Книга - His Forgotten Fiancée

His Forgotten Fiancée
Evelyn M. Hill


Suddenly ReunitedLiza Fitzpatrick is stunned when her fiancé finally arrives in Oregon City—with amnesia. Matthew Dean refuses to honor a marriage proposal he doesn’t recall, and Liza is forced to consider he may not have loved her after all. But she needs his help now to bring in the harvest, and maybe she can help him remember…Matthew is attracted to the spirited Liza, and as she tries to help him regain his old memories, the new ones they’re creating together start to make him feel whole. Even as he falls for her again, though, someone’s determined to keep them apart. Will his memory return in time to save their future?







Suddenly Reunited

Liza Fitzpatrick is stunned when her fiancé finally arrives in Oregon City—with amnesia. Matthew Dean refuses to honor a marriage proposal he doesn’t recall, and Liza is forced to consider he may not have loved her after all. But she needs his help now to bring in the harvest, and maybe she can help him remember...

Matthew is attracted to the spirited Liza, and as she tries to help him regain his old memories, the new ones they’re creating together start to make him feel whole. Even as he falls for her again, though, someone’s determined to keep them apart. Will his memory return in time to save their future?


“Do I pass muster?” Matthew raised one eyebrow.

Liza snapped her attention back to the present. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re staring.”

She swallowed her disappointment. For a moment, she had expected him to be his old self again, holding out his hands to her and smiling. The new Matthew did not behave like that.

Sorrow for the loss filled her, something precious as gold slipping through her fingers. If ever he loved her, that part of him was forgotten. Maybe he’d never loved her at all. How could she tell?

“Yes, it’ll do.” She hefted the basket with her shopping, but he slipped it out from her grasp. He offered her his left arm, escorting her down Main Street for all the world as if he were promenading down the finest street in St. Louis on a Sunday afternoon. Despite her sadness, she spared a moment to be amused by his air. He had always treated her like a rare precious object. Right up to the point he had left.


According to family tradition, EVELYN M. HILL is descended from a long line of horse thieves. (But when your family is both Texan and Irish, tall tales come with the territory.) That might explain why she grew up writing horse stories. These days, the stories feature a handsome cowboy, as well. She lives at the end of the Oregon Trail, where she gets to do her historical research in person.


His Forgotten Fiancée

Evelyn M. Hill






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


For now we see through a glass, darkly;

but then face to face: now I know in part;

but then shall I know even as also I am known.

—1 Corinthians 13:12


For the two Kit Carsons in my life, blazing a trail for the rest of us.


Contents

Cover (#u797c6510-5586-5ea9-b7fa-80a7f2e49e2f)

Back Cover Text (#u88572000-fcd4-5a18-a3b8-aa86514ad99a)

Introduction (#ua98bb0b9-e075-5812-b4d1-393d0752f339)

About the Author (#uaf66e8ed-2416-5ec6-a0ae-2ea7206c44d3)

Title Page (#u37fda859-45a2-5d03-b017-3ae7430a9fdd)

Bible Verse (#u5ba8d3f1-434c-5816-8bb8-647f05f26133)

Dedication (#ua2807ba1-5bcc-5dee-b065-2bbabd6f9ea7)

Chapter One (#ub3145603-f765-52e9-9b52-03304081f4bb)

Chapter Two (#u6f8ce338-116c-5171-8ab8-55c87a7a5cda)

Chapter Three (#u3197e797-d9e5-58eb-b5dd-712ab36b8f44)

Chapter Four (#ue8cde667-be7b-5e9f-8358-6c1e6938e1ad)

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)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ud100dbc8-f35c-5c98-82b4-4df944f68658)

Oregon City

Oregon Territory, 1851

“Who am I?”

Liza Fitzpatrick dropped the cleaning rag onto the counter of the dry goods store and spun around. A man stood in the doorway, his rough, working-class clothes soaked through. He was staring at her as if she were the first woman he’d ever seen.

Ten steps to the back room, half a minute to grab Pa’s rifle. She might be able to make it. Sober, the long-legged man could easily outpace her. But not the way he was swaying from side to side. It was getting dark outside, and she found it difficult to guess his age in the light from the single lantern, but beneath the beard and the bedraggled brown hair that fell to his shoulders, he looked under thirty.

“Well?” Impatience edged his tone like a well-honed knife.

She cleared her throat. “Um...good evening. Mr. Vandehey, three doors down, serves liquor—”

“That’s the last thing I need.” He sagged against the door frame, his head drooping.

She took a couple of cautious steps closer, to get a better look at the man. Red streaks trailed down his forehead. “You’re hurt!”

His head came up. “Obviously.” Those thick eyebrows could have been designed to scowl at her. His dark eyes woke the memory of a pain that she had thought buried safely away. Recognition twisted inside her like a knife plunged straight into her heart. He said, “Do you know who I am?”

“You don’t know?” She stared at him. This encounter was starting to take on the unreal qualities of a nightmare. That was ironic, considering she had been dreaming of this moment for months. She had imagined all the different ways the scene would play out—or she thought she had.

“I am trying to be patient, madam.” The man spoke with a cultured accent at odds with his wild mountain-man appearance. “I would appreciate the courtesy of an answer to my one—simple—question. Do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” she said. “You are the man I am going to marry.”

He swayed against the door frame, sliding slowly down to the ground in a faint.

Liza had thought she would never see him again.

She looked down at the man sprawled on the floor. His eyes were shut, dark lashes long against his pale skin. Liza had a thousand questions that needed answers, but now was not the time, not when Matthew Dean lay passed out at her feet.

Her emotions were in a whirl. She had been waiting for this day for over a year, hoping for it, praying for it, sometimes almost dreading it. And now that he had finally come back to her, it didn’t seem real. She crouched down, pushing up his sleeve to put her fingers against his wrist. His skin was cold, but his pulse beat strongly against her hand. For a moment he responded to her touch, his fingers curving to grasp her hand. He murmured something under his breath, and then his hand drooped.

She didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. He had been gone for so long, without a word. Why had he come back now?

Her mother had always told her that the Lord never sent you anything unless He had faith in your ability to withstand it. Sometimes, she wished the Lord didn’t have quite so much faith in her.

She fetched Jim Barnes from the livery stable on the corner to help her get the unconscious man into the bed in the back room. Jim cleaned him up while Liza dug up some dry clothes. Mr. McKay, the owner of the dry goods store, was shorter and much wider, but his homespun trousers and red-checked shirt would have to do. Matthew’s clothes weren’t merely damp, they were soaked through. She rubbed the rough, sodden fabric between her fingers, then spread the clothes out by the fireplace in the front room. They hadn’t had rain in weeks. He must have fallen into the river to get this wet.

Jim came out of the back room, shutting the door quietly behind him. “Restless man, won’t hardly lie still,” he said. “Like there’s something burning a hole in him.”

“How badly is he hurt? Memory loss sounds pretty serious. I should probably send for the doctor.” She frowned, torn between worry and frustration.

“Doc Graham won’t be back until tomorrow, but I don’t think he’s in bad shape,” Jim reassured her. “Just that cut on his head, which has already stopped bleeding. Looks like he got roughed up some, is all.”

“I appreciate your help.” Liza hesitated. Jim, placid and unflappable, had accepted her explanation that the man was her fiancé without any questions. But other people would be more curious, asking questions she did not know the answers to. I need to know where I stand. I need to know why he came back after all this time. “I’d appreciate it if you did not mention this incident to anyone. Not tonight.”

He gave her a look that was unexpectedly shrewd. “Anyone like Mr. Brown, you mean? I won’t say a word to him about it, but I’ll send Granny Whitlow over to keep you company. Wouldn’t be proper, otherwise.”

Matthew was hardly in a position to pose a threat to any woman at the moment, but Liza nodded. “Thank you, Jim.”

After he left, she began to tidy up, sweeping the floor and straightening the goods on the shelves. The dry goods store was the front room of the McKays’ home. It still had the original puncheon floor and the cat-and-clay fireplace that was used for cooking and to heat the house, but the walls were filled with shelves of nails, rope and harnesses, as well as the latest bolts of fabric off ships from Boston and New York. The back room was the family’s private area, and the children slept up in the loft. Liza had agreed to mind the store for the McKays when they went upriver to Champoeg to celebrate their eldest son’s wedding.

It was getting late, but she could not close up the store yet; there was one more visitor coming to see her tonight. She was already dreading it. Meeting with Mr. Brown was never pleasant.

It was possible that no one had noticed Matthew’s arrival tonight. There were a lot of strangers in town these days. In the year since Liza had come, the town of Oregon City had doubled in size. More people were coming in from the trail each week, making their way around Mount Hood on the Barlow Road or risking the passage down the Columbia River past The Dalles, all eager to claim land.

She recognized that longing; it was what had led her and her pa to take the Oregon Trail. It was all she had ever wanted since she was a child—a place she could call her own. No one to look down on her for being the daughter of an Irish immigrant. Here, they were all immigrants together. This was a place where she could put down roots. She could have a family—She winced away from the thought. It led back to the man lying unconscious in the bed in the other room.

It had been almost a year since she’d last seen him. Perhaps he had an explanation for what he’d done. Perhaps he had come to apologize.

The front door opened. Old Granny Whitlow stomped in, bringing a rush of cool evening air with her. “What’s this I hear? Some man barged in here?” She looked around. “Where’s he now, then? Don’t just stand there, girl!”

“He’s resting. I don’t want to disturb him.” Liza shut the door behind Granny. She only wished she could close the door on this conversation, as well. She had wanted a chance to talk to Matthew privately first.

