The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride

Speaking her mind in such a forceful way was not what she was used to. She would become used to it, though, once she spent enough time on her own.

William walked to the window and drew back the curtain. He traced his finger over the crack in the glass. With a curse, he let the drape fall into place.

“Is the wind worse?” She set Miss Valentine gently on the floor, exposing herself once again. It was not as though she could take back anything he had already seen.

“It’s worse, but not so bad as to keep half a dozen people across the street from ogling their mayor’s front door.”

“I don’t wish to marry. I’m sorry, William, but I don’t.”

Except, that maybe she did.

“It wasn’t what I woke up wanting, either.”

Without warning, Leah Madrigal’s wink flashed in her mind. The fortune-teller said that sometimes the glass ball saw things. No—that could not be. More likely the perceptive woman had seen the look of longing on Agatha’s face while she had been staring at William’s back.

“You, at least had a bit of warning.” She must be getting desperate to even bring this nonsense up. “I heard the fortune-teller tell you that you would soon marry.”

“She also said it would be a long, happy marriage.”

“With lots of children.” Leah had said that, too. “It can’t be me you are supposed to marry.”

William’s gaze dropped away. He jabbed fingers through his hair.

He glanced back up suddenly, stealing her breath with the determined set of his eyes.

“Also a subject for another time. I believe in facing one problem at a time.”

Even though she was not going to marry him, she did wish he had not called the proposal a problem. It felt like a tiny dagger twisting in her heart to hear it put that way. No matter that she completely agreed.

“If I did give in to this insanity, the issue would have to be faced at one time or another.”

“Another, then.” He strode forward so that they stood toe to toe. He cupped her cheeks in his long fingers, looked her steadily in the eyes. “I like you, Agatha. I always have. I’ve seen you fight things that wanted to enslave you. I am not one of them. Please don’t fight me.”

“It’s not so simple as that. I like you, too. But I need to stand on my own. Make my own decisions and live with the consequences.”

Dratted consequences! The result of William rescuing her might cost him his dream—the ambition of a lifetime.

Ruined reputations were not easily overcome.

Yes, she might keep her independence at the cost of her reputation—all on her own become the strong person she was learning to be. But in the end others would still see her as pitiful.

Worse, they would see William as unworthy of their trust. How could she live with herself knowing he lost everything for her sake?

She stepped away from him because she wanted to lean into him, feel his arms fold about her and deflect the ugly words that were bound to be spoken about her.

“You would want to be in control of me.”

“Only insofar as it’s for your own good.”

“Do you understand that it’s up to me to decide what is for my own good? I spent my whole life trusting Hilda Brunne to know what was best for me. I won’t allow anyone to have that power over me again.”

“That was evil power, honey.” He caught both of her hands in one of his, pressed them against his chest. The steady beat of his heart thumped against her palms. “I would never treat you that way.”

“I know that, William, but—”

“What if I declare, in the wedding vows, to try not to be overbearing, excessively protective. Even though it would be my duty as your husband to do so.”

How could she not laugh? He looked so sincere about saying vows that he did not agree with.

She could not let herself be swayed by that consideration, though. William English was a man who wanted control. He might be ever so sweet about it, but it didn’t change anything.

Freedom to grow was what she needed. For as much as he might not want to tell her what to do and when to do it, such behavior was in his nature.

A test. She would give him a test to see if he could really let go of control.

Sliding her hand down his shirt, she felt the firm ridges of his chest. She yanked her hand away then slowly, deliberately, picked up Miss Valentine and set her on the expensive divan.

The dog scratched the fabric then circled searching for a comfortable position. After finding the cushion to her liking, she settled in to lick her injured paw. A damp circle darkened the fabric.

Agatha watched William frown. Purse his lips.

As she suspected, he did not want animals in the house.

“I believe that dogs belong—” he closed his eyes, shook his head “—where their mistress says they belong.”

My word. She had not expected that.

“She needs to be taken to the veterinarian. No doubt he will agree that she must have a soft place to recover.”

