Prologue

Laramie, Wyoming, 1879

The last thing Abigail Taylor expected to see in the stack of mail on the hall table was a letter to her sister, Mable.

It was addressed from Spring’s End, Wyoming, but no name or other information had been written on the envelope.

Who had written to her sister? She was pretty sure everyone they knew was aware that Mable had perished in a carriage accident three months prior.

Abigail blinked back tears.

Even though Mable had been the preferred child, Abigail had loved her deeply. Mable had been good to her and tried to make up for their father’s open bias.

She held the envelope with curiosity growing by the minute.

She looked around guiltily. Which was rather silly. She was alone in the neat, two-story home. Her father had gone to work at his drugstore an hour earlier. Most likely, he was already busy compounding medicine for one of Laramie’s residents.

She could open the letter.

Maybe she should. It could be something important.

Is it wrong to read Mable’s personal correspondence? It feels like it is. I feel like I’m prying where I don’t belong. But maybe that’s ridiculous.

She took the letter opener and sliced the envelope open. But instead of reading it, she went to the parlor, sat on the sofa, and smoothed her yellow dress.

Maybe she shouldn’t read it.

But what if someone needed a reply?

Oh heck, it wasn’t wrong to read her sister’s letter. She pulled the crisp paper from the envelope. She unfolded it, and several bills tumbled out onto her lap.

What?

She set the money aside and began to read.

At the end of the letter, she sat in shocked silence, unable to believe what she’d read.

There was a reason Mable had been the preferred child, or rather, several reasons. She was beautiful. Instead of strawberry-blonde hair, as Abigail had, Mable’s was pure blonde. While Abigail’s eyes were hazel, Mable had lovely green eyes. The only features they had in common were pale skin and a slim build.

Mable was lovely, and she’d had several suitors. And all of them were gentlemen with prospects.

So why had she been corresponding with Harry Davies as a potential mail-order bride?

And apparently, the gentleman had accepted her as the woman he wanted to marry. He’d sent money for her to travel to his residence in Spring’s End. He expected Mable to arrive at his ranch in two weeks.

Abigail was floored.

She and Mable had been close and talked about everything. Or at least she thought they had.

Were there other letters from Harry Davies?

There had to be. Because no one sent money to a lady to come to their home and presumably get married without corresponding back and forth for a while. Did they? Surely not.

She bit her lip. Maybe she should look in Mable’s room. Someone should answer the letter and let him know Mable had passed away. Mable must have received at least one letter with a complete address.

Abigail put the letter and money back in the envelope and stepped out into the hall. For a moment, she stared at the powder-blue wallpaper with silver iris blooms printed on it. She’d always thought it was lovely. Mable said their mother loved that paper. She ran her fingertips over the wall as she approached the staircase. When she was little, she’d always wanted to slide down the big banister that ended in a swirl.

But she had never done it for fear of falling when she hit the swirl at the bottom. The large staircase seemed out of place in their modest home.

Abigail hurried upstairs to the second floor. Three pretty paintings of landscapes decorated the hallway and a small shelf between each painting held an oil lamp to illuminate the hallway in the evenings. A window at each end of the hall provided light during the day.

Mable’s room was across from hers at the end of the hall. Abigail dusted in there regularly, and no letters had been left out in the open.

Abigail’s shoes sounded loud on the polished wood floor as she walked down the hallway. She let herself inside Mable’s room, where the faint scent of lavender still lingered.

She couldn’t walk into Mable’s room without remembering the last time she and her sister sat on the bed and talked. Mable had been going to see her best friend, Mary Krebs, that afternoon.

It was a short drive, just a little outside of town. But Mable never made it to Mary’s home. A drunken man had ridden past Mable’s carriage, yelling and shooting into the sky. The horse had bolted and Mable hadn’t been able to stop him. The carriage had careened around a curve in the road and turned over.

Mable, I miss you so much. Why did you have to leave me? I still need you.

