Give Me A Texan

Chapter 1

Fort Worth, Fall, 1889

Hank Harris squared his shoulders, forcing himself not to slump as he passed through the doorway of the Tucker dugout. He stepped into the one-room home with dread settling around his heart like sand.

At six-foot-six he knew he was destined to hit his head any time he ventured indoors. Seemed like houses all got too short about the time he started growing whiskers. Now, at thirty-one, he’d spent half his life watching out for low rafters.

He caught himself wishing that was all he had to watch out for tonight.

“Welcome, Mr. Harris!” a female bellowed as if he wasn’t standing within reach of her. “Trust you made the five miles from Fort Worth without any problem. That north wind has sure been howling all day.” The woman winked boldly. “I’ll bet you think it’s calling you home to that mound of dust folks call Amarillo.”

Hank removed his hat and nodded, not wanting to encourage conversation. Dolly Tucker’s shrill voice could strike kindling in a dry stove. He only prayed that her tone wasn’t hereditary.

He couldn’t stop the smile that wrinkled his normally hard mouth. Maybe he should be praying for himself. After all, he was the one fool enough to agree to meet Dolly’s little sister. Most folks would say he had no right to be criticizing others. He wasn’t the kind of man anyone would mistake as good looking and, with the price of cattle dropping, any wealth he had lay far in the future.

I’m a hard worker though, he reminded himself. And honest. If I ever get a wife, I’ll never mistreat her. That should be worth something in this world.

“You’re looking all cleaned and pressed,” Dolly yelled as she patted his arm. “You must have stopped at the creek.” She waddled around him like a round little toy. “Your hair still looks wet.”

Hank didn’t know how to answer. He had no intention of discussing his bathing habits with the woman. In truth, he could never remember discussing anything but the weather with the fairer sex.

When he’d seen Dolly’s husband, Charlie Tucker, at the stockyard in Fort Worth a few hours ago, it had seemed simple. Dolly’s sister was visiting from Chicago and Charlie said they’d like him to meet her. He had even insisted that Hank stop by around suppertime.

Hank knew what that meant. They were introducing her to all the single men in West Texas. He’d played the game before a few times in the ten years he’d been ranching. He was respectable enough for a brother-in-law to introduce. He owned his own spread, was single, didn’t drink to excess. But Hank also guessed that if Charlie was rounding up prospects, he might as well take his place at the back of the line.

On the bright side, he’d get a home-cooked meal for his trouble and Hank figured that made the ride out worthwhile.

“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Harris?” Dolly didn’t give him time to answer before shouting, “Charlie Ray, pour him a cup while I go to the barn and find Agnes. It’s almost dark. She should be able to guess it’s about time for supper. The world can’t always run on her schedule.”

Hank swallowed hard. Agnes was close to the ugliest name he’d ever heard. That must be why they keep her in the barn. Either that or the girl talked like her sister and poor Charlie would be deaf if he heard the voice coming from two directions at once.

Another thought crossed his mind. What if Agnes wasn’t bright enough to know the time of day? Some men in this part of the country weren’t too particular, but knowing the time seemed a necessary skill.

Dolly’s husband moved to the iron stove and burned his hand grabbing the pot. Hank fought down a laugh. What was it about some men? They seem to live perfectly well by themselves for years. Then they get married and act like they’ve never been near a stove.

“I appreciate you stopping by,” Charlie mumbled as he finally managed to pour a cup.

Hank nodded, knowing he was just doing a favor for a friend. Men like Hank lived alone. No woman would have wanted to start out with nothing like he’d had to and, by the time he could afford more than a three-room house, he’d be too old and hardened for a woman to be interested.

Before Hank’s coffee cooled enough to drink, someone tapped at the door.

Hank stood ready to offer his hand as more guests arrived. He wasn’t surprised to see the young banker most of the cattlemen used while they were in Fort Worth. William J. Randell always seemed fair and wore clothes that looked like he must have ordered them from somewhere up north without bothering to take his measurements. He had a habit of playing with his watch fob when he was nervous, which would have made him easy pickings at a poker table. His hair curled in thin waves over his head making him look older than Hank guessed him to be.

The man behind Randell looked almost the same age, only Hank had never seen him before. He was stockier and stood with his feet wide apart as if expecting a fight to break out as he entered the dugout.

“Potter,” the stranger said as he shook hands without waiting for Charlie to introduce him. “Potter Stockton at your service.” His smile never reached his dark eyes.

Hank felt like counting his fingers to make sure they were all still there when the handshake ended. Something about Stockton didn’t seem right. He was too friendly, too eager, too forward for a man not running for office. Hank found himself thinking a little less of the banker for keeping company with Potter.

Charlie Tucker didn’t seem to notice. He offered the two men a seat and grinned. Before he could pour more coffee, Dolly returned alone from the barn. Her little marble blue eyes sparkled as she counted the bachelors at her kitchen table.

Within minutes, Hank was forgotten, which suited him fine. Dolly made over first the banker, then Potter Stockton, who explained he worked for the railroad. As Dolly served the food and insisted they eat, she kept the questions coming in rapid fire.

William J. Randell told all about the big family he came from in Ohio and Potter Stockton said he had relatives in Tennessee who were related to the royals in Europe. Hank kept quiet. As far as he knew he had no living relative. His mother left them when he’d been three and his father worked their small farm around Tyler, Texas, until he died before Hank turned twenty. The sale of that farm had given Hank his start near Amarillo.

They were halfway through the meal before Charlie got a word in to ask about his sister-in-law Agnes.

“She’ll be along,” Dolly scolded her husband as if no one would have remembered the reason they’d all been asked to dinner if Charlie hadn’t mentioned it. “We’ll be eating at midnight if we wait on her.”

Hank pushed food back and forth on his plate, feeling like the walls were closing in around him. He’d always hated dugouts. Everyone said they were warm and protected from the weather since they were built half into the ground, but he felt like he was half buried in them. Even through the cooking odors, he could smell damp earth.

When he stood, mumbling something about taking care of his horse, no one in the room noticed him leave. He felt cheated. Though he had no hope of finding a bride, he had thought Dolly could cook. He would have had a better meal at the café by the train station.

Once outside, he stepped into the blackness between the two small windows and took a deep breath, wishing he could ride back to town. Waiting on the platform for the midnight train north would be better than going back inside. But if he just left, it would be an insult to both Charlie and the invisible Agnes. There was an unwritten law that said the girl, no matter how homely or dumb, had the right to turn away any man who came calling.

And he’d been dumb enough to come calling, even if it was wrapped in a dinner invitation.

He knew he’d be leaving alone. Both men inside were better looking, better dressed, and probably had more money than him. Potter said he could dance and was a crack shot. Hank had never shot at anything he couldn’t eat. William Randell bragged about building a two-story house in town and said he was up for a promotion at the bank. Potter swore he’d be in the cream of Fort Worth society in five years. They were dueling braggarts and Hank wanted no part of it.

“It’s bad in there, isn’t it?” a voice whispered from the blackness on the other side of the window.

Hank jerked away, almost knocking himself out on the low-hanging roof. He had no doubt the voice belonged to the missing sister, but she’d scared a year off his life when she spoke. In the night, he couldn’t make out even an outline of her. “Yep,” was all he could think to say.

“Dolly and Charlie Ray mean to marry me off,” she whispered after a long silence. “Dolly’s been planning it all day.”

He wasn’t sure if she talked to him or herself. “You Agnes?”

Dumb question, he thought. Who else would be out here this time of night?

“Yep,” she echoed him, but without the accent it didn’t sound natural. “I’m the old maid sister who’s being passed around. If I don’t get married here, I’m due in Austin at my oldest sister’s place next month. Kind of like a traveling sideshow. Dress me up and put an apple in my mouth.”

Hank couldn’t stop the laugh. “I’m sorry,” he quickly added. “I never gave much thought to the other side of this game.”

“Sorry for what? For laughing or for me?”

“Both, I guess.”

“My poppa sent me west before I rotted on the vine in Chicago. You see, I’m the last of five girls. The only one not claimed. As soon as I’m married, my poppa plans to take another wife. There’s not room in the little apartment behind his shop for two women. I’m delaying his plan. I’m as much in the way in my home as I am here.”

Hank smiled. He knew how she felt. “The runt of the litter, last to be picked,” he mumbled, then thought he might have offended her.

Before he could say he was sorry again, she laughed. “That’s right. I’m only half the woman my sister is.”

Hank glanced in the window and watched Dolly waddle past. He couldn’t say anything without insulting Charlie’s wife so he changed the subject. “Don’t you want to get married?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“No,” he said honestly. “I like living alone. Running on my own clock.”

“Me too.”

His eyes had adjusted to the night enough that he could make out her shadow. She appeared short, like her sister, but not as round.

“But why not marry? For a woman, it seems like the best life.” He couldn’t help but add, “Unless you hate the cooking and cleaning part?”

The shadow lifted her head with a snap. “Women do more than cook and clean.”

He’d said the wrong thing. She couldn’t even see how homely he was and she was still rejecting him. “I know, but it helps if they can cook a little.”

Agnes laughed suddenly and he liked the sound.

“You’ve been eating Dolly’s pot roast, haven’t you?”

“Trying to.” He wished she would step into the light. “What do you like to do…Agnes?” Her name stumbled off his tongue.

“Back home, I helped my father in his workshop. He was a gunsmith. Sold the best weapons in the state and repaired the others.”

“You liked working in his shop?”

“No,” she answered. “I liked repairing guns in the back. I wish I’d been born a man. I’d love working on my own little workbench all day and coming home to a hot meal. It’s always appeared to me that a wife was more an unpaid servant than a partner. I’d hate that, so I don’t see much point to marriage. If I could, I’d open my own repair shop, but I have no seed money and none of my family thinks it would be a respectable kind of place for a woman to have. So, I’m cursed to circle my sisters’ houses looking for a husband.”

Hank leaned against the building. He could hear Dolly’s voice asking if anyone wanted more pie, but he didn’t glance toward the window to see if any victims had volunteered.

“Would you marry someone if it was a true partnership? Each taking care of himself, taking turns with shared duties. Each supporting the other in whatever work.”

“No one bossing the other, or controlling?” She leaned closer, almost crossing into the light.

Hank had no idea where his thoughts were going, but for once he wasn’t talking to a woman about the weather, so he decided to keep talking. “Right. Just two partners sharing the same house. Both bring in what they can as far as money goes. Both respecting the other’s privacy.”

“No wifely duties? No children coming every year?”

Hank thought he knew what she was talking about. He shook his head, then remembered she couldn’t see him and added, “None. They’d each have their own room, their own things, their own lives.” He’d seen men who ordered their wife around as if she were a slave. On the other side, he had watched a few women bossing their man in the same tone. In truth, he couldn’t remember ever seeing a couple stand as equals.

The one memory he had of his mother circled among his thoughts, not quite substance but more than dream. A tall woman sitting by the window, ignoring all the world around her, including him. Long after she’d gone, Hank remembered asking his father why she’d left. His father had only mumbled that she didn’t want children. They’d never spoken of her again.

Hank glanced across the darkness, pushing the image aside, trying to understand the woman only a foot away.

They were both silent for a few minutes, then she whispered, “I’d marry like that. A partnership. In fact, I’d consider it heaven. But even if I found a man willing to follow those rules, what’s to make him keep his word? He could lock me in the house and beat me, and no one would stop him.”

“You’re the gunsmith, Agnes. You should be able to figure that one out. Ask for his guns as a promise. No man but a fool would stand in front of a barrel, even in the grip of a woman.”

She laughed then offered her hand across the light of the window. “It was a pleasure talking to you, but I have to go in and turn those two down before they die of food poisoning.”

He took her tiny hand in his. “I wish you luck, Agnes,” he said, realizing how much he meant it.

Just before she shoved at the door, she whispered, “My friends call me Aggie.”

He placed his hand above her head and added his strength to hers. “Aggie,” he said so close to her that he could feel her hair brush his face as the door opened. “I like that name.”

Chapter 2

Hank blinked at the light as he stepped inside. Aggie walked ahead of him and stopped just over the threshold as if too afraid to go on.

He looked at the two men at the table. They both glared open-mouthed at her as if she were some kind of creature and not human. His fist clinched, and if she hadn’t been in front of him, he might have closed their mouths with one blow. He didn’t care what she looked like; she seemed a kind person who had a right to some degree of respect.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said as if she hadn’t noticed the way they stared. “One of the calves Charlie brought home from the stockyard is sick, and I had to make sure he’d eat before I came in.”

Charlie smiled a lopsided grin and shrugged as if taking the blame for his sister-in-law’s tardiness. “Once in a while they cull out the little fellows too weak to make the trip north. If I don’t bring them home, I have to bury them behind the lot.”

No one but Hank seemed to be listening.

Potter and William bumped heads trying to stand at the same time. Both were stumbling over words.

Hank stood behind Aggie, proud of her. She timidly offered her hand to each as if these two idiots made sense. The banker started playing with his watch chain and Potter talked even faster than he had at dinner. They were both “honored” and “privileged” to meet her.

The banker pumped her hand up and down so fast Hank feared he might break bone.

Potter kissed her fingers while he mumbled something in French. Hank would bet even money that he learned the phrase in Fort Worth’s rough section called Hell’s Half Acre.

If Hank didn’t know better, he’d swear both men had been drinking.

“And Agnes, I believe you must have met Hank as you came in.” Charlie sat down, adding only, “He often does business at the stockyard when he’s in town.”

Aggie turned to offer her hand to Hank.

“Nice to meet…” was all he got out before he saw her face. He’d braced himself for a plain girl, maybe one with pockmarks or scars, thick glasses or a birthmark. But what he saw almost buckled his knees.

She had the face of an angel, with perfect skin and curly auburn hair tied into a mass of curls at the base of her neck. And, he noticed, the devil twinkling in her blue-green eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Harris,” she said shyly. “Would you like a slice of my sister’s pie?”

There it was again, he thought. The sparkle in her gaze-daring him-challenging him.

“If the others left a piece,” he managed to say. “I’d love one.”

He sat down and watched her as she talked with the others. He ate the pie Dolly passed him without tasting it.

Aggie asked the other two men questions, as if she’d been coached, about their life and what their plans were. Hank didn’t try to speak up. His life on a ranch would look pretty stale compared to Potter Stockton’s travels and parties, or the magnificent house Randell planned to build in the center of town. She’d probably be bored to hear the details of raising cattle in West Texas.

He was proud of his house though. She might consider it plain with the high ceilings and wide uncovered windows. But if Hank could have gotten a word in, he would have told her how from every direction she could see for miles, and how when the clouds hung low, close to the ground, his home seemed suspended between heaven and earth.

The banker and Potter found their footing on her questions and begin to compete for her attention. They said pretty things to her, flattering her with words Hank could never hope to put together. Within minutes both men were hinting that she should consider marrying them. William Randell seemed good-natured with the competition, but Stockton’s bragging carried an edge. He seemed a man who was used to fighting for anything he wanted, and he claimed Aggie was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

Aggie listened politely, without comment. It crossed Hank’s mind that she’d probably heard such talk all her life. For a woman who said she liked working alone, the idea of entertaining and the dinner parties that Randell talked of must seem frightening. Potter boasted of traveling with his work and staying in hotels across the country.

Hank seemed the only one who noticed she didn’t smile. In fact, if he was reading her right, Aggie was one step away from bolting out of the room.

Hank also noticed that the more she drew everyone’s attention, the sharper Dolly became. It must have been hard on four sisters with the baby being so beautiful. That might explain why the father kept her tucked away in the back workshop. Hank wondered if she’d stayed in back because she was naturally shy, or if the sisters had forced her to remain in the shadow. Whichever, one fact was obvious to Hank. Beautiful Aggie was afraid of people.

He watched her carefully. She wasn’t believing a word they said. She kept her hands laced tightly together over her frilly dress. He felt her loneliness more than he saw it. She was on display, something to be sold to the highest bidder, and no one stood by to help her. In fact, her sister made it plain that if she could decide for Agnes, little sister would already be packing up her things.

After an hour, Dolly ended the torture, not for her sister’s sake, but for her own. Dolly complained that her feet were tired and it was time for bed.

As the banker moved to the door, he held both of Aggie’s hands and kissed them. “I’ll dream of you this night,” he said with practiced flow. “Think of me also.”

