Prologue

Rosewood, Texas June 1880

Mary Margaret Barker stood at the door and took a breath. It’s time, she thought. She had not dared to step foot in the bedroom since her parents died less than a week ago. Cholera had mercilessly invaded and devastated their bodies, one after the other.

The sting of a first loss, that of her mother, had not even settled in her heart before her father followed right at her mother’s heels.

Eliza and Walter Barker were Mary’s whole world. She had no siblings, and she alone was the light in their eyes. Now those eyes were closed forever.

Mary knew she had to go in there, go through their things, and clean up the room. She couldn’t leave it as it was, but she shuddered every time she had to walk past it. Straightening, she turned the knob and opened the door. The room sat just as her parents had left it.

On the bed, which was centered between two windows, a comforter and sheet lay in a crumpled heap. To the right of the bed was her father’s armchair, his suit coat lying across it. To the left of the bed stood her mother’s vanity, untouched, as if at any moment her mother would sit down in front of the mirror and brush her hair, just as she used to do every night.

Mary noticed her mother’s silver-handled hairbrush lying on the vanity. A few strands of fine, blond hair dangled from it. I thought I could do this, she thought as an ache filled her soul. I thought I could be strong.

She wanted to turn and leave the room, but something drew her over to the vanity. She picked up the brush and ran her fingers delicately over the fine strands. Looking up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her red-eyed and pain-stricken face peered back at her. She hardly recognized herself.

Mary felt strange, peering into the mirror. She wanted to see her mother there, somewhere, in her own reflection, but she could not. The only trait she’d inherited from her mother was her pale blonde hair.

Her mother had been thin and delicate. She had ice-blue eyes and a sophisticated air. I may not look like you, mother, she thought, but I will try to be more like you. I will. You had so much left to teach me.

Her father had been all vivacity, charm, and intelligence, her mother grit and sophistication.

An old memory flickered in her mind, then grew stronger and clearer the longer she stood there, looking at herself. Why am I thinking about this right now? She wondered. She tried to put it out of her mind, but it only grew stronger. Her father’s voice rang in her ears, almost as if he were there in the room.

“You’re raising her to be a prude!” he had said. It was one of her parents’ rare arguments.

“I’m raising her to be educated, to speak properly, to be able to travel abroad and get along well,” replied her mother.

“She won’t fit in here. She already thinks she’s better than everyone. That’s what all your book learning has done for her.”

“You know as well as I that Mary has a wild side that needs to be tamed. Proper education can bring that to heel and reading good literature should produce a humble mind. She’s haughty, I don’t disagree with you there. However, I do not think it has as much to do with her book learning so much as being an only child who has never had to want for anything. And you must admit you’re as much to blame as I am for that.”

It was about the last thing she wanted to remember— Her parents’ argument over her arrogance.

Why do I have to think of that now? she wondered. I won’t think of it now.

Putting it out of her mind, Mary set the brush down softly and turned to walk across the room, running her hand across the bed frame. She stopped before her father’s chair, picked up his coat, holding it to her face, and breathed in his familiar smell. She intended to grow into a woman her mother would have been proud of, but she knew she’d always be more like her father. She looked like him, and she’d inherited his zeal and vivacity. And perhaps his pride.

Mary had her father’s build, strong and on the stocky side. “Strong as an ox. Built like a brick outhouse,” her father used to say. She’d been proud of her strength. Her father’s bright green eyes, flecked with bits of gold and full of curiosity, peeked out from under her lashes. The freckles speckled across her nose and cheeks followed the same pattern as her father’s had, and his big, contagious smile appeared when she laughed. But more than anything, she’d inherited his capacity to dream. All her life, Mary had known she was beautiful, intelligent, and strong. She had never felt the sting of death or loss.

She held out his jacket, examining it, then put it on.

She had expected the sight of their bedroom, left exactly as it was when they’d died, to be difficult. But she did not expect the wave of grief to hit so hard. She doubled over, catching herself on the doorframe.

“You okay?” Susan Marie Butler’s soft voice came from the hall. Mary turned to her with tear-filled eyes. Susan had been an orphan, and Mary’s parents had taken her on as a housemaid. Susan’s parents had died when she was young, so she knew pain. If there was anyone Mary wanted near her right now, it was Susan.

