Chapter One

Virginia City, Nevada

1870

It was supposed to be a good day.

It was one of those mornings that made a man glad to be alive. The sun had fairly exploded over the horizon, lighting the hills that jutted out of the near-desert first in pink and then in gold. The sky was so blue it almost hurt to look at.

Aidan Rawlins took a deep breath and savored it. He pulled his hat off, ran his fingers through his nearly-black hair, and regretted it at once; he’d oiled it that morning in an effort to look like a civilized gentleman of means. He glanced around and swiped his fingers on his leather chaps.

A small gig was turning up the drive to the Two Dog Ranch, kicking up a cloud of dust that hung in the gathering heat all the way back to the edge of town. The ranch sat below the foothills of Virginia City, on the opposite side from the mines, its pastures and buildings in the shadow of the hills. That shade was the only relief anywhere from the hard Nevada sun.

Aidan put his hat back on and arranged his face into what he hoped was a personable expression as the driver pulled up beside the trough outside the house. He crossed to him in ground-eating strides, too fast, and knew it.

“Mr. Cole, I presume?” Aidan said as the driver struggled to get down from the gig.

He hovered, unsure whether he ought to help; it wasn’t as though the man were a lady he could offer a hand to, and Aidan very much didn’t want to give this fellow any grievance.

The man didn’t answer, his feet tapping for solid ground. He gave up the fight, dropped the last several inches, grunted, and turned to regard Aidan.

“You presume correctly,” Mr. Cole sniffed, pushing a set of small round spectacles up his nose. His dark suit was already dusted with road grime, and he clutched a leather valise.

“Aidan Rawlins,” Aidan said, reaching forward to grasp the man by the hand. “Welcome to the Two Dog!” He shook it vigorously, all warmth and congeniality.

Aidan was thirty-three, taller than most men in town by a head, and his dark hair and eyes were viewed with suspicion. His brother, Brendan, had said more than once that if ranching didn’t work out, there was a career waiting for him on the stage, playing villains.

Mr. Cole was unmoved. The handshake only knocked his glasses down his nose again, and he replaced them with a purse-lipped huff. Aidan let go.

“Yes, well,” Mr. Cole said, brushing futilely at the dust on his sleeves, “shall we get on with it?”

“As you like,” Aidan said, gesturing Mr. Cole after him and taking smaller steps so as not to outpace him. “The Two Dog was established in 1859, when my brother and I bought the ground off a man who’d rather chase silver than raise horses—”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Cole interrupted. “I know all of that already. We on the town council take great care in knowing our town’s history. What I’m more concerned about is the future.”

“Oh, me as well,” Aidan said. Mr. Cole frowned. “That is, I as well… No,” Aidan said, pausing to rub at the back of his neck self-consciously. “What I mean to say is, I do as well,” he pronounced confidently. He glanced at Mr. Cole for approval, who merely sighed.

This is going well, Aidan groused to himself. Why don’t you save some time and just push the little man down in the dirt?

“Right, the future,” Aidan said, turning to gesture at the ranch with a sweeping arm. “As I’m sure you and your esteemed colleagues are aware, the Two Dog has been supplying the area with horses for over a decade now.” He walked on toward the red stable. “Everything from fresh-broke mustangs for the cattle ranches to pit ponies for the mines, and draft horses for the farms and the railroad.”

Mr. Cole looked out over the ranch, nonplussed. “Yes, it certainly is an… equine enterprise you have out here,” he allowed. “It’s served its purpose well enough, but it’s not a patch on the great stables of the east.”

Aidan sidled around to stand in front of Mr. Cole, holding his hands up. “That’s exactly the thing,” he said. “I want to do more than provide cattle ponies; I want to provide elegant, well-bred horses to the genteel folk in town.”

Mr. Cole regarded Aidan dubiously. “You want to expand your operation for that? Surely you have the space here already—”

Aidan interrupted him with a shake of his head. “Not for both,” Aidan said. “We’ll have to keep providing the ranches with working horses, but we also want to bring in something for the more… tony residents.”

Mr. Cole considered this, turning a critical gaze out onto the ranch. “And you think you can do this?”

“I know I can,” Aidan said. “I spent last winter back east, studying how it’s done. As you say, the animals they breed there are…”

“Civilized?” Mr. Cole supplied.

“Just so,” Aidan agreed.

“What are you asking the town council for?” Mr. Cole said.

“I’ll need a few more acres of land and the permits to build more stables. I want a proper brick barn for the studs,” Aidan said. He gestured across the ranch. “I want to build it just there, next to that hay rick.”

