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Oklahoma Sweetheart
Carolyn Davidson


To honour and protect… The fact that Loris Peterson was carrying another man’s child should have been enough to make Connor Webster despise her. But instead he’d made her his wife!Some said that she had betrayed him. But Connor’s fierce passion for Loris moved him to rescue her from an uncaring family – and protect her from a mysterious enemy…‘Davidson delivers a story fraught with sexual tension. ’ – Romantic Times BOOKreviews







“Will you let me carry you intothe house, Loris?”



As if he awaited her pleasure, he bent low, his forehead touching her shoulder. She heard his sigh, the catch in his breath, and knew a moment of tenderness so great it almost overwhelmed her.



“I can walk up the stairs,” she told him softly. “I need you, Connor. I need to know you care about me. I want you in my life.” Her pause was long as she enclosed his face in her palms. “Is that clear enough for you?”



“Yes, ma’am. It surely is.” He hadn’t forgotten how to grin, that sassy twist of his lips that told her he was pleased with her. With a quick movement he snatched her from her feet and carried her into the house.



“I can walk,” she protested.



“But I want to carry you! Just kiss me and behave, sweetheart.”


Reading, writing and research—Carolyn Davidson’s life in three simple words. At least that area of her life having to do with her career as a historical romance author. The rest of her time is divided among husband, family and travel—her husband, of course, holding top priority in her busy schedule. Then there is their church, and the church choir in which they participate. Their sons and daughters, along with assorted spouses, are spread across the eastern half of America, together with numerous grandchildren. Carolyn welcomes mail at her post office box, PO Box 2757, Goose Creek, SC 29445, USA.



Recent novels by the same author:



A MARRIAGE BY CHANCE

THE TEXAN

TEMPTING A TEXAN

STORMWALKER’S WOMAN

(short story in One Starry Christmas) TEXAS GOLD THE MARRIAGE AGREEMENT ABANDONED (short story in Wed Under Western Skies) TEXAS LAWMAN



and in Mills & Boon® Super Historical Romance™:



REDEMPTION

HAVEN

THE OUTLAW’S BRIDE




OKLAHOMA

SWEETHEART


Carolyn Davidson




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Chapter One






January, 1893

Kent Corners, Oklahoma



Connor Webster viewed the female standing in front of him. The woman who’d represented his future. He felt the urge to turn his back and walk away, across the porch and into his parents’ home. Not that the woman he’d planned on marrying was unfit for the estate of matrimony. Loris simply was far from a suitable bride, so far as he was concerned. Considering that the baby she carried had been planted in her womb by his own brother, her pregnancy made her totally unsuitable.

Not that Connor couldn’t have accepted another man’s child. It was the betrayal by the pair of them that made him angry. And right now angry was too mild a word to describe the surge of hot-blooded rage that poured through him.

“I’m sorry,” Loris said, her eyes awash with tears. And no doubt she was. But it was unclear whether her sorrow was due to the pain she’d caused him or because she’d fallen pregnant. Either way, he realized his love for her was a thing of the past. Even the tears that filled her soft brown eyes failed to bring him to his knees.

Loris was not prone to crying. He’d seen her conquer her share of adversity and even admit defeat when fate was against her, but never had he seen her shed a tear.

“You’re having a baby. Am I right?” he asked, his voice terse and clipped. “And that baby belongs to my brother. Am I right on that point, too?”

She nodded, twice in fact, and then turned aside, as if she would begin the long walk back to town from his home.

“I know I’ve hurt you, Connor, and—”

“You don’t know the half of it, Loris….” He could barely speak, the betrayal cut Connor so deep. He wondered if he truly could walk away from Loris with no regrets.

“What will I do?” she asked in a soft whisper, turning back to face him again.

For the first time since he’d discovered the truth, he felt a faint glimmer of sympathy for her.

“Maybe James will marry you,” Connor said glibly.

“You know better,” Loris said quietly. “He was out for a good time, and I fell for his promises. I was fool enough to think…” She shrugged, as if realizing that her excuse was lame, and she’d just condemned herself. “He’s your brother, Connor. At first I thought he was only flirting and it was exciting.”

“You thought he’d marry you? But you were already betrothed to me, Loris. Why would James fall into that trap? He’s smart. Apparently, smarter than I.”

“That’s not it,” she said. “I thought he really loved me. That’s where I was dead wrong. I should have known better. Your brother has courted every eligible girl in town—and some that were not so eligible. More than I can count, and I doubt he can keep track either.” She laughed, and Connor thought the sound was singularly without mirth.

“So what do you expect of me?” he asked, knowing already what her answer would be. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and Connor Webster was her only hope of salvation.

“I would like you to honor your promise, and marry me,” she said. The words were flat, without expression.

“I’m not a fool, Loris,” he told her. “I’d planned a future with you, and that included babies and a farm and years of marriage. You’ve ruined all of that. I’m afraid you’re on your own.”

Loris’s tears flowed down her cheeks, and onto the front of her dress. Connor felt an unwilling tug of pity as he looked at her. “I’ll help you get out of town, if you like,” he said. “Do you have any relatives who might take you in?”

“No.” She shook her head. “And once my folks find out, I’ll be on the front porch with my valise and nowhere to go.”

“There’s not much I can do for you, Loris,” he said bluntly.

“I thought you loved me,” she told him, her gaze falling to the snowy ground at her feet. She shivered, as though the sight of the newly fallen snow had reminded her of the chill of the dreary January day.

“I did,” he admitted. “We’ve already gone over that. But I trusted you with my heart, and you went behind my back—with my brother.”

Loris turned away, her foot sliding on the slick ground. He reached to grasp her elbow and held her upright, but she withdrew from his touch.

“What will you do?” he asked.

“I don’t know. But for sure I won’t bother you again,” she told him, walking away, her back straight, her shoulders squared, the road to town before her.



Loris Peterson had thought her life was planned, had been happy in her betrothal to Connor Webster, had thought she was in love with the man. Until Connor’s brother, James, had entered her life.

James, was a right good hand with the ladies, a scamp of the first order, her father had said, when he found her speaking with the man in front of the general store one day. She’d been warned, not only by her father, but by her own common sense. And failed to heed the message.

James had been kind and gentle, yet dashing and sophisticated, at least to her eyes. And she had assumed that she was safe with him. After all, he was Connor’s brother. As if that had made a difference.

Two brothers could not have been more unalike. Connor was steady, reliable and rock-solid. The sort of man a sensible girl would choose for a husband. And Loris considered herself eminently sensible. At least, she had until James had swung her around the dance floor at Eloise Simpson’s wedding. His offer to escort her had been kind, she thought, with Connor gone on business.

James had been gallant, serving her with small cakes and cups of punch, and walking her outside when the grange hall became too warm for comfort, due to the number of exuberant dancers filling the floor.

Outside, he’d been funny, telling her stories that tickled her, probably more so because of the spiked punch he’d coaxed her to drink. He’d halted their progress beneath a tall oak tree, and there in the shadows that surrounded them, he’d kissed her for the first time.

Now, she wished fervently that it had never happened, or that it had been the first and last kiss she’d received from his experienced lips. There was something about a man with experience that appealed to a woman, Loris decided.

James knew how to bend her to his will, knew that his mouth against the nape of her neck would make her shiver with delight. Possessed of blue eyes and dark hair, he was handsome. Gifted with a body that was tall and well-muscled, he was strong, and yet he had a gentle streak that appealed to her as a woman. For surely a man so sweet would never cause her harm.

She laughed aloud as she passed the church, and then stifled the sound, lest some holy presence might strike her dead for her sins. Though that seemed unlikely, for hadn’t the Lord himself forgiven the woman caught in sin?

Right now, she was more interested in the forgiveness of her parents, and that was not a likely occurrence. They would be horrified. Her mother would cry and carry on, her father would be stern and judgmental. And she would be forever left with the burden of guilt she carried.

Through it all would be the knowledge that her life was ruined. Ruined by one moment of temptation, one glimpse of pleasure, one man set on having his way with her. And he had. In the depths of her father’s barn, where the hay lay soft and deep in a storage stall, he’d talked her out of her clothing, whispered sweet words of appeal, and taken her virginity. That he was very good at what he’d done seemed of little consequence now, for guilt overwhelmed her as she thought of her unfaithful behavior. At the time her thoughts had been of the years ahead, when she and James Webster would spend their lives together.

It was not to be. James had been offered a job as manager of a ranch in Missouri and planned to leave town soon. He’d told her of his opportunity, and she’d looked up at him pleadingly. “What about me?” she’d asked.

“Connor loves you,” he’d told her. “He’ll marry you.”

“I doubt it,” she’d said sadly. “I’m going to have your child, James. I’ve cheated on him. I hate myself. How can I expect him to forgive me?”

“Tell him I forced you into it,” James said loftily. “He’ll believe you.”

“And then he’ll tell me to force you to marry me,” she said. “And if my father hears of such a thing, he’ll get out his shotgun and you’ll be wearing a load of buckshot in your fanny.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” James had said. “Connor will marry you, and you’re smart enough to never let your father hear my name in connection with this.”

Loris turned in at the gate and climbed the steps to the front porch of the big house she’d been born in nineteen years ago. Behind the house was a barn and corral, a henhouse and a garden. The property was not large, but prosperous. She clasped the door handle and turned it. The front door was closed but not locked, for the folks in this town seldom set a bolt on their doors.

People in Kent Corners, Oklahoma, could be trusted not to infringe on another’s property. She’d heard that all of her life, and now she laughed as she stepped into the front hall. Most folks could be trusted, but not James Webster, who had done more than infringe on his brother’s property. He’d seduced his brother’s fiancée.

Then he had turned his back on his responsibility and walked away. His departure was scheduled for that very day.

Loris climbed the stairs, holding the smooth banister firmly, her legs not seeming solid beneath her. She thought for a moment of her father’s shotgun, and wondered how it could be used to put her out of her misery. Then dismissed that thought as not worthy of contemplation. She’d never be able to pull the trigger.

If she had to find a place to live, scrabbling for food, making a way for herself, she would. If Connor was willing to pay for her passage out of town, maybe he’d help her move someplace close by, an abandoned house perhaps. There were several of them west of town, where families had renounced their dreams, and moved on instead to a more prosperous place.

She trudged to her room and sat down dejectedly on the side of her bed, unconcerned for once that she might muss the quilt. Her mother’s training went deep and sitting on the bed, or, heaven forbid, lying down on it in the daytime, was strictly against the rules of behavior taught to young ladies who intended to be thought of as women of distinction.

Whether or not Loris held out any hopes of achieving that exalted position now seemed of little concern, for she knew that her position in society would henceforth be that of a fallen woman.