“Humph.” Granny did not look impressed. As one of the founding members of the Ladies’ Social Club, she seemed to feel it was her duty to collect and spread the latest news among the townspeople. “I was hoping to get a look at the fella.”

“He’s been injured,” Liza said. “There’s really no need for you to stay. He’s not going to hurt me.”

The dry goods store served as the social center for the women of the town, so Mrs. McKay had placed a couple of rocking chairs by the fire for visitors, and a table with Mr. McKay’s prized chess set on it. Granny settled herself in one of the rocking chairs and then looked up at Liza. “You sound pretty certain about a total stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger. His name is Matthew Dean. I don’t want Mr. Brown to know he’s here, not until I’ve had a chance to talk to Matthew, but...” Liza’s voice trailed off. This was harder than she had expected. She had to force the words out. “He’s the man I got betrothed to on the trail.”

The silence was so profound that she could hear the tinny piano being played all the way down in Vandehey’s saloon.

“Well, if that don’t beat all. You’ve been refusing offers left and right on account of your being promised to some man none of us have ever seen, and here he pops up all out of nowhere.” Granny nodded her head.

Liza felt her cheeks growing warm. “When he went off down the California Trail instead of coming on to Oregon with me, he promised he’d come up once he’d gotten a stake, and then we’d get married. It just took longer than I thought, that’s all.”

“Months and months. California’s full of them pretty Spanish girls, I do hear.”

“He loves me.” Was she trying to convince the other woman or herself? Liza shoved that thought aside. “He asked me to marry him, and he’s an honorable man.”

“Humph. Men change their minds just as much as women do. If he was coming up here to marry you and all, why was he down there all that time and never sent you a letter?” Granny spoke triumphantly, hammering the final nail in the coffin.

Every word she said was true, but Liza didn’t want to hear it all the same. “He asked me to marry him. He promised he’d come back to me. Now he has.”

Granny said skeptically, “And he just happened to wander straight to your door? Just you go and fetch those quilts from up in the loft. I can’t manage that ladder, but no matter. I’ll be comfy as anything right here in this chair for the night.”

Liza got a couple of quilts for herself as well, spreading one across the other rocking chair. “Anyone in town knows I’ve been minding the dry goods store while the McKays are upriver. He could have been given directions here before he was injured.” Granny still looked skeptical. “And, of course, this was the only place still open, apart from the saloon.”

“You really shouldn’t keep the store open this late. I’ll help you put up the shutters.”

“No.” Liza put out a hand to stop her. “I can’t close up the store yet. I’m waiting for someone.”

Granny narrowed her eyes. “At this hour? Who?”

As Liza started to answer, the door was pushed open again. The man in the doorway was of medium height, slim, with brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance, but dread curled into a knot in Liza’s stomach. “Good evening, Mr. Brown.”

“Good evening.” He nodded to Granny. “Mrs. Whitlow.” He paused. “Might I speak with you privately, Miss Fitzpatrick? Perhaps we could use the other room. There is a matter I would like to discuss with you.”

“No,” Liza said quickly. “We can talk here. It is all right if Granny stays.”

“Don’t mind me,” Granny said brightly. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse.” She folded her hands, eyes bright with curiosity.

Liza went behind the counter, where she had her reticule waiting. “I have the money here.” She handed him the coins. It was almost all the money she had in the world, but giving it to him was worth the sacrifice if that meant keeping the claim. “There. That is the last payment. Now Pa does not owe you anything, and neither do I.”

Mr. Brown put his wallet away inside his jacket. He withdrew a piece of paper. “And here is the IOU. It was unfortunate that your pa needed to borrow money, but I’m glad at least that I was able to be the one to help you in your time of need.”

“Thank you.” She had to force the words out. “I am sure Pa thought he was doing the best he knew how, but I would prefer if he did not borrow money from anyone in the future. I can take care of him until he gets on his feet again.” And next time, he can tell me when he borrows money to keep the claim going.

“Can you?” The question was mild, but those pale green eyes were intent upon her. “Apparently, you have not heard. Your hired hands quit this afternoon.” His thin lips curved up into a faint smile. “They should be halfway to Astoria by now.”

The words settled into her like lead weights. “I expect we’ll manage.” She only wished she knew how. There was no way she could get the harvest in by herself.

“It looks like you’ve gotten some new supplies.” Mr. Brown scanned the bolts of fabric on the shelf behind her. “I’d like a few yards of that braided trim if you would be so kind.”

Liza measured out the yards of fabric and wrapped it up for him. He was playing with her, wasting her time. What use did a man have for trimming? None.

He never shifted his gaze from her. “You could sell the claim to the Baron, you know.” Mr. Brown’s boss, Barclay Hughes, had come out to the Oregon Territory a few years back. He had quickly made a fortune cutting down trees and shipping the wood down to San Francisco. To his face, everyone called him Mr. Hughes. Behind his back, he was known as the Baron. “He wants the land. He’ll be pleased if I can get it for him. I can make sure that he doesn’t cheat you on the deal. He listens to me. He will give you a good price for your claim, and you could find permanent work in town.”

“Sell the claim? And give up our independence? Thank you all the same, but no. My father is going to prove up his claim, and I am going to help him. No one is going to take it from us.” She finished wrapping up the fabric and pushed it across the counter to him.

Mr. Brown leaned forward, and she had to repress the urge to step back. “Frankly, Miss Fitzpatrick, you can’t do it. Not just you and your father.”

He thought she would give in. Thought she had no choice.

Since that tree had fallen on Pa’s legs, breaking them both, getting the crops in had become a major worry in her life. Without the harvest, she and Pa would not be able to afford to stay on the claim over the winter, which meant they would lose it. The law specified a man had to live on his claim if he wanted to prove it.

The wheat was ripe now. There was no time to hunt for new helpers. If she put off the harvest, the rains would come and the crops would rot in the fields.

Her thoughts flitted to the man in the back room. Mr. Brown had always acted possessive where she was concerned, no matter how often she’d made it clear that she had no interest in him. Dealing with him had been awkward enough when she had only been paying off Pa’s IOU. Once he learned that her fiancé was in town, it would be a thousand times worse.

She couldn’t face his reaction to the news. Not tonight, when she was still trying to come to terms with Matthew being back in her life. Perhaps by morning, Matthew would remember who he was, who she was. What they had meant to each other. All she knew for sure at this moment was that she needed to talk to him before she could decide how to handle Mr. Brown’s reaction to the news. She went to the front door and held it open. “Please don’t let me keep you.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when you’ve had more time to consider. I know you’re a stubborn little lady, but I’m sure by morning you’ll understand that I only want what is best for you.”

From her place by the fire, Granny called out, “You’ll be wanting to go back to the hotel before you lose your chance of supper. I don’t know why you don’t just board with some respectable family instead of paying all that money to stay at that fancy new place, but that’s young men for you. Always have to present a good image to the world.”

Mr. Brown opened his mouth to speak, then he shut it again, pressing his lips together. Anger stained his cheeks with bright red patches. Abruptly, he turned and left.

Liza shut the door behind him and bolted it. She leaned against it, closing her eyes for a moment, and a sigh escaped her.

“There’s a man who dearly likes to get his own way.” Granny’s dry voice came from behind her. “Mr. Brown won’t be happy until he’s gotten your claim for the Baron.”

“That’s what I am afraid of.” Liza sat down in the other rocking chair and wrapped the quilt tightly around herself. “I don’t know what to do about the harvest.” There. She had said it out loud.

“Why is that man so set on your claim? He’s bought up most of the claims around. You’d think he’d be satisfied.”

She shook her head. “He wants to please the Baron. He thinks if he goes through me, Pa will agree to sell the claim.”

“That’s true enough. Whole town knows your pa would do anything for you.”

“For me, yes.” It never occurred to him to let her share the burden. That was part of the problem. Granny was looking at her, eyebrows raised, so Liza explained further. “After my mother’s death, Pa left me with my aunt in Iowa while he came out here and threw all his energy into building a new home for us on the claim. I think it helped him deal with his grief, as well as giving him a way to provide for me. It was his legacy, he always said.” She did not want to think of what losing the claim would do to him. He would feel a failure, not just as a farmer but as a father.

“Come sit by me and say your prayers, child.” Granny spoke gently, instead of in her usual acerbic tone. “Let the Lord carry your troubles for the rest of the night.”

It was good advice, but Liza found that she was not able to stop worrying. The fire was getting low—a log sank down into a bed of glowing embers. She settled into the other rocking chair, wrapped a thick quilt around herself and stared into the embers.

Why had Matthew taken so long to come to her as he’d promised? She had waited, first hopefully, preparing the loft in the cabin for two people. Then anxiously, wondering if something had happened to him. She had no way of knowing where he had gone, exactly. Just a hastily scribbled note saying he was going to find gold and that he would come to her in the spring. Months had gone by, and not a word from him.

She was familiar with the feeling of being left. After Pa had headed off west, she had waited back in Iowa for three years before he had sent for her. Even though his concern had been to make sure there was a proper home for her, he had left her. That awkwardness still lay between them. They never spoke of it, but she could tell sometimes, when he was in one of his moods, that the guilt weighed on him. She still struggled with her anger at being left behind.

She had traveled the Oregon Trail with a respectable family that her pastor had introduced her to. They had been kind enough, though preoccupied with their own affairs. She hadn’t realized how lonely she had felt until she met Matthew. He had been traveling without family, too, and somehow that had formed a bond that had quickly strengthened into something stronger. Or she thought it had. He’d asked her to marry him. He said he loved her. Had he changed?