Mr. Cole considered for a moment. “Well, I commend your enterprising spirit, Mr. Rawlins, but you should know that the town council has more pressing matters at hand. We have the new school to consider, what with the overcrowding, and there’s the proposed opera house—”

“That’s just it,” Aidan interrupted. “Just picture it: You’re having an evening out, a real special night of it, an elegant lady on your arm—I imagine Mrs. Cole is a picture of respectability—and you step out of a carriage at the opera. You’re both the picture of grace and manners… and your carriage is pulled by a cowpony.”

“A cowpony?” Mr. Cole repeated.

“A spotted one,” Aidan answered gravely, his voice low as if he were afraid someone might overhear them.

Just as Aidan had hoped, Mr. Cole’s lip curled. “Oh. Oh, I see,” he said. He glanced around the ranch again. “A brick barn, you say?”

Aidan nodded.

Mr. Cole pushed his glasses up on his nose again. “Fine carriage horses?”

“The finest,” Aidan said.

“Riding horses, too?”

“Real elegant steppers,” Aidan assured him. “Something that a gentleman could be proud of.”

Mr. Cole considered. There was surely a smaller Mr. Cole somewhere inside him, sliding beads around on an abacus and muttering numbers. Aidan bit his lip.

“Well, I’m not wholly opposed to the idea, Mr. Rawlins,” Mr. Cole said at last. “I must tell you, though, that those of us on the council are very concerned about the future of our fair city. We’re not some flash-in-the-pan mining town; we want good men who are serious about staying, who want to put down lasting roots.” He paused and pulled out a handkerchief to dab delicately at the back of his neck. “Are you married?”

“Ah, not just yet,” Aidan said with a slight wince. “I’m hoping to rectify that shortly. I’ve already taken steps.”

“Mm,” Mr. Cole said, regarding Aidan again over the top of his glasses. “See that you do. Marriage is the civilizing of a man,” he intoned with the air of a preacher giving a sermon.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Aidan said, hoping that Mr. Cole didn’t catch his dry tone. Mr. Cole shot him a questioning look, and Aidan hurriedly pointed to a second house farther back on the property. “My brother can attest to that.”

“Your brother is a widower,” Mr. Cole deadpanned.

“Well, yes, but he’s experienced the benefits of marriage,” Aidan said.

“Well, then,” Mr. Cole said. Without putting his valise down, he delicately folded his handkerchief and replaced it in his pocket. “Seeing as I know the elder Mr. Rawlins to be a steady sort of man, I’m inclined to approve your request. He has children to provide for, after all, and I don’t think he’d do anything foolish enough to jeopardize their future.”

“Probably not,” Aidan agreed. Mr. Cole’s words sank in. “Wait—does this mean that you’ll approve my purchasing more acres?”

“I have to put it to the rest of the council,” Mr. Cole said. “But I think they’ll look on it favorably.”

“Oh, that’s—why, that’s splendid news, Mr. Cole,” Aidan said, unable to stop himself from grasping Mr. Cole’s hand and shaking it again.

Mr. Cole reached up with his free hand to keep his well-brushed bowler on his head. “Yes, well, stop by the land office in town,” he said. “We can go over the particulars in a more professional environment.”

“As you say, Mr. Cole,” Aidan said, only half-hearing him. No doubt the man was eager to get back behind a desk somewhere, safe from the sun and the dust.

Mr. Cole turned to retreat back to his gig, but paused. “A word of caution, Mr. Rawlins,” he said, turning back around. “Don’t get crushed by the size of your dreams.”

Aidan tilted his head inquiringly. “Meaning?”

“Exercising a bit of caution isn’t a bad thing,” Mr. Cole said. He turned his gaze to the distance, where the mines had roared to life. Steam donkeys sent up plumes into the air, and the spoil heap grew ever taller. “I’ve seen enough ruined ambitious men to last a lifetime.” His eyes, enlarged by his glasses, slid to regard Aidan seriously. “Set your sights modestly.”

“I’ll do that,” Aidan said, with no intention of it. He felt as tall as a mountain, his drive big enough to fill the sky. Virginia City was made for men like him, and he had no intention of making himself small to fit into a bureaucrat’s idea of humble success.

“Ugh, this heat today,” Mr. Cole said, wiping at his forehead. “I must find some shade.”

“Storm’s coming,” Aidan explained. “Gets awful still just before.”

Mr. Cole made a face. “I’d best be getting back to town, then.” He walked to his gig. Aidan waved him off, all congenial friendliness, and didn’t watch him go. He put his hands on his hips and stared out over the ranch.

