One morning, desperate for time alone with Caroline without the prying eyes of others, Pritchard rented a buckboard and they escaped Fort Worth for the countryside. He brought a basket of food from the hotel kitchen, and they set out before dawn before anyone, save the livery attendant, noticed.

The first days of summer were upon them. They watched the sun come up, holding hands as Pritchard guided the buckboard out of town. They drove for more than an hour, until he found a creek surrounded by a lush stand of shade trees. He brought the buckboard to a halt and spread out a blanket.

They saw no evidence of others as far as the eye could see, but Pritchard nonetheless kept his Henry rifle handy. Breakfast was biscuits, blueberry tart, and clear, cool water from the stream.

“This place is so beautiful, Joe,” Caroline said after they’d breakfasted. “It’s the perfect spot.”

“The perfect spot for what?” Pritchard said, lying on his back and patting his satisfied belly.

“For this,” she said, rolling on top of him.

Despite her cumbersome dress and petticoat, and his boots and belted pistols, they were both soon naked and entwined in each other. They passed the rest of the morning in a maelstrom of passion, as they repeatedly slaked the desperate yearning that had been building to an almost unbearable ache since they’d first laid eyes on each other at Fort Worth’s Grand Hotel.

At times soft and gentle, and at others awkwardly, or like ravenous animals, they thrashed, moaned, giggled, and cried out. When they finally collapsed, gasping and spent, their clothes and breakfast scattered on the blanket around them, it was approaching noon.

“Is it lunchtime, yet?” Pritchard asked.

“Is that all you have to say?” Caroline laughed, playfully punching him in the shoulder.

“No,” Pritchard said. He stared up at the Texas sky, a hesitant look in his eye. “I’ve got something else to say to you.”

“What would that be?”

“My name isn’t Joe Atherton,” he said. “It’s Samuel Pritchard. I want you to know who I am—who I really am—before I ask you to marry me.”

“I’m listening,” Caroline said, resting her chin on his chest and looking into his blue eyes.

Pritchard told her. He explained his past, the scar on his forehead, and why he’d taken the alias. As he spoke, she held his face in her hands.

“You deserve to know the truth,” Pritchard finished, “before making your decision. It’s only right.”

“There’s something you should know about me, as well,” Caroline said, “before you seek my hand in marriage. It may give you pause to ask me to be your wife.”

She looked away and placed her cheek against his chest. “I can’t bear you children, Samuel.”