Prologue

Stevensville, Montana

1870

Eden Rourke’s feet pounded against the wooden staircase as she fled to her room. Her breath was coming faster than it should have. It wasn’t that she was exhausted, or tired. It was the fury.

She shoved open her bedroom door and swung it shut behind her, leaning against it as if she could somehow barricade herself from the words that still echoed in her head.

You’ll come around, Eden. I always get what I want.

Rowan Hart’s parting words still rang in her ears. That hateful voice. Smooth as polished silver, cold as a banker’s ledger. A shudder crawled down her spine.

She ripped off the gloves she hadn’t realized she was still wearing and flung them onto her dressing table. How dare he speak to her like that? How dare Father insist she marry such a man?

She pressed a hand against the center of her corset, her heartbeat hammering against the stiff fabric. She dragged in a breath, but it did little to calm her. She had barely made it up the stairs; her legs were threatening to give out beneath her.

And Father? Oh, how she’d argued with him after Mr. Hart had left. But he had only worn that tired, knowing look of his. The one that said he’d already decided her future for her.

Mr. Hart is a sensible match, Eden.

She had turned on her heel and left before he could say anything more, but the sick feeling in her stomach remained.

Sensible. As if she were a horse to be bartered for. As if love had no place in a conversation about lifelong vows.

But Rowan Hart was not merely sensible. He was ruthless, greedy, and arrogant beyond measure. His wealth had been built on the backs of men who cursed his name under their breath. And worse — he knew he had Father’s favor.

Eden stormed across the room and wrenched open the window, letting the cool evening air rush in. It smelled of earth, of horses, of freedom.

Of everything Rowan was not part of.

She gripped the windowsill until her knuckles ached. He was a man who measured everything in terms of ownership: land, cattle, people. She had seen the way he’d looked at her, like she was some kind of possession to be acquired, another asset to claim. The forced smiles, the empty flattery, the way his fingers had tightened just a little too much when he last took her hand. All of it set her teeth on edge.

I would rather die than marry that scoundrel.

And yet, Father had made it clear. This wasn’t a request.

Then Eden heard a knock at the door. She stiffened, her fingers still curled around the windowsill. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Eden.” Father’s voice was steady beyond the door, but there was a weariness beneath it. “May I come in?”

She wanted to ignore him. She wanted to tell him to leave her be. But the thought of shutting him out entirely, of seeing disappointment in his eyes made her chest tighten. With a reluctant sigh, she stepped away from the window. “Yes, Father.”

The door creaked open, and he stepped inside, closing it gently behind him.

Despite his age, Gideon Rourke was still built like the rancher he had always been. Broad-shouldered, lean, and tough as a fence post. His hair, once dark, had gone completely silver, and deep lines carved his face, but his blue eyes — the ones Eden had inherited from him — were sharp as ever.

His mouth twitched down as he took in her expression. “I know you’re upset,” he said calmly. “But I need you to understand, Eden. I only want what’s best for you.”

“You think that Rowan… that Mr. Hart is what’s best for me?” Eden asked. Could her own father really be willing to put the safety of his ranch before his daughter’s happiness?

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “I know you don’t see it yet, but he’ll offer you stability. Safety. That matters, Eden.”

Eden’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I’d rather be unsafe than spend my life chained to that man.” Her voice came out sharp, betraying the anger boiling beneath the surface.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Eden’s breath hitched as frustration tightened her throat. “He doesn’t love me, Father. He doesn’t even like me.” She let out a hollow, humorless laugh. “He just wants me for my infamous inheritance.”

The words dripped with bitter irony. Her chest heaved as she spat them out. As if saying them aloud might rid her of the weight pressing down on her.

Father frowned. “Mr. Hart is ambitious, yes. But he’s not as terrible as you think.”

Eden’s jaw clenched. “You can’t believe that.”

“I believe he’ll take care of you,” he replied, “and that’s something I can’t promise anymore.”

A lump rose in Eden’s throat. She knew what he meant. The ranch was struggling, the debts piling up. Father was already old. He had only become a father in his fifties, and now, twenty-two years later… he was losing the fight. Rowan Hart — wealthy, powerful, relentless — was the logical answer.

