The Rancher’s Refuge for a Runaway Heart (Preview)

Prologue

San Francisco, California

Early September 1885

Her senses alert against the possibility of discovery, Maggie winced as she quietly closed the door of her uncle’s study behind her, breathing a sigh of relief when she heard the soft click as the door latched. Her back to the door and heart pounding, she caught the lingering aroma of her uncle’s cigars as she stepped away from the door, hands clenched into fists at her side to keep them from trembling.

Hurry or you’re going to get caught!

She stiffened her resolve and crept across the imported Aubusson rug toward her uncle’s dark walnut desk. To her right stood a wall of books—her father’s—books she doubted her uncle had ever read over the past five years. To her left stood a brick fireplace, its cast-iron grate empty, not a speck of soot beneath it even though the cool autumn day had left the study quite chilly.

Beyond the door and at the end of the hall she heard the steady snick, snick, snick of the grandfather clock’s pendulum marking every nerve-racking and potentially dangerous second she stayed in this room. A set of heavy burgundy velvet curtains hung half-opened over the windows behind the desk, casting the light of the nearly full moon through the room. Beyond the study, not more than a mile away, she heard the echo of a foghorn reverberating over the distance, bouncing along the hills of San Francisco. 

Find what you’re looking for and get out!

The desktop was cleared of clutter except for the fountain pen and ink well off to the side. Drawers were closed and usually locked, but the previous week she’d been fortunate to find the key to those doors quite by accident, or perhaps it had been Providence. At any rate, she removed the woefully outdated book on agriculture from a nearby bookshelf and reached for the extra drawer key she’d hidden behind it, grimacing with distaste. Maggie had never aspired to be a thief, but with her heart pounding even harder, she unlocked one of the side drawers and reached inside. She tilted up a ledger accounting book and then a few loose pieces of paper until she found what she was looking for. Her father’s will. Except this will was not genuine. This will was a counterfeit signed by her uncle’s hand, not her father’s.

The miserable, cheating … 

She shook her head. No time for that now. Her stomach churning, she lifted the forged document from the desk and quickly folded the papers before tucking them into the pocket of her dressing gown. She needed one more. She reached into the drawer once more and found a rough draft of a letter written in her uncle’s hand to a man named Marcus Blackwood. Some words had been crossed out, some added. She was no less shocked this time than she had been the first time she’d seen it. Beneath that was yet another letter, the response from Blackwood agreeing to the terms and signed by both, which involved marrying her to the man in exchange for clearing her uncle’s considerable debts. She forced back her fury—

Creaking floorboards overhead prompted her heart to heave into her throat. She froze, barely stifling a cry of alarm. Her uncle was awake. She quickly pulled the letters from the drawer before folding and shoving them into her pocket as well. She quietly closed the drawer and turned to the fireplace. Crouching down, she reached for a brick at the base of the hearth where it met the wall, hoping against hope that he’d remembered it. It was a secret hiding place, one created by her father when she was a little girl. Maggie would leave notes and sometimes a marble or hairpin inside for her father to find, and he always left a trinket or some other treat in there for her. One day the previous week she’d snuck into the study to … well, to snoop. She’d only recalled their hiding place after she’d found the forged will in the desk drawer. 

She slid out the brick and reached inside. Her heart leapt as her fingers grasped a roll of papers. She quickly unrolled them and sagged with relief as she spied the large black cursive letters on top stating ‘Last Will and Testament’. The document was signed in her father’s own handwriting.

Oh, Papa! I found it! 

She now had her father’s true will, one he must’ve hidden before he died, thinking she would find it in their secret hiding place. Unfortunately, she’d only been fifteen years old when he’d  died after a brief illness. Her uncle and the family lawyer had shown up shortly after her father’s funeral with the falsified will designating his brother, Solomon Fontaine, as her guardian and manager of the estate. She’d been stunned at the time. When he was alive, her father rarely spoke of his younger brother. When she found the forged will last week, she knew why. It was obvious her father hadn’t trusted his kin. 

The family lawyer had been given a copy of the forged will, none the wiser. Now she had proof that Uncle Solomon was forcing them all to live a lie. Hands trembling, she quickly replaced the brick and shoved her father’s true will into her pocket with the other documents and headed for the door. More creaking upstairs and the dull sound of footsteps moving above. 

Hurry! 

