The Bachelor Tax

“You’re pretty sassy,” he said in her ear.

She spun to face him. “I’m your cook, Tanner. We decided I’d make a better employee than a wife, remember?”

He shook his head. “No, I still haven’t figured out the whys and wherefores.”

“Changed your mind?” she asked breathlessly.

He was too close, his eyes were too knowing as they scanned her. Her heart missed a beat and fluttered. Pressing her lips together, she dared a glance at his face.

His jaw was taut, his nostrils flaring just a bit. And his eyes, those dark orbs that seemed to seek out her thoughts, were fastened on her face.

“No, I haven’t changed my mind, honey,” he whispered. “I want you to know what you’re gettin’ before I marry you.”

“That’s not part of our bargain,” she countered.

“I’m not sure what kind of a bargain we struck,” Tanner said softly….

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Harlequin Historicals, Harlequin/Silhouette’s only historical romance line! We offer four unforgettable love stories each month, in a range of time periods, settings and sensuality. And they’re written by some of the best writers in the field!

Carolyn Davidson is one of those writers. Her Americana stories are meaningful, morally rich and surprisingly sensuous—and they almost always feature tall, dark and handsome heroes. Continuing in that vein is The Bachelor Tax, an endearing marriage-of-convenience story about a least-likely-to-marry “bad boy” rancher who tries to avoid a local bachelor tax by proposing to the one woman he’s sure will say no—the prim preacher’s daughter….

My Lady Reluctant is a thrilling new medieval novel by Laurie Grant about a Norman lady who must travel to court to find a husband. En route, she is attacked by outlaws but rescued by a mysterious and handsome knight…. Rising talent Liz Ireland returns with a darling Western, The Outlaw’s Bride, in which a reputed Texas outlaw and headstrong “nurse” fall in love—despite the odds against them!

And the ever-popular Deborah Simmons returns this month with The Gentleman Thief, a Regency tale about a beautiful bluestocking who stirs up trouble during a season at Bath when she investigates a jewel caper and finds herself scrutinizing—and falling for—an irresistible marquis.

Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

The Bachelor Tax

Carolyn Davidson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Available from Harlequin Historicals and CAROLYN DAVIDSON

Gerrity’s Bride #298

Loving Katherine #325

The Forever Man #385

Runaway #416

The Wedding Promise #431

The Tender Stranger #456

The Midwife #475

The Bachelor Tax #496

To the women who share with me one Saturday

afternoon a month, who attend my book signings, buy

my books and then tell me how wonderful I am, this

book is gratefully dedicated…. Without their support and

affection, I would be lost! Thanks to all of you, members

of the Lowcountry Romance Writers of America.

And as always, and especially for the trials and

tribulations I put him through during the writing of this

story, I dedicate this work to Mr. Ed, who loves me.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Chapter One

From the pages of the Edgewood Gazette…

July 6, 1882

Local legislature approved the use of the new Bachelor Tax for our town. Unless our male citizens who claim the status of bachelorhood can prove they have proposed to at least one eligible woman during the past year, they will be assessed a tax. This is for the purpose of promoting marriage among our citizens. All men of legal age are liable for taxation…

Edgewood, Texas, July 25, 1882

This could very likely be the most important day in her life. Rosemary Gibson appraised herself in the mirror hanging over her dresser, reaching to tug at a curl that hung in front of her left ear.

It was the only sign of feminine frippery she allowed herself, that and the matching ringlet on the other side of her face. Aside from those two small indulgences, she felt she was the perfect picture of a churchgoing, teetotalling, virtuous woman.

Hopefully, the image she presented would be enough to entice the man who was due to arrive on the morning train, just ten minutes from now. She lifted the gold watch from her bosom to check the time once more, and nodded decisively. A brisk walk would bring her to the train station just as the locomotive puffed its way into town.

