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  He grinned at her impatience, then set off at a jog toward the barn. Another man immediately stepped into the void he’d left and smiled up at her. The warm, natural charm he exuded softened the edge of her distress. “I’m Crockett, ma’am. Let me help you down.”

  She thought to put Harrison back in his makeshift bed before alighting, but strong hands circled her waist and had her feet on the ground before she could blink. “Th-thank you.” He held her steady while she braced her wobbly legs beneath her. “I’m Clara, by the way. Clara Danvers.”

  He winked at her. “Soon to be Clara Archer, I’ll bet.”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  “Excellent!” He took her arm and led her to the log house standing a short distance away. “It’s about time that boy settled down. Maybe now he’ll quit galavantin’ all over the state and stay put for a while.”

  They hadn’t even reached the porch yet when a lovely blond woman bustled out the front door. She had a slight hitch in her step, but the enthusiastic welcome glowing in her blue eyes erased all else from Clara’s mind. How long had it been since she’d had true female companionship?

  “Meri, meet Clara,” Crockett announced as he assisted her up the stairs. “Neill’s intended.”

  The instant she reached the top step, Clara found herself wrapped in a fierce hug. “Welcome to the family, Clara. I’ve been praying for the Lord to lead Neill to the right woman. And here you are.”

  The right woman? Tears welled in Clara’s eyes. She carried Comanche blood and was the mother of another man’s babe—yet this beautiful, kind-hearted lady took one look at her and not only accepted her but called her an answer to prayer. Her knees did buckle then.

  “Whoa.” Crockett grabbed hold of her elbow and steadied her.

  “I’m fine,” Clara insisted, waving away his help once she had her feet back under her. “I’m just a little worn out from the trip.”

  “Of course you are.” Meri held out her hands. “Could I take the baby for you? Mine have gotten so big, it would be such a joy to hold an infant again.”

  Clara hesitated only a moment, then nodded. “His name is Harrison,” she said as she handed her son into Meri’s arms.

  “He’s beautiful,” the other woman enthused. “Such a dear. And so tiny. Why, he can’t be more than a couple weeks old.”

  “Two days.”

  “Two days?” Meri gasped. “Good heavens! You came straight from childbed, didn’t you? What was that boy thinking?”

  Clara stiffened. “That man was saving my son. Leaving was necessary.” Why did they all speak of Neill as if he were still a child?

  Meri looked taken aback, and then a slow smile spread across her face. “Yes. You are definitely the right woman.”

  “Crock!” Travis’s shout drew all eyes to the barn, where he emerged leading two horses. “Mount up.”

  Neill’s brother placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll bring your man back to you safe and sound, Clara. Don’t worry.”

  She glared at his teasing grin. “See that you do.”

  His chuckle warmed her, but the sound quickly dissipated as he bounded down the steps and across the yard to the waiting horses.

  The men disappeared in a flurry of dust as they kicked their horses into a run. Meri led the way into the house, so busy cooing to Harrison that she didn’t notice Clara’s hesitation to follow.

  She peered into the trees as if she could actually see Neill if she just tried hard enough. “Bring him back to me,” she whispered, the prayer lifting from the depths of her heart. “I need him.”

  Mack’s fingers tightened their grip on Neill’s throat. Consciousness ebbed.

  Then a vision of Clara swam through his mind. Clara alone. Abandoned. Her son lost to her. No! Neill forced the darkness back, a new ferocity thrumming in his veins.

  Mack shifted position to press more weight against Neill’s throat, and Neill seized the opening. With a surge of strength that could only be God-given, he raised both knees and jammed his boots into Mack’s gut. He twisted and shoved with all his might, launching Mack sideways. Neill gulped blessedly sweet air.

  Not taking any time to savor that sweetness, Neill immediately threw himself on top of Mack and slammed his fist into the man’s body and face again and again until his adversary finally stopped swinging back.

  “Clara is to be my wife,” Neill shouted down at the man moaning beneath him. “Harrison will carry my name. Be my son. You no longer have any claim to him. Do you understand?”

