Книга - Joe’s Wife

Joe's Wife
Cheryl St.John


MEMORIES…Tye Hatcher returned to Aspen Grove to find that life in the sleepy Western town hadn't changed much. The townspeople stubbornly refused to see the man he had become. That is, everybody but Meg Telford. Meg definitely took notice of the reticent rancher and gave him a chance in life when no one else would.Still, Meg clung to the memories of her late husband, afraid of the feelings Tye aroused in her heart. And though Tye vowed to prove his worth to the town, could he ever prove to Meg that he was worthy of her love?







“I want you to sleep here tonight,” Meg said. (#u7763abed-6848-5daf-a100-21a9c57ece87)Letter to Reader (#u67af2ba7-b7d8-5401-8cd0-c4d5cc37ede5)Title Page (#uf71fde8e-7d9e-5084-8c8e-a506d05f114c)About the Author (#u5bfba5de-1606-54f1-b379-f0ecc040809a)Dedication (#u7f22382f-62a3-56d1-b71d-21e656f9a846)Chapter One (#u5fe36fc5-01e9-559a-a2bc-5d4f6e3ed292)Chapter Two (#ufa94f236-388b-5b17-bec7-1a1e609f7e4f)Chapter Three (#u6c367b54-ab28-555c-a7d7-27073adb2986)Chapter Four (#u72b232ab-468a-567b-aae5-4ea90161ee90)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“I want you to sleep here tonight,” Meg said.

Tye opened his eyes lethargically.

“Those stairs aren’t too easy to climb, and that floor up there is too hard. You’ll sleep here.”

Her damp fingers touched his lips before he could form a protest. The intimacy startled them both, and she drew her hand away.

Her touch remained on his mouth. She backed away, took the cooled towel from his thigh and gently dried his skin.

And then she touched him. She held a bottle of liniment in one hand, and with the other she worked the greasy salve into his puckered skin without a qualm. His leg absorbed the warmth, and he relaxed even more, once again allowing his eyes to close.

He sensed when she’d left the room, for the heat and the light seemed to leave with her. He experienced the softness of the mattress beneath him, the gentle brush of cool night air from the open window, and wearily tried to recapture the glow of her presence....


Dear Reader,

Entertainment. Escape. Fantasy. These three words describe the heart of Harlequin Historicals. If you want compelling, emotional stories by some of the best writers in the field, look no further.

This month, we are delighted with the return of Cheryl St.John, who is known for her emotional stories set in America’s heartland, all with strong yet tender heroes. Cheryl made her debut with Harlequin Historicals in March of 1994, and has gone on to write five more historicals and three contemporary romances for Silhouette. Joe’s Wife is extra special. Tye Hatcher, the town bad boy, returns from the Civil War to prove his worth. He marries the widow of the once most popular man in town, Joe, and must live up to the memory of him. Keep a hankie close by!

My Lord Protector by first-time author Deborah Hale is an ultraromantic English tale of a young woman who is forced to wed. She marries her tiancé’s uncle, who vows to “protect her” until his nephew returns—but the two fall in love.... Margo Maguire is also making her debut with The Bride of Windermere. In this captivating medieval tale, a rugged knight succumbs to the charm of the woman he has been sent to protect on her journey to see the king.

And don’t miss Silver Hearts, a delightful new Western by Jackie Manning. Here, a doctor turned cowboy rescues an Eastern miss stranded on the trail, and their paths just keep crossing!

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical


.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3


Joe’s Wife

Cheryl St. John


















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CHERYL ST.JOHN is the pseudonym for Nebraska author Cheryl Ludwigs. Cheryl’s first book, Rain Shadow, received nominations from Romantic Ttmes, Affaire de Coeur and Romance Writers of America’s RITA.

She has been program director and vice president of her Heartland RWA chapter, and is currently a liaison for Published Authors’ Network and a conference committee chairman.

A married mother of five and a grandmother several times over, Cheryl enjoys her family. In her “spare” time, she corresponds with dozens of writer friends from Canada to Texas and treasures their letters. She would love to hear from you.

Send a SASE to:

Cheryl St.John

P.O. Box 12142

Florence Station

Omaha, NE 68112-0142


This bopk is lovingly dedicated to

Erin, Ryan, Zachary, Adam, Jaden, Alexis and Eric,

the most precious grandkids a Bama ever had.

I love you.


Chapter One

Aspen Grove, Colorado, 1865

“I’m tellin’ ya the same thing I told ya last week an’ the week before—there ain’t no job for ya here.” Uncomfortably, Emery Parks glanced past Tye Hatcher as if he wished he’d disappear before any respectable customers discovered the town pariah in his store.

Even though Emery’d had a help wanted sign in his front window since the first time he’d inquired, Tye didn’t argue. It wouldn’t do any good to challenge the mercantile owner. It had been the same everywhere he’d gone in the five months since he’d been back in Aspen Grove.

The only one willing to give him work had been Jed Wheeler, and Tye had taken the position of part-time bartender, part-time piano player with the intention of getting out of the Pair-A-Dice Saloon as soon as he found something else. Roundup was growing near; one of the ranchers would need him, even though they couldn’t afford an extra hand right now. “I’ll take some papers.”

Emery reached behind him and impatiently tossed the packet of cigarette papers on the counter.

Tye plunked down a coin. “Thanks.”

Sometimes he wondered why he’d come back here after the war. He could have ridden anywhere in the country and started his life over where no one knew him, where he didn’t have a past...or a reputation hanging over his head. Sometimes he wondered why he’d chosen instead to return to the town he’d grown up in, the place where he’d never been accepted. His mother was dead now, and there was nothing physical binding him.

More than once he’d lain on his lumpy bed at the boardinghouse and wondered what had drawn him here. Something more than sentiment or lack of? Something less tangible probably. Something like pride.

The bell over the door clanged, and Emery glared at Tye. Tye leaned insolently back against the counter, crossed his ankles and watched three women enter the store and pass through a dusty patch of sunlight streaming in the window. Edwina Telford, hair as steely gray as iron, her stiff black skirts rustling up dust motes, led her two daughters-in-law into the mercantile. Tye had rarely seen Edwina in any color but black. She’d worn it after the death of her parents and after the death of her husband. And now she wore black following the death of her eldest son, Joe.

Joe’s widow, Meg Telford, and her blond sister-in-law, Gwynn, trailed behind the stalwart woman like ducklings on their way to a morning swim.

“Good morning, Mr. Parks,” Edwina called.

“Morning, Telford ladies,” the shop owner called, addressing the trio. “What can I do for you today?”

“We’re shopping for Forrest’s birthday celebration,” Edwina said with pride.

“How old is the little fellow?”

The woman had reached the front counter, and Edwina skirted Tye as though he were a barrel of rat poison. Her powdery verbena scent made him want to sneeze. “My grandson will be four tomorrow. His father is surprising him with the pony he’s been asking for. Harley went to great pains to find a well-trained Shetland.”

“The little guy will like that, won’t he? He must be glad to finally have his daddy home from the war.” Emery spoke conversationally, as though Tye weren’t standing there.

Gwynn, too, stepped deliberately past Tye and replied, “We’re all grateful to have Harley home safe.”

Meg reached the spot where Tye stood, but instead of pretending he didn’t exist, she nodded and gave him a hesitant smile. “Morning, Tye.”

Her use of his first name caught him by surprise, but he held securely to his nonchalant expression. A knot of humiliation burned in his gut, and he resented feeling it. No reason why this woman seeing him spurned should make any difference. “Morning,” he returned.

Meg received a scathing look from her mother-in-law and hurried to join her.

Tye studied her straight back in the plain black dress and remembered her in vivid colors, remembered her dancing with Joe at socials, remembered her as a young and smiling girl. She still had the curviest figure in town. And though her hair was bound in a knot shaped like a figure eight, he recalled the rich tresses the color of dark honey that had flowed down her back in her school days.

The women gave their list to Emery and chattered among themselves.

Tye replaced his hat after tipping it to the ladies. “Nice chattin’ with ya.”

Meg smiled apologetically, embarrassed for him and for her rude in-laws who didn’t acknowledge he’d spoken.

Emery looked up from the list with a scowl.

With a discernible limp, Tye sauntered from. the store.

“Of all the impertinent men,” Edwina huffed, pressing her hankie to her nose as if she could keep Tye Hatcher’s taint from entering her bloodstream through her nostrils.

“Been in here ever’ week askin’ for a job,” Emery said. “Think he’d take the hint by now that nobody wants him in town and head out.”

Meg studied their disapproving faces, then glanced at the door Tye’s tall form had disappeared through. Why had he come back? Surely the rude treatment he received had discouraged him long before now. Even in school the kids had snubbed him because of their parents’ attitudes toward his illegitimacy and his mother’s questionable vocation.

He was regarded as a troublemaker; whenever there’d been a brawl in one of the saloons, he’d reportedly been present. In Meg’s company he’d always been reserved and mannerly, so she had a difficult time relating the solemn-faced young man with the haunted eyes to those tales of carousing and drinking.

Edwina was going over the list of things they’d need for baking that afternoon. Meg’s attention wavered to the jars of hard candy lined across the counter, and an acute ache stabbed through her chest. She would never come in here without remembering her Joe’s fondness for peppermint sticks.

It had been nearly a year since she’d received news of his death at the battle of the Potomac. But the reality of him never coming home hit her afresh at every turn. Why him? Why her Joe?

She steadied herself against a rough barrel exuding the sharp smell of salted meat and tried not to wonder what was going to become of her without him. It was the same quandary she faced every day. Even her well-meaning in-laws and her own family added to her dilemma with their constant insistence that she sell the ranch and move in with them.

“Meg? Are you all right, dear?”

At Gwynn’s gentle touch on her sleeve, Meg blinked away her oppressive thoughts and conjured up a smile. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” She busied herself with looking at skeins of colorful yarn in a nearby bin. I’m fine. Just fine. I’ve never been so fine. A tear fell on the back of her hand, and quickly she brushed it away. “I just need some air. I’ll be outside.”