She left the house by the front door, paced quickly down the path to the street, then made her way through the center of town. Her skirts swung just an inch from the instep of her shoes, and she frowned as she caught sight of the coating of dust covering them. And just when she needed so desperately to present a suitable image. Well, it couldn’t be helped.

Her likeness was reflected from the window of the mercantile, and Rosemary tilted her head, admiring the subdued look of her black hat, then straightened her shoulders just a bit more firmly.

She passed the bank, nodding at Pace Frombert as he opened the double doors to the public, then stepped to the street. Crossing the alleyway that led to the row of houses comprising the poorer side of town, she glanced down its length.

Children played in the dusty road, their voices audible in the clear, summer air, and Rosemary smiled at their antics. She lifted her skirt, stepping up to the sidewalk once more. Then looked aside as she approached the bane of her existence, the Golden Slipper Saloon, only too aware of the tall figure positioned by its front door.

Gabe Tanner, he of the scornful glance and dark, piercing gaze. Only on occasion did she cross his path, and those times she was careful to remain aloof.

She dropped her eyes, observing only the scuffed toes of his boots as she passed, then stiffened as a low chuckle followed in her wake. She halted and turned back, unwilling to allow such an insult to go unnoticed.

His lips still curving in a sardonic grin, Tanner leaned back against the wall, hat tilted over his forehead. Dark eyes scanned her from stem to stern, and Rosemary felt a flush creep up her cheeks as she glared at him, then turned away, resuming her progress.

Men like Gabe Tanner should be outlawed from the human race, as far as she was concerned! Whether or not any of their sort appreciated her qualities was not a major issue this morning.

And yet, those same qualities were about to be judged, and very soon. For if the man who was scheduled to depart the train this morning did not deem her fit to be his wife, she might find herself in search of a roof over her head before nightfall. That thought was appalling, and Rosemary shuddered as it raced through her head. Finding a place to store her worldly possessions would be a distinct problem, one she refused to consider right now. Even though their letters had promised much, should Rosemary Gibson not fit the image of a parson’s wife, Reverend Jorgenson had every right to deny her the title.

On the other hand, if he approved of what she had to offer, she might very well be a married woman this very day. Her steps quickened as that thought brought hope to her spinster’s heart.

She’d not been offered for, ever, until the new minister had suggested in his letter that they might form an alliance of sorts. It seemed his bishop preferred married men in the pulpit, and Lars Jorgenson sounded willing to sacrifice his bachelorhood to the effort.

It was a stroke of luck she had not thought to encounter. Since the day her father had breathed his last, she had stayed on, the parishioners allowing her use of the parsonage, awaited the arrival of his replacement, keeping the parsonage in immaculate condition, praying for direction should she find herself without a home.

The final letter last week from the prospective minister had brought new hope to her heart. If he felt they suited, he would immediately notify his bishop. Until then, he felt his tentative plans must be held in abeyance.

Now, in just a few minutes, Lars Jorgenson would step from the train and search her out on the station platform. Rosemary scurried around the corner of the bank and picked her way through the weed-infested shortcut to the railroad tracks.

This might well be the most important day of her life.

Gabe Tanner’s gaze scanned the wooden sidewalk again, the fifth time during the past ten minutes. His indolent posture was but a pose, his mission this morning more important than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

Ah, there she was. That mousy, dark-haired excuse for a woman, with her collar buttoned so tight it was a wonder she could breathe, her mincing little steps making her bosom rise and fall within her dress. She’d have a hissy fit if she knew how it caught his eye, and that thought brought a chuckle to his lips.

She turned back, her eyes widening in anger and insult, then resumed her marching gait, but not before he caught sight of the blush that rode her cheekbones. She ought to pinken them up regularly. It would make her look almost…

Naw, it’d take more than that to put some life into the old preacher’s daughter, Tanner decided. He watched as she paraded on her way, her heels clicking on the wooden sidewalk.

And yet, he had decided, she might very well be the one to save him a bundle, not that the amount was likely to make him mortgage his spread. Rather, he couldn’t abide the thought of the new law, passed less than a year ago and soon to catch him in its web.

