Papa adjusted the pendulum chains. "Did you know that cuckoos don't bother raising their young?"

Meg gritted her teeth. Oh, no you don't, Papa. You're not distracting me with bird talk-or anything else, for that matter. Not this time.

"Grant is a wonderful, caring man."

For a long moment her father said nothing as he adjusted the chains of the Black Forest clock. "The mama bird lays eggs in the nests of other birds," he said at last. "That way the parents don't have to worry about raising them. They let others do all the work."

"And I love him, Papa. I do." She couldn't believe the relief she felt at finally being able to say those words aloud.

Her father's hand stilled, and he narrowed his eyes. "You sound like you really mean it," he said. "Not like last time."

She stared at him. Was that why he had been so dead set against her marriage to Tommy? Had Papa doubted her love? Had he known her true feelings even before she did? Maybe Papa was better at subtleties than she gave him credit for.

"No, it's not like last time," she said. "And he loves me too."

He turned back to the clock. "I'd make a terrible cuckoo bird." She heard his intake of breath. "I don't like my fledglings leaving the nest."

She blinked. It wasn't the first time of late that he'd admitted to faults, but his confession nonetheless surprised her. Was this new thoughtful and introspective side of him due to some inner milestone? Or had the series of recent scares made him take stock? Whatever the cause, Meg felt grateful.

"Oh, Papa...is...is that why you chased away every boy who ever looked at me?"

"Did I really do that?"

"Yes, Papa, you did. You tried chasing Ralph away from Josie too, until Mama put her foot down. You did the same with Tommy, but he was too stubborn to leave."

He shrugged. "As your father, I have a prescriptive right to look out for your welfare. For the welfare of all my daughters."

"And does your prescriptive right extend to Grant Garrison?"

"You're serious about that scalawag, are you?"

"Yes, Papa, I am."

"Even after the way he grilled you on the stand?"

"He was only doing his job."

He studied her long and hard. "I should warn you that if you decide to marry him, I'll..." He stopped when Mama walked into the room.

Meg glanced at her mother with a beseeching look. "You'll what, Papa? What will you do if I marry Grant?"

"Yes, what will you do, Henry?" Arms folded, Mama tapped her foot, her gaze as sharp as her voice.

Papa looked momentarily remorseful, like a child caught stealing cookies. He'd been on his best behavior since Mama moved back home, though his lapses were becoming more frequent as time went by. At the rate he was going, he'd be back to his usual self by next week.

"I promise to behave myself and not mess up her wedding," he managed at last, though judging by the pained look on his face, it caused him great anguish to say it.

"And you'll stop calling him names?" Meg persisted. "And you'll make him feel welcome in our home at all times?"

Papa glanced at Mama's stoic face before splaying his hands. "Whatever you say."

With a cry of delight, Meg flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on his bristly cheek. "Oh, Papa. I want you to come to love him like I do."

"Let's not get carried away," he said in a gruff voice.

"All right, not love him. Like him."

"Hmm. We'll see."

Knowing that was about as much as he was willing to concede, at least for now, Meg pulled away. "I've got to go."

She could hardly wait to tell Grant that they could now shout the news of their betrothal to one and all.

"Okay, but I'm warning you, Meg," Papa said, determined as always to have the last word. "This better be your last wedding." He looked at Mama and shrugged. "We sure as blazes can't afford another."

Epilogue.

There was nothing peaceful about Peaceful Lane that Saturday morning as Meg rushed to keep up with Grant's long strides. He pushed the cart with her hope chest down the center of the dirt road.

The whining sound of bagpipes was met with Mr. Crawford's angry shouts.

Mr. Sloan chased the Johnson boy out of his yard. "Come back! You have no right stealing my carrots!"

Mrs. Conrad was screaming at the goat that had chewed a pair of long underwear off her clothesline.

The big, yellow hound stood with its front paws against a tree barking at Cowboy, who hissed back from the upper branch. Sneaking up behind, the dogcatcher lowered the loop of his snare around the hound's neck. The hound took off running, yanking the dogcatcher clear off his feet.

Farther along, Mrs. Rockwell dragged a table out of one house and headed across the street to the other. Two doors away, Mr. Quincy was yelling at the paperboy, and Grant's own landlady was arguing with the next-door neighbor who had driven his carriage over her flower bed.

"I still don't know why you wanted my hope chest," Meg said. Their wedding was a month away.

Grant made no attempt to enlighten her until he stopped in front of one of the Sunday houses. "What do you think?"