He’d been in earnest about the bride. He’d written the ad and meant to submit it to newspapers up and down the country. His wording had been very clear: a pretty woman who could charm the town and the people who came to buy his horses. He could see her already, a dainty little rose smiling at him as she served him dinner.

That thought cheered him as he made his way back to his house, whistling a jaunty tune.

***

Aidan didn’t remember falling asleep. Thunder cracked through the shallow valley like a shotgun going off, and he came awake with a snort, his feet still up on the kitchen table, the ad still loose in his hand.

He had the prickling feeling of having been in the middle of a conversation he couldn’t quite remember. He glanced around the kitchen and nearly fell out of his chair in surprise.

Standing not two feet from him was Danny, his oldest nephew, staring at him solemnly, blue eyes wide, saying nothing.

“Danny?” Aidan croaked, his voice raspy from sleep. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What in tarnation are you doing?”

“You snore awful loud, Uncle Aidan,” the boy said, wrinkling his own nose slightly.

“I do not,” Aidan protested. He sat up, rubbing at his face. “Did you come here just to tell me that?”

“No,” Danny said, shaking his head. “I came to tell you that Pa never came home from checking the herd.”

“What? What do you mean?” Aidan asked, blinking to keep his eyes open. “What time is it?”

“Just about five in the evening,” Danny answered.

Aidan stared at him for a moment. “He should’ve been back hours ago.”

“That’s what I’m telling you,” Danny said, his lips puckering a little. “His horse come back without him. Round about four. I put her up myself, and I waited on the porch, and he never came. And now the babies are after me for their supper, and I don’t know what to tell them. Pa didn’t leave us anything, and I’m not allowed to touch the stove after—”

“After the blasting cap incident, I remember,” Aidan finished. “Are you saying he hasn’t been home at all?”

Danny shook his head. “And the babies are getting upset.”

“Don’t call them babies,” Aidan said, rubbing at his eyes again, and this time not from fatigue. “Bella’s only two years younger than you.”

Danny made a face that indicated he thought that might as well be a lifetime.

“I’m sure he’ll be along,” Aidan said, standing up and stretching.

“No,” Danny said, surprising Aidan with his emphasis. “Something’s wrong. Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“Danny—” Aidan began.

“No! You all never listen to me!” Danny said, his hands balled into fists. “Something is wrong!”

Aidan rounded on Danny, ready to tell him off for his tone, but he took a moment to study the boy. His dark hair was made darker still by rain, the ends dripping sadly onto his collar. His lips were pressed tightly together, his whole body tense like he was holding himself together. The boy had walked over in a thunderstorm to say it, and Aidan had been asleep with his boots up on the table. You all never listen to me. It landed somewhere under his ribs and stayed there.

“Okay, Danny,” Aidan said, softening. “Here’s what we’ll do: You run along home and give your brother and sister some bread and cheese to tide you over. I’ll go out and look for your pa. Probably come off her somewhere, and he’s walking in. How’s that?”

Danny stared at Aidan for a moment. Thunder cracked overhead, and the boy jumped. Aidan placed a steadying hand on his rain-dampened shoulder. “Don’t worry,” Aidan told him.

Danny shrugged him off, his face mutinous, and left, slamming his way through the screen door. Aidan watched him go, limbs going every which way as he ran for the house he shared with his father and his brother and sister.

Aidan sighed. It wasn’t like Brendan to vanish without sending word. He shrugged into an oiled leather duster in deference to the rain. He jammed his hat down and eyed the weather.

It didn’t storm often in Virginia City, but when it did, the sky didn’t hold back. Rain came down in sheets, punctuated by spears of lightning. The loose dirt of the near-desert was hard enough to track in dry; any sign of Brendan would have washed away hours ago.

Still, he pushed his way out the door, clutching his hat to his head, determined to find his brother.

***

It was the fourth day, and nearly daybreak, by the time Aidan made it back to his brother’s house. He’d gone there automatically, the way he did at the end of every day. They usually ate together; Brendan had hired a local girl who came in to tidy and fix a meal. It was easier if Aidan just ate there. It most definitely wasn’t because the low ranch house—the first on their ranch—got so quiet at night.

Brendan ate with his knife still in his hand, gesturing with it while he talked, and every few weeks Aidan would tell him he ate like a road agent, and Brendan would say that road agents ate very well indeed. It was not a good joke. They had been running it since Aidan was eleven.

Tonight the house was dark and silent, the windows watching him as he trudged up to it. For the first time in his life, Aidan had no idea what to do next. They’d been out for days, pausing only long enough to swap horses, and he was more tired than he could remember being.

