A Grieving Bride’s Native Love (Preview)

Chapter One

Green Springs, Texas – June, 1890

Emily Carter put the last of her personal belongings into her small trunk and stood back, hands on her hips. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to sound brave as she said, “I think that’s all of it.”

“You must feel so strange about this.” Mary Collins sat in the wooden chair in the corner and surveyed her new friend. “This was supposed to be your wedding day.”

Despite her good intentions, tears pooled in Emily’s eyes. “How can I mourn a man I hardly knew? I arrived in Green Springs on Friday, met Samuel on Saturday, went to church and visited his ranch on Sunday, and he was gone on Monday. Instead of a wedding, we had Samuel’s funeral. You knew him far better than I did, yet I can’t seem to stop crying.”

Mary tipped her red head and surveyed her new friend. “Sometimes you feel that you know someone well after a short acquaintance. After all, I feel like we’ve been friends for years instead of less than a week.”

Emily reached over and gave the other woman’s hand a friendly squeeze. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and mopped at her eyes. Then she took a steadying breath, squaring her shoulders.

Peering out the window, Mary said, “There’s Pa. Looks like he’s got Henry with him. And Carrie, of course.”

“It was kind of your mother to keep her,” Emily said as the two women hefted the trunk down the narrow stairway of the boarding house.

“Mama loves children. She was glad to have another little one to cluck over.” She bade Emily good-bye and headed to her family’s home on the edge of town.

By the time Emily had spoken with Mrs. Donnelly, the proprietress of the small boarding house that served as Green Springs’ only hotel, Mr. Collins and Henry had loaded Emily’s trunk into the wagon. Mrs. Donnelly offered her condolences again and wished her young tenant well.

Then Emily turned and headed out to a future that was so close and yet so far from what she’d imagined. If things had turned out differently, she would have been driving out to the Thompson ranch as a bride. She would be Mrs. Samuel Thompson and the stepmother to his three-year-old daughter, Carrie.

Emily should have taken over the housekeeping, the running of the garden, and the raising of the little girl, all with her new husband at her side. Instead, she was the sole owner of a cattle ranch, the only parent left to Carrie, and entirely responsible for the house and barn. Despite being a grown woman of twenty-two years of age, the thought of all that made Emily feel about ten years old.

As the wagon bumped along, Emily was grateful that neither of the Collins men were overly interested in conversation. Little Carrie sat on the wagon seat next to Mr. Collins, sucking her thumb and watching everything with big eyes. It gave Emily a chance to try yet again to set her mind to the changes she now faced.

She’d imagined moving into Samuel’s ranch ever since she had received his first response to her letter back in New York. Emily had laid in her narrow bed in the shared attic room of the Methodist Home for Orphans, exhausted after a day of chasing little ones and supervising the children’s chores and lessons. She’d tingled with nervous excitement as she’d examined the handwriting of the man she might very well marry. Then she’d slit open the envelope and her eyes had devoured his words, all the while a dream of marriage and a home and family of her own daring to form in the most secret room in her heart.

“The house is just ahead,” Henry finally said, breaking into her reverie.

As the wagon jostled through a break of trees, Emily’s hazel eyes took in the neat, though rough-hewn cabin, the barn across the yard, the various outbuildings, the chickens gossiping, the holler of distant ranch hands, and the ever-present smells of a cattle ranch. It should have been such a happy day.

“I want Papa,” Carrie suddenly announced from the front seat as Mr. Collins drew the horses to a stop and set the brake.

Henry jumped to the ground before reaching up to help Emily climb down without tangling her skirts in the wheels. Then Emily turned and put up her hands to lift Carrie down.

“I know you want your papa. Let’s go inside and get settled in.”

Carrie’s lower lip trembled and Emily felt her brow wrinkle as worries pressed in. What was she going to do? How in the world was she going to manage all of this without Samuel?

