Lone Wolf's Lady. Judy Duarte

what he already knew, the child who’d been bullied on the town street entered the kitchen, carrying a handmade rag doll, and approached Daisy.

      Tom hadn’t noticed a resemblance to Caroline before, although he hadn’t thought to even look for one. But he studied her carefully now.

      Her blond hair was a bit darker than her mother’s, more the color of sunflowers than fresh-churned butter. Yet there were other similarities—green eyes, a turned-up nose.

      The fairness of her skin, too, which had made young Caroline appear to be angelic to a boy with mixed blood.

      Had she also inherited her mother’s kind heart, the inner beauty that had allowed Caroline to befriend the boy known as Tom Lone Wolf when so many others in Stillwater had turned their backs on him?

      Daisy reached for Sarah Jane and drew her close. “I’m afraid I’m not able to talk to you now, so you’ll have to leave.”

      Tom wasn’t about to get into specifics in front of the child. Nor did he want to tip his hand about a possible inheritance at this point, especially with a woman who clearly could be purchased.

      “I brought the child a gift,” he said. “May I give it to her?”

      Sarah Jane looked up at Daisy, her eyes wide, seeking approval. Finally, it came with a nod.

      Tom reached inside his vest pocket and pulled a pair of beaded moccasins, as well as a small medicine bag he’d made for her when he’d learned Caroline had not only borne a daughter but kept her.

      “When I was a boy,” he said, “I knew a little girl who looked a lot like you. Her name was Caroline Graves. And one day, she did something very brave. As a reward for her bravery, my mother made her a pair of moccasins just like these.”

      “Thank you,” Sarah Jane said, as she reached for the soft deerskin gifts. “That was my mama’s name.”

      “I thought that it might be.”

      The girl studied the handmade shoes and the medicine bag, then gazed at Tom. “What did she do that was brave?”

      “She saw a grown man being mean to an Indian boy, and she told him to get off her ranch and to never come back.”

      Sarah Jane’s eyes grew wide. “What did the man do to her?”

      “He was afraid that she’d tell her grandfather, Harrison Graves, who was a very powerful man. So he left the boy alone.”

      Daisy glanced down at the child, then at a bowl of green beans that sat on the kitchen table and back to Tom. “Thank you for your gifts, Mr. McCain. And for sharing the story. But I meant what I said. Now isn’t a good time to talk.”

      “It won’t take long. I just want to ask you a few questions and get some honest answers.” Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out the twenty-dollar gold piece Harrison had given him. “Would this be enough to tempt you to find the time?”

      Daisy’s eyes, while wary, studied the coin for only a moment. “Come back Thursday morning. Most of the girls sleep in. If you come around eight, I’ll be in the kitchen. And I’ll have a pot of coffee on the stove.”

      “Fair enough.”

      Again his gaze settled on little Sarah Jane. Would Harrison see a resemblance to her mother? If so, would he take that into consideration?

      Would he be pleased to learn that Tom had found Caroline’s daughter? Or would he cast out the illegitimate child, just as he’d done to Caroline when he’d learned she was pregnant without a husband in sight?

      Time would tell, he supposed, but first things first. In two days, he’d have to convince Daisy to let Sarah Jane go with him back to the Lazy G.

      And if Daisy didn’t agree?

      He’d take her anyway. Caroline’s daughter didn’t belong in a place like this. And Tom wasn’t about to leave her here.

      * * *

      On Friday morning, Katie hurried down the boardwalk to the newspaper office, her skirts swishing with each brisk step she took. She intended to pick up her copy of the Pleasant Valley Journal fresh off the press, just as she always did.

      As she opened the front door, a bell tinkled to let the clerk know she’d arrived.

      The bespectacled young man glanced up from his desk. When he spotted Katie, he smiled. “Here to read the latest rebuttal to your last article, Miss O’Malley?”

      “Yes, Harold.” Katie slipped off her gloves and tucked them into her reticule. “What does Reverend Codwell have to say this time?”

      “He doesn’t mention any new arguments, if that’s what you mean.” Harold adjusted his eyeglasses, pushed his swivel chair away from the desk and got to his feet.

      While he went for her copy, Katie scanned the small office, breathing in the scent of ink and admiring the intricate machinery that worked the printing press. She’d actually considered the idea of becoming a reporter or even an editor herself. Edward Townsend, Harold’s boss, had once offered her a job, but he’d told her she’d have to temper some of her outspoken comments if she wanted to work for him.

      Katie, of course, had refused to do that.

      Noticing the publisher wasn’t around, she asked about him. “Where’s Edward?”

      “He went to visit...” Harold flushed a brilliant shade of scarlet, then adjusted his shirt collar. “Um...I’m not sure where he is.”

      Katie placed her hands on the countertop and leaned forward. “Harold Decker, you’re holding something back. Why is that? What don’t you want to tell me?”

      “I’m sorry, Miss O’Malley. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It just isn’t proper.”

      Katie arched a brow. “Where is this improper visit taking place?”

      Harold ran a hand over his slicked-down hair, then looked at Katie as though he wanted her either to ask someone else or to forget the question completely, but she wasn’t about to do that.

      She crossed her arms like a parent scolding an errant child. “Harold?”

      “Oh, for goodness’ sake. Edward went to see...one of the women from...um...the Gardener’s House. She was assaulted and nearly killed yesterday.”

      Katie’s hands unfolded and slipped to her sides. “What happened?”

      Harold’s ruddy cheeks grew a deeper shade of red with each tick of the clock. “Why don’t you ask Edward when he gets back? I don’t feel right talking to you about it.”

      “You might as well tell me. There will be an article in the paper, and we both know that Reverend Codwell will be proclaiming it from the pulpit. You heard him bring up Miss Potts and Sarah Jane last week, which caused a rash of public outrage against the woman and the child.”

      “You’re right, I suppose.” He ambled toward the counter and sighed. “And I certainly hope that didn’t have anything to do with the assault.”

      “Why would it?”

      “Because Daisy was the one who was attacked.”

      The unexpected news slammed into Katie like a hammer on a blacksmith’s anvil. “Oh, no. At the brothel?”

      “No, while she was coming to town to do some shopping at the mercantile.”

      “Who attacked her?”

      “No one knows. The little girl was the only witness, but she’s not talking. Doc Hennessy says the child is in shock.”

      “Dear Lord,” Katie whispered out loud, as she launched into a silent prayer. Please look after Sarah Jane until I can get to her.

      “Don’t worry,” Harold added. “There’s a group of concerned citizens who plan to take the