“I’ll have him look at her tomorrow. I’ll put her back on the couch, myself.”

“I’m grateful, William.” More than he could guess. “She’s a brave little soul.”

“Now will you marry me?”

She could not possibly marry him. With her gaze fastened on his eyes, she slowly shook her head.

“Please don’t turn me down. For both of our sakes, you’ve got to become my wife—tonight.”

“I suppose we could marry then divorce after the risk of scandal has passed,” she suggested even though it was not what she had ever dreamed she would say to this man.

He shook his head. Reflected light from the flames in the hearth danced in his hair. If she did agree to marry him, maybe one day she would be bold enough to run her fingers through those dark locks.

“There will be no divorce.” Funny how she was relieved to hear that. “If you choose not to live with me, I will support you financially. But a divorce will not do.”

“I suppose I could make a very long visit to the Lucky Clover.”

“I would permit that.” He was far too handsome, flashing that teasing smile. “Will you marry me now?”

“I would go home to the ranch according to what I decide. Not what you will permit. You must understand that I need to make my own choices.”

“I’ll do my best, Agatha. I swear it.” He did look sincere. “Do you choose to marry me?”

Did she? He’d saved her future that awful night when he’d kept her from turning to laudanum for comfort. He’d sat down beside her, put a book in her hands and become the comfort.

Now, his future depended upon her.

“I can’t. I have nothing to wear.”

“Step right up close to me, honey.”

She did. He measured her height with the flat of his hand. She was as tall as the button on his collar. Next he cupped her waist with his fingers, seeming to judge its size.

The last thing he did before he stepped away from her was to kiss top of her top of her head, pluck a dried leaf out of the tangled mass. From the corner of her eye she saw it drift to the floor.

“Will you marry me if I show up here with a preacher and a wedding gown?”

“And a witness. Don’t forget a witness.”

* * *

It had been a couple of hours before that William had decided that a tornado was not poised at the edge of town ready to rush in and blow everyone away.

The dressmaker had not been pleased to be awoken at four in the morning, but she hadn’t minded being paid triple the amount for the three gowns he’d purchased.

Her expression had been miles beyond curious so he’d simply told her the truth—nearly the truth, that they were for his wife.

No one need know that the preacher had not crossed his threshold until nearly five o’clock. That the man’s good wife had found Agatha reading a book on the couch in the parlor and hustled her upstairs to dress her in the wedding gown draped over his arm.

The dress had been intended for a bride in Cheyenne, but given what he was willing to pay, the seamstress said she could make another.

The promise of more business had apparently been enough to keep her from asking questions and simply extend her good wishes.

With any luck this marriage would be accepted without a great deal of unwholesome talk.

He’d lose votes for sure if anyone spread lies about Agatha’s virtue.

No one voted for a candidate who punched them in the nose—which he might do if anyone maligned sweet Agatha.

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts and staring at the dust he’d forgotten to wipe from his boots, that he failed to hear the rustle of fabric at the head of the stairs until the preacher nudged him in the ribs.

“Your bride awaits, young man.”

Glancing up, William had to catch his heart. It felt like it had escaped his chest and gone running up the steps to embrace her.

Agatha Marigold Magee was captivating! Out of the blue, without warning, she enchanted him.

Dawn light shone through the window onto the landing, igniting the flame color of her hair and reflecting fairylike sparkles in the crystals bordering her lace collar. Her eyes glittered bright green, but not by any trick of early sunlight.

How had this dazzling creature been his neighbor for so many years without him noticing how lovely she was?

Because she had not always been dazzling. Before Ivy came home, Agatha had been a wraith hiding in shadows and seldom seen in public.

With one hand on the bannister, she descended to the foot of the stairs. When she placed her pale, slender fingers in his hand, he was struck by the enormity of what he was about to do.

In moments this fragile woman would become his—to protect for the rest of his life.

There was something about Agatha Magee that hit him deep in his heart. Ever since the night of the barbecue at the Lucky Clover, he’d felt touched by her.

