Prologue

Weatherford, Texas, 1866

It was the bitter taste of smoke in his throat that woke him.

Ten-year-old Gideon Briggs wasn’t the kind to hide his head under the pillow if there was danger around. Launching himself out of bed, he stumbled to the door still half-asleep, but determined to find out where the fire was coming from.

He grabbed the doorknob with his left hand. Pa called him “Southpaw,” proud that his son favored the use of his left hand the same as he did.

The searing pain as the metal knob melted the skin on his palm was shocking, worse than that time a wild stallion kicked him. He opened his mouth to yell, but choked on smoke.

There was no way out. When he pounded on the door panels, they felt boiling hot.

“Pa! Momma! Josie!”

He could hardly say their names as his vision blurred, and smoke curled under the door. There was no time to put on shoes or long pants. Dressed in his nightshirt, Gideon pushed the sash window open and jumped out.

It wasn’t far to fall. His bedroom was on the first floor of the Briggs’ home. He picked himself up and ran to the shed to fetch the ladder. Fear gave him the strength to hoist it against the window of the master bedroom on the second floor and clamber up the rungs. He punched the small fist of his left hand through the glass pane, not caring how it sliced his arm.

“Pa!” His desperate cry pierced the night. “Wake up. There’s a fire on the floor below!”

There was no smoke in his parents’ bedroom, which gave him hope. He could see Momma and Pa wake and react as his words sunk in.

“Son, go rouse your sister.” Maybe things were going to be all right, after all, because Pa sounded fairly calm.

“Pa, I couldn’t open my door. You must come out the window—”

Pa’s reply was firm. “Go get Josie. Wait for us by the water trough.”

When Gideon tried to slide down the ladder, at first, he couldn’t. His left hand was stuck to the wood. He pulled harder, ignoring the pain, and hefted the ladder to Josie’s window. This time, he remembered to wrap the cuff of his nightshirt over his damaged fingers before climbing up and hammering on the glass. “Josie! Wake up!”

The commotion must have brought his sister out of a deep sleep because she sat up groggily, but fast enough. She pulled on the candlewick dressing gown draped over the foot of her bed, then darted to the window.

“Go down, Gideon. Give me space to climb out.”

He did as she asked. Josie was two years older than he was and bossy. Gideon watched his sister anxiously as she twisted her feet from the window ledge and out onto the second rung. She was halfway down when a terrible rumbling crash made both children jump.

Josie stared at her brother with growing horror. “Gideon, your nightshirt—the sleeves are so dark.”

It was better she couldn’t see the dripping blood under the moonlight.

“Go to the water trough, Josie. Pa gave the order. I’m going to see what’s keeping them.”

He ran around the perimeter of their family home, his eyes searching the dark smoke pouring out of the windows. That crash must have been the interior collapsing. If it was the staircase, his momma and pa would need help coming down.

Gideon disobeyed Pa’s order and prepared to go in the house, heaving the ladder after him. He used the top of the ladder to batter the front door down. Black smoke roiled into the air, and the roar of licking flames drowned out all other sounds.

The floorboards were sticky with heated resin, the air was unbreathable, and the staircase was only a pile of twisted wood now.

“Pa!” he called out. “I’m here. Josie is safe.”

Gideon covered his mouth with his arm and crawled on his belly. He had to prop the ladder against the burning landing so his momma could climb down. Pa was so strong, he wouldn’t need a ladder to make the jump.

“Pa!” he coughed and rasped, frustrated at himself for being overwhelmed by the hot fumes. “Momma. Come on. Please.” He could feel the bubbling resin sticking to his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt. “Momma… Pa… ”

The ceiling groaned ominously, but Gideon wouldn’t budge. Not even when the ladder began burning did he give up hope. His rigid determination lasted until the ceiling collapsed on top of him in a pile of ash and embers.

Josie’s screaming was like a beacon in the darkness. “Gideon! Get up now!”

His bossy sister, always making him do chores when all he wanted to do was sleep…

He had to take her to the water trough. It was what Pa wanted.

Gideon moved. Hunching his back, he got onto his hands and knees. But all he could do was mumble as the timber shifted. “I’m coming. Hold your horses.”

“Help me,” Josie whimpered. She wasn’t being bossy. His sister had followed him as far as the front porch, and now her ankle was trapped in between two broken floorboards like a beartrap.

He staggered, one of his arms hanging useless by his side. Even with his lashes and brows seared off, Gideon was still able to see. He knew their homestead like the back of his hand, where every flower bloomed in spring and the color of every leaf that fluttered down in fall.

Fetching the hatchet from the chopping block, he trotted back to rescue Josie from the planks that pinched her foot like teeth. Seeing it, she cringed. “You make sure to aim straight with that axe, Gideon. Use two hands.”

