Colorado, 1887
Kinsey Templeton watched the passengers file out of the
stagecoach at the depot across the street. Horses and
wagons passed between them kicking up little swirls of
dirt. She squinted her eyes against the bright afternoon
sunlight and craned her neck for a better view.
A husband and wife. Two women and a young boy. A man
traveling alone. All tired and dusty, probably hungry,
stretching their legs and drawing fresh breaths of the
clean air.
Since arriving in Crystal Springs several months ago,
Kinsey watched the arrival of nearly every person who set
foot in town. The task had grown more difficult lately.
The stage came more frequently now. The railroad had made
the town a regular stop on its line, bringing even more
new faces. She had her job, too, at the boardinghouse.
Kinsey was probably the only person in Crystal Springs who
arranged their day to match the stage and train schedules.
She was probably the only one who needed to. With a quick
glance around, Kinsey checked to see if any of the
merchants she knew on Main Street or her friends going
about their business seemed ready to stop and chat. No one
did. No one at the stage depot took notice of her either.
She was all but invisible to everyone arriving in Crystal
Springs. Twenty-five years old, her brown hair tucked
beneath a bonnet, she wore the same sort of clothing as
all the women in town. She looked as if she belonged there.
No one noticed that she watched the stage passengers,
scrutinizing their appearance, their clothes and manners.
Even if anyone commented about her odd behavior, Kinsey
wouldn't have changed her ways. She couldn't. She had no
choice.
Because she knew that still, after all the miles, all the
towns and all the these years, someone would come after
her.
How would she recognize him? A family resemblance? Maybe.
Maybe not. More likely his clothing. Eastern. Well-cut and
expensive. His appearance would be out of place here in
the West. He'd have the look of a dandy. A thief.
A predator.
Kinsey turned her attention to the husband and wife in
front of the depot. The two of them talked for a few
minutes before he pointed to the White Dove Café down the
street. The couple was passing through, Kinsey decided,
and focused on the two women and young boy who were now
speaking to the express agent. She dismissed them as
quickly, realizing they were, like so many other travelers
she'd seen, inquiring about their layover time. She
settled her gaze on the man who'd been the last to exit
the stage.
His back was to her as he gazed westward down the street.
Tall, wide-shouldered and long-legged. Hours on the
cramped stage had surely been difficult for a man his size.
He wore dark trousers and vest, and a pale blue shirt. His
black hat covered most of his equally black hair. A pistol
was holstered low on his thigh. He carried a small satchel
in his hand.
The man seemed to fit in, in dress and manner, at least
from what she could see from across the street. Yet a
unease crept over Kinsey, as if —
He turned quickly to answer the shotgun rider who'd called
to him from atop the stage. Kinsey's heart rushed into her
throat.
Good gracious, he was handsome. Clean-shaven and carefully
groomed despite the long stagecoach trip, yet somehow
displaying a rugged air at the same time. Long limbs,
stolid, sturdy. He carried an air of confidence, perhaps
bordering on arrogance, as he spoke. A man used to being
in charge.
The shotgun rider tossed down a valise and he caught it
easily. He was staying in Crystal Springs. Kinsey's
stomach fluttered unexpectedly and her heart thudded
harder until —
"Mama! You're squeezing me!"
Kinsey gasped and leaned down to her son, easing her grip
on his hand and pulling it up to plant a kiss on his tiny
fingers.
"Mama's so sorry, Sam," she said, watching the little
frown disappear from his face. "Let's go into the store.
I'll bet Miss Ida has a treat for you."
He darted ahead of her in typical five-year-old fashion,
scooting through the open door of the MacAvoy General
Store before Kinsey could catch his hand again. She smiled
with motherly pride. Sam was a beautiful child, with dark
hair and blue eyes. He was a joy. Smart, too. Miss Peyton
had allowed him to start school already. The townsfolk had
taken to him — and Kinsey — immediately. Crystal Springs
felt like home now, despite the short time they'd lived
there.
