Baby Screamed Nonstop On A Stagecoach Until A Widow Did The Unthinkable For A Rich Cowboy…

Across from Owen sat a middle-aged woman visiting her sister. Her name was Mrs. Keene, though she hadn’t offered it at first; she’d simply said she was “going down to Fort Collins to help my sister with the fair,” as if the fair was the only reason a woman might travel.

She wore a straw hat pinned tight and held a small reticule in her lap like it contained her last scrap of dignity.

An older man slept with his mouth open, snoring through the noise like it was a talent. His beard was grizzled and his hat drooped over his brow, and each time the coach lurched, his head knocked softly against the window frame.

Beside the window, quiet as a shadow, sat Vera Buckley.

Vera wore a plain gray dress and a simple bonnet, no ribbon, no lace, nothing that asked the world to look at her. She kept her hands folded tight in her lap like she had trained herself to take up less space in the world.

She stared out at the rolling grass and the distant gray line of the mountains, trying to pretend she was alone.

But she was not alone.

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