Chapter One

A cool wind blew up from the west, chilling Diana to her core. She supposed it was appropriate for the occasion. The whole town had turned out for Papa’s burial. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t break down in front of all these people. Her father deserved the dignity of a proper funeral. When she got back to the silent house attached to the smithy, she could fall apart all she wanted. No one needed to know.

Papa deserved dignity at his funeral because he hadn’t found it in death. Sheriff Harris had been kind and told her he’d hit his head, but Diana knew the truth. Papa had been as good to her as he could be, but he had his demons. His horse had thrown him, it was true, but he’d landed on soft ground. A sober man could have gotten up again.

She pushed her resentment from her mind. She had little right to judge him, and he was past any hope of reform by now. All she could do was grieve and try to go on as best she could.

Reverend Watts, who had buried Diana’s mother, bowed his head as Papa’s casket was lowered into the grave. “Let us pray.” His voice was as cold and cutting as the wind.

Diana bowed her head with the rest of the town as Reverend Watts spoke in measured tones about her father. Papa was the last in a long line of Millers in Dickson, all well-respected practitioners of their trade. If Reverend Watts knew Papa had been the town blacksmith, he didn’t say so. Not in so many words, anyway. The rest of the town knew. It had been Papa who’d mended their wagon springs and shoed their horses, who created the fine iron fences around the homes of the wealthy, and who made the sharp, reliable hunting knives for the rest of the men. Smiths might be a dying profession in New York City, but upstate where the real business of New York was done, smiths were still in great demand.

That knowledge stiffened Diana’s resolve and helped her to keep her composure through the long burial service, even as the sexton’s assistants shoveled dirt over the simple pine box she had chosen for him. Diana and her father were frugal people, and no amount of sniffing from the carpenter was going to change that.

It was only when the last of the dirt had been replaced, lying in a cold heap over her father’s remains, that Diana felt comfortable leaving.  The mound would settle soon enough, and she could come back with flowers for both Papa and Mama in the spring. For now, the grave would have to suffice as it was.

She walked the long trail back to the forge and house alone. None of the townspeople had thought to stay with her, and to be fair, she would have been poor company. She valued the silence at a time like this. Papa’s death weighed heavily on her, but the chirping of the occasional bird overhead and the bright yellow of forsythias struggling to return to life soothed her.

She had little enough to look forward to in the small house attached to the smithy. The familiar routines of hearth and home seemed foolish now.  What was the use of lighting the fire and cooking for one? She groaned at the thought.

You may as well get used to it. This is the life you have now. Her reasonable self gave the rest of her a little shake. Perhaps once she’d had other options, but she’d turned down proposals from both of Dickson’s single men in favor of caring for Papa. It had been the right choice, the only choice, but as the snow crunched under her feet, she couldn’t help but wonder what was left for her.

I’ll figure it out. She wasn’t exactly helpless. She had the house. She had the smithy, and while she was no blacksmith, another was sure to come to Dickson, eventually. In the meantime, she might be able to sell some of the manufactured steel items coming in from Connecticut or Massachusetts. None of them were as good as handmade goods, but a customer would take what he could get in a pinch.

By the time she made it back to the house, she thought she might have the beginnings of a plan. She needed to flesh it out. Papa had been frugal in his ways when he was sober, but he could get carried away when in his cups. He couldn’t bear to turn people away, either—he’d trade services before he’d tell someone no. Everything hinged on just how much capital she had to work with.

She’d hoped to have some time alone to go through the finances and see what she might make of them, but she soon realized it wasn’t to be. She recognized Reverend Watts’ buggy right away, having only just seen it. Sheriff Harris’ horse stood beside the carriage, a feed bag strapped to his face. The presence of another horse, this one entirely strange, made her heart catch in her chest.

Somehow, she doubted the sheriff had found relatives on either side willing to take her in.

After a moment of resentment toward the people who could not leave her to her grief in peace, Diana realized that while she saw the carriage and she saw the horses, she did not see the people associated with them.

