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Outlaw Hunter
Carol Arens


An outlaw's wife…With her home burnt down, her outlaw husband believed dead, and five children entrusted to her care, Melody Dawson must leave the ashes of her past behind to start afresh…And an outlaw hunter…Atoning for a youthful mistake, US Marshal Reeve Prentis has made tracking down criminals his life’s work.His dangerous job has always demanded a solitary existence, yet escorting Melody across the Wild West has Reeve longing for change – and a family of his own!









“You have a way with the polka, Reeve.”


He dipped her backward, sideways, and quickstepped her about to the tinkling tune. At times his broad hand slid up her back. Once he drew her forward so that her apron’s bodice grazed his plaid shirt.

Still, the most intimate step of the promenade was when he held her at arm’s length and simply gazed into her eyes.

A meeting of bodies was tantalizing, but a meeting of souls… Well, that was spellbinding.

Was she a fool to be drawn in when there was no future for them?


AUTHOR NOTE (#ulink_b21e9744-00c5-5f76-973c-8f4f5e588220)

When I typed ‘The End’ in REBEL OUTLAW I kissed the characters goodbye and sent them off to my editor. Story over.

But to my surprise there was one character who kept tapping me on the shoulder—because her story, she assured me, had only just begun. Kidnapped bride Hattie Travers (now known as Melody Dawson) had a good bit to say about her future…and not hers alone but also that of Reeve Prentis, the US Marshal who had agreed to escort her and her children home after the outlaw ranch where they lived was burned to the ground. Hattie wanted her happily-ever-after and she wanted it with Reeve.

It was a pleasure to be able to give her that. I hope you enjoy Hattie’s and Reeve’s tale, where love heals mistakes of the past and anchors the foundation for the joyful future that Hattie requested.

Best wishes and happy reading!




Outlaw Hunter

Carol Arens





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


DEDICATION (#ulink_12c08292-8fd6-5f88-b320-d19cc2d31a78)

To my sister, Nancy.

Of all the special gifts Mom and Dad had to give, I cherish you the most.


While in the third grade CAROL ARENS had a teacher who noted that she ought to spend less time daydreaming and looking out of the window and more time on her sums. Today, Carol spends as little time on sums as possible. Daydreaming plots and characters is still far more interesting to her.

As a young girl she read books by the dozen. She dreamed that one day she would write a book of her own. A few years later Carol set her sights on a new dream. She wanted to be the mother of four children. She was blessed with a son, then three daughters. While raising them she never forgot her goal of becoming a writer. When her last child went to high school she purchased a big old clunky word processor and began to type out a story.

She joined Romance Writers of America, where she met generous authors who taught her the craft of writing a romance novel. With the knowledge she gained she sold her first book and saw her life-long dream come true.

Today, Carol lives with her real-life hero husband, Rick, in Southern California, where she was born and raised. She feels blessed to be doing what she loves, with all her children and a growing number of perfect and delightful grandchildren living only a few miles from her front door.

When she is not writing, reading or playing with her grandchildren, Carol loves making trips to the local nursery. She delights in scanning the rows of flowers, envisaging which pretty plants will best brighten her garden.

She enjoys hearing from readers, and invites you to contact her at carolsarens@yahoo.com (mailto:carolsarens@yahoo.com)


Contents

Cover (#u95110fd4-3cb8-558d-8112-469e8bb970ce)

Introduction (#u7be917d8-d4e6-56f2-9d29-31108c9a0218)

Author Note (#uc37c2660-4a28-589f-9599-6e2dfa211415)

Title Page (#ua26dcdce-54d5-5188-befc-de334c99528d)

Dedication (#ufee6ede3-975f-560b-8026-b78649a78dfa)

About the Author (#u8e89c796-a842-5e8d-bc06-796cf9d7d8e8)

Contents (#udc479608-86a5-5afa-8673-8ad296eae4eb)

Chapter One (#ud7bcc07e-d4bb-5657-8fe7-7ada05be58cf)

Chapter Two (#ube0155d1-7875-5b80-8864-5f1cb6419745)

Chapter Three (#u8613adb2-3121-5c6b-b0d4-98c3c46814af)

Chapter Four (#u15c9709e-d886-5d99-b7b5-52aa48ad267e)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_9c7f2622-5457-5aab-b43b-44d007e23139)

The Badlands, Nebraska

Hattie Travers had dreamed of her husband again last night. The fact that he had been dead for eight months didn’t make her any less fearful of him.

Even in the cold light of morning, with the children safe in the buckboard with her, his ghost had the power to put her into a cold sweat.

“Go away,” she whispered to the wicked-eyed vision haunting her mind.

She focused her attention on the US marshal sitting tall on his rum-colored horse, leading her, her children and the ranch orphans away from the cindered ruins of the Broken Brand Ranch.

The marshal’s carriage was straight, his shoulders broad and, from what she had seen so far, his honor incorruptible.

She owed him a great deal...her life, really, and more than that, her children’s lives.

If only she could take a deep cleansing breath and purge the stench of the outlaw ranch from her soul. If she could just relax and trust the marshal, but she had been wrong about a man before.

The marshal turned his head, peering out from under his Stetson at the flat, dry land, scanning it from horizon to horizon. His eyes were the only bit of green that she had seen in nearly three years.

He held her gaze for a long moment then nodded and set his face toward the east...toward home. The regular clop of his horse’s hooves made the fringe on his buckskin shirt dance and sway.

“You reckon he’s looking for stray Traverses?” Beside her, thirteen-year-old Joe Landon gripped the team’s reins in his fists. He sat tall, imitating the lawman’s erect posture.

Joe had to be cold but he didn’t shiver. The marshal didn’t, so he wouldn’t, either. It was chilly, though, even with the sun coming up over the ragged land.

“You shouldn’t worry, Joe.” She held her baby tighter, trying to follow her own advice. “Marshal Prentis will have us well away from here before any of them show up. The ranch is gone forever. Colt Wesson saw to that when he burned it down.”

Joe touched something in the pocket of his pants, tracing its shape with his thumb.

“There’s only Uncle Jack and Cousin Dwayne to worry about,” fifteen-year-old Libby said, clutching her little sister, Pansy, close for the warmth. She glanced toward the back of the wagon then suddenly lunged. “Come back here, you little wild man!”

Libby latched on to Flynn’s collar and hauled the toddler back from the edge of the buckboard.

“Noooo!” Flynn went limp-boned then kicked his heels. “Mama!”

“I’ll trade you my sweet baby Seth for my wild thing, Libby.”

“Are you sure your folks are going to welcome us?” Libby asked, taking the infant from Hattie.

Flynn rushed to fill his little brother’s place. Hattie hugged him close and kissed his cold, red nose.

Sometimes she wished she had never met Ram Travers. He had ruined her life. Without him, though, she would not have had her sweet babies. It was a trade she would make again in a heartbeat.

“With open arms and a big, hearty meal,” she answered Libby. “My folks have a huge old house and too many empty rooms.”

The one thing she knew for certain in this world was that her parents would welcome her home. They would weep for joy over their new grandsons and would take in Joe, Libby and Pansy as if they had been waiting for them all their lives.

Mama and Papa had always longed for more children, but after she was born, they hadn’t been blessed again.

“You sure you remember the way back?” Joe asked. “Uncle Ram kidnapped you to the ranch a long time ago.”

“There’s something about the road home that stays etched in your heart,” she said, ruffling Flynn’s hair.

“The Broken Brand won’t stay etched in my heart.” Joe’s fingers turned white, his grip around the reins tight with tension. “I’m never looking back, not even giving it a minute of my thoughts.”

“It’s a lucky thing for Pansy that Colt Wesson and the marshal rescued us in time that she won’t remember the place,” Libby said.

“Colt gave me something. It was when he was here to bury Pappy Travers. Reckon he sensed I didn’t hanker to be an outlaw like the rest of them. He asked if I wanted to leave with him. Couldn’t, though; there was more than myself to consider. So he gave me this.” Joe reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, sheathed knife. It was a pretty thing for a weapon, with an ornate handle bearing the initials CWT.

He held it in his hand for a moment, balancing the weight, then he put it back in his pocket.

“Thank you for staying, Joe,” she said with a lump swelling in her throat. “I’m certain that the marshal is competent, but you never can tell when another man might be needed.”

For all that Joe wanted to be a man, to keep everyone safe, he was still a boy. She wasn’t surprised to see relief wash through his posture, believing that she trusted Marshal Prentis.

Hattie took baby Seth back from Libby, who hugged the lapels of a deputy’s coat tight around her chest. Last night, before the deputies had begun the journey to take the captured Travers gang to jail, the marshal had strongly urged each of his men to donate their coats to the children.

Not one of them objected with so much as a frown. Apparently, Marshal Prentis’s word was law.

She lifted her gaze from her son’s soft, sand-colored curls to look, once again, at their leader. As big as he was, he ought to have been frightening, but somehow, he wasn’t. She felt safe in his presence, which was disturbing because there had been a time when Ram made her feel the same way.

Whether she fully trusted Marshal Prentis, or not, their fates were in his hands for the time being.

With the outlaw ranch a heap of smoking embers, she had been offered the choice of going with Colt Travers and his lady, Holly Jane, to begin a new life in some friendly place, or going home to her parents.

There had been no choice, really. She had longed for home ever since she’d run away from it. She had wept for her mother’s soothing embrace on more nights than she could count. A sun hadn’t set that she hadn’t watched for her father to come riding over the hill, even though he had no idea where she had gone—or why.

So, with the burden of five children’s safety on her shoulders, she had, once again, chosen to trust a man she didn’t know, to let him lead her across land so rough that, left on her own, it would eat her alive—her and the young ones with her.

One thing was certain, they could not be worse off than they had been at the Broken Brand, where food was scarce and degenerates plentiful.

The big lawman riding ahead of the wagon peered out from under his hat, scanning the land for danger. He didn’t seem like a degenerate.

Indeed, he was a United States marshal, appointed by the president himself.

Ram had been a false charmer, appointed to bring home a bride by no one but his own twisted kin.

