A Baby Miracle at Her Doorstep (Preview)

Chapter One

1860, Wild Oak, New Mexico Territory 

 

There weren’t any other women in the solicitors’ office. Lila sat in an uncomfortably hard chair, keeping her back straight, and pretended that she didn’t notice the stares sent her way. 

One of the clerks, an acne-scarred young man of about nineteen in a suit that hung off his thin frame, stared at her with narrowed and suspicious eyes. He looked like a scarecrow. 

Lila bit the inside of her cheek and didn’t meet his eye. She knew what was coming. It was inevitable. 

Three… two…. one…. And here he comes. 

The clerk slipped out from behind his desk and strode purposefully towards her, lips pulled sideways in a tight, unconvincing smile that stretched out his cheeks and somehow managed to make him look angrier than before.

“Hey there, ma’am! Is everything okay? Something I can help you with?” he asked, in a clipped, unfriendly tone which indicated she’d better get herself gone if she knew what was good for her. “Are you lost, maybe? I could point you somewhere, if need be.”

She flashed an equally insincere smile up at him. “No, thanks. I’m waiting to see Mr. Wilson.”

The clerk blinked, clearly recognizing the name, but recovering quickly. 

“Sure, sure, but you’ve been in the waiting area a long time, huh?”

“I sure have. You should probably take that up with Mr. Wilson, shouldn’t you? Or maybe you could fetch me a glass of water, or some coffee? If I’m going to be waiting for a while longer, that is. I do have things to get done today.”

He didn’t like that. The clerk bridled, drawing himself up to his full (and unimpressive) height. Perhaps he thought that he could loom better considering that she was sitting down. Lila, however, found herself thinking of an angry marmot, puffing itself up to appear more threatening. It was, however, still a marmot, so its efforts were in vain. 

“Does Mr. Wilson know you’re here?” continued the marmot-clerk. “Look, lady, you can’t just plonk yourself down in a solicitor’s waiting room and hang around. Is he expecting you?”

“I…”

“I thought not. You can’t stay here. You need to make an appointment, or—”

“I’m not going.”

Red spots burned on the clerk’s pitted cheeks. “What’s your name?”

“A couple of your colleagues already asked me the same thing. I told them. Go ask them.”

“Well, I’m asking you. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll fetch the sheriff. This is a place of business, not somewhere that you can just loiter around. You can’t, and I won’t let you. This is your last warning,” he added. He was probably very impressed with himself.

Lila considered, briefly, allowing him to do just that and just watching everything unfold. 

But that would take time, and energy, and in the end, was it really worth making an enemy of yet another petty clerk? She probably did look strange, sitting in a solicitor’s office. Women didn’t go to places like that. They had men who went there for them.

“My name is Lila Harding,” she said, through gritted teeth, “I have an appointment, and it’s an important one. And if you must know, I’m here because my daddy is dead.”

Be fair, a voice at the back of Lila’s head pointed out. You probably look crazy. 

That part was certainly true. She could see herself in her mind’s eye. She was the only woman in an office full of men, in her badly dyed black gown, brown hair escaping from its careless knot, brown eyes reddened and swollen from crying. She knew she looked paler than usual, skin blotchy, eyes unfocused. Lila considered herself passably pretty enough—people had told her so—but right now, she looked unhinged.

Yeah, I look crazy, sure enough.

The clerk blinked, a little taken aback, and opened his mouth to speak. 

She never had a chance to hear what he was going to say, because at that moment, a door with a brass plaque reading Mr. Wilson opened. A short, white-haired man in his sixties popped his head out, and beamed when he saw Lila. 

“Miss Harding! There you are. So sorry for the wait. Come on in, come on in. John, fetch us coffee, won’t you?”

Lila resisted the urge to smile triumphantly into the clerk’s face. Somehow, the anger and triumph had drained away. She’d won a point over the clerk, if that counted for anything, but Pa was still dead. Instead of gloating, she got up silently and moved straight into Mr. Wilson’s office. She didn’t look back. 

Mr. Wilson’s office was small and poky, with a musty smell in the air. Papers and books piled up on every available flat surface, including the floor. She was obliged to move a sheaf of papers from a chair before she could sit down. 

“First of all, Lila, let me offer my condolences for your loss,” Wilson said, settling himself down in the chair behind the desk. “Mr. Harding was a good man, and a friend of mine. He was always so strong, so healthy. I think most people in town, myself included, figured that he had a good twenty years or so left in him.”