Mary felt Susan’s hand on her shoulder. “I… I’m so sorry, Mary. They were good people. Kind and fair.” At the touch of her friend, grieving with her, Mary let go of all she’d been holding in since the undertaker carried her parents’ cold bodies down the stairs and out the door forever. She cried, convulsing with sobs, and collapsed into Susan’s arms.

Susan cried with her and held her tightly. Their grief was tangible, thick. It hung in the air. They breathed it in like the dust of the Texas air. They clung to each other, neither one wanting to let go.

Rusty, Mary’s new bloodhound puppy, came hobbling along down the hall, oblivious to the despair of his owner. Mary, finding comfort in him, sat down on the floor in the hall and gathered him up into her arms, crying into his soft fur as he licked her face. Susan knelt beside them, placing a comforting hand on Mary’s shoulder.

“My father couldn’t have known how much I would need him when he gave him to me,” Mary said, stroking the dog. “And now, he won’t be here to help me train him on the hunt.”

Walter had faithfully taken Mary out on the hunt with the men of the town the day she turned ten, and Mary had been asking for a bloodhound ever since.

Susan said nothing, but she stayed with Mary, petting Rusty lovingly, and it was enough for Mary to know that someone was with her. With the comfort of Rusty’s playful licks and cuddles, the sobbing slowed, the tears dried up, and Susan helped Mary to her feet. Hand in hand, they crossed the threshold into the bedroom.

Mary took a breath, “Well, this stuff isn’t going to sort itself. We had best get started.”

Together, they went through her parents’ belongings, packing, cleaning, telling stories, and alternating between laughing and crying, Rusty always at their feet, tripping over his own ears.

“Mary, do you remember the time Walter was so determined to make Eliza laugh that he danced and played the fiddle…”

“Oh, yes!” Mary interrupted, laughing. “He danced like a fool. The faster he played, the faster he danced.”

“And your mother wouldn’t crack a smile, so he kicked his legs up higher and higher until he fell to the ground!”

“Not before splitting his trousers! Do you remember that? Oh, I’d never seen mother laugh so hard.”

When everything was cleaned up and packed away, Mary turned to Susan.

“Susan, thank you.”

“I loved them, too. Will you be okay tonight? I’ll stay if you need me.”

“No, you go, Susan, and thank you. Oh, and Susan…. I know we owe you your wages for the week. I’ll go into town tomorrow and talk to the banker.”

“We’re okay for now, Mary. I thank you. John has been so generous.” Susan had become engaged shortly before Mr. and Mrs. Barker fell sick. She was to marry John Hartfield, a kind-hearted ranch owner. Mary had been elated for Susan, but now she could only think of her own loneliness at losing her as a constant presence and source of comfort. Mary nodded, and Susan slipped out of the door into the hot night air.

Chapter One

Rosewood, Texas June, 1880

Mary slept soundly for the first time in over a week.

At first, she dreamed of their moans as they tossed and turned in their beds, overhearing them from the next room. But tonight, she dreamt of her mother’s smile and pale blue eyes, her father’s full-bodied laughter and dancing eyes. Crying with Susan had exhausted her—body and mind.

When she woke, she had to realize all over again that they really were gone. Her heart sank, the peaceful comfort of last night’s tears giving way to the harsh reality that she was alone.

She walked over to her own mirror and peered into it. Her eyes were still red, but no longer swollen. She was beginning to look like herself again, but there was a sadness in her eyes that had not been there before.

She stood to her full height, took a sharp breath in, and tossed her head as if in defiance of all the suffering life had brought her way.

She pulled her hair up into a disheveled style and, slipping on a pale green cotton dress, descended the stairs, wiping tears from her eyes. She was not used to the silence of an empty house. She missed the sound of her parents’ voices speaking softly, the smell of coffee as her mother brewed it each morning.

She even missed the sounds she’d never realized she noticed before—the rustling of a newspaper page being turned, footsteps in the hall, the whisper of her mother’s cotton dress as it brushed up against the wall. She looked around at the silent, empty house.

She heard a knock at the front door.

Several townspeople had come to call when they first heard news of Walter and Eliza’s deaths. They’d brought her meals, cards, and flowers, but after the small funeral at the church, the visitors had slowed, then stopped, and Mary was left with only Susan as a source of comfort. As it was, she was not expecting a sympathetic caller that morning, but welcomed the company.

