The two mules they’d purchased already had names they answered to – General and Sarge – so Gussie and Lonestar decided to keep them. The Morgan had a name attached to her, too – Virginia – but she didn’t seem to know it. Lonestar insisted that Gussie select a name, and after a few days, she decided on Majesty because the Morgan was such a regal horse.

Lonestar had hitched Majesty to the plow and tilled land beside the house for a late summer garden. Gussie had gone right behind him with hoe in hand and planted carrots, beets, winter cauliflower, onions, and cabbage. They’d spent two days on the garden, but it was work Gussie had enjoyed. She thought that Lonestar liked it, too, because he was in such a good mood that he’d whistled while he’d worked. She’d also caught him looking at her a lot when he’d thought she didn’t notice. But she had. It was like she could feel the heat of his gaze, as if his eyes were little suns beaming at her. Except instead of perspiration, they caused tiny shivers along her skin – the kind produced by caresses.

Her thoughts continued to meander to him as sure as fish to a clear stream. She dwelled on inconsequential things about him. The way his hair curled on the ends where it brushed past his shirt collar and stuck out behind his ears. How his dark umber eyes could light up suddenly with gold streaks and sparkles when he laughed. The timbre of his voice, not quite a purr or a growl, but something in between. She had trouble not thinking about how he looked shirtless, especially when he stretched his long, lean body beside her in bed every night. She no longer dreaded sleeping beside him. Now she looked forward to it. She liked the security of him next to her and the lullaby of his deep breaths. She liked breathing in the scent of him, clean but manly and bracing. He smelled of freshly turned earth, pine-perfumed air with notes of musk and lye soap.

Sometimes when she awakened before him, she felt his hardness poking against her hip or in the small of her back. It made her wonder if he dreamed of her or, maybe, he dreamed of other women like the flower sisters.

That thought made her straighten from her bent-over position in the vegetable garden. She pushed back her bonnet in quick frustration. Why had she let those harpies invade her brain? she asked herself, crossly.

Leaning on the hoe, she gazed out across the land – their land – and wished she could see Lonestar out there. But he was too far away, upturning earth in the far fields that were fallow. He meant to plant sorghum. He’d decided to plant winter wheat nearer the house to make it easier to haul to the barn. Listening to his plans every night over supper had become one of her favorite parts of the day. She’d never known a more ambitious and hard-working man in her entire life! When he wasn’t working, he was making a list of chores he wanted to do as soon as the sun was up again.

With a sigh, she dropped the hoe and went to the house where she’d set a jug of water on the porch. Collecting it, she drank deeply from it and felt instantly cooler as the water flowed into her. Buster lay on the porch and flapped his tail against it.

“You’re as lazy as the day is long,” Gussie told him, pouring some of the water into a pan she kept on the porch for the dog to use.

Replacing the lid to keep the flies out of it, she set the jar on the porch again and eyed the swing with longing. No, she argued with herself. She couldn’t be lollygagging about. Not when Lonestar and the mules were out there busting up dirt clods. Wouldn’t be right. She’d sit in the swing after supper tonight and watch the fireflies put on their show.

Speaking of supper, she should finish up hoeing and weeding the garden and then get to peeling potatoes and carrots. Turning to go back to her work, she paused when the hair on her nape lifted slightly just as Buster growled. She pivoted and lifted her hand to shade her eyes against the afternoon sun. A horse and rider turned off the main road onto the one leading to the house. Who in the world would be visiting them? she wondered as she stepped up onto the porch. It wasn’t Susan or Erik. She knew their horses and they nearly always traveled in a buggy or wagon. Someone Lonestar knew, she figured. Got wind that Lonestar had bought himself some land and had decided to see for himself.

Buster leaped off the porch, yapping and barking and making a scene.

“Buster,” Gussie called to him. “Come here, boy.”

Wagging his tail, he trotted back up the steps and sat at her feet so that she could lean down and stroke his head and ears. He kept fussing as the stranger neared.

