A Home for His Family

The Rancher’s Ready-Made Family

Nate Colby came to the Dakota Territory to start over, not to look for a wife. He’ll raise his orphaned nieces and nephew on his own, even if pretty schoolteacher Sarah MacFarland’s help is a blessing. But Nate resists getting too close—Sarah deserves better than a man who only brings trouble to those around him.

Sarah can’t deny she cares for the children, but she can’t let herself fall for Nate. Her childhood as an orphan taught her that opening her heart to love only ends in hurt. Yet helping this ready-made family set up their ranch only makes her long to be a part of it—whatever the risk.

Nate’s own silence came from the closeness of Sarah.

She had chosen to sit next to him on the wagon seat so James and Margaret could sit together. The children lay down in the bed of the wagon. At every bump and turn Sarah’s skirt brushed against his knee, keeping him constantly aware of her presence.

She must have been as tired as all of them, though. She didn’t say a word until they reached the cabin on Williams Street.

“Thank you for the wonderful day, Nate.” Her voice was soft, and she smiled as she spoke.

“We sure appreciated your company.” He tore his gaze away from those deep blue eyes. They had spent too much time together, walking across his land and making plans.

Plans that she wouldn’t have any part in, if he had his way. Life with him—well, he wouldn’t ask anyone to share the kind of life he had lived so far. But he couldn’t keep from watching her walk into the cabin.

JAN DREXLER enjoys living in the Black Hills of South Dakota with her husband of more than thirty years and their four adult children. Intrigued by history and stories from an early age, she loves delving into the world of “what if?” with her characters. If she isn’t at her computer giving life to imaginary people, she’s probably hiking in the Hills or the Badlands, enjoying the spectacular scenery.

A Home for His Family

Jan Drexler

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

—Matthew 6:19–21

To my mother, Veva, 1929–2014.

Thank you for teaching me to love stories. I miss you more than words can say.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Deadwood, Dakota Territory May 1877

“Sorry for the delay, folks. There’s a bull train on the trail ahead of us, and they’re hogging the road. It won’t be long until we’re moving again.” The stagecoach guard acknowledged Sarah MacFarland and Aunt Margaret, the only ladies in the cramped stage, with a tip of his hat. Water sluiced off the brim onto the feet of the male passengers. “The good news is that we’re only a few miles from Deadwood, and the rain is easing up a bit.”

“Thank you.” Sarah answered him with a nod, but kept her face classroom-firm. She had already learned women were few in this western country, and men were eager to take even a polite smile as permission to overstep the boundaries of propriety. Aunt Margaret had the notion Sarah might find a husband out here in the West, but Sarah had no such dreams. Twenty-eight years old put her firmly in the spinster category and she was more than happy to remain there.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Mr. Johnson shifted his bulk and reached under his seat. The man’s cigar jammed between his teeth had bothered Aunt Margaret the entire journey from Sidney, Nebraska. “If you’ll oblige, I’ll take my bag. Since we’re this close to the camp, I might as well walk the rest of the way.”

He grabbed his satchel and squeezed out of the crowded coach. The other men spilled out after him like a half-dozen chicks from a grain sack.

“Are they all walking to Deadwood from here?” Aunt Margaret adjusted her hat as she peered through the open door.

Peder Swenson pushed himself up from his spot on the floor. “I’m not. But I am going to stretch my legs and see what’s going on.” The blond eighteen-year-old had kept them entertained with stories of his native Norway on the long journey.

As Sarah watched Peder stride away on his long legs, she couldn’t sit still another minute. “I am, too.”

Aunt Margaret grabbed her sleeve. “You will not. Who knows what you’ll find out there? We’ve seen enough of those bullwhackers along the trail to know what kind of men they are.”

Sarah held her handkerchief to her nose. Rainy weather kept the heavy canvas window covers closed, and even with the men gone, the heavy odor of unwashed bodies was overwhelming. “I’ll be careful. I have to get some fresh air. I’ll stay close by, and I won’t go near the bull train.”