The Redemption of Honor: The Redemption Series: Book I

By Jane Quail

Miss Dodge fl ees her uncles desperate efforts to match her with an entirely unacceptable candidate, someone who holds his hefty IOUs. She is under the false impression that she has a choice in the matter. After meeting him, she decides it is an impossible hazard she intends to avoid.

Escaping, her sister and aunt join her in flight to the New World, America. Her sister Rebekah answers a mail-order-bride ad in the newspaper, and they are off to another adventure in Fort Worth, Texas.

The antics of cowboy Ben and Miss Dodge leaveboth of them wondering about the others sanity. She is forced to escape again, this time from a large cat, which is entirely too close for comfort. An accurate last-minute shot by Mr. Franklin rescued her.

Ben is glad his brother fi nds love with Rebekah Dodge, but her sister is frustrating, always requiring saving from danger. No one knows how Miss Dodge fi nds herself in such threatening troubles can Ben be attracted to this English gal who is feisty, confusing, and lovable all rolled into one beautiful package? How can he not?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491798706

Jane Quail

Jane Quail is an accomplished musician and composer, whose expansion of her artistic interests into the field of writing fulfi lls a life-long dream.   Jane lives in South Texas with her family, and is dedicated to the art of creating appealing characters, who experience love, adventure and danger.   Her primary goal is to share her faith in God. Each character is created to spark laughter, mystery and hope through magic of the written word.

Book preview

Chapter 1

April 1878

T he young woman slipped to the floor of the stage when a deep rut in the road caused an angular settling of the coach. This so-called mud-wagon rattled and shook, bounced and jostled its passengers over the harrowing length of the fifteen- day trip.

The driver spoke a smidgeon late, as the stage had already stopped, and one passenger exited at top speed. Bobby, their seven-year-old traveling companion ran around the stage once, and then took off toward the back of what looked like a saloon.

The three women travelers regarded each other sadly. The banker exited the north-facing door, while the ladies would be leaving toward the south—rather ungentlemanly of him, so they thought. While the dusty female who took the tumble struggled to regain her seat and straighten her clothing, she encouraged her two companions to proceed without her while she regained her composure before departing the torture chamber.

She recalled the fresh pain of why she and her family had been fleeing across an ocean and half-way across a continent to escape the undesirable marriage to a reprobate gambler and womanizer—she would never again be sold off, as her uncle Dodge planned to do.

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Benjamin Franklin was on the unwelcome errand to fetch to the Bar TR Ranch his younger brother’s mail-order bride. His place was perforce at the ranch, where he and his brother, Cade, co-owned and operated a horse and cattle ranch, while the new enterprise, an apple orchard, would widen their horizons. The two brothers worked together to maintain a successful business, since the loss of their parents to a carriage accident two years prior.

He ought to be working the new horses and getting out the pay packets, but with Cade’s ankle injury, he was elected for the pick-up job. Gathering Cade’s bride-to-be would appear as the last item on his list of things to do any day of the week.

He had been to town for the last three days, waiting for the stage to arrive, though it wasn’t unusual for it to be days late, especially when the weather was not cooperative. And uncooperative is certainly what he would call the deluge of rain that fell during the passage of a cattle drive right through downtown Fort Worth.

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Honor prepared for the final touch to her ensemble—replacing her hat upon her head. After straightening her traveling clothes, Honor turned around, bent over to pick up her reticule from the floor, snagged it, and bumped into the south-facing door with her … um … backside. The exit was freely knocked open due to the leaning angle of the stage, and she lost her balance completely.

Tumbling through the door backward and straight into the chest of someone whose wind whooshed out, she was glad for the soft landing; but her momentum kicked off the loss of their balance, and ended by their fall onto the street with a huge splat.

The person she plummeted into let out another whoosh. Oh this is embarrassing, she lamented, while realizing the denims she was so rudely introduced to belonged to muscular and very long legs—attached to a man.

The two plunged into the muck with her in his arms. She felt hands on her waist as she was pushed aside and out of her awkward position on his lap. Though she tried to not fall all the way back, at this point she didn’t know which way was up or down, but then found herself fully flat in the filth.

Her nose wrinkled at the familiar smell of dung. Ugh! In addition to the mud from the street, she would also have to put up with the smell of cattle and horse leavings. Even her hat dipped into the filth. Oh, and her hair—well, she pushed back numerous tendrils and curls loosened from her bun, that were flicking onto her face every time she moved her head. She figured she must look a frightful sight by now.

