What happened to her? That’s what Lucien wanted to know. Billie was terrified, and the thought made his blood boil. If he ever got his hands on the man that harmed her, he’d … he’d … well, haul him before the law and make sure he got his due punishment. He knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill a man. Maim, maybe.

But more importantly, he had to convince Billie he wouldn’t hurt her. She must be wary after what she’d been through and he needed to remember that. “Shall we pray?”

Her eyes went to her hands in his, and she slowly nodded.

He gave both a squeeze, smiled and bowed his head. “Lord, we thank You for this bountiful blessing and this day. Amen.” He raised his head and smiled gently. “Maybe if we’re lucky, there’s cherry pie for dessert.” He gave her hands another squeeze and released them. She pulled them across the table and put them in her lap instead of on her sandwich.

She reminded him of a filly his father had owned – a beautiful, wild creature that had been abused by its former master. His father bought it to save it, and spent many an evening with the animal in the family stables, earning the poor thing’s trust. It took lots of time, but eventually the little filly grew to be a fine mare that would do anything for his father. How long, he wondered, would it take Billie?

Lucien watched her reach for the sandwich, pick it up and take a tiny bite. For all her size, she was incredibly feminine, like an Amazon caught unawares. Off the battlefield with her guard down and no one looking, she could be a woman and not a warrior.

He took a sip of his iced tea, then picked up his sandwich. “You’ll thank me later.”

She cocked her head at him as she chewed.

“Ordering the sandwich, I mean,” he explained. “If you ever try the stew, you’ll understand why.”

She almost smiled as she swallowed. “I’ll try not to forget.”

They continued to eat, chatting about things of little interest between bites. He didn’t want to upset her and wasn’t sure what to talk about, so he let her pick the subjects. But she wasn’t choosing any that led to what really needed to be discussed: the wedding.

Well, he had to do something … “I do want to show you the house tomorrow. I’ll ask Charlotte if she can accompany us.”

“Your house?” Billie wiped her mouth with her napkin.

“Our house. You’re going to live there, so I want you to look at it, see if you’d like to make any changes…”

“But…”

Be gentle, he thought to himself. Don’t scare her. “I’ll admit it probably needs a few feminine touches. I tend to like cream and brown, but you might prefer pastels. And I didn’t do much with the curtains.”

“Oh,” she said with a sigh. “I see.”

“Do you?”

“Oh yes,” she said, a little too quickly.

If she was agreeing just to appease him, she still wasn’t open to trusting him. Did she honestly think she was just biding her time until he sent her back to Denver? Wasn’t she going to be surprised when that didn’t happen! “Charlotte has the most wonderful catalogue at the mercantile. I ordered some new china for you.” He waited for her reaction.

“But … you couldn’t have.” She set her sandwich down. “You don’t know me. How could you have known what I like?”

He smiled as his shoulders shook with silent mirth. “Well, I ordered them for my mail-order bride, which is you. Charlotte assured me that any woman would love the set, and you’re a woman. Thus, they were ordered for you. Quod erat demonstrandum.”

She pretended to wipe her mouth, but he could tell she was covering up a smile. But was it a smile of amusement or of nerves? Every time he made an attempt to convince her of his commitment to their future union, she seemed to cringe in fear, as if she was already convinced it was never going to happen …

… Great Scott, that was it! That’s exactly what she thought. He stiffened. She’d suffered a horrible ordeal. Many people would consider her damaged goods. A few had over the last couple of days – otherwise, why would they question his desire to marry her? But he would marry her. Billie Jane Sneed was a woman meant to be loved, not discarded. “I’ll show you the china tomorrow when we see the house,” he said with a smile. “And the garden as well.”

Her smile now was clearly forced. But she didn’t say no. Progress? He suppressed a sigh. This wasn’t going to be easy. Billie was frightened, abused, hurt and so used to disappointment that she probably didn’t expect life to hand her anything else. He’d have to do something about that, and that would just have to take time. And he was willing to spend a lifetime on it. “Pie?”

This smile was genuine. “Sounds fine.”

Lucien waved Hank over. “What kind of pies today, Hank?”

“Apple and cherry. You want coffee with those?”

“Please, and two pieces of the cherry.”

“Coming right up,” Hank said. “Baked them myself.”

“Wonderful,” Lucien said as the proprietor walked away.

“Wonderful?” Billie echoed.

“Hank doesn’t bake everything around here. Some of the local women bake pies, and he purchases them to sell to his customers. But he’s better at it than most of them – he just doesn’t always have the time.”