For all of their sakes, she hoped that the president’s judgment was sound.

* * *

Reeve had pushed the widow hard, leading her and the children over inhospitable ground. The sooner they were away from this snake-infested, bone-dry land, the safer they would be.

He couldn’t recall ever seeing a place so barren, and he’d traveled over some of the sorriest country there was. It was no wonder the Travers gang had gotten away with their crimes for so long. The local law was more than a few days’ ride from the Broken Brand. They weren’t likely to leave their towns undefended for the time it would take to travel here.

Reeve had only heard of the outlaw family when one of their own turned on them.

Had it not been for Colt Travers wanting to rescue his woman, whom they had kidnapped, the gang would still be committing crimes.

Colt had demanded his conditions, though, for turning on his own. He wanted to be the one to burn the place to the ground, and he wanted to do it before the arrests were made.

That wasn’t the way Reeve liked to do things. There was an order to be followed, first the arrest then the justice.

It rankled to let Travers do it his way, but Reeve wanted those criminals. There had been no choice but to play Travers’s game.

It had been plain good luck that a man armed only with a long knife had been able to best that nest of vipers. The only reason Reeve had agreed to hold back until he saw the smoke was because the outlaws were Travers’s kin.

In spite of his misgivings, things had worked out. The outlaws were on their way to prison and the innocent on their way home.

He’d pushed his charges hard because the farther east of here he got them, the safer they would be.

The woman, especially. She looked worn to the bone...bone that he could nearly see through the thin cotton of her dress.

He figured she wasn’t as old as she looked, but he couldn’t be sure. With water out here as scarce as anything green, he doubted that she’d bathed in some time. Dirt coated her lank hair and dusted her face as it did the ground.

Even her expression seemed defeated.

Watching her sitting on the wagon bench with her wriggling son Flynn clutched in one arm while trying to soothe her infant in the other, he wished they could stop for an hour, to let the young ones stretch and play.

Six rattlers and several scorpions creeping over the ground, and all within the last mile, convinced him to press on to safer territory.

He couldn’t help but admire Hattie Travers, though. As haggard as she appeared, the woman had backbone. They’d been in the wagon for nine hours and he’d yet to hear her complain or speak harshly to the children.

What had she been like, he wondered, before she had become the unwilling bride of Ram Travers?

Her eyes might have sparkled instead of looking lined and defeated, as they did now. They might have been fire-warmed amber instead of muddy brown.

What Ram Travers had done to her was a crime. Reeve was half-sorry that the man had already faced the Ultimate Judge. It would have given him a good deal of pleasure to haul that lawbreaker before an earthly judge and have his sorry ass slammed into jail.

At least that miserable family wouldn’t continue their practice of kidnapping brides. By now the deputies would have the criminals halfway to their jail cells to await trial. In a few more days the men would begin rounding up the two who hadn’t been at home when Colt Travers served up his justice.

He escorted the wagon east for another hour before Hattie Travers called his name.

He turned in his saddle. “Yes, ma’am?”

“The children need a break from the travel.” With Flynn climbing her shoulder as if his mother was a ladder, Hattie looked small, frailer even than when they had begun the journey this morning.

“Give me a few minutes to check the area.” He didn’t like making the stop, but he could see that it was necessary. “We’ll take ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Marshal,” she said, and he watched the relief roll through her in a wave.

It took twenty minutes to make sure the ground was free of snakes and other creeping dangers. When he was assured that it was clear for a hundred feet all around, he waved his arm, a signal that all was safe.

Joe leaped from the wagon with a whoop, and Hattie climbed down with a suppressed groan.

The ladies led Pansy and Flynn several yards away to take care of their needs. He and Joe walked in the opposite direction to do the same. Since there was no privacy to be had, he kept his eyes averted from the women and he reckoned they did the same.

A few moments later, Hattie strode toward him, her back bent with hours of holding her infant.

She could only be five feet three inches to his six foot four, so she had to look up and shade her eyes from the sun’s glare in order to see his face.

He reckoned he looked as shaggy as an old bear, having been on the trail for a month or more. He’d lost count of the days.

“I haven’t had time to thank you, Marshal Prentis, for bringing us home. I’m grateful as can be.” She shifted the baby in her arms. “I’m sure you have more pressing things to do.”

“No need for thanks, ma’am.” He reached for the infant. “Do you mind?”

She hesitated, but not overlong. He snuggled tiny Seth in the crook of one arm and watched while his mother worked the aches out of her back. She twisted from side to side, then front to back. He couldn’t recall seeing her without one child or another in her arms since he met her yesterday morning.

“You reckon Flynn would like to ride with me for a while when we start up?”

She smiled up at him. Under her cracked, dry lips, her teeth were straight and white. He was just noticing a spark of animation in her eyes when Libby screamed.

“Mad dog!” the girl shouted, shrill and panicked. “Mad dog!”

It wasn’t a dog, but a coyote and as mad as they came. Its wild eyes settled on Flynn. Bandy-legged, it wobbled toward the boy, the foam coating its muzzle a sure sign of disease.

* * *

“Flynn!” Hattie screeched. She locked her knees so that panic wouldn’t knock her to the ground.

The marshal shoved Seth into her arms, then ran, eating up the ground in long powerful strides.

She raced behind. The breath wheezed in and out of her lungs. Her side cramped, but she was too frightened to care.

Somewhere along the way she shoved Seth at Libby. She shut out every thought but grabbing her son away from the coyote, who was one deadly leap away from him.

Dimly, she registered that the wagon horses pranced, nervous in the confinement of their tack. The marshal’s horse stood still, his ears pointed toward the danger but his training keeping him in place.

She wouldn’t make it in time. Not even the marshal, with a thirty-foot lead, would make it.

The beast, ravaged and skinny, hunched his legs for the jump.

She stopped and snatched up a rock. She wouldn’t be able to halt the animal, but maybe she could distract his attention for the seconds Marshal Prentis needed to reach Flynn.

She pitched the rock. Joe saw her and did the same, firing stone after stone in the coyote’s direction.

They might as well have been hurling feathers. The beast’s full attention was riveted on Flynn.

“Mama!” Flynn cried. He backed up, then he turned to run.

The coyote lunged. She screamed.

Marshal Prentis dove. Midair, he drew his gun. He snagged Flynn about the waist.

A shot exploded.

Dust clouded the ground where the marshal rolled with her son tucked close to his belly.

The coyote was propelled backward by the blast. It crumpled to the earth, a lifeless mound of filthy fur. A few feet away the marshal hovered over Flynn, clearly offering himself as a shield in case the shot had missed.

Hysteria and relief gripped her at the same time. She wanted to collapse where she stood, to cover her face with her hands and sob. Her little wild man had come within inches of death.

Even though the danger had passed, fear pumped her heart hard.

What if Libby had spotted the coyote a few seconds later? What if the marshal hadn’t been a quick runner? What if his shot had missed? What if he hadn’t been willing to shield Flynn with his own body?

She wasn’t sure she would ever purge this nightmare from her heart.

As much as she needed a moment to give in to her emotions, she couldn’t.

Flynn sobbed, “Mama! Mama!” Even the big solid hand of Marshal Prentis stroking his back could not calm him.

It did calm her, though, enough that her knees didn’t give out as she dashed forward. She plucked Flynn from the strong hands reassuring him, then pressed his small head to her breast.

She cooed over him for a moment, until his sobs turned to hiccups.

When she finally looked up, she saw Libby standing in the buckboard, hugging Seth to her chest and clutching Pansy’s hand tight.

Joe bent over the coyote, the marshal beside him.

“Got him straight between the eyes!” Joe said.

“Poor beast.” Marshal Prentis put his hand on Joe’s shoulder.

Hattie heard him talking to the boy while they returned to the wagon. “We’ll need to be on our way, and in a hurry. Coyotes stay in their packs even when they’re mad. Could be more of them.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do the driving so Hattie can tend to the little ones.”

Joe scrambled into the wagon.

Marshal Prentis slipped his wide hand under her elbow to help her up.

“We’ll need to travel late, get as far clear of here as we can,” he told her. Behind his back the sun had begun to set. “It’ll be rough travel for a while. We’ll have to sleep in the wagon tonight.”

That suited her fine. She was not about to allow any of the children on the ground until they were far away from this horrible, barren of anything gentle, land.

The marshal turned toward his horse. She tapped the shoulder of his buckskin shirt, halting him. He looked back, and up. For the first time she noticed how handsome he was, with a bold, square jaw dimpled with a slight cleft.

He clutched his hat in his hand, showing off hair that was very dark. Nearly but not quite black, it grew in close-cropped waves about his face.

In another lifetime she would have flirted with him. The young woman she had been before Ram would be dreaming of his kiss.

It was just as well that Ram had laid that girl to rest. She was a mother of two now...a guardian for three more. There was scarcely enough time to breathe, let alone go soft over a handsome face.

* * *

Hattie had been asleep in the wagon bed for only an hour when she woke suddenly. She tried to stifle her gasp but it escaped before she could call it back.

She willed her heartbeat to still. By breathing slowly, she pushed back the panic.

The jab to her back had been inadvertent, only someone’s knee. Sudden movements in the night still terrified her. How long, she wondered, would it take before she could truly put her memories behind her?

Fortunately, her outburst hadn’t wakened the children. Carefully, she moved Flynn away from where he had curled his small self against her bosom. She sat up slowly, dislodging Libby’s knee from her spine.

She groaned under her breath, stretching and easing the aches from her muscles. Sleeping on the hard wagon bed without enough room to turn was difficult.

But it was a difficulty she blessed with every heartbeat.

Anyplace, no matter how barren or dangerous, was preferable to the Broken Brand.

“Mrs. Travers, is something wrong?”

The marshal appeared at the side of the wagon, a frown creasing his brow and his breath puffing white in the cold. She couldn’t see lower than his chest, but from the position of his right arm, she guessed that he had his hand on his gun.

