Prologue

Bighorn Basin, Wyoming

1882

Maeve just needed one good sip.

She’d even take a pitiful one, as long as her father managed to get some amount of nourishment into his body. If he could manage broth, that meant he still had life left in him. A desire to fight, to stay by her side. To last until winter gave way to spring, at the very least.

Snow continued to batter against their little cabin, with piles heaping past the windows and obscuring the night sky. Cold seeped through the log-hewn walls, and Maeve couldn’t help but shiver. Her free hand pulled at the fraying ends of her shawl, the other still supporting her father’s spoon of soup in hopes that the sight would, eventually, catch his interest.

He blinked slowly, his glassy eyes briefly focusing on something. A trembling hand reached up, filling Maeve with desperate hope. Frail fingers brushed against her long curls of amber hair, and a small smile emphasized the deep, aged lines across her father’s face.

“You really are yer mother’s reflection,” he crooned.

Maeve’s heart twisted. She was trapped between two reactions: a joy to learn of the woman she’d never met, and a dread that her father had no interest in food.

Whatever strength he had left he used to gently grasp Maeve’s hand. She quickly took it, trying to commit the sensation to memory. It had once been coarse and powerful, the callouses on his fingers a reminder of how much the world had failed to beat him down. Now, her father’s hands felt paper thin, as if the slightest breeze could take him away.

“Aw, d-darling…” The words were clearly a strain on his throat, but Maeve’s father persisted. “I…I wish I could be here fer yer birthday.”

‘He’s giving up.’

The thought soured in Maeve’s stomach, threatening to build past the growing lump in her throat.

‘No…he gave up long ago.’

She swallowed roughly, setting the soup and bowl aside at last to fully grasp her father’s hand. “Don’t be talking like that,” she scolded lightly. “I–I ain’t ever heard such nonsense.”

A tired wheeze of laughter escaped her father’s chest.

The snow continued to pile up. ‘

“Yer ma…” Maeve’s father closed his eyes, as if trying to capture the image in his mind. “You…you even sound like ‘er.”

Maeve couldn’t stop the tears from escaping anymore.

“Sh-she’s the one who wanted to settle here. Said…said it’d be good grass fer the cows. Fer yer li’l feet to run across, once you got here.”

Maeve blinked furiously, but the tears kept coming. “Pa, p-please,”

“I got so much to tell her. ‘Bout you, ‘bout th-this place we built together…” A wry smile crossed her father’s face. “She’s gonna give me an earful, missing yer twenty-fourth.”

Maeve could only manage to keep her grip around her father’s hand. He let out another long, tired sigh.

“You make sure sh-she got nothin’ to worry ‘bout. Alright, buttercup?”

How long had it been since Maeve had last heard that nickname? The man who raised her would never have used it, not since she was old enough to begin helping with the herd. But the man before Maeve wasn’t her taskmaster, nor her partner in the family’s business.

It was truly, sincerely–and for the last time–her father.

The weight of his words slowly crushed against Maeve’s chest, made worse by an awful realization: it was all going to be up to her. Mother’s cows, Father’s business, it all would depend on her now. For the first time ever, the future showed itself clearly, no longer obscured by her father’s well-worked hands.

It was all up to her. It was only going to be her.

“B-Buttercup?”

Maeve blinked furiously. She squeezed her father’s hand, putting on whatever smile she could manage. “‘Course, Pa. Y-You an’ Ma won’t have nothing to worry ‘bout. Just…”

Her breath caught in her throat. Maeve forced her words past it.

“Just-don’t forget to enjoy yer time together up there. I’ll be fine.”

Another breath.

“I promise, Pa.”

The strength of her father’s grasp vanished completely. Warmth slowly drained from his palm, but Maeve found herself unable to let go. As long as she held his hand, her father was alive. As long as the snow continued to fall outside, the world was still trapped in this moment in time.

But, just as the heat slowly escaped her father’s body, so too came the acute sense of being alone. Of sitting in a cabin far too big for one person. Of the crackling fireplace with a shrunken pile of chopped wood. Of the snow itself, its howling wind dropping to a silent whisper as if a blanket had settled over everything outside. Time would continue on, whether Maeve was ready or not.

And Maeve knew she was entirely unprepared.

Chapter One

Bighorn Basin, Wyoming

1883

Maeve Bennet hated spring with every fiber of her being.

