Page 2 of A Dangerous Heart (Wind River Mail-Order Brides #4)

She knew what she’d done wasn’t properly legal.

She had no papers, no official claim to Ben or his brother.

But she’d promised her late sister-in-law Anne in those last days before she’d passed.

She could still hear her breathless plea.

Take them. Keep them safe. Make sure they don’t grow up like him.

And Clare couldn’t break that promise.

The scenery out the window showed the Laramie Mountains in the distance.

Al-most there. Al-most there.

Calvin, Wyoming, was the next stop.

Absently, Clare noted the portly gentleman in the row in front of them getting up out of his seat. Before she’d fully registered it happening, Eli had slipped his scrawny arm between the seats and snatched it back with something clasped in his hand.

Clare caught his wrist in an iron grip.

“What is that?” Her whispered hiss and tightening grip had Eli revealing a fine gold watch with a broken chain.

She glanced over her shoulder at the man halfway to the hopper toilet at the back of the train. He hadn’t even registered the watch was missing. No one else paid them a lick of attention.

It was a valuable piece—gold-plated and everything. It would be so easy to slip it inside her pocket. The man wore a fine suit. No doubt he could buy another. Clare and the boys had little funds. Her past whispered to her: easy pickings.

She took the watch from Eli’s hand and dropped it back on the seat in front of them.

“We aren’t Barlows anymore,” she told him in a low, steady voice. “Remember the things your mama taught you. Thou shalt not steal.”

Eli shoved back into the seat. He crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his chin in defiance. Gone was the older brother eager to help with his baby brother. Now she saw an echo of Victor, his father. Anne would have known better what to say, how to reach him. Clare didn’t.

Her stomach clenched with grief over missing Anne. Through every hardship, Anne’s faith had been a beacon. She’d changed Clare, brought light and truth into the world of darkness Clare had been born into. Clare had to continue Anne’s legacy for her boys.

“Calvin, Wyoming!” the conductor announced as he passed down the aisle.

As the train slowed, Clare’s heart pumped faster.

Ben sprang to his feet, gripping the seat back in front of him and lifting his boots off the floor to get a better view through the window of the row in front.

Eli remained affixed to the seat, his mouth screwed tight.

She prayed he would keep his mouth shut and not give them away the first moment off the train.

The train braked and rolled to a stop. Clare rose from her seat, heart pounding, knees trembling. She smiled tightly at the boys.

At the front of the train, the steel-haired man with a wide, neatly trimmed mustache, around the same age as her pa, was the first passenger to stand.

After a grand stretch, he donned his fancy black Stetson.

She’d made him when he’d first entered the compartment.

He had the sharp eyes and that certain shrewd manner of a man who lived outside the law.

Ben’s hand slipped into hers. She dropped her eyes, turning her face away from the oily gaze that made her skin crawl and focusing on keeping the boys at her side as they disembarked.

A brisk breeze swept over the boardwalk, stirring up dust as Clare stepped off the train. Her skirt flapped against her legs as she surveyed the town. Behind the rooftops, the hills were dotted with trees, their green leaves on the verge of turning gold and amber with the cooler fall weather.

The streets were wider than the ones back home.

Wide enough for two large wagons to pass.

Wide enough for the herds of cattle that ranchers would drive into town and load onto trains headed for Chicago.

Isaac had written in his last letter that she would arrive in time for the roundup. And wouldn’t that be something?

She passed a young woman, carrying a toddler on her hip, who seemed to all but disappear into the arms of a hulking man in overalls. Clare froze and pressed sweaty hands together, struck by the realization that she hadn’t considered how to greet her new groom. Would he anticipate a warm hug?

Where was Mr. McGraw?

She scanned the area and caught on a lone cowboy near the corner of the platform away from the rails.

Dressed in dark trousers and a light-blue canvas shirt topped with a black vest, he stood rigid, shoulders squared, chin slightly lowered.

He had that watchful look—steady and unblinking.

His fingers even twitched at his side, a gunman ready to draw.

For a moment, she recoiled. Then she noticed what was missing—no gun belt, no pistol. Still, he glanced around, alert as any lawman.

No one else waited on the platform. Other folks were walking away. This had to be Isaac McGraw.

She took a few steps in his direction, her breath catching at the heat of his intense stare. If this was him, then her intended groom was an exceptionally handsome man, with his high cheekbones, vivid green eyes, and square jaw softened by a dimple. But why was he scowling at her?

They met at the far corner of the platform. She was aware of Ben and Eli trailing behind her. Eli muttered something to his brother that she didn’t hear.

“Mr. McGraw?” Was that her voice? Breathy and trembling?

She saw the minute flare of his nostrils. Other than that, he was totally unreadable. He nodded.

“I’m Clare.”

Ben shifted his feet, and the handsome cowboy–rancher’s eyes flicked over Ben and moved to Eli. His frown tightened.

Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t told her intended groom about her nephews. She hadn’t wanted to give him any reason to reject her.

She glanced away. Saw the train porters unloading wooden crates. One crate caught her attention with the flash of a familiar name— Hercules Powder. Explosives?

She blinked, drawing her gaze back to the rancher, who didn’t look any happier to see her. This man was nothing like the man in his letters, who’d written so fondly of the ranch and his family. Unease twisted in her belly, like when one of Pa’s plans went awry.

She put a hand on Ben’s small shoulder. “This is Ben. And this is Eli.” She raised her other hand to Eli’s shoulder.

Isaac’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t outright reject them.

His gaze traveled to the street, past the crowd on the boardwalk, and landed on the man in the Stetson, standing several yards away, still on the platform.