Abigale tried not to think about it. It was still to fresh and painful. She had to look for letters. And pining for her sister wasn’t helping.

Where would her sister have put any letters? She glanced around the room.

Her gaze fell on a lovely carved cedar box. The same box she’d wanted as a child. And her father had purchased it… and given it to Mable.

Mable had always come first with their father. It had hurt, but Abigail always did her best to hide the pain behind humor. She’d never wanted anyone to know how his gruffness hurt.

And Mable had gone out of her way to make Abigail feel better when she was upset. She’d lost count of the times Mable took her to their childhood hideout, a shed at the edge of their property, and wiped away her tears.

The shed had an abundance of pale pink roses growing up one side and over the tin roof. Her mother had planted those rose bushes the year Mable was born. The other side was always shaded by a sturdy elm tree. The shed had become a sanctuary for them. They had taken blankets to sit on and books to read while they munched on cookies or fruit amid their father’s tools and stored household items.

That seemed like so long ago.

Abigail went to the dresser and opened the carved cedar box. A stack of letters tied together with a purple ribbon lay on top of a few trinkets Mable had collected.

A Bible lay next to the box. She’d seen it when she dusted, but she hadn’t paid any attention to it. Mable had never taken it to church. She picked it up and looked at the inside cover. It had belonged to Harry Davies. Why had he sent her his Bible? She set it back where she’d found it.

Abigail took the letters to the bed and sat on the deep-jade bedspread her sister had cherished. Their mother had made one for each of them. Abigail’s was blue-green, her favorite color.

Mable’s room had always been so pretty. The curtains matched the bedspread. And Abigail had decorated it with sea-green decorative glass bowls here and there to hold her small treasures and toiletries.

Mable and her mother’s color preferences for greens and blues had been very similar.

She didn’t remember much about her mother, who’d passed away when Abigail was eight. The one memory that stood out was when her mother was sent to a sanatorium for tuberculosis treatment. She’d never come home.

It had all seemed so unreal. Abigail didn’t even understand how serious it was when Doc Martin insisted Mother go for treatment. And when she didn’t come home, Abigail didn’t even understand for a while that she was never coming home. When the truth sank in, it hurt like nothing else ever had.

Abigail untied the bundle of letters and began reading.

When she finished, twenty letters lay spread out on the bed.

She’d read each one.

Harry Davies seemed like a good man. He’d written many kind words to Mable in an elegant script. Apparently, he was a rancher with a place at the base of the mountains. He’d painted lovely pictures with his descriptions of his home and the surrounding land. He’d also spoken of losing his beloved wife and his love for their young son. And he’d provided directions to reach the ranch. One letter even had the full address written on it.

She folded each letter and placed them back in the box. She would have to tell her father so they could return the money and let Mr. Davies know his mail-order bride wouldn’t be arriving on the train to Spring’s End.

***

Abigail entered her father’s drugstore one hour later with the packed lunches she prepared each day for them. She went to the back room to check the inventory as she did each day. Her father always just fetched what he needed and never made a note of it. She kept careful records of everything so nothing ever ran out.

She carefully checked each and every shelf for the number of bottles remaining against the totals in her records.

Bottles of ingredients neatly lined the shelves, all in alphabetical order. Other goods were stored in the back of the room. Boxes were stacked and labeled along the back wall. Everything was in order and easily accessible.

The room had no windows, but it never seemed dreary to her. She enjoyed keeping everything neat and orderly.

The bell attached to the front door rang and announced a potential customer’s arrival.

Several sets of boots clomped across the wooden floor. Judging by the different footfalls, a half-dozen men must have come in. Which was odd.

It would have been odd for a group of women to come in, but a group of men arriving together was even stranger.

She stopped what she was doing and listened to see what they wanted.

“Taylor, I want my money,” a deep, measured voice demanded. Even she could detect an unspoken threat in his too-calm delivery.

“I told you I couldn’t have it before next month,” her father said.

