Prologue

Miles City, Montana

1882

Abby Ward closed her eyes, taking in the details around her. The church smelled faintly of lilies and old pine. She could hear the soft rustle of fabric as guests adjusted in their seats, the gentle hum of whispered anticipation, and beyond that, the slow, familiar notes of the piano drifting from the corner. Wait…I know this one. Come, Thou Fount of every blessing…Tune my heart to sing Thy grace…

Abby whispered the words of the song before the verse itself had been played. When she opened her eyes again, she felt a smile curving the corners of her mouth as she glanced at the bride.

Maisie looks like a princess from a fairy tale today. Her twin sister moved slowly down the aisle, her arm looped through the arm of Charlie Moore—their beloved neighbor, in place of Father, who had been gone these past six years.

The wedding gown was simple but elegant, one Abby had made herself. The satin bodice hugged just right at the waist, the sleeves gathered in soft puffs at the shoulders, and the hem was stitched with delicate embroidery that showed white lilies and trailing vines. Maisie’s favorites. A week of long nights and sore fingers had gone into that dress, but it had been worth every stitch.

Beneath the sheer veil that floated behind her like a whisper of cloud, Maisie’s honey-blonde hair was swept up in soft curls, with a few tendrils brushing her cheeks. Her green eyes, identical to Abby’s, were bright as spring water catching the sun.

At the altar, Nolan Hollis stood waiting, tall and strong. He held his hat respectfully in one hand with the quiet patience of a rancher who worked the land and the fearless spirit of the sheriff of his hometown. He looked at Maisie like she was the only person in the room.

From her place in front, Abby felt her heart beat a bit too fast, and her palms sweating a bit too much. She glanced to the other side of the aisle and saw Mother sitting straight in the second pew. Indeed, the years had carved gentle lines into her face, but today, they were softened with pride. Mother watched Maisie with such love, such lighthearted delight, that Abby had to blink twice to keep her vision clear.

At that point, she turned around and saw him.

Just past the cluster of guests near the back, a man stood slightly apart from the others. He was tall, lean, and dark-haired, striking in that rugged, weather-worn way common to men who spent their days outdoors. It must be Nolan’s brother. What’s his name again? Ah, yes. Rhett Hollis.

Abby hadn’t met him yet. His train had pulled into Miles City just in time for the ceremony, leaving no chance for proper introductions. Still, she’d noticed how heads had turned when he stepped inside, how a few of the younger girls had whispered behind gloved hands.

Abby wasn’t blind. Rhett Hollis was handsome. That wasn’t the problem. It was the way he stood, with a gaze flicking over the room like he didn’t quite want to be there. When their eyes met, just for a second, a strange chill traced the back of Abby’s neck. Rhett didn’t smile. His serious face held a kind of burden she couldn’t quite grasp. She was the first one to drop her gaze.

What a strange man. I will speak to him after the ceremony, though. Just because I want to be polite and make a good impression on Maisie’s new family members. Nothing else.

***

By the time the final hymn was sung and the crowd spilled out of the little white church in a flurry of rice, laughter, and handshakes, Abby was already outside the doors. Her gloves were tucked neatly into her palm as she felt someone brush past her shoulder, and when she turned, there he was again.

“Mr. Hollis?” she began brightly, waiting for the man to turn toward her. When he did, she continued cheerfully, “I’m Abby Ward. Maisie’s sister.”

“I know who you are,” he said simply, as if he wasn’t keen on indulging in a conversation with a stranger…although she was now his brother’s sister-in-law.

“Well,” she managed, “I suppose that saves me the trouble of introducing myself.”

Before the silence had a chance to stretch into an awkward moment, Maisie came bustling toward. “Abby, Rhett…” she began, “have either of you seen the box Nolan’s aunt brought? The one with the silver buttons tied in the ribbon?”

Without waiting for her sister to answer, Maisie turned to Rhett. “Would you mind giving Abby a hand to find it?” she asked a bit impatiently. “I just need to greet the last of your cousins, and Aunt Liv will notice if that gift is missing.”

Rhett gave a short nod. “Sure.”

Maisie smiled in gratitude and hurried off again, veil fluttering behind her.

Oh, how lovely. Now, I have to spend the rest of the wedding with a man who doesn’t want to talk to me.

