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should return to the States, Moira. Your reputation will secure you a role anywhere you wish—from New York to San Francisco. You can simply pick where you wish to live and settle in.”
    They walked for some time in silence, Moira pondering her options. It seemed she had little choice. She needed to return to America. The idea of America, home, so appealed, that her hand went to her heart. It surprised her, how she longed for it. Even though she had no desire to return to Philadelphia, there was something about America that was home , something that called to her.
    “Moira?” Jesse bent to look her in the eye, concern on his face.
    “No. I’m all right,” she assured him. “I shall book passage to New York.”
    “And once there?”
    “Once there, I had better land work immediately, or I shall be on the streets.”
    “It’s a gamble, Moira.” His handsome brow furrowed in concern. “Why not go to your sister?”
    She giggled, a giggle that grew into a laugh so deep and hysterical that she drew disapproving glances from passersby. But she didn’t care. The idea that she could go to Odessa, live on a ranch! She had to stop and lean a little forward, so hard did she laugh.
    “Moira, really.” Glancing about, Jesse urged her to stop. “Are you quite all right?”
    “Quite,” she returned, straightening and hiding her wide smile behind a gloved hand. “It’s only the idea of me … Jesse, truly. You think I would fit in on a ranch at this point in my life?”
    He smiled back at her. “Better a ranch than the streets.” He reached out a sudden, tender hand, barely touching her jawbone with soft fingers. “I fear for you, Moira. I’m sorry I can’t see you to safety.”
    “You’ve helped me to take a step forward, Jesse, as you did in Colorado. I only regret that we won’t get the opportunity to sing together again.”
    He gave her a sad smile and stood there for several seconds in silent regard. There was much that drew her to him, and obviously, him to her. And yet the timing seemed off, impossible. The barrier insurmountable. “The hotel proprietor plays the piano,” he said. “Let us sing a song or two together this night, before we part.”
    “That would be well with me,” she returned, taking his arm. “But let’s stop at the rail station to find out about tomorrow’s outgoing trains to Dover and what ships are sailing for America, shall we?”
    “Indeed.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, patting her fingers. “Moira St. Clair, you are possibly the bravest woman I have ever run across. I am only sorry we do not have more time together.”
    She smiled back at him but wondered at the darts of fear that entered her heart. Jesse McCourt believed her brave. Inside she was little more than a coward. But she knew her role here, the lines to say, the actions to take. And she would proceed to the next step and the next, pretending all the while if necessary, until somehow, some way, she regained her status, and her wealth.

27 March 1887
Spring is suddenly upon us, the sun warm enough on our skin that we shed our coats and sweaters after morning’s chill gives up her task. The snow is rapidly melting, and yesterday, some of our men made it across the field—and returned with twenty-three horses who gladly accepted copious amounts of hay. The other missing mares and one stallion are gone, either still beneath the snows, or among the forests of the mountains upon escaping through a downed fence. We hope, but not too much. I think we fear further loss; it is almost preferable to believe them dead and move on.
    “Odessa? Odessa!” Bryce called from downstairs.
    She looked up from her paper, frowned, and hurriedly set aside her pen. She didn’t like the note of alarm in her husband’s voice. Odessa rushed to the stairs, pausing when she saw Bryce close the door. Ralph and Tabito were in the front entry area, an unconscious man between them. “Who is this?”
    “I don’t