Lacey wasn't giving up. It was no longer just a matter of proving herself to her spiritual guide. No, now she was determined to help find that money to show up the pompous windbag Tranquility called a marshal.

He was afraid of her, that much was obvious—afraid she was smarter than he was and would crack this case before he did. And, that's exactly what she intended to do. She'd save the town, and his measly little job, and she'd do it all by herself.

What she needed was a plan.

She'd spent the morning cleaning up the feathers in her bedroom. It was impossible to sweep them, so she'd had to pick them up with her bare hands; she never thought she'd see the day when she'd actually long for a Dustbuster.

Hazel had come into her room and announced that she and George were heading into town to their restaurant, and wondered if Lacey like to spend the day in town with them. Considering a trip into town fit neatly into the plan she was hatching, Lacey agreed. Now if she could only survive the ride there.

She ducked lower beneath the thick quilt and barely suppressed a shiver. There was certainly nothing like speeding along through the freezing cold, in a wooden convertible, pulled by two gigantic draft horses, to really get the old heart pumping. How she missed the warm California sun. She couldn't feel her nose anymore, and wondered if it was still attached to her face.

She tucked her hands up inside the sleeves of the large, wool-lined coat Hazel had lent her, and tried to keep her exposed face warm by pressing it into the thick collar. She focused her mind on scenery rolling past.

Cold though it might be, Washington in the wintertime was beautiful. She'd only seen landscapes like the ones rolling past her on postcards, and never had she dreamed it would be this dramatic in full scope. The deciduous trees were bare of leaves, standing like sleeping sentinels awaiting spring, but the pines and the firs were still rich, deep green with boughs covered in a sparkling layer of pure crystal-white.

The absolute silence was almost overwhelming, and until this moment Lacey had never realized how loud the twenty-first century was. Here there were no cars, no airplanes, no machinery of any kind to interrupt the perfect sounds of horses crunching through the deep snow to the rhythmic jingle of bells around their necks.

"How ya doin' there, Lacey?" George asked.

Lacey looked up and managed to force her cold, dry lips into a smile. "F-fine," she said through the chatter of her teeth.

He and Hazel had seated her in between them to keep her as warm as possible. They'd also folded up the quilt and given her the entire thing to snuggle beneath. They were the nicest people, always thinking of others before themselves. Lacey had never met anyone like them.

George smiled. "We're gonna to have to fatten you up, girl, or you're gonna freeze as solid as a icicle on a water pump in these mountains.”

"I think just gettin' her some clothes that fit might help, George,” Hazel remarked. “You think you and Tyler can handle the lunch crowd on your own today?”

"Doubt many folks'll be comin' into town to eat in weather like this."

"Good. 'Cause Lacey and me are goin' shoppin'."

"Oh.” Lacey shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't have any mon—"

Hazel held up her hand. "Not another word about it.”

Lacey looked over at George, to gauge how he felt about his wife's plans, and he smiled down at her. In all her life nobody had ever been this generous to her, and Lacey was suddenly hit with a wave of guilt. "I really can't accept—"

"Sure is a peaceful mornin', ain't it, George?"

"Sure is, Hazel.”

Lacey frowned at the woman. Neither one of them were going to let her decline their offer, but would they still feel so generous if they knew what kind of person she really was?

"Here we are," Hazel said.

Lacey turned her attention back to the road and noticed some ramshackle buildings coming up on her left. They were barely standing beneath the weight of the snow. "Where is here?" she asked.

"Tranquility," Hazel replied. "I know it's not much to look at now, but this town’s got big plans and high hopes."

That's about all it has, Lacey thought.

George drove the sleigh down the narrow street, passing more unadorned buildings with faded signs and cracked windows. One sign read Logging Tools. Another read Trapping and Hunting. They drove past a large corral and building that proclaimed itself the Harness and Blacksmith Shop, and a large bearded man stepped out from a low tin roof to greet them.

"Mornin', George. Hazel."

"Mornin', Ed," the Martins called back.

The man remained outside in the cold, staring openly at Lacey as they continued up the road. Then the buildings began to look a little newer—and a little more stable. There was a general store. And a tiny telegraph office. A clothing boutique that boasted ready-made dresses and even had a few hanging in its tall window. Next to that was a colorfully painted restaurant with a large sign that said Hazel’s. That's where George brought the massive horses to a stop.

"This is our restaurant," Hazel proclaimed proudly. "We've got three employees and can feed fifty people at a time. Across the street there is Matthew's office."