There she sat with her unmentionable sinking into the muck, while she tried to get up, despite the suction effect of the simply ghastly-smelling street!

Ruining her lovely silk gloves was inevitable, since she needed her hands in order to push up and stand. She dug down until the ground pushed back and finally raised herself to a sitting position.

Shaking her hands to loosen the street goop was a futile effort, but a necessary one. When it spattered onto her face and her supposed rescuer’s pant legs she sighed deeply, thinking, why do these things always happen to me? If there is a god up there watching us little folk down here, his fun bag for today must be full with my escapades alone. She glanced around her guiltily hoping she had not spoken that little tirade.

As she took stock of her situation, she saw a hand reaching toward her and heard a voice accented with a western drawl say, Howdy, Miss, may I help you?

Yes, thank you … and I’m so sorry for falling into you. She was mortified by the intimacy her fall created between her and this … cowboy.

Well, that’s all right, Miss. We cowboys are at the ready to catch just about anything. We’re a handy lot.

She didn’t quite know what to say to that, but accepted the help, unsure whether she had just been insulted. Was she the just about anything he was talking about?

Responding, she commented, Yes, well, I’ll just be on my way then. Excuse me … He interrupted by snatching her arm.

Miss, I’m here to help you across the street. Are you, by any chance, the mail-order-bride for my brother, Cade Franklin?

She chuckled and informed him, No. My sister, Rebekah, is the mail-order-bride you are looking for, and she has already crossed the street with our Aunt and chaperone. Now, I’ll thank you to move out of my way. She moved to go around him.

While she started to slog past him, and just at that moment, Honor heard some yelling and scrapping, as it appeared in front of the assumed saloon.

Two obviously drunk men were fighting over what appeared to be one of the saloon girls. She was incensed! She would just see about that …

Thankfully, Honor had worn her leather boots, just in case, but her clothes weren’t leather, and her hat had no protection either. All of her clothing was droopy, wet, and grimy. In fact, slogging on, she expected she was nearly unrecognizable and certainly disagreeably stinky.

As she finally stood in the soggy muck, her boots sank into the street up to her ankles. Trying to raise her foot produced a low squishing sound, and the awful mixture of street mud and filth seemed to be sucking her extremities down into its depths.

Bloody bother! she muttered. Oops … she hadn’t meant to be vulgar. Her aunt would have a few choice words to say to her for the use of such slang, if she’d heard her say that aloud. Unfortunately, Honor picked up that phrase from several of her friends and couldn’t seem to shake it.

Being now utterly embarrassed, she noticed her sister and aunt nearing the stairs that would lead them to dry land. And she was thankful they did not share in her ill-fated, personally uncomfortable disgrace.

Permitting her gaze to roam both sides of the street, she identified eateries, a store, Mr. Rook’s bank, and the inevitable saloon common to these western settlement towns.

Then, looking with a romantic eye, she noticed horses tethered to hitching posts (she’d learned that term from a dime novel), several flowering trees and bushes, wildflowers near the apparently only church in town, and a man wearing an apron sweeping dried mud from the walk in front of what was apparently his store.

Honor moved slightly away from the coach, lifting her skirt to keep from dragging it in the mud and grime.

She watched the little drama going on in the street and was infuriated by the gall of those men. She marched toward the scene playing-out before her, listened closely to their conversation, and felt outrage at the woman being so ill-treated verbally and physically, and the drunken behavior of the men.

The two had obviously just come out of the saloon after over-imbibing. They were fighting with each other, throwing wild punches and yelling loudly, all the while both trying to keep hold of the woman. They were repulsive.

As she squished in their direction, Honor planned to give them a good talking-to about their rude public behavior. Plus, no female deserved to be treated with such disrespect.

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Ben was mortified that the lady seemed to be going in the direction of the fracas from the saloon that spilled into the street.

Suddenly, Ben saw several whooping cowboys celebrating their payday and riding too fast. He hugged up close to the stage but thought to himself, Oh, lady, stay where you are, for she had moved away from him, and appeared to be directing her attention to the three from the saloon.

Hearing the whoops and hollers of the cowboys, Honor turned in their direction, and was just in time for a direct hit from flying mud from the hooves of the two horses as they raced by her. She also turned to see where it came from and was then drenched on her other side as a third celebrating cowboy passed too close to her.

Sorry, lady! yelled the menace of a man.