Behind her, she could hear Rhett’s boots scuffing across the packed earth path that led around the church. Of course, he hadn’t said a word since they left the front steps. Not even a comment about the weather! Which, in Abby’s mind, was the absolute minimum required for polite company.

She sighed and paused by the empty crates stacked near the back porch. “Maybe someone moved it out here, thinking it was part of the clean-up?”

Rhett gave a half-glance toward the boxes. “Doesn’t look like anything from the gift table,” he said nonchalantly.

She bent down anyway, lifting the lid just to be sure. Nothing but crumpled linens…

“Told you,” she heard Rhett scoff.

Slowly, she straightened, then looked him straight in the eye. “Well,” she scoffed back, “forgive me for trying to help my sister and your brother.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t helping,” he replied dryly. The dignity in his voice was annoying and yet…compelling, at the same time. However, the yawn that followed did get the better of her.

“You’re the one who obviously hates being here, not me,” she couldn’t help but say. The words were out before she could stop them. Never mind. He doesn’t care anyway. She huffed and turned toward the side gate leading to the stables.

“Anyway…If someone set it down away from the main building, it might be there. Guests kept coming and going, and you saw how Moore’s little nephews were running wild the whole time.”

To her mild surprise, Rhett followed without protest. Inside was pretty quiet, except for the occasional snort of a horse and the soft creak of wood shifting with the breeze. Abby peered behind a stack of saddle blankets and glanced at a dusty workbench. Where is it?

“Maybe someone thought it was tack or a supplies box,” she offered.

“It was wrapped in silk ribbon,” Rhett said flatly. “No one would mistake that for horse gear.”

Abby turned to face him. “Again, I’m just trying to help,” she muttered, putting her hands on her hips. “Unlike you.”

“What did I do?” he asked. She couldn’t help noticing he didn’t seem any less indifferent.

“Nothing, that’s the point. This whole time, you’ve been talking like you’re gritting your teeth through every word. As if it’s my fault we’re stuck in this together.”

“You’re right.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a short breath through his nose. “I don’t much care for small talk.”

“Clearly,” she snapped.

For a moment, they stood staring at one another. Rhett was easily a head taller than she. His shoulders were broad beneath the crisp lines of his shirt, while his sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. His dark brown hair was kept short and neat, and his jaw was shaved, but with just enough stubble to look like he hadn’t bothered that morning.

His eyes, deep brown and untamed, gave nothing away. They were quiet, like a shadow that never moved. And then there was his nose. Like the rest of him, it wasn’t polished or pretty.

And Abby hated how she noticed it all within that one glance.

“I didn’t ask to be paired with you, either,” he muttered.

“Oh, the feeling is mutual,” Abby shot back, throwing up her hands. “I’ve met mules with better manners.”

That made him flinch a bit, enough for her to flinch, too. Finally, he looked away, stepping toward the far end of the stable without another word. What a stubborn man. If only he hadn’t been good-looking, too. That only made it worse.

However, Abby wasn’t about to let him slink off so easily. “I’m sorry,” she called after him, “was that the end of the discussion?”

Rhett stopped. His back stiffened, and his shoulders rose. Slowly, he turned back to face her.

“You said your piece,” he said evenly. “Didn’t see the point in dragging it out.” He then turned around, as if her words—as if she herself—weren’t even worth the effort.

“That’s the problem with you, Rhett Hollis,” she replied. “You don’t see the point in anything you didn’t already decide for yourself.”

Why did I say that? I don’t even know him.

He turned back and looked at her for a long second, then stepped a little closer.

“You want to know what I decided?” he asked in a low voice. “That this was a waste of time from the start. I’m telling you. It ain’t here.”

“Oh, really? Well, thank goodness you said that. What a relief for the rest of us simple folk.”

They stood toe to toe now, eyes locked. Abby could feel her pulse drumming in her throat, fast and hot. For a second, she wondered if he was going to say something cruel, or yell at her, or…

Then, something caught her eye near the stable door.

“What’s that?” She stepped away from him.

What she saw was a plain wooden crate, half-tucked beneath a saddle rack. And a bit of white silk ribbon poking out between the slats, snagged in a splinter. She rushed over and dropped to her knees. The box slid free without much resistance, revealing the delicate wrapping beneath a layer of dust.

