Prologue

Dillion, Montana

1865

A soft breeze whisked over the dry earth, making the dust spiral and swirl under the late afternoon sun. Abby watched it dance across the farmland as she stood at her father’s study window. Despite the heat, she felt a shiver run through her as she steeled herself for the confrontation that was coming.

She heard her father’s footsteps marching toward the study door and turned around as it burst open. His familiar burly figure hastened inside, his brow furrowed, and his eyes dark and disapproving as he met her gaze.

“I won’t do it, Pa,” she said quickly. “I will not marry a man simply because you have given him your word.”

Her father scoffed, closing the door quietly behind him and marching to his desk. He did not sit, but took up a position behind it, his back straight, his hands held behind him—the very picture of authority.

Abby felt like a farmhand who’d come to negotiate a pay rise.

“You are being unreasonable, Abby; you must have known this day was coming,” he stated.

“The day my father would auction me off to the highest bidder?” she asked.

His eyes widened as he looked up at her in shock, and an angry flush rose up his neck, turning the skin a deep red.

“You watch your tongue, girl,” he murmured threateningly, his lips pressing together in an unhappy line.

It was at times like this that Abby missed her mother the most. She and her father were too alike, too hardheaded and stubborn to ever come to an agreement. If it was a battle of wills, he could dig his heels in the deepest every time.

“I am not a girl, Pa. I am a woman now, and I can make my own choices. Why should you presume to make them on my behalf?”

She expected an explosion of rage at her words, but instead, to her surprise, the fire seemed to drain out of him, his eyes skittering down to his tattered desk. Now she came to look at it, there were papers and invoices scattered across it, and a large, bulky ledger beneath, ink stains blurring the pages.

Her father lowered himself wearily into the chair behind his desk. The leather was worn and faded; white ovals polished into the arms where his elbows rested day after day as he pored over his accounts.

He sighed. “You are right; you are a woman now and old enough to understand the difficulties we face.” He glanced at her but did not meet her gaze. “The drought has hit us hard this year, Abby. We barely managed to make ends meet last fall, and now I fear we’re facing an even worse year to come. The land just isn’t selling as it should. We survive on our good reputation—but we cannot survive forever.”

Abby felt fear uncoil in her gut as her eyes scanned the open pages of the ledger.

Are we really in such a fix that his only solution is to marry me off?

She’d had no idea that their future was so grim.

“Would it truly be so bad?” her father continued, his expression almost pleading. “He is a good man with a good fortune. You would not want for anything.” He clenched his teeth as he scanned over his cluttered accounts. “You have no notion of what it is to be destitute.”

She advanced on him, coming to stand beside the desk, her breathing fast as her heart beat a thunderous rhythm in her chest.

“Are things so bad, Pa?” she asked, panic building as she took in his grave expression. She had never seen him look so serious. “Why did you never tell me?”

“I didn’t want to burden you. I believed the droughts would abate, and we would see it through. But I am not sure things can be turned around. I hope and pray they will, but we must be practical.”

She felt her throat convulse as she took in his unhappy gaze. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and his brow was set in a deep furrow.

“You will have to marry one day,” he continued, “and there are worse choices in this world than Caleb Thornton, believe me.”

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, but she held them at bay as she tried one last attempt to convince him.

“But I do not love him,” she stated simply. “In truth, I do not know if I could. Caleb Thornton may be a good man—”

“He is!”

Abby jumped as her father’s fist pounded the desk. He rose to his feet, his volatile temper rearing its head—any sense of gentle persuasion gone. He came out from behind the desk and pointed a meaty finger at her.

“I have indulged you all your life. I acknowledge that some of your hot-headedness is my doing, but it is time you grew up and faced your responsibilities to this family. It is time you understood what it is to make sacrifices.”

He walked to the door, his back rigid with tension. As he gripped the handle, he looked back at her with a hard stare. “You will come and greet him now, and you will be polite. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father,” she whispered. She knew him too well to argue; his decision was made, and he would not waver now.

She followed in his wake, her feet dragging on the floor, her mind screaming at the idea of the future that was being forced upon her.

As they walked from the study into the hall, her father was waylaid by Rose, their housekeeper. He gave Abby a warning glare to remain where she was as he went to speak with her.

Abby stood silently, shifting her weight, feeling her stomach roll as she considered what was about to happen.

Surely there is another way. If Pa had just confided in me, perhaps I could have helped. How could I ever marry a man I don’t even know?

But as she stood waiting to greet Caleb, she was surprised to hear hushed voices coming from the porch outside.

