Hill Country Courtship. Laurie Kingery

to be her fate, then? Running the town’s only boardinghouse, with its eight rooms and mostly male occupants, with three meals a day to cook, and forever having to listen to grousing from the tenants that the beef was too tough, the chicken drumsticks too few, or that one of the traveling drummers took more than his fair share of the apple dumplings?

      Her father had certainly expected a brighter future for her than that. He’d once told her he pictured her with a houseful of children with hair as red as her own and a husband whose greatest pleasure was satisfying his wife’s slightest whim. Maude felt she was easy to please, so she didn’t need an overindulgent husband, but the thought of living her whole life without any husband or children made her sad. She enjoyed caring for others, had cherished her role as nurse in her father’s medical practice. She’d always hoped that one day she’d have a family of her own to whom she could devote her time and loving attention. But apparently that wasn’t meant to be.

      Pull yourself together, Maude Harkey, she told herself sternly. No one needs to see a melancholy face at a party. And if the Lord wants you to remain single, then there’s a reason, no doubt.

      “Who’s that?”

      She hadn’t noticed Violet Masterson and Caroline Collier, two of the other ex-Spinsters, coming to stand beside her, but now she followed the former’s discreetly pointed finger.

      A man stood at the edge of the throng, hat in hand as was polite in the presence of ladies, but there was nothing humble about his bearing. Rather, he reminded her of a golden eagle perched high above a flock of sheep, looking for the tastiest lamb to pluck from the herd. The red-gold hair that he raked back from his forehead just then only served to further the image.

      “I don’t know, but goodness, he’s a late arriver,” Maude said, glancing over her shoulder at the long table that had been heaped with food before the party. “I hope there’s enough barbecued chicken and potato salad left to feed him.” The male guests had gone through the food like a plague of locusts, and it would be a wonder if there was a sufficient amount to fill even one more plate.

      “Oh, that’s Jonas MacLaren,” Caroline Collier said, following her friends’ gazes. “He’s the man who bought Five Mile Hill Ranch, out past Collier’s Roost. I heard he bargained hard with Mr. Avery at the bank and ended up getting it for next to nothing.”

      “Since he’s here at our social, are we to assume there’s no Mrs. MacLaren?” Violet asked with a sidelong glance at Maude.

      Maude did her best to hide her wince. She ought to come right out and tell her friends she’d decided to stop looking for a husband in hopes that they would stop looking for one for her. She knew her friends only wanted her to be happy—as happy as they were with their husbands—but she’d grown weary of the endless attempts to match her with men who clearly had no interest. Perhaps if she resigned the presidency of the Spinsters’ Club, it would make the message clear that she no longer considered herself in the market for a husband. Besides, if she was still looking, she wouldn’t look in Jonas MacLaren’s direction. The man looked positively fierce.

      “There is a Mrs. MacLaren,” Caroline informed them, and Violet gave a disappointed sniff.

      “What’s he doing here, then?” Violet said, indignation sparking in her well-bred English voice. “Doesn’t he know this is a party for eligible bachelors to meet the ladies of the Spinsters’ Club?”

      Caroline chuckled. “Ah, but the Mrs. MacLaren in question isn’t his wife, she’s his mother,” she said with the triumphant smile of one who has withheld vital information until just the right moment. “She’s from Scotland, I hear, and quite a Tartar.”

      Maude stared at Caroline, confused. “A what?”

      “A Tartar,” Caroline repeated, then explained. “A person of irritable or violent temper.” Caroline had been a schoolteacher before she’d married Jack Collier. Her time spent running the schoolhouse and finding answers for the children’s endless questions had left her with a wealth of unusual facts at her disposal—along with an extensive vocabulary.

      “I see,” Maude said, giving a little shiver. “Have you met her?”

      Caroline shook her head. “No one has. She doesn’t leave the ranch house, I’ve heard. Very few have met her son, for that matter,” she added, nodding toward MacLaren, who was still studying the attendees. “I wouldn’t know it was him, but he came to Collier’s Roost to ask Jack something about the area. When Jack invited him inside for coffee, he declined, saying he had to get back to his ranch.”

      “Perhaps she’s an invalid,” Violet suggested.

      “Well,” Maude said, squaring her shoulders, “I suppose I should go and introduce myself and try to make sure he gets refreshments.”

      It was a scary prospect. Something in the man’s gaze told her he might devour maiden ladies for breakfast.

      A Harkey does not shirk her duty, Maude told herself, and forced her steps in Jonas MacLaren’s direction.

      She saw the moment that he noticed her approaching, the way his tall frame stilled, though his eyes—hazel eyes shot through with gold, she noted, which further enhanced his golden eagle-like appearance—remained vigilant and guarded.

      “Welcome to our party, Mr. MacLaren,” she called out as she drew near. “I’m Maude Harkey, current president of the Spinsters’ Club. Won’t you come have something to eat and drink?”

      He studied her from head to toe as if sizing her up. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Harkey.” The Scottish burr of his voice was pleasant to the ear, though it took a little careful listening for her to figure out what he’d said. “I will,” he continued, “but I can’t stay long.”

      Maude blinked in surprise. “But there are several young ladies here who’d love to make your acquaintance,” she said, forcing her lips into an appealing smile. She wasn’t the only Spinster who hadn’t yet made a match. Of the original group, Jane Jeffries was also still single, as were Louisa Wheeler, Daisy Henderson and a handful of newer ladies. “Why don’t I show you to the refreshment table, then invite a few of them over to meet you?” With any luck, he’d be so charmed that he’d stay long enough for the dancing to begin inside Gilmore House, the home of the mayor. The mayor was a strong supporter of their club, for he was the father of Prissy, the sheriff’s wife and former Spinster Club member. If Mr. MacLaren stayed through that, he might develop a fondness for one lucky girl. “I think you’d enjoy talking to Louisa, for example, or Jane—both ladies happen to be standing right over there, under the grape arbor.”

      She gestured in their direction, but Jonah MacLaren’s gaze didn’t leave hers. “Why don’t you sit down with me, Miss Harkey, and I can explain why I’m here.”

      He was direct, she’d give him that. Was it possible that he had decided at first glance that she was the one for him? The idea gave her a pleasant little tingle. The man was attractive, though a little intimidating, and it was always nice to feel wanted. But she didn’t believe in lightning-fast attraction. He’d have to prove to her that he was worthy of her consideration, after all, if he was going to ask to court her.

      “All right,” she murmured, and ushered him toward the food table.

      To her relief, there was still a respectable amount of barbecued chicken, green beans, buttered rice and pecan pie left, as well as cold tea and lemonade, and within moments she was sitting down with him at a long table under one of Gilmore House’s venerable live oaks. They were alone at the table, since most of the guests had arrived earlier and already eaten their fill before becoming part of standing conversational groups.

      She took a sip of the cold tea he’d poured for her. “I understand you bought Five Mile Hill Ranch, Mr. MacLaren,” she said, silently blessing Caroline for furnishing her with an opening. She wondered for a moment if he knew that his ranch had been owned by the infamous Drew Allbright, who’d been jailed for the attempted murder of Raleigh Masterson, Violet’s