Abigail remained obdurate, one tiny foot tapping.

“All right,” Scully said. “All right. But I’ve got chores to do right now. Those mules have got to be fed and put away in the barn.”

Abigail relented. “Could I see my pony?”

Evangeline shushed her daughter, exchanged a look with Scully, then, after he left the house, latched the door and went in search of the pantry. She hummed to herself as she assembled the ingredients for a humble supper. It was good to be inside, to be cooking again. Those were surely the reasons, she told herself, why she felt almost cheerful.

CHAPTER

3

AT SCULLY’S KNOCK, Evangeline opened the door to admit him, and as he stepped over the threshold, he was struck by a sudden and poignant sense of appreciation for the warmth and simple welcome of the place. It wasn’t just the fires in the hearth and the cookstove, he was well aware of that, or the shimmer of several kerosene lanterns, spilling light. He’d enjoyed those ordinary comforts on many other cold nights, of course. No, it was the presence of a woman—specifically, this one—that had transformed the rough interior of that house into something gracious.

Forcibly, Scully turned his thoughts in another, less personal direction, a task that proved almost as hard as getting the mules to go one way when they favored another. Evangeline was as good as married to Big John Keating, and he’d best remember that, Scully told himself, if he wanted to hold on to his selfrespect, not to mention the best friend he’d ever had.

The aroma of some savory dish caused his stomach to rumble; he made more of shutting and latching the door than was required, just to give himself time to rustle up something to say. It didn’t help much, that delay; he was still at a loss when he turned to face her again.

While shedding his heavy coat, he noticed the little girl, curled up in the middle of the bed under a quilt, sleeping like a kitten. Smiling, he hung his hat on one of the pegs beside the door, and lowered his voice as he moved toward the fireplace. “I guess Miss Abigail has had enough of adventure for one day,” he observed.

Evangeline returned his smile, albeit wearily, and he wondered at Big John Keating’s luck in getting himself such a bride, sight unseen. Scully supposed he’d met prettier women in his time, though he couldn’t rightly call one to mind in that moment, but Evangeline had something more, something deeper and better than mere good looks. She’d been scared as hell facing those Chippewa on the trail; he’d felt her trembling beside him on the seat of that sleigh, but she would have fought like a mountain cat if things had come down to that, if not for herself, then to protect her little girl.