Fridley suddenly caught her eye and inclined his head. She stiffly nodded back, trying not to fixate on his dark hair, shiny with pomade. She couldn’t imagine touching his hair. But then, was Mr. Baker’s bald pate any better?

Easter was just two weeks away and she needed a third option. But where would this new suitor come from? She’d gone through seven or eight suitors since Christmas and each one seemed worse than the last. The problem wasn’t entirely with the gentlemen, either. Ellie knew she wasn’t a typical young woman, eager to marry and have a family. Her father had raised her as if she was a son, not a daughter. Growing up, he’d made sure she had good tutors, and he’d emphasized her need to read and write, as well as do advanced math so she could help him with his business. And she had helped. From the time she was sixteen, she’d taken care of his books, and placed his orders, and helped him make decisions regarding the future of the ranch. Three years ago when the horrific winter decimated Montana’s cattle, cutting herds in half in parts of the state, the ranches in and around Yellowstone had been hit hard, where some ranchers lost ninety percent of their livestock.

They’d been far more fortunate at Burnett Ranch as they weren’t as dependent on cattle as others. It had been Ellie who’d convinced her father several years earlier to diversify due to the continuing decline in the beef market. She’d run numbers to show him how sheep and hay crops could help them offset their losses, and so while the winter of 1886-1887 was bad, it wasn’t nearly as devastating for them as it had been for their neighbors.

Ellie was proud of her business acumen, but when she tried to discuss business and ranching practices with her different suitors, it never went over well. Sinclair Douglas was perhaps the only one who had tolerated her opinions. The rest of the gentlemen were always eager to steer her back to proper topics like weather.

Or the next church picnic.

Ellie sighed inwardly, fingers lacing. If only she could be happy discussing weather and St. James’s social events, but both topics were tedious. Being a lady was tiresome. She’d rather be on Oisin, riding hard, or traveling in her buggy with the wind pulling apart her hair, making her feel free.

She loved to be free.

Ellie blamed her father for that one.

But she wouldn’t be free much longer. Certainly no husband would give her the freedom her father had allowed her.

Her heart did a funny flutter and she suddenly remembered Mr. Sheenan, and how he was to show her the property on Bramble.

Her stomach plummeted, intensifying the jitter in her veins.

Mr. Sheenan. He was not like any of her suitors. But then, he was nothing like any of the men in Marietta.

She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or not.

Her father had asked her several nights ago why the Irishman wasn’t a candidate and she’d been appalled.

But, to be perfectly objective, why wasn’t Mr. Sheenan? How could he be worse than Mr. Baker or Mr. Fridley? At least he had clean hair.

And broad shoulders. And an impressively fit physique.