Chapter One
The train slowed with a long, shuddering sigh, as though even the iron beast itself was reluctant to stop in a place so small.
Deborah Prescott remained seated long after the other passengers had begun to stir, her gloved hands folded tightly in her lap, her satchel tucked close against her side as if it might otherwise be taken from her.
Outside the window, the world had changed in a way that still did not feel entirely real.
Bloomington had been filled with constant noise, restless movement, and the crowded certainty of city life.
Now, as Deborah looked out at the small town where the train had stopped, she was struck by the overwhelming sense of too much space, perhaps after the close quarters and bustling streets she had known.
In a place like this, she wondered if the stillness and open air would give way to monotony, leaving her with nothing but time and the threat of boredom.
The land stretched endlessly beneath a pale blue sky, broken only by a scattering of wooden buildings gathered along a dusty road. A water tower rose above them, and beyond that, nothing but rolling earth and distant hills that faded into a hazy horizon.
Willowhaven. The name felt softer than the place itself.
Deborah’s mind lingered on the word, as if it promised comfort that the stark landscape outside could not deliver.
Though her new surroundings were rugged and unfamiliar, the gentle syllables of “Willowhaven” echoed in her thoughts—a small hope for belonging, even when the reality before her seemed harsh and unyielding.
“End of the line!” the conductor called, his voice echoing through the narrow aisle.
People rose, and luggage shifted. Boots struck the floor in a steady rhythm while travelers made their way toward the exit with the ease of those who knew exactly where they were going.
Deborah didn’t move. Not yet. She slipped her fingers into the edge of her bodice, brushing the folded letter she had read so many times, the creases had begun to wear thin.
A position has been secured for you... The words had been clear. Hadn’t they?
She furrowed her brow. She had written to the matrimonial agency for employment.
For once in her adult life, she’d found respectable work.
Perhaps they had found a widower who needed a nanny for his motherless children.
Or perhaps an elderly woman who needed a companion, although that didn’t make much sense because the agency helped men find mail-order brides.
She would have been happy being a secretary, or even one of the workers who answered letters from men searching for a wife.
However, she didn’t expect... this. She hadn’t applied for a job in hopes of being matched in marriage.
She pressed her lips together as she rose at last, gathering her satchel before reaching for her trunk with careful determination. The weight of it pulled at her arm, heavier than it ought to be, though she knew it was not the clothing that made it so.
It was what lay hidden beneath. Books and books of information she couldn’t leave behind. Even now, she could almost feel them, as though they carried a presence of their own. They caused her to become restless, and she knew the information was dangerous and unable to be ignored for very long.
“Miss? You’ll want to step down now.”
Deborah startled slightly at the conductor’s gentle reminder and nodded quickly. “Yes, of course.”
She moved toward the opening, leading her outside.
With measured steps and keeping her posture composed despite the faint unease coiling low in her chest, she struggled not to lose control and move back inside the train to hide.
After all, she had never been one to run from a misunderstanding.
Then again, she’d never been sent to marry a strange man, either.
The moment she stepped down onto the wooden platform, the air shifted around her. Willowhaven was warmer than she had assumed the temperature would be. However, she expected the dry air and the quietness of a small town.
For a fleeting instant, she felt it again—that same prickle at the back of her neck as if someone was watching her. She’d been used to that in Bloomington, but in Willowhaven, there was only one person expecting her.
Inwardly, she groaned. The man who wanted a wife. The man who thought she had been looking for a husband. They had both been deceived.
She lifted her gaze and scanned the small gathering of townsfolk who had come to meet the train.
A woman waved eagerly at a man stepping down behind Deborah.
Two children darted toward the man with careless laughter.
A pair of older men stood near the edge of the platform, speaking in low tones.
To them, everything happening right now was normal.
But would things be normal for her in Willowhaven?
Deborah tightened her fingers around the handle of her satchel. Don’t be foolish, she told herself firmly. You’re safe now.
She had put distance between herself and Bloomington... distance between herself and that night. More importantly, she would never have to see the woman with the cold, knowing eyes, ever again. Montana was supposed to be a beginning. Not a continuation.