She hated how barren the landscape looked, the grass still weak and wilted from its imprisonment under the snow. She hated how indecisive the sun was, poking in and out from the clouds as slush partially melted, then re-froze, over and over again. She hated stepping in said slushy piles, hated the persistent nip of cold in the air that forced her to shed and then re-apply her heavier shawl.

Most of all, Maeve hated when she crossed paths with the patches of buttercups growing around the edges of the barn.

She should have been used to the sight. It was the first thing she saw when she could finally manage to get the cabin door open, the only sign of greenery when she walked the length of her property to check for damages. They poked through the thinnest layer of snow as she chopped fresh wood, and greeted her as she dug out feed for the cattle, what with the grass still too shy to show its face. Now, as May came to a steady close, the buttercups mingled with dozens of other wildflowers, painting the pasture in a myriad of color. It shouldn’t have been such an unusual sight to her, certainly not enough to cause her to stop and stare.

But Maeve did. Every time.

And she continued to do so, frozen at her barn’s entrance as she glared at a small patch growing alongside the wall. The waxy curl of leaves, the shine of its bright-yellow petals; it all left such a nauseating taste in the back of Maeve’s throat. No matter how hard she glared at the flower, though, it remained upright, completely unfazed by the venom in her eyes.

“I hate. Spring.”

A chorus of mooing finally pulled Maeve out of her storm cloud, rumbling from within the walls of the barn. She let out a short breath, flicking her thick, amber braid over her shoulder before pulling the huge doors open. They squealed in protest, and the caterwauling of the cattle grew ever more clamorous.

“I hear yah, I hear yah!” Maeve quickly darted inside, shoving the barn doors shut and half-jogging across the dirt pathway lined with padlocked stalls. Two dozen Hereford cows shifted about the limited space, and two dozen eyes watched eagerly as their master reached the back of the barn at last.

She undid a number of locks along the Dutch door, giving it a hardy shove to unstick the once-frozen hinges. The top half swung open, opening up the pasture to the barn’s inhabitants. Miles of muddied field stretched out toward a line of pines, which were interwoven with barbed wire fencing so as to deter whatever stalked amidst the wild brush. Brief snatches of sunlight slipped into the barn, catching against the metal of the stalls and sending the cattle into another mooing frenzy.

“Would y’all be patient, please?”

Next came the lower half of the Dutch door, and Maeve gave it another good shove before it finally gave way. With both doors swung out, she moved behind the stall doors and yanked them open, dancing away from the excitable surge of cattle stampeding out into the pasture.

“Y’all’re animals, you know that?” Maeve called out.

The herd paid her no mind, reveling in their newfound freedom. Sunlight shimmered against their ruddy coats, with some having already managed to muddy their porcelain-white faces. Maeve sat on the gate for a moment, trying her best to live vicariously through the herd. Maybe her own love for spring had withered and dried up, but the cattle seemed to live for it.

She watched as the heifers laid claim to the greenest patches of grass, while the newly minted mothers took to the side of the barn. They propped themselves against the barn wall, taking turns sunbathing and keeping a watchful eye on the autumn-born calves, who were experiencing fresh grass for the first time.

And then, of course, came the bulls.

There weren’t many in the herd, as Pa had ensured he could always count the total on one hand. Three remained after last year’s sales, and they took to the pasture like roosters strutting about the henhouse. Horned heads held high, they stalked around the heifers for a good long while, snorting loudly in an attempt to catch their gaze.

“Good luck wit’ that, boys,” Maeve chuckled under her breath.

Sure enough, the heifers seemed far more interested in keeping their grass protected. Some went as far as to chase after the bulls, only to immediately turn and head back to their grass once they deemed the pests were far enough away. After a few encounters, the bulls got the message, albeit begrudgingly so.

“There yah go, boys. Go wander off elsewhere–!” Maeve let out a dramatic sigh as the troublesome trio made for the nearest row of fence posts. “Oh, fer Pete’s sake… Boys! No!”

They’d hardly begun to scrape their horns against the wooden pillar when Maeve let a sharp whistle slip from between her lips and fingers. She hopped off the fence as the bulls staggered back, waving her hands furiously in the air. “Don’t you three start making trouble fer me already! Y’all just got out here!”

