Chapter 1

W hat was the young lady doing out there by herself? Who was she?

Twice before, he'd observed her sitting on the hillside, head bent over a notebook, studiously writing something. The sun glistened off her blonde hair, catching hints of coppery color. Whatever she was doing, it held her attention completely.

Robert Davis leaned back into the shadow of the trees, content to watch the girl. Something about her seemed not quite real as if she'd blossomed from the ground like the flowers surrounding her. His curiosity had to be satisfied, so he eased around the clearing's perimeter until he stood in front of her. Although he was only feet away, she hadn't detected his presence.

The grass shushed under his boots as he stepped forward.

Her head jerked up. Wide blue eyes crashed into his gaze. She slammed shut the notebook that moments ago completely captivated her and scrambled to her feet.

"Ma'am. Miss. I mean you no harm." He spread out his hands in a gesture of peace. His scarlet tunic should convince her he was more than law-abiding—he was a defender of the law. His sidearm might make her nervous, although her glance didn't even go in its direction.

But she shook her head hard enough to send a spray of golden hair across her cheek. She brushed it aside and hurried away, her attention diverting neither to the left nor to the right.

"Wait." But his entreaty didn't slow her steps.

Why was she so afraid? Did she think he meant her harm? He shrugged. Despite evidence he was a Mountie, she might feel she had reason to think so. After all, they were on a hill, their presence hidden by trees from those at the fort and the many travelers clustered in the valley. Would she come again, or had he frightened her enough to stop future wandering?

What attracted her to this spot? He studied the place where she'd perched. He blinked. A square of white lay on the green grass. Had she dropped something?

His long strides ate up the distance, and he picked up a bit of paper worn to the feel of cotton as if she'd unfolded it and refolded it many times. Or was it even hers? Only one way to know. He opened it up to the bold black script of a letter addressed to Miss Woods.

The recipient of this news had been invited to join a group of people studying the plants of the Rocky Mountains. Your drawings will be invaluable to our work.

The three covered wagons parked in the valley belonged to the Woods and Miller families. The name Woods made him think of his friend, Carson. Carson was expecting his family to join him at Fort Taylor, but he'd said nothing about Millers. Both were common enough names, so did they have a connection to his friend?

The paper drooped in his fingers. The illusive woman was likely one of the travelers. He'd easily enough find out and return this letter to her if, indeed, it was hers.

As he pivoted to leave, a second bit of paper, caught in the grass, fluttered in the breeze, and he stooped to retrieve it. A sketch of a flower. The details of it were so precise he touched the paper, half expecting to feel the petals' texture.

"Amazing." He folded the papers and put them into his breast pocket for safekeeping. He patted his chest, the paper sighing under his touch. What better excuse for finding the mysterious woman?

The August heat intensified as he strode downhill. The covered wagons came into view. Several people circulated around the campfire. None of the women had the copper-threaded blonde hair of the woman he sought.

As always keenly aware of his surroundings, he shifted his gaze. There were two other small camps. All men. All seeking their fortune in whatever path they'd chosen. One of his duties was making sure they'd follow a legal path.

A wagon loaded with household goods secured by a network of ropes stopped in front of the trading post, which was a tiny reminder of the North-West Mounted Police fort that once stood in this area. The present business, nothing more than a rough log structure with a worn wooden step and two narrow windows in need of cleaning, showed none of its former glory.

A man and woman descended from the wagon and went inside.

Homesteaders. Robert grunted. Heads full of dreams. Reality often proved to be a far cry from those shining dreams. He wished them all the best and hoped they'd selected their quarter of land wisely.

Cattle grazed behind the post. Horses lounged next to the barn. Two riders loped up the far hill heading west. The West called to many even as it did to him.

His boots thudded on the trading post's wooden step. The door sighed open. Three pairs of eyes turned to him. Seeing his scarlet tunic, the travelers straightened. Their eyes widened. Hiram, the operator of the establishment, greeted Robert.

"How do, Constable. Still no news on yer horses?"

Robert paused to touch his hat brim and nod a greeting to the watchful couple before he answered. "I hoped you'd heard something."

"Nary a word. Nary a word. Sorry." Hiram turned to indicate something to the travelers.

