The Rancher’s Ready-Made Family

With a little girl to raise, widowed single father Dawson Marshall could sure use some help—he just didn’t expect it to come from city girl Isabelle Redfield. Dawson has encountered city women before. He even married one. What if his little girl grows attached to Isabelle and the woman tires of ranch life just like his late wife did?

For heiress Isabelle, the fledgling Western town of Bella Creek, Montana, offers something more meaningful than her wealth: a chance to forge a useful life. But if she wants the townsfolk to value her for more than her money, she has to keep her identity hidden. A difficult feat, especially when it comes to the cynical cowboy whose sweet daughter she cares for after school. But will hiding the truth ruin her chance of earning Dawson’s love?

“Can you sing to me, like your mama did?” Mattie asked.

With a half-apologetic glance at Dawson, Isabelle sat on the edge of the bed.

Why should she feel sorry? To his regret, he admitted he’d given her every reason to feel he didn’t want her spending time with his daughter. To his shame, he’d even suggested she was unsuitable simply because she was...what? A city woman? A newcomer? Beautiful?

All those things could mean danger. Or they could mean nothing.

He wasn’t sure he had changed his mind, but it became harder and harder to remember his reasons.

Isabelle crooned a song in Spanish.

He sat as mesmerized by her sweet voice as Mattie. In the distant corner of his brain, a warning voice called, reminding him how caring for Isabelle could end in disappointment and wrenching pain. The voice was drowned out by the sound of her voice and by the blossoming of his distant dreams.

Mattie’s eyes drifted shut.

Isabelle leaned close and kissed each cheek. “Sweet dreams, little princess.”

The word jolted clear through Dawson. Princess. Was that how Isabelle saw his child? His throat tightened. His eyes burned. So many people loved and cared for Mattie, but something about Isabelle’s tender touch and sweet words felt different.

LINDA FORD lives on a ranch in Alberta, Canada, near enough to the Rocky Mountains that she can enjoy them on a daily basis. She and her husband raised fourteen children—four homemade, ten adopted. She currently shares her home and life with her husband, a grown son, a live-in paraplegic client and a continual (and welcome) stream of kids, kids-in-law, grandkids, and assorted friends and relatives.

Montana Cowboy Daddy

Linda Ford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about His people from henceforth even for ever.

—Psalms 125:2

This book is dedicated to my dear friends. You know who you are. Thanks to each of you for keeping in touch over the years, for sharing the ups and downs of my life and for always standing with me. Without you my life would lack color and depth and joy. Thank you and God bless.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Bella Creek, Montana, 1890

Weary from the long journey and tired of the cramped quarters, Isabelle Redfield was the first to step from the stagecoach to the dirt street of Bella Creek, Montana. A group of people stood about as if waiting for the arrival of the travelers.

Isabelle glanced around at the fledgling Western town where she hoped to start a new life—one of purpose and acceptance. Before her was a wooden-structured hotel, to her left, a wide street with bare-limbed trees and a welcoming bench. Past the hotel to her right, a café, Miss Daisy’s Eatery. Her gaze went farther. Her heart slammed into her ribs at what she saw.

“No.” She couldn’t tell if the word left her mouth or stayed trapped in her mind as she watched a little girl, blond hair flying about her head, dash across the street. Did no one notice her? Or see the freight wagon bearing down on her, the horses’ huge hooves ready to trample the child? Were they all too interested in looking over those who had traveled to their town?

She lifted her skirts, intending to run toward the child. Instead, her petticoats caught and she stumbled. Righting herself, she reached toward the child but she was too far away. Could she do nothing to prevent the disaster she saw coming? Must she watch helplessly...uselessly?

In a clatter of racing hooves, a horseman galloped into the scene. The rider reached down and snatched up the little girl and thundered out of the way.

Isabelle breathed a prayer of thanks for the rescue of the child.

The wagon driver shouted, “Whoa.” The horses reared and pawed the air and the wagon careened to a stop farther down the street.

Isabelle stared at the big man who had rescued the girl and was clutching her to his chest, his expression fierce.

She couldn’t hear his words as he spoke to the child, couldn’t see his face, hidden as it was beneath the brim of his hat, but from the defensive look on the little one’s face, she guessed he scolded her.

“Yes, Papa. I’m sorry.”

What kind of place had she arrived in where children played untended in the street? Then were scolded for the neglect of the adults? It should not be.

Indignation burned through her veins as she continued on her way, closing the distance between herself and the pair seated upon the horse. She didn’t slow until she reached their side. The warmth and smell of horseflesh greeted her as she reached up and ran her hands along the girl’s arms. “Are you hurt?”

The child shook her head, still looking frightened.

“You’re safe so long as you don’t play in the street.” Her smile seemed to encourage the girl. But how safe could she be if no one watched her?

She lifted her head to face the man. “You’re this child’s father?” Having heard the child call him Papa, she knew he was. She only meant to remind the man of his responsibility.

His gaze hit her with such force she pressed her hand to her throat as if she could calm the rapid beating of her heart...caused, she reminded herself, from marching across the street. Certainly not from the power of piercing blue eyes in a tanned face.

She didn’t wait for his reply. Nor did she heed a sense of warning that this was not a man accustomed to having someone suggest he was wrong. “I advise you to take better care of her before she is injured.”

His blue eyes grew glacial. His lips pressed into a frown. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you nor you of meeting me. I would think that makes you quite incapable of having a knowledgeable opinion of what I should or shouldn’t be doing.” His gaze bored straight through her.

She lifted her chin another inch. She was Isabelle Redfield and her opinion was generally considered worth taking note of. With a little sigh, she released her anger. He didn’t know who she was nor did she want him to. “I would be remiss not to point out the child was in grave danger. Surely you could see that.”

“I saw her.” His clipped words warned her to drop the subject.

She lowered her gaze to the child and, not wanting to upset her, chose to let it go.

Her traveling companions had left the stagecoach and watched the proceedings from the hotel veranda. She climbed the three wooden steps to join them. Isabelle’s friend and fellow traveler, Kate, rushed to her side. “That was too close for comfort. Quite an introduction to Bella Creek.” Kate’s father, Dr. Baker, joined his daughter. Sadie Young, the new teacher for the community, stood nearby.

A white-haired old man leaning on two canes stood in the forefront of the gathered townsfolk, as if the official greeter. Each of those who had traveled with her introduced themselves and spoke of their plans. Dr. Baker and his daughter to help the ill and injured, Sadie Young to teach the children. And Isabelle to—

Well, she wasn’t sure what she could do, but she’d find something that mattered.

Praying no one in this group would recognize her name, Isabelle brushed her skirts, smoothing them as best she could before she introduced herself. “Miss Isabelle Redfield.” She adjusted her gloves. “I’m here to help, as well.” Please don’t ask me what I plan to do. The breeze tugged at her silk scarf, whipping the ends about.

Kate pulled her to her side. “Isabelle is my friend. She’s with us.”

When Kate said she would go with her father to the mining town, Isabelle had asked if she could accompany them. She’d grown weary of life in St. Louis, where for the past eleven and a half years, since her parents died when she was twelve, she’d shared the home of her second cousin by marriage, Augusta. Not that her home life was unacceptable, but everyone knew Isabelle was the sole beneficiary of both the Redfield and Castellano fortunes. It seemed most people sought her out, pretended friendship, even asked for her hand in marriage, simply because of her inheritance. Kate was the rare exception.

