On the wooden walkway, the petite eleven-year-old walked alongside her younger brother, making a loop of Front Street. "Cadeau, au pied," she commanded, loosely holding onto the poodle's leash while he walked calmly and attentively by her side. "Luc, arrête d'être grincheux," she suggested while listening to his complaints about Dodge City in French. She agreed with most everything her brother had said about the town, but she wouldn't let him know. Vivienne had discovered she liked mornings in Dodge City the best. There weren't flocks of townspeople to stare and whisper.

As she stopped in front of the general store, Vivienne politely smiled at the shopkeeper adjusting his window display. She smothered her laugh at Luc's remark that The Oaks was bigger than the whole town. "Sois gentil," she warned, watching the sign be placed in front of Delmonico's. She wondered if the breakfast specials had been the same back when her mother first saw her father.

"Mais c'est vrai, Vivi," he countered, pursing his bow-shaped lips.

"Je sais mais sois gentil," she sighed since she had to remind him to be nice a second time.

"Je préférerais être à Baton Rouge."

"What's in Baton Rouge?" the white-haired general store owner asked as the children hovered in the entryway. Woodrow Lathrop apologized since he'd startled the girl and took off his wire-rimmed spectacles to clean a smudge with his apron. A smile covered his bearded face as the boy and girl respectfully greeted him in French. Unlike the majority of his customers, he'd enjoyed hearing a foreign language. He'd met four of the six Broussard-Dillons when they'd come in with their parents. The merchant had determined the children were the most well-mannered and well-behaved he'd ever had in the store. He set his glasses back on his face and offered the pair sticks of peppermint. "Now, what's in Baton Rouge?"

"The Oaks," Luc answered.

"What's The Oaks?" Lathrop inquired.

"Our summer home," Vivienne responded since Luc seemed distracted by a wagon's arrival.

"I thought you all lived in New Orleans."

"Oh, we do. The Oaks is our second home," she lowered her voice as a blonde woman with two small children brushed by her. At the sight of the lady's shabby dress and the girls' dirty faces, Vivienne suddenly felt the weight of her privileged circumstances. She lowered her gaze, staring at the tips of her shiny boots.

"I'm sure it's nice," Lathrop commented. "Be there in a minute, Ma'am! Vivienne, you tell your mother to tell Sam that we're all hoping he pulls through."

"Yes, Sir. I'll tell her," she promised, arching a brow as Cadeau's tail thumped against the wood. Vivienne smiled softly at the little brunette who looked to be the same age as Josephine. "Hello."

"Hi," the girl whispered, timidly reaching out to stroke the poodle's curly coat. "She's pretty. What's her name?"

"He's a boy, and his name's Cadeau. I'm Vivienne Broussard-Dillon. What's your name?" she asked, crouching to the girl's level.

"Hazel Turner. I'm five," the child proclaimed, holding up her hand while eyeing the peppermint stick. She'd only had the hard candy once before. On the last trip into town, she'd swiped a piece while her mother begged for credit.

"My little sister is five, too," Vivienne handed over the candy with a kindhearted smile. "But she likes cherry drops better than peppermint."

Hazel readily accepted the candy, hugging her new friend. "Thank you, Vivienne Brou—" she hesitated, unable to say the lengthy last name. She stared at the older girl, admiring her pristine, deep indigo day dress. Hazel lightly touched the embroidered flowers on the neck. "You're pretty."

"Broussard-Dillon," Vivienne slowly enunciated. "Merci. You're pretty, too."

In a flash, the stick of candy was knocked out of the little girl's hand, and Vivienne landed on her backside. She pushed her auburn fringe out of her eyes, staring wide-eyed at the enraged mother while Hazel bawled over the broken treat. "Ma'am, I—I didn't mean any…harm," she stammered, wondering what had made the blonde so angry with her.

"Shut up, girl! Are you a Dillon? Matt Dillon's your pa?"

Vivienne gulped, warily nodding her head.

"A Dillon always means harm," she snarled, jerking Hazel to her feet by her arm. "You stay away from me and my girls!"

Vivienne watched in horror as the woman stomped off, popping Hazel's backside for crying while dragging her other daughter down the walkway. She scrambled to her feet, looking around for her brother and her poodle. She'd been told off by a stranger and had now lost her brother and her dog. Vivienne tightly shut her eyes, inhaling deeply, willing herself not to cry.

