West of Heaven. Victoria Bylin

enough flour to last six months and enough milk for an entire family.

      As soon as he left for the barn, she knelt in front of the trunk and opened the lid. Everything from her best dresses to her unmentionables had been jumbled together, and someone had rabbit-eared all of Hank’s pockets.

      Who had riffled through her things and why? Shivering at the implications, she lifted the tangled clothing from the trunk and set it on the bed. Her mother’s scissors clattered to the floor. Bending low, she scooped them up and slipped her fingers through the loops.

      You’re strong, Jayne. As long as you can sew, you can earn a living.

      She heard Louisa McKinney’s voice in her heart and knew the words were true. She’d find a way to start over, but first she had to tell the rancher the truth. If LeFarge had found her, Ethan Trent was in more danger than she thought.

      Leaving the clothing on the bed, she went to the kitchen to dish up his supper. Just as she ladled stew onto a plate, he opened the door. For the first time in a month, he left his muddy boots on the porch. Glancing at her, he stepped inside, reached into the pocket of his coat and handed her a small brown bag.

      “These are for you,” he said.

      His rough fingers brushed her palm as she took it. She peeked inside and then arched her eyebrows at him. “Lemon drops?”