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ma’am. Please forgive my being so forward, but the boy was in a hurry to take some lemon drops to someone—a Mrs. Grant, I believe, and her friend Mrs. Jamison—and as I’ve had the pleasure of making Mrs. Jamison’s acquaintance and already knew Mr. Drake from Cayote— well”—he shrugged—“I told young Master Dow that I’d see to the tea he ordered for his mother.” He smiled. “From what he said, I was expecting white hair and a cane, not one of the most attractive women on the train.” He barely paused before adding, “You will allow me the pleasure of joining you, I hope.”
    Flustered by the man’s forward ways, Ruth didn’t answer. Instead, she began fishing in her bag for change to pay for the tea. When Mr. Gray slipped the waiter a coin she protested. “That isn’t necessary.”
    “If it were necessary, it wouldn’t be quite such a pleasure, now would it.” As he was speaking, Mr. Gray was pulling one of the chairs away from a nearby table, clearly inviting her to sit down. “Thank you,” she said, “but we’ve a Society meeting over lunch.” She turned toward the table along the far wall, where the rest of the women in the group had found places.
    Gray seemed not to notice her desire to end the conversation. “Your son seems quite taken with the idea of moving west,” he said. “Of course, a large part of the fascination is those dime novels boys read these days. I hope you don’t mind, but I told him that if he ever wants to see how a real ranch operates, he’s welcome to visit my spread. It’s the largest one in Dawson County.” He did have a very nice smile. “Of course, I told him it would all depend on whether or not his mother— and perhaps a new father by then—gave their permission.”
    What on earth did that mean? A new father? What an inappropriate and unduly personal comment. Ruth lifted her chin. “Thank you for being kind to my son. I don’t know that there will be time for him to go visiting for a while. There will be a long list of things for him to help me with before we think about socializing. And now, if you will excuse me—”
    “Of course.” Gray smiled. He touched the brim of his hat with one finger. “I’ll look forward to seeing all you ladies again on Friday.”
    Ruth frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
    “At the dance in Cayote.”
    “The dance?”
    “Why, yes, ma’am. You can count on there being a long line of hopefuls just waiting for the chance to charm you.” He leaned a little closer. “Now, there’s no need to be defensive about it at all. Life can be difficult for unattached ladies. No one in Dawson County thinks badly of the Society members for being agreeable to Drake’s idea.”
    “Drake’s . . . idea?”
    Mr. Gray nodded. “A mutual interest in a homestead is as good a reason as any to marry. In fact, to hear him tell it, Drake expects the bride business to provide the circuit rider coming through Cayote on Sunday with the most well-attended service on record.”
    Bride business?! Circuit rider?! Ruth set her teacup down on the table. Her hand went to the frill of lace at her neck. “Yes. Well. If you will excuse me.” She hurried away.

    As evening came on, first one, then another of the passengers rose and began preparations for the long night aboard the train, folding seats out to create berths, accepting pillows and blankets from the conductor, pulling down shades and closing shutters. With Jackson stretched out nearest to the window, Ruth lay on her back staring up at the paneled ceiling above her. The redhead’s cough was worse. Sally Grant. That was her name. The southerner was Caroline Jamison. Ruth glanced across the aisle, smiling at the sight of little Zita Romano curled up in the space left after her daughter Ella stretched out diagonally across the berth. Hettie had insisted on moving to the back of the car for the night so Ella and her mother would have more room. Ruth couldn’t remember ever meeting a woman