Chapter 1

May 1879

“I don’t care what the ticket says. This coach is taking us to Hell. And not straight there, either. This driver is taking the longest, dustiest, bumpiest route he can find.” Lily Bloom blew a tendril of hair off her cheek. With breath as stale as one of the dirty canvas window coverings and eyelashes stiffened by trail dust, misery pervaded the cramped compartment. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I’m not kidding, Daisy. I’ve reached the end of my ever-loving rope!”

Her companion on this journey westward didn’t look up from her journal. Attention focused on the pen in her hand, she kept the same slow, steady pace she’d used through the entire trip. The implement crawled across the page. Every bump brought a scowl and the pages she’d written all looked like gibberish from Lily’s vantage point, but the other’s determination did not waver.

“What the hell is so all-fired interesting in that damn book of yours that you can’t even look up at me when I’m speaking to you?” The rumbling of the huge wheels made it necessary to raise one’s voice to be heard. Now, the level creeped higher, fueled by irritation and the longing for an ocean of hot water and a deep galvanized bathtub. “I know your ears work.”

Lily knew patience did not come easily to her. It never had. Although she tried to be tolerant of her three sisters and their antics, it frustrated her that they needed so much attention. Like now, when the younger’s focus should have been on her elder’s comfort instead of that ink-spotted bundle of papers.

The sister who showed a challenging streak sat on the seat across from her. Beleaguering that they were siblings. Two personalities could not be more opposite than theirs, yet here they were, headed to Wyoming territory—better known as Hell. She felt certain it must be the case because, honestly, only the road to the underworld would be littered with the bones of the dead, the way this one must be. What else could the coach’s wheels be bumping over, if not rotting carcasses and sun-bleached skeletons?

Daisy dotted a spot on the page with a flourish before she raised her gaze. She blew on the ink, closed the scuffed brown leather-bound book, and stuffed it with her pen into the carpet bag on the seat beside her. Rubbing her ink-stained fingertips together, she let out a long sigh.

“With all the cussing you’re doing, I think you should expect to take a one-way trip to the devil’s playground. Whatever would Father think if he could hear you now?” She flashed a sweet smile, but that didn’t fool Lily. They were close enough in age that she knew the way the other’s mind worked. Smiling like a debutante at a cotillion only hid the truth from those who didn’t know the Bloom sister the way she did. Daisy had a spine of steel concealed behind bow-shaped lips and an endearing manner.

Their parents were safely back in Charleston with their younger sister, Pansy. Reminding her that the head of the family wouldn’t approve sank the conversation to a new depth.

“You seem to forget yourself. I’m the eldest, remember? Mother and Father are both proud of my accomplishments, and they fully endorse my acting my age. Your own lack of years shows when you say things like that. Take care. Your wild ways may be the death of you.” She slipped her fingers into her hair, rooting around for the hairpin that had come loose enough for a lock to fall forward. A jab to put her hairdo back in place brought a sharp pain to her temple when she stabbed it with the pin. Not wanting to look gullible, she ignored the poke and fixed her hair. Then she sat back against the hard wooden seat and stared out the window.

The long trip westward wore on them both. The outset hadn’t been particularly optimistic and as the miles stretched, they grew even less cheerful. Fleeing one’s life did not bring pleasure, especially when the destination held so many unknowns.

She watched the endless stream of scrub, abandoned wagons, and occasional wooden cross marking a death on the trail outside the open window. It would be less dusty if she lowered the canvas, but the heat inside the coach reached unimaginable proportions when they tried that. She covered her nose with the less-than-fresh hanky she pulled from one sleeve and endured what could not be changed.

What could not be changed.

It never occurred to her she would leave their home city. Charleston, with its charm, fancy parties, and lifetime of memories held her heart. Not once had she imagined she wouldn’t live all her days in the southern paradise.

But life has a way of surprising one. Fate did not care that she had her whole future planned when it threw an ugly tantrum, crashing her hopes against the cobblestone walk outside her door and leaving her heart shattered. She would not forget the cruel twist that brought her to this point. She did not doubt it would haunt her all her days.

A sideways glance across the interior of the coach showed Daisy living up to her name. Their snapping words did not affect her. Like her namesake, she bent in the breeze, unaffected by storms or unrest, content to grow in her own way at her own pace. The woman mystified Lily with her ability to shut out the world and find solace and contentment within her own mind and heart. There were times she admired her sister—and other times she came close to hating her—for this unique ability to accept life as it came to her and find joy regardless of the circumstances.

She did not have that in her.

She cleared her throat, hoping to get her sister’s attention, but it went unnoticed. The other woman stared out as the miles passed. In true form, she probably formulated scenes for the stories she wrote and sent away for publication. She and the others who knew Daisy had learned that their words and actions—even those that should remain private—were fodder for the active imagination and might show up on a page.

Throat-clearing would not rouse her from her writer’s mind, so she coughed into her hand. In true southern belle style, she made sure to be delicate about the gesture, yet intentionally did so as loudly as she ever had.

Her sister turned her gaze from the view. “Perhaps you should consider dropping the canvas on your side and sitting back. You don’t want to arrive in Wylder with a consumptive disorder, do you?”