Now came the difficult part, she realized. Talking to her parents was the very last thing she wanted to do, yet was, of necessity, the most important item on her list of things that must be faced.

Suppertime would be the best time, she decided. In the meantime, she’d do well to sort through her clothing and see how much she could carry with her when her father showed her the door.



“You’re really walking away from this?” Connor asked. His younger brother stood in the barn doorway, holding the bridle of his gelding, his saddlebags bulging as they hung over the horse’s withers.

“What would you like me to do?” James asked. “When the folks find out what’s happened, they’ll be after me like flies on a manure pile, and I don’t fancy being tossed on my ear by Father.”

“Why don’t you marry Loris?” Connor asked, his heart aching as he thought of the pearl ring she wore. A ring he had put on her finger himself, just six months ago.

“I’m not planning on marriage. Not for a long time,” James said, his handsome face twisted in anger.

“A little late to be planning a life as a bachelor, isn’t it?” Connor asked, grasping James by his shirt. He’d loved James, been his friend as well as brother. Now pure hatred rose within him as he shook the man who had betrayed him.

“I am a bachelor,” James answered quickly. “Women are a commodity that men have been buying for centuries, but in this case, I got a girl without much effort at all, and it certainly didn’t cost me anything.”

Connor released his grip. “Loris is in the family way. Don’t you feel responsible?” he asked.

James looked at him and grinned, then his face reddened and he took on a pensive look. “Yeah, I’m responsible, I guess. But I feel worse about letting you down than I do about fooling around with Loris.”

“Don’t you like her?” Connor asked.

James grinned again. “Of course, I do. She’s pretty, she’s got a good figure and she’s smart. Who wouldn’t like her?”

“You don’t respect her, though, do you?”

James thought about that for a moment. “Not a whole lot. No, I don’t. Trust me on this, Connor. You’re better off without her. If you decide to marry the girl, I’ll thank you for taking on my child, but I’ll understand if you walk away.”

“I’ve already told her I’m done with her,” Connor said.

“What will she do?” James asked, and for a moment Connor wondered if his brother was having second thoughts. “Can she leave town, stay with someone?”

“That’s what I asked her,” Connor said. “I offered to pay her way if she wanted to leave.”

“Tell you what I’ll do,” James said slowly. “I’ll give you some cash for her. I’ve got a bit saved, and I’m heading for a sure job at a good wage. Tell her I said to take care of herself.” He pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and placed over half of it in Connor’s hand. “It’ll keep her for a little while, anyway. Maybe she can find a place to stay. Or a job somewhere.”

Connor laughed harshly. “Who’d hire a woman who’s having a child without benefit of a husband?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” James said impatiently.

Connor turned away, holding the blood money his brother had given him, and headed for the house. His mother was crying in the kitchen over James departure. At least she had been half an hour ago, when her favorite son had walked out the door, saddlebags in his hands. He’d see if she was calmer now, ready to talk. And he’d think seriously about filling her in on the situation in which he found himself.



“I’ll kill Connor Webster for getting you in this fix,” Alger Peterson said loudly, his voice ringing throughout the dining room and probably resounding from the parlor ceiling.

“That won’t do a bit of good, Daddy,” she said calmly. “Connor isn’t the father.”

Alger looked stunned, his mouth falling open at her announcement. It was almost as much a surprise as her first declaration, a whispered notice that he would be a grandfather before the year was out.

Not that her father was averse to the title of grandfather, but he’d expected it to be part of her marriage. He’d given his blessing to her betrothal, and welcomed Connor into the Peterson household as an honored guest.

“Connor isn’t the father?” Alger’s eyes widened as if he’d been observer to an unbelievable sight. “What are you talking about? Of course he’s the father. He’s responsible for it.”

“No, Daddy,” she repeated. “He’s not.”

“Well then, who is?” her mother asked. Silent up until now, Minnie Peterson was nonetheless a woman who always managed to speak her mind. “Whoever it is, he’d better march over to the parsonage and take you along. There won’t be a church wedding, young lady, but there will be a wedding.”

“You’re both wrong,” Loris said quietly. “I’m no longer engaged to Connor, and it will be official when I give him back his ring. The other person in this situation has already left town, and I won’t be marrying him either.”

“Left town?” Her father blustered loudly as he marched around the table and gripped her shoulders. Dragging her to her feet, he shook her, then apparently decided that action was not sufficient to express his anger and so delivered two ringing slaps to her face.

Loris stood silently before him, her eyes closed. She could not bear to look on his face, could not abide the disdain he showered on her. Her cheeks stung from his blows, but compared to the painful disgrace she had brought upon her family, the pain was of little importance.

“You can pack your things and move out,” her father said bluntly. “You are no longer our daughter.”

“Mama?” Loris turned to Minnie and spoke the title as if it were an entreaty for mercy. As indeed it was.

“Your father is the head of this house,” Minnie said primly. Even if she’d wanted to side with her daughter, Loris knew that her mother shared Alger’s views on such things as family honor.

“All right. I’ve got my things packed in the tapestry valise, Mama. I knew this would happen. When I’m settled somewhere, I’ll send it back to you.”

“You can keep it,” Minnie said. “I couldn’t look at it again.”

Loris left the dining room, walked up the stairs slowly and entered her room. She was cold, not due to the weather outdoors, but instead to a chill that seemed to emanate from deep inside her body.

Her warmest clothing was on the bed, a pair of men’s long red underwear she’d been given by her father when they shrank in the wash, becoming too small for him. Before this, she’d only worn them when she went to the river to ice skate in the winter time. Tonight, they would keep her from freezing to death. She didn’t plan on forcing her parents to buy a coffin for her, so it would behoove her to start out walking with enough clothing on to keep warm.

By the time she’d found her heaviest woolen shirt, donning it over her dress, and then pulling her heavy leather boots on her feet, she was breathless from the exertion of preparing to leave. Or maybe it was just the prelude to a fit of crying that seemed to be imminent.

Valise in her hand, she walked down the stairs and saw her mother awaiting her in the wide hallway. “Here are your mittens and a warm scarf,” Minnie said. “I have no use for them. You may as well take them with you.”

It was a backhanded gesture of kindness, and though hurt by her mother’s words, Loris offered her thanks.

“Let us know where you are,” Minnie said.

“Will you really care?” Loris asked, and then bit at her lip. There was no point in estranging her mother from her any more than she already had with her announcement.

“Yes, I’ll care, Loris,” her mother said righteously, pressing a bundle into her hands. “Here’s enough food to keep you going for a day or so.” Minnie touched her daughter’s shoulder as a gesture of farewell and spoke again. “Just wait until your child is grown and you are hurt by that child beyond measure. You’ll find that you still care.”

“Maybe.” Loris pulled her mittens on, knowing she would be thankful for their warmth, and wrapped the scarf around her neck. The front door opened and she stepped out onto the porch. The sun had set, the moon had risen, and the night was clear and cold. Stars glittered in profusion across the sky, but they blurred as she walked down the steps and made her way toward the street, her falling tears blinding her.

Yet, she cried but little, for she forced herself to blink them away, knowing she didn’t have enough energy to waste on feeling sorry for herself. She struck off for the western edge of town, since it was closer to the shelter she sought than walking through the business district. Taking that route raised her chances of meeting someone she knew.

The road was rutted, so she chose instead to walk on the grass at the side, now overlaid with a light covering of new snow. At least her boots would keep her feet from freezing, she thought, shifting the valise to her other hand. It was heavy, but she’d brought everything warm she owned. And then topped off the contents with a quilt that seemed to be an intelligent addition to her collection. It would keep the wind from her, should she decide to wrap it around herself.

For a moment, she wondered just where she would be when she unfolded the quilt and curled in its folds. Maybe in someone’s barn. Although the scent of fresh hay in a barn turned her stomach these days. Had, in fact, for three months, ever since the evening James Webster had pressed her deeply into a bed of the fragrant stuff in her father’s extra stall. As if it had never happened, James had ignored her for weeks, while her own guilt had nagged at her, as she continued her discreet courtship with Connor.

She’d been a fool. And not for the first time, she cursed the dance she’d shared with James, the kisses he’d offered, the bedding he’d instigated with her full cooperation.

She passed the edge of town and paced steadily beside the road. Trees met overhead, their branches bare of leaves, the faint noise of their rubbing together in the wind contributing an eerie sound to the quiet of the evening. Ahead was a farmhouse, one belonging to Joe Benson, a friend of her father’s.

She skirted it, walking on the other side of the road as she passed by the lane leading to the big house. Being seen would be bad enough. Being recognized would be worse. The valise was heavy and she shifted it again, feeling the muscles in her arm cramp.

The next two houses were small, lived in by hired help, men and their families hired by the Bensons to help them on the farm. She walked as quickly as she could without stumbling and falling. She couldn’t afford to turn her ankle or twist her knee. It was difficult enough keeping a steady pace while her legs were sound. Making her way in the dark with pain as her companion would be unthinkable.

An hour passed slowly, and Loris walked on, knowing that she had barely begun her trip. Clouds began to appear in the sky, lowering clouds that made her think they might contain snow. The stars disappeared in another hour or so, and the wind came up, its cold fingers cutting through her clothing as if she were barely clad.

To her right, just ahead, she caught sight of a building. It looked to be an abandoned farm, left by a family who’d moved onward and left their house to the elements.

If that were true, she might be able to get inside and build a fire, she thought. Maybe sleep for the night before she walked on in the morning. Turning up the lane that led to the small structure, her heart beat faster, and she peered at the shuttered windows as she rounded the side to where a small back porch offered shelter.

She climbed the steps slowly, fearful of encountering a locked door. But the knob turned readily and she pushed the door open. Darkness met her, but with an innate sense, she knew the house was empty.

In the depths of the room, she spotted the looming bulk of a cookstove and her hopes rose. Taking her mittens off, she approached the black form and felt across the top of the warming oven, hoping for a box of matches. Her search was rewarded by the discovery of just such a find, and she opened the box, finding it over half full.

Lighting a match, she blinked and then lifted one of the stove’s burner lids and peered inside. Ashes met her gaze, but on the floor to one side of where she stood was a woodbox, holding a good supply of short pieces, apparently cut to size for burning.

A bit of brown paper was crumpled beneath the first two chunks of wood and she placed it in the stove, then added pieces of wood and a bit of kindling she found scattered on the floor. Lighting another match, she set the paper ablaze, then watched hopefully as it caught the kindling in its path, flaring up around the larger pieces of wood.

With care, she settled the lid in place and hovered over the stove, waiting for some small bit of warmth to reach her fingers. It took but five minutes or so for the fire to penetrate the iron and reach her. She shivered, held her hands over the stove lid and closed her eyes.

