He didn’t need or want her to like him. It was better if she didn’t, and safer if she kept her distance.

She wasn’t safe with him. He’d wanted her from the first moment he saw her, back in early November, the day Montana became a state. He’d been on the fire wagon with the other volunteer firemen as it paraded down Main Street during the statehood celebrations. She was on the street, near the Bank of Marietta, watching the parade with a friend. The friend was blonde and curvy and pretty, but he’d only had eyes for the tall, slender redhead.

He’d watched her intently, liking everything about her, from the tilt of her lips, to the angle of her jaw, to the way she’d watched the parade as though she could do better, and had seen better. From the expensive cut of her coat and hat, he was certain she had seen better. He was certain, too, from the haughty lift of her chin, and the slightly bored expression in her light eyes, that she believed she deserved better, at least better than Marietta, not that Marietta was anything to sneer at, not compared to the places he’d been and things he’d seen.

He didn’t know her story, but it wasn’t hard to imagine. She came from money, and she carried herself like a princess, and she was waiting for her prince, only he hadn’t shown up yet.

Her prince would be tall and fair and have exquisite manners. He’d place her on a pedestal and treat her like a lady, and would eventually bore her to tears but, by then, she’d be Mrs. Charming and fat with his brats and the haughty tilt of her chin would turn to grim resignation and anger because she wanted more out of life and she’d gotten less.

Women like her didn’t understand that if they wanted less, they’d end up with more. Maybe one only understood such a thing if they’d grown up hungry and poor.

Ellie glared at him now over her father’s head. “I think you should go,” she said, a hand on her father’s back.

Still coughing, Archibald shook his head. “We haven’t had our tea.”

“He can have tea at home, Papa.”

“No. He is having tea with me.” Archibald struggled to get the words out. “So bring the tea and biscuits, Ellie. Stop the chatter and dillydallying.”

“I’m not chattering or dillydallying, Papa.”

“But you are arguing.” He sputtered, between shallow breaths of air. “And arguing is a form of dallying.”

“Of course, Papa. What am I thinking?” She shot Thomas another livid look before marching out, slamming the door behind her.

Archibald winced at the slam and then tugged on his goatee. “She takes after her mother.”

“In looks or temperament?”

“Looks.” The Texan’s forehead furrowed. “She has my temperament.”

“Is that why she is not yet betrothed?”

“She’s had offers, including proposals from Denver and Butte, but she hasn’t accepted any. She’s particular.”

“You mean, she likes to be in control.”

“She’s accustomed to having her way.”

Thomas said nothing. There was no point. Ellie was not his concern. He was not getting involved.

“But you see my problem, don’t you?” Archibald persisted.

“Yes, she’s a problem.”

For a moment the old Texan didn’t seem to know how to respond, and then he smiled crookedly. “You would have been a good match for her—”

“No. Not so. I wouldn’t put up with the attitude.”

“She said you were rude to her today, on the road.”

“She could have been killed. There was no need to push her horse. She could ease up with her whip.”

“She loves that horse.”

“Then she ought to slow down and put away the whip.”

“She doesn’t actually strike Oisin.”

“No, she cracks it above his ears, which is absurd when you have a young stallion.