Unexpected Father

The pretty redhead Seth Halloway pulls from a derailed train has surprising news for him. The children she’s accompanied to Cowboy Creek aren’t hers—they’re his, thanks to the last wishes of a late friend. Busy rancher Seth must suddenly cope with three rambunctious boys...and try to ignore his growing feelings for independent Marigold Brewster.

Marigold hopes to start over as the town’s new schoolteacher. She’ll choose her own path, and stay aloof from the adorable Radner boys—and their guardian. But the man who rescued her from a wrecked railcar might just be the one to save her from loneliness...if she dares to let him in.

CHERYL ST.JOHN’s love for reading started as a child. She wrote her own stories, designed covers and stapled them into books. She credits many hours of creating scenarios for her paper dolls and Barbies as the start of her fascination with fictional characters. Cheryl loves hearing from readers. Visit her website at cherylstjohn.net or email her at SaintJohn@aol.com.

Also By Cheryl St.John

Return to Cowboy Creek

The Rancher Inherits a Family

Cowboy Creek

Want Ad Wedding

Cowboy Creek Christmas

“Mistletoe Reunion”

Irish Brides

The Wedding Journey

The Preacher’s Wife

To Be a Mother

“Mountain Rose”

Marrying the Preacher’s Daughter

Colorado Courtship

“Winter of Dreams”

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Rancher Inherits a Family

Cheryl St.John

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08255-6

THE RANCHER INHERITS A FAMILY

© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“I’m glad you and your boys are all right.”

“Well, that’s the thing...”

“What’s the thing?”

“They’re not my boys.”

“They’re not?”

“I never saw them before I boarded the train headed for Kansas.”

“Well, then—”

“They’re yours.”

Had he taken a blow to the head, as well? “I assure you I’d know if I had children.”

“Well, as soon as you read this letter, along with a copy of a will, you’ll know.”

At the sound of paper unfolding, he opened his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“It seems a friend of yours by the name of

Tessa Radner wanted you to take her children upon her death.”

* * *

Return to Cowboy Creek:

A bride train delivers the promise of new love

and family to a Kansas boomtown

The Rancher Inherits a Family—

Cheryl St.John, April 2018

His Substitute Mail-Order Bride—

Sherri Shackelford, May 2018

Romancing the Runaway Bride—

Karen Kirst, June 2018

Dear Reader,

Getting reacquainted with all the wonderful characters from the previous Cowboy Creek series and once again working with fellow authors Sherri Shackelford and Karen Kirst was great fun. If you haven’t read the entire series, I hope you’ll look for previous books and enjoy them as well.

Seth and Marigold were interesting characters to develop. Marigold is a resilient, determined young lady who is hungry for love, but afraid to risk it. Seth is a hardworking, responsible rancher who doesn’t have time in his life for an injury, a schoolteacher with a pet cat, or three challenging kids who need a lot of love and attention.

When they’re thrust together, this couple has a lot to learn about themselves—and about love. We’ve all experienced losses, and we’ve all dealt with them in diverse ways. Seth and Marigold have something to teach us, and what we learn from them is that love is worth the risk.

I enjoy keeping in touch with readers.

You can contact me at: Saintjohn@aol.com.

Visit me on the web: http://www.cherylstjohn.net/.

Like my Facebook author page: https://www.Facebook.com/CherylStJ.

See inspiration photos for all the Cowboy Creek books here: http://Pinterest.com/cheryl_stjohn/.

Happy spring!

Cheryl St.John

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

—Proverbs 3:5–6

This book is dedicated to my aunt Marilyn, a kind and gentle spirit. Surely now there are chocolate chip cookies in heaven.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

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

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Cowboy Creek

April 1869

Seth Halloway heaved a burlap sack of dry beans over his shoulder and carried it to the back of the wagon, where he vaulted into the bed and stacked the bag beside kegs and crates. He yanked a faded bandana from his back pocket and wiped his face and neck. The sun was warm for April. Good for the early hay.

“Hadn’t you better clean yerseff up and git over to the station?” Old Horace, shuffling from the interior of Booker & Son general store, slowly drew a cheroot beneath his nostrils and inhaled. He paused at the nearest porch beam and struck a match. The loamy dark scent of tobacco drifted upward. “Bride train’s arrivin’ any time now.”

Seth tucked away the bandana. “Too much work waiting to go gawk at women keen on a husband,” Seth answered. “There’ll be plenty of eager grooms crowding the rails.”

“Might be you’d take a shine to one of those young fillies,” Gus Russell said from the bench where the two old men sat a healthy portion of the day when they weren’t playing horseshoes behind the church.

“A wife is pretty far down my list,” Seth told the two men, who knew all the comings and goings in town. Last fall, he’d sold his land in Missouri to start a ranch here in Kansas, and getting the White Rock stocked and operational took all his time and energy.

“You need sons to help you run that ranch,” Old Horace advised, peering up through a trail of smoke. He punctuated his statement by pointing his pipe stem at Seth.

Seth thought the same thing. He’d learned ranching from his father, and he wanted to pass down land and know-how to his own children, but the war and some unfortunate turns had put a kink in any plans he may have had. “Plenty of time for that.”

Shouts reached them, and the clanging bell across the intersection at the corner of The Cattleman hotel echoed along Eden Street. Seth’s immediate thought was a fire, and a jolt of unease rippled through his chest. He jumped to the ground.

Hoofbeats alerted him to a fast-approaching rider.

“Train derailed to the south!” the cowboy hollered from atop his prancing piebald. “Need ev’rybody’s help!”

Abram Booker appeared in the doorway in his clean white apron. “I’ll get another wagon from the livery. We’ll need to bring in the injured.”

“Help me unload these onto the boardwalk,” Seth called to the cowboy. They made quick work of stacking his purchases, and Abram tossed in an armful of blankets. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’m comin’, too!” Old Horace climbed up to the seat. Seth helped Gus into the back, and by the time they’d gotten to First Street, half a dozen more men and a few women had joined the old men in the back of the wagon. Seth urged the team past the now-deserted railroad station and south alongside the creek after which the town had been named.

He spotted a thin line of black smoke before he came within sight of the train. The engine and tender were overturned, and men worked at putting out fires along the tracks. The hazard of a prairie fire seemed to be under control. The foremost passenger cars had been overturned, and beyond those the stock cars were detached and had skidded together in a zigzag pattern.

The wailing of crying infants and children could be heard, along with shouts of men and whinnying horses. Other townspeople had arrived, as well. A few women offered water and assistance to passengers seated or lying on the sloping ground.

Seth set the brake handle and helped Old Horace down, then joined one of the small groups of men gathering to search cars.

“You’re strong and agile, Halloway.” Chesley Lawton, the portly gray-haired barber, gestured to him. “Come with our group.” He glanced over Seth’s shoulder. “You, too, young fella.”

The five men passed the closest cars and made their way farther along the tracks. A snake slithered from behind a rock and disappeared into the grass ahead. Seth chose a car no one had reached and surveyed the exposed underside facing them. He found hand-and footholds and climbed upward, another young man joining him. Finding the doorway, Seth sidled inside.

Two dozen passengers, having found no way to reach the doors or windows above them, appeared visibly shaken with various cuts and bruises. Together the men helped move debris and assisted women and children out and down to safety. The men made their way out last.

“Anyone still in here?” Satisfied everyone had escaped, Seth climbed out.

The young fellow beside him stuck out a hand as they headed for the next car. “Freddie Simms.”

“Seth Halloway.”

Entering the next car didn’t go as smoothly. The door was jammed and blocked. Freddie ran ahead of him to the front and yanked open the metal door. The cowboy led a group of frightened passengers out of the railcar.

“No wonder the rear door didn’t open.” Once inside, Seth surveyed the destruction. An entire row of seats had come loose and, along with a piece of interior ceiling, were piled at that end. He located an unconscious man with a head wound and kneeled to press his ear to the fellow’s chest. Freddie returned to stand behind him. “Heart’s beating.”

Together, they got the man as far as the doorway, and then shouted for help to get him down the twisted platform to the ground. The three on the ground took the unconscious person’s weight and Freddie helped ease him onto the grass.

Seth turned back inside. “Anyone here?” he called. Crunching broken window glass beneath his boots, he maneuvered toward the rear one more time. A muffled sound caught his attention. The size of the pile blocking the door prevented him from spotting anyone trapped beneath.

He kept searching, moving aside mangled metal and splintered wood. The car lurched, settling beneath him, and his heart jumped. He’d surveyed the ground by the railcar before entering, and there was nowhere for it to slide, so the movement was unsettling, but didn’t pose a threat. The battered seats and metal overhead were a true concern however.

He shoved aside a valise to discover a pair of women’s feet encased in high-top black boots. He wrapped his hand around her ankle and felt for a pulse. The leg moved, along with the dust-covered fabric of her skirt. He let go and wrenched away the cushions and frames, exposing a space where the fallen seats had formed a protective barrier. After dislodging the seats, he discovered a huddled woman and three children. He stifled his amazement and asked, “Are you all right?”

“I—I think so.”

The reverend, Virgil Taggart, joined Freddie behind him. He breathed a prayer of thanks and reached to take the children’s hands one at time. All three boys’ faces were tear-streaked and the youngest’s jagged breathing demonstrated his fear and recent crying. Freddie picked up the smallest one and herded the others toward the door.

“Come on, ma’am.” Seth helped the woman to her feet. She was taller than he’d expected—younger as well. Her red-gold hair had fallen from its mooring and hung over her shoulder in a shiny wave, with hairpins protruding. “You and your boys are safe. We’ll get you all to a doctor.”

“Peony is still under that pile somewhere.” The young woman backed away from the reverend’s outstretched hand and stepped closer to Seth. Her wide hazel eyes, with flecks of gold and green, had the uncanny ability to plead with his sensibilities. “I can’t leave her.”

Startled at that disturbing information, Seth turned back to the corner where he’d found them. Another child buried, injured or worse? “Where was she?”

“Right beside me when the train crashed, but I’m afraid all the shifting debris has covered her.”

“Get back.” He grasped her by the upper arms and moved her. Clearing away twisted metal, he got on his belly and pressed farther into the space from where he’d only just uncovered the passenger and her other children.

A mewling similar to a baby’s drove a shiver up his spine. An infant? Lord, help me find her and get her out of this.

