Montana Legend. Jillian Hart

something about making sure you weren’t here long.”

      “Then I’ll have to show him how wrong he is.”

      “Good.” Her chin came up and it was easy to see the strength in her. The steel.

      He could imagine how well she’d cared for her daughter, all alone, and endured hardship to do it. And yet it hadn’t embittered her. He admired that about her and something else—the way she walked. She was all gentle beauty. He couldn’t help noticing how her pale cotton dress skimmed her slim, very attractive curves—and that troubled him.

      Of all the women he’d come across over the years, why was he noticing this one?

      Just lonely, he figured. Last night in his bed at the inn, he’d felt alone. Endlessly alone. Maybe it was simply being in town—he hadn’t stayed in one for years—where all those houses were spread out in orderly rows, windows glowing cozily in the dark.

      Memories of better times had sailed over him. Of how good it felt to come home to find baby Lucy crawling across the polished floor and his wife smiling a welcome.

      For one instant it was easy to want that again. The comfortable companionship after the supper dishes were done, joining his wife to read in front of the fire until bedtime.

      Nice memories, but they came hand in hand with the bad. The evenings that hadn’t been pleasant. The woman who’d looked at him with hurt in her eyes, with anger and resentment. Remembering how hard he’d tried to make things right and failed, put to an end any wishing.

      Loneliness ached hollow and cold, but it was a better state than marriage.

      As they neared the house they could hear the girls’s happy chatter, bringing him back to the present. To the woman standing before him.

      “If there is some trouble between me and your uncle, will it cause problems for you?”

      “No. I’ll be fine.” Her problems weren’t his, after all.

      They’d reached the shade of the shanty, where stacks of new lumber glowed like honey against the earth. A handsaw was tucked safely in the back of a battered wagon.

      He was an industrious man, by the looks of it. He’d probably been up at dawn working to accomplish so much. “You plan to repair the shanty?”

      “Repair it? More like demolish it and start from the ground up. It’s likely to tumble over any minute.” He tossed her a wink that made her miss a step.

      His hand shot out to steady her. His fingers seared her skin. Even though she was upright and both feet were square on the ground, she still felt as if she were falling. There had to be something wrong with her—and now she knew why she’d been jumpy earlier.

      Attraction for Gage Gatlin tingled through her like a fever.

      “I’d best collect Ella and be on my way,” she said as an excuse. “I can see you’re busy, and we have errands to run.”

      “You’re walking to town? It’s a long way. If you’d care to wait, I’ll be heading back in a couple of hours.”

      His offer was kindly spoken, neighbor to neighbor, but he’d done enough for her. “I can’t wait that long, thank you just the same.”

      Behind her, she heard steeled horseshoes clomping on the earth. She turned around in time to see a sleek black mare, neck arched and mane flying in the breeze, pulling a polished buggy along the rutted driveway. Sarah recognized the two young women perched on the shaded seat. The banker’s daughter and the daughter of a well-to-do neighbor.

      “Good morning, Mr. Gatlin.” The young woman holding the reins set the brake and held out her gloved hand. “I’m Susan Lockwood. My father owns the bank in town. He told me that you purchased this charming piece of land.”

      Gage tipped his hat and took a slow step forward. “Yes, miss. Is there some problem? Did your father send you?”

      “Oh, no. We only wanted to welcome you.” Susan pressed her hand on his and allowed him to help her from the buggy. “This is my dearest friend, Louisa. Louisa, hand me the welcome basket.”

      “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Gatlin,” Louisa said with a rare pleasantness, giving her new lawn skirt a flick. “I hope meeting our poor Widow Redding hasn’t given you the wrong impression of our community. Why, I’m practically your neighbor.”

      “How lucky for me.” Gage quirked one brow.

      Sarah felt out of place and took a backward step, thinking of her home-baked pie as she spotted the fancy tins piled at the top of Susan Lockwood’s fine basket.

      She didn’t belong here. Next to the well-appointed banker’s daughter, she felt as plain as the earth beneath her feet. Better to leave before she embarrassed herself, so she took one last glance at Gage, standing bold as the sun. He tossed her a look as if to say “Help!”

      She shook her head. There would be no rescue for him. It served him right for being so handsome—and for not believing in love. What had he said? He believed in something more practical.

      She did feel sorry for him.

      “Come on, Ella, it’s time to go.”

      Huddled close to Lucy, Ella gave the mare one last pat. How wistful she looked, just wishing. Her eyes were so big in her pale face. There was so much Ella deserved. So much Sarah wanted to give her.

      The first chance I’m able, I’m going to buy her a horse. New towns were cropping up all over the West as the open prairies became more settled. There had to be a job for her somewhere out there. She was sure of it.

      “Sarah?” Lucy dashed over to her and peered around the corner of the shanty. “Who are those women?”

      “The blond one lives down the road.”

      “So she lives real close?”

      “Yes. The other lady is her friend from town.”

      “Ladies come up to my pa all the time.”

      “I’m sure they do.” Sarah felt foolish—at least she knew she wasn’t alone in her attraction to the handsome horseman. She was lonely, after all, and wishing for a better life. For someone to love. It never hurt a woman to dream.

      “Can Ella come to play sometime?”

      “Anytime.” Sarah took her daughter’s hand. “If you need anything, Lucy, our house is just over the creek and down the rise. It’s the first shanty you see.”

      “I’ll tell my pa that you said that.” Lucy squinted in the direction of the fancy buggy gleaming in the sunshine.

      A movement caught Gage’s eye. Sarah was leaving? She couldn’t leave him here with these girls. He tried to call out to her, but Sarah was too far away, waving goodbye. Her skirt snapped around her shoe tops, and he remembered her small pale feet, bare and smudged with soft dirt.

      Louisa cleared her throat to grab his attention, but nothing was likely to do that.

      “Excuse me, ladies. My daughter will enjoy your gifts.” He tipped his hat, taking the basket only because handing it back would be rude. He didn’t want to offend the banker’s daughter—at least, not too damn much. Yet.

      He left them standing there, turning his back on their huffs of disapproval as they left. That had been a waste of his time, but at least he knew the banker couldn’t be trusted.

      He’d bet the only reason those girls were here with their fancy basket and simpering smiles was because Mr. Lockwood had revealed the size of Gage’s bank account.

      “I see the welcomes have started.” Sarah didn’t hesitate on her way down the road as he caught up with her. “Remember what I said about my uncle.”

      There was something about her. As he let her go on her way, Gage felt a thud in his chest, a foolish thud, because he knew darn