Julia woke the next morning, full of sunshine and ready to embrace every aspect of her new life.

“I’ll go to the dry goods store first,” she announced to Sam as she served him a simple breakfast of eggs and bacon. “Your cupboard is shockingly bare.”

Sam glanced up from shoveling eggs into his mouth as though he hadn’t eaten in a month. Then again, he had expended quite a bit of energy the night before. “I have plenty of food,” he defended himself.

“Of course you do,” Julia agreed with a smile. She returned from setting the frying pan on the counter and gave Sam’s cheek a kiss before sitting at the table across from him. “If twenty cans of beans, a sack of flour, and a tub of lard count as plenty.”

Sam’s back stiffened. “It’s what I’m used to eating.”

Julia grinned, half triumphant, half mischievous. “Well, now you have a wife who knows how to cook. Isn’t that what all men want?”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and bit off half of a piece of bacon.

“You’ll see,” Julia went on. “I’ll have you comfortable and content and glad that you sent away for me in no time.”

“Will you?” he mumbled.

Julia shook her head at him and dug into her own breakfast. Honestly, she didn’t understand why the man was fighting his new status so doggedly. She had every confidence that he would embrace married life with open arms as soon as she made the changes she had in mind. He’d certainly enjoyed the marriage bed the night before, and as far as she was concerned, that was the perfect gateway to contentment with everything else domestic.

She spent the rest of their breakfast making a mental list of everything she would need at the dry goods store. When she finished her eggs, she stood, took her plate over to the counter, and set it beside the dirty frying pan.

“Well, I’ll just be off, then,” she said with a smile, crossing to fetch her shawl from the wardrobe. “If you could just point me in the direction of the dry good store and let me know what your credit there is like I’ll—”

“Aren’t you going to clean up?” Sam interrupted, standing with his empty plate and coffee cup in hand.

Julia blinked, glancing to the counter. “Oh. I suppose I should take care of that before I go.”

She walked back to the counter, tying her shawl around her waist. Sam headed for the counter at the same time. He set his plate down at the same time as she picked the frying pan up, bumping into her. Both of them lost their grips on the dishes, sending them crashing to the floor. Sam’s plate cracked in half.

“Oh, dear,” Julia sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to buy new plates too. Let me just clean this up.”

She bent to scoop up the mess, but Sam stopped her. “Never mind. Why don’t I just clean up.”

She straightened with a smile. “Really? That’s so kind of you.”

Sam arched a brow. “I’m considering it a safeguard to my property.”

Julia laughed at his joke. She lifted onto her tip-toes to kiss his cheek one more time, then turned to leave. “I’ll see if the dry goods store has tin plates.”

“Good idea,” he drawled. His wary look hung on for a moment before transforming into a smile. “Kline’s Mercantile is just across the street and down a few doors. Why don’t you get yourself something pretty while you’re there.”

Julia’s heart fluttered at the sweet suggestion. “Thank you. I don’t think anyone’s been so nice to me in all my days.”

She left Sam with a smile and a faint blush on his cheeks as she headed out through the hall and the main part of the saloon. In the morning, with the shutters closed and no patrons loitering at the bar, the saloon felt cavernous and empty. Julia glanced up at the high ceiling and around at the bare walls, brimming with ideas of how she could make the place more welcoming. Curtains would be a good start. Samplers on the walls, maybe.

She grinned as she reached the door. Sam would thank his lucky stars that she’d come along once she was done with the place.

Kline’s Mercantile was as easy to find as Sam implied it would be. Julia hopped down from the boardwalk that ran in front of the shops on one side of Haskell’s main street, dodged a wagon on its way into town, and stepped up onto the boardwalk on the other side of the street. The town was bustling, as far as she was concerned. At least for a frontier town. She hadn’t known what to expect from the West, but so far it was worlds away from the rough-and-tumble world of the dime novels she’d read.

The dry goods store was another surprise. It was every bit as organized as the stores she’d frequented back East. Goods of all descriptions lined the walls and shelves. She hadn’t brought a shopping basket with her, but there were several to borrow sitting near the door. In no time, she had it loaded with everything Sam’s tiny kitchen lacked, including spices and fresh vegetables. There were so many other items that caught her eye as well. She added lace and ribbons, several yards of a delightful muslin that would make charming new shirts for Sam, delicate fabric for curtains, and even a precious porcelain rabbit that would make the perfect centerpiece for their table, to her basket. As far as she was concerned, the heavier the basket grew—and the more of them she needed to carry all of her purchases—the better a job she was doing of being a good wife.

