The road to Silver Creek stretched through endless waves of brown grass and sunburned earth.

For the first half hour, Nathaniel barely spoke.

The wagon creaked.

Cicadas screamed from distant cottonwoods.

Dust rose beneath the wheels and settled on the hem of my dress.

Finally he asked, “Did Victoria change her mind?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Two weeks ago.”

His hands tightened around the reins.

“And your father waited until you were already coming to tell me.”

“He had already told nearly everyone in our county that Victoria was traveling west to meet a prosperous Texas rancher.”

Nathaniel gave a humorless laugh.

“So his pride required a replacement.”

“That is one way of saying it.”

“What did he call it?”

I hesitated.

“A service to the family.”

Nathaniel looked at me then.

“And what do you call it?”

The truth escaped before I could soften it.

“An opportunity.”

His brow furrowed.

I stared across the open country.

“Victoria was always the one people noticed.

When we were girls, relatives remembered her birthdays and forgot mine.

Men brought her flowers and asked me to carry them upstairs.

Father praised her manners while I prepared dinner.”

Nathaniel remained silent.

“I’ve spent most of my life standing behind her,” I continued.

“I thought somewhere new might give me the chance to become someone besides Victoria Whitmore’s younger sister.”

He studied me for a long moment.

Then looked back toward the road.

By sunset, Silver Creek Ranch appeared beyond a low ridge.

It took my breath away.

A broad timber-and-stone house stood beneath enormous cottonwood trees.

Corrals stretched beside two weathered barns.

Cattle moved like dark shadows across distant pasture.

Beyond everything rose low purple hills beneath a burning orange sky.

I had expected loneliness.

Instead, the ranch felt alive.

Men shouted near the corral.

A dog barked from the porch.

Someone hammered inside the blacksmith shed.

Nathaniel stopped the wagon.

A stout woman with iron-gray hair came through the front door wiping her hands on an apron.

Her smile vanished when she saw me.

“Mr.

Walker?”

“Mrs.

Bell, this is Clara Whitmore.”

The woman blinked.

“I thought—”

“So did I.”

Her expression softened immediately.

“Well, the girl’s traveled half the country.

Whatever happened can wait until she’s eaten.”

I liked her instantly.

Nathaniel carried my suitcase upstairs this time without asking.

The guest room nearly broke my heart.

Fresh white linens covered the bed.

A porcelain basin had been filled with clean water.

A small vase of dried bluebonnets stood beside a spotless mirror.

A new hairbrush rested upon the dresser.

Everything in that room had been prepared for Victoria.

Nathaniel stayed in the doorway.

“The original agreement was three weeks,” he said.

I turned.

“I will honor that much.

But understand something, Miss Whitmore.”

His gaze met mine.

“You are not the woman I agreed to meet.”

“I know.”

“And I will not pretend otherwise.”

“Neither will I.”

That surprised him.

I straightened my shoulders.

“I’m not going to pretend to be my sister.

I’m hardworking.

I’m honest.

And I traveled four days to get here with nowhere waiting for me if you send me back.”

Something shifted in his expression.

“But I’m not asking for charity, Mr.

Walker.”

“What are you asking for?”

I stepped closer.

“The same three weeks you would have given Victoria.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Let me show you what I’m actually worth.”

“And if I decide this cannot work?”