Beneath The Texas Sky

by Jodi Thomas

Genres: Historical Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas creates a spellbinding story of love, family, and passion in an untamed land. . . Texas Ranger Josh Weston is a complete stranger to Bethanie Lane, and her only chance to escape from her uncle's grasp. Without hesitating, she strikes a deal with the rugged lawman to take her with him when he leaves San Antonio. And on the journey to his family's ranch near Fort Worth, they forge a bond as powerful as it is unexpected. When Bethanie's dream of a future with Josh falls apart, she's forced to make a harrowing choice. Yet through every danger and revelation, one thing remains-a love worth living and dying for. . . "Jodi Thomas's writing is breathtaking. . .her name should be at the top of everyone's favorite author list." - Affaire de Coeur

Release date: May 1, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

Bethanie Lane bolted out onto the back porch of her aunt and uncle’s hotel in San Antonio. Her breathing outpaced her heart as she rubbed furiously at her arm, feeling as though a serpent had fouled her flesh with its fangs. She rushed down the steps and submerged her arm into the hot washtub water, then began to scrub her skin with harsh lye soap. She would remove the feel of Wilbur’s hand or bleed raw from trying.

After a few minutes, Bethanie’s breathing slowed and she forced her mind to think of other things…of anything except his pawing grip. She brushed back a strand of golden copper hair and watched the spring sun bowing in late-afternoon warmth. The day was almost gone, yet she had another load of laundry to wash. There were never enough hours to complete all the tasks needed to run the dilapidated hotel.

Her torment seemed to grow daily with Uncle Wilbur’s increasing attentions. He had begun so carefully at first, Bethanie thought. A hug lasting only a second longer than necessary. A hand placed to brush accidentally against her. A stare that tried to burn through her clothing when he thought no one was watching. Lately, his advances had become more blatant. Her skin crawled at the mere thought of his touching her with those fat fingers.

Bethanie stared blindly across the back lot. People passing along the walk appeared to blink in and out of sight between missing slats in the rusty fence. Blue and gray uniforms alternated past. The sons of Texas were returning, many with nothing more than a uniform to call their own.

Bethanie frowned slightly as she saw the defeated, slumped shoulders beneath uniforms of both colors. These men were welcomed by such a chaotic homecoming, but at least they had a place to return. In an effort to forget her troubles, she tried to empathize with their plight. Though little fighting had taken place in Texas, the lack of manpower had eroded this young land. Cattlemen, who had been paid handsomely in Confederate bills, were now penniless. Nomadic Indians roamed the upper half of the state, raging war against all white settlers. Longhorn cattle ran wild with markets impractical to reach, and bordering states panicked because of the Texas Fever the cattle carried. Money was scarce, carpetbaggers were pesky, and the past winter severe. Still, these men returned home. They had soil to replant and families who cared about them.

Slinging a sheet onto the washboard, Bethanie attacked her chore with a zest her body no longer felt. Optimism whispered promises in the breeze as she began to rub the wet sheet back and forth over the bumpy metal washboard. Maybe things would get better as winter ended. Maybe business at the hotel would pick up. Maybe her uncle would forget his game of toying with her. “Maybe? Maybe?” The rhythm seemed to echo as she scrubbed.

Bethanie tossed the last sheet into a clean tub of water as voices drifted between the broken slats. “Her parents were Shakers, you know,” a woman said as two rather plump figures appeared and disappeared between the fence boards.

“They never married,” the other responded. “Just had a baby. Martha told me as much straight out.”

“And Martha should know, being the girl’s aunt,” the first smug voice sounded again. “She said the girl’s folks lived in a group marriage. The poor child probably doesn’t even know which one of them Holy Rollers fathered her.”

“Trash, she is. Nothing but bastard trash.”

Bethanie didn’t have to wait until they mentioned her name to know the object of their scorn. Whirling, she bolted up the steps and slammed the back door before she could hear more. She furiously wiped away the tears that burned her green eyes as she fought to control her anger. All her life she’d heard the same spiteful conversation. Different places, different times, but always the same. Now here, hundreds of miles from Ohio and with her mother long since buried, still the rumors would not die.

For all her twenty years, Bethanie had been a curiosity, a freak, because of her parents. Shakers by religion, they chose to love each other. In a belief where celibacy was the order, both were forced to leave their communal farm. Bethanie’s father abandoned her before she had time for memories of him to form, but Bethanie’s mother patiently bore her shame with pride and dignity while assuring that she and her child survived. She always comforted Bethanie by saying all would pass. She’d cradle her child to her and repeat over and over when times were hard, “To everything there is a season. Wait, my little love, for this will pass.”

