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The Negotiated Marriage
Christina Rich
A Business ArrangementWhen the railroad pushes to buy her land, orphaned Cameron Sims will do anything to keep the only home she and her sisters have ever known. Even if she must marry a stranger. But she's determined her agreement with the mysterious, dashing man—who's unlike anything the Kansas railroad town has ever seen—will remain simply business.Duncan Murray doesn't want a wife. He wants Sims Creek, a sanctuary that can help him forget a troubled childhood. But his reluctant, and captivating, bride-to-be is key to making his dreams a reality. And despite their business arrangement, Camy and Duncan might be signing on the dotted line for true love…
A Business Arrangement
When the railroad pushes to buy her land, orphaned Cameron Sims will do anything to keep the only home she and her sisters have ever known. Even if she must marry a stranger. But she’s determined her agreement with the mysterious, dashing man—who’s unlike anything the Kansas railroad town has ever seen—will remain simply business.
Duncan Murray doesn’t want a wife. He wants Sims Creek, a sanctuary that can help him forget a troubled childhood. But his reluctant, and captivating, bride-to-be is key to making his dreams a reality. And despite their business arrangement, Camy and Duncan might be signing on the dotted line for true love...
“Get your stuff and get off my land.”
“Your land?”
“That’s right, mister.” Camy rooted her feet in place.
He swayed toward her, one corner of his mouth curving upward as if he knew something she didn’t, then held out his hand. “Duncan Murray.”
The earthy scent emanating from him assaulted her senses, catching her off guard. The name suited his towering height and brawny muscles. If she pulled on her memories she could hear tales spun by her mother and could almost imagine him brandishing a sword in the plaid buried at the bottom of her mother’s trunk. His name was strong and true to his heritage.
“I dinnae care who you are, Mr. Murray.” She allowed her own accent, faded through the years, to thicken as she straightened her spine and propped the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. “I do not want to shoot you, but I will if I must.”
“I have no wish to be shot.”
Born and raised in Kansas, where she currently lives with her husband and children, CHRISTINA RICH loves to read stories with happily-ever-afters, research, take photos, visit the ocean, write stories with happily-ever-afters and talk about her family and Jesus.
The Negotiated Marriage
Christina Rich
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Then Peter opened his mouth, and said, “Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: But in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.”
—Acts 10:34–35
Mom and Dad, thank you for being some of my biggest fans. Thank you for believing in me.
Love,
Chris
Contents
Cover (#u637d3ef3-b4f4-5702-b325-493f7ce4c208)
Back Cover Text (#u2ac6bbb1-1e15-5013-acdc-4cf5214d425f)
Introduction (#u71dd93d0-86e4-54fe-8f32-f5d0c59718a0)
About the Author (#u01f6ec30-08b2-5936-bce9-be77d31b9c05)
Title Page (#ue5603f64-f854-511c-bd5e-21494bea17de)
Bible Verse (#u25c63855-1325-5a75-8cc8-75ebd3759607)
Dedication (#u07dc2cc8-6470-571d-b2af-8b8270c530d8)
Chapter One (#ulink_1ef84244-f012-55e4-99bc-fed69766868b)
Chapter Two (#ulink_6eb53e1a-70e5-53ca-b37d-45873c47b246)
Chapter Three (#ulink_ec631e6c-9234-5276-ab52-a8d852370c02)
Chapter Four (#ulink_f5060971-a36d-5c8b-8596-2bfffda9b49c)
Chapter Five (#ulink_698a01e0-5a7e-566c-883b-8c821a995c58)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_686075e4-0a28-58bd-be42-520b9fd111b3)
Rusa Valley, Kansas
Spring 1867
“Hold it right there!” Camy Sims drew a bead on the man lying down at the bank of the creek, his feet dipped in the water. She eased the bucket to the ground. How dare anyone trespass on their land? Her land, given that Uncle Hamish disappeared with the wind and her sisters Ellie and Mara seemed to have other things in mind like carriage rides and frilly dresses. Not Camy. She didn’t have aspirations for anything other than staying right here on Sim’s Creek and enjoying the solitude of country life. A solitude sorely interrupted by a man who refused to acknowledge her presence. “I said, don’t move.”
He didn’t. Not a single muscle. Tilting her head away from the rifle resting against her shoulder, Camy squinted through the dappling of grey morning light filtering through the thick canopy of leaves until the man came into focus. His bare feet ebbed and flowed with the current of the river. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. She couldn’t blame him for succumbing to the beauty here. Wisps of smoke rose from the charred firewood, telling her he’d camped the night in her favorite place of solitude, a place away from Mara’s continuous chatter of prospective husbands and Ellie’s melancholy, a state she’d been in since she returned home last August after months with a distant cousin. Anger sparked and burned through her veins at the intrusion.