Perhaps she could start over here without that knowledge classifying her. As they’d approached their destination, she’d asked Kate not to tell anyone she was an heiress, which had brought a smile to Kate’s lips as her gaze skimmed Isabelle’s dress. “You should have taken that into consideration when choosing your gowns. Even your traveling outfit shouts money.”

Isabelle had glanced dismissively at her sapphire-blue suit and long protective matching coat lined with warm wool. Her bonnet matched, as well, but the long silk scarf holding her bonnet in place was bright and cheerful with pink poppies all over. Clothes meant far less to her than they did to Cousin Augusta, who saw every occasion as an excuse to bring in a seamstress or two and discuss the latest styles.

“This is all I have, though I suppose I could have ordered different things.” The gowns in her trunk were mostly new—suitable for a trip, according to Cousin Augusta. It had never crossed Isabelle’s mind to suggest otherwise. She smiled as she thought of the fine silk and crisp satin of her gowns. It had been rather exciting to help select the fabrics and then watch them be transformed into beautiful outfits. She loved beauty wherever she saw it.

It was too late to prepare simpler clothes. Hopefully she would not be judged by what she wore.

“Good to see you all,” the white-haired man said. “We need all the help we can get. I’m Allan Marshall, the one who sent for you. Welcome to Bella Creek.” He shifted to lean on one cane in order to shake hands with the doctor and bend over each of the ladies’ hands.

Many in the small crowd called out their greetings.

“Most people call me Grandfather Marshall, seeing as there are so many Marshalls around. Like my grandson here. Dawson, get down and say hello to these folks.”

The man Isabelle had recently scolded lowered the girl to the ground, swung off his horse and joined the older man. Tall and broad, so upright and strong looking...a marked contrast to his stooped grandfather.

“This is Dawson Marshall.” The elder Marshall man chuckled softly. “You’ll have to forgive him his manners. Sometimes he forgets he’s not out with a bunch of rough cowboys.”

Isabelle raised her head to meet the gaze of the man before her. She stilled herself to reveal none of her trepidation. Only a few minutes in town and already she’d managed to step on the toes of what appeared to be the biggest family in Bella Creek. Not that knowing would have stopped her from speaking her mind.

Grandfather Marshall continued. “Dawson’s a widower in need of a woman to settle him down.”

“Grandfather, I am not in need of a woman.” The protesting words rumbled from the man’s lips.

Isabelle managed not to show any sign of her alarm at the way the older man eyed her, then slowly—almost reluctantly—let his gaze slip toward the other two women. She dared not look at them to see their reaction. Would either of them be interested in the prospect?

From behind Dawson peeked out the little blonde girl, her blue-green eyes wide.

“Papa, she’s beautiful,” the child whispered, as she stared at Isabelle.

Amusement tickled Isabelle’s insides but she decided it was wise to disguise it in view of the frown on Mr. Marshall’s face.

“Welcome to Bella Creek.” Dawson greeted each of them. His expression cooled considerably when he met Isabelle’s gaze. “Thank you for coming in answer to our appeal for help.”

His latent displeasure didn’t bother her except to refuel her indignation that a child had been in danger.

The various trunks and crates had been unloaded from the stage and with a “Hey, there” from the driver, the horses pulled away, leaving a clear view to the sight on the other side of the street.

Isabelle stared. The whole of the block had been burned to the ground. Blackened timbers and a brick chimney stood like mute, angry survivors. One section had been scraped bare except for remnants of spring snow clinging to the corners. And in the midst of it stood a new building, so fresh and out of place amid the rubble on each side that it looked naked. Shock chilled Isabelle’s veins at the sight. She pulled her scarf closer around her neck.

Dawson Marshall strode over to stand nearby as they both studied the scene. “This winter a fire destroyed the dry-goods store, the lawyer’s office, the barbershop, the doctor’s office and residence, and the school. We’re grateful it didn’t jump the street and burn the church.”

She’d read the news of the fire. Knew it to be the reason they needed a doctor and a schoolteacher, but to see the stark evidence gave it a whole different meaning. “Was anyone hurt?” She shuddered at the thought.

Kate and Sadie joined Isabelle at the edge of the veranda, crowding her closer to Dawson and his daughter.

He answered her question though he addressed the entire group. “Doc burned his hands trying to save his equipment. It will be some time before he can resume his duties, if he ever does. He said it was time to retire. He and his wife moved to California. The teacher wept profusely at the loss of her precious books and left town on the next stage, saying she would never return.”

“Hence your need for replacements.” Her scarf was tugged. She reached to contain it but stilled her hand when she saw the little girl behind Dawson fingering it.

She bent and smiled at the child. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Mattie. I’m six.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mattie.”

Mattie’s face lit with a smile.

Dawson moved away to speak to the doctor, Mattie firmly in hand.

Isabelle watched him. A big man with a strong face. Raising a child on his own. How did he manage?

Not that it concerned her.

Shifting her attention away, she met Grandfather Marshall’s eyes. He grinned at her, his gaze darting to Dawson and back.

Goodness. Did he think she had an interest in his grandson? If only he knew she had no interest in men at all. No, she’d learned her lesson. They never saw beyond her inheritance. She’d allowed herself to believe Jamieson Grieve cared for her. After all, he had no need of her money. His father owned a successful bank. But then had come talk of how he’d invest Isabelle’s inheritance in establishing more banks. Once started on the topic of Isabelle’s money, it seemed he could talk of nothing else. She’d broken off with him, wanting to be seen as more than the source of a large bank account.

It had taken one more failure in the shape of Andy Anderson for the lesson to be embedded. A humble store clerk who daily espoused the evils of money as the root of all vices, he’d said a man ought to work for what he had and take pride in doing so. Believing he loved her for herself, she’d agreed to a betrothal. That was when she felt she must tell him about her inheritance.

Turned out he’d always known—why should she have believed otherwise? The man would have to be blind and deaf not to know. After their betrothal, he had wanted her to contact her lawyer and, as her future husband, have himself named as trustee of her estate. He said he knew how to put the money to good use.

That was when she’d said goodbye, a sadder but much wiser woman. From now on, she would not trust that a man’s affections were not influenced by her inheritance. Perhaps by hiding the truth about herself, she could learn the real meaning of a person’s interest in her.

“Doctor.” Dawson’s voice brought her back to the present situation. “You have patients waiting. Three men were injured by falling machinery. Which of these are yours?” He indicated the stack of crates and trunks.

“I’ll need those and those right away,” the doctor answered, pointing to several crates.

Dawson waved at the nearby men. “Let’s get these over to the doctor’s office.” He turned to Sadie. “Miss Young, I’m afraid I don’t have time to see you settled right now. Nor do we have your quarters ready. You’ll be staying in the hotel until we do. If you don’t mind going in and introducing yourself...”

“I’ll manage just fine,” Sadie said and made her way to the hotel entrance.

“I’ll take you to your new office and your patients.” Dawson nodded to the doctor, scooped Mattie into his arms and strode across the street.