He tried, but only one arm was working. His pa would scold him real good if he accidentally chopped his sister’s ankle. “It’s a right-handed swing or nothing, sis.”

Hacking as hard as he could, Gideon smashed the plank until it broke in two. Josie’s ankle was a mess, but there were other things to worry about.

Like the warning sounds of creaking timber about to break.

It happened so quickly, there was no time to think, only react. The house fell in like a deck of cards. Covering his sister’s body like a shield so that the flames couldn’t reach her, he guided her to the water trough. They were safe. All they had to do was wait for Pa and Momma to join them.

Even though her ankle was crushed and bleeding, Josie took one look at him and pushed him into the water.

Gideon was surprised how easy it was for his sister to knock him over, but only for a second. He could hear her weeping as she held him under the surface. The cool liquid felt so good, he swallowed the water left out for the horses gladly.

Instead of fighting her for holding him down, he let himself float. The bright and brilliant prairie moon was above him, shimmering and beautiful. He tried looking for the stars, but they were covered with gray smoke billowing in the breeze.

“I think I’ll stay in the water trough until Momma comes, Sis,” he rasped. “Let me know when they are here.”

He hardly recognized his own voice. It sounded scorched, ragged.

Josie hopped away, probably going to fetch their parents. He saw her fall and struggle to get up, but his body and mind seemed disconnected to what was going on around him.

The sound of horse hooves galloping shook the ground, and a shrill neigh met his ears. Gideon recognized who the rider was. Colton Prescott. One of his pa’s new ranch hands. He was a tall, rangy-looking man, mid-twenties, and now, grim.

“Where’s your brother, Josie? We got to get you kids away from here. The wind’s picking up. That fire’s going to spread to the barn.”

That made Gideon struggle to sit up in the trough. “Bring all the ranch hands, Mr. Prescott! We got to get a bucket chain going and save the barn.”

The ranch hand stared at him for a moment before dismounting, his expression bleak. “You’re a brave boy, Gideon. It’s too late to save anything. God will send tomorrow what He takes away today.”

Mr. Prescott removed his jacket, hunkered down next to the trough, and held the garment to wrap him. “Come, son. Let’s get you covered.”

But when Gideon tried to climb out of the water trough, he felt all floppy and useless. “I’ve hurt my arm, Mr. Prescott.”

The ranch hand scooped him up and wrapped the jacket around him. “The two of you will fit on my horse. Let’s get your sister on first, and she can hold you safe.”

Mr. Prescott lifted Josie on the horse and returned for Gideon.

“Pa told us to wait here,” Gideon insisted stubbornly.

The side of his face felt raw and wet, and it itched like fire ants. It was frustrating to have arms that didn’t work. Looking down at his feet, he saw scraps of his nightshirt glued to his skin like black paper.

A mule came waddling up to the house carrying their old housekeeper, Miss Eugenie Archer. It was clear that she had thrown a saddle and harness on the mule so quickly the straps weren’t buckled properly. She had been part of the Briggs’ household for over sixty years, starting as a maid for Grandpa Briggs. Nanny Eugenie was like family, always there and dependable.

Gideon felt his eyesight failing, but he was still sharp enough to see the look that passed between Colton and Nanny Eugenie.

The two grown-ups said nothing out loud. Nanny Eugenie pulled the horse blanket off the back of her mule and cuddled it around Josie’s shoulders. “Listen to Mr. Prescott, kids. There’s not enough water in the reservoir to save the structures now. Best we move away.”

The flames licked higher in the sky, greedy and all-devouring.

“The other cowboys are driving the cattle and horses on to the range in case the grass catches fire,” Colton said quietly. “It’s a miracle Josie and Gideon survived.”

The elderly housekeeper helped the girl off the horse, then cradled Josie against her chest. “Heaven keep these poor souls.”

Colton turned to her. “I have to ride to the beehive. Can you take him to your cottage—try sew up a few of the wounds?”

“Yes. Only honey will stop those burns from turning green. But I’ll set stitches in the cut on his face.”

Josie began to cry. “Is he going to live?”

This made no sense to Gideon. Was his sister talking about him or Pa? He felt fine if he didn’t think about it. He couldn’t move his right arm. The skin on his left hand was blistered. There might be something wrong with the side of his head, though, because when he scratched it, he could only feel funny-smelling stubble.

Gideon must have shrugged, because the jacket that covered his body fell off.

Nanny Eugenie screamed, and so did Josie.

“Nooo!” his sister wept, leaning forward and hiding her face.

Quickly, the housekeeper replaced the cover on him. “Leave the kids with me. The mule can bear the load of two little ones. Ride fast, Colton. Go now. Bring the honeycombs back with you. We’ve got to treat those burns before they kill him.”

Gideon couldn’t make sense of that. Treat his burns before they killed him? “But… but what about Momma and Pa?”

Nanny Eugenie held him in her arms and tried to keep him warm with Colton’s jacket.