Potter was bolder. He swore he’d fallen in love at first sight and asked for her hand in marriage. He said she was the first woman he’d seen in Texas who would be perfect on his arm, and now that he found her he saw no need to hesitate. Without waiting for her answer, he began listing his qualities and continued to do so as Charlie showed him the door.

Aggie politely said she’d consider his offer.

Both men stood at the doorway and waited to see what Hank would say, if anything. Obviously, neither considered him a threat, but they had no intention of leaving him inside with the prize.

Hank stood and put on his hat. When he walked past Aggie, she seemed so small. He hoped his height didn’t frighten her. She didn’t look up, and he wondered if she was embarrassed by all she told him in the darkness. After all, her family had made her options limited and for all her brave talk outside, she might still have little choice but to marry.

“Thanks for the meal.” Hank nodded toward Dolly. “And for the invitation,” he added to Charlie. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Aggie.”

She still didn’t look up. He leaned and unbuckled the gun belt he always wore when he traveled. “There’s a train leaving Fort Worth about midnight. If you’re on it, you’ll be in Amarillo by morning.” He lifted her hands and placed his weapons in her grip. “If it’s a partnership, equal and forever that you want, I’ll pledge my Colts that it will be true.”

The silence in the room was complete for the first time that night.

Finally, Charlie whispered what everyone was trying to believe. “You’re giving her your guns?”

Hank nodded once.

When William Randell and Potter Stockton finished laughing, they yelled things like, “You don’t give a woman a gun, you give her flowers,” and “Give a ring.” One of the men even suggested that maybe this girl was the first woman Hank had ever been around. Both seemed to be rehearsing the story that they planned to tell many times over.

Dolly swore at Charlie, calling him a fool for inviting someone so crazy to their dinner. “Waste of good food,” she yelled as the men mounted.

Aggie stood in the doorway, gripping the Colts and looking up at Hank. He saw the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty, but he also caught a hint of a smile on the side of her lips.

They were all laughing, except her. As he turned his horse, he caught a glimpse of Aggie buckling his gun belt around her skirts, and he knew as sure as he knew the sun would rise that she’d make the midnight train.

Chapter 3

Aggie didn’t say a word on the ride into Fort Worth. She sat on the bench of Charlie’s old buckboard feeling like she was waiting for her life to start. She barely noticed the cold wind whipping from the north, or the rustle of brittle leaves that still clung to the live oaks along the creek. Her brother-in-law made this trip each morning and evening, so he knew the road well even in the darkness. Five miles was a long way to travel to work, but between her sister and the cattle auctions, she guessed it might be the only silence he knew.

Hank Harris had asked her to marry him, or at least she thought he had. It wasn’t like any proposal she’d ever heard. He’d offered a partnership, equal and forever. Then, he’d unbuckled his gun belt and handed it to her. And, for the first time in her life, she found she couldn’t say no.

She smiled to herself. Her sister had argued all the while Aggie packed. At one point Dolly even insisted Charlie Ray stop Aggie from going with the crazy cowboy who thought a proper engagement gift was a gun. But Charlie, for once, spoke up and said he’d had enough. He claimed Hank was a good man and if Aggie wanted to go with him the only duty he saw as his was to see that they were married before the train left the station.

Hank and Aggie might be in Amarillo come morning, but they would be wed tonight.

The night air cooled Aggie’s tears as she gripped her hands together in her lap. She’d never been brave, she reminded herself, but the fear of everything remaining the same was worse than the fear of the unknown. She had to go. She had to take Hank’s offer. She had to end the torture of being passed from house to house.

“I never heard Harris swear,” Charlie interrupted as the lights from town blinked on the horizon. “That’s one good thing about him, I reckon.”

Aggie took a breath. “Yes.” She had one brother-in-law in Kansas who thought “damn” should serve as an adjective to every noun he used. Not swearing was definitely a good trait, she decided.

“Though I don’t think he has much money, he always pays his bills at the stockyard. Some ranchers, even after they have the cash for the sale, try to slip by without paying.” Charlie spit a long stream of tobacco into the night. “Paying your bills is good.”

“Yes.” Aggie guessed Charlie was trying to calm her. Maybe he thought she might jump out of the wagon and run away wild into the night. But, to be honest, if he didn’t hurry she was more likely to bolt and run toward the station. Charlie Ray Tucker was the best of her brother-in-laws and he was barely tolerable. After being passed from sister to sister she’d noticed that all their husbands had bad habits.

Closing her eyes, she tried to guess Hank’s.

“If he goes to the whorehouses he ain’t one to brag about it.” Charlie interrupted her thoughts again.

“That’s good.” Aggie tried to forget all the lectures her sisters had given her, as though each man she’d turned down had been her flaw. She grinned, realizing that accepting a proposal hadn’t halted the lectures. If Dolly had had the time she would have ranted for hours.

All her sisters thought Aggie was weak-minded. Poor, beautiful, slow-witted Aggie. She can’t cook, can’t sew, can’t remember the time of day when she becomes interested in something. The only way she’ll find a man, they claimed, was to remain silent until the wedding. They barely noticed what she could do, all the things she fixed, how dearly she loved animals. All they saw was the way she hid in corners at socials and refused to talk to strangers.

Charlie didn’t seem to notice her silence as they passed the pens of cattle waiting to be shipped. He was on a roll praising Hank. “And he’s clean. I swear some of them boys come in smelling worse than the cattle.”

Aggie nodded as she watched the station draw closer. She had no trouble making out the tall man standing with his feet wide apart at the end of the platform. He must have been waiting for her for over an hour. She thought she saw a slight nod when they drew close enough for him to recognize Tucker’s wagon, but his expression was hidden in the shadow of his wide-brimmed Stetson.

“What’s your bad habit, Mr. Harris?” she mumbled to herself. “What will I have to put up with?” With a slight nod, she greeted him, realizing whatever his shortcomings were, they couldn’t equal hers. He’d be the one shortchanged tonight.

Charlie pulled up to the platform and tied the reins around the brake handle. “I’ll go wake the preacher. He don’t live but a block from here,” he shouted so that Hank could hear him. “You two might as well get acquainted.”

She watched her brother-in-law disappear into the clutter of homes behind the station. For a while she just stared into the darkness wondering what she’d say to this man she was about to marry. Getting acquainted wasn’t easy when neither liked to talk.

When she finally turned, Hank Harris looked as nervous as she. He offered his big hand and helped her down from the wagon. As his sleeve slipped a few inches up his arm she noticed a white bandage.

“Are you hurt?” If he’d had a bandage on his arm at dinner, surely she would have noticed.

Hank pulled his shirt over the wound as he shook his head. “It’s nothing really. Right after I bought our tickets, some fellow I’ve never seen before thought I should have a drink with him. When I said I was waiting for someone he pulled a knife.” Hank brushed his coat sleeve as if the wound could be dusted away. “The doc in the saloon across the street stitched it up for me. He was well into his whiskey, but he did a fine job. He wasn’t much of a doctor and it wasn’t much of a cut, so he only charged the price of a bottle. I was more worried about not being here when you drove in than the blood.”

She frowned.

Hank continued, “I think the fellow mistook me for someone else. He was drunk enough that, by the time he realized his mistake, he decided to be mad at me instead of himself.”

Her smile returned. “I can see how he’d take you for another.” She scanned the length of him. “There must be quite a few men your size catching the midnight train.”

Hank hated comments about his height, but somehow he didn’t mind her teasing. “Be careful or next time I’ll tell the guy to stay around until my wife arrives to shoot him.”

“Did he try to rob you?”

Hank shook his head. “No, just a drunk wanting company.”

Aggie brushed her fingers along his arm, lightly feeling the bandage beneath layers of shirt and coat. When their eyes met, they both turned away, embarrassed at her boldness.

He quickly stepped to the wagon bed. “This all of your luggage?” he asked as politely as if she were a stranger he’d offered to assist.

She glanced at the carpetbag and two boxes tied with twine. “I’ve a trunk my father said he’d ship once I settled. That’s all.” She knew it wasn’t much. Most brides came with all the necessities for setting up housekeeping, but without a mother to help her, Aggie had neither the skill nor desire to quilt and stitch a dowry.

He picked up her belongings and loaded them on the train. When he returned, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” was all he answered.

They just stood, side by side, as mismatched as any couple she’d ever seen. Her fingers twisted together, she shifted in place, straightened her skirt, retied the bonnet Dolly had insisted she wear.

Hank could have been made of stone. He didn’t even seem to breathe. They both stared at the few lights of Fort Worth. On the breeze she thought she heard the tinny sound of a piano and guessed the only thing open this time of night would be the saloons.

“You cold?” He startled her with his question.

“No,” she lied, pulling her cotton dress coat around her. She wasn’t about to complain or tell him this was the only coat she had. Her father had bought her three new dresses to “go on her courting journey.” Only, when she’d left for her first sister’s house, it had been late spring. Now, in another month it would be Thanksgiving. Her three fine dresses were worn from washing and pressing, and no brother-in-law had offered to loan her money for winter clothes. Not that she would have taken a single coin from them. All any of them wanted from her was her absence. She was another mouth to feed and something for their wives to complain about. Nothing more.

She watched Charlie hurrying down the platform. A chubby young man, trying to pull on his long black coat, rushed behind him.

“I finally found a preacher,” Charlie grumbled. “We can get this done now.”

The preacher introduced himself as Brother Philip Milton. He shook Hank’s hand with a strong pumping motion. “First,” the young man said, straightening to his full height, “I have to ask if you’re still wanting to marry this lady.” He looked nervous, as if this might be his first ceremony. “I don’t push nobody down matrimony road that don’t want to go.”

Hank swallowed, then nodded. Aggie wished she could see his face and know for sure that he wasn’t having second thoughts. She wanted to warn the lean cowboy that all she’d ever been was trouble. Her mother died giving her birth. Her sisters had to take care of her when they were little more than babies themselves. Her father carted her to work with him until she’d been old enough to go to school. She didn’t like, or trust, people, and she smelled of gun power and oil most of the time. If this man had any sense, he’d run now while he still had the chance.

Brother Milton patted Hank on the shoulder and turned to her. “You feel the same about him?”

She fought down a scream as she managed to whisper, “Yes.”

While the preacher continued, she told herself nothing could be worse than being passed around. At least she’d have a home, no matter how small or plain.

Brushing the Colt at her waist she remembered his offer. A partnership. If he was fool enough to offer, she was crazy enough to take him up on it.

The preacher asked them to join hands as the first whistle to load sounded. Hank’s fingers closed around hers and she tried to hear Brother Milton’s words over the pounding of her heart. She was doing what her father had ordered. She was marrying.

Steam filled the night air, fogging the lights on the platform as travelers rushed by, unaware that two people were joining their lives together, forever. Aggie gripped Hank’s hand and breathed in the damp air. Silently, she said good-bye to all she’d ever known, and hung her hopes on his promise.

The preacher pronounced them man and wife as the second whistle sounded. Hank reached in his pocket and handed Brother Milton two dollars.

Charlie yelled for them to hurry and suddenly they were running-her hand still in Hank’s-toward their new life.

Hank paused a few feet ahead of her as the train began to move. Then, without warning, he reached for her and lifted her up to the second step as the train picked up speed. A moment later, he jumped aboard.

Aggie backed up another step, giving him room, and found herself at eye level with the stranger she’d just married. She should have been afraid, but all she saw was a pair of walnut-colored eyes reflecting the questions and uncertainty she felt. She knew without asking that he hadn’t come to dinner planning to leave with a wife. He didn’t even seem all that happy with the turn of events. He looked more confused and worried.

He might be clean and not swear, but for all she knew he’d murdered and buried several wives out on that ranch of his. No one, not even her brother-in-law, knew Hank Harris well enough to pay him an honest compliment. He might be a raving maniac living way off in a town she’d never heard about. But then, who was she to question his sanity. She’d married a giant she’d talked to for five minutes in the dark.

The wind tugged a strand of her hair free. She turned away from his stare and tried to push it back beneath her bonnet. When she looked back, he was still staring at her as if she were the first woman he’d ever encountered. He had a strong face, made of all plains and angles. Not handsome, but solid with character.

Aggie let out a breath and told herself that a man’s face didn’t lie.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “How are we doing so far?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I haven’t shot you yet so I guess the marriage is lasting.”

“You think we might try sitting down? It’ll get mighty cold out here in the next eight hours.”

Turning around just as the car shifted, Aggie lost her footing on the narrow step.

Hank’s hand touched her waist only long enough to steady her. When he pulled away, she thought she heard him whisper, “Sorry.”

They moved inside and found an empty seat. While she slid close to the window, Hank tugged at the top half of the bench in front of them, shifting the back so it made the seat face them. He sat his saddlebags on the empty bench. The tiny square he’d created offered them space and the hint of privacy. With an almost empty train, no one would be close to them for the journey.

He stood, halfway between the seat next to her and the one across from them as if debating where to sit.

“Do you like to ride facing backward?” she asked, thinking he looked so cramped having to lean forward to keep from hitting the top of the car.

“No,” he said but didn’t move.

She pulled her skirts close against her leg, making room for him.

When he sat, his knee brushed hers and he apologized again.

Relaxing, she almost giggled. Any man who’d said he was sorry twice in ten minutes of marriage couldn’t be as bad as her fears. “It’s all right,” she said. “We’re married. We’re bound to touch now and then.”

He nodded and tossed his hat and coat on top of his saddlebags. “We probably need to talk about the rules of this partnership. I’d sure hate to do something to make you think you’d just as soon be a widow.”

She patted the gun belt at her waist and smiled. “It’s a long way to Amarillo. Maybe we should set a few rules so we both know what the other expects.”

And they did. He told her of his house and how he’d change one room to be hers. She said she only knew how to fix breakfast, but she’d do that every morning if he’d cook dinner. He explained that his land was less than a mile from town so they could manage to eat at the hotel café some nights.

When he talked of his home, he relaxed, describing it so well she could almost see the ranch with its endless sunsets and room to breathe. From the train window the land turned flat, but he painted the beauty in it with his words so clearly she could almost see it through the night.

Somewhere between Fort Worth and home, Aggie fell asleep on her new husband’s shoulder, dreaming of a life where her time was her own and no one ordered her around.

Chapter 4

Hank put up with her wiggling beside him, trying to get comfortable, for as long as he could stand it, then he shifted and circled his arm around her shoulder. Her head settled against his heart. She sighed softly in sleep and stilled as if she’d found the place where she could relax.

He thought back over everything he’d done or said all evening, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how he’d ended up heading back home with a beautiful woman sleeping on him. Not just a woman…his wife. He’d always said he liked his solitude, but he looked forward to seeing what tomorrow would bring for the first time in years.

He felt like a miner who’d been breathing stale air for so long that a fresh breeze made him dizzy. Everything in his life had seemed fine until he met Aggie, then he noticed the emptiness. And, it had happened in the darkness outside, before he’d seen her face. He admired her honesty, her spirit, but her beauty made him nervous.

For a while he worried about what she’d think of his house, then he remembered Charlie’s dugout and decided she’d like his place just fine. She wasn’t his real wife, he reminded himself. Not in the true sense of it. But to the town, to his friends, she would be. Somewhere in their discussion of the rules for this partnership, they’d agreed to keep the arrangement between them. Which suited him fine. He wasn’t sure anyone would believe him even if he tried to explain. She’d told him that he could touch her in any way that would be acceptable in public, but that she’d not be ordered around anywhere. He grinned, guessing she’d had enough bossing with four older sisters.

Her determination to work surprised him. He hadn’t missed the way, after telling him of her dream to be a gunsmith, that she’d waited as if she expected him to argue.

He’d told her Amarillo had several places that sold guns, but no gunsmith to repair them. He offered to speak to Jeb Diggs at the mercantile and ask if he’d put out a sign.

Hank smiled again, realizing he’d smiled more tonight than he had in months. Once he mentioned the sign, she’d asked questions, wanting to know all about the possibilities of her working. Aggie told him about her small box of tools and said she could mail order more with the first money she made.

For a few moments her shyness had disappeared. She’d promised him she’d pay her way, buying her own clothes and paying for half the food. The last thing she’d said before falling asleep was that she’d be no trouble to him at all as if by agreeing to marry her he’d somehow taken on an extra burden.

Touching her hand with one finger, he wondered how such a delicate creature could want to work with weapons. Her blue-green eyes had sparkled at the thought though, and if that was what she wanted, he’d do his best to see it happened. He had a feeling, trouble or not, great changes were coming in his life, and all he could think was that it was about time.

