Hero Of The Flint Hills. Cassandra Austin

       Kansas, 1876

      Christian Prescott hurt all over. He longed to soak in a tub of hot water. Instead, he sat on the cold hearth where his dirty clothes wouldn’t ruin the furniture and listened to his younger brother extol the virtues of some young woman he had briefly met in Topeka and had evidently promised to marry.

      “But you’ll both love her, too,” Arlen said, aiming the current argument at Christian more than their father, presumably because Hugh needed less convincing. “She’s educated and refined. Beautiful like…like a china doll, delicate and pale.”

      Christian wanted to groan. When his brother’s buggy had driven up to the house a few minutes earlier, he had been more than happy to turn the ill-mannered mare over to Jake to rub down. Now he wished he was back at the corral having his joints systematically dislocated. It was damn hard listening to Arlen without saying something he would regret.

      “She’s educated,” Arlen repeated, pacing across the braided rug like an actor on a stage while the kerosene lamp provided limelight. “Cultured. A lot like Mother, actually.”

      “Your mother left us, Arlen. She hated the ranch.” Christian knew he should have bitten his tongue, but if neither Hugh nor Arlen had thought of that, it was time they did. He risked a glance at their father to assess the damage.

      “Yes, well,” the older man said, straightening slightly in the big leather-covered chair. “She won’t be here much, will she? Once Arlen’s elected to the legislature, they’ll be in Topeka all winter. That’s the worst time, Felicia always said.”

      “Perhaps she’ll like the ranch if we make her feel welcome,” Arlen said, avoiding eye contact with Christian. “She’ll be taking the train to Cottonwood Station next week. I’ve told her she could be our guest for the summer.”

      This time Christian did groan. “What’s she going to do here all summer? You’ll be gone half the time, you know.”

      “Mother’s sending Emily out with her.”

      Christian tried to imagine Arlen’s cultured china doll enjoying the company of their thirteen-year-old sister. Even Emily was increasingly bored by the few social events of the neighborhood. Now they were to have two bored females with them for three months.

      Arlen moved to what Christian had begun to think of as center stage. “Her name is Lynnette Sterling,” he soliloquized. “Lynnette.” His features took on a look of enchantment. “She floated into Mr. Ditmer’s office like a spring breeze.”

      “And it was love at first sight.”

      It seemed to take Arlen a minute to snap back to the living room. He cast an annoyed glace at Christian. “Mr. Ditmer was helping her settle her father’s estate. He introduced us then, and that night I discovered Mother had met her once or twice and knew her situation.”

      “Which is?” Hugh asked.

      “Ira Sterling was one of the early settlers in Topeka. From New York State, I believe. Strong abolitionists.”

      That had to be worth a few points with Father, Christian thought, tempted to smile for the first time since Arlen had started relating his “wonderful news.”

      “Her mother’s family goes back to the Revolution,” Arlen went on.

      “That’s her pedigree, son, not her situation.”

      Arlen hesitated. “She’s got no place to go.” Abruptly he changed from the fast-talking lawyer to the boy who had found another stray. “Her mother died when she was a child, and her father’s final illness cost her everything. She’s even had to sell her home to pay the debts.”

      Christian nodded, coming stiffly to his feet. At least now he understood. He still didn’t like it, though. “Did you have to promise to marry her, Arlen? Couldn’t you simply have helped her find some kind of work?”

      “But she’s beautiful, Christian. I can’t think of her working.”

      Christian shook his head. No, of course not. Not a fragile china doll. With a sigh, he offered a hand to Arlen; he couldn’t quite bring himself to congratulate him. “It’s good to have you home, little brother,” he said. He wanted to pull Arlen into an embrace, but his brother wore a fancy suit while he was in dirty work clothes. It seemed to describe the distance that had opened between them a few years before and had been widening ever since.

      He started out of the room but turned for another look at his brother. Arlen had knelt beside their father’s chair and launched into further descriptions of the girl’s many talents. Arlen had inherited his mother’s fine bone structure. Christian’s own rugged features more resembled their father’s. In fact, he had often thought of Arlen as his opposite, with big brown eyes to his narrow blue ones, curly brown hair to his straight blond thatch, stringy now from sweat and wind.

      They were opposites in more than appearance. Christian supposed that was the secret to their close friendship; they had never wanted the same thing so they were never in competition. Or perhaps the seven-year difference in their age had worked to their advantage. When Felicia had taken the then-five-year-old Emily away, Christian had been a grown man already aware that ranching was what he wanted to do with his life. Arlen had been only seventeen. Christian had helped his younger brother through some difficult times while their father was too hurt and angry at his wife’s desertion to notice the boy’s need.

      And for Christian, Felicia hadn’t been the first mother he had lost He had been three when his mother died of pneumonia. Neither woman had been strong enough for the solitude and hardships of ranch life. And Lynnette Sterling didn’t sound as though she was either.

      Christian laughed at himself as he turned toward the washroom. Arlen’s wife wouldn’t be a ranch wife, as their father had pointed out. He needed a political wife, which was something else altogether. Still, what kind of woman became engaged to a complete stranger? Arlen was handsome and certainly as cultured as his china doll. In all probability, Miss Lynnette Sterling was at this moment singing the praises of her future husband.

      

      “A handsome young attorney! I’m so happy for you, Lynn.”

      Lynnette Sterling watched her friend do a gleeful little dance around the study. She had interrupted the sorting of her father’s books when Amanda Norberg arrived and had thought to continue as she told her friend her plans, but Amanda was in no mood to help.

      “The house and all the furniture are sold,” Lynnette said, lifting another stack of books from the shelf and placing them on the floor beside the step stool. She sat down before she added, “I have to get my personal belongings out and leave next week. Mr. Prescott was nice enough to offer me a place to stay for the summer.”

      “Oh, Lynn, I will miss you terribly.” Her serious expression didn’t last. “My Bill has known your Mr. Prescott forever, you know.”

      Lynnette grinned at her friend. “Why didn’t you fix me up with him instead of Julian?”

      Amanda cringed. “I’m sorry about Julian.” She took a book from the shelf and read the title before adding it to Lynnette’s stack. “And I would have gotten around to Mr. Prescott sooner, but he’s in and out of town a great deal.”

      Instead of going for another book, Amanda sat on the floor in front of her. “I can hardly believe it, Lynn. And to think you told me a hundred times how useless husbands are!”

      Lynnette had to laugh at the memory. “That was before I was about to be thrown out on the street. Suddenly one seems very useful.”

      Amanda leaned away, obviously shocked by her words. “That’s cold, Lynn. You should love your husband.”

      Lynnette watched her friend scowl at her. Relationships came easy to Amanda. Lynnette had always been less confident of her own appeal. When Amanda tossed a brown sausage curl over her shoulder, Lynnette smiled. Her own brown hair would never have