He was riding back to town from Radcliffe Ranch, with his heart somewhere in the soles of his boots, when the sight of an angel somersaulting through the air drew him from his inner turmoil.

He felt his stomach lurch. From that angle, Jese was positive she'd broken her neck. Nudging his horse on he reached her side in moments. He found her sprawled across the turf with her eyes closed, and her mouth sagging unnaturally open.

The vision of her lifeless body dragged back reminders of his youth. He'd seen death more times than he'd eaten Fried Sheep's Trotters, but for a woman so young - and so incredibly pretty - it was a crying shame.  It reminded him of another beautiful face... cold to his touch. Memories that he tried to repress daily, came flooding back. Blood. Death. Loss. He felt overwhelmed by the surge of emotions that passed over him.

But there she was, skirts sodden with dust, dragging him back to the present. Her misfortune, he decided, had worked out well for his mental state. She was the distraction he'd needed. Had she not fallen from her horse, onto his path, who knows how long he would be wallowing in disappointment, cursing destiny for his awful luck.

Jese had arrived at Radcliffe Ranch before the sun had reached the middle of the sky, feeling something akin to enthusiasm bubbling in his stomach. He'd searched for Earl Radcliffe, with a swing in his step and a glint in his eye. When Jese hadn't found the man quite as easily as he'd hoped he approached a man drafting cattle.

The wrangler's face was inscrutable. Then he delivered the news that Jese didn't want to hear.   The old barsted had died not two years earlier.

"Oh," Jese had replied simply. He refrained from spitting angrily away the ground.  That was no loss of his, or the world's. Society was better off without the evil conman. "Would Mrs. Radcliffe be about?"

"She would."

A tiny burst of enthusiasm grew by the second. "And where would I find her?"

"Away with the fairies, is where."

"I'm not sure I follow?" But the bubbling in his gut took a nosedive.

"She'd not be able to tell you if it were night or day. Lost her senses, is what."

Every vulgar word known to mankind begged to spring from Jese's lips, but somehow he suppressed the lot of them. "Oh." He managed, politely. His case depended on the Radcliffe family remembering their obligation to him. Otherwise he was no safer here than if he were placed in front of the gallows themselves.

His dreams for the future, that he'd recently - and foolishly - allowed himself to indulge in, had died an immediate death. Endless days, months, and years stretched out before him.  Herding stinking cattle upon his airship, and flying them about the land. Casting one eye forever over his shoulder. He'd be forever in the shadows. Never relaxing, never settling. A life lived from his battered suitcase.

But now, with his gaze upon that dusty angel, his problems seemed small and insignificant in the light of her loss.

He wondered who she'd left behind. There must be a gaggle of men about the County that would be heartbroken to hear news of her passing, and maybe children too...? No. Her waist was far too small for that. She looked of Native American descent. Her skin the color of creamy coffee. Her thick black eyelashes were stuck against her tear stained skin, which struck him as strange. When being flung from a horse one expected a woman to scream... not to cry like they'd had their heart broken.

Jese had reached for her hands, stretched out awkwardly above her head, and placed them gently by her side. His fingers brushed her skirts down over her thighs. Every corpse deserved honor. He felt his skin react as his finger pads came in contact with the warm flesh above her thigh high stockings. Good Lord! Jese shook his head, repulsed. Had he spent so long on the Great Plains, surrounded by beaten looking broads, that he now found his heart fluttering over a good looking carcass? He wasn't sure how his mother would feel about the news, that her only son was a necrophiliac. 

Catching her wrist he'd searched for a pulse. An old habit from war torn days.

Somewhere inside that frail arm he felt a faint beat. Shock jolted through him. Jese glanced at her face, finding large cerulean blue eyes flickering open. He watched as they focused on his face.

Miss India Sommers. If that was even her name. He would know the color of those eyes anywhere. Or would he? Without the body paint and wig he realized how eerily similar she was to someone else. Someone he'd met a decade ago. A similarity he'd not noticed the night before.

Earl Radcliffe's haughty blue-eyed daughter. Prancing about Scuffletown like she was so far above everyone, and especially Jese. She hadn't even bothered to disguise the fact that whenever she saw him approaching she would cross the street to avoid him. She was as subtle as a bull's hoof to the face.

"Am I dreaming?" she murmured.

His hand brushed her hair back. "My disappearing companion," Jese drawled. He noticed how his words shocked her into a momentary silence.

"How could you tell?" She croaked.

"I've never seen anyone with eyes like yours." Or perhaps he had... "And it also explains the small boy I saw leaving the powder room shortly after you went in. He was certainly tall enough to be you."

She winced in reply, and struggled to sit up.

"Be still, I need to check if you've broken anything before you stand up." His hands shifted across her limbs. "Does anything hurt?" Jese struggled not to notice the way his pulse quickened as his hands came in contact with her generous curves.

Another hot flame crossed her cheeks. "No."

"You are lucky." Jese cursed his stomach. Why must it flip about like he was just out of the School yard?

