“Just what do you think you are doing, terrifying us like this?” Elizabeth demanded, and stood up in the buggy to tower over him.

“We need to talk.”

He ripped the reins from her hands and tossed them to Gemma. In one quick motion he scooped Elizabeth onto his saddle, in front of him. Her eyes widened and she looked to be gathering another wail of a breath.

He looked hard at her. “Stop!”

She clamped her mouth shut.

“I’ll bring her back as soon as I’ve had my say.”

With that, he reined the Major away and, with Elizabeth cushioned in front of him, galloped off.

Author Note

I love stories about second chances—about people who fight for their happily-ever-after despite the curves life has thrown them. In Familiar Stranger in Clear Springs, Elizabeth must break through her fears in order to grasp her happy-ever-after.

As much as I love writing about La Playa, on San Diego’s harbour, I enjoyed taking a trip with this story to Clear Springs—a fictional town that I modelled after Julian in the backcountry of San Diego.

I hope you enjoy Tom and Elizabeth’s story.

Familiar Stranger in Clear Springs

Kathryn Albright

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATHRYN ALBRIGHT writes American-set historical romance for Harlequin Mills & Boon. From her first breath she has had a passion for stories that celebrate the goodness in people. She combines her love of history and her love of story to write novels of inspiration, endurance, and hope.

Visit her at kathrynalbright.com and on Facebook.

This story is dedicated to my beautiful sister, Phyllis, who has been with me from the start in this dream to write stories. You have offered unconditional love, support, encouragement, and fun.

It means everything to me. Love you!

Acknowledgements

I would also like to acknowledge and thank Charlotte Mursell and Julia Williams, my amazing editors at Mills & Boon, who took the raw form of this story and helped me see the nuggets of gold. You are the best!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Southern California, 1876

Elizabeth looked up from marking the last sale in her ledger and frowned at the youngster standing by the large wooden crate of fruit from the backcountry. “Timothy Daugherty! I saw that! That apple does not have your name on it. Put it back right now. Gently please!”

Ten-year-old Timothy looked sufficiently chastised; however, Elizabeth knew better. Under that contrite expression he was plotting how he would talk his way out of this. It wasn’t that he was starving. With his father managing the building of the new nail factory up the road, his family had the funds for whatever they desired here in the mercantile. It was the challenge that drove Timothy. He wanted to boast to his friends that he’d given “old Miss Morley” the slip and had gotten away without her realizing she had one less piece of fruit to sell.

His best friend and cohort, Lucas Slater, stood shoulder to shoulder with him and, by the looks of him, was also hiding an apple behind his back. He, however, concerned her. His mother, Martha, struggled to put food on the table for him and his sister ever since her husband passed on suddenly a year ago.

Timothy scowled and tossed the apple back in the crate.

Elizabeth winced. That would be a bruised—and therefore unsellable—piece of fruit. She mentally counted to ten. Deep breath in, deep breath out, letting the briny scent of the harbor fill her lungs. Better that than saying something she would regret. It would be so easy to retort with a sharp word. Too easy. And then wouldn’t she be one step closer to being the sour old spinster she vowed never to become?

“Don’t you have schoolwork or something you need to be doing?”

“Naw. It’s Saturday.”

“I am well aware of the day, young man.” It was the day before Sunday—when after church she would sequester herself inside to be proper. A day she was coming to hate for all that it forced her to be alone when everyone else had families to enjoy. Usually she would work on her quilting, although even that pastime had dulled of late. She had made several quilts and given them away, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a reason to make a special one to keep?

She pressed her lips together. Wasn’t she sounding bitter all of a sudden? Better to be grateful for what she had—a roof over her head, sustenance, her health. She put a smile in her voice. “Perhaps you’d like to earn that apple...and a few more...by doing some chores for me.”

Timothy wrinkled his freckled nose. “Ugh... I got enough chores at home. Don’t need no more.”

“Don’t need any more,” she corrected gently.

“That’s what I said!”

“Well, then...” She turned toward the other boy. “Lucas? How about you?”

Startled just as he was returning his own stolen apple, Lucas jumped and scraped his fingers across the edge of the barrel. He winced and examined his thumb.

“Here. Let me see,” Elizabeth said, reaching for his hand. Two splinters pierced the skin and had settled below the reddened surface. “I’ll get my drawing salve...and needle.”

She found the items behind the counter and returned to Lucas. His eyes grew large when he saw the needle. “I remember my mother doing this for me when I had a splinter.” Her throat tightened at the image of Mother tending to her minor hurts over the years. Oh, how she missed her.

At Lucas’s anxious expression, she pulled her thoughts back to the present situation. “It will hurt much less to have the piece of wood ease out than it did going in. I promise. Just hold still for me.”

He braced himself, trying hard to be brave, but still he squirmed under her attention. When the splinters came out, she spread the salve and tied a small cloth bandage around the injured thumb. “There now. Have your mother look at it tonight.”

“Thank ya, ma’am.” He shuffled a bit with his feet and avoided her gaze, his face a bright red.

“You’re welcome.” Amused at his obvious embarrassment—was it from being caught red-handed with the apple or because she’d held his hand?—she found herself studying him. His dark tousled hair could use a combing. For that matter, his clothes could stand a cleaning.

“Isn’t your mother taking in laundry now?” she asked.

“Yes’m.”

Like the cobbler who didn’t have shoes for his children, it must be the woman didn’t have time to wash her own family’s clothes...or have the energy once her other work was done. Elizabeth sighed. Her knack for details was a good thing to have in running the mercantile, yet it unfortunately came with a negative side—the tendency to be altogether too critical of others. She would make up something for Lucas to do—perhaps sweeping or dusting—even though the store was as clean as could be. Then he could take home a sack filled with apples for his family.

Lucas shot a look at Timothy, who had started backing away.

Timothy cocked his head, indicating they should go.

“Can’t stay today,” Lucas said. “We’re goin’ fishin’.” And with that, he bolted out the door with his buddy. They each grabbed a fishing pole that they’d left leaning against the store’s outer wall and jumped off the boardwalk. The motion dislodged the wedge that propped open the door and it swung shut with a loud bang. The shelving display of colored glassware rattled at the disturbance.

Elizabeth stepped to the entry and propped the mercantile door open again with the wooden wedge and watched the two race across the dirt road to the open area beyond the old jail. Just before scooting out of sight behind the building, Timothy reached into each of his bulging back pockets and pulled out two apples, handing one to his cohort. Amused, Elizabeth blew out a short breath. At least it wouldn’t weigh on her mind about Lucas being hungry.

Something pressed against her ankles. Patches. She reached down and picked up her cat, scratching him behind the ears as she cuddled him to her and continued to watch the two boys. They headed for the small strip of sandy beach where they rolled up their pant-legs and waded into the water to throw in their lines. September, as a rule, was warm enough for wading, but another month and it would be too cool to fish that way. Still, she envied them their freedom. It had been years since she walked barefoot on the beach and dug her toes deep into the soft sand.

A cool sea breeze teased a tendril of hair that tickled her neck. She tucked the strand back up in her loose bun. It was a cursory repair that would be down again in another half hour, but by then she would be closing the mercantile and how she looked to her customers would be the last thing on her mind.

Across the way, in front of her alterations shop, Mrs. Flynn stopped rocking in her porch chair and waved.

Elizabeth raised her hand in response and then lowered it slowly when she noticed a scruffy-looking rider down the main street of town. Something about him seemed familiar, but with his back to her, she couldn’t place where she’d seen him. The way he sat his horse reminded her of someone. With one last glance toward the boys, she turned and entered the mercantile.

* * *

Twilight offered Tom Barrington the anonymity he craved as he rode his horse down La Playa’s main street and silently took in the changes in the town. Twilight, and the fact that his month’s growth of facial hair and well-worn clothes made him look every bit the dusty itinerant. Not far from the truth. He’d lived in the shirt and canvas pants long enough they’d lost their itch and then regained it. How—he didn’t want to contemplate too deeply.

He reined the Major to a stop before Rose’s Hotel. Through the front windows the warm glow of lamplight beckoned hospitably. His first order of business, once he’d seen to his horse, would be a bath and a shave. After traveling for the past three weeks he could scarcely stand to live with himself. He dismounted, taking care to put his weight on his right leg, and looped the reins around the front post. The Major pranced sideways and then pawed at the ground. “Easy now,” Tom said quietly. When he was sure his horse had settled, Tom climbed the steps and strode through the front door.

A short, balding man stood behind the high counter, took his information and handed him a room key and a folded note. “Mr. Furst left this for you. Northern California, you say? Seen any Indian action?”

Tom had, but long ago he had learned to keep things to himself. “Some,” he murmured. Upon reading the message he relaxed slightly. Sam had received his wire and would meet with him later that evening. He had just enough time for a bite to eat after taking care of the Major.

“May I see to your horse?” the clerk asked.

The livery was probably in the same place. And in a town this size, if it wasn’t, he would soon find it. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Suit yourself.”

He slipped the key and the note into his inside vest pocket and headed back outside. The Major snorted at the weeds at the base of his holding post, sending up a small cloud of dust. He stomped one foreleg, the motion jarring his muscles up to his shoulder. He had seen a lot of action over the years. A new place, a sharp sound, and his horse could easily break into an all-out dash down the road and be three miles to the foothills before anyone noticed. For three weeks, Tom had used his saddle as a pillow and slept close by, sensing calmness in the horse when he was near. Wouldn’t happen tonight. He was done in. The lure of a soft, clean bed was more enticing than camping out on stacked hay bales near a skittish horse. Once settled, Tom hoped a full feed bucket and a warm stall would soothe the Major’s disposition.

