Lydia Swanson paced the floor in the living room. Every three steps, she glanced out the window. Rain pelted down so fast and hard, it made the growing evening sky appear even darker. She was sure nobody with half a mind would be out in this weather. Yet, her sister, Victoria, was!

Patience sat at the piano in the room, playing a piece she had memorized as a young girl. The calming music helped ease Lydia's nerves only slightly. Racheal sat on the sofa with her needlework, acting like she did every Sunday – as if her head was in the clouds and nothing around her could bother her.

Expelling a frustrated breath, Lydia flexed her hands by her sides. She understood why Victoria had to be obstinate. Being the older sibling, Toria felt as if she needed to mother her younger sisters whether they wanted it as adults or not. Yet, why had Toria ridden off into town knowing a storm was brewing? Lydia's sister wasn't thinking clearly, and because of Toria's impulsiveness, now her younger sisters were worried sick about the insane woman's welfare.

"If you ask me," Racheal said without looking up from her needlepoint, "if Toria is foolish enough to go out into this weather, then she deserves to be stuck somewhere in the pouring rain." She glanced up briefly and looked at Lydia. "We can just be relieved it's not a normal Montana snowstorm."

Lydia nodded. Her younger sister had a point. "But I'm more worried about where Toria would have traveled than the weather."

Patience's playing stopped, and she turned on the stool, looking at Lydia. "Do you honestly think she rode to Stumptown to confront Mr. Cartwright?"

"Yes, I believe that's where she went." Lydia folded her arms. "Neither one of you were there when I told Toria about being a mail-order bride. You didn't see how upset she was."

Patience shook her head, and her strawberry blonde curls bounced around her shoulders. "Toria wouldn't do that."

Lydia arched an eyebrow. "She wouldn't? When have you known our sister to think sensibly? She usually gets upset and acts first before thinking of the consequences."

"True, but Toria wouldn't ride to Stumptown by herself."

"Actually," Rachael said, still not looking up, "she's done it before."

"She has?" Lydia moved to stand in front of the youngest sibling. "When?"

Sighing heavily, Racheal set her needlepoint on her lap and met Lydia's stare. "About three years ago, if I recall. It was the last time our father was in the house."

Lydia frowned. "Why did she ride to Stumptown?"

"Because we didn't have a sheriff in town, and Toria rode to Stumptown to get their sheriff's help."

"Why did Toria need the sheriff?" Patience moved away from the piano, stepping closer to Lydia.

"Because our father was very drunk and being mean. Toria had enough of him and fetched the sheriff to have our father kicked out of the house."

Lydia gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. "Where was I when that happened?"

"That was when you went to our cousin Penny's to learn how to be a Milliner."

Lydia recalled the moment when she returned from her month's stay in Utah, only to discover their father had left his family for good. Yet, Victoria never mentioned how their father left.

"All I'm saying," Racheal continued, "I'm not surprised Toria rode to Stumptown by herself."

"You don't think she plans on bothering the sheriff again, do you?" Patience asked as her eyes widened.

Lydia shook her head. "Unless it's to ask where Alan Cartwright lives." Groaning, she rubbed the pound in her head. "I have a bad feeling about all of this."

"Just don't do anything foolish." Patience touched Lydia's arm.

Sighing, Lydia's frown deepened. "I fear that's exactly what I'm going to do if our sister hasn't returned home by morning."

* * * *

In the early morning hours, Victoria stared at the hearth's low-burning fire, knowing she needed to get out of bed and throw a few more logs on to heat the room. She hadn't gotten much sleep last night, and staying in bed was much more comfortable. Then again, if she tried to sleep, her mind would just replay the images from last night when she helped Mr. Cartwright remove his shirt. Heavens to Betsy! She'd never seen a man's chest so muscular. Then again, she only had her father to compare him to, and her father certainly came up lacking.