A lump formed in Lila’s throat, and she tried her best to swallow it down. She’d promised herself not to cry here, not in front of Mr. Wilson. She could grieve her Pa in private. 

“Yes,” she managed at last. “I thought so, too. I didn’t even get a proper goodbye.”

Mr. Wilson shifted, uncomfortable with the new turn in the conversation. They weren’t here to talk emotion, after all, so Lila swallowed hard and managed to paste a smile on her face. 

“Sorry, it’s just… well, it’s recent,” she mumbled. 

Mr. Wilson nodded. “I understand. Okay, let’s get started. First off, I am sorry for your wait, but your father’s will turned out to be a… uh, it was unusual. I had to do some research, consult some colleagues, that sort of thing.”

Unease prickled at the back of Lila’s neck. “What do you mean? I thought it would be straightforward. It was just me and Pa. We… we never talked about the will, but I know I was getting everything. There’s just me now. I thought coming here was just a formality, just to hear it get officially read, or something.”

He held up a hand. “First of all, Lila, I want to say something. You might not feel it right now, not after your loss, but you’re pretty lucky. Single women tend not to fare well in this world, and I’ve dealt with a lot of young people left destitute after their parents pass on. Often, they’re thrown on the mercy of their family, and the ones that don’t have any family or close friends…” he trailed off, wincing. “It ends badly for them. Especially ladies, who can’t go out and work as a man might. He can make a living, if he gets a bit of luck and works hard, but the world’s a tricky place for ladies.”

Lila swallowed back a rush of annoyance. “I know that, Mr. Wilson. What are you getting at?”

He sighed. “My point is that your father left you well provided for, so you’ve got nothing to worry about in that regard. You’ve got the ranch, which I know you help work already. You do the accounts, so you know how well it’s doing. You’ve got savings in the bank, plenty of workers, a good reputation, and so on. You’re set up well.”

Lila inclined her head, saying nothing. It was true, the ranch was thriving. It was well-known in town that the Hardings were good folks to work for, being kind and understanding employers that paid decent wages, kept the work coming, and rewarded loyalty. So, loyalty was what they got, and there was never a shortage of laborers willing to do a day’s work. 

Lila was certain that she could run the ranch herself, with or without Pa. The idea of him not being there sent a stab of pain through her gut, of course, but she could do it. She was capable. He’d made sure that she was capable, training and teaching his only daughter as if she were a son, as if she were all that mattered. She’d felt as though she was all that mattered. 

“Why do I feel that a but is coming?” Lila said aloud, looking Mr. Wilson full in the eye. “You’ve got something to tell me, something that I won’t like, so let’s hear it. Is there some sort of hidden tax? Some financial problem I didn’t know about?”

She doubted that it was the last one. Lila managed their finances and the accounts, and knew how much the ranch was worth, and how much money they had, down to the cent. However, there could always be some hidden problem she’d overlooked. It didn’t do to be too overconfident. It was impossible to foresee all future snags, she’d learned that the hard way.

Mr. Wilson shifted on his seat, uneasy again. 

“Yes and no.” Mr. Wilson drew in a breath, shuffling papers in front of him. It took Lila a moment to realize that it was Pa’s will he was looking down upon. She craned her neck, trying to read upside down, but it was no good. “I’ll go ahead and read it out direct: ‘For the land, money, and other assets to pass into my daughter’s name, she must have entered into the state of marriage by the age of twenty-five years old.’”

There was a brief silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Lila said at last. “I must be misunderstanding. Or… or you’ve misread it. Something’s wrong here, because that simply can’t be right. It can’t.”

She wasn’t entirely sure how she could misinterpret a single, simple sentence, but what the solicitor had just shared couldn’t be true. A mistake had been made. Was he reading somebody else’s will? Was she going crazy? Had she just misread? Pa couldn’t possibly have… 

“You have to marry, Lila,” Mr. Wilson said, meeting her gaze directly. “If you want to keep your inheritance, you’ll need to get married.”

She shook her head, feeling as though she were suddenly underwater. 

“I don’t understand. Why would Pa do this? Why would he do this to me? And if I don’t marry by the deadline, what then? What happens to our ranch, to our land, to our money? What happens?”

He frowned solemnly. “The bank gets it.”

Lila let out a growl of frustration. “Mr. Wilson, I am twenty-four years old. I have less than a year left to marry. It’s hard enough to find decent men in a town like this, even if I did want to find one. I can’t do this. He can’t make me. You can’t make me.”

