

### The Colorado Brides

### An Unexpected Widow

### Carré White

Copyright © 2013 Carré White

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# Chapter One

Kansas Territory, 1859

"Those darn pigs!"

My husband, Pastor Frank Clark, was in the yard, corralling the pigs that had escaped—again, while his angry shouts echoed far and wide. I sat at the kitchen table, eyeing a shirt I had just ruined with an iron, and staring at nothing in particular. I shouldn't give into melancholy like this. I had work to do, and time was wasting.

We were going into town soon, which usually lifted my spirits greatly. After all the necessary purchases were made, I'd be able to search for ribbons, buttons, and material at the mercantile. I was especially looking forward to picking up the mail. I had several letters addressed and ready to be sent. I wrote daily, my sisters did the same, and we kept a steady stream of correspondence, which was a lifeline to the outside world.

Since arriving in the Kansas Territory, we had settled near Denver City, securing a tract of land through settler possession and building a lovely house, which still smelled of freshly cut wood and paint. I had every reason to be happy, my life was better than most, and I had always been blessed, if not a little spoiled. I shouldn't let the arrival of my monthly flow upset me to such a degree. Maybe it had been unlucky allocating one of the bedrooms for a nursery already. My sister, Louisa, thought we ought to have waited...but I struggled with patience. It wasn't one of my virtues.

The kitchen door flew open, startling me. "Oh, my!"

"Sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to frighten you." My husband strode into the room, checking the kettle on the cook stove. "Is the water ready?"

"It should be."

He stared at me. "What's wrong, Hannah? I can tell something's bothering you."

I shrugged. "No baby again."

"Don't make yourself uneasy, my love. It'll happen in good time. We've only just gotten settled." He reached for a ceramic mug on a shelf. "I hope you're ready to go soon. Looks like a storm might be brewing. There are grey clouds coming in, and the wind's picking up."

We had finished the exterior of the house in October, the first snowstorm of the season having arrived three weeks later. The interior had taken longer, but at least there was protection from cold and wet, as the roof was sturdy. The winter hadn't been as unpleasant as I thought it would be; the air was dry, rather than bone-chillingly damp like back east. Sometimes, after a snow, it was surprisingly warm, the sun making all the difference.

I stood, smoothing my apron. "Let me help you with that. You go sit." I worried about Frank at times; he was a gifted pastor, but his tea-making skills left a little to be desired. I poured water into the teapot.

"I'm going to have to hire workers for the fields. I want to plant corn for starters."

"Put a notice in the mercantile and at the post office. That'll get plenty of attention."

"There might not be any men left. Nobody around here seems to be interested in farming. They all want to get rich quick by finding free gold."

"Here's your tea. Can I get you sugar?"

He grinned, flashing slightly crooked teeth. His arm went around my waist, pulling me near. "I have plenty of sugar."

"Oh, stop that now." I pushed against him, gaining my freedom.

"I wouldn't worry about the baby, my dear. We'll make one soon enough."

A blush crept up my neck. "Behave yourself, Frank Clark," I giggled, remembering all too well what we had done in bed last night. "Can I get you something to eat?" I had already made breakfast, which had been devoured shortly after dawn. "There's some bread with strawberry jam, if you want."

"No, I'm fine. I'll finish this, so we can skedaddle."

"You're starting to talk like a miner."

"They do have a way of saying things."

I untied the apron. "I'll fetch my things and the list. It would be a shame to go all that way and forget something, but we always do, don't we?"

"Yes, my dear."

We left the house a short while later, my husband helping me onto the wagon. There was a chill in the air, as spring struggled to make an appearance. I wore a dark blue riding habit with a straw bonnet and a matching blue ribbon. Being east coast born and bred and from a fairly well-to-do family, I was accustomed to wearing higher quality fabrics, although, now that I was a homesteader's wife, the practicality of such garments were reserved only for church and trips to town.

Frank picked up the reins, prompting the horse into a trot. The wheels jerked, then began to turn, the rattling of the conveyance a familiar sound, as this was what had brought us here from St. Joseph last summer.

Our nearest neighbors were the Hunt's, who had five children, four of them boys. They had gone with their father to prospect for gold in the mountains. Margaret Hunt occasionally stopped by for a spell, relaying news and gossip from town. I hadn't seen her in more than three weeks now.

The prairie stretched out on either side of the rutted road, with mountains spanning the length of the horizon, snowcapped and majestic looking. It was nearly an hour's ride to Denver City, and the last neighbor we passed was ornery, his dogs having come out to bark at us from behind the fence. His name was Jason Franklin, and he liked to stand on the front porch holding a Colt Navy revolver, the weapon resting against his thigh. He'd barely survived an Indian attack a few years back, and he looked upon anyone traveling down the road as a possible enemy.

"Oh, that horrible man," I muttered. "We've given him no reason to get his back up like that."

"I know. He's an old croaker." Frank removed his hat, waving it. "Hello, Mr. Franklin!" He nodded, not saying anything. "Looks like weather's coming in." Again, the man failed to respond, staring at us, while his dogs barked incessantly.

"I don't know how his wife puts up with it?"

"When was the last time you've seen her?"

"She was in church last week."

Frank nodded. "Of course. How could I have forgotten already."

"We've been busy, darling."

"I might have to help the William's with the roof on their barn soon. He was asking for assistance."

"When?"

"In a few days."

I sighed. "Oh, very well." They had helped us when we were building our house.

"You look wonderful today, Hannah." He patted my shoulder. "I love taking you to town. You're dreadfully pretty, my dear. I adore showing you off."

"Stop that." I fought a smile, but the edges of my mouth wouldn't cooperate.

"You love flattery. Don't pretend you don't."

"Only if it's from you."

He feigned indignation. "Who else has been whispering sweet nothings in your ear?"

"No one."

"I need to keep a better eye on you. You're liable to run off with a granger."

"Oh, bosh!"

An elbow went into my side. "Some of them gold miners might take a fancy to you."

I loved traveling, as it allowed us to be silly. "I've no interest in any of those filthy men, Frank Clark. If you ever leave me, God forbid, I'll be hard-pressed to find someone else. Just thinking about it makes me ill."

"Of course, I'd never leave you."

"Just don't get run over by a horse."

"You'd say train, but we don't have one yet."

The conversation typically swung wildly. "Oh, I'd be so happy for a train. Can you imagine?" I sighed wistfully. "My parents could come to visit. My sisters could come." Just the thought of seeing my family again had tears pricking the back of my eyes. "I'd ask them to bring fabrics and linens and all the crockery you wouldn't let me take." I gave him a look. "I had to leave my fine china behind."

"No!" he hollered. "Don't you start talking about dishes, woman. I won't have it."

"All my pretty things are in crates in my parent's basement," I lamented.

"They would've broken to pieces in the wagon." He pointed to his mouth. "That ride shook loose four of my teeth. See."

I succumbed to laughter. My charming husband always affected me this way. "I don't know what to say about that. We'll buy some glue at the mercantile. That'll fix it."

He held up a finger. "That brings me to mind. We need glue."

"We need everything." It was shocking how much money we had spent on the house. The lumber had been a wedding gift from my parents, but all the other incidentals had come from what little inheritance Frank had received from a recently departed uncle. "I see the town."

Denver City had sprung up after gold had been found, the minors building log cabins and erecting tents for lodging. There hadn't been time to form a local government or law enforcement, so there were mining districts instead, with their own laws and courts. It was truly the Wild West in these parts, as crime was disturbingly high. The saloon had been one of the first buildings erected, followed by blacksmiths, carpenters, and shops. Frank had built the church while I lived with a family in town, waiting for him to begin on the house. All of the structures were made of wood, which was a slight concern. In the event of a fire, the damage would be extensive, but no one wanted to go through the trouble of bringing in bricks.

"Where are we going first?" I sat straighter, excitement racing through me. "The shops?"

He gave me a look. "I need to stop by the church."

"Oh, fine."

"You'll be able to shop to your heart's content, my dear. Don't worry."

Having spent months in Denver City, I was acquainted with Sally Higgins, whose husband had opened a mercantile, and Adaline Ross, who was the wife of the town's only banker. Both women were of my social set, from solid east coast families. I'd lived with Sally, staying in a bedroom in their house over the store, while Frank worked on our property. It was wonderful finally having my own home, but I missed socializing and being in the middle of all the excitement.

The city bustled with activity, as prospectors came to buy supplies. Very few would stay to farm or ranch, but that was liable to change with time, as more people arrived. Frank and I had set down roots in this untamed wilderness, hopeful that once the gold had been exhausted, people would settle down and build homes, raise children, and attend church.

Small tent cities dotted the landscape, while men sat on crates, tending fires and cooking the midday meal. Horses, wagons, and people on foot went by, staring at us; some tipped their hats, recognizing the town pastor. I hadn't seen most of these men in church, and I suspected I wouldn't. Someone played the piano in the saloon, which was catty-corner to the brothel. Every well-bred woman in Denver City lamented over this fact, finding it abhorrent. I wasn't aware of the specifics, but, from what I had heard, many a miner had lost his last dollar to drink and women.

Our horse trotted towards the church; the building had been painted white with a pretty white steeple. "Here we are, my dear." He helped me down.

"Thank you. Can I walk to the mercantile, while you finish your business inside?"

He tied the horse to the hitching post. "No," he responded firmly. "Not alone."

"Oh, for heaven's sakes. It's just across the street."

"And past the saloon. No. I'll escort you as soon as I check on the books."

I sighed, staring at the store longingly. There was a sign out front that read: _Higgins Merchandise_. I followed Frank into the church. He hurried to the pulpit, wandering around towards the back, where a small office was located. I waited; staring at the pews, the aroma of freshly cut wood lingering. As with our house, it smelled brand new; the windows were shiny, and a large quilt hung behind the pulpit, with the image of a cross patched together with yellow fabric. We were waiting on a shipment to arrive with a beautifully carved cross, adorned with the form of Jesus, but it hadn't made it yet.

"Well, I'm plain stumped. Those books should've shown up."

"Maybe they're at the post office."

"Josh was supposed to bring them here." He glanced around the room, his expression darkening. "I need those Bibles."

"They're coming."

"There's never a shortage of spirits in this town! Do you think the saloon would ever run out of whiskey?"

He was quite passionate about this particular subject. He looked adorable angry. Was I supposed to answer that question?

"No, of course not," he said bitterly. "The alcohol would never run out."

"Don't get all riled up. I'm sure there's a box of Bibles waiting at the post office."

"Fine then. We have to come back, if they're there."

"I know. I'll help carry everything. Will that make you happy?"

He took my hand, bringing it to his lips, while smiling affectionately. "Come, my dear. Let's go to the post office."

We crossed the street, whilst a strong wind blew, bringing up loose dirt from the road. I grasped my bonnet and kept my face down, trying to prevent the dust from flying into my eyes. Frank guided me past several carts and a fast-moving carriage. The music from the saloon played a lively tune, as men laughed and talked. Incidences of drunkenness were extreme, especially after the miners returned from the mountains, or Cherry Creek, where they panned gold from the sand in the river. That source seemed to be running out, though.

Unfortunately, it was necessary to pass the saloon on the way to the post office; the building in question was one shop away. There were men loitering outside, rough-looking men, who hid their unshaven faces beneath wide-brimmed hats. I avoided gazing at them directly, having learned this the hard way from when I had lived in town.

A commotion within the establishment occurred then, the doors of the saloon bursting open. A man in a suit coat and chaps came flying out, tumbling across the wooden walkway, landing at our feet. His hat had fallen off, revealing a clean-shaven face and startling blue eyes.

"Don't come back, Nathan, until you're sober!" called the bartender.

I glanced at Frank, who gazed upon the man with an unaffected expression, although I sensed he was amused. "Let me lend you a hand," he said, reaching out.

It was then that the stranger glanced at me, his gaze drifting from the bottom of my booted toes, to the wide skirt, and higher, resting on my face. "Fine as cream gravy," he murmured.

Far from offended, my husband helped him to his feet. "There you are, good fellow. Once you've spent all your money drinking, you're more than welcome to stop by the church."

"A preacher," he snorted. "I guess that makes you the preacher's wife?" His interest in me was unseemly. "Yeah, I suppose I should pray...I should ask God for a pretty little lady like you."

# Chapter Two

Living in a mining town filled with coarse men, I was used to this sort of attention, this brazen attitude. I maintained my composure; my shoulders were back, head held high, while my heart hammered against a restrictive corset. Frank took my arm, guiding me away from the stranger, who leered, his eyes following us into the post office. A prick of awareness went down my backbone, knowing that I was being thought of in an immoral light.

"I should put up the help wanted notice right here," said Frank, pointing to a wooden board on the wall. There were scraps of paper already pinned to it.

"For the fields?"

"Yes. You know I'm no farmer. I need someone to show me the ropes."

"Here are my letters." I handed him six neatly folded envelopes.

"Thank you, sweetness."

I was flattered by the compliment, but refrained from commenting, as people stared at us.

The post office bustled with customers; a line had formed, as men waited eagerly for their mail. The aroma of freshly cut pine mixed with unwashed bodies; these miners had only recently come from the mountains. My fingers itched to hold a handkerchief to my nose, although I refrained from doing so. I waited by the windows, keeping my eyes downcast, while Frank posted a "help wanted" notice on the board. There were dozens of similar notices, some asking for missing people.

Bells clanged, as the door swung open and a woman entered. "I thought that was you!" she gushed.

I met the gaze of a friendly face. "Adaline Ross."

"It's so good to see you."

She was the banker's wife. "We've been wanting to come to town all week, but we were horribly busy."

"I understand. How are you?"

"I'm well, and you?"

She leaned in, whispering, "I'm just fine. I've been meaning to talk to you. Can you come over for tea after church? I've invited Rhoda Caldwell and Sally Higgins as well. Our husbands have some influence in Denver City. It's time we had a discussion about where things are going."

I wouldn't miss this opportunity to be social, although I had no idea what she was talking about. "Of course. I'd love to join you after church."

"Excellent." Her smile was genuine. "I'll let them know then. You have a good day, dear. It's been a madhouse. Supply wagons came yesterday."

"Oh, that sounds promising."

"They really need to bring the railroad out."

"I couldn't agree more."

"With miners coming every day, it won't be long before it happens. Things are changing rapidly."

"Yes, they are."

"Please, say hello to your husband for me. I must be going."

"I'll see you on Sunday, Adaline."

"Sunday." She hurried out the door, her green skirts whooshing behind her.

I waited ten minutes for Frank to get the mail; my excitement was palpable, seeing the small stack of envelopes in his hand. I would savor each letter, reading it in peaceful solitude later.

He held open the door for me, as we left. "You'll be pleased to know that everyone in your acquaintance has written and I've received only one letter from my sister."

"I'm anxious to read them, but we have other errands first." In my excitement, I had forgotten about the drunkard who had unceremoniously fallen at my feet. He stood against a wood beam, his hat slightly askew, watching us, as we strolled down the walkway. I hid under the bonnet, avoiding his gaze. "Mrs. Ross says hello to you."

"That's kind of her."

"She's invited me to tea after church."

"Excellent, Hannah. I can stay and get some work done."

"I'd like that very much. I hardly ever see anyone."

"It'll be good for you." A gust of wind picked up the loose dirt from the street. "Something's coming in fast. We'd best hurry or we'll be caught in it."

I'd nearly forgotten. "You didn't get your Bibles?"

"No, unfortunately. Another shipment's coming in on Monday."

I smiled sympathetically. "It'll be all right. We'll make do."

"Yes, dear."

At the carpenters, I waited just inside the door, while Frank bought a new hammer and a bag of nails, along with glue. He was packed and ready within minutes, escorting me to the mercantile. There were several items I needed here, among them, sugar, tea, and mason jars. If there was any money left over, I could indulge in fabric and thread and possibly even yarn.

We weren't through the door more than a second before I heard, "Well, if it isn't Mrs. Clark! How are you, Hannah?"

"I'm well, Mrs. Higgins, and you?"

"Well as can be expected." She was tall for a woman; her blonde hair fell to the sides of her face, while the rest had been done up in a braided bun.

"How's Mr. Higgins?" asked Frank.

"Just fine, Pastor Clark. I'm not usually one to gossip, but a little birdie told me you've completed your house."

"We have," I said. "I really should invite everyone out. Perhaps, when the weather's better, we can have dinner, and you can see all the improvements."

"That would be lovely, Hannah."

"You know about tea on Sunday, don't you?"

"I'll be there with bells on."

"So will I." I glanced longingly at the selection of fabric stacked against the wall. "Oh, those look marvelous."

"New shipments came in yesterday. You're more than welcome to have a look." I glanced at my husband, whose expression was deceivingly blank. "There's lovely lace and ribbons."

"I think I'll visit the lumber store for a spell. I've some ideas for a bunkhouse. It seems like you'll be here...for a while."

He was going to indulge me! "I'll try to be quick about it."

"Take your time. The weather will hold. You should enjoy yourself, while you can."

"Thank you, dear."

He tipped his hat. "Good afternoon. I'll retrieve my wife in fifteen minutes."

Once he'd gone, Mrs. Higgins said, "Your husband is entirely devoted to you, Hannah."

My fingers ran over a length of cloth, delighting in the softness of the fabric. "He is. He spoils me so. I think I'll need two yards of this...and possibly a yard and a half of the calico."

"Good choice."

My happiness could hardly be contained. Not only did I have an abundance of mail to read, but I also had enough fabric and yarn to keep me busy for at least three weeks. I felt blessed then and quite lucky in the life God had chosen for me.

Once all the packages were stowed securely in the back of the wagon, we were seated on the wooden plank, braving the gusty weather, as thick, grey clouds began to settle in on top of us. The temperature had plummeted, alluding to rain or possibly even snow later in the evening. By the time we reached the house, the first droplet fell, and I thanked my lucky stars that we hadn't stayed in the city any longer than we had.

After making dinner and tidying up, I sat on the sofa, which was the one item of luxury I was able to bring, and read my letters by lamplight. My older sister, Louisa, attended a woman's college in Troy, and she was planning a wedding soon. Paulina had stars in her eyes, wanting to join me out west. She was seriously considering traveling with friends, who wanted to homestead in California. She had dozens of question about how we had survived for two months on the Oregon Trail. The youngest, Fanny, was still in school. There had been a death in the neighborhood; Mr. Porter had fallen over during dinner, in what they say had been a serious heart malady. My sisters rarely discussed politics, although a storm was brewing with the south over slavery.

When I'd had my fill of all things related to family, I turned down the lamp and went upstairs, where Frank was in the process of changing into his nightclothes. A dim lamp sat on a bedside table. All of our furniture, besides the sofa, was rustic; the bed had been bought in Denver City from a Dutch merchant. It was plain looking, yet functional.

"So tell me," said Frank. "How are the energetic Hoffman sisters?"

"Fine. Louisa is getting married soon and Paulina wants to come here. Good gracious. It's such a long journey. I don't think I could do it again, even if I wanted to. They all want to know what's happening with the gold. They seem to think it's falling from the trees."

Frank washed his face and hands in a white ceramic bowl on the dresser. "If they only knew the truth. It's dirty, filthy, backbreaking work."

"Is it true that a miner dies every day on the mountain?" I'd begun to unhook and unbutton the dress.

"Not every day, but close." He glanced over his shoulder. "Should I help you, my dear?"

My arms were behind my back. "Would you?"

"It would be my pleasure." The husky tone in his voice gave me pause, as little butterflies began to bounce in my stomach.

Once the dress was off, the task of removing the corset began, Frank untying the laces. My crinoline wasn't nearly as big as some I had seen at home. I had to be practical when it came to how I dressed, and I only wore the steel cage to town and to church. In my daily life, such garments were unfeasible. When I had undressed completely, leaving only a chemise, a pile of frilly white things were draped over the chair. I found my nightclothes in a drawer, and Frank turned his back while I changed. Then I washed my face and hands with tepid water. Crawling into bed, I listened to the rain hitting the dormer windows.

"We're getting a good soaking."

"The roof seems to be holding." He turned the lamp down. Then he slid next to me, his nose near my neck. "You smell sweet."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

Hands were suddenly on me. "Oh, Frank. I have my monthly."

"We'll be...careful."

I pushed against him, intrigued yet worried over the possible mess. "You're incorrigible. Stop that."

"Kiss me."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"Pretty please with molasses on top?"

"We should get to sleep. We're up so early."

The bed creaked with the weight of his body, as he was now on top of me. "I'm stealing the kisses then. You've been warned."

"Oh, you—" I giggled, enjoying teasing him, although I knew I would give in. Our lips met, breaths mingling, as things suddenly became far more heated.

***

The barn door slamming must have woken me. Frank had gone out to milk the cow. Rolling over in bed, I stretched, arching my back, relieved to know that most of my chores had been completed during the week. There was breakfast to be made, but, other than food preparation, I would be free to sew, and I had several exciting projects planned. I got up to look out the window.

The storm had left a thin blanket of white over the newly planted trees and the shrubs that surrounded the house. The skies had cleared already, but islands of fluffy clouds remained in the sky. The weather in Colorado was unpredictable, as storms moved in quickly and left the next day. It was rare that it rained more than two days in a row.

I had dressed, wearing a simple calico outfit with an apron, fixing my hair into a tight bun that would loosen as the day wore on. In the kitchen, I made biscuits with warm maple syrup for dunking and scrambled eggs with bacon. A teapot was on the table, with dainty cups. My kitchen was a big square with a wooden table and four chairs in the center. Frank had built shelves, but they were crudely implemented. One day, I wished to return to New York and retrieve some furnishings my mother was keeping for me, but it would be difficult without a direct train route.

"That's done then." Frank appeared at the door, his hat covered in a dusting of snow. "Here's the milk." He handed me a metal bucket; the handle was freezing.

"Thank you."

"Something smells delicious."

"Sit and have some. Here are the eggs." I placed a plate in the center of the table. "We need one of the chickens for dinner tonight."

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned.

Wiping my hands on the apron, I joined him, pouring tea into a cup. "What are your plans today?"

"Well, after I kill a few more prairie dogs, I'll measure out the new bunkhouse."

I sat back in the chair. "Leave those poor animals alone. Good gosh. They're adorable, the way they stand up on their mounds. They've probably built tunnels underground, don't you think?"

"They're vermin. They carry disease, honey."

"What do we need a bunkhouse for?"

"I can't do the farming alone. I need help getting the field ready for planting. If I hire people, they can stay here."

"Why?"

"I have to wait until harvest to pay wages. They can work for room and board."

"Oh."

"I'm thinking of buying more cows. We got a hundred and twenty acres. It's fertile ground, honey. I'm hoping to cultivate at least thirty acres for corn, wheat, and potatoes."

"My goodness. This sounds serious." This was the first I had heard of it.

"I want a smokehouse too. Those pigs are awfully tasty that way. Whatever we don't eat, we can sell for profit."

A hint of a smile toyed around the edges of my mouth. My husband wasn't raised in the country; his family had lived in New York City most of their lives. From the expression on his face, it was obvious that he relished the idea of self-sufficiency. He enjoyed getting his hands dirty and building things, although some of the walls in the house weren't entirely plumb. However, he had made a fine roof that kept the water off our heads. I could forgive a crooked wall or two, because once I put up the wallpaper, no one would be the wiser.

"Come harvest, we should see a profit. We'll get our money back. Don't you worry."

