Most preachers Gussie had happened upon had sonorous voices that sounded like bass church bells. Arvil Sherman didn’t. As he stood before Gussie and Max and read verses about fidelity from the Bible, his high-pitched whine got on Gussie’s last, frayed nerve. She ground her teeth so hard she was afraid they’d turn to dust.

Pastor Sherman’s black suit draped over his slight, skinny frame, clearly a size too big for him. His white shirt fit well enough but wasn’t helped by his droopy, black tie. His hair – what was left of it – stretched in thin strings across his balding pate and tickled the tips of his large ears. Still, he had an air of superiority about him. Gussie figured he was a big pea in a little pod – a pod dubbed Pear Orchard.

His wife was his opposite. A handsome woman with reddish-brown hair, she sat on the upright piano stool and softly played a church hymn. Taller than her husband, she had the widest shoulders in the family along with the deepest voice. She, too, had an air about her. She didn’t try to conceal her displeasure at seeing Max Lonestar or her disapproval of Gussie and the circumstances of their union.

Standing before the pastor, Gussie could feel the malevolent stares of Daisy and Pansy Sherman drilling into her spine. They sat in the second row of pews, right behind Erik, Susan, and the two Karlsson children. Both girls were pretty, she supposed. Daisy, the oldest, was slender with gray eyes and a naughtiness about her. She swung her hips suggestively as she walked and her eyes were always at half-mast and sultry. She had her mother’s deep, drawling voice and she made good use of it.

Daisy had greeted the groom with, “Why, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t the notorious Max Lonestar,” accompanied by a sly, suggestive smile. Then she’d arched her pale brows at Gussie while she looked her up and down, smiled knowingly, and sashayed down the aisle, not bothering to utter another word. Gussie had loathed her on sight.

The younger sister, Pansy, had a high, fluty voice and an hour-glass figure that bordered on plump. A brunette, her eyes were dark blue, and she smiled and giggled a lot, showing off dimples that bracketed her mouth. She’d twittered at Lonestar, batting her lashes and audaciously blowing him a kiss! For Gussie, she could only spare a sad smile and twitch of her nose. Gussie had detested her on sight.

Of course, Gussie’s better judgement advised her to pay them no mind. But they made her hackles rise, especially when they looked at Lonestar. Looked at him like they had a previous claim on him.

Standing beside Lonestar and listening to the high-pitched drone of Pastor Sherman’s recitations, Gussie felt fuzzy-headed.  Her groom, handsome as sin in his “Sunday suit” of black with its gray vest, snow-white shirt, and black tie, made her heart gallop. He’d removed his hat before they’d entered the church, revealing his dark hair that had been carefully brushed off his forehead. His sideburns reached almost to his jawline and curls brushed the top of his shirt collar. She breathed him in – that scent she associated with him – rainwater, soap, and now a hint of pine.

In profile, his eyelashes were long, shading his expressive eyes of warm brown with flecks of gold. He wore a serious expression as he listened to another Bible verse read by the loquacious minister.

Gussie’s eyes were even with his shoulder, and she felt that she paled in comparison to him in her cream dress with its white lace trim. Susan had plaited her hair and wound the braid into a crown. She’d placed small white and pink flowers throughout, and Gussie had to admit that she’d never felt as pretty as she did on this – her wedding day.

Wedding day.

Her breath caught for a second and sweet emotion squeezed her heart. Her pulse was so loud in her ears that it almost drowned out the mosquito-whine of Pastor Sherman’s voice. The next words he uttered, though, clanged in her head, jolting her from her musings.

“Do you Maxwell James Lonestar take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Gussie looked from the preacher to the man beside her. Lonestar smiled down at her and her nerves settled a bit.

“I do.”

The words left his lips and circled her heart. This was happening! She was getting married. A bubble of panic broke loose in her stomach and floated up to burst in her throat so that she gave a little cough.

“And do you, Augusta Adele Horton, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Adele?” Lonestar whispered before she could answer the question.

She nodded, seeing the shock on his face.

He swallowed and his throat flexed, making his tie bob. “That’s my mother’s name.”

It was her time to be shocked. “I . . . oh. I didn’t know.”

“Augusta?”

Again, she nodded, registering the softening of his expression. “I was born August first,” she explained with a shrug.

His lips curved in a smile. “I like it.” He drew in a breath and released it along with her name. “Augusta.”

Momentarily mesmerized by the way her name sounded when spoken by him – like a hushed, husky croon – she forgot where she was and what she was doing until the reverend cleared his throat.

“If you two are finished talking, I asked you a question, Miss Horton.” Rev. Sherman narrowed his already squinty eyes.