Not caring what her in-laws might think, she hurried out the door, the bell clanging behind her.

The rustle of clothing and a scrape on the wooden floorboards alerted her to someone’s presence. She turned, just as Tye Hatcher flicked a cigarette butt end over end into the dusty street. The mellow smell of tobacco drifted to her.

His dark gaze met hers. “Ma’am,” he said politely, thumbing his iron gray hat back on his head. He took an awkward step forward. “I never had a chance to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Joe. He was a good man.”

Silence stretched between them. A buggy clattered past on the deeply rutted street.

“I’m sure you saw a lot of good men die,” she said softly.

His dark gaze revealed no emotion. “Yes, I did, ma’am. On both sides.”

For some reason it sounded odd to hear him call her ma’am. She’d known him since she could remember. She hadn’t known him well, but he’d always been there, always been a part of Aspen Grove. “We had to send for his body after the war, you know.”

“I know.” He looked out across the expanse of the street, offering her the opportunity to study his face, his smoothly shaven square jaw. His brows and sideburns were as black as the waves that curled over his collar. He was a man now; a handsome one, regardless of the unsmiling slash of his full lips. The sadness she sensed had always been there. But now it was more, more than just the disillusionment of a young boy.

Would Joe have looked that much older, too? Would the war have etched similar years on his face?

“I’ve always wondered if we really got the right one,” she blurted. “If the man we buried was Joe.” She hadn’t expressed that doubt to anyone before, and she wondered why she’d revealed it now. She looked away, but she felt him swing his gaze back to her face.

She realized then she had no reason to feel embarrassed in front of this man. Somehow she knew he understood her apprehension. She raised her chin and met his eyes. She could have sworn she recognized a measure of vicarious emotion this time.

“They tagged ’em the best they could,” he said. “Long as the body was identifiable and someone knew him, they should have been certain. Did you get his things, too? I mean the things he had on him. His saddlebags?”

She nodded.

“You can be certain, then.”

Meg closed her eyelids briefly, a considerable flame of comfort warming her at his words. “Thank you.” Even if it was a lie, thank you.

The bell clanged a warning and Edwina plowed her way across the boardwalk, Gwynn behind her. “Meg! What are you doing out here?”

“I needed a little air, Mother Telford. I feel much better now.” She glanced up at Tye. His deep blue gaze held their secret, and a touch of appreciation. “Much better.”

“You shouldn’t stand out here alone. The riffraff is lurking along the streets, even in broad daylight.” She handed Meg a paper-wrapped package and towed her away.

Tye tugged his hat brim back over his eyes and watched them cross the street. Meg lifted her hem and delicately traversed the riveted road. She followed her in-laws into the post office.

No doubt she’d marry again. Damned shame Joe Telford had died and left her a widow. A woman like that deserved happiness. A husband. Children. She was too young and pretty to spend her life grieving. Some lucky fellow would snap her up before much longer.

He tried to think of any young unmarried men in town or on the surrounding ranches, but he couldn’t come up with one who’d make a suitable husband for Meg Telford. The war had pared the possibilities down to nothing.

He discarded the thoughts and headed to the livery for his horse. A good ride would clear his head and prepare him for a long night in the smoke- and perfume-filled saloon. He needed a lot more money than he made there in order to carry out his plans.

The land office had nothing he could afford until he multiplied his meager savings. And Aspen Grove was makin’ that possibility difficult.

The birthday boy, Forrest, and his older sister, Lilly, had eaten their fill of cake and now led the Shetland pony around the newly green rosebushes in the dooryard. Harley Telford and his younger sister, Wilsie, had spent hours supervising rides on the pony Forrest had named Cinnamon, and now engaged in a bickering game of checkers. After washing and drying the Sunday china, Meg, Edwina and Gwynn joined them on the shaded porch Edwina called a veranda.

Meg studied the tree-lined street and neighboring houses, feeling sorry for the pony, who would have to spend all but Saturday and Sunday afternoons at the livery stable. Children and animals needed wide-open spaces. She’d been so glad to move to the ranch with Joe. From the very beginning, the hills and fields, the wide sky in all directions had appealed to her dreams of escaping town life. After growing up in a house full of siblings, and helping her father in his accounting business, she’d been eager to have the space and the freedom.

“Meg, I’ve prepared a room for you,” Edwina said. “You’ll be quite comfortable in the front bedroom that overlooks the street. There are two windows, and it stays quite pleasant even in summer.”

“Mother, that’s your room,” Wilsie said in surprise.

“It was our room when your father was alive,” Edwina corrected. “Meg will need the space to keep some of her things she doesn’t want to part with.”

“That’s generous of you, Mother Telford, but I can’t impose on you.”

“Nonsense. It’s just Wilsie and I now, since Harley and Gwynn have their own home, and we ramble around in this big old house. Before long Wilsie will marry and leave me, too.”

“Not unless some prospective husbands show up,” Wilsie said with a petulant pout.

“I am afraid the war has left us short of eligible young men, my dear,” Edwina sympathized. “In any case, Meg, the house has plenty of room, and it’s high time you gave up your silly notion of staying out there on that patch of dirt in that rustic house and moved in with us.”

“Mother’s right,” Harley said. “It’s highly improper for you to be living out there with only a couple of ranch hands who should have been put out to pasture long ago. They can’t keep up the work, and neither can you.”

Meg drew a steadying breath and lifted her chin a notch. “I have Hunt and Aldo, too.”

“They’re boys,” he scoffed.

“We’ve done all right so far.”

“All right? Talk around town is you’ve had to sell Joe’s guns and your silver to pay the help, make the mortgage payments and buy feed. What will you sell next?”

Meg resented the question because it was time to buy garden seed and another banknote was due, and she’d been pondering the dilemma herself for weeks. She’d learned how to run a business from her father; keeping the books and managing was no problem, but she couldn’t handle the physical work alone.

Thirty years ago Gus and Purdy had traveled the Chisholm Trail. They knew cattle and they knew horses. They worked hard and were as loyal friends as she’d ever had. But they were old men. The bank-notes came due regular as clockwork, and the stock had to eat. Since Joe’d been gone, she hadn’t been able to cut and rake hay.

Meg pursed her lips and refused to get angry at Joe for leaving her in this predicament. It wasn’t his fault that the war had broken out and he’d gone and lost his life honorably. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. And that’s what made accepting her situation all the harder. She had no one to blame. No one to get angry at.

And no one who understood her desire to keep the ranch and hang on to something she knew and loved.

The ranch had been Joe’s dream. It had become hers, too, and she wasn’t about to let another dream die. She’d sell the furniture if she had to. She’d sell her bed and sleep on the floor. As a last resort she’d sell some stock. But she wouldn’t sell their dream.

“I’ve started asking around at the bank and the land office, seeing if anyone’s in the market to buy,” Harley said. “Niles can get you a good price for the place.”

Niles Kestler, junior owner of Aspen Loan and Trust, had been Joe’s best friend since childhood.

“You can do your own dealings on the stock,” Harley went on. “You’ll get enough money to live on for a good many years.”

Meg closed her eyes against the Telfords’ manip-, ulations. A good many years. Years of sleeping in the room upstairs, taking her meals with her widowed mother-in-law and passing the days doing needlepoint and volunteer work. The stifling idea horrified her. She’d feel like that Shetland was going to, cooped up in a confining stall.

Meg’s widowed mother had remarried and moved to Denver several years ago, and her brothers and sisters were married and scattered from Colorado to Illinois. There wasn’t a one of them she’d want to live with or impose upon.

The whole worry was so unfair. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She and Joe should have been stocking the Circle T by now, having children and seeing all their plans come to pass.

“Meg,” Harley said. “You can’t keep the ranch going with no man.”

“Harley,” Gwynn cautioned her husband gently.

His words were not a revelation. They were simply a fact Meg had been unwilling to face.

“Well, it’s the truth,” he said. “And a truth she’d better take to heart before she has nothing left to sell. A woman can’t run a cow ranch alone.”

Meg strengthened her resolve. Harley was only looking out for her interests. He thought he knew what was best for her. The life he had planned for her would have been best for Gwynn if he hadn’t returned. It would have been best for a good many women.

But it wasn’t for her, and she knew it. “I appreciate your concern, Harley. Yours too, Mother Telford. But I can’t sell our ranch.”

They exchanged a look she couldn’t quite decipher. Out of breath and giggling, Forrest and Lilly scrambled onto the veranda. “Papa, come give us rides again! Watch us, Nana!”

Edwina turned her attention to her grandchildren.

The subject was not forgotten. Meg would hear about it each time they were together. Nothing short of a miracle would keep them from chipping away at her until she conceded. And she wasn’t willing to do that.

But Harley was right. She thought about it as she drove her wagon and team home before dark. She couldn’t keep the ranch going without a man.

Someone to shoulder the workload. Someone strong and capable and willing to put in the long hours and backbreaking work required. Someone she didn’t have to pay.

Meg almost smiled at that one. Where would she ever get an able-bodied man willing to work without. pay? She could barely keep Gus and Purdy and two young hands fed, and she paid them only a meager salary.

The man she was imagining sounded like a husband. A man to take on responsibilities and have a stake in the ranch’s success.

A year hadn’t passed since Joe’s death. Since the war, many widows had already married again to provide for themselves and their children. Meg didn’t have children, which she saw as a mixed blessing. It would have been comforting to have something of Joe left behind. But she wouldn’t have wanted the added burden of raising and feeding them alone.

Ranch was a glamorous word for ten thousand acres of grass, several holding pens and barns and the modest house she glimpsed as she topped a rise, but the sight gave her the same warm sense of accomplishment and belonging it always did.

Joe’s mother had been chagrined over the fact that Joe had concentrated on the stock and the outbuildings before building an acceptable home.