Stetson was talking with two other men who must be in their forties, wearing dusty trousers and vests over their shirts. Ranchers?

Isaac McGraw stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. She needed him to focus on her.

“Will we be going to the parson’s house first?” Clare pressed, trying for a soft smile. “Before we go to your ranch?”

Isaac’s eyes snapped back to her, distraction gone. “Miss—there’s been a mistake. I didn’t send for you, and we are not getting hitched.”

His words didn’t register at first. When they did, she felt that knot in her belly twist tighter. “What do you mean?” she asked. “A mistake?”

He didn’t answer directly. “It would be best if you got on that train and went back where you came from.”

Ben’s hand fisted in her skirt. Eli made a scoffing sound. She could feel the boys’ nerves ratcheting higher. Or maybe it was her own.

“That won’t be possible.” There. She’d kept the tremble from her voice.

But Isaac didn’t soften.

She was aware of curious gazes from people milling about the platform nearby. She couldn’t afford to give Isaac more time to argue. “I don’t understand. You sent for me so we could be married.”

“I didn’t send for you.”

He’d said that before, but it didn’t make any more sense this time. His voice was low and urgent and made her think he wanted her to be silent.

It only agitated her more. She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out the folded envelope. “I have your letter right here. You promised we’d marry!” Her voice pitched higher and louder than she intended.

Heads turned from the crowd on the platform, especially Mr. Stetson and his two companions.

Their gazes were like nettles on her skin.

She and the boys were too exposed out here in the open.

She stepped closer to Isaac McGraw. Close enough to see the tight lines around his mouth and hear his breath catch.

“Is there somewhere more private we could go to straighten out this misunderstanding?” she asked softly.

Ben chose that moment to yank at her sleeve. “I’m hungry.”

Isaac glared at her. “We are not going anywhere,” he ground out. “You’re getting back on that train.”

Her plan was unraveling before her eyes. Since she’d stepped foot off the train, nothing had gone right. Victor was behind her. There was no returning, not after what she’d done. She couldn’t give up. “You gave your word. We’re getting married.”

A shadow fell over her. “Is there a problem here, miss?”

She didn’t notice until she looked his way that it was sharp-eyed Mr. Stetson from the train.

She was close enough to see the subtle change in Isaac’s expression, the way his back bristled. He turned a stony face to the interloper. “No.”

The man ignored Isaac, his calculating eyes on Clare. He puffed out his chest and tipped his hat toward Clare. “Heath Quade, president of the Cattlemen’s Association and a citizen of this fine town. And you are?”

“None of your business, Quade,” Isaac growled.

Ben butted his head into Clare’s side, jolting her. She’d been so caught up in the tension between the two men that, for a moment, she’d lost track of both boys. Panic flared as she turned—until she spotted Eli, quietly watching Quade. Relief rushed through her.

“I thought you were getting married.” Ben chose the worst moment to pipe up.

Heath Quade’s shrewd eyes darted between Isaac and Clare. “That true?”

The muscle in Isaac’s jaw jumped, but he remained mute.

Quade turned a calculating glance toward Clare. “You one of those mail-order brides? The McGraws sure do like them.”

Clare didn’t know what he meant, but it was clear his words stirred up something in Isaac.

“This ain’t your concern.” Isaac stepped in front of Clare and the boys, partially blocking her from Quade’s view. She was surprised by the protective gesture after his earlier scowl.

Isaac’s head turned, and she realized the two other men had stepped over to flank their friend Quade. With her feet at the back of the platform, it felt a little like being trapped. Her gaze darted all around as she looked for an escape.

One of the men addressed her. “This man botherin’ you?”

She shook her head.

Apparently, the moment of distraction meant Quade had stepped to the side, around Isaac. He addressed Clare.

“I couldn’t help but overhear?—”

“Stay out of it, Quade.” There was something dangerous in Isaac’s tone. Couldn’t everyone hear it?

Quade didn’t. “As an upstanding citizen of Calvin and a duly elected official, it’s my duty to come to the aid of a lady who finds herself abandoned at the train station.”

Isaac blocked Quade when he tried to step closer, keeping his lean, muscular body between Quade and Clare and her nephews. Almost like he was shielding her.

Her chest tightened. Had anybody ever stepped between her and danger? She didn’t think so.

“Did I hear you say you had a letter? A written promise to marry could be considered a binding contract.”

Clare’s fingers gripped the letter tighter. She wanted to shove it back into her pocket. But that would be too obvious now.

Quade spoke to the man closest to him. “What do you think, gentlemen? It’d sure be a shame if one of Calvin’s first homesteading families got sued for breach of contract.”

Isaac’s shoulders tensed, and his stance grew more rigid.

The other rancher looked uncomfortable. “If McGraw can’t keep his word, the circuit judge can sort this out when he comes to town.”

Something passed between Quade and Isaac. She wished she could see Isaac’s face.

Quade said, “Maybe we should just walk over to the marshal’s office and see what Marshal O’Grady has to say about this.”

Eli, a statue throughout the whole exchange, began to shake. His fists were clenched at his sides, and he was standing on the balls of his feet, ready to run.

Clare gripped his sleeve. “That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly to Quade. “I’m sure Mr. McGraw and I can come to an equitable?—”

Isaac turned toward her. He motioned to the stairs off the platform. “The wagon is thataway. Get a move on.”

The command in his voice grated on her last nerve, but she also had a sense that this was the only offer he was going to make. And she needed to get off the platform, away from so many prying eyes. Eyes that could report back to Victor if he ever sent a scout looking for her here.

She grabbed Eli’s arm with one hand and Ben’s hand with the other and followed Isaac’s long-legged stride off the train platform.