Prologue

Laramie, Wyoming Territory

1872

“I’ll be right there,” Olivia shouted to her ma. “I’m almost done.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped back from the washbasin. The small rooms she and her mother rented above the cooper’s shop were cramped, but they were clean, and that was the important thing.

Morning light came through the single window and caught the dust floating in the air. She’d woken before dawn, cooked breakfast, eaten, and washed the dishes. Then, after lunch, she’d helped her mother scrub the floors and shake out the bedding.

It was the kind of work she didn’t mind. It kept her busy. And it kept her from thinking too much.

She was eighteen, old enough to be married by most people’s standards. Old enough, her mother had said, to make her own choices. But she’d found that wasn’t true.

If her father had still been around, she never would have agreed to marry Victor Kellan. But she’d thought it would provide security for her and her ma. She’d been wrong. It was just another mistake in a long line of mistakes. Only bigger.

She liked to think that her father would have seen right through Victor’s lies. But the truth was, she didn’t know her father at all. He’d left when she was a baby. Her mother had tried to keep them afloat over the years after her father’s disappearance, but money was tight, and Victor had seemed like a good solution at the time. He’d needed a wife. She’d needed security. It worked.

Victor had steady work, said all the right things, and wooed her energetically. He was older, yes. But that’s what she needed. She had hoped that maybe someday, they might even grow to love each other.

Olivia had tried her best to believe it. Even if it didn’t come to pass, she would still care for him in every way a wife should for the rest of their lives. It would be a marriage of give-and-take, and she was prepared to give to hold up her end of the bargain.

But over the next few months, every letter he sent, every visit he made, left her more and more uneasy. His temper was quick. His compliments felt forced and contrived. And his promises sounded like warnings or commands. She felt more like a pet or a possession than his wife-to-be.

Olivia had broken off the engagement two weeks ago, sending a short note through the post. She was too afraid to do it face-to-face. With his temper being what it was, she thought a letter might be safest. She hadn’t heard from him since.

She just wished she felt relieved. Instead, she felt like she was waiting for something to happen. Something big. Something bad.

It was her mother who had her anxious and jumping at shadows. He could do what he wanted to Olivia, and she’d survive. But her mother was getting older. And Olivia couldn’t abide any more sorrow being laid on her frail shoulders.

Her mother was folding linens at the table when Olivia walked in, and she paused, mesmerized. After years of practice, her mother worked quickly and quietly, folding them with just a few snaps of her hands.

Ma had always been the calm one, even when life pressed hard against them. Olivia admired that. She wished she had inherited more of it.

“Hand me that towel, Liv,” Ma said.

Olivia passed it to her. “Do you think we’ll be able to come up with the rent?”

“We’ll manage,” Eleanor said, stacking the now-folded towel atop the others. She stood and gathered them all in her arms. “We always do.”

Olivia nodded, unconvinced. However, it was true enough that they always seemed to manage.

“I’ll go put these away. Then, we can make some supper,” Ma said.

“Okay. We still have two rashers of bacon left,” Olivia called to her.

Those would go well with the beans, even if she had eaten enough beans and cornbread to last her a lifetime. Still, they ate, and she was grateful that God had blessed them with what they had.

She reached for the broom, ready to sweep before she started the meal. She’d just turned around when raised voices sounded from the front of the house.

A man’s voice. Gruff and demanding.

Her stomach clenched, and she ran into the small living room.

Ma stood there, frozen, face-to-face with Victor.

“There she is,” Victor growled, taking a step forward with his eyes locked on Olivia.

Ma didn’t move. Instead, she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him from getting any closer. “I don’t think anyone has invited you in.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need an invitation,” he said, gripping her wrist and using it to shove her aside.

Ma didn’t let him get away with it. She turned around, took two steps, and planted herself in front of him.

“Stay over there,” Ma called to Olivia. “He’s got nothing to say to you.”

Victor growled, looking down at Ma. And if looks could kill, she’d be planning a funeral for her mother. He raised his hand, preparing to strike her, and Olivia shouted, “Victor!”

Victor lowered his arms. “Why do you keep interfering in matters that do not concern you, Eleanor?”

Ma’s reply was firm. “I haven’t interfered in anything. Olivia made her own decision.”

“She made it because you pushed her,” Victor snapped. “You’ve been poisoning her against me.”