What in the world was going on? She tiptoed to the doorway and peeked out, careful to stay out of their line of sight.

Her father stood facing the men, his back to the counter where he compounded medicines. Five rough-looking men stood around him in a semi-circle. They all looked like they would be perfectly comfortable rustling cattle or robbing a bank. She didn’t recognize any of them. How had her father come to borrow money from these people?

“And I told you that I’m not messing around. You owe me five hundred dollars, and I want it now.”

What? Five hundred dollars! What did he need that much money for? What is going on?

He moved up closer to her father, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to remain quiet.

The man had a scraggly, dirty-blond beard and shaggy hair. Even from there, she could tell his face was set in a hard, intimidating stare.

Her heart pounded with fright.

Who are these horrible people? Are they going to try to hurt Father? What can I do to help him?

Realistically, there was nothing she could do. She had nothing to fight them off with. She wouldn’t even know how to use a weapon if she had one.

“You’ll have to wait. There’s nothing I can do about it,” her father said. His voice was higher than normal and he glanced from man to man, as if measuring their intent.

“I’m done waiting, Taylor. I warned you weeks ago. I want my money tomorrow. And if you don’t pay up, I’m taking your daughter.”

What? Terror dropped over her like a lead weight. Her insides knotted and seemed to plummet.

Oh, dear Lord, would her father allow them to take her? Surely not.

Who were these people?

“What did you say?” her father said in a shocked voice.

“You heard me. I want my money. And I better have it by tomorrow at the latest. And if I don’t, I’m taking her. I’m sure I can get some money that way.”

Her father stood speechless.

Say something! Tell them you’ll get the money, and they can’t take me.

But he just stood there.

Why isn’t he saying something? Tell them they can’t have me! Why doesn’t he speak?

Abigail was frozen. What in the world was going on? Why would these horrible men threaten to take her in lieu of the money her father owed them?

What did they intend to do with her to get money? That thought was too frightening to consider.

Her sister had taught her how to dress and do her hair up like a lady and what to say in formal situations. She’d also explained the nature of being a woman when Abigail was twelve, as each blushed furiously during the uncomfortable conversation.

Cold rippled over her skin even though it was toasty warm in the back room. She knew what those awful men were implying.

They had no extra money. She was well aware of their finances. Her father was terrible at managing money. Always had been. But it seemed like he’d grown worse since her mother died. They certainly didn’t have any money to spare.

More scared than she’d ever been, Abigail knew she was in terrible danger. She had to do something.

Chapter One

Laramie, Wyoming, 1879

With her heart pounding so hard the men probably heard it out front, Abigail slipped out the back door. She hadn’t even bothered to pull on her coat, and late fall’s bite chilled her almost immediately.

She raced across the dry dirt street to the Methodist church opposite the drugstore. She’d found sanctuary inside its stone walls before.

Normally, she would have admired the tall bell tower and the enormous bells that stood like a sentinel over the entryway. Instead, she raced up the dozen steps to the heavy wooden doors and slipped inside.

No one else was there. Stillness greeted Abigail, and relief settled over her. The Lord’s house always brought a sense of calm no matter what was happening outside those heavy doors.

It wasn’t warm inside the church, but it was safe, and that’s all that mattered.

At the front, behind a big sturdy podium, stood a large cross that looked like it must have weighed more than a hundred pounds.

Beautiful stained glass windows graced both sides of the church. And the pews were ornately carved.

She had always felt safe and comforted in a church.

Abigail hurried toward the front and sat down. She bowed her head and prayed for guidance.

The prayer comforted her, and her mind drifted into a warm, peaceful, haze-like heat shimmering over the land on a scorching day.

She welcomed the feelings praying brought her, and she slipped deeper and deeper into the haze.

An image bloomed in her mind, clear and crisp. Flames lapped around her, but not touching her. In the vision, she wasn’t afraid. Not like she had been six years ago.

And then he was there. Again. Her mysterious guardian angel with the beautiful gray eyes who’d pulled her to safety.

