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there aren’t many women who can make such a claim.” She was only seventeen when herfather died, leaving her with no visible means of support. Her looks and voice were her only assets and she used both to good advantage. “That alone should prove I’m reliable. As for my clothes, there wasn’t time to save but a few of our belongings. You probably heard about the terrible fire in Dobson Creek.”
    Miss Walker gave no indication of having heard the news. “I’m sorry that you traveled all this distance for nothing. If you hurry, you can reach town before dark and catch the morning train.” She turned and stalked away and the wheelchair was promptly returned to the wagon.
    Molly held her arms by her sides, fists tight. And go where? She and Donny had no family, no home, no money—nothing. Still, she’d rather live in a cave than deal with such a coldhearted woman.
    She turned back to the wagon, her mind racing. Surely she could get a job at one of the saloons in town. Judging by the wailing sounds she heard while passing through Cactus Patch, they could use a singer like her. Not only did she have no intention of working for the ranch owner, she’d had her fill of cattle, thank you very much!
    One look at her brother stopped her in her tracks. His face was gray and his lips blue and he didn’t breathe as much as gasp for air.
    A protective surge shot through her. It was no time to think of her wounded pride. She swung around and called after the ranch owner, “That’s it? You’re sending me away just like that?”
    Miss Walker turned, her cold gray eyes leveled on Molly. It was obvious she was not used to being challenged.
    “Have you the slightest idea what it takes to be a rancher? It takes tenacity and hard work. This land will demand everything you have to give and then some. It means sleepless nights and endless days. It means fighting droughts, flash floods, cattle rustlers, and unstable markets. It means doing the impossible on a regular basis.What have you ever done to make me think you can succeed against such odds?”
    What had she done? What had she done! “I ran into a burning building to save my brother when no one else would,” she replied.
    “I commend you, but that hardly qualifies you to run a ranch.”
    Molly’s heart squeezed and she thought fast. Her brother’s welfare depended on her. “I was a dance hall girl in Dobson Creek,” she said with a resolute nod.
    A look of disbelief suffused Miss Walker’s face. “A dance hall girl? You mean you sang and—”
    “Danced,” Molly said. That was all she did, which was why she got so little pay.
    Miss Walker heaved herself to her full height. “And how does singing and . . . dancing prove that you have the tenacity for ranching?”
    Molly forced herself to breathe. “I worked at the saloon for four years and”—she glanced at the two men listening, their expressions eager with interest—”and I still managed to keep my virtue.” It was true, no matter what those old gossips said.
    Miss Walker stared at her for a moment before laughing, her head thrown back like the lid of a coffeepot. Even Stretch and Feedbag joined in.
    “That’s a good one,” Feedbag said, punctuating his guffaws by slapping his thigh.
    Molly couldn’t tell by Miss Walker’s amusement if she’d scored any points. The two men, however, must have thought things had turned in her favor, for they reached into the wagon for the wheelchair.
    Miss Walker stopped laughing, but her dubious expression didn’t give Molly much hope. “How old are you?” she asked, her voice abrupt.
    “Twenty-one.”
    “You do know from my telegram that I would require you to sign a document forbidding marriage.”
    Stretch and Feedbag held the wheelchair between them, waiting for Molly’s reply.
    “I do.”
    Miss Walker arched a brow. “You strike me as a woman who is”—she raked her gaze up and down the length of Molly’s form—”appealing to men, virtue or no virtue.