He rubbed his chin against her auburn hair. She’d been asleep an hour. They’d be pulling into Wichita Falls soon. He knew all the noise would wake her, but he wasn’t ready to have her pull away. They might be strangers, but she felt so right against his side.

The whistle blew as the train slowed. As he knew she would, Aggie straightened and replaced her bonnet. “Are we close to your home?”

“No,” he managed to answer while thinking how ugly her hat fitted her face and hid the color of her hair. “We’ve only made the first leg, but there’s a café here that stays open for this train. You hungry?”

She nodded.

“Twenty-minute stop,” the porter yelled as he passed. “We don’t wait for anyone.”

Aggie’s hand slid around Hank’s arm as they rushed from the train. “Does the wound pain you?”

He covered her cold fingers with his. “I’d forgotten about it.” He guided her into the café.

After they ordered, Hank decided to voice his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking since I just sold a few cattle that you should go ahead and order those tools you need right away. There’s a mercantile across from the station.” He added in almost a whisper, “We could also pick up any clothes you might need and maybe a hat to protect your face from the sun.”

She looked up from her coffee. “I’ll keep a record and pay you back.”

He nodded, guessing she wouldn’t accept the money any other way, and was thankful she didn’t take offense at his suggestion of a new hat. “I could build you a bench in the barn to work. I have a bench out there where I’m always intending to build a few pieces of furniture, but I never seem to have the time. You could work with me on warm days, then when it gets cold you could use the kitchen table as a work area.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t. If we’re to truly have this partnership, then half the barn, as well as the kitchen, is already yours.”

“Thank you,” she said as the cook delivered two bowls of chili with cornbread on the side.

When they were alone she added, “Mr. Harris, would you consider telling me why you married me?” She’d talked freely of her work and the rules, but she must think this question personal for her shyness returned.

“Don’t you think you should call me Hank?”

She shook her head and looked down at her hands. He finished half his chili before she spoke. “My father told me once that my mother never called him anything but ‘dear.’ Would you consider it too bold if I did the same?”

No one had ever referred to him as dear. “I wouldn’t mind.” He wanted to add that she’d just made this bargain worthwhile even if she didn’t do another thing, but all he said was, “I married you because you needed me.”

She looked surprised. “Not because you wanted me or because folks say I’m pretty or because you needed a wife to help out?”

He shook his head. “You know you’re pretty. In fact, I think you may be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, but I wouldn’t have offered if that were all there was to you. In the dark, when we met, I saw your dreams, your hopes and, when we went inside, it didn’t take much to see that those two fools would never make them happen.”

She laughed, but her eyes studied him as if searching for a lie. “And will you?”

“Nope,” he answered between bites, “but you will.”

They ate the rest of the meal in silence with him wondering if she believed him. When they left the café and ran for the train she huddled close to him. The wind blew hard from the north. Hank could feel a storm coming and he hoped he made it home before it hit.

When they settled back into their seats, the car was empty except for a drunk snoring on the last bench. Aggie tugged off her shoes, doubled her legs beneath her skirts, and shifted so that her back rested on the window. Hank folded his leather coat and made a pillow for her to lean against.

“Thank you, dear,” she said as casually as if she’d said the endearment all her life.

“You’re welcome,” he managed.

Hank had been an only child raised by a father who seldom said more than was necessary to anyone, including him. He was totally unprepared for Aggie. As the train pulled away from Wichita Falls and moved into the night, she began to talk, shyly at first. She told him of her home and her father, then she described all four of her sisters and how they’d married one by one and moved away.

Hank listened.

Tears bubbled in her eyes when she talked about how lonely her father seemed with all the girls gone except her. She loved working beside him and he’d taught her all he knew, but there still seemed to be this big hole in him that didn’t fill until he began stepping out with Widow Forbes.

Hank liked the sound of Aggie’s voice and the way emotions reflected in her face. He saw pride when she talked about her skill, and sadness when she told of leaving home and knowing if she ever returned she’d be a visitor in another woman’s house. Anger also danced in her blue-green depths when she described how her sisters passed her from one to the other, each adding another layer of reasons why she wasn’t married.

He could read in her eyes far more than she told. He’d bet the five hundred dollars in his pocket that she’d been her father’s favorite and her sisters had resented it. He’d also bet the sisters hadn’t wasted much time looking for the best man for Aggie.

Like a top spinning down, she finally said all she had to say. She must have waited a long time to find someone who would listen.

“You tired?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Turn around and lean against me.” He shifted.

She pressed her back against his chest and he pulled his coat over her, resting his arm over her to keep the coat in place. “Trust me,” he whispered against her hair. “I’ll wake you before we get there.”

“Yes, dear,” she answered, already almost asleep.

Chapter 5

With the dawn came a downpour that seemed to be trying to wash the small town of Amarillo off the map. As the train pulled into the station, Aggie tried to catch her first glimpse. She stared out the foggy window at gray skies blending with the brown landscape.

“This is it.” Hank stood as the engine braked. He crammed on his hat as if preparing for a fight. “We’re home.” Slinging his saddlebags over one shoulder, he moved toward the door. “I’ll take your carpetbag now and come back for the boxes when I fetch my horse.”

She sat motionless realizing he expected her to follow him.

“You have to be joking,” Aggie mumbled. “I can’t go out in that.” She pointed at the rain pelting the windows. “There are tree branches blowing by bigger than me.” She twisted her hands until her fingers turned ghostly white. “I can’t go.”

Hank laughed. “Train’s moving farther north in half an hour and my guess is the storm only gets worse from here. We have to get off now.”

When she didn’t move, he added, “I’ll carry you to the mercantile across the street. It’s not far. You’ll still get wet, but at least you won’t get muddy…or blown away. Don’t worry. I’ll hold on to you.”

Neither option seemed possible. Even if she had an umbrella, using it would be like fighting a bear with a twig. Much as she hated it, the only choice might be to run for the nearest shelter.

Hank moved down the aisle as if their discussion was over and she followed, her hands worrying in front of her. Marrying a stranger might have been reckless, but stepping out in that wind bordered on suicidal in her mind. No wonder there were no people in the Panhandle of Texas. They’d all blown into the Oklahoma Territory.

She watched as Hank crossed onto the platform, his legs wide apart and solid against the wind.

Before she could say anything, he swung her up and jumped from the train. Aggie wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life as he ran into a wall of gray rain.

Shivering against him, she was too frightened to make a sound. Once they were off the platform, the street turned more river than road. He slowed, picking his steps. As tiny hailstones joined the rain, she felt his heart pounding even through their clothing.

His face lowered and his hat protected them both. A rough brush of whiskers touched her cheek.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, his lips near her ear. “We’re almost there.”

Aggie managed a slight nod and felt her cheek touch his once more. She tightened her grip. He did the same.

When he stepped onto the porch of Diggs Grocery and Hardware, she didn’t lessen her hold. Now the rain wasn’t hitting them, but the sound of it seemed deafening against the tin roof.

Hank pushed into the store. “We made it,” he whispered with a laugh.

Aggie realized she hadn’t been nearly as frightened as she thought she would be. She’d felt safe in his arms.

Placing her hand on his jaw, she turned his head slightly so that their eyes met beneath the shadow of his Stetson. “Thank you.” She silently mouthed the words as she studied his face. A strong face with honest eyes, she decided. This tall man held far more than her at the moment. He held her future.

Warm air circled around them. Hank took a deep breath and raised his head.

When she looked up, a colorful mercantile greeted her. Everything from clothing, blankets, and food supplies to farm equipment and furniture seemed haphazardly piled around them. One man with a wide smile stood in the center of it all.

“Aggie.” Hank cleared his throat. “I’d like you to meet Jeb Diggs.”

Jeb Diggs, as round as the potbellied stove he stood beside, hurried toward them. “Well, well, Hank Harris. I didn’t expect to see a soul today, much less you. What you got there?” The fat little man wiggled his eyebrows at Aggie.

Hank’s hat dripped water as he looked down. “My wife,” he answered as if the two words were all that needed to be said. Leaning, he set her feet on the floor.

“Mary Carol! Get out here!” Jeb bellowed. “Hank just found him a wife.”

A woman matching Jeb in size waddled from the back. They both stared at Aggie as if they’d never seen such a strange creature.

Aggie straightened slowly. “Nice to meet you,” she managed between shivers.

Hank’s hand spread across her back, steadying her as though he sensed her fear.

Jeb motioned for them to come closer to the stove.

Hank circled her shoulder as if to draw her forward, but she didn’t budge. All her life she’d hated meeting strangers. Her father had never made her wait on customers in his shop as her sisters did. Now, everything and everyone about her was a stranger, and she longed for her quiet days spent in the back of the shop.

She glanced up at Hank. He smiled slightly, but didn’t say a word. He looked like if she planned to remain rooted at the front door, he’d stand right beside her.

Mary Carol misunderstood Aggie’s hesitance. “Don’t worry about getting this floor wet, we’d outlast Noah, and don’t pay no mind to that basket of cats. I found them out on the back porch without no momma to look after them. I couldn’t stand them newborns getting soaked in this rain, so I put them as close to the fire as I dared.”

Forgetting her own worries, Aggie looked at the basket by the stove. Wet, crying kittens wiggled about. She crossed and knelt, seeing that they were newly born and shivering. Blindly, they searched for their mother.

“If you have a cloth,” she asked the lady staring at her, “I could wipe them dry.”

Mary Carol smiled down at her. “I’ll get one for them, and one for you too.”

Aggie removed her ruined bonnet and wet coat, then sat beside the basket to began rubbing each kitten down.

“She’s a pretty one,” Jeb Diggs said as he watched Aggie. “An angel you got there, Hank.”

“She needs dry clothes and a warm coat. Just put whatever she picks on my bill,” Hank said as he shoved back on his hat. “I have to get my horse unloaded.”

Aggie looked up, hating that he had to go back out in the storm.

“You be all right here?” he asked, studying her.

She nodded.

Mary Carol waved Hank away. “You hurry right back. Jeb will put on a fresh pot of coffee and it’ll be waiting for you. I’ll see to your new missus.” She studied Aggie. “I’ll bring out the few choices of clothing we have to pick from, and you can change in the storage room when you finish with them cats.” As she walked away she mumbled, “You’ll be needing boots as well.”

The woman disappeared behind the stacks of clothing, but her voice continued, “You’re lucky, we got in a huge shipment last week of winter wear. Nothing as fancy as what you have on, but good sturdy clothes.”

Aggie looked down at the wrinkled violet dress she wore. Two of her sisters had picked it out, saying she needed something elaborate to attract a man, but the frills and buttons weren’t comfortable and hadn’t worn well.

Mary Carol tossed clothes over the stacks. A dark, rich, blue wool skirt landed at Aggie’s feet, and a blouse cut like a man’s, except for the collar and cuffs, followed.

Aggie ran her hand over the outfit. Growing up, her clothes had always been hand-me-downs. Pale yellows and washed-out pinks. She’d never worn anything in dark blue and couldn’t wait to try it on.

“I got just the right vest to go with that,” Mary Carol shouted as she hurried into sight. She held up a multicolored vest that looked like it had been made from an Indian blanket. “What do you think?”

Aggie grinned. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever worn. It was perfect.

Twenty minutes later, when Hank stomped back into the store, Aggie sat by the stove drying her hair. He almost didn’t recognize her. From her black boots to her western vest, she put any model he’d ever seen in a catalog to shame. He felt his mouth go dry. How does a man tell a beautiful woman she’s just improved on perfection?

Tiny gray kittens, now fluffy and dry, were at her feet wrapped in a towel. Hank tried to concentrate on them as he moved closer, but five feet from her he made the mistake of looking up and froze.

“What’s wrong? Is the storm worse?” She stood.

“No, I think it may be letting up a bit,” he said, studying the way the mass of curls danced around her shoulders. “I just didn’t know you had so much hair.”

She frowned. “I’m afraid it curls when it gets wet. I’ll…” Lifting her hands, she tried to pull it back.

“It’s nice. Real nice,” he said, wishing he could think of something more descriptive than “nice.” He should have told her that the beauty of it took his breath away, but words like that would never make it past the lump in his throat. She must truly have no idea how beautiful she looked.

Something wiggled in his shirt, demanding Hank’s attention. “Oh,” he said, pulling a gray cat out before she permanently scarred his chest. “I found this under the porch. Hope it’s the momma.”

Aggie laughed and took the cat from him. “Of course it’s the mother cat. She’s probably been frantic looking for her babies.”

As she sat the cat in the middle of the towel, the little mother began licking each kitten.

Hank watched. “Guess she didn’t think the storm got them clean enough.”

Aggie shook her head. “More likely she’s cleaning off my scent.”

Before either could say more, Jeb entered with a round of coffee. “I was just askin’ Mary Carol,” he bellowed, unaware he was interrupting a conversation, “how did Hank manage to leave a week ago with cattle and come back with a wife?”

Hank ignored the store owner and moved closer. “I like your choice of clothes,” he whispered before Jeb reached them. “They look right on you somehow.”

She leaned nearer, almost touching him. “Thanks for bring the mother cat in.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, liking their whispering game.

Jeb tried again. “When did you two get married?”

“Last night, before we boarded the train,” Hank answered without taking his eyes off of Aggie. “And as for how, I asked her, and she said yes.”

Jeb laughed. “So that’s it. We was figuring she must have held that gun she’s wearing to your head and made you marry her-her being so homely and all.”

Aggie lifted the Colt from its holster as if she hadn’t heard the backhanded compliment. “Hank gave me his gun because, like my father, I’m a gunsmith.”

Hank took one of the hot mugs from Jeb and almost laughed at the man’s surprise.

When he found his voice, he asked, “A gunsmith?”

Both men stood silently as she opened one of her boxes. She pulled out her tools wrapped in oil cloth, then sat on the stool by the stove and used the checkerboard as her workbench. While they watched in amazement, she disassembled the Colt and cleaned it. She then dried the holster and rubbed the leather down with saddle soap to keep it soft.

Jeb stared at Hank. “Let me get this right. She’s not only beautiful, she can fix guns too.” He raised both eyebrows as if piecing together a puzzle. “And she married you?”

Hank laughed. “That’s about the size of it, except she wants to practice her craft. Do you think you could hang a sign in the window and take in any work folks might need done? We’ll come by every few days and deliver back and forth if she gets any business.”

“And I’ll give you a percent of all I earn, Mr. Diggs,” she added.

Jeb shook his head. “Don’t want a percentage. It’s your work. I’ll make any money for my time by selling more from the extra customers the sign will bring in. My guess is when word gets out that you’re here, you will have all the business you can handle.”

Aggie rolled up her tools. “Thank you. I have a list of tools I need.” She pulled a slip of paper from the side of the box.

Jeb took the list. “I could probably get most of them from a supplier in Fort Worth. Wouldn’t take more than a few days.” He tapped the paper with his finger. “I’ll send this order with the afternoon train.” He glanced at Hank. “And, of course, I’ll put it on your bill.”

Hank agreed but didn’t miss the surprised look she gave him. He couldn’t help but wonder how long she’d carried the slip of paper with her small box of tools.

She accepted a mug of coffee and went back to her seat beside the cats. “Thanks for the coffee and for letting me watch your kittens.”

Jeb shrugged. “In a few weeks you can have your pick of the litter.”

She grinned at Hank.

He nodded his agreement.

“We’ll take the runt,” she said and went back to watching the animals while the men talked about the weather.

When his cup was empty, Hank pulled on his slicker over his coat and asked if she was ready to leave. He slipped a new slicker over her shoulders and covered her hair with the hood, unable to resist touching the curls.

Her hand gently brushed his forearm and she whispered, “Should I change this bandage? It must be wet.”

Hank shook his head. “It’ll just get wet again. Wait until we’re home. I’ve got a good stash of medicine there.”

She agreed and Hank heard Mrs. Diggs mumble something about lovebirds.

Before they realized there was nothing between Aggie and him but a partnership, Hank waved good-bye and held the door open for his wife. “I didn’t bring the wagon into town. I thought I’d be coming back alone. You mind riding double?”

Surprisingly, she giggled. “I’ve only been on horseback a few times. My father always drove a wagon.”

Hank bumped his head against the door frame, too busy watching her and not where he was going. “I won’t let you fall,” he mumbled, thinking that if he didn’t stop staring at her and start paying attention, he’d have brain damage before the day was over.