Father’s answer, perhaps. But not hers.

He reached out as if to touch her shoulder, then hesitated. “Just… take your time. Think about it.”

He slowly turned and went back downstairs, leaving her standing in the dim light.

She pressed her hands together, bowing her head.

Dear Lord, show me a way out.

Because if there wasn’t one… she didn’t know how she would survive.

Chapter One

The next morning, Eden went early to the kitchen and pulled the curtains to the side. The sun streamed through the window, casting golden light over the worn wooden tabletop. The scent of flour and coffee lingered in the air, familiar and comforting. She rolled up her sleeves and took a deep breath.

I’ve made my decision.

Today would be different.

Because she refused to wallow. She would not let Rowan’s smug face or Father’s weary resignation drain another day. There had to be a way out of this mess. There always was. She just needed to find it.

She reached for the coffee pot, filling it with water from the basin. Maisie Hastings, the maid, hadn’t arrived yet, but that was fine. Eden liked the quiet before the house stirred to life. It gave her time to think.

And thinking, at least this morning, brought her to the same conclusion she’d had the night before: Father was wrong. Rowan Hart was not the only man in the world. Surely, surely, there was someone else — anyone else, in fact — who could solve Father’s financial worries. Someone decent. Someone who didn’t make her skin crawl.

She struck a match and lit the stove, setting the pot down with a determined clatter.

I just have to find him.

Because she would not marry Rowan Hart. Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime. And if she had to parade a dozen suitors in front of Father to make him see reason? Well then, so be it.

The back door swung open with a soft creak, and a rush of fresh morning air carried in the scent of earth and hay.

“Morning, Miss Eden!”

Eden turned from the stove to see Maisie step inside, her apron flecked with straw, a basket of eggs balanced neatly on her hip. Her yellow dress, cinched at the waist, stood out against the muted tones of the kitchen, a cheerful color that belied the chilly morning outside.

Her cheeks were rosy from the crisp air, and a few strands of hair had slipped loose from her thick, dark braid due to the morning’s work, framing her heart-shaped face. Though she was small in stature, there was strength in the way she moved. She held herself steadily, built by years of hard work.

“Maisie! You’re just in time,” Eden said brightly. “I was about to make breakfast without you, and then where would we be?”

Maisie set the basket on the counter with a knowing look. “Well, if last time was any indication, we’d be eating burnt biscuits and pretending not to notice.”

Eden gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’ve greatly improved since then!”

Maisie laughed as she began sorting through the eggs. “Oh, I can see that. You haven’t burned anything yet.” She glanced up, and seemed to be studying Eden for a moment. “You’re in good spirits today.”

Eden lifted her chin. “Of course I am. You didn’t think I’d spend the rest of my life sulking over one awful conversation, did you?”

Maisie’s eyes softened. “No. I suppose not.”

They fell into their easy rhythm, Maisie cracking eggs into a bowl while Eden measured out flour. Their quiet chatter was punctuated by the occasional clink of kitchenware. It was always like this with Maisie: familiar, warm.

“So, what did you have in mind for today?” Eden asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“Well, after breakfast, I’ll be tending to the laundry,” Maisie said, whisking the eggs with practiced ease, “and I suppose you’ll be off trying to save the ranch from ruin?”

Eden gave a half-hearted laugh. “Something like that.”

Maisie shook her head with a chuckle. “Heaven help the poor man who gets caught up in any plan of yours.”

“Oh, I hope Heaven does help him,” Eden teased, grinning as she dusted flour from her hands. “Because if I have my way, Rowan Hart won’t stand a chance.”

The scent of frying eggs and fresh coffee filled the kitchen. As Maisie cooked, Eden set the table. Breakfast was always a simple affair: plates and cups, perhaps a sprig of flowers or evergreen when the weather got cold. But simplicity was good. There were few things Eden loved more than a meal shared before the day’s work began.

She was just setting down the plate of biscuits when the heavy thump of feet sounded from the hallway. A moment later, Father stepped in, moving with the slow, steady gait of a man who had spent a lifetime in the saddle.