The sound came again, much louder this time.

“That’s her! That’s Peony!”

He spotted a small cage at the same time the woman’s voice and the feline squalling registered. “A cat? Peony is a cat?”

“Do you see her?”

The railcar shifted again.

“Come on, lady!” Freddie bellowed. “I’ve got her. Get out of there, Halloway!”

Seth inched closer, reached for the cage and inched backward. Backing out of the narrow space wasn’t as easy as going forward. He had to push with his elbows and wrists and then scoot the cage along, a fraction at a time. Finally, he had his body out of the tunnel, but a loud creak from above alerted him to imminent danger. He threw his arm over his head a split second before an unhinged seat broke loose.

* * *

Seth’s shoulder and wrist throbbed under what he guessed, due to the numbing cold, was an ice pack. He opened his gritty eyes and squinted against the light that was making his head hurt. He didn’t recognize the room or the pungent earthy smells. The pain in the other hand was appallingly familiar. He’d taken more than one shot during the war, as well as a couple after. A groan escaped his lips.

“Mr. Halloway.” The soft voice near his side added to his disorientation. “Are you in pain?”

Ivory-skinned and hazel-eyed, with a halo of red-gold hair, the woman from the train came into view. She’d rearranged the shiny mass back on her head and had only a scrape on her chin as a result of the ordeal. “You fared well,” he said, barely managing to get the words out.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

“And the children?”

“They have a few bumps and bruises from the crash, but they’re safe.”

He closed his eyes with grim satisfaction.

“I’m Marigold Brewster.”

If she was one of the brides, she was certainly a young widow. And more power to the man willing to take on all those kids. “Seth Halloway.”

“I know. The other men told me your name. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“I’m glad you and your boys are all right. Reverend Taggart must’ve been praying the whole while.”

“Well, that’s the thing...”

His head throbbed and the light hurt. He closed his eyes. “What’s the thing?”

“They’re not my boys.”

“They’re not?”

“I never saw them before I boarded the train headed for Kansas.”

“Well, then—”

“They’re yours.”

With his uninjured hand, he touched his forehead gingerly. Had that blow to his head rattled his senses? No, he hadn’t lost his memory. He remembered what he’d been doing before heading off to the wreckage, and he recalled what had happened inside the railcar. “I assure you I’d know if I had children.”

“Well, as soon as you read this letter, along with a copy of the will, you’ll know.”

At the sound of paper unfolding, he opened his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“It seems a friend of yours by the name of Tessa Radner wanted you to take her children upon her death.”

“Tessa... She’s dead?”

“This letter says she is. I’m sorry.”

He remembered his friend well. They’d been neighbors and classmates in Big Bend, Missouri, a hundred years ago. He’d joined the infantry alongside her husband, Jessie. Jessie had made it nearly all the way through the war and had been killed at the end of the Appomattox Campaign in Northern Virginia’s final battle. Seth winced at the magnitude of senseless loss.

Miss Brewster held up the letter, so he could read it. Tessa had gotten sick and her main concern was for her children. She’d believed she was getting better, but had taken a turn for the worse. Arranging to send her children to Cowboy Creek had been her frantic effort to see they were cared for. She’d been a young widow, frightened to die, frightened to leave behind her children. Seth’s chest ached with sorrow and sympathy for his childhood friend. But sending her beloved babies to him? She must have been desperate to believe he was her best choice. What was he going to do with them?

He realized she was still holding the letter and his vision had blurred on the words. He glanced up. “So...you’re their chaperone?”

“No, I’m the new schoolteacher. I’ve been hired to replace Miss Aldridge. The town council paid my fare. I met the boys—Tate, Harper and Little John—soon after the trip started, and asked why they were traveling without supervision. I shudder to think what might have happened to them. Tate showed me this letter, which explained why they were alone. Harper and Little John looked so frightened, and Tate was trying to be brave and act as though he had everything under control. He’s only seven himself. All I did was help them out as best I could.”

The news was a lot to take in. He would show the letter and the will to his brother, Russ, who was an attorney. Russ would know if everything was on the up-and-up, but Seth didn’t know what choice he had. If these were Jessie and Tessa’s sons, and they had no other family, he had no choice. He always did the right thing, the responsible thing.

He swallowed, finding his throat dry. “Well, I reckon we’re even then.”

“Pardon?”

“We’re even. You took care of the boys, and I rescued you.”

“I suppose so,” she agreed.

The door opened and Dr. Marlys Mason entered, wearing a crisp blue dress and a white apron. “How are you feeling, Mr. Halloway?”

“Call me Seth. I’ve been worse.”

“Yes, I noticed that when I removed your shirt. Besides several other interesting scars, one from a .58 Minié ball, I’d say.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You can tell the caliber by the scar?”

“Indeed, and you were fortunate it was the Minié ball because the greater weight and velocity allowed it to penetrate and come out the other side. Another inch and it would have shattered your shoulder or become lodged in the bone and necessitated amputation.”

Beside him Marigold sucked in a breath of surprise.

“There are a couple of wounds I don’t recognize, though,” the doctor added, clearly fascinated and peering again to have another look. “These inch-long scars on your upper arm and your shoulder.”

He raised his arm only to regret it when pain shot through his ribs. “Arrows.”

The doctor’s eyebrows rose. “Arrows?”

“Comanche.”

“They didn’t pierce bone, however.”

“I was a moving target.”

“Fascinating. How were they removed?”

“Grin and yank. The ones that had gone clean through were easiest because I could break off the tips.”

Dr. Mason’s fascination was evident in her raised eyebrows. He had spoken to the doctor other times, and was accustomed to her logical thinking and straightforward speech. Her intelligence and intuition impressed him. He glanced over, and Miss Brewster, on the other hand, appeared a shade paler and unimpressed. “I’m glad they brought me to you, Dr. Mason. I respect your natural remedies. What’s ailing me at the moment?”

Marlys peered into his eyes one at a time. “You took a blow to the head, but seem to be clearheaded now. I want to observe you overnight however. Besides the head injury, you have several contusions and your ulna is broken.”

“My arm?”

“Yes, this bone,” she said, raising her arm to show him the underside. “It’s a clean break, and will heal properly in a few weeks. I’ll put a cast on it as soon as the swelling is down. I’ll make a poultice for those ribs and we’ll wrap them. I would say a large object struck you there, rather than something with an edge, which would have broken or cracked ribs. Bruising will heal far more quickly, but is still quite painful. I will supply you with herbs. Those ribs will hurt every time you move until they’ve had a couple of weeks to heal.”

He closed his eyes against the worrisome news of recovery time.

“You have ranch hands,” she said, as though she’d read his thoughts.

Yes, if he counted a full-grown boy who came after doing his own chores and an old man.

He attempted to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. “What I have is a ranch to run.”

* * *

Marigold recognized the overwhelming apprehension on her rescuer’s face. She’d taken care of her sister and her niece for a long time, and she understood the weight of responsibility. Poor Mr. Halloway had just learned he had three more mouths to feed and was now unable to handle his chores for the unforeseen future.

“You’re not going to be doing any ranching for a while,” Dr. Mason told him, her voice and expression stern. “Do not use that arm for any reason.”

“I can’t lie around doing nothing.”

The doctor placed a gentle but firm hand on her agitated patient’s shoulder and eased him back to a prone position. “Rest now will spare you a future impediment. A brief respite only makes sense.”

He swiped a hand over his face in obvious frustration, causing Marigold to speak up.

“I will help Mr. Halloway get home when he’s ready,” she told the pretty lady doctor. “It’s the very least I can do after he’s saved our lives. He’s only just learned he has three boys to take home as well.” Belatedly, she thought about his situation. “Do you have a wife to help out, Mr. Halloway?”

“No,” he replied. “Just me and my mother.”

She truly hoped his mother was an understanding and capable woman. As a teacher, she knew full well how active these boys would be.

“I’ll need to find someone who knows what’s been done with the luggage. I was told I’d be living with the students’ families, so I’m not sure what to do with my clothing and personal belongings just yet. But books and supplies can be delivered to the school. It’s a fairly new building, I understand.”

Marlys nodded. “You can see it from the front windows of this office if you look northeast. It faces Lincoln Boulevard, so from here two sides of the yard and the south side of the school are visible. I hear the children when they’re at play.”

Marigold smiled. “I’m relieved to know you’re so close. I feared I’d be in a rural area with no neighbors or help if I needed it.”

“Not at all. The schoolhouse faces a growing neighborhood to the east, and it’s only a block from the main thoroughfare.”

Marigold stood. “I’ll take the children with me now, so they can see a bit of the town. Once we’ve located our belongings and I’ve arranged to have them moved, I’ll be back.”

“I had my wagon and team with me at the site of the wreck,” Seth told her. “My supplies should still be stacked in front of Booker & Son. Hopefully someone took care of my horses. Can you drive a team?”

“I’m sorry to say I cannot.”

“We’ll find someone to transport your supplies,” Marlys assured him. “Why don’t you plan on staying here tonight, Miss Brewster? There’s a room in the rear where I lived before I was married. I’ll be staying here to keep an eye on Seth and the other patients, so my husband will take the boys home for the night. We have a son, and he’ll be glad for the company. It won’t be a problem. Tomorrow, after everyone is rested, will be soon enough to take Seth and the children to the ranch and learn where you’re staying.”

“Will you send a rider to let my mother know what’s happened and that I’m all right?” Seth asked.

Marigold gave her rescuer what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Yes, of course.”

“And one other thing, if you don’t mind. My brother was likely among the men helping at the wreck. If you could ask around to see if anyone knows his whereabouts and let him know I’m here? His name is Russ.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

She sensed his gaze on her back as she slipped from the room. She paused in the outer office area, collecting her senses. She’d made the decision to come to Cowboy Creek, hoping for a new start, but so far nothing had gone according to plan. She captured her thoughts. Just the fact that she was alive and her young traveling companions were unharmed was cause enough for thanksgiving.

“Thank You, Lord,” she breathed. “Give me strength and fortitude for the days ahead.”

Her gaze lit on the three towheaded boys in the waiting area, their wide, uncertain eyes focused on her. She hadn’t the vaguest idea what she was doing.