She took a deep breath. While she had the right to expect her privacy at a time like this, Dickson was a country town with country manners. People often felt free to let themselves into a home, especially in March when the weather could be so unpredictable. She could not afford to lose friends by yelling at them, not now.

She kept her head bowed as she mounted the plank stairs to the front door and let herself in. She found the sheriff and Reverend Watts in the parlor with a man she’d never met before. The stranger was of average height with a drooping, thick mustache. He wore a red vest under his coat, as though today was a festive occasion.

He also smoked a cigar, in a stranger’s house.

Sheriff Harris took off his hat. “Miss Miller. Let me say again how sorry I am for your loss. I know it was a sudden thing and very upsetting for you.”

“Yes, of course.” Diana glanced around at the familiar items in the parlor. She’d seen them every day when she went in to dust them, although she rarely spent time in there. Papa hadn’t put much stock in formal entertainment and had essentially left it as it was when Mama died. Still, Diana liked to keep it tidy so she couldn’t help but notice how a few things had been moved. Mama’s few books had been shoved out of their places on the shelf and stacked on a table. The lamps had been moved, and an end table had a drawer still partially open.

“Is there something you may have been looking for, that I can help you find?” She struggled to keep her voice neutral. What kind of civilized men went pawing through other people’s homes, especially after a funeral?

“The books for the smithy would be a good start.” The stranger wrinkled his nose at her. “I assume you know how to read well enough to know which ones they are, yes?”

Reverend Watts stepped between Diana and the stranger. “Mr. Ormsby, there’s no need for rudeness. A simple question would have sufficed.”

“She is a trespasser upon my property, and I want her removed this instant.” The stranger, Ormsby, waved a hand as if sweeping Diana out of her house.

“This is my home, sir, and I’ll thank you to leave it at once.” Diana pointed toward the door.

Sheriff Harris cleared his throat. “Er, well, you see, Miss, it seems that’s not exactly the case.”

Ormsby curled his lip, took a drag from his foul cigar, and blew smoke into her face. Diana kept her head up and didn’t flinch, even though the smell was odious.

“It seems your father—well, I hate to speak ill of the dead, Miss, but he had his problems. And he was putting those problems on full display the other night at Sarah Gladshaw’s house.” Harris tugged at his collar.

Diana knew just enough about the goings-on at Sarah Gladshaw’s to know she didn’t want to know any more. “I see. So, he was… he’d been drinking. He’s been grieving Mama’s death for nineteen years.”

“Time enough to get over it, don’t you think?” Watts curled his lip.

Harris glowered. “Far be it from me to chastise a clergyman for casting judgement.” He softened as he turned back to Diana. “It seems he wasn’t just drinking, ma’am. He was also taking part in a bit of a game, too.”

Watts snorted. “And here you said you couldn’t possibly marry. Someone had to stay home and take care of your father.  You certainly didn’t excel in that department, now, did you?” He rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t keep him from the demon rum, you couldn’t keep him from gambling, and you couldn’t keep him from making a miserable end facedown in the snow.”

Diana’s breath caught in her throat. Everything Watts said was true, but she’d done everything in her power.  A daughter could only do so much.  “I do believe he had several outstanding bills with you, Reverend. You can feel free to settle up before leaving.”

Watts gasped, hand to his chest. Ormsby let out a little chuckle. “She’s got spirit, I’ll give her that much.”

Harris managed a little grin. “She’d have to, to keep a roof over their heads all these years.” Then he sobered again. “The problem is, Miss, just before he passed, your father and Mr. Ormsby here got into a game with fairly high stakes. Mr. Ormsby’s farm in Maine against Mr. Miller’s house and smithy here. And well… your father lost.”

Diana swayed on her feet. Only the memory of her father, of the good times they’d had in this place, kept her upright. “That can’t be right. He’d have had no use for a farm in Maine. He’s never tried to grow a crop in his life.”

