“Maybe Beau will catch the man he’s after tonight,” the minister’s wife said hopefully.

“I hope so.” Dani shivered as she remembered the pistols she’d seen in his room. “But he’s been looking for revenge for so long, I wonder if he can stop.”

“A man can change.”

“If he wants to.”

“God has a way of making that happen.” Dani stared out at the rain. “But right now, Beau’s out in the storm.”

“It’s what men do,” the minister’s wife reminded her gently. “They fight for the people they love. There’s just one thing for you to decide—whether you love him enough to fight for him.”

Dani’s chest swelled with longing. “I do,” she said, and realized it was true. She wanted Beau, and she wanted the children. And she was ready to fight for them.

MILLS & BOON

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VICTORIA BYLIN

fell in love with God and her husband at the same time. It started with a ride on a big red motorcycle and a date to see a Star Trek movie. A recent graduate from UC Berkeley, Victoria had been seeking that elusive “something more” when Michael rode into her life. Neither knew it, but they were each reading the Bible.

Five months later, they got married and the blessings began. They have two sons and have lived in California and Virginia. Michael’s career allowed Victoria to be both a stay-at-home mom and a writer. She’s living a dream that started when she read her first book and thought, “I want to tell stories.” For that gift, she will be forever grateful.

Feel free to drop Victoria an e-mail at VictoriaBylin@aol.com or visit her Web site at www.victoriabylin.com.

Victoria Bylin
The Bounty Hunter’s Bride

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Even the sparrow has found a home,

and the swallow a nest for herself,

where she may have her young—

a place near your altar,

O Lord Almighty, my King and my God.

—Psalms 84:3

For my brother John Bylin…

Dad would be proud of you. I know I am.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Castle Rock, Colorado

June 1882

“You know the story of Cain and Abel?”

“I do.”

“Patrick was Abel. I’m Cain.”

Daniela Baxter gaped at the man in the doorway. Unshaven and bleary eyed, he looked enough like Patrick to be his brother. Except Patrick would never have answered the door in dirty trousers and a wrinkled shirt.

Patrick and she were engaged to be married. Tomorrow. At the church she’d spotted outside of town. When he’d failed to meet her at the train depot, Dani had hired a buggy and driven the five miles to his dairy farm. She’d expected her fiancé to greet her with a smile and an apology for missing her train. Instead, a stranger had answered the door. She’d asked for Patrick by name and been assaulted by his sneering question about Cain and Abel.

Her insides knotted. “I don’t understand.”

“Patrick’s dead.”

Dani blinked. “I must be at the wrong house.”

The road had forked a mile west of town. She’d guessed and taken the straighter of the two trails.

The man with Patrick’s eyes studied her more closely. “Who are you?”

“Daniela Baxter. I’m his fiancée.”

She and Patrick had been introduced through letters by Kirstin Janss, his cousin and Dani’s best friend. They had corresponded for six months. He’d written often about the town of Castle Rock, his growing dairy business and his three young daughters.

The man’s gaze stayed hard, but his voice softened like hot caramel, sweet but still sticky. “I’m sorry, miss. Patrick died five days ago.”

Gasping, Dani clutched her reticule. It held her only picture of the man she loved, the one he’d taken just for her. He’d combed his thick hair with pomade and dressed in his Sunday best, a black suit with a crisp shirt. She knew his dreams. He knew hers. She loved him. She loved his daughters and yearned to be a mother, both to his girls and the babies to come.

The porch started to spin. Dani grabbed the rocking chair for support, but it tipped, throwing her to her knees. As she hit the threshold, pain shot through the marrow of her bones.

A strong hand gripped her elbow and hauled her to her feet. “Don’t faint on me, lady.”

“I won’t.”

As tears filled her eyes, he dragged her to a chair in the front room where she collapsed on the cushioned seat, taking in the horsehair divan and a scattering of flower petals. She smelled lilies and realized a coffin had sat in this room. Patrick…her love. An anguished cry exploded in her throat.

The man shouted into the kitchen. “Emma! Get some water.”

Dani pushed to her feet. She’d come to be a mother to the girls, not a burden. “I’ll be fine.”

The man glared at her. “You don’t look fine.”

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Before he could answer, Patrick’s oldest daughter came into the room with the glass of water. Judging by the tight pull of Emma’s brows, she disliked this man. “Here,” she said, shoving the glass in his direction.

He put his hands on his hips. “It’s not for me.” He indicated Dani with his chin.

The instant the child turned, her oval face brightened with hope. “Dani?”

“Yes, sweetie. It’s me.” Dani crossed the gap between herself and the child and offered a hug.

Emma clung to her like moss on a tree. Long letters had made them friends over a span of months. Grief made them family in an instant. Water from the tipped glass sloshed down the back of Dani’s dress, but she didn’t care. Holding Emma brought Patrick to life. He’d written proudly of his girls. Emma, Ellie and little Esther, who’d been born on Easter Sunday. We’ll have more, Dani. I want a son. She’d written back about Edward, Ethan and Elijah. He’d countered with Earl and Ebenezer. Laughing to herself, she’d cried uncle in the next letter.

Dani released her grip on Emma, took the glass and set it on the table. “Where are your sisters?”

“Upstairs,” Emma said. “Esther’s taking a nap.”

Emma, barely ten years old, had the tired eyes of a young mother. Who would take care of the girls now? Not this man with tattered clothes and bristled cheeks. As Dani turned in his direction, he paced to the front window. Standing with his feet apart, he peered through the glass, studying the sky like a man expecting a storm. Dani tried to imagine Patrick striking such a belligerent pose but couldn’t.

The picture in her reticule showed a man with gentle eyes. He had described himself as wiry and slight, a man with the rounded shoulders of a dairy farmer. The stranger at the window stood six feet tall and ramrod straight. Judging by his stance, he bent his knee to no one.

Dani knew better than to judge by appearances, but the stranger had declared himself to be Cain, the brother who’d surrendered to sin rather than fight for his righteousness. Cain had murdered Abel and been doomed to restless wandering. Even so, God hadn’t left Cain. Cain had abandoned God.

Dani put her arm around Emma’s shoulders, then spoke to the man’s back. “Perhaps the three of us could sit down.”

He faced her but stayed at the window. “I’ll stand.”

In that case, so would Dani. “We haven’t been introduced.”

“I’m Beau Morgan. Patrick’s brother.”

Emma clutched a fistful of Dani’s dress. Dani took the reaction as a confirmation of a warning in Patrick’s letters. He’d mentioned his brother just once. He’s not someone you should know, Dani. Not a man I’d trust with my girls. Patrick had been vague about his brother’s shortcomings but clear about his intent. I made a will years ago, before Beau went crazy. As soon as we’re married, I’ll change it. I want you to adopt the girls.

Dani’s throat tightened. Why had God taken Patrick now? Why not a year from now, after they were married and settled? Why not fifty years when they were old and gray? The questions rose like a vapor but vanished as quickly as morning mist on a hot day. God’s ways were higher than hers; His knowledge greater. At her mother’s funeral, Pastor Schmidt had preached from Isaiah, paraphrasing the ancient prophet. “Who among you walks in darkness and has no light? Let him trust in the name of the Lord…” Dani had leaned on those words every day since her mother’s death. Isaiah had seen the future and persevered. Dani didn’t have his foresight, only her faith that God was good, but she knew how to persevere.

She touched Emma’s cheek. “Your pa’s listening in Heaven, so I’m talking to him as well as you. No matter what happens, I won’t leave you and your sisters.”

Did you hear that, Patrick? Rest easy, my love.

Emma nodded in short bursts that made her eyes flicker with desperation. Dani lifted her gaze to the man at the window. What had he said to these children? Had he offered the slightest bit of reassurance? More than ever, they needed the comfort of familiar things, the promise they’d be together and that God Himself shared their grief.

Staring back at Dani, Beau Morgan sealed his lips in a hard line, then turned back to the window. Framed by lace curtains and panes of glass, he stood with his arms crossed and his feet spread wide. If he’d been wearing boots, Dani might have been intimidated. Instead she saw a hole in the heel of his sock. A tug on the yarn would unravel the entire garment. She suspected the man’s life was in the same sorry shape and prayed he’d be eager to leave Patrick’s daughters in her care.

Thoughts of the girls mixed with the scent of the lilies. Looking down, she squeezed Emma’s shoulders. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Emma opened her mouth but sealed it without making a sound.

Dani looked to the man by the window. Hate glinted in his eyes. “It was ugly. Emma doesn’t need to relive it.”