Mr. Wilson pursed his lips, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward.

“I hate to say it, but there are precedents for this kind of thing. You might have worked on the ranch, and I daresay you consider that half of the assets were already yours, but that’s not how the law looks at it. Legally, your father owned everything. Everything. And as such, it’s his to dispose of how he wishes, and he can add whatever stipulations he likes to your inheritance. I’ve heard of some parents stipulating that their children can never marry, or that spouses can’t remarry, or children must go ahead with certain engagements, or take up certain professions, and so on.”

Lila swallowed hard. She felt ill. At the very least, the inclination to cry and sob had faded away, replaced by a good, bolstering sort of anger. 

“This isn’t fair.”

Mr. Wilson bit his lip, looking away. “I am sorry, Lila. Look, there’s a sealed note that your father wrote for you, to be opened and read along with his will. Why not take a look at it now?”

He handed over a neat square of paper, which Lila snatched without so much as a word of thanks. She didn’t leave the room to read it, instead moving over to the corner to tear it open. Her heart was pounding. 

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. 

The note was clearly her father’s handwriting, a cramped, lopsided style of writing that was so hard to decipher. The lump returned to Lila’s throat, and she concentrated on reading. 

‘Hey, Pumpkin. I guess by now you’ve read out the terms of my will, and you’re probably mad enough to kill me your own self, if I weren’t already dead. Lila, I want you to know that I love you more than anything else in the world, and I’m convinced that this is the right thing for you.’ 

‘I updated my will because I’ve got a bad feeling. You know, when you think something terrible is going to happen? It won’t hurt to be careful, I reckon, and old Wilson’s glad of the business.’ 

‘Look, kid. I know you. You’re good at making money, at doing business and whatnot. But you can’t circle your whole life around that. It’s empty, at the end of the day. Without you, my life would have been a blank, no matter how much money I made. And you’ve got nothing once I’ve gone, nothing more than a few friends.’ 

‘I want you to get married, pumpkin. I want you to be happy, to have a family. I don’t want you to be alone, and I’m afraid that what your Mama did to us will scare you off marriage for life.’ 

‘Don’t hate me, pumpkin. I can only hope and pray that this plan of mine works out. I love you, kid. I’ve always loved you. Don’t forget me, will you?’ 

‘Your Loving Pa’ 

Lila crumpled the letter in her fist, closing her eyes and breathing deeply to calm herself down. 

Dang you, Pa, she thought, tears pricking at her eyes. How dare you go ahead and leave me like this? What am I meant to do without you? 

And you’re wrong. I don’t need anybody. I’m fine as I am. 

When she was sufficiently composed, Lila turned to face Mr. Wilson. 

“How do I break the terms of this will? How do I get around it?”

Mr. Wilson blinked. “You… you don’t. This is your father’s last will and testament. This is what he wants. Would you really try and break the will?”

“Sure, I would, if you think it can be done. I love my father, and I respect his wishes, but this can’t be what he truly wanted for me. I don’t intend to get married, Mr. Wilson.”

The solicitor bridled. “Well, it’s only natural for women to want to marry. They want homes, Miss Harding.”

“I already have a home. And you didn’t answer my question. Can it be broken?”

Mr. Wilson blinked first. He deflated a little, running stubby fingers through his fuzz of white hair. 

“I don’t think so. It’s a simple will, but airtight. I’ve handled a lot of wills, and the simplicity of this one works in its favor. Even if it could be challenged, that would take years, and once you reach your twenty-fifth birthday, the bank will sweep up all your assets. If the will could be broken—and I don’t think it can—it’s likely that there’ll be nothing left. It’ll be eaten up in fees and costs, and you’ll end up with nothing.”

Lila felt dizzy. She wondered, briefly, if she was going to faint. She wasn’t usually the fainting type, but you could never tell at a time like this. The air in Mr. Wilson’s office seemed hotter and stuffier than before. 

“So, you’re telling me that there’s nothing I can do?”

He shrugged. She thought that if he shrugged his shoulders at her one more time, she was going to throw a paperweight at him. 

“You can get married, Lila. That’s what I’d advise.”

The heat seemed intense suddenly. Lila still felt ill. The crumpled paper of her father’s last letter crackled in her hands, sharp papery edges pressing into her palm. 

“It’s not fair,” she heard herself repeat, a mumble that grew louder and louder. “It’s not fair!”

Mr. Wilson rose to his feet. “Lila, you’re upset. I can see that. Why don’t we take a minute, and…”

“No. No, I can’t stay here another minute.”