  Mack stilled. Eyes that had been rolling back in his head suddenly sharpened their focus. “She named the boy Harrison?” His grunted words were barely decipherable, but Neill made them out.

  “Yes.” Odd that the boy’s name would have such an effect on him.

  Mack lifted his head an inch off the ground, then collapsed back down. “My grandmother’s . . . maiden name.”

  Neill’s brows rose. What were the chances? True, Harrison was a rather common surname, but for it to belong to both Clara’s mother and Mack’s grandmother smacked of something stronger than coincidence. Providence, perhaps? After all, he doubted Clara would have named her son Harrison had she known the family attachment Mack had to the same name. There was too much animosity between them for her to choose a name that reminded her at all of her overbearing father-in-law.

  “Can I at least see him?” Mack murmured, his words slurring slightly. “He’s all I’ve got left of my boys.”

  Neill’s gut screamed no. The man wasn’t to be trusted. But stealing a man’s grandson from him was no better than what Mack had tried to do to Clara. Harrison deserved to know his entire family, warts and all.

  “Only on my terms,” Neill growled, “and only if Clara agrees.”

  Mack’s eyes slid closed, and the lines of tension etching his face eased. “Thank you.”

  Neill rolled off the man and tugged him to his feet. “Harrison will be my son in the eyes of the law, an Archer, with all the protection of the Archer family. I will love him like my own and raise him accordingly. He’ll know ranching, hunting, horses, weapons, and . . . if you can see your way to cooperating, he’ll know his grandfather, too.”

  Mack sucked in a harsh breath. “You . . . you won’t keep him from me?”

  “You’ll only be allowed to see him on Archer property, and only with me or one of his uncles in attendance. But understand this.” Neill grabbed Mack’s shirtfront and brought the man’s face even with his own. “If you ever attempt to take the boy or if anything suspicious occurs while you are with him, your welcome will be revoked. Permanently. You’ll never see him again. Understand?”

  “What of the Circle D?” The man’s shoulders stiffened slightly, a hint of the old belligerence creeping back into his voice. “Would you keep the boy from what is rightly his just to spite me?”

  Neill shook his head. “When Harrison is old enough, we can discuss a visit. But I won’t force it on him if he is unwilling. If you want to name him your heir, that’s your business. However, don’t be thinkin’ you’ll have long summers together to train him in the ranch’s management. Not unless you prove yourself trustworthy first.”

  “Sounds reasonable to me,” a voice behind them said. “Don’t you think, Crock?”

  Neill turned to find Travis and Crockett astride their horses, wrists crossed over their saddle horns as if content to watch the show from that vantage point.

  “Yep. Plenty reasonable.” Crock winked at him. Neill grinned.

  “’Bout time you two got here,” Jim groused, his own face sporting several new bruises as he shoved Mack’s hired man in front of him to join the gathering.

  Travis pushed back the brim of his hat. “Seems to me you two young’uns had things well in hand.”

  Jim scowled. Crockett chuckled. And Neill could only think how good it was to be home.

  “We’ll take care of Danvers and his man for you, Neill,” Travis said in his usual take-charge way. “Go home to your w
oman and let her know you’re all right.”

  For once, Neill felt no urge to argue. He hobbled toward Mo and hefted himself into the saddle, ignoring the protest of his muscles.

  “Send Josiah back with word on whether or not Clara’s willing to let Danvers see the babe,” Travis called out. “If not, we’ll escort him back to town and see him on the train.”

  Neill raised a hand to let his brother know he’d heard, then nudged Mo into a canter. The faster pace sent pain radiating through him with every stride, but Neill didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to Clara and assuring her that Harrison was safe.

  Chapter 13

  Clara paced the parlor, unable to sit. Her exhausted body begged her to join Meri on the settee, but her fretful mind wouldn’t allow it. Not until she knew how Neill fared.

