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  Janice cycled wearily into town. Now that school was out for the summer and her teaching duties had been temporarily lifted, she ought to have more time for Betsy. She could write copy for the newspaper at home, or Betsy could come into the newspaper office when she worked in the copyediting. Mr. Averill didn't mind. He was grateful for all the help he could get now that his twins had grown up and moved away. Maybe they could even teach Betsy to do some of the work around the office, if it didn't involve too much physical labor.

  Tomorrow was Betsy's birthday. Ten years ago Janice hadn't thought of Betsy's birth as a time for rejoicing, but for every year the child had lived, it had become a matter of triumph. That first year had been dreadful. They'd had to move to Cutlerville, Ohio, where Janice's father could find work in the factory. Her mother had died that year, probably of heartbreak at leaving behind her neat cottage for the leaky hovel they'd had to take. Her sister Audrey had only been thirteen and virtually useless in helping with their younger brother, Douglas, and the infant. And then Betsy had caught that fever that had almost killed her.

  Janice shuddered and counted her blessings. She remembered the misery of that year for a purpose, as a lesson in what she would never suffer through again. It had taken her ten long years and a lot of miles to get where she was now, but they had a roof over their heads that didn't leak, friends to look out for them, and she had enough skills to work twenty-four hours a day if she so desired. Unfortunately, as a woman, she was woefully underpaid for all of them.

  She still seethed under the knowledge that the man teaching school in the next county was being paid three times what she was paid, and he had fewer students. Jason Harding was no longer on the school board, but when she had complained, he had given her the same answer the board had given her: a woman wasn't as good as a man. That was the same attitude they'd had back in that slave factory in Ohio that she'd escaped from. She had almost walked out on him right then and there, but she had needed the extra money she was paid acting as his secretary.

  Thank goodness she was too tired and too busy to stay angry for long. Leaving her cycle at the end of the board walk and polishing the dust off her gloves, Janice returned her skirts to the ground and walked toward the dry goods store. Betsy had been clamoring for an art set just like Melissa Harding's. Melissa's father could afford a hundred art sets and would gladly have bought one for Betsy, but Janice had taught the town a long time ago that she didn't take charity. She knew how to take care of herself.

  The salesclerk behind the counter greeted her cheerfully. Ellen Fairweather had been Janice's student just last year. Over the past winter, Ellen had managed to fall in love with one of Jason's ranch hands, get pregnant, and get married—in some sort of natural order. Janice felt just the slightest twinge of jealousy as Ellen complacently rested her hands on her enormous belly.

  "I've got the set all boxed and wrapped, Miss Harrison. Your sister doesn't suspect a thing. She was in here just yesterday kind of looking at it real sad like. It's a good thing I waited until now to wrap it."

  Janice tucked a few straying hairs into her tightly knotted hair and pulled her hat over them. She dusted off her twill skirt with her gloved hands, then removed her gloves to count the change from the purse in her pocket. "You'll be a good mama, Ellen. When's Bobby going to finish that house so you can sit down and get off your feet?"

  Ellen's smile disappeared for a minute, then bravely reappeared. "He's working on it, Miss Harrison. I'm feeling just fine. I wouldn't know what to do with myself f I sat down. I'm just proud that Mr. Holt lets me keep working."

  Mr. Holt only let her keep working because Janice had pressured Jason into telling him he had to. Now that Jason owned the bank that had belonged to his late wife, he'd become a voice of reason to Holt. The fact that Ellen's new husband was turning into a shiftless no-account drunk had made the decision to let her keep working imperative. Janice thought it extremely unfortunate that men were not only the root of all evil, but the root of all power too.

  "Well, you know anytime you need some help, you can all on me and Betsy. We haven't got any men tying us down." Janice laid the money on the counter, her smile disguising how much she meant the words.

  Ellen laughed. "Ain't that the truth of it? Why, Bobby would have a stroke if I tried to ride that cycle of yours. Sometimes I think you're the smartest woman in town no to have a man around."

