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  Chapter 2

  Hank pushed his hat back, rubbing his neck as he leaned over the fence of the arena. He turned up his collar against the cold wind that had settled over Tombstone in the past few weeks.

  The gray clouds suited his mood—well, the mood of Archer Ranch in its entirety in the past couple of years. Things hadn’t been the same since his mother died, leaving his father greatly aggrieved and the rest of the family—his six sisters—at a loss.

  “Penny for your thoughts, son,” he heard from behind him, his father’s booming voice announcing his presence. And a big presence it was, the main reason Hank had avoided the conversation he knew he needed to have with his father.

  Hank glanced up at his father and the streaks of gray in his father’s black hair that he’d recently noticed, just in the past couple of years. His mother’s passing had done it to all of them, and the silence and grief hanging over the ranch almost made him lose his breath. Even so, he knew he’d have to say it sometime. Might as well be now.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Pa. Not sure you’re going to like it, though.” Hank shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at the circling dust as he shuffled his boots.

  Beau Archer narrowed his eyes at his son. “Whole heap of things I don’t like, Hank. Doesn’t mean they don’t happen anyway.”

  Hank shuffled to his other foot and looked up at the Archer Ranch sign reaching over the big gates to the place he’d always called home. His father was right. Bad things happened anyway, whether you wanted them to or not, and the hole that was ripped in his heart when his mother died throbbed with pain.

  “Right, Pa. We’ve all been having hard time lately. So I was thinking, since Tripp got off the trail and opened his restaurant, maybe I could stop, too. Stay home with you and the girls. Maybe start something up here at the ranch?”

  His father stiffened and crossed his arms over his chest, his smile gone. “Not possible, son.”

  Hank took a step back, not at all surprised at his father’s short answer. He took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair. “I know I can find somebody to replace me, Pa. Ben is coming along, learning how to ride the trail and what to do, and—”

  His father held up his hands and lowered his head. “Hank, I need you out there. I appreciate what you’re thinking, but the girls and I have Maria, and things are running all right. We need that cattle drive to be a success, and you’re the only one I trust to do it.”

  Hank leaned back against the arena fence, his arms crossed as he met his father’s gaze. He hadn’t thought he had much of a chance getting off the trail, but the long, cold nights and hard-riding days were getting old for him, and he wanted to try something different. Besides, he’d been to Tripp’s restaurant, the Occidental, and he and his new wife seemed so happy that he’d actually let himself entertain the thought that maybe he could have that, too. And with his mama gone, the ranch was cold, quiet and bleak, his father not having that sparkle in his eye he once had. Maybe he could help around here, too.

  His father cleared his throat and reached in his pocket, taking out a letter and turning it over in his hands. “Make you a deal. The next drive isn’t for a few weeks.” He turned the letter over in his hands, and Hank cocked his head.

  Beau nodded and held out the letter to Hank. “Hadn’t heard from your mama’s pa before now. Guess the mail’s slow. Not sure what to do about this, but you’ll have a little time to figure it out.”

  Hank frowned and reached for the letter, his eyebrows rising as his father turned and walked toward the big adobe ranch house without another word.

  Taking off his leather gloves and shoving them in his pocket, he walked slowly to the stables and leaned against he stable wall. The letter was addressed to his father and he turned it over, searching for a return address. When he found none, he slowly unfolded the letter, holding it toward the sun as he read.

  Mr. Archer,

  I am writing to inform you that your father-in-law has passed away, and I am sorry for your loss. I have been informed that you haven’t been in contact with him for quite some time. This may come as a surprise. He has left instructions that I find a bit unusual, but I am required to pass them along.

  He has stipulated in his will, a copy enclosed herein, that he bequeaths the property adjacent to Archer Ranch, of some 20 acres, to his grandson, your son Henry Archer with one stipulation—that he be married prior to his inheritance.

  Please inform me forthwith of your decision. The stipulation does have a four-month time frame, two of those having already passed. I do hope that this letter finds you quickly

  I hope this finds you and your family well, and please accept my condolences regarding the death of your wife.