The child shook her head. “I want to remember. He said he loved us. He said—”

“Emma, don’t.” Beau Morgan glared at Dani. “Patrick was struck by lightning. Emma found him.”

Dani gasped, then closed her eyes. “Dear Lord in Heaven, be with Patrick. Be will all of us.”

The man snorted. “I wouldn’t call the Almighty ‘dear.’”

Dani stiffened at the lack of respect. “Patrick had faith. He believed—”

“That’s fine for him,” the man replied. “But the Almighty and I don’t see eye to eye, not anymore.”

Emma choked on a sob. “It was my fault. I knew a storm was coming, but I didn’t tell him.”

The man scowled. “It’s not your fault, kid. You didn’t make it rain.”

“But I knew!” Her voice rose to a wail. “He went to see Pastor Josh about the wedding. I asked him to buy some ribbon for Esther’s dress. If he hadn’t gone to the store, he’d have been home before the storm.”

Dani trembled with regrets of her own. Patrick had wanted a September wedding. She’d pushed for June. If she’d shown more patience, he’d be alive. She knew her thoughts were crazy. She didn’t control the weather. A lightning strike…What were the odds? She thought of Patrick’s last letter. Storms are common, Dani. Life here is hard. Are you sure you want to marry me?

She’d written back. I love storms!

Noah had built an ark. Christ had calmed a stormy sea. She’d seen blizzards in January, tasted the cold and watched tornadoes drop from summer clouds. She’d felt the fear and clung to her faith. Not once had God let her down. She refused to doubt Him now, yet how could she not wonder, just a little, if God had blinked and left Patrick to die?

Weak in the knees, she led Emma to the divan. “When did it happen?”

Mr. Morgan shot her a look of warning, then spoke to Emma. “Go upstairs. I’ll tell her.”

“No!” the child cried.

Did this man really think silence would spare Emma the memories? Dani had been the same age when her mother died. She’d brought home a cold from school. Leda Baxter had nursed her daughter and died of pneumonia. Silence had turned Dani’s childhood home into an open grave, leaving her alone with the same twisted guilt plaguing Emma. No way would she leave the child to suffer as she had.

Dani took Emma’s hand. “What happened, sweetie?”

“The storm turned the sky black.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “I sent Ellie and Esther to the cellar, then I came up here to watch for Pa. I stood right there.”

She pointed to a spot in front of the side-by-side windows looking into the yard. Beau Morgan’s back blocked the view, so Emma leaned to the side to see around him. Dani craned her neck, as well, but he put his hands on his hips, blocking the view with his bent elbows. When Emma walked to the edge of the window so she could see the yard, Dani joined her. Standing behind the child, she placed her hands on Emma’s thin shoulders and followed her gaze down the road to a distant pine.

“Do you see that tree?” Emma asked.

“I do.” Dani looked at the charred branches and blackened trunk of a ponderosa. She’d passed it on the way to the farm.

“I saw the lightning strike. The air buzzed, then everything went white and thunder shook the house. A minute later, Pa’s horse galloped into the yard.”

Riderless.

Against her will, Dani saw the pelting rain, the mud, the empty saddle.

Emma’s voice cracked. “Lightning hit again. Everything turned as bright as day. That’s when I saw that Buck had no tail. His rump had a burn on it. I could smell the hair.”

Beau Morgan reached across the span of the window and touched the child’s back. His sleeve rode up his forearm, revealing tense muscles and a jagged scar above his wrist. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

As the child stared into the yard, Dani stroked her arms. The images in Emma’s mind were sacred, hers to share or bury as her heart demanded. The clock ticked. Chickens pecked the dirt by the barn as Dani stared at the gouges left in the mud by Patrick’s horse. Next time it rained, she’d stomp them flat.

Emma saw the marks, too. “I knew Pa was hurt, so I ran outside. Buck died right in front of me.”

Dani held in a groan that would do no good. As a child she’d embroidered samplers with her favorite Bible verses. For God so loved the world…Peace I give to you…Staring into the empty yard, she felt the thinness of the thread shaping those words. She’d snapped it with her teeth or snipped it with scissors. Listening to Emma, Dani felt a new tension stretching her faith.

Emma’s shoulders sagged. “I found Pa by that pine tree. His clothes were burned and he was lying in the mud, but he was still alive.”

Why, Lord?

It wasn’t like Dani to doubt God’s ways, but she couldn’t stop the anger welling in her middle. These children had already lost their mother. Why had God taken Patrick, too? She stared at the window where a pale reflection of Emma’s face stared back. Tears trickled down the girl’s cheeks, glistening like silver ribbons.

Emma squared her shoulders. “He looked me right in the eye, then he touched my nose like he did when I was little. He said he loved us, then he saw Mama. I know, because he called her name.”

Dani refused to be jealous. Patrick had loved his first wife with a dedication she admired and wanted for herself. He’d called her Beth, short for Elizabeth. They’d been childhood friends. Two years ago, Beth had died of a ruptured appendix.

Dani gripped Emma’s shoulders. “He’s with your ma now. I know for a fact he’s looking out for you right this minute.”

“He loved you, too.” Emma wiped her eyes, then faced Dani. “You said in your letters that you’d be our new mother. Pa’s gone, but—”

“I’m keeping that promise.”

Dani hugged the girl hard. They sobbed together until the river of tears turned to a trickle. Grief would rain on them again, filling the wells, but for now they were spent.

Beau Morgan cleared his throat. “You may not be aware, Miss Baxter. I’m the girls’ legal guardian.”

Dani straightened, then met his gaze. “I’m very aware, Mr. Morgan. Patrick named you as executor several years ago.” Her next words would settle the issue for good or start a battle she couldn’t lose. “I have a letter in my trunk. It clearly states his more recent intentions.”

“And what were those?”

“He asked me to adopt the girls.”

“Contingent on marriage?”

“Of course.”

Mr. Morgan raised one thick brow. “And the farm? Would he want you to have that, too?”

Dani hadn’t thought that far. “I suppose.” She needed a way to support the children.

Beau Morgan rocked back on his heels. “Miss Baxter, you’re either naive or a con artist.”

Dani’s mouth gaped. “How dare you!”

“No, how dare you.” His voice stayed as flat as a coin. “I’m a blood relative with legal authority. You waltz in here and announce you want my nieces and a farm that’s worth a good amount of money.”

“I don’t care about the money!”

“Of course, you don’t.” His lips curled with contempt.

“Frankly, it doesn’t matter what you want. I have an obligation to see to my nieces and I intend to meet it.”

Staring into the man’s eyes, a green that reminded her of dying grass, Dani saw good reason to trust Patrick’s assessment of him as crazy. She judged him to be in his midthirties, a few years older than his brother, but far less settled. Judging by the ragged ends of his hair, he’d cut it himself with a knife. The dark blond strands brushed his collarless shirt like a worn-out broom. Dani’s eyes skimmed across the denim that had once been green or blue. She couldn’t tell which. The sun had bleached it to turquoise, a soft color that blended with the dust on his brown trousers and the unraveling yarn of his gray sock.

If he couldn’t take care of himself, how could he manage three young girls? Maybe he didn’t want to…Perhaps he was eager to turn over guardianship and needed assurance of her honorable intentions. A woman could beat a mule with a stick or coax it with a carrot. Dani opted for the carrot. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Morgan. In fact, I admire it.”

“Good.”

“Once you see Patrick’s letter, I’m sure you’ll agree with me.”

“Don’t count on it, Miss Baxter. The world’s full of liars. How do I know you’re not one of them?”

Emma thrust herself between them. “Pa loved Dani!”

The man looked Dani up and down, assessing her appearance without really seeing her. Before leaving the train, she’d put on her prettiest outfit, a pink taffeta suit with a snug jacket and ruffled skirt, and a sweeping straw hat that dipped across her brow. The outfit made her feel pretty. She’d dressed for Patrick, not this rude man with holes in his socks.

His eyes darted back to her face. “Men are fools, Miss Baxter. Especially lonely ones. Patrick fit that mold.”

Dani had never felt so insulted in her life, or so alone. Back home, her reputation had shone like gold. No one would have questioned her motives for taking in three orphaned girls. Then again, no one in Walker County, Wisconsin had Beau Morgan’s suspicious nature. Dani couldn’t help but wonder who’d kicked him in the shins.

His eyes focused on hers. “A train leaves for Denver in the morning. I want you on it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll pay your fare home.”