Maybe she could sleep right here in the kitchen, she thought. It would be the warmest place in the house, and though sleeping on the floor lacked comfort, she could not be fussy. She looked around the room, her eyes finally adjusting to the darkness. The shape of a lamp hanging over the table on the other side of the room was encouraging, and she carried the box of matches there, lighting one as she lifted the globe from the lamp and sought to light the wick.

It caught, flared, and then softened a bit as she dropped the globe in place. Now the room was clearly visible, and her heart lifted as she saw the kitchen dresser across the room, the doors protecting an assortment of dishes behind the wavy glass.

The bundle of food her mother had pressed on her was in the pocket of her coat, and she brought it forth into the light. Half a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese and a generous portion of roast beef lay wrapped inside a dish towel. Enough food for at least a day, perhaps longer if she rationed it out.

The floor did not seem overly dirty, she decided, and was certainly warmer than any other room in the house. Tomorrow was soon enough to go exploring. For now she eyed the bare floor and found it welcoming.

Another chunk or two of wood in the stove would warm her for a few hours, and she could replenish the fire during the night if need be. The stove lid clunked dully into place as she fortified the stove, and then herself, for the rest of the night.

Her quilt was warm, and for that she was grateful, pulling it around herself as she curled on the floor, her head cushioned by the valise. From beneath the stove, glittering in the reflection of the lamp, two tiny eyes watched her, and even the thought of a stray mouse could not stir her from the cozy cocoon of her quilt.

“I’ll worry about you in the morning, Mr. Mouse,” she said softly. “Just stay out of my food,” she warned the tiny creature, thankful that she’d tucked the package into her valise.

And then her eyes closed as weariness overcame her. Even the desolation of her shelter was not enough to keep her awake, and she basked in the heat of the stove, her hands tucked between her thighs for warmth.


Chapter Two






The crowing of a rooster woke her, and Loris sat up from her makeshift bed, groaning aloud as she felt the pull of muscles strained by the hard floor. If there was one chicken out there, there might be more, she thought hopefully. And if one was a hen, there might even be an egg or two available.

She rose slowly, aware now of the chill of the kitchen around her. The fire had apparently gone out, and she’d been too tired earlier to replenish it. Lifting the stove lid, she caught sight of glowing ashes and was cheered by their presence.

More wood was placed with care, lest she suffocate the promise of flames, and then as the bits of bark on the sides of the wood caught fire, she smiled and gently put the lid in place.

Shaking out her quilt, she folded it, depositing it over the back of a chair, and then set out to explore her shelter. The house was small, a parlor and two bedrooms occupying the rest of the downstairs. Furniture had been left behind, the owners apparently not considering it worth transporting. But upstairs there were two more bedrooms, complete with beds.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers, she reminded herself as she viewed the sparse furnishings throughout the house. At least there were dishes, and perhaps kettles, though what she would find to cook was another thing entirely.

First on her list of the day’s tasks was finding an outhouse, she decided. Stepping outside, she saw the small structure standing near what appeared to be the chicken coop. Loris made her way there, walking carefully across the yard, lest she slip on the covering of fresh snow. Only an inch or so whitened the ground, and she was thankful there wasn’t any more than that.

Her duties completed, she went to the chicken coop, opening the door to find two hens squatting in the confines of their nests. A barrel of feed had been tipped over, most likely by the owners, who probably felt guilty at leaving the creatures behind. Bits and pieces of feed lay about on the ground, liberally mixed with the chicken’s leavings, and Loris felt a surge of nausea at the odor of the pungent manure.

The two hens squawked at Loris’s appearance in their domain, and one of them fluttered to perch on a dowel rod apparently placed there for their comfort. In the nest, Loris found four eggs and she gathered them, aware that they might not be fit to eat. It would be easy enough to find out, she knew and given the temperature of the henhouse, they might yet be edible.

Leaving the second hen to cover her clutch of eggs, Loris left the henhouse, spying the rooster as he scurried in through the tiny door leading into the fenced-in yard. He halted before her and cocked his head, perhaps deciding if she were worth his attention.

Before he could lunge in her direction, which the rooster at home tended to do if disturbed, she left, closing the door tightly behind herself, carrying her find to the house. There, she entered the kitchen, appreciating the warmth of the stove, and found a bowl in the cupboard.

Next, she searched for a skillet and came up with one in the depths of the oven. With it were two kettles and she pulled them out, using her mittens as potholders, and put her treasures on the stove burners.

“Things are looking up,” she sighed, heading for the sink in the corner, although she doubted that water would be available, given the cold temperature. A small pan sat in the wash basin, its surface icy, and she rapped on it sharply, pleased when a hole appeared and water welled up.

Dumping the scant cup or so of liquid into the pump to prime it, she worked the handle vigorously and was rewarded by a gush of water.

She rinsed and filled the wash basin and carried it to the stove. Opening the reservoir attached to the side of the black appliance, she tipped the clean water inside, knowing it would warm up soon and provide her with a bit of comfort. She filled the basin again, and after filling the reservoir to the top, she set about washing the skillet and kettles, placing them in the basin and allowing the whole collection to heat on top of the stove.

Beneath the sink was a jar of soap, and she carried it back to the stove, not surprised to find the container behind the faded curtain some poor soul had hung to hide the assortment of odds and ends she’d tucked beneath her sink board. It was the same place her own mother kept a supply, and Loris was familiar with the ins and outs of a kitchen.

A glob of the slimy stuff would soon form bubbles in the basin and would give her a semblance of cleanliness when she began washing the utensils and dishes she planned to use. So she settled to wait for the fire to do its work, pulling a chair closer to the warmth and seeking the bundle of food her mother had given her.

The loaf of bread was cold, but she tore off a piece and bit into it. If the meat were warm, it would be more inviting, she decided, and, ignoring the fact that the skillet, by any measure of cleanliness, should be scrubbed first, she pulled it from the basin and rinsed it beneath the pump. With a quick swipe of her mother’s dish towel, she placed it on the top of the stove and put her piece of roast beef in it.

Bits and pieces of silverware were stored in one of the dresser drawers, a motley assortment, to be sure, but Loris found that necessity made her overlook much, and she found a knife to cut up the meat, allowing it to cook faster. Adding a bit of water assured it would not burn, and she waited patiently for her makeshift meal to be ready. Apparently the former tenants had headed for greener pastures and left here empty-handed.

A thin layer of gravy formed from the meat and water, and Loris cut her piece of bread in half and placed it to steam atop the slices of roast beef. A fork from the drawer was wiped on her towel, and when the meat had warmed through she placed the skillet on the table, then sat down to eat her breakfast.

The eggs would wait till dinnertime, she decided, and perhaps, if all of them were fit to eat, she’d poach them and eat them with another piece of her bread.

In the meantime, she’d do well to scout up a source of wood for the stove, since she’d already used up almost half of the supply left in the kitchen. Maybe there would be a woodpile outside, or hopefully, an ax in the barn, allowing her to cut her own. Not that she’d ever done such a thing, but it certainly couldn’t be all that difficult.

Her stomach reacted well to the food and she took the skillet to the sink, rinsing it with the flowing water from the pump. Filling the container she’d used to prime it earlier, she assured that the pump would be usable, and then set about washing the contents of the basin. Leaving them to dry, she decided to explore the pantry, the doorway of that small room beckoning her from across the kitchen.

It was dark, windowless, and she was delighted to find a candle on one of the shelves, awaiting a match. Within moments, she’d lit it and saw she’d stumbled on a storehouse of sustenance. The owners must have taken only what they could carry and left the rest, for jars of produce lined the top shelf, and partially filled bins of flour and sugar met her gaze. Even a smaller crock of coffee was there, and she smiled with pleasure as she considered the warmth it would elicit.

A dusty coffeepot was there, too, and she carried it to the sink, washed it quickly and then filled it with fresh water. Dumping in a handful of coffee, she settled it on the warmest spot on the stove, and found herself silently urging the fire to do its best to bring the coffee to a boil. An additional log added to the glowing coals insured its performance, and she set off for the back yard, hoping to find enough wood to keep herself in comfort for the remainder of the day and the night to come.

A pile of neatly stacked logs at the side of the house brought a smile to her lips and she carried a load indoors, depositing the wood in the box behind the stove. “This is more like it,” she murmured to herself, basking in the heat and congratulating herself on her ability thus far to survive.



“Where is she?” Connor Webster spoke the words in a rush, his appearance on her front porch apparently having struck Minnie Peterson speechless. The woman groped for a reply and finally grasped Connor by the arm and brought him into her front hallway.

“I don’t know,” Minnie said, her voice breaking.

“She’s not here?” Connor asked, and Minnie shook her head.

“She left last evening, right after supper. Not willingly, but her father gave her no choice.”

“And what about you?” Connor asked. “Did you just let her go out in the cold without knowing where she could find shelter?” Connor’s heart ached as he recalled his own harsh words to Loris.

“I had no choice,” Minnie said weakly. “I gave her a bit of food, and she’d packed a valise. What more could I do, under the circumstances?”

“You gave her a bit of food?” Connor asked incredulously. “Just what does that mean?”

“Don’t get huffy with me, young man. I shouldn’t have offered her even a crust of bread, after she brought disgrace down on her family the way she has.”

“No? Not even the fact that she is your daughter made a difference?”

“Alger told her she’s no longer our daughter,” Minnie said.

“And you agreed with him?”

“I had no choice,” she said.

“You had a choice,” Connor told her, as did he. “Now, have you any idea which way she headed?” The urge to find Loris was overwhelming now. And his anger with her was banished by the memory of her vulnerability.

“I watched her,” Minnie said. “She walked away from town, toward the open country.”

“On the road?”

Minnie nodded. “On the side of the road. There was fresh snow, and she apparently didn’t want to walk in the wagon ruts.”

Connor was silent, his mind working furiously. If she’d left last evening, after dark, she wouldn’t haven’t gotten very far, unless she’d just kept walking until she dropped. And in that case she would have frozen to death. The temperatures were below freezing, and last night they’d dropped far lower.

“What are you going to do?” Loris’s mother asked as Connor turned away.

“Find her.” The words were terse and to the point, and Minnie only nodded as she closed the door.

Connor mounted his horse and rode from the yard, heading out of town at a slow pace, his gaze on the sparse covering of snow beside the road. Several sets of footprints marred the pristine surface, but most of them were heading to town, not in the other direction.

