Chapter One

      Cimarron, New Mexico territory, 1875

      A gust of wind rattled the window of the small room, its cool draft sliding inside to brush against Katlyn McLain’s neck. She shivered, drawing her thin woolen shawl a little more tightly around her as she bent over the bed to look again at the woman lying there.

      In the wavering lamplight, stripped of her glitter and paint, Penelope Rose seemed small and faded. Katlyn touched her mother’s face, then tucked the blanket more snugly around her. Even without the doctor’s grim news, she had known her mother was ill. Her pale thinness, the dullness of her penny-bright hair, the droop of her shoulders all betrayed Penelope’s sparkling facade.

      Katlyn dropped back down onto the wooden chair she’d pulled close to the bed, feeling a little pale herself.

      She hadn’t slept since she’d arrived hours ago in Cimarron, cold, wet, aching, and half carrying Penelope, with nothing between them but the clothes on their backs.

      A tap at the door brought Katlyn to her feet again. Before she could move to answer it, the owner of the boardinghouse, Mrs. Donaldson, pushed open the door and came inside. She put the tray she carried on the dresser top and then looked sternly at Katlyn.

      That expression made Katlyn want to laugh. A thin little sparrow of a woman, Elspeth Donaldson appeared meek—until she spoke and a rich Scottish burr rolled out. “Now, lass, I’ve brought you some tea, and a wee bit of that stew I had left from supper. You won’t be doin’ your ma any good by starvin’ yourself.”

      “Thank you,” Katlyn said, smiling a little at Mrs. Donaldson’s fussing. “I am hungry. But I—”

      “I won’t be hearin’ any more about you payin’ me,” Mrs. Donaldson said, giving Katlyn one of her daunting stares. “You just eat that. I know you’re hungry, walkin’ all that way after such a terrible experience. You’re a brave lass, and there’s no one can say different.”

      Katlyn wanted to say she felt anything but brave.