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Copyright ©2012 by Merry Farmer

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Our Little Secrets

By Merry Farmer

For every man I've ever loved named Michael:

My first kiss

My first serious boyfriend

And my biggest celebrity crush

(who Michael West looks a lot like)

### Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

About the Author

Our Little Secrets

Chapter One

Montana, 1895

Charlotte was out of her seat before the train came to a full stop. She'd had it with the beast. Thirty-two days of nearly constant travel was more than enough for a woman on her own to withstand. Especially in present company.

"Ooo!" one of the painted, preening girls packed in the train car squealed. She knelt on her seat to look out the window as the tiny town of Cold Springs, Montana rolled into sight. "Look at all the men!"

With a roll of her eyes Charlotte grabbed her carpetbag and started for the door. She pushed past the seats full of trollops who leaned out the train's windows waving handkerchiefs and their bosoms at passersby in the frontier town, eager to get away from them and on with her life.

"Where do you think you're going, dear?" Miss Helen, their ring-leader, hopped up to follow her. "The train hasn't even stopped yet."

Charlotte ignored the woman. She'd fallen in with Miss Helen's lot in Denver, figuring there would be safety in numbers. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; a good idea she had paid for in the last week as Miss Helen tried to recruit her as a husband-hunter.

Charlotte reached for the door at the end of the car and threw it open as the brakes squealed. The train lurched to a stop. The jolt sent her and Miss Helen both stumbling out toward the guard-rail at the back of the train. Charlotte held her hat on with one hand and fumbled her carpetbag with the other.

"Easy there." Miss Helen's rouged lips parted in a smile. "You don't want them to think you're too desperate."

"I'm fine, thanks." Charlotte did her best to be polite. The woman had no idea what desperate was.

Miss Helen nodded to her carpetbag. "Want me to hold that while you—"

"No thanks."

The station porter stepped forward to offer the passengers a hand down from the train and Charlotte took it. Once her feet were on solid ground she scurried to get out of the way of the storm of females that were ready to pour from the car.

"Well hello Cold Springs!" Miss Helen trilled over the heads of the curious onlookers, flashing into action. "My name is Miss Helen and have I got a treat for you! Gentlemen, gather round!"

Miss Helen in her maroon and pink petticoats floated down the train's steps, as audacious as any queen. Her painted face and startling red curls only just covered her true age. When she reached the platform she turned to gesture to the parade of ladies that followed her.

Charlotte took cover in the shadow of the station-house with a wince. A crowd was already gathering. She had more important things to do than watch the spectacle yet again.

"Gentlemen of Cold Springs, let me introduce you to the finest and most cultured ladies this side of the Mississippi." Miss Helen spoke above the din of the station in a voice that must have been trained on the stage. "Fair young maidens come all the way from St. Louis to the frontier with the expressed purpose of making a few of you the happiest men alive."

One by one the silly girls stepped down into the morning sunlight as if they too were on stage, stifling fake yawns and batting their eyelashes at the growing assembly.

"What, are they whores 'r sumthin'?" The blunt question was followed by a chorus of rough laughter.

Charlotte could hardly blame whoever called out for their mistake.

"No, no, no!" Miss Helen pressed a hand to her ample chest and feigned shock. "Gentlemen, these women have come to you with a far nobler purpose in mind. They have come as humble frontier brides searching for husbands with whom to begin a new life!"

The unexpected answer raised a murmur of consideration from the folks on the platform, much of it humorous doubt. A few fellows seemed intrigued by the possibility. Most of the townswomen turned up their noses whilst secretly assessing the charms of their competitors.

"Let me make some introductions," Miss Helen continued her pitch. "This fine lady is Sally."

Charlotte didn't have the time or the patience to watch the circus. She had a past to put behind her and her own new life to begin. Cold Springs looked like just the place to do it. She ignored the ongoing spectacle and scanned the platform. When she saw what she needed she acted.

"Excuse me." She gripped her bag, keeping her back straight, and walked away from Miss Helen's show towards a middle-aged man with spectacles in shirtsleeves standing near the cargo car. "Could you help me?"

The man glanced up from his clipboard and surveyed her through round glasses. The faintest hint of surprise touched his otherwise bland expression. His gaze slid to the scene behind her as Miss Helen introduced her lovely ladies then back to her. He stood straighter. "I could try to help you."

Charlotte smiled. Finally someone with some sense. "I have another bag in the baggage car. A rather large bag too. Could you fetch it for me?"

The man glanced right and left as though she were talking to someone else. The barest glimmer of a grin flickered across his tight lips and into his round eyes.

"Certainly," he answered after a pause. He set his clipboard down on one of the piles of crates that was being unloaded beside him. "What does your bag look like?"

"Well it's large. Rather old too. Mostly brown. It should have a tag on it that says 'Charlotte Baldwin'." She'd been meaning to use a false name since the incident in St. Louis but was never able to think of one when pressed.

The spectacled man nodded and started for the baggage car between the cargo and passenger cars.

"I see you making eyes at the delightful Minnie." Miss Helen went on peddling her wares. The petite blonde beside her batted her eyelashes at a burly cowboy with a huge moustache. "You won't find a sweeter soul this side of the Mississippi. And she's an excellent cook. In and out of the kitchen."

The blonde hooted with feigned embarrassment.

Charlotte rolled her eyes and glanced beyond the scene on the train platform. Western towns all looked the same to her: thrown-together buildings with tall fronts, dirt streets filled with horses, rough men, and a few harried women. Plains and mountains stretched out in all directions, betraying the miniscule scale of civilization in the wild. Every town the train had stopped in so far in Montana fit the same description.

The difference between Cold Springs and half a dozen others was Charlotte's level of patience. She was through with traveling. Never mind that she had no friends and no job in Cold Springs to help start her new life. As long as she could put the past behind her things would work out. She'd decided the night before that wherever the train stopped next would be her new home, come what may.

She drew in a deep breath. The Montana air was as fresh as the life she was eager to start.

"Can I help you ma'am?"

She turned to find a lanky man in a stationmaster's uniform standing behind her. "Oh...I...." she stammered, twisting to look for the man who she'd sent to get her bag. "You're the stationmaster?"

"Yes, ma'am." He touched his hat. "Lewis Jones."

"Thank you, Mr. Jones. I've just sent your assistant to fetch my bag." She smiled.

"My assistant?" Mr. Jones goggled back at her.

"Yes." She hesitated. "The man with glasses?"

"Here you go." The man in question reappeared on her other side. "Charlotte Baldwin," he read the tag aloud then set her beat up old bag between them.

"Thank you so much." She reached for the clasp of her carpetbag to pay the man.

The stationmaster's laugh startled her. "Hey, Mr. West, she thought you were my assistant," Lewis Jones told the man as if sharing a bad joke.

"Oh dear." She lowered her carpetbag. "You're not...?"

"No." Mr. West's eyes sparkled behind his glasses.

Color splashed to Charlotte's cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have assumed—"

"No offense taken."

"Mr. West owns the general store," Mr. Jones explained. Then, as if to rub her mistake in, he continued with a snort, "He's one of the richest men in town. And you thought he was a porter. Can you imagine?"

Charlotte made herself laugh along with the man, in spite of her hot cheeks. "That's what I get for taking a chance, I guess."

"Wait 'til the boys hear about—"

"Thank you, Lewis." Mr. West cut him off with a strained smile. "Could you help Oliver unload the rest of the shipment?"

"Yes, sir." Mr. Jones snapped to do as he was told, leaving Charlotte alone to start her new life at the mercy of the man she'd just insulted.

"Now what I need to know is where I and my young charges can stay while we're in town getting to know you all."

Michael glanced from the dark-haired beauty who had thought he was a porter to the dreadful woman causing a spectacle further down the platform. At her direction the rest of the floozies formed a line and were smiling and flaunting their assets at Cold Springs' finest. He ignored them. Seen one loose woman and you'd seen them all. He had a shipment to receive and a store to run.

And an unexpected distraction.

"I really am very sorry I mistook you for the porter," Miss Baldwin apologized again. She was well spoken, he'd give her that. Her soft black hair was tied up in a simple style that framed pale skin, deep blue-green eyes, and rosy lips. Her perfect figure was concealed in a modest, elegant dress. She hadn't bought a dress like that anywhere nearby and the brooch pinned at the collar was genuine ivory.

"Not a problem." He smiled. "I'm sure it was an easy mistake to make."

He picked up his clipboard, scanning over the packing list. His eyes only made it halfway down the page before flickering back to Miss Baldwin. She studied the platform and the town beyond it with a resolute expression.

"You haven't seen beauty until you've seen Katie," the garish Miss Helen talked up another of the girls.

Michael begged to differ. He studied Miss Baldwin. She had her carpetbag open now and was sorting through its contents. Her lips were pressed in a perfect pink line of determination. There was no reason at all that he should find her more interesting than his work.

"You aren't going to...." He nodded towards the others.

"Oh no." She glanced up and shut her carpetbag, arching an eyebrow. "I don't need that kind of attention."

He closed his mouth and stood straighter. "That's very...confident of you."

"There are days, Mr. West, when confidence is the only thing I've got going for me."

A lopsided grin tweaked the corners of Michael's mouth. If this poised beauty expected to find a husband amongst the miners and cowboys of Cold Springs she was out of luck. Not one of them was up to the challenge.

"Do you want me to bring the wagon around, Mr. West?" Oliver asked as he jumped down from the train's cargo car.

Michael continued to appraise the enigmatic woman in front of him until she noticed him watching her. "Yes," he told Oliver. "See if you can flag down one of the Jones boys over there to help you while you're at it. Tell them I'll pay them a dime each to help with the shipment."

"Yes, sir."

"A dime?" The woman nodded her approval. "For that kind of money I'd help you myself."

"Would you now?" He tucked the clipboard under his arm, work forgotten.

"Certainly. Are you hiring?" She kept a straight face but there was a sparkle in her bright eyes.

One of her light-skirt companions laughed at something and half the men on the platform laughed with her. It served to underline her question. His grin broadened. "As much as I need help at the store, I don't think I could afford you."

"I thought you were one of the richest men in town, Mr. West."

It had been so long since a woman had flirted with him that he'd forgotten how to flirt back.

"Alright, you've got me there," he chuckled. What was wrong with him? He should go back to work or run as fast as he could.

He checked to make sure no one from town was listening. "I just need to make sure all of the crates on this packing list are here. Oliver can handle the rest. Then can I take your bags somewhere?" he asked out of sheer mad compulsion to find out who she was and what she was doing there. He glanced past her to the others. One of the young women actually lifted the corner of her skirt to show off her calves. "Do you know where you'll be staying?"

"I have no idea," she announced with a flash of excitement in her eyes. "I've been on that train for so long the only thing I know besides my name is that I don't ever want to get on a train again."

"And your name is Charlotte Baldwin." He nodded to the upturned tag on the bag between them.

"My friends call me Charlie." She held out her hand.

"Charlie." He set his clipboard down and took it. She wore kid gloves with pearl buttons. Not cheap. Charlie Baldwin most definitely wasn't from anywhere nearby. "How far have you come?"

"From Philadelphia."

"Philadelphia?" A twinge of bittersweet longing pierced his gut. "That's a long way."

"Yes." She made light of the distance. "But I'm here now and I intend to start over, starting now." She glanced over her shoulder at the train.

"You do?" It was just a coincidence, he told himself. Anyone could be from Philadelphia. "Why in God's name would you want to stay here?"

She shrugged. "Who wouldn't want to build a new life in a town as homey and picturesque as this?"

Her question was followed by a gunshot from the heart of the town's main street and a round of screaming from the silly girls disbursing off the platform. Charlie whipped her head around to find where the danger had come from, hugging her carpetbag.

"Cowboys," Michael explained with a shrug. "Someone is probably drunk."

"But it's eleven in the morning, at least it is if that clock is right." She nodded to the large clock built into the thick stone edifice of the bank.

"They've had a late start today," he replied with a straight face, a twinkle in his eye.

She pinned him with a dubious glance. Her anxiety melted and a chuckle bubbled up from her slender throat. She raised a hand to her mouth. "Oh dear."

Michael's long-suppressed desire to be charming flared to life. He made a half-hearted attempt to squash it. She was just another newcomer. A beautiful, intelligent newcomer with winsome eyes and a figure a man would have to be dead not to notice. Instinct couldn't have chosen a more inconvenient time to flare. Then again, a devilish part of him argued, if she had come to town to find a husband....

"Miss Baldwin. Charlie," he found himself asking against his better judgment, "Could I buy you lunch?"

"As long as you have enough dimes," she grinned.

Clever.

Dammit.

"I'm sure I could find some," he replied. "Let me just get Oliver situated and I'll show you the town."

This was either his lucky day or the beginning of pure disaster.

**Chapter Two**

Charlotte surveyed the Cold Springs train platform as Michael West gave instructions to his young assistant. She took another deep breath and smiled. A little kindness was just what she needed to shake off the shackles of what she'd left behind. She was well beyond the reach of her step-father's machinations at last.

"Lewis will make sure your bags are taken care of."

She jumped as Michael spoke beside her. Well, perhaps she still needed time to feel entirely free. "Thank you, Mr. West, that's very kind of you."

"Everything alright?" Michael looked around to see what had spooked her.

"Yes, yes, fine."

She prayed the blush that touched her cheeks didn't make her look like a complete ninny. She was strong and independent and would keep telling herself that until she believed it. She was also hungry and eager to make friends.

"I must say, Mr. West," she took his arm as he offered it, "it's an unexpected relief to have someone take me to lunch instead of having to go it alone."

"Call me Michael." He tucked her hand into his elbow and reached to take her bag.

Her pulse shot up and she yanked the bag out of his reach. "Michael then. But I'll keep my carpetbag with me, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." His face pinched with suspicion for half a second before his benign smile returned.

She forced her shoulders to relax as they headed across the platform towards the dusty street. Michael West was a respectable businessman, not some black-hearted thief out to rob her. She was determined to give people in her new life the benefit of the doubt.

It was clear that the flow of daily routine in town was disturbed by the presence of so many brightly-colored ladies. Two or three men were already escorting one or more of the girls into town. Half a dozen other men had their wives drag them away from the sight of so many painted ladies. It made for a crowded passage through the otherwise lazy street.

"So are you on your own with that lot?" He nodded towards Miss Helen and the girls ahead of them.

Charlotte hummed in reply. "I'm used to doing things for myself."

"Are you?" He was surprised.

"Well, yes." She blinked, turning her attention to him. "How else am I supposed to get anything done?"

His mouth parted at her statement but instead of commenting he closed it into a smile. "What do your parents think of you traveling on your own?"

"Not much." She gave him a vague smile. "I'm afraid they're both dead."

"I'm sorry," he issued a flustered apology.

"It's alright, they've been gone for years. What about your parents?" She scrambled for a way to turn the conversation away from her. "Do they mind you inviting a woman you just met out to lunch?"

He sent her a teasing grin. "Come now, Miss Baldwin."

"Charlie."

"Charlie. You can't really think I'm young enough to have parents watching out for me."

It would have been rude of her to laugh, but he had a point. He must have been well into his thirties. "We all need someone watching out for us."

"Yes, well my father never—"

A burly miner with a girl on each arm barged in front of them, cutting Michael off. The miner muttered something to one of the girls who laughed. Michael tensed. Charlotte frowned, sneaking a peek at his expression. It was wary at best, as if a miner slighting one of the town's wealthiest citizens wasn't unexpected. He continued walking as soon as the trio was well ahead of them.

"There's only one restaurant in town to speak of, unless you consider the saloon a restaurant, which I don't," he began again, watching to make sure the bully was moving on. "The restaurant is part of the only hotel in town, an establishment run by Mrs. Delilah Reynolds."

"A woman owns the hotel?" Charlotte brightened in an effort to shake off the odd encounter.

Michael nodded, unclenching when he saw her smile. "Yes, I do business with her on a regular basis. She's tougher than most of the men out here." He paused before saying, "You'll find quite a few powerful women this far west. Though how they maintain their power in some cases isn't for the faint of heart."

"Oh?"

He sent her a mischievous side-long glance. "Well, I'm sure you're aware that Montana has the highest concentration of prostitutes in the United States," he told her as though sharing a secret joke.

She blinked. A beat later her shock melted into wicked amusement. Her mother would have had a fit at the thought of her daughter living in such a wild town. Then again, that was reason enough to stay. She laughed, holding her free hand to her mouth. "I suppose it's not funny, really," she scolded herself, still giggling.

A cowboy leaning against a post across the street glanced up at her laughter. He took off his hat and swept her with a look of appreciation and a whistle. His look wasn't all that different from the one Michael had just given her.

Then it hit her.

"Oh no," she gasped.

"Something wrong?"

She winced, praying she hadn't given the wrong impression. "Mr. West, Michael, I should tell you right now that I'm not one of Miss Helen's girls."

He stopped short, studying her eyes as if making sure he'd heard her right. Then he flushed red, his eyes large behind his glasses.

"Oh dear." She bit her lip.

"I'm sorry." He didn't try to hide his mistake. "I never should have—"

"No, it's understandable."

"Unforgivable, more like."

"Was it something I did? Was I too forward?"

"No that wasn't—"

"In college they always told me I was too forward."

"College?"

"I know traveling with Miss Helen makes me look—"

"Oh no, you look lovely. I mean," he schooled his expression to seriousness, "you clearly don't belong with them at all."

She let out a breath and her sheepish smile returned. "I'm sorry. If that's what you're looking for I can go on alone."

"No! No, that's definitely _not_ what I'm looking for." The sparkle in his eyes told another story. "Not that you wouldn't be what I was looking for if I was looking. But I'm not. Looking, I mean. Though I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind. That is, you're quite beautiful. And from back east. It would make sense...in a way."

A grin spread from her lips to her chest. He had no clue what he was saying, bless his heart. It was charming.

"Forget what I just said." He gave up, letting out a breath then clearing his throat and standing straighter.

Their eyes met in a moment of collective embarrassment. Charlotte found herself unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up from her throat. He grimaced and laughed with her.

"Never mind," he said. "I'd still like to treat you to lunch. I wasn't really..."

"Hey! Westie!" His apology was cut short by a gruff shout. Charlotte flinched to see a man in a flannel shirt, denim pants, and chaps striding towards them with two cronies tailing him. "What on earth have you got there?"

"Edsel." Michael nodded, his whole body going stiff. The kind soul she'd just been in a verbal tangle with was gone, a cold, bristling stranger in his place. "I see the herd is in town."

"What's it to you?" The man named Edsel swaggered to a stop and spit out a stream of tobacco. It landed inches from Michael's feet.

Charlotte gaped at the crude display.

Michael tensed with protective indignation. "Has Mr. Talbert sent you to talk business with me?" he asked, eyes hard.

"Yeah, I got business for you alright." Edsel hitched his belt higher, showing a flash of pistol. Charlotte's heart shot to her throat at the sight of the gun. Edsel stood back, raking her from head to toe. "What the hell are you doing with something this fine and feminine, Westie?" He followed his comment with a whistle. His cronies muttered their appreciation as well.

Charlotte's back went up. Michael opened his mouth to tell Edsel off, but she beat him to the punch.

"Pardon me!" She poured her fear into outrage, gripping Michael's arm. She was on the verge of saying more but Michael placed a hand over hers to keep her quiet.

"Miss Baldwin is a friend from back east," Michael said. "So if you will excuse us."

Charlotte's worry and ire snuffed in surprise at the lie. He was protecting her. He didn't even know her and he was protecting her. No one ever tried to protect her. Her heart warmed at the thought.

Michael moved to escort her around the cowboys.

Edsel sniffed. He waited until she and Michael had stepped past them to say, "Didn't think she was your _type_."

"Didn't think any woman was yer type," one of his goons guffawed.

Michael stopped dead. He slowly turned to face the men. "What did you say?"

The cowboys shared a laugh. Charlotte held her breath. The air cracked with tension.

Edsel ignored Michael to rake Charlotte with a lewd grin. "Well, Miss Baldwin from back east, if you decide you want the company of a _real_ man...." He sniffed again and hitched his belt up with an entirely different effect. "I got what you need."

Michael looked like was ready to deck the man. Again Charlotte's temper got the better of her fear.

"Mr. Edsel, I highly doubt you've got what a cow needs, let alone a woman." She wrinkled her nose.

Edsel's face dropped, turning him from a threat to a moron.

Charlotte snuck a sidelong glance at Michael. His eyebrows were halfway up his forehead and his tight lips twitched as if he would either laugh or sneeze. She couldn't keep her own grin under control, try though she did. She gave up and winked.

Michael coughed, then cleared his throat and schooled his expression back to neutrality. He nodded to Edsel and walked on, tossing, "If Mr. Talbert has real business to discuss with me, Edsel, then you can advise him that he knows where to find me."

Michael didn't look back as they continued on and away from the odd confrontation so Charlotte didn't look back either.

"I can't believe that man's nerve," she said. She couldn't believe Michael's nerve either. Edsel was bigger than him and had a gun.

"He's a buffoon." Michael dismissed the incident.

"You think he'd show a little respect."

Michael let out a short laugh. "His sort don't know the meaning of the word."

"Does that happen frequently?"

He didn't reply. That was enough of an answer for her.

"I'm sorry if he upset you," Michael made his apologies as they continued up the street, stepping up onto the covered walkway made up of the porches of the shops and businesses.

"I've seen worse than him," she made light of the encounter.

"Have you?" He glanced to her with genuine surprise.

The past was the last thing she wanted to think about. She took a page out of his book and smiled but didn't reply. His lips twitched again.

They walked on. If she wasn't mistaken he muttered, "Don't even think about it," to himself.

She would have given anything to know that 'it' was. She'd run into men like Edsel all over the frontier. Fifteen minutes was enough to tell her she'd never met a man like Michael West in her life.

They had fallen a few steps behind the bulk of the crowd making their way across town. Miss Helen and the majority of her girls were entering the front door of a large hotel. It was the tallest building in the small town, three whole stories. There was also a saloon across the street and a few doors down, but for whatever reason most of the mass of silly, flirty female were being taken by their new beaus to the hotel.

"Charlie...." Michael slowed to a stop, eyeing the flow of traffic. "The hotel seems a bit crowded today. Would it be too forward of me to ask if you'd like to have lunch at my apartment?" He turned fully to her. "I live above the general store."

"I wouldn't mind at all." She was every bit as eager to avoid spending a second more with Miss Helen's girls as he seemed to be.

His smile returned and he continued forward, but only for a few yards. They were already walking along the porch that ran in front of his store. A few odds and ends, rakes, hoes, and other gardening implements, large bags of flour and rice, and a variety of baskets and hanging lanterns were tucked neatly around the store's open front door. Small signs displaying prices for goods carried in the store hung in the windows.

Michael escorted her inside. The interior was wide and spacious with shelves of wares of all sorts lining the walls. Tables with bolts of cloth and bins of vegetables along with barrels of everything from pickles to nails were set out in the center. Half a dozen customers browsed through the neat and orderly rows. Though small by city standards, Michael's store was obviously prosperous.

"Mr. West." A matronly woman with a round, red face huffed as she squeezed herself out from behind the counter. "Are you back with the shipment from Denver? Angus McGee has been in here twice in the last hour looking for his special cigars."

"Angus McGee will have to wait until Oliver checks the shipment and brings it back from the station," he told the woman. Without pause went on to say, "Nancy Deen, this is Miss Charlotte Baldwin."

Nancy Deen blinked and stared as though Michael had just introduced her to a giraffe.

"How do you do?" Charlotte did her best to smile and shifted her carpetbag to her other hand to hold her right one out to the woman.

Nancy continued to gape, staring from her to Michael, not sure who to gape at more. She finally closed her mouth with a snap and broke into a smile, taking Charlotte's hand. "Well I never thought.... Lovely to meet you, Miss Baldwin." She turned to grin at Michael as if he'd brought home a prize.

"Miss Baldwin and I are going to have lunch upstairs." Michael gave his employee a tight smile. "If you need anything feel free to interrupt."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Nancy mumbled as they walked past, through a doorway behind the counter and into a storeroom.

"Don't mind her," Michael sighed. He led her through a row of shelves and around a corner to a tight staircase. He didn't follow with any sort of explanation.

Charlotte was left to draw her own conclusions. Her curiosity ran wild.

She followed him up the stairs, trying to study him without attracting his notice. He wasn't aggressively masculine, not like Edsel. He seemed fit and healthy, though a little on the short side, probably with thinner hair than he had once had, but altogether well-formed. He was more like the men she had known growing up on the Main Line than the pioneers and cowboys she'd run into so far on her journey. Or maybe it was just the glasses that had her thinking that way.

No, she thought when he turned around at the top of the stairs to make sure she was still following, he definitely had an air of refinement and education around him. And yet here he was, a store proprietor in a wild west town.

"The apartment isn't much," he explained, helping her up the last step into an unadorned hallway. "Not like what you're used to, I'm sure. The kitchen is this way."

"How long have you lived here?" she asked, peeking into what looked like a library as they passed. They entered the large kitchen at the end of the hall.

"The apartment? About five years. Cold Springs? Nearly eight." He gestured for her to have a seat at the small table under a curtained window against the wall. She sat, resting her carpetbag at her feet. "I bought the business and the building from its previous owner, a Mr. Cartwright, five years ago as an investment." He left her at the table to fetch a jug of milk from a small ice box and a pair of glasses from a cabinet beside a sink.

"Where did you live before you came to Cold Springs?" she made conversation, looking around the kitchen. It had a modern sink, running water and all, and was wired for electricity. An incandescent bulb hung from the ceiling inside what looked to be an old-fashioned lamp. Very advanced for the frontier as far as she knew.

Michael took his time answering. He crossed to the icebox and took out a dish covered with a towel. He set it on the table revealing a cold roast and potatoes. "I hope you don't mind leftovers."

Her stomach rumbled as he revealed the food. "You're not used to having guests, are you?" She asked.

He gave a vague laugh and turned to take two plates from a shelf. "Not at all." The plates he set on the table didn't match. Neither did the silverware.

"So why entertain me?"

He poured her a glass of milk before answering. "Because I haven't come across anyone else from Philly in eight years."

A thrill of discover zipped through Charlotte. "You're from Philadelphia too?" Michael nodded and took his seat. "Do you miss it?"

His smile turned wistful. "I make it a point to never discuss my past."

"Oh, I see." Charlotte's pulse raced. He was holding back. She would have to find out what he missed so much. Loathe though she was to admit it, her step-father had made her a master of niggling secrets out of people. "You don't discuss it with anyone?"

"No."

"Not even your friends?"

A vague grin turned up his mouth as he served her from the plate of leftovers. "I only have a few friends and they already know all they need to know about me."

"Thank you." She took the plate he offered her but waited for him to serve himself before eating. "Frankly, I'm surprised you only have a few friends. You're quite personable."

He set his plate in front of him and blinked up at her. "Now there's something I haven't been called in years."

"Really?"

He winced. "When I first arrived in town there were a few...misunderstandings."

"Oh?" Her eyebrows shot up. "How intriguing. What misunderstandings?"

He met her eyes and held them with probing intensity before taking a breath and answering, "Nothing half the population of Cold Springs wouldn't be more than willing to gossip about behind my back."

How he could say that and then calmly start eating was beyond her. She bubbled with curiosity. Whatever story Michael had, and he clearly had a story, it managed to take her mind off her own troubles. She nudged her carpetbag with her foot to make sure it was still there and took a bite of cold roast. It wasn't half bad.

"Did you cook this?"

He shook his head. "I don't have time to cook. Most days I eat at the hotel."

"How very grand of you," she said. "My step-father made us eat at the club all the time."

"It gets old," he confessed. "And expensive. Dull though it makes me, I'd rather stay home."

"But without guests?"

He paused, eyes meeting hers with that mischievous twinkle that thrilled her a little more each time she saw it. Then he changed the subject. "I'm a disaster in the kitchen." He flashed her a sheepish grin.

"Ah! The truth comes out at last."

He chuckled. The comfortable feeling between them gave her the sense that she'd known him for years. Something about him was familiar. It made her bold.

"If you don't like cooking and don't have time for it, then why don't you get married?"

The slow, knowing way he glanced up at her made her fingers and toes tingle. "Why _don't_ I get married?" It was hard to tell whether he was teasing or asking her a genuine question.

"I suppose it would take a lot of dimes," she said, trying to be clever.

A grin spread across his face with such mischievous warmth that she wondered if she should remind him she wasn't one of Miss Helen's girls.

"You're planning to settle in Cold Springs, aren't you."

"Yes." The fluttering in her gut expanded into her chest.

"So you'll need a job, won't you. And a place to live."

Dear Lord, the idea was utterly preposterous, but there it was, staring her in the face along with Michael's wicked smile. She'd been traveling with a pack of husband hunters for weeks. They'd come out west to marry men they'd never even seen in the hopes of having a better life. It should have been an obvious solution to her problems. But up until that moment she'd intended to get a job and make her own new life. She hadn't met anyone who made her consider joining their life as seriously as she was considering it now, sitting across a kitchen table from the enigmatic Michael West.

"Yes," she answered as if the space between them hadn't just rippled with possibility. "I will need all that and more."

He took a bite of his roast. "You know, as the town grows, the store grows, which means I am busier and busier. It's one thing to hire help for the store, but hiring companionship is a different story altogether." There was a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

Charlotte's mouth quivered. "I was under the impression that Montana had quite a bit of companionship for hire."

Michael gaped and choked on his food.

She gasped and reached out to help him. "I'm sorry, I—"

He shook his head, laughing. "I really did make a bad first impression if you would think—"

"Oh no, you made a very good first impression," she rushed to cover yet another flub.

He shook his head. "In spite of Cold Springs' abundance, Miss Baldwin, I am not in the habit of hiring company."

"And no suitable young lady has offered herself up for the position?" Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment. "I find that hard to believe."

He stared at her as if she was a jewel in a curiosity shop. "You wouldn't if you knew the town and its gossip better."

Her heart and mind raced. One leap of faith and she could change her life. As long as she could keep her past in the past.

"So I take it you would be looking for someone who could help run both a general store and a home." She set her fork down and looked him in the eye.

"Well," he mirrored her gesture and set his own fork down, "only if she knew what she was doing."

"Someone with a college degree, perhaps, and a head for figures?"

"Yes, precisely."

"Someone with a bit more sophistication than the locals? Who might be able to carry on a decent conversation over dinner or with clients even?"

A grin spread across his lips and his shoulders relaxed. "That would be a decided advantage."

"Perhaps someone who wouldn't ask too many questions about the past as long as not too many questions were asked in return?" Again she tapped her carpetbag with the toe of her boot to reassure herself it was still there.

He smiled in earnest. "Yes, exactly."

She returned his smile and picked up her fork with an, "Oh," and took another bite of her lunch.

He was silent as he watched her eat, his eyes dancing with deep consideration. He was struggling with his thoughts, debating with himself. She didn't blame him. It was one thing to toy with an idea as outrageous as marrying a stranger, no questions asked, but it was a whole different kettle of fish to actually commit to it.

She let him consider, let him think it was his idea. For all she knew it was. He was the one who had invited her for lunch and he had mistaken her for one of Miss Helen's girls. Miss Helen had insisted that her girls were brides not whores. It could have been the luckiest mistake of her life.

"Miss Baldwin, will you marry me?"

She glanced up to catch the puzzled, triumphant, expectant expression flushing his face. She could practically see his heart hammering in his chest at his gamble. Or maybe that was her own heart.

"I...I think I will." She forced herself to be cautious, as much as she didn't want to be. "But would you mind giving me the afternoon to think about it?"

"Not at all." He nodded, once again the businessman considering a deal. "I'll arrange for us to have supper at the hotel to talk more in depth. And I can reserve a room there for you if you'd like."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Michael."

Impulsive or not, the facts were the facts. Life as Charlotte Baldwin was a disaster. Life as Charlie West would be a whole new world.

**Chapter Three**

Lunch passed in a buzz of unspoken possibility. Michael started into a deeper explanation about his store's place in the community but was interrupted when Oliver, the young man who worked for him along with Nancy Deen, returned from the station with a wagon full of supplies that needed to be put away.

"I can stay and help if you'd like," Charlotte offered as she walked with Michael down the narrow stairs to the storeroom.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs, offering a hand to help her down the last few steps and considering. "Under normal circumstances I would say yes...."

"But these are not normal circumstances," she finished.

His expression told her how big her understatement was. "No. They are not. The store is my responsibility and until I've had a chance to orient you I can't ask you to do any work here."

"That sounds like a perfectly reasonable caveat." Charlotte nodded. "Besides, I have a few errands I'd like to run myself."

"Anything I can help with?" he offered as they walked through the rows of half-empty shelves towards the back of the storage room.

"Can you point me in the direction of a bank?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Not planning to rob it, are you?"

The urge to play the role of saucy minx was undeniable. "Maybe." She couldn't keep up the pretense, especially not when he arched an eyebrow as if she might be telling the truth. "I'm not." She broke down into giggles. "The other way around, actually. I have a deposit to make." She lifted her carpetbag a few inches in explanation.

"I see." He nodded as they headed to the large open door where young Oliver was unloading the wagon. "Depositing your haul from another robbery then?"

Her lips twitched in a grin. "That's it exactly." If he only knew.

He took her hand and helped her down the uneven wooden stairs to the back alley. It ran between the row of shops that fronted Main Street and the back yards of a line of houses that fronted the next street over. His grip was firm and his hand neither too rough nor too smooth. "The bank is the one with the clock on its front. I know the manager very well. When you go in ask to speak to Mr. Bell. Tell him you're a close friend of mine and he'll make sure you're taken care of."

"Thanks, Michael." She smiled and squeezed his hand before letting it go.

The alley was almost as busy as the main street, but with housewives hanging laundry in their yards and children playing rather than town commerce. Charlotte received a few curious smiles and nods. She waved back, feeling entirely satisfied with her choices. She hugged her carpetbag.

She sighed as she turned onto the side road that lead back to Main Street where the bank was. Could she do it? Was she really mad enough to marry a stranger in a frontier town?

Of course she could, she answered herself. Michael West presented her with the opportunity to start over with everything she wanted, a job, a home, and a purpose. It was more than her step-father had ever tempted her with.

As Charlotte reached Main Street her glance fell on a man crossing towards the saloon. She gasped as her heart dropped to her stomach. It was him. Even with the distance she recognized his scruffy beard and stocky build. She clutched her carpetbag close and jumped back to press against the wall of the nearest shop. In an instant she was trembling from head to toe.

What was he doing here? The man had failed to rob her in St. Louis, but the terror of those desperate minutes when she had fought him off in the dark still haunted her. He wouldn't have followed her this far, would he? It wouldn't be worth the effort. She didn't have that much.

Unless he was after more than the contents of their carpetbag.

She gulped and took a breath before inching her way to peek around the corner.

The man was gone. The few people who walked in the street appeared to be townspeople. Charlotte dropped her shoulders and let out a breath.

She hadn't imagined him, had she? Maybe? But no. She'd fought off the would-be robber in St. Louis. She was certain she'd seen the same man again in Denver. That was most definitely him just now.

Someone was following her.

When she was sure she was safe she dashed across the street. There was another reason to marry Michael. He'd protected her from that cowboy Edsel. Maybe he would protect her from whoever was pursuing her.

She hugged her carpetbag closer, trying to shake off her worry. Yes, a new name and a new identity would keep anyone looking for her from finding her. It would bury the things she'd done forever.

The Cold Springs bank was tiny compared to what Charlotte was used to. The front lobby was hardly bigger than the platform at the end of the train car. Charlotte wondered if it was designed that way to discourage would-be bank robbers. They would barely have enough room to draw a gun.

"Can I help you?" the white-haired man behind the barred deposit window asked. He stared over his spectacles at her as he shuffled through a small stack of papers.

"Yes, please." She caught her breath and gave the old man her most polite and charming smile. "I'm interested in a safe deposit box. I was told to ask to speak to a Mr. Bell, to tell him I'm a friend of Mr. Michael West."

The old man's bushy brows shot up. "A friend of Mr. West?" His brow lowered again and sank as though she was lying. "I'll see if Mr. Bell is available."

He turned away from her. Charlotte was left to stand and watch as he shuffled away through the room visible behind the barred window. It contained a pair of desks, a new typing machine sitting on one of them, and a row of filing cabinets against the wall between tall, barred windows with a view of the other side of town.

The old teller shuffled towards an open office door at the back of the room then stopped to say, "Mr. Bell, there's a young woman here to see you. Wants to open a safe deposit box. Says she's a friend of Mr. West."

"Really?" a tenor voice spoke from the office. The teller stepped back and a moment later a tall, well-dressed man with sandy-blonde hair appeared in the doorway. "A friend of Michael's?"

He strode across the room towards a small door separating the lobby from the rest of the bank. A lock clicked and Charlotte moved to be ready to shake the man's hand when he came through.

"Mr. Bell?" she asked, holding out a hand to him.

"Yes." He took her hand with a businesslike smile. "Phineas Bell. And you are?"

"Charlie," she told him, using her new name.

"And you're a friend of Michael's?" Mr. Bell blinked.

"I am." She offered no more.

"I didn't think that Michael had any friends," Phineas said, amused. "Well, aside from the few of us here."

Her bubbling curiosity returned, sending trickles of excitement down to her toes. "Michael told me you would be able to help me." She would straighten out her business first and pepper Michael's friend with questions later.

"Absolutely. Right this way."

Phineas lead her back through the bank to his office. It wasn't much bigger than the lobby. His desk took up most of the space along with a chair for clients and an electric lamp. A large vault door stood closed behind the desk and one barred window let in light from the early afternoon.

"Please have a seat." He gestured to the chair as he scooted around his desk. "What can I do for you today?"

Charlotte held her carpetbag on her lap. There was something different about Phineas Bell. Not dangerous or suspicious, just odd. He was a nice, soft-spoken, intelligent man. He reminded her of someone.

"I'd like to rent a safe deposit box," she said. "As soon as possible, if you have one available."

"I'm sure we can find something to meet your needs." He sat, gesturing expansively with his hands. His movements were fluid and graceful. "How much space will you need?"

She hesitated. Bankers were sworn to secrecy, like doctors, weren't they? Michael's friend wouldn't go around gossiping about what people put in their safe deposit boxes.

She opened the clasp of her carpetbag, reaching inside and taking out a rectangular velvet-covered box. "I need something large enough to hold this.

Phineas' brow inched up at her treasure. "May I?" He gestured to the box.

A wave of nervous uncertainty gripped her but she said, "Go right ahead."

He picked up the box and opened it. His eyes widened when he saw what it contained. Nestled on a silk cushion were a variety of jewels. Two diamond necklaces, a pearl choker, three brooches of pearl, diamond, and emerald, and three sets of pearl, diamond, and emerald earrings.

"They were my mother's," she explained, face flushing, saying as little as she could get away with. "There were more once, but I'm afraid I've had to sell them to finance my trip west."

"They're exquisite!"

Phineas sighed his appreciation. His slender fingers traced over the filigree of one of the necklaces. The admiration in his eyes was deeper than that of a banker for an asset. He knew how beautiful they were. It filled her with confidence. And guilt.

"I want to put them where they'll be secure. I've been traveling alone, you see, and I was nearly robbed in St. Louis."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"There were a few other incidents." She paused and shook away the fear creeping down her neck. "I'm here now, hopefully for good, and I'd like to keep these things in a bank."

"Of course." Phineas closed the velvet lid. "And you say you're a friend of Michael's?"

"Um, yes." She winced at the hesitation in her voice.

Phineas flashed her a curious look. Charlotte was sure he would ask questions. Instead he pushed away from his desk to stand and make his way over to the safe door.

"The bank has the latest in security measures in place to protect our clients' assets."

He bent to fiddle with the vault's lock, clicking the dial back and forth before it settled with a tick and the handle turned.

The thick, heavy door swung open to reveal a room lined with metal shelves and smaller safes. Phineas stepped inside, searched the shelves for a moment, then picked out a metal box and brought it back to the desk. The box bore a lock with a small key in it. He turned the key and lifted the lid.

"We just got a shipment of these safe deposit boxes in from a firm in Chicago," he said. "They're quite popular with miners in the area, though none of them hold anything near as fine as your mother's jewels."

Charlotte blushed at the compliment. "It's perfect. Exactly what I'm looking for." She picked up the velvet box, running her hand fondly over it, then set it inside the safe deposit box. Phineas closed the lid, turned the key, and handed it to her. "How much do I owe you for this?"

"Rent for a box this size is a dollar a month."

Charlotte swallowed. It was a lot, all things considered, although not outrageous. She could pay, but once her own money ran out it was more than likely she would be spending Michael's money. If she chose to go that way. If he would let her. Men were funny when it came to their money. At least her step-father was.

"That's fine." She sent Phineas a smile.

"It will only take a moment to fill out the paperwork." He shifted to search for the proper forms in the file behind his desk.

She watched him, the smile returning to her face, It was a relief to have the jewels out of her hands at last. If someone was chasing her he could try to rob the bank all he wanted.

Her smile slipped as Phineas shifted his weight to one hip. His posture jogged her memory. Uncle Darius. That's who he reminded her of. Her mother's brother. Her mother's _bachelor_ brother. She'd always adored Uncle Darius. They had been inseparable and she had never understood why her step-father had yanked her away from him on several occasions. Until she understood too well.

"Here we go." Phineas found the right form and turned to sit at his desk again to fill it out. "It's a simple contract. It spells out the terms and conditions of the safe deposit box rental. I'm sure you'll find it all in order."

"I'm sure." Her smile widened. Her eyes darted to Phineas's hand. He didn't wear a ring. Yes, she had strong suspicions that Michael's friend was like her Uncle Darius.

He picked up his pen and held it poised over the paper. "What name should I put on the contract?"

She tried to think fast. "Charlie West."

Phineas's glance snapped up to hers. He blinked, lips twitching with questions. She expected them all to come pouring out and she braced herself to make up answers. Instead Phineas wrote "Charlie West" in perfect handwriting on the contract.

"Your place of residence?" His voice was tighter. She wasn't sure, but she thought he was fighting a grin. Or a grimace.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to be every bit as calm on the outside as Michael had been earlier when they were facing down the bully cowboy Edsel. "What's the address of the General Store?"

The briefest wisp of a hum snuck out through Phineas's trembling lips and he wrote as he spoke, "15 Main Street, Cold Springs, Montana." He finished writing, shaking his head in either disbelief or to keep himself from saying more than was professional. He set the pen down so that she could pick it up and turned the contract to her. "Take your time reading it and then sign here Miss...Mrs....?"

"You can call me Charlie." She sent him a sly smile in return and picked up the pen.

"I knew Michael had a sister, but we've never met. I was under the impression that you were older."

Charlotte glanced up at him. "I'm not his sister."

"You're not?" His smile melted to confusion.

She shook her head. "We're not related." A rush of mischief struck her. "Yet."

Phineas gaped at her, all humor gone. "Michael has never mentioned a word about you."

She let her grin spread and stain her cheeks pink as she signed the contract with a name that wasn't really hers then glanced up. "He keeps to himself."

"That's certainly true." Phineas nodded. "But I thought surely he would tell me something like...this."

Charlotte blinked. Lightning quick, several facts came together. Phineas Bell was like her Uncle Darius. More than one person she'd encountered that morning had been surprised to see Michael with a woman. The certainty she'd been building up about her secure future crashed into doubt. "Are you and Michael...close?"

"We've been friends for years, yes," Phineas told her.

Awkwardness washed over her. "Oh. I see." A whole new set of considerations flashed to her mind, a whole new set of reasons why a man would rush to marry a woman he knew nothing about.

She stood, her carpetbag slipping to the floor. She'd forgotten it was still on her lap. A billfold, a handkerchief, and a shiny black box the size of a small brick spilled out. "Oh dear," she said, bending to pick them up.

"Here, let me help."

Phineas got up and hurried around the desk to help her gather her things. He lifted the black box to study it. Its contents rattled.

"This is beautiful," he breathed.

Charlotte's chest squeezed around her heart. "It's made of onyx. The design on the lid is mother-of-pearl. It belonged to my father."

"I'm surprised he let you take it from him."

"My father died when I was six," Charlotte confided. "That's all I have left of him. I almost didn't have that. My step-father was rather fond of it, you see. He kept it in his study, like some sort of trophy." She pressed her lips tight and forced herself to breathe and calm down. Randolph would never take what was hers or pollute her life again. "I rescued it when I left."

"I see." Phineas handed it back to her with a sympathetic grin. "Are you sure you don't want to keep it in the vault as well?"

"No," Charlotte laughed. "It isn't valuable. Just precious. The lid doesn't even open. See?" She demonstrated by trying to open it and failing. "I suspect my step-father broke it somehow."

"Your step-father sounds like a horrible man."

"You have no idea." She tucked her father's box into her carpetbag. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Bell." Her smile was a little more forced than it had been before. "I feel like my treasures are in safe hands."

"They are." He nodded, checking the floor to see if she'd missed anything that had spilled. "Can I walk you out?"

"Certainly."

She didn't know what to say to the man as he escorted her through the main office to the lobby and out to the sunshine-filled street. In truth she didn't know what to make of him or his connection to Michael. All she had were suspicions and imaginative ideas. She could have been totally wrong about any of them, just as Michael had been wrong to assume she was one of Miss Helen's girls. Secrets and lies were always harder to navigate than one thought.

"I'm sure we'll be seeing each other often." Phineas shook her hand once they were outside.

"I'm glad to hear it." She was glad in spite of everything. She liked Phineas Bell. He gave her hope for the town of Cold Springs. "Thank you once again for all your help."

"The pleasure was all mine." He left it at that, raising her hand to kiss it like any gentleman would. His gesture drew more than a few eyes from passersby. "Good day then, Charlie."

She smiled and turned to head on to the hotel, a hundred new questions about her prospective fiancé brimming in her mind.

"Who the hell is Charlie?"

Michael glanced up from stacking sacks of flour on the porch in front of the store to see Phineas storming towards him.

"And a good morning to you too, Phin." He sent his friend a wary look. "Can I help you?"

Phin ignored him, brushing the dust of the street from his suit as he stepped on the sidewalk. "A woman I've never seen before came into my bank this morning saying her name was Charlie _West_. And she's not your sister."

Michael's eyebrows flew up. "I guess she's made up her mind then." A warm buzz filled his chest. Too warm. He dismissed it.

"Made up her mind?"

"Yes." He went back to work arranging the storefront. "I asked her to marry me this morning."

A long silence followed. He checked on Phin only to find him standing rigid with bright splotches on his cheeks.

"What game are you playing?" Phin finally managed to speak.

"I don't know what you mean." He ignored his friend's indignation and took a rag out of his apron pocket to polish the dust away from a bin of apples.

"Michael, I've known you for twenty years. I know you like to have your little secrets," Phin crossed his arms, "but this is going too far."

His friend's words pricked him with guilt. He owed Phin more than that. A lot more.

He looked for an excuse. "Weren't you all saying just last week that I need a wife like, what was it? Like a dying man needs a glass of water?"

Phineas shook his head. "If you remember, we were all drunk when we made that suggestion."

"Oh I don't doubt it." Michael glanced up at him through his glasses. "But I got the hint."

"So you snatch the first woman off the train and propose to her?"

He polished another apple before replying. "Do I seem like the type who would do that?"

"No. You're not the sort to even talk to a stranger let alone marry one."

"Then there you have it." Michael smiled and tossed the apple into the bin.

"Don't go all sphinx on me, Michael. Why her? Why now? Who is she?"

"My fiancée."

Phin huffed in irritation, dropping his arms. "Alright then, let's take this one step at a time." He drew in a breath as if drawing in patience. He let it out then asked, "Who is she?"

Michael played along. "Her name is Charlotte Baldwin and she's from Philadelphia."

"Philadelphia?" Phineas raked a hand through his hair. "Come on, Michael, you can't be serious. Does she know—"

"Of course not. She's too young."

"How old is she?"

"I have no idea."

"When did you meet her?"

"About forty-five minutes before I proposed to her."

Phin let out a humorless laugh. "You can't be serious."

"I am. Good morning Miss Jones." He interrupted the argument to greet the middle-aged woman entering his store.

Miss Jones gave him a tight smile in return, eyes darting between him and Phin with harsh suspicion. She sniffed and walked on.

"Your next question was 'why now', right? There's your answer."

Phineas shook his head. "I don't buy it. The people of Cold Springs have thrown us in the same boat since the day I dragged your sorry ass off the train and you've never cared. So I repeat the question. Why now?"

It would have been much easier to answer if he hadn't been asking himself the same thing for the last few hours.

"Why not? I've got more work on my hands at the store than I can manage on my own."

"And you think getting married to a woman you know nothing about would be cheaper than hiring someone?"

"Maybe I want a family. A respectable shopkeeper should have a family and a home."

Phin snorted. "Since when have you considered being a shopkeeper respectable for a man with Philly roots?

"Maybe I just want a beautiful woman in my bed." Michael frowned. "Did you ever think of that?"

"So tell Delilah and she'll match you up with a local girl."

Michael sent him a flat stare. "Now you're just talking crazy."

Phineas growled as if he would punch Michael in the face just to knock some sense into him.

"I like Charlie," Michael conceded. "She impressed me with her spirit."

"So you're going to marry her?"

"Why not?"

"Well, for starters, I recall someone once telling me that marriage was a soul-crushing prison that kills hearts."

Michael lost his smug grin. "That was years ago."

"I also recall someone saying that he would never be foolish enough to love anyone again."

"Who said anything about love?" Michael swallowed the bitter memories Phin's words brought back. "We just met. It's a business arrangement. I need something and she needs something."

"What does she need?"

He went back to straightening a display of bottled spices. "I didn't ask. It's none of my business."

"This is not like you at all," Phin persisted. "You barely trust your own employees—"

"That's not true."

"—and now you're bringing someone you know nothing about into your home?"

"Yes, that's about the size of it."

Phin sighed. "You are a strange little man, Michael West."

"No," he corrected his friend with the patience of Job. "I am a businessman who spotted an opportunity."

"And your new fiancé knows this is just business?"

Michael's twinge of guilt returned. "Absolutely. Why else would a stunningly beautiful woman with above average intelligence agree to marry a strange little man like me?"

"Shouldn't you be asking yourself exactly that same thing right now?" Phin persisted.

Michael remained silent. The question hadn't left his thoughts since Charlie had left his sight. There was more to 'Charlie' Baldwin than met the eye. More that he was aching to find out, but in all the wrong ways. That alone should have worried him.

Phin didn't add anything. When the silence wore on to awkwardness Michael asked, "What business did she have at the bank?"

"She opened a safe deposit box, but that's all I'm going to say." Phin crossed his arms. "I shouldn't even tell you that. You're going to regret this, you know."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are. You're going to wake up one morning and wonder what the hell you did. And when you do I just hope you remember that I told you so."

Michael went on sorting the goods he had for sale without replying. Phin lost patience and left without another word. Michael glanced up at his retreating back. His coy expression dropped. Leave it to Phin to remind him of all the reasons he'd avoided romantic attachments for so long. It didn't matter. He'd made up his mind and once he'd made a decision he never went back.

**Chapter Four**

Michael stood in the lobby at the bottom of the hotel's grand staircase dressed in his finest suit. He had debated buying flowers from the vendor set up in the lobby but had given up the idea when he saw several of the floozies from the train sporting bouquets. The last thing he needed to do was to treat Charlie the same way they were being treated.

Except that he had already proposed to her as if she'd stepped off the train and lined up with the rest of the skirts for sale.

A rustle of movement from the landing stopped him from shaking his head at himself. He turned to see Charlie gliding down the stairs. She wore a simple but elegant green dress, her hair caught up in the latest fashion. She didn't wear any jewelry, but then she didn't need to. The low cut of her neckline revealed creamy skin that begged to be touched. His gut gave a dangerous lurch. She was gorgeous.

What was he doing?

He smiled, enigmatic yet controlled. She smiled back as though she was delighted to see him.

He was in serious trouble.

"Good evening, Miss Baldwin." He stepped forward to greet her and take her arm as she reached the lobby. "You look stunning." She was about as businesslike as a spring breeze dancing through the meadow.

"Thank you, Mr. West. You look quite well yourself." The honesty in her eyes was miles away from the looks his less than impressive build usually got.

"How was your afternoon?" he asked as he escorted her through the lobby towards the restaurant, acutely aware of the curious stares they were getting from Cold Springs' finest.

"It was lovely. I met your friend Mr. Bell." The subtle quirk of a grin lit her face and eyes as she sent him a sidelong look.

"Yes, Phin told me," he drawled.

"He was so helpful," she continued.

"That's Phin for you."

Michael had hoped to slip into the restaurant unseen, but his hopes were dashed as a handsome woman with silver hair piled in curls on her head intercepted them.

"I saw the reservation in the books," she crossed her arms, "and I ran into Phineas Bell this afternoon, but I never believed I'd see the day Michael West would step out with a woman in this town."

Michael braced himself. "Charlie, I'd like you to meet Mrs. Delilah Reynolds."

"Oh!" Charlie's eyes lit up. "You own the hotel, don't you? I was hoping we would meet."

Delilah's grin switched from wry amusement to cautious surprise as she looked Charlie over. "I see my reputation precedes me. The good part of it at least."

Charlie held out her hand, full of eagerness. "It's always a pleasure to meet a woman of purpose and substance."

"Is that so?"

"Absolutely. I'm a strong believer in women's rights. I'm a member of the National American Woman Suffrage Association."

Michael's brow shot up. Delilah's grin dropped entirely. She took Charlie's hand, sending Michael a glance. "Thank you, my dear. Charlie, was it?"

He was too amused by the interaction to interrupt. He let Charlie answer.

"Yes." She didn't add any further details. "I'm so impressed with your hotel. It's an oasis in the wilderness."

Delilah's smile returned as she glanced to Michael. "I had a whole speech prepared for you, but I think I'll save it."

Michael replied with a knowing grin. "I appreciate that more than you can know, Delilah."

"I'll give the two of you a table in the corner." She gestured for them to follow her. "From what Phin was telling me you have a lot to talk about and it would be a shame if you were disturbed."

"Are you a friend of Mr. Bell as well?" Charlie asked.

"I'm proud to say that I am." Delilah nodded. "He's one of the few men in town that has any sense."

"Only a few?" Charlie teased.

Yes, Michael thought, Charlie and Delilah would get along well. Maybe he should post warnings.

"You haven't been here long." Delilah winked as they reached a quiet table. "As far as I'm concerned there are only four men in Cold Springs with any sense at all. And up until five minutes ago I was ready to knock that number down to three."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Michael mumbled as he crossed between the two women and pulled out a chair for Charlie.

"You should," Delilah muttered back. To Charlie she said, "I'll leave you two alone, but I'd like to get to know you better, Charlie."

"I'd like that too," Charlie smiled.

Delilah sashayed away from the table to greet a few of her other guests. Charlie turned to Michael, a twinkle in her fetching eyes that could burn the hotel to the ground.

"I like her," she whispered as she sat.

Michael pushed in her chair, leaning closer to her than he ought to, and whispered, "She likes you too."

"That's a good place to start."

He circled around the table to take the seat opposite her. "That's the very best place to start."

He settled himself in his chair, wondering why on earth he wasn't locked safe in his store counting receipts. Not a soul had sparked his interest this wildly in years.

"So word has gotten out that we're considering marriage?" Charlie whispered, leaning towards him, her cheeks rosy.

He tried to hide his attraction to her with a smirk. "In a town as small as Cold Springs it's next to impossible to keep your business to yourself."

"But you seem to do a good job of it, don't you, Mr. West."

He met her eyes, searching for the deeper meaning of her statement. She was driving at something. "I save my advertising for the store, Miss Baldwin," he evaded her, "not my personal life."

"A wise move, all things considered."

She picked up her napkin and spread it across her lap with a graceful flick of her wrist. Her pretty face held an impish glow. She was definitely trying to pry something out of him. She was out of luck. He knew all too well how to keep a secret. How to discover them too.

"Mrs. Reynolds is originally from New York." He distracted her from her game. "She tries to bring a bit of civilization to the wild now and then. Not that people are falling all over themselves to appreciate it." As if on cue one of the girl from the train snorted a laugh at the man treating her to supper.

"We'll have to appreciate it on our own then." Charlie smiled.

He admired her ease of conversation and her energy. Life with Charlie would be anything but boring.

"Good evening, Mr. West." A young waiter slid up to the table. "What can I get for you and your...and your _lady friend_ this evening?"

"Hello, James," Michael answered patiently. Charlotte lowered her eyes with a grin over James's surprise. "Mrs. Reynolds had a shipment of wine delivered this morning. If you could bring us a bottle of that and then whatever Alex feels up to cooking tonight. I'll leave the choice up to his discretion."

"Alex will be happy to hear that," James switched from proper waiter to conversational neighbor. "He's all excited about some fancy mushrooms that come in from Denver. Truffles, he called 'em. Said he's dying to try 'em out in something an' he doesn't want to waste them on the likes of...." He tossed his head back over his shoulder to the louder patrons.

Charlie glanced up at the mention of truffles.

"That'll be fine," he nodded. "And thank you, James."