There had been a storm that night, and seeing her sitting in a corner of the parlor watching the dancers whirl by, he’d been moved in an unexpected way. Not with pity, exactly, but something akin to it. Compassion for her plight, maybe?

Yes, she was the sister of the woman he had hoped to marry, but his attention toward her had not been only for Ivy’s sake.

He’d been overcome with a strong urge to make her smile, to whirl her about the dance floor until she did.

Of course, she could not whirl about the dance floor. He’d had to support her, lead her with slow precision. He could not help but wonder what would she have been like that night had she not spent years as the captive of her nurse?

He liked Ivy, but had Agatha been the healthy one—?

It didn’t matter, because at that time, she hadn’t been.

Before Agatha’s father died, when he had approached William about a marriage deal—his wealth to save the Lucky Clover in exchange for the social prestige the ranch would give him—he had been assured that Agatha was too weak to ever suit his needs. Bearing a child would kill her, so the doctor had said.

So it had been arranged that he would marry Ivy—just as soon as she could be located.

Now here he was, marrying Agatha after all.

It was true that he needed this marriage to safeguard his reputation for his political future, but that was not the whole of it. He wanted to protect Agatha’s reputation as well.

Looking at her now, she did not quite seem the forlorn girl he remembered. For one thing, it was apparent that she was not a girl, but a woman.

A strong-minded woman, but one who was still far too thin, too frail.

Something about her made him want to stand in front of her, arms spread to deflect every stressful thing life might place in her path.

As her husband, he could. Although, apparently with great discretion.

Clearly, his hovering presence would be no more welcome than Hilda Brunne’s had been.

With the four of them gathered in front of the grand fireplace in the parlor, the preacher went through the vows. They were the typical, sacred ones that brides and grooms recited.

Amazingly, Agatha held his gaze through them all. She did not shy away, look frightened or even resentful, as she might have.

Preacher Wilson asked if he would love, honor and cherish her. Yes, he would. Perhaps in some small way he already did cherish her. In a short moment she would share his name—become his family.

Next, the preacher asked Agatha if she would love, honor and obey him.

She blinked, frowned then slid her attention to Mr. Wilson.

“I imagine I might come to love him—in time, sir. Perhaps honor him as well. But obey? In truth I cannot vow to do that, as Mr. English well knows.”

“Oh! Well said, my dear,” Mrs. Wilson gasped. “It’s as though you have been married for ten years already.”

“Mr. English, shall I proceed or do you wish to—”

“Agatha, honey, I vow to you that I will do my best not to interfere with your free will—as best I can. You may continue, Mr. Wilson, if my bride is willing.”

Seconds ticked by. Agatha cocked her head, studying William this way and that.

“Yes,” she said when he was good and sure his heart had quit beating. “And I do promise to obey you—as best I can. Please do carry on, Mr. Wilson. I wish to—”

Agatha took a long slow breath, held William’s gaze. What was it she wished? He only hoped it was something he could give her.

“I wish to kiss my groom.”

* * *

There! She’d spoken what was on her mind! It hadn’t been easy. The girl she had been all her life wanted to run upstairs and hide under a blanket.

But the woman she hoped to become wanted to kiss her husband—to feel his arms curl around her, lift her off her toes and make her feel—wanted.

Now, there it was. Spoken for all to know. She wanted William to want her.

Apparently the preacher did not know what to make of the unconventional vows. He blinked at her, his mouth half-open on a stalled comment.

“Hurry up, Herbert. Let the youngsters have their first kiss.”

“Oh, my—well—by the power invested in me by God and the territory of Wyoming, I now pronounce that you are man and wife. Please do kiss your bride, Mr. English.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it was not the briefest graze of his lips across hers. Why, she barely felt the warmth of them.

In her many dreams, kissing William had always felt warm and exciting, holding the promise of the commitment of a lifetime.

While she was suddenly committed for a lifetime, the warm excitement was lacking.

By six thirty, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson had departed, leaving Agatha alone with her groom.