She yelled after the cowboys, waving her fist at them, but they couldn’t see or hear—riding on, carefree.

After these calamities, Honor glanced toward her sister and aunt, wishing she were with them and not so filthy in the middle of this street. She heard her aunt yell for the cowboy to help her. She refused to wait for that bumbling cow-fellow and his bumbling help.

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Ben noticed a number of other things happen concurrently.

The Butler’s cow, Bessie, was loose, out for a run down Main Street. She seemed to get away from her owners often around the same time of day and was well known for her ability to avoid recapture. The condition of the street slowed her down some, but not enough. Here was another mess coming to the dirty lady.

There Bessie was with her head and stomach swinging wildly as she ambled along. Since she was round with calf, her stomach swung wide, and the lady was knocked over flat on her side. Her entire person was now completely covered with copious amounts of the town’s thoroughfare.

Bessie surely didn’t notice anything, so like the mindless animal she was, but the lady was now almost unidentifiable. Yet, she staunchly rose from the ground with a sucking noise from the mud and filth, and continued her trek toward the saloon after a few muttered words that were indiscernible—probably for the best.

Ben muttered, hoping no one heard him, considered turning away and acting like he wasn’t involved—the cowardly way. Remembering his mother and father’s mannerly teachings, he had no choice but to continue his reluctant plod—he would help the zany lady.

Redirecting his attentions to the business at hand, he watched as she shouted. He listened as she told the scoundrels they were rude, coarse, and drunken sops, without manners. Evidently she believed that yelling their faults at them would influence the obviously totally inattentive and uncaring inebriates to end the fight.

Neither man paid attention, of course, though she obviously would not let that deter her. As she reached their vicinity, she struck the nearest one on the back of his head with her reticule. What must she have had in there that he yeowled with such pain?

Ben thought, Oh, no. Now she’s done it.

He was certain he heard a few expletives spew forth from the poor, beaten, sozzled fellow.

The injured man’s response was to reach for his wounded head. At the same time, his opponent connected with a successful punch to challenger’s jaw; and the force of the punch caused the man with the bump forming on his head to fall backward straight into the lady. Inevitably, they went down together.

The man who had accidentally knocked her over got to his feet, ignored her, and with obvious intent went to continue the battle with his rival.

The lady’s clothes were apparently so heavily sodden now that her ability to liberate herself from the street was dubious. Finally, she regained her footing, became vertical, pulled her arm back, and pow!

It looked like she struck the second offender as well. Ben was coming from behind to rescue her—any thinking person would recognize she didn’t need recuing—what did that say about his good sense?

And what about his other senses. He got a whiff of her fragrance—she wreaked. Again he was playing the role of the fool for doggedly trying to help.

Finally, he would be firm and bodily get her out of harm’s way, being on the non-thinking side of the battle himself at the moment.

The second man reared back to get in a good lick against his adversary, and in his weaving state missed his target, and instead, struck the lady a glancing blow on her chin. This caused a soon-to-be-famous, side-twisting-and-falling reaction.

In the process of trying to remain upright, the lady flailed her arms and struck Ben with a good whack to his cheek.

He and the little lady fell headlong into the mushy mud and dung—together.

Ben had enough!

He knew these men, wranglers from another ranch in the area. Their payday was also their play-day. No one would expect a sudden transformation into angelic robes and gentlemanly behavior from these two.

But they finally noticed that there were other people in the street, stopped fighting, and looked down at the two on the ground. They both started laughing raucously and pointing at the lady on top of him. This simply added insult to injury.

One of them asked the other if that was Daisy on top of Ben.

Whatcha’ doin’ down there, Daisy? Ya’ orta be inside servin’ us’ nudder roun’ o’ hooch.

Fearing trouble from the mistaken identity, Ben lifted the offending reticule from the lady’s grasp, taking hold of it himself.

She then slipped and slid all over him in the rapidly worsening street conditions. He thought to help her by grabbing her around her arms, but was quickly slapped away along with much flying-of-the-filthy street. It was as though hail in the form of mud and cow manure was falling from the sky.

While slapping at his hands, Honor spat a question at him, asking what he thought he was doing, and called him cowboy as though it was a bad word. He was asked to keep his hands off her. She thought she was doing fine and told him to leave her alone. She was still yelling right in his much-splashed face.

Wishing his mother’s teachings were not drumming in his ears, Ben attempted to do what the lady requested, but his upbringing wouldn’t permit him to be a lily-livered skunk and shrink from responsibility.