“That’s not true,” Ma said. “I’ve never said a word against you. If she’s decided not to go through with the marriage, that’s to do with you, not me.”

Olivia stepped closer, unable to stay back any longer. She reached the doorway just as Victor took another step toward her mother. His face was tight with anger, his restraint slipping. Eleanor didn’t back away, but Olivia saw the tension in her shoulders.

“Leave,” Eleanor said. “You’re not welcome here.”

Victor grabbed her arm. Hard. Eleanor winced, though she didn’t cry out.

Olivia didn’t think. She shoved herself between them, her hands out, her body blocking her mother from his reach.

“Let her go!” Olivia shouted, her voice shaking.

Victor’s eyes snapped to her. For a moment, he looked almost surprised. Then his expression hardened.

“You ungrateful little—”

His hand came fast. The slap cracked across her face, sharp and blinding. Pain burst along her cheek, and she fell to her knees, the floor rushing up to meet her. Her ears rang. Her vision blurred. She tasted blood.

Glancing up, she was satisfied. He’d let go of her mother’s arm.

Eleanor dropped beside her, one hand on Olivia’s shoulder, the other shielding her from Victor as if she could hold back the whole world.

Victor stood over them, breathing hard. Then he straightened his coat, smoothing the front with slow, deliberate movements.

“The wedding is on,” he said, sneering at Olivia on the floor. He turned to go, then hesitated and turned back around. “You belong to me, Olivia. And the sooner you and your interfering mother accept that, the sooner we can all get back to our normal lives. Now, I have to go. But I’ll come back when you’ve come to your senses.”

He left, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt worse than a slam.

For a long moment, neither Olivia nor her mother moved. Olivia’s cheek throbbed. Her hands shook. She felt humiliated, frightened, and sick to her stomach. But she was also relieved that he hadn’t hurt her mother further. That was something, at least.

Eleanor stood first. She didn’t speak. She didn’t comfort. She didn’t cry. She went straight to the kitchen and wet a cloth. Olivia stood and walked to the settee.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” she said on a sob. “I’m so sorry.”

“Pish!” Ma said, leaning down and placing the cool cloth on Olivia’s cheek. “Olivia, this world is full of men like Victor. They’re snakes, hiding behind expensive suits and fancy houses, flashing bright, white smiles and holding doors open for nice, young ladies. And you don’t know what they are until they strike. Now you know. Victor Kellan is a snake.”

Olivia nodded. He was. A snake. A poisonous one.

“Come with me,” Ma said, turning and heading toward the bedrooms.

Olivia stood and followed her, watching as her ma pulled out the small trunk they kept under her bed. She began packing clothes with quick, efficient movements.

“Ma?” Olivia whispered, still standing in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Gather your things,” Eleanor said. “We’re leaving.”

Olivia pushed herself up, her legs unsteady. “But… where are we going?”

“Somewhere he can’t reach you.”

“But—”

“No arguments,” Eleanor snapped, her voice waspish for the first time Olivia could remember. “Pack.”

Olivia did as she was told. She gathered her dresses, her underthings, her Sunday shoes, and the worn shawl her father had given her when she was twelve.

She tucked away the small wooden comb he’d carved for her when she was still just a baby. Her hands moved without thought, driven by fear and urgency.

Eleanor counted the little money they had, tucking it into her apron pocket. She wrapped bread and cheese in cloth and slipped them into her bag. She checked the windows, then the back door, then the windows again.

When everything was ready, she blew out the lamps and motioned for Olivia to follow.

They stepped into the night. The street was quiet, the air cool. Olivia pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Her cheek still burned, but the sting of it was nothing compared to the dread settling in her chest.

They walked quickly, keeping to the shadows. Olivia didn’t know where they were going. She didn’t ask again until they were several blocks away, the rented rooms far behind them.

“Ma,” she said softly, “where are we going?”

Eleanor didn’t slow. “Sherman. I have a cousin there.”

“But Ma, that’s twenty miles from here,” Olivia said. “And it’s almost dark. It’ll take us two days to get there.”

“We’re not walking,” Eleanor said. “We’re borrowing a rig from Mr. Wainwright. My cousin will return it for us later.”

They walked a few more minutes in silence. Then, as they neared the livery, Olivia said quietly, “What if he comes after me?”