When she opened the door, a large, well-dressed man stood before her. He was clean-shaven but for a thick, black mustache sitting upon his upper lip. It was Christopher Edwards, whom her father had always called “Kit.” Most of the single women in town considered him to be a handsome man, though Mary had never been able to see him that way. To her, he had always been her father’s friend. She had sensed that the family relationship to Kit was kept out of regard for the connections it provided. However, he had always seemed amiable enough, and in this moment, Mary found comfort in the presence of anyone who had known her father.

“Mary,” he said, stepping into the entryway, taking off his hat, and holding it over his heart. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.” He looked at her with big, solemn eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” Mary said, tearing up again. Moments before, she had been feeling desperately alone and haunted by the silence that this act of sympathy and concern overwhelmed her, and she could not hold back the tears. “Please, come into the drawing room and sit down. I’ll bring tea,” Mary said, turning to lead him into the drawing room and wiping her eyes quickly. Once he was seated, she dashed into the kitchen, lit the stove, and put on a kettle of water before heading back to the drawing room, hoping her tears were not evident.

“Tea will be ready in a moment.” He looked up at her, and she thought she saw a hint of longing in his eyes. He gestured to the chair beside him, and she sat.

“How are you, Mary?” All efforts to conceal her tears were now in vain, as she could not hold them back. “Is there anything you need? I can help,” he said.

“No, sir. Well, perhaps there is one thing, sir,” she said haltingly.

“Please, call me Kit.”

“Kit… I need to pay my maid. I know my father left his estate to me, but I don’t know how to handle that side of things. I could use some help in getting my maid her wages, and maybe some advice on what I should do next.”

“Your financial situation isn’t quite what you think it is, dear.” She bristled a little at his patronizing tone. She was not accustomed to being condescended to.

“What do you mean?” She stammered.

“Your father…he was underwater, Mary. He borrowed a large sum of money from me just to keep the house.”

She couldn’t understand what she was hearing. It didn’t make sense. She’d always had everything she could ever need. How could it be true?

“I don’t understand,” she said after a long pause. “He never said anything about owing anyone any money.” Mary was confounded, thinking over the possibility that she might have nothing. Her father’s ranch was profitable, for the most part, until the drought came. But even then, he’d been elected Mayor, and Mary had assumed that paid well enough to support their lifestyle. Anyway, she knew grandfather had left an inheritance. Mary had many worries since the loss of her parents, but financial ruin had never crossed her mind. It didn’t seem possible. The Barkers? Broke? They were affluent, sophisticated, and generous. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

In her prolonged silence, Kit perceived her confusion and continued. “He didn’t want your mother to know. He was certain he could pay me off by next summer.” Mary’s mind was swimming.

“You said he borrowed a large sum from you?” She asked. He nodded his head. “I’m sure…I mean…I can find a way to repay you.” Kit looked at her for a long while, until Mary began to feel uncomfortable and became restless in her seat. Something shifted in her appraisal of him as she realized that she owed him her father’s debts. His condescending looks of pity now felt feigned, and she wondered how she might politely end this encounter so she could think it all over.

“I thank you for your visit and concern for me, Kit. I am confident I can find a way to repay my father’s debt,” she said, standing, hoping Kit would catch the hint and stand to leave as well. He did not. He only shook his head solemnly.

“It’s more than a woman could make in a decade, maybe a lifetime. I’m sorry, Mary. He swore me to secrecy. He was so sure he could manage it. He mortgaged the house.”

Mary felt numb. She didn’t understand what this meant for her. Even the house was not hers? She’d planned to stay there, in the home she grew up—in the home her parents had died in—so she could be near them and visit their graves, and maybe one day start her own family there. And now, she had nothing but debt, and no way to pay a mortgage on the home she loved, the only home she ever knew.

“I can…. get a job,” she stammered as a look of confusion and terror came over her face.

Kit let out a snort, and it seemed as though he was laughing at her. Confusion and fear quickly morphed into anger at the idea of being laughed at in her misery. She started to toss her head in her defiant way, but stopped herself and repeated firmly, “I will find work.”

“Even men are hard-pressed to find work these days. The only place they’re hiring women is picking cotton or fruit farther west. You’re not made for that kind of work,” he said, gently taking her hand in his, turning it over, and running his finger down her palm. It was an act of intimacy wholly unwelcome, and she moved to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip slightly.