“Hush, my brave boy. You made your parents proud.”

Gideon was so relieved to know he hadn’t let them down.

“Then I think I’ll sleep a bit, Nan.”

At that, blessed blackness overwhelmed Gideon, pulling him down to a place where there was no pain.

Chapter One

Fort Worth, Texas, 1882

“Good morning, Miss Garner. Should I lend you my shears?”

Katherine saw the Beasleys’ gardener up in the apple tree. He was perched on a branch, pruning twigs. Seeing his face peeking through the leaves made her smile.

“Don’t come down on my account, Mr. Laubscher. I’m collecting sunflowers for Momma.” She showed him her basket. “Aren’t they gorgeous? Yellow blooms have always been her favorite.”

“Why pick wildflowers, Miss Garner?” Mr. Laubscher shook his head. “There’s nothing special about them. Tell Mr. Garner that I can plant some beautiful red roses for him if he’ll let me.”

She shook her head and gave him a cheery wave. “No, thanks. Roses have thorns.”

The gardener chuckled and called out after her. “Sunflowers have bees.”

Katherine laughed. Her mother and father might be one of the richest couples in Fort Worth, but she hadn’t been raised to think of their money as her own. After all, she was adopted.

“I left the bees behind me, Mr. Laubscher. No insect would dare make a mess in Momma Garner’s house.”

She had cut enough sunflowers to put bowls in the dining room and the parlor. Pretty blooms always pleased her step-momma.

“I must remember to get up early in the morning to dust the pollen off the table,” Katherine reminded herself. “The smile on Momma’s face will turn completely upside down if I don’t.”

Mr. Garner would snap with displeasure if he saw such an abomination as natural pollen dust in his house, and his attitude made his wife nervous. Knowing this, Katherine would rise before the sun, lift a lantern high above her head, and go searching for any little imperfections guaranteed to make Calder Garner scowl.

The Garner estate was on one of Fort Worth’s most prestigious streets in the best neighborhood. Calder Garner came from merchant stock; his forebears had sailed the seven seas to bring spices and shiny fabrics from far away.

Belton, Texas, might have the Cook Mercantile Company, the most significant commercial establishment for miles around—but Fort Worth had Garner and Pikes’ Department Store, her step-pa’s business and his pride and joy.

Humming with happiness, Katherine strolled up the garden path. In keeping with the climate, Mr. Garner insisted their garden grow only cacti and succulents. They sprouted like green jewels in between the colorful, sunbaked pebbles.

The butler was waiting for her at the front door. “Mr. Garner asked for you to use the back entrance, Miss Katherine.”

Her humming stopped. It was an unexpected request. “Do you know why, Martin?”

Mr. Martin Eames might have looked English and stern, but Katherine knew he had a soft spot in his heart for her. “You know why, Miss Katherine. It’s so your parents can discuss something without anyone overhearing.”

There were a lot of servants in the house, but one word from Mrs. Garner and the cook and kitchen maids would retreat to their quarters and close the door.

“The last time they asked me to sit at the kitchen table was after I told Momma I didn’t want her to host a party to celebrate my twenty-first birthday.”

The butler smiled. “I haven’t forgiven you for that, either, Miss Katherine. It was my chance to stand at the top of the stairs and greet the elite folks of Fort Worth.”

“Welcoming high society while I know Pa Garner would begrudge them every sip of champagne is not my idea of a happy birthday, Martin. Will you be so kind as to take this basket inside for me, please? I’ll get around to arranging the flowers after my darling step-parents have chewed me out for whatever it was I did wrong this time.”

“At least you’re too old for them to lock you in the pantry for hours on end now, Miss Katherine.”

Her laughter filled the garden. “Oh, Martin. As if we both don’t know that you always left the window open for me so that I could climb out.”

Hearing the butler’s merry chuckle, Katherine walked to the kitchen entrance. It was a pretty side path, cutting through a bower with a stone bench under the shade of a Virginia creeper. The smell of potato and leek soup told her that the cook had been interrupted in the middle of making their supper.

Hopefully, whatever her step-parents wanted to scold her about wouldn’t take long.

As was her habit, Katherine curtsied after entering the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Garner looked pleased to see her, so their dutiful step-daughter breathed a long sigh of relief.

Mr. Garner spoke first. “Take a seat, Katherine, my dear. I have a business deal I want to discuss with you.”

Katherine felt a thrill of excitement. “Step-pa! You want to help me open up my own flower shop.” Beaming, she bent to hug him. “I promise it will make you money. And then I will pay you back every last penny you shell out.”

“Sit down, Katherine.” Wilma Garner sounded irritated. “This is not about you having to work for your living. I’ve never heard such a ridiculous idea.”