  Sincerely,

  Marcus Abramson

  Attorney at Law

  * * *

  Hank sat down hard on the oak barrel behind him, his breath whooshing as he shook his head. He folded the letter quickly and shoved it in his pocket, yanking his gloves on as he marched up toward the ranch house.

  Married? That quickly? He’d hoped he’d be able to come off the trail, maybe get to know some ladies in Tombstone and see what happened. But this? There would be no time.

  He didn’t know what property his grandfather was referring to—heck, he hadn’t even seen his grandfather but once in his life. Why would he care if he was married or not?

  Stomping his feet outside the engraved wooden door before he entered, he strode straight into his father’s study and sat down hard in the chair on the opposite side of his large, mahogany desk.

  Beau looked up slowly, setting down the quill he’d been using to write in his ledger. “I see you’ve read the letter.”

  “I have,” Hank said as he pulled off his gloves and sat his hat down in the chair next to him. “Care to tell me what this is all about, Pa?”

  Beau Archer leaned back in his chair, expelled a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I can’t, son. Not now.”

  Hank shook his head as he watched his father’s shoulders sag. It was getting harder to remember when his father wasn’t this way. Wasn’t torn by grief. Was the strongest man he’d ever known.

  He stood and put his hat back on as he turned for the door. His hand on the latch, he stopped and said, “Okay, Pa. I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 3

  “I’ve already written to her, Hank, and sent some information,” Sadie Morgan said as Hank walked into the Occidental restaurant that she owned with Hank’s good friend, Tripp.

  He looked up at her, turning the brim of his hat through his hands in a circle. Her kind eyes and easy smile encouraged him—after all, Clara was one of Sadie’s friends from childhood.

  “Shouldn’t I write her, too? Doesn’t sound too gentlemanly, does it?” He’d wanted to write when Sadie had come to the rescue with an idea for who could be his bride in such a hurry, and he’d actually started a letter a couple of times. He’d intended to have Sadie help him now, although the time was getting short.

  Sadie waved her hand in the air then leaned over to pick up some of the dishes that customers had left after the lunch rush.

  “I know how you feel, Hank, but time is of the essence, and Clara has responded favorably.” Sadie beamed at him, two empty plates in her hands.

  “I just can’t get over the feeling that this could be bad, Sadie,” he said as he sat down at one of the empty tables.

  He’d spent the past couple of weeks trying to keep his mind off things, running through paces in the arena and helping train horses of his friends in town. There was a steady stream of people who asked for his help, and he wished he could accommodate more of them. He was just grateful that he could help out now, between trail rides, and it helped keep his nerves at bay.

  Sadie set the plates in the dishpan at the end of the bar and walked over to sit down beside Hank.

  “You know that this is how I ended up with Tripp. He needed a wife in a hurry and I…well, I had nothing better t
o do.”

  Hank looked up into her sparkling eyes as she laughed. “Now, Sadie, you two are a great couple and you know it. No matter how it started.”

  She squeezed his elbow. “It’ll be the same for you, too, Hank. I promise. Clara is one of my best friends, and I know that it will be a good match. Besides, if you don’t want to go through with the wedding when she gets here, you don’t have to.”

  Hank leaned back in his chair and looked around the restaurant his friend had built. He remembered meeting Sadie for the first time and being surprised that she had been so committed to Tripp and his success at the restaurant. If Clara was anything like her, maybe this would work out after all.

  He stood and nodded at Sadie. “I suppose you’re right. I really don’t know how to thank you, Sadie. Besides this property fiasco, things are pretty grim at Archer Ranch. Maybe someone new could breathe some life into the place.”

  Sadie stood and looped her arm through Hank’s as he walked toward the door.

  “You have no reason to believe me, and I’m honored you trust me. But if anybody can, it’ll be Clara Martin.”