Lacey turned to stare at the tiny building marked Marshal's Office and City Jail. The meat of the plan she’d hatched up sat somewhere inside that building.

Laughter came from farther on down the road, drawing Lacey's attention. There were more buildings, these a little larger, and men were milling about in abundance. “Down there is logger's row," Hazel whispered. "It's mostly saloons and a few other unmentionables."

Unmentionables meaning bordellos, Lacey thought. She business herself with untangling from the quilt as George reached up and helped his wife down to the street. When the man reached toward Lacey she hesitated. To anyone else those strong fatherly arms would have represented shelter, security, but to Lacey they meant exactly the opposite.

George raised his brows in expectation. "You comin'?"

Lacey tried to steady her mounting panic. This man had given her food, shelter, kindness, clothing, how could she decline his offer to help her down without offending him?

"I'd hate for ya to fall, honey,” he said.

"George, the girl is young and strong. Let her get down on her own."

George lowered his arms and smiled. "How 'bout if I just stand real close in case ya slip?"

Lacey smiled, relieved. "That would be very considerate of you." Fortunately, she managed to touch down in the street without any problems. "Thank you," she said to him.

He chuckled. "I didn't do a thing."

But he had.

Suddenly the door to the boutique slammed open and a tornado with black hair and sparkling blue eyes came flying out onto the street. "Hazel!" the young woman cried. "Why didn't ya tell me there was a new girl in town!"

"Because Miss Guarder only arrived last night, Nettie. Goodness, did you expect we'd come tromping to your place through the storm just to introduce the two of ya?"

Nettie laughed and turned her big blue eyes on Lacey. "Well, now. Aren't you a beautiful sight to behold.”

Lacey thought she managed to smile very nicely, considering she was fighting an urge to run. She'd come across enough of them in her life to know, instinctively, that this young woman was a hugger.

She backed up a step but not quickly enough. Long, slender arms reached out to snake around her shoulders and pull her close. "It's so good to meet ya," the woman said in a lilting Irish accent. "We get so few new women around here."

Lacey bounded back like a bent tree branch once the woman finally let her go, and then sheltered herself by stepping slightly behind Hazel.

"This is Lacey Guarder," Hazel said. "Lacey, meet Nettie O'Rourke. She's the sister of our reverend."

Well, that explains it, Lacey thought. She'd never met a man of God, or any of his immediate family, who weren't militant huggers.

"Pleased ta meet ya, Lacey," Nettie said. The woman was still smiling, and Lacey was trying to figure out how she kept it up in such cold weather without her lips cracking. "It's always so excitin' when a new woman comes ta town."

"I won't be staying long," Lacey replied. She planned to head for the warm California sun as soon as her mission was completed. Beautiful as it was, she couldn't believe these people actually chose to live in such a harsh climate.

"I'm headin' on into the restaurant.” George waved as he walked away. "You ladies have fun with your shoppin'."

"Shoppin'?" Nettie exclaimed. "Oh, please tell me yer shoppin' fer clothes, Hazel, and not somethin' mundane like flour and oats."

"Lacey got caught in the storm last night and lost her luggage," Hazel explained.

The young woman's face scrunched in sympathy, and for a moment Lacey thought she was in for another hug. "Ohhh. Well, come on in and we'll get her all fixed up," Nettie said enthusiastically. She turned and preceded Lacey and Hazel into the shop.

"Happy, isn't she?" Lacey whispered to Hazel as they walked single file through the narrow door.

"Deliriously," Hazel grumbled. "But Nettie O'Rourke would cut off her arm and give it to ya if you needed another one.”

Well, that would certainly cure her of spontaneous huggings, Lacey thought.

She was ushered to the back of the shop and shown into a small room where measurements were taken and the narrowness of her waist was exclaimed over. Then she was given two plain, button-up-the-front dresses to try on that would have made Cindy Crawford look dumpy.

Lacey stood in front of the tall mirror and scowled at the full-length yellow dress. She and nineteenth-century clothing were not going to get along.

Nettie and Hazel came back into the changing room, and smiled at what she was wearing. "That looks lovely on ya, girl," Nettie said.

Lacey smiled politely. "I don't suppose you have any…jeans? Maybe some simple cotton shirts?"

Nettie frowned, and exchanged a look with Hazel. "Jeans?"

"Made from denim?" Lacey clarified.

"But Lacey," Hazel said with a laugh, "you're not gonna need trousers. It's not like George and I are gonna be workin' ya while you're stayin' with us."

"That color is wonderful on you," Nettie insisted.