Huffing out his impatience, Robert eased back to the wall. The letter in his pocket and his task of returning it to its owner somewhat tempered his displeasure over waiting for the animals he was to deliver further west to Fort Taylor.

What was hindering him? He knew where the Woods and Miller crew parked. They'd been there a day already after crossing a large portion of Canada. The last few days before their arrival would have them traveling over a hot, dry prairie, challenging both man and beast.

All he had to do was march over there and ask to speak to Miss Woods. With him being a Mountie, no one ever questioned his right to be nosy. From what little he'd learned of those traveling together, there were two unmarried gals. Hadn't Carson said his ma would be accompanied by his widowed sister and four unmarried ladies? Robert had been distracted the last time Carson told him about the travelers. Had he said something about his ma getting married again? And some old friends accompanying them? Could this be the same Woods family?

Returning to the matter of the letter—How was he to know which of the single gals to ask for? Of course, if she was standing nearby, he'd know it was her.

"Good day." He again tipped his head to the homesteaders, then slipped out the door. He moseyed over to the corrals, leaned on the top of the fence, and contemplated his quandary.

An old mare trotted up to have her neck scratched.

"So, old gal, what should I do?"

The mare whinnied.

"Sorry, I can't understand what you're saying. I never did learn to talk horse." Nevertheless, he continued to tell the animal his problem. "See, I could march up to the campsite and wait for them to offer me a cup of coffee. Or I could watch for the young lady to wander off by herself again. That way, I could be sure of being able to speak to her."

Did a nod from the mare suggest agreement?

Robert grinned. Exactly what would she be agreeing to? "I'd really like to see her alone, you know. Maybe she'd talk to me."

Another agreeing nod from the understanding horse.

"Or I could scare her into hiding again." A huff emptied his lungs. "Still… You're right. I've got nothing better to do than wait." He patted the warm soft neck and angled to the corner of the pen with a good view of the wagon train's camp. Perhaps too obvious, though.

"Well, shoot." This wasn't like him at all. With sure, determined steps, he crossed the dusty trail toward the campfire.

Ruby Woods's eyes had been drawn to that red jacket. Yeah, like a moth to a flame. She tried not to notice where he went as she retreated to the wagons. Tried not to look that direction. She heaved a sigh when he disappeared into the store. Now she could concentrate on… She looked around. What had she been doing?

Her sketchbook was safely stowed in the valise containing her personal things. No one would ever look for it. She let them assume she was only making notes about their travels. Not that anyone seemed to notice what she did, which was fine with her. She'd never cared to have attention drawn her way.

Oh right. She was preparing to do some mending for Ma. Bertie was hard on his clothes. There was always a tear to fix or a button to replace. She caught up the shirt and sewing basket and dropped from the wagon to press to the wheel furthest from the trail separating the camp from the trading post. She'd be out of sight and yet able to see enough through the spokes to know what was going on.

The red jacket came out of the store. Not that she noticed, of course. It was merely a passing observation.

She needed a button for Bertie's shirt and turned her attention to looking for one in Ma's sewing basket. But the bright color was visible out of the corner of her eyes. The Mountie crossed to the corrals and leaned on the fence. He was tall. Taller than average. Dark-blond hair curled from under the edges of his hat. Of course, she'd seen it and his dark blue eyes on the hill where he'd disturbed her. Not that she'd paid any attention.

With deft fingers, she threaded the needle and jabbed it through the holes in the button and into the fabric. Two more times. Three. Four.

Her hand paused midair as the red patch moved along the rail fence of the horse pen. And stopped.

Finish the button. Stop being distracted.

In and out with needle and thread. Tie it off. Cut the thread.

He moved again. Dust trailed after his boots. She didn't look up but didn't need to in order to see he came in her direction.

Scrambling to her feet, she hurried into the wagon. Had she escaped his notice? Not that she was hiding. She simply didn't like how he'd discovered her on the hill. How long had he watched her? When she was sketching, she often became unaware of her surroundings. Not a good thing, as she well knew. To think someone could sneak up on her was unsettling. Thankfully, it was a Mountie, so she had nothing to fear.

"Hello. I'm Constable Robert Davis."

Gabe and Ma were by the fire, and Gabe called out a greeting.

"Is there anything I can help you folks with?" She'd only heard him speak a handful of words, but the Mountie's voice was as unmistakable as the red jacket.