Heart pounding harder, she opened the door and closed it as softly as she could before rushing toward the back of the house. The kitchen was still quiet at this hour before dawn and she darted for the narrow door in the corner behind which she’d find the former servant’s stairs. She knew each step after years of her childhood playing on them. As she hurried upward she avoided every creak, groan, and squeak until she reached the third floor of her home. Her uncle lived on the second floor. When her father was alive, she had too, but after he’d died and Uncle Solomon had taken possession of the home—and control over Maggie and her inheritance—she’d relocated to the third, not wanting to share the second floor with him.

She reached her room and quietly closed the door behind her, a hand over her chest. She had to leave. Today. Her uncle’s machinations, greed, and lack of concern for her had become too overwhelming. She rushed to her bed, knelt, and groped beneath it for her small valise. Fighting back worries and fears, she quickly packed only a few belongings; some changes of clothes and undergarments, two knitted pairs of stockings, and her mother’s Bible. She tucked the documents beneath the undergarments. 

Now to get out of the city! But where can I go?

Within days of her father’s funeral and acting as her guardian, Solomon Fontaine had closed his fist on her father’s bank accounts. She’d never cared for the man, but it wasn’t until early last year, wiser and growing more aware of his behaviors and activities, that she’d grown suspicious that all was not as it should be. He’d spent an awful lot of money on himself, but had only reluctantly given her an allowance, a pittance really, and nothing close to what her papa had gladly given her before he’d died. She’d never suspected how low Uncle Solomon would sink until she’d found that letter promising her to Marcus Blackwood, a man nearly thirty years her senior.

Maggie had no young men hovering about. At the first hint of interest in her, Uncle Solomon had  chased them away. He claimed it was for her own good, but she knew the truth. According to the laws of the land, once she married, she would lose all control over her inheritance. Husbands were given control over anything their wife owned, from land to home to bank accounts. Her uncle had taken that a step further. In the private document between her uncle and Marcus Blackwood, they’d agreed to split her inheritance, leaving them each with a huge windfall and Uncle Solomon washing his hands of her. 

From whispers in the house and inadvertently overheard conversations, plus gossip bandied about the neighborhood on those rare occasions she was allowed some freedom—as long as one of the housemaids or Cook was with her—she’d heard whispers that her uncle had suffered several failed financial ventures and now owed quite a bit of money to creditors. 

She had to find the truth. When he’d died, her papa had been a man of great means, one who’d worked hard to build his import and export business. When he’d gotten sick and the doctor had told him he was dying, he’d sold his business to his partner and with tears in his eyes promised her that she’d be well cared for. She hurried to her bed and sank down on it, pulling her father’s will from her pocket. She unrolled the papers and quickly skimmed, not wanting to take too much time, but she needed proof. Tears blurred her vision as she read. Her father had left everything to her. He’d also added a codicil that whether married or not, all monies, lands, and profits from the business he had sold shortly before he died would remain in her control regardless of her status upon her reaching the age of eighteen. Oh dear Papa … I miss you so much.

Eighteen! She was twenty now. Of course, she’d known nothing about the false will, but she’d known from the start that Solomon Fontaine was a force to be reckoned with. From the moment she’d met him, a week after her father’s death, her formerly estranged uncle had come across as a bitter, jealous, and scheming man, only interested in one thing. Money. There had to be money still left in the bank. If not, he would’ve turned her out before now, finding her presence no longer useful. No, according to the forged will, he retained control of the family money, but apparently not enough to settle his debts … She shook her head. 

You’ve got to hurry. To the train station and buy a ticket! 

She would buy a ticket to take her south, toward Redwood City or further. She had no doubt her uncle would send someone after her. A man who would literally sell her to pay off his debts and have money left for himself wouldn’t let her go without a fight. She already knew her uncle had either bribed the family lawyer or the lawyer had believed the false will was genuine. She supposed that it didn’t matter now. Now, she had to get away, as far away from her uncle as she could. She had no idea where to go. All she knew was she had to get away from San Francisco and out of California. After that, only God knew.

Finished packing, she quickly changed into a lightweight chocolate-brown woolen dress with a fitted bodice and brass buttons at the base of the high collar and along the cuffs. She smoothed down the skirt and froze when she heard her uncle’s bedroom door slam shut, not caring that it was early, that the sun had not yet peeked over the horizon. She knew he had business downtown and would likely be gone most of the day. She waited with baited breath, praying he hadn’t rescheduled. Her only hope now was to get away, as quickly as possible, before it was too late, before he realized the forged will and the letters to Blackwood were missing. 

