Prologue

May 1871

Dusty Scar, Wyoming

Evelyn Clark ran a hand through her hair, inwardly cursing its thickness. She had her mother’s black, unruly hair, and on hot days like today, it soaked up the heat of the sun relentlessly.

Across from her, Jake Rattle, a man she had known and disliked her entire life though their neighboring ranches necessitated regular interactions, droned on endlessly, as he was wont to do. She felt sweat gathering across her forehead and wondered if he would notice if she wiped her face with the rag she kept at her waist.

Heat radiated from her midsection, where her infant brother, Charles, napped peacefully in the wrap she had made of old burlap wrapped in muslin. He had been fussy all morning, crying whenever she tried to put him down, refusing to eat, and while she was glad to see him sleeping, she worried about the red tinge on his cheeks. He’d been outside too long—they both had.

“Sheriff Dawson says the drought’s not likely to end soon,” Jake said, oblivious, and she knew that she could stand on her head and waggle her booted feet in his face, and he wasn’t liable to notice.

She wiped her face on the scratchy fabric of her old dress sleeve, aching for a drink of water. It had been a long morning already, and she was eager to get her ranch work done so she could get Charles inside and fed and sit in the cool darkness of the house.

But Jake was only warming up, it seemed.

“Evelyn, are you listening to me?”

It was one of the things about Jake that grated on her the most—his tendency to get that whiny pitch to his voice when something wasn’t going quite his way. She had known Jake Rattle all her life, and he was nothing if not spoiled rotten.

The instant the thought formed, she chided herself. Her mother would be ashamed of her un-Christian-like behavior. The Clarks and the Rattles had been neighbors going back generations, and her mother would have said they were deserving of her respect.

It was only the heat talking, she reassured herself. The heat and the glaringly red, dry, cracked soil as far as she could see. Reflexively, she glanced up at the pure blue sky, where not even the whisper of a cloud could be seen.

She brought her eyes back down and forced herself to listen to what Jake was saying.

“What I’m saying is it’s time,” he said, pulling the brim of his hat low across his forehead.

She had heard those words before, many a time, and knew he’d be off on a new tangent. Her newfound patience was already wearing thin. She forced a smile, “Maybe we could speak tomorrow, Jake,” she said as sweetly as she could. “I still have things to do—”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “It’s finally time to get it done, is what I’m saying.”

“Get what done?” Her stomach growled loudly, and she glanced down at the baby, who continued to sleep undisturbed.

“Marriage.”

“What marriage?” Jake always knew what was happening in their little town. Hardly anything could happen in Dusty Scar without his mother hearing word of it, and she was quick to pass it around. “Who’s getting married?” It was the first interesting tidbit of gossip he’d brought up that day.

“Evelyn, I’m saying it’s time you and I were married,” Jake said impatiently, yanking his hat off of his head and scowling at her.

“I…what?” she stammered, all thoughts of shade and something to eat vanishing in an instant. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

Except he hadn’t asked at all, had he, she thought incredulously. She searched his face, one that was so familiar to her and yet, at this moment, revealed nothing to her. In the field behind her, one of her cows lowed mournfully, hungry and searching for grass, grass that had all died in the dry heat of the drought. A flush of anger burned through her—she didn’t have time for this.

“Don’t see why this comes as a surprise,” he said petulantly, scratching at the packed dirt with the toe of one boot.

She blew out a hot breath of air, putting one hand against Charles’s back, who slept on peacefully, completely unaware of what was happening around him. “You and I don’t have that sort of relationship,” she said, trying for a patient tone, even as she reeled on the inside. She had known Jake all of her life—that much was true—and all of her life, she had always felt that something was just a touch off with him. She couldn’t ever quite put her finger on it, but something about him always made her want to take a half step back to keep space between them.

It had never been much of an issue while her parents were alive, but without them, the feeling had only grown, even as Jake had come by even more often than he ever had before.

He looked back up at her, boot frozen mid-scrape, his face tightening. “I can’t imagine what you mean by that. Relationships change, and this is how it happens,” he said, his voice strengthening as he gained steam. “Besides, look around you, Ev. Your parents must be rolling in their graves over the state of their ranch.” He gestured around them, and she couldn’t help but see all the glaring problems that she was toiling night and day to fix—the starving cattle, the dried up, dead vegetation, the stalls that needed work. “And what, you’re going to raise that little boy on your own?” He looked pointedly at Charles, then shook his head.