The rider was a big man, broad of shoulder with a thick waist. Dressed mostly in black, his hat pulled down low to shadow his face, he bounced heavily in the saddle. He rode a broad, gray and white Appaloosa, its dappled rump and chest flecked with lather. The big man leaned back on the reins as he drew closer to the house. Gussie could see that he had a black beard and mustache, rounded shoulders, thick legs. His boots were black and silver. He stopped the horse a few feet from the porch steps and dipped his head in her direction.

“Well, well. Hello there. Max Lonestar around?”

“He’s plowing a field.” She pulled her bonnet back up to cover her hair. There was something about this man that didn’t sit well with her. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m—.”

“You’re his new bride,” he said, cutting her off. “His wife.”

She didn’t much care for his voice – it had a whine to it. She propped one hand at her waist while cautioning herself to be cordial, although something about the way he’d spoken to her made her want to tell him to get. “That’s right . . . mister?”

He pushed back the brim of his hat with his thumb. His eyes were close-set above a beak of a nose. He wasn’t what she’d call a handsome man. Not like Lonestar. But he wasn’t homely. No doubt, he’d attract his share of women. She just wouldn’t be among them.

“Mrs. Lonestar,” he said with a sneer in his voice. “Now ain’t that sweet?” Leaning a beefy forearm on the saddle horn, he glared angrily at her. “I’m the man you were sworn to marry.”

She stared at him as her heartbeats slowed and she felt the blood drain from her face. His slow, cheerless smile was like a bucket of ice water thrown at her. She drew herself up, realizing that she’d lifted a hand to her throat in a defensive gesture. She made herself relax, even while her heart boomed in her chest.

“You’re Babbitt?” she asked, then cleared her throat of the gravel in it. “Bob Babbitt? The man who wrote a pack of lies to me.”

His lips twitched into a deep frown. “The man who bought you a train ticket so’s you could travel here and take up with another man. Practically the first man you laid eyes on in town from what I hear.” His eyes bored into her, challenging her, trying to shame her.

“That train ticket didn’t bring me here. My two feet and riding in the back of hay wagons with goats and pigs is what got me from Ft. Smith to Pear Orchard. Did you spare one thought about my plight while you were drying out in jail?” Her temper rose, hot and scalding. She’d been praying for this day – this day when she could face Bob Babbitt and tell him what she thought of him. Her tongue itched to lash out at the sorry excuse for manhood.

“You didn’t think about bailing me out, either, did you? Just turned your back on me and married the first man what asked you. And don’t go thinking he liked you none, neither! All he wanted was this here land and he woulda married a plucked chicken to get his hands on it.”

“B-bailing you out?” she stuttered, stunned at his gall. She crossed her arms again and tapped one of her feet. The dog whined as if upset by the raised voices. “If I’d had ten gold coins in one pocket and ten more in the other, I wouldn’t have spent one of them on bailing you outta jail.” She delivered her most hatred-filled glare.  “You swore to me that you weren’t a drinker! And that you were an undertaker and owned your own place of business. Lies. All lies!”

“I woulda made good on all of it, if you had given me the chance,” he complained. “But you up and got yourself hitched to Max Lonestar of all people! You know he’s fresh outta prison, doncha? Or did he forget to tell you that?”

“He told me. He’s not a liar like you.”

“Ha!” He pointed a menacing finger at her. “All men are liars, darlin’. All men. I betcha he didn’t tell you that he had to be married to get this place, did he?”

“Of course, he told me.” She gave a haughty sniff of contempt. “He’s not a bald-face liar.”

“He’s an Injun.”

“I know.”

“And you still married him.” He swept off his hat and ran his hand through his thinning, black hair. “You must be mighty hard up. If you’d only waited a few days, we could have patched things up and this would be my land.”

“You sent for me because you had to be a married man to claim this land. You forgot to mention that in the letters you wrote to me.”

“I was gonna explain it all once you got here.” He waved a hand, sweeping aside the omission. “It’s no matter. You’ve messed in the bed and now you gotta sleep in the mess you made. I just wanted you to know that I don’t take kindly to what you did. You were promised to me.” He jabbed a thumb at his chest. “You took my money.” Another jab before leveling his index finger at her. “And you owe me, woman.”

“Owe you?” She tipped back her head and barked out a laugh. “For what?”