I placed a hand over his. "I'm not worried. I just can't believe how lucky I am. You've given me so much, Frank."

He squeezed my fingers. "I'd do anything for you, Hannah. I'm sorry I took you away from everything you've ever known, but this is our opportunity to make something of ourselves. I look around at the house, and I'm proud. It's the first real thing I've ever built. Once the baby comes, we'll be a family."

"Yes, we will."

# Chapter Three

I was in a rush Sunday morning, hastily ironing Frank's shirt. He had gone out to the barn to milk the cow, while I had gotten breakfast ready. On his return, he brought back a basket full of eggs.

"We should sell some of these. We can't eat them all, honey."

"I know."

He'd gone upstairs, his feet thumping on the ceiling above my head. I had to finish the shirt and fix my hair, wanting to look my best. I had struggled to get to sleep last night wondering what Adaline and Sally wanted to discuss. It seemed to be an important matter. When I finished the chore, I left the iron on the stove and went to Frank, who sat on the end of the bed, polishing his shoes.

"Thank you, my dear."

"I have to get dressed."

"Pay me no mind." I glanced at him over my shoulder, and he winked at me. "I do so love your naked shoulders."

"Oh, don't say another word, mister. Not on the Lord's day."

"All right, but you know I'm thinking about it."

"Oh, shush."

He chuckled in reply.

My husband's libido was a formidable...pleasure...and I shouldn't dwell on it either, or else I'd arrive for the service with a flushed face and I wouldn't be able to look anyone in the eye. Once dressed and ready, we hurried from the house, having already taken too long. It was imperative that we weren't late. The wagon had been prepared, and the horse was waiting. I sat on the wooden bench, smoothing my skirts, which billowed out before me, exposing the ruffled edges of the petticoat.

When we were near Denver City, we passed Jason Franklin's farm. He stood on the front porch, a revolver firmly in hand, while his wife, Laura waved. While their dogs barked up a storm, I waved back. "Good morning!" I called.

"Good morning!"

Frank took the reins with one hand, waving. "He looks like he had lemons for breakfast."

"That he does," I giggled.

There was a chill in the air, my jacket barely kept me warm, and, if it weren't for my Indian shawl, I'd have frozen all the way through. We were early for the service, Frank wanting to prepare his sermon in peace and quiet, while I swept the floors and dusted the pews.

I left the front door open, although the breeze was frosty. I sat three rows from the pulpit, to the right, and waited for the room to fill in. Miners came with their wives, although most were single men, as their families waited back east. There were several newly married couples, and strangers I had never seen before. The Ross's and the Higgins arrived together, sitting across the aisle from me, the men removing their hats upon entering. The town doctor, Samuel Caldwell, and his wife, Rhoda, arrived as well, although her chin was raised slightly higher than everyone else's.

I wouldn't let myself glance over my shoulder, as it was impolite to turn and stare at others in church. I remained as composed and at peace as I felt, waiting for my husband to take the pulpit and begin the sermon. He'd prepared for more than an hour, scribbling notes on a piece of paper, and holding places within the Bible for reference. When he emerged at last, the murmur of voices dimmed, and he began to speak. I adored his voice, the appealing baritone that I had come to know so well. Frank read from Exodus 33:12-23, which I hadn't expected. My husband was in fine spirits today, not only because his eyes sparkled with happiness, but he was surprisingly passionate in the delivery, imparting upon the importance of goodness, benevolence, and mercy.

After the hymns had concluded, we got to our feet, my back aching from having to sit so straight. While Frank talked with several parishioners, I made my way over to Adaline, who stood with Sally.

"That was a lovely sermon," said Adaline. "You must be so proud of your husband. For someone so young, he has quite a presence."

"He's in rare form this morning."

"You'll be joining us for tea, soon, won't you?" asked Sally.

"Of course. I just have to finish up here, and I'll be right over."

"We'll be waiting for you." Adaline's heavily trimmed bonnet was tied with a black ribbon just under her throat. "Don't be late. You don't want to miss my famous Old-Fashioned Short Cake. It's divine."

My stomach rumbled. "I won't. It sounds wonderful."

Twenty minutes later, I bid my husband farewell and hurried from the church, grasping the shawl, as the wind wanted to snatch it away. Boisterous music from the saloon was accompanied by ruckus laughter, as the miners inside drank and gambled their earnings away. Worse was the brothel across the street, but I would not dare gaze upon that house, especially not on a Sunday. The mercantile was open, although the shop was closed, but the Higgins' lived on the second floor, with the kitchen at the back. Knowing I was expected, I took to the stairs, finding Sally and Adaline seated alongside the doctor's wife, Rhoda Caldwell, in a pretty parlor. A short table was filled with adorable crockery: dainty teacups, flower etched plates, and a rounded teapot of the same pattern. I sighed at the sight, because porcelain was a weakness of mine.

"I'm sorry I'm late. What a lovely tea service."

"Thank you, my dear," said Adaline. "It was a wedding present, but...that was long ago. Have a seat."

I did so, leaving my drawstring purse in my lap. "That smells delicious." The sweetness of the cake teased my nose. "Vanilla and..."

"Almonds," supplied Adaline. "I make it with almonds."

"Oh, inventive. I can't wait to try it."

"All right, ladies," said Rhoda, who poured steaming dark tea into my cup. "We have important things to discuss. The first meeting of the City of Denver Temperance League will now come to order."

"W-what?" I hadn't been expecting that.

"It's nothing really official," laughed Sally. "It's actually unofficial. More like secret."

"It won't be a secret for long, if I have my say." Rhoda's stern expression would not be gainsaid. "I have had it up to here," she indicted her neck, "with the drunkenness and debauchery. You don't live in town, young lady." She eyed me. "You have no idea how rowdy these miners get after they've been drinking all day. I've had four bullets in our office this week alone. One almost broke the window."

My mouth fell open. "My, that's terribly dangerous."

"Indeed it is." She sat rigid, her shoulders back. "I've made up the pamphlets, and they've gone to the printers already." She passed a piece of yellow paper my way. "We're going to hand these out on Friday afternoon before the saloon. That's when the ruffians will be at their absolute worst."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Frank would never allow me to participate in this, even if I wanted to, and that was doubtful.

"She has a point," said Adaline. "Friday might be too rowdy. I say Thursday afternoon is better."

Mrs. Caldwell pursed her lips. "Let's take a vote on it then, ladies. Who's for Thursday?"

"I am." Sally smiled, reaching for a knife. "I'm cutting this cake. I have to have a piece."

I scanned the pamphlet. _The Women's Christian Temperance League of Denver is committed to social and moral reform. Our wish is that everyone might live in a productive and sober world, where values are placed on abstinence and purity_. I scanned the rest. _The dangers of alcohol are too numerous to count...leading to poverty...wife beating...and the destruction of the family_. _The answer is God, my friends. Return to the fold, and be reborn. Do not waste yourselves on the evils of liquor._

"Did you write this, Mrs. Caldwell?" I glanced at her.

"Of course I wrote it. Are you going to help us, Mrs. Clark, or are you going to sit idle while the town disintegrates into a haven for drunks and thieves?"

"I'll...have to think about it. I might be able to come on Thursday."

"Excellent."

Sally handed me a dainty plate filled with cake. "Thank you."

"Now, what about that parlour house?" asked Adaline. "Must I walk past it each and every day?"

"One thing at a time, my dear," said Rhoda. "We'll tackle the drunks first." Her stern expression revealed distaste. "Then the soiled doves."

"Some of these women are poor widows," said Adaline. "Catherine McDermott was a good, fine woman before Charlie died. She only resorted to...er...selling herself to feed her children."

"My dear, if she had been a good, fine woman as you say, she never would have resorted to something so base. She would have strengthened her faith and found salvation in God. It's shameful, I tell you."

Mrs. Caldwell held firm opinions about nearly everything. I wasn't used to such plain talk. "This dessert is wonderful."

"Thank you," said Adaline.

"Now," said Rhoda. "Hannah, what do you think of my handiwork?"

I stared at the pamphlet. "It's...to the point, Mrs. Caldwell. I just don't know if it'll stop the miners from drinking. They seem bent on self-destruction, from what little I've seen."

"There were a few in church this morning," said Sally. "They were to the back with the...several ladies of ill repute."

I gasped. I hadn't seen this. "I beg your pardon?"

"Some of them do go to church."

"I didn't know that. I really should take the time to look around, I suppose." I wasn't sure how I felt about such a thing, knowing that these women had darkened our doorway, but, then again, it was the house of the Lord, and I should be ashamed for thinking that they didn't deserve salvation.

"It's all right, my dear," said Rhoda. "They were dressed discreetly in their Sunday best. You'd never know by looking at them that they...were prostitutes." She glanced around the table. "But we know, don't we? I tell Samuel he isn't to treat them when they come in...sick and such, but he won't listen. I won't horrify you ladies with the details, but...things other than fornication happen in that house. Those women know how to...get rid of babies...and it's not pretty."

This conversation was so shocking; I felt the blood drain from my face. My appetite had vanished. Placing the fork on the table, I stood, scraping the legs of the chair on the floor. "I...need some air. Excuse me." In the hallway, I leaned against the wall, taking several deep breaths. I wasn't alone for long.

"She's always like that," said Adaline. "She's a doctor's wife. She knows all sorts of gossip."

"I shouldn't listen to it."

"I'm sorry, if you're offended. I told her she best get off that subject right now. It's not our business what these women do with their bodies and such. I prefer not to know."

"I can't wash it out of my brain now." Horrible images filled my mind, and I struggled to push them aside. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear any of that. I'll do the pamphlets, but those other women...I won't go near there."

"I understand. We'll concentrate on one vice at a time. Hopefully, we can bring in new members."

"I have to get back. Frank's waiting for me. Let me say goodbye proper, and then I'll be on my way."

"It's unfortunate you can't stay longer."

"You're more than welcome to my house whenever you can stop by. We could have a sewing day, and I can read you some of my letters. My sister Louisa pens the funniest things."

"That sounds marvelous."

I said my goodbyes and met Frank at the church, where he'd been in conversation with several businessmen. They had taken up the front pews, while Frank stood before them with his thumbs in his pockets. It struck me then just how handsome my husband was and how good he was to me, spoiling me so beautifully. I couldn't wait to get home and loosen my corset, whilst cuddling with him on the sofa. It was one of our favorite Sunday activities. The sooner we were on the road, the better.

Days later, I had begun to regret my decision to join Adaline, Rhoda, and Sally in our secret temperance movement. I feared exposing myself in town, especially to coarse men, but, perhaps, the pamphlet would make some of them think about the dangers of alcohol. If they were aware, perhaps they might abstain. I'd told Frank that I needed to go to town to check the mail, as we would not be able to on Friday. He was helping some neighbors assemble a barn, and that was the only day they could all come together for the project.

As we were driving into the city, I cast surreptitious glances at Frank, worried that he might suspect I was up to something, but he prattled on about this and that, wanting to check the post office and see if there had been any responses to the notice he had posted. Anxious to get the bunkhouse completed and work started on the fields, he seemed more tense than usual. After he had dropped me off at the mercantile, I encountered Sally behind the counter.

"Oh, good! You made it."

"I suppose. I hope I don't get in trouble for this."

"Why on earth would you?"

"Frank won't like it."

"We'll hand out the pamphlets and be on our way."

I glanced at her dubiously. "I somehow doubt it's going to be that easy."

"Something must be done about the vagrancy in the city. It's gotten out of control. More miners come in every day, adding to the trouble."

"Maybe if I lived here, I'd be as passionate about this as you are."

"It's a moral concern for everyone. Your husband should preach about it. I did see some miners in church. It might encourage them to behave."

"I'll mention it to him. It's better left to the men to deal with anyhow. They're responsible for law and order. It's not something I should concern myself with."

"Well, the way I see it," she untied her apron, "is that we're going to get the ball rolling. We'll make a fuss, and then someone will take notice and bring the lawmen. These mining districts are hardly efficient for that type of thing. They turn their cheek mostly, unless someone's shot outright."

I was impatient to begin, wanting to hurry before Frank saw me outside the saloon. "When do we do this?"

"Right now." She reached behind the counter, withdrawing a stack of yellow papers. "Here you are. These are yours."

"Thank you."

The bell on the door rang. "Hello, ladies," said Rhoda Caldwell, wearing a pretty straw bonnet. "It's time to spread the word about abstinence. I'm ready." She held out a gloved hand. "Give me those papers."

"Where's Adaline?" I glanced into the street, as a covered wagon ambled by, led by a tired-looking horse.

"She'll be here," said Sally.

"Let's start without her then. Samuel has patients until four, and I need to be home in time to fix supper."

"Yes, we might as well." The sooner I handed out the pamphlets, the better. The nervous knot that had settled in the pit of my stomach was a warning that I was about to do something I aught not to.

# Chapter Four

The three of us marched up the street, garnering quite a bit of attention, as women were scarce in town, especially gently bred women. There was music from the saloon, laughter, and the clinking of glasses, as we took up positions out front, mindful to steer clear of the swinging doors. I stood at the base of the steps of the boardwalk, my bonnet protecting my face from the sun.

Rhoda and Sally were nearer to the doors, which saw a steady stream of men arriving, some tying their horses to the hitching post. I was careful not to step in anything foul, keeping my eyes lowered, while holding the pamphlets in a trembling hand.

"Good sir," said Rhoda in a clear voice. "Won't you take a moment to read this? It's about the evils of alcohol." He laughed, brushing against her, his boots clomping on the wooden boardwalk. "Well, that went nowhere," she muttered.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" Adaline rushed towards us, her skirts flying out behind her. "Here, let me help." She took a handful of pamphlets from Sally. "Where do I stand?"

"You can come by me," said Sally.

A wagon approached, filled with miners; wide brimmed hats shaded their leathery faces. One by one they jumped from the wagon, approaching the saloon, keen on having a drink. Adaline managed to give away several pamphlets, while Rhoda was in conversation with a tall, blonde man, whose accent was European. I was far too timid to make small talk with strange men, and I found myself stepping away from the group, wanting to distance myself.

"What ya got there, lady?" asked a deep male voice behind me.

I spun around, meeting a startling blue gaze. This had been the man who had been ejected from the saloon the other day. "Um...here." I shoved a pamphlet towards him. "Read this."

He eyed the paper, the edges of his eyes crinkling. It was improper to look steadily at one, but I found myself doing just that. He was cleaner than the other miners, his clothing stitched neatly around the edges, not frayed. He had bathed recently, because the smell wasn't overwhelming.

"Temperance and moderation?" He grinned, his gaze skimming over my face. "You're hardly a deterrent to drinking, Mrs.?"

"Mrs. C-clark."

"Knowing that you're standing here, I might have to come more often."

"Haven't you a better hobby, sir?"

His smile was enormous, revealing white, yet slightly crooked teeth. "Why, yes I do." He pointed to the establishment across the street. "When I'm not drinking, you can find me in there."

I gasped. He had indicated the brothel. "I'm...speechless, sir."

"I should apologize for that, but...oh, hell, it was fun." He'd yet to stop staring at me, his expression teasing and far too intimate.

"Well, I've done my job today. I've given you that...paper. Good day, sir."

"Is that all?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Aren't you gonna lecture me about the evils of drinkin'?" He waited expectantly, a flicker of amusement glimmering in his eyes.

"It's evil when women and children suffer, sir."

He hadn't anticipated that retort, his smile faltering. "I have to agree on that score." He leaned in. "But there aren't any women and children in the saloon."

"No, of course not. They suffer after...after the drunken man comes home."

"That would be..." he glanced at the paper..."the poverty and wife-beating part, eh?" The teasing grin was back.

"Yes, sir."

"What do you recommend I do then, to save myself?"

"You could start by not drinking."

"And?"

"Then you should go to church."

Thick eyebrows shot up. "Church? Haven't been to church in a good spell. Might burst into flames and such, if I did. I'm liable to burn the entire town down, seeing that all the buildings are wood."

"You're teasing me, sir...what is your name?"

He removed his hat, exposing a thick mane of dark hair. "Nathan Weaver at your service, ma'am."

"Besides drinking and...that other hobby, what is your profession, sir?" I regretted asking this question, as it was far too personal, and why on earth did I care what he did?

The hat was back in place. He rubbed his chin, which was coated in short, dark hair. "I reckon I'm a bit of a gambler, ma'am. I'm mighty flattered by your interest in me."

Ouf! The gall! "I'm hardly interested in the likes of you, Mr. Weaver. I only ask because maybe you might like to improve yourself."

"And you think going to church will accomplish that?"

"It certainly can't hurt."

Again he neared, his voice lowering. "If you'll let me sit beside you, I might consider it."

I wasn't sure what startled me more, the silky rich baritone of his voice or the shiver that went down my backbone, leaving me tingling in odd places. Utterly flustered, I faltered; whatever response I had been about to verbalize died in my throat.

"Hannah! What on earth are you doing?" Frank approached, his look stern, yet slightly amused. "What in the blazes is going on here? I leave for five minutes, and you're..." he glanced at Mr. Weaver..."making all kinds of new friends."

"I'm...this is...oh, dear."

"You mustn't fret, Pastor Clark," said Adaline. "We're the Women's Christian Temperance League of Denver City. We're doing our part to stop the abuse of alcohol and women."

His mouth fell open. "Give me that." Frank took a pamphlet out of my hand, reading it quickly. To my surprise, he began to laugh. "Oh, Hannah. What've these women talked you into?" He glanced at Mr. Weaver. "I'm sorry about that. I hope my wife wasn't too annoying. I had no idea she was going to do this." He held out his hand. "I'm Pastor Clark, by the way."

"Nathan Weaver."

Recognition lit Frank's eyes. " _You_ responded to my query. You and a fellow named Jerry Pratt."

I glanced between my husband and Nathan, seeing men of similar height and build, although Nathan was bulkier. My husband needed fattening up.

"Yes, I did."

"You're looking for work?"

"I am. I found mining not to be...to my liking."

"I need strong men to help build a bunkhouse and till a field for planting and such. I confess; I'm not much of a farmer. I'm a city boy, born and raised, but I want to make a go of it. I've got a hundred and twenty acres, most of it useable." He smiled at me. "At least I think it is, once I kill off those darn prairie dogs."

Nathan slid his hands into pockets. "I'm from Missouri. I've done my fair share of farming. I could see helping you out, sir, if you'd be willing to hire me."

"You know this Pratt fellow?"

"I sure do. He's a friend of mine."

"Why don't you come out to the house tomorrow, and we'll talk about it."

If my husband hired this man, he would be living on our property, no more than five feet from our home. I opened my mouth to object, but—

"I think I will. Then we can discuss wages and such." Nathan glanced at me. "It might be time for me to...better myself."

"I...we should talk about this, Frank," I said. "I'm not sure I want strangers on our property."

"I'll be checking references, my dear. You needn't worry about that."

"But...they're strangers." I met Nathan's stare and shivered. What worried me more than anything was the way I felt in his presence.

"Stop by the house tomorrow. It's due east, about three miles away."

"I'll do that." He tipped his hat. "It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Clark."

"Sally Higgins!" someone shouted. "What are you doing here?" Her husband approached, his angry footsteps stomping on the dusty street. "What in Sam Hill is going on here?"

Frank took my arm, leading me away. "I think you've had enough fun for one afternoon, my dear."

A lady never peers over her shoulder while walking down the street, but curiosity got the better of me, and I took one last look at Nathan. He watched me with a grin, his hands firmly in his pockets. The Christian Women's Temperance League of Denver City had been disbanded for the afternoon; our efforts weren't all that successful.

As Frank handed me up into the wagon, I said, "What about the barn tomorrow? I thought you were helping the Williams?"

He sat next to me, grasping the reins. "That's been put off another week. I'm buying the lumber for the bunkhouse tomorrow. Looks like I'm finally in business." He snapped the reins, shouting, "Yah!"

"Oh, Frank. I can't believe you hired strangers, especially that man. He's a drunkard."

"He seemed perfectly sober to me."

"That's because I stopped him before he went into the saloon."

"Yeah, about that, what are you women thinking? Why on earth would you be standing out there like that? You've had this planned for a while, haven't you?"

"It...was Rhoda's idea."

He nodded. "She's a firecracker, that one."

"Something has to be done about the drunkenness in town."

"Let the law handle that."

"There is no law here."

He sighed. "I'll preach about moderation on Sunday. Will that make you happy, my dear?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "I suppose." Unease settled into my bones. Nothing good would come of having Nathan Weaver on our property. Nothing at all.

"Now, you want to tell me what you were doing protesting outside the saloon?"

"Not really."

"If you want to improve things in town, why don't we work on establishing a charity? Once our farm is up and running, we'll have plenty of food left over to sell and to give away to poor folks."

"We need to do something." I glanced at the tents that spotted either side of the road. Miners lingered over cooking pots. "These men won't stay here. They'll leave as soon as the gold is exhausted."

"But plenty will set down roots. We're going to stay. I think it's beautiful here. The winter might be rough, but it's not unlivable. We have heat and shelter, and there'll be plenty of food, come the harvest. It won't be long before they declare this place the Colorado Territory. Might even happen as soon as next year."

I glanced at him. "I didn't really want to hand out those pamphlets. Sally and Adaline talked me into it."

"I knew you'd never come up with something like that on your own. Those women are bad influences." He grinned, amusement etched into the lines on either side of his mouth. "My meek little wife has taken up with troublemakers. What is this world coming to?"

"Oh, bosh. That's not true."

"Now, I must speak to you about something important. What are you making for dinner?"

"Fried chicken with potatoes and brown gravy."

"That sounds good. What's for dessert?" He looked hopeful.

"Lazy Cobbler."

He whistled through his teeth. "You're forgiven, my dear."

I giggled, happy to be safely in my husband's good graces again. But then I thought of Nathan Weaver and the conversation we had. My mood was contemplative the rest of the evening, while I spun magic in the kitchen, fixing supper, while humming the tune _Sit By The Summer Sea_. If only we had been able to bring our piano. It waited along with the rest of our things at my parent's house, but I might never see them again.

Frank was up early the next day, milking the cow while I prepared breakfast, which consisted of peanut butter griddle cakes and scrambled eggs. My larder was fully stocked, the shelves filled with flour, sugar, and preserves. Bags of rice and beans would see us through the next few months. We were fortunate to have had the funds to live in such extravagance; my husband's inheritance had been useful in this regard. As I set the table, waiting for Frank, I thought about the impending arrival of the strangers he wanted to hire to work our land. This had weighed heavily on my mind all night, while I had tossed and turned, not being able to sleep.

Once we had eaten, Frank left for town, determined to pick up the shipment of wood for the bunkhouse. While he was gone, I busied myself cleaning the dishes, sweeping the floor, and preparing the menu for dinner. The sound of a wagon had me on my feet, as I glanced through a window. I thought Frank had returned, but two men I did not know approached, their faces hidden beneath hats. I assumed Nathan Weaver was the one in the denim pants. The other man I had never met before.

"Oh, Frank!" I sounded irritated. "Where are you? You were supposed to be back already."

I ventured down the hallway, past the dining room, which stood empty, as we did not have the means to purchase a table and chairs yet, and went to the door. The men jumped down from the wagon, removing their hats. Inhaling deeply, I squared my shoulders and prepared to face them.

"Howdy!" called Nathan. "Mrs. Clark."

"Hello." I stepped onto the front porch, squinting, as the sun was sharp at that moment. "My husband's on his way home shortly. He went to get wood."