Dani had fifteen dollars in her reticule, enough for a week in a hotel but not much else. Her brother would send money if she asked, but she refused to consider it. She’d made a promise to Patrick and intended to keep it, but she’d also left Wisconsin for a reason. When their father died, her brother had inherited the family dairy. A year ago, he’d married. Ever since, he’d been pushing Dani to leave. This isn’t your house, Dani. It’s mine and Marta is my wife. You need a home of your own.

Dani thought so, too. Some time ago, she’d been engaged to a young man named Tommy Page. They’d been childhood friends, but Dani hadn’t felt any of the excitement she’d expected. Tommy had wanted to kiss and hug, but she’d said no. He was a brother to her, nothing more, so she’d ended the engagement. Dani wanted the right husband, the man God had made just for her. She’d been willing to wait, but her brother had lost patience with her. Against her will, he’d encouraged Archie Weldon to court her. A widower with a bad back, Archie had wanted a housekeeper, not a wife. Lars Jenson, a man who spoke in grunts, had been next on her brother’s list. And so on…until Dani had met every bachelor in Walker County.

Eventually she’d given in and agreed to marry Virgil Griggs. She’d liked Virgil, but she hadn’t loved him. A week before the wedding, she’d broken their engagement, embarrassing Virgil and shaming herself. That Dani Baxter is fickle… She’d heard the talk and been embarrassed and angry. She didn’t have a fickle bone in her body. She simply couldn’t lie to herself or to Virgil, who deserved better than a wife who couldn’t bear the thought of kissing him. Dani had been near despair when Kirstin had mentioned her cousin in Colorado, a widower who needed a wife and mother for his three daughters. Dani had given Patrick permission to write. After three letters, she’d fallen in love with him.

Now he was gone and his wayward brother had the girls and wanted Dani to leave. She simply couldn’t do it, not with Patrick’s letter in her trunk. But neither could she stay at the farm with this man. Her best hope lay in convincing him to leave. Dani wasn’t wise in the ways of the world, but she knew a little about men and carrots.

“I have a suggestion, Mr. Morgan.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a nice hotel by the railroad station. I’m sure you’d enjoy a good night’s sleep.”

His eyes flickered. Either he enjoyed a fight or he was tempted by the comforts of a hotel room. Judging by the dark crescents under his eyes, he hadn’t slept in days.

Dani sweetened the deal. “The hotel has a restaurant. I saw it when I rented the buggy. Today’s special is roast beef with raspberry pie for dessert.”

His mouth hardened. “No thanks, Miss Baxter. Emma’s a good cook.”

Dani doubted it. The child had written about her kitchen foibles. Will you teach me to make biscuits? Mine are rock hard, but Pa eats them and smiles.

A lump pressed into Dani’s throat. She’d trusted Patrick with her life, her reputation. She had no such faith in the man standing in his place. She also had nowhere else to go. She didn’t like what she was about to say, but she had to get Beau Morgan to leave. “There’s a saloon, too.”

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “You want a drink?”

“No!”

“Me, neither.” The corners of his mouth tipped up. “I’m not a drinking man, Miss Baxter. Never have been.”

Was that good news? Dani didn’t know. She wanted this man to be so low that any judge in Douglas County would deny him custody. Instead he sounded like her Aunt Minnie.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his sock-covered feet. “I’m also good at hearing what isn’t said. I’m guessing you have about ten dollars in your bag and don’t know a soul.”

She blushed.

“That’s what I thought.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “I’d be glad to pay your room and board in town, but I suspect you’re too stubborn to accept.”

“It’s not a matter of stubbornness.” She reached for Emma.

“I promised Patrick—”

“I know what you promised.” His voice turned gentle. “I also know what it’s like to be grief-stricken. It leaves you numb, but only for a while. Once the shock passes, you wake up screaming. It’ll eat you alive if you let it.”

Peering into his eyes, she saw a kinship born of suffering. Dani had grieved her mother and still cried for the woman who’d given her blue eyes and wheat-blond hair. Who had Beau Morgan mourned? The connection, as brief as lightning and as bright, frightened her.

If he felt the spark, he didn’t let it show. Standing straighter, he looked ready for business. “If you’re willing to bend a bit, I’m prepared to offer a compromise.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ll move to the barn while we sort things out. You get room and board in exchange for keeping house.”

Emma looked up at Dani. “It’s time to start the garden. We could do it together.”

For a thousand miles, she’d dreamed of planting tomatoes in Patrick’s side yard. She loved the feeling of loamy earth and the scent of herbs growing in a window box. She’d imagined flowers, too. Tulips in the spring, roses in June. She had learned from her mother that touches of beauty nourished a family as much as good food.

Her gaze drifted to the hole in Beau Morgan’s sock. His big toe curled as if to hide, then stretched in defiance. “As you can see, my clothes could use some mending.”

“And a good scrubbing,” she added.

“That’s a fact.”

His voice held a yearning that put Dani on alert. Which was more dangerous? The snake that rattled as it slithered or the one sleeping in the sun?

Emma squeezed her hand. “Stay, Dani. Please.”

She wanted to say yes, but she had to protect her reputation as well as the children. “I’d prefer the hotel,” she said. “But only if the girls can stay with me.”

“I can’t allow it.”

“Why not?” She tried to sound confident. “It would be a change for them.”

“You’re naive, Miss Baxter.”

Dani bristled. “I’ve just traveled a thousand miles—”

“And I’ve traveled ten thousand.” He raised his chin.

“Have you ever seen a pack of wolves?”

She’d heard howling in the forest near her father’s farm, but the wolves had stayed out of sight. “No, I haven’t.”

“I have,” he said. “The kind with two legs.”

“Castle Rock seems safe to me.”

His eyes glittered like broken glass. “It was—before I got here.”

Chapter Two

Looking at Daniela Baxter, Beau felt the cut of sudden change. The last time he’d seen Patrick had been five years ago. His brother had come to the funeral for Beau’s wife, traveling alone because his own wife, Beth, had been close to delivering their third child. Beau and his brother hadn’t been close, but he’d appreciated the kindness. Patrick had made him promise to write now and then. He’d even offered him a place to stay.

Beau had said he’d keep in touch, but he’d broken the promise so badly he hadn’t known about Beth’s passing. He hadn’t known a lot of things when he’d arrived in Castle Rock two days ago. Hot on the trail of an outlaw named Clay Johnson, Beau had found himself within a few miles of his brother’s farm. He’d decided to pay a visit and had arrived to find a fresh grave and an old man in the barn. The fellow and his wife were neighbors who’d come to care for the cows and the girls until other arrangements could be made.

The girls could have been farmed out to friends, but the cows needed their routine. A lightning strike…of all the foolish things. Even more surprising was the news from Patrick’s attorney. Seven years ago, Patrick had written a will. It named Beau as guardian of his children—a fact Beau vaguely remembered. He’d have made a good guardian in the past, but not anymore. An ex-lawman, he sold his gun to the highest bidder. Like most shootists, he lived in the canyons between good and evil. He enjoyed the freedom and the money, but mostly he burned with the need to bring Clay Johnson to justice.

Whether God or the devil had given him a thirst for Johnson’s blood, Beau didn’t know. He only knew that Clay Johnson had killed the most precious person in his life. Lucy, his young wife, had put on her prettiest dress, a pink thing with puffy sleeves, and brought him supper at the sheriff’s office. What happened next was an abomination. Beau no longer dreamed about that day, but he remembered every detail. Looking at Miss Baxter in her pink dress, he swallowed a mouthful of bile. He hated that color and the memories it brought. He always would.

Sending her to the hotel tempted him as much as that roast beef dinner. He’d lied about Emma’s cooking. The girl made a mean pancake, but a man needed more than starch in his belly to do a day’s work. He also needed to sleep at night, something Beau hadn’t done since he’d arrived. He couldn’t. Since Lucy’s murder, he and Johnson had been playing a game of cat and mouse. Sometimes the outlaw vanished for months, leaving Beau to search aimlessly for his prey. Other times Johnson went on the prowl, leaving threats for Beau at local saloons. Sometimes he wrote notes. Sometimes he left tokens that chilled Beau’s blood.

Daniela Baxter’s eyes drilled into his. “Who are you, Mr. Morgan?”