Ma looked at her, her face brimming with confidence and wisdom. “As long as we stay ahead of him, he can’t hurt you.”

Olivia swallowed hard. The idea of running for the rest of her life was not appealing. But the thought of Victor finding her again frightened her more.

“He’ll eventually give up, Olivia,” Ma said. “He’s just angry right now.”

“Angry? What’s he got to be angry about?” Olivia scoffed. She was the one with a black eye and a swollen cheek.

“You’ve embarrassed him, threatened to mar his reputation,” Ma explained. “He just has to bluster and blow for a bit before he calms down and moves on.”

Olivia glanced over at her mother, who walked with her chin high and her jaw set. Ma knew best. She’d always been strong, but tonight she seemed made of iron.

Olivia took a deep breath and matched her mother’s pace. She just hoped Victor would get over this sooner rather than later.

Chapter One

Laramie, Wyoming Territory

1877

“I’m tellin’ you, Jake,” Thomas said, grinning. “This one was different. Pretty as a picture. And smart, too. Said she’s new in town, staying with her aunt. I might have to make a few more trips to the mercantile.”

The bay gelding stepped back as Jacob undid the cinch, wiping dirt from his hands. Morning chores had stretched into midday, and now the sun was already high. His friend, Thomas, leaned against the corral fence, chewing on a piece of straw and jawin’ like he had all the time in the world.

Jacob shook his head. “You say that about every woman you meet.”

“That’s because every woman I meet is a gift from the Lord,” Thomas replied, tipping his hat back. “Some men appreciate the blessings sent their way.”

Sighing, Jacob didn’t bother answering. Thomas never changed, and Jacob didn’t expect him to. Thomas enjoyed his bachelor’s life, drifting from one flirtation to the next without a care in the world.

Sometimes, Jacob thought that he and the other three men who worked for him at the ranch only survived their weekends to hear all about Thomas’ adventures on Monday morning.

Thomas nudged him with an elbow. “You know, if you ever left this ranch long enough to see a woman, you might find yourself blessed, too.”

Jacob gave him a flat look. “I’ve got enough on my plate. The ranch. The children. The cattle. The horses. That’s plenty enough for me.”

Thomas opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of running feet cut him off.

“Pa! Pa!”

He turned just in time to see Mabel and John barreling toward him, a young woman strolling behind them and smiling. The woman stumbled once, then caught her footing, her cheeks flushing from the sudden attention.

Thomas let out a low chuckle. “Well, you don’t need to go out looking. Your young’uns bring them to you.”

With a warning glare at Thomas, he turned to face the woman. She was pretty enough, but young, maybe not even twenty, with a neat dress and a nervous smile. He recognized her from the schoolhouse—Miss Wilkes, the new teacher.

“Pa,” Mabel said breathlessly, “Miss Wilkes is staying for supper. We told her you were making venison stew.”

Staying for supper? Jacob blinked at her. She’d turned twelve the week before and had apparently decided she was old enough to make these kinds of household decisions.

John nodded eagerly. “Don’t worry,” his eight-year-old said sagely. “She’s real nice, Pa. And she reads stories better than anybody.”

He felt heat crawl up the back of his neck. He now understood exactly what his children were doing, and it made him want to sink into the dirt and cover himself up.

Blushing, Miss Wilkes smoothed her skirt. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hale. They insisted I come over. I tried to tell them you weren’t expecting me.”

Jacob frowned, then looked at his children. “Y’all go inside and do your chores. I’ll be in shortly.”

Neither child moved. This irritated him further.

“Now,” he growled in his scariest ‘father voice.’

That did it. Groaning, they both turned and made their way toward the house. Only then did Jacob return his attention to the teacher.

He cleared his throat. “No need to apologize, Miss Wilkes. My children mean well, but they get ideas in their heads. I’m afraid I’ve got no time for visiting today, ma’am. Ranch keeps me busy.”

Her smile faltered, and Jacob felt like a brute. But before he could say anything else, Thomas stepped forward with his usual charm and easy confidence.

“Miss Wilkes,” he said, tipping his hat, “I’m Thomas Reed, a friend of the family. If you’re headed back toward town, I’d be honored to walk with you. Can’t have a pretty lady like you walking all by herself.”

She blinked, surprised, then nodded with a shy grin. “Yes, thank you. That would be very kind.”

