It's hard to be patient when you have a dream waiting for you.

Millie lifted her face to catch the fan of the already hot morning breeze. They were almost to the supposedly rough and lawless mining town of Willow Glen, but so far she hadn't seen a single outlaw, renegade or suspicious person.

Other than the man at her side, of course.

Leo Ryder manhandled the reins as if he owned the horse. Poor Beauregard, he'd seemed confused at first wondering why she wasn't the one driving him.

But now he walked along at a good clip, looking quite proud of the fact that he had such a rough, tough man at the helm. She sure hoped Beau wasn't getting used to Leo.

The man would likely part ways with them the minute they arrived in town. He'd muttered something about needing to find a man there.

Did he know someone there? Did he own property there? Even he had mentioned having another property to worry about.

That was the key right there. A second piece of property?

That seemed unlikely. The man didn't even own his own horse. And the hut he had did not even have an indoor water pump.

Then again, the thatch roof had looked like wild turkeys had roosted there too once.

She was not impressed.

Best not to think about Leo Ryder. Not when she was about to embark on achieving her very own dream.

Thank you, Uncle Fitzhugh for gifting me your Main Street shop. I sure hope it's something that doesn't look like it might fall over in a good stiff wind.

A girl could hope, right?

That meant she would have a secure and respectable job. And be her own boss.

Nothing could be better, right?

"Tell me what you know about the town," she asked. "Does Willow Glen have many families in it?"

"A few. I haven't paid much attention."

"Don't you get to town much? I suppose it's rather, uh, peaceful at your hut?"

Leo glared straight ahead, jaw clenched. "Are you making fun of my hut?"

"No. It was very nice. I mean, since you did let me spend the night in your bed."

"I just don't let any woman into my bed. I'm discriminating."

"Here's a hint. Next time you let a woman between your sheets, wash the blanket first."

"It wasn't my blanket."

"What?"

"I was sort of borrowing it."

"Borrowing it?"

"Without the owner's permission. Or even knowledge. Whoever the owner is."

"I should have known. You are just a loser on the edge."

"Yep, that's me. Too lazy to get a real job. And why should I? I've got business in Willow Glen."

"You own a business in Willow Glen?"

"I said I have business. I need to see a guy, that's all."

"Tell me where you're supposed to meet this guy. At a hotel? At a nice diner? I'm trying to get information here. I need to know what to look forward to."

"I suspect your expectation of Willow Glen is a tad too high."

"Why do you say that? You don't know what my expectations are."

"It's plain to see. You're the domestic type. Domestic tranquility. You're looking for a man to put the biggest sparkling diamond in the whole damn store on your ring finger and walk you down the aisle."

"How do you know? Maybe I don't like big diamonds."

"Here's a hint. There's no church in Willow Glen. Lots of saloons though and a brothel or two."

"Brothels?" Millie blushed. "I am not even going to ask how you know about those."

"Well, it's not as if I'm a patron. But a man notices these things, and you did ask."

"Are you trying to tell me this isn't a family friendly town?"

"This isn't a friendly town at all. When I used to have a job, a real paying job, I spent some time in this town. Not a lot. But some. I worked in the next town over."

"You were employed? I can't picture it."

"Why not?"

"You're a prospector. That is not a respectable job."

"Hell, I have my moments of respectability."

She could not imagine it. He was too tough, too lawless looking.

Unless he smiled. Just a hint of it touched the corners of his mouth. How many women had probably fallen at his feet when they got the full effect of that smile?

Well, it would not be her, that's for gol darn sure.

Even if he made her heart beat a little bit faster.

"When you were a respectable man, I hope you didn't go around living in other people's huts."

"No, I was financing a store front in town for a friend of mine. Someone who was a good friend of my father."

"You look like you belong in jail."

"You have no idea how close to being right you are."

His smile was wonderful, framed by dimples. It put a sparkle in his warm hazel eyes.

It was wrong of her to notice.

Completely wrong.

They drove past a few ramshackle homestead claim shanties listing to one side or another. Then town rolled into sight.

Not what she was expecting. Numerous tents cluttered together in a little tent city of sorts on Main Street.

It did not seem like a prosperous place, did it?

Then Beauregard pulled them around the corner and a thick grove of trees and she let out a gasp.

Now, that's what I'm talking about, she thought, a real street.

There were blocks after block of wooden shops in various states of construction. Some were not painted and in poor repair, others had striped awnings and freshly washed front windows.

Which shop was hers?

She jumped at the pop-pop of random gunfire, men's angry shouts from inside the bank and tinny piano music spilling out into the street from a saloon.

