Caroline Ashbury had not slept well. In fact, she hadn't slept at all. Her father's voice echoed through her mind, never ceasing for a second. His rough, unkind words on the day before he died still rattled her.

"You're only a weak woman. Go home to your mother. There's no place for a spoilt little child here. This town will swallow you up and spit you out. Pack your things and stop pouting at me like that. I'm doing you a favour."

Caroline swiped away yet another trickle of tears. She sighed heavily and pushed herself off the soft, eider down bed.

With reluctant footsteps, her bare feet carried her to the plush-curtained windows. She pulled back the thick, purple material and allowed sunlight to slip through.

She blinked and gathered herself. Today would be a long day. She somehow had to pluck up the courage to take charge of her father's bank.

It would not be easy.

No doubt the staff expected her to turn tail, run back to New York and put herself on the first ship home to England.

The good Lord only knew how much she missed her mother. Even with the woman's constant mithering and condescending attitude, Caroline still wished she could be with her.

From what she'd seen so far, the town of Serenity had very little to offer her, much like the sparse contents of her late father's larder. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food. It kept her company while she watched the world go by her window.

The stooped figure of a stocky middle-aged man hurried along the main street. The thickness of the window pane blurred his movements, reminding her of herp children's toy lighting up her nursery wall, back home. The toy where the pictures came to life when you span the cylinder fast. Her breath caught as she remembered the excitement of seeing the images for the first time so long ago. A new vision of her same, boring world.

Another man came into view from the opposite end of the High Street.

This man walked taller and took longer, more confident strides. Yet, once again, the window pane transformed this man's motions into strange, erratic movements.

The two men met in the middle of the street, passed a few moments in conversation then the taller, younger man brought his head up to stare through the net-curtained windows of Caroline's room.

The decisiveness and velocity of his action startled her. Could he have intended that?

 Biting down on her bottom lip, Caroline drew in a deep breath and returned the stare of the tall man in the street outside. Even if he couldn't see her properly, she wanted to send the message that she wouldn't be a pushover. No matter what her banging pulse rate told her.

The two men separated and hurried to various points along the road. One to the Canteen, the other to the overhanging porch of the Sheriff's office under her window. 

She shuffled backwards, banging her heel against the solid bedstead. Cursing, Caroline stretched her slim arms above her head. She wished she could pull out all the tension that waited there, coiled up like a snake for the new day. She prayed that her steady train of thought would continue within the hours to come. Along with a regular heartbeat.

Her mother had taught her some techniques. To take a deep breath, hold it, count to three, slowly, then release it and start again.
A slow, intentional rhythm. Anything to bring her anxiety back to a reasonable level. Perhaps her mother had experienced the same kind of issues throughout her life with her father? He certainly hadn't been an easy man to get along with, in her view.

And in the opinion of many others, she suspected.

The twenty-two-year-old swallowed dryly and dropped the curtain. She'd had enough of watching.

Her pulse pounded through her wrists, her chin raised itself higher than she intended. She swept back the chestnut curl of a ponytail that hung over her right shoulder and brought herself back to the task at hand.

The bank belonged to her.

The immensity of responsibility hounded her. However, her search for the truth was the real motive for her presence. She wanted to know what kind of man her father really had been. Her mother's heartbroken sobs that had led her a certain way, but was that really all there had been to him? A condescending bully of a man? Caroline so wished it to not be true and she was hellbent on proving it.

Her father had been a tough man. She knew that. What struck her the most now, however, was the realisation of just how strong her mother must have been throughout their whole debacle of a marriage.

The woman who had raised her, had given Caroline the strength and determination to find her way. Something her father would never have understood. Women were a commodity in his eyes. To serve and perhaps to be adored.

Had her mother been adored? Or had she been a part of the service, there to provide and nourish the family, as a respectable lady should.

Respectability be hanged.

Caroline craved the truth. The first person she would call on for this would be the Sheriff. whomever he may be. A position of law must dignify at least an inclination towards the correct end of justice? Such a man could assist in her settlement of her father's dealings and hopefully lead to an understanding of the man.

Grasping the cool brass knob of the bedstead, her sweaty palm squeaked in complaint at the pressure she exuded. She wiped her hands down the soft material of her cream nightgown.

