Haskell, Wyoming – December, 1885

Bebe Bonneville knew three things beyond a shadow of a doubt. No matter how bad things were, they could always get worse. Promises didn’t pay the mortgage. And there was absolutely, positively, undeniably no such thing as love. Period. If there were, she would have been happy and warm, decorating a house of her own for Christmas, a couple of cherub-faced babies under foot, and her strong, handsome husband looking on with pride and affection.

Instead, she shivered as she marched through the few inches of crunchy, dirty snow that lined Main Street a few days after a storm, the hem of her drab, black mourning dress soaked with icy water, with her wiry, bespectacled fiancé, Mr. Price Penworthy, by her side.

“This had better be the last stop,” Price muttered as they stepped from the street onto the pine-and-holly-decorated boardwalk that ran in front of Main Street’s shops. “I have far too much work back at the ranch for you to go dragging me around town all day.”

“I won’t be much longer,” Bebe replied, not bothering to look at Price as she pulled open the door to Kline’s Mercantile.

A gentleman would have held the door for her, but she’d long since stopped expecting men to behave in any way that could be deemed gentlemanly. Or gallant. Or plain old kind. The last man who she had deemed to be all those things had run out on her and barely looked back.

Hubert Strong had been everything she’d thought a man could be—handsome, industrious, passionate, and, as it turned out, an utter coward. He’d said he’d love her forever, promised to marry her and take her away from her father’s strict rules and her sisters’ haughty airs. They’d made plans. She’d packed her things and, with the help of her best friend, Mrs. Julia Standish, snuck out of her father’s house in the middle of the night. They’d almost made it to freedom, but her father had discovered her flight and come after her. For one beautiful moment, it looked as though Hubert would stand up to her father and claim her hand in spite of the odds against them. But the moment things got tough, Hubert ran.

“What do you need at the mercantile?” Price followed her down an aisle stocked with canned goods. He ran his finger along one of the shelves, then sniffed in derision at the dust. “We have plenty of food at the ranch.”

“I’m not looking for food,” Bebe replied, still not looking at him. She scanned the shelves for something pretty, something sparkling, something cheap. “I’m looking for Christmas presents for Vivian and Melinda.”

“At the mercantile?” Price laughed. “What are you going to give them, beans?” He picked a can of kidney beans off the shelf, made a face that Bebe caught out of the corner of her eye as she turned into the next aisle, then put it back in the wrong place.

“Maybe there’s something else,” she muttered.

There had to be something else. Something better than the dreary, cold life she found herself in. The girl she’d been seven years ago before Hubert left—and she was willing to admit now that she’d been little more than a foolish girl—had looked forward to brilliant spring times, parties and celebrations, and wardrobes full of colorful gowns. She snorted at the irony as she scanned a shelf of ribbon and lace.

It felt as though she’d been wearing black for years now, even though it was only two. First, she’d been forced to dye all of her pretty clothes pitch black when Vivian’s husband, Rance, had died. The odious man had gotten drunk and fallen out the third-floor window at the Château d’Amour, the “establishment” her father had set up in the hideous, pink building that used to be Bonnie’s Place, across from The Silver Dollar Saloon. Then, just seven months ago, her father, Rex, had died after a lingering illness. That illness was the whole reason Price had come into their lives to begin with. First he’d been Father’s secretary, then he’d transition to being Vivian’s right-hand man, and, finally, he’d somehow ended up as Bebe’s husband-to-be.

Which was why Bebe was still wearing black long after both of her sisters had moved on to shades of grey and purple.

“I don’t know why you’re shopping for Christmas presents when we’ve got a wedding on the horizon,” Price said, trailing her down the aisle of sewing supplies and notions.

Bebe sent him a flat look over her shoulder. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, Price, but as a general rule, people exchange gifts on Christmas.”

Price narrowed his eyes at her. He didn’t like her sarcasm, but had that stopped him from proposing? Not at all. “We’ve got more important things to do on Christmas Day,” he said, inching closer to her, his thin lips spreading into what passed for a smile. He was close enough to slide his hand around her waist, tugging her close enough to whisper in her ear, “Don’t we?”

Bebe’s skin crawled, and she struggled out of his amorous embrace. The time was rushing near when she’d be forced to submit to those embraces, but if Vivian could survive the marriage bed with a disgusting lecher like Rance, she could handle submitting to Price. She’d just have to close her eyes and imagine he was Hu—

No. Absolutely not. She would not spare a single fragment of her wilted imagination for Hubert Strong. Never again.

