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“Did I say anything to upset you?” Mr. Colton leaned an inch toward her.

Catching his gaze again, she smiled. A real one this time. “No. Not at all. I appreciate your honesty. I’m just weary.”

“I’m sure the trip was exhausting. Mrs. Goodman will have your room all ready for you when we get there, and you can have a day or two to get settled and rest.”

“Thank you.”

He leaned forward then and placed his elbows on his knees as he drove the wagon.

The gesture to give her a bit of space was nice, or maybe he just needed to stretch out his back. Either way, she appreciated the quiet. They both seemed content to ride along in silence.

As the wagon moved down the rough road, Lillian tried to focus on the luscious, green rolling hills, the scrub oak and other trees that dotted the landscape. Wild flowers dotted the side of the road in hues of orange and yellow. The sky was
turning a pretty pink and purple as the sun began to set behind them. Maybe if she just shut her eyes for a moment and relaxed . . .

She could wait till tomorrow to think about all that had transpired today.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

D
on’t you hurt my mama!”

Jimmy bolted up in bed, his limbs shaking with the memory of the dream. With tentative movements, he placed his feet on the floor and headed to Papa’s room, but he wasn’t in there. That’s right, he’d gone to town to pick up someone.

Heading to the kitchen instead, the smell of cookies drew him and reminded him of good memories and settled his nervous stomach. Mrs. Goodman made the best cookies. His favorites were when she broke up little pieces of chocolate and added them to the dough.

He pulled out a chair, the scraping noise making their housekeeper turn around.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” She poured him a glass of milk. “Nightmare?”

Jimmy nodded.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head hard.

She looked at him and nodded. “I admire the strong, silent type. And I think I’ve got a cure for those bad dreams. How about a fresh cookie or two to go with your milk?”

He nodded again. Mrs. Goodman was old with glasses on her nose and white hair. Like a grandma. But she always understood. Even without his words.

She placed a plate of cookies in front of him and turned back to the stove. “I’m sure your pa will be back soon. Then you’ll get to meet Miss Porter. She’s coming just for you, Jimmy, and she sounds like such a nice lady.”

He reached for a cookie as a shiver traveled up his spine. It only meant there was one more person the bad man could hurt. Jimmy hadn’t seen him since that day, but he knew the dirty killer would come back. ’Cause he’d been looking for something and said he would stop at nothing to find it. Another tremor made him slosh his milk against the plate of cookies. He ducked his head. If only he were bigger. Stronger.

Mrs. Goodman didn’t scold him. She didn’t even say a word, just cleaned up the milk with the towel from her shoulder.

Tears burned his eyes. He wanted to cry. More than that, he wanted his mama. She would hold him as he cried and tell him it would all be good.

Maybe he should tell Papa everything. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold it in. The nightmares came every night. He tried to hide it from Papa and Mrs. Goodman, but they knew.

He took another cookie. The sweet chocolate melted on his tongue.

But if he went to Papa, what would happen?

Jimmy swallowed the cookie and drank his milk. As he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, he knew he could never talk.

The bad man had warned him. Not one word.

Or everyone would die. Just like his mama.

Darkness surrounded him as Woody steered the team under the arch that welcomed him home. Memories washed over him of better, happier days. He shook his head. Forward. He needed to look forward.

He shifted in his seat and focused on the house, trying not to disturb Miss Porter. The dead weight of her head on his shoulder made his arm go numb, while something on her fancy hat poked him in the neck. She’d fallen asleep a good while earlier; he wasn’t sure when. But she’d almost fallen off the wagon, and he’d pulled her back. He’d been caught up in his own thoughts. Wondering what she thought of him, and if she was scared half out of her wits to be working for him.

Thoughts of little Jimmy crossed his mind. A smile tugged at his lips. This was what his son needed. He would talk again, and they could heal. He pulled up in front of the massive porch, set the brake, and then tapped Miss Porter on the shoulder.

She didn’t budge.

He leaned his head down. “Miss Porter?” and tapped again.

“Yes?” She jerked up straight, her hat askew. “I’m sorry. Are we here?”

With a nod, Woody climbed down and reached up to assist her. Mrs. Goodman and Jimmy walked out the front door. Jimmy’s hair stood up on end, and he was in his nightclothes. Woody’s heart clenched a little tighter.

“Miss Porter, are you up for introductions?” He spoke in a hushed tone to make sure she was fully awake, since she wobbled a bit once her feet hit the ground.

“Yes. Please.” She smoothed her hair, pushing errant pieces back under her hat, and stepped forward.

“This is Mrs. Goodman, my housekeeper, and my son, Jimmy.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Porter.” His housekeeper smiled.

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Come here, Jimmy.” Woody held out his hand.

But the boy didn’t move.

“Jimmy, son, I told you to come here.” He waved him forward with his hand.

His son shook his head.

“James Colton, you are being rude to Miss Porter. Now . . . come here.” He hadn’t meant for his words to be so harsh or so loud. But that’s how they tumbled out.

Jimmy looked down and ducked behind Mrs. Goodman’s skirt.

“Give the boy some time, Mr. Colton.” The new nanny touched his arm. “It’s late, and I’m sure this is a bit overwhelming.”