Moments later she heard the front door slam. She moved toward her window and slid a heavy curtain slightly aside with a fingertip in time to see his private, ornate carriage leaving. What she was about to do would change her life forever. She moved quickly to the bed, lifted her valise and fled the house by the back door. Heart thundering in her chest, she stood in the shadows for several moments. The familiar cool and misty air settled around her, shifting with her breath as she quickly left behind the only home she’d ever known.

She knew her uncle would eventually find out that she’d stolen the falsified will. He might even believe she’d discovered a copy of her father’s true will. He wouldn’t want to lose his grip on the family fortune. No, he’d likely send someone after her to discover her whereabouts. He would want her caught and the true will found and destroyed forever. What would happen to her then?

Her life as she knew it in San Francisco was over. She had to find a place where she could disappear. Only then could she find a lawyer who she might hire to help her regain what was left of her father’s lifetime of hard work. Only then would she feel safe.

Shortly after dawn, she purchased a ticket on the Southern Pacific heading south. Somewhere along the way, she wasn’t exactly sure yet, she would find passage on the Central Pacific Railroad connecting the coast of California via the transcontinental railroad. She could head to Arizona, and then maybe on to Texas. She could travel to New Orleans or anywhere in between. Maybe north to Chicago or even New York City, where she’d heard so many people lived that he’d never be able to find her. 

Taking a seat on the train, the heavy chugging of the engine trembling the floorboards beneath her shoes, she sank back into the wooden bench seat. She gazed out the window at the people still milling about the train station platforms, many of them laughing or smiling. Her heart thudded with uncertainty. She didn’t have a large supply of money but she did have enough to last a while if she were careful with it. What would she do when it ran out? She inhaled deeply. Wait on the Lord. Be of good courage and the Lord will strengthen your heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord. Despite her fears, she also felt oddly free. How far her saved allowance money would last or how far it would take her, she wasn’t sure. For now, it was enough to just get away from the city.

The train finally pulled away from the station. The first rotation of the wheels jolted her back against the seat. The heavy chug of the locomotive up ahead sent billows of sooty black smoke past her window. They moved slowly forward. The third-class passenger car was only half full and rocking slightly with the movement. Gradually, the slow yet steady click-clack of iron wheels on the rails took her further from the only home she’d ever known, the streets of the city spreading around her, people already moving about, stores opening and smoke rising from chimneys.

She blinked back tears, some of sadness and despair, some filled with hope. She was free. She had escaped. What lay ahead? Only God knew that. So, as always, during times of doubt or fear or gratitude, she relied on her faith. The Lord would provide. He would take care of her. She stared out the window as the train eventually left the city behind, exposing low, rolling hills of now dormant knee-high grasses waving on a gentle breeze.

She had no idea what would meet her by day’s end, nor the one after it, but she promised herself she’d do her best to be brave and strong and make her deceased parents proud. She was leaving everything she knew behind her, bringing from the only home she’d ever known the most meager of belongings.

“Come what may, Mama and Papa, I will strive to be strong and resilient,” she murmured. She paused, a catch in her voice. “I will lean on my faith and do my best to make you proud. I will remember what you taught me about honesty and faith.” Warm tears filled her eyes before she squeezed them tight. She was on her own now, an exhilarating yet terrifying thought, filled with uncertainties and doubts.

The steady rocking of the train car gradually lulled her to relax, the murmurs of passengers around her comforting. She leaned further back into the seat and closed her eyes. “Marguerite Fontaine,” she whispered, turning her head toward the window. “You will rely on the Lord to show you the way. All you have to do is listen.”

Chapter One: Caleb

Thornton Hills Ranch, Wyoming Territory

Early October 1885

The mornings had grown steadily cooler over the past couple of weeks. That morning, hoarfrost carpeted the low-lying shrubs edging his ranch yard and beyond. A steady breeze out of the northwest bent straw-colored clumps of knee-high prairie grass in rhythmic wave-like motions. He left the house and headed for the stables just before dawn, more focused on the mare ready to foal than the quickly cooling temperatures. He’d stayed with her until midnight the night before and then handed the watch over to Pete Silva, his ranch foreman.

