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  His thoughts drifted toward a certain stunning redhead dressed in leather chaps, and he quickly marshaled them. That particular female was a thorn in his side, and he’d already had enough aggravation to last a lifetime.

  He’d vowed to do everything in his power to keep the country from sinking into war once more. To that end, he’d dedicated his life to politics. The peace between the northern and southern states was uneasy at best. The country was torn apart, and only men who understood war were fit to put it back together again. He’d devoted himself to the cause of former soldiers as well as the widows and orphans they’d left behind. Miss Stone with her six-shooters strapped to her hips was nothing but an example of disorder and chaos. She was a distraction he’d rather avoid.

  Will wanted peace and quiet and children to dandle on his knee. He did not want to get mixed up with a beautiful vagabond who possessed magnificent horsemanship skills. Her clear and quick thinking had averted a disaster, and for that he would always be grateful. But she was too clever by half and would make his life miserable. Gorgeous, intelligent, quick-witted and capable, Miss Stone had already occupied too much of his time.

  The infant in his arms howled, yanking him back to the present. “She’s hungry, all right.” Will chuckled. “And letting us all know it.”

  “Babies have a way of getting what they want. You’ll find that out soon enough.”

  Will accepted the bottle of warmed milk from Leah. The infant puckered her lips then stuck out her tongue, pushing it away. He retracted his hand, and her tiny mouth worked. Smiling at her confusion, he replaced the tip against her lips again. With only a little more coaxing, the child ceased her fussing. Having finally accepted the bottle, the baby suckled greedily.

  Once she’d settled, Leah quietly left the room. Will braced his boot heel against the floor, gently rocking his chair. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been around an infant. There were plenty of camp followers during the war, but he’d discouraged the practice around his own regiment. The battlefield was no place for women and children.

  Sometime during the war, death had gotten its teeth into him and hadn’t let go. He’d seen so many boys die, he’d lost track of the count. The realization kept him up at night and haunted his dreams when exhaustion finally overtook him. He’d been responsible for those lads, and they’d fought and died beneath his command. He’d penned letters to their families when there was time and signed the letters his secretary had prepared when there wasn’t. There’d been far too many letters; their sentiment weak and inadequate next to the tragedy they represented.

  Cowboy Creek was a fresh start. Too many soldiers couldn’t go home again, their farms and livelihoods destroyed. Some of them, like Noah, had needed a fresh start. They’d traveled west instead, building new lives and putting the past behind them. He’d give those men a chance at least. Despite all the work he’d done and the money he’d made, the voices of all the soldiers he’d lost whispered in his dreams. Was it hundreds? Was it thousands? He’d never know, and that was his penance. Cowboy Creek was his atonement.

  His hold on the bottle grew lax, and the babe in his arms turned toward him, her rose-petal lips working.

  Will adjusted his grip. “All right, little lady, I’m paying attention.”

  The boundary between life and death was incredibly fragile. This child represented everything he’d fought for...what he was rebuilding. She represented a better future. If he kept her safe, cared for her and saw that she found a loving home, then the deaths of all those boys would not have been in vain. This little girl, born in a time of peace, represented their sacrifice. He’d settle up whatever debts he had left when his own time came.

  His chest tightened with emotion. “What shall we call you?”

  His first officer had been killed during the Battle of the Wilderness. Collecting the soldier’s belongings, he’d discovered a picture of an infant swathed in her christening finery. The name “Ava” had been scrawled across the back. The memory of that photo had stuck with him.

  “How about Ava? Someone told me the name means ‘bird.’ One day you’ll fly away from here. Won’t you, little bird?”

  The infant’s eyes blinked slower and slower. The frantic suckling grew lax. She was utterly defenseless, utterly dependent. A fresh sense of purpose filled him. If he could protect her innocence, maybe then he’d be whole again.

  Leah tiptoed into the room and peered at the sleeping baby. “She looks all tuckered out. How about you?” she whispered. “How was the cattle drive this morning? I heard the excitement all the way from Eden Street.”

  “Much as you’d expect,” he grumbled. “We’ll be cleaning up the mess and repairing the street for days. Sheriff Davis already has three of the cowboys in jail drying out.”

  “Cattle built this town, Will.” She straightened and crossed her arms. “You can’t run the drovers out.”

  “The railroad will put an end to the cattle drives, mark my words. We’ll have to find another way to survive eventually.”

  “The railroad?” she scoffed. “I don’t see thousands of head of cattle riding the rails.”

  “Change is coming whether we like it or not. The railroads are already experimenting with icebox cars.”

  “I hope the change doesn’t come too soon. The stockyards account for a large portion of our income.” Leah’s expression remained skeptical. “Whatever the future holds, those drovers are here now. And you’d best make them feel welcome. The merchants in town need their business.”

  Will recalled the talk he’d heard on the way over about a rodeo show the cowboys were planning. “They can spend all the money they want here, but I’m putting a stop to any rodeos they’re planning. All the boys can talk about is this sharpshooter called Texas Tom. There’s liable to be other events, as well, and bull riding is too dangerous.” He tucked the blanket more snugly around the baby. “The last time the drovers held a show, the doc fixed up two broken legs and administered more stitches than I can count. If one of those bulls breaks free, Miss Stone won’t be around to save the day.”