"Lucky?" His statement induced a few more tears to flow down her cheeks. She wiped at her face. "That isn't a word people use to describe me."

"Here." He fished in his pocket for a handkerchief. The starched black and white striped cloth was covered in dust from the road. Jese dabbed uselessly at the fresh flow of tears coursing their way down her cheeks.

"Thank you. I've had a tough morning."

"May I ask what has caused you such distress?"

After a short pause she began to speak. "The bank has begun paperwork to foreclose on my family's ranch."

Hope. He could feel it growing inside. Had he really stooped so low in life that someone else's misery had caused him such optimism? Jese squinted up at the midday sun. "Well, you will still have your manor in England."

"I'm the farthest thing from an English Rose."

"You are by far more attractive just the way you are." Jese noticed her redden again. "So your father has no money?"

"My father is dead." She paused. As if wondering how much to tell him. "He left the ranch to my mother and I, but she is ailing. I'm afraid that when we are thrown out of the homestead it will kill her."

That hope inside, he could feel it growing foundations.  It had to be her! "This ranch of yours... is it far from here?"

"Not two miles down the track."

"Two miles down the road?" He stared in the direction he'd just come from. "Radcliffe Ranch?"

"Yes."

"Well." He whistled under his breath. Even though he'd guessed at it, the fact still came as a shock. That she was the devil's spawn.

Her beauty had turned his head. He'd seen her sweet confusion, and hoped that she could be something better than what she was. But now, with the cold hard fact, Jese noticed that her gaze (that he had previously admired) was almost identical to her father's. Small details differed; Earl's eyes were an icier shade of blue. Yet father and daughter shared the same shrewd look. Judging, assessing and reserved.

When he'd first met Earl, he'd found him to be charming company. The man was articulate and witty. Someone that Jese, as a younger man, had instantly trusted. But Earl had not only seen to it that he'd burnt Jese's trust, but he'd been completely without empathy, or regret.

The only person Earl Radcliffe cared about was himself. Which had made him the perfect target. Jese had known many good men who would happily put their life and family at risk for the safety of Jese Calhoun, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep at night if he was always fearful that he would become the reason for their bloodshed.

Earl Radcliffe didn't need protecting - if anything he needed protecting from - and if Jese's presence was to bring any misfortune to the man's life... Well, it wasn't anything thing that the old prick didn't deserve. But now he was dead and his daughter remained.  

"When the Bank Manager told me the news I wished I stole your cufflinks. If I had I wouldn't be in this predicament."

So she hadn't taken them. And if not,  who had? "You would do anything to keep the ranch?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Absolutely anything. My mother's life depends upon it."

"Last night, I recall, you had a lucrative offer from a man in the street."

"I would not sell my body." She didn't sound completely convinced.

She could help him where her father couldn't, and pay the debt that her father owed. Had her eyes been softer, sweeter, and less assessing then maybe he would have felt some compassion for her. But even with all of the distress she was obviously under there was the cool stamp of Earl's legacy on her features. Most women would be out of sorts in this situation,  not looking so proudly... like she was helping him. He couldn't find even the smallest degree of pity for her.

If anything, he had to be wary of her. Her father he might have been able to manipulate into submission but as for her... This woman would use anything to get herself out of the she'd found herself in. She'd turn him over to the Sheriff before sundown if he found himself overcome with a sentimental desire to converse.

And that made her the perfect wife.

"You haven't told me your name?"

"Nova Radcliffe," she replied, finally.

"Are you married?"

"Not at all."

"No beaus?"

"I told you all of this last night!"

"You were very secretive. I need to know the truth."

"No one who has offered for my hand."

He stood quietly for some time.  "I'll pay you double what the cufflink is worth, for your hand in marriage."

"What? You want to pay me to marry you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It would be helping us both out of a very awkward predicament. I could offer you financial support and you could offer me shelter."

"Shelter? With that amount of money I'm sure that you can afford to buy a smaller property elsewhere."

"It is the shelter of your family name that I need. I can't tell you any more than this... if you want my help it is there."

Nova stared at him in confusion. "I can't marry you if I know nothing about you."

"And if you don't take my money?" He asked.

"I'll find shelter somewhere.  Until I could afford a sod cottage."

"And your mother is healthy enough? The nights are getting very chilly."

She licked her lips nervously.

"It could be the nail in her coffin." He continued. Surprised by his uncaring dialogue.

"Well..."

He noticed her weak moment and continued,  "Our marriage would be in the name only."

"What about ..." She drifted off awkwardly suddenly embarrassed to mouth the unacceptable.

"Affection?"

"Yes."

"With discretion, we should be able to sleep with whomever we choose."

She continued to mull it over.

"I am riding to my airship now," Jese informed her. "If you accept my offer I will ride instead to the bank and fix matters. If you won't marry me I will disappear. What do you say? Yes or no?"

"Yes," she whispered. Defeated.

Hello readers... I have been editing this book via my phone.   Predictive text (or auto correct - as some of you call it) is causing all kinds of mayhem.   If you spot an odd word please point out or to me.  Even if you just aren't sure. 

Shelley