“Lila…”

“Leave me alone!”

She tore away from his outstretched hand, flinging open the office door. She raced through the waiting room, past the appalled face of the scarecrow clerk who’d confronted her earlier, and out towards the fresh air of the main town. 

I can’t breathe in here. 

What am I going to do? How am I going to get married? Who am I going to get married to? 

Wrapped up in her own thoughts, Lila flung open the main door to the solicitor’s office and hurled herself blindly onto the boardwalk outside. 

And collided immediately with a firm, warm body. 

“Ouch,” said an unfamiliar male voice. “Watch where you’re going, lady.”

 

Chapter Two 

Lila actually rebounded a few feet backwards. The man, irritatingly, did not bounce back at all. 

‘Watch where you’re going, lady.’ The words, uttered in a deep voice with an unfamiliar accent, filled Lila with a surge of rage. She glowered up at him, hands clenched at her sides. 

“I should watch where I’m going? Why couldn’t you just get out of the way?” She shot back, teeth gritted. 

That was an unjust thing to say, of course, but Lila felt as though her words were clawing their way up her throat and out of her mouth without having anything to do with her at all. Uncontrollable. 

The man blinked slowly down at her, like an unimpressed cat. He didn’t seem angry or offended. He didn’t seem like much of anything. 

He was tall, taller than she had initially thought, with a broad, deep chest and wide shoulders that belonged on a farm laborer’s body. He didn’t look like a laborer of any sort, not with a decent brown suit like that. And was that a silk waistcoat under his jacket? 

She dragged her gaze upward, a little surprised to find that she didn’t recognize him at all. He wasn’t a local, then. His skin was olive-hued, hair thick and black and neatly styled, with a blue-black smattering of stubble on his cheeks. Most impressive of all were his eyes, fringed with shockingly long eyelashes, an unusual shade of vivid green. Not blue, not gray, not hazel, but green, green as bottles. 

She blinked, coming back to herself. He was staring at her, a tiny furrow between his brows.

Abruptly, he made an odd, old-fashioned little bow from the waist. 

“Beg pardon, ma’am,” he said, and again she could not quite place his accent. “I should have paid more attention.”

“I…” She fumbled for words, trying to come up with something that was an apology but didn’t sound like one. While she was still stuttering, the man flashed her a wry smile and walked away without another word. 

Lila was left standing on the boardwalk, flustered for some reason, and with the uncomfortable knowledge that she’d behaved badly, blaming a stranger for her own clumsiness. It had nothing to do with him at all, of course. It was all to do with the will and Mr. Wilson, things beyond her control. And here she was, snapping at him as if he were the one who’d convinced her father to write his will that way. It was childish, really.

The stranger didn’t twist around to look at her as he walked away. In fact, he didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Hands thrust deep in his pockets, he took his time swaggering away, seeming to head nowhere in particular. 

She bit back a sigh. 

Well, he could have stepped aside, of course. Standing so close to the solicitor’s office, I would have thought he was going inside. 

It didn’t matter now, though. Of course it didn’t. Lila gave herself a little shake, trying to concentrate on the here and now. She had work to do, and there was no sense in waiting any longer. 

Lila had always lived her life by a simple motto: no time like the present. No sense putting things off or wasting time. Simply get it done, then it’s over, and you can focus on the next task. 

Steeling herself, she turned and hurried along the boardwalk, heading to the post office. Thankfully, there wasn’t much of a queue at that time of day. It wasn’t even lunchtime, and the shop was empty, with the gawky young clerk sitting behind the counter, muffling a yawn. 

He flinched as Lila came banging into the shop, hastily swinging his feet down from the counter, flustered. 

“Hey, Miss Harding. How you doing today?”

“Just fine, Gus,” she said briskly. “I need to send a telegraph. You can do that, can’t you? It’s going to be a long one, and I need a pen and paper to write it down first.”

He blinked. “Um, sure. I can do telegraphs.”

She bit back a sigh. 

Everything is irritating me today. First Pa, now this. Why can’t I just live my life? Why can’t I live in peace? 

She couldn’t let herself take any irritation out on Gus, now. That would be cruel. She was lucky enough to have only snapped at that stranger outside. Wild Oak wasn’t a large town, and gossip and rumors flew around like nobody’s business. Since not a lot of interesting things tended to happen in town, even the tiniest change in a neighbor’s demeanor would be cause for chatter. 