“The train ticket and my inconvenience.”

Again, she had to laugh. “How in the heck did I inconvenience you, I’d like to know! I was the one stranded, left standing alone at the train station as night was falling. I was the one who made my way to Pear Orchard – a gal alone traveling the backroads and sleeping out in the open. You were the one drunk as a skunk in jail, safely tucked away until you were fit to stand before a judge. If anybody owes anybody, you owe me, except I want nothing from you, save your absence.”

He had tried to bellow and interrupt her tirade, but she’d kept going, her voice rising to drown him out. Now he blustered, making noises but no words, as his face reddened and he balled his hands into fists.

“Why, I oughta get down off this here horse and teach you a lesson in how to speak to a man better’n you.”

She eyed the door, making sure she could get inside the house and lock him out before he could dismount, then she said with a slur in her tone, “What’s keeping you up there besides the fact that you’re all mouth and no guts?”

His face darkened, flushed red with anger and malice. He grabbed the saddle horn to help leverage himself off the horse, but then he swung his face away. Gussie heard the heavy thump of hooves, too. Looking in that direction, she spied Lonestar astride one of the mules, eating up ground like he was on a sleek-footed ride.

“Aww, yeah.” Babbitt’s hand slipped off the horn to rest on his thigh. “Here he comes. I figured he saw me riding this way.” Babbitt chuckled and sent her a glare. His face was still red and his eyes were mean. “You keep your fresh trap shut while me and him have a chin wag.”

She issued a contemptuous snort as she stepped to the edge of the porch. Lonestar reined in Sarge and slid off his back before the mule could even plant his hooves good. His chest rose and fell as if he’d been the one running.

“Here’s the traitor,” Babbitt smirked. “I knew you weren’t no friend of mine.”

Lonestar whipped off his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. “What brings you here, Bob?”

“Came to collect what this her gal owes me.”

“Owes you?” His warning glance at Gussie stilled her tongue, but he turned to Babbitt with a hint of a grin. “Besides a swift kick in the backside, what do you think she owes you?”

“I paid for her train ticket.” Babbitt glared down at Lonestar from the saddle. “As you know, she was supposed to be my wife and this was supposed to be my land, but you stole both from me. I figure you owe me, too.”

Lonestar shrugged as he walked his fingers around his hat’s brim. “Yeah, well, if we all got what we thought we were supposed to have, we’d be as rich as kings and twice as happy.” He fitted his hat back onto his head and stepped up onto the porch to stand beside Gussie.

“I’m owed, damn it!”

“I can understand that you’re mad, Bob. Disappointments are as plentiful as feathers on a hen, but it’s foolish of you to ride up here expecting to be paid for her train ticket. She completed her part of the bargain. You’re the one who reneged.”

Babbitt leaned on his saddle horn again. “No, I did not. I woulda married her if she’d just waited a few days. A fella can’t do much when he’s behind bars. But you’d know all about that, huh, Max? Yeah.” He glared at Gussie. “That didn’t bother you none? That he’d been in the penitentiary for killing a friend of his?”

The air around Lonestar seemed to quiver and Gussie saw his jawline harden to stone. She sidled closer to him, brushing her arm against his to make him blink and take a deep breath. “As I said, he doesn’t lie or sugarcoat anything. You could learn from that.”

“I’m not forgetting this,” Babbitt said, not even bothering to look at Gussie again. “Far as I can tell, you went behind my back and took my wife and my land when I was down on my luck. You’re going to wish you hadn’t crossed me, Max. There’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“Do what you have to do, Bob.” Lonestar’s voice was hard and soft all at the same time. “You need to get on down the road. I have work to do and I don’t want you bothering Augusta again. She owes you nothing. Not one damn thing.”

“Augusta.” Babbitt said it like a curse word, then he spat on the ground. “This ain’t over.” He reined the Appaloosa around and kicked her into a gallop.

Gussie released a long breath when the horse turned onto the main road and made tracks away from their farm. She took in Lonestar’s frowning countenance, thinking it probably matched hers to a T. “First time I’ve seen him.”

He let out a long sigh. “What’d you think?”

