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marshal’s neck. “I guess I’ve been around Cora too much. I can’t stop talking all of a sudden.”
    “Children don’t come with instructions, that’s for certain.” Her ma set out a loaf of bread and a pat of butter on wooden slab.
    “I know.” The marshal slathered his bread with the softened butter. “Like, how often should you wash them? What kind of soap should you use? I only have lye soap. Is that bad for girls?” A note of desperation crept into his voice. “I don’t know what to do. What if I do the wrong thing?”
    “The fact that you’re worried makes you a better parent than most others.” Edith dried her hands on the towel and crossed the room. “The bad folks aren’t worried about what’s right and wrong, you know?” She perched on a chair beside him and patted his hand. “You’re doing fine.”
    The marshal raked his free hand through his hair. He paused for a moment, his Adam’s apple working. “She cries at night.”
    “Of course she does,” Jo exclaimed, her heart twisting at his words. “She’s lost both of her parents. She’s lost her home. That’s enough to make anybody cry.”
    Something flickered in his eyes, but it passed quickly. Jo ached to reach out and comfort him, but she knew better. She never had words for times like these—soothing, comforting words. He’d said it himself over lunch last week. She was direct.
    With grudging admiration, Jo studied her mother. While the rest of the McCoys were dark-haired with green eyes, Mrs. McCoy stood out with her pale blue eyes and dark blond hair. Even the streak of gray at her temple lent her an air of elegance.
    Jo had never really valued cosseting before. Blunt truths were faster and more efficient. Now she realized there was a time and a place for coddling.
    Marshal Cain pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do,” he repeated.
    “Love her,” Jo replied. “Just like you’re doing.”
    “Jo is right.” Edith smiled and patted his shoulder. “Love goes a long way.”
    The door swung open, and her brother Caleb stepped into the room surrounded by a noxious aroma. Jo waved a hand before her nose. “Gracious, did you take a swim in Pa’s cologne?”
    The tips of her brother’s ears reddened. “Mind your own business, runt.” He strutted across the room in his crisp blue shirt and navy trousers.
    Caleb was the oldest of the boys at twenty-two, tall and slender with the distinctive McCoy coloring of dark brown hair and bright green eyes. They all took after their pa’s looks in that regard, though Ely McCoy was short and stout. Jo was the only child who’d inherited his lack of height. Much to her chagrin, she was embarrassingly petite.
    Being small with five younger—and much taller—brothers had taught her a thing or two about strategy. “I think someone is going into town. This must be your third trip to the mercantile this week.”
    “What’s it to you?”
    “Nothing.” Jo studied the jagged tips of her blunt fingernails. “It’s just that you’re not the only one visiting the mercantile on a regular basis.”
    The owner’s daughter was a pretty blonde with blue eyes and a ready smile, and since Mary Louise had turned eighteen and started working behind the counter, the store’s revenue had leaped tenfold.
    Caleb fisted his hands. “Who else have you been noticing?”
    “There’re too many to count. You better screw up your courage for courting or she’s gonna slip away.”
    Her brother glanced around the room, caught sight of Marshal Cain and stopped short. “Evening, sir.” Caleb straightened and tucked his shirttail into his pants before glaring at Jo. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t care. I’m going into town because Ma is out of sugar. Isn’t that right?”
    Edith smiled indulgently. “Of course.”
    “See?”
    Caleb stomped out of the room, and her ma shot Jo a quelling glance. “Don’t be too hard on the boy.”
    “What?” Jo drawled. “I’m just