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Once More A Family
Lily George


The Texan’s Convenient BrideTo bring his daughter home to Texas, widowed rancher Jack Burnett needs a wife. And the well-bred Ada Westmore, his neighbor’s niece, will surely meet his father-in-law’s approval. Not willing to open his heart again to love, Jack proposes a marriage in name only. But his independent bride proves more intriguing than he expected.Needing to support her sisters after the collapse of their father’s fortune, Ada reluctantly agrees to the handsome cowboy’s proposal. The transformation from New York belle to prairie wife—and mother—is challenging for the one-time suffragist. But when their little family faces the threat of being torn apart, Ada and Jack must decide whether their marriage of convenience can become a marriage of love.







The Texan’s Convenient Bride

To bring his daughter home to Texas, widowed rancher Jack Burnett needs a wife. And the well-bred Ada Westmore, his neighbor’s niece, will surely meet his father-in-law’s approval. Not willing to open his heart again to love, Jack proposes a marriage in name only. But his independent bride proves more intriguing than he expected.

Needing to support her sisters after the collapse of their father’s fortune, Ada reluctantly agrees to the handsome cowboy’s proposal. The transformation from New York belle to prairie wife—and mother—is challenging for the onetime suffragist. But when their little family faces the threat of being torn apart, Ada and Jack must decide whether their marriage of convenience can become a marriage of love.


“You should have thought to ask.”

“You wanted me to create an environment for Laura that would be acceptable to the St. Clairs.” She straightened her spine. “I can tell you right now that if Winchester Falls doesn’t get a church, it won’t become a place the St. Clairs will consider suitable.”

He sat there, staring at her. She would not look away.

“You still should have consulted me first. As an equal partner.” He said the last few words quietly, so faint that she had to strain to hear them.

“You are right.” And he was. She was barging ahead without thinking, but if he had done the same to her, she would have been furious. “I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.” He stuck his hand out down the length of the table. “They can have the land. Do we have a truce?”

She took his hand in hers. His was rough and calloused, the hand of a man who worked long, vigorous hours, using reserves of strength and vitality.

She pulled away sharply, suddenly aware that she had let her hand rest in his for longer than absolutely necessary.


Growing up in small-town Texas, LILY GEORGE spent her summers devouring the books in her mother’s Christian bookstore. These books, particularly ones by Grace Livingston Hill, inspired her to write her own stories. She sold her first book to Love Inspired in 2011 and enjoys writing clean romances that can be shared across generations. Lily lives in northwest Texas, where she’s restoring a 1920s farmhouse with her husband and daughter.


Once More a Family

Lily George




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


“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you,” saith the Lord, “thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”

—Jeremiah 29:11


For my tireless beta reader, Marie Higgins, and my fellow writers Kristin Etheridge and Belle Calhoune. Without your cheerleading and support, I would not have made it.


Contents

Cover (#u427503c5-123b-59c1-8696-7c5a7d19d086)

Back Cover Text (#u81aa703e-1c26-57cf-972f-bbda899fa364)

Introduction (#u2a25c5e1-010a-5e5b-b597-430ccfbd85e9)

About the Author (#uaa3dc074-d600-5b22-8329-ebbe112ca20e)

Title Page (#u5cff4bd1-3db5-5387-aa66-19d819de4f51)

Bible Verse (#u35b1e4d6-af4d-5d47-83ef-139a2dd76e24)

Dedication (#uf7e4388e-93ac-5831-892c-2f7c63d2eb77)

Chapter One (#ud817c5f9-9c9e-5ea4-987f-70a6dc731020)

Chapter Two (#u4d49fbcc-52b3-5df8-a169-bbea04041816)

Chapter Three (#u9ffd9cc4-494e-53eb-a703-dae35053f97f)

Chapter Four (#u4c75d1c0-61db-500b-a53c-d8e4075bd4f3)

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)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_89a19c93-6c8e-5c06-a0fb-93a9b37c0e3f)

Winchester Falls, Texas

March, 1905

Heat radiated in waves around her. Who knew that Texas would be so terribly hot, especially so early in spring?

Of course, this was the uncivilized part, not the more well-established, genteel cities one heard about, like San Antonio or Austin. Perhaps scorching heat was befitting the rough-and-ready northwestern Texas town of Winchester Falls.

Ada Westmore stepped gingerly out onto the train platform, holding tightly to her hat as the wind threatened to tear it free of all its carefully placed hat pins. She caught a glance of her reflection in the train-car window as she struggled to keep the door from slamming shut. Her black hair, so tidily arranged this morning, framed her face in straggling locks. Her dark blue eyes were ringed with fatigue. Her dress, once a fashionable shade of dark green, had been dyed the requisite somber hue for mourning. Yet the color really didn’t matter, for it was muted by a fine layer of sandy dirt that had blown through the train-car windows.

Ada straightened, shoving the hat pins more deeply into her coiffure to anchor her hat securely. Then she gathered her skirts in one hand while navigating the steps to the platform. A porter waited, extending his hand as she made her way down.

“Thank you,” she said, grateful for the assistance. She scanned the length of the platform, but no one seemed to be expecting her. Surely Aunt Pearl would be here by now. The train was late, after all, having been delayed by a solitary cow that had refused to move from the tracks and had to be coaxed away by the conductor. “Is there a waiting room inside the depot?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the porter replied. “But it’s so hot right now most people wait out on the platform. At least that way, you can hope to catch the breeze.”

Ada gave him a wan smile. This was no mere breeze, but a howling, scorching gust that made her feel as though walking might be a passing fancy but not something to be seriously attempted. She should probably offer the man a tip. She opened her reticule and removed a few precious pennies, the last of the small horde that she had managed to bring with her. He took them from her with a curt nod.

Ada burned with shame at the paltry sum, but what could she do? From her debutante days in New York, she could claim very little. Her home was gone, sold on the auction block, and all of the luxurious possessions with it. There had barely been enough for her two younger sisters to finish their semester in boarding school. In fact, unless she came up with a steady income, both her sisters would be turned away from the school for the next term. There was nothing to do but beg Aunt Pearl for assistance. With her aunt’s help, she could either find a position or establish a home of their own. Either way, she had reached the limit of what she could accomplish on her own, and she needed to make things work so her sisters would not face disaster. Ada made her way down the length of the platform, peering curiously around her as she strode.

Winchester Falls was different from New York, no doubt about it. True, there were several tall buildings nearby and the train depot had a certain charm to it, but everything looked, well, raw. Small wonder, for Winchester Falls had only really come into its own in the past decade, or at least that’s what Aunt Pearl had said in her last letter. She glanced around at the rugged landscape. Somewhere out there, the falls that gave the town its name rushed over a hillside and into a nearby river, or so she’d read in a newspaper. It was difficult to believe that a refreshing waterfall could play any part in this landscape.

Her valise had been unceremoniously dumped on the platform next to her trunk, and the porter had vanished. There was nothing to do but retrieve it and then have a seat atop her trunk. Aunt Pearl would be here eventually. She had to come. She was Ada’s only living relative, save her sisters, and she had promised to help Ada start a new life out here.

Nervousness gripped Ada as she collected her bag, but she straightened her back and lifted her chin. Was this any way to feel, when she had faced far more dire situations? She had marched in suffragist parades and been pelted with rotten eggs from jeering onlookers. She had padlocked herself to a police wagon when they had tossed her fellow suffragists in jail. No matter what Texas threw at her, she could certainly handle it.

“Miss, I’ll take that bag,” a voice drawled behind her.

Ada dropped her case and glanced up. A young man, quite tall and broad shouldered, stood before her. Though his straw hat was in his hands, arrogance and power emanated from him, from his stance to the slightly mocking light in his green eyes. There was something elemental in the impression he created. He was as much a part of this rough landscape as the boulders that ringed the depot. She was staring at him. She gave her head a quick shake.

Handsome men like this always made her feel inadequate, and feeling inadequate made her appalled at her lack of spine.

“I beg your pardon?” Her voice had a definite quaver to it. She cleared her throat. “I am waiting for my aunt. Surely I have the right to be here?”

He raked his hand through his thick blond hair. “Mrs. Colgan sent me to fetch you.”

“Aunt Pearl isn’t here?” Ada gasped in outrage. She had just lost everything—her family and her fortune—and had made a long and arduous journey across the country to build a new life. The very least she expected was for her aunt to meet her at the station.

“Something came up,” the man replied. “Under the circumstances, she figured it might be better for me to bring you to her, anyway.” He nodded, and two boys grasped her trunk, hefting it down the length of the station platform and into a handsome carriage with a pair of matched bays. After watching their progress, he tugged on his hat and lifted Ada’s valise.

“Circumstances? What circumstances?” Ada stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

He moved around her quickly, striding down the length of the platform to the carriage, where the bays waited patiently. Ada scurried after him, trying to match his pace and failing miserably. He tossed a coin to the two boys, one of whom caught it in midair. When they dashed off, he stored her valise in the back of the carriage and stood patiently, waiting to hand her up.

“Just a moment,” she panted, facing him squarely. “Why would it make more sense for you to pick me up at a train station? I don’t even know you. My aunt should be here.”

“My name is Jack Burnett.” He looked at her steadily, from under the brim of his hat. “That name should mean something to you.”

“Well, it does not.” Ada’s mouth went dry. Calm down, you’ve been through much more frightening situations than this. Remember when you were egged in the last parade? This man is just obviously mad.

“Mrs. Colgan said she wrote to you and explained everything.” He took a step backward and tilted his hat brim up. “She said that we were all set.”

“What are you talking about?” Ada was ready to stamp her foot in frustration. He must be deranged, and yet he looked perfectly sane. More to the point, the dawning comprehension on his handsome features showed that he knew more about this entire farce than she did. “Perhaps you would care to enlighten me, since apparently you know me better than I know you?”

“Sure.” His expression darkened, as though he were unsure how to proceed. “You see, your aunt told me she had already arranged everything. We’re getting married. You and I.”

* * *

Jack Burnett waited, watching Miss Westmore with a wariness that served him well on the prairie. In height she stood only to the middle of his chest but gave the impression that she could lay him low if she got really riled up. She gazed up at him, her blue eyes darkening.

“That joke is in poor taste.”

“It’s not a joke.” He didn’t want to explain the whole thing out here, so close to the station platform. Too many people would see them, and this was not exactly the way he planned to start his married life. “Come on, I’ll take you to Mrs. Colgan.”

He handed her up into the buggy, then made his way to the driver’s seat.