“I’m tougher than you think,” she said, trying to mask the panic that was rising in her. Her voice cracked and her throat closed up.

“Your father meant for me to care for you… as my wife,” he said. Mary pulled her hand away forcefully, and as she did, thought she recognized a brief flicker of rage in his eyes.

“He never got the chance to tell you, I see,” Kit said, trying in vain to hide the contempt in his voice. Mary didn’t speak for a long while. Marriage to a wealthy man did seem to be an easy option out of her predicament, and here was a wealthy man proposing to her, ready to fix all her problems. And yet, something felt deeply wrong about it. She felt it deep in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she sensed something hostile about Kit. She needed time to think, but Kit sat across from her, eyes fixed on her, obviously expecting an answer. She became more and more restless under his gaze. When she finally spoke, the words came out choked and shaky.

“No. I can’t. I can’t do that.” She said, standing up and backing away. He stood and advanced toward her.

The anger in his eyes flared. It was unmistakable this time, and it frightened Mary. His large body loomed over her. “Your father meant to provide you with a good life, even if he could not. I agreed to marry you, to give you the life he wanted you to have and forgive all his debts in return. You’re foolish to pass up an offer like that.”

“Foolish?” She asked, her voice shaking, from either anger or fear, she wasn’t sure which.

“Yes, foolish. Apparently, you don’t understand the predicament your father was in,” Kit said.

“I think I understand my father quite well, thank you very much,” she replied. She tossed her head and flicked her hair in just the way she used to do when her mother would say, “Don’t toss your head, Mary. It’s haughty and disrespectful.”

“I don’t think you do understand your father. He intended to pay off your debts and see you provided for through your marriage to me.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s not only possible, it’s fact.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, staring hard back at him.

“It doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not,” he replied through gritted teeth, “It’s the truth.”

“My father wouldn’t promise me to someone without my consent. I know it.”

“So, you won’t marry me?”

“I cannot.”

“And why not? I have everything you could ever hope to have. I have hundreds of acres, a beautiful house, and dozens of servants.”

“Those things could never make me happy,” she said as she lifted her eyes to look at him. It was in that moment that she noticed his eyes. In them, she saw primal hunger. It chilled her to her core. His eyes seemed to look right past her.

I’ve never seen eyes so cold, she thought. His look frightened her, and she began to wish, desperately, that he would go.

“I’m flattered, Christopher. But I can never be your wife. So I think it’s best if you go now.”

To her surprise, he stood in his place.

“I don’t think you understand. You don’t have a choice,” he said.

The tension in Mary’s heart grew. She wanted him out of her house immediately. She was growing more fearful in his presence by the moment.

“Of course I have a choice,” she responded, firmly, “I am asking you to leave. I am telling you I cannot become your wife.”

Kit, apparently recognizing that his tactics weren’t swaying Mary, changed his tone.

“Don’t you want someone to marry you and provide for you? Don’t you want a family? I’m offering you all of that.”

It was true, she’d dreamt of marriage since she was a little girl, but not like this.

I want love to catch me by surprise, she thought, the way mother and father fell in love. Not like this. This is all wrong.

The thing was, if she hadn’t seen that cold, emotionless stare in his hungry eyes, she might have been persuaded. As it was, in just a few moments, she had seen a side of him that terrified her.

Again, she said, “Thank you for your visit, and I’m sorry I can’t oblige you.”

She fully expected him to retreat, but instead, he took a step closer to her. Mary backed up. He stepped closer again. She was beginning to feel hot blood pounding in her face.

She tried to retreat further but found herself up against a wall. Kit grabbed her elbow firmly and pressed himself up against her body. She grimaced and her heart began to race.

“Let go!” She demanded. He held on, and lowered his face toward hers, as though he might force a kiss.

That moment, Susan slipped in through the door. Mary turned and flashed her a look of such fear that Susan screamed, and Kit dropped Mary’s arm.

“Go on and get out of here!” Susan yelled, “Or I’ll tell everyone what sort of man you are and have you run out of town.” Mary felt Kit release his grip on her arm. For a moment, the anger in his eyes turned to fear, before turning back to anger again. He huffed, but put on his hat and backed toward the door.

“I’ll go. But I’ll get what you owe me, Mary Barker. You just made the biggest mistake of your life, but there’s still time to change your mind.” With that, he walked out the front door and slammed it behind him.