The livery was the same, inside and out, as it had been when he’d been posted here in the army. The town had changed some—construction had commenced on what looked to become a large building on the outskirts of town. Other than that, some businesses had left—most notably the bank. Couldn’t blame ’em. Nothing much happened in a town this size. Seeing as it was Saturday night, a few regular customers were in the small saloon, but all in all, it was still a quiet, isolated place compared to just about anywhere else on earth but the desert. Heck, if he remembered correctly, even the main road to San Diego washed out on a yearly basis. Nothing like that to keep a town to itself.

He sure hoped Mr. Furst, Sr. hadn’t wired Sam the minute he’d left the main bank in the city. He’d like to say his piece before Sam completely shut him out and refused to listen. During the ride south he had asked himself how he would handle it if neither man would talk to him. Hadn’t come up with any answers. Guess if it came to that, he’d know what to do.

He stabled the Major, gave him an extra helping of oats and headed back to the hotel. He should wash up a bit and shave before meeting Sam. As he neared the building, he could smell the beginnings of supper cooking, the scent of onions and garlic and fish floated on the breeze, intertwined with the briny odor from the harbor. After hours in the saddle, the walking eased the pain in his leg, so instead of going directly into the hotel’s restaurant, he headed down to the water’s edge.

Miniature waves lapped against the pilings of the wharf—the sound relaxing him further.

A light flashed overhead, bouncing off the low clouds. Adrenaline shot through him. Instinctively his hand wrapped around his gun handle. He hesitated...and then exhaled, feeling foolish as he remembered. He’d seen the beam of light before—the lighthouse at the end of the peninsula. Skittish? Heck, he was worse off than the Major.

Across the harbor in Old Town, lamplight flickered, the same as it did in the adobe and wood homes scattered along the roadside and up against the base of the ridge behind him. It seemed peaceful, but peace in his line of work was more often than not an illusion.

He reached in his pocket for paper and tobacco and rolled a cigarette, the motion smooth until he realized his hands shook. Disgusted with himself, he tossed the paper and pinch of tobacco into the shallows. What was he doing here? The military couldn’t use him anymore except behind a desk sorting papers. What made him think he was different than anybody else in his line of work that this had happened to?

Was he getting too slow for this kind of work? He wanted to squash that thought even as it sprang into his head—just as he had the past fifty times he had considered it. He knew plenty of men older than his thirty-one years who still handled fieldwork. To hear them talk they did all right. However, they weren’t crippled. It was his injury that ruined everything and made him a has-been.

But then he remembered Jeff Cranston. His own injury was nothing compared to what had happened to his partner, whose body now rested eternally. He swallowed hard. Leave it. Nothing good comes from digging up the past.

The past... He took a long look at the quiet street, for the first time letting his gaze roam past the small bank building, past the dark jail and the old Mexican custom house, until he came at last to the mercantile. The store windows were dark, as he expected, yet above, on the second floor, a soft glow lit one window. Who lived there now?

Four years ago it had been Miss Elizabeth Morley and her brother. He’d never gotten along with her brother, but he sure remembered her. Prettiest deep brown eyes he’d ever seen along with her rich, coffee-colored hair. She was taller than most women, slender and graceful to a fault. The day he had walked into her store and first laid eyes on her he’d been hard-pressed to find an intelligent word to say. He had fallen under her spell even before they’d shared that kiss, but once that happened he knew she was the only one for him. He thought for sure she felt the same way.

Anyone worth his salt could see she was a catch back then. She could have had her pick of any of a dozen officers in the army. They all thought she was something special, yet they’d all given up the minute that dandy from the city started hanging around her doorstep. He’d been the fool to keep coming around. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t officer material—it took him longer than most men to admit defeat whether it was chasing down criminals or when it came to matters of the heart.

Guess in the end money talked louder than any feelings she had for him because he wasn’t gone four weeks before he heard she had up and married that rich fellow. Remembering the letter he’d posted was an embarrassment now. He had explained why his contingent had had to light out in the gray light of morning, but more than that, he’d gone on for an entire second page about making plans for when they’d see each other again. Likely by the time his letter made it here from Texas she was already set for her wedding. One thing was certain—she sure hadn’t bothered to send a reply.

Even thinking of it now set up a slow burn in his gut. He should listen to that and leave things alone. That chapter of his life had closed a long time ago. Over. Done. It was a frustration that the entire ride south from Sacramento he had been unable to avoid thinking about her. The closer he got to La Playa, the stronger the images of their time together returned. Likely because this was the first time in years he was back in this small town.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything since two cold tortillas he’d saved from his breakfast at that cantina along the San Luis Rey River. He turned toward the hotel and then paused, looking once more down the main street of town toward the mercantile.

She wouldn’t be there. He knew that. Why did he feel this compulsion to see for himself? Was it for old times’ sake? Which was a maudlin emotion he should abandon right now. Or was it to torture himself over the fact that she was gone and married off? She was probably living in some big fancy stucco house in San Diego now with a passel of children.

“Aw...hell...”

He wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw for himself. She wouldn’t be there...but maybe whoever owned the place now would have word on what had happened to her.

Chapter Two

The sun had set when Elizabeth descended the stairs to draw the shades and light the stove. At the base of the stairs, Patches rubbed against her skirt, butting his head against her ankle to remind her that it was suppertime. “Don’t you worry. I’ll find someone to take good care of you while I’m away.” A frisson of excitement raced through her as she thought about the look on Gemma’s face when she saw the supplies for her new school. Her friend would be overcome by the outpouring of generosity from the small community here.

Elizabeth moved to the stove and filled the kettle with water. Stuffing kindling and old brown wrapping paper into the stove, she struck a match to it. “Just to take the chill off.”

Oh, my. She gave herself a mental shake. Here she was talking to her cat. Again.

Bells tinkled as the front door opened.

“We’re closed for the day,” she called out absently without looking up. A body should know one didn’t do commerce so late in the day. Who would be wanting something at this hour?

“Ma’am?”

Odd how a voice could stay in a person’s memory forever. The deep tone sent tremors to the ends of her toes. She nearly dropped the kettle. As it was her hand shook violently. A vision flashed through her memory of the stranger she’d seen riding through town earlier. Now she could put a name to that form. Tom. Tom Barrington. Elizabeth stood frozen to the spot, unable to move for a moment. Then she glanced up.

Despite the thick dark mustache and scruffy beard hiding most of his face, she recognized him. It was his eyes. The blueness that had been so striking all those years ago was still there. His shoulders were broader than she remembered, and his frame taller, leaner, as though he’d lived hard without a lot of the finer comforts. That barely registered. She’d given up on ever seeing him again and now here he was standing before her. She could scarcely remember to breathe.

He stood in the doorway, black Stetson in hand, waiting for permission to enter the store farther. So clearly did the image come to her of the last day she had seen him standing there in his soldier blues that she drew in a shaky breath and set down the kettle. He wasn’t wearing a corporal’s uniform now, but a dark gray leather duster. His clothes had a layer of grit on them at least a half-inch thick. The wind off the ocean had tousled his dark brown, nearly black hair until it was completely lacking its parting on the side—or perhaps he no longer kept it as he once had when he was in the military. He looked surprised to see her—perhaps even shocked.

“Elizabeth?”

How many times had she hoped he’d walk back through that door over the past four years? One hundred? Two hundred? She’d imagined all sorts of scenarios. He’d rush in and sweep her off her feet. She’d run to him and throw her arms around him. Always, always, the dreams had ended in a deep kiss. Of course, that had been when she’d thought he’d return for her upon receiving her letter. That hope...that dream...had died years ago. And, unlike Lazarus, it would not be revived. Four years was too long to wait for anyone.

Oddly, the thought flashed through her mind that she was glad she hadn’t yet changed from her day dress as she so often did once she shut up the store for the night. Usually she anticipated the removal of her corset at the end of a long day much as she imagined a horse reveled in the loss of his cinch and saddle. For now, the laced binding under her dark plum-colored skirt and bodice held her upright and firm. Perhaps she had enough layers on to feel sufficiently armored against his charm now.

After all, he was the one who had left her. Without word, without a care for what she’d thought they meant to each other, without asking her to wait for him or taking her with him. He’d been a scoundrel...and she hated him for it.

Well, at least she’d learned a thing or two since then. She had grown stronger after the initial hurt when she’d found out he was gone and wasn’t coming back. And she was strong enough to face him now. More than strong enough, even if her knees did feel a bit wobbly.

She swallowed. “Mr. Barrington.” The sound of his name came firm and cool. “I assume it is...‘Mr.’ now by the way you are clothed. Not ‘Corporal.’ Not ‘Captain.’”

“‘Mr.’ is fine.” He ducked his head under the door frame and stepped farther into the store. The door swung shut behind him with a solid whump. He didn’t even jump at the sound. In fact, he appeared a bit dazed as he looked at her, almost as though he were seeing a ghost. “What are you doing here?”

His question baffled her. Where else would she be? “I’m not sure I follow...”

He huffed out a breath but still eyed her warily. “Same here.”

The timbre and cadence of his voice hadn’t changed and she recalled with a sharp pang how at one time she had loved its sound. He spun his hat slowly by the brim as the silence lengthened uncomfortably between them.

Her pulse picked up. “You’re looking well,” she managed to say. He did look well. She couldn’t quite get over how he’d filled out in the years since she’d seen him. Irritated at herself for feeling even the slightest twinge of physical reaction she rested her hands on the countertop and intertwined her fingers, glad to have the solid wood between them to steady her.

His gaze swept down to her hands.

She thought he frowned, but she couldn’t be sure under all that scruffy beard. “I must admit I’m surprised to see you at all. It’s been so long.” She was rather pleased with herself. She had spoken coherently even though her insides were dashing to and fro.

“I just got in from up north. Near Stockton. Thought I’d take a look around, check out the changes.” He broke eye contact, finally releasing her from his hold, and glanced about the store—a cursory, uninterested look. “Hasn’t changed much.”

“Things are near the same here—except, of course, the army is gone.”

“Heard that happened right after I left.”