“Is that it?” Rhett asked from behind her.

Abby didn’t answer right away. She lifted the box into the light, brushing the dust from the top to reveal the glint of silver buttons tied into the bow. Exactly how Maisie had described it.

“Well,” she said, letting out a triumphant little breath. “It looks like this ‘waste of time’ just saved your brother from dealing with a very disappointed aunt.”

Rhett didn’t reply, but she could feel him watching her as she stood up, brushing hay from her skirt and holding the gift close to her chest.

“Guess I was wrong,” he admitted.

Abby turned away before he saw the blush creeping up her neck. “You should thank me.”

“For what?”

“For not throwing this at your head.” She straightened and headed toward the door.

“What a strange woman you are,” he said.

Was that a chuckle? It was a low, brief sound, and Abby couldn’t really define what it was, but it rattled her more than all the arguing had. Just…don’t answer. Let’s return this to Maisie, and may we never speak again, Rhett Hollis.

***

The train let out a long, low hiss as it idled at the station. Steam curled into the morning air like breath from some great metal beast. Abby adjusted her traveling coat, tugging the buttons snug at her waist while her carpetbag rested at her feet.

Maisie stood beside her on the platform. Her cheeks were rosy from the morning cold and the joy of newlywed bliss. “I wish you could stay a little longer,” she said softly, looping her arm through Abby’s. “Just a few more days.”

Abby smiled, though it was more of a tug at the corner of her mouth than a true grin. “I’d like that,” she replied. “But I’ve got three dresses to finish by Friday. And besides, you know I can’t leave Mother to run the house all by herself.”

“Right,” Maisie laughed. “We all remember what happened the last time she tried to hem a curtain.”

“I swear that poor thing was shorter on one side than a church pew cushion,” Abby muttered.

They shared a small laugh, one that settled into a quiet moment that lasted long enough to say what words didn’t. Because they both knew the truth beneath the joke. Keeping the house together while tending what little remained of the ranch had worn them thin. There were fences that hadn’t been mended in years, debts that never stopped growing, and chores that now, with just Abby and Mother left, were too much for two women to handle. It was only a matter of time before all of it fell apart, for good.

Maisie leaned in and nudged her gently. “I saw you and Rhett by the stable.”

Abby rolled her eyes with a groan. “Don’t start,” she sighed. “That man has the charm of a rusty horseshoe.”

Maisie stifled a laugh behind her glove. “He’s not that bad, Abby. He just…doesn’t take to strangers right off. He rather keeps to himself. Always has, as far as I can tell.”

“Well, if he’s trying to push people away, he’s doing a fine job of it,” Abby replied. “He barely spoke a word, and when he did, it was like dragging teeth from a mule.”

Maisie tilted her head. “You sure you weren’t just trying to provoke him?” she asked. “I know how difficult you can be sometimes, Abby.”

Abby felt like a child caught grabbing a cookie from a jar in the middle of the night. “I said… a few things.”

“I knew it,” Maisie said, grinning victoriously. “Still…I think if you had given him a fair chance—”

“Oh, come on, Maisie,” Abby protested. “There’s not a soul in this town I’ll miss less.”

Maisie stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her twin. Abby held her just as close and just as tight, breathing in the familiar scent of lilac soap and cinnamon tea.

“Write when you can, all right?” Maisie whispered.

“As soon as I get home,” Abby promised. “And you’ll write me back, once you’re done fawning over your husband.”

Maisie pulled back just enough to smirk. “He’s my husband, all right. I’m allowed.”

Abby smiled. “Well, don’t let him spoil you too much.”

“Oh, and speaking of men…” Maisie’s voice dropped playfully as she glanced toward the train. “How’s Marshal Cain? Is he still calling at the shop?”

Abby felt her cheeks warm. “Now and again,” she replied.

“You think he’ll propose soon?”

“Maybe.”

Truth was, she hoped he would. Marshal was well-regarded in town. Moreover, he was polite, and he always took his hat off when he came through the door. Most importantly, he had never once left her guessing what he meant. That kind of man was rare. And a welcome contrast to a certain scowling cowboy she was very glad to be leaving behind.

Yet still, I’m not sure where the two of us are headed…

Suddenly, the hiss of steam filled the space between them, before Maisie could answer.