“Is breakfast ready, or am I about to be poisoned?”

Eden rolled her eyes. “You’re worse than Harrison.”

“Speaking of—”

“Speaking of, I’m right here,” Harrison called from the doorway, grinning as he ambled in.

At seventeen, he was all restless energy and growing limbs, still filling out his tall frame. He, too, had Father’s blue eyes. Yet he had Mother’s lighter blonde hair, more golden than brown, while Eden’s was a few shades darker. And she was certainly shorter than he, her feminine curves nothing like his lanky build.

He flopped into a chair with an exaggerated sigh. “Hope you made extra. I’m starving.”

Maisie rolled her eyes as she set down the pan of eggs. “When are you not starving?”

“Fair point.”

Father stood at the head of the table, and they all bowed their heads as he prayed grace. The moment he was finished, Harrison reached for a biscuit, biting into it before pausing dramatically. “Hmm. Dry. Dense. A little too much flour.”

Eden smacked his arm. “Oh, hold your tongue and eat, won’t you?”

He grinned as he reached for another. “Just saying, if I keel over, you’ll know why.”

Father chuckled as he took his seat, reaching for his coffee. “You two bicker more than an old married couple.”

Eden poured her own coffee, lifting an eyebrow. “Then it’s a good thing I have other prospects to consider.”

Father shot her a look over the rim of his cup. She held his gaze, undeterred. She could see in his eyes that he knew exactly what her meaning was, but he didn’t seem to want to discuss it at a meal with Harrison and Maisie present.

And she couldn’t fault him for that. She might have been at odds with his opinion regarding Rowan Hart, but she wouldn’t let her frustration spoil the family meal.

Breakfast continued with its usual teasing and easy conversation and the clatter of forks against plates. By the time the last of the coffee had gone lukewarm in Eden’s cup, the morning was fully awake now.

Father pushed back from the table with a satisfied sigh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood. “Well,” he said, adjusting his hat, “we’d best get to it. Harrison, you’re with me.”

Harrison groaned dramatically. “I just ate. Can’t we rest for half an hour?”

“By all means,” Father said dryly. “You can rest in the saddle.”

Maisie chuckled as she collected the plates. “Sounds fair to me.”

Harrison shot a betrayed look while turning to Eden. “You see how they treat me?”

Eden crossed her arms, indifferent to his dismay. “Like the bottomless pit you are?”

He pointed a finger at her. “I’ll remember this.”

“Good. Now go, before Father decides to add extra chores.”

Harrison sighed but got to his feet, stretching as he followed Father out the door.

Maisie hummed as she carried dishes to the basin. “I’d better start on the laundry before it piles up again.”

Eden grabbed a clean towel and flung it over her shoulder. “I’ll hang what’s already washed.”

Maisie gave her an approving nod before turning back to the dishes. Eden smiled to herself as she picked up the basket of damp linens and headed for the yard out back.

***

The linens billowed in the warm breeze, snapping gently as Eden pinned another sheet to the line. She exhaled, letting the simple task calm her restless thoughts.

Father would doubtless want to have a discussion with her later about her comment at the breakfast table. How exactly am I going to tell him…?

Then… footsteps. Slow, deliberate.

Not Father’s, or Harrison’s. And certainly not Maisie’s.

Eden stiffened.

“Miss Rourke.”

Rowan Hart.

Eden turned, gripping the edge of the laundry basket. The man stood a few paces away, dressed impeccably, as always, in dark trousers and a fine vest. There wasn’t a speck of dust on him despite the earth beneath his boots. His sharp features — high cheekbones, a thin, stern mouth, and skin so pale one might think he suffered from some serious illness — were set in a grim expression, giving him an almost sculpted appearance. He assessed her with dark eyes that held that peculiar coldness that had become so familiar — and despicable — to her.

She folded her arms. “What do you want?”

His mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “I think we both know the answer to that question, Miss Rourke.”

She said nothing. The breeze tugged at her hair, but she ignored it.

Hart stepped forward. “Your behavior yesterday was… thoroughly distasteful. That’s not the way a woman ought to treat her future husband.”