"You're welcome, Mr. West, sir." James hurried off, dodging between the tables like a cowboy.

A grin spread across Charlie's face as she watched him go. "He's quite enthusiastic, isn't he."

"What a delightful way to describe it," Michael drawled.

He shifted in his chair. Charlie watched him with full attention. He could have sat there all evening chatting with her. She was certainly lively enough. It was such a change for someone to actually want to talk with him. But, as he reminded himself, this was a business meeting, not a tryst. He needed to know her mind, needed to start planning, if planning was in order.

James returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. The young man made a grand show of uncorking the bottle and pouring it. When he kept his mouth shut he could pass for a waiter in a fine hotel back east.

"Mrs. Reynolds said not to waste this good stuff on them lot over there." He broke the illusion with gossip. "Says they can have the watered down stuff here an' get anything else at the saloon."

"I can imagine." Michael nodded.

James stood there for a moment longer, grinning at Charlie. Michael had to clear his throat. James flinched, catching the hint and scuttling off with an awkward cough.

Charlie took a sip of her wine. Michael watched her to see if she would either choke or guzzle it down like a pro.

"It's very good," she said instead.

So she had some experience with fine wine. Interesting.

He nodded, taking a drink from his own glass. "Delilah knows how, and more importantly where, to order wine."

Charlie smiled but didn't say anything. The conversation paused. He watched her expression, trying to read her. Was she naïve or experienced? Would she go for bravado or would he do better to appear sympathetic. Would romance win her or was she the kind of woman who skipped the niceties and went straight for passion?

As soon as he realized what he was doing a jolt of disgust shot through him. Eight years and he had slid back into being that man without thought. He cleared his throat and sat straighter, pushing old habits aside and focusing on Charlie as a businesswoman, his possible fiancé.

Her glance darted around the room, shifting to the door several times as if expecting someone. Her eyelashes fluttered as she turned her attention back to him. The unspoken questions that brought them together hung in the air more heavily than any small talk they could have made.

"Did you take care of your business at the bank?" he asked, focusing on something other than her long, dark lashes.

"Yes I did." She smiled. "I was quite interested to meet your friend, Mr. Bell."

"Yes, Phin is a good man."

"Is he married?" she asked and hid her expression by taking another sip of wine.

So that's what she was digging for. She'd heard the rumors after all. "No, he's not."

She gave a half-shrug. "It's a pity. He seems like he would make any woman a good husband."

His mouth twisted to a wry smile. "I don't think marriage is his priority."

"Perhaps not." Charlie shrugged and took another sip. "But unless I'm mistaken, marriage wasn't your priority either, until this morning." She met his eyes. "Perhaps you and your friend Phineas are much...closer...in your opinions than you let on?"

He made up his mind right there that he wouldn't answer her curiosity about the town's favorite piece of gossip. "A man is often defined by his friends," he said instead.

"Whether they share their interests or not?" she fished a little more.

"Exactly." He stayed as vague as possible, taking a drink of wine and silently daring her to ask him what she clearly wanted to. He hadn't been so stimulated in years.

"I've seen it before, you know."

"People and their friends?" He refused to give ground.

She shifted in her seat, her coy expression dropping. "I had an uncle like that. I was very fond of him."

"Were you?" How extraordinarily open-minded of her. He forgot their game as his estimation of her rose even higher.

"Unfortunately, yes." Her glance fluttered down. "When I think of the life he had to live, the sacrifices he had to make...." Genuine sadness glowed from her expression.

Seeing her distressed touched a deep nerve and spurred him to action.

"Charlie," he spoke gently to draw her out of her unpleasant memories, "I want to be very clear with you about a few things."

She glanced up, eyes focusing on him. "Oh?"

"Yes. I'm sorry if I have a tendency to be cryptic. Sometimes it's easier than saying too much." Even that admission made his back itch with discomfort. He pushed past it by reminding himself he had a business deal to close.

"I know exactly what you mean." She smiled as if she'd solved a riddle. "I promise on my honor that I will not spill your secrets to anyone."

A prickling sensation ran down Michael's spine. He didn't care one bit if people in Cold Springs assumed he was Phin's lover, but he couldn't bear the thought of Charlie having the wrong impression. Not when she looked at him like that.

"I think it's important with what we're considering for us to be absolutely clear about our expectations," he got down to it.

"Yes, yes of course," she agreed.

He took a breath and laid his cards on the table. "I didn't ask you to marry me as some sort of plot to deceive people in Cold Springs. I'm looking for a true marriage."

"Of course." She rested her hands on the table and sat forward.

"Which means I would expect you to share the load of work at the store and at home."

"I'll be glad to have something worthwhile to do." She smiled.

He returned her smile, the edge of seriousness still sharp in his expression. "And I would expect you to share my bed as well."

It was the moment of truth. If she was serious about marriage then she needed to be serious about all of marriage. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in a sexless prison.

She surprised him by holding his gaze as she answered, "Absolutely, if that's what you really want."

"Oh believe me, it is."

His roguish comment made her cheeks flush crimson. "Then I have no objections to sharing your bed."

The barest hint of a victorious grin tickled the corners of her mouth. His eyes narrowed in curiosity over the expression until he realized what it was about. He'd answered her suspicions about his relationship with Phin without her having to ask a single question.

She'd out maneuvered him without breaking a sweat.

"I'm glad we're in agreement." His heart thundered in his chest. He wracked his brain for a way to justify taking her home to his bed right then or inviting himself up to her room for the night.

"I'd like to have children," she went on, splashing cold water on his flaring desire. "Whatever we need to do to have them is fine with me."

Just like that the clever siren he thought he'd been competing with turned into a artless, blushing virgin.

"Children are not the only reason a man and a woman share intimacies, of course." He tested the ground where he stood with her again.

"No?"

"No." He couldn't really do this to her, could he? She was sweet and innocent, no matter how crafty her conversation. Whatever her reasons for wanting to marry a stranger, she didn't deserve the man he knew he was.

But this was just a business transaction, he reminded himself. It was a marriage of convenience to meet her needs and his. If Charlie's reasons for wedding involved having children it was none of his business.

He drew in a breath, shifted forward and folded his hands on the table, moving on. "What are your expectations for me?"

"Well, um...." She floundered like she had been caught in an exam without having studied. "I suppose I would expect that you would protect me and defend me and teach me the ways of the west."

"That goes without saying," he nodded.

"But I don't want to be told what to do all the time or treated like a child or a servant."

"I would never dream of it," he answered with a surprising amount of relief. The more she stood on her own the better their arrangement would work.

Her lips pursed into a line and her brow knit in consideration for a moment. "I would be grateful if you didn't ask me any questions about my past. There are...there are things I would like to forget. I want to move on."

"I know exactly how you feel," he smiled. "You should know that I have some things in my past that I have left behind me and I would like if it you didn't ask about it at all."

"I assume your secret does not have anything to do with Mr. Bell." She grinned, wicked once more.

Her statement was too close to a question. "I am attracted to women only," he answered without answering. "So we're agreed. No questions about the past. Anything else?"

She paused. The innocence flashed back into her eyes as she said, "I guess, if it were at all possible, in time, I would expect you to love me, at least a little bit?"

His gut clenched. The searing pain of what love had put him through burned through him as if all those years were nothing. Every fiber of his being wanted to run.

"Not right away, of course," she rushed to qualify, cheeks burning pink.

His pulse raced with fear. No, not fear, guilt. He drew in a breath. The past was the past and he'd already made up his mind. Charlie would make such a perfect shopkeeper's wife that he couldn't imagine letting the opportunity to marry her pass him by. Even if he was courting disaster.

He reached his hand across the table to take one of hers. "I promise to do my best." All he needed to do was make her believe what she wanted to believe, and that was something he was very, very good at.

"And I promise to do the same," she beamed.

Dear God, the way she smiled at him made him wonder who was playing who.

**Chapter Five**

It hadn't even been twenty-four hours.

Charlotte's train had arrived in Cold Springs at eleven in the morning. At nine the next morning she walked into the courthouse on Michael West's arm.

She'd laid awake half the night wrestling with the plan, second-guessing herself. But the unfamiliar bumps in the night and the memory of the man she'd seen in the street kept her from changing her mind. She needed a protector, someone to keep the troubles of her past from catching her, a man with powerful friends.

"Charlie, I'd like you to meet another good friend of mine." Michael presented her to Cold Springs' Justice of the Peace. "This is Mr. Christian Avery."

She put on her best smile, extending a hand to the tall, handsome man who eyed her with reserve. His suit was almost as crisp as Phineas' but he hadn't bothered shaving that morning.

"Please to meet you, Mr. Avery," she said. "Michael has told me so much about you."

"I wish I could say the same," Christian answered with a stiff handshake. "I hadn't realized Michael had such an attractive and _close_ friend." He threw a disapproving look at Michael.

"Haven't I mentioned Charlie before?" Michael returned his friend's censure with a straight face.

"No. You haven't." Christian arched an eyebrow. He felt more like a judge to Charlotte than a Justice of the Peace.

"He likes to keep to himself." Charlotte tried to soften him with humor.

"So it would seem." Christian narrowed his eyes, studying both Charlotte and Michael as they exchanged a quick glance.

"Alright, what the hell is going on here?" The front door of the courthouse banged open and an irate cowboy in a fine coat strode in.

Michael turned to the man without blinking and said, "I'm getting married, Eric. You're just in time to act as a witness."

"A what? You're getting _what_?" Eric chewed up the courtroom floor with his wide stride, swaggering his way right up to where the three of them stood near the front of the room.

"Charlie," Michael made introductions as if they were meeting at a garden party, "this is another friend of mine, Eric Quinlan. Eric is a former cowboy with enough of a brain to go into business as a rancher for himself. But his manners still come up wanting from time to time." He sent Eric a sardonic look before continuing with, "Eric, this is Charlie. She is a charming woman of refinement who doesn't need your bluster interrupting her wedding day."

Charlotte had her hand halfway extended to Eric but dropped it and glanced at Michael, eyes wide. "That was a little tart, don't you think?"

Michael blinked behind his glasses. "You won't be saying that when you get to know him better."

"Um, it's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am." Eric ignored Michael and turned to Charlotte. He shuffled like a schoolboy meeting a new teacher. He took his hat off, shoulders stooped in penance, reaching out to shake Charlotte's hand.

"The pleasure is all mine." Charlotte regained her composure and took the offered hand with a winning grin. Eric's expression brightened. He was handsome in that classic, rough and tumble cowboy way.

"Are you really marrying him?" he flirted, still shaking her hand.

"I am," she grinned.

"Why?"

"It probably has something to do with the fact that I like him," she played along.

"Do you like me?" Michael asked.

"Yes, of course." The fluttering in her chest was moments away from bursting into a giggle.

"I'm glad to hear it." He grinned back, standing taller.

"Charlie, would you excuse us?" Christian's hard expression dampened their game. "I'd like to have a quick word with your fiancé."

"Yeah. Me too." Eric went back to glaring.

"Certainly." Charlotte kept her anxiety at bay with a smile.

"We'll just be a moment," Michael reassured her.

Her confidence faded as Christian pointed Michael towards a door at the side of the room. Eric loomed behind as the two of them marched Michael into the office. The door closed with an ominous thump.

Charlotte's smile vanished. What if Michael's friends knew something? Had she been obvious? Let something slip without realizing it? What if they told Michael and he changed his mind?

No, that was impossible. She was too far away from Randolph's plots for anyone to know what she'd done.

She took a deep breath, pressing a hand to her stomach and pacing up the courthouse aisle towards the front door. There were other things to worry about. She was actually going to marry a stranger. Her mother would roll in her grave.

Two tall windows stood on either side of the door, offering a view of Main Street. Charlotte approached one window and peered out.

Cold Springs was sleepy so early in the morning. A few people were out and about on whatever business small-town folks had. The sun shone down from a clear blue sky. The air wasn't half this clean in Philadelphia. She could see mountains rising up behind the row of buildings across the street. The town wasn't bad, all things considered. With a little work she could fit in.

Her gaze dropped from the mountains to the street. A man was leaning against a post on the opposite sidewalk. His hat was pulled low over his eyes. Her heart plummeted when he tipped his hat up and stared right at the courthouse window.

She gasped and spun to press her back against the wall beside the window. Her heart pounded. No, not now! Her chest pressed against her corset as she worked up the courage to take another look at the man. She gulped and snuck her head around to peek out the window.

The man had moved. He was talking to a woman who had just come out of the building behind him. He took his hat off and kissed her. She kissed him back and took his arm. It wasn't him.

Charlotte let out a breath, shaking her head and straightening. Whoever that man was, he was a resident of Cold Springs. She was jumping at shadows.

Giving herself a thorough dressing down, she left the window and walked down the side aisle close to the office where Michael and his friends were closeted. The itching feeling down her back didn't go away. She wasn't making things up. Someone _was_ after her and had been for weeks. She could only hope they would give up when they saw she had a husband.

"Don't get me wrong, Michael, I'm not trying to stop you...necessarily." The deep rumble of Christian's disapproving voice drew her as she passed his office door. She froze, straining to hear more. "It's just—"

"It's just that getting hitched to a woman your friends didn't even know about until this morning is damned fool thing to do," Eric finished the sentence with a twang.

She shouldn't listen to the private conversation. It was none of her business.

"Aren't you the ones always telling me I need to find a wife? As if I need looking after?" Michael argued with them.

"You do!" Christian raised his voice. "To keep you from doing something stupid like this. I thought you of all people would show a little caution where strange women are concerned given...you know."

Charlotte's heart did a flip in her stomach. She skittered as close to the door as she could without making a noise.

"Yeah," Eric continued the argument. "What if she's just out for your money, huh? Did you think of that?"

"I am not!" Charlotte whispered in protest.

"She's not," Michael echoed her thoughts. She burst into a relieved grin.

"How do you know?"

Good point. Charlotte's heart sank. Miss Helen's girls were certainly out for money at the very least.

"Charlie is a confident, independent-minded woman who wants nothing more than to start a new life," Michael defended her. "She's educated and sensible and this arrangement will benefit both of us."

Charlotte straightened, blushing with the praise. "I don't think anyone's ever paid me such a lovely compliment."

"Alright, you say she's not a gold-digger," Christian argued on. "So we'll assume she's not a gold-digger. For now. Getting married out of the blue is completely out of character for you."

"I'm fully aware of that."

"So why the hell would you do it?"

"It's been eight years," Michael told them. "At some point everyone has to move on."

Charlotte blinked. "Eight years since what?"

"Yeah?" Eric continued to bully him. "So you're moving on with some woman who hopped off the train from God knows where yesterday?"

"She's from Philadelphia."

"Philadelphia?" Christian exclaimed. "Does she know about—"

"No, she doesn't," Michael cut him off. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

Charlotte's mouth fell open.

"This is strictly a business arrangement," Michael went on.

Her mouth snapped shut. "Business arrangement?"

"Really, Michael," Christian echoed her incredulity, but with a firm masculine twist. "Aside from the very rare night out at Fanny's I didn't think you were looking for a _business_ woman."

Charlotte's back snapped straight. "What kind of woman do you think—"

"Forgive me if I decide I'd rather find companionship with a woman of obvious taste, elegance, and education as opposed to one who makes me want to check for fleas or worse for a week afterwards," Michael retorted.

"Ha!" Charlotte grinned in triumph. "Not all men are pigs."

"Alright, I'll give you that," Christian conceded.

"And there are far more advantages to marriage than having a beautiful body to warm your bed."

"She does have one beautiful body." Eric whistled.

"She's stunning," Michael went on. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to finding out if she looks as amazing without clothes as she does with." Charlotte sputtered, not knowing if she wanted to laugh or break up the discussion. "But the world is full of beautiful woman. Charlie is intelligent as well. That's what made me look twice at her. You can only occupy yourself with a woman's body for so long. Eventually you have to talk to them."

"Really." Charlotte crossed her arms, scowling at the door.

"Really?" Eric echoed her with a joke.

"No need to tell me that." Christian ignored Eric and got back to the debate. "My point is that she may be beautiful and intelligent, but Michael, how much do you know about her? And don't try to tell us that you've been secretly corresponding with her for years or some such nonsense," he went on before Michael could protest. "You're a tight clam but I know that you would have mentioned a woman to us before. She's one of the girls who came in on the train with that crazy Miss Helen woman yesterday, isn't she."

"Absolutely not," Charlotte huffed.

"She was on the same train but she isn't one of those woman." Michael defended her as if he hadn't made the same mistake himself.

"Thank God for that!" Eric barked. "Those women make me feel like I'll be hog-tied and dragged in here myself if I look at them wrong."

"So what do you know about her?" Christian pressed on. "Why is she here if she isn't after money? Why would she rush to marry a funny-looking man she doesn't know?"

"Funny-looking?" Michael dodged with pretended offense.

Christian wasn't having it. "Answer the question."

"So she has secrets," Michael argued. "We all have secrets. She's too naïve to be really dangerous."

"I am _not_ naïve!" Charlotte crossed her arms and pouted.

"Oh, so then you're taking advantage of a naïve young woman?"

"So what if I am?"

She dropped her arms and leaned closer to the door. Would he really-

"Charlie wants to start a new life. So do half of the people who come to Cold Springs. A woman has just as much right to clear the slate and begin her life again as a man does. So does it mean I'm taking advantage of her if I offer to marry her without delving into her past? Do you think she has a better chance of survival on her own? Or marrying the likes of Edsel Turner?"

"Good Lord, no!" Eric snorted.

"Besides, I have a right to a little sophistication and refinement. You can't fault me for missing that."

Charlotte's smile returned, spreading warmth to her toes.

"So if you can't go back to Philadelphia then you can have a little Philadelphia here?" Eric suggested.

"Why not?" Michael replied.

"Alright." Christian sighed. She heard him move inside the office, heard a drawer slide open. "I'll perform the marriage ceremony and draw up the certificate. I'm just not sure it's legal."

The bottom dropped out of Charlotte's stomach. "Not legal?"

"Who's going to say it's not legal?" Michael snapped back. "Not you, I hope."

There was more shuffling as Christian replied, "If anyone wanted to challenge it—"

"No one will."

The three of them moved towards the door. Charlotte jumped back, heart pounding. She lunged for the nearest bench. She slid along it as far as she could and glanced up as though she'd been studying the ceiling when the door opened.

Christian came out of the office first and marched towards the desk at the front of the room with only a curt glance to her. Michael walked over to join her.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You look a little flushed."

"I'm excited." She stood too fast, head swimming. She ached to ask him what Christian had meant by 'not legal', but then she would have to admit to eavesdropping. "Did you get everything sorted out?"

"Everything's fine." He took her arm to lead her on to the desk where Christian was filling in the marriage certificate.

"I just need to complete a few things on these documents," Christian told her as they approached. "It will only take a minute."

"That's fine," she smiled. "Take your time." _Work out all the legal loopholes_ , she added for herself.

She glanced to Michael. He reassured her with a smile, squeezing her arm. It worked. He'd said such kind things about her when he thought she wasn't listening. No one had ever said kind things like that to her. The warmth in his eyes was filled with the potential for happiness. This could work. She could make it work.

"There we go." Christian finished with the certificate. "That's taken care of. Now we're just waiting for—"

"Sorry I'm late!"

The front door of the courthouse swung open for a second time that morning and a tiny woman burst through with all the bustle of an army. Charlotte blinked at the sight of her. She was five feet and thin as a reed, but dressed in a lavender checked frock with a matching bonnet that would have hurt the eyes of a blind man.

"Jacinta," Christian greeted her with an forced smile. The woman flounced her way up the center aisle to the desk where Charlotte and Michael stood. Eric turned pale and looked for somewhere to hide. "Nice of you to join us."

Jacinta noticed Eric before he could hide. Her whole face lit up in joy. "Oh! Eric! How lovely to see you this morning." She whipped off her bonnet and patted her carrot-red hair.

"Hi Jacinta," Eric mumbled, scooting in back of Christian as if there were an escape hatch somewhere behind the desk.

"I believe you're late, Jacinta." Christian glanced between the cat and mouse. Charlotte had the impression the chase wasn't new.

"I met Burt Hoag on the way here with one of those loose women from the train and I just had to give him a piece of my mind," Jacinta explained with a huff. "Told him if he had half the sense everyone doubts he has then he should put that light-skirt right back on the train and wave goodbye! There are plenty of eligible young women right here." She sent Eric a sweet smile, batting her eyelashes.

Charlotte had to cough to keep herself from laughing.

The tiny woman turned to see her. "Oh!"

"Miss Archer." Michael kept his expression neutral as he took charge of the situation. "I'd like you to meet my fiancé, Miss—"

"Charlie," Charlotte interrupted before he could give away her full name, holding out a hand to the woman. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jacinta Archer stared at Charlotte as though she were a talking to a bear with three heads. "Oh!" she repeated.

Michael watched Charlotte with his indomitable poker face. He let only a beat go before telling Jacinta, "Charlie has come from back east so that we can start a new life together."

_Very cleverly phrased_ , Charlotte thought to herself.

"I need you to witness the marriage certificate along with Eric and then I've got some filing for you to do," Christian told her, gesturing for Jacinta to come around the desk and take the pen he offered.

"Oh yes, of course." Jacinta sent a moony glance to where Eric was steadily retreating. "But I must say, I never thought I would see the day when I witnessed Michael West's marriage certificate! Why, I thought...well, never mind what I thought."

Charlotte ignored the gossip she now knew was as false as could be and worried about her own problems. If this silly woman signed the marriage certificate she would see her full name. And Jacinta Archer seemed exactly the sort who wouldn't be able to keep something like that to herself. If her pursuer really was in Cold Springs and ran into Jacinta it would be a disaster.

"Let's begin then." Christian looked as if he didn't know who he disapproved of more, Michael or Jacinta. Or Charlotte. For his part, Michael kept a perfectly straight face. Charlotte just wanted to get her name changed and her life settled and be done with it. "Do you want to exchange formal vows?" Christian went on to ask.

"Oh they have to exchange vows." Jacinta waved her hand as though it was something everyone knew and Christian was being absurd. "Don't you think so, Eric?"

"Uh, yeah." Eric tried to stay out of it.

"Whatever the standard fare is," Michael said.

Charlotte wasn't sure, it was hard to tell, but she thought Michael was losing patience with the whole thing. The last thing she needed was for him to change his mind and call the whole thing off.

"Just the usual love, honor, obey," she added, urging them on.

Christian studied her for a moment then let out a breath and began, "Do you," he stared hard at Michael, " _Michael West_ , take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, richer or poorer, 'til death do you part?"

"I do," he answered with a nod.

"And do you, Charlie...I'm sorry, what was your surname again?"

She opened her mouth to tell him it didn't matter, but Michael answered, "Baldwin."

Christian nodded. "Do you Charlie Baldwin—"

"Is that your real name?" Jacinta interrupted.

Charlotte pressed her lips together to find patience and then forced them into a smile. "Yes, it is."

Michael sent her a sideways look.

"I've never heard of a woman named Charlie before." Jacinta raised an eyebrow at Michael this time, as if it were his fault.

"I daresay few have heard of a woman named Jacinta," he fired back.

Charlotte's eyes widened. Jacinta's mouth shut. Christian sighed. Eric shuffled his feet and pretended he wasn't there.

"Do you, Charlie Baldwin, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love, honor, and obey from this day forward, for better or worse, in sickness and health, 'til death do you part?"

Charlotte answered, "I do," with all the seriousness of a doctor giving a diagnosis.

"Do you have rings?" Christian asked.

A wave of embarrassment washed through her. They were making a hash of the entire wedding process and there was no way Michael could have-

Michael reached into his pocket and drew out two wedding bands. He stared at them, his expression clouded, holding his breath. He swallowed and reached for her hand. She gave it to him and he slid the smaller band onto her finger. The air rushed out of Charlotte's lungs. It was the most beautiful ring she'd ever seen, gold inlaid with diamonds. It must have cost a fortune.

Michael cleared his throat, startling her out of her admiration for her new ring. She snapped her mouth closed and glanced up at him. He handed her the larger of the bands. She caught up, reaching for his hand and slipping on. It fit perfectly. He stared at it for a moment. Charlotte tried to look into his eyes but for a change he was worlds away.

"Alright then, by the power invested in me by the state of Montana," Christian sighed, "I now pronounce you man and wife. Kiss her then sign here."

Michael came back to the present with a long intake of breath. He glanced up, moodiness vanishing. With an eager grin he raised a hand to lay on the side of her cheek. He leaned in and kissed her lips.

She blinked. It wasn't half bad at that. His lips were warm and giving and his hand on her cheek somehow sent a shiver down her spine. None of the other men who had kissed her had touched her like that when they did...neither of them.

When he leaned back their eyes met. He winked. Her heart bounced to her stomach.

Christian cleared his throat. They both glanced to him to find him holding a pen out. Michael took it and signed his name to the document on the desk. He handed the pen to Charlotte. She took it and stared at the paper. It was the simplest license she had ever seen, far less elaborate than the one her step-sister had gloated over after her wedding. With a spurt of determination she signed it with the sloppiest signature she had ever put on paper, then quickly handed the pen back to Christian. He signed it then handed the pen to Jacinta.

"That looks more like an 'F' than a 'B'," she turned up her nose at Charlotte's signature. "Are you sure you shouldn't—"

"It'll do," Christian told her with a stiff jaw.

Jacinta returned his statement with a doubtful sniff. "I'll just go and file it then." She took a breath and swished away from the desk to the side office.

"Well," Christian forced a smile, "I guess congratulations are in order." He reached across the desk to shake Michael's hand, remembered his manners, then walked around the desk to take Charlotte's hand as well. "I wish you all the best, Mrs. West."

"Yeah, me too." Eric rushed to shake Michael's hand and to nod to Charlotte. "Ma'am." He squashed his hat back on his head, eyes darting to the office where Jacinta had gone. "'Scuse me." He bolted for the exit.

After what she'd seen Charlotte didn't blame him one bit for running. "Thank you so much for all your help, Mr. Avery," she said to Christian.

Her show of manners must have impressed him. His stiff smile grew more relaxed. "Michael is a good man," he added with a final touch of suspicion, "and a good friend. I hope you'll make him very happy." 'Or else' was unmistakably implied.

She had to give him credit for caring about his friend. "I will do my best."

"Thank you," Michael said, whether to her or Christian she wasn't sure. "And now let's get down to business."

"Business?" Charlotte's voice rose an octave as she remembered the more salacious bits of the conversation she'd overheard.

"The store, Mrs. West, the store." The smile in his eyes had nothing to do with commerce.

**Chapter Six**

"The general store is the heart of Cold Springs," Michael said as he whisked his new wife across the street from the courthouse. "It's where people come to get the necessities of life, whether that's food, tools, clothing, or ammunition."

"Ammunition?" Charlie blinked.

"Yes. Before Cartwright built the general store twenty years ago this was nothing more than a watering hole between Butte and Helena," he rushed on, stepping up onto the sidewalk. He held the store's door open for her.

"Once the store was established, the rest of the town grew up around it." He nodded to Nancy Deen behind the counter but didn't stop to make small talk. If he didn't focus on business he was likely to do something foolish, like sweep his tempting new wife into his arms and carry her upstairs. Now _that_ would get folks talking.

He grabbed his apron off of its peg behind the counter and went on. "People still go to Billings or even Denver when they need to, but my aim is to provide as much of what a growing frontier town needs as I can right here. It's not really what I envisioned myself doing when I was a boy, but now that I'm in charge I take that responsibility very seriously."

"Oh. I see." She watched him with wide, serious eyes. Those eyes were intoxicating. Seeing them filled with awe and respect was better than the finest scotch.

"I need you to be up to speed on running the store as soon as possible." He gestured for her to follow him along the shelves that lined the front of the store under the window. It was still early but one or two patrons were already shopping. They watched him and Charlie with unmasked curiosity.

"There's a logic to each shelf, how each section is organized," he continued. "Every can of beans, every sack of flour, every parasol and piece of candy is placed precisely so that the customers can find what they need, what they want, and a little something extra."

"How clever," she nodded, a grin spreading across her face.

Her grin disappeared when she glanced out the window. She spotted something and sucked in a breath. In an instant his strong, daring new wife was terrified. Before Michael could frown she let out a breath with the shake of her head.

Michael glanced out of the window to see what had startled her. The only sight in the street was Matthew Harbison spitting a stream of tobacco before he entered the bank and one of Miss Helen's girls, as garish as ever, waving at him.

"Pay attention, Charlie." He drew her focus back to him.

"I am paying attention." She nodded, clasping her hands in front of her.

The itch wouldn't go away from Michael's spine. He checked out the window again, wondering if asking Charlie what she was afraid of broke their no questions agreement.

"Right." He cleared his throat and went on. "It's a challenge to keep the store presentable. People are forever putting things back in the wrong place."

As if to demonstrate his point, they reached a shelf that had been picked over. He scowled, pushed up his glasses, and went to work setting things back in line with perfect spacing.

"I love children, but they are careless. So are cowboys and miners."

He couldn't let the rest of the shelf lie in disorder and was pouring over it, straightening everything and brushing dust off of containers with full focus before he could stop himself. When glanced up Charlie's expression was bright and she was biting her lips in an effort not to laugh.

"I know." He sent her a wry grin. "Once I start something I have to finish it and finish it well. It's the only decent thing my father taught me."

"Oh no," she rushed to reassure him. "I completely understand. I prefer things orderly myself."

"Then we'll get along just fine." In more ways than one, he added for himself.

"Do I get an apron too?" she asked with a saucy grin.

"You'll get one when you've earned it," he winked back.

Her cheeks flushed pink. Yes, he'd just made the best deal of his life.

"It's important to keep everything in order." He continued the tour, walking the rest of the length of the store, then steered her towards the center aisle and it's clear view of the front counter. "When everything is in order it's easier to spot a thief."

Charlie's face lost its color. "A thief?"

He fixed her with a serious frown. "I have no tolerance for thieves."

"No, of course." She swallowed.

There was more to her reaction than nerves. She tensed as though she was in imminent danger. He never should have agreed to no questions.

"I keep a shotgun behind the counter," he reassured her, "and I have a pistol upstairs." His smile returned. "But I think I'll wait to tell you where until I'm sure you're not going to shoot me."

The tension in Charlie's face lightened to a grin. "Why would I ever want to shoot you?"

"You don't know me yet or you wouldn't ask."

She dissolved into a chuckle. One of the shoppers stared at them and blinked in disbelief.

"Nancy, can you mind the store for just a little longer?" Michael asked as he marched up the center aisle towards the counter and the doorway leading into the back. Charlie followed close on his heels.

"I certainly can, Mr. West," Nancy sent the two of them a knowing grin.

He was feeling too satisfied with his luck to be irritated over his employee's innuendo. "Come with me, Charlie. I'll explain the storeroom."

The back of the store through the doorway behind the counter held not only the narrow staircase that lead up to the apartment, it contained rows of shelves. The shelves were full after the shipment that had come on the train with her the day before, though there were still a few crates sitting by the large back door.

"We still need to unpack these and put things away," he explained. "Oliver helps with shipments but he is also needed at home. He'll be in later."

"I could help with this," she volunteered.

"We'll see." He left it at that and walked her up and down the storeroom. "Very few people have access to the storeroom. _Very_ few. Don't let anyone back here who I haven't expressly given permission."

"Of course not," she nodded, the perfect pupil.

"I keep the back door bolted except when shipments come in. That's especially important since there's no separate door to my, I mean, our apartment." He leaned closer to her and said, "And we wouldn't want anyone sneaking in in the dead of night to steal you away."

Instead of the laughter he expected, Charlie turned pale. "No, we wouldn't want that," she all but whispered. Her glance darted around the room as though a ghoul was waiting in the shadows.

"I was just teasing," he said. The itching along his spine spread up to the back of his neck. What was she so afraid of? "It would be virtually impossible for an intruder to make it up to the apartment without hearing them." He brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek. "Besides, I really do have a pistol up there."

"Oh. Good." She forced herself to smile.

The age-old instinct to go find some shining armor and fight whatever she was afraid of welled up in him. She was his wife, after all, no matter how foolish Christian thought he was for it. Not that he'd ever been successful defending a woman.

"So there you have the basics," he went on to keep his memories away. "Let's put your things away and change into work clothes and I'll teach you how to work the till."

He took her hand and lead her upstairs. She'd brought her suitcase over before they'd gone to the courthouse but it hadn't been unpacked. He took it from the hall into the bedroom where her carpetbag already sat on the bureau and laid it on the bed.

"I cleared out this drawer for you." He moved to open the middle drawer of the bureau. "I also shifted some of the things I don't wear very often to the closet in the hall so that you can have space in the wardrobe."

"That's very thoughtful of you." Her smile was confident again. She took a deep breath and opened her carpetbag as Michael returned to the suitcase on the bed. "I don't have very much to take up space though."

She took an onyx box out of the bag and set it on top of the bureau with a sigh.

"That's lovely," Michael returned to the bureau with a handful of blouses. He put them in the drawer then asked, "Do you mind?" and moved to pick it up.

"I don't mind at all," Charlie smiled. "It belonged to my father," she explained. "He died when I was very young and—" She stopped. "And I'd rather not talk about him right now."

Michael lowered the box and watched her. He'd touched on an emotional subject, no doubt. Fathers did that to people.

"I think it looks perfect right here," he said, setting it on top of the bureau beside the clock.

Charlie gave him a grateful smile and went back to unpacking her carpetbag as he returned to the suitcase. He scooped up a handful of her undergarments and turned back to the bureau. Charlie held a hairbrush and mirror and reached for a small drawer above the drawer he'd given her.

"Don't touch that!" he snapped, reaching out to stop her hand.

She jumped and dropped the hairbrush. "I'm sorry!"

His heart pounded. He swallowed and bent over to pick up her brush. "It's just that there are some things in that drawer that I'd like to keep private." Or forgotten, he added to himself.

"Oh, I understand completely." She pressed a hand to her heart, the other shaking as she set the mirror down. Her gaze darted back to the small drawer before she forced herself to smile.

Shock wore off, leaving Michael feeling like a heel. "I'm sorry," he grimaced. "I overreacted."

"No, no, it's fine," she reassured him, forcing a smile.

Good God, what had possessed him to think he could be a husband?

"Here, take this drawer for your hair things."

He opened the drawer beside the one he'd told her not to touch and took out the handkerchiefs it held before setting her hairbrush inside. With his other hand he nestled the pile of her undergarments in the drawer next to her blouses. She really didn't have many clothes. Maybe he could make up for his boorishness by buying her a whole new wardrobe.

When he glanced up to ask her about it her face was pink and she watched him touching her things with shocked modesty.

"It's alright. I handle ladies undergarments on a regular basis." He kept as straight a face as he could.

"You...do?" Her fear vanished and her eyes went wide.

"I sell them," he chuckled. "And men's undergarments and all manner of clothing."

"Oh!" She caught his meaning and let out an airy laugh. "How silly of me. I'm just not used to anyone else touching my intimates."

His pulse raced. He had no idea if her words were innocent or wicked. She sent his thoughts places they definitely shouldn't be going in the middle of the morning. The temptation to handle the undergarments she had on right then was strong.

He cleared his throat and crossed to take an armful of dresses from the suitcase. "I'll show you the catalogs later. Feel free to pick anything out for yourself that you want."

The trial of public opinion that he had expected began the moment they returned to work in the store.

"Who is your new helper?" a middle-aged woman with a round face and a trail of children asked him as she brought her purchases to the counter.

"Good morning, Mrs. Twitchel. This is my wife," Michael answered as though saying 'this is my hat'.

Mrs. Twitchel blinked and stared at Charlie. "Your what?"

"His wife." Charlie gave her a friendly smile. "My name is Charlie."

"Charlie?"

He ignored Mrs. Twitchel's shocked tone as he showed Charlie how to ring up her purchases. His marriage was going to be the talk of the town as years' worth of hasty assumptions by his customers crumbled.

"Well," Mrs. Twitchel went on when he didn't elaborate. "I had no idea Mr. West was married. _No_ idea." She shooed away the child who was tugging at her skirt.

Charlie glance sideways at him to see if he would answer. He wouldn't.

"We were only just married this morning," she explained on his behalf. "As I understand it, Michael doesn't share much about his personal life."

He tried not to cringe. Along with teaching her to run the store it looked like he was going to have to teach Charlie how to keep secrets.

"No." Mrs. Twitchel blinked over the answer. She shook herself out of whatever contemplation the explanation had caused. "It explains a few things though." What those things were she didn't say and Michael didn't want to know. "There are so many new people in town these days," she went on.

"Are there?" Charlie tried to be conversational, but once again Michael could see the curious fear in her eyes. She glanced to the door.

"Yes. New miners and businessmen and just about everyone. Including young women." Mrs. Twitchel sent him a hard look. "Anyhow, it's a pleasure to meet you, Charlie. I'm Mabel Twitchel, and these are my children, Hannah, Jimmy, Katie, and that one over there is Lionel. Lionel! Leave the candy alone!"

Michael glanced up in time to see Lionel spill a handful of gumballs onto the floor.

He swallowed his irritation and stepped around the counter to confront the boy. Lionel cowered at his approach. The expression reminded Michael a little too much of himself at that age. He crouched in front of the boy with a look that was firm but far from the disgust his own father would have shown him in that situation. "Those are a penny each, Lionel. How many did you spill?"

Lionel lowered his eyes, counting as his bottom lip quivered. "Seven, sir."

"And if your mother pays you two cents an hour to do extra work to earn the money to pay for those, how long will you have to work for her?"

Little Lionel chewed his quivering lip then muttered, "Three hours and a half, sir."

"Very good." He stood, ruffling the boy's hair, smiling to push away the specter of his father. "Now please pick up all of those gumballs and brush them off before you eat them. And be more careful next time."

"Yes, sir." Lionel flashed him a grateful smile in spite of having been told off.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. West," Mrs. Twitchel apologized. "You can add seven cents to my account."

"Just teach him to be more careful next time." Michael didn't pay much attention to his reply. Charlie was watching him with bright eyes and a feminine flush. "Do you need help carrying these out to your wagon?" he asked Mrs. Twitchel.

"Oh dear no. The little ones can do that. Hannah!" The oldest Twitchel child jumped to her mother's side and took the basket. "It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. West, just lovely."

Michael watched the Twitchel children scamper to their mother from all corners of the store, bursting through the front door and out into the sunshine where they belonged. As the last of them scurried out he turned back to Charlie.

"You are going to be a wonderful father," she said with a breathless smile. "We should have children right away. Half a dozen of them at least. And a son who can learn the business and take over the store from you someday."

He stopped dead on his way around the counter. The one remaining shopper gaped. Even Charlie snapped her mouth shut and flushed bright red.

"So you're planning to take over my life already, are you?" he made light of the comment in spite of the hot, spinning rock it left in his gut.

"Sorry," she winced when he reached her side. "That came out wrong."

"It's alright."

"I'm just a little excited about...about all this."

"I can see that."

"We'll have children in good time."

"I'm sure we will."

"And in the meantime we'll have each other," she smiled.

He couldn't resist. "Frequently, I hope."

She blinked. He was convinced his comment had gone over her head. Until she said, "You, Michael West, are a wicked man."

She snatched Mrs. Twitchel's account card away from him and tucked it into the box with the rest of the store's account cards. He wasn't sure if he'd married a green adventurer or a seasoned professional.

Every shred of conventional wisdom that Charlotte possessed told her she shouldn't be so fond of Michael so quickly. She'd only known him for one day. He'd said more shameless things to her in that day than any stranger should have and she'd kept more things from him than she ought. But as he taught her how to operate a general store and then stepped back to let her handle a busy afternoon of customers without staring over her shoulder she found it easy to forgive his impish streak. She liked a man who didn't treat her like a hopeless, useless ornament. Like her mother. Michael was as different from her step-father as a man could be.

And she had a lot to learn before she could say she wasn't as hopeless in the kitchen as her mother.

"I suppose I should have mentioned that I can't cook," she said with a sigh as she pushed a dry piece of chicken into some lumpy gravy on her plate.

"We'll manage somehow," Michael laughed in return.

"I'm not so sure about that." She arched an eyebrow. The two of them had nearly destroyed the kitchen in the pursuit of dinner.

"At least it's edible." A limp squash medallion slipped off his fork. He didn't chase after it.

"Thank God for that. I wouldn't want to be responsible for you starving."

He laughed and set his fork down. "The hotel is just across the street if we get desperate."

She shook her head. "No, I'm determined to master this. Once I put my mind to something I never give up."

"A woman after my own heart."

Charlotte smiled, warmth spreading through her. Michael was so easy to like. She was convinced her new life with him would be everything she wanted. As long as she could keep her past a secret.

"I can't figure out if we cooked it too much or not enough." She hid her swell of emotion by standing and taking the dishes to the sink.

Michael got up and followed her, bringing the remains of the chicken. "I don't think it's a matter of cooking time," he puzzled. "We're missing something."

"Basic skill?" she suggested.

Michael grinned. "Something like that. When I was a boy my father—"

He stopped abruptly. His expression hardened. Charlotte's curiosity flared.

"Your father...." She prompted.

He shook his head. "Never mind."

It was not the answer she was looking for, but she bit her tongue. It wouldn't be fair to ask for something she wasn't willing to give herself.

"Well my step-father would rather have died than see me or my step-sister in a kitchen," she said.

"Oh?"

"He said we had better things to do with our time." She wrinkled her nose at the bad memory.

"I'd ask, but...."

They exchanged a look that told Charlotte he had the same regrets about their bargain as her.

Michael packed away the leftover food while Charlotte washed the dishes. The awkward moment passed as they worked together cleaning up. Domestic chores were something she'd never done before. There was something altogether satisfying about transforming messy to clean, especially with a helper.

The sun was just beginning to set by the time she rinsed the last plate and put it in a rack next to the sink. It was still summer but night was falling faster than it had when she'd first started her journey. She stared out the kitchen window, wondering what Montana would look like in the autumn.

"Missing home?" Michael startled her by speaking immediately behind her.

She twisted to face him. He was inches away. Her pulse raced.

"Hardly! This is home now, after all."

He nodded, glancing out the window himself before looking back at her. She could see the question in his eyes before he worked his way around to asking it. "Would you like to go to bed now?"

She took a deep breath. Every bit of cock-eyed advice she'd ever heard on enduring your wedding night flooded into her mind all at once. It was time to find out just how far she would go for a new life.

"If you're ready to," she tried to sound casual.

He arched an eyebrow at her behind his glasses. "I think the question is are you ready?"

There was only one way to find out. "Yes. I am."

"Come on." He slipped his hand into her ringed one. "We'll take things slowly."

She wished she knew what that meant. She wished she knew a lot more things than she did.

He lead her out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom. Her heart quivered in her chest and butterflies swirled expectantly in her gut.

He brought her to the bed and sat on the edge with her. She knew she should say something but words failed her. All she could do was watch as he took off his glasses and laid them on the small table beside the bed. Her heart thumped out of control in her chest. Without his glasses he seemed even more of a stranger.

"I take it you've never been with a man before." It was a statement more than a question.

"No, I haven't," she gave him an honest answer. Secrets or no, that much was important.

"Don't worry," he said. "My guess is that everything you've been told about it is completely wrong."

Her eyebrows shot up and her heart hitched in her chest. "Really?"

"Probably," he nodded. "Making love is one of the most enjoyable activities known to man. Or woman. If done right."

"I hope we do it right then," she blurted, cursing herself for her stupidity.

He chuckled. "Not to flatter myself, but I know what I'm doing. Do you trust me?"

She stared at him, lips twitching to a grin. "I married you. Let's call that close enough for now."

His grin widened. "Alright. It'll do."

He bent forward.

"What are you doing?" she gulped.

"Taking off my shoes," he laughed.

"Oh." She felt ridiculous and laughed with a nervous hiccup. Her face burned bright pink. "I'm sorry." She leaned forward to unlace her boots, hands shaking.

"Don't be. I promise I won't do anything sudden," he chuckled as he untied first one shoe and then the other, lining them up neatly at the foot of the bed. He pulled his socks off while he was at it and folded them before tossing them to the chair on the other side of the table.

She was slower with her boots, but as she yanked them off he took them and lined them up beside his shoes. Her stockings were another matter.

"Allow me." He pretended chivalry, reaching for her leg.

She let him lift her stockinged ankle onto his thigh, balling her hands in the coverlet behind her to stop them from trembling. He surprised her by slipping his hands up under her skirt, above her knee to the ties high on her thigh that held the stockings to her corset. The warm roughness of his fingers brushing against such intimate skin sent a giddy rush through her.

"It's all about touch," he explained as he dawdled with her stockings, stroking her flesh. "Intimacy comes from the simple act of touching each other in ways that we would never allow anyone else to touch us." He glanced up and met her eyes, his gaze hot and vivid.

"I see," she croaked and cleared her throat. She couldn't focus on anything but the sensuality of his fingers where they shouldn't have been.

His grin deepened. "Touching feels good."

"Yes it does," she blurted before she could stop herself. She was being a complete ninny, but what could anyone expect with his hands teasing her like that?

He finished unfastening her stocking and rolled it down, pulling it off over her tingling toes. She let out the breath she'd been holding. When he gestured for her other leg she offered it. He repeated the same heady mix of removing her stocking and stroking her thigh. Dear Lord, it was going to be a long night.

When her second stocking was off he folded them and stood to take them to the bureau. He unbuttoned his vest and shirt while he was there, shrugging them off, folding them with care and putting them on the chair.

Charlotte would have smiled at his fastidiousness if she wasn't so busy staring at his bare torso. Michael wasn't the stuff of Greek gods, he was pale, but there was some definition to the muscles of his arms and chest. Her eyes were drawn to the circles of his masculine nipples. The wild idea that she would get to touch them stuck in her head.

"Do you prefer to take the pins out of your hair before or after you undress?" he asked the way he would ask if she took sugar in her tea.

"Before." She bounced to her feet, hands flying to pull pins out of her chignon.

He stopped her with a short grunt, reaching for her hands and the pins she'd already removed. He motioned for her to turn around. She dropped her arms helplessly as he found the rest of the hairpins, pulling them out one by one. Her long, heavy hair spilled into his hands. She heard the click of him putting the pins on the bureau and felt him comb his fingers through her hair as he drew in a breath. She was having a hard time catching her breath now herself.

His shifted her hair to her shoulder and his hands moved to the buttons on the high collar at the back of her dress. One by one he unfastened them. The bodice loosened until it sagged on her shoulders. She fumbled to undo the buttons at her cuffs as he made his way down her back so that when he reached her waist and trailed his fingers up over her corset and chemise to slide the bodice over her shoulders, the sleeves came right off.

His fingertips left trails of sensation on her arms. He drew them back to untie the petticoat at her waist. It came undone and the whole ensemble loosened and slipped over her hips, pooling in a pile of fabric on the floor. She stepped out of it without turning around to look at him. She listened to him pick the dress and petticoat up off the floor and move to hang them in the wardrobe.

When he came back to her he slid his arms around her waist from behind. He drew her against his chest and nudged her hair further over her shoulder so that he could kiss the slope of her neck. She lost her breath in earnest and her knees went weak.

"See," he told her between light kisses, one hand sliding tantalizingly close to her breast, "It's simply about touching. That's all."

If he expected a reply he was out of luck. She was beyond speech. His hands closed on her side and he spun her to face him. She lowered her eyes, not up to meeting his. If he noticed her shyness he didn't say anything. He gasped her corset and unhooked the clasps from the top to the bottom, taking it away and folding it when it came off. For whatever reason it was even harder for her to breathe without it. She stood there in nothing but her chemise.

A moment later that was gone too. He gathered the hem and pulled it slowly up over her tingling body. She raised her arms so that he could tug it up and off. The realization hit her then that she was standing with her naked body in full view of a man. She had no idea how she looked to him. What if he thought she was ridiculous?

The fire in his eyes told a different story. He looked at her, at her full breasts, the flat plain of her stomach, and the dark thatch of curls between her legs with hungry appreciation. It made her painfully self-conscious and she tried to cross her arms over her breasts.

"No." He shook his head, voice deep as he took her hands and moved her arms to her sides so he could continue to look. "There's no need for that. You're beautiful." She dared to look up to meet his eyes, anxious and full of doubt. "Really. You are."

He confirmed his assessment by stepping closer, folding his arms around her and bringing her body into full contact with his. He was warm and smelled masculine. She was sure he was going to kiss her, but instead he brushed the hair back from her face and traced his fingertips along her cheek and jaw to her neck. She relaxed her lips, inviting him to kiss her and feeling dizzy for wanting him to.

His hand splayed on her back, finding the best way to hold her. Her breasts were pressed into the light hair and firm muscle of his chest. Her thighs and the unmentionable area between them were hypersensitive.

"Do you want to see me or do you want to get in bed and look the other way until we're both under the covers?"

His question focused her awareness on the stiff bulge pressed against her abdomen. She'd only ever seen a penis on a young boy, but her sister-in-law had certainly told stories after she was married. In those stories her husband's penis had always been huge and ugly and purple. She'd never believed the purple part.

Curiosity got the better of her, as usual. Catching her breath and biting her lip she glanced down and nodded.

Her choice spawned another fit of chuckling from Michael. "Alright." He arched an eyebrow at her as if she'd made a dangerous choice.

He took half a step back and undid the front of his pants. As he pushed the fabric away the stiff shaft of his penis broke free. Charlotte's eyes widened. It was purple after all! Sort of. It was dark with distinct veins. He bent over for a moment to step out of his pants and to fold them and place them on the chair, but when he turned back it stood boldly, the head shaped like a lopsided mushroom. She didn't imagine it could be particularly comfortable for him in that swollen state, but for all she knew it was. Part of her wanted to touch it, to see what it felt like. Another part of her that knew a little bit about men and women wondered how on earth it would fit inside of her.

"Come on." He continued to grin like a cat, touching her arm and gesturing towards the bed. "We could spend all night looking at each other I'm sure, but there are much more interesting things to come."

"Oh, sorry." She blushed deep, crawling into his bed when he pulled back the covers.

He slipped in beside her, pulling the sheet up over them, and drew her into his arms. She was acutely aware of the hot spear of him pressing against her hip. She still wanted to touch it, mad as that made her. Her arms settled around the small of his back instead.

If she was supposed to be frightened lying there naked with him she was doing something wrong. The eager excitement zipping through her convinced her she was as wicked as could be.

He cupped her breast in his palm. "Don't worry," he whispered when she gasped. His thumb circled around her nipple. "I'm not going to rush. We have all night. Right now it's just about touching."

Her mind replied 'alright', but the word didn't make it out of her lips. His hand was doing wonderful things to her. He caressed one breast, cradling it, squeezing it, rubbing his palm and fingers across her nipple. Just as she hummed with contentment at his intimate touch he stroked his hand away across her side, fingertips teasing over her abdomen and stomach before returning to her breast to fondle it again. He watched his work with deep concentration, as if he were a sculptor forming her.

When he had one nipple taut he moved his hand to her other breast to produce the same result. Then he surprised her by bending down and catching one pert nub in his mouth.

She gasped at the sensation, feeling it not only at the site of his warm, wet suckling but between her legs as well. She sighed with the pleasure of it. He continued to lick at her nipple, drawing back to blow gently on it. A tiny cry caught in her throat at the sudden chill. Her hips twitched against his. He glanced up at her with a sly grin before treating her other breast to the same exquisite sensation.

"It's just touching," he reminded her, his voice thick and his eyelids half-lowered.

She knew she was in trouble when his hands began to wind their mischievous way down her stomach and abdomen towards the curls between her thighs. She knew she was in trouble because the only thing she wanted in the entirety of existence was for him to touch her in that unfathomably personal place between her legs. She even cheated her legs apart and angled her hips up to his approaching fingers. He grinned, either purring or laughing deep in his throat at her eager reaction. He delved his fingers through her hair to the most intimate part of her. She sucked in a breath and mewled in spite of herself, holding his back with digging fingertips to steady herself. To her surprise he hummed in pleasure.

"You're so wet," he whispered to her as his fingers played on her over-sensitive skin. Somehow even that touch wasn't enough. There was more that she wanted. She ground her hips against his fingers to urge him on.

He caught his breath and slid deeper. "No one's ever touched you like this." It was a statement, not a question. She felt a twinge of resistance as he plundered her, testing her body and prying that part of her more open.

Again her sister-in-law's stories came back to her. "It's alright," she managed to speak through shallow breaths. "I've been warned that it's painful."

He shook his head, eyelids lowered. "It's not painful, it's beautiful. It just takes a few seconds of getting used to. Besides," he teased her by thrusting two fingers in and out of the sensitive opening, "I can already tell that you're going to like it. Very much."

"You can?" She'd been that obvious? Her heart hammered and the place where he touched her ached for more.

"Oh yes."

The way he spoke, wicked and certain, made her want him to do things that she didn't even know about. Her entire body was designed for him to play with and plunder as he wanted. As she wanted too. So much.

At last he adjusted to lay half covering her, hand still claiming her as he brought his mouth to hers to kiss her. It was what she had been waiting for. She welcomed his kiss with vocal enthusiasm. His lips parted hers and his tongue tasted her. It felt so good, no matter how short a time she'd known him.

She imitated his movements, kissing him back, tasting his lips and tongue. That in itself was blissful and she moved a hand to thread her fingers through his hair. He hummed his approval through their kisses and by deepening his exploration between her legs. She felt deliciously helpless under the twin assault of his probing hand and mouth.

"I'm going to make you come," he whispered between kisses, thumb sliding up to the hard nub between her thighs while his fingers continued to play inside of her. "Tell me when I hit the right spot."

She had no idea what he was talking about. All she knew was that his thumb was doing wonderful things to a part of her she'd barely considered before and his fingers inside of her intensified the feeling. She just wanted to kiss him. Until he rubbed her with just the right pressure at just the right angle. Pleasure flared through her and she moaned before she could stop herself.

"That's it," he whispered, keeping up a steady pace with his thumb and pressure with his fingers in a way that flushed her with pleasured urgency. "Relax and let it happen."

She sighed and closed her eyes, shocked by the way his simple, repetitive stroking made her feel. It was amazing. It spiraled out of control so fast. The intensity of sensation had her gasping for breath until a warm wave of pleasure pulled her under, her whole body giving way to her inflamed core. The wave burst into gripping tremors of pleasure. He sighed with longing and pushed his fingers deep inside of her as her muscles squeezed them. That was what she wanted, and she wanted more of it, more of him.

She was so eager for him when he withdrew his fingers, shifted himself over top of her, and stroked his penis against her still twitching entrance that she opened her legs wider and tilted her hips up to him. He sensed her hunger and without any further niceties positioned himself at her opening and plunged inside of her.

She couldn't help but cry out in relief and clasp her arms around his back as he sank himself deep. She wasn't sure if it hurt or not. The confusion of the powerful new sensation was too delicious. He pulled back and thrust in again and again. She cried out with each new invasion, wanting more and more. His own cries of passion mingled with hers as he grew less careful and more greedy.

She shifted her legs up to urge him to continue his invasions, tipping her head back and opening her mouth to give full voice to the pleasure of each of his thrusts. He kept going, falling into a beautiful rhythm. He invaded her body in the most intimate, scandalous way possible and all she could think of was how thick and hard and wonderful he felt as he stretched the walls inside of her. It was perfection to have her thighs open with his hips chafing against them as he moved. Her sighs were loud and pleading against his shoulder and she pressed her fingertips into the flesh of his back.

He changed his pace and began to thrust faster and harder with less controlled sounds. His hand slid under her hips and pressed them up to take her more fully. Her inner muscles squeezed around the length of him, wanting to feel every moment of heady friction, and he responded with an almost desperate moan. She felt the power that he'd ignited while stroking her build again. For a moment she thought she would lose her mind to it. But with a deep cry and a shudder his thrusting slowed. He left her just on the wrong side of release.

His body sagged over top of her for one delicious moment before he drew in a breath and pulled out of her. He rolled to her side and stretched there, cradled against her. She missed him at once, laying with her legs still parted.

They were only apart for a moment. He reached for her and she twisted to nestle against him as he lay on his back panting, face red, staring at the ceiling. He looked ridiculous and so alluring, completely out of his depth. The contrast between him lying loose and satiated in bed with her drove home just how stiff and closed up he had been all day. She wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't seen him so undone like this. It gave her an instinctual affection for him. She stretched an arm across his damp, heaving chest, curled a leg over his, and rested her head against his shoulder.

"You were right." She was surprised to hear herself so out of breath. He turned his head to look at her, eyebrows raised in question. "Everything I've been told was completely wrong."

He blinked. Then he laughed. The sound was warm and rich and completely out of character with everything she knew about him. She loved it.

He twisted to his side, circling his arm around her, twining his legs with hers, and pressing her chest against his. He kissed her, long and slow.

"That was not what I expected," he confessed with a smile, stroking the hair back from her face.

"Oh?" Jagged worry cut through her.

"No." His smile reassured her. "You're so responsive, so sensual."

"I am?"

His words should have made her self-conscious. At least she thought they should have. After all, she was lying sweaty and naked in the arms of a man she hadn't known forty-eight hours ago, a man to whom she had just lost her virginity in spectacular fashion. It was madness.

