The Bride Wore Spurs

Still, none of this excused his treatment of Cal. “I’m sorry for overreacting, Cal.”

His brother met his gaze, an apology in his eyes. “Me, too.”

“To see Hannah wed will give Martin peace,” Ma said. “Hannah’s a lovely young woman, a rancher at heart. A good match for you.”

Robert gave a nod. “Marriage to Hannah is a solution for everyone.”

Cal looked pained, as if he’d taken a bite of cactus.

At her husband’s silence, Susannah frowned at Cal. “Hope you and Hannah will be very happy,” she said, then reported Robbie’s latest humorous antic and conversation resumed as usual.

Matt’s mind wandered back to how all this started. During his visits to the Lazy P, Martin spoke often of Hannah, the daughter he obviously adored. The day Martin was diagnosed with cancer, he’d shared his heavy burden for his only child’s welfare. Matt shared that concern. Hannah was in a tough spot.

Yet, to wed a nineteen-year-old without love scared him silly. Marriage might be a solution for her, but marriage would also create new problems.

Unlike Cal, Matt knew why he’d proposed. He couldn’t risk love, but at twenty-five, he wanted a new beginning. He’d settle for companionship, settle for a woman to share his dreams and goals, settle for a woman who’d share his way of life.

The honest truth was that he was tired. Tired of dodging unsuitable women with matrimony on their minds. Tired of feeling alone in a houseful of people. Tired of fighting his father’s control.

By marrying her, Matt would see that Hannah could remain on the land she loved. He hoped that would make her happy. If not happy, at least content. Something he’d come to appreciate.

Matt had come, hoping for his family’s support of the marriage. For the most part he’d gotten it. Cal would come around. But Pa.... Would Pa’s expectation of a merger between the two ranches wind up causing trouble?

* * *

Two days till Hannah lassoed and tied herself to Matt Walker. Married. The word twisted in her stomach. Wedding vows meant until death do us part, faithfulness, respect.

She stiffened. Obedience. She hoped Matt could tolerate giving up one of those promises. If he tried to keep her on a short tether—

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat, shoving down all the misgivings trying to spew out of her mouth and into Papa’s ear.

Instead she helped her father to his desk. Last evening Matt had asked for Papa’s permission to wed. Papa had clapped Matt on the back, declared he already thought of Matt as a son and nothing could make him happier than seeing Hannah in good hands.

As if she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself.

Still the news had eased the tension around Papa’s eyes and put a big smile on his face. That was reason enough to bite her tongue.

Hannah glanced out the window. The Walker buggy was coming up the lane. She kissed her father’s cheek. “Matt’s here.”

“While you’re in town, spread the word about the wedding. A chat with the town’s bench sitters and Pastor Cummings should do the trick.”

Hannah dreaded the townsfolk’s reaction, but forced a bright smile.

Martin motioned to the package in Hannah’s hands. “Is that your mama’s dress?”

“It is. I’m taking it to Miss Carmichael’s for alterations. Are you sure you’ll be all right while I’m gone?”

“You’re in more peril in Biddy Carmichael’s shop than I could ever be here.”

“Papa!” Hannah laughed. No matter how much he suffered, her father made the effort to bring laughter to others. “You know her name is Belinda, not Biddy.”

“How could I make such a mistake?” He winked. “Now skedaddle. Don’t keep your groom waiting.”

She kissed him once more, her heart swelling with love, and then walked as fast as her dress would allow, more tortoise than her usual hare. Who could abide such restriction?

Outside, she popped up her frilly parasol, an accessory Aunt Mary Esther had insisted upon. On such a sweltering day riding in an open buggy, Hannah welcomed the shade.

Matt rounded the conveyance, his gaze traveling from the hat perched atop her head to the silk toe of her pump. He doffed his Stetson. “The debutante is back.”

“You looking for a fight, Walker?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not.” He grinned wickedly. “One thing’s sure. Whatever garb she’s wearing, the filly’s a Thoroughbred.”

Hannah thrust up her chin. “I’m becoming your wife, not joining your stable.”

Obviously not the least bit repentant, his impish smile held. “Kind of fun having two of you, debutante and cowgirl, all wrapped up in one very nice parcel.”

At his perusal, butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She corralled her skirts, then allowed him to assist her into the buggy. Whether she would be in good hands as Papa had said, was to be seen, but his grasp was strong, secure.