Lacey stared some more at her reflection. The dress had long fitted sleeves, a narrow waist, and a high round neckline. She tried to imagine herself dressing this way for the rest of her life and couldn't. She looked ridiculous.

"That is a very flatterin' color," Hazel agreed. "But I get the impression from Lacey's expression that it's not quite what she's used to."

"Yer from back east, aren't ya?” Nettie said with a knowing smile. "In that case I kin imagine that to you my frocks are a bit on the plain Jane side. If you'd like, I can order some fancier things for ya from the Montgomery Ward catalog."

Fancier? Lacey could only imagine the horror that might be mailed her way: bows and flounces, bustles and ribbons. "No. You're right. This is a nice color." These dresses would serve her well while she was in town. But once she left, she planned to go on a frantic search for someone who could make her some normal clothes.

"Good," Hazel said, smiling. "She'll take the yellow and the red sprigged muslin. She'll need some wool stockings, a union suit, a petticoat, two pairs of drawers, and some fleece-lined gloves—oh, and a coat.”

"She needs underthings too, eh?" Nettie replied.

"Everything she was wearing shrunk down to nothin' in that storm. You should have seen her corset and drawers."

Lacey smiled to herself at Hazel's explanation for her demi-bra and panties. She must have caught sight of them the night before when she'd ushered Lacey into the bedroom and helped her out of her wet things.

Nettie hurried off to gather the needed items. “And she's gonna need a good pair of lined boots," Hazel called after her.

"What size?" Nettie shouted back.

Hazel gave Lacey an inquiring look, and Lacey opened her mouth to tell the woman that she was buying her too much. That she was being too generous. But Hazel seemed to read Lacey's thoughts and gave her a censoring stare that said she would listen to no arguments.

Lacey sighed and relented. “Five."

"A little bitty size five, Nettie," Hazel shouted back.

Twenty minutes later Lacey stepped outside dressed in insulating long underwear, which Hazel called a union suit, a thick petticoat, which Lacey called an annoyance, and the pale yellow dress. Hazel had bought her a beautiful brushed suede, fleece-lined coat that hung to her knees, and a soft pair of leather gloves lined with rabbit fur. For the first time since arriving in 1878, Lacey was warm.

As Hazel was putting their packages into the sleigh, a dark-haired man dressed in all black came walking up to them. "Good afternoon, Hazel," he said. "Nettie. And who is this?"

"This, brother dearest, is Miss Lacey Guarder," Nettie replied. "She's stayin' with the Martins for a while. Lacey, this is my brother, Conal. He's our local man of God."

The siblings looked like twins, both with rich black hair and sparkling blue eyes. Their smiles were even the same, Lacey realized, as Conal O'Rourke smiled and tipped his head in greeting. "It's a pleasure ta meet ya, Lacey."

"Lacey, ya just have to come by fer dinner," Nettie stated excitedly. "We'd just love to have ya, wouldn't we, Conal?"

"Of course we would. And you'll have to join us for church this Sunday."

Lacey had never set foot in a church—she was afraid the roof might cave in on her if she tried—but they were all staring at her with such great expectation, she didn't see how she could refuse. "All right," she answered slowly.

"Wonderful." The reverend smiled. "Well, I'm off to Mrs. Kellogg's house."

"How is Judith doing?" Hazel asked. "That baby is due any day now, isn't it?"

"Doctor Colby tells me we could have a new resident by the end of the day."

"Wonderful!" Hazel exclaimed. "Well, you tell Judith that I'll have Tyler bring her over a platter for hers and James's supper tonight."

"I'm sure she'll be very grateful," he said. "Good afternoon, ladies." He dipped his head, and walked on down the street.

"Speakin' of babies, Nettie, how's that litter of new kittens comin' along at your house?"

"Oh, they're growin' like spring weeds….”

Lacey turned her attention to the jailhouse across the street and let the two women's voices drift off into the background. Ned and Henry Rawlins were being held in there. She had to figure out some way to get herself inside—

"Whoo-wee, what have we got here?"

Lacey turned to find a group of very large men converging upon her. "Three women hopin' for some quiet time alone, Paul Smith," Nettie said. "The bathhouse is at the end o' the street."

"How 'bout some quiet time alone with me?" he teased. He was a huge man, at least six and a half feet tall, with straggly blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He turned his bright smile on Lacey. "How 'bout your new little friend, here?"

A bath was exactly what this man and all his friends needed; Lacey was surprised she hadn't smelled them coming. They were covered in dirt from their heads to their toes, and had tree bark stuck in their hair and beards.

