Thunderclouds of baked Arizona dust hovered and obscured the circle of shouting teenage boys crowded into the narrow alley. Furious fists and feet blurred, adding to the heavy haze of dirt and bits of June-seared grass. Grunts and thuds merely hinted at landed punches amid the spectators’ cheers and jeers.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” A young man of twenty wearing a white apron erupted through the back door of a nearby shop wielding a broom like a mighty sword. “You idiots are stirrin’ a mess o’dirt right into the store!” He whacked the broom over the closest three heads, chanting a litany of curses before striding into the group. “Stop scrappin’ right now!”

Jamie stood and backed away. One fat drop of red perched at the corner of his lower lip until his licked it and spat. He ruffled sand and straw out of his blue-black hair, then slapped his trousers and shirt. Ochre powder cascaded to the ground.

“Ow! Aack! Lemme go, youse!” A blood-splattered lad whined in a guttural accent as the shopkeeper hauled him up by his shirt collar. Scarlet flowed across the boy’s dusty face and dripped down his chin.

“I don’t know who you are or what the hell you’ve been up to, but I surely hear you’re from New York.” The broom-wielder released his catch and looked across the circle at Jamie. “What’s this ruckus about?”

Jamie shrugged. He shook his head at his curly-headed younger brother who had opened his mouth to speak. Will Jones clenched his hands into fists and remained quiet, righteous anger blazing from dark eyes.

The bloody-nosed fighter sneered and gestured with exaggerated bravado to his friends around the circle. “Toldja stupid Mexicans are born o’pigshit whores—”

The broom whistled sharply through the hot morning air. The impact knocked the boy flat onto his face in the dirt again. “I should kick the crap outta you myself for that. Just off the train, are you? In Tucson, most everyone is at least half Mexican—including me. You care to repeat that comment about my mother, or get the hell outta here before I hand you your next ass-whuppin’?”

The newcomer slowly got to his feet, resentment burning through the newest layer of grime. “I wasn’t gettin’ no whuppin’! I was winnin’—”

“You might fool your friends but you can’t bullshit me, little boy.” The shopkeeper hefted the broom once more. “You’d best hope I don’t catch you fightin’ back here again. Take your pinchi gringo pals and get lost.”

The vanquished grumbled their way down the alley. Jamie Jones slapped more dust from his pants. He turned to his brother. “Will, go wait out front,” he said. “Mam will be here soon.”

Dark curls nodded. “You hurt?”

“Naw. Just dirty.” He looked at the shopkeeper and nodded. “I appreciate your backing, Mr. Martin.”

“Don’t mention it.” Andy Martin hooked a thumb outward. “There’s a stiff bristle brush by my back door that’ll get most of that out.” He raised his brows. “Doña Jones wants her usual sundries, I suppose?”

“Yessir, mostly. She’s gone to the bank.” Jamie reached into his pocket. “Here’s her list.” He picked up the bristle brush and began on his sleeves.

Martin watched him for a moment. “Most all’s coming out. If you’re real lucky she won’t notice. Then again, Doña Jones isn’t known to miss much. But I promise she won’t hear a word about it from me.” He shook his head. “Kinda early in the day for a scrap, isn’t it, Jamie? Barely eight-thirty.”

Jamie nodded and kept brushing. “Didn’t ask for it.” He straightened and met the shopkeeper’s gaze.

“You never do, so I hear. But you’ll spend your whole life fighting if you let idiot gringos like that rile you.” He shrugged and smiled. “I understand. I woulda done just the same a few years back when I was your age. Imagine if that idiot knew I’m not only half Mexican but half Irish to boot—hah! Still, next time, have your fisticuffs a little further down the alley, eh?”

Andy Martin patted Jamie’s shoulder. “Now I have to be a responsible adult and sweep the whole drugstore again.” He winked and headed into the shop.

“Mam’s late.”

Jamie and William Jones stood outside Martin’s Drug Store in the awning’s scant shade with a small pile of brown paper packages. Even at nine o’clock in the morning, the brutal desert sun scorched any exposed skin in a matter of minutes.

“Maybe there was a long line, Will. Smart folks in Tucson get out early on summer days.”

Jamie looked down Congress Street toward the bank—and time ceased to flow.

He knew the moment he saw her she would be his ruin. The swinging skirt captivated him and transformed rational thought into hummingbirds that zipped away into the ether. Only a tiny hatchling of probable calamity remained. He shoved it into a far, dark corner of his mind.

He had never seen such a beautiful girl. She might have stepped from the pages of the latest fashion magazines of 1904 with her smart navy gabardine suit. A straw boater perched jauntily atop a pile of golden hair barely shaded delicate porcelain skin from the harsh June sun.

He stared, hypnotized, aware of nothing but the young Anglo woman approaching him and the sudden clamor of his heartbeat in his ears. Jingling harnesses and creaking wagons and clopping hooves along Tucson’s busiest street disappeared. The air no longer held the aromas of manure and dust, the hot wind no longer stirred his hair. Hundreds of people going about their business, laughing and chatting, no longer existed—only this goddess.

She strolled toward him with that tantalizing sway as though the desert reserved its torture for mere piddling mortals.

Her mesmerizing spell did not ensnare Will. His bony elbow jabbed Jamie’s ribs and startled him back to the here and now. “Here comes another fancy-dancy Eastern girl,” Will muttered. “She’ll be a puddle of sweat before she gets up the block. Her nose is already burnt red as a cherry. Don’t those people read about Arizona before they come here?”

Jamie realized he’d been gawking and closed his mouth. He remained silent and touched his Stetson to her as she passed. She stared beyond him—through him. He did not exist.

Bitter disappointment welled in his throat. Newcomers from the East, like the New Yorker in the alley, saw his brown skin and blue-black hair and assumed an air of superiority. He knew he favored his Mexican mother in appearance and ignored such bias when he encountered it. But today this girl’s rejection stung. For the first time he could recall, he felt diminished.

At the very least the beauty should have nodded politely to Will, who was the mirror image of their Welsh father—Jamie’s height, but pale-skinned with thick, dark curls, high cheekbones, and a prominent jib sail nose. But she did not.

Jamie wondered if she avoided eye contact with strangers out of proper modesty. Yes, that’s it, he decided. She must be a real lady from the East, new in town and not taking any chances of encouraging the wrong sort of attention.

“What a snob!” William shook his head. “Where do you think she’s from? New York? Baltimore? I’ll bet it’s one of those ‘society’ places like Philadelliyuh.”

“Philadelphia, Will.” Jamie sighed.

Whoever she was continued down Congress toward Main Street, head held high.

Bet she’s going to Steinfeld’s Department Store, Jamie thought and his heart skipped. That was their next stop.

“Doesn’t matter. She’s obviously one of those people who think they’re here to ‘civilize’ the West and ruin it.” His brother shrugged and nudged him again. “Here comes Mam. Uh-oh—she’s walking too fast to be happy.”

Jamie turned. A petite, dark woman wearing a Spanish riding hat, a high-collared blouse, and dark flowing skirt strode purposefully toward them, her face set in a determined mask.

Not a good sign.