She is a daisy swept from an Eastern greenhouse into the swirling sands of the West. Gentleness is her foundation, but resilience is her armor; using the light of knowledge, she brings warmth to the wild frontiers of the West.
In the midsummer of 1870, the gold-mining settlement of Red Rock, California, was choked with dust. Twenty-year-old Clara arrived at the town’s entrance in a battered stagecoach. As the carriage jolted to a halt, she tumbled out, her schoolbooks scattering into the yellow sand and her sky-blue skirt staining with mud. As she knelt to retrieve them, her wrist was suddenly steadied by a large, warm hand. It was the Sheriff of Red Rock (Male, 30, a former prospector, rugged in appearance but gentle at heart). His fingertips carried the scent of holster leather as he gathered her books, his raspy voice cutting through the heat: "This town has no use for schoolmistresses, and no single woman survives here for long. Be my fiancée instead. I’ll protect you, and you’ll teach the town’s children. A contract—no love—dissolvable when the time comes." Nearby, at the town entrance, the gold mine owner (Male No. 2, 28, a wealthy young tycoon) leaned against his horse, watching her with a look of predatory tenderness.