Author Notes: Once upon a time, I posted the first chapter of this fic, then took it down, for a multitude of reasons. The main reason being I jumped into something without really thinking it through (shocking, I know.) Over the past little while, I've done a lot of historical research into life of women ranchers on the Canadian Prairies during this time period, visited the ranching area in which this story takes place (southern Alberta foothills,) and did a pretty in-depth outline for this story. So now, I'm back at it. I hope you enjoy it.

Thanks to my friend and Beta, Irma66 for her help. Thank you to VeronicaMarsFanArt (Alina) for the beautiful original cover.

And thanks as well to MarshmallowBobcat and CubbieGirl for hosting LoVe AU Week this year and having the category "Historical Romance" - it got me back on this project again and I appreciate the reason to jump in again.

Dedicated to His Beautiful Girl - the honourary Canadian. ️

You come into the world alone and you go out of the world alone yet it seems to me you are more alone while living than even going and coming.

Emily Carr

Spring 1926

The Chinook came over the prairies, warm and comforting as Daddy's shearling coat, slipping in through the open window, causing the flour to rise off the table and create a little tornado in the kitchen. The snow was melting more quickly now, and each day meant that they were creeping closer to the time when Veronica would need to turn the soil in the hayfield and in the garden out back. With proper planning, she just managed to keep the cattle fed this winter, but if she wanted to grow her herd, she needed to expand how much seed they planted.

As she kneaded the dough, Veronica's mind shuffled through her constantly changing thoughts of the ranch. While there were two fewer mouths to feed in the house this year, there would be more workers needed, so she would have to plant the same amount in the garden to feed everyone over the summer. She still had some preserves that lasted the winter since Keith and Duncan never saw the opening of the first of the pickled beets, and the farmhands took off from their quarters in the night, afraid that the polio that took her father and husband would come for them too.

Pushing a stray lock of straw blond hair from her forehead with the back of her hand, she glanced through the window at the deep blue line of clouds across the horizon. Her father's lawyer was expected soon, and she hoped he would bring good news of a foreman who could help her run the ranch from now on.

While her father, Keith, always considered her an equal on the family farm, her husband never took to the idea that his wife would share in both the successes and hardships that life on the prairie would bring. When they were first married, Duncan set about making changes he thought needed to be done, dismissing the fact that Veronica had helped her father after her mother passed, building the land into a somewhat profitable venture by adding substantially to their herd by nursing abandoned calves from neighbouring farms when others didn't have the time or resources to do so. His was of the old-fashioned notion that the man was the head of the household. However, out here in the Canadian west, civilized society's rules waned, and as Veronica pushed harder and harder for her part of the ranch equity, Duncan retreated more and more into activities that kept him away from their home and bed. Her confession to the priest two Sundays after Duncan's death that she was ready to give up mourning him gave her five recitations on her mother's rosary, and she and God made their peace.

Giving the dough one final shove with the ball of her hand, Veronica picked it up and dropped it back in the bowl to rise, covering it with a cloth to protect against the chill in the air. After a winter locked up in the small house, the minute the snow began to melt, she opened all the windows, hoping whatever ghosts may be locked up with her found their way out and up to the heavens. Sometimes, when she was tending to the herd, it was almost as if her father was there with her still, gently guiding her actions. Divide up the hay just enough, or it won't last the winter. Make sure the water hasn't frozen and they are hydrated. Mind the horns.

It was lucky Duncan had sold some of the herd before he died—being short five cattle meant five less to worry about—and considering that she was almost alone, her mornings started before the rooster was awake and often ended with her falling asleep in a rocking chair, book in her lap, the fire keeping the room warm through the night.

Picking up the wooden spoon on the table, she walked over to the stove, lifting the lid to the pot and inhaling the warm, soothing scent of stew. The sharp twinge of her tomato preserves in broth tickled her nose and made her stomach rumble. Scooping a small portion in the spoon, she carefully raised it to her lips, blowing gently across before slurping it slowly, trying not to burn herself. There would be more than enough for Old Van Clemmons and Eli Navarro—the last two ranch hands—herself, and her lawyer, Clifford McCormack, for dinner. With the fresh bread to sop up the savoury broth, it would be a small feast. Veronica smiled at her handy work, returning the lid to the pot, satisfied that she had gone beyond her simple meals to make something bordering on special. It had been many months since she had entertained anyone in her home, and she wanted to make sure that Clifford knew how much she appreciated his help since she'd been left an orphan and widow.

Wiping her hands on her blue gingham apron, she turned once more to the window, flattening her palms on the top of the wood frame and pushing as hard as she could. She cringed as the heavy window screeched closed, trapping the heat back in the house. The winter freeze shifted the house again, and she hoped the new foreman was handier than her husband had been at fixing things.