Her face burned from the memory. Too bad her whole body couldn't feel this way. Maybe she wouldn't have to throw more wood on the fire. Yet, although it was quite an embarrassing moment last night as she helped Mr. Cartwright remove his dirty shirt and then assist him while he slipped into a clean shirt that Savannah had brought in. Victoria had adverted her gaze from his mesmerizing blue eyes. It disturbed her how much he stared at her. Yet, at the same time, the fluttering in her chest made her realize she'd never had this kind of response to a man before.

As she thought about how his nearness made her weak, butterflies danced in her stomach. She could not have this feeling at all... only because it made her want to be around him that much more. It was hard to remember that this was the man who would be marrying her sister. Victoria couldn't fault him for looking at her the way he was doing, only because he'd lost his memory. She was certain if he had his memory, he would realize that he would soon be married, and flirting with other women was not tolerated.

Groaning, she closed her eyes and snuggled into the bed more, bringing the blankets up around her neck. She had truly messed things up by knocking Alan Cartwright in the head. If only she could relive yesterday. She would not do that. Instead, she would take him back into town to find men to help him turn over his wagon and find his horse. What an imbecile she'd been! When he finally recovers his memories, he'd hate her for certain.

There was no way to fix this. Being extra kind to him now only made her appear desperate and pathetic. Then again, that's exactly what she was.

From the kitchen, Victoria heard pots clanking together, along with footsteps. Savannah must be up and starting breakfast.

Victoria hesitantly pulled herself out of bed, threw more logs on the fire before changing out of the nightdress her friend had given her, and pulling back on the dress she'd been wearing yesterday. Victoria hadn't meant to stay this long, but the danged rainstorm wouldn't let up last night. Several times during the night, she heard the pitter-patter on the window – another thing to keep her from sleeping. But since she was ill-prepared to make herself presentable this morning, she ran her fingers through her long hair, trying to untangle it the best she could. She didn't know why she was trying to impress Alan in the first place – unless it was because she wanted him to think of her as a woman who knew how to take care of herself. After all, if she was taught that, her sisters would be the same way, and in turn, he wouldn't mind wanting to become Lydia's husband.

If there is a wedding after all of this is over...

The throbbing in Victoria's forehead grew, and she rubbed the irritating spot. She couldn't think that she'd ruined everything for her sister. There must be a way to make things right. Perhaps confessing to Alan before he regained his memory would be a step in the right direction.

Victoria left her room and walked toward the kitchen. The clanking of pots had disappeared, but she could still hear her friend in the kitchen moving around. Once Victoria stepped inside, she immediately stopped as her gaze rested on the handsome man standing at the stove, adding more wood.

Inhaling sharply, she couldn't believe how incredibly built this man was. Savannah had assured Victoria that Alan was the same size as Mr. Kline, but as Victoria gawked, she could honestly say that Mr. Kline's chest wasn't as large as the other man's, and Mr. Kline's arms were certainly smaller. The shirt she had helped Alan slip into yesterday was much smaller than she had remembered. Then again, her guilty mind hadn't been very focused during that time, especially since she had her fill of his muscular chest.

She shook her head and snapped out of her improper thoughts. Straightening her shoulders, she prepared herself to look presentable as she walked into the kitchen.

Alan's head whipped around, looking her way. Slowly, he straightened to full height. He was certainly a tall man.

"Good morning, Miss Lange," he greeted sweetly.

"Good morning, Mr. Cartwright. How are you feeling this morning?"

He shrugged and pointed to the stove. "Strong enough to start the stove for breakfast."

"Have you remembered anything?"

He started to shake his head but then stopped. His blue-eyed gaze narrowed. "Actually, I have remembered."

Her heartbeat quickened. "What?"

He stepped away from her and to the counter where a bowl and spoon were placed. "I remember how to make griddle cakes. If you can show me where everything is, I'll make us some for breakfast."

Victoria's hopes dropped, and yet, she felt somewhat relieved that he hadn't remembered what she had done to him to put him in this predicament. "I think if Mrs. Kline were here, she'd tell you that you need to rest because of your head injury."

Sighing heavily, he frowned. "I don't want to rest. I'm tired of lying in that bed."

"Fine." She pointed to a chair at the table. "Sit, and you can visit with me while I make griddle cakes."