Squaring her shoulders, she nodded at the Collins men, both of whom had climbed down from the wagon and were awaiting her orders. They took her meaning and Henry lifted down her trunk. Emily accepted the carpetbag Mr. Collins handed her before leading the way toward the cabin she had only visited once. She was mistress of this ranch now. Samuel had seen fit to entrust it and his daughter to Emily, and she was desperate not to disappoint him.

Emily lifted the latch and stepped inside. The cabin was small, that was true. Her eyes swept over the simple table and benches, the rocking chair by the large fireplace, the cast-iron stove, and over toward a curtain that separated the sleeping area from the main living area.

She bit her lip and promised herself she would have time to evaluate the roiling emotions she felt later. She would even allow herself another good cry. But all that would need to wait until these men went on their way and she had put Carrie to sleep for the night.

“Please put the trunk in the bedroom,” Emily directed. Henry nodded and disappeared behind the curtain before returning momentarily.

Mr. Collins put a basket on the table. “Mrs. Collins sends a loaf of bread and a roasted chicken. She had a feeling you wouldn’t mind not having to cook tonight.”

Emily nodded gratefully. “Please thank her for me.”

“I’ll do that. And Henry and I will check on the barn animals before we head out. Do you know if Samuel’s foreman saw to those or if he did them himself?”

“I don’t know. Who is Samuel’s foreman?” Emily rubbed her forehead, overwhelmed by everything she needed to do to keep a ranch running. She felt completely out of her depth.

The two Collins men exchanged glances. Henry scratched his jaw contemplatively before saying, “Seems to me it was Charlie Struthers, but I know he left town this morning.”

Emily’s heart sank. What would she do without a ranch foreman? She had no idea how this place operated and could neither lend a hand with the work nor knew enough to hire someone capable enough to manage it all.

Before Emily could respond, Carrie threw a rag doll on the floor and burst into loud wails. Emily sank to her knees, meaning to take the little girl in her arms to offer comfort. But she was still mostly a stranger, and Carrie wanted her father. She shrieked in outrage that the person she wanted was nowhere to be found.

How would Emily explain to this child that her father was never coming back? It was one more impossible task on the long, long list of things she didn’t know how to do.

A large hand patted her shoulder and Emily looked up at Mr. Collins’ kind face. “Henry and I will make sure everything is taken care of outside before we go. I’ll send Mary over tomorrow to fetch back the basket and do anything you might need.”

The thought of a visit from Mary gave Emily some hope. The two men left without another word, Emily’s hastily added “Thank you!” following them out the cabin door.

She watched Carrie as the little girl let loose her grief and fear. Like Samuel, Carrie was blonde and blue-eyed. Emily wondered if Carrie’s mother had been the one to contribute the curls since Samuel’s blond thatch had been straight as could be. From his letters, Emily knew Carrie’s mother had been named Caroline and had died bringing her daughter into the world.

Emily herself knew plenty about the heartache of losing her parents. Her father had been killed in a mining accident when she was young. Her mother had moved them to New York, where she’d worked in a hotel kitchen until she succumbed to a nasty illness that settled in her lungs. The owner of the hotel had taken Emily to the Methodist Home for Orphans where she’d lived from the age of ten until only a few months ago.

In her time, many other children came through the home. Some had recently lost parents, others couldn’t recollect their mothers or fathers. Grief was common and Emily had seen it often enough. Unfortunately, there was no quick fix or easy comfort to be offered. Emily knew firsthand that Carrie would have to ride the waves of sadness, anger, and fear until they calmed at some unknowable point in the future.

Not able to think of a better choice, Emily stayed kneeling where she was. Carrie’s shrieks soon calmed to whimpers. Emily tentatively put her arms out and, this time, the three-year-old accepted the proffered comfort. Emily cuddled the little girl close, praying that her small heart would find healing from such a big loss.

Finally, Carrie was quiet, her thumb tucked into her mouth. Emily leaned back and looked into her face. Carrie’s big eyes were wet and she watched Emily with tired caution.

“I’m hungry,” Emily declared. “I’m going to have some of the chicken and bread that Mrs. Collins made. Would you like some?”