"You were born to make love to." He continued to stroke her with unmistakable affection.

"Weren't all women?" she wondered aloud, following his lead and rubbing his back.

He shook his head. "You'd be surprised." His habit of leaving a thought without elaboration burned her with frustration. He soothed it by kissing her again. "Go to sleep now." He closed his eyes, revealing his exhaustion. "We can make love as much as you like in the morning, but sleep first."

The prospect of doing it all again in the morning thrilled Charlotte. As they settled into a comfortable position her mind and body buzzed with a whole new set of ideas. Being married to Michael meant more than getting a new identity and a new home. It meant she could enjoy the pleasure of making love with him as much as she wanted. Her body quivered with excitement at the thought. She must have gone completely insane.

**Chapter Seven**

Michael couldn't believe his luck. No, not luck, his good business sense. He'd spotted a good deal, weighed the pros and cons, and trusted his instincts enough to take a risk that had paid off. Spectacularly.

He rolled to his side as the early light of morning slipped through the curtains. Charlie lay on her back in bed beside him, raven-black hair spilling across the pillow, her mouth half open in sleep, bedcovers just barely hiding the ripe mounds of her breasts. Her skin was smooth and soft, like clouds on the horizon at dawn. It was a miracle that she'd let him touch her.

He'd figured out she was a virgin from clues throughout the afternoon and had prepared himself for disaster. In spite of what the likes of Edsel Turner probably believed, women did not generally flop giddily into bed with a complete stranger. They needed to be charmed first, they needed to fancy themselves in love. At least for the moment. There was a trick to it.

Whether Charlie fancied herself temporarily in love or not, she had come alive with just the right blend of wantonness and purity under his touch. He knew he was good, but it had been a long time since he'd used that particular set of skills. And even the best lover in the world was only as good as the enthusiasm of his partner. There had been times in the past when even his finest kisses and smoothest touch hadn't been able to break through the prudery of an uptight woman.

The moment Michael realized where his thoughts had been headed he cut them off. The past was done. He'd left that man far, far behind him. The man he was now was an upstanding citizen, a businessman, and a husband. Sucking in a breath he focused on the present, on Charlie, on her rose-pink lips half parted in sleep.

With a teasing grin he reached out to tug the bedcovers hiding her body. The friction of cloth raking her breasts had her nipples halfway hardened as he bared them. He hadn't felt so full of himself since he was a youth with his first conquest. He scooted closer to her and slid the sheet down to expose her entire torso as she slept.

His new wife was a work of art. He studied the curve of her sides, the trail of soft, dark hair that pointed the way from her navel to the thatch between her legs. He could still remember how wet she'd been when he touched her there the night before.

He inched closer still, brushing the plain of her stomach with his fingertips. She stirred in her sleep. How wonderful it would be to arouse her to wakefulness. He propped himself up on one arm and watched her body's reactions as he slid his hand up to cup one breast, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb over her nipple until it was taut. Again she stirred, a sigh of pleasure escaping her throat

He changed tactics and direction, watching her face as he tickled his fingers down to delve into the heat between her legs. She sighed and her eyes fluttered as he stroked her tender flesh. His heart pounded. Even in her sleep she was wet with anticipation. He could play with her body all day. He could make her fall in love with him this way. He could seduce her and have whatever he wanted from her.

Again he forced his thoughts away from old patterns. Charlie wasn't a conquest. He hadn't seduced her with some ulterior motive. She had nothing of value that he wanted. Except her smile. Except her laughter and her stubborn determination to take what she wanted from life in spite of convention. Except the hot sweetness of her body ready for his. He was either a fool for denying himself the pleasures of a woman for so long or a genius for waiting until exactly the right one came along. Either way, his long penance was finally over.

As she stirred a wild idea struck him; how good it would feel for her to wake up with him hard inside of her. He shifted over top of her, nudging her thighs apart. She stretched, her legs inching wider. He grasped himself and positioned the hungry head of his shaft at her wet folds, then slowly pushed inside of her with a long release of breath.

She shot fully awake with a gasp, tensing in panic. The jolt of her muscles felt uncommonly good for half a second until she pounded the flat of her hand against his jaw. He saw stars.

"Get off me!" she mumbled, thrashing and pushing at him.

He was too stunned to move out of her. His heart thundered in alarm. "It's okay! It's okay!" He panted, grabbing her hands and holding them by the sides of her head to keep her from hitting him again. "It's only me. It's okay."

She stared up at him, eyes wild, panting, until recognition dawned. "Michael!" She squeezed her eyes shut. Her breathing slowed. Her heaving chest would have been intensely erotic if he hadn't just realized what a sick bastard he was.

"Yes, that's right. It's just me."

"Oh." The tension of struggle left her limbs. She peeked up at him with one eye. "Oh dear."

It was the single most embarrassing moment of his life. There was no way around it. He was still hard and aching inside of her. What, he wondered, were the ethics of asking the wife you'd known for two days, who you had just terrified by waking her up with sex if you could please finish fucking her before getting up?

No, as much as he wanted to keep going, he needed to retreat with his tail between his legs. So to speak.

"Alright, I'm just going to slowly slide out and go take a very cold shower. Is that alright?"

She nodded, chest still heaving. "Certainly."

"Alright then."

Face red with shame, he pulled away from her and rolled out of bed. As fast as he could he grabbed whichever clothes came to his hands first and skittered to the door with an, "I'm really, really sorry." He couldn't quite bring himself to meet her eyes. Leave it to him to start married life by making an ass of himself.

Charlotte sprawled on her back, heart thudding its way back to normal. One minute she had been fast asleep after taking hours to finally nod off in a new bed. The next she had been feeling the most delicious sensations, wondering if she was dreaming. And then something hot and thick had invaded her while a heavy weight pressed down on her. She'd panicked.

"Oh dear." She sat up, pulling the bedcovers to her chest and feeling horrible. Her first morning waking up as a married woman and she'd just made a hash of it. Michael probably hated her now. Dear Lord, she'd hit him! Right when he was in the middle of making love to her. If that wasn't bad enough, she'd lost a delicious opportunity to ease the ache between her legs that was driving her to distraction. "Blast it!"

With a sigh she pulled herself out of bed and skittered to the bureau. She yanked open the middle drawer, scowling at herself as she rifled through her things to find clean clothes for the day. Leave it to her to beat her husband on their very first morning together.

The flash of her wedding band caught her eye and she paused to stare at it.

"Good Lord, I'm a married woman!" she gasped, straightening with a clean chemise clutched to her chest. How did that happen?

She held her hand up and stared at the ring. It was beautiful. Five diamonds were set deep into the gold band. They caught the sunlight coming in through the window like drops of glitter. Her mother would have been proud.

Where did a Montana shop-keeper get a ring like that?

Fueled by curiosity, her gaze dropped to the small top drawer of the bureau. The one Michael had all but shouted at her not to touch. She clutched the chemise tighter, biting her lip and contemplating trying the handle. What if he had a whole treasure trove of gold and diamonds in that drawer?

A bump from the hallway followed by the sound of Michael retreating downstairs jolted her out of her imaginings. She held her breath for a moment before letting it out on a dry laugh. Of course Michael didn't have treasure stored in his bedroom. The drawer was probably where he kept the pistol he'd mentioned. He probably had loads of rings for sale in his store. She shook her head as she gathered the rest of her clothes and headed for the bathroom. So much for being a confident married woman.

Then again, she mused as she took a bath, for all she knew Michael could have a pile of gold bullion in that drawer. Or moonshine liquor or bloodied mementos of past wives that he'd murdered. She knew about as much about her new husband as she knew about the royal court of Japan. From the way his friends had balked at their marriage she doubted very much that Michael had had any other wives to murder. Although he could have. Christian did say their marriage might not be legal. She shook her head to dismiss the preposterous thought.

When she was washed, dressed, and presentable she tip-toed out into the hallway, starting towards the stairs and trying to formulate how she would apologize for smacking Michael and making him stop doing the lovely things he'd been doing. She would just have to march down to the store, swallow her pride, and apologize.

It was the harder to do than she expected.

"You can do this," she tried to boost her spirits as she reached the bottom of the stairs and the doorway to the sales floor. "If you can leave Randolph and invent a new life for yourself in the middle of nowhere then you can clear up a simple misunderstanding with your treasure-stealing, moonshine-brewing, wife-murdering bigamist husband."

"Good morning." Michael was standing right there behind the counter when she stepped through the doorway to the shop floor.

She gasped and her heart splashed to her stomach. "Good morning," she replied, cheeks pink, praying he hadn't heard her talking to herself.

"Would you mind the till for a moment? I need to help Mr. Harbison load his wagon." He rounded the edge of the counter before she could give him an answer.

She blinked at his brusqueness. "Why, certainly."

"Thank you." He met her eyes for a fraction of a second. His cheeks flared red before he strode across the store towards the entrance where a wiry man in coveralls was lifting a sack of grain.

"Let me give you a hand with that." Michael approached the man, hefting a second sack as thick as his torso from the floor to his shoulder and striding out the front door.

Charlotte watched with round eyes. As impressed as she was at his ability to lift heavy sacks as if they were nothing, her husband had run off without giving her a chance to apologize. "Well that's just not fair," she muttered, sliding behind the counter and crossing her arms. Although she didn't half mind watching him at work through the window. It explained why his arms and back were more muscular than she had guessed they would be underneath his shopkeeper's clothes.

The memory of those arms around her, that body hot against hers, flooded through her full force. His firm muscles and warm skin, the intimate sounds he'd made as he touched her. It had been the stuff of dreams.

She sucked in a breath and shot a glance around the store. A woman carrying a basket met her eyes and smiled at her as if the contents of her thought were written bold across her face. The other woman shopping was watching her with a smile as well.

Oh dear.

She busied herself straightening the penny items on the counter until one of the women was ready to tally her purchases.

"So I guess it's true what Jacinta said after all?" The dowdy woman gave her an over-bright smile. "Mr. West has a wife?"

"Jacinta?" Charlotte frowned. "Yes, he does."

"I never thought I'd see the day," the woman went on. "We all just assumed Mr. West was, you know, the _confirmed bachelor_ type."

Before Charlotte could answer the second women approached and said, "You're quite pretty."

Charlotte's cheeks blushed even darker. "Oh. Um, thank you?" She would be permanently red in no time at this rate.

"The rest of you girls are that kind of vulgar-pretty, you know," the second woman went on, "but you have an elegance to you."

Charlotte's polite pretense dropped. "What other girls are you referring to?"

"Why, your friends from the train," the first woman said. "With that Miss Helen or whatever her name is. She's been parading all over town with you girls, 'making introductions' as she calls it. Half the men in town don't know which way is up. I shouldn't be surprised that Mr. West would nab the best of the lot right off the train, but then he always has had rather fine tastes."

Charlotte opened her mouth to protest but before her sputtering could form words the voice of Delilah Reynolds announced, "Mrs. West is not and never was one of those cheap woman."

Charlotte could have kissed her. Delilah swept into the store, her head held high, the silver curls atop it bouncing with energy. She had so much presence that the other women in the store shifted to hover around her.

"Mrs. Reynolds," the first woman shopper straightened like a schoolgirl caught passing notes. "Such a pleasure to see you."

"Why thank you, Mrs. Frye," Delilah smiled without returning the compliment. "And how is your Jasper these days."

Mrs. Frye's look of adoration vanished. "He's just fine, thank you. Excuse me." She nodded and rushed out of the shop without another word.

Charlotte blinked at Delilah. "What was that all about?" she whispered.

"I've done some business with old Jasper," Delilah winked.

Charlotte wasn't sure if she should smile or gasp.

"Did you find everything you need today, Miss Jones?" Michael walked back into the store and asked the woman who had called her pretty. He sent Delilah a disapproving frown as he rounded the edge of the counter. He paused at the end, keeping a good deal of space between himself and Charlotte.

"Yes I did, Mr. West." She gave him a sound nod and left the store without making a purchase.

"I don't think I will ever understand people in Cold Springs." Charlotte shook her head. She shot Michael a look. He was staring at her. Their eyes met. They both snapped away.

"Nonsense." Delilah brushed off her comment, catching the exchange. Her lips twitched with mirth. "All you need to know is that we're a lot of finicky gossip-mongers with nothing better to do but get up in each other's business, right Michael?"

Michael looked up from the clipboard he was studying at the far end of the counter. He glanced from Delilah to Charlotte and said, "I never get involved in a fight when I'm outnumbered."

Delilah smirked. "Smart man." She shifted her weight, taking half a step back. "Mrs. Charlie West, I've come to make you an offer."

Charlotte's eyes lit up. "An offer?" She blinked. Mischief got the better of her. "Why, I'm afraid I'm already taken, Mrs. Reynolds." She shot a grin in Michael's direction then leaned across the counter towards Delilah. "And I'm not sure what Mr. Reynolds would think."

Delilah burst with laughter. "Well done, Michael!" she hooted. To Charlotte she said, "Honey, there is no Mr. Reynolds. Never was. The 'Mrs.' Is just for show."

Charlotte grinned from ear to ear. Her mother would have fainted if faced with Delilah. Charlotte instantly adored the woman.

She was about to reply to her when Phineas Bell came striding into the store, his eyes wide and harried.

"Michael, can I borrow your storeroom for a moment?"

Michael stopped pretending not to be listening to Charlotte and Delilah. He gave his friend a curious look. "Sure. What for?"

Phineas darted a desperate look at the front door as he scooted around the counter, bumping into Delilah. It was too late. He winced and muttered, "Shit," dropping his arms and giving up whatever urgent mission he had been on.

"So this must be the General Store!" Miss Helen was as loud as she was gaudy as she swept through the front door. Her paint-enhanced eyes trained right on Phineas and her red lips spread into a predatory smile. "Why hello, Mr. Bell!"

Charlotte glanced to Michael, eyes wide. He shrugged, shaking his head to tell her he was as clueless as she was.

"Miss Helen," Phineas said and backed away as the woman sashayed closer.

"My, my, this is a fine establishment." She pursued Phin with feigned indifference. She caught his arm when he couldn't back any further behind the counter. "You simply must show me where everything is kept."

"I'd be happy to assist you." Michael made a vain attempt to save his friend.

"Oh no." Miss Helen didn't even look at him. She patted her unnaturally red curls. "I'm sure Mr. Bell would be only too delighted to oblige."

"This is Mr. Michael West." Phineas attempted to steer the woman's attention away from him. "He is the owner and a friend of mine. And I believe you've met Mrs. Reynolds."

"Oh yes." Delilah didn't bother to hide exactly what she thought of Miss Helen.

"I'm staying at her hotel." Miss Helen sent Delilah an arch look before fawning over Phineas again. She hugged Phin's arm as he tried to squirm away.

"And this, as I understand it, is Michael's new wife?" Phin continued. He sent Michael a hard stare.

Miss Helen let go of Phin's arm with a start. "Why, I know you. You're that sweet little thing that's been traveling on the train with us these last few weeks, aren't you?"

"Yes," Charlotte answered, eyes narrowing. Miss Helen knew full well who she was.

"As I understand it," Phineas frowned at Michael, "Charlie and my friend Michael were married yesterday morning. And I wasn't invited."

"I figured you would be working," Michael made his excuse.

"Oh, why then congratulations are in order!" There was something decidedly put out about Miss Helen's smile. "That was quick," her voice flattened. "Why, several of my girls have picked up suitors already but not a one of them has been so lucky as to tie the knot a day after our arrival. Together." She added the last bit with a mercenary glance at Charlotte. "How fortunate that I put the idea of marriage into this fine gentleman's mind with our arrival. I generally ask for compensation for introducing young couples." She laughed with all the mirth of a tax collector.

Something about Miss Helen set Michael's teeth on edge, and it wasn't her perfume.

"Charlie and I are old friends," he spun the lie, humor gone from his eyes.

"Are you now?" Phineas challenged him.

"Yes, from back east," Charlie seconded his story. He sent her a sidelong glance that turned into a grin. She grinned back. He had to swallow his heart out of his throat.

"I see." Miss Helen watched the two of them and added under her breath, "That's not the impression I had." Her smile had fallen leaving her nothing but an aging woman with too much paint on her face. She sucked in a breath and put her smile back on, turning it to Phineas once more. "Mr. Bell, you simply must take me to lunch and tell me all about your friends' unusual courtship."

"That's a story I'm sure we'd all like to hear." Delilah crossed her arms and smirked at him.

Michael arched an eyebrow at Delilah and her mischief.

"Well, I...." Phineas squirmed, trying to pull his arm out of Miss Helen's grasp. "I don't really know much about it seeing as Michael has been so close-lipped on the subject." It was a dig at him without mistake.

"The hotel serves a delightful lunch." Michael threw Phin right back into the thick of things in return. "I'm sure Mrs. Reynolds would be more than happy to accommodate you." He tossed Delilah under the wheels as well.

"We could all go together," Delilah volleyed right back at him.

"Oh yes!" Miss Helen cooed at her victory, subtext or no. "And then perhaps you can tell me all about this dance I hear is coming up Saturday night."

"A dance?" Charlie brightened.

"Yes, honey, it's what I came over here to talk to you about," Delilah took charge of the conversation.

"You came to talk to me about a dance? What kind of dance?" Charlie set her hands on the counter and leaned towards Delilah.

"Why, a cowboy dance I do believe," Miss Helen answered, her eyes popping wide. "My dear Mrs. West, what a gorgeous wedding ring you have!" she brushed on without stopping for breath.

Michael's gut squeezed tight. Charlie's hands flinched as though she would hide them under the counter.

"Let's see." Delilah took Charlie's left hand and held it out for everyone to inspect. "Well, well." When her eyes slowly rose to meet his, Michael's blood ran cold. "What a lovely piece of work this is."

Drunken confessions from years gone by roared back to bite Michael in the ass. He'd forgotten that he'd showed Delilah the ring and told her its story in a moment of inebriated self-pity. There was no clean way to beg her to keep her mouth shut in present company.

"It's beautiful," Phin agreed, his knowing stare matching Delilah's.

"Isn't it?" Charlie beamed.

"Where did you get a ring like that?" Miss Helen turned a greedy stare on him.

Charlie turned to him as if she too wanted to know the answer to that and many more questions.

"That's been in the jewelry cabinet for years," he lied. If Phin and Delilah knew what was good for them they wouldn't contradict him.

"That makes sense." Charlie laughed as though relieved.

Her laughter made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He caught her glance flicker towards the store's locked jewelry cabinet. She wouldn't find anything a fraction as valuable as her ring in the cabinet.

There were far too many people standing around the counter being far too quiet. An old cowboy stepped through the front door and when five sets of eyes snapped up at him he stumbled backwards and bolted out the door before any of them could say so much as 'boo'.

"So." Phin cleared his throat. "What's this about a dance?"

"Yes," Charlie snatched up his thread of conversation. "What dance?"

Delilah sent Michael a knowing look before turning to Charlie and answering, "The Ladies' Auxiliary puts on dances and picnics and things for the town every once in a while. This one is to celebrate the beginning of the next cattle drive."

"To celebrate the fact that the cowboys will be leaving town, you mean," Phineas muttered.

"Oh no!" Miss Helen raised a hand to her chest. "Some of my dear girls will be ever so disappointed."

"They'll be back," Michael drawled.

"Well, I suppose a sensible girl would find a beau with a solid establishment in town. Like a general store. Isn't that right, _Mrs. West_?"

Charlie answered, "Um..."

"Or a bank. Right Mr. Bell?" Miss Helen turned to her true prey.

"Well, I...."

"What's the Ladies' Auxiliary?" Charlie asked to spare Phin.

"Why, it's an organization for the betterment of Cold Springs, Mrs. West," Delilah explained with a mischievous grin. "It only accepts the finest, most respectable ladies in town as its members. I was hoping you would join."

"You want Charlie to join the Ladies' Auxiliary?" Michael couldn't decide if he was proud of his new wife or if they should all run while they still could.

"Absolutely." Delilah winked.

"I'd be honored!" Charlie replied, stars in her eyes. Yes, he would have to post regular warnings now that Charlie and Delilah had made each other's acquaintance.

"How does one join this Ladies' Auxiliary?" Helen did a poor job of hiding her interest.

"Well, for one you have to be a resident of Cold Springs," Delilah dismissed her.

"I see." Helen snatched Phin's arm and batted her eyelashes at him before he could get away.

Phin squirmed. "Seeing as talk has come around to ladies' matters, I'll just be getting back to work." He managed to pull away from the counter but only by dragging Miss Helen with him.

"I'll...I'll come with you," Helen said. She winced as though she would rather have stayed to pester Delilah a little more about the Ladies' Auxiliary, but left all the same.

"Well!" Delilah declared once they were gone. "If Phineas doesn't watch out he'll find himself married with six children by next week."

"I doubt Miss Helen is young enough to have children," Charlie drawled. Michael's heart beat hard at her comment, beating double-time at the expression that popped to her face when she realized Delilah had been teasing. "Oh." She touched a hand to her burning cheek.

He wanted to kiss her. He would have if Delilah and a spattering of customers hadn't been standing there, knowing full well what he was thinking.

"So I've come to steal your wife away on Ladies' Auxiliary business," Delilah continued as though she had been in control of the conversation all along.

"Well, I...," Charlie stuttered. She glanced to him. "I'm not sure if Michael can spare me at the moment."

"I never, ever say no to anything the Ladies' Auxiliary wants," he grinned, scooting behind Charlie to switch places. "I'm far too terrified of them." Switching places was a brilliant excuse to put his hands on Charlie's waist. Better still, she didn't flinch or belt him like she had that morning. "You can go cause trouble with Delilah if you want."

"How very magnanimous of you, Michael," Delilah said with her best saucy grin.

"Alright then," Charlie smiled. "Just give me one minute."

To Michael's surprise, she turned to him with a penitent quiver in her lips and whispered, "I'm so sorry that I hit you this morning."

Michael's jaw dropped. His glance flickered to Delilah, who was trying very hard to keep a straight face and failing.

"You have no need to apologize at all. I was completely in the wrong," he whispered in return, taking her hands below the counter where no one could see.

"Oh no!" Her face flushed deep red. "I...I think I would have enjoyed it very much!" She lost some of her bravado. "If I'd had the slightest idea what was going on."

He laughed. He couldn't help himself. The situation was too absurd. And his wife was too adorable. He took a risk and leaned close to kiss her lips. To his relief she kissed him back. He felt six inches taller.

"Let's call it even then." He shifted to whisper in her ear. "We'll try it again some other time when it's not such a shock."

Charlie touched her fingers to her lips to hide her giggle and blush. She stole a quick kiss before skipping away from the counter, brimming with youthful exuberance. "I won't stay away too long. I know you need my help in the store."

"Please, take your time," he waved after her, picking up his inventory list as his heart ricocheted around his chest.

Delilah took Charlie's arm and as they headed for the door Michael heard her murmur, "There's a story there that you're going to have to tell me, honey."

Charlie glanced back over her shoulder at him with sunlight in her eyes.

The tangle of emotion in his gut was wonderful and overwhelming and entirely wrong. What had he done?

**Chapter Eight**

"Michael, can I ask you something?" Charlotte propped herself up on one arm in bed and looked down at Michael's closed eyes. The morning sunlight was warm against her bare back, filling her with well-being like she hadn't felt in years.

"No," he mumbled. "We said no questions, remember?"

"It's not that sort of question," she giggled. Not that she hadn't been trying to sneak questions about his past into every conversation for the last two weeks. "Can I ask you something different?"

"No," he repeated, rolling from his back to his side facing her, eyes still closed. "It's Saturday. Saturday's are for sleeping in, not asking questions."

Charlotte's grin widened. Even half asleep her new husband found delightful ways to tease her. Although she wasn't sure if he could still be called her _new_ husband after two whole glorious weeks of marriage. Her new life was turning out to be everything she had hoped it would be and more.

"Why does the world manufacture so much hyperbole around sexual intercourse?"

Michael pried one eye open, arching his eyebrow. "Charlie, I am not even remotely awake enough to begin to answer a question phrased like that."

Charlotte flopped to her back, staring up at the ceiling. She rested one arm on the pillow above her head while the other one was trapped at her side as Michael cuddled close to her. He rested his head against her shoulder and stretched his arm across her stomach. She sighed in contentment, happier than she'd ever been.

"It's just that I've always been told that respectable women abhor all things sexual and any woman who actually enjoys her husband's attentions isn't much better than a common whore."

"You're not a whore," Michael murmured.

"I know I'm not," Charlotte pondered, playing with her hair above her head, "but I'm sure my step-sister would argue otherwise. She would accuse me of all sorts of things for the way I enjoy making love with you."

Michael muttered something that might have been "thank you".

"Especially since we aren't much more than strangers. If I only knew more about you." He replied to her niggling with a wordless mumble. She let several silent moments pass before saying, "Do you suppose I'm unusual for enjoying myself so thoroughly with you even though we barely know each other?"

"Charlie, you are thoroughly unique," he answered.

Charlotte arched an eyebrow and craned her neck to look at him. Her heart did a satisfying flip in her chest. Michael wasn't what society would consider handsome, but she found him altogether wonderful. His face and body were slack with sleep. That entirely male part of him was far more interested in what she had to say.

"You don't have to be head-over-heels smitten with someone to find happiness with them in bed, do you?" she mused on.

"No you don't." He grunted, stretched and rolled to his back.

Charlotte moved with him, spreading her naked body across his and sliding one leg between his. She rested her chin on her hands above his chest. "I like the things we do in bed very, very much." She arched an eyebrow.

"I know," Michael said, more awake than she thought he was. "You liked it very, very much three times last night. Which is why I need to sleep this morning. Saturdays are for sleeping in."

A grin split Charlotte's lips. "You were very, very likable three times last night."

She watched him try not to gloat over her compliment. Her heart expanded, filling her with warmth. She was the luckiest woman alive.

"And that, dear husband, is my point. Why is it that conventional wisdom says that a woman is not supposed to enjoy sexual intercourse? It is by its nature pure enjoyment."

"When done right."

"And we do it right."

He let out a breath that might have been a laugh. Charlotte gasped as it dawned on her that her weight might be crushing him. She lifted herself above him.

"A woman has every right to enjoy pleasure as much as a man," she went on. "I don't care what my step-sister says."

"Charlie," Michael pulled her closer as the air between them cooled, "it is much too early for you to be a suffragette. Go back to sleep."

He rolled to his side again, turning her with him to spoon with her. After a beat he said, "So you have a step-sister, do you?"

Charlotte's stomach quivered the way it had every time he'd come close to discovering something about her old life. "Believe me, I'd like to forget. In fact, never mind. I don't have a step-sister at all."

"Is she the reason you left Philadelphia?"

"Ha, ha."

Michael's grin was warm against the back of her shoulder. "Stop talking. I'm trying to get my extra sleep. I'm going to need it for this stupid dance tonight."

"The cowboy dance is not stupid," Charlotte scolded him. It would have been easier to be irritated if he wasn't stroking her breast. She felt so safe in his arms. "It's an important town function hosted by the Ladies' Auxiliary."

"I'm sure your step-sister would be proud," Michael drawled.

"Yes," Charlotte fired back, "and I'm sure whoever you got this ring from would be just as – ouch!"

He pinched her nipple to cut her off. Then he laughed, a rumbling, drowsy laugh.

"I see how it is." She heaved a sigh and snuggled against him.

She let a long silence pass between them. His body was warm and tantalizing and so familiar to her now when so much else was a mystery. She wanted to know all of him.

"I just think that it's important that we set a good example for the rest of the town," she went on before his breathing could become too regular.

"For Christ's sake, go to sleep, Emily."

Charlotte's eyes popped wide. She sat bolt-upright.

"What did you call me?"

Michael blinked, eyelids heavy, and rubbed a hand through his hair. Then he gasped, eyes widening and then squeezing shut.

"I'm sorry." He winced. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. That was unforgivable."

"Who is Emily?" Charlotte asked, voice flat, crossing her arms over her fluttering chest.

Michael went stiff with panic before saying, "It's not important."

Charlotte begged to differ. She arched an eyebrow, but Michael winced at her with such dread that she sighed and said, "Alright, alright." She climbed out of bed, feigning indifference. She tossed the covers back at Michael. "I know you have a whole past that you don't want to talk about and it's only natural that there are other women in that past. I don't want to know."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, pulling the covers over his head.

The problem was, of course, that now she did want to know. She wanted to know very badly.

She bit her lip, glancing from Michael hiding in bed to the small drawer in the bureau where her father's box sat and flashing down to her wedding ring. "Was this—" She stopped herself with a sharp intake of breath. "No, never mind. I don't want to know. I don't want to know." She pulled open the middle drawer of the bureau and fished for clean clothes. "I'm going to get cleaned up and go downstairs to help Mrs. Deen open the store."

"Be sure to check the inventory for humble pie," Michael muttered as she flounced out of the room.

Charlotte scowled at him over her shoulder. As she pushed open the bathroom door her scowl burst into a chuckle. They must have been the most ridiculous married couple ever.

And she would find out who this Emily was and erase every bit of the tramp from her husband's mind if it killed her.

The store was already humming by the time she swept onto the sales floor. News that Michael West had married one of the girls off the train spread like lightning through the small town of Cold Springs. Townsfolk were still coming in from outlying farms to catch a glimpse of the new Mrs. West. A few of them turned their heads to look as she entered.

"Morning, Mrs. West," Nancy Deen greeted her, used to the fuss by now, as she helped a customer with fabric at the counter.

"Good morning, Mrs. Deen, Mrs. Twitchel, Mrs. Plimpton," Charlotte smiled back. It gave her a singular sense of satisfaction to remember the women's names. Her mother had never been able to remember anyone's names.

She slipped behind the counter to grab the inventory checklist she had been working on as the store closed the day before. She breathed a happy sigh at having a job to do and no one telling her she was worthless for wanting to do it.

"Did you hear about the fire at the Harbison homestead?" Mrs. Twitchel shared the latest gossip as Charlotte searched out the spot where she had left off with the inventory.

The ears of the other shoppers perked at the tidbit.

"A fire?" Charlotte joined in the conversation as she scanned the shelves and her list. It was almost as if she belonged. "Is everyone alright?"

"Matthew Harbison has been through too much in the last few years," Nancy Deen shook her head as she measured out several yards of calico.

"I heard tell that one of the horses kicked over a lantern and set the whole place ablaze," Mrs. Twitchel chattered to both of them.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Plimpton jumped into the conversation, dismissing the speculation. "The house was burned to the ground but part of the barn is still standing, so that means the house caught fire first."

"Well I happen to know for a fact that the fire started in the kitchen because little Bessie Harbison was doing all the cooking while her papa was entertaining one of those _train girls_." Jacinta Archer sailed up to the front of the store with a disapproving glance in Charlotte's direction.

If Charlotte had known Jacinta was in the store she would have stayed in bed with Michael, Emily or no Emily. Jacinta was responsible for several biting rumors Charlotte had heard about herself.

"I heard that the fire was started by a drifter holed up in the barn," Mrs. Deen pronounced, stepping between the women before anything else ignited. "Simple as that."

"A drifter?" Charlotte's stomach tied in knots. "What did he look like?" She hadn't caught a glimpse of the man she thought was following her in weeks. Michael and the store had kept her too busy to worry about it overmuch. Now she regretted her complacence, especially if her past was still after her.

"I don't know." Mrs. Deen gave her a curious look. "Drifters aren't uncommon in these parts."

Charlotte pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach and walked back behind the counter. She should probably check in with Phin to make sure her jewels were safe and maybe talk to Delilah to see if anyone had been asking questions about her.

"I still think those train girls had something to do with it," Jacinta snuck in the last word.

"I'm just sorry poor Matthew's seen so much trouble," Mrs. Plimpton sighed. All of the women hummed in agreement.

"I see you looking at that dress, Mrs. Plimpton," Charlotte forced her anxiety aside in favor of happier things. "I think this blue is the perfect shade for your eyes."

"Do you?" The young woman wavered.

"Yes indeed. It will be just the thing for the dance tonight." _Whether Michael thinks it's stupid or not_ , she added to herself.

"I haven't had a new dress in ages," Mrs. Plimpton sighed.

"All the more reason to treat yourself," Charlotte said.

Jacinta turned up her nose at the rack of ready-made dresses Michael had had shipped in especially for the dance.

Mrs. Plimpton heaved a determined breath and plopped the dress onto the counter. "Alright then, I'll take it."

"I think that's a very good decision." Charlotte smiled. She'd like to see someone named Emily complete a sale like that! "It's three dollars."

Before she was finished ringing up Mrs. Plimpton's order, Michael brushed through the door from the storeroom with his coat on, hat in his hand.

"Good morning, ladies." He nodded to his customers with his shopkeeper's smile.

"Good morning, Mr. West," Jacinta and Mrs. Plimpton smiled back at him while Mrs. Twitchel added, "You're looking mighty content these days, Mr. West."

"I am content." He winked at Mrs. Twitchel. He laid a hand on the small of Charlotte's back as he scooted behind her to open the till and take out a few dollars.

"What are you doing with that?" Charlotte scolded him.

"Buying you a very large bouquet of flowers," he murmured, a sheepish grin on his face, an impish light in his eyes.

Charlotte gut wobbled. Michael was so sweet to her. Maybe she should share her suspicions about the man from St. Louis after all.

"Don't let any of this lot steal anything while I'm gone," Michael joked.

The ladies shopping laughed but Charlotte's heart plummeted. If she told Michael about the man following her then she would have to tell him why. And if she told him why....

"When will you be back?" she asked with pretend casualness to hide the sudden pounding of her heart.

"I'm only going to see if Lewis has sorted the mail from the train yet." He put his hat on as he reached the door. "I'll be back in half an hour."

"Sounds perfect." She forced herself to smile.

Michael answered her faltering look with a grin that set her pulse racing for an entirely different reason. He nodded to the others and headed out into the street.

Mrs. Plimpton and Mrs. Twitchel turned to her with knowing smiles while Jacinta studied her nails.

"Marriage seems to agree with the both of you," Mrs. Twitchel arched an eyebrow.

"I should say so!" Mrs. Plimpton agreed.

"I'd say we had that one wrong," Mrs. Twitchel followed.

"We all had that one _very_ wrong," Mrs. Plimpton grinned.

Charlotte had the uncomfortable feeling that the two married women knew exactly how well she and Michael got along. "We work very well together."

He was perfect. Her life was perfect. For now.

She bit her lip and stared at the diamonds in her ring as her heart raced.

Michael strode down Main Street towards the train station which doubled as the town's post office, unable to wipe the grin off his face. The air felt clearer, the sun warmer, and his life more satisfying than it had been in years. Aside from his foolish slip of the tongue that morning...and an occasional unexplained attack of nerves from Charlie...things couldn't have been better.

He walked into the stationhouse with the brightest, "Morning, Lewis," that he had ever uttered.

"Good morning, Mr. West." Lewis tipped his hat to him while helping another customer.

Michael's exuberance earned him a surprised glance from old Mrs. Wayne as she signed for a package at the desk. "Lovely weather we're having."

"It certainly is, Mr. West," Lewis answered.

Mrs. Wayne stared at him as if he were ill and it might be catching.

"Mr. West just got married," Lewis explained to her with a wink.

"What? I thought he was one of them deviants, like his banker friend."

Michael chuckled. No rude comment could dent his spirits. "Will you be at the dance this evening, Mrs. Wayne? I'll be sure to introduce my wife to you."

She gave him a doubtful sniff as she snatched her package from the counter and skittered out of the room.

Michael stepped up and leaned against the mail desk. "I trust you'll be at the dance," he made conversation with Lewis. It was completely unlike him.

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world," Lewis answered as he turned and pulled a small stack of mail and a folded newspaper out of Michael's cubby. He turned back with a sheepish grin. "I asked that girl Katie, you know, from the train, if she would go with me. And you know what? She said yes!"

Michael accepted his mail with a wink. "Good for you, Lewis!" In fact he couldn't have thought of a worse idea, but what Lewis wanted to do with his time and his life was his business.

"There's some good stories in your Philadelphia paper today," Lewis went on. "Apparently there was a train wreck last month and more about that murder trial." He scratched his head. "Though I suppose it's all over now seeing as your paper always gets here a month or so behind."

"It's all the same to me," Michael smiled and turned to go.

"And there's a story about a girl who robbed her family blind and then disappeared," Lewis went on with a sudden frown. "Something about that one bothered me, though I can't say what. Police can't find head nor tail of the girl and her father is somebody important."

"I'll be sure to read all about it." Michael tucked the mail into his coat pocket and hurried back out into the street before Lewis could waylay him any longer.

The newspaper was what he really wanted to see. He unfolded it as he walked towards the hotel, skimming the front-page headlines before opening it. The missing persons reports had a small space towards the back of the paper. He scanned to see if his name was listed. As usual, it wasn't. He frowned with anxious disappointment then flipped to the snippets of police reports. His name wasn't there either. He was a fool to keep checking after so long.

"What the hell are you doing out of bed on a Saturday morning?" Eric's greeting startled him as he neared the hotel.

Michael folded the paper and tucked it under his arm. His friend wore a grin that implied he expected Michael to be doing far more than sleeping in. "I had to get out of bed. I needed a rest."

Eric rewarded his shameless comment with a knowing laugh. "I guess some women have no taste at all." Eric crossed his arms and raked him with an impish glance.

"Charlie has exquisite taste," Michael informed him. "Which is why I have to buy her some of those hot-house flowers Delilah sells."

"Why?" Eric followed him up the stairs into the hotel lobby. "What'd you do?"

"Called her Emily," Michael replied with a sharp sideways glance.

"Shit, Michael!"

"I know, I know."

"Does she know about—"

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Michael, what are you doing out of bed on a Saturday morning?" This time it was Christian who made the comment as he walked down the hotel's grand staircase to greet them.

Michael glanced from Eric to Christian. "Is there some sort of secret society that meets when they think I'm sleeping."

"Oh, I didn't think you'd be sleeping." Christian frowned, sullen even when he was making a joke. "How's Charlie?"

"She's wonderful." Even the dubious glances Eric and Christian swapped couldn't dent Michael's sense of his own good fortune.

"Wonderful," Christian repeated. "I hope you still count your till every night."

Michael arched an eyebrow. "I do and not a cent is out of place." Eric laughed and shook his head. "Scoff if you must, but I have everything I want, dealt and delivered, right across the street in that store as we speak."

"Sure you do," Christian drawled, ever the wet blanket. "And all thoughts of Philadelphia and the amenities you moon about all the time are forgotten, right?"

Michael ignored the low blow. "Charlie is beautiful, intelligent, and so insatiable in bed that I'm surprised I can walk straight right now." He couldn't resist the urge to brag and defend her. "And best of all, she's independent and strong-minded and in no danger of doing something foolish like falling in love with me."

Eric and Christian exchanged another round of doubtful glances.

"And you think that's a good thing?" Eric crossed his arms and studied his friend.

"Absolutely." Michael pushed past them to the counter where several bouquets of flowers were tied with ribbons, waiting to be bought. He shifted his newspaper so he could reach for one. "No love means no fuss, no tears, no ugly scenes, and—"

He stopped. The blood red of the roses on display touched a nerve he had hoped to keep buried. Emily loved roses. He picked a cheerful bunch of daisies for Charlie instead.

When he turned to take the flowers to the front desk Eric and Christian were watching him, Christian grave and Eric tickled.

"What?" he demanded.

"He called Charlie 'Emily' by accident this morning," Eric filled Christian in.

"Good Lord, Michael!" Christian dropped his arms, glowering. "You're crazier than I thought."

"It was a slip of the tongue." Michael cut past them and marched towards the desk. "I know full well that Charlie isn't Emily. The situation is entirely different." His friends hovered behind him, full of silent accusation.

"That'll be thirty-five cents, Mr. West," the boy behind the desk said.

Michael shifted the newspaper and bouquet in his arms to reach into his pocket to pay him.

"Boy I'll tell you," Eric's grin filled his words, "I never believed in love at first sight until now."

Michael froze and blinked at Eric behind his glasses. "I am most certainly not in love."

"Mmm hmm," Eric hummed. "So why are you buying Charlie flowers and being all flirty with her?"

"She's my wife." Michael clenched his fist around the bouquet. His pulse raced but he did his best to ignore it. "Marriage has nothing to do with love."

"Right." Eric smirked.

Michael glanced to Christian for help. Christian's frown darkened. It wasn't the help he was looking for. "I'm not in love," he insisted, cutting through them towards the door. "I can't be in love," he added with a growl. "No good has ever come of the stuff." His palms sweat as he shifted the newspaper under his arm.

"Horseshit," Eric tossed after him.

Michael spun back to him. "What are you doing in town so early on a Saturday morning anyhow?"

Eric worked his jaw for a moment before puffing out a breath and turning to Christian. "I rode out to Matthew Harbison's place last night after the fire," he succumbed to the change in conversation.

"How bad is it?" Christian dropped his assault on Michael.

"Pretty bad." Eric scratched his head. "The house is gone. Matthew was able to get the girls out in one piece, which is a godsend if you ask me. The barn's still standing but half the animals are missing."

"What would a fire have to do with missing animals?" Michael asked.

"Matthew thinks someone stole them," Eric answered. "He mentioned something about drifters near his place last week."

"Has he told Franklin?"

"Yeah," Eric drawled. "Our good Sheriff Franklin Turner rode out there at about the same time I did. Took one look around and said he didn't see anyone and Matthew'd been careless."

"The Turner boys are two of the biggest horse's asses this side of the Mississippi," Christian grumbled. "I told the town council they were a bunch of fools for appointing Franklin sheriff."

"Yeah, well it's Matthew and the girls I'm worried about right now," Eric went on. "They're staying here at the hotel."

"I know," Christian nodded. "I've just been upstairs talking to him. Matthew's got his hands full with the girls at the moment but he said he'd talk to me later about the fire."

"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help," Michael said. He started for the door. "If they need anything from the store...."

"Would that be your wonderful, glorious store that houses everything you've ever dreamed of and more but not love?" Eric ribbed him.

"Yes, that's the one." When Eric snorted Michael answered, "Charlie and I get along well, in the store and in bed, but that does not mean I love her."

"I sure as sunshine hope it doesn't!" Christian snapped.

"What's that supposed to mean?" A seed of doubt twisted into Michael's gut at his friend's certainty.

"Just because I signed the certificate doesn't mean you can trust her any more today than you could two weeks ago Thursday."

"Sure it can," Eric argued. "He loves her."

"I do not," Michael insisted. The hotel had suddenly grown blazing hot. "She's given me no reason not to trust her," he told Christian. Except for her odd moods and tight lips.

Christian pulled himself to his full height, ready to pronounce judgment. "You let her handle your money, don't you?"

"Charlie came out here to live a productive, useful life," Michael defended her without addressing the question. "When she's working she positively glows."

"How do you know she's not just acting like that to lull you into complacency?"

"Come on, Christian, be fair." Eric took Michael's side.

"I am being fair," Christian replied. "I'm being realistic."

"Of course," Eric grunted.

"I happen to like Michael and I don't want him to get taken. I've had to deal with too many cases of gold-diggers and opportunists in the last few years," Christian insisted. To Michael he said, "Do you know any more about her now than you did when you married her? About her past? Why she left home?"

Michael swallowed. If he admitted he didn't then Christian's words held far more weight than he wanted them to. If he lied and said he did then he'd have to entertain the idea that Eric was right and he was defending Charlie for emotional reasons. He couldn't be in love. He couldn't go through that again. Maybe Christian had a point after all.

"Gentlemen, I have a store to run." He evaded the whole issue with a false smile. He turned and pushed open the hotel door.

"Hey, Michael!" Eric stopped him. Michael took a breath and faced his friend. "I like Charlie," Eric conceded. "She suits you."

"Don't tell him that!" Christian smacked Eric in the gut.

Michael shook his head and stepped out into the morning.

Try as he did, he couldn't recapture the happiness he'd started his errand with. The sun wasn't quite as bright, the people he passed on the street not quite as friendly.

Dammit, what _was_ Charlie after anyhow? Intelligent women from Philadelphia generally didn't find contentment behind a frontier store counter. Or in the bed of a funny-looking shopkeeper who refused to fall in love. He tightened his grip on the bouquet of daisies. What had he gotten himself into?

"Hey!" He paused and clenched his jaw at the sound of Edsel Turner's shout. "Hey Westie! Yeah, I'm talking to you."

Yes, his luck had definitely turned.

"Can I help you, Edsel?" He faced the burly cowboy who swaggered his way across the street with a pretty blond woman from the train on his arm.

"Minnie here wants a new dress for the dance tonight." The statement was a clear demand. Edsel glowered at him and the blond, Minnie, clung to his arm and batted her eyelashes at Edsel in adoration.

"You're not alone." He gave the silly woman a brief shopkeeper smile. "Half the women in town have been coming into the store for the last two weeks. We have some lovely gowns that just came in on yesterday's train."

"Don't you get all smart on me, Westie!" Michael frowned. There were few things worse than a man trying to act tough to impress a woman. Buying them flowers and trusting them with your livelihood, for one. "Go get Minnie a dress!"

He didn't have time for this. "You're welcome to come by the store, miss. We still have a few things left."

Edsel lashed out, grabbing a fistful of Michael's coat. He tried to raise a fist to threaten him but had to shake the blond off to do so. The result was that instead of appearing tough Edsel seemed like he was pulling Michael closer for a hug. The daisies added the perfect touch. Michael stared blankly up at Edsel, waiting for him to figure out how stupid he looked. It didn't take long.

"I want you to bring my lady friend here a dress to wear to the dance!" He shoved Michael with a sniff. The lady in question's smile of adoration had dropped. She stood watching Edsel with her nose wrinkled in doubt.

"Have you stopped to consider that the lady might want to pick out her own dress?" He glanced to Minnie. Her eyes lit up.

"Well." Edsel shuffled. "Alright then. You take us to the store!"

"Right this way." He smiled at Minnie then lead on down the covered porches lining the street to the general store.

Charlie was ringing up the only customer when they entered. She glanced up with a smile that turned to a frown of curiosity when she saw the company he was in. The customer at the counter took one look at Edsel and gathered his purchases to leave with a muttered curse about 'dirty cowboys'.

"Here you go, Miss Minnie. I'm sure one of these fine dresses would suit you." The young woman tittered when she saw the remaining dresses for sale hanging near the window.

Michael answered Charlie's questioning gaze with a quirked eyebrow as he walked around the counter to join her.

"For you." He handed her the daisies, trying to pretend nothing was wrong. "With my sincerest apologies."

Charlie breathed a happy sigh as she took the flowers. "Apology accepted." She gave him a peck on the cheek.

Warmth spread from the spot where her lips touched him to his gut. Michael dismissed it as lust. He set the newspaper on the shelf behind the counter and took the mail out of his pocket.

Edsel stood with his hands useless by his sides, shoulders hunched, jaw twitching as he scrambled for a way to look good in front of the girl again.

"We should make a quick trip to the bank this afternoon before the dance," Charlie whispered to him, watching as Minnie pulled a dress off of the rack and held it up to herself. "I counted the till while you were out and we should really make a deposit."

"You counted the till when I wasn't here?"

"It only took a minute," Charlie replied. "And it will only take a minute to drop it at the bank."

It was a coincidence, Michael told himself. Charlie was just being responsible. That thought, coupled with her dazzling smile, tipped his insides upside down.

"I can go to the bank alone," he said.

Edsel's face lit with spiteful energy. "Going to pick up your date to the dance, Westie?"

Charlie blinked at the cowboy. Michael didn't bother reacting.

Edsel went on. "Didja find yourself a dress to wear for your romantic rendezvous with Phin-e-ass?"

"Yes I did," Michael answered, voice even as he pulled the account book out from under the counter. "It's pink with little red roses on it."

Edsel goggled, dumbfounded that his taunt fell flat. Charlie sputtered with a sound halfway between a sneeze and a snort. Minnie missed the entire exchange.

"I like this one." She brought a canary yellow dress to the counter to show Edsel. She would look like a lemon meringue wearing it.

"Excellent choice." Michael smiled. "Charlie will wrap it up for you." Maybe he should limit Charlie to non-monetary duties. Just until he sorted things out.

Charlie took the ugly dress with a smile and folded it onto a sheet of wrapping paper. To Edsel Michael said, "That'll be eight dollars."

"What the hell?"

"It came all the way from Chicago," he explained, daring the man to call his bluff.

"Ooo! I always wanted to go to Chicago!" Minnie squeaked.

Michael grinned at Edsel. "Your lady friend always wanted to go to Chicago."

Edsel grumbled, his shoulders falling further, and fished in his pocket. He pulled out a handful of crumpled bills and plunked them on the counter. Michael raised his brow as he counted out all eight dollars.

"Oh look, Edsel. Aren't those earbobs just lovely?" Minnie stared at the items in the glass case next to the counter. "Why, they would look lovely with—"

"Come on." He grabbed her arm and yanked her away from spending more money. Charlie tossed the wrapped dress across to the young woman. Edsel stormed out before he could lose any more money or ground.

"What was that all about?" Charlie shook her head as the door slammed.

"I have no idea," Michael said. He counted Edsel's money a second time just to be sure. "I guess somehow Edsel Turner came into some money."

**Chapter Nine**

"I still don't understand what that cowboy has against you." Charlotte shook her head as she walked across Main Street on Michael's arm several hours later. "I've been bullied before but there's usually a reason behind it."

"You've been bullied?" Michael raised his eyebrows. "Was that by your step-sister?"

"Yes." She sent him a sidelong look. Her husband had been out of sorts since morning. Had she let too much slip? Michael was certainly smart enough to piece things together if she wasn't careful. "My step-sister was perfectly horrible to me from the day my mother married my step-father, if you must know," she used a little bit of truth to paint the picture she wanted. "That whole blasted family made my life miserable. And my mother was no help at all. She always said we could put up with anything if it meant a membership to Merion Cricket Club. Believe me, we put up with a lot. Too much."

She checked to see what he thought.

"I'm sorry you had a bad experience," he said. His vague half-grin wasn't encouraging. He didn't even try to dig for more information. Maybe he didn't need to.

"Is everything alright?" She asked as they reached the sidewalk in front of the bank.

"Everything's fine." He dismissed her comment, sending her heart thumping with apprehension. "I can make this deposit on my own. Why don't you go on ahead and see if Delilah needs help setting up."

"Nonsense." She pretended his attempt to exclude her didn't sting. "I need to learn to make deposits at some point." When he responded with an uncertain look she said, "You've got better things to do than simple banking. Besides, I took an accounting class in college. I'm good with money."

"Are you?"

"Yes!" she laughed.

He smiled but didn't laugh with her. Something was very wrong. It had been since...since he mentioned Emily. The connection sent Charlotte's spirits plummeting. That woman was important somehow. Important and in the way.

Michael held the bank's front door open and they stepped inside.

"Michael, Charlie," Phineas said as he spotted them through the teller's window. He crossed the office to open the small side door for them. "Cutting it a little fine, aren't we? The bank is technically closed." Phin was dressed in a well-made suit and had his hair combed and slicked back, but he darted glances out into the lobby and towards the door with such apprehension that Charlotte felt sorry for him.

"Eager to meet your lady fair?" Michael teased him, humor returning.

Phin sent him a withering glance. "I've tried everything in the book to get rid of that woman. I even hid in the vault on Thursday to avoid her."

"Who let you out?" Charlotte asked.

"No one." Phin shook his head. "I'm the only one who knows the combination. I had to leave the door open a sliver."

"Then be grateful the wind didn't blow it shut. We would have had to blast you out," Michael smirked.

Phin arched an eyebrow to tell him he wasn't far off. "Is this a business call or are you just here to drag me to this stupid dance."

"It's not a stupid dance," Charlotte sighed. "And yes, this is a business call."

"Fair enough. Just give me a second and I'll fetch your safe deposit box from the vault."

Alarm shot through Charlotte. "We've come to make a deposit," she stopped him.

"Oh." Phin blinked in surprise. "You're not planning on wearing any of your jewelry to the dance?"

The bottom dropped out of Charlotte's stomach. "I—"

"Jewelry?" Michael asked.

Phin blanched when he realized his mistake. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."

"It's quite alright," Charlotte's voice cracked. She cleared her throat. Her eyes darted to Michael. He frowned in suspicion. "We just need to make a deposit for the store."

"Of course, of course." Phin rushed to the teller's desk, flushed and flustered.

Charlotte's heart beat harder as Michael glanced between the two of them. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

She forced a laugh. "There are lots of things I'm not telling you, remember?" She caught her breath and distracted him with, "Will you show me how to fill out the deposit slip?"

Michael remained still for a moment. He took a breath and joined Phin at the teller's desk, taking the envelope with the money to deposit out of his pocket. "Count that," he told Phin.

"It's a simple matter of writing the correct amounts on each line," he instructed Charlotte as she slid up to his side and peeked over his shoulder.

Phin mouthed, "Sorry," behind Michael's back.

Charlotte sent him a scolding look.

Phin went on with a silent, "You didn't tell him?"

Charlotte shook her head.

Phin winced.

"Pay attention, Charlie," Michael said.

"I am paying attention." She twisted to watch what he was doing.

Michael finished filling out the deposit slip. "Maybe I should be the one to do this for a while."

He was upset with her. She bit her lip. "I'm sure I can figure it out. It doesn't seem that hard. I want to learn everything I can about the store. Give me a chance?"

Michael handed Phin the deposit slip. He stared at her while Phin took the money back to the vault.

"Jewelry?"

Her secret was out. Only Michael didn't know the half of it. She chewed her lip as dread settled in her stomach. If she admitted to what she had in Phin's safe deposit box then she'd have to admit how she came by it. And if she admitted that Michael would do more than just frown. He might throw her out. He might go back to Emily. Michael was too upstanding keep her around knowing what she'd done.

"It's just a few small things that belonged to my mother." It wasn't technically a lie. "I didn't want to keep them at the store because, well...." She scrambled for an excuse. "They hold a lot of bad memories." She blinked. That was the truth too, after all.

Her heart thumped hard as Michael continued to study her. Her wonderful new life hung by the thread of his approval. His expression held no hint of what he was thinking. At long last he breathed in then puffed out a breath and dropped his shoulders.

"Alright." He sent her a lopsided smile. "We agreed to keep our secrets. I shouldn't have pried."

Charlotte wilted with relief. As a peace offering Michael leaned forward and kissed her lips. The gesture swirled straight through her gut to her toes. Their eyes met when he stepped back and she smiled. Yes, she liked her husband very much. She would hate to lose him.

"Hello!" Miss Helen's trilled greeting from the lobby fractured the moment. "Phinny? Are you ready for our grand night out?" She spotted Charlotte and Michael through the teller's window and lost her smile. "Oh. You."

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and let out a breath. Michael mirrored her trepidation. They caught each other's reactions and burst into a shared chuckle. He reached out for her hand.

"Phin, your fair maiden is here," he called back to the small office. "Charlie and I are just going to run along to the stupid dance."

"It's not a stupid dance," Charlotte scolded.

Michael walked with her to the door separating the office from the lobby and opened it. Before either of them could leave Helen pushed past them into the room. She headed straight for the small office.

"Ooo! Is this the bank vault you've been telling me so much about?" Helen fluttered with excitement.

"What? Helen? Who let you back here?" Phin's shout echoed from far back in the vault.

"My, what lovely, strong walls you have!" Helen cooed.

"Quick!" Michael pushed Charlotte out into the lobby. "Before Phin kills us."

"We'll see you at the dance, Phin!" Charlotte called back through the teller's window as Michael rushed her out into the street.

They burst into laughter as they shut the bank door behind them.

"That was mean." Charlotte held a hand to her mouth, trying to stop laughing.

Michael shook his head. "It was, but no harm done. That woman is annoying, not dangerous."

"I don't know about that," Charlotte said. Michael looped her arm through his and they started down Main Street towards the venue for the dance. "I've been traveling with her since Denver. I've seen what she can do to a train station restaurant. In fact—"

Charlotte stopped dead, her heart dropping to her toes as they passed the alley between two buildings. There he was, a man with beady eyes and a scruffy beard leaning against the wall. There was no doubt in her mind. Her pursuer.

"No! No!" Her throat closed up. She clutched Michael's arm.

"What?" Michael gasped and stiffened. He turned to her, eyes wide behind his glasses. "What's the matter?"

"The man!" Charlotte squeaked. "The man from St. Louis! It's him!"

She tried to bolt but Michael caught her and held her firm. "What man?" He spun, searching.

Charlotte's eyes snapped back to the alley. It was empty. "He's gone!"

Michael turned towards the alley. His alarm softened to concern. "There's no one there."

"He was there a second ago." Her heart pounded so fast and hard it made her sick. "Where did he go?" There was a door in one of the buildings further down the alley but it looked like it hadn't been opened in ages.

Michael glanced from the alley to Charlotte. "What happened in St. Louis?"

Charlotte's fear melted to itching dread. "I was nearly robbed." She wrung her hands. "I...I think he's been following me."

"What?" Michael checked the alley again. It was still empty. "Why would anyone want to follow you all the way from St. Louis?"

