Jake passed through the swinging doors and walked to his horse. He didn’t know whether he’d killed his man or not, and he didn’t care. The whole damn mess had ruined his appetite.

Sarah was mortally afraid she was going to lose the miserable lunch she’d managed to bolt down at the last stop. How anyone-anyone-survived under these appalling conditions, she’d never know. The West, as far as she could see, was only fit for snakes and outlaws.

She closed her eyes, patted the sweat from her neck with her handkerchief, and prayed that she’d make it through the next few hours. At least she could thank God she wouldn’t have to spend another night in one of those horrible stage depots. She’d been afraid she would be murdered in her bed. If one could call that miserable sheetless rope cot a bed. And privacy? Well, there simply hadn’t been any.

It didn’t matter now, she told herself. She was nearly there. After twelve long years, she was going to see her father again and take care of him in the beautiful house he’d built outside Lone Bluff.

When she’d been six, he’d left her in the care of the good sisters and gone off to make his fortune. There had been nights, many nights, when Sarah had cried herself to sleep from missing him. Then, as the years had passed, she’d had to take out the faded daguerreotype to remember his face. But he’d always written to her. His penmanship had been strained and childish, but there had been so much love in his letters. And so much hope.

Once a month she’d received word from her father from whatever point he’d stopped at on his journey west. After eighteen months, and eighteen letters, he’d written from the Arizona Territory, where he’d settled, and where he would build his fortune.

He’d convinced her that he’d been right to leave her in Philadelphia, in the convent school, where she could be raised and educated as a proper young lady should. Until, Sarah remembered, she was old enough to travel across the country to live with him. Now she was nearly eighteen, and she was going to join him. Undoubtedly the house he’d built, however grand, required a woman’s touch.