But Joe’d convinced her that all they’d needed was a place to cook and sleep while they got the ranch on its feet. A more stately house was something they could build in the future. With affection, Meg studied the corrals, the barn and efficient house where she lived. She and Joe had spent their wedding night in the tiny bedroom. They’d eaten their first meals as man and wife in the long kitchen. They’d planned and dreamed as they walked the land, and lastly they had prayed beside the back door before he’d gone off to fight.

So much of Joe was in this ranch. They would have to drag Meg off this land. If finding another man was. what it took to keep it, she’d do it. Nothing would stand in the way of her keeping the Circle T. Nothing.


Chapter Two

Tye woke to the weekday sounds of horses’ hooves and clattering wagons on the street below his second-story window at Yetta Banks’s boardinghouse. The dry scent of dust filtered through the open window of his rented room. In the distance the ring of the blacksmith’s hammer punctuated the light tap at his door.

The knock came again, assuring him he’d actually heard it. He sat up in surprise. “Hold on.”

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, immediately grimacing at the pain that shot through his thigh. Awkwardly stepping into his pants, he wondered who’d be calling. The only townspeople who spoke to him were the regulars at the Pair-A-Dice, whom he doubted would be up this early, Jed Wheeler himself, the Reverend Baker and Tye’s landlady.

Pulling on a rumpled Calcutta shirt and leaving the laces loose, he ran a hand through his hair and squinted at his dark-whiskered cheeks in the mirror before opening the door.

A young boy stood in the hall, threadbare knees in his trousers, his cap askew. “Message for you, mister.”

Tye stared at the envelope. “For me? You sure it’s for Tye Hatcher?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy thrust it forward with an important flourish.

Tye accepted the envelope with a frown. “Here, wait up.”

He found a nickel on the stand beside his bed and flipped it to the boy, ignoring the fact that he’d regret it later.

“Thanks, mister.”

Tye closed the door and tore open the envelope. Unfolding a piece of paper, he read the words scrawled in black ink.

Hatch, I need to see you. I’m at Rosa Casals’s s house.

Lottie

He had wondered if Lottie still lived in Aspen Grove. No one spoke of her, and since he hadn’t seen her in the time he’d been there, he’d assumed—or hoped, for her sake—that she had found a husband and settled down.

Rosa Casals and Lottie Prescott had both been saloon girls at the Pair-A-Dice before the war. He and Lottie had enjoyed a satisfactory relationship, nothing serious, but something that took the edge off the loneliness.

Tye shaved and dressed in his good clean shirt. He needed a haircut, but he was saving every penny. He’d discovered years ago that the custom of eating three times a day was merely a habit that could be modified, too.

Tye added his wide-brimmed hat to his ensemble. A morning exercise usually took the stiffness out of his leg, so he determinedly walked to the house on the edge of town where Rosa had grown up with an aging father.

Like most of the houses he’d seen on his travels home, the outside needed a coat of paint, a new fence and several boards replaced on the porch.

Tye rapped on the door and waited, hat in hand.

The door opened, and Rosa Casals smiled a familiar smile, one front tooth overlapping the other and giving her a girlish look, even though silver had appeared at her temples. “Hatch,” she greeted him. “Come in.”

He glanced at the street behind him. “You sure it’s all right?”

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward.

“It’s a little late to be concerned about my reputation,” she said teasingly, taking his hat and hanging it on a rack in the hallway. She waved him into a neat parlor that smelled sharply of lemon wax and candles.

Tye met her round, brown-eyed gaze and smiled. Rosa had always been fun-loving and impetuous. Working in the saloons hadn’t been conducive to finding a decent husband, however. “Are you still working somewhere?” he asked out of curiosity.

“Nah. Papa, the old coot, died three years back and left me enough to live comfortably. He was such a penny-pinching old miser. I never had a decent dress or a cent to spend on myself the whole time I was growing up. Then I find out the skinflint was hoarding it all those years.”

Tye glanced around. “I had a note from Lottie.”

Rosa’s face grew serious. “I know. I sent the boy for you.”

“She’s here?”

“Yes. She’s been with me for a little over a year now. She wants to see you, Hatch.”

“Okay.”

“She’s not well.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Consumption. Doc says he’s done all he can.”

And she wanted to see him? “Oh.”

“Ever since we heard that you were back in Aspen Grove, she’s been wanting you to visit. She has some good weeks and some bad weeks, and this is one of her better times, so we decided to send for you now.”

Tye stood waiting, uncomfortable, but unwilling to turn aside a friend’s request.

“Come with me,” she said. “I’ll take you to her room.”

He followed her down a hallway where several candles flickered, though the day was bright, and he soon realized they were meant to dispel the cloying smell of the sickroom.

Rosa swept into the room ahead of him. A frail, strawberry-haired woman rested against a bolster of pillows on a lofty four-poster bed. Tye had to step close before he recognized Lottie’s warm brown eyes. Their luster was gone, as was the shine of her unruly hair. Her pale skin seemed paper-thin and drawn too tightly over her fragile bones and pallid face.

“Hatch. Come sit by me. Let me see you,” she said, patting the spread. Only her voice was familiar.

She took his hand, and her skin felt powdery smooth against his palm, her fingers thin and bony. “God, you feel good. You look good. You look older. Not a bad look, mind you, just older.”

He perched on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, well, it’s been a while, Lottie.”

“Yes.” She looked deeply into his eyes. “We had some good times back then, didn’t we?”

They’d kept each other company for a while, was all. But he wouldn’t spoil her enhanced memories when she had so few and no time left to make more. So he nodded. “Yes.”

“Where were you?” she asked. “During the war. I mean.”

“I was with General Thomas.”

She frowned as if she were trying to remember. “Chattanooga?”

He nodded. “And Chickamaugua. We held off Braxton Bragg’s army.”

“I knew you’d be one of the strong ones who came home.”

“How did you know that?”

“I don’t know. I just did. You’re a survivor. Strong inside, where it counts.”

Lottie’d always seemed strong, too. Full of life and energy and big plans for the future. The antithesis of the ghostly pale woman in this bed before him. Life sure took some unfair twists. “I thought you’d have found a man by now. Be living in the city in that big house you wanted.”

“Yeah, well...” She gave him a sad-sweet smile. “I had hundreds of offers. Just that nobody ever measured up to you.”

She was teasing him. Theirs had never been a passionate relationship. She’d had plans for a rich man and a house in the city. He’d wanted a patch of ground and some livestock to call his own. He gave her a warm smile.

“I’m not here for much longer,” she said simply.

Tye didn’t know how to reply.

“I need you to do something for me,” she said tentatively.

“You know I will.” He leaned forward, and she placed her palm on his chest as though touching him gave her strength. “I’ll do anything you ask.” Did she have last-minute debts to repay in order to go to her resting place in peace? Damn! He couldn’t help her if she needed money. “What is it?” he asked.

“I have a child,” she said, and tears welled in her eyes.

“You do? Where is he? Do you need me to go get him for you?” Perhaps she needed to say goodbye.

“No. She’s here. What I need you to do is...”

“What?”

“I need you to take care of her for me.”

Tye stared at her. “I don’t have much, Lottie. I can help, but—”

“Not money,” she interrupted. “I mean take her. After I’m gone,” she clarified, and blinked back the moisture in her eyes. “Raise her.”

Was she all right in the head? Had her sickness gone to her mind? Tye glanced behind him but Rosa had left them alone. Lottie was asking him to take responsibility for a small person! A kid he didn’t even know. “I don’t know the first thing about a kid. I’m sure she’d be better off with someone else.”

“No!” she said firmly. “She wouldn’t. Nobody else would have her, you know that. She’d end up in an orphanage or worse, and I can’t die afraid of that happening to my Eve.”

“What about Rosa?” He glanced over his shoulder again, as though he could conjure up some help.

“No. She’s getting married. Emery Parks has a brother-in-law whose wife died, and Rosa is marrying him. He already has five children. He wouldn’t take another one.”

“Well...” Tye glanced about the room helplessly. “Surely there’s someone.”

“That’s what I’ve been believing all along. I’ve been praying that someone will want her before it’s too late. Before she goes to an orphan asylum.” She pierced him with a steady gaze. “She’s a child born out of wedlock, Hatch. Folks consider her trash, just like they do me. She’ll grow up just like me, too...unless somebody takes her. Unless you take her and give her a different life. And a name.”

She knew exactly what she was saying to him, and exactly how he’d react. Tye’s own father had been a rancher right here in Colorado. He hadn’t married Tye’s mother, and he hadn’t claimed Tye as his son. More than anyone, Tye knew the stigma of being a bastard. And Lottie was using that against him.

“Nobody’d want my name, Lottie,” he argued. “My name’s no better than hers would be.”

“At least it would be somebody’s name,” she said, her voice stronger than her appearance dictated. “It would show that somebody wanted her. That you wanted her. You’re a good man. I know you’d take care of her, and you wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

Her urgent pleas hung in the air like the unpleasant smell of sickness and the cloying scent of wax.

“You said you’d do anything for me,” she said softly. Unfairly. And she knew it. But she was dying, and she had a child to look out for.

A trapped sensation made him want to bolt for the door. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. She had to have been desperate to have called on him.

“Go see her,” she urged. “She’s in the room next door to mine.”

He stood slowly, releasing her hand. Her eyes held so much hope. So much fear. So much love for her child. With uncertainty bombarding his mind and a sense of human duty harping at his conscience, Tye walked out of the room to the next one like a man walking toward an uncertain fate.

He took a deep breath, his head not understanding why his feet were going ahead with this monstrous demand on the rest of his life. He didn’t know the first thing about a kid. Sure, he wanted one or two someday, but not until he had a place to live and a wife to give him his own.

What if he didn’t even like her? The door stood ajar, and he tapped his knuckles against the wood.