“I do!” Gussie said, too loudly, as if she’d been poked with a sharp stick. Tittering laughter echoed behind her and she knew it was the flower sisters. She held onto her temper by sheer will, while mentally cursing them to hell and back.

“Very well, then.” Rev. Sherman released a long sigh of aggravation. “Do you have a ring for her?”

“Yes.” Lonestar swallowed hard and reached into his jacket pocket.

A ring? He had a ring? She held her breath as he removed a gold wedding band. He stared at her hands and she realized that he was waiting for her to take off her borrowed gloves. Hurrying, she yanked at them and he grasped her left hand.

“Repeat after me,” Rev. Sherman said, his tone bordering on boredom. “With this ring—.”

“With this ring, I thee endow you with my heart,” Lonestar said, not needing the pastor’s words to recite. “And all that I am and all that I own. With this ring, I vow to thee humility, honor, and fidelity. With this ring, I make thee mine and I bequeath myself to you.”

Silence fell over the church. Gussie listened to her heartbeats drumming in her ears. She stared at the gold band, etched with tiny hearts, feathers, and filigree.

“It’s what my father swore to my mother on their wedding day and this is the ring he gave her,” Lonestar whispered.

Gussie had no words. She lifted her gaze from the beautiful ring to his beautiful eyes and he blurred before her as warm tears obscured her vision.

The pastor cleared his throat. “By the powers vested in me by the State of Arkansas and before God Almighty, I pronounce you husband and wife.” He closed the Bible and sent Lonestar a pinched-face grimace. “You may kiss your bride, if you want.”

“I want.” Lonestar slanted him a scathing glare before he bent toward Gussie. His lips brushed her warm cheek, near but not on her mouth. His thumbs skimmed under her eyes, collecting the tears that had fallen. It was then that she realized she’d closed her eyes in sweet anticipation of his kiss. Her lashes lifted to see his brief, almost chiding smile.

Gussie straightened her spine and turned away from him, feeling foolish for wanting his lips upon hers. Susan embraced her.

“Congratulations and welcome to our family. I’m so happy to have you as my sister, Gussie.” She took the lacy gloves from Gussie’s slack fingers.

“Did you hear, Suze? Her middle name is Adele,” Lonestar said.

“Yes!” Susan held Gussie at arm’s length and bathed her with her bright smile. “It’s a sign, Max. A sign that this marriage is meant to be.”

Feeling fuzzy-headed as if she were half-awake and half-dreaming, Gussie glanced around, wondering what they were supposed to do next. It was done. She was married. Not to Bob Babbitt, as she’d planned, but to this tall, handsome man with a checkered past. And she’d gained a sister-in-law, brother-in-law, niece, and nephew to boot! It all caught up to her and she felt dizzy, her head spinning and her heart racing.

“Whoa there,” Lonestar murmured, cupping her elbows in his big hands when she swayed from side to side. “Are you fixing to catch the vapors?”

Gussie shook her head and the world righted itself. “I’m f-fine. Just . . . married.”

He chuckled and let go of her, but stayed close to her side. “Yes. That we are.”

“You need to sign the church record and marriage license,” Pastor Sherman said, moving to the back of the small building. Sunlight streaming through the tall windows threw rectangle patterns across the pews and center aisle. “Follow me.”

They did and placed their signatures first in a big registry book and then again on an official piece of parchment. The reverend handed the parchment to Lonestar.

“There you have it. It’s all official. I suppose you’re taking that straight to Daniel Poindexter. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You married this woman so that you could get Poindexter’s land.”

Gussie’s glare sharpened and she used it to cut him down to size. The pastor tried to stare her down, but failed. He blinked and shifted his attention away from her.

“I’m buying the Poindexter place,” Lonestar said, his voice quiet but rock-rimmed. He turned toward Gussie and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

Curling her hand in the crook of his arm, Gussie left the church and stepped outside into the sunshine. People passing by stared at them and two young boys whipped off their hats and brayed like donkeys.

“She roped and saddled him!” one of the boys shouted amid a spate of laughter.

“She dropped her loop and that thar Injun done stepped into it,” the other said, hee-hawing like a mule.

“Hush, you foolish children!” Erik blustered at them, striding in their direction and making them scatter like rabbits.

Ignoring them, Lonestar led Gussie to the buggy that had brought them to town and helped her up into the seat. Erik and Susan went to the wagon parked behind it.

“See y’all back at the farm,” Susan called.

“We’ll be there after a while,” Lonestar rejoined before dropping beside Gussie and taking up the reins. He glanced over his shoulder to be sure no one was coming down the street and then clucked the big, chestnut gelding into a walk.

“Where are we going?”