Chapter Two

After asking Dr. Mason if it was all right to leave Peony in her cage in the waiting room, Marigold led Tate, Harper and Little John out of the doctor’s office and glanced west.

“I think your kitty is hungry,” Harper, the five-year-old, said with concern in his dark eyes.

“Dr. Mason fed her,” Marigold assured him. “She’s still frightened from the train ride and the accident. All this is strange for her.” She glanced up and down the street, her attention lighting on the closest building, which bore a sign that read Bath House. “Once we find our luggage and have clean clothing, I think a trip to the bathing establishment is in order.”

Harper shook his sandy-colored hair and ran his fingers through it so dirt and bits of unidentifiable rubble fell out. “I don’t need no bath.”

“Harper don’t like baths,” Tate told her. At only seven, he took responsibility for seeing to his younger siblings’ needs and wishes. He was slender, with shaggy blond hair and a serious expression.

“I’m afraid baths are in order for everyone today,” she told the three of them. “After our journey and then lying under all that wreckage, none of us are presentable. And we probably don’t smell very good.”

Harper sniffed his arm and shrugged.

The three-year-old, Little John, stuck his thumb into his mouth and gazed up at her with wide brown eyes. The contrast of his large dark eyes and pale hair gave him a waiflike appearance. She took in his soft-looking round cheeks, his spiky dark lashes, and an ache knotted in her chest. He was so young—all of them were too young to be without their parents. Too young to be traveling across the country without supervision. Who put children on a train all alone? What if Seth Halloway hadn’t been in Cowboy Creek? What if he’d denied knowing their mother and turned them away?

She collected her thoughts and concerns. Mr. Halloway had been here. He had come to their rescue, and he was taking responsibility for the three of them.

“You all must be hungry. I know I am. Are you hungry, Little John?”

He nodded.

She drew herself up straight. “Let’s go find the mercantile and arrange for Mr. Halloway’s wagon to be found and his supplies delivered. We’ll figure out a meal.”

A touch at her wrist drew her attention down. Little John found her hand and grasped it securely. His fingers were small and damp. She clasped them back. An arrow of distress pierced her conscience at his trust. What was she doing? How had she found herself exactly where she’d planned never to be? She was not going to develop an attachment to someone else’s children, no matter how deserving. She’d come to Cowboy Creek to start over, to distance herself from her past, from the losses and the hurt. She was determined to choose her own path for the future. She refused to have circumstances thrust upon her.

Her uneasy conscience warred with self-preservation. It was her Christian duty to help these children. She owed Seth Halloway for rescuing them. Who knows how long they might have been trapped in that railcar if he hadn’t been persistent or intuitive, or led by the hand of God? A fire could have broken out. Anything might have happened. And he’d been injured in the process. The least she could do was help until they all got home. She took a deep breath and pushed back the sharp twinges of panic.

She spotted Booker & Son and led the boys across the street, where several people conversed. “I wonder if I might trouble one of you for some help?”

A short, stout woman separated herself from the group and hurried forward. “Land sakes, look at these little ones. And you. Are you one of the brides?”

“I’m Marigold Brewster, ma’am. I’m the new schoolteacher.”

The woman introduced herself as Aunt Mae and presented the others on the boardwalk. “We weren’t aware you were bringing children.”

“No, no, I didn’t bring them. I met them on the train.” Briefly, Marigold explained the situation with Seth and what was needed.

“I saw Russ leaving town on a train a day or two ago,” one of the younger men said. “I’ll watch for him to return and let him know Seth’s at Doc Mason’s.”

“Seth’s wagon is at the livery, and his horses are cared for,” another explained. “I’ll go for the rig and we’ll get these supplies loaded.”

The men had Seth’s supplies loaded quickly. A young cowboy with long jet-black hair and beadwork in the shape of Texas on the back of his vest tied his horse behind, tipped his hat to Marigold and headed out to let Seth’s mother know her son was all right.

“Let’s not stand around here gabbing any longer. Come with me. That’s my place right there.” Aunt Mae pointed to a boardinghouse across the street. “I’ll get all of you something to eat. Afterward, these gentlemen will help you find your belongings.”

Marigold had never met such helpful and warm people. As she led the Radner boys across the street, Little John took her hand once again, and she glanced down. His brown eyes were nothing like the hazel ones in her memory, but they lodged protective feelings in her heart all the same.

Lord, help me guard my heart.

* * *

Living up to her name, Aunt Mae treated them like family. The motherly woman prepared them a satisfying meal. “Do you have any idea how many patients Doc Mason is seeing to?”

“I’d say at least half a dozen are there right now,” Marigold replied. “But she spoke as though only Seth and one other were spending the night.”

“They missed their noon meal. I’ll send trays for six.” Aunt Mae lowered her voice. “She’s a fine healer and a kinder person never lived, but she’s not much of a cook.”

The boys had washed up at the dry sink on the back porch, and she suspected she looked as silly as they did with only a clean face and hands, and her hair dirty and disheveled. They boys ate ravenously, and Marigold exchanged a glance with the older woman. She carried a second pitcher of milk to the table and they held out their glasses for refills. She agreed the bath house would be their most efficient option, since her boardinghouse had only one tub.

Thankfully, there was a knock on the front door and Aunt Mae returned minutes later to say her trunks and the boys’ bags had been left on her front porch.

“I suppose they can sit there until we figure out where we’re going,” Marigold said. It was unsettling to be uncertain of where she’d be staying. “I’ll gather clean clothing for today.”

At the bath house, they were assigned curtained-off chambers and provided with soap and towels. Tate insisted on bathing himself, but Aunt Mae and Marigold put Harper and Little John in one tub and shared the chore of scrubbing two little boys who didn’t want to be washed. They both had a few scrapes and bruises from the accident, so the women gently cleaned their injuries. Harper endured the washing, but Little John cried, and Marigold felt dreadful for his discomfort. These children had lost their mother and been shuffled across the country, ending up in a heap of train wreckage.

“It’s going to be all right,” she said to him and used the corner of a towel to dry his reddened face and his watery dark eyes. “After we’re clean and dressed I’ll read you a story. Would you like that?”

The toddler’s lower lip continued to tremble, but he lifted his wide trusting gaze to hers and nodded.

“All right,” she said with an encouraging smile.

“Do all of us get to hear the story?” Harper asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Poor little lambs,” Aunt Mae said after they’d dried the boys and supervised their clean clothing and hair combing. She waited with them while Marigold took her own bath and washed her hair. Her chin hurt to the touch, and she had a bruise on her shoulder that ached, and another on her wrist she hadn’t noticed.

Marigold thanked the woman for all of her help, but Aunt Mae just gave a shrug and hurried home to tend to her boarders.

A deep orange sun hung low in the sky and cast long shadows in front of the four of them as they walked back to Dr. Mason’s office.

Dr. Mason was ushering a cowboy with a bandage wrapped around his wrist from one of the examination rooms. He greeted Marigold with a crooked smile. Taking a hat from the rack near the door, he glanced back at her two more times, his gaze skittering away each time, before he finally exited the office.

“Get used to it,” the doctor said with an amused grin. “There’s a shortage of young women in this town, and especially pretty ones like you. You’ll receive a lot of attention.” She reached for Marigold’s chin and tipped up her face to get a better look. “You have a bruise here I didn’t notice before.”

“It was probably covered with dirt. I have some aches I didn’t notice at first.”

“I’ll make you a poultice for it. It will take down the swelling.”

Marigold admired the other woman’s efficiency, the way she moved about her offices with confidence. She liked the idea of working to support herself and of being indebted to no one. If she decided to marry one day, she would do the choosing.

“Did you enjoy one of the meals Aunt Mae sent?” she asked the doctor.

“Yes, she is thoughtful. Let’s see if Seth is ready to eat something. He was sleeping last time I looked in on him so I didn’t disturb him.” She gestured for them to enter his room. “I figured he and the children would want to get acquainted before they leave for the night, so I carried in a few chairs.”

Dressed in wrinkled but clean clothing, their damp hair parted and slicked back, the boys entered the small room ahead of Marigold. Tate took Little John’s hand and guided him forward.

“Mr. Halloway?” Marigold said softly.

He was already awake, a purplish bruise having formed on his cheekbone. With an assessing coffee-brown gaze, he took in the trio of youngsters without revealing his thoughts. He was a large man, seeming to take up the entire narrow bed where he was resting, a sheet covering him to his waist. It had taken several men to lower his unconscious form from the railcar, and three strong ones to carry him into the doctor’s office. Above the bandages that wrapped his torso, his shoulders and upper arms were powerfully muscled, attesting to arduous work. His russet-brown hair was chin-length and wavy, and he wore a thick, neatly trimmed mustache.

Little John turned and clung to Tate’s waist, obviously frightened by the bear of a man sizing him up.

“Mr. Halloway?” Marigold said again. “This is Tate Radner.”

Tall for his seven years, with dark blond hair, Tate took a jerky step forward and bravely extended a hand. Little John immediately released his older brother and attached himself to Marigold’s leg. “How do, sir.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tate. You look like your father.”

Obviously pleased, Tate puffed up his chest. “You knew our pa?”

“I did. We enlisted together. Served in different regiments, but ran across each other from time to time.”

“This here’s Harper,” Tate said, turning back to the five-year-old, whose fair hair had dried with a cowlick at the crown. Tate gave his brother a little tug.

Harper shuffled a few steps toward the bed, stared at Seth’s enormous outstretched hand for a moment, quickly placed his narrow fingers into the palm, then released it and scuttled back beside Marigold.

“You look like your mama,” Seth told him.

Harper glanced from Seth to Tate and back.

“And this here is Little John,” Tate said, pointing to the three-year-old with wispy platinum hair.

Little John’s wide eyes opened even wider. He stuck his thumb into his mouth and Marigold was relieved that he didn’t immediately burst into tears.

“We call him that ’cause he’s little. Pa named him Jonathan, but Mama said that name was too big for a little sprout.”

Seth’s mustache twitched and his mouth settled into an amused smile. “Little John sounds about right.”

“Why don’t you boys take seats?” Marigold suggested. “I’ll read the story I promised while Mr. Halloway eats his dinner.”

“Seth,” he said, turning his dark gaze on her and catching her by surprise with his intensity. No wonder the boys had flinched under his scrutiny. “They should call me Seth.”