Chapter 6

The rain launched an assault to keep them inside, pelting at full force when they cleared the door. Hank motioned for her to wait while he climbed onto his horse and tied her bag and the boxes in place behind the saddle. He rode close to the porch so he could lift Aggie up in front of him.

She might be shy, but her willingness for adventure surprised him. He’d half expected her to refuse to go with him. He’d bluffed her into following when they’d left the train, but he had no idea what he would do this time if she refused. He didn’t know her well, but he didn’t think Aggie would take too kindly to being tossed over the saddle against her will.

Mary Carol rushed out with two bags. “Here’s her wet clothes,” she said, pulling her shawl around her head. “I also packed a few supplies-bread, milk, and coffee just in case you don’t have any out at your place.”

“Thank you.” Aggie accepted both bags.

“No problem. I put them on your account.”

Hank’s arm tightened around his bride as he turned the horse toward home.

“Maybe you should stay and wait out the storm?” Mary Carol yelled as they pulled away.

“Want to wait?” he whispered near Aggie’s ear.

She shook her head. “I want to go home.”

Hank no longer cared about the weather. He’d been so many years without a family, without anyone, heading home with Aggie seemed almost too good to be true. He had a feeling any moment he’d awake from this dream and find some other man had won her hand. The thought brought to mind Potter Stockton’s frown last night. The railroad man had made fun of the proposal almost all the ride back to Fort Worth. Hank hadn’t missed the anger in Potter’s remarks. He’d hinted twice before they split near the depot that Hank would be smart to go on back to Amarillo alone and leave the courtship of Aggie to a man who knew how to treat a woman like her.

Hank couldn’t help but wonder, if he’d missed the train last night, would she have agreed to meet Potter Stockton again, or would she have turned both men down and moved on to the next sister’s house? Hank remembered how Stockton talked about her beauty and how he’d laughed and commented that shy ones always “take the bit” without too much fighting. Hank didn’t even want to think about what Stockton meant.

If Hank hadn’t already asked for her hand, he would have turned around and ridden back to Aggie just to warn her not to see the railroad man again.

If she wasn’t cocooned in her slicker, he might have tried to tell her where his land started, but with the rain she could see little. He wished he’d had time to telegraph ahead and have his hand, Blue Thompson, light the fire in the house and put lamps in the windows to welcome her.

When they reached the ranch, even though it was late morning, all was dark. He leaned down to open the gate. She twisted in front of him, holding tightly to his slicker.

He straightened and pulled her close once more. “It’s all right, Aggie. I won’t let you fall.”

Her hood slid back enough that he could see her nod, but she didn’t turn loose of her grip on him. When they reached the long porch that rounded three sides of his house, he lifted her with him as he stepped from the saddle and carried her up the steps. Old Ulysses, his guard dog, barked from beneath the porch.

“Hush, Ulysses, it’s just me,” Hank mumbled.

The dog growled, but quieted.

When they were well out of the rain, he sat Aggie down beside the only piece of furniture he’d brought north with him when he’d homesteaded-his father’s rocker. “Don’t worry about Ulysses. He’s mean and hates everyone, including me, but he’s a good guard dog. He keeps snakes away and warns me if anyone gets near the place.”

Hank straightened and gripped the doorknob. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have…”

He didn’t finish. It was too late for explanations or apologies. “Welcome home,” he managed as the door creaked open.

Aggie walked in ahead of him and didn’t stop until she was in the center of the polished floor. The storm’s gray light shown the open area in layers of shadows. He stood at the threshold and stared at her back. The big main room looked empty with its two chairs and one long table. The fireplace was cold and dusty. The curtainless windows were stark, letting all the rage of the storm inside and holding no warmth.

“There’s a kitchen and mudroom behind the fireplace. My room is to the left and yours will be to the right once I get my tack out of it. I’ll move my bed in for you until I can build you what you need.”

She hadn’t moved. Her back was so straight he decided she must be in shock. To him the house had been great, but to her it must look cold and bare.

“The kitchen ceiling is only seven feet. I built an attic above it.” He almost said “for kids.” “I haven’t been up there in a while, but it would make a good storage room if you need one. All that is up there now is an old trunk someone sent back to my father after my mom died.”

“You weren’t there when she died?”

He shook his head. “She left my father and me when I was barely walking. Never heard from her. There must have been nowhere to send her trunk. Our address was still written on the top so they shipped it home to my father. We never opened it.” His words sounded hollow, even to him, but better that, he decided, than angry, which is how he’d felt most of his childhood.

He watched Aggie closely. “I could move it to the barn if you need the space. I don’t even know why I lugged it from East Texas when I moved.”

He had no idea what Aggie needed to feel at home here, but he planned to make sure she had it. “We could order more furniture if you want. I never had much use for it until now.”

She took a step toward the archway leading to the kitchen.

Hank had to keep talking. “You can’t see them for the rain, but there’s a bunkhouse and barn about a hundred feet to the north, and we got a windmill and a good well. In the spring the view is a sight to see from every window.”

She’d reached the kitchen and still hadn’t turned around or said a word.

“I hire hands to help with the spring calving and branding, but during the winter, Blue Thompson and I do all the work. He and his wife, Lizzy, have a place down by the breaks halfway between here and town.” Hank felt near out of information. If she didn’t say something soon he wasn’t sure what to do.

Without warning, she twirled suddenly, her arms wide, her head back, her hair flying behind her.

He watched, hypnotized by the sight of her. If angels ever touch ground they could look no happier than she did right now.

When she stopped, she faced him, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I love it,” she said.

“You do?”

She nodded. “All my life I’ve lived in tiny little rooms crowded with too many people. Here I can breathe.”

Hank relaxed. “Then I can bring your stuff in and you’ll stay?”

Tugging off her slicker, she answered as she disappeared into the kitchen. “Yes, dear, I’ll stay.”

Chapter 7

Aggie explored her new home while Hank brought in her boxes and bag. Like the main room, the kitchen was twice the size of any she’d seen, and her bedroom had enough space for all four of her sisters to join her. The windows everywhere were tall. She laughed, deciding Hank built them that way so he could see out without leaning down. Her father was short, only a few inches taller than she, and always fidgety in movement. Getting used to Hank would take some time. His strides were long and easy, graceful in a powerful way. But when he was still, he was perfectly still.

While Hank moved his bed into her room, she inspected the area above the kitchen and was surprised there was nothing in it but the battered old trunk he’d mentioned. She couldn’t imagine a house with so much space that there would be an empty room. It also amazed her that he seemed to think it should be her room to do whatever she liked with. She moved around the attic, touching each wall, each window-silently saying hello to her new world.

“Aggie?” Hank called from below. “Come down and meet Blue.”

She hurried to the kitchen and nearly collided with a gray-haired man almost as tall as Hank and twice as wide.

The man shuffled out of her way. “Pardon me,” he mumbled, then laughed and added, “I didn’t know you’d be flying down from above. Truth is I’d forgotten that room was up there.”

Even with his slicker covering most of his body, she could tell his right shoulder was twisted, but there was nothing weak or soft about him. His frown seemed tattooed across his face and mistrust danced in his eyes. The big man looked as afraid of her as she was of him.

She fought to keep from running to Hank.

As if he sensed her fear, her husband moved to her side and looped his arm around her shoulder. “Aggie, I’d like you to meet my friend, Blue Thompson.”

She knew Hank wouldn’t use the word friend lightly, but Thompson looked like a man who hadn’t trusted anyone since birth.

The big man stiffly offered his left hand while Hank continued. “Blue was shot up pretty bad at Williamsburg. When they found him in the cold, he was so near dead he looked blue.” Hank offered him coffee.

“I’ve been called Blue ever since,” the big man said. “I kinda like the name too, since I lived.”

Aggie’s fingers disappeared in his as they shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Thompson.” She didn’t miss the way he glanced down at Hank’s gun around her waist and nodded once, as if he understood that Hank wouldn’t have given his Colt to any woman unless she mattered to him.

“Just Blue,” he corrected. This time when he returned her gaze she saw acceptance and maybe a little respect.

“Just Blue.” She smiled. “And I’m just Aggie.”

The old soldier relaxed. “Hank said your daddy taught you about guns.”

“That’s right,” Aggie said.

“I got a French LeMat I carried in the war. Haven’t been able to fire it since that day I was shot, but I keep it anyway. Do you think you could have a look at it for me?”

“I’d be glad to,” she answered, realizing Blue was accepting her a few inches at a time. “I’ve worked on one of them before. Bring it by when you have time.”

Blue frowned. “I’d go get it now. Our place isn’t that far away, but there’s a fence down.” He looked at Hank. “We gotta get to it, boss, or there will be hell to pay by morning.”

Hank agreed. “Help me get the tack in the barn, then saddle the paint.”

Blue tipped his hat to Aggie and followed orders.

“You’ll be all right here?” Hank sounded like he hated leaving her.

For a moment she thought of arguing. This was their first day together. All her life her father never minded postponing work. He’d even stop working to enjoy his pipe, or a conversation. Aggie knew ranching wouldn’t be like gunsmithing. Problems couldn’t wait. “Go,” she said. “I’d hate to pay hell in the morning.”

Hank smiled. “I might need to talk to Blue about his mouth.” Hesitantly, he leaned and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you run into trouble, just fire three shots. If I’m not close enough to hear, Lizzy, Blue’s wife, will come running.”

Aggie moved to the window and watched the two men disappear into a curtain of rain. It occurred to her that she should feel lonely and abandoned, but even with the storm raging, she felt protected in Hank’s house. She needed the time here to settle in.

The walls glowed honey colored with each lightning flash as she ran from room to room loving the open feel to it. Space was a luxury she’d never known.

A hundred yards from the house, Hank realized he’d almost run out of the kitchen. He’d known that if he looked at her a moment longer he wouldn’t be able to leave. As he lowered his hat and rode into the rain, he wondered at what point his mind had turned to oatmeal. How could a woman he hadn’t even known twenty-four hours matter to him? When had she crawled under his skin and become a part of him?

Within an hour, he and Blue were riding the fence line looking for breaks. Compared to most of the ranches, his herd was small. Hank couldn’t afford to lose any cattle. The cows he’d saved back from the last sale were all good breeding stock and he’d need them come spring. Last year he’d finally made it to the black after ten years of scraping by. He’d bought more land when the Duncan ranch next to him failed, and still managed to put some in the bank for a rainy day.

His plan had been to build enough to finally sell this spread and buy another, bigger one, farther from town. But, now, with Aggie in his life, he might have to rethink that plan. If she wanted to work, they’d need to live close to town, and the way Amarillo was growing it would overtake his ranch one day. The thought of being so close to town didn’t interest him, but he couldn’t see himself moving so far away that he made Aggie unhappy.

Smiling, he remembered the way she’d twirled around, her blue skirts flying.

Hank was so deep in thought he almost missed the downed fence. If Blue hadn’t yelled at him, they might have ridden passed a hole so big his entire herd could have moved through by morning.

As they worked, the storm played itself out. The wind settled to a breeze and the rain to a drizzle. The red Texas mud clung to their hands and boots. By the time they finished, both men were covered in caked dirt. The watery sun blinked its way between clouds, baking the earth to their clothes like shingles on a roof. Hank pushed hard, trying to keep his mind on his job and not on the woman who waited for him at home.

Blue, as always, worked beside him. For a man with little use of his right hand, he managed to earn his wages. Over the years the two men had learned to work as a team, but they rarely talked.

Late in the afternoon when they headed home, Blue turned off along the breaks with a wave and Hank followed the stream. He was bone tired after not sleeping the night before on the train, but he pushed his horse, wanting to reach the house long before sundown.

While he washed and put on his good white shirt in the mudroom, Hank noticed the bandage on his arm was spotted with blood. Sometime during the afternoon one of the stitches must have pulled loose. He wrapped it with a towel so he wouldn’t get blood on his clean clothes, then entered the house as quietly as possible.

He found Aggie curled up in the middle of his big bed, which he had moved into her room when he brought her boxes in. The guard dog, Ulysses, slept on the rug beside her. The moment he sensed Hank, he raised his head and growled.

Hank chuckled. “Protecting the lady, Ulysses?”

Aggie awoke with a smile and touched the dog’s head. “We had a long talk on the porch. Ulysses promised to be good if I let him come in for a while.”

The old dog lowered his head, but continued a grumble as Hank walked to the bed. “How about we see if together we can’t find something to eat.” He offered his hand to Aggie. “I’m starving and Ulysses is always in a better mood when he’s eaten.”

Aggie’s feet slipped to the floor as she accepted his hand. “First,” she said, staring at the towel, “I’ll check that wound and put a fresh bandage on it. I may not be able to cook, but I’m a fair nurse. My father was a walking accident looking for a place to pause. I hope Widow Forbes keeps her medicine kit handy.”

“We’ll send them one as a wedding gift.” Hank laughed as he accompanied her to the kitchen.

To his surprise, she raised her hand to his shoulder and pushed. For a second he didn’t understand what she was trying to do, then he realized she was attempting to push him into a chair.

He sat.

“I found the medicine box when I went through the cabinets.” She pulled the box forward and stood in front of him. “I also found a full stock of beans and peaches.” She hesitated, then added, “and nothing more.”

Hank watched her clean the wound. “Most nights I come in too tired to fix anything else. Lizzy brings over a good meal every Monday when she comes to do the laundry and clean.” He watched Aggie closely. “I pay her twice a year in beef. If it’s all right with you I’d like her to still come. They depend on the meat.”

Aggie nodded, but Hank wasn’t sure she really listened. She worried over the cut.

“You’re lucky this isn’t showing signs of infection.” She poked at the skin around his cut. “I think if we wrap it correctly the wound will stay closed, but I’ll want to clean it and put medicine on it twice a day.”

“It’ll be all right.” He shrugged, thinking he’d had far worse cuts.

She let out a huff of impatience and worry. “I’ll clean this twice a day if I have to tie you to the chair.”

Hank smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I had no idea I was marrying such a bossy wife.”

She raised her gaze to his and wrinkled her forehead. “I never thought I would be, but it seems so. You’ll just have to put up with it, I’m afraid.”

Loving the way she’d lost any fear of him, Hank put his hand at her waist, steadying his arm as she bandaged his wound. His gun belt was missing from around her hips and he wondered if she simply removed it while she slept, or if she felt safe enough with him not to bother with even the pretense of the Colt.

“How are we doing?” He repeated the same question he’d asked on the train steps twenty-four hours ago. “Any complaints, so far?”

She worked silently, her nearness affecting him more than any poking she was doing. Taking a deep breath, he let the scent of her fill his lungs. He’d smelled perfumed women in the saloons, and a few proper ladies who bore the scent of starch and talcum, but Aggie was like neither. She reminded him of spring water just when the land turns green, all fresh and new.

When she didn’t answer, Hank waited, figuring out that something bothered her. If he were guessing, he could think of several things-he’d left her their first day, the storm, no furnishings in the house to speak of, no curtains on the windows, none of her family close.

“There is one thing,” she finally said as she tied off the bandage.

“What?” He wouldn’t have been surprised if she said she changed her mind and wanted to go back to Fort Worth. Maybe the banker or the hotheaded Potter Stockton weren’t looking so bad after she’d spent the day here alone. He remained still, his hand at her waist.

“When you left, you kissed me on the forehead.”

If she was waiting for him to say he was sorry for that, she’d wait a long time. Finally, he managed to mumble, “You’d rather I hadn’t been so informal?”

She shrugged. “No, actually, I was thinking that if you are going to kiss me good-bye, I’d rather you didn’t do it on the forehead. It makes me feel like a child. I may be over a foot shorter than you, but I’m not a child. I wish never to be treated as such again.”

Now he said, “I’m sorry,” and meant it. “That was not my intent.” He watched her closely, unsure where the conversation was going. “Where would you like me to kiss you when we part?” He thought of mentioning that couples do kiss one another politely when saying good-bye, but in truth he could never really remember seeing any husband do so except at the train station.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned slightly toward him. “The cheek would be all right, I guess, or even the lips would seem appropriate. After all, we are married.”

Hank had that feeling of walking on ice. One misstep and he’d disappear. He wondered if he’d ever be able to read this woman. She’d made it plain she wanted a partnership marriage and nothing more, and now she was telling him where to kiss her. It crossed his mind that if all women were as hard to read as Aggie, no wonder the saloons were packed with married men.

He dove into deep water. “Like this,” he whispered as he tugged her near and brushed his lips lightly along her cheek.