Carrie considered this before nodding. Emily gave her a small smile before rising and moving to the basket on the table. She hummed gently in the hope that it might soothe both of their rumpled spirits. She was pleased when Carrie retrieved her doll, tucked it under her arm, and followed Emily to the table, where she stood half leaning, half hiding, against the table leg.

It didn’t take Emily long to find two tin plates and cups. She unwrapped the checkered napkin in the wicker basket Mrs. Collins had sent and the delicious aroma of fresh bread and roast chicken filled the air. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Carrie’s tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. Her back turned, Emily smiled to herself as she searched for utensils.

The two girls enjoyed their meal. Carrie had a good appetite and Emily was again grateful to Mrs. Collins for her thoughtfulness. What sort of things had Samuel cooked? Had he been a good cook? Emily had a distant memory of her own father flipping pancakes in the air while she laughed and applauded him. Would Carrie prove to be a hearty eater?

Once the chicken and bread had filled their stomachs, Emily set about cleaning up. Carrie had begun chattering about chickens and eggs and, from what Emily could decipher, introducing all of the Thompsons’ chickens. There was something about “Maude” and “Hazel” and something that sounded like “Piggie,” though Emily thought she was misunderstanding that name.

“Carrie, where is your bed?” Emily asked as she returned from emptying the dishwater over the bushes at the front of the house.

“I show you,” Carrie said immediately. She bustled into the room behind the curtain.

Emily followed. She pushed back the flowered fabric and stepped into the bedroom. The room was almost as large as the outer one. A bed clearly meant for two was pushed up against one wall, a worn quilt neatly folded at its foot. Carrie was patting a cot that stood at the foot of the bed. A cheerful sprigged blanket covered it.

“Oh, what a fine bed you have! Where do you keep your nightgown?”

Samuel had shown Emily these things when she’d visited, but since Carrie seemed to enjoy showing them to Emily, she was glad to pretend to know nothing.

The little girl moved confidently to the chest of drawers that stood opposite the bed. She pulled out the bottom drawer and triumphantly revealed a cotton nightdress.

Emily smiled as she moved forward. “This is very pretty. Shall we wash your face before we put this on?” She didn’t wait before asking, “Where is your towel, Carrie?”

By staying brisk and moving the little girl from task to task, Emily was able to get her all the way through cleaning her face and teeth, changing her clothes, and getting into bed. Emily knew the combined effects of grief and exhaustion could change the agreeable child into a difficult one at any moment. She made sure to tell a cheerful story full of funny surprises to keep Carrie’s attention as long as she could.

Finally, though, she could wait no longer. “I’m going to say a prayer for you, Carrie, and then it will be time for sleeping.”

“Where’s Papa?” Carrie asked again, her brow crinkling.

“Oh, my dear girl,” Emily sighed. “He’s had to go away.”

“Come back soon?”

Emily ran a hand over the child’s curls and shook her head sadly. “No, he won’t come back.”

Tears began to trickle down Carrie’s face. It had been three days since they’d learned of Samuel’s accident. This wasn’t the first night she’d had to go to sleep with the knowledge that her father was gone forever. But in Emily’s experience, sad news seemed to always be especially difficult at the shift from awake to asleep.

“I’m going to stay right here by your side until you fall asleep,” Emily promised. She hummed softly, her fingers combing through Carrie’s hair.

Soon, that little thumb found its way into Carrie’s mouth. After a few more minutes, her eyelids began to droop. Once she was lying still, Emily got to her feet as quietly as possible and made her way out to the front room where she settled into the rocking chair, finally alone with her thoughts.

But a sound outside stopped Emily’s rocking almost before it began. The jingle of harness warned that company was approaching. Emily felt a quick burst of worry, aware for the first time that she was a lone woman with a small child in her care. How in the world would she protect them from a dangerous person? A dangerous animal?

“Hello, the house!” called a man’s voice.