“Not my problem, I’m afraid.” Ormsby shrugged. “I’m thinking I’ll shut down the smithy. No one needs a blacksmith anymore, anyway. I’m going to turn the building into a saloon and the house into a hotel. The way I see it, Dickson needs a respectable place for travelers to stop for a night. And a man needs a place to stop for a drink that isn’t a house of ill repute, too.”

Watts sucked in his cheeks. “Must you? There’s a lady present.”

“A trespassing lady. Your father may have had his faults. He may have been as drunk as a lord. But he signed that deed over fair and square. I’ve been patient because of your situation, but I’m sure you heard me mention the need for respectable lodging.” Ormsby raised an eyebrow. “Right. Now you can just gather your things and get.”

Diana clutched at her neck and turned to Bowen. “This can’t be legal. Sheriff, tell me there’s something I can do. My father was so drunk he probably couldn’t see straight.”

“Well.” Harris inhaled sharply. “There’s definitely an argument to be made. I can see where you might have a chance, but you’d need one heck of a lawyer. And here’s the thing, Miss. The only lawyer we’ve got in Dickson—well, he’s just not that good. And I’m pretty sure he was born when they signed the Constitution. I’m not saying he’s bad, but…”

“But I wouldn’t trust him to handle the will of a person with no estate.” Watts sniffed. “You’re welcome to try your luck, but the other side of pressing a lawsuit is that lawyers cost money.”

“And money, my dear, is something you don’t have. I own this house, so you can’t borrow against it. I own the store, so you can’t borrow against that. You can sell off all the furnishings, you can sell off all your mama’s jewelry, and it still won’t get you enough to buy someone to plead your case in front of a judge.” Ormsby blew smoke in her face, again. “That deed is legal, no matter how much whiskey your daddy drank before he signed it. Get to packing.”

“I’d get to it.” Harris wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You can stay with me and the missus, for a couple of weeks, anyway. Until you land on your feet.”

Diana turned on her heel and headed for the stairs. She didn’t have much choice. She was going to have to stay with Harris, at least until she figured out a course of action.

As she rushed from room to room, gathering everything her family had ever owned, she bit her tongue to force back the tears. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt so helpless, and then this Mr. Ormsby had shown up and suddenly everything in her life was gone.

She gathered her property and put it into the pastor’s carriage, without regard for packaging or propriety. She had little choice. Anything that made it back into town would probably have to be sold.

Before they left, she turned to Mr. Ormsby. “I’ll have a receipt, if you please.”

“You aren’t in a position to be demanding much of anything, Miss Miller.” Ormsby hung his hat on her father’s favorite peg.

“I won’t be having any funny business after the fact. I’ll have a receipt, witnessed by these gentlemen, that I did vacate the premises at the appropriate time.” She straightened her back and waited, hands loose at her sides.

It was such a little thing, but Diana had kept her father’s books since she’d been a small child. She knew to get and give receipts. This Ormsby fellow struck her as a scoundrel, and she’d already lost everything to him once. She wasn’t going to leave herself vulnerable again.

Chapter Two

Cole paused as he tossed another bale of hay down to Gus and Will, who waited down below. Thanks to good planning on his father’s part, he could see the entire ranch from up here. He had a view of every pasture, every bit of grass, every stream, and every barn. The Badlands loomed in the distance, painted in colors more beautiful than any painter back east could have imagined by the rising sun. The only sign of human life had been built by Cole’s father, or by Cole himself. Sure, the work was hard and the hours long, but a view like this made everything worth it. Father always said so, anyway.

“Would you get on with it?” Gus looked up at him with a big grin. “We still got to get our feed on!”

Cole chuckled and threw another bale down to the waiting men below. None of the other ranch hands would talk to him quite that way. For them, Cole was the guy holding the purse strings. They’d been here for a while, most for years, but they still had a fear of being let go. The Dakota Territory wasn’t so crowded that they could count on finding work right away.