  Chapter 4

  The three-day train ride had gone by quickly for Clara. She slept most of the way, exhausted by the sheer activity of helping Robert and Margaret pack for their move to New York. It had been a bittersweet week—they’d tried every day to change her mind—but she’d held steadfast. That alone had been exhausting, not to mention the wrapping of delicate china, clocks and trinkets—all the while assuring Margaret that her trip to Arizona Territory wouldn’t be the end of her.

  “You don’t even know this person,” Margaret said almost every day. Sometimes more than once a day.

  Clara had held firm in her decision, explaining that Sadie and Suzanne had spoken highly of Hank Archer, and reminded Margaret that they’d all known Sadie, Suzanne and their parents their whole lives. She trusted them, and she encouraged Margaret to do the same.

  By the time she’d actually gotten on the train and waved her final goodbyes to Robert, who was trying very hard to smile, and Margaret, who was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, she was ready to go. Exhausted, but ready. When she’d fallen asleep, it had been a sleep borne of countless waking hours and she sunk into it, rousing only for necessities and food, missing the changing scenery.

  She blinked the sleep out of her eyes as the conductor came through and shouted, “Next stop, Benson, Arizona Territory. Thirty minutes to Benson.”

  She turned and watched him as he exited into the following car, stunned that the entire trip had gone by so quickly. She sat up straight, her muscles objecting as she stretched. Used to long hours in the bakery, she stood and stretched more, oblivious to the glances of the other passengers. Out the window, strange vegetation whizzed past—she thought maybe there were cactuses but she’d never seen one. As she straightened her hair and tucked it back under her crumpled hat, the cactuses gave way to tall trees as they crossed a bridge over a river—or at least a riverbed. Frost hung in the trees and the riverbed was dry, but as she placed her hand on the window, she smiled at the warmth it transmitted. It was nowhere near as cold as Chicago.

  She’d written Sadie with her arrival date but hadn’t heard back from her—one of the reasons for Margaret’s near-hysterics. Her family hadn’t wanted her to get on the train with no guaranteed party waiting for her. Clara’s smile spread, though, as the train pulled into the station and Sadie’s warm grin met her as she stood, arm in arm, with a tall, very handsome man that Clara assumed was her new husband, Tripp.

  She hopped off the train nearly as soon as it came to a full stop. Dropping her valise, she rushed into Sadie’s open arms, holding tightly to her friend. Sadie pulled back, clasping Clara’s hands. “Oh, dear Clara. We’re so happy to see you, and thrilled that you’d decided to take Hank up on his offer—well, to help him, actually.”

  Clara pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her face, wishing she’d taken the time to look in a mirror. She looked from her friend—certainly a sight for sore eyes—to the man smiling next to her.

  Sadie laughed and grabbed his arm, pulling him closer. “Clara, this is my husband, Tripp Morgan.” She smiled, looking up at him proudly, her arm through his. She leaned toward Clara, her hand to the side of her mouth, and whispered, “He’s a chef.”

  Clara laughed, her heart warmed that her friend was so happy. And clearly in love.

  “I’d heard that.” She held her hand out to the man with the shy smile who seemed not to be able to take his eyes off Sadie. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” she said, shaking his hand.

  “Same here, Miss Martin.” He gave her hand a shake, smiling. “Welcome, and we are so grateful that you decided to come.”

  “I told Hank how lucky he was that you were willing to come out. It only made him pull his hat down further and stalk away,” she said, hiding her laugh with her hand.

  “And I can see why you said that now.” Tripp tipped his hat to Clara and made his way over to the pile of bags unloaded from the train.

  As he walked away, Sadie put her arm through Clara’s and turned her toward the stagecoach. “Isn’t he wonderful?” She could hardly take her eyes off of Tripp, either, and Clara wondered if it would ever be that way for her, smiling at her friend’s happiness.

  “And wait until you meet Hank. I really think this is a truly fortunate match. For both of you.”