A shot of guilt sliced through her heart, and her grip against the baby’s warm back tightened.

“No sort of man is going to look twice at you, not with a baby that’s not his blood he’s got to take care of. And that’s another thing—you’re a handsome woman, Evelyn, always have been.” His eyes were dark as they swept across her, and she felt the heat of mortification bloom in her cheeks, her breath catching at his words as he continued on, undaunted. “But look at you now after spending all this time by your lonesome working the land in the heat. It’s been half a year since your parents died—”

“Four months,” she muttered, but he barreled on.

“And it’s time to face the facts, to get ahold of yourself and your future. You’re a mess these days. Your face is always ruddy from the sun, you’re never presentable no matter what time I come by. Why, Ma said she saw you in the General Store and your hands were filthy!”

She clutched her so-called filthy hands against the thick material of her skirt, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. He was right. She knew that he was right. She saw her reflection these days and it shocked her—gone were the milky white skin, the carefully tamed hair, the clothes that stayed clean and mended.

Her thick, dark hair was the spitting image of her mother’s. The two of them had spent every evening together brushing the length of their hair together. Her mother would do her own hair first, Evelyn watching as sparks flashed and the static crackled until it was all smooth and gleaming, and then she would sit in front of her mother at the vanity her father had built as a wedding present, the glass imported especially so that it showed a clear, true reflection, rather than the warped, bubbled reflection most people made use of.

If she closed her eyes, she could feel her mother’s gentle hands lifting and parting her heavy hair, could see their mirrored expressions side by side, their eyes both so deep brown they looked black.

“Evelyn?” Jake wheedled impatiently, and she opened her eyes and shook her head, knocking away the memory and the hot sting of tears that had risen at the memory.

No, she didn’t have time for this.

“Jake, I have a whole host of things to get done today and it’s about time to get this baby inside,” she said firmly. “I don’t have time to talk silly daydreams with you right now. We’re not getting married; don’t be a fool.” With more force than she felt, she turned her back on him and strode quickly to the pathetically small pile of hay waiting to be dispersed for the cattle. It wouldn’t be enough again, and still, her shoulders ached at the thought of shoveling it up and spreading it, particularly with the weight of Charles still strapped to her.

She could hear Jake spluttering behind her, but ignored him, lifting the rake and wincing as the rough wood made contact with the blisters on her hands, careful to keep it away from Charles.

There was never enough time for them to heal, even if she kept her hands wrapped in cloth while she worked. It had become another fact of her day-to-day life since she had lost her parents, just like her aching belly from their empty pantry and the pain between her shoulders.

“Evelyn!” Jake shouted. “Evelyn!”

She didn’t turn. She had no desire to get caught up in another conversation with him.

He sighed loudly, and then she heard him untie his horse and mount him. Before he rode off to his ranch, he reined up beside her and stared until she met his eyes. “This conversation isn’t over,” he said, his face red even under the shade of his wide-brimmed hat. “You’ll soon see there’s no other real choice for you but to marry me, and I don’t plan to sit around and wait for you to see reason.” His chestnut mare, her coat radiating with health, stood out against the roughness of Evelyn’s starving cattle. She swallowed hard against the guilt. “You’ll be mine one day, Evelyn Clark, like it or not.” As he clucked at his horse, he tossed one more parting line over his shoulder. “Personally, I’d rather it be sooner than later, considering you’re looking worse by the day.”

Her mouth fell open as she watched him ride away, and she fought the urge to throw the rake in her hand at his retreating back as he rode off back to his farm, leaving a cloud of dry, red dust in his wake.

She coughed and pulled her dress over her nose, waving at the air, marveling at his nerve. Still snuggled against her chest, Charles awoke with an angry cry, his small face scrunching against the onslaught of dirt.

“Hush, baby, hush,” she cooed, dipping a cloth into the water trough and wiping his nose and mouth. “I know, I know.”

The cows, sensing the atmosphere of misery, lowed in heartbroken unison, and Evelyn knew that if she were a weaker woman, she would sink into the dirt right there and give up. Her shoulders ached with the weight of solo responsibility, but it was time to get back to work. She gave herself a hard pinch and kissed Charles’s peach fuzz head before going back to the hay.