One small set was easy to follow, and he turned his horse to the grassy area, the better to track them. If it was, indeed, Loris’s tracks he followed, she’d slipped several times and he winced as he thought of the harsh wind blowing toward her as she walked. He’d heard it around the house all night, in those long hours when he’d found it impossible to sleep, not knowing what had happened to her. Those dark hours when he’d admitted to himself that his love for her had not died.

The fact that her father had turned her out of the house didn’t surprise Connor. Alger Peterson was a harsh man, a man dedicated to all that was right and proper, and the idea of his daughter bearing a child out of wedlock must have struck him a heavy blow.

Connor wondered why the man hadn’t tried to understand his daughter’s dilemma, at least long enough to provide her with a place to live, and someone to look after her. Instead he’d booted her out.

The footprints Connor followed wove back and forth a bit, as if their owner were uncertain as to the path she took, and well she might have been. Walking away from town would not have offered her much choice as to the shelter she sought.

He passed by the Benson place, saw Joe himself outside, walking toward the barn, and thought for a moment that it would have been a good place for Loris to seek a resting place. But the footprints beside the road told a different story.

She’d bypassed Benson’s barn and walked on. Farther than he’d thought she would, for the next two places had been bypassed too, and after that point, hers were the only tracks to be seen in the sparse covering of snow.

Connor blessed that snow, for without it, he’d never have seen her trail. He needed to find Loris. She’d been betrayed by parents who should have given her love and affection, setting aside the disgrace she might have brought to them. And he, himself, had turned his back on her.

He cursed himself for being so harsh with her, for denying her his aid. He’d offered her money, his help should she want to leave town, but not the helping hand she’d needed. But he’d been so angry at her betrayal, he hadn’t been thinking straight.

If he found her by the side of the road, it would be on his head, for he’d been the logical one she could have counted on to give her help. And he’d turned her away. Sleep had evaded him during the night, his memory bringing her desperate plight before him when he would have slept. While he’d been tucked into his bed, she’d been walking through the night, and he felt the pangs of regret strike his soul with harsh lashes of the whip of remorse. Upon awakening, he’d left home to find her.

A wisp of smoke rose from an abandoned house to the south and he touched his horse’s barrel with his heels, his heart lifting as he considered the possibility of Loris having found shelter there. The owners, a couple named Stewart, had left town months ago, taking little with them. But the house was still livable, to his knowledge.

His horse trotted up the lane and to his relief, he noted the footprints that went before him. She was here. He’d lay money on it. Somehow, she’d gotten into the house and lit a fire. The prospect of finding her at the side of the road had daunted his spirits, but now he breathed a prayer of thanksgiving as he realized his fears might have been in vain.

The house was small, the windows covered with shutters, but the back porch held a collection of scattered footprints in the snow that covered its surface. Connor drew his horse to a halt and slid from his saddle. The reins were wound around a hitching rail quickly and he stepped onto the porch.



Loris was dozing again, curled into her quilt on the floor, her stomach having found relief from its empty state, the skillet in the sink, soaking in the basin. She’d given in to the sleepy warmth of the stove and found her place on the floor once more, settling down to sleep, knowing that it would do her more good than tramping around in the snow, trying to discover her surroundings.

The sound of the door opening penetrated her slumber and she caught her breath, lying as quietly as possible as she heard the footsteps enter the kitchen. Then the sound of the heavy portal closing told her she was trapped in the room with an intruder.

“Loris?” His voice was low, his tone tentative, and she sat up warily.

It had sounded like Connor, the voice deep and soft, the syllables of her name rolling from his tongue in a sound that reminded her of the breeze rustling though the trees in springtime.

But it wouldn’t be Connor, she reminded herself. He’d left her on her own, just yesterday, and he was a stubborn man, not given to changing his mind, especially not overnight, and particularly not about such an important issue.

She’d betrayed Connor. He would hold his hurt pride like a shield before him, should they meet, and the thought of ever seeing him smile at her again was beyond hope.

“Loris.” This time her name was spoken in a commanding tone, and she felt the bidding of the man behind her. She turned in her quilt, her gaze seeking the intruder, and found the face of the man she’d loved for three years of her life.

“Connor?” She whispered the familiar, beloved name of the man she’d planned to marry, and noted the look of relief that washed over his handsome features. Taller than his brother, but not as muscular, Connor had a shock of black hair and the same blue Irish eyes as James. Yet, on this man, they were soft and appealing, and Loris wondered how she’d ever thought James to be the handsomer of the two, how she’d ever been fool enough to hurt Connor so badly.

He stepped closer and squatted beside her. His hands were big, his flesh cold, as he lifted her from the floor, but she did not flinch from him, welcoming his touch instead.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. “Mama gave me some food to take along,” she told him. “I’ve eaten this morning.”

“Are you cold?” He seemed intent on her revealing each small bit of information he could drag from her.

“No,” she said softly, shivering as the cooler air in the room penetrated her clothing. Curled by the stove, she’d indeed been warm. Now, uncovered and sitting erect, she felt the chill. Her coat was tossed aside, having been used for cover as she slept, and now she reached for it.

“You’re shaking with the cold,” Connor said firmly, lifting her to her feet, looking down at the coat she held by one sleeve. “Let me help you put that on.”

“Just pull the quilt around me,” she told him. “And then put some more wood in the stove.” She watched him as he released her and did as she asked, adding four large chunks of wood to her fire, and wrapping her securely in her quilt.

He watched her, his gaze hooded, his mouth firm and straight, with no sign of softening on his harsh features. Connor was handsome, she’d long ago decided. He was not a beautiful man, as was James. Connor had features that were knife-sharp, his nose a blade, his cheekbones high and seemingly carved from granite. If not for the blue eyes, she might have feared him, had she not known the man.

But she knew the soft heart beneath the broad chest, the tenderness he could call forth at will, enveloping her in his arms and holding her as he might a treasured creature he claimed as his own.

She’d turned her back on all of that, she realized, the day she’d given in to James’s coaxing and offered herself to him. And loved him desperately with a love that had turned to ashes at his betrayal of her.

Now she faced the man who had planned a future for them, who had placed his ring on her finger and offered her his love. Connor. The man she had hurt beyond forgiveness. Who had offered her his help, should she want to leave town, who had apparently spent his morning looking for her when she came up missing today.

He watched her closely and she knew he was evaluating her, gauging her condition, allowing her to gather herself before he spoke again.

She bent her head, so that she no longer needed to see his harsh face hovering above hers. “I’m sorry you’ve gone to so much trouble, Connor,” she said. “I didn’t think you might be looking for me.”

“I never intended for you to be frozen by the side of the road or left on your own, the way you were last night,” he said.

“What did you think would happen?” she asked, lifting her gaze to his, venturing bravely to watch his expression.

His brow twitched as he considered her query. And then he breathed deeply, as if his words were hard to come by. “I didn’t think your father would throw you out. I thought your mother would defend you. I went to your house this morning to make certain you were all right, and I couldn’t believe my ears when your mother said you’d left last evening.”

His eyes were icy, the chill of anger gripping him.

“Well, I’m all right, as you can see,” she said, fearful of his anger being turned against her. But it seemed there was little chance of that, for he only shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re far from all right,” he said sharply. “You’re alone and about three hours from freezing to death, should that stove not be fed on a regular basis.”

“There’s some food here in the pantry,” she said defensively. “And wood outside. I won’t freeze.”

“And what happens when that pitiful pile of wood runs out?” he asked. “And when the food in the pantry is eaten?”

“There’s enough wood for a couple of days, and I’ll look for an ax to cut more.”

“You’re going to chop wood?” he asked. “You’d be more likely to cut your toes off or swing wrong and slice your leg open. And then what would you do?”

“I won’t do that,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll be careful.”

“You’re a woman,” Connor said with a stern look that stripped her of her bravado.

“What’s wrong with being a woman?” she asked sharply. “I can take care of myself.”

He was silent, his eyes holding hers, his mouth a straight line, giving her no clue as to his thoughts.

“I’ll be fine here,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about me, Connor. I’m strong and able to tend to things.”

“You’re strong?” he asked, and with one smooth movement, he gathered her against himself and held her tightly, one arm around her waist, the other banding her shoulders.

She was trapped in his embrace, and even though she feared him not, she knew her position was that of a woman who could not move without the consent of the man who held her immobile. “Don’t try to frighten me, Connor,” she said softly.

“Are you frightened?” he asked harshly, as though his mood had turned to anger.

She hesitated, unwilling to admit the wash of alarm that had indeed sped through her veins. And then she looked up into his face and shook her head. “I’m not afraid of you,” she told him. “You’re angry with me, but you won’t hurt me.”

“I want to,” he admitted. “I want to shake you and knock you to the floor for betraying me. I loved you, Loris. I’d planned on a life with you, and you turned your back on all that to seek out my brother. And then you let him make love to you.” His nostrils flared as if he could barely contain the pain and rage that coursed through him.

His big hands clutched her shoulders and she braced herself for his harsh touch on her slender form. But he only drew her closer to himself and his mouth claimed hers with a passion she could not refute.

She submitted to his kiss, feeling the bruising of her mouth, the crush of his embrace, the strength of his hands as he held her. His tongue claimed her, sweeping into her mouth, the invasion one he’d never instigated before. Always his kisses had been gentle, tender and welcomed.

That this claiming of her mouth was none of those mattered little. She only stood before him and endured. There was no tenderness in his caresses, for his hands were harsh, clutching at her softness, his fingers biting into her hips, his mouth hard against hers. She tasted blood and knew it came from her lips. She felt the hard ridge of his arousal against her belly, through several layers of clothing, and braced herself for his taking.

It was not to be, for he lifted his head and looked down at her. One long index finger lifted to rub at her lip and she winced at the pain of it.

“Your lip is bleeding, Loris,” he said softly.

“I know,” she told him. “I can taste it.” That the inside of her lips were bruised and cut by the force of her teeth against them was of little matter. Her pain was small in comparison to what he felt, and she would not complain.

But Connor seemed to sense more than she had expected of him, for he touched her mouth with his own again, and this time the kiss was tender, a silent plea for her forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” he said roughly, his voice hoarse as if the words were those of a man who had drunk his share, and more, of whiskey and was speaking past the aching throat muscles of one who had had reason to regret his overindulgence.

She shook her head, offering him forgiveness, for she could do no less. He could have knocked her to the floor. And yet, he’d only spent his anger on her in passion. Even now, she felt his arousal prodding at her, and she backed away from the reminder of his desire.

“I won’t hurt you again,” Connor said harshly. “Don’t be afraid of me, Loris.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I’m not.”

“I’ll chop some wood for you,” he told her. “And then I’ll go into town and get you some supplies.”

“You needn’t do that,” she told him. “Just leave me, Connor. I’m not worth your concern.”