She leaned away, considering. “That would be acceptable, I think.” She smiled. “Your whiskers tickle.”

His arm slid around her waist once more but this time when he pulled her, she stumbled, landing on his knee. Before he could change his mind, Hank kissed her soundly on the lips.

When he raised his head, her eyes were open wide.

“Is that acceptable, Aggie?” he said, preparing himself for any answer.

Standing, she whispered, “Yes, dear.” She turned, suddenly giving all her attention to putting up the supplies.

Chapter 8

They ate their dinner of beans and peaches at the kitchen table without saying much. Hank would have thought he’d upset her, only her last words still sounded in his mind. She’d said the kiss had been acceptable.

He was thinking of when he should do the acceptable again when she asked, “Where’d you get your dishes?”

Glancing down, Hank noticed the mismatch of china. “I bought them in the discount bin a few months after I came here. When my dad died, I sold the farm and packed up what I could in a wagon. Somewhere between East Texas and here, the box of his china fell off the wagon.” He lifted one bowl. “This was the only piece that survived.”

Aggie smiled. “This makes me feel right at home. When my first sister married, she took Mother’s good china with her. The second packed away the everyday set. Papa bought more, but they left after the third wedding. After that he just bought odd pieces.” She lifted the china teacup she’d been drinking coffee out of. “As near as I can remember, my mother’s best set looked like this one with the tiny blue flowers around the rim.”

Hank had never noticed the flowers, but he was glad he’d chosen the tea set. He bought them because he thought the pieces somehow made his place appear more like a home. Now he thought the cup looked right in her tiny hand.

“After dinner,” he said when he realized he’d been staring at her for a while, “we could walk over to the barn. I’ll need to measure how high you want your bench. I’m guessing you’ll want to do some of the gunsmithing in the barn.”

“It’s late,” she said, glancing out at the night, “and it looks like it might rain again.”

“I know, but I want to get started on it at first light tomorrow morning.” He grinned and added, “While you’re cooking breakfast.”

She finally looked at him. “Let’s hope I’m better at it than you are at supper.”

Hank didn’t argue. She’d only eaten half the beans he’d served her. “Blue, before he got married, used to come over for meals from time to time. He said I made a good stew and in the summer I can fry up fish and potatoes regularly.” He’d already decided that if the mud wasn’t too bad he’d take her in for dinner at the hotel tomorrow night, but he wanted her to know he wasn’t going back on his offer to cook. “I plant a garden in the spring. For half the vegetables and a case of jars, Lizzy will can all we can eat next winter.”

“What about this winter?”

“I told her all I’d need were potatoes and carrots. They’re in a root cellar. I’m not real fond of the green stuff, even floating in stew, but if you like them, I’ll barter for black-eyed peas and green beans. Soon as it dries out, we can pick up all the canned goods we need at the Diggs’ place.”

She pulled a small tablet from her pocket. “I’ve been making a list of things I need. If you’ll loan me the money, I’ll pay you back.” She looked down at her new clothes. “I’d also like to buy a few more sets of clothes like these. I don’t think I want to wear my old dresses. They don’t seem to belong here.”

He couldn’t agree more.

Hank stood and pulled a coffee can from the top shelf. “I have some money in the bank, but this is what I planned for winter expenses. There’s a little over five hundred dollars here. You’re welcome to however much you need.” He started to return the can to the top shelf, then reconsidered and shoved it between the spices so it would be within her reach.

“I’ll pay you back. Once we’re square, I’d like it if we both put the same amount into the can each year. Then whatever else you make on the ranch or I make working will be for each to decide.”

He wanted to argue that it wasn’t necessary, but she’d said each year like there would be many. Figuring he’d have time to talk out expenses later, Hank asked, “Did you decide if you want to use the room upstairs?”

“I thought I’d make it my indoor workroom, that way the kitchen won’t get cluttered. The light’s good up there and on cold days the kitchen fire will keep it warm.”

“I could frame you up furniture tomorrow. The good thing about winter on a ranch is there’s time to do all the chores I couldn’t get to in the spring and summer. The bad thing is I never seem to finish the list before calving.” He stood and lifted a lantern from the peg by the back door. “You want to walk with me to the barn and tell me where to put that bench?”

She nodded and followed him out of the house and along a path of smooth stones. Ulysses tagged along as far as the barn door. He growled and barked at the shadows, but before Hank could tell him to quiet, Aggie touched his head and he moved to her side, standing guard as if something were just beyond the light waiting to hurt her.

They spent ten minutes walking around the barn, determining where would be the best place for a bench, and finally decided on a spot near the door. There she’d get the breeze, the morning sun, and anything left on the bench overnight would remain protected from the weather once the door was closed.

“I’d like to start tonight.” Hank knew it was late, but he wouldn’t sleep anyway. Too much had happened today, and Aggie would be too close, even three rooms away. “I’ll turn in before midnight.”

She looked up at him. “All right. I think I’ll turn in now. I feel bad taking your bed though.”

“Don’t worry about it. Somehow it wouldn’t be right if you were the one on the floor. I’ll talk Blue into helping me string another frame this week, but for now a bedroll will be nothing unusual for me to sleep on.”

She hesitated. “Well…”

They stood in the circle of light staring at each other. As he guessed she would, she broke the silence first. With her fingers laced together in front of her, she said suddenly, “It’s not fair.”

Hank fought down a smile. She fired up fast when something bothered her. “What’s not fair?”

She fisted her hands on her hips and looked up at him. “If I want to kiss you good night, I have to ask you to bend down first.”

A slow smile spread across his face. He grabbed a milking stool from the first stall and set it firmly in the center of the light, then he lifted her atop it.

They were equals. He stared straight into the devil dancing in her blue-green eyes.

He waited as she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. When she straightened she said, “Good night, dear.” Her hand rested on his shoulder. She made no effort to remove it.

“Good night,” he said as his mouth touched hers. This time his lips were soft and slow. He fought the urge to pull her against him. He knew where a kiss could lead, but she was innocent. If he moved too fast, she might be frightened.

Too fast! his mind shouted. When had he crossed some invisible line from accepting her as a partner and nothing more to thinking of what came after the kiss?

Gently pulling away, he smiled when she pouted. “I’ll put a stool in every room so all will be fair,” he whispered, so near he could feel her quick breaths on his cheek.

He couldn’t resist; his lips found hers once more. The kiss remained gentle, but his hands at her waist tugged her slightly so that their bodies touched. He felt her soft breasts press into his chest each time she inhaled, and the feeling was so right.

His fingers relaxed. Aggie could have stepped back if she’d wanted to. But she didn’t break the contact. Feather light, she placed her other hand on his shoulder and continued the kiss.

She was learning, exploring, he realized, and he had every intention of being her guide.

Ulysses barked at a shadow somewhere beyond the barn and Aggie lifted her head. For a second their eyes met and Hank didn’t miss the fire in her shy gaze a moment before she looked down.

“Aggie,” he whispered, ignoring the dog’s barking. “Aggie, look at me.”

Slowly she raised her head.

“There’s no need to ever be embarrassed or shy with me. I’m your husband.”

She nodded. “I know, dear. I’m not.”

“Then what is it?” Even in the shadowed light he saw the blush in her cheek and felt her fingers moving nervously over his shoulders.

“I…” She looked down again, then forced herself to face him. “I just didn’t expect it to feel so good.”

“The kiss?”

“Yes, that, but also the nearness of you. Even last night on the train I liked you holding me close. And the kissing part, I always thought it was something a man did to a woman. I guess I never considered it as something they did together.”

Hank had no idea how to answer. He should have stayed with talking about the weather. He’d never be able to explain what was happening to her. Hell, he couldn’t put his own emotions into words most of the time. “Would it help any if I told you I feel the same?”

She smiled. “Not much.” He saw it then, that twinkle in her eye. That warning that one day soon she’d understand him better than he did himself.

“Good night, Aggie.” Hank decided he’d be wise to stop this conversation while he could still form reasonable thoughts.

As he settled her on the ground, he knew beyond any doubt that he’d be wasting his time building another bed. They’d share the same one soon. It bothered him that he wasn’t sure if it would be his idea, or hers. And worse, he didn’t care.

Part of him decided it had to be impossible for such a beautiful woman to know so little, but then with four older sisters she must have always been chaperoned. And, for some reason, she trusted him.

He grinned. The perfect wife, a preacher once said, was a woman who made a husband want to be a better man. Hank stared out into the night and silently promised he’d be that and more for her.

He watched the old dog follow her back to the house. She looked like she belonged here. Turning, he set to work on the bench, his thoughts full of Aggie. She was shy, and probably more than a little spoiled. He’d have to tell her that putting her fists on her hips and demanding something wasn’t fair might not always work with him.

Suddenly, he laughed, realizing it had.

He heard the back door close and Ulysses run around the house barking at the darkness. Probably a rabbit, Hank thought. That and snakes were the only invaders the place ever had.

Thunder rattled several miles away. He looked up in time to see the next round of lightning. Across the flat land it was easy in the blink to pick out the black outline of the windmill, the bunk house, and a lone rider on horseback waiting just outside the yard light.

Hank froze. No one but trouble would be riding up behind the house this time of night. He reached for his Colt and realized it was with Aggie.

Blowing out the lantern, Hank stood perfectly still and listened. Someone was out by the windmill. Someone who wasn’t a friend or he would have yelled a hello.

Ulysses had climbed on the porch and was barking wildly now, standing guard, Hank decided, protecting Aggie, just where Hank would have wanted the dog. Whoever moved in the moonless night would not step on the porch without being attacked. Aggie would be all right for now.

The only problem was, the shadow lay between Hank and home.

Chapter 9

Aggie washed and slipped on her nightgown with a blue ribbon at the throat. She’d bought it in Chicago and kept it wrapped in paper in the bottom of her bag. Smoothing the cotton, she told herself this wasn’t her real wedding night. But she had to wear it. Dolly had demanded she leave her old one behind. Somehow, even though she’d sleep alone in her bed, it seemed right to start her new life in all new clothes, even a nightgown.

She’d almost finished brushing her hair when she realized Ulysses hadn’t stopped barking. At first she’d thought he’d just been running the night like guard dogs do, but now the sound he made was different. Angry, fierce.

Hank was outside with the dog. Surely he’d silence him with a yell soon.

But minutes ticked by and nothing. In fact, if anything the dog’s growls sounded near panic.

Her mind began to think of all the possibilities. What if Hank were hurt? What if a wild animal had charged him? She’d heard there were mountain lions and bears in this part of Texas. Her father had often said he’d never go west because it was full of mad animals and crazy people. Her sister told her the Indian Wars had been over for a few years, but what if…

She couldn’t stand guessing anymore. Grabbing Hank’s gun belt, she strapped it around her waist, then pulled on her robe without bothering to tie it. If something was outside, she had no intention of hiding indoors.

Without a lamp, she felt her way though the main room to the front door. The barking sounded like it was coming from the back of the house. If she stayed in the shadow of the porch she might see trouble before it found her.

As she slipped outside, the cold, wet boards felt slippery beneath her, but she couldn’t take the time to go back for shoes. Slowly, her fingers sliding along the painted walls, she moved toward the side of the house where she’d be able to see the barn.

Lightning flashed and she froze, knowing that if there was someone, or something out there in the night, they would be able to see her for a few seconds.

But nothing moved.

She continued her progress, one small step at a time. When she turned the corner and saw Ulysses-still barking-facing the barn, she silently pulled the Colt and readied it.

“Easy, Ulysses,” she whispered, not wanting to surprise him from behind. “I’m here now.”

Ulysses lowered to a growl, but didn’t move. Something between the dog and the barn held his full attention. It took her brain a moment to recognize the outline of a man on horseback with something held high in both hands, like a warrior of old wielding a sword.

Aggie waited for the next flash of lightning.

Seconds passed. She and Ulysses stood vigil.

With a sudden flash of lightning, Aggie saw a man again, closer now to the opening of the barn.

As thunder rolled, Hank shouted, “Aggie, get back inside.”

He’d seen her, but she hadn’t had time to find him in the moment’s flash. The blackness that followed swallowed all light. Aggie strained, trying to make out any form, struggling to hear any movement.

The whack of board against bone thundered across the yard. Once! Twice!

Ulysses went wild.

The sound of a horse stomping rumbled near the barn. The animal screamed as a man’s voice shouted a curse. A moment later the horse broke into a run. Aggie raised her Colt and fired as a rider blinked past her. Before she could draw aim again, the horse had taken his dark knight out of range.

Suddenly, Ulysses and she were running toward the barn.

“Hank,” she cried, not sure if she were screaming his name or praying. “Hank!”

Stepping into the barn reminded her of falling into a cave. Velvet blackness on the moonless night. She clambered for the lantern she’d seen Hank set on a shelf just inside the barn, hoping he had only turned it out and not taken it down.

The lantern was there along with an almost empty box of matches. It took three tries before Aggie brought the match to life and lit the lantern. When she turned, spreading light, she might have missed the heap on the ground beside the stall if Ulysses hadn’t been right beside him. At first she thought it might be rags, then she recognized a white shirt.

“Hank!” He lay face down and far too still. Blood dripped from his head and one of his long legs twisted just below the knee at an unnatural angle. A long two-by-four lay beside him, harmless though spotted with blood.

Aggie sat the lantern a few feet from him and ran for the barn door. As soon as she cleared the roof, she lifted her gun and fired three quick shots. Then she ran back to her husband.

By the time Blue Thompson and a woman who had to be his wife arrived, Aggie had wrapped the belt of her robe around Hank’s head and was applying pressure where blood dripped with each of his heartbeats.

“What happened?” Blue asked as he jumped from the buggy.

Aggie couldn’t stop the tears. “I don’t know. I heard something. Someone. Then he rode off and I found Hank.”

“Who would want to hurt Hank?” Lizzy demanded as she knelt beside her husband. Her voice was low, but her hands moved skillfully over Hank’s injuries.

“I don’t know.” Aggie fought panic. “I don’t know.”

Blue slowly straightened Hank’s leg, shaking his head as he worked.

“It looks busted,” Aggie cried. “Oh, God, what if it’s busted?”

Lizzy grabbed Aggie’s chin with bloody fingers. “Don’t you worry none, we’re going to take care of your man.” She forced Aggie to look at her and not Hank. “But we’re going to need your help. You understand?”

Aggie pulled in the frayed strings of her emotions and forced herself to take a breath. “All right. We can take care of him. We can.”

The no-nonsense directness of the older woman had helped and she allowed Aggie no time to think of what might be beyond this moment, this crisis. “First,” Lizzy said in her low, southern voice, “we get him to the house.”

Aggie looked back at Hank. “We can do that.” She raised her chin.

Lizzy smiled. “Right you are.”

“His leg probably is broke.” Blue voiced what they all knew. “We’ll have to be real careful moving him. Once he’s inside and the blood’s cleaned off, we can see the damage. If he’s still breathing, I’ll ride for the doc.”

It took all three of them to lift Hank without moving his leg more than necessary. He moaned once, telling Aggie he was still alive, but his normally tanned face looked almost as white as his shirt.

Aggie held his head while Blue and Lizzy removed his boots and trousers. There was no doubt the leg was broken; a jagged bone had ripped the flesh from inside out. Blue straightened it as best he could, then tied both legs together with a strip of bandage. He explained that he’d seen doctors do that in the war when there was no time to look for splints.

With only a nod toward his wife, Blue left to get the doctor.

Lizzy brought cold water from the well and handed Aggie bandage after bandage for his head. Each time they switched, blood covered the cotton. They talked, trying to convince themselves that his being unconscious was better than if he were awake and in pain, but Aggie could tell Lizzy didn’t believe their reasoning any more than she did.

In what seemed like minutes, Blue was back with the doctor, a man who barely looked old enough to shave, much less finish medical school.

To Aggie’s surprise, the doctor asked her if she wanted to stay while he examined her husband. Part of her wanted to run as far away from the smell of blood as she could get, but another part knew she belonged here. She was bound to this man she’d known less than two days. Bound by honor as well as the law.

As the doctor worked, stitching up the long gash in Hank’s hairline, Aggie gently held his head in her lap. The wonder that she could care for a man so quickly danced in her mind with the grief that would come if she lost him.

In the few hours they’d been together she’d taken him into her heart, and there he would remain whether she loved or mourned him for a lifetime. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the moment she’d known he could be someone to depend on and trust. Though she liked his laughter and the way he gently teased her, it had been something far more basic that drew her even during their conversation outside the dugout. Hank listened. He really listened to her. Could something so simple form a bond that would weather them through hard times?