“For a while things were tough. Businesses left. But now the new nail factory is helping turn things back around. The men building it often use this store and the Fursts are reopening a small branch of the bank here, which will be good for the area.” She didn’t want to talk about the town or the nail factory. She wanted to know where he’d been and what he’d been doing since she’d last seen him. All the polite inanities meant nothing to her in the face of that. And yet...why should she care where he’d been? He’d left her and by the sound of it was only here on a whim. She began to wish he’d just go, just leave her in peace. She didn’t need his brand of tormenting.

“You been working here all that time?”

She shrugged slightly, still confused at his question. “Of course.”

The kettle whistled.

Startled, she jumped, having forgotten about the tea. Relieved to have something to do, she turned back to the stove and grabbed a quilted pad to protect her skin, and then slid the kettle off the burner plate.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger. What happened to that rich fellow?”

Still facing the stove, she absorbed the import of his words. He thought she had married? Then he didn’t know? Her mouth dropped open before she covered it with her hand and turned quickly to face him. “I...I never married Preston.”

He pulled back as though she’d slapped him, an incredulous look on his face “Never? What the deuces happened?”

Why was he suddenly angry with her? She was the one who had been spurned. He left her! In the middle of the night he left her without a word! “You have no call to raise your voice at me, Mr. Barrington.”

Rapid footsteps sounded outside the door and her neighbor, Mrs. Flynn, barged into the mercantile. The interruption punctured the air of discord that had grown between the two of them. Elizabeth exhaled.

Her heavyset neighbor was huffing like she’d run a race rather than just walk across the dirt road. The woman glanced sharply at Tom and then back at her. “Oh, my. I didn’t realize you had a visitor. I had a bit of extra stew, dear. Thought you might like it for your supper.” She raised the item in her hands—a dish covered over with a heavily embroidered towel.

The bright innocence in her expression didn’t fool Elizabeth. Apparently she had seen Tom enter the store and wanted to find out what was going on. “Mrs. Flynn, this is Mr. Barrington,” she said, trying to muster up a more gracious attitude. “He has just come to town and didn’t realize I close the store at dusk.”

Tom glanced from Mrs. Flynn back to her, sizing up the situation. It was unseemly for a man to be present in the store after hours unless it was family. Her reputation could be called into question. His jaw tensed as he slid on his hat and tipped the brim to Mrs. Flynn. “Ma’am.” He turned back to Elizabeth, his blue gaze stormy. “Sorry to interrupt your evening Miss Morley. I’ll just take my leave.” He strode out the door.

She sank into the nearest chair. Truth be told, she was grateful for the reprieve. His question hammered inside her with no answer. Why had the man thought she married Preston? It didn’t make sense, not after the kiss they’d shared. How could he think she would go and marry someone else after that earth-shattering kiss?

Her neighbor’s eyes were alight with anxious speculation. It wasn’t every day that the town spinster was caught alone with a gentleman caller. She wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Flynn had this spread faster than a fever all over the village by tomorrow. She groaned inwardly, realizing the looks she might have to endure at church services tomorrow morning. If only she had thought to keep the door wedged open. At least that would have made everything more socially acceptable. As it was, Tom’s entrance had completely flustered her.

“Nothing untoward happened,” she said irritably. For goodness’ sake, she was a grown woman. And this was her store. Her house.

Mrs. Flynn set the covered dish on the counter. “I understand, dear. I just thought you might need my help with an uncomfortable situation. I was on my way over when I heard raised voices.”

That stopped Elizabeth. “You interrupted...because you were worried?”

Mrs. Flynn readjusted her wire-rimmed glasses on her button nose and peered down at her. “Of course. You live alone. Someone has to watch out for you. And I know your mother would appreciate it.”

“Then thank you. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful just now.”

The older woman fussed with the placement of the towel over the bowl, trying to keep the steam and heat contained. “Did you know that man, dear?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Once, a long time ago.”

“He’s rather gruff if you ask me. And unkempt.”

Her appraisal sparked a memory, making Elizabeth relax her grip on her frustration. “You should have seen him in his army blues. He was quite dashing.”

She ignored the woman’s sudden renewed interest and rose, walking over to the counter and the bowl of stew. The aroma of onions and cooked meat wafted up. She wasn’t hungry in the least. Not now—now that she knew Tom Barrington was near. “Thank you for this. It smells delicious.”

“You are entirely welcome. I’ll...just be going, then.”

“Good night, Mrs. Flynn.”

Elizabeth waited for her to leave, and then shut and latched the door. Through the crack between the shade and the window frame she peered out the window and watched her neighbor enter her house. Exactly how long did the woman intend to look out for her? Until she herself was ninety? Her brother... Mrs. Flynn...they meant well. In their way, they made her feel safe. She loved La Playa, loved the harbor and the people. Truly, she did. But lately the town seemed to close in on her in the same way that the air could feel heavy before a threatening storm.

She walked to the stove and poured the hot water from the kettle over the tea infuser while her thoughts centered on all that Tom had said. He thought she was married! All this time! For all these years! It was so improbable. Could that be why he had never answered her letter?

And now, what did it mean that he was back? He had given no reason for his being here, and since he’d believed she was married, it certainly wasn’t to see her.

Would he return? Would she see him again? He might come back—although judging from his past record she didn’t know why she should believe that. Slowly, the tightness in her chest eased. Perhaps the question she should be asking herself is whether she wanted him to. Just thinking that way made her stomach churn. No. Definitely no. It would not be for the best.

* * *

“Come on to the house.” Sam Furst tilted his head, indicating Tom should follow him. Tom descended the hotel’s steps and together they walked past the livery. Neither spoke until Sam stopped before a house that was easily the largest one in the small town. An aged picket fence surrounded the two-story clapboard house and matching carriage house.

“Watch your step,” Sam said when he opened the gate for Tom to pass through. “Got a few loose bricks that need repairing.” Sam led the way, unheeding of Tom’s slight hobbling and slower gait. That’s how Tom wanted it. No concessions.

When he entered the house, Tom heard a woman speaking in a cultured tone somewhere down the hall and out of his sight.

“Amanda is in the kitchen,” Sam mouthed quietly. He ushered Tom into the small private library off the hall and shut the door. “She has taken it upon herself to ready this house for me to inhabit again. We haven’t been here in years—ever since we moved to the city.”

Tom wanted to ask how his sister was doing, but thought it best to see first how Sam handled the meeting. If he was tense and...hostile, Amanda would be that and more.

As Sam lit the lantern, Tom removed his felt hat and took in the changes that a year had wrought on the man.

Furst had put on weight. Nothing that would slow him down. His face was slightly fuller—fleshed out—as though he didn’t get much time to be out of doors now that he’d entered the banking business. His light brown hair had been cut short recently and his small mustache and goatee, although thin in areas, had been trimmed to a tidy length. His clothes looked to be brand-new and a bit on the large size. Maybe, like this new job, he was counting on growing into them. He looked more the part of a banker now—stable and moneyed. Sam removed his hat and with his other hand smoothed back his short, pomaded hair. With the motion, his jacket parted, revealing a silk vest with a chain and watch fob.

Sam didn’t extend his hand—not that Tom had expected him to. Too much water under the bridge for that. The last time he had seen him they weren’t on the best of terms so Tom figured he should address him formally.

“Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Furst.”

Sam hesitated a second—as if the title were still new to him—but then motioned to the wingback in front of the cold fireplace while he sat down in the chair opposite. Tom moved to sit and Sam followed his every move, sizing him up with his gaze. “I thought that injury would have healed by now.”

“It has as much as it’s going to.” He hoped that wasn’t a point against him in collaborating with Sam.

“I wouldn’t have recognized you. You always have been a chameleon.”

Tom rubbed his beard, thinking maybe he should have shaved for this meeting, although he doubted a small thing like that would put him in the Fursts’ good graces. Besides, maybe he once was a chameleon but no longer. It had been hard enough to blend in with his six-foot-four-inch frame, but now the catch in his walk made it even harder. It made him slow...and awkward at times. A person could pick him out of a crowd, which was not a good thing for someone who was a field agent.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you’d gotten out of this type of work. Last I heard the government let you go.”

So Sam had been keeping tabs on him. Interesting. “Just took a hiatus. Had to let my leg heal...” And a few other things he wouldn’t go into.

“But you are not with the government?”

“No. Not any longer. My choice.” The desk job they insisted he take hadn’t suited him.

“I am surprised the agency sent you.”

Tom didn’t blink at the rub. “I am the best man for the job. Wells Fargo knows that.” He’d been running down thieves and criminals for years—particularly gold thieves. He knew how they operated and was usually one step ahead of them.

“I suppose so...now that Cranston is gone.”

On hearing his partner’s name, a shaft as cold as an icicle sliced through him. Sam probably didn’t need to know that he had asked for this assignment. First, Tom needed to prove to himself that he still had it in him to manage an operation, but more than that, he needed to atone for Cranston’s death. He owed it to Cranston, and to Amanda, his widow.

“Just so you know...when Amanda heard it might be you they were sending she wasn’t happy.”

“Guess that’s understandable, considering things.” Considering their past. He had never expected to talk with Sam or his family again. His showing up here was a reminder of their loss.

“In the event she walks in on us...you’ve been warned.”

Tom nodded. “Understood.”

“Did you stop at the main bank? Talk to my father?”

“I tried to,” he answered honestly. “He refused to see me.” He raked his fingers through his hair. He didn’t need Sam’s blessing or permission. He could do what he wanted to do without it. Yet if all went well, he’d be helping the Fursts and maybe atoning somewhat for his partner’s death. So why did he feel like he was in front of a firing squad?

Sam studied him for a minute, his fingers steepled in front of him. Likely he wondered if he should follow his father’s lead. Tom just hoped he’d keep an open mind. Finally Sam lowered his hands. “All right. Here’s what I know.”