  Josiah stood guard on the porch, one hip resting against the railing as he scanned the drive. Every time Clara paced by the window, she glanced his way, searching for a clue in his demeanor that might tell her how dire the situation truly was. But the man kept lounging there as if he weren’t the slightest bit concerned. Such a stance should reassure her, but instead all she could think was that he knew she was watching him and was purposely projecting a relaxed air to ease her worry. Which only served to inflame her anxiety.

  “Come sit, Clara,” Meri urged. “You’re going to wear yourself out with all that pacing. You won’t be any good to Neill if you collapse.”

  That last argument stilled Clara’s feet. Neill had been strong for her through all of this. She owed it to him to be strong in return. The stoicism that had been her strength for so many years fell back over her like a familiar gown, rolling from her head to her toes in one long wave. No more pacing. No more fretting. Whatever came, she’d deal with it the best she could. Hadn’t God proved He could be trusted, even in the darkest times? He’d brought Neill to her, after all.

  And didn’t Neill deserve her faith, as well? She’d been angry when Meri and the others had referred to him as a boy, but had she done any better—immediately assuming he’d not be able to hold his own against Mack? Neill had proven himself capable, honorable, a man worthy of her trust. And where trust led, her heart had followed—right into Neill Archer’s keeping.

  Clara made her way to the chair nearest the window and lowered herself onto the cushion. No matter what happened, she’d not disgrace him with hysterics. She’d be a rock, a steady fortress, a . . .

  “Rider comin’ in.”

  Josiah’s shout spurred Clara from her chair, heart pounding. She rushed to the window, all thoughts of rocks evaporating like insubstantial mist.

  “It’s Neill!”

  That’s all she needed to hear. Clara ran for the door, her heart sending prayers of gratitude heavenward even as her feet flew across the porch and down the steps. God had brought him back. He looked like he’d been run over by a freight wagon, but he was alive and fit enough to sit a horse. God was good.

  He’d barely dismounted when she threw herself into his arms. He groaned, but tightened his arms around her waist and drew her even closer into him.

  “It’s over, Clara. Harrison’s safe.”

  Clara gazed up at his face, bruised and bloodied, yet the most beautiful face she’d ever seen. “I love you, Neill Archer,” she said, echoing the words he’d left her with in the wagon, and infusing them with the truth of her own heart. “And as soon as that preacher brother of yours returns, I plan to make you mine.”

  Neill grinned that crooked, boyish grin that always turned her insides to melted butter and lowered his head toward hers. “I’m already yours.” The husky murmur echoed in her ears as his lips met hers in a caress so tender, a tear of sheer wonder slid past her lashes. Her palms moved up his chest and her fingers clutched at his shirt as if she could hold him to her forever.

  “I’ll . . . uh . . . just take care of your horse,” Josiah said from somewhere behind them.

  Clara broke away from the kiss and buried her face against Neill’s neck, embarrassed to have forgotten they weren’t alone.

  “Thanks, partner.” The deep sarcasm in Neill’s voice made Clara smile against his collar. Then he shifted his stance a bit and called after his friend. “Oh, by the way, it might be a while before we can make an offer on the ranch. I’m still over a hundred short.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Josiah answered. “Travis said we could run our herd on his back acres as long as we need to. We’ll make do.”

  “No. Wait.” Clara raised her head and looked from Neill to Josiah and back again. “Remember when I told you about the inheritance I had set aside? I always planned to use that money to provide for Harrison. What better way to provide for my son than to invest in a home for him and a livelihood for his future? All I have to do is write a letter to Mr. Whitfield at the bank back in Dry Gulch, and he’ll transfer the funds to your account here. Our account. He can even see about selling my old cabin for me.”

  Neill’s fingertips stroked her cheek. “Are you sure, honey? That’s your money.”

  “No, Neill. It’s our money. Our dream. Let me share it with you.”

  “You’re an amazing woman, Clara Danvers.” His fingers trailed from her cheek down along her neck and toyed with a stray piece of hair that had come loose from her pins. Her skin tingled in response. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

  “What did you ever do?” A laugh bubbled out of Clara before she could stop it. “Well, let’s see.” She ticked her answers off on her fingers. “You fixed my roof, you delivered my son, and, oh yes, you saved me from an obsessed man set on stealing my child. I’d say you’ve done plenty.”