Alan moved away from the counter and did as she instructed. Once he was in the chair, she moved around the kitchen and collected the ingredients for breakfast. Without having to look at him, she could feel his stare. She wished it wouldn't make her feel so uncomfortable – in a giddy sort of way.

Her mind spun with ways that she could tell him the truth, but the words wouldn't come out. As she prepared the griddle cakes' batter, she convinced herself it was too soon to tell him. Instead, she must make him like her and become his friend. After all, friends forgave each other.

"Miss Lange?"

She looked at him over her shoulder. "Yes, Mr. Cartwright."

"You tell me my name is Alan."

She nodded. "It is."

"I'll admit, that name does sound comfortable to me when I say it."

She smiled. "Then perhaps your memory is gradually returning after all."

"I pray it is."

She turned back to the bowl and continued to stir the batter. "Once the swelling in your head eases up, I'm certain your memory will return, Mr. Cartwright."

"Will you call me Alan?"

Victoria held her breath. This was the first step to friendship. Slowly, she expelled her breath as she looked over her shoulder at him again. "Of course. I would be delighted."

"Can I call you Victoria?"

Her heartbeat skipped happily. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

His grin widened. "Victoria, is there something I can help you with? I know you told me to sit, but I need something to keep my mind occupied. After all, I cannot rely on my thoughts to do that."

Once again, guilt grew heavy on her chest. "I suppose you can help. But you must promise that if you start feeling dizzy, you'll sit down."

Nodding, he stood. Victoria tried not to sigh when she looked upon his impressive stance, and especially how this man was built so much better than Mr. Kline.

Alan moved to the stove and checked the heat. "We can probably put the griddle on to get it warm."

Victoria motioned toward a bottom cupboard nearby. "It's down there."

He stepped closer to her before bending to search for the griddle and then pulled it out. As he stood, he swayed, leaning toward her. She gasped, releasing the bowl and spoon to grab Alan before he fell.

Alan placed the griddle on the counter and leaned against it, closing his eyes. She kept her arms around him in case he decided to swoon. Holding him this way created havoc inside her. Suddenly, her body felt as warm as the stove.

"I fear you need to sit at the table, after all," she said, wondering why her voice had softened drastically.

His wide chest rose and fell slowly. After a few seconds, he blinked open his eyes and looked at her. Thankfully, his face still held color, which told Victoria that he wasn't going to pass out.

"I think I stood up too quickly," he said.

He looked at her with his mesmerizing blue eyes, and her legs weakened. It was all she could do to hold herself firm. Heavens, but he was a handsome man.

"Let me help you back to the table," she said, clearing her throat a few times.

"No, I'm fine now. I promise." He cupped the side of her face. "Thank you for coming to my rescue."

If he didn't stop looking at her that way and saying such sweet words, she would certainly swoon. And why hadn't he removed his hand from her cheek? As she gazed into his eyes, she wondered if he wanted her to be weak in the knees. His intent stare caused the butterflies in her belly to awaken and dance as if they were in celebration.

She couldn't feel this way about him. Alan Cartwright belonged to her sister, and Victoria would not do anything to ruin that. The man was indeed worthy of her Lydia, and so, Victoria must be the bigger person and confess. Perhaps that was the only way to make these incredibly warm sensations in her body disappear.

His attention dropped to her mouth. Suddenly, her throat swelled because she couldn't swallow. Her mind must have swollen up as well because she couldn't even scream at herself to stop this insanity.

"Victoria," he whispered huskily. "You're absolutely adorable."

She had died and gone to heaven. Only in her dreams had a man spoken those words to her.

Happiness grew in her chest, and she swayed toward him. Alan's face slowly dropped toward her. Victoria couldn't stop things from happening, but she must.

The moment his mouth brushed against hers, she knew she would never again feel anything so wonderful. But this all belonged to Lydia. Not Victoria.

"Alan," she said in a voice much deeper than it should be.

"Yes," he muttered as he continued to sweep his tender lips across hers.

"I... I'm the one who hit you in the head. I'm the one who knocked you out."