Prologue

Ogden, Utah

1882

I will never marry Colter Wells!

The words pounded through Celia’s head in time with her rapid ascent on the stairs. Each step creaked loudly, as if in agreement, or disapproval, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t understand the world, what it expected of her. All she knew for certain was how she felt.

Leaving the stairs, Celia ducked into her room and pushed her door shut. She did it harder than she meant to, the slam resonating throughout the house. Wincing, she stepped back a pace, then flopped down on her bed. The ceiling slanted quite sharply, as her room had once been part of the attic back when it was first built. As a child, she had insisted on shoving her bed deep under the lowest part, where the ceiling met the wall. She could tuck herself into the little nook there and imagine herself as a bear in a cave, or a rabbit in its burrow. Small, cramped spaces meant safety.

The ceiling almost brushed her nose now, at twenty-two years old. She felt her breath hit the wood and rebound against her cheeks.

She couldn’t stand it.

Rising again, she grabbed the bedframe in both hands, the wood old and rough against her palms. She heaved, pulling hard. The bed resisted her, settled into its place after so many years. The urgent need to move, to change, to have room to breathe urged her on, and she pulled harder. The bed shifted, the legs grating over the floor for a few inches before snagging on the grain again.

A knock on her bedroom door interrupted her work, startling her.

“Celia? I need to speak with you.”

Her father’s voice had faded in recent years as he aged. The note of command in it, however, remained just the same as when she was a little girl about to be reprimanded for naughty behavior.

Celia let go of her bed and went to open the door. She looked up at her father’s blue eyes, which were like her own, though in nearly every other way she resembled her late mother. “Isn’t it strange?”

Father’s sparse, white eyebrows furrowed. “What’s strange?”

“How much I want to disobey you, but I can’t even resist openin’ my door to you.”

Father didn’t smile, but that was all right. The joke was false and flat even to her own ears. He looked past her at her bed, pulled at an awkward angle into the middle of the small room. “Redecoratin’, are you?”

She didn’t know how to describe to him the sudden trapped restlessness that had come over her. “It seemed time for a change.” She held up her hand. “But not time for such a big change as marryin’ Colter Wells. I’ll never do that, no matter how many times he comes here to try and persuade me.”

Father sighed, and his shoulders lowered a fraction as her resistance put weight upon his soul. Her heart twisted for the sadness she knew she was causing him by disobeying his will.

“Celia, I know that it isn’t ideal,” Father said. “I know it isn’t the future you want for yourself. However, you must see that sometimes, God gives us gifts in unexpected packages, like findin’ gold inside a scrap of potato sack. What things appear to be on the outside is not always what they truly are.”

Celia shook her head and went to sit on the edge of her crooked bed. Most of it was still under the low portion of the ceiling, and she had to lean forward or else bump her head. “That man is not gold in a potato sack. He is a potato with a rotten core. Again and again, he shows that darkness inside, and again and again you choose to ignore it for the parts that still look good.”

Father stepped into the room and sat down beside her. He was much taller than her and had to bend even further forward, which served to exaggerate his age.

Celia always saw him as the strong and capable rancher he was, but now he seemed just a crooked shadow of a man. The truth was, he had married very late in life and was in his 70s. Wiry muscle clung to knobby bones under thin, wrinkled-brown skin speckled heavily with dark spots. His hair was thin and white, his scalp showing through.

Father placed one hand over hers. It was cool and rough, like a chicken’s scaly foot. She clutched his fingers, hoping to warm them.

“My dearest daughter,” Father said. “Know that this is not the life I envisioned for you.”

Celia lifted her head, startled. What did he mean by that?

“When I held you in my arms, after you were born, I imagined your life in a flash like lightnin’. I wanted you to marry a good man near your own age, a God-fearing young man with patience and spirit.”

Her thoughts raced. He seemed to be changing his mind. “Then, you…”

“Let me finish.” His soft, firm command brought her back to silence. “Things are different now than they were back then. The ranch is slowly failin’. We’re losin’ money in a way that simple hard work cannot replenish. We need a boon, and Colter Wells will provide that. He is the answer to my prayers. Yes, he is older than you, and you don’t favor him much. I wish that we were in a position to consider such things. We cannot, not anymore. It’s time to focus on what he will bring to you and to us: stability, a future. He’s been offerin’ it to you for years. It’s time that you accept.”