“Ah, but you are,” he muttered. “James left some money for you, and I’m going to spend it on the things you’ll need for the next little while. And then we’ll figure out what to do.”

“James left me money?” Her mind latched on that bit of information and she felt a surge of anger. “I don’t want his money,” she said bitterly. “I’d rather starve.”

“Well, as long as I’m alive and breathing, you aren’t in any danger of starving,” Connor told her. He helped her onto a chair at the table and turned away. “I’m going out to chop wood, and I’ll be back in a bit. There should be enough in that stove to keep you warm for a couple of hours.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, unwilling to meet his gaze, lest she begin crying and be unable to halt the deluge. Her tears would not be only for herself, but for the pain she had brought to Connor and his brother. For her own weakness that had forever caused a rift between two men who had been as close as any brothers could be. And for her loss of the man with her now. Connor could never forgive her or love her again, and her heart ached at the knowledge of what she had lost.


Chapter Three






Connor’s generosity was surprising—and almost overwhelming. The woodbox had been replenished before he left her alone. He’d gone to town, bought supplies for her and chopped more wood on his return, for over an hour, piling an impressive amount of kindling and good-sized logs on the back porch.

And then he’d left, mounting his horse and riding away without another word, only a casual wave of his hand. Would he return? She doubted it, but then she’d have laid odds that he wouldn’t have shown up the first time. But Connor was a kind, gentle man, feeling a sense of responsibility to a woman in need, even if that woman was his former fiancée.

Loris found a fresh loaf of bread in the supplies Connor had carried into the kitchen. He must have stopped at the bread lady’s house, a small cottage at the edge of town, where lived an elderly soul, Hilda Kane, who existed on the pitiful amount of money her baking brought to her. She baked daily, and Loris had been sent there almost that often to pick up a loaf or two for her mother.

“I could bake my own,” her mother had said more than once, “but she needs the money and I can’t make it any better than Hilda’s.”

Fresh bread was almost enough to make a meal from, Loris decided. She ate the last of the cheese and the few bits of beef left from the morning, and settled before the stove again. The sun had sunk into the western sky and dark clouds hid the moon and stars, promising snow by morning.

But the kitchen was warm, and by tomorrow perhaps she’d feel like venturing into the other rooms, try to settle in a little better. After all, she couldn’t sleep on the kitchen floor for the rest of her life. But for tonight, it would do just fine.



The woman was crazy. There was no way she could survive alone in that deserted house. Connor frowned, finishing up the evening chores. He handled twice as many now, with James gone, but they were done automatically, without thought, as if his body was created to perform the familiar duties of a farmer.

For that was what he was. A farmer. Like his father before him, and his grandfather before that, the Webster men lived off the land. He’d been milking these cows and feeding the stock ever since he could remember.

Connor doubted if his life would be any different than those who’d gone before. He’d always thought to find a nice girl, get married and work the homestead, taking care of his parents until they were gone from this world, leaving the property equally divided between the brothers. His children would follow suit, working and living off the land, and there was a solid feel of security there.

The land would never let you down, his grandpa had said. If you tended your soil and fertilized and weeded your crops, you stood to reap a fine harvest. Unless the summer was dry and the rains refused to fall. Like last year, when the dry spell had chased several families from town, unable to cope with the poverty they faced without a harvest.

Now Loris had claimed the right to squat in one of those places left deserted. And a squatter is what she is, Connor thought bleakly, living on property that didn’t belong to her, yet was unwanted by anyone else. It could probably be purchased for taxes, Connor thought, but Loris didn’t have any money to speak of.

He felt the wad of bills in his pocket, touched the bulk with his palm and recognized that he’d barely made a dent in the cash James left behind for Loris. Maybe Loris would accept the cash more readily if he spent it on back taxes and she could live where she was, legally and aboveboard.

The manure pile was heaped, the fresh bedding spread and the cow milked, all while Connor debated the options left to him. He brought the horses in from the pasture; indeed, they were more than willing to enter the warm barn and find their stalls. The cold was bitter, the wind biting through Connor’s coat as he headed back toward his parents’ house, a place in which he no longer felt the warmth of home.

“You finished?” his mother asked, dishing up a bowl of stew for him. “Your pa ate already. He’s not in a good mood,” she said glumly.

And wasn’t that the truth. The man had been deserted by his favorite son, had been left with one less pair of hands to keep the place up. He’d no doubt have to hire a man to help out. And that would involve finding a place for that man to sleep. Probably a small room could be made habitable in the barn, or else Pa might just hire someone who lived nearby, close enough to come in by the day.

“All done?” his mother asked again. She’d been crying, her eyes swollen and reddened, her skin shiny as if it had been washed by a multitude of tears.

“Yes, I’m not very hungry,” Connor said, rising from the table. Things were different with James gone. He’d always been the joker, the one with a ready wit and a tall tale to tell over the supper table. Now they were reduced to eating separately, for he’d guarantee his mother had eaten standing at the stove. Nothing was the same.

“Did you go see Loris?” his mother asked. “Did she know that James was gone?”

“She knew,” Connor said quietly. And then decided he might as well fill her in on the mess James had left behind. “Loris is going to have a baby, Ma. And James is the father.”

Peggy Webster’s mouth dropped open, but no words came forth. She wiped her hands on the front of her apron, then stuffed them in the voluminous pockets, still silent.

“And before you ask, James knew when he left that Loris was bound to be abandoned by her folks. They kicked her out last night.”

“Where is she?”

“In a deserted farmhouse. I followed her tracks and found her this morning. Got her some supplies and chopped a bit of wood for her.”

“James wouldn’t marry her?” Her voice was dull, her eyes hopeless, as if she couldn’t imagine her son ignoring his responsibilities so casually. “He got her in the family way and just ran off? I can’t believe your brother would do that.”

“He gave me some money for her, but she doesn’t want to accept it,” Connor said, deliberately concealing his planned use of the cash.

“And Minnie threw her out? It was bitter cold last night.”

“Minnie Peterson doesn’t act like she gives a good gol-dern about her daughter, Ma. I saw her this morning, and she was as cold as any woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe she’ll change her mind. After all, that’s her grandchild Loris is carrying.”

“It’s your grandchild, too,” Connor said softly, and watched as that fact sank into his mother’s conscious mind.

“So it is,” she said idly, smoothing her apron with a practiced touch. “Would she come here, do you suppose?”

“Loris?” And at his mother’s nod, Connor shook his head. “I doubt she wants much to do with any of us right now. She’s got pride aplenty, and she’s bound and determined to make it on her own.”

His mother stood silent a moment, then spoke words that sounded almost spiteful, he thought. “James must have had good reason not to stick up for her. Maybe she’s just bad news.” She paused and then sighed, rather dramatically, he thought. “But you’re going to help her, aren’t you, Connor?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll help her, Ma. As much as she’ll let me.”

He’d go to town tomorrow and check at the tax office, see what was owed on the place where Loris had camped out. Find out if he could pay the taxes and take over the farm.

In the meantime, he’d do well to ride out there and be sure she was all right, staying on her own in a deserted house, with no gun or even a dog to keep her safe. In ten minutes, he’d saddled his horse and donned his heaviest coat. A warm scarf circled his throat and heavy gloves warmed his fingers. From the kitchen, his mother watched as he rode away and he offered her a wave of his hand, causing her to lift her own palm to press against the window. It was a gesture he’d seen many times before, whenever one of her menfolk had left home and she couldn’t bear to wave goodbye.

The Webster place was on the opposite end of town from Loris’s haven, and Connor made his way past the business establishments. Everyone was gone home for the night, only the saloon still being lit, with voices sounding loudly within.

He passed the home Loris had lived in all of her life, noting the lights glowing in the front parlor and in a bedroom window upstairs. How they could rest, not knowing where their daughter was, was beyond him. Didn’t they care? Or did their hurt run so deeply they couldn’t allow themselves to yearn for their girl?

He rode on, past the lighted houses where folks were readying for bed. And then he spotted the farmhouse where Loris was keeping warm. He rode to the back yard, tied his horse to an upright post and climbed the three steps to the wide porch. Through the window, he caught sight of a shadowed figure, passing between himself and the lamp glow.

His knuckles rapped twice on the door and he called her name. “Loris? It’s Connor. Can I come in?”

She opened the door, just a few inches, as though loath to allow him entrance. “It’s late, Connor,” she said softly. “I’m about to blow out the lamp and go to sleep.”

“Where?” he asked. “On the kitchen floor?”

“It’s the warmest place in the house,” she told him sharply. “And warmth is what interests me right now. I’ll think about using one of the bedrooms tomorrow, maybe. If I can get a fire going in the fireplace, I’ll probably use the larger room.”

“I’ll light a fire for you if you want to sleep there tonight.” Something about the woman held him here, and he could not have spoken aloud just what it was. She was brave, willing to depend on herself, and yet he felt the aura of need flow from one to the other of them, a cry for him, lest he turn and leave her alone.

“I’ll be all right on the floor. Truly,” she said quietly, unwilling, it seemed, to meet his gaze, looking instead down at the floor where her quilt lay. It looked to be a cold, lonesome spot on which to sleep, but it sure beat being outdoors. If it was what Loris wanted, he couldn’t force her to do otherwise. Still, he felt the urge to try.

His arms encircled her, his body responded to her as it always had, and his mouth descended to touch hers with a tender touch. “Please, let me help you.”

Her eyes were dark and seemed empty of hope. “What can you do? Chop wood? You’ve already done that.”

“I’m going to pay the back taxes on this place, and then I’ll make certain that you have enough food to eat and wood to burn for a while. That way you’ll have a shelter to live, and I’ll rest easier, knowing that you’re not going to starve or freeze to death.”

“You’ll pay the back taxes?” She frowned. “How can you do that? It’ll require a lot of money, Connor.”

“James is going to provide that for you, Loris. It’s bad enough he’s deserted you, the least he can do is pay for a place for you to live.”

“I don’t want his help.” Her chin lifted stubbornly and her mouth tightened.

“I didn’t ask you,” Connor told her. “I’m going to take care of it, and if I have to, I’ll stay here with you to make certain you’re all right.”

“You’ll have the whole town talking.”

“You think I really care? Not about myself anyway. But, mark my words, if anyone has anything to say about you, Loris, I’ll hang him up to dry.”

“I didn’t know you were so tough,” she said, her smile appearing.

“Not usually,” he admitted. “But right now, I feel like you’ve been abandoned by too many people, and I need to stick close and let you know that someone cares.”

“You really care, Connor?” Her voice sounded dubious and she looked away from his gaze as if she could not believe his claim.