The memory of those dark eyes, looking straight at her with no sign of recognition at all... She shivered, despite the quilts. One thought chased another through her mind until at last she fell back to reciting her favorite psalms to calm herself. Finally, she slept.

The next thing she noticed was sunlight falling warm on her face.

Granny bent over a kettle hanging by the fire. “Good morning. I just checked on your man. He’s still sleeping, but his color looks good. I’m thinking he’s not hurt that badly. Looks like he’s not been eating regularly, worn himself down.” She patted Liza on the shoulder. “The tea is almost ready. I’ll be back later, see how you’re getting on.” She must have read the apprehension on Liza’s face, because she added, “You’ll be fine. The Lord knows what He’s doing.”

It was quiet after Granny left. Liza stood in the middle of the room. She could hear early-morning noises outside: birds singing, the occasional rattle of wheels as a wagon rolled by. From the back room, nothing but silence. She had to face him. She was dreading it. To put off the inevitable, she whipped up a batch of biscuits. While they were baking, she combed out her hair, braided it and pinned it up into a crown around her head. Her mother had always told her that her light blond hair was pretty, but Liza found it annoying. It was too fine. Wisps slipped out of the braid despite her best efforts.

Dallying over her hair was only putting off the need to go in and talk to Matthew. She straightened up and put her shoulders back. She had walked the length of the Oregon Trail. She was not going to fail at the end.

Despite her resolution, it took an effort to knock on the door to the back room. When there was no response, she opened the door tentatively. No sound came from the blanket-covered mound on the bed. She pushed the door open wider.

She laid down his folded clothes at the foot of the bed, putting on top of the pile the comb and the newfangled harmonica that she’d found in his pockets. That was all he had had on him, no money or identification.

He didn’t move, so she took a couple steps closer. She studied him as if seeing him for the first time. He’d always been thin, but now he was downright skinny. His cheekbones stood out prominently, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

Under the quilt, his legs twitched as if he were about to run. He looked so like a boy, with that strand of dark hair across his forehead. A troubled boy. Whatever he’d been doing, he’d not had an easy time of it.

Unexpectedly, tenderness welled up inside her. She smoothed the hair away from his face. Very lightly, she trailed her fingertips across his warm skin. She smiled.

His eyes flew open. Dark eyes, fierce as a hawk, stared straight into hers. Then he moved swiftly.

She found herself flat on her back on the floor, with those fierce eyes intent upon her and his hand at her throat.

* * *

He was back at Dutch Flat. Vince was still alive, making silly jokes, walking backward down the alley and smiling at him without a care in the world. Without seeing the three men coming up behind him.

He struggled to call out, to warn Vince to look behind him, but as in the way of dreams sometimes, he could make no sound. There was nothing he could do to stop it. It was all going to happen again, just like it had before. He was too late.

A hand touched his face. Lost in his dream, he reacted instinctively.

Then he blinked, focused. He was looking straight down into the clear gray eyes of a young woman, a few inches away. She was a delicate little thing, skin like porcelain, wisps of golden hair framing her face.

“Good morning,” she said breathlessly. Even though he still had his hand on her throat, she was looking up at him as if she trusted him not to hurt her. He didn’t like it that she was looking at him like that. He removed his hand, but he did not know what to do next.

He was completely lost, no firm ground to stand on. He did not know where he was. He realized that he did not know who he was. He frowned down at the young woman. “Do I know you?”

For a moment, he thought he saw an expression of pain in her eyes. Then she blinked, and it was gone. “Well, you used to. Could you let me up, please?”

He suddenly realized that their respective positions were not exactly proper. He sat up, backing away from her until he reached the wall, and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers found the bandage, and his frown deepened. His head throbbed. So. He had been injured. Someone had bandaged him and put him to bed. He looked at the woman. “Who are you?”

She sat up, brushing herself off. She tried to smile, but it looked stiff, awkward. She stopped. “Good morning,” she started again. “I am Liza Fitzpatrick.” She looked at him, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction.

“You will pardon me if I do not introduce myself.” It was irritating to have to admit his ignorance. Gingerly, he got his feet under him and stood, extending a hand to help her up. “Are you hurt? Please accept my apologies, madam. I do not make a habit of accosting strange women first thing in the morning.”

“Do you usually wait until the afternoon before you accost women?” She evidently regretted the flippant impulse as soon as she saw him turning red. In more contrite tones, she added, “I should be the one apologizing. I’m sorry I startled you. Shall we sit?” She dragged a barrel chair over to the bedside. He looked around for another chair. When he saw there was none, he sat on the very edge of the bed, muscles tensed.

Tentatively, she began, “You must be as uncomfortable as I am.”

If that’s the case, then you must be uncomfortable indeed. Not that it showed. The young woman—Liza—spread the skirt of her blue dress out as she sat, then she folded her hands in her lap. With her light blond hair framing her lovely face, she looked like the picture of a modest young lady, poised and neat. He felt unsure of everything about himself, and he hated it. Then he noticed that the tip of her shoe just showed at the edge of her skirt. She was tapping her foot, where she thought he could not see. The discovery made him feel a bit better. He wasn’t the only one who was unsettled by this conversation.

“Your name is Matthew Dean.”

Not even a twinge of familiarity at the name. “You have the advantage of me. How is it you know my name and I do not?”

“I know you. Or at least,” she amended, “I used to. You came to see me last night. You were ill and fainted.”

He wrinkled his brow. “I think I remember...something about that. It’s rather vague. I hope I was polite.”

“What do you remember?”

He started to shake his head, then stopped, his fingers going to the bandage at his forehead again. “Nothing. Nothing that makes sense, at any rate. It was dark. Men jumped me. I think... I think there might have been a woman there as well, but that hardly seems likely.”

“What else?”

“There is nothing else!” He stopped. “I beg your pardon. This is extremely frustrating. It’s as if—it’s as if part of my mind is a locked room and I’m on the outside trying to break down the door. I don’t know the first thing about myself.”

“Well,” Liza said, “I can help with that, at any rate. Yes, you do know me. You come from Illinois. We traveled out west in the same wagon train, and we used to walk together. We started to talk and became friends. Then we became more than friends. You asked me to marry you. Then you left me to go to California to look for gold.”

A dry recital of words, sticking to the bare facts. He struggled to take it all in. “I recall none of those actions, madam.”

Without any memories, he felt like half a man. He was engaged to this woman? It was hard to imagine. She was so close to him that if he reached out his hand he could touch that lovely face, run his fingertip down the curve of her cheek. His fingers longed to do just that. It was as if he knew her on some level that ran deeper than rational thought. But his mind kept listing objections as if he were arguing a case in court. “You mean I just showed up in your doorway last night after not seeing you for months? It seems wildly coincidental.”

“Not if you were coming to see me.” The tapping foot accelerated its tempo. “Honestly, you are acting like I am offering you a nice, fresh rattlesnake for breakfast. I am not making this up.”

He didn’t know what to think. Nothing felt real; he could find no solid ground underfoot. He was blundering about, a man out of his depth trying to find his way. He had no way of knowing if she was telling the truth. Some part of him kept insisting that beautiful women were not trustworthy. At the same time, an instinct deeper than all reason urged him to trust this one.

He spread out his hands in a gesture of apology. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I do not mean to offend you. It’s just—I can’t begin to explain how unsettling it is not to remember such basic facts about oneself. Proposing marriage to a woman is the sort of thing that should stick in a man’s memory.” His smile was hesitant, but it seemed to put her at ease. The toe tapping stopped. She smiled back at him—not a polite, social smile but with the full force of her relief.

Matthew’s smile faded. For a moment, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her in his arms. He had to stop himself from reaching out to her. This was hardly the sort of thought he should be entertaining in this situation. “Well.” He cleared his throat, turned aside, pulled the folded clothes onto his lap. “I should get properly dressed.”

She blushed and stood up. “I’ll see to breakfast.”

“Thank you.” He could feel his own face heating up under the beard.

* * *

In the front room, Liza folded up the quilts and started setting the table for breakfast. She could cope so long as she had something to do.

She was aware of every sound of movement she heard from the next room. Her nerves were stretched taut, like fiddle strings keyed up for a concert.

As she was sweeping the floor, she saw a mouse scurry past, keeping close to the wall. She reacted instantly, whacking the broom down fiercely. She missed and whacked again. Peered down at the crack between the wall and the cupboard. “Where are you? You better get out of here if you know what’s good for you.”

“I think you made your feelings clear,” came the dry voice from behind her. “He’s probably halfway to St. Joe by now.”

Matthew appeared in the doorway, dressed in his own clothes. He stood in the same position that he’d been in when he had walked through the front door last night, but one quick glance showed that he looked much better now. There was a healthy flush in his cheeks. He’d even introduced his hair to a comb, though it didn’t look like they’d had much of a conversation. It was oddly endearing.

“The whole of the Oregon Territory is plagued with these varmints.” She put the broom back in its place with a determined thump.

“It’s still a large reaction for such a small nuisance.”

She busied herself with putting food on the table. It was hard to meet his gaze directly. She needed to put some distance between the two of them, to come to terms with the reality of Matthew being back in her life. It was a relief to seize upon a neutral topic. “I can’t abide mice. Over the winter, vermin like that got into my father’s grain stores, ruined near half of it. I have no plans to buy wheat this winter.” No funds to do so, either, but there was no reason to mention this. Matthew nodded, and somehow she had the feeling that he understood what she hadn’t said out loud. She gestured at the table. “Sit. I’ve made biscuits, and there’s some smoked salmon. Granny Whitlow said she would stop at Doc Graham’s place, so the doc should be comin’ by soon to make sure you’re all right.”