Her stomach twisted, anxiety spiking through her. If she were a cat, her fur would be standing on end. Father wasn’t changing his mind at all. He was telling her he had considered her needs, and they were not important.

“You should have accepted today when he came callin’ on you.” Father’s tone grew gentler. “After you left, I walked with him to the door. He told me that he would come a final time, and that it would be with a ring. A proper proposal, at last.”

She understood everything he said and how she wished that she could accept and walk into that future. One word, a simple “yes,” would make everything better for her family, and for the ranch hands and their families, too. She just couldn’t.

She couldn’t look past the rot.

Though no one spoke of it aloud, and especially not in front of the man himself, everyone knew Colter was unscrupulous. Born to wealthy parents, he had taken their money and tripled it. The rumors were that he worked with gang members, that he intimidated people into accepting bad deals, and even that he silenced anyone who made too much of a fuss. All he spoke of was his business dealings with shop owners and the lands he purchased and sold. Not an ounce of it went to charity or to the local churches. As a matter of fact, he didn’t attend church, and if anyone lower in status dared to speak with him on the street, he ignored them.

Celia had seen him act that way. She had heard his endless, prideful ramblings. His money and his pleasing appearance would have been enough to convince most women to marry him in spite of those glaring flaws. But not her.

Torn between what she wanted and what would be best for everyone, Celia made a few final, desperate bids. “He only wants me because I don’t want him.”

“Don’t devalue yourself like that.” Father stood with a groan, rubbing at his lower back. His joints crackled and popped, wood knots bursting in a fire. “He wants you because you are beautiful like your mother, because you are smart and kind and will make a good wife.”

He made his way to the door, hand on the handle, seconds from leaving. Celia blurted, “He only wants the inheritance!”

Father sighed. “Then why has he not said a word of it to me? My word on this is final. You are goin’ to marry him. In time, you’ll adjust.”

He walked out and shut the door behind him, leaving her all alone with her terrible future. She couldn’t escape it. Every second, every beat of her heart, brought her fate nearer.

Useless tears stung her eyes. She grabbed her head, dug her fingers into her hair.

A voice spoke to her gently. Not in her ear, but in her heart. Her mother’s words, given to her not long before her death.

“Even when you think you’re alone, my sweet, you never are.”

Celia dropped to her knees, her dress spilling out around her on the hardwood floorboards. She clasped her hands together, bent her head, and prayed, asking God to part the sea for her and give her a way out.

Chapter One

The sound of a whisk skittering around inside a bowl reached Celia’s ears as she entered the kitchen. A woman bent over the kitchen counter, a collection of broken eggshells beside her as she whisked. Her gray-flecked brown hair was pulled back in a simple bun. Her face was plain and broad, textured with wrinkles, particularly on her forehead and at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She was frowning with focus, looking down at the bowl as if not really seeing it. Her thoughts were obviously elsewhere.

Celia smiled. A fondness filled her chest for the woman who had been the Riker family’s maid for well over a decade at that point, who had long since stopped being just a maid. “Good mornin’, Felicity.”

Felicity gasped, the whisk jumping from her hand and clattering on the countertop. Droplets of rich yellow egg oozed from the wires. “Celia! I didn’t notice you standin’ there.”

“Oh, is that so? I thought that was quite a normal reaction you had just now.” Celia grabbed a rag on her way over. She gave Felicity a quick hug, then took the bowl and whisk from her. She wiped up the spilled egg yolk with the rag before tucking it into her pocket. “I’ll handle these.”

“Thank you, dear.” Felicity paused. Celia knew what she was going to say and waited while tending to the eggs. Her family liked them very airy and light when scrambled, necessitating a lot of whisking.

After a moment, Felicity went on. “You’re in a much better mood than yesterday.”

After her unpleasant call with Colter Wells, Celia had spent the rest of the day up in her room, emerging only to eat and help tidy up after the meals. She spent her hours reading through her Bible, flipping the pages at random and taking comfort from the words she found, knowing its lessons and guidance were meant for her. When the urge came over her, she put the book aside and knelt to pray.

Surely God had heard her and listened. He would show her a way out and lend her His strength when the time came.

She didn’t want to tell Felicity all of that and worry her. She knew the older woman already had much to worry about. Adding to her burdens simply wouldn’t do.

