Chapter 1
Fairplay, Colorado
She had to stop procrastinating and force herself to pick a new husband.
Serena Taylor tucked her list of potential husbands into the pocket of her day dress. She’d crossed out all but four of the men who lived in the Fairplay area. But maybe just four was narrowing her choice too much?
The bitter December wind coming off the mountains swirled around her, and she hugged Tate closer to protect his plump cheeks from the chill.
Burrowing against her chest, he sucked his thumb, content to ride on her hip for as long as she could carry him—which were shorter periods now that he was two and growing bigger every day.
“Only one more visit,” she whispered against his forehead before brushing a kiss to his silky light brown hair that was a shade fairer than hers. “Then we’ll head home.”
Home? She hadn’t had a home since running away two months ago from Stony Creek Ranch near Pueblo.
Even then, the large spread hadn’t felt like home in the few years she’d lived there with Palmer and his parents.
It had felt even less so after her husband’s death this past summer.
In fact, life there had become oppressive—so much so that she’d decided to move back to Oklahoma and live with her family.
She hadn’t anticipated that her father-in-law would not only agree that she move away but require her to relinquish her rights to Tate and let him raise her child.
When she’d protested, Mr. Halifax’s solicitor had presented her with a legal document claiming that a single woman was an unfit mother, mentally unstable, financially irresponsible, and unable to raise a child.
Mr. Halifax was a hard man who always got what he wanted one way or another. So, with only as much of her belongings as would fit into a carpetbag, Serena had ridden away in the middle of the night, afraid that if she stayed even one more day, she’d never see Tate again.
She hadn’t known where to go, just that she couldn’t return to Oklahoma since it would be the first place Mr. Halifax would look for her. So, she’d traveled to the South Park area until she’d reached Fairplay, and her money had run out.
At least the Courtney Boardinghouse had been a safe haven for the past weeks she’d lived there, working to earn her room and board.
But as she’d learned early in life, all good things had to come to an end eventually.
And she couldn’t stay at the boardinghouse indefinitely.
Not if she hoped to keep Tate. No, she had to stop putting off the one thing that could alleviate all her worries about losing him to Palmer’s parents.
She had to get remarried. And the sooner, the better.
Serena straightened her petite frame and squared her shoulders, then started down the boardwalk of Fairplay’s business district, heading to her final destination and the fourth candidate on her list—Mr. Dankworth, the owner of the mercantile at the end of Main Street.
He was a widower with several small children and seemed like a good father.
A good father. That was her number one qualification for a husband. She didn’t care how he treated her. As long as he cared about Tate, that’s all that mattered.
Well, of course, she also wanted him to be a God-fearing, upright, and law-abiding man. He had to be able to provide financially for her and Tate so that Mr. Halifax would have no reason to question whether Tate’s every need was being met.
Her father-in-law was powerful and wealthy, with enough connections that he would learn of her whereabouts eventually—if he hadn’t already.
And although the mountain passes were now covered in snow and made traveling difficult, Mr. Halifax wouldn’t let that stop him from tracking her to the high country.
Hopefully, once she was legally remarried, her father-in-law’s accusations would no longer have any merit. At least then her new husband could help her keep custody of Tate.
In the late afternoon, Fairplay’s streets weren’t yet busy with miners and mill employees who would soon finish work and head to their boardinghouses and the saloons.
Even so, the rattle of passing wagons and the clatter of horses mingled with the calls and greetings of the townspeople—mostly men—milling about.
At least she hadn’t faced a shortage of marriageable options. In this mountainous area miles from the big cities, men outnumbered women by far. Although Fairplay was a thriving town and had some families, as a single, widowed woman she’d attracted plenty of male attention.
Of course, she needed the right man and couldn’t just settle for anyone, which was why she’d been so carefully whittling her list down over recent weeks.
The men on her list obviously hadn’t realized the so-called chance encounters were interviews, but with each trip into town, she’d purposefully orchestrated time with the candidates so she could get to know them better and see how they interacted with Tate.
Now, with only four remaining on the list, she’d done the same today. She’d coordinated the meetings with each and had only Mr. Dankworth left.
When she finished visiting him, would she finally be able to make her choice?
With her boots tapping firmly against the wooden plank boardwalk, she neared the two-story false storefront with the name Dankworth’s painted in bold letters above the wooden awning.
Her arms had begun to ache from carrying Tate, but once she reached the interior, she’d set him down as she browsed the wares she couldn’t afford and wouldn’t be purchasing.
Hopefully, Mr. Dankworth would come out from behind his counter and talk to her as he had the past several times she’d stopped in.
His oldest daughter, who appeared to be about eight years old, took care of her siblings and had been kind to Tate.
Would Mr. Dankworth’s children welcome a new brother into their family?
At the door, she paused and straightened her hat—a Gainsborough with round crown and a brim turned up on one side. Navy blue and trimmed with flowers, it was starting to grow shabby, just like the rest of the few garments she’d brought along.
Lifting her chin in resolve, she opened the door to the scent of leather and tobacco as well as the welcoming warmth emanating from the potbellied stove at the center of the store, a coal bin and spittoon beside it.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined most walls and were crammed with every conceivable item—canned foods, spices, crockery, fabric, sewing notions, and medicines.
The countertops ran the length of one side, and they were piled with ready-made clothing, blankets, hats, and more.
Horse whips and farming tools hung from the ceiling.
Several other customers were in the store: an older man near the back examining harnesses, a fellow sitting in a chair near the stove and reading a newspaper, and another man at the counter—a tall, dark-haired man she immediately recognized.
