“Uncle Jess! Uncle Jess!” Maggie pushed open the back door. “Something’s on fire again!”

He spat a mouthful of curses and raced across the yard. Not bothering with the steps, he leaped onto the porch and pulled Maggie from the doorway. “Stay out here.”

Sarah hurried onto the porch. Surprisingly, the child looked unconcerned. She dashed into the house, Maggie on her heels.

Black smoke coiled from the cookstove as she stepped into the kitchen. Jess pulled the door of the oven open with the toe of his boot, grabbed a towel from the sideboard and fanned the billows of smoke pouring into the room. He reached into the oven and pulled out a pan full of charred remains. Coughing, he threw open the window above the sink.

“Dammit.” Jess kicked the oven door closed. “Goddamn it!”

Calmly, Maggie ventured closer and peered at their burned meal. “It’s all right, Uncle Jess.”

“Sonofa—” Seeing Maggie he clamped his mouth shut and held in the curses until his cheeks puffed out. He yanked off his Stetson then grabbed a handful of his poncho and ripped it over his head, wadded the garment in a knot and flung it onto the sideboard.

Sarah took a step forward, then stopped.

He had on an apron. A pink, bibbed apron with ruffles around the edges, red hearts embroidered on the pockets and green vines twining up to two bluebirds kissing on his chest.

A giggle escaped Sarah’s lips and she slapped her hand across her mouth.

Jess glared at her, then looked down at the apron. Color rose in his cheeks, pink, like the apron, but he ground his lips together and drew himself up to his greatest height.

Sarah cleared her throat. “Maybe I could help you prepare something else for supper?”

“I don’t need any help, lady.” He snarled the words at her like a rabid dog. “I’ve got everything handled.”

Sarah’s gaze scanned the room. Crusty dishes overran the sink. A makeshift clothesline sagged above the table. Flour sifted across the shelf and onto the floor. Pots and pans balanced precariously on the sideboard.

She nodded. “Yes, I can see that you do indeed have everything under control.”

“Are we going to have to eat eggs for supper again, Uncle Jess?” Maggie looked up at him with solemn eyes.

He blew out a big breath, visibly calming himself. “I’ll figure out something, honey.”

“It’s okay if we do.” Maggie looked at her brother peering around the table. “Isn’t it, Jimmy?”

The boy scurried behind Maggie and ducked his head.

Sarah’s heart ached at the sight of the two children and she even felt a pang of compassion for their uncle. The red flannel shirt beneath his apron outlined his muscular arms and wide shoulders. His brown hair grew a trifle too long, and that gave it an unruly wave across the back. Dark trousers and boots emphasized his height. He should have been riding the range, not cooking a roast for two small children.

Jess plowed his fingers through his hair and turned to Sarah again. “Look, lady, if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.”

His invitation to leave stirred her conscience again. “There’s a very nice restaurant on Main Street where you could eat tonight.”

He cringed and waved away her suggestion with both hands. “I don’t need your help and I don’t need your suggestions. I told you, I can handle anything. Anything.”

“Uncle Jess? Jimmy wet his pants.”

Jess groaned softly and his shoulders sagged.

Sarah tried again. “I could—”

“Just leave, lady. Okay?” Wearily, he held up one hand. “I’m sure you’re anxious to tell everybody in town what you. saw here, anyway.”

“Mr. Logan, I have no intention of telling anyone in town anything. I’m Maggie’s teacher.”

He froze, then his gaze impaled her. “You’re the schoolmarm? You?”

Heat Hushed her cheeks and ran the length of her as his bold gaze covered her. At once she was conscious of the mud on the hem of her skirt, the mend in her cloak, the press of her blouse against her throat, the wisps of her light brown hair loosened by the breeze. She felt her cheeks pinken and heard her heart pound in her ears.

Determinedly, she squared her shoulders and inched her chin higher, reminding herself that at age twenty-five and with several years’ experience, she was well qualified for the job; surely, that was the reason behind the look he gave her.

“Yes, Mr. Logan, I’m the schoolmarm. And I am here because today, for the third time this week, Maggie has come to school without a proper meal.”

His brows furrowed. “I sent her lunch pail today.”

“It was empty.”

His shoulders sagged farther. “I forgot to put food in it?”

“If you’re unable to send her with adequate nourishment, I will talk to the school board and see what can be arranged.”

His back stiffened again. “Now just a damn minute. Don’t you go talking to—”

“That’s all I came to say. Good day, Mr. Logan.” Nose in the air, Sarah glided out of the kitchen.

The cool, damp wind hit her square in the face as she rounded the house and went through the gate. What had gotten into her? What had she been thinking? First, offering to help with supper, then threatening to go to the school board? She’d broken her own rules—something she’d sworn wouldn’t happen.

Keep to herself. That’s the promise she’d made when she’d taken this job. She’d been lucky enough to find this position out here so far from everyone she knew—everyone who knew her—that she wouldn’t risk losing it. If that happened, where would she go next?

Sarah lifted her skirt and hurried down the road less concerned about the puddles than putting some distance between herself and Mr. Jess Logan. A man with a past. That was the rumor she’d heard. She shouldn’t provoke him. She was a woman with a past and she had far more to lose than Jess Logan if the good people of Walker found out what she’d done.

After all, who would want her for a schoolmarm once they found out how she’d killed her own husband?

Chapter Two

Golden rays of sunlight sifted through the pristine priscillas, rousing him gently. Jess groaned and rolled over, punched his fist into the pillow and snuggled deeper into its softness. He closed his eyes, ready to drift off again, then shot straight up in bed.

“Good God! What time is it?”

Tangled in the quilt, he scrambled out of bed, reaching for his trousers with one hand and his pocket watch with the other. Nearly nine o’clock. Damn.

“Maggie! Maggie, get up!”

Jess hopped into his trousers, fastening them as he hurried down the hall. At the door to the bedroom the children shared, he stopped. Both Maggie and Jimmy were gone.

“Dammit. Maggie!”

“I’m here, Uncle Jess.”

He ducked into his own bedroom again, grabbed his shirt and boots and followed his niece’s voice to the kitchen. Maggie. and Jimmy sat at the table.

“I slept too late, Maggie. We’ve got to hurry or you’ll be tardy for school.” He shoved his arms into his pale blue shirt and rummaged through the sideboard. “You’ll have to eat quick, then get dressed.”

“We already ate.”

Jess looked back at the bread and jam on the table. “Oh, yeah. Okay, then, get dressed and—”

“I am dressed.” Maggie slid from the chair. “See? So is Jimmy.”

“Okay. Yeah, that’s good.” Jess raked his fingers through his hair. “Get your books, then.”

Maggie disappeared down the hallway as Jess balanced beside the table, pulling on his socks and boots. Outside, the school bell began to clang. He mumbled a curse and looked at Jimmy. “Let’s go, partner.”

The boy bit into a slab of bread; strawberry jam squished out and dripped onto his shirt. He chewed slowly, making no move to leave.

“Maggie! Hurry!” Jess grabbed a towel from the sideboard and wiped at Jimmy’s shirt. The child grunted, pulled away and shoved the rest of the bread into his mouth.

Jimmy still hadn’t spoken and only occasionally tolerated Jess’s touch. Jess tried to wipe the child’s sticky hands, but Jimmy grunted again and slid them both down the front of Jess’s shirt, smearing jam all the way down.