A Mysterious Widow’s Borrowed Family (Preview)

Chapter One

1875

St. Louis, Missouri 

Kate

“God, it’s chilly out here,” Kate Merritt murmured and pulled her cloak tighter. It was early summer and had been raining heavily for the past two weeks. A light breeze passed through the station, cooling off what would otherwise be a humid day.

She kept her face turned slightly away from the open platform, as if she were only another weary traveler waiting for her train to arrive. 

There were barely any people around her, just a lanky ranch hand sitting on the far bench with his hat over his face, as if sleep could make his journey shorter. Next to him, an old woman with a carpetbag stood near the station door, staring down the tracks. Most of the other waiting passengers were further up the platform, away from the ticket office.

Kate checked the small clock inside the station window. Fifteen more minutes…

As if the trains were ever on time. She touched her valise, fingertips finding the hard edge of the papers tucked beneath her things. They were widow’s papers, neatly written and properly aged, signed by a man who didn’t exist and stamped by an office that had never seen them. In ink and seals, she was Mrs. Catherine Ashford, respectable, sorrowed, and desperate enough to take honest work in Juniper Ridge, a Texas town that lived on cattle, freight, and the thin promise of the railroad.

Come on…

She paced once, then twice, measuring the platform boards—listening for the distant vibration that would announce the train arriving—when she heard a sound small enough to be mistaken for a mouse in the wall, or a bird trapped in the eaves. It was a thin, wavering cry that broke off and returned, over and over again.

Kate froze. She turned around, but it seemed like she was the only one who noticed. Her gaze slid to the office clock again. I have enough time, if I’m fast enough. She looked at the station building and its side door that was left ajar, leading into the storeroom. A “private” sign hung crooked on it. 

She slowly moved toward the door. When she looked back, she saw the old woman watching her with dull curiosity. The ranch hand didn’t lift his hat.

The door creaked when Kate pushed it. The dusty air made her cough a little. She caught a whiff of burlap, kerosene, and damp wood as she entered the room. Crates were stacked shoulder-high, stenciled with destinations and brands. A rope coil hung from a nail. A lantern sat on a shelf, unlit, its glass chimney filmed with soot.

She followed the light wails, coming from the crates.

Kate stepped between the stacks. The sound led to a narrow gap where the shadows were thick. And there, tucked behind a pile of freight, lay a bundle of fabric.

What on Earth?

For a heartbeat, Kate couldn’t make her mind accept what it saw. A tiny fist, no bigger than Kate’s thumb, pushed out from a shawl. The cry rose again, this time louder.

“Oh, my goodness…” Kate couldn’t help but come closer.

She crouched. The shawl was hand-embroidered, fine work made of pale wool and edged with small bluebonnets stitched in a faded thread that didn’t belong in a place like this. Suddenly, a baby’s face peeked out, flushed and damp from crying. It couldn’t be older than two or three months.

The child’s eyes opened, looking her directly in the eyes. Kate’s fingers slid under the baby’s back with a gentleness she learned while taking care of her younger brother. She lifted the baby into her arms.

“Well,” Kate murmured, unsure what to say. “You’re a nice little baby girl, aren’t you? What’s your name?”

The baby’s tiny hand closed around Kate’s gloved finger. It had a surprisingly strong grip. Kate stared at that small fist and felt a subtle rush of tenderness. 

“What are you doing here, sweetie?” she asked, as if the baby girl could really give her an answer.

Just then, she found a folded note pinned inside the shawl, tucked near the baby’s shoulder. She took the piece of paper with one hand. “One must be joking,” Kate scoffed in disbelief.

She read the note again. Keep her safe. She looked down at the child. The infant’s gaze drifted with heavy lids, trusting in a way that made Kate feel like she had no other option but to take her with her.

Heaven, help me. Why now? This trip is not safe for me, let alone for an infant. Pinkertons certainly didn’t send me here because of this… Lord, what am I supposed to do?