Now it came to it. Tom leaned forward.

“A month ago there was a robbery in Bakersfield, similar to the one we had recently in Clear Springs. They tried running the ore down the mountain in the dead of night like we did and still ended up getting waylaid by the crooks and losing ten thousand dollars in gold bullion.”

“They’ve got someone on the inside,” Tom said immediately.

Sam drew his brows together. “How can you know that?”

“They were ready. At night. Doesn’t take much to deduce.”

Sam sighed. “Well, then go ahead. What’s your take on things?”

“Wells Fargo is aware of all you just said. They think it is likely the same group of thieves. Their ploy was successful, which makes Wells Fargo believe they’ll target you again. They’ll gain a certain arrogance in succeeding. Criminals do. And the fact that you are so close to Mexico makes it all too easy for them to slip over the border and disappear.”

Sam listened, but then pulled back, his gaze clouding over. “I just can’t get past why the agency sent you after what happened. Because of you, my sister is a widow.”

The barely controlled emotion shook Tom up. He had known, even though it had been an entire year, that he would encounter anger. Still, Sam’s attitude made him feel all over again how unworthy he was to be alive when Cranston, Amanda’s husband, wasn’t. “I’ll get the job done, Sam. If anything, I have more at stake in the outcome than any other field agent.”

Sam let out a sigh. “Guess you have something there.”

“Believe me, no one wants this more than I do. I don’t care how messy things get.”

Sam clasped his hands over his stomach and blew out a breath.

Tom could tell he wasn’t getting through to him. “Let me put it another way. Wells Fargo hired me. Not you. I answer to them so I am going to do this whether I have your cooperation or not. Without it, there is more of a chance I won’t be successful and you may lose more gold. If we work together things will go smoother. We can collaborate and figure out a few moves that keep us ahead of any robbery.”

Sam snorted. “Persistent, aren’t you?”

He was still on shaky ground. That wasn’t a yes from Sam, but at least he was able to joke about it a little. “I know what I have to do and thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam huffed, still tense. Then slowly he relaxed his shoulders. “However, I agree. We do have to work together.”

Tom waited. This entire meeting was awkward as they both tried to assess where they stood with each other.

“You’ve got nerve, Barrington, showing up here after all that has happened,” Sam finally said. “But then maybe that’s exactly what is needed in this situation.”

Nerve had nothing to do with it. What he had was nothing to lose. He was through living his life in the shadows like an injured dog, the way he had for the past year. Losing his partner had eaten at him until he barely recognized himself.

“I tell myself there was no way you could have prevented Cranston’s death,” Sam said. “Given the same circumstances, I might have called it just like you did. Still doesn’t mean that I can accept what happened.”

Whatever had made Sam say that much, Tom was grateful for it. At least they were talking. “I don’t expect you to. I wish it had gone the other way.” He could commiserate and tell him that not a day went by that he didn’t regret what had happened. He could still see his partner crumpling to the floor, still see the shock on his face as his life bled out. They had orchestrated any number of scenarios to make sure they each had each other’s back, just not the presence of a little boy who should never have been on that train car in the first place.

“But it didn’t,” Sam stated. “And along with Cranston, Amanda’s life was destroyed.”

Amanda blamed him, but no more than he did himself. Surely she hoped he would have died instead of her husband. It was the number one reason he didn’t want a wife or family with the type of job he had. It wasn’t fair to them. He’d talked to Cranston a number of times before the man married, trying to dissuade him from getting hitched. His warning had fallen on deaf ears. And now it had all come to pass. Being right didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“I heard she had a girl.”

For the first time, Sam smiled. “Lacy is a little over a year old now.” He stood and paced the length of the small room twice, then came back to stand in front of him. “All right, Tom. It is obvious this is personal. I can’t help but think I’d want to do the same thing if it were me. Meet me at the bank first thing Monday morning. I’ll have your stipend and we can hash out any further details then.”

Tom stood. It felt as if the first obstacle had been overcome. After the ride south, his horse needed another day of rest and so did he before heading into the backcountry. “Fair enough, but I want to leave immediately afterward. I need to get an idea of the lay of the backcountry.”

Chapter Three

Pastor Warner’s sermons usually held her attention, but this morning Elizabeth couldn’t concentrate one wit on his words. She found herself checking the pews behind her, scanning for Tom’s presence. When she didn’t see him, she wondered why she even hoped he might attend services. The thought exasperated her. Her brother would call her naive and foolish, and in this instance, she would agree with him. When Tom was posted here, he would attend services with the others from the fort. It was a way for them to mingle with those in the community and also a way to escape the daily sameness at Fort Rosecrans. But now he was no longer in the military and he certainly didn’t have a stake in anything in La Playa.

As the pastor droned on, Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted back to when Tom had been posted here in town. The memories of him came back as vivid as though it were yesterday. Especially the last time she’d seen him.

It had been near the end of the workday, that day in late July. The daylight lingered long after the last customer had left the store. She had yanked a bolt of fabric out from under the stack of other bolts and spread it on the table, thinking that the creamy white cotton would be perfect for pillow cases. It was for her trousseau and it was one thing she knew would be appreciated if only by her. Preston had stopped by earlier and listened with a disinterested expression at her idea for crocheting edging out of the same color thread and adding pink rose florets for further decoration. “Feminine nonsense,” he called it. Her brother had chuckled condescendingly and the two of them had left for a drink at the saloon. Those two, she had come to realize, were cut from the same cloth. She remembered that the thought had bothered her.

Earlier that morning, Terrance had accepted his birthday present—a deep reddish-brown shirt she’d sewn with embroidered initials on the pocket. She’d known by his expression he didn’t care for it. When had he become so difficult to please? Seemed all he liked were personally tailored suits from that Marston’s store in San Diego. How could her sewing hope to compete with that?

It was a relief that he had chosen to spend the evening with his lady friend in the city. After the shirt fiasco, she wouldn’t have known what to do to celebrate his birthday. He had even set aside the cake she’d baked, saying he’d taste it later. And then he’d left for San Diego! A day-old cake was preferable to a few more moments with his sister!

A knock sounded at the doorpost. She should have closed the door after the last customer but the summer day had been so warm that even her thick braid had felt like a heavy blanket lying down her back.

“Miss Morley?”

At the sound of Corporal Barrington’s deep voice, delight had spread through her. This was a surprise! He’d said he had duty. Smiling inwardly, she smoothed the fabric once more and then turned to the door.

“Permission to enter requested, miss.”

He looked gallant standing there in his blue uniform, his yellow bandanna fluttering at his neck from the light evening breeze. The uniform set off the blue in his eyes so perfectly. She remembered wondering if there was a special event at the fort that day. Earlier a few gunshots had gone off, equally spaced such as would happen in a ceremony. She grinned at his use of formal address. “Hello...Corporal. You are quite late. I don’t know if I shall give permission or not. I was just closing up.”

He glanced into the store, ducking his head as he swiped off his blue cap and stepped just inside the entrance. “It’s quiet in here. Where is your brother?”

“He’s celebrating his birthday in the city.”

He raised a brow and said in a conspiring manner, “So you are...a woman...alone?”

She nodded, a giggle bubbling up. “That doesn’t mean you have permission to enter. I don’t allow miscreants in my store.”

“Miscreants?” He teased her with a wounded look and then pointed at her feet where Patches rubbed against her skirt. “You allow that cat in... I’d say I rate better than a cat.”

She picked up Patches. “He’s not just any cat. He’s my expert mouser.” She rubbed her cheek against the smooth orange hair on her pet’s head. “What is your specialty?”

“Why I can shoot a flea off a rabbit at fifty paces.”

She laughed softly. “There is no way you can prove that claim, Corporal.”

He grinned. “No way to disprove it, either.” Then he straightened, all amusement evaporating from his countenance and a tender expression entering his gaze. “I can’t believe how much those brown eyes of yours sparkle when you laugh.”

It was the first time he’d ever said anything so personal...and been serious about it. Although sometimes she’d catch him looking at her and she would wonder if, maybe, he was thinking those kinds of thoughts. But then, they never spoke to each other about it. This was a bit unusual. “What is it, Tom?”

“Something came up today. I want you to celebrate with me. Are you free?”

She lowered Patches to the floor. “Certainly.” Picking up her light pink shawl, something to keep her arms covered properly in public, she slipped it over her shoulders and then stepped through the doorway, pulling the door shut.

He waited on the steps. “I have something special planned. No questions, all right?”

“I thought you were on duty this evening.”

“I got permission to take a few hours off.”

He took her arm and led her to the pier where the water lapped at the pilings and the half-submerged boulders. He was quiet during the short walk.

“What’s going on?”

His blue eyes twinkled in a devilish grin. “No questions. Remember?”

A medium-size rowboat bobbed at the pier. He started down a short ladder, stepped into it and steadied her as she followed in her long skirt. She sat down in the bow, tucking her skirt around her ankles, while he settled on the wide wooden board in the middle of the boat. Behind him, he had stored a large basket that he’d covered with a thick blanket. From it the tantalizing aroma of fried chicken wafted over to her. Beside the basket, an armload of kindling and wood had been piled on the floorboards.

“A picnic?” She was charmed. Then she realized she’d never seen him in a boat. “Do you know how to row this thing?”

“I’ve had a trial voyage. Practiced a good five minutes.”

“And I can trust that we won’t capsize?” she said.

“With my life, miss. I won’t let you go under.”

“Well, that is encouraging, Corporal.” He was a good swimmer. She’d spied him once with a few other soldiers in a race across to North Island.

“No whitecaps. The water is smooth this evening.” He frowned at her then as if remembering himself. “Didn’t I say no questions?”

She smiled, enjoying the teasing. “And I’ll be back at a respectable hour?”

“Absolutely. Your reputation is my main concern.”

“Imagine that.”