He did not sit down. Instead, his hands curled around the back of the chair and gripped. “I don’t have any money.”

“I have coin. I can pay him.” See? You need my help. You need me, even if it’s only for a little while.

“You’ve already given me a bed to sleep in. Now food and medical attention. And I’ve got no way to pay you back. I don’t like accepting charity.”

That stopped her. She set the crock of butter down with a thump and turned to face him, one hand on her hip. “One thing you’re going to notice about life in this territory—people help each other. Especially when you’ve just arrived. The settlers who were already established helped my father when he came here, and they helped me, too, when I arrived. And now I’m helping you. We can talk about payment for the doctor later, if we must, but right now what you are going to do is eat.” She pointed at the chair.

His eyebrows rose, but all he said was, “Yes, ma’am.” He took his seat and unfolded the napkin she had provided. “It smells wonderful.” He spread butter on one biscuit and added a spoonful of honey. Liza took one as well, but she only toyed with it, crumbling the edge. She had no interest in food. Though she kept her head down, focusing on her mug of tea, her attention was concentrated on the man sitting opposite.

He was trying to remember his table manners, clearly, but it was equally clear that it had been some time since he had eaten. He wolfed down the salmon and biscuits and eagerly accepted more. Finally, he put down his fork. “I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. That was absolutely marvelous. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” At least he appreciated her cooking, even if he appreciated nothing else about her.

He hesitated. “I have to say something, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I’ve already thrown you to the floor and offended your notions of kindness. But it needs to be said. Even after that wonderful meal, and the tea.”

“Granny Whitlow made the tea before she left. She insisted on staying the night, to keep people from gossiping.” She wasn’t sure why she offered that, except that she was fairly sure she did not want to hear whatever unpleasant topic he was going to bring up.

It worked to divert him. “Wait—you mean you were staying here all by yourself? How trusting are you? You need to be more careful in the future. Whatever happened to me last night, it seems clear there are dangerous people about. And for all you know, I could have been some kind of...unscrupulous man.”

“You are the farthest thing from unscrupulous.”

“I might have changed from the man you remember.”

“People don’t change,” she said. “Not in essentials.”

“Far too trusting. I am amazed that you’ve made it this far without being hurt. Staying all alone in a place. Smiling at a man. The world is not always a kind and safe place.”

She was not going to budge him from his opinion of himself, that was plain. She got to her feet. “The McKays should be back today. I’ll tidy up, and we’ll be ready to go if the doc thinks you’ll be up for it.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Back to the claim.” She had been reaching for his plate, but she stopped, straightening to look at him. “You can’t stay here with the McKays. There’s no room, with the children and all. You can stay on our claim while you rest up and figure out what to do next.”

Taking a deep breath, he said, “I need to make something clear.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and sat down. “That sounds very serious.”

“I do not want to be in any way unkind, but I want you to understand my position. I appreciate you helping me out last night and giving me a place to sleep and a chance to get cleaned up. I am in your debt. But that doesn’t mean I feel obliged to marry you.”

The words fell like stones into the quiet room. He stretched his hands out across the table toward her in a plea for understanding. “To me, the man who asked you to marry him and the man who is right here in front of you are two different people. I am a stranger even to myself. I’m in no position to get married.”

Her chin came up. “If you want to break off our engagement, that is your right.”

“I cannot renege on an agreement I don’t remember making.”

“I suppose I can understand that.”

Liza went back to clearing the table. She needed to do something with her hands. He was rejecting her all over again. And he sounded so reasonable about it, so calm. As if he had never really cared that much for her in the first place. The love that had once blazed between them stronger than anything she had known...not even an ember still flickered beneath the ashes.

Maybe he felt this way as a result of his injuries, but it still hurt.

A wall. She pictured building a wall, brick by brick, around her heart as a barricade. She just needed his help on the claim. No emotional entanglements. Strictly business.

“I—my father and I—need help to get the harvest in. If you would do that, then you could pay off your debt, as you call it. I don’t think you owe me anything, but you’d be doing me a great favor if you did.”

“I will consider it,” he said slowly. “I am in your debt, without question. So long as you do not consider us engaged to marry.”

There was that flick of pain again, like a little knife stabbing at her heart. “As if the man I promised to marry were a different person from yourself.” No matter how much it hurt, she would not be weak. She would use the pain to build another layer in the wall around her heart.

“From my perspective, he is.”

Add another layer of bricks. “Except I told Granny Whitlow that you were my fiancé.”

“I’ll deal with the rest of the world later. Let’s get things straight between the two of us first.”

She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask, either.

Doc Graham arrived a little while later, his half-moon spectacles perched as usual at the tip of his nose, and his round face shining with perspiration, as if he’d been hurrying. Clearly, he had been primed with the latest gossip. His little blue eyes gleamed with curiosity as he escorted Matthew to the back room.

When the doctor came back out some minutes later, he smiled at Liza. “Don’t look so worried. His injuries are quite superficial, apart from the cut on his head, and that should heal soon enough. Injuries can cause temporary amnesia—inability to remember. It’s not that uncommon.”

Matthew had followed him out of the back room, shrugging on his coat. “Will my memories come back?”

“The mind’s a tricky thing. Memory could come back in dribs and drabs, or all at once. Given a bit of time, the injury should heal.” He clapped Matthew on the shoulder cheerfully.

Matthew hunched his shoulders. “So, I could do manual labor?”

“Thinking of getting a job at the lumber mills in Portland, are you, until your memory comes back? I don’t see any reason why not. Far as I can see, the fainting last night was caused by lack of food—for several days, judging by the state of you. Before this morning, when was the last time you ate?”

“I don’t remember,” Matthew said wryly.

“Ah. Yes. Of course. Well, regular meals, light work for the next day or so. You should be fine.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Liza doled out some coins from her purse. She fought not to let her disappointment show. She had hoped the doctor could have given Matthew more help with regaining his memory. After she shut the door behind the doctor, she turned to face Matthew. “Have you made up your mind?”

“Yes.” He looked grimly determined. “I will make a deal with you. You give me a place to stay while I try to get my memories back. Maybe you can help me to jolt my memory. In return, I’ll work to get in your harvest. Do we have a bargain?”

He extended a hand. When she took it, he shook her hand with the brief, firm grip of a man sealing a business deal.

Time was, he would have kissed my hand.

“I accept,” Liza said.


Chapter Two (#ud100dbc8-f35c-5c98-82b4-4df944f68658)

The McKays were due to return to the dry goods store sometime around noon, but half the town decided to show up earlier. Or so it seemed to Matthew as, one after another, he met the townsfolk. Doc Graham was better than a telegraph operator for spreading news. Matthew’s head ached trying to keep track of them all...

And if one more person made a remark about his engagement with Liza, he was going to lose all patience.

The dry goods store was far too small with this crowd pressing in on him. In reality, there were only a handful of well-intentioned townsfolk. But it felt like a crowd. Under normal circumstances, he would not have felt hemmed in, not had to fight down panic. It was the fundamental uncertainty of his life that made him feel so trapped. And these people kept asking him question after question.

He still had that feeling of having fallen into deep water; he was in over his head and floundering. He desperately needed to find some solid ground to stand on. With no money and no memory, staying on the claim with Liza and her pa to help with the harvest was the only option that he could see. But these people were expecting more from him. They were going to be disappointed.

Pretty as Liza was, he couldn’t imagine going through with an engagement in his current situation. He had no idea what had happened to him in the past year, since he and Liza had parted, and so he was in no position to make any long-term promises. For all he knew, he could already have a wife.

He was not the man she had fallen in love with. He’d accept her help as a business arrangement, so long as she understood that that was as far as their relationship went. They would help each other to achieve their goals. Nothing romantic in the least. He needed to make this clear from the start, so that everyone knew where matters stood.

A couple of women came up to him. He stood, offering his chair to the older of the two, Granny Whitlow. He wasn’t sure whom she was grandmother to; it seemed more a title of respect rather than an indication of a familial relationship. The other woman introduced herself as Mrs. Graham, the doctor’s wife. They had both been living in town for some years, apparently, so perhaps they could tell him things about Liza. What was she like, this woman who had attempted to claim him? If he had to live with her and her pa, it would help if he had some of idea of who she was, what kind of woman he was dealing with.

“Is it usual here for a woman to run a store all by herself?” He nodded toward Liza, who stood behind the counter helping a couple of children choose between the different sticks of candy.

“If that’s the job that needs doing,” Granny said. “Not too many women keep a store open as late as she did last night, though. Our Liza is the independent sort, likes to do things for herself—but of course you’d know all about that.”

“Um...yes. Quite.”

Granny gave him an odd look. “You two are supposed to be getting married, was my understanding. Seems to me you don’t know much about the woman you’re planning to spend your life with.”

“On that subject—” Matthew began.

Mrs. Graham, the doctor’s wife, intervened. “He’s had a little problem with his memory, I understand.” She smiled up at Matthew, her weathered face creased in kindly wrinkles. “Liza’s been doing a fine job up here, helping her father on the claim and pitching in when other folk need things done, like minding the store for the McKays.”

“Which she probably shouldn’t be doing, not by herself.” He wished he could remember something, anything, about the men who had jumped him the night before. It unnerved him, to think what might have happened if those men had followed him into the store.

A younger woman, wearing a purple bonnet with feathers sticking out in all directions, came up to him. “I just heard you came all this way just to see Liza. You traveled up from California all by yourself?”

“Apparently,” Matthew said.