As she began to spread the hay out for the cattle, they crowded her, their eagerness for food all-consuming. She couldn’t get the hay out fast enough, and they tripped over each other, pushing and shoving to get to the hay. She moved as quickly as she could, dodging them and trying to make sure they all got fed, but it was an uphill battle that she was losing.

When all the hay was out and the cattle were still searching for more, she stopped and leaned against the rake, rubbing a hand over her head and thinking of Jake’s words.

He wasn’t wrong; she couldn’t do this alone, and it became clearer every day. She may have lived on this ranch her whole life; three generations of Clarks may have worked this land, but she was all alone, and the drought only made everything harder.

But marrying Jake was not the answer; she knew that much. His words today only solidified that feeling. Such a romantic proposal, one that every lady dreams of, she thought derisively, unable to keep herself from rolling her eyes even though there was no one around to see. He had also barely made mention of Charles; she couldn’t imagine he would be a man happy to take care of another man’s child, even one that wasn’t her own, and particularly not a boy child.

The boy in question chewed gummily on his balled-up fist, staring up at her with his bright blue eyes, and her heart squeezed.

As she trudged back toward the house, she wondered what she’d be able to cobble together for her dinner that night. While she was grateful that she was still able to get enough milk from the cows for Charles, with his first birthday come and gone just two weeks ago, milk alone wasn’t enough.

Was she being foolish and selfish by turning down a way out of all of this? The Rattles had money and lots of it. Though they were likely feeling the effects of the drought like everyone else, she was sure it was more akin to one noticing a bothersome fly rather than the life-wrecking beast it was in her own world.

If she considered Jake’s proposal, everything could be different. She ticked the items off on her fingers as she thought of all the things his money could do for them—she’d be able to buy enough hay for all the cattle, hire some hands to work the land, and have a pantry full of food. Her stomach grumbled at the mere thought.

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks.

Marriage was an answer, but it didn’t have to be marriage to Jake Rattle. She picked up the pace, nearly running back to the house, where a week-old paper was still sitting open on the table.

After quickly unwrapping Charles from her chest, she sat at the table and pulled him onto her lap, where he leaned against her chest, sucking his thumb.

Evelyn flipped quickly through the pages, the ink turning her index finger black as she found what she was looking for and traced it down the page. The arranged marriage pages had never much interested her before, but they might just be the answer she needed—column after column of men and women looking for someone to partner with to halve their load. Skimming the pages of men and women reaching out for connection, her heart lightened for the first time in weeks, maybe months.

She could create an advertisement and choose the man who sounded best. She didn’t have to be stuck with the likes of Jake Rattle. She would word her advertisement carefully and choose a man who would make her life easier while still ensuring she had a say in how the ranch was run. She would get herself and Charles out of this mess and take her future into her own hands. With the tip of her tongue poking out, she pulled a scrap piece of paper towards her and began to write.

Chapter One

Evelyn spent two days getting her advertisement just right. She anguished over each individual word, sure that if she could just make it clear, she would find the partner that she was looking for.

Her plan for the day was to get some chores done around the ranch and then ride into town so that she could post her advertisement because, at last, it was ready. Even as she folded it carefully and sealed it in an envelope, she fought the urge to continue tweaking it, knowing that she could spend a year fussing over it and lose time. She hoisted Charles onto her hip and moved outside, the letter stored in her pocket.

The ranch was in dire straits, and she needed a partner now.

As she held Charles’s hands, letting him toddle out to the fence line, she thought about all of the challenges that faced her.

As much as she liked to pretend that all had been perfect when her parents were alive, the truth was there had been deep issues plaguing them even then; she just hadn’t known about them. She had had no idea about the debts her father had been tallying around town to keep them all fed and clothed, nor about the overly repaired fences, the weak, overworked soil, the well that needed work.

It had all come to light, slowly but clearly, in the agonizing, hazy weeks following her parents’ funerals. As the creditors came calling, sympathetic enough but seeking reassurance that their debts would not be forgotten, the elbow grease and string that held things together around the ranch began to fall apart without her father’s daily work.