She gave a nod. “Very well.”

Marlys, who’d been standing behind them during their introductions, moved near the bed. “I’ll slide some more pillows behind you so you can sit up.”

He cast her a doubtful glance.

“The herbs will help with the pain so you can move enough to incline a bit. Don’t try to do it alone today. Let us help.” She glanced at Marigold.

Marigold jerked into action and stood beside the bed.

“Each of us will take an upper arm like this.” She demonstrated, placing her forearm along Seth’s forearm and clasping his bicep securely. “Then we’ll let our arms do the work, and not your back or ribs. Got it?”

Seth glanced at Marigold, likely sizing her up for the job. She rested her right forearm along his and placed her hand around the muscled circumference above his elbow. His arm was warm and work-hardened, and decidedly masculine. An unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation fluttered in her chest. Her gaze moved to the scars on his muscled arm, where he’d been shot with Comanche arrows. This man was as different as night and day from anyone she’d ever met before. Her gaze slid hesitantly to his. Seth assessed her hair, her eyes, her chin and lips, and her skin flushed under his perusal.

“On three,” Marlys said.

He had another scar above his right eyebrow, where the skin wasn’t tanned like the rest of his face, and a fresh cut under the same eye she hadn’t noticed before. Two neat sutures held the cut closed.

“One. Two. Three.”

He grasped her arm gingerly, undoubtedly holding back so as to hurt neither her nor the lady doctor, but she gripped his and pulled firmly. His lips formed a white line, but he sat up and leaned forward. Marlys quickly slid pillows behind his back and the women allowed him to inch back onto the added support.

A fine glow of perspiration glistened on his forehead, and Marlys used a damp cloth to blot it away.

“Are you doing all right?” Marlys asked.

Seth released a breath. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Marlys hurried from the room, returned with a tray and settled it on his lap. “I’m going to see to one of my other patients now.”

“Thank you.” After the doctor had gone, he glanced at Marigold. “And thank you, Miss Brewster.”

Marigold uncovered the plate and handed it to Seth, along with a fork. His attention moved to the boys, who were taking up only two chairs, because Little John huddled on Tate’s lap.

She got the book she’d brought along and seated herself beside Harper. “My books are still packed in trunks, but I had this one with me. It’s about a little girl, but we’ll have plenty of time to read stories about boys later.”

“What is the book called?” Harper asked.

“Jessica’s First Prayer.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s about a little girl abandoned in London, but she makes an unlikely friend.”

“Who is the friend?”

Marigold grinned. “You will have to be patient, listen and find out.” She opened to the first page. “‘In a screened and secluded corner of one of the many railway-bridges which span the streets of London there could be seen a few years ago, from five o’clock every morning until half past eight, a tidily set-out coffee-stall, consisting of a trestle and board, upon which stood two large tin cans, with a small fire of charcoal burning under each so as to keep the coffee boiling during the early hours of the morning when the work-people were thronging into the city on their way to their daily toil.’”

“What’s a coffee-stall?” Tate asked.

“An open booth where a vendor...where a person sells coffee.”

“What’s a trestle?” Harper asked.

“A bridge,” Tate replied.

“Well, there are trestle bridges,” she answered, “but this is a makeshift table.”

“Trestle is the wood frame that’s holding the board on top to make a table or a bridge,” Seth explained.

Marigold gave him a relieved glance. “Yes, exactly. The table is set up so the coffee can sit upon it.”

“And then the little girl sells it,” Harper suggested.

She gave Seth an apologetic glance. “This might take a while.”

The fork hovered above his plate. He studied the faces of the curious boys, his overwhelmed expression revealing doubts about his ability to raise three young boys while he ran a ranch. He met her gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

In that instant and with those words, much as he’d ignored pain for the sake of remaining calm in front of the children—as well as for the sake of his pride, no doubt—she watched him deny his sizable struggle and accept the responsibility that had been delivered to his door. These children frightened her. But he frightened her more. She needed control of her future. She sensed the threat each of them presented to that control.

She wanted people of her own choosing in her life, but so far, since arriving, circumstances were determining her actions. Marigold turned back to the book. She could handle anything for a short time.

* * *

The doctor’s husband, Samuel Woods Mason, was the local newspaperman. Marigold recognized his name right away, had followed his articles covering the war and read the book he’d written afterward about his army experiences. He was a talkative, friendly man and arrived with a handsome young son some time later.

“You’re the new schoolteacher?”

She extended a hand. “Yes. I’m Marigold Brewster.”

They stood in the exterior portion of the doctor’s office.

“When things settle down, I’d like to do an interview and write a piece for the Webster County Daily News. Your arrival will be of interest to the citizens.”

“Well, I don’t know how interesting I am, but I’d be happy to let people know my plans for the students.”

“Everyone is interesting if I ask the right questions,” he said with a smile. “And in this town women are of utmost interest. This is August,” he said, indicating his son. The slender boy had jet-black hair and lashes like his father’s, and appeared a couple of years older than Tate.

Marigold extended a hand. “I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other at school.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“August loves to read,” Marlys told her. “He’s learned to speak Chinese and now together, we’re learning to write the characters. He can also understand German and is picking up some Shawnee.”

Marigold looked at the boy in surprise. “My goodness. That’s impressive, August.”

He gave her a bashful smile. “Marlys teaches me languages. We visit the people who speak it so we can learn.”

He’d called the doctor Marlys, but looked to her with affection.

“Come meet the children who will soon be in your class.” Marlys rested her hand on his shoulder and introduced the boys, who’d been sitting on chairs in the waiting room. The four of them looked each other over.

“You’re going to stay with us tonight while Dr. Mason looks after your—after Mr. Halloway,” Sam explained. “We can get up early and have breakfast at The Cattleman.”

“They have flapjacks and sausage,” August told them.

The boys looked at Marigold for confirmation. She felt so out of her league with these children. She’d taught in stressful circumstances, with inadequate supplies, and in cold classrooms during the war, but she’d always been confident she had something to offer her students. These children needed so much more than she could give them.

But right now, they simply needed assurance that they were going to be safe and together, and she could offer them that. She kneeled in front of the trio and took Little John’s damp hand. “August and Mr. Mason are going to take good care of you tonight.” She looked from one little face to the next. “You’re all safe and you’re together. Tomorrow we’ll get you settled at Mr. Hallo—At Seth’s ranch. Your travels are over, and you’re going to be just fine.”

As she stood, Little John dug his fist into her skirt and clung to the fabric.

“Let go, Little John,” Tate told his smallest brother.

Little John’s lower lip trembled.

She thought quickly. “I’ll tell you what.” She moved to a nearby table, under which her open bag sat. Attached to her skirt, the toddler followed. She reached into the satchel and withdrew the book they’d started earlier. “You take care of the book for me, Little John. And tomorrow we’ll read more.”

After a moment’s thought, he released her skirt to grasp the book and clutched it to his chest. “Aw-wight.”

“That’s a good boy. Thank you.” She handed Sam the small valise that held their belongings and he led them out the door.

An ache opened in her chest as she watched them leave with a stranger. She’d been a stranger to them until a few days ago, and now she was their lifeline. They were vulnerable and helpless in a world of unfamiliar people.

Except for Seth Halloway, of course, she reminded herself. He was a strong capable man, willing and able to take over their care. Just as soon as he was on his feet again.

“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping tonight,” Marlys told her. “It’s perfectly comfortable. I lived here before Sam and I married last year. I carried your pet’s cage into the room earlier.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Marlys, please.” She led the way into a long narrow room that ran the width of the building. It held a bed and bureau, a woodstove and a table with two chairs. “Feel free to make yourself a pot of tea. There’s wood in the bin. The necessary is at the end of the path out back. It’s visible in the moonlight.”

It had been six days since Marigold had dressed in her nightgown and been afforded a comfortable place to rest. Her entire body ached, and exhaustion was catching up with her. From her cage, Peony, too, was making her displeasure clear. Marigold unfastened the latch and the long-haired ginger cat stepped out, immediately inspecting the area.

Marigold had dreamed of a cup of tea, but tonight she settled for a glass of water and poured a bowlful for the cat. Marigold slipped the thick braided ribbon leash she’d made for the train ride around Peony’s neck and let her out for a few minutes, talking softly to her the whole time. Bringing Peony on the train had been challenging, but Marigold had lost so much already, she couldn’t bear to leave her pet behind. Peony symbolized home and stability—a small comfort, but a much-needed one. It would be good to get settled, so the poor dear could get used to a home again.

She changed into a delightfully unrestrictive soft cotton gown and climbed under the covers on the narrow bed. Peony leaped up and stretched along her side, her purring loud in the small room. Sweet comfort engulfed Marigold, and she stroked the animal’s soft fur. She prayed whoever took her in first was amenable to having the cat as well. “Thank You, Lord, for hearing my prayer in that railcar and sending Mr. Halloway.”

She thought of Little John’s frightened eyes, of Harper’s inquisitiveness and Tate’s brave front. Seth Halloway was going to take good care of them. He was a responsible, hardworking person. Even lying down, he probably looked like a giant to them. Fingers curled in the cat’s long silky fur, she imagined the giant tied down by the six-inch inhabitants of Lilliput in Gulliver’s Travels and smiled.

It was the last thought she had until sleep claimed her.

When she opened her eyes again, sunlight was streaming through the small window at the end of the room. She couldn’t recall falling asleep, but she remembered the strange dream. The grainy mirror over the bureau reflected a rested yet disheveled young woman with a garish purple bruise on her chin. She set her valise on the bed and found her hairbrush. Several minutes later, after dressing, gathering her clean hair into a tidy knot and feeding the cat, she put Peony back into her cage and stepped into the office.

She discovered Marlys working in an enormous cabinet filled with hanging stems and dozens of bottles and jars. The earthy aroma was strong, but not unpleasant, and unlike anything she’d ever smelled.

“I didn’t intend to sleep so long,” she said, apologizing after she greeted the doctor.

“You needed your rest. I remember what that journey was like.”

“How is Mr. Halloway this morning?”

“It’s going to be difficult keeping him still,” Marlys told her. “He’s dressed and eaten already. Aunt Mae sent food for all of us.” She pointed toward a tray on the nearby table. “There’s yours. While you eat, I’ll make you a small poultice for your chin.”

