Ellie climbed up on the bench and patted Ivy’s hand. Her blond hair was still plaited neatly after the long day, and her calico skirt and blouse as spotless as when she’d first put them on. With having three women—Greta, Astrid, and Ivy—to fuss over her, Ellie was much more conscious of particulars than Ivy had ever been.

Ivy had always been more interested in climbing trees, chasing frogs, and catching bugs than in her appearance. And though she’d tried to heed Astrid’s advice the past two years on becoming more womanly and ladylike, she always seemed to fall short.

She glanced down to the buttons straining at the seams of her bodice. Even when she was wearing Linnea’s pretty clothes, she still couldn’t do it right.

If only Ma had been there for her. But her brothers had been more involved in her life than Ma had been, so that by the time Ma passed away, Ivy—at eleven—hadn’t really grieved the loss or missed her.

During their long trip to the West, Linnea had been the first woman to take a real interest in her. Greta had been a good influence on her too. But that hadn’t stopped Ivy from feeling motherless all these years. And it hadn’t stopped her from turning out to be a failure as a woman.

She hadn’t really cared a whole lot about behaving and dressing properly until after Jericho left. She supposed that, in some ways, she’d blamed his lack of interest on her not being pretty enough or womanly enough to attract him. And she’d tried ever since to do a better job of being the woman everyone expected her to be.

Of course, she was bound to catch the attention of other men in the high country simply because a single woman was about as scarce as a daisy in a dung heap. But apparently she hadn’t changed enough for Jericho. He wasn’t interested in her now any more than he’d been before.

If only she could finally figure out how to put him from her mind once and for all.

“Clear as a boil on a bulldog’s nose that you care about her.” Judd’s voice cut through the silence.

With two beds instead of the usual bunks, the place was more private than the other cowhand cabins. Even so, it was cramped and musty, with hardly enough room to turn around. With the door propped wide and the window open, a night breeze blew inside, cooling them after the hot summer day.

Lying on his bed propped on his elbow with his journal before him, Jericho puffed at his pipe and slanted a glance at Healing Springs’ overseer.