Her son’s eyes grew wider, his face paler, with each word. “Mr. Ponsonby isn’t like that.”
A man who threw sticks into mud pots, just to see what might happen, probably wasn’t the sort to protect other parts of nature. Mrs. Tremaine must have thought the same, for she rose and patted her son’s shoulder. “You leave Mr. Ponsonby to me. Have you finished your chores?”
His sigh was heavy. “Yes. I helped Annie empty the chamber pots, scrubbed the kitchen floor, and cleaned out the north fireplace.”
That was a lot of work for one morning, especially for a boy his size. His mother merely nodded. “Thank you. I expect Alberta could use some help chopping wood.”
He made a face. “Alberta always needs help chopping wood. I want to build my fort.”
The yearning in the boy’s voice pulled at Will. His mother too, for she sighed. “Later, Danny. There’s a lot of work to be done, and we have guests.”
He glanced up at Will. “Another one?”
He could almost feel the weight on the child. He knew the feeling. He’d had to care for a mother grown weary from work after his father had died in the Civil War. How many times had he glanced out the window, at other boys playing? He’d run off to join the military as soon as he was old enough. Wasn’t the last time he’d think only of himself. Not anymore.
He saluted the boy. “Lieutenant Prescott, reporting for duty, sir.”
The boy giggled, a sweet sound he thought his mother could do with hearing more often by the way she smiled.
“I’m not a sir,” Danny said. “Mama is.”
He could well believe Mrs. Tremaine warranted a salute as well as she turned his way, face coloring. “I think your business here is done, Lieutenant.”
He ought to agree. He’d been riding by when he’d spotted Ponsonby out among the paint pots. The rest of his men were setting up their tents in the next meadow. He never liked it when he couldn’t see them, though this batch was handpicked and ought to be trustworthy. But an audacious idea had presented itself. He shouldn’t trust it either, but it might help them both.
“I heard a rumor about the blackberry pie at this establishment,” he said. “I’d be neglecting my duty if I didn’t try a slice.”
“Our cook Alberta makes good pie,” Danny agreed. He tugged on his mother’s arm. “We should give him a piece. He’s sort of a guest.”
Mrs. Tremaine readjusted the rifle under her arm. He’d have given a lot to know what was going on in her mind as she glanced from him to her son and back again.
“Go tell Alberta to cut a slice,” she finally told the boy.
His eyes lit. “A big slice?”
Her mouth turned up. “A big slice.”
“For me too?”
She laughed. “For you too. But you must save me a bite.”
“Deal.” He turned and ran for the hotel.
Kate Tremaine leveled her gaze on Will again, deadlier than the rifle she’d pointed at him earlier. “All right, Lieutenant. What do you want?”
He’d never been known for charm, but he had to try.
“You obviously care about this park,” he told her, “or you wouldn’t have come after me. If I’m to protect this part of Yellowstone, I need a guide.”
“Plenty of men will hire on for that,” she allowed. “I could recommend some.”
“I’m not authorized to hire anyone,” Will explained. “I need a volunteer.”
She shook her head. “With winter coming soon? No one has time to work for free.”
“What about pay in kind?” he pressed. “I do a favor for them, they do a favor for me.”
She wiggled her lips a moment. “Most men out here don’t much approve of favors. That’s why they came West—for the independence.”
Most men, but maybe not one woman. “But you have a hotel that must need work,” he said. “As you said, winter’s coming.”
She bristled. He held her gaze, willing her to realize the truth of his statement. If she let him help, her son could be a boy again, and Will might find a little peace. The good Lord knew he needed that.
He stuck out his hand. “Deal?”
She stared at it, mouth once more working. He could almost feel the pride, distrust, and need colliding inside her. Finally, she took his hand, and her touch ricocheted up his arm to his heart.
“Deal,” she said.
And Will could only wonder what he’d just gotten himself into.
Regina Scott started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t sell her first novel until she learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages including Dutch, German, Italian, and Portuguese. She now has more than forty-five published works of warm, witty romance.
She credits her late father for instilling in her a love for the wilderness and our national parks. She has toured the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Crater Lake, Yosemite, the Olympics, and the Redwoods and currently lives forty-five minutes from the gates of Mt. Rainier with her husband of thirty years.
Regina Scott has dressed as a Regency dandy, driven four-in-hand, learned to fence, and sailed on a tall ship, all in the name of research, of course. Learn more about her at her website at www.reginascott.com.
www.reginascott.com
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Table of Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
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Sneak Peek of Book 2 in the Series
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
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