She sat, rigid on the bench, an expression of utter confusion on her face. He climbed beside her and started the horses. When they’d gotten far enough away that they could no longer be heard by people on the station platform, he glanced over at her, anxiety building in his chest. Why didn’t she know about the arrangement? If she decided not to marry him, he would lose any hope of bringing his daughter home from boarding school.

He should explain, since it was pretty obvious that she’d never gotten her aunt’s letter. On the other hand, when trouble brewed, sometimes it was better to just leave things simmering for a while. Whenever he and his first wife, Emily, had fought, he’d go for a long ride on the prairie. Eventually, when he came home, they’d pretend nothing had happened. This was the best way to handle it. In fact, it would be better for her to hear it from her aunt. That news was probably better told from one woman to another, anyway.

“Do you mind telling me what’s going on?” She turned to look at him, her complexion drained of all color. “You are taking me to my aunt’s home, aren’t you? I warn you, I can kick hard, so don’t try anything untoward with me, sir.”

He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or groan. “I was going to let your aunt have a talk with you.” He would take himself out of the picture until things had settled down a bit. A man’s place was nowhere near an angry woman.

“I would prefer not to wait,” she replied crisply. “After all, you say we are betrothed. Why should I hear that only from you? Unless, of course, you are quite mad and this entire scenario is a figment of your imagination.”

He slowed the horses. “I’m not crazy.”

“Well, then.” She settled herself against the back of the seat. “Tell me.”

He sighed. This was not his strong suit. Confession didn’t come easily to him; nor did asking for help. Telling Miss Westmore that he needed her in order to win his daughter back from his autocratic father-in-law was humiliating and humbling. There was no way to beg her assistance nicely, which was why he’d depended on Pearl to do it for him. Even when he had married for love, as he’d done with Emily, he was not the type to say flowery things to a lady. When he was a green young man, he would have at least tried to court a lady. But he was twenty-six and, thanks to his life experiences, jaded beyond his years. If only they could already be married, with him out working the ranch and Miss Westmore at home making things cozy. Laura would be there, his sweet little girl. She was the only reason he had agreed to this outlandish scheme.

“It’s like this,” he began, hesitantly. “I need a wife.”

“Well, I don’t need a husband,” she shot back. “I can function quite well without one, thank you.”

“I’ve known your aunt for many years,” he went on, ignoring her. “When she got your letter, she came over and talked to me. I have the ranch next to hers. Anyway, she said that your family was pretty nigh desperate...” He trailed off. It was true that Mrs. Colgan had revealed that, but not, perhaps, the nicest thing to say aloud.

“So my aunt agreed to sell me into servitude, like a mail-order bride?” Miss Westmore’s voice had grown dangerously high, and two bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks. He gazed at her. Mrs. Colgan had been right. She was a very pretty girl, even if she was a termagant. “I don’t want to hear another word, Mr. Burnett.”

“Well, all right, but you do deserve an explanation,” he began. He’d be angry, too, come to think of it, if he came out to a new place and his whole life had been rearranged for him. “Sounds like Mrs. Colgan’s letter never did reach you.”

“Not another word,” she breathed, her eyes snapping. “I need to speak to my aunt.”

“I understand,” he replied. “The justice of the peace is likely to be waiting there, anyway.”

She shot him a look of pure loathing, and he was hard-pressed to keep from smiling. She certainly wasn’t dull, and that was refreshing. Emily would have sweetly gone along with the plan and then gotten little digs in here and there. He preferred a woman who was direct. A man knew where he stood with someone like Miss Westmore.

He whipped up the horses with a click of his tongue and a flick of the reins. Anyone would have a hard time adjusting to life in Texas after a life of comfort back east. To come to Texas so quickly—and after such tough times—would be even more difficult. Miss Westmore had shown gumption, and that was a prized commodity out here. Besides which, she was very pretty. He had a marked weakness for large blue eyes ringed with long dark lashes.

As he adjusted in his seat, the letter in his pocket crackled. When he’d arrived at the station, a note from Laura had been waiting for him. She was now ten years old, and her handwriting had improved to the point that she had been allowed to write the address on the outside of the envelope. That was good. Her boarding school was all right for the time being, but soon enough he would bring her home and he’d have a family again, once he was married to Miss Westmore.

If she would agree to it.

Mrs. Colgan would surely help with that, wouldn’t she?

He was so close to having his daughter home. What if Miss Westmore refused? She was really the perfect candidate for the job—wellborn, educated, cultured and refined. Without her help, everything would be just as it had been, with his wife’s father controlling everything regarding his daughter from the St. Clair estate in Charleston. It didn’t matter that Emily had died, or that the last few years of their marriage had been a sham. The St. Clairs were such an autocratic bunch. What a shame he’d married into them. At least he had gotten Laura out of the deal.

He clenched his jaw reflexively, as he always did when thinking about his daughter. He knew to the second when he’d last seen her. It was this past Christmas when he’d made the trip to St. Louis.

Miss Westmore was still stubbornly silent, staring fixedly at a point just in front of them. Pearl had said she would write to her niece and make the necessary arrangements. Either Pearl had failed to do so, which was unlikely, or her letter had somehow missed Miss Westmore. There was nothing to do now but wait until everything could be sorted out. It was a mighty strange ride, all told. At last, the large iron gates of the Colgan ranch loomed ahead. He let the horses bound through and then slowed them to a respectable pace as they neared the ranch house.

Sure enough, the justice of the peace’s carriage was parked out front.

Miss Westmore gasped as they drew close enough that she could read the lettering on the carriage door.

“See? I told you.” He couldn’t resist reminding her. “They are probably ready to start the ceremony right now. Still think I’ve gone ’round the bend?”

She glowered at him and jumped down from the carriage, without waiting for help. Then she flounced inside the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

He stared after her. Maybe it would be better to leave her alone with her aunt for a while. He drove the horses around to Mrs. Colgan’s stable, where they would be more sheltered from the wind and sun. He unhitched them and took a seat on a nearby bale of hay. Then he took Laura’s letter out of his pocket.

“Thank you for the hair riben, Pa.” It was written in her large, childish handwriting. Then Pa had been crossed out, and Father scribbled over it. For some strange reason, that hurt. Now, away from home, she was learning to call him Father, when all he could remember was her tiny, sweet voice saying “Pa.” He had insisted that his daughter would call him Pa, which had made Emily roll her eyes. “I suppose she’ll use suitable Western slang,” she’d said, as soon as Laura’s infant burbling had matured to recognizable speech. “But I prefer to be known as ‘Mother’ to her.”

He folded the letter back up. No sense in going on until he knew whether or not he’d get to bring her home soon. It was painful to read, wondering if he would hear her call him anything again.

If he was a praying man, this would be a good time to raise his voice in prayer. But he had finished with the Lord a long time ago when his marriage had soured, and then his wife died and his only child was taken away.

There was nothing to do but wait a little longer and see if his betrothed would agree to be his bride.

* * *

Ada stared at Aunt Pearl. She had not seen her aunt since childhood, and those memories had long ago blurred to almost nothing. The tall, stern woman before her bore a strong resemblance to Father, especially in the way her every glance was a challenge. “So what Mr. Burnett said is true. You did sell me into servitude.”

Aunt Pearl threw back her head and laughed, a hearty sound that made one feel utterly ridiculous. “I doubt Jack said that. Come, now. Have a little common sense. He needs a wife in order for his daughter to come home. You need a livelihood. The arrangement is simple. A marriage in name only, and you would be paid to make the kind of home that suits his in-laws. I’m sorry my letter didn’t reach you in time, but there it is. Sometimes our best-laid plans get derailed.”

Ada sank into a tufted velvet chair that had been recently—and hastily—vacated by the justice of the peace the moment she had hurtled into her aunt’s parlor. Her head ached, pounding in her ears. Her breath came in short gasps. She was thousands of miles away from the only home she’d ever known and from her sisters. She had come out here specifically to raise the money needed to finance the rest of their education. Failing that, she would create a home for them, and they would come live with her.

Marriage to Jack Burnett, though distasteful, would solve both problems. She would earn money and create a home.

When her father died and his business affairs had collapsed, she had accepted her role as head of the family, even though she was just twenty years old. It was her duty to come out to Texas and create a life for herself and for her sisters so that they could all be together again someday. They were only a few years behind her, but she was miles ahead of them both in terms of maturity and a sense of duty. She had envisioned being her aunt’s helpmate on her sprawling ranch. She had not planned on marrying and certainly never thought of marrying a stranger. Yet, by doing just that she could solve her problems immediately.

“I never considered getting married.” She stated it slowly and firmly.

“Oh, you’re just saying that because you’re a suffragette,” Aunt Pearl replied with a laugh. She settled into the chair opposite Ada and regarded her frankly.

“I prefer the term suffragist. Adding a diminutive suffix, such as-ette, to the noble cause of suffrage demeans our work, I feel.” They were going off on a tangent, but at the same time, she had to take every opportunity, however untimely, to educate others about the cause. “But, no, that is not the reason, Aunt Pearl. I saw what happened in my parents’ marriage. Father took Mother’s fortune and ran through it like water. Mother was powerless to stop it. Once she married, all she had belonged to him.” She shuddered. “That’s why I campaign for the right to vote. Women should demand equality in all things. I refuse to suffer the same fate as my mother.”

Aunt Pearl looked at her, silent for a moment. She resembled Father so closely. She had the same blue eyes and the same steel-gray hair. Even the way she folded her hands in her lap was a familiar gesture. It was strange, being around someone who looked so much like her parent and yet wasn’t. The comparison between the two made a lump rise in her throat. Yes, she was angry at Father and had despaired of his wastefulness, but she did miss him all the same.

“I know Augustus was a poor businessman,” Aunt Pearl finally admitted. “Even way out here, we heard of his goings-on. The big fancy house in New York, the debutante balls, the jewels...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Then he started dabbling in politics. Gus always got in over his head with stuff like that. Did he really try to rig that election?”

Ada shrugged. “I don’t know. I never had the chance to ask him. He died the day the scandal broke. I’ve been too busy trying to arrange things since then to even stop and wonder if he was guilty.”

Aunt Pearl nodded. “Tell me, Ada, do you have faith?”

What a surprising question. Ada had never really considered the matter before. “Yes, of course. We go to church every Sunday.”

“What I am talking about is faith, Ada, not worship. Living out here, you have to have a lot of trust in God. There isn’t any other way to make it. Do you believe that God has a plan for you?”

“I suppose so.” Uneasiness gripped Ada. “Are you saying that He wants me to marry Jack Burnett?”