"This is Jerry Pratt."

"Hello."

"Good to meet you." He was a stocky-looking man with a toothy grin. "Nice property you have here. Pretty house."

"Thank you."

Nathan took to the stairs, his booted feet clomping on the wood. "You should know, you saved me from a hog-killin' time last night. I was a good boy, only had three whiskeys. Went to bed with all my faculties in place."

"I'm happy to hear it."

"It's in my nature to be half seas over by evenin', but all I could think about was your nifty little pamphlet on the dangers of alcohol."

Jerry stood beside him, his expression impassive. He had no idea what Nathan was talking about. "You're teasing me, sir. That's not polite."

"I know," he murmured, grinning. "You make it too easy."

It was a struggle not to smile. "I can offer you some refreshments gentlemen. I have apple cider and lemonade. I'm sorry, but we don't drink spirits here."

"The cider sounds good," said Jerry. "That's mighty generous of you, ma'am."

I held open the door. "Well, come inside then."

Jerry was the first across the threshold, his eyes spanning the parlor. "Nice."

Nathan was beside me, his height similar to my husband's. He stared at me, his expression unreadable. Our eyes met; the moment stretched out for an infinite amount of time, the clock ticking in the parlor gave testimony to this fact. The sound of a wagon broke the spell, relief flooding me.

"Oh, thank heavens. M-my husband's here."

# Chapter Five

If I thought I would be in moral peril because of Nathan Weaver's proximity, it was a relief to know that the men only spent one night in the house, using the dining room, where they lay upon their bedrolls. Although I felt a strong prick of awareness where Nathan was concerned, Frank kept the men busy, building the bunkhouse and beginning work in the field, where the ground was prepared for planting. I rarely saw them, except at mealtimes.

"We'll be able to plant the corn at the beginning of April," said Frank, who bustled into the room. "I'm expanding the vegetable garden as well, but you're going to have to manage it after it's planted."

"I will." I wiped my hands on the apron. I had been peeling potatoes. "It all seems to be falling into place."

He approached, grinning, and then he kissed my cheek. "Yes, my dear. Your worry over the men was for naught. They're fine workers."

"I'm glad."

"What's for dinner?"

"Baked beans with pork and potatoes."

"That sounds wonderful." He poured himself a glass of lemonade. "I want to get that smokehouse done, so we can cure meat."

"That would be good."

"Yes, ma'am." He gazed out the window. "It's all falling into place." He glanced at me. "But you seem unhappy. What's wrong?"

"I'm just hoping for a baby now. That would make it perfect."

Placing the glass on the table, he drew me into his arms. "It'll happen, honey. I'll impregnate you yet."

"Frank," I gasped. "That's so crude."

"I can't wait to see you bulging with a baby. You'll look lovely chubby and round."

"Stop that."

"Kiss me."

"No, I have sewing to do."

"You can always sew."

He leaned in, catching my cheek. I pushed against his chest. "Don't. We might be seen."

"Heaven forbid! Then they'll know this was no marriage of convenience."

"No, it wasn't."

"Do you actually do love me? Is it true?" He was teasing.

"You know it's true. I had my choice of suitors, Frank Clark. I could've been a butcher's wife or a lawman's wife or with that banker from Albany. I might've missed an opportunity to live in style, but...here I am with you instead." Would he take the bait?

He placed a hand over his heart. "You've wounded me, my love. I was the last choice on a long list."

"You should be grateful I picked you at all." I poked his chest with the tip of my finger. "You should count your lucky stars every day that I'm with you."

"I do." He held me closer, his breath fanning out over my face. The aroma of lemonade lingered. "You should thank the stars I didn't marry Gertrude Ledbetter. She was a strong contender for my heart. It was almost too close to call."

"Ouf!" I pushed him, but he held me firm. "That's not true at all from what I recall. You wanted her sister."

"They were both handsome."

My mouth fell open. "You're incorrigible."

"I am."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," said a deep voice I recognized instantly. Nathan stood in the doorway. "Might I have a word with Mr. Clark, please."

"Yes, of course." Frank winked at me. "I'm coming."

"Afternoon, Mrs. Clark." He'd removed his hat.

"Afternoon."

"We'll be back for supper, dear."

I found myself in an empty room, staring at the doorway. "Yes, Frank," I murmured to myself.

As the week wore on, the field was nearly tilled; only the western corner remained. The smokehouse was operational, with drying, salted meat hanging from a variety of hooks. I was impressed with all the improvements; the property had begun to resemble a true farm now. To my surprise, by Wednesday, the rattle of a carriage held my attention, as it drew to a stop in front of the house and Sally Higgins descended. She'd traveled all the way from town by herself.

I rushed to the door, reaching it just as she made her way up the steps. "You came alone?" This was astonishing.

"Of course I came alone." She patted the pocket in the fold of her skirt. "Me and my good friend, Colt Navy, always travel together."

"You can handle a revolver?"

"It's all a part of living in the wild frontier. Of course I can handle the revolver. It doesn't have a kick like a rifle. I'll show you sometime. You need to talk that husband of yours into purchasing one for you. Then you can come to town more often."

There was an Indian attack two days ago. Three miners had been ambushed by the Cheyenne, although the details were murky. "Well, come in, and I'll put the kettle on."

"Thank you, Hannah." She removed her bonnet, eyeing the house. "You've made it very pretty."

"I have all kinds of ideas. I'm waiting for wallpaper to arrive. Then I'll have more furniture sent out, hopefully by fall. It's a shame we don't have train service."

"I know. It makes everything that much harder."

In the kitchen, I set the kettle on the stove, excited to have a visitor. "Is your husband still angry about the pamphlet incident?"

"Oh, heaven's no. He's fine; how about yours?"

"Frank was surprised to see so many miners at church. I do think some of them looked over that paper and thought about things."

"A few rotten apples in that bunch went and spoiled it all. Most of those men are law abiding citizens, who have families out east."

"Yes, that's true. Would you like milk and sugar?"

"Please." She glanced around the room. "Your husband's been busy with improvements. Is that a smokehouse I saw?"

"Why yes, it is. He expanded the kitchen garden too."

She looked thoughtful. "I sometimes think we should've moved further out, on account of being more self-sufficient. We rely solely on goods being shipped in. You're lucky, Hannah."

"You could always get land and start a farm."

"I suppose, but we like to be close to our business."

I sat next to her. "Things have been going well. I do feel blessed. I'm mighty happy with my marriage too."

"Did you know Frank long?"

"I've known him since I was fourteen."

"I see."

I had a thought. "How on earth do people meet one another here? If you're not already married when you come out, how would you find a suitable partner?"

"There are mail order brides."

"That's truly a last resort."

"The widows have it the worst. Many of them have to...well, they work in the parlour houses."

"I can't even imagine that."

"If a man dies unexpectedly, what's a poor woman to do? There are so few opportunities here. Some of the soiled doves have become very successful madams. I've heard Ruby Wallace is a rich woman."

"Who's Ruby Wallace?"

"The owner of The Tainted Rose."

"How do you know that?"

"I shouldn't gossip, but it's common knowledge."

I glanced at her expectantly, hoping to hear more.

"Some of those women make $250 a night. When you think a miner only makes $3 a day, well, that's a high price for...er...those services."

Stunned, I could only stare at her.

"You heard me correct, Hannah. They make a pretty penny in that parlour house."

"Oh, my goodness."

"She's a rich woman."

"I guess so."

"Now, will I get a tour or not? I want to see what sewing you're working on. I'm always excited about the prospect of learning a fancy new stitch or two."

I smiled. "Well, I've been making baby clothes."

Her eyes widened. "Are you expecting?"

"No, not yet, but...we're trying."

"With that handsome husband, I'm sure you are." She winked, getting to her feet. "Now, show me the house."

After Sally's visit, I set about making dinner, preparing the beans and pork and placing dishes on the table. I'd had a marvelous afternoon with my unexpected visitor, but dinnertime was always a thrill, and I blushed in shame at the reason.

I would never admit this to anyone, not even God, but I enjoyed being in Nathan's company, although he was a rough sort of man and beneath me in almost every regard. I could sense his kindness, but his manner was boorish. He tried to be gentlemanly and not once since his arrival had he behaved inappropriately towards me, but he had returned drunk on Tuesday night, arriving on a horse he had borrowed, falling from it in front of the house, and waking us from a sound sleep. Frank had gone out to help him, but, other than that episode, things had been as peaceful as could be expected.

We had sat down to dinner, Frank saying a prayer and blessing the food, while Nathan gazed at me. I averted my eyes, staring at the tablecloth. Being in such close proximity to him set me on edge, and I frequently knocked things over in a clumsy rush or stuttered my words. I prayed this affliction would end, because I was tired of having to ask God for forgiveness every night, for letting him affect me like this.

"The food looks real good," said Jerry, who reached for a fork.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Clark," said Nathan.

"You're welcome." I placed the napkin in my lap.

"My wife's an excellent cook."

"Once the planting's done, I might have to leave for a bit," announced Nathan.

I glanced at him. "Will you come back?"

"I'll be here for the harvest, but I promised to help a friend build a cabin."

"At Pike's Peak?"

"No, it's closer to Breckenridge."

"Is he panning for gold?"

"Yeah, but I doubt much will come of it."

From what little he had said before, I knew he hated gold mining. "Well, good luck."

He nodded, chewing. "Thank you, ma'am."

It was disappointing knowing that he would be leaving soon, although I chastised myself for feeling this way. Why should I care if he went into the mountains? This was hardly my concern.

Once we had eaten and the dishes were washed, Jerry played the harmonica. We sat in the parlor listening, while I beat time with my toe. My skirt was long enough to hide this breach of etiquette. Tonight's entertainment was rare, because the men rarely lingered after dinner, preferring the distractions of Denver City. They would come home in the middle of the night and then wake early to work the fields. How they managed with so little sleep was beyond me.

Later that night, after I had brushed and braided my hair, I slipped under the covers, staring at my husband, who held a book. "Won't we need them for summer?"

"Hum? No. We just pray for rain and watch the corn grow."

"I see."

"I thought you didn't care for them anyhow?"

"They lack manners in all regards, but they seem nice."

"They've been behaving themselves, haven't they?"

"Of course."

"Good."

I needed to discuss something that had been on my mind. "I really would like a pet."

"What?"

"The wild cats in town. They're having kittens now. I'd like to have one."

"Oh, goodness."

"Every farm should have cats. They keep the mice and rat population down. A little kitten would be adorable and soft." I inched closer to Frank, my leg rubbing against his.

"You little tart. I know what you're doing."

I batted my eyelashes innocently. "What do you mean?"

"You're trying to get on my good side. You're playing me like a fiddle."

"Is that bad?"

He shook his head, placing the book on the nightstand. "I think it's time to turn this lamp off. I'm mighty curious to see how far you're willing to go to convince me to get a cat."

The room was suddenly plunged in darkness. "Oh, Frank!" He drew me into his arms, his lips finding mine. "Um..." There was no need for talking now, as his hands discovered the flesh beneath my nightclothes. We had other things on our minds.

***

By Friday, I was excited for our afternoon trip into the city, because I would hopefully return with a kitten. I bustled around the house, dusting, plumbing up pillows, and preparing for our departure. The only thing missing was Frank, who had gone to the William's with Nathan and Jerry to help erect their barn. They had been gone since before the sun came up. I'd prepared as much of dinner as I could; the rest would be heated up later.

Pacing the front porch, I waited for the men, knowing that it wouldn't be long now. Then I sat on the steps, wishing we had rocking chairs. Another hour passed before I heard the sound of the wagon. To my dismay, Nathan commandeered it alone, his expression tense.

It struck me then that something was wrong. "What happened?"

He jumped down from the seat and strode towards me, removing his hat. "Mrs. Clark, Hannah..."

"What?"

"There's been an accident."

"What happened? Where's Frank?"

"That's what I've come to tell you. He..." his look was stark..."he fell from the roof."

My hand went to my mouth, as my eyes watered. "Oh, my word! Is he dead?"

"No, ma'am. He's not dead."

"Where is he?"

"Resting at the William's place."

"I have to go to him!"

"Yes, I've come to get you."

I raced to the wagon, hoisting myself onto the seat unassisted. "Let's go! Oh, my!" He sat next to me, placing his hat on his head; his look was grim. "Did he break something?"

"The doctor's with him right now, ma'am."

"Oh, thank goodness for that."

Nathan glanced at me. There was something in that look, something he wouldn't say, that worried me more than anything. I had an awful feeling that I was in for bad news.

# Chapter Six

The ride to the William's was the longest of my life; the horse just couldn't go fast enough for me. I wrung my hands, while nervous knots formed in my stomach. Nathan hadn't said another word, and I refused to ask questions, fearing the answers. The farm in question was several miles away, the road winding along a swiftly flowing river. If I weren't in such a state, I would have appreciated the beauty, but the only thing on my mind was Frank.

There were other wagons at the house, and people loitered; most of the men were strangers. Mrs. William appeared at the door. "Mrs. Clark." She rushed down the stairs, while I slid from the seat, stepping on the bottom of my dress, but it hardly mattered.

"Where is he?"

"He's in with Doctor Caldwell. Oh, my dear." Her eyes glistened. "I'm so sorry. We are entirely responsible. He was on the roof and slipped."

I brushed by her. "I have to see him." I'd nearly made it to the house, when a hand wrapped around my upper arm, slowing my progress. It was Nathan.

"Hold up, there."

"Let go of me!"

"No, ma'am. We'll go in orderly. The doctor's working right now, and pitching a fuss might distract him."

I tried to snatch my arm back, but he dragged me to him, bringing me into the house, where people surrounded us. "Why does everyone look like they're at a funeral?" Panic had set in.

"She can go in," said Mrs. William. "It's all right, Mr. Weaver."

"I'll take her to him." Nathan led me down a dark hallway; a door was ajar, with male voices resonating. "He looks pretty bruised up."

I pushed him away. "Let me see." I stood in the doorway, my eyes adjusting to what they were seeing. Frank, whose face was black and blue, lay on his back, while his legs had been uncovered. Someone had used scissors to cut away at the fabric of the trousers. His limbs were broken; the left leg had an unsightly bulge in the thighbone, while the right shin was at a strange angle. "What's happened?"

Doctor Caldwell glanced over his shoulder. "He's in a bad way, Mrs. Clark."

"Will he live?" There were two other men in the room I didn't recognize.

"He'll live, but...he might not ever walk again."

I rushed to the bed, gazing upon the battered face of my beloved. "Oh, Frank!"

"He's unconscious."

"What?"

"We're waiting for him to wake." Dr. Caldwell's expression was sober. This did not bode well.

"Is that bad?"

"Yes, he needs to wake up, but maybe it's a blessing. We're going to set these bones right quick while he's still out. If he were awake, it would've been mighty painful."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No, ma'am. It's best if you wait in the other room." He glanced at Nathan, as if commanding him to take me away.

"Come with me, Hannah. You don't want to see this." His hand was around my arm, pulling me towards the door. "Let's have some tea."

"Poor Frank. He looks terrible."

As I was taken from the room, I heard one of the men mumble, "That's the least of his worries."

In the hallway, my feet wouldn't take another step, as tears flooded my eyes. The magnitude of the situation had set in. I turned, pressing my forehead into the wall, but I was suddenly enfolded in manly arms. I wept deep, heaving sobs, while I clutched the fabric of Nathan's shirt.

"I've told these people to leave," said Mrs. William. "There's no need for them to stay. There are refreshments in the kitchen."

"Thank you," said Nathan. "Let's sit down, Hannah."

"No."

"You'll feel better."

"Nothing will ever make me feel better. I want to see Frank."

"He's being tended to," said Mrs. William. "Boy, do I feel awful about this. That poor man. Just thinking that he might not ever walk again. I just don't know how we'll ever be able to forgive ourselves."

"It was an accident," said Nathan. "It could'a happened to anybody." I refused to budge, struggling, not wanting to move. "Stop that." He shook me slightly, his expression concerned. "You need to be strong, Hannah. You just gotta keep it together for a bit longer. Let the doctor fix his legs, and then he'll be awake."

"I have sandwiches. She should eat."

Tears flooded my eyes. "I don't want anything."

But I didn't seem to have much choice, as I found myself in the kitchen, seated between Nathan and Betsy William. Her children, who were young, were rambunctious, and she had to shoo them from the room repeatedly. I sipped the tea, staring at the stained tablecloth and thinking that my luck had just run out. Things had been going far too smoothly: the happy marriage, the pretty house, and the new life in Denver City. Little did I know that misfortune had been right around the corner.

When the doctor had finished with Frank, he emerged, standing in the doorway. "I need to have a word with you, Mrs. Clark."

I jumped to my feet, the chair falling back, crashing to the floor. "I have so many questions."

Nathan reached for the chair. "I think I'll listen in, if you don't mind."

Mr. William had to remove the children from the parlor, as they had been playing with a wooden puzzle piece on the floor.

When the room had been cleared, Dr. Caldwell turned to me. "He's broken both legs, but I suspect there's paralysis as well. He isn't able to feel or move his toes. He feels nothing in his legs."

"Is this temporary?"

"I'm not sure. He fell pretty badly, Hannah. He landed on his back, but first his legs hit a fence. That's how they were damaged."

"Well, it's not so horrible news. My husband's alive. I guess that's all that matters."

"Yes, that's true. He can't be moved right now. He'll have to stay where he is."

"Is he still awake?"

"Yes, but he doesn't remember what happened. I'm hopeful his memory will return soon. He needs plenty of rest. I've left some laudanum for the pain, but...he might not need it, since he can't feel anything from the waist down."

"I see. The best we can hope for are the broken legs. The worst—paralysis."

"Yes, I'm afraid that's what we're looking at. I'm sorry, Mrs. Clark."

"Can I see him now?"

"Yes, of course."

"Thank you, Dr. Caldwell."

"I'll be back in the morning to check on him. I don't anticipate any trouble with infection, but you never know with these types of injuries."

"I...thank you." Weariness seemed to settle in around my shoulders, the events of the afternoon weighing heavily on me. I hurried down the hallway. Frank's face looked dreadful, dark smudges and puffiness were around his eyes. There was a huge bruise on his cheek. "Darling!"

"Hannah."

"Oh, my goodness. What a mess you've made of yourself."

"I guess I really had no business being up on a roof."

I glanced at him, wondering at his cool demeanor, and then I remembered that he wasn't able to feel anything. "Oh, Frank." The men departed, giving us privacy. "You might never walk again."

"I don't believe that, my dear. I've broken my legs, but they'll heal."

"But you can't feel them."

"I suspect that will come back in time."

"Are you sure?"

He took my hand, squeezing it. "I have faith that all is the way it's supposed to be. I've had a silly accident, but things will be good as new soon enough."

I sat on the edge of the bed. "I do hope so." It gave me strength to see him so optimistic.

He touched my face. "You look tired. You should go home. I've taken over the William's bedroom. Those poor people will have to sleep in the parlor."

"You're so calm."

"There's no reason to make a fuss. I'm a clumsy fool who had no business being on a roof. Did you ride out here alone? Someone can bring you home. There's no need to watch over me tonight. I'll be just fine."

"I'm sleeping here. I'm not leaving you alone."

"They said I shouldn't move my legs at all."

If I slept with him in the small bed, I was liable to disturb the doctor's hard work, as Frank's legs were in splints. "I...maybe I could sleep with the children."

"Don't be silly. Go home and have a restful night. I'll see you in the morning."

"I hate to leave you." I held his hand, gazing into his battered face. "I thought the worst. I was so terrified."

"I'm fine, as you can see."

"What if your legs never work again?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I can't believe this."

"Nobody ever said living was easy, Hannah. We're being tested now, and He's watching. How we go on from this day forth will reveal our character. I'm not going to let a couple of broken bones slow me down."

His optimism was admirable, but a worrying feeling remained lodged in my gut. I couldn't shake it. More bad news was surely on the way. "Fine. I'll go home, but I'll be here first thing in the morning."

He kissed my hand. "Good night, dear. Have a safe ride. You still have a measure of light to guide the way."

I hugged him, inhaling his scent, which was slightly musky. He'd been working and perspiring in the sun today. "I love you."

"I love you too."

I thanked the William's for their hospitality, although Tom and Betsy looked crestfallen and exhausted. It was plain to see that they felt responsible for what had happened to Frank, as it was their roof he had fallen from. Nathan waited by the wagon for me, lending me a hand, whilst I took the seat. Jerry sat in the back, his expression blank. The sun had begun to dip, a ball of orange and yellow fire suspended over the mountains in the distance. I'd hardly noticed its beauty, my mind in turmoil over what had just happened.

Nathan said nothing, guiding the horse down the bumpy lane; the sound of the wheels crunching over ruts and gravel mixed with the repetitive creak of the running gear. At the house, I alighted without assistance, saying nothing, as I went to the door. The men slept in the bunkhouse, and I would not see them again until morning.

I lit a lamp, placing it on the kitchen table, while I moved about the kitchen, remembering the dinner I had been waiting to make. I put things away and saved what I could. In the bedroom, I changed into my nightclothes, washing my face and hands, pausing to look at myself in the mirror. There were faint circles under my eyes, and my skin looked exceedingly pale. Then I took down my hair, pulling the pins out, as thick locks fell over my shoulders. I made quick work of brushing and braiding. Once in bed, I glanced at the empty side of the mattress. It was strange to be in the bed alone. Turning down the lamp, I whispered my prayers, asking God to help heal Frank.

In the morning, I woke exhausted, having only slept a few hours. After dressing and fixing my hair, I discovered Nathan in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a teacup in his hands.

He glanced at me, as I neared, my skirts, rustling. "Good morning."

"Good morning. I have to milk the cow."

"No need. Already did it."

"Thank you."

"Have some tea."

"I'm making breakfast first."

"Jerry and I ate already."

"What did you eat?"

"I hardboiled some eggs. Made some slapjacks. Nothin' fancy."

I glanced at the sink, noting there weren't any dishes. "Oh."

"We clean up after ourselves pretty good."

"When we come back from the William's, I'll make a proper lunch."

"There's no need." I turned to look at him, seeing a man who hadn't shaved in a few days. He eyed me. "You sleep at all last night? Doesn't look like it."

"I...tried."

"Maybe there's good news today. Doctor Caldwell's gonna take a look at those legs again."

"Yes, I know. I want to be there when it happens."

"You best eat somethin' then, so we can get a wiggle on."

My appetite was nonexistent. "We can go now."

"You haven't eaten anything."

"I...can have something later." This didn't sit with him well, as his expression dimmed. "I'm fine, Mr. Weaver. I usually eat very little in the morning anyhow."

"You're welcome to call me Nathan."

Our eyes met. "Thank you for being so kind to me."

"You don't need to thank me, Hannah." He got to his feet. "Jerry's staying to work the field. We'd best go, so I can help him later."

"I can take the wagon on my own. You don't need to escort me."

"I'm seeing to your safety, Mrs. Clark. You're not going out there alone."

His concern was endearing, and I felt myself softening towards him. My earlier assumptions had been rash, but he was still only a stranger. In the wagon, I glanced at him. "You're from Missouri?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Is your family there?"

"My ma and pa died of sickness, my brothers took off to parts unknown, and my sister went to California. All that's left are a handful of elbow relations."

"That's sad."

He gave me a look; his eyes were shaded beneath the hat. "Yeah, well, I'm not waiting on any Christmas cards."