She didn’t know what to do—barely knew what to say. This time yesterday she had been wiping sleep from her eyes while helping Laura Lee make fried potatoes and eggs. Less than twelve hours ago she had been living the adventure of a book character.

“You must be hungry,” she said, taking note of how her wedding gown swirled about her when she turned. How it caught the first rays of dawn streaming through the window.

She had never worn anything more lovely in her life.

Unable to help herself she twirled again just to watch it shimmer. If Mother Brunne was watching from the great beyond, it would be with much disapproval.

“I’ll fix us something to eat after I change out of the gown.”

“I’m sorry, there’s no one here to help.”

“I’ll manage. Just yesterday I was helping Laura Lee fix breakfast for a hundred people.”

“I meant with the buttons on the back of the gown. You can’t reach them.”

Her breath caught. He was right. She could not. Either she could fry up potatoes in her wedding gown and risk a splatter, or she could allow him to help her take it off.

Then what? Put on the red costume again because she did not care if eggs exploded on it? Be humiliated? Or flip eggs wearing her corset and petticoats? Cooking in her underwear would still be humiliating but it would also be prettier.

There were two more dresses upstairs, but she would not risk ruining them, either.

“How hungry are you, William?”

He spun her about and opened two pearly buttons at her nape. The heat of his breathing brushed her skin. “Hungrier than I thought.”

“Are there eggs and bacon in the kitchen? Bread for toast?”

“I assume so—but it’s been a long day. Let’s think about food tomorrow.”

“But you said you were hungry.”

His breath skimmed the back of her neck, his fingers clenched briefly on her shoulders. “Very—but I’m also tired.”

“Let’s sleep, then.” At least she didn’t have to risk ruining anything lovely by cooking in it.

Cool air touched her back when two more buttons fell open, which reminded her. “What happened to my wedding kiss?”

Why was it that, around William, she blurted out what was on her mind so readily?

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you married me.”

Three buttons popped free all at one time.

“And I’m grateful that you kept me from being blown out of a cannon.”

The hall clock ticked away a long silence. Outside, the wind didn’t sound loud as it had.

With a quick flick of his fingers, William freed the button at the small of her spine. The front of the gown sagged so she grabbed it close to her chest.

“Can you manage the stairs?” he asked, taking a deep breath, then several steps away from her. “If it’s too trying I can give you a downstairs bedroom.”

Ivy and Travis shared a bedroom.

“I managed them fine a short while ago.” It would not be a hardship to share a bed with William. “I’m no longer an invalid. You don’t need to fear for my health.”

“I owe you, Agatha.” Dragging his fingers through his hair, he frowned at the floor then looked up at her. “I’ll take care to make sure no harm comes to you.”

“Really, I don’t know why it would. I believe that I’ve proved that I can take care of myself—unless someone is forcing me into a cannon and I doubt that will happen again.”

“I imagine not. But you are mine to protect, nonetheless.”

The bodice of her dress flopped down when she balled her fists and anchored them at her waist, but she did not care at the moment.

“If a situation arises in which I do not feel comfortable, I will let you know—then you may protect me to your heart’s content.” She wagged her finger at him, which was not quite polite but her temper was heating by the second. How odd was it that for most of her life she hadn’t known she had a temper. It must have been drugged out of her. “But I must—and will deal with problems on my own.”

“Of course.”

He caught her hand, folded it up in his. “I was speaking of getting you with child.”

An image of tangled bed sheets and entwined limbs flashed in her mind. Secret kisses and touches. Heat pulsed in every nerve of her body, especially—

“I won’t endanger you that way.”

What? She yanked her hand free, remembered that her bodice was dangling about her waist and decided to let it remain there.

“I might have something to say about that, William.”

Outside the creak and rattle of a wagon passing by filled a long silence between them. A dog barked. Tanners Ridge was coming to life.

So was Agatha Marigold English.

Chapter Five

“Mighty glad the wind has stopped.”