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Certainly not the fragile, dark-haired angel who sat beneath the window holding a rag doll and looking for all the world like a porcelain doll herself. She raised wide eyes the shade of deep blue pansies and blinked.

Something in Tye’s chest contracted painfully. She looked so small and helpless. “Eve?” he asked softly.

She nodded, and her midnight black ringlets bounced against shoulders he could span with one hand. “Are you Mr. Hatcher?”

“Yes.”

She merely stared at him.

What should he say to her now that he was here? He didn’t have any experience with kids. “Did your mother tell you I’d be coming?”

She nodded again. “I stayed clean till you got here. Me an’ Molly was getting kind of tired of staying clean an’ all.”

“Well, you look very clean to me.”

“Thank you. You look clean, too. Them’s my manners and Mama said I best mind ’em.”

Her piping voice and serious expression enchanted him. He found himself wanting to hear her say more. “How old are you?”

“Five and a half. My birthday’s behind Thanksgiving.”

“Oh.”

The tiny creature hopped to her feet and placed the doll on the bed. Her wrists and hands were as delicate and frail-boned as anything he’d ever seen. A stiff wind would blow her clean to Texas.

He crossed to sit on the corner end of the mattress, wondering what to say next. He glanced at the cloth doll. “Is that Molly?”

She bobbed her head. A smattering of pale freckles across her golden skin reminded Tye of Lottie, but her dark hair and lovely wide eyes were a mesmerizing combination all her own. No wonder Lottie adored her. No wonder she feared for this child’s welfare being placed in the hands of strangers.

Not that he’d ever laid eyes on her before. But the unknown was often more frightening than the familiar, and Lottie’d known Tye for many years. He was the only person she could turn to. The only person she trusted.

How pathetic.

“My mama’s bad sick,” she said, adjusting the doll’s dress and arranging her against a pillow.

What must she think of this frightening situation? She’d grown up over a saloon and only now moved to a house so her mother could die. “I know.”

Eve climbed onto the bed and dangled her feet over the side.

“Sometimes I’m scared to go to her room and see her.” Her silvery voice and tiny chin trembled.

Oh, Lord, what if she cried? What if she asked him something he didn’t want to answer or didn’t know how to answer? “That’s okay,” he said to reassure her.

“She don’t look a whole lot like my mama anymore, but she sounds like her, and she loves me like her.”

Her observation seemed too mature. But he’d noticed Lottie barely looked like herself. Her dreadful appearance must be frightening to her daughter. “She loves you very much.”

“She said someone would come for me before the angels came to get her.”

Tye’s throat closed up tight. He didn’t know how to handle this. He’d seen so many people suffer and die, he shouldn’t have had any feelings left when it came to death. He’d fought and killed with his own hands. He had blocked out recrimination and sorrow. What did he know about a child losing a mother?

Nothing. But he knew a lot about being a kid without a father. It wasn’t really the cruelty of classmates and townspeople that hurt so much at this age; a kid didn’t have anything to compare his experiences with. It was the memory of those humiliating slurs years later that ate at a person’s gut.

What kind of burden had Lottie asked him to carry? What kind of mess would he make of it, of this kid’s life, if he went along with her request?

Nothing worse than life in an orphanage. Unwanted kids didn’t even get to eat the foods they needed to grow healthy. They got the scraps, the dregs. And it was never enough.

Tye had learned to use his fists and his wits for survival. But this little girl? He didn’t even want to think about it. He had only to look at Lottie to see what would become of her.

Unless someone stepped in.

“Did you come for me, Mr. Hatcher?”

Tye looked up. Knowing what was happening, yet unable to do anything to prevent it, he fell headlong into her black-lashed, blue-violet gaze, eyes that reflected trust and innocence and waited for him to make the decision that would shape the rest of her life. She had no one in the world. No one but him.

Heaven help her.

“Yes, Eve. I came for you.”


Chapter Three

Before dark, Gus and Purdy returned from the hills with the welcome news that others who’d been fighting a brushfire since yesterday had been successful in quelling it and that they’d be following. Meg had a hearty stew and corn bread warming, as well as rice pudding with raisins and currants in a milk pan in the oven.

Freshly washed, his thinning gray hair combed back in streaks on his sun-browned head, Gus entered the kitchen without knocking, as was customary on the Circle T. He did as much cooking as Meg did, coming in early each meal to grind the beans and start the coffee.

“Fire’s out?” she asked.

“Yup. Got a big patch of brush up by Lame Deer and was spreadin’ to the Anderson place, but we stopped ’er.”

“I could smell it on the wind this afternoon.” Meg had kept herself busy, the thought of the fire spreading this far licking at her already edgy nerves.

“Seen you got the cows milked,” he said, opening the oven and stirring. the rice pudding, which had turned a smooth caramel brown.

She nodded. “Thought Patty was going to kick me good, though.”

Joe’s Newfoundland “puppy,” which he’d brought home from a buying trip, only to watch rapidly grow to the size of a Shetland pony, had slipped in behind Gus and now stood with a chunk of firewood in his mouth.

Meg propped the door open with the wood. “Good boy, Major. Get more.”

The dog immediately bounded for the woodpile, returning several times and dropping the wood into the firebox. Gus had taught him the trick, perhaps with the idea of saving his own steps, and the dog had caught on the way he did to everything.

After several trips, Major sat before Meg, his snout quivering in anticipation. She rewarded him with a lump of sugar, and he found a place in the corner of the long room to settle. He caught much of his own food: rabbits and squirrels. Meg had thought the practice disgusting at first, but had since grown appreciative due to the fact that she couldn’t afford to feed another mouth.

The rest of the hands arrived minutes later: Purdy, along with the “boys,” Aldo and Hunt Eaton, brothers in their teens, who’d been too young to go to war and needed to work to eat. Their parents lived on an acreage near town with several younger children. For lack of grown men, Meg had hired the brothers on as reps a couple of years ago.

Joining them as the day progressed came reps from nearby ranches, stopping to eat before heading to their own places. She fed them gratefully, this bedraggled bunch of cowboys who’d been too young or too old to fight, or who’d only recently come home to ranches in need of more attention than they could afford.

All were respectfully solemn in deference to her widowed state and her mourning clothing, and they soon headed out.

Purdy was shorter and wirier than Gus, a long gray handlebar mustache his distinguishing feature. He walked with a hitch now, and lengthy stretches in the saddle enfeebled him for days. Tomorrow he probably wouldn’t be able to do much around the place, and the others would work harder to make his slack unnoticeable.

“I’m gonna take care o’ the horses now.” He grabbed his hat.

“I’ll do it,” Gus offered.

“No,” Meg said immediately. “Aldo and Hunt, will you see to the horses, please? You two—” she shooed Gus and Purdy with a flour-sack towel “—hit your bunks. I’ll finish up here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The boys got up from the bench and headed for the corral. Gus and Purdy followed.

Another hour passed before she had the dishes washed and beans soaking for tomorrow’s noon meal. If she weren’t so tired from checking the stock and doing all the chores while the men fought the fire, she’d have filled the big tin tub that sat in the space beside the pantry. The prospect sounded too exhausting for this evening. She’d settle for a tin basin of water in her room and sponge herself off.

At the sound of a horse and buggy, she paused in scooping warm water out of the stove’s well. She peered out the back door, but the rig must have continued to the front.

Meg walked through the house and opened the seldom used front door. Niles Kestler stood on the grouping of boards that could only be called a porch in the broadest of terms. “Niles! How nice to see you.”

She probably smelled like cows and lye soap. Belatedly, she whisked off her spattered apron. “Won’t you come in?”

“I don’t know if I should,” he said, stepping from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

He’d been to their home many times when Joe had been alive; Niles and Joe had been pals since their youth. But her widowed state changed that situation. For propriety’s sake, she shouldn’t have asked him in.

Which was ridiculous. Gus and Purdy and the Eaton brothers had the run of her home, with nary a thought to impropriety. But to meet his standards of decorum, she stepped outside. “What brings you?” she asked.

“I thought I’d pay a call and see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing fine.”

“Good.”

“How is Celia?”

“She’s well, thank you.”

Niles’s wife was expecting a baby, but men and women didn’t speak of such delicate things.

“Harley spoke with me this week,” he said.

So that was why he’d come. Harley’d gone ahead with it.

“I can get you a sizable price for this land, Meg. There are investors who will snap it up in a minute.”

Her civility fell to the wayside. “Oh? And would they be among those select few Northerners who got rich off the war?”

Niles bristled. “The point is, Meg, you need the money. You can’t keep going without some help.”

“Well then, how about a loan until I get this place back on its feet?”

“You must know I can’t do that.”

He could probably do it out of his own pocket. He would have done it for Joe. The thought angered her. As Joe’s wife she’d had respect because he’d been respected. As his widow she had sympathy and little else. She’d known Niles her whole life, yet he wouldn’t consider an investment in her.

Exasperated, she turned and gazed across the expanse of dirt and grass to the corrals, where several horses stood outlined in the moonlight. “And you must know I can’t sell. You know what this place meant to Joe.”

“I do know,” he said quickly, and then added, “but Joe’s not here anymore.”

“And what a nice commission you could make off the sale of Joe’s ranch.” She didn’t bother to withhold the derision in her tone.

She turned back to look at him.

“You know you have to do it sooner or later,” he said. “Don’t be a foolish woman. Why not do it before you’ve sold everything that means anything to you?”

“The ranch is what means everything to me,” she replied. “And it’s worth any sacrifice.”

He stepped back and placed his smart, narrow-brimmed felt hat on his head. “All right. Do it your way. But you’ll be coming to me soon. And by then you’ll be in dire straits.”

“Well,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I’ll do everything else in my power first.”

“Good night, Meg.” He climbed up to the leather seat of his fancy buggy and guided the horse back toward town.

Meg folded her arms beneath her breasts and watched him disappear in the darkness. Her anger had only been a temporary disguise for hurt and fear, and as it dissipated, tears stung her eyes. She set her mouth in a firm line to keep the desperation at bay.