"Gentlemen," she greeted cautiously.

"Shoot, Paul, she called us gentlemen!" one of them shouted, elbowing the leader.

"That she did," he agreed, his grin broadening. "Where you from, pretty thing?"

"A galaxy far, far away," she answered.

"You boys best move on," Hazel warned.

The men ignored her.

"What're you doin' tonight, beautiful?" Paul asked.

"Clipping my toenails," Lacey replied.

"Can I watch?"

Another man, dark-haired and bearded, elbowed his way past Paul. "Can I?"

And then another man came forward. This one took off his hat and began twisting it in front of him. "Would…would you do me the honor of allowing me to clip your toenails for you?”

Lacey threw Hazel and Nettie a disbelieving look, and both women shook their heads hopelessly. "What about you, Nettie?" someone called out from the crowd. "You need anything clipped?"

"I'll do ma clippin' on my own, thank you very much," Nettie replied.

"Holy B. Mary, you sure are a pretty little thing, ain't she, boys?" Paul said, still staring at Lacey. He reached toward her and she flinched back. "I ain't gonna hurt you," he crooned. "Lacey sure is a pretty name."

"You're gonna have a pretty big welt between your pretty big eyes if you try to touch me like that again, Hoss," she warned.

He laughed, his blue eyes sparkling. "I think I'm in love."

"Whatcha got there, Paul?"

Hazel and Nettie let out a synchronized groan as another even larger group of men joined the crowd already gathered around them. "I say we bolt for it," Nettie whispered.

"And risk gettin' trampled? No thank you," Hazel remarked. "No, we best just sit tight until they've had their fill of lookin' at her."

The new men packed tightly around Lacey. "Have you gentlemen been rolling around in the mud?" she asked.

The crowd broke into laughter. "She likes to call us gentlemen, Reed," Paul told the new man.

"This isn't mud, ma'am," Reed explained. "This is pitch and saw grease, with a little dirt and tree pulp thrown in."

Lacey nodded. "Well, listen, it's been real nice talking to you all, but we were just on our way to Hazel's restaurant. So if you could clear a path through here—"

"Now, now, not so fast," Paul interrupted. "I'd like to have dinner with you tonight, and I need to know where you're stayin' so I can escort ya."

"You escort her?" one of the others broke in. "What makes you the big winner?"

"Yeah!" the crowd erupted.

"I swear!" Hazel shouted. "You fellas are all like a pack of dogs in rut. Can't ya see she's not interested in talkin' to ya at the moment? And who could blame her. Look at yerselves. You look like you've been dragged through ten days of bad weather."

The men broke into loud murmurs and started looking around at each other. "If I clean up, will ya have supper with me?" someone called out.

"You went out with Nettie just last week!" another man countered.

"Like you ever stood a chance with her,” was the reply.

"I don't know about you boys, but I'm headin' for the bathhouse!" somebody cried.

"Me too!"

"I'm with you!”

"Step aside, I'm first!"

In the blink of an eye, twenty men were stampeding in the same direction, and getting absolutely nowhere. Then they began arguing over who would be getting the first baths, and that's when all hell broke loose.

Hazel pulled Nettie and Lacey close against the side of the sleigh as the fists began to fly.

* * *

"Looks like a ruckus startin' up across the street, boss."

Matthew glanced up from the wanted poster he was writing at his desk to Larry who was standing by the window. "What's the problem?"

Larry squinted his nearsighted eyes. "Not sure. You don't think they've cornered Nettie again, do ya?"

Matthew stood from his desk and walked over to the window. There was a ruckus all right. It looked like every man in town was beating the hell out of one another. He'd warned them about fighting over the women, but apparently his threats hadn't sunk in yet. After the day he'd had so far, this was the last thing he needed.

"Come on." He grabbed his hat off the peg on the wall, and threw open the door.

He strode across the street, with Larry two steps behind, and stopped just short of the sleigh parked in front of Nettie's boutique. He let out a shrill whistle. It was ignored. So he took his gun out of his holster and fired it into the air. The fighting stopped immediately, and Hazel Martin poked her head around the sleigh at him. "Matthew, thank goodness.”

The men were fighting over Hazel? A married woman twice their age? They must be getting desperate. "The next man to throw a fist gets a night in jail!" he called out.

"Be worth it if the young lady would agree to a night out!" Paul Smith called from the midst.

Hazel Martin certainly wasn't young, so Matthew assumed that poor Nettie O'Rourke was somewhere at the center of the fray. "Let her out, boys," he ordered.

