Free The Bounty Hunter's Bride by Victoria Bylin

freshness of the first cut of loss, but he remembered those days bitterly…and the nights, too. He’d slept with his face buried in Lucy’s nightgown, breathing in her lilac scent. He’d pressed her pillow to his belly and curled around it.
    Surely goodness and mercy… What goodness? Mercy for whom?
    Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death… A valley so long it never ended. A shadow so dark it mocked the night.
    I shall fear no evil…
    At least that much of the Psalm was true. Nothing scared Beau, least of all death. For five years, he’d been living in a fog of misery so thick it blinded him worse than night. Standing in the yard, he took in the church. The front steps numbered four and were as wide as the double doors. Brass knobs, lit by the sun, waited to be turned. The building, Beau realized, was a twin of the one Josh had built in Denver. Tall windows would line the sides, and the pulpit would be adorned with a soaring eagle.
    Annoyed, he climbed the stairs and gripped the doorknob. The brass warmed his palm, but his blood ran cold. Where was God when Lucy died? Where was God now? Beau couldn’t stand the thought of going inside the church. As he turned away, he heard someone weeping in the garden. It had to be the Baxter woman. When Lucy died, Beau had been embraced by friends. She had no one. He considered leaving, but he had to speak with her. He also knew exactly how she felt. With his throat tight, he headed for the garden. At the gate, he plucked a lily.
    Too late, he realized the flowers marked a cemetery. In the far corner he saw the woman sitting on a bench. He took in her pink dress, the pink roses climbing on the rock wall, the pinkish hue of the grave markers. He couldn’t stand all that rosiness, but neither could he walk away. With the lily in hand, Beau went to offer the comfort he’d yet to find for himself.

Chapter Five
    T he markers in the cemetery were unlike anything Dani had ever seen. They were made from rhyolite, a pinkish-gray stone that made her think of blood mixed with ash. In particular she noticed the stone cross in front of the bench. The crossbars ended in scallops that resembled open hands. The grass had been trampled and someone had left a single rose, now shriveled, at the foot of the marker. Tears welled in Dani’s eyes. She’d miss Patrick forever, but God willing, she’d find comfort in raising his daughters and offer it in return. It all depended on Beau Morgan.
    Dani bowed her head. Are You there, Lord?
    Silence.
    I need Your help and so do the girls. With her stomach quivering, Dani poured out her heart to the cross. Surely God had a plan for her life, a purpose. She had to believe that. She couldn’t bear the thought of going back to Wisconsin and intruding on her brother. Apart from her tattered pride, she had no hope of a future in Walker County.
    Please, Lord, make my path straight. Show me Your will.
    “Amen,” she said out loud.
    A man cleared his throat.
    She opened her eyes and saw a shadow across the grave. Expecting to see Reverend Blue, she looked up. Instead of the minister, she saw Beau Morgan with his hat in one hand and a lily in the other. He’d bathed and bought new clothes. The blue shirt turned his eyes a truer green, and his brown trousers still had a crease. He’d been to the barber, too. Dani took in his clean-shaven jaw and the dip in his upper lip. Without the grit and the dust, Beau Morgan was a handsome man. Even more handsome than Patrick. Dani felt disloyal, but she had to tell the truth. She also had to convince him she could care for the girls and run the farm.
    He offered her the lily. “This is in honor of Patrick.”
    “Thank you.”
    She held the white trumpet by the stem. Missing Patrick’s funeral had denied her a line in the sand, a place that marked before and after. She’d found it today in the cemetery.
    Beau glanced at the lily, then stared into her eyes. “It’s hard saying goodbye, even