Movement caught her eye. Gus stood silhouetted in the doorway on the side of the barn where the men slept in roughly finished rooms. She waved, knowing he’d been checking on her visitor and her safety. He returned the wave and closed the door.

Exhausted, she entered the house, dipped her water and washed up in her tiny bedroom before donning her cotton gown, extinguishing the lamps and climbing into bed.

She’d thought about her situation every day and night since Mother Telford and Harley’s insistence. It wouldn’t improve. Without a man to take on much of the physical work, she couldn’t keep the place going. And the Telfords would keep trying to wear her down.

The more she’d thought about it, the more she’d resigned herself to the fact that a husband was exactly what she had to have. For the past several nights she’d gone over the limited possibilities. All the bachelors were too old or too young, except for three. Jed Wheeler ran one of the saloons, but just the thought of marrying him made her shudder. Besides, he wouldn’t know anything about ranching.

Colt Brickey was a year or two younger than she, but had come home from the war teched in the head. He could probably work, but she needed more than that—she needed someone who could help her make decisions.

The third and last was Tye Hatcher.

Still not husband material in society’s eyes, but the only prospect capable of working and planning. He limped, but that shouldn’t keep him from riding. If Purdy could do it at his age, surely Tye could. He’d done ranch work since he’d quit school to take care of his mother. He’d worked as a rep and helped with roundups, and from everything she’d seen, he seemed honest and hardworking.

Once she had narrowed her options down to him, the thought of actually carrying out her audacious plan gave her pause. What would he think of a woman so bold as to propose marriage? Did it matter?

If he said no, it was doubtful he’d tell the town of her foolish plan. And even if he told, the townspeople wouldn’t believe him. And if they did, what did she really care? Holding on to the ranch was all that mattered, and at this point, she didn’t have any choice.

Meg recognized the bleak emptiness of this bed where she’d lain alone for the past few years. For too short a time a man’s soft snore had accompanied the night. Now she lay awake listening to the sounds of the house and the wind along the timberline.

She was contemplating bringing a stranger to the ranch. To her home. To Joe’s bed. Plenty of women married men they didn’t know, she assured herself. Tye Hatcher had always been polite and respectful in her presence. He wasn’t bad looking. Not at all. It wouldn’t be like Joe, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

This was business, after all. Meg was a determined woman. She could bear a good many things to get what she wanted.

Tomorrow was Sunday. He didn’t attend church, but she’d heard talk that Tye often called on Reverend Baker in the afternoon. She would seek him out. And she would ask him then.

Sunday visits were a custom carried from the East. As a boy, Tye had seen families gather for Sunday meals and an afternoon of visiting and play, and always on the outskirts, he’d wondered what that was like. His mother had never been accepted among the respectable residents of Aspen Grove. She and Tye hadn’t even gone to church because of the rude treatment she received. But on Sunday afternoons she’d taken him to Reverend Baker’s, where she’d had someone who treated her kindly. Apparently it was acceptable for the preacher to receive her calls; he was, after all, responsible for her immortal soul.

But Tye never remembered any talk of saving his mother’s soul on those visits. He remembered only the tiny measure of acceptance and the pleasure that gave his mother, and he would be forever grateful to the preacher for that kindness.

The first time he’d run into the reverend upon his return, the man had greeted him warmly and extended an invitation to come by for pie and coffee. The preacher had been a widower for more than twenty years yet had the most well stocked pantry and cleanest house in the county, thanks to the dutiful parishioners.

As his mother had done, Tye always waited for the dinner hour to pass. Often the reverend accepted an invitation and returned midafternoon. Then Tye would wait for any “real” callers who might stop by to pay their respects. And then, when everyone had gone home to their families, he would call on Reverend Baker.

Today, as a late afternoon sun warmed the porch, they shared a peach cobbler Mrs. Matthews had dropped off and drank strong black coffee.

“Ah, nothing like a fresh pie and good coffee,” the preacher said, leaning back in the wicker chair and folding his hands across his belly. “And then a bit of man talk.”

With a grin, Tye pulled his tobacco from his pocket and deftly rolled them each a cigarette.

Reverend Baker took a drag and smiled a contented smile. “The only thing better than this would have been if Mrs. Baker hadn’t gone ‘home’ quite so soon.”

“I barely remember her.” Tye thought a moment. “She was tall, wasn’t she?”

“Aye. With the face and voice of an angel. I think that’s why God called her so soon. She’s part of the heavenly choir right now.” He gazed upward sheepishly and gestured with the cigarette. “This is just a little afternoon relaxation, my dear, and I still never do it in the house.”

A buggy slowed to a stop on the street, and Tye moved to leave.

“Wait.” The reverend held up one hand. “Don’t go. This is our time.” He handed Tye his cigarette, and Tye pinched the fire from both and slid them into his shirt pocket.

A lone woman stepped from the wagon and, with a dart of surprise, Tye recognized Meg Telford, a beaded reticule dangling from her wrist. She gathered her black skirts and agilely mounted the wooden porch stairs. Her light floral scent reached Tye before she did. Violets.

“Afternoon, Miz Telford.” The preacher rose to greet her.

“Good afternoon, Reverend Baker. Mr. Hatcher.”

The minister smiled in satisfaction at her acknowledgment of Tye.

“Mrs. Telford.” Tye stood and addressed her properly.

She seated herself in one of the wicker chairs and removed her stiff black bonnet. A lock of her shiny hair snagged and caressed her neck for a moment before she caught it and tucked it neatly back into place.

“Would you like some cobbler?” the reverend asked. “I have coffee, too.”

“I would enjoy a cup of coffee, thank you,” she replied.

Tye turned toward the door. “I’ll get it.”

He filled a mug from the pot on the stove and wondered belatedly if she’d like cream or sugar. He carried it out and asked.

“Oh, no, just like this is good. Thank you.” She took a sip.

She and the minister discussed the morning’s sermon and a particular passage from the Book of John. Tye listened.

After nearly a half hour of pleasantries, he prepared to leave. “I’d best be on my way. It’s been a pleasure.”

“How did you get here?” she asked.

“Walked,” he replied simply.

“May I give you a ride?” she asked. “I’ll be leaving now, too.”

Did she think he couldn’t walk? His neck grew uncomfortably warm.

“Please?”

He met her eyes and found no pity. Perhaps she just wanted to extend a gesture of friendship. He wouldn’t recognize the effort if it jumped up and bit him on the butt. “Thank you.”

Tye carried their mugs to the kitchen and wished Reverend Baker a good afternoon, slipping him the remainder of his half-smoked cigarette.

He assisted Meg onto the wagon seat and sat beside her. She guided the team onto Main Street. “You’re staying at Mrs. Banks’s?”

“Yes.”

“I hear she keeps a nice place.”

“It’s clean. She cooks daily meals for those who want the cost added to their room.”

She didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned the cost of meals. Maybe she thought he couldn’t afford them.

“Tye, I wish to speak with you about something,” she said at last.

He looked over at her, thinking she had more questions about Joe. Or the war. “Go ahead.”

Her cheeks were pink in the shade from her hat brim. “Is there somewhere we could talk alone?”

His mind raced. Alone? Surely she didn’t mean alone. That wouldn’t be right. She just meant where they wouldn’t be overheard. On the Sabbath the parlor at the boardinghouse was generally filled with boarders playing cribbage.

The saloon wasn’t open, but he had a key. Stupid thought.

There was a small pastry shop across the street, but it was never open on Sunday afternoons.

She seemed to be looking about with the same dilemma. She reined the horses to a halt and pulled the brake handle. She met his eyes directly. “Your room?”

Tye couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d started to disrobe on Main Street. What on earth did she have to say that she couldn’t have said on the ride here? And why did she want to say it to him? “What if someone sees you coming in?”

“I have a perfect right to visit anyone I like.” She lifted her chin defensively. “I would hardly leave my horses and wagon here in plain sight if I planned on doing something shameful. Besides, we’ll leave your door open.”

Tye glanced from her sincere face to the practically deserted street. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” She hopped down ahead of him, and he took a little longer, easing his foot to the ground without jarring his leg.

Tye stayed between Meg and the parlor door as they passed, preventing her from being seen, not that anyone looked up.

She walked ahead of him up the flight of stairs, and he struggled to keep his eyes from her shapely backside beneath the rustling ebony dress. A titillating glimpse of white eyelet petticoats caught his eye when he looked down. He concentrated on his hand on the banister, thought about placing one foot in front of the other. He was taking Meg Telford to his room.

In a million years, he’d never have even dreamed up this possibility. Unlocking his door, he pushed it open wide and ushered her in.

She glanced around. There wasn’t much to see. His other shirt and trousers were at the laundry. His saddlebags and guns were pushed under the bed. The room looked just as it had when Yetta Banks had rented it to him months ago.

Tye picked up the straight-backed chair and moved it in a direct line in front of the open door and gestured for her to be seated.

She did so, arranging her skirts and holding the reticule in her lap. What did women carry in those silly things, anyway?

Tye had little experience with women of quality, and her presence in his room doubly confounded him. He deliberately avoided sitting on the bed and stood uncomfortably by the bureau.

“I have a business proposition to offer you,” she stated.

He waited, unable to imagine any business Joe Telford’s widow would have with him, and not even willing to guess.

“I’m having a difficult time with the ranch.”

He hated that news. She’d seemed so happy when Joe was alive. “I’m sorry. Can I do something to help?”

She raised her head and looked him in the eye, unsettling him, unaccustomed as he was to having women meet his gaze. “There is. I just don’t know if you’ll be willing.”

“What is it?”

“The Telfords are putting a lot of pressure on me to sell.”

Damn! Her husband had bought a prime piece of land, and if she was offering it to him, he hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of coming up with enough money.