“I had no idea.” She fiddled with her napkin. “I’m not a very good baker. I’m not a very good anything.”

Lucien stared at her. He was sure she wasn’t the type of woman to feel sorry for herself. Ergo, she was stating fact, or at least her perception. He could handle that. “Whatever skills you think you lack, you can learn. I wasn’t good at gardening when I was younger, but I don’t do so bad now.”

She smiled. “I’ve never had a garden. I was too often away at sea with my father.”

He rested his arms on the table, a smile on his face. “I bet you and your father had some grand adventures.”

Her face lit up. “Oh yes, we did.”

“Tell me about one,” he coaxed.

She smiled again. “My goodness, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“How about the last voyage you took together – where did you go?”

“Well, we sailed from Liverpool to Santander in northern Spain, with a cargo of textiles and other manufactured goods. Then back again with a hull full of wool for the textile mills. We did that tour several times.”

“What would you and your father do when you reached a destination?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“After seeing to the unloading of cargo, we’d have dinner somewhere, maybe see some things of interest if there was time. But Father’s primary concern was with getting the return cargo loaded, not sightseeing. That last trip, once we returned to Liverpool, Father sold the Nina Jane and booked our passage to America.”

Lucien noted the sadness in her eyes. “I wish I’d known him.”

She met his gaze for a moment, then closed her eye. “I think he would have liked you.”

“As his future son-in-law, I would hope so,” he said with a grin. She bowed her head and he wondered what she was thinking. “I imagine you miss the sea.”

“Yes. But I miss Father more.”

Lucien fought the urge to get up, walk around the table and take her in his arms. Not because it would be highly improper, but because he didn’t want to spook her. He wanted to comfort her, but she might feel more trapped than comforted. He needed to be careful.

“Here we are.” Hank set a tray on the table and unloaded two cups of coffee and two plates of cherry pie. He looked at Billie. “Do you bake? I could always use another woman’s baking in this place. You getting hitched to Lucien here works good for me, since his place is just at the edge of town.”

Lucien saw Billie pale and stepped in. “I’m afraid my bride and I will be too busy at first, Hank. She’ll have to bestow her baking talents upon you at a later time … Christmas, maybe?”

Hank frowned. “I was thinking more along the lines of in a week or two. Or at least for the town picnic.”

Lucien smiled reassuringly. “I’m afraid not … wait. What’s this about a town picnic?”

“There’s talk about having a big to-do at Old Man Johnson’s place,” Hank said. “Don’t tell me no one’s told you folks at the bank yet?”

“No one’s said a word. Besides, Mabel Lewis told me earlier this week her husband was visiting Mr. Johnson, because he wasn’t feeling well.”

“I heard he was feeling poorly too, but it seems it’s his idea.”

Lucien glanced between Hank and Billie. “Perhaps he wants it there because he’s worried he won’t be with us much longer.”

Billie gasped. “What?”

“He is old,” Hank pointed out. “Why do you think we call him Old Man Johnson?”

She shrugged. “How could I know?”

“It’s fine, darling,” Lucien said. “Nothing for you to worry about.” He turned back to Hank. “I’ll stop by the sheriff’s office today and ask Spencer – I recall him saying he’d check in on him, so he should know.”

“Good idea,” Hank agreed, then glanced at Billie. “Sheriff Riley lives next door to the Johnsons.”

“Come to think of it, I’ve not seen Bernice or Warren in town,” Lucien recalled, then explained it to Billie. “Warren is Mr. Johnson’s grandson, and Bernice is Warren’s wife. She came to Nowhere as a mail-order bride just like you. I think you’d like her. In fact… I should take you out to the Johnson farm this week and introduce you to Warren and Bernice. I could check on Old Man Johnson while we’re at it – maybe we can help with something.”

“With what?” Billie asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll find out. Up for a little drive tomorrow?” Maybe if she felt useful in some capacity, she’d be less fearful. Besides, Bernice was a sweetheart, and he’d heard she felt completely out of place when she first came to Nowhere.

She nodded. “But don’t you have to work?”

“Yes, but it’s not going to hurt the bank if I leave a bit early. I know Mr. Davis won’t mind.”

“Find out what you can about this picnic too,” Hank asked. “If there’s going to be one, I’ll have to figure out if I need to close up for the day.”

“We’ll report back everything we know,” Lucien assured him.

Hank look surprised for a moment, smiled and retreated to the kitchen.

Lucien winked at Billie, picked up his fork and began to eat his pie. Hopefully this would be another step in his bride-to-be’s healing.

