The first thing Hannah Cole noticed about Jonas Whitlock was that he counted her children twice—and smiled both times.

That alone frightened her more than rejection would have.

For nearly forty miles, beneath a merciless Texas sun, Hannah had repeated the same sentence until it felt carved into her bones.

No rancher wants a widow with four children.

Certainly not one looking for a housekeeper.

Certainly not one promising twenty-two dollars a month, meals, private rooms, and the possibility—carefully worded in his advertisement—that if mutual respect eventually became something warmer, he would not object.

Hannah wanted no such thing.

She wanted work.

She wanted water.

She wanted her children to stop waking hungry.

And most of all, she wanted never again to depend upon a man’s mercy.

Behind her on the porch of Whitlock Ranch stood everything the drought had failed to take.

Twelve-year-old Luke held their battered carpetbag with both hands.

Nine-year-old Elsie stood beside him, trying desperately to look older than she was.

Six-year-old Ben stared openly at the horses.

His twin sister May held a faded cloth rabbit to her chest.

The rabbit had one button eye, one stitched eye, and an ear that had been repaired three times.

Their father had made it for her.

Before he died.

Before everything fell apart.

Jonas Whitlock stood in the doorway.

Forty-one, Hannah guessed.

Tall.

Broad through the shoulders.

Dark sandy hair touched with gray near the temples.

A face browned by years of wind and sun.

His gray eyes rested first on Hannah, then Luke, Elsie, Ben, May—and finally on the wagon loaded with everything they owned.

Hannah lifted her chin.

“If four children are more than you expected, tell me now. Before we unload.”

Jonas glanced at the children again.

“How many did your letter say?”

“Four.”

“So you didn’t deceive me.”

“No.”

“Then what exactly am I supposed to be disappointed about?”

Hannah blinked.

The children did too.

Jonas stepped onto the porch.

“I grew up with six children around a supper table.”

For an instant something changed behind his eyes.

His gaze drifted past Hannah toward the silent ranch house.

“I’ve spent fifteen years eating alone.”

Then he smiled.

Not widely.

Just enough.

“Mrs. Cole, I was hoping for a big family. You’ve simply saved me considerable time.”

Ben made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.

Luke stared at Jonas as though the man might be laying a trap.

Hannah knew the feeling.

She folded her hands.

“I’m here for work. Not charity.”

“Good.”

Jonas nodded solemnly.

“I’m terrible at charity.”

He pointed into the house.

“I prefer contracts.”

And by supper, Hannah discovered he meant exactly that.

A written agreement waited on his desk.