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need it. Mr. Tim Creighton was going to be difficult. . . .
    I started out thinking this would be easy, but I was wrong. Well, the challenge will make my time here go by quickly .
    As she slipped her napkin across her thighs, Sydney tried to approach conversation as she’d done back home. Civility might tame the beast a bit. “So, Mr. Creighton, where are your people from?”
    “My people?”
    “Yes. Your people. Your family.”
    “I don’t have a family.”
    The curt clip of his voice let her know to cease pursuing that line of talk, so she segued, “Pity. You’ve certainly done well for yourself. Forsaken appears to be a fine spread.”
    “How would you know enough to make that judgment?”
    “I walked the length of the road. The fence is well kept, and the house is quite stunning. Then, too, there are all sorts of cows everywhere.”
    “Cattle—not ‘cows’—and they’re not everywhere. We’ve moved them to pasture off at the southeastern sector for the moment. Other sections are empty at present to let the grasses grow.”
    “Oh.”
    “Do you ride? Most gentlemen are trained at horsemanship, aren’t they?”
    She fought the telling blush that heated her cheeks. Last night it had dawned on her that she’d have to ride astride. Such a skill must, of necessity, be altogether different from perching on a sidesaddle. Though she was quite proficient at riding in a lady’s saddle, straddling anything would be a shock. “I . . . er . . . excelled at studies. My time has been spent in academic pursuits.”
    “Hence the smooth, narrow hands and a complete lack of any muscle on those spindles you call arms.”
    The man shoveled food in like an animal! Nearly mesmerized by the precision with which he sliced off huge chunks of meat and devoured them, Sydney hardly felt the sting of his implied insult.
    “Did you study anything of particular interest?”
    “Oh yes. Greek history, Roman mythology, Latin, and poetry. I also appreciate fine art.”
    “So much for the frills.” Tim took a big swig of coffee. “No one round here speaks Latin or walks around spouting poetry. Best painting in these parts is a sign in the feed store. Did you study anything useful?”
    “I scarcely believe you’d find dancing or British history to be of practical application here in the West.”
    “You got that right.” Waving a fork in the air and disregarding the fact that mashed potatoes plopped back onto the plate, Tim announced, “No one sits on their tail around this spread. You’re going to have to carry your weight.”
    “I plan to do just that.”
    “Yes, you will. You’d best be ready—because come sunup, you’re going to start earning your keep.”
    “Mr. Creighton, I’m not afraid of hard work. I’ll also remind you that I’m not exactly a hired hand to be ordered about like some kind of liveried lackey.” She wiggled in her chair slightly, squared her shoulders, and dabbed at her lips with the napkin. “There is my position to be considered.”
    Creighton leaned back in his chair, shook his head, and scowled. “Fancy Pants, you’ve got it wrong. That stinkin’ title of yours isn’t worth a hill of beans around here. I don’t care if you’ve got a crown permanently affixed to your head—you’d better slap a hat over it because you’ll still have to work.”
    The man wasn’t just blunt; he was rude. He completely lacked couth. Sydney gave him a disbelieving stare.
    He glowered straight back. “Fuller’s a hardworking man. He expects every man on Forsaken to earn his keep. You’re no exception.”
    Sydney reared back at the force of his words. “I say, there’s no call to be uncivilized.”
    “We aren’t civilized around here. Best get that through your head. Life is rough. Rugged. Hard,” he hammered at her in a harsh tone. “You don’t toughen up, you won’t survive. Pure and simple, the useful survive. The weak don’t.”
    “Are you threatening me?”
    “Take it however you want,