relief.
"Now—" Miriam turned from the stove, her black-and-brown print calico skirt waving around her ankles with her quick, bustling step. Her blue eyes were alight with curiosity, but she sat gracefully and deliberately, pulling her skirts around her, smoothing back tendrils of her pale blond hair. "Now, you did promise to tell me everything."
"There isn't much to tell."
"Fiddle!" Miriam leaned over the table and pulled aside the fading blue gingham curtain, and Sari felt a quick stab of relief that Conor had already fixed the shattered glass. That relief faded the minute she saw how Miriam's pretty, fragile features tightened as she scrutinized Conor, who was standing in the yard with John and Charles. "There's a mysterious man staying with you and your uncle, and you tell me he's not important. I don't believe you." Miriam frowned and let the curtain drop back into place. "And not just any man, Sari. Why, he's so handsome—almost as handsome as my John—and he came all the way to Colorado to check on his friend's wife," Miriam said. She peeked again out the window. "I think he came out here to sweep you off your feet."
"I don't think so," Sari said drily.
Miriam's small smile was secretive. "Perhaps he has and you don't know it yet. What did you say he does?"
Sari's hands tightened around her cup. The smell of coffee made her head ache. There was nothing about Conor that Sari wanted her best friend to know. Colorado was her chance to start over, the last thing she wanted was for anyone to know about her past. She had not told Miriam much about her life, preferring the lie of silence to bald dishonesty, preferring the simple illusion that she was a widow who had been deeply in love with her husband. She wanted people to think she was what she wanted to be.
Sari let her gaze wander again to the window. Conor and Charles stood in the yard, beneath the flanges of the windmill, deep in conversation with Miriam's husband. Though John Graham was a vibrant, darkly handsome man, Sari was sharply aware of how Conor, though not as tall or as broad as John, seemed to dominate him. Then Conor laughed. Sari's heart tightened at the sight of it, at the way his face crinkled in genuine mirth, at the long creases of dimples forming on either side of his face. He used to laugh often and irresistibly, she remembered, but it seemed as if she hadn't seen that side of him in a very long time.
She tamped down the longing that welled up at the thought and turned away, forcing herself to remember that he was a brutal, uncompromising man. But there was something about his eyes, something that brought back those vibrant memories, that pulled at her even through her anger.
"You're too quiet," Miriam said suddenly. "You're trying to decide how much to tell me, I can feel it. Well, it won't work. You must tell me everything."
Sari forced a smile. "I have told you everything, Miri. He used to work for the railroads, that's all I know." That at least wasn't a lie. After all, it had been the president of the Reading Railroad who'd hired Pinkerton to quash the Mollies. "I told you he and Evan were friends."
Miriam looked down at the table; Sari watched suspiciously as her friend traced the patterns of the stains marring the tablecloth with a slender, callused finger. "How long is he staying?"
Sari sighed. "Not long, Miri. Don't get any ideas— I can see you matchmaking already."
Miriam's head flew up. "Well, of course I am! You've been here nearly a year, and you haven't shown the slightest interest in anyone. I can't believe you mean to stay alone. Why, without John, I'd surely die of loneliness."
"I've got Onkle ." Sari protested. "I'm not alone."
"That's not what I mean and you know it," Miriam persisted. "You wouldn't look twice at Michael Dunn at the Grange harvest festival. Sari, you wouldn't even dance with anyone but John and old Will Schmacher. Two married men—"
"I prefer things the way they are."
"That's nonsense," Miriam
"Now—" Miriam turned from the stove, her black-and-brown print calico skirt waving around her ankles with her quick, bustling step. Her blue eyes were alight with curiosity, but she sat gracefully and deliberately, pulling her skirts around her, smoothing back tendrils of her pale blond hair. "Now, you did promise to tell me everything."
"There isn't much to tell."
"Fiddle!" Miriam leaned over the table and pulled aside the fading blue gingham curtain, and Sari felt a quick stab of relief that Conor had already fixed the shattered glass. That relief faded the minute she saw how Miriam's pretty, fragile features tightened as she scrutinized Conor, who was standing in the yard with John and Charles. "There's a mysterious man staying with you and your uncle, and you tell me he's not important. I don't believe you." Miriam frowned and let the curtain drop back into place. "And not just any man, Sari. Why, he's so handsome—almost as handsome as my John—and he came all the way to Colorado to check on his friend's wife," Miriam said. She peeked again out the window. "I think he came out here to sweep you off your feet."
"I don't think so," Sari said drily.
Miriam's small smile was secretive. "Perhaps he has and you don't know it yet. What did you say he does?"
Sari's hands tightened around her cup. The smell of coffee made her head ache. There was nothing about Conor that Sari wanted her best friend to know. Colorado was her chance to start over, the last thing she wanted was for anyone to know about her past. She had not told Miriam much about her life, preferring the lie of silence to bald dishonesty, preferring the simple illusion that she was a widow who had been deeply in love with her husband. She wanted people to think she was what she wanted to be.
Sari let her gaze wander again to the window. Conor and Charles stood in the yard, beneath the flanges of the windmill, deep in conversation with Miriam's husband. Though John Graham was a vibrant, darkly handsome man, Sari was sharply aware of how Conor, though not as tall or as broad as John, seemed to dominate him. Then Conor laughed. Sari's heart tightened at the sight of it, at the way his face crinkled in genuine mirth, at the long creases of dimples forming on either side of his face. He used to laugh often and irresistibly, she remembered, but it seemed as if she hadn't seen that side of him in a very long time.
She tamped down the longing that welled up at the thought and turned away, forcing herself to remember that he was a brutal, uncompromising man. But there was something about his eyes, something that brought back those vibrant memories, that pulled at her even through her anger.
"You're too quiet," Miriam said suddenly. "You're trying to decide how much to tell me, I can feel it. Well, it won't work. You must tell me everything."
Sari forced a smile. "I have told you everything, Miri. He used to work for the railroads, that's all I know." That at least wasn't a lie. After all, it had been the president of the Reading Railroad who'd hired Pinkerton to quash the Mollies. "I told you he and Evan were friends."
Miriam looked down at the table; Sari watched suspiciously as her friend traced the patterns of the stains marring the tablecloth with a slender, callused finger. "How long is he staying?"
Sari sighed. "Not long, Miri. Don't get any ideas— I can see you matchmaking already."
Miriam's head flew up. "Well, of course I am! You've been here nearly a year, and you haven't shown the slightest interest in anyone. I can't believe you mean to stay alone. Why, without John, I'd surely die of loneliness."
"I've got Onkle ." Sari protested. "I'm not alone."
"That's not what I mean and you know it," Miriam persisted. "You wouldn't look twice at Michael Dunn at the Grange harvest festival. Sari, you wouldn't even dance with anyone but John and old Will Schmacher. Two married men—"
"I prefer things the way they are."
"That's nonsense," Miriam
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