Chapter One
The brush’s steady rhythm filled the stable, soft and familiar.
Henry Collins ran the currycomb along the gelding’s flank in long, practiced strokes, his movements efficient but unhurried.
Dust lifted in faint clouds, catching the slanted beams of afternoon light that filtered through gaps in the wooden walls.
The scent of hay and leather hung thick in the air, grounded by the warm presence of animals shifting in their stalls.
“Easy,” he murmured, steadying his horse, Shadow, with a firm hand against his neck.
Shadow huffed softly in response.
This was the part of the day Henry enjoyed most. Work like this required no conversation, no pretense—just the quiet harmony between a man and his horse.
Outside, wind moved through the grass in low waves, carrying the distant creak of the windmill and faint clatter of tools from the yard.
Then, Henry heard the steady thudding of hoofbeats, faint at first, but growing louder as they approached.
Henry stilled as he lifted his head, listening.
He wasn’t expecting any visitors.
He set the brush aside and approached the wide stable doors. Pushing them open just enough to look out, he saw a rider crest the small rise overlooking the ranch house.
Shoulders relaxing, he exhaled slowly. Even from this distance, he recognized his little sister.
By the time she reached the yard, Henry was already striding quickly across it.
“What in Heaven’s name are you doing out here?” he called, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice.
Dorothy reined in her horse with practiced ease, her face lighting up. “I came to see my brother,” she said, as if that explained everything.
Henry reached her side, shaking his head. “You’ve got no business riding this far in your condition.”
“And you’ve got no business scowling at me like that when I’ve just ridden a full day to get here,” she shot back, though her tone was playful.
Henry reached up, his rough hands careful as he helped her down from the saddle. “You should’ve sent word. I would’ve come to you.”
“And miss the chance to see the expression on your face when I arrive unannounced?” She grinned. “Not a chance.”
He steadied her as her boots touched the ground, his grip firm but gentle.
Despite her rounded belly, she seemed smaller than he remembered.
Maybe it was the way she carried the weight of the child, seven months along now, one hand instinctively resting on her rounded belly as she caught her breath.
Henry’s gaze dropped to it, and warmth spread through his chest, catching him off guard.
Dorothy noticed, her expression softening. “Go on,” she said gently.
He hesitated before lifting his hand and placing it lightly against the curve of her belly. For a moment, he felt nothing; then, as the tiny life inside her shifted, his eyes widened. A rare smile broke through as he felt the movement beneath his palm.
“Well, I’ll be,” he murmured.
Dorothy laughed softly. “He’s just like his uncle,” she teased. “Loves to be in the saddle.”
Henry shook his head, still smiling in a way that didn’t come easily to him. “That’s… something.”
“Something?” she repeated with exaggerated incredulity. “Your niece or nephew makes their presence known, and that’s all you have to say?”
He huffed quietly, dropping his hand, though the warmth in his chest remained. “Reckon I’ll have more to say once I’ve met the little troublemaker.”
Dorothy slipped her arm through his as they strolled toward the house. “You’ll be smitten—just you wait!”
Henry chuckled. “I have no doubt.”
“Admit it, you were smitten with me when I arrived.”
“That was different,” he grumbled. “Before you were born, I was the apple of Mama’s eye.”
Dorothy laughed. “You were the firstborn son,” she said. “I posed no threat.”
Her laugh, light and so familiar, pulled him back to a time before the weight of responsibility had fallen squarely on his shoulders.
He glanced at her. “You really rode all this way just to see me?”
Dorothy’s smile softened. “I wanted to see you before the baby comes because things will … change. For one, I won’t be able to travel so easily.”
Henry nodded slowly. “Well,” he said. “You’re here now. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she replied. “Though you might start by taking better care of yourself.”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Reaching up to flick lightly at his shirt, she raised a brow. “You’re missing a button, and your hair … Henry, it’s nearly past your collar.”
He instinctively ran a hand through his unkempt brown locks, scowling. “Got better things to worry about.”
“So I see.” Her gaze swept over the ranch as they walked: strong fences, well-kept barns, the glossy coats of the horses grazing in the distance. “I must admit, you’ve clearly found time to build something remarkable.”
Henry followed her gaze. “It’s work.”
“It’s more than that,” she said quietly. “You’ve done well. Mama and Papa would be proud.”
Clearing his throat, he adjusted his pace to match her slow, somewhat awkward gait, mindful of each step she took. They walked on in companionable silence for a while, the wind brushing gently through the fields, the ranch stretching wide around them.
“I just did what needed doing,” he said at last.
Dorothy smiled knowingly. “You always do.”
Henry kept close at her side, his fierce instinct to protect his little sister only heightened by her condition.
Whatever else had changed over the years, that would never change.
***
At just past two, Henry was sitting across from his sister at a small wooden table near the kitchen window, late afternoon sunlight spilling across the worn floorboards and the simple spread of bread, cold cuts, and a lukewarm pot of coffee between them.
Henry tore off a piece of bread, his appetite honed from the morning’s work.