“I told you. I’m Patrick’s brother.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Beau held back a smart remark about jabbering females. If Miss Baxter ended up at the hotel, she might blather to every busybody in town. She looked like the kind of woman who’d want to go to church on Sundays. Beau knew all about gossip cloaked in prayer. He’d been the focus of his share after Lucy’s death. Wishing he’d been less of a blowhard, he tried to smile. “Forget the bluster. I’m no one.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Beau said nothing. In truth, his reputation stretched from Bozeman to El Paso, across the plains and over mountains that dwarfed a man’s pride but not his pain. If word spread he was in Castle Rock, anyone he touched would be a target for Johnson. That included Miss Baxter. He didn’t need another female in his care, but honor required him to see to her safety. Like it or not, he’d have to keep an eye on her.

No hardship there…Daniela Baxter was just plain pretty. Slender but womanly, she filled out the dress in all the right places. Not that Beau cared. Being a man, he couldn’t help but notice her looks, but he knew the rules. When he’d married Lucy, he’d promised to love, honor and cherish his wife until they were parted by death. Lucy was gone, but Beau took comfort in keeping his vows. His eyes locked on Miss Baxter, saying things with a look that acknowledged the deepest of truths. He was male. She wasn’t. He had the power to harm her. She needed to know he never would. He made his voice solemn. “I’m an honorable man, Miss Baxter.”

“You’re the one who mentioned wolves,” she replied. “I understand they come in sheep’s clothing.”

“I’m not one of them.”

Before she could reply, footsteps padded on the landing at the top of the stairs. He turned and saw Ellie and Esther peeking around the corner. Esther, as always, had her thumb in her mouth. She was five and too old for the habit, but Beau hadn’t tried to stop her. Human beings, no matter their age, took comfort where they could find it.

“Are you Dani?” Ellie asked.

“I am.”

The girls hurried down the steps and threw themselves into her arms. More hugs, more tears. Beau was tired of the flood but knew the girls would pull on Miss Baxter’s heart in a way common sense couldn’t. With a throat as dry as sand, he watched the swirl of pink and ribbons and locks of golden hair. All four of them were blond, though the girls’ hair would darken with time as Patrick’s had. Beau’s hair had lost its shine a long time ago, though it lightened up in the summer.

He watched as the woman kissed Ellie’s forehead, then lifted Esther on to her hip. In a voice choked with tears, she rambled about God and Patrick looking down from Heaven.

They loved you, brother. I wish I’d known you better.

Even as he thought the words, Beau stifled his regrets. He’d learned to live one day at a time. To take what pleasure he found and be content with it. A can of beans for supper. A lantern on a moonless night. If a man didn’t have a home, he couldn’t lose it. If he didn’t love, he couldn’t get hurt. Beau had drawn that line the day Clay Johnson shot Lucy and not once had he crossed it. He hoped Daniela Baxter would be wise and draw a similar line for herself. She had no future in Castle Rock. Even if he’d wanted to hand her custody of the girls, he couldn’t do it. Running a farm required both brains and muscle. The thought of leaving a woman and three children at the mercy of hired hands struck him as gutless.

Beau glanced at the mantel clock. In two hours, he had an appointment with Trevor Scott, the attorney handling Patrick’s will. If things went as planned, the girls would leave for boarding school at the end of the month.

Ellie, a tomboy in coveralls, broke the hug and looked at Dani. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

Miss Baxter tousled the child’s hair, then looked at Beau. Her eyes soothed his soul and laid it bare at the same time. “Can I trust you, Mr. Morgan?”

“With your life.”

“In that case, we have a deal. If you’ll stay in the barn, I’ll tend to the house.”

When she held out her gloved hand, Beau noticed the cupped shape of her fingers. His own hand, loose and open, was just a clench away from the violence that defined his life, but he offered it in good faith. He expected to see trepidation in her eyes. Instead she squeezed back with surprising firmness. The grip, he realized, came from hard work. The grit came from her heart. Beau saw her pink dress, the shadow of roses in her cheeks, and pined a moment for Lucy. How did it feel to grow old with a woman? To see your daughters marry and your sons grow strong? To live without the thirst for Clay Johnson’s blood? Beau would never know. Most of the time, he didn’t want to know. He let go of Miss Baxter’s hand. He’d had all the innocence he could stand for one day.

He’d seen a rented buggy out front. “Where’s your trunk?”

“At the train station.”

Beau thought of his appointment with Patrick’s attorney. “I have to go to town this afternoon. I’ll take you and the girls and we’ll pick it up.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Beau looked down at his nieces. “Get going. We leave in ten minutes.”

They scurried up the stairs like frightened mice, leaving Beau to wonder what he’d done to scare them. He wished he could be less stern, but he had a melancholy nature. Miss Baxter had turned her head to watch the girls. Even with tears on her cheeks, she seemed like the cheerful sort. Beau hoped so. The girls needed a woman’s tenderness.

Leaving Miss Baxter at the stairs, he strode into Patrick’s bedroom where he changed into a clean shirt, then balled up his laundry and slung his saddlebag over his shoulder. As he came out of the dark room, he saw Miss Baxter sitting on the bottom step with her head bowed.

Beau feared God but didn’t much like Him. Taking Patrick’s life struck him as wrong. Leaving this young woman to cope alone counted as cruel. He stopped a few feet away. “Miss Baxter?”

She looked up with damp eyes. “Yes?”

“I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

Beau shifted his weight. Handing her his dirty clothes didn’t seem right, so he headed for the door.

When she called his name, he turned but said nothing.

“Is that your laundry?” she asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“I expect to keep my end of the bargain. Leave your clothes and I’ll wash them tomorrow.”

Beau stepped back to the staircase where she’d pushed to her feet. Judging by the twitch of her nostrils, the smell of the barn reached her before he did. He had three horses in his care, his roan and Patrick’s two workhorses.

“You’ve been mucking out stalls,” she said.

“Someone had to do it.”

“And the milking?”

“Of course.”

What did she think? That he dozed in a hammock all day? Patrick had ten Jersey cows. They might have been “ladies” for Patrick, lining up at the gate at milking time, but they hadn’t taken to Beau. Each one had bawled and squalled while he looped a rope around her neck and led her to the barn for milking. He’d felt ridiculous on a little three-legged stool, and his clumsy hands annoyed the cows until Emma had given him pointers. She’d also informed him the cows had names and liked it when her pa sang hymns. Beau had grunted, then listened to the child crooning words to a song he’d made a point of forgetting.

Blessed assurance, Jesus divine!

Oh what a foretaste of glory is mine…

Beau hadn’t set foot in a church in five years and he didn’t intend to start now. He handed his clothes to Miss Baxter. They needed a good scrubbing. So did he, but a visit to the bathhouse was out of the question with four females in his care and Clay Johnson nearby. With the saddlebag dragging on his shoulder, Beau headed for the barn. Maybe Trevor Scott had found a school. Beau hoped so. He didn’t know how much purity and light he could tolerate.

Dani carried Beau Morgan’s laundry through the kitchen and out to the back porch. Where did Patrick keep the washtub? In the barn? In the shed by the door? She’d have to ask Emma.

Why, Lord? I don’t understand.

Hardly breathing, she dropped the garments in a heap and went back into the kitchen. For a thousand miles she’d dreamed of seeing this house for the first time. She’d imagined cooking at the stove, a new model with a fancy baking chamber. Patrick had described it in his letters. He’d written to her about everything…the view from the window above the sink, the number of shelves in the pantry. He’d been excited to share his life. Almost believing she’d see him, Dani looked out the window and saw the cottonwood he’d described in his letters. Just as he’d said, the branches curved up to the sky like open arms. Beyond it she saw a hill crowned by a white picket fence encasing two white crosses. It marked Patrick’s final resting place and Beth’s, too.

Dani choked back tears. Tonight she’d weep and find comfort in the Psalms, but right now she had children in her care. Wiping her eyes, she prayed for peace. When her thoughts spiraled into a black abyss, she reached for verses she’d memorized as a child in Sunday School.

Blessed is the man whose strength is in Thee; in whose heart are the ways of them. The ways of God…

Who passing through the Valley of Baca… the valley of tears.

Make it a well. A source of blessing.

The rain also filleth the pools. God in heaven adds his grace.

They… those who walk with God.

Go from strength to strength. Amen.

Dani tried to breathe evenly, but the air in the kitchen felt as heavy as sand. Her chest ached with the effort of sucking it in. God had promised strength, yet she’d never felt weaker in her life.

“Dani?”

She opened her eyes and saw Emma in the doorway with her sisters. The girls had braided their hair and put on fresh pinafores, but grief had dulled their eyes to pewter. Dani thought of the gifts in her trunk. She’d brought gingham for new Sunday-best dresses, books for Emma and Ellie, and a doll for Esther. Seeing their tearstained cheeks, she decided to save the gifts for a happier time.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked.