Isabelle followed Kate and Dr. Baker. She didn’t mean to miss this opportunity to prove she was an ordinary, everyday, useful sort of woman. Would she ever truly know acceptance as such rather than as a rich woman? Yes, she’d been blessed with it and unfettered love when her parents lived. Her mother, especially, lavished it on her. Isabelle didn’t doubt Cousin Augusta’s affection was genuine. But apart from Kate, every other friendship had been tainted by the color of her money.

They crossed the rutted street and Isabelle had to concentrate on where she put her feet. It helped her avoid thinking of the fact that she meant to step into a doctor’s office...something she’d managed to avoid since her parents’ deaths. They entered a narrow room with benches on either side. A couple of dusty men sat clutching their hats and sprang to their feet as Dawson entered.

“He’s here? The new doc?” one asked.

Dr. Baker stepped forward. “I’m the doctor. Where are the injured men?”

Two heads tipped in the direction of another door. Dr. Baker and Kate crossed toward it.

Isabelle followed. The wood of the place being new, there were no sickroom odors. Nothing to remind her of when her parents were ill.

She crossed the threshold into the other room, and after a fleeting glance at a mangled hand on one man and the blood-soaked rag around the head of a second, she averted her eyes from the third man stretched out on the examining table. Every muscle in her body tensed, just as they had back then. Perhaps if she concentrated on the supplies, she could manage to forget the sights and smells and fears she recalled from watching her parents die.

She went to Kate’s side as her friend pried open one crate and quickly arranged an array of bottles and instruments on the shelves as Dr. Baker bent over the man on the examining table.

Isabelle didn’t hear what the doctor said to Kate or if Kate knew what he needed without words. Kate uncorked a bottle and poured some liquid on a cloth and handed it to her father.

The odor assailed Isabelle with revolting familiarity. The smell of sickness and death.

The room tilted. Her stomach churned. Clasping a hand to her mouth, she fled back to the waiting room and sank to the nearest empty spot on a bench. She sucked in a deep breath to calm her stomach and slowly righted her head to meet the challenging look of Dawson Marshall. He’d removed his hat to reveal thick blond hair. A fine-looking man but one who—if she was to guess from the way his pale eyebrows knotted together—wondered at her sudden exit from the examining room.

Unable to explain herself, she lowered her gaze to Mattie, who offered her wide-eyed wonder and then a shy smile.

Isabelle armed herself with that sliver of a welcome.

There must be something useful she could do in this town that didn’t require her presence in the doctor’s office. Something to prove to herself and everyone else that she was more than a rich heiress.

A moan came from the doctor’s office and she bolted out the door.

* * *

Dawson stared after the woman. Had she taken such a dislike to him she couldn’t bear to be in the same room? He leaned his head back against the wall, ignoring the two miners who watched him, their eyes wide with curiosity. She had no right to scold him about Mattie’s safety. He’d seen the wagon bearing down and would have died before he let his daughter be hurt. He’d gently admonished her to look both ways before she dashed across the street...exactly what a good parent should do.

Isabelle’s criticism of him reminded him sharply of Violet. She, too, had picked holes in everything he did. His now-deceased wife, a city woman who thought to find adventure and satisfaction on the Marshall Five Ranch, had instead found boredom and disappointment. A fact she never ceased to bemoan, saying she should have remained in the city. He totally agreed.

Isabelle’s clothes and manners screamed the fact she, too, was a city woman. Her words had accused him of being a blundering father. Violet had called him a bumbling cowboy. He guessed one was pretty much the same as the other.

“Papa, she sure is pretty but why is she afraid?”

He ground down on his molars. The last thing this town or Dawson Marshall or his daughter needed was another woman like Violet—a fancy city woman who couldn’t or wouldn’t accept the demands of life in the West. He should never have married Violet. But he’d been a dewy-eyed nineteen-year-old. When she learned life on a ranch was hard work, she’d sought excitement elsewhere and ended up dying in a reckless horse race against some cowboys from Wolf Hollow, the nearby mining town, leaving him with a three-year-old daughter to raise.

Now a wiser twenty-six-year-old, he knew enough not to be blinded by a woman’s beauty. Nor her gentle manner. Not even her concern for his daughter’s safety.

Such a woman was not equipped to live out here.

“Come on, Papa.” Mattie tugged on his arm.

“Where are we going?”

“After her.”

“I expect she is about her own business.” He could only hope and pray that business, whatever it was, would not attract any more of Mattie’s interest.

Mattie got up and tugged at Dawson.

He didn’t budge as Mattie did her best to pull him to his feet. She tugged. She jerked. She turned her back to him and leaned into his outstretched arm like a stubborn mule, grunting under the strain.

He laughed at the accurate comparison. If Mattie set her mind to an idea, she would not easily give it up. His smile flattened. Reason enough to divert her attraction from the beautiful newcomer.

He curled his arm about his daughter’s waist and drew her to his chest. “You know you will never be strong enough to move me.” He bussed a kiss on her neck.

She giggled. “There’s more than one way to get you to move.”

“Really? Who told you that?”

“Aunt Annie.”

Yup, his sister would feel free to tell Mattie her opinion. His little sister was only nineteen but had been taking care of Mattie for three years now. And the rest of the family even longer. She’d developed some very strong notions about things.

Mattie gave a decisive nod. “And Grandfather. He knows everything.”

She, like everyone else, called the eldest Marshall Grandfather. Dawson’s father was known to her as Grandpa Bud.

“Grandfather might not know everything. After all, he’s just a man.” The words almost stuck to his tongue. No one, least of all Grandfather, would look kindly on such a statement. After all, Bella Creek had been built by the Marshall patriarch to provide a safe and pleasant alternative to the ramshackle collection of buildings in the wild mining town known as Wolf Hollow. Many of the businesses had been created by him. Before that, he’d started the ranch. It was Grandfather who’d insisted the Marshalls were responsible for rebuilding the section of town the fire had destroyed and seeing to the replacement of the doctor and teacher.

“I’d do it myself if I could.” Grandfather had slapped at his legs as if to remind them all he could barely walk, let alone ride or do carpentry work. A wreck with a horse had left him badly crippled. But it wasn’t beneath him to use his regrettable condition to guilt them all into complying with his wishes.

For the most part, Dawson didn’t object to helping rebuild the destroyed buildings. He hadn’t known it would mean so many hours in town dealing with construction, finding materials and personnel. And why it had fallen to him to write out the advertisements for a new doctor and teacher and then sort through the applications, he could not say.

He smiled mockingly. Not that there’d been a lot of applicants. Not too many people cared to locate to the far northwest corner of Montana at the tail end of winter.

Mattie squirmed free of his grasp and grabbed both his hands. “Papa, she’ll disappear if you don’t stop her.”

“No one disappears.” Though he recalled the futility of trying to make a three-year-old believe that when her mother had ridden out of their lives and soon after died. As far as Mattie understood, her mother had disappeared. Thankfully, she was now old enough to understand a little better, though Dawson wondered if he would ever find words to adequately explain Violet’s restless behavior.

“But what if she does?” Her voice dripped with concern. “I could tell she was really afraid.”

Likely already realizing this rural life was more than she’d anticipated.

Ignoring the curious miners listening to every word, he planted his hands on Mattie’s shoulders to still her movements. “Listen to me, Mattie. She’s not the sort of woman you should be getting too friendly with.” The moment Miss Isabelle Redfield had stepped from the coach in her fancy clothes, fine shoes and flimsy scarf, he’d recognized her as a city woman through and through. He knew enough to be cautious around city women. But Mattie didn’t, and she’d eyed Miss Isabelle with far too much interest. “I doubt she’ll be staying here long.”