Walking down the boardwalk toward Hamilton London’s Steak House and looking forward to a late lunch, William patted Agatha’s hand where it nestled in the crook of his arm.

He liked the way it fit. While not even twelve hours into marriage, he thought his union with Agatha might be a success, for all that it was unanticipated.

Agatha sure did look fetching in the green gown he’d purchased in the wee hours of the morning. With her red hair and green eyes—there was no denying that Mrs. William English was a beautiful woman.

Funny how he’d never noticed that. In his eyes she had always been Foster Magee’s sickly girl.

For all her loveliness, she did seem nervous.

And why wouldn’t she be? He was nervous and he was accustomed to speaking with people. He would have to take care not to overtax her with social events. Although there would be some she would need to attend.

Or perhaps her agitation had nothing to do with facing society’s challenges.

It could be that her nervousness had to do with him.

No doubt she was uneasy about so suddenly becoming a wife. He could hardly blame her for that.

Last night, he’d tried to assure her that she had nothing to fear from him, that he would never force his husbandly attentions upon her, but that conversation had only left her looking even more distressed.

It hadn’t felt right bringing up such an intimate topic with an innocent—but it had been necessary. In most cases, sexual intimacy was at the heart of a marriage.

But not this marriage.

Had he married Ivy or Aimee, even, things would be different. They were healthy women and his husbandly attentions would not put them at such a great risk.

His wife was not like them—although it seemed as though she thought she might be.

Unfortunately for him, each hour he spent with his bride tempted him to wonder what it would be like to share the marriage bed with her.

Fantasizing was as far as he would take it, though, because the line between fantasy and nightmare could be a narrow one.

If he thought otherwise all he had to do was remember being a child, recall the joy he anticipated over the birth of his baby sister, then the crushing sorrow of holding her lifeless newborn body.

Giving birth was hard enough on a strong woman. Putting Agatha in that situation was out of the question.

He grunted under his breath, forcing his thoughts in another direction—toward lunch because he was ravenous.

Near the door of the restaurant, Agatha stopped suddenly. She glanced behind, squeezing his arm.

“What is it, honey?”

“Nothing—just a shadow.” She smiled up at him a bit too brightly. “And a chill.”

A chill on a July afternoon! “Are you well?”

“Of course. Although, I wish people were not staring at us as if we’d just tumbled from the moon.”

“They’ll get used to it,” he said, leading her to his favorite table in a bay window overlooking the street. “All they need is a little time.”

“Like us, I suppose.”

He pulled out her chair. After she was seated he took the one across from her.

“I hope it wasn’t fear of me that gave you a chill, Agatha. You have no need to fear me.”

She removed her gloves slowly, one then the other while she held his gaze. “It wasn’t you.”

Probably not. A woman who was uneasy in his presence would not look at him so steadfastly.

“There was a shadow. It shifted suddenly and reminded me of my nurse, Hilda Brunne.”

Shadow was a good way of describing Brunne. He’d only seen her a couple of times and only once close up, but he knew her to be a dark soul.

“I imagine, given time I won’t see her lurking in dim places.”

“It’s a shame they never found her body. It might be easier for you if they had.”

“I suppose when I come to the point that I find her body inside of me, lay her to rest in my soul, I guess I mean, then it will be all right.”

“Did you get any sleep this morning?”

“Strangely, yes. I slept quite well.” For some reason that made her blush. “How did you sleep?”

His wife looked pretty with a pink tint in her cheeks. It made her eyes look greener, her hair a more vibrant red.

“Not well, I’ll confess. There was a something gnawing at me and I couldn’t let it go.”

“Life has dealt us a change. It’s no wonder you were restless.”

“It’s not that. I think we’ll make a go of it.” He reached across the table, traced the lines of her palm, then squeezed her hand in reassurance. Of course he wasn’t sure which of them he was reassuring. “What were you doing working for the circus, Agatha? Last time I saw you, you could barely walk. Does your sister know where you are? I can scarce believe she allowed you to leave home alone.”