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emphatically pointing out the young man’s disobedience to his aunt and uncle, his frequent brawls and his argumentative nature.
    Cassandra’s misjudgment of Jack had come to light the night he’d left Chicago. Hours too late to apologize to him.
    But here they had a second chance.
    Dressed in her tattered nightgown, Cassandra lifted the hot iron she’d ordered from the front desk, and pressed it upon the limp lace of her wedding gown. Although the dress was thirdhand, passed down to her from Mrs. Pepik at the boarding house, Cassandra adored it. She gingerly ironed the collar and tended to the small creases beneath the bust.
    At the thought of all her dear friends in Chicago, her chest ached with emptiness.
    Everything here seemed so solitary.
    She wished her sister were here to help her prepare for the wedding. She wished her father would be here tomorrow to walk her down the aisle. She wished she had a single friend in this town. Most fervently of all, she wished that Jack McColton had swept her up in his arms and kissed her as if she meant something to him.
    With a catch in her throat, she set the iron aside. It was getting cool, and the ironing was finished. As practical as she was, Cassandra knew she’d better get some sleep tonight. But if she did have a true friend in this town, they would have spent the night talking, sharing thoughts about Chicago and what this new community was all about.
    Instead, Cassandra finished the sandwiches she’d ordered from the kitchen, packed her luggage, gave her faded leather shoes a polish, and said a prayer for tomorrow.
    When the sun beamed through her windows in the morning, she was awake and ready. She dressed in her casual clothes, dined by herself for breakfast and took a stroll down the boardwalk, ignoring the curious glances of strangers. Eventually she bought a newspaper and brought it back to the room.
    In the afternoon, she read every article and advertisement. She paid particular attention to the Help Wanted section, news of a robbery on the San Francisco rail line, ads for the law offices, and properties for sale. There were lots of things people could hire her for—including searching for lost relatives, preparing documents to present to lawyers, helping to recover stolen property, and possibly uncovering criminal activity.
    When the time neared, she brushed her hair, twisted ribbons through the blond strands and braided it to one side. She donned her corset, slipped into her stockings and garter, and stepped into her wedding gown.
    There was only a tiny oval mirror nailed to the wall, just big enough to see her face, so she wasn’t able to get a full view of herself in her wedding finery.
    Perhaps she should have procured a veil of some sort to drape across her face. She sighed, hoping Jack would overlook her imperfections. Not many men would accept her as a bride. She respected Jack McColton for his strong sense of honor and his desire to marry her despite her flaws, and prayed that it would be enough when it came time to spend the night together.
    She looked down at the white fabric cascading over her hips. Everything seemed to be in order.
    The gown had a high waistline, cinched beneath her breasts, a plunging neckline offset by a half collar at the back, puffy sleeves and a very long train. Cassandra carefully picked up the swirly back end and slipped the elegant loop over her finger to hold the train off the ground. Her shoes weren’t new—black stiletto boots with tiny leather buttons, the only good pair she owned—but they gave her a nice height.
    She twirled with pleasure, and her hemlines brushed nicely over her ankles.
    The knock on her door came at precisely quarter to the hour of six. When she opened it, Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh were standing there in formal attire.
    “My dear, you look beautiful.” Mrs. Dunleigh gave her a tender smile, and Cassandra felt more appreciated in that one simple act of kindness than she had all day.
    “Thank