After a moment, the girl set her shoulders and dusted herself off, following the sound of Cadeau's bark. She rounded the corner and narrowed her eyes on the door that was slightly ajar. "Pitié moi," she muttered with a shake of her head, stepping into the hallway while Cadeau trotted through a velvet curtain. Vivienne put her hands on her hips, staring at her brother aimlessly exploring the forbidden surroundings. "Rapporte," she whispered to Cadeau. Vivienne assumed her brother had taken his chance and slipped away while she had been distracted by conversation.

The eight-year-old grumbled since the poodle wouldn't let go of his pant leg. "Halt," Luc ordered as Cadeau relentlessly tugged on the material. "Cadeau, s'il vous plaît. Vivi!"

"Lâche," Vivienne commanded, smirking as her poodle released Luc. "Ici, Cadeau. Bon garçon," she complimented, snickering at the roll of her brother's eyes while patting Cadeau's head. "What's the matter with you?" she wondered aloud as he trudged toward her.

"You didn't have to sic him on me. He could have ripped my pants!" The boy took a knee, glaring at his sibling before examining his pants. Luc didn't want to explain ripped trousers to his mother.

"But he didn't."

Luc scoffed as he straightened, "He could have. Besides, I was leaving anyhow."

"Both Daddy and Maman told you not to come into the Long Branch."

"I know, but I couldn't help it, Vivi. I was curious." Luc raked his hands through his hair, taking one last look at the wallpapered walls and felt-top tables. He shook his head in disappointment while running his fingertips along the edge of the Brunswick-style bar. "It's not what I expected," he mumbled.

"Well, you've seen it. Now, can we get outta here? If Maman finds out…"

"I won't tell her," Hannah Cobb vowed, chuckling at the youngster's shocked expressions. She reached out and hooked onto the beltloop of Luc's pants before he could bolt. "Young man, you better not go out the front door. Go out the way you came. Both of you. It's not proper for a lady to be in a saloon," she winked at the panicky redhead.

In the lush, green grass, the retired physician sat, patiently waiting for a fish to bite. He'd treasured the peaceful day with the exception of Festus' annoying humming as he hunted for crawfish with Lark. His youngest granddaughter's jubilant shouts from catching mudbugs along with a frog or two made his old cantankerous heart overflow with happiness. Doc glanced at his grandsons lying on their backs with their Stetsons over their faces while lazily holding onto their fishing rods. From their lackadaisical approach, he certainly believed the boys had been fishing with their uncle too much. To his dismay, his grandsons had managed to catch more fish than him.

"Oh!" Alexandre shot up, throwing his Stetson off his head as his fishing line jumped. "Pépère, I got another one!"

Doc scrubbed his fingers over his mouth. "Alexandre, if you catch that bass I've been after, you are no longer my grandson! Same goes for you, Luc," he teased as the dark-haired boy quickly grabbed the net to help his brother. He nodded in approval at the size of the bass as he stood, deciding to try a new spot farther down. To him, it seemed as if the boys were stealing all the ones he might catch.

"Maybe the boys ought to teach you some new tricks, Doc," Matt joked.

"Perhaps," Doc replied while casting his line into the water. He glanced back at Vivienne, sitting a good distance away under the shade of a silver maple. He hadn't been too surprised when she'd decided to tag along on the fishing trip. He believed it would be good for her to have a break from going with Kitty to take care of Sam, but she hadn't been herself since the morning. She'd been much too quiet on the buggy ride. "Matt, something's not right."

"I know, Doc."

"Well, are you gonna do anything about it?"

"I am. I'm just givin' her a little time. I hoped she'd come to me."

"For heaven's sake, Matt…have you forgotten who her mother is?"

"You know, Doc, I believe I'll tell Festus that you want to borrow his willow pole and beeswax saddle thread," the big man declared, walking away from his riled friend. He slowly approached the gingham blanket and stopped to take the time to regard his daughter. Her nose was in a book as she comfortably rested against the base of the tree. Matt eased onto the blanket next to Vivienne, taking his hat off as she closed her book. "You don't wanna help Lark and Uncle Festus dig for écrevisse?" He wanted to get a smile or giggle out of her since he'd spoken French.

"Non."

He propped his arm on his knee, slanting his head to look at her. He imagined that two-and-a-half-year-old with wild auburn waves covered in mud from head to toe, happily excavating a crawfish burrow. "You've always wanted to do that instead of fishin'. I remember how excited you'd get when you were little."

