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Chapter One

Nebraska Territory, June 1865

How did a man go about introducing himself to the woman of his dreams without making the situation excruciatingly awkward? Gregory Reeves had pondered that question across five states. As near as he could tell, the feat was impossible.

He’d begun tackling the problem by rehearsing a direct approach. “Good day, Miss Bowen. I am Gregory Reeves, and I am relatively sure I am in love with you.” Somehow that was both awkward and unintentionally insulting.

He’d practiced a more subtle approach as well. “I am Gregory Reeves, and I know you rather well, though we have never met.” That had far too ominous a ring to it.

“Your late brother was a friend of mine who read me your letters. I grew quite fond of you and have now come to fulfill a promise I made to him before he died. Also, I’ve grown to care for you deeply.” That speech had the benefit of being truthful with the enormous drawback of dredging up her very personal loss, his nosiness at having read her letters, and the decidedly uncomfortable revelation that he’d fallen in love with her without having ever met her.

He stood on a dirt path running past the humble farm he’d been told belonged to the Bowen family, feeling like a complete fool. He’d had a month to sort out what he meant to say but still didn’t know. Yet he couldn’t simply turn around and leave.

“Gregory, I need you to promise me,” Josiah Bowen had said the night before the Battle of Antietam, “that if I don’t live to see the end of this war and you do, that you’ll look in on Ma and Helene. They’re on their own, you know. I’m afraid for them.”

Josiah had very nearly survived. Only one more month, and he would have been on his way home to his family. Instead, Gregory stood on the road in his place.

“I could always tell her the bit about her brother and the promise I made without admitting to all the rest.”

He’d taken to talking with himself during the arduous journey to Nebraska. There’d been no one else to keep company with. He’d actually found himself to be decent company, which made him suspect he’d spent too much time alone.

Gregory brushed at the dust covering his Union uniform. He wished he’d had the time or money to purchase new clothes. He looked as tired and raggedy as he felt, and that likely wouldn’t do his cause a bit of good. He was a stranger to these people, and he was arriving at their door looking like a vagabond. They might simply bolt the door and pretend they’d never seen him.

Putting off the inevitable was the coward’s way out. Gregory was a lot of things, not all of them positive, but he was no coward. He marched up to the porch and rapped soundly on the door. As he waited, he took a moment to look things over. The house didn’t appear neglected, but it clearly could use a bit of work. The porch posts needed sanding. A few of the floorboards appeared loose. The whole place needed a fresh coat of paint. Gregory could see to all of that, though without money in his pocket, he’d have to find creative ways to pay for the improvements.

He raised his fist to knock again but stopped with his hand midair when the door pulled open. The sight that met him drained the air from his lungs— a woman stood, watching him. Her golden hair sat in a soft bun at the nape of her neck. Her light-blue eyes shone with intelligence. She had Josiah’s fair coloring and assessing air, with an undeniable femininity. For a moment, he forgot how shabby he looked and simply stared. This was Helene, the woman whose letters had captured his heart.

“Well, now, it’s past time for you to have shown up,” Helene declared firmly.

“It is?” Gregory could hardly have been more confused. He hadn’t sent word ahead. She couldn’t possibly have been expecting him.

“Come on, then.” She stepped through the door and out onto the porch. “I’ll show you where to get started.”

“Where to get started?” He watched her continue past him and down to the ground out front. She was even more beautiful than he’d imagined over the past two years. Coming face to face with her tied his tongue hopelessly.

She looked back, a bit of impatience in her expression. “There’s plenty to be done, and you’re late.”

Gregory couldn’t manage any words. Something in the firmness of her tone and the unyielding nature of her posture had him simply following after her.

“The ladder is just inside the barn,” Helene said, motioning toward that very building. “The gutters need cleaning out. When you’ve finished with that, several of the eaves have come loose and need to be nailed back in place. You’ll find a hammer and a bag of nails in the barn as well.”

He was happy to help, but he couldn’t at all make sense of the situation. She seemed to have been anticipating his arrival, which wasn’t at all possible. Only Josiah would have guessed at his destination, but neither of them had discussed the agreement since that long-ago battle. Gregory doubted Josiah had mentioned it to his family.

“That ought to keep you busy for the remainder of the day,” Helene said. “I’ll call you in when it’s time for supper.”

“I think there’s been a mistake, Miss—”

“The only mistake I am worried about is hiring you to do work around here, as you don’t seem inclined to get at it.” She held his gaze without a hint of uncertainty. She was clearly no wilting flower in need of rescuing. “Must I find someone else?”

He shook his head mutely. He didn’t at all want to be sent off when he’d only just arrived.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

Somehow his name emerged almost as a question. “Gregory.” She’d thrown him so entirely for a loop, he couldn’t quite piece words together.

She gave a quick nod. “Do your work quickly and well, and you’ll have plenty of time to settle in after supper before it grows dark.”

Helene’s determination, combined with his own fumbling feelings, rendered him rather useless. He really ought to explain who he was and why he’d come, but his heart was pounding too hard in his mind for any thoughts to form. He’d kept his wits through some of the worst battles of the Civil War but had fallen apart under the assessing gaze of Helene Bowen.