“You comfortable?”
Dorothy leaned forward in her seat, one hand at her back, the other resting on her belly. “I’m fine, Henry. You’ve asked me that three times in the past half hour.”
He grunted. “Just making sure.”
She smiled fondly. “I know.”
Then, as he should have expected, a mischievous glint entered her eyes, one he knew all too well. He knew what that look meant: trouble.
Henry sighed under his breath. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said casually, reaching for her cup. “Just thinking.”
“That’s never good.”
“It is when I’m thinking about you.”
He gave her a flat look. “Don’t.”
She ignored him completely. “You’ve built all of this from the ground up.” She waved vaguely toward the window and the ranch beyond. “A fine home, a thriving business, and a more than respectable reputation.”
Henry shrugged, then opened his mouth to speak.
“And yet,” she continued, raising a brow, “you sit here, alone, at this table day after day, eating meals you barely have time to cook.”
“I manage.”
“You shouldn’t have to manage.”
Henry exhaled slowly, already sensing where this was headed. “Dorothy—”
“You need a wife.”
There it was: the same blasted thing Dorothy had been nagging him about for the better part of a decade.
He shook his head, tearing off a piece of bread with a bit more force than necessary. “I don’t need anything of the sort.”
“You need someone here,” she insisted. “Someone to share this life with you.”
“I like my life just fine as it is.”
She studied him, her expression softening, but Henry knew better than to expect her to drop it—and sure enough, she wasn’t ready to relent.
“Do you?”
Henry lifted his cup, taking a slow sip, though the coffee had gone bitter.
“I like things simple,” he said at last. “No complications. No trouble.”
Dorothy’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s not the same as being happy.”
His jaw tightened. “I am happy,” he said, though the words came a little too quickly.
She leaned forward. “Henry… you can’t let what happened before determine your future.”
The room stilled as the past pressed in, unwelcome and sharp. A face he hadn’t thought of in years invaded his mind, though the memories of betrayal and broken trust still had teeth.
He set his cup down with a loud thunk and felt tepid liquid slosh over the rim to coat his fingers. “We’re not talking about that,” he said flatly.
Dorothy sighed, but didn’t push further in that direction. “You’re thirty-one,” she said instead. “At this rate, you’ll be an old man before you give anyone a chance.”
He let out a short, humorless grunt. “Hardly.”
“Well, you’re not getting any younger,” she shot back, “and I’d like my child to know their uncle as something other than a stubborn man who lives alone with his horses.”
He glowered down at the small brown puddle ringing the base of his cup.
Dorothy tilted her head. “Is there no woman in town who’s caught your interest?”
“No.”
“Not even one?”
Henry dragged a hand down his face. “Dorothy—”
“I’m only asking because—”
“I put in an advertisement,” he blurted, desperate to settle the topic once and for all.
Dorothy blinked. For once, she had nothing to say.
Henry shifted uncomfortably, all at once keenly aware of the hard seat beneath him. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. “Just practical.”
“Practical,” she repeated.
He nodded, leaning back. “I need help around here. Someone to keep the house in order, put proper food on the table. Can’t tend to the ranch all day and cook decent meals for a full crew, besides.”
Dorothy continued to stare at him wordlessly.
“So,” he continued. “I placed an ad. Simple as that.”
“For … a mail-order bride?” she asked slowly.
“That’s right.”
“Henry Collins,” she breathed, one hand flying to her mouth. “You did not!”
Then, before he could brace himself, she let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, this is wonderful!”
“It’s not wonderful,” he muttered. “It’s sensible.”
She leaned forward, eyes bright. “Has anyone responded?”
He nodded.
“And?”
He hesitated.
Dorothy’s eyes widened. “You’ve chosen someone.”
Henry exhaled. “I’ve made … arrangements.”
“Oh my goodness!” she said, bouncing in her seat before catching herself with a small wince.
“Careful,” he said automatically.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, her grin not fading. “When does she arrive?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Friday.”
“That’s only a few days away!” she exclaimed, incredulous.
“I’m aware.”
“What’s her name?”
Henry sighed with resignation. “Ruth Bennett.”
“Ruth,” she repeated, as if testing the taste of the name on her tongue. “That’s a lovely name.”
He shrugged, though hearing it spoken aloud settled oddly in his chest. “I’ve sent the train fare,” he added. “She’ll be coming from Dodge City.”
Dorothy studied him closely, her earlier excitement settling into thoughtfulness. “What else do you know about her, other than her name?”
“She answered the advertisement,” he said shortly. “Wrote a proper letter. That’s enough.”
As the words left his lips, he thought of the careful handwriting. The tone of her words—respectful, yes, and polite, but earnest.
He pushed the thought aside as Dorothy leaned back.
“Well,” she remarked, “it seems your practicality is about to change your life.”
Henry let out a low breath. “It’s not about me or my life. It’s about keeping this ranch running smooth.”
She didn’t argue, but her knowing look clearly said she didn’t believe a word of it.