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Tips of his ears burning, he stuffed it back inside and tossed it on the tabletop. “I’m afraid you’ve come all the way out here from...”
“Chicago.”
“Chicago.” Of course. Lots of wealthy industrialists in that fine city. So why hop a train out here? Was there a shortage of acceptable men her age back in the Midwest? Both sides of the war had lost significant numbers...
With the rush of adrenaline fading, he began to notice details about her. Miss Miller wasn’t a classic beauty. Her features were too interesting. Slightly playful. It was the eyebrows, he decided. Sweeping over large, expressive eyes, the dark slashes formed a natural arch and were set in perpetual inquisitiveness.
No, it wasn’t the brows. It was her unusually shaped mouth. Soft and pink, the top lip curved in a smooth arc above the full lower one. A tiny freckle hovered above it on the right. Definitely intriguing.
He blinked those thoughts away. Intriguing or not, the city girl wasn’t staying.
Folding his arms across his chest, he delivered a glare that made most townsfolk quiver in their boots. “The trip was a waste, Miss Miller. I am not, nor will I ever be, in the market for a bride.”
* * *
He hadn’t been expecting her. Clearly. Grace Longstreet stared at the walnut gun handle angled on the mantel and swallowed tightly. Fear tasted coppery in her mouth. Guilt oozed through her veins like black sludge. If she didn’t pull off this masquerade...
Her fingers curled into balls, causing her many rings to bite into her skin. Failure didn’t bear thinking about. She must convince this intimidating homesteader of two essential facts—that her name was Constance Miller, and that he had a responsibility to marry her. There wasn’t room for her conscience or pride. Her little girls’ well-being hinged on the success of her subterfuge.
Sunlight streaming through the bare window set his fair hair ablaze and made his flinty gaze appear to radiate blue fire. Noah Burgess was a blond, blue-eyed Norse Viking clothed in cowboy gear. He had nothing in common with the men in her social circle, with their expensive suits, slicked-back hair and soft hands. This man lived and breathed the great outdoors. He was one with nature. Strong and virile. He wore a pale blue button-down shirt, tan vest, canvas trousers and brown leather boots caked with trail grit. A red-and-white bandanna was knotted around his neck. A powerful-looking man, his biceps and wide shoulders strained the fabric, folded as they were over a chiseled chest that narrowed to lean hips and thick, muscular legs.
She tried not to stare at the scars. Raised, uneven webs of pink skin fanned over his lower left jaw, extended under his ear and onto his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt collar. Grace wanted to ask what had hurt him. Mr. Canfield hadn’t given her details, saying only that Mr. Burgess had sustained an injury in battle. But she’d sensed his recoil the first time she’d noticed them, and so she refrained.
Whatever the case, it didn’t distract from his rugged presence. He possessed strong features. His mouth, set in a hard, straight line, looked as if it hadn’t curved into a smile for quite some time.
When she’d discovered her cousin had agreed to come West and marry a complete stranger, Grace had seen only an opportunity to escape the city. She hadn’t given a single thought to whom or what she’d find at the other end of the tracks. It wasn’t until she and the girls were safely on the train, Chicago’s skyline gradually fading into the distance, that she’d paused to consider the possible ramifications of her impulsiveness. Fact was, she didn’t know anything about Constance’s intended groom. Her cousin hadn’t been able to tell her much. With no suitable marriage prospects in her impoverished neighborhood, the younger girl had been anticipating a fresh start, despite the inherent risks in such an undertaking. Grace had gifted her with a satisfactory sum for letting her switch places. Right about now, her cousin was undoubtedly searching for another eager groom in a different territory.
During the long, uncomfortable journey, Grace had contemplated the contents of Will Canfield’s letter—Constance had read it to her enough times for her to have it memorized—and had been comforted by his description of Noah Burgess as an honorable man. She’d prayed a lot, too. With her soul conflicted, she’d begged for God’s understanding and forgiveness. What choice had she had, in the end?
Noah shifted, the silver badge over his heart glinting, catching her eye for the first time.