After all the railroad’s attempts at acquiring their land before the winter, Camy should have known they’d come creeping through the woods once the weather warmed. She only wished she knew why they wanted the Simses’ land. It was far from ideal, at least to her way of thinking. There were places closer to town where the land lay flat and the banks were more even, places where the river wouldn’t wash the railroad’s bridge downstream. If only this man were a simple passerby who had been lured by the languorous song of the water trickling over the rocks and the serenade of the birds. Given that a wayward stranger hadn’t passed by here since she could remember, his presence meant one thing: he was trying to gain access to her land. And that just wouldn’t do. Did he come expecting their gratefulness at a measly offer, or did he come ready to make threats and burn their home down?
She intended to find out even though her sisters would complain at her dallying too long as Mara, no doubt, would be anxious to complete morning chores so they could go to town. Camy’s younger sister loved the social blur of town life, whereas Ellie and Camy only wanted to discreetly discover details about any strangers who might be a threat to them. The latest gossip from Mrs. Smith, Rusa Valley’s socialite, was about a man. Tall, handsome and more important, according to Mara, richer than King Solomon. As if those things were all that mattered in a prospective husband.
But from the looks of this man, he wasn’t rich or handsome, at least not in the sense her sisters claimed. No doubt they’d thank her for taking the time to scoot the scallywag right off their land once they got over their anger at her dealing with him on her own. Besides, if Ellie knew about the stranger, she’d demand they all move into town as she’d threatened to do after the last incident with a group of ruffians. No amount of money, bluff and bluster could entice Camy to leave her home.
Picking up the water bucket, Camy crept down the well-worn path, focused on the still figure. After all, it wouldn’t do for her to be caught unaware. Why, what if the man was only playing possum? Her sisters would think her silly, as no man in his right mind would play dead in his bare feet. Not around here leastways. There were too many thorns ready to pierce clear to the bone, and she should know given that Ellie had doctored her feet plenty of times. As she got closer to the stranger, she knew that no man would played possum with his feet in the icy water and the rest of his body at an odd angle with his arms strung out. His lip bloodied.
Camy skidded to a halt. Clumps of dirt rolled down the path until they splashed into the water. Was he dead?
She couldn’t very well leave him there, dead or alive. If he was alive she’d give him a swift kick to his backside, and if he wasn’t, well, she’d just have Ellie fetch the Drs. Northrop, all three of them. Of course, if he was already dead, she could just roll him into the water. The river would wash him past Sims Ferry and on down to Doc Northrop’s Landing where the old doctor most likely dipped his pole in the water. The man would be the doctors’ problem, not hers.
Camy shoved her spectacles back onto the bridge of her nose and shifted her gaze over the still body, looking for any hint of life. She drew in a fortifying breath and eased down the rest of the path until she was only a few feet from his body. Waves of chestnut locks blanketed his brow, covering his eyes. Her fingers itched to brush the strands away for her to see if his lashes were as thick and dark as she imagined. Even with the bloodied lip and shadow of a beard, handsome didn’t even come close to describing the chiseled jaw and aquiline nose. He was beautiful.
Her gaze roamed toward his chest. The tension holding her shoulders taut released at the steady rise and fall. She took note of its wide berth, the way his shirt stretched tight. Corded forearms, visible from his rolled sleeves. He no longer seemed like a stranger, but like a man who belonged in the country. A man who belonged here. In her place. Her secret place, and that just wouldn’t do at all.
She took a few steps closer and jabbed him with the barrel of her rifle. “Mister, are you hard of hearing? Or daft?”
He groaned. As he turned his head, his dark locks fell, revealing thick, dark lashes and mossy green eyes hooded by thick, dark eyebrows. He clasped his hand to his head.
“You need to be getting out of here, mister.”
He groaned again as he eased into a sitting position. He pulled his feet out of the water and his knees into his chest and then buried his face into his hands. Blood stained the rock near where his head had been. Crimson-matted clumps of hair stuck out at odd angles from the back of his head. Someone obviously took a strong disliking to him to leave him here like this. She wanted to help, to inspect his wounds as her sister Ellie would do, but after all the schemes the railroad had pulled last year, she wouldn’t put this one beyond them too.
“Mister, you can’t sit here all day. More than likely the sky is about to unleash a torrent and this here river will flood. If you don’t want to be going for a swim downriver, I suggest you get moving.”
He lifted his head and squinted at her through a swollen and blackening eye as if she’d lost her wits. His gazed roamed over her from head to toe and back again until he settled on her face. “Where am I? Where’s my horse?”
Camy glanced around the trees. “I don’t know anything about your horse, mister. This here’s Sims Creek. At least here in this little bend. Upriver it’s Northrop River and downriver the same. But right here, it’s Sims Creek.”
His brow furrowed. “Hamish Sims?”