It alarmed her that he slept wearing his weapon. Perhaps he expected another mad animal to appear out of the dark. If so, he should not be sleeping on the ground under the wagon.

“I just need to get up and walk for a few minutes.”

“I’d advise against it, ma’am.”

So would she, but just the same she stood, careful not to wake anyone with her stiff-jointed maneuvers.

The marshal helped her down from the wagon with one hand under her elbow and another at her waist. She forced herself not to cringe.

A man’s touch was not something that she welcomed. Sadly, that was one more thing that Ram had ruined for her.

Perhaps with time that aversion would ease. She prayed that her dead husband had not cursed her soul forever.

He let go of her as soon as her feet were solid on the ground, and she took a quick step away.

She looked up at him. He hadn’t been sleeping with his hat on. The moon shone full on his face.

As handsome as it was, it made her nervous to make eye contact. It was just the two of them with the night so dark and still...and he was such a large man.

She walked in a circle about the wagon, stretching and breathing deeply. Her footsteps crunched soil and broke dried twigs. The marshal walked beside her with one hand at his waist.

As much as he tried to disguise his stance, he was ready to reach for his gun at the slightest sign of danger. It was kind of him not to want to frighten her by touching the weapon directly.

Kindness in a man was not something she was used to. She wished she could relax and trust that a man of the law would behave with honor.

He had certainly given her no reason to believe that he would not. He had saved her son’s life at the risk of his own. What further proof did she need of his high standards?

Unfortunately, what she believed and what she felt were not in alignment.

Curse you, Ram, she thought, but then, no... She cursed herself for allowing him into her life.

“Are you hungry?” Marshal Prentis asked. “I’ve got a bit of jerky in my saddle.”

Yes, she was! Hungry for food and hungry for a new life.

“No, but thank you. I’ll do.” The last thing she would do is take food that the children might eat.

“Come with me, but walk close, Mrs. Travers.”

Because he touched his gun while staring into the shadows, she did. Danger lay beyond the wagon.

Safety, she reminded herself, lay with the marshal.

He led her to where the horses were tethered. His saddle packs lay on the ground beside them. He lifted a leather flap, drew something out.

He escorted her back to the wagon, then with a nod of his head he indicated that she should sit under it. Because she was not ready to climb back into the cramped confines of the wagon bed, she did.

After a long, hard look at the surrounding area, the marshal crawled under and sat down across from her, his feet crossed at the ankle and his knees spread.

The fringe on the arms of his buckskin shirt swayed in the wind that shot up suddenly from the south.

“You need to eat,” he stated and pressed a slice of dried meat into her hand.

To satisfy him she took a bite. It was tough but surprisingly tasty.

“I’ll save the rest for the children.”

“No need...I’ll hunt some game in the morning.” In the dark shadow under the wagon he frowned. “I won’t let the young ones go hungry. Trust me, Mrs. Travers.”

And didn’t she want to? If ever she’d met someone who deserved trust, it was this man.

Perhaps her hungry days were over. Because of the marshal, she was going home. Once she got there she would never be hungry again...and neither would anyone who belonged to her.

She chewed on another bite of the jerky. The marshal sat silently watching her.

Strangely, she didn’t mind.

* * *

On the morning of the third day, Hattie spotted a tree in the distance. It grew alone on the top of a hill, its bare branches reaching toward the bright blue sky.

She had always loved trees, and it had been three years since she had seen one. It didn’t matter that this one’s leaves had gone for the winter. They would come back in the spring, green and full of life.

Maybe, she would do the same.

Just now, her spirit felt a hundred years old, but once she was back home, in the circle of her parents’ love, spring might come again for her. The dismal pall that Ram had cast over her life would lift.

“You always told us that trees were green and shady, Hattie.” Sitting beside her on the wagon bench, Joe frowned at the tree on the hill. “That looks like a bunch of sticks.”

“Didn’t you read the books that Great-Aunt Tillie told you to?” Libby asked. “Some were all about trees. They go dormant in the winter.”

“Well, except for the evergreens.” Joe turned to glance at Libby sitting in the back of the wagon. “I miss Aunt Tillie and Granny Rose. Things got worse at the Broken Brand when they went away.”

“They were better off with Colt Wesson,” Hattie reminded them, but Joe was right. Aunt Tillie had kept everyone in line, as much as was possible, with her firm spirit and her cane. She’d taught the ranch children to read even though their parents considered it a waste of time.

Hattie had cried for days when Colt Wesson had come home the first time, to bury Pappy Travers and bring the old ladies to their new home.

Maybe she ought to have asked to go with them, but Colt was a stranger to her, and she had been full-term with Seth.

Well, the past was the past. She would do her best to put it behind her. Ram was dead...and Mama and Papa were getting closer each day.

Soon their comforting arms would fold her up.

“I want to see me a leaf...grass, too.” Joe watched Marshal Prentis sitting tall in the saddle, trotting toward the wagon. “Do your folks really have shade all over the place?”

“Shade and a creek nearby.”

“I reckon I’ll need to learn to swim.”

A memory flashed in her mind and she nearly wept with the joy of it. Daddy, years ago when she wasn’t much older than Flynn, carrying her into the water and showing her how to waggle her arms and legs so that she wouldn’t sink.

It must have grieved him terribly when she ran off without a word. She would die of a broken heart if one of her boys grew up and did the same to her.

Her parents would forgive her—she knew it without a doubt—but how would she ever make it up to them?

Filling their home with children would be a start. At least she was coming home with more than her own sinful self.

“Come summer, you’ll all learn to swim.”

Imagining it, picturing the children in her mind while they splashed and laughed, made her smile.

Joy tickled her heart. She hadn’t felt that optimistic spirit in a good long while. “My daddy will enjoy showing you how.”

“If he takes to an outlaw’s brat.” Joe chewed his bottom lip, staring down at his knees. “He might toss me out.”

“Look at me, Joe.” She tipped his face up, his chin tucked between her fingers. Cold sunshine illuminated a dusting of blond fuzz on his upper lip. “What your daddy was or wasn’t has nothing to do with you. You are a good boy and someday you’ll be a fine man. My daddy will recognize that and be proud to have you in his home.”

Thank the Good Lord that Marshal Prentis had come along before the Travers men had turned Joe into an outlaw. At thirteen years old, he had already become proficient at shooting a gun. Next month he would have been included in a holdup or a bank robbery.

The marshal reached the wagon, then turned his horse to trot beside it.

“There’s a place I’d like you and the children to see. It’s a few hours out of the way but worth it. We’ll stop there for the night. If the weather’s not too cold we won’t have to sleep in the wagon.”

His voice sounded deep and smooth. It made her think of fertile soil, tilled and ready for gardening, or a hearth fire banked low but still sending warmth into the night.

Somehow, with all that had happened over the past few days, she hadn’t noticed the rich timbre of his voice.

She noticed it now because it stirred something in her. A little finger of hope tickled her insides, faintly, as though wondering if it was safe to come out.

When she thought about it, it had not been days, but years since she had felt joy over common things, like a bare tree or a deep, masculine voice.

There had been joy over her babies, of course, along with a great deal of worry about their futures. Loving them, and the fact that they needed her, was what had kept her going during the dismal days at the ranch. For their sakes she had kept on, singing when she wanted to weep and smiling when there was only anxiety behind it.

“I know I’ve said it before, Marshal, but it deserves repeating...I thank you...we all do.”

The marshal didn’t seem to be a man who filled empty space with words. When he said something, though, folks listened.

She listened now, hoping that he wouldn’t answer with only a dip of his hat. Now that she was aware of the husky, virile tone of his voice, she wanted to hear it again.

“No need for thanks, Mrs. Travers.”

Mrs. Travers. She wanted to spit.

Even when spoken in his wonderful voice and delivered with a slightly lopsided, completely handsome smile, she hated that name.

Curse it, if her boys would carry it.

* * *

Steam curled into the frosty night air. After seven hours of camping near the hot spring, Hattie still could not believe that heated water bubbled right out of the earth.

It was as close to a natural miracle as she could imagine.

And all around it, there were woods! Sitting beside the campfire, she peered up through the bare branches, watching the show of stars creep slowly across the sky.

Even though it was cold on the ground, it was a relief to be out of the wagon, where nights had been spent dodging elbows and pushing away invading knees.

The Broken Brand was a world away from this magical place. If only she could bathe in the spring, let the hot water cleanse away the dust clinging to her, she might be able to put the past to rest.

Of course, there hadn’t been time for bathing, or the proper privacy. Truly, she couldn’t possibly strip down to her skin with the marshal close by.

While there was no doubt that he was brave and self-sacrificing, he was still a man. From her own pitiful experience, she had discovered that men took what they wanted. A woman’s body was his to do with as he pleased, especially when the woman was his wife.

Oh, but the simmering water of the spring did call to her.

She glanced over to the far side of the campfire. Libby, wrapped up in a coat with Pansy, slept deep and sound. A foot away, Joe slumbered with his face toward the sky as though he had fallen asleep gazing at the branches scratching against each other in the breeze. Flynn slept in the wagon to insure he wouldn’t wander during the night.

Marshal Prentis sat with his back propped against a tree and his rifle across his lap. She couldn’t see his eyes because his Stetson was tugged over them. Judging by the slow even pace of his breathing, he was asleep, too.

She stood up quietly, tucking the coat around Seth and making sure the pocket of warm air surrounding him didn’t leak out.

After a brief peek into the buckboard to make sure Flynn was covered, she made her way toward the spring.

Fifty feet away from the campfire, she sat down on a large rock beside the water, listening to the peace of the night.

The surface of the water moved with the warm current, the breeze shuffled through the tree branches and the fire crackled. Someone began to snore. She thought it was Joe.

Now was the time to shed her filthy gown, step through the warm mist and slide down into the water. She couldn’t, of course, not with Seth nuzzling his warm little head on her breast.

That didn’t keep her from imagining how it would be, though. First the warmth would kiss her toes, then it would ease the chill out of her calves.

She would sigh at the pleasure of it.

