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Authors: Jodi Thomas
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her sleep. He knew the pains sometimes came late in the night.
He frowned. If he planned to talk her into marrying him, he’d have his work cut out for him. She was dead set
against it, and he didn’t have a clue how to court a woman. He thought about the day and decided he probably
didn’t get off to a very good start. She’d done everything to discourage him except shoot at him.
But on the bright side, she was stil speaking to him, and she did let him sleep in her barn.
He covered his face with his hat. “Hel ,” he swore to himself. “I should have kissed her on the lips, not the
forehead.” If he wanted her to think of him as husband material, he had to stop treating her like she was still a
kid.
One thing he knew for certain, he decided as he remembered the lace covering her breasts. She was no longer a
kid.
CHAPTER 7
AS ALWAYS, NELL SLEPT SOUNDLY FOR A FEW HOURS, then awoke when she attempted to rol over. Next she
spent an hour trying to get comfortable again. Moving pillows. Adjusting covers. Listening to the clock tick away
the night. She hated the darkness when she hardly slept, and when she did, the old nightmare returned to
frighten her once more.
The dream started out the same as every night. She was driving a borrowed buggy on a rough road. Her
thoughts were ful of worry about her three dear friends. They were being threatened by an old buffalo hunter
who thought they’d stolen his gold. She held the reins easy between her fingers as she planned how to help
them. One of them was safe in town, another hidden away. Bailee would be the easiest to get to on her farm
outside of town. Nell pushed hard, wanting to get to her friend as fast as possible.
Then, without warning, shots rang from nowhere. For a moment, she thought someone must be target shooting
or hunting. Suddenly, bul ets pinged against the buggy, spooking the horse. Frantical y, she tried to drive as it
rained bullets. She ignored the first sting on her arm. One more plowed into her back a second before the horse
missed a curve in the road. Then, she was tumbling . . .
Nel always woke before the tumbling stopped. She had a fear that if she didn’t, she’d die.
She struggled through the rest of the night, losing the battle to sleep more often than not. Lying in the darkness
before dawn, she tried to ignore the pain. Sometimes she played a game. She’d pretend that the ambush never
happened and there was no bul et lodged in her back. In her mind, she’d jump from the bed and run across the
room to open the huge bay windows. Curling up in a blanket, she’d sit on the sil while she watched the sun rise.
With her feet ice cold, Nel would dart down to the kitchen and make hot tea.
Once the water boiled, she’d snuggle against the cooking hearth, like she had a hundred times in boarding
school, her legs curled beneath her, while she warmed and listened to the house awaken. She’d hear Marla up
dressing, getting ready to start the bread, and Gypsy snoring away in the room beyond the back porch.
Nell loved everything about the morning. The steamy water she saw herself hauling upstairs for her morning
bath. The smell of breakfast. The way houses creaked with age as they warmed to the day.
Fighting tears, she returned to reality. She couldn’t watch the dawn, and there would be no hot tea until
someone remembered to bring it to her.
Nell pulled herself up as the night turned from black to gray. She wanted to be fully awake to face the day, like
an old warrior preparing for battle. A tiny part of her believed that if she didn’t stand ready at dawn, she’d miss
a whole day of her life. The fear might have been born that first month after she’d been shot, when al hours
blended in pain. Each time she could get her thoughts together enough to speak, she asked the same question,
“What day is it?”
Those around her always seemed to pick a day at random, for when she closed her eyes for only
He frowned. If he planned to talk her into marrying him, he’d have his work cut out for him. She was dead set
against it, and he didn’t have a clue how to court a woman. He thought about the day and decided he probably
didn’t get off to a very good start. She’d done everything to discourage him except shoot at him.
But on the bright side, she was stil speaking to him, and she did let him sleep in her barn.
He covered his face with his hat. “Hel ,” he swore to himself. “I should have kissed her on the lips, not the
forehead.” If he wanted her to think of him as husband material, he had to stop treating her like she was still a
kid.
One thing he knew for certain, he decided as he remembered the lace covering her breasts. She was no longer a
kid.
CHAPTER 7
AS ALWAYS, NELL SLEPT SOUNDLY FOR A FEW HOURS, then awoke when she attempted to rol over. Next she
spent an hour trying to get comfortable again. Moving pillows. Adjusting covers. Listening to the clock tick away
the night. She hated the darkness when she hardly slept, and when she did, the old nightmare returned to
frighten her once more.
The dream started out the same as every night. She was driving a borrowed buggy on a rough road. Her
thoughts were ful of worry about her three dear friends. They were being threatened by an old buffalo hunter
who thought they’d stolen his gold. She held the reins easy between her fingers as she planned how to help
them. One of them was safe in town, another hidden away. Bailee would be the easiest to get to on her farm
outside of town. Nell pushed hard, wanting to get to her friend as fast as possible.
Then, without warning, shots rang from nowhere. For a moment, she thought someone must be target shooting
or hunting. Suddenly, bul ets pinged against the buggy, spooking the horse. Frantical y, she tried to drive as it
rained bullets. She ignored the first sting on her arm. One more plowed into her back a second before the horse
missed a curve in the road. Then, she was tumbling . . .
Nel always woke before the tumbling stopped. She had a fear that if she didn’t, she’d die.
She struggled through the rest of the night, losing the battle to sleep more often than not. Lying in the darkness
before dawn, she tried to ignore the pain. Sometimes she played a game. She’d pretend that the ambush never
happened and there was no bul et lodged in her back. In her mind, she’d jump from the bed and run across the
room to open the huge bay windows. Curling up in a blanket, she’d sit on the sil while she watched the sun rise.
With her feet ice cold, Nel would dart down to the kitchen and make hot tea.
Once the water boiled, she’d snuggle against the cooking hearth, like she had a hundred times in boarding
school, her legs curled beneath her, while she warmed and listened to the house awaken. She’d hear Marla up
dressing, getting ready to start the bread, and Gypsy snoring away in the room beyond the back porch.
Nell loved everything about the morning. The steamy water she saw herself hauling upstairs for her morning
bath. The smell of breakfast. The way houses creaked with age as they warmed to the day.
Fighting tears, she returned to reality. She couldn’t watch the dawn, and there would be no hot tea until
someone remembered to bring it to her.
Nell pulled herself up as the night turned from black to gray. She wanted to be fully awake to face the day, like
an old warrior preparing for battle. A tiny part of her believed that if she didn’t stand ready at dawn, she’d miss
a whole day of her life. The fear might have been born that first month after she’d been shot, when al hours
blended in pain. Each time she could get her thoughts together enough to speak, she asked the same question,
“What day is it?”
Those around her always seemed to pick a day at random, for when she closed her eyes for only
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