Prologue

Home of Wallace Prescott

Saint Louis, Missouri

Mid June 1890

Susana Prescott sat the last bowl of food on the table and took her seat at her father's side. "Papa, will you give the blessing?"

"Yes, of course," Wallace agreed. " Almighty, we thank You for this food. Let it feed our souls and help us to do our part in kind words and loving deeds. We ask in Jesus' name. Amen ."

Susana's responding ‘ Amen ' was echoed by her brothers, Seth and Will, before each of the boys made a grab for the platter of roast. "Slow down, you two," Susana scolded. "There's plenty to go around. Remember the reverend's sermon this morning. Greed is the downfall of a weak man."

"This is a lovely meal, Susana," her father said. "Your cooking skills rival any fancy chef I've ever met. Your mama, may she rest in peace, would be proud."

Susana swallowed back a knot in her throat and responded. "Thank you, Papa. I truly hope so."

"Not just Sunday dinner, but especially your bread," Will noted. "Tank Bellows offered me a nickel for two slices of your potato bread the other day."

"And your pies," Seth added. "I gave Scotty a piece of your cherry pie and, he was so excited, he bit his lip gobbling it down."

"While I do appreciate Scotty's eagerness, I'd hate to think something I'd made led to an injury."

"Missus Watkins wants to know when you're going to open your own bakery," Seth told her.

"Well… I'd love to, of course… but—"

"About that," Papa interrupted, his dark gray gaze settling on her. "I've been offered a new and exciting opportunity with the bank. I'll not just be managing my own branch, but I'd also be promoted to district manager."

"How exciting, Papa," Susana gushed. "Many of the city's branches could no doubt benefit from your leadership."

Her father's slight clearing of his throat drew Susana's narrowed stare.

"The position isn't here in Saint Louis," Papa admitted. "We'd have to relocate."

Not that she wasn't happy for her father. He'd worked long and hard for Sterling Savings and Loan and deserved a promotion. Still, her bakery… her plans… "Locate where?" Susana asked.

"Farther west. The Arizona Territory, to be exact," her father explained. "A town called Windemere. It's a small town now but growing quickly since they reopened the lumber mill. The railroad has even included the town in their next expansion."

"Will there be real cowboys?" Seth wondered.

"I'm sure they still ride horses, and the town has a sheriff, rather than a police department like we have here," Wallace told them.

Both brothers' eyes lit with excitement.

"When will we be moving?" Susana asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "What about Martha? She's newly married and may need us."

Papa gathered her hand in his and squeezed. "Your sister will be fine. She has Carl and his family to help out if need be."

"I suppose," Susana conceded.

"I know this has come about suddenly and, no doubt, puts a hitch in your plans. I can't do this without you, though, so I'm hoping I can propose a compromise."

"A compromise?" she stammered.

"You've grown up so quickly since your mother passed. I'd have been lost without your help with your brothers and even your rebellious sister before she got married and moved out. Obviously, your cooking isn't the only thing you've excelled at," Papa said. "If you'll agree to come with me and the boys, I'll buy you a storefront on the main road of Windemere so you can open your bakery."

"But it's just a small town," she reminded him. "What if they already have a bakery?"

Papa's broad grin lifted her spirits. "They don't. I already asked." Giving her hand a second squeeze, he continued, "To answer your original question, I'm due to arrive in Windemere by the middle of August, so we have a little less than two months to get organized and move. We'll be taking a train as far as Phoenix, and then a stage after that. Our belongings will travel by freight wagon."

"A stagecoach!" Thirteen-year-old Will squealed. "I can't wait."

"So? Is everyone willing to upset our lives in favor of an adventure?" Wallace asked.

"Yes, Papa," Susana assured him. Turning to fifteen-year-old Seth, she coaxed, "Aren't we, Seth?"

"I suppose so," the boy grumbled.

"He's just mad cause he's smitten with Holly McGruder," Will teased. "Now he's got to leave."

"Take my word for it," Susana said softly, "there will be many other young ladies in your future. Who knows, maybe the rich sawmill owner will have a daughter your age."

"Or, maybe," Seth shot back, "he'll have a son who wants to marry a woman who can cook."

Her father's robust laughter filled their small dining room, alleviating the worst of Susana's fears. All would be well, she realized, as long as the family was mostly intact.