"That brings me to mind. I need to write my mother and sisters."

"Your family's in New York?"

"Yes, near Troy."

"Never heard of it."

"It's north of the city."

"Never been out that way before."

He wasn't older than twenty-five. "Have you ever been married?"

"Nope."

"Ever come close?"

"Nope."

"Ever been in love?" I watched him carefully, his mouth working, while he swallowed. He was difficult to read, and I wasn't sure in the least, if I had hit a nerve or not. "Mr. Weaver?"

"I got nothin' to say about that. Nothin' a lady should hear anyway."

We didn't speak again, until we reached the William property, where, to my surprise, there were men working on the roof of the barn, finishing what had been abandoned the day before. I tamped down the bitterness I felt, hating the emotion.

Nathan glanced at me. "You look like you're about to cry."

"Maybe I am."

# Chapter Seven

When I thought about things, they either fit into "the before Frank's accident" or "after Frank's accident". What came before were happy memories of times spent in each other's company, working towards our goals and starting a new life out west. My new memories were not as joyful. My days were spent tending to Frank, who continued to be perplexingly upbeat, even though he wasn't able to feel anything from the waist down. Then there was the constant worry over the future and what would become of us now.

Doctor Caldwell had pulled me aside a week earlier, saying, "I don't know how to tell you this, Mrs. Clark, but...he might never be able to walk again. The bones are healing, but the paralysis seems permanent. You'd best prepare yourself, because there's a strong possibility he'll be incapacitated."

I had accepted this grim prognosis, having no other choice. Nathan and Jerry had brought a bed into the dining room, where I made curtains for privacy, separating the space from the parlor and the entryway. Frank's new accommodations suited him just fine. He'd surrounded himself with books, reading all day long, while convalescing.

I'd received visitors; Adaline, Rhoda, and Sally had stopped by, bringing casseroles and well-wishes. They'd all seemed hopeful at first, but then, after realizing that Frank wouldn't be able to walk again, they'd glanced at me with sympathy. The letters I sent to my family returned with similar sentiments. I didn't have the heart to tell my parents that my husband might never walk again. I would spare them that for as long as I could.

Jerry and Nathan worked the farm, as planting season was underway, but I was trapped in the house, either washing or cooking. Frank's inability to feel anything in his lower extremities made bodily functions an ordeal. He wore a type of diaper. I sometimes spent hours doing laundry, scrubbing over the washboard with lye soap, which irritated my skin. My hands were a mess.

After Jerry approached me about wages, I realized a trip to Denver City was in order. It was well past time to go to the bank. I left Frank to his reading, while I stepped up into the wagon, with Nathan holding the reins.

"I need a revolver. Then I can go to town alone. It's silly that you have to escort me."

He cast a sideways glance. "That's a terrible idea. Women shouldn't handle weapons. You're liable to hurt yourself."

I pursed my lips. "If it's good enough for Sally Higgins, I don't see why I can't manage a weapon."

"Women and guns don't mix. It's like Indians and liquor. Bad idea."

"Must you always be so...blunt?"

"Yes, ma'am." A toothpick hung from the side of his mouth.

"I didn't have time to make a list." I searched my mind, committing to memory the supplies I needed. Knowing my luck, I'd forget the most important items. "Remind me later, I need a new inkpot."

"Will do."

A thought registered. "Didn't you say you had to leave soon to help someone?"

"Plans have changed."

"How so?"

"Cause I'm needed here more."

"Oh."

Nathan wasn't normally the most talkative person, and he seemed pensive today, more so than usual. Sensing he wasn't interested in conversation, I kept my thoughts to myself, anticipating the trip into Denver City, as it was a distraction from the tedium of my life. Once we arrived, the streets were surprisingly empty.

"Where's everyone gone?"

"Mining. They found silver."

"That's all it takes to clear the city?" My tone was slightly cynical.

We left the wagon, the horse tied securely to a sturdy wooden rail outside the post office. Freight wagons had arrived, as men unloaded crates. Nathan helped me down, supporting my wrist.

"Won't you come in and see about your mail?"

"My mail?" He snorted. "Most people I know can't read or write, Mrs. Clark. I've a better chance of gettin' struck by lightning than gettin' a letter."

I wasn't sure how I would respond to that. "Fine. I'll be back in a minute."

He tipped his hat. "I'll be waiting."

I mailed my letters, obtaining several new ones, which usually brightened my day, but I knew they would be filled with sympathetic language and anecdotes on what I should do to help Frank walk again. He had tried to sit up the other day, but even that had been impossible. He couldn't feel anything from his navel down.

"Wait, Mrs. Clark," said the postmaster, who rushed to the back of the store. "I might have something else for you."

Two men appeared with a rustic-looking crate. "Oh, my goodness." I hadn't ordered anything that I knew of. "Who's it from?"

"A Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman of Troy, New York."

"What have they done?" I murmured to myself.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, never mind. What is it?"

He grinned. "That'll be for you to discover, Mrs. Clark. You need any help getting this out?"

"Yes, please." I had been in poor spirits just moments earlier, but the prospect of whatever this box contained excited me. "Thank you." The men carried the crate out the door, towards the carriage, while Nathan stood by the conveyance, his eyes widening at the size of the parcel.

"What's that?"

"I have no idea. It's from my parents."

"What's it say on the invoice?"

"I'll find out." I rushed into the building, striding towards the counter. "Where's the invoice, Mr. Parnell?"

"Excuse me?" he looked up from whatever he was reading.

"The invoice on my package."

"Just a moment." He rifled through a stack of papers, pulling out a crumpled sheet. "It says, one Bath wheelchair." My parents had purchased a wheelchair for my husband! Stunned, I could only stare at the postmaster. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Clark?"

"No, thank you." I rushed from the building, feeling elated that my family had gone through such effort and expense for Frank. "It's a wheelchair!"

"Fantastic."

It had been hoisted onto the wagon. "I need to stop at the bank and the mercantile." Nathan seemed unperturbed, chewing casually on the toothpick. "You needn't watch over me. We can meet in an hour, if you like."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course."

He pushed himself away from the wagon, as he had been leaning against it. "Alrighty then."

"W-where will you be?"

"I'll gonna kick up a row at the bar."

My expression fell. "Oh, Mr. Weaver. You wouldn't."

"It's only an hour. That's hardly enough time to get into any _real_ trouble." He grinned, flinging the toothpick to the ground. Then he tipped his hat. "Happy shopping."

I sighed, watching as he sauntered off, his boots clicking on the wooden walkway. He disappeared into the saloon, while hearty male shouts rang out and someone said, "Where'd you go, Nathan? Haven't seen you for ages. You take French leave or what?"

"Shut up, and pour me a drink."

Disgusted with the prospect of having to spend the afternoon with a drunkard, I held a burgundy, drawstring purse, determined to have a word with the banker regarding my husband's affairs. I needed money to pay wages, although I had never handled these matters before in my life. I hated arithmetic, and I felt a twinge of resentment that I now had to deal with this business on top of everything else.

Mr. Ross led me through a set of swinging doors to his office. "How's Frank doing, Mrs. Clark?"

"He's in fine spirits. Thank you."

"I hope he'll be able to make a full recovery." He sat behind a heavily carved desk. His expression was concerned, his brows furrowing.

"I...don't know what you've heard, but...it's looking like his paralysis might be permanent."

"That's grave news indeed."

"I'm here because I need money to pay wages, sir. I've no idea about such things, as you can imagine, but now I have to take care of them."

He opened a folder, reading for a moment. "Ahem," he cleared his throat. "I'm not certain how much you know, but the account is nearly depleted." He handed me a piece of paper with numbers written on each line, ending with the sum of $30.

"You mean to tell me that there's only thirty dollars left in the account?"

"Yes, ma'am. However," he held up another paper, "you owe several hundred to various businesses."

My stomach fell. "What?"

"Your husband borrowed money to pay for lumber and supplies, Mrs. Clark."

I placed fingers over my mouth to keep my lips from trembling. "Why, I didn't know about that at all. He never said anything. I thought we had plenty of money."

"I'm afraid not."

"C-can I get a few dollars to pay for wages?"

"Certainly."

"Then I'll think of how I'm going to repay everybody."

"Mrs. Clark, some household debt it not uncommon. This isn't an insurmountable obstacle. I'm sure once your husband's back on his feet, he'll think of a way to repay his debts. People know he's met with misfortune. They'll give him some leeway."

"I'll need about twenty dollars then, and I'll be going." I got to my feet, although my knees shook. "Thank you, Mr. Ross."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Clark."

My mind spun unhappily, and, as I left the bank, I felt like crying, but I had to keep myself together long enough to make all of my purchases. At the mercantile, Sally Higgins stood behind the counter wearing a frilly white cap.

"Well, hello, Hannah. How's Frank?"

"He's as good as can be expected."

"We're all praying he makes a full recovery. The new pastor isn't nearly as gifted as your husband. I hope he can come preach again real soon." There were other customers, and I noticed that they lingered, taking more time than necessary looking at things. They wanted to hear all the gossip.

"I...things are real good, Sally. He's feeling so much better now. The corn's growing by heaps, and the pigs had another litter. I've got eggs everywhere from those chickens."

"You should bring the extras in or they'll spoil. We sell fresh produce too."

I hadn't thought of that. "What a wonderful idea. It would be wasteful to let them spoil." I searched my mind for the things I needed. "I'm looking for an inkpot. Mine dried up."

"We have some right here."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry I've not been by to see you lately."

"That's fine. I know you're busy."

"Come in Sunday after church, and we'll have tea."

"That's a wonderful idea."

I tried desperately to even out my voice, to exude an aura of nonchalance and carefreeness. By the time I left the store, I was exhausted, and my head ached. Nathan stood by the wagon, his hands in his pockets.

"I wasn't expecting to see you already." I thought I would have to find someone to go into the saloon and get him.

"Let me help with that." He took the packages from me.

"Thank you."

I climbed onto the seat without assistance, wanting to leave Denver City as quickly as possible. More miners had shown up, as the day had worn on; their presence set me on edge, as they leered at me from the boardwalk. Nathan, oblivious to my suffering, took up the reins, spurring the horse into a slow trot.

"Get everything you needed? The inkpot?"

"Yes, thank you."

"What's wrong?"

"Not a thing."

"That's a lie."

"I'm perfectly fine, Mr. Weaver."

"All right, but we both know that's a lie."

It irked me that he was able to see through me so easily. I stewed in my turbulent thoughts the entire ride home, my mind playing out unpleasant scenarios. We owed hundreds of dollars all over town, and I had no idea how this would ever be repaid. Once at the house, I left my things in the wagon, desperately needing a moment to myself.

"I'll get it all later." I headed for the cornfield, not knowing what else to do.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll...be back."

The stalks weren't too high yet, and I wandered down a lane, my boots crunching over dried chunks of earth. Tears began to fall, as the floodgates opened. I'd been holding them in for two hours; the effort had been exhausting. At the end of the lane, far from the house, I fell to my knees, not caring about the condition of my dress. My body shook, and my lips quivered, while grief stole over me. I sobbed uncontrollably, my stomach clenching, over and over, until I ached.

"What's wrong?"

Stunned by the intrusion, I wasn't able to respond, having spiraled past that point moments earlier. Strong hands grasped my shoulders, and I found myself pressed against Nathan's chest, his arms holding me securely.

"I knew something happened. What is it?"

"I..." I pushed him away, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "Can't I have a moment of privacy?"

I'd hoped I would be able to regain my composure, but a fresh wave of tears came then, my chest heaving. He held me, although I didn't want him to. It was unseemly to be in a stranger's arms, but...we were alone and I needed comfort, having tried so hard over the weeks to be strong. In the end, I gave up and let him hold me while I cried, until there was nothing left. His tow shirt was soaked from my tears; the coarse quality of the material scratched my face.

He produced a handkerchief and used it, wiping away wetness from beneath my eyes. "What's the matter?"

"I...shouldn't say anything."

"Stop that right now. Tell me what's wrong."

"I found out...we have no money."

To my astonishment, he laughed, "That's all? I thought somebody died."

My mouth fell open. "I have no money for wages. I have no money for...anything! We owe money everywhere. I had no idea we were so bad off."

He shrugged. "That happens."

His lack of sympathy was irritating. "I can't pay you."

"I figured."

"How do you mean?"

"I haven't been paid yet."

"I thought Frank gave you wages?"

"No, ma'am. He's waiting for the crops to come in."

Our eyes met. "You don't mind working for people who don't pay you?"

"I'm living here for free, eating for free. It's not a bad deal." He smiled then, his eyes crinkling around the edges. "Once the crops come on, there'll be money. You should take the extra eggs to town and sell 'em. I could do that for you, if you want." He dabbed my face, wiping away several wayward tears. "Haven't you looked around, lady?"

Now I was confused. "What?"

"How many farmers do you see in these parts?"

"Not many."

"No, ma'am. Most people are hunting for gold. It's Pike's Peak or bust. They're not interested in tilling land and growing things. But, how are they gonna eat? They can't wait for a shipment to come in. It's not practical. People gotta eat now. Once winter comes, they'll be sore outta luck. Most of those men will leave for the season. The crazy ones will stay."

"I'm sorry, but what does that have to do with my situation?"

"You're gonna have plenty of corn and potatoes. We're doing a wheat field soon as well. There'll be hay and wheat and corn. Those are things you can sell. The extras from the vegetable garden can be taken into town and sold. People are starved for fresh produce."

"Oh, I see."

"Your situation isn't as dire as you think."

I stared steadily at him, which was unladylike. I hadn't noticed that my hand was on his thigh, but he had, as his gaze had lowered. Snatching it away, I sucked in a breath, finally feeling a small measure of control over my emotions. "I have to check on Frank. It's past lunch time." He got to his feet, reaching for me. "Thank you...Nathan. I appreciate your kind words." Something flared in his eyes, setting my pulses racing in a peculiar way.

"My name sure sounds nice on your lips."

I had struggled with grief, fighting to keep my equanimity. Now...I was faced with an entirely different dilemma—lust.

# Chapter Eight

After finding out the truth about my finances, the upset didn't last for long, which was strange. I avoided speaking about it with Frank, letting him believe that I remained unaware. He knew of the situation. His plans had been to pay off the debts after the harvest. I had to trust that my husband was astute enough to manage our affairs, and the last thing I wanted to do was confront him on this issue and question his judgment. I had other things to worry about...

My parents had sent a wheelchair that had originally come from England. It had been secondhand, which was fine by me, but Frank hated it. Nathan and Jerry had carried him outside, after Dr. Caldwell gave permission for such activities. He enjoyed being able to be outdoors to look at his fields, but someone had to push him, and the going was difficult, as the wheels stuck in the soil and ceased rotating. But I persisted in taking him out, wanting him to feel the sun upon his face, although he complained about the chair not being comfortable.

The first Sunday Frank joined me in church; I felt a measure of peace then that our lives might actually return to some form of order, although a new pastor now preached. Nathan and Jerry helped Frank into the wheelchair, pushing him to the church, but he had to be carried in. We arrived early enough to not draw attention, but people still stopped to stare.

Rhoda had made a beeline for us, her bonnet bouncing with each step. "Well, look at you! It's so good to see you up and about, Mr. Clark."

"Thank you, Mrs. Caldwell. If it wasn't for your husband's skill at healing, I wouldn't even be here today."

"Oh, bosh! You were doing just fine on your own." She glanced at me. "How are you, Hannah? We missed you at tea last week."

"I'm sorry. I plain forgot about that."

"I understand. Perhaps you can come today?" She looked hopeful.

"I'm not sure."

"You should go, darling. You needn't fuss over me anymore than you already do."

"I suppose, or Nathan can bring you home and come get me."

"We'll figure something out."

Rhoda took a seat next to her husband, who nodded at me. I shouldn't have, but I craned my neck, glimpsing rows filled with people, among them were miners and several of the parlour house ladies, who sat in the back. Sally Higgins and Adaline Ross were behind me. After the service, I waited for the congregation to file out, wondering how I would remove Frank from the church. To my horror, he had soiled himself, although he couldn't feel it. I would not be able to attend the tea after all, as we needed to hurry home.

Pastor Bailey approached. "Mrs. Clark, Mr. Clark." He shook Frank's hand. "How are you today? Do you need help out?"

"I have someone coming." Knowing that Frank had wet himself, I prayed this would go unnoticed. I glanced over my shoulder, curious about where Nathan was.

"You did a fine job," said Frank. "Especially the sermon alluding to the Corinthians. I couldn't have said it better myself."

"Why, that's high praise. I know how much people miss you, Pastor Clark. I'm still so green behind the ears, I find I repeat myself too often."

"Excuse me for a moment." I rushed down the aisle and out the door, scanning the dusty street. Several wagons ambled by, followed by shouting. The miners were rowdy seven days a week, and Sunday was no exception. "Nathan!" Approaching the saloon, I waited, listening to laughter and music, while men drank and spent all their money. "Mr. Weaver!" It smelled of stale spirits, with a hint of wet wood. The doors suddenly swung outward.

"Yes?" He appeared, smiling. "The service over so soon?"

"It is. We have to go."

"What's wrong?"

He always seemed to know when I was stressed. "Um...there's been a little accident, but...it's fine."

"I'll get Jerry. Hold up a second. Meet me at the church."

"I will."

Frank was in discussion with the preacher, oblivious to the fact that he had made a mess of himself. Once Nathan and Jerry arrived, I hurried down the aisle. "Well, we're good to go now. I have the boys."

"Excellent. I've taken up enough of Pastor Bailey's time."

Nathan and Jerry labored to lift Frank, whose arms were around the men's necks. "It'll be a relief once these legs start working again," he said, smiling.

"We say a prayer for your full recovery at every service," said Pastor Bailey.

"Thank you so much for that."

"It was good seeing you, Mrs. Clark."

"It's always a pleasure to come to town."

Once Frank was seated in the wagon, Nathan was behind me, his mouth near my ear. "I see what you mean. He had an accident."

"Yes, he did." He helped me up the step. "Thank you."

His expression was grave. "No thanks needed."

Jerry remained in town, wanting to spend his time at the saloon. When we were home, Nathan carried Frank into the house, where I closed the curtains in the dining room and removed his clothes.

"You should've told me."

I glanced at my husband. "I didn't want to make a fuss in public."

His smile had vanished. "I hate this!" Our eyes met. "I hate being an invalid. I hate what it's doing to you."

"It's not doing anything to me."

"You should hire someone to help you. All you do is tend to the laundry and me. There has to be more to life than chores."

I sighed. "Oh, Frank."

"Go find someone to help."

He had the use of his arms, thereby being able to wash himself, but other matters were solely under my direction. "I'll put up a notice, I suppose, the next time I'm in town."

"I'm so sorry."

"Stop that."

"Hannah, I might never have the use of my legs again. I might never feel anything...down there. I've been thinking of what a hardship this is, of how unfair. You wanted children. I won't be able to give you children."

I shrugged. "God has other plans for us, I guess."

He grabbed my arm, dragging me to him. "I love you!" he whispered fiercely. "I hate to see you like this. I'm so dreadfully sorry."

Tears flooded my eyes. "Please don't be sorry. It was an accident."

"But it's ruined your life."

"My life's not ruined. It's just...changed. I'm dealing with it one day at a time. I'm fine."

He leaned against a pillow. "Maybe I should've died. In a way, it would have made things easier. You could've just found another husband and gotten on with your life instead of playing nursemaid to me."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. I have to make lunch. Now, let's get these pants on you."

But those words did stick somewhere in a dark part of my consciousness. They lingered in the space where all my unpleasant thoughts were, especially of the William's. Not once had they come to the house to see Frank. He had been injured helping them with their barn, and they had never thought to stop by to see how we were doing. The anger I felt towards them frightened me, as it was such a strong emotion. It would come upon me at odd times, mostly after a long, tiring day...and there were far too many of those.

It would be another week before I began to feel a small measure of hope. While hanging clothing on the line, Nathan approached. He'd gone to town for supplies, but he hadn't returned alone.

"I found someone to help you."

I glanced over my shoulder, seeing a stout, dark-haired woman. She looked to be Hispanic. "Pardon?"

"This is Mrs. Hermosa. She's a grass widow."

"What on earth does that mean?"

"A divorcee."

I gasped at his crudeness. "You have the manners of an ox, Mr. Weaver."

"I certainly do. Can't argue with you on that account." He beamed from ear to ear. "She's in need of room and board. I figure she could help you with the chores."

"I won't be able to pay her until the harvest."

"She knows that."

I glanced at Mrs. Hermosa. "I'm Hannah."

"It's good to meet you." She shook my hand. Her accent was strong. "You have a pretty house."

"Thank you."

"Nathan says your husband is no good to walk."

"No, he isn't. He fell from a roof two months ago. He's lucky to be alive."

She nodded, her gaze straying to the clothing in my hand. "I can help you with that. I can do it for you."

"If you want." I glanced at Nathan. "Where will she sleep?"

"You have an extra bedroom."

That was supposed to be the nursery. "I don't have a bed. I have a cradle, but I don't think that'll work." Mrs. Hermosa had begun to pin clothing to the line.

I walked with Nathan. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did. You wash all of our laundry. I've seen how long that takes. Look at your hands. Those aren't the hands of a lady. It's time you let someone else do the clothing."

We were near the kitchen door. "Thank you."

He stared at me, as he did at times, his clear blue eyes roaming over my face. I shouldn't encourage his attention in this manner because I sensed his interest wasn't of a platonic nature, my womanly instincts alerting me to this fact. But...I felt drawn to him...even though I knew I shouldn't.

"What's for dinner?" His tone had taken on a slightly husky quality.

"Um...Tavern biscuits, brown gravy, and deer meat."

"How are you cooking the venison?"

"It's been stewing all day."

"That's what I've been smelling."

"I fried it with plenty of onions and garlic."

His smile lingered. "You did it right then."

"It won't be gamey when I'm finished with it."

"I bet not."

"Hannah!"

My husband's voice made me jump. "Oh, goodness. He needs something." I rushed into the kitchen. "What is it?"

"I think I might feel something!"

"Where?"

"My leg."

I gasped, glancing at Nathan, who had followed me into the house. "Oh, that's such good news."

"You should get Doc Caldwell out here. He would know what's happening to me." He grinned. "I'd love to be able to walk again."

I hugged him, tears filling my eyes. "Oh, Frank. This is so wonderful. I'm so happy."

"I could go to town and get him," offered Nathan.

"You just came from town. We'll go tomorrow. We'll take Frank to see him. Then we can find out more."

Frank held my hand, squeezing my fingers. "Kiss me, darling."

My smile could hardly be contained. "I will." When I stood again, Nathan had gone, not having said one word, which was strange. Perhaps, he didn't want to watch me kiss my husband.

The promise of happiness was, unfortunately, short-lived. Once we had lifted Frank into the wagon and taken him to Doctor Caldwell the next day, the prognosis hadn't changed, although he was able to feel a slight tingling in his left leg.

"I don't know what to tell you," he said, his spectacles having fallen to the bottom of his nose. "It's common to feel tingling, but it doesn't mean sensation will come back fully. Then again, it might be the beginning of a deeper recovery."

"Well, it's something at least," I said.

"It is indeed. I just don't want to give you folks false hope. You keep doing what you're doing, and let me know if he feels anything more."

Frank seemed nonplussed. "That's odd, but I know this is the beginning now. I can sense it. I'll bounce back, just wait and see."