His voice was smooth, nagging. Far too arrogant for Eden to feel any trace of respect or remorse.

She let out a sharp laugh. “Future husband?” The very thought of marrying Mr. Hart sent something revolting creeping up her back. She determinedly shook her head. “I’d rather marry a rattlesnake.”

The amusement in Hart’s expression vanished. “You may not take this seriously, Miss Rourke,” he said, his voice lower now. “But you will learn to behave.”

Eden lifted her chin. “And I can assure you that you will learn I am not afraid of you.”

His jaw tightened. “You should be.”

He took another step toward her. The cold look on his face was gradually becoming murderous. Eden held her ground, but every instinct screamed at her to move. Before she could respond, his hand shot out suddenly, gripping her shoulder in an unmistakably possessive manner.

“You have something I want,” he murmured, his fingers pressing just enough to drive home his point. “And you’ll give it to me. Peacefully.” His grip tightened slightly. “Or else see it taken from you. By force… if necessary.”

Fury and fear tangled inside Eden, but she forced herself to meet his gaze, unwavering. “Let go.”

For a moment, Hart didn’t move. Then, slowly, he released her, stepping back as if nothing had happened. “Think it over.”

And just like that, he turned and strode away, disappearing around the side of the house.

Eden stood frozen. She was terrified, but fury kept her head high. Her heart was hammering. Her shoulder burned where his hand had been.

She grabbed the laundry basket with trembling fingers and hurried inside, bolting the door behind her. She barely made it two steps into the kitchen before her legs faltered and she had to grip the edge of the table. Her breath was coming too fast, too shallow.

“Eden?”

Maisie’s voice cut through the haze, and Eden looked up, startled. The housemaid stood by the basin, a damp towel in her hands, brow furrowed in concern. “Eden, what happened?”

Eden forced words past the tightness in her throat. “Rowan. He… he was just here.”

Maisie’s expression darkened. “What did he do?”

Eden shook her head, gripping the table harder. “He grabbed me. Told me I had something he wanted. Said I could give it to him peacefully or else he’d take it by force.”

Maisie went still. Then, with a sharp breath, she grabbed Eden’s hands and squeezed them tightly. “You listen to me, Eden Rourke! That man will not have you.”

Eden let out a shaky laugh. “Tell that to my father.”

Maisie’s jaw clenched. “I don’t need to tell him anything, because you have a way out.”

Eden blinked. “What?”

Maisie took a breath. “You become a mail-order bride.”

For a moment, Eden thought she’d misheard. She pulled back slightly, searching Maisie’s face. “A… a mail-order bride?” she repeated, the words foreign on her tongue.

Maisie nodded firmly. “It’s the only way to escape him. If your father won’t let you refuse Mr. Hart, then you find a husband he can’t refuse. A man far away from here.”

Eden stared at her, pulse still racing from Hart’s threat. It was an absurd idea. Marry a stranger? Leave her home? She could barely imagine it. Boarding a train with nothing but a bag, stepping off into a town where no one knew her name…

Her stomach twisted in worry. “I don’t even know what kind of man I’d end up with,” she whispered. “What if he’s just as bad as Rowan?”

Maisie squeezed her hands tighter. “He won’t be. We’ll be careful. We’ll pick someone respectable, someone safe.”

Eden exhaled shakily, shaking her head. “Maisie, I don’t know… my whole life is here. The ranch, Father — Harrison!” Her voice wavered.

But then, unbidden, the memory of Hart’s hands on her shoulders surged forward. The quiet, cold certainty in his voice.

Peacefully. Or else see it taken from you. By force… if necessary.

Eden closed her eyes and tried to think. Hart wasn’t going to give up. And Father, weakened by desperation, would only push harder.

Maisie was right. I have to get out.

She swallowed, lifting her chin. “Where do we start?”

Maisie gave her a small, determined smile. “I’ll take care of it. Just trust me.”

Eden nodded, a weight lifting from her chest. For the first time since Hart had encroached on their lives, she felt an inkling of hope that perhaps she could escape her worst nightmare.