  Instead of the smile she’d been expecting, his face grew solemn at her words. “About Mack . . . I need to ask a favor of you.”

  “What?”

  “I think you should let him see Harrison.”

  “No!” How could he suggest such a thing? After all Mack had done, there was no way she’d let him anywhere near her baby.

  “Hear me out, Clara.” Neill’s soft voice penetrated the haze of her indignation. “Hear me out, and if you still don’t feel comfortable with the idea, I’ll send him away. I told him you would have to agree. That I wouldn’t go against your wishes.”

  Clara exhaled a long breath, giving her mind a chance to catch up with her emotions. This was Neill. The man she loved. The man she trusted with her life. With her son’s life. He wouldn’t ask her to do anything that would put Harrison in jeopardy.

  “All right,” she conceded. “I’ll listen.”

  He led her to the porch, to a pair of rocking chairs, and held her hand as he explained the bargain he’d proposed to Mack. A bargain made in Harrison’s best interest. To reserve the boy’s chance to inherit the Circle D. The chance to know his only living grandfather. The chance to restore relationships that Clara had believed beyond mending. All while under the watchful eye of the man who would be his father not by blood, but by choice. A choice inspired by love.

  “I trust you, Neill,” she finally said, squeezing his hand. “I trust you to protect our son and to guide our family. Mack can come.”

  He lifted her hand to his face and kissed the back of it, holding his lips there for several long, delicious seconds. “Thank you,” he murmured against her skin. “I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  “But he can’t stay for the wedding,” she blurted. “Archers only.”

  A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, shaking his body as laughter overflowed into the air between them. “Archers only, huh?” Slowly, the amusement faded from his gaze, replaced by a love so intense, her lonely heart ached from the pure belonging it inspired. Bending his head, he laid another kiss upon her hand. “Sounds perfect.”

  Keep reading for a special sample of

  Full Steam Ahead by Karen Witemeyer.

  Excerpt from Full Steam Ahead

  Prologue

  NEW ORLEANS

  NOVEMBER 15, 1849

  Passengers jocke
yed for position along the steamboat Louisiana’s railings, waving and calling merry farewells to the crowd lining the levee. Darius Thornton stalked determinedly across the deck in the opposite direction. He’d done all the smiling he cared to during the previous half hour while Captain Cannon gave him, and a handful of other investors, a tour of the vessel.

  His brother, David, should have been the one mixing with the Caribbean coffee barons and southern cotton tycoons, not him. David was the diplomat of the family. Mingling with wealthy plantation owners and charming their wives came as naturally to him as adding a column of numbers came to Darius. But David’s wife was expecting their first child and insisted her husband remain by her side in case the babe chose to come early. Early? Darius snorted. The birth was months away. The little tyke wasn’t scheduled to arrive until January.

  Darius rested his forearms against the river-facing rails and stared into the dark water off the starboard side of the bow. New mothers. Always so jittery and anxious about everything. Tying their men to their apron strings and making their brothers-in-law suffer through torturous affairs when they could be at home in their office poring over ledgers and schematics—objects that didn’t expect wit or charisma. Solid, dependable things that required a man’s brain, not an ability to titter and chat about the weather. Stuff and nonsense, all of it.

  But sharing the familial load was what brothers were for. David had stepped in for Darius on more than one occasion. It was only right that he return the favor. Too bad he had to be so formal while he did it. He much preferred working in his shirt sleeves behind closed doors to prancing around in a tightly tailored coat and beaver hat with a bunch of dandies who considered a man’s fashion an accurate measure of his importance.

  With a groan, he dug a finger beneath his collar, wishing he could rip the thing from his neck and fling it into the river’s murky depths. The ridiculous starched points had been jabbing the underside of his jaw all afternoon.

  “I thought King Star Shipping specialized in ocean vessels, Thornton. What’s your interest in riverboats?”