She was quiet after that and leaned back against the boat, enjoying the tug and glide of the boat that hinted at Tom’s strong muscles as he pulled on the oars. The evening breeze cooled her skin—now so much cooler than it had been all day. She sighed, contented with how the day was ending after the unpleasant start with her brother and Preston.

“So, we are celebrating something. Hmm. Is it your birthday?”

He shook his head.

“That’s a relief. If it was, that would mean you shared it with my brother.”

“At the sour look on your face, I’m suspecting that that would not be good.”

“Definitely not good.”

“And you are asking questions again.”

“Well, you are always so quiet about yourself. For instance, besides not knowing your birthday, I know nothing about your family. Do you have sisters or brothers? What about your parents?”

He stopped rowing and let the boat glide. “I did. They’re gone now. My father was a sheriff in Tucson. My mother ran the house and painted landscapes, but mostly took care of her two men. No siblings.” He pulled on the oars again. “And that is all you are going to get for now. We have a celebration happening.”

In his short, clipped response she’d noticed his use of past tense. She had the distinct feeling that she would only dampen the mood by pursuing more information about them.

They reached the shore of North Island and Tom jumped out into the shallow wash. He tugged at the boat, scraping it up on the sand until she could alight without getting herself wet. He assisted her first and then grabbed the wood.

They didn’t really need a fire considering the day’s warmth, but it did make the picnic more special. A jackrabbit raised its head and stared at the flames for a second and then hopped away. She spread out the blanket on the beach and sat down. From here she could see a few whitewashed buildings in Old Town and also in La Playa. The strong smell of kelp that had washed up on the sand traveled on the breeze and mixed with the scent of burning wood from their fire.

Tom retrieved the picnic basket from the boat and plopped it onto the blanket. He sat down beside her and a spare grin slanted across his face. The small fire crackled and sparked, warming her face and hands, the light flickering and dancing in his gaze.

Her heart fluttered nervously. This was the most alone she had ever been with him. She felt safe, of course, but she also felt an intimacy unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Before, they’d been surrounded by other soldiers or her friends from church. This was different. His slightest shift of position, his gentle tug on her shawl to pull it back into place on her shoulders, all seemed so much more special alone like this. She placed her hands in her lap and waited.

“I was promoted today,” he finally said. “I am to be Corporal First Class under Lieutenant Cranston. We are going to be honed into a special team.”

A glow of happiness for him filled her. “But this is wonderful! It’s what you’ve always wanted! You’ve been waiting for this to happen.”

He beamed self-consciously. “It was taking them so long to notice that I thought they had passed over me. They said they liked my sharpshooting and the fact I can tell the good guys from the bad guys.” He tilted the basket her way, offering her first pick of the chicken pieces.

“I imagine it is a wonderful opportunity.” She hesitated a moment, thinking about what it might entail. “And perhaps dangerous?”

“Just about any other assignment is dangerous compared to this quiet post.”

“Your father would be proud,” she said tentatively, hoping for a little more insight into who Tom Barrington was.

“I hope so.” He seemed to contemplate her for a moment, then looked back at the fire, concentrating on the glowing flames. “I’m not the lawyer he wanted. Once he was gone, we couldn’t afford school. But I’m doing something that will make a difference. Something that will bring justice.”

When he said the word justice, the look on his face made her pause in taking another bite of food. He looked determined—and in a way almost vengeful. Her eyes burned with the quick welling up of tears. She reached over to squeeze his arm. “He would like that,” she said softly.

A soft orange sunset fanned across the sky and colored his skin with a deep tan. He swallowed hard, staring at her hand. “The minute I heard, all I could think about was telling you. That’s all that mattered. You look... You take my breath away, Elizabeth. Every time I see you...from that first day in the store.”

She blushed, aware of a similar feeling every time she looked at him. Handsome, broad-shouldered and tall—the sight of him did fascinating things to her insides.

“Are you still seeing Preston?”

Dismayed at the change of subject, she let go of Tom’s arm. For some reason, she couldn’t meet his gaze. “He comes by. Lately it seems that Terrance monopolizes his time more than I do. My brother hangs on his every word. I heard them scheming up a new business venture just this morning.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Instead of paying attention to you? He’s a fool.”

“No,” she said with a tolerant smile. “He’s a nice man, but sometimes I wonder what drew me to him in the first place.”

“Money. Prestige. Those can be powerful.”

“At times I feel that I am just a proper decoration on his arm,” she blurted out, and then stopped talking. Whatever was going on was between her and Preston? She wasn’t engaged, but she had the feeling he was heading in that direction. It was just his way to be methodical and sure. Unfortunately, that made her feel as if she were one of his business acquisitions.

“But you love him.”

She stopped short, surprised Tom would say such a thing.

At her hesitation, a slow, warm smile broke across his handsome face. He tilted his head slightly to the side, studying her. “Good. I wanted to be clear about that.”

Her heart began to pound. She was unable to look away, captured easily by his gaze. She gripped tight to the ends of her shawl and wrapped them closer. “Wh...why?” She felt as if she were slipping down a deep chasm.

He shifted his hips and moved closer. “Because I don’t like competition.” He splayed his fingers on her upper back, drawing her toward him. Firelight flickered in his eyes and suddenly she was much warmer. He had never kissed her before, although sometimes he had looked at her and she knew he wanted to by the way he studied her mouth. That look made her pulse race, but this...this was so much headier. His lips touched her skin beneath her ear in a soft, warm kiss. Slowly he trailed his lips to her neck under her jaw. He paused for a second—which to her seemed like an eternity—and then with purposeful intent, his gaze still on hers, he pressed his mouth against hers.

The horizon seemed to tilt on its edge and for a moment her breath ceased movement in her lungs. She flushed all over—and then, as she exhaled, a sigh of contentment followed.

“I want to be first in your life, Elizabeth,” he murmured against her lips. “I need to be first.”

“You are,” she breathed, albeit a bit shakily. First kiss, first...

Apparently that was all the encouragement he needed. Tom deepened the kiss. The sparks and crackles from the fire blended into the touch of his mouth as light exploded through her. He teased the seam of her lips with his tongue until she opened her mouth.

Now a new sensation careened through her. Her pulse raced and she melted into a puddle of fire and feeling. She’d never experienced anything so all-consuming. Her bones turned to butter, soft and pliable. She gripped the brass buttons on his uniform, drawing him nearer, reveling in his strength. She feathered her fingers through his hair at the base of his neck, cupping her palm on his warm skin. She wanted him closer.

“Ah, Elizabeth. Had I known...” he murmured into her ear, sending delightful shivers throughout her body. He circled her with his arms and pressed her gently to the blanket.

The first shards of impropriety pricked her conscience.

She froze, tense.

He stopped kissing her immediately. “What is it?”

“We need to stop.” She pushed against his chest. When he moved away, she wiggled away from him. Sitting up, she dragged in a big breath and adjusted her shirtwaist and skirt. Her skin felt hot and tingly—and she knew it was not from the picnic fire.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Shaken, she wanted to say. Shaken beyond anything she’d ever felt—at him, at herself. “I’m fine. Perhaps, though, we had best start back.”

He sat up, took a deep breath and raked his hand through his hair. For a moment it seemed he wanted to say more but he only nodded and then began returning the napkins and dishes to the wicker basket. He popped up to his feet and carried the basket to the boat.

When he came back, they shook out the sand from the blanket.

“The wind has come up,” he said. “You’d better wrap this around you.”

He helped her into the boat, tucked the blanket around her gently and shoved off, rowing back across the channel as the purple twilight faded away into night. Stars sprinkled the sky with pinpoints of light all the way to the horizon at the sea. He was so quiet. She wished she knew what he was thinking. Her own thoughts were in turmoil. Was it the same for him?

“Tom... I...”

“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “I should get back to my barracks, too.”

In town, the road was a gray ribbon in the twilight, leading out of town. Shadows darkened the boardwalk in front of the store. Across the way, Mrs. Flynn turned up the wick on the lantern in her parlor, letting the light shine out through her front window and onto the road.

At the mercantile’s door, Elizabeth turned to him before going inside.

He pushed aside a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Something new shone in his eyes...a tenderness she hadn’t noticed before. She wondered if he could see the same thing in her. She raised up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Congratulations on your promotion. I’m so proud of you.”

He stopped her from pulling away with his hands on her shoulders and drew her back to him, wrapping his arms around her once more. “I don’t want to let you go.”

She huffed out a breath. “You have to. They’ve already played taps.”

“I know,” he breathed into the crook of her neck.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He looked at her and the intensity she saw in his eyes overwhelmed her. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” she whispered. Over the summer her feelings had grown stronger with every innocent moment they’d shared. And now all pretenses to deny her true emotions evaporated. She loved him—and wanted him to know it. “I love you, Tom Barrington.”

At her confession, he hesitated a moment, and then bent down to kiss her long and thorough. She closed her eyes, absorbing the warmth of his lips, enjoying his soft touch.

“I’m on duty tomorrow, but I’ll come afterward.”

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. It was a promise. “Tomorrow.”

That had been the last time she saw Tom...until now.

It was painful to ponder what had happened all those years ago. She had blurted out her feelings and the thought of it embarrassed her now. Tom had gone to seek his future and never wrote, never tried to contact her. He’d obviously enjoyed the summer on the water and then moved on. It was futile to wish things had been different. He hadn’t cared enough to stay—or ask her to go with him.

She tightened her jaw. It may have taken a while, but she had learned her lesson well. She would not be making a fool of herself again. Not ever.

With surprise, she realized that people in the pews surrounding her had risen and were singing the ending hymn. Quickly she rose and joined in, hoping no one had noticed her lack of interest in the sermon.

* * *

After the service, Elizabeth descended the whitewashed steps of the church, while at the same time tying her straw bonnet ribbons under her chin. The day was sunny but cool, so she tugged her heavy ecru shawl about her shoulders and then glanced toward the hotel. On the wide porch stood her brother, nose to nose with Sam Furst in what appeared to be a very heated discussion by the way Terrance was using his hands and leaning into the conversation.

