgs were some of the kindest people he’d ever met. He promised himself before he left High Plains for good, he would find out what had spurred their need for such kindness.

“Yes? How can I help you?” Bear entered the main room, his gaze sweeping over Gage as he sat in the chair holding his gloveless hand out to warm it.

Gage started to stand but the blacksmith motioned him to remain seated and pulled his wife’s rocker alongside.

The rocker creaked with the smithy’s great size as he sat. “Glad to have some company. Pardon my missus. She’s not up to visiting and asked that I give you her apologies. Trying to save her energy for the Parker wedding tomorrow. But she did manage some cookies, if you’d like one or two. I could scrounge up some coffee or tea, if you like.”

A cookie and something to drink sounded wonderful, but Gage didn’t think it fair to take the man’s hospitality when he was about to tell him they’d nearly burned down his livery.

“No, thanks. I promised a friend I’d pass along a message to you. We ought to get on with that so you can get back to your sorting. Warming up is good, though.”

“I saw you watching our newest arrival earlier.” Bear rocked back and forth. “This got anything to do with Willow McMurtry?”

Surprise filled Gage. It shouldn’t have. From all he’d noticed about Bear through his weeks in High Plains, the smithy seemed to know everyone’s comings or goings. Of course he would pay attention to someone like him standing around eyeing people, not taking up work anywhere.

Bear probably wondered what he did for a living. No one in the area knew for sure except Teague, his fellow Ranger, whom he had helped in catching some local bank robbers. The engaged couple might have a clue he was part of Texas’s Special Forces, but if they did, they hadn’t disclosed that fact to anyone yet.

“Yeah, I’m here about her.” Gage told Bear how he’d taken shelter from the rain, about the accidental fire and how they’d managed to get it under control. “We didn’t want you to go in and wonder what had happened. She didn’t want to leave before making it right with you, but it was as much my fault as hers. So I told her I’d take care of telling you.”

He looked the smithy in the eyes. “I think I startled her when I came in and made her drop the match. I’d like to offer to pay for the damage or see who you think could best repair the wall. I’ll hire them to do the job. I’d do it myself but I’m not that good at carpentry.”

Gage didn’t know if he would be able to see well enough to repair the wall.

Bear put his palms on his knees and rocked back and forth, studying the fire. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer, friend. The Trumbo brothers are excellent carpenters. Together, they could have a wall replaced in an hour, maybe two. You sure it’s safe and will hold until tomorrow or the next day?”

Gage nodded. “I checked it close enough. It’ll hold.”

“Good. Then I have a request for you.”

“Name it.” The smithy was being fair about the whole situation. Anything Bear asked would seem trivial to building a wall.

“I have some mail that needs to be delivered to Daisy and her sister. Wished I’d heard them before they took off for home. I guess I was so concentrated on the mail I didn’t hear them come or go. But I do have it sorted enough to give them theirs. Daisy’s been getting all kinds of correspondence since making wedding plans, and what with her intended inviting half the territory, who knows if these are important letters to read before the wedding or not? I’m a bit surprised Miss Willow’s received one so soon.”

“Somebody wanted to make sure the letter was here on her arrival. Wonder why,” Gage speculated aloud.

“Hard to guess,” Bear answered, “but if you agree to deliver the letters for me, maybe you can discover the answer to that. I wouldn’t have to leave Pigeon by herself and you could find out from Daisy if her brothers-in-law plan to be at the wedding. If she says they will, you could ask them yourself if they want the work. Sometimes they do. Sometimes you couldn’t pay them enough to keep them inside anywhere.”

Gage understood that. He’d spent his life reading trails. He understood the wide-open and limitless distance and felt cooped up anytime he was inside. Losing his sight would definitely narrow his ranging space.

No time to feel sorry for himself. He could get his hat sooner if he delivered the letters, maybe get back in time to get it cleaned up and dried enough to attend the ceremony.

Quit kidding yourself, Newcomb, he told himself. You’re hankering to see Willow sooner than you thought. There was no reason whatsoever not to wait until morning to make the delivery. He could speak to the Trumbo brothers at the reception. If they didn’t attend, somebody would know where to find them. From what he’d heard and seen of them, the brothers weren’t exactly men who kept themselves inconspicuous.

Surely no letter was so important that it was worth disrupting the preparations for the wedding or putting himself in danger of revealing his weakness. What if the rain continued for most of the evening and he lost his way in the downpour? How would he explain that to anyone and offer a logical reason without arousing speculation?

