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her housedress to clean, but when company was expected, Nell encouraged her
    to wear a proper dress. She never stopped pul ing at the material, as though the wool slowly smothered her. She
    reminded Nell of one of those tiny bugs that skims across the top of a lake, never landing, never pausing for
    more than a moment.

    Standing still and being polite were as foreign to Gypsy as a corset. She liked cleaning and kept the house
    spotless, but she usual y regarded dust and visitors with the same contempt. Nel thought the old hooker looked
    worried that her young employer might be overdoing, as Mary Ruth always cal ed it when Nel stayed out of bed
    a moment longer than the nurse thought proper. At least Gypsy knew better than to mother Nell.

    Unlike Marla the cook, Gypsy had come with the house when Nell inherited. Fat Alice tried to find all her girls
    respectable jobs, or husbands, but Gypsy didn’t seem to belong anywhere but here. So she’d stayed when Fat
    Alice closed the business and even after the old madam passed away.

    “Sure you don’t want more, Mr. Harrison? I could go warm it up again.” Gypsy lifted the pot and prepared to
    dart to the kitchen.

    Harrison shook his head. Gypsy turned to Nel .

    “No, thank you,” Nell said, as if it were the first time she’d asked.

    In truth, Nel welcomed the distraction of Gypsy’s questions. She hoped Mr. Harrison would change the subject.
    She wanted to say that she cared about the ranches, though at the moment didn’t want to think about them in
    quite so much detail. If she married him, Nell would have to limit their meetings to an hour once a month or
    he’d surely bore her to death.

    He wasn’t bad to look at, in a slender, pale kind of way. His face had good lines, and he held himself straight and
    tall. He’d wear a uniform well. She could almost see him in one as he stood waiting to continue.

    She nodded politely, and the lecture continued on what breed of cattle would be best for this part of the
    country. One thing to his credit, he’d done his homework. He knew cattle, even if he didn’t look like he’d ever
    worked a herd from the back of a horse.

    When he paused, Nell asked, “Tell me a little about yourself, Mr. Harrison. Were you ever in the army?”

    He looked down, avoiding her gaze for the first time. “No,” he said softly. “I’m afraid I have very little to tell. I
    have no family and no place I call home. I’ve worked hard at every job I’ve had and traveled enough in my life to
    want to settle down. You’ll have no unwanted relatives or past debts fall at your door if we marry.” He raised his
    eyes to meet her stare. “I promise you.”

    She had no doubt he meant every word, but she realized he had told her little. Maybe he didn’t like talking
    about himself or discussing such things with an audience. Nel smiled at Gypsy. The housekeeper dusted the
    teapot as if it had collected a layer of dirt in the hour it had been in the room. “Gypsy, would you please remind
    Marla to set the sheriff a place? I’m not sure I let her know.”

    Gypsy looked relieved to have something to do. She lifted the tray, then set it back down and picked up only the
    pot. “I’ll reheat the tea while I’m doing the telling.” She smiled. “So I may be a while.”

    A pounding sounded from the entry before she could exit through the kitchen door. She fluttered like a lost
    butterfly between whether to answer the knock or rush to deliver Nell’s message.

    Rand solved the problem by standing and taking a step toward the kitchen. “I’l inform the cook,” he announced
    in his take-charge voice. “Gypsy, would you mind getting the door?”

    Nell closed her eyes. Thank goodness. Peace. He’d left, taking his endless numbers and figures with him.

    But peace only lasted seconds, for there was no mistaking the stomp of boots coming her direction. Nel didn’t
    open her eyes. She simply waited for the storm that was Jacob Dalton to blow