Aunt Pearl laughed again. “Child, you are sharp. You don’t need the suffrage movement, but I could see how it might need you. I am telling you that Jack Burnett is a fine young man, with a lot of land of his own and a pretty house up on the hill. He’s handsome, to boot, but you’ve seen that for yourself. I’ve known him since he moved out here with his first wife, Emily. She was a bit hoity-toity for my tastes, and I think you’ll be a better match for him than she was. You could do a lot worse.”

“If I marry him, it would be in name only. You said so yourself.” Ada stood her ground. She folded her arms across her chest.

“If you’re worried that Jack Burnett will run through your money, like Gus did to your mother, just remember that you have not a cent to your name,” her aunt warned her tartly. “Only through marriage will you gain anything. Now go upstairs and freshen up. I’ll call the justice of the peace in.”

Angry frustration rose in Ada’s chest, but the solution was before her.

She hated being ordered around.

She left the parlor, shaking with anger, and made her way to the bedroom upstairs. She filled the basin with tepid water from the pitcher and scrubbed her face and hands with a bar of lavender-scented soap. The water ran down to the basin in muddy rivulets. She was filthy. There was nothing for it. She must empty the basin out and put in fresh water in order for her ablutions to have any benefit at all.

Ada heaved the basin up, dribbling some of the contents on her dress. How absolutely disgusting. She would not feel really refreshed until she’d taken a long bath in scented water and changed into a fresh dress. Until then, this would have to do.

Ada glanced over at the window. It was open, but a screen kept her from being able to fling the water from the second story. She struggled out of the room and down the stairs. It was going to be rather difficult to keep the water from sloshing over with each step, but if she took the stairs slowly, most of the water would be contained. When she reached the bottom stair, she hoisted the basin onto her hip. Where should she throw the water? Aunt Pearl was nowhere to be seen, and there seemed to be absolutely no servants anywhere. She paused, biting her lip. Well, she couldn’t very well wander through the house with a bowl full of dirty water. She had already arrived looking ridiculous enough as it was.

She crossed the front entry and opened the screen door. Then, without pausing, she flung the water in the general direction of the yard.

A deep, decidedly male voice exclaimed, “Whoa, there.”

Ada gasped, dropping the bowl in her surprise. It smashed, sending ceramic bits and pieces scattering over the length of the front porch. Horrified, she surveyed the damage and then raised her eyes to behold Jack Burnett, his face and the front of his shirt both dripping wet. If only the ground would open up and swallow her.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Burnett.” She tugged inside her sleeve, pulling out her handkerchief. “Here. Take this.”

He motioned the handkerchief away, his expression dark and unreadable. “No, thank you. I’ve got one of my own. I wouldn’t want to ruin yours.” He mopped his brow. “I suppose you and your aunt have had a chance to talk?”

“We have,” she replied, with as much dignity as she could muster.

He tucked the bandanna back in his pocket, and a surge of some strange feeling grabbed hold of Ada. Surely she wasn’t attracted to this man? He was no better than any other man of her acquaintance, arrogant and smug. No, she must be exhausted from the journey and from the emotional upheaval she had endured.

“Will you marry me?”

“For a price?” She couldn’t keep her voice from trembling. She cleared her throat.

“Well, out here we would say we are killing two birds with one stone.” His eyes gentled, and he gave her a smile. “You see, we need each other, and marriage would fix both of our problems. If you make me a nice home, then I get my daughter. I pay you for your trouble, and you can keep your sisters in school. What do you think?”

“Aunt Pearl makes it sound as though I have no choice in the matter.” She admitted it grudgingly. Life had been constant humiliation for months now, and everywhere she turned, doors had closed in her face.

“Of course, you have a choice.” He leaned up against the porch column, eyeing her squarely. “The only reason I acted the way I did is because, well, I thought you had come to an understanding already with your aunt. I thought you two had corresponded and she had explained matters. But maybe that was the wrong way to handle things. You see, there’s a reason why I want to marry you. As I said before, I need a wife.”

“Surely there’s someone around here you know better than me.” For the first time since their meeting, a real curiosity seized her. Why on earth did this man want to marry her, after all? It didn’t really make sense.

“It’s not that simple.” He glanced down at his boots, his jaw tightening. “My first wife died eight years ago, and her father thinks that Winchester Falls is no place for his granddaughter to grow up. He placed Laura in a boarding school a few years back. I visit her during the holidays. It’s not worth bringing her to Texas for visits. My father-in-law raises such a fuss that bringing her here causes a lot of trouble. In fact, he was threatening to take Laura away for good. I can’t let that happen. She’s only ten years old, and she needs a real family. Your aunt Pearl was kind enough to offer a compromise.”

“Why would Aunt Pearl even get involved?” None of this made much sense.

“Your aunt has been a friend of my family since we moved out here. She became acquainted with my father-in-law and, well, people have a tendency to listen to Pearl Colgan when she speaks. So she was a good person to step in and settle matters before it got too ugly.” He gave a wry smile, but the expression in his green eyes was still dark.

“One of the conditions my father-in-law agreed to was that if I could marry a girl from a fine family, and set up housekeeping here in Winchester Falls—proper housekeeping, not frontier living like I’ve been doing—then he will allow Laura to come live with me.” He gave her a searching glance. “You’re from an excellent family back east. My father-in-law would approve of you. Besides which, you’re related to Pearl Colgan, which makes you okay in my book.” He lifted one shoulder laconically. “If you agree to the bargain, my daughter gets to come home. I don’t even want to wait for the end of the school year—we’d go get her as soon as possible. You’ll have a nice place to call your own. I’ll pay you wages, so that you can keep your sisters in school. I’m a good provider, and I even know how to make a decent cup of coffee. What do you say? Will you marry me?”

Ada hesitated. “I’ve never thought of marrying anyone, to be honest. My work in the women’s suffrage movement means a lot to me.” She lifted her chin. “I believe that women should have the same rights as men.”

He grinned, a boyish smile that made her heart flutter ridiculously in her chest. “Fine with me. If you think you’re the equal of any man, I’ll take your word for it. In fact, I challenge you to prove it. Show everyone out here that you are made of sterner stuff than your average New York belle.”

She eyed him warily. “You’ll get to have the family situation your father-in-law demands of you.”

He shrugged. “Sure. I’m aiming for an agreement that’s acceptable to both parties.”

Ada swallowed, nervousness gripping her tight. There was no reasonable way to decline. She had no place to go, after all. Aunt Pearl had made that quite clear. If she married Jack, she would help him to bring his daughter home. It was sweet that he cared so much. Her father couldn’t have been bothered to bring any of his daughters home. No, in fact, the arranging of schooling and vacations, trips and homes had been done by Mother. After Mother died, Ada had assumed that role for the family.

Her sisters had come to rely on her for strength and security. This arrangement would allow her to continue to provide both. If they wanted to remain in school, she would have the funds to make that possible. If they preferred to come to Texas, she would have created a suitable home, not just for Laura but also for her sisters.

On the other hand, she had never intended to marry. Marriage made her suspicious. It seemed that men used matrimony as a kind of weapon to get what they wanted, as Jack was doing now. “If I agree to it, I have one condition.”

“Name it.” He had grown suddenly still, watching her with those disconcertingly green eyes.

“If we marry, I’m an equal partner in this venture,” she replied, slowly forming the words that had entered her mind. “I must have my rights. I need to be able to continue my work as a suffragist. I must maintain my own funds, which cannot be touched by anyone. The lack of equality in the wedded state that I have been witness to has made me hostile to the institution of marriage for many years.”

He stared at her, as though taking a few moments to process all that she had just said. His expression was shuttered a little, as though he were distrustful of her intentions, as well. Her heart continued its heavy pounding against her rib cage, and she surreptitiously wiped her palms on the front of her dusty black skirt. What if he said no to her conditions? What then?

After a small eternity, he stuck out his hand. “Miss Westmore, you have yourself a deal.”


Chapter Two (#ulink_97169972-7f38-5d60-b541-32fe794a6b9c)

As soon as Jack grasped Miss Westmore’s hand in a firm shake, a sense of loss tugged at him. Another marriage that didn’t mean anything, at least in the traditional sense. That seemed to be his lot in life. Well, there was no use in getting upset. Miss Westmore was everything his father-in-law wanted in a stepmother for Laura. She was educated, cultured and pretty. So, just as with his first marriage, he’d at least get Laura out of the deal.

“I suppose we should go into the parlor,” he remarked, releasing her hand.”

Miss Westmore nodded and peeked around the corner of the veranda. “Tell me, why aren’t we being married in a church? It seems strange for so solemn a ceremony to take place in front of a judge.”

“There’s no church in Winchester Falls.” He never even missed it, to be honest. “I guess there aren’t enough people.”

“Hmm.” Miss Westmore’s eyebrows drew together. “I’ve never lived anywhere that didn’t have a church of some kind.”

“Winchester Falls is still pretty new.” He shrugged. “We’re building this town from scratch.” He offered her his arm, a bit rustily. He’d have to get used to squiring a lady around again. “Should we go?”

She nodded, taking his arm. All the color had drained from her face. She must be nervous. Who could blame her? This was a lot to take in all at once, and even more to handle gracefully. She didn’t seem the type of woman to appreciate much coddling, though.

He led her around the veranda and into the front vestibule. “Don’t be chicken,” he whispered. Maybe teasing her would brace her a little.

“I beg your pardon?” She halted, looking up at him with a sharp, startled expression.

Maybe teasing wasn’t the right road to take, either. “I just meant—don’t be scared.”

She squared her jaw, looking at him frankly. “I’ve never been afraid of any man in my life.” Then she squeezed his elbow, propelling him into the parlor. Sure enough, Pearl and Frank Lowe, the judge, stood waiting before the fireplace mantel.

“So you were able to talk some sense into her.” Pearl laughed. “You have succeeded where I failed, Jack. Of course, a handsome fellow like you is more persuasive than an old farm woman like me.”

“I am an entirely sensible creature,” Miss Westmore said, breaking away from him. “We’ve come to an agreement that is acceptable to all parties. There’s no need to be so ridiculous, Aunt Pearl.”

Frank shot Jack an amused look that said, plainer than spoken words, Are you sure you want to get hitched to that?

For his part, a grudging respect surged through Jack as he stood beside her, waiting for the ceremony to begin. She was small of stature but stout of heart. It would be hard to picture anyone coercing her into doing anything she didn’t want to do. His first wife had simply gone along with whatever the St. Clair family wanted. Even miles away, they had controlled every movement of the Burnetts. Which, incidentally, his father-in-law still was capable of doing. After all, here he was, marrying a woman he barely knew just to please the man.