A cloud of dust and ice crystals kicked up on the horizon, and she paused to watch as it came closer and closer across the bald prairie, heading straight for her property. Frowning, she untied her apron and pulled it over her head, smoothing the stray hairs back from her face. Clifford wasn't one to ride quite like that—preferring more of a subtle cantor—and Van and Eli were still out with the cattle, searching for thawed land to graze. And one of the neighbouring families wouldn't approach in such a manner unless there was a death or illness.

She dropped the apron across the back of a wooden chair and crossed quickly to the kitchen counter, reaching behind the cookbooks on the shelf above and pulling out her father's Colt handgun. Her father always said that a woman alone on the prairies needed to protect herself from those looking to capitalize on the vast empty space surrounding them. Snake oil salesmen were of the uncouth variety and known to travel outside the cities, looking for the uninformed to sell their wares to or pilfer from homes. She needed to be prepared.

Pulling her husband's long black coat off the coat hook, she flung it over her shoulders, securely tucking the revolver into her back pocket. Striding through the doorway, she walked down the front path towards the wire fence at the end of the property, watching the cloud move closer and closer. A chill ran through her, and she pulled the lapels of the coat around her, shivering between the mix of warm air and cold ground. As the rider came galloping onwards, she frowned, making out the dark hat and coat of a man set upon a chocolate brown steed. Coming closer and closer into focus, Veronica could make out the saddlebags slung across the haunches of the horse, a thick pack on his back as he rode.

Veronica stepped to the edge of the fence, gripping the wooden rail with her hand as the man came to a halt a few metres away. With a tip of his hat and a wide grin spread across his tanned, unshaven face, he dismounted, holding onto the reins of the horse.

"Hello there!" he called, wrapping the leads around his leather-gloved hand. "I sure hope this is the Mars Ranch, or I'm lost on the prairies again."

"Why, yes, it is," Veronica stated, pressing her shoulders back and raising her chin. "But we weren't expecting anyone."

With a tip of his hat towards her, the corner of his mouth twitched, showing a deep dimple in his cheek as he smiled.

"Well, maybe not yet…circumstance has me arriving a little earlier than I had planned." Leading the horse towards her, the man flung the ends of the reins across the top rung of the fence, concentrating on looping it several times before turning his attention back to Veronica. "I'm your new foreman—Logan Echolls."

Veronica's breath hitched, her eyes narrowing as she tried to hide her surprise. "I was told you were coming next week."

Logan removed his hat with a shrug, lowering his gaze as he ran his hand through his thick brown hair. From the edge of his hairline, running straight down to his left eyebrow, was a long-ridged scar, red and angry from obviously being kept under the hat the whole ride. Veronica tried to avert her eyes, knowing it was impolite to stare.

"Well, ma'am, if I might be honest, I was anxious to get out here. See, I've been in Saskatchewan so long I'd been hoping to see the mountains sooner than later."

A smile curled across Veronica's lips, and she turned towards the house, the peaks of the Rocky Mountains brimming on the horizon behind. "You must be a prairie boy then."

Chuckling, he rubbed the back of his neck, a pink tinge appearing under his tanned face.

"Why yes…yes, I am. Born and raised in Winnipeg but spent a lot of time out in the wheat fields with nothing but land and sky. This is why when I saw the advertisement by your lawyer in the paper, I was anxious to come out to this area and enjoy some of those mountain views I keep hearing about. Hope I'm not putting you out at all."

Turning back to Logan, she pulled the coat closer. "No. Not at all. I expect Mr. McCormack for supper later, and there is more than enough food for one more. I can show you to your quarters, and you can rest before then if you like."

"Thank you, Mrs. Mars. That's really kind of you."

An involuntary shiver ran through her spine. The sound of her last name sounded foreign on the stranger's tongue. "Please. Call me Miss Veronica. In the eyes of the law, I am technically Mrs. Kane, but since my husband died, people rarely call me by my last name anymore. The ranch still carries my father's name, and that's the name I choose to use now—Mars."

Chuckling, Logan replaced his hat and nodded to her. "Then Miss Veronica it is. And yes, I'd like to rest before supper—it's been a long ride."

Flipping the latch, Veronica pulled the gate open, allowing Logan to enter. As his towering form passed hers, she caught the pungent, musky scent of leather and sweat mixed with the subtle carbon tinge from a campfire, momentarily reminding her of how her father smelled when he would come back from a cattle drive. Lowering her eyes, she tried to hide the emotion that swelled in her heart from this stranger.

"Barn quarters are around back," she murmured, casting her arm out from under the long coat. "I'll ring the dinner bell when supper is served."

"Thank you. I'm looking forward to it."

Glancing back up at him, Veronica caught his deep brown eyes gazing down at her. There was an unexpected softness to them, and she wondered if he noticed her pain rising in her own eyes. If he did, he chose to ignore it, tipping the brim of his hat towards her before sauntering through the yard, disappearing around the house on his route to the barn.

With a heavy sigh, Veronica closed the gate, pausing to catch her thoughts. This wasn't exactly what she had planned, but just maybe, it would be a blessing.