Emma looked over her shoulder, then urged her sisters deeper into the kitchen. A wall hid them from the front window and she leaned closer to Dani. “We don’t like him,” she whispered.

Dani’s skin prickled. If Beau Morgan had been unkind to these girls, she’d chase him away with a frying pan. “Has he mistreated you?”

“No, but he stays up all night.”

On occasion, so did Dani. “What else?”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “He said a bad word.”

Dani wouldn’t condemn a man for cussing. Her father had let loose on occasion and colorfully at that. “It’s wrong, but men do it sometimes.”

Emma’s voice shook. “I don’t care about cussing. It’s the guns that scare me.”

“Guns?”

“He has four of them. Two rifles and two pistols.”

Guns themselves weren’t evil, but the men who used them sometimes did evil things. Dani forced herself to stay calm.

“What exactly does he do?”

“He sits alone and fires the pistol,” Emma whispered.

“He fires it?”

“Not exactly,” the girl explained. “The gun’s empty but I can hear it click. He does it over and over, like he’s aiming at someone he can’t see.”

That settled it. The man was crazy. He was either wanted by the law or protecting them from a danger he’d brought to Castle Rock himself.

The front door swung open. Heavy boots thudded on the wooden floor. “Ladies?”

Dani whispered into Emma’s ear. “We’ll talk later.”

As she stood straight, Beau Morgan stepped into the kitchen and crossed his arms as though he meant business. A tan duster hung from his shoulders but gaped at the waist, revealing a wide leather belt and the front edge of a cross-draw holster. He pulled his mouth into a smile that bordered on a sneer. “Pray tell, ladies. My ears are burning. I don’t suppose you were talking about me?”

“No, sir.”

Emma had lied, but Dani didn’t correct her. She wanted to hide the girls under her skirts. No way could they share their home with a man who armed himself for a trip to town. She’d spotted the church from the window of the train. She’d never met Pastor Blue and his wife, but Patrick had said they were kind. Surely the couple would take them in until Dani could find safer accommodations.

“Let’s go,” she said with false cheer.

Mr. Morgan led the way out the door, grabbing the hat he’d left on a peg in the entry hall. As he pulled it low, the girls followed him down the steps with Dani bringing up the rear. In the front yard she saw the livery buggy and the family wagon. He was standing by the buggy, watching them like a coyote spying a flock of chickens.

He pointed his chin at the wagon. “The girls can ride in the back.”

Dani steered them to the buggy. “I think we can fit. Don’t you, girls?” The rig had a single seat. It would be a squeeze.

Mr. Morgan shrugged. “Suit yourselves.”

When she bent to lift Esther, he reached for the child at the same time. Their hands overlapped on the girl’s waist with Dani losing the race.

His eyes narrowed. “Let me. She’s heavy.”

“I can manage.”

Esther grabbed for Dani, but Mr. Morgan scooped her up and plopped her on the seat before she knew enough to cry. Scowling, he offered his gloved hand to Ellie, then Emma, and finally to her. Looking at the leather, Dani wondered what it hid. Some people thought a man’s eyes revealed his soul. Dani looked at hands. Calluses testified to hard work. Soft skin hinted at laziness or vice. If Mr. Morgan removed the gloves, what would she see? The trim nails of a gambler? The knuckles of a brawler?

His eyes glinted. “I won’t bite, Miss Baxter.”

Satan had said the same thing to Eve. Ignoring his hand, she climbed into the buggy.

He went to the wagon. “Stay in front of me.”

She took the reins and drove out of the yard with Ellie pressed against her ribs and Esther in Emma’s lap. The top of the buggy shielded them from Mr. Morgan’s stare, but the creak of the wagon kept him close.

Ellie squirmed closer to Dani. “He’s nothing like Pa.”

Emma stared straight ahead. “Pa’s gone. We have to get used to it.”

“I don’t want to!” Ellie cried.

“There’s no choice.” Emma tightened her grip on Esther’s waist. “I’m the oldest. That means I have to look out for you.”

Dani’s heart broke for the girl. She knew how it felt to grow up overnight. They rode in silence, listening to the rhythm of Esther sucking her thumb and the creak of the harness. Behind them, Beau Morgan clicked to the horses, crowding the buggy in spite of the empty road. Dani wondered if he’d watch them this closely in town. The closer he rode, the more determined she became to escape. But how? She needed a plan. “Do you know where Mr. Morgan’s going?” she said to Emma.

“Probably to see Mr. Scott.”

“Who’s he?”

“Pa’s attorney. He sent Mr. Morgan a message.”

Ellie frowned. “He said to call him Uncle Beau.”

“I don’t care,” Emma replied. “I want him to leave.”

So did Dani. She considered barging into his meeting with the attorney, but getting the girls to Pastor Blue and his wife took priority. “Where’s Mr. Scott’s office?”

“On Fourth Street.”

The church was on the west side of town. The livery was on First Street. If she could convince Mr. Morgan to allow her to watch the girls while he met with Mr. Scott, they could make a run for the church.

“What are we going to do?” Ellie asked.

The older girls would understand, but Esther wouldn’t. She gave Emma and Ellie a conspiratorial glance. “When Mr. Morgan visits the attorney, we’ll pay a visit to Pastor Blue and his wife.”

Emma’s eyes dimmed. “The church is far.”

“About a half mile,” Ellie added.

Dani’s heart sank. Her new shoes had dainty heels. Pretty or not, they hurt her feet. Esther posed another problem. Unless Dani took the wagon, she’d have to carry the child a good part of the way. The more she thought about sneaking the wagon out from under Beau Morgan’s nose, the more she liked the idea. By then, they’d have picked up her trunk and she’d have possession of Patrick’s letters. Unless he changed his mind about custody, she’d need them in a court of law.

Aware of three pairs of blue eyes on her face, Dani nudged the horse into a faster walk. “We’ll make it,” she said to the girls.

“I don’t see how.” Emma sighed.

Dani put iron in her voice. “Do you know the story about Daniel in the lion’s den?”

“It’s scary,” Esther said.

“That’s true, but God kept Daniel safe.” Dani let the words sink in. “If God can put lions to sleep, He can get us to the church.”

“We can see Miss Adie,” Ellie said.

“That’s right.”

Esther pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “She has kittens!”

A lump pushed into Dani’s throat. Emma, sensing her sister’s need, chatted about the cats. Ellie joined in, leaving Dani to ponder her plan as she navigated the stretch of road into Castle Rock. With a little luck, she and the girls would be spending the night at the parsonage and Beau Morgan would see the wisdom of leaving them alone.

With the wagon rattling in the buggy’s wake, Dani took in the rippling grass and patches of pine dotting the horizon. In the distance stood the dome of granite that gave the town its name. Round and high, the fortresslike stone capped a mesa jutting up from a meadow. To the east, Dani saw rows of buildings. Most were made of wood, but a few showed off the pinkish rhyolite stone that had given the town its birth. Twenty years ago, Castle Rock had been nothing more than a cattle stop. Now it boasted a school, two churches and dozens of businesses. Patrick had described it in his letters, filling her with excitement at the prospect of being a part of something new.

As they neared the train station, Dani saw the tracks stretching as far south as she could see. The train that brought her had left hours ago. Nothing remained. Not a trace of steam, not the six people who had disembarked with her. The only sign of humanity was her trunk sitting on the platform. It looked the way she felt…alone, abandoned and packed for a trip it would never take.

Dani reined in the livery mare. Beau Morgan halted the wagon next to her, climbed down and opened the tailgate. As he strode to the platform, she leaped down from the buggy and followed him.

“That’s my trunk,” she said.

“I figured.”

“It’s heavy. You’ll need help.”

Ignoring her, he hoisted it as if it held feathers instead of her life and lugged it down the three steps. Dani hurried to the back of the wagon where she saw a pile of quilts. Had Patrick kept them there for the girls? Or had Beau Morgan thought to bring them for the bumpy ride? Dani didn’t know, but she doubted Patrick kept blankets in his work wagon. She knew from his letters that he owned a two-seat surrey the family took to church, yet kindness didn’t fit her impression of Beau Morgan.

Now, Dani… The voice belonged to her father. Walter Baxter had been quick to love and slow to judge. She could imagine his words. For all you know, Beau Morgan’s an upstanding citizen. Judge not, daughter.