Not that Cole would fire someone for a little good-natured ribbing. He wasn’t that kind of guy.

Gus was different. He’d come out west with a whole bunch of orphans from all of those packed, dirty places back east. Cole could still remember the day when Father had brought him back from town, shivering and terrified and so skinny he might have been a skeleton.

No one would ever know Gus had been one of those half-dead kids from the East to look at him now. He’d grown into a tall, strapping man, more of a brother to Cole than a hired man, and he had no problem giving Cole grief when Cole got distracted.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cole laughed as he reached for another bale. “Brick’s got breakfast duty today, so I don’t know why you’re in such a rush.”

Groans rose up from the ground beneath him, almost indistinguishable from the cattle Freddy, George, and Hank were bringing out for their first meal. Sure, the beasts could feast like kings out there on grass and whatnot. Plenty of ranchers, especially the newcomers, did just that. One of these days they’d lose half their herd or more to a cold snap and Cole would laugh all the way to the bank.

“If you’d told me Brick was cooking today, I’d have taken my chances with the cattle feed.” George made a face and clutched at his stomach. “I heard he got run off of his last job for making everyone sick with one meal!”

Cole climbed down from the hayloft. He laughed just as much as the rest of them. “Pretty sure he didn’t want to waste the eggs, George.”

“Instead, he near wasted ten men.” Freddie glared toward the house. “A darn shame.”

“Good thing we don’t have eggs around here.” Cole kept an eye on the cattle as they trotted obediently into the pen where they would eat.  He narrowed his eyes at the herd. The Heggarty Ranch wasn’t the largest in the Dakota Territory at only five thousand head, but he was sure he missed a familiar face or two. Of course, a man couldn’t be certain, not this early in the morning and not with so many faces.

Father had only had two thousand head of cattle, back when the fever had taken him.

Cole wouldn’t think about it, not right now. He had too much to do.

“I wouldn’t mind having eggs. And some chickens, now that you mention it.” If Hank noticed the missing cattle, he didn’t say anything about it.  He just scratched at the stubble on his tanned cheeks and headed indoors.

“Chickens are too much work, and they attract foxes. We’ve got enough trouble keeping watch over the cattle. We can’t spare the time to go chasing off after chickens too.” Cole remembered the things his mother used to do with eggs, or the occasional stewing hen too old for laying. Of course, she knew what she was doing in the kitchen. Cole did not.

He joined the rest of the hands as they headed in for breakfast. Brick had rustled up some sausage from somewhere. Cole didn’t know where it had come from, but breakfast smelled better than the gravy Cole himself had made for yesterday’s breakfast.

The biscuits, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired. They hadn’t risen, at all, and turned out to be doughy lumps in the gravy. All in all, the whole mess was about as appetizing as one of the stalls after a long night. Even the coffee smelled off.

It wasn’t like they could afford to do anything but choke it down. None of them could do any better, and at least they knew it would fill their bellies.  Dinnertime was a long way off, and they’d be doing back-breaking work in the meantime. They needed the fuel.

He poked at a misshapen lump in the gravy. When it didn’t poke back, he was almost surprised.

“Brick, where the heck did you learn to cook?” Will grimaced as he swallowed a spoonful of the vile goo. “Tell me the truth. Was it in Purgatory, or at the very gates of Hades itself?”

“Go on, let’s see you try to do better.” Brick didn’t get mad. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how bad the chow was. “Remember that time you served us meat so rare it was raw?”

“It was my first time cooking meat! What did you expect?” Will pressed a hand to his chest, cheeks turning red even under their light coating of dust.  “It’s not like they teach fine cooking at the Olathe Lutheran School.”