Tall and thin, with dark brown hair and eyes the same as hers, it was nonetheless curious how different Terrance was from her. They might look similar and both have ambitious natures but that is where it ended. Her brother’s personality veered vastly different from hers. Even his sense of humor was nothing like hers. Where she preferred witty anecdotes and puns, his tended to the coarse and at times rather banal. She certainly didn’t understand him. He glanced over just then and noticed her approach. Straightening, he waved impatiently for her to hurry up.

She eyed the disgruntled expression on his face. Whatever the topic between him and Sam, he certainly wasn’t happy with what he was hearing. It looked as though he was more than ready for her to join him.

In the hotel’s restaurant, her brother chose a favorite table in the center of the room. She had asked him once why that particular table and he answered that Preston had once recommended it. It was so that he could see and greet people all around him at nearby tables. Sitting near the wall would give him only half the area. She suspected an opposite motive—he wanted people to notice he was there. Plus, a few times she’d been aware of him eavesdropping on conversations at nearby tables. She’d thought to caution him on it, but then held her tongue. It wouldn’t do any good to say something. He wouldn’t listen to her, anyway.

As she settled into the chair, smoothing her midnight-blue dress over her knees, a man with a thatch of dark brown hair at the table just beyond Terrance caught her eye. She inhaled sharply. Tom sat not ten feet away—alone with an empty plate and full cup of coffee in front of him. He tipped his chin up, acknowledging her, his gaze steady and unnerving as always.

She realized, suddenly, what was different about the way he looked from last night. He had shaved and put on a fresh shirt, so that now without the scruffy beard she could clearly see the contours of his face. He had definitely matured—not an ounce of boyish flesh that she remembered remained. Everything about him signaled strength and manliness. Tiny lines fanned out near each eye—the kind that happened from laughing a lot or perhaps squinting in the sun. She rather thought it was the latter. It wasn’t fair that he had grown even more handsome since the last time he’d been here.

When Terrance eyed her with a curious expression, she smiled a bit too brightly, distracted as she was by Tom’s presence. One moment she wished he would just disappear and the next she hoped he would come join her. How could he sit there so casually oblivious to all that they had been to each other? Of course, it no longer bothered her. It happened too long ago and she had learned...oh, yes...she had learned from it. The others in the restaurant would not be getting an eyeful today.

Apparently her brother hadn’t noticed Tom. Considering how things had gone in the past between the two, it was probably a good thing. And as it was none of her business why Tom was in town, and he obviously wasn’t here to visit her, she had best ignore his close proximity other than to be pleasant should the need arise. With concerted effort, she turned her attention to her brother, who, she realized, was dressed particularly sharp. In the next second, she realized why.

“A new suit?” she asked. “From Marston’s? Does this mean you have decided to run for the city commerce board?”

“I thought about what you said a few weeks ago. You were right. If changes are to be made that will affect my business, I want to be in on the decision-making.”

She had encouraged it only to keep him from pressing her about moving to the city with him and helping him with his business—a discussion that surfaced more and more often now that his business was up and running. She hoped instead that he would marry and start a family. If she wasn’t going to have a family of her own, at least she would be able to dote on nieces and nephews.

A serving waitress stopped by their table and took their orders. Dinner consisted of yellowtail fish and boiled parsley potatoes—a staple and one well-liked by the Sunday crowd. She pushed her food about her plate, taking a bite now and then while Terrance droned on about the Chinese abalone and shrimp fishing going on in the area. She could barely concentrate on what he was saying. Each time she looked up, she couldn’t keep from glancing beyond Terrance, and each time Tom was watching her. She lowered her gaze immediately, but still felt a flush of warmth rise on her cheeks. He simply filled the room with his presence.

“The supplies you ordered have arrived,” Terrance said. “They’ll be on the Wells Fargo Stage for the Tuesday run.”

Her brother’s words registered after a moment. “The supplies?” She had ordered them months ago. “That’s wonderful. I received word from Gemma just this week. The schoolhouse is nearly finished.”

She toyed with her china cup, smoothing her finger around the rim, hoping Terrance would go along with her plan to visit Gemma. She could just imagine the delight on her friend’s face when she first opened the crates of supplies and she wanted to be there to see it. Terrance didn’t like change—especially change that he didn’t instigate and might affect his income in any way. He would shove a laundry list of reasons at her why she shouldn’t go, and since half of the store was his, he did have a right to be a part of the decision. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I would like to visit her...and take her the supplies myself.”

Terrance paused from stuffing a forkful of slaw into his mouth. Slowly he put his fork down. “I don’t see that that is necessary.”

She leaned forward. “I’d like to be there when she first sees everything. I want to see the expression on her face.”

“Just who do you expect to watch the mercantile? I certainly can’t.”

She pressed her lips together. Of course that would be Terrance’s first concern. Always practical. Always economical. But he had a valid point. Who would watch the store? And there was her cat to consider. Left on her own, Patches would be easy game for coyotes.

She tapped her fingers on the tabletop, considering her limited options. “Otis Ferriday? Mrs. Flynn?”

With a wave of his hand, Terrance dismissed those two suggestions as unsuitable.

“Why not? What wrong with one of them? Mrs. Flynn has even availed herself of the order sheets and dusting once or twice when I wasn’t feeling well.”

He ticked them off on his fingers. “Otis Ferriday is older than dirt and just as rumpled. He doesn’t instill trust. Mrs. Flynn will gossip with everyone who stops in. We’d lose business because of her overactive tongue.”

She sat back in her chair, stunned to hear him speak so harshly right out in the open where anybody could hear. She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I cannot believe you said that here in front of everybody! These are my neighbors! Besides hurting business...it is rude!” They were his former neighbors, too.

His expression of disdain let her know that her shock didn’t faze him. “Is Miss Starling even expecting you?”

“Well...no. But that’s part of the fun. I...”

“Then it won’t matter if you delay until things are better planned,” he said, interrupting her. “You can’t travel alone, and as you know I am too busy to accompany you, especially for such a frivolous trip.”

Elizabeth frowned. Here she was just barely warming up to the idea and her brother was dashing cold water on it. She wouldn’t want him along, anyway, with such an attitude.

“I will be perfectly safe on the stagecoach. It is only one long day’s travel. I would stay for a week at most. I’ve not had a holiday since...” She stopped short. She hadn’t had a holiday—not a real one—since taking on the mercantile full-time after their father died.

Terrance pressed his lips into a thin line. “Elizabeth. You haven’t thought this through. You do realize my appointment to the city council will occur in four weeks. I could use you in the city, helping run things at my store there. Besides, a trip is just too expensive right now.”

“This from the man who just bought a new suit,” she hissed. But perhaps he was right. They would have to pay someone to watch the store and it sounded like Terrance had been counting on her help. She sighed. She hated to let him down. Maybe it was poor timing. It began to feel that way now.

“Why is it even necessary? A note, along with the crates, will suffice.”

“I was the one who rallied the community and gathered the money for the school supplies. I was the one who ordered them. I want to be the one surprising Gemma.” Maybe it was selfish, but that was how she felt. As the sinking realization that she really shouldn’t go settled over her, she pushed away from the table, no longer interested in finishing her meal.

Her mother’s dying wish was that they do their best to keep the family together. She and Terrance had both held Mother’s hand and promised, but lately Terrance made it so difficult to keep that promise, especially when he stubbornly refused to budge on certain issues.

The excitement of only a moment ago evaporated as quickly as it had occurred. She placed her napkin beside her plate. “Thank you for the dinner...and for seeing to the supplies. I suppose whether I’m there or not, Gemma will still be happy to get them.”

Terrance pulled his money clip from his inside vest pocket, preparing to pay the bill. Behind him, Tom moved his head slightly, drawing her attention until she met his eyes. Wonderful. He probably overheard the entire conversation. Wouldn’t that be just perfect?

Without preamble, he pushed his chair back, making a loud scraping noise, and stood, unfolding until he towered over the both of them. He took a minute to meet Terrance’s gaze before settling on hers. “I don’t mean to interrupt your meal, but seeing as how you are done, I’ll say hello.” The corner of his mouth came up in a spare lopsided smile that did funny things to her inside. “Didn’t get that far yesterday.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barrington,” she said, feeling her brother’s scrutiny as she spoke.

“Well, well,” Terrance said in his smoothly oiled voice. “This is a surprise. What brings you to town, Barrington?”

Tom broke eye contact with her and faced her brother, the half-smile dissolving into a thin, straight line. “A job.”

Then his gaze slid right back to her. Heat flared in her cheeks. She was sure every set of eyes in the restaurant must be concentrated on them. What in the world did he want?

“Then you won’t be in town long?” Terrance asked.

She felt the press of her brother’s hand against the small of her back, signaling it was time to go. Curious how Tom would answer him, she planted her feet firmly in place.

“I haven’t decided. It depends on a few things.”

“Sorry we can’t stay and join you,” Terrance said, pushing her more insistently.

“That’s all right. I actually prefer to eat with friends.”

She drew in a sharp breath. Why was Tom deliberately taunting her brother?

“Well. Good luck on that.”

The tension running beneath their words puzzled her, like a taut cord of leather made stronger by a soaking. Where was all this animosity coming from?

“Perhaps Miss Morley would like dessert? It is ‘Miss,’ correct?”

He knew she wasn’t married. What was he getting at?

“I’ll walk her home afterward.”

All civility dropped from her brother’s aspect. “I can walk her home myself. She doesn’t need anything from the likes of you. Understand?”

Tom stepped into the space between the tables, successfully barring the path with his body. He narrowed his eyes to slits, his jaw tense. “Understand? As a matter of fact—yes. I’m beginning to understand a heck of a lot. I don’t believe you gave the lady a chance to answer.”