Dani tried to keep an open mind, but she couldn’t erase the picture of this man dry firing a pistol into the dark. As he latched the tailgate, she went back to the buggy. He took the reins of the wagon and led the way to the livery stable. The wagon rattled as they passed a feed store, then a mining office where men stood in a line. People on the street noticed them. Some smiled and a few waved to the girls, but Dani had no way to signal for help.

When they reached the livery, Mr. Morgan stopped the wagon. Without a word, he went into the barn and disappeared into the shadows.

“Let’s go!” Dani cried.

She leaped out of the buggy and turned. Emma shoved Esther into her arms, then jumped out the other side with Ellie behind her. As the older girls piled into the wagon, Dani boosted Esther over the tailgate, then hurried to the front seat. Before she could hoist herself up, Beau Morgan strode through the doorway.

Faking a smile, Dani put a ring in her voice. “We’re ready to go.”

“I see.” He handed her a silver dollar. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Miller’s refunding the rental.”

It wasn’t much, but every dollar would help. As she took the money, her fingers brushed his glove. He stepped back as if she had the pox, then glanced across the street to a row of shops that included an emporium. Looking befuddled, he cleared his throat. “You’ve had a long trip. Is there anything you need while we’re in town?”

Yesterday Dani had imagined browsing the shops with Patrick’s daughters. That dream had died. “No, thank you.”

“I’d pay.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Morgan.” She wanted to run, not shop.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a grunt.

Intending to ride with the girls, she headed for the back of the wagon. As she turned, strong fingers caught the bottom of her forearm and turned her back to the seat. His touch was light, nothing more than a brush, but it felt like a shackle. His voice went low, barely a whisper. “You’ll ride up front with me.”

“I’d rather sit with the girls.”

“I’m not asking what you want,” he replied. “I’m telling you what’s best.”

“I don’t see why—”

“That’s right. You don’t.”

Dani pulled out of his grip but didn’t move. His eyes tensed with the same worry she’d seen on her father’s face just before the worst storm of her life had swept across their farm. As he’d ordered her to the cellar, a tornado had funneled down behind the barn. She’d learned that day to trust her father’s instincts.

Beau Morgan’s expression shifted to the mix of a smile and a scowl she’d seen in the kitchen. Her father had known best. Did Beau Morgan?

“Is there a reason?” she asked.

“None I care to give.”

Dani opened her mouth to argue, then sealed her lips. It didn’t matter where she sat in the wagon as long as he took them to a place where they could make a run for the church. When he offered his hand, she accepted his help onto the seat. He walked to the other side, climbed up and steered the wagon into the street. Anyone on the boardwalk would think they were a family.

And that, Dani realized, explained why he’d insisted she sit at his side. She and the girls were part of a disguise. They turned Beau Morgan into a family man. Who was after him and why? Dani’s stomach clenched. With each block, they traveled farther from the church. Staring straight ahead, she risked a question. “Where are we going?”

“To see Patrick’s attorney.”

Dani thought of Emma’s guess. The child had a good mind. “It must concern the girls.”

The man glanced over his shoulder. Dani did the same and saw them huddled as far from the seat as they could get.

Looking straight ahead, he lowered his voice. “I haven’t told them yet, but you might as well know. I’m selling the farm and sending them to school.”

“You can’t!” The whisper scraped her throat.

“It’s for the best.”

Dani knotted her hands in her lap. Was it wiser to make a break for the parsonage or insist on seeing Trevor Scott herself? Patrick had never mentioned Mr. Scott. On the other hand, he’d spoken well of Pastor Blue. She was weighing the choice when they stopped in front of an ice-cream parlor. Mr. Morgan hooked his thumb toward the office building across the street. “Scott’s office is on the second floor. I thought you and the girls might enjoy some ice cream while I take care of business.”

Dani saw the answer to her prayer. “I’m sure they would.”

“Can I trust you to watch them, Miss Baxter?”

“Of course.” She’d told the truth. She wouldn’t let the girls out of her sight until they reached the church.

He reached into his pocket, extracted a few coins and handed them to her. With her heart pounding, she put the money in her reticule and climbed down from the wagon.

As the girls scrambled to her side, Mr. Morgan stood in front of them with his hands on his hips. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

If Patrick had spoken those words, they’d have promised protection. Coming from his brother, they made her skin prickle. Forcing a smile, Dani looked at the girls. “Mr. Morgan is treating us to ice cream.”

Emma and Ellie murmured a polite “thank you.” Esther squealed with delight and ran to the door.

“Don’t leave the store,” he said to Dani. “I’ll meet you inside.”

Feeling his eyes on her back, she led the girls into the ice creamery, then watched through the window as Mr. Morgan neared the attorney’s office. He had to climb a flight of stairs, knock on a door and wait in a lobby. Dani grabbed Esther’s hand. “Let’s go.”

Emma and Ellie headed for the door, but Esther dug in her heels. “I want ice cream!”

“Later, sweetie.”

“Now!”

“Esther, we have to go.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “But you said!”

The child wasn’t being stubborn. She was a frightened little girl whose daddy hadn’t come home for five days. Ice cream promised a bit of happiness. Dani searched her mind for something more appealing, found it and dropped to a crouch, putting herself at eye level with Esther. “Remember Miss Adie and the kittens?”

The child nodded.

“That’s where we’re going.”

Esther tipped her head to the left, then to the right. The choices seesawed in the child’s mind, then hit the ground with a thud. “I want ice cream!”

The woman behind the counter looked over the jars of penny candy with an arched brow. Dani thought of scooping Esther into her arms and running, but she couldn’t risk creating a scene. Besides, they’d lost two valuable minutes. By now, Beau Morgan would be with Trevor Scott.

Straightening, she gave the clerk a wry smile. “I guess we’re having ice cream.”

As the girls placed their orders, Dani turned and peered at the window marking the attorney’s office. Beau Morgan loomed behind the glass with crossed arms and an expression that gave her chills.

Chapter Three

“Have a seat, Mr. Morgan.”

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

Beau was tired enough to sleep on his feet, but he planted himself at the window and focused on the ice-cream parlor. The odds of Clay Johnson walking down the street were slim to none, but Beau refused to let down his guard.

He also had doubts about Miss Baxter. Ever since he’d walked into the kitchen, she’d been giving him the evil eye. Her judgment of his character irked him. Time had tarnished his manners, but he’d tried to be considerate. He’d tossed blankets in the wagon for the girls, and he’d bargained with the livery owner for Miss Baxter’s refund. A long time ago, simple courtesy had come naturally to him. So had conversation. He’d gone to church socials and asked pretty girls to dance. That’s where he’d met Lucy. Miss Baxter reminded him of that happy time…and the hard time that had followed. She’d grieve for Patrick as he’d grieved for Lucy. Staring through the glass, Beau watched as she and the girls circled a small table.

Trevor Scott cleared his throat. “I have good news, Mr. Morgan.”

“You’ve found a school?”

“Not exactly. I’ve located another relative, a Miss Harriet Lange.”

“Who is she?”

“A great-aunt on Elizabeth’s side of the family.”

Beau frowned. She sounded old. “Where does she live?”

“Minnesota.”

“It’s cold there.”

“There’s another problem,” Scott said.

“What’s that?”

“She’ll take Emma but not the younger girls.”

The offer rubbed Beau the wrong way. He could see his nieces now, licking ice cream from glass bowls. Each one had impressed him. This week had been the worst of Emma’s life, but she’d stepped up like a grown woman. He’d seen Ellie carrying a bucket of water to her daddy’s grave. He didn’t know what kind of flowers she’d planted, but she’d come to the house with muddy knees. And Esther…she’d never stop sucking her thumb without her sisters.

“Why Emma?” he asked.

Scott leaned back in his squeaky chair. “Miss Lange is an elderly spinster. I assume she wants companionship.”

Or a servant, Beau thought. It made sense, but he knew he’d become cynical. He had a talent for spotting weeds but rarely noticed flowers, even when they filled a meadow. Maybe the woman had a kind heart but couldn’t feed two more children. “Does she have an income?”

“She clerks at a bank.”

A job that paid little money. Beau hooked his thumbs in his belt. He earned top dollar and saved most of it. “If money’s the problem, I can solve it.”

“With the sale of the farm?”

“No, that’s going in the bank.” He wanted the girls to have a nest egg for later in life. “I’ll pay for what they need.”

“It’s generous of you.”

