“Allan Creek. Wallace Creek. Burns Creek. Trot’s Creek...” She sighed. Then there were the lighter lines that had no names. She’d seen this map already online. Back in the city, she’d been looking for mention of the Beaver, Muskrat and Goose creeks, but no one seemed to have record of them. Maybe those names hadn’t stuck.
“Milk River goes up into Canada, you know,” he said. “I don’t have the maps for that.”
Then her eye landed on one creek name she hadn’t seen before that brought a hopeful smile to her lips. “Look at that one!” She pointed. “Harper Creek!”
“That’s familiar?” Casey asked with a frown.
“My mother’s last name was Harper. That’s the family name.”
“Hmm.” He nodded. “Okay.”
“What’s the matter?” Wyatt was getting heavy in her arm, and she shifted him to a new position.
“There are a lot of Harpers around here,” he said. “They might be relatives of yours, though.”
She’d never heard of them, if they were. It might be nothing more than a coincidence. Or a creek named much more recently—a random moniker slapped onto a tiny creek in honor of some locals.
“We aren’t Canadian. My mother always said that the family had settled exactly fifty miles from the mountains, and they’d been another forty miles from Victory. That’s right here. This land. Give or take.”
Casey nodded slowly. “Approximately, yes.”
“I know it’s a very rough estimate, but since this land came up for sale, I wanted to check it out,” she said.
“Well, we’ll have a look,” Casey said, but his expression was grim.
“You don’t want me to buy this land, I know,” she said.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I don’t. This is prime ranching land, and cattle fuel this community. It’s our way of life, and I’ve worked this herd for fifteen years now. There’s something to be said for consistency. Also, there’s honor in feeding America’s families, and the beef we raise is top quality. That matters to me. To see this place turn into some therapy center— No offense, ma’am, but from my way of thinking, it would be a crying shame. The city folk might need their therapy and their chance to enjoy the wide outdoors, but we ranchers need pasture under our boots and cattle to drive. So what you’re suggesting isn’t going to help us at all. Again, no offense.”
“None taken,” she murmured.
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t treat you honestly,” Casey said.
“Can I be sure of that?” she asked.
“I’m a rancher, Miss Reed,” Casey said, his voice a low growl. “But I’m also a Christian. That one sits a little heavier. I believe in right and wrong, and I stand with the truth. So if I find out that this is the land you’ve been looking for, then I’ll tell you honestly, because I want God’s blessing more than I want my way. And God’s never yet blessed a lie.”
Ember regarded him thoughtfully.
“Are you a Christian, Miss Reed?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then a handshake should be enough, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, holding out one hand toward her.
Ember took his rough hand in hers, and she felt the gentle pressure of those strong fingers. It was a muscular hand—veined and broad—and she realized anew just how attractive this stubborn cowboy was. She tugged her fingers free.
“Could you take the baby back?” she asked, slightly breathlessly.
Casey did as she asked and she slid the infant into Casey’s arms. Wyatt didn’t complain this time, and she exhaled a shaky sigh.
This was the right land—she could feel it. Everything had fallen into place in that way that God had where she could sense His fingerprints on all of it. From the sale of the swampland, down to this ranch popping up for sale just at the same time she’d pinpointed an approximate location of the Harper homestead.
Ember had felt drawn here, but looking at that lanky cowboy and the babies he was honor bound to care for, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was God’s doing for other reasons entirely—like forcing her to face her own issues. Ember wanted to belong somewhere—be someone other than the illegitimate child of a wealthy man. She wanted a connection so solid that her paternity wouldn’t be the most defining factor in her lineage any longer.
The sooner she could investigate this land and decide on her next move, the better.
Chapter Three
Mr. Vern, as it turned out, was perfectly happy to have Ember stay with him if she was helping out his ranch manager. Those babies had sunk into his heart, too, it seemed.
“They need loving,” Mr. Vern said. “That’s all. Just loving. But there’s two of them, and Casey’s got a big job. So I think we all appreciate you being willing to snuggle some babies. It’ll take a village with those boys.”
A village was the precise thing she hadn’t had on her side when she’d been pregnant with her son. If there’d been a village for her, she might have been able to keep her little boy, but she didn’t have any support. When she’d told her father about her pregnancy, he’d recommended an abortion, but said that if she insisted on having the baby, she’d have to give it up for adoption. He wasn’t interested in supporting her for the long term. He’d agreed to pay for her education, but his one stipulation to his support had been that she act like a Reed and not embarrass the family. Raising a baby on her own without a husband apparently violated that clause. Set aside the fact that she’d been fathered in an affair...but Alistair was the one with the money and she wasn’t in a position to argue with him about his morals. It had seemed hopeless then...
Ember lay between crisp sheets that night, listening to the soft sounds of a strange house, and