It was only once she had two baskets filled and waiting by the register counter that she noticed the rack of dime novels.

“Ooh!” She stepped over to peruse them just as a trio of women entered the store.

“I don’t want this to take all day,” the tallest of the women—a blonde with her hair piled under a hat of the latest fashion and a dress that was stylish last year—said to the other two.

“It won’t take all day if Bebe can avoid being an embarrassment for more than two seconds,” one of the others said with a sniff, turning up her nose at the third.

Julia’s brow shot up and an excited smile spread across her face. Bebe. This must be Bebe Bonneville, Hubert’s sweetheart.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” Bebe defended herself. She was also blonde and dressed in stylish clothes, but her face was pale and pinched, and her blue eyes held sadness and strain. “I wouldn’t have caught my skirt on the wagon wheel if one of you had helped me down.”

“Hmph.” The second woman sniffed and turned away, snatching one of the baskets, and walking down the aisle.

“Melinda is right,” the tallest one told Bebe. “You are an embarrassment. You always have been.” She made a face at Bebe, then marched off to join her sister. And Julia was convinced they were sisters. They had the same coloring, the same figure, and the same sour attitude.

Bebe sighed and watched them go, then shuffled her way to the dime novel display. Misery enveloped her like a heavy winter wrap, but Julia couldn’t stop herself from smiling at the woman as though she were a star of the stage.

“You’re Bebe Bonneville,” she said.

Bebe blinked rapidly in shock, as if she hadn’t noticed Julia standing there. “I am.”

Julia nodded to the other two women, who were now at the opposite end of the store. “Who are they?”

“My sisters,” Bebe sighed, her shoulders dropping once again. “Vivian and Melinda.” She pointed out which was which.

“Why are they being so…so snobbish to you?” As soon as she asked, Julia’s face heated. Her question was impertinent.

“They’re always like that,” Bebe answered, either not bothered by the intimacy of Julia asking or eager to share. “They’re dreadful. I never realized how mean they were until Honoria left to marry the banker.” She stopped and shook her head. “I’m not supposed to talk about that. Papa doesn’t approve of Mr. Templesmith at all.” She turned to the display of novels, picked one up, and thumbed through it.

“I didn’t realize you had a sister who married a banker,” Julia said, picking up a novel herself, even though she was more interested in the conversation. “All I know is that your family doesn’t approve of your beau. I didn’t know they didn’t like your sister’s husband either.”

Bebe’s eyes went wide. She turned to Julia, cheeks flushing red. “How do you know about me?” she whispered. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“Oh.” Julia laughed and waved her hand. She nearly knocked the book display over in the process. “I just arrived yesterday. I came from Nashville to marry Mr. Sam Standish.”

“The saloonkeeper?” Bebe stared at her. “You’re one of those mail-order brides?”

“Mmm hmm.” Julia’s smile brightened. “And last night, Mr. Hubert Strong came to the saloon. He told me all about you.”

Bebe’s mouth dropped open. “You just arrived in town, and Hubert told you all about me?”

“Well—” Julia shrugged. “—I may have wheedled it out of him because he was looking so downhearted. I think the two of you have a wonderfully romantic story, though.” A wave of enthusiasm filled her. “It’s just like one of these dime novels.”

“You think?” Bebe brightened a bit, blinked, then brightened more. “I never thought of my and Hubert’s star-crossed love being like a dime novel. It’s always just been miserable and heartbreaking for me.” Even as she said that, she burst into a smile, glancing to the display of books. “I like dime novels.”

“So do I,” Julia said. “Almost as much as I like finding other women who like them. Which is your favorite?”

The two of them turned to the display of books.

“I enjoy anything by Mr. Ellis Fairchild,” Bebe said, picking up a thin book with a lurid picture of a train robbery in progress on the cover. “This one is new, though. The Marshall’s Terror.” She recited the title as though it were a coveted prize.

“I like Ellis Fairchild too,” Julia exclaimed. “Did you read Horror at Quicksilver Gulch?”

“Yes!” Bebe exclaimed, clutching her free hand to her chest. “I nearly expired from fright when the heroine, Sweet Rose Elaine, was tied up and dangled down the mine shaft.”

“I know!” Julia forgot that she had a book in her hand and grabbed Bebe’s arm. The book tumbled to the floor, unnoticed. “I squealed out loud when she looked down and saw that pair of shining eyes looking up at her from the depths of the mine.”

“Me too!” Bebe squealed right then as if to prove it.