The excitement in Mattie’s eyes died, replaced with hurt. He wished he could change that but far better to be warned now than burned later.

One of the dusty miners shuffled his feet. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Marshall, but she looked to me to be exactly the sort of gal a man would do well to be friendly with. It’s been a long time since I seen anyone half so classy looking.”

Mattie nodded vigorously. “That’s what I thought, too.”

Dawson chewed his lips. The precise reason he knew she wouldn’t stay. Life here was rough and challenging. Not what well-heeled city ladies cared for. Like the miner said, there weren’t many like that around here.

Mattie’s voice grew dreamy. “She’s a real lady. Her scarf is as smooth as a kitten’s fur.” She rubbed her thumb and fingertip together as if still feeling the fabric. “Just like her voice and smile.” Mattie rubbed her arm. Dawson knew it was where Isabelle had touched her. “She was so kind.”

If only the woman would leave before his innocent little daughter grew any more interested in the fine lady and her silky scarf. “We need to get back to the ranch.” Hand in hand they left the doctor’s house.

“Dawson, over here.” Grandfather beckoned from in front of the hotel.

Dawson and Mattie crossed the street to join the older man.

“I’ll get the wagon and take you home,” Dawson said.

“No need. Annie’s coming.” Indeed, his sister drove the wagon toward them.

“When did you get to town?” he asked when she drew up beside them.

“Thought I’d have a look at the newcomers but I’ve missed them. Grandfather has fixed that by inviting them to the ranch for supper.”

“I haven’t had a chance to extend the invitation. Dawson, you can look after it,” Grandfather said.

“Me? I thought I was done here and could go find my cows.” He’d purchased his own herd last fall. They’d barely been moved to Marshall Five Ranch before snow fell. He’d checked on them periodically, hoping they wouldn’t wander off to more familiar pastures. Several times he’d had to herd them back from the boundaries of the ranch.

“The others can take care of it.” Pa and Dawson’s brothers had gone out to check on the cattle. But they meant to go north to where they expected to find the main bunch and Dawson’s cows always headed south.

Dawson opened his mouth to protest but Grandfather shook a cane at him. “Annie is going to make a meal for Doc and the ladies. You will bring them out.”

Dawson shut his mouth. There was no arguing with his grandfather when he was in one of these moods. Not for the first time, and likely not for the last, Dawson wished he had not been the one selected to greet the newcomers and get them settled. But his grandfather had insisted he was the eldest of the three brothers and so should be on the welcoming committee, and then he’d insisted he would ride along. And now it had come to this...inviting them out for supper. Doc, his daughter and the schoolteacher, he didn’t mind. But the fancy city gal? He wanted to keep Mattie as far from her as possible.

“That Miss Isabelle is a fine-looking woman.” Seemed Grandfather wasn’t about to let Dawson forget his opinion.

It was useless to dispute the matter. Besides, she was more than fine looking. She was beautiful. He’d noted so the first glance he had of her. Black hair tucked beneath a bonnet that matched her sapphire-blue coat, ebony eyes that gave a sweeping glance to those gathered to welcome the newcomers and ivory skin that would likely melt beneath the Montana sun.

“Puts me in mind of my own Annabelle. Even their names are alike.” Grandfather’s eyes grew watery.

Dawson figured it best to ignore the comparison. Probably the only way Isabelle was like his grandmother was the similarity in names. Nothing more.

Grandfather cleared his throat and brought his piercing gaze to Dawson. “A man would be fortunate to win the heart of such a gal.”

Dawson snorted softly, not wishing to offend the old man. “Don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson about city women?” A woman such as that would be forever restless on the ranch.

“Mattie needs a mother.” Both Dawson and Grandfather glanced over their shoulders to where Mattie kicked a hardened clump of dirt, oblivious to the conversation between the two men.

“I’ve no interest in marrying again.”

“It’s high time you got over Violet. Besides, it’s not fair to judge every woman by Violet’s actions.”

Dawson thought it was completely fair. And not just because of Violet. He could name half a dozen other instances where a family or community had been upset by the discontent of a city woman. One especially came to mind. Violet’s friend had come to town, turning upside down the life of one of Dawson’s good friends, Johnny, and then she’d moved on. Leaving his friend flat broke and emotionally shattered. In fact, he could think of no city woman who had adjusted to life on a ranch. But he kept his opinion to himself. No point in wasting words when he knew Grandfather wouldn’t listen.

Grandfather patted Dawson on the arm with his knotted fingers. “Give her a chance. You might be surprised to discover inner beauty to match her outer beauty.”

Dawson shook his head. “You’ve seen her, what? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? And spoken less than a dozen words to her. How can you make any sort of judgment about her?”

“I might ask you the same thing. Now help me to the wagon. Annie needs to get home and prepare a meal.”

Dawson assisted the man to the seat beside Annie. As much as possible Dawson, his brothers or their father gave Grandfather what help he needed, but Annie managed when she was alone with him.

The pair drove off and Dawson called Mattie to him.

“Why did we stay here?” she asked.

“We are going to take the doctor and the ladies out to the ranch for supper.”

“Oh, goodie.” She did a happy skip and jump. “Miss Isabelle, too? Right?”

Grandfather would accept no excuse if Dawson showed up without her. “Somebody will have to feed them. There’s no food in the house yet.” He’d meant to have the pantry stocked by now but had fallen behind in that task. He’d left a notice at the store for people to contribute if they cared to. In the meantime, he would have to give in to Grandfather’s plans despite his better judgment. At least, the part of the old man’s plan where Dawson invited the newcomers to the ranch. Not the part where he tried to win the heart of one of them. And, for some reason, Grandfather had chosen Isabelle as the one Dawson should pursue. Dawson simply wasn’t interested. “Let’s invite them for the meal.”

They looked to the right and the left but he saw no sign of the fancy city lady.

“You said she wouldn’t disappear.” Mattie’s words accused him of being responsible for the lady’s absence. “Now I’ll never get to feel her soft scarf again.” She tsked. “Hardly think losing someone is going to meet with Grandfather’s approval.”

Mattie had been surrounded by adults all her life, except for the few months she’d spent in school before it burned to the ground. It had turned her into a small adult. But she was correct about Grandfather’s opinion. Dawson had unfinished business to attend to.

“Let’s go find the schoolteacher.” After that they’d look for Isabelle. She couldn’t have gone far. Probably in Uncle George’s general store being dismayed at the array of farm tools and the smell of turpentine.

Mattie marched along at his side as they stepped into the hotel lobby.

“She’s here,” Mattie whispered and hid behind him.

Indeed, Isabelle stood before a window as if studying the scene. He could tell her that what she saw was as exciting as life got around here. “I thought you couldn’t wait to find her.”

“I couldn’t.”

He had to bend to catch her whisper. “So why are you hiding?”

“’Cause she’s so pretty.”

He caught Mattie’s chin and tipped her face upward, waiting for her eyes to meet his. “You are pretty, too. Don’t ever forget it.”

She brushed her gray pinafore, giving it a mighty frown, and kicked out one scuffed black boot. “I’m not pretty. Look at this old dress.”