Embarrassed and discouraged that Jimmy didn’t respond as he’d hoped, Woody turned. “Miss Porter, might I remind you that you have been hired by
me
. And this is
my
son. This is
my
farm and
I
am in charge here. If I ask my son to come forward, I expect him to come forward.” As soon as the words were out, he wondered where they came from. Had he really spoken such atrocities before he’d thought them through?

The smile left Miss Porter’s face. She glanced back to the wagon, and for a moment Woody wondered if she was contemplating her return to town.

What had gotten into him? He walked up the steps to the porch and knelt in front of Jimmy. “Son, I’m sorry. I never
should have spoken to you that way. I’ve had a rough day, but that’s no excuse for my actions. Will you forgive me?”

His son nodded, came forward, and reached for him.

Woody took his little frame into his arms and walked back down the steps. “Miss Porter, I also need to apologize to you. I’m sorry.” A burning sensation started in his throat as Jimmy wrapped his arms around Woody’s neck. “I’d like to introduce you to my son, James. We call him Jimmy. And I promise that an episode like that will not happen again.”

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. She stepped toward them and gave Jimmy a soft smile. “Hello, Jimmy. I’m Lillian.”

Jimmy laid his head on Woody’s shoulder but lifted his small hand in a short wave. That would have to be good enough for now.

“Please, again, forgive me.” Woody hoped he hadn’t ruined everything. Had he really been in such a foul temper ever since Rebecca died? No wonder Mrs. Goodman often gave him that motherly look that made him want to hide in his office.

Miss Porter gave him a slight smile. “I do. Maybe if we all get a good night’s sleep, tomorrow we’ll be able to start over. I know I often get out of sorts and don’t act like myself when I haven’t had enough rest.”

Start over. If only he could start the whole last year over.

Lillian had been deeply touched by Woody’s honesty on their ride out to the farm, but when he’d knelt to apologize to his son, she’d wanted to cry. She’d never seen or heard a man apologize before.

Mrs. Goodman approached her. “Let’s get you settled, Miss Porter.”

Lillian glanced around.

“It’s just us, dearie. Woody went to tuck in Jimmy for the night, and then he’ll fetch your bags and take them to your room. Meanwhile, let me show you around a bit so you’ll know where things are.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She followed the housekeeper up the steps and into the massive home. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected of a farmhouse. But then, she hadn’t known what to expect.

The beautiful hand-carved door opened into a spacious foyer. It housed a grand staircase beyond what looked like a parlor on the left. To the right, the foyer opened up into a smaller sitting room. Mrs. Goodman detailed the building of the home by Woody just a few years prior and what the land was like before the Coltons arrived, but Lillian found herself caught up in the pictures on the walls and the homey touches that made her feel welcome and accepted. Rebecca Colton must have been a wonderful woman. A pang hit Lillian’s chest. She wished she could have known the lady of the house.

“This is the music room.” Mrs. Goodman opened a door just off the small sitting room. She picked up a lighted lamp by the door and stepped into the room. “Nobody goes into it anymore. Rebecca was the only one who played the piano. She had started to show Jimmy how, but then . . . well . . . you know the rest.”

Lillian moved across the room to touch the beautiful mahogany wood. “I play. In fact, it is something I feared I would miss coming to California. Do you suppose Mr. Colton would mind if I played it and even used it to teach Jimmy?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I know Woody to be a fair man. Just ask him and see what he says. Could be if it grieves him
too much, he’ll still allow you to use it when he’s away. Now, come along. There’s more house to see.”

They moved back through the house, with Mrs. Goodman commenting all the while. Finally they reached a large room with a lace-covered table and six chairs. To one side was a beautiful china hutch.

“These are Brown-Westhead Moore dishes, if I’m not mistaken.” Lillian smiled at the sight of the china. “My grandmother had a complete table service of these. She ordered them from Spaulding in Chicago.”

“They were Rebecca’s favorite.” Mrs. Goodman came alongside Lillian. “She thought them quite smart.”

“Oh, they are. I love that they have the white base, but then the gold and burgundy leafing around the edges with the pink roses and green leaves make them absolutely charming. I ate many a meal on dishes just like these.” She looked up and smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to delay you.”

“It’s no trouble. As you can see, this is the dining room.” Mrs. Goodman continued on through the butler’s pantry. “And, of course, here on the other side is the kitchen.” She went to the stove. “You must be starved. I’ve got a couple of plates warming here. Take a seat. With just the three of us, we usually eat here.”

Lillian almost collapsed into a chair, not even sure she had the strength to lift a spoon. But when the plate was set in front of her with roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans, her stomach growled loudly enough to echo off the walls.

Mrs. Goodman laughed. “Eat up, child. I know you’re about to fall over from exhaustion. I can see it in your face.” She turned but spoke over her shoulder. “We’ll get you all settled in your room after you’ve had your fill.”

Lillian pulled off her hat and gloves. “Thank you.” She
scooped mashed potatoes into her mouth. It wasn’t very ladylike, but no one was watching, and the smell was about to drive her mad. The potatoes were a creamy, buttery goodness on her tongue, and she almost groaned in delight. This must be what heaven tasted like.

Lillian sat up straight and reprimanded herself for her irreverent thoughts. Goodness, first her manners, and then her thoughts . . . what would her grandmother say? A little giggle escaped as she placed her fork into the roast beef. As it melted in her mouth, she knew she had to learn to cook like this. Swallowing, she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Mrs. Goodman, this is by far the best meal I’ve ever had.”