Emily wondered briefly where Samuel kept his gun even as she hurried to the door. It would be awful if this visitor turned out to be a villain. But the reality of this stranger waking Carrie was far more upsetting at the moment.

Emily peeked out the window and was relieved to see the setting sun glint off a shiny star-shaped badge on the man’s chest. This was Sheriff Monroe, a man she had come to know far better than she’d imagined she would so soon after arriving in town.

The weather was mild and Emily left the door open as she stepped outside to greet the lawman where she hoped the noise wouldn’t wake her new charge.

“Good evening, Miss Carter,” the sheriff said after tying his horses’ reins to the hitching post.

“Good evening,” Emily said in return.

Sheriff Monroe looked almost exactly as Emily had imagined a frontier sheriff would. He was tall and broad-shouldered and weathered from countless hours in the saddle. His face was tan and his blue eyes were faded. Emily guessed that he was probably in his forties, though he was the sort of man who might have been as young as thirty and as old as fifty.

Chiseled cheekbones and a bushy mustache that extended to his sideburns gave the sheriff a striking appearance. If he wasn’t likely twice her age, Emily might have dared to say that he was handsome, but she’d never been bold enough to say such a thing about one of her elders.

“What brings you here this evening?” she inquired.

He looked at her, squinting a bit in the evening light. “I wanted to ask how you and the little one are holding up?”

“We’re all right,” Emily said. “Carrie will need time. And I…” She trailed off, not sure what to say.

The situation was odd. Emily had only met Samuel a few days before he died, yet they were promised to each other. Though he’d intended to become her husband, the fact remained that he wasn’t. She was sad he was gone, but she’d hardly known him. She mourned the death of a dream, though she hardly knew the reality of what that dream would have become.

“I admit I was quite surprised when Jeremiah Adams told me Samuel Thompson had left a document with him giving you his ranch and daughter. That shows a lot of forethought rather soon in your relationship. I bet you were surprised, too.” The sheriff stood, hands on his hips in what seemed to be an easy, familiar way.

Emily nodded. “It’s all been such a shock. It was good of Samuel to look out for me and for Carrie. I just didn’t expect it. It was as if…” She didn’t want to put the thought into words.

Monroe gave her an appraising look and Emily felt as if she’d unintentionally given the man an important insight into her character. All of a sudden, she felt uneasy. She wasn’t sure that her words hadn’t been a mistake.

“Are you planning to stay here? Or might you sell and head back to your people back East?” he inquired.

“I haven’t any people back East. I lost my family many years ago. It’s why I was willing to come all the way out here and marry a stranger,” Emily replied.

Despite her misgivings, she didn’t want to get on the wrong side of a lawman. Besides, she hadn’t revealed anything she didn’t want generally known.

The sheriff’s gaze softened a little. “I’m sorry to hear that. As I’ve said, if there’s anything I can do to help out, just ask. This is a community where we keep an eye on each other. Plenty of the farmers and ranchers in Green Springs have stood together against fires, storms, Indians, and outlaws. Thompson was a solid member of the community, a churchgoer and law-abider if ever there was one. We need more of his kind around here.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Emily said. She felt it was the right thing to say, but there was something in the way the older man watched her as he spoke that conveyed a hidden message somewhere in his seemingly kind words.

As Sheriff Monroe rode away, Emily was reminded of a snake slithering through a flower garden. But no. Surely her overwrought emotions were playing tricks on her mind.

Chapter Two

Luke Bennett hunched his shoulders as he drove the wagon through town. He knew it was a silly posture. Of course, there was no hiding himself from the people of Green Springs.

His adoptive parents, Hiram and Greta Bennett, had been farming this land before most of these stores had been erected. Everyone from these parts knew the Bennetts’ horses and wagon on sight. Luke was just so tired of the wary, even downright hostile looks he and his parents received whenever they ventured into town. He automatically became defensive every time he came to Green Springs now.