Mary gasped, suddenly realizing she had been holding her breath, and reached for the edge of the sofa for support. She tried to stammer something to Susan, but the words caught in her throat.

“I know, dear. I’ll pour us some tea,” Susan said, “you just sit down and relax.”

While Susan prepared the tea, Mary, with a dazed look on her face, gave her the particulars of what Kit had said.

“What am I supposed to do, Susan? I have no one,” Mary said, collapsing into a chair and burying her head in her hands. When she finally looked up, she said, “And now, I have nothing. Not even this house.” She looked around at the mahogany wood floors her mother had loved so much, the sheer, beige curtains hanging to floor length, the mantle and fireplace where she’d so often sat on her mother’s lap and listened to stories or her father playing the fiddle.

“I can’t believe this isn’t my home to own. I can’t afford the mortgage or your wages. Susan, I don’t even know how I’ll feed myself. I never could have imagined this. Maybe he’s lying.”

Susan sat silently for a while, thinking. Susan had found her own way out of poverty, and Mary could see her mind working behind her intelligent eyes.

Finally, Susan said, “you’re a lovely young woman, with manners and good breeding. Any man should consider himself lucky to provide for you, debts and all. Perhaps you should find someone else to marry.”

This statement caught Mary off guard. After all, she’d only just rejected Kit moments ago.

“You think I should marry?” she asked, pulling away from Susan, her voice full of astounded indignation.

“Hear me out, Mary. Kit will come after you. If the gossip is true, he’s loaned large sums of money to over half the farmers and ranch owners around here. I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t think he’s lying. They say when the drought hit, everyone needed money, and he had it on hand and lent it out with high interest rates. Half the town owes him, and I’d bet my horse no man who owes his livelihood is gonna come up against the man he owes it to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean, I think you should marry, but not here in Rosewood. Men everywhere need wives. You could answer one of those ads they always put in the paper, get out of town, have the protection of a husband.” Susan grabbed the day’s newspaper from the table and started opening the page.

“So, what you’re saying, Susan, is that to escape being married, I should get married? You know that I…”

“So as far as I see it, your options are to marry Kit, or marry someone you don’t know. I’d take a chance on a stranger before I’d marry Kit. I get a real bad feeling around him.”

Mary pondered this for a moment. She’d had a bad feeling, too, even before he nearly attacked her. Maybe Susan was right. In some ways, she wanted to escape, to run from this place with all its haunting memories. And yet, a love for this dry, Texas land coursed through her veins, just as it ran through her father’s, and she could hardly imagine giving it up.

It seemed she only had two options. Stay, and marry an unscrupulous man who’d cheated his neighbors and thought he was entitled to her…or leave everything behind and start again with a man of whom she knew nothing. She thought of the land her father loved, the townspeople he served, and almost succumbed to the idea of marriage to Kit.

Then, the memory of his rage-filled eyes flashed before her, and she knew she could not. Perhaps she’d end up married to another man like Kit if she responded to an ad…but there was still a chance she could land a kind husband. If she married Kit, she’d have security but no chance at happiness. If she married a stranger, she’d have security and at least a chance at happiness. She had always been prone to risk-taking like her father. Anyway, it bothered her that Kit had come to her with full expectation of her acceptance.

The arrogance is intolerable, she thought.

No land, no security or protection could tempt her to give in and give herself to Kit in marriage when he had made it so clear that he felt entitled to her—that he was doing her a favor, even. An ad was at least requesting a marriage. Kit was demanding it. The rage she saw in his eyes when she denied him was enough to make her shudder. She knew she could not marry him, no matter the cost. She would have to leave this beloved land and home behind and take a chance on an unknown man.

As Mary had mulled over these things in her head, Susan had been perusing the ads section of the paper.

“Listen to this,” Susan said, and then began reading aloud. “Jefferson St. Just. Kind-hearted, wealthy widower seeks a hard-working wife and mother figure to his three children.”

“I’m not ready to be a wife, let alone a mother!” Mary exclaimed. But it was no use talking herself out of it. She had already resolved to answer this ad the moment she heard “kind-hearted” in the description. It was her only way out, and her best chance at safety and happiness.

“Strange name, Jefferson St. Just,” Susan said, breaking into Mary’s thoughts.

“Strange, indeed,” said Mary.