Dawson’s heart rent at yet another pain his daughter endured. She’d known far too many for one so young. But as to her clothes...well, she ran about freely at the ranch and wore clothes that allowed her to do so. The last thing Annie needed was more laundry and fancy dresses to take care of.

He squatted to Mattie’s eye level and caught her by the shoulders. “Honey, never let anyone judge you by the clothes you wear, how much money you have or what you do. Those are outward things. Remember the verse Grandpa Bud says so often. ‘Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.’ It isn’t the outside that matters. It’s who you are on the inside.” He tapped her chest.

Mattie’s eyes widened as she looked at him. “Who am I?”

He stroked her cheek. “A sweet, kind, cheerful little girl who likes to make others happy.” When she smiled, he would have hugged her right then and there, but she’d warned him she was too big to be hugged in public.

He straightened. “Now let’s take care of those invites.” He held out his hand to her and she took it, squeezing it as hard as her little fingers allowed.

They crossed to where Miss Isabelle stood looking out a window.

“Miss.”

She turned.

He swallowed hard. The miner was right. They didn’t often see such beautiful ladies. Nor one with such patient eyes. They revealed no sign of restlessness. That would come later. “You and the others are invited to join us at the ranch this evening for supper.”

She tipped her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you but I cannot accept or decline until I consult with Dr. Baker and Kate as to a method of conveyance.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll take you all there.”

She nodded. “Then if it suits the others, I accept. Thank you.” She stood before him, her hands folded, that silly scarf caught between her palms. Smooth as a kitten’s fur. Though he wasn’t sure if he meant the scarf. Or her manners. Or something else entirely.

He slid his gaze past her shoulder. “Where might I find Miss Young?”

The schoolteacher descended the stairs. “Are you seeking me?”

He extended the same invitation to her then hurried outside, where he filled his lungs with cool mountain air.

“Are you okay, Papa?” Mattie asked.

He settled his mind. Of course he was fine. Never again would a beautiful unsuitable woman be allowed to upset his world. He would ignore Grandfather’s matchmaking plans because he didn’t need or want a wife, and despite Mattie’s fascination with Isabelle, he knew she would be most unsuitable.

Chapter Two

Isabelle couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Marshall and his daughter. Not that she tried very hard to ignore them. There was something appealing about the big man bending over his little girl. She was such a pretty thing and yet it seemed she wasn’t certain of it. How sweet to hear him remind her it was her inner qualities that mattered.

Those words made her press her lips together as a great yearning emptied her insides of every rational thought. Her mother and father had likewise doted on her. Cousin Augusta was genuinely fond and caring. Why couldn’t it be enough? Oh, Father God, why do I search for more when I have Your love? If only she could persuade herself it was all she needed.

Dawson Marshall and little Mattie left the hotel. Isabelle watched them standing on the sidewalk outside. He bent low to hear something Mattie said. And Isabelle’s chest grew tight. She rubbed at her breastbone.

Sadie joined her at the window. “Does that man frighten you as much as he frightens me?”

What an odd thing to say. “Frighten isn’t the word I’d use.” Intrigue? Confuse? How silly. Of course he didn’t confuse her.

“Really?” Sadie continued as they watched the man and his daughter. “He’s so big and I get the feeling he’ll tolerate no nonsense.”

“Maybe.” Isabelle didn’t see that as a negative. “He’s certainly fond of his little girl.”

Sadie agreed. “I wouldn’t want to do anything he might construe as harmful to her.”

“But you surely wouldn’t.”

“Not intentionally. But I have learned that parents often have a different view of things than a lowly teacher.”

At least Sadie had a place in society as a teacher. Though Isabelle did, too—as the heiress. Not a position she cared for. Her resolve returned. She intended to find for herself a role that proved her usefulness. A sigh eased past her lips at the enormity of the task.

Across the street, Mattie and her father stepped into the doctor’s house and Isabelle shuddered. She must conquer her feelings about sickrooms if she meant to help Kate and her father. Unless...

She turned back to Sadie. “When will you start teaching?”

Sadie wrinkled her nose. “I have no idea. The school isn’t built yet. The clerk over there—” she indicated the man at the desk watching them curiously “—says the town plans to start work on the new school next week. Says it won’t take long to complete with many hands on deck.” The way Sadie said it, Isabelle knew she quoted the man. “I don’t know what I’m expected to do while I wait.”

The poor girl rocked her head back and forth.

“I’m sorry.” So much for thinking she could help with the teaching. Lord, there must be something I can do to prove my usefulness. She’d keep her eyes and ears open. In the meantime...

“Supper. The evening meal.” She’d learned the correct terminology in the days it took to arrive at Bella Creek. “What does one wear?”

Sadie chuckled. “From my limited experience I would say most ranch families don’t dress in evening wear for the meal. What you’re wearing is fine.”

“Oh, but I’m all dusty from traveling. I must change.” Her trunks had been carried to the doctor’s house and she hurried across the street. In her haste she rushed through the door and straight into the chest of Dawson Marshall. She staggered backward.

Dawson grabbed her arm and steadied her. “Begging your pardon, miss.”

She shook her head. “My fault. I apologize.” His fingers burned a trail straight to her heart. No, that wasn’t possible. Putting a healthy distance between them, she pulled her thoughts together.

“Come, Mattie. We have things to do. I’ll be back in an hour to take you to the ranch.” Dawson practically dragged the child away, leaving Isabelle as out of breath as if she’d run the full length of the rutted street. She folded her hands together as a war of emotions raged through her. The certainty that Dawson did not approve of her. Determination to fit in. A chance to prove she had more to offer than a sizable inheritance. She would prove it once and for all.

She glanced about at the stacks of crates and travel bags. This would be the sitting room. The wine-colored sofa would fit nicely against the far wall, allowing a view out the windows—two faced the street, and another revealed the side view of ashes and bare ground. There were two armchairs. They should be placed between the front windows allowing good light for reading. A small stove warmed the room.

Doing her best not to think of the motherless Mattie and her doting father, Isabelle wandered through to the kitchen with its table and chairs, cupboards and a shiny stove radiating heat. Someone had wanted them to feel welcome. Or at least they meant to welcome Kate and her father, seeing as they hadn’t known she’d arrive with them. What would their opinion have been if they’d known? Some would immediately plan how many worthy projects they could persuade her to donate to. Others would be ready to dislike her solely because she had more money—much more money—than they. Very few would welcome her for no other reason than she was a young lady with a desire to prove she had something to offer other than her inheritance.

She stepped to a little room off the kitchen—a pantry that held only a few empty containers. Good thing they weren’t expected to make supper for themselves tonight.

There was something she could do right now...start organizing this household.

By the time Kate returned to the living quarters, Isabelle had put the dishes in the kitchen cupboard, a cloth upon the table with a lamp in the center, and a kettle full of water on the stove should anyone want tea.

“Wow. You’ve been busy,” Kate said with an approving look. “I appreciate your help.”

“It’s the least I can do. You’re in there helping your father. I surely want to do more than sit around and look ornamental.”

Kate chuckled. “Whether you sit or scrub dishes, you can’t help but be ornamental.”

“Far better to be useful. Here, help me move these things.” With Kate’s help, they rearranged the furniture in the sitting room and carried the trunks to the appropriate rooms.

Dr. Baker stepped from his office and sank wearily into the nearest chair. “I’m about spent. I wish we weren’t expected to go out this evening.”