People had already been talking about Lila, single as she was, and apparently a wealthy new ranch owner. Women didn’t live alone in places like Wild Oak. Or anywhere, really. They lived with their fathers or brothers, if they weren’t married, descending on the nearest man with desperation, keen to be cared for. 

Lila didn’t need to be cared for. She didn’t want to be cared for.

Although, of course, the train lines crisscrossing the country would change the isolation of Wild Oak, and other places, soon enough. To say nothing of the relatively new addition of a telegraph at the post office to the small town. The world was changing at breakneck speed. 

Gus pushed over a piece of dog-eared paper and a pencil, and Lila began to write. She was aware of the young man peering over her shoulder as she wrote, unashamedly reading it. She bit back a snappish remark and concentrated on writing. Gus was going to have to send the telegraph, so he’d have to read it anyway. That was hardly ideal, but there was nothing she could do about it, so there was no sense in complaining. 

Young Woman of Twenty-Four Seeks Husband 

A young woman in Good Health and of Reasonable Looks seeks a marriage partner. Applicants should be No Older than thirty, with no children or dependents, and willing to Sign Documents allowing the woman to keep the Majority of her Fortune upon the event of Their Marriage. Applicants will need to move here, rather than the other way round. Assets include a house and thriving ranch, as well as sizeable savings, rental properties, etc. A comfortable life and Sizeable Allowance can be provided. 

Details below. Please write describing Yourself and Your Qualities. Aggressive men, Drunkards, or Gamblers need not apply. No children will be issued from This Marriage.

At the bottom, she included the address of the post office. No need to give any would-be applicants her actual address. She finished the brief paragraph and read it over. 

Had she given enough detail? Too much detail? She’d been brusque and plain enough, she thought. Nobody could read that advertisement and think that an ordinary marriage would be forthcoming. It would be a mistake to mention her father’s will and the terms in it. A man might try to take advantage. 

“Oh, hell,” Gus breathed, still reading over her shoulder. She shot him a sharp look. 

“Don’t swear.”

“Sorry, Miss Harding, I just… well, you’re not the type to put in an advertisement for a husband. I’ve heard of men doing it. You know, getting correspondence brides and such, but not women.”

“Well, I have,” Lila responded briskly. “Not often, true, but it happens.”

Of course, it was generally widows in financial difficulties with a horde of children to take care of, promising to be a proper wife to whoever would take her, in exchange for a semi-comfortable life. Heiresses tended not to write away for a husband. 

I’m not an heiress, Lila thought with a flash of anger. I’m just me. It’s not my fault that I need to marry to get what should be mine already. 

Guilt followed this thought. Pa was the one who’d built up the ranch and earned most of their money. Sure, Lila worked hard, and in recent years, she’d worked just as hard, if not harder, than Pa. But legally, not a cent of that money was hers. She had no doubt that the ranch workers would stay on and keep working for her just as hard as they had for Pa, but if the money stopped coming, so would they. 

She couldn’t blame them for that. Life in Wild Oak wasn’t easy at the best of times. There were other ranch owners, and men had families to take care of. 

“What made you decide to get married, then?” Gus asked, carefully taking the paper between finger and thumb. “We all figured you’d stay by your lonesome for the rest of your life.”

That stung a little. “Why’d you think that?”

Gus had the grace to blush a little. “Well, you never seemed very interested in men. Always said that you were too busy to marry. And you’re kind of… well, what I mean is… you can be kind of mean, sometimes. And, like I said, you don’t seem to want to get married. All the other ladies talk about how they want husbands and families. And you already have a house, right? And the ranch? You don’t need to marry, you said.”

“Well, that was when Pa was alive. He’s gone now, and so…”

“And so now you’re lonely,” Gus finished. 

She flinched. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

Gus shot her a look that might have been full of pity. “Sure, you’re not.”

Lila resisted the urge to say something mean. “I want an ad put in a few papers. These ones, actually.”

She scribbled the names of several newspapers on the top of the paper. Those newspapers were widely read and circulated and went much further than Wild Oak. If there were no decent replies to her advertisement, she could look further afield. She had a year, after all. 

Gus’ eyebrows shot up, and he shot her a look as if to say really? These ones? Stretching a little far, aren’t we? 

Of course she was stretching far. She had to find someone, and she already knew that there wasn’t anybody suitable for her here in Wild Oak. She was running out of time, and was already out of options if she didn’t expand her search straight away.  

