Prologue

Green River, Wyoming — 1872

It was the fiercest winter Evelyn Rhodes had seen in a long time. The “blizzard of the century” was what some folks around town were calling it, and Evelyn could certainly believe that. The snow was so heavy it battered the windows harshly as hail.

Inside the small sitting room above her tailor shop, pressing a cool washcloth to her cousin Arabella’s forehead, Evelyn felt her hands tremble as she tried to bring down the fever that had been climbing steadily for the past three hours. The young woman’s face was flushed red, and damp with sweat and water, her breathing shallow—but so rapid as her chest rose up high and fell low, quicker than if she’d just run miles.

A tear fell down Evelyn’s cheek. Arabelle was so sick…

And was only getting sicker.

Next to the two women was a cradle, where one-month-old Mason cried with desperation that tore at Evelyn. It was as if he was pleading with her to help his mama. Help that Evelyn wasn’t so sure she could provide.

She’d been trying to break this fever for a long time.

“Hush, sweet boy,” Evelyn cooed as she reached over to rock the cradle with one hand while still keeping the cloth pressed to his mother’s burning skin. “Just a little longer. Your mama needs to rest.”

But the boy wasn’t having it.

His cries only got louder, demanding attention no one had been giving him. Attention Evelyn could not fully give while tending to Arabella. And attention, Arabella was too sick to give him.

Truthfully, Evelyn felt pulled in two different directions, taking care of both mother and son. She was overwhelmed.

“Ev?”

“I’m here,” she said sweetly, leaning in close to her cousin. “But I really need for you to save your strength.”

But her cousin’s eyes had opened, and she started to stir, despite the heat radiating from her body. Despite her disorientation, she turned her head slowly, weakly, to the sound of the baby crying. And she smiled.

Through the pain, the fever, the weakness—she was smiling.

“Bring him to me,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Arabella, you need to rest—”

“Please.” She partially sat up, her voice stern.

Evelyn hesitated, wanting to argue, but knew that if Arabella sat up at a time like this and demanded it, there had to be a reason. Carefully, she lifted Mason from his cradle. The baby’s cries intensified briefly as she moved him, but the moment she laid him beside Arabella on the bed, something changed. His mother’s arm came up to shakily curve around her son.

“There’s my boy,” Arabella whispered softly, soothingly. “There’s my beautiful boy.”

Mason’s cries softened to whimpers, then to small hiccupping sounds. His unfocused eyes seemed to find his mother’s face anyway, and he made a soft cooing noise that sounded pleased with himself. A sort of happiness brought tears to Evelyn’s eyes. Because even though he was looking at his mother’s beautiful face, she was far too sick to be happy. But he didn’t know that. He just saw his mama.

Arabella laughed weakly. “You see? He knows his mama. He knows—” She coughed. A harsh rattling sound came from her chest, and then her entire body convulsed with it.

Evelyn quickly grabbed for Mason to set him back down in his cradle and helped her cousin sit up to support her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Evelyn cooed, swiping at the girl’s hair. “It’s okay…shh…”

When the spell finally subsided, Arabella slumped back against the pillows, clearly exhausted. And yet, her eyes remained open, fixed on Evelyn. The intensity behind that gaze made Evelyn’s stomach clench and churn. She was dreading what she knew was on her cousin’s mind.

“Evelyn,” Arabella said, clearing her throat. “I need you to listen to me now and promise me something, when this takes me home, I need for you to take care of Mas—”

“Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine. The fever will break.”

“No,” she repeated. “No, it won’t. I can feel it. The Father is calling me home.”

“Stop it.” Evelyn choked on a sob. “Stop talking like that. You can’t leave him. You can’t leave me. I need you, and Mason needs you.”

“That’s why I need you to promise me you’ll take care of him. That you’ll protect him. That you’ll love him like he was your own.”

“Of course I will, but you’re going to be here to—”

“Promise me!” she cried desperately, her grip pinching Evelyn’s skin. “I can’t find peace unless I know he’ll be safe. Unless I know you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe. Promise me, Ev. Please. Take him in like you took me in.”

Evelyn had loved having them there, truth be told. When she was just nineteen, her parents had died in a robbery gone wrong, at the hands of a bunch of good-for-nothing scoundrels with nothing better to do than to hurt people. She’d inherited the tailor shop when they passed, and it had been all she’d had to help her through her grief.