Kate knelt at her father’s knees. “I can stay home with you if you’d rather.”

“Unfortunately,” Isabelle felt she must point out, “there’s no food in the house.”

“I think I saw a restaurant beside the hotel.” Kate looked out the window. “Yes, Miss Daisy’s Eatery. We could go there.”

“No,” the doctor said. “We’ll go. I’ll be fine.”

Kate did not look relieved. She had not quit worrying about her father since he’d been hurt when thrown from his wagon. He had lain unconscious for three days. Kate’s mother had died when she was young, so she was especially close to her father.

Isabelle turned away to stare out the window. In part she and Kate had become friends because they were both motherless. It had quickly grown beyond that.

Mattie was motherless, too. Isabelle’s heart went out to her. An idea blossomed in her mind. Perhaps God wanted her in this place for the purpose of befriending a motherless child. She knew a little how Mattie must feel and would willingly offer what comfort and assurance she could to the child.

* * *

Dawson wanted nothing so much as to ride out of town clear to the southern border of the ranch. He could assure himself his cows were safe and put from his mind the few fleeting images of Isabelle. He knew she spelled danger for him and his daughter. He’d leave right now but he had been tasked with taking the newcomers to the ranch, so instead he went to the livery barn and rented a carriage so they could ride in comfort. With Mattie beside him, he returned in an hour to the doctor’s house and stepped down to knock on the door.

Dr. Baker opened to greet him. Behind him stood the two young women. Miss Baker neat and tidy and rather ordinary looking. Miss Isabelle anything but ordinary looking. She’d changed into a dress that made her dark eyes seem larger and her skin more fair. The gown was blue—he supposed Violet would have called it royal blue. Violet’s memory served to bring his thoughts under control.

Doc already wore a heavy coat and the others reached for theirs. Isabelle’s was black wool with gold-colored frog closures.

The only reason he noticed such things, he assured himself, was that they had figured importantly in Violet’s life. The thought was filled with bitter regrets. The sooner he got this evening over with, the sooner he could shake the dust of town from his boots and head for the hills.

He assisted the young ladies to the backseat. Doc would sit in the front and he’d keep Mattie right beside him.

“We’ll get Miss Young and be on our way.” They stopped at the hotel and he assisted the new schoolteacher aboard.

“How far is the ranch?” Miss Young asked.

“The buildings are only four miles from town but the ranch lands extend far to the west and south.” Less distance to the north but they wouldn’t care about specifics. He glanced over his shoulder to speak to the ladies. And met Isabelle’s gaze. His thoughts stumbled and righted, and he remembered what he meant to say. “Have any of you been on a ranch before?”

“No. I’m anxious to see it.” Perhaps Isabelle spoke for all of them.

He couldn’t help wondering if she would be amused and entertained for a time or immediately bored by the realities of ranch life, much of it plain hard work, often repetitive and boring.

“Can you tell us a little about your ranch?” Miss Young asked.

Was she the only one who was curious? “My grandfather moved here just over a dozen years ago. He brought with him his two sons, my father and my uncle, as well as me and my two brothers—Conner is twenty-two, four years younger than me, and Logan two years younger than that—and our sister, Annie. My mother came, as well, but she passed away four years ago. My father took over the ranch and Uncle George runs the mercantile in town. According to Grandfather, he fought the elements, the Indians, the government, rustlers and gold miners to build a successful ranch.”

“And your grandmother?” Kate asked, gently.

“She died before we moved out here. Grandfather has never remarried.” He continued telling about the ranch. “We raise horses and cattle. The discovery of gold has given us a ready market for many of our animals.”

Mattie turned around to face the ladies. “You’ll like the ranch. It’s the best place in the world. Too bad you have to live in town.”

All the ladies chuckled at Mattie’s comment.

“Teachers have to live in town,” Miss Young said.

“So do doctors,” Kate added.

Dawson waited for Isabelle to say something. When she didn’t, he turned to look at her. She wore an expression he could only describe as both surprised and hopeful.

She blinked as she realized he watched her. “I have never lived anywhere but a city. I don’t even know what to expect.”

Mattie clapped her hands. “You are going to like it so much. It will be lots of fun.”

No one corrected her assumption that Isabelle would be living on the ranch. Or maybe Mattie only meant visiting.

He turned the corner where the trail climbed up an incline. They reached the crest, allowing them to see the ranch buildings in the hollow beyond. Pride filled his heart. “I was twelve when we moved here, full of excitement and expectation as only a young lad could be.”

Isabelle’s soft response came from the back. “I would say your grandfather was full of the same emotions.”

He’d never thought of that, but it was no doubt true. He pointed out the buildings. “The house greets you as you approach the ranch.” A two-story log-and-timber structure, it was big enough for many Marshalls, Grandfather had said on several occasions. “Barns, storehouses, harness room...” Dawson indicated the various buildings. All except the smaller house tucked into a copse of trees to the right of the main house, which he didn’t wish to discuss. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had an opportunity to warn Mattie and she pointed directly at it.

“That used to be our house before Mama died.”

A pall of silence fell over the occupants of the buggy.

“Now I live with Grandfather, Grandpa Bud, Aunt Annie, Uncle Logan and Uncle Conner.”

Doc recovered first, perhaps more accustomed to dealing with death’s consequences. “It would appear you have lots of people to love you and take care of you.”

“Yup. I surely do. Though Aunt Annie says sometimes I’m more nuisance than I’m worth.” She paused and Dawson held his breath, hoping his daughter wasn’t preparing another verbal explosive to drop on them. Now everyone would think she was neglected and maybe worse.

As if to prove his fears, a gasp came from the backseat. Dawson wouldn’t allow himself to turn and see which of the ladies was the most shocked.

“But then,” Mattie continued in a cheerful voice he hoped indicated she was well loved, “she kisses me right here.” She touched the top of her head. “And says she doesn’t regret it for a minute. She says life would be boring without me. That’s right, isn’t it, Papa?”

“Indeed it would.” Though at the moment he could do with a little boredom. Dawson had heard Annie teasing Mattie about being a nuisance, usually when she’d gotten into mischief, but his guests did not have that information. He spoke to them all but his eyes went only to Isabelle.

“Mattie makes it sound like my sister resents her but that’s not the case. She adores Mattie.”

He broke from Isabelle’s gaze to smile at his daughter. “Isn’t that so, little one?”

“Uh-huh. She says she doesn’t know what she’d do without me.”

“That’s sweet,” Isabelle murmured. “It appears to be a fine arrangement for all involved.”

“It is.” He glanced over his shoulder again, saw Isabelle and Mattie eye one another with what he could only describe as longing. His insides twisted.

“Mattie, face front before you fall.”

“Yes, Papa.”

As his daughter turned around, he caught on her face an expression he hadn’t seen before and was at a loss to interpret. But a shudder crossed his shoulders. He must protect Mattie from being hurt by dreaming impossible dreams about Isabelle. How was he to do that when he had cows to check on? And a town to rebuild? And a hundred details to take care of?

* * *

Isabelle wanted to pull little Mattie close and hug her. A motherless child surrounded by adults who put up with her, yet, at the same time, loved her. Something in Mattie’s eyes convinced Isabelle the child wanted more...needed more. Though she had no reason to jump to such a conclusion. Nothing but the echo of her own heart.

