Territorial Bride

He felt the current of excitement arc between them. This was what he wanted, what he liked—a hot channel of interest running between them like a river of fire.

“I know you have an overblown notion of your importance, but I didn’t think it went so far as to include the whole of New York City!”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Brooks began, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The whiskey was dulling his senses and slurring his words, but he was still acutely aware of her.

She would be bored in a brownstone instead of under a wide, azure sky. Patricia and Ellen, and especially women like Violet, would never—could never—understand the restless energy of Missy. He wanted to tell her that her spirit would wither without the wind in her face and a gallop each morning.

You would be unhappy.

“I should’a known you’d have something nasty to say.” Missy inhaled a long breath. “Thank you for invitin’ me, Mr. and Mrs. James. I’d love to come. Right now.” She lowered herself back to the soles of her feet and glared at Brooks again.

“I was goin’ to say no, but since you seem so all-fired determined that I can’t go, I have changed my mind.” She turned once again to face his parents. “I’ll start packing and will be ready to leave with you at the end of the week.”

Brooks frowned and tried to steady himself. Until this moment he had not realized how many toasts he had drunk to his sister’s marriage. But the shock of Missy’s words had begun to sober him up—real fast. This whole thing had gotten out of control.

“Now, Missy, calm down a minute.” He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. “I meant to tell you—”

“Don’t you touch me, you sidewinder.” She shrugged his fingers off, turned on her heel and stomped away in a flurry of peacock blue satin.

Brooks stared at the rigid set of her shoulders as she left. He made no attempt to go after her. The best thing he could do was wait until she cooled off before he tried to talk to her. Besides, she would be her old self in the morning. By noon they would back to their usual thrust and parry. There was nothing to worry about.

He had it all figured out. He had the perfect arrangement.

Missy tore at the tiny buttons running down the front of her dress. The touch of the beautiful fabric against her flesh was suddenly hateful to her, reminding her of the disdainful look in Brooks’s crystal blue eyes.

Tonight when he had held her close she had allowed herself to think there was a feeling of tenderness between them. Now she realized it had been the whiskey, the sound of fiddles and the allure of the firelight.

Damn him.

The expression on his face when he’d heard she had been invited to New York had told her the truth. He considered her an embarrassment. It was obvious he thought his mother was setting herself up for humiliation by inviting a bumpkin from the Territory into her home.

Missy unlaced the hard-boned corset and flung it into a corner. The springs creaked and groaned as she flopped down on her bed.

Her pride had been badly bruised. She had tried to wear the clothes like a lady, and act like a lady, yet it had not been enough.

For him.

“Why do I let him get to me?” she asked aloud. “He’s nothing but a greenhorn, a dude. His opinion isn’t worth a hoot in hell. Not to me.”

But in her heart she knew she lied.

He had become more than a greenhorn, more than a dude. He had set out to prove he could ride shoulder-to-shoulder with any man jack on the Circle B.

And he had succeeded.

That was the hell of it all, she realized with a ragged sigh. He had been able to do it.

Could she?

Could she do what he had done? Was Missy smart enough and determined enough to learn to be a proper lady?

She flopped over on her back and stared at the ceiling. He made her want to be soft and lovable like a kitten. Tonight when he’d taught her how to dance she had felt feminine. But then when she looked at his face and saw his true feelings etched in every sun-browned line, she’d wanted to rip him to shreds like a riled she-cat.

“Damn and double damn him.” She tightened her fist into a tight ball and used it to pummel her pillow. “I’ll show him. I can do it. I will learn to be a proper lady. I’ll show Mr. High-and-mighty James I can stand on my own two feet. I won’t quit until he has admitted that I have succeeded,” she swore, then she buried her face in the down ticking and cried like a baby.

Chapter Four

The train car swayed and rocked like a green broke mustang. Mr. and Mrs. James lurched unsteadily up the aisle, doggedly making their way forward to the dining car, while Missy sat beside Ellen and tried not to notice Brooks sitting across the aisle from her.

He wasn’t easy to ignore.