He reached for the latch and pulled his fingers back like he’d been burned. He hesitated, but not for long; there were footsteps behind him, neighbors and townsfolk recruited to search. They’d been all up and down the range, over to the mine and out to the public grazing. No sign of Brendan at all.

“River washout, most likely,” a few of them had whispered with grave nods.

Aidan sighed and finally opened the door. Within, the local girl, Maria, was dozing next to a lantern. At the sound of the door, she leaped to her feet, her eyes wary. Aidan held up his hand.

“Just us, Maria,” he said quietly.

Maria approached Aidan, her dark eyes serious. “Mr. Brendan, did you find him?”

Aidan shook his head. Maria pressed her fingers to her mouth, then hastily made the sign of the cross. “Madre de Dios,” she murmured. “Those poor children.”

Aidan only half-heard her. He dragged himself to the dining room, pulled out a chair, and collapsed into it. In the front room, the searchers shifted and murmured, hoping for more drama.

“All right, folks, thank you for your efforts, but that will be all now,” Antony Byrne called. He was Aidan’s oldest friend and the ranch foreman, smaller than Aidan and lit from inside somewhere. With the practiced air of a man used to herding animals, he got most of the people scooted out of the house.

A few lingered—the local schoolmaster, whom Aidan didn’t know by name; the pastor, one Mr. Hildebrandt; and one of the men on the board of the largest silver mine, a Mr. Carter. They moseyed into the kitchen and stood around, watching him.

“It’s a hard thing, Mr. Rawlins,” the pastor said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “I truly am sorry for your loss.”

“Loss?” Aidan repeated stupidly. They exchanged looks.

“Your brother was a good man,” Hildebrandt continued. “He’ll be sorely missed. I’ll call on you tomorrow, see how you’re getting on.” He paused. “It’s a delicate thing, but I’m not sure about a service, if there’s no body—”

“Yes, thank you, Pastor,” Antony cut in. “We’ll bear that in mind.”

“The real question is what to do with the children,” the schoolmaster said. “They’ll need watching over.”

“Could get a local woman to come and mind them,” Hildebrandt suggested.

“Naught but a dozen women in the whole town,” Mr. Carter argued. “They’re all either spoken for or of… questionable moral influence on young minds.”

The pastor stiffened at that. Antony rolled his eyes.

“Well,” the schoolmaster sniffed, “I suppose there’s nothing for it then. They’ll have to be sent to a foundling home.”

“Foundling home?” Aidan repeated.

“It’s for the best,” the schoolmaster said. His face was thin and gray, like his suit. He tried to give Aidan a sympathetic look, but it mostly looked like he had a bout of uncomfortable wind.

“We’ll get them on a train before the week is out,” Hildebrandt agreed. “We can get that girl to help them get packed up, and—”

“I’ll take them,” Aidan heard himself say. The words were out of his mouth without his being aware of forming them.

Everyone stared at him in bald-faced surprise. He hadn’t had the least notion of doing any such thing. All he had been able to see while they talked was the three of them standing on a platform with their bags, going east to strangers, and he was not going to lose them in the same week he had lost Brendan.

Somewhere behind the words, the brick barn came quietly apart. The elegant steppers, the fine carriage horses, the whole shining afternoon with Mr. Cole. He let all of it go without much of a fight, and that frightened him worse than the losing did.

“Are you quite sure?” Hildebrandt asked. “It’s a lot to take on.”

“I’m sure,” Aidan said, hoping that he sounded more confident than he felt.

“They’ll need a woman to look after them,” Mr. Carter reminded him.

Aidan thought back to the ad. His words about a pretty girl seemed foolish now. He closed his eyes and tore it up in his head. He’d been so set on an ornament for his arm that he’d never once thought about what a woman would need to survive out here. And now there were children.

What sort of woman would take all of this on? he asked himself.

Chapter Two

Philadelphia

1870

It took the man several tries to get Alexandra Hampshire’s attention. She was perched on a stool behind the counter of her aunt’s book shop, a copy of Pride and Prejudice all but glued to her face. The shop had been quiet all day, so she’d decided to read a few lines between customers. And if she was going to read a few lines, she might as well make it a page, or two, or three, or a whole chapter.

The man cleared his throat loudly, and her eyes slid up to find a handsome fellow of about twenty-five smiling at her. He had dark blond hair combed into perfect waves and a neat little mustache, and his suit was well cut, emphasizing a trim waist.

Alexandra stared. He raised his brows, and she came back to herself all at once, straightening and jumping to her feet and dropping her book. She tried not to wince as it fell closed, losing her place entirely.