One nagging thought kept bothering Gage. What if that insistent letter to Willow had anything at all to do with Stanton Hodge? A wedding might be perfect to bring the snake out of his den to strike while everyone in town was distracted.

He couldn’t take the chance on waiting to find out.

Then again, he could be wrong, and she could have no connection at all to the man.

Gage finally rose from the rocker. There was only one thing a Ranger could do.

Sink spur and ride saddle till he found the right road to take.

“Hand me those letters. I better get them on out there while I can. Looks like it means to give us a good dunking or three before the clouds move on past.”

Bear disappeared into the next room and returned with both envelopes. “Here you go. Hope it’s worth the trouble you’re putting yourself through.”

“By the way, I need to mention one more thing.” A chill swept over Gage as he moved away from the warmth of Bear’s hearth. “If you see a man fitting this description, would you keep me posted? Not quite six foot, red hair long enough to tie back. Green eyes, if you can ever get him to look you in the face. Both hands are scarred but he’s fair with a pistol. Deadly with a whip.”

“A wanted man?” Bear opened his door to let Gage leave.

Gage stepped outside and faced the blacksmith. “More than most. One way you’ll spot him easy—when he grins, he’s got a shiny tooth. Considers himself a ladies’ man and likes to show it off as some kind of prized nugget he won from a miner.”

“What’d he do?”

“Rustled horses.”

“You plan to kill him?”

Though Gage could legally take justice into his own hands, he shook his head. “He’ll face a judge.”

“Were they your horses?”

“No.” Gage stared Bear straight in the eyes, not caring that his scars were in full sight. “He stole my future. Worst kind of thief there is.”

Chapter Four

Willow was surprised to discover she had been assigned a room by herself. From the number of people now living in Daisy’s house—Daisy, Snow, Ollie, Thaddeus and a family housekeeper named Myrtle—Willow had assumed she would be sharing accommodations with somebody.

Sharing a room with her sisters all her life and listening to them breathe at night had always given her the comfort of knowing that she wasn’t alone. Working in Atlanta and renting a room at the boardinghouse had been a real challenge because she had to brave the night noises alone. Something she knew she must conquer at some point if she was to ever make a success of living on her own.

For tonight, Daisy and Snow would be only a room or two away, so it wasn’t as if she’d really be alone in a houseful of strangers.

Snow liked everything kept in perfect order and free of clutter. Willow did, too, but it wasn’t something she quite managed. She took a look around the room. Her soggy dress lay in an emerald pile on the braided rug next to the quilt-covered four-poster bed. As soon as the children had toted in her baggage and left her alone, she’d quickly changed. An inspection of her belongings in the damp baggage had offered one blue frock that seemed dry enough to make her presentable for the rest of the evening. She would have to heat up Daisy’s irons and press the remainder of her clothes before she had anything to wear to the wedding.

A small washstand connected to an armoire housed a flowered pitcher and matching bowl that provided water and a place to wash the remaining soot off her face and hands. The towel she’d found in one of the drawers now stretched across the quilt, streaked with evidence that she’d arrived looking like a raccoon that had rummaged in a chimney full of cinders.

After thorough brushes through her thick hair, she’d had to leave the curls down to let them dry and hope they would before morning so she could wear them up for the wedding.

Yes, maybe it was good that she didn’t have to share rooms with Snow tonight. Her sister would gripe on first sight of this mess. But if Snow stayed true to form, Willow should be able to crack her door open just enough to hear her sister snoring all the way down the hall. That ought to be reassuring enough to maintain a sense of ease for the night.

“Are you about finished up there, Willow?” Daisy called from the parlor below. “The meal’s ready and you need to eat while it’s hot. Thaddeus, come to the table, please. Make sure your hands are washed.”

“What about Ollie?” His voice echoed from nearby.

“Worry about yourself, son.”

“Be right down.” Willow glanced at the messy room and promised herself she would tidy up later just in case the children wanted to come in and wish her good-night. She wanted to start things off right with them.

Thinking of asking Daisy about the heating irons, she grabbed Gage’s hat and decided to try her best to press it back into shape.

She exited her room, taking a good look down the hall to find which direction would lead her to the staircase.

“This way.” Thaddeus poked his head around a corner and pointed behind him. “I got lost a couple of nights when I first got here. If you want me to—” he dug into his pocket and pulled out a small knife “—I’ll mark an X on the wall so you’ll remember it’s thisaway.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she told him, hurrying to catch up while counting how many bedrooms she passed so she would remember which one she’d been assigned. Encouraging him to carve a direction would not sit well with his mother. Maybe she’d better ask Daisy if she knew about the knife. “You can put that away.”