She gazed up at him in confusion. "Think?"

"I'm now the official owner," he said, "and I was hoping you would agree to us making this our first home."

She stared at him in total disbelief. "You bought this house?"

"Had to." He grinned. "It's the only way I could think to save my back. Mrs. Rockwell now owns only a single house. Once she finishes moving into the one across the street, she'll have to stay there. We're not taking in any boarders."

"Oh, Grant!" Meg's heart swelled with joy, and it was all she could do to keep the tears of happiness at bay. "I think this would make a lovely home," she said. "Just as soon as I decorate it with the household goods from my hope chest."

Grant's grin practically reached from ear to ear. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He stopped right there in the middle of that not-so-peaceful lane and, in a shocking display of affection, showed her exactly how much he liked her decorating ideas.

Order Margaret Brownley's next book

in the A Match Made in Texas series

To Win a Sheriff's Heart On sale June 2017

Author's Note

Dear Reader, I hope you enjoyed Meg and Grant's story.

Whether we like it or not, our lives are dictated by time. As irritating as that might seem, it wasn't that long ago that no one really knew what time it was. Early settlers depended on the sun to tell time. When the sun cast the smallest shadow, they knew it was noon or at least thereabouts. The problem was that solar time varies throughout the year. That's because the earth sometimes moves slower or faster around the sun, which meant that sundials had to be constantly adjusted, in addition to being worthless at night or on cloudy days.

It took thousands of years for man to wrestle time away from the sun with the invention of clocks. Clocks solved some of the problems but then created problems of another kind.

Townsfolk often set their clocks and watches by local jewelers. This worked fairly well until a second jeweler moved into town. As stated in the story, some towns did indeed have several jewelers, and no one could agree as to who had the right time.

Noting the problem, an astronomer named William Lambert was the first man in the United States to suggest standard time. He presented his idea to Congress in 1809, but the idea was not adopted.

If you think living in a town with several different time zones was confusing, imagine the chaos for train passengers. If several railroad lines used the same depot, they all installed their own clocks with different times.

Prior to 1883, an estimated hundred different railroad times existed in this country. Train engineers couldn't remember all the different time changes and would often pull out of the depot too soon, causing passengers to miss connections. But that was a lot better than pulling out too late and risking being hit by another train.

Things got so out of hand that railroad officials finally met and came up with the idea of dividing the country into time zones. On November 18, 1883, at precisely noon, all railroad clocks changed to standard time. At first, some objected, and many towns stubbornly held on to the old way of doing things, but eventually the advantages of standard time became clear.

Worshippers arrived at church on time, employees reached counters or desks when they were supposed to, and shops opened and closed on schedule. Order reigned.

It wasn't until 1918 that Congress finally adopted standard time laws based on railroad time (thirty-five years after the fact and more than a hundred years after Lambert's proposal). The act also included daylight saving as a way to save electricity during World War I. Congress rescinded daylight saving in 1919, and it was reinstituted during World War II. The Uniform Time Act of 1966 standardized the start and end dates of daylight saving but allowed local exemptions.

Hawaii and Arizona (except on the Navajo reservation) do not observe daylight saving time. The last thing residents need in these states is another hour of hot sun.

As for breach-of-promise suits, some states have formally outlawed the practice, but such claims are still valid in nearly half the states. So, bachelors and bachelorettes, do beware.

As for Two-Time, Texas, it's now on standard time, but the story is far from over. There are surprises in store for Meg's sister Amanda, and you won't believe what they are.

Until next time (oops, there's that word again),

Margaret

Read on for an excerpt from

To Win a Sheriff's Heart

The next book in the A Match Made in Texas series by Margaret Brownley

One.

Two-Time, Texas 1882.

Could she trust him? Dare she trust him?

The man-a stranger-looked like one tough hombre. Perched upon the seat of a weather-beaten wagon, he sat tall, lean, and decisively strong, his sunbaked hands the color of tanned leather. The only feature visible beneath his wide-brimmed hat and shaggy beard was a well-defined nose. The beard, along with his shoulder-length hair, suggested he had no regard for barbers. From the looks of him, he wasn't all that fond of bathhouses either.

He'd stopped to ask if she needed a ride. It wasn't as if she had a lot of choices. If she didn't accept his offer, she might have to spend the rest of the day, maybe even the night, alone in the Texas wilderness with the rattlers, cactus, and God knows what else. Still she hesitated.