Caroline gained confidence with every step she took out of the door and down the corridor to the stairway. She would face this day. Her knuckles whitened as she clung to the top of the pinewood bannister.

Daylight filtered into pools of light on the dusty floorboards of the room below. The one small window onto the street permitted the light to intrude on her privacy.

Tears overwhelmed her lower eyelids. No matter how she fought, the salty water would not be held back. Throwing back her head, Caroline sank to her knees at the top of the stairs. Her cries wracked her body, howls of anguish ripped their way out of her insides.

Why?

Why did she feel this way? When the damn man had done everything possible to make her inadequate as a human being, let alone a daughter?

How could she possibly weep for such a father?

Caroline smacked the back of her hand roughly across her cheeks. Then grabbed a handful of her nightgown and rubbed her face until it became sore.

It took her a moment to breathe. To be still. Then she pulled herself up on the railing and lifted her chin. With a deep sigh, she turned back to the bedroom and commenced with the daily rituals.

Rouge, lipstick, eyeshadow and kohl pencil, all perfectly applied for the intended face she wished the world to see.

Strong, confident yet sensual.

Unfortunately, the world would not read her in that order and she knew it. This world belonged to men and she knew they would only see her femininity first.

Caroline Ashbury believed herself to be so much more. She hid behind her makeup. She would hide behind her words. What she really needed was a friend. Someone to help and guide her through the snake pit that surrounded her. The domain of men would be better navigated with the assistance of one of their own.

Caroline flicked her eyes quickly down to the street below. The older man had scuffled his way into the Canteen, but the other man stood still beneath her window. The top of his hat peeked out from under the Sheriff's office. Maybe he was the Sheriff himself.

Caroline turned back to her room. Once she'd washed her hands in cool water, she changed into her silk camisole and shorts set and paced up and down in front of her window. Warmth grew in her stomach with every pace, the tears she'd cried a memory to her eyes.

Damn the day.

Today could rot. She had no intention of setting a foot outside her door.

Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow would be better. Then she'd have more control of her emotions.

She cursed and curled her hands into fists, digging her nails into the soft flesh of her palms. Her teeth ground against each other while she clenched her eyes shut.

Damn it. No. It had to be done today.

Caroline swept back her thick curl of hair and began to go through everything she wanted to say in her head. First, maybe something to ingratiate the men who had taken over the running of the bank for her father. They would expect to be seen as the real heroes here after all. Next, perhaps she could mention that she meant to take full control over her father's business. Would they laugh? Men had a habit of doing this.

She, along with her society of female friends, had been kept under wraps for too long. Silenced too many times. They lived and burned within the same constrictions of their sex. Caroline unknotted her fingers and focused her eyes on the tall man below. She would be heard. As she prayed they would someday.

The tall man stepped out from under the overhang and stared up at her window.

Caroline grasped a handful of material around her waist. His striking blue eyes pierced through the chintz around the window. He caught her eye.

Swallowing, Caroline fought the urge to hold his glance, then ducked her head and shrunk back into the safety of the room.

Probably being dressed in her underwear was the only reason he'd been staring. Of course, it had to be why, what man wouldn't?

Caroline stamped over to the wardrobe and yanked out her grey daydress. The solid lines and thick material were exactly what she needed.

"Dress as you want to be understood."
Her mother had taught her.

Funny, but until this moment, Caroline hadn't quite got the message.

She put on the dress and sorted her hair out into a tidy low bun. A small, shallow peaked bonnet completed her outfit. As she sat on the edge of the bed to lace up her ankle boots, the young woman caught a glimpse of herself in the dressing table mirror. It made her pause in her action. She hardly recognised the drawn, pale face that stared back at her.
"What are you doing?" Her reflection creased her forehead and frowned back.

Shaking her head, Caroline jumped to her feet.
The Sheriff was the key. She would talk to him honestly and make him back her up when she came to speak to her father's employees. Get that authority behind her and they would be eating out of her hand.

She straightened her skirts for the last time and drew in three long breaths. Her chin raised high and her fingers stretched out, she strode out of her bedroom and back to the staircase. As her boots clacked down the wooden steps, her right hand slid along the bannister. By the time she reached the bottom, her fingers were gripping the woodwork. Closing her eyes, she forced her grasp free, stepped across the floor and opened the door.