Kinsey headed into the general store, knowing she'd find
Sam sitting on the counter, Ida Burk presenting him with a
peppermint stick from one of the glass display jars. But
at the doorway she turned back and cast another look at
the stage depot. At the man.
In that instant he turned her way, and for a second their
gazes met and held. Kinsey's breath caught. Her heart
started up its thumping again and her stomach gave a quick
lurch. He stared right back at her, frozen, as she was,
for a few seconds.
Kinsey came to her senses with a little gasp and dashed
into the general store, leaving the stranger staring after
her.
What the hell was he doing. Jared Mason gave himself a
mental shake, silently admonishing himself for blatantly
ogling the woman across the street. True, she was pretty;
he could tell that even from a distance. And true, he'd
been cooped up on the stage for days — and before that,
weeks on the train — and this was the first woman who'd
caught his eye, so he guessed he owed it to himself to
enjoy the view.
Yet that wasn't what he was here for.
Jared adjusted his grip on his valise and satchel, and
headed down the street toward the hotel the shotgun rider
had told him about.
Walking, stretching his legs felt good. Jared kept his
pace steady, more interested in looking over the town than
getting to the hotel.
Crystal Springs, Colorado, seemed like a prosperous place.
Jared spied stores, restaurants, a bank, a hotel and
several other businesses. Men in suits roamed the street
alongside cowboys carrying guns on their hips, miners with
long beards, women in gingham dresses. The town looked
clean, and from the talk he'd heard on the stagecoach, the
place was growing.
Another new face among the townsfolk wouldn't draw much
attention, Jared decided, and that suited his purpose
well. He needed to blend in, to look like he belonged. The
element of surprise was essential. He'd known that since
he set out on this trip, several weeks and thousands of
miles ago.
After crossing the Mississippi, Jared had abandoned the
private railroad car and sent it back to New York,
continuing the journey in the cars with the other
passengers. Over the next weeks at some of the train
stops, he'd slowly changed his appearance.
Suit, silk shirt and cravat exchanged for Levi's trousers,
vests and cotton shirts. Italian leather shoes gone,
replaced by boots. A wide-brimmed black Stetson hat. He'd
bought a pistol and shoved it into the holster on his hip;
he had yet to fire it but he did know how to load it.
The transformation of his appearance had been completed
somewhere in Kansas. Jared didn't recall exactly where
now. The train depots, the small towns, the scenery had
blurred a long time ago.
In the town of Cold Creek, about fifty miles to the east,
Jared had abandoned the train. He couldn't take another
day of cinders and smoke blowing in through the open
windows, the clacking of the rails, the relentless
swaying, the screaming whistle. He boarded the stagecoach
bound for Crystal Springs.
Jared glanced down at the satchel he carried and the
technical journals tucked inside. They'd saved his sanity,
along with the newspapers he'd bought along the way.
All he'd been able to do for the duration of the cross-
country trip was read. And think. Think about what he'd
lost. And what he'd come here to get back.
At the corner he stopped and eyed the Crystal Springs
Hotel across the street, suddenly anxious to get inside,
book a room, get cleaned up and grab a few hours of sleep.
But his gaze swung to the general store down the block and
the spot where he'd seen the pretty woman standing in the
doorway. She was gone now, but her image lingered in his
mind.
She'd had a market basket on her arm so she was probably
shopping. For supper, maybe? For her family?
A raw surge of emotion ripped through Jared. A cozy home.
A warm kitchen. A good meal on the table. Someone special
waiting.
"Damn..."
Jared bit off a worse curse as the painful reminder of why
he'd come here twisted inside him. He trudged on toward
the hotel, as anxious as ever to get this job done. Once
more he silently vowed he wouldn't go home empty-handed.
And after this long, arduous journey, he wasn't particular
about how he accomplished his task.
But he wouldn't fail. He'd head back east quickly. As soon
as he got what he'd come here for.