Yet, not even coming to live in Texas seemed far enough away. Bethanie was tired of waiting. She clenched her fists to her sides; patience was a virtue running in short supply. Her mother’s teachings of eternal meekness were finding themselves at war with Bethanie’s temper. Unable to rid herself of her volatile emotions, she had become an expert at hiding them.

Bethanie climbed up the back staircase unmindful of the chipped paint and broken bannister. She halfheartedly kicked at a cockroach darting across her path. This place seemed the edge of the world to her, and she had no money to go farther.

Three months after her mother died, Aunt Martha wrote, inviting her to live with them. When she first came to live with her aunt and uncle, Bethanie thought them an answer to her prayers. But soon after arriving in San Antonio, she realized she had traveled across half a country to be an unpaid servant.

Bethanie moved from room to room, stripping linens and watching the sun sink lower over the small adobe buildings that blocked the view of the river. Her mind forced forward happy memories of her childhood. The mornings watching her mother cook breakfast. The afternoons riding bareback through peaceful green fields. The long nights helping her mother prepare ointments for the sick. Shakers were taught, even as children, to care for the pain of others. Neighbors who would not speak to her on the street never hesitated to call Bethanie’s mother when someone in their family was ill.

“Girl!” a sharp shout sounded from below. Martha’s voice echoed through the hall like the clang of a poorly made bell. “Where are you?”

Bethanie hated being referred to as “girl” almost as much as she hated being yelled at constantly. Hurrying downstairs she tried to compose herself and hide her feelings behind frozen eyes before she faced Aunt Martha. The crafty old woman would spot any anger and misjudge it as defiance. If Martha thought Bethanie unhappy, she would flood her with work as punishment for her ungratefulness. Aunt Martha never set a plate of food before Bethanie without some comment on the cost of feeding one more mouth.

Bethanie had lost several pounds over the past months, yet no one seemed to notice. Her dresses were now old and faded with wear. They hung on her body like rags, yet she dared not ask for even a few yards of material.

Stepping gracefully into the kitchen, Bethanie lowered her eyes in a gesture she had learned caused Martha the least anger. “Yes, Aunt Martha?” she answered in little more than a whisper, forcing her fingers to uncoil at her sides.

“Well,” Martha snapped. “You sure took your time in coming.” Her aunt was ironing one of her daughter’s elaborate dresses. “It irritates me that you can’t make time to do this simple chore. Allison needs this dress.”

“I was finishing the beds upstairs,” Bethanie answered, knowing her comment would be ignored.

Bethanie glanced over and smiled at Allison, who sat sipping a cup of coffee. Allison was a lovely sunny-white blonde with huge pale-blue eyes. She bore no resemblance to her parents. Even though she was eighteen, she stood under five feet tall, her height giving her a pixie quality. At first glance she seemed childlike, but her ample breasts soon dispelled that aura. Allison had shown Bethanie the only kindness she’d known these past months. Thanks to her, Bethanie did not have to sleep in the dingy storage room. When she had first arrived, Uncle Wilbur wanted her to sleep in the little room off the kitchen, which was already crowded with rubble. Allison insisted she share her room on the second floor, and Wilbur always gave in to his daughter. Bethanie was grateful, for she had feared being alone at night since childhood. Allison seemed oblivious to her plight most of the time, but she was never directly unkind.

Martha grumbled. “We’re leaving tonight for dinner at the Wagner Ranch. Since they didn’t extend the invitation to you, girl, I know you won’t mind tending the front desk while we’re gone. Not that you will have any business.”

“Of course I’ll keep the desk,” Bethanie answered. She would have liked to add, “How could anyone send me an invitation? You’ve never introduced me to a soul in San Antonio.” But, as usual, she bit back her words and held her features stone hard as she’d been taught all her life to do at the unkindness of others.

“Well, we haven’t much time. Go upstairs and help Allison dress,” ordered Martha. Her cackling voice was a sharp reflection of everything about her. Even Martha’s gray hair did not soften her features, but cut into her navy-black mane like lightning bolts. Her figure bore no gentle curves, only angles of cloth. She referred to herself as large boned, never plump. Bethanie never ceased to wonder how such a cold, dark woman had given birth to beautiful Allison. She was surely spring growing out of a frozen winter woman.