Soft worn denim and battered leather chaps hugged his long legs. Patricia James had been tight lipped with disapproval over his decision to travel in his ranch clothes, but that did not deter his outrageous behavior. In fact, he seemed to become more defiant as they traveled. Now a sooty stain of a two-day beard shadowed his cheeks.

Missy pulled her gaze from his face and once again focused on the worn Justins, hitched carelessly up on the back of the empty seat in front of him. He shifted, causing his arms to flex. Heavy muscle corded beneath the rolledup sleeves of a sturdy gray-and-tan-striped work shirt.

He had filled out and turned rock hard in the past year, while he worked at the Circle B. She sighed and wished she could forget how much he had changed.

Rod, sitting in the window seat beside Brooks, gave his brother a sidelong look of amused curiosity. For his efforts he earned a flashy smile of cocky arrogance. Then Brooks pulled his Stetson low over his forehead and hunkered down in the seat.

His nonsense is enough to make a preacher cuss.

Why did he have to come along? Missy admitted a part of her was thrilled, for she wanted him there to see her triumph.

If I do triumph.

She shook the negative thought from her head. She would succeed, and she didn’t give a hoot in hell what he thought, anyway.

Why did he have to be so goll-dang contrary about everything?

Why did she have to keep noticing?

There was no excuse for him to be dressing like that, and not shaving…unless it was just one more way to make her feel foolish. Each time she glanced at him she was painfully reminded of where she came from and how much she did not fit in.

That is why he is doing this—to shame me.

Anger and disappointment settled over her as she turned to look out the window. The landscape sped by at an amazing clip. At this rate they would be in New York in no time.

“Are you nervous?” Ellen’s soft voice drew Missy’s attention from the brown and green ribbons of landscape shooting by the window.

“Do I seem nervous to you?” Missy challenged.

“Maybe a little.” Ellen gave her a sympathetic smile and nodded toward Missy’s lap. Following the line of her gaze, Missy discovered her fingers were busy tying the strings of the borrowed reticule into tight little knots.

“Oh—oh, I am sorry.” She stilled her hands. There was no use denying how she felt, not with the truth of it tangled in her fingers. “I hope I haven’t ruined it,” she moaned. Her entire outfit was borrowed, from the jaunty hat on her head, courtesy of Bellami before she’d left on her honeymoon, to the pale green skirt and traveling jacket from Ellen.

“Don’t worry about it.” Ellen waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I just hope you are not regretting your decision to take us up on this invitation since—since Brooks decided to come along.”

Missy looked up and caught Brooks eyeing her from under the brim of his hat. The shadow turned his eyes a deep shade of evening blue. She drew herself up and stuck out her chin a little, determined not to let him see how much his scrutiny and his disapproval had unnerved her.

“No. I ain’t. Not a bit nervous,” she said, more loudly than necessary. “I am lookin’ forward to it. It will be a great adventure. What do I care if he decided to go back home?”

Brooks’s mustache twitched as he chuckled. He pulled the hat brim back down over his eyes, then he sank lower in the seat as if he was going to take a nap.

“Damn him,” Missy cursed under her breath. “He would like nothin’ better than to see me tuck my tail between my legs and run back home. He can’t wait for me to get there and make a goll-darn fool of myself. That’s why he changed his mind about coming and hopped on the train at the last minute.”

Ellen smiled. “Cousin Brooks does seems to…affect you.”

“I guess you could say that. He makes me so consarned mad I could just spit.” Missy started to unknot the strings on the reticule.

“Is that all? He only makes you mad?” A skeptical smile tickled the corners of Ellen’s Cupid’s bow mouth.

“Yes. He makes me mad as a hornet.” Missy nearly choked on the lie. Brooks did a lot more than make her angry, and had ever since she’d made the mistake of letting him wrap his arms around her and pull her out onto the dance floor. If only she had not been fool enough to think it meant something to him. “And I swear, if he gives me that superior look of his one more time, I’ll…well, I’ll think of somethin’.”

She went back to untying knots, but she was still muttering under her breath. “How I wish…” Her voice trailed off.

“What, Missy? What do you wish?” Ellen turned pale blue eyes in her direction.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Missy lowered her voice so there would be no chance of Brooks or Rod overhearing.