Ben observed the three from the saloon as they made their way to the entrance. The two men stopped fighting and were now clapping each other on the back, laughing, and hiccupping. He overheard one say to the other, You got sand, fella. I’ll say dat fer ya.

Ben heaved a sigh, not knowing how he was going to get the gal out of the street, especially since she was single-booted, filthy, slimy, limping, and mistaking him for one of the bad guys.

He came around to face her again, reached down, and with an unfortunate, soon-to-be-famous slipping-sliding technique, his footing vanished. As his feet whipped out from beneath him, his slippery personage fell in her direction.

Here we go again, he lamented in the second it took for him to realize … where he would land.

He caught her by her arms to try to steady them both, and when that failed, he twisted to take the full force of the impact himself. Suddenly, like two thin-stemmed Birch trees in a high wind, together they fell into the slog… again.

Ben hoped to break her fall by presenting himself on the bottom as a buffer. Well, he succeeded all right. He oomphed as his back met the ground and his front received the brunt of the lady’s weight.

She was so light he would have hardly noticed her presence (after the initial hit), if it hadn’t been for her feminine shape.

Tendrils of her hair had escaped her bun and were thick with mud and dirt, droplets splashing onto his face.

Presuming the gal he was holding on top of him would have something pithy to say about their current position, Ben waited. She didn’t disappoint. Holding her there, he panted—uncomfortable, as he held her for a few moments pausing and gasping.

Honor started to sputter right into his face, looking as though she wanted to hit him again.

Regrettably, Ben felt a huge bubble of laughter begin to rise in his throat—not that he believed it would be appreciated. As he stood there looking at her and then realizing what the two of them must look like, he couldn’t stop it from exploding, even if he tried.

He let loose and continued to laugh, but just as suddenly, his armful of lady pushed herself up, placed her forearms on his chest, pushed her disarranged hair back, and glared at him with what could only be called … outrage.

Another dollop of mud dripped from her face onto his, as he wiped some of the dirt off her face—then, he could see her.

He took his fill of looking at this beautiful woman, the part that was uncovered. Her eyes flashed with sparks that could have started a fire in his one-day’s-growth of beard.

When she wiggled and slithered to get off him, he hoped she did not notice what was happening to him. Her writhing was affecting him with an embarrassing outcome.

He was just as surprised as she would be. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, and that was the unvarnished truth.

Their entire state of affairs was embarrassing enough without the scandal of their sandwich-without-the-meat closeness.

She looked as though she was bursting to tell him off. She called him an interloper, busybody, and accused him of not minding his own business.

Like thunder that followed lightning, his sudden burst of laughter completely startled her. She was speechless—for a moment.

Ben really couldn’t complain about their positioning. In fact, he could stay like this for quite a while, even wet and muddy, now that he knew a lovely face went with all those curves.

Though he was handling definitely much more of her than she would welcome, as he tried to steady her and stop the sliding, it was evident she would be righted only with his strength and independent action.

Never having handled even a clean and dry woman before, he was at a complete loss where to place his hands.

The street was no place to have a conversation about this situation, and his attention wandered as she momentarily made another ludicrous effort to get off him, took in some air, and exhaled dramatically. Was she planning to rest awhile or what, he wondered.

After all she’d been through, he expected she was pretty well beat from the effort just to walk in what the street had become, much less the unsuccessful battle with two drunks.

He was surprised by his next thoughts, that he could get used to being close to this woman. Wait a minute … no. He told himself to stop. His thoughts were inappropriate, and she would consider them insulting, and now was not the time. He told himself not to forget his plans.

Aware that his appreciation would not be well received, he tried to reassess and gauge their options. In the meantime, the gal started up again with outrageous slipping and sliding all over him in her efforts to gain some purchase in the slippery conditions.

He knew it was time to put a stop to all this slithering, or this episode would become even more preposterously public. He was glad she couldn’t read his thoughts.

Whether she would think he had the right of it or not, he made a decision.

Her clothing, covered, as it was, in mud, hugged her figure. There was only one way to get her up off the street, out of trouble, out of danger, out of the public eye, and onto the boardwalk safely—it was definitely time.

So, reluctantly, but purposefully, he placed his hands on her waist, pushed her off him (he didn’t notice that she fell backward into the mud again until it was too late to do anything about it), shoved himself up, placed his hands under her arms, lifted her high into the air (she squealed), and threw her over his shoulder, causing a wheezing gasp to be forced out of her lungs … likely another faux pas on his part, as he heard several gasps coming from the boardwalk too.

