Heart of Trust (Hearts of the West, #1)

If You Enjoyed Heart of Trust.

Check out Trouble in Dry Springs. Here’s the opening scene :)

“We’ve come a long way, Eliza. A long way.”

Eliza McCoslin smiled up at Anson and resettled her gloved hand on his arm.

Yes, they’d come a long way. A long way from war-ravaged Mississippi. A long way from the hungry years she’d spent battling that farm.

A hot breeze tugged at her parasol, carrying with it the laughter of a group of ladies headed for the mercantile and the thud of hoofbeats against the hard-packed dirt road.

“You’re quiet.” Her brother’s baritone cut above the hollow echo of her heels on the boardwalk. “Are you feeling well?”

“Of course.” She let her lips tilt into another smile. “Except these boots are pinching my feet.”

Lines creased his forehead. “If those aren’t comfortable, I’ll get you another pair.”

“Oh, no.” She shouldn’t have said anything. “I’m sure they just need to be worn a few more times.”

His forehead smoothed, and he brushed his hand down the front of his black frock coat. “And you’re happy here?”

“Of course. I’m so grateful you’re alive and—and well.” Even though the lack of letters all those years had been compelling evidence otherwise.

He patted her hand. “Spoken like a good sister.”

A couple of ladies stared at them, then ducked into the café.

Anson chuckled. “You’ll get used to them.”

“It’s a little ... unnerving.” To say the least.

The stares. The whispers. The heads bent together in gossip. The knowing sneers.

“Good thing most of their men don’t think the same way.” He glanced both ways and guided her across the street to the opposing boardwalk. “I should get you home. I need to head to the saloon.”

“So soon? I thought we could have supper together.” Instead of leaving her in a house full of near strangers for yet another night.

But she had no right to complain. He’d done so much for her.

“Another time.”

“Of course.” She had to stop saying that. Someday soon, they’d fall back into the easy camaraderie they’d shared before he’d gone off to the war.

But a little discomfort was to be expected. After all, she’d been in Dry Springs only three weeks. Not nearly long enough to get acclimated to the town and reacquainted with Anson.

“Don’t let the busybodies bother you.”

A wagon rumbled by, and a baby’s cry split the air.

“I’m sure they’re nice once you get to know them.” And if she didn’t bear the McCoslin name that labeled Dry Springs’s only saloon.

He tipped his head back and laughed.

She laughed along with him. Just like they’d used to around the table with Ma and Pa.

But tailored clothes, slick hair, and an abundance of charm had replaced that Anson. Had left a stranger in his place.

No. He was still Anson. He was still her brother.

A few changes were to be expected after five years.

She adjusted her fingers on her parasol. “I’m sorry if I don’t seem grateful enough.” Grateful for the house, food, wardrobe, servants, and mount he’d provided for her. Grateful that he’d brought her here.

He glanced down at her, those lines back on his forehead. “Having you here is thanks enough. No need to thank me at least twice a day.”

But there was so much to be thankful for.

He was alive and here with her.

A gentleman nodded to Anson and stepped into the bank.

She cleared her throat. “One of your customers?” If that’s what they were even called.

One side of his mouth curved up. “He’s quite the regular.”

Oh, she shouldn’t have asked. The less she knew, the less she’d be up at night wondering. Wondering what he was doing. Wondering what kind of men surrounded him. Wondering if he’d come home.

Just like she’d wondered for five long years.