“You’re a human being, hurt and alone. And more than that, you’re a woman who’s been betrayed by a man. Maybe I just need to make amends for James. I don’t know. But I do know that I can’t walk away from you.”

She felt his arms tighten around her, knew for a moment the joy of being held in a man’s embrace. Even if he only felt sorry for her, she couldn’t help but rejoice in that fact. She’d been so alone, so close to the end of her rope. And now Connor was here.

“Will you have something to eat?” She motioned toward the cupboard where her store of food for tomorrow rested behind glass doors. “I can fix you some toast in the oven, and there’s jam.”

“Any coffee?” He looked searchingly at the stove, as though a coffeepot might miraculously appear there.

“I’ll heat it in a pan,” she offered. “I emptied the pot, so the leftovers wouldn’t taste burnt, but it’ll only take a minute to bring to a boil.”

He nodded. “Sounds good to me. And then we’ll talk about me staying here for the night.”



She’d meant to send him on his way, but Connor was not easily deterred, for he hauled in his bedroll and the leather pack carrying his personal effects and bedded down for the night at her backside.

Now she lay beside him, aware that he was awake, knowing he had put his reputation on the line by staying with her, and yet was unable to deny the peace his presence delivered to her aching heart.

“You awake?” His whisper was soft, but she smiled as she heard his familiar tones. “Are you warm enough, Loris?”

“I’m fine. Just thinking about my nice feather pillow from my bed at home.”

“You don’t need a pillow with me here, honey. Turn over and lie on my shoulder. I’ll keep you warm.”

It was tempting, but she shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine here.”

As if he allowed her the privacy she’d asked for, he merely shifted to curl around her, his wide chest against her back, his arm lifting to fit itself around her middle. Through the quilt, she felt the warmth of long legs against her own, and knew the heat of a warm body as it drove the night chill away.

“Thank you.” The words seemed but little thanks to express her appreciation, but they were all she knew to offer. And it seemed he didn’t expect any more from her, for his arm tightened a bit and then relaxed around the curve of her waist.

“Sleep, Loris.” Perhaps another time, she might have considered it a command, maybe even resented it, but tonight, he was here and she was needy of comfort.

The rooster awoke her early, just as dawn was tinging the sky with morning light, and the glow was edging the shuttered windows. The gloom of the room was giving way to dim daylight when she stirred, felt Connor’s hand tighten on her waist, and then remembered that she was not alone.

“Turn over here.” He left her no room for discussion, only commanded her obedience in a firm voice that seemed rough and raw to her ears.

She straightened her legs and rolled toward him, aware that his body was mere inches from hers, that his arm still enfolded her and his body heat warmed her. Even with the quilt thrown from her shoulder, she was not cold. No great amount of fire still burned behind her in the stove, the last of Connor’s forays to add wood having taken place in the middle of the night.

“Now just rest for a bit.” His arms enclosed her and she relaxed against him, too thankful for his presence to admit her doubts about the decency of the situation in which she found herself this morning.

She felt his mouth touch her forehead, felt his hands roam her back. Like two hot bricks they left their images wherever they touched, and she could barely contain the shivers that swept over her. His throat was so close, his skin held the aroma of soap and a male scent that tempted her closer, and she brought her lips to rest against whiskered skin. Her lips felt the tiny stubbles of his beard and she shifted to where his skin was softer, nearer his ear, feeling his quick reaction to her caresses.

“Loris?” She thought his voice trembled, and yet could barely place credence in the thought. And then he spoke her name again, more tenderly this time, it seemed, and she lifted her face to gaze deeply into his eyes.

“Don’t be giving me this sort of encouragement, sweetheart,” he said tenderly. “It wouldn’t take much for me to roll over on top of you and make you mine, even without marriage.”

“I haven’t told you not to, Connor. In fact, I’ve almost given you the right.”

“But I don’t have the right. Not now. Not without a wedding. I’m not sure you’re ready for that.”

“I’m just surprised you even want to be this close to me, after what I did to you,” she said quietly.

“That sorta takes a back seat when I’m with you. I’ve felt a deep hurt, Loris. I won’t deny that, but you’ve been betrayed by my brother, and I can’t let that go. And if being with you and helping you make a home here helps to fix the mess you’re in right now, then that’s what I want to do.”

He seemed to be searching for words, and she could only wish that his actions had nothing to do with James’s behavior…that Connor would care for her for his own reasons.

And as if he heard her thoughts and wanted to reassure her, he spoke again. “I’m not out for revenge on James, but I need to make reparation for what happened to you. If helping you is making me happy, then I hope you’ll allow me to have my way in this.”

“I won’t fight you, Connor. I care about you, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for helping me.”

He squeezed her tightly, and then released her. “Well, that’s settled then. Now let’s get up before I get any more…” he paused as if searching for a phrase to describe his condition “…any more randy than I am right now,” he finished.

“All right.” She would not argue his wisdom in bringing a halt to this scene. She’d gotten in trouble by being impetuous before. There was no sense in making a bad situation worse. And Connor was an honorable man. She respected him.

They ate breakfast together and Connor set off for town, his plans made. He would pay the back taxes, stop at the general store and order a new table from the Sears, Roebuck catalog. A table with long benches for either side, to put in the kitchen.

That done, he bought some warm bedding for the big bed upstairs, then searched out an assortment of warm clothing for Loris to wear. What he hadn’t planned on was the curious looks of the storekeeper as Connor’s bill was tallied.

“You plannin’ on settin’ up housekeeping, boy?” Nothing was kept a secret long in this town. That was a given, and Connor’s purchases were bound to be the subject of speculation before noon, given the speed of the local ladies’ gossip.

“No, just picking up a few things,” Connor told him.

“I understand the Petersons tossed their girl out in the snow the other night. You hear about that?”

“I heard,” Connor said dryly. “Everyone in town heard by now, I’m sure.”

The storekeeper leaned closer. “Did you hear she was in the family way?”

Again Connor nodded and agreed. “Yeah, I heard that, too. Seems like the folks hereabouts are real busy passing the word around.”

“I thought you was gonna marry her, back a ways.”

“Did you?” Connor dug in his pocket for cash and slowly counted out the amount of his purchases.

“Still gonna take her to the preacher?”

“Are you always this nosy?” he asked, “or is this a special occasion?” His eyes narrowed as he stepped back to observe the man.

“Didn’t mean no harm,” the storekeeper said quickly. “I was just wonderin’.” He pointed down to the scribbling that represented Connor’s order for the merchandise from the catalog. “I’ll take care of this right away. Should be here in two, three weeks.”

“Let me know. I’m in town every once in a while.”

“Maybe I can just send word to your folks’ place. You’re still livin’ there, ain’t ya?”

Connor’s jaw tightened. “I’ll stop by when I come to town. Don’t be sending any word anywhere. You hear me?”

The man nodded. “Yes sir, I surely do.”

Connor felt the bulk of the deed in his pocket as he left the store, although the sheaf of papers could not have weighed more than a few ounces. He touched the front of his coat, heard the reassuring rustle of the paperwork he’d had made out, and grinned. Loris would be pleased to know that she needn’t move anytime soon, that the place where she’d taken shelter was her own, to do with as she pleased.

He pulled his horse up next to the Benson’s place and dismounted. Within thirty minutes, he owned a cow and a half-grown pup from the litter in Joe’s barn. A nondescript mutt, he looked to be part shepherd, and seemed to be gentle, his tongue reaching out to seek Connor’s warm skin as they traveled together on the horse.

By the time they reached the farm where Loris had taken up residence, a place she owned now, Connor was feeling pleased with himself. A huge bundle hung on either side of his saddle, a dog lay across his lap and a good milk cow followed behind him on a lead rope. He’d had a profitable trip to town.

Loris came out onto the porch, one hand on her back, her hair askew. “What do you have there?” she asked with a grin. “More work for me to do, I’ll bet. What makes you think I can milk a cow?”

“You’re a talented woman, ma’am. Milking shouldn’t be too big a problem for you to solve. And look here at what I brought you.” He dismounted, holding the dog in his arms. Legs dangled helter-skelter, all four of them longer than he’d remembered, and as Loris approached, she was served with a dose of the dog’s affection.

“He’s just happy to see you,” Connor said with a laugh. “Must be he likes ladies.”

“Well, I didn’t need a kiss so early on in our acquaintance,” Loris told him. “I’d just as soon he not be so friendly.”

“You’ll be glad he’s here at night, I suspect. And I don’t know just how friendly he’d be should some stranger ride up or give you grief.”

“He’s really mine?” Her hand lifted to pet the tawny head, and the dog wiggled in ecstasy as Connor put him on the ground and gave him the freedom to roll on his back before his new mistress. She knelt beside him, buried her fingers in the hair on his throat, petted his long legs as if she were measuring their length, and then looked up at Connor.

“Can I call him Rusty?”

Connor looked perplexed. “Where’d you get such a name for a dog?”

“I had a pup once, and my father’s horse stepped on him in the barn. Killed him, of course. His name was Rusty, and I always thought—”

“Of course you can. Call this little fella anything you want to. He’s your dog, and I have a suspicion that no matter what you name him, he’ll come a’runnin’ when you yell out his name.”

“You think he likes me?” Her words sounded hopeful, childlike almost, but Connor squatted beside her and ran his hand over Rusty’s head.

“I’d say it was a sure thing, sweetheart. He seems quite taken with you. He’s a male, isn’t he?” His look begged a smile from her and she did not deny him his reward for bringing her the pet.

“You don’t know how happy you’ve made me,” she said quietly. “He can sleep in the house and look after me.”

“I thought that was my job.” Connor spoke the words bluntly, expectantly, and waited for her to reply.

“You can share the duties of watchdog, if you like, Connor. I just meant, when I was alone here, he’d be good protection. When you’re here, I don’t need anyone else to keep an eye on things.” She eyed the bundles he’d tied on his horse. “What else did you bring home?”

Connor wondered if she realized how easily that word had slipped out. Home. It sounded just fine to him, and he hoped she’d come to feel that this place was truly hers, that it was her home. Now, he undid the straps that held his purchases in place and carried the two wrapped packages to the house.

“Come take a look. I got some warm bedding and a couple of things for you to wear. I wanted you to be warm enough when you go out to milk the cow.” His smile lent humor, and he hoped she would not balk at his buying clothing for her.

It seemed she would not do anything to fault his gifts, the shawl, the house shoes, new flannel shirts to be worn over her dresses or with the trousers he’d bought, guessing at the size, aware that they must accommodate a growing figure.

“I got you a belt to hold these up for a while,” he told her. “A little later on, they’ll stay up by themselves, when you’ve gotten a little rounder.”