“Deborah Prescott?”
The man’s voice came from behind her, low, steady, and unmistakably certain of who she was before calling out.
She turned, and for a brief, disorienting moment, the world seemed to still as if God was making everything happen in slow-motion.
The man standing before her was not at all what she had expected. Then again, she had no idea what to expect. However, seeing her soon-to-be husband for the first time threw a kink into her thoughts of what arranged marriages really were about.
He was tall, his frame broad beneath a sun-faded shirt that spoke of long hours spent working rather than sitting behind a desk.
His cowboy hat cast a shadow over his face, but not enough to hide the sharp line of his jaw or the quiet intensity in his eyes.
There was something in his stance that was grounded and unyielding, as odd as it was to think that way, but it made the space around him feel suddenly... smaller.
Deborah drew in a slow breath, trying to gain her bearings, even if she had to pretend. “Yes,” she said carefully. “I am Deborah Prescott.”
Now it was his turn to be silent. The way he studied her wasn’t rude or suspicious, but it reminded her of how she had felt when first laying eyes on him. He studied her. Undoubtedly, he was assessing her, and she waited for his curious expression to change to one of irritation... or disgust.
She didn’t detect either of those emotions in his eyes. Instead, the Adam’s apple in his neck jumped, and he straightened his shoulders. Slowly, he inclined his head and stepped closer.
“I’m Nolan Avery.”
His name seemed to settle inside her chest like a heavy weight. Her confusion returned at once, sharper now, and definitely more insistent.
She shifted her satchel higher on her arm. “Mr. Avery,” she began, her tone polite but edged with uncertainty, “I believe there has been some sort of misunderstanding. I was told there was a position available here, and I—”
“My house,” he said, his voice calm, interrupting her just enough to halt her explanation without force. “You’ll be staying there.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
He reached for her trunk without asking and lifted it as though it weighed nothing at all. “No need to apologize. The agency wrote ahead. Everything’s arranged.”
“That’s just it,” Deborah said, stepping after him, her composure slipping just slightly. “I didn’t arrange anything.” She realized how it sounded, which meant she should say more about the mix-up. “You see, I applied for employment, not—”
She stopped her thoughts immediately. The words that had been on the tip of her tongue were now backtracking as if they knew they shouldn’t be spoken aloud.
Nolan glanced back at her then, one brow lifting ever so slightly. “Not what?”
Deborah hesitated. The platform, the people, and the open sky all seemed to press in on her at once, urging her to choose her next words carefully, especially since she hadn’t done so yet.
“I believe,” she said at last, her voice quieter now, “that the agency has made an error.”
Something shifted in his expression... almost like recognition. Part of her wanted to sigh in relief, thinking that he had suspected the mix-up as well.
“Well,” he said after a moment, turning back toward the waiting wagon at the edge of the platform, “that makes two of us.”
Deborah frowned. “I beg your pardon? What exactly do you mean?”
He set her trunk down into the back of the wagon with a solid thud before facing her fully once more. “I didn’t send for a wife, Miss Prescott.”
The world tilted. Again. Deborah stared at him, her heart giving a sharp, uneven beat.
“Then why,” she asked slowly, “does your letter say otherwise?”
A flicker of something crossed his gaze—something darker now, more guarded.
His eyes, which had moments ago hinted at recognition, shifted quickly, as if a shadow had fallen across them.
He seemed to withdraw just slightly, holding himself a little more rigidly.
The openness that Deborah thought she had seen was gone, replaced by caution.
For a brief second, she wondered if he was weighing his words, uncertain how much to reveal or what to believe.
“That,” Nolan Avery said, his voice lowering just slightly, “is what I intend to find out.”
A breeze stirred across the open land, lifting the edge of Deborah’s skirt and carrying with it the faint scent of dust and sun-warmed earth. She should have felt relief that she wouldn’t be bound to a man who expected her as his bride.
And yet...
Once again, she thought of the hidden letter in her bodice. If this was a mistake... it was a very deliberate one.
And somewhere, someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make it happen.