Entering the warmth of the barn, he inhaled deeply, comforted by the scents of old wood, hay, manure, horses, oats, leather saddles, and horse tack that always gave him a sense of well-being.

“It’ll be anytime now,” Pete said quietly, pushing himself away from the side of the stall as Caleb entered. 

Caleb nodded and eyed the mare. Despite being three years younger than himself, and quite young for such responsibility, he’d promoted twenty-three year old Pete to ranch foreman the year before. Pete had worked on the Thornton ranch since he was sixteen years old. Caleb, who’d inherited the ranch after his father died, had promoted him because he’d proven his worth over those years; his hard-working, stickler for details, loyal and sandy-haired cowhand with an easy smile and get-it-done attitude long ago earning Caleb’s trust and confidence.

“I hope so,” Caleb replied, his tone low as he paused in front of the stall. He crossed his arms on the top board and gazed inside at the sorrel mare, a hoof shuffling at the hay beneath her. She was nesting. Occasionally, her flank muscles twitched.

Pete eyed her as well. “She’s gotten up and down a couple of times so I think it’ll be real soon.”  

Caleb nodded and glanced around. A lantern turned low hung from a support beam nearby. Pete had gloves and towels ready, as well as a pair of scissors and twine.

“I’m going to check on the horses in the north pasture this morning.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Daniel’s in the barn if you need any help.”

Pete barely gave him a glance, watching the mare. “Will do, boss.”

Caleb snickered. “How many times have I asked you not to call me that? We’ve been friends too long.”

Pete glanced at Caleb. “I know that, but you’re also the owner of this place. Always gotta remember who the boss is.”

With a shake of his head, Caleb left the stables and emerged once more into the sharp, cool air. He glanced to the east, where the horizon was just now beginning to glow in the soft hues of imminent sunrise. Darker shadows turned gray, then purple, the stars overhead slowly fading. Bands of orange-yellow, pinks, and golds preceded the sun’s peeking over the horizon.

He eyed the  two-story house built by his father and friends when the Thornton’s had first settled in the area when his parents were newlyweds. It could use a new coat of whitewash. His sister wanted to paint the window frames black, but he still wasn’t sure about that. Finances were tight and had been since his father had died the previous year. Paint on the house wasn’t as important as maintaining repairs on the barn, the stables, the corrals, or caring for their growing heard of quarter horses and the cattle out on the range. 

It was quiet hours like this, mostly at dawn, when he couldn’t help but think of his father. Josiah Thornton had left everything to him; the land, horses, and the cattle. Over the past year, Caleb had felt the ever-growing weight of carrying the family legacy on his shoulders.

He stood unmoving, knowing he should get started on the chores, but as ever was captivated by the sunrise, the renewal of another day, the one thing in his life that never changed. Every morning the sun rose over there and set over the range of mountains to the west. Reliable. Constant. Comforting. Everything else in life was less certain.

“I miss you, Pa,” he murmured. “Hannah and Ma miss you too.” 

Hannah, his older sister by four years, still lived on the ranch, as did his widowed mother, Ruth, now in her early fifties. The sun rose incrementally higher over the horizon and he turned his gaze upward. “We’re building on your legacy, Pa. We’re going to have the best line of prized quarter horses in Wyoming.” He sighed. “A bit slower than I’d hoped, but heading in the right direction.”

He still hadn’t come to terms with his father’s death. His illness had come on quickly, confounding not only the family but the town doctor in Copper Springs, four miles to the southwest. The doc figured something had been wrong with Josiah’s heart, but regardless of what caused it, his death had left a huge hole not only in Caleb’s life, but in that of his mother and sister’s too. He sighed. “God, if You could take a moment to let Pa know that we’re doing all right down here and we’ve got another foal on the way, I’d much appreciate it.”

Halfway from the stables to the house, he heard the mare in the stables whinny and snort. He stopped and turned toward the sound as Pete emerged in the doorway moments later, a broad smile curving his lips.

“It’s a filly,” his foreman announced. “Both mama and baby are doing just fine.”

Caleb grinned. If only he’d stayed in the barn a few minutes longer, he would’ve witnessed the birth, something that never failed to amaze. He lifted his hand in acknowledgment and headed for the house to let Hannah and his mother know. 