“Fatter, you mean.” She produced a pout, and he was hard pressed not to bend over and kiss it from her mouth. Leaving Loris alone, not spending his affections on her, was going to be a tough row to hoe, he decided. His first impulse was to haul her up the stairs into the biggest bed on the second floor. But she wasn’t ready for that sort of thing, yet. In fact, she might never be. Maybe her heart was still set on James. He didn’t know.

“Connor?” She spoke his name softly.

His look was distracted. What had she asked him? And then he recalled her words. Fatter, you mean. The thought was so ludicrous, he could not help but smile. “I’ll never call you fat. Not even plump, Loris. You’ll always look good to me. You’re pregnant, and that’s a whole different thing.”

As if he had pleased her enormously, she smiled brilliantly, an expression that brought to mind the girl he’d fallen in love with so long ago. “Tell me that again in five months or so.” She grinned at him and reached up to kiss his cheek. “You’re a good man, Connor Webster. Too good for me, but if you want to hang around, I’ll let you.”

He’d already decided to hang around, had already made plans to look after her. But her theory, that he was too good for her, was not to be believed. He was too close to laying claim to her to think himself a saint. And yet, he knew that a man could desire a woman without deep emotional ties connecting them. Only time would tell if his attraction to Loris held even a thread of what it would take to keep a marriage together.


Chapter Four






“I don’t want you living with that girl.” His mother’s jaw was set, but her eyes held a concern Connor could not deny. “She’s trouble, son, and I won’t have her dividing my boys anymore than she has already.”

“That girl has a name, Ma. It’s Loris. And she’s going to be the mother of your grandchild. You might at least try for peace between you.” He walked to the back door, tempted to walk out of his family home and never return, but his love for the man and woman who’d raised him brought him to a halt before he stepped onto the porch.

“The trouble between James and me goes a lot deeper than competition over a woman, Mother. He walked out on his responsibility. And if he won’t accept that he has an obligation to Loris and her child, then I suppose I’ll have to do something to hold the family’s name out of the mud.”

“Loris is the one who’s dragged her own name in the mud,” Connor’s mother replied in a caustic tone. “She’s got you fooled, son, and I’m not happy about you moving over there and doing for her. She’d better learn to take care of herself right quick. It looks to me like she’s got a lot of years ahead of her, chock-full of regret and—”

“That’s enough. I won’t have you talking about her that way. I don’t want to have hard feelings with you, but I have to do what’s right, and to my way of thinking, taking care of Loris is the right thing to do.”

“Well, don’t let her lead you astray. I know her type. She’ll take advantage if she can.” Her mouth drew down and Connor’s mother looked as though she had aged ten years in the past week. Her hair seemed more gray than brown, and her eyes had lost their sparkle. Having James leave had been hard on her. And now her other son was all packed up and ready to move to a farm on the other side of town.

Connor’s father had given him an ultimatum, announcing that either he stay away from Loris or else not bother coming back home. Connor had accepted the words with a nod, and now he watched as his father stood in the barn door, waiting for his son to make up his mind.

There was no choice to be made. He’d settled that last night when he slept by Loris’s side, curled around her back. He’d made the decision even before that, during those minutes when he’d held her close and felt the desire for her rise within him. Even with all that had happened, he still cared about her. He was too honest to deny it, and too attached to Loris to walk away.

His horse waited patiently, and Connor tossed his saddlebags over the gelding’s hindquarters. His clothing was packed tightly in one, his personal belongings in the other. His extra pair of boots took up a lot of space, but they were too good to leave behind. Anything else he needed could be bought from the general store.

“I’ll be back to get my horses,” he told his father, riding the gelding to where the man stood. “Probably tomorrow.”

“You know which ones belong to you.” The words sounded harsh, but Connor knew that the man who spoke them was deeply hurt by his son leaving, and he could not blame him for his attitude. Maybe someday things would be set to rights.

And maybe not.

“If Hank Carpenter from Turley County comes by to see me, you can tell him I’m at the old Stewart place, the other side of town, next to Benson’s.”

“He wantin’ one of your horses?”

“Either that or he wants me to train one he has already.”

“I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks, Pa.” Above all else, his father was an honest man, and if he said he’d send Connor’s new customer to him, he was to be believed. Raising and training horses was Connor’s first choice. But farming ran a close second. Fortunately, they could be combined, so long as he had a barn and some land to plant. Even though it wasn’t going to be the place where he was born and raised that would receive the benefit of his skills and hard work.



Loris met him at the back door, noted the grim set of his jaw, and merely pointed toward the hallway where the stairs climbed to the second floor. He walked past her, carrying his belongings. She watched him go, thinking how much alike they were in this situation. That her clothing consisted of what Connor had bought her, that she’d come almost empty-handed to this place. And now, he’d left home and family and all else that he called his own to stay with her.

“The second door on the right.” She called to him as he reached the hallway.

He turned to look down at her with dark eyes that seemed to see within her, measuring her body and reading her thoughts. “Is it your room? You know I’m planning on staying here a long time, Loris. I’m going to take care of you, and that arrangement starts right now.” His gaze was straightforward, giving her notice of his plans.

She drew in a deep breath, and then shook her head. “No, that’s not my bedroom.”

His eyes narrowed and she thought his knuckles grew white on the bags he held. But his voice was flat and without anger when he spoke again. “Which one is yours?”

“Right across the hall.” She held her breath as he met her gaze for a long minute, and then growled words that did not surprise her.

“Then that’s my room, too.” Turning, he walked through the doorway of the bedroom she’d claimed for herself, and she heard the distinct sound of dresser drawers opening, of his bags hitting the floor, and then the noise of his boots as he walked across the uncarpeted floor.

She was a long way from being upset with him. She’d given him the choice, allowed him the chance to have a room and bed of his own, and he’d turned her down. It was what she’d expected, and though she felt a twinge of unease, her heart sang with the knowledge that he wanted to be with her. Wanted to sleep in her bed…and most of all, he planned on taking his place in this home.

I’m going to take care of you, and that arrangementstarts right now.

He’d certainly made that plain enough.

Her lips curved in a secret sort of smile as she returned to the kitchen. She’d put bacon on top of a pan of beans, adding all the ingredients her mother had used for the one-dish meal at home. Onions, tomatoes, brown sugar and a bit of mustard flavored the beans, and the thick slices of bacon made it even more palatable.

“Smells good in here.” Connor came back to the kitchen, hat and coat in hand, then hung them on pegs by the back door. He took warm water from the reservoir on the side of the stove and began to wash up, dousing his face and then using the soap to scrub his hands and arms, all the way up past his elbows. His shirtsleeves were rolled up neatly, and Loris had a hard time keeping her eyes from him.

He walked up behind her as she stirred a small skillet of fried potatoes. “Is that bacon I smell?”

She thought for a moment he’d leaned close enough to kiss her neck, but instead felt the brush of his hands smoothing back her hair and then holding her shoulders in a firm grip.

“Beans and bacon. Just like my mama used to make at home. She’s a good cook.”

“I’d say by the looks of your dog, he thinks you’re not bad, either.” Rusty had been sitting at her side as she worked in the kitchen, as if he delighted in his responsibility. In return she’d managed to find a few bits and pieces to toss his way, and he peered up at her with a foolish look, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, a soft woof stating his pleasure.

“That dog likes you,” Connor said.

“I hope so. At least he seems to think his main job in life is to stick close by.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted him to do,” Connor told her. “Now, how can I help? Maybe set the table?”

“If you want to. I can do it if you’re tired and want to sit down with a cup of coffee.”

“I’d rather help.” He knew his way around a kitchen, she noticed. His hands held the plates and silverware easily, the cup handles riding on his fingers. “Should I wipe off the oilcloth first?”

In answer, she located the dishcloth and rinsed it in clear water, then squeezed it almost dry. A quick toss across the table delivered it to his hand and he grinned his thanks.

Before long Loris had browned the potatoes nicely, the table was cleaned and set, the chairs moved to their proper places, and Connor was back at her side. “When the beans are done, I’ll take them out of the oven for you,” he offered.

“All right.” She was happy to accede to him, preferring to finish off the odds and ends of the meal. “I’ve already sliced bread and I found a jar of applesauce in the pantry. I suspect we’ll have enough to eat.”

Connor heaped his plate with the hot food she’d provided and worked his way through the meal without comment, only pausing to butter a slice of bread. He leaned back in his chair finally, his plate clean, his hunger apparently appeased.

“Your mother’s cooking must have rubbed off on you, Loris. You made a fine meal. The beans and bacon were good.”

“I noticed that Rusty enjoyed them, too,” she said archly. “He seems to know a soft touch when he sees one.”

“Well, he’s a discerning sort of dog. Knows good food when he gets some handed to him.”

She felt a flush of success at his words. “Mama tried to teach me how to cook and keep house. I’m afraid I wasn’t a very good pupil at some of the tasks she set for me, but I know how to use a scrub board and if there’s a pair of sad irons here, I can iron your clothes.”

“I saw some in the cellar,” he told her. “Though why they were down there is a mystery. Maybe it’s just an extra pair. My mother had two pair, one a bit heavier than the other. She said some things needed more weight.”

“I’ll look in the pantry. There may be a pair there, and it seems like a logical spot to store them. Maybe there’s an ironing board there, too, back in the corner.”

Connor stood, lifting his plate from the table and turning to the sink. Loris followed him quickly, brushing past him to place her own dishes in the sink. And then, as if they had done these small chores together a hundred times before, she handed him a large saucepan.

“If you’ll bring water from the stove, I’ll put these to soak while I clear up in here.”

He did as she asked, then poured coffee from the pot into his cup and settled at the table once more. Straightening the kitchen was a simple thing to accomplish, but he admired her movements as she worked, watched the swing of her skirts as she moved back and forth from table to cupboard, then to the pantry and back again. She paused to find an old metal pan and filled it with water from the pump for Rusty’s benefit.

Her dress moved with a swaying motion and he couldn’t be certain if it were something she’d acquired recently. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed it before, but now it struck him as enticing, her hips moving a bit beneath the full skirt, her feet skimming the surface of the wide floorboards.

“You walk as if you’re dancing,” he mused, and was treated to a quick glance in his direction, as her cheeks grew rosy and her eyes sparkled.

“You’re imagining things,” she said tartly, but her pleasure at his words was visible. Her mouth tightened in an inviting fashion, one he’d noticed before, luring him into her presence. It was a simple thing to stand and approach her as she came from the pantry. Her hands were empty, the bread stored on a shelf, the butter placed into a covered dish for the night.

He gave her little choice, his arms enclosing her lightly, as if he were about to dance with her, and for a moment, he thought he almost heard the music that would accompany them.