In order to have better control, he had to throw her over quickly and hold on tight, because she was slick indeed.

The lady made umph sounds with each step he took. He could hear her breath coming in pants. As slippery as she was, he could barely sustain his hold as she wriggled, apparently in an effort to be released.

For her part, she was trying to hold on to his shoulder at the same time, likely to steady her bouncing, but missed and caught his ear instead. He was going to detect some bruising tomorrow. He quickly brushed her hand away, faltered, and almost dropped her. There was no graceful way to do this.

Because of the hard work of ranching, his strength permitted him to carry her slight weight with ease. Fortunately, his shoulders were broad, and she was tiny, which was without a doubt what caused her to fit right into the curve of his neck and shoulder. He thought that was nice.

Just wishing she would stop trying to find a handhold—sharing more of her filth with him and spreading around much of what he already experienced on his own person, he continued the trek.

Finally, he held her hand under his other shoulder, which improved his grip but just might have been another reason for her puffing, and more uncomfortable for her. He was making headway, so he could only concentrate on his goal, the boardwalk and shelter.

After successfully making his way back across the street, he released his package and stood in front of her, expecting to introduce himself and receive thanks—that was not what he got.

Of all things, the woman tried to swing at him. He caught her intended slap and, in the process, muck from her arm and hand soared with disconcerting precision onto his face and hair, as if he weren’t covered with enough of it already. She even got a good one on his Stetson, knocking it off, after he rescued it from the street before the trek back to the walkway.

This little thing was lookin’ at him like he was one hundred eighty pounds of stinking polecat. He watched as the lady he rescued rose up to her full height, which wasn’t much, while she dribbled mud and animal droppings all around her.

He was then distracted by the other two ladies approaching, while the one in front of him grabbed her bag from his arm, all the while puckering her brow.

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Honor looked up and up the height of the man standing in front of her, quite impressed with his strength and stature—but only for a moment.

He grunted and asked her to please not do that again. He told her he had been trying to help her.

Just then the other two ladies appeared at her side, as he announced, By the way, my name is Ben Franklin of the Bar TR. Are you the ladies I’m here to transport to the ranch?

He extended his hand for a friendly shake, but then realized it was filthy and smelly, obnoxiously so, and withdrew the offer.

As he mentioned his name to the lady, she immediately stopped frowning and halted the arm getting ready for another strike. He noticed the other ladies coming up beside her, and heard her speak.

Oh dear. I’ve done it again, Beka.

That’s okay, Honor. You couldn’t have known who you were beating on. Oh, my, what a mess. It will take hours to clean this dress, Beka said as she brushed at her sister’s skirt, which was an exercise in futility in Honor’s opinion.

Aunt Emma tsk’d at Honor, and then turned to introduce their little threesome to their rescuer.

Mr. Franklin, I am Emma Dodge, and on this lady’s other side is her sister, Rebekah Dodge, and you’ve been trying to help Miss Honor Dodge,—who will be recognizable again eventually, Emma thought to herself, and I am chaperoning our trip.

Ben spoke up, My brother, Cade, sent me in his place to transport you out to the ranch. He had a minor accident while breaking a horse and is on crutches. It’s just a sprained ankle, and he always heals fast, so there’s no need for concern.

Altogether the women began to express their concern for Cade.

He’s fine, really, nothing broken, though he’s being careful to give it time to heal. Actually it was my idea to take his place and let him keep his ankle resting and not be bounced around on the wagon.

He glanced toward the lady he rescued. Then, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief, he offered it to her … very kindly, he thought … and because she was certainly the worse for wear. He noticed too late that the cloth he held was soaked as he was.

She looked at the cloth and then at him. There was no known description for the pucker-faced look she gave him.

He observed her cute, wrinkling nose at what he held in his hand and didn’t blame her a bit.

Chapter 2

H onor was wondering what this cowboy was doing—invading her privacy in public, and treating her so casually. Had he never been around a woman before? He was a pathetic example of a man. Yes, he tried to help, but his failure was a glaring example of his ineptitude and ignorance.

Just then, Ed Colson approached from the doorway of his shop and presented a clean cloth to Ben.

Oh, well, here we go again, a man trying to fix her problem.

He told her he was going to clean off some of the street filth; and as he began to wipe at the mud on her face, he just seemed to rub it in more, since it had begun to dry, and what was left he was just spreading around.