Surely, he had been Heaven-sent that day.

She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t even know what he looked like, except for those mesmerizing, smoldering, gray eyes. He was a little bit older than her. She could tell that much even though his face had been concealed from her behind a bandana.

She had never been more frightened than in the moments before he showed up.

My hero. I don’t know who you are, but you saved my life. And I’ll never forget you for that act of courage. You could have died trying to save me. But you came for me anyway.

He shimmered a bit but the vision didn’t fade.

Mable stepped up behind him. She held a letter up for Abigail to see. The letter that had just arrived from Harry Davies.

Mable! Tears sprang to Abigail’s eyes.

Don’t go, Mable.

The vision flickered and faded away.

No! But Mable and the young man who’d saved her were gone.

Tears ran down her cheeks, and a strange weakness seized her. For a moment, she couldn’t even lift her hand to wipe the tears away. She had seen them so clearly. And now they were gone.

Little by little, the strange feeling ebbed away, and she sat there, staring at the large cross at the front of the church.

The vision was a sign. She knew it. A sign telling her she was in danger. That’s what her gray-eyed angel was telling her. And her sister was telling her to go to Spring’s End and take her place as a mail-order bride.

Why else that particular vision? There was no other logical explanation.

She bit her lip. Yes, she could make it work. She had to make it work.

She had her dowry in the same bank her father used. She could close the account and have enough to help her father and herself.

But what if her father went to the bank and one of the tellers told him she’d closed her account? She didn’t want that to happen. Her father couldn’t know she’d closed the account. He would demand to know why, and she couldn’t tell him what she was going to do.

Would her father have any reason to go to the bank before tomorrow? He didn’t have enough on deposit to pay the men. She knew that much from their conversation. Nor would he be able to take another bank loan to pay them.

She should be able to get the money out and set her plans in motion without being discovered.

Now that she had a plan, or at least the bare bones of one, she said a prayer of thanks and went back out into the cold.

She crossed the dirt road and entered the drugstore through the back entrance.

Her father was busy discussing medication with a woman whose voice sounded like she must be elderly.

He sounded strained. But she could tell he was doing his best to sound normal.

The men had left, thank heavens.

Did her father even know she’d heard the heated exchange? Probably not. Maybe it would be best if she acted like she had just arrived and didn’t know what had happened.

Yes, that would be best. If he said anything about it, she would confess that she’d overheard it all.

Is he worried about me? Is he afraid of what might happen to me? Or does he just not care? I wish I knew.

Was he stressed over the thought that they could kidnap her? Did it take something of that scale for him to show his concern?

Why couldn’t he just make it clear he loved her? I want him to love me. But I just don’t know if he does.

She stayed in the back until the doorbell tinkled when the lady left. Then she took the inventory sheet and headed out front.

Her father looked up as she came through the doorway. “Sorry, I’m late today. I had a dreadful headache this morning.”

Was that relief she saw on his face? Was he glad she didn’t know what had happened?

Please care about me. Tell me what happened this morning and that you’ll protect me.

The heel of her shoe caught on the edge of a throw rug, and the next thing she knew, she was tripping forward, arms pinwheeling for balance.

Her father grabbed her upper arm and kept her from falling face-first on the floor.

“My heaven’s, daughter, you are the clumsiest girl I have ever seen.” His tone was more sharp than usual.

It’s understandable considering what happened earlier. I can’t believe he’s hiding it as well as he is.

“Thanks for catching me,” she said. “I’m the clumsiest girl I’ve ever seen too.” She smiled and headed for the soda fountain. “I’ll wipe this down.”

She’d heard the most-clumsy-girl comment at least a thousand times. It didn’t even bother her anymore.

Because, unfortunately, it was true.

She wished she was graceful like Mable. But she supposed that was never going to happen.

And it wasn’t isolated to falling over her own two feet. She dropped dishes regularly. Spilled glasses of water. Knocked things over.