“I promise.”

“I wish I hadn’t been stupid enough to accept this invitation.” She swallowed hard. “But now I’m in it up to my hocks.” She sighed and scooted lower in the seat, as if she could somehow disappear altogether.

Without conscious thought, her eyes slid over Brooks. Something about the way he looked, so relaxed and unconcerned, with the faded denim hugging muscular legs, his legs so casually propped up on the next seat, made her angry all over again.

She turned back to Ellen and the words came out in a rush. “But more than that, I wish I could be a lady. I want to learn to talk right and walk right and show…” her unwilling gaze slid back across the aisle to the manly form that so unnerved her “…him.”

Ellen smiled as if she understood, but Missy knew that she didn’t. How could anyone understand that Brooks had wounded her deeply? For over a year he had endured her teasing while he went about proving himself. Then the sidewinder had made her think he had a feeling for her when he’d held her close in his arms, taught her to dance. How could Missy expect Ellen to understand these things when she didn’t understand them herself?

“I’ll teach you.” Ellen’s eyebrows rose toward her hairline.

“What?” Missy tore her thoughts away from Brooks.

“I’ll teach you to be a lady,” Ellen whispered. “We could make a bargain.”

Missy’s heart beat a little harder within the confines of her chest. “Now you are teasin’ me, just like he does.”

“No, I’m not.” Ellen curled her index finger in a strand of wispy blond hair hanging beside her cheek. “I wouldn’t tease about this.” She looked up. “Trust me, Missy.”

Missy swallowed hard. “I think you’re funnin’ me. I put on that dress for Trace’s weddin’ and I tried, I really did, but I saw the look on Brooks’s face. He was shamed and embarrassed for me.”

“He did look sort of stricken, but I am not sure you were the reason—at least not in the way you mean.” Ellen regarded her cousin across the narrow aisle. “He has changed.” She nodded in his direction. “Just look at him. If he can learn to be a cowboy, then why can’t you learn to be a proper lady?”

Missy squinted her eyes and tilted her head as her gaze roamed over Brooks’s long lean legs. He wore the clothes as if he were born to them.

“I’d find some way to repay you for your kindness.” Missy allowed herself to consider the offer. “But it isn’t possible, and what could you want that I have?”

“There is something.” Ellen lowered her voice to a whisper. She raised her head slightly and glanced around as if she expected someone to be listening to their conversation.

“You name it.” Missy leaned closer, inspired to whisper by Ellen’s behavior.

“Teach me how to ride.” Not a trace of humor could be found in her wide-eyed expression.

“You ain’t serious.” Ellen was obviously funning her. Missy’s stomach dropped a little as the small glimmer of hope died.

“I am serious. I was a sickly child. My father insists I am still frail. It took weeks of begging my father just to be allowed to take this trip.” A sheen of moisture sparkled in her eyes. “You can’t imagine what it is like to be treated like a fragile china doll. I’d like to prove that I am strong and capable—like you.”

Missy released the pent-up breath she had been holding. “But you…you’re a real lady.” Undisguised admiration rang in her voice.

“You can be refined, Missy. Though for the life of me I can’t understand why it is so important to you.” Ellen cheeks flushed and she ducked her head. “If you teach me what you know, then I’ll do the same.”

“I don’t think it will be so easy for you to turn me into a lady—like makin’ a silk purse from a sow’s ear.” Missy smiled. “But you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“There is just one more thing, Missy.” Ellen’s pale blue eyes turned icy. “This has to be our secret. If my father finds out he will put a stop to our plan. He is a stubborn man, and he’s afraid of losing me.”

“It will be our secret,” Missy swore solemnly as her defiant gaze raked over Brooks’s form once more.

Brooks flopped over in his bunk. He was unable to sleep, even though the mattress was well padded and the sheets were fresh and sweet. As mile after mile slid by, he wondered why on earth he was going home. He told himself it was to keep an eye on Missy, to keep her from wreaking havoc over the whole of New York City.

Why had he hopped on the train?

He hadn’t even had time to pack his clothes. But at least his mother was pleased by his impulsive decision.

