Why did the richest giant rancher in Cedar Ridge walk past the beautiful sister every man wanted and stop in front of the woman nobody had come to dance with? The fiddle faltered as Matthew Hail crossed the crowded hall. Rachel froze beside the coffee table, flour dusting her cuff. He passed Lillian without a glance, stopped before Rachel, and held out his enormous hand.
Every whisper died. What did he know that the whole town had missed? By the time Matthew Hail stepped through the doors of the Cedar Ridge meeting hall, Rachel Hart had coffee on her cuff, flour near her elbow, and no reason in the world to think the biggest man in Wyoming Territory had come looking for her. She was replacing an empty pot at the supper table when the room changed.
Not stopped exactly. The fiddle kept scraping through a lively reel. Boots still struck the plank floor. Somebody near the stove laughed too loudly at something that probably wasn't funny.
But heads turned. Rachel noticed because Lillian stopped talking. That alone was enough to make her look up. Her younger sister stood near the center of the hall beneath two kerosene lamps, wearing the pale blue dress George Hart had ordered from Cheyenne the previous fall.
It fit Lillian beautifully. Nearly everything did. Her dark blonde hair had been pinned high with two careful curls beside her cheeks, and three young men had spent most of the evening finding excuses to stand within speaking distance of her. Now none of them were looking at Lillian.
They were looking toward the door. Matthew Hail had to duck slightly beneath the frame. Rachel had heard people call him the giant of High Mesa, usually after enough whiskey had been poured that they felt safe saying it. Seeing him indoors made the nickname seem less foolish.
He was not merely tall. He was built on a scale that made the other ranchers in the room look unfinished. His black Sunday coat pulled across broad shoulders, and even without his hat, which he held at his side, he stood above nearly every man there. His brown hair still carried a little dampness from the cold outside.
He paused inside the doorway. Someone slapped him on the shoulder. Matthew nodded. Another man offered his hand.
Matthew shook it. Then his eyes moved across the room. Rachel turned back to the coffee. She had learned long ago that there was no sense staring at a man who had come to look at Lillian.
"Rachel."
Her father's voice came from behind her. She shifted the hot pot before answering. "What?"
George Hart wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Lillian. "Is that the fresh coffee?"
"Made ten minutes ago."
"Good." He brushed past Rachel and reached his younger daughter. "Lillian."
Lillian leaned closer. George spoke quietly, but Rachel was only a few feet away. "Straighten your dress."
Lillian glanced down. "Pa, there's nothing wrong with it."
"Then straighten it anyway."
Lillian's eyes flicked toward Matthew Hail. Understanding appeared immediately. "Oh." George lowered his voice further.
"Don't stand there surrounded by those boys. Makes it look like a man has to wait his turn."
Lillian almost smiled. Rachel set down the coffee pot a little harder than she intended. The lid rattled.
George looked over. "Careful with that."
"I've got it."
He turned back to Lillian. Rachel picked up a rag and wiped the dark spot spreading across the white tablecloth. Outside, wind pushed against the building.
April had arrived on the calendar, but Wyoming had not agreed to it yet. Dirty snow still clung beneath the cottonwoods along Cedar Creek, and the road into town had been mud from fence line to fence line. Rachel had spent 20 minutes scraping it from her boots before coming inside. Lillian somehow had none on hers.
That was Lillian. Mud seemed to understand when it wasn't welcome.
"Evening, Miss Hart."
Rachel looked up. Thomas Bell stood on the other side of the table holding an empty tin cup.
"Coffee, if you don't mind."
"I've been pouring it for half the county. One more won't kill me."
He smiled. Thomas had danced with Lillian twice already. Rachel poured.
He added sugar, then glanced toward the center of the room. "You reckon Hail really means to do it tonight?"
Rachel wiped the rim of the pot. "Do what?"
Thomas gave her a look. "You haven't heard?"
"I've been here since four helping Mrs. Ward with supper."
"Folks are saying Hail's finally looking for a wife."
"Folks say a great many things when winter gets too long."
Thomas chuckled. Then his voice dropped. "Your pa's been telling people Matthew's taken an interest."
Rachel's hand stopped for half a second. "In the farm?"
Thomas's eyebrows rose. Then Rachel understood. She wished she hadn't asked.