“I won’t sell, however.” Her chin rose a notch once again. “I’m determined to hang on to the ranch. Joe and I bought that place together. He sank money and time and all his dreams into making a go of it, and I’m not going to sell out just because things are a little tough. Not without a fight.”

“I admire that. I wouldn’t sell it if it was mine.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“What?”

“I have two old men and two young boys besides myself. Last year I hired a few extra reps for roundup, but I can’t do it again. I’ve had to sell several things to keep the place going.”

She knew he didn’t have any money, so the only thing she could want from him would be labor. “Are you asking me to work for you? I’ve tried to get work everywhere, but no one will take me on.”

“I couldn’t pay you, Tye,” she said plainly. She took a deep breath and hurried on. “What I’ve decided I need is a husband. That way, you’d have a stake in the place. The work you did would be to your own benefit. As you know, when a man marries, his wife’s property becomes his.”

He stared. Deepening pink tinged her smooth cheeks.

Slowly, he worked at assimilating her words and the idea behind them. He raised a hand to knead the back of his neck and took an unconscious step or two. “I think I’m confused here. What is it you’re asking me?”

“I’m asking you to marry me.”

He looked her over for some gross mistaken identity. This was Meg Telford, no doubt about it. Meg Telford in his room. Asking him to marry her. He shook his head to clear it. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You can’t. Nobody in Aspen Grove will even look at me or talk to me. You’d lose the respect of everyone in town if anyone knew you were here right now. You saw how your family acted when you talked to me in the mercantile! You can’t want to marry me.”

She stood abruptly. “I don’t give a fig what anyone’s going to say about it. I don’t need this town’s approval to do what I believe is right.”

“You say that now, but you don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know jack squat about how it is to have people look at you like you’re dirt. You.’ve never spent Sundays or holidays alone or seen women snatch their skirts aside so’s not to touch you.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Trust me, you’d think differently after that happened a few times.”

Primly, she moved back to the chair and sat. “Anyone who would treat me like that after knowing me all these years wouldn’t be worth having as a friend.”

Fine talk, but she hadn’t lived it.

Tye studied her perched on the chair. Marriage. To this woman. He couldn’t keep his curious gaze from sliding to her rounded breasts beneath her starched dress, and images of sleeping with her had him moving to stand behind her.

“Ma’am, you’re talking of marriage here. I just can’t believe you’ve thought this through.”

“I’m not an innocent young girl,” she countered. “I know what marriage entails.”

A delicious surge of heat teased his body. He tried to let his brain do the reasoning. “I want children someday,” he said honestly. She might as well know his concerns. He wouldn’t saddle himself with a woman who could give him land, only to find she wasn’t willing to see to his other wishes.

To his surprise, she didn’t blink an eye. “So do I. There’s no reason I can’t give you children.”

What more could he want? Meg was the most beautiful woman in the whole damned county. She was offering to turn her land over to him, marry him and give him children.

He didn’t have to wonder, “Why me?” The privilege had fallen to the only able-bodied, unmarried man in the area. Not exactly flattering.

But promising.

Very promising. And as long as they were revealing their expectations, he had more. “There’s something else I want,” he said.

She turned her head, but not enough to see him. “What is it?”

Tye’d come back with a plan to prove his worth to this community. The war had shown him that when it came to wearing a uniform, picking up a gun and fighting, he was as good as any man. No one he’d fought beside had cared whether or not he bore his father’s name. He’d fought prejudice and ridicule in this town since he was old enough to raise his fists, and these people would only see him differently once he proved himself an equal. “I want to start a packing plant.”

“A—packing plant? Like in the East?”

“Yes.” He abandoned his inhibition and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, where he could look directly at her. “I listened to cattlemen the last few years. I heard their stories of losing hundreds of head while driving them or shipping them by rail, about how the cattle lost weight and brought less money. If we could slaughter them here, we’d save the trip and the hardships. We’d ship the dressed meat right out. Think how much more meat will fit in the railcars already dressed.”

“What kind of investment are you talking about?” She was listening!

“A big one. I’ve been saving because I needed to buy land. But if I already have the land, all I have to do is build pens, a slaughtering house, and then hire workers.”

“There are no workers.”

“There will be if there are jobs for them.”

Thoughtfully, she studied him. Her gaze wavered reflectively to a spot over his shoulder, then back to his face. “But you’d still help me with the ranch? I need your word on that. And you have to promise me you’ll never sell Joe’s ranch.”

“If I agree to marry you, I’ll do whatever I can to make the ranch a success. But I would need the same promise from you.”

“About the packing plant?” she asked.

He nodded. “It would benefit you. You wouldn’t have to ship cattle.”

“All right. If you’ll marry me, I’ll help you get your packing plant started. And—you won’t ever sell?”

“I won’t ever sell. Unless you ask me to.” Something here was too good to be true. But then, he was her only choice. Belittling as that might be, her proposal was an end to his quest for land. He could have his dream.

“All right,” he said. “These are the terms—I help you keep the ranch and get it going. You help me get the plant started. This will be a marriage in all respects.”

She blushed noticeably, but she nodded.

“Then I agree to marry you.”

She paused only momentarily before getting to her feet. “Very well, then. We’ll arrange it as soon as possible. Next week sometime. Will that be convenient?”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Perhaps Saturday?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

“I’ll let you know.”

He walked her out the door, down the flight of stairs, and assisted her onto the wagon. This time when he extended his hand, she looked at it, and then up at him, before she placed her gloved one in it. It would have been much easier if he’d simply lifted her, but she obviously got up and down unassisted the rest of the time, and he wasn’t comfortable with touching her in a more familiar manner.

Yet.

She raised herself up to the seat and straightened her skirts. She met his eyes and he could have sworn she was thinking the same thing. “We’ll be in touch, then,” she said.

He nodded.

She unwound the reins from the brake handle and flicked them over the horses’ backs.

Tye watched her go and told himself that the anticipation already warming his blood was due to the stroke of luck in having a site for his innovative business dropped into his lap.

But the word wife echoed teasingly in his head. A thought entered his awareness too late. Perhaps he should have mentioned he’d soon be getting a child to raise. Lottie couldn’t last much longer, and he’d promised her that he would come for Eve.

Maybe Meg wouldn’t even mind; after all, she wanted children.

There would be time to tell her later.


Chapter Four

Tye Hatcher wanted children.

Meg turned the lamp wick down low, removed her clothing and pulled a snowy white linen night shift over her head and buttoned it up to her throat.

Of course he wanted children. Now that he’d brought it up, she might as well get used to the fact that this was going to be a marriage in all respects. She would follow through on her part of the arrangement. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t given a lot of consideration to bringing him here.

She fell to her knees beside the hide-upholstered trunk at the foot of the bed and raised the lid, Reverently, she ran her hands over Joe’s shirts, fingered a hairbrush with a few fair strands still caught in the bristles, and took out a packet of letters held together by a faded ribbon.

Joe had wanted children, too.

These letters were filled with dreams for their future, plans for the ranch, words of caring and commitment. She didn’t want to read them just now. She knew exactly how long it took to read them all, where Joe’d been when he’d written each one, and the post from which each envelope had been mailed.

She knew, too, the bittersweet feelings of melancholy and heartache that swamped her when she allowed herself to open and read them. Those moments were best saved for nights when she could handle the feelings of abandonment and loss.

This wasn’t one of them.

Meg replaced the stack of letters carefully, closed the trunk and, after blowing out the lantern, climbed into bed.

She and Joe had wanted a family.

Each month her body prepared for a baby, and each month came and went without hope for a seed being planted. She was still young though; her body was still firm and strong.

Tye Hatcher was the means to help her fulfill all of her and Joe’s dreams. The ranch. The stock. The children to inherit the land.

That’s how Joe would want it.

She snuggled deep into the coverlet and rubbed her feet against each other for warmth. She would tell Mother Telford tomorrow. Harley and Niles would have to spare her their condescending offers and their patronizing attitudes. She wasn’t going to be put off her ranch now or ever.

Tye Hatcher would help her see to that.

A bolt of unease rocked her midsection and shot a shiver up her spine. She’d known Tye Hatcher since they were children. He was right, about his treatment by the community. She’d told him she didn’t care what the citizens of Aspen Grove thought of her. She wanted with all her heart for that to be true.

She would make it true.

Tye couldn’t help who his parents had been. It was unfair of people to treat him cruelly because of things that were beyond his control.

She could help them see that.

Joe and Tye had never been friends exactly, but Joe had never treated Tye badly, either. This was what Joe would have wanted her to do. Assuring herself of that, she hugged a feather pillow to her breast.

Saturday.

In six days she would marry Tye Hatcher and bring him to the ranch.

Five more nights alone in this bed.

And then she’d be Tye’s wife.

It hadn’t gone well. Not well at all. But then Meg hadn’t expected her announcement to be met with congratulations and hugs of encouragement. Edwina Telford had turned as red as a pickled beet and fairly exploded with indignation. “You can’t be serious!” she’d screeched, bringing Wilsie on the run.

“I am serious, Mother Telford,” Meg had said before Edwina could gather up enough steam to roll over her. “And nothing you can say or do will dissuade me. I’ve made up my mind that I’m going to keep the ranch, and this is how I aim to do it.”

Wilsie brought smelling salts and waved the bottle under her mother’s nose. “My poor Joe will turn over in his grave, God rest his soul,” the woman moaned, wringing her lace handkerchief. “His wife taking up with the likes of that—that good-for-nothing illegitimate rakehell! O-oh! I’ll never be able to hold my head up in this town again.”

“Joe would want me to do whatever it took to hang on to our ranch,” Meg disagreed, refusing to be swayed by her mother-in-law’s histrionics. “It’s not you who’s marrying Tye Hatcher—”

“Don’t speak that name to me!”

“It’s me, and you don’t have to approve of what I’m doing. I’m doing it no matter what anyone thinks. There’s no law against it. I’m an adult and a free woman, and I’ll marry whomever I please. Harley and Niles will have to forsake their plans to disburse my land. It’s going to stay mine.”

