Lydia

Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone? What was it about the woman that turned him into a raving lunatic every time she came within shouting distance?

I should have let you die!

And she should have, Donovan realized as Sarah’s bitter words flashed through his memory like summer lightning. He had told no one about her past, not even Varina. If he had died, her black secret would have died with him.

She must have known it. Sarah was no fool. Another minute’s delay in moving the timbers, that’s all it would have taken. His death would have been a tragic accident, with Varina and the children as witnesses. No jury on earth would have found her guilty.

Yet, she had chosen to save him.

Donovan’s cracked ribs screamed as he picked up the hammer and slammed it against a stump. Sarah Parker Buckley possessed all the maddening qualities of a good woman—and her goodness was driving him crazy. She was sucking away at his resistance like a blasted leech.

Was that what had driven him to kiss her? Was it the idea that it was easier to punish a bad woman than a good oneeasier to punish Lydia Taggart than saintly Sarah?

The wind had freshened, bringing the scent of another storm. Donovan glowered at the encroaching clouds, cursing under his breath. Why did everything in life have to be so hellishly complicated? Why couldn’t Sarah have been a man—someone he could simply challenge to a gunfight or thrash to a bloody pulp? Why did she have to be so beautiful, so soft, so full of courage?

“Uncle Donovan?” Katy’s forlorn little voice shattered his reverie. He turned to see her standing alone on the porch, clutching her slate.

“Where’s Miss Sarah, Uncle Donovan? I wanted her to come in and see my carries and borrows.”

“Uh—Miss Sarah had to leave in a hurry.” Donovan squirmed under her innocent scrutiny. “She said to tell you she was sorry,” he added, hating the lie but seeing no other way out.

“But I was all ready to show her.” Katy’s small head drooped. The sight of her tugged at Donovan’s heart. Annie was the bright sister, the capable, responsible one. And young Samuel was the best natured of Varina’s brood. But it was lively, loving little Katy who had truly won him.

He lifted her chin with a solicitous finger. She and her sister deserved toys and fun and pretty dresses, he thought, not ragged clothes, hard work and a miserable shack in the mountains with no father to look after them.

“Hey, where’s that smile?” he cajoled her.

“It’s hiding!” Katy clutched her slate to her chest. “I want Miss Sarah to come back!”

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