The ceremony was over as soon as it started. Miss Westmore gave him a startled glance as he slipped a ring on her finger. He kissed her briefly on the cheek, and they were married. It was as simple as that.

Pearl came forward to embrace them both, and Frank shook Jack’s hand as he passed through the parlor and out the front door.

“I suppose you want some supper.” Pearl smiled at her niece. “You must be starving.”

“Actually, I prefer to go home,” Miss Westmore replied, her voice sounding tired. But she wasn’t Miss Westmore any longer. Now she was Mrs. Burnett. That would take some getting used to.

Pearl looked as though she’d been slapped but gave a strained smile.

“Sure.” Jack stepped in between the two women. “I know you’re probably worn-out.”

Miss Westmore nodded. No, she was no longer Miss Westmore. She was Mrs. Burnett now, but that seemed too strange to accept just yet. He’d just call her Ada. That seemed less formal. “Is my trunk still in your carriage?”

“It is. I just need to go hitch up the horses and bring them around front.” He hesitated, glancing from one woman to the other. The air had become distinctly frosty despite the balmy early-spring weather.

“I’d prefer to go with you to do that,” Ada replied. “Goodbye, Aunt Pearl.” She gave her aunt a curt nod and then flounced out of the room.

“She’s mad at me,” Pearl fretted, turning to Jack. “Hopefully she’ll come around. I do think this is for the best. I wouldn’t have suggested it, otherwise. You know me—I am always looking for the sensible solution.”

Jack nodded. It was better not to get involved in a family argument. He’d learned that one the hard way. “We’ll be seeing you, Pearl. Give her a few days to get used to things. I’ll bring her by once she’s settled in.”

Tears filled Pearl’s eyes, but she said nothing. She merely nodded and patted his shoulder. A prickle of unease worked its way down Jack’s spine. This didn’t feel right—the rushed wedding to a stranger, the tense surroundings. Even Pearl’s tears were unusual and made a fellow feel off balance. He hadn’t seen her cry since the day her husband, R. H. Colgan, had died. She was as tough and salt of the earth as they came. That she was crying now over her niece’s situation was downright odd.

The sooner they were home, the better.

He left the parlor and joined Ada on the porch. “Have you ever hitched up a carriage before?”

She shook her head. “I had my own curricle at home, but the groom always readied it for me.”

“Well, if you’re going to be as equal as me out here, you might as well start with hitching up your own horses,” he replied. He wasn’t trying to be fresh with her, but, on the other hand, it really was time for her to learn how to handle a few things herself.

He showed her how to hitch the horses to the harness, and she stroked their necks with a gentle hand. “Such beautiful bays. I’ve missed being around horses. Mine were sold before I left New York.”

He glanced over at her in startled surprise. “You know about horses?”

“Of course.” She heaved herself up into the wagon, disdaining his outstretched hand. “I’ve ridden every single day since I was six years old. I’ve been on several fox hunts, of course, and even tried my hand at a steeplechase once.” She leaned forward, her eyes glowing at the memory. “Father never knew about that. He would have been appalled.”

Fox hunting was a St. Clair pastime, a ridiculous waste of horseflesh and energy. He pulled himself up beside her and flicked the reins. The bays moved forward as he pointed them toward home. He could tell her, on no uncertain terms, just what he thought of the kind of people who went fox hunting in Virginia. That, of course, would mean starting a fight. He’d like to at least get her home before they had another row.

He lapsed into silence as they rolled over the hilly road that stretched between his property and Pearl Colgan’s. If Ada could ride well enough to keep her seat during a steeplechase, then she might be of help around the ranch. He’d never really had help unless it was his hired hands. Emily had been afraid of horses—the only St. Clair to be terrified of the animal. So it took everything he had to try to get her to drive a gig alone. After all, he couldn’t be at her beck and call to drive her to every social function in the county.

Ada was quiet, too, but not in an uncomfortable way. He looked over at her once more. Dust still covered her traveling dress and dark circles ringed her eyes.

“Only one more turn and we’re there,” he said in a hearty tone of voice. “Hope you’ll like it.”

“I am sure I will,” she replied, so promptly that it was obvious this was her training as a well-bred young woman talking and not any special enthusiasm.

He guided the horses around the bend in the road, but they were so used to taking this route that he hardly needed to twitch the reins at all. They passed through the front gate and wound their way up the drive to the house.

They traced the semicircle around the front and drew to a halt before the front porch. He paused a moment, savoring the feeling of the wind. His ranch had the advantage of being on a bit of a hill, the only raised part of earth for miles around on the prairie. This location gave a great view of the patchwork fields down below, some green and others brown, depending on what was growing and what had been harvested.

He jumped down from the seat and walked around to her side of the carriage. He extended his hand to help her down. “Well, what do you think?”

* * *

Ada took his hand, gathering her skirts as best she could in her other hand, and then leaped down from the carriage. As soon as she gained purchase, she dropped his hand quickly. She might be his wife in theory, but too much physical contact was unsavory, given the reality of their situation. She glanced up at the house, shading her eyes from the sun.

“It’s very pretty,” she said mechanically. Although, to be honest, pretty was an inadequate word. How best to describe this house? She was used to imposing, majestic brick facades, usually with tendrils of ivy clinging to the walls. Jack’s house was very large, too, but airier. It was a two-story structure, painted white, with bottle-green shutters framing each window. A large, curving veranda wrapped around the front of the house, supported by tall columns. Wooden lacework, also painted that same snowy shade, peeked around the columns and was tucked underneath the eaves of the roof. The comparative elegance of the house contrasted sharply with the rough-and-ready Texas terrain. “I don’t understand why your father-in-law finds it inadequate for your daughter.”

“The St. Clairs are snobs,” he replied tersely. “I’ll bring your trunk in. You’ll be staying in the spare bedroom.”

“Thank you.” She meant it, too. What a relief to finally be in her own room after what seemed an eternity of travel.

He nodded and retrieved her trunk and her valise from the bed of the carriage, and she hastened to open the front door for him. He brushed past her, carrying her trunk as easily as if it were no heavier than a small sack of cotton. As she followed, she clutched the banister for support. A heavy layer of dust stained her gloves.

The stairs creaked as they ascended. At the top of the stairs, Jack made a right turn and opened a door off the hallway. “It’s a little unkempt,” he admitted, tossing her trunk at the foot of an iron bedpost. “But it’s got a nice view of the fields.”

Ada glanced around, taking off her gloves. She schooled her features into blank politeness, but inwardly she was shocked. How on earth did a room get so dirty? Cobwebs hung in the corners of the ceiling, and dust had settled over all of the surfaces. The window was gray, lending a kind of grubby filter to the view of the fields outside.

“Do you have a maid?” She kept her voice as even as she could under the circumstances.

“Yes, two of them,” he responded. If the soiled state of the house appalled him, he was good at hiding his dismay.

“Do they have other duties besides taking care of the house? Do you share their services with anyone else?” That would be the only way such slipshod cleaning could possibly happen.

“No, they’re both employed to take care of the house and make meals,” he replied. “Speaking of which, I think you must be pretty tired and hungry by now. I can find Mrs. H. and have her make us something.”

“Aren’t meals served at regular times?” At this point, it was no longer possible to avoid arching her eyebrows. Two servants, a filthy house, meals served haphazardly—this place was in need of serious management.

“Naw, just whenever I am starving enough to ask them to rustle up some grub,” he replied, flashing a bewildered grin. “After all, it’s just me here. No need for them to go to any kind of trouble for a widower.”

Why employ anyone, then? What exactly did two maids do all day? They obviously didn’t keep themselves busy by cleaning the house. Should she throttle him for expecting so little out of life or feel sorry for him for his lonely bachelor existence? Ada forced a smile. “Well, that’s going to change. No wonder your father-in-law doesn’t want Laura to stay here. This place is ridiculously filthy.”

The grin faded from his face. “When my wife was alive, the house was spotless, and the only time he came here was when Emily was still living. So you can’t hang this one on my poor housekeeping skills.”

Ada tossed her gloves onto the dresser, raising a small cloud of dust. “You married me for one purpose—to be a wife, which means running your household. I need a home, too, and I want it to be nice. So, if you have no objection, I shall get started without delay.”

His square jaw tightened. “Be my guest,” he replied curtly. “I need to see to the horses.” He brushed past her and closed the door with a snap.

Ada sat on the bed, removing her hat pins with hands that trembled. Her life had taken such an odd turn the moment she’d stepped onto the train platform that morning. She opened her valise, removing her silver-backed hairbrush-and-mirror set. She unwound her hair and began brushing it with long, smooth strokes to remove the travel dust.

If Jack had known they were going to be married when he came to fetch her that morning, then this house was in the kind of condition he expected her to appreciate when he brought her home as his bride. That was absurd, for no woman would delight in a wretchedly ill-kept house. On the other hand, he seemed genuinely startled and then offended when she pointed out that regular meals and a clean environment must be maintained in a home when raising a child.

She wound her hair back up in its coil, pinning it into place, and changed from her traveling dress into a clean housedress. She removed her boots, which had started pinching her toes, and reveled in the feel of her slippers, so soft and accommodating for tired, achy feet.

Well, there was nothing for it. She would have to seek out the maids and put them to work. Otherwise, she would find her newfound life too tinted with squalor. She made her way downstairs, avoiding the banister, and crossed the front vestibule.

The entryway was covered in dust, as was the parlor and the dining room. There was no sign of anyone else in the house. Her slippers didn’t make any sound as she drifted from room to room. It was almost as though she had imagined this whole scenario and would soon find herself in New York again.

The house was larger than it had looked from the outside, with high ceilings and arched hallways. The furniture was—all of it—mahogany. Painted glass ceiling fixtures, with prisms dangling, were covered in filth. This could be a very fine home. Why, it was prettier than Aunt Pearl’s—at least what she’d glimpsed of Aunt Pearl’s house. If only it were cleaned up and made to look as gracious as it truly was.

She passed through the dining room and onto the back veranda. A small outbuilding caught her eye, as it had a very large chimney. Perhaps the kitchen was separate from the house. That would make sense. After all, in this heat, having a kitchen inside would make the living areas almost unbearable.

She ventured across the yard, holding her skirts above the grass. An older woman and a young woman stepped out of the building, eyeing her warily as she approached.

As soon as she came close enough to speak without shouting, she said, “Hello.”

The two women mumbled their greetings. The older woman had keen brown eyes and gray hair scraped back into a serviceable bun. The younger woman had two long braids of blond hair, one over each shoulder, but the same brown eyes as her older counterpart. Mother and daughter, perhaps?