Marigold looked over the labeled jars and crocks, the bunches of hanging dried plants. “What is all this?”

Marlys explained about her practice, how she gathered most of her herbs and roots, how she’d learned healing techniques from the Cheyenne and Chinese. She was a fascinating woman, one Marigold hoped to get to know better.

“James Johnson will be here in a bit to escort all of you to the ranch,” Marlys told her. “He’s a nice young man with a baby girl named Ava. His wife, Hannah, is a skilled seamstress. Her services are in such high demand, she’s had to hire help in her shop.”

Marigold uncovered the food tray and found oatmeal, toast and cooked apple slices that smelled like cinnamon. She scooped them into her oatmeal and perched on a stool near the doctor to eat. “I’m sure there are a lot of new people to meet.”

“How did you come to teach—and to accept this position?”

“My mother was sickly and my father traveled a lot. I had a teacher who took an interest in me, and when her husband went to fight, she and I spent a lot of time together. She helped me get my teaching certificate. Her husband didn’t return from the war, so she moved to be with family. That’s when I became the schoolteacher in our small town, Athens, Ohio. My older sister and I inherited our parents’ home, so things were comfortable enough for a while.”

None of that explained why she was here. She rested her spoon on the tray. She’d come here to put all of this behind her but for some reason she related her story to the woman. “We both worked and cared for my niece. It wasn’t easy for a couple of years, but we had each other. Then Daisy got sick. I took care of her, but she got weaker and weaker until she died.”

The doctor turned and gave her a sympathetic nod. “I’m sorry.” Then she handed her a warm wet cloth covered in pungent-smelling leaves. “Press that to the bruise.”

Marigold did as instructed. The soothing warmth felt good. “After that I just couldn’t stay in that big empty house.”

“And your niece? Where is she?”

A crushing weight pressed against Marigold’s heart. She flattened her palm against her breast as though to relieve the ache. “She... Her father came and got her. She went to live with him.”

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

Marigold shook her head. “No, it’s all right. We all have our stories.”

A sound alerted them to another’s presence in the room. She turned to discover Seth Halloway’s imposing presence several feet away. He’d dressed in his clothing, which had obviously been laundered and pressed since yesterday—brown trousers, a loose white shirt without a collar and suspenders. He had a worn holster with a revolver slung over his shoulder. She’d thought him imposing lying down, but he was an even more intimidating figure standing erect.

“Mr. Halloway experienced one of my mineral baths this morning.” The lady doctor closed and locked her cupboard before walking toward him. “How does your side feel now?”

“Surprisingly better.”

“Is your head hurting any longer?”

“No.”

She reached up to move the hair from his forehead, and Marigold astonished herself by wondering what that lock felt like to the touch. Her fingertips against the poultice pack tingled, and warmth crept into her cheeks.

“The swelling has gone down,” Marlys told him. “All you need now is rest. I’m going to warn you the ride home won’t be pleasant with those bruised ribs. I want you to take a tincture for the trip.”

“It feels better.”

The business-like lady doctor put a hand on her hip. “Do you want to spend the entire ride in pain and pretending it doesn’t hurt so you don’t frighten the children?”

His lowered eyebrows showed he hadn’t considered that. “All right. Just for the ride.” His gaze traveled to Marigold and pinned her to her seat. “Are you all right?”

“Oh. Yes. Just a bruise.” She took away the cloth, so he could see her chin.

Seth took a few steps closer and reached to pick a leaf from her skin. He set it on the cloth in her hand. His lashes were thick and black, his eyes revealing concern as he inspected her injury. Her breathing came shallow and ragged at his unsettling nearness.

The bell over the door chimed and Seth stepped back, breaking the tension. The black-haired young man who had taken Seth’s supplies to the ranch the day before removed his hat. “Mornin’, ladies. Halloway.”

“Thanks for your help, James,” Seth said to the newcomer.

“James, this is Miss Brewster, our new schoolteacher,” the doctor said. “Marigold, this is James Johnson.”

“How do, miss.” He inquired about their bags and carried them outside.

The door opened again and a slender older woman wearing a small gray hat with red ribbons flowing down the back stepped in, her gaze darting to Seth. The hem of her red-and-gray plaid dress swished when she hurried toward him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m good. A little banged up, but I’ll be fine.”

The top of her head only came to his collarbone, but she rested her head against his chest and he gently hugged her with one arm. “I couldn’t wait to see for myself. There were so many injured. Thanks be to the good Lord no one died.” She stepped back and turned her attention to Marigold. “And you must be Miss Brewster.”

“Yes.” She stood, setting down the poultice, and let the older woman give her a brief embrace, the delicate scent of lilac water drifting to her nostrils.

“I’m Evelyn. Seth’s mother. I’m so sorry about this difficulty and so relieved you weren’t seriously injured.”

His mother...of course. He had her dark hair and eyes. “Your son came to our rescue or it might have been much worse.”

“I don’t want you to worry about anything,” she went on. “I’ve made arrangements for you to stay at White Rock. We have plenty of room, and what with the news that we’ll have three little ones, two in school, it will be convenient to transport you to town in the morning with the children.”

“White Rock?” she asked.

“Seth’s ranch,” his mother explained. “You’re coming to stay with us.”

Chapter Three

Marigold rolled that announcement around in her mind for a moment. She was going to be staying with the Halloways? She’d had no idea where she’d be staying, except that her room would be at a student’s home and likely change occasionally. But this arrangement had her thoughts spinning. Seth, too, looked every bit as surprised by his mother’s revelation as she felt.

She had her reservations about going home with this family—especially with the children. She’d been drawn to them, felt compassion for them, offered them care and concern...as long as she knew this was a temporary occurrence. After today she’d believed she wouldn’t meet them again until they showed up in her classroom. But now she would be living with them?

“When did you make this arrangement?” Seth asked, echoing her mental question. Marlys handed him a vial holding a clear liquid and a glass of water. He drank both and gave her a nod.

“After young James explained the situation and all the upheaval in town. I rode in early this morning and spoke with Will and Daniel,” his mother explained.

The lady doctor turned to Marigold. “Will Canfield and Daniel Gardner are two of the town founders and formed the city council,” she explained. “They help arrange the bride trains to aid the establishment of Cowboy Creek.”

“You’ll be able to see Daniel and Leah Gardner’s house from the schoolhouse,” Seth’s mother said. “He owns the stockyards. Leah arrived on a bride train, and she’s a midwife and—” Evelyn Halloway shook her head. “Sorry, I got ahead of myself. You’ll have plenty of time to know everyone in town.” She gave Marigold a smile. “The important thing is, the city council took a quick vote this morning and agreed it was logical for you to stay with us. James located the rest of your belongings and has them loaded. The boys didn’t bring much, I hear?”

Marigold experienced the sensation of being swept along in a swift-moving current. “No, only two small bags of clothing, and Mr. Johnson already took one, along with mine.”

Marlys gestured to the window. “Sam took the other last night. He should be bringing the children any minute.”

“How much do I owe, Dr. Mason?” Seth asked.

“I’ve been notified that all medical care, food and lodging for anyone involved in the train accident is being picked up by the railroad,” she replied. “I imagine Will Canfield had some pull arranging that.” She turned to Marigold. “Will has aspirations for the Kansas governorship, and has influential friends.”

Marigold had much to learn and a lot of people to meet.

“Thank you for tending to me,” Seth told Marlys.

“It was my pleasure. Do let me know if I can be of any assistance with those boys. There is going to be an adjustment period for them.”

“I must admit I was taken aback by the news,” Evelyn said. “But now that they’re here, I can’t wait to meet them. Do they look like Tessa?”

“Like both she and Jessie, I’d say,” Seth answered.

As though on cue, the bell over the door rang and Sam Mason ushered in all the boys. Little John removed his thumb from his mouth and ran straight for Marigold.

Seth and his mother looked as surprised as she felt. She kneeled and wrapped an arm around the three-year-old’s sturdy little body. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Little John nodded. “Da book’s in our bag.”

Is it wise to be living with these children? The warning echoed in her thoughts, making her stomach feel a little shaky. She smiled at the little boy. “Thank you for taking care of it for me.”

“We slept in a big bed in Mr. Mason’s upstairs,” Tate told her. “A comfortable one.”

“Peony and I slept in a bed in Dr. Mason’s back room,” she told him with a smile. “A very comfortable bed, as well.” Pausing over her last words, she released Little John and stood. “Mrs. Halloway, I’ve brought my cat with me. I understand that’s too much of an imposition, and I’m happy to go wherever the council had originally planned.”

The lovely woman blinked and gave her a smile. “We have cats and dogs at the ranch. I don’t see one more as a problem. Cats keep the mice population down.”

“Well, Peony is a house cat. I don’t know what she’d do if she got outside unattended. And I doubt she’d know what to do if she encountered a mouse.”

“I see. Well, I’m sure we can accommodate your Peony. I’m going to be thankful for your help.” She patted Marigold’s hand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had children around, and what with Seth laid up...well, I’ll appreciate another hand.”

As reluctant as she was to get any more involved, Marigold couldn’t possibly decline to help. It was because of Peony that Seth had gone back into that debris, rather than immediately getting to safety. It was for her sake he’d been in that position in the first place. But all of this was more of the same—life was still happening to her, even though she was attempting to forge her own path. With a sick feeling in her chest, she resigned herself to going along with this family.

“It’s the least I can do,” she said and meant it. As soon as Seth was able to tend for himself, do chores and help with the boys, she’d make her excuses and find another place. Her meager salary wouldn’t afford her the luxury of Aunt Mae’s, and she didn’t want to live off her savings, but food and lodging was in her contract.

“I’ve given Mr. Halloway herbs for pain,” Dr. Mason explained to his mother. She picked up a small canvas bag from a nearby counter and extended it. “Mix a half teaspoon of this powder with water and give it to him with an additional glass of water every six hours.” She cocked an eyebrow at Seth. “If he’ll accept it.”

“I’ll take the herbs if I need them,” he said.

“Thank you for all of your help and the good night’s rest,” Marigold told Marlys. She took her crumpled bonnet from her bag, nodded to the boys and led the gathering outside.