“To Poindexter’s. The sooner we finish this deal, the sooner he’ll move.”

She smoothed the satiny skirt of Susan’s dress. “How many horses do y’all have?” she asked, needing something to get her mind off the uneasiness squirming in her stomach. That he was so blamed eager to see Poindexter rankled her a little. Made her feel like her part in this was over and he’d gotten what he needed from her.

He gave her a bewildered look, but answered, “Susan and Erik have six. I have two. Why?”

She lifted her shoulders. “Just wondering. Is this one of yours?”

“No. This is Hank. Mine are Quick and Clover.” He jabbed a thumb behind him. “Lewis and Clark are pulling their wagon. Their plow horses are Bea, Boris, and Beauregard.”

She smiled at the names. “Erik and Susan are doing well for themselves, aren’t they?”

“The last few years have yielded good cotton crops,” he said. “Erik is a good farmer.” He sent her a baffled look. “This is a peculiar conversation to be had right after getting married.”

“What should we be talking about? You getting the land you want?” Her tone was sharper than she’d intended.

“The land we want,” he amended as he grabbed his hat off the footboards and fitted it back onto his head. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when you said your name was Adele. Did your mother give you that name?”

She shrugged. “I guess.” She shifted, putting a bit more space between them as the intimacy was making her squirm inside. She was married to him. This man. This man was hers now. “Who named you? Do you know?”

He grinned. “Of course, I know. Why wouldn’t I?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know if Indians take note of such things.”

“I was raised among white people,” he said. “I was a winter baby, born the thirtieth of December on a snowy night on a ranch near Fort Clark, Missouri. My mother said I arrived in the world red-faced, with a headful of dark hair, and waving my fists in the air.” He chuckled to himself. “My father was so proud he went outside and shot off his rifle.”

“He named you Maxwell James?”

“No.” He laughed at that notion. “Mother did. Maxwell was her maiden name and James was her father’s name.”

“And Lonestar was your daddy’s name.”

“That’s right.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her. “And you like that name, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I’d rather call you that than Max. Suits you better.”

He shrugged. “That’s okay with me. I reckon it’s good that you like it because it’s your name, too.”

Gussie sucked in a breath. Her name! He was right, of course, but she hadn’t thought of it like that.

“Augusta Lonestar,” he said, sliding his hand in the air in front of him as if reading a big sign. “Has a nice sound to it.”

Yes, it did. Didn’t even sound like her, but that’s who she was now. She fidgeted and wished she could change out of Susan’s dress. Then she’d feel more like herself again instead of somebody she didn’t rightly know. Some married lady named Augusta Lonestar.

“We should have changed out of our fancy clothes first.”

“Why? You’re pretty in that dress. Maybe I want to show you off.”

She gathered her lips into a bud of disapproval. “I’m not some prized heifer.”

“True enough, but in your wedding dress, you are a prize, Augusta.”

Her neck and cheeks grew warm. She averted her face from him, staring blindly at the rows of cotton they passed, mostly already picked clean. “This isn’t my dress.”

“You fill it out better than Susan did.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t tell if she was offended or pleased by what he’d said. The man had her spinning like a top! With any other man, she’d caution him to curb his tongue, but with him . . . with him and his tongue . . . A fluttery feeling invaded her tummy and she pressed the flat of her hand there to try to still it.

“Do you know much about horses and mules?”

She rolled her eyes, confounded by this sudden turn in the conversation. “Enough, I reckon.”

“We’ll need to buy a couple for plowing. I can till the land for next season. I could plant some sorghum and maybe get a decent crop before the first winter freeze. I’ll plant some winter wheat soon, too. You think you could put in a vegetable garden? Mr. Poindexter might have a small one going, come to think of it.”

Hesitating, she wondered if she should tell him that she’d never planted a blessed thing in her life. Instead, she pretended to consider his question. “We’ll see, I guess.” There. That should satisfy him.

“Augusta, have you ever planted a garden?”

She slammed her eyes shut, realizing that he couldn’t be fooled so easily. Facing him, she was surprised to see that he was smiling. “If you listened to me when I talk, then you’d know that me and my pa never stayed anyplace longer than for a couple of weeks. Excepting for when we were at Miss Irene’s and she was a teacher, not a farmer. So, I s’pose I’m not going to be much good to you.”

“Planting and tending a garden isn’t all that hard. Won’t take you long to get the hang of it. I’ll teach you all you need to know.” He flicked the reins, urging the horse to go faster as the sun rose higher in the sky. “Besides, you can do things that I can’t do.”

“Like what?”

“I bet you can shoe a horse.”

She squinted one eye. “I can.”