She looked down at his lean body. Strong and tan from hard work. It occurred to her that she’d never seen so much of a male body before and she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t-somehow this man belonged to her-was a part of her.

“Keep his head as still as you can, Mrs. Harris,” the doctor ordered. “I don’t want him thrashing about when I set this leg.”

Aggie placed her hands on Hank’s cheeks and noticed her tears were falling across his face, but it didn’t matter; nothing mattered but Hank. She could not, would not, lose him.

When the doc and Blue set the leg, pulling the bone back in place, Hank groaned in pain. Aggie pressed her face close to his and whispered over and over, “You’re going to be all right, dear. You’re going to be fine.”

Aggie watched, feeling the pain with him as they sewed up the cuts and strapped his leg to a board that ran from his knee to his foot. She washed his face and chest, keeping him cool as the doctor checked his head wound again and again.

Finally, a little after dawn, the doc packed up his things, saying all that was left to do was to wait and see. Hank seemed to be resting comfortably, which was the best medicine.

An hour later, Aggie heard Blue talking to the sheriff. The lawman insisted on speaking to her, but she wouldn’t leave Hank’s side to go into the main room. Her new nightgown was spotted with blood and she didn’t remember when she’d removed her robe or where. Hank’s Colts hung on the headboard, within easy reach if she needed them.

Finally, Blue opened the door and asked if it would be all right if the sheriff came in for a minute.

Aggie pulled a thin blanket over her shoulders and nodded. The sheriff walked in, took one look at her, and didn’t waste time with small talk.

“Did you see the man who did this?”

“One man.” Aggie tried to focus on something besides Hank’s breathing. “I only saw his shadow. He wasn’t tall but he seemed thick, barrel-chested, or it may have been his coat that made him look so. His horse was dark, black or brown and bigger than most. I don’t remember any markings. I heard him swear as he rode from the barn, but he was only in my sites for a moment.”

The sheriff looked up from his notes. “You fired at him?”

“I hit him,” she said.

“How do you know? He didn’t stop. How can you be sure, Mrs. Harris? Maybe you only thought you hit him?”

Suddenly too tired to keep her eyes open, she curled beside Hank. “I hit him,” she mumbled, “because I always hit what I aim at.”

“And where did you aim?”

“Left shoulder,” she answered as she rested her head on Hank’s arm. “Look for a man wounded in the left shoulder and you’ll find the man who attacked my husband.”

She fell asleep without seeing the look the sheriff and Blue gave each other.

Chapter 10

Hank came to one painful inch at a time. His leg felt like he’d left it in a campfire. His head throbbed.

He turned slowly. Something soft bushed his chin.

Opening one eye he recognized Aggie’s hair. She was curled up in a ball, sleeping beside him. The thin blanket barely covered her.

“She’s been asleep like that for a few hours.” Blue’s voice sounded from the doorway. “Stayed up with you all night. Refused to leave your side even when the sheriff wanted to see her this morning.”

Hank forced through the pain and moved his head enough so that he could watch his friend cross the room. “She okay?”

Blue chuckled. “Sure. Says she shot the guy who clubbed you.” The older man added, “Said it as calm as if she weren’t doing nothin’ more than shooting rats in the barn. Just from what I’ve seen today I’d say she might be a tiny thing, but there ain’t nothin’ frail about her.”

Hank closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened in the blackness of the night. Someone had been outside of the barn. He remembered stepping to the door. Then he’d seen Aggie on the porch, her white gown billowing around her, waving danger her direction. His last thought had been that he had to get to her.

Slowly, he lifted his hand and felt the bandage across half his forehead. He must have been hit, but he couldn’t remember the blow. The only thing in his mind had been panic that Aggie was in danger.

“What’s the damage?” he asked as if he were talking about a machine and not his body.

Blue shrugged. “Not as bad as it could have been. Four stitches in your head. Left leg broke about three inches below your knee. Doc said it should heal clean.”

Hank mumbled as Blue offered him water. “Any idea who or why?”

Blue shook his head. “Didn’t know you had an enemy in this world, boss, but one thing is for sure, whoever attacked you meant to hurt you. The second blow broke your leg, not the first. A man planning to rob you wouldn’t have done that. No need. You were already out cold.”

Hank tried to reason as he cobbled together all that had happened. Maybe the traveler was afraid he’d shoot him for being on his land. Or maybe he was an outlaw running from the law and wanted to make sure no one followed. Why else would the stranger break his leg?

“Get some rest.” Blue pulled a heavy quilt over Hank. “It looks like it’s going to rain the rest of the day. Lizzy and I are going home to get some sleep. We’ll be back long before nightfall to check on you and bring some soup. My guess is that little wife of yours won’t leave your side to cook any more than she would for other reasons.”

Hank touched the gun belt on his bedpost. “We’ll be fine.” He forced his voice to sound stronger than he felt. “Let the mutt in before you leave. He’ll warn us if anyone tries to get into the house.”

Blue nodded. “I’ll find you a stick to use for a cane. The doc says you can climb out of that bed as soon as you feel up to it, but don’t put any weight on that leg for at least a week.”

Hank nodded, hating the idea that he’d lose days of work. The cane might get him around the house, but he wouldn’t be able to go outside until the mud dried out, and even then he couldn’t ride. Being laid up was going to cost him dearly.

“I’ll keep an eye on things until you’re getting around better.” Blue’s face seemed to have added a few new wrinkles in the past hours. “Lizzy or I will check on you two a few times a day just to see if we can help, and I’ll go in for any supplies you need.” He glanced at Aggie. “Hell of a first day for the little missus.”

“Much obliged.” Hank hated needing help, but he knew he’d offer the same to Blue if need be.

Blue disappeared out the door.

Hank stayed awake long enough to hear them leave. They let the dog in and Ulysses hurried to the side of the bed where Aggie slept. The old dog laid his head on the edge of her blanket and waited for her to pat him.

“Lay down, Ulysses,” Hank whispered as he drifted off. “She’ll pet you when she wakes.”

An hour later, Hank moved slightly and pain brought him back from a dream. He rolled his head and faced sleepy blue-green eyes watching him from a few inches away.

He didn’t move. Their heads rested on the same pillow.

“Do you need anything?” she whispered.

“Sleep,” he answered. “How about you?”

“I’m cold,” she admitted as she crawled off the bed.

Her crimson-spotted nightgown was stiff in spots with Hank’s dried blood, and so wrinkled it looked more like a rag.

He lifted the side of the heavy quilts covering him. “Climb in,” he offered. “We can go back to sleep. With this rain it seems like twilight outside.”

She shook her head as she tried to straighten her gown. “I can’t sleep in my clothes and I have no other gown. Maybe if I get dressed and wash this it will dry in a few hours.”

Pointing toward the door, he ordered, “Grab one of my flannel work shirts from the mudroom. It’ll be warmer and probably as long on you as that gown.”

She hesitated, but the night without sleep must have won out. She disappeared.

Hank relaxed as he listened to her bare feet run across the main room floor. He should have told her to grab socks as well.

A few minutes later, she stepped back into the room, buttoning the last button of his favorite shirt.

The flannel clung to her body and stopped at her knees. Though the shirt covered almost all of her, the sight of it on her warmed Hank more than the cotton warmed her.

Without a word, he lifted the corner of the quilt and she slipped in beside him, careful not to touch him.

When she shivered, he raised his arm and pulled her close. Her feet brushed his uninjured leg with the shock of an icicle sliding across his skin, but he forced himself not to flinch.

Her hand pushed against his bare chest. “I’m too close. I’ll hurt your leg.”

Hank couldn’t help but laugh. “Believe me, Aggie, your nearness isn’t affecting my injury at all.”

When she wiggled, cuddling, Hank fought down a groan. His left leg was about the only part of his body not reacting to her.

“Go to sleep,” he said more harshly than he meant to.

“Yes, dear,” she answered as she settled beside him.

Hank lay awake and listened to her breathing slow. If he’d known all it took was a few blows from a two-by-four to get the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his bed, he might have taken the hits earlier. She felt so good next to him. As her body relaxed in sleep, her softness melted against him, alive and comforting like he’d never known.

Moving his face against her hair, he took a long breath, pulling the scent of her deep into his lungs. Blue had said she’d refused to leave him last night when he’d been out. Hank curled a strand of her hair around his finger, wondering how he could matter so much to her. One look at her and anyone could love her, but how could it be possible that she cared even a little about him? He was nothing special to look at and he sure couldn’t offer her much. Even his own mother hadn’t stayed around.

But Aggie had. She’d stayed by his side.

He knew he had been little more than her way out of a bad situation. For a shy woman traveling around, being put on the marriage block for first one group and then another to offer for, must have been torture. Why had he been the one she went with? The one she wasn’t afraid of?

He watched the storm play itself out, then finally drifted to sleep with his hand resting at her waist.

Around sunset, he awoke to find her gone. He took her absence like a blow even before reality fully registered on his aching brain. Glancing at the side of the bed, he noticed the mutt had also vanished. Wherever Aggie was, Hank would bet his saddle the dog would be with her.

He didn’t have long to wait. Five minutes later, she backed her way into the room carrying a tray of food. Seeing her fully dressed made him frown. He’d give up food altogether if she’d crawl back in bed with him.

“I brought you some of Lizzy’s soup and bread. They headed home, wanting to be settled in before it got dark.” She didn’t meet his gaze. Her shyness had returned. “Do you want me to feed you?”

Hank pulled himself up until his back rested against the headboard. “I can feed myself, Aggie,” he grumbled. “My leg is broke, not my arms.”

She nodded without looking up as she carefully sat the tray beside him. “The doc said I’m to check the bandage on your head at sunset. If there is no new blood, I can leave the dressing off.”

Hank lifted the bowl of soup and drank it down without taking his eyes off her. He couldn’t believe, after how they’d slept together all day, she could go back to being so shy again. She busied herself getting everything ready while he ate, but not once did she look at him.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. “What is it, Aggie? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said as she removed the tray and began tugging the bandage on his head away. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” He returned a lie for a lie.

“The stitches are holding. I don’t think you need a bandage again.” She brushed his hair away from his forehead and moved to the wound on his arm. “The cut looks good. You heal fast.”

Hank didn’t want to talk about his injuries. He wanted to know what had changed between when she’d cuddled next to him this morning and now. Until this moment he’d thought he missed little by not having a mother around. Now he realized how much he had to learn about reading women. No. Not women, he corrected. Aggie.

When she tucked the blanket around him, his fingers gently closed over her hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, his tone more demanding.

When she tried to tug her hand away, he held fast. He’d never learn if he didn’t start right now.

Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes filling with unshed tears. “We’ve only been married two days and you’ve been injured two times. At this rate you’ll never last a week.” Her chin rose slightly as if she were forcing herself to face facts. “My sisters were right. I’m nothing but trouble. Dolly said once that having me around is no different than having the plague circling. All my sisters were glad to help my poppa get rid of me.”

Hank laughed then realized she didn’t see the humor. “Aggie, it wasn’t you who had a knife at the train station, or who wielded the board in the darkness of the barn.” He tugged until she sat beside him. “But it was you who took care of me. And the reason your sisters wanted to marry you off had nothing to do with you being bad luck, trust me on that.”

She nodded once, obviously not believing him. She pulled her hand away.

He fought the urge to reach for it and hold on tightly, but she had to come to him on her own time if there was ever to be anything more between them.

The rain tapped on the windows again, drawing their attention. Aggie turned up the lamp by the bed, then watched gray streaks run down the long windows. “Tell me about the beauty of this land again, dear. I’m having trouble remembering.”

Hank laughed, realizing this time of year it would be hard to see any beauty, but she seemed to need calming. Worry wrinkled her forehead, so if she needed to talk of something besides what had happened, he’d give it a try.

He told her of the first day he’d ridden over his land. How spring turns the world green and the colors in the rock walls of the canyons seem to wave and billow like the skirts of Spanish dancers. He described a summer shower that came up all of a sudden like a phantom riding the wind, dumping a bucket of water that sparkled like diamonds over the wet grass. He told how a dust devil seemed to chase him over the open range, following behind no matter which way he turned his horse.

He caught her glancing out the window from time to time as if she didn’t quite believe his tale. The tapping grew louder as the rain turned to hail. The tiny balls of ice hit the ground and bounced almost like popcorn jumping in a skillet. Within seconds the ground was white as snow.

Hugging herself, Aggie asked, “Should I light the fire in the main room?”

“No.” Hank chose his words carefully, knowing there might be a long way between what he wanted and what was about to happen. “We’ll be warm enough under the covers.” He kept every word level, without emotion, as if he’d said the same words many times before.

She nodded, and to his surprise picked up the flannel shirt. “I’ll wash up in the kitchen and change.”

As soon as she left, Hank grabbed the stick that Blue had left to serve as a cane. Slowly, he moved off the bed. Without putting any of his weight on the broken leg, he crossed the few feet to the washstand and chamber pot.

Aggie might be his wife, but there were some things Hank had no intention of asking her to help with. By the time he was washed up and back to the bed, sweat covered his forehead. He sat down with his back resting against all the pillows and pulled the covers up to his chest. He wished he’d had the sense to buy a nightshirt sometime in his life. Having lived all these years alone, he’d seen no need. But Aggie might find his bare chest shocking.

Hank smiled suddenly. She hadn’t commented on it earlier. Maybe she didn’t notice. One leg of his long handled underwear had been cut off at the knee just above where the splint started. The other leg was spotted with dried blood, but he’d wait until morning to put on a clean pair. He wasn’t sure he had the energy tonight.

Aggie appeared wearing his shirt. “I washed my gown earlier,” she began, “but it didn’t get dry.”

“You look fine,” he said, and then wished he’d thought to say something more. In truth, she looked adorable.

She sat on the end of the bed and folded her legs beneath her. “I was hoping, if you’re not too tired, that we could talk a while.”

Hank didn’t move. Bedtime conversations were totally new to him and he had no idea what to talk about. She, on the other hand, looked like this was part of her nightly routine, and with four sisters it may very well have been.

She placed her elbows on her flannel-covered knees and rested her chin in her hands.

He swore she looked twelve years old.

“Blue and I have been talking and we don’t think the attack on you was an accident. No one would be just riding by this place. It’s too far off the road.”

“So, what are you saying?” Hank watched her as he tried to follow the conversation. She had shifted and now the soft roundness of her left breast molded against the shirt. Suddenly, nothing about her seemed childlike. There was no doubt she was all woman.

“I’m saying…” She moved again and Hank closed his eyes so his ears would work. “I’m saying,” she repeated, “that someone wants you hurt…or dead.”

Hank shook his head then regretted the action. “I don’t think so. I don’t make a habit of crossing folks if I can help it, and it’s been years since I even had a heated discussion with anyone.”

“Try and think,” she coached. “Who lately would benefit from your being hurt or dead? Who has threatened you?”

“Nobody but Potter Stockton on the way back to town the other night. He told me I’d be wise to get on the train and forget about you, because I must know you’d never come.” Hank told the account in passing, nothing important, he thought…until he saw Aggie’s face. “You can’t believe Stockton would send someone to hurt me? Sure, he was probably disappointed when he learned you left with me, maybe even mad. But mad enough to try and kill me?”

Aggie nodded. “On the way to the station, Charlie told me he was glad I didn’t pick Potter even though Dolly thought he was the best choice. Charlie said he heard Potter beat a man near to death one night after losing a few dollars in a poker game. He said the railroad man had gunfighter eyes-cold and hard as casket wood.”

Hank raised a doubtful eyebrow. “But Charlie still invited him to dinner?”

Aggie shook her head. “He only invited the banker and told him that if he knew a man looking for a wife, to bring a friend along.”

That explained Charlie’s coldness to Potter Stockton, but Hank still found it hard to believe any man would try to kill another over a woman he’d just met.

Then he looked at Aggie with her beautiful hair and shining eyes and he knew it must be true.

“When did the man insist on having a drink with you?” she asked.

Hank tried to remember exactly the order. “He was standing behind me when I bought our two tickets.”

Aggie frowned. “So he knew you were expecting me?”

“He also knew I didn’t have time to wander over to the saloon.”

She leaned closer. “Do you think, when the offer for drinks didn’t work, that he pulled the knife thinking one way or the other he’d make sure you missed the train?”