“Now, Mavis Boone,” Granny reproved her. “You keep batting your lashes at the man, he’s going to think you’re setting your cap for him. He’s promised, mind.”

Mavis blushed scarlet. “I was doing nothing of the sort,” she said with some spirit. “I know full well he and Liza are getting married. She told me the story months ago. It just never seemed quite real. It always sounded more like a fairy tale, meeting a tall, handsome stranger on the trail.” She shook her head. The foolish feathers on her bonnet bobbed up and down and in all directions. “And I hear that you’re going to help Liza on the claim, too.”

“Did Liza tell you that, too?” Granny asked her.

“No. Well, not exactly. She told Becky Weingard, and she told Hannah Shute, who mentioned it to Mrs. Taylor, who told me.”

He wasn’t even going to try to work that out. In a way, letting people continue to think he was engaged to Liza might protect him from flirtatious women. But it seemed this young woman was more interested in gossip. She wanted to know every detail of his life in California. He parried or evaded questions as best he could, but eventually he had to confess that there were gaps in his memory. That led to his recounting what he could remember about the men who had jumped him last night.

He hated having the story dragged out in the open. That was putting it mildly. Losing his memory made him feel like a helpless fool. Until his memories came back, he might as well be a prisoner or an invalid, a man with very little control over his life. Well, he had a say in his love life, at least. And he would not make any romantic commitments until he could remember his past.

* * *

All morning, Liza had kept an eye on Matthew as she dealt with customers. There were more people in the store than usual today. Many of them, having made their purchases, stopped by the rocking chairs near the fireplace to speak to Matthew. Several of the townspeople had already taken the opportunity to play a game or two of chess with him. As far as she could tell, he won all of his battles easily. She almost wished that he would lose occasionally; it would give him something to think about besides his troubles.

For he was brooding, she could tell. The tension in his shoulders and the way he set his jaw wouldn’t have been noticeable to someone who didn’t know him. He took the townspeople’s scrutiny calmly enough. Occasionally a muscle twitched in his jaw, but he was polite to everyone who addressed him, even when Mavis Boone, who really should have known to behave better, flirted with him shamelessly, batting her eyelashes.

On the trail if something bothered him, he’d walked off his frustration. Here, she could see it building, with no way to vent. Oh, Lord, it would really help if the McKays could come back early! She could escape without having to introduce Matthew to Mr. Brown.

Then, as if on cue, Mr. Brown came through the front door. He doffed his hat, holding it before him. “Good morning, Miss Fitzpatrick. Might I have a word with you in private?”

“I can hardly leave all my customers.” Liza indicated the group by the fireplace with a wave of her hand. They weren’t actively shopping, but perhaps she could stretch a point and call them customers.

“I can wait,” Mr. Brown said. Then he saw Matthew, standing between Mavis Boone and Mrs. Graham. His eyes widened, and he went very still.

“This is Mr. Dean,” Liza said. “He’s—” she started to say that he was her fiancé, but she stopped, remembering Matthew’s request.

Granny Whitlow, however, had no reservations. “Mr. Dean here is her fee-an-say, come all the way from California.”

The corner of Mr. Brown’s mouth spasmed, as if he were holding back some strong emotion. “Indeed.”

Matthew leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. He said nothing, merely raising one eyebrow. He returned Mr. Brown’s stare with a steady gaze. “You seem familiar, somehow. Have we met before?”

Mr. Brown ignored the question. “I had heard that Miss Fitzpatrick’s fiancé left her to go to California instead. I didn’t get the impression that you’d been planning to come up here. Got tired of picking up all that gold?”

Matthew smiled, very slightly. “I am not sure why this is your concern,” he said. He spoke in such a pleasantly neutral tone that Liza at first missed the sting underlying the words.

“Miss Fitzpatrick is my concern.” Mr. Brown drew himself up to his full height. “I have a high regard for her, and her well-being is of the utmost concern to me.” He turned to Liza. “I think perhaps you are right. This is not the right time for a private chat.” He nodded toward the room. “Good day.” Then he turned and headed for the door.

Mavis, never one to let go the chance to be the first to pass on gossip, added, “Mr. Dean was attacked last night. Right here in Oregon City!”

Mr. Brown paused and turned back to Matthew. “Indeed? How distressing. And have the miscreants been arrested then?”

Liza narrowed her eyes. There was an edge in Mr. Brown’s tone. For some reason, this was not an idle question. He really wanted to know.

Mavis jumped in before Matthew could respond. “But that’s just it, Mr. Brown. He’s lost his memory as a result. It’s like a story out of Godey’s magazine! Just fancy!”

Mr. Brown smirked. “It does sound rather...fanciful.”

“No doubt my memory will return in time,” Matthew said smoothly.

Something flickered in the other man’s pale green eyes, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. But he merely said to Liza, “I will speak to you another time.”

When the door shut behind Mr. Brown, for a moment no one said anything. It was as if no one wanted to be the one to speak first. Predictably, Mavis broke the silence. She turned to Matthew with a smile. “Have you set a date for the wedding?”

Matthew heaved a sigh, as if pushed beyond all endurance. “I promised to stay for the harvest. Nothing more than that.”

Mavis’s mouth dropped to form an O.

“Oh, my!” Mrs. Graham said hurriedly. “I hadn’t noticed that bolt of black trim that you have on the shelf. It must be new. What an unusual braided pattern. Will you show it to me, Liza dear?”

Liza fetched the bolt down from the shelf. She could feel her cheeks turning red, and she did not look in Matthew’s direction once. The other townsfolk murmured one excuse or another and made their way out of the store. Mavis hurriedly decided that she wanted to look at the fabric with Mrs. Graham. Only Granny Whitlow remained next to Matthew, her eyes intent on his face, as if reading all the stress pent up inside him.

Matthew cleared his throat. “I, er, my headache seems to have returned. I think I’ll go lie down in the back room until it’s time to leave.” He shut the door behind him.

There was an unpleasant moment of silence in the dry goods store. “Oh, my.” Mavis Boone clicked her tongue.

“He’s lost his memory,” Liza said, a bit desperately. “It’s completely understandable. He was attacked. He was hit on the head. He was—”

“He was quite definite,” Mavis observed, her small eyes alight with eager malice. “Perhaps this isn’t a fairy-tale romance after all.”

Liza refused to allow her shoulders to slump. “He is ill,” she said, with all the firmness she could muster. “It is unfair to judge him by anything he says while he is unwell.”

“Of course,” Granny said. “Mavis, Miz Graham, I think we have taken up enough of Liza’s time today. I’ve got chores that need doing, and I’m sure you do, as well.”

The door closed behind them, and Liza was alone. She immediately went and knocked on the door that led to the back room. At Matthew’s muffled acknowledgment, she pushed the door open.

Matthew was sitting on the bed, looking down at his hands. He looked up at her as she turned to face him, putting her hands on her hips. “Could you please not do that again? It is humiliating to have you go around telling everyone that I mean nothing to you.”

His eyebrows drew together. “That is not what I said. I wanted to make it clear that I am not planning to marry anyone when I can’t even remember the first thing about myself.”

“Yes, but there’s no need to shout to the whole world that you want nothing to do with me.”

“I told three people,” Matthew snapped, his patience beginning to fray.

“You told Mavis Boone,” Liza said grimly. “Trust me, everyone else in the territory will hear about it.”

“I’m sorry if what I said hurt your feelings. That was not my intention.”

She sighed. “I’m sure it wasn’t.” Her shoulders slumped, and she turned away and went back into the front room, shutting the door behind her.

When Matthew came out, Liza was making slow going of wrapping up the bolt of fabric that Mrs. Graham had been examining. She kept her eyes fixed on the fabric even when he came up to the counter. “I am sorry that I offended you,” he said, his tone softer. “I thought I was being practical, making sure everyone knew that I was not in a position to continue an engagement made in the past. I should have thought of how it would sound. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

She returned the bolt of fabric to the shelf, but when she turned back, she still avoided his gaze. “I guess I understand how you feel,” she said softly.

“Do you?” His tone was so low she barely caught it. “I wish I did. You have no idea how lost I feel right now.” Then he turned and went back into the other room. The door shut behind him.

Liza closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself not to cry. Lord, please lead him out of his darkness. Lead him back to me. Or help me to let go of him for good.


Chapter Three (#ud100dbc8-f35c-5c98-82b4-4df944f68658)

The McKays arrived shortly before noon. After they paid her for her work, Liza and Matthew emerged into the bright sunshine of a fall day.

Matthew looked around in surprise. For some reason, he’d expected to see a rough wilderness settlement. Instead, he found himself on a street several blocks long, crowded with stores, homes and churches built from sawn lumber or even from brick. The sound of the waterfall upriver was a constant muted thunder.

Liza pointed down to where a barge was slowly ferrying a horse and wagon across the river. “That’s how we get back to the claim, across the river and over the ridge.”

Matthew blinked up at the sunlight. It didn’t hurt him the way the lantern light had last night. He must be getting better. He turned to Liza. “Are we going there now?”

“Not yet. Come with me.” She set off down the plank sidewalk.

He caught up with her easily, maneuvering around her so that he walked on the side by the dusty road. “Might I ask where we are going?”

“We’re going to see Mr. Keller.”

A pause. Drily, he asked, “And...should I recognize that name?”

“He’s one of the people who came out on the wagon train with us. He runs the local newspaper now, so we’ll be sure to find him in.”

“What would meeting him achieve?”

“Seeing a familiar face might stimulate your memory.”

“If seeing you didn’t stimulate it, I doubt other people will be able to trigger it.”