If only I were.

As their journey was nearing the end he had finally come to accept that stubborn little Missy was going to see this thing through to the end.

It was a courtesy to his family and Trace that he was going along—just to keep her out of trouble.

It had to be that. What other reason could there be?

He had tried to speak to Missy, to let her know what a mistake she was making by leaving the Territory, but she always seemed to have her head bent in secretive conversation with Ellen.

“What on earth can they have to talk about?” he asked the night sky.

Brooks had tried to trap her somewhere and tease her into speaking to him. But so far he had not been able to steal a single moment alone with her. It was frustrating. And what was more puzzling was his unrelenting desire to speak to her.

Why did he care if she went to New York and made herself miserable? So what if she made a fool of herself by trying to be something she was not?

She had ridden rough and hard over him for a full year. He should be tickled to think of her going to New York, where she would be as out of place as a house tabby in a cougar’s den.

He should’ve been, but he wasn’t. And he knew why. There were men in New York—lots of young unattached men—who would find the unpolished Missy O’Bannion a novelty too tempting to pass up. She was innocent, had no experience with the jaded cads who would flock around her.

“Why should I give a good damn?” he muttered to himself. “She can go make a fool of herself, get her feelings hurt—hell, she can even get her heart broken. I don’t care one damn bit.”

But he did care.

“Only because she is Trace’s sister. Hell, I owe it to Hugh to keep an eye out for her.” Brooks mollified himself with that thought until sleep overtook him.

But he did not rest. Instead he dreamed of chasing Missy across the moonlit prairie. She was a fleet-footed sprite with flowing black hair, who remained forever just beyond his reach.

“Missy, you are still dropping your g,” Ellen whispered in the darkness. The pair were curled up in their flannel gowns inside the snug sleeping berth as the train rocked and clicked rhythmically through the night. The only illumination was a weak shaft of moonlight peeking through the partially opened curtain, turning Ellen’s pale hair to liquid silver. A late frost covered the early grass with a mantle of diamonds that sparkled as the train sped by.

“I never knew speakin’—I mean speaking—could be so goll-darn hard.” Missy sighed.

“That’s the other thing, Missy. You can’t say things like ‘goll-darn’ and ‘consarned.’ And you’ll have to quit damning Brooks in every other breath.”

Missy giggled, fell back on her pillows and laced her fingers behind her head. “I may quit sayin’…saying it, but I won’t promise to quit thinking it.” She emphasized her g with precision.

“Just as long as you don’t say it aloud.” Ellen giggled in turn and pulled the carved bone brush through her hair. “In your mind you may curse my dear cousin to whatever degree of perdition suits you, but a lady never lets such thoughts cross her lips.”

“That cousin of yours is going to be in for quite a shock. I can’t hardly wait until he gets a gander at me.” Missy closed her eyes and imagined it in her mind.

“A look at you,” Ellen corrected softly. “Not a gander.”

“A look at me,” Missy repeated.

Ellen smiled at the enthusiasm of her pupil. “We must spend some time working on your hair. It is so silky and thick, I am sure we can find a very flattering style for you. Perhaps something up off your neck…You have lovely features. We need to accentuate them.”

“Lovely features?” Missy opened her eyes and sat up. She wasn’t quite sure how to take the compliment. Nobody, not even Bellami, had ever talked to her the way Ellen did. Missy realized with a poignant tug on her heart that Ellen was her first real female friend. Missy had grown up talking to roadrunners, dogie calves and taciturn cowhands who spoke around chaws of tobacco. There was something sweet and satisfying about having a female friend for the first time. The bright blond girl was her exact opposite in every way, and yet they were already as close as sisters.

“At the next stop I want to send a wire home,” Ellen continued. “My dressmaker is a treasure. We must ask Aunt Patricia if you may come to my house straightaway. Miss Baldwin can get some dresses made for you and nobody will know what we are up to…not until we are ready.” Ellen put the brush aside and clapped her smooth white hands together. “It will be delicious. We can have a party and introduce you properly.”

“Do you really believe it will work?” Missy crinkled her nose with doubt.