James had their belongings nestled in the back of a buckboard with wood sides, along with what looked like a few purchases Mrs. Halloway must have made. He’d formed a couple of makeshift stairs with crates and stood to the side while Seth made the climb into the rear. After only a few muffled groans he seated himself on another crate, which had a nest of blankets behind. James then ushered Seth’s mother up to the wagon seat, while Marigold and the boys scrambled up.

“That’s not ours,” Tate said, pointing to their stack of belongings. “That train. It isn’t ours.”

The item he referred to appeared to be a small wooden train engine with a couple of cars attached.

“It belongs to the other children on the train,” Harper agreed.

Marigold remembered seeing the toy during the trip to Kansas. “There were no other children on the train, Harper.”

He nodded and gave her a wide-eyed look of sincerity. “There was. And that’s theirs.”

She glanced at James. “Are you aware of any other children arriving, Mr. Johnson?”

“No, miss. Only these here boys.”

Marigold raised an eyebrow at Tate and Harper, but then she shrugged. If they’d made up imaginary friends to pass the time, she wasn’t going to create a disturbance over their play. “Well, we’ll take it along until someone else comes for it.”

James loaded the makeshift steps and, with an agile leap, seated himself and clucked to the horses. “I’ll take you in a roundabout way out of town, Miss Brewster, so you can see a little more of Cowboy Creek.”

“That’s thoughtful, James,” Evelyn told him.

His route first took them east to Lincoln Boulevard, where he turned the team left and headed north past the schoolhouse and an elegant two-story home.

“That’s the Gardner place,” Evelyn said. She narrated the tour as they went as far north as Sixth Street, then turned south onto Eden, the main thoroughfare. She pointed out everything from the grand opera house to the bakery, where the enticing scents of cinnamon and yeast drew sighs from the boys.

Only once they passed Aunt’s Mae’s boardinghouse did Marigold get her bearings. Then, after a few more blocks of seemingly thriving businesses, they headed south, out of town.

“It’s so flat here,” Tate said. “Where are the trees?”

Marigold had thought much the same for days while the train crossed the prairie with little more than short grasses in sight.

Seth reclined against the blankets, his forearm crossed protectively over his side. “You’re right. What you see for miles and miles is little bluestem and buffalo grass. They withstand drought.”

“What’s drought?” Harper asked.

“No rain,” Seth explained.

Marigold studied the terrain from beneath the brim of her bonnet.

“A couple of horticultural societies started up recently, teaching Kansans about forestry,” Seth told them. “It’s possible to grow trees, but it’s not easy. The dogged wind makes the soil all the drier.”

Tate held onto his hat as a strong gust threatened to take it.

“You’ll see a few trees when we get to the ranch.”

His effort to talk to the youngster touched Marigold. She glanced at him, and when his gaze met hers, she quickly looked away. She’d thrust herself into the midst of strangers in a peculiar land, and now she had to make the best of it.

* * *

She hadn’t known what she’d expected, but White Rock Ranch consisted of acres of spring grasses, freshly plowed fields and pastures with grazing horses. Barns, corrals and a dormered two-story house with covered porches along two sides came into view. A row of eight-foot elms stood to the west of the house.

“That’s a big house,” she said to no one in particular.

“It came with the ranch,” Seth told her. “There’s a soddy out behind where the previous owners lived until they built this one. My brother told us about the land as soon as the rancher came to him for help selling.”

“Did you plant those trees?” Tate asked.

Seth sat forward and inhaled sharply. “I did.”

James lowered the tailgate and jumped into the back of the wagon to assist Seth. He and Mrs. Halloway helped him down to the ground.

“Until we get more beds, I’ve given the boys your room with the bigger bed,” his mother told Seth. “Miss Brewster will have the far bedroom, and you’ll be sleeping in the room off the kitchen for now.”

“Sounds busy.”

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “It’s convenient.”

“I’d prefer a bed out here.” He made his way up the porch stairs to a rocker and sat.

“I’ll arrange it.” Evelyn reached the door and gave Marigold a resigned smile. “He’s made up his mind. I’d be wasting my breath to argue.”

“I’ll help you with the beds and the cooking.”

“There’s plenty of room,” she assured Marigold, “but the rooms aren’t all furnished yet.”

James carried in Marigold’s and the boys’ bags and left them as directed. Marigold carried Peony’s carrier into the room she’d been assigned. She sat on the narrow bed, lifted the cat out onto her lap and squeezed her eyes shut. Only a year ago she was living in the comfortable home her parents had left to her and her sister, teaching in a well-appointed school, helping care for the niece she adored. Memories of her sister, Daisy, and her niece, Violet, assailed her. They’d been on their own because Daisy’s husband had contracted gold fever and disappeared for months at a time, but they’d had each other. With both of them working, they’d been able to support themselves and care for Violet. Life would never be like that again. She might as well resign herself to the unfortunate fact.

She could have stayed in her family’s home. She would have managed. But every room, every corner, every furnishing had held bittersweet memories. The reminder of her loss was too great to bear. She’d cared for her parents until their deaths, and because Daisy had never had a home of her own, Marigold had been thankful for her company and happy to help care for Violet. After Daisy’s death, she and her niece had clung to each other—until Violet’s father had come for her.

Marigold had no legal right to her sister’s child. Violet had cried, and Marigold had encouraged her to be brave when all she’d wanted to do was cry herself. Later, she’d done plenty of that in the hollow house in which she’d been left alone.

It had been time to leave. Start over. Make her own decisions. The teaching position in Cowboy Creek had sounded like a grand adventure.

She glanced around. The room was clean, the quilt-covered bed comfortable enough, the pine chest of drawers and washstand adequate. She would meet new students and be up to the challenge of teaching them. Teaching brought her joy.

She had much to look forward to.

* * *

“Ain’t neither caterpillars.”

“Are so.”

“No, they ain’t. Caterpillars ain’t brown.”

“Some are. Go on, touch ’em.”

Seth listened to the loud whispers, wondering what the boys were talking about. He’d been dozing on the narrow daybed his mother had instructed James to set up on the porch. She and Miss Brewster had made it up with crisp fresh-smelling sheets and a thick quilt, and he’d succumbed to Dr. Mason’s herbal concoction and the rigor of the ride home.

His lip tickled, and he swatted at it. The tickle under his nose came again, and this time when he swatted, he came away with a skinny arm. He opened his eyes to find he’d captured Harper Radner. The boy’s wide dark eyes stared back, but his fascinated gaze was fixed on Seth’s upper lip—specifically his mustache.

“What are you boys up to?”

“Harper said you got caterpillars on your lip. I said nuh-uh.”

Seth grinned. “Well, you’re right smart, Harper. What fella would want caterpillars on his lip? What if they fell into his supper?”

The five-year-old scrunched his face into a mask of distaste. “Ewwww!”

From the other side of the porch Tate guffawed.

Seth released the boy’s arm. Harper backed up, spotted an empty bucket, which he turned over for a stool, and sat a few feet away from Seth’s bed. “I’m gonna sit here and watch for a while.”

“I have a chore for the both of you. There’s a shed out behind the house. Go back there, leave the door open for light and find me a couple of lanterns. I’ll want them when it gets dark.”

“To see your way to the privy?” Harper asked.

Seth nodded. “And to read. Where’s Little John?”

“Inside with Miss Brewster.” The two turned and darted around the corner of the house.

The screen door opened ten feet away, and Miss Brewster exited the house carrying a tray. Little John walked so closely beside her, Seth hoped he didn’t trip her.

“We heard you talking to the boys. Your mother sent your lunch.” She set the tray on an upended crate and moved it closer to him. “Do you want to sit up a little more?”

“I reckon one more cushion.”

She leaned across him to tuck the padding behind him, and her citrusy scent enveloped him. The unique zesty scent suited her—it wasn’t heavy or floral, but bright, like her hair and eyes. She wore a pale blue shirtwaist with lace trim down the front and an apron over a blue-and-white checkered skirt. The fabric rustled as she moved. Standing, she handed him a plate of food and smoothed her hand over her hip in an unconscious nervous gesture.

Looking at the bruise on her delicate jaw made him wince each time he saw it. Her face was flushed and her eyelids seemed pink. The day wasn’t uncomfortably warm, which made him wonder if she’d been crying. The thought disturbed him more than he’d have liked. “Have a seat.”

She glanced behind her and lowered herself onto a cushioned twig chair.

Little John immediately leaned against her knees, and she lifted him onto her lap. He stuck a thumb into his mouth and rested back against her. His untrusting gaze bore into Seth’s.

She smoothed the little boy’s hair from his forehead. The gesture made something in Seth’s chest shift uncomfortably, and he questioned his reaction. No female had ever affected him the way this one did. In her presence, he felt appreciative, protective, uncertain, wary...and enchanted. All at once. The tumble of emotions confused and worried him. He didn’t have time to think about perplexing feelings.

He said a silent blessing and ate the meat and potatoes his mother had prepared, his gaze moving across the landscape. Once spring had arrived, he’d inspected all the buildings and made repairs to stalls and corrals. He and old Dewey had ridden fence for weeks, mending and replacing. Dewey was most likely finishing that chore today. Seth’s mother hadn’t mentioned him, but she’d left for town early and probably set out a breakfast for their hand. Right now Seth should be checking wells and pumps, inspecting the troughs to make certain they’d hold rainwater. Once this rib quit hurting he’d be able to ride.

He glanced at Marigold, noting Little John had fallen asleep on her lap. “You can lay him at the foot of the cot here. I’ll sit up while he naps.”

She shifted the boy’s weight so he was in a manageable position, then rose to place him on the bed. The child curled up and stuck his thumb into his mouth. Seth watched the boy slumber, his long lashes against his pinkened cheek. Glancing up, he noticed that Marigold hadn’t moved away, but was studying Little John as well, her expression undecipherable.

“You’re good with the boys,” he said.

She came out of her reverie to glance at Seth. “Children fascinate me. I suppose that’s why I became a teacher. They’re impressionable and for the most part unspoiled. They don’t resist change or new information, and unless they have cause not to be, they’re accepting.”

She moved back to the chair and smoothed her skirts.

“He’s pretty wary of me.” Seth set aside his plate. “I confess I don’t much know what to do for youngins. I realize Tessa was desperate for someone to look out for them, but I don’t know that I was the best choice.”

“Apparently she trusted you.”