However, they arrived at the ranch house and Isabelle didn’t have time to dwell on it. She looked about. This was her chance to see ranch life, and if she used it to observe Mattie’s home life, as well, who could judge her for that?

The house rose before them, solid and large as if built to withstand the challenges of nature. A wide veranda provided protection from the elements.

Dawson held his hand out to assist her to the ground. She meant to avoid looking directly at him but her gaze drew toward his and halted there. His blue eyes blazed a warning. Why? What had she done? She stumbled and he gripped her hand hard until she got her feet under her.

She hurried to the veranda, dismissing the moment as imaginary. He had nothing to fear from her and she wanted nothing from him. Turning to study her surroundings, she enjoyed a wonderful view of the treed mountains to the west. Her heart filled with strength and joy, and a Bible verse sprang to her mind. As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about his people from henceforth even for ever. Calmness filled her. She might find it impossible to trust mankind, but she knew and loved God, whom she could trust. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Dawson reached around her and pushed open the door. “Please, everyone, come inside.” He waited for the others to precede him, Mattie leading the way. They entered a cloakroom with a low bench along three walls. Under the bench were several pairs of well-worn cowboy boots with toes tipped upward. Above the benches, hooks held coats and hats and odd bits of leather strapping and goodness knew what else. She longed to ask the use of everything she saw.

“So this is what a ranch house looks like.” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud and hoped they indicated her fascination.

But Dawson had already stepped through one of the two doors leading from the cloakroom and indicated they should follow.

Grandfather Marshall hobbled toward them with the aid of his canes.

“Welcome to the Marshall Five Ranch. Come right in.”

They were in a large dining room. Leather-clad window seats circled the room beneath wide windows that allowed a generous view of the outside scene. A large table, covered with a white lace tablecloth and set for the meal, stood in the middle of the room. A wide archway opened to the sitting room and another, narrower door revealed a kitchen from which came the delicious aroma of a meal.

“Annie,” Grandfather Marshall called. “Our guests are here.”

A woman scurried into the room. A very young lady. This was Aunt Annie? She couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen. Somehow Isabelle had expected a much older woman, wrongly assuming she was the eldest Marshall sibling. Dawson introduced his sister and the likeness was unmistakable—she was probably as tall as Isabelle herself, blonde with striking blue eyes.

A much smaller young woman waited in the doorway.

Isabelle couldn’t help but stare at the second woman, who was in trousers and a shirt, her blond hair in a long braid down her back. She’d never seen a woman dressed in such a fashion and barely managed not to gasp. This was the West, she reminded herself. The Wild West, obviously.

Dawson introduced her. “Carly Morrison, Annie’s friend and fellow troublemaker.”

Isabelle wasn’t sure he teased or was serious but both Carly and Annie laughed.

“We aren’t troublemakers,” Annie insisted.

Dawson’s eyebrows reached for his hairline.

Carly grinned at Annie. “We just like to have fun.”

Isabelle immediately liked the two girls. She and Kate used to have fun together until Dr. Baker’s accident. She missed those times.

Annie took their coats, then indicated where they should sit.

“Can I sit by Miss Isabelle?” Mattie asked.

“I think you should stay beside me.” Dawson guided her around the table to the chair beside him.

Isabelle refused to look at him or try to guess if he meant to keep his daughter away from her—he had no reason to think she would harm his child—or if he simply preferred to have Mattie beside him, where he could guide her manners. She looked at Mattie, though. “I can see you better this way.”

Mattie favored her with a beaming smile. “I like that.”

Sadie didn’t immediately take her seat. “I can help with the meal.”

“As can I,” Kate added.

Isabelle was already seated. In her world, the cook served the food, but this wasn’t her world and she needed to remember it. She pushed to her feet. “I’ll help, as well.”

Annie waved their offers aside. “We have it under control. Sit and relax. I know you’ve had a long, tiring day.” She gave Carly a mischievous glance. “All we did was hang around the house cooking supper.”

The elder Marshall chuckled as the girls returned to the kitchen. “After you get to know this pair you’ll realize the unlikelihood of that story.”

The girls in question carried in platters and bowls full of food and then sat down.

Grandfather Marshall signaled for attention. “I’ll ask the blessing.” In reverent, deep tones, he thanked God for all the blessings He’d bestowed. “Good food and new friends. Thank You. Amen.”

There followed a flurry of passing bowls and platters from hand to hand—roast meat, turnips, creamy mashed potatoes, rich brown gravy and beets in a sweet-and-sour sauce. The food tickled every taste bud in her mouth. “Excellent fare. Annie, you are a good cook. If you ever want a job as such, I will gladly give my recommendation.”

Conversation ground to a halt. Had she committed a faux pas? She glanced across to Dawson. He scowled.

She quirked her eyebrows questioningly but he offered no explanation and she slowly faced Annie.

Annie held her fork suspended above her plate. “I have a job here as cook, dishwasher, laundry lady to my brothers, my father and grandfather, plus caring for Mattie.”

Isabelle sensed Dawson’s silent disapproval but figured she might as well continue what she’d started. “It seems like a lot of work. Does Carly help you?”

Carly chuckled. “I live with my father and take care of him.”

“And ride like a man,” Annie added.

Carly shrugged. “One must do what one must do.” She turned back to Isabelle. “Sometimes Annie needs help to keep this lot of men in line. That’s where I come in.”

Dawson snorted.

Grandfather Marshall grinned. “I do believe her father sends her over here in the hopes we’ll teach her to be a lady.”

Carly choked. “Don’t ever give him such an idea.” She shuddered visibly.

Isabelle couldn’t tell if it was real or make-believe, but it brought laughter from those around the table and she allowed herself to relax. She might put her foot into things once in a while, but not out of malice. Only because she didn’t quite know how to fit in with these people.

As if sensing her uneasiness, Kate squeezed her hand under the table. “It’s a little hard to understand where everyone belongs in the picture, what with meeting so many people today.”

“I expect that’s true,” Grandfather Marshall said. “But you’ll soon have it figured out.”

“I got it all figgered out already,” Mattie said. “You—” she nodded toward Sadie “—are Miss Young, the teacher.”

Sadie nodded. “That’s right and I intend to start classes as soon as possible. All I need is a few tables and chairs and some books.”

Mattie waited until Sadie finished then turned to the man at her father’s other side. “And you are the new doctor.”

Dr. Baker smiled. “I hope you aren’t sick.”

Mattie giggled. “Nope.” She moved on to Kate. “You’re the nurse. You help your father.”

Kate tipped her head in acknowledgment. “That’s correct.”

“And you.” She gave Isabelle wide-eyed study. “You...” She looked puzzled. “You’re pretty and you’re nice,” she blurted out.

Isabelle’s hands dropped to her lap and she stared at Mattie. Her throat closed off. She feared tears would burst free if she so much as opened her mouth. Was that all she was? Pretty but useless.

* * *

Dawson sat back as Annie and Carly removed the plates and serving dishes and brought out generous slices of chocolate cake. “Among the many things Annie does well is bake a chocolate cake that exceeds any I’ve ever tasted.” Why did he look at Isabelle as he said those words? Why did he feel like he must defend their way of life?

“Thank you, big brother. Mama taught me how to bake.”