His sister Hannah reminded him very much of their father with her dark hair, green eyes, and strong features. She was also often blunt and outspoken, just like their father. Well-educated and mostly self-taught, Hannah now managed the ranch accounts. Though smart, lovely, and kindhearted, she’d eschewed several attempts by local and somewhat aging bachelors to gain her interest. He’d never figured out why and didn’t ask. That was her business, not his. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.

He heaved a sigh and stepped into the house. The bottom floor consisted of a comfortable parlor to the left and a small study to the right. Down a short hallway stood the kitchen. Across from the kitchen stood the combination washroom and storeroom, where heavy coats and boots and snowshoes were stored during winter, along with well-used fishing poles and tackle boxes for spring and summer, thanks to the river that cut through their property and wandered not fifty yards behind the corner of the barn.

Next to that room was another smaller room with an extra bed and small table, which had been converted from a nursery when no children had followed Caleb.

“Ma!”

“In the kitchen, Caleb,” a voice called back.

Caleb strode down the hall and into the kitchen, where he found his mother standing in front of the wood-burning stove, using a wooden spoon to stir eggs in the cast-iron skillet on top of one burner plate while keeping an eye on another pan in which rashers of bacon sizzled. The aroma made his mouth water.

“Breakfast will be ready in a minute,” she said.

“We’ve got a new filly.”

Her hand stilled and she turned to him, a smile transforming her features. A swell of love bloomed in his chest. He shared his mother’s grayish-blue eyes and tawny brown hair, though hers was now streaked with strands of gray. He wasn’t as perceptive as his mother though, and a lot of times not nearly as patient. 

“I’ll go out and check on them both as soon as breakfast is over,” she murmured.

“Pete says they’re both doing fine.”

She gestured for him to take a seat at the table and he did, his heart swelling with a sense of triumph. When she came of age, the foal would bring a fine price for sale or he could raise her as a breeder. Either would bring income that the ranch desperately needed. Ever since his father’s death, the ranch had struggled, not due to mismanagement, but because Josiah had always been strong as an ox, doing the work of two, sometimes three men in a day. Not to mention the two blizzards and subsequent livestock losses they’d experienced past winter, which had hit them hard. So too had their meager supply of hay and grains that failed to thrive due to the sporadic spring rains.

Hannah and he had agreed to keep the worst of their money problems from their mother, but come spring, things would get better. They had to. Next year’s cattle sales and hopefully a decent harvest of hay would put them in better shape. The vegetable garden had been bountiful as well this fall, thanks to his mother’s and Hannah’s efforts of carrying buckets of water from the well in the front yard to the garden. After harvesting what they could, the two women had spent days canning. Now the root cellar was well stocked for the coming winter and early spring as well as with smoked venison, wild boar, and elk and antelope meat he and Pete and the other hands had hunted. They hadn’t wanted to slaughter more than one or two of the cattle to feed them over winter, wanting the herd to recover from the previous winter’s deep and seemingly never-ending snowfalls.  

“You going to visit Eliza today?” 

He glanced up at his mother as she filled a plate with scrambled eggs, half a dozen rashers of bacon, toast, and fried potatoes. She brought it to the table along with a glass of warm milk. He raised an eyebrow. “Hannah’s already been to the barn to milk the cow?” His mother nodded and turned away, but not before he saw the slight frown creasing her brow. “What is it?”

“She’s awful quiet this morning.”

Hannah was mostly always quiet, but when his mother spoke in that tone, he knew Hannah had withdrawn once again. His sister had always liked her solitude, in her head a lot or her nose buried in a book. They lived far enough away from town that none of them had friends they saw every day, mostly just on Sundays for church or town events. He plucked a slice of bacon from the plate and took a bite out of it, thoughtful as he chewed. “Once she sees the foal, she’ll cheer up.”

“Perhaps.”

His mother worried about Hannah, wanting her to get married and have a family of her own, but with every year that passed, the chances of that grew ever unlikely. His mother claimed Hannah was too outspoken and strongminded—or stubborn as Caleb often teased. At any rate, she hadn’t yet found a suitor with enough confidence to allow her to be who she was and not what they expected her to be

“You’ll talk to her, won’t you, Caleb? She’s not getting any younger, and if she wants to have a family …”

“She’s still young enough.”

“She’s thirty years old!” she softly exclaimed.

He nodded. “And she’s got to figure things out on her own.” 