Lily did not fear the fatal illness. She did, however, sit back against the hard wood to prevent inhaling some trail dust. One could never be too careful where the lungs were concerned.

She brought her lips upward at their edges. A small smile, meant to calm the dissention between them. “Thank you for your concern. No, I do not wish to arrive in Wyoming territory in poor health. I am already so indisposed that adding to my constitutional distress would not be wise.”

Watching her sister’s face contort as she waged an internal battle between an unkind reply and keeping her own council would be amusing—if she herself did not sit squarely in the middle of the mental battlefield. There were so many instances in their lives when she’d witnessed Daisy trying to control her tongue that this did not come as a surprise.

The other’s mouth dropped open. She stared for a long moment before it snapped shut. Favorable that she closed it right before the stage bounced over what must certainly be another cadaver skull. Had it still been gaping when they were jostled so high that the tops of their heads grazed the interior ceiling, she would have caught her tongue between her teeth.

She would have enjoyed seeing that.

“You cannot believe that you are experiencing any physical distress that is not related to this expedition. Your health is so sturdy that you put the rest of us to shame. Why, I recall how we all came down with the ague three winters ago—all of us, that is, except you. Dear sister, your constitution has never been subject to distress.” The other woman glanced out the window. A smile played around the corners of her lips. When she turned back and met Lily’s gaze, she added, “I do believe you are one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. Your body is fine. Your mind, however, may be in peril.”

Dirty, tired, and out of sorts, it took a Herculean effort not to open the stage door and toss the other to the rutted road. She had it coming, not only for the remark about a perilous mind but for all the stony silences and displays of indifference she’d shown on this westward trek.

Instead of removing the offender from the coach, she took the high road. After all, it behooved her to do so, being the eldest and all.

“You seem to forget who nursed the lot of you through that miserable week. If I recall, your case included not only chills and fever, sister, but other less-agreeable complaints. Since I cleaned up after you, the least you can do is not be so perverse as to impugn my mind.” She smiled pleasantly, hoping the message beneath the words found a spot to land.

All three of her sisters had presented a revolting mess that tested Lily’s skill in the sickroom during the illness. Disgusting at the time, but now it served a purpose. A reminder for the other of her infirmity put her at a disadvantage. And she never minded putting any of her younger sisters in their places.

“I have not forgotten. How could I? You take every chance you can to bring up that miserable week. And unless I’m mistaken—which I am not—I’ve thanked you many times for caring for me.” Her sister rummaged in a bag so large she could have hidden a small child in it. The notebooks and assorted writing implements she toted around weighed more than a toddler and made almost as much noise rattling together in the paisley bag. She pulled an ink-smudged handkerchief from its depths and held it out. “Here, you should wipe your face. You have an unfortunate slash of dirt across your skin, probably from leaning your head against the window frame.”

She waved a hand in the air between them. “Get that filthy thing away from me. Really, how can you expect anyone to use that rag? It is covered with ink and who knows what else. No, thank you. I’m sure my face is fine.”

A fast flick of the wrist sent the handkerchief back into the bag. Her sister snapped it shut as the stagecoach jolted to a stop. She sat forward and when the door opened, she exited the compartment. Looking back over her shoulder, she asked, “Well? Are you coming or are you going to Laramie?”

Laramie? Why, that sat fifteen miles past Wylder.

Lily grabbed her bag and went for the door. The steps were folded down, so she placed a foot on one and paused, half in and half out of the conveyance. The stagecoach stop looked bigger than many of the others. She wondered where on earth they were. The street bustled but this could not be their destination.

A tall man in dusty clothing stopped right beyond the steps. He stared at her for a long minute before he put out a hand to assist her.

“May I help you down, ma’am?” His faint northern accent put her off, so she declined his assistance.

“I am perfectly capable of alighting from the carriage.” She stepped down onto the hard-packed dirt. At the rear of the coach, Daisy directed two men in the removal of their bags. Lily turned to the stranger, who still stood regarding her with unconcealed interest. “Where are we?”

“Why, you’re in Wylder, ma’am. The prettiest little town in the whole Wyoming territory.”

The smell of horse manure, dirty bodies, and dust swept up her nose. She wrinkled it as she gazed at the buildings around her. She saw lots of unpainted wood. No charming flower baskets sending cascades of blooms over porch railings.

Her gaze met the man’s. “Are you sure this is Wylder?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“This can’t be. It isn’t what I expected.”

His gaze swept over the stagecoach and surrounding area before it rested on her again. “What exactly did you think you’d find here? Mansions and fancy carriages?”

He did not attempt to conceal his amusement.

“I didn’t think it would be this dirty.”

He smirked, then leaned close and lowered his voice. “It would seem to me that you’d feel right at home. After all, you came prepared, what with that ribbon of grime across that pretty face of yours.”

She gasped. How rude!

Touching the brim of his hat with one hand, he turned and sauntered across the filthy street toward a big building. A sign dangled above the entrance steps, identifying the place as the Five Star Saloon.

It came as no shock that the first person she’d meet in Wylder was the town drunk. Her life had been out of control for months now. Why should it change because she’d traveled to the frontier?