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he would have had a chance, but this homestead was prospering. There was no need for the man to go anywhere else.
    The cabin door opened, and a slim young woman stepped out onto the porch, a shotgun in her hands. Her face was calm but alert, and Lucas saw that her finger was on the trigger.
    â€œState your business, mister.”
    A shotgun made him wary at any time, but he was doubly edgy facing one in the hands of a woman. If she got excited, she might accidently kill either him or his horse, or both. He tamped down a quick rise of anger and made his voice low and soothing. “I don’t mean you any harm, ma’am. You can put that shotgun down.”
    The shotgun didn’t waver. The twin barrels looked enormous. “I’ll make my own judgment about that,” she replied calmly. “Too many cowboys think it’s funny to trample my garden.”
    â€œYou don’t have a garden yet,” he pointed out.
    â€œBut I do have livestock to run off, so I’ll keep this gun right where it is until you answer my question.”
    He could see the green of her eyes even in the shadow of the porch where she stood. There was nofear or uncertainty in her gaze, nor any hostility, come to that, only a certain purposefulness. A little bit of admiration tinged his anger. The nester was one lucky man to have a wife with this sort of gumption, he thought. Lucas was abruptly certain that she would hit whatever she aimed at. He was careful not to make any sudden moves as he reached up and took off his hat. “I’m Lucas Cochran from the Double C. I came over to make your husband’s acquaintance, Mrs. Swann, and talk a little business with him.”
    She gave him a cool, level look. “George Swann was my father, not my husband. He died six years ago.”
    He was beginning to get irritated at being held at bay. “Then maybe I could talk to your husband. Or your brother. Whoever owns the place.”
    â€œI don’t have a husband or a brother. I’m Dee Swann. This is my land.”
    His interest sharpened. He looked around the tidy little place again, wondering who helped her do the work. Maybe there were other women on the place, but even that would be unheard of; women simply didn’t work a homestead on their own. If their men died, they went to live with relatives somewhere. He listened but didn’t hear any voices or movement inside the cabin. “Are you alone here?”
    She smiled, her expression as cool as her eyes, challenging him. “No. I have this shotgun.”
    â€œYou can put it down,” he said sharply, his irritation now plain. “I just came by to get acquainted, not to do you any harm.”
    She looked him over carefully, and he had the feeling it wasn’t what he’d said that reassured her, but rather her own private assessment of him as a manthat prompted her to lower the muzzle of the shotgun toward the floor and nod at him. “It’s dinnertime,” she said. “I eat early. You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like.”
    He wasn’t hungry, but he seized the opportunity and followed her into the cabin. It was only two rooms and a loft, but it was as neat inside as out. The kitchen was on the left; what he assumed to be her bedroom was on the right. There was a comfortable chair pulled over next to the fireplace with an oil lamp on a small table beside it, and to his surprise a book lay open on the table. He looked around, noting some rough, handmade shelves lined with books. She wasn’t illiterate, then.
    She had gone straight to the wood stove and was ladling steaming soup into two big bowls. Lucas took his hat off and sat down at the sturdy table just as she placed the bowl in front of him. A plate of biscuits was already on the table, as well as a pot of coffee. The soup was thick with vegetables and tender pieces of beef. Lucas found himself going at it as if he hadn’t had anything all