Montana Cowboy Daddy. Linda Ford

front before you fall.”

      “Yes, Papa.”

      As his daughter turned around, he caught on her face an expression he hadn’t seen before and was at a loss to interpret. But a shudder crossed his shoulders. He must protect Mattie from being hurt by dreaming impossible dreams about Isabelle. How was he to do that when he had cows to check on? And a town to rebuild? And a hundred details to take care of?

      * * *

      Isabelle wanted to pull little Mattie close and hug her. A motherless child surrounded by adults who put up with her, yet, at the same time, loved her. Something in Mattie’s eyes convinced Isabelle the child wanted more...needed more. Though she had no reason to jump to such a conclusion. Nothing but the echo of her own heart.

      However, they arrived at the ranch house and Isabelle didn’t have time to dwell on it. She looked about. This was her chance to see ranch life, and if she used it to observe Mattie’s home life, as well, who could judge her for that?

      The house rose before them, solid and large as if built to withstand the challenges of nature. A wide veranda provided protection from the elements.

      Dawson held his hand out to assist her to the ground. She meant to avoid looking directly at him but her gaze drew toward his and halted there. His blue eyes blazed a warning. Why? What had she done? She stumbled and he gripped her hand hard until she got her feet under her.

      She hurried to the veranda, dismissing the moment as imaginary. He had nothing to fear from her and she wanted nothing from him. Turning to study her surroundings, she enjoyed a wonderful view of the treed mountains to the west. Her heart filled with strength and joy, and a Bible verse sprang to her mind. As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about his people from henceforth even for ever. Calmness filled her. She might find it impossible to trust mankind, but she knew and loved God, whom she could trust. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

      Dawson reached around her and pushed open the door. “Please, everyone, come inside.” He waited for the others to precede him, Mattie leading the way. They entered a cloakroom with a low bench along three walls. Under the bench were several pairs of well-worn cowboy boots with toes tipped upward. Above the benches, hooks held coats and hats and odd bits of leather strapping and goodness knew what else. She longed to ask the use of everything she saw.

      “So this is what a ranch house looks like.” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud and hoped they indicated her fascination.

      But Dawson had already stepped through one of the two doors leading from the cloakroom and indicated they should follow.

      Grandfather Marshall hobbled toward them with the aid of his canes.

      “Welcome to the Marshall Five Ranch. Come right in.”

      They were in a large dining room. Leather-clad window seats circled the room beneath wide windows that allowed a generous view of the outside scene. A large table, covered with a white lace tablecloth and set for the meal, stood in the middle of the room. A wide archway opened to the sitting room and another, narrower door revealed a kitchen from which came the delicious aroma of a meal.

      “Annie,” Grandfather Marshall called. “Our guests are here.”

      A woman scurried into the room. A very young lady. This was Aunt Annie? She couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen. Somehow Isabelle had expected a much older woman, wrongly assuming she was the eldest Marshall sibling. Dawson introduced his sister and the likeness was unmistakable—she was probably as tall as Isabelle herself, blonde with striking blue eyes.

      A much smaller young woman waited in the doorway.

      Isabelle couldn’t help but stare at the second woman, who was in trousers and a shirt, her blond hair in a long braid down her back. She’d never seen a woman dressed in such a fashion and barely managed not to gasp. This was the West, she reminded herself. The Wild West, obviously.

      Dawson introduced her. “Carly Morrison, Annie’s friend and fellow troublemaker.”

      Isabelle wasn’t sure he teased or was serious but both Carly and Annie laughed.

      “We aren’t troublemakers,” Annie insisted.

      Dawson’s eyebrows reached for his hairline.

      Carly grinned at Annie. “We just like to have fun.”

      Isabelle immediately liked the two girls. She and Kate used to have fun together until Dr. Baker’s accident. She missed those times.

      Annie took their coats, then indicated where they should sit.

      “Can I sit by Miss Isabelle?” Mattie asked.

      “I think you should stay beside me.” Dawson guided her around the table to the chair beside him.

      Isabelle refused to look at him or try to guess if he meant to keep his daughter away from her—he had no reason to think she would harm his child—or if he simply preferred to have Mattie beside him, where he could guide her manners. She looked at Mattie, though. “I can see you better this way.”

      Mattie favored her with a beaming smile. “I like that.”

      Sadie didn’t immediately take her seat. “I can help with the meal.”

      “As can I,” Kate added.

      Isabelle was already seated. In her world, the cook served the food, but this wasn’t her world and she needed to remember it. She pushed to her feet. “I’ll help, as well.”

      Annie waved their offers aside. “We have it under control. Sit and relax. I know you’ve had a long, tiring day.” She gave Carly a mischievous glance. “All we did was hang around the house cooking supper.”

      The elder Marshall chuckled as the girls returned to the kitchen. “After you get to know this pair you’ll realize the unlikelihood of that story.”

      The girls in question carried in platters and bowls full of food and then sat down.

      Grandfather Marshall signaled for attention. “I’ll ask the blessing.” In reverent, deep tones, he thanked God for all the blessings He’d bestowed. “Good food and new friends. Thank You. Amen.”

      There followed a flurry of passing bowls and platters from hand to hand—roast meat, turnips, creamy mashed potatoes, rich brown gravy and beets in a sweet-and-sour sauce. The food tickled every taste bud in her mouth. “Excellent fare. Annie, you are a good cook. If you ever want a job as such, I will gladly give my recommendation.”

      Conversation ground to a halt. Had she committed a faux pas? She glanced across to Dawson. He scowled.

      She quirked her eyebrows questioningly but he offered no explanation and she slowly faced Annie.

      Annie held her fork suspended above her plate. “I have a job here as cook, dishwasher, laundry lady to my brothers, my father and grandfather, plus caring for Mattie.”

      Isabelle sensed Dawson’s silent disapproval but figured she might as well continue what she’d started. “It seems like a lot of work. Does Carly help you?”

      Carly chuckled. “I live with my father and take care of him.”

      “And ride like a man,” Annie added.

      Carly shrugged. “One must do what one must do.” She turned back to Isabelle. “Sometimes Annie needs help to keep this lot of men in line. That’s where I come in.”

      Dawson snorted.

      Grandfather Marshall grinned. “I do believe her father sends her over here in the hopes we’ll teach her to be a lady.”

      Carly choked. “Don’t ever give him such an idea.” She shuddered visibly.

      Isabelle couldn’t tell if it was real or make-believe, but it brought laughter from those around the table and she allowed herself to relax. She might put her foot into things once in a while, but not out of malice. Only because