  “Miss Stone? Who is Miss Stone?”

  “No one. Never mind,” he mumbled. That woman was trouble, and he always avoided trouble. Especially beautiful trouble with dazzling green eyes. “I’ll shut down Texas Tom before the week is out. I don’t want the new brides trampled before they find husbands. We promised them a nice, safe town. A good place to raise a family. I can’t risk a stray bullet.”

  “I see there’s no changing your mind,” she said with a plaintive sigh. “What about the baby? Have you decided what to do about her?”

  “Yes,” Will replied resolutely.

  He’d never been one to shy away from a difficult decision, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  * * *

  A week after her arrival in town, Tomasina dipped her push broom into the bucket of glue and shook off the excess. The printer had done a fine job with the posters, even though she’d rushed him. Normally, James Johnson, a fellow drover who usually rode with their outfit, traveled ahead and arranged for the printing.

  James had been like a son to her pa, and Tomasina treated him like a brother. Her brush stilled midair. Something had been troubling James since their trip to Harper, Kansas, last September. He’d been so distracted, he’d nearly been gored. Worried about his safety, they’d argued and James had ridden with another outfit this time out. She’d discovered James was in Cowboy Creek, as well, but he’d been avoiding her. She sure hoped the kid had finally gotten his head on straight or he’d be no use to anyone.

  Tamping down her annoyance, she spread the thick adhesive on the outside wall of the stockyards’ office then reached for another poster and smoothed it over the glue.

  Yep. A shoot ’em rodeo show was a prime diversion. Judging by that handsome, uptight fellow she’d met that first day, the
whole town was crying out for a little entertainment. A place called Cowboy Creek deserved some excitement. A rodeo and a sharpshooter contest were just the thing.

  A sound caught her attention, and she whirled. Her jaw nearly dropped before she caught herself. “Well, if it isn’t Daddy Canfield. Taking your baby for a walk again, I see.”

  There was something awfully endearing about a man strolling through the stockyards with a babe in his arms. An unexpected rush of tenderness washed through her. She’d seen little softness from the men in her life. She’d always had to work harder, ride longer and take more licks than the men. A woman in a man’s job always had something to prove. These past few weeks without her pa had taken a toll on her endurance. She didn’t want to be better than everyone else. She simply wanted to be good enough.

  Will didn’t look as though he cared a whit what anyone thought of him. He looked...well, he looked rather appealing, all things considered.

  Tall and commanding, he wore his charcoal suit with dapper charm.

  Her goodwill lasted until he jabbed her freshly glued poster with the tip of his cane, ripping the damp paper. “This Texas Tom person cannot stage a rodeo show in town,” he declared. “And a sharpshooter contest is out of the question.”

  “You’re not much for small talk, are you?”

  “No guns. I believe I mentioned that before.”

  “I believe you did. You even posted your own signs, if I recall.” She ran her hands over the jagged tear, mending the edges. “Have a little care. These posters don’t come cheap.”

  “Those posters will have to be removed immediately.”

  “You don’t have the authority to give me orders.” She planted her hands on the gun belt strapped around her hips. “The sheriff enforces the law around here.”

  Quincy Davis, the sheriff of Cowboy Creek, had already proved himself rather cooperative. He’d even accepted a week’s worth of fines levied against her for wearing her guns in town, saving her several trips to his office.

  Will Canfield shook his head. “I understand your reasoning for hosting the show, but we’ve had problems in the past. Serious injuries. Last time we had a sharpshooting contest, Walker Frye dug two bullets out of the side of the livery wall. What if someone had been standing where those bullets struck? We’ve got more settlers with children living in town.”

  “I don’t miss what I aim for.”

  “No one is perfect. Eventually, you’ll miss.”

  “No one will get hurt.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen this show staged a hundred times before. Never had a problem yet.”

  “You need permission to put up those posters, as well.”

  “You got a rule for everything, don’t you, fellow?” The glue on her palms had adhered to her gun belt. She pried her hands loose and rubbed them together, pilling the adhesive. “You must keep mighty busy caring for that baby of yours and making up all those ridiculous rules.”

  “If we don’t limit the number of posters people hang, they wind up three and four deep. The fence behind the Drover’s Place collapsed beneath the weight last spring.”

  “Then build a stronger fence.”

  The frown line between his brown eyes deepened. “I don’t know what you’re used to, but this is a civilized town.”

  He was probably one of those foolish men who considered a woman in trousers a disgrace. “A civilized town, huh? Where the ladies wear the skirts and the men wear the pants? I wouldn’t be too picky if I was you, seems like this town is short on ladies already.”

  “This has nothing to do with your attire,” he snapped. “It’s about following town law. If everyone thought they were the exception to the rule, there wouldn’t be much point, would there?”

  She lifted her chin a notch. “I have permission to hang these posters. Just ask the fellow who manages the stockyards.” A couple of silver dollars in his outstretched palm hadn’t hurt her case. “He’ll tell you.”