He continued to watch Isabelle as she tasted a mouthful of the cake. Her eyes widened and she met Dawson’s gaze. “This is very good. Indeed, as you say, the best I’ve ever tasted.”

He released a gust of air as she shifted her attention to Annie to compliment her on her baking. He immediately informed himself that he wasn’t hoping for some sign of appreciation of ranch life. He jammed an invisible fist into his thoughts.

“Annie, would it be possible for you to teach me how to make this cake...?” Isabelle paused. “Or is the recipe a family secret?”

Annie laughed. “I’ll be happy to show you how to make it so long as you promise to keep the recipe to yourself.”

Dawson had never before realized how much she sounded like their mother.

Isabelle held up her hand in a solemn salute. “I promise.” She and Annie smiled at each other. A shiver raced across Dawson’s shoulders. Bad enough Grandfather had decided Isabelle was like Grandmother. Even worse that Mattie was awestruck, but if Annie took a liking to her, he would have his hands full fending off their interest.

They finished the meal with tea and the ladies moved to the kitchen, Mattie trailing behind them. Dawson, his grandfather and the doctor, who asked the men to call him John, retired to the sitting room. John leaned his head back and soon snored. Poor man had had a long day. Seeing their guest slept, Grandfather opened his current book and began to read. Dawson tried to do the same but his attention kept drifting to the sounds of talk and laughter from the kitchen. And why he should notice Isabelle’s voice more keenly than the others didn’t make sense. It wasn’t as if she talked loudly. Or that he wanted to be aware of her.

“Papa?”

He jerked his head up at his daughter’s voice. She stood in the doorway, holding Isabelle’s hand.

His insides crackled.

“Papa, Miss Isabelle said she would put me to bed.” Mattie left Isabelle’s side to kiss her father’s cheek. “Good night.”

He held the child close. He could not let Isabelle do this. But how could he stop her without hurting Mattie? “I’ll take you upstairs.”

Mattie stiffened. “But, Papa, I asked her to. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

He could hear the tears building in her shaky voice.

“Allow the child this little pleasure,” Grandfather said. “What harm can it do?”

Dawson could have reminded Grandfather of the sorrow Mattie had suffered when Violet left. But one look at his grandfather and he knew he would not win this one without making a scene. So he kissed Mattie on the cheek and slowly released her. “Good night, little one.”

Mattie went to Grandfather for a hug and a kiss, then returned to Isabelle’s side, took her hand and led her upstairs to the bedrooms.

Dawson followed with his eyes and listened until the bedroom door squeaked. Still he looked upward wishing he could intervene.

“She’s a beautiful woman,” Grandfather said.

“So you’ve said repeatedly.”

“Seems Mattie is taken with her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

Grandfather considered Dawson so long Dawson struggled not to squirm. Just when Dawson thought he might have to jerk to his feet to get away from the old man’s study, Grandfather spoke. “Son, you can’t use the same ruler to measure every woman.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He could only hope his cold tone would discourage the older man.

Grandfather made a dismissive noise. “I know you well enough to know when you look at Isabelle, you see Violet. Or at least tell yourself you should.”

“Grandfather, I have no opinion on her. I just met her. Time alone will determine what sort of woman she is.”

“Time doesn’t stand a chance against your preconceived ideas.”

He would not respond. If he had preconceived ideas it was with good cause. He didn’t take in a satisfactory breath until Isabelle descended the stairs and returned to the kitchen. Surely that would put an end to this ridiculous conversation.

“Like I said, Mattie needs a mother.” Grandfather’s words fell into the silence like an explosion.

Dawson jerked to his feet. “If I marry again, it will be an ordinary ranch woman. I don’t intend to repeat a very bad mistake.”

He didn’t slow his steps until he reached the kitchen.

The women huddled together around the table and laughed about something.

He recognized the gleam in Annie’s eyes. She was up to something. She and Carly often did things their fathers and brothers disapproved of. They’d even been known to visit Wolf Hollow, the rough mining town up the creek, until Pa had put a stop to it.

He shifted his gaze to Carly. Yes, they were up to something. His attention moved onward to Isabelle. The same spark of mischief filled her eyes. He’d seen that look before. In Violet’s eyes as she outlined some adventure meant to relieve the boredom of her role of wife and mother. Despite what Grandfather said, there was something frighteningly like Violet in Isabelle.

“I need to take our guests home.” He heard the sharp tone of his voice but hoped no one else would notice.

Annie rose. “I’ll get the coats.”

Kate headed for the sitting room. “I’ll inform my father.”

Carly stretched. “I best get home, too, before Father starts to worry.” She slid her chair back but made no other move toward leaving.

Annie returned and Dawson waited for them all to don their outerwear, then led the guests out to the buggy and helped them aboard. He told himself it made no difference whether he helped Sadie, Kate or Isabelle. It was only common courtesy. But he had to stifle his reaction when Isabelle’s hand rested in his.

Annoyance at Grandfather’s suggestion he should be interested in this woman intermingled with the bitter memory of the years he’d spent married to Violet. In hindsight he realized he should never have married her. He hadn’t known her long enough. He’d been flattered by her attention and mesmerized by her beauty and self-assurance. He’d been thrilled when she agreed to marry him. Too late he’d realized she saw him as another adventure.

Sadie kept up what little conversation there was during the trip home, talking about her plans to set up a temporary schoolroom. The others settled back, weary from their long day.

Dusk wrapped about the town as he reached Bella Creek. The air grew colder. He let Sadie out at the hotel and escorted her inside, waiting until she reached her door before he returned to the buggy. A few yards farther, he pulled up in front of the doctor’s house. A figure stepped from the shadows.

“Doc?”

“What can I do for you?” Dr. Baker climbed down and went to the man.

“Got a bad hand.”

“Come along.”

Kate didn’t wait for Dawson to help her down but hurried after her father. Soon a lamp glowed inside the examining room.

Isabelle took his hand as she stepped to the ground. She stared at the unlit living quarters and shivered. “It’s dark.”

He fought a brief mental war between his desire to keep his distance from this woman and the dictates of gentlemanly manners. The latter won out. “I’ll go ahead and light a lamp.”

Entering the house, he groped toward the kitchen, where he’d earlier noticed a lamp on the table. He lit it then went to the stove, stirred up the embers and added some wood.

“Thank you. I will handle it in the future.”

He hadn’t heard her step into the room and jerked about to face her. In the glow from the lamp, her features were golden, her smile gentle. She removed her hat and set it on the table. The light touched her hair, filling the dark strands with a fiery glow.

Why was he staring? He shook himself and bolted for the door. Forced himself to stop and face her. Now he could say all the things he hadn’t been able to with Grandfather listening and dreaming an old man’s dream on Dawson’s behalf. “Miss Redfield, I must warn you not to encourage my daughter’s fascination with you.” He rushed on, ignoring the shock in her eyes. “She’s young and vulnerable. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

Isabelle’s eyes snapped. “You’re suggesting I mean to hurt her?”

“Not on purpose but—” How did he say all he felt in a word or two? “She belongs here in the West, on a ranch.”

“And I don’t? And may I ask how you’ve come to that conclusion?”

His gaze lingered on the fur collar of her coat, then went down to the fine leather boots, also with fur lining.

She nodded, her expression icy. “I see.”

“I doubt you do. But you’re city and we’re country.” Before he could say more, he turned on his heel and strode away.

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