Bachelor Tax. The phrase alone was enough to make his mouth pucker in distaste. The thought that a man would be subject to a tax burden such as this was loathsome.

If asking Miss High-and-Mighty to accept his hand in marriage would alleviate the burden for another whole year, he’d give it a shot. The knowledge that she would shudder and step back from his imposing presence was insurance enough to allow his consideration.

He tilted his hat back and stood erect, casting one last glance at the shuttered windows of the Golden Slipper Saloon. Too early for business yet, although the sound of Herbie’s broom sweeping the perpetually dusty floor could be heard beyond the swinging doors. Jason Stillwell was no doubt in bed, owing to the late hours he kept running the place.

Tanner’s footsteps were heavy on the boardwalk as he followed his prey. She was heading for the train station, just as he had suspected.

The new preacher was supposed to be coming in today. Word had it that Rosemary Gibson was holding out hopes the bachelor minister would marry her and allow her to stay on in the parsonage, where she’d already spent the past ten years of her life.

He moved more quickly, noting the puffs of dust that rose as Miss Gibson made her way across the vacant lot. Her hips swayed quite nicely, he thought. Tanner doubted if the new preacher would appreciate the view as much as a rancher with a long dry spell behind him might.

When it got so a spinster looked good at ten o’clock in the morning, a man was in pretty bad shape, Tanner decided.

The train slowed, its whistle announcing its arrival with three short blasts as it shuddered to a stop. The conductor stepped briskly onto the platform and turned to assist the passengers from the metal steps.

There was more than one this morning, Rosemary saw with some surprise. All she had anticipated was the man who had been chosen to fill her father’s shoes. Those shoes she had polished for the final time just last month. Her tears fought to escape and she blinked furiously, lest she meet Lars Jorgenson with damp cheeks.

A woman stepped to the platform, a small boy right behind her. Next, a tall man with a tiny girl clutched against his shoulder eased past the conductor. They stood there, looking around as if they expected to be met, and Rosemary glanced over her shoulder at the empty platform. Surely they were someone’s relatives, or perhaps simply a new family moving to Edgewood, Texas, and in need of a conveyance.

The sight of Gabe Tanner rounding the corner of the station platform caught Rosemary’s eye and she turned quickly from the cocky grin he shot in her direction.

Another passenger stepped from the train and Rosemary held her breath. Surely this was Lars, this fine-looking, youthful gentleman whose gaze searched the length of the wooden platform. She lifted her head, settling a pleasant smile on her lips as she allowed her eyes to rest on his handsome face.

Behind her, a hand touched her shoulder and she spun about, a muffled shriek passing her lips.

“Ma’am?”

“I beg your pardon.” Her words might have been cast in stone, so firmly did they fall from her lips.

Gabe Tanner swept his hat from his head and his grin showed an abundance of white teeth, marred only by the slight chip gracing the one directly beneath his left nostril.

“May I have your attention for just a moment?” he asked politely.

She glanced back distractedly at the gentleman who watched her from the side of the train. “What is it?” she muttered, her gaze cutting to Tanner’s sun-warmed face.

“I’d like to ask you to be my wife,” he said simply. “Will you marry me, Miss Gibson?”

She felt her eyes widen, even as her mouth dropped open in total amazement. “You…surely you…” The words would not come. She dampened her lips with the tip of her tongue and blinked at the man facing her, his dark hair ruffling against his collar.

“I take it that was a yes?” he asked, his grin widening.

Her mouth opened and closed, as if she were struck speechless. And then she uttered one word.

“Why?”

“Why?” he parroted.

“Yes, why? Whatever would make you ask me such a thing?”

“I need a wife, ma’am. And you seem a likely candidate.”

She shook her head again. “Do not molest me further, sir. I am here to welcome the new minister to my father’s church.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tanner said, with glee spilling from his dark eyes. “I take it that was a firm refusal then, ma’am?”