"What's all the noise?" George Martin called from the doorway of his restaurant.

"Just a little ruckus," Matthew replied. "Nothing to worry about, George. Come on, boys, clear a path."

They began to part down the middle like the Red Sea, and Nettie O'Rourke slowly made her way down the passage toward him. Hazel Martin was right behind her, but Matthew was unprepared for the sight that greeted him next. It was Lacey Guarder. He should have known that a woman like Nettie, someone who'd been living in town for over a year, couldn't suddenly cause this level of discord among the men. No, it had to be a fresh face; a bright new female possibility.

He muttered a curse violent enough to get a startled look from Nettie. Just when he'd finally managed to get Lacey Guarder out of his head for a moment, here she was to torment him again.

She stopped in front of him and stared at the gun in his hand. "What is it with you and that thing?"

"Well, well, well. If it isn't our fearless marshal."

Matthew looked past Miss Guarder to see Mayor Reginald Sterling standing on the boardwalk. The capper to a perfect morning.

Matthew clenched his jaw. He still wasn’t over the town council meeting he’d had to endure after the bank robbery. Mayor Sterling had taken great joy in reminding the other members of their marshal’s checkered past, that they'd had reservations about hiring him in the first place. Sterling had rubbed it in Matthew’s face that he’d only been given the job to honor his late father, one of the town's original founders. He’d insisted on Matthew’s immediate dismissal and had even put it to a vote.

If Matthew hadn't been standing among people he respected that morning, he’d have knocked the man’s front teeth right down his throat. As it was, Sterling managed to convince a few of the members, and a compromise was reached: the marshal of Tranquility had seven days to recover the town’s hard earned money or he'd be out of a job.

There were times that the uncomplicated, ambling life of a drifter called to Matthew like an old friend. But he'd promised his father. He'd sworn on his sire’s deathbed that he'd settle down and make a respectable life for himself, and he wasn’t about to let Reginald Sterling, the Rawlins family, or anybody else throw him off that course.

"We didn't mean to cause problems, marshal,” Paul Smith said. "We were just greetin' Tranquility's newest flower." He gave Miss Guarder a lopsided smile that made Matthew grit his teeth.

"Lacey isn't interested," he warned.

"Lacey is it?" Reginald Sterling called. "Now, why am I not surprised? I suppose you'll be paying court to this one too before we know it."

Matthew wasn't sure why he'd called Miss Guarder by her given name. It had just sort of rolled off his tongue.

"But you're already courtin' the schoolteacher!" Reed Baxter contested.

"That he is," Reginald added with a cool smile. "Apparently one woman isn't enough for our new marshal.”

The crowd broke into angry shouts, all directed at Matthew, and he lifted his gun again. But before he could fire it in the air, Miss Guarder stuck her fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle.

The crowd fell silent. "Are you people out of your minds?" she shouted. "And I don't know who you are," she added, pointing at Reginald Sterling, "but I suggest you back the hell off.”

"Young lady," Reginald replied, affronted, "I am the mayor of this town, and the bank president."

"Well, yay for you. For your information I am not being courted by the marshal—or anyone else in this town—so keep your two cents to yourself."

Reginald sniffed and lifted his high-falutin' English nose, which Matthew had an intense desire to shoot right off his narrow face. "Where I am from, a decent woman would never address a gentleman so rudely."

“Show me a gentleman and I’d be happy to oblige.”

Reginald's thin lips tightened. "Certainly, Mr. Brady, you can do a better job of maintaining order in this town. We hired you to keep the peace, not incite riots with your philandering. One would think you'd be out trying to capture the little heathen who has carted off my money."

"Don't you mean the town's money?" Matthew asked smoothly.

"Of course. But I treat it as lovingly as I would my own. Which is obviously more than we can say of you."

Matthew had never wanted to punch a man so badly in his life. But one threatening move toward Sterling would mean the immediate loss of his job—which was probably why Sterling always seemed to go out of his way to provoke him.

Lacey Guarder, however, had no such restrictions. She crossed her arms over the front of the new coat she was wearing and glared at the man. "You're English, aren't you," she stated more than asked.

"And proud of it," Sterling sniffed.

"I've heard you Brits walk around like you've got a stick crammed up your butt. I never really believed it ’til now."

The entire street burst into laughter and Reginald Sterling's white face darkened to a deep pink.

"All right, fellas," George called from where he'd been watching in the restaurant doorway. His face was a little ruddy, meaning he'd been doing a little laughing himself. "Go on your way now. You can talk with Miss Guarder some other time—and maybe one at a time would be your best bet."