She was doing what she could to get them by. Luckily, the huckleberry bushes that ran thick through their land had not been utterly destroyed by the drought, and so she had taken to baking huckleberry pies when she could and selling them to the local inn and tavern for a bit of extra money. She took in some darning as well from neighbors who likely just pitied her and were willing to help by paying a little for her work. All of this went straight to her father’s debts, and none of it was enough.

But she wasn’t allowing herself to sink into despair today. Scooping up Charles, she swaddled him against her chest and gave him a water-soaked rag to gum as she got to work, eager to finish her morning chores and ride into town.

With hope buoying her, she got her chores done in record time and tied up the two pies she had baked to the saddle of the only horse left on the ranch. A few months ago, they had had two, a healthy enough mare and Bitter, the old, slow, and ornery horse who had been around for as long as she could remember. The mare had been sold as soon as the drought had started, fetching far less than her worth in Evelyn’s desperation and due to the fact that there wasn’t a lot of money to go around, and she had been left with old Bitter, who, while he lived up to his name, had at least had no trouble getting her to and from town when needed.

She retied Charles so he lay securely against her and fixed his bottle to bring with them so he could drink while they rode. He was an easy baby, content to bump around with her, but Lord help her should she try and set him down on his own.

With their mother, he had been an easy, happy baby—an independent baby. He had loved to explore, forever crawling away as quickly as he could to stick something in his mouth that didn’t go there or dig his hands into something he shouldn’t, his little face alight with joy and mischief.

Without their mother, he had cried pitifully for days, shoving Evelyn away as his big blue eyes searched every room for her, refusing his bottle, refusing to sleep. When he had begun to eat and sleep again, it had been a huge relief, but with it had come a new clinginess that she had never seen in him before. He hated to be on his own, refused to sleep unless he was with Evelyn, and screamed if he was set down.

She had spent a week in a haze of misery and sleep deprivation, until finally, out of pure desperation, snatching a long length of cloth and creating a wrap so that he could stay with her at all times.

Since then, the two of them had settled into a routine, and if her back ached every day from the weight of him coupled with the hard work of the ranch, well, it was worth the tradeoff of having Charles sleeping, eating, and content. Looking down at him now, finishing off the last of his bottle, round head shaded by an old bonnet of their mother’s, she was gratified to see he was gaining the weight that he should. No matter how much she was failing the ranch, and even perhaps herself, she wasn’t failing Charles.

Not for now, at least.

Her first stop was the post office at the very far edge of town. Just a square of rough timber with its name written in chalk above the front door, it was nevertheless one of the busiest spots in town—busiest and the most avidly watched.

The ladies of Dusty Scar loved nothing more than to linger on the small porch or just inside the door, fanning themselves and making conversation that was nothing more than a front to allow themselves to watch who was sending what.

Evelyn nodded quickly to the two men at the door. She still had her envelope tucked into her pocket for just this reason. There was a beefy, mustached man leaning heavily on the wooden counter inside, his wide back taking up most of the space in the small room.

She cursed inwardly when she saw the sheriff turn to face her.

“My, my,” he drawled, eyes moving up and down the length of her. “If it isn’t little Evelyn Clark.”

“Afternoon, Sheriff Dawson,” she said with a small nod. There was nothing for it but to move forward, and so she tried to ignore him as she pulled the envelope from her pocket and passed it across the counter.

“What have we here, now?” the sheriff asked, raising an out-of-control eyebrow.

She did her best not to look at the wild blonde hairs sticking out this way and that from his eyebrows. “Just a bit of correspondence I’m sending out,” she said casually, hoping he would drop it.

No such luck. “You got yourself a pen pal somewhere outside of Dusty Scar?” he chortled.

“Thank you,” she said pointedly to the clerk as he stamped her envelope and went to the back. “Afternoon, Sheriff,” she said as she made to leave.

“Heard my cousin paid you a visit,” he said loudly, unbothered by her lack of interest in their conversation. “Jake’s a good boy, can’t imagine a lady in Dusty Scar who would turn him down.”

She froze in the doorway, through which she could see the delighted faces of the two women outside, who had just been given a wonderful piece of gossip to peck over. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say that was polite or ladylike and so she pushed between the two ladies and stepped lightly back to her horse, mounting quickly and riding back into town.

She pulled up to the saloon and tossed the horse’s reins loosely across the hitching post, hopping down quickly and untying the box of pies. After running it in and dropping it on the counter, Charles bobbing cheerfully against her chest with his chubby hand in his mouth, she walked her horse two buildings down to Dusty Scar’s General Store.