She’d worked hard to keep the business running, but hadn’t had a life. No one to talk with, to share good times with, to laugh with. But with Arabella’s presence, she felt taken in. She felt friendship. They had needed each other. For different reasons.

Arabella had been hurting the night Evelyn found her sobbing outside her door, too scared to knock, after her father had kicked her out of the house. It had been months ago, and Evelyn could still remember it like yesterday. There weren’t any exterior wounds, but there were plenty in her soul. She’d been crying so hard she could barely breathe. All because she was pregnant out of wedlock.

Tears streamed down Evelyn’s face. She wanted to refuse, wanted to insist the promise Arabella wanted was unnecessary because she would get better. She would live to raise her son herself. She wouldn’t need Evelyn at all. Or anyone, for that matter. But looking into her cousin’s fever-bright, tear-filled eyes, seeing the despondency all over her face, she knew she had to give in.

Even if Evelyn didn’t want to voice it aloud because that meant giving up. And she wasn’t willing to do that. Not now, not ever. She wouldn’t give up on her cousin. She wouldn’t give up trying to help rid her of this fever.

“I promise,” she said. “I promise I will protect him. I will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.”

Arabella’s hands loosened, and her eyes closed as a smile pulled at her lips. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you, Evie. You’ve always been more sister than cousin to me. More family than my own family ever was.”

“You are my family,” Evelyn responded through a choking sob.

“I love you,” Arabella said weakly. “Tell Mason… tell him his mama loved him. Tell him I fought to bring him into this world. Tell him…” Her breathing changed. Became shallower. More labored.

“Arabella?” Evelyn leaned closer, panic rising in her chest as Arabella’s grip loosened entirely. Then, a soft sigh left her…And then no other breaths came.

“No!” Evelyn cried, launching herself on her cousin’s chest. “No, no, no. Please. Please don’t leave me.”

But she had. She’d left. Arabella was gone.

Mason began to cry again, as if he could somehow sense his mother’s absence. The sound pulled Evelyn from her grief just enough to somewhat function. She gently kissed Arabella’s forehead, closing her eyes with trembling fingers before turning toward Mason.

She lifted him from his cradle.

“I’m here,” she whispered to the baby, holding him close as she rocked him. “I’m here, sweet boy. I won’t leave you. I promised your mama, and I don’t take too kindly to broken promises.”

She walked to the window, moving Mason gently from side to side, and looked out at the raging storm. Somewhere out in that cold, white fury was her uncle, Arabella’s father, the man who had disowned his own daughter when she needed him most. The man who had refused to help refused to even acknowledge Arabella’s existence after learning of her pregnancy.

And suddenly, anger filled every crevice within her. She never planned on seeing him again, but now she would have to. She would have to tell him that his daughter was dead.

The thought of it made her stomach turn. But she had no choice. There would need to be a funeral, a burial. Arabella deserved that much, at least. Deserved to rest in the family plot beside her mother, no matter what her lousy, fool of a father thought.

Mason cooed in her ear.

Whatever it takes.

That promise started to lie heavy on her shoulders. How was she supposed to take care of a baby?

She had no money. No family besides her uncle, who would most definitely turn her away. He had turned his own daughter away, after all.

She had nothing. And no prospects other than the very tailor shop downstairs. It had been her father’s. The only thing left to her, and now it was her only means for survival. But it had been a bit of a stretch taking care of Arabella and a baby, too. Since Arabella had gotten ill, Evelyn had to slow down her work, and money had been tight for weeks.

The baby couldn’t help out with dresses or suits, like Arabella could help earn a little extra money. But it didn’t matter. She had made a promise to a dying woman. A woman she loved more than anyone. And Evelyn Rhodes did not break her promises.

Whatever it takes.

***

She heard the harsh rap on the door first, then, “Evelyn!”

She’d sent word through a neighbor boy. Just a simple word: Come quick. It’s Arabella. She had hoped that the urgency might scare him into coming. That he might be afraid to lose his daughter and come quickly. But he hadn’t come quickly at all. It had been several hours since she’d sent word, despite him only living on the other side of town.

“Where is she?” he demanded as soon as she opened the door. “Where’s my daughter?”

She looked to the floor.

“Out with it, girl!” he barked, his spit flinging.