"Of course you will," I said. "Thank you, Dr. Caldwell for seeing us on such short notice."

"Please stop by whenever you have a question."

"Thank you. We will."

Nathan had taken Frank to the wagon, placing him on the wooden bench. I went into the mercantile to purchase tea and sugar, while the men waited for me. When I returned, Nathan had disappeared.

"Where'd he go?"

"We're going home alone."

This was a surprise. "But how will I get you down from the wagon?"

"Jerry can help."

"Where did Mr. Weaver go?"

Frank looked sheepish. "He's taking care of some business in town."

"What sort of business?"

"Ahem...it's of a personal nature."

I stepped onto the wagon, while he took the reins. "Personal? Is he in the saloon?"

"No."

Then it hit me. "Oh."

He'd gone to the brothel! As the wheels began to turn, jolting us into motion, I glanced at the building that stood across the street, seeing clapboard siding that had been painted white. Nathan was in there...removing his clothing, his pants, his shirt, and his shoes. He was touching another woman...holding her in his arms, kissing her. I'd never in my life felt jealousy before, but it had her hooks in me now. During the ride home, disturbing images of what I thought they were doing in that parlour house drifted through my mind. I did not like this one bit.

# Chapter Nine

When Frank said he perceived tingles in his right leg, I began to share in his excitement, seeing it as a sign that feeling was slowly returning. To add to this jubilation, the fields were high with corn, and my kitchen garden burst with delicious vegetables. Every day there seemed to be new sensations and palpitations, as Frank regained feeling. He was in such an optimistic mood, that Pastor Bailey gave him the pulpit on Sunday morning, although he had to be seated to read the sermon.

The parishioners, knowing the hardships he had been through, listened with rapt attention, as he spoke about perseverance, citing Exodus 17:9-13. Moses' challenge was to keep his staff above his head, never letting it drop, in order for the Israelites to prevail. He succeeded in doing this, hour after hour, which necessitated an incredible amount of endurance. The lesson was to never give up, no matter how daunting the task. From the impassioned look on Frank's face, I knew he believed every word he said. The hope that he would one day walk again was very real.

After the service, people surrounded him, shaking his hand and expressing their gratitude for the moving sermon. A woman brought forth her child, who appeared ill. She was crying.

"Please say a prayer for my boy, Pastor. He's been sick for so long now."

The child in question appeared pale; the skin beneath his eyes was darkly colored. Frank held the boy's hand. "There now. I'm sure he'll be fine. What's your name, lad?"

"Brandon," he rasped.

A look of concern passed over Frank's features. "You might want to take him to Doc Caldwell, ma'am."

"I've done that. He says there's nothing he can do." Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I was hoping a word from you might help. If you could say a little prayer for him."

"I can do that, but he really should be in bed." The child, who struggled to stand, began to cough. My husband was seated directly before him. "Does anyone have any water?"

Getting to my feet, I hurried for the small office in the back, pouring fluid from a pitcher into a glass. When I returned, I handed it to the child. "Here you are." After he had been tended to, his mother took him away. "Oh, goodness. That was successful, Frank. You did a marvelous job with that sermon."

"Thank you."

"I'll see if Nathan's available to help you out." I didn't have to go far to find him, as he stood outside the church, his hat lowered over his eyes. "He's ready." He pushed himself from the building. "May I ask something?"

"Ask whatever you want."

"Why won't you stay for the service?"

"It's not my cup of tea."

"What's not?"

"All the God...talk."

"It's not all God talk. There are lots of useful things too."

He brushed past me, murmuring, "Waste of time, I say."

"Ouf!" I found myself walking into a solid wall of bone and muscle, as Nathan had stopped before me. "Goodness gracious." Our eyes met.

"I heard what he said. I stood outside listening."

"You did?"

His smile was imperceptible. "I like what I heard."

"There might be hope for you after all."

He waved a finger before my nose. "Don't put the cart before the horse. There's a big difference between listening and doing. Don't expect me to start walking the straight and narrow. It's not my thing."

"Fine. I won't."

To my shame, we had another moment where our eyes locked and the conversation died, as an undercurrent of energy passed between us. This happened every so often, and it left me feeling almost giddy, but I knew it was sinful. My husband was inside the church waiting for me, and I...stared at another man far longer than what would be considered proper.

"We should go."

His gaze lowered to my lips. "Yes."

Sensing danger, I shook myself from the strange fog. "I'll tell him you're coming to get him."

"You do that."

Inside the building, I took a deep, cleansing breath, squaring my shoulders. "Frank, dear. It's time we were on our way."

He was with several people. "I'm being summoned." His grin was magnanimous. "Thank you, Pastor Bailey, for letting me commandeer the service."

"It was my pleasure. I was taking notes. I could learn a thing or two from you."

"Now you're just flattering me."

Nathan approached, ready to lift Frank from the chair. Pastor Bailey sprang to action. "Let me help you."

"One day," Frank laughed, "I'll not need this kind of assistance. I'll run up and down the aisles like a child. Boy, I sure am looking forward to that." He smiled at me.

Preaching had revitalized Frank, reminding him of how much he enjoyed spreading God's word and surrounding himself with people. The sensation that had begun in his legs grew by the day, the tingling coming and going, while he discovered he was able to move his little toe. I still had to tend to him, changing his dressings, as he could not use the outhouse yet. He had no feeling in that part of his anatomy. Mrs. Hermosa's help was invaluable; the spritely woman did laundry nearly all day long, saving me from the chore. This gave me time to be with Frank. His outlook on things had become even more upbeat, thereby increasing my own happiness.

We had taken to daily walks. He sat in the Bath wheelchair, which allowed him some freedom, but I had to push it. It was a cumbersome contraption, clearly intended only for outdoor purposes, but it allowed us to get some air, and the sun was good for Frank.

"Once I've fully recovered, I'm taking you to town for a proper dinner."

"No. My cooking is far better. Plus, it's a waste of money spending so much on a single meal. I could buy a week's worth of rice and beans for that cost."

"Nonsense. You've earned a night out." He squinted in the sun. "We might want to travel back east and see your family."

I sighed. "That's not practical."

"Maybe next spring."

"If only they'd bring the railroad out this way."

"Oh, they will, my dear. Denver City is growing rapidly. More miners come everyday. We're not the only city growing either. Golden City and Boulder City are booming too."

"All those men seeking treasure." I glanced at the cornfield; the neatly planted rows ran as far as the eye could see. "Jerry and Nathan did a good job."

"They did."

"Will we ever pay them?"

"Of course. As soon as the harvest, after we sell our product."

"We've been lucky with the farming." I glanced at his legs, which were positioned inside the wheelchair, the knees resting together at an angle. "But, I guess we can't have everything."

He caught the direction of my stare. "There will always be challenges in life, my love; you know that. There will always be sickness and accidents. You must remember to be thankful for your blessings. I've suffered a bit of a setback, but I shall recover. I'm feeling more every day. I can move my foot now."

"That is a good thing."

He took my hand, as I had stopped pushing the wheelchair. "I want to thank you for everything, Hannah."

"Stop that. It's not necessary."

"I've put you through hell with worry. I'm so sorry."

"You've no reason to be sorry."

"I will recover. I'll give you that baby soon enough. We have our whole lives to make up for these last months. Sometimes, God tests us to see what our mettle is. I do believe this is all in preparation for even bigger things, better things. We're just so close to the trees, we can't see the forest."

"I hope you're right."

He squeezed my hand. "I am."

It was a little over a week later that Frank began to cough. I paid no mind to it at first, thinking it was from all the dust, as it hadn't rained in a while and it was windy, but then he complained of exhaustion. The coughing progressed to where he was spitting up rusty-colored mucus. I was so concerned, I instructed Nathan to go to town to get the doctor. When he arrived, his wife, Rhoda, accompanied him.

"Oh, Hannah," she said, her face a mask of concern. "What's happened now?"

"I don't know. He's not well."

"Let me make you tea, my dear. This is the last thing you need."

While Dr. Caldwell examined Frank, I sat with Rhoda, chatting and sipping tea. Mrs. Hermosa was outside, weeding the vegetable garden, while we waited for news.

"There's pneumonia going around at the moment."

My mouth fell open. "That's dreadful. Do you think he might have it?"

"I certainly hope not. It's more than likely a seasonal illness."

My woman's intuition told me otherwise. I couldn't shake the feeling that another challenge was on the way, an even greater one than when he fell from the roof. When Doctor Caldwell appeared in the kitchen, I knew my fears were going to be confirmed.

"Mrs. Clark," he said tonelessly. "I'm afraid I've some bad news. Your husband is suffering from pneumonia. I can hear it in his lungs." I stared at him, not being able to speak. "I'm going to proceed with the bloodletting, but from my experience, that only helps in rare occasions. I've some medicine you can give him three times a day, but other than a hot water bottle for his chest, there isn't much I can do."

Getting to my feet, I summoned strength I didn't possess. "I'm...this is awful."

"Yes, my dear. This is the last thing that poor man needed. I'm encouraged by the feeling he has in his legs and the movement of his foot, but if his breathing gets worse...there won't be much we can do."

I wouldn't cry in front of these people. "Thank you."

"Isn't there something that can be done, Samuel? This family has already been through so much."

"Nothin's fair about life, my dear. Nothing at all." His expression was grim. "I need to get on with the bloodletting. Excuse me."

After the leaches had been applied and removed, Dr. Caldwell and his wife left. Mrs. Hermosa had come in from the garden, and I had told her about Frank's diagnosis.

She had said, "I make him soup. I have a cure for this."

My eyes flew wide. "You do?"

"Oh, yes. Family recipe. I go get herbs and make this."

It was silly of me, but I clung to those words, putting all my trust and faith in her. She would restore Frank's health. I was certain of it. But, time was not our friend, and, as the days wore on, his coughing became worse, the pain in his chest nearly unbearable. I'd given him laudanum, mixing the drug with water. This eased his suffering considerably, but nothing improved. I was far too busy to dwell on these stark facts, changing his dressings, bathing him, reading to him, and holding his hand at night. I'd brought in some blankets and slept on the floor next to him. This led to many sleepless nights, as I lay there listening to the deep rattle of his chest, his breathing wheezy.

He'd not been able to eat properly, the skin stretched over his bones making him appear far older than he was. It was a struggle for him to drink water, Mrs. Hermosa and I having to funnel it into his throat. He began coughing up blood shortly after, with a greenish type of mucus. The look on Maria's face said it all; her unhappiness was evident in the deep lines on her forehead. She had worked almost as hard as I had, making soups and medications all day long. When one concoction failed, she tried another and another...until all that remained was the laudanum.

When the end was near, Jerry went into town to fetch Doctor Caldwell, while I fled the house, needing air. The image of my husband was firmly in my mind: his glazed eyes, grayish complexion, and the constant rattle of his breathing. It was a horrible noise, one that I would never forget for all my days.

In the cornfield, the stalks towered over me. My feet crunched on the soil, while my eyes filled with tears. I had nowhere to go...nothing mattered...I was about to lose it all.

"Hannah." The familiar voice was at my back. Hands grasped my shoulders. "Stop." Nathan drew me into his arms. I was too far gone to object. With the heat of summer, his shirt was damp with perspiration. "I know you're suffering. You can cry all you want. You need to."

I said nothing, as the tears fell. I wept for quite some time, my sobs far too loud to be ladylike, but I wasn't able to stop them. I shivered, trembling with emotion. I clung to Nathan, wetting his shirt. When I'd spent myself, he took me back to the house, where Doctor Caldwell stood on the steps, his hands in his pockets.

"You need to come say goodbye, Hannah."

Oh, how I hated those words, anger boiling inside of me, but the grief was powerful enough to push that aside. I was about to become a widow at the tender age of nineteen. These last few weeks had felt like an eternity, the endless hours, the struggle to keep Frank alive. No remedy had improved his condition in the least, and, in the end, all we had been able to do was make him comfortable in his final days here on earth.

With heavy footfalls, I ascended the steps, moving towards the house, knowing that fate was waiting for me...with bad news. He passed on within the hour; his last words had been, "I love you, Hannah. I always will. Don't stop living...without me. You must...carry on."

"I love you too, Frank." And then he was gone, his eyes staring into space, frozen for all eternity.

The hours that followed this event were blank for me. Mrs. Hermosa had taken over, commandeering the household, finding the clothing for Frank's burial and feeding everyone. The body had been taken to town in Doctor Caldwell's wagon. He planned to drive directly to the funeral parlor. I wasn't capable of anything other than breathing in and out, and even that was a chore. As I had slept in all my clothes, it wasn't necessary to dress the next morning, although my chest hurt from where the corset had dug into my skin. I owned a black shawl, but, with the heat, it was impractical to wear, yet I draped it around my shoulders as a symbol of mourning.

Nathan handed me up into the wagon. I sat next to him and Mrs. Hermosa, while Jerry was in the back. The jostling of the conveyance lulled me nearly to sleep, as exhaustion finally revealed itself. I wasn't in my body for the service, my spirit floating to other places. I had managed to detach from the physical, seeing faces before me, eyes wet with tears. Sally, Rhoda, and Adaline had each held my hand, murmuring words of condolence. Pastor Bailey presided over the service, his mouth moving, but I heard nothing. The casket was simple, made of pine, and it stood in the center of the church with a bushel of wildflowers draped over the lid.

Nathan had been with me, seated next to me. Mrs. Hermosa was on the other side, her weathered hand wrapped around mine. When we left the church, I stumbled, feeling a wave of dizziness, but Nathan's sturdy arms righted me at once, his words in my ear.

"You're doing fine, Hannah. It's almost done."

Pastor Bailey read from the Bible, while several men lowered the casket with rope, the wooden box teetering precariously at one point. I'd thrown dirt upon it, once it sat six feet under. I found myself in several embraces, as Adaline hugged me and then Sally.

"The poor girl's in shock," murmured Rhoda.

I stood there, while men began to thrust their shovels into a mound of dirt, tossing it into the grave. This would be the last time I ever beheld Frank. He was gone.

# Chapter Ten

No one spoke on the ride home, and, after we reached the house, I took to the stairs, my fingers gripping the banister, as grief settled in around my shoulders. The weight seemed to drag me down, and each step was an effort.

"I'll make her a sandwich," said Maria. "She needs to eat something."

Nathan stood at the bottom of the steps. "You do that."

I was in the bedroom; the bed hadn't been made. I fell to it, my face buried in a pillow. It was then that I wept; all the emotions I had been holding in during the day suddenly burst to the surface, like a volcano. Hands were on me; someone was loosening the dress, by releasing the buttons at the back. The garment was pulled over my head, the corset undone, stripped away. I wore a thin shift, and that remained, but my stockings were taken down, exposing pale legs. Then fingers drove through my hair, finding pins, pulling them free. It was a relief to be without these burdens. Blankets were placed around my shoulders.

It wasn't until Nathan got onto the bed that I realized he'd been the one tending to me. He held me in his arms, my nose pressed to his chest. I continued to weep, until sleep ended all of that. I woke in the middle of the night. The lamp had been lit, but I was alone, save for Maria, who appeared in the doorway holding a plate.

"You should eat something." She sat on the bed, while I endeavored to sit, wondering where Nathan had disappeared to. I ate a few bites of sandwich, the bread sticking in my throat. "That's good. You have some more and feel better."

I could only finish half of it, feeling the need to use the privy. Sliding from the bed, I found my slippers and then a robe, which I wore. The outhouse was in the back, and I took a lantern to guide the way. When I returned, Nathan was waiting in the kitchen.

"You ate."

I set the lamp on the table. "I did."

"Good. It's late. You should go back to bed."

"I will."

He was behind me, his presence oddly comforting. I thought he would continue down the hall and out the front door, but he was with me on the stairs. Maria had smoothed out the bed, tucking the sheet in where it had come loose.

"Thank you, Maria," said Nathan. "I've got this now."

"Okay, sir." Her concerned look rested on me, and then she was gone.

Leaving the slippers at the side of the bed, I discarded the robe, sliding into the blankets. Nathan turned down the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

"Are you leaving?"

"Do you want me to go?"

"No." I desperately hoped he would stay, at least until I fell asleep. The bed shifted, his weight moving towards the center. I turned into him, while his arms went around me. "Stay with me...for a while." I closed my eyes, fatigue falling upon me like a leaden blanket. Then the world went blissfully blank.

I woke alone, but the space next to me was still warm. Nathan had only just left. It was the first day of the rest of my life—a life without Frank. It was too awful to contemplate, the tragedy of the last few months, the accident and then the illness. It was a storm of misery that God had decided to rain down upon me. How I would go on now was a mystery. I thought bitterly how I was one of those widows who had been abandoned far too young. My family was more than a thousand miles away, blissfully unaware of Frank's passing, as I had yet to write to them. These would be the first of several letters that needed to be dispatched quickly. Focusing on this task, I might be able to pass a good portion of the day in a somewhat meaningful manner, and then I could cry until bedtime.

An easy thing, such as getting dressed, proved arduous, my fingers struggling to close the back of my dress. Maria appeared in the doorway. "Let me help you, Mrs. Clark." She deftly did up the buttons. "I'll fix your hair too."

"Thank you."

It was a luxury having someone else manage the thick, tangled tresses. She parted the hair down the center and braided both sides, bringing them together artfully at the back. Pins held everything securely in place. Hiring Mrs. Hermosa had been a small blessing.

"I have to write letters."

"I fix you breakfast, Mrs. Clark. You should eating something first."

"I'm not hungry."

In the mirror, by all outward appearances, I looked every bit the lady of the manor, although I stood in a farmhouse. I smoothed the skirts with trembling hands, wanting to put this chore behind me. I hated the thought of having to tell Frank's parents that their son had perished.

"I have to get this over with."

In the kitchen, I sat at the table, dipping the quill into the inkpot, scribbling the necessary messages. My fingers shook so badly that I could hardly read the writing. After an hour of starting and stopping, I jumped to my feet in frustration, an unreasonable anger boiling inside of me. Maria had gone outside to do laundry, while I seethed. The sound of a wagon brought my attention to the doorway, and I raced to see who had arrived, a strange, irrational wish materializing. I prayed that Doctor Caldwell had come to call, bringing my husband back.

"It's been a mistake, Mrs. Clark," he said. "Frank didn't die. He was pounding on the coffin in the middle of the night, and the undertaker dug him out. He's good as new now...and he's walking unassisted. It's a miracle."

But, that was a fantasy, as Sally Higgins stepped down from her perch. "Oh, Hannah."

"You don't have to come out here to watch over me."

"Nonsense. Of course I do. I'm here to be of service to you. I brought some chicken salad and bread. We can have sandwiches." I eyed her warily, not feeling up to company in the least. "Oh, dear, you look sore. You're about to bite my head off."

"You should just go away."

She shook her head. "You need me to help you with something. I know you do. I don't care if you scream at me, like you look like you're about to. I can handle it. I had to bury my little brother when I was thirteen. We were as thick as thieves. I loved that boy more than I loved my own parents. I cried for weeks. I'll try to spare you half of that, if I can." Her skirts whooshed by me. "Now, what can I do for you? The house looks spick and span. No need for cleanin'."

"You're not going away, are you?"

"Certainly not."

I sighed. "Oh, drat."

"Come now, what can I help you with?"

"I have to write letters."

"Excellent. I'll put the food in the larder for now, and we can get some letter writing done." She headed down the hallway. "I've been told my penmanship is pretty good."

Having no choice in the matter, I followed. Two hours later, the most important letters had been written, as I had dictated to Sally, who scribbled with the quill. The letter to Frank's sister would have to wait, as would my sisters, although I wrote a brief note to Louisa. When this chore had ended, Maria made chicken salad sandwiches, and I ate one, realizing I was absolutely famished. It wasn't long before Sally left, and I thanked her for helping me. The calm of evening found me wandering from room to room; the curtains separating the dining room had been taken down. The space was empty now, as the bed had been put away.

I declined to eat with Nathan, Jerry, and Maria, hearing them talking in the kitchen. Instead, I loitered in the living room, traversing the carpet, while the clock kept me company. It was a strange restlessness I couldn't explain, not wanting to go up to bed just yet, but knowing that I would eventually have to. Once the men had left the house, I wrung my hands; hating having to be alone in the room I had shared with my husband.

"Do you need anything, Mrs. Clark?" asked Maria.

"No. Thank you."

She took to the stairs. "You let me know, if you need anything."

"I will."

I waited for as long as I could, the hour growing late, and then I grasped the banister, pulling myself up, one step at a time, as if I were marching to my own execution. In the bedroom, the lamp blazed, flashing out yellow light. My clothing was left on a chair, while I pulled the nightgown over my head. Then I grasped each hairpin, tugging it free. Once my face and hands were washed, I slipped under the covers, but the heat forced me to throw back the heavier blanket. It would be another hour before I slid from the mattress, sliding open the window, feeling the breeze.

"Oh, Frank," I murmured.

It was useless trying to sleep. Snatching the lamp, I'd made my decision, hastening from the room and down the stairs. The house was eerily quiet; the only light came from the moon, which shone in through the windows. I left the porch, my feet crunching over gravel, as I reached the bunkhouse. Its lights were out. The door creaked on noisy hinges. This woke one of the occupants, who sat up suddenly, glancing in my direction.

"Hannah?" It was Nathan. "What's wrong?"

"Might I have a word?"

He got to his feet, sliding them into shoes. "Sure."

We stood outside, while a gust of air sent strands of hair into my face. "I...can't sleep."

"I'm sorry." Our eyes met, as my silent entreaty was understood. "I'll stay with you, if you like."

"It might help."

He took the lantern. "All right."

Relief flooded me, although I knew this was highly improper. In the house, we worked our way up the stairs, trying not to wake Maria. There was a creaky fourth step, but the others were quiet. Once in the bedroom, I left the robe and slippers behind, sitting on the mattress. Nathan went around to the other side. He lay next to me, but I wasn't able to make out his features, because his face was hidden in the darkness. I rolled into him, finding the solitude that had eluded me all day, closing my eyes. His arms went around me, and it wasn't long before I drifted to sleep.

In the morning, I stared at the ceiling, knowing that Nathan was gone. I lay like this for quite a while, having no desire to leave the bed.

Maria appeared in the doorway. "You missed breakfast, Mrs. Clark. Do you want me to bring you lunch?"

"No. Can you just go away, please?"

"Yes, Mrs. Clark."

It was peaceful under the blankets, with the window open, bringing in the breeze. Later in the day, necessity forced me to leave the room, my feet in slippers, as I wandered to the outhouse. Once I returned, I slipped silently up the stairs, crawling into bed. Nathan wasn't with me that night, or the night after. In the late hours, coyotes and crickets serenaded me, while during the daytime, the men shouted in the fields as they worked. I stayed in my room, mostly in bed all day, listening to noises outside. Maria brought up food, which I picked at, but my appetite wasn't significant.

She sometimes stood at the door. "We're going to church, Mrs. Clark. Are you coming?"

"Go away."

"Yes, Mrs. Clark."

I lay in bed listening to the wagon, as I imagined Nathan drove it, bringing Jerry and Maria to Denver City. I had no desire to see people—people who stared at me with sympathy, their faces mirroring the way I felt, but it seemed magnified when it came from someone else. I hated to be looked at with pity. Everyone I knew had a husband and a family. I had no one.