Sighing, Bethanie lifted Allison’s freshly ironed dress and followed her tiny cousin up the back stairs. Bethanie looked forward to an evening without her aunt constantly shouting for her.

Allison’s half-smothered laughter drew Bethanie’s attention as they crossed the landing. “Look,” she whispered. “Bethanie, come quickly and see the man Daddy is checking in.” Allison sighed as if she were a child looking through a candy store window. “I saw him once before when he came to see Daddy. Isn’t he something?”

Bethanie moved to the railing beside her cousin. They could see the desk fifteen feet below. Uncle Wilbur stood smiling at his new guest, his fat cheeks rippling as he showed his yellow teeth. Double chins hung around his neck in folds like a huge flesh-colored bandanna. His stomach and the foul odor of cheap cigars preceded him into any room. But it was his hands Bethanie hated most. They were large and fat, with short, porky fingers extending like plump sausages. She detested each time he reached to pinch her cheek or place his palm on her arm. He only laughed when he saw her pull away in disgust, as if she were playing a game and he already knew the outcome.

“He’s a dream,” Allison whispered between giggles.

Bethanie drew her eyes to the other man below. He was taller than most men Bethanie had seen. Unlike many males out west who were short and dusty with half-civilized expressions tattooed on their weathered faces, this man carried himself like a gentleman. He had the proud, easy stance of someone accustomed to being in control of himself and his surroundings. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar to her.

The stranger’s clothes clung to his slender frame as if they had been made for him and not bought for a dollar in some general store. Thick black hair hung to his collar in the back and wedged its way across his forehead as he looked down at the register. His classic features spoke of a blending of Latin and European blood. His strong jawline was framed with a short black beard. He was the most handsome man Bethanie had ever seen.

Bethanie watched his square shoulders angle slightly as he signed in. “Who do you think he is?” she whispered, her voice shaking. She felt a sense of loss at never having known anyone like him.

“Who knows for certain,” Allison answered. “He looks dark enough to be Mexican but he’s far too tall. Besides, look at the way he wears his gun strapped low and tight. My guess is, he makes his living with it. It’s a Colt, too. One of the best made.” Both women had learned to size men up by their guns and horses. In this wild country, a man who didn’t have the best of both and know how to handle them wouldn’t live long.

The stranger turned around, moving in long pantherlike strides across the small lobby. As if he sensed being watched, he jerked his head up toward them. Before Bethanie could back away, she found herself caught in his stare. His gaze had brushed across Allison, who normally drew all the attention, and froze on Bethanie. Dark coffee brown eyes delved deep into her soul, embarrassing her with their intimacy. An alert intelligence molded his face as one dark eyebrow raised slightly.

Bethanie’s face flushed as though they had just spoken their most private thoughts to each other. The knowledge that this stranger would keep her secrets seemed silently whispered in his stare.

An instant later, the gentleman smiled at her, and she felt blood flame her cheeks as though he had touched her. His vision moved over every inch of her face in a motionless caress.

The warm sensation was new to Bethanie and she looked away in embarrassment. When she dared glance back, he was gone like a predawn dream. No man had ever affected her so dramatically. She felt as if she had shared her entire life story with him in an instant, and he had not only accepted her totally, but also incredibly found her without fault.

“I wish I were staying here this evening.” Allison stormed toward her room. She pouted like a small child about to miss a party. “We could open the secret panel and watch him.”

Bethanie followed, smiling at Allison’s outrageous suggestion. As she entered their room, she glanced at the cheap flowery wallpaper, bubbled and yellowed with age. Someone, years ago, in an effort to quiet a bothersome cricket had poked broom-handle-sized dents in several places. Just beyond the wall was the best room for rent. The room Wilbur always gave guests. Allison had long ago shown Bethanie a secret sliding door in the wall.

Bethanie held up Allison’s dress for her as Allison chattered. “Seems a shame to know the panel is there and never use it. I’ll bet it was built by some man so his mistress could sneak between these two rooms.” Allison giggled as Bethanie buttoned the dress.

Bethanie knew Allison loved the thought of a secret romance having occurred in this very room.

“I know I’m a romantic,” Allison laughed as if reading Bethanie’s mind. “Not like you, Bethanie. You reason everything out in your own quiet way.” Allison sighed slightly. “It’s probably for the best.”