"Because...." Here she was again. She couldn't bring up her suspicions, not without landing herself in trouble. If she told Michael she would lose him. "Because I was a single woman traveling on my own?"

Michael narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure it wasn't just the stress of travel and being on your own?"

Charlotte's heart sank. "You don't believe me."

"There's no one in the alley." It wasn't an admission either way.

"I thought you two were going ahead to the dance." Phin's voice broke the impasse. He strode toward them with Helen simpering on his arm.

"Charlie thought she saw someone in the alley," Michael informed them. "Someone who has been following her."

Phin's look of surprised concern and Helen's overdone panic on her behalf sent a spike of sheepishness through Charlotte's gut. "Maybe I was just imagining things," she mumbled. "The stress of traveling on my own and all."

Michael arched an eyebrow.

"Travel is so very stressful," Helen rushed to agree. "That's why I've been thinking of settling down."

"But you stopped traveling two weeks ago." Phin worked to keep the conversation on track and away from him.

"I don't know," Charlotte sighed. She held Michael's arm tighter. He was as tense as a spring. It wasn't reassuring. "Let's just go on to the dance."

She started forward, pulling Michael along. Maybe she was imagining things after all. The day hadn't been right since morning.

The Cowboy Dance was held in the field beside the church on the far side of town. The Ladies' Auxiliary had decorated the space with lanterns and garlands. Round tables with chairs were set up to one side where a longer table was laden with food donated by the citizens of the town. A band was tuning up on a raised dais beside a flat space of grass.

Michael hardly noticed any of it.

"I need to go help Delilah with the food." Charlie gave his arm a squeeze before dropping it. "You'll be nearby?"

"Sure," Michael answered. Charlie was trying to pretend she wasn't upset by what she thought she'd seen. She was failing.

"I'll just be over there." She pointed to the long table of food. Christian stood near the end of the table with is arms full of plates as Delilah directed him where to put them. She spotted Charlie and waved. Charlie started towards her, telling Michael, "Stay close," over her shoulder.

"Why don't you go help, Miss Helen." Phin squirmed out of Helen's arm.

"Oh I don't—"

"I have it on good authority that volunteering is one of the things the Ladies' Auxiliary considers when it comes to picking new members. If you're planning to stay in Cold Springs...."

"Maybe I'll just go help," Helen changed her tune. She chased after Charlie.

Michael rounded on his friend. "She's up to something." His pulse raced to the point where he felt dizzy.

"She thinks she can wear me down with persistence," Phin drawled.

Michael paused then shook his head. "Not Helen. Charlie. Something's not right about her."

Phin turned to him with a flat stare. "Last night when I had you two over for supper you couldn't take your eyes off her. You were finishing each other's sentences."

"We were not."

"Now today she's up to something?"

Phin's reproach didn't make Michael feel a bit better. In fact, his friend sounded too much like Eric. "First Christian tells me he thinks she's a gold-digger—"

"Well of course _Christian_ would say something like that."

"—and now I find out she's hiding jewels from me?"

"They're her mother's jewels," Phin sighed. "I shouldn't tell you that. I could get in a heap of trouble for sharing confidential information. But since Christian Avery, Justice of the Peace, upholder of all that is law-abiding and tight-assed planted a bug in your ear...."

"He has a point," Michael argued. His chest squeezed as though it was out of alignment. "I don't know any more about her today than I did two weeks ago."

To Michael's surprise, Phin smiled. "Do you remember when I told you that you would regret marrying Charlie so quickly?"

Michael scowled. Now was not the time. "She's been nervous for no reason at all before but I assumed it was about living in a new place. Why would she be under the impression that someone is following her?"

"I don't know, Michael, why don't you ask her."

He sought out Charlie across the field. She was deep in discussion with Delilah. Her beautiful face was tight with anxiety. A part of him would have given anything to smooth the worry lines from her eyes. Another part of him could feel the storm clouds on the horizon.

"I called her Emily by accident this morning," he confessed.

"Oh, Michael!" Phin winced. "No wonder you're shoving yourself through the ringer."

Michael balked. "I'm not—"

"This all makes perfect sense now." Phin shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Stop looking for the sky to fall. I don't know where you came up with this thick-headed notion that disaster strikes when you love someone."

"Because it does!" Michael shouted. A couple on their way to the dance flinched as they passed. Michael hunched his shoulders and repeated in a whisper, "Because it does, Phin. You know that as well as I do. You know about my mother, and my father for that matter. You know what happened to Emily."

"Look, Michael," Phin addressed him like an older brother. "Your mother dying in childbirth was not your fault. Your father is a domineering bastard and you did the best any son could do. And Emily? Emily made her own choices. So did Charlie. One of those choices was not to tell you about her mother's jewelry. Now I don't know why she chose that, but I do know that Charlie is an intelligent, charming woman with a good heart. I may not have married her, but I've spent enough time with her in the last two weeks to know that. And you like her. More than you want to admit to. Calling her Emily proves that. Leave it alone and stop looking for excuses to push her away."

"But what if—"

"And don't listen to Christian," Phin added. "You won't be doing yourself a favor."

Michael wasn't so sure of that. Phin may have known him better than anyone, but Christian knew trouble when he saw it.

"Delilah, I've done something very, very bad." Charlotte rushed up to her friend with her heart in her throat. She hadn't been so close to tears since marrying Michael.

"Slow down there, honey." Delilah stopped lighting the lanterns and put the taper on the table. She wore just the expression of motherly concern that Charlotte was looking for. "What can you have done that could be so bad as all that?"

The need to confess had Charlotte's heart ready to burst out of her chest. She opened her mouth to reply but snapped it shut when Helen swept up to join them.

"Hello, Mrs. Reynolds." Helen beamed with false friendliness. "I've come to do my part on behalf of our good cowboys."

"Have you now?" Delilah crossed her arms.

"Yes." Helen snapped. She hooked her arm through Charlotte's and said, "My good friend Charlie and I have come to help."

"We're not friends," Charlotte muttered through clenched teeth.

"That's a lovely dress you're wearing, my dear." Helen ignored her. "But it needs some sort of adornment. You have some jewelry don't you? Whatever became of it?"

"Miss Helen, have you come to help?" Delilah rescued Charlotte.

"Why, um, yes." Helen's mouth pinched as the conversation turned.

Delilah's grin twitched. She handed Helen the taper she had been lighting the lanterns with. "Why don't you walk all the way around the perimeter lighting lamps. She smiled.

Helen's false smile dropped. "Why, I'd be happy to," she said, anything but. She took the taper and stomped over to the nearest lantern. It was still within earshot and she took her time lighting it.

"Yes, Charlie," Delilah scolded her with a grin. "Bringing that woman to this dance sure was a very bad thing."

Charlotte's tense laughter dissolved into dread. "It's not that."

She leaned in close, took a breath, and whispered, "Before I came here I did some favors for my step-father. But I hated it so I left, and when I did I took something that I shouldn't have taken. And this man in St. Louis tried to rob me and has been following me and might know about the things I did. And I thought all that was behind me since I married Michael but I think I just saw that man in town!" She gasped, wringing her hands. "And Michael called me Emily this morning."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on there." Delilah laid a hand on her arm. "That's a mighty big mouthful for one woman to chew on. One thing at a time."

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together before going on.

"These 'favors' you did for your step-father. They weren't, you know, my line of work, were they?"

"What? No!" Charlotte balked.

"Then I wouldn't worry about it." Delilah shrugged. "Sounds like you're not doing any more favors."

"Absolutely not! But—"

"What'd you take that you shouldn't have?"

Charlotte bit her lip and glanced around, expecting everyone in Cold Springs to be eavesdropping. Her glance settled on Michael. He and Phin looked as though they were bickering about something. He was much too far away to hear or judge her.

She swallowed and told Delilah, "When I left my step-father's house I took my mother's jewelry with me."

Delilah waved the indiscretion away. "So? It was your mother's, right? You told me she passed away, so it's yours now."

Charlotte blushed, unable to meet Delilah's eyes. If only it were so simple.

"You said someone tried to rob you?" she went on.

"Yes," Charlotte answered, heart aflutter. "I think he's followed me to Cold Springs. I'm sure I just saw him in town."

"Alright," Delilah nodded. "So tell Sheriff Turner." She stopped. "On second thought, don't tell that lump of uselessness anything. Tell Christian instead. Let him and Michael sort it out."

Charlotte swallowed and bit her lip. This wasn't going the way she'd hoped it would. "But if that man knows what I did, if he somehow tells Michael, it will all be over."

"Hogswallop," Delilah laughed. "You're the best thing that's happened to Michael West in years and he knows it. You get him to work hunting down this man who's been bothering you." Before Charlotte could argue the point Delilah went on. "And as for Emily...."

Charlotte blinked. "Do you know who Emily is?"

"Yes, sweetie, I know who she was," Delilah admitted.

"Oh? Who?"

Delilah stared at her. "Honey, Michael'll tell you when he's good and ready. He only told me because he was dead drunk and feeling sorry for himself, and that was nearly eight years ago. Trust me when I say it's nothing to worry about."

"My husband calling me by another woman's name is nothing to worry about?" Charlotte bristled. It was a change from the terror creeping through her but not a good one. She leaned closer to Delilah and whispered, "At the courthouse I heard Christian say something about it not being legal for Michael to marry me. Emily has something to do with that, doesn't she."

"Darling," Delilah laid a hand on Charlotte's cheek, shaking her head, "you're much too young and pretty to be worrying yourself over troubles long gone like this. Keep the past in the past, Michael's and yours. That's why you came here, isn't it? Now, it's a lovely night, we've got a heap of good food, and you have a husband who thinks the world of you."

"I wouldn't say that." Especially if he found out the truth.

"Well I would. I mean, just look at him."

Delilah nodded past Charlotte's shoulder. Charlotte turned to see Michael walking towards her. Her heart flipped in her chest. He still looked like he'd had a hard day. She wanted to hug him and kiss the tension out of his lips. She wanted to confess everything, ask him frankly who Emily was. If only she wasn't so certain spilling her secrets would destroy everything she was trying to build.

"Good evening, Delilah." Michael nodded as he reached them. "The meadow looks nice."

He stood so close to her, not quite touching. Charlotte wanted to take his hand, hug his arm, but anxiety wouldn't let her.

"Why thank you, Mr. West." Delilah glanced between the two of them as though she knew exactly what was on Charlotte's mind.

"Where did Phin go?" Charlotte glanced around for him.

"Wherever Miss Helen is not," Michael answered, his lips quirking up into a grin.

"He's going to wish he was here then." Delilah crossed her arms. She nodded towards the lantern Helen was supposed to be lighting. The woman was nowhere to be seen.

"Poor Phin," Charlotte sighed.

She caught Michael staring at her with a curious blend of warmth and worry. He took her hand. It felt right. Charlotte smiled, her sense of safety returning.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" he asked her.

She could keep any secret if it meant she could keep him. "Yes, please."

He took her arm and escorted her over to the line of people waiting to fill plates with all the good things that had been cooked. There were fried chickens and sides of beef along with potatoes and vegetable dishes. It all looked delicious.

"Chicken or beef?" he asked, fixing her a plate. There was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there the day they met, but his back was bunched with tension.

"Oh! Chicken." She had been staring at him instead of answering his question.

They scooted down the table. "Corn or beans?"

Things worked so well between them as long as they stayed in the present. "A little of both."

"I know they don't look like much, but you have to try some of Nancy Deen's baked beans," he insisted, piling some on her plate. "She makes a batch for me now and then."

If only she could forget about her mother's blasted jewelry and the trouble that wouldn't stop following her. If only life was just about baked beans and cowboy dances.

"I'll have to learn to make them then," she vowed. If only he could forget about Emily, whoever she was.

A twist of mischief came back to his eyes. "I'll alert the fire brigade."

She stifled a laugh. At last he broke into a genuine smile. It gave her hope.

He took their plates and walked her over to the table where Christian was taking a seat. Michael set the plates down and held out a chair for her. He pushed it in then sat next to her.

"I've never seen so many people at one of these things," Christian started the conversation, sending a significant look across the table to Michael. "Certain company included."

"I had a reason to come, so I came," Michael shrugged.

Charlotte glanced at him. "You don't usually attend?"

"Dear God no!" he laughed.

"Michael usually spends these things holed up in his store, pining for Philadelphia social life," Christian drawled.

"You miss all of _that_?" Charlotte arched an eyebrow.

"Would you think less of me if I said yes?"

Charlotte blinked. It had never dawned on her that anyone could miss the world she'd run from. "No wonder you think this is a stupid dance," she murmured, taking a bite of chicken.

A grin spread across Michael's face and he winked at her. She had the odd feeling he was teasing her about Philadelphia. That alone made her heart settle.

"I found out more about the fire from Matthew," Christian changed the subject.

"How are they fairing?" Charlotte asked.

"Not too good. Matthew said he would take the children to his sister's place in Butte until he gets things sorted out."

"What things?" Charlotte asked.

Christian frowned. "He thinks the fire might have been arson. He suspects someone was on his property who shouldn't have been the night of the fire."

"Does he have any idea who?" Michael asked.

"Apparently there were a pair of drifters spotted near his place the other day."

"Drifters?" She plunged into anxiety once more. "Two of them?"

Before Charlotte had a chance to panic at the thought of two people following her a shrill cry and a laugh rose from the other side of the clearing. A loud, colorful group strutted onto the dance floor. Minnie in her blinding yellow dress was with them, hanging off of Edsel's arm. Edsel stared down anyone who looked funny at him, somehow looking meaner than ever in what must have passed for his Sunday best. Another one of the girls Charlotte knew as Katie had arrived with them in a lurid pink gown with tall feathers in her hair. She dragged a hapless Lewis Jones out in front of the others to dance. The band played twice as loud now that they had a gaggle of flashy women to play to.

"Now this is what I call a party!" Katie hooted, kicking up her skirts higher than any decent woman should.

Charlotte's eyes went round. Michael hid a laugh behind his napkin. She caught herself laughing at the sight of him so amused.

"Come on, Phinny!" Charlotte almost choked when she heard Miss Helen's voice above the ruckus. She stood near the edge of the dance floor trying to pull Phineas in with the carousers. Phineas struggled to get away, his face pale in the evening light. "A little dancing'll do you good!"

"No thank you!" He twisted and struggled. Charlotte wanted to cheer when he broke away and disappeared into the crowd of onlookers edging the dance floor.

"We won't see him for the rest of the evening!" Michael declared, setting his napkin down to finish his dinner.

"He's likely to hide in his vault until Miss Helen and her lot skip town," Christian agreed.

"He tried that already," Michael informed him.

"No!" The two had a good laugh over their friend's dilemma.

"Hey, where's Phin running off to in such a hurry?" Eric jogged up to their table. He was out of breath and glanced around as though he was being chased as well.

"Fleeing from Miss Helen's amorous attentions," Christian explained with a smirk.

"Really?"

Eric didn't have time to dig further.

"Eric!" Jacinta's piercing voice cut through the party-goers mingling around the tables. They actually gave way to her as she charged through, ruffles on her kelly green ball gown fluttering. "Eric, you simply must do something about this!"

"Hello, Jacinta." Eric sighed and turned to face his pursuer. "Do something about what?"

"Why, about those light-skirts, of course!" She flung an arm out to the dance floor.

"You can't really expect me to march out there and tell folks to leave can you?" Eric gaped at a stiff-backed Jacinta.

"Just look at the distraction they're causing!" Jacinta argued.

Charlotte glanced around. There was some truth to what the tiny woman said. The dancers were behaving more like a cabaret act than friendly neighbors. The men who had escorted them were gone. Lewis Jones stood jilted by the side of the dance floor. He spotted them and headed for their table while outraged women shuffled their children away from the display. Wives glared at husbands, sisters at brothers and fathers who ogled the exposed ankles and scooping necklines. There simply weren't enough hands to cover everyone's eyes.

"Some of the saloon girls are out there dancing too," Jacinta seethed on. "And they know they're not invited where decent folks are!"

"It's probably some sort of advertisement for the saloon," Eric dismissed the whole thing. "Look, it's only the girls dancing now anyhow."

He was right. The colorfully dressed women linked together, dancing in formation and kicking up their exposed calves as though performing a routine.

"Clever marketing indeed!" Michael smirked.

"We should hire them to dance outside the general store," Charlotte played along. "It might be good for business."

Jacinta flushed a violent shade of red, contrasting nicely with her ball gown.

Michael rewarded Charlotte's joke with an appreciative grin and a wink.

Lewis crept up to their table. "Mr. West, I need to talk to you."

"I can't believe you aren't taking this seriously," Jacinta huffed, cutting Lewis off before he could begin.

"Aw, lighten up, Jacinta. It's just a dance," Eric said.

"I really need to talk to you, Mr. West," Lewis tried again. "It's about that article in your newspaper."

Michael noticed Lewis. "What about it?" he asked.

"Can I talk to you about it in private?" Lewis's glance flickered past Michael to Charlotte.

"Well if you won't stop this then I will!" Jacinta raged on. "I can't believe this town is so full of loose morals and careless attitudes!"

"Uh, I'll tell you what, Jacinta," Eric sputtered to control the situation. "I'll go speak to the band and see what I can get them to do." He spun on his heel and darted off towards the dais.

"Oh! Wait for me!" She dashed after him.

Charlotte let out a breath, trying not to laugh. "Does Jacinta really think she has a chance with Eric?"

"Yes!" Michael and Christian answered at the same time.

"That's what makes her such a nuisance," Christian went on.

"I really need to talk to you about that article right now, Mr. West. I figured out why it was bothering me so much." Lewis was insistent enough to be a nuisance himself. Charlotte couldn't imagine what was wrong with the man.

The band abruptly stopped playing. A cry of protest rose from the men circling around the dance floor who had begun caterwauling and clapping in time to the music. The dancing girls whined their disappointment. More than a few women and men in the shadows ringing the dance floor sighed in relief. After a brief consultation amongst its members the band started up again, this time playing a slow waltz.

"It's about damned time!" a voice muttered from the crowd and was met with agreement.

The revelers on the dance floor weren't sure how to react. There were a few angry growls from the salivating spectators, but the girls were cleverer than some gave them credit for. One by one, starting with Minnie and Katie and a few others who had to be the saloon girls, they swayed their way to the edges of the crowd and drew men out to dance the waltz with them. The stunned fellows could hardly believe their luck, although one or two got a firm beating from women that Charlotte assumed were their wives. It didn't stop the girls though. They simply found other partners.

With a trilling of strings and a change of tempo the dance had gone from saloon-worthy to respectably low-key.

Michael stood and offered Charlotte his arm. "Mrs. West, would you care to dance?"

"But Mr. West!" Lewis interrupted.

Charlotte ignored him. Her heart jumped at Michael's invitation. He was back to his old self.

"I would love to, Mr. West." She pretended polite modesty when really she wanted to throw herself into his arms and submit to whatever scandalous desires he had. No matter how harshly Christian stared at them or how fretfully Lewis goggled after them. Things were making sense again.

Michael walked her through the settling townspeople towards the dance floor. There were more lanterns set up in the area and Charlotte was momentarily dazzled by the switch from dim evening to illumination. Or perhaps the feeling came from being swept into Michael's arms for the dance. He held her close, pausing to think for a moment and find the rhythm of the music, then glided into waltz steps.

"Michael, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my mother's jewelry," she apologized as they waltzed. "I didn't think it was that important." A good lie was better than a bad truth.

Michael shook his head with a sheepish laugh. "I'm sure it's all just a misunderstanding."

There was something else behind his words. "Christian doesn't like me."

"Christian doesn't like anyone. And Phin's right. Listening to him won't do me any good."

Charlotte arched an eyebrow at his odd reply. Michael ignored her prying look.

"Not the kind of gathering you're used to, I suppose," he changed the subject. Bright spots from the lanterns glittered off his glasses like stars.

"Not at all." She settled her arm further up his shoulder, close enough that her fingers could brush his collar. "I'm enjoying this so much more than anything Merion Cricket Club ever served up."

"Really?" He gave a doubtful laugh. "I don't see how cowboys and whores compare to country clubs and catered feasts."

"I'm happier right where I am," she smiled.

"You wouldn't rather have riches and lofty social status?"

"Is that what you want?"

He shrugged but didn't answer.

"I am a member of the Ladies' Auxiliary," she went on with haughty grace. "There is no more lofty status. And as for riches," she squeezed his shoulder, "I have you."

A storm of emotion lit his eyes. He stopped dancing. He didn't speak. His body tensed as if he would run, and yet he didn't let her go.

The waltz ended. A feeble applause rose from some of the onlookers. Michael still didn't move.

"Right, let's get this party stomping!" the band leader barked over the assembly.

Half the crowd on the floor erupted into hoots and hollers as the band launched into another rowdy number. Michael finally moved to pulled Charlotte closer as someone's hat sailed over their heads. The spell had been shattered. He broke into a laugh, clutching her around the waist and rescuing her from the stomping boots and swirling skirts. It was like running through a stampede but Charlotte laughed anyhow, even yelping once as Michael yanked her out of the way of a flashy woman doing high kicks.

"I'm sure this is exactly how you expected to live out your life in peace," he chuckled when they reached the safety of a spreading tree to the side of the lantern-lit area.

"Absolutely," she laughed, brushing hair back from her face and trying to catch her breath. "Every debutante dreams of living in the wild west with gunslingers and their light-skirts, eating baked beans and—"

He pulled her into his arms and captured her mouth in a kiss that made her forget what she was saying. His lips parted hers and his tongue tasted with heated urgency. She circled an arm under his coat around his back, wanting to hold him close, feel the strength of his body. Her other hand slid up his neck, her fingers burying in his hair. She wanted more of him, all of him, answering his kiss with her own eager exploration. He growled, deep in his chest, lowering a hand to her backside and scooping her thigh up to hitch over his hip. She was in heaven. She was mad.

A shrill whistle ripped her down from heaven like a bucket of cold water. "I hear the hotel's got plenty of rooms available!" their shadowy observer called.

Charlotte gasped and shrank back as much as she could with Michael's arms still around her. It was difficult to make out exactly who their heckler and his friends were.

"Too bad you won't be needing one of them!" Michael shot back.

A round of laughter and jabs at the man who had made the comment told Charlotte no one meant any harm. Michael chuckled, swinging her out of his arms and whisking her away across the grass towards town.

"I'm done with the dance, are you? Let's go home," Michael babbled like an idiot as he rushed Charlie away from the noise and people.

"Dear Lord, yes!" Charlotte laughed. "It's a stupid dance anyhow."

**Chapter Ten**

Michael's blood was pumping and his patience was running thin. Jewels and Philadelphia and shadows of the past be damned. There was only one thing he wanted: his wife.

Charlie looked incredible in the cooling evening, hair coming undone, lips and cheeks pink. She'd kissed him with enough enthusiasm to ignite the tree they'd been standing under. The only thing he could think about was her naked body under his. Her giggles as he dashed with her across the field towards the town only heightened every pulsing nerve that had the end goal in mind.

"Where are we going?" she panted as he turned away from the path.

"A shortcut."

He had to cut through the yards of two private houses and circle around a third fenced one, but the alley leading between the bank and the tailor's shop was still the fastest way to get home. Where they belonged.

His brain was already shutting off in favor of other body parts when they stumbled across a large, dark shape in the alley. He didn't give it a second thought. He only stopped when Charlie screamed.

Then he realized.

The shape groaned.

"Oh no, Phineas!" Charlie pulled her hand out of his and lunged to kneel by the crumpled form's side.

Passion snuffed out and boiling panic took its place. Michael crouched at Charlie's side, rolling his friend over and taking in the sight of his bloodied and bruised face in the darkness.

The sky had fallen.

"Phin!" he shouted, fear overriding anger. "Phin are you alright? Can you hear me?"

"Michael," Phineas mumbled, voice thick. "Charlie."

"What happened?" Charlie's voice shook as she clutched Phineas' hand.

"Cowboys, miners, I don't know," he tried to tell them, words swallowed with a grunt of pain.

"Let's get him home," Michael took charge.

With Charlie's help he gathered Phineas into his arms, helping him to stand. It was made difficult by Phin's clothes. At first Michael thought they'd been ripped and hung off of him strangely, but when he walked his limping friend out into the lamp-light of Main Street he saw that Phin had been stripped and shoved into a dress.

"I'll kill them," Michael muttered, meaning it with his whole heart. His body shook in rage as Charlie helped him half walk, half carry Phin to the house on the other side of the bank.

They helped Phin inside and laid him on the sofa in the parlor.

Charlie dashed to turn the lights on. "I'll find some rags and boil some water to clean his wounds," she said before disappearing down the hall.

Michael nodded without answering. Whoever had done this had also smeared Phin's face with rogue. He tried to wipe it away with his sleeve.

"Ow! Stop it, Michael! Wait for Charlie to get a warm rag." Phin tried to push him away but it was too much effort.

"You don't know what they did." Michael's voice shook.

"Yes I do," Phin winced. "They jumped me at the end of the street when I left the dance," he explained, trying not to rest his bleeding head on the embroidered pillows displayed on his sofa.

"Never mind your decorating," Michael scolded him. "Who did this?"

"Who do you think?" He gave up and collapsed. "Edsel."

"I hope these will do," Charlie rushed back into the room, one hand full of dish towels and the other wet napkins. "I've got a full kettle on the stove." She brought the cloths to the sofa and knelt to begin dabbing Phineas' face with a wet napkin.

"I'm going to fetch the sheriff," Michael announced as he straightened. "You have to make a report this time. This has gone too far."

"This time?" Charlie's eyes widened in horror.

Phin shook his head, wincing. "This was different. No teasing, no taunting. They just came out of nowhere and beat the shit out of me." He didn't even bother to excuse his swearing for Charlie's sake.

"But it was the same gang. Talk to the police."

"It was Edsel, yes, but a couple of other men I didn't recognize."

"What did they look like?" Charlotte blanched.

"Go to the police," Michael repeated before Phin could answer.

Again Phineas shook his head. "Franklin won't do anything and you know it."

The truth of the matter made Michael sick. "I'll send for the doctor then." Phin nodded and Michael glanced up to Charlie.

She caught his hint and mustered her courage with a swallow.

"I'll go. He's probably at the dance."

She handed him the wet cloth then rushed out again.

As soon as she was gone Michael said, "Be honest. Did they _hurt_ you?"

Phin shook his head. "No. That's what I'm saying. They roughed me up first, waited until I was near senseless, then dragged me into the alley. Then they took my clothes and put this dress on me. I can't be sure, but I don't think they even looked for my wallet. My clothes might still be in the alley."

"I'll check later."

Michael went to work where Charlie had left off, cleaning Phin's face and staunching the blood that still flowed. Violence born of prejudice was one thing. He knew Phin had to deal with it on a daily basis. He'd shared in enough of it to know. But aside from a sly kick here or being tripped on purpose there no one had ever dared to beat Phineas like this. Something was horribly wrong.

By the time Charlie arrived back with the doctor, Christian and Eric in tow, Michael had managed to wash the make-up off of Phin's face and fetch a robe for him from upstairs so that no one would see the dress.

"What the hell happened?" Eric roared at the sight of his friend.

"Edsel and his friends attacked Phin in the alley," Michael answered.

Phin tried to sit up but couldn't manage it. Charlie rushed to kneel at his side and hold his hand, careless of her dress.

"Why?" Christian demanded.

"Isn't it obvious," the doctor muttered, pushing past them to stand beside the sofa. He looked down his nose at Phin. "This is no place for a lady." He tilted his head, dismissing Charlie.

"Phineas is my friend," Charlie protested, leaning closer to him. "Phin, what did you attackers look like? Did one have beady eyes and a beard?"

The doctor sighed. "Mr. West, would you kindly remove your wife?"

As bitterly as Michael resented the doctor's tone, he hooked a hand under Charlie's arm and helped her to stand. "Come on. Let's let Dr. Greene examine him."

She nodded and stepped back with him. As Michael moved to resume his place by Phin's side Charlie clutched his arm. He could feel her trembling, clearly frightened. His stomach gave a painful lurch. Phin groaned as the doctor tested his leg. Charlie whimpered and clung to him, hiding her eyes against his shoulder.

Michael glanced between his wife and his friend. He couldn't be in two places at once.

"His leg might be broken. We'll know in a few days," Dr. Greene announced when he finished prodding Phineas through his robe, standing and backing away with a sniff.

"Aren't you gonna set his leg?" Eric demanded.

The doctor sent him a sour look. "If he needs it. It might be broken, but then again, it might not."

"So examine him properly and find out!"

"I don't think there's any need for that." The good doctor balked.

"What the hell?" Eric raged.

"Get him some painkillers," Dr. Greene went on. "Though if you ask me the best thing for him would be to get him out of town, filthy pervert," he added in a low murmur.

"Let me escort you out, Dr. Greene," Eric thumped the man on the back with a threatening smile. Dr. Greene double-timed it out of the room, Eric in pursuit.

"I feel much better," Phineas tried to reassure them, attempting to prove it by sitting up. "Though I wouldn't say no to an aspirin."

"I'll stay with you tonight." Christian didn't volunteer so much as make a pronouncement. "And as long as it takes until you're better."

"You don't have to."

The front door slammed and Eric strode back into the room with a furious glare. "Alright, you tell me who I need to horsewhip and I'll go do it right now!"

"Leave it alone, Eric," Phin urged him. He looked as though all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Hell, if I wasn't heading off to England tomorrow I would scour his entire county and string the men who did this up by their balls!" He noticed Charlie a moment too late and muttered, "Sorry."

"Just let it go," Phin sighed.

"Not until we know who did this and why," Michael narrowed his eyes, Charlie still tucked tense against his side. "Something's not right."

"I agree." Phin nodded, pushing himself to get up. Christian and Eric jumped to help him. "But right now, if you don't mind, I just want to go to bed. You can start your witch-hunt tomorrow." He shifted to look at Charlie. "That includes you too, Mrs. West."

Michael wanted to argue with him, to make him see how important it was to get to the bottom of things. He wanted his friend to know he wouldn't let him down this time. Not like last time. Not like he'd let Emily down.

"Someone should stay here to look out for you. If not Christian then me."

"Me too," Charlie added.

"No," Michael said. "You should go home." He turned away from her to check Phin's wounds one last time.

Phin swatted him aside. "Go home with your wife." Their eyes met, Phin's as hard as steel. "And stop being superstitious."

It was a slap in the face. Michael straightened and glanced to Charlie. The anxiety in her eyes tormented him. More so because she looked guilty. Maybe she hadn't imagined the man in the alley. Maybe there was a connection. Charlie clearly thought there was. The idea that someone trailing the woman he had brought into their lives might have attacked Phin twisted his gut.

"Come on," he mumbled, lowering his eyes and grabbing her hand as he passed her and marched out of the room.

"We'll be back in the morning to check on you," Charlie called over her shoulder to Phin as Michael opened the front door.

The band could still be heard playing a cheerful tune when they stepped out into the street. It was completely at odds with the confusion in Michael's gut. Once again, without even trying, he'd landed himself in a situation where someone had gotten hurt.

And it was his fault.

**Chapter Eleven**

Charlotte was relieved that the store was closed on Sundays. It gave her one less thing to worry about. Between replaying what had happened to Phineas in her mind and Michael muttering and thrashing in his sleep she hadn't had a restful night. She had no logical reason to think the man who had been following her was behind Phin's attack but the idea wouldn't leave her thoughts.

As soon as it was light she and Michael got up and dressed without speaking. She'd never seen Michael in such a foul mood.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked as she poured his coffee.

"No." He took the steaming cup without meeting her eyes.

Charlotte argued herself into not being hurt. He was tired and so was she. His friend had been attacked. If his thoughts about the attacker were anywhere near what hers were, she wouldn't talk to herself either.

"I brought the mail from yesterday up and put it in the library." She found something positive to tell him, eager to redeem herself.

"Thank you." He glanced at her as he swallowed the last of his coffee. "You wouldn't mind cleaning up, would you? I want to get over to Phin's as soon as possible."

"Alright. I'll be right behind you."

He handed her the cup then grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and hurried off. She blinked at the space where he had been.

The sting of Michael pulling away hurt more than she expected it to. Every part of her wanted to run after him, to prove that he could rely on her in his time of need. Instead she washed his cup out and put it and the rest of the breakfast things away. When that was done she headed back to the bedroom to put her hair up.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror as she worked on taming her unruly locks. The flash of her wedding band caught her eye. Her heart ached. This was all her fault. If she had told Michael all of her secrets at the beginning maybe none of this would have happened.

And maybe he wouldn't have married her.

Still fretting over her reflection, she reached to open the drawer where she kept her hairpins. When she glanced down to grab one she gasped. It was the wrong drawer. She'd opened Michael's private drawer.

The pistol he'd mentioned sat on top of a pile of photographs and letters. Her arms dropped as she stared. The faces of a very young Michael and Phin grinned back at her from the photograph on the top of the pile.

She blinked at the photo then smiled. She took the pistol out of the drawer and set it beside her father's box before reaching for the picture. The twinkle in Michael's eyes that she knew so well was five times as vivid in the photograph, as though he was just about to be caught doing something excessively naughty. It filled her with warmth. Young Phin seemed far less care-worn than the injured man she'd left last night.

She set the photo on top of the bureau with a rush of guilt. Something else caught her eye. The background in the photo. She knew where they were standing. She recognized the trees lining the main drive of Haverford College. She knew Michael was from Philadelphia. She hadn't realized Phin was as well. So how had Phin ended up as a banker in Cold Springs?

She went back to the drawer, taking out a stack of letters tied in a bundle. The top one was addressed to an Emily Carter in Bryn Mawr, PA. Charlotte lost her fond grin. The letter had no postmark, as if it had never been mailed. There was no return address. She debated opening the bundle and seeing if the other letters were also addressed to Emily, but then Michael would have known she'd been snooping.

She set the letters beside the photo of Michael and Phin. Another photograph waited underneath. This time it was of a woman in a wedding dress with a bouquet of roses. The woman was beautiful, even though she wasn't smiling in the staged picture. She had light hair and delicate features. Charlotte's imagination instantly gave the woman a name: Emily.

Butterflies swam through Charlotte's stomach when she noticed the necklace Emily wore. It was stunning and easily as big as her hand as it covered the woman's chest with diamonds. Emily wore a matching set of earrings, and if Charlotte wasn't mistaken, a ring. She sucked in a breath and squinted at the ring. It was too small in the photograph to tell, but it could easily have been a gold band with five diamonds. Michael _had_ been married before. He could still be married.

But no, the letters said Emily Carter, not West. They could have been sent before they were married.

Or Christian could have meant something else entirely when he said her marriage to Michael might not be legal.

Charlotte's pulse beat even harder. Still holding the photo, her eyes traveled back to the drawer looking for more clues. The bottom was littered with newspaper clippings. The one on top mentioned something about a state senator being caught embezzling funds. Charlotte blinked and glanced back to the photo in her hands, wondering how the two were connected.

She reached for the article, wondering why anyone would keep something so dull, let alone hide it. A bump from downstairs startled her. She dropped the photo. Heart thumping as though she'd run a mile, she bent over to snatch the photo, putting it, the letters, the photo of Michael and Phin, and the gun back in the drawer. She slammed it shut and fled the room, leaving her hair half down, face burning with shame.

She checked all through the apartment, up and down the aisles of the storeroom, and even on the sales floor, but she didn't find the source of the noise. Her imagination was out of control. She left the store and rushed across Main Street to Phineas' house. By the time she crept through the front door the circus had already arrived.

"I won't hear of it, Mr. West." Helen was waving off Michael's attempts to get her to leave as Charlotte walked into the parlor. "My dear Phinny needs me! Can't you see that?"

"What I can see," Michael grumbled, jaw rock-hard, "is that you are interfering where you're not wanted." He acknowledged Charlotte with a nod that wasn't much warmer than the glare he gave Helen.

"Why I never!" Helen huffed an indignant cry, hand raised to her ample bosom.

Charlotte edged her way around the woman to where Phineas sat on the sofa with his legs up. A small table had been dragged next to him. It held a place setting waiting for breakfast. Phineas looked miserable. It had nothing to do with the bruises and bandages.

"Your hair looks lovely like that," he greeted her.

Charlotte touched a hand to her loose hair then ignored it. "Is Christian here?" she asked in a soft voice as Helen argued on with Michael. "I need to ask him something."

"He was called away this morning. Apparently one of the Yates girls was caught with a cowboy early this morning and her father showed up at the courthouse with the happy couple and a shotgun to make things right."

She grinned in spite of herself. Phin reached out to take her hand. She squeezed it.

"I don't care what nursing qualifications you have," Michael continued his face-off with Helen, "You're not wanted here."

"Gracious, Phinny! I have never been so insulted in my life! Tell your so-called friend that you need me by your side in this dark hour." Her face was flushed almost as red as her hair and her chest heaved hard enough to have Charlotte worried she would pop right out of her bodice.

Phineas sighed. "Leave her be, Michael. She won't let us alone until you do," he added in a mumble.

Michael looked like he wanted to break something. His neck was splotched red and a vein was throbbing at his temple. Charlotte didn't know whether to feel sorry for him or afraid of him.

"Let me fix you breakfast, Phin." She put on the most mild-mannered, caring façade she could muster, giving Phin's hand one final squeeze before crossing the room towards the kitchen. "Michael, would you like another cup of coffee?"

"I've already fixed breakfast." Helen cut Michael off before he could answer. She rushed to precede Charlotte into the kitchen. "I've thought of everything."

If she couldn't diffuse the situation then at least drawing the gorgon away from Phineas and Michael was a reasonable compromise. One they would owe her for.

As soon as Charlie and Helen were out of the room Michael stomped to the sofa. "I'm not going to let that woman stay here and pester you out of recovering."

"She's not doing anyone any harm," Phin sighed, wincing as he adjusted his position.

"And I'm not letting whoever did this to you get away with it," Michael went on.

"I don't see how you have any control over that," Phin argued.

Michael moved a spare chair close to the sofa and sat so that he could deal with Phin eye to eye. "Was Charlie right? Did one of the men who attacked you look like this man she thinks is following her?"

"First of all," Phin arched an eyebrow, "I didn't see the man who is allegedly following Charlie and neither did you." Before Michael could protest Phin brushed on. "Secondly, bigots and thugs are a dime a dozen and don't feel they need a reason to attack someone like me."

"This wasn't a usual attack. The circumstances—"

"Thirdly," Phin raised his voice, "I refuse to entertain your notion that my attack has anything to do with your wife just because it happened to take place the same day that your guilty conscience realized you're in love with Charlie and brought up Emily."

The sting of truth kept Michael from replying. "I'm not in love with her."

"Right. Just like she's not in love with you."

"She's not," he protested. That would only add another level of insanity to the already surreal situation.

"You're sure of that?"

"Yes I am. The facts are the facts, Phin." He pushed everything unnecessary out of his mind. "Someone attacked you. Someone other than Edsel. We need to go to the police about this, seek some kind of justice."

"What justice are you hoping to find?" Phin drawled.

It infuriated Michael that his friend didn't think they would find any, or that in his heart he knew Phin was right.

"Give me descriptions of the men who you didn't know. Let me take them to Lewis, get him to post them, ask around."

"Nothing will come of it." Phin shook his head.

"You have to let me try!" Michael insisted. "The only reason this happened is because I let my guard down. I know you think I'm crazy for believing that disaster hits the people I care about, but look at everything that's happened to you."

First Emily, now Phin. Having Charlie around was dredging up every long-buried pain he'd ever had. Next he'd start sobbing over his cold father and sad childhood.

"You're not still blaming yourself for my problems, are you?" Phin scolded him. "My family was bound to find out about me eventually."

"If my father hadn't—"

"And coming out here to Cold Springs was the best thing that ever happened to me. It was the best thing that ever happened to you too. And the best thing that ever happened to Charlie."

If only Michael felt as sure about that as Phin did. "This was all behind me until Charlie came along," he sighed.

"It's all behind you still." Michael raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Just because you're terrible at letting things go and terrified of falling in love doesn't mean that you don't deserve to be happy as much as anyone else. So stop finding ways to punish yourself. Be happy. Stop listening to Christian. Love your wife. Make lots of babies with her so I can be an uncle."

Phin's last comment hit a cord. Michael dissolved into a reluctant smile at the notion. "Alright, Uncle Phineas. But would you please at least give me descriptions of your attackers so that I can feel like I'm doing something in the meantime?"

"As long as you give Charlie a chance."

"Alright," he sighed.

"It's a deal then. Get a scrap of paper from the desk over there."

Phin's house was much too large for one man to live in alone, with two parlors, a dining room, a library, and the kitchen downstairs and who knew how many rooms upstairs. The kitchen was large and spacious. True to Helen's word, it was already filled with the homey scents of coffee and bacon by the time Charlotte stormed in. But breakfast wasn't going to win Helen any friends.

Charlotte spun to face her when they were alone. "Why don't you let me take over and just be on your way."

"Oh no you don't!" The woman's bleeding-heart demeanor dropped. Her eyes blazed with challenge. "You already nabbed yourself a rich husband, so get out of the way and let me land mine!"

Charlotte laughed. She couldn't help it. "Phineas will never marry you, and if you haven't figured out why then you're a bigger fool than I thought!"

"Do you think I fell off the apple-cart yesterday, girl?" Helen silenced her laughing. Charlotte bristled. "I know full well what he is."

"Well then you must—"

"Phineas Bell wouldn't be the first of his kind to marry a woman for appearance sake."

"I really don't think—"

"After what those miscreants did to him last night do you really think he wants to continue prancing around like the fairy he is?"

Charlotte snapped her mouth shut, eyes wide. "How dare you!"

"How dare I? From what I hear tell your dear Mr. West is rocking the same boat."

"Is that what you—"

"Don't you find it odd that he married you so fast?"

"We came to an understanding."

"Exactly. So don't you go playing all high and mighty with me. I saw the way you kept hugging that natty old carpetbag on the train. Down to your last pennies, were you? Needed some sucker to put a roof over your head? I bet you've got that old bag tucked far back in a corner of your rich husband's house, eh? Where is it now?"

"Well, I—" Charlotte was too stunned to go on.

Helen waited for her to say more. When she didn't Helen gave up and pushed past Charlotte to the stove where she busied herself throwing breakfast onto a tray for Phineas.

Charlotte shook her head as she marched back down the hall to the parlor, wondering how her life could have tangled so hopelessly so fast.

Michael and Phin were sitting with their heads together when Charlotte entered the room. The two young troublemakers she'd seen in the photograph all grown up. They stopped short when they saw her. Michael straightened in the chair he had pulled up to sit next to the sofa. Her mind swirled with questions. She wanted to ask what the two of them were conspiring about.

Instead she sighed and said, "I don't think she's going to be easy to get rid of."

"I'll have a word with her." Michael sprang up from his chair.

"No, Michael, leave it," Phineas implored him. "You have more important things to worry about."

Michael turned and gave him a warning stare as if in continuation of whatever they had been talking about.

"She admitted flat-out to me that she wants to marry you for your money in spite of knowing...." Charlotte had no idea how to finish the sentence.

"Not doing any harm?" Michael crossed his arms and frowned at his friend.

"She can't very well marry me against my will, can she?" Phin snapped back. He was clearly exhausted and still in pain.

"I wouldn't put it past her," Michael muttered.

"I can handle her. She's just an old—"

"Here we are!" The woman in question's treacle-sweet voice heralded her return. She carried the breakfast she'd made as if it were a precious prize. "Mama Patterson's special bacon and eggs, just for you, Phinny dear." She shot Charlotte and Michael a peevish sneer before setting the plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee on the table for Phineas. "Now you eat it all up. You're far too skinny and in need of looking-after."

"Why don't you two go to church and enjoy your Sunday. Get started on that thing I asked you to do." Phineas's smile was wicked. Michael flushed. Whether from anger or something else Charlotte couldn't tell.

She opened her mouth to protest that she would be more than happy to stay but Michael cut her off with, "Well, if you don't need us." He grabbed her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm and said, "We'll just be getting along," as he pulled her out of the room.

"What was that all about?" she asked as they walked swiftly down Main Street. "I don't think he should be left alone with her."

"I've got an errand to run," he told her.

He didn't elaborate. She could have screamed in frustration. "Is it something I can help with?"

"You are helping."

Her face heated in irritation, patience coming to an end. If he kept pushing her away she was liable to burst out and ask if he had another wife tucked away somewhere. She should have read the letters and articles in the drawer after all. They might tell her all the things that Michael wouldn't. It was a miracle she had any tongue left after the way she'd been biting it.

She tried a different approach to relieve her curiosity. "You know, Helen is convinced you and Phineas are lovers even though you married me." She shot him a sideways look. "Do you have any other lovers you'd like to tell me about?"

"No."

Dear Lord, Michael West in a stubborn mood was on the same level as her step-father when he didn't get his way. "So why was everyone in town convinced that my mischievous, amorous husband is another _man's_ lover?"

His lips twitched into a grimace. "I lived with Phin for three years when I first arrived," he revealed with all the reluctance of a man divulging the combination for a safe to a robber, "before I took over the general store from its previous owner. People assumed the worst and I was in no shape to set them straight."

A quiver of energy zipped through her at the revelation. "What kind of shape was no shape?"

He blatantly ignored her, jaw clamped tight, looking straight ahead.

"Sorry." Charlotte's quiver of energy changed to a splash of bitter disappointment.

"Don't worry about it."

He picked up his pace, stepping up onto the station platform. Charlotte would have expected it to be deserted and closed up on a Sunday but the great, steaming train being loaded on the tracks in front of the stationhouse had no respect for the days of the week. The platform was unusually busy as crates were loaded into the cargo cars and passengers milled around waiting to be allowed to board. Eric Quinlan was among them.

"What the hell has you looking like you sat on a thornbush?" Eric raised an eyebrow at Michael as he made his way towards the stationhouse.

"Why don't you talk to Eric while I get this taken care of?" Michael ignored his friend and palmed her off at the same time as he took a piece of paper from his coat pocket. He disappeared into the stationhouse, leaving both of them slack-jawed.

Eric recovered first, shuffling his feet and mumbling, "Morning, ma'am. He still upset about Phin?"

"Among other things." She didn't know how else to answer. Half-truths and broken clues had stirred up an uncomfortable storm in her gut.

"Looks like you're upset too."

"That Miss Helen woman is over at Phin's supposedly taking care of him," she voiced the tip of the iceberg. "She thinks she can sink her claws into him now that he's hurt."

"Predators always go after wounded animals," Eric reflected, glancing past her down the broad expanse of Main Street towards the bank and Phin's house. "I reckon Phin'll be able to handle her though. He's handled much worse."

There was an awkward pause.

"So you're off to England?" Charlotte made conversation. "How exciting. I've always wanted to go."

"You can go in my place." Eric curled his lip. "I'm going for business. Six whole months or more. I'd just as soon stay put, especially with Phin laid up, his attackers running free, and Michael as jumpy as a jackrabbit."

"He isn't usually like this?"

"No ma'am," Eric laughed.

"Well, his dear friend is injured."

Eric continued to chuckle. "Yeah. That's it."

He didn't believe it for an instant. If it wasn't Phin then it had to be something else.

"Eric, do you know who Emily is?" Charlotte grabbed the opportunity to hunt for answers.

Eric flinched. "You need to ask Michael."

"He won't tell me. No one will tell me. And frankly, I am fed up with being kept in the dark." She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. "My husband called me by another woman's name yesterday and today the world is upside down and all anyone can tell me is not to worry. How can you all be so cruel!" If she wasn't careful she would burst into tears at any moment.

"Hell," Eric muttered.

"What can be so dire about that woman that no one will tell me about her? Was Michael married to her? Is he still in love with her? Is he still married to her? I'm not going to rest until I figure this out, you know."

Eric squirmed as though he would rather be in England than facing her. "Alright, alright!" he huffed. "Emily is a woman Michael was involved with before he moved out here. I don't know the whole story, but she's dead now and for some reason Michael thinks it's his fault. He swore off women because of it, and then he shocked the sunshine out of all of us by marrying you."

Instead of helping the pieces fall into place, Eric's pronouncement only created more pieces.

"Then why did he marry me?"

"Hell if I know."

Charlotte bit her lip. "How did Emily die? Why would he think was his fault?"

"Ma'am, Charlie, if I say another word about it an' Michael got wind that I did, he would tan my hide so fast you'd hear me hollering from...from Philadelphia."

"But...but why has he never said anything?" She knew the question was ridiculous before it left her lips.

Eric sighed, looking sorry for her. "Look, if I were you I would just forget about all this mess and focus on being what that man needs."

"And what's that?"

"Someone to keep him out of trouble and stop him from doing something stupid."

**Chapter Twelve**

"I can post these descriptions, Mr. West," Lewis shook his head and studied the paper Michael had given him with bleary eyes, "but I don't think they're gonna do any good."

Michael took in a deep breath and stared down the stationmaster. "You would be doing the right thing. If you or anyone else helped to capture these potential murderers you would be a hero."

"I know that, but...." He sighed and lowered the paper. "Look, Mr. West, there's something else that I really need to talk to you about. That article from your Philadelphia paper—"

"Lewis," Michael shut his eyes to keep his temper from boiling over, "I appreciate the fact that you've found something of interest that you want to discuss with me, but now is not the time! Phineas Bell was attacked last night and I won't discuss anything else until his attackers are brought to justice!"

Even though he was almost a foot taller, Lewis withered under Michael's assault. "Alright, alright, Mr. West," his voice shook. "I'll see what I can do."

Michael sent him a curt nod and turned to march out of the stationhouse. Shame struck him along with the sunlight. He'd yelled at a man who was just trying to be friendly. The day couldn't get any worse. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

Further down the platform Charlie stood talking to Eric, looking as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders and intended to wrestle it into submission. She glanced up as he approached, her eyes filled with the strangest mix of compassion and irritation he'd ever seen.

Eric had told her something. His friend was deeply involved in kicking a spot on the platform and not looking at him. Goddamn him to hell.

"I've given Lewis descriptions of the men who attacked Phin along with Edsel to post in case they try to skip town." He pretended there was nothing unusual about his wife looking distressed and his friend guilty. "Maybe we'll be able to find them and bring them to justice."

"You've done everything you can do." Charlie reached out for his hand.

He didn't want to take it. "I have half a mind to start wearing a gun in case I see them myself."

Charlotte flushed. "I don't think you should go that far."

"Yeah," Eric agreed. "Edsel would outdraw you."

"I'd like to see him try."

The train conductor stepped out onto the platform and announced, "Ten-thirty train to Butte, Idaho Falls, Salt Lake City, and on to Denver, now boarding!"

"Well, I better get going." Eric nodded, giving Charlie a smile with his mouth and a warning with his eyes.

There was no doubt he'd spilled something he knew he shouldn't have. It was a good thing he was leaving for England. Michael was sure he would have used his pistol on him if he wasn't. Something Eric was well aware of judging by the fact that he still couldn't quite look him in the eye.

"Take care of Phin while I'm gone," Eric mumbled then spun in his heel and all but sprinted for the train.

Michael watched him go, jaw, shoulders, and back rock hard with tension.

"What did he tell you?" His glance passed Eric to see Matthew Harbison shepherding his girls onto the train. The fire at Matthew's place was just another disaster that had happened since Charlie entered his life.

"He didn't tell me anything," Charlie answered, her voice high and thready.

She was lying.

Behind them a church bell rang. Michael turned away from the train. "Do you want to go to church?"

Charlie shrugged. "Do you?"

She was holding his hand. He wasn't sure when she'd taken it. It felt so good.

"No."

The tender smile she gave him was as suffocating as a whiff of heavy perfume. "Let's just go home then."

He nodded and headed for the stairs leading from the platform down to Main Street. He let go of Charlie's hand to move it to the crook of his elbow as they walked. She was silent but he could feel her looking at him. He expected her to start an inquisition at any moment, waited for her inevitable questions as if waiting for Phin's attackers to jump around the corner and pummel him.

No questions came. Charlie was silent. He snuck a look at her as they crossed into the side street that would take them around the store to the back door. She was lost in thought, chewing her lip, which was now bright pink in contrast to her pale skin. She was beautiful, there was no denying it. And she was distraught. More guilt joined the pile that was already sitting on his soul.

"I was thinking of making another pot of coffee," he fumbled to make some sort of apology for his cross behavior. They walked through the storeroom and up the narrow stairs to the apartment. "It's a little nippy outside."

"I can make it." She rushed ahead of him, as eager to do something as he was.

"I'll make...well, I can make toast."

He shrugged, following Charlie into the kitchen. She went straight for the stove, turning it on and reaching for the jar of coffee grounds while he took the bread out of the box on the counter.

Hard as it was to admit, it felt good to work in tandem with her. She had a sense of space that matched his own. She dodged out of the way and reached behind his back to fetch the kettle as he moved to take a knife out of the block on the counter. It was the same in the store. She was never in the way, always doing something useful. He could have done much, much worse in a wife.

"Does it always get chilly this early in September?" she asked as she worked, voice a thread too high.

"It's the mountains," he answered, pretending there was no subtext. "The weather is unpredictable. It'll be sunny and calm for weeks and then all of a sudden it'll turn stormy and cold when it feels threatened."

She smiled for half a second. The smile fluttered away and she focused on her work again.

He turned on the stove and held the toasting rack over the flame. "Phin is right. I'm not being fair." He admitted.

"What?" Charlie asked, her voice soft.

He forced himself to look at her. "This attack on Phin has me on edge and I've been taking it out on you." It was partially true. "That's not fair of me."

"It's alright," she said, giving the coffee a wistful smile. "The two of you have been friends for a long time."

"We have."

"Someday you and I will have been friends for a long time."

He smiled in spite of himself. "I admire your optimism."

"I'm good at optimism." She sent him a sideways grin.

The giggle that followed settled his heart in his chest like tumblers falling into place on a safe lock. "You're good at other things too." His shoulders relaxed and his mouth quivered into a grin.

"Such as?" She abandoned her coffee preparations and turned to him with mischief in her eyes.

He tossed the toasting rack into the sink and turned off the stove. "Not cooking."

It was pointless to resist for a second longer. He pulled her into his arms, mouth meeting hers as if he hadn't kissed her for months. She melted against him, sighing in the back of her throat as he ravaged her. Her fingers threaded through his hair, urging him closer. It was all he wanted.

He broke away to take her hand and lead her to their bedroom, pausing only to take his coat off and hang it in the wardrobe. She was halfway through unbuttoning her blouse when he turned around. He swept her into his arms and kissed her as if the answers to all the mysteries of the universe were hidden in her lips. She was every bit as eager as he was. Yes, this was exactly what he needed; passionate, volatile sex with his gorgeous wife-of-convenience to take his mind off his problems.

It was so easy to turn his thoughts and memories off with the scent of her skin in his nose and the taste of her on his tongue. He undressed her as fast as he could, popping one of the buttons off of her bodice in his hurry. It was callous and rude of him to rip her clothes off, even if he did pause to fold each piece neatly and lay them in a stack on the bureau next to her father's box. All he could think about was the relief that would come when he was inside her.

She helped him out of his clothes, folding them as carefully as he always did as each article came off. It was sweet of her to play along with his quirks. He ignored the warm, squeezing sensation around his heart in favor of grabbing her naked body and tumbling into bed with her. She reacted with a heady laugh, wrapping her arms and legs around him and seeking out his mouth with her own.

She was soft and pliant, her perfect breasts heavy in his hands, nipples pert with pleasure. He'd forgotten to take his glasses off, paused to reach up and remove them, stretched to set them on the bedside table. She dug her fingertips into his back when he covered her, body eager and arching against him. She was everything he could ever dream of, ready for whatever he wanted so quickly. And what he wanted right then was simple, straightforward release.

He thrust into her without preamble and with a little more force than was strictly necessary. She moaned and grabbed his backside to encourage him. It was all the invitation he needed to hammer into her, no romance, no sentiment. Just plain, purposeful fucking.

A ghost of guilt hovered at the back of his mind as he used her to pleasure himself, groaning at how good it felt to empty himself of everything but the primal needs of physical sensation. He paused only to shift her, lifting her hips so he could thrust more deeply, then continued his selfish assault. She squeezed her inner muscles over the length of him. He wondered if she knew how insanely good that felt.

He came hard and fast, the release he longed for so much draining every ounce of energy from him. With a few final thrusts his muscles unclenched and he collapsed like a used rag. It felt uncommonly good to be so warm and loose. He closed his eyes and rolled to his back, focused on the sound and sensation of trying to catch his breath.

She rolled with him, sighing and stretching in contentment along his side. Had she actually enjoyed his brutally selfish love-making? She should have been offended. He hadn't even tried to make her come. But she cuddled against his side, stroking her fingers across his damp, heaving chest. Troublesome as she was, he didn't deserve her.

"Michael," her voice drifted up through the haze of post-coital bliss.

"Hmm?" He kept his eyes closed.

Her sigh was close to a yawn. "You are wonderful."

Her words pulsed through him more powerfully than any orgasm.

He loved her.

He waited, counting each panicked breath to keep them steady, until Charlie drifted off to sleep. As soon as he was certain she was dreaming he shot out of bed. He threw his shirt and pants back on and fled to the library. He went straight to the cabinet against the far wall, took out a bottle of scotch, and poured himself a large glass. He downed a few swallows, sputtering as it hit his throat.