“I am Miss W— I beg your pardon, I meant to say Mrs. Burnett.” She gave them each a polite smile in turn. “I believe you work for Mr. Burnett?”

“Yes.” The older woman crossed her arms over her chest. “We do.”

“Is it just you two?” Although Jack had assured her he only employed two maids, she had no inkling of just how to open the conversation. How should one approach upbraiding the women for the deplorable condition of the house? An idea began to form in the back of her mind. “That’s not very many servants for such a large house. Are you, perhaps, overworked?”

The older woman eyed her with skepticism. “No, ma’am. We can handle anything.”

The younger woman nodded, keeping her gaze turned toward the ground.

“Well, I have half a mind to tell my new husband off.” She shook her head with mock indignation. “Men! The idea that two women would be adequate staff for cleaning such a large house, not to mention providing meals in a timely manner, is preposterous.” She gave them both encouraging smiles. “Thank you for all you have done. I suppose I should begin hiring more staff tomorrow. Do you know of anyone who would be willing to help?”

The younger woman spoke up. “Yes, ma’am. One of my friends, Cathy Chalmers, was let go from the Hudson place when they packed up and moved back east. She’s a good maid and a deft hand with laundry.”

“Excellent. Can you get word to her? I’d like for Cathy to start this week.”

The younger woman nodded. She wasn’t smiling, but she did seem somewhat less abashed.

Ada pressed on. “Both of you have me at a bit of a disadvantage. Would you please tell me your names, and how long you’ve been in service to the Burnett family?”

“I’m Loretta Holcomb, but you can call me Mrs. H. or Betty. My daughter here is Maggie. We’ve been working for the Burnetts since the first Mrs. Burnett passed. All her servants went back to Charleston.”

“I see.” So both women had come on board when Jack’s life had been utter chaos and confusion—dealing with his wife’s death, losing his child, having to placate his father-in-law. No small wonder, then, that they had been allowed to do such a poor job. Perhaps they even thought they were doing credible work. After all, Jack was a widower and spent most of his time, in all likelihood, outdoors.

That was going to change.

“It’s very nice to meet you both. I am not from Texas, so I am sure I shall rely on you to help me as I learn what life is like out here.” Now that she had introduced herself and found out more about the women, it was time to get to work. “Mrs. H., are you the cook, primarily?”

“Yes.” Her posture relaxed somewhat, though her arms remained crossed over her chest.

“Very good. Well, I need you to make a good dinner for us tonight, to be served in the dining room.” She turned to Maggie. “And I will require your help on cleaning the dining room. Bachelor living, you know.” It was as close as she could reasonably come to pointing out the disastrous condition of the house. She needed these women to stay, and she needed the assistance of even more servants. She would accomplish nothing by using heavy-handed tactics.

“Mr. Burnett usually takes a plate and goes to the barn,” Mrs. H. replied, looking distinctly mulish.

“How appalling.” The words slipped out before she could check herself. She must not offend the two women who could help her in this bizarre arrangement. “Dining in that fashion certainly does your cooking no credit, Mrs. H. We shall rectify that. What are we having for supper?”

The older woman hesitated a moment. “I was just going to make him a sandwich.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Seeing as how you’re here, though—”

“Actually, a sandwich platter sounds delightful. Nice and cool on such a hot day. Do we have any vegetables to go with?”

Mrs. H. nodded slowly. “Yes. Early cucumbers and green tomatoes. I picked some in the garden this morning.”

“Perfect.” Ada gave her an encouraging smile. “Let’s go with that for tonight. Perhaps tomorrow we can begin making up a menu for the week. Come, Maggie, let’s see what we can do with the dining room.”

Ada strode back toward the house, with Maggie trotting along behind her.

No one could say she wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain. Jack Burnett was going to eat dinner at a proper table instead of in a barn.

* * *

Jack sat in his chair in the dining room. It was hard not to feel rusty and stiff, at least when surrounded by such grandeur. Mrs. H. came bustling in, bearing a large china tray of small sandwiches, cut into triangles. Behind her, Maggie trailed along, carrying a large bowl of some kind.

Ada thanked both women, who bowed awkwardly.

“We’ll come check on you in a few minutes,” Mrs. H. remarked.

“Just a moment. Mrs. H., have you had your supper yet? Has Maggie?” Ada looked over at both women, her eyebrows drawing together.

“No, ma’am. We were getting yours ready.” Mrs. H. sounded a little self-righteous about that. Jack stifled a grin. How would Ada handle that kind of tone?

“Do go ahead and eat. I’ll ring the bell when the dishes are ready to be cleared.” Ada waved to indicate a small silver bell sitting on a nearby table. As she moved, Jack caught a glimpse of a bandage wound tightly around her hand. “There’s no need for you two to have to wait on your meal just because of us.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Burnett.” Mrs. H. curtsied awkwardly and then prodded Maggie’s shoulder, forcing her to follow suit. They left the dining room, closing the door behind them.

He was impressed. Ada didn’t allow herself to be needled into an argument, and she showed concern for others. Both of those were good qualities in a woman.

Ada picked up the bowl. “Would you care for cucumber and tomato salad?”

“Sure.” He brushed against her as he reached for the bowl, and a shock went through his arm at the unexpected contact. He drew back sharply. It was not acceptable to have any kind of attraction to Miss Westmore—nope, she was Mrs. Burnett now—for she was here for one purpose only. If she felt the same way, she kept her composure, merely leaning forward to help him. He caught a glimpse of her bandaged hand again as she spooned the salad onto his plate. “What happened there?”

She snatched her hand back, the color rising in her cheeks. “I had a bit of a run-in with a glass candy dish.”

He expected her, if injured, to cry and carry on or, at the very least, grow faint. Instead, she seemed downright embarrassed by the situation. “You going to be all right?”

“Of course, Mr. Burnett.” She gave him a crisp smile. “Sandwiches?”

“You can call me Jack,” he reminded her as he piled several sandwiches on his plate. “I’ve already been calling you Ada. At least, in my mind I have.”

“Oh, yes.” The flush in her cheeks deepened. “I am so sorry. I am tired, and I keep making foolish mistakes.”

“That’s understandable.” He took a bite of the sandwich. “This is pretty nice, I’ve got to say.”

Ada cleared her throat. “Jack, we haven’t said grace yet.”

He stopped chewing for a moment. “Grace?”

“Yes. Of course. Will you do the honors? I’d rather not.” He tried to speak casually, like tossing a horseshoe. But, as with a horseshoe, his words landed with a thunk.

Ada shrugged. “Very well. Then I shall do so.” She nodded at him.

“For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful,” Ada intoned. “Amen.”

He muttered his “amen,” even though he was every inch the hypocrite to do so. Men who didn’t believe in God shouldn’t pray as though they did.

Ada helped herself to sandwiches and then began eating. He ate, too, gazing around the room in wonder. It looked different. Brighter, somehow. It smelled like lemons, too.

“Looks good in here,” he said. “I guess you’ve been putting those gals to work.”

Ada tilted her head to one side, as though thinking things over. “I don’t know. I don’t think they’re lazy. I think they just have no direction. Plus, if you’ve been eating in a barn, they don’t have much motivation to make the house look pretty.”

The chicken sandwiches were tasty, and so was this cucumber-tomato concoction. It was a good thing, too, because it put him in a better mood. He could go toe-to-toe with Ada Burnett if he was well fed and in a nice kind of environment. “Look, a cowboy has to take care of his horses. I learned this way of life when I was a kid. It’s a hard habit to break. Besides which, it would be silly to sit in here and eat alone.” It was lonely, too. He’d tried it once and felt miserable for days afterward.

Ada ate a bite of the cucumber salad. “I suppose I could understand that.”

He nodded, satisfied. It was pleasant here, with the breeze blowing in through the open windows. Ada looked nice, too. She had changed at some point and was wearing a dress that was less stiff and severe. Her hair had been redone, too. She was very pretty, sitting there, and her presence and the cleanliness of the house made him feel better. Not that it mattered what she looked like, since she was here to serve one purpose: bringing Laura home.

Still and all, it was mighty enjoyable to be dining in the company of a good-looking girl again, and in such a fresh, sparkling room. The food was better than Mrs. H.’s usual fare, too.

Maybe this plan would work out, after all.

Ada passed him the sandwich platter once more, and he caught a glimpse of an ugly red mark across her wrist. “What happened there?”

“Oh, that.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I tried to help lift a pot of boiling water and ended up scalding myself a little.”

He shook his head and rose. A little aloe-vera juice would keep that burn from turning worse. He went out onto the front veranda and cut off a spike of the ugly little plant. Then he brought it back inside and knelt beside Ada’s chair. She looked down at him in startled wonder, her blue eyes growing wide.

“Let’s see it.” He took her wrist in his hand and pushed back her sleeve. Her skin was as pale as moonlight, with the scald mark glaring angrily across the smooth surface. When was the last time he’d been this close to a lady? Her skin was so soft under his callused fingers.

He was acting like a fool. He forced himself back to the problem at hand.

The burn was bad but not the worst he’d laid eyes on. He squeezed some of the juice from the plant onto the wound.

“What on earth is that?” Ada demanded. “It looks like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s aloe vera. It’s a desert plant. It grows wild out in west Texas,” he replied, gently rubbing the juice onto the wound. She flinched and held her breath. He took care to be gentle, given that her skin was raw and her wrist delicate. “I took a cutting years ago, when I was bringing some cattle through Odessa. Folks out West use it to help heal burns.” He paused, surveying his work while trying to maintain calm. Ada was now a permanent member of the household, and he needed to get used to being around her without thinking of her as a woman—if that made any sense. “Does that feel better?”

“Yes, surprisingly.” Ada stared at her wound. “It doesn’t sting nearly as much.”

“Good.” He released her hand and tossed the aloe onto the table. She looked at it pointedly, but he refused to pick it up. He would eat at a table and even eat vegetables, but he would not tidy up in the midst of a meal.

Was now a good time to bring up the trip they’d have to make? Probably not, but then, there might not ever be a perfect time. He took a bite of his chicken sandwich to fortify him for the task ahead.

“So,” he began in what he hoped was a conversational tone, “are you up for a honeymoon?”


Chapter Three (#ulink_4881464d-65e1-551f-8358-7a35635bac51)

Ada stood on the train platform, waiting for her husband’s private train cars to be hitched to the train itself. Just a few short days ago, she had occupied this same spot, waiting for Aunt Pearl and an unknown future. Now she was waiting to go to St. Louis, to collect the stepdaughter she’d never met. An unlikely honeymoon, but one completely in keeping with their arrangement.