  "Well, I imagine I'd have a stroke if you tried to ride that tricycle looking like you do right now," Janice answered, pulling her gloves back on. "You just take care of that baby, and I'll send Betsy in here tomorrow to thank you when she gets her gift."

  She was becoming very good at hiding her feelings Janice decided as she strode back to the street. She was all of twenty-five years old and hid a guilty secret that the entire town would be scandalized to know, but all anyone saw when they looked at her was an old maid of indeterminate age who judiciously took care of her youngest sister. They knew she had family back in Ohio. They knew she was a friend of the Hardings' step sister, Evie Monteigne, and that was how she had got her first job here. But that was all anyone knew. And they were partly wrong about that.

  She stopped at the drugstore to inquire about new medicines for Betsy's chronic condition, spent the last of her few coins on a bottle that the pharmacist said was guaranteed to restore weakened hearts, and rolled her tricycle home.

  Janice hid the gift first, then stripped off her gloves and the light cape she wore over her gown. Her one indulgence these days was in clothes. After all those years of scraping by in secondhand rags, she had bought a sewing machine on credit with her first decent paycheck.

  Jealousy wasn't a pretty emotion, but it had been a driving force in her determination to have decent clothes, for herself and her family. All those years working in a garment factory making clothes for other people while her sister, Audrey, worked in a rich man's department store selling them to people who treated her like dirt had eaten an acid hole through her insides.

  So now she earned those clothes her own way. That meant scrimping and saving and working every hour she wasn't asleep, but she was doing it. And now that Audrey was about to be married, and Daniel Mulloney was training her brother, Douglas, to run a newspaper, Janice didn't have to worry so much about sending her family in Ohio part of her wages. She and Betsy would be able to indulge themselves more frequently.

  They were living the all-American dream, raising themselves from rags through education and industrious labor—with a good helping hand from knowing the right people. Janice cut some slices off the ham hanging in the pantry and threw them in the skillet. She wasn't an optimistic fool. She knew she could be scrubbing floors right now if it weren't for friends like Daniel in Ohio who had helped her escape the clutches of the Mulloney monopoly.

  While the ham cooked, Janice started on the biscuits. At twenty-five, she knew more about life and people than most did at forty. There were those who probably thought she looked forty, if truth be told. She deliberately encouraged that idea with her choice of hairstyle and glasses. She certainly wouldn't get away with as much as she did in this town if they thought she was still a young woman.

  Even Jason Harding thought she was older. Now that his wife had been dead this past year or more, he'd been looking in her direction, and she wasn't discouraging him any, even if he probably pushed forty-five or better. She had decided a long time ago that she would marry any man who could give her the comforts she had so long been denied. He could be eighty, and she'd marry him. The security of money meant a great deal more than looks or age.

  Emotion played little part in her life, so love wasn't a factor to be considered. Janice had learned to use her petty jealousies and resentments as a productive force, but she didn't expect to feel anything beyond that except her love for Betsy, and even that was tainted by the circumstances of Betsy's birth. Emotions were irrelevant to surviving. She'd learned to cope, and she could cope much better if she had a wealthy husband.

&
nbsp; A wealthy, indulgent husband, Janice amended a moment later as she heard the sound of a carriage pulling up outside. She heard the shouts and cries of children saying farewell and the patter of Carmen Harding's expensive leather shoes on the porch. Jason's wife hadn't given him any children. It was Jason's younger brother, Kyle, and his wife, Carmen, who were providing the heirs to the Harding ranch. And Carmen had everything she could ever possibly want just for looking at it longingly.

  Still, Carmen remained as serene and unspoiled as she had been as a child. Betsy threw open the front door while Carmen Harding remained outside, knocking politely. "Janice? Are you home?" she called.

  "Come in, Carmen. You must be exhausted after looking after this crew all day. How's your uncle? Did the children listen to his lessons?" Janice wiped her hands on her apron and hugged Betsy.