Hank didn’t want to admit it, but she made sense. The fellow hadn’t acted all that drunk at first, then as soon as he’d slipped the knife over Hank’s arm, he’d run away. “Maybe,” Hank admitted. “He knew if I wasn’t at the station you wouldn’t be going anywhere that night.”

Aggie finished the thought. “And if you weren’t there, I would have turned around and gone back to Dolly and Charlie’s place.”

Their eyes met. Hank felt like he could read her thoughts. There was no need to continue piecing the puzzle; they’d both seen the picture it made.

Lacing her fingers together, she leaned an inch closer and whispered as if saying her words too loud might make them come true. “Do you think the hired gun might come back?”

Hank wished he could say no, but he didn’t want to lie to her. “He might,” was the best he could do.

Aggie swallowed and nodded. “Then, would you mind if I slept in next to you? I’d planned on making a pallet in the kitchen, but I’d feel safer here.”

Hank wouldn’t have trusted any words. He simple lifted the covers beside him.

She smiled and joined him.

When he stretched and turned out the light, she whispered, “Thank you, dear.” As if he’d done her a favor.

Hank wouldn’t have been surprised if lightning came through the second floor and struck him any moment. He wasn’t worried about anyone trying to kill him; his shy little wife was going to give him a heart attack by doing something as simple as trusting him.

This time she didn’t wait for him to pull her next to him. She snuggled against him and laid her hand on his bare chest.

Then, before he could think to breathe, she laughed.

He covered her hand with his. “What’s so funny?”

“Your chest hair tickles.”

“Aggie?” His fingers stilled her hand.

“Yes, dear?” she answered.

“Kiss me good night,” he whispered as she looked up.

This time, when his mouth covered hers, he couldn’t hold back. He had to kiss her the way a man kisses a woman…the way a man kisses his wife.

His arm pulled her against him. The thin layer of flannel did little to mask the feel of her. He kissed her long and hard, drinking her in, needing to end the drought in his life, needing to need another.

When he finally let her go, Hank rolled an inch away and tried to think of something, anything to say, but no words would come.

He could feel her tugging at the covers, pulling a blanket over her shoulders, snuggling into her own pillow. “Good night, dear,” she said in almost a whisper.

“Good night?” he answered. “Don’t you have anything else to say after what just happened?”

She rose to one elbow. “What just happened?”

Hank closed his eyes and swore beneath his breath. She was going to make him say it, then there would be no doubt what he was apologizing for. “About the way I kissed you. I didn’t plan it, but I’ll not say I’m sorry.”

“All right,” she said as if she’d given it no thought.

He had the feeling she was staring at him in the darkness. Probably thinking of ways to kill him herself since he was stepping way over the line of being partners.

“You’re not mad about the kiss?”

She laughed again. “No, dear,” she answered. “I rather liked it. I’m surprised that something I’ve given little thought to in my life could be so pleasant.”

He was back to step one of trying to understand Aggie. “Then you wouldn’t mind if we did it again?”

This time she rolled toward him. “I wouldn’t mind at all. I rather like the feel of you.” Her lips lowered above his before he had time to move. With her mouth brushing his, she whispered, “I find I like kissing you very much.”

This time he didn’t try to hold her to him. He let her lead. Her kiss was softer, sweeter than his had been. But the weight of her breast resting on his chest drove him mad. “I love this shirt,” he whispered against her mouth. “I love the way…” She didn’t let him finish. She was busy learning.

When she finally raised her head, she stared down at him. Even in the darkness he could see the devil dancing in her eyes. She shifted, using his chest to lean on and propped her head on one elbow. “What comes next, dear?”

“You really want to know?”

She nodded. “I didn’t think I ever would. I thought things between a man and a woman were for the man’s pleasure, never the woman’s. Since you kissed me I’ve been reconsidering.”

“I’ll show you,” he said, wondering how she could possibly want him to be her teacher. “But how fast we go down this road, and when we stop, will be up to you.”

“Fair enough.” She nodded as if they’d made an agreement.

She waited.

He hesitated. “Aggie,” he finally said. “What do you know about how it is between a man and a woman?”

She shrugged. “Mostly what my sister told me. About how it’s something to be endured. I wanted no part of that. But your kisses don’t seem that way.” She looked down, embarrassed by her own boldness.

Hank placed his hand on her waist. “And my touch? Would you welcome my touch?”

She nodded slowly.

“Aggie,” he whispered, “look at me.”

She raised her head and he saw her eyes in the moonlight. Nervous. Shy, but not afraid.

His hand moved slowly up her ribcage, a light touch against soft material and softer flesh beneath.

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move.

His first finger touched the bottom of her breast and gently pressed against its weight. Then, as slowly as cold molasses, his fingers moved over the fabric covering her breast. The full mound ripened beneath his caress, and he explored.

Hank’s breaths came faster as if there were not enough air in the room to fill his lungs. He cupped her in his big hand and thought he might die from the pleasure the feel of her brought. His fingers moved gently across her and she closed her eyes for a moment and smiled.

He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Aggie. For the first time he understood why men of old fought dragons for their women. The need for her was a physical ache so deep within him he thought his blood must surely be heating to boiling level. He stared at the cotton covering her breast as his hand twisted the material into his fist.

She pulled a few inches away. “You’ll rip the cloth.”

“Then take it off.” He spoke his thoughts in a voice so low he didn’t recognize it as his.

She rose, stood there, and stared at him. If she decided to walk away, he couldn’t even follow. With his leg, he would never be able to catch her if she ran. And he had a feeling that if he frightened her and she ran, she’d run all the way to Dallas or Austin or Chicago before she stopped.

Hank closed his eyes and groaned. What did he think he was doing? A man with a broken leg doesn’t seduce his wife. He’d almost passed out moving to the washstand and back. If he even tried to make love he’d probably succeed only in making a fool of himself.

When he finally opened his eyes, Aggie was still sitting next to him. She’d unbuttoned two of the buttons of the shirt.

“If I get to pick when we stop,” she whispered, “I pick one touch tonight. I know there is more, but I have to think about it first.”

Hank took a deep breath, almost saying thank you. He wanted their first time, if there was to be a first time in this partnership, to be perfect.

“One touch,” he agreed. “Only, if you’ve no objection, I’d like to do so while we kiss good night once more.”

She nodded and moved off the bed so he could lift the covers. When she scooted beneath the quilts, another button had come loose.

Chapter 11

Aggie lay on her back and waited while Hank shifted onto his side without moving his broken leg any more than necessary.

Her heart pounded faster then a sparrow’s as she unbuttoned the entire shirt and spread the soft material away from her chest. She didn’t move when Hank lifted the covers away to her waist.

“Are you cold?” he asked, staring at her body in the shadows.

She shook her head, too afraid to speak. In truth, her skin felt hot and she was sure he would notice when he touched her. She told herself she’d agreed to one touch, even wanted it, but she hadn’t thought ahead to realize that he’d also look at her. Not just look-study.

Before she lost all courage, she turned her face toward him and his lips gently met hers. She’d thought he’d touch her breasts first, but he took his time tasting her lips. She liked the way the hard line of his mouth turned soft when it touched her. His rough cheek brushed against hers as he moved slightly. His tongue slipped across her tender lips and pushed inside. Her cry of surprise blended with his sigh of pleasure.

When she didn’t pull away, his kiss softened once more, offering her paradise, but still, his hand remained at her waist.

With his coaching, she opened her mouth wider, enjoying the newness of her husband’s kiss. She thought that marriage was so much more than she’d imagined it would be. Nice, she decided; marriage was nice-then his hand spread across her abdomen. And nice moved to pure bliss. The warmth of his mouth, the slight weight of his fingers on her skin, made her whole body warm with an awareness she’d never experienced.

Her fingers reached up and brushed the hair just above his ear, liking the way the thick coarseness of his straight hair felt to her touch. He was her man, she thought, hers. She liked his strong body and his gentle ways. She liked his voice and the way he worried about her. She liked everything about him.

Just when Aggie was reaching a flat plateau of shear enjoyment, he broke the kiss.

Gripping his hair in her fist, she tried to tug his mouth back to her, but he’d already found somewhere else he wanted to taste. As his open mouth moved down her throat, she let out a sigh of delight. Roughly, he pushed her chin aside so that the length of her throat lay open to his exploring.

His hand pressed gently into her middle, anchoring her to earth while she floated toward the heaven of his kisses against her skin. When he brushed his lips across her ear, he whispered her name then added softly, “Aggie, my love.”

She thought he’d return to finish the kiss, but slowly she realized his mouth planned to play along her skin until he had his fill of the taste of it. He opened wide and touched his tongue to the spot where her pulse pounded, then dipped low until the whiskers of his chin brushed across the top of her breasts.

She lay beyond words, beyond thought as his mouth took hers once more, giving and demanding fire all at once. As if her body had a will of its own, she arched, pushing against his hand, fighting to get closer to him.

He held her fast to the bed, but his mouth told her of his pleasure at her attempt. He was tasting deep of her now, taking all he wanted from the kiss, and giving more than she’d ever known to ask. His fingers gently stroked her stomach, and she felt the light embrace all the way through her body.

She grew dizzy with wanting, all shyness, all hesitance shoved from her mind by the taste of him.

When she thought she could stand no more of paradise, he gentled the kiss, bringing it back to soft and loving, almost pure, almost chaste. Only slim memory of its former fire, but the memory forever seared across her mind. Now, even his light touch stirred her blood.

With his lips whispering against hers, he began to move his hand across her flesh and this time there were no boundaries just below her throat or at her waist.

At first he circled her breasts, pushing lightly at the underside of each with his thumb-letting her know and long for what was to come.

The circles made her skin tingle with tiny points of joy, and her breasts ache with need. When he stretched his fingers over her fullness she was ready, arching toward him. This time, he let her move, filling his hand, pressing hard into his palm.

She felt his laughter against her lips as his hand took its time molding her softest flesh to his will. He knew he was pleasing her just as she knew her soft moans pleased him.

Without warning, he deepened the kiss once more. When she responded in kind, he tightened his grip over her, branding her forever with his “one touch.”

Chapter 12

They didn’t say a word when he finally pulled away with one last tender kiss on her cheek. She buttoned her shirt. He straightened flat on his back once more. Both knew the other was awake. Both were too lost in their own thoughts to talk.

She stared out the window. A sliver of a moon was slightly visible between two clouds. She could still taste his mouth on hers. She could still feel his hand over her breast. He’d kept his word. He’d kissed her good night and he’d touched her once. A kiss that had taken her to heaven. A touch that she felt all the way to her very soul.

How could the gentle, quiet man do such a thing? Why had he?

A smile slowly spread across her bruised lips. Because, she answered herself, I asked him to. She felt a power build inside her, a power she’d never known. She’d always been the little sister, the daughter who obeyed, who would have been the old maid taking care of her poppa in his aging years if he hadn’t found the widow to marry. No one had ever let her set the rules for anything in her life, and now this strong, powerful man did just that.

She couldn’t stop grinning. She might have set the rules, but he’d made full use of his one touch.

“Aggie,” he said low near her ear. “Are you asleep?”

“No, dear,” she answered, seeing no reason to pretend.

“Why me?”

“What?” She knew what he was asking, but she wanted to make sure.

“Why’d you marry me? There must have been men at every house you visited. Men with more money. Men better looking.”

“There were.” She wished she could tell him how many had made fools of themselves, promising her the moon and stars as if they could deliver. Promising her that life would be one endless party when all she wanted was a quiet place to be happy.

“Then what made you meet me at the train?”

“Because,” she whispered as she relaxed into sleep. “You saw me. The inside, not just the out. And you liked me-just me-even before we”-she yawned and mumbled the last few words-“stepped into the light.”

Hank heard her breathing slow and knew she was asleep. “You’re wrong,” he whispered. “I loved you-even before we stepped into the light.”

Chapter 13

Dawn slowly spread across the sky. Aggie shoved her hair out of her eyes and lifted her head.

Hank lay beside her, looking like he hadn’t moved all night. His jaw had darkened with whiskers and his hair covered his forehead.

She smiled, thinking that he was handsome in his own way. Her poppa used to say that most folks “ugly up” after you get to know them. But Hank hadn’t. In fact, the opposite had happened. The rest of the world might think him strong, and big and rough, but he’d been gentle with her from the first, and funny. Even when he tried to be stern, she could see through the act.

Laughing, she realized he was more afraid of her then she’d ever be of him. She’d known it even in the darkness when he’d jumped at the sound of her voice.

Without warming, he opened one eye. “Where’s breakfast?” he mumbled.

She shrugged and pulled the covers over her. “I think I’ll be one of those wives with the nature to sleep ’til noon.”

He pulled the blanket off her head. “I don’t think so. I’m starving. You agreed to cook breakfast.” He frowned, but she could see the cracks in his armor.

She climbed out and stretched, then laughed at the way he stared at her. She was learning to read this man, and if she was right, he’d just forgotten all about breakfast.

“On second thought…” He opened her side of the covers. “We could sleep a while longer.”

“Oh, no.” She laughed. “I’ll put on coffee and bring you hot water. Then I’ll cook breakfast while you shave.”

He groaned.

She grabbed her clothes and disappeared before he had time to argue. Ten minutes later, when she brought him a cup of coffee, he’d managed to sit up but he looked like he’d been thrown by a horse a few times.

“Do you need any help?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” He frowned. “Could I get you to bring the washstand over here?”

“Sure.” She leaned close and kissed his cheek. “Good morning, dear. Always wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Yep,” he answered. “It’s my nature.”

She moved the nightstand so that he could reach the pitcher and bowl without standing. “Where is your shaving cup and razor?”

“In the mudroom,” he answered.

When she returned, loaded down with everything that had been by the back sink, Aggie studied him. Hank was pale and the pain still reflected in his eyes, but he looked better than he had yesterday.

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Any way you make them,” he answered as he brushed hot water into the soap cup and began to circle. “Just make it an even dozen.”

She nodded and turned toward the door.

“Aggie?” He stopped her with one word.

“Yes.”

“Last night was really something.”

She grinned, not allowing his fancy words to sway her. “I agree,” she whispered, and vanished before he saw her blush.

Thoughts of how he’d touched her filled her mind as she made breakfast. Thanks to Lizzy and Blue, the milk and eggs were in the cold box along with butter. Bread and apples sat on the table. Aggie mixed up a fine breakfast.

Hank had dressed by the time she checked on him.

“Can you make it to the table or shall I bring it in here?”

“I can make it.” He stood, then swayed like a tall pine about to tumble.

She moved to his side and helped all she could as they slowly crossed to the kitchen. The stove she’d lit already warmed the room. He sat at the table while she poured him another cup of coffee and served her first cooked meal to him.

He ate as if he’d been starved for days, downing the bread almost as fast as she could spread butter and jelly on it.

They were just finishing when Blue stepped through the back door with a box on his shoulder.

Aggie stood. “Wonderful.” She nodded at Blue. “You brought supplies. Hank’s already eaten through a week’s worth this morning.”

“Nope,” Blue said setting the box down on the far end of the table. “The supplies are still in the wagon. Jeb sent this box over for you.”

Aggie wiped her hands on the towel she’d been using for an apron and looked inside. Guns, more than twenty of them, all different brands and sizes, each with a tag tied to the handle.

She lifted the first one. “Firing pin broke.” The second said, “Trigger jammed.” The third read, “Needs a good cleaning.”

“Jeb said he has never seen anything like it,” Blue mumbled as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Folks started coming in as soon as the rain slowed yesterday. He told me to tell you that he knew you probably had your hands full with taking care of Hank, but he thought he better have me bring out the first box.”

Hank said, “I don’t need to be taken care of,” at the same time Aggie mumbled, “First box?”

Suddenly, she was too excited to finish her breakfast. She wanted to get to work. While Blue brought in supplies, she carried the box of weapons up to her little attic room. Sitting in the center of the floor, she examined each project. Always before, in her father’s shop, she’d been the helper. Now, she was the master.

She had almost finished looking over her work when Blue bumped his way upstairs. “Hank told me to rig you up a table.” He carried two six-foot boards. “It won’t be perfect but it will work until he can climb the stairs and make you a proper desk. He won’t brag on himself, but that man of yours is quite a carpenter.”

That man of mine has many hidden talents, she almost said aloud, but all she could manage to say to Blue was, “I know.”

The older man made three more trips before he put the boards over empty barrels. Between his loads she managed to slip down and carry up her two boxes of tools. On the second trip, she noticed Hank sitting in the big old rocker on the porch.