She glanced down at the pocket watch on her lavender lace lapel. She had changed to half-mourning after her first day in the Burnett home and not just because her sudden matrimony should, at least to outsiders, seem like a cause for celebration. No, it was merely that her frocks in shades of purple and gray were made of lighter fabrics for summer wear and thus more practical for life out on the prairie.

“Well, don’t you look pretty as a picture,” a female voice crowed behind her.

Ada jumped and whirled around. “Aunt Pearl,” she gasped. She was not really ready to see her aunt yet. A large part of her was still angry at being traded as casually as a mule, even though she admitted it was a practical solution to her problems.

Some of her hesitation must have shown on her face, for Aunt Pearl held up her gloved hands in protest. “Now, now, I’m not here for a lecture, Ada. I just wanted to say goodbye and God be with you. Lord knows that poor child has been through enough already. It will be such a wonderful thing for her to be home with her daddy.”

Sudden nervousness flooded Ada’s being. She wasn’t ready for this. She was not prepared to be this great a part of a stranger’s life. What if she couldn’t measure up? She glanced down at her burned wrist and bandaged hand, recalling accident after accident she’d had in the past few days. Sugar in the saltshaker. Baking soda in the bread instead of baking powder. So much starch in Jack’s shirts that they stood up by themselves. One broken item after another. True, there were two maids to do the work, but she insisted on helping. The only problem was, her attempts to assist met with constant catastrophes. If she was this big a failure at being a wife, how much more of one could she possibly be as a mother?

“Aunt Pearl, I can’t do this,” she cried. It was a relief to voice her fears aloud. “I know it’s part of the bargain that I make sure the house is clean and presentable, but it isn’t ready for a child. I’ve been working with his maids, but they are used to slacking because Jack won’t raise a fuss. It’s been his bachelor headquarters for years. I don’t know how to take on this role. I’m not ready to be anyone’s mother.” She held up her hand. “I can’t even take care of myself.” She was angry at Pearl, to be sure, but Pearl was family. She could show a little weakness to her own flesh and blood.

“Don’t take on so, child. You’ve done more in a few days than most women could do in a year. Besides, remember what I told you. It’s time for you to grow in faith. This is a good chance to see the hand of God in your life.” Her aunt gave her a hearty slap on the back. “Now, I heard you hired Cathy. Do you need more servants than that? Has Cathy started yet?”

“Yes, and yes.” Ada gazed at her aunt in wonder. “How did you know I had hired anyone?”

Pearl laughed, and the ruby earrings she wore bobbed against her cheeks. “Ada, you need to know something about life in Winchester Falls. It’s not like living in New York, where all you need to worry about is Mrs. Astor’s Four Hundred. Here, you have four hundred people in all, including every single family and every single servant. Word gets around. We’ve got no one else to gossip about.”

Ada was no stranger to tittle-tattle. The Four Hundred her aunt spoke of so lightly had begun cutting her out as soon as her father’s scandal had broken. After enduring the petty slights of her former friends for weeks, a complete change had seemed in order. That was, after all, how she’d decided that making a clean break and starting life anew in Texas was the only sensible course of action open to her.

Yet here she was, failing already.

“Listen, Aunt Pearl,” she added hastily, “I need your assistance. The house is improving, but I’m afraid, now that I’m leaving, it will fall right back into chaos. I can’t bring Laura home to a dusty, musty house. Would you help me to make sure the servants are doing the work? I can send telegrams at every stop.”

“Why sure,” Aunt Pearl replied. She gave Ada a searching look. “Are you so desperate for help that you would ask anyone right now? Or am I forgiven?”

Ada stiffened. Blood had to be thicker than all the problems in the world. “I don’t know what to say, Aunt Pearl. I mean, I’m angry still that I was pressured into marrying Jack Burnett, but I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

“That’s good enough for me.” The older woman wrapped Ada in a tight hug.

“Hey, Pearl,” Jack called, making his way up the station platform. “Did you come to see us off?”

“I sure did.” Pearl broke free from Ada and gave Jack the same tight embrace she had given Ada. They really must think of each other as family. How very odd. “Take care of my gal, there, Jack. And bring Laura home to me safely. I don’t think I’ve seen her since she was knee-high to a june bug.”

Ada stood slightly apart from them, watching her aunt. Funny, Aunt Pearl had been raised in the same family as Father. She went to an elite boarding school and women’s college. She had made her debut at the age of sixteen. But when she married R. H. Colgan, it was as though all those years of polish and breeding fell away. Here she was, using outlandish phrases and hugging them all like children. Father never embraced his daughters and certainly never used hyperbole or exaggeration.

Was Texas responsible for Aunt Pearl’s roughened character?

Would Ada be the same way in twenty years?

What an appalling thought.

Jack offered Ada his arm and, with a final wave to Aunt Pearl, Ada followed him down the platform and to their waiting car. Then he helped her make her way up the steps. The pressure of his arm was both familiar and strangely exhilarating. She must be more nervous than she thought. She certainly wasn’t developing any kind of silly, girlish feelings for Jack Burnett, for that would never do. She was a strong and sensible suffragist.

As she entered the car, Ada looked around in awe. Not that she hadn’t seen grand living spaces before, but a private train car so luxuriously appointed rather took her breath away. The ceiling was padded with sky-blue satin, and heavy velvet draperies shut out the blazing morning sun. Brass and crystal lamps glowed invitingly on graceful mahogany tables.

She sank onto a leather armchair and placed her feet up on a deep blue hassock. “This is lovely. I had no idea you owned such a fine thing. When you said private cars, I thought for sure you meant something in which you hauled cattle at one time or another.” Teasing Jack seemed to be the only way to get along with him. In the brief time she had known him, she realized one thing about Jack Burnett. If things got too serious, he would simply leave for hours at a time.

He took off his hat and cast it into a nearby chair. “Nope. When I was first married, I commissioned this. We’ve got a separate sleeper car, too, with bedrooms for each member of the family. I wanted for us all to travel in comfort. We didn’t use it much, though.” He frowned deeply, as he usually did when speaking about his first wife.

She didn’t know what to say. When he went silent like that, he would usually stalk off. There was no way he could do that on board a train. So they had to find a way to be polite in each other’s company for the duration of the journey. How long would she have to strain at being civil?

“When will we reach St. Louis?” she asked, stripping off her gloves and laying them beside her on the table. She had been living with him now for days, but she had her own room and he rarely stayed for long in the house. The close proximity forced upon them by the car made even small gestures like removing her gloves seem somehow more intimate. Perhaps the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks could be blamed on Texas weather.

“In about a day and a half.” His handsome face had settled into a brooding expression. “But we won’t see Laura right away.”

“Why not? Won’t her school allow it?” Ada withdrew her hat pins. If she stayed busy and kept peppering Jack with questions, perhaps her ridiculous blushing would pass by unnoticed. It was absolutely appalling for a young, serious suffragist to be simpering like a debutante at her first ball. She was stronger than that...wasn’t she? She laid her heavy hat to one side.

“The school will.” Jack rubbed his thumb meditatively over his lower lip. “But my father-in-law might not.”

* * *

Jack strode around the perimeter of the Grand Hall of Union Station, jostled along by hundreds of fellow travelers. The sunlight streaming in from the stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors onto the faces of the passersby. His mouth was dry and his brain feverish. If only Ada would hurry up. But she had insisted on taking time to change and arrange her hair in one of the station dressing rooms.

“Well, why can’t you dress here?” he had demanded, waving his arm at the ridiculously luxurious private car.

“I want to look my best, and there is no full-length mirror here,” she had stated flatly. “I need to see the overall effect of my costume. After all, we have one opportunity to impress your father-in-law.”

So here he was, pacing the crowded station, as Ada primped and preened. He should be happy that she was working so hard to be presentable to his father-in-law. As it was, his anger at having to dine with the old man and meet with his approval yet again was galling.

He took out the souvenir he had purchased for Laura from one of the peddlers in the station. It was a little doll, dressed in silk and lace. A banner wrapped diagonally across her middle read “St. Louis.”

A ten-year-old would still play with dolls, wouldn’t she? He stuffed it back in his pocket.

The clock tower, a massive structure that rose majestically to the ceiling, tolled the hour. Out of habit, he checked his pocket watch to make sure it was keeping accurate time. It was. Both clocks showed that unless Ada hurried up, they would be late to meet Edmund St. Clair.

He circled back around to the ladies’ waiting area and dressing rooms, and as he grew closer, Ada stepped out. She was swaying against the press of humanity swirling around her, but in the midst of utter pandemonium, she was an oasis of calm. He caught his breath a little, looking at her. She was stunning, as pretty as the society debutante she had been raised to be. She had changed into a violet dress trimmed with black ribbons, the dark colors setting off her pale complexion and vivid blue eyes. A wide black hat trimmed with purple feathers was settled atop the waves of her black hair.

He’d grown so used to seeing her in simple housedresses that he didn’t realize how lovely she could be.

He’d have to guard his heart carefully with this one. He had been turned by a beautiful face before, and it had ended in disaster. There was no sense in repeating the process.

“Jack,” she called, raising her voice over the din.

He held up his hand in greeting and made his way over to her side.

“I declare, I’m not used to crowds any longer,” she gasped with a little laugh. “Though I’ve only been in Winchester Falls a short time, it seems to have rubbed off on me already. This seems quite daunting.”

“It’ll be fine. We only have a little ways to go. St. Clair is meeting us at the train-station restaurant.” He tucked her arm into his elbow and ventured out into the milling throngs of travelers. Somehow, he felt calmer now that Ada was with him. So many times he had argued with his in-laws alone. Now he had someone on his side. True, she was somewhat forced to be on his side, but it was comforting, anyway.

He steered them over to the restaurant. St. Clair stood at the entrance, leaning on an ebony walking stick. The old man was as immaculate as always in his Savile Row suit, with a carnation in his buttonhole and his gray hair brushed sleekly back from his head. The old man took in Ada, surveying her from the crown of her hat to the tips of her boots peeking out from beneath her skirt.

“My dear,” he enthused, his thick Southern accent making it sound as though he said mah deah. He came closer and held his hand out to Ada. “You must be Miss Westmore.”

“Mrs. Burnett,” she corrected him, giving him a graceful smile. “Mr. St. Clair, I believe?”

“You believe correctly,” he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand. Then he turned his gaze to Jack. “Burnett,” he barked.

“Sir,” Jack replied. There was no shaking of hands, and no politeness in their meeting. There had been too much ugliness between them over the years.