Maybe, but Beau felt no pride. What the girls needed most, money couldn’t buy. They needed a home, parents who’d love them and tuck them in at night. He couldn’t do those things.

Scott shifted in his chair. “If you’d like, I can present an offer to Miss Lange.”

“Do it,” Beau said. “Tell her it’s all three or nothing. If she agrees, we’ll discuss a monthly allowance.”

“And if she says no?”

“We’ll look for a school.”

“I don’t envy you, Mr. Morgan. The situation calls for the wisdom of Solomon.”

Beau knew the story. Two women claiming the same child went to the Biblical king to resolve their differences. When he’d threatened to cut the baby in half, the real mother had given up the fight to save her child’s life. Beau felt the same pressure. He’d do anything to keep the girls together. Anything except stay in Castle Rock. Peering through the window, he saw Miss Baxter wiping Esther’s face with a white hankie. Someday she’d make a good mother. He hoped Harriet Lange would be as kind.

The attorney cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse my boldness, Mr. Morgan, there’s another solution.”

“What’s that?”

“You could raise the girls yourself.”

Beau laughed out loud. “Not in a million years.”

“Why not?”

The duster covered his Colt .45, but the weapon weighed heavy on his hip. Even if he’d felt inclined to settle down, he couldn’t do it until Clay Johnson had taken his last breath. Beau turned from the window and glared at the attorney. The balding man had spectacles, but that didn’t mean he could see. One look at Beau’s worn gun belt should have answered his question.

After staring for a bit, Beau stated the obvious. “I’m not inclined to settle down, Mr. Scott.”

“Why not?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You can’t blame me for asking,” the man said. “I knew Patrick well. We served together as elders at the church. He’d want his girls to be raised in Castle Rock.”

“That’s not possible.”

Beau thought of Daniela Baxter but dismissed the idea of allowing her to adopt his nieces. Someday she’d marry and have babies of her own. Besides, what did she know about running a dairy farm? Since he’d been doing Patrick’s work, Beau had come to respect farmers in a new way. The cows had no mercy when it came to being milked on time. Exhausted or not, Beau pulled himself out of bed at dawn, headed to the meadow to fetch the first cow, then milked them one at a time until he’d finished all ten. At night, the cows came to the gate bellowing precisely at five o’clock.

The milking started the day and ended it. In between, the driver from the local cheese factory picked up the milk cans and replaced them with empty ones. Beau had buckets to scrub and horse stalls to muck out. He also had a new field of alfalfa to plant. Patrick’s first field, the one he’d planted seven years ago, would die out in a few years and no longer meet the needs of his growing herd. The cows had all given birth in March. Patrick had kept four heifer calves and sold the rest. The herd needed more forage, so he’d made plans for a second alfalfa crop. Beau had seen the half-plowed field and the seed bags in the barn. After just two days of work, he’d taken his hat off to his brother’s dedication.

Hardworking or not, Patrick had died, leaving the work unfinished. In a blink the Almighty had cut him down. Beau turned back to the window. Instead of four blond heads, he saw four bowls of melting ice cream.

“What the—”

He scanned the boardwalk and saw Miss Baxter shepherding the girls to the wagon. When she glanced at the window, Beau saw the fear of a fugitive and bolted for the door.

“We’re not done!” Scott called.

“Write to Miss Lange,” Beau shouted from the stairwell.

“Do it today!”

He raced through the door to the street where the wagon sat empty. He looked to the left but saw nothing. He snapped his eyes to the right and saw a pink skirt whipping around a corner.

He broke into a run, but the females had a two-block lead. When he reached the alley where they’d turned, he saw nothing but empty stairs, trash and piles of wood. Muttering an oath, he strode between the buildings, swiveling his head to look down each street and alley for another flash of pink.

He spotted them on Cantril Street. Miss Baxter and his nieces had slowed to a fast walk, a pace that would look hurried to bystanders but not panicked. Beau didn’t know what to make of their flight. He didn’t know much about little girls, but he’d tried to be pleasant. He hadn’t raised his voice, and he’d cussed only once when a cow had stepped on his foot.

With Miss Baxter and the girls in plain sight, he followed at a distance, staying close to the buildings and ducking into doorways whenever the woman looked over her shoulder. He had to admire her instincts. She took numerous turns, blended with strangers and kept the girls at her side. Beau had no idea where she was headed. They’d passed the Garnet Hotel, the sheriff’s office and the courthouse. He figured the girls had friends, but the houses in Castle Rock lay mostly to the east. Tired of the chase, he lengthened his stride. With his coat flapping and his boots thudding, he didn’t have to maneuver around folks on the boardwalk. They jumped out of his way.

At the corner of Lewis and Sixth Streets, Miss Baxter glanced over her shoulder. Instead of taking cover, Beau stayed in plain sight. “Wait up!”

Her eyes rounded with fear. Breathless, she lifted Esther and ran with Emma and Ellie flanking her sides.

Beau broke into a run but stopped. He couldn’t stand the thought of Miss Baxter catching a heel in the boardwalk. If she fell, she’d twist an ankle or worse. He’d also figured out her destination. The fool woman could have saved herself a lot worry if she’d stayed and finished her ice cream. Beau, too, had business with Josh and Adelaide Blue. With his hat low, he followed the females to the parsonage.

“Keep going!” Dani said between breaths. “We’re almost there.”

She didn’t dare look over her shoulder. She’d spotted Beau Morgan near the bank but hoped they’d lost him by zigzagging through the grid of streets. The church rose in the distance, a wood frame building painted white with a bell and a tin steeple. The sun struck the metal, reminding her of the swords in the Bible. The Lord had told his people to turn some into ploughshares. Others were used for battle. As the steeple glinted in the sun, she thought of the sword of truth, a two-edged blade sharp enough to separate flesh from bone, truth from lies. Mr. Morgan hadn’t been overtly dishonest, but neither had he been forthcoming. With three girls in her care, Dani couldn’t take chances. If Pastor Blue and his wife would watch the girls, she’d go in search of the town judge. She’d show him the letters and—

“Oh, no,” she mumbled.

“What is it?” Emma asked.

“Your pa’s letters are in my trunk.”

The girl whimpered. “That’s the proof he wanted you to adopt us.”

“That’s right.”

“Can we get them?” Emma asked.

“Not easily.” Dani’s plan to take the wagon had changed the instant she’d locked eyes with Beau Morgan through the window. She’d told him about Patrick’s letter with good intentions, but now she wished she’d been more reserved. If he wanted to play dirty, he could destroy the letters. A custody battle would turn into a war of words.

Please, Lord. I need your help.

With mud sticking to her shoes, Dani focused on the house across from the church. Red curtains hung in the windows and flowerpots lined the railing on the wide porch. Behind the slats, she saw a hodgepodge of chairs. A large wooden spool, probably used for telegraph wire, served as a table, and a lantern sat on a barrel. The house called out a welcome.

Come and sit. Share your burdens.

Patrick had considered Reverend Blue a good friend and he’d spoken well of the man’s wife. They’ll help you get settled, Dani. Pastor Josh tells stories that make the Bible come alive, and no one’s kinder than Adie. Looking at the chairs, Dani imagined pouring out her heart to a serene man of the cloth and his gentle wife.

“There she is!” Ellie said.

A red-haired woman in a green print dress and white apron stood in the doorway. At the sight of Dani and the girls, her eyes sparked with recognition, then clouded as she spied the man following in their steps. Leaving the door ajar, Adelaide Blue slipped out of sight. Clinging to Esther, Dani ran faster, praying she wouldn’t stumble. Emma stayed at her side. Unburdened, Ellie outdistanced them. They had a hundred feet to go, then seventy, fifty…Dani could see the lilacs by the front door, the checks on the gingham curtains.

When they reached the yard, Adie waved them inside. The girls sped past her and collapsed on the floor. Dani spun around and saw the minister’s wife facing the yard with a shotgun pressed against her shoulder. Dani went to the window, peeked through the curtains and saw Beau Morgan striding down the dirt trail parting the grass. With his hat pulled low and his duster flapping, he stirred the blades like gusting wind.

“Hold up, stranger!” Adie called.

He stopped and raised his hands over his head. Dani pressed her temple against the wall so she could see the front of the doorway. The shotgun barrel pointed steady and true.

Adie’s finger rested on the trigger. “Who are you, mister?”

Laughter rumbled from Beau Morgan’s chest. It struck Dani as sinister, but Adie lowered the gun.

“I don’t believe my eyes,” the woman said.

“Hello, Adie.”

“Beau Morgan? Is that really you?”

