One

Two-Time, Texas

November, 1879

Sadie Carnes sensed trouble the moment she stepped foot outside her farmhouse. Holding her six-month-old son in her arms, she anxiously surveyed her property. She had good reason to worry. A pack of wolves had been spotted the day before, and only last week a black bear was seen lurking by the woodshed. For now, at least, all looked calm—except for the dark clouds gathered on the distant horizon.

Convinced it was just the threat of an early winter storm making her uneasy, she sat her son in his wicker carriage next to the clothesline, where she could keep a close eye on him. After tucking a warm blanket around him, she handed him a piece of hardtack to chew.

“There you go,” she said, ruffling his wispy blond hair. His toothless smile made her sigh with motherly pride. Adam was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She couldn’t believe that something so precious could come out of what had been the worst mistake of her life.

Gripped with a fierce need to protect him, she scanned the yard again. Only after every shadow had passed inspection did she fetch the basket of wet wash off the porch.

Just as she pegged a towel on the clothesline, she noticed a cloud of dust on the road running parallel to her property. Watching with narrowed eyes, she hoped the single horseman would pass her by. No such luck. Instead he rode his horse beneath the rusty iron archway leading up to her farm.

Swiping a strand of blond hair away from her face, she chewed on her bottom lip.

“That better not be another bill collector,” she muttered. The fool tax man had taken the last of her egg money. Before him, the general store owner had insisted she pay in full before making any more purchases. Even the druggist had demanded she make good on what she owed before he would sell her tooth balm for her teething son. Well, a pox on all of them!

The horseman kept coming. Astride his brown gelding, he looked larger than life. Though he appeared to be in no hurry, Sadie sensed an urgency in him that put her nerves on edge. Face half-hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, he looked sober as an old bone. The Colts holstered at his hips looked like they meant business too, as did the shiny cartridges circling his waist in a looped leather belt.

“That sure ain’t no creditor,” she said beneath her breath. “And he sure don’t look like no peddler either.” As encouraging as that was, her relief lasted for only as long as it took for the man’s true identity to dawn on her. As much as she hated to think it, his erect carriage marked him as a Texas Ranger. The carbine slung on the side of his saddle seemed to confirm it.

A shiver rushed through her that had nothing to do with the cool breeze. Only one reason a ranger would be heading her way, and it sure in blazes wasn’t to bring good news.

Willing her knees not to buckle, she balled her hands by her side. Her heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe; her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Greeting her with a finger to the brim of his hat, the stranger dismounted. Dressed in dark trousers, flannel shirt, and knee-high boots, he looked just as tall and commanding on the ground as he did in the saddle.

He wrapped the reins around the clothesline post and stepped in front of her, spurs jingling. He glanced at her son before turning back to her. “I’m looking for Mrs. Carnes,” he said, his blue-eyed gaze sharp as an arrow.

She braced herself with a ragged breath. “You found her.”

A muscle tightened at his jaw. “I’m Captain Cole Bradshaw, Texas Ranger.” He studied her for a moment, and she had the uneasy feeling that he didn’t miss a thing. Not the patches on her calico dress, or the stained apron, or even the messy strands of hair that had strayed from her bun. Feeling self-conscious, she hid her callused hands in the folds of her skirt.

“Well, get on with it,” she snapped. Bad news was best delivered quickly.

His eyes widened briefly before he spoke. “I’m sorry to inform you that your husband, Richard Carnes, was killed in the line of duty.”

She gulped back the bile in her throat. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard those words. At the age of ten, she’d been told the same thing about her Texas Ranger pa. Still, familiarity didn’t soften the impact. Swaying slightly, she clasped her hands to her chest.

He caught her by the elbow. “You all right, ma’am?”

Nodding mutely, she forced a breath and forbade herself to faint. Though his touch was strangely comforting, she nonetheless pulled away.

For a long moment, neither of them said a word. His eyes, however, spoke volumes as he gazed past her to the farmhouse, with its peeling paint and sagging porch. The last norther had done a number on the roof. What few shingles remained curled up as if waiting to hitch a ride on the next strong wind. The barn was in no better shape.

He turned his gaze back to her. “Just so you know, ma’am, we gave your husband a proper burial.”

She stared at him and said nothing.

His forehead creased. “That yours?” he asked with a nod at her son.

It seemed like a strange question. Who else would he belong to? The nearest neighbor was more than a mile away. “He’s mine,” she said.

Something that looked like sympathy flickered in the depth of the captain’s eyes, and she grimaced. The last thing she wanted from him—from anyone—was pity.

Pivoting toward his horse, he reached into his saddlebags. After a moment he turned and handed her a brown-wrapped package. “Your husband’s belongings, ma’am.” She heard him inhale. “I’m afraid his horse didn’t survive the gun battle that killed him.” After a beat, he added, “I’ll make arrangements to ship his saddle to you.”

She clenched her jaw. A million questions flitted through her head. “Was it…Indians?” The Texas-Indian wars had ended, but last month Comanche renegades had raided a ranch up north in the Panhandle.

He shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

As if to discourage further questioning, he placed a small leather pouch in her hand. “My men took up a collection for you and”—he slanted his head toward the carriage—“your son.”

Her back stiffened. The business about her son was a bald-faced lie, but curiosity kept her from calling him on it. She set the package next to her wash basket and fingered the bulging pouch he’d handed her. It felt heavy with coins. Though it was an answer to a prayer, she didn’t want his charity. The Texas Rangers had robbed her of her father and now her husband. No amount of money could make up for such losses. Just as she was about to hand the pouch back, her son cooed, reminding her that necessity came before pride or even animosity.

Reluctantly, she tucked the pouch into the pocket of her apron. Since the ranger was watching her, she directed his attention back to her son. “His name is Adam. He’s six months old.”

“Nice-looking boy.” He hesitated as if sensing her disapproval. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Carnes,” he said at last. “Please, if there’s anything I can do…”

She refused to give in to the tears burning her eyes. “Can you bring my husband back?”

“Would if I could, ma’am.” His gaze traveled from the barn to the house and back to her. “If there’s nothing else…”

She shook her head.

“Well, then…” He gave her an apologetic look. “I’ve got a long journey ahead. Better get a move on.” With a tip of his hat he untied his horse, jabbed a foot into a stirrup, and mounted in one easy move. Astride his saddle, he gazed down on her. “Sorry I had to bring you such bad tidings.”

She drew in her breath. “Me too.”

With one more glance at the house and barn, he tugged on his reins and rode away. She watched him until she could no longer hold back the tears. The wash forgotten, she reached for her son and made a quick dash across the yard and into the house.