St. Clair turned his attention back to Ada. “Come, my dear. I’ve reserved a table for our party.” He offered her his elbow.

With a puzzled glance at Jack, Ada broke free of his hold and took St. Clair’s elbow. Jack followed behind them into the restaurant, already beginning to seethe. The old man knew exactly what it took to enrage him, and already he was making progress.

St. Clair held Ada’s chair for her. Once she was settled, the two men sat. The glasses on the table were filled with water and lemonade, and no menus awaited their perusal.

“I hope it’s all right, Mrs. Burnett, but I presumed to order our meal,” the old man drawled. He cast a malicious glance in Jack’s direction. “If I let your husband order, he might make us eat a bowl of chili con carne with cornbread muffins.” He chuckled in appreciation of his dig at Jack.

Jack would not be riled. Too much was at stake. “Yup,” he responded, keeping his tone light. “There’s nothing like a good bowl of chili and corn bread.”

Ada was smiling, but it was a smile he had come to know as being one of tremendous strain and not of genuine good feeling. She took a sip of her lemonade. “I’m sure that any meal will be quite fine, Mr. St. Clair. In fact, I relish this opportunity to know you better. I understand that your daughter was married to Mr. Burnett.”

“Yes, my only daughter, Emily. She was a rare creature, Mrs. Burnett, as blond as you are brunette. I have no idea what such a gentle, sweet child saw in Jack Burnett, I can tell you that.” St. Clair flicked an appraising glance at Jack. “He came out to our home in Charleston to buy a few of my horses, and they fell in love, I suppose. They eloped and he carried her back to Texas. Emily died only a few years later.”

“I am sorry to hear it.” Ada looked at a loss for words. She glanced at Jack, as though appealing to him to help carry the conversational load.

Although he’d like to rebut the older man’s story—and many detestable remarks hung on Jack’s tongue—he wouldn’t do it. Instead, he fisted his hands on his lap and gritted his teeth to keep his thoughts from spilling forth. Anything he said would make St. Clair angrier and more stubborn. Ada had a job to do. It was up to her charm and wit to bring Laura home. He had tried too many times in the past and failed.

St. Clair nodded as the waitress approached their table, bearing a tray of toast rounds and caviar. Jack despised caviar. He had never understood why such a disgusting thing was considered a delicacy. But if he refused, St. Clair would start ribbing him about being a backward cowboy, and he could only take so much of that before he snapped. So he helped himself to two, ready to choke them down.

“So, Mrs. Burnett, you are of the Westmore family in New York. I knew of your father, Augustus. I never met him personally, but one hears of such a powerful man, you know.” St. Clair took a careful bite of his caviar. “Tell me, did the scandal surrounding his memory have a basis in truth? The word is, he was trying to fix a local election.”

Ada grew pale and pushed her toast round away. “I never had a chance to ask him, Mr. St. Clair. He died before I could learn what really happened. Of course, I don’t believe it has basis in fact.”

“Pardon my asking, my dear.” St. Clair leaned across the table, his gray hair glinting in the sunlight. “It’s just that I have to make certain that Laura is going to a good home. I want her to be raised in a proper manner, in genteel surroundings. Now, as you have seen yourself, Winchester Falls is a rather rough-and-ready town.”

Ada inclined her head a trifle. “Yes, it is.” She fixed St. Clair with an understanding look. “On the other hand, I must say that Jack’s deep love for his daughter is abundantly clear to me. I think that having a loving parent—two loving parents, that is—accounts for as much or even more than a polished atmosphere.”

Jack glanced over at Ada. No one except Pearl Colgan had defended him to the St. Clair family. She gave him a warm smile, her blue eyes twinkling.

All talk lapsed as the waitress took away the caviar and replaced it with bowls of clear chicken broth. This was better than the previous course but, still, hardly filling.

St. Clair sipped at his soup. “You are active in the suffragette movement, are you not?” He spoke so abruptly that Ada choked on her broth. The old man waited until she had taken a sip of water and then pressed on. “I’m not certain that I want Laura exposed to progressive ideals.”

Ada, red faced from swallowing wrong or from the line of questioning—or possibly both—turned to Jack, the light of appeal in her blue eyes.

He gave in to pity. She was doing the best she could, and he needed to step up, too. He turned to the old man. “Laura’s my daughter, St. Clair,” he responded. “If I don’t mind Ada as her mother, then neither should you.”

These were fighting words, and he knew it. On the other hand, he wasn’t going to permit St. Clair attacking Ada. She was trying to help. Because of her, he might get Laura back. If the old man wanted to mock him for being a rube, he could have at it. These insults were nothing new. Insulting Ada was an entirely different matter.

St. Clair glared at him. “You know full well that my daughter’s will gave me authority over certain aspects of Laura’s life. She didn’t trust you to do much of anything with Laura in the event of her death.”

Jack fixed his father-in-law with a defiant stare, all the rage he had initially felt over Emily’s will rushing back, filling him with anger so potent that he clenched his fists.

The waitress chose that opportune moment to clear the soup bowls away and brought the main course.

“Chicken à la King,” Ada murmured appreciatively. “I haven’t had this since leaving New York. It’s one of my favorites. Our cook had just learned the recipe.”

Jack shifted his attention to her. How could she even have an appetite now? Was the woman made of stone? Yet, as he glowered at her, her hands trembled when she took up her fork. Her face was now drained of all color.

Her enthusiasm was a ruse to break the tension. She took an unsteady bite of her dinner, and as she chewed, her jaw squared. She was girding herself, in the same way he had done, for battle. Ada was nobody’s fool. By this time she had surely learned his father-in-law’s manner. First, flattery. Later, he would go for the kill.

“I understand your hesitation, Mr. St. Clair,” she continued, as though the fracas between the two men had never happened. “After all, you are Laura’s grandfather. She is your treasure, too. I assure you that my intention is to help bring her up as a young woman should be raised.”

St. Clair nodded, looking at Ada, and his keen brown eyes narrowed. “I worry that if I release her to your care, I’ll never see her again. St. Louis is neutral territory. If she goes with you to Winchester Falls, then I would probably have to journey to that rustic community just to see her.”

Ada shot Jack a pleading glance. “I’m sure my husband would have no objection if Laura came to visit.”

“I want her to come to Evermore, our family home, for two weeks every year. The rest of her family—cousins, aunts, uncles—wish to see her as much as I do.” St. Clair’s voice took on a clipped tone. He was in full bargaining mode now.

“One week,” Jack countered. He was feeling reckless. St. Clair had managed to rile him up enough that he was beginning to enjoy the thought of needling the old man.

“It will take at least a few days for her to journey there and back,” Ada spoke up. “Two weeks must include her traveling.”

“Two weeks if Ada goes along as her chaperone,” Jack snapped. Ada had no business lengthening the visit without his consent.

“Don’t you want to go?” Ada asked, her eyes widening.

“I’m never setting foot on Evermore soil again.” He leaned across the table, staring down his father-in-law.

“That, young man, is certainly fine with me,” St. Clair retorted.

Ada gasped. “Gentlemen.” It was the first time she had intervened without merely trying to change the subject.

Things must be too far gone if she was stepping in like this. A hollow feeling filled the pit of Jack’s stomach. Had he allowed himself to be goaded to the point that there was no way Laura could come home?

“Perhaps it would be best if I laid out a few plans,” Ada continued, giving each man a glare that easily said, clearer than words, Behave yourselves. “After all, each of you feels passionately about Laura’s welfare. That speaks highly of both your characters. Let us, then, come to an arrangement that will benefit the child, and not one borne of a grudge.”

St. Clair opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Ada quieted him with a wave of her hand.

“Your first concern was of my pedigree, Mr. St. Clair. As you have demonstrated, you know as much about my family as most people do. If my family background is repugnant to you, I beg you would say so now. It is still difficult for me to speak of my father’s passing. As much as he was flawed, I loved him in my way and I miss him.”

St. Clair flushed. He shook his head. “No, my dear. I have no objection to your family. Quite the contrary, in fact. The Westmores have been known in social circles for generations.”

Ada turned to Jack. “Your father-in-law is worried that he will not get to see Laura if she is removed from school. No matter how you feel about the man, he is Laura’s grandfather. A few visits to Charleston for her to know her mother’s family is not too much for him to ask.” Though her voice was sharp, her eyes held a beseeching look.

“I would like, in addition to a summer visit, to have regular reports on her progress,” St. Clair continued. “If at any time I feel Laura is not receiving adequate care, I will bring her back to boarding school.”

Jack’s anger, which had begun to cool, hit the boiling point once again. He opened his mouth to tell the old man to jump in a river, but Ada touched his arm under the tablecloth. He glanced over at her. She gave him a barely perceptible shake of her head.

Her touch was calming. He took a deep breath, willing his fury to ebb.

“I can send weekly letters, if you wish,” Ada replied. She started to withdraw her hand from his arm, but he grabbed it and held on tightly. He needed her. She was the only thing standing between him and disaster.

St. Clair looked skeptical, as though he didn’t expect Ada to be entirely honest when writing. She returned his stare evenly. Jack glared at the old man, too. If he spoke just one word against his wife— He was already thinking of Ada as his wife. That was an odd sensation. Even after he had been married to Emily for a year, he didn’t feel as close to her as he did to Ada.

“I suppose that will be sufficient, although I might have my man of affairs stop in now and then, when he can be spared,” St. Clair retorted. “And the summer visit?”

“Laura can go if Ada accompanies her,” Jack repeated shortly. It was all he could promise. He looked over at Ada, and she gave him an encouraging smile. It felt good and right to receive her support in all this. She had done so much more for him than he expected. In times past, a meeting like this would have drawn to an unsuccessful close much, much sooner.

Ada turned back to St. Clair. “Is that agreeable to you, sir?”

“I should be happy to have you as my guest,” St. Clair replied with a courtly little bow.

Ada took a sip of water. Her hand, still clutched in his, trembled.

Jack squeezed her hand gently and glanced coolly over at his father-in-law. She deserved the same sort of backup that she had bestowed on him. It was going to be all right if St. Clair stopped being stubborn. Would the old man relent? Ada had promised more than Jack had ever consented to before. Was this enough? Or would the autocrat continue pulling all the strings in Jack’s life?

“So?” Jack snarled.

St. Clair ignored him completely and focused his attention on Ada. “I would never give my approval without you here, my dear. I think, though, that aside from some troubling progressive tendencies, you would make a good stepmother for Laura.”

Ada gave an uncertain laugh. Jack’s gut wrenched. How could they continue bantering when so much was at stake?