“Go ahead, Mrs. Travers.” She heard the marshal’s footsteps crunching the dirt close behind her. “I’ll hold the baby while you soak for a bit.”

It wouldn’t be proper, undressing in front of him and sinking blissfully into the water. She shouldn’t even consider it. Putting aside propriety was what had landed her at the Broken Brand in the first place, a prisoner of Ram.

“I thank you for the offer, but...” She shrugged and shook her head, wishing with all her heart that she could say yes.

“I won’t drop him.” She might, though, if he came any closer with that smooth-sounding voice. “I have three younger sisters, and nieces, too, if that puts you at ease.”

“It’s not that. Mercy, you wedged yourself between Flynn and that mad coyote. I’m sure you won’t drop Seth.”

“Like I said, I have three younger sisters. I’ll turn my back.”

“I don’t think—”

“Keep him wrapped in the coat when you take it off so he doesn’t get chilled.” He reached out his arms, waiting for her to hand over Seth. Moonlight caught the glow of his badge where it formed a circle over his heart. “I’ll turn my back while you decide what to do.”

It wouldn’t hurt to do that much. She could pretend to consider the offer for a moment then carry Seth back to the fire.

Wriggling out of the coat, she handed him the baby. He turned around. Behind her, she swore she heard the bubbling water call her name. There would be nothing wrong with taking off her boots and her stockings. That could be modestly done beneath her skirt.

At least her feet would be clean.

“Where does your family live?” she asked to make polite conversation.

“Indiana.”

She sat on the rock, dangling her feet into the pool. Warmth caressed her toes. It hugged her ankles. Wouldn’t it be pure heaven to feel it all over her body?

She turned to glance behind at the marshal. His back was still to her. So far he had kept his word. His broad, leather-clad shoulders tipped side to side, rocking her baby.

Ram had never rocked Flynn.

“How old are your sisters?” she asked, staring regretfully at the water.

All she had to do was unbutton her dress, step out of her underclothes and slip down into the warmth. It would take ten seconds.

“Sarah’s twenty-five and filling her house up with babies. Next there’s Delilah—she’s twenty-three and a schoolteacher. Last is Mildred—she’s only seventeen and full of the dickens.”

She flicked the water with her toes. The spray caught a glimmer of the full moon before it drifted back into the pool.

“They must have adored their big brother.”

She would have, had she had one.

“Bedeviled is more like it. Go in the spring, Mrs. Travers, I’ll keep watch over the young ones.”

She stared at the water for another moment, watching the churning surface reflect the silver globe of the moon, which shone directly overhead.

“Thank you, Marshal,” she said, then stripped off the filthy rags that passed for clothes.

She glided off the rock slowly, submerging her knees then savoring the tickle of the warm water where it kissed away the cold air pebbling her thighs. Her nipples puckered with the chill but she didn’t hurry.

This was a moment to savor. Inch by inch she slipped under, the warm water touching her like a pair of tender hands. It slid over her bottom and up her hips; it rushed up her ribs and washed over her back. She felt the tingle in her breasts, which meant that her milk was letting down. She pressed her forearms across her chest to stop it, then went down, down and down, until every last strand of her hair went under.

She held her breath, feeling the grime lift from her skin. She rubbed her arms and her belly before she broke the surface of the water for air.

Her toes touched the smooth stones at the bottom of the pool. She lifted her legs then floated for a moment, nearly euphoric at the sense of weightlessness.

She filled her lungs and ducked under again.

This time she swished her hair and rubbed her scalp, watching while the strands floated back and forth before her face in the moonlit water.

She pushed up for another breath then sank down until her bottom rested on the warm stones. Water pulsed against her gently, wiping away all traces of the Broken Brand.

In her mind she imagined every place that Ram had handled her. The water erased the residue of his touch...washed him from her body and her mind.

Her husband was dead. He had no power over her.

She pushed up slowly, feeling energy pulse through her thighs. Hattie Travers was gone, left at the bottom of the pool to dissolve along with Ram.

She broke the surface, grinning.

Marshal Prentis didn’t pivot, even though he must have heard the water. The sway of his hips and his shoulders rocking Seth didn’t falter.

Perhaps she shouldn’t compare all men to her dead husband. It seemed that, maybe, Marshal Prentis was a man to be trusted.

It wasn’t his fault that her judging ability was faulty where the male species was concerned.

As soon as the warmth of the pool faded from her skin she began to shiver.

This was a predicament. She couldn’t put on her dress until she dried off.

All of a sudden the marshal flung out his arm. A blanket hung from his fist. Still, he held true to his word and didn’t turn, even though he knew she stood only feet behind him, wet, naked and utterly vulnerable.

“Dry off with this, Mrs. Travers.”

She took the blanket, wiped off then hurried into her underclothes and her dress. She hated to put the rags back on, but for now, she would have to.

Even though he wasn’t looking, he must have been listening. As soon as she slipped the last button of her bodice into place he turned and handed Seth to her.

His eyes blinked wide, almost as though he were startled.

She knew she looked different. She could feel that she did, from the inside out. New hope coursed through her and it had to show.

The spring had cleansed her, washed away the ugliness of the outlaw ranch.

Home was only days away. For the first time in three years she looked forward to the future.

Only time would tell what it would be, but whatever it was, it would be what she chose.

She took Seth from the marshal’s arms, glancing up at his face as she did.

He smiled and she returned the gesture. It had been a long time since she felt her heart light up, but she felt it now, as fragile as a candle flame.

“My name is Melody, Marshal Prentis...Melody Irene Dawson.”


Chapter Two (#ulink_7402280d-7270-5861-ad1c-042b57c6bd5b)

A pair of lovely, amber-colored eyes gazed up at him in the moonlight. He felt as dumb as a tree stump, with no more knowledge of how to respond than a dried-out piece of wood.

A helpless sparrow of a woman had gone into the water, but someone else had stepped out.

She even had another name.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Dawson.” He reckoned Miss was the right way to address her. Chances are she had gone back to her maiden name.

And a good thing, too, in his estimation. The lady taking her child from his arms had a smile prettier than the bright full moon. She resembled a “Hattie” as much a songbird resembled a mud hen.

“Won’t you call me Melody?”

It would change things, being on a first-name basis. As it stood now, bringing her home was a part of his job, his obligation as a US marshal.

Ordinarily, he transported criminals whose first names he didn’t care to know. His only duty was to see them safely to trial and then a jail cell.

Miss Dawson was offering friendship. It would make the trip more pleasant, no denying that. But once he delivered her to Cottonwood Grove, he’d never see her or the children again.

Keeping an emotional distance would be proper.

“I’m Reeve,” he said, and by the blazes, he was smiling when he said it.

He followed her to the campfire and then sat down beside her, a comfortable enough distance to allow for conversation without things seeming too intimate.

The evening was cold but with no sign of snow. It felt good to have a fire burning from the branches he’d found scattered among the trees. Nothing was better than a true wood fire. It glowed hot enough so that the part of one’s body presented to the flames grew toasty and made it easier to ignore the chilly side facing the dark.

While he considered how to bring up the Broken Brand without discouraging the new confidence brewing in her, she settled the baby on her lap then drew her wet hair over her shoulders. She fanned it through her fingers.

Even damp, her hair wasn’t the dull brown color he had assumed it was. Far from dull, it caught the warmth of the flames and reflected shots of honey gold.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he looked forward to seeing dawn sunshine glinting in those long silky strands.

Too bad they couldn’t have an easy fireside chat about nothing of great importance, but there were some things he needed to know. Things that would keep the Travers family in jail for a very long time.

“I don’t like to bring it up,” he said, deciding that the only way to approach the subject was straight on. “But I need to know what went on at the ranch. Colt’s lady, Holly Jane, told me that you had been kidnapped.”

“That’s true. It’s what they called The Travers Way. It was required of a man to go out and pluck a bride out from under her family’s nose. It was a little different in my case, though.”

“How was it different? I wouldn’t ask, but I don’t want some fancy lawyer twisting the truth and setting those—” he cleared his throat of the cussword he had been ready to blurt out “—those criminals free.”

“I understand,” she answered.

Her smile faded, but the defeated expression she used to have did not come back. In fact, she squared her shoulders and looked directly at him. The dusky beauty of her dark-lashed eyes nearly made him forget what he had been talking about.

“I don’t regret anything, mind you, because of my babies, but the day I saw Ramsey Travers walk into the Cottonwood Grove General Store was the worst day of my life.” She shrugged her shoulders and cast a glance at the wagon, where Flynn slept. “I didn’t know it was, at the time...I thought it was the best. That day, watching Ram from across the street, I told my friends that I had fallen in love. They said I was silly—I couldn’t know that with just one glance. Well...until that point in my life I had been a cherished only child... What I knew about the world outside of Cottonwood Grove wouldn’t fill a thimble.”

She turned Seth around on her lap, facing the other side of his blanket toward the flames.

This close to winter, the woods were bare and silent. Still, there was a symphony in the air, with the crackle of the flames, the bubble of the spring and the branches overhead rustling against each other. And there was Joe, already snoring like a full-grown man.

“I left my friends and crossed the street, pretending to need something—a ribbon or a gewgaw—I can’t recall, but it was something frivolous. Quite truthfully, Reeve, I was a frivolous girl. I flirted with Ram and he promised me the moon if only I’d sneak away with him. He filled my head with romance. He told me I was the first girl he’d ever kissed and the last one he ever wanted to. Fool I was to believe him.”

“You were young. Besides, I’m the last person to judge youthful foolishness. I only want to see those folks stay where they belong.”

“That would suit me fine.”

The baby began to fuss. Seth turned his head toward his mother’s breast and gnawed at the blanket where it covered his cheek.

“Looks like he wants a feeding.”

Reeve got up and walked over to his saddle. He took a blanket out of his pack then carried it back and settled it over Melody’s shoulders.

“Let me know when he’s settled.” He walked to the other side of the fire to check on the sleeping children. The deputy’s large coat had slipped from Pansy’s shoulder where it covered her and her sister like a blanket. He tugged it over the curve of her round, pink cheek.

