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strength, she moved to step around him.
    He moved too, blocking her way. “What happened? Why are you at the Northern Star?” The intensity in his expression stole her breath like a lover stole a kiss. Instead of disgust or disappointment, reactions she’d grown used to seeing on the faces of those who were informed that she was ill, she found interest.
    Noah Ballantyne was a far greater danger than she’d first feared.
    “Why are you working in a saloon?” he demanded.
    Frustration churned inside her chest, threatening to boil over in an endless stream of caustic comments. Leave me alone! she cried silently before answering him with as little emotion as she could. “Because you put me there.”
    The color drained from his face.
    “Your herd trampled my garden, destroyed my fence, scattered my cattle. I managed to round up four of the seven, but a month later they began to stagger and drool, to run mad from the longhorn tick and their fever. I had no way to pay the bills, so the bank took back the farm.”
    He shook his head. “I should’ve left you more money.”
    “Why?” She surged forward, making him stumble away from her. “So the money would’ve lasted two weeks of drinking rather than one? The end would’ve been the same. We had nothing.” She bit back her laugh. “Or rather, I had nothing. Or so everyone in Dodge told me when I came begging for a job. But my father had something.” She paused, waiting for him to make the connection.
    He stared at her blankly, blind to what so many couldn’t see. Or didn’t want to see.
    “Do you know how many girls end up in a saloon because their families needed money?” she asked.
    Every muscle in his body went rigid. “A father couldn’t—”
    “My father could. He sold me to Madam Garrett.” She fixed her gaze on the graveyard. The markers blurred with her tears. She blinked them back. No good ever came from crying. “I’m told the madam’s money lasted him for a month of drinking…then his liver finally gave out and so did he.”
    “Jesus, Sadie,” Noah growled and grabbed her arm, whether to steady her or himself she knew not.
    She stared at his hand, befuddled once again by the gentleness of his hold. How very different from last night’s cowhand at the Star.
    When he finally released her arm, her heart constricted with regret.
    “Do not concern yourself with the details of my past, Mr. Ballantyne. That part of my life is over. It cannot be restored.” She marched down the slope toward her buggy.
    Noah strode alongside her in silence. When they came to the buggy, he reached out to assist her, then stopped. She marshaled her flagging strength and climbed in. Flicking the reins across the palomino’s golden back, she set the buggy in motion, only to have Noah grab the bridle.
    Her horse snorted and tossed her head. Noah stroked her mane, calming the skittish mare with his touch. A sudden desire to feel that strong but gentle hand holding her again overwhelmed her.
    “You may be right about the past, but what about the future?” His question jarred her out of her daydream.
    “I—have—no—future.” Her voice rose with each word until she was yelling.
    “That’s not true,” he shouted back, then clamped his lips tight. After a long pause, he patted the mare’s neck again. “You must have dreams.”
    She jerked back. Was her yearning written on her face for all to see?
    “If you were free to leave Dodge—” his voice held a soothing note as well, “—where would you go?”
    The question, as much as his tone, startled her. It was as if he’d opened a door and let in the fresh air she craved when she’d driven out to the graveyard. Her anger snuffed out as easily as a candle flame. But the more she pondered his question, the faster her mind spun. She stared at him, unable to speak.
    Where would she go?
    Since Edward’s death, she hadn’t thought of much beyond taking back what Gertie had stolen and then going