Green Springs wasn’t a big enough town to support more than one mercantile, which was owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Amos Meyer. The Meyers wouldn’t allow Luke to set a toenail on their property. As Luke drove past their store, Mrs. Meyer paused her sweeping of the front steps to glare at him until he’d passed by. Annoyed, Luke grumbled inwardly about intolerant people who refused perfectly good customers.

“She’s throwing money away,” he mumbled under his breath. “Not that I’d shop in her store if she paid me.”

Unfortunately, Mrs. Meyer’s actions were all too common in Green Springs. Shop owners watched Luke with a hawk’s eye. Mothers gathered their children close. Women would cross the street to get away from him. And Sheriff Monroe and his deputies would chivy Luke on his way if they thought he was lingering one minute longer than he should.

Luke harrumphed and glowered, though he kept his eyes on his team and off the reactions of the townsfolk that he passed. After twenty-three years, he really should have a thicker skin. After all, the Bennetts had raised him since he was little more than a year old.

The couple had been childless and into their forties when they’d come across him in the woods. No one else would take a half-Indian, not even the orphanage over in Denison. But Hiram and Greta Bennett were not the sort of people who were easily cowed and they gladly raised the boy, naming him Luke and taking a guess at his birthday and age.

The couple farmed a few miles away from Green Springs on a large claim. The pair had cleverly each gone to the claim patent office and promised to work adjoining land. Then, they’d gone to the parson’s house and gotten married, joining their two claims. Hiram had cleared and worked a small part of both parcels at first, gradually clearing more land between growing seasons.

By the time Luke was old enough to help, Hiram was farming his full 160 acres with eyes to finally expanding the remainder of Greta’s 160 acres. But by then, Hiram was in his sixties and slowing down. While Greta’s claim had a fine creek running through it, sections were rocky and wooded. The Bennetts decided they preferred maintaining this barrier between themselves and their less-than-friendly neighbors to the south.

“Morning, Luke,” called Nolan Kirchbaum as Luke entered the farm supply store.

Luke lifted a hand. Nolan had a tendency to chew the fat with any farmer or rancher who came through his door, but he was alright. He never minded Hiram Bennett’s odd politics or his half-Indian adoptive son. So long as he kept the conversation to the weather or what seeds had just come in, they all got along just fine. In fact, Nolan was willing to order in other supplies for the Bennetts since the Meyers’ store didn’t want to sell them flour or lard.

It wasn’t lost on Luke that the pair of old fellows who’d been gossiping with Nolan and using his handy spittoon ended their conversation hurriedly and scooted out the door as soon as he came in. Luke felt another spark of anger flare in his chest, but he made sure to push it aside and adopt a neutral tone when speaking with the proprietor. He couldn’t afford to burn any bridges here in the one shop in Green Springs that accepted his custom.

“Pa sent me here to check on his last order,” Luke said. He leaned on the counter, his fingers tapping with suppressed energy.

Nolan nodded, setting his jowls aquiver. “I’ve got that in the storeroom. Matthew is off picking up supplies. Do you mind coming around back and loading it?”

“Not at all. I’ll pull the wagon around.”

By the time he’d backed the wagon to the wide door behind the building, Nolan had limped into his storeroom and was able to point out the Bennetts’ supplies. Due to a fall off a horse, the older man had a back injury that hadn’t healed properly, leaving him heavily dependent on his grown son to do most of the lifting. Luke had no trouble hefting the sacks, barrels, and crates into the wagon, though. He’d been doing the man’s share of the chores back on the farm since he was about twelve and his father had begun showing his age.

“I think that’s everything,” Nolan said as Luke returned to the storeroom to settle accounts. “I’ll put the same order in for next month. Does Hiram still want that new plow?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Luke hedged. “I’d be in for it if I say yes and find out he changed his mind.”

The shopkeeper chuckled, all too aware of Hiram’s temperament. “Say, have you heard about Samuel Thompson?”

Luke paused, eyebrows lifting. The Thompson ranch bordered his family’s land on the east. The Thompsons had been good neighbors and Luke had worked for Samuel Thompson over the years whenever the rancher needed an extra man. Thompson always treated him squarely and made certain that his men did the same. The foreman, Charlie Struthers, hadn’t always been so friendly out of Samuel’s hearing, but Luke never minded working there.