Apparently, there was no end to the destruction she was capable of leaving in her wake.

How would poor Harry Davies feel about it?

Hopefully, his home wasn’t filled with small, delicate items for her to dust. That could have only one outcome. And it didn’t bode well for the trinkets.

Her stomach tightened and then fluttered. Deception wasn’t something she would normally engage in. But she believed the vision had been a direct message about what she needed to do.

She went behind the soda fountain counter and began cleaning everything. She might be clumsy as a three-legged hound dog, but she was good at keeping things clean and tidy. And it was something she enjoyed doing.

Her father busied himself behind his counter. She glanced over at him.

Please love me, Father.

***

She went through her routine all morning, acting as if everything was perfectly normal. But she kept peeking over at her father. Several times, she’d caught him looking at her too.

I’m worried about him. He keeps glancing at me. Is he worried about me too?

But as soon as her father finished his lunch, she said the headache had returned, and she needed to go home to lie down for a while.

“Okay, I’ll be home at the usual time,” he said.

How does he sound so calm? There’s a small change in his voice, but it’s barely there. He has to be worried. Doesn’t he? Yes, he has to. This is so strange for him to just act like everything is fine. It’s not fine! I can’t believe this is happening to us.

She pulled on her coat and left through the front door.

But she didn’t go home. Instead, she went to the bank. She had her own account, the bulk of which was a dowry her grandmother had left for Abigail when she’d gone home to the good Lord three years ago. She’d left one for Mable as well.

Her father had already withdrawn Mable’s money and spent it. The bulk of it had gone on repairs for the house and stock for the drugstore. She supposed there was nothing wrong with what he’d done.

After all, Mable had not left wishes for the distribution of the money should something happen to her. Mable surely hadn’t expected to be called home so soon.

She stepped up to Mr. Williams’ window. He was extremely tall, and so thin she thought a good wind might blow him into the next town. He also had unusual, tan-colored eyes.

“Good afternoon,” she said.

“Afternoon, Abigail. How may I assist you on this chilly day?”

“I need to close my account.”

He gave her an odd look but set about getting her money. He counted out six-hundred and fourteen dollars in a quiet voice so only she could hear the amount.

He has to wonder why I’m closing my account. I hope he doesn’t ask. I don’t know what I’ll say.

When she’d completed her business, she gave him a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Williams.”

He nodded. “Any time.”

She quickly left the bank and headed home. She didn’t want to be on the street with every cent she had. Many people wouldn’t hesitate to rob her, or maybe even worse, for a small amount of money, much less what she had in her purse.

Father knows I have enough that he could pay his debts, and he didn’t ask for it. He’s in trouble with those men. Maybe he does care about me.

As soon as Abigail arrived home, she went to her room and sorted through her clothing. She couldn’t manage more than two bags, so she selected items carefully.

She didn’t own any overly fancy dresses, but she had some nice ones she could take. And she should take a few comfortable, practical dresses and as many undergarments as she could squeeze into the bags.

Never in her life had she thought something like this could happen to her. She stopped packing and sat on the bed.

How could this be happening?

She was running off to marry a man she knew nothing about while pretending to be her sister. She had no desire for such deception. But she was clearly in danger in her present situation.

Her eyes burned, but she blinked hard. She could cry later when she was on her way out of town. Heading toward an unknown future in a new place.

The vision in the church had been shown to her for a reason. It wasn’t something she’d cooked up in her mind.

She had been given a warning and a way out. And she was going to heed it.

A branch from the elm tree in the side yard scraped against the window. Thick, gray clouds had brewed up since she returned from the drugstore. Hopefully, it wouldn’t rain.

She didn’t relish the idea of dragging her bags through muddy streets or being soaked in the cold rain as she made her way to the railroad station in the morning. Though she would do it if she had to.

She looked about her room. In just a few hours, she would set out for a new life, leaving all she had known behind her. A life with a complete stranger who expected a different woman.