She walked to the door. “Will you be all right if I work a while?”

He looked lost but said, “I’ll be fine. I’m just not used to staying in the house. I’m usually out by sunup.” The mild day didn’t reflect in his mood. “When Blue finishes with your makeshift benches, he said he’d carry the leather work up from the barn. I can do it as easy here as there. Maybe tomorrow the ground will be dry enough for me to hobble out there.”

Standing just behind his chair, she moved her fingers through his hair. “Hank,” she whispered and waited until he looked up. “You make me very happy.”

He looked puzzled. “Do I?”

Heat spread into her cheeks. She’d been thinking about her attic room, but realized he thought she meant their good night kiss. “Yes,” she answered, meaning both. The room was a grand place to work, but last night’s “one touch” had been a slice of magic, pure and unreal.

His eyes darkened as if knowing she was thinking the same thing he was, but he didn’t move to touch her. Both knew it wouldn’t be proper in the daylight. Both knew they’d wait.

When she returned to her work space, she decided the stool Blue had brought wasn’t high enough for the makeshift bench, so she tugged the old trunk over. Surprised at how heavy it was, Aggie looked inside the one thing Hank said was sent back home after his mother died.

Layered between tissue paper and smelling of cedar were several finely made quilts.

Odd, Aggie thought. The paper looked as neatly pressed as it must have been the day Hank’s mother packed away the quilts, and Aggie couldn’t help but wonder why Hank, or his father, had never bothered to look inside. Maybe the chest was simply something Hank didn’t want, but couldn’t leave behind for strangers to discover.

She spread the quilts out, realizing each was a work of art, made with great care. They transformed the tiny attic room into a field of flowers and plants, each reflecting a different season.

Finally, she folded them away-all but one. The last, a beautiful spread of blue-bonnets, she couldn’t make herself fold. If she put it away the room would go back to being colorless. On impulse, she reached for two small tacks among her tools and hung the quilt on the wall. When she stepped back, she couldn’t help but smile. One wall with windows framing a view of winter across Hank’s land. The other wall now showed a spring field with all the warmth of a quilt made with love. She’d found the perfect place to work.

Time flew as she practiced the skills her father had taught her. In a strange way she felt at home with her hands moving over the weapons that belonged to strangers.

She checked on Hank several times during the day, but his mood never lightened. He was a man used to action who didn’t take to doing chores from a rocking chair. When she came down for the last time, she found him already in bed, asleep.

She felt guilty that she hadn’t thought about the time, or his supper. As wives go she must rank near the bottom. Setting the box of repaired guns by the door, Aggie ate an apple then slipped into her nightgown and crawled in beside Hank.

He’d had a hard day, she guessed, and she hadn’t been there to comfort him. She moved her hand to his arm and touched him lightly. “It will be better tomorrow,” she whispered just before she fell asleep.

When she awoke, Hank was gone. As she slipped into her clothes, she heard voices coming from the kitchen.

“Now Hank, we’ve done all we can do.” The sheriff’s deep baritone voice rattled through the house.

Aggie slipped on her boots. She heard Hank, but couldn’t make out his words.

As she hurried from the bedroom, the sheriff’s voice sounded again. “You can’t go after them. You can barely walk, man.”

Aggie slowed her steps as she walked into the kitchen. Three men were sitting at the table drinking coffee. Blue, the sheriff, and her husband.

“What has happened?” she asked as calmly as she could muster.

Hank looked at his cup but the sheriff faced her. “You were right about shooting that fellow. He got as far as Clarendon before he knew he had to see a doctor. He was hit in the left shoulder, just like you said. The doc wired me as soon as he patched him up, and turned him over to a marshal who was in town investigating a cattle rustling gang near there.”

Aggie frowned. Hank still wasn’t looking at her. “Did he say why he tried to kill my husband?”

The sheriff nodded. “He said a man in Fort Worth paid him. Said this fellow made an offer in a bar to anyone interested that if they’d see you had a horrible honeymoon he’d give a hundred dollars.”

Aggie couldn’t believe it. “You mean someone tried to kill Hank for a hundred dollars?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Not kill, just bother. The fellow you put a bullet in swears he planned to knock Hank out and set the barn afire. But he panicked.” The sheriff pulled out a chair for her as Aggie melted into it. “The good news is he’s in jail. It seems he was wanted for a few other crimes as well, and we’d been looking for him for months. We know the man who made the offer in the bar, but it’ll just be his word against this lowlife, and no jury would take the story of a criminal over a railroad executive.”

Aggie felt horrible. Hank being hurt was all her fault. She didn’t have to ask a name, she knew only one railroad man, Potter Stockton. “What’s the bad news?” she managed.

The sheriff looked at Hank as if waiting for permission to continue.

Hank covered her hand with his and nodded.

“The bad news,” the sheriff mumbled, “is that the guy says there were two men that night in the bar who took the railroad man up on his offer.”

Aggie felt as if someone was choking her. “Someone else is out there?”

The sheriff nodded. “He may have given up and gone back, but I came out to warn you to keep a lookout for trouble.”

The sheriff left, with Blue by his side. Blue had picked up the box of repaired guns and said he’d be back from town in an hour.

When they were gone, Aggie stood beside Hank’s chair and waited for him to say the first word. If he hadn’t married her he would have been working today, not losing money while laid up with a broken leg. She wasn’t even good company since she’d spent the day upstairs. He couldn’t have even climbed up to see her.

Finally, he reached for her hand. “I should have guessed Potter was a hothead. He must have sent that drunk at the train station to stop me, and when that didn’t work he planned to at least see that we couldn’t be happy.”

She moved closer and leaned her shoulder against him. “I am happy, dear. I hate that he broke your leg and somehow I’m probably to blame, but you must know that I’m happy-here on the ranch-with you.”

He looked up at her then as if he wanted to believe her, but something deep inside stopped him. She thought he was about to argue, but he only said, “I want you to promise to wear my Colts today. Don’t take them off.”

She nodded.

“I can’t just sit here and wait for trouble to come, but I can work in the barn. I’ll have Blue move my workbench so that I can keep an eye on the house and my rifle will always be within reach.”

“I’ll bring my tools out. It’s warm enough for me to work in the barn.”

He pulled her into his lap and held her gently. She thought of a hundred things that needed doing, but it felt so good to have him holding her. She’d almost woken him last night to ask if he would. She knew he liked her here but didn’t completely believe her when she’d told him she was happy. Maybe it was the way they married with no promises of love. Or maybe it was more deeply rooted in his past, when mother left him and never returned.

Aggie kissed his throat and Hank stilled as if returning to reality.

“We’d better get to work,” he said.

She nodded and stood, wishing he’d kissed her back just once.

An hour later Blue returned with another load of broken revolvers and a few rifles from Jeb, and a box of new tools shipped in from Wichita Falls. Aggie was so excited she went right to work, hardly noticing Blue moving Hank’s bench to the other side of the barn doors.

They worked all morning, their backs to one another. Hank sat on a stool with his leg propped on the crossbar of his workbench. She preferred to stand when she worked with rifles. He asked her to pick up a hammer he dropped, and once she asked if he’d help her pry a jammed cartridge shell out. Neither talked of anything else.

At noon Aggie went to the house and brought back leftover meat and cheese for lunch. She insisted he rest his leg while he ate. She talked about a few of the problems with the rifles, but he said little. His eyes were always looking beyond the barn.

When Blue returned that evening, Hank asked if the hired hand would lend him a shoulder to brace against so he could make it to the house.

Aggie almost cried. He’d worked too hard. He should have turned in hours ago and gotten all the weight off his leg. She grabbed her tools and ran for the house. “I’ll work upstairs for a while,” she said as she passed the two men. “You rest, dear.”

“I’ll want no supper,” Hank answered. “I think I’ll call it a night.”

She wanted to argue that he needed to eat, but she didn’t want to nag in front of Blue. Instead, she went to her little space above the kitchen and worked, telling herself tomorrow would be better.

She worked until the box of guns was repaired. When she finally crawled into bed, she wished there was something that could make Hank happy, or at least make him believe that she was happy. At some point, when he’d been little, he’d stopped believing he could be loved. That’s why he could offer the partnership-it had been safe, there wouldn’t be a disappointment, for love wasn’t part of the deal.

Shoving a tear away, she silently scolded herself for crying, then she realized why she couldn’t stop. Hank didn’t believe in love and she loved him. She might never be able to say the words or make him believe, but she loved him.

An idea struck her. Slipping from the bed, she ran back upstairs. Within minutes another quilt was hung, this one on the blank wall of their bedroom. Tomorrow, no matter what the weather, Hank would wake to a sunny day filled with sunflowers and morning glories.

Laughing to herself, Aggie slipped out of her nightgown and into his flannel shirt. Then she crawled in beside her husband. As she moved close to his warmth, he circled her and pulled her against him. His slow steady breathing told her that his action was more instinct than thought. She molded against him and whispered, “Good night, dear,” a moment before she fell asleep.

Chapter 14

In the darkness Hank came awake one pleasure at a time. Aggie’s hair tickled his nose, her cheek lay against his heart, and her breast pressed into his side. For several minutes all he could manage was breathing. He’d been in a bad mood all day yesterday, battling pain and the fear that someone might try to hurt Aggie. After an hour of berating himself, he’d decided she probably didn’t want to come to bed with him.

But she had. She’d not only shared the bed, she’d curled up against him. He’d managed to live another day without her running out on him.

Finally, he slipped his hand along her back and cupped her round little bottom. She wiggled with his movement, then settled against him. Hank smiled, thinking he’d try harder. “Aggie,” he whispered.

She raised her head, her hair wild around her. “Is it morning already?”

“No.” He shoved her curls away from her face. “But close. The horizon is already beginning to glow.”

“Are you all right?” She rose to her elbow.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry I woke you. I hadn’t meant to say your name out loud.”

Aggie fell back against the pillow and pretended to snore.

Hank laughed. “Don’t you want to stay awake and watch the sun come up?”

“I’ll catch it tonight, then turn it over in my mind.”

He scooted up and propped the pillow behind his back. “Come on. Wake up and watch. Sunrise is the best part of the day.”

Like a grumpy groundhog, she crawled out of her warm hole and sat beside him.

After a few minutes, he asked, “Are your eyes open?”

“Is it here yet?”

“Almost.”

“Just let me know and I’ll open them then.”

Hank couldn’t resist-he tugged her to him. He wanted to pull her shirt off and repeat all they’d done before, but for now, he had to let her set the pace. Just because he couldn’t advance physically with making her his, didn’t mean he couldn’t move forward.

“Listen, sunshine, I’ve been thinking.”

She was busy settling atop his chest.

“Are you listening?”

She made a slight sound, half yes, half yawn.

“I don’t think I’m going to build another bed. If you’ve no objection, I think we should just share.”

He felt her nod.

“I mean from now on, not just while I’m laid up with this leg.”

She nodded again. “I understand. Except for the few months I had after all my sisters left, I’ve always shared a bed. It has advantages. Someone to cuddle with on cold nights. Someone to talk to when you can’t sleep.”

“Aggie, sharing a bed with a man is different.”

She stilled. “I know.”

He waited for her to say more. The easiness between them was gone. She lay stiff at his side. “You know,” he whispered, “I would never hurt you.”

“I know,” she said again. “This isn’t what I thought it would be like between us.”

He understood. When he’d handed her his gun, he’d thought he was making a partnership that at best would keep her safe and offer him company. But now, it was already more, far more.

Without a word, he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers, loving the sweet dawn taste of them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him to her as she turned the kiss to liquid passion.

Hank fought to keep it light, but his hands slipped back over her bottom, tenderly gripping each hip and holding her close.

She broke the kiss and shoved away, and reason fought its way into his brain. He tried to find the words to say he was sorry for something he wasn’t, but before he could speak, she unbuttoned her shirt.

“Touch me again, dear.” She opened the flannel and in dawn’s first light he saw her beauty.

All reason vanished as he lowered his mouth to her breast.

She cried out in surprise, then arched her back and allowed him his fill of her flesh.

By the time sanity returned, the sun had cleared the horizon. He kissed her long and hard, letting his hands continue caressing her breasts, now moist and full from his careful inspection. She’d complained only when he pulled away.

In the lazy stillness while they each remembered to breathe, Hank spread his hand across her stomach and made lazy circles over her flesh. “There’s more,” he whispered, loving the rise and fall of her abdomen as she breathed.

“I figured there might be.” She moved her cheek against the side of his head.

“You’ll let me know when you’re ready.” He didn’t bother to say ‘if you’re ready.’ After the way she reacted to his second touch, there was no doubt where they were headed.

She sighed.

“It might mean children.” He’d heard of a few ways to prevent pregnancy, but doubted any one would work all the time. “You wouldn’t mind children?”

She frowned. “I wouldn’t mind your children. I think I’d love them dearly.”

He tried to keep the sadness from his voice. “That’s more than my mother did.”

“That’s not true.” She shoved away, unaware how the sudden sight of her beauty stopped his heart.

He shrugged. “I’m afraid it is. My mother left me before I could talk and never looked back.”

“No,” Aggie shouted as she scrambled off the bed. “No!”

As she backed against the wall, he saw the quilt for the first time. “Where did that come from?” He knew nothing of crafts, but he could see that he must be looking at a work of art. No clumsy blocks, no crazy designs, but an intricate picture painted with tiny bits of fabric and fine stitching.

“Your mother. She loved you and must have spent years making these.”

“These?”

“Didn’t you know they were in the trunk? Beautiful masterpieces of the seasons. The finest work I’ve ever seen.”

Hank shook his head. “I never looked. I figured it would be her clothes and I didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want to be reminded of a mother who never touched me.” All his old feelings of being abandoned washed across his thoughts. “Besides, quilts in a trunk mean nothing.”

Aggie had reached the edge of the quilt. Without a word she turned the fabric over and he saw a small square in the corner. Even from five feet away he could see the stitching. Three words: “For my son.”

He sat staring at the quilt as Aggie buttoned her shirt and ran upstairs to get the others. When they were all spread out on the bed, Hank could no longer deny they were for him. Each one had the same three words carefully embroidered on the back. She might have left him, but she hadn’t forgotten him.

A knock sounded a moment before they heard the front door creak. Aggie jumped like a rabbit at the sound of gunfire, and in seconds she was dressed.

“Hank?” the sheriff’s voice boomed. He opened the bedroom door while Aggie stood behind it finishing buttoning her shirt. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t think you’d be in bed. You all right?”

Hank tried to think of some reason he’d still be in bed after sunrise. He knew a very good one, but he wasn’t about to tell the sheriff. “I was just getting dressed.”

Aggie slipped out behind the sheriff, then managed to act like she was just walking in. “Oh,” she said, “good morning, sheriff.”

“Morning, ma’am. I got some good news. They found that other fellow in Fort Worth who Stockton hired to bother you. He was still drunk in the same saloon, claiming he thought the offer was a joke. So you can stop worrying.”

“Good.” Hank drew a long breath. “How about some coffee?”

The sheriff nodded. “I wouldn’t mind if I do. I saw Blue in the barn. I’ll run over and tell him the news and be right back.”

He disappeared. Aggie ran to put coffee on and Hank dressed. When the sheriff returned they were both at the kitchen table.

After a cup of coffee and small talk, the sheriff stood. “I best be getting back.” He lifted his hat. You folks have a good day.” He took a step toward the door, then added, “That sure is a fine little rocking chair you’re building out there, Hank.”

Hank smiled, remembering how he’d worked all day on it and Aggie had been so busy she’d never asked what he was making. “It’s for my wife. The one on the porch is too big for her.”

The sheriff looked at Aggie. “You’ll like that, Mrs. Harris.”

“I’ll need it,” she said calmly. “I’m going to have a baby.”

For a moment Hank thought he’d be embarrassed, but suddenly he couldn’t stop smiling. He shook the sheriff’s hand and limped to the door to say good-bye.

Aggie moved beneath his arm to steady him while they waved the lawman away.

When they were alone once more, Hank whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with my partner.”

“I’m afraid I am too.” She smiled up at him.

“But, Aggie, you’re not pregnant.”

She frowned. “We’d better work on that, dear, before the sheriff finds out I lied.”

Hank looked up at the bright morning sun. “Lucky for us it’s almost sundown.”

They turned toward the house and stepped inside. For the first time since he’d built the place, Hank locked the door and they made love beneath each season of quilts.