“Well, we won’t know unless we try. Maybe they were more important to you.”

He flicked a glance at her. Was there a note of resentment in there? She was stomping along on the plank sidewalk as though she had a personal grudge against it.

“Wait.” She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Matthew took hold of her elbow and drew her aside to avoid a man coming the other way. She turned to face the opposite direction. “We should go see Frank first.”

“Ah. Frank. Of course.” Another pause. “Are you going to keep throwing names at me and expecting me to deduce who they are?”

She gave him a sidelong glance and looked away, her cheeks a lovely shade of pink. “You never used to be this cantankerous. Frank Dawson is the local sheriff.” She set off again.

“You are on a first-name basis with the sheriff? Is he a relative, by any chance?”

“For a man who doesn’t plan to stay around, you surely ask a lot of questions. I’m trying to help you. If anyone can track down the men who attacked you, Frank can.”

Possibly. And possibly he could find out what it was about the man that embarrassed her. He didn’t like secrets. His whole life felt like a secret—one being kept from him.

* * *

Frank Dawson annoyed Matthew from the moment Matthew escorted Liza into the little office next to the jail.

His dislike had nothing to do with the overly familiar way the sheriff greeted Liza. Not his business. Well, unless she objected. Then he might get the opportunity to explain to the graceless lout that a gentleman did not put his paw on a lady’s shoulder as if he had a right to touch her.

Sadly, Liza merely gave the oaf a polite nod and took a step back before seating herself on a chair next to the sheriff’s desk. She looked expectantly at Matthew. He sighed, very softly, and sat down, as well.

The sheriff stared at him, tugging on his mustache, while Liza performed the introductions and explained what happened. Matthew got the impression that the sheriff didn’t seem to think there was much he could discover, that a man should expect that kind of thing when you were this far from civilization. Still, he took down the details of the attack that Matthew could remember, such as they were. Then he laid down his pencil and turned to Matthew. “Fiancé, so I’ve heard. Fancy word for saying you’re promised. Of course, people don’t always keep promises.” His chair creaked as the sheriff leaned back, steepling his fingers and studying Matthew.

Enough of this. Matthew was not a violent man, but the proprietary way this oaf was looking at Liza made his hands clench. He probably should leave before he said something ill advised. It was none of his business, so long as Liza didn’t object. He had to remember that.

Matthew climbed to his feet. Liza rose as well, putting her hand on his sleeve. “We can’t stay,” she told the sheriff. “I just wanted to make sure you got all the details of the men who attacked Matthew.”

The sheriff’s mustache twitched as though he had more to say, but he just gave a short nod. Probably the man lacked the intellectual capability to carry out any sort of investigation, but Matthew wasn’t sure what else to do. He was grasping at straws.

Their next stop was a humble clapboard building, painted white. It was wedged between two more pretentious buildings, whose false fronts made them look like proper two-story buildings until you saw behind the facade. “Are you busy, Mr. Keller?” Liza called.

“I’m always busy,” a gruff voice responded from the back room before an older man with flyaway white hair emerged, wiping ink-stained hands on a rag. Matthew couldn’t tell if Mr. Keller’s face was flushed red from temper or exertion, but the man came up to the counter and nodded a polite enough greeting to them. “I never expected a newspaper to be a flourishing concern in such a small town, but every time an ox strays, whether accidentally or because some thief is leading it, people come racing over here demanding that I put a notice in the paper about it.”

Matthew looked at Liza and shook his head. “I don’t remember meeting this man before.” Nothing about him sparked a memory. There were plenty of sparks when he looked at Liza, though not related to his memory. Safer not to think about that. The last thing he needed was a distraction, especially one with a lovely face framed by wispy blond hair.

“Maybe if he talks to you about things you said or did while part of the wagon train, that might spark a memory.”

Liza explained his situation to Mr. Keller, and Matthew did his best to stand there and not feel like the latest exhibit in a menagerie. Mr. Keller squinted up at Matthew, started to say something, then stopped and squinted again.

The older man walked slowly around him like he was a horse being offered for sale. Matthew half expected the man to check his teeth. “Well—” His voice quavered. “Well, I don’t know what to say. I remember your young man, but this don’t look like him. I never talked to him all that much, anyway.”

Well, then. That’s that. Matthew started to take Liza’s arm to escort her out, but she did not budge. Her eyes remained fixed on Mr. Keller. “You never talked with a man you saw every day for months?”

“He was pretty aloof on the trail.”

“Quiet,” Liza said.

“Kept to himself.”

“Reserved.” She crossed her arms and glared at Mr. Keller.

Matthew cocked one eyebrow at her. It felt odd, someone so dainty stepping up to be his champion. It was a new sensation, but he rather liked watching this little spitfire stand up for him. He said mildly, “The fact is that this man does not remember me and I do not remember him. We are back where we started.”

Mr. Keller said, “I recollect that your man used to talk some with old Mrs. Martin, help her carrying water and such. Maybe you could ask her.”

Matthew thought that Liza was forcing her smile as she thanked the other man. Certainly, this smile had nothing of the effect of the one she had given him when they were alone in the dry goods store. Thankfully.

He opened the door for her and followed her outside again. Standing on the plank sidewalk, he said, “I’m not sure meeting people I’m supposed to know is having any effect on my memory.”

“You can’t be sure from just that one encounter. I’ll introduce you to everyone we met on the wagon train if that’s what it takes to help you remember.” She sighed. “Except most of them aren’t around this area. The available land near here was claimed before we came, so people went down south, toward Salem. Never mind. Meeting old Mrs. Martin will trigger your memory.”

When they arrived at Mrs. Martin’s place, her daughter-in-law listened to Liza’s explanation, then she looked at Matthew doubtfully. “She’s been feeling poorly of late. But I remember her telling us how kind the people she came out with had been. I was glad to hear it. It worried me that she came out on a wagon train without family to help her, but she said she had to come. After we left, she found she couldn’t bear to be parted from Tad, not after losing her other sons.”

She led them into a stuffy back room, smelling strongly of a mixture of lavender and licorice cough drops. An older woman sat in a rocking chair, reading her Bible. “Mama, this man here wants to know if you remember him.”

He stepped into the room and stopped, assaulted by a memory. An older woman, the lines in her face carved from pain and years of hard work. Matthew frowned, trying to grasp the memory that had surfaced. Something about coming too late. Even as he reached for it, the image slipped away, elusive as a fish in a stream.

The frail older woman put down her book and took off her spectacles. She took one look at Matthew, and her face lit up with joy. “Yes, that’s him! That’s him. You’ve found him.” Her hands came out to caress his cheek. Tears ran down her face. “That’s him. That’s my son Elliott.” She asked Liza, “Have you seen his brother Quincy? They told me they got a fever and they died, but I knew better. I knew you’d come back to me.”

Liza winced. This all was her fault. Matthew, looking intensely uncomfortable, tried to step back. Mrs. Martin clung to him, pressing her cheek against his jacket and crying.

“Madam, forgive me, but—” His voice faded. He raised one hand and gave a few tentative pats on her shoulder. “It will be all right.” Liza had never heard him speak so gently. His deep voice carried conviction in a way that was subtly reassuring. “If the Lord took your sons, then He has them safe. He’ll keep them in His heart until you can see them again. It will be all right.” Despite his own obvious discomfort, he wanted to offer comfort to the poor woman.

Mrs. Martin’s daughter-in-law roused herself from her mortified stupor and stepped in to soothe the older woman. Liza grabbed Matthew’s arm and they left.

Out in the fresh air again, Matthew took a deep breath. His face was even more pale than it had been last night. “Please tell me there isn’t anyone else you think I should meet today.”

Something twisted inside her, right about the region of her heart, at the thought of putting him through any more trauma. “One more person. The barber. You were clean shaven when Mr. Keller and Mrs. Martin knew you. How can you expect anyone to recognize you when you look so different?”

“I do not currently possess any funds.” He fingered the ends of his beard. “And you have already paid for the doctor’s visit.”

“I’ll take it out of your wages,” she said lightly. “You want people to recognize you, not run away in fright.”

Under that fearsome beard, she thought that she saw one corner of his mouth twitch upward. “Lead on, m’lady.”

While Matthew was at the barber’s, Liza went to stock up on supplies. Coming down the sidewalk, she saw Mr. Brown walking toward her, his head bent so he did not see her. By his side walked Dr. Graham. They were deep in discussion. She hurried into Abernethy’s mercantile store before they noticed her. Mr. Brown always made her uncomfortable. It was the way he stared at her. Made her feel as if she was touching a toad.

She bought tea, beans and, of course, salmon jerky, since it was so prevalent. If she could persuade her father to build a smokehouse, they could make their own. But that was a battle she would have to fight later. Once they harvested the grain, they’d have enough to live on through the winter. That was all she could concentrate on at the moment.

At least, that was all she could concentrate on before she stepped out of the store and saw Matthew coming down the sidewalk in his slow, easy stride.

She stopped moving. Somehow, she had forgotten how handsome he was. Clean shaven, with neatly trimmed hair, his impact swept over her like a physical wave. High cheekbones, elegant bone structure, those thin well-shaped lips that used to smile at her so easily. Only a bruise on one side of that square jaw and the thin red line by his temple reminded her of the injured man who had stood in her doorway last night demanding to know who he was.

He raised one eyebrow. “Do I pass muster?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re staring.”

She swallowed her disappointment. For a moment, she had expected him to be his old self again, holding out his hands to her and smiling. The new Matthew did not behave like that.

She felt sorrow for the loss, something precious as gold slipping through her fingers. If ever he loved her, that part of him was forgotten. Maybe he’d never loved her at all. How could she tell?