Flicking a glance at her father and seeing that he was still occupied, she moved a few paces over, stepping around the creaky floorboards and leaning towards the glass. When she glanced through the window, she saw Caleb standing outside with a man she didn’t recognize. They were smoking cigarettes as they looked out across the dry, dusty landscape.

“Don’t fret, Arthur,” Caleb said in a low voice. “Once I marry the Turner girl, I’ll have access to all their assets. This place has been mismanaged for years. We’ll merge the businesses and sell as much as we can. Her father won’t kick up a fuss. It’s ours for the taking.”

“And your new bride?” the other man asked with a smirk. “What if she causes trouble?”

Caleb chuckled, blowing the smoke out in a long cloud before answering. “She’s a spoiled thing, never had to work a day in her life. She’ll come to heel when I tell her to.”

Abby blinked, feeling the blood roaring in her ears at the audacity of Caleb’s words. Before she could process what he had said, however, she saw movement behind her as Rose departed, and she leaped to where she had been standing so as not to be seen eavesdropping.

Almost as soon as her father returned to her, Caleb entered the house, a tendril of smoke spiraling away from his lips as he stubbed out his cigarette beneath his polished shoe on the entryway.

He has contempt for this property already, she thought bitterly.

The stocky fellow he’d been conspiring with was nowhere to be seen. Caleb’s eyes zeroed in on her immediately, and he ambled over, his brown hair swept back, green eyes twinkling, and a friendly smile on his face. He was the picture of an average gentleman, and handsome to boot, but Abby could barely stand to look at him.

“Miss Turner,” he said warmly, removing his hat and giving her a shallow bow. “It’s a pleasure to see you as always; you look very fine this evening.”

Abby forced a smile under her father’s watchful eye.

“Mr. Thornton, it’s good to see you, too,” she forced out.

Her father held out a hand, which Caleb shook, and then led him into the parlor room. Abby followed dutifully behind them, a weight settling on her shoulders so heavily that she felt she might buckle beneath it.

I will never marry you, Caleb Thornton, she thought angrily. I will not salvage my father’s reputation simply to have it dashed to pieces by the same man he chose to save it.

With growing dread, she realized that if she wished to take control of her own life—her own future—there was only one option available to her.

She would have to escape this place and forge a new future far away, where they would never find her.

Chapter One

Abby sat on the seat below her bedroom window, looking out into the darkness and wishing she could be as free as the breeze, and swirl away into oblivion.

The meeting with Caleb had been awkward and far too long for her liking. She had sat stiffly beside her father while Caleb asked her a few questions about herself, but he soon gave up when her answers were polite but lacking any detail.

She wasn’t surprised when Caleb seamlessly changed tack and asked her father about his business holdings, assets, and the past year’s profits. She was convinced that Caleb knew more about their situation than he was letting on.

She wasn’t sure if it was what she had overheard or the forced nature of his presence in her life, but every time she looked at Caleb, an unpleasant feeling crept over her skin. He was handsome, to be sure, but too slick, too charming to be real. She had begun to believe that everything he did was an act.

God must have a bigger plan for my life than this, she thought fitfully.

A knock sounded at the door, and her handmaid, Christine, bustled in, carrying a bundle of linens, placing a fresh sheet on the bed, and fussing about the room for a few minutes. Finally, she walked over to Abby and stood beside her with her hands on her hips.

As the silence grew to an unbearable degree, Abby slowly looked over at Christine and noted the sympathy in her gaze.

“I see you are as melancholic as I expected,” Christine said, not unkindly, and held out a hand, which Abby took gratefully as they walked across the room to her dressing table.

She sighed as she sat down, looking at her own pale reflection and the tight lines around her mouth. Christine’s nimble fingers danced over her hair as she removed one pin after the other. Abby watched the dark locks fall as she stared into the mirror and wondered what Caleb had made of her. He clearly thought her spoiled—did he find me handsome?

Many people in her life had told her she was pretty, but she had never been sure if her looks would attract a man. She certainly didn’t have any interest in dwelling on it like her friend, Sally, whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to ensnare a husband.

“You’re taut as a snare, Miss Abby,” Christine murmured, her warm hand coming to rest on Abby’s shoulder. “Things aren’t so bad, are they?”

Abby felt the tears she had kept at bay all day well up again, and she dashed at her cheeks as they began to fall. Christine immediately came and knelt beside her, taking her hands and squeezing them tightly.

“Will you tell me?” she asked. “I know Mr. Thornton came callin’ today. Are you not happy at such a prospect?”