The troublesome trio let out an irritable bellow, one going as far as to start digging his hoof into the wet earth. He quickly changed his mind as the only dairy cow in the herd came thundering across the pasture. Her tail swished furiously, her ruby-roan body trembling as she let out a chastising bellow.

The bulls appeared visibly rattled, intimidated enough to turn tail as the dairy cow drew too close for comfort. She then slowed to a trot as the boys made for the tree line, letting out a loud snort as she struck the ground with her hoof.

Maeve jogged up alongside the dairy cow, chuckling as she swung an arm around the animal’s neck. “Yeah, Mossy. Yout got ’em good, girl.”

Mossy chuffed, pleased at the praise. Her velvety ears flickered excitedly, and she rubbed her piebald snout against Maeve’s side.

“Moss–!” Panicked laughter escaped Maeve as the dairy cow began to lean her full weight against her body. “Y’ain’t no spring chicken no more.”

Mossy’s tail snapped and she let out a plaintive moo.

“Alright, hold on.” Maeve found a drier patch of grass to sit on, dropping down as Bossy Mossy followed suit. The older cow eased herself onto her side and folded her legs in, leaving very little space between herself and Maeve. Rolling her eyes, Maeve gave the dairy cow a hearty pat, then transitioned to pets and strokes across her speckled frame.

Like moss on the side of a pine tree; that had been Maeve’s logic when naming the newly-born calf nearly nine years ago. Her father’s laughter rang in her ears, and she recalled how embarrassed she’d been. “Teenagers get mad over any li’l thing,” Maeve mused.

‘You name them there dairy cows just like yer Ma did, buttercup.’

Maeve blinked, the words of her father unexpectedly popping into her memory. She stretched out across the grass, Mossy quick to set her head gently on Maeve’s stomach. She began to absentmindedly stroke the dairy cow’s snout, staring up at the cloud-covered sky until her eyes stopped stinging so terribly.

“Maybe spring’s not so bad,” Maeve murmured quietly to herself.

As if to prove her wrong, a loud crack shattered across the sky. Every head in the pasture shot upright, Maeve practically shoving Mossy off her body to jump to her feet. Something other than the cold breeze froze her blood solid, and she stood stiffly in place. Waiting.

Another shot came moments later, followed by the telltale scent of sulfur. The sound sent the herd scattering, and Maeve barely had enough sense to force herself into a sprint. She practically slid past the barn door, her hand catching the side of the wall as her fingers grasped for something unseen. Then, she found it: the dangling end of a rope, coming out of the depths of a large, well-polished brass bell.

Maeve yanked the rope furiously, sending a clattering clang all throughout the property. She then scrambled for the gate, barely managing to swing herself over the side as a stampede of cattle raced past her, shoving desperately to get back into the stalls. The bulls stuck to the end of the herd, snorting and digging at the ground while the heifers and cows raced inside.

“Come on, boys!”

Another sharp whistle from Maeve drew the troublesome trio in, seemingly escorting the last of the herd to safety. Once the final calf passed by, Maeve hopped off and gave both halves of the Dutch door a swift shove with her foot, sending them swinging closed with her inside.

It had barely finished closing before she bolted every single one of its locks. Then Maeve slid into one of the older horse stalls, snagging an old shotgun propped up in the corner.

Bandits. It had to be; warm weather pulled all manner of predators out from the dark, and humans were no different.

‘Listen.’

Maeve pressed the gun against her chest. So much so that her ribs began to ache.

‘They don’t care if you’re a woman.’

Her hand trembled, making the gun’s barrel shake. She tightened her grip.

“They won’t give you another chance.’

The barn grew deathly quiet. Even the herd was soundless, as if familiar with the consequences. All that broke the silence was the occasional crack of gunfire outside, and Maeve could only clench her teeth in reply.

She. Hated. Spring.

***

An irregular knock echoed against the barn door. It almost sounded like the standard three raps, just with a major delay between the first and second knock. It sounded…wrong, like someone playing a sour note on the fiddle.

But to Maeve, that strange knock was like music to her ears.

Cautiously, she slipped out of the empty stall and made her way to the front of the barn. The shotgun remained at her side, though her grip was looser and the barrel remained pointed downward. As she approached the door, Maeve curled her free hand into a fist and knocked twice.

Four erratic knocks came in return.