“You’ll do.” She hefted the basket with her shopping, but he slipped it from her grasp. He offered her his left arm, escorting her down Main Street for all the world as if he were promenading down the finest street in St. Louis on a Sunday afternoon. Despite her depression, she spared a moment to be amused by his air. He had always treated her like a rare precious object. Right up to the point he had left. How many other women had he treated in the exact same manner while he’d been away? Granny Whitlow’s comment about all the pretty women in California was probably true. She sighed. He looked at her sideways but made no comment on her mood.

When they got to the livery stables, they found Frank Dawson leaning against the wall, arms folded. He ignored Matthew and spoke to Liza. “I’d like a word with you.”

Matthew frowned, but he handed the basket back to her. “I’ll help harness the horse.”

Frank waited until Matthew was out of earshot before he spoke. “Are you serious about that man? He looks like a vagabond, from what I can tell.”

“I thought he looked much more respectable now that he’s had a shave and a haircut.”

“He don’t seem like the man you described when you came up here, is all.”

“Frank Dawson, I told you I was engaged the first time I met you.” Her hands gripped the basket more tightly, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you thinkin’ I’m a liar?”

He held up his hands. “Whoa! Don’t be so hasty. I’m thinkin’ you don’t know what you want. And this man just dropped in out of nowhere. You might be mistaken.”

“I’m not.”

“You just watch yourself, that’s all. Don’t trust him too far. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

She nodded, but she did not relax until he was out of sight. Frank wasn’t a bad person, and she liked him, but she wished he wasn’t so protective. She wasn’t the least bit interested in him romantically. She had been clear on that point from the day they met, but he wasn’t listening. None of the men in her life seemed to want to listen to her. She wanted what she had had with Matthew on the trail—that sureness of belonging with him—wanted it so badly that she ached with the loss. The loss felt like missing a part of herself. If he no longer wanted her, well, she would have to accept that. But she would not settle for less. She knew the difference now.

As she climbed into the wagon, Matthew dropped something small into her lap. “Here.”

She looked down. A black-and-white bundle of fluff was making a determined effort to climb up her bodice. Round green eyes met hers, innocent and curious. “What is this?”

He very deliberately did not look at her. Instead, he settled into the seat next to her, took up the reins and flicked them against the horse’s rump. As the horse started to move off, she was distracted from the little bundle of energy in her lap to protest. “I can drive.”

“The fact that you are able to do so does not in any way imply that you should have to do so.”

“You can’t expect me to sit here like a fine lady from back east who does nothing.” She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to scowl right back at the man. “It is a bit late now for me to start acting all helpless. Since you left, I’ve learned to fend for myself. I had to. And you are avoiding the subject of this cat.”

“Kitten,” he said, still looking ahead instead. “Only a couple months old. I have it on good authority that he likes having his ears ‘scritched.’ Turns out Jim Barnes felt the need for a harmonica. I suggested a trade.”

“You thought I needed a kitten?”

“He can catch mice for you.”

She looked doubtfully down at the little kitten, still trying to climb her dress, and then back up at Matthew.

“Eventually,” he amended. His tone was nonchalant, and he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but she could see his ears were turning a bit red.

She scratched the kitten under the chin and then moved up to behind the ears. The little animal closed his eyes and purred loudly. She had to smile. “Thank you.”

Once across the river, they rode in silence as the trail wound its way through a forest of big-leaf maples and bitter cottonwood trees. Occasionally they would pass a clearing with a log cabin surrounded by fields of buckwheat or corn or rye. Most of the settlers in this area were already at work harvesting their crops, the men scything the grain while the women bundled the sheaves into shocks to dry. Children ran to and fro carrying water to the adults sweating in the hot sun.

After a few miles, the road narrowed to nothing more than a deeply rutted trail beside a creek that wound its way into the thickly forested hills. Trees arched overhead, and encroaching branches reached out on either side. She had to duck under one that tried to snag her bonnet.

She was extremely conscious of every breath taken by the silent man next to her. They were forced to sit so close together on the bench that his coat sleeve brushed against her shawl. Thankfully, keeping ahold of the restless kitten gave her something to do with her hands.

They had never simply sat like this before, just the two of them alone. When they sat together, it had been with the others around the campfire. On the trail, they had walked side by side through the grasslands and the badlands, talking about what their future would be like in Oregon. They were going to have six children. She’d picked out their names. He had laughed and said he’d better keep practicing law as well as working the land. It had seemed so simple back then. Anything was possible; everything she’d dreamed of was within reach.

When they had fallen in love, she had thought they would spend the rest of their lives together. But Mavis had been right; that had been a fairy-tale romance. Now it was daylight.

All this past year, she had nursed a secret hope that Matthew would come back to her. Even as he stayed away and stayed away, and no word came, she’d kept the dream alive by picturing him returning, coming in the door and sweeping her off her feet and solving all her problems. Mr. Brown would cower before him, her father would cheer up—everything would be wonderful.

Reality was like cold water thrown in her face.

He handled the horse competently, with minimum fuss, until the road forked. One track continued on straight, while the other turned left over a bridge that crossed the stream. He stopped the wagon. “Is it really so difficult to provide signposts? Which way?”

Wry amusement lightened her mood a trifle. The man needed to be taught a lesson in the perils of being overprotective. “Folks round here know where they are and where they want to be. If you don’t know where you’re going, then it makes no sense for you to be doing the driving.”

His thick eyebrows drew together, a crease forming between them. “Which way?”

She leaned forward to rescue the kitten, who was batting at the loose reins as they dangled from Matthew’s fingers. Then she sat back. “I never thought to ask about your ancestry,” she said sweetly. “I’m guessing half man, half mule.”

He heaved a sigh, then dropped the reins and gently gathered up the kitten out of her hands. “Fine. You drive, I’ll scritch.”

She picked up the reins and clucked to the horse, who moved forward across the bridge. The wheels rolling across the half logs created a hollow sound, like the rumble of distant thunder. “You’re awfully stubborn about taking charge of things, considering you aren’t planning on staying long.” She couldn’t let it go; she had to keep picking at the topic like a scab over a wound that wouldn’t heal.

He gave her a sidelong look. “I do not mean to imply that you are not able to drive. But women should not have to fend for themselves.”

“Maybe more than half mule.”

“Surely you acquainted yourself with my defects before agreeing to marry?”

She tried to make her voice sound light and indifferent. “I must have been blinded by love.”

“How romantic.” From his tone, nothing could be more unappealing. He buttoned the kitten into his jacket. She could hear a contented purring start up inside. At least one of them was happy.

The trail began to wind up a low ridge. Fir trees began to replace the maples and cottonwoods. Liza pointed out the ridge on the west. “On the other side of that ridge is the Baron’s land. He hauls his logs down to the river and sends them to his lumber mills in Portland. If he bought the claim from Pa, he’d have a faster route to the river. That’s why Mr. Brown keeps pestering us about selling the claim.”

Matthew frowned. “How is Mr. Brown involved?”

“He works for the Baron.” Liza shrugged. “He wants to keep his boss happy.”

“The way he looks at you, that’s nothing to do with business,” Matthew said darkly.

They came over the brow of the hill and began the gradual descent to her own little valley. She could feel the tension ease out of her muscles like an invisible tide receding, leaving peace in its wake. She was home.

They had arrived at the most beautiful time of the day. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, its slanted rays turning the grain in the fields to a sea of gold. The wheat was just ripe enough to harvest. In the pasture, the few cows they possessed cropped the grass peacefully, while chickens scratched outside the newly constructed barn.

It gave her a warm feeling every time she came home and caught sight of the cabin through the trees. One day, they’d have money to put glass in the windows instead of oiled paper. The setting sun would reflect light off the windows. She could picture it, the cabin turning into a gracious home, the grasslands becoming cultivated fields, the vast potential that lay untapped in this beautiful land being realized.

This was where she had planned to put down roots, raise a family. Oh, Lord, please let him love this place as I do. Even if he were leaving, she wanted that. Then it would be as if he loved her still, just a little.

Putting off this moment was not going to make it any easier to say what she had to tell him. He had been very clear that he was going to leave At least this time, he was honest about not staying. Well, then, she would be equally plainspoken with him. She had grown stronger in this year without him. If he did not want to be with her, she would survive. She would not let him break her heart again.

She stopped the wagon. The horse shook its head and let out its breath in a sigh, no doubt impatient at being stopped so close to its home. Then it stretched out its neck and began to nibble on the grass at the verge of the track. Liza turned to face Matthew. “This is my home.”

“Yes.” A light breeze lifted his dark hair out of his wary eyes.

“I need your help with the harvest. After that, consider your debt paid.” She took a deep breath. “But if you leave this time, don’t expect me to wait for you to come back.” Her heart broke, just a little, at the words. But they needed to be said. She could not go through the pain of being left yet again. She had to protect herself.

The silence between them seemed to stretch into eternity. Not even a breath of wind to rustle the leaves in the maple tree by the track. Only the sounds of the horse cropping the grass and the faint purr of the kitten inside his coat. He did not move. She wanted to sink down into the long grass by the side of the trail and hide there. She could not bear it. He wanted nothing to do with her.

Finally, he spoke. “In your position... I would probably do the same thing.”

Apparently, that was all he had to say on the matter. She picked up the reins and clucked to the horse to finish their journey. His response did not make her feel any better. It only reinforced her growing suspicion that the man she had fallen in love with on the Oregon Trail was truly gone. Matthew no longer loved her.

And she was still as much in love with him as ever.