Kate forced herself to think. She was supposed to arrive alone. She was supposed to take a room at the boardinghouse near the rail spur. She was supposed to be careful. And holding a baby hidden behind crates in a way station storeroom… This is anything but careful.

But what was she supposed to do? Leave a helpless child there and walk away? The baby made a small cooing sound. Kate’s throat went tight. 

“You know darn well I can’t just leave you here, young lady,” Kate said, as if the baby could understand her words. “But I also can’t take you with me on the train, sweetie. I’m sorry, but I simply can’t.”

The baby kept staring at her. Was that a smile? 

“Come on,” Kate sighed. “Or both of us will end up stuck here.”

Kate left the storeroom with the baby girl bundled close, stepping back into the bright, biting air. She spotted the clerk inside the office, slumped behind the counter. Kate could smell whiskey and sour sweat from the doorway. The man’s hat was pushed back, his eyes were half-lidded, and his cheeks mapped with broken veins. He lazily looked up at Kate.

She approached the counter. “Sir.”

He blinked at her, then blinked again at the baby. His gaze slid away, uninterested. “Ain’t mine,” he murmured.

“I didn’t say she was,” Kate said, holding the bundle higher. She tried to make the embroidered shawl and the flushed little face impossible to ignore. “Someone left her in your storeroom,” she explained.

The man let out a laugh that turned into a cough. “Folks leave all sorts of things,” he said after a brief pause.

Not living things.

As if her thoughts were written all over her face, the man straightened, then shrugged and pointed at an empty bench. “Leave it for the next train,” he said simply.

Kate stared at him. “The next train is when?” she asked, hoping for the answer she wanted to hear.

He squinted at the schedule tacked to the wall. “A day or two.”

Kate looked down at the baby. “What about the nearest church?” she asked, already knowing the answer when the station master’s lips twisted.

“About twenty minute’s walk,” he said. “Maybe fifteen, if you walk fast.”

Kate frowned. That way, I’ll miss the train… A baby with no milk and no shelter wouldn’t make it. She looked back at the station master. “Do you have a wet nurse nearby?” she tried again.

“What?” the man snorted.

“Do you have a woman in the area who could feed her?” Kate insisted.

“Lady,” he dismissed her. “This is a station, not an orphanage.”

Kate carefully leaned forward. “If she stays here, she will die,” she whispered, looking in the eyes of a man who didn’t seem to care at all. Fury started boiling inside her chest, but she forced herself to stay calm. 

He stared back at her for a long moment, then shrugged again, unbothered. “Not my problem,” he finally said.

She wanted to say something, but Kate didn’t want to waste any more words on this poor man. When she stepped back outside, she felt a distant vibration, then the low, rising groan of metal on metal. 

Kate saw the old woman tightening her grip on her carpetbag. The ranch hand lifted his head, hat tipping back just enough to show one eye.

The sound swelled, joined by the sharper squeal of wheels against rail. The train was coming in fast.

A conductor’s shout carried down the platform. “Stand back from the edge! The train’s pulling in!”

Kate looked down at the baby again. Her little brow furrowed as if she were trying to understand what was going on. 

“Stop frowning like that, or you’ll age faster than you’d like,” Kate laughed for the very first time today. 

She shifted the baby to her other arm and stared down the tracks where the train would appear. “You’re giving me no choice… aren’t you?”

The baby’s fist found her finger again, latched on, and held. That did it. Kate sharply exhaled through her nose. “All right,” she said. “All right, then.”

The train rolled in with screeching brakes and steam. Heat gusted from its undercarriage. The conductor stepped down, already impatient. “Final boarding!” he shouted. 

Kate walked toward him. 

He glanced at her ticket. “Juniper Ridge?”

“Yes,” she answered quietly.

His gaze flicked to the baby. “Is that yours?” he asked.

“She’s… my niece,” Kate said, letting the lie slip through her lips. “Her mother passed away so I’m taking her with me.”

