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for the oats stuck to him. Dread settled into the pit of her stomach.
    “I’m so sorry, sir.” She rushed forward and began swiping at the front of his shirt, but after the first contact, her hands became as oats-covered as his clothes. Not knowing what else to do, she stepped back and tried to explain.
    “I wanted to get my mare some grain, but the bin was nearly empty, and I’m so short I couldn’t reach … had to lean over the edge, then you came in and startled me … the oats flew … I … I’m sorry.”
    The poor man just stood there, stunned. He wore ordinary work clothes like any other Texas rancher and had a strong, capable stance that communicated experienced stockman, not arrogant dandy. He was nothing like she had expected. Consumed with the need to get away before he could chastise her, she thrust the bucket at him.
    “If you’ll just see that she gets some water … ?”
    Then she fled, praying his shock would keep him from recognizing her when next they met. Westcott Cottage did have a handsome prince as it turned out, and she’d just floured him like a drumstick headed for the frying pan.

Chapter 4
    Gideon shrugged into his morning coat and tugged his shirt cuffs beyond the end of the charcoal coat sleeves as fashion dictated. While he straightened his silk Windsor tie, his mind traipsed back to the stable. He couldn’t get the image of frothy petticoats and yellow calico out of his mind. It wasn’t every day a man found a woman draped over the edge of his oat bin.
    She’d been a tiny slip of a thing with thick sable hair that threatened to burst out of its pins and hazel eyes that danced with life … and a healthy dose of panic. He chuckled softly. No doubt she was one of the candidates Bevin had brought down from Fort Worth, and if her eagerness to make amends was any indication, she’d probably deduced his identity the moment she showered him with grain. He couldn’t wait to see her reaction when he joined the group in the parlor.
    He hoped the other candidates were a bit more seasoned. The girl from the stable looked barely out of the schoolroom. What kind of experience could she possibly have acquired in her short life? Isabella didn’t need a playmate; she needed someone who had dealt with a wide variety of children and issues. Someone capable, dedicated, patient. The girl in yellow might be chipper, and no doubt would prove fun to tease, but judging by the impetuous display earlier, patience didn’t seem to be one of her virtues.
    Before descending the stairs, Gideon stopped by Isabella’s room. She sat on the light-colored Brussels carpet, a village of wooden blocks encircling her. Painted iron men and women, horses and dogs, carts and wagons went about their business in the miniature town. Two of the figurines faced each other, leaning in and out at Bella’s direction. She shifted them back and forth, a single finger atop each head. Her face portrayed alternating personalities and emotions as the characters took turns in a conversation only she could hear.
    He stepped into the room and hunkered down in front of her, careful not to disturb the building blocks. She looked up at him, the hint of a smile playing across her lips. His heart constricted. Thankfully, his presence still brought her a small measure of happiness, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until she returned to full-faced toothy grins and girlish giggles. God, grant me the wisdom to choose the right person to help accomplish that feat.
    “I’m on my way to the parlor to meet the women Mr. Bevin brought. Will you join me?”
    She shrank back, but Gideon held out his hand.
    “Remember, I’m counting on you to help me select the best candidate.”
    She laid her fingers tentatively in his palm, and he helped her to her feet. She used his arm for balance as she maneuvered over her blocks, but when they came to the doorway, she faltered. Letting go of his hand, she darted back to her bed and snatched up the doll that lay