PART 1: The Barefoot Star of Silver Creek

The first time cowboy Jack Mercer met the most famous actress in New York, she stepped off a train wearing a thousand-dollar dress, carrying a diamond-studded handbag, and absolutely nothing on her feet.

Then she looked him straight in the eye and said, “If you try to put shoes on me, cowboy, I’ll scream.”

Jack stared at her.

“Ma’am, I’ve been kicked by horses, chased by bulls, and threatened by an angry widow with a frying pan. But I’ve never been hired to fight a woman over footwear.”

The beautiful stranger burst out laughing.

And just like that, Jack Mercer knew his new job was going to be trouble.

It was the summer of 1892 in Silver Creek, Colorado, a dusty little town where excitement usually meant somebody’s mule getting loose outside the church.

But this week, the entire town had been buzzing.

Miss Evelyn Hart, the celebrated stage actress whose face appeared on theater posters from Boston to San Francisco, was coming to perform at the newly built Grand Opera House.

The mayor had ordered fresh paint for the train station. The hotel owner had purchased expensive French soap. Even the sheriff had polished his badge for the occasion.

And Jack Mercer, a thirty-two-year-old ranch hand who preferred cattle to conversation, had been offered twenty dollars to escort the actress around town for three days.

“Twenty dollars?” Jack had asked the mayor. “Just to follow a woman around?”

“And keep her out of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

The mayor had sighed.

“She’s an actress, Jack. Apparently, they invent new kinds.”

Now, standing beside the train platform, Jack was beginning to understand.

Evelyn Hart was twenty-eight, with dark chestnut hair, sparkling green eyes, and the confident smile of a woman accustomed to commanding a room.

Her blue silk traveling dress was magnificent.

Her bare feet were covered in railroad dust.

“Where are your shoes?” Jack asked.

“In my suitcase.”

“Why aren’t they on your feet?”

“Because I hate them.”

“You hate all shoes?”

“Only the ones that hurt.”

Jack glanced at the curious crowd gathering nearby.

“Miss Hart, half this town came to see you arrive.”

“Wonderful. Then half this town is about to discover women have toes.”

She swept past him toward the street.

Jack hurried after her.

“Ma’am, there’s horse manure everywhere!”

“Then I suggest you watch where you’re walking.”

By noon, Silver Creek had experienced three minor scandals.

First, Evelyn had walked barefoot into the finest hotel in town, causing the elderly receptionist to drop his spectacles.

Second, she had refused the mayor’s invitation to a formal luncheon because he insisted she wear proper shoes.

Third, she had visited the general store, purchased a bag of peppermint candies, and sat on the boardwalk sharing them with three children whose parents could not afford theater tickets.

Jack watched the children laugh while Evelyn entertained them with ridiculous voices.

“You know,” he said when they finally left, “you don’t behave much like a famous actress.”

“How should a famous actress behave?”

“I figured she’d be ordering people around and demanding expensive things.”

Evelyn smiled faintly.

“You’d be surprised how many expensive things a person can own without possessing a single thing that matters.”

Something in her voice made Jack turn.

For the first time that afternoon, her smile had disappeared.

Before he could ask what she meant, she pointed toward his horse.

“What’s his name?”

“Thunder.”

“He looks gentle.”

“He’s bitten three men.”

“Perhaps they deserved it.”

Jack almost smiled.

“You’re an unusual woman, Miss Hart.”

“And you’re an unusually serious cowboy, Mr. Mercer.”

“Jack.”

“Then you may call me Evelyn.”

That evening, Jack escorted Evelyn to the opera house for rehearsals.

The theater manager, Mr. Horace Bellamy, was waiting at the entrance with a pocket watch and an expression of complete misery.

“Miss Hart! You’re late!”

“By seven minutes.”

“Eight!”

“How tragic. Shall we hold a funeral?”

Bellamy ignored the joke.

“Where are your shoes?”

“Still enjoying their holiday.”

“You cannot rehearse barefoot!”

“Watch me.”

She walked onto the stage before he could object.

Jack leaned against the back wall, expecting to spend the next hour listening to theatrical nonsense.

Instead, he found himself completely captivated.

The woman who had spent the afternoon teasing him transformed beneath the stage lights.

Her voice trembled with sorrow, then thundered with anger. She moved through the scene with such conviction that even the carpenters stopped hammering to listen.

When the rehearsal ended, Jack realized he’d been holding his breath.

Evelyn spotted him standing near the doorway.

“Well, cowboy? Was I terrible?”

Jack removed his hat.

“Ma’am, I don’t know much about theater.”

“I suspected that.”

“But when you were talking about losing your home, I almost wanted to ride out and find the scoundrel who took it.”

Her expression softened.

“Then perhaps you understand theater better than you think.”

Later, they walked back toward the hotel beneath a sky glittering with stars.

Evelyn carried her shoes in one hand.

Jack carried a lantern.

“Tell me something,” she said. “Have you always been a cowboy?”

“Near enough.”

“Have you ever wanted to be something else?”

He shrugged.

“When I was younger, I used to tell stories around the campfire. Made the other hands laugh sometimes.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Stories don’t mend fences or pay for winter feed.”

“Neither does poetry,” Evelyn replied. “Yet the world would be poorer without it.”

Jack looked at her suspiciously.

“Are all actresses this philosophical?”

“Only the barefoot ones.”

He laughed.

It surprised him how easily she made him do that.

But as they approached the hotel, Evelyn suddenly stopped.

Across the street, two men in dark coats stood beside a carriage.

One held a folded newspaper.

The other was watching her.

Jack felt her hand close around his sleeve.

“Evelyn?”

“Don’t look at them.”

“Too late.”

“Please. Just keep walking.”

Her voice had changed completely.

Gone was the confident actress who teased mayors and argued about shoes.

She sounded frightened.

Jack guided her through the hotel entrance, then glanced back.

The men were gone.

“Friends of yours?” he asked quietly.

Evelyn shook her head.

“No.”

“Enemies?”

She hesitated.

“Something worse.”

Jack waited.

Finally, Evelyn reached into her handbag and removed a folded document sealed with red wax.

“Jack, I need to tell you something.”

“I’m listening.”

“The newspapers say I’m the highest-paid actress in America.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“They say I own beautiful houses, expensive jewels, and more dresses than I could wear in a lifetime.”

“Sounds about right.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Jack, I don’t own any of it.”

He frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“My manager controls my money, my performances, my travel, even the clothes I’m required to wear. Every decision belongs to him.”

She held up the document.

“And according to this contract, I belong to him for another fifteen years.”

Jack’s expression darkened.

“That doesn’t sound legal.”

“He’s made certain no lawyer I’ve contacted will challenge him.”

“Then why come to Colorado?”

For a moment, she said nothing.

Then she whispered, “Because I didn’t come here to perform.”

Jack stared at her.

“What?”

“I came here to disappear.”

Before he could respond, heavy footsteps sounded behind them.

“Miss Hart.”

Both turned.

A tall gentleman wearing a black frock coat stood inside the hotel doorway.

He held a silver-headed walking cane and smiled without warmth.

“There you are, Evelyn. I’ve traveled a very long way to find you.”

Her face went pale.

Jack instinctively stepped between them.

“And you are?”

The stranger examined Jack’s dusty boots with visible contempt.

“The gentleman who owns her professional contract.”

He produced a second document from his coat pocket.

“And tomorrow morning, cowboy, I intend to have Miss Hart placed on the eastbound train.”

Jack glanced at Evelyn.

She was trembling.

But then the stranger said something that made Jack’s blood run cold.

“Unless, of course, you’d prefer I tell the sheriff what really happened to the last man who tried to help her escape.”