“You’re the sheriff?” she blurted, hard put to hide her distress. There’d been no mention of it in Mr. Canfield’s letter. Then again, that gentleman had apparently left off more than one piece of pertinent information.
Conning an ordinary homesteader was one thing. But a lawman? Her already upset stomach tightened further into hard knots.
“It’s a recent development.” His lips firmed. She couldn’t tell if he was perturbed with her, his own situation or both. “Our former sheriff, Quincy Davis, was shot and killed several days ago. The town needed a replacement.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Kneading his nape, he heaved a sigh. “Look, Miss Miller, you’ve a right to be upset. My friends meant well. They’ll fix this. Will owns the Cattleman, Cowboy Creek’s premier hotel. You can stay there at his expense while you await the return train to Chicago.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry about the cost of the ticket, either. It’ll be taken care of.”
Grace grasped for the right words. “Have you ever considered your friends may be right?”
His hand slapped to his side. “I don’t take your meaning, ma’am.”
“Perhaps they see a need in your life you haven’t yet acknowledged. Why else would they do something so outrageous as to arrange a marriage for you without your consent?”
She could practically hear his teeth grinding together. “Are you suggesting I don’t know my own mind?”
Grace was accustomed to men’s displeasure. She’d endured Ambrose’s for five years. Ambrose was gone, however. If she had only herself to think about, she’d accept this mistake and walk away. But her daughters’ future was at stake. Her brother-in-law, Frank, would do anything to make her his, including threatening to separate her from Jane and Abigail if she didn’t comply with his wishes. She had to pursue her daughters’ best interests, no matter if she had to get on her knees and beg this man to take her as his bride.
“I’m suggesting you give marriage to me some thought before you send me packing. I’m a proficient housekeeper.” She indicated the cabin’s clean but sparse interior. “I can sew. Cook. Surely you don’t have time to prepare adequate meals with all your other responsibilities.”
His expression frustratingly inscrutable, he raked her with his cool blue gaze. His clear dismissal threatened to deflate her already shaky self-confidence.
Humiliation licking her insides, she lifted her chin. “I may appear incompetent, but I assure you, Mr. Burgess, I know how to make myself useful.”
He studied her a moment longer. “Go back to your pampered life in the city, Miss Miller. I don’t know what sort of glamorous accounts you’ve read about life out here, but they ain’t reality. One week on this homestead, and you’d be begging me to send you back.”
Surely it was her appearance he was judging, not her, the woman. He didn’t know her. Couldn’t see her soul, her heart. “You’re wrong. I can prove you’re wrong.”
A long-suffering sigh pulsed between his lips. “Let me be plain. It doesn’t matter to me whether you’re prairie material or not. I don’t want a wife. I don’t want you or any other woman.” He jerked a thumb to the open doorway. “I’ve just come off a three-day search for a gang of outlaws. I’m tired and hungry, and I need to see to my horse. So if you’ll excuse—”
Behind her, the bedroom door creaked open. “Momma?”
Grace froze. Exhausted from the interminable train ride, the girls had been drooping by the time they’d reached the homestead. She’d put them in the only bed in the house.
The intractable sheriff’s focus shot past her, his eyes going wide. He blinked several times.
“You have a kid?”
“As a matter of fact, I have two.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_037de55e-aa16-571a-9d18-bed438f52a11)
Kids? She had kids? “I thought it was Miss Miller.”
“You assumed.”
The ardor with which she’d spoken moments ago cooled, and Noah witnessed a mother’s protective instincts surface. She beckoned to the little girls hovering in the doorway, a loving smile urging them not to be frightened. They had obviously been sleeping in his bed. Through the opening, he could see that the plain wool blanket atop his straw-stuffed mattress was creased.
Children were a rarity in these parts. As were females, which was precisely why Daniel, Will and the other businessmen had conspired to locate willing mail-order brides. The railroad terminus had boosted their itinerant population, but they needed families to grow this town.