"Like Lark?" she asked, jerking her head upward at her youngest sister's pained cry.

Matt chuckled softly and assumed Lark had been pinched by a crawfish. "Not like Lark at all. You managed to never get pinched. I don't know how, but you never did, Sweetheart."

Vivienne smiled wistfully, remembering all the summers she'd spent digging for the freshwater crustaceans. Her heart hurt since she didn't remember hunting crawfish with her daddy. She only remembered doing that with her papa. She scooted closer to her father, leaning into his side while his arm came around her. "Daddy," she whispered, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. "I need to talk to you, but I don't want to upset you."

"Vivi, you tell me. It doesn't matter if I get upset. What happened this morning?"

"Luc and I were in front of the general store speaking with Mr. Lathrop. A woman and her two daughters came up. The woman's dress was tattered, and the girls were dirty…no shoes on their feet."

"Honey, you'll see a lot of that here. It's not an easy life in the west."

She dipped her head and ran her fingers along the novel's binding, whispering, "I know not everyone lives a life like we do. One of the little girls started petting Cadeau, and we talked for a bit. She's Josie's age. I gave her the peppermint stick Mr. Lathrop had given me. Next thing I knew, I was flat on my bottom, and Hazel was crying."

"What?"

"I wasn't hurt, Daddy…not physically." Vivienne didn't look up. She didn't want to see the anger rising in her father. She wouldn't be able to finish if she did. "Her mother knocked me down when she snatched the candy out of Hazel's hand. I apologized, and she told me to shut up. She asked if you were my father. Daddy, she said, 'A Dillon always means harm'," she sniffled, lifting her chin to look at him. "She told me stay away from her family."

Matt swallowed hard, taking his handkerchief from his pocket. He delicately dabbed the tears off Vivienne's freckled cheeks. "Vivi, did you get a last name?"

"Turner," she answered. "Daddy, I just gave Hazel a stick of peppermint. I didn't do anything wrong. Did I?"

"Not at all, Sweetheart," Matt assured, pulling his daughter closer to him. He comfortingly rubbed the middle of her back as she tucked her head under his chin. He'd been so worried about his wife's past affecting the visit that he hadn't thought about how his might. "Hazel's father is one of the last men I took to Hays to be hanged. Willa Turner must blame me for their hard times," he said, picturing the forlorn blonde that had been with child during her husband's trial. "It's my fault that happened today."

"But that's not your fault. He broke the law, and you were doing your job."

"Well, not everyone thinks the way you do. Most believe the only thing they did wrong was getting caught. If we lived here, you'd have to deal with that all the time. I'm sorry, Vivi."

She shifted against him, sitting up straighter as an idea struck her. "Daddy, could you find out where they live?"

"I know where they live."

"Merveilleux!"

Matt cocked a brow while studying his compassionate girl, wondering what was churning in her mind as she dug into her reticule. He had a suspicion since he'd recognized that gleam in her eye and the expression on her face. After all, the eleven-year-old was a mirror of her mother. Once he realized she was making a list, he scrubbed his hand over his face. "Vivienne…"

"Would Mr. Lathrop have all this in the general store?" she asked, glancing up from her list while showing him what she'd written on a page of her small agenda book.

"Vivi, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Daddy, it's just some chaussures. Robes et jupes." Vivienne hoped nothing would have to be ordered. She'd quickly realized Lathrop didn't have a vast inventory like stores in New Orleans.

"Sweetheart, let me tell you something," he spoke gently, feeling an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He'd said the exact words to Kitty when she'd tried to help Cully Tate and a dozen others over the years. "It never pays to help people who don't want it."

"But Daddy…I can help them. It never hurts to help others. I'll use my allowance. I'll show them that a Dillon doesn't always mean harm," she asserted matter-of-factly.

"Alright, Vivi," he conceded, knowing she'd have to learn a hard lesson. He figured his daughter would most likely never grasp the lesson just like her mother never had. "I'll go to Lathrop's with you, but we'll add to that list. They'll need more than shoes, dresses, and skirts."

She smiled from ear to ear, kissing her daddy's cheek. "Tu es le meilleur, Daddy." Vivienne snuggled into him while arching a brow at her little sister. She didn't want to think of the soap and scrubbing it would take to get Lark clean.

Lark wiped her hand on her trousers as she marched to the blanket, wriggling between the big man and her sister. "Daddy," she whimpered, shoving her open palm at his face to show him how she'd been pinched by the crawfish she'd caught.