Katherine frowned. How was it ridiculous? Flowers were a luxury in Fort Worth. Debutantes made wreaths for their hair. Proud mommas and matrons wore them pinned to their silk gowns at balls. Every beau worth his salt would present a nosegay to the young woman he was wooing.

She sat down, but went on further. “I won’t be selling plants, Step-pa. All I need is a small corner of the garden to grow pretty flowers. And maybe a greenhouse, too. Folks will pay me to arrange flowers for special occasions. Beaus need boutonnieres, and brides need bouquets at the end of the day—”

“Be quiet about flowers, Katherine.” Mr. Garner cut her off. “Need I remind you that Mr. Harlan Pike Senior passed away last week?”

“No. I attended the service.” Katherine pointed to the black band tied around the upper sleeve of her right arm, still wondering how that connected to what she’d been talking about. “Does the family want to pay me to plant flowers around the vault where they laid him to rest?”

“No, dear.” Mrs. Garner replied calmly, before her husband got even more irritable. “Do you remember the man we introduced you to at the wake? Harlan Pike, Junior?”

Katherine blinked. “Step-momma, Mr. Pike Senior died at the ripe old age of eighty-two. I don’t think his son qualifies as a Junior anymore.”

A flicker of exasperation crossed both her step-parents’ faces. Katherine wished she could make it through one conversation with them where they didn’t find what she had to say frivolous and tiresome.

Mr. Garner brushed invisible fluff off his spotless jacket and puffed out his chest. “Harlan Junior inherited his Pa’s shares. The man owns half of Garner and Pike’s Department Store now, Katherine.”

She cast her mind back to the day of the funeral. She remembered a stocky man dressed head to toe in black, with a self-important air and gray hair combed over his pink pate, encircled by loving relatives. It was hard not to notice Harlan Pike Senior’s heir at the wake. The poor man had sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes during the entire service, making a great show of his grief without it really showing in his expression.

After downing a few drinks at the wake, however, Harlan Junior must have felt uplifted. He’d poked her step-pa in the side and tugged his sleeve, pointing at Katherine with a territorial look in his red eyes. And he’d smiled at her when Mr. Garner had brought him over.

“Harlan here wants to make his introduction, Katherine. Harlan, this is Katherine, my step-daughter.”

Harlan had to be fifty years old if he was a day, but he bent over her hand with proper courtesy.

“What a pleasure. I haven’t noticed you on the debutante circuit before, Miss Katherine?”

Step-pa had answered on her behalf. “Katherine is our adopted daughter, Harlan. She was raised to expect no more than our Christian charity.”

Mr. Garner’s new partner narrowed his eyes. “But surely that could change? Such beauty shouldn’t go unrewarded.”

Mrs. Garner stepped up. “We don’t believe in catering to our step-daughter’s flattery, Mr. Pike.” Whereupon she had linked arms with Katherine and led her away.

In the kitchen, Katherine wondered if Mr. Pike Senior had left her something in his will. Miracles could happen, even if the owners of the department store were notoriously tight-fisted.

“Of course, I remember Harlan Junior. He gave me a nice compliment.” Her humor peeked out. “Did he mention when we could all stop calling him ‘Junior’?”

Katherine didn’t trust the spark of greed that lit up in her step-pa’s eyes.

“On that subject, I can give you a straight answer. Harlan isn’t married yet. He needs an heir. Only then will he stop being a junior.”

The room fell silent. Birdsong and the whirr of insect wings could be heard outside. Then her step-pa continued.

“Harlan Junior has made an offer for your hand in marriage.”

Her stepmother must have seen the look on her face, for the woman spoke up before she could say a word.

“Now, don’t jump the gun, dear. We have cared for you ever since you showed up as a baby on our doorstep. We have fed you, clothed you, and put a roof over your head. It is our dearest wish that you join the great names of Garner and Pike together.”

In her mind, Katherine saw the problem clearly. “It’s not that easy, step-momma. You raised me to want for nothing. Food, clothes, and a home are all great, but it left me with a small hole to fill in my heart.”

The Garners looked at one another and then back at her. They didn’t know what she meant, so Katherine explained. “I must marry a man who can offer me acceptance and love… because I missed out on that growing up.”

Her step-pa was outraged. “Acceptance and love? I’ve never heard of such nonsense.”

The way he said it made her smile. “Maybe that’s why I need it now. Anyway, a marriage is out of the question. I’ll marry for love or not at all.”

Her step-parents looked stunned.

“A refusal is out of the question!” Her step-pa brought his hand down on the table. “The wedding ceremony is arranged for next week.”

Step-momma added more news. “All of Fort Worth high society has been invited, Katherine, dear. Please don’t disappoint us.”

Katherine’s heart fell. Just like all the other things she’d been shoehorned into in her life, her step-parents would suggest something, tell her she owed it to them for raising her as their own, and then go right on ahead and bully her into doing it.

But this time, she couldn’t. She hated to hurt them, but she just couldn’t.