“I cannot believe this!” Rosemary spun from him and tugged at her black bombazine jacket, relieved as she heard his boots strike the platform in retreat.

The young man still watched her and she smiled, just a bit. He approached her, sweeping his hat from his head, exposing a lush head of golden hair. Of course, she thought, with a name like Lars Jorgenson, he would be fair-haired, and blue-eyed, too, she noted.

“Pardon me, miss. Do you know where I could find the owner of the Golden Slipper at this time of day?” He ducked his head a bit. “I’m sure you would have no direct knowledge of the man, but perhaps…”

Rosemary gulped, choking on the very air she breathed. “The Golden Slipper?”

He nodded. “I’m to be the new piano player there, and he was to meet the train this morning.” His eyes appraised her carefully. “You wouldn’t know, would you?” he asked, a trace of regret in his voice.

“No, certainly not. In fact, I assumed…” And at that fallacy, she shook her head. “Well, never mind that. I just thought you were someone else, sir.” With her breath still fluttering in her chest, she watched him as he walked away. It was unbelievable, truly unbelievable. He had fit the description her heart had supplied, and disappointment filled her to the brim.

Rosemary turned, her attention caught by the flurry of activity behind her. The family of four had gathered their belongings from the baggage car, and the gentleman approached her as she hesitated. Her eyes still searching the Pullman car windows for another passenger about to disembark, she welcomed him with a distracted air.

“Was there another gentleman leaving the train behind you, sir?”

“Why, no. I don’t believe so.” He paused, then swept his hat from his head. “Are you by chance Rosemary Gibson?”

The momentary silence was pierced by the shrill cry of a hawk, swooping midair to catch his prey. Rosemary looked up, then back at the gentleman facing her.

“Yes, I am, sir.”

He extended his hand and grasped the one she offered in an automatic gesture. “I’m the new minister for your father’s church,” he said, just a bit of pride coloring his words.

“But…I expected…”

He nodded, his eyes darkening as he considered her for a moment. “The bishop changed his mind at the last minute,” he said quietly. “He decided that young Jorgenson was not the man for this church, not being married and all. He thought a family man with responsibilities would be a better choice.”

“Oh!” Rosemary knew the meaning of despair as his words washed over her and engulfed her in that most hideous of emotions.

“Ma’am? Can you direct us to the parsonage perhaps? My wife is bone weary from the train ride, and I fear my son is becoming downright testy.”

Rosemary nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll ask the stationmaster to watch your things until we can arrange for them to be transported.” Her steps were rapid as she approached the open window and bent to speak to the old man within.

“Mr. Pagan…”

“Yup, I heard what you said to the gentleman, missy.” Homer Pagan nodded his head. “I’ll have my Joey run to the livery stable and ask for a wagon.”

“Thank you,” Rosemary said, her thoughts muddled as she turned back to the man who awaited her.

“Is it close by? Can we walk there?” he asked. Behind him, his wife waited, an uncertain smile on her lips. “This is Beatrice, my wife, and our children.”

Rosemary nodded. “I’m pleased to meet all of you, I’m sure.” And if that wasn’t the biggest lie she’d ever told, she’d be forced to eat her hat. Even though she’d much rather cast it to the ground and stomp on it with both feet.

“We surely didn’t mean to impose on you, Miss Gibson. I know the parsonage was your home for a long time, and the bishop should have given you warning that you would be expected to vacate it for our benefit.” James Worth was obviously distressed by his position as he faced Rosemary in the small parlor.

“I have nowhere to store my belongings,” she admitted. “Perhaps you can allow me to stay here until I find a house.”

His smile was brilliant, a hint of relief visible as he nodded his head. “Certainly, certainly. We’ll be happy to give you a week or so to find your way. It will take that long for our own furnishings to arrive.”

He leaned toward her, his look filled with concern. “Perhaps you have family somewhere who will be happy for your company.”

She shook her head. “I have no one, sir. My mother died six years ago, and I kept house for my father until last month when he passed away.”