"When she's not spending time with our esteemed marshal," Reginald had the nerve to remark.

"You're not encouragin' the marshal, are ya, Lacey?" Paul Smith asked in a pathetic whine of a voice.

There was a long pause as everyone perked their ears to catch her answer. She sighed, smiled, and said, "We're partners."

Matthew stared at her in shock. In fact, a tree could have fallen on his head at that moment and he wouldn't have felt a thing.

"Partners?" somebody shouted.

"What in the hell are you talkin’ about?" Matthew demanded.

"Oh, now," she said, smiling and giving him a playful nudge with her elbow, "don't be shy. I told you it's a brilliant plan."

"Did you, now,” he remarked darkly.

"What plan?" Paul Smith demanded.

Matthew's sentiments exactly.

"The marshal has devised an ingenious plan to find the money that was stolen from the bank yesterday morning."

Reginald Sterling chuckled skeptically. "Really?"

"What's that got to do with you?" Reed Baxter demanded.

"I am going to help him."

Matthew closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for patience.

"She is?" Larry whispered to him.

Reginald Sterling broke into laughter. "It sounds like our marshal is getting a little desperate. He needs a woman to help him.”

"Let's hear the plan," someone called out.

"Yes," Matthew said, smiling tightly at her, "let's hear it."

"Oh, it is so brilliant," Miss Guarder prefaced. "The marshal is going to put me in jail with the Rawlins brothers."

"Oh God, shoot me now," Matthew groaned.

"His brilliant plan is to arrest you?" Sterling mocked. "Well, why didn't I think of that!"

The crowd broke into laughter again, and Matthew wanted to crawl back into bed and start the day over.

"He'll arrest her over my dead body," Hazel stated.

"Matthew Brady, how could you even be thinkin' such' a thing?" Nettie O'Rourke demanded.

Matthew's store of patience evaporated in that moment. His deputies' lead on Lorraine Rawlins that morning had turned out to be false, he was still hitting a brick wall when it came to getting any information out of her brothers, and now he was having to deal, once again, with Miss Lacey Guarder. Meanwhile that money was getting farther and farther away, and he was beginning to wonder why he didn't just climb up onto his horse and ride the hell back to California where he belonged.

Lacey Guarder was frowning. "It's a perfect plan!" she shouted above the din. The men immediately quieted, not to listen to what she had to say, Matthew suspected, but because they were still interested in starting something up with her and didn't think it would be wise to be impolite. "He arrests me," she continued, "and I sit in a cell and complain to the Rawlins brothers about how miserable this town is. About how low-down, stinking, filthy, pathetic, and dastardly its marshal is," she said with a pointed look Matthew's way. "And slowly but surely they'll start to commiserate."

"What’s…commiserate?" someone asked.

"We'll start swapping stories," she clarified. "I can practically guarantee you that I’ll get them to tell me where their sister is before you've got even half of that sap and mud scraped off you."

It was the craziest idea Matthew had ever heard in his life. Crazy enough to possibly work, if the Rawlins brothers didn't chew her up and spit her out before she had a chance to open her pretty little mouth.

"That is the most preposterous idea I have ever heard," Reginald stated. "And I absolutely forbid it to take place in my town."

Well, that certainly sold Matthew on the idea. "You want to give it a try?" he said to Miss Guarder. "I'll give you one hour with ‘em."

"Matthew!" Hazel exclaimed. "Lacey, are you sure about this?"

"Sounds to me like the idea's got merit," George agreed.

"I said I forbid it!" Reginald called out. "This poor young woman has no idea what she'll be subjecting herself to."

"We're behind ya one hundred percent, Marshal!" Paul Smith shouted.

"Yeah. I think she can do it!" Reed Baxter agreed. "And I'll get a bath and meet her at the restaurant when she's finished," he added with a bright smile.

Matthew scowled at the lumberjack.

"Coming, Marshal?" Miss Guarder lifted the hem of her skirt and marched past him toward his office.

Matthew's intention was to follow along behind her, but his gaze landed on the shapely calves she was showing off above her ankle-high boots. The sight stopped him in his tracks. The crowd had fallen silent. He turned to see every male eye glued to what he'd just been admiring so avidly himself. A twinge of irritation pulled at his stomach. He didn't like the idea of them ogling her legs. He didn't like the idea of them accosting her in the street. And he downright despised the notion of any one of them cleaning up to vie for her attentions. All this for a woman he didn't even like.

He was losing his mind.