“You seem to know a thing about babies, Reeve.”

His name sounded nice, the way she said it. It was hard to recall when someone had uttered it quite that way.

“I have nieces. I know when it’s time to hand one back to her mother.”

“Seth is settled in. Sit beside me so I can get this sorry tale over with.”

He sat down a few inches closer than he had been before, but somehow it seemed the right distance.

“We were to be married, be gone for only a day, he’d promised. We were to return and spring the grand and romantic news on my parents. I was so full of the dreams he’d spun I didn’t give anyone else’s feelings a thought. I left my folks without a word or a kiss, only a note that I later found among Ram’s things.

“I was wretched to them when all they had ever been to me was devoted. Until Ram, the three of us had been each other’s world.”

“Girls do grow up.” Way too fast. He thought about the little ones who hugged his thighs whenever he visited his sister. His heart twisted.

“Most not so thoughtlessly,” she answered, staring at the flames. “I’ve told the children my folks will welcome me back, and them, as well. I only hope that’s true.”

“Would you welcome Flynn or Seth in the same situation?”

“I see your point, Reeve, but for all I know they might think I’m dead.”

Reeve. Every time she said his name it sounded special. He gave himself a mental shake. It was time to wrangle his thoughts back to business.

“They’ll be that much more relieved to see you, then. So, are you saying you weren’t kidnapped?”

“Oh, I was...” She looked away from the fire and straight at him. “Half a day out of Cottonwood Grove we rode right past the Justice of the Peace where we were to be married. I told Ram that I’d changed my mind. I wanted to go home, to be married with my parents by my side. That gave him a good laugh and me a good cry.

“We kept on riding, avoiding towns so I couldn’t tell anyone that he was taking me against my will, because by then he was. I tried to escape once and he tied me to the saddle until we got to the Badlands, where I wouldn’t dare try to run. Once we reached the Broken Brand, Pappy Travers married us. I had to say I do. They were going to punish Libby if I didn’t.”

“I wonder if your marriage was legal?”

“I signed a license that looked real. They say Pappy Travers became ordained, just so he could perform weddings at the ranch.”

Another crime came to mind. One he had to ask about, but damn, he didn’t want to.

“I’m asking this as a lawman, because I have to.” He took a breath. Questioning a criminal was a hell of a lot easier than questioning a witness. “Before you got to the Broken Brand, did Trav—”

“No.” Silence stretched for a moment, broken by Seth’s contented sighs. “It wasn’t allowed. Pappy Travers had decreed—and what Pappy Travers decreed was law—that the men had to wait until the vows were spoken and the paper signed. They broke every other kind of law. I don’t know why they drew the line at rape.

“After Pappy pronounced a marriage binding, that was another thing. It didn’t matter if the bride was unwilling, she was now her husband’s property, to be treated as he saw fit.”

He nodded, clasped his hands around his knees and tried very hard not to erupt into anger. There were two more things he needed to ask, one much harder than the other.

“Were there others like you?”

She was silent for a long moment, and then she nodded.

“I’ve heard the stories of how some adapted, became no better than their husbands. Some didn’t. Joe’s mother died giving birth to him. His daddy is in jail—no one remembers where, though. Libby and Pansy’s mother went crazy. She walked away one day. That happened the year before I came, and Pansy was an infant. Libby said they looked for her, but not for long.”

“It’s hard to accept that they got away with it as long as they did.”

“The ranch is remote...and not all of the Traverses got away. Some got caught, some shot. Ram and his brother were both killed robbing a bank. They were buried where they committed their crime.” She looked at him straight on again, her eyes welling with moisture. “I’d like to say that I grieved the loss, but when word came...well, my tears weren’t sorrowful ones. All I could think of was that he wouldn’t be a poisonous influence on Flynn or the coming baby.”

As much as he’d told her that his questions were not personal, only what he was required to ask, her answers cut him to the quick. The few Traverses out there walking free wouldn’t be for long.

This brought him to the final question, the one he dreaded asking more than the others.

“Will you testify against the ones we have in custody when it comes to the trial?”

She bowed her head, closed her eyes. He thought she was not going to answer, but she nodded her head.

“Yes, Reeve,” she whispered. “As long as you’ll be there.”

“I’ll be there.”

It was his job to be there. Even if it weren’t, he’d be there. Somewhere during this conversation, he had changed from lawman to friend.

Where Melody Dawson was concerned, things were no longer strictly business.

* * *

“I can’t believe it,” Reeve heard Libby exclaim while she and Melody sat on the back of the buckboard with their legs dangling over the edge. “Your name is really Melody Irene? Why did you tell us it was Hattie?”

Reeve drove the wagon team while Joe took turns giving Pansy and Flynn rides on his horse. He didn’t worry about his mount. The horse was good with children, having been exposed to his sister’s brood.

“I just... I guess I wanted to keep that bit of me for myself.” Melody’s voice drifted toward him on the wood seat. “Ram took everything I loved away... I didn’t want to give him my name.”

“How is it he didn’t learn your name that first day, when you met him in front of the general store?”

“Libby, I hope you are never as foolish as I was. Meeting Ram began as a romantic lark. I thought it would be fun to pretend I was someone else.”

“You aren’t foolish. You are the best person I know. I can’t think of how we would have gotten by without you.”

“Still, I was very foolish.”

For a moment, the only noise was the sound of the wheels crunching over the road and the creak of the leather tack.

“I only hope that bringing you all home will help heal my folks’ grief.”

Reeve turned his head to look back. Libby slipped her arms around Melody’s waist, and Melody put her arm over Libby’s shoulders. They leaned together, blond head meeting red head.

“I hope they take to us,” Libby said, the worry in her voice apparent all the way to the front of the wagon. “We look like riffraff that the cat dragged in.”

Their clothing did look ragged, and that was a fact. It would be important for them to make a respectable impression. Melody’s folks might be happy enough that they wouldn’t notice what their daughter or the others had on but other folks in town would be looking, and looking hard.

Adjusting to town ways would not be easy on the children, especially Joe and Libby. They’d have a stigma to overcome, having been raised by outlaws.

Looking their best might make a difference.

“We’ll be coming to a town tomorrow.” Reeve looked over his shoulder again.

Melody and Libby glanced up at him at the same time. Libby would grow to be a beauty, once she got some food in her and her blue eyes lost their slightly haunted look.

“It’s the last one before we reach Cottonwood Grove. We’ll do some shopping. We could all use something clean to wear.”

Melody let go of Libby then crawled across the back of the wagon, pausing for an instant to check on Seth, asleep in a wood crate. She climbed over the seat back, then settled beside him.

“We might just as well go around the town,” she whispered. “What we have on will do.”

It wouldn’t do. Neither would the flush of embarrassment tinting her face. He should have realized that they didn’t have any money before he spoke up.

“There’s a fund. A victims’ fund.” There wasn’t, but he hoped that she believed him. “The government sets aside money for people in situations like yours. Just to see that you get off to a fair start.”

Melody frowned down at her worn skirt. She grabbed a fistful of fabric in her lap. When she glanced up, there was moisture warming her dark amber eyes.

“I’ve hated this thing for a very long time. I’ll pay the government back every cent. For what it spends on the children, too.”

He believed that she would.

There were women in the world who would not have made it through the kidnapping and the captivity. Like Libby and Pansy’s mother, they would have simply walked away. He admired the fact that life’s struggles had made Melody stronger rather than weaker.

He’d seen her strength from the first moment, but ever since she emerged from the hot spring, she had taken on a new radiance.

Not only was he impressed with her poise and her grit, but her sunny beauty, as well, even though she was a mite thin.

Just now, he wanted to kiss her, to pull her tight against him and taste her. He wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in a long time.

Chances were this warm feeling for Melody Dawson would stay with him for a long time after he left her safely in Cottonwood Grove.

* * *

It was hard to believe that she was walking down the boardwalk of a real town—a town less than a day’s ride from home.

Melody recalled coming here with her parents once, but the memories were dim.

To her right was a bakery with its door open to the cloudy afternoon. Out of it trailed the scents of vanilla and cinnamon.

The aroma went straight to her heart. It felt as if she had landed in Heaven instead of Tawberry, Texas.

Next door to the bakery was a milliner. Hats with pretty ribbons and bows decorated the window. The whirl of textures and colors made her want to weep out loud. Life had been dull for so long.

It was the next establishment, though, that made her gasp and Libby spin about in alarm. The name on the frosted glass door read E. M. Probst, MD.

Each night of her captivity she had gone to sleep thanking the Good Lord that her children remained healthy for another day. Way out on the Broken Brand, illness could be a death sentence. There were several small graves on that cursed land.

Somehow, she managed to regain her composure by the time they reached their destination, Henry’s General Store.

A splat of moisture hit her bare head, cold and stinging as though it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be rain or snow.

She hugged Seth tight to her chest. Beside her, Libby shivered. Tonight she would offer thanks that they would be sleeping in the hotel, that the children would not catch a chill by staying out in the elements.

Government money would pay for the cost, Reeve had assured her—just like the cost of the new clothes they were about to purchase.

She didn’t believe that, not for a moment. If she had to work all hours of the day and night she would pay Reeve Prentis back.

But Libby was right. They did look like riffraff that the cat had dragged in. Well, not all of them.

Reeve looked perfectly wonderful, walking ahead of her on the boardwalk. He carried Flynn in one arm and Pansy in the other.

He had left his gun belt in his saddle pack so that it would be safer to tote her little wild man about.

The marshal strode straight and tall. Even without the weapon he had the bearing of a man of authority. Yes, he spoke to the children and made them laugh, but all the while he glanced about, scanning dim alleys and watching folks as they passed by.

It must be habit for him, looking out for trouble.

Once again, emotion pressed tears to the backs of her eyes. Because of Reeve, she felt safe for the first time in a long while.

He carried Flynn and Pansy into the store. Joe followed.

Needing a moment and a deep breath to once again compose herself, Melody stood outside while Libby went in before her.

Libby screeched.