The conductor grunted, as if tragedies were more common those days than Kate was aware of. He waved her up and she climbed the steps, one hand gripping the valise, the other holding the baby tight, as she tried to maintain her balance. She quickly found a seat, tucked herself into the corner, and looked down at the baby wrapped in the embroidered shawl. Kate smiled at the soft tuft of light hair at the temple. The child’s lips were parted as she breathed.

***

A sharp cry pierced the air.

“It’s alright, sweet pea,” Kate cooed, trying to soothe her. “It’s alright.”

But for some reason, the baby wouldn’t stop crying. Kate could feel the other passengers’ attention burning a hole in her back.

Across from her, a young mother shifted a basket on her lap and glanced over. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, her hair pinned neatly under a plain bonnet. Two little ones, a boy and a girl, dozed against her shoulder. And in her arms, swaddled tight, was an infant with cheeks like ripe peaches and a damp crescent of milk on his chin.

“You’ve got yourself a hungry little one,” she said gently.

“She’s… she’s not mine,” Kate answered.

As if that settles anything.

“I found her,” Kate added, lowering her voice . “At the way station. Behind freight crates.”

“Lord, have mercy,” the young mother murmured.

Kate shifted the baby again. The little face was turning blotchy with need. Her cry was growing ragged.

“I told myself I’d get her to Juniper Ridge,” Kate said, and hated how thin it sounded. 

The mother held Kate’s gaze for a heartbeat, weighing her. “I’m nursing,” she said. “Hand her to me.”

Kate hesitated only long enough to adjust the foundling’s shawl, then passed her over. The baby’s cry faltered, surprised by the change. The young mother pulled her close and used her own shawl to create a small tent of privacy, drawing the infant to her.

“There, there, now,” the young mother’s voice came soft. “That’s it. You’re safe.”

Kate’s hand by instinct went to her valise, to the hidden weight of her credentials and the forged papers that said she belonged to sorrow. 

“What’s your name?” the woman asked.

“I’m Catherine… Ashford,” she lied smoothly, placing her hand back to her lap. 

“Mae,” said the woman. “Mae Standford. I suppose you two are traveling alone,” she assumed. 

Kate forced a smile. “I’m a widow,” she lied again.

“You’re too young to be a widow,” Mae frowned. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight,” Kate replied. 

The young mother shifted the foundling back toward Kate. “All fed,” she confirmed, as if wanting to change the subject. “She’ll likely sleep for a spell.”

Kate took the baby back into her arms and thanked the young mother. The child was warm now, and heavy with milk. Her face relaxed against Kate’s shoulder with trust.

Kate’s fingers brushed the note still pinned inside the shawl. Keep her safe.

“If you truly mean to give her up in Juniper Ridge, don’t talk about it too loud,” Mae broke the silence between them, sounding somewhat concerned. “There are folks who’ll claim a child for the wrong reasons.”

“You’ve seen that?” Kate asked.

“I’ve heard enough,” Mae murmured.

***

After Austin, it was stage roads and dust. The rolling hills passed by in harsh, beautiful indifference, the wheels jarring over stone and ruts, limestone bluffs flashing white beneath the sun. Live oaks crouched low and stubborn, their branches twisted, entwined with one another as they grew.. Cedar scrub filled the air with its sharp, clean bite when the wind shifted. Dry creek beds cut the land like old scars, and occasionally the coach splashed through a ribbon of water where a spring refused to give up.

At each stop, Kate watched.

She watched the way men paid for coffee and salt pork. She watched the bills that changed hands. They were too crisp, too new, too plentiful for some of the pockets they came from. She watched faces scrunch when a storekeeper held a bill to the light. She listened to small talk the way a gambler listened to cards.

“Merchants in Ridge are fussy now,” someone grumbled on the second day, spitting dust from his teeth. “Act like every bill’s a snake. Won’t take paper without squinting at it like it insulted their mother.”

“Maybe someone’s been passin’ dead money,” one of the passengers laughed.

“Maybe,” he said, losing his gaze in the horizon ahead.