He loved her.

He gulped down the rest of his scotch, clutching the glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. Then he turned to flop onto the sofa under the window while it took effect.

He loved her.

How on earth had he stepped into this nightmare? He rubbed his eyes, trying to swallow the lump of unwelcome emotion that swelled through his chest. His heart beat double time.

This was not what he wanted. It was not what he deserved. Worse still, Eric was right. He had started falling in love with her the moment she'd mistaken him for a train porter. For eight years he'd been so careful, tried so hard not to let history repeat itself. But here he was and the world had already started to fall apart. What next? Would Cold Springs be hit by the plague?

He was in love with his beautiful, vibrant wife. He didn't even know who she was.

He poured himself another drink and gulped half of it. The mail was sitting on the low table in front of the sofa beside a pile of books. He snatched it up as his head started to swim, eager to seek solstice in business. The two envelopes looked like advertisements from distributors wanting to stake a claim in a frontier market. He ignored them, reaching for the newspaper instead. He finished his second glass of scotch and wrenched open the paper.

He couldn't bear to read about the train wreck. Loss of life and devastation cut too close to the quick. He skimmed the article on the murder trial. All he cared about was whether the bastard was found guilty and a verdict hadn't been reached yet. The story about the girl who had robbed her family was the only thing he could stand to read.

" _Police in Haverford continue their search for a young woman wanted for stealing tens of thousands of dollars from her family last month. Twenty year old Charlotte Baldwin was last seen on the night of July 15_ th."

He stopped reading, heart roiling into his gut. Pulse pounding he reread the first sentences of the article, convinced the alcohol was playing tricks on him already. But no, the words hadn't changed. He poured a third glass, swallowed it, and read on.

" _Miss Baldwin is believed to have fled in the dark of night, taking a large amount of precious jewelry and other valuables of an undisclosed nature with her. Sources close to the family state that Miss Baldwin has been a disruptive and corrupting influence on her step-family for years, causing them much distress with her unstable and immoral character. She is believed to have fled the city, possibly heading west. A reward in the amount of one thousand dollars is being offered for information leading to her apprehension and return. All inquiries and information should be directed to Banks, Lawson, and Salisbury, Lancaster Avenue, Haverford_."

Michael's throat closed up. The Charlie he loved didn't seem like a thief, and he knew thieves. Charlie was too innocent, naïve even. She didn't have a cunning bone in her body. But there it was, plain as day. She'd stolen a large amount of jewelry. Jewelry she had in a safe deposit box. Jewelry she had neglected to tell him about.

He shoved the thought aside and grabbed his glass, realizing a moment late it was empty. It had been long enough since his last drinking binge that the scotch was hitting him fast. He read the story again, looking for any clues that it might be fake, any clues about what else she had stolen. He had no idea what 'other valuables of an undisclosed nature' could be. The onyx box was pretty but he doubted it was valuable. Unless there was something inside it.

He shook his head, squinting to focus on the words in the newspaper. It had to be a case of mistaken identity, someone with the same name. But no, Charlie had admitted to coming from Philadelphia. She'd admitted to running away from her step-father. But why would she admit the truth if she was guilty?

Unless in marrying him she hoped to create an alibi. She had married him and changed her name. This was exactly the kind of thing Christian had warned him about. It made perfect sense. He'd married a wanted criminal.

By the third time he read the article the truth of things was beginning to seep through like the alcohol in his blood. "Christian was right," he gasped. "She used me!" The old familiar feeling of loving someone who saw him as nothing more than a tool raged through him.

He shot to his feet to avoid the ache his conclusion caused in his gut. "She doesn't love me." Saying the words was like a dagger in his heart. She'd seemed so genuine, so tender when she made love with him. Was that a lie too? It couldn't be. But it wouldn't have been the first time.

Anger took the place of the confused jumble in his mind and heart. He ripped at the paper in his hands, tearing out the article about Charlie with more vengeance than was necessary. He shoved that bit of paper in his pocket and crumpled the rest of the newspaper in his hand. He took one last swig of scotch straight from the bottle then stumbled around the table. He swayed out of the library and down the stairs into the storeroom.

He didn't stop to consider that he was only half dressed and more than half drunk as he stepped out into the back street. He threw the ruined newspaper into the trash bin beside the storeroom door. If people had problems with him walking around in his shirtsleeves that was their business. He had a mission.

He stormed around the corner and out into Main Street, heading for the train station.

"Lewis, I need to use your telephone," he slurred, barging through the door of the stationhouse. The train had left and a fraction of the people who had been there earlier wandered around.

"Uh, well, alright." Lewis flinched as though Michael might hurt him.

"The article!" Michael's glassy eyes widened as he remembered why Lewis was so wary of him. "You tried to tell me."

"It's Mrs. West." Lewis regained his confidence. "I knew I'd heard that name before. She stole from her family and ran away, didn't she."

"Yes she did." Michael stumbled past him towards the office with its telephone. He growled, "How dare she use me!"

"So what are you going to do, Mr. West?" Lewis followed him. "Are you going to turn her in?"

Michael didn't answer. The telephone hung on the interior wall of the office. He picked up the receiver and fumbled for the newspaper clipping in his pocket. "Hello?" he slurred into the mouthpiece.

"Yes, sir, would you like to place a call?" the operator spoke from the other end of the line.

"Yes." He turned the article over, struggling to focus on the letters. "Connect me to Banks, Lawson, and Salisbury, Haverford, Pennsylvania."

"Yes, sir. One moment, sir."

The line went silent. Michael held his breath.

He let it out as the call took its time being connected. A fuzzy sort of hesitance settled over him. "What am I doing?" he murmured.

"You're doing the right thing, Mr. West," Lewis nodded.

Michael took a breath. His anger began to ebb. Charlie seemed so sweet and ingenuous. She had rushed to help Phin even before he had. Would a heartless thief be so quick to help a man she hardly knew? A man no one would fault her for shunning?

His head swam with enough alcohol to make thinking difficult. Oh God, how he loved her! Maybe this phone call wasn't the best idea.

"Is anyone there yet?" Lewis asked.

Michael shook his head. He sagged against the wall, pressing his fingers to his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He'd gone out without his glasses. They were still sitting on the bedside table next to where Charlie was sleeping.

He let out a sigh. She was lovely, even in her sleep. Anyone could lie when they were awake but it was next to impossible to hide the truth when you were asleep. She was wild and outspoken and mischievous, but she couldn't be a thief and a con, could she? For weeks she'd handled his business and his money without a hint of wrongdoing.

He owed it to her to find out the truth before turning her in. He owed it to himself.

"I can't do this." He dropped the telephone's mouthpiece and pushed away from the wall.

"But Mr. West," Lewis protested, "aren't you always telling people to do the right thing?"

He swayed back into the main office and headed for the door. "As soon as I'm sure what the right thing is I'll let you know."

**Chapter Thirteen**

Charlotte adjusted her shawl and knocked once on the front door of Phin's house before letting herself in. Five days had passed since the attack and she'd spent enough time nursing her new friend to feel at home in his house.

"Phin? Are you napping?" she asked as she peeked into his front room.

Phin's wincing face popped up over the arm of the sofa. "Not really," he answered with a weak smile. He struggled to sit, setting a book aside. "What brings you over here in the middle of the day?"

Charlotte ran to him, propping pillows at his back. "Have you seen Michael?"

"Not since this morning. Why? Isn't he at the store?"

"He was earlier, but when I went to look for him I couldn't find him."

"Huh," Phin frowned.

"I've hardly spoken a word to him since Sunday," Charlotte went on, adjusting the blanket over Phin's legs. "He only talks to me when we're working. As soon as the store is closed he comes here."

Phin sighed. "I told him he didn't have to stay here at night."

"I don't know why he won't let me stay with him," she finished his thought.

When she tried to brush his hair with her fingers Phin pushed her hand aside. "Stop it. You and Michael shouldn't be fussing over me."

"Michael fusses," Charlotte informed him. "I help."

He gave her a dubious chuckle.

With a tense breath Charlotte sat on the sofa beside him. "As much as I would like to know where my husband is," she couldn't quite meet his eyes, "there's another reason why I came."

"Oh?" His expression darkened.

"I've been giving it a lot of thought, Phin." Charlotte bit her lip, wringing her hands. Just because she knew this moment of truth was coming didn't mean she hadn't been dreading it. "The man who has been following me is one of the men who attacked you."

Phin signed and adjusted his position with a grimace. "Charlie, we've been over this. The men who attacked me weren't thieves. Even if you are being followed – and I'm sorry, but I'm still not convinced – there is no reason a man who tried to rob a woman halfway across the country would assault someone like me in a back alley at night."

"But that's my point," Charlotte insisted. "There _is_ a connection."

"What connection?"

The urge to confess that had tormented Charlotte since the day of the dance flared hotter. She hadn't had an opportunity to tell Delilah, she didn't dare tell Michael, but the time had come to say something to Phin.

"My mother's jewelry."

"What about it?" Phin asked with a shrug.

Charlotte swallowed. "It's what the man wanted in St. Louis. But you're the one who has it all now."

"Yes," Phin nodded, "in a bank vault. Not in my pockets."

"But you were in the alley beside the bank when you were attacked." Charlotte's heart beat faster as the events of that night unfolded in her imagination. "Maybe they thought they could force you to open the safe. You said yourself you're the only one who knows the combination."

Phin shook his head. "Bank robberies don't work like that, Charlie. They knocked me out cold. It's hard to wrestle a safe combination out of an unconscious man."

"But Phin, there's something else." She swallowed.

"What?" Phin prompted when she took too long.

"The thing is, I...I didn't exactly have permission to take those jewels."

Phin stared at her. "You stole them?"

"Well," she cringed, "maybe? They were my mother's, but that doesn't mean they were mine."

"Charlie." Phin frowned.

"But there's more," she went on.

"More?" Phin arched a dubious brow.

"I may have made a few enemies in Philadelphia."

A grin tweaked the corners of Phin's mouth. "You? Enemies?"

"Yes. And I keep thinking, what if that was no ordinary robber who tried to steal the jewels in St. Louis? What if," she pressed a hand to her chest, faint at the very idea, "what if that man is someone out for revenge for what I did on behalf of my step-father?"

She didn't expect Phin to believe her right away, but she didn't expect him to laugh either. When he did her terror melted to indignation.

"It's not funny." She scowled. "My step-father is the shadiest of businessmen."

"And you think that rubbed off on you?" Phin continued to try to hide his laughter.

Charlotte's heart sank further. "No! That's why I left. But the man following me doesn't know that. He must know about my mother's jewels and now he.... Will you please stop laughing at me?"

Phin winced at the pain his laughter caused. "You do realize that you and Michael are so much alike it keeps the rest of us in stitches, don't you?"

"What does Michael have to do with anything?" She crossed her arms. "We aren't anything alike. He's as tense as a spring and full of secrets while I'm—"

"An open book?" Phin teased.

"Well, I—"

"No," Phin cut her off. "I wouldn't listen to Michael's mad theories about how this senseless act of violence was his fault and I won't listen to yours either. I think both of you have guilty consciences that like to make up terrifying stories."

"I do not—" Charlotte blinked and stopped herself. "Why would Michael think your attack is his fault?"

A splash of color tinted Phin's face. "If I tell you then Michael himself will come back and finish the job."

"This has something to do with Michael's past, doesn't it. If he would just tell me what...."

She deflated before she could finish her thought. With a wince she realized Phin was right. She and Michael were far more similar than she liked to think, shady pasts and all. Maybe it was time to bring the truth out into the open on both sides.

"Michael won't speak to me anymore," she changed the subject. "You know it's been five days since we...." She snapped her mouth closed over her sentence and blushed.

"Oh I know alright. Michael's been a pain in the ass for five days because of it."

Charlotte slumped. "Now I feel even worse." She sighed. "It took me two weeks to feel like I married a stranger."

"Everyone goes through ups and downs."

"Things were so good between us, Phin," she fretted. "We were getting along so well, in every way." There was no use pretending Phin wouldn't know all of what she was talking about. "I thought I had everything I wanted, a home, an occupation, and a amorous husband. Then one morning everything changed. The only explanation as far as I can see is that calling me Emily reminded Michael he is in love with someone else."

Phin's smile thinned. "Dear Lord, the two of you need to let that poor woman rest in peace!"

"Did you know her?"

"I'm not saying anything else."

"Is she the reason he wants to go back to Philadelphia?"

"Who told you that?"

"Michael did. At the dance. Well, sort of. I get the impression that he misses his home."

"Having regrets over the past is not the same thing as missing the place where you grew up in a bad situation, Charlie," Phin shifted to sit closer to her. "Don't let his moodiness deceive you. Michael is happy right where he is. Cold Springs is his home."

She sank against the sofa. Phin put his arm around her shoulder. "Then why does it feel like I'm losing him?"

Phin turned to look at her with frank assessment. "Do you love him?"

His raw question sent a jolt of nervous energy sizzling through her. "I...I don't know." Her answer was for herself as much as Phin. "Loving him is part of my plan. Is that the same thing?"

Phin shrugged. "I don't know. But I do know this." He met her eyes and held them. "When a man has been hurt it takes him a long time to trust again. And nothing is more fragile than a heart that is almost mended but not quite."

A wistful smile spread across Charlotte's lips. "Phineas Bell, you may be the wisest man I've ever met."

He laughed and shook his head. "I am not. I just know what life feels like."

The realization that someone somewhere had hurt her brave new friend squeezed Charlotte's heart to her throat. She leaned over and kissed his bruised cheek before standing.

"I am going to make you a batch of my special molasses cookies," she decided.

"You? Cook?" Phin looked as worried as if she'd told him his attackers were coming back.

She huffed in indignation. "I will have you know, Phineas Bell, that I am actually quite good at making cookies."

"Prove it," he grinned.

"I will." She nodded and turned to leave. "Send for me if you need anything."

"Charlie," he stopped her as she reached the door. She turned back and raised her eyebrows. "Stop making up ridiculous stories. You'll give yourself nightmares. Things will work themselves out."

"I'm sure they will."

It was a lie. She wasn't sure of anything.

By the time she stepped down from the porch her stomach was tied in knots. Phin had listened to her, but in the end he had deflected her theory about his attack. She was certain there was a connection.

Her heart beat faster with every stride down Main Street toward the store. She darted glances up and down every alley she passed. Just because her theory was unlikely didn't mean it wasn't true. No one had been able to come up with anything better for five whole days. If one of Randolph old targets had found her out and come after her heaven only knew what would end up happening to them all.

A flicker of movement caught her eye as she passed the alley beside the saloon. Imagination already running wild, she paused to take look. A man and a woman stood at the far end. The man shifted and she recognized him. Edsel Turner. Minnie leaned against the wall, making eyes at him.

Fury at the sight of Phineas' attacker enjoying himself overthrew her worry. She shot off towards him without a second thought.

"How dare you!"

She charged into the alley, fists balled at her sides. Edsel has the good sense to jump straight at the site of her. Minnie squeaked in alarm and squeezed between Edsel and the wall.

"What in the hell...," Edsel began but Charlotte shut him up with a shouted, "You filthy coward!"

"Huh?" He blinked at her, recovering his bravado.

"I have half a mind to drag you to the jail myself, you...you blackguard!"

He stared down at her, expression caught between shock and worry. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Phineas Bell! My husband's friend! _My_ friend! You and your cronies attacked him Saturday night."

Edsel relaxed into a sneer. "What, that perverted little piece of shit?"

"Phineas Bell is worth ten of you!" Charlotte shook as she glared at him. "I have half a mind to report you to the authorities myself for his attempted murder!"

Edsel hissed. "Frankie don't care what I do to a little pervert like that. In fact, I shoulda asked him to join in the fun." His words were tough but he stole quick glances to either side to make sure no one else was witnessing the confrontation.

He was out of luck. Christian Avery walked past the alley at that moment and stopped when he heard the commotion.

"I should report you to the authorities in Butte then!" Charlotte raged on. "You and the men who were with you. Who were they? How do you know them?"

"What's going on here?" Christian changed directions and rushed towards them.

"You're a justice of the peace, Christian," Charlotte spun to him. "Can't you arrest him?"

"Hell no!" Edsel protested. "This woman is crazy."

"Watch your tongue," Christian warned Edsel.

"I have half a mind to rip it out for you!" Charlotte added.

Edsel snorted.

"Why are you here, Edsel?" Christian laid a hand on Charlotte's shoulder to hold her back. "Why didn't you leave on the cattle drive with the rest of the cowboys?"

To Charlotte's surprise, Edsel paled and shuffled back a step. "Well, uh, I got me another job," he mumbled an explanation.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes, remembering Michael's surprise that Edsel had been able to pay for Minnie's party dress in full. "Somebody paid you to attack Phin, didn't they."

"I got no idea what you're talking about."

The truth was written plain in his face. It put a dent in her theory that the attack was related to the man following her, but at the moment she didn't care.

"Christian, if you don't arrest him, I will!"

"I can't," Christian growled. "As much as I might want to."

"You can't prove nothing." Edsel crossed his arms and tried to make himself taller than Christian.

Charlotte wasn't going to stand for an answer like that. "If I ever hear that you have so much as looked wrong at Phineas I'll...."

Her bluster faded. She didn't know what she would do to him. She didn't know what she could do to him.

"You'll what?" Minnie stepped forward, one hand planted on her hip. She narrowed her eyes at Charlotte and Christian both.

Charlotte itched to punch the smarmy young woman and ruin her perfect little nose. "You don't want to know." She backed down, trying to sound threatening as she did.

She turned, sending Edsel a warning glare, and marched away. She had half a mind to march up to her bedroom to fetch Michael's gun, secret drawer or no. Christian followed her out of the alley. Charlotte interpreted his expressionless stare as sharp disapproval.

"I know, that was stupid," she admitted.

She would have confessed to more if she hadn't just spotted Michael across the street on the porch near the door of the store. She picked up her pace, not sure if she wanted to talk to him or smack him.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Michael lifted the sack of flour and walked it to the wagon in front of the store with a silent prayer of thanks for having something to do that tested his physical limits. He'd hidden in the storeroom and made as many deliveries to outlying homesteads as he could in the last few days. The only thing left to ease his aching heart was old fashioned hard labor. It was a small blessing that he had no idea where Charlie had run off to. A blessing and a gnawing worry.

He settled the huge sack in the wagon-bed and walked back to the porch. Charlie was probably at Phin's. The two had been chatting far too much in the last few days for his liking. He bent to pick up a second sack of flour.

"Sure you don't need help with that?" the miner who had come in to town to buy supplies for his camp asked.

"No." His reply was strained, betraying the effort it took to move the heavy weight. If only the heavy weight in his chest would budge.

He pushed the sack into the miner's wagon-bed and glanced up from his work to see Charlie storming across Main Street, Christian right behind her. Her face was flushed, her brow set in deep anger, and if he wasn't mistaken her fists were clenched at her sides.

He nodded good-bye to the miner, straightened, and turned towards her. The instinct to destroy whatever had dared to upset her pulled at him. He had to consciously tell himself to breathe, to take the rag out of his apron and dust a display of canned peaches as though he didn't care. Charlotte Baldwin was a manipulative thief who needed to be brought to justice.

She was also the woman he loved.

"What's wrong?" he couldn't stop himself from asking when she stomped onto the porch.

"I met Edsel Turner in the alley beside the saloon," she growled through a clenched jaw.

"What?" He dropped all pretense of keeping a cool distance from her and her concerns. Edsel Turner had been his concern long before he was hers. "What was he doing there?"

"Making eyes at that horrible wench Minnie," she spat.

He blinked at the unexpected answer. "What were you doing there?" The question came out with far more concern than he'd intended.

"I was over at Phin's telling him about...." She bit her lip. "Never mind. I was passing by and when I saw him I just had to give him a piece of my mind!"

"Edsel said he has a new job," Christian informed him. "Looks like someone paid him to attack Phin."

"What?" A new level of alarm hit him.

"Charlie had words with him."

Michael's eyes flew wide. "What did you say to him?" He wasn't sure whether he should take her side or chide her.

Charlie hesitated, her jaw quivering before she let out a breath and said, "I told him not to touch Phineas again 'or else'."

"You told Edsel Turner not to touch Phin again _or else_?"

"Not in those word."

"They were pretty tough words," Christian told him.

The way Charlie deflated from aggressive lion to sheepish doe stirred a wealth of emotion in Michael's chest that was anything and everything but welcome. He absolutely would not let himself feel those emotions. Not for a shameless thief.

But instead of walking away he asked, "What did you do that for?" He filled his words with anger to keep him from sounding impressed.

Her eyes shot up to meet his with wounded pride. "Because I refuse to let thick-headed bullies think they can intimidate good men."

He snapped his mouth shut, not realizing it had been hanging open as he scrambled for some sort of reply. There was nothing to do but turn and go back to his work.

"I think I'll just leave the two of you to sort this out on your own," Christian broke the silence. He glanced between the two of them, a knowing spark in his eyes.

Michael didn't tell him good-bye. Neither did Charlie. Christian left them on the porch and strolled on about his business as though washing his hands of a much bigger problem.

Michael kept working, rearranging the shelves and bins in front of the store. He refused to look up at Charlie. He expected her tirade to start again at any moment. All he heard from her was a sharp sigh before she stormed into the store. He glanced covertly through the window from behind a stack of cans, watching her march through the sales floor. She turned her head to look in his direction. He ducked behind the cans.

A heartbeat later he cursed himself and stood straight. It was bad enough that he was lovesick for a criminal, he wouldn't start acting like a fool to boot. Although part of him thought he was a fool for not following through on his instinct to turn her in.

Charlie walked around the corner to disappear into the door leading up to their apartment. He frowned and let out a breath, re-straightening the stack of cans for a third time.

He didn't regret his decision. Not turning her in gave him the time to get to the bottom of things himself. But it didn't mean his beautiful, clever wife wasn't a liar and a thief on her way to taking him for all he was worth. In fact, she could be up in his apartment robbing him blind right then.

He stuffed his rag into his apron pocket and marched into the store. Mrs. Deen was ringing up a customer's order. "Nancy, can you mind things here for a bit without me."

"Of course, Mr. West," she sighed with an impatient roll of her eyes.

He took off his apron, hung it on its hook, and marched straight through to the storeroom and upstairs. Charlie needed monitoring, he convinced himself. He wasn't following her to be closer to her. He glanced up and down the hall to see which way she'd gone before he could master himself. She was in the kitchen.

He went to sit in the library, swiping a book off the table and opening it to the chapter where he had left off. In the kitchen Charlie was banging around like a raccoon loose in a shed. Pans were rattling and cabinets were opening and closing. He pressed his lips together and fixed his concentration on the page in front of him to keep himself from shouting any questions or getting up to see what she was doing.

She got quieter. Her rattling turned to regular sounds of work. The clock on the shelf in the library ticked with unusual volume. He turned a page of his book, not quite remembering what he'd just read.

When the warm, sweet scent of cookies baking wafted from the kitchen to the library every clenched muscle in his body unwound and his mouth watered. Dammit.

"What are you making?" He clapped his book shut and tossed it back on the table in front of him.

"Cookies," her stiff voice clipped around the corner.

"Why?"

"To take to Phineas."

Damn him straight to hell for the stab of jealousy that cut through him.

"Phineas doesn't need your cookies."

She came around the corner, floury hands on her hips, eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline. "Yes he does! He just doesn't know it yet."

He leapt up and stepped around the table, blood pounding. "I think Phin is old enough to know his own mind."

"Is he?" She crossed her arms, staring at him with bold challenge in her dazzling blue-green eyes. "I'm beginning to wonder."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that some people don't appreciate a good wife when they have one." Her lips twitched. "I mean cookies. And instead of sulking about the past some people should talk to their cookies...I mean their wife...I mean their cookies instead of getting all—"

He grabbed her and swept her into his embrace, kissing her with the same thoroughness with which he had tidied up the storefront. He hadn't touched her since Sunday, but she was as addictive as alcohol and he was going through withdrawal. It was a very, very bad sign.

"Alright," she gasped, fingers threading through the hair at the back of his head when he let her come up for air. "You can have a cookie." She pulled his head back to kiss him again.

"I don't want a cookie," he growled, frustration over the imminent loss of control itching through him, egging him on. He needed to distance himself from her, not tangle himself further. He'd conned her...or she'd played him. He didn't even know anymore. It had to stop.

Her lips were too inviting to resist and he devoured them again, sliding a hand up to cup her exquisite breast. This is what deprivation did to a man, he scolded himself then promptly ignored the irritating voice of pseudo-reason. He wanted her. That was all that mattered.

When he started undressing her in the library Charlotte gasped with shock and excitement. A library was for books, a bedroom was for.... But the warm weight of his hands undoing the aggravating row of buttons on her bodice felt so wonderful no matter which room they were in.

She sighed and shrugged out of her bodice as he finished with the buttons and reached behind her for the clasp of her skirt. His breathing was hard and uneven, his eyes heavy-lidded behind his glasses. He was the most beautiful man in the world when passion consumed him like this.

Her skirt fell to the floor and he took half a step back to pull off his coat and unbutton his shirt. It struck Charlotte that clothes really were a shameful waste of time for a husband and wife alone in their home. Biting her lip at how wicked she was, she reached for the waist of his pants and fumbled to set him free. Something strangled halfway between a laugh and a moan escaped from Michael as she opened his pants. He yanked his suspenders off with his shirt.

He stepped back into her, crushing her against him, his mouth seeking out hers. She loved when he kissed her like that, like there was no tomorrow. She loved the scandalous way he ground the stiff spear of his erection against her hips, wishing he'd taken his underclothes off with his pants. The heat and hardness of his body pressed against hers. Her arms around him and her fingers digging into his flesh, was paradise. She wanted more of him, all of him, not caring about propriety or the lingering worry that he was still so much of a stranger to her. This wasn't strange. This was flawless.

He lifted her into his arms, spreading a hand under her bottom as she wrapped her legs around him, teasing him by stealing kisses as he tried to see where he was going. But he wasn't carrying her to the bedroom. She panted in confused excitement when she realized he wasn't taking her any further than the sofa. Then it was his turn to tease her as he lay her across it and pinned her.

He took off his glasses and tossed them onto the low table only to come back and focus on kissing her with singular dedication. Not only that, he slipped his hand through the split in her drawers and stroked the already aching part of her with calculated precision.

"Corset, corset!" she panted, smacking his back get him to stop long enough to unhook the restrictive garment.

He stopped his ministrations in her nether regions long enough to work the clasps of her corset. It popped free but he didn't bother doing more than pushing it aside so she could breathe. And so he could dip down and suckle one breast through the light fabric of her chemise.

She laughed at the steamy ridiculousness of the whole thing. It was absolute madness. There was no choice but to give in to it. She pushed his drawers down over his hips and reached for his penis, humming in triumph as she stroked it. He was hot, firm power with a soft covering. She could have played with him like this for hours without a shred of remorse for her wantonness.

"No, no, stop." He pulled her hand off, breathless, voice hoarse.

"But I want you," she pleaded, trying to touch him again.

He laughed and captured her hand, drawing it over her head and bringing the other one up as well. "Not if you want this to last more than a minute." He kissed her again hard before she could protest, hand returning to stroke the part of her that was now embarrassingly wet.

"That's not fair," she panted.

He didn't give her long to pout. He shifted down, pushing the fabric of her chemise up to lick and kiss his way down her stomach to her navel, swirling his tongue around it before continuing down. His hand slid down her thigh. He hoisted her leg up and propped her calf over the back of the sofa. She gasped and giggled, writhing in pleasure.

"Charlie, this is serious!" he told her and spread her other thigh wide. "Pay attention."

"I am paying attention!" she answered as her leg slipped off the end of the sofa. Dear Lord, she still had her shoes and stockings on!

All worries about her appearance flew out the window as he parted the gap in her drawers and bent to lick and suck and tease the nub of pleasure he'd exposed. She sighed aloud, gripping the back of the sofa with one hand and his shoulder with the other as the powerful sensations built quickly. She was in danger of falling off more than just the sofa.

He was so incredibly good at this intimacy she had never even known existed before marrying him. Her cries of pleasure, entirely unladylike and undignified, only encouraged him. She bucked her hips against him, closing her eyes and giving in with a moan as the tension of anticipation unwound into the ecstasy of release. It was long and liquid and everything she'd been missing for five whole days.

As she relaxed in satisfaction he slid his way up along her half-clothed body to kiss her again. "You're so amazing when you come," he whispered against her jaw. He swiveled his hips to rub himself against her moist and still trembling opening. "I can't help myself, I can't." He kissed his way up to nip at her ear. "I have to have you. I need to have you."

He thrust into her with a long moan. Her body came alive again at the sensation. "Have me then." She focused her gaze on him, met his eyes. They shone with wild emotion. His mouth took hers as he followed her command and plundered her with the force of a steam engine. She started to circle her legs around him but found she could hardly move splayed across the sofa as she was. She had to hold on with white knuckles to keep from being ridden straight onto the floor. Yet somehow the feeling of being stretched and helpless as he drove into her with almost enough force to be considered violent was pure bliss.

He made love to her vigorously until she climbed up to the height of pleasure again and burst just as he cried out himself. He didn't seem to want to stop even then, only slowing, his weight growing heavier on her until he collapsed, still inside of her. The fight had gone out of him at last.

She let go of the sofa and held him. Her body began to cool. Her heart was full nearly to bursting. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, settling on cradling his head against her shoulder and concentrating on the rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath.

He tried to get up.

"No." She squeezed him more tightly. "Just rest."

She could feel the tension pulse through his muscles, feel him second-guess her. She would not give up. If he wouldn't tell her why he was so broken, then so be it. He would not throw her off and lick his wounds on his own.

The struggle went on far longer than she wanted it to. After several seconds he let go and breathed out, moving an arm to hold her as close as she was holding him. A ripple of satisfaction spread through her.

"Like that," she whispered, stroking his hair and closing her eyes. "Just stay like that for a while."

He nuzzled his forehead closer to the line of her neck. She was splayed in an awkward position, her back and neck beginning to ache. It didn't matter. He was still in her arms.

**Chapter Fifteen**

"So let me get this straight." Phin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and frowning. The fading bruises and healing cuts on his face gave him an uncharacteristically tough air. "Charlie is a wanted criminal."

Michael sank against the straight-back chair in Phineas's office, hunching his shoulders and taking a puff on the cigar he'd swiped from his own shelves that morning. He coughed, eyes watering, but continued to smoke regardless. "Yes."

"And you tried to telephone some lawyer's office in Philadelphia, an office that was mentioned in a newspaper article with no references, to turn her in."

"I didn't complete the call."

"And then you tried to burn your house down."

Michael clenched his jaw, eyes narrowed. "We forgot there were cookies in the oven."

"I see." Phin was having a hard time keeping the grin off his face. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as if conducting a business meeting. "And once you put the fire out you...."

"Retired to the bedroom and lit another fire," Michael drawled, sick with the irony of the situation, taking another drag from the cigar.

"With a wanted criminal."

"Yes."

"Who happens to be your wife."

"Exactly."

"Who you married the moment you met her."

"Phin."

"And who you are now admitting you are in love with."

Phin shook with silent laughter. The effort caused him visible pain. Michael didn't feel sorry for him.

"And here I thought I had problems."

"You do have problems," Michael fired back, eyes darting to the closed door that lead to the main section of the bank where Miss Helen was hard at work interfering.

"Not like you do, my friend." He rubbed his face and sighed. "Although I suppose that a man could do worse than to be in love with his lively young wife who likes to screw."

Michael ignored him. "I've made a terrible mistake."

"You have not," Phin countered, shifting his legs with a faint wince of lingering pain. "Maybe you were a tad hasty to marry Charlie without learning about her past first. And you most definitely should have talked to her the moment you saw that article in the newspaper. But to be quite honest, Michael," he fixed him with a stare that brooked no argument, "I can't remember ever seeing you happier."

He scowled. "You call this happy?" Phin crossed his arms in a definitive, silent yes. Michael pushed past the argument. "I can't do this, Phin. She obviously married me for some nefarious purpose. I'm nothing more than an alibi to her. I should get rid of her while I still can, while I'm still in one piece."

He sucked in another lungful of smoke to ward of the thoughts and emotions that assaulted him at the thought of life without her. The memory of her exquisite body splayed obscenely over the sofa and then their bed and him wouldn't let him go. He'd left their clothes balled in sloppy piles in the library all night and hadn't even bothered to tidy them until morning. What was wrong with him?

Phin knew better than to delve into his silence. "Did that article mention anything about her being tried and _convicted_ of theft?"

Michael blinked through the smoke that had filled up the tiny office. "No, only that she was wanted for robbing her family." The flicker of hope those words raised in him was devastating.

Phin sighed and shifted. "She told me that she took her mother's jewels without permission."

Michael's gut clenched. "She what? She told _you_?" The jealousy that turned his stomach was as bad as the passion that burned through the rest of him.

"You haven't exactly made it easy to confide in you lately." Phin saw right to the heart of him.

"We said no questions when we were married."

"Yes," Phin nodded. "When you were married. Things are different now. Don't you think it's high time you come out and ask her everything you need to know?"

The idea was brilliant and horrific. If he started asking Charlie questions then she would have every right to question him in return. Questions he was loathe to answer. Questions that would lead to answers that would send her running. And dammit, he didn't want to lose the conniving little thief.

"Don't you want to straighten this mess out?" Phin pressed on.

Michael raised his eyes and gave Phin a sullen look. He puffed on the cigar and coughed to hide the turmoil he was in.

"Okay," Phin spoke slowly, knowing he was getting nowhere. "Let's try a simpler question. Why the hell are you smoking that god-awful cigar in my office?"

"Tobacco is supposed to help calm your nerves," he muttered.

"It is?" Phin arched an eyebrow.

"Yes."

He thought about it for a moment then sat forward. "In that case...." He gestured for Michael to hand the cigar over. He did. Phin tried smoking it, coughing and sputtering instead. "Oh good God this is awful!" He took another puff anyhow.

"I don't know how Christian and Eric can stand it."

He wrinkled up his bruised nose, took another drag, then laughed. "We would never hear the end of it if they saw us like this."

Michael burst into laughter over their ridiculousness as well. It was exactly the release he had come to his friend to find. "Why are you smoking?" His laughter turned to bone-wracking coughing.

Phin swallowed, gesturing towards the door and saying, "Her."

As if she'd had her ear pressed to the door, listening to the conversation Helen knocked with a cloying, "Phinny? What are the two of you doing in there? There's smoke coming from under the door!"

"We're just having a cigar!" Phin replied, shoving the cigar back to Michael as if his mother were about to find out they'd been naughty. He stood and took up the cane he had been using since the attack to walk around the desk. "Get rid of that thing before I'm sick all over the floor."

"Gracious me, it smells like a saloon in there! Phinny, you really shouldn't take up nasty habits like smoking cigars. Not when your health is so precarious. Why, if it were up to me I—"

Phin yanked open the door to stop her. Smoky air wafted from the small office to the main one. Helen coughed, for show more than anything else. Her glance darted straight to the closed vault door, then traveled on to Michael. Their eyes met with a spark of mutual loathing.

"I came to tell you that the deposit slips are done and the mail has arrived," she went on, tipping her nose up and glancing back to Phin.

"Thank you," Phin mumbled, a look of pure defeat drawing tight lines around his eyes.

"You should really concentrate on work," she went on to scold him, "instead of frittering away your time with _bad influences_." She gave Michael one last scathing look before spinning on her heel and marching back to the main office.

"Why in God's name is she working here?" Michael stomped the cigar out in the tray, wishing he could stomp Helen out the same way.

"I needed the help," Phin muttered, shutting the door. "Sound familiar? Your business isn't the only one that's booming with all the people moving into town. And what with the attack...." He grimaced at the smoke in the office and opened the door a crack to let it air out before hobbling back to his desk and sinking into the chair with a sigh.

"Can't you hire someone else? Anyone else?"

He shook his head. "Not many people are qualified around here."

"And by qualified you mean...?"

"Literate." He shifted in his seat, wincing, and leaned forward. "Besides, she wouldn't take no for an answer."

"I bet." Michael frowned.

The two men sat in silence for several more minutes as the smoke began to clear. Michael caught himself wondering what Charlie was doing. He'd left her running the store. She was good at it. She was sharp, friendly with the customers, and knew how to keep things organized. He could have searched Montana for months without finding someone so well-suited to business, well-suited to him. As long as she didn't rob the till and run. He squirmed in his seat.

"Do you really think she's a thief?" Phin read his thoughts.

Michael avoided Phin's eyes. "I don't know."

Phin tilted his head and stared at him with the same tender compassion he'd used years ago when Michael had stumbled off the train into Cold Springs. The man was far too intuitive for his own good. Phin sucked in a breath and shifted with a grimace to sit straighter. "Alright then. Let's prove it."

"Prove what?"

"Prove whether Charlie is a thief or not."

He stamped out the thrill of hope in his chest with a frown. "How?"

Phin shrugged. "Set her up. Give her something to steal, something big. See if she takes the bait."

He hated how much he liked the idea. It didn't seem fair to coerce his wife into proving her guilt, even if it could give her a chance to prove she was innocent. "What do you suggest?"

A clever grin spread across Phin's wounded face. "I have just the thing."

"A picnic was a wonderful idea," Charlotte announced as she crossed from the storeroom to the sales floor with a basket in her arms. "And how lucky that we can take off on a weekday to enjoy the weather."

"It was Phin's idea," Michael muttered without looking up from the shelves he was stocking with hardware.

Charlotte exchanged a glance with Nancy behind the counter. "I don't care whose idea it was, I'm just happy to get outside while the sun is shining." She left the basket on the counter and walked to the store's open front door. "It's unseasonably warm, isn't it, after all that chill?"

She snuck a glance at Michael over her shoulder. A smile tried to work its way into his expression but he fought it off like a shoplifter.

"I'll just be a minute," he told her with barely a glance as he finished stocking the shelves and carried the box of hardware to the storeroom.

"Take your time," she smiled.

His eyes met hers, over-bright and anxious, before darting away as he passed into the storeroom. Nancy sent her a questioning look. She shrugged.

After the cookie incident Charlotte had been sure things would return to normal. Michael had stopped spending the night at Phin's house and kept more or less within her sight during a busy weekend at the store, but he wasn't talking. Then he'd come back from the bank reeking of cigar smoke.

She sighed and wandered out to the porch. Something was still in the way. It was maddening not to know more. Every time she'd tried to ask about it, about Emily, about the past, Michael had kissed her and she'd forgotten what she was saying. She had half a mind to snoop through Michael's drawer again, to read the letters and articles he kept hidden. She had half a mind to confess everything just to get it over with and accept what was coming.

"Are you ready?" Michael startled her when he walked out onto the porch, the picnic basket over his arm.

She let out a breath and nodded. "Phin said he would meet us at the bank."

"Yes, I know." He didn't look at her.

She hooked her arm through his free one, although in fact she wanted to shake him until he came to his senses.

"I don't think we should go very far," she said. "I don't want Phin to put too much stress on his leg. He's still using that cane, after all."

"You're right."

His short answers were driving her madder than Phin said she was. "The meadow next to the church should be fine for a picnic."

His only response was to nod.

In the shade of the buildings on Main Street she wished she'd brought a shawl, but as soon as they crossed into the sunshine on the other side of the street she warmed. It may have had something to do with the sight of Phineas waiting for them with a smile on his face.

"You look quite dapper with that cane," she told him, sending a quick sideways glance to Michael. He didn't relax at the sight of his friend looking happy and healing. If anything he tensed even more.

"You're too kind." Phin stepped off the sidewalk in front of the bank and laid a light kiss on her cheek.

Michael handed her off to Phin so fast that Charlotte couldn't disguise the worry in her eyes when she glanced back at him. He pretended not to notice.

"What a lovely day for a picnic," she launched back into small-talk as the three of them walked along, Phin holding her arm on one side and Michael carrying the picnic basket on the other.

"This is my favorite time of year," Phin smiled at her. He had a quick sparkle in his eyes, an energetic match to the shiftiness in Michael. The two men were plotting something. It reminded her of a darker version of the photograph of the two of them.

"Michael was telling me the other day that the winters in Cold Springs will be harsher than anything I endured in Philadelphia." If the two men thought they would pull something over on her by distracting her they had another thing coming.

"Winter is horrible around here," Phin seemed to have a handle on speaking without saying anything too. "At least in town we don't have to spend any length of time outdoors."

Charlotte and Phineas continued to chat about the seasons while Michael appeared not to listen. They wandered out to meadow.

They weren't the only people who had had the idea of taking a long lunch outside on one of the last nice days of the season. Some of the girls from the saloon had spread a blanket at the other end of the meadow and were laughing and lounging in the sun.

"I had a feeling some of my fellow travelers from the train would end up at the saloon." Charlotte smirked at them as Michael set the picnic basket down and spread the blanket.

Phineas turned to look. "Madame, you had a lucky escape," he said with an overdramatic nod ending with a smirk.

"Don't I know it!"

Michael's eyes shot up at her comment. He sent Phin a glance then went back to work making sure the blanket was perfectly spread. Charlotte chewed her lip and studied him. He avoided her gaze.

Once they sat down she reached for the basket and began distributing its contents. "I've been learning to cook," she winked at Phin.

She sent Michael a significant glance, lips twitching into a grin as she set a bowl of baked beans in front of him. Mrs. Deen had given her the recipe along with step-by-step instructions on how to make them. Michael took one sniff then glanced up at her. Only instead of being pleased his expression looked as though she'd told him he would have to have a tooth pulled when he finished the treat.

"This looks fantastic!" Phin saved her from losing her smile and her good mood. He uncovered a plate of warm fried chicken with an appreciative sigh. "Doesn't this look delicious, Michael?"

"It does," Michael answered, jaw stiff with something between a smile and a grimace for his friend.

Charlotte's back ached with frustration, as if the two men were having a conversation and leaving her in the dark.

"Oh dear. Where's the silverware?" She was glad for the excuse to frown when she reached the bottom of the basket. "I could have sworn I put it in here."

"I'll go get it." Michael jumped up as fast as if he just sat on a bee. He was off across the field heading back into town before she could so much as open her mouth to protest.

She snapped her mouth shut with a huff, dropping all pretense of being sunny. "What is that man's problem?"

"I have no idea," Phin lied. It was the boldest, most obvious lie she had ever heard. "I really don't!" Phin dug his hole deeper when she turned a glare on him.

"You two are thick as thieves and you know it."

Why her comment made him choke she had no idea. Phineas was as bad as Michael.

"You're plotting something," she went on. "You can't hide it from me you know."

"Of course we're plotting something." She was surprised that he would agree with her so readily.

"Alright then, what is it?"

"If I told you that it would spoil all the fun."

She sent him a skeptical glance and took a trio of soda bottles out of the picnic basket.

Phin took one from her then asked, "Charlie, would you be willing to do me a favor?"

She blinked, sitting straighter. "Of course."

He shifted, moving his leg with a wince, and opened his bottle. "I'm sure you've heard that Miss Helen has come to work for me at the bank."

Her gut twisted with instinctual loathing. "She has?" He must have assumed Michael had told her.

"Unfortunately, yes," he said.

"I'm afraid I'm no good with a sniper's rifle," she lamented.

His sudden smile went miles to improve her mood. "It's a shame. I'll have to look into that." He tipped his soda bottle to her then continued. "I know that you went to college and Helen most certainly did not. She's been filling out deposit slips and registers and, well, I would appreciate it if you could stop by the bank some afternoon and check her work."

"I'd be happy to." Charlotte tried hard not to gloat and failed.

"You could sit in my office. We'll close the door and I'll leave you to it. I'd rather not have her knowing what you're doing. And I'm sure if Josiah knew you were back there he'd tell her."

"I understand completely. Just let me know when you'd like me to come over. I'm sure Michael could spare me from the shop for a few hours."

He took a long drink of his soda then said, "I have another favor that I need you do to for me."

"You certainly are asking a lot from me today, Mr. Bell." She popped the top of her own bottle.

Phin reached into the pocket of his coat, taking out a small sealed envelope. "This is the combination to the safe," he told her, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. The saloon girls across the meadow were busy laughing at their own conversation and no one else was near. "I'm the only one who knows it, but I realized after the attack that if anything were ever to happen to me—"

"Don't say that, Phin," she gasped.

He shook his head and went on, "If anything were to ever happen to me they would have to blast the safe open." He handed her the envelope. She blinked at it. "Memorize that then burn it."

It was flattering, to say the least, but it didn't make a lick of sense. "Why me?"

"Because I trust you," he said with a well of completely unexpected emotion. "And I want you to remember that I said that. I trust you more than anyone in my life." He paused and smirked. "Possibly including Michael, we'll see."

"I don't know what to say." Her throat squeezed tight and tears threatened. Twenty years without a single acquaintance becoming a friend and now in Cold Springs she had found deep friends around every corner. But those friends were in pain. It was like coming home after a long, arduous trip to a house full of dark corners.

She took a breath to swallow her emotions and squeezed Phin's hand again. "I won't let you down."

**Chapter Sixteen**

The sun was still shining the next morning but winds coming off the mountains had brought a chill to the air. Not that Charlotte minded. She lay in bed as the sun peeked through the crack in the curtains, listening to the wind whistle down Main Street, buried under a thick quilt against Michael's sleeping body. He was relaxed for a change, breathing deep and regular.

She inched her way closer to him, stretching a bare arm and leg over him and nuzzling her head into the pillow by his shoulder, eyes closed. It was so easy to pretend there were no secrets between them when they were in bed.

He shifted as sleep began to leave him, instinctively holding her closer. If she could just bring herself to come clean to him, about the jewels, about the truth of life with her step-father, then maybe they could be this way all the time. Michael was a good man. Maybe he could find it in his heart to forgive her. The rhythmic beat of his heart under her splayed hand gave her hope. He thought their marriage was a business deal, but it could be so much more. She pressed her fingertips into his chest. She wanted him in so many ways.

With a grin against the pillow she slid her hand south over the hair scattered on his chest and stomach. He drew in a breath as she teased across his abdomen and down to run her hand along her favorite part of him.

He responded readily to her touch. It fascinated her to feel him grow and stiffen as she wrapped her hand around him and stroked in the way he'd showed her he liked. She bit back a giggle at the memory of that awkward, exciting conversation, the experimental touching and breathless discoveries, wondering if all newlywed couples shared those sorts of instructive moments.

"Are you awake?" she whispered against his earlobe, teasing it with the tip of her tongue and kissing the top of his jaw as her hand played with his shaft. She circled the head with her thumb.

He stirred and hummed but didn't answer. A wave of complete wickedness swept over her. Biting her lip she pushed up to straddle his hips, rubbing his erection between them as she covered his torso with her own, propping her arms on either side of his shoulders. She didn't think she could possibly crush him, not when her heart felt this light.

"Are you awake now?" she whispered again, dusting a light kiss first on one cheek and then the other and hovering over his lips without quite touching them.

He hummed again, eyes still closed, lips twitching as she kept hers out of his reach, hips grinding up against her. She swallowed another giggle and reached between them, arching enough to take hold of him and guide him to her wet, expectant center.

She bore down on him, taking him inside of her with a sharp gasp. He felt so good this way that she could hardly catch her breath as she worked herself along his thick length, squeezing to keep him deep inside of her. His lips parted on a raw moan. He raised his hands to grip her backside, bucking to deepen his invasion and speed his thrusts. But he kept his eyes closed.

"Are you awake – oh! – are you awake yet?" she mewled as their combined efforts drowned them both in primal pleasure.

"No," he growled, barely able to form the syllable. He moved his hands to hold her hips.

They molded together, urgent and seeking, until it was all Charlotte could do to hold herself up as the explosion of pleasure carried her away. She sighed aloud and gave herself over to the sensation of him, large and hot and delving, her body's whole purpose to bring him release. He found that release with a breathless cry of satisfaction, lifting his arms to circle around her back and hold her closer as his body relaxed. She lay sprawled and limp on top of him.

"Now you have to be awake," she panted. She rested her head against his shoulder, pleasure still pulsing through her with every beat of her heart.

"No," he insisted, shaking his head as his chest rose and fell beneath her. "I am most definitely still dreaming."

She laughed, the sound rumbling deep in her throat. The vibrations carried through to his body and he hummed in appreciation. He rolled to his side, lifting her thigh high up his waist and pressing so that he stayed inside of her.

He opened his eyes. A lazy grin spread across his lips, sending a rush of warmth through her heart to keep her core wet and pulsing with need for him.

She had to confess. The secrets she clung to would poison everything if she didn't. "Michael, I—"

"Ssh," he silenced her, closing his eyes again. "It's too early to talk."

He ground his head back against the pillow, settling his arms around her and swiveling his hips against her in a tantalizing glimpse of what he wasn't going to continue.

"Michael, we need to talk," she tried again.

"We do," he whispered, "but not now. Not yet. Lie here with me a little longer." He went still, breathing deep, body at rest, holding her with all of him. If she could have stopped the world she would have.

A piercing train whistle far in the distance snapped the world back to them. He drew in a breath and flexed, causing her to gasp as he surged between her thighs.

"We have to get up and meet the train." In a moment he went from calm and loose to alert and anxious.

"No we don't," she countered by rolling him enough to wrap her other leg around him as well.

He pressed over top of her, gliding his hands out along her arms and spreading them to the side of her head. "We have to be there to receive the shipment." He dipped to lick the pulse at her throat, to rain light kisses across her jaw as he traced a hand down to caress her breast.

"Can't someone else see to it," she sighed and gasped as he pinched her nipple.

"No." He teased her by pressing into her with movements that were too gentle to be satisfying but too intimate not to leave her hungry. Then he did the cruelest thing he'd ever done. He pulled back and got out of bed.

When she groaned in protest he turned to her. For a moment his eyes raked over her naked body displayed in the most unladylike manner. She thought he would change his mind. His returning erection certainly made him look like he wanted to change his mind. But no, he found clean clothes and dragged himself off to the bathroom.

She sighed and stretched. Why couldn't his heart talk to her the way his body did?

She got up with a frustrated sigh and gathered clothes for the day. At least he was communicating with her somehow. She leaned against the bureau with her clothes in her arms, waiting for him to finish in the bathroom. Her father's box caught her eye. Her father was the best man she'd ever known...until now.

Knowing it was pointless, she picked up the box and tried to open the lid. It didn't budge. She shook it. Whatever her step-father had put inside the box when it lived on his desk rattled. She had no idea what it could be. With a wry grin she set the box back on the bureau. Michael was exactly like her father's box, a precious, beautiful mystery.

Her gaze traveled on to his secret drawer. The temptation to peek at its contents again was strong. There had to be answers to the riddle Michael was in those letters and articles. She ran her fingers along the handle, tapped her nails against it. Michael would never know if-

"Hurry," he nagged her as he came out of the bathroom fully dressed and shaved. Charlotte gasped and launched away from the temptation. "I want to get the shipment taken care of before it gets busy."

"Yes, but we need to find time to talk." His lips tightened at her words. "I have some things I need to say."

"How about this afternoon, after things have settled down in the store."

He kissed her cheek before she could answer and hurried downstairs. Yes, he was quite skilled at communicating as long as he didn't have to talk.

By the time she met him in the store half an hour later he was as tense and formal with her as if they had only just met that morning. It was as frustrating as his earlier withdrawal.

"Let's go." He turned her right back around and shooed her through the storeroom. "The train's just pulled into the station."

The store wagon was ready and waiting for them and Michael helped her up into the seat before dashing around and climbing up to take the reins. He made a clicking sound and snapped the reins to urge the horses down the side road and onto Main Street.

The train had just come to a stop when they parked and stepped down onto the platform. Only a few people were waiting. Lewis Jones was standing ready to meet with the conductor as he jumped down from the engine. Michael headed in that direction.

"We made good time through the night," the conductor told Lewis, his chest puffed with pride. "But that's my Molly for you."

Charlotte smiled at the man's bluster. Her smile dropped at the look Lewis gave her. He shied away as if she had the plague, his eyes darting to Michael.

"How soon can your men unload my delivery?" Michael asked, all business.

The conductor took off his hat and sent Charlotte a toothy grin. "Why, I expect we can get it done right quick."

She did her best to ignore the flirtatious conductor and Lewis's odd mood, giving Michael's arm a squeeze. When Lewis and the conductor set off to see to the train she leaned closer to Michael and whispered, "Is it just me or does Lewis seem out of sorts?"

Michael glanced after Lewis, brow knit in a frown that was far from reassuring. He didn't answer her question. "I need to get this sorted. Do you mind waiting here?"

"Of course not." The man was frustration personified. She let him drop her arm and walk off to where Lewis stood by the cargo car. With a sigh she turned to stroll along the stationhouse towards the benches.

She stifled a groan when she saw Jacinta Archer sweep up to the train in a flouncy lavender dress. "I'm here for my parcel, Mr. Jones!" she announced as she made a bee-line for Lewis and tugged on his sleeve. "Has the mail been unloaded? I'm positively on tenterhooks waiting for it! It's come all the way from a dressmaker in New York City!"

Charlie winced and looked around for a place to hide from the woman. Her glance flickered up to the people disembarking from the train's passenger car.

She spotted him the moment he stepped into the sunlight; fine suit stretched over a physique that had gone to seed, fastidiously trimmed grey beard, and eyes that were too large for his face. He surveyed the town from the porch on the back of the train car with a distinct curl to his lip until the conductor asked him to step down.

"Don't you order me about," the all-too familiar snap of his disapproval turned her gut to ice.

She searched wildly for someplace to hide, someone to save her. Michael was only a few yards away at the other end of the train. She bolted for him, but it was too late.

"Charlotte!" Her step-father's voice boomed across the platform, drawing eyes.

Dear Lord, her new life was over! Somehow he'd found her. There was nothing to do but swallow and face him.

"Randolph." She nodded, cursing the tremor in her voice. She forced her back straight and her chin up. He marched towards her. She glanced to Michael for help.

Michael had turned white as a sheet and looked as though he might faint. The dread that had been lying passive in Charlotte's gut for days flared to full life and she stared between her husband and her step-father with panicked eyes.

Randolph's gaze followed hers and when he saw Michael his eyes narrowed.

In recognition.

"William?" he snapped. "What in God's name are _you_ doing here?"

Michael's mouth opened to answer but not a sound came out. Charlotte had never seen anyone so frozen with fear. He swallowed hard then stammered, "Father."

Suddenly she realized why Michael had looked so familiar from the moment she'd met him.

"Randolph is your...."

She couldn't find the voice to say more.

Eight years vanished in a heartbeat.

Michael stared at his father in utter disbelief. Shame and anger and longing jammed against each other with such force that he could do nothing but stand in shock, gaping.

"Father, you...you found me?"

Eight years and suddenly he was a boy again, aching for approval.

"What the hell is going on here?" Randolph's face darkened as he strode to stand midway between him and Charlie. "My lawyer received a call from this hick town that this cunning little vixen has been apprehended." He jerked his head towards Charlie. "I went through a load of ridiculous nonsense to get here and I find _you_?"

He hadn't changed. That supercilious swagger was as sharp as ever. Shock wore off and Michael straightened, hardening his eyes. "But I didn't call. I couldn't go through with it."

"You couldn't go through with what?" Charlie turned on him, her face pinched with fear and hurt.

"Alerting my lawyers to where you'd gone with your stash of ill-gotten gains!" Randolph answered for him.

Charlie sputtered, her eyes wild with alarm. She whipped back to Michael. "But how did you even know?"

"There was an article in the newspaper telling how you robbed your step-family and fled."

Michael's gut twisted as the facts of the story and the truth about his father fit together.

"What newspaper?" Charlie blanched. She jerked to face Randolph.

"My newspaper," Randolph confirmed. He bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. "Surely you wouldn't forget the power of the written word."

Charlie turned her panicked expression back to Michael. "You read something in _his_ newspaper about me and you turned me in?"

Her panic crumbled away to something a thousand times worse, fury.

"No, I didn't!" he insisted. Charlie's eyes held all the fire of the moment he'd dreaded, the moment he would lose her.

"Then how...?"

Charlie swayed on the spot, clenching her hands into fists.

"You left before the call connected." Lewis took half a step forward to explain. "When the lawyer's office answered I told them."

Michael couldn't remember anger so hot flaring so fast.

"You had better explain yourself, William." Randolph crossed his arms and shook his head. Michael was once again the disappointing son. "How did you get mixed up with this conniving hussy?"

"She's my wife," Michael fired back, a little too loud.

Spectators were beginning to gather. Jacinta Archer had edged her way to the front and stood lapping the whole scene up like Christmas cake.

"Your name is _William_?" Charlie gawked at him.

"Yes." Michael felt as though the station platform was shifting and warping beneath his feet. "My full name is William Michael Westmoreland."

Randolph scowled. "She's your wife and she doesn't even know your name?"

"His name is Michael West," Charlie argued. She blinked as though pieces of a puzzle were coming together. "Westmoreland." Her eyes flashed back to Randolph. "You never said you had a son."