“Yours! It’s going to fall into the hands of that man, and who knows what he’ll do with it or what will become of you after he’s drunk and gambled away your last dollar!”

“He promised me he would never sell.”

“Promised? What good is the promise of a heathen like that? Meg Telford, you’ve lost your mind! He’ll make you miserable. He’ll take you down with him! Why, he spends his money and his time in the saloons. He drinks and consorts with floozies! I’ve a notion to send you to the doctor in...”

And so it had gone, with Edwina ranting about Meg dishonoring Joe’s memory, and poor Wilsie trembling and casting Meg fearful sidelong glances. Meg had driven the team home, fully expecting Harley to be close on her heels. He hadn’t arrived until after the accounting office where he worked had closed for the day.

And then she’d gone over the same arguments with him. Mother Telford had a room all ready for her. Meg wouldn’t have to bother herself with the running of a ranch. Edwina needed the company. Tye Hatcher was a sorry excuse for a man. He would ruin her good name and hurt her.

But Meg had stood her ground, firm in her belief that she was doing the right thing—the only thing—to keep Joe’s ranch. Harley had ridden off, anger and disapproval leaving a dusty trail behind him.

It was too much to expect them to understand this soon, she could see that, but they would come around. They had to. Eventually they’d see that she’d made a wise choice in taking Tye Hatcher on to save her land. Tye couldn’t possibly be as bad as they’d made him out to be. Why, it would take three men to do all the things he’d reportedly done and would soon repeat.

Meg had to concentrate on taking care of business. Preparing for this wedding certainly wasn’t like anticipating the first. With no time to have invitations printed, she wrote several notes to her friends and family and posted them, but no one showed up to help her, and the only responses she received were regrets.

Their treatment hurt, but she refused to let it deter her. As soon as they saw that what she’d done was for the best, they would change their minds.

Saturday morning, she gave the house a last-minute cleaning before bathing and dressing, then Gus and Purdy accompanied her into Aspen Grove.

Only a pitiful handful of guests sat in the pews when she made her way to the front of the church. Glancing at them, she recalled her first wedding, the freshly polished pews packed with friends and family in their best clothing, the scent of chrysanthemums drifting on the summer air. That had been the happiest day of her life.

Meg recognized Gwynn immediately and breathed a sigh of relief that at least one person from her family had chosen to bless this union.

A dark-haired woman whom she’d seen in town and knew only as Rosa sat several rows behind Gwynn.

Jed Wheeler sat alone at the opposite end of the hard, polished pew Rosa occupied. He slipped a finger into his shirt collar and adjusted it.

Meg smiled at Aldo and Hunt Eaton’s shy, grinning faces, wondering if they’d asked their parents’ permission or if they’d simply left her cattle long enough to attend.

Reverend Baker smiled warmly and gestured for Meg to take her place beside Tye.

Finally, she allowed herself to look at him, the man she was about to marry. His deep blue eyes gave away nothing of what he was feeling. He held his solid jaw stiff and met her gaze squarely.

“Tye?” she questioned uncertainly.

Something behind his eyes flickered. Surprise? Doubt?

She extended her gloved hand.

His unreadable gaze drifted across her hair, fell to her crocheted collar and then to her gloved hand. Without pause, he accepted it with both of his and held it firmly between his large palms. Heat seeped through the fabric of her gloves.

“Are we ready, then?” Reverend Baker asked softly.

“We’re ready,” Tye replied.

The reverend nodded, and to Meg’s surprise, Fiona Hill, whom she hadn’t noticed sitting behind the organ before, unskillfully launched into a wedding song. Meg gave Tye a smile, pleased that he had thought to add music to the hasty ceremony.

“Dearly beloved,” Reverend Baker began, once the last harsh notes reverberated into the morning air.

Meg listened to the same words he’d recited over her and Joe that sunny morning so long ago. She didn’t place the same naive hope in the vows as she once had. Her first marriage had held promise and had been a union of love.

Not that she didn’t take this one seriously, for she did. She meant to adhere to her pledge. But this was a business arrangement, an agreement, and she in no way felt the same love and anticipation she had when she’d married Joe.

Tye understood that.

“And repeat after me, ‘With this ring I thee wed.”’

Tye released her left hand, and Reverend Baker waited expectantly.

Meg stared in numb recognition at the silver band Tye held between his long thumb and forefinger. “Oh.”

She hadn’t been expecting a ring. She had a ring. Awkwardly, she tugged off her glove and glanced at the gold band she still wore. Joe’s ring.

But of course, she wouldn’t be able to wear the ring Joe had given her. Her face warmed in embarrassment. Without stopping to think about what she was doing, she twisted the band from her finger, dropped the ring into her pocket and extended her hand.

“With this ring I thee wed.” Tye’s voice sounded oddly distant as he repeated the words. He took her hand and slid the warm silver band into place, his fingers strong and hard. She stared down, finding the silver piece strangely out of place on her finger.

A new pain, deep and dull and laced with bitter resignation, expanded in her chest. She blinked back the humiliating prickle of tears and unthinkingly gripped Tye’s hand hard. His other came to rest over the back of hers, its gentleness and warmth a much needed reassurance.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”.

Without a second’s hesitation, as if he feared she might balk or bolt or burst into tears, Tye leaned forward and kissed her cheek, then quickly straightened.

With a characteristic lack of finesse, Fiona banged out the wedding march, and Meg allowed Reverend Baker and Tye to escort her to the back of the tiny building. One by one, the few guests offered congratulations and stepped out into the sunshine.

Gwynn gripped Meg’s fingers. “I hope this is right, Meg,” she said shakily. “I do wish you the best”

“Thank you for coming,” Meg managed to say around the knot of distress in her throat. “I’m going to be just fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Well, you come to me if you need anything.” She glanced around. “Harley doesn’t know I came. So I’d best hurry home before he figures out where I went.” She pressed her cheek against her sister-in-law’s. “I’ll see you in church tomorrow.” She rushed down the wooden stairs.

Her concern touched Meg.

“This is Rosa Casals,” Tye said from beside her.

“Of course,” Meg said, turning to greet the dark-eyed woman. “Thank you for coming.”

“I just wanted to congratulate you both. Here’s a little something from me and Lottie. It’s not much.” She pressed a small, paper-wrapped package into Meg’s hands.

“Why, thank you!” Meg said with surprise. A wedding gift!

“Well, goodbye and good luck,” Rosa said. “Hatch, I’ll see you before I leave town.” Hastily, she left the church.

Meg looked at the package in her hands. None of her Telford family except Gwynn had come to this ceremony. None of the other church members. If her hired hands and Tye’s two friends hadn’t come, no one would have witnessed their marriage.

Tye stepped into the small cloakroom with Reverend Baker, and Meg realized he was paying him for the ceremony. “Come sign the certificate, Meg,” the reverend called easily.

A few minutes later, they stood outside the building, and the surroundings seemed oddly ordinary compared with the rest of this surreal day.. “Well,” she said. “Do we need to go get your things?”

Tye nodded.

Gus pulled up the wagon, Purdy riding in the bed, then got down and climbed in beside Purdy, leaving Tye and Meg to climb onto the springed seat.

“You know Gus and Purdy?” she asked.

“Worked roundups with ’em,” Tye said, nodding to the two older men. “Guess we’ll be working the ranch together now.”

Purdy leaned forward and shook Tye’s hand, mumbling his congratulations. Tye took the reins and drove the team to Banks’s Boardinghouse. Meg and her hands stood, preparing to get down, but Tye stopped them with an upraised palm. “I’ll be right back.”

“We’ll help,” Meg offered in bewilderment.

“Don’t need help.”

She exchanged a glance with Gus, then sat back down. Tye eased himself to the ground carefully. A few minutes later he returned carrying a saddle and saddlebags, a bedroll and two rifles. He wore his hat and had strapped his gun belt to his hips. He stashed the saddle and bags in the back, the rifles under the seat, climbed back up and took the reins.

Meg said nothing. She’d been in his rented room once, yet she hadn’t realized he owned nothing more than these few possessions. A man didn’t need much, she guessed.

He made another stop at the stables for his horse, tied it behind the wagon and led the team out of town. They didn’t speak more than a few words on the ride home, Meg knowing that the two old men were seated behind them and that any awkward thing they might say would be overheard.

Tye couldn’t get the image of Meg’s shock and confusion over the ring out of his mind. Had she planned to wear her first husband’s ring even though she was marrying him? No, she must’ve just forgotten. But it bothered him.

She’d stared at that gold band on her hand, and he’d stared at it, too, knowing it was worth a lot more than the silver one he’d loaded fertilizer for four nights to earn.

And then, as if she’d been sacrificing an arm, she’d worked the ring from her finger and allowed him to replace it. No one in attendance believed theirs was an alliance of love and passion, so he had nothing to hide. But the fact that she’d worn Joe’s ring to their wedding seared a new, yet familiar brand of humiliation into his previously callused hide.

Tye observed the land they reached and the meager assortment of buildings with mixed emotions. Legally this land was his now. Morally, it was Meg’s. They’d struck a bargain. His entire life he’d never owned anything worth more than a rifle or a horse. He’d never had a place to call home or to sink time and sweat and energy into. He meant for this to be that place.

And he meant to do right by Meg and by their agreement.

Gus took the team and Tye retrieved his things.

Meg led him into the house.

The kitchen, smelling of warm bread, took up the entire back half of the structure. An enormous castiron stove stood at one end of the room. Two long trestle tables, lined end to end, occupied the center of the floor, benches along their lengths. The other side of the long room held a fireplace, a rocker and a few mismatched, overstuffed chairs. That area, which opened into an L-shape, shared the fireplace with whatever lay beyond the doorway.

Meg removed her bonnet and gloves and set the small package on the table.

Tye deposited his belongings near the door.