But it would have been wonderful to feel Hubert’s arms around her, to taste his lips the way she had all those years ago. No one had ever made her feel like Hubert had.

Burning with frustration, Bebe took a few large steps away from Price, pretending a bolt of orange muslin had caught her eye. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Price. It isn’t proper to show affection in public.”

“Affection?” he drawled, slinking nearer to her. “I wasn’t aware you understood the concept.”

Bebe turned and pinned him with a flat stare. She wouldn’t lower herself by responding to his comment, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to slap Price silly. Part of her argued that it wasn’t his fault she was so prickly, even though she couldn’t guarantee that, if she’d had a heart left, he’d have any place in it. She rather thought he wouldn’t.

“Maybe I’ll get Melinda a new pair of sewing scissors,” she said, picking up a sharp pair of shears from the shelf and pointing them at Price.

Price glanced past her to where the scissors’ price was marked. He sniffed. “Put them back. They’re too expensive.” He searched the shelves and rack that held ready-made clothing on the other side of the aisle and picked up the corner of a soft, white chemise edged in lace. “Why don’t you buy something like this instead?” His brow wiggled.

“For Melinda?” Bebe asked, knowing full well that wasn’t what he’d meant.

“For you,” Price replied, attempting to make his nasal voice sound sultry. The effect was more like an injured cow mooing. “For us,” he added in a whisper.

Bebe planted her fist on her hip. “I thought we didn’t have money to make frivolous purchases.”

“We will have money,” he said, letting the chemise go and sliding closer to her. “As soon as the wedding takes place, my family will shower us with gifts.”

“Why can’t they send those gifts early?” she sighed, more defeated than indignant at his family’s stinginess.

“You know how my parents and my uncles are,” Price said, resting his hands on her waist. “They count every penny. Ledgers are their bibles. The deal was that I would receive my wedding gifts and portion of Grandpa’s inheritance on my wedding day, no sooner.”

“I know,” Bebe said, staring at the silver buttons on Price’s coat instead of looking at his weaselly face.

“And as soon as I have my money, we can pay off the ranch’s mortgage.”

There it was. The cold, hard truth. Spoken aloud in a way none of them talked about at home. The mortgage. The past-due mortgage. Things at the Bonneville ranch had been going downhill for years, ever since Rex’s health had begun to fade. But after his death, once Vivian took over and had a chance to look at the books, it had come to light that the ranch was in dire straits. It was mortgaged to the hilt, and as the months after Rex’s death crept on, the situation had gotten worse and worse.

Things were so bad, in fact, that just before Halloween, Price had announced that if the debt weren’t paid in full by New Year’s Day, the bank would foreclose on the ranch. The First Bank of Haskell. The bank owned by Solomon Templesmith, who had married Bebe’s older sister, Honoria. The irony was so bitter that every time Bebe thought of how Solomon and Honoria were about to get their revenge on the rest of the family for snubbing them, she tasted bile in the back of her throat.

But Price had come up with the ideal solution. He had a pile of money coming to him, and all he had to do to get it was marry. He swore he was dedicated to the Bonneville family and said he’d prove it by marrying Bebe and saving the ranch. Vivian and Melinda had rejoiced and fawned all over Price as the savior of the family. Bebe had seen the calculation and lust in his eyes. Then she’d swallowed her last bit of pride—and shred of hope that Hubert might come home—and agreed to the engagement. She’d rather be married to a man she didn’t love with a roof over her head than be homeless and alone.

The wedding was set for Christmas Day.

Bebe turned away from Price, stepping out of his reach. “I don’t feel like shopping after all,” she mumbled, marching up the aisle toward the door.

“It’s probably for the best.” Price fell into step behind her. “I don’t see why you should buy Christmas gifts for anyone anyhow, considering you’ll be giving them the best gift of all.”

“And what’s that?” Bebe asked, pausing to put her mittens on before heading back out into the cold.

“Me, of course.” Price grinned.

Bebe rolled her eyes. Some gift. She stepped out into the street, wondering what would happen if she ran. A train’s whistle blew as it pulled into the station at the end of Main Street. She could make a dash for it, hide on the train, and let it whisk her off to a new life. She could head to San Francisco, the last place Hubert had written her from before his letters had stopped three years ago. She could find him and…and…and punch him in the nose for everything she’d suffered through without him.

Three steps out of the mercantile door, Bebe froze. Across the street, Solomon and Honoria were just leaving the bank. Solomon beamed at Honoria, and she smiled back at him as though everything in the world were perfect. Honoria held a warmly-wrapped baby in her arms, and a four-year-old boy, bundled up in his winter coat, clung to her skirts. His skin was a perfect mix of Honoria’s pale complexion and Solomon’s chocolate brown.