“You’re right about that, dear.” Martha startled both girls as she stepped into their room. She had obviously overheard Allison’s last comment. “After all, Bethanie won’t have much romance in her life. She’ll be lucky to find a poor farmer who’s willing to marry her. What man wants to spend the rest of his life looking at a skinny wife with tons of long red hair? It reminds me of the dark, muddy water in the Red River.” Martha nodded her head sharply. “Yes, it’s more mud color than red. How cruel nature’s been, Allison, to give your cousin a stick for a body and such awful hair.”

As always Bethanie did not reply to her aunt’s barbs. She merely stood holding Allison’s discarded gown as the other women moved to the door. There was a time to lash back and a time to be silent. Bethanie knew instinctively that anything other than silence would draw Martha’s wrath a hundredfold. Yet, each day she felt her tolerance for Martha decaying into open hatred.

Bethanie’s dream of a peaceful evening shattered as she watched the family return in less than an hour amid a flurry of excitement. Her uncle stormed into the hotel with Martha and Allison following in his wake. Martha looked fearful as she dragged Allison like a child. Bethanie had no idea what had taken place, but she knew it must have been bad. At first glance, she thought Allison did something wrong. Then she discarded that thought completely. In her parents’ eyes, Allison was an angel. Something must have happened at the ranch.

Wilbur walked to the office door and collapsed against the frame like a runner at the finish line. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the handkerchief he always used at meals to clean grease off his fingers. “Is that man who checked in today up in his room?” Wilbur snapped at Bethanie. There was no need for further explanation since they had only one guest.

“Yes,” Bethanie answered. “He came back a few minutes ago.”

“Well, ask him to come down to my office,” Wilbur ordered. “And watch the desk while I talk with him.” He grabbed the waistband of his slacks in his eternal struggle to keep his pants up over his spherical body.

Bethanie jumped to do his bidding and to avoid passing the corner of the counter at the same time he did.

The sudden slamming of the office door hastened Bethanie’s pace. She ran up the stairs and tapped on the stranger’s door. Tension hung in the air as thick as the humidity. An excitement danced in her veins. She believed any change would have to be an improvement.

An instant after she knocked, the door jerked open, startling her. Bethanie swallowed hard trying to remember what to say. The man before her seemed amused at her distress. “Yes?” he asked in a low voice, his dark coffee brown eyes studying her. “May I help you, miss?”

Bethanie found herself staring at a bare, muscular chest framed on either side by a dark blue shirt. She could smell soap and realized he must have been washing up. “My…” Bethanie noticed she had to look up at this man, not down as she did most men. “My uncle would like to talk with you.”

His expression told her he understood her distress, yet he made no effort to button his shirt. He searched her face as if he were studying something of great value and appreciating each line, each detail. The stranger’s thoughtful frown relaxed, blending into a slow, easy smile. “Thank you.” He seemed in no hurry to answer the summons but leaned casually against the door frame and folded his arms.

Bethanie watched his mouth and felt a strong yearning to brush her fingers across his lips. When her gaze moved up to his dark eyes, she had the feeling he understood and was daring her to take action. There was a depth of understanding in his eyes that went beyond flirtation. His stare seemed to offer her friendship.

Frantically, she tore her gaze from him and ran toward the stairs, feeling like a tongue-tied child. She had been around men very little during her lifetime and wished she could have said something, anything, to this man. She could think of none of the ideal conversational small talk women say to men. She made a mental note to watch Allison more closely the next time they were out.

Bethanie tried to calm down as she resumed her place at the front desk. In a few minutes she watched the tall stranger descend the stairs. She kept her eyes lowered, trying to appear busy, but watched him closely through her lashes. She gasped in surprise when he winked at her and smiled, before disappearing into her uncle’s office.

Thanks to the shabby construction of the hotel, Bethanie had only to lean back against the wall to hear every word spoken. Her uncle allowed no one to enter his office unless he was there, so he had no idea how easily she could eavesdrop.

“I’ve been expecting you for two days,” Wilbur grumbled. “Did you bring news? What are the plans now? They seem to change daily. You wouldn’t believe what that fool Wagner told me tonight. Damn well scared my wife to death.”

The low voice of the stranger drifted to Bethanie. “All I’ve heard lately is that the meeting will be here in three, maybe four days.”

“Hell, man!” Wilbur shouted. “I already know that. I thought you’d have fresh news. Wagner and some of the other ranchers with us think the boss may bring in some tough guns to handle any trouble. When I agreed to have the meeting here, I never thought I’d be housing some of the worst outlaws in Texas. Are you sure you know nothing?…If you’re lying…”

The stranger’s words were low and deadly calm. Bethanie could hear the steel in his tone. “I said, I have no more news.” His tone eased slightly. “I ride out before dawn if you have any word you want me to take back. With Apaches on the warpath, I’m in no mood to hang around. Word is, they are growing braver with each battle. Not even San Antonio may be safe much longer.”