She looked up through heavy lids, her eyes raw from crying. “She’s back there,” she said, gesturing to the little room.

He pushed past her without waiting, his boots heavy on the stairs. Evelyn’s eyes closed, and she said a silent prayer that Mason wouldn’t awaken, then followed him.

When she found him, he was beside the bed, staring down at his daughter. She could have sworn she heard a strangled cry come from his throat, but he quickly cleared it, and when he turned around to face her, there was only anger in his eyes.

“When?” Just one word fell from his lips.

“A few hours ago. The fever wouldn’t break.”

“This is what comes of sin.” His voice was flat, emotionless. “This is God’s judgment on a woman who brought shame upon her family.”

Evelyn winced, then glared at him, anger momentarily drowning out the grief. “How can you say that? She was your daughter. She made a mistake, yes, but she repented. She was a good Christian woman who—”

“A good Christian woman does not bear a bastard child!” He spat the words like poison, and Evelyn felt the burn off every one of them. “She made her choice. Now she can face the consequences in whatever afterlife she has coming to her!”

“I need to arrange a funeral. A proper burial in the family plot beside Aunt Mary. Arabella deserves to be—”

“She deserves nothing!” He turned away from me. “I will not pay for a funeral for a daughter who brought nothing but disgrace to my name, and definitely not next to my wife! Let the church bury her in a pauper’s grave, if they will even accept her. That is more than she deserves.”

“You can’t mean that!” Evelyn cried, her voice shaking. “She was your child. Your only child. You can’t do that!”

“I can and I will.” His eyes were hard, cold. “I disowned her when she refused to give up that baby to another family, and I refuse to claim her in death.”

Evelyn looked down at her younger cousin’s peaceful face and thought how blessed she’d been to have her, and how devastating it was now that she was gone. This was the woman who had been there for her through everything. A true sister. She had laughed with her, cried with her, stood beside her through her parents’ deaths.

She had never hated anyone, but in that moment, she thought of what a wicked man her uncle must be. To refuse to bury his only daughter? To give her the dignity of the burial she wanted—and not only her, but the burial her mother, his wife, would have wanted her to have?

It seemed evil.

She almost spat at him, but she didn’t. God would not have wanted it for her. The Lord would have wanted her to forgive him, and although she wasn’t sure she would be able to in that moment, she did choose to do one thing: bite her tongue.

She chose to not tell him what she thought of him. What kind of man she thought he was. Instead, the promise she’d just made was at the forefront of her mind. Whatever it takes.

“I will pay for it, then,” she heard herself say. “I’ll give her a proper burial. A decent grave with a headstone.”

Her uncle’s expression shifted, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lip. “Will you now? And how exactly do you propose to do that? Last I checked, that tailor shop of yours barely turns enough profit to keep you fed.”

“I’ll find a way!”

“I have a better idea.” He moved closer, and Evelyn instinctively stepped back. “I’ve had my eye on that shop of yours for some time now. I think it would make a fine addition to my holdings.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. The notion was horrifying. That was the only thing she had to her name.

“Yes.” He smiled, evilly. “Sign over the shop to me, and I’ll see to it that Arabella gets her proper burial. Family plot, headstone, the works. I’ll even pay for the service in exchange for the shop.”

“This shop is all that I have! It’s my home and my work!”

“And your cousin’s funeral is hanging in the balance,” he returned, in a voice so pious and detached it nearly made a cold chill run through her. “Surely you wouldn’t deny her a Christian burial out of selfishness? What would she think of you, putting your own comfort above her final rest?”

The manipulation was blatant. It was so obvious she wanted to smack him across the face and turn the tables on him by asking the exact same questions. But she didn’t bother. It wouldn’t matter. This man’s cruelty and his coldness was too far gone.

Evelyn’s eyes fell past him, on Arabella. She had no choice.

She had to be buried, and they didn’t have long to make the plans.

Whatever it takes.

“When?” she asked quietly.

“When what?”

“When would you arrange the funeral?”

His eyes widened in shock and surprise, and he looked almost… happy. That thought disgusted her.

“Three days.” He laughed. “That will give time to contact the minister, prepare the grave. You’ll sign the shop over to me before the service, of course. I’ll need assurance you won’t back out.”

