LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter One

       The California-Nevada border, 1880

      “How soon, driver?” Izzy poked her head out the window of the stage and shouted above the pounding hooves and creaking harness. The rushing wind tugged at her hat and would have whipped it loose if she hadn’t clamped a hand to it.

      “I told ye. The name’s Boone. And ye’re already on Prescott land, ma’am.”

      “I am?”

      “Yes’m. Been on it for the last couple of miles. Should see the ranch house just over this next rise.”

      Izzy dropped back to the hard seat and stared out the side window. Who would have thought? All this land belonged to Matthew Prescott. Though the countryside looked forbidding, with rocky fields climbing upward to high, snow-covered peaks, Izzy couldn’t help but be impressed. Her husband-to-be owned all this. She clasped her hands to her cheeks, which had suddenly become flushed.

      Working quickly, she opened her satchel and removed a pair of shoes. They’d been too fine to wear, so she’d carried them all the way from Pennsylvania. Over three thousand miles she’d carried them. On the train. On a succession of stagecoaches. Handling them like a treasure. Though her traveling gown was soiled and coated with a layer of dust, and her hair beneath the fussy bonnet was windblown and tangled, her shoes were polished to a high shine.

      She removed her scuffed boots and stuffed them into the satchel, then slipped her feet into the shoes and carefully laced them. And all the while she rehearsed the lines she’d been preparing.

       Isabella McCree. Member of the First Pennsylvania Congregation. So pleased to make your acquaintance.

      When she glanced up, she had her first view of the ranch house.

      Her heart sank. It looked to be no more than a rough cabin surrounded by several equally rough outbuildings. The structures were dwarfed by the forested peaks of the Sierra Nevada rising up directly behind them.

      The horses strained against the harness until they crested the hill. The ground leveled off, and they sped across a high meadow until they came to a shuddering halt at the cabin.

      “Here you are, ma’am.” The grizzled driver leapt to the ground and yanked open the door to the stage.

      Izzy handed him her satchel before stepping down. The new shoes were stiff and uncomfortable, but to her delight, her gait was sure and even. Money well spent, it would seem.

      “I don’t see anyone, Boone.” She glanced uncertainly toward the door of the cabin. “Could Mr. Prescott have gone somewhere?”

      The driver grinned, showing teeth stained brown with tobacco. “He’s out in the fields, I expect.” He handed her a packet of mail. “Haven’t been out this way in more’n six months. He’ll be happy to get this. Oh, and to see you of course, ma’am.”

      He heaved himself up to the driver’s seat and caught the reins. With a crack of the whip, the horses lurched forward, hauling the stage in a wide turn. Within minutes the team and driver had disappeared below the tree line.

      Izzy glanced uncertainly at the closed door. Though her journey had left her weary beyond belief, she didn’t think it would be right to let herself into a stranger’s cabin. And so she stood, hand lifted to shield her eyes from the thin autumn sun, staring at the distant hilltops.

      Within minutes she spotted a figure on horseback coming at a brisk pace from the nearby woods. Running alongside was a baying hound. From the opposite direction came another horse and rider, racing through a stream. Several more hounds ran alongside. In the sunlight the water splashed out in a rainbow of color, making a dazzling display. But before she could admire the beauty of it, she heard barking directly behind her and a child’s voice.

      “Well, I’ll be. Del, look. It’s a…lady.”

      Izzy whirled to find herself facing three scruffy children. All were dressed in tattered britches and faded shirts with the sleeves rolled to their elbows. All had straggly hair cut in identical fashion, chopped just below the ears, falling in bangs that covered their eyebrows. The youngest had fine blond hair; the middle one had red gold; the tallest had coarse dark hair. Except for the similar haircuts and shabby clothes, they looked nothing alike. These couldn’t be Matthew’s children.

      Circling her were a handful of hounds, sniffing at her ankles, yapping so loudly she knew it would be impossible to make her voice heard.

      Still, she was determined to try. “Hello. I’m…”

      Before she could continue, the two horsemen reined in their mounts and dropped to the ground, keeping their rifles trained on her. The younger of the two wore his pale yellow hair exactly like these three. The other one was taller by a head. It was difficult to tell what he looked like. Thick black hair hung below the collar of his shirt, and his cheeks and chin were covered by a bushy dark beard, masking his features.

      The newly arrived dogs joined in the chorus of barking until their master gave a curt command. At once all the animals dropped to their bellies.

      In the silence the older man’s voice seemed even more commanding. “My name’s Matt Prescott.”

      “Yes. I know.” With a warm smile Izzy handed him the packet of mail. “The stage driver left these for you.” She then offered her hand. “I’m Izzy…” She nearly groaned aloud. All these miles and all these hours to prepare, and still the old hated name had almost slipped out without warning. “Isabella McCree.”

      Instead of accepting her handshake, he pocketed the mail while keeping his rifle pointed at her. “I thought that was the stage I spotted in the distance. Why did Boone drop you here in the middle of my land?”

      Her smile faded. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said my name is—”

      “I heard you, Mrs. McCree. What I’d like to know is what you’re doing on my land, handing me my mail.”

      “What I’m…?” She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “It is Miss McCree. And I am here at your invitation, Matthew.”

      At her use of his given name, he shot her a frigid look that had her taking a step back.

      “Now, what’s that supposed to mean, woman?”

      “I came in answer to your letter.” She could tell by the look on his face that none of this was making any sense to him. She sucked in a breath as the realization dawned. “Sweet salvation. You never got my reply to your letter?”

      “Miss McCree, not only did I not get your reply, but I don’t have any idea what letter you’re talking about.”

      “The letter you wrote seeking a wife.”

      “A wife?” His voice thundered, and several of the hounds began to whimper.

      She fumbled in her satchel. When she finally located the paper she’d been seeking, she waved it in front of his nose. “This letter addressed to the First Pennsylvania Congregation, seeking a good woman with the courage to make the journey to your home and assume the care of your family.”

      He barely glanced at the words on the paper. “If this is some sort of joke, I fail to find the humor in it.” He lowered his rifle and turned away. Over his shoulder he called, “Children, get back to your chores. There’s still an hour or so of daylight.”

      “But, Pa…” Aaron, the oldest boy, who stood nearly six feet, seemed torn between obeying his father and dealing with their visitor. “What about the lady?”

      “She

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