“There you go.” He flicked the long reins again. “That’s something I’ve never done, but you can teach me.”

Leaning back into the padded interior, some of the tension eased from her body. He could teach her, and she could teach him. She liked that. It’d be like they were partners in a business. That would be right pleasant. She enjoyed learning new things and he struck her to be a patient teacher. Not quarrelsome like her pa. Working with Clem Horton had been as much fun as dancing with a grizzly – and, sometimes, nearly as dangerous.

The Poindexter land came into view and Gussie realized that she was wringing her hands and a nervous excitement had her insides trembling. This would be Lonestar land soon. That little house in the distance would be hers – well, theirs. Hers to call home.

“What are you smiling about?”

She started, not realizing she’d been smiling. “I was thinking that this wouldn’t be called the Poindexter place much longer. It’ll be the Lonestar farm.”

His eyes widened a little and then he grinned. “Sounds right, doesn’t it?”

She nodded and her gaze went back to the house. It would be her first real home.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty,” she answered without looking at him. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

She shrugged. “I reckon you’ve sowed your wild oats by now. I don’t doubt you’ve had more than your share of pretty girls chasing after you.”

He chuckled, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Not nearly as many girls as you seem to think.”

She looked at him, sensing the change in his mood. Sure enough, he wore a brooding expression. “Oh? How come? Because you’re part Indian?”

“Because I spent five years in prison.” His eyes had darkened to almost black. “There aren’t any pretty girls there. I went there when I was nineteen. Your age. I was released when I was twenty-four.”

The haunted look on his face pained her. “That was a horrible time for you, wasn’t it?”

“The worst time of my life. Prison changes a man.”

“How did it change you?”

“It aged me, for sure. Took some of the spunk and love of life out of me. But it taught me things, too. It taught me that time is a yardstick we can’t see, so you’d better live each day as if it’s your last – your final legacy and how you’ll be remembered.” He tugged the reins, slowing the horse and steering him to the lane that fronted the house. He heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. “The penitentiary nearly broke me, but I managed to bear up under it.” He leaned back, pulling the reins taut to stop the buggy. “Whoa there, Hank.”

She found his confession disturbing, if enlightening. She’d not thought much about his time in prison, but he’d just given her a much clearer idea of who he was and why. He seemed to her a happy-go-lucky sort of fellow, but he wasn’t. There was a darkness to him, put upon his soul by years behind bars – years when most young rowdies were kicking up their heels with their pals at barn dances and stealing kisses from gals behind those barns. In fact, he must have always had a rough going, what with folks looking down at him for being part Indian and then being sent to prison when he still had some boy in him.

All this time, she’d been focused on how fortunate he was to live on a nice spread in a pretty house where there was a soft bed to sleep in and good vittles to eat. He was fortunate in those ways, she thought, but good fortune had not always been his. Just the opposite.

“Augusta?”

She realized he was already out of the buggy and had come around to her side to help her alight. She placed her hand in his and stepped down carefully, mindful not to snag the skirt of her borrowed dress. Mr. Poindexter came around the side of the house along with his yapping pup.

“Well, lookee here,” he said, squinting at them. “Did y’all just get married?”

“We did, sir,” Lonestar said, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve brought you the legal paper, as I promised.” He handed the parchment to the old man. “Pastor Sherman married us this day.”

“Let’s see here.” Mr. Poindexter unfolded the paper and squinted at it. “Yep. Says you two are hitched for life.” He chuckled. “Augusta Adele.” His wizened gaze lifted to Gussie. “Adele, huh? That was his mama’s name.”

“Yes, he told me.”

“Ain’t that something.”

“It’s a sign,” Lonestar said. “A good sign. Things like that don’t happen for no reason.”

“Maybe so.” The old man handed the paper back to Lonestar. “All right. You’ve kept your end of the bargain, so I’ll keep mine. Come inside. Got the deed ready for you to sign.” His faded gaze moved slowly around him and his eyes misted. “I gotta admit, I’m gonna miss this here place. Had some grand times here.”

“There will be more. We’ll make this a happy home. Won’t we, Augusta?”

Hearing her given name sounded so odd – but nice. “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

“You planning on a big family?” Mr. Poindexter asked.

Gussie felt her eyes widen and her cheeks burn. Good gravy! What was she supposed to answer to that? Luckily, Lonestar saved her the trouble.

“One thing at a time, Mr. Poindexter.” He nodded toward the front door. “First off, we have some papers to sign. Augusta?” He angled out his elbow.

Feeling unsure and wobbly-kneed, she curled her hand around his arm and the big muscle there flexed under his sleeve. Then, like the Queen of England, she ascended the steps of a home that would soon be hers.