“Don’t tell me about the Indians. We had problems all during the war, and now they’re out for more blood. I can only handle one problem at a time and right now I’m worried about all the men coming here to meet. This could be big trouble for me if I’m caught up in this cattle mess. I…ah…” Her uncle seemed reluctant to continue. “I have something I want you to take out of San Antonio, and I’m willing to pay you well.”

“What do you want me to move?” the stranger asked, only mild interest reflecting in his tone.

Wilbur cleared his throat. “I want my wife and daughter out of town before the meeting. My wife will pack tonight. I have horses. I’ll have them ready by the time you leave.”

“No,” the stranger interrupted. “I don’t move people, only information. Besides, if you want them out, why don’t you take them?”

“You know I can’t leave now, not when I stand to make so much, but I’ll pay you two hundred dollars,” Wilbur boasted.

“You must want them out badly,” the stranger said. “Do you know something you’re not sharing?”

“Never mind that. Will you take them somewhere, anywhere, but to safety?”

“No.” The answer was as strong as the solid man who spoke.

“You must do this,” Wilbur whined. “My daughter must be safely away for a few weeks. There’s not another man I’d trust with the Indians gone crazy.” He lowered his voice slightly and Bethanie could hear a touch of blackmail as he said, “If you won’t take them, I’ll blow the lid off all your double-dealings. I’ve got friends in Mexico and with the Texas Rangers. You’ll be a hunted man on both sides of the border when I get through making up all the stories I can about you. I’m sure the boss would like to hear how you’re playing both sides of the fence. Why, for all I know, your past may be darker than even I can think up.”

The stranger seemed disinterested in Wilbur’s threat, but after a pause he asked curiously, “What about your niece? Don’t you want her safely away?”

Bethanie’s face flushed slightly at his mention of her. “Oh, never mind about the girl. She can stay here and help me. I’m not spending money moving her to safety. She can just stay around here and keep me company till my wife returns,” Wilbur snorted.

“I see,” the stranger said as he opened the door slightly. “I’ll think it over for a few hours and let you know. I have some other contacts to make first.”

As the tall man stepped from the office, he glanced toward Bethanie. She saw sadness touch his brown eyes as he looked at her. She lifted her head proudly, not wanting his/pity. He lowered his gaze as if he understood her pain, then turned and disappeared up the stairs. Bethanie chewed on her bottom lip. She had to think of something quickly with Aunt Martha and Allison leaving soon. She knew she feared Uncle Wilbur more than any group of outlaws meeting here, or Indians on the trail.

Wilbur filled his office door, patting his barreled belly on each side with fat hands. He knew he had made a bargain the stranger could not afford to refuse, and he was proud of himself for handling things so smoothly. He smiled at Bethanie in a sneer. “Go on up to bed, girl.”

As Bethanie moved past him, he let his huge hand rest on her waist. He pulled her close to his chest, his foul breath smothering her. “I’ve got lots to say to you, but there will be plenty of time later. We need to get to know each other much better, and I predict we’ll have an opportunity in the very near future.”

To Bethanie’s horror, Wilbur pulled her even closer and pressed his fat, fleshy mouth on her cheek. Never before had he been so bold. His lips were hot and sticky against her face and Bethanie felt vomit rise in her throat. She fought to gain control as her tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. In a burst of strength, Bethanie broke free and ran from the lobby. His crude laughter followed her.

Now, more than ever, she must get away before Martha and Allison left. There was only one place to turn. One person who might help. The tall stranger. And there was only one way to get to his room unnoticed.

Dim moonlight filtered through the curtains of his hotel room as Josh leaned far back in the hard chair and stretched his cramped leg muscles. He glanced over at the bed longingly. I’ll wait another hour, he thought. Then that bump under the covers will be my body and not just a decoy. Josh smiled at himself. If there was one thing that had kept him alive, it was the fact that he was always careful, always alert to possible danger.

Josh melted farther into the shadows as he heard a noise beside his bed, the low, swishing sound of boards sliding past one another. He moved his hand soundlessly to his Colt handle as the wall slid to one side. A dark, slender body squeezed through a secret passage and stood beside the bed.

