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called out to the driver and his man. Marty could see there were several reporters, and two photographers were already setting up their cameras.
    Good grief. That’s all I need .
    â€œFolks, if you’ll calm down, I’m sure the ladies inside will be happy to speak to you,” the driver announced. “Be polite, or otherwise you’ll be escorted off the premises.”
    Marty clutched her carpetbag closer and leaned back further in her seat. The older women hurried from the stage as if all the world were waiting for them. They immediately launched into exaggerated accounts of the peril they had faced to anyone who would listen. The matron and her daughter disembarked and immediately began to wail in loud sobs that drew the attention of the reporters away from the babbling women. The older trio looked quite annoyed at this development.
    The entire fuss, however, allowed Marty to slip from the coach and blend into the crowd of people. She searched each face, hoping to find Jacob Wythe and escape before the reporters learned her identity.
    â€œMrs. Olson?”
    She startled and hesitated to answer.
    The man smiled. “Mrs. Olson?”
    â€œYes?” She found herself gazing into the face of one of the handsomest men she’d ever met. His photograph did him no justice. She couldn’t help but return the smile.
    â€œMr. Wythe?”
    â€œThe same.” He let out a long breath. “We heard about the attack on your stage only this morning.” He tugged at his starched collar, looking most uncomfortable.
    â€œBut you received my telegram? The sheriff assured me he would send one.”
    The blond-haired man nodded. “He did, ma’am. But it only said that you’d been delayed overnight. I assure you, Mrs. Olson, had I known what had taken place, I would have driven down to pick you up at Four Mile House.”
    â€œMarty,” she corrected. “Please don’t call me Mrs. Olson.”
    He grinned. “Marty. I don’t think I mentioned in my letters how much I like that name. It suits you, too. Of course, you should call me Jake.”
    â€œI’d like that very much. I wasn’t at all certain if you were that casual in your daily living.”
    â€œMa’am . . . Marty, I would be nothing but casual if I could get away with it.”
    She relaxed a bit. “Well, I reckon I would, too.”
    â€œâ€˜Reckon,’” he repeated. “You speak like a true Texan.”
    â€œThat’s good, because I am,” she replied, a bit curious at his comment. “Was I not supposed to?”
    A chuckle escaped him, and his own drawl seemed a little more pronounced. “Well, you see, up here . . . in my new position as bank manager, ‘reckoning’ is reserved for bank ledgers and seldom mentioned in common speech. I’ve had to work hard to sound . . . well . . . less Texas cowboy and more Colorado banker.”
    â€œBut I thought Denver to be a very western town. You mentioned mining and cattle as two of the larger industries.” Marty glanced around her, noticing the buildings andwell-orchestrated streets. “I suppose it is a bit more dressed up than I figured to find. Having grown up on a ranch, I didn’t get into town all that often. Certainly not all the way into cities like Dallas.”
    â€œOh, it does me good, ma’am—Marty—to hear you talk about Dallas. I have to say I miss Texas more than my own parents.” He paused and gazed behind her. “Oh, it would seem you’ve caught the attention of the press. No doubt they want to hear from you. They’re coming this way now.”
    â€œOh bother.” Marty cast a frantic glance in the direction of the reporters and then back to Jake. “I really don’t want to talk to them. My family will worry. They . . . well . . . I didn’t tell them I’d come to get married.