  Carmen smiled. "Betsy listened and learned. Mine climbed trees in the orchard. Uncle James didn't mind."

  "Your uncle has to be the sweetest man I've ever known. I don't know how he has the patience to try to teach these wild Indians about art. All Betsy does is talk about him when she comes home from his lessons." 0f course, neither woman mentioned the fact that Betsy didn't have the strength to climb trees, so the lessons were all she could do while they visited.

  "Uncle James is a character. I'll grant him that." Carmen's smile hesitated as she glanced to an eager Betsy who jumped up and down as if anxious to say something.

  Carmen drew a deep breath and plunged in before the little girl could die of excitement. "As a matter of fact, he's wanting to visit Evie and Tyler this summer. You know how bad things are at the ranch, so Kyle can't leave, but Tyler's sending a private rail car so the rest of us can go. The children want Betsy to go with them. She wouldn't be any trouble at all, and Uncle James would be delighted to have her. He says she's quite talented. Please consider it, Janice."

  Janice went still. She didn't dare look Betsy in the face. The child was ten-years-old and no bigger than Carmen's six-year-old. The fair white skin for which Janice had received so many compliments was pale and shadowed on Betsy. Betsy's hair was a finer gold than Janice's, but it had been cropped short during a fever last winter. The tendrils surrounding her peaked face now made her look an ethereal fairy from some Shakespearean play. How could she let a child like that out of her sight for more than a few hours at a time?

  "You're welcome to come with us, Janice," Carmen murmured. "Jason can live without you for a few months, but she'll be just fine if you need to stay."

  Janice wasn't at all certain how to take those words. Was Carmen telling her to stay away from Jason? Or was she being just as honest and straightforward as she seemed? The latter seemed likely. Carmen no doubt thought Janice too old to consider courtship, or too much a spinster for her brother-in-law to be interested. She shouldn't look for undercurrents that weren't there.

  But Janice didn't think she could bear to be parted from Betsy for so long a time. Months, Carmen had said. Tyler and Evie lived in Natchez when they lived anywhere at all. That was hundreds of miles away. What if Betsy got sick? Who would see that she didn't overexert herself? Who would comb her hair in the mornings? And who would Janice have to talk to at night when that little bed in the corner was empty?

  With guilt at that thought, Janice looked down at the frail child all the world thought of as her sister and swallowed hard.

  Her one major mistake at the tender age of fifteen had given her a gift and a burden she could no longer live without. Janice was too intelligent to believe that was healthy for either of them.

  She smiled weakly at Betsy and looked back to Carmen. "We'll talk about it later," she murmured.

  Chapter 3

  Mulloney rode toward town through the shadows of the cottonwoods along a dry river bank. It was late. The moon had already reached its zenith and was on its downward path. He was tired, filthy, and numb from the journey. He'd only stopped to rest for the sake of his horse, and the animal was fairly dropping on its hooves. As much as he wanted to find the Double H, he would have to wait until morning.

  He found a secluded place just on the outskirts of town where a trickle still ran in the riverbed. At this hour, few lights gleamed in the windows of this town sprawled long the intersection of two roads. No doubt a hotel waited somewhere down that main street, but he was flat broke. It didn't matter. He was used to sleeping on the ground.

  He took his horse down to the water, brushed it down, and unpacked his saddlebags. He lit a small fire to make coffee and ground his teeth around some beef jerky to pretend he'd eaten. The night was more than warm, and he kicked out the fire, buried it in dust, and scattered the coals to let them cool. Then he strode off into the bushes to take a leak before settling down for the night.

  In the morning, he'd find some way of making himself respectable before heading for the Double H. He didn't know the Hardings, but his brother Daniel had given him their names as people he could rely on. People like that were rare, and he'd traveled a mighty distance to find them. He just hoped they were the sort who were willing to risk investing in a gold mine.

  Buttoning his denims, Mulloney glanced in the direction of a light flickering from a nearby window. He wondered what emergency kept anyone up at this hour. Fingering the two weeks growth of beard on his jaw, he almost turned and walked away until he saw a silhouette appear between the curtained window and the lamplight.