Kate’s stomach tightened. I’m in the right place. Stay focused, Catherine. But on the third day, the baby’s weight felt familiar in her arms and that frightened her more than the men she hunted.

Mae Stanford, perched opposite Kate, with her own children, leaned close. “First stop in Ridge, you go to Reverend Mercer’s church,” she murmured, as if sharing a recipe. “If you want decent women, that’s where you’ll find them.”

Just when Kate was about to say words of gratitude, she heard a rifle crack from the cedar line. Another shot followed, sharp as a slap. Then the glass beside her starred with white lines and a bullet thudded into the wood paneling, burying itself with a brutal sound.

“Down!” the driver shouted.

Screams erupted from the passengers surrounding her. Kate dragged the foundling closer. She heard another crack. The window on the opposite side spiderwebbed. Splinters leaped from the seatback in front of her.

“Keep your heads down!” the driver continued.

“What’s happening?” Mae screamed.

“Bandits!” 

Kate pressed her cheek briefly to the baby’s light brown hair. “Hush,” Kate breathed, keeping her voice low and steady as she tucked the embroidered shawl up around the child’s head. “Hush now.”

Outside, hoofbeats started pounding parallel to the stagecoach. A shadow flashed past the trees.

“Slow it!” a man’s voice carried faintly, torn thin by wind and speed. “Bring it to a stop!”

Suddenly the coach jolted so hard Kate’s teeth snapped together. Luggage slid from the roof. The baby’s cry rose, and Kate curled tighter around her.

The stagecoach tilted sideways from the abrupt stop, as if the wheels had hit a rut in the road, crashing on its side. Kate was flung against the wall, pressing her right arm hard against the door. Her breath left her in a burst, and she tasted blood, copper and dust.

. Kate’s ears rang. The baby was still against her, crying.

“Mae!” she called. “Mae!”

There was no answer. Kate tried to pull herself up. Her arm sent a fresh burst of agony down to her fingertips, and black spots ate at the edge of her vision.

“Mae!”

A man’s shadow blocked the light. Kate braced to fight as a young man’s face came into view, dust-streaked, eyes wide with alarm. He looked at Kate, then at the baby tucked against her.

“Ma’am,” he said cautiously. “Don’t move.”

“Who… Who are you?” Kate tried to speak, but her tongue felt thick.

“Just stay with me,” he said, ignoring her question. “I’ve got you.”

Kate tried to speak again, but the pain in her arm wouldn’t let her as the ringing in her ears turned into a roar. The young man’s face slowly blurred, until darkness folded over it, swift as a curtain dropping at the end of a play.

Chapter Two

Jake

Morning in Juniper Ridge was slow and dusty that day, like flour drifting down in a still kitchen. The light came through the thin curtains in pale stripes, laying itself across the plank floor. 

Jake Cordell sat in the straight-backed chair by the bed and watched the stranger sleep. She lay on her side, turned toward the wall, as if even in sleep she meant to keep part of herself hidden. One arm was bandaged from wrist to elbow. 

She didn’t look like a woman that was meant to live in Juniper Ridge. Her skin was too smooth for a life spent under Texas sun, even though the hollows beneath her eyes spoke of hard miles and harder thoughts.

Black hair had come loose from its pins during the wreck. It spilled across the pillow in a long, dark wave. Even now, with her face pale and her mouth parted slightly in exhausted sleep, she was striking.

Pressed against her uninjured side was the baby, sleeping innocently next to the woman Jake thought was her mother. He stared at them both, as the same thought returned, Another mouth to feed. Another responsibility he hadn’t asked for.

Ben should have left her with the town doctor, or the sheriff. Even the church has more to offer her than we do.

The door opened softly behind him, which made Jake instinctively turn his head toward the creaking sound. 

“She’s still sleeping?” Ben whispered.

Jake nodded once. 

“Any news on who attacked the stage?” Jake asked.

His younger brother shook his head and came to stand beside him. His eyes softened when he saw the baby.

“She’s a pretty little thing,” Ben murmured.