“No. I haven’t heard anything about him.”

The tidbit of gossip must be particularly juicy, Luke decided, because a definite twinkle lit Nolan’s eye.

“They found his body in the woods near Murphy’s Creek. He’d been shot.” Nolan paused to let the shock of his words sink in before he added, “But that ain’t all. Turns out he left a will with Jeremiah Adams leaving the ranch to Emily Carter. Old Charlie Struthers was so angry to have to work for a woman, he up and left town.”

“Who’s Emily Carter?” Luke asked, his mind still reeling from the news of Thompson’s death. The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t place it.

Nolan leaned forward as though sharing a secret. “She’s that gal who came from back East to marry him. One of those mail-order brides.” He waggled his eyebrows, suggesting something sordid.

Luke was confused. “Well, if she was planning on marrying him, it makes sense he’d leave her his ranch.”

Clearly disappointed that Luke didn’t appreciate the salaciousness of this news, Nolan shook his head and tried again. “They weren’t married when he died. But Thompson went ahead and left a will anyway. Folks are speculating that they had gone ahead and…” He watched Luke’s face for understanding.

For reasons he couldn’t pinpoint, Nolan’s speculations were rubbing Luke the wrong way. He’d never clapped eyes on this Emily Carter, but he felt the need to stand up for her anyway.

“I think Samuel Thompson was an upright man. Anything he was doing was probably above board. Did he leave his daughter to this woman’s care?” he inquired.

“Yep, he did.”

Luke shrugged. “Sounds like he was making sure his daughter was cared for. I think that makes him a good father.”

“But they weren’t married yet.” Nolan tried one last time to drive the point home.

“But they were going to be?” Luke waited for the other man’s reluctant shrug. “Doesn’t seem like much of a story there. When was the funeral?”

Such a mundane topic didn’t interest Nolan Kirchbaum and he made his excuses to end the conversation and get back to the front of his store. Luke bade him good-bye and climbed into the wagon seat. He released the brake and snapped the reins, clucking to the horses, eager to get away from Green Springs’ judgmental townsfolk.

On the long drive back to the Bennetts’ farm, Luke had plenty of time to mull over the news in his mind. There were plenty of things that shocked him more than who inherited Thompson’s ranch. Nolan had said Samuel had been shot? Had it been a hunting accident?

But Nolan had said his body had been “found” by Murphy’s Creek. That would suggest he was on his own—did that mean he’d been attacked? Texas had come a long way toward being tamed in the past fifty years, but there were still groups of outlaws around here. Grudgingly, Luke admitted to himself that there was the occasional band of renegade Indians rumored to be causing trouble.

His thoughts turned to Charlie Struthers quitting. Who was running the ranch? If this Emily Carter was on her own, trying to keep the ranch afloat, she would need a good foreman. Mentally, Luke ran through the hands who’d been working there when he had helped Thompson with the roundup and branding. Al, Paco, Dusty, Solomon, Davis. Luke couldn’t imagine any of them wanting to hire on as foreman.

Ranch hands, as a rule, were a transient group. They liked being able to move from ranch to ranch as they pleased. They rarely had ties to any one place and their ability to leave a rancher if they weren’t treated right was powerful leverage. From what Luke could remember, all these men had seemed contented enough to stay at the ranch under Charlie’s leadership. But would they stay on now that he’d left? Would the change of owner mean anything to them?

And another thought struck Luke. He was none too comfortable with a young woman staying alone with a small child. If this Emily Carter really was from back East, she might not know the dangers of the wild West. This particular batch of ranch hands didn’t strike Luke as the kind who would pose any sort of danger, but if they moved on, then what?

Why was this bothering him? Luke was almost home when he was able to pull his thoughts together. Instantly, a memory sprang to mind.