“All aboard for St. Paul, Chicago, and Kansas City! Last call!” the conductor announced.

Abby gave her sister one final squeeze, climbed aboard, and waved goodbye.

As the train pulled from the station, she leaned back in her seat and exhaled, watching Miles City fade into the distance, along with Maisie, the wedding, the stables…and Rhett Hollis.

Chapter One

Kansas City, Missouri

Ten months later

The lace slipped like sand between her fingers as Abby stitched it into place. Light from the late morning sun filtered through the parlor window, warming the small sewing table and catching the shimmer of the ivory thread. Bending closer, she held her breath as the needle pierced the delicate fabric. Every stitch was careful, neat, almost perfect, just like the life toward which she was stitching.

She paused, letting the lace fall soft over her lap. Can you believe it? This is my wedding dress. She’d dreamed of this moment since she was a girl—of soft veils and slow music, of church candles and a man looking at her like she was the only thing he could see. And now…it’s real. My future husband, Marshal Cain, is real. Her heart fluttered at the mere thought of his name.

It hadn’t been a grand proposal, but it had been honest, intent, and full of promise. Three days ago, he’d taken her hands in his and declared, You’re the only woman I want beside me, Abby. He told her he’d build her a house with her own sewing room and let her fill it with bolts of fabric and more dreams. That he’d give her a life worth something. And she, of course, said yes to all the amazing moments that were coming her way.

She touched the lace again, trailing her fingers along the scalloped edge. It was so soft and sleek, made in France, and something she never thought she’d use for herself. Her heart danced and swung in the rhythm of its own beats. She leaned over the table one more time, as the needle flashed in the sunlight. There’s still so much to do.

There was more hemming, and finishing the sleeves, and deciding whether she wanted tiny covered buttons down the back, or just the row of pearls she’d tucked away months ago. But the important thing was, it all felt like stepping into something new, something beautiful. It was almost like an overture for all the upcoming days of laughter and joy..

Abby could still hear Marshal’s voice in her head. They were drinking his homemade wine beneath the stars, and they were lying on the early summer grass beneath the woolen blanket she had made herself. I’ve built a life, Abby. I just need someone to share it with. Someone like you.

Marshal was everything she had wanted in a man. He was handsome and hard-working. He was generous with his words and more than kind when he walked her home every time they happened to spend the whole day together. He listened when she spoke. He asked about her mother. He made her feel seen. He told her she was gifted, calling her sewing art. No man in Kansas City can afford the work you do, my love.

She slowly strengthened the lace on the bodice. This is the happiest time of my life. And this dress…It’s the beginning of my new life. A life with Marshal Cain.

It was going to be perfect.

***

Abby tied off the last thread with a satisfied sigh, approving how the final stitch lay neat and even against the lace. The bodice twinkled in the light like a kept mystery. She sat back, brushing a wisp of her brown hair from her cheek.

“Would you look at that,” she said to herself. “I didn’t expect to finish so soon.”

She smiled. Marshal will want to see it. There’s no doubt about that.

She folded the bodice carefully into soft muslin and set it in her satchel. With quick fingers, she pinned her hair back, shrugged on her shawl, and stepped out into the late afternoon sun.

The city bustled around her. Horse carts rattled along the cobblestones, shopkeepers called out their wares, and a distant train whistled, splitting the air. But Abby barely heard any of it. Her thoughts were full of lace and satin, of how Marshal would grin when she showed him what she’d made. She thought about how his eyes would look into hers, how he might pull her close and whisper something soft and sweet, just for her to hear.

The walk to his office wasn’t long. Marshal worked out of a tidy brick building on the edge of the warehouse district, where the streets smelled faintly of sawdust and river wind. He kept an office above his warehouses, which was a room full of ledgers and polished desks and the kind of ambition Abby admired. Especially because Marshal came from one of the old families: moneyed, established, and well-connected. His wealth wasn’t new; it had been passed down for generations, and his name opened doors before he ever had to knock.

Abby climbed the narrow staircase with a little flutter of nerves. She didn’t usually come by unannounced. But this was different. This was special.

When she reached the door, she raised a hand to knock…but then stopped at the sound of voices. They were low, muffled, and at first, she couldn’t quite grasp what they were talking about. She leaned in slightly to the door that was already left ajar, just enough to let the sound spill into the stairwell.