  He almost swallowed his tongue as he watched the silhouette drop the bodice of her gown and bend over what must be a basin of water. She moved with the grace of a sylph, supple as a willow as she swung a cascade of long hair over her head and dipped it into the water. Mulloney had to grab a branch overhead to keep from falling on his face. He knew it had been a long time since he'd had a woman, but he'd never strained his pants at the sight of a shadow before. He really must be in bad shape.

  What in hell was the damned woman doing washing her hair at this hour? He had half a mind to yell at her for her foolishness, but then he told himself he was being an idiot and tried to turn back to camp. He couldn't do it.

  He was fascinated by the sight of long slim arms scrubbing and lifting the thickest hair he'd ever had the pleasure of viewing. He wondered what color it was. He'd never watched a woman wash her hair before. He'd never imagined what an erotic show it could make. His pulse throbbed as she squeezed the tendrils dry and stood up shaking the long tresses over her shoulders. She had her back to the window, and he could see only the hourglass shape of curving hips and slender waist and supple back. He willed her to turn around.

  She lifted her hair with a comb or brush, he couldn't see which. The thin muslin curtains concealed too much. He almost convinced himself he was a pervert probably watching some old lady who couldn't sleep. Then she turned so her breasts were outlined against the flimsy material, and he felt his mouth go dry. She was perfect.

  High full breasts sloped down to a narrow rib cage his palms could almost feel. Thick hair flowed loose and easy past a slender waist to rounded buttocks. Hell, he'd hold her if she were eighty. He would bury himself inside her if she were purple with pink spots. He didn't care what the hell she looked like as long as she had a body like that.

  The lamp in the window went out and he cursed. She must be sitting there brushing her hair in the dark. He wondered if she could use a little help. As exhausted as he was, he wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the night after that little show.

  He ought to know better by now. Unless she was a whore, she wasn't available. He'd had his fill of whores for the moment. Catalina had been the last of a whole string of them. He didn't need the grief. Maybe when he was rich, he'd go back East and find himself a fashionable young lady and sweep her off her feet. Until then, he was better off tending to himself.

  Loins aching, he curled into his bedroll. As he suspected, sleep eluded him. He wished there was enough water in the river to douse himself, but he suspected he'd need more water than it took to douse a major fire before he coole
d off. He wasn't sure he would survive long enough to make a fortune and go back East to find a willing woman. He wanted one right now.

  He'd denied himself a great deal over these last years. Maybe he denied himself unnecessarily now. There had to be women out here somewhere who needed a man as much as he needed a woman. He just needed to find one who wasn't a whore.

  Peter dozed briefly until a whicker from his horse made him push back to wakefulness. That's when he smelled the smoke.

  * * *

  Janice pulled her comb through a tangle of hair, wincing as she worked it out. The task of washing and combing her hair had soothed her, but not enough to make her face that empty bedroom. Even now, with the lights out and the whole world asleep, the little house echoed of silence. She kept listening for Betsy's breathing.

  She had spent ten years listening for Betsy's breathing. In that first year she'd been terrified every time she couldn't hear it, certain death had come to steal her away. She had slept with the baby in her bed so she could reach out and touch her chest and reassure herself every time she heard the silence. And when she knew the infant was all right, she would weep herself to sleep, ashamed because she had almost wished the child had died.

  There had been times since then when the burden of living had become so grueling and painful that she had wished the angels would carry Betsy to a better place, but those times were long past. From that terrified, guilt-ridden fifteen-year-old, she had grown into a woman who knew her own strengths and weaknesses and used them to her advantage. Betsy was her biggest weakness and her greatest strength. For her child, Janice would and could do anything. Should the world discover that Betsy was actually her bastard and not her sister, her reputation would be shredded and her means of earning a living lost. She would be forced to turn to prostitution to stay alive—the only suitable occupation for a fallen woman like herself.