Though the town of Dusty Scar was small and out of the way, the Keeney family took great pride in keeping the store clean and as well-provisioned as they could. Using twine, they had attached tall stalks of corn to the pillars out front, and burlap bunting hung in wide sweeps across the railing.

Evelyn climbed the few stairs and pushed open the door, the small brass bell chiming as she entered. The store smelled like pine oil and wood shavings, just as it always did, and she took a grateful breath. The heat was still unrelenting, but it was cool inside, with rows of tidy items lining the shelves.

She couldn’t stop her hungry eyes from scanning the barrels overflowing with green ears of corn or the containers of cowpeas, the basket stuffed full of green mustard leaves. The item that particularly caught her eye was the stack of coffee tins. She had watered down the coffee. She had to make it last as long as possible, but she was out now, and there was certainly no money for that luxury. Her mouth watered as she imagined buying just a little scoop, just enough to make one hot, strong cup. Instead, she forced herself to turn away.

Normally, there would be apples in the barrels as well, and heavy triangles of cheeses and sweet-smelling green peas, but the drought had hit most produce and livestock hard, and the Keeneys could only do so much to stock their shelves. They had turned their focus to what was still growing, and because of that, while many residents of Dusty Scar were tightening their belts, they weren’t starving.

She forced herself to pass the shelves, looking for Pearl Keeney. When her parents were still alive, the food items would not have caught her interest at all; she had just taken for granted that they would appear on their table, day after day, as if by magic. She had been far more occupied by the boxes of crisp playing cards.

As she passed them by, she smiled a little, noticing there was still one pack, its edges just a touch crumpled, all the way at the back of the shelf. She and Pearl had claimed that one as their own, crinkling the box naughtily so that it wouldn’t sell and sneaking it into the back room to play games they made up.

Pearl knelt at the end of the row, a box of candles next to her, stacking them in a careful line on the shelf.

“Psst,” Evelyn hissed.

Pearl looked up, startled, and then her round, freckled face broke into a grin. She dropped the candle she was holding at once, standing up and pulling Evelyn into a tight hug before dropping double kisses on each of Charles’s cheeks.

“You brought my favorite person in to see me,” she said in a singsong to Charles.

“There was a time that I was your favorite person,” Evelyn said dryly.

“Not anymore,” Pearl bantered cheerfully, squeezing Charles’s hand. “You two need something?”

“Not today,” Evelyn said quickly. “But I have something to tell you. News.” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, and Pearl didn’t need any further explanation.

“Mama, I’m taking a break,” she called out, using her foot to push the box of candles against the wall. Without waiting for an answer, she took Evelyn’s hand and pulled her through the back door of the store and out into the alley that ran behind. With a quick glance around them to ensure there were no nosey ears, she said, “Tell me, tell me!”

Evelyn rested a hand on Charles’s tummy, finding the words difficult now that she needed to say them—now that it was real. She thought of the envelope, sorted and ready to make its journey, and the chain of events that she had just ignited and a heady mixture of fear, regret, and just a touch of excitement made her lightheaded. “I’ve done something,” she whispered. “Something that might have been utterly foolish.”

Pearl scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re about the most level-headed person I’ve ever met, so I doubt that very much. Now go on, quit dancing around it and tell me what you did. And if it was foolish, lucky you’ve got a best friend like me to help you fix it.”

Evelyn bit her lip and took a deep breath. “I just went to the post office and sent out an advertisement. To the paper. For…for a husband,” she finished in a stuttering rush, squeezing her eyes closed tightly.

Pearl let out a shriek that could raise the dead, and Evelyn’s eyes snapped back open. In front of her, Charles laughed, clapping his hands together.

“Pearl!” Evelyn hissed, looking around them again to make sure the alley was still deserted. All she needed was someone catching on and spreading this news around town.

Pearl clasped both hands over her mouth and jumped up and down, her eyes wide.

“Calm down!” Evelyn said, laughing now along with Charles, who was waving his hands up and down in time with Pearl’s jumps.

Pearl stopped, dropped her hands to her sides, and leaned forward. “You didn’t? Really? Did you? Evelyn, did you?” she demanded in an overly loud whisper.