Melody rushed inside to see the girl frozen in place with one hand over her mouth and her finger wagging at the counter where a display of jars containing hard candy shimmered in a rainbow of colors.

The store clerk, very clearly, did not share her joy. His eyes narrowed. He swung his head back and forth, taking in each person’s disreputable appearance.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked with an arrogant arch of his brows.

“That’s candy!” Joe exclaimed.

He and Libby approached the counter, shoulder to shoulder, their eyes as wide as their grins.

“Those are peppermint sticks,” Joe said. “I recall one time that Uncle Cyrus brought some home from a raid.”

“He didn’t share them,” Libby said. “But they sure smelled good.”

On the right side of the counter was a basket of hair ribbons. Libby turned, reaching toward the ribbons. Her fingers stroked the air over them.

“I reckon the shiny ones are satin,” she said in an almost-reverent tone. “And those others, are they velvet, Melody?”

“Don’t you touch those, young woman,” the counter man ordered. “And you, boy, keep those dirty fingers off the candy jars.”

Poor Libby, her cheeks flamed.

“I wouldn’t take one, I swear,” she said.

Reeve set Flynn and Pansy on the floor. He approached the basket, patted Libby’s shoulder then scooped up all the ribbons in his big fist.

“I’ll take these and whatever else the young lady wants.” Reeve shrugged off his coat, exposing his badge. “Give me all the peppermint in the jar and the licorice, to go with it.”

The skinny man gulped, sending his Adam’s apple sliding up and down his throat.

“Yes, sir, Marshal.”

“Mind your manners, mister, and help these good folks with whatever they need. If you don’t have it, find someone who does and have it brought here. Be sure to pack everything up in nice, neat packages and have them delivered to the hotel.”

The counter clerk bobbed his half-bald head.

“I’ll be back to settle up in half an hour.”

“Yes, sir, Marshal.” The man blinked pale green eyes that were a size too large for his face. “It’ll be just as you say.”

“See that it is.”

Reeve turned to Melody, then took her by the elbow and led her to stand by the big potbellied stove that heated the store.

“Buy whatever you need. The government’s got more money in the fund than it knows what to do with. I’ve got to pay a visit to the town marshal, but I’ll be back shortly. We can all walk over to the hotel together.”

He took a step toward the front door, but she touched his arm, halting him. The supple leather of his shirt felt warm and his muscles firm under her fingertips.

“This is the first time any of the children have been inside a store. Thank you for not allowing the clerk to disrespect them.”

He answered with a nod, then went out the door, closing it on an increasingly angry-looking storm.

She went to the window and pulled aside the curtain to watch him dash across the earthen street. He was a big man walking in long powerful strides. His shoulders, hunched against a sudden downpour, looked as if they could carry the world.


Chapter Three (#ulink_c07e7f49-b305-5b0e-a03f-0bad082b00ed)

Melody stood in the center of the hotel room wearing her clean, new shift. She clenched her toes against the smooth wood floor, listening to the storm that howled under the eaves.

Unlike Libby, Pansy and Flynn, curled in a cozy tangle in one of the beds, she could not sleep. Even a simple doze was beyond her reach tonight.

Sleet hit the window with a quiet splat. She checked on Seth tucked into his crate. With his little belly full, he ought to be asleep for a few hours.

Quiet breathing, heavy in sleep, sighed through the room. There would be none of that for her tonight.

Nothing, it seemed, could ease the anxiety she felt over finally going home tomorrow. She wanted it, as much as her next heartbeat, but she dreaded it, too.

How would her parents receive her? And not only her parents, what about the rest of the town? Some might see her as a victim, but others might believe that as an outlaw’s wife, she was tainted.

Perhaps she was. She was certainly not the carefree girl who had run away with Ram, her hopes and dreams as fresh as sunrise.

Life had hardened her, and yet motherhood had made her more compassionate.

She hated to think it, but her parents might not even recognize their little girl. They would love her, still. She knew that. Maybe once she fell into their embrace, something of that carefree girl would return.

In the end, all of the hoping in the world was not going to allow her to sleep. Nerves jittered inside her until all she could do was pace from the window to the door, from the door to the window.

It was late, eleven o’clock. The clerk downstairs had told her that they kept a fire going in the lobby all night for restless guests and folks coming in at odd hours.

She paused in front of the hook on the wall where her new dress hung. She took it down and put it on. It smelled fresh. She doubted the day would come when fresh-smelling clothes would go unappreciated.

Not feeling like making a fuss over her hair, she combed her fingers through it and let it fall loose about her shoulders. She put on her new shoes then bent over Seth’s crate to make sure his breathing remained deep and slow.

Good, it would be safe to go downstairs for a short time.

She closed the door behind her with a quiet click then walked down the hall to the stair landing.

From where she stood she could see most of the lobby. The scene was cozy with stuffed chairs placed in a half circle about the fireplace. Lamps on side tables were turned low for the night. They cast the parlor in a pretty amber glow.

She heard the ticktock of a grandfather clock but couldn’t see it.

At the foot of the stairs, she paused, faced with a pleasant decision. Should she pass these quiet moments in front of the fire, or sit beside the window and watch the storm blow by?

It had been an age since she felt this secure.

It occurred to her that she didn’t have to make a choice. She could do both.

She would start with the window.

All of a sudden the front door opened, blowing in a gust of sleet and Reeve Prentis.

“Evening, Melody.” He removed his slush-dampened hat and coat then hung them on the hall tree beside the door. “I wondered if you’d get any sleep tonight.”

Lamplight and fire glow certainly flattered Reeve. The warm light cast his eyes a deeper shade of green. A shadow brushed the cleft in his chin and highlighted the curve of his smile.

If she were a different person, at a different place in her life, she would reach out and touch his cold, ruddy-looking cheek.

“I tried but...” She shrugged. “What are you doing out so late and in this weather?”

“Town marshal’s down with a fever. I told him I’d make his rounds.”

“That was kind of you.”

“Just part of the job.”

“That was dedicated of you, then.”

The smile he flashed gave her heart a skip. That would not do. Last time her heart gave a skip... Well, she did have her boys.

“Would you care to sit for a while?” he asked.

“By the fire or the window?”

“Window. We can enjoy the storm and keep warm at the same time.”

He enjoyed storms? So did she. There was something so snug about sheltering inside while everything raged outside.

“Would you like some tea, Reeve? Maybe I can find some in the kitchen.”

“I’d be grateful.”

Those long fingers of his looked as if they needed to be wrapped around something warm. For an instant, she imagined being that something.

What, she wondered, would those big calloused fingers feel like, touching the curve of her...? That was a thought she would not indulge in. Someday she might be able to think of a man that way, but not yet.

She hurried away, hoping that he hadn’t noticed the blush heating her face.

* * *

After ten minutes, Melody walked into the parlor carrying two cups of fragrant, steaming tea. Reeve was almost sorry that the blush had faded from her cheeks. She looked pretty with that high coloring.

He took the cup Melody offered. She sat down on the chair across from him.

A mixture of rain and snow dripped down the window. Wind whistled and moaned.

“I wonder if the weather will keep us from leaving the hotel in the morning,” she said with a sidelong glance outside.

“Would you want it to?” He studied the delicate pucker of her brow, wondering about the troubles that had to be churning her mind. It would only be natural for her to worry about what would happen tomorrow.

“No!” She looked out the window again. “Well, maybe...”

“Things might not go easy at first.”

“I’m used to hard, Reeve.” She snapped her gaze back to him. “I can handle that for myself. But my babies, and the other children... I want things to go easy for them. Libby and Joe have only known hard.”

“I reckon your folks will need some time to adjust. That’s only reasonable, but they’ll come around.”

“I hope so.” Her mouth firmed into a look of conviction. “I believe so.”

“So do I.” He took a gulp of his tea then smiled at her. “Thanks for this.”

“You don’t need to thank me for anything, Reeve.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. Something in her eyes told him that the gesture did not come easily. “I can never pay you back for all you’ve done for me. And don’t tell me it’s just your job. I won’t hear it.”

“You’re welcome, Melody. You and the children have been refreshing traveling companions. It’s criminals that I normally escort.”

Not one single person that he’d escorted had ever touched his hand in friendship.

“It must be lonely, spending so much time away from your kin.”

Lonely and necessary.

“I see them when I can...holidays and such.”

“That doesn’t seem like enough. You speak so fondly of your nieces.”

Being away so much wasn’t right. He knew it. But he had a living to earn for his mother and his youngest sister—and a sin to atone for while he did it.

“You’re right. It isn’t enough.”

“Surely you could take more time off.”

Did he want to confide in her about his past? The night seemed right for private talk, with the storm wailing like a forlorn ghost and the two of them safe behind the glass. So late at night, it seemed that they were the only people alive with just the tick of the clock and their voices to fill up the night.

What had happened, what he had done to his family, was no secret, but he rarely spoke of it and they never did.

After tomorrow, it was unlikely that he would ever see Melody Dawson again. Sometimes, it was easier to talk to someone just passing through your life than it was to your own kin. At this time of year the guilt gnawed at him hard.

“I can’t take the time off for a pair of reasons.” He set down his tea, leaned back then folded his arms across his chest. If anyone could understand his sin, it would be Melody. “I’m the sole support of my crippled mother and my youngest sister. The reason that I am is that I trusted someone and it ended up getting my father killed. It put my mother in a wheelchair.”

If she was revolted by his confession, it didn’t show. Her gaze softened and she set down her tea. She leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin on her folded hands.

Melody Dawson was an exceptionally becoming woman, with her golden-blond hair falling softly over her shoulders and her warm, caring eyes looking at him with understanding.

“I’m so sorry, Reeve. Would you like to talk about it?”

He didn’t want to talk, but somehow he needed to unburden himself. Given her own past mistakes, she might be the one person to understand.

“Growing up, I was the oldest. I told you about my three sisters. The girls were always up to mischief. Ma and Pa were busy making a living. My folks were jewelers and had a shop in town so they were gone much of the time. It fell to me to keep the girls in line.