"We're doing fine, thanks. We've decided to spend a few days repairing and resting before we embark on the next segment of our journey. Allow me to introduce us." Gabe gave his name and Ma's. Mr. and Mrs. Miller. It still felt strange to hear Ma referred to as a Miller rather than a Woods.

"And our son, Bertie. Bertie, come say hello to Constable Davis. He's a Mountie, just like your brother."

Ruby didn't need to find a hole to peek out of to know Bertie had gone into hiding.

She grinned. Much like herself.

"Like Carson?" The sound came from under the next wagon.

"Can I ask where you folks are headed?"

Gabe and Ma answered in unison. "Fort Taylor."

"My other son is stationed there," Ma added.

"Carson Woods?" Surprise gave the Mountie's voice a ringing timbre.

"You know him?" Ma sounded excited. Of course, she would be. They all missed Carson.

Bertie must have scrambled from hiding. "You know Carson?"

"I do. He's a good friend. A good man. A good Mountie."

Well, if Constable Davis wanted to do or say anything to earn him favor, he'd just done it. They now plied him with questions about Carson and his well-being and about the journey yet to be taken to reach the fort. Bertie even introduced his pets.

"Alice. She a good goat. Limpy, my dog. And Fluff and Smoke, my cats. They in the wagon, sleeping. You wanna see 'em?"

She didn't intend to miss watching the constable talking to Bertie, her brother who'd never grown out of childhood. Many people found his simple ways upsetting.

Ruby eased up to a peephole. The constable was almost the same size as Bertie, who was a big man. A big man with a child's mind. A sweet, gentle person.

The two of them looked into the back of Ma and Gabe's wagon.

"Can I pet them?" Constable Davis asked.

Guess if he asked permission he couldn't be all—well, she didn't think he was bad. Only scary in that he snuck up on people.

Bertie nodded. "They likes pets."

"They're very soft. I always wanted a cat."

Huh? An odd thing to say. Especially for a grown man.

"Maybe you get one."

"Maybe I will."

They lingered at the back of the wagon a couple more minutes before the constable turned back to Ma and Gabe.

"Carson will be pleased to see you. He's been telling everyone who would listen that his family is coming." There was a question in his tone. "He said family friends were accompanying you."

Gabe chuckled.

Ruby couldn't see him or Ma, but he'd be giving Ma one of those looks and maybe pulling her to his side, his arm warm and possessive.

"My two sons and I—the Millers—didn't like to think of them traveling on their own, so we joined them."

Humph. Ruby sat back carefully so as not to make the wagon move or sigh. They'd joined in more ways than one. Ma had married Gabe. Irene and Hazel's best friend, Louise, had married Gabe's sons. Even Hazel had decided to get married. To Joe, the scout. Only Ruby, herself, and her adopted sister, Angela, escaped the matrimony bug. Not that she objected to any of their marriages. But they might as well have named the wagon train the wedding train.

Gabe was explaining to the Mountie where everyone was. "Seems they've all found something to do."

Ruby didn't dare breathe when he got to her and Angela. What if they drew attention to her spot?

"I don't know where the two youngest girls have gone. I suppose they're off enjoying this beautiful spot."

"The Cypress Hills are nice. Some have called the area an oasis in the midst of dryland prairie."

An oasis! A perfect description. The flora Ruby discovered held many wonderful surprises. Plant life she'd never seen before. She'd been drawing one of the many flowers when the constable frightened her away.

Moving soundlessly, she reached into her valise, extracted her sketchbook and opened it to the place where she'd been working. She'd almost finished, but the leaves weren't done. They needed to be precise. That meant she'd have to slip away again.

She turned to the place where she kept the letter and barely managed to hold back a gasp.

It wasn't there. How was that possible?

Flipping through the pages, she deflated. It was truly missing.

She sank back on her heels. Her stomach twisted. She'd had it just this morning.

Pawing through the contents of her valise, her heart pounding in her throat, she came up empty.

Had she dropped it up on the hill? Perhaps in her haste to get away from that intruding man. She pressed her eye to the hole in the canvas. The constable was gone. Ma and Gabe were out of sight. She could slip away now.

After pausing only long enough to get her sketchbook and pen, she dropped to the ground and hurried into the bushes.