Randolph sniffed. "He always was a complete waste of my time. The only thing he was ever good at was seducing weak-minded females like you."

"Excuse me," Charlie scowled, "but I am not some weak- He did _what_?" Her indignation snapped to Michael.

Michael's heart pounded to his throat. "Charlie, I—"

"Jesus, William. First that pathetic Emily Carter and now Charlotte? Your taste in women leaves something to be desired."

Michael closed his mouth, withering under the censure. He began to reply but Charlie beat him to it. "You know who Emily is?"

"Of course I do," Randolph snorted. "She was the wife of one of the richest businessmen in Philadelphia. We made a fortune in headlines out of the secrets William enticed out of her." Randolph narrowed his eyes at Michael. "How did the two of you—"

"Emily was married to someone else?" Charlie ignored Randolph to stare at Michael, eyes wide.

Shame pressed down on Michael from all sides. "She was, but—"

"Michael!" He couldn't meet her eyes.

"His name is William," Randolph sneered.

"It's Michael," both Michael and Charlie insisted.

They exchanged a startled glance. Michael didn't expect her to ever agree with him again.

"Enough of this!" Randolph barked. "I didn't come out here for a family reunion." He rounded on Charlie. "Charlotte, I've come to take you home."

Charlie blinked in surprise and stumbled several steps back. "No!" The panic was back in her eyes. "No, this is my home!"

"Nonsense, girl." Randolph dismissed her protest. "Now go pack your things, _all_ of your things, and come along." He reached towards her.

Michael rushed to block his father, arms outstretched to shield Charlie. "You heard her. She doesn't want to go with you." His words would have sounded much more heroic if his voice wasn't trembling.

Randolph paused. His eyes narrowed into considering slits. Michael knew the expression far too well. He could feel himself shrinking under the man's calculations. The only thing keeping him from whimpering outright was the tight, shallow sound of Charlie breathing at his back. For her sake he had to find the will to stand up to the man who had ruined him once and was about to ruin him again.

He was just beginning to believe he could do it when Randolph softened into a smile that turned his knees to water.

"William," Randolph hummed his name with paternal confidence. "Come now. Why all this fuss? We're all family here, aren't we?"

The tiny gem of hope that had struck him at the first sight of his father sparked back to reluctant life.

"We are." He nodded and swallowed, straightening.

The cunning in Randolph's eyes was obvious but every fiber of Michael's being wanted to believe the best.

"Well then, we can work this out somehow," his father played right to those insecurities, damn him. "Charlotte is your wife, after all."

"No I'm not!" Charlie gasped. Michael turned to face her, his heart sinking at the shock in her eyes. "I'm not your wife. It's not about Emily after all."

"What do you mean?" he asked. But he already knew.

"I overheard your conversation with Christian before he married us. He said he wasn't sure the marriage was legal. Your name is William Westmoreland, not Michael West. The marriage certificate says I'm married to Michael West."

She was right. It was agony, but she was right.

"Yeah, and she's a thief to boot!" Lewis butted back into the conversation. "Someone should fetch the sheriff."

"Fetch the sheriff!" Jacinta echoed, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with the drama unfolding for her amusement.

"What?" Charlotte yelped.

"No! Stop!" Michael protested as someone ran off towards the jail. The situation was so far beyond his control that his hands were numb.

"The article said you robbed him." Lewis nodded and looked to Randolph for help.

Charlie stepped out from behind Michael and faced Randolph with courage that was more foolish than heroic. "I only took what was mine."

"You what?" Lewis stammered. The crowd that had gathered murmured in confusion.

Randolph said nothing. He was too busy glancing between Michael and Charlie with a stare that made Michael's blood run cold.

"What in blazes is going on here?" The angry twang of Sheriff Franklin Turner's voice split through the crowd.

People parted to let him through. Edsel swaggered along behind him, a shining deputy's star blazing on his vest. Michael saw red.

"What d'you call me away from my breakfast for?" Franklin drawled.

"Uh, Mrs. West is a thief," Lewis mumbled, his certainty gone.

"I am not!" Charlie fought the accusation. "Those were my mother's jewels!" she said to Randolph, "and I had every right to take them."

Randolph's expression was unreadable. "Those jewels belong to me. Everything you took belongs to me." He glanced to Michael. " _Everything_."

Michael clenched his fists to keep his resolve from cracking. He darted a glance over his shoulder to Charlie. "Father, I'm sure we can work this out in a civil manner."

"Civil?" Charlie kept battling, as angry with him as she was with Randolph. "Those jewels are all I have left of my mother. And my father left his onyx box to me before my mother even knew you! Isn't that right?" She expected him to back her up.

Michael didn't answer, didn't move. He glanced from his father to Charlie to the scene unfolding around him. People were stepping out of their houses, coming closer to get a look. The respect he'd built so slowly crumbled along with the rest of his life.

Beyond the crowd Christian charged down the street, holding his hat to his head. Phineas hobbled faster than he should have behind him with Helen trying to support him. Delilah swept past them.

"I see," Charlie clipped at him, lips pressing into a tight line. "You lied about who you were, you pretended to marry me, and now you're taking his side?"

She turned to stomp off the platform.

Before she could take three steps Edsel closed in on her with a lewd smirk. He grabbed her arms and forced them behind her. The onlookers gasped as Charlie yelped in fear and protest.

"Let go of her!" Delilah hollered as she swept onto the platform, rushing to Charlie's side.

Michael couldn't stand it anymore. He lunged at Edsel, fist drawn. He didn't have a chance to get a blow in. A gunshot split the air followed by screaming.

"Hold it right there!" Franklin shouted, lowering the gun he'd shot into the sky to aim at Michael. "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

He didn't have a chance to answer before Christian shouted a matching, "What the hell is going on here?" at Franklin and Edsel.

"I'm arresting a wanted criminal, your honor." His address was anything but honorable. "A jewel thief at that."

"They belong to my mother." Charlie's eyes flashed with renewed hope. "Ask Phin. He knows all about it."

"Phin?" Randolph glowered. "Phineas Bell?"

"Yes."

"Who are you?" Christian stepped between Charlie and Randolph before Randolph could pick Phin out of the crowd.

"Randolph Westmoreland," Randolph answered as Charlie spat, "My step-father!"

Christian blinked. "Your step-father? Westmoreland?" He turned to Michael. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Michael could only lower his head, admitting the truth.

Phineas reached the edge of the platform and winced his way up the steps, Helen behind him. He spotted Michael and skirted his way around the edge of the swelling crowd instead of fighting his way through it. Helen tagged behind him, craning her neck to see what the fuss was about. When Phin saw Randolph he stumbled, eyes popping wide.

Christian faced Randolph with utmost seriousness. "Are you pressing charges against this woman?"

A rush of anger had Michael ready to pummel his friend for suggesting it.

Randolph crossed his arms and answered, "No."

The crowd deflated. Michael heaved out a breath in relief. Charlie jerked out of Edsel's grip. She looked to him for help, for anything. He had no idea what to do.

"Now just who are you?" Randolph addressed Christian.

"Christian Avery, Justice of the Peace." Christian drew himself up to his full, impressive height, meeting Randolph stare for stare. "And if you want to go accusing my citizens of wrong-doing then you'd better have a warrant or bring a civil case against them in a court of law."

Randolph wouldn't be cowed. "I'm not here to disrupt your quaint town, sir. I'm only here to bring my step-daughter," he paused, eyes flickering to Michael, "and my son home."

Home. The promise of the word reverberated through Michael. He met his father's eyes. The urge to trust him was powerful...and against his better judgment.

"I am home," Charlie repeated, as firm as ever.

Randolph turned to Michael. "Isn't it time you and your wife came home, son?"

Eight years Michael had waited to hear those words. His heart pounded. He raked a hand through his hair and glanced to Charlie. She stared back at him, jaw tight. He looked to Randolph. The welcoming smile on his father's face was as fake as Miss Helen's hair color.

"Why don't we talk about this later," he said. Never had so few words covered so many things. Charlie huffed in indignation. Randolph's smile slipped. "Father, perhaps you would join us for dinner tonight and we could discuss it."

Randolph's mouth twitched. He considered. Without answering he turned to the porter and demanded, "Where is my luggage!"

The show was over. The crowd began to disburse.

"I knew there was something awful about that woman," Jacinta's voice carried above the murmurs of people going back to their business.

Edsel gave Charlie a warning leer before swaggering off, muttering something to his brother. Franklin looked back over his shoulder and glared at the group as Phin and Christian converged on them. Delilah swooped in to hug Charlie.

"Did I hear right?" Phin demanded, glancing between Charlie and Michael. "Randolph Westmoreland is your step-father? _He's_ the one who's after you?"

"Yes." Charlie glared straight at Michael, piercing his heart.

"You took your mother's jewels from _Randolph Westmoreland_?" Phin gaped at her.

Charlie nodded, leaning heavily against Delilah.

"Dear God, Charlie! Do you have any idea what you've done?" Before Charlie could answer Phin whipped to face Michael. "Do _you_ have any idea what _you've_ done?"

"I didn't do anything," Michael admitted. He hadn't defended the woman he loved. He hadn't remained strong. He glanced across the platform to where his father was harassing a porter. He hadn't stopped caring what the bastard thought of him.

"Where are these jewels now?" Christian asked.

"In a safe deposit box at the bank," Charlie answered.

"You'd best keep them there," Christian advised.

Charlie's brave face dissolved. "What do I do now?"

"I don't know what you're going to do," Delilah set her on her feet, "but I sure as hell know what I'm going to do," she growled.

With a pat of her silver curls she sashayed away from them and towards Randolph. "Excuse me sir. I'm Mrs. Delilah Reynolds, proprietor of the Cold Springs Hotel. Allow me to personally escort you to my fine establishment."

Randolph stared down his nose at her, speaking to her bosom. "You're joking, right? A woman? The proprietor of a hotel?"

Delilah kept her face smooth. "Best lodgings in town. Only lodgings in town, unless you want a cot in one of the saloon's back rooms. Here, allow me." She slid her arm through his and pulled him across the platform and onto the street.

"How can she do that?" Charlie found her voice.

Michael and Christian exchanged a sideways glance. "Delilah is a professional," Christian answered.

"She doesn't know what she's up against." Charlie raised a shaking hand to her forehead. Her eyes flickered to Michael's. "I am not going back to Philadelphia!"

If only he could be as certain as she was. "It might not be so bad. We...we could still be together."

Charlie's jaw dropped. She glared at him. "How can you...? How dare you...? I am not going to leave everything I've started here just because of _him_!"

He hadn't really expected her to like the idea. "This is a disaster," he muttered, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "I'm a disaster. A complete waste of time, just like he said. Something like this happens every time I fall—"

He couldn't say it. Not anymore. He shook his head and turned away.

"You should find somewhere else to stay until this is sorted out." The words strangled him as he spoke them.

"What do you mean?" Charlie's face drained of all color.

He glanced up at her. "You know now. Our marriage might not be legal. I can't ask you to do any more damage to your reputation by living with me if we might not be married. And with my father in town...." His argument sounded kind but it churned his stomach. He was the worst kind of coward.

His own friends knew it. Christian and Phineas scowled at him in disapproval.

"She can't stay at the hotel with Delilah," Christian said. "I may not trust you," he told Charlie, "but I trust him even less."

"You can stay with me," Phin spoke with adamant force. "I have more than enough space."

"I don't see how that's any more proper than her staying with Michael," Christian muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"I don't think we'll be in any danger of the people of Cold Springs getting the wrong idea," Phin drawled.

"I'll move in with you too!"

Helen's declaration came out of nowhere. She emerged from the shadows of the stationhouse where she had been listening without being seen. Michael had hoped she'd disappeared with the rest of the crowd.

"Yes, that won't be improper at all," she went on, eyes alight as if she cared. "I could act as a sort of chaperone."

"I don't think—" Charlotte began but Phin cut her off with, "It's settled then. Charlie and Helen will move in with me."

"And in the meantime you'd better tell me everything you can about your mother and these jewels and how you left your step-father's house," Christian took control of the situation.

"Fine," Charlie said, anger taking the forefront of her emotions again. "I just wish that someone would be as forthcoming with me." She shot Michael a withering look.

And wither he did, starting with his heart. "Charlie, I—"

"I'm going home to pack my things," she cut him off, marching past him without a second glance.

**Chapter Seventeen**

Charlotte marched away from the station platform, glaring at anyone who dared to look at her. She balled her fists at her sides. Far ahead up Main Street Delilah was escorting Randolph through the front door of the hotel. Charlotte's gut roiled.

"I will not go back to that life," she muttered as if Randolph could hear her.

She loved her new life. She loved being useful, and not in the way Randolph defined the word. Taking her mother's jewels was the last time she would compromise her integrity for his sake, if that even was a compromise.

She hopped onto the sidewalk bordering Main Street's shops. Less than a month ago she'd strolled that walk with Michael when she first stepped off the train. If she'd known what would have happened, who he really was...she would have done the same thing over again.

Her anger intensified as she stepped into the general store she'd grown to love.

"Is Mr. West on his way with the shipment?" Nancy tried to speak to her as she stomped towards the storeroom. "Angus McGee is looking for his cigars. Again."

Charlotte's jaw was clamped too tight to answer. She blew through to the storeroom and upstairs. The creak of the steps and the smoothness of the railing was a part of her now. The scent of the apartment, part wood and paint, part Michael, was home to her. She marched past the tiny bathroom where she and Michael had giggled over sharing the sink while trying to brush their teeth and on to the bedroom. She could still smell the salt of his skin, taste him on her lips.

Her old suitcase sat on top of the wardrobe. She jumped up to knock it off and carried it to the bed. She deliberately only took half of her dresses out of the wardrobe, half of her skirts and blouses and other things out of her drawer in the bureau, to shove in her suitcase. Michael was not going to get rid of her that easily.

All this time she had fretted that he would turn her out if he discovered her secrets, but it was his secrets that had expelled her. She had a feeling Emily was only the beginning. It was time for answers.

She stuffed her things willy-nilly into the suitcase then turned back to the bureau. Without a second thought she yanked open Michael's secret drawer. She pulled it all the way out of the bureau, carrying the entire thing to her suitcase and dumping it. The photos, the newspaper clippings, and the pistol and a box of bullets all splashed into her suitcase. She shook the drawer to be sure then crammed the empty drawer back into the bureau.

"Let's see you get out of telling me the whole truth now!"

She closed her suitcase, fastened the clasps, and lifted it.

"Is everything alright?" Nancy asked her as she crossed through the store again on her way out.

Michael, Phin, and Christian strode through the door. All three of them were visibly upset. Michael refused to meet her eyes.

Charlotte paused and spun to face Nancy. "No, Mrs. Deen, everything is not alright."

"Charlie," Michael stepped towards her with a warning frown.

She ignored him. "My husband is my step-brother and he's just kicked me out because he's got it in his head that the best way to protect and provide for me like he promised to when we weren't really married is to call his father, my step-father, the man I ran away from, to tell him where I am." She sucked in a breath. "Isn't that about right, _William_?" She whipped to face Michael.

Nancy goggled at them, mouth dropping open.

"I was not the one who called," Michael mumbled, shoulders drooped.

"But you started to, didn't you?"

Charlotte planted one hand on her hip, holding the suitcase with the other. Michael stood still and flushed, not answering. In spite of her anger a piece of her heart bled for him.

"I don't care how much you miss it, I am not going back to Philadelphia," she insisted. "I am not going back to a gilded life as his mole."

A flash of confusion lit Michael's face. Charlotte didn't stick around to enlighten him. Until he gave her some answers he didn't deserve a full confession. She tightened her grip on her suitcase and charged out of the store. A few curious onlookers loitered near the door but she pushed past them, heading across the street toward Phin's house.

"Charlie!" Phin called after her. "Charlie, hold up a minute."

Charlotte stopped, taking a breath and turning to face her friend. She waited until he caught up with her before continuing at his slower pace.

"I wish I'd told you my step-father's name the other day when I told you everything else," she said. Her anger was finally giving way to a wealth of other emotions, regret among them.

"I wish I'd let you tell me everything you were planning to," Phin added with a sigh.

"You know Randolph, don't you."

"Unfortunately, yes," Phin answered. "If I'd known he was the one you were running from I would have hidden you myself. And Michael would never have considered answering that article."

"Oh?" she bristled. "He seemed awfully pleased to see his father, in spite of all the terrible things he's always said about the man. Now I understand."

"Do you? Do you understand that the relationship between a man and his father is at best a complicated one?" She didn't answer. "Do you remember that I told you there is a difference between regret and missing something?"

Charlotte didn't want to hear it. "I'm not going back to Philadelphia. Cold Springs is my home now, whether Michael is Randolph's son or my husband." They reached the path beside the bank that lead to Phin's front porch.

"Do you still want him after this?" Phin asked.

She wavered. Her heart shouted its answer loud and clear, but the rest of her was still furious. The one man she wanted to comfort her was the same one she wanted to slap.

Phin could see her answer. "I know how it feels," he confided. "In a way it's Michael's fault that I'm a provincial banker in Montana and not an executive in Philadelphia."

"What?" Charlotte stopped at Phin's front door and blinked.

"Randolph didn't approve of my friendship with Michael. He didn't like my sort. So he published an article that exposed me. Michael knew about it and didn't try to stop him. I was fired from my job, my family disowned me, and I had to come all the way out here to start over."

"Oh Phin, I'm so sorry!" She would have hugged him if she wasn't holding a suitcase. Pity for Phin fueled her fury at Michael. "How could he let that happen to his best friend?"

"Randolph," Phin shrugged. "But Michael paid the price. He wrote volumes of letters to me begging forgiveness, even after I gave it. I'm happy in Cold Springs, a fact he sometimes misses no matter how many times I tell him."

Charlotte shook her head to clear the aching in her heart. "So Michael read an article about me in Randolph's newspaper, knowing how Randolph uses words to destroy lives, and he believed it?"

"He didn't know Randolph was your step-father."

She should have told him. If she hadn't kept her past a secret maybe none of this would have happened. And maybe Michael wouldn't have married her.

"I need to lie down."

"Come on," Phin opened the door. "I'll get you settled."

They hadn't taken three steps into the front hall when Helen sailed down the main stairs cooing, "There you are, my poor, poor darling!"

"Helen? How did you get in here?" Phin frowned.

Charlotte moved to side-step Helen, certain she was talking about Phin. To her surprise, Helen ignored Phin and clasped her in a motherly embrace.

"I've freshened up one of my dear Phinny's rooms for you." She slipped her arm around Charlotte's shoulders and swept her towards the stairs. "It's all so much to deal with, isn't it. But I am here for you, my dear, in your hour of need."

Charlotte was halfway up the stairs before she had the presence of mind to shrug Helen off. "You can't stand me," she glared at the woman.

"Why, whatever gave you that idea?" She followed her comment with an airy laugh.

Charlotte grunted in disgust and charged the rest of the way up the stairs. "Which room should I take, Phin?"

"Any of them will—"

"I've just opened the windows to air out this room for you." Helen crossed in front of her and opened the door to one of the front bedrooms. "It's spacious and quiet and right next door to my room in case you want to talk."

Charlotte brushed past her into the room, turning and slamming the door as soon as she was inside.

"Ungrateful wretch," she heard Helen mutter on the other side of the closed door.

Charlotte waited until she heard Helen's footfalls headed downstairs before moving. She turned the lock on the door then rushed her suitcase to the bed. As fast as she could she opened it. The pistol had sunk to the bottom. The box of bullets had opened and scattered throughout her things. The photos had shifted to one side and the newspaper clippings were squashed and folded.

She reached for them first, gathering them into a pile on the bed, trying to make heads or tails of them. Several of them were yellowed and faded with age. She read through the headlines.

"Congressman Reid Caught in Vote-Buying Scandal." "Shipping Baron Employs Slave Labor at Docks." "Socialite Victoria Meyer's Shocking Affair."

Charlotte frowned. The stories were completely unrelated as far as she could tell and had been written by different journalists over a period of years. Why would Michael keep such random clippings?

"Fishtown Trolley Disaster That Killed Twelve the Result of Negligence by Trolley Owners." "Mystery of Mrs. Carter's Missing Treasure Deepens."

She did a double-take and snatched up that article. It was dated January of 1887.

" _Authorities in Bryn Mawr continue to investigate conflicting claims as to the whereabouts of a priceless necklace owned by Mrs. Emily Carter, wife of prominent businessman Charles Carter. The centerpiece of Mrs. Carter's renowned collection, the diamond filigree collar incorporating five pear-shaped diamonds worth more than twenty thousand dollars, was on display last year at the Gemological Society of Philadelphia's annual exhibit_."

Charlotte blinked. She searched for the photograph of the young bride. Sure enough, the necklace in the photograph fit the description in the article with five fat diamonds resting against the woman's chest. "So you _are_ Emily." She stared at the picture, a horrible, uneasy feeling washing over her. This woman had been Michael's lover.

She dropped the picture and went back to reading the article. " _Mr. Carter insists that his estate was robbed, the thieves targeting his wife's famous collection. But in a strange twist to the story, we have learned that Mrs. Carter denies that the necklace was stolen at all. 'I loaned it to a friend,' Mrs. Carter now says. What she will not say, however, is who that friend is, leading Mr. Carter to speculate that his wife may know more about the theft than she is saying_."

"Michael?" Charlotte whispered. As soon as the idea popped to her mind she shook her head to dismiss it. Why would Michael steal a necklace on top of seducing the wife of a businessman? Michael hated thieves. Unless....

She set the newspaper clipping in the pile she'd made and stared at the photograph of Emily again. She was beautiful, there was no doubt. And married.

She put Emily's photograph aside and searched through the rest of the articles. More bits and pieces about politics, extortion, corruption, and scandal. The earliest of the articles dated back to 1880. She scanned each piece, looking for connections. The only common thread was that someone important, some businessman or giant of industry or political figure was brought down by the contents of the article. If some wrong-doer was brought to justice by the articles she didn't see anything wrong with-

Charlotte gasped as the connection hit her. Each article brought someone down. Someone who might have been innocent, or at least not as guilty as the story painted them. Someone like her.

She sifted back through the articles again, a sick feeling growing in her stomach. The stories spoke of facts, tiny grains of truth that could be blown out of proportion. Tidbits that could be gleaned by a clever girl with a pretty smile at a ball or in a private conversation at a club or a gallery. Secrets that could be stolen from the rich and powerful by a step-daughter desperate to go to college at any price for a step-father who had no scruples about who he used to find a story. It was exactly what she had done for Randolph for so many years.

She reached the bottom of the pile of newspaper clippings and the photograph of Michael and Phin slipped to the bed. Randolph's statement on the train platform, that together he and Michael had made a fortune in headlines off of Emily, made perfect sense. So did Michael's flash of confusion when she'd blurted that she wouldn't go back to being Randolph's mole. Randolph had used Michael the same way he had used her, to wheedle secrets out of important people. The sins of her past that she had fought so hard to keep from her husband were the same sins he was guilty of himself.

She pressed a hand to her twisting stomach. The anger she felt for Michael's reluctance to talk about his past shifted to a far more uncomfortable, nameless anxiety. There was no way to condemn him without damning herself. She didn't need to read any more articles to know what they were, Michael's conquests. As she gathered them together one last clipping dated February of 1887 caught her eye. It's headline read "Schuylkill Suicide".

" _The body of Mrs. Emily Carter was pulled from the frigid Schuylkill River this morning in the final chapter of what appears to be a bitter domestic dispute. Neighbors report that relations between the Carters, one of Philadelphia society's most influential couples, had been rapidly deteriorating after the disappearance of Mrs. Carter's prized diamond necklace. Witnesses say that the couple was seen quarreling the night before Mrs. Carter's body was discovered. A source close to the couple who has asked not to be identified reveals that Mr. Carter had recently uncovered evidence of an affair involving Mrs. Carter and an unknown man. The source also states that Mrs. Carter left a suicide note in which she declared that she did not want to live after the affair was broken off. Mr. Carter violently disputes this claim_."

Charlotte dropped her hand and the article. Eight years ago. About as long as Michael had been in Cold Springs. More pieces clicked into place. Eric had told her Michael believed Emily's death was his fault. It was, in the same way that Phin's exile and her own current troubles were.

She sighed and tossed the clippings in a trashcan beside the room's bureau. A dark gloom crushed her from all sides. At least in her quest to steal secrets Randolph had never made her sleep with anyone. Her frustration with Michael flared. It hurt to think that a quantity of women had shared the kind of intimacy they had. But no, she argued with herself, Michael had married her, not them. But did that really make a difference? He hadn't married her for love.

The bundle of letters still sat in her suitcase, nestled between her clothes. She reached for them even though she didn't have the heart to read them. What could they contain other than more evidence of Michael's guilt? She picked at the string tying them together until it came loose. The letters fanned out in her hands. All of them save the one on the top, the one addressed to Emily Carter, were in an unfamiliar, feminine handwriting. Every one was addressed to William Westmoreland.

With a disgusted grunt she tossed the unopened letters into the trash with the newspaper clippings. Her head was beginning to ache with the weight of secrets revealed. She rubbed her temples and walked to the window that looked out over Main Street to the general store.

There was more traffic in and out of the store than usual. Michael wouldn't be able to handle it all on his own. Tomorrow was Saturday and all the folks from the outlying farms would be coming into town to buy supplies. He'd married her because he needed help at the store.

Her glance drifted across the street to the hotel. Randolph was probably sitting in the dining room having breakfast right now, not caring a wit about the lives he'd destroyed. On the train platform he hadn't sounded like he cared at all about his own son. He'd called Michael a useless waste of time.

She turned away from the window and rushed to the door, heart aching. Michael wasn't useless. He had given her something she'd always wanted. There was only one place she had felt safe in the last several months, only one person who had been able to make her feel safe. And dammit, as much as she wanted to throttle him for his sins, he was her husband and he needed her help.

For the first time in his life, Michael thanked God for his store. The shipment that had arrived on the train with his father was a large one. It took all of his focus to unload and sort it. He had Oliver to help, but as soon as the first few crates were unloaded he set the young man to work stocking shelves on the sales floor. He wanted to be alone, alone with his crates and inventory lists and shame.

How could he want his father back in his life? The fresh agony of that morning eight years ago, when Randolph had tossed the day's newspaper across the breakfast table with a chuckle, when he had read of Emily's death, made it difficult for him to breathe. He told himself it was the effort of lugging a barrel of flour from the wagon into the storeroom. Emily's last letter had arrived while he was still reading how the police had dragged her body from the river. He had broken down in front of his father and Randolph had berated him mercilessly. Now he was entertaining the idea of going home to that man?

"Do you want me to put the rest of these on the shelf back here, Mr. West?" Oliver intruded on his thoughts with a half-empty crate of sugar sacks. "The shelf out there is full."

Michael nodded, unable to summon words. He fled outside to the wagon, shifting crates closer to the shop's back door. The nip in the air was nothing to the coldness in his gut. One look at his father had destroyed years of hard work and strict discipline. One look and he was the cowering son who would do anything for a shred of approval once more. Only this time it was much worse. This time Charlie was involved.

"Well this isn't where I expected to find you."

Michael flinched and jerked his head up at the sound of Delilah's voice. She stood at the foot of the wagon, arms crossed, head tilted to the side.

"What do you want, Delilah. I've got a shipment to unload." He returned to his work without giving her more than a passing glance.

"How come you're back here instead of on your knees begging forgiveness from that spitfire wife of yours?" Delilah crossed her arms with disapproval that could match his father.

"She doesn't want anything to do with me. Didn't you see the look in her eyes? She hates me now, and with good reason." He crossed to the back of the wagon, peering into the storeroom. Oliver was still at work unpacking crates. He had nowhere to run from Delilah.

"So that's it?" She blinked at him. "You think that a woman like Charlie would turn tail and run because of a few seedy revelations about your past?"

The guilt her words ignited in him was crippling. He sagged, jumping down from the wagon bed. "What my father said is just the beginning. When she finds out the rest...."

He paused and blew out a breath.

"I let her down, Delilah. She relied on me to help her start a new life, but I rushed to believe the worst about her so I could justify pushing her away. What kind of a man does that?" He rubbed his face, embarrassed to reveal so much emotion to Delilah. "I never should have married Charlie in the first place."

"Son," Delilah shook her head, "marrying that woman was the best stupid thing you ever did."

Michael turned away from her, lifting a box from the wagon and carrying it to just inside the storeroom door.

"Evidently I didn't even do that. I married her under the name Michael West and that's not who I am."

"Oh no?" Delilah stared at him like he was touched in the head. "You show me one person in this town who can tell me who William Westmoreland is and I'll show you three dozen who know and respect Michael West."

"Fine. You want someone who knows who I really am?" he glared at her as he turned back to the wagon. "He's staying at your hotel."

"He is," Delilah didn't argue with him. "And I came over here to tell you that he's currently in the billiard room and he's got his head together with Franklin and Edsel Turner."

Michael's stomach gave another lurch and he fumbled the crate he carried. "What?"

"You heard me. I know too much about those Turners and you know too much about your father to think they're in there singing hymns."

"What are they doing then?"

It was Charlie who spoke from the doorway of the storehouse. She stood above them, wearing his apron and an incredulous frown. Michael's heart jumped. He dropped the crate. It cracked to the ground less than an inch from his foot.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, breathless with hope. She'd come back so soon? He ignored the crate and charged up the stairs to her side. "And why are you wearing my apron?"

"We've got a shipment to unload," she explained, calm and hard as stone. "And you still haven't given me an apron of my own." Her eyes narrowed. "I guess now I know why."

His wild hopes crashed. "You don't have to do this." He reached out for her arm but she dodged out of his way.

"There's too much work to be done," she told him. "I'd better learn how to do it since you seem so keen on the idea of leaving everything you've built to follow your father home." She passed him and walked down the stairs to look in the wagon.

He should have known. Charlie was far too smart to want him, especially now. She wanted her job, her independence, but not him.

"What does Randolph want with Franklin and Edsel?" she asked Delilah as if he wasn't even there.

"No good, I'm sure," Delilah answered. Her glance flickered to Michael.

"Do you think we could find out?" Charlie asked. "I mean, we can't exactly ask, but we could listen."

Michael plodded down the stairs and joined Charlie at the wagon. "I've invited him to supper tonight. You can ask him then. Assuming you're willing to come."

She stared at him with wide eyes. "Of course I'll come!" she snapped. "Do you think I would just sit idly by while the men decide what should be done about my life? I am not my mother!" She huffed and reached into the wagon for a crate that was too heavy for her.

Michael breathed out in exasperation and swatted her aside to lift the crate himself. "You can't do everything yourself, Charlie." Charlie growled and pushed him. She scrambled to take the crate from him. There was no way he would let it go. "Tell her!" he appealed to Delilah.

"Honey, I'm not telling her anything. Never get involved in a dispute between a man and his wife."

"We might not be married, you know," Charlie told her. She reached for a smaller crate.

"Uh-huh." Delilah gave her a droll look before glancing back to Michael. "I'll see if I can keep Randolph out of your hair until tonight," she said before turning and leaving without a backward glance.

A frown darkened Charlie's face as she turned to confront Michael, crate in her arms. "How much of this shipment have you already checked?"

"If you're so determined to keep working at the store why don't you help Nancy out front?" He trailed her as she stepped back up the stairs into the storeroom and put her crate down with a grunt. He set his beside it.

"You need my help unpacking the shipment, that's why."

She stomped off to fetch a crowbar to open the crates.

"Charlie, I'm sorry!" He couldn't keep it inside any longer, but his aching heart spit his words out like an accusation.

"I can see that." She held the crowbar as though she would beat him with it.

He didn't know how to explain, what to explain. "I'm not proud of who I was or what I did or what I almost did."

"No?"

She jammed the crowbar into her crate and pried at the lid.

Michael swallowed. "It was all very complicated."

"Was it?" She didn't look at him. "Then why don't you tell me about it? Why don't you tell me about your married lover?"

His mouth opened to confess everything but no words came out. She would hate him. More than she already did. She would be disgusted with everything he'd done, everything he'd been. And when she learned the truth, just like Emily had learned the truth, he would lose her forever. God help him, he couldn't take that.

"I'm waiting," she prompted him, grunting as the lid came off the crate. She set the crowbar aside and pulled the lid all the way off.

One little confession, a couple of words to spill his secrets, and it would all be over.

A bump near the doorway to the sales floor shocked him out of his frozen panic.

"Charlie, there you are," Phin said, walking all the way into the storeroom. He slowed his steps when he saw the two of them standing near each other, eyes traveling back and forth between them. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Michael was just about to tell me—"

"No, you're not interrupting anything."

A deluge of shame crashed over Michael as he dodged away from Charlie.

"What can I do for you?"

Phin wasn't fooled. He stared at Michael, seeing right through him. Then he took a breath and faced Charlie.

"The harpy has gone out to lunch," he informed her with a knowing arch of his eyebrow. "I know Christian wants you to talk to him at some point, but do you think you could come over to the bank for a bit before seeing him?"

"Now?" She straightened and brushed sawdust from the crate off of her apron. "Michael needs me to help unpack this shipment."

"No I don't," Michael contradicted her. She glared at him. "If Phin needs your help at the bank then I can spare you for a bit."

She shook her head and began to reply, but Phin cut her off. "It's that thing we talked about. I don't want Helen to know you're checking her work. You have to do it now before she gets back from wherever she is."

Charlie shut her mouth and sighed. "Oh alright. I'll get out of your way so the two of you can plot behind my back." She pulled the apron off and wadded it in a ball. "But I'll be back."

She threw the ball at Michael with a final no-nonsense look before marching off through the front of the store.

As soon as he heard the store's front door slam, Michael turned to his friend. "What do you want, Phin?" He slipped the rumpled apron over his head.

Phin sniffed a humorless laugh. "I have far too many answers to that question."

Michael wasn't in the mood for games. "Are you still going along with your plan to leave Charlie alone in the bank to steal whatever she wants?" He squatted to unpack the crate Charlie had opened.

"She's not a thief and you know it." Phin crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "But yes, I'm still going to prove it. To you."

Michael glared at the half-empty crate. Then he gave up and sighed. "She's not a thief. She hates me, she's only sticking around because of the store, but she's not a thief. I should never have entertained the idea."

"What, so now that you can't use Charlie being a thief as an excuse to push her away you've switched to saying she hates you?"

Michael kept his mouth pressed shut in a firm line.

"What are you so afraid of, Michael?" Phin nagged.

Michael ignored Phin's first question like his life depended on it. "I'm the one who caused all of this."

"You need to listen to your wife. Your father wants to take her back to Philadelphia, she doesn't want to go. Don't let him bully her."

Michael goggled at him. "Phin, I could never so much as tell my father to pass me the salt. I couldn't stop him from going after you. How the hell do you expect me to convince him to leave Charlie alone?"

"You've invited him to supper tonight, right?" Michael nodded. "Are you planning on hosting him here?"

Michael glanced up the narrow staircase to his meager apartment.

Phin continued before he could answer. "We both know that that won't work. Randolph is used to society. Bring him to supper at my house."

"Your house?" He stared at Phin over his glasses, dumbfounded.

"It's a hell of a lot nicer than your place. I'll decorate and have it catered. Charlie is staying there anyhow. I'm sure Helen will show up since I can't get rid of her at the moment. We can invite Delilah so that Charlie doesn't feel so outnumbered."

"My father would rather eat out of a trough at the livery than under your roof." Michael hated how true it was.

"Well he doesn't have a choice. Send word to him to be there at seven. And Michael," Phin arched an eyebrow at him, "the stakes are too high this time to let Randolph win."

**Chapter Eighteen**

Charlotte bit her lip and frowned at the sheaf of papers in front of her. She tried in vain to focus. The bank was silent, the sounds of the street only barely audible through the thick walls. A clock ticked in the main part of the bank. The door dividing it from Phin's office was open. She checked the column of numbers in Helen's curling hand on the page in front of her again.

Her mind drifted to the store, to Michael in his shirtsleeves unpacking crates. She wondered what the fine Mrs. Emily Carter would have thought of her lover with his sleeves rolled up, packing sawdust stuck to the hair on his forearms. A woman who wore a necklace as fine as the one Emily had had stolen would turn up her nose at a Montana shopkeeper.

Charlotte swallowed a barb of indignation at the thought of anyone looking down at Michael and focused on Helen's work.

The totals on the deposit slips were correct. All of them. The handwriting was steady and neat. It wasn't what she had expected. The woman seemed like the worst kind of ignoramus, but her work told a different story. Helen might not have been educated but she wasn't stupid.

Charlotte gathered the papers together into a neat pile, making sure the edges lined up and that they were square to the blotter on Phin's desk. She frowned. She'd grown as fussy as Michael about these things.

Michael. Or rather William.

Since reading the article she hadn't been able to shake the suspicion that there was a connection between him and Emily Carter's missing necklace. If it had been Randolph involved with a rich man's wife Charlotte would have had no problem believing he would steal jewels as well as secrets. There was no low Randolph wouldn't stoop to if it meant preserving his power and saving his failing newspaper. But Michael had more integrity than that.

At least she thought he did. The evidence seemed to suggest otherwise. Either way, if he had taken the necklace, what had become of it? Michael was prosperous but not wealthy.

She pushed herself up from Phin's chair and walked around the desk, deciding she would go for a walk to clear her head before returning to the store.

The vault door caught her eye. It hadn't been closed completely. She frowned. Phin usually wasn't that careless. She changed directions and went to shut it.

Curiosity got the better of her and she cracked it open far enough to take a peek.

The vault was in complete disarray. The safe deposit boxes were crooked on their shelves, some of them tipped on their sides. Stacks of bills had been left out and a few bags of coins and bills were scattered on the floor. Important papers were strewn about like autumn leaves. Nothing was missing, but it was a mess.

She didn't think twice, throwing the vault door open all the way to let in enough light for her to work. Phin should be ashamed of himself for leaving things so disorderly. Michael would have a heart attack. She pushed the thought away and started tidying the loose leaves of paper.

It was quick work to put things in order. At least things were all still in the proper sections of the vault. She counted as she went, lifting heavy bags of coins back onto shelves, putting stacks of bills away, and finally setting the safe deposit boxes to right. Her heart rolled in her chest as she came to hers.

She couldn't resist the urge to reach into her pocket to take out the small purse she always kept with her and the key to her safe deposit box that she kept there. She unlocked the metal box and opened the velvet one.

Her mother's jewels had no shine for her anymore. They were beautiful nothings. She'd only taken them so that she could sell them when her money ran out. Maybe she should offered them to Randolph as payment to make him go away. If only they were half as valuable as Emily Carter's necklace.

"Charlie?" Phin's voice startled her. She turned with a gasp. The velvet box snapped shut. "Charlie are you back here?"

"I am." She poked her head around the doorway of the vault as Phin walked into his office. "You left the door open. And Phin, it was a mess in here. What were you thinking?"

He was slow to reply. "You straightened things?"

"Yes, of course. I thought there had been a break-in at first, but the door isn't damaged and nothing is missing."

He glanced to the safe deposit box in her hands. "Are you thinking of making a withdrawal?"

"No, I just—"

"Why is it so quiet in here?" Helen's voice crashed through the office. "Phinny? What's going on back here?"

She arrived at the door to the vault so fast she could have run from the front of the bank. Her eyes flew wide at the sight of Charlotte standing with her safe-deposit box open.

"Dear me, what have we here?" Her lips pinched in suspicion, eyes flashing.

"I asked Charlie to do some work for me," Phin defended her, stepping towards Helen in an attempt to wedge her out of the vault.

Helen wasn't about to be stopped. She stepped around Phin and swept to Charlie's side. "Oh, are those your mother's jewels?"

"They are." Charlotte snapped the safe deposit box closed and put it back on the shelf.

"Didn't you have some sort of box as well?" Helen went on casually. "Why, I'm sure I saw you with a beautiful black box on the train."

"It's not valuable enough to keep in the bank," Charlotte told her as she marched out of the vault and past her. In fact, she hadn't even thought to take it to Phin's house. It was still on Michael's bureau.

"I need to get some air, if you don't mind." Charlotte excused herself from both Phin and Helen. "I'll discuss that favor I did for you later tonight." She sent Phin a significant glance.

"What a coincidence, I was just going for a walk as well!" Helen trilled and grabbed her arm as though they were old school chums.

"Um...." Charlotte floundered for a way out of Helen's company, glancing to Phin for help.

He only smiled back at her. "Be home in time for supper, ladies. We're having company."

Charlotte had a bad feeling the dinner invitation Michael had extended to Randolph had turned into a party. Now Helen would be there as well. For a day that had started out so beautifully things had turned into a catastrophe at an alarming rate.

Helen dragged her through the office and out the front door. All Charlotte wanted was to be alone with her thoughts, to puzzle out the mystery of Michael's past and the bigger problem of their future. She was too distracted by it all to get rid of Helen.

"My it's getting chilly!" Helen commented as they stepped out onto Main Street. "Let's walk this way, out towards the meadow, away from all the cold shadows of these buildings."

She tugged her down the sidewalk and around the corner through the alley that separated the bank from the tailor's shop on the side. There were only two side streets on this side of the town and it was simple to cut through both of them to make it out to the sunny meadow. Even away from shadows Charlotte still felt a chill.

"It's such a shame that things didn't work out between you and Mr. West, or Westmoreland or whatever his name is." Helen feigned some sort of sympathy as they cut through the tall grass. "How wicked of him to marry you under a false name."

Charlotte clenched her teeth and willed herself not to turn and slap the woman.

"I don't believe that Michael had any malicious motives," she insisted. "He probably just changed his name because he was trying to start a new life." Just like she had. The thought added another point to her heart's argument in Michael's favor. She scowled as her mind held fast to its fury.

"But it is terribly unfair to you," Helen went on, pretending that she cared. "To have lived with a man for a month in plain sight of the entire town only to be cast aside in public like that!"

Charlotte's face flushed and she forced herself to breathe. "He never intended for any of this to happen." She pulled her arm out of Helen's.

It was true. He hadn't deliberately called her Emily or sent for a newspaper that contained a story about her. He hadn't even completed the call that brought Randolph to Cold Springs.

"Well, even if he did," Helen wouldn't give up, "what you need more than anything right now is a friend to lean on."

"And that's you?" Charlotte's eyebrows shot up.

"My dear, we are living under the same roof. We should be closest confidents. Besides, I've had a few thoughts on the matter that just might be to your advantage."

Charlotte couldn't believe what she was hearing. She stopped and turned to face the woman. "We've hardly said a civil word to each other! Why, you told me off in Phin's kitchen the day after he was attacked! How do you expect us to be friends now?"

"Circumstances change, my dear." Her words were pretty but she was flustered. She hid it well with a straight posture and a bold smile but Charlotte could see the panic behind her eyes. "As I see it, we need to stick together."

"Forgive me if I don't share your opinion."

She turned to storm off, slogging back through high grass that dragged on her skirt and caught in her boots.

"Charlotte! Wait!" Helen jogged after her. "I'm sorry that I was so waspish with you before. It's just that I so want to be a part of Phineas's life and a part of your life by extension. We all need friends, confidents, shoulders to cry on."

Charlotte rolled her eyes and kept going. Helen puffed along behind her until they reached the edge of town and ducked between buildings.

"You should trust me with your problems, dear," Helen persisted. "I've been through so much in my time. You might find me to be just what you need to help sort through it all."

"I don't think so."

"But I'm quite good at it. For instance, why would Michael's father be so eager to take you home?"

Charlotte pause. She turned to face Helen. It would have felt like a much more innocent question if she hadn't just been asking herself the same thing.

"I don't know," she answered and moved on.

"Ah, see, I can help you with this." Helen jogged to catch up with her. "Were the two of you at all close?"

"No," Charlotte answered with a bitter laugh.

"Were you a benefit to him in some way? Socially, perhaps?"

"Certainly not."

"Did you take something with you when you left that belonged to him?"

The question sent a jolt of warning down Charlotte's spine.

"No," she lied.

"Nothing at all?" Helen continued.

"No!" Charlotte rounded on her. "I refuse to talk about this with you anymore!"

"Well I was just trying to help."

"I don't want your help!" Furthermore, she didn't trust it. The urge to run from Helen as fast as she could overwhelmed Charlotte. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I'm needed back at the store."

"Well...I...," Helen stammered. "Yes, yes I suppose we can talk later. Tonight when Phineas has gone to bed. Just you and I."

Charlotte didn't bother to put her off. She spun on her heel and headed on towards the store. In all likelihood no one would be in the mood for chatting after supper with Randolph that night.

**Chapter Nineteen**

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Randolph grumbled as Michael walked him up to Phin's front door. "It's bad enough that you still associate with that deviant, do you have to drag me into his lair as well?"

Michael grit his teeth, forcing himself not to lash out. "Phineas Bell is highly respected in Cold Springs, father." By some at least. He wasn't going to change his father's mind with the truth. "He has a fine house and he's gone through a great deal of trouble to host us tonight."

Randolph curled his lip and shook his head. Michael knocked once on the door and let them in, fighting to remain positive. The only way he was going to be able to survive the evening, let alone stand up for Charlie the way Phin wanted him to, was to hold onto the hope that his father could be a reasonable man.

"You call this fine?" Randolph dashed his hopes almost at once. "I've seen tenements in South Philadelphia nicer than this."

"Good evening, Mr. Westmoreland." Phin entered the front hall from the living room. He still walked with a cane but extended a hand to Randolph as though he were a sultan greeting an equal. "Welcome to my home." Phin had more balls than any man Michael knew.

"Where is Charlotte?" Randolph ignored Phin's offered hand and pushed past him into the living room.

Michael could only follow, clenching his jaw as anger warred with embarrassment.

Longing piled on top of his emotions at the sight of Charlie. She stood at the far end of the room talking with Delilah, a glass of wine in her gloved hand. She wore the same dove grey dress she had worn to the cowboy dance, but tonight her hair was styled in the latest fashion that left tendrils spilling over her creamy shoulders. The soft skin of her throat and chest was adorned with a diamond and ruby necklace. They must have been her mother's jewels. She was brazen to wear them in front of Randolph. It was as if she was trying to antagonize him.

"You look lovely," he told her. She looked dangerous.

Charlie's expression pinched somewhere between a smile and a grimace, as if she didn't know what to make of his mood. She opened her mouth to reply but Randolph cut her off.

"She looks a damn sight better than she did this morning, that's for sure. What would your friends at the club have said if they'd seen you dressed like a common drudge?"

"In case you have forgotten," Charlotte clipped her reply, as edgy as Michael felt, "I don't have any friends at the club."

"Well all that is about to change," Randolph insisted with a grin. "Tomorrow you and William will pack your things and come home with me. Isn't that right, William?"

Michael's stomach clenched as all sets of eyes turned on him. He glanced between Charlie and his father. Each was waiting for him to take their side.

"That has yet to be determined, father."

Both of them glared at him. His father's disapproval was a given, but Charlie's censure stung. He buried his heartache under indignation. If she thought she would punish him for his sins in public she was in for a surprise.

"Have our guests arrived?" Helen's voice preceded her into the room. Michael had never been more relieved to hear Helen's shrill tones.

Helen swept into the living room wearing a blue and green dress so garish it would have given Jacinta Archer apoplexy. Her false red hair was arranged in an imitation of Delilah's curls. The wide smile on her painted lips shone for a moment before dropping like a stone off a bridge. Helen saw Randolph and went pale as a ghost.

"Oh!" she gave a strangled cry.

For half a second Michael's ire was forgotten as he caught the shock on his father's face. It flashed just as quickly to a wolfish smile. "And who have we here?" He approached Helen. Helen backpedalled until she was in danger of running into a side table.

"This is Miss Helen Patterson," Phin made the introduction. "She's a guest in my house."

"Of course she is." Randolph's smile was more of a sneer. He took Helen's hand and brought it to his lips, eyes never leaving hers. "How lovely to meet you."

Helen looked as though she might faint. Michael stole a peek at Charlie. She was staring at him with urgent questioning in her eyes. He returned the look with a wide-eyed shrug. Charlie's face flooded with worry. He leaned toward her.

She remembered her anger and stiffened. Her expression clouded over again and she snapped her glance away. Heart squeezing, Michael glanced to Delilah. She watched the two of them with a barely concealed grin.

"Now that we're all here," Phin drew their attention, "let's adjourn to the dining room."

They crossed through the hall to the dining room and found seats around the table. Phin sat at the head and Randolph took the foot without asking. Helen rushed to sit by Phin's right-hand side. Michael resumed his place at his father's right by rote. Delilah casually cut in front of Charlie to take the seat on Phin's left, leaving Charlie nowhere to sit but directly across from Michael. She stared at him with an irritable expression as they all sat.

"I've loaned Phin the chef from my hotel for tonight's supper," Delilah informed them with a practiced smile. "Considering the important company we're keeping."

"My father owns one of the largest newspapers in Philadelphia," Michael explained to Helen. Damn him if he didn't check to see if his father approved of his statement.

"It hasn't gone bankrupt yet?" Charlie added with casual precision, taking a sip of her wine. It reminded Michael of their first dinner together, when she had maneuvered him into giving her answers to questions she'd never asked. He'd wanted to bed her then and a large part of him wanted to forget dinner and his father and bed her now, angry or not.

Michael was so deep in his thoughts that it took him a moment to realize his father hadn't answered. He blinked and turned to him. The lines around Randolph's eyes and mouth were tight.

"Is the paper in danger?" he asked.

"Not at all, not at all." Randolph smiled. "The only thing it needs is for its best _investigative reporter_ to come home."

Once again the invitation back into his father's world was a horrible temptation. "We'll have to see—"

"I'm not going back to Philadelphia," Charlie answered, as if Randolph had addressed her. "You can give it as fancy a title as you want, but I left because I don't want anything to do with you or your newspaper or your life ever again."

Michael's mouth remained open as his mind blanked. He glanced between his wife and his father.

She wouldn't. Charlie was far too smart to get involved in Randolph's schemes.

Then again, she had told him several times that there were parts of her past that she wasn't proud of. She'd implied that her step-family had been a large part of that. If she had fallen prey to his father's intrigues it would explain how she could win answers to questions she'd never asked. Even from him.

His temptation to give her a sound scolding for being so foolish was cut short as a pair of girls from one of the local farms entered the rooms with trays. They circled around the table, setting dinner before each of them.

Michael picked up his fork but his gut was far too twisted with emotion to eat. He glanced across to Charlie. Her eyes were lowered but her back was stiff as she picked at her food. Down the table Phin was watching him. Michael could hear his friend's voice in the back of his mind reminding him that Charlie's anger was justified.

He ignored the voice and Charlie and turned to his father to ask, "How is Violet? Still pestering half the Main Line with her 'charms'?"

His father was chewing, so Charlie answered, "I told you that your sister was married, don't you remember?"

Michael stared across the table at her. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes shone with irritation.

"I remember now," he felt the bite of that irritation and couldn't keep from saying, "She was the one who told you what to expect on your wedding night. That explains everything."

Charlie fumbled as she reached for her knife.

"Yes," she schooled her expression though her cheeks still burned, "and now I know why you so _confidently_ assured me that everything she said was wrong."

Phin nearly choked on the sip of wine he'd taken, gulping the rest of his glass and reaching for the bottle on the table to refill it. Delilah glanced between Michael and Charlie, her eyebrows halfway to her hairline. Randolph pretended not to be listening.

"I haven't heard you complain." Michael wouldn't let her steal the one thing in the whole tangled situation that he felt good about. "In fact—"

"So Helen," Delilah interrupted before things could get out of hand. "How do you and Randolph know each other?"

"What? We don't know each other!" Helen exclaimed, fidgeting with her napkin. "That's preposterous. I've never seen him before in my life!"

Michael's budding argument with his wife was forgotten. He and Charlie shifted their attention to Helen in unison.

"Coulda fooled me," Delilah grinned. She turned to Randolph. "Perhaps Miss Helen just doesn't remember?"

A slow grin spread across Randolph's face as he met Delilah's question, eyes cold as ice. "I'm sure I would remember meeting a woman as...captivating as Miss Helen."

Helen's over-bright laugh made the hair on the back of Michael's neck stand up.

"You're too kind, Mr. Westmoreland. And I'm sure I would never forget a man as fascinating as you." She smiled at Randolph for a fraction of a second before dropping her glance to her plate.

They knew each other. Michael had no doubt. His glance shot to Charlie. She was watching him with the same idea sparking in her eyes. A thrill of hope shot through him until she snapped her eyes away.

Charlotte cut into her steak, avoiding Michael's eyes. She would not give in to the way she felt when he looked at her like that. She would not let his sneaky public hints at their private life stir her with excitement. She would not entertain the idea of going back to Philadelphia if he decided he wanted to go in a bid to stay with him. What she would entertain was getting to the bottom of whatever Randolph was up to. Clearly this wasn't the first time he and Helen had met. Michael didn't think so either.

"I met Miss Helen in Denver," she revealed, looking for a way to maneuver Helen or Randolph into tipping their hand. "She was escorting a number of mail-order brides west. What happened to all those girls?"

Helen gulped her wine then answered, "Why, the dear things have all found husbands. Or other employment," she added with a laugh.

"I'll say." Delilah shared a wink with Phin.

"Didn't you tell me that most of those girls were from St. Louis?" Charlotte pressed on.

"I believe quite a few of them were," Helen replied. She dug into her dinner to avoid being asked another question.

Charlotte turned her questions on Randolph. "Didn't you visit St. Louis a year or two ago?"

"I did not," Randolph answered so quickly Charlotte was sure it was a lie.

She caught herself glancing to Michael to see what he thought. He was staring at her, his eyes wide behind his glasses. Those eyes held a sharp warning. She wasn't about to let him stop her.

"Not even on that business trip last—"

"I'm sorry to hear that the paper is in danger, father." Michael cut her off, changing the topic right out from under her. Her back shot straight with indignation.

"It's nothing." Randolph scowled into his wine.

Charlotte refused to be pushed out of the conversation. "I suppose it was a slow summer for news," she went back to digging.

"It certainly wasn't like the old days." A devious glint lit Randolph's eyes. "Not when William worked for me."

Michael grew redder. "Father, I hardly think—"

"No, you never did," Randolph sneered. "At least not with your head. But you certainly were good at ferreting out secrets from society's lonely housewives. Why they ever gave you a second glance I'll never know."

Michael withered under his father's criticism. Charlotte's hands shook so hard with indignation that she moved them under the table. She couldn't let Randolph get away with it, no matter how infuriating Michael was.

"Michael has been very successful with his general store," she tried to snub Randolph and boost Michael at the same time.

Randolph barked a laugh. "Successful? You call peddling snake oil and firearms to ignorant riff-raff successful?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Westmoreland," Delilah interjected, "but some of the riff-raff are within earshot."

"Are they? I had no idea," Randolph spoke with thick irony.

"Father, could you at least attempt to be polite to my friends?" Michael's voice shook.

Randolph sighed in exasperation and threw his napkin on his plate. "I am through pretending to tolerate this nonsense."

He stood. Michael and Phin stood with him.

"Charlotte," he addressed her, "where are your things? I'll pack them myself."

Charlotte shot to her feet, throwing her own napkin down. "My things are none of your business."

Michael stepped around the end of the table. "Father, this really isn't—"

"Everything you have is mine, girl," Randolph ignored him. "Everything from the clothes on your back to that black box."

"No it isn't," Charlotte held her ground.

"You and your dresses and your hairpins and your box will be on the train to Philadelphia tomorrow."

"We will not!"

"If you are not packed and waiting at the station when the train leaves I will come find you and drag you home myself!"

With a final glare Randolph pushed away from the table. He didn't ask to be excused or make his goodbyes to Phin or Michael or anyone else. He marched out to the hall and through the front door, slamming it behind him.

"Well that's the shortest dinner party I've ever been to," Delilah broke the silence that followed. She held her wine glass up as if to toast then drained it.

Under any other circumstances Charlotte would have laughed at Delilah's wry observation.

"You want to abandon your life here to go back to _that_?" she said to Michael.

"I never said—"

"And how could you talk about _private things_ at the dinner table?"

Helen hopped up from her seat and said, "I think I'll just see if the girls need help in the kitchen." She backed away from the table so fast her fork dropped to the floor.

"My question was innocent," Michael ignored Helen, stepping out of her way and closer to Charlotte's side of the table as she passed. "Your answer wasn't."

"Phin, I think we'd better take our supper into the kitchen." Delilah stood, taking her plate with her.

"I think you're right," Phin agreed. They rushed out of the room without looking back.

Charlotte didn't know if she was grateful or furious with them for leaving her and Michael alone. She stepped away from the table to face Michael.

"I'm angry, Michael." She threw her napkin on her chair.

"I can see that." It was little consolation that he was just as upset as her.

"I like my life here! It's everything I've always wanted. I won't let him take that away from me! Why should you let him take that away from you?"

"He's my father," Michael answered, losing his steam. His shoulders drooped. "How would you feel if your father suddenly appeared and asked you to come home?"

His question jabbed a hole in her anger. "My father is dead." She swallowed. Michael's wasn't. The frustration of all that implied hurt.

"It's not me that he came here for." He sighed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. The more Charlotte learned about her husband the more painful her understanding of him was.