Weston Oakley. He had lean facial features with a squared jawline, a prominent chin with a noticeable cleft, and a nose with a slight dorsal bump.
His coat stretched tightly across his broad shoulders and thickly-muscled arms. And his torso and legs radiated equal strength, although his wool trousers hung more loosely and were tucked into worn leather boots.
“My family doesn’t think I’m capable of getting married,” Weston was saying. “And if I don’t round up a wife by Christmas, they’ll never leave me alone.”
The very handsome Weston Oakley had recently belonged to Felicity Courtney. Perhaps belonged wasn’t the right word, but the two had been nearly engaged. The rumor was that Weston had even built a house for her.
However, Felicity had broken Weston’s heart when she’d married someone else and moved away.
Serena liked Felicity. After all, Felicity had been the one running the boardinghouse and had taken her in during her time of need.
But Serena wished Felicity hadn’t hurt Weston so terribly.
She hadn’t been fair to the kind, hard-working man.
Although Serena had contemplated making him number five on her list of potential husbands, she’d witnessed firsthand the heartache he’d experienced from Felicity’s rejection, and she’d seen the misery in his expression ever since.
She’d concluded that he wasn’t ready to form another relationship so soon after losing Felicity. But what if she was wrong?
As the door closed behind her and she stepped farther into the store, every eye shifted her way, including Mr. Dankworth’s and Weston’s.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Taylor.” Mr. Dankworth stood suddenly straighter, adjusting his bow tie and collar before slicking back his thinning brown hair. On the shorter side of average, Mr. Dankworth wore an apron over his suit, which seemed overly large on his trim frame.
“Ma’am.” Though Weston nodded at her politely, his blue-black eyes flitted over her and dismissed her all in one motion—just as usual.
Also just as usual, his gaze came to rest on Tate.
The boy lifted his head from her shoulder and slid his thumb out of his mouth. Now he was staring at Weston with his wide green eyes—the color another trait she and Tate shared.
“Hey there, little fella.” Weston offered Tate a tender smile.
“Ball?” Tate asked timidly.
Serena lowered Tate to the ground. He promptly latched on to her skirt, clinging to her as he always did whenever they were around other people. She had to stifle the urge to flex her arms and stretch the ache out of her back.
“Sorry.” Weston stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t have a ball today.”
The last time she and Tate had encountered Weston was several days ago at church. When Tate had gotten restless during the service, Weston, from the pew behind them, had handed Tate a marble to play with.
She’d been grateful for Weston’s consideration, especially when he’d insisted afterward that Tate could keep the marble, since he’d apparently picked it up off the street and had no use for it.
Weston pulled a hand out of his pocket and held out a stick of light-pink candy. “I’ve got this candy . . . if your ma says it’s okay for you to eat.”
At the sight of the offering, Tate’s beautiful eyes rounded even more. He shifted his questioning gaze up to her. “Candy, Mama?”
How could she say no when his face was filled with such innocence and sweetness? He’d had so few pleasures during his short life—had more frightening experiences than anything. Besides, with the little she earned working at the boardinghouse, she didn’t have much to spare for simple gifts.
She brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Alright.”
Tate released his grip on her skirt and took a tentative step toward Weston. Then, in a burst, he raced the last of the distance. As he took the stick, Weston ruffled Tate’s hair.
“What do you say to the nice man?” Serena prompted.
Tate was already running back to her side, his eyes containing an equal measure of both fright and excitement. As he latched on to her skirt again, she tucked a finger under his chin and leveled stern eyes upon him. “Tell Mr. Oakley thank you.”
“Thank you.” Tate’s voice was so soft she doubted anyone heard him.
But Weston nodded, then gathered up a parcel from the counter, tipped the brim of his black Stetson toward Mr. Dankworth, and crossed to the door, his boots clunking against the wooden floorboards. As he passed by, he ruffled Tate’s hair again. “Enjoy the candy, little fella.”
Then, with a polite touch of the brim of his hat in farewell to her, he exited the mercantile.
She couldn’t keep from watching him through the glass panes on the front door as he crossed the street and seemed to head toward the bank. His stride was long and determined, and he carried himself with strength and purpose, as though the whole world yet needed his conquering.
After his declaration to Mr. Dankworth about needing a wife by Christmas, did she dare turn him into her fifth matrimonial candidate?
He always interacted so thoughtfully with Tate, and Tate seemed to be drawn to him the most, even aside from the gifts of the marble and candy.
Yes, Weston Oakley would most definitely qualify to be on her list. The question was, would he consider marrying her after his recent heartache? He hardly seemed to realize she existed—probably wouldn’t regard her at all if not for Tate.
“What can I do for you today, Mrs. Taylor?” Still behind the counter, Mr. Dankworth had donned a wide and welcoming smile, appreciation lighting up his face as it normally did whenever he looked at her.
Like the other three candidates, he was always eager for her visits, going out of his way to talk with her and pay her compliments. He hadn’t yet proposed as the others had, but she predicted it wouldn’t be long before he did.
She could have her choice of the four.
But shouldn’t she at least test Weston and determine if he was a possibility too?
For a long moment her mind spun, doing what it did so well—scheming and plotting to make circumstances work to her advantage. As an idea began to evolve, she nodded at Mr. Dankworth and turned to the door. “I guess I won’t be needing anything today after all. But I do thank you for the offer.”
With Tate clinging to her skirt and sucking on his candy, she exited the mercantile. She had to hurry if she had any hope of facilitating a chance meeting with Weston before darkness fell.
Hopefully, this time he would take more notice of her and perhaps even consider her a prospect for the wife he needed by Christmas.