Matt scrutinized the reddened patches on Lark's pale skin while she scooted onto his lap. "You got pinched a lot, Honey."

"Yes'sir, Daddy."

"How'd that happen? I told you to be careful."

"Like this," she mumbled, turning to face him. With her thumb and index finger, Lark pinched a path up his arm, giggling at each tiny yelp he made. She collapsed onto his chest in a fit of laughter, touching his cheek as her giggling slackened. "I love you, Daddy."

Matt rubbed his hand up and down her back as he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. "I love you, too," he whispered. "You wanna try fishing now?"

"No fishin'."

"C'mon, Lark," Vivienne beckoned, standing on the blanket with an extended hand. "I'll show you how to dig for écrevisse without getting pinched."

Matt grinned as Lark hurriedly scrambled off him and walked with her big sister. He focused on his oldest daughter. Vivienne reminded him so much of Kitty. He hoped her giving heart wouldn't be bruised by Willa Turner.

He sat pensively while holding the mug of piping hot coffee in his hands, brushing his thumb against the handle. Sam had appreciated her candor. Kitty had filled in the gaps of her fresh start in New Orleans. The letters had been scarce then, but he'd understood. She'd been a newlywed juggling two demanding newborns and a hotel. Sam had understood again when her letters were few and far between after Henri Broussard's murder. As she finished sharing the particulars, Sam stared into the black coffee, drawing in a sorrowful breath while ignoring the rattle of congestion in his lungs. A part of his heart ached for her and the children the Frenchman had left behind, but the other part of his heart was full to know that she still trusted him. He knew she wouldn't share what she just did with just anybody; he was still her confidant after so many years apart. "I prayed he deserved you, Miss Kitty."

"Henri had his faults like all men do, but he deserved me, Sam. He was what I needed at the time."

"You needed a man that devoted his time to you…put you first," he spoke softly, refilling her porcelain cup.

Kitty nodded, drinking from her cup, savoring the rich flavor. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the way Sam could make a pot of coffee. "Henri did that and more."

"It sure sounds like he did."

"You would have liked him."

"Is Luc like him?"

"Luc has his papa's adventurous, daring nature. He's learning to weigh the risks before he takes 'em, but he's just as brave and protective as Henri was," she said, placing her cup on the coffee table. Kitty gazed out the window, watching Josephine hide behind a tree trunk. Delia had kept the five-year-old occupied since Vivienne wasn't around to play hide-and-seek. "But Quatre…she's so much like Henri. He gave her all that I loved about him. I don't know what I'll do when she starts kindergarten in the fall. She's been my shadow since she could walk. She just knows what I need whether it's a hug or a smile."

"She's a sweetheart, but Lark's a spitfire," he remarked with a chortle, recalling how the toddler had been after she'd woke from her nap. He'd had a difficult time deciphering her speech, but he'd figured out how unhappy she was to be in a dress. "She's certainly a tomboy."

"And that's all her daddy's fault. I was adamant about having no more babies after her. I don't believe Matt realizes how different he's treated her compared to Vivi and Josie. He hasn't been as soft and gentle with Lark. If she gets a cut or a scrape, he kisses it while tellin' her she's his tough girl. He'd coddle Vivi and Josie more."

"Lark's a lot like Matt."

"He'll deny that, too," Kitty laughed.

"I'm glad he came to his senses when it came to you. I didn't believe he ever would."

"Well," she sighed, "you know, Matt's a slow learner." Kitty leaned over the side of the settee after hearing a soft gurgle. She watched the seven-month-old's gentle, big stretch while he rubbed his eyes with his tiny fists. Kitty eased off the paisley-patterned cushion as her boy slowly became more aware. "Hi, Sweetheart," she murmured, smiling warmly at his happy coo while he reached for her.

Sam watched his former employer press her lips to the infant's wispy locks as the boy contentedly snuggled into his mother's chest. He recalled all of their after closing conversations, the times she'd lament that she'd only ever run a saloon and how she'd never have what most women dreamed of. To help soothe her downhearted mood, he'd remind her that she had freedom, and some women yearned for what she had. He was pleased to see that her dream had come true, six times over. "Miss Kitty, it seems you were a slow learner, too."

"What do you mean?" she asked, reclaiming her spot next to her friend.

"With Lark bein' the last Dillon," Sam winked, grinning at Noah.