Thomas offered his arm, and she took it. As they walked away, Thomas glanced back at Jacob with a wink and a grin that said he’d be hearing about this later.

Shaking his head, Jacob waited until they were out of view before leading the bay gelding to the barn. He’d never admit it, but Tiny was his favorite horse on the ranch. And they’d had a very busy day.

“How ‘bout a treat?” he asked Tiny when they were inside.

Jacob tied him loosely to one of the stalls, then went to the treat box by the door and grabbed a carrot. Then, he set to work with the brush. When he was done, he set Tiny loose in the pasture and made his way back to the house.

He paused on the front porch to wash up in the basin he kept beside the door. Then, he went inside to find his children sitting at the table doing lessons. Or, at least, pretending to do their lessons.

“All right. Which one of you wants to tell me about Miss Wilkes?” he asked.

Mabel crossed her arms, something she did quite often lately. “We just wanted you to meet her.”

“Yeah, she’s real nice, Pa,” John added. “She never yells or nothing.”

Jacob sighed. “You two can’t keep doing this. I’m not looking to get together with anyone in town.”

“Why not?” Mabel demanded. “We’re the only kids at school who don’t have mothers.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Jacob replied. “I’m sure they don’t all have mothers and fathers.”

John nodded. “It’s true. All of them.”

Jacob cleared his throat, not liking the direction this conversation was going. He crouched down so he was eye level with them. “Your mother’s only been gone five years. That’s not long enough for me to be rushing out and trying to find a replacement.”

His son looked confused. “We just want a ma.”

Jacob’s jaw shifted from side to side as he thought about how to reply. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’m not ready to forget your ma.”

Mabel’s eyes filled with frustration. “We’re not asking you to forget her. We just… we want a family again. I’m the only girl in my school missing buttons on my dress and eating beef jerky for lunch.”

John’s voice was small. “You’re always working, Pa. We hardly see you.”

“We want to be a family,” Mabel stated.

“We are a family,” Jacob argued.

“We want a ma,” John added.

Jacob closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t realized how deep the loneliness ran for them. He’d been so focused on keeping the ranch afloat, keeping food on the table, keeping everything from falling apart, that he hadn’t seen what it was costing them.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Mabel’s chin trembled. “Well, we do.”

“I’ll do better,” Jacob said. “I promise. I’ll spend more time at the house. We’ll eat supper together every night I can manage it. I’ll take your dresses to town for Miss Amy to alter. I won’t throw jerky into your lunch pails anymore. And Sundays—we’ll make those ours.”

John’s face brightened a little. “Really?”

“Really. Except for feeding and watering the livestock.”

The children exchanged a look, then nodded. Mabel took John’s hand and tugged him toward the kitchen. “We’ll get washed up,” she said.

Jacob watched them go. His chest tightened. He wanted to give them everything—a mother, a home full of warmth, a life without worry. But he couldn’t bring back what they’d lost. And he couldn’t force himself to move on when his heart still felt tied to the woman he’d buried.

His wife, Julie, had been too young when the consumption took her from them, only twenty-five. She was beautiful with long blond hair that reminded him of honey. They’d been sweethearts since the age of sixteen, and he’d never considered marrying or being with anyone else.

They had two young children at the time, ages 7 and 3. Jacob had no choice but to keep the family going. He couldn’t run away or roll into a ball and join her because there was no one else left to look after the children.

Now, he was grateful that he’d held it together. He still missed Julie every day, but the pain was bearable. Each was the spitting image of their mother, which he found both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because they reminded him of Julie. A curse because they reminded him of Julie.

He stood there long after the children disappeared before he followed them to the kitchen. He’d promised them venison stew for supper, and that’s what they were going to have. He wasn’t a very good cook overall, but he knew he could make one thing that tasted good.

“Pa, can you try to braid my hair again tonight?” Mabel asked sadly.

Jacob felt a twinge in his chest. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ll try.”

***

Later that night, after the kids were in bed and he’d tried—and failed—to braid Mabel’s hair the way she wanted it, he went outside to sit on the porch with a cup of tea. He’d have preferred coffee, but it kept him awake if he drank it at night.

He sat down in his favorite rocker, glancing over at the empty one beside him. That was Julie’s chair. A few times while he was working, he’d glanced up to see Mabel sitting in it, and it made his heart lurch. But for the most part, he knew Julie was gone, and he’d accepted it.