“I don’t want her to be alone for the rest of her life.”

“I don’t either,” he said quietly. “But I don’t think she will be.”

“You don’t?”

He stabbed several bites of fried potatoes onto his fork and shook his head. “I don’t.”

They left it at that. Last summer, Hannah had gone into town to apply for a position at the bank. She’d been turned down, not because she wasn’t educated or smart enough to do the job because she was. Even so the bank manager had told her he couldn’t hire her because she was a woman, and everyone knew that women didn’t work, and most of the male customers probably wouldn’t trust her. Well, that didn’t go over well with Hannah and the bank manager had gotten an ear full.

“So,” she said, placing the cast-iron skillet back on the stove. “You going to see Eliza today?”

He’d made plans to ride into Copper Springs and meet Eliza Brennan, the local schoolteacher and his fiancée for the past few months, for a planned picnic. “After I finish my chores.”

“You might want to go earlier than planned,” his mother casually remarked. “I heard from Martha Willoughby yesterday that Eliza planned on letting school out early today.”

He turned to his mother, an eyebrow raised. “Why?”

She smiled softly and wiped her hands on her apron. “She said there was something she needed to do this afternoon.”

He said nothing. Before he headed to town, he needed to check on one of several watering holes on the property that happened to be on his way. After breakfast, he left the house and strode to the barn. As he saddled his horse, his thoughts turned to Eliza; pretty, smart, and cultured, she’d been raised back east in Boston. It wasn’t until after he’d proposed, and not all that long ago, that she’d confessed to him that she’d grown frustrated with living in such a small town as Copper Springs. The comment had left him feeling a bit unsettled, but she knew he could never leave the ranch, nor Wyoming.

*

As he guided his horse toward town an hour or so later, he was still contemplating the situation to no avail. The schoolhouse was situated roughly a hundred yards from the edge of town, far enough away to offer quiet to the students as well as keeping them from underfoot on Main Street. His eyebrows rose with surprise to find Eliza closing the door to the school, her skirts blowing gently in the breeze and a knitted shawl gathered around her shoulders. A pretty gray bonnet covered her dark blond hair, the red ribbon bow tied at the base of her jaw. When she saw him ride into the schoolyard, her eyes widened. At the same time, he noticed she wasn’t carrying the picnic basket she said she’d prepare for them.

“Oh Caleb!” Her cheeks flushed red as he dismounted. “I … I’m so sorry.”

“About what?”

She dipped her head before looking up at him. Eliza’s auburn hair shone in the afternoon sun, her eyes a soft hazel brown. He should count himself a lucky man. 

“I forgot to send someone over with a note that I couldn’t meet you this afternoon for a picnic.”

 He frowned in consternation. “Is something wrong?” She glanced toward town. He too looked down the east end of Main Street; businesses and houses were haphazardly situated on the north and south sides of the street. 

“No … no,” she said, lifting a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “But last night I remembered that I’d already committed myself to Thomas Whitfield’s literary discussion with the group at his home this afternoon.”

“Oh.” 

Thomas Whitfield was a recent widower and newspaper editor who’d moved to Copper Springs from Denver this past summer with his young, eight-year-old daughter, Lily. He claimed the reason was because Denver was growing too fast and becoming too crowded and expensive. Caleb wondered if it was because the city only reminded him of his loss. He’d come to Copper Springs to start over, he’d said, and set up a small printing press in the small carriage house behind his narrow, two-story house. Caleb already knew the man was well educated and a voracious book reader. Shortly after his arrival he’d started a literary group, which consisted of Eliza and several other ladies from town—most of them from the women’s church league and some widows themselves. According to Hannah, more than one of those women were apparently attracted to the tall, grieving widower. Eliza often regaled him about his stimulating conversations, about books and social as well as scientific advancements, which captivated Eliza but didn’t much interest Caleb.

“I promise to make it up to you, Caleb.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry you had to ride all the way into town.”

Though he couldn’t deny some irritation, he held back a small shrug. Was he imagining things or was he feeling a bit of hesitance and distance in her manner? Maybe he was misinterpreting. “Well, if …”

She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but toward town again. He turned the same direction to find Thomas Whitfield standing on the porch of his house behind Main Street on the north side of town. The man lifted a hand and Eliza responded with a similar gesture while Caleb followed suit.

