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Kit. “We knew each other nearly thirty years ago. I was in the army back then, Company B, seventh Infantry. He made no mention of a Corporal Murtagh?”
    â€œI’m sorry to say, I don’t recall, sir.”
    Kit ignored the sickness building in his gut. He could blame the whiskey he’d consumed the night before, but that wasn’t the real cause of his discomfort. The source of his nausea was regret that he didn’t know the old man’s story. Without any hesitation, he could name every card cheat he’d shot down in duels, every opponent he’d faced across a poker table and every married woman he’d ever shared a bed with. But not this chapter of his own uncle’s past. How many times had Uncle Bart regaled him with his wisdom and vivid stories? All these years, Kit had found his lessons for survival quaint and entertaining. Yet now, faced with the most important task of his life, he couldn’t recall the details.
    Damnation.
    â€œNo, son. I don’t suppose he would. Especially as now I’m a judge, married to the same woman for twenty-eight years. Your uncle and I were both wild, foolish bucks back then.” His gray eyes crinkled in a half smile. “I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Wainwright?”
    Kit grinned, warming to the man. “Of course, I’ve always followed the letter of the law.”
    The judge grunted. “That’s good to know. To be honest, I’m not sure what Bartholomew was referring to either. Perhaps the fact that I convinced him not to settle in Fort McNamara. There was a time when he wanted to marry a girl and homestead here in the valley. I told him he’d be better off back east.”
    Kit nodded. “Good thing you did. He met and married my aunt in Illinois and became a successful entrepreneur. Ever hear of Dillard’s Peak Beer out of St. Louis? I’d say that would be enough to owe you a debt of gratitude.”
    Murtagh chuckled. “A brewery? Wonders never cease. Well, as you can see, I don’t want for anything.” The judge spread his arms wide, encompassing the room. While the office wasn’t as grand as Uncle Bart’s, it wasn’t paltry either. A reading lamp made of polished brass and etched glass sat on his ornately carved desk built of stained mahogany. The judge dressed well too, in stately clothing befitting a man of his stature and importance. “How about I accept your thanks in lieu of Bartholomew’s? After you’ve delivered your uncle’s remains to their final resting place, you can consider his debt paid in full and go back to St. Louis and running his business.”
    Kit waved a dismissive hand. “No. I sold nearly everything I owned back there and arranged to buy a large ranch west of town.”
    The judge squinted. “The Tuckermans’ place?”
    â€œOne and the same. My uncle wanted me to put down roots somewhere. I figure the frontier is as good a place as any to start something new.”
    Murtagh pursed his lips. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to leave like I persuaded your uncle?”
    Kit laughed. “Is the place that bad? I haven’t seen it yet, but my lawyer said it was valuable land.” The Wainwrights’ family lawyer had never misled him, but what if the man had made a mistake and this whole scheme was a disaster? To lose everything Uncle Bart had worked so hard for with one bad purchase…
    â€œOh, it’ll hold a lot of cattle. Or whatever else you might want to do with it. There’s a nice big house too.” The judge pushed to his feet and leaned across his desk, offering his hand to shake. “I need to get back to court. Let me be the first to welcome you to our valley.”
    A vision of Cora Reilly’s animated expression and vibrant eyes snapped into his thoughts before he recovered.
    â€œYou’re not exactly the first person to welcome