"He didn't make a single comment about my jewelry," she said, if only to break the silence.

"I would think that was a good thing," Michael shot back.

"Then why go to the trouble of publishing an entire newspaper article about it?"

She spoke the words then blinked as she stopped to consider them.

Something was terribly wrong. It was as if Randolph didn't care about the jewels at all. But he cared enough about something to rush all the way to Montana at the first call. If she could just get Michael to work with her, to tell her what he knew about the way Randolph worked, about his past, they might be able to figure things out.

"Is the newspaper really in trouble?"

It wasn't what she wanted him to ask.

"Yes!" she vented her frustration at him. "But I don't see what that has to do with anything."

He frowned, kneading his forehead.

"Michael, we need to talk about this. We need to sort things out. I know you're not proud of your past and I'm not proud of mine either, but now we know there's a connection. We need to—"

He suddenly went tense. He pulled his hand away from his face, leaving his glasses skewed. "It's not the jewels."

"Michael, pay attention!" she huffed.

"I am paying attention." He sucked in a breath. "I have to talk to him."

"No! We need to talk first!"

"I'm sorry," he told her as he turned to leave. "I'm so sorry, but this can't wait."

"Michael!"

Charlotte threw up her hands as he shot through the front door and out into the night. Whatever had seized him was just another secret he wasn't sharing with her.

She let out a breath and squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her forehead. With all that she knew about him now she still wanted him close to her. She dropped her arm and left the aborted dinner to march upstairs. There had to be some way to untangle the mess and win the life she wanted, Randolph or no Randolph.

**Chapter Twenty**

The wind whipping through Cold Springs's streets in the dark made Michael wish he hadn't run out of Phin's house without his coat. But the cold that cut through him went far beyond Montana weather.

His father had made a mistake. It had been so subtle that Michael had needed Charlie to point it out to him. He hadn't come to Cold Springs to retrieve stolen jewels. There was something else he was after.

Randolph was standing on the hotel's porch talking to two men, Franklin and Edsel Turner, judging by their body types. Michael saw him and picked up his pace. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.

"Father!" he called to Randolph.

The three men glanced up. The other two pulled their hats low to hide their faces and scuttled off into the night before Michael could confirm who they were.

"We need to talk."

"What do you want?" Randolph turned his back on him and pulled open the hotel's front door, walking inside. He didn't hold the door for Michael.

"I don't think it's what I want that matters." He looked for an opening to figure out what he needed to know.

"Stop talking in riddles. It always was an annoying habit."

Randolph headed into the hotel's restaurant and towards its bar. Michael followed. "Why did you come all this way in just a week? You must have had to travel exhaustively to get here so quickly."

"It's none of your business. Give me a scotch," Randolph ordered the bartender.

A muscle in Michael's jaw twitched. He was a fool if he thought this would be easy.

"When I saw you get off the train I thought you might have come for me at last."

Randolph sniffed but didn't reply.

"I stopped waiting for you to come, you know."

"Did you now?"

His father didn't look at him. He snatched his drink from the hotel bartender and took a sip.

"I waited for you for a year, two years. I kept hoping you would send an apology."

Randolph barked a laugh. "An apology? For what?"

"For killing Emily."

The bartender raised his eyebrows and backed away. Randolph glared at Michael. That had gotten his attention.

"That crazy bitch killed herself."

Michael swallowed the pain of remembering that day. "Only because you had her husband convince her I was a thief."

"You were a thief," Randolph hissed.

"I took Emily's necklace to buy the two of us a new life."

"You can make it sound as pretty as you like, son, but you stole it all the same. Mr. and Mrs. Carter had a right to know."

Michael narrowed his eyes. He should have been cowering before his father's accusations. Instead he saw the truth.

"I'm not William Westmoreland anymore," he said. "I worked hard to build a respectable life for myself in Cold Springs. And I married the most beautiful, intelligent woman I have ever known."

Randolph sniffed and downed the rest of his scotch.

"She might hate me now, but not as much as you do."

Part of him hoped his father would contradict him. He didn't. He laughed. The aching child inside of him would never get what he wanted.

"What will it take for you to drop this nonsense with Charlie and leave?"

"Another!" Randolph waved his glass at the bartender. He scowled at Michael. "Are you trying to buy me off, boy?"

"You need the money, don't you? Emily's diamonds weren't enough, were they?" Randolph flinched. "Did you sell the diamonds after you snatched them from me? Is that money gone already?"

"You always did talk utter nonsense," Randolph sniffed.

"But you do need something. Otherwise you wouldn't have gone through the trouble. Not for me at least." As desperately as it hurt, Michael felt a surge of power in acknowledging the truth.

"I don't need anything from you," Randolph only confirmed it

"No, but you need something from Charlie."

It was painfully clear now. All of it. He was nothing to the man in front of him, nothing to Charlie. But if he was clever he might still be able to get her what she wanted.

"What will it take to get you to leave? Is it Charlie's mother's jewelry? Is that what you're after?"

"That useless collection of trinkets?" He sniffed and started on his second glass of scotch.

"What do you want?" he repeated. He'd been asking himself that same question his entire life and not once had he come up with an answer. Until now.

"I want you to convince that conniving wife of yours to pack her things and come home," he said.

"Fine."

Michael turned and stormed out of the room. For once in his life he and his father wanted the same thing.

Charlotte twisted in her chair as she tried to read a book. She hadn't been able to focus on anything since the disaster of supper. Every time she had gotten close to putting the pieces together they'd pushed apart again like magnets on the wrong side. Every time Michael had looked like he would snap out of his confusion and tell her who he really was he'd gone back to yielding to Randolph. She didn't understand what power that man had over him.

She writhed in an effort to find a comfortable position. The book in her hands was heavy and dull. She considered going downstairs to get another. Phin's library was well stocked. Michael's library was just a few shelves in comparison. A few shelves and a springy sofa.

Her body quivered in longing at the memory of being stretched out at ridiculous angles under Michael on that sofa as he made love to her with wild abandon. The memory carried the scent of burning cookies with it. It was so potent her body and heart clenched with the heat of desire for Michael, no matter who he used to be.

A soft knock on the door was followed by Helen letting herself into the room. "I don't mean to pry," she began.

Charlotte clenched her jaw and stood. "Then don't. I'd like to be alone."

"And I'd like to be friends." Charlotte narrowed her eyes at the woman and was on the verge of kicking her out when she went on. "I'd like to explain."

"I'd like to hear you try." She crossed her arms and glared.

Helen shut the door behind her and lowered her eyes, face tight with shame.

"I do know Randolph," she confessed. A spike of victory in Charlotte's breast gave way to even deeper suspicion. "I...I'm not proud of the life I lived in my earlier days," she went on, strolling to the bureau and fingering the edge. "We were poor and I did what I had to do to get by. Randolph would come to St. Louis on business and when he did I would...entertain him." She glanced up to see what Charlotte thought.

"Go on." She narrowed her eyes.

"That's all there is to the story, really. I visited Philadelphia a few times. He got tired of me and moved on. I had other business as well. But I got myself out of that racket and built a more honest life."

Helen's eyes traveled around the room as she spoke, taking in the ordinary decorations that Phin had put up ages ago. She glanced to the bureau, perhaps looking for the jewelry Charlotte had already put away, but the only thing there was the envelope containing the vault combination that Phin had given her. Charlotte cursed herself for not burning it after memorizing the combination.

"If that's all you wanted to say, I'd like you to leave now," Charlotte told her.

Still Helen dithered. "You may disagree with my motives, but I would like to forget all the men like Randolph that muddied up my life and live out the rest of it as nice, respectable Mrs. Bell. Our husbands would be close friends."

"You are not married to Phin." Charlotte frowned. "And at the moment I am not married to Michael."

"As to that," Helen flashed an optimistic smile, "I do believe the legality of your marriage has yet to be decided."

"He used a false name on the marriage certificate."

Helen shrugged. "What name did he use on the deed to the general store? On his business license?" Charlotte blinked. "If he signed those documents as Michael West then to deny the legality of your marriage certificate would mean he loses everything else too."

A thrill of hope sizzled through Charlotte. She could practically smell the cookies burning again. "But if he signed them as William Westmoreland I'm back where I started."

A sly smile split Helen's painted lips. "And if he didn't then who in Cold Springs would be any the wiser? This is the frontier, dear. No one checks your references before doing business with you."

To Charlotte's surprise, Helen's reasoning made sense. It would never have dawned on anyone to question Michael's identity.

"Ah, you see? I am looking out for your interests after all," Helen crowed. "Why, it's plain as the nose on your face that you love the man. And I will revise my former opinion of his...similarities to Phinny and say that I believe he loves you as well."

"Do you think so?" she caught herself asking before she could put her defenses up.

"Why yes, of course." Helen fingered the envelope on the bureau. "I take it this is a love letter from him?" Her lips twitched up in a knowing grin.

"No, it's not." Charlotte crossed to snatch the envelope away from her. Her nose itched. Maybe those weren't cookies burning after all.

"Well, I'm sure it's only a matter of time." Her kind smile slipped into a grimace. "What is that smell? Is something burning?"

Charlotte blinked. It hadn't been her imagination. Something really was on fire.

"Charlie! Helen!" Phin's sudden shout came flying down the hall. "The house is on fire! Get out!"

Charlotte's nerves snapped taut. She jammed the envelope into her pocket and raced out of the room to the hall with Helen tight behind her. Smoke was curling up the staircase. Phin hobbled towards Charlotte's room but turned towards the stairs when he saw them coming.

"What's going on?" Charlotte took his arm, half to help him, half in fear, as they rushed to the staircase, waving away smoke.

"I bet it's those blasted girls in the kitchen." Helen followed them.

Phin shook his head. "Delilah walked them home half an hour ago."

When they reached the bottom of the stairs there was a crash of breaking glass as a ball of flame smashed through the window and landed on the dining room carpet. A similar ball was already burning in the living room, causing all the smoke. Loud hoots and cackles of drunken laughter drifted in through the shattered windows. "Pervert!" they yelled. "Freaks of nature!"

Charlotte didn't think. She ran into the living room and grabbed a vase of flowers, throwing water on the fireball to put it out. Her actions had the opposite effect. The fire flared and spread as the smell of oil and flame filled the room. Whatever the ball of fire was it was soaked in the stuff. She glanced around, coughing as she breathed in the smoke, looking for another way to put out the flames. A blanket was draped across the back of the sofa. She grabbed it and began beating the flames out.

Another crash of broken glass sounded from the dining room and was followed by a scream from Helen. The instinct to help battled with Charlotte's own self-preservation. She managed to put out the fire in the living room to see it had been started by a brick wrapped in oil-soaked cloth. No sooner did she see it then another one burst through the shattered window. It rolled across the carpet, relighting what was left of the first one, before stopping dangerously near the sofa. She chased after it, whacking it with the now smoldering blanket, determined not to let Phin's beautiful house burn down.

"Charlie! Get out!" she heard Phin shout from the hallway.

She whipped around, confused by the smoke and fire and panic. Phin limped towards her, cane gone. The front door burst open behind him. Two men charged into the hall. Phin's eyes flew wide and he stumbled back, but the men ignored him, one running into the dining room, the other into the living room.

"Get out! Go!"

Charlotte's heart dropped to her feet in terror. She knew the man who had shouted the command at her. She knew him too well. A beard covered the lower half of his face now, but by his beady eyes she knew he was the man who had been following her.

He grabbed the blanket from her and shoved her towards Phin. Phin caught her and they both struggled to stay on their feet, coughing as the smoke grew thicker. "Come on," he choked. "Let's get out of here!"

The night air was as cold as ever when Michael stormed out of the hotel. He wasn't sure if he had gotten anywhere with his father or if he had just buried himself under the bones of his past. He did know one thing, Philadelphia was behind him. His life was in Cold Springs now, and it was in shambles.

Without thinking, he searched down the road towards Phin's house. Charlie was there right now. His heart ached, knowing she was so close and so far. He'd spent too much energy avoiding her questions about his past, but he couldn't hold out forever. With the realization that she knew who his father was, what he did, came the faint hope that she could understand and forgive him. Or she would know exactly how low he'd sunk and how little he deserved her.

He snapped his head to look straight forward, clenching his jaw as if it would keep his emotions in line. A flicker of light and movement pulled his attention back to the house. A crash was followed by hoots of vicious laughter. He stopped and squinted to get a better look. When he saw a lick of flame sweep up the side of Phin's house his blood froze in his veins.

He sprinted down the dark street. There was no time to think. Charlie was in trouble. The air warmed as he skidded to a stop in front of the house. Edsel and Franklin Turner and a couple of their friends were lighting something between them. They jumped back when it ignited and Edsel threw it through one of Phin's front windows. Michael flinched as it broke the glass and flared inside the house.

"Stop!"

He followed his warning by rushing at the man nearest him and slamming a fist into his nose. It was dark but by the grunt and curse that followed he could tell he'd hit Edsel. He'd wanted to smash that idiot's face in for years. When Edsel staggered back to challenge him, illuminated by the growing fire, Michael punched him again for good measure. Edsel growled, baring his teeth and raising a fist to strike back. Michael dodged and spun around, prepared to grapple.

To his surprise a shadowy figure came out of nowhere and slammed Edsel in the gut, doubling him over before he could retaliate. Fists still raised, Michael backed up and glanced around for one of the others to knock senseless. A second man came out of the dark and took one of the Turner's men down. The first man rushed Franklin. Franklin crouched to fight back, but a moment later his eyes grew wide and his stance loosened.

"What the hell?" Franklin wondered, giving the mystery man time to punch him. Franklin dropped to the ground.

Edsel and his friends saw Franklin go down and jumped. Edsel stared at the mystery men with the same shock of recognition as his brother, then turned and bolted from the scene. The other two followed, leaving Franklin sprawled unconscious in the street.

Michael didn't give himself time to wonder. He pivoted to run into the house.

"Stay here!" one of the mystery men, bearded with beady black eyes, shouted, pushing him away and then charging into the house through the front door.

Michael stumbled, panting, eyes wide with adrenaline and confusion behind his glasses. A blink and a swallow later and he recovered himself enough to lunge forward whether the stranger wanted him to or not. Charlie was in trouble. Phin's house was on fire.

He made it halfway to the door before Charlie and Phin burst out onto the porch and staggered down the front steps into the street. Charlie's eyes flashed up to meet his.

"Michael!" she called. Phin let her go and she bolted towards him and into his arms.

Every shackle of worry shattered as she knocked the wind out of him and he embraced her in return. She was hot and smelled of smoke, but he caught her scent beneath it. Her body, even tense and terrified, felt right against his. He lay his head against the side of hers and shuddered in relief.

"Thank God, Charlie."

"We've got to move back!" Phin broke his shining moment of liberation, planting a hand on both his and Charlie's backs and pushing them further away from the house. "Where's Helen?"

Michael didn't care. He clung to Charlie as he pulled her well out of harm's way, until the cool night wind enveloped them.

Charlie stood straighter, looking around for Helen, hands fisted in his coat. "She was in the dining room with you, wasn't she?"

"She ran back towards the kitchen when the second brick came through the window," Phin shook his head, bending over to cough.

"She's still in there! We should go back."

She tried to break free but Michael held her too tightly. She didn't fight him. There was no need to. The flames that had sprung up so quickly had all but disappeared. Smoke wafted through the destroyed windows, but the light of any sort of fire was gone. The fire was out.

"What happened?" Charlie's voice was small, lost. She coughed and he clutched her tighter, supporting her weight for a moment.

A heartbeat later Helen was rushed out of the house, one of the shadowy men on either of her sides. They supported her as she coughed her way down the stairs and out to the fresh air of the street. She nodded to them once she had her feet. Then, as inexplicably as they'd appeared, the two men jogged off into the shadows and disappeared.

"Go after them!" Michael called out.

The streets were only just beginning to fill with curiosity seekers. No one had seen more than the silhouettes of the men. They were more interested in rousing the inert form of Franklin Turner than catching two strangers. The blatant inaction of the people of Cold Springs fanned Michael's anxiety into fury.

"Don't just stand there like cows, somebody go after them!"

"No!" Phin shook his head, stopping Michael from going after them himself. "Let them go."

Michael gaped at his friend. "They saved your house. Don't you want to know who they are?"

"I know who they are," Phin's face was grim. "They're the same men who attacked me in the alley."

Michael froze. Charlie gripped his coat harder. "One of them was the man who has been following me!" She whipped to Phin. "I told you!"

Helen stumbled over before Michael or Phin could answer Charlie. She was too stunned to feign any sort of airs or graces.

"Are you alright?" Phin asked her.

She nodded, smoothing a hand back along her sooty hair. "I'm fine."

A taut silence followed. There was no way to break through the surreal moment. Michael wasn't about to ask Charlie and Phin questions with Helen standing there.

The citizens of Cold Springs approached them and the house, asking if they were alright, if they needed anything, bringing them water. Apart from a bit of singed clothing they were all fine. The house was only slightly damaged. When they reentered it they found large swathes of soot and scorch marks on the floors, ceilings, and furniture of both the dining room and living room, but nothing had been burned through. It didn't make Michael feel any better.

"You'll have to throw all this furniture out." Michael assessed the parlor with a distracted frown. Phin gathered scorched cushions from the sofa while Charlie checked the mangled and burned curtains. "Maybe replace a few boards. But the structure hasn't been damaged." He lowered his eyes from studying the ceiling to Phin. "You were lucky."

Phin's face was drawn and pale as he tossed a destroyed cushion on a side table. "I don't think it was luck."

"I don't either," Michael agreed.

If it were anyone else he would have demanded that the police patrol near the house, but Franklin Turner was one of the attackers. The same Franklin Turner who had been talking to his father that afternoon and possibly right before the fire.

"Do you think we should all stay somewhere else, the hotel maybe, until we figure out what exactly happened here?" Phin wiped his face with a shirtsleeve.

"No, we don't need to stay at the hotel!" Helen's answered from the front hall. Charlie glanced up from the curtains.

"There's not enough room at our apartment." Charlie walked to Michael's side and swayed inches from him. He could feel her hand itching for him to take it but he resisted.

"So it's settled then," Helen rushed on, almost cheery. "We'll stay here. We'll just try to keep to the rooms at the back of the house until everything is repaired. That works out well." She even smiled at the end of her pronouncement.

"I'll stay too," Michael decided.

"Really, there's no need," Phin protested. His protest faltered when he glanced past Michael to Charlie's shining eyes. "Alright, if you insist." Phin gave in too quickly. "There are plenty of rooms at the back of the house."

"Fine." Michael nodded. "I'll just go home and grab a few things and come back to settle in. Charlie, come with me. We need to talk."

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Charlotte's heart pounded as she followed Michael out into the night, down Main Street and into the side road that ran behind the store. She'd waited for what seemed like forever for Michael to tell her his secrets, but now that the moment had come she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.

"Franklin Turner should be dismissed as Sheriff." She grasped for anything else to talk about as they strode around the general store.

"He probably will be," Michael nodded, "if I have anything to say about it."

"Does Christian have the authority to fire him?"

"I don't know."

He climbed the store's back stairs and unlocked the door. Moonlight glinted off of his glasses, hiding his eyes and sending a chill down Charlotte's spine. If he chose to be William Westmoreland she didn't know what she would do. She rushed into the storeroom and turned on the electric light so she could see Michael's eyes again.

He crossed in front of her and headed up the stairs to the apartment.

"I went to the hotel to confront my father," he told her without meeting her eyes.

When he turned the corner at the top of the stairs she could see his face flushed red with emotion.

Despair shuddered through her. "You've decided to go back to Philadelphia, haven't you." Her chest squeezed tight at the thought.

"He didn't come here for me." It wasn't an answer.

Charlotte clenched her fists in frustration and followed him into the bedroom. The bed was neatly made and not a thing was out of place. The clock still ticked away on the bureau next to her father's box as if nothing were wrong.

Michael opened the wardrobe and took out her old carpetbag, setting it on the bureau.

"Well? Is that it?" Charlotte planted her fists on her hips and watched him pack.

He glanced sideways at her. "He didn't come here for you either."

Worry poked holes in her frustration. Still, as disquieting as Randolph was, it was Michael that she cared about. He hadn't told her anything yet.

The silence stretched on as he packed. He left the room to gather his shaving things from the bathroom, not looking at her when he reentered the bedroom. The wall between them was as solid as the apartment walls. It wouldn't do.

"There's a very strong chance we're still married," she told him.

He turned and stared at her, brows raised. "How did you come up with that?" She caught the barest hint of hope in his tone.

"Helen."

"That woman?" His brows rose further but his tone turned sarcastic. "I'm sure she'd say anything for a small fee."

He marched past her to throw open the wardrobe and fetch a clean jacket. The sight of several of her dresses still hanging beside his suits gave him pause.

"What name did you use on the deed to the store?" Charlotte repeated what Helen had asked her. "On your business license?"

He froze. His back and arms clenched tight mid-reach into the wardrobe. He ignored his search for a jacket and turned to face her, his jaw slack, eyes alight with thought. It was all the answer she needed. He'd signed his business papers as Michael West. William Westmoreland was long gone.

"Whatever Randolph came here for," she said, "he's not going to find it. We don't need him when we have the store." If she could just convince Michael to put the past behind him, Randolph, Emily, and William, then maybe they could start anew.

With a sigh the light of hope left Michael's eyes. "I can't do this." He dropped his arms and turned to lean against the side of the wardrobe, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. "I can't do this again."

"Do what?" Charlotte's heart raced as she watched him struggle. She shifted to lean against the bureau, crossing her arms and staring at him.

He glanced up at her without his glasses, eyes weary and bloodshot. "I can't lose my heart to someone who doesn't want me."

His words dug like a knife into her soul. He had believed she was a thief and now he didn't believe she wanted him?

Charlotte blinked. She wanted Michael. Knowing who he was, who his father was, knowing the sins he'd committed in his past, she wanted him. So much.

She also wanted to smack him.

"You never had any problem with it before. At least you never had a problem giving every other part of yourself to me. I'm not some rich ninny you can seduce, you know." The last bit slipped out before she could stop it. She bit her lip and dropped her eyes to the drawer she'd emptied earlier.

"I know you're not." His voice had shifted to the soft, tender tones he used when trying to soothe her. "I never saw you that way, never will." She glanced sideways at him, arching a brow. His eyes dropped under her scrutiny. "I'm just not husband material."

"That's a lie if ever I heard one." She hugged her arms tighter.

"I'm not. If you only knew...." He trailed off.

She did know. She knew all too well.

When the silence grew too long she looked up at him again. "This is about Randolph, isn't it." He wasn't looking at her so she went on. "I've seen the way he talks to you. He's convinced you you're no good to anyone, hasn't he."

"It doesn't have anything to do with my father." Michael straightened, staring right at her. She felt the sickening thrill of victory for half a second before he went on to say, "It's about Emily."

It was about damn time. "Tell me about her."

Michael sighed, sagging against the wardrobe. He ran a hand through his hair, mouth sealed in a tight line. Charlotte was convinced he would close up again until he forced his back straight and dragged his eyes up to meet hers.

"Emily was a very rich, very well-connected socialite in Philadelphia."

He paused.

Charlotte's heart hammered in her throat. "Go on."

He hesitated, watching her eyes. It was all she could do not to respond to the fear she saw there.

"My father is a terrible businessman. He doesn't know the first thing about journalism or integrity. He fancies himself a man about town, but half of Philadelphia can't stand him."

Charlotte wanted to tell him that she knew that firsthand. Instead she nodded.

"It irritated him that I excelled in school and that I made friends easily. At least I did back then. He...he got rid of Phin as a punishment."

"Phin told me how your father drove him off," she said, encouraging him to continue.

"Father never thought much of me. I was small and awkward when he wanted me to be muscular and bold like he was. He never understood why women, especially older women, were so attracted to me. But he found a way to use it to his advantage."

His gaze dropped from hers and his shoulders hunched. Charlotte swallowed to keep the twist of compassion in her heart from showing in her eyes.

"When I first graduated I took a job working for a congressman, John Reid. Father was jealous of the position. I also developed an infatuation with the congressman's wife. I would have left it at that, but around that time my father had a major financial set-back. He encouraged me to...."

He paused, glance flickering up to Charlotte's then dropping again.

"I was already smitten and it didn't take much prodding for me to seduce her. I was more shocked that she was so willing to be seduced."

A prick of guilt hit Charlotte. The same could be said about her. She'd been so eager to give herself to a man she hardly knew on their wedding night.

"Reid's wife knew everything about the inner workings of her husband's circle. My father threatened to expose the affair if I didn't press her to gossip about the backroom deals. She was all too willing to talk politics in bed."

"And you passed that information along to Randolph to publish."

He met her eyes again. "The newspaper's circulation doubled, tripled. I felt terrible and broke things off, quit my job even. But it was the easiest money my father or I had ever made."

Charlotte worked to remain expressionless. He'd confirmed one of the articles she'd read. She knew where the story would go next.

"I was inexperienced, I'd lost my best friend, and I didn't have a job. My father painted a rosy picture, or at least the picture I wanted to see at the time. So I set my sights on the next lonely, influential woman and...."

He shrugged. If it had been Randolph telling the story he would have gloated. Michael looked as though he might weep in shame.

"Did you make a lot of money stealing secrets from the women you seduced?"

He winced at her simple question. "Yes."

"What happened to all of it?"

"I don't know. It wasn't about the money for me. I...I liked the attention." He lowered his head, rubbing his eyes.

Charlotte's hands and feet were numb. Everything Michael was telling her was reprehensible, and yet all she wanted to do was take him in her arms and soothe away the pain.

"What about Emily?"

He swallowed and glanced up at her. "Emily was different. She was young, fragile. Her husband was a brute, exactly like my father. I went in thinking she would be easy." He stopped.

"It wasn't easy?" she prodded him.

He shook his head. "It was more than a business deal. Emily was more than just flattered or infatuated by my attention. She fell in love with me."

"And you fell in love with her," Charlotte finished for him.

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his forehead. "She sent me letter after letter, telling me how horrible her life was, begging me to take her away. I made up my mind that I was going to. I bought a ring so that we could pose as a married couple."

"My ring," Charlotte swallowed, glancing to her hand.

Michael nodded. "I made plans. I...I stole a valuable diamond necklace from her bedroom, planning to sell the diamonds so we could escape."

Another article confirmed. Difficult as it was to hear his confession, he was being absolutely honest with her. At last.

"I wrote to Emily, telling her I would come for her," Michael went on. "But before I could send the letter she found out what I was. Father found out what I was planning. He caught me breaking down the necklace. I was foolish enough to tell him the truth about what it was and why I had taken it. He confiscated the diamonds and made sure one of the larger diamonds ended up in Emily's husband's hands. Carter confronted Emily and exposed me for what I was. It broke her heart."

He stopped, wiping his eyes as he relived what Charlotte knew happened next.

"She killed herself," he admitted, his voice strangled. "She couldn't live with the knowledge of who I was, what I'd done. She jumped off a bridge into an icy river. She...." He couldn't go on.

Charlotte swallowed back the tears that stung her eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," she stated, her voice no more than a whisper.

He pushed away from the wardrobe, approaching her with incredulous misery.

"Of course it was my fault! She trusted me." He reached her and clamped bruising hands over her arms. "Don't you see that? She trusted me, loved me, and I destroyed her. I'm a horrible person, just like my father has always said."

A cool calm to match his pain settled over her and she shook her head. "You didn't push her off that bridge. She made that choice on her own."

"I might as well have." He took a step back, breathed in a shuddering breath. "Now you know. And that's why I can't do this anymore."

"You can't be married to me because you told me the truth?"

He spread his arms and shrugged, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"You know what a monster I am now. I bedded dozens of women and helped my father turn their lives upside down because it felt good. I stole a priceless necklace from a married woman that I loved and caused her to kill herself when she found out about it. I married you without telling you any of this because I wanted you in my bed. I wanted to feel the illusion of love again. Only idiot that I am, it wasn't an illusion. I love you, Charlie, and it will tear me apart when you leave me."

Her heart caught in her throat. He loved her. And yet he thought she was so fickle that she would leave him because he wasn't an angel?

Well neither was she.

She tapped the front of his secret drawer before pushing away from the bureau and marching for the door.

"Don't take too long gathering your things," she directed him.

If he thought she was fickle enough to leave him then that was his problem, not hers. She'd done everything she could to show him that all she wanted was him. All that remained was for him to notice.

Michael stood rigid in his place, listening to the sound of Charlie walking away. When the back door closed he shut his eyes. She was gone.

He slumped to the bed, burying his head in his hands. It wasn't worth it. Love was not worth the pain that came with it. He should never have broken out of the self-imposed prison he'd created when Emily died. He should never have entertained the idea of marrying Charlie, let alone gone through with it so mercilessly. Now she would never forgive him, never speak to him again.

He forced himself to breathe, felt the clean air in his lungs. For a long time he did nothing but sit there. He would have to leave. Charlie could have the life she wanted without him. She could have the store. She could have Phin. He would slink off and start again somewhere else, far away. Maybe Eric needed a business liaison in London. Anything to get away from the pain of loving Charlie and the legacy his father tainted him with. It would be torture to go, but torture was what he deserved.

He wiped his eyes and put his glasses back on. The room snapped into focus. He stood and walked to the bureau to finish packing his things. Charlie's father's box sat on top of it, a reminder of her, of the man he had failed to be. He touched its cool surface.

His glance dropped to the drawer containing the mementos of everything he had fought to forget. Everything he'd stored up, clung to, and hidden laughed at him from that drawer, reminding him of who he was, who he couldn't escape.

Hatred for everything he was swelled within him. He yanked open the drawer.

It was empty.

He gaped at it, thrust his hand inside and felt around as though the letters and articles and photos had somehow stuck to the back. They were gone. Everything was gone. He left the drawer open and leaned hard against the bureau.

The truth struck him like a blast of cold water.

"You knew," he whispered. No one else but Charlie would have touched the drawer. "Every miserable horror I just told you...you already knew."

He dropped his head. What a fool he'd been! Bitter laughter welled up from his gut until it burst out of him. His laughter quickly turned to dark sobs. She knew everything, his most shameful secrets. She could have known everything from the beginning but she'd said nothing. She'd stayed with him. She'd been so much more forgiving of his faults than he'd been of hers. He'd been wrong about his wife at every turn.

He couldn't lose her. He owed her too much, more than just the life she had come so far to find. He owed her the love he had been running from. He wouldn't stand by and let his father ruin the one good thing that had stumbled into his life and made up for all of the terrible things he'd done. He would take a stand and do something to untangle the knots he'd tied.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

The store ran like clockwork. It always did. Michael saw it with new eyes in the light of morning. Mrs. Deen was there to mind the till. Oliver swept the sales floor, pausing now and then to let one of the many loyal shoppers walk around him and the dust pile he'd created. Charlie checked off items on the inventory list, ignoring the curious stares of the patrons. How Michael had missed the simple beauty of what he had for so long was beyond him.

"I heard there was a fire at Phineas Bell's place last night," a miner mentioned to his friend, loud and within both Charlie and Michael's earshot.

Michael frowned as he stocked shelves and straightened merchandise that Charlie hadn't yet reached with the inventory lists. His newfound appreciation for what he had did not extend to town gossip.

"Yeah, I heard Franklin and Edsel Turner were involved," the second miner added in a voice that carried through the entire store.

Everyone perked up, waiting to hear if he or Charlie would confirm or deny the rumors.

"No one's seen either of the Turners today," the first miner continued after a pause. Michael noticed a middle-aged woman nodding at the miner in encouragement. "If they were involved I say they'll be long gone by now."

"Yeah," the second one kept up with the staged conversation. "Fact is, I hear Edsel got himself mixed up with some unsavory sorts recently."

"I heard the same thing. Me and my cousin saw him way out near the Harbison farm with two drifters last week."

Michael's heart stopped. He glanced at the miners out of the corner of his eye, now fighting to pretend he wasn't listening to their gossip.

"Strange coincidence, don't you think, that Edsel was out by Matthew Harbison's place which got burned down and then was seen by Mr. Bell's place when it caught on fire."

Charlie let out a vocal huff, betraying that she was listening to the men too. Michael shot her a glance. She met his eyes. His heart ballooned in his chest.

"Yeah, I never figured Edsel Turner for an arsonist," the gossip went on.

It wasn't Edsel that Michael was interested in. The drifters that the miners talked about had to be the same men who put out the fire, who attacked Phin. Had they been the ones to burn Matthew Harbison's house as well? It made no sense.

One thing that suddenly did make sense was the look of surprise on the Turners' faces when the two mysterious men had started throwing punches. The Turners and the drifters were connected. Helen and his father were connected. There was only one missing piece.

He wasn't going to find it stocking shelves.

Michael took his half-empty crate of cans back to the storeroom. The store would be there when he got back. The truth might not be. He took off his apron and hung it on a hook just inside the storeroom door before grabbing his coat and heading out.

"I've got an errand to run," he told Charlie as he left.

Her eyes said she knew something was wrong. "Do you want me to come with you?"

The temptation to drop everything and ask her how long she'd known about his past made him pause. Much as it pained him, he would have to deal with that later, when time wasn't slipping away.

"No." He gave her a simple answer and headed out into the brisk September afternoon.

There were two people who might have answers to his questions. He loathed the idea of approaching either of them. He sucked in a breath, glancing between the hotel and the bank. He chose the bank. At least there was half a chance that he could intimidate Helen into revealing something important.

But Helen wasn't at the bank. "She didn't come in this morning," Josiah told him with a sniff. "Left me with a mountain of work too."

"Do you have any idea where she might be?"

"Nope." The old codger wasn't going to give him a better answer. Michael turned to go. "Mr. Bell will be back in five minutes if you're interested."

Michael didn't answer him. He had a bad feeling about Helen's absence.

Phin's house was close to the bank so he checked there next. The house was empty. He even checked the rooms where the women were staying. Charlie had left an uncharacteristic mess in her space. The drawers of the bureau were open and her things were in disarray. With a frown he tidied up, folding her clothes and arranging them nearly in the drawers.

Half a box of bullets sat on top of the bureau. He wondered if they'd come out of his secret drawer. If they had he wondered what she'd done with his pistol. She was probably planning to use it on him. He indulged in a half smile before leaving to continue his mission.

Once in the street he was back to square one. He let out a breath of exasperation and turned his steps towards the hotel and his father. He should have known better than to think that he could do things the easy way.

Randolph was stretched out on a sofa in the hotel's parlor, reading a newspaper and smoking a cigar. Michael swallowed and approached him with confidence he didn't feel.

"I'm here to negotiate." Launching into his plan of attack without preamble was the best way to get the answers he wanted.

Randolph closed the paper, folded it into quarters, and set it on the table beside him. He sent Michael a disdainful glance then took the cigar from his mouth, tapped it in the ashtray on the table, let out a breath and relaxed his stance. "Good morning, William." Power struggle at its finest.

"It's Michael to you."

"I don't give a rat's ass."

"No, I don't expect you do." Rather than hurt him, his father's indifference gave Michael hope. "We have a proposition for you."

"Alright," Randolph shrugged, bored. "Let's hear it."

He hadn't cleared his plan with Charlie. That was the biggest risk of all. "Charlie is willing to give you the jewelry back. It belonged to her mother and you were her husband." The smug smirk that split Randolph's face turned his stomach. "But that's it. She's not going back with you."

Randolph rumbled into a slow laugh, shaking his head. "I'll tell you what. If that little sneak wants to get rid of me so badly then let her give me something that really hurts. I want that black box that belonged to her father."

A flash of adrenaline shot through Michael. "Why? It's worthless."

"Not to her it isn't," Randolph sneered.

Michael balled a fist but his heart raced with energy. "You would take the only memento my wife has of her father just to spite her?"

Randolph stared at him then answered, "Yes."

In a flash Michael understood why Charlie would risk everything, why she would uproot her entire life and steal just to get away from Randolph.

"You had Charlie steal secrets too, didn't you?" It was clear as day now.

"Of course I did," Randolph shrugged. "She was a damned sight better at it than you ever were. She could charm the snot out of a schoolboy, that one. Set her loose at a party and she'd make friends with the queen herself and wheedle out all her secrets."

"What did you put her through?" Michael's whole body shook with a thousand horrible possibilities. "Did you hurt her?"

"No," Randolph scoffed. "Not everyone is motivated by their 'instincts' like you are."

"What was it then? What did you hold over her head? Was it her mother?"

"Ann? Ann was long dead before Charlotte did a lick of work for me." He shifted in his seat and reached for the newspaper again as if the conversation was boring. "I paid for that ungrateful wretch to go to college."

"College?"

"Years' worth of insider information for the price of tuition at Bryn Mawr College. It was the sweetest business deal I ever made."

It made perfect sense. Of course Charlie would do anything for a chance to go to college. His heart warmed in his chest just thinking about it. Even at her most devious she was beautifully innocent.

Unlike some other women he knew.

"What about Helen?" he tried his luck. "Obviously you two know each other. Was she one of your moles too?"

"Son, I have no idea what you're talking about." His words were casual but Randolph couldn't hide the splash of color that rushed to his face.

"Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the company you keep, the deals you make behind the scenes. She's a part of all of this, isn't she?"

Randolph opened the newspaper. "I never met her before last night."

Last night. Another piece clicked into place in Michael's mind with a rush of adrenaline. "You sent someone after Charlie, didn't you. Someone who tried to rob her in St. Louis and followed her all the way here?"

"Now seriously, son. Does that sound like something I'd do? When have I ever had someone followed?"

As much as Michael hated to admit it, his father was right. He didn't have people followed. He destroyed them with the written word. But if Randolph wasn't responsible for the man following Charlie, the men who had attacked Phin and saved them from the fire, then who was?

There was only one answer. He turned and darted towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Randolph shouted after him.

Surprise caused Michael to stop and turn back to his father. "I thought you didn't give a rat's ass."

Randolph tossed the paper aside and stood. He crossed the room to Michael in a few easy strides. "You want me to leave? You want me out of your life for good?"

"Yes," Michael answered without hesitation.

"Fine. I told you my price. Something that hurts. You steal that box from your wife, yes steal it, without her knowing, and bring it to me in back of the hotel at half past midnight tonight."

"Why so late?" Michael narrowed his eyes. "Why steal it? If I ask Charlie about it I'm sure she'll agree it's a fair price."

Randolph grinned. "I said I want it to hurt. I want it to hurt you too. You and your pristine reputation and your seedy past."

It fit all too well. His father wanted to remind him of who he was, who he'd been. "I'll do it," he said.

He didn't wait around to see his father's reaction. He charged out the door and into the chilly morning. He wasn't done yet though. If Randolph hadn't sent someone to follow Charlie then it had to be Helen. But why? He headed back to Phin's house.

The house was still empty. Wherever she was, Helen hadn't come home. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He rushed up the stairs, turning the corner and barging into the woman's room.

Nothing had changed since he'd popped his head in to search for her half an hour ago. He gave the room more than just a cursory glance this time.

For all her bravado, Helen traveled light. There were no knick-knacks or personal items in the room. He pulled open the drawers of the bureau, searching for any sort of clue about who Helen was. He came up with nothing. No papers, no incriminating objects, nothing. Only clothes, a few cheap pieces of jewelry, and cosmetics. No cash either. He shut the drawers and wandered back into the hall, energy deflating.

He'd never known a woman to travel with no personal mementos at all. The thought troubled him as he left Phin's house and walked back to the store. Finding nothing made him more suspicious than if he'd found a notarized business contract with hers and his father's names on it.

He paused and glanced up and down Main Street as he reached the porch in front of his store. Where had the woman gone?

The store was as crowded as ever when he went back to work. Nancy had a line of people waiting to make their purchases. Oliver was up on a ladder fetching cans for an elderly woman. Charlie was nowhere in sight.

"Where's Charlie?" he asked Nancy, striding towards the door leading to the storeroom.

"She headed back there about twenty minutes ago," Mrs. Deen spoke over her shoulder as he stepped into the storeroom and looked around.

"Charlie?" he called. There was no answer. He walked up and down the rows of storage shelves. She wasn't there. He climbed the steps to his apartment. "Charlie?" He searched every room but she was nowhere.

"I've been thinking about this all day," Helen nattered on, tugging at Charlotte's sleeve as they walked down a side street towards one of the town's stables. "I know how concerned your Michael was about those two men that helped us last night and I think I know how we can find them."

"I don't know that Michael wants them found," Charlotte told her. Her back prickled with anxiety and she darted glances all around. "Phin says they're the men who attacked him."

"That's what strikes me as so odd about the situation." Helen's eyes were alight with determination. "We need to find them, for Phinny's sake."

"I appreciate your concern, but I really don't have time for this. I have work to do back at the store." She glanced over her shoulder but when they turned down the side street the store's back door was hidden by a row of houses.

"You have time for this, trust me," Helen insisted.

Charlotte huffed a laugh. Trusting Helen was the last thing she would do.

They reached the stables and Helen waved down the stable master. "Excuse me! Excuse me, we're looking for two men, strangers. Have you seen any strangers?"

The wizened old stable master meandered across his corral towards them, tipping his hat. "Ma'am, we get strangers through here most every week."

"Tell him what they look like." Helen nudged Charlotte forward.

Charlotte swallowed. She didn't want to remember the men, let alone describe them. "They were youngish, I guess. One had a beard. He was on the short side. I didn't get a very good look at the other one. It was dark." Her last comments were directed at Helen. Something was off about her over-excited expression.

"Well, I ain't seen—"

"Never mind, we'll check at the next livery." Helen dragged Charlotte away before the stable master could give a full answer.

"This is madness." Charlotte tried to jerk away as Helen grabbed her hand and pulled her further from the center of town. "Michael really does need me at the store. He had an errand to run. I shouldn't have gone out without him."

"This won't take but a bit," Helen insisted, "and your Michael will be glad you took the time." Charlotte doubted it. "Those men disappeared so quickly that I figure they have to have had horses. And if they had horses they must have taken them to one of the livery stables."

"Not necessarily," Charlotte protested.

"Nonsense! Horses need food and water too."

"Horses can eat grass and drink from streams." They cut into the high grass of the meadow towards the opposite end of town. "If you really want to find them then you should hire a horse and ride out to the surrounding wilderness."

"Do you think so?" Helen stopped and turned to her. "What a perfect idea. We should do it. Right now." She tugged her off in the opposite direction.

There was too much excitement in her eyes, her face was too animated. She was acting up a storm and acting poorly. It set Charlotte's teeth on edge.

"Helen, stop!" She shook her hand free. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Why, I'm trying to help Phinny!" She batted her eyelashes with cloying sweetness.

"I don't believe it for an instant. What do you really want?"

She dropped her act so fast Charlotte started. "I want to help Phineas," Helen repeated. "You can believe me or not, I don't care, but I owe that man for keeping me safe and giving me a job."

Charlotte wasn't sure if she could argue the point or not. "There has to be a better way to thank him than dragging me around town looking for strangers. Besides," she turned to head back towards the store, "it's cold and I don't have a coat or a shawl."

"We'll stop by the house and get one." Helen ran after her.

"Helen! I don't want to go on your wild goose chase!"

Helen's back went straight. Her look of offense was as genuine as her earlier excitement. The woman drove her to distraction. "Well I'm sorry if we all can't be as busy and important as you are."

The whole thing was preposterous. "You have a job at the bank. How much busier and more important do you want to be?"

"It's not the same." She lowered her eyes. The woman would give the finest actresses a run for their money. "Phinny trusts you. He left you alone in the bank with the vault open."

"That was an accident." Warning sirens sounded in Charlotte's mind. She remembered the greed in Helen's eyes at the sight of the open vault.

"I don't understand," Helen heaved a dramatic sigh. "He trusts me to fill out his deposit slips and such but he won't let me do something as simple as tidy that vault. It's no more than a closet really." Her eyes flashed up to meet Charlotte's. "How did you do it?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did you get him to give you the combination to the vault like that?"

"He gave it to me because—"

She stopped dead. She hadn't told anyone Phin had given her the combination to the vault, not even Michael. She doubted Phin would tell Helen his birthday let alone the vault combination. The dreadful woman had made a wild guess and she had taken the bait. Helen wanted to rob the bank.

"The door was open when I got there," Charlotte tried to cover.

"That's not like Phineas at all." A cat-like smile spread across Helen's face.

Charlotte opened her mouth to tell the woman off but she stopped herself. There had to be more to it than simple robbery. If Helen was after money alone she would have come up with a way to take it and run long ago. No, she was after something else.

"I have to get back to work." She walked away, quickening her steps as her mind and pulse raced.

"Charlotte, wait!" Helen grabbed her arm to stop her and spin her around. "Alright, the game's up." Tingles of relief and danger scattered over Charlotte's skin. "You want the truth? I'll give you the truth." She paused, breathing heavily.

"Go on," Charlotte prompted her.

Helen wet her lips, glanced around, then took a breath. "It's me that Randolph is after."

"What?" Charlotte balked. "But he said he came because Michael, I mean Lewis, called his lawyers after seeing that article."

Helen's eyes flashed and she swayed. "That was just a coincidence. He's been having me followed. I know a secret, something that he would kill to keep secret."

"What do you know?" Charlotte was a tangle of fear and frustration.

"I can't tell you. It will only put you in danger." Charlotte arched an eyebrow, but before she could call Helen's bluff the woman went on. "I can tell you one thing for certain. If I leave then he will follow me and leave you alone."

Charlotte's jaw dropped. "But why?"

"Because, you daft woman, it's me he's after!"

"Then leave!"

"I will! I promise I will." Helen grabbed Charlotte's arms. "But you have to help me."

"Fine. How?"

"That onyx box that belongs to your father? Bring it to me."

"What? No!" Charlotte pulled back. "It's the only thing I have left of my father!"

"You have to bring it to me."

"Why?"

"Because if you give it to me and I leave town with it Randolph will follow me."

Charlotte gaped at Helen. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"But it's true."

"That box isn't valuable to anyone but me."

Helen's eyes were wild with energy now. "Exactly. That's why he'll chase me if I have it." Charlotte opened her mouth to protest but Helen cut her off. "Do you want to get rid of Randolph or not?"

"Of course I—"

"Do you want to be left in peace to patch things up with your Michael and live a happy life with him?"

"Yes, I do!" Charlotte sighed. It was the only thing she wanted.

"Then bring me that box."

Charlotte hesitated. It was nonsense but the temptation to make one small sacrifice for the possibility of sorting out the mess she and Michael had made was irresistible. "Do you want me to get it now?"

"No!" Helen balked as though Charlotte had made a rude suggestion. "Not in daylight. Bring it to me tonight, at midnight, in the alley beside Phin's house."

"This is too—"

" _Do you want to get rid of Randolph or not?_ "

Charlotte swallowed. She clenched her fists. "Yes," she sighed at length. "Yes I do."

"Then bring me that box tonight at midnight."

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"Where have you been?" Michael dropped the account book he'd been working in and darted around the counter when Charlie stomped through the store's front door. "You've been gone for more than an hour. I looked everywhere for you."

He remembered too late to control himself in front of Nancy and Oliver and the patrons of the store. They watched in expectation.

Charlie's brow shot up at his scolding. He cleared his throat and schooled his expression into mild concern instead of near panic.

"I had something I needed to take care of," she told him.

Michael could see ideas swirling in her bright eyes. Dread and desire hit him simultaneously, but not suspicion. Whatever she was up to, it wouldn't end with his heart in shreds.

"Did you finish the inventory while I was out?" She crossed in front of him, heading for the counter. An elderly woman inched closer and leaned her ear towards them.

"No." He followed her to the counter where she fetched the half-finished inventory list. "Where were you?" He lowered his voice, checking to make sure he was out of the old woman's earshot. "I'm worried about you going out alone. My father—"

"I had to talk to...to Phin about something." She glanced up at him with a smile on her lips and worry in her eyes.

"My father told me that you worked for him."

Charlie's worry hardened into a scowl. She glanced around then leaned closer to him. "Did he?"

Michael fought to maintain his authority in front of the folks crowding his store. "He said you worked for him so that he would pay for your college." No one listening would suspect any more than that Charlie had earned her education.

"That's right." She nodded, addressing the store as much as him. "And that's the only reason I...took the job."

His resolve cracked. With a last glance at the eavesdropping shoppers he took Charlie's arm and marched her into the storeroom. In the close space between the shelves he whispered, "You knew."

Her cheeks splashed pink. "I'm sorry?"

"Everything about my past that I told you last night," he continued, heart aching for her. "You already knew."

An enigmatic grin curved her delicious lips. "Maybe I did."

Hope pulsed through him. "How long have you known?"

Charlie didn't answer. She just kept on smiling like a sphinx, like him.

"How could you know something like that and stay with me? After all I put you through, with all the mess you're still in because of me, how can you stay with me?"

She turned to face him, planting a hand on her hip while holding the inventory clipboard in the other. "Michael West," she stared right into his eyes, unable to hide a grin, "I thought we agreed there would be no questions when we were married."

He wanted to kiss her. More than kiss her. He wanted to hold her close, never let go. He wanted her so badly that his knees threatened to give out.

He swallowed as the reality of the situation gripped him. "Charlie, you have to stay inside. Steer clear of my father and Helen until we figure this out."

"What are you talking about?" Her grin faded and she slid past him to go back to work.

"My father wants—"

He stopped short, swallowing the confession that Randolph had asked for her father's box as the price for his leaving them in peace.

"What does he want now?" she narrowed her eyes.

"You're underestimating him," he said instead. It was foolish to keep a secret from her now, but old habits died hard. "I think we've underestimated Helen too. You know as well as I do that she's a part of this. I want you to stay away from her."

"I don't know." Her secretive shrug was the worst reaction his words could have provoked. "I have a feeling she won't be a problem for much longer."

"What are you planning?"

"Me? Planning?"

"Excuse me, Mr. West." Mrs. Deen stuck her head into the storeroom.

It took all of Michael's willpower to turn away from his wife. "Yes?"

Nancy winced as though interrupting was the last thing she wanted to do. "Do you have any corn oil back there? Mrs. Greene would like some."

"Yes we do," Charlie answered. "I'll get it for you."

Before he could stop her Charlie sent him an enigmatic grin and strode down the shelves to fetch a jug of corn oil.

It would take more than words to get his wily wife to see reason and stay safe in his arms. Michael sighed and leaned against the shelf as Charlie pushed past him with the jug. He watched her slip back through the doorway onto the sales floor, a helpless longing in his heart.

He glanced at the stairs leading to their apartment. If she could forgive him for everything William Westmoreland had been then there was a chance she could forgive him for ransoming her father's box. But only if he gave her something more valuable in return.

He blew out a breath, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. A box on the bottom shelf across from him caught his eye. It contained a few things he'd ordered for the store. An edge of crisp muslin poked out of the top of the box. The corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. Nothing could be more perfect. He bent to retrieve the gift and looked around for something to wrap it in.

The store was twice as busy as usual throughout the day, although there were more gawkers than shoppers. By the time they locked the front door as the sun set Michael was aching to present Charlie with his gift.

"Charlie," he began with as much nonchalance as he could, turning out the lights on the sales floor and starting towards the storeroom, "I have something for you."

"Oh?" She glanced at the clock behind the counter before crossing into the storeroom.

He jumped ahead of her and plucked his gift off of the shelf. He caught up to her at the stairs leading to their apartment. "I was wrong to jump to the conclusion that you were a thief."

She froze and spun to face him. Whatever her intended reply, it faltered on her lips when she saw the gift in his hand.

"I was wrong to assume that you thought of me as nothing more than a means to the life you wanted."

"You thought that?" Her voice cracked and her eyes grew glassy. "How could you—"

"I was wrong to keep my past a secret from you and wrong to let you do the same with me."

She closed her mouth and swallowed. "We could have saved each other a lot of trouble."

He broke into a grin, his shoulders dropping. "Truer words have never been spoken." He held his gift out to her. "Open it."

Charlie blinked and took the plain-wrapped gift from him. She hooked her finger in the corner of the paper and ripped it. Her eyes widened as she yanked the paper off and unfolded the fresh, new apron.

"I don't want to go back to Philadelphia either," he told her.

She glanced up at him, eyes brimming with tears. "You got me an apron."

"There's nothing for me in Philadelphia," he went on, his throat tight with emotion. "Everything I want is right here. You're everything I've always wanted."

She brushed her fingertips over his gift. "My own apron." She blinked up at him.

Before he could reply she dropped the apron and stepped into him. She pressed her body against his and kissed him with abandon. Her fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his head. He had his arms around her and was kissing her back before he could stop himself. It was pure, delicious madness. His body responded eagerly to what it had been missing. That he could deal with. It was the astounding lightness in his heart that terrified him.

"Charlie, stop."

"No," she muttered, covering his mouth with hers and slipping her tongue in to play with his before he could say another word. One of her hands moved to work the buttons of his pants open. He had only enough time for his eyes to blink wide before she burrowed her fingers between the opened cloth to stroke and grasp his shaft.

He let out a moan of protest and pleasure as she tried to free him. God, he wanted her so badly his legs threatened to go out from under him. With a supreme act of will he pushed her away and pivoted around the banister, backing against the stairs. "We can't do this, Charlie."

"Yes we can," she chased after him, catching his hand on the knob at the end of the banister and sliding her fingers under his cuff. The hairs on his forearm stood up as she swept them.

"What if we're not married?"

"We are." She stepped closer, her arms reaching for him again. Her eyelids were heavy and the rose red of her lips stood out against flushed cheeks. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"I can't—" His protest was cut short as he tripped backwards and sat hard on the stairs.

She wasn't deterred. She straddled him, pressing her hips against his, sliding her arms up to his shoulders and pinning him against the stairway as her mouth devoured him. He tried to move but found himself helpless with laughter. He had no leverage at the odd angle of his body against the stairs and no purchase for his feet. Her hips and thighs made it next to impossible for him to push up with his legs. She had him at her mercy. He'd never experienced anything like it before.

Charlie traced her hands from his shoulders to his hands, spreading his arms out above his head and trapping him further with her chest. She had absolute control of the situation, of him. She always had.

He couldn't stop kissing her. His mouth hungered for hers, his tongue tasting her. Every touch, every breath and sigh from her shot straight to the blood in his veins. He pulsed for her, strained as much as his ensnared body could towards her. All he wanted was to bury himself inside of her, physically and more.

She lifted her chest enough to work the buttons of his shirt loose. He didn't try to stop her or move his arms back from their helpless spread. He watched her, sweat breaking out on his face and body. As she popped each button free she bent her head to lay a hot kiss on the flesh she exposed. She pressed her lips to the frantic beating of his heart, spread his shirt wider to graze her tongue across his nipple. She sucked and licked until it was hard.

She had him. She had him completely. She wouldn't let him fall. He let go of the tension in his neck, rolling his head back to rest against the edge of the stair. The pain of the awkward position was nothing to the bliss Charlie created as she left his chest and laid bare the rest of his torso, kissing her way over his stomach and lower. Inch by inch his fear melted away. She was so much kinder than he had ever been to her.

The pleasure of surrender was dizzying, or perhaps it was the pleasure of her hand digging into the opening of his pants to caress his balls. Her lips and tongue flickered across the head of his shaft.

"Oh dear God!" He moaned at the sensation that scattered his mind entirely. The hesitant strokes of her tongue around his crown and the pressure of her hand holding him shattered his resolve. Her hot, wet, mouth enveloped him, licking, sucking. The animal urge to push further into her raised a growl in the back of his throat. He couldn't do that to her, and yet she had no qualms about trying it herself, taking him in further then backing off when it was too much only to try again.

"Stop, stop!" he panted. She didn't know what she was doing to him.

"I don't want to stop," she whispered only to kiss and suck him again.

He teetered dangerously close to the edge of coming. "I'm not going to last much longer, and I don't want to come in your mouth," he spelled it out for her. Part of him did, in fact, but not like this.

She ended her sweet torture, sat straighter, and stared at him with surprised calculation, as if she hadn't realized that was a possibility. "Well then we'll just have to think of something else." She hesitated for a flicker of a moment, then reached for the hem of her skirt, hiking it up and inching up his body to bring her hips back to him.

His eyes flew wide. "Okay, okay! I surrender!" he panted, dissolving into laughter. He'd never been so alive in his life. "My back can't handle being mounted on the stairs. I'll take you to bed."

"Oh!" She let her skirts drop around him. He could feel the moist heat of her near his throbbing cock. "I didn't think about your back. I'm sorry."

He blinked at her, incredulous and falling apart with lust. She scooted back, standing on the bottom step and holding the banister, face flushed and eyes clouded with passion. He grabbed one of the banister's rungs and winced as he pulled himself to stand, chest bare, pants sliding down around his thighs, staff swollen and standing straight up. She watched him, eyes training on exactly what she wanted, and he scrambled backwards up the stairs before she could pounce on him and take him in the hallway.

He made it as far as the bedroom door before she was on him again. He caught her as she threw herself hard against him, knocking him sideways into the wardrobe. This time he let go and returned her passion with equal intensity, his arms around her, his mouth slanting over hers.

"Take your clothes off," he pushed her back and shrugged out of his crumpled shirt.