Loris looked up at him with a smile that encouraged him in his pursuit of her. Her lips curved and her blue eyes darkened, even as he watched. “You make me feel…safe, as though I’m at home here with you,” she said softly.

“Feeling safe is not what I want you to think about when I hold you this way. I’d like to know that I tempt you a bit.” He grinned down at her uplifted face and planted a damp kiss on her forehead. “Surely you know you’re a temptation to me, Loris.”

“I can’t—”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said, interrupting her as if he knew what her next words would be. “I won’t take your body until we’re married. And in the meantime, I’ll be content with warming you at night and spending my days doing what needs to be done here.”

Wasn’t that a tall tale, he thought. He’d not be content until he had the right to love her as a husband would, even though the thought of James being there first was hard for him to swallow. Knowing that the babe she carried belonged to his brother might present a problem when the time came, but for now, he tried his level best to scourge it from his mind.

“I didn’t know that marriage was a part of this picture.” Loris watched him closely, her eyes widening as if she had made some new discovery. He hadn’t mentioned marriage, only that he would take care of her. Perhaps now was the time to set her straight on a few things.

“Of course it is. Did you think I’d ruin you totally by living with you without being your husband?”

“You told me before that you wouldn’t—”

“Never mind what I told you. Whatever happened in the past doesn’t apply to us now. This is a fresh start for both of us, Loris. And marriage is definitely in my plan.”

He thought she looked stunned and then she proved him right. “I can’t think about that now, Connor. Your family will surely be opposed to such a thing, and I won’t come between you and your folks. I’ll lay odds that they hate me for dragging you into my mess.”

“What they think doesn’t mean nothing to me,” he said doggedly. “What I choose to do is my business, and I choose to marry you. We’ll raise this baby and someday have more. We’ll need a few boys around here to take over the farm one day.”

“What about James?” She hit his sore spot squarely, and he felt his teeth grit in anger.

“James has nothing to do with this any longer. He could have married you and had the joy of raising his own child, but he preferred to stay a bachelor and walk away. He’s not going to be welcome here. Ever.”

“Will your parents ever come to accept us together?” She was close to tears. He could sense that much more of this would set loose the waterworks. He preferred to see Loris happy, or at least contented.

“They’ll have to, if they want to see their grandchildren.” Including the one she carried now, he thought, one that would bear the family name, but would be labeled as James’s child.

“Do you think my folks know where I am?” she asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. When I paid the back taxes on this place, I didn’t try to hide my plans. I’ll bet they’ve heard already where you are, and that I’m here with you.”

“They always liked you, Connor. I think that’s mostly why they were so angry with me. They thought I’d done irreparable harm to you, and I deserved everything that came my way because of it.”

“I’ll decide what’s best for you now,” he said.

“And what’s best for all three of us.”



“I heard at the barbershop today that our daughter is living with the Webster boy.”

Alger’s lips compressed in anger as he told Minnie his news. “She’s done nothing but disgrace us in this town, and I won’t have it.”

Minnie looked at him sadly. “We shouldn’t have put her out the front door. It would have been better if we’d kept her here or sent her to your sister Edna in Dallas. As it is, she’s bound to have to accept help from any direction it’s offered. And if that means the Webster boy is accepting his responsibility, so much the better.”

“She’s with Connor. James hit the trail, according to what the men at the barbershop had to say. Connor paid the back taxes on the old Stewart farm for her, so she’d have a place to live, and now he’s moved in with her.”

“Maybe he’ll marry her and give the baby a name.” Minnie sounded hopeful, but Alger’s scornful look seemed bound to deny her that bit of light at the end of Loris’s long tunnel of darkness.

“It’s not his. Why should he take on the responsibility?” He hung his coat and hat on the hall tree and voiced his main concern. “I hope we’re not having meat loaf for supper. I ate it at the hotel today for my dinner.”

“No. I put a piece of pork in the oven and made creamed potatoes.” If Minnie sounded sour and unhappy, it wasn’t because of her menu, but the attitude of her husband, who cared more about the state of his stomach than the welfare of his only daughter.



“It’s bedtime, don’t you think?” Connor stood in the wide doorway, looking in at Loris as she sat in the parlor. The sofa was well-used, but sturdy, as were the other remnants of furniture left behind by the owners. A book on her lap had remained open to the same page for more than ten minutes, and she seemed faraway. As if her thoughts were focused on the uncertain future she faced.

He was proved to be right when she turned her head and he caught sight of eyes that almost overflowed with tears. “I’ll bet my folks will never want to see me again.” She looked too sad to be believed, her face drawn and pale, her hands clenched into fists as she brought them from her pockets to scrub at her eyes.

“You’re going to hurt your eyes that way,” he said, walking in the room to settle beside her on the sofa. Reaching out, he gripped her fists in one of his big, wide palms, and then held them to his lips. His mouth made a feast of her skin, his teeth barely touching her knuckles, his tongue tasting a bit of the soapy residue left from the dishes she’d washed.

She looked at him, mournful now. “Connor, I’ve made a real mess of things, haven’t I?” And then her mouth curved a bit. “The funny part is that I’m already attached to my baby. I can’t blame him for any of this. His mama made a big mistake, but I can’t regret that I’m to have a child. Do you think God makes us able to accept the retribution for our sins? In this case, I’ll have a baby without a father, but I’ll certainly do my best to raise him up right, even without grandparents.”

“I think God loves us, Loris. Especially those of us who make mistakes and then regret them as you do. But I also think that He loves every child born into this world, whether it is legitimate or not. The baby will have a name. I’ll see to that.”

“After everything I’ve done to you, how can you want to marry me?” Her words trembled out of her mouth. Her tongue emerged just a bit, touching her top lip, dampening the surface. “I won’t hold you to that,” she said. “If you just stay here and take care of things till the baby comes, I’ll figure out what to do afterwards.”

“I asked you to be my wife last summer. And I meant it. I’ll never walk away, not once you’re my wife. And that means more than just a wedding ceremony. I hope you understand that. I won’t be satisfied with just a good-night kiss. I’d prefer to wish you good-night about an hour after we go to bed. Okay?”

She swallowed convulsively, and he watched as her face flushed, a dark blush that ran down her throat. It was all he could do not to pull open her dress to see where that blush ended.

“Okay, Loris?” He repeated the word, knowing that once she made a commitment to him, she would stand by it. And a lifetime obligation was his goal. If she swore on the Bible he knew she kept by the bed, muttered a word of acquiescence in his direction, or even nodded, he would accept it as holding as much value as the wedding vows themselves.

“Yes. Okay.” And then she frowned. “Why an hour after we go to bed?”

“When I’m done loving you.”

“Loving me?” She seemed to be in a trance, and Connor knew exactly what to do to make her understand his plans. With a smooth turn of his arm, he circled her shoulders and scooted her closer to him on the sofa. Then with another unexpected movement of his body, he carried her to the sofa seat beside her, her head resting on the arm. He leaned over her, his kiss hot and needy, his lips opening over hers.

Unless he was mistaken, she’d not been kissed this way before, for she seemed innocent in her response. And then her own tongue joined with his, stroking his with long slow motions, finally seizing it and suckling with a gentle pressure.

He thought he might explode, and he broke the kiss to view the woman beneath him. She was breathless, and she opened her mouth to breathe. She looked just the way he’d imagined. Her hair was coming undone from the pinned-up mass she’d concocted on the back of her head, and her eyes were wide with wonder.

Well, maybe not wonder, he decided, but at least it was surprise he saw in her face. He’d take surprise for now, and hope for ecstasy some other day. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts, full beneath the bodice of her ordinary dress, and once more he sought the fullness of her lips.

Her dress was dark blue and, when he lifted from the kiss, he thought it matched her eyes almost exactly. How a dress could look so appealing to a man was a question he didn’t stand a chance of solving. For it wasn’t the dress that held him in thrall, but the shapely form of the woman who had donned it this morning and would remove it tonight.

In his bedroom.

“Connor?” She sounded just a bit apprehensive, perhaps even frightened, and he set about putting her at ease.

“I won’t hurt you, Loris. I promise to wait until we’re married to make you my bride. I only want to kiss you a bit and maybe touch you a little. I miss how we used to please each other when we were courting.”

Loris blushed as she remembered, then hesitated. “Y-You won’t hurt me? Will it be different after we’re married? James said—”

She halted abruptly, as if speaking his brother’s name aloud might set off a fuse in Connor. But he knew without her going any further what she wanted to ask. And so he gave her the answer she sought.

“It usually only hurts the first time a woman makes love, Loris. After that, her maidenhead is gone and the pain with it. I’ll not hurt you. I’ll wait until you’re ready for me, and I’ll be careful. Especially with you carrying a baby.”

She blushed again, and he allowed himself the right to view the sight he’d denied himself just a while ago. Her buttons came undone easily, though one hand came up to encircle his wrist as he took his time with the enjoyable task.

“What are you doing?” Her whisper was truly frightened now.

“Looking, sweetheart. Just looking at you. I want to see just how far your blush goes. I’m willing to bet it reaches almost to your belly button.” And then he laughed aloud as the last button gave way and he pulled her vest up to reveal her midriff.

It was pink. Not as rosy as her cheeks, but definitely more so than was her usual color. He pushed it higher and her hand dropped from his wrist and she lay quietly beneath his exploration. The very peaks of her breasts were firm and puckered, whether due to the unveiling he’d instigated or because she was aroused by his kisses, didn’t matter much. It only mattered that he had, one way or another, had an effect on her.

He touched her breast, circled the crest gently with one long finger, and then bent his head to take the darkened bit of flesh into his mouth. She jerked beneath him and whimpered. “What is it?” he asked, fearful he’d hurt her.

“Don’t…”

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” He bent closer again and kissed her lips with tenderness as his goal. Whatever his brother had done to her, apparently she hadn’t enjoyed having her breasts touched, and a surge of anger swelled within him. “I’m sorry, Loris. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only wanted to kiss you, snuggle a little.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Connor. I just thought…” And again she halted, her words fading into silence.

He cupped her breasts in his palms and held them close together, then bent to draw a line with his tongue down the crevice he’d brought into being. She shivered and he felt an easing of her tension. Her hand moved to his neck, then slid through the darkness of his hair, holding him in place.

“You like that?” he asked softly, blowing on the dampness his tongue had left behind.

“Yes.” A single word, but it carried a meaning he relished. She would come to him eagerly, when the time came. Until then, he’d leave her untouched. For Connor Webster was an honorable man, and if he’d done this to her in the big bed upstairs, he wouldn’t have been able to stop until her tender body belonged to him.




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