her cousin in Colorado, a widower who needed a wife and mother for his three daughters. Dani had given Patrick permission to write. After three letters, she’d fallen in love with him.
Now he was gone and his wayward brother had the girls and wanted Dani to leave. She simply couldn’t do it, not with Patrick’s letter in her trunk. But neither could she stay at the farm with this man. Her best hope lay in convincing him to leave. Dani wasn’t wise in the ways of the world, but she knew a little about men and carrots.
“I have a suggestion, Mr. Morgan.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s a nice hotel by the railroad station. I’m sure you’d enjoy a good night’s sleep.”
His eyes flickered. Either he enjoyed a fight or he was tempted by the comforts of a hotel room. Judging by the dark crescents under his eyes, he hadn’t slept in days.
Dani sweetened the deal. “The hotel has a restaurant. I saw it when I rented the buggy. Today’s special is roast beef with raspberry pie for dessert.”
His mouth hardened. “No thanks, Miss Baxter. Emma’s a good cook.”
Dani doubted it. The child had written about her kitchen foibles. Will you teach me to make biscuits? Mine are rock hard, but Pa eats them and smiles.
A lump pressed into Dani’s throat. She’d trusted Patrick with her life, her reputation. She had no such faith in the man standing in his place. She also had nowhere else to go. She didn’t like what she was about to say, but she had to get Beau Morgan to leave. “There’s a saloon, too.”
His eyes twinkled with mischief. “You want a drink?”
“No!”
“Me, neither.” The corners of his mouth tipped up. “I’m not a drinking man, Miss Baxter. Never have been.”
Was that good news? Dani didn’t know. She wanted this man to be so low that any judge in Douglas County would deny him custody. Instead he sounded like her Aunt Minnie.
He leaned against the wall, crossing his sock-covered feet. “I’m also good at hearing what isn’t said. I’m guessing you have about ten dollars in your bag and don’t know a soul.”
She blushed.
“That’s what I thought.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “I’d be glad to pay your room and board in town, but I suspect you’re too stubborn to accept.”
“It’s not a matter of stubbornness.” She reached for Emma.
“I promised Patrick—”
“I know what you promised.” His voice turned gentle. “I also know what it’s like to be grief-stricken. It leaves you numb, but only for a while. Once the shock passes, you wake up screaming. It’ll eat you alive if you let it.”
Peering into his eyes, she saw a kinship born of suffering. Dani had grieved her mother and still cried for the woman who’d given her blue eyes and wheat-blond hair. Who had Beau Morgan mourned? The connection, as brief as lightning and as bright, frightened her.
If he felt the spark, he didn’t let it show. Standing straighter, he looked ready for business. “If you’re willing to bend a bit, I’m prepared to offer a compromise.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’ll move to the barn while we sort things out. You get room and board in exchange for keeping house.”
Emma looked up at Dani. “It’s time to start the garden. We could do it together.”
For a thousand miles, she’d dreamed of planting tomatoes in Patrick’s side yard. She loved the feeling of loamy earth and the scent of herbs growing in a window box. She’d imagined flowers, too. Tulips in the spring, roses in June. She had learned from her mother that touches of beauty nourished a family as much as good food.
Her gaze drifted to the hole in Beau Morgan’s sock. His big toe curled as if to hide, then stretched in defiance. “As you can see, my clothes could use some mending.”
“And a good scrubbing,” she added.
“That’s a fact.”
His voice held a yearning that put Dani on alert. Which was more dangerous? The snake that rattled as it slithered or the one sleeping in the sun?
Emma squeezed her hand. “Stay, Dani. Please.”
She wanted to say yes, but she had to protect her reputation as well as the children. “I’d prefer the hotel,” she said. “But only if the girls can stay with me.”
“I can’t allow it.”
“Why not?” She tried to sound confident. “It would be a change for them.”
“You’re naive, Miss Baxter.”
Dani bristled. “I’ve just traveled a thousand miles—”
“And I’ve traveled ten thousand.” He raised his chin.
“Have you ever seen a pack of wolves?”
She’d heard howling in the forest near her father’s farm, but the wolves had stayed out of sight. “No, I haven’t.”
“I have,” he said. “The kind with two legs.”
“Castle Rock seems safe to me.”
His eyes glittered like broken glass. “It was—before I got here.”
Chapter Two
Looking at Daniela Baxter, Beau felt the cut of sudden change. The last time he’d seen Patrick had been five years ago. His brother had come to the funeral for Beau’s wife, traveling alone because his own wife, Beth, had been close to delivering their third child. Beau and his brother hadn’t been close, but he’d appreciated the kindness. Patrick had made him promise to write now and then. He’d even offered him a place to stay.
Beau had said he’d keep in touch, but he’d broken the promise so badly he hadn’t known about Beth’s passing. He hadn’t known a lot of things when he’d arrived in Castle Rock two days ago. Hot on the trail of an outlaw named Clay Johnson, Beau had found himself within a few miles of his brother’s farm. He’d decided to pay a visit and had arrived to find a fresh grave and an old man in the barn. The fellow and his wife were neighbors who’d come to care for the cows and the girls until other arrangements could be made.
The girls could have been farmed out to friends, but the cows needed their routine. A lightning strike…of all the foolish things. Even more surprising was the news from Patrick’s attorney. Seven years ago, Patrick had written a will. It named Beau as guardian of his children—a fact Beau vaguely remembered. He’d have made a good guardian in the past, but not anymore. An ex-lawman, he sold his gun to the highest bidder. Like most shootists, he lived in the canyons between good and evil. He enjoyed the freedom and the money, but mostly he burned with the need to bring Clay Johnson to justice.
Whether God or the devil had given him a thirst for Johnson’s blood, Beau didn’t know. He only knew that Clay Johnson had killed the most precious person in his life. Lucy, his young wife, had put on her prettiest dress, a pink thing with puffy sleeves, and brought him supper at the sheriff’s office. What happened next was an abomination. Beau no longer dreamed about that day, but he remembered every detail. Looking at Miss Baxter in her pink dress, he swallowed a mouthful of bile. He hated that color and the memories it brought. He always would.
Sending her to the hotel tempted him as much as that roast beef dinner. He’d lied about Emma’s cooking. The girl made a mean pancake, but a man needed more than starch in his belly to do a day’s work. He also needed to sleep at night, something Beau hadn’t done since he’d arrived. He couldn’t. Since Lucy’s murder, he and Johnson had been playing a game of cat and mouse. Sometimes the outlaw vanished for months, leaving Beau to search aimlessly for his