He groaned as he leaned back in his chair and took a sip of tea. The ranch—what he could see of it in the dark—stretched out before him, wide and surrounded by forest in the distance. He loved his ranch.

He made a mental checklist of everything he needed to get done tomorrow. Livestock to feed. Fences to mend. Cattle to check. Bills to pay in town. Always something.

But none of it mattered as much as the look on his children’s faces earlier when they told him they needed a ma.

He’d failed them without meaning to. And now he had to find a way to fix it.

Jacob leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Maybe he couldn’t give them everything they needed. But he could give them more than what he had been.

And he would. He didn’t know how. But he would.

Chapter Two

Evanston, Wyoming

Laura stood in the hallway and popped her head in the door, her arms loaded with linens. “You finished in here, Liv?”

“Just about,” Olivia replied.

Olivia scrubbed the last of the breakfast dishes and set them on the drying rack beside the sink. The boarding house kitchen was warm from the stove, and the smell of biscuits still lingered in the air.

She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped back, letting out a slow breath. Morning chores were done, but there were still rooms to clean, sheets to wash, and supper to help prepare. She was bone tired.

“I’m done now,” Olivia told her. “I’ll start on the upstairs rooms once these dry.”

Laura set the linens down and leaned against the counter. “You look tired today.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that,” Laura said.

“Because I always am,” Olivia replied.

That wasn’t true, of course. She just wasn’t one to share a lot about herself. Laura was her best friend—her only friend. They’d worked together in Laramie a long time ago, before Olivia was forced to pull up stakes and leave.

Olivia reached for a cloth and began wiping the table, though it didn’t need it. Laura watched her for a moment, then stepped closer.

“Look, Liv, I know it’s only been a few weeks,” Laura said gently. “You don’t have to pretend for me.”

Olivia’s hands stilled. She kept her eyes on the table. “I know. I just… It was too sudden,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t ready for Ma to leave me.”

Laura didn’t interrupt.

“Inside, she was strong,” Olivia went on. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. She kept us moving, kept us alive, even when everything fell apart. I guess I just thought she’d keep going forever.”

She swallowed hard. The words felt heavy, but she forced them out.

“I should’ve done more for her. Found better work. Found a safer place. Something.”

“You did everything you could,” Laura said.

Olivia shook her head. “It wasn’t enough.”

Laura pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“Are you crazy?” Olivia demanded. “If Mrs. Green sees us sitting here gabbing, she’ll let us go.” And she would, too.

Laura sighed and waved a hand toward the door. “She won’t let us go. We’re the two best workers she has. Besides, we started early today. We deserve a break.”

Olivia wasn’t so sure about that. She couldn’t afford to lose this job—her third one in as many weeks. But eventually, she huffed and sat down across from Laura, her shoulders slumping.

“You know how it was,” Olivia said. She had confided that much to Laura already. “Every time we found a decent town, Victor had already sent word. Folks would look at us like we were trouble. Landlords wouldn’t rent to us. Employers said they didn’t need help anymore. Some wouldn’t even let us in the door.”

Laura nodded.

“We’d get settled somewhere, and then a week later, someone would tell us we had to leave. Or I’d suddenly lose my job. Or someone would warn us that Victor was asking questions again.” Olivia rubbed her hands together. “Ma kept saying he’d give up eventually. But he never did.”

“And that’s not your fault,” Laura said.

“It is. I’m the one who broke the engagement with Victor. This is all because of me. All that running wore Ma down. She was tired all the time. She’d never admit it, but she couldn’t sleep. She worried about everything—money, food, where we’d go next. It got to her. I saw it happening, and I couldn’t stop it.”

Her voice cracked, and she pressed her lips together until she could steady it.

“She deserved better than that life, Laura. Better than dying in some rented room with nothing to her name.”

Laura reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “She had you. That counts for something.”

Olivia didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.

After a moment, Laura let go and leaned back. “You’ve been carrying all this alone for too long. You need a husband.”

“I’m twenty-six,” Olivia said. “Too old for anyone to want to marry. Too old to start over. And I don’t have anything to offer except hard work.”

“That’s more than most,” Laura said. “Besides, you don’t look twenty-six.