Chapter Four (#ud100dbc8-f35c-5c98-82b4-4df944f68658)

As the wagon began its slow, rattling descent into the valley, Matthew brooded over the injustice of his situation. Liza blamed him for abandoning her on the trail. Not only did he have no explanation for leaving her, he could not even remember doing so. If that wasn’t bad enough, he had to spend several weeks living on this claim, and he had no idea how to deal with her. He could only fall back on his instinct that women needed to be protected. At least she understood that he didn’t plan to stay around and marry her.

His thoughts spun round and round until he almost felt dizzy. He was going to get a headache again if he didn’t relax. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He just had to fulfill his bargain with Liza, and then he would be on his way again. He still felt guilty about the situation. There was no way to avoid feeling like a cad.

Liza started to speak, then stopped. Tentatively, as if picking her way through a field of boulders, she said, “I should explain something. My father is not well. A tree fell the wrong way and landed on his legs. Broke them, one in two places. They’re healing—he’s able to get around the house and walk a little—but it’s hard for him. A woman from the Kanaka mission came by to help him with daily chores while I was in town.” They had reached the valley floor. The track led up to a small rise on the far side of the narrow valley, to a log cabin. She went on, “He might be...he gets a little cantankerous at times. It frustrates him that he can’t get around and do everything he wants. I thought I should mention that he might be in a bad mood.”

Wonderful. This day just keeps getting better and better.

The cabin was typical of the dwellings that Matthew had seen on their way here, small but sturdy, built of whole logs with a roof that projected out a few feet to provide a protected porch. Only a thin wisp of smoke rose from the chimney, and no candlelight showed through the oiled paper in the window. As the wagon rolled to a stop in front of the cabin, the whole setting looked idyllic.

At least, it did until they heard the singing.

“What on earth is causing that caterwauling?” Matthew demanded. “Is someone torturing a cat in there?” From inside his coat, the kitten popped its head out, ears pricked inquisitively. He stroked it between the ears and it started to purr again, the peaceful sound a stark contrast to the dreadful tuneless sounds coming from inside. He started to get out so he could offer a hand to Liza as she descended, but she scrambled down without waiting for him. She had her shoulders hunched, as if to ward off what waited for her inside.

Liza pulled the string on the door, lifting the latch inside, and pushed the cabin door open wide. After the bright sunshine, the cabin seemed very dark. Looking over her shoulder, Matthew could make out a table, a couple of benches, one on its side, and a cat-and-clay fireplace with only embers glowing. He could just discern a man sitting at the table, slumped forward, his head bent. A half-finished loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese and two plates were on the table...as well as an empty jar, lying on its side. He could not see much more than that. But he did not need sight, not when his sense of smell could tell him all he needed to know. His nose wrinkled.

“Oh, no.” Liza went to the man at the table, who was still crooning softly. She set the empty jar upright. “Pa, you said you weren’t going to buy any more. You promised faithfully.” Her voice broke on the last word, and without thinking Matthew stretched out a hand to her. She did not notice, focused as she was on her father. He let his arm drop and clenched his hand into a fist. There was nothing he could do to help ease her distress.

The man mumbled something, his words slurring together so that Matthew could not make out what he was saying. Then the man repeated himself, louder. “Didn’ buy anything. Gift, thas what it was. Being neighborly. Thas all. The man kindly shared his drink. Social.”

“Was it Mr. Brown? He didn’t ask you to sign anything, did he?” Even in the dim light of the cabin, Matthew could see Liza’s face had turned white.

“No, no.” He mumbled the words, his eyes closing as he angled his head back against the pillow. “I didn’ sign anything. I kept my promise. I’m not like that man of yours.” Her father’s eyes closed, and he sighed deeply. “It was just a verbal agreement. ‘A gentleman’s agreement,’ he said.” Her father’s mumbling faded away into snores. His mouth relaxed, and he rolled his head over until it was pillowed on one arm.

Liza shook him by the shoulder. “What was the agreement? Pa, what did you agree to do?” But her father’s snores rolled on, unimpeded.

She looked around at the cabin and shook her head helplessly. “I don’t even know where to begin.” She focused on Matthew again. “This isn’t like him, not usually. Pa hasn’t had anything to drink in, oh, in months. Truly.”

It seemed important to her that he understood that, so he nodded. “Where does he sleep?”

“He sleeps in the back room. I sleep up in the loft.” She bit her lip. “I could put a blanket down on the floor in the back room for you?”

“Let’s worry about that later. First things first.”

She leaned forward to pick up a plate. Then she put it back down again. She sighed. “The cows need milking, and I need to check on the chickens, take care of the horse, get my father to bed, clean up the house...”

He felt an odd impulse to reach out, take her in his arms and comfort her. That was impossible, of course, so he scowled. “I’ll get your father to bed and then tend to the horse.”

“Do you feel up to it? You’re not dizzy or anything?” She looked up at him, those clear gray eyes showing her gratitude. Warmth swept through him when she looked at him like that. It was distracting. His scowl deepened, and she looked away, her face turning red.

“If I start to feel faint, I’ll rest. You go tend to the cows and feed the chickens.” He couldn’t help it. He gave in to his need to touch her. Sliding a finger under her chin, he lifted her face up until she met his eyes. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.” He dropped his hand hastily and took a step back.

He got Liza’s father into bed with some difficulty. Though the older man was not tall, he was broadly built and heavily muscled. He leaned heavily against Matthew as he stumbled across the back room to the bed. Matthew eased the other man down onto the bed. Still only half-conscious, the older man sighed deeply. “Don’t be angry, Katy girl. I’ll make it up to her.”

Matthew removed the man’s boots and drew a quilt over him. Heading outside, he unharnessed the horse and rubbed it down before setting it loose in its paddock. Then he went back to the cabin and built up the fire until it had begun to light the room with a cheery red glow. The kitten seemed content to crouch under a bench and watch him. He was just looking around for a candle to light when Liza came in. A wooden yoke was slung across her shoulders, and a pail of milk hung down from a rope on either side.

“It’ll be a simple meal tonight. I brought bread and cheese from town, some apples, smoked salmon.”

“That sounds lovely,” he said politely. His stomach was so hollow, it was starting to make growling noises. Hopefully, she couldn’t hear it. He found the stub of a candle set in a saucer and lit it. Light spread throughout the room.

“He took out the chess set.” Liza squatted down to pick up the chess pieces, which had spilled out over the puncheon floor.

Matthew knelt down to help her, picking up pieces and putting them into their little box. He fingered one of the pawns, rubbing the polished wood with his thumb.

She glanced over at him. “Does it look familiar? You left it with me when you took off on the California Trail instead of coming with us out to Oregon.”

He stared down at the piece. “Yes, I...no.” He put the piece in the box. “I thought there was something, but it’s gone.”

“It will come back. You just need patience.”

“Not my most noted quality,” he said darkly.

She gave him a half smile. “Looks like we have something in common after all.”

His eyebrows flicked upward. Was she flirting with him? No, apparently not. She had gone back to picking up the chess pieces, her head bent and her eyes on the floor. “I taught Pa how to play a little. He indulges me, but it’s not his favorite way to pass the time. He’d far rather tell stories.” She frowned. “The Baron loves chess. So does his assistant, Mr. Brown. He used to come by and challenge me to a game. He said I was a very good player.”

“He didn’t strike me as an especially honest man. Possibly he was trying to sweeten you up. A man tends to compliment a beautiful woman rather than criticize her.”

After supper, Liza was tired, but far too restless to sleep. On impulse, she asked Matthew to come outside. There was a question she needed to ask, even though he most likely could not answer, and she did not want to chance her father overhearing her.

The sun had disappeared behind the western ridge. In the east, the last rays of the setting sun still lit up the white snow at the very tip of Mount Hood, but on the claim it was growing dark. All the better. She had a feeling this conversation would be easier if she couldn’t see Matthew. If he were feeling sorry for her, she had no desire to see the pity on his face.

She sat down on the bench outside the cabin and motioned for him to join her. Matthew seemed hesitant, careful to leave some space between them when he sat down, and he looked around the claim rather than at her. Even so, she was extremely conscious of him, the mere physical presence of the man.

He had rolled up his sleeves to help her clean up the cabin; she could see the wiry black hair that lightly furred his forearms. His hands were strong, the fingers long and graceful, but terribly battered. Even in the fading light, she could see the scar that ran across the back of his left hand along the knuckles. That was new, but his hands were still achingly familiar to her. Hands that had once held hers as they had walked, hands that had brushed her hair back from her face as he looked down and smiled at her. She swallowed. Letting go of the past was harder than she had expected. Maybe it would be easier if she could at least get this one mystery cleared up.

She sneaked a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He had tilted his head back to watch the sunset tint the white snow on Mount Hood to a warm apricot. The eastern sky beyond was darkening to a lovely royal blue. He seemed absorbed in admiring the scenery. Or pretending he was somewhere else. She wasn’t sure how to work up to her question, but she had to start somewhere. “How are you feeling?”

He glanced at her briefly before returning to his appreciation of the sunset. “I am feeling quite well. The doctor seems to have made an accurate assessment of my injury being slight. I do not think you need to worry about my helping with the harvesting.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I apologize for my pa. He really doesn’t drink any longer. I’m sure he wouldn’t have indulged if his visitor hadn’t insisted.”

“Do you still think it was this Baron?”

“Or Mr. Brown.” She considered. “On the whole, I’d say he’s worse than the Baron. At least the Baron comes at you straight on. Mr. Brown likes to sneak around and spring things on you when you least expect it.”





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