The next day Lucien showed up at the hotel with a horse and buggy. “He’s beautiful,” Billie commented as she stroked the horse’s soft muzzle. “Is he yours?”

“She – her name is Marybelle – and no, sadly, she is not mine, I rented her from the livery.”

“You don’t own a horse?”

“I’ve never had a need to. If I want to go somewhere I rent one – more cost-effective.” He helped her climb onto the buggy seat, walked around to the other side and climbed up himself. “Do you drive?”

“No, never in my life.” She looked around. “What will people think of the two of us driving to the Johnson farm alone?”

“You’re my bride-to-be,” he said gently, “and we’ll be married in a few days. I don’t think anyone will pay us any mind.”

She smiled gently. “Still, perhaps Charlotte could come.”

“I asked, but she’s busy this afternoon at the mercantile and can’t make it. Don’t worry, it’s less than two miles to the Johnson farm – nowhere near enough time to ravish you, my dear. And if I tried, you’d no doubt give me the thrashing of my life, so …” That made her smile, and he smiled back.

“Charlotte told me that the Rileys and Johnsons have been in this area for a long time,” Billie mentioned.

Lucien nodded, appreciating her willingness to have a conversation. “I’m told they were among the original settlers here - good families, both. Did you know Clayton Riley was sheriff before his brother Spencer?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Clayton quit the law to take care of their orchards full time. He’d lost his first wife while working the farm, which soured him on agriculture, so he became sheriff to distance himself. Then his family sent away for his current wife Summer – without his knowledge.” He watched her eyebrows go up. “They were married despite a series of difficulties, including that little surprise, and have been happy together ever since.”

“You make it sound like a fairytale.”

“For Summer I imagine it was. She came from an orphanage in New Orleans. When she turned eighteen, it was either become a mail-order bride or take her chances in the streets.”

She looked at him, her head cocked to one side. “Lucien Miller, are you gossiping?”

“No, this is all public knowledge – I’m just giving you the history.” He suppressed a smile. “Then Leona Riley sent away for a bride for Spencer, and it turned out Elle was Summer’s best friend from the same orphanage.”

“My, that is interesting,” she said with a giggle.

Lucien was glad their conversation was lightening her mood. She was still skittish, he could tell, but this seemed to help. “You’ll like Bernice.”

“You said that last night.”

“Did I? Oh yes, yes …” he teased. She laughed, and they gazed at each other for a moment or two before he realized they hadn’t left. “I think we’d best be going,” he said softly, trying to keep his eyes off her lips.

“Yes, we should,” she agreed as her own eye skipped between his gaze and his mouth.

Lucien shook himself, straightened and gave the horses a slap with the lines. He didn’t dare kiss her in front of the hotel, not with Mrs. Ferguson undoubtedly looking on, the old busybody. Stealing a kiss wouldn’t be much as scandals went, but he didn’t want to rush Billie. The poor woman had been through enough the last few months. No wonder she was shocked at his acceptance.

Once out of town she began to relax as she saw the countryside. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her eye bright.

Lucien smiled. It was the first time he’d seen her with that look, and he wanted to see more of it. “Yes, especially at this time of year with the blossoms. Wait until you see it in the fall – the air is so sweet you don’t want to be anywhere else. And I grew up with those legendary New England autumns, so that’s saying something.”

She continued to look around. “How large is the Johnson farm?”

“I’m not sure, but they do hire a few hands at harvest time. Same with the Riley spread, which is even larger. Me, I’m happy with my vegetable garden. I can’t wait to show it to you.”

“I look forward to seeing it.”

Lucien looked at her. “You do?”

She smiled shyly and nodded.

Perhaps he was breaking through at last. He wanted her comfortable with him, wanted her trust, her heart. But it would take time well beyond their wedding day. “Do you like flowers? I have flowerbeds in front of the house, but nothing much in them yet. I look forward to seeing what you’d like me to do with them.”

That got her attention. “Roses are my favorite. I don’t know if I have a ‘green thumb,’ however.”

“We can find out. And I didn’t at first, but it developed in time. We can plant whatever you like – the beds are yours. Also, we have an apple tree in the backyard…”

“You do … I mean, we do?”

Lucien smiled as his chest swelled. “Yes, sweetheart. We do.” He fought the urge to kiss her, but felt part of her protective wall crack, giving him a chance to step in. If he could break through and let her know he would protect her heart, love it, cherish it, maybe she would learn to protect and cherish it too.