Relief flooded through Maeve as she set the gun off to the side. Her hands flew across the locks, undoing each with a growing, frantic energy. Soon the door swung open, revealing an orange-bled sky to pair with the violence of that afternoon. Two familiar faces stood in the barn’s doorway, and the sight pulled a sigh of relief from deep within Maeve.

“Oh, Samuel. Sadie.”

“Maeve!” Sadie sprang forward, catching Maeve in a tight embrace. Strands of strawberry-gold hair had long since broken free from her messy updo, and when she finally pulled away, her dark eyes frantically inspected Maeve from head to toe. “Are you alright? Samuel said the bandits ran off toward your property! They didn’t find you, did they?”

Maeve opened her mouth to try and answer.

“Did they, Maeve?!”

Samuel set a hand on Sadie’s shoulder. He wore the duds of a well-seasoned ranch hand, a swirl of blonde locks escaping out from under his brimmed hat. “Give her a chance to reply, Sadie. You near squeezed the life outta her just now.”

A blush tinged Sadie’s face, and she took a healthy step back, tucking her hands behind her back. “Sorry.”

Maeve offered a weak wave of her hand. She then turned her attention to Samuel, her expression hardening. “Sounds like they hit McCullen’s farm. Everyone alright down there, Sam?”

“Joshua and his deputy came ‘fore anyone got majorly hurt.” Even with what sounded like good news, Samuel still let out a heavy sigh. He removed his hat, running a bandaged hand through his sweat-soaked locks.

“Feels like there’s a ‘but’ in there,” Maeve said.

Samuel nodded, setting his hat back on his head. “Bandits got a few good hits on Mr. McCullen. Nearly nailed Joshua in the shoulder, too.”

“You got hurt yourself, you know,” Sadie scowled, gesturing to Samuel’s wrapped hand. “Are all you Wrights so reckless?”

“Runs rampant in our family, I’m afraid,” Samuel replied with a weak smirk.

Maeve was almost afraid to ask, but she had to know the answer. “What happened to their cattle, Sam?”

Whatever positivity Samuel was attempting to show vanished at the question. Sadie’s expression fell as well, leaving Maeve to assume the worst.

“I wanna fill you in,” Samuel began, “but I gotta get back to the McCullens. Joshua wants me to help with the report, what with me being involved an’ all.”

“Thank you again for walking me over here,” Sadie said.

Samuel offered both ladies a wave as he started back down toward the main road. Maeve stared off after him, seemingly rooted in place. She watched Samuel until well after the top of his hat vanished behind the hill, and for a moment, only songbirds filled the silence between her and Sadie.

“So…” Sadie finally broke the silence, having begun to rock back and forth on the heels of her feet. “What do you think about my idea now, Maeve?”

A groan escaped before Maeve could stop it.

“I’m serious, Maeve! These attacks are only going to get worse as things warm up. And with Mr. Bennet-”

Maeve’s gaze met Sadie’s, whose voice petered out. It took her friend a moment to find it again.

“With…with Sam’s ranch so far away, and me living in town…” Sadie let out a huff, frustration winning out over her concern. “Oh, Maeve! You need someone here with you!”

“I ain’t got time to be getting married,” Maeve said.

“You haven’t got the time to so stubborn, either!” Sadie snapped back. “What if your ranch had been the target instead of the McCullens? Joshua barely managed to get to their place in time, and they have two grown sons! What are you going to do if we’re late, Maeve? What–what am I going to do if…if…?”

Sadie hastily wiped her face, and a squirm of guilt ran through Maeve.

“I’m not going to bury another Bennet this year. I refuse to.”

The guilt tightened in Maeve’s stomach.

“Do you hear me, Maeve?” Sadie asked.

Maeve nodded.

“Do you?”

Maeve nodded more emphatically. “Yes, Sadie! I hear what ye’re saying. I–I can’t be by myself no more.” It physically pained her to admit it. Things had been hard, yes, but she’d done it all for the sake of her father. To prove to him, and to Ma, that she could handle things on her own. That they wouldn’t have to worry about her.

Sadie crossed her arms tightly against her chest. “Then you’ll let me write an ad for the paper? And I won’t hear an ounce of fussing from you while I do so?”

