Free A Dream to Call My Own by Tracie Peterson Page A

he’s got a chance, then you go off and allow some other man to take liberties with you. Don’t think I didn’t see you and Dave Shepard that day in the cemetery.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You let him kiss you!”
    Lacy knocked his hands away. “What if I did? I’ve never pretended to be anything other than friends with you, Cubby. I told you long ago I’m not interested in marrying you or having anything but friendship between us.”
    He slapped her hard across the face, leaving Lacy breathless. The sting against her cold skin sent a burning sensation across her cheek. “How dare you? You’re no better than your father. He treats women like animals, and apparently you’ve learned well. Go home, Cubby. Go home and leave me alone.”
    He looked torn between apologizing and hitting her again. Lacy stood her ground and put her hands on her hips. Finally he muttered something she couldn’t make out and turned back for the saloon. Only after he’d gone inside did Lacy allow herself to wince. She put her hand to her face and touched the spot gently.
    “I didn’t realize you were out here,” Dave said, coming from the back porch.
    After having battled Cubby, Lacy was in no mood to deal with Dave. She bent to pick up firewood. “I’m trying to get my work done.”
    “Let me help.”
    “No, that’s all right.” She straightened and forced a smile. “I have it.”
    “What happened?” Dave asked, eyes narrowing. He reached out and turned her cheek to better view it.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Someone hit you. I can see a clear handprint on your face.” His voice lowered. “Lacy, who did this?”
    “It’s not important, Dave. It was just a misunderstanding.”
    “It looks like more than that. People don’t just go hitting each other and have it be a mere misunderstanding. You’re going to be my wife, and it’s my place to take care of you. I demand you tell me who did this.”
    “Everyone seems to be demanding something of me.” She threw the wood down. “Frankly, I’m sick of it. I said it wasn’t important, and it’s not.”
    It was nearly the end of February, and the citizens of Gallatin Crossing had been enjoying milder temperatures. After a winter of sub-zero weather, temperatures in the twenties and thirties felt almost balmy.
    The nicer weather left everyone more than ready for spring, even though they knew it was still a long way off. Hank figured it was a good time to plan for the future. With Nick and Dave gathered in his office, he shared a letter that had come that day.
    “It’s a mixed blessing,” Hank said. “The bad news is that the stage company refuses to renew our yearly contract. The good news? Well, they’ve agreed to keep us on month-by-month until something better comes along.”
    “That doesn’t sound all that good,” Nick said, taking a seat opposite Hank. “I need a steady income—now more than ever.”
    Hank nodded. “As do I. I tried to point out that the railroad can’t possibly be complete for at least two years, so surely they could at least renew for that long.”
    Nick raised a brow. “And?”
    “And they wouldn’t budge. Told me they didn’t feel it was in their best interest.”
    “Never mind that we’ve been loyal workers, upholding their contracts and schedules,” Nick said bitterly.
    “So what do you suggest, Hank?” Dave asked.
    Hank reached under his desk and pulled out a rolled-up map. “Adrian Murphy sent this. It’s the rail line plans. He’s marked out a potential town site that would serve the railroad well. It’s just ten miles or so northwest of Bozeman.”
    Nick and Dave leaned forward to look at the map as Hank unrolled the paper. “This is the location Adrian told me about.” Hank put his finger on the map. “The railroad will go through Bozeman here. Then it will follow along this line.” Hank drew his finger along a faint marking.
    “Where are we currently from that line?” Dave