“Are you quite well?” the man asked, his voice as smooth as his satin cravat.

“I—yes, that is, I—yes, thank you,” Alexandra stumbled, lowering her eyes. Self-consciously, she tugged at her bodice, trying to ensure it was lying right. “May I be of assistance, sir?” she asked, sliding into the voice that she used with customers.

“I certainly hope so,” the man said. “You see, I’m in need of a book of verse.”

“Verse, sir?” she repeated. “What sort of verse?”

“Something that might take the fancy of a pretty lady,” he said, putting his hands on the counter. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “I wonder if you might have any recommendations on the topic.” He offered up a smile from one corner of his mouth, looking her over from head to waist.

Alexandra stared at him blankly. Her mind produced no thoughts at all, let alone words. He went on gazing at her, pleasantly amused, and then, bold as you please, winked. Alexandra inhaled sharply through her nose.

She was used to men coming in and assuming they could take liberties with a counter-girl, but this was different. He was handsome enough to be an advertising illustration, and he wasn’t pawing at her, only making his interest clear. Very clear.

His suit was fine stuff, a wool so smooth it nearly glistened, and his top hat was brushed beaver. His collar points were high and so pristinely starched she wondered idly whether they could cut his jaw. A young man of means.

Wouldn’t that be something? Alexandra mused dreamily. It would be a wonderful thing indeed to be whisked away by a rich, handsome young man. Her gaze slid automatically to the book that she’d been reading. It was almost too much to consider, but she couldn’t stop herself hoping that this man might be her very own Mr. Darcy.

“So, how about it?” he asked finally.

Startled from her reverie, Alexandra shook herself slightly and blinked up at the man from behind her spectacles. “I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I believe we have some Keats just in the back there, third shelf from the bottom,” she said, pointing the way.

“Keats, hmm?” the young man said. He leaned closer, close enough that she caught his shaving soap, which she suspected had cost more than the Keats. “And what if I want something with a bit more… heat in it?”

Alexandra swallowed hard. “I—that is, you might enjoy the works of Aphra Behn,” she said. “Same corner, but… uh, nearer the playwrights.”

“You like her works, do you?” he said, leaning so close that Alexandra leaned back.

“Yes,” she whispered, the word barely out before she began to blush. It was a scandalous thing to admit to, to acknowledge that she’d read someone as racy as Behn.

The man’s lips pulled back in a wolfish smile, revealing his teeth. “Of course you do,” he said with the air of a master congratulating a dog on sitting up when told.

He withdrew and sauntered to the corner she’d indicated. He disappeared behind the shelves, but she could follow him through the shop by the tune he whistled.

He reappeared a moment later, a small volume in his hand. Alexandra stood up straighter.

He’s just a customer like any other, she told herself. Get a hold of yourself.

“Did sir find everything that he was looking for?” she said, her voice light.

“Well, there is one more thing you could help me with,” the man said. He gave her a look that was just shy of a leer. “I’m looking for a pretty young lady to read some of these verses to. Would you happen to know where I might find one willing to listen?”

“I couldn’t really say, sir,” Alexandra said. Despite her determination to remain unfazed, her cheeks were coloring again. She looked down at the counter, her hands clenched tightly together at her waist.

“How about I call on you again, and we can discuss the matter further?” he asked.

“I—I couldn’t—that is, I…” she stammered.

“Oh, come now,” he said. “I’ll call back around tomorrow, and I’ll take you out for a fizzy drink.”

Alexandra didn’t dare look at him. Her heart was going so loudly in her ears that she almost missed the young man’s throaty chuckle. She looked up just in time to see him touch the brim of his hat before he departed, the bell over the door sending him merrily on his way.

Did I just agree to let a young man walk out with me? she wondered. She reached up and pressed a hand to her cheek, trying to press the warmth back into her skin. Not a bad afternoon after all. A sale and a suitor in the same hour. She straightened up suddenly.

“Wait,” she said to the empty shop. “He didn’t pay for the book!” She quickly sidestepped out from behind the counter, reaching for the door and yanking it open. It was just an oversight, she told herself. He was just too excited for tomorrow, that’s all.

She stepped out of the doorway, one foot on the sidewalk. People passed by in a constant stream, laborers, clerks, soldiers, rat catchers, all of them jammed together. Alexandra stood on her tiptoes, wishing that she wasn’t so short for about the thousandth time in her life. She looked up and down the street and finally spotted the young man by virtue of his top hat.

“Sir!” she called after him, raising her hand to wave. “Sir!”