He took a deep breath that shot a stabbing pain to his side. “I reckon.” He shifted, trying to get more comfortable. “Aside from feeding them and giving them a place to sleep, what do I do with them?”

“They’re curious. They’re energetic. Give them room to play and discover. They need guidelines and routines, enforced with kindness. They need a sense of well-being and someone to listen to them.”

Still feeling inadequate, he thought over her words.

“Not all that different from adults in that respect,” she added and glanced away from his gaze.

Was she missing a sense of well-being? She’d come all this way on a train by herself. He’d heard talk about the hiring of a new teacher, but until now he hadn’t put any thought into what kind of person would accept the position. All of the other women who arrived in Cowboy Creek were either already married to businessmen or ranchers, or had come seeking husbands. Marigold Brewster had apparently come to teach, but it was a long way to travel for a position.

“What brought you to Kansas?” he asked.

She glanced at Little John and then aside. “I lived in Ohio with my sister. We worked and took care of each other. And then she died. It was lonely living in my parents’ home without them—without Daisy, I mean. I saw the advertisement for a teacher in a growing boomtown community, so I sent a telegram and once I heard back, I sold the house. I wanted to start over.”

“Did you have friends there? Other family?”

She shook her head. “We had friends once. The war changed everything.”

He nodded. “Indeed.”

A moment passed and the cry of a hawk echoed in the distance.

“Where were you during the war?” she asked.

“We ranched in Missouri, so I guess that tells you something. We were battling over statehood from the start. Towns and families split over joining the Confederacy. My father had built up stock and my brothers and I helped out. The ranch was thriving, but when the war broke out, most of the ranchers had to set their cattle loose while they went to fight. We thought it would only be for a few months and we’d come back and round ’em up, sort ’em out and go on. We lost at Wilson’s Creek early on, won at Pea Ridge, but the battles went on and on, and there was no law to be had.”

“I followed the newspaper reports,” she said. “What about your parents?”

He collected himself before speaking. “My father was killed in sixty. Before the war. Then between Quantrill, the James brothers, Bill Anderson and the like, it was too dangerous to leave my mother alone, so we sent her to her brother’s family in Philadelphia, and she waited out the war with my aunts. I ended up fighting in Arkansas, was with General Steele during the Red River Campaign.”

“You said ‘we’?”

“I have two younger brothers.” He spotted a trail of dust in the distance. “Looks like you’ll be meeting one real soon.”

* * *

Marigold turned in the direction Seth studied. Dust rose in the air as a rider approached. He reached the dooryard and slid from his sleek black horse. Dressed in a black waistcoat, black trousers and shiny boots, he approached the porch and removed his hat. He was as tall as Seth, but leaner. A neatly trimmed goatee made his face appear all the more angular.

The stranger turned his attention on Seth. “I just returned from Lawrence this morning and heard you got banged up yesterday.”

“I didn’t know you were gone.”

“Last-minute trip.” The man turned to Marigold. “You must be Miss Brewster, our new schoolteacher. Russell Halloway, miss.”

“A pleasure,” she said.

His gaze slid to the sleeping boy. “And this is one of Tessa’s children?”

“That’s Little John,” Seth answered. “Did you look over the letter?”

“I did. She had it witnessed, and I sent a telegram to the witness who confirmed being present and that Tessa was of sound mind when she wrote it. If someone contested your custody of the children, the letter would be enough to sway a judge that you should have them. It’s not a legal document, however, so no court could force you to take the boys if you were set against it.”

“What other options would there be?” Marigold asked with concern.

“The records of disposition of desperate orphans have increased by thousands in the past five years,” Russ explained. “There are orphan asylums across the country that take children from infancy to age thirteen.”

“Desperate orphans,” she repeated, glancing from his brother to Seth. A slice of panic rose in her chest. “An asylum sounds dreadful.”

“I’m not refusing to take them,” Seth assured them both. “Tessa wanted them in my care, so that’s where they’ll stay. I just want to make sure everything is legal. There can’t be any question about the authenticity of Tessa’s will.”

She took a deep breath and thanked the Lord for Seth’s magnanimous compassion.

The brothers looked at each other, and Marigold sensed the tension barely below the surface.

“I wouldn’t want ’em to settle in and then find there’s a problem,” Seth insisted.

“You can petition a judge and sign papers to adopt them if it’s what you want,” Russ told him. “Just remember if they carry your name that upon your death they will legally inherit your land and holdings—shared with any other children you might have, so you’ll need to have a will in order.”

The thought of leaving these children a share of his land didn’t seem to bother Seth, because he replied immediately. “Get those papers ready to sign then.”

Russell rested his hat on a small table. “It will take me a few days to put the papers in order, so you’ll have time to think about it.”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“Russ!” Evelyn pushed open the screen door and hurried to give her son an energetic hug. “I was expecting to see you yesterday.”

“Just returned this morning,” he explained.

“Miss Brewster, you’ve met my second-born son? He’s a lawyer and has his very own practice in town—the one you saw on Eden Street. Daniel Gardner and Will Canfield contacted him and suggested he come to Kansas. Russ is the reason we’re here, too. He told Seth about this ranch when it came available.”

Russ appeared uncomfortable with her lengthy introduction. “We’ve met, Mother.”

Undeterred, Evelyn continued. “Russ is expecting a lovely young woman to arrive by train very soon. We’re all looking forward to her arrival.” She turned to her middle son. “Would you like some dinner? It’s still hot.”

“I am hungry,” he said.

“I’ll get it.” Marigold stood quickly. “You sit and visit with your sons, Mrs. Halloway.”

Marigold entered the house and busied herself making another tray, giving the Halloways time to talk. When she carried out the tray minutes later, Evelyn had moved the table near Russ’s chair.

“Thank you, Miss Brewster.” Russ picked up his napkin and settled it on his lap.

Evelyn gave her son an affectionate look. “After my husband died, we got into hard times back in Missouri. Russ was at university out East. He had to take a job and earn scholarships to finish his law degree. It took him a few years, but even with him going off to fight, he did it.”

Marigold found a narrow space on the opposite side of the sleeping Little John and squeezed herself in. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”

“After the war, he earned himself a reputation fighting for veterans’ rights,” she went on, with pride in her voice. “That’s how he came in contact with Daniel and Will.”

Russ’s harsh features showed his displeasure. Marigold imagined he was a force to be reckoned with in a judge’s chambers. “I’m sure Miss Brewster doesn’t want to hear about me.”

“I’m captivated,” Marigold said with a smile.

“I have another son, too,” Evelyn added, lifting her chin. “Adam is my youngest. After the army, he joined the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.”

“And that’s the last we’ve heard of him,” Seth commented.

“He’s written a few letters,” Evelyn said quickly. “I’m sure he’s very busy bringing criminals to justice.”

Marigold had noted the vague information in Seth and his mother’s stories about his father’s death. Seth had mentioned he was killed. Marigold barely knew them. She didn’t want to ask personal questions that would surely bring up a painful subject. After all, she had her own hurts she didn’t want to talk about.

As they talked, an older man approached on foot from the direction of the barns. He was tall and slender, wearing bibbed overalls and a shirt with the sleeves rolled back. As he approached the house, he removed his hat and held it against his chest.

“Hello, Mr. Dewey,” Evelyn called out. “Our morning was so busy, I didn’t see you. Are you ready for some dinner?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. I fixed myself something. Didn’t wanna be no bother. I just wanted to see how Seth was doin’.”

“Well, come join us and meet Miss Brewster, the new schoolteacher we’ve been hearing about.”

“How do, miss,” the fellow said and stopped at the foot of the stairs.

“Come up here and sit with us. I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” Evelyn said. “Marigold, this is Mr. Dewey. He’s Seth’s friend and works here.” Evelyn hurried into the house.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dewey.”

“Just plain Dewey, miss.”

“Dewey and I drove cattle from Texas to Colorado and have more than a few scars to show for it,” Seth said.

Dewey brought a chair from the far end of the porch and settled onto it. He was a lanky fellow, his body all sharp angles. He had a full head of silver-gray hair, but his big mustache was still shot with patches of black. “And a whole passel o’ stories.”

Tate and Harper came around the side of the house and set dusty lanterns inside the porch rail.

“How many did you find?” Seth asked.

“Four, sir,” Tate replied.

“Fine work. Come close.”

The boys glanced at the two strangers and moved beside Seth.

Seth introduced them to his brother and the ranch hand, and Evelyn returned with a tray of full coffee cups for the men.

“This is more people than we’ve had on this porch since we got here last fall,” she said with a smile.

“Reckon you should get busted up more often,” Dewey said to Seth, and Seth chuckled while holding his side.

It was the first time Marigold had seen a smile on his face, and she appreciated the relaxed expression. He and Dewey had obviously shared a long friendship.

“You rode the train all the way from Missouri?” Russ asked the boys.

Harper looked at Tate, and Tate responded. “Yes, sir. Part way we met Miss Brewster, an’ she helped look after us.”

“She has a cat,” Harper added.

“Where do you live?” Tate asked.

“I have a place in town,” Russ replied.

“A new house,” Evelyn said. “I helped him with rugs and furniture and the like. It will be a fine home for a family.”

Russ gave his mother a tolerant grin. “Someday.”

“Not long now.” She glanced at Marigold. “The young woman Russ has been corresponding with is coming to Cowboy Creek in only a few weeks.”

“Mother,” Russ said by way of shushing her.

“Where do you stay, Dewey?” Marigold asked, to change the subject.

“I have a place in the rear of the small barn.” He gestured over his shoulder with a thumb.

Evelyn tilted her head. “I’ve tried to get him into the house, but he won’t have it—not even over the winter.”

“Got ever’thing I need right out there, and I don’t bother nobody when I get up to look at the stars of a night,” he replied. “Ain’t slept in a house my whole life, an’ I don’t have a mind to now.”

It was clear they’d had the discussion more than once, and Evelyn wasn’t winning.

Little John woke up, and his disoriented gaze went from person to person, until he found his brothers. He sat up and scooted close to Marigold. She patted his leg. “This is Little John,” she told the newcomers.

The boy stuck his thumb into his mouth.

“Harper, will you please take him around back?”

“Yes’m.”

Tate followed his younger brothers.

“Three children are a big responsibility,” Russ commented.

“I know all about responsibility.” Seth’s voice held a depth of meaning.