George hooted with laughter. “Can you imagine? Cooking in school! Hey Cole, when are you going to bring some good woman on to do the cooking around here? I know you’ve got to be just as tired of the chow as the rest of us.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Cole didn’t bother to hide it. The only difference between them and him was where he slept, and even Gus had a room in the house. “I’ve asked around in town for someone looking for work, but so far there haven’t been any takers. There are two ladies in town.  Missy Montgomery, who’s got plenty of work on her hands as the pastor’s wife, and Widow Johanssen, who’s about ninety years old and doesn’t speak English. I’m pretty sure her hands are too sore to cook for herself, never mind the bunch of us.”

“And let me guess, you’ve been checking up on her and making sure she’s got enough provisions.” Gus shook his head, smiling.

“Well, it’s only right. Someone has to. I’m sure Pastor Montgomery does the same, but you know she helped take care of Mother and Father when they had the fever.” Cole sat back with a little smile. No one could shame him for looking in on an old lady.  They could try, but they’d never succeed.  “There’s no harm in it. She’s earned a little care, don’t you think? But she’s definitely in no shape to keep up with the likes of us.”

Brick cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve got something you might want to look into if you want to be able to keep looking in on your friend there.  We lost another ten head of cattle last night.”

Cole could barely swallow his coffee past the lump in his throat. They’d lost ten last week, and twenty the week before that. Sure, Cole had a decent sized herd, but every missing cow still meant money out of his pocket.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hank scowled at him. “That’s over thirty-five hundred dollars just walked on out of here!”

Cole could speak now. “You think I don’t know that?” he demanded. “That’s obscene. That’s more than most people’s pay. That’s…” He wiped at his face. “But it shouldn’t be happening. After that first time, we kept them penned up at night. I thought at first it might be the native folks—my father had trouble with them when he first came out here.”

George, whose mother had been Lakota, shook his head. “Nah, they don’t come in this far. And they’re not going to mess with cattle. They’ve got no interest in ranching.”

Cole nodded. “Right. That’s why I figured it wasn’t them pretty quick. I’m kind of out of options, though. If it was an animal, there would be signs. Claw marks. Blood. Cattle yelling in the middle of the night, that kind of thing.”

Will scratched his head. “What kind of an animal drags off ten cows at once, anyway?”

“You’re not going to solve it all in a day.” Brick stood up and brought his tin plate over to the washbasin.  “When you find someone to take up the cooking and the cleaning around here, maybe you’ll find someone who can think about those thefts too.”

The rest of the ranch hands laughed. Cole made himself laugh with them, but the farthest thing from his mind right now was humor.  Someone was out there stealing his cattle.

And considering the fact that people were still spread out pretty thin on the ground here in the Dakota Territory, it had to be someone close by. Someone he knew. Someone he trusted.

Brick had been right, though. Cole wasn’t going to solve these thefts in a day, and five thousand head of cattle weren’t going to bring themselves out to pasture. He sent Gus with Brick and Will out to the far field with a big chunk of the herd, most of the cows and a few of the oxen. Freddy, George, and Hank could handle a trip to the nearer field with the steers, who were more of a handful this time of year.

It was on Cole to figure out how to stop the rustlers from stealing his cattle, so he stayed back to work on the cattle barns themselves. There wasn’t anyone else to take care of it. Cattle theft was illegal, sure, but the long arm of the law didn’t quite reach Spring Sky. Cole would have to do things on his own, the way he had for years. Even before his parents died, he’d been a pretty self-sufficient man. He’d had to be. And when a man was on his own, he learned how to set priorities.

Stopping things was a higher priority than getting revenge.

He checked every barn he had, even the ones where he kept the horses. He found an old magnifying glass his father used to use when the lawyers sent contracts and brought it out to check things over, just in case his naked eyes missed something. He couldn’t find the slightest sign someone had forced the doors. He found plenty of horseshoe prints, and hoof prints from cattle. That part only made sense, though. Maybe if Cole had gotten out to see the ground before anyone else had tried to do their job, he might have been able to notice someone else’s horseshoes around the place.