“…not here,” Marshal said. His voice was tense, deeper than usual. “Someone might see us.”

“I thought you were much more of a man, Mr. Cain,” a seductive, unfamiliar female voice replied, followed by soft, intimate laughter.

Abby’s heart slowed. Through the narrow sliver of the doorway, she caught a glimpse of Marshal. His profile was turned toward a young woman standing far too close. Who is she? Then, before Abby could come up with a plausible answer, Marshal kissed the woman. And it was obviously not by mistake. His hand rested at the woman’s waist, her arms were wrapped around his neck, and their mouths moved like they’d done it before.

Abby’s satchel slipped from her shoulder and softly thudded against the wall, but no one inside noticed. She turned and fled down the stairs, then out into the street, past the carriages and the curious glances of strangers. But she couldn’t force herself to care. The city blurred around her. All she could see was the hands of her man on another woman. All of a sudden, the dress in her satchel had become too heavy, still warm with dreams and, clearly, too high expectations.

***

By the time Abby reached the front yard, her legs were trembling beneath her. She pushed open the creaky garden gate and nearly stumbled on the first porch step. Her father had built this house with his own two hands, back when they could afford to repaint it every spring. The little house, once white and standing proud, now looked gray and worn in the sun. The wood trim was peeling off, and the shutters were sagging on rusted hinges.

Abby opened the front door and stepped inside, the smell of lavender and chamomile greeting her. Mother’s sewing lay neatly folded on the parlor table, as the last scraps of daylight filtered through lace curtains Abby had hemmed herself.

“Abby?” Mother called gently from the back room.

But Abby couldn’t answer.

Mother came around the corner, wiping her pale, veiny hands on her apron. She froze when she saw Abby’s face. “Abby? What is it?”

That simple question was all it took.

Abby collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been cut, and Mother caught her just as her sobs broke loose. The grief, the shame, the helplessness, it all poured out of her in ragged gasps. Mother held her tightly, as if she were a child waking from a nightmare.

“There, there…” she murmured, caressing her daughter’s long brown curls.

“He…he put his hands on her,” Abby choked.

“Who put his hands, dear?”

“Marshal.” Abby sobbed. “This afternoon, I saw it myself. He put his hand on her waist and…and…and he kissed her, Mother!”

Mother didn’t say a word, merely gave a deep sigh and pulled her closer. But Abby pulled back, enough to see her mother’s face, thin from all the missed meals she never admitted to….

”I have to leave, Mother!” she whispered. “I can’t stay here any longer.”

“Abby…” Her mother sighed. “I don’t like what I hear, either. But you know that we can’t run this ranch by ourselves anymore. Marshal’s a good man. He’s not a drunk, he’s not cruel—”

“He is cruel,” Abby snapped, pulling even further away from her mother. “I saw his real face today, Mother. He is a liar, and a cheater, and nothing but a romancer. A storyteller, Mother. That’s what he is!”

“But face reality, Abby.” Mother rubbed her eyes. “I spoke with the banker this morning. They’re patient, but patience doesn’t pay the mortgage, my love. Your sewing brings in what it can, it does. But it isn’t enough. We haven’t been paying our debts since Father passed away. That’s a lot of time, and unless we do something, someone will knock on our door and take everything we have.”

“I…I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t want you to carry it all, my dear,” Mother replied. “But you know how much your father wanted for us to keep this land. He worked himself into the ground for it. I’ve sold every dish we didn’t use, every chair we didn’t need, and still, it’s not—”

“But I’m trying,” Abby cut in. “I work until my fingers bleed. I often don’t sleep at night. I don’t eat. I don’t have the time to. I’m doing everything I can, Mother.”

“I know you are,” Mother said, putting her weak hand on Abby’s shoulder. “And I know it’s not fair. But you’re twenty-four already, my dear. You need a man by your side. Because…even though you’re beautiful and strong and clever, that doesn’t buy you groceries. But Marshal Cain…he has a stable business. A good name.”

Abby flinched. “A good name doesn’t make a good man.”

Mother sighed.

“Sometimes, my dear, the only thing you can do is close your eyes and choose the least-bad future. That’s what I did…and that’s what women before me did, too.”

“No,” Abby protested. “That’s not the woman I’ll be. That’s not who I want to be!”