Seven years ago, when Luke was about sixteen, his parents had been brought low by a fever. Luke had been sick with it, too, but Hiram and Greta were far worse. In fact, Luke hadn’t known what to do. Green Springs had had no doctor at the time and Luke wasn’t sure whether or not any of the other surrounding towns did. He rarely traveled with his father whenever the older man went anywhere.

But one night, Greta seemed close to dying and Luke was desperate. He knew the closest neighbors were to the east and that they might be able to advise him. So, Luke threw on his clothes and rode over.

Not only did Samuel and his young wife, Caroline, offer him advice, the pair packed supplies and followed him over, regardless of the late hour. Caroline took over caring for the couple so Luke could get some rest, making a hearty soup and applying cool compresses. Samuel helped Luke with the farm chores. The Bennetts recovered, and a bond had been struck between the two families.

Though they saw each other only every few months, they knew they could depend on each other. When Caroline had died giving birth, Greta had stayed and helped care for the newborn. Luke and Hiram had taken turns lending a hand on the ranch until Samuel’s grief eased enough to manage everything himself. Later, Samuel knew Luke was a helpful hand to hire on when he needed an extra cowboy.

Now Samuel was gone. The only Thompson left was little Carrie. Luke’s heart squeezed for the girl. It seemed so cosmically unfair that a child could be left alone in the world, but it happened often enough. Luke thought of his own parents, who’d been cut down in their prime. The Bennetts had been there for him when he was alone. They’d been there for Samuel after he lost his wife. Luke decided then and there that he’d be there for Carrie. He owed it to her parents who hadn’t thought twice when a young, half-Indian boy had appeared at their door asking for help.

He’d unload the supplies at home, tell his folks the news, and head over to the Thompson ranch to see what needed doing. Surely this Emily Carter would appreciate some neighborly sympathy at the very least.

A tiny sliver of concern sliced through Luke’s good intentions. His appearance regularly struck fear into people. But he was determined. Even if this stranger was afraid to see a half-Indian man on her doorstep, Luke would still help if she’d let him. Maybe he’d tuck his long braid into the back of his vest, too. It was a dead giveaway of his parentage and only sheer stubbornness kept him from cutting it short. Besides, if Miss Carter was too scared, Luke could always shake the dust from his shoes and head back home.

Daggers of discomfort keep poking holes in his self-reassurance that all would be well and when, an hour later, he dismounted his horse by the Thompsons’ barn, Luke was feeling jittery. But as he approached the cabin, a child’s wails pushed all thoughts of himself away. Carrie Thompson was making her unhappiness known.

Luke stepped up to the cabin door and knocked just as a crash sounded and the wailing turned to shrieks. The door was flung open and an extremely flustered young woman jumped at the sight of him.

She promptly burst into tears and threw up her hands. “I’m at my wit’s end,” she sobbed.

Luke took in the woman who must surely be Emily Carter. She was of medium height and build. Her brown hair had a reddish tint that set off her hazel eyes and fair skin. Luke was robbed of speech as it registered that she was quite pretty. He had very little experience with talking to pretty girls.

But then Carrie Thompson stomped out from behind the table. Her face was red and screwed up, tears and snot mixing on her cheeks. The little girl gave a wild scream and threw the soup ladle she held in her chubby fist. Luckily, it didn’t go far, but her fury was almost palpable. From the exhaustion Luke read in Emily’s posture, Carrie had been carrying on for some time.

He didn’t give it another thought. Luke stepped past Emily, ducking through the doorway and into the cabin. His sudden, large presence shocked the little girl out of her tantrum long enough for him to scoop her up into his arms.

Carrie looked at him with widening eyes, then leaned over to peek down at the ground now far below. She seemed surprised to be so high and blinked back up at him. Then, impossibly, she gave a great shuddering yawn, leaned her head forward against his shoulder, and put her thumb in her mouth.

Luke turned to Emily, unable to believe this turn of events.

Emily swiped at her cheeks before putting her hands on her hips and saying, “Well, if that doesn’t beat all!”

Luke nodded mutely. She’d summed things up perfectly.