  “Daniel Gardner, the owner of these stockyards, might have something different to say than his foreman.” Will flashed her a stern look. “You’ve wasted your time and Texas Tom’s money. He’s not putting on a rodeo show in this town. All they do is incite the cowboys to shoot guns and carouse. Like I said before, I won’t have someone shot by a stray bullet.”

  “I don’t know who put a burr under your saddle, Daddy Canfield, but you sure are a cranky fellow. Maybe fatherhood doesn’t suit you.”

  “Fatherhood suits me fine.” He shook his head, uttering something that sounded suspiciously like a growl. “I told you, I’m not a father. This isn’t my baby.”

  The wind shifted, and she caught his distinct scent—a mixture of starch and bay rum. For once she didn’t find the odor nauseating. The boys sometimes doused themselves with the stuff before going into town, but Will showed more restraint. He actually smelled quite nice.

  She’d had the chance to study plenty of men in her life, and they all fell into certain categories. There were the bullies and the heartbreakers, the men who stuck to themselves and the men who always seemed to have a crowd around them. Will was unlike any of them. He kept her off balance, and she wasn’t used to being off balance.

  Her pulse fluttered. “Whatever you say, Mr. Canfield. But you sure are getting comfortable with that babe in your arms.”

  His caring for the child set him apart, as well. None of the men of her acquaintance would have ever been caught dead holding a baby.

  Her father had been a good man, and he’d loved her, but he was a hard man. There’d been no time for coddling in the Stone family. He’d treated her like one of the boys. Come to think of it, everyone treated her like one of the boys. Maybe that’s what was different about Will. Even though he was clearly annoyed with her, he regarded her with a deference she was unaccustomed to receiving.

  “I’ll speak with Texas Tom myself.” Will tucked the sleeping infant into the crook of his elbow. “When you see your boss, tell him I’m looking for him.”

  Tomasina grinned up at him. If having a baby dropped on his doorstep wasn’t shocking enough, he was about to receive another surprise. “I might be able to save you some time.”

  “Do enlighten me.”

  He’d fight her tooth and nail on the rodeo, and she was going to enjoy every minute of their sparring. He’d lose eventually. She had the sheriff in her pocket, after all.

  Daddy Canfield had finally met his match.

  “I’m the one you’re looking for,” Tomasina declared with a wink. “I’m Texas Tom.”

  Chapter Three

  Tomasina marched down the boardwalk, her spurs jingling with each step. Quincy Davis had refused her appeal. The rodeo show was off unless she convinced Will otherwise. Daddy Canfield had obviously gotten to the sheriff first. With no other choice, she was bearding the lion in his den.

  Once inside the Cattleman Hotel, she flipped off her hat. The strings caught on her neck and she adjusted the knot. If Will Canfield thought she was canceling her rodeo show on account of a silly town ordinance, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

  She paused in front of an enormous oval mirror framed with gold filigree. Turning this way and that, she studied her reflection. She wasn’t a bad-looking woman, but she was definitely rough around the edges. Since she’d never seen Will with a hair out of place or stains on his crisp white shirt, she’d better put her best foot forward.

  As she pondered how to improve on her appearance, a porter hustled by holding a tray topped with several glasses and a pitcher of water.

  Tomasina snagged the young man’s coat sleeve. “Hold up there a minute.”

  She grasped the pitcher, leaving the porter struggling with his unbalanced tray, then poured a measure of water into her palm and replaced the pitcher.

  “That’ll be all, fellow.”

 
Ignoring the porter’s glaring reflection, she rubbed the water between her palms then smoothed her hands over her hair. For one brief, shining moment her curls remained plastered against her head. The next instant they sprang free, leaving her hair damp and more disordered than before.

  Tomasina shrugged. Her hair was a lost cause. At least the rest of her looked presentable enough. She’d worn her newest chaps today instead of the pair with half the fringe missing. Her clothing was freshly laundered and her face was clean. Brushing her hands down her best chambray shirt, she searched for any remnants of her breakfast. She wasn’t giving Mr. Canfield any reason to find fault with her.

  Feeling almost respectable, she approached the desk.

  The young porter scowled. “Can I get you any more water, Miss?”

  “Nope. I’m here for Mr. Will Canfield.”

  “He’s busy. Everyone’s always busy since that baby arrived.”

  The porter was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and handsome in the sort of way that probably sent the young girls swooning. He kept his dark hair slicked back neatly beneath his round cap, and his bottle-green uniform was crisply pressed, his collar starched and white. He had the appearance of someone who liked to keep things orderly. From what Tomasina had heard, newborns had a way of creating all sorts of chaos and disorder.

  “You don’t say.” She leaned forward and pitched her voice low. “What if I told you I had information about a certain abandoned baby?”

  The young man’s eyes lit up like a kid let loose on penny candy. “Third floor. Room 311. Up the stairs and take a left. The sooner that infant is out of the hotel, the better. That child has thrown the whole place into an uproar. We’ve lost our best housekeeper to babysitting duties, and now the maids are running amok.”

  Tomasina grinned. This was even easier than she’d expected. “I’ll see what I can do.”