He heard some gasps and stopped mid-wipe.

Not wanting to draw anymore uninvited attention, she spoke through gritted teeth, pointing out, Sir, you are rudely and inappropriately touching me in public.

She took note that Mr. Franklin looked puzzled. Were all men as dense as this one, or was it just cowboys? Who could understand men?

She watched as he began to wipe his own face with the clean cloth.

As she looked up and up his tall frame into his now quite-pleasant-looking eyes, to her surprise, she saw a startlingly good-looking man … and that smile would melt some woman’s heart—not hers, of course.

Fearing being caught staring, she felt her face flush and looked away hoping her wet and now-flopping hat would cover her reddening face.

Had he noticed her gaping? He was a distraction all right, but she surely didn’t want him to know her thoughts. She straightened up and gave him her best pinchy-face.

Watching as he reached up and touched what was probably a bump on his head, she could no longer hold unto her mad. After all, they had taken a few falls in the street, and not all of it was soft.

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She surely was a little bit of a thing to be so aggressive, so physical in her anger, and so strong! She was very lightweight for all that though. Indeed, he could have been carrying his empty saddlebags over his shoulder, except for one very definite difference: his saddlebags had no life and no rounded form to them. He could certainly never say that about her.

He was really curious to see what the mud covered up so completely, and how such a compact package could have such a wallop of a swing.

His thoughts were entirely too distracted. When had he ever been interested in the form of a woman or her manner? Or her shape? Never—that’s when. And he was going to keep it that way.

He speculated whether he could stay true to his commitment not to get involved with any woman. And now, this particular female specimen would apparently be very near to hand at the ranch. He remembered how it felt to hold her. It was nothing like holding his aunt or his sister—she would be just around every corner, and daily contact would be unavoidable.

He scolded himself to keep his mind on the business at hand.

Ma’am, you should have thought twice before getting into a battle with those two drunks. They weren’t worth your bother. He thought warning her was a kindness.

That pinched face appeared on her again.

Honor scowled at him and huffed as she plopped her hands on her hips. She told him he was a butt-in-sky. "Why you … you meddler! And, by the way, everyone is worth the effort.

I wasn’t concerned about the drunken men, but for the sake of the woman they were dragging around with them. I was trying to get them to stop beating on each other and making such an awful spectacle in the middle of what I hope is a respectable town. And I didn’t like the way they treated that poor woman, Daisy, so insultingly—and even those drunks are redeemable."

She surprised him … and … she was right. He hated it but he had to admit it.

As a Christian his attitude certainly didn’t speak well of his walk with Christ. He was getting an earful—she wasn’t finished with him, unfortunately.

Certainly no one else seemed to care, and you come along and throw me over your shoulder like some barbarian’s sack of potatoes, knock the wind out of me, and think you’ve rescued me. Oh, and I should thank you for that?

She could feel her heart beating faster and her face getting redder. Men! Were they all like this one and Reginald Wentworth?

She certainly hadn’t needed his intervention while trying to make a firm contact with Daisy. She simply wanted to help the woman get out of the demeaning position of a lady of the evening.

Why, she couldn’t be any more than twenty-five years old. She took a moment for the reminder that she was a mere seventeen herself. The opportunity was gone for today, so she would need to seek her out with some other opening, which she would make happen.

Ben sighed as she went on with her tirade, one fist on her hip, while waving a finger in his face. "Well, let me tell you, sir, I didn’t need your help. My clothes are ruined, I lost a boot, and you thwarted my effort to inform those two reprobates that they were behaving in a deplorable and disrespectful manner.

Daisy is a woman, after all, deserving of a man’s respect. So, in the future, I’ll thank you to leave me alone."

She began to stomp off.

’fraid I can’t do that, Ma’am, he said this in what she reluctantly admitted to be an attractive ear-tickling drawl.

On behalf of my brother, Cade, I’ve come to meet this stage, and I’ll be taking you ladies out to the Bar TR Ranch.

Honor glanced at her aunt and sister, whose expressions were almost as comically shocked as hers. She spun back around, approached him once more, and stared at him.

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Of a sudden, it was as though the fox got into the henhouse and a whole passel of chickens were flapping in the yard—and he was in the thick of it! Backing up a few feet and glancing around to make sure he didn’t fall off the walkway, Ben tried to decipher the meaning behind what the three ladies were trying to tell