Aware that the house was empty, I stumbled from the bed, my hair hanging limply around my shoulders. I hadn't cried in more than a week, but the tears fell now. In fact, the sudden onslaught knocked me off my feet, as I collapsed onto the wood floor. Not being able to see anything through the veil of tears, I crawled around, my hair tangling in my hands, while my body shook with emotion. I could feel my face contorting, my stomach clenching with each sob, the floor wetting beneath me. At the stairs, I slid down one step, then two, still wearing my nightgown, which I hadn't removed in days.

Not having eaten much, I was weak, the effort to cry and crawl had exhausted me, and I slipped down the remainder of the steps, landing on my belly. I lay there crying, the pain nearly unbearable. During a lull, I managed to work my way to the kitchen, grasping a chair and hauling myself to my feet. Things had been put away neatly, and there was freshly baked bread on the table, along with salt and pepper.

There were shelves above the sink filled with glasses and plates. The medications that Doctor Caldwell had prescribed for Frank were there as well, and my eyes fell upon an amber colored bottle with a small cork lid. Knowing what this was, I grasped it, pulling out the top. I poured water from a pitcher into a cup. Fat droplets of medication fell into the water. I'd been told how much to administer to Frank, but I gave myself more.

Drinking the concoction, I grimaced at the bitter taste. I sat at the table, waiting to feel better, and it didn't take long. A heady rush went through me, warming me from the inside out, leaving a sense of wellbeing in its pleasurable wake.

"Now...that's more like it." My voice sounded thick, distant.

As I rubbed my nose, my face felt numb. My body seemed to turn to pudding, the arms falling to the sides. I wasn't certain how long I sat this way, but I eventually got to my feet, feeling as if a warm, snuggly blanket had been placed upon me. In the parlor, I lay on the sofa, my head rolling from side to side. My mind had stopped spinning; the ceaseless chatter had halted. I was fully at peace for the first time since I had lost my husband, and it was as if I didn't have a care in the world. I'd closed my eyes, but I wasn't sleeping. The euphoric state continued...blissfully so. I barely heard the sound of talking, although I sensed I wasn't alone now.

"What's she doing down here?" asked Maria.

"I don't know." Arms grasped me. "Hannah?" It was Nathan, who stared at me, his eyes taking me in. "Are you all right?"

"F-fine..."

"What did she take?" He shook me. "What did you take?" Now he was angry.

"I think this." Maria handed him the small glass bottle.

"Dammit!" I was in his arms, as he lifted me. "No! You're not doing this. Throw it out. Get rid of it now!"

"Yes, sir."

"Blast it, Hannah. No! You're not going down this road. I should've known better than to leave you in bed all week. Son of a gun!" He brought me to the stairs, taking the first steps. "I gotta put a stop to this right now." In the bedroom, he placed me on top of the blanket, leaning over me. "I'm not going to watch you waste away to nothing. Do you hear? Do you hear me?"

"I...feel better."

"No, you're drugged outta your mind, woman. That's not feeling better. I've seen what that garbage does to people. It's not the road you want to take, honey. Trust me."

"I hurt, Nathan." My speech was slurred.

He sat on the bed, his face filled with concern. "I know you hurt, honey. I'm sorry for your pain, but it'll get better. You're gonna feel better."

"God took everything from me."

A deep sigh escaped. "No he didn't. Life just happened. Sometimes it's a load of horse manure." He ran fingers through his hair. "I'm not gonna watch you waste away to nothin'. I'm sorry, but that ain't gonna happen."

"I'm...fine."

"No, you're not."

My hand reached for his. "Don't leave me, Nathan."

His look was pained, as he swallowed with effort. "I won't. I promise, I won't."

# Chapter Eleven

I wasn't allowed to stay in bed all day long again. Nathan appeared in the doorway the next morning; his expression was grim. "We got work to do. Get dressed."

My head felt fuzzy from the day before. "You can't bark orders at me. This is _my_ farm."

"And you're gonna milk your own blasted cow. Now, get dressed."

Knowing that I would be outdoors most of the day performing manual labor, I dressed in a simple calico outfit with a thin shift and stockings. There was no sense in going through all the trouble of putting the corset on, and I certainly wouldn't be wearing a cumbersome crinoline. After fixing my hair and placing a bonnet on my head, I was ready for whatever Nathan wanted me to do, although my mood was more than a little sour. How dare he order me around on my own farm!

"We're harvesting the hay for a few days," said Jerry, who had entered the barn an hour later.

I glared at him. "Wonderful."

"Mr. Weaver says you're to go down the line and fix the nails in the fence." He handed me a hammer.

"Surely you jest?"

"No, ma'am. All you gotta do is hit the nail back in place. Easy as pie."

"What about this pail of milk?"

"I'll take it to Mrs. Hermosa."

"Thank you."

It was strange being outside after all the time I had spent indoors tending to Frank and then stewing in my pain. I hated having to pound nails in place, but most of them only needed a little tap. By the time I had made my way to the end of the first row, I was ready to tackle the nails down the other side. This simple task allowed me to think, but the thoughts were unpleasant images of Frank drifting through my consciousness. Then other thoughts came, my mind twisting and turning, fresh worries arriving with each passing minute.

What would become of me now? Would I die an old widow? The thought of never having children was distressing. I needed a respectable man, someone of my own standing, who was educated and employed in a profession that would allow him to care for me. A man such as Nathan, who enjoyed drink and gambling...among other things, was not someone I would ever consider marrying.

By lunchtime, I helped Maria with the laundry, rinsing the clothing after she scrubbed it against the washboard.

"You look so much better today, Mrs. Clark."

"Thank you."

"Mr. Weaver is a good man, no?"

That question was strange. "Yes, he is."

"He's a hard worker."

"I suppose."

"They cut hay all day. It's hard work."

"Yes."

"He is a handsome man. Tall and strong."

I stopped to stare at her. "Does this conversation have a point?"

"Oh, no. I'm just talking." She used a lump of soap to lather up an ample amount of suds, scrubbing a man's shirt vigorously. "These men make things so dirty."

"Where is your family?"

"California. My son is with his brother looking for gold."

"Do you have any girls?"

"Yes. My daughter has her own family."

"Oh."

"I see them after the harvest. They might mine here." She shook her head. "It's _loco_ there. People killing each other for gold. It's stupid."

"From what I hear, it's all played out anyhow."

"Yes, but they thought they found some in a creek bed, but it was not much." She sighed. "It's a sickness for them, I guess. But...they come home soon."

"Will you live in Denver City?"

"Or the mountains. My sons want to prospect there."

"I see."

"I wait for them. I have nothing better to do." She glanced at me. "I worried you'd never get out of bed, Mrs. Clark."

Truth be told, if Nathan hadn't forced me to get dressed, I would have stayed in bed all day. "Well, I hardly had a choice." Her smile was slight, and I wondered what she was thinking.

"I'm almost finished with this now. You should go inside and have some lemonade. It's too hot to be in the sun."

"I'll make you a glass too."

"Thank you."

Later that evening, after dinner, I was about to take to my room, but a hand wound around my arm, halting me at the stairs. "Not so fast." I turned to see Nathan, who had bathed recently, as his hair was wet. "You can't go to bed just yet."

"Sir," I snatched my arm from his grasp, "you forget yourself. This is my house. This is _my_ life. How dare you tell me what to do."

A hint of a smile played around the edges of his mouth. "There's the fire I've been missing."

"What?"

"We're playing musical instruments, Mrs. Clark. Come listen."

"You play an instrument?" This was stunning.

"I've been known to pick the strings of a banjo now and again. You've already heard Jerry with the harmonica."

"All right, but only for a little while. It's been a long day."

Jerry brought in one of the kitchen chairs, while Nathan took a battered, cushioned wingback chair. I was on the sofa, waiting for the amusements to begin, expecting to hear something dreadful. As Jerry began to blow into the harmonica, Nathan strummed the banjo, tapping his foot.

"Okay, let's show Mrs. Clark that we're serious musicians. From the look on her face, I'm gettin' the feeling she has doubts."

"Whatever you say, boss."

"Hit it!"

A lively tune began, that sounded vaguely familiar. The harmonica was the strangest accompaniment to a banjo, but it wasn't as atrocious as I thought it would be. Maria came to stand in the doorway, wearing an apron. An enormous smile split her face. She began clapping, while tapping her toe. It had been ages since I'd heard music; although the sound was slightly rough, it was wildly entertaining. Nathan grinned, while he plucked at the strings, the music increasing in tempo.

"Oh! You're good, Mr. Weaver! Play it faster!" cried Maria.

She began to dance around in a circle, her skirt lifting from the rug. It was difficult to pretend that I didn't appreciate their attempts at entertaining me, as the happy sound of festive music filled the house. When one piece ended, another began, but this one was slower than the first. I sat and listened, my foot beating out the time, although it was hidden beneath my dress. It was another hour before we disbanded, Maria taking to the stairs, while I lingered, glancing furtively at Nathan. He placed the banjo in a leather carrying case.

"You play very well."

His smile was keen. "Thank you."

"I'm heading out," said Jerry. "Good night."

"Thank you, Jerry," I said.

"It was my pleasure, Mrs. Clark. It's good to see you smile."

I faced Nathan, not wanting him to leave. "I was hoping you...would...stay with me."

"Still having trouble sleeping?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"All right...but..."

"What?"

"Never mind. I gotta hit the privy, and I'll be up."

That would give me enough time to wash and change. "Good."

I'd just gotten the nightdress over my head, when he appeared in the doorway. The sight of him sent a pleasurable thrill through me, knowing how wildly inappropriate such an arrangement was. I had been sleeping horribly lately, and, last night, I had been out of my mind on laudanum.

Nathan glanced at me, his expression oddly blank. Turning down the lamp, I lifted the sheet, sliding beneath the covers. Once he was on the bed, I moved towards him, pressing my nose to his chest. He smelled of soap with a hint of manly musk.

"Hannah?"

"Um..."

"I don't think I'm gonna be able to keep doing this."

"Why not?"

"You gotta ask?"

"It's just until I can sleep again."

"If word got out, it could hurt your reputation."

"Who's going to say anything?"

"Jerry or Maria could talk. You never know. Stuff like this has a way of getting out."

"They can all go to blazes."

"Yeah," he chuckled, but it's your reputation that's gonna be ruined."

"Okay, but let's just be like this tonight." He sighed, his hand drifting to my hair. I snuggled closer, pressing an ear to his chest, where his heart thumped noisily.

"I might have a solution."

"What's that?"

"You could marry me."

"Oh, no," I giggled. "Don't be silly."

He stiffened. "Come again?"

"I'm in mourning. I can't marry anyone for at least a year."

"This isn't proper society. This is homesteading, woman. It's plain stupid to be out here without a husband or protection."

"I have you and Jerry and Maria. I'm hardly alone."

"Are you serious?"

"About what?"

"You won't even consider marrying me?"

"Certainly not."

"Why not?"

"You're a drunkard and a gambler and...other things."

"What other things?"

"You frequent...parlour houses."

"Blasted hell!" He sat up, flinging the sheet back, while sitting on the edge of the bed.

I reached for him, feeling his back. "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter? I've never once offered marriage to a woman before in my entire life, and she doesn't even think about it before shooting me down. Jesus."

"You shouldn't take His name in vain."

"You should quit being pigheaded."

"How dare you!" Now I was riled up. "That wasn't a serious marriage proposal, was it?"

"Yes, it was," he grated. "Why else would I bring it up?"

"I just lost my husband. I'm in no frame of mind to be discussing marriage, especially not with you."

"I'm not a drunkard. I haven't gambled in weeks. The last time I gambled, I won fifty bucks. What do you think I've been living on? You sure as hell haven't paid me."

I could tell he had turned towards me. "Oh, Nathan."

"You're driving me insane. I can't be in the same bed with you. Just marry me."

"It's unseemly to marry so soon. I haven't even started grieving yet. Frank's body isn't cold in the ground. It's...far too soon."

He touched my face; his hand felt rough. "I...oh, never the hell mind." He sounded angry again. "Go to sleep."

"Are you leaving?" This thought alarmed me.

"No. I'll stay cause I like torturing myself like this." He lay down, turning towards me.

I rolled into him, finding the happy spot that was his chest. "Oh, good. Night, Nathan."

He grumbled in reply.

His mention of marriage managed to stick in my mind, like an annoying stone caught in a shoe. I knew what his intentions were, but that hardly changed a thing. Frank had been refined and educated; he knew all about science, arithmetic, and politics, and he had read extensively. I wasn't even sure if Nathan knew how to read. He did have a point, though. I would most certainly think about my reputation, as it was the only thing I had to recommend myself.

I'd taken on the task of milking the cow in the morning, which was exasperatingly tedious, but it was enough to get me out of bed, otherwise I might have seriously considered sleeping all day, every day. A melancholy had descended upon me, a constant reminder that I had suffered trauma. I was a long way off from making peace with my new situation.

As the days wore on, I sometimes succeeded in being productive, and at other times I failed. After church on Sunday, I went for a walk, but I was overcome with grief, sitting against a tree at the end of one of the fields, weeping for a long time. When I returned to the house, supper had been waiting, and later, bed. Nathan wasn't in my room, and I expected him to arrive, wondering what was taking so long. He was always with me at this time of night. Irritation and curiosity propelled me to my feet, as I left the bed. I wore slippers, and I thrust my arms through the robe, tying it at the waist.

In the hallway downstairs, I strode to the door, opening it a crack. Nathan sat on the porch, holding his head in his hands. "What are you doing?" The moon shone overhead, offering muted illumination.

"Go to sleep."

"I've been waiting for you."

"I can't do this."

"Oh, that again?" I went to him, sitting on the top step. The night air was cool against my face. "Please, come to bed."

He glanced at me, his expression earnest. "How long do you think is proper before you can marry again? A month? Two?"

"Oh, my goodness. That would be far too soon. Six months at least, but I'm not ready to do that. I can't even think of being with man in that regard, and it's going to take forever to find the right one."

"And what would that look like?"

"Someone educated, with a good job."

"Like a doctor or a merchant or a miner?"

"Not a miner."

"Why not?"

"Because, I'm not marrying a miner."

"What if you fell in love with a farmer?"

"Frank was a farmer, but he was also a clergyman."

"What if it were a miner who struck it rich? Would that be good enough for you?"

There was anger in his voice. "Nathan."

"I'm not gettin' into that bed with you again, unless you marry me."

I stared at him, my stomach sinking. "Please, Nathan."

"No. You're using me like some type of security blanket. It's not proper to be in bed together all night long, especially when I want to touch you like a man touches a woman, and I can't. I'm about to lose my ever-loving mind."

Our eyes locked in that heated, breathless moment. "I can't marry you."

"I'm well aware of that. I can't sleep with you."

"Just one more night?"

"It's always one more night." His gaze drifted to my mouth. "Are you pouting? Is that a pout?"

"No."

"Your lower lip is protruding. That's an honest to God pout."

"I...wish we could be together—"

"No!" He got to his feet. "I'm hitting the hay, and it won't be in the house. Good night, Hannah. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite."

He walked to the bunkhouse, slipping inside, closing the door behind him. I stared for ages, feeling tears prick the back of my eyes. It was some time before I stood and went to my room, but sleep was hard to come by that night...and the night after.

# Chapter Twelve

I wasn't looking forward to this trip to town, because my emotions had been in turmoil for days. I'd hardly slept; the tiredness felt like I was trapped in a dark tunnel, my mind struggling to focus. I'd collected more than two-dozen eggs to sell at the mercantile; the delicate cargo was nestled within cloth at the bottom of a basket.

Nathan and I barely spoke these days; our relationship was strained. I resented the fact that he held the threat of marriage over my head, when all I wanted was the comfort of his arms and a good night's sleep.

Clambering into the wagon, I held the eggs in my lap, waiting for Nathan to return from the privy. He strode towards me wearing a striped shirt beneath a dark satin vest. His clothing was frequently mis-matched, as he bought his things second hand. A wide brimmed hat shaded his features; his beard was trimmed, as he hadn't shaved in a week or more. It was a thrill knowing I would be with him for hours, but he gave off a hostile aura, his jaw firmly set.

"You got the eggs?"

"Yes."

"Good." He took up the reins, calling to the horse, while the wagon jerked forward, ambling from the house.

"What will you do in town?"

He shrugged. "I'm planning on having a hog-killin' time at the saloon."

"Must you?"

"Yes, ma'am. Haven't been on a bender in weeks. I'm itchin' for a good, stiff drink."

I pursed my lips. "Whiskey will rot your gut."

He glanced at me, one eyebrow arched. "Is that so? What do you know about it?"

"I've heard they cut whiskey with ammonia and turpentine. That sounds perfectly awful to me."

"Good thing you're not drinking then, eh?"

I was certain my disapproval of his afternoon activities was plainly visible. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared out into the prairie, listening to the Franklin dogs barking, as we neared their property.

"Somebody oughta shoot them pesky animals."

"They've always been annoying." I yawned, my hand covering my mouth.

"You tired?"

"Yes. I don't sleep much." I could tell this bothered him, as his face shifted towards me instead of watching the road. "I toss and turn all night long. Can't remember when I last slept." For good measure, another yawn appeared, my mouth opening wide.

"Well, maybe you need a nip of brandy at night. That might help you sleep."

"Maybe."

"I'll see about getting a bottle."

"Oh, what a hardship that'll be for you." I was teasing, but it sounded petulant. He glared at me with stony, pale blue eyes. Oh, dear. I had hit a nerve.

Once in Denver City, Nathan tied the horse to the hitching post; his expression was downcast, while his posture was tense. After he helped me from the seat, he said curtly, "I'll see you in an hour." He stalked away, heading for wooden steps that led to the boardwalk and the saloon.

I stared after him feeling miserable. Not only did I mourn his companionship, but I also missed Frank horribly. Instead of getting better, things seemed to be worse. My throat tightened, as tears threatened. Hating that people stared, I moved from the wagon, my foot catching a rock, which caused me to stumble. The basket of eggs fell from my hands, landing in a cracked heap on the dusty ground.

"Oh, that's a shame," said a toothless miner, who leered. "Those looked good too." Several men laughed, while one spat on the ground.

"You might be able to pick it up, honey. Some of 'em might be all right."

My hand trembled, as I snatched the basket from the ground, leaving it in the bed of the wagon. It was imperative that I get away from these strangers. The bonnet hid my unhappiness, and I was grateful for it. Not having a direction to go in, I began to walk the boardwalk, passing the saloon and catching a glimpse of Nathan at the bar, holding a drink and laughing. I plodded along, as men tipped their hats to me. I crossed a thoroughfare wandering towards the parlour house. I stared at the door, as it was painted red.

"Hey, sweet thing," called a man in a passing wagon. "You want a ride?"

Nathan enjoyed coming here, but I had never been inside, nor did I ever expect to cross the threshold of such an establishment. A morose thought entered my mind, leaving me shaken. If I could not procure a husband, I might end up here, selling myself to survive. Stunned by the direction my thoughts had gone, I felt the pull of curiosity propelling me towards the door. If this were my future, shouldn't I go in and have a look around? Without preamble, I closed my fist over the knob and turned it, the door flinging inward easily.

Stepping into an elegantly furnished parlor, I glanced at my feet, seeing a plush black carpet in a flowery pattern. Plants hung before the windows, which were draped in frilly curtains, and the smell of incense burning left a musky, fragrant aroma.

"May I help you?" A woman dressed in a satin gown approached. She was possibly the prettiest female I had ever seen. Her hair was done up in an elaborate design, and her eyes were darkened over the upper lids.

"I'm...thinking...I might have to work here one day. I wanted to come in and see what it looks like." I could hardly believe I had said that.

Her mouth fell open, startled eyes taking me in. "I'll be with you in a moment. Please wait here." She disappeared through a side door.

"Of course," I said to myself. The furniture was lovely, and it shone from polish. A red velvet sofa stood against the wall flanked by matching chairs.

"Hello, dear," said a female voice with a slight southern accent. "I'm Ruby Wallace." I turned, astonished to find a redheaded woman in a pair of denim pants. She seemed to recognize me, her expression faltering. "I know you."

"You do?"

"I went to your husband's funeral."

"Oh."

"What on earth are you doing in my establishment?"

"I might have to work here one day. I thought it best to find out what I was getting myself into."

Her hands went to her hips. "Candy, honey. We're gonna need some tea. Can you get that started for me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Mrs. Clark, would you kindly follow me into my private quarters? We should have a talk."

"We should?"

"Yes, we should. I need to set you straight on a few things, and I don't want to do it out in the open."

"All right."

I followed her into a dimly lit hallway. She opened a door, exposing a small parlor with a set of windows covered in sheer curtains. The furniture looked functional, yet elegant; a sofa and chair occupied the space.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." She moved about the room, her figure plainly outlined in the tight-fitting pants. It was scandalous for a woman to wear such things, but she seemed entirely at ease in this ensemble. A calico shirt was tucked in, with a leather belt around a trim waist. "I know you're in the process of grieving, Mrs. Clark. I'm not sure what possessed you to come in here today, but you're clearly not in your right mind." She sat on the sofa, crossing her legs, which was something a lady would never do. Lighting a cigarette, she took a long drag.

"I might end up here. I don't have much money."

"Your husband's only been gone a few weeks. It's a bit too early to be thinking doom and gloom, isn't it?"

"Not really. I have to be practical."

"As I remember it, you've a crop coming in soon, don't you? Why not wait until after the harvest to declare yourself bankrupt."

"I doubt a bit of corn will cover all my debts."

"You'd be surprised what corn brings in. I'm sure you have more than that growing out there. It's been a while since I've taken a trip out of town. I should go more often."

"Mrs. Wallace—"

"Ms. Wallace, but, please, call me Ruby."

"Ruby, I...could I have a tour? I'd like to see...what things look like."

A swirl of grey smoke lingered before her face. "Oh, lordy, honey. You're crazy if you think I'm taking you from room to room. I'll tell you what you want to know. It's just bedrooms. Each room has a bed and a dresser with pitcher and bowl. It's as decorated as the downstairs. That's all."

"How many girls work here?"

"Ten to fifteen, depending."

"Depending on what?"

"I lose girls every week."

"Where do they go?"

"They marry their customers. Occupational hazard."

The door opened, and Candy brought in a silver tray with a gold trimmed teapot. There were matching cups. After she poured the fluid into one, she handed it to me.

"Thank you." When she left, I asked, "How long have you been doing this?"

"Five years."

"Is Ruby your real name?"

"No, of course not."

"I've heard you charge $250 dollars a night for one girl."

"You heard right."

"Oh, my goodness."

"You've taken a huge risk coming here, Mrs. Clark. Quite a few people saw you enter this house. They're probably in hysterics about it, the little gossip mongers."

I sipped the drink. "I guess."

"You don't care?"

"I do. I don't know why I came here. I dropped all the eggs, and then I lost my mind."

"I don't think you're destined for the whorehouse, Mrs. Clark."

"You never know. I was supposed to be happy here. I've only been married since last year. I should be pregnant right now." Tears filled my eyes. "I don't recall any plans for being a widow."

"No one plans that."

"What happened to you? Were you married once?"

"I was married a couple of times." She inhaled her cigarette, the smoke exiting a few seconds later. "The last man beat me. I shot him."

"Is he dead?" I sat straighter, alarmed.

"No, the bastard didn't die. I divorced him."

"Did you get in trouble for shooting him?"