The two of them burst into peals of giggles, as if they were already lifelong friends. The joy of knowing she’d met a kindred soul made Julia feel lighter than air. “I wonder if—”

She was cut off as Vivian and Melinda rounded the corner of the shelf behind her and Bebe and fixed the two of them with peevish frowns.

“Who is this?” Vivian snapped.

Bebe’s smile vanished. She shoved the dime novel back into its place in the display and faced her sisters, hands clasped behind her back, head lowered.

Julia, on the other hand, wasn’t even remotely intimidated. “I’m Mrs. Julia Standish,” she announced with pride, extending a hand toward both of the sisters. “I just arrived in town yesterday and married Mr. Sam Standish.”

Julia was proud of herself and Sam, but the Bonneville sisters looked at her hand with their noses turned up and their mouths pinched.

“You married the saloonkeeper?” Vivian asked.

“You’re one of those mail-order brides?” Melinda followed.

“She’s very nice,” Bebe added.

“Shut up, Bebe,” Vivian and Melinda barked in unison.

Julia flinched in shock. “Excuse me, but I don’t think you should be talking to your sister like that.”

“Who cares what you think?” Vivian sniffed.

Julia’s jaw dropped, but before she could say anything else, Melinda went on with, “I’ve paid for everything I came for. Let’s go.”

“But we’ve only just met,” Bebe said, glancing to Julia. “I want to stay and—”

“Nonsense,” Vivian cut her off, marching past them toward the door. “Come.”

“That makes it sound like you’re talking to a dog,” Julia said, anger flaring.

Melinda laughed. “Here girl. Come on girl.” She added a whistle, exactly as if she were calling a dog, then laughed even harder as she brushed past Bebe and Julia to join Vivian in the store’s doorway.

Bebe’s face crumbled with embarrassment. Julia was irate.

“You can’t—” Julia started, but Bebe cut her off, touching a hand to her arm.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s better if you don’t contradict them. That only makes them angry.”

“But that’s awful,” Julia protested.

“Bebe! Come along,” Vivian ordered. She and Melinda left the store.

“I’d better go,” Bebe said, rushing after them. “They’ve abandoned me in town before when I wasn’t fast enough.”

“They—” Julia stopped, shaking her head. She walked with Bebe to the door. “I don’t like them,” she said boldly. “But I like you. Say you’ll be my friend?”

“Of course I will.” Bebe burst into a wide, relieved smile. It vanished a moment later. “Although I don’t know how.”

“Nonsense,” Julia said in imitation of Vivian, making Bebe giggle. “You can come visit me at the saloon whenever you’d like. They can’t possibly watch you all the time.”

“They don’t.” Bebe stood straighter. “Most of the time, they ignore me, unless they want something done.”

“So come visit me when they can’t be bothered with you,” Julia said with a shrug.

“Bebe!” Melinda’s shrill shout came from outside.

“I will,” Bebe said in a rush, bolting out the door. “I will.”

Julia waved as she left, her heart feeling far lighter than it should. Bebe’s plight was terrible, but Julia now had her first real friend in Haskell.

* * *

The longer it took Julia to return from her errand, the more suspicious Sam became. When she finally came back with Noah Kline carrying two overflowing baskets of goods in tow, even though Julia carried one herself, Sam wasn’t sure if his heart or his bowels would give out first.

“How much did you spend?” he asked, following her and Noah back to their living quarters.

“Not as much as it looks like,” Julia called back to him over her shoulder.

“My pop says to tell you thanks,” Noah chuckled. “You just paid for Luanne to have her coming out.”

Sam rolled his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. Chances were that he could afford everything Julia had purchased, but the precedent it set wasn’t a good one.

“What’s this?” he asked, taking a thick bundle of white, frilly fabric out of one basket after Noah had left.

Julia straightened from where she was unpacking a basket of food, scattering everything across the kitchen counter, and glanced over her shoulder. She squinted at the fabric, then beamed. “That’s for curtains.”

A knot formed in Sam’s gut. “We’ve got curtains.” He nodded to the old, brown strips of cloth he’d tacked over his windows and tied back with twine.

Julia laughed. “Real curtains.”

“But there’s so much of it.” Sam set the thick bundle of fabric aside and peered into the basket again. He shuffled through its contents.

Julia stepped away from the counter and reached into the same basket. Their hands briefly touched, and Sam felt the same thrill of excitement that he had that morning when he’d awoken to find her naked in his arms.

“That’s because there are so many windows in the saloon,” Julia said.

