“Sadly, there is no proper bench for them.”

“They could ride in the back—”

“Mr. Fridley would be appalled. Perhaps we should move along and get this over with?”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Mr. Sheenan flicked the reigns and his sturdy horse set off.

It was a short trip down First Avenue, past the triangular shaped Bramble Park with its two saplings and iron bench and then a left on Bramble Lane. There were a dozen houses scattered down Bramble, with two houses on some blocks, and just one house on others. Most of the Victorian homes had been built in the past ten years, some newer than others, but as this was the most prestigious address in Marietta, they were all two to three stories with double hung windows, and columns and porches, and either a tower, turret, or cupola. Some homes were Italianate in design, while others were of the simpler Gothic Revival, and then there were new houses of Queen Anne style.

She looked at each house carefully as they traveled north on Bramble, wondering what it was her father purchased here for her, and if it was a house, or a lot. She’d known for a number of months that her father was up to something, withdrawing money from the local bank for a secret purchase of significant size, but she hadn’t expected it to be land on Bramble. She’d thought maybe he was going to build her a new house on their ranch in the valley.

Apparently she’d been wrong.

Her heart sank as Mr. Sheenan slowed and then stopped before a newly built, three story Queen Anne mansion. The wooden shingles on the lower two floors had been painted butter yellow, while the shingles on the third were her favorite ivy green. The thick trim gleamed white, while the tall double hung windows on all three floors promised a bright interior. Her father knew her tastes, though, because the house had a dashing two-story turret and the huge, wrap around porch she’d wanted ever since she was a little girl.

Her father had finally given her the house she’d always dreamed about but instead of it being on their property, beneath the shadow of Emigrant Mountain, it faced majestic Copper Mountain, which wasn’t her favorite peak at all.

It was without a doubt a very pretty house, the sparkle of the glass and the soft yellow paint infinitely appealing for a city house, but she didn’t want a city house. She would not be living in Marietta. She’d marry and raise her children on the Burnett Ranch in Paradise Valley.

Mr. Sheenan climbed down and reached up to assist her out.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s impossible to see everything from here,” he answered. “The builder gave me the key earlier. He apologized for not having any trees in yet, but I think you’d like the inside. There are gas lines throughout, and each bedroom has its own bath with a proper tub and hot water.”

“You’ve been inside then?”

“I have. It’s impressive. My mother would have called it a very fine manor home. High ceilings, a modern kitchen, large windows throughout—”

“That’s nice, but I’m not going to live here. My home is in the valley.”

“Your house in the valley is primitive compared to this.”

She turned her head and looked at him. “Maybe. But would you give up that land—thousands of acres, never mind all that livestock—to live here?”

His gaze narrowed. He studied her a long moment. “No.”

“Well, neither will I.” She swallowed hard around the lump filling her throat. “Will you please take me back to my carriage now?”

He slowed in front of the church and then drew his horse to a stop. The wagon rolled a little and then was still.

Ellie clasped her hands together, fingers tightly laced.