“But I was eighteen and didn’t want to stay in line, myself. One day I met a couple of fellows who were my age and full of the dickens. I admired them because they were free to do the things I could not.”

She nodded her head but did not comment.

“They took me in, acted like I was one of them. I wanted their respect so badly that one day I began to boast. How could it hurt if I confided a secret? So I bragged and told them there was a safe full of money in the store. I realized later that the only reason they befriended me was to get at the safe. It was December tenth. Our family was supposed to go to a Christmas music recital that night, but Ma and Pa stopped by the store first while I went on with my sisters.”

Melody bit her lip. She gave a slight shake of her head, probably guessing where the story was going.

“Pa went after the intruders with a gun. My bravado cost my father his life and my mother her legs.

“The criminals disappeared and my family was broken.”

There was her touch on his hand again, hesitant at first but gaining courage as her fingers warmed his skin.

He couldn’t help but wonder what she had gone through to make a simple touch so difficult. For all that she flinched at the contact, her touch was powerful in its emotion. It gave him the strength to finish his story.

“I worked odd jobs to see Ma and the girls fed and sheltered, but those were hard times. When I came of age I became a lawman, in part so I could find those men.”

“And did you?”

“Within that first year. The two of them will spend the rest of their days behind bars.”

“I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have just shot them. Maybe the Traverses got to me more than I know.”

“I wanted to...almost did. The gun shook in my fist, I wanted to do it so badly.”

“What stopped you?”

“It would have been one more betrayal to my folks. They had tried to raise me to be law-abiding and honorable. Those fellows lured me from that path once. I wasn’t going to let them do it again.

“Besides, over time I’ve found that justice lasts longer than revenge.”

She nodded, then turned her face to watch the sleet slide down the window. It was a moment before she spoke.

“Have you been able to forgive yourself, Reeve? I’m not sure that I can, for what I did.”

“I don’t know that I’ve forgiven myself. But I have learned to get on with my life and live it in a way that honors my parents. Whenever I lock up a criminal, I’m doing that. It’s a hard life, on the move. I don’t think I’ll ever have the comfort of settling down in one place, but I reckon that’s my penance.”

“Someday, Reeve, I’m certain that one of my boys will act in a way I wouldn’t choose. But I’d be sick at heart if he paid for that by sacrificing his own happiness.”

“Serving up justice makes me happy.” It did. It filled the crater that his transgression had carved in his soul. As long as he could do that and provide for his mother and his sister, he would be content with his life.

His nieces would stand in for his own children. And as far as never having someone of his own—a wife? Well, that was also part of his penance.

* * *

Cottonwood Grove had not changed in three years. Melody stood in the wagon bed gazing down upon it from the hilltop north of town.

From up here, one could see that the town was designed like a wheel. Grove Circle, the business district, formed the hub of the wheel and the center of town. Radiating out from it, like spokes on a wheel, was the residential area.

Come spring, the whole town would be shaded by huge leafy trees. The open land spreading away from town consisted of miles of lush grassy hills cut by three creeks lined with cottonwoods.

Cottonwood Grove was a world away from the Broken Brand.

This late in the afternoon, smoke rose from chimneys all over town as folks got ready to settle in for the evening. The familiar scent of burning wood floated up the knoll.

Melody’s heart squeezed so tight she thought she might bawl out loud. The sights and sounds of home made her want to leap from the wagon, run down the hill and hug the first person she saw, stranger or not.

Did the boardwalk in front of Miller’s Dry Goods still squeak? She spotted Mary Weller coming out of her bakeshop. Did she still bake the most delicious cinnamon muffins in the county? A hammer striking an anvil told her that the blacksmith was working late, as had always been his custom.

And there, the last house on the spoke of town leading due west, was the home she had grown up in. Its three stories gleamed white in the late-afternoon sunshine.

It was odd that no smoke rose from the chimney. Mama loved nothing better than a cozy fire, and Papa loved nothing more than pleasing Mama.

“Are you ready?” Reeve’s voice snapped her away from a dozen memories that crowded her all at once.

She glanced toward the side of the wagon. He sat tall on his big horse, peering at her under the brim of his Stetson. She was going to miss Reeve once he went on his way.

She’d had many friends growing up, most of them she’d known all her life. But she had never taken to one as quickly as she had Reeve.

Was it foolish to trust him so quickly? Possibly, but he was everything a man ought to be and not like Ram in any way at all.

She could not deny that with Reeve, it was almost as though they were kindred spirits with the common bond of a guilty past. He was struggling to make amends, and she would be in just a few minutes.

She watched him move ahead of the wagon, riding tall with his broad shoulders and narrow hips rocking with the horse’s gait. He was a rare man, and she would be a long time forgetting him.

“As ready as I’m going to be,” she whispered under her breath.

“I’m worried, too,” Joe said, then jiggled the reins and clicked to the team. “It won’t be a secret that we’re outlaws’ kin.”

“These are good folks.” She clutched the back of the wagon seat, too nervous to sit down. “We might be a surprise to them at first, but they’ll come around.”

“Can we attend school?” Libby knelt behind her, close to her knee.

“Mama will insist upon it.”

“I think I’m going to like your mama.”

“And she is going to adore you.”

“’Dore me, too, Meldy?” Pansy asked, hugging tight to her sister’s arm.

“Especially you, little flower.” Melody turned about and ruffled the little girl’s curly hair.

Then, all of a sudden, she was home. The large white house came into view. A sob tore from her throat.

She couldn’t help it. She leaped from the wagon, picked up the hem of her skirt and ran.

“Mama!” she cried, opening the gate of the faded picket fence.

That was odd. Papa never let paint fade.

She ran up the walk. Tears streamed down her face but she didn’t care. She was home. She was safe. “Mama!”

She tried the doorknob. It was locked. She pounded on the door. Paint chipped against her fist. She pounded some more.

“What do you think you are doing?” a shrill voice called from the other side of the road.

She spun about to see a woman charging forward from the house across the street. She was not the round and cheerful Mrs. Cherry whom Melody had known all of her life.

This woman was tall, lean and pinch-faced. Her eyes snapped with indignation, as though Melody were an intruder.

The woman wore a dress that looked as if it had come from Paris, France. She had rouge on her cheeks and even a dash of kohl around her eyes.

“Who are you?” the woman barked, snapping her skirt as she stomped up the walk.

“Melody Irene?” Thank the Lord! Her father’s voice came from the right, near the corner of the house. She spun toward it.

“Papa?” she gasped.

He took a step toward her and she dashed into his arms.

“Papa!” She sobbed and hung on to his neck. He seemed shorter than he had, thinner, too, but she hugged him as if he was her lifeline.

“Is it really you?” He cupped the back of her head, holding her close. “My little girl?”

“It’s me.” Relief flooded her. She was home and Papa held her in his arms. Everything would be all right now.

“We gave up hope.” She felt his chest heave then cave.

“I’m sorry, Papa. I can’t tell you how sorry.”

They hung on to each other for a long moment, hugging and weeping.

“Mama!” Flynn called.

At last she pulled away. “Papa, there’s someone I want you and Mama to meet.”

She gazed into eyes that didn’t seem like her father’s. They used to be snapping blue, his expression always on the verge of a laugh. Now they were clouded... It was all her fault.

“I’m sorry, baby...truly, truly sorry, but your mama...she passed on two years ago.”

Papa turned her about by the shoulders. Her heart had stopped. Surely it had. Through a dizzy haze she faced the neighbor who looked as though steam might spout from her ears.

“And this is your stepmama, Dixie.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_7f2b3e31-35a3-52f3-a098-c9734cb751c7)

“Mama!” Flynn cried out, reaching his arms over the side of the wagon. “Hold you!”

If Melody had heard her son, Reeve would be surprised. The shock and the grief had to cut to the bone.

The creaking of his saddle leather when he got off his horse and Flynn’s distressed cries were the only sounds that filled the anguished silence.

He crossed the yard quickly, then stood behind Melody. He wanted to touch her in comfort but figured it would be best to simply be there.

Despair had to be slicing her off at the knees but she stood tall with her back straight and her features set.

“Why, you wicked girl,” Dixie murmured, allowing her gaze to roam over Melody, from head to toe and back again. “Devil give you credit, breaking your daddy’s heart, coming home bold as blazes and not just you but a passel of brats.” She glanced at Reeve, her gaze roaming subtly where it shouldn’t. “And a man.”

He’d met this kind of woman before. Unless he missed his guess she was a whore who had become too old to ply her trade and so had latched on to a susceptible widower.

“Marshal Prentis,” Melody said in a voice so brittle he wondered that it didn’t crack. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t even appear to be breathing. “Would you kindly take the children to the hotel?”

If it weren’t for the fact that her composure was probably holding on by a brittle thread, he would have touched her, offered comfort.

“Of course, Mrs. Travers,” he said instead. At least her father would know that Melody had been married. He guessed Dixie had been hinting that she was not.

In time it would come out that Melody had been married to an outlaw, but that time was not now.

“Come with us, Mellie,” Libby called gently from where she stood in the wagon bed. “It’s not a time to be alone.”

“I’ll be along.”

Reeve noticed the effort it took for her to speak those few words. Her lips trembled ever so slightly.

Another woman might have collapsed where she stood. In spite of her delicate appearance, Melody Dawson was as strong as iron.

While many had gone from girl to woman sheltered and coddled, Melody had grown up among thieves and ruffians. Through it all she had gained a sense of integrity, not lost it.

Joe walked up and touched her elbow. “Come on, Melody.”

“I’ve got to speak with my father alone, but I’ll be along.”

“Not on your life!” Dixie Dawson claimed her husband by latching on to his coat sleeve and tugging him down the walkway.

“Papa?” Melody hurried after her father.

“You’ve done enough damage for one lifetime, young woman.” It was fair to say that the stepmother actually growled.

“Papa, don’t you want to meet your grandsons?”

The man stopped and turned. His eyes brightened for an instant but they still seemed drawn and weary.

“Grandsons?”

“Those brats don’t have anything to do with us. They’ll only cause trouble.”