“Does that mean we can take her home?” Ada’s voice was high and tremulous.

“Yes.” St. Clair beckoned the waitress over. “Now, let’s have some chocolate cake, shall we? Negotiations of this magnitude are deserving of a little reward.”

* * *

Ada’s knees still trembled, even though she sat in a carriage and the restaurant and train station were far behind them. She could still feel Jack’s touch burning through her glove despite the fact that he’d stopped holding her hand the moment dessert had been ordered. If only Jack would say something soon. His continued silence, since they had left the restaurant, was troubling. Part of her wanted to commiserate with him on their harrowing negotiations, and another part of her wondered if his silence was, in actuality, a reaction to finally getting what he wanted. The entire luncheon had been a sort of battle, and she craved the opportunity to decompress with her fellow soldier.

The driver negotiated the heavy afternoon traffic as they rolled through the streets on the way to Mrs. Erskine’s Seminary. She had to stop thinking of Jack and focus instead on her role. In just a few short minutes, she would meet Laura—her daughter. She was Laura’s stepmother now and would be charged with her care. Make no mistake about it, St. Clair would follow the progress of the entire family. If her guardianship failed to meet with his approval, Laura would likely be shipped right back to St. Louis. No, despite what he said about boarding school, he would probably insist on her coming home to Charleston.

She would have to send a few more telegrams to Aunt Pearl, making certain the house looked absolutely spotless.

Ada glanced over at her husband, who was still brooding out the window. Silhouetted against the curtains, he cut a very handsome figure. Even sitting, it was obvious that he was quite tall and powerful. A sudden burst of loneliness struck her as she looked over at him. What was the use of being a wife—or a paid mother, or whatever you could call her place in his family—if she had no one to confide in? It could be nice to talk to Jack.

Well, Jack wasn’t going to say anything. It was up to her to break the tension, just as she had when their argument had heated up in the restaurant.

“In a few moments, you’ll get to see her again,” she said with a smile. “Are you ready?”

“No,” he admitted, his voice on edge. He settled back against the cushions and then straightened abruptly. “I wish he’d hurry up.”

“Traffic makes for slow going,” she responded. He was nervous. Well, that was understandable. She was, too.

“Why’d you say you’d let Laura go there in the summer?” It wasn’t a mere question. He was demanding an answer.

“Because the situation was quickly unraveling.” She was not going to get a thank-you from him, not from the sound of it. “Moreover, it really isn’t too much for him to ask. Laura should know her mother’s people.”

“I don’t like the St. Clairs,” he responded. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“You made that abundantly clear,” she retorted. If only they could get back to the teasing manner to which she had grown accustomed. “I wasn’t overly fond of him myself. He was rather rude about my family and about my work in the suffrage movement.”

Jack turned to face her. Ada struggled to maintain her composure. When he focused his full attention on her like that, it made her feel as shaky as that first day at the train depot when she met him. “I’m sorry for his behavior,” he said. “He is just that way. They all are. Emily was, too. I guess I was charmed by her at first. I soon regretted it, I can tell you.”

Mixed feelings swirled within Ada. On the one hand, it would be good to learn more about Emily and how happy her relationship with Jack had been. Knowing these things might help Ada to understand Laura better. On the other hand, it was somehow distasteful to her to learn more about his first wife. How did Ada measure up to Emily? Was she sweeter and prettier? Mr. St. Clair had said she was blond. Ada caught a glimpse of a straggling dark lock of her own hair and sighed.

Here she was, falling into unhelpful comparisons. To compare herself to any other woman, in how they might be pleasing to men, was a betrayal of sorts to the sisterhood. It reduced all women to one common denominator: how they suited the men in their lives.

Besides, it didn’t matter how Jack felt about her or how she looked to him. Their marriage was forged for only two purposes: to help Ada provide for her sisters and to bring Laura home to her father.

The carriage swung onto a gravel driveway. A sign flashed past that read Mrs. Erskine’s Seminary for Young Ladies. They had arrived. One of the purposes for which they had wed was about to be fulfilled.

In a voice rough with emotion, Jack said, “Let’s get Laura and take her home.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_1251d454-94d3-5671-9136-8e60860b81aa)

Jack stood in the school’s parlor, his hat in his hands, distinctly ill at ease. This stuffy school always put him on his guard, for it was nothing like home and everything he was used to. He was also facing it alone, as Mrs. Erskine had requested to speak to Ada privately about Laura’s progress. In some ways, he was annoyed that he wasn’t receiving that information. After all, he was Laura’s father, but since Ada would be in charge of Laura’s education, it was likely for the best. Besides, it might be nice to meet with Laura alone and explain everything to her before she met Ada.

The parlor door opened, and a maid ushered Laura into the room.

Jack drew in his breath sharply. She looked more like her mother than ever, more so than when he had seen her at Christmas. Emily had been a regular china doll, with pale skin, golden-blond curls and wide blue eyes. Like her mother, Laura possessed all these features. Also, just like her mother, she wore a fixed expression of angry disapproval. Maybe that’s why she favored Emily so much at this moment. Why was his little girl upset?

“Father.” She stood in the doorway until the maid ushered her in. Then the door closed behind Laura, and they were alone in the room.

“Hey there, my chickadee,” he said heartily, reverting to his pet name for her. He came forward to gather her into a hug, but she put her cheek up, coolly awaiting a kiss. He paused, disconcerted. “How’s my sunshine gal? Don’t I get a hug?”

She drew away from him, gazing up with a grave expression on her face. “Mrs. Erskine told me you married someone.”

“Yes.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He’d expected to get the chance to squeeze her and then sit down with her talking excitedly as she always did, but she didn’t seem to be in a happy mood. “I went out and got my little girl a new mama. Now we can all live together as a family.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I have a mama. She’s in heaven.”

“Well, now.” He cleared his throat. This wasn’t going at all as he’d expected. “That’s true. Mrs. Ada is just going to take care of you so we can all live in Winchester Falls together.” A terrible pain stabbed him. “You do want to come live with me, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “This is my home, you see, Father. I know where everything is. I know what to do. I like it here.”

He stared at his daughter, unsure he even understood what she was saying. “Your home is with me. This is just your school.”

“I don’t want to go.” She said it firmly and clearly, a mulish expression stealing over her face.

He had never seen her in such a temper before. After recent events, especially the bout with his father-in-law, he wasn’t about to stand for this. “You’re going.” He stated the truth firmly and flatly. “Is your trunk packed?”

“Yes, but I can unpack it.” She scowled at him, lowering her brows in the same way Emily used to when she was in a fighting mood.

“No, you can’t. I’ll make sure they go ahead and load it in the carriage.” He crossed the room and grasped the bellpull, preparing to give it a good hard yank.

“I am not going with her.” Laura stamped her foot. “She is not my mother.”

“What does that matter?” Jack was incredulous. Was he really going to have a fight with Laura after all he had done to make them a family? Did she have any idea what he had been through to make this happen? So many lives had been turned upside down just to bring them together again. “If your trunk is packed, then we’ll get going. I am sure Ada is done with Mrs. Erskine by now.”

“I’m not leaving here.” Laura folded her skinny arms across her chest and glared at him.

He looked at his daughter, still unsure if this was some sort of bad joke or a nightmare. She stood before him in her gray cotton uniform, with her long hair in a tangle of blond ringlets and her black tights bagging at the knees. Her black hair ribbon tilted crazily over one ear, giving her the look of someone who had been scuffling with an unseen enemy.

Laura had always been an easy child, his “little chickadee,” his “sunshine baby.” This new behavior was likely the result of life in a highfalutin boarding school and not enough time out on the prairie. The sooner he brought her home, the better. She would get over this sulk and go back to being the sweet-tempered child she had always been.

“Stop this nonsense and come on,” he ordered. If he gave in to this kind of behavior, she’d end up as spoiled and entitled as Emily.

“I. Will. Not.” She punctuated each word with a stamp of her foot.

Anger and helplessness boiled within Jack. He had no idea what to do. Unless he threw her over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, kicking and screaming, there was no way to get her out of this parlor and down to the waiting carriage.

Without another word, he turned and left the room, slamming the parlor door behind him. A walk would cool him off. A walk would enable him to think. He’d been through plenty the past few days, living with a strange woman in his home and then meeting with Edmund St. Clair. A man had his limits.

As he dashed down the stairs, Ada and Mrs. Erskine stepped out of an office on the first floor. “Mr. Burnett,” Mrs. Erskine effused, holding out her hand. “How nice to see you again. I’m so sorry we will be bidding farewell to Laura. She has always been one of my favorites.”

“Well, you might be keeping her, after all,” he snapped. “Seems she likes it so much here that she doesn’t want to leave.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Erskine replied with a polite little laugh. “How nice to know our school is so beloved.”

Ada put her hand on his arm, her complexion draining of all color. “You look...rather upset.”

“Going for a walk,” he announced coldly. “Be back in a while. Then we will see if we’re taking her home or not.”

He slammed out of the front door and ran down the steps. The long, curving driveway gave him enough room to walk without having to worry about being knocked down by cars. He tugged on his hat and strode off, walking the same way he did at the ranch, with long and easy strides.

This was what came of allowing a St. Clair to dictate your child’s life. She had gone from being a sweet and simple child to a terror under their tutelage. How was he ever going to turn this around? If he could only get her home, where she would be immersed in prairie life again, she would learn to forget this nonsense. Hard work, clean living and no ridiculous nonsense—that’s what made a strong and sensible person.

He paused at the end of the driveway, before it joined the busy, bustling St. Louis thoroughfare. He was no part of the crowd. In fact, anyone looking upon the scene would recognize him as the piece that was out of place. Tilting his straw cowboy hat back, he gazed up at the blue sky. He wasn’t a praying man, so he couldn’t pray. He wasn’t a drinking man, so he couldn’t drink. There was nothing he could do but walk around until he had calmed himself down and pushed his emotions back so hard they would no longer interfere in his daily existence.

He tugged his hat down and turned the corner into the busy street. Milling around with dozens of other people would help calm him or at least put his trouble in perspective. He made his way past a woman with a baby carriage. Emily had owned a pram that looked almost exactly like that one. She would wheel Laura out into the garden in it when the wind wasn’t too strong, pulling the cover up for shade, draping her shawl over the top so that Laura wouldn’t get sunburned. Then, once their daughter was settled, she would turn to him and say, “You dragged me out here. My poor baby, she’s stifling in this heat. Take us home. I want to live in Charleston.” He would never forget the accusing glare in Emily’s eyes as she turned on him, her hands on her hips.




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