She shot a glance up, taking in the clouds sailing overhead, and then set off, leaving Marietta at a brisk speed, eager to escape town and the uncomfortable memories stirred up by her conversation with Johanna.

Last fall, Johanna’s brother, Sinclair, had been the perfect suitor, and he would have been the perfect husband, too, but, by abruptly marrying his childhood sweetheart, the Copper King Patrick Frasier’s daughter McKenna, at Christmas instead of Ellie, Sinclair had embarrassed her, leaving her in the lurch.

It had been three months since then and Ellie still needed a husband, and there was nothing she hated more than being on the marriage mart, particularly when one didn’t just want a husband, but needed one, urgently. Those were not good conditions for a satisfying courtship.

Spotting a slow moving wagon in front of her, Ellie cracked her whip above her stallion’s ears, spurring Oisin faster so they could pass, and they did, most impressively, despite the strong wind whistling through the valley from Yellowstone. The wind was as much a part of Paradise Valley as the mountains and the river and strangers always remarked on the gusts, but she loved them. They made her feel unfettered and free—

From beneath the carriage came a low, shuddering crack and then the carriage lurched. Ellie threw out her hands to brace herself as the buggy suddenly tipped over but there was no way to stop from being flung out. For a moment she was flying through the air and then in the next, she slammed into the ground. The impact knocked the wind from her and she lay stunned and shaken, struggling to catch her breath.

What had just happened?

Blinking she looked toward her gleaming carriage, now sideways in the dirt. Oisin remained in place, appearing as confused as she felt.

Drawing another slow breath, Ellie wiggled her toes and then gingerly moved her arms and legs. Nothing seemed to be broken. Thank God. Who would take care of Papa if she ended up in a plaster?

Still trying to gather herself, she heard the jingle of a horse and the creak of a wagon slowing near her buggy. Pride kicked in. The last thing she wanted was to be found in a heap, in a ditch. She struggled to rise but her ankle buckled and she fell back onto her rear end, wincing.

“That was stupid,” a deep rough male voice said curtly. “You’re lucky you’re not dead.”

She couldn’t see his face, not with the sun in her eyes and the brim of his hat shading his features, but she heard the accent. A lilting Irish brogue. He hadn’t been born in Montana, or anywhere else in America. It didn’t help that the stranger dwarfed her—his shoulders were immense—forcing her to tip her head back to look into his face.

“Thank you for your courtesy. No need to assist me to my feet,” she retorted, biting down to muffle the groan of pain as she staggered up once more, this time determined to stick. The world swam a bit, nausea rushing through her as she tried to put weight on her right foot. But she wasn’t going to let him know how much her ankle pained her.

He practically growled as he took her elbow, steadying her. “You’re hurt.” From someone else the tone would be one of concern. From him, it was an accusation.

She could feel the heat and pressure of his hand even through her coat and she didn’t like it. “I’m fine.” She tried to shake him off. “Let me see to my horse.”

“He’s in better shape than you,” he answered flatly, releasing his hold.

“How do you know?”

“I checked on him first.”

“A true gallant,” she muttered, brushing off her dirty skirt and then her scraped hands. She was lucky it hadn’t snowed or rained in the past week, otherwise she’d be covered in mud.

“He shouldn’t be punished for your recklessness,” he said, moving toward her buggy.

She glared at the Irishman’s departing back. His leather coat clung to the broad planes of his shoulders and torso, while his black hair hung in long waves to his shoulders. “I’m not reckless.”

“Then you lack skill, because you can’t drive. You’re a danger to all.”

Outraged, she limped toward her horse. “You don’t know the first thing about me,” she said, moving around her stallion, stroking Oisin’s flank and then his belly, and finally his shoulder.