“Ugh.” Price snorted behind her. “It makes me sick to see that kind of mongrelization displayed in public. Thank God your family has nothing to do with them now. I wouldn’t be caught dead with associations like that.”

Bebe clenched her hands into fists. In spite of the anger she felt over the cruel way Solomon was about to steal the ranch from them, it irritated her ten times more when Price, or Vivian or Melinda, disparaged Solomon and Honoria’s family for mixing races. They were happy. They were in love. Their children, her niece and nephews, were loved and wanted for nothing. It was beautiful. The rest of them should be so lucky. And yet, every time Bebe had worked up the nerve to defy Price and Vivian by making amends with Honoria and Solomon, Price had threatened to wash his hands of the lot of them and leave. They needed Price, so Bebe sullenly kept her distance from the Templesmiths.

As if sensing her watching, Solomon glanced across the street. As soon as he saw Bebe, his smile dropped to a look of deep concern. He said something to Honoria—who turned and waved at Bebe with a look of such regret and longing that if Bebe had had any heart left, it would have broken—then took a few steps toward them.

“Come along, Price,” Bebe snapped, marching quickly down the boardwalk in the direction of the train station.

“Bebe, wait,” Solomon called after her.

“Stay away from my fiancée,” Price shouted, scorn and superiority in his voice. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“But—” Solomon gave up halfway across Main Street. He had to jump back to avoid being hit by a wagon.

Bebe tilted her chin up and did her best to ignore her brother-in-law. She didn’t know where she was going, had no clue what she was doing, but she had to get away from Solomon before she cracked and spoke to him. It wasn’t just Price’s threats to leave if she reconciled with them. She blamed Solomon for the situation with the ranch, blamed him for not helping her get out from under her father’s thumb all those years ago, and, as irrational as it was, blamed him for not doing more to stop Hubert from leaving.

Oh, Hubert, Bebe sighed to herself. How could you be so cruel to me? I thought we were in love. Where are you?

For years, she had held onto the hope that he would come back for her. And indeed, for four long, painful, glorious years, she’d had a letter from him almost every week. They’d been separated by miles, but it was as though part of them were still together every time she read those letters. Then they’d begun to taper off. And one day, they stopped entirely. She’d continued to write—for a time—but all to no avail. The last thing Hubert had written to her was that he was excited about a possible promotion at the newspaper where he worked, something that would involve travel. But that was it. He’d lost interest, and Bebe had lost him. She’d been forced to abandon hope and stopped writing to him.

As if some cruel force had heard her thoughts and decided to rub it in, by the time she and Price reached the end of Main Street where the train station stood, a small crowd of Hubert’s brothers and sisters were standing on the platform. Hubert’s father, Athos Strong, was the stationmaster, and Bebe spotted him giving directions to the porters unloading the newly arrived train. But Mrs. Elspeth Strong was there with him, and all of the Strong children—most of whom weren’t really children anymore, but rather young adults—were bristling with excitement as they watched the train.

Lael Strong must have just come home from where he was attending college back East. Or maybe Heather’s mysterious fiancé from Seattle was joining the family for the holidays. The mystery man had been the talk of the town all fall, ever since Heather and her twin Ivy had gone to a conference on women in business in Seattle over the summer and Heather had come back engaged. And to think, just a short time ago, they had all been in school together, wearing pigtails and short skirts.

“It’s obscene for one man to father so many children,” Price grumbled as they paused at the end of Main Street to watch the scene. “I’ll be content with an heir and a spare.” He grinned at her and rubbed his hand in a circle on the small of her back. “Although that doesn’t mean we’ll have to stop enjoying each other. I’ve heard there are ways to prevent unwanted children these days, before and after conception.”

Bebe gasped, but it had nothing to do with the suggestions Price was whispering in her ear. The Strong family had just leapt into cheers and greetings as a tall, finely-dressed man appeared on the platform at the back of one of the train cars. He broke into a joyful smile and waved to his siblings as they rushed forward. Then his gaze moved beyond the Strong mass and met hers. Bebe burst into tears of rage.

* * *

Hubert’s heart had been pounding throughout the entire final approach to Haskell. Long before the train’s brakes began to squeal or the whistle to blow, he’d leapt out of his seat, grabbed the small satchel he kept his essentials in, and paced toward the door. This was it. After seven years of adventures, some of them wilder than others, he was finally coming home.

