Galveston, 1867 AMERICA. The land of opportunity. The land of freedom. Erick von Hellermann knew better than to believe that unquestioningly. He might never have set foot on these shores, but he had traveled extensively in Europe and knew that reputation rarely conveyed the reality of a place. Even so, he hoped to lose himself in the vast expanses of the Texas plains. In all that open space, there was surely room for one man who wanted nothing more than to leave his past behind. The ship docked, and the passengers made their way off slowly, through the port authority where they gave their names, professions, and country of origin. Erick struggled with the unfamiliar accents. He read English fluently, having been schooled on Shakespeare and other classics, but he had seldom had an opportunity to speak it, and the drawled speech full of words he did not recognize now overwhelmed him. When his turn came, he gave his name as Erick Heller, listing Bremen as his home. A new name for a new start, and the ship had sailed from Prussia. If Bremen was not his true city of origin, no one here would be any wiser, and perhaps the changes would slow down anyone who might come looking for him. He didn’t think his cousin would send anyone, since his return would keep the other man from inheriting his title and estate, but Erick was not entirely sure his mother would accept his decision. The baroness had been most disconcerted at his decision to leave home after the death of his wife and son in childbirth. Regardless of what his mother said, that stage of his life was over. He hoped the one in front of him would be better than the one he left behind. “Your profession, sir?” the harbor master asked. Erick smiled. “Cowboy.” The man looked at the cut of Erick’s suit and the quality of his shoes in surprise, but he inscribed “cowboy” on the page next to Erick’s name. Exiting the office, Erick paused on the edge of the docks to take in the bustling port. In that respect, it reminded him of the port in Bremen, but the resemblance ended there. Instead of the brisk, almost cold breeze of winter, the wind off the ocean here was already warm and humid, making Erick’s shirt cling uncomfortably to his sides beneath his jacket and his cravat feel stifling around his neck. The sun beat down overhead on unfamiliar plants and trees, on dusty streets and rough-hewn wooden houses. He saw none of the familiar pale stone that characterized the buildings of his former home. The sound of a horse screaming wrenched his attention from his vague thoughts back to the present. The animal in question reared up on its hindquarters, front hooves pawing the air as its voice cut through the noise of the harbor again. It was a beautiful black horse, but its handler obviously had no idea how to work with it. Not pausing to consider his actions, Erick strode toward the scene, all too aware of the crowded docks and the damage a frightened or enraged horse could do in a crowd if it escaped the man’s control. Reaching the handler’s side, he grabbed the lead rope as it flew free, letting the horse rear once more but catching the cheek strap of the halter when its hooves hit the ground again. He crooned soothingly in German, the calm tone of his voice far more important than the words themselves. The horse fought him, but Erick held on, using the full weight of his body and all the strength of his will to bring the animal under control. The next attempt to rear was half-hearted, though the horse still pawed menacingly at the ground. Erick kept up the gentle murmurs, an oasis of calm in the chaos of the docks. The horse responded slowly, the wild look fading from its eyes as it focused on him. Erick continued talking, his free hand moving to stroke the animal’s neck and withers. They quivered beneath his touch but settled when he kept the contact light and soothing. The horse truly was magnificent. He hoped it belonged to someone who would appreciate it.