“Cormac will be happy to see you in better spirits,” Felicity said, naming Celia’s father. “And Deacon, too.”

Footsteps approached the kitchen. Recognizing the tread, Celia spoke slightly louder. “Deacon likes it when I’m upset. Even more so when it’s his doing.”

“That’s darn right, and don’t you forget it.” A young man’s strong voice rang out through the kitchen. Deacon, Celia’s seventeen-year-old younger brother, stepped into the room. He wore his work boots, Celia noticed with a frown, and was tracking hay across the recently swept floor. He aimed a mischievous grin at Celia. “I’m only ever happy when you ain’t.”

Felicity tutted, and Celia laughed. She held out her arms, and Deacon walked over to embrace her, squeezing her so hard with his strong, muscular arms that she lost her breath. For all that they both resembled their mother, both having her dark blonde hair and her straight nose, their differences became more apparent every year. While Celia was of average height, Deacon was even taller than their father, with a broad frame and wide shoulders. He was a messy sort, hardly ever tending to his hair, washing up only when mildly threatened, whereas she simply didn’t feel right if her appearance was untidy.

Deacon pulled out of the embrace and craned his head over to look into the bowl. “Hen fruit again? That’s what we’ve had every day this week so far!”

Felicity set out the remainder of yesterday’s loaf of bread and sawed it into slices with a sharp serrated knife. “Have eggs stopped being your favorite?”

“Well, no, ‘course they’re still my favorite.” Deacon held up his hands. “But even a favorite can get old. I like apple pie, too, but I reckon I would get tired of having it after four days in a row.”

Celia lifted a hanging skillet off the wall and placed it on the stove to heat up. “You’re welcome to make your own breakfast,” she teased.

Deacon blew out an exaggerated sigh. “Not worth it.”

“That’s what I thought.” She added a generous portion of butter to the warm skillet and swirled it around. “Go wash up. Oh, but take your shoes off first. If you track any more dirt through the house, Felicity will make you regret it.”

Deacon waved a hand and walked off with a grumble, leaving his shoes on. Celia heard the bench in the foyer creak as he sat down to remove them. She sighed fondly and turned her attention back to breakfast. She added the eggs to the skillet with a hiss and plume of steam. She kept them in motion with a spatula, pausing only to grab the containers of salt and pepper to add a generous dash of each. Their hens produced such rich and delicious eggs that seasoning them wasn’t necessary, but Father wouldn’t eat them without.

Breakfast came together swiftly. Celia served up the eggs while Felicity finished slicing and toasting the bread. They had just finished pouring the coffee when Father and Deacon arrived at the table. Everyone sat, and Father gave a brief, heartfelt prayer of thanks. Then, they could eat.

“Is this toast or a piece of charcoal, Celia?” Deacon held up his toast, which already had several large bites taken out of it.

“I toasted the bread, not her,” Felicity said, shooting him a glare.

“In that case, it’s perfect.” Deacon shoved the rest into his mouth, then reached for another piece.

The normalcy of routine and family calmed Celia’s residual worries over her impending future. She looked around at the people she loved and knew that nothing would come between them. This was where she belonged, how life should be.

Father pushed his clean plate away and stood from his chair. “I’ll be out in the stable,” he said. “Deacon, you come on and join me when you’re done.”

“Finish your coffee,” Felicity said, pointing at his mug. “There’s still a chill in the air. You’ll need the warmth in your belly.”

“Is it the warmth that’ll help or the strength that’ll brace me?” Father chuckled and swallowed down the rest of what was in his mug. By then, Deacon had also finished. They walked out together, already talking of horses and chores, as men did at every opportunity. Good men, anyway.

Eager to continue having a normal day, Celia finished her own breakfast and reached to gather the dishes. Felicity put a hand over hers. “I can clean up in here. Would you do me a favor, dear?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“I hung up some clothes to dry inside last night. It looked like rain. But it didn’t rain, and now the clothes aren’t quite dry.” Felicity motioned to the small kitchen window. The sky was a clear, pale blue over the nearby mountains, not a cloud to be seen. “It’s cold, but the wind will get the clothes dry by lunchtime.”

“I can do that.” Celia nodded, glad of the change in plan, though she would have been quite happy washing the dishes. It would do her some good to be outside, even if there was a nip in the air.

