Amos Trent.

Mabel did not know his name then.

She only knew he had sunburned cheeks and a mustache that curled downward at the ends.

He glanced toward the other men.

“If Gideon Cross needs help,” Amos said loudly, “send the widow out there to wash his dishes.”

The men exploded with laughter.

“Cross?”

“She’ll last half a day.”

“If the dirt doesn’t kill her, his disposition will.”

“Maybe Gideon’ll marry her,” somebody called.

That brought louder laughter.

Mabel stared at them.

Amos’s eyes met hers.

For one strange second, he stopped smiling.

There was something in his expression she could not understand.

Then it vanished.

Mabel approached him.

“Where does Mr. Cross live?”

The laughter died.

Amos blinked.

“I was joking, ma’am.”

“I wasn’t.”

A man spat into the dust.

“You don’t want Cross.”

“I want work.”

“His ranch is five miles northwest.”

Mabel adjusted her carpetbag.

“Thank you.”

Lottie grabbed her sleeve.

“Mama, five miles?”

“Yes.”

Elsie looked toward the endless prairie.

“My feet hurt.”

Mabel crouched and wiped dust from the child’s cheek.

“I know, baby.”

She looked at all three girls.

“We walk five more miles.”

“Then what?” June asked.

Mabel forced a smile.

“Then something changes.”

She had no idea how right she was.

Gideon Cross’s ranch house stood beneath an enormous cottonwood as though the tree itself had been assigned to guard it.

The house was sturdy but neglected.

One shutter hung crooked.

The porch badly needed sweeping.

A line of fencing stretched toward cattle grazing beneath the late-afternoon sun.

Mabel climbed the steps.

Her legs trembled from exhaustion.

Behind her, the girls huddled together.

She knocked.

Nothing.

She knocked again.

Heavy footsteps crossed the floor.

The door opened.

Gideon Cross filled the doorway.

He was perhaps thirty-eight, maybe forty.

Tall.

Lean.

Broad through the shoulders.

Dark hair badly in need of cutting.

A scar ran from the edge of his left eyebrow toward his temple. His face had the weathered hardness of a man who spent more hours beneath open sky than beneath roofs.

His eyes were blue-gray.

Those eyes moved from Mabel to the girls.

Then back.

“What?”

Mabel nearly lost her nerve.

“My name is Mabel Harlo.”

Something changed in Gideon’s face.

Barely.

A tightening beside one eye.

She would remember it later.

At the time, she thought he was simply impatient.

“I was told you might need help around the house.”

“Who told you?”

“A man in town.”

“What man?”

“I don’t know his name.”

Gideon’s jaw moved.

Mabel continued quickly.

“I can clean. Cook. Sew. Mend clothes. I can work outdoors if needed. I don’t expect charity.”

His gaze dropped toward her hands.

The skin around her knuckles was cracked.

Then he studied the girls again.

“What are their names?”

“Charlotte. We call her Lottie. June. And Elsie.”

That strange expression crossed his face again.

This time he actually stepped backward.