“It sure is.” Beneath the brim of his hat, his mouth widened into a roguish grin. “Are you gonna shoot me or ask me to supper?”

“What do you think?”

Gripping the curtain, Dani watched in shock as Adelaide Blue ran to Beau Morgan and hugged him like a long-lost brother.

Beau had thought of Josh and Adie Blue as family ever since he’d stumbled into the church Josh had started in a Denver saloon. The Blues had taught him a simple truth. Even the mangiest of dogs liked good cooking and a clean bed. A few kind words and the meanest cur lost his growl. Add a little love—a good scratch, a woman’s laughter—and that dog turned worthless. That’s why Beau avoided good cooking and clean sheets. Until he brought Clay Johnson to justice, he had to keep his edge.

He stepped back from Adie. “You’re as pretty as ever.”

She smiled. “And you’re just as ornery.”

“Where’s Josh?”

“Looking for Miss Baxter.” Adie put her hands on her hips. “Would you care to tell me why that girl’s running from you like a scared rabbit?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you’re blind.” She looked him up and down. “You need a bath and that’s the least of it.”

“I haven’t had a chance.”

“It’s more than your looks that frightened her,” Adie said.

“What’s got you in a twist?”

Beau lost his smile. “I got word that Clay Johnson’s in the area. I’m still hunting for him.”

“Oh, Beau.”

“I was closing in when I stopped to see Patrick.” Beau shook his head. “I ended up with a farm and a bunch of cows.”

“And three little girls.”

Adie’s voice held a lilt. Beau appreciated her kindness but feared the glint in her eyes. Orphaned at the age of twelve, she’d suffered frightful abuses before settling with Josh and their adopted son. She treasured her family and wanted everyone to have the same joy. Until Lucy’s death, Beau had felt the same way.

Adie cut into his thoughts. “Those girls need a home. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You could stay here and raise them.”

“Forget it. I’ve got a call on my life and I’m following it.”

Adie’s face hardened. “You’re talking about Johnson.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, Beau.”

“What?”

Her eyes misted. “You’ve got to set that burden down.”

How could she say such a thing? She’d laid out Lucy’s body in the house he’d rented because his wife had liked the porch swing. That morning, Lucy had tossed up her breakfast and had gone to the doctor. Later Beau learned she’d been carrying their child. She’d put on the pink dress—his favorite—to tell him the news. Behind Adie, he saw Miss Baxter in her pink dress peeking through the red curtains. The colors turned his stomach.

Adie wrinkled her nose, then playfully fanned the air. “Go take a bath. You smell like a bear in April.”

Beau grinned. “That good?”

“Worse!”

He appreciated the change in tone. “I’ve got business in town. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Keep an eye out for Josh,” she added.

Beau wanted to see his old friend but feared what the Reverend would say. The man dug deep, pulling up weeds by the roots and laying them bare for a man to see for himself. Adie had a different way. She planted seeds and expected flowers. If a man was thirsty, she gave him sweet tea. If he was hungry, she filled his belly. Beau had never known a more generous woman…or a more dangerous one. Watching Adie love the whole wretched world made him want a garden of his own.

Beau tipped his hat to her, saw that Miss Baxter had left her post at the window, turned and headed to town. As he trudged along the path, he thought of his early years in Denver. He’d been a deputy sheriff when Joshua Blue had ridden into town with a Bible and an attitude. Before he knew it, Beau had been sitting in a saloon that doubled for a church on Sunday mornings. A year later, he’d met Lucy and married her. After her passing, Adie had fed him meals until he couldn’t stand another bite and had lit out of town.

He wanted to leave now but couldn’t. Patrick’s girls needed him and so did Miss Baxter. What drove a woman to travel a thousand miles to marry a stranger? Beau didn’t know, but he knew how it felt to hurt.

As he stepped onto the boardwalk, he caught a whiff of himself. Adie was right about that bath, but first he had to visit the Silver River Saloon. With a little luck, he’d pick up news about Clay Johnson. Beau disliked visiting saloons, but it had to be done. Men like Johnson didn’t hang out at the general store, nor did they go to church on Sundays, or to socials where men and women rubbed elbows and made friends. Neither did Beau.

With his duster flapping, he strode to Scott’s office to fetch the wagon, then drove back down the street, crossed the railroad tracks and found the saloon between a second mining office and a gunsmith. He stepped inside and surveyed the dimly lit room. Empty stools lined the bar. A poker table sat in the corner with a battered deck of cards but no players. He had the place to himself, so he stepped to the bar where a man with graying hair was wiping the counter.

“What’ll it be?” the barkeep asked.

“Coffee.”

The man set down a mug. Numb to the bitterness, Beau took a long drag of the overcooked brew. It splashed in his belly but didn’t give him the usual jolt, a sign he was more tired than he knew. Grimacing, he set down the half-empty cup.

“You’re a stranger here,” the barkeep said.

“Sure enough.”

“In town on business?”

“Just passing through.” Lonely men liked to talk. Beau hoped this man was one of them.

The barkeep lifted a shot glass out of a tub and dried it with his apron. “If you need work, the mines are hiring.”

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“His name’s Clay Johnson. He’s about six feet with dark hair and a crooked nose.” Beau wished he’d been the one to break it.

When the man raised a brow, Beau slid a coin across the counter. The barkeep slipped it into his pocket. “I’ve seen that fellow.”

“In town?”

“About two weeks ago.”

Before Patrick’s death. “Any idea where he was headed?”

“None. He bought five bottles of whiskey, opened one here and walked out with the rest. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Anyone with him?”

“Two men.”

“What did they look like?”

“I didn’t pay much attention. I noticed Johnson because of his nose.” The barkeep set down the glass and held out his hand. “I’m Wallace O’Day. I run a clean business.”

Beau shook the man’s hand. “Beau Morgan.”

“Bounty hunter?”

“I’m not in it for the money.”

Wallace picked up another glass. “This Johnson fellow. Is he wanted?”

“Yes.” By Beau for Lucy’s murder and the U.S. government for stealing horses. Of the two, the government would be kinder.

The barkeep glanced at the dregs in Beau’s cup. “Want some more?”

“No, thanks.” Beau slapped down a sawbuck. “If you hear anything about Johnson, remember it.”

Wallace folded the money. “How do I find you?”

“I’ll be back.”

Beau left the saloon with thoughts of Johnson rattling like broken glass. He saw Lucy again, felt the wetness of her bodice and smelled the blood. He blinked the picture away, but the rage stayed in his blood, swimming like a thousand fish. Needing to get rid of the slithering, he walked two blocks to an emporium where he bought fresh clothes, then headed back to the bathhouse across from the Silver River.

As he neared the splintery building, one of the oldest in Castle Rock, he smelled steam, soap and dirt. The mix reminded him of a simple truth. He could get clean on the outside, but the inside was another matter. Until Clay Johnson met his end, Beau’s hate would grow with every breath he took.

Weary to the bone, he stepped into a drafty building with a high ceiling. He paid a Chinese man to fill a tub, then undressed and slipped into the hot water. As he dunked his head, Beau thought about Clay Johnson. They’d been playing this game for a long time now. At first, Clay had run hard and far. Beau had nearly trapped him in Durango, but he’d fled to the Colorado Plateau and into the desert. Beau had picked up the man’s trail later in Raton but had lost him near Cimarron. A year had passed before he’d gotten word of an outlaw gang raiding ranches in Wyoming.

Beau had taken a train to Laramie. He’d arrived in time for a trial that didn’t include Johnson. In exchange for prison in place of the gallows, one of Clay’s cohorts had told the authorities where to find him. Beau had ridden out that day, but Clay had already vanished into the mountains.

With the memory haunting him, Beau raised his head out of the water and wiped his face. He’d been so close. A day sooner and his search would have ended. Instead, Clay had gotten word of Beau’s presence and left him a message at the local saloon.

It should have been you, Sheriff. You know it. Leave me alone.

Beau had that note in his saddlebag. He had other things, too. A bullet etched with an M for Morgan, presumably from Johnson’s gun belt. Other notes. Other tokens. Every time Beau got close, the outlaw taunted him but didn’t stand and fight.

Beau wondered why.

What stopped Johnson from setting up an ambush? For five years, Beau had slept with one eye open and for good reason. In a game of cat and mouse, no man liked being the mouse. Someday Johnson would be sick of the chase and become the cat. The man would show himself and Beau would be ready. Dunking back into the scalding water, he hoped that day would come soon.

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