Jake grunted. “She’s a baby,” he replied.

“Babies can be pretty,” Ben argued. For a twenty-year-old, he sure had a lot to say about infants.

“Babies can be loud,” Jake said under his breath, and to his horror, the infant’s tiny mouth puckered as if preparing to prove him right.

Luckily, the child only sighed and settled deeper into the shawl.

“We can’t turn them away,” Ben said, as if he’d already determined he’d be the one taking care of them. 

Jake finally looked at his brother. “We don’t even know who she is,” he argued.

“That doesn’t matter,” Ben shrugged his shoulders. 

“It does,” Jake replied. He kept his eyes on Ben “No one who I talked to knows who she is. That matters.”

Jake looked back at the bed. The woman’s brow had furrowed in sleep, as if even unconscious she was still wrestling some unseen enemy. Ben was right, though. They couldn’t let her go like that; his mother had raised him better. However, that didn’t mean he liked it.

Jake slowly exhaled through his nose. “We won’t turn them out,” he said. “Not while she’s injured and she and the baby’s got nowhere to go.”

Despite the will to believe this woman was harmless, Jake had this uneasy feeling that she hadn’t simply stumbled into Juniper Ridge. She’d been headed there. 

Jake had just risen to fetch more water, when the woman’s breath changed. Her lashes fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes. They were green and sharp, like bottle glass in sunlight.

She frowned as her gaze slid to the window, then to Jake. Without any softness to it, she whispered, “My valise…”

Jake paused with a tin cup in his hand. “Ma’am?”

“My valise,” she repeated, gasping. “And my papers.”

Jake set the cup down on the washstand. “Ben, my brother…” He turned toward him and nodded, then shifted his gaze back to the woman. “Brought what he could from the coach,” Jake explained. “He went back with the men who helped pull you free. He didn’t leave anything behind that had a name on it.”

Her eyes snapped to the foot of the bed where a worn leather valise sat. Relief crossed her face. Trying not to wake the baby, she reached for the valise with her good hand. Jake saw pain flicker across her features when she moved, yet she swallowed it like bitter medicine. He knew very well the effort it took her not to grimace, as if she didn’t intend to give the world the satisfaction of seeing her hurt.

She drew the valise closer, opened it one-handed, and dug until she found a paper packet wrapped in cloth. She lifted her gaze to Jake again. “Thank you,” she said. 

“You’re welcome,” Jake replied, stricken by the fact that, suddenly, he had the urge to know more about this strange woman. “What’s your name?” he asked at last.

“Catherine Ashford,” she replied briefly. “Where… Where am I? What happened?” she asked, as if just then she’d realized she had been talking to strangers.

“Your coach was attacked,” Ben explained, “probably by bandits. We don’t know for sure. But what we do know is that you’re safe here, with us. I’m Ben Cordell. And this is my older brother Jake.” 

Jake’s eyes had dropped to her left hand. There was no ring, indeed, nor a line where one could have been. 

“Jake?” Ben repeated, pulling his focus back.

“Right,” Jake replied, still waiting for Catherine to mention her husband’s name. She never offered one. Instead, she smoothed the baby’s shawl and brought it closer to her. “You’re at the Cordell Ranch, ma’am. Our ranch, one mile away from Juniper Ridge. What brings you out this way?”

“I was headed here for work. I was intending to do some bookkeeping. You know, correspondence, managing accounts, whatever’s needed.”

“In Juniper Ridge?” Jake asked suspiciously. “Of all the cities in this country, you’ve chosen Juniper Ridge for such a profession?”

“Yes,” she said simply, as if it was something so obvious, one didn’t need to ask twice.

Jake leaned back against the chair, studying her face that somehow got prettier as they talked. “You got experience with that sort of thing?” he asked again.

“Yes,” she answered, without any additional explanation.

“And the baby?” Jake continued. “Is it yours?”

“Yes… yes it is,” she whispered, caressing the sleeping baby’s tiny head.