Of course, he would. Evelyn swallowed hard, fighting back tears. The shop had been her father’s dream, his everything. It was her family’s legacy and her only inheritance. It had been the only thing to keep a roof over her head, and Arabella’s. And now it was going to be the only thing that got Arabella buried.

She had promised to protect Mason. That included honoring his mother with a proper burial, even if it cost her everything she had. He deserved a spot to visit her when he was old enough. And she deserved the dignity of being buried next to her beloved mother.

“All right,” she whispered. “I’ll sign over the shop. But I want your word—your solemn word before God—that you’ll give Arabella a proper burial. Family plot, headstone with her full name, and a Christian service.”

“You have my word.” He extended his hand. “We have a deal.”

Deal.

The word shook Evelyn to the core. Her uncle’s plan wasn’t much of a deal at all…but the word had prompted Evelyn to remember something she’d nearly forgotten. A deal of a different sort…and a possibility.

Arabella had made an arrangement before she passed away. She had been corresponding with someone about becoming a mail-order bride, planning a new life out west where she and Mason could start fresh, away from the judgment and shame of being an unwed mother.

Now, for Evelyn, that deal took on a whole different meaning.

Once her shop was gone, there would be nothing left for her here. Perhaps she could take her cousin’s place, honor the agreement Arabella had made with the man expecting a wife.

It was a desperate plan. A silly one, in truth. But it was the only one she had, the only way she might have to keep her promise.

Whatever it takes.

Chapter One

Evanston, Wyoming — 1872

The ear-piercing sound of the train’s whistle cut through the night, even over the howling wind, as Evelyn Rhodes clutched her three-month-old cousin, Mason, tightly against her chest.

She sighed as he nuzzled into her arms, and the locomotive finally shuddered to a halt. Through the frost-glazed window, she could barely make out the weathered sign that read Evanston Station. The letters had become obscured in the snow.

Evelyn wasn’t so sure that the sky itself wasn’t falling.

“End of the line, ma’am,” the conductor called. His voice sounded sympathetic, although it didn’t make her feel any better. She nodded quietly and stood as the slender man made his way through the empty car. “Best get yourself somewhere inside quick. This storm’s only getting worse.”

Maybe she wasn’t the only one thinking the sky was about to fall.

She nodded again, although her limbs felt frozen in place. Stiff. Cold. And completely unsure of what to do from here. Was she crazy? Coming out to do this? Meeting a man, agreeing to be his wife, without even knowing him?

Three days she had traveled. Three long, exhausting days. Three days full of delays and bitter, blustery cold that had done nothing but chap her and Mason’s cheeks. Which had also done nothing for his incessant crying. Crying that had drawn disapproving glares from every person within earshot.

People said it was colic.

But she knew it was something else. Hunger. Nothing but pure hunger. The milk she had brought was running thin, so she was rationing. As much as she wanted to fill up his belly, she knew that if she didn’t ration it, and she couldn’t get more in time, his cries would be even worse. And she wasn’t sure if her heart could have taken hearing it raw and anguished in desperation and starvation. She wouldn’t have been able to bear it. Still, he’d cried enough already that he’d exhausted himself, which was the only reason he was in slumber now.

“Ma’am,” the conductor said again, a heavy sigh at the tail end of his words.

She nodded again, gathering up her worn carpet bag with her free hand before wobbling out into the aisleway on unsteady legs. She was hungry herself, exhausted, cold. She felt like the entire world was tilting. Dizziness consumed her. She wasn’t sure if it was from the lack of food, or fear.

Whatever it was, she knew that she couldn’t keep going like this.

Three weeks ago, she had owned a thriving tailor shop. She had a home, friends, and a livelihood. A future. One that she could almost predict. Now, everything had changed.

Now she owned nothing but the clothes on her back, a few spare garments in her bag, and … Mason.

She wasn’t ready for a child, no, but she would have never told Arabella no. Not to something like that. And the truth was that Mason was already Evelyn’s greatest love. He was half Arabella. He was blood.

Family.

The wind hit her like a whip across the face as soon as she stepped down from the train steps onto the snow-covered platform.

Her cloak and bonnet pulled away from her body, and Mason stirred, clearly just as bothered by the cold as she was. He whimpered. So did she. But she bounced him gently, shushing softly, hoping to lull him back to sleep. At least until she could get settled.

Where was he? The man who was supposed to become Arabella’s husband?