“I’m really sorry, Caleb,” she murmured. “Do you forgive me?”

“Of course,” he said. “I have a few things I need to pick up in town anyway.” He didn’t, but he didn’t want to embarrass Eliza.

It was only after she walked away and joined several other ladies wearing their Sunday best and entered the Whitfield home that he mounted his horse and rode back to the ranch, his thoughts muddled. Later that evening at supper, he brooded and focused on his beefsteak, green beans, and fried potatoes, ignoring his mother’s and Hannah’s eyes on him. Finally, he looked up and glanced from one to the other. 

“What?”

Hannah spoke first. “Heard you rode into town today but Eliza was busy.”

Caleb gaped at his sister, setting his fork on his plate. “Now how in the world would you know that when you didn’t leave the ranch all day?”

She gave him an enigmatic smile. “I have my ways.”

Before giving him a chance to answer that one, his mother spoke up.

“How is she, Caleb?”

Before Caleb could answer, Hannah spoke again, turning to their mother. “Have you noticed how often Eliza cancels their plans lately?” 

“It’s not that often,” Caleb spoke up to defend Eliza. “Besides, you know how she likes her literary club.”

Hannah smirked while his mother raised an eyebrow. 

“Perhaps, brother, you were a bit too quick to offer marriage—”

“Hannah!” Ruth gasped. “That is between Caleb and Eliza and not for you to comment about.”

Hannah glanced at their mother and then to Caleb. “Well, the proposal was rather spur-of-the moment, after all.” She eyed her brother. “Isn’t that what you told me the other day? That you think it’s time for you to settle down and have a family of your own—”

“Now that’s not what I meant at all,” Caleb defended himself. “Eliza is a good woman and she’d make any man a fine wife—”

“Well sure, but here’s the important part.” Hannah paused, leaning forward, her eyes locked on his. “Do you love her with all your heart and soul or did you offer marriage out of a sense of necessity?”

Caleb’s eyebrows rose. “Necessity?”

Hannah snorted. “You’re not getting any younger, brother. You’re twenty-four years old and you own this ranch and have obligations to see it flourish and grow—”

“Hannah,” Ruth gently scolded. “That’s enough. Leave your brother alone.” She heaved a sigh. “I don’t think Caleb would have asked the lady to marry him if he didn’t love her.”

Hannah said nothing but merely glanced at Caleb with a raised eyebrow. He looked down at his plate.

The remainder of dinner passed much in silence. Afterward, Caleb went outside to sit on the porch. Dusk had settled and a blanket of stars had gradually began to appear in the sky. He thought he should go check on the new foal but was comfortable in his chair for the moment, relishing the peace of early evening. One of the horses whinnied, the sound carrying on the breeze from the stables. Off in the distance, a coyote howled, followed by yet another further away. A slight breeze ruffled the grass and the shrubs near the yard.

Looking up at the sky, he spoke softly to the heavens, as he often did. “God, thank You for such a beautiful evening, but I need a favor.” He paused. “I need a bit of guidance about my upcoming marriage. I don’t feel … I don’t feel quite settled about it yet. I’m also wondering why I feel more uncertain about it with every passing day. If You could give me a bit of clarity, I’d much appreciate it. Thank you and amen.”

He heaved a sigh, leaning back in his chair until the front legs lifted off the porch, the wood squeaking softly with every half rock he gave it. Hands folded over his belly, fingers intertwined, he listened to the dull sounds of his mother and sister finishing up the dishes. Soon they would retire to their own rooms. Tomorrow would be another day.

He glanced toward the west, deeper into the shadows hovering around the foothills at the base of the mountains. He stilled and frowned as he thought he saw something move over there, near the bank of the river that snaked its way through his property and maybe fifty yards from the back corner of the barn. He waited, eyes narrowed. He saw a shadow move again. He slowly settled his chair and leaned forward, squinting. A deer? He saw the movement again. No, not a deer, too tall. He realized what he saw. A swaying, stumbling figure making its way toward the house. 

Alarmed, he stood, his hand automatically reaching for his holster until he remembered that it and his gun hung on the hook by the door inside the house. Indecisive for a moment or two, he watched the dark shape against even darker shadows. The figure stumbled once more, took another step, and then toppled to the ground. He caught his breath waiting for the figure to rise. It didn’t.

He leapt from the porch and headed into the darkness at a run.