“Speaking of the baby, I’m going to see where Hannah is,” Ben excused himself quietly, leaving his brother, Catherine, and her baby alone in the room.

“I see…” Jake murmured, feeling like there was more to this woman’s story than she wanted to tell.

No, you’re hiding something, Catherine Ashford. And I’ll make sure I find out what.

For some reason, his mind just couldn’t make sense of her story. A lone woman, well spoken, traveling with a baby, coming to Juniper Ridge to keep books. It just doesn’t add up... 

Catherine’s dress caught Jake’s attention next. It was black and made of fabric that fitted her well. Lord… she’s a widow. At such a young age. That’s why she hasn’t mentioned her husband yet.

Catherine then sat up a little, testing her balance. And when she turned her head toward the window, a strand of black hair slipped free of its pins and fell along the line of her neck. At that very moment, Jake sensed a feeling in his chest, sudden and unwelcome, like a horse pulling against a rope.

Jake looked away before she could catch him. He cleared his throat. “You’ve been out since last night,” he said, roughening his voice on purpose. “Doc set your arm as best he could. Says you better keep it still.”

“I don’t intend to be helpless,” Catherine replied.

Just then, Hannah Webb came in with a small tin pot steaming in her hands and a folded cloth over her forearm. The Cordell’s had hired her six years ago, when she was only eighteen, and the house had not truly run without her since. She moved with the quiet certainty of someone who’d spent a lifetime making herself necessary.

“Morning,” she said cheerfully. “Ben told me our guest finally decided to wake up.”

Hannah set the tin pot on the washstand and lifted a nursing bottle she’d brought with her. The goat’s milk inside was warmed to a pale, sweet smell that filled the room and made the baby’s mouth start working before a single drop touched her tongue.

“Don’t make that face, Jacob,” Hannah snorted, looking at Jake with a friendly smile. “It’s milk, not poison. Ben told me to bring it, just in case the baby’s hungry and you’re too tired to feed her,” she added, turning to Catherine.

“How thoughtful of him,” the woman’s face brightened within a second. “Actually, I cannot nurse her. I had a fever after the birth,” she continued quietly. “It took hold and… well,” she sighed. “My milk never came in properly.”

“Don’t you worry, dear,” Hannah reassured her, “we’ve got the best goats in town. Ain’t that right, Jake?”

“Yeah…” he answered absently. 

Hannah picked up the bottle again and tested the heat against her wrist. “Not too hot,” she declared. Then she offered it to Catherine. “Here.”

Catherine carefully brought the teat to the baby’s mouth. The infant latched, hungry and eager, and the soft sounds of swallowing filled the room. 

“What’s her name?” Hannah asked gently.

“Pardon?” Catherine asked, sounding a bit distracted. 

“The baby,” Hannah explained. “What’s her name?”

“Oh…” Catherine got silent, as if thinking about something. “Sorry… Of course. It’s… Hope.”

“Now, that’s a wonderful name for a girl,” Hannah replied with a warm smile, then turned to Jake. “Well?”

Jake looked up. Hannah was watching him, as if waiting for an answer. 

“Well, what?” He frowned.

“Are you going to stand there gawking, or are you going to make yourself useful?” Hannah nodded toward the door. “Your brothers are in the kitchen.”

“Right,” he said, moving toward the doorway.

Before he opened the door, he looked back one more time. Catherine’s gaze was on the baby. She had a warm smile that he hadn’t noticed on her face before. For one brief second, she reminded him of Ma. He wanted to say something, a kind word to a mother taking care of her child, but the resemblance made his heart ache, so he forced himself to close the door behind him without saying anything.

Jake entered the kitchen where Ben was looking out the window, even though Jake knew he listened with his whole body. Sam was leaning against the counter with his arms folded. Dan sat at the table with his chaps still on and dust still ground into the seams; he collected breadcrumbs with his fingertips, then wiped them away with one single move of his hand.