“I think he’s a buffoon and that he’s the type to hold a grudge for a long spell.”

“You’re right on both counts.” A grin hooked one corner of his mouth. “Are you sad that you didn’t get the chance to marry him?”

She scoffed. “I’m crying fat tears, can’t you tell? Besides, I did have the chance. I could have waited until he was sprung from jail and went along with the agreement. But I discovered that he was exactly what I’d stated that I didn’t want in a spouse – a drinker and a liar. My pa was both and I was bound and determined to get away from that kind of man.”

Sarge took that moment to shake from ears to tail and release a long, wheezing neigh that ended in a choppy bray. It startled both of them, but it scared Buster so bad that he squealed and scrambled off the porch with his tail between his legs. Lonestar laughed first and Gussie followed until her eyes brimmed with tears and her ribs ached. Sarge stared at them like they’d lost their minds. He stamped his front hooves and flung his head up and down in consternation.

“I think he’s ready to either get back to work or get back to the corral,” Gussie said between giggles.

“You know how to pick them, Augusta. Sarge is all business. He puts his head down and sets off along a row like he’s leading an army to battle. And if you think Sarge was loud just now, well, you haven’t heard General. That mule can bellow like a stuck pig. And the sounds he makes! I never heard such noises coming out of a domesticated animal.” He stepped off the porch and grabbed the mule’s reins. “Come on, big boy. Back to work.” With a quick jump and grunt, he swung up onto the mule’s broad back. “You all right, Augusta?”

She straightened and gave him a nod. “Of course. You go on.” She glanced toward the white pup as he slouched back onto the porch to sit beside her. “I have this vicious dog here to keep trouble at bay.”

“Yes, I can see that.” His brown eyes twinkled under the brim of his hat before he tapped the mule’s sides with his bootheels and directed him back toward the fields.

Gussie watched until she could no longer see him, then she went to the tree swing and sat down, her thoughts circling like a carousel. Meeting Bob Babbitt in the flesh had shaken her more than she’d wanted to admit. He was nothing like she’d pictured him. She’d imagined a kind man, a gentle man. The kind of person who was a natural at comforting the bereaved. She’d thought that he was a well-respected person in Pear Orchard and the nearby towns. His voice, she’d decided, was most probably soft with a lilt to it, almost musical and certainly soothing. He’d be friendly, but not forward in any way.

She figured that he’d be the kind to woo her gently, giving her time to get to know him and settle in before expecting anything more than a kiss or two. But, for all his gentleness, he would also be a man who stood up for what he believed and championed the downtrodden. He would make her feel safe – maybe even cherished. Absolutely appreciated!

“He’s nothing like that,” she whispered, but then it struck her like a blow that she’d very nearly described the man she had ended up marrying. “Lonestar,” she whispered, enjoying the sound of it and what it conjured when she said it. His brown skin, midnight hair, earthy eyes, muscled body, and teasing nature.

He was gentle, kind, considerate, and brave. And he was wooing her in his way. He had made good on his word not to force himself on her. She trusted him. Respected him.

Shame filled her. She’d treated him poorly and he’d been nothing but solicitous to her. Several times lately she had known that he wanted to kiss her and each time she had turned aside, walked away, denied him. For ten nights, he had come to bed and not tried to caress her or cajole her into letting him have his husbandly rights. They both knew that she wouldn’t be able to stop him if he decided to take her. But they both knew that he wouldn’t do such a thing. He’d told her as much, and although she’d had her doubts at first, it wasn’t long before she’d realized he meant what he’d said.

He would wait for her to want him. He would wait . . .

Yearning blew through her, hot and strong, as she swung back and forth. A womanly ache bloomed in her belly and arrowed down to between her thighs and up to make her breasts feel heavy and tingly.

She shouldn’t make him wait much longer, but she was still apprehensive. A smile stole across her lips when she recalled how he’d ridden up on that mule like a hero in a novel, bent on saving her from the loathsome Bob Babbitt. It touched her that he’d wanted to be sure she was all right.

She owed Bob Babbitt not one coin, she thought with a frown. But she owed Lonestar. She released her breath in a long sigh. Oh, yes. She most surely did.