Abby scowled. “He only wants me for Father’s land, Chrissie. I heard him talking about me today as though I were a clause in a contract he had to sign—he called me a spoiled child. Marryin’ me is a useful consequence of takin’ Pa for every penny he’s got.”

Abby stopped speaking abruptly. She did not wish to worry Christine unduly about the state of their affairs. Christine had been in the household for over a decade and was a loyal and dependable woman who had shown Abby some of the warmth she had lacked since her mother died. Abby didn’t want to alarm her with tales of drought, debt, and duty.

“He truly said that about you?” Christine asked, her mouth puckering with disapproval. “You would think an upstandin’ businessman like Mr. Thornton would have more integrity.”

Abby gave a half smile as she shrugged. “Father doesn’t need integrity. He wants me married off and safe; that’s all he cares about.”

“You know your father adores you in his way,” Christine said emphatically, and Abby just wiped at her tears and nodded her head. She knew her father loved her, but his sense of duty had overruled her right to happiness—and she could not submit to it.

“I don’t know what to do,” she confessed.

Christine let go of her hands and stood up, looking down at her quizzically.

“You don’t want to marry him?” she asked.

“I can’t. Not under these circumstances. What kind of life would I have when he thinks of me as a silly, naive girl?”

“How was he to look at?”

“Fine enough, but cold. He said he would bring me to heel, Chrissie, like a dog.”

Christine came to stand behind her again, loosening the final knots in her hair, and as her locks tumbled down to her shoulders, she looked at Abby steadily in the mirror. Her brown eyes met Abby’s bright blue gaze, and there was a determination and resolve in her face that made hope bloom in Abby’s chest.

“If you don’t want to marry him, child, you have to get away.”

Abby felt the tears begin falling again as she imagined disappearing without an explanation. Her father would never understand.

“How would I do that, Chrissie? I wouldn’t survive a week unless I stole money from Pa, and I won’t do that. Not ever.”

“There are other ways of getting away, Miss Abby. You need a prayer and a destination, but there are ways to escape.”

Abby looked up at her, intrigued. “Like what?”

“You have to know where to look,” Christine said with a wry smile.

***

“Rose, wait!” Abby called as she cantered down the stairs the next morning, the folds of her skirt bumping over the steps as she reached the deep red carpet of the hallway.

The housekeeper turned mid-stride, holding a multitude of papers in her arms. Abby glanced around to ensure her father was nowhere in earshot before approaching her.

“Is that yesterday’s paper?” she asked eagerly as Rose looked down at the bundle in her arms in consternation.

“It is, miss. Did you want to read somethin’?”

“Could I have it?” she asked, and Rose readjusted the stack in her arms so that Abby could pull it free. “Thank you!” she exclaimed before making her way outside, ignoring Rose’s bewildered expression.

It was a clear morning, with a bright blue sky and wisps of clouds overhead as she walked down the porch steps and onto the dusty earth surrounding the farmhouse.

She had never known a heat like the one they were currently facing. Even as she walked out of the shade across the path, she could see smoke on the far horizon. Fires had leaped up all over their lands in the preceding months, some of them becoming unmanageable in only a matter of hours.

Abby made her way around the house, listening to their horses, Belle and Brock, whinnying to each other in the far field. Her chest clenched again as she considered everything she would be leaving behind.

She tamped down the wayward thoughts and kept her mind focused on what truly mattered. Today was about finding a destination to flee to, just as Christine had said. Her maid had insisted that if she checked the newspaper, there would be adverts for mail-order brides somewhere within its pages.

The mere idea of responding to an ad and turning up at a stranger’s house to become his bride would have seemed like madness just twenty-four hours earlier. But with Caleb hard on her heels, insisting he should visit again the next evening, Abby knew she had little time to waste.

She reached the swing that hung below the tall oak tree in their yard and took a seat on the splintering wood. The rope on either side of her was old and frayed, and protested as she moved, creaking in the breeze.

Abby opened the paper and scanned the pages, not knowing quite what to expect at first, but she soon found herself astounded by the sheer number of ads she discovered.

Many she dismissed out of hand simply because of the wording or spelling mistakes in the opening lines. There was a huge variety, many of them much further afield than she could afford to travel, and the majority of them were from men in their fifties.

She was becoming increasingly disheartened as she continued reading. She was so preoccupied that she didn’t hear Rose approaching until she was practically on top of her.

Rose stood with her hands in the pockets of her apron, watching Abby with a look of curiosity and sadness on her face. She was a rather severe-looking woman when she wanted to be, but her dark eyes were looking at Abby with a level of understanding she’d never seen before. She had a buxom figure, and always made Abby think of apple pies and home comforts.