“That’s odd,” Olivia replied. “Because I feel like I’m forty-six. No decent man would want me, Laura.”

Laura gestured toward Olivia. “You’re pulling my leg. You’re strong, Olivia. Not just in spirit—though that’s true—but you’ve got a resilience most people never learn. You’re quick on your feet, and you don’t back down from hard work. You’re practical. And you dress for what needs doing, not for show.”

Olivia chuckled. “You think a man is going to want me because I dress modestly?”

Laura frowned. “I wasn’t finished. I think a man will want you because you’re beautiful. You have a fine shape, Olivia. Your hair’s thick and silky, even when you keep it braided or pinned back. And your eyes—that bright hazel color, gorgeous. Do you know how many women would kill to have your eyelashes? Me included.”

Olivia listened with her hands folded on the table. Laura’s words settled over her, simple and true. For a moment, Olivia let herself believe she might be enough.

“It’s not enough for a husband. Not enough for a home.” Olivia looked down at her hands. “A twenty-six-year-old woman on her own doesn’t have many prospects.”

Laura hesitated, then reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a folded newspaper. “I might have to disagree with you there. Let me show you something.”

Olivia frowned. “What is it?”

“Advertisements,” Laura said, opening the paper. “Mail-order brides.”

Olivia let out a humorless laugh. “I’ve tried those before. No one chose me.”

“Maybe you didn’t find the right one.”

“I sent letters to three men. None of them wrote back.”

Laura shrugged. “Well, they obviously couldn’t read very well, then. Let’s try again.”

She slid the paper across the table. Olivia sighed, then took it. The print was small, the columns crowded with notices from men across the territories—farmers, ranchers, widowers, miners. Some wanted companionship. Some wanted children. Some just wanted a woman who could cook, sew, and keep a house.

Olivia read through them slowly. Most were from younger men, or men who wanted someone “cheerful,” “pretty,” or “of good family.” She skipped those. She knew better than to hope.

Then one ad caught her eye:

WIDOWER, 30, WITH TWO CHILDREN, SEEKS WIFE TO HELP KEEP HOME. MUST BE KIND AND GOD-FEARING.

She read it twice.

“He’s young,” she murmured, shoving the ad to Laura. “But I like his ad.”

Laura leaned in. “And he’s got children. Means he’s already had a wife. Might not be so picky this time around.”

Olivia traced the edge of the paper with her thumb. “A man with children… he’d be looking for someone stable. Someone who can work. I can do that.”

“I agree. This one’s for you,” Laura said. “You’ve been taking care of folks your whole life.”

Olivia didn’t answer.

Laura tapped the ad. “Here’s my way of thinkin’ on it. If you’re already married, what reason will Victor have to keep pursuing you? And even if he did, you’d have a husband there to protect you.”

Olivia stiffened. She hadn’t let herself think that far. She’d always thought of marriage as having a house, shelter, food, and a guaranteed place to call home. But this was different. She’d have a man to protect her from people like Victor—the snakes.

Still, fear coiled in her stomach. “What if he doesn’t want me? What if no one wants me?”

“That’s not possible,” Laura said. “But if he’s not the one for you, we’ll try another one. And we’ll keep trying until someone sees what I see.”

Olivia looked up, a smile tugging at her lips. “And what’s that?”

“A smart, beautiful, loyal woman who works hard and has a lot to give to the right man.”

Olivia felt her throat tighten again. She looked back at the ad. The words were plain, but something about them tugged at her. A widower with two children. A man who’d already lost someone. A man who might understand grief. A man who might not expect perfection.

She folded the paper slowly. “I don’t know, Laura.”

“I do,” Laura said. “You’re not going to spend the rest of your life hiding. And you’re not going to be alone.”

Olivia stared at the folded paper in her hands. She thought of her mother, of the years they’d spent running, of the fear that had followed them from town to town.

She thought of the empty future stretching ahead of her if she stayed as she was—working in a boarding house, sleeping in a small room, never belonging anywhere.

And she thought of the ad. A man with two children. A chance at something different.

“Will you help me write the letter?” she asked quietly.

Laura smiled. “Of course I will.”

Olivia nodded, her heart beating fast. She wasn’t sure if she was making a mistake or taking her first real step toward a life that belonged to her.

It might not be the right move. But she was done running.

This was it.