Russ took a sip of his coffee.

“Miss Brewster is here to help us.” Evelyn gave Marigold a warm smile.

“I’ll see to those dishes now,” she said. She got up and made her way inside.

There was more to this family than anyone had shared, but it was none of her business. None of this was her business, when it came right down to it, but here she was, embroiled in the care and feeding of three children and a wounded rancher.

Chapter Four

That evening she was putting things away in her room when there was a tentative knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Tate entered and looked around. “Seth asked me to fetch you.”

“Thank you. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

She found Seth alone, propped in a sitting position on the narrow bed on the porch. As far as the eye could see the darkening sky to the west was streaked with vivid tones of orange and purple. Already a few stars blinked in the broad expanse.

“I thought we should talk some about how the days are going to work.”

She seated herself on the twig chair. “All right.”

“For now, Dewey will give you and the boys a ride to school in the mornings. The more efficient way to travel will be if you learn to ride and take a couple of horses. There’s a corral and water troughs behind the livery and saddle shop. If there was a storm, Colton there would see to the stock. From there it’s just a walk around the corner to the schoolhouse.”

Horse riding hadn’t been in her plan when she’d traveled here, but she understood the practicality. “I see.”

“And then there’s safety.”

At his words, she looked straight at him.

“We’ll start lessons tomorrow.”

“Lessons?” she asked.

“Shooting, loading. I have a few revolvers, and you’ll be able to find one you can handle well enough.”

Alarmed, she balked at the plan. “Who might I have to shoot?”

“You may never have to shoot at all, but you need to know how.” He paused and she continued to question him with her stare. “A snake, a bandit, a wolf.”

The woman was obviously reluctant about the prospect of these lessons, but Seth felt as accountable for her as he did the boys. She’d be staying under his roof, on his land, and he had to look out for her.

“I’m just going to say this straight,” he continued. “Cowboy Creek is a peaceable town, with lawmen and regulations, but it’s a cow town and it’s brimming with men. Lots of men, young and old, nearly all of them looking for a woman. The school is located near prestigious homes and close to businesses, so it’s not secluded whatsoever, but sometimes things happen. Ruffians have been known to ride into town. You’re there to teach the children, and they’re in your care each day. Always be aware of your surroundings. Keep a gun in a safe place, just in case it’s needed.”

“Does the current teacher have a gun?”

“I can’t tell you for sure, but if she was my wife, I’d be sure she had one.”

Her focus skittered away and her face seemed a trifle paler than it had moments ago. She swallowed and rubbed her palms on her skirt. She was a city girl, raised in a comfortable home, educated and perhaps protected. He felt bad about delivering hard facts, but someone had to. She needed to be aware.

“Miss Brewster...” he began.

Her gaze flitted to his again.

He took a match and striker from the small stand beside his cot and held them out to her. “Will you light a couple of the lanterns, please?”

She did as he asked, her skirt pooling on the porch floor as she kneeled. Dust flamed inside the glass chimney and burned off quickly.

“You know more about me than I know about you, partly thanks to my mother. No one ever has to wonder what she’s thinking.” He shrugged. “But I’m curious. What was your life like in Ohio during the war?”

“Probably very different than the stories I’ve heard about lower states,” she answered. “The men, young and old—except the very young boys—were off fighting. My father was a banker. His family had come to Ohio from New York when he was a boy. He took a job working for the governor just as the war started, and he spent a lot of time in Washington. Daisy married about that time. Her husband was wounded at Arkansas Post and later recovered and went back to his regiment. She wrote him daily, but rarely had a letter in return. He returned for a day or two now and then between assignments. My mother became sickly, so my sister and I cared for her with domestic help.”

She adjusted the wicks on both lamps, stood and took a seat again. “We followed the news and corresponded with neighbors and schoolmates who were off fighting. When news came of men killed, the war seemed so far away. Daisy and I attended church and oyster suppers and gatherings and received callers. We made cakes for special occasions. We had ladies over and sewed quilts for sons and husbands, rolled bandages for the field hospitals, and all the while we prayed for the fighting to end.”

The sky had darkened, and now the golden light from the lanterns glowed on her delicate features. “I’m sure my telling seems idyllic to someone like you, who was in the thick of things, getting shot and all.”

“Thinking of scenes like that kept a lot of us going,” he answered. “Knowing there was gentility to return to. Families, church suppers and cakes. Quilts.”

His deep tone and heartfelt words betrayed his emotions, so he cleared his throat. “Did you write to someone special?”

“I was merely fourteen when the struggle over slavery began. My father insisted Daisy and I continue our studies. I hadn’t time to grow into thinking about boys before they were all gone.”

“But you’d become a teacher.”

“Yes. And I got my father’s affinity for numbers. I’d make someone a good accountant in a pinch, but I prefer working with children. I’ll always find employment.”

She was obviously smart and ambitious, and took pride in being able to support herself. “That’s admirable.”

“Thank you.”

The breeze picked up her citrusy scent and carried it in his direction.

“What’s that scent you wear?”

She looked at him with surprise. “Orange-flower and almond-oil toilet water. My father always gave it to me at Christmas.”

“It suits you.”

Marigold had lived a life very different from his, from that of his family. It had taken courage and a desire for change to come this far alone. Quite a few brides had arrived in Cowboy Creek, and he’d heard some of their stories, but he’d never stopped to consider what the journey had meant for them. Until now.

“I don’t want you to be afraid living here. I only want to make sure you’re able to protect yourself and the children in your care.”

“Truly, I never considered I might have to protect them.”

“You will likely never have to. But you’ll be prepared regardless.”

She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Thank you. For looking after the boys.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“You’re likely exhausted.”

“I am.”

“Good night then. Sleep well.”

“And you.” On a delicate current of orange and almond, she departed.

Dozens of cowboys and business owners were going to appreciate Miss Brewster’s delicate beauty and intelligence. The last teacher hadn’t lasted six months before she was married. He suspected this schoolmarm would be temporary as well. Even Russ had shown covert interest when he’d thought no one was looking. And why not? Marigold Brewster was the prettiest thing Seth had ever seen.

* * *

Little John cried the next morning when Marigold and the boys prepared to leave with Dewey. She kneeled and gave him a gentle hug. “You’re going to be just fine with Mrs. Halloway. She loves little boys. I’ll bet she’ll even read you a story.”

Evelyn rubbed his back and smoothed his hair. “I have just the book, too.”

Marigold had assured him he could come to school with them occasionally after her adjustment period had ended, but he didn’t take kindly to his brothers going without him. She cupped his chin and wiped his tears, then joined Dewey on the wagon seat and didn’t look back. Evelyn was the best person to care for Little John while his brothers were in school. She had been happy at the thought of having him with her during the day. It had, in fact, been her idea.

Dewey pointed out hawks and ground squirrels to Tate and Harper, and then answered a dozen questions on the drive to town. As they made their way to Lincoln Boulevard, the streets were already brimming with wagons; shopkeepers swept their stoops and opened their shutters. Dewey rolled the wagon right up along the curb before the single-story wood-frame building with a small vented bell tower, and helped Marigold to the ground. The boys grabbed their tin dinner pails and jumped down. As she’d noticed on their way past yesterday, the schoolhouse was larger than she’d anticipated.

“Looks like Mizz Aldridge is just gettin’ here,” Dewey said. “I’ll be off now.”

She thanked him and he drove the wagon away.

A dark-haired woman only a few years older than herself crossed the lawn and greeted Marigold. “Miss Brewster?”

“Miss Aldridge?”

“It was Libby Aldridge before I was married. I’m Libby Thompson now. I’m so glad you’re here.” The swell of Libby’s belly indicated the arrival of a child in the next few months.

“I’m glad to finally be here. The trip was...eventful.”

“Oh, my goodness, yes! Thank God you weren’t injured in the train wreck! We were aghast when we heard the news.”

“Some bumps and bruises, but I’m fortunate to have walked away. Mr. Halloway is the one with the most injuries.”

“The tale of him being injured while rescuing you has spread all around town. The ladies are finding it quite romantic.”

“Oh, no. No,” Marigold declared. “It’s not like that at all.”

“Let’s take our things inside. I suppose you have more supplies you’ll be bringing?”

“Yes, another day. I wanted to meet you and the children and become oriented this week.” She gestured to the two boys flanking her sides. “This is Tate Radner. And this is Harper. Gentlemen, say hello to Mrs. Thompson.”

After they exchanged greetings, Libby led them into a tiny entryway below the bell tower and then further inside, where the smell of new wood, paper and chalk prevailed. To the right was a large empty classroom and to the left a smaller one with rows of double desks. “As you can see the building is only a year old. The council thought of everything. There’s an entire half of the building to accommodate growth and eventually another teacher. Wood is delivered for the stove. There’s a shared well on the next block north, and a lad brings water to us each morning.”

“This is so much larger than I expected.”

“The town founders firmly believe in education, and they built the school with expansion and exceptional learning in mind. Right now we use that room for activities and exercise when the weather is poor. We hold our school programs in there as well.”

She pointed to a wooden chest along the side wall. “The children place their dinners in the pine box when they arrive. I assign two students to pass them out at noon. Leah Gardner will be here soon. She makes a few lunches every morning for the children who don’t have much to bring. And her own isn’t even old enough for school yet.”

“I’ve already heard a lot about her.” Marigold instructed Tate and Harper to stow their tin pails in the chest. “Are there seats available for these two new students?”

“Yes, of course. Right now I have the children arranged according to grade levels, and the open seats are in the rear. We will do a bit of rearranging today, and then you may want to reassign seats once you’ve done an assessment and know where to place them.”

Libby showed her the supplies provided by the school board—books, slates, chalk, paper and pencils. There were maps and a globe and even a pianoforte under an Indian blanket in the corner. “I don’t play, but occasionally Hannah Johnson comes to give a music lesson. Do you play?’

“I’m adequate, yes.”

“That’s excellent news. Hannah has a lot to do already, what with her dress shop and a little one, but she’s been faithful to devote a morning to us every week. My biggest challenge has been the German children. August Mason has learned some basics, and he is quite helpful in our communication, but I’m afraid the students are sorely behind. I know how important it is for their parents to have their children in school, but truthfully, I don’t know how much they’re actually getting out of the lessons. I do my best.”

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