A sickening thud dropped into Camy’s stomach. Had her uncle turned yellow-bellied and befriended the enemy? Most certainly not. He’d made a promise, and a Sims always kept a promise. Excepting her da. This was just another ploy. Camy moved back a few paces and motioned toward his coat with the rifle. “Get your stuff and get off my land.”
He massaged the back of his neck and then unfolded to his full height. He narrowed his eyes and gave her a glare that begged for a fight. Gold-flecked daggers flashed from his eyes, causing a shiver of caution to race down her spine. Perhaps she should agree to leave her home and take her sisters to town where they’d be happier and much safer.
He thrust his hands on his hips. “Your land?”
“That’s right, mister.” Camy rooted her feet in place. It wasn’t exactly hers alone, but Hamish had promised it to her and she wouldn’t allow this stranger’s height to intimidate her and make her give up her fight so easily.
He swayed toward her, one corner of his mouth curving upward as if he knew something she didn’t, and then held out his hand. “Duncan Murray.”
The earthy scent emanating from him assaulted her senses, catching her off guard. The name suited his towering height and brawny muscles. If she pulled on her memories, she could hear tales spun by her mother and could almost imagine him brandishing a sword in the plaid buried in the bottom of her mother’s trunk. His name was strong and true to his heritage. However, the way he stifled his accent indicated he was not so proud to be a Scotsman. If there was one thing both her parents taught her and her sisters, it was to never be ashamed of their heritage. Never.
“I dinnae care who you are, Mr. Murray.” She allowed her own accent, faded through the years, to thicken as she straightened her spine and propped the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. “I do not want to shoot you, but I will if I must.”
“And I have no wish to be shot.”
Before she knew what he was about, he closed the distance between them and removed the rifle from her hands. Losing her footing, she slid down the bank and sucked in a sharp breath as the icy water soaked through her clothing. The current tugged at her legs, rocking her. She held her arms out to gain balance and then wrapped them around her midsection. He laid the rifle on the bank and offered her a hand. She stared at the calloused palm and started to reach for it until she recalled the last encounter with a hired thug claiming to be with the railroad. Not only had they promised to burn their home if they didn’t accept an offer soon, but they had threatened to dump her and her sisters in the river.
“I’ll get out myself, thank you.”
“Very well, then.” Mr. Murray plucked his coat from the ground. The man took the liberty of filling the bucket with water, grabbed her rifle and started up the path.
“Where are you going?”
“To find that scoundrel Hamish.”
He didn’t even have the decency to look at her, or persist in offering her aid to safety. She found herself at a further disadvantage, as Mr. Murray had all of her belongings, heading straight for her sisters. He might not be blond and blue-eyed, but Mara would no doubt swoon and then fawn over his every whim. Ellie, on the other hand, would be packing their trunks and moving them into the safety of town with the likes of folks who were more apt to sip tea in their stuffy parlor rooms than take a walk along the river.
Over her freezing limbs. “You cannot very well walk around without your shoes.”
Never mind that detail had not bothered her a moment ago when she told him he had to leave. She eased through the turbulent water sucking at her skirts, careful not to lose balance, and grabbed hold of a root protruding out of the bank. She tested its strength and then, using her foot as leverage against the bank, tried to pull herself up the side. She slid right back into the water, her fingers white-knuckled around the root as the water tugged at her. She wasn’t about to give up. She’d seen him first. And she’d see him gone before Mara laid eyes on him. Before Ellie moved them from their home.
“Which is one reason why I intend to find Hamish.”
Little chance of that. She hadn’t seen her uncle since before the leaves fell from their moorings, and that had been months ago, but she wasn’t about to tell Mr. Duncan Murray such truths lest he take it in his head to steal their land.
“And what is the other, Mr. Murray?”
He halted halfway up the path and faced her. A lopsided grin appeared, forcing a dimple in his cheek. That field of butterflies fluttered with the force of her clothes hanging out on the line in a southerly Kansas wind. His swollen eye and bloodied lip did nothing to lessen the effect. “To find my horse.”
She almost let loose a sigh of relief. Nobody could blame a man for searching for his horse. If that was the only reason he was here.
“And to negotiate the purchase of this land, after I meet Cameron Sims.”
* * *
“What did you say?”
Duncan hadn’t meant for those words to spill out of his mouth, but she’d been so insistent that he get off her land, land they both very well knew wasn’t hers, that he couldn’t help goading her. All he wanted to do was inspect the land Hamish had offered him at a measly sum, a piece of property his friend had claimed rivaled the beauty of Duncan’s beloved Highlands. The fact that it was only miles from Rusa Valley where he could oversee his investment in the railroad as it clanked through town made Hamish’s offer more appealing. Calvin Weston, a member of the railroad committee and the man who had approached Duncan about providing funds for iron and labor for the railroad, wouldn’t be too happy about Duncan keeping a close watch on how his money was spent.