It took Sam a minute to drag his mind away from the memory of her whisper-soft skin against his and the eagerness with which she’d taken to the things married people did and back to the curtain conversation. He blinked. “There’s only three windows in here.”

“And dozens in the rest of the saloon,” she answered with a laugh, taking a huge spool of red ribbon out of the basket.

“Wait, what?” He yanked his hand back as though he’d been burned.

Julia blinked at him. “The whole saloon needs curtains.”

He shook his head. “It’s a saloon, not a parlor.”

“So? That doesn’t mean it can’t have curtains.”

He couldn’t believe he was having that conversation. He shifted his weight and rested his hands on his hips. “Men come here to drink and play cards and associate with Bonnie’s girls. They come here to get rowdy.”

“Yes.” Julia nodded. “And they’ll have a much more comfortable environment to do it in with curtains on the windows.” She lifted to her toes to kiss his cheek, then carried the curtain fabric, ribbon, and some alarming-looking lace over to the bed.

A strange, buzzing feeling radiated from the spot where she’d kissed him. It did things to his chest, and lower. He stood frozen in disbelief for a moment, wondering how he could have gotten so in over his head, before turning his attention back to the contents of the basket.

“All right, what’s this?” He took out two more handfuls of fabric, one a pile of muslin printed with flowery, leafy designs and the other something sturdier, almost masculine, but with a worrying, lavender pattern woven through it.

Julia returned from the bed and took both bundles of fabric from him, her smile proud. “I saw this and couldn’t resist. I know you’ll tell me that you have plenty of clothes, but I’m very good with a needle, and I decided I’m going to sew you a new suit.”

“Out of this?” Sam gaped.

“What’s wrong with it?”

He worked his jaw wordlessly for a few seconds before saying, “I can’t wear purple.”

Julia laughed and swatted his arm with the suit fabric before taking that to the bed too. “It’s not purple, it’s gray.”

“With purple in it.”

“Only as an accent color. Besides, it’ll bring out your eyes.”

“My—” Sam stopped and rubbed his face. He’d known this would happen. He’d known that marriage brought all sorts of frou-frou, flowery things with it. Things that just weren’t him.

That well of dread only got deeper when she came back to the basket and pulled out the most ridiculous china bunny he’d ever seen. It had a painted face and curlicue designs all down it’s back and up its ears.

“What in the name of all that is sacred is that?”

Julia beamed as though it were the crown jewels and held it up to him. “Isn’t it just the most darling thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Uh….”

“I thought it would make the perfect centerpiece for our cozy little dining table.” She set the bunny in the center of his plain, rustic table, then stroked its ears as though it were alive. “Aren’t you just precious?”

The knot in Sam’s stomach turned sour. “I’ve got work to do,” he grumbled, turning to leave the room before the last of his patience snapped.

“Enjoy yourself,” Julia called after him. “I’ll get started on the curtains and then cook you a supper like you’ve never seen.”

He had no doubt about that. As he stomped his way back to the main part of the saloon, he had visions of petits-fours and frilly tea cakes, the kind of things fancy women in big cities ate. They would go perfectly with his be-curtained saloon and that damned rabbit. Hell, she’d probably start collecting a whole menagerie of dainty woodland creatures to decorate his space with. Although with her penchant for explosions, maybe they’d all end up in shards in the trash heap out back.

Fortunately for him, there was actually work to do in the saloon. All he had time to do was shake his head over his new wife’s antics as he accepted the latest liquor delivery, inventoried it, and put it away. He had to do it by himself while minding the few customers in the saloon so early in the day. Chan had worked double his hours the night before to give Sam and Julia a chance to settle in, and wouldn’t be coming in until much later.

The distraction of work would have been fine, but as morning slipped into afternoon and afternoon wore on, the noises coming from his living space got louder and louder.

“What’s she doing back there?” Luke Chance asked from his seat at the bar. He’d come into town to pick up a delivery for Paradise Ranch and had dropped by the saloon for a drink and company before heading home.

“Ruining my life,” Sam grumbled. But the emotion that swirled around his chest was closer to curiosity and anticipation than gloom. “She bought out half of Kline’s Mercantile this morning,” he went on. “Says she’s going to gussy the place up, make it more ‘comfortable’.”

Luke laughed. “Yeah, Eden did the same thing when we moved into our house.”

Sam shook his head as he washed out the bar glasses he’d just finished cleaning. “What makes them think they can just waltz into our lives and muddle everything up?” He set the dry glasses on the shelf above the bar with the others, then took a moment to arrange them all neatly.