She nodded, glancing to the clock on the wall. The light in her eyes was wicked and victorious as she stepped back to undo the buttons of her dress. He was already halfway naked himself and shed his clothes in seconds, lunging to help her get rid of hers when he was done.

They spilled onto the bed. He wanted to take his time. The scent of her skin, her urgent hums and cries of passion, the taste of her breast on his tongue, the hot, slick moisture soaking his fingers as he teased between her spread thighs, all these things were his home. He couldn't wait. He thrust into her, burying himself deep as her moan of ecstatic acceptance threatened to unman him right there.

He wouldn't let it. He needed to plumb her, ride her, meld together with her. She gripped him with her whole body, knees bent up to his ribs, one hand digging into his backside as he possessed her with all the insistence his heart demanded. She was his, always his. He loved her. The words pounded through his mind as his body pummeled hers, heart too big for his chest. She was his. And he was hers, forever.

He came with a force that took him by surprise, ripping the breath from his lungs with a feral cry. Deep, shadowy instinct flooded him with a proud sense of victory. He wasn't sure if she had come or even enjoyed his loss of control, but judging by the glazed look of bliss in her eyes and the way her body went limp under his she had. Then exhaustion slammed him and he sagged against her.

The tension of her gripping him softened into an embrace. He rolled to the side, bringing her with him, every ounce of energy wrung out of him. "Michael," she whispered, kissing his cheek and jaw, "I love you."

He let out a breath, letting himself float. Fear tried to bore into him. He refused to let it. He refused to answer its call. Charlie loved him. He took in a breath, closed his eyes, let it out. He focused on the sensual, sated feeling pulsing through his limbs, her body snuggled against his.

"I love you too."

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

With her eyes closed Charlotte nestled closer to her wonderful husband's sleeping form. Their room was dark and quiet. A singular peace spread its way through her tired muscles. After so many senseless days apart her reunion with Michael was more explosive and heartfelt than she could have imagined. At last all of their secrets were out in the open. Well, all but one.

Michael's exhaustion was so heavy that he hardly stirred as she pulled herself away from him and slipped out of bed. She didn't dare to turn on the light but there was enough moonlight filtering through the window for her to see the clock and her father's box on the bureau. It was ten minutes until midnight. Soon the nightmare would be over and she and Michael could wake to a perfect new life. But she would have to hurry.

As insurance for what she was about to do she deliberately left Michael uncovered as she rushed to dress in the darkness. He would stay asleep as long as it took him to grow cold. Then he would wake up and come after her. If she was lucky then he would find her on her way back from her mission and she could convince him the only thing wrong was that she couldn't sleep. If he was right and Helen was up to no good she would have back-up. All she needed was a head start.

She grabbed her father's box and skipped down the hall and out through the store to the street. Main Street was deserted. Good. No one would see her exchange with Helen. She could sneak back into bed and no one would-

Charlotte gasped as the cloaked figure of Helen emerged from the shadows of the alley beside the bank. "You're already here."

"Quiet!"

A sharp click followed as Helen drew a pistol from her skirts and cocked it, pointing it straight at Charlotte's heart. Charlotte gulped. She should have known. Her glance darted back to the store.

"I should thank you." Helen forced her to focus. "Who keeps a loaded gun lying out on their dresser when their bedroom door is open?"

Charlotte held her hands up, lips pressed in a silent line. She's forgotten about Michael's pistol. She winced at her mistake. Her pulse pounded at the terror of staring down a gun barrel.

"Give me the box," Helen demanded.

Charlotte thrust it out in front of her with both hands. She loved the memento of her father but she had so much more to live for. Again she checked for lights going on at the store. There were none.

Helen snatched the box and shoved it in a sack tucked into her skirt. "Alright, this is how this is going to work." Rather than letting Charlotte go, she backed her around the corner to the bank door. "I've got the keys to the bank and you've got the combination to the vault. You do as I say and you'll live."

Charlotte swallowed. "If I let you into the vault will you promise you'll leave here and never come back?"

"Come back?" Helen snorted, "To this nowhere of a town?"

It was a good enough answer. "Then I'll unlock the vault."

Helen lowered the gun long enough to retrieve Phin's key to the bank. How she had stolen it when Phin kept it so close was not something Charlotte wanted to think about. Helen's glance darted back and forth, jumping at shadows as she shoved the key in the door. The lock clicked open and she grabbed the sleeve of Charlotte's dress and dragged her inside.

The bank was eerie in the dark. Cold moonlight cast odd shadows across the space. Helen unlocked the door from the lobby to the main room and Charlotte followed her through to Phin's office. A traditional robber would have had to go through three locked doors to even get to the vault, but with the keys Helen reached it in a minute.

"Open it," she demanded, pointing the gun at Charlotte once more.

Charlotte closed her eyes and prayed she remembered the numbers Phin had given her. It was a small miracle she could remember anything with Michael's gun pointed at her. Where was Michael? He should have been awake by now.

"Can you bring me some light?" She inched towards the vault, hoping she could buy some time.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," Helen replied.

There was nothing else to do. With only the moonlight coming through the window to guide her, Charlotte squinted at the vault's lock, turning the dial that held the combination. It didn't open the first time. Or the second or third times.

"What's taking so long?" Helen flinched at the muffled sounds of the wind and a few late patrons from the saloon.

"I'll get it this time."

Sweat broke out on Charlotte's face as she tried again and again. She had serious misgivings about her plan. She should have told Michael everything. After this she would never keep a secret from him again, even if he wanted her to.

Finally the lock clicked and the vault jerked open. Charlotte sighed in relief. Helen pushed her aside and pulled the heavy door wide.

If the office was dark the vault was darker.

"Unlock your safe deposit box," Helen ordered as she lunged to the shelves of money. When Charlotte tried to protest she snapped, "I know you keep the key with you at all times. You can't fool me."

Charlotte had never regretted having the right key with her more. She snapped her mouth shut and fished it out of her pocket to do as she was told. It took a few minutes of fumbling and a lot of squinting and guessing to find the flat metal box with her number on it. She fit the key in the lock and opened the box.

As soon as the lock clicked open Helen was at her side. She snatched the velvet box and stuffed it in her sack then turned the gun on Charlotte. Charlotte dropped the safe deposit box.

"Time to say goodbye." Her fingers hovered over the trigger.

"Wait!"

Charlotte's eyes shot wide and she flung her hands up. Her blood froze in her veins. She scrambled for a way, any way, to stay alive. She'd had no idea she would say that until it came out.

"I want to come with you!"

"Are you out of your mind?" Helen lowered the gun a fraction.

"No! I want to come with you." She lunged past her and snatched a stack of bills, spinning a plan out of the frantic thoughts that jumped to her mind. "Think of it! We can take thousands of dollars and no one would be the wiser!" Her stomach twisted as she grabbed an empty money sack and shoved a handful of bills into it. "We could live like queens!" She rushed back into the office. Her life depended on lying, something she had never been good at.

"I don't need you to—"

"Think about it! I convinced Michael West to marry me within twenty-four hours of getting off the train. He was so overcome with lust that he fell for it. And you swept right in and charmed a man who likes other men. Think of what we could do!"

Helen dropped her arm and the gun to her side. A cunning smile spread across her lips. She was actually entertaining the idea. "You little minx!"

"It was so easy. We could do it a hundred times if we wanted to."

Dear Lord, this had to work.

"I knew it." Helen rested her weight on one hip, eying Charlotte with a combination of wonder and suspicion. "I knew all along it was just an act."

"Of course it was an act." She whipped around and shut the vault door with a thud. "I'm surprised you didn't pick up on my hints." Helen narrowed her eyes. If she second-guessed any of this Charlotte knew she would be dead. "We need to get out of here and fast!"

She tore past Helen into the main office, clutching the money bag to her chest. If she had a plan she was only half a step ahead of it and running out of ideas fast. Helen rushed after her, not bothering to close the doors. As they slipped out into the dark Charlotte searched frantically up and down the street. Michael should be coming. He wasn't that heavy a sleeper.

"This way." Helen gestured with the pistol, skipping off down the alley beside the bank.

They skirted the buildings in near silence. Charlotte's heart thumped into her throat. She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to see the general store, hoping to see Michael rushing out of it to save her. It had been a mistake to wear him out so thoroughly. Another mistake. One that might cost her life.

"Give that to me," Helen hissed as they stopped short at the edge of the livery stable where they had asked about the two mystery men that afternoon. A saddled horse stood tied to a post near the gate. Helen flipped open its saddlebag and gestured for Charlotte to pass her the moneybag. She did and was glad to be rid of it.

"I hope you can ride bareback," Helen tossed the words over her shoulder as she opened the gate. Without looking back or giving any further instructions she mounted her horse and kicked it to a run.

There was no time to think. Helen may not have killed her but she had left her behind. Determined not to let the woman get away with her mother's jewels or her father's box or Phin's money, she sprinted for the nearest stall. She threw it open and climbed on a bale of hay so she could grab the horse's mane and mount it. The horse reared in protest. Charlotte's life passed before her eyes as it bolted forward. All she could do was hold on and pray that the horse was smart enough to follow Helen.

Michael was shaken from a lazy dream in which he was playing in the snow with Charlie with enough force to bring down a tree. He thrashed back at the rough treatment and Phin's shouts of, "Michael! Michael!" confused that it was still dark.

He blinked awake, in his own bed, cold and naked. The memories of his glorious evening with Charlie came back to him but evaporated at the wide-eyed panic in Phin's eyes as he shook him.

"What the hell?" he slurred, pushing Phin away.

"Where's Charlie?"

Phin backed off, stepping to the bureau and yanking open the drawers to throw clothes at him.

Michael twisted and searched the bed as if she was somehow tucked away. Clearly she wasn't. His heart jumped to his throat and he shot out of bed, grabbing the pants Phin found and putting them on.

"What's going on? Where is she?"

"I was hoping she was with you."

"She was."

He squinted at the clock. It read a quarter past midnight. He had to meet his father in fifteen minutes.

"Phin, what the hell is going on?"

Phin tossed him a shirt and sucked in a breath before launching into, "She wasn't at the house when I got home from Christian's place. Neither was Helen. All of Helen's things are gone."

The blood drained from Michael's face as he threw his shirt on. "I don't like the sound of that."

"It gets worse," Phin went on. "I went to the hotel to see if either of them were there. They weren't. Neither was your father. Delilah said he checked out."

"What?" Michael fastened his belt and went to grab Charlie's father's box from the bureau. It was gone. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"The onyx box. My father wanted me to bring it to him."

"Bring it to him where? And why?"

"Behind the hotel."

Michael said nothing more before sprinting down the hall to the stairs. If Charlie was gone and the box was gone, chances were she had it. Chances were his father or possibly Helen had made a deal with Charlie for the box on the side. That only confirmed Michael's suspicions that it was the box his father was after, not Charlie, not him.

Michael and Phin tore across Main Street towards the hotel. Phin found speed he hadn't had for weeks but stumbled as they passed the bank.

"Stop!" He held out a hand to halt Michael. "Look!"

The front door was open, the bank inside dark. A chill crept down Michael's back. They dashed inside, through the office and into the open vault.

"Charlie must have been here," Phin said.

"Charlie?" Michael balked.

"I gave her the combination to the vault."

Michael's eyebrows rose. Even he didn't have the combination to the vault. He would chide Phin about that later. "Charlie isn't a thief."

"I know," Phin agreed, "but it looks like someone else is."

"Helen," Michael agreed. "They've come and gone."

Michael turned to rush out of the bank and into the night.

"Where did they go?" Phin hobbled after him.

The horrible possibilities that came to mind turned Michael's stomach. He couldn't give them voice. "Get Christian," he said instead.

Phin nodded and limped off. Michael fought to keep it together. There was no telling where Charlie had gone and no way to be sure she'd gone with Helen. But there was one way to find out.

He ran towards the hotel.

"You're late," Randolph's voice cracked through the darkness as Michael rounded the corner to the alley in back of the building. His father sat atop a horse, his bag strapped to the saddle as though he intended to sneak off in the night.

"What did you do with her?" Michael demanded.

Randolph sighed in irritation. "Whatever this is, I don't have time for it. Where's the box?"

If his father didn't have Charlie then Helen did. That was all Michael needed to know.

He cut past Randolph and headed for the livery where his horse was boarded. If Helen had robbed the bank she would have wanted to get as far away from Cold Springs as fast as possible. That meant she would be mounted. Charlie would be too, and so would he.

"Where in the hell do you think you're going, William?" Randolph caught up to him.

"I don't have the box. Charlie took it. And Helen took Charlie." It was all he was going to give his father.

The lights were on at the livery and the stable master and his helpers buzzed through the place shouting when he arrived.

Michael grabbed the first of the men he came across. "I need my horse saddled and ready, now!"

"We got other problems, Mr. West," the stable master strode over to him, holy fury etched in his brow. "We've got a horse-thief on our hands."

"I know." It fit too perfectly to be anyone but Helen and Charlie. "It's that Miss Helen woman. She's got Charlie with her."

"What?"

"She's kidnapped Charlie!" It was as likely as not to be true.

The stable master swore and rushed off to the stalls without another word. Michael searched the area for any clue as to where Helen and Charlie could have gone.

Randolph sat waiting for him atop his dancing mount at the edge of the livery.

"You might as well go," Michael told him. "You're not getting what you came for."

"Like hell I'm not!" Randolph reached into his coat and pulled out a revolver. "That woman has been a thorn in my side since she sashayed into my front parlor and I'll be damned if I'm going to let her get away with what's mine!"

Michael blinked. His back itched with the suspicion that his father was talking about Helen and not Charlie.

The stable master returned with Michael's horse. As fast as he could Michael mounted and bolted out of the livery. Randolph followed him, eyes wide with fury.

They pulled their horses to a stop when they reached Main Street. The town was close to pitch black as the moon set. There was no telling which way Helen and Charlie had gone. Phin and Christian rode around the corner of the bank.

"Phin told me," Christian said. "Which way do we go?"

"I...I don't know," Michael was forced to admit.

"Helen isn't alone," Phin spoke, his brow dark with thought. "Those men from the fire, the ones who attacked me, they must be with her."

"How do you know?" Christian snapped.

"I don't know," Phin replied, "but I've suspected it since the fire. It looked like those men were taking orders from Helen when they brought her out of the house."

"This is all just a bunch of speculative bullshit," Randolph muttered. "Where's the sheriff?"

Michael ignored his father's bluster, his heart pounding in his chest. He had a sick feeling Phin was right.

"Matthew Harbison's farm," he gasped as the idea hit him. "Those men could be the same drifters who burned his place down—"

"So that they could have somewhere to hide where no one would look for them," Phin nodded.

Michael didn't need to hear more. He kicked his horse to a run, turning south at the end of Main Street to head towards the Harbison farm. Phin, Christian, and Randolph followed.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Charlotte was sore and nearly delirious by the time Helen slowed her horse. It was still deep night but the moon had dipped below the horizon. The wilderness landscape was eerie and unfamiliar. She had no idea which way or how far they'd come.

"Slow that thing down!" Helen snapped as Charlotte's edgy mount danced ahead of her.

"I'm trying!" Charlotte panted, pulling back on her horse's mane, trying anything she could think of to stop the beast.

It finally huffed its way to a stop, giving Charlotte a chance to look around. The farm where they had stopped was weeded and overgrown. The charred remains of a house stood off to one side and a barn to the other. The front of the barn had been singed and a corner of it burned away, but a substantial part was left standing. It could only be the Harbison farm.

Two other horses were tied to the fence in the corral beside the barn. Charlotte had half a second to wonder why Mr. Harbison had left horses in his corral when two men emerged from the barn. She recognized their shadowy forms in an instant. One had a thick beard hiding his face, the other had a scruffy beard and beady eyes.

"What'd you bring her for?" the beady-eyed one drawled, crossing his arms and glowering as Helen dismounted.

Charlotte's heart dropped to twist in her gut. The man who had been following her knew Helen.

"She'll be useful." Helen scowled at beady-eyes then turned her scowl to Charlotte. She flipped open her saddlebag and yanked out one of the sacks of money.

"Useful as what?" The bearded man watched her with wide eyes.

"A hostage if she doesn't behave."

Charlotte panicked. Every move she'd made was a wrong one. She dug her hands in her horse's mane and kicked it forward. So much for her things and Phin's money. If she could just control the horse enough to get back to town she could find help.

The crack of a gunshot split the air. Her upper arm flared with pain and she jolted sideways. With no saddle and nothing to hold on to but horsehair she spun off her mount and crashed to the dirt, the wind knocked out of her. Stunned, she lay there trying to breathe, grimacing at the pain radiating down her arm.

Footfalls rattled the ground as beady-eyes ran up to her. She tried to roll away but he clamped a hand across her throat and held her down.

"What'd'ya do that for?" The bearded man caught up to them, Helen behind him.

"She was trying to get away," beady-eyes defended himself.

"Her horse bolted!" the bearded man argued.

The uncertainty on beady-eyes' face was the only thing that gave Charlotte hope that she wasn't about to die.

"Idiot!" Helen kicked beady-eyes. His hand flew off Charlotte's throat and she gasped for breath. "She's no use to us if she's dead and now it will be ten times harder to disappear without being noticed."

"Aw, shit." Beady-eyes slumped back.

"What're we gonna do?" The bearded man turned his panicked eyes to Helen, clutching the sides of his head and shuffling in his spot. "What if she dies?"

Helen squatted by Charlotte's side. "You weren't trying to escape, were you?"

"No!" Charlotte replied with a breathless shake of her head.

Helen lifted Charlotte's arm to examine it. Charlotte yelped in pain but was relieved when Helen told them, "Zeke only grazed her." She poked around at the wound causing Charlotte to scream in pain. "I don't feel a bullet."

When she let go and stood Charlotte flopped back against the hard ground, clutching her arm with a shaking hand. The bullet may have gone through but that was no comfort. She'd never been in so much pain and her hand was soaked with warm, sticky blood far too quickly.

"I need a doctor," she muttered, lightheaded.

"Minnie can sew you up." Helen brushed aside her pain and rounded on the men. "Zeke, you're an idiot. We need her horse. Go after it before it runs too far."

Beady-eyes, Zeke, snorted but jogged off to mount one of the horses tied in the corral to chase after Charlotte's horse.

"Casey," Helen whipped back to the bearded man, "take her inside the barn and tell Minnie to look at her arm."

Helen gave the command and stomped off towards her horse to unfasten the saddlebags from its back.

Charlotte wriggled to a sitting position, unsure whether to be afraid of Casey or to beg for his help. Casey worried a hand across his beard, glancing from Helen's retreating back to Charlotte. It was clear he wasn't the brains of the operation.

"Please help me."

Charlotte panted, twisting to her knees and wincing at the pain in her arm. She glanced into the night around them, desperate for a sign of help on the horizon. She cursed herself for not waking Michael before she rushed to meet Helen, for not telling Phin or Christian or Delilah what she was planning. She hadn't wanted anyone to talk her out of this fool plan. It was clear now that she should have let them.

"Alright." Casey misunderstood her larger plea. "Minnie's got a sewing kit in her things. She's fixed me up a time or two and she's good at it." He scooped his arm around her back and helped her to her feet.

"You saved us from the fire." Charlotte swallowed hard and forced herself to focus on the things she could control. She walked slower than was necessary towards the barn to buy time.

"That _was_ you, wasn't it," Casey caught on.

Charlotte grabbed hold of the tiny hope. "Why did you save us?"

He shrugged, jolting her arm and sending a shock of pain through her.

"We was told to keep an eye on Miss Helen. Minnie said that that fancy city man from back east had paid that Edsel to set the queer's house on fire."

Charlotte's eyebrows shot up. "Why would Randolph want to burn Phin's house down?"

"Huh?" Casey answered her spoken thought.

She shook her head, causing another wave of burning pain. "But you also attacked Phin the night of the cowboy dance. Why?"

"I didn't want to do that." He hung his head, voice glum.

"What?"

They were nearly at the barn. Helen was already eyeing them suspiciously as she marched through the scorched barn door, the heavy saddlebags over her shoulder.

"Miss Helen made us give the banker a beating. Paid that Edsel to help us. Said it would be her 'in'."

Lamps had been lit in the barn. As Casey helped her through the door it took Charlotte's eyes a moment to adjust. The inside of the barn was mostly clear. A few bedrolls had been spread out and a fire was smoldering in the center of the enclosure. Minnie was just being roused from sleep by Helen. She mewled in protest then yelped when Helen kicked her.

"Get up!" Helen demanded. "Get your sewing kit and some bandages."

"What for?" Minnie pouted.

"Zeke screwed up."

Minnie glanced around for Zeke and when she saw Charlotte her eyes flew wide. In the light of the barn Charlotte could see why. Her sleeve was dark with blood. To Minnie's credit, she hopped to action, shifting through her things until she came out with a small lidded basket. Casey helped Charlotte to sit by the fire and Minnie scrambled over to her to take a look at her arm.

"It's not so bad, really." She smiled at Charlotte as though they were on a picnic in the meadow and Charlotte had a bee-sting. "Casey," her voice switched cold, "bring me that bottle of whiskey."

With all the backbone of a squid Casey slumped to a crate beside the bedrolls and brought Minnie a bottle of amber liquid.

"I'm not going to drink that," Charlotte said, her jaw set.

"You will if this cut is deep enough!" Minnie argued.

She clamped the cork in her teeth and popped it open. When she poured a bit through the rip in her sleeve to clean the wound Charlotte swore her nerves all shrieked out of her body for a moment. Her vision went black with pain but Minnie said, "Well it's not so bad as all that! Just a few stitches and you'll be right as rain."

A few stitches was as far from 'not bad' as Charlotte could imagine. Minnie went to work with her needle and thread while Casey shuffled away and Helen sorted through the contents of the saddlebags. Charlotte watched her to distract herself from the searing pain in her arm, deigning to take a few sips of the whiskey when it was too much.

Helen fished her father's box out first, putting it on the crate where the whiskey bottle had been, then found her mother's jewelry box and tossed it carelessly at the foot of the crate. She then went to work counting the bundles of bills.

"Casey, get your useless behind over here!" Helen ordered.

Whatever semblance of sweetness and coquetry she had possessed was gone. Casey scrambled to her side.

"Hide these in different bags. If we lose one we won't have to lose it all."

"Yes, ma'am."

Casey took several bundles of bills, staring at them with wide eyes, and shoved them into the various bags and sacks that lay scattered around the bedrolls.

"And get this place cleaned up. You too, Minnie. We need to get out of here as soon as Zeke gets back."

"Ooo, where are we going next?" Minnie gasped as though she was on a grand tour.

Helen didn't answer. Her brow was knit in a dark frown. It made her seem every bit as old as she was. Charlotte stared at her, not caring if the woman knew she was looking.

It had seemed like an accident that she ended up on the same train as Miss Helen and her brides for sale in Denver. Now it occurred to Charlotte that there was nothing accidental about it. Zeke had been the man who tried to rob her in St. Louis. Helen had been after her at least that long. If Helen knew Randolph she could have been tracking her from the moment she left home. But why?

"What are you staring at?" Helen snapped at her when Minnie finished bandaging her arm and went to work rolling up bedrolls and packing away a few pots and pans.

If she could spin this right she would survive. "You've been following me since Philadelphia, haven't you?"

Helen's thin lips split into a grin. "Just figuring that out, are you?"

"Why go through all the trouble?" She fought the swimming feeling the whiskey and the pain were causing and leaned forward, hoping to invite Helen's confidence.

Helen shrugged. Charlotte thought she'd lost her chance to win the woman over until she said, "That little treasure chest is worth every penny of trouble."

Charlotte followed Helen's nod to her father's box. "But it isn't valuable."

To her surprise, Helen glared and spat, "Don't think you can fool me with that 'it's not valuable' nonsense! Do you know how much trouble I had to go through to get that? I spent hours slaving over boring numbers at the bank when I thought you'd put it with the jewels in the vault. When I realized you hadn't I searched your room at Phin's. But you were too clever to leave it there too, weren't you."

"I—"

"I should have swiped it on the train when I had the chance."

Charlotte gaped at Helen. Her story hardly made a dent. All Charlotte could think about was what could be in the box.

"Teach me everything you know!" Charlotte forced her muscles to work, crawling from her spot by the fire to kneel at Helen's feet. She needed to know what Helen knew. "How did you know I'd kept the box with me?"

Her eyes flickered to her father's box sitting on the crate by Helen's side. If she could somehow get the box back, hide it from Helen, maybe even escape with it, she would be in control of the situation.

"Randolph thought I was the one who stole it," Helen began, eyes narrowed as if debating whether she should say anything at all.

"Why would he think that?" It was all Charlotte could do to school her features into those of a child awaiting a bedtime story.

Helen fixed her with a calculating stare. "I was the one who told him to hide the diamonds in there in the first place."

Charlotte bit her lip to keep from gasping. "What diamonds?"

Another mistake. Helen narrowed her eyes and inched her hand towards the pistol she'd set on a crate at her side.

"Mrs. Carter's diamonds, of course," Helen replied.

Emily's necklace. The one Michael had stolen. Charlotte's heart pounded.

Helen's hand closed over the handle of the pistol. "But you knew that...didn't you?"

Charlotte swallowed, leaning back. "You're right. I did." She searched for a way out. Minnie and Casey were oblivious to the murder about to take place right in front of them.

"You really don't know, do you." Helen rose, pistol in her hand. "Fancy college girl, your nose always in a book. Randolph was afraid he'd get caught if he tried to sell those diamonds anywhere on the east coast. That necklace was too famous and people were still talking about its disappearance. He told me about it one steamy summer night and I thought it was time he be relieved of the burden."

"You became his lover so that you could take a broken necklace?"

"Stupid girl," Helen hissed. She pointed the gun at Charlotte's head again. "I knew you didn't have a clue what you took. Randolph accused me of stealing it from the start. That's why it took him so long to figure out it was you who took it, or even that you'd left. He didn't notice you were gone for three days."

"So how did you find me?" Charlotte forced herself to stand and face the woman as though she wasn't intimidated.

"You were an idiot and used your real name."

"Yes, I caught that mistake too late."

She ignored the gun and shifted closer to the woman, as if they were sharing a secret. The bluff had to work.

"That's why I wanted to marry Michael so quickly." Her heart bled at the thought of never seeing him again.

"That was the first clever thing you did." Helen lowered the gun. Charlotte wanted to weep in relief that her ruse had paid off. "Though next time start out with a false name."

Next time. She was getting through. "I was thinking of Cassie Winters," she played along. "And I thought I might try being a widow."

Helen studied her, eyebrow arched. Charlotte tried not to look at her father's box on the crate beside her. All she needed was for one thing to distract Helen long enough for her to snatch it.

"A young widow and her maiden aunt fallen on hard times." Helen spun the idea so smoothly Charlotte's heart hammered with hope. "Looking for help in the vast wilderness of...California."

"Ooo!" Minnie squealed and dropped her packing to join the conversation. "Can I be Cassie's sister? We would make grand sisters, wouldn't we."

Helen pressed her eyes closed in irritation then opened them to stare at the blond-haired, blue-eyed girl. Charlotte smirked and patted her own jet-black hair, playing along with Helen's obvious distain for Minnie. "Perhaps you can be the maid."

Minnie pouted. "I always have to be the maid."

Helen smirked, puffed up with the idea of having two students. Charlotte faked an eager smile. She prayed with everything she had that Michael was on his way.

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

After two hours in the saddle in the middle of the night Michael would have expected to be ready to drop. Phin and Christian were both sagging, stifling yawns as they scanned the predawn countryside. His father was awake and alert, but most of his attention was focused on glaring holes at the hills in front of them.

Too much time had passed. Even if Helen was connected to the two men from the fire and even if he was right about their connection to the Harbison homestead they could be anywhere by now. Matthew Harbison's place was close, but what they would find there worried him.

"Hold up!" Christian raised his hand, bringing the four of them to a stop.

A moment later Michael saw what Christian had.

A distant flicker of movement emerged on the ridge of the hill in front of them. It must have been close to a mile away and without the moonlight they had almost missed it, but there it was. Michael squinted in the dark until the shape took form. A horse. A riderless horse, but a horse all the same. It was charging towards them. Half a second later another flicker appeared on the ridge. A second horse, this one with a rider.

"Who is that?" Randolph demanded.

"I have no idea," Phin answered.

"A rider." Michael gripped his reins, body tensing. "We need to intercept him."

He kicked his horse to a gallop, not caring if the others followed him. He had a sense that the two horses had something to do with Charlie, but he would need to catch them to find out.

At a gallop the distance between Michael and the riderless horse closed quickly. As Michael pulled his mount to a stop the riderless horse shot by. That's all it was, a horse without a rider. Michael tapped his horse's flanks again and raced to intercept the rider on the other horse.

The rider had slowed. He was close enough for Michael to hear him muttering to his mount and close enough to see the alarm in his eyes. The others were riding up to join him but Michael's attention was fixed forward.

"Who are you?" he called to the other man but received no answer. "I'm looking for my wife, Charlie West. Have you seen her? She has black hair and—"

Michael was certain he saw a flash of panic in the other man's eyes before he yanked his horse around and kicked him to a gallop, shooting away.

Without waiting for his friends, Michael kicked his horse to follow, hunching low over the animal's neck so he could run.

He wasn't much of a horseman, but eight years of living in Montana had given him enough experience to know how to stay in the saddle as his horse tore up the hill after the mysterious rider. He clenched his teeth and tried to follow the man with his eyes as they rounded the hill and started down the other side. The other man may have been a better rider than him but his horse was slowing. Inch by inch he was gaining ground.

"Stop!" Randolph's shout knocked at the edge of Michael's concentration. Michael thought for a moment he was calling for him to stop, but as his father fired his gun it was clear he was shouting at the mysterious rider.

Michael kicked his horse harder and hugged it when they reached the bottom of the hill and leapt over a small stream. The rider was only a few yards in front of him now, but it was the large, dark structure standing out against the lightening sky in the distance that caught his attention. Matthew Harbison's barn was the only thing left of his homestead after the fire, but there it was, still standing, a faint glow coming from inside.

"Whoa!" He sat straighter, pulling his horse up. The beast slowed with rough, jerking steps. The mysterious rider streaked on ahead, but it was clear now that he was heading towards the barn. Two other horses were just visible in the corral, which meant there were at least two other people in the barn. Charlie was in there.

"What are you doing, you're letting him get away!" Randolph barked. He pulled his horse to a stop near Michael. Phin and Christian were right on their tail.

"She's in the barn," Michael told them with as much authority as if he had seen her.

"He could be anybody," Christian shook his head.

"You can stay here and talk about it all you want." Michael was as impatient as his dancing horse as he met his friend's reluctance. "I know that Charlie is in there and I intend to bring her out."

"Not if I get her first," Randolph growled. He cocked his revolver and urged his mount forward.

Without thinking, Michael kicked his horse, racing his father to the barn.

Charlotte had to get away. She had to come up with a plan. Fast.

The camp inside the barn was almost cleared away. Several trips had been made out to the corral to load the bedrolls and packs onto the two horses.

"Where the devil is Zeke?"

Helen stomped around the fire, her saddlebag thrown over her shoulder. She'd stowed the onyx box and Charlotte's mother's jewelry box in it along with several bundles of bills and now wore it like a badge.

"Want me to go after him?" Casey offered.

"What, and lose you too?" Helen snapped.

Her temper was fouler now than it had been the morning Charlotte argued with her over Phin. It made sense. She had only been playing with Phin, like a cat plays with a mouse. Finding Zeke so they could leave was serious.

"When he gets back here I'm going to—"

Helen didn't have time to tell them what she was going to do. They heard the thunder of hooves and a moment later Zeke was rushing through the barn door, face red, eyes huge with panic.

"They come after me!" he fumbled a warning.

Helen's face went tight with alarm. "What are you talking about? Someone after you?"

"There's a whole posse of them! We gotta get outta here!"

Charlotte could have cried in relief. The effect of Zeke's words was instantaneous. Casey and Minnie raced to gather the remainder of their things, rushing outside to the corral while Helen charged Zeke.

"You fool!" She smacked him upside the head, "I send you to chase after a horse, you're gone for hours, and when you come back you end up leading people right to us! I have half a mind to leave you here!"

Zeke cowered. Charlotte saw her opportunity. She ran at Helen, snatching the saddlebag off her shoulder and sprinting on towards the door. Helen was too slow to stop her from swiping the bag but chased after her with a wordless shout once it was gone. The pain in Charlotte's arm flared as she clutched the bag close. She shot out the door and into the growing light.

"Give that back to me you little wretch!" Helen caught the back of her skirt a few yards outside the barn door and dragged her to a stop.

There was a rip of fabric and Charlotte stumbled and fell flat on her face with a grunt. The saddlebag flew out of her hands. Ignoring the pain from her arm, she scrambled towards it, clawing at the flap to open one side.

"Oh no you don't!" Helen lunged for the bag.

Charlotte yanked it out of Helen's reach and thrust her hand inside to look for her father's box. She got lucky. Her hand closed over its smooth surfaces right away. She grabbed it and held on as Helen wrenched the bag out of her grasp. She didn't see the box in Charlotte's hand.

Against the first feeble rays of dawn on the horizon Charlotte saw several figures galloping towards them. The tell-tale glint of glasses told her that Michael was riding at the front of the pack. Her heart leapt to her throat in a laughing cry of disbelief. He'd come after her.

She didn't have time to dwell on it. Gritting her teeth with newfound determination, she pulled her father's box under her, wedging it in her skirts between her legs as she lay face down in the dirt. Then she spread her arms to her sides with a groan of pain that wasn't entirely feigned and waited for her rescue to come.

Michael didn't need the faint dawn light to see that Charlie was hurt or that Helen had ripped something away from her and was running for the horse standing ready a few yards away. She threw a saddlebag, across the horse's back then mounted with all the skill of a cowboy. There was no question in his mind what he should do as she shouted and kicked the horse into a run.

He ignored Helen and charged towards his wife.

"Charlie!" he called her name with a strangled cry, pulling his horse to stop. He half jumped, half fell off of it to scramble to her side.

"Michael!" She reached for him.

A shot cracked through the dawn. He twisted to see his father firing at Helen, changing direction and galloping after her. He fired again. Christian wheeled his horse around and bolted after them.

"She's got my mother's jewelry," Charlie said, rolling into a ball as Michael scrambled the last few feet across the dirt to put his arm around her. "And she's got – Ah!"

She screamed in agony and too late Michael saw why. Her upper arm was bandaged, blood seeping through in red spots, her sleeve a sick rusty brown.

"My God, Charlie! Are you—"

He was cut short by another loud crack of gunfire. They glanced up in time to see Helen fall off her horse in the distance. Randolph rode on to meet her as she twisted to her hands and knees to face him. He came to within ten feet of her and fired again. Helen's body dropped to the ground.

Michael went numb with shock at what his father had just done.

"Oh my God!"

He turned to find the bearded man from the night of the fire staring with bulging eyes and open mouth at the brutality they'd all just witnessed, the blond, Minnie, hiding her face against his back.

"Oh my God!" the man repeated, louder, before grasping for the nearest horse.

"Casey! Don't go!" Charlie shouted at him.

"He killed Miss Helen!" the bearded man answered Charlie like he knew her.

"He's got Phin's money in his saddlebags and packs," she whispered to Michael, clutching his shirt and pleading with him as if he could do something.

They had other things to worry about. In the distance Randolph roared with fury. He had dismounted and searched Helen's horse and probably her body, not finding what he was looking for. Christian shouted something at him that Michael couldn't hear.

"I have it!" Charlie fumbled through her skirts to come up with her father's onyx box. "Michael, it has diamonds inside. Emily's diamonds."

Michael's eyes widened. In a flash it made perfect sense. He never had found out what his father had done with the diamonds. Now he knew. His past and his present slammed together, and of course his father was in the middle of it.

He snatched the box away from Charlie as if it was poison.

"You should get this thing as far away from you as possible!"

He cocked his arm back to throw it but another crack split the air. In the distance the Christian ducked over his horse. Smoke curled up from Randolph's gun. Charlie screamed.

Randolph remounted and left Christian behind to charge straight towards them. Phin had dashed to the corral to stop Casey and Minnie from going anywhere. Christian wheeled around, apparently unhurt, but was far behind Randolph. There was no one standing between his father and Charlie. No one but him.

"Get on my horse and get away from here!" Michael ordered, marching Charlie to where his horse pawed the dirt, its eyes wide and wary.

"No!" she snapped back, fear mingled with indignation. "I'm not leaving you!"

"Are you crazy?"

But no. Charlie was the least crazy woman he knew. She had forgiven him for the same things that had driven Emily over the edge. She was so much stronger than his shortcomings. With Charlie there would be no senseless tragedy waiting around the corner. Not if he could help it.

He grabbed her around the waist and planted a quick, hard kiss on her lips. Then he shoved her behind him and said, "Do exactly what I say."

Eyes wide behind his glasses and face flushed Michael stood his ground and held his hands up, the box in one of them. His father pulled his horse to a stop only a few yards away.

"Give it to me!" Randolph demanded. He raised his revolver and cocked it, pointing it straight at Michael's chest. "I said give it to me!"

"Drop your gun and I'll throw it to you." Charlie may have cared about the damn box, but all he cared about was keeping her out of harm's way.

Randolph laughed, grip on the gun and aim relaxing. "Do you think I'm that big of a fool?" Michael kept his mouth shut. "Hand over the box, William!"

"My name is Michael. Michael West. And this box belongs to my wife."

"Michael, don't!" Charlie whispered at his back, laying a hand on his shoulder. "He's going to kill you. Just give him the box."

"It belonged to your father." He turned his head to glance at her. "Do you really want to hand it over and dance to his tune again?"

"Yes!" she pleaded.

"Well I don't," Michael went on, standing taller. He met his father's eyes. "I let you ruin my life again and again. I let you bring Phin down and destroy Emily. I will not let you hurt my wife by taking what belongs to her."

"I don't care about any stupid box!" Charlie shouted, beating his back with her uninjured arm. "I only care about you. I only want you! I love you!"

Michael's heart swelled.

"Touching," Randolph sneered, "but a waste of my time. Give me the box!"

"You wouldn't shoot your own son, would you?"

Michael lowered his arms, blood pumping through him with the intensity of Charlie's declaration and the power he now knew he held.

"Watch me." Randolph raised the revolver.

Charlie screamed "No!" and tried to come around to shield him. Phin noticed the stand-off from the corral and shouted "Stop!"

"Wait!"

Michael held his hands and the box out towards his father again. His mind was suddenly crystal clear. He grabbed the box's lid and wrenched with all his strength to open it. There wasn't time for his father or anyone else to react before he managed to break whatever seal had been fixed on the box.

The lid flew open. Dozens of cut diamonds sparkled into the dawn sunlight and scattered like raindrops in the dirt around him. The shock of such unexpected beauty knocked the wind out of him. He had forgotten how many diamonds Emily's necklace contained. There must have been a sizable fortune scattered at his feet.

Randolph roared and jumped off his horse, throwing his revolver aside as he lunged to scoop up handfuls of diamonds. His fine suit was covered in dirt in seconds as he groveled to collect the jewels. It was the mistake Michael had been waiting for.

"Get the gun!" he ordered Charlie, shoving the box to her then diving at his father.

He hit the man with his shoulder square in his chest, knocking him backwards. Randolph gasped as the wind was knocked out of him, losing the diamonds he'd managed to collect. He flailed for his gun but Charlie had already retrieved it and backed far out of his reach. Phin and Christian rushed to help, each grabbing one of Randolph's arms and wrenching him back.

"Randolph Westmoreland, I'm arresting you for the murder of Helen Patterson," Christian charged him with every ounce of his inborn authority.

"You can't! You have no right!" Randolph sputtered, but his bluster slipped into panic as he realized the position he was in. "William...Michael, help me!"

Michael stared at his father, eyes wide. He stepped away, turning to find Charlie and crushing her in an embrace that said he would never let her go.

"Don't ever run off on some ridiculous scheme like this again!" he panted, courage fading as thoughts of what could have happened hit him.

"I won't!" She hugged him back, her fingers digging into his back to prove it. "That was the stupidest thing that I've ever done!"

"No it wasn't." He shook his head, the scent of her against him soothing. "The stupidest thing was marrying me."

She looked up at him with joyful, tear-filled eyes. "And I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"That's not a half bad idea."

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

The late November wind cut down from the mountains and through the frosty town of Cold Springs with a bitter chill. It was harsher than anything Charlotte had ever weathered in Philadelphia, but she didn't mind. The church was decked out in shades of red and orange and yellow for Thanksgiving, brightly-colored ribbons giving the whole thing an air of celebration. And it was a celebration.

"Are you ready?" Michael slid her arm into his and gave her a wink as the trilling strains of the church organ cued him.

"More than ready." She smiled back, stealing a quick kiss.

"You're supposed to wait until you're at the other end of the aisle to kiss." Phin pursed his lips in mock disapproval. He looked like a school teacher in his best suit but for the corsage on his lapel.

"Lighten up, Phin," Delilah said, smacking his shoulder. She looked as beautiful as ever in her bridesmaid's dress, orange flowers in her silver curls. "Since when have you known those two to wait for anything?"

Charlotte giggled and started down the aisle after the two of them with Michael at her side. She wasn't quite sure it was appropriate for her to wear a white dress since they had considered themselves married for several months already. And if Jacinta Archer or any of the town's other busybodies knew that there were technically three of them walking down the aisle they would have staged a protest. She repositioned her bouquet over her stomach just in case, although it would be months before she began to show.

Michael had insisted on a proper church wedding with the entire town in attendance after legally changing his name to Michael West, just in case. He'd wanted there to be no doubt.

The minister smiled and greeted them with open arms as they reached the front of the church. With a special warmth in his voice as he began, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Again."

Michael didn't care much for church and Charlotte had never been the best parishioner, but when they had come to the minister with a sizable donation last month they were treated as though they were model citizens. What the good reverend would have said if he had known the money was technically stolen was anyone's guess.

There was no way to prove that the diamonds were Emily's. Even if there had been, there was no way to return them. If anyone in Cold Springs was suspicious about Michael and Charlie's quick trip back east or the house they started building as soon as they returned they were told that Michael was needed to sort through the sale of his father's newspaper and that he had come into some family money. If there were any questions about where the town had suddenly found the funds for a new school and a library, a power station and updated electrical grid, they were told Cold Springs had a benefactor. Whoever that benefactor was, however, was a secret.

"Do you, Michael West," the minister smiled with such joy that Charlotte wanted to laugh, "take this woman, Charlotte Baldwin," Michael glanced at her with mischief in his twinkling eyes, "to be your _lawfully_ wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do you part?"

Michael had a hard time swallowing his laughter as he turned to her and said, "I most certainly do."

"And do you, Charlotte Baldwin," she arched an eyebrow, biting her lip to keep from breaking into giggles, "take this man, Michael West to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love, honor, and obey from this day forward until death do you part?"

"Yes," she answered, "More than ever."

"Then by the power invested in me, I now most definitely pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Michael swept her into his arms and kissed her in the most un-church-like way possible. The congregation applauded, but Charlotte hardly noticed. She was safe in Michael's arms. She was home.

* * *

Want to find out what happened to Ethan when after he left for England? Look for the next book in the series, _Fool For Love_.

I hope you have enjoyed _Our Little Secrets_. If you'd like to be the first to learn more about new releases and more, please sign up for my newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/RQ-KX
**About the Author**

Merry Farmer lives in suburban Philadelphia with her two cats, Butterfly and Torpedo. She has been writing since she was ten years old and realized one day that she didn't have to wait for the teacher to assign a creative writing project to write something. It was the best day of her life. She then went on to earn not one but two degrees in History so that she would always have something to write about. Today she walks along the cutting edge of Indie Publishing, writing Historical Romance and Women's Sci-Fi. She is also passionate about blogging, knitting, and cricket and is working towards becoming an internationally certified cricket scorer.

You can email her at merryfarmer20@yahoo.com or follow her on Twitter @merryfarmer20.

Merry also has a blog, http://merryfarmer.net,

and a Facebook page, www.facebook.com/merryfarmerauthor

Return to Table of Contents

Turn the page for a sneak peak of _Fool For Love_ , the next book in the Montana Romance series....

More from Cold Springs, Montana....

### Fool for Love

Chapter One

The rain had been misting since dawn, but as Amelia paced from the window to the fireplace, the letter in one hand and her sodden handkerchief in the other, it seemed to pour down ten times harder.

She stared at the impossible paper in her hand, every blurred word already memorized. She read it again, hoping this time it would say something different.

Miss Elphick,

I am well aware of the understanding that previously existed between our families, but as I have informed you many times already, in light of the gross reversal of fortune that your family has undergone, I feel no compunction to maintain this understanding. That you persisted in your attachment to the point of seduction is not my fault, nor is the state that you now find yourself in because of said seduction.

Your gross misconduct of last night, at a public function hosted by a family willing to hire you in spite of your father's scandal, no less, casts far more aspersions on your character than mine. I would have been content to keep you and your forthcoming child in an alternative arrangement more suitable to your current station in life had you not attempted to call me out in front of society.

Frankly, Miss Elphick, I would have thought it was obvious that a gentleman of my standing could never attach himself to a lowly governess, with or without the other matter. Your bold and wicked behavior has put my reputation and that of your kind employer in jeopardy. It's about time you learn that women of your ilk must keep their mouths shut until you are paid to open them. You are only good for one thing, and the sooner you learn that the more prosperous you will be in what will surely become your future profession.

The pain rose from Amelia's heart into her throat. He had even been so callous as to sign the letter "Mr. Hayworth" instead of Nick, as she'd called him since childhood. No humiliation, had cut so deep, and since her father's demise that was saying something.

She set the letter on the thin mantel over the fireplace. It should have been tossed into the fire with the rest of her hopes and dreams, but she couldn't do it. Not yet.

Amelia hugged herself and stared out through the small dormer window of her governess's room at the rain. She felt as much at odd angles and uncomfortable planes as the slopes of her ceiling. Her love for Nick stretched back as far as she could remember. She could remember a lot. She could remember sunny days in the country, far from the cramped dreariness of London. She could remember picnics and coming-out balls and whispered promises on moonlit nights. She could remember the heat of Nick's embrace and the force of his passion on dark nights when he'd agreed to steal her away from this wretched life that fortune had thrust on her. The rain had seemed exciting then. Now it was just cold.

She fetched another handkerchief from the top of her faded bureau. With noisy carelessness she blew her nose then resumed packing her few belongings. The axe hadn't fallen yet, but there could be no doubt after the scene at the ball last night that it would. She may have been a fool, but she wasn't fool enough to think she could be saved now. It would be better for her to leave on her own terms, even if she couldn't leave with her head held high.

There was a knock at the door. Amelia jumped, spilling a handful of stockings into her small suitcase. "Who is it?"

"'s me, Miss Amelia," the voice of Betsy, the scullery maid, came through the door. "I been sent to fetch you."

Amelia swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. So much for dignity. They'd sent the lowest servant in the house to get her. There was no escaping the worst of it now.

"Just a minute." She hurried to stuff the rest of her things into the small suitcase and closed it. There were probably things she was missing, mementos of the girls, her charges, she would have liked to take with her, but as with the last time she'd been kicked out of her home, there was no time to be sentimental. With a last heavy sigh she snatched Nick's letter from the mantle and threw it into the fire. Life was well and truly over now.

Betsy was leaning against the doorframe when Amelia opened the door. She snapped to attention, watching with wide, silent eyes as Amelia did her best to keep her back straight. She marched into the hall, suitcase in hand.

"He's in the drawing room," Betsy whispered in awe. The drawing room was only opened on special occasions, joyous or somber.

Amelia sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to composure. As horrid as he had been in his letter, Nick was right about one thing. After all Mr. Hamilton's kindness, she had damaged his reputation. She had repaid the help he hadn't needed to give her a year ago by causing a scene in his house when important guests were present, the Kennisons from Buckingham and the McAllastairs from Glasgow and Mr. Quinlan all the way from America. She would never forgive herself for forgetting the manners she was born to.

The only thing she could do was get on with it.

The Hamilton girls were sitting on the top stair of the grand staircase leading down into the main hall as she passed. They looked up at her, eyes filled with awe and fear, knowing that something bad had happened but not knowing what. Amelia smiled at them but couldn't speak. She would miss them too much.

The drawing room sat at the end of a long hall. As she reached the door Amelia hesitated. This was it. She set her suitcase on the floor against the wall and pressed a hand to the bump of her stomach that could no longer be hidden. With a wince she raised it to her pounding heart. The last thing she wanted to be reminded of was the reason for her disgrace. She swallowed took in one last deep breath before entering the drawing room.

Right away she was caught off-guard by the presence of not only Mr. Hamilton, but his rugged guest, Mr. Quinlan. Mr. Quinlan stood near the window looking uncomfortable against the French drapes, spinning his ever-present hat in his hands. Her eyes met his when he glanced up. Amelia instinctively clasped her hands in front of her as she looked from Mr. Quinlan to Mr. Hamilton.

Mr. Hamilton scowled as though he could barely contain his disgust. "Miss Elphick," he began in clipped tones. "You know why you're here."

She bowed her head. "I do."

"You are dismissed without references," he said to drive the point home. She said nothing, didn't move. "I won't waste my breath telling you how disappointed I am. It was foolish of me to think you would choose a different path than that of your mother and sisters."

Her eyes darted up to Mr. Quinlan as her heart sank. If Mr. Hamilton had broken his promise to keep the worst of her family's shame from the pubic then she really was lost. Mr. Quinlan stared at his hat. She couldn't tell from his expression if he knew what his host meant.

"Mr. Hamilton, sir," she made one last attempt at dignity, "please allow me to apologize, _humbly_ , for the shame I have brought to your good name. You have been beyond kind to me these last two years. You must believe me when I say that I am not like my mother at all. Nick, that is, Mr. Hayworth, and I were intended for each other since childhood. He promised me—"

Mr. Hamilton held up his hand, cutting her off as her passion and tears built. "We'll say no more of it." He glanced sideways to Mr. Quinlan, who returned the expression with a poker-player's closeness. "I'll leave you to it then," he clipped, "although you know my feelings on the matter."

He bowed slightly to Mr. Quinlan and with one final sigh and shake of his head for her he turned and left the room.

Amelia watched him retreat, her expression blank. Her heart raced and her eyes skipped up to Mr. Quinlan. He was still twirling his hat, his weight resting on one hip. Only Americans stood that way, with a carelessness that was so out of place in the gravity of London society. Even though he had been a captive of the London winter rain for months Mr. Quinlan's skin was still the warm shade of a man who spent his time outdoors in the Western sun astride a horse. He was as far from Nick's pale grace as could be.

"Miss Elphick," he began then cleared his throat. He stopped twirling his hat with a long, drawled, "Yeeeaaah."

Amelia could do nothing but stand there, her brain foggy from shock and tears and betrayal. Nick's letter still burned in her chest as it had in her fireplace. She would never trust a man's embrace again.

Mr. Quinlan cleared his throat, pulling her attention back to him. He shifted his weight to his other leg, let his arm drop, hat in one hand, and looked her in the eyes. She had never seen a man look so anxious, as if he was the one in utter disgrace.

"Look, I'm really sorry about everything that, you know, happened last night."

Amelia's heart sank. She raised a hand to her flushed cheek. "I...I am so sorry you had to witness that, Mr. Quinlan."

"Yeah, well so am I," he mumbled. "That Mr. what's-his-name was a total ass, treating a lady like that."

Her stomach lurched. "Oh no, sir," she corrected him in a small, high voice. "I'm afraid I was the one in the wrong." It was all she could do not to choke on the words. "Mr. Hayworth was perfectly within his rights to react as he did and to demand that I be escorted from the room by the footmen. I...I am not a lady, I..."

"If he had tried that where I come from," Mr. Quinlan interrupted, striding across the room to her, "he woulda had about a dozen men all over him. It's pitiful to dismiss a lady such as yourself like that."

An ironic smile twitched at the corners or Amelia's mouth. "I'm afraid you misunderstand, Mr. Quinlan. I...I am a fallen woman now. My disgrace is complete. It was not my place to cause a scene."

He puffed out an annoyed sigh and threw his hands out, narrowly missing a vase of hothouse flowers with his hat. "You know, I never understood you English people and your 'places'. A lady's a lady as far as I'm concerned."

"But my family...." she fumbled, no desire to explain the past.

"Your father did something bad, I dunno," he finished for her, his tone not caring. He paced a few steps to a small table and fingered the edge of it nervously, flicking his hair out of his face and darting a glance out the window at a passing carriage. He shook his head and turned away from the pouring rain outside the window. "Well this isn't how I wanted to start this."

Amelia fidgeted with her skirt. "Start what, Mr. Quinlan?"

He ran a hand through his hair again and paced back to where Amelia stood. When he reached her he screwed up his mouth as if something were trying to escape from it and he wasn't sure if he should let it out or keep it in. His back and shoulders were stiff as he glanced to Amelia, then at the floor, out the window, and back to Amelia again.

Finally he sighed, let his tension drop, and began with, "It's like this." Amelia raised her eyes to meet his. "I suppose a fine lady like you is mighty attached to a fancy place like this, but I understand that you're in a heap of trouble after last night and got no place to go. I know it's short notice, but I'm heading back to Montana tomorrow and I was wondering if, well, if you might want to come with me."

Amelia's sore eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat. "Go with you? To Montana?"

"Yeah." He shifted. "I'll pay for your passage and all. I don't mind doing it at all after what I saw last night. It's just that it seems to me that you're pretty much sunk here, but Montana is lousy with opportunity these days, even for women. Cold Springs could use a smart, pretty girl like you." He ended his speech by blushing and lowering his head, looking up at her through his lashes.

Amelia's heart fluttered, but it had nothing to do with Mr. Quinlan's charm. Montana. It was a world away, a world where no one knew about Daniel Elphick drinking away his fortune and leaving his wife and daughters to make their own way. It was a world where no one knew how Sophia Elphick had positioned herself and two of her daughters in rich men's beds so that they could continue to afford the luxuries they were dependent on. Most importantly, it was a world where no one knew how she, Amelia Elphick, had foolishly thought going to a man's bed would solve all of her problems.

"Miss Elphick? Are you okay?"

Amelia shook herself from her thoughts to find Mr. Quinlan staring at her with concern.

"You wanna sit down?" He held a hand out towards the sofa.

With a nod Amelia turned to sit with all the grace of her birth in spite of her position. Mr. Quinlan flopped beside her, then stiffened when he realized the etiquette of the situation.

She cleared her throat. "Mr. Quinlan, you do realize I'm with child, do you not?" She had to make sure that he was fully aware of the character of the person he was offering to help.

He scowled. "Yeah. That's what's got me ticked as hell about how that jackass treated you." Her eyebrows flew up. "Back home, if a man got a girl in the family way like that her kin would break out the shotguns and march him straight to the altar. Makes no sense to me that here they do the exact opposite."

She opened her mouth to explain but no words came out. If Mr. Hamilton heard his guest's blasphemy he would likely send him packing as well.

"It got me to thinking," Mr. Quinlan went on. "If you came back to Montana with me you could say that you were Mrs. Elphick and that your husband died somehow. No one would be the wiser. I wouldn't tell a soul. Folks are mighty kindly disposed to help a young widow and her child. You could find work as a teacher or something. Maybe even a nice beau to fall for you."

He was right. She pressed a hand to her heart, moved it to her stomach. For the first time she dared to feel something besides pounding shame over the babe that grew inside of her. In Montana she could love her child without guilt. Her baby wouldn't be a bastard, not by reputation at least. She could lie and no one would ever know....

Acknowledgements

Thanks once again to my wonderful editor, Alison Dasho. I couldn't do this without her. Thanks also to my dear friend, Jonathan Longstaff of Pehr Graphic Design, for outdoing himself on the cover design.

Special thanks to everyone who has given me opinions and advice throughout the process of writing _Our Little Secrets_ , including Julie Tague, Jes Bunsick, Eva Mergan, and Kristine Medley. And a big shout-out for all of my online friends and fellow authors. You're the ones that make publishing such an exciting place to be right now.

Other Works by Merry Farmer:

The Noble Hearts

The Loyal Heart

The Faithful Heart

The Courageous Heart

Montana Romance

Our Little Secrets

Fool for Love

Sarah Sunshine (novella)

In Your Arms

The Indomitable Eve (novella)

Seeks For Her (novella)

Somebody to Love

Hot on the Trail

Trail of Kisses

Trail of Hope

Trail of Longing (coming January 2015)

Trail of Dreams (coming February 2015)

### Praise for The Noble Hearts....

The Loyal Heart

An engaging historical romance

I could not put this book down, in fact I devoured it in one sitting and then immediately bought the second book too!

-The Kindle Book Review

Four and a Half Stars

This is a really entertaining book with love, lust, action, intrigue, humour, stress, happiness and sadness and is well worth taking the time out of your day to read.

-Lindsay and Jane's Views and Reviews

The Faithful Heart

Entertaining and informative

As with the first book in this series, it is un-put-downable! The characters are real, the action is realistic and you really care about it all!...Not your ordinary bodice ripper!

-Amazon Review