Maeve most definitely wanted to fuss. But the look on Sadie’s face made it clear her friend wasn’t in the mood for any sort of funny business. “I promise not to make a fuss ‘bout it,” Maeve promised, if begrudgingly.

“Good!” Sadie nodded matter-of-factly, taking Maeve’s hand as she led her toward the house. “Then you go and scrounge up some paper and a pen. I’ll put on the kettle and get to work right away. I’ll stay up all night if I must!”

Maeve couldn’t help but grimace, knowing full well that when Sadie Whittaker made a promise, she fully intended to keep it. The idea of finding a husband still tasted bitter in the back of her mouth…but there was no other way around it. Bandits only needed to get lucky once, and for the sake of her family’s legacy, Maeve couldn’t–wouldn’t–risk those odds.

The world had no obligation to play fair, after all.

Chapter Two

Cheyenne, Wyoming

1883

“Jed, would you just stop and listen to me?!”

Jed was past the point of listening. All he could hear was the blood rushing between his ears as he vaulted over the pasture fence and stormed off toward the stables. He could barely catch his breath. He could barely think.

A firm hand caught his shoulder, forcefully spinning him back around. Thomas looked furious, his face flushed red and his silver eyes flashing behind a pair of spectacles. Years of deskwork had paled and slimmed his frame considerably, his once thickly-curled moustache frayed from constant fidgeting. Jed, meanwhile, had grown muscular during his time spent in the sun, his dark hair cropped short, and his facial hair kept close to his skin. His accent had thickened, toughened, and taken on a stone-like quality that forced their hired hands to listen. If he wanted to, Jed could’ve taken his friend-no, the man’s, as Jed could no longer count him as a friend-arm and easily thrown him to the ground.

“There ain’t a thing you could say that’d change my mind, Thomas.”

Yet Jed remained in place. He had to; as angry as he was, a small part of him wanted to hear his friend out. To be convinced that this whole ordeal was just one big misunderstanding. Thomas must have known that as well, because his grip on Jed’s shoulder loosened considerably. A faint smile caught his lips, and for a moment, Jed truly believed he’d simply overreacted. He’d misheard, had just misunderstood what his friend had said.

“The Spades aren’t as bad as they seem, Jed.”

Well never mind. Jed grabbed Thomas’ hand and threw it aside, anger urging him to turn back toward the stables.

“J-Jed, wait!” Footsteps trailed after him, but that only spurred Jed to move faster. He felt the curious eyes of the ranch hands following him across the property, but he hardly felt the need to act in a professional manner. Not when Thomas clearly hadn’t been doing so for years.

Jed sped into the stable, charging past the first half-dozen stalls before coming to one holding a smokey grullo stallion. He’d barely managed to undo the latch before Thomas came stomping in, still shouting his excuses while Jed worked on the horse’s saddle.

“Jed, be reasonable!” Thomas snapped. “We’re not going to grow the business without fostering connections!”

Jed nearly dropped the saddle then and there. “Connections?! Thomas, them’s cattle thieves ye’re talking about! Ain’t the sort of ‘connections’ proper folk should be making!”

Thomas pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. “Jed, they’re not ‘cattle thieves,’ they’re just opportunists. They see ranchers who have built far beyond their means and relieve them of their overflow.”

“That what yer new city friends call ‘thieving’ nowadays?”

Thomas’ irritable sigh only put Jed more on edge. It was reminiscent of a father scolding his child for not understanding a simplistic fact of the world, but Jed was done living in Thomas’ world, done with blindly following someone with such backwards morals. He set the saddle against his stallion, tightening the straps before moving on to the bridle.

“Jed.”

He carefully fit the bit into the stallion’s mouth before swinging his leg up and over the creature’s back.

“Jed, don’t ignore me!”

As commanding as Thomas tried to sound, even he wouldn’t stand in the way of a freshly-saddled horse. Jed kicked the stall open and Thomas stumbled back, allowing him to ride out of the stall and back outside. It wasn’t long before Jed and the stallion shifted from a canter to a gallop, and they cleared the property’s gate in one grand leap.

Soon the Gedney Ranch was behind him, leaving nothing but the main road to Cheyenne township ahead. Wind pulled at his hat, and Jed let it slide down against his shoulders, dangling behind him as the stampede string chafed against his neck. He reveled in the breeze that tangled his hair, and for the first in quite a while, Jed felt like his old self again.