“Of course,” Ellen said confidently. “I can’t wait to see the look on everyone’s face when they see the transformation. And then you can teach me to ride and my papa will have to see that I am not a frail child anymore.” Ellen cast a sly look at Missy when she spoke.

Chapter Five

Brooks tried to keep up with Missy and Ellen, but the crowd at Grand Central Station closed around him like a living wall. A sharp blow to his ribs sent the air rushing from his lungs in a painful hiss. He spun around on his boot heel, ready to do battle with his attacker, only to find a prune-faced woman over seventy wielding an umbrella like a cavalry saber.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Brooks reeled back half a step and touched his finger to his hat in apology. Evidently she was unimpressed by his show of good manners, because she harrumphed loudly and seared his flesh with a dour look before she moved on. By the time he turned back around, the feather on top of Missy’s borrowed hat was disappearing into a hansom cab. Before he could utter a word of protest, the carriage departed, its yellow wheels winking in the bright spring sunlight as it rolled out of the station.

“Damnation.” He dragged off his Stetson and slapped it against his thigh in exasperation. For three days he had been struggling to find an opportunity to talk privately to her, and now she had escaped him one more time.

“Are you talking to me, or to yourself?” Rod stood beside Brooks, attempting to balance an array of boxes, bags and parcels. “If you are through accosting elderly matrons, I could use a hand.”

Brooks stuck his hat back on his head. Then he took an octagon-shaped hatbox that had been awkwardly perched beneath Rod’s bony chin. “Why did Ellen and Missy run off like a pair of scalded cats?”

“Scalded cats?” Rod repeated incredulously. “If a cat is scalded, does it run? And where on earth did you learn such a ridiculous expression?” Rod peered at his brother over the bulk of a string-tied bundle, only one of the purchases their mother had made at various stops on the way home.

Brooks rolled his eyes heavenward. “All right, I’ll rephrase my question. Why do you suppose dear cousin Ellen and Miss O’Bannion fled the station as if it were on fire?” He tilted his head to see if his new query better suited Rod.

His brother shrugged and hailed a passing cab, obviously unimpressed by the question and its delivery. “No reason for them to wait for us.” The hansom cab rolled by without stopping and Rod swore softly under his breath.

“They could’ve shared their carriage. That is a logical reason,” Brooks snapped. “Why on earth hire two cabs?”

“I understand they are headed in the opposite direction. It would be silly to go to Ellen’s house and then double back to the brownstone.”

“Ellen’s house?” The hair on the back of Brooks’s neck prickled. “What do you mean, they are going to Ellen’s house? I thought the whole idea of this little visit was so Missy could spend some time at the brownstone with Mother.”

Rod stretched to peer over the crowd. “I heard Ellen telling Mother that Missy is going to spend some time with her first.” Rod smiled victoriously when a hansom cab responded to his hail. He hurried over and started handing bags to the driver. “Come on, Brooks, don’t stand there with your mouth open like a carp that has been landed. Help us load this baggage.”

Brooks stifled the sharp retort that bubbled up in his throat. How could he have been so thick as to allow Missy to come to New York? And on the heels of that thought, another more-sobering notion flitted through his brain. There wasn’t a damn thing he could have done to stop her.

Missy tried not to gawk, but she had never seen so many people in one place in her entire life. A sound engulfed her, almost like a thousand spring peepers and katydids droning their tuneless songs. She leaned back against the padded leather seat and closed her eyes.

“Are you ill?” Ellen’s voice broke through the fog in Missy’s mind.

She opened her eyes.

Ellen was peering at her with concern etched in her pale face.

“I—I don’t know what I expected, but it’s awful big.”

Relief flooded Ellen’s face. “Oh, is that all? You had me worried. I thought you might be coming down with something. You’ll get used to the city quickly, I promise.” She smoothed her skirt and stared idly out the window, the very picture of serenity and confidence.

Missy couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever possess that kind of poise or if she was chasing rainbows by even trying. But she had accepted the challenge, and now, for good or ill, she was set on her course…There could be no turning back, not when Brooks was waiting for her to fail, like a hungry hawk waiting for a rabbit.