  Clara squeezed her friend’s arm. “I’m a little nervous, now that I’m here. It seemed like just a—well, a good idea, but now it’s feeling more real.” Her breath quickened as she thought about all of the things that it meant to be a real wife. And wasn’t sure at all that she even knew what those things were.

  “Don’t worry. We have a long ride in the stagecoach, at least two hours. We didn’t want you to have to ride alone, not knowing where you were and all. And the restaurant is closed today, so we came up to fetch you.”

  “And I’m so glad you did,” Clara said. “I really don’t even know where I am.” She looked around at the strange surroundings. Buildings were much taller in Chicago than here in Arizona Territory, and the roads were even different.

  Sadie guided her toward the waiting coach and Tripp handed her bags to the driver. Clara’s cheeks flushed as Tripp opened the door for them, waving them in ahead of him, and sneaked a quick peck on Sadie’s cheek. “Tripp, stop that, now. We’re in public.”

  Tripp laughed as he stepped in and closed the door behind him. Clara glanced at Sadie, whose big, blue eyes were turned to Tripp. It was easy to tell that she really hadn’t minded the kiss at all.

  Chapter 5

  “I hope you don’t mind that Hank didn’t come along to meet you.” Sadie still had her arm through Tripp’s, where it had rested the entire trip. “We thought you might like to rest—and maybe freshen up a bit.”

  Clara’s hands flew to her hair, tucking it back into the pins it had fallen out of. “Oh, is it that bad?”

  Sadie laughed, patting her friend’s knee. “No, of course not. You look lovely. I just remember the long journey and how grateful I was for a hot bath, a good meal and a real bed.”

  She squeezed Tripp’s hand as he turned and smiled at her. “Yes, and it was nice for me to have a chance to get ready. I was nervous, too.”

  Sadie’s eyes grew wide. “Tripp Morgan, you never told me you were nervous, too.”

  “How could I not be? I was marrying someone I’d never met. Why do you think I made every dish I could think of to try to impress you?” He kissed his wife’s forehead and turned to Clara. “And knowing Hank, I’m pretty sure he’s feeling a little unsettled, too.”

  Clara sighed as she watched the river flowing alongside the road. “You know, Sadie, you told me very little in the letter you wrote. All I know is that he is a wrangler—and I don’t even know what that is. And that he needs a wife to inherit property.”

  Tripp set his hat beside him on the seat and leaned forward, smiling. “I can’t say
what kind of husband he’ll be, but I can fill you in on Hank Archer, the way I know him.”

  “Hank and Tripp grew up as brothers,” Sadie added as she straightened her skirts. “They are very close.”

  “Yes, we are. He is like a brother to me. And we rode the trail together for years and years.”

  “The trail?” Clara took the pins out of her hat and set it aside as well. She rubbed her sore shoulder muscles and waited for Tripp to continue.

  He leaned back in his seat, taking Sadie’s hand in his. “Hank’s father, Beau, is a well-known and successful rancher here around Tombstone. He has the largest herd of cattle in southern Arizona Territory. Cattle need to move…to graze and be sold…and Hank and I rode the trail from here to Texas every season to get the cattle where they needed to be.”

  Clara’s eyes flew open. “You rode from here all the way to Texas? With cows?”

  Tripp cleared his throat. “Not cows, Clara. Don’t let the Archer family hear you call them cows.”

  Sadie laughed at Clara’s surprised expression, reaching over and patting her knee once more. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn all of this. It can be overwhelming.”

  “It can. I was the cook on the trail and Hank was the best wrangler we had.”

  “What exactly is a wrangler?” Clara asked, not remembering that in the book she’d brought.

  “A wrangler is the man who handles the extra horses. We need to take three horses per hand, so there are spares. Hank is great at it. Best I’ve ever seen. He keeps them in line like nobody else.”

  Clara sighed, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. She had only seen horses from afar, the two most recently being the only ones she’d ever touched. And while she’d felt responsible for them, wanting to help, her knowledge and experience were—to put it mildly—very limited.