“You are goin’ through with this foolhardy scheme, I see,” she said, moving to stand beside Abby to look at the paper over her shoulder.

“What scheme?” Abby asked, feigning innocence.

“You know full well, my girl. I got it out of Christine when I found her weeping in the pantry.”

Abby sighed. “Can you think of any other way I can avoid this marriage?” she asked, half hopeful that the housekeeper might suddenly think of something that had passed her by.

“No, Miss Abby, I can’t. But we won’t half miss you if you do this.”

Abby looked up at her, an intense sorrow passing through her as she thought of leaving Rose and Christine behind. They were the only people she considered her friends, having lived an isolated life on the ranch.

“I will miss you terribly, too. But I must get away. I do not think Caleb is a good man, and I do not wish to be tied to him forever against my will.”

Rose nodded sadly as her eyes continually scanned the paper for something suitable. After a few more minutes, her thick finger pointed at an ad at the bottom of the page. It was smaller than the others, but something about it made Abby pause.

A 28-year-old bachelor of ability with a large ranch desires a sensible woman of 20 to 25 years to join him and his young sister: object matrimony.

Barrack, Montana.

“That ain’t too far from here, and when he’s out in the fields, you won’t be alone all day if his sister is with you,” Rose said cautiously. She sounded as though she wanted to talk Abby out of her scheme but held her tongue.

“It’s the first one I’ve seen that sounds acceptable, to be sure,” Abby replied, reading it again. Something like hope stirred in her belly—a man in his twenties was much more appealing than a fifty-five-year-old widower.

If she went and it was a disaster, she could always bide her time and come back when things had died down. If she was gone long enough, Caleb would almost certainly choose another bride, and she could return and help her father with the business, doing more about the farm by way of chores.

She looked up at the land all about her. The sun beat down relentlessly on the dry soil and sent waves of heavy dust across the ground.

“You sure about this, Miss Abby?”

Not in the least, but it’s the best option out of a bad bunch.

“I’ll reply today,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “If he responds quickly, I could be on the road by the end of the week. All I’ll have to do is tell Caleb I need more time to consider his proposal, and then, before he knows what’s happened, I’ll be gone.”

“And your Pa?”

Abby’s chest tightened at the thought of leaving him and the devastation her abrupt departure would undoubtedly bring. She swallowed, tamping down her fears as she looked up at Rose’s kind face.

“I’d be leaving him anyhow, no matter if I marry or run away. I won’t have my life dictated to me. If mother were here, she’d say the same.”

She folded up the paper and hopped off the bench, giving Rose a brief hug before she returned to the house.

Perhaps this was madness, but it was madness of her own making, and she would see it through.

***

“Pa was right,” Abby muttered prompting Christine to stop her task and look up at her. “Perhaps he has indulged me too much.”

Abby looked over the bed before her at the sheer number of gowns that she owned. She had close to fifteen in total and would not be able to pack many at all.

She would be going to a ranch as a housewife; it seemed foolish to take anything too fine. She ran a finger over the dress she kept for Sunday Best and wished she could take it too. The gowns she had picked were mainly day dresses, drab in color, making her feel even more gloomy.

With a crooked grin, Christine handed Abby the pink prairie dress with purple flowers dotted through it that she had always loved, and she placed it in her bag with a rueful smile.

The bag was almost bursting at the seams, but she was finally packed.

Abby wiped a hand across her forehead, catching Christine’s eye, and blew out a long breath.

“How are you feeling?” Christine asked diplomatically, giving Abby a small smile, which she returned gratefully.

“Hopeful,” she answered honestly. “I’ll be on the road, going to a new place, meeting new folks. I’ve been in this town since I was born; it’ll be nice to see more of the world.”

“And you know you can come back, Miss Abby,” Christine said earnestly. “If things don’t work out, you come back. Do you hear me?”

“I heard you, Christine,” she sighed, “I heard you.”

That night she tossed and turned in her bed for hours, unable to sleep or rest her head for more than a few moments together.

She had bade her father goodnight that evening, giving him a kiss on his cheek as she always did. He had been engrossed in his bookkeeping and barely looked up. She felt numb as she thought of him, wondering how long it would take him to realize she was missing.

She had never traveled so far alone before, and her stomach was a violent sea of nerves.

Either I leave tomorrow, or I marry Caleb Thornton and let him loose on everything my father has built.

And with that resolute thought, she closed her eyes and forced her mind to quiet to get some much-needed rest.