“I’d like to see—”

“Come along, Porter.” Dixie pulled Mr. Dawson down the path. He didn’t protest again even when his wife shooed him up the front steps of the house across the road as if he was a chicken being put away for the night.

Melody’s shoulders trembled; her hands twisted into white fists.

“I’m home for good, Papa,” she called. “I’ll be staying at the hotel until I get settled.”

“Your mama left you the house,” Porter Dawson answered while his wife tried to drag him inside. “The back door is open.”

“You old fool,” he heard Dixie grumble. Without trying to hide what she did, she yanked her husband’s ear. “Keep your mouth shut.”

“The sky’s clouding up. We’d better get the children out of the weather before it snows,” Reeve said, touching Melody’s shoulder to urge her toward the wagon.

“I don’t know him. He’s my father, but he’s not the one I left behind.” She looked up at Reeve, her amber eyes wide and hurting. “My daddy was so strong. Whatever happened to him is my fault.”

“We can talk about it later. First we need to get the children fed and settled.”

He wished that she would lean into him for comfort. It would feel natural to hug her close. The one thing he wanted at this moment was to ease her grief. He knew, of course, that he couldn’t. It was impossible.

All one could hope for was to wade through the pain. To come out on the other side stronger, and if not exactly healed, at least able to feel life’s joy again.

He knew she had the strength to be all right in the end, but all of a sudden it felt wrong to leave her.

He’d spent his life being a protector, but he’d never felt the need to watch over another person who wasn’t kin. Maybe it was because of the children, her own and the ones she had taken on. Or it might be that her inner strength combined with her delicate beauty touched him in a way he hadn’t been touched before.

Whatever it was that called him to her, he could not abandon her, just now, to pick up the threads of her life alone.

* * *

Reeve sat on his bed and took off his boots. It was late, the fire in the grate had fallen to embers and it was well past time to get some rest.

Unfortunately, restlessness had been his companion much of the evening, keeping him pacing the floor and watching the snow drift beyond the window.

Melody was in a fix, and he wondered what he could do to turn things around. She hadn’t returned home to the welcome of her parents as she had expected. Even the parent she had left was in no position to give her support.

It wouldn’t be right to ride off, leaving her and the children with their lives in an upheaval.

He wouldn’t do it.

Still, ignoring his obligation as a US marshal weighed heavily upon him.

He could take a few more days. After that it was his duty to get back to work, to bring law and order to a wild land. There was still the matter of a couple of Traverses who had escaped justice. He’d need to apprehend them.

A quiet knock sounded at his door. He crossed the room and opened it.

“Miss Libby? What are you doing out in the hall at this hour?” He was surprised to see her at his door, a lamp in hand and her bare toes peeking out from under her sleeping gown. “You ought to be in your room.”

“It’s Melody, Marshal Prentis. I don’t know where she is. She fed the baby an hour ago, then went out. She hasn’t come back. She hasn’t cried yet like she ought to, either. I’m right worried.”

“I’ll walk you back to your room.” He crossed to the bed, sat down and yanked his boots back on. “I reckon she’s gone home. She probably needs some time alone. Would you mind tending the others for a while?”

This late at night, the hotel was quiet. Only a few snores came from behind the closed doors along the hallway.

“I’ll let you know when I find her. And, Libby, you did right to come to me.”

“I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.” She opened the door to her room, then stepped inside. Closing the door halfway, she peered around it. “I wish...well, I wish I wasn’t too young to marry you, but since I am, there’s Melody. Joe and I have been watching, and we think you would suit her just fine.”

“I’d be honored if she favored me that way, Libby, but the truth is my profession makes me something of a nomad and Miss Dawson needs to settle. I’m afraid we wouldn’t be right for one another.”

Even if they were right, even if she was the one person in the world who was perfect for him, he had a penance to pay. He might never be able to make amends for what he had done to his family, but he would spend the rest of his life trying.

* * *

Melody’s mind recognized the fact that the night was frigid but somehow she didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel anything at all. Wind shot snow at her face and caked the toes of her boots, but she was already numb, body and soul.

Mama...just the name in Melody’s mind cut her heart to shreds. No matter the pain, all she could think of was going home.

She carried a lantern that she had borrowed from the hotel through the darkness. A circle of light surrounded her, making the snowflakes swirling about glitter. There had been a time when the shimmer and sparkle would have delighted her. Now it only made the knot in her chest constrict.

Mama had been partial to snow. She used to catch the flakes on her tongue and spin about with her arms spread wide. Then, pink-cheeked with cold, she would dash into the house to bake something warm and cozy. Cookies most of the time. On days like that, Melody would have the joy of cracking eggs and dumping them into the batter, stirring it all up then licking the bowl clean.

How could a cherished memory become a pain so sharp that it dried up her well of tears? If only she could let them out, the cramp in her chest might ease. Maybe living with the Traverses had so dulled her emotions that she no longer reacted to them.

She entered the house around the back, through the mudroom then into the kitchen. Setting the lantern on the table with a quiet click, she glanced about a room that Mama might have stepped out of only yesterday.

Lit softly by the lantern’s glow, her apron hung on its peg. Mama ought to be here, wearing it, taking something out of the oven or sweeping the floor. Melody ought to be hearing her mother’s voice, singing while she went about her chores.

With memories crowding in on her from every which way, she picked up the lantern and hurried out of the kitchen, into the parlor.

Mama sat in the rocking chair beside the fire. Melody saw the picture in her mind as clearly as if it were real. She looked away but there was her mother again, standing beside the window, holding her baby girl in her arms and pointing at the snow falling in the yard.

Melody closed her eyes, trying to ground herself in the here and now. She couldn’t let grief overcome her. Her babies depended upon her, the other children, too.

She couldn’t fall apart. Remaining strong was the only thing that would insure a stable future.

With a steadying breath, she opened her eyes and looked about the parlor in which she had spent so many happy hours. Someone had been keeping the place up. Probably her father. It smelled fresh, not like someplace forgotten and left to gather dust.

She lifted the lantern high. Once again, it seemed that Mama had only stepped out for a moment. Even her knitting lay in the yellow basket beside the chair, waiting for her return.

“Melody...baby?”

The sound of her mother’s voice made her spin toward the door. In that instant, she realized that her father had been confused. Mama was alive after all.

“Mama!” she cried and ran several steps toward the empty doorway.

Of course, Mama was dead. The voice had been in her mind, a memory so vivid that she heard it.

Once again, pain cut her heart, as though Papa had just now delivered the news. She bent in half, her knees giving out where she stood. The sob that had been clogging her heart for hours broke free.

She needed something to hold on to, something that was Mama’s. She crawled to the knitting basket and plucked out the half-finished project with the needles still crossed midstitch.

Kneeling, she clutched it to her heart, and rocked to and fro.

“Mama,” she sobbed, holding back none of the grief now. “What happened to you?”

Her mother was dead and she didn’t even know why...or how. Had she been ill? Had there been an accident?

Lifting the yarn to her face, she let her tears flow into it. The unfinished garment smelled like Mama. She breathed deep and wept, feeling that if she opened her eyes, her mother would be there.

She pulled the wool away from her face to look at it. What project had Mama been pouring her heart into at the last?

Her fingers shook as she rolled open a scarf. A name had been embroidered on the bottom edge. M...E...L...O...D... The Y had been started but not completed.

She bent her body over the scarf, bowing her head so low that it touched the floor. She began to shake and sob.

Heartache so intense that she thought she would never recover from it crippled her. If she were given a choice of staying here and living with this loneliness or going to live with Mama, she would choose...

“Mama...” Her voice cracked. “Mama.”

“Melody.” A hand touched her shoulder, and then stroked her hair. “I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

She felt strong, warm arms reach beneath her, then lift her from the cold floor. A part of her wanted to resist his touch, but another part wanted to hide in his embrace.

“I want my mama, Reeve.” She buried her face into his neck and felt his collar become damp with her tears. “I need to tell her how much I miss her...how sorry I am.”

“I know you do.” Reeve’s breath grazed her hair. “Tell her now.”

For all the good that would do. “She can’t hear me now. I committed a horrible sin running away with Ram. All the sorry in the world won’t make up for that.”

“I’ve been where you are... You aren’t alone... I’m here.”

And all of a sudden something shifted inside her. She couldn’t even say what it was. Pain still sliced her heart, but with Reeve here, so strong and dependable, life didn’t seem so hopeless.

As he carried her out of the house and through the snowy night, she let her tears fall.

* * *

Reality was no longer tangible. Nothing was as it should be. Vivid memories of Mama collided with the harsh realization of her passing. How could her mother be gone from the earth and yet so present in her heart?

Melody’s eyes ached. Her chest felt heavy with misery and disbelief.

A white fog clouded her mind. Fight as she might against the debilitating vapor, nothing seemed secure any longer.

Nothing except Reeve. Reeve was secure. His voice whispering comfort in her ear as he carried her back to the hotel was the slim thread grounding her to the here and now. Just when she thought she might be overwhelmed, his voice whispering across her cheek reminded her that life would go on. It had to.

He carried her through the dark hotel lobby and up the stairs. She thought he would set her down outside the door to her room but he walked past it.

His footsteps padded down the hall with the muffled shuffle of leather on wood. Opening the door to his room, he carried her inside then closed it quietly behind him.

He set her upon the mattress. Propriety, and past experience with a man, demanded that she protest, screech and run back to her own room. Instead, she clung to his neck, holding on to him a moment longer than she ought to.

Gently, he removed her shoes. She sighed and closed her eyes.

What was wrong with her? With Ram, she’d always slept with one eye open, always on guard.

“Rest now, darlin’. I’ll keep watch on the children... You get some sleep.”

Sleep...she couldn’t...wasn’t certain she ever would again, but at some point she must have. Her eyes opened slowly, feeling gritty. Her head ached, but she was no longer weeping.

A fire, banked low, glowed in the hearth. Reeve sat in a chair beside it with his arms propped across his chest, his legs stretched out with his boots crossed at the ankle. His chin dipped toward his chest in sleep.




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