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him on.
    “I’ve invited Patrick to sit with us.”
    The words made Jack want to scream but instead he forced himself to smile. He sat, motioned to the vacant chair beside his. “By all means. Please, join us.”
    Jack had not become one of Carroll Junction’s wealthiest men by behaving foolishly. He knew better than to refuse a woman’s wishes.
    There were a lot of things Jack was willing to do to ensure Kristen Marsh only had eyes for him. An awful lot of things. Bending his elbow across the table from Godsworth’s smug face was only one of them.

Chapter Five
    Brown’s Bank. Just the sight of the large red brick building, with its glass windows, made her think of all she had left behind.
    A wave of homesickness filled her heart, making the bright day seem somehow more dismal by far. Had she had her way, she never would have left her home, family and friends—all that she held dear. However, she reminded herself with a swift shake, she had very few options. Moreover, when a woman was forced into a position not to her liking, she had no choice but to find a way out of the situation.
    Looking back would not help her go forward, so Kristen took a deep breath and attempted to admire the bank before her rather than lament what was behind her.
    The bank was by far the nicest building she had seen since crossing into the Wyoming Territory. It sat squarely in the center of town and seemed to proclaim that there was hope for the less prestigious storefronts to someday rise to the muted grandeur it so proudly displayed.
    Kristen paused beneath the spindly branches of a lone elm tree growing near the edge of the bank’s lot. The tree cast a small shadow but the shade was adequate, and she took full advantage of it. As she fanned her perspiring cheeks, she looked around and noted that none of the other women in town seemed as adversely affected by the heat as she was. Perhaps it was one of those things that, given time, a body grew accustomed to. She certainly hoped that was the case, because as she sucked in a deep breath and prepared to step inside the brick building, Brown’s Corner felt more like the devil’s doorstep than a refuge.
    Fortunately, the interior of the bank was cooler than the air on the street. A wall of tellers behind metal bars flanked one side of the cavernous room. Their jackets hung neatly on wall pegs; the lower halves of their shirtsleeves were protected by black half-sleeves and they all wore matching dark gray suspenders and eye visors. Busy with strong boxes and cash drawers, none took notice of her sudden appearance.
    To the left of the entrance a man in a business suit sat at a wide wooden desk. He peered over the top of a thick ledger, through a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles and smiled at Kristen. She returned the nicety, then walked over and stood before the desk.
    He stood. “May I help you?”
    “I would like to see Mr. Brown, please.” She glanced at the closed door behind the man’s desk. A hand-lettered plaque read “Randall Brown” so she knew she was in the right place. She only hoped this was not an inconvenient time. It would not do to be sent packing now like some ill-timed delivery person.
    “Do you have an appointment?”
    Her stomach dropped. An appointment? Why hadn’t she thought to make one, instead of barging into the man’s place of business? Back in Boston, she would have secured an appointment, rather than simply expecting someone to be available at her whim.
    Oh, well, there was no help for it now. The first fumble had been made, and there was no graceful way to back out of it.
    Kristen wanted to slap herself in the head, then melt into the floorboards to disappear, but she did neither. Instead, she swallowed hard and shook her head.
    “No. I’m afraid I don’t have an appointment.” To soften the impact of her blunder, she smiled. It was a small smile, but she had learned at a young age that a smile never hurt—regardless of the circumstance.
    It seemed