Six months, she thought suddenly, with a shiver of panic. Six months and three weeks till I turn twenty-five. That’s how long I have to get married. 

What was Pa thinking? Why did he do this to me? 

I thought he loved me. 

She swallowed back the tide of emotion, looking Gus straight in the eye. 

“Can you send it?” she prompted. 

He gave himself a little shake, smiling nervously at her. 

“Sure, sure. But seriously, Miss Harding. Is there a reason for all this? The advertisement, the conditions… it’s sudden.”

“I’m not sure it’s any of your business.”

Gus bit his lower lip, and she suspected that he was struggling not to roll his eyes. No doubt he was used to all of his other customers spilling all of their gossip immediately. 

“Look. Can I be frank?” he said at last.

“You generally are.”

“What man would agree to this?”

She flinched. “Agree to what? What are you talking about? I’d make a half-decent wife. And the house…”

“No, no, it’s not that. When… when men get married, everything their wife had becomes theirs, right? Their wife moves in with them, over to their town, to their family and friends. That’s how it’s done.”

“Sure. That’s why I added the clause, and I’ll fix up documents for him to sign so that my money stays mine.”

This time, the look Gus gave her included a hefty dose of sympathy. 

“That’s what I’m saying, Miss Harding. Men won’t agree to that. A man might say he’ll sign after the marriage, and then just refuse to sign after all. I don’t think you’re dumb enough to fall for that, so I imagine you’ll insist that he signs beforehand. They’ll try and talk you out of it, or just flat-out refuse when it comes to it.”

A prickle ran down Lila’s spine. “Well, I won’t be talked out of it, and he’ll sign before we get married. That’s Pa’s money, and Pa’s ranch, and I won’t let some stranger take it all.”

Gus scratched his head, baffled. “Then why marry at all? You don’t need to get married, Miss Harding. Not really. Everybody says so. You’re so independent, you could do okay on your own, I reckon.”

She bit her lip hard, until she tasted copper. For a moment, the whole story danced at the tip of her tongue, longing to be said aloud. 

I have to get married. Pa left a clause in his will. If I don’t get married by the time I’m twenty-five, I lose everything. Everything. 

She clenched her jaw. No. Lila realized, in a sickening rush, that she couldn’t tell anyone. Certainly not Gus, who was a terrible gossip. He’d probably tell people about her telegraph as it was, although by rights he ought to keep it confidential. 

Nothing to be done about it, though. No good would be achieved by letting people know just how desperate she was, how little time she had. 

I have to think clearly. I have to make good decisions. 

It’s just business. 

She flashed an insincere smile at Gus. “I know what I’m doing. I won’t lose Pa’s money, Gus. I can’t.”

“Well, okay,” he muttered, glancing down at the advert again. “You know, you should put a picture in the advertisement. You’re real pretty, Miss Harding. Oh, and take out the bit about no children from the marriage. Men won’t like that.”

“I don’t give a hoot what men like. It stays how it is.”

He bristled at that, clearly offended that his advice wasn’t being taken. With a huff of annoyance, Gus started preparing the telegraphing equipment, smoothing out her paltry note on the side. 

“You know this’ll cost a good deal, Miss Harding? There’s the cost of the telegraphing, and then putting it in the papers, and that’s not cheap.”

“You know I’m good for it, Gus,” she responded, barely smothering a sigh. 

Suddenly, Lila was tired, so tired she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. The Harding Ranch was a good way outside the center of town, even though their extensive lands pressed right up against the town boundaries. She had a few hours’ travel ahead of her to get home, and she’d already been up early to make her appointment with Mr. Wilson. 

The same appointment which she’d waited close to an hour for, and which had been so very disappointing. 

Why is everything so hard? 

Gus started tap-tapping away at the telegraph machine, a look of concentration on his face. 

“Are there any visitors in town?” Lila found herself asking. “I ran into a man I didn’t recognize earlier. Tall, tanned, black hair? Bright green eyes?”

Gus gave a grunt and a shrug, a sure sign that he was offended by her. Lila bit back a sigh. 

So tired. 

“Well, if you’ve got that in hand, Gus, I’ll take myself off,” she said, trying for a placating smile.

Another grunt. 

I shouldn’t have been so mean to him, Lila thought tiredly. He’s just a kid. 

But what was done was done, and she had no time or energy to stay and smooth over Gus’ ruffled feelings. 

Lila slipped out quietly, head pounding and full of worries. 

What if he’s right? What if I don’t get any replies? 

What if I can’t get married?