He shrugged. “Okay, but don’t blame me if you get lost or fall.”

Images of her stumbling made Willow grab the railing securely once they reached the stairs. No need to take chances.

“Who’s going to fall?” asked Ollie as she swept past Willow, turned backward and straddled the banister. “You can always sli-ide down and have fun!” She gave a rowdy “Yee-haw!” as she slid to the first floor.

Watching her precocious niece the next two months would take some real concentration, Willow realized. The eight-year-old seemed fearless.

“You two quit trying to ruffle your aunt’s feathers and get to the table right now,” ordered a pleasantly plump salt-and-pepper-haired woman who met them at the bottom of the stairs. Dressed in a paisley skirt, butternut blouse and an apron, she carried a picnic basket covered with a checkered cloth.

The delicious aromas wafting from beneath the cloth made Willow’s stomach constrict with hunger and reminded her that she had not eaten since sunrise. Her stomach had churned back and forth with the sway of the coach all day and nearly made her lose breakfast once or twice. She had thought it would take a week for her appetite to return.

“Howdy-do, Miss Willow. I’m Myrtle, your sister’s cook and housekeeper,” the woman said. “I’d curtsy but I got my hands full. I know Daisy’s told you some about me in her letters but we’ll get to know each other well, I expect. Go on in and have you some supper. I’ll be right back.”

She lifted one cowboy boot she wore and scratched the back of her other leg with its tooled instep. Some of Daisy’s leatherwork? Willow wondered.

“Excuse me, I got an itch I can’t reach proper,” the cook apologized. “Now, as I was saying, Shepard takes meals on his own, not with the family, and I like him to eat while it’s hot. I think he prefers being with those horses better than he does us gals, if you ask me. Can’t convince him to come in and join us. And you won’t find me a badgering kind of gal.”

“Aww, you’re sweet on him, Myrtie,” Ollie teased, “and you know it.”

The cook spun on her booted heels and headed out the door, calling back over her shoulder, “Don’t try hitching this old goose to a young gander like that, Little Miss Matchmaker. You’ll run him off, and we need him to stay till your mom and new daddy come back home.”

“I ain’t making no promises,” Ollie warned.

“And I ain’t helping you do nothing. It always gets me in big trouble,” Thaddeus threatened.

“How about we leave poor Mr. Hutton and your cook alone to make their own choices,” Willow suggested, deciding it best to let the children know she wouldn’t allow them to interfere with anything the two employees had in mind while Daisy was gone.

As a hopeful writer, she thought it would be interesting to explore all sorts of relationships. Why couldn’t an older woman fall in love with a slightly younger man? Didn’t older men tend to take younger wives? “I’m sure they both know exactly what they’re doing without any help from us.”

Just as she and the children headed for the kitchen table, a knock sounded at the door. Willow halted and glanced back, wondering if the cook had forgotten something and returned to get it. She hadn’t had time to deliver the basket to the barn yet, had she? But why would she be knocking?

“I’ll get it,” Ollie informed them.

“You two get in here and let Willow answer it,” demanded Snow. “You’re just trying to avoid eating. I’ve already checked the potatoes. Nobody’s done anything to them. You’re safe.”

What in the world did that mean? Willow wondered as both children moaned and obeyed their aunt’s command. Willow crossed the room, opened the door and instantly recognized their visitor, her hand shoving his hat behind her back.

Gage Newcomb.

“What are you doing here?” Her thought spewed from her mouth as if someone had primed a pump in her brain.

His hand lifted toward his forehead as if reaching for his hat, then quickly returned to his side. He simply nodded a brief hello and asked, “May I come in?”

She had his hat. He couldn’t thumb it up as any Texan might do in greeting. She’d wanted to have it repaired before she saw him again. “Just a moment.”

Willow turned and called to her sister, “Daisy, are you receiving company tonight?”

Daisy came around the corner, taking off her apron. When she saw their visitor’s identity, she unconsciously reached up to touch the curlers in her hair. “Please do come in.”

Thankful he opened the door the rest of the way himself, Willow kept both hands on the hat and turned her body as he stepped inside.

“Have you been to supper?” Daisy waved an arm toward the kitchen. “We were just about to sit down and eat. Myrtle made plenty. Won’t you join us?”