“I’ll show you the rest of the house,” she said matter-of-factly.

He followed her down the length of the room to the bottom of the L. The space around the corner held a sofa and chair, an oak cabinet of some sort and a glass-fronted china closet.

“That was my grandmother’s. Joe and I planned to have a real house someday, with a porch and a dining room and a parlor. I have my mother’s china packed away. No sense using it out here with only cowhands eating at my table.”

“You can still have your house with a porch and your dining room,” Tye said.

She didn’t look at him. “Maybe someday,” was all she said.

After a minute, she opened a door that led into a bedroom that smelled like violets—like her. He followed her uneasily.

He first noticed her chest of drawers just inside the door, a tall, hand-carved piece of heavy furniture. A comb and brush, a book and a few hairpins lay on the top. Meg’s things. He had the crazy desire to reach out and touch them, but he kept his hand at his side.

A metal bedstead stood against the wall, the mattress covered with a star-patterned quilt, soft-looking, homey, inviting images of sleeping with her beneath its downy comfort. He refused to entertain those thoughts right now and let out a slow, self disciplining breath.

At the foot of the bed sat a horsehide chest. The stand beside the bed held a pitcher and face bowl on an embroidered scarf. He pictured her standing there in her underclothes... or less... washing. A reprehensible tide of heat and longing engulfed him, and he reminded himself she’d brought him here to show him where he’d sleep, not to rip off his clothes and immediately sate his aroused body.

Whatever happened between them would have to happen naturally. Slowly.

He turned abruptly. A wardrobe stood on the opposite wall. Tye’s attention was riveted on a pair of black polished Union boots standing beside it. Joe’s boots.

Joe’s room.

With a sinking feeling of disappointment in his gut, Tye pulled his gaze from the boots.

He didn’t let himself look at the bed again.

Another man still occupied this room.

Inasmuch as they’d struck a bargain, he was a stranger to this woman. She’d been widowed barely a year. He’d seen the grief and pain in her eyes that day outside the mercantile when she’d asked him about her husband’s body.

She wore a pale green cambric dress with darker green stripes, obviously not new, but nice, and he’d been pleased to see her appear in it that morning. Of course, she couldn’t wear mourning to her own wedding ceremony, so this dress didn’t mean anything, he realized. She was still wearing black in her heart.

She needed Tye to help her keep this ranch. But she didn’t love him.

“Is there another room?” he asked without much hope. The house hadn’t looked that big from the outside, and this seemed like the only space left behind the kitchen.

“A pantry,” she replied. “A root cellar. And some storage space in the attic.”

“Can I see it?”

“The attic?”

He nodded.

“Well... sure.”

She led him back into the other room and pointed to a trapdoor overhead. “Pull on there,” she instructed, indicating the dangling rope.

He did, and a narrow set of stairs extended. Grimacing against the pain in his thigh, he climbed the steps and surveyed the room above. It ran the width of the house and had a tiny window at each end. A few packing crates sat in a far corner, probably holding Meg’s mother’s china. The space wasn’t tall enough to stand in, but the flooring was solid and there was room to stretch out.

“I’ll sleep up here,” he decided aloud.

“What?” she called from below.

He descended the stairs carefully, holding his expression firm. “I’ll sleep up there.”

Her wide hazel eyes rounded with surprise. “Why?”

“I can’t sleep in the barn, because I assume your hands have rooms out there.”

“Yes, but—”

“So, I’ll sleep up there.” He started to walk away from her, then decided he owed her an explanation and turned back.

She met his eyes, doubt clouding hers.

“We need a little time to get to know one another,” he said. Besides, there was already one man sleeping in that bed with her, three would make a crowd. “Let’s give each other that time.”

Was that relief he saw in her expression?

A deep rose flush darkened her neck and cheeks. Her gaze moved to his shirtfront. If she had any feelings on the subject, she kept them to herself. But she didn’t argue with him.

He’d known she wouldn’t.

“Why don’t you open your gift?” he suggested.

“Oh, oh yes, of course.” She bustled into the kitchen. The small package looked pathetically alone on the enormous table. Meg approached it, reminded of her wedding to Joe and the reception that had followed at the Telford home, with guests spilling into the yard and gaily wrapped packages stacked atop a table on the veranda.

That had been before the war, when the citizens of Aspen Grove and the neighboring ranches had still been prosperous. Many of the items she and Joe had received that day had since been traded or sold.

Meg slipped the white ribbon from the package and peeled back the paper. The box held a set of carefully wrapped, cut-glass salt and pepper shakers with sterling silver lids.

“They’re lovely,” she said, and meant it. She’d had an entire set, much like them, consisting of spoon trays and berry bowls, jelly dishes and cruets, but those had been among the items she’d sold for feed last winter. “Rosa said it was from her and Lottie. Who’s Lottie?”

He couldn’t explain Lottie to her. Not just yet. “Lottie is...another friend of mine.”

“Oh. Well, it was kind of them to send a gift. I’ll be sure to send a proper thank-you.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She met his eyes uncertainly.

He’d have to tell her eventually. He’d given his word to take Eve and raise her.

Tye watched the mixture of expressions cross her lovely face, studied her straight spine as she turned and placed the salt and pepper shakers in her cabinet. The pale green dress was lovely on her. Its cinched style showed off the tiny waist he’d often admired and left him wondering about the softly rounded hips and legs so well hidden beneath the folds of the skirt.

A small, knitted purse with tasseled ties still hung forgotten from her elbow.

It had been all he could do in the time he’d had before today to earn the cash money for the ring. He would have liked to have given her something else, an heirloom or something meaningful, something a woman like her deserved. He’d never had much more than the clothes he wore. When he was old enough, he’d made enough to provide for his mother, and the rest...well, the rest he’d drunk and gambled because he was isolated and lonely—and because it was expected of him.

She wouldn’t have wanted anything that had belonged to his mother, anyway, even if he’d had somcthing.

Two solid thumps on the screen door brought him out of his thoughts.

Meg turned with a smile. “That’s Major. He must have been out hunting when we arrived. He’s probably curious to know who’s here.”

The door opened without her crossing to open it, and an enormous, long-haired dog nosed his way through. He carried a chunk of wood in his mouth, promptly crossed the room and dropped it in the wood box beside the stove.

“Good boy, Major,” she said with a laugh.

The dog immediately zeroed in on Tye and came forward slowly, nose sniffing the air, tail wagging low.

Meg crossed to Tye and touched his arm. “This is Major,” she explained, the touch obviously a sign for the animal that he was a friend.

The heat from her fingers seeped through his shirtsleeve, and Tye stopped himself from moving away from the temptation of her nearness. She moved away herself soon enough. “I’ll change now. I was going to make a pie for our supper.”

“I’ll change, too. And then I’ll acquaint myself with the place.”

“I know it doesn’t look like much right now,” she said apologetically. “We’ve had to let some things go in order to care for the stock. The fellas try, but, well...”

“It’s the best place I’ve ever lived, ma’am,” he told her honestly. “I’ll do all I can to take care of things now.”

She smiled then, a genuine smile of reassurance. “I believe you will, Tye. If I didn’t believe that, well, we wouldn’t be here right now. Neither one of us.”

Meaning she’d have been put off her ranch, and he’d still be trying to earn enough money to buy an acre or two. This way they each had what they wanted.

It would be a fine place to bring Eve to, as well. Maybe he should have told Meg about the child before they’d gotten married, but there just hadn’t been the right time. Working extra hours for the ring and these clothes had seemed the imperative need at the time. He had no idea how he was going to find the words to tell her now.

Besides, there would still be a little time for her to get used to the idea—he hoped. He hadn’t checked on Lottie for several days, so he really wasn’t sure about her condition.

Tye picked up his belongings, stowed them in the attic and changed into work clothes. No time like the present to get down to business.

Meg hated herself for the sense of relief that had accompanied Tye’s decision to sleep in the attic. She should have spoken up, shouldn’t have allowed him to postpone the inevitable. But she’d gone along. And the fact that she’d been unable to fall asleep that night was likely due to guilt over his uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.

She rose early and prepared breakfast as she always did. Gus, probably allowing them privacy, hadn’t ground the beans or started the coffee, which added another task to her routine.

Tye appeared from outside with Gus and Purdy. The two hands hung their hats and took their places beside each other on a bench. Tye stood awkwardly to the side.

Meg placed a hot plate of skillet cakes on the table, then realized he was waiting for her to assign him a seat.

“There.” She gestured to a single chair at the end. The chair where she usually sat. The chair that had been Joe’s.

Tye stood behind it.

Gus and Purdy dug into the food without hesitation.

“You don’t have to wait for me to sit,” she said, realizing his intent. “I jump up and down a half-dozen times during a meal.”

Tye seated himself.

Meg poured coffee, then sat to his left.

No one said much as they ate together, their first morning in this new situation. Meg tried to make it seem natural but knew she wasn’t fooling anyone.

Tye ate more slowly than the ranch hands. And he didn’t eat half as much as most men she’d cooked for.

She tasted everything to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake in her haste. It all tasted fine to her.

“Everything all right?” she asked hesitantly.

He looked up from his plate, his deep blue eyes vibrant in the morning light that streamed through the long kitchen windows. “Everything’s just fine, ma’am. Thank you.”

Meg glanced at Gus, and he met her eyes only briefly, then popped his last bite of ham into his mouth, downed his coffee and stood.

Purdy followed, going for his hat.

“We’ve just got enough time to change,” Meg said, folding her napkin.

Tye laid down his fork and sat still.

“Tye?” she asked curiously.

Gus and Purdy tromped out the door with a screech of hinges.

“You don’t want me to come to church with you,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“But of course I do. I always go to church.”

“I don’t.”

She had started to get up, but she eased back down on the bench. “Aren’t you a God-fearing man, Tye Hatcher?”

“Yes, ma’am. But for your sake, I fear God’s good people more.”





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