“You have an admirer in Rosa. She’s very excited about our wedding,” Hannah told him.

“It pays to be on good terms with the cook. Since I’ve been made to understand that won’t likely be you, I plan on buttering her up.”

“So the way to a man’s heart is indeed through his stomach.”

He cocked a brow. “Are you sure you want to know the way to a man’s heart, Hannah?”

A shiver slid along her spine. She quickly looked away from the amusement in those dark, smoldering eyes.

“The filly’s a tad skittish,” he said. Then with a flick of the reins, they got underway. “Know what kind of a wedding you want?”

“A simple ceremony at the Lazy P, outside if weather permits.”

“Sounds good.”

She sighed. “Papa insists on inviting half the town and hosting a barbecue afterward.”

“He doesn’t want his illness to cheat you out of a pretty wedding. Most women want that.”

Hannah had been thirteen when she and Papa attended Matt and Amy’s wedding, a grand affair. Hannah recalled the glow on their faces as they’d recited their vows. After such a love match, Hannah found Matt’s acceptance of a marriage of convenience baffling. Perhaps he’d understood that no one could take Amy’s place in his affection and wanted companionship.

She plucked at her skirts. “What he doesn’t realize, and I can’t tell him, is I can’t abide the thought of putting on a charade. We aren’t an ordinary couple.”

“True, but a private wedding might set tongues a-waggin’.”

“I suppose you’re right, but a party seems...deceptive.”

“People marry for many reasons, Hannah.” His gaze locked with hers. “If we’re committed to one another, then our wedding won’t be a charade. I believe we’ll be as happy as we choose to be. That’s what I want. Do you?”

As she looked into those dark orbs that penetrated her soul, she vowed to do everything in her power to make the marriage work. “Yes,” she said softly.

A smile curved the corners of his mouth. “God will bless us, help us find our way.”

He took her hand in his. At that moment, the sense of connection between them felt as meaningful as the vows they’d speak on Thursday.

Matt released her hand. “I told my family our decision to wed.”

“What did they say?” Hannah asked, her heart in her throat.

“They were...surprised, at first.” He shot her an impish grin. “But then, no more than I was.”

“Did you tell them I did the proposing?”

“Nope, that’s our little secret.”

“What did they say?”

“They think you’re a lovely young woman and wish us happiness.”

Had Matt omitted much of his family’s reaction? What had they really said? Perhaps she was better off not knowing. She’d have to get accustomed to the startled reactions of others, those who’d question their sudden nuptials.

On Main Street, Matt pulled up in front of Miss Carmichael’s shop, rounded the buggy, then placed his hands around her waist. As she rested her palms on his shoulders and he lifted her down, she stared into warm cocoa eyes, gentle, kind, appealing. Too appealing. She gathered her package, keeping her eyes anywhere except on him.

“I’ll stop at the church and ask Pastor Cummings to perform the ceremony. After that I’ve got business at the bank. What do you say we meet at the Calico Café at noon?”

“That should give me time to visit Leah.”

“We won’t leave town until you’re ready,” he said, then loped up the street to set the wedding plans in motion.

An urge to call him back, to renege on the proposal lurched through her. Foolishness. If she’d had another choice, she’d have taken it.

She threw back her shoulders and stepped inside the shop, in actuality, Miss Carmichael’s parlor. Overhead a tiny bell jingled. Cases and tables held gloves, hats, bolts of fabric, and baskets of feathers, silk flowers and papier-mâché fruit, the tools of her trade.

Belinda Carmichael bustled through a curtain separating the shop from her private quarters. Behind wire-rim glasses, the spinster’s hazel eyes missed nothing. Nor, for that matter, did her ears. Tall, thin, as prim and proper as a starched collar, Belinda gloried in her role as town gossip. No doubt she would gossip about the suddenness of her and Matt’s marriage. Still, Hannah wouldn’t trust Mama’s dress to anyone else.

“Good morning, Miss Parrish. I heard you were back from Charleston.” She glanced at the package in Hannah’s hands. “What can I do for you?”

Hannah untied the string and wrapping, revealing her mother’s wedding dress, an off-white silk confection with a row of pleats edged with lace at the hem, at the flared sleeves and on the draped overskirt.

“I’d like you to alter this dress to fit me.”