“It was sudden, I understand.”

Rosemary nodded. “He simply didn’t wake up one morning. The doctor said he had grieved himself to death over the past years, since my mother…”

“What a shame. But then, God works in mysterious ways. We know that.”

And how that bit of comfort was supposed to help her, Rosemary found it difficult to fathom. Right now it seemed that God had totally forsaken her.

“It worked! By damn, it worked! I asked the little puritan to marry me and she turned me down flat.” Tanner raised his glass high. “I’m free of the Bachelor Tax for another year.”

“Stupidest blame thing I ever heard of,” Jason Stillwell grumbled from behind the burnished walnut bar. His towel brushed away a speck of dust, and he cast a look of pride at the gleaming length.

“Well, I beat it, sure enough,” Tanner bragged, downing the remains of his glass of whiskey with one swallow. “Caught her on the station platform just as she was about to meet the new preacher.”

The memory was fresh and he basked in it. “She’s not too bad lookin’, up close,” he reminisced. “Just too prim and proper for any man to get excited over. Although that head full of dark hair looks to be…” He shook his head, grinning at his own thoughts.

“I heard tell you were out and about early today,” Jason said. “Sounds like you were up close and right on top of the lady. Sure you wouldn’t like to take her home with you? Your place could use a woman’s touch, if I remember right.”

Tanner shook his head. “Not a chance. Mama Pearl comes in and does for us once a week. Other than that, we do just fine.”

Jason grinned. “That’s not what your ranch hands say. I hear that the only decent meal they get all week is when that old woman cooks for them on Wednesdays.”

Tanner’s brow drew down. “Women are nothing but a pain in the neck.”

“That’s not what I heard you say last year when you were seeing the Widow Courtland.”

Tanner shrugged. “She was a nice lady. Too bad she took Hale Carpenter up on his offer.”

“I’d say you were lucky Rosemary Gibson refused you, Tanner. That was taking a mighty big chance, with her daddy leaving her on her own, and all.”

“Yeah, I thought about that all day, how I’d risked my neck. Made me crave a touch of the hard stuff.” Tanner considered his empty glass. One drink was all he ever allowed himself, the perils of overindulgence being brought home to him by the memory of his own father. He turned the tumbler upside down and sighed his aggravation at his own good sense.

With a whisk of his towel and a quick hand on the heavy glass, Jason cleaned away the evidence of Tanner’s single drink for the night. “Gonna stay around to hear my new piano player?” he asked idly, his gaze on the big upright at the end of the bar.

Tanner shook his head. “Naw. I need to head on back.”

“You’re gonna miss a real treat. I brought him in from St. Louis. Just got here this morning. A friend back there told me about him, said the young man was wantin’ to try his fortune in the West, and I thought I’d give him a chance.”

“Just got here this morning? I saw everyone who got off the train, Jason. Didn’t know you’d taken to hiring family men for your place.”

Jason’s brow puckered. “He’s as much a bachelor as you, Tanner. Take a look—here he comes now.”

Down the stairway, a golden-haired Adonis approached, a wide smile on his lips. He lifted a hand in greeting to the man behind the bar and headed for the piano. His hands lifted the lid over the keyboard in a reverent gesture, and he seated himself on the stool.

“Damn, that thing never sounded so good before,” Jason said in a subdued tone, as music spilled from the fingers of the talented young man who bent low over the black-and-white keys.

“That’s your new piano player?” Tanner leaned back, both elbows resting on the walnut surface behind him.

“Yup! What do you think?” Jason’s words were filled with pride as he considered his new employee.

“I think he looks more like a preacher. In fact, that’s what I thought he was,” Tanner muttered. “And I’ll warrant that’s what Miss High-and-Mighty thought he was, too.”

“Miss High-and-Mighty? Are we talking about Miss Gibson? Has she met my new piano player?”

“She met the train this morning,” Tanner said, his gaze resting on the man who was filling the saloon with music.