So much for not making a scene in front of everyone in the restaurant! She was sure that all eyes were staring at the three of them. Mutely she shook her head.

“Another time, perhaps.” He took his time stepping out of the way.

She remembered to breathe, and then somehow made herself move forward toward the door. Her cheeks had to be cherry red they were so hot.

Terrance hung back. She couldn’t hear what he said to Tom, but she knew that tone of voice. It wasn’t pleasant being on the receiving end of it.

Yet it seemed that Tom’s words and attitude had done everything to antagonize Terrance when all her brother had been was polite. Well—perhaps until that last bit that she couldn’t hear.

She stepped onto the porch and clung tightly to the wooden railing. For a moment she let the ocean breeze cool the heat emanating from her face. This was a different Tom than the one she remembered. Before, he’d been fun and forgiving of the differences between himself and her brother. This Tom was in all ways a self-possessed man, not taking any aggravation or intimidation from another and able to hand it out if necessary. Had he been like that before and she simply hadn’t noticed? She didn’t think so. What had changed him?

Terrance took hold of her arm and accompanied her down the steps and toward the mercantile. She stumbled, trying to keep up with his long, brisk stride. Her satin hat ribbons whipped across her face and her skirt tangled around her. She wanted so badly to look back to see if Tom remained on the hotel’s porch. She turned her head ever so slightly...

Terrance tugged her around with a firmness that bordered on pain. “He’s there. No need to look.”

They stepped up onto the boardwalk in front of the mercantile and Terrance unlocked the door. “Well, sister. It’s time you and I had a little talk.”

* * *

Inside the mercantile, Elizabeth jerked from Terrance’s grasp and rubbed her arm. Her heart pounded from seeing Tom and then being half dragged down the street by her brother.

“What, may I ask, was that all about?” she demanded.

Terrance scowled as he removed his coat and hat. In one swift motion he threw them with such momentum over the straight-backed chair that they continued on to the floor. “Well, that was unexpected. And by the way Barrington spoke, apparently you knew he was in town. How long has he been here?”

Elizabeth stopped rubbing her arm. Was he accusing her of something? She walked over to pick up his hat and coat, smoothing the latter carefully over the chair’s back. “He stopped in last evening.”

“No wonder he was so casual with you. What did he want?”

She stiffened. What business was that of Terrance’s? “He didn’t want anything. He seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him. We barely spoke past acknowledgment of each other before Mrs. Flynn interrupted us.”

He paced the length of the store, rubbing the back of his neck and mumbling. “Great. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”

“What do you mean?” It wasn’t like him to be so agitated. She moved to the counter and removed her gloves and her bonnet and waited for an answer.

He barely acknowledged her words. “Last I heard, the military released him. I didn’t think he would have the nerve to show his face around here again.”

“Why ever not?”

He met her gaze. “It was a dishonorable discharge.”

That caught her attention. She immediately stiffened. “Dishonorable! No. I can’t believe that. He would never...”

Terrance snorted lightly. “It’s been a long time since he lived here. Circumstances, good or bad, change a man.”

“No. Not that much. Not Tom.”

He dismissed her words with an irritated wave of his hand. “You are quick to come to his defense, considering how he treated you in the past.”

“I’m not coming to his defense... I just cannot fathom that he would do anything deemed dishonorable.” Everything about Tom in the military had screamed justice.

“Like I said, a man can change.”

She realized suddenly that her brother had not shared any of this with her at the time. “You knew they let him go and didn’t tell me?”

Terrance did not seem to hear her. “I wonder who he is working for now.” He stopped pacing and looked at her as if she could supply the answer.

Slowly she removed her shawl and hung it back on the peg. She didn’t know anything about Tom’s job here, and whatever she revealed her brother would try to twist and turn to his fortune. He’d always been that way. It didn’t seem her place to say anything. If he wanted to know more, he should ask Tom. “Why are you upset, Terrance? I’m the one he left. I’m the one who had to face things before. Not you.”

He swallowed, his expression a curious mixture of speculation and worry. Then his shoulders relaxed. “I don’t want to see you hurt. That’s all. What he did before took you years to put behind you.”

He had always blamed Tom...and she was tired of it. “That was as much due to what Preston did as it was due to Tom. Preston nearly ruined this town when he pulled out his backing. That wasn’t Tom’s fault at all.”

“No. It was yours.”

She refused to feel any guilt, although Terrance tried his best to blame her. In her heart she knew that she’d made the right decision. With Tom, she had realized what love was for the first time and she couldn’t go back to the watered-down affection she felt for Preston even if it did mean giving up the man’s fortune—something her brother couldn’t seem to understand. She felt that way even though in the end nothing had worked out as she had hoped. She had learned to adjust, learned to live with her choice. She had moved on. Terrance was the one who wouldn’t let it go. “It wasn’t my fault and I wish you would stop saying that. I made the right decision for me. It’s in the past and it’s over.”

“That’s just it. You are different whenever Barrington is around. I don’t like it and I don’t trust him around you. He’s not good enough for you.”

She knew what he meant about being different. She felt it inside herself. It seemed that Tom was the only one who kicked up emotions and nerves that ran shallow beneath her surface. In the intervening years she’d had opportunities to be courted, but had always rebuffed her would-be suitors—finding gentle excuses as to why she wasn’t interested. Tom overshadowed everyone and everything for her—he always had. And now even the thought of him back in town caused a reaction, a tightening in her gut. She hated the sharp, anxious sensation that had taken up residence inside. It would not control her. She would not let it. And yet she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Tom since he rode into town.

“I don’t know why you are worried. He’s not in town to renew anything with me. If that were the case he would have contacted me years ago after I wrote to him. Like he said, he’s here about a job.”

Terrance eyed her as if he wasn’t sure he believed her.

“In my limited experience, any job he takes has precedence over any other part of his life. He’ll be gone in no time and without a second thought toward me, I assure you. You have no need of concern.”

“Like before.”

She pressed her lips together, the thought painful despite the passage of years. “Just like before.” She couldn’t afford to let down her defenses. Not for a moment. Tom was the wind and she could no more tie him down than she could a cloud.

“Good. Then we understand each other on this because I don’t want him around you.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. He pulled out a chair from the table and sat. “Now, let’s get down to business.”

A leaden weight sat like a jagged rock in her stomach as she walked to the counter to get the store ledger. Every Sunday after their dinner, just as it had been with Father and Mother, they went over the past week’s receipts. She remembered Mother saying once that Sunday was supposed to be a day of church and rest, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. Father kept right on checking the books. And now with Terrance managing his store in San Diego, Sunday was his one chance to go over the records together. In the past year, Terrance had become even more diligent at double-checking her figures, as if he were looking for ways to squeeze more money out of the little store.

He opened the ledger to the start of the month, scanning the neatly recorded figures. He made notes on a separate piece of paper where she had already listed a few items to reorder.

While he assessed what needed replacing, she stood by the counter and studied him. He used to tease her. When she wore her hair in pigtails, he used to tug them to irritate her. All that was long ago. Over the years they’d grown apart—his ambition for social standing and wealth such a different approach than the things she cared for. Anymore, they seldom saw eye to eye. He was her brother, and she cared about him, and she wanted to keep her promise to her mother. Yet she wondered, at low times, if he really cared much for her at all.

In some ways, once he moved to the city, things became better. They weren’t with each other day in and day out. He could no longer criticize and judge her and she no longer had to worry about measuring up to his standards—at least not daily. Now only on Sundays.

And today, well, he must be concerned for her considering the way he spoke of her not getting hurt by Tom again. Inwardly she sighed. There was no need for worry on that account. What happened between Tom and her had occurred too far in the past to revisit.

“How are the small coffee grinders selling?”

“Must we talk about business today?”

He raised his gaze from the ledger in front of him, using his finger to keep his place in the book. “We do this every Sunday. I need to know what’s going on here to make good decisions for both stores.”

She thought that interesting on one level because she was the one who managed this store; he just double-checked her figuring. “Is it enough for you? Running the store in San Diego?”

“I’m working on plans to expand. And, as I mentioned, running for a seat on the commerce board. Never hurts to be the first to know about new property.”

“No. I suppose that’s a good idea.” However, it wasn’t what she meant at all. She tried to explain herself more clearly. “I’m not talking about business. I mean... You never talk about having a wife or family. Don’t you ever feel lonely at times?”

He huffed and leaned back in his chair, obviously amused by her question. “A wife? Children?” His smirk held an ugly condescension. “Tethers? No. At least, not while I’m building my business. Later on?” He shrugged. “Maybe. A son would be nice to pass the business on to.”

His words sliced through her. Children weren’t tethers. A family wasn’t something that pulled you down. And yet even before she’d asked she had the premonition he would feel differently than she did.

“Now, if you don’t mind, let’s get back to the coffee grinders.”

She did mind actually. He didn’t seem to understand the concept of an afternoon off. “Three out of the five are sold. Mr. Cornwall wants one. They were an excellent idea.”

He hunkered down again over the book for the next ten minutes, his muddy-brown hair falling forward over his forehead.

Finally, he folded his notes and tucked them in his pocket. He stood, shoved his arms into his new coat and plopped his derby on his head. “Do you have last year’s ledger?”

The request was an odd one. “In the back room.”

“Will you get it for me?”

She nodded and turned to do his bidding. What was going on?

In the storage room, she opened an old trunk against the wall and removed the top ledger. There was one for every year her family had owned the mercantile, twenty in all. She returned to Terrance and handed him the book.

“Will you be back before you leave town? I’ll put the kettle on for tea.”

“Not today. I want to return to the city before dark.” He tucked the ledger under his arm.

Always busy. Always in a hurry.

“Elizabeth...since I’m campaigning for office, I’ll expect your support.”

“Of course.” She agreed quickly, delighted that he had asked. Then she realized he hadn’t asked—he’d told her. “What would you have me do?”

