His loose-fitting shirt and vest were dusty, as were his woolen trousers. But he wasn’t as sloppy or ill-kempt as some of the men she’d met. In fact, under other circumstances, she might have been impressed by the rugged handsomeness of his features.

But not tonight. Not now. Her situation had become too woeful for her to care that such a good-looking man was stopping her in the middle of the street. “You knew Phineas?”

“Yep. And as his friend, I know he’d want me to do the right thing. . . .”

Something in the way the man assessed her—as though measuring her worth—made her stand up a little straighter. Was it possible this Mr. McQuaid was approaching to offer her a job? Maybe for Phineas’s sake?

When she’d dressed that morning, she wanted to look her best for Mr. Hallock and donned one of her Sunday outfits. After the day of traveling, she should have known she looked wilted.

She brushed a hand over her calico skirt of blue with sprigs of red flowers and wished it wasn’t so dusty. The matching bodice with velvet-covered buttons was equally dusty, and she guessed the once-white collar pinned neatly in place was now a dull gray. She wasn’t making a good impression.

“I’ve got a ranch—a homestead—southeast of Fairplay—”

“If you’re in need of a cook, I won’t disappoint you or your ranch hands. I promise.”

“Right now, it’s just me and my friend Judd.”

The hope that had begun to rise stumbled back a step. He wouldn’t need a cook for just the two of them. But maybe he was searching for another ranch hand. “I can help with the cattle. I’ve lived my whole life on a farm, and my pappa raised a few cows, mostly for dairy. But I’m a quick learner, and I’m sure it won’t take me long to learn everything I need to know about ranching.”

Mr. McQuaid tugged at his neckerchief as if the thing was strangling him. He cleared his throat and then seemed to force himself to speak again. “Thank you kindly for the offer, but I had a different proposal in mind.”

Her hope fell away, and wariness rushed in to replace it. After spending the past hour fending off advances and offensive suggestions, she had the feeling she knew exactly what kind of proposal he was about to offer. And she didn’t want to hear it.

She spun on her heels and strode toward the store. “I’m not interested in a different kind of proposal, Mr. McQuaid.”

“Hold on. Hear me out.”

She reached the door and tossed a final comment over her shoulder. “I’m looking for honest work or none at all.” She flung open the door, eager to get Astrid and escape.