Lucas, the youngest of them all, lounged on the bench by the stove with an apple in hand, absently chewing and staring through the window. Jake was sure he wasn’t listening to anything that was going on.

“How is she?” Ben asked, turning to face his brother. 

“You did well,” Jake said. “As for her… She’ll be fine.”

Sam lifted his brows. “And the baby?”

“Fed,” Jake answered, and watched the tension ease in Ben’s posture.

Lucas swallowed his bite and nonchalantly said, “So we’re keeping them?” like bringing a strange woman and her child into a house was the most common thing in the world.

Jake shot him a look. “We’re not ‘keeping’ anyone,” he replied, dissatisfied with his brother’s choice of words.

Lucas shrugged, unbothered. “Seems like we are,” he said.

Ben straightened, trying for the tone Jake used when he spoke at emergency family gatherings. “We can’t send her away, and there’s not enough room here,” he started. “The doctor said her arm needs rest. It would be better if she had more privacy.”

“You’re right,” Dan agreed.

Sam, the middle son, kept his eyes moving between them, until he finally said, “There’s the guest house.”

Jake saw the way Ben’s eyes lit up at the mention. “The spare room in the little house by Hannah’s place,” Ben said, almost excitedly. “It’s clean. It’s close enough that Hannah can keep an eye on things, and far enough for her and the baby to have some privacy.”

“Sounds sensible to me,” Dan said. “What do you think, Jake?”

Since their parent’s death, Jake had been the head of this family. His words had been final ever since, and this was no exception.

“Six weeks,” Jake said after a break. “If it’s set right and she rests enough.”

“Six weeks,” Ben repeated, thinking. “Then she moves on.”

Lucas yawned, wide and shameless. “Or she marries one of you and stays forever,” he added recklessly.

None of the brothers said a word.

“What?” he asked, taking another bite of his apple. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. You’re thirty-five already, Jake. Dan’s twenty-nine. I’d be thinking that if I were you.”

“No one was thinking about it except you,” Jake said, trying to act serious, although Lucas knew how to brighten up his mood with careless statements like those. “We’ve been in those foolish years, kid. And we know what’s going on in that mindless head of yours.”

“Sure, you do,” Lucas replied sarcastically, not being able to hold his laughter. It was the contagious kind; even Jake let out a low chuckle.

“All right,” Jake said, clearing his throat. “The spare room in the little house it is. Hannah can manage meals and check on her there. Is everyone fine with that?” He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “Good. Let’s get back to work.”

Jake watched his brothers break into motion and felt the familiar grind of duty settle behind his ribs. He stepped out onto the porch and let his gaze travel the length of the property. Ranch hands moved with purpose throughout the yard. Beyond it, the late morning sun cast shadows over the outbuildings, and farther still the pasture opened wide, horses galloping through folds of grass and stone. Fence lines ran like stitches over the land as far as he could see, and the wind carried the thin, never-ending music of the place; a hammer on iron, a horse refusing to hold still in a stall, a calf lowing somewhere out of sight. The ranch was big enough that one could lose a man in it… and trouble could take root without anyone noticing until it was too late.

It’s fine. It’s just six weeks, Jacob. Then she’ll be gone.

***

By supper, the house smelled of beans and ham hock and Hannah’s cornbread with the crust that could bring back old memories. Everyone started gathering at the table. Jake sat at the head, his eyes taking in every detail the way they always did. Catherine sat to one side of him with the baby in her lap.

He tried not to watch her. He failed, because every time the baby fussed, he looked up to see Catherine soothing her one-handed. Even injured, dignity and grace were reflected in her moves.

Suddenly, he heard the door open and close with a thud. Jake turned around, only to see Marcus, his best friend and foreman. Marcus was a man weathered by sun and wind until his skin had gone dark and tough, his sandy-blond hair kept short. Most folks saw only the familiar warmth in him, but Jake knew better. He’d seen Marcus’ hazel eyes go from friendly to cold as a drawn blade in the space of a heartbeat.

“Evenin’,” Marcus said easily. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s about time,” Ben laughed. “Where were you, old man?”