The front legs of his chair almost hit the floor as Josh recognized Wilbur’s niece. She hesitated as if afraid. She seemed to be mustering every ounce of courage to force herself slowly forward. She moved gracefully toward the bed and leaned over the mound of covers. Moonlight caught in her hair like a red-gold spark in a dying campfire. He waited, silently memorizing every line of her face, sure the vision before him would be rekindled for many nights to come.

With trained silence, Josh rose and neared the young woman. “Looking for something?” he whispered only an inch from her ear. He could smell the soft fragrance of her hair, like the first hint of honeysuckle on a early spring night.

She tensed, sending an invisible current through the air between them; then she jumped in fright and gulped air into her lungs to scream.

Before any sound could pass her lips, Josh’s hand covered her mouth as his other arm pulled her body backward into his chest. The softness of her shoulders felt so marvelous against him, Josh had to force himself not to turn her in his arms and hold her completely in his embrace. He could feel her tremble, and yet he sensed a strength within her, so like another woman he’d known in the past. The memory now caused Josh to lighten his grip. She, too, had possessed a timid courage beneath her tall, slender form. With tenderness, Josh recalled the woman years ago who had been too shy to speak, yet brave enough to save his life.

Josh forced the memory from his mind and whispered into the girl’s ear. “Don’t scream. I didn’t mean to frighten you. If I turn you loose, promise you won’t cry out?”

As she nodded slowly, Josh felt her soft mouth move against his hand. Had it been so long since he’d held a woman that he’d forgotten how soft they were? Or was this one even softer than all the others he’d known?

Josh reluctantly moved his fingers away from her lips. Soft or not, he was a gentleman, and it went against his grain to even have to remind himself of the fact. He loosened his hold on her waist just enough so she could turn to face him. As her body carousel in his light embrace, Josh fought the urge to pull her close once again.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, acutely aware of the slight rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. “If your uncle sent you to rob me, you’re out of luck.”

“No!” Bethanie whispered, then swallowed hard.

Mischief twisted a smile from his lips. “Well, if you just came for a visit, why didn’t you use the door?”

“I couldn’t risk being seen,” Bethanie answered hesitantly, “…by anyone.”

She looked up at him, silently pleading for his assistance in escaping some terrible plight. How could he refuse her anything? Yet she seemed to want more than help. She wanted his’d trust, his honesty.

Josh released her waist and leaned over the bed. He removed the pillow and spread the cover flat. “Maybe you’d better sit down and explain. I’ll light a candle.”

Josh pulled up the only chair as she gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to make his voice lighten the somber mood he’d seen in her eyes. “Are there any more slats in the wall I need to know about?”

Bethanie’s face relaxed into a slight smile. “No. Not that I know of, anyway.”

Josh twirled the chair backward and straddled it, facing her. He twisted his gun to a comfortable position. Tightly strapped to his leg, the Colt had become part of Josh during the years of war. He checked it as often and as absentmindedly as an old maid might check her bodice buttons. “Now, what’s so important?” he asked, rubbing his thumb along his bearded chin.

Bethanie pulled a tiny bag from her pocket. “I want you to take me with you when you leave San Antonio…and I’m willing to pay.”

Josh studied her as she opened the bag and poured out a handful of seeds. “These are my only valuables. Seeds from my mother’s herb garden and my grandparents’ wedding bands.”

Two matching rings appeared among the seeds as she continued. “I’ve kept them hidden, lest my aunt take them. I think they must be worth something.”

She held up the rings to Josh. They were unusual gold bands with dark and light carvings on each one. He made no effort to take them as he looked back up into her eyes. She was doing it again, asking for his total loyalty and honesty as if she could endure nothing less. He found he couldn’t make light of her request when her eyes pleaded, tearing at his heart. “You must want to leave pretty badly. Before I say yes or no…I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

Bethanie nodded. “I’m Bethanie Lane. Fve lived here with my uncle and aunt for six months. My mother died last year.”

Josh offered what he hoped was his most charming smile. “Nice to meet you, Bethanie. I’m Josh Weston.” He’d told her his last name as easily as one might at a church social, yet in the months he’d known Wilbur, he’d never used his full name.

Hearing himself say her name jogged his memory like lightning awakens the air in an evening sky. Yet Josh knew his face bore no hint of his thoughts. Deep in his mind came a hazy image of a young girl just beginning to turn the corner into adulthood. It had been the first year of the war. He was running the Union lines with messages. After a month of success, a bullet from nowhere grazed his skull. He had awakened to find himself a prisoner of bounty hunters who made their li. . .