Huddling close to their mother’s side, they watched him wordlessly. Their dark brown hair and delicate features resembled hers. White aprons overlay their dresses, both solid navy blue, and frilly pantaloons were visible from the knee down. Sturdy round-toed shoes completed the outfits.
“Girls, this is the gentleman I told you about. Mr. Burgess owns this homestead. He’s also the sheriff of Cowboy Creek.” She ran a hand over the nearest one’s rumpled sausage curls. “This is Abigail.”
Big chocolate-brown eyes regarded him solemnly.
Constance reached over and touched the second one’s shoulder. “And this is Jane.”
Jane’s bright blue eyes danced with curiosity. Her skin was a shade lighter than her sister’s, and freckles were sprinkled liberally across her nose and cheeks.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Jane offered.
Abigail kept silent. Circling her mother’s waist with her tiny arms, she hid her face in the voluminous skirts.
“How old are they?”
“They recently celebrated their sixth birthday.”
Twins. Not identical, but there could be no mistaking they were kin.
Noah’s gaze skimmed Constance’s petite but curvaceous frame. Back home in Virginia, a neighbor woman had died giving birth to twins. The babies had perished, as well. He’d overheard his ma saying how dangerous the business of birthing one child could be, much less two. And that woman had been several inches taller and larger boned than the one standing before him.
“Where’s their father?”
“Passed on a year ago.”
There wasn’t a flicker of grief in Constance Miller’s steady gaze. The girls didn’t react, either, which told him they were either too young to grasp the permanency of death or they hadn’t shared a close relationship with the man.
His interest grew. Why was she dead set on hitching herself to a complete stranger? Had he misjudged her financial status? For all he knew, the clothes and jewelry were all that was left of her late husband’s wealth. She could be destitute. With small children depending on her, of course she’d be willing to marry anyone who struck her as decent.
Had she somehow discovered Noah’s worth? The Union Pacific had paid him a small fortune for his original homestead because of its proximity to town and the terminus. He’d used a portion of that money to purchase this new tract of land farther outside town. The rest of it he’d placed in the bank for a rainy day.
The trio stood watching him, waiting for him to speak. His ire stirred anew. His friends had put him in an untenable position.
Snagging his hat, he settled it on his head. “I’m going to take care of my horse, then ready the wagon. You have about an hour before we leave for the hotel.”
Ignoring the widow’s quiet gasp, he pivoted and strode for the exit, not stopping when he heard her order the girls to remain inside. His boot heels thudded across the porch, grew muted when he reached the short grass. The early-summer heat closed around him. Looping Samson’s reins around his palm, he scowled. She sure was desperate. Had to be if she was willing to overlook his disfigurement.
The day his gun exploded in his face, Noah’s life had altered course. In those first days and weeks, he hadn’t known whether or not he’d survive. The risk of infection had been great. As time passed and he began to heal, slowly and painfully, he’d had trouble coming to terms with his new appearance. It had taken even longer to accept that love and marriage were out of his reach. Who could love a freak like him?
These days, he steered clear of mirrors. He couldn’t stomach the sight of the twisted, nightmarish flesh. How could he expect any woman to regard it day in and day out? He couldn’t even grow a beard to hide the damage to his face.
The door clicked shut, and his hold on his temper slipped.
“Listen, lady, I’m sure you’re accustomed to men doing your bidding, but this ain’t Chicago. I—”
All of a sudden, she launched herself at him. “Wild animal,” she exclaimed, seeking shelter behind him, her grip on his arms viselike.
Samson shifted uneasily. Noah dropped the reins and, bracing himself, searched for the source of her fear. When he spotted the rangy black wolf loping across the yard, golden eyes zeroed in on him, Noah’s muscles relaxed.
“That’s not a wild animal. That’s Wolf. My pet.”
Her grip loosened a hair, but she remained pressed against his back, using him as a shield against perceived danger. She peered around him. “That’s no pet. That’s a beast!”
To a city gal like Constance Miller, the Kansas prairie must seem like a wildly beautiful yet untamed land. Made sense she’d be alarmed at the thought of a wolf as one’s pet.