Home. He’d been dreaming of Haskell from the morning he’d been forced to leave Bebe behind to seek his fortune. It had killed him not to take her with him, especially when she’d vowed that she didn’t care whether he had a dime to his name, she would still marry him. Of course she would, but even then, he’d known that he couldn’t do that to her. Bebe deserved better.

It had taken far longer than Hubert thought it would, but, at last, he was the better man that he’d wished for his own true love. He’d made a name for himself in west coast journalism, traveled and lived abroad, and squirreled away every dollar he earned. He was sitting on an impressive pile of capital now. Finally, he had everything he needed to give Bebe the life she deserved.

“Whoa there, young fella.” The conductor stopped Hubert with a hand to his chest before he could run out onto the platform at the front of the car. “You’ve gotta wait until the train comes to a full stop.”

“But this is my father’s station,” Hubert joked, too excited to wait patiently. “I’ve had the run of this place since I was in short pants.”

The conductor eyed him with a smirk. “You’re one of Athos Strong’s brood, are you?”

“I am.” Hubert nodded proudly.

“Then you should know that you have to wait for the train to come to a complete stop before you can leave the car,” the conductor teased him.

Hubert was too happy to do anything more than laugh. He’d been waiting for this moment. A little more anticipation would only sweeten his arrival. He knew that his father and Elspeth and all of his siblings except for Lael—who was off at a big city school learning to be important—would be waiting. Elspeth had written as much when he’d sent her his itinerary. He’d asked Elspeth to make sure Bebe was there as well, though his step-mother had been strangely silent about whether she’d make that happen.

Strangely silent was a good way to describe how things had been with Bebe for the past few years. For a while there, they had written so many letters back and forth that he joked to one of his friends in San Francisco that paying for postage would stop him from saving the money he needed to marry her. Then he’d been given his assignment as a foreign correspondent in Japan. He’d sent Bebe his foreign address the moment he’d gotten settled in Tokyo, but she hadn’t written once since then. Not once. At first, he’d assumed she must have been in a snit about him moving even farther away, rather than coming home. But three years was one impressive snit.

The train let out a final screech, then a puff of steam as it pulled to a stop. The conductor nodded to Hubert with a grin, then said, “All right, off you go.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t hesitate. As soon as the door was open, he rushed out onto the platform at the back of the car. And there, waiting for him in a big, cheerful bunch, was his family. His eyes popped wide. It’d been seven years since he’d seen them all together. They’d all come out to San Francisco to visit him over the years, and his oldest brother, Vernon, had actually made the trip to Tokyo on a whim last summer. But everyone seemed to have grown. Heather and Ivy were beautiful young women. Vernon was a heartbreaker of a fully-grown man. Neva and Millie were sixteen and budding into identical beauties. And “little” Thomas was sporting something fuzzy on his upper lip.

But what caught his eye even more than the attractive bunch of grown and almost grown people that was his sibling was the radiant figure of Bebe standing at the end of Main Street, just beyond the train platform. His breath caught in his lungs. Seven years. Seven painfully long years. She’d sent him a photograph after two years so that he wouldn’t forget her, but in the five years since then, she’d changed beyond measure. She was a woman in every way now, no trace of anything girlish left about her. Her face was a perfect oval, with a long, elegant nose. She was no longer pleasingly plump as she had been. Her hair was caught up in an elaborate style, a simple hat fixed perfectly on top. Perhaps she was a little pale, and instead of beaming at him as he’d dreamed she would, she wore an expression of utmost surprise. Still, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—either in America or in Japan.

Without even realizing it, he rushed down the steps and hopped to the platform, pushing forward.

“Hubert! You’re home!” his siblings called out, rushing to greet him.

He took a moment to hug his sisters and shake hands with his brothers, but his attention wasn’t on them. All he could think about was breaking away and running to Bebe. Even though his siblings fell all over themselves to tell him how glad they were he was home and how much they’d missed him, his eyes wandered past them, seeking Bebe out. They seemed to understand, and after the initial crush, backed away and let him stride across the platform to the stairs leading to the street. He barely noticed that their smiles had faded, or that they’d gone tense.

“Bebe,” he called, marching across a crust of snow, nearly being hit by a wagon adorned with Christmas bells as it zipped down Station Street. It was as though his heart were and had always been, attached to Bebe’s with a string, and the tug on that string had suddenly become too much to resist. She stood perfectly still, waiting for him, her eyes glassy and round. A man was standing by her side, but Hubert ignored him, marching forward. “Bebe, my darling, you don’t know how happy I am—”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before she raised a balled fist and punched him across the jaw with her full strength.