"I spent a little time in jail." She smiled slightly. "That's where I learned the ins and outs of this profession. They'd housed me with a notorious madam. I picked her brain for four days." There was a twinkle in her eye.

"That's amazing." I couldn't help feeling a smidgeon of awe for her and the things she had been through.

"It was long ago." She stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. "But, getting back to the point, you don't belong in a parlour house, honey. You've got plenty of options that don't require you to sleep with strange men every night."

"I hope so."

"Do you mind me asking you a personal question?"

"You can ask whatever you want. You've been kind enough to answer my questions."

"I don't expect us to be lifelong friends now or anything, but if you happen to see me on the street, would you be willing to say hello to me?"

This left me staggered. "Yes, of course."

"I enjoyed listening to your husband's sermons. I really got something from his preaching. He had a way of putting things...I could understand what he meant. The message was always about being good and doing good. I know I'm a harlot. I've seen myself in the mirror plenty of times, but I felt better about things after church. I sure do miss him."

I hadn't been prepared for my reaction to those words, tears filling my eyes. "I miss him too."

"That Bailey fella is all right, but he's no Frank Clark." She pointed a finger at me. "And he's no Nathan Weaver either."

"W-what?"

"He's out at your farm, right? Working for you?"

"Yes."

"That's one hunk of a good man right there."

"If you say so."

Her look was contemplative. "It must be a comfort having him on the property. Bet you feel safer with him."

"I suppose. I have a woman with me too. Her name is Maria Hermosa, and there's Jerry Pratt. They all work for me."

"I see you in town with Nathan a lot."

"He drives the wagon."

"I'm gonna stick my neck out and say something I probably shouldn't. When you're done feeling sorry for yourself and stumbling into establishments you have no business being in, you might want to look around and take stock."

I gazed at her in confusion.

"Oh, for Pete's sakes! That man's in love with you. Is that plain enough?"

"H-has he told you that?"

"He don't need to tell me anything, honey."

"Does he come here often?"

"Not anymore. Not since he took up with you folks."

"Oh."

"I know you've suffered a loss. You're obviously struggling, or you wouldn't be here. No woman in her right mind wanders into a whorehouse in broad daylight." She sat up, her eyes narrowing. "When you're done grieving, you need to take a good look at that man. He might not be the type of person you thought you'd end up with, but he's a good man. Those baby-blue eyes are as honest as they come. That's a man you can count on."

"I'm still grieving. I can't think about that right now."

She got to her feet. "Well, it was nice of you to stop by, Mrs. Clark. I don't usually offer my advice for free. I sure hope some of what I've said has sunk in."

"Thank you for the tea. You're not how I thought you'd be."

"Come again?"

"You've been far kinder to me than I might've been to you, had I met you under different circumstances. I...had judged you pretty harshly. I won't do that again...and, if I see you in town or at church, I'd be happy to say hello to you."

"That's mighty generous of you." Her grin revealed dimples on either side of her cheeks.

"C-can I ask something?"

"Sure."

"Is that your real hair color?" The startling quality of the red took my breath away.

"No, honey."

"You've got a dark shadow on your eyelids."

"Make up."

"You sure are pretty, Ms. Wallace."

She laughed, "It's smoke and mirrors. If you saw me first thing in the morning," she shook her head, "oh, never mind. I shouldn't spoil the illusion. Now, you best run along. You've probably got the entire town wondering what you're doing."

"I suppose. I don't really care what they think." She escorted me to the door, as I glanced at the parlor one last time, seeing a man seated at the far end.

Her look was suddenly stern. "I appreciate you trying to point out the error of my ways, Mrs. Clark, but all your morality preachin' is lost on me, honey."

I realized this declaration was for the customer, who stared at us transfixed. "I...you really ought to consider another line of work...er...your eternal soul's in jeopardy, if you continue down this path."

"Oh," she laughed bawdily. "If you only knew. Now, shoo. I've got work to do. Good day, Mrs. Clark."

"Good day, Ms. Wallace."

Out in the street, I raised my chin to find Nathan sitting in the wagon, his expression furious. "What in the blazes were you doing in there?"

Oh...dear.

# Chapter Thirteen

He helped me to the seat. "I...I was...talking with Ms. Wallace."

"What happened to the eggs?"

"I dropped them."

Grabbing the reins, he called to the horse, while the wagon creaked into motion. "You're going to explain this to me, Hannah. What on earth are you thinking?"

"She's a nice woman. Did you know she colors her hair?"

There was a tick in his cheek; his expression was stormy. "Are you trying to ruin your reputation or have you lost your mind?"

"I've lost my mind."

He glanced at me. "What's the matter? Why would you go in there like that in broad daylight?"

"I was preaching morality to her. That's all."

"No, it isn't."

"It doesn't matter why I was in there."

"What did she say?"

"About you?" He tried to hide the glimmer of panic in his eye, but I saw it. "Are you worried she spilled the beans about your...virility?"

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"Maybe she told me everything you've ever whispered to her in the heat of passion."

His mouth had formed a grim line. "You're gettin' on my last nerve, Hannah. I take you to town to sell eggs, and you break all of 'em. Then I find you coming out of a parlour house. I say you've lost your mind."

"She's a smart woman. I guess the word sassy applies." I stared straight ahead, but I could feel his attention on me. "She had some interesting observations about things."

"Like what?"

"Oh, this and that."

When I wouldn't elaborate, he gritted his teeth, as steam came out of his ears. He wanted to know what Ruby had said about him, but I wouldn't divulge her secrets. The things I had learned were for my benefit, and I had a lot to think about.

Later that day, I wandered the property, staring at the field that Frank had planted, seeing rows of stalks, brimming with corn. We would harvest soon; the men were preparing for this event, having brought in the necessary equipment.

"Oh, Frank, if you could only see it. You'd be so proud."

"It's looking good, Mrs. Clark," said Jerry, who wandered up the lane towards me. "We've had good rain this season. We got lucky."

"Well, at least that's one thing that's worked out," I mumbled. He wore a hat that shaded his face. "Do you think there will be enough money to see me through till spring?"

He nodded. "Oh, I think so."

"Will you stay here, Mr. Pratt, or are you moving on after the harvest?"

"I move on."

That was a surprise. "Where are you going?"

"Into the mountains to prospect."

"In the middle of winter?"

"For a spell. Then I come back in the spring."

"So you will come back?"

"Yes, Mrs. Clark."

"You've been a good worker, Jerry. I'd hate to lose you."

"I come back. Not much for farming in the winter, so I make money elsewhere."

"That's very practical."

He eyed me with sympathy. "I am sorry for your loss. Your husband was a good man. A kind man."

"Thank you."

"You're young and pretty. I know you'll find another husband."

I hadn't been expecting him to say that. "Um...I'm in mourning now." He nodded, his look imperceptible. The sound of a wagon had my attention. "Someone's here." I hurried down the lane to see who was visiting, as I wasn't expecting anyone today. To my surprise, Sally Higgins stepped down from her perch.

"Hello!"

"Well, hello." I rushed towards her. "What brings you out on this fine Friday morning?"

"I haven't seen you since church last week." Her gaze skimmed over me. "I thought I'd check up on you. I brought some sarsaparilla and peanut butter cookies."

"Oh, that sounds delicious. Come inside." I held open the door, ushering her down the hallway to the kitchen. Grasping two glasses from a shelf, I left them on the table. "So, how are you? How's your husband and your kids?"

"We're fine." She lifted the cloth on a small basket, exposing the cookies. "Help yourself."

"Thank you." I took a bite, the sweet, crumbly cookie falling to pieces in my mouth. "Hum...it's good."

"Hannah," her look was suddenly grave, "I've really come here to ask you a few questions. I thought it best that you heard it from me first, rather than some stranger."

"What questions?"

"There's a rumor that you were seen coming out of—"

"I know. The parlour house. I'm aware of it."

"Is it true?"

I shrugged. "Yes."

"What on earth were you doing in there?"

"I had a moment of insanity, Sally. I can't say exactly why I did it. All I know is that Ruby Wallace is a nice lady. She's very kind. She talked to me for a bit, and then I was on my way."

Her eyes widened. "What does it look like in there?"

"Like a fancy house. There's pretty furniture and plush carpet. She even has plants!"

"What do her girls look like?"

"I only saw one. She was very pretty. They wear make up. They dye their hair."

"Oh, my."

"She gave me some advice. That was all."

"What sort of advice?"

"About men."

"What did she say?"

"It doesn't matter. I...have a lot to think about."

"You must know that people are talking. I asked Adaline and Rhoda to come with me today, and they refused."

"They did?"

"They're trying to distance themselves from you."

That revelation hurt. "I only spoke with the woman for five minutes. I'm tainted now?"

"I'm sure you'll redeem yourself in time, Hannah, but people are all abuzz. That's all anyone can talk about."

I stood so quickly that the chair fell over with a bang. "I can't believe this!" Pacing the floor, I took a deep breath. "How dare they judge me like that! It's not like I'm working there."

"It'll blow over. It's just strange that you would pay a call to such an establishment. They don't see that every day."

"Can't a person be curious?" Her look was doubtful. "So, I made a mistake. You're right, it'll blow over." I glanced out the window, as something unpleasant settled in my gut. "I hope so anyway."

But by Sunday, I felt distinctly uncomfortable in church, as I perceived many sets of eyes boring holes through my back. I tried to focus on Pastor Bailey's sermon, but it was difficult being the object of rampant speculation. After the service had concluded, I made my way down the aisle, spying Ruby Wallace at the end, sitting with a wide straw hat on, which brimmed with flowers and feathers. I nodded to her, and she nodded in return.

"How do you do?" I asked.

"Very well, and you?"

"Just fine, Ms. Wallace." She smiled, her pretty features were downplayed today, as she wore only traces of the face paint she had on the other day. I was going to speak to Adaline and Rhoda, but their husbands escorted them from the church. Only Sally remained, waiting for me by the door. "Hello."

"You scared everyone off."

"Ouf!" I muttered, under my breath. "Was that all it took?"

"I'm astounded you spoke to her."

"I only said hello. It's not like she's joining me for tea."

Nathan stood across the street, leaning against the hitching post. His hat hid his eyes, but a palpable energy radiated from him in waves. His denim pants were a deep blue, while his shirt was a white and black calico. Every female instinct I possessed told me that his attention was focused my way. This produced a tingle of pleasure, my stomach flipping around distractingly.

Mrs. Hermosa was by my side. "I wait by the wagon, Mrs. Clark."

"That's fine. I'll be right there." I turned to Sally. "You'd think people would have a tiny bit of sympathy for my plight. I've just lost my husband, after all."

"They have sympathy..."

"But?"

She appeared hesitant. "Well, you're a single woman now. You're young and pretty. A lot of male eyes turn your way. Even the married men are looking."

"What does that mean?"

"Some women...some women can be insecure. They're worried their men might leave them for you."

I gasped. "You can't be serious? I would NEVER steal another woman's husband." Anger mixed with indignation. It was an effort to school my features. I smoothed my skirt with trembling hands. "I think I'll stay away from town for a while. If I need anything here, Maria can come get it."

"I'm sorry. I probably should've kept that to myself."

"No, you're fine. If it weren't for you, I'd be wondering what in the graces is wrong with people."

"The best thing would be for you to get married as soon as possible."

"I'm in mourning," I grated through clenched teeth.

"This isn't home. This is the new frontier, and women need the protection of a man. There's a social on Wednesday night. I'm providing the lemonade and some treats. You should come. There are eligible bachelors in Denver City, you know. Pastor Bailey for one. Dwight Bates is another. There are some businessmen who need wives. Marshal Peters lost his wife last year."

It seemed unpalatable to be thinking of such things. "I shouldn't."

"No one would think ill of you, Hannah. You need to meet these men and see if any suit you."

I glanced at Nathan. He'd tilted his head to the side, his eyes hidden in shadow. There was something graceful about the way he slouched, the line from his shoulders to his hips arched inwardly, leading downward toward lean thighs. I'd been in his arms before when he'd been in my bed, offering comfort. Now he avoided the house at night, refusing to provide those services, which was disappointing.

"I'll think about it. I don't usually come to town midweek."

"It starts at seven. Please come, Hannah. You'll have a good time, and you might even find someone who interests you."

"Maybe." I held a drawstring purse. "I must be off now. You take care of yourself."

"I will. You too."

As I strolled towards Nathan, he pushed himself from the hitching post, his expression neutral, but I felt a thrill as I neared. "I'm ready to go."

"I see that." He held my wrist, helping me onto the wagon. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, everything's just fine."

There must have been something in my tone, because his gaze sharpened. Maria stepped up, sitting next to me on the wooden bench. As we ambled out of town, I thought about what Sally had said. Perhaps I _should_ attend the social and mingle with eligible bachelors. I had been far too quick to dismiss the possibility that I might find one of them interesting. If my mother knew I was even considering doing such a thing, she would be scandalized.

Nathan and Jerry went to work first thing Monday morning, harvesting the corn with a horse-drawn sled cutter, spending long hours in the field. The men came in for lunch and dinner and then went straight out again. Maria and I brought them water and sandwiches, watching as they picked, husked, and shelled by hand. They also had to bind the stalks into shocks for drying. It was tedious, exhausting work.

Come Wednesday, I prepared to go to town, although I hadn't yet told Nathan about my plans. He had thrown himself into the pond, having wet his clothing through with perspiration. He'd disappeared into the bunkhouse to change, and, when he emerged, I approached him.

"I have to ask a favor."

He looked at my bleary-eyed. "What's that?"

"I need to go to town."

"Now?"

"Yes. I'd go myself, but I need a revolver for safety reasons. Do you have one I could borrow?"

He shook his head. "You never go to the town this late in the day. What are you doing?"

"It's a social."

"What?" His hands went to his hips.

"I've been invited to a social. I need to meet eligible bachelors. I've been told I should marry...soon. Going into that parlour house ruined my reputation."

His mouth fell open, but, first, two distinct lines appeared between his eyes. "I've been working since five this mornin', getting the rest of the corn cut. I've been on my feet for three days, killing myself with this harvest. Now you want me to take you to town, so you can find a husband?"

"Yes."

"What about being in mourning?"

"I am in mourning."

"I thought you planned to do that for a full year?" His mouth twisted in displeasure.

"I would normally, but these are extenuating circumstances."

"Really?"

"Look, you can bring a blanket and a pillow. You can have a nap while I'm at the social."

His expression hardened. "Have a nap while you parade around flirting with strange men?"

"It sounds horrible, when you put it like that."

He looked like he was going to say something else, but thought better of it. "Let me get my jacket. I'll be back in a minute." He stormed towards the bunkhouse, his boots stomping the ground.

Satisfied that my evening was going as planned, I got into the wagon, holding a thick shawl around my shoulders. The weather had begun to turn chilly at night. When Nathan came back, his face was pinched in a scowl, his posture rigid. He sat next to me, taking the reins, and, without another word, the wagon began to jerk forward. There wasn't any conversation on this journey, as my traveling companion was in a fine mood, his look having frozen in place. I had never been to town at night; not knowing how rowdy Denver City was once the sun went down. There were miners in the streets shouting and laughing, while the saloon was ablaze with lights, as was the parlour house.

"Looks busy."

"The "Fifty-Niners" are celebrating. I guess they found free gold. If I were feelin' motivated, I'd join them for a spell and bring back some troy ounces."

"Isn't that why you came out here in the first place?"

"It was."

"Did you ever mine?"

"I was on Pike's Peak earlier in the year."

"How'd you do?"

"Not so good. I have better luck gambling."

"That's hardly a profession for a gentleman." He helped me down, and I met his gaze, regretting my words.

"I may not be learned like your husband was, but that don't make me any less of a man." He pointed a finger in my face. "If you were more of a woman, you'd know the difference."

# Chapter Fourteen

We stood on the boardwalk in front of the venue. I fumed with anger. "How dare you!"

"I've put up with more than enough from you now, Mrs. Clark. I've done nothin' but help you in nearly every way possible, and what do I get? I get disrespected, is what I get. I'm sure tired of it."

"I was taught that a gambler was a wastrel. I'm sorry my upbringing wasn't the same as yours."

"Jeesh! Just be quiet about that now. The more you say, the worse it gets."

People walked by, their stares interested. I murmured, "We should talk about this when we get home." It dawned on me how intimate that sounded, how inclusive. _Well, he lives at the property. Technically speaking, it's both of our homes._

"I've been nothing but good to you. I've worked my butt off for you. I busted myself these three days getting that corn in. I get no word of thanks from you. Not one. I don't even get paid."

"I'll pay you as soon as I sell the product." I met his gaze. "I am thankful I met you. You've been very helpful to me. I do respect your work ethic and how kind you've been and things. When I was at my wits' end, you were there for me."

"Why are you going in there then?" He pointed into the open door, which revealed a room full of people, as lively music played and voices were raised in conversation. "What are you looking for in there?"

"A...a husband."

He closed his eyes, as if grappling with patience. "A husband. How nice."

"Sally said there were some well-off bachelors, and I ought to meet them."

"Ah, yes, cause marrying someone who's poor is on the list of what ladies shouldn't do, right?"

"It's not advisable."

"Says who?"

"My mother. She'd be beside herself, if I married beneath me."

"And if you were to marry someone like me?" His eyes gleamed with expectancy.

"She'd be unhappy."

"She doesn't even know me."

"I'd have to tell her that you're a..."

"A what?"

"A drunkard and a gambler and...you visit parlour houses." He cursed under his breath, which was shocking. Then he grabbed my arm, hauling me towards the door. "Sir!"

"Let's have a look at what your choices are, shall we?" He peered into the room. "See that bald man there, the one with the big gut?"

"I...yes."

"There's your future husband."

"Well, I wouldn't know that yet. I haven't spoken to him."

"Then that man." His finger indicated a rotund fellow, whose face looked glossy with sweat. "There's a catch. I'd sure rush in there and snatch 'em up before some other lady does." He glared at me. "You're in for a fun night with this crowd of thoroughbreds."

He was horribly jealous and angry. His demeanor was defensive, yet there was something vulnerable about him tonight, a weakness that I had caused. He seemed almost desperate for me not to go inside, his eyes begging me to reconsider. I found him utterly appealing in that moment, my insides turning to jelly, while I softened towards him, realizing that I was hopelessly in love with him.

"What about Pastor Bailey? He's without a wife."

"If you wanna marry yourself another gospel sharp, then be my guest. I'm not gonna stand out here arguing with you, Hannah. I'll be in the saloon, having a couple of stiff drinks." He turned to go. "Have a swell time."

I watched him saunter down the boardwalk, his boots clopping on the wood. It felt strange to admit that I was in love with Nathan, although I hadn't said the words out loud. He was rough and crude and obnoxious, but then I had plenty of my own faults. I'd always felt a connection to him, even before Frank had passed on, which led to a fair amount of guilt.

When he disappeared into the saloon, I entered the establishment, not really caring to meet anyone else. I'd already settled on my second husband, and I couldn't have been happier with the choice.

When the social was over, Nathan waited for me by the wagon. I had enjoyed myself, speaking with people and dancing. I'd met a lovely man by the name of Charles Washington, who had kept me company, asking if he could see me again. I had politely declined. Sally had been there as well, but she wasn't able to speak for long, as her husband needed to go home early. He wasn't feeling well.

"So, how'd it go?" slurred Nathan. "You find the man of your dreams in there?"

"You're drunk."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm full as a tick." He patted his belly.

"Oh, goodness. I'll have to drive home." I got into the wagon, taking the reins. "Come on. Get in."

He stood against a wood post. "Maybe I'll stay and visit...some ladies."

My stomach dropped. "No, you will not. Now get in the wagon, right this minute!"

"Don't think I've ever heard that tone in your voice before." He climbed in, sitting next to me. "I kinda like it. It's schoolmarmish, but good."

"Hold on, Mr. Weaver."

The horse sprang to a trot, the conveyance jerking forward. "Whoa...here we go!"

The thought of him with one of those soiled doves irritated me. My mind spun with images of him naked in bed with a woman who dyed her hair bright red. It left a sour taste in my mouth. I had little trouble driving us home, realizing that I could do this on my own, if I had to. I'd feel safer with an escort, but that was not necessary. Nathan whistled and hummed, clearly in a good mood. He shifted with the wagon, his body drifting from side to side, while his hat sat askew.

"Nice night."

I glanced at him. "It is." The house was up ahead; the lights were on downstairs, as Maria had left the lantern lit for my return. "I have a request of you tonight, Mr. Weaver."

"You have to be so formal?"

"I think you should stay with me...in my room."

His head snapped to attention. "That's the worst idea yet."

Knowing that he was inebriated, I had hoped he would be easily swayed. I dearly wanted to be in his arms again, as he was the best sleep medication I had ever encountered. He unhitched the horse, leading the animal to a nearby pasture. When he came back, he stared at me, his eyes slightly bloodshot.

"Good night, Hannah."

"But, wait!" I approached him. "Can't you...won't you stay with me...just for tonight."

"You're outta your mind. I've had far too much to drink. My control is gone, honey. You expect me to get into bed with you and not touch you? You think I'm gonna just hold you now?"

"C-could you?"

"Hell to the no."

"Why not?"

"I just explained myself. I'm in no condition to be coddling you, not when you press yourself against me like you do. Not tonight. Not any night, unless you marry me."

I took his hand, pulling on him. "Please, Nathan. I won't let you do something you'll regret. I'm tired, and I know you'll help me get a good night's sleep."

"If I touched you, I wouldn't regret it. You got that wrong."

"You could touch me...a little."

Something flared in his eyes, and then I found myself in his arms, the aroma of whiskey and tobacco clinging to him. His mouth descended to mine, the kiss nearly knocking me off my feet. This wasn't a chaste peck on the mouth, a soft, easy seduction from a patient man. The kiss was hungry, his tongue invading me, demanding my complete surrender, which I was happy to give. I leaned into him, wanting every bit of what he offered, never having been this consumed before, or this ravished. My hands rested on his shirt, moving upwards to wind around his neck, as I pressed myself to him.

"Oh, Nathan," I breathed. "Come up with me."

"No," he growled, pushing me away. "Are you gonna marry me?"

"You know why I can't marry you."

"Then we're done talking. Good night."

He turned, trudging towards the bunkhouse, leaving me staring after him, while moonlight lit a bank of clouds above me. Feeling wretched, I entered the house, climbing the steps, with the weight of a ton of bricks on my shoulders. While changing, I replayed our earlier conversations and then the kiss...that extraordinary kiss. I would never be able to forget that kiss.

As I lay in bed, pulling the sheet to my chin, I stared into the darkness. It was impossible living this close to Nathan and not being in his arms. Did it matter so much that he was a miner or a farmer? Were those not noble professions? I searched my heart, seeking an answer, and it came an hour later, after I had debated back and forth all the pros and cons. None of it mattered anyhow, because I was desperately in love with him.

I nearly jumped out of bed to tell him, wanting him to know that he meant the world to me, even though he was crude and obnoxious most of the time. I relished every opportunity to argue with him. I'd never felt more alive than when I was near him. I didn't have Frank by my side, which was something I would spend the rest of my life regretting, wishing that he had lived longer, but Ruby was correct and so was Sally. It was time to move forward...and the future looked promising.