She fetched the clothes Felicity had hung to dry, grimacing at the feel of damp fabric. She piled them into a basket and took them outside.

Spring had yet to fully arrive, and much of the land still lay dormant, the trees bare, the grasses limp and brown. Still, the ranch was full of life, in defiance of the clinging winter. Chickens roamed, clucking, scraping at the earth. Two of the barn cats strolled by, giving the chickens a wide berth just in case the head hen saw it necessary to aim a peck their way; they walked in rhythm with each other, flanks rubbing, tails entwined. There would be kittens in a couple of months, Celia suspected.

The stable door opened, and Father and Deacon walked out, leading two horses each. A ranch hand emerged from the nearby barn and joined them, and they all headed to the field where they would ride the horses and warm them up in preparation for the day’s work ahead. The cows would need to be driven from the barn to roam and graze on what few new grass shoots there were. Their regular feed was in short supply, and anything they could forage meant the remainder would last longer.

Celia shivered as a short, sharp gust of wind tore past her. She wished that she had grabbed her coat or a scarf. She supposed that moving around would warm her up, and she hastened around to the back of the house, where the clothesline was strung between two trees. She set her basket down and stepped closer to the trees to examine their branches. The sight of a few tiny green buds pleased her. The irritable cawing of some crows, less so.

Thinking that she might have gotten too close to a nest, she backed away from the tree. The crows cawed louder and took off with a flutter, dark shadows against the pale sky. She watched them go. They were irritable birds anyway. She liked finches better.

Lowering her eyes, she jolted. Someone was standing right in front of her.

The words of greeting that rose to her lips died before they could emerge. He was handsome in a sleek way, his black hair a glossy wave. His expensive clothes were clean and ironed, the pressed lines sharp enough to cut. The boots he wore were so new they hadn’t even been broken in yet.

Sunlight glinted off his deep brown eyes. They were like marbles, cold and lifeless.

“Colter,” Celia gasped. Her hands fluttered at her sides. She clenched them into fists and cleared her throat. She refused to show weakness before him, though she was reeling, uncertain how he had appeared without her noticing.

He walked toward her, stopping only a few feet away. His eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down in a way that made her shiver. He looked at her like she was an object, something he wanted to purchase.

She couldn’t bear the silence as he regarded her in that cold and calculating way. “Are you here to see my father? He’s out with the horses, over that way.” Knowing it was rude and not caring, she pointed back past the house to the fields beyond. It would be much more polite for her to walk him over there. Then, she’d have to be by his side and make pleasantries, and she couldn’t stand the thought of that.

Colter moved, and she thought he was going to pass her. Then, he grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard enough to send a flash of pain up her arm. He stopped before she could cry out. She clutched her wrist, staring. “What was that for?”

“It was a lesson.” Colter’s mouth was a thin, grim line. “The way you behaved yesterday is not how a woman should act toward her future husband.”

He hadn’t come to see her father, and it didn’t seem like he had a ring with him to propose, either. He must have been waiting around outside to make his move and corner her.

I could yell.

Deacon and Father would come running to her side, with the ranch hand following right behind. Felicity would rush out of the house too if she heard, as she was a little hard of hearing these days. A single shout would disrupt everything, and she would have to face them all and explain herself. There would be questions and arguments. Father would probably try to play the diplomat and smooth everything over instead of taking her side.

Rather than cause such a fuss, she decided to do this on her own.

Celia took a deep breath and braced herself, though her wrist ached and her stomach clenched tightly.

“Colter, you’ve been misled. I don’t know if it’s been my patience or Father’s hopes, but that doesn’t matter. The fact is that I am not going to marry you.”

Colter looked hard at her, then tossed his head back and laughed out loud. She faltered, not seeing what she had said to cause him such amusement.

“You don’t have a choice, woman.”

“I do have a choice!” she insisted. “I cannot accept bein’ your wife.”

Colter gave a single slow shake of his head. He reached for her. She saw it coming that time and backed away, heart pounding hard in her chest. He laughed again. She felt his spittle striking her face and hurriedly wiped it away with her sleeves.

Colter lifted his chin, looking past her at the ranch before focusing on her again. “You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. No other woman could resist me as long as you have.”

“Then why not pursue someone else? Anyone else?” A note of pleading entered her voice. She despised it despite being unable to help it.

