Chapter One

March 22, 1889

Exhausted from pulling a calf and disheartened because he'd lost the heifer, Joseph Paxton rubbed the heel of his Justin boot on a clump of grass to rid it of barnyard muck, then reached into his shirt pocket for a pack of Crosscuts. Damn, but he was tired. Under the best of circumstances, hanging and skinning a beef wasn't his favorite task, but it had been a downright dismal undertaking today, every flick of the knife blade reminding him that the Grim Reaper had won another battle. Over the next week, he would be hard-pressed to cut up and preserve the meat. There weren't enough hours in the day as it was.

That was the way of it when a man started his own cattle operation. Days were long, nights were short, and come hell, high water, or Election Day, good meat couldn't be left to spoil. Joseph hoped things would be easier next spring. This year's heifers would be seasoned mothers by then and less likely to have trouble dropping their calves. He would also have the proceeds from the fall cattle auction in his bank account, enabling him to hire more help. As it was he had only two wranglers on the payroll, and both of them had already drawn their week's pay, left for town, and wouldn't be back until Sunday night.

Leaning against a fence post just outside the barn, Joseph struck a Lucifer on the side seam of his Levi's, cupped his hands around the flame to block the wind, and sighed in contentment as he lighted a cigarette. Buddy, his two-year-old sheepdog, brought to Joseph by his mother via stagecoach from San Francisco, flopped down beside him. The breed, which was longhaired, compact, agile, and highly intelligent, had, according to Dory Paxton, first been introduced to California by Basque sheepherders and had quickly become popular as cattle dogs as well.

Mindful of the fact that the animal had put in a hard day, Joseph fished some jerky from his hip pocket. Intelligent amber eyes filled with expectation, Buddy caught the offering in midair, swallowed without chewing, and then pushed to a sitting position to beg for more. Not for the first time, Joseph marveled at how pretty the canine had become, the white markings on his nose, chest, belly, and feet striking a sharp contrast to his thick red-gold fur. Judging by pictures Joseph had seen, the dog most closely resembled an English collie, the exceptions being that his coloring was different, his nose shorter and less pointed, his body a bit smaller. No matter. All Joseph cared about were results, and the dog could flat herd anything, cows mainly but sometimes even chickens.

"That's all I've got on me, you shameless glutton. You'll get nothing more until we call it a day."

Joseph fleetingly wished that he could eat supper in town as he normally did on Friday night, but with calving time fully upon him, he couldn't leave the ranch for fear another heifer might go into labor.

"There'll be no tasty meal for us at Roxie's place tonight, if that's what you're hoping," he informed the dog. "It'll be warmed-up beans and cornbread, and it's lucky we'll be to have that."

At mention of the pretty restaurant owner, Buddy's ears perked up, and Joseph could have sworn the dog grinned.

"You'd best watch your step with that lady," Joseph warned. "All that special grub, and her lightin' up the way she does when we walk in?" He shook his head. "Not many restaurant owners save scraps for a dog and let him eat off a plate in front of the paying customers. Could be she's thinking the way to our hearts is through our stomachs."

Buddy worked his jaws, making a low, growling noise that sounded a lot like talking. So far Joseph hadn't been able to make out any actual words, but he was glad of the dog's responses. Otherwise, he might be accused of talking to himself, and only a crazy man did that.

"Mark my words, that woman has marriage on her mind. Many a confirmed bachelor has met his waterloo over a supper plate." Joseph narrowed an eye at the shepherd. "Chances are she doesn't even like dogs. Females can be treacherous creatures, pretending to be sweet when they're actually not. If she has her way, you could end up sleeping in a drafty doghouse with naught but a bare bone for company."

Buddy whined, dropped to his belly, and crossed his white paws over his eyes. Over the last few months, the dog had become quite a ham, somehow taking his cues from Joseph's tone of voice. His repertoire of acts included sitting up with his front paws held together in prayer, playing dead, rolling over, and lying down with his eyes covered to convey abject misery or dread.

Joseph chuckled and turned to study his newly constructed house, which sat about a hundred yards away. Roxie would undoubtedly insist upon painting the clapboard siding, and she'd want to pretty it up on the inside as well with lacy curtains, braided rugs, knickknacks, and all manner of other nonsense. No how, no way. She was a pretty lady, but Joseph wanted no part of locking down with one woman for the rest of his natural life. Just the thought made the bottoms of his feet itch. He liked things fine the way they were, with only him and Buddy calling the shots.

"Maybe it's just as well that calving season has come on so hard and fast. It'll give Roxie a chance to set her sights on someone else."

Gazing across his ranch, Joseph wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to the fact that it belonged to him. He'd purchased the place only last August. Two full sections of rolling pastureland stretched out on all sides almost as far as he could see, giving him the feeling that he owned the whole world. In truth, the Bar H, better known as the Hollister ranch, lay to the north, and just south of the house was the boundary line of the Circle Star, Patrick O'Shannessy's place. Still, Joseph had plenty of elbow room with the sparsely forested foothills of the Rockies on the western horizon providing limitless open range. A man could saddle up his horse and ride for days without seeing another soul. Joseph had called the ranch Eden after his younger sister, but the name would have been fitting regardless. Finally having his own spread was his definition of paradise.

In the beginning, Joseph hadn't been sure if he could adjust to living alone. He'd spent nearly his whole life surrounded by family, a loving mother, an infuriating and spoiled little sister, and three brothers, one his elder, the other two younger than him by a couple of years. Before settling in here, he'd never come home of an evening to an empty house, let alone passed the night without hearing another human voice.

It had been difficult at first, but with Buddy to keep him company, Joseph had grown used to the solitude after a time. When he hankered for conversation, he could always visit with his hired hands, Bart and Johnny, in the bunkhouse or ride over to his brother Ace's ranch, only a short distance away. Joseph's two younger brothers, David and Esa, still lived there with Ace and his wife, Caitlin, who always seemed pleased to see Joseph when he dropped in for a cup of coffee. Joseph tried to go as often as possible. His nephew, Little Ace, was fourteen months old now and growing like a weed. Since Joseph had no plans to marry and have a family of his own, he wanted to enjoy his brother's children as much as possible.

In his peripheral vision, Joseph caught movement and pushed wind-tossed strands of blond hair from his eyes to get a better look. A horse and rider were slowly approaching. Tossing down the cigarette and grinding it out under the heel of his boot, he pushed away from the fence post and unfastened the holster strap of his Colt .45. Not that he expected trouble. He'd just learned the hard way at a very young age that a smart man always made ready to defend himself when strangers approached.

Sensing Joseph's sudden wariness, Buddy bounded to his feet, sniffed the air, and let loose with a low growl.

Copyright © 2006 by Adeline Catherine Anderson