“I’m not talking about signs and flyers, although I do want your help there, too. It is important to keep up appearances. To do that, I really need you to move into San Diego and run my store there.”

She lowered her shoulders. “Terrance, we’ve gone over this territory before.”

He quickly held up his hand. “I realize you prefer this town. Why? I don’t know. But you’ve done a fair job here of turning this store around from the brink of loss. It’s sustaining itself now, often with a growing margin of profit. It’s time to sell and get it off our hands for good.”

“You are pushing this again? Why?”

“I told you. I need help with my store. And...I need the money from this place for my campaign.”

“But, Terrance! You’ve taken fifty percent of the profits from here for the past three years! Don’t you have enough to campaign on your own or hire someone for your store?”

“I put all that money back into my place. It’s not available for a campaign.”

She folded her arms in front of her. “I don’t want to sell.”

“You’re being sentimental. This place is just wood and nails.”

“It is more than that, and you know it.” This was the family store. Her legacy from her mother and father...and her livelihood.

Exasperation filled his countenance. “Granted, you’ve had a good run here but things happen. And—” he hesitated slightly before continuing “—you may not have a choice.”

A chill went through her. This was new. She rubbed her upper arms and moved closer to the woodstove. “What do you mean—‘things happen’? What has happened?”

“Things are a bit tight with the bank right now.”

Why was the bank even involved? Unless... “Terrance. What have you done?”

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

“This is my store, my responsibility, my...livelihood.”

“It’s not your mercantile.” The look in his eyes was flat, unemotional.

“Oh, Terrance. What have you done?” She suddenly felt ill and slowly lowered herself into the chair. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? He’d bought a new suit, after all. Still, he’d done things before without consulting her. She took a deep breath. “I think I have a right to know. How tight is it?”

“They want the store.”

Shock gripped her. “What!”

His brown eyes hardened. “They want the building to cover the loan I took out four years ago.”

She couldn’t believe it! After all her hard work to save the store. Sleepless nights and doing without, long hours and loneliness over the past four years. She’d saved it only to have her brother plunge them into debt?

“So that’s why Sam stopped by two days ago.” At the time, Sam had been so pleasant. The snake! All the time he’d been planning to sweep the rug right out from under her. How could he do this? How could Terrance have let this happen?

Yet even now her brother had tried to make her believe that she would be helping him, that it would be her decision to move, all in an attempt to save face. Apparently he hadn’t counted on her digging in her heels.

“That’s why you need last year’s ledger. That’s why you and Sam were arguing this morning. You weren’t going to tell me, were you? If I hadn’t refused, you would have made me believe I was doing it for your career.”

Terrance shrugged. “I’d hoped you would see things my way and move to the city. It would have been less...emotional...that way. You wouldn’t have needed to know any of this.”

She no longer wanted to hear him. This was her store! She was the one who cared about it and the people she served. Yet, from what he said, it was futile to argue. Numbness started at her feet and crept up and over her. She rubbed her forehead. “If what you say is true, then how much time do I have?”

“A month.” He took hold of the door handle again, preparing to leave. “So you see, your desire to travel comes at a poor time as well as Barrington’s unwelcome appearance. I’ll talk to you more about all this next week when I have figures from the bank. Oh...and Sam may contact you to sign papers.”

“That’s the real reason you didn’t want me to leave town—so I’d be around to manage the sale, around to sign papers and start packing,” she said dully.

His brown eyes held no compassion, only a slight irritation that this had to be talked about at all. He really didn’t care that he’d upended her entire life...that he’d hurt her. “No need to start packing yet. There will be time for that later. Sell as many items as possible—but only lower prices fifteen percent at most. It will make the final inventory go faster.”

“I see you have it all figured out.” She was proud of her composure. On the inside she felt overwhelmed. It must be the numbness helping. All her worries that had revolved around Tom Barrington suddenly seemed shadowy and vague compared to the very real loss of her livelihood.

Chapter Four

Tom stood on the hotel’s wide porch a long time after Elizabeth disappeared into the mercantile. Considering the loud bang when Morley shut the door, Tom wondered if the entire building might implode. In the end, however, it stood strong.

No doubt Morley had a few things he was worrying about right now. Would he try to hide them from Elizabeth as he had in the past? Tom wouldn’t be surprised. The rat had sure hoodwinked him for years. If Tom had not returned to La Playa and learned for himself that Elizabeth had never married, Morley might have gotten away with the lie. Now that Tom knew, he wondered what to make of that information.

He had a good mind to hang the man out to dry.

It became apparent, as he sat at the table and listened to the conversation between them, that Elizabeth wasn’t spoken for. At least, it didn’t sound like it by the way she talked of her trip to Clear Springs. He had wanted to pin Morley then but something held him back. Maybe it was his years of training and gathering all the facts before acting. He’d wanted to listen longer and see what else he might learn.

And he’d learned plenty.

The first being that, for some reason, Elizabeth felt compelled to seek her brother’s approval to do the things she wanted. Why? She was her own woman and could make her own decisions. Did she actually believe her brother was looking out for her? Or was she doing everything for him out of sisterly love?

He’d nearly lost his coffee when he’d overheard Morley had political ambitions. ’Course, all that he’d done to Tom was on a personal level. It probably wouldn’t matter squat in thwarting his bid for office. Heaven help the unsuspecting public. Morley didn’t give a fig for Elizabeth’s plans. He had his own vision of “the future according to Terrance,” and he wanted her to kowtow to it. What she wanted to do in her own life wasn’t important.

Things just didn’t add up and that bothered him. But what could be gained by him poking his nose in now? He couldn’t change the past—couldn’t bring back the years they’d lost. She had told him she loved him once. A man didn’t forget a declaration like that. And he thought he had loved her. It had been so new a feeling to him and had barely rooted and started to grow when he received that letter from Morley saying she’d gone ahead and married. What would have happened if those feelings had had air to breathe and room to grow? Would their love have thrived? Or would the stress of his profession have worn it thin until it finally frayed and died? Or worse—would it have put Elizabeth in harm’s way?

He remembered the look on his mother’s face as she watched her husband die in front her, and he remembered feeling so helpless to stop any of it—his father’s death or his mother’s pain. He couldn’t knowingly put anyone else in that position, especially not someone he cared for. That seemed to him the opposite of love. The truth of it was, the only difference between then and now was that he was much better at his job. He had honed and perfected his skill at shooting until he never missed. He would get the draw so fast he usually didn’t have to shoot at all. After this job, Wells Fargo would have him moving on to do another one and then another.

He hiked his hip on the porch railing and watched the town folk go about their lazy Sunday afternoon. Again, the thought struck him as it had the evening he’d entered town that the place was about the most serene he’d ever encountered. Two boys, one looking suspiciously like the little boy he’d seen that morning in the hotel hallway, stood at the end of the pier and threw stones into the water. They looked carefree, each one trying to outdo the other with the distance of their toss. Three fishermen sat nearby on barrels and talked in their native language—possibly Portuguese? Every once in a while they’d each take a draw on their pipes and blow puffs of white smoke over their heads. Down by the water on the small strip of sand, a little girl walked with her father. She had her pinafore gathered up into the shape of a bowl to carry her collection of seashells.

Peaceful.

He glanced once more at the mercantile. He could see why Elizabeth might like living here. He wondered what he’d say to her when he caught her alone. He wanted to find out what had happened—from her own mouth—since he’d last seen her. It was water under the bridge now, but still he was curious. The problem with asking questions is that turnabout was fair and she’d probably have some of her own for him that he didn’t want to answer.

He could walk away. That would be the easiest route to take. Just get on his horse and ride out of town. Let Wells Fargo send somebody else.

His gut rebelled at the thought. There wasn’t time. And besides, this was personal. He had to do this for Cranston and the Fursts. He was here to make things right and atone for his partner’s death. Which meant seeing that the thieves were behind bars for good or more preferably hanging from the highest tree.

And yet he still could not shake the premonition that he was supposed to be here in La Playa, too. That he had unfinished business with Elizabeth. The sparkle had gone out of her eyes. It was the one thing he remembered liking the best about her—the way her pretty brown eyes sparkled when she was happy. He’d do just about anything to see her that way again.

* * *

In her living quarters over the store, Elizabeth paced the length of the room, her mind whirring with all that Terrance had revealed. This was serious. Somehow she had to find a solution. She didn’t want to leave La Playa. She’d grown up here and loved the town and the people.

She tossed her Sunday gloves on her bureau, the action ruffling the most recent letter from Gemma. What a mocking salute to all their hard work. Four years ago when she had been in a fix with the mercantile, Gemma, with her quick, inquisitive mind, had helped get her through the worst of the situation, no thanks to Terrance or Preston or anyone. If only she were here now. It upset her all over again that Terrance didn’t want her to visit Gemma.

Although she already knew the contents of the letter, she picked it up and read it again, if only to derive a small amount of strength from her friend through the love and caring behind the words.

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I have decided to stay with Molly Birdwell—an older widow here in Clear Springs. She takes in boarders since her husband passed a few years ago. I believe this will afford me the greatest degree of liberty while I teach here.

The schoolhouse is in the final stages of completion and should be ready by the time you receive this letter. Although the children will have benches at first, it is my hope to have individual desks eventually. There is a dearth of supplies—pencils, slates and such—but the blackboard sits waiting to be fixed to the front wall of the room and the glass panes have arrived for the windows.

I am giddy with anticipation of the coming year. Although this profession wasn’t my first choice, it will be a good one. I’ll be making young minds grow—not a bad legacy if I do say so myself.

Elizabeth smiled, hearing Gemma’s voice in her mind.

I am missing you, dear friend, especially the intense discussions we shared in our Shakespeare’s Reading Circle. I hope you were able to keep that going after my departure. I wait eagerly for the arrival of my next letter from you and news of the happenings in La Playa.

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