As it was now, he couldn’t hope to discern one horse from another.

It wasn’t the first time he wished he had someone to help out around the ranch. He had the guys, the ranch hands, but they were hired help. They didn’t have a stake in the place. Even Gus, for all his attachment to Mother and Father, drew a wage like everyone else. Cole needed an equal, someone who had just as much stake in this place as he had. Someone who would put as much energy into finding the culprit as he would.

They couldn’t be just like him, though. They’d need to bring in a different set of skills. Cole was good at managing cattle and managing land. He needed someone who could handle building maintenance, the cooking, and maybe keeping the books too. He needed someone who could make his mother’s house seem less like a barracks.

Maybe this mysterious person could make his cows fly while he was at it. This place didn’t get a lot of newcomers, which was what made it good ranch country. The chances that this person would just show up one day and solve all the ranch’s problems were slim to none.

But since he was wishing, he might as well wish for this mysterious stranger to be a detective. One who could make sense out of these cattle thefts.

He gave up after a while and made a mental note. He would be going into town soon, sending part of his herd to Omaha and picking up some supplies while he was there. He’d be sure to find something nice for Widow Johanssen, too, even if he couldn’t manage to ask her what she needed.  She’d either make use of it or trade it for what she wanted. The poor old lady could probably use something to brighten her day.

And while he was in Williston, he’d find the blacksmith and invest in some good iron padlocks. That should help cut down on the cattle rustling.

He started work on the evening meal once he’d done what he could to find the cattle thief. He didn’t have a lot to work with, just beans, but beans had kept the Dakota Territory going for a good long while. It might not be flavorful, but he’d take it.

Maybe he could put an advertisement in one of those newspapers back in Centralia. The thought of bringing someone from so far east as that—or even further—made his skin crawl, and honestly, he wasn’t sure life on a cattle ranch was suited to a woman. Sure, she wouldn’t be out there riding on the trail with the rest of them, but frontier life wasn’t easy on anyone. It had killed Mother, and she’d grown up with it. Someone who’d come up with all the softness and convenience of more settled life would shrivel up and expire once exposed to the extremes of a Dakota winter.

He couldn’t help but wonder if that soft Eastern woman he couldn’t even picture might not do something better with these beans than he could.

The men brought back the cattle just before sunset. Cole counted each and every beast that went into one of the barns, and they brought back every animal they’d gone out with. No one groused too much about the dinner of beans, and afterward they all sat around by the fire telling stories. It was March, and while the land might be waking up, it was still cold enough to enjoy a nice, roaring fire.

The hired men went back to the bunkhouse as the hour grew late. Much as they all enjoyed one another’s company, everyone knew they had to get up good and early to start things all over again tomorrow. Cole tidied up a bit around the small house with Gus’s help, and they headed off to their own bedrooms.

“You think it might be nice?” Gus’s tone was wistful, his eyes far away in the half-light of the candle in his hand.

Cole blinked. “Finding the cattle thief? Yeah, I do.”

Gus snorted. “No. I mean yeah, that would be fantastic. I mean having a woman around the place. Someone to cook and clean, maybe to keep us all in line a little bit.”

Cole managed a little bit of a smile. “Maybe. I mean things were certainly better in Mother’s time, that’s for sure.” He looked away and caught an old blue glass bauble of Mother’s, still in its place of honor over the window.  “She didn’t have an easy time of it, though.  And I can’t think of many women who would want to come here out into the wilderness just to take care of a bunch of ranchers.”

“Maybe not.” Gus laughed a little and shuffled off to bed.

Cole shook his head and headed into his own room. The quilt his mother had made him as a child no longer covered his body, but he didn’t have the skills to make a new one. He’d bartered for a few new blankets in town, but nothing beat the warmth of his old quilt.

Maybe it might be nice to have a woman around the place. He couldn’t think for the life of him why she’d come.

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

If you want to be always up to date with my new releases, click and…

Follow me on BookBub