try to resurrect it. But she ached to know that kind of happiness again, the kind of love David had taught her a man and woman could find, if they were honest and loving enough.
Remembering made the night colder and more desolate as she left the town behind her. Walking quickly and steadily down the road as dark as despair.
Perched in his stirrups, Gage could barely make out the shadow of Sarah Redding as she walked the deserted road. The prairie winds moaned, making the landscape seem alive. Dried grasses rasped, an owl glided low, startling the mare. Coyotes howled, close enough to make the skin prickle at the back of his neck.
Old instincts reared up, ones that had once served him well. He’d vowed to keep away from Sarah, and here he was, looking out for her, making sure she was safe in the night.
But from a distance of half a mile. That was keeping away from her, right? Thanks to the long, flat prairie, he could see the road for a good mile and the lonely woman on it, walking with a tired hobble that was almost a limp.
He told himself it was sympathy he felt—not attraction—for the woman with the circles beneath her eyes and the worn dresses. For the widow with a daughter who’d been ill. He knew what it was like to be alone in the world with the sole responsibility of a child. And it was the former lawman in him that made him uncomfortable with the thought of any woman walking alone, in a peaceable countryside or not, because cruelty could dwell anywhere.
The road rolled down a gentle incline, stealing Sarah from his sight. He waited as a distant cow’s moo carried on the breeze until she reemerged, a slim shadow of grace against the endless prairie.
Sarah slipped from his sight completely, and he nudged the mare forward, searching for her in the dark.
There she was. Outlined against the empty road and rolling prairie. Looks like she was right all along. Maybe Buffalo County was as safe as it appeared. No danger in any direction.
Feeling foolish, he circled the mare around, nosing her north toward town. Keeping the reins taut, he hesitated, not sure what it was that made him pause. He felt unsettled, and it wasn’t the coyotes’s call or the restless winds that made him hesitate and gaze out over the plains.
Loneliness did. A loneliness that felt as bleak as a night without dawn.
Gage waited until he could see Sarah’s faint shadow at her front door before he turned, riding the mare hard. He knew from experience that it would take many miles to drive the demons from his mind and the nightmares from his heart.
Maybe there’d come a day when he could outrun them forever.
“Know what, Pa?” Lucy tromped through the tall thistles, casting a long shadow across the timber he was sawing. She paused, hand on one hip as she waited for his undivided attention.
“What?” he said for the tenth time that morning.
“At breakfast, Mrs. McCullough told me the schoolteacher was real nice.”
“So I heard.” He’d been there, too, blurry-eyed from a night of hard riding and, when he’d returned to the inn, hours filled with troubled dreams.
“Do you know what?” This time she didn’t pause but went right on talking over the sound of the saw. “Her name is Miss Fitzpatrick. Guess that means she ain’t married.”
“Guess so.” The saw’s teeth caught in the stubborn wood and the metal screeched in protest. He held back a curse as he worked the damn thing loose.
“Know what, Pa?”
“What?”
“I sure hope Miss Fitzpatrick likes me. Not that I want to be her favorite or nothin’, ’cuz I get to be the favorite a lot.”
Gage leaned on the saw and studied his daughter. Sparkling and excited. This new teacher was apparently a big worry, but as much as he loved Lucy, he had to get this house built. There was a whole lot of work to do before the mares started to foal.
“I reckon Scout is wondering why you aren’t showing her the new spread.” He set back to work. “Why don’t you go ride her around so she can get to know the place?”
“Sure. Know what, Pa?”
“What, Lucy?”
“’Suppose there’s lots of girls and boys my age at that school?”
“I reckon so. Now go ride your mare.”
“Oh, all right.” Lucy sparkled. “Do you know what, Pa?”
“Lucy.”
She giggled, not the least bit perturbed by his mood. “I’m gonna go ride, but I want some of Sarah’s pie for lunch.”
“Go.” Gage bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling.
There went his little girl, dashing through the weeds. Lucy flourished wherever they’d landed, but she looked lighter somehow, as if this place suited her. She hopped over the rail fence and unwound Scout’s reins from the post. With a whoop, she leaped onto Scout’s withers and the two of them were off, streaking out of sight.
Just how long would she be able to stay out of trouble? He didn’t know. Lucy was a mystery to him, but he loved her. He shook his head, sank his saw into the cut and worked, sweat dripping down his face as the sun strengthened.
This was happiness. A beautiful morning. Hard work to occupy him. A day spread out before him without a single problem he couldn’t handle. He’d been needing this for a long time. Wandering from job to job, trying to put the past behind him hadn’t worked. Maybe the peace of this great land would be the balm he needed.
The timber broke apart and he wiped his brow with his shirt. He straightened, taking a breather. He could see Lucy loping Scout through the fields and into the creek. Water splashed everywhere.
The squeak of a buggy wheel spun him around. Was it Sarah? He didn’t know why his thoughts turned to her, maybe it was because he knew she lived close. When he spied the tasseled surrey drawn by a pair of matching gray Arabians, he couldn’t explain the disappointment that whipped through him. It wasn’t Sarah.
What was wrong with him? He needed his head checked, that’s what it was. A man opposed to marriage knew better than to start pining after a woman looking for matrimony.
“Mr. Gatlin, I presume?” The surrey squealed to a halt.
There, looking at him from beneath a fancy bonnet, was a beautiful redhead with a fetching smile. He knew the look of hope, having seen it a time or two before, and panic kicked through him like a cantankerous mule.
Being a brave man, he straightened his shoulders, told himself to buck up, and managed what he hoped was a cordial smile. “Howdy, ma’am. What can I do for you?”
“Then you are Mr. Gatlin.” Her smile widened, and there was something artificial about it, as if she’d practiced just that same striking curve of mouth and sparkle of eye in a mirror.
“I hate to say I am.” Resigned, he knelt to heft the timber off the sawhorse.
“Then