“When a cowboy sees a horse with a strong will, he can’t help but want to break it,” Colter said. As if he would know anything about horses! “And you have something I want, something that no other woman in this town does.”

He meant her infamous inheritance, of course.

“You pay attention to my words now, Celia Riker.” Colter’s voice hissed like a snake sliding low on its belly through grass, unseen and dangerous. “You will learn to behave yourself and become my wife, or I will make you pay for your disobedience. I’ll start with your brother.”

Deacon?

“He’s a nice young man,” Colter said. “It would be a downright shame if word got around that he was a thief. No one would believe it, but the sheriff would have to do his job. It would be such a shock to everyone to find the stolen goods hidden away inside his mattress.”

A horrible understanding filled her, making her waver and take a step back. Her brother could have his entire future destroyed because she wouldn’t agree to marry Colter. Other such instances of bad luck would surely follow. She couldn’t even fathom all the methods that Colter might use to harm her family and the ranch. More accusations? Extra loan payments? Maybe even… untimely injuries?

Her mind recoiled from the ideas. She refused to imagine any of it, to picture her brother in a cell in the jailhouse, her father immobilized in bed by broken bones.

“I see you’re taking me seriously at last.” Colter nodded and turned away. “Luckily for you, you have a few weeks to adjust to the idea. I’m leaving town on some business. When I come back, I’ll have the ring. You will accept.”

As he walked away, she dimly noticed the lack of spurs on his fancy new boots. Without a spur to jangle with every step, his walk was almost entirely silent. That was how he had approached her without her noticing.

He crested a hill and disappeared down the other side. Only then did the tension leave her body. Legs weak, and worried she might fall, she leaned against one of the trees and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Celia!” Felicity called her name while walking around the side of the house. She held something thin and brown in one hand. “I missed a slice of bread earlier. Let’s share it.”

Celia pushed away from the tree and smoothed her dress down. The last thing that she wanted was to force herself to eat when her stomach was still clenched so tightly.

Felicity looked at her, and the bread dropped from her hand, landing butter-side-down on the ground. She rushed over, wrapping her arms around Celia. “Do you feel ill? You’re so pale!”

“I’m alright,” Celia lied, trying to pull away.

Felicity held onto her, refusing to let her get away. She wrapped her warm hands around Celia’s face and pressed their foreheads together. Her gentle, concerned eyes held Celia’s so she couldn’t look away. “You haven’t been able to lie to me since you were a little girl. I know something’s wrong.”

Celia swallowed hard and wrestled with herself. She had stood up to Colter well enough in spite of his threats. That had taken much of her strength, though, and she suddenly found herself unable to repeat her lie. Against her will, the words tumbled from her. “Colter was here. He, he said, that no matter what, I’ll have to marry him. If I don’t, he’ll do things to make me regret it.”

“That horrid man!” Felicity embraced her tightly and rubbed her back. “I’ve never liked him. To think that he would say such things to you! We must tell Cormac about this.”

“No!” Celia pulled out of the maid’s comforting arms. “Father won’t believe it. He’ll think I’m makin’ excuses.”

Felicity covered her mouth with her hand, brows furrowing. “You might be right on that. He’s been so stubborn so far. There’s no guarantee he will change his mind. But you mustn’t marry that rat.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Celia wrapped her arms around herself. “I’ve been prayin’, and I thought that God would help me.”

Something crossed Felicity’s expression, a flicker like a cloud passing in front of the sun and casting a shadow. It cleared swiftly, and she raised her head. “If you can’t marry and you can’t not marry, then there is only one solution. You must disappear.”

“Disappear?” Celia repeated. It seemed like part of her instantly understood the suggestion, while the rest of her lagged behind in a daze.

Felicity drew her closer and spoke under her breath. “I have a friend, a pastor’s wife. She’s, well, quite nosy and meddlin’, but she has assisted troubled folks before. Listen well, Celia, because God helps those who help themselves.”

Celia listened. As Felicity gave her the details of exactly how that pastor’s wife had helped people in the past, she accepted that it was her only option. She had to disappear. There could be no blame placed upon her family if no one knew what happened to her.

A lone woman would have a difficult, if not impossible, time if she took to the road and wandered off to parts unknown. But she wouldn’t be wandering, and she wouldn’t be alone. If everything went well, she would be safe and married after all—just not to Colter.