included in the envelope, and the deed had been proclaimed valid by a lawyer. Aaron’s soul had thrilled to the news. He’d written to Finn, inviting his brother to join in the trek to the goldfields, offering to share the gold they would mine together.
And then he had been killed for a piece of paper, one that promised riches beyond belief. Standing by Aaron’s grave, Finn had sworn to avenge his death and set off to find Lyle Beaumont, the man he’d been told was the thief and murderer who’d pulled the trigger and stolen the deed.
Only to find that Lyle Beaumont had something infinitely more precious than the deed to a piece of land.
A woman—a heavily pregnant, defenseless female named Jessica Beaumont. A woman who had, from the first, touched a chord in Finn’s heart. A woman who even now held the deed he’d vowed to regain.
He would have them—Jessica Beaumont and the deed to the piece of land Aaron had died for. No matter the price, Finn would possess both.
The woman didn’t stand a chance.
Chapter Two
“Good morning, Mrs. Beaumont.” Jessica knew without looking from the back of the wagon that her visitor was Gage Morgan. His voice was distinctive, deep, and with a touch of the South in each syllable. Hastily she fastened the remaining buttons on her dress and snatched up her brush, bending as she reached the opening where he stood.
“I’m not ready for company this morning,” she said quietly, looking out on the circle of wagons, and then to the man who watched her. Close enough to see within, yet far enough distant to appear discreet to the passersby, he smiled as she glanced in his direction.
“Can I help you from your wagon?” he asked, extending a hand as she considered the ungainly chore of climbing over the rear opening.
It was too good an offer to pass up, she decided, having found over the past couple of weeks that her balance was decidedly off center. His palm was broad, his hands callused and strong, and he gripped her firmly, long fingers at her elbows as she carefully climbed to the ground.
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” she murmured, feeling at a distinct disadvantage, off balance with the added weight of the baby and her hair disheveled from a restless night’s sleep. Her face was still unwashed, and it was embarrassing to have a stranger see her without the benefit of time alone to put herself together for the day. On top of that, she felt other eyes watching her, probably making her the topic of gossip over every campfire.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” Gage said, smiling lazily, his gaze fastened on her as she wobbled a bit, unwillingly thankful for his steadying hands, hands that caressed her arms lightly before he released his grip. “I brought you warm water from the campfire by our wagon,” he said. “I thought it might be welcome.”
And it was, she realized. Yet, there was a degree of hesitance as she nodded her thanks, and the obligation she felt to the man made her uneasy. If Finn had done the good deed, she’d have no doubt welcomed his help. But coming from Gage Morgan, it didn’t sit well, and she had to force the smile he no doubt expected.
“I’ll leave you to it, ma’am,” Morgan said, tipping his hat, his gaze narrowing as his eyes took a survey of her face and form. “If there’s anything at all I can do for you, just give me a wave and I’ll be here. I hope you realize you can depend on me to lend a hand when you need it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Turning from him, she reached inside the wagon and found the towel she’d left on a box, handy for her morning ablutions. When she looked back to where he’d placed the bucket of water, she found he’d filled the basin for her use, and she felt her mouth tighten. It smacked of intimacy, tending to her needs this way, and she felt he’d ventured too close for comfort.
But the water was warm, refreshing against her skin and she used it lavishly, appreciating the luxury of the early-morning wash without having to first light a fire. Her hair required daily brushing before she braided it, and it didn’t seem she would have the time available this morning to perform the task. A quick swipe of the brush through the dark waves would suffice, she decided, as she reached for her sunbonnet.
More than one man spoke as she made her way to a secluded area that had been set aside for the women’s use last evening, and assessing eyes took note of her, much to her discomfort. It seemed that marriage had, before today, provided a barrier, protecting her from the attentions of other men, and now that Lyle was no longer in the picture, she was open game for the available men on the train. Jonas had warned her it would be so, but the reality was almost overwhelming.
In a few minutes, she returned to her wagon and found Finn there, tending a small blaze, her skillet in his hand, bacon waiting on its surface for the burning wood to heat sufficiently. He glanced up at her and grinned. His hair looked like morning sunshine, she thought, and his eyes were warm. It was unfair to compare men, one to another. It was like apples and oranges, her mother had always said. Yet, the difference between Finn and the darkly handsome Morgan was a night-and-day variation.
Finn watched her, his good mood apparent, and she found herself returning his smile as he welcomed her back to her own campfire. “Good morning,” he said with a hint of teasing edging the greeting. “I didn’t mean to neglect you this morning, but I had to leave early on, just before sunrise. Jonas asked me to ride out and take a gander at the trail up ahead. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to lend a hand, but I promise you I’ll have a real treat in store for you tonight when we circle the wagons.”
“A treat?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“I’ll say no more till tonight,” he said.
The man was clean shaven this morning, his clothing neat, his hair showing the line where his hat had perched as he rode. An altogether presentable appearance, one she could envision taking pleasure in viewing in the days to come. And with an indrawn breath, she recognized that she was very near to making her choice, no matter the suitability of Gage Morgan.
“I missed you earlier,” she said in answer to his apology. “I was about to set a match to my fire and fix some breakfast.”
“I beat you to it, and saved you a bit of time,” he told her. “Now, I expect some food for my trouble. But I’ll bet you’ve already figured that out.”
He was crowding her, and she recognized his methods, knew he meant to gain a foothold, but she was onto his shenanigans. Her smile came easily as she nodded, waving a hand at the skillet he held. “I’ll do that. Give me a few minutes and I’ll mix together some biscuits and get them baking in the coals, then I’ll tend to the bacon.”
Turning back to the opening, she lifted the wooden box, settling it in place so that she could climb into the wagon bed, only to find him at her side. “Here, you take this,” he said, giving her no choice as he pressed the skillet into her hands. “I’ll climb up and get you a measure of flour from your barrel.”
Flustered, she took the iron pan and then watched as he made short work of what would have taken considerable time and effort on her part. In moments, he had the bowl of flour handed out to her, and she took it in her free hand and placed it on a precious chunk of wood by the fire. The lard can and her jars of salt and soda clutched to his chest, he climbed down and placed the bits and pieces next to the bowl of flour.
“All right. I’ll switch with you,” he said cheerfully, spreading the coals a bit as the wood burned down to permit the skillet’s placement atop the heat. “We’re going to have to resort to buffalo