A little after dawn, I slid from bed. I'd hardly slept at all, tossing and turning, my mind filled with a series of images: Nathan and I in a church getting married, the reception afterwards, and then...the wedding night. I never wanted to be alone in this room without him again. I longed to write to my family and tell them the news, but I had to talk to Nathan first. After, I'd arranged my hair in a simple bun, the part down the middle. A pale blue bonnet sat upon my head, and I tied the sash beneath my chin. My dress was a basic calico, nothing too special, as I would more than likely be working outside most of the day. With a deep, fortifying breath, I prepared to face Nathan.

Maria had been in the kitchen, because the fire was on in the stove and bread rose under a cloth on the table. I snatched a biscuit, popping it into my mouth, and then I hurried to the door, wanting to catch Nathan before he went into the fields. Without a shawl, the chill of morning seeped through the material of the dress. I hurried across grass and dirt, reaching the bunkhouse, while my heart hammered in my chest. I was about to confess the way I felt, and I knew Nathan would be thrilled with what he was going to hear. Knocking on the door, I waited for a manly voice to acknowledge me.

"Nathan!" I pushed on the door, the hinges creaking. Peeking inside the darkened space, I noted bunk beds with messy blankets and pillows. There was no one in the room. "Oh, drat." He must have gone to the fields already. When I turned toward the house, Jerry stood before me. "Goodness! You scared me."

"Good morning, Mrs. Clark."

"Where's Nathan? I have to talk to him."

"He's gone, ma'am."

"Which field is he working?"

"None. The harvest is finished."

"Did he go to the privy?"

His look was contemplative. "He went to Denver City."

My mouth fell open. "Why'd he do that?" The wagon was where we had left it; he hadn't taken it. "When will he be back?"

"He says he's mining for a spell. He won't be back for a long time."

It felt like the bottom had dropped out from beneath me. "No! I have to talk to him. He can't leave just yet. Gosh, darnit!" I began to panic, feeling a desperate sense of urgency. "I have to stop him. Get the wagon ready for me, please, Jerry." We had more than one horse, as I assumed Nathan took the stallion. "Get the harness on Penny. I'll get my things."

"Yes, ma'am."

When I was seated, the reins firmly in hand, I realized I would be making this trip alone. It was time I exerted some independence, as Jerry had work to do. Maria came to stand on the front porch, her apron lifting with the breeze.

She waved to me. "Be safe, Mrs. Clark."

I nodded towards her. "Oh, I will. Yaw!"

I yelled, spurring the horse into motion. With a determination I hadn't felt since we had made the trip out west, I gazed down the lane, seeing the rutted road that would lead me to the city and the man I loved. An hour later, I had arrived in town, the bustle of morning traffic surrounding me. Freight had arrived; a large wagon was stationed outside the post office. After tying the horse to the hitching post, I strolled down the boardwalk towards the saloon, expecting to find Nathan nursing a morning cocktail.

Never having been inside the establishment, I braced myself for censure, knowing that women did not frequent such places. Pushing against the duel wooden doors, which swung inwards and out, I entered. The room was spotted with customers, some sat at tables, while others were on stools at the bar. There was a row of spittoons on the floor, while the stale smell of whiskey mixed with tobacco. Two men, playing cards, stopped to look at me.

"What can I get you, little lady?" asked a tall, thin man behind the bar.

I approached him, clearing my throat. "I'm looking for Nathan Weaver. Have you seen him?"

"This mornin', before he left."

"Where is he?"

"I reckon he went with them miners."

"Where are they?"

"Long gone by now. They're heading for Pike's Peak, ma'am."

My face betrayed the distress I felt. "Maybe I can catch him still?"

"It was more than three hours ago. I doubt it. You got a fast horse?"

Such a task would be impossible. My shoulders slumped. "When did he say he would be back?"

"Them miners are gone for weeks at a time. I'm guessing he won't be back before Thanksgiving."

"Hey, pretty lady," shouted a grizzled-looking man, sitting at the other end of the bar. "I'll keep ya company, if ya want. Yer sure are purty."

Cringing inwardly, I ignored him. "Thank you."

"You're that Clark woman, eh?"

I glared at him. "I'm Mrs. Hannah Clark, sir."

"Sorry about your husband. Damn shame."

"Thank you."

"You gonna take up with Nathan?"

"That's none of your business." I bristled at being spoken to in such a casual manner.

"He's mentioned you. I suspect he's sweet on ya."

It was difficult to look this man in the eye. "If you happen to see him, please tell him to...come home. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

# Chapter Fifteen

Nathan had been right about the need for fresh produce in Denver City. As most of the inhabitants were miners and businessmen catering to the mining industry, my crop of corn, wheat, and potatoes was greatly sought after. I'd paid Jerry and Maria, who decided to stay on a while longer. Her children had been delayed in California, and Jerry would come and go, opting to mine for gold further up the Platte River.

I'd purchased a revolver, and Sally had shown me how to use it. We had practiced in the field, aiming at tin cans. I now traveled to and from town by myself, feeling perfectly at ease with this newfound freedom. I'd taken in a dog as well, a big friendly Labrador, who acted as my personal guardian, barking when strangers came near. He sat in the wagon while I shopped, and then he kept me company at night, sleeping at the foot of the bed. I'd named him George.

On Sundays, I went to church with my head held high, refusing to let the judgment of others impact my need to be in communion with God. I found solace from a good sermon, and, although Pastor Bailey wasn't nearly as talented as Frank had been, I still felt the familiar connection, that peace I needed after a long week of work.

After a service, several weeks later, Adaline approached me; her expression was earnest. "Mrs. Clark. I'd like a word with you, if you don't mind."

I turned to face her, wondering what to expect. "Yes?"

"I need to apologize." She seemed nervous, her eyes furtive. "Join us for tea, if you could be so kind. I have a few things I need to say."

Not having any reason to rush home, I acquiesced. "Very well."

Being the banker's wife, Adaline's house was tidy, yet impeccably appointed with heavily carved furniture, plush carpets, and shelves brimming with books and knickknacks. A table had been set with dainty cups and saucers, while a maid brought out a teapot.

"Have a seat," she said, indicating a cushioned chair. "I really need to apologize to you. I've been the worst sort of friend."

"I'm not sure that's necessary."

She poured tea into a cup. There was a small sugar bowl with a porcelain creamer. "Yes, it is. I've been horrid."

I sighed. "I've not been without fault either. It's been difficult getting on after Frank's death. My judgment hasn't always been good."

Her hand rested upon mine, her expression sorrowful. "I should've taken this into account. You've been through so much, my dear. You're so young. I had a first husband, if you must know. I don't speak about him often, but I should've been more sympathetic to you."

This was astonishing. "What happened?"

"We'd only been married six months. He woke one day with severe stomach pains. He'd been complaining of a bad tummy for a while, but we thought it might've been something he ate. It turned out it was his appendix. It had ruptured, but...it was too late. By the time the surgeon got to him, he was far too infected to recover. He died the next day."

"I'm so sorry, Adaline. I had no idea."

"I was a mess after. I went to my parent's house and didn't come out for a year."

"It's hard to pick up the pieces."

"I never should have judged you the way I did. I hope you can forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. Like I said, I've made some mistakes too."

"Are you friends with that Ruby woman now?" This thought seemed to alarm her.

"I consider her an acquaintance. She has a story that's not dissimilar to our own. It was a mistake to go into that...house...but I wasn't in my right mind. What I discovered is that she is a solid woman. She's doing what she needs to survive. She gave me some advice."

"Good gracious. What did she have to say?"

"She told me a few things about men."

Adaline leaned in, her ears perking up. "Oh?"

"Yes, especially about one in particular."

"How's that?"

"It's time for me to get on with it. I know I'm supposed to mourn for a year, but...that's not practical out here. No one will ever be able to replace Frank in my heart. He'll always hold a special place for me, and I miss him every day. He was the sweetest man, and he spoiled me so."

"Yes, of course."

"But...as shocking as this might be to you, I've fallen in love again. It's not something I'm particularly proud of, seeing that my husband's only been gone a few months, but I can't help the way I feel."

Her look was sympathetic. "You don't need to explain anything to me, Hannah. If you've found another man, that's wonderful. It's the best thing actually. You're so young, my dear. No one expects you to live as an old widow. You're in the prime of health, perfect for childbirth. I have every expectation of seeing you with a gaggle of children. Now, who's the lucky man?"

I sighed. "Well, he's missing at the moment, but once he comes back, I'm dragging him to the church."

"I suspect you're talking about that scoundrel, Nathan Weaver," she laughed.

"Yes, ma'am. I certainly am."

When I left Adaline's house, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. The damage I'd done to my reputation would be repaired in due course, and my relationship with Adaline was on the mend. None of us were perfect all the time, and I had certainly been in the wrong myself, but none of that mattered now. My focus was on the approaching winter and needing to get my house in order. I planned to dry, pickle, and preserve for the next week, while quilting blankets at night.

If that rascal, Nathan, ever returned, I'd give him a piece of my mind for running out on me without even saying one word of goodbye. I'd been hurt after he left, blaming myself, but that had morphed into anger, feeling distinctly jilted and discarded, as if I didn't matter at all. If he ever darkened my doorway again, he had a lot of explaining to do.

The next day, while I hung laundry, I perceived the sound of a wagon, the jingling of a harness in the distance. I left the damp clothing in the basket, heading for the house. I wasn't expecting visitors, but it was more than likely Maria, returning from town. On the front porch, I saw the wagon approach, with Maria commandeering the reins, although she wasn't alone. Nathan was with her!

I ran down the steps, striding towards them. "Where's my horse?" He'd taken the stallion with him, and I'd not seen it since.

"You haven't seen me in weeks, and that's the first thing you say?" He sprang to the ground, his boots looking scuffed. "How about a hello?" His grin was slightly crooked.

"What did you do with my horse, mister?" I glared at him. How dare he! He'd returned looking like the blackguard he was, smiling as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I had to sell the horse for mining supplies."

My mouth fell open, as anger pricked. "That was _my_ horse! You had no business selling my property without my permission."

Maria had gone into the house. She seemed to want to distance herself from this conversation, although she had cast several interested glances our way.

"I know that, but I had no choice. You didn't pay me, so I had to make due. I'll buy you another horse." He stared at me; his expression remained far too jovial. "Is that a pout I see?"

"You just left without saying goodbye."

"I did. If I had seen you, I wouldn't have been able to leave."

"What does that mean?"

"You wouldn't marry some poor farmer, so I went out to change that."

"Forget about that. Those things I said...I've been thinking about that a lot. I was stupid, Nathan."

"You have your standards, I understand."

"Are you back for good now?"

"That depends."

"I was going to tell you that I loved you. I came out the next morning to tell you, but you were gone."

Something glimmered in his eyes. "You love me, huh?"

"Yes, even though you're the wrong sort of man."

"That's a strange way of complimenting me," he laughed.

"I don't care anymore about anything. I've been struggling for a while—"

"You lost your husband. That's to be expected." He took a step towards me. "Are we gonna keep arguing or are we gonna get married?"

"I want to get married right this minute."

Humor registered. "Right now?"

"Yes, this very minute. I'll get my handbag. Turn the wagon around."

A hand wrapped around my forearm. "Hold up there, honey." He drew me to him, his face so close I could see the tiny blue flecks in his irises. "I never asked you properly, and I haven't gotten one thing right yet, so I want to do this proper."

"Go ahead then. Just hurry." He laughed, flashing slightly crooked teeth. "If you think I'm spending another night alone, you got another thing coming, mister."

"All right, but hobble your lip for just a second there, and let me do this." He thrust a hand into a pocket. "I've never in my life gotten down on one knee before. It's a shame I wasn't able to ask your father's permission first."

"He would've said no anyhow."

His look betrayed annoyance. "You gonna keep quiet, so I can do this?"

"Fine." It was amusing how nervous he seemed, his expression suddenly stern, with a hint of apprehension.

He cleared his throat. "Okay. Here goes." He lowered to one knee, his face lifting upwards. "Hannah Clark?"

"Yes?" It was then that I saw the ring, a gold band with a pretty little diamond. I gasped, "Where'd you get that?"

"I bought it in town this morning."

"With the money you got from my horse?"

"No! Now would you be quiet!" I clamped my lips together, waiting expectantly, not believing he had bought such a pretty ring. "Hannah Clark, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Yes."

He sighed with relief. "Let's get this on." He slid the ring over my finger; although it was slightly too big, the diamond caught the sun, glinting and flickering with brilliance.

"Oh, Nathan. It's so pretty."

"We'll have the goldsmith fix it, so it won't fall off your finger. Now kiss me, woman."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, while our lips met. The kiss was just as hungry as the one he had given me the night he had left. I pressed myself to him, feeling the firmness of his chest. He growled, drawing me even closer, his beard scratching my cheek.

"God, you've driven me crazy," he murmured.

"Let's go to town now. I want to get married."

"Don't you want to wait for a pretty dress and invitations and all that other nonsense?"

"No. All we need is a pastor and a witness."

"Is that so?" He'd yet to let go of me.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye, but I wouldn't have been able to leave if I saw you."

"I was going to tell you how I felt."

"Honey, I've known it for a while. You didn't have to say anything."

"Can you forgive me for being so mean?"

"I deserved every bit of it."

"No you didn't."

"I stole your horse."

"Yes, you did."

"I'll buy you another one."

"I have the money I owe you from the harvest. I did well. Frank was right, it paid for everything and then some."

"I did well too."

"With what?"

"Mining."

"Did you find any gold?"

"You could say that." I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. "It's fair to assume that we'll be good for a while. We can plant the other fields next spring. I can buy as many horses as you want."

"Can I get dining room furniture?"

He laughed, "If that's what you want as a wedding present, yes."

I hugged him. "I do."

"Now that I'm rich, you'll marry me, eh?"

"I said yes when I thought you were poor." He smelled of musk with a hint of perspiration; my senses were nearly dizzy with the prospect of being with him. "Let's hurry, Nathan. I'll get my things, so we can go."

"You're gonna get married in that dress?"

"I don't care." I rushed to the house. "Maria!" I shouted. "I'm gettin' married! You have to be our witness!"

Two hours later, I found myself in the church, with Adaline, Rhoda, and Sally in attendance with their husbands. Maria and Jerry joined us as well. I'd been given a handful of pretty yellow wildflowers that Maria had picked in a nearby field. Pastor Bailey officiated the service, pronouncing us man and wife, his happy countenance beaming with approval.

Adaline and Sally had thrown together a small reception, serving ice tea, lemonade, and apple cider. We ate finger sandwiches and chocolate caramels. It wasn't nearly as extravagant as my wedding to Frank had been, but it hardly mattered. I would have to write to my family soon, explaining this change in circumstance. Nathan held my hand, his tanned face beaming. He'd been in the elements for weeks, and it showed, as he had browned and wrinkled accordingly. The ring was something the ladies ogled, admiring the diamond, which was set in four prongs.

"All right," said Nathan. "I think we'll be going now." He squeezed my hand, murmuring, "We gotta hit the road, honey."

Our eyes met, as heat passed between us. "I'm ready."

"Thanks so much for the nice spread," said Nathan, shaking Doc Caldwell's hand.

"Congratulations," he said. "You make a handsome couple."

"We don't expect to see you in town for a while," said Mr. Higgins, with a grin.

"No, can't say we'll be needin' anything for at least a week." Nathan led me towards the door. Maria and Jerry would be traveling with us to the house, so privacy would not be achieved until after we closed the bedroom door.

"Take care," said Sally. "I'll see you in church this weekend."

"Yes, you will. Thank you."

Rhoda and Adaline exchanged a glance, and the look that passed between them warmed my heart. I sensed my friends approved of my choice, which was mildly astonishing considering Nathan's reputation. Earlier Rhoda had pulled me aside, whispering, "That man would do anything for you, my dear. He might not be what you thought your future looked like, but he'll keep the rain off your head and your sheets warm." She pinched me for luck.

Later, after we had arrived home, followed by a surprisingly heated encounter beneath the sheets, I lay in Nathan's arms, his heart pounding against my chest. Having waited this long to be with him, the joining was far better than I could have hoped for; his skill in this particular area was something I would have to question him on...at length.

Our eyes met. "Are you all right?"

"Of course."

"I didn't hurt you?"

"No, not at all."

"It's been a while for me."

"Me too."

His lips met my forehead, his breath fanning over my skin. "You look so sweet in your moment of rapture."

"Shush."

"The way you trembled beneath me, your—"

"Don't say it."

"I didn't know you'd be so noisy."

I pushed against his chest. "Not another word."

"Touchy," he laughed; his voice was scratchy.

There was wetness between my thighs, as a reminder of the things we had done. "I want a baby."

"I'll do my best, darlin'." Humor shone in his look. "You sure are pushy. First you're demanding marriage and now children. What's next?"

Leaning over him, I grasped his face, feeling the scratchy quality of his beard. "I kiss you." Our lips met, tongues playing, while his arms went around me, holding me close. The way we fit together, my hipbone against his tummy, my curves molding to his hard planes, it was easy. Being with him was like sliding into a comfortable pair of shoes...but this kiss was quickly getting the better of me; certain female parts had begun to tingle again...wanting something more.

"I love you, Hannah," he murmured.

"I love you too."

The End

# Epilogue

Three months later

"So, what does it say?" asked Nathan, who had strolled into the parlor. He'd been tending to the horses, wanting to feed them before the storm came in.

I held a letter from my younger sister Paulina. "I can't believe this."

"What? Bad news?"

"Paulina's coming out this way."

"By herself?"

"She wants to find a husband."

"The pickin's are pretty slim, Hannah. Did you warn her?"

"I did."

"Is she as stubborn as you?"

"I guess she is."

"How's she coming? From St. Joseph or Independence?"

"She didn't say. She's joining a family who's homesteading. She's coming all this way by wagon, just like we did. She say's she wants to experience every second of the adventure."

"That's some feat."

"She's bringing my china."

He closed his eyes. "Did you have anything to do with that?"

"Um...I might've."

"You and fine china."

"I know. I'm sorry. It drove Frank crazy too."

"It could all break. Bad axles and river crossings have broken more wagons then I can count."

"I know. I remember. Frank and I had quite a time with it. It sure was an adventure, but I'd never want to do it again." I gazed at my husband, admiring the way his blue eyes sparkled when he looked at me. "Don't you have some friends who might want to marry her?"

"The drunks at the bar?"

"Oh, stop that, Nathan. You've met more than just those sorts."

"I guess. I'm not much for being a matchmaker though. My choices are liable to insult her."

Standing, I went to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I have to tell you something."

"What's that?"

"I think I'm with child."

He squeezed me; his breath was near my ear. "I wondered about that. Don't remember your monthly for a while."

"I'm so happy, Nathan."

"Just wait till you're in labor. You'll be hollering up a storm, cursing me sideways."

I giggled, "Don't ruin the moment."

"I'm not. I'm just preparing myself for what's to come. I forgive you, by the way." Our eyes met.

"For what?"

"For cursing at me."

"Oh, Nathan."

"I love the way my name sounds on your lips." Tenderness shone in his eyes. "You're fine as cream gravy and you're mine. My prayers did come true."

# Coming Soon

Look for future books in _The_ _Colorado Brides Series_ , chronicling the lives of the Hoffman sisters and their adventures in finding love out west.

### An Unexpected Widow

### An Unexpected Bride

### An Unexpected Annulment

### An Unexpected Mother

A new series, _The Arizona Brides Series,_ will be available in the fall of 2013.

Here is an excerpt from An Unexpected Bride:

There was a distinct lack of music tonight, and conversations were subdued. The stress of the day had exhausted every one; even Abner had grown quiet, staring into the fire thoughtfully. Once the dishes were washed, I set out to find Samuel, wanting to thank him again for saving me from drowning. It was just after sunset, the sky streaked with orange and purple, with a hint of light beneath a bank of clouds on the horizon. West lay in that direction. I found him at his campsite, several men sitting near him; one held meat over the fire, which dangled from the end of a metal rod.

"Mr. Tucker."

He turned to gaze at me; an eyebrow had risen. "Yes?"

"Might I have a word?"

"Certainly." He got to his feet; his grin was easy, yet I sensed his interest.

I moved away, hoping he would follow me, because I wanted to speak with him in private, not wanting an audience. The men stared at us, while curiosity and amusement were evident in their expressions. We approached a set of wagons some distance off. There was no one here to disturb us, although the lights of campfires blazed nearby.

"I just wanted to thank you for everything you did this afternoon."

His hands were in his pockets. "It's my job to keep people safe. You don't need to thank me for doing my job."

"Well, someone should. I could've drowned."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"You might find this trivial, sir, but death is a concern to me."

"Is that so?"

"Why yes." He neared, and I found myself against the framework of a wagon, the hoop-shaped slats at my back.

"So you wanted to express your gratitude?"

"I want to thank you for all you did."

"That's mighty thoughtful."

It should have alarmed me, but he was even closer now; the intensity of his caramel-colored eyes seemed to burn right through me. It was the oddest sensation, this inappropriate nearness, yet there wasn't a part of me that didn't want to scream with wicked pleasure. The thrill of being alone with him was far greater than any concern I had over my reputation, which was shocking. His focus had shifted to my mouth, his intensions were clear, and I had no desire to stop him, if he were to kiss me.

"Just how grateful are you?"

The timber of his voice sent a jolt of sensation down my backbone. "I do believe I might owe you my life."

"That's far too much. How about...a kiss?"

A burst of tingles erupted in my tummy. "That's all you want?" His expression was considerate, his look unguarded for a split second, revealing a wealth of information that he would never dare verbalize. A kiss was only the beginning...and I doubted it would be enough for either of us.

"I have a feelin' I'm going to regret this." His breath fanned out over my face, the hint of whiskey lingering. "But it's all your fault. You did seek me out. There I was...minding my own campfire, when a brown-haired beauty called me away."

"I did." It pleased me endlessly to be called a beauty, especially by him.

"I shouldn't take advantage of you."

"Why not?"

He closed his eyes. "You're not going to stop me, are you?"

"No." I wrapped my arms around his neck, knowing that I had now crossed the point of no return. "I do so want to kiss you, Sam. I can't seem to think of anything else—"

His lips closed over mine; the softness of the approach was a surprise, the touch light. I tilted my chin upwards, while he held my face, his thumbs grazing my cheeks. I'd kissed a man before, my ex fiancé, but it had been sweetly romantic, a quick brush of lips, followed by awkward embarrassment. This was lingering, heady, and all-consuming. When his tongue begged entrance, I knew it would shatter my world.

I moaned against his mouth, clinging to him desperately, while our tongues battled, meeting and separating, over and over. I surrendered to him, not wanting the embrace to end, letting my fingers thread through his hair. Soft, silky strands were held hostage now, as I refused to let go. His arms went around my back, pulling me to him; the solid length of his body vibrated with energy, the excess spilling over and flooding me.

"Oh...my...goodness..."

His lips were on my neck, kissing and biting gently, sending tingles down my backbone. "I could do this...indefinitely."

"Yes...oh...please..."

He grunted low in his throat, his lips finding mine, but this time there was nothing gentle about the kiss. He devoured me, staking claim by violating me with his tongue. A vague thought drifted through my mind, I had now been thoroughly, irrevocably seduced. He suddenly pushed me away, separating us, while his hand was in the center of my chest, keeping me at arm's length.

"No." He struggled to breathe, his chest rising and falling. "That's enough now."

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### Other works by Carré White

### Sonoran Nights

### The Colorado Brides Series

### ***

### An Unexpected Widow

### An Unexpected Bride

### An Unexpected Annulment

### An Unexpected Mother