She'd never seen a real Wild West saloon before. She sure hoped that wasn't the building that Uncle Fitzhugh left her.

How ever would she get the patrons out so she could start her hat making business? She mused, giving a little laugh.

This rough, dusty and very interesting town was much different than her hometown back in Iowa.

A man came out of the bank with a bandana loose around his neck. Not that he could be mistaken for an outlaw or a bank robber, but he had more guns strapped to him than anyone she had ever seen.

I am definitely out of my element here. Would she be able to make a good start with her business here?

So far, she did not see anyone who looked like they might want to buy a woman's bonnet.

Men. They were everywhere. Tall men, short men, men who smoked cigars. Fat men, skinny men, but mostly men who looked like they lived on the wrong side of the law.

Not to mention stole horses, robbed banks and had never hired a laundry lady in their entire adult lives.

They all stopped to stare at her as they drove by. The men riding down Main Street stopped their horses to gape.

Men on the boardwalk turned, their conversation forgotten. Men poked their heads out of shop doors, bottles in hand.

Or even a gun or two.

Millie had never felt this on display. As they progressed down the street, she felt like a spectacle.

Nor did she exactly feel safe. What she'd thought were tidy, well-cared for buildings showed a lot of peeling paint on closer look.

Leo laid one hand on the walnut grips of his holstered revolver.

"Here's the general store," he said in a low voice. "I'll tie up your horse at the hitching post. Thanks for the ride in, and good luck."

"You're leaving me, just like that." Her hand shook, but she was determined to still it.

She wasn't exactly afraid, but some of the men were stalking her way. Their spurs jingled on the boardwalk, drawing her attention.

"Hey, don't I recognize ya?" One of the strangers lifted the corner of his lip in a leer. "Didn't I write away for a mail-order bride just like you? I got an image of the gal on her way."

"Sorry, I'm no mail-order bride." Honestly. She relaxed. The fellow might look scary with that scar over his right eye and that very sharp knife tucked into his belt.

But maybe he wasn't so bad.

"I hope she gets here soon for your sake," she said pleasantly. After all, perhaps he might be a potential customer.

She pulled a business card out of her trouser pocket. "If you need to buy a gift for your new bride, please think of my store. I'll give you a newly married discount on your choice of bonnets."

"I sure appreciate that." The man with the scar took the card and squinted at it. He shrugged, perhaps unable to read and slipped it into his pocket, the one right next to the deadly looking knife. "Is that your husband? Or a driver."

"Oh, that's no one."

Leo lifted one brow, silently laughing. "That's cruel. And no way to treat the love of your life."

"What?" She nearly fell off the wagon seat. "I did not just hear you say that, did I?"

"Sure you did, honey bun." Humor glittered in those dark hazel eyes.

Not to mention a warning.

"Don't try and disown me now, got it? You could do better in a husband, I'm sure, but you're stuck with me. Howdy there, stranger."

Leo ducked his head, tugging his battered Stetson's brim downward to hide most of his face.

"Howdy." A rail-thin, rawboned man stepped forward. "Say, don't I know you?

Well, this was not gonna work. Not at all. Leo cleared his voice, talking lower to disguise his voice. "No. Never been here before."

Millie turned to him. "But I thought you said—"

"Go ahead and get inside, sweetheart." Leo hopped down, glad the boardwalk was on the other side of the wagon, which meant he was far enough away from curious eyes that no one would put two and two together.

Riding into town as bold as could be took balls. He wasn't afraid of getting caught and hanged for a murder he didn't commit.

But he wasn't ready to do it now.

He held out his hand, caught Millie by the forearm and practically hauled her down to the ground.

"I'll tie up your horse. Good luck, lady." He stepped away from her, lowering his hat another notch. "I've got work to do. Men to find."

"Good luck with that." She sounded confused, lost. "Why on earth are you being so nice to me?"

"Someone has to." He ignored the glimmer of warmth in his chest and the emotion he tried his best to hide.

He turned his back on the attorney and crossed the street. Of all the men who had to walk up and notice who had driven into town with the pretty new woman, it had to be Bethany.

The only other man in town who could recognize him.

Leo resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder and check on Millie. She'd be all right, at least that's what he told himself as he headed down a shadowed alley.

A pretty lady like her always wound up on her feet, always lucky, with everything always going her way.

And good, that's what he wanted for her.

Ignoring the prickle of warning on the back on his neck, he kept on going. He'd lay low in the back of his shop until dark.

Then he'd go hunting for a murderer.