Miss Carmichael’s fingers skimmed over the bodice that tapered to a point below the waist. “The stitching is impeccable. Let’s see what needs to be done.”

She guided Hannah behind a screen and helped her change, then turned Hannah around, studying the fit. “I’ll need to add length. If I trim the sleeves and hem with the matching lace on this overskirt, no one would suspect the additions aren’t part of the original dress.”

Hannah agreed the solution would be perfect. She skimmed her palms over the overskirt, proud to wear this lovely dress. If only she were marrying a man she loved. She tamped down the thought. Love didn’t matter. The Lazy P did.

The bell over the door danced a cheery tune. A second customer entered the shop. “Be right with you,” Miss Carmichael called.

“No hurry.” The newcomer removed her hatpins, then her hat, obviously eager to try on one of Miss Carmichael’s creations.

Miss Carmichael leaned in. “I’m curious, Miss Parrish. Why are you having this dress altered? Surely your relations in Charleston didn’t give you their hand-me-downs.” Miss Carmichael’s tone oozed sympathy. “You might want to consider having something new made. I have several beautiful fabrics that would compliment your coloring.”

“Thank you, but I came back with a trunk full of dresses, more than I’ll ever wear.”

The seamstress’s expression soured. “Then why alter this one?” Her eyes widened. “Unless you intend to wear it for sentimental reasons, like at your wedding.” She smirked. “How silly of me. You have no beau.” She raised a brow. “Unless you met someone in Charleston.”

No point in avoiding the truth. Papa said to spread the word about the wedding, no better way than to tell the seamstress. Hannah steeled herself for Miss Carmichael’s reaction. “This is my mother’s wedding dress,” she said. “I want to wear it at my wedding Thursday. You won’t have any difficulty getting the alterations finished by then, will you?”

Hazel eyes gleaming, Miss Carmichael clapped her hands. “For a wedding, it’ll be my priority! Who are you marrying?”

“Matt Walker.”

“Matt Walker! From what I hear, he’s a most elusive catch.” Her shrewd beady eyes resembled a predator moving in for the kill. “You’ve only been home a few days,” she said. “Isn’t this wedding rather sudden?”

Sudden hardly described it.

“To marry that quickly, why, you must’ve fallen in love at first sight.” She tittered. “Not really first sight, of course, but first sight since your return.” Her hands fluttered like tiny birds in flight. “How romantic!”

Heat flooded Hannah’s cheeks. Love at first sight had not been the reason for the marriage. More like, at first sight of her ailing father. At first sight of her foreman’s refusal to follow orders. At first sight of Papa’s worry about her future.

Harsh realities had led her to propose, not romance, not affection for the man. Still, she’d play the role of blissful bride. She owed Matt that much. “Isn’t it exciting? Matt’s a very persuasive man.”

Miss Carmichael’s gaze sharpened. Perhaps the waver of Hannah’s smile or the wobble in her voice had raised the seamstress’s suspicions. Thankfully, the older woman didn’t pursue the topic, no doubt unwilling to risk a paying customer’s ire. After all, the seamstress had to make her own way.

A wave of sympathy for the woman swept through Hannah. Belinda Carmichael carried a load of responsibility and had no one to help share the burden. At least with Matt she’d have a partner.

All business, Miss Carmichael grabbed a tape measure and whipped it from the edge of Hannah’s hem to the toe of her shoe, then wrote her findings in a tiny notebook. She did the same for her sleeves. “I have all I need. Let me help you change.”

Behind the screen, the seamstress eased the garment over Hannah’s head. “I’ll have the dress finished by tomorrow afternoon and drive out to the ranch and deliver it personally.”

“That’s too much trouble.”

“Not at all, if you’ll show me the fashions you brought back from Charleston,” Miss Carmichael said with a smile, then rushed toward the waiting customer.

On the way out of the shop, Hannah passed Miss Carmichael and the shopper, their heads together, their smiles couldn’t cover the speculative look in their eyes.

As she escaped into the sunshine, Hannah heaved a sigh. She’d survived Miss Carmichael’s reaction, so surely she could survive anyone’s.

Up ahead, Bertram Bailey swept the entrance of Bailey’s Dry Goods. Thin as the broom in his hand, and not much taller, Mr. Bailey propped the handle against the building. “Good to have you home, Miss Parrish,” he said, then followed her inside.

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