“They’re like hens, I guess,” Luke said with a smile and a sigh. “Always feathering the nest.”

“Yeah, well, my nest was fine without feathers,” Sam insisted. He folded his washcloth carefully, then set it on the pile in the corner that needed to be laundered. After that, he started in on organizing the liquor bottles behind the counter in order of size and the color of the label. “Don’t they know that men like us aren’t the cozy and comfortable sort?”

Luke didn’t answer. Sam turned to him with a frown to find out why, only to discover his friend hiding a laugh behind one hand.

“What?” Sam demanded.

“Nothing.” Luke slid off his stool and tapped the counter. “I need to get home. Nice liquor display, by the way.” He nodded to the careful rows behind the bar, then left, still chuckling to himself.

Sam turned to study his bar. Sure, everything was clean and in order. It was easier to find things if you knew exactly where they were. But that didn’t make him a sissy or anything.

The noises coming from the back increased as the afternoon wore on. So did Sam’s worry. But all that vanished when the first wafting aroma of supper floated out to the saloon. Chan had just arrived for the night shift, drawing in a deep breath as he did.

“What’s that?” he asked, a look of rapture on his face.

“I don’t know,” Sam growled, “but I’m gonna find out.”

He handed over the inventory list he’d been working on to Chan and stomped back through the hall and into his space. The sight that met him just about bowled him over. Every surface of the room was covered in clutter. The kitchen area was heaped with pots and pans, a cutting board loaded with carrot tops and spinach leaves, dishes and cutlery. The bed was heaped with fabric and notions. The shelves to the sides of the room held everything from books to shaving soap to scrub brushes. And that damn bunny still sat in the middle of the table, staring at him as he entered.

“Oh! There you are.” Julia stood near the stove, in the midst of the chaos. She had changed into a simpler blouse and skirt and wore an apron over it. Her hair was caught up in an easy style with strands falling out. “You’re just in time. Supper is almost ready.”

“What in God’s green earth happened here?” he demanded, trying not to shout too loud.

“Oh, this?” She shrugged and lifted a pot off the oven to bring to the table. “I haven’t gotten around to putting everything away yet. I hope you don’t mind. I figured you’d want your supper first.”

“I…I want…how is this…what did you do?” He turned a half circle, panic rising in him at the utter disaster around him.

“I hope you like pot roast,” she said with a smile, setting the pot on the table, then going back to the stove for two smaller, crockery bowls that he didn’t know he owned. Chances were he hadn’t owned them until that morning. “And seasoned potatoes and sautéed spinach with bits of bacon.” She set the two bowls on the table, then turned to him with a pleased smile.

Sam was beyond words. His space, his home, looked like a hurricane had hit. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” She jumped into action, rushing to take his arm and lead him to sit at the table. “All you have to do is eat.”

As she sailed back to the counter to fetch serving spoons, Sam could only sit there, in pure shock. This was unbelievable. This was beyond the pale. Julia skipped back to the table and began to load his plate with food. This was so far from how he imagined his life turning out that he was on the verge of pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t in a nightmare.

“Eat up,” Julia told him, sitting across from him and loading her own plate with food.

Sam shook his head, absentmindedly picking up his fork. He speared a potato wedge and brought it to his mouth. He was going to have to do something about this. He couldn't let his life descend into chaos. He would have to lay down the law and—

He’d never tasted anything so delicious in his whole life. He blinked, the flavors of the spices on the potatoes hitting him like a boot to the head. One bite wasn’t enough. He picked up his knife and cut a piece of roast. It melted like butter in his mouth. The spinach was equally wonderful, and he’d turned up his nose at vegetables since he was a boy. But now he couldn’t get enough of them.

“Do you like it?” Julia asked, brimming with innocent uncertainty.

“It’s delicious,” he answered honestly.

She let out a long breath and started eating. “Good. I wanted to do my very best for you. I learned how to cook roast from my Great Aunt Angeline. She worked as a cook in the kitchen for one of the most prominent businessmen in Baltimore. At least, she did until that grease fire.”

Not even the gruesome story of Great Aunt Angeline, that Julia insisted on recounting in detail as they ate, could take away Sam’s appetite for the food in front of him. It was so far above anything he’d had or that he could make for himself. And as he finished off his first helping and treated himself to a second, a growing sense of dread that had nothing to do with Great Aunt Angeline’s disfigurement filled him.

He could get used to this. He could get used to this in a hurry.