He glanced at Willow as if seeking whether she had any objections. Not that she would voice them, being that she was just as much a guest in her sister’s house as he was. Maybe this would give her an opportunity to ask him a few more needed questions.

His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. “I’m obliged, Widow Trumbo. I guess it’s time I stop referring to you as that from now on, isn’t it?”

Daisy laughed. “Tomorrow’s soon enough. Now, please, come grab a chair and tell us all why we have the pleasure of your company.”

He gave a brief explanation, ending with, “Mrs. Funderburg wasn’t feeling well and Bear didn’t want to leave her alone, so I agreed to bring the letters to you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that about Pigeon.” Sincerity filled Daisy’s tone.

Chivalrous, Willow added to the mental notes for her character. Thoughtful of others. A new view of Gage was emerging. He was a mixture of behaviors and that made him real. Already she could see ways to improve Ketchum’s character and make readers like him better.

When Gage followed Daisy to the kitchen, Willow quickly deposited his hat on the pegged rack stationed near the front door. Maybe he wouldn’t notice it later among the variety of colored bonnets hanging there, but the hat looked boldly masculine in contrast to the feminine headwear. The crumpled crown couldn’t go unnoticed long. When she finally joined everyone at the table, she was surprised to find Gage remained standing with a chair pulled out for her.

“Thank you,” she muttered, pleased that he was on his best behavior and displaying good manners.

Gage sat down next to her, his long legs accidentally touching hers beneath the table due to the crowded circle of diners. Willow supposed sitting saddled for long periods of riding would bow a tall man’s legs. She’d have to remember that. Willow glanced up and her eyes met his for a brief second before she inched away to give him more room. He certainly looked uncomfortable, and she wasn’t sure if it was purely from being crowded.

Daisy scooped roast beef and potatoes with onions and brown gravy onto each plate, offering Gage a man-sized portion. “There’s sweet carrots and celery, too. I’ll let you take what you like and pass the bowl down. Oh, and the sourdough biscuits and butter are sitting next to Snow’s plate. We have mint tea or milk, if you like, or I can make coffee.”

“Whatever’s already made, ma’am. I appreciate any of it.”

Daisy handed Willow two glasses. “The pitcher’s closer to you. Will you pour the milk, please?”

No, Willow wished she could say, not trusting her hand to be steady enough to do a good job. Instead, she snaked her fingers out and latched on to the pitcher’s handle and tilted it to one side, hoping to connect the rim to the top of Gage’s glass without having to actually lift the pitcher.

She hadn’t expected it to be so full and her fingers slipped, sending a splash of milk crashing over the glass to land atop the mound of roast beef on his plate.

She groaned, her eyes closing in utter embarrassment, only to spring open again so she could see what she was doing.

“Here, let me help you,” he offered, his fingers wrapping around hers to take the weight from the pitcher and allow her to pour more accurately. As he leaned into her, their shoulders touched and she became aware of how chiseled his bearded jaw appeared at this angle. The slope of his nose looked patrician and the scars around his eyes were too welted for Willow not to feel a twinge of pity for him.

His shoulders straightened as if he’d taken notice of her thoughts, and he purposefully inched away. She knew she’d overstepped his boundary by staring and was sorry she hadn’t caught herself before he became aware of her gaze tracing his features.

He grabbed his glass in the other hand and tilted it so the milk could flow inside without either of them having to be that close together again.

Willow didn’t know what to do to set him at ease, but when she started to offer an apology, Gage waved away her words. He simply stirred the milk that soaked his plate, mixing it into a thinner gravy that was a lighter shade of brown.

“A little milk won’t hurt,” he announced.

But she’d seen the truth and not heeded the warning he’d given in the livery earlier.

Pity was something he would not tolerate.

* * *

Rain kept a steady beat on the roof and streaked across the window that had been raised to let out heat from the stove. Just as Gage had assumed, the ride back to town would now have its challenges if the storm kept up after nightfall. It was getting hard enough to see in the dark. It would be even harder with the trail further blurred by rainfall. On the other hand, he felt out of place inside among walls. He’d lived so much of his life out in the open and on the trail that he couldn’t wait to be on his way out of here. He had to force himself to take time eating.

He wanted nothing more than to deliver the letters, collect his hat and get back to town before sundown, but he couldn’t ask Willow and Daisy to read the letters until they were ready to accept them.

No one appeared even remotely interested in the mail. Maybe the trip out here could have waited until morning.

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