Her vanilla scent enveloped him. Noah hadn’t been this close to a female since before his enlistment. His ma had been liberal with hugs, much to his discomfiture, and his three younger sisters had begged him constantly for piggyback rides about the farm. As they were family, they didn’t count.
Maneuvering around to face her, he gripped her shoulders and edged her back a step so he could concentrate. The top of her head came even with his throat. She had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze, putting her loveliness on full display. Her eyes weren’t an ordinary brown, he noted, but the hue of warm honey. Undeniable intelligence shone there. And indomitable spirit.
“Wolf won’t hurt you. He’s half wolf, half dog. I’ve raised him from a pup.”
Her attention shifted beyond him. “He looks...”
“Intimidating. I know.”
“I was going to say hungry for human flesh.”
“I was just appointed sheriff,” he informed her. “How would it look if I allowed a visitor to our fine town to be eaten on her first day?”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Take my hand. I’ll perform the introductions.”
She stared at his outstretched hand for long moments before laying her palm against his. Noah sobered. Her skin was incredibly soft and warm, the sensation too agreeable for his peace of mind. He focused on how her jewelry felt unnatural and prevented their hands from fitting together.
Turning to greet his faithful companion, he signaled for him to stop with his outstretched hand. Wolf obeyed at once. Resting on his haunches, pink tongue lolling, he awaited their approach.
“He’ll sense my fear and devour me,” Constance muttered under her breath.
Noah fought a rare grin, astounded she could evoke humor in him when little else had these past years.
“Wolf, meet Constance.” Moving their adjoined hands, he allowed the animal to sniff her. He could feel her stiffness, the jolt that shot through her the moment Wolf licked her fingers.
“That’s his seal of approval,” he murmured, studying her profile. “Ready to pet him?”
“Not yet.”
That implied she was staying, and she most certainly wasn’t.
Disengaging his hold, he pointed to the cabin. “You should wait inside while I get ready for our departure.”
“Mr. Burgess, please... Won’t you give us a chance?”
The entreaty in her expression was at odds with her dignified stance. Noah averted his face. Regret and frustration pulsed through him. “You don’t want to build a life with the likes of me. Trust me on this.”
Signaling for Wolf to follow, he fetched Samson and headed for the barn situated directly across from the cabin, a wide expanse of land between them. He didn’t look to see whether or not she’d heeded his command.
* * *
What was she supposed to do now?
Grace remained where she stood as the sheriff and his pet disappeared into the mammoth barn. Her corset dug into her ribs. The numerous layers of undergarments and skirts were heavier and more cumbersome here on the plains. Was it because, amidst the city’s brick and stone buildings, her view limited to whatever street she happened to be traveling down, she didn’t have the crazy urge to throw out her arms and twirl in a circle and race through fields of tall grasses and wildflowers?
Cupping her hand over her eyes, she surveyed the endless prairie. The air here was fresh and earthy. After the hustle and bustle of the city, the quiet was somewhat unnerving. Her ears were accustomed to the clack of horses’ hooves on cobbled streets, the shouts of vendors hawking their wares, the cadence of a dozen conversations. They weren’t accustomed to nature’s music...the breeze rustling through the grass stalks, birds’ cheerful twittering, cattle calling to each other, insects buzzing.
Noah Burgess had carved out a mighty nice life for himself.
His rustic cabin, while not comparable to the Longstreet mansion, had its own charms. The barn and outbuildings appeared well constructed. In fact, the entire homestead looked as if it had been planned in a thoughtful, orderly manner.
Her daughters would flourish here. Grow strong beneath the Kansas sun. Learn to appreciate people based on their character, not their social standing or worldly possessions. Most important, they’d be out of her brother-in-law’s reach. A sick feeling stole over Grace as Frank Longstreet’s coldly handsome features swam in her memory. Frank coveted what had belonged to his brother, and now that Ambrose was gone, there was nothing standing in his way. He was determined to step into her late husband’s shoes. Her feelings didn’t matter. She and the girls were like some sort of trophy to him.