“Watch it, I’ll return the favor when you turn thirty-five,” Marcus laughed back. “Time flies fast, son.”

Jake watched him cross the room, smiling back. Marcus was usually quick with a joke, even quicker with a hand offered to help. He greeted Hannah and Jake, nodding to Dan and Sam, and clapped Ben and Lucas on the shoulder. Then he turned to Catherine.

“Ma’am,” he said politely, “looks like you had a hard run into Ridge.”

Catherine met his gaze without flinching. “It was unfortunate, indeed.”

Marcus’ smile held. “Where’d you board the stage?” he asked.

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes sharpened a touch. “Outside the rail line,” she said, carefully. “Near Austin.”

“And how long have you been traveling?” Marcus continued with a friendly tone.

“Several days,” she replied.

“And where’d you come from?” Marcus continued, as if he were only making small talk.

“St. Louis.” Catherine gave a small, composed nod. 

“Well,” he said, settling into his chair. “That’s a good long way.”

The meal continued, but the atmosphere had changed completely. Marcus kept talking, kept smiling, kept asking small questions that didn’t look like questions until you noticed how neatly they circled the same point. Catherine answered with manners and restraint. In Jake’s eyes, she was still a woman with something to protect.

***

“Walk with me,” Marcus said to Jake, after the meal had long been finished.

Jake followed him into the yard where the evening had cooled, stopping near the fence line. Marcus’ friendliness dropped away like a coat.

“Something about that woman doesn’t sit right,” he uttered, sounding somewhat cold and serious. 

Jake kept his face blank. “She’s hurt,” he said cautiously, trying to figure out where this was going.

“A widow traveling alone with an infant, heading toward an unfamiliar town, not offering much information about herself,” Marcus replied. His eyes were hard in the starlight. “That’s not something to ignore, Jake.”

“She said she came for work,” Jake said, realizing he was trying to defend her. He shook his head. “And what do you think is going on?” he asked.

“I think she could be running from trouble,” Marcus began, holding Jake’s gaze. “Or bringing trouble with her. Who knows. But… and listen to me carefully, Jacob. If she’s bringing it, it’ll land on your family’s doorstep, just because you’ve taken her in.”

Jake listened quietly. Fifteen years of friendship meant Marcus didn’t spook easy without cause. Marcus had ridden with him, bled with him, helped him bury a man. Marcus had earned the right to be heard. However, the intensity he expressed that evening felt excessive for a stranger passing through.

“She’s staying six weeks,” Jake said after a brief pause. “And that’s it. Life moves on.”

“Six weeks is plenty of time for trouble to find a man,” Marcus muttered. He then leaned in, lowering his voice further. “Just… Be careful, Jake. Don’t let your kindness turn you blind. That’s all I’m saying.”

Marcus studied him a moment longer, then clapped his shoulder. “Take care,” he added, as Jake watched him walk away into the dark, feeling the uneasy burden of his friend’s warning.

***

Later, when the house had gone still and pots and pans had finally stopped clattering, Jake stepped onto the porch. The guest house sat a short distance away. A single lamp glowed behind its window. Jake frowned. She should be sleeping.

He carefully walked down the steps and across the yard. As he neared the little house, he saw her. Catherine Ashford stood at the window, lamplight cutting her profile cleanly against the glass. The baby was nowhere in sight, likely asleep in a basket or crib. Her bandaged arm was held close, as her eyes moved over the ranch layout with caution. She wasn’t gazing out like a frightened guest grateful for shelter. She seemed to be studying the land. But… why?

When the lamplight caught the curve of her cheek, the dark tendrils of her hair escaped its pins again. She brought it up again, revealing the graceful line of her neck. Jake stopped where the shadows hid him and stared. She looked so divinely beautiful.

Then Catherine turned her head slightly, as if she sensed him, and Jake looked away at once, angered by his own foolishness.

Six weeks, he reminded himself. Six weeks. Then she’s gone.