The Cowboy Meets His Match Page 3

  Had Royce not arrived with his own bride-to-be, Chase’s unfortunate marriage would have been nullified. But when things got ugly, the judge ordered all parties out of his chambers. That left his marriage intact, Royce still single, and the future of the ranch secure. At least for the time being.

  Chase studied the stranger who was now his wife. Still in her wedding gown, she’d discarded her veil, allowing him an unhindered view of her face. Hair the color of corn silk was pulled to the top of her head and cascaded down her back in lush, shiny curls. Lashes as thick as Spanish lace framed her expressive blue eyes. Skin yet untouched by the Texas sun or wind stretched over the delicate bones of her face as white and smooth as fine porcelain.

  Though she held a handkerchief over her mouth to keep out the dust, she somehow managed to look like a force to be reckoned with. Shoulders back, body rigid, she never passed on an opportunity to shoot visual daggers at him.

  Still, for all her bravado, he sensed an inner vulnerability that brought out his protective nature.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “’Bout what happened, I mean.” His apology failed to ease the tension or earn him any favor. All he got in return was a glare that would do an angry bull proud.

  Not that he blamed her for feeling the way she did. This mess was partly his fault. If he hadn’t been so anxious or so rushed, he might have noticed that the woman behind the veil was not the woman he was supposed to have wed.

  True, both women had blond hair and were near the same height, but that was where the similarities ended. The sun had turned Cassie’s skin the color of leather. Hard work had made her as brawny as any man. In contrast, his new bride’s slender form and gentle curves were bound to wilt beneath the rigors of ranch life. Her soft, white hands looked more suited to soothing an infant’s brow than hauling hay or roping a calf.

  His uncle and that blasted shotgun hadn’t helped either. Uncle Baxter had made things worse. A whole lot worse. Easterners depended on lawyers to settle disputes, not shotguns. Was it any wonder that the woman by his side wanted nothing more to do with him or his uncle?

  Then there’d been the stampeding cattle. Had it not been for all the noise and confusion, her Boston accent would have given her away. As it was, they had hardly been able to hear each other.

  She struck him as somewhat of a puzzle, and he couldn’t help but be curious. The way she spoke suggested she’d come from good stock and probably had much in the way of book learning.

  He didn’t know much about fashion, but never had he seen a finer wedding gown. It was hard to imagine that much lace could be found in all of Texas. The way the soft fabric hugged her tiny waist and slender hips suggested it had been made special for her and wasn’t one of those hand-me-downs worn by most local brides.

  Why a looker like her would have to resort to setting herself up as a mail-order bride was a puzzle. What was wrong with the men in Boston? Why would she settle for a simple druggist in a small western town when she could probably have any man she set her cap for back home?

  She was a puzzle, all right, in more ways than one. She sat as far away from him as the buggy seat allowed and looked ready to fight him at the least provocation. No surprise there. It was only after much persuasion on his part that she’d agreed to let him drive her to the hotel.

  That was turning out to be more of a challenge than he’d imagined. The cattle had created havoc in the town. Wagons had been overturned, and bales of hay and produce were scattered everywhere. Frightened horses milled around looking for a means of escape. Goats and sheep darted around stranded wagons and carriages. Finally, traffic stopped altogether.

  Spotting the sheriff, Chase lifted his voice. “I’m trying to get to the hotel.”

  “No chance of that,” Sheriff Keeler yelled back. “Least not till Fisher rounds up his cattle.”

  Chase shook his head. Fisher again. He should have known. The fool Englishman knew nothing about raising cattle, and this hadn’t been the first time his stock had run rampant through town. “How long do you think that’ll take?”

  The sheriff shrugged, and his mustache twitched. “Beats me. My guess is that we’ll be lucky if we clear the mess up by morning.”

  Chase glanced at his passenger. Hands clenched on her lap, she greeted the news with a look of dismay. She was new in town and probably didn’t know anyone.

  “I’ll take you to the ranch,” he said. “You can spend the night there.”

  “I’ll get off here,” she said.

  “And do what?”

  “Walk.”

  He glanced down at her wedding dress and dainty white slippers. “You could get trampled. Those cattle are already spooked. It won’t take much to start another stampede.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Before she could follow through with her foolhardy plan, Chase snapped the reins hard, and his horse surged forward. Startled, the lady fell back against her seat.

  “Stop!” she cried. “I said stop!”

  “Sorry, ma’am, I can’t do that.” He drove the wagon in a circle at the wide intersection called the Dead Line, which separated the respectable part of town from saloons and gambling halls. Chickens, goats, sheep, and an occasional steer scrambled out of his way as he headed for the ranch. “Like it or not, you’re my wife, at least for the time bein’. As such, I’m responsible for your safety.”

  Holding on to the dash railing, she glared at him. “I’m not your wife!”

  “The law says you are. Until it says otherwise, you’re under my protection.”

  “I was coerced into this marriage, and that’s what I intend to tell the judge tomorrow.”

  “Coerced?”

  “Yes, coerced!” She folded her arms across her chest. “Your uncle made me go through with the wedding. He even held a gun. What else would you call it?”

  Chase grimaced. “The gun was for protection. He wouldn’t have harmed you.”

  “Oh no? Then what do you call forcing me into this…this marriage?”

  Chase blew out his breath. “Again, you have my heartfelt apologies. Like I said, you can spend the night at the ranch. We’ll sort the rest out come mornin’.”

  Narrowed eyes met his, and he could see the wheels turning in her head. The stubborn look on her face gradually yielded to an expression of wary acceptance. It would soon be dark, and she knew as well as he that her choices were limited.

  “We’re married in name only,” she said. “That’s all.”

  “If you’re worried about me claimin’ my husbandly rights, you can put your mind at ease. I’ve never had to beg a woman for favors, and I don’t aim on startin’ now.”

  She narrowed her eyes and studied him with bold regard. “Long as we understand each other.”

  “Oh, we understand each other just fine.” Even in the shadows of dusk, he could see her bristle with indignation. She might have a small rope, but she sure did throw a large loop.

  Unable to resist the temptation to see just how much starch she had in her corset, he added, “You lock your bedroom door, and…just in case you get any untoward ideas, I’ll lock mine.”

  His answer came in the shape of a well-placed fist on the side of his face. Rubbing his sore cheek, he stared straight ahead. The woman was a regular spitfire. He’d best watch his step.

  4

  Following a restless night, Emily stood in front of the cheval mirror. “What a mess you got yourself into this time!”

  Since her luggage was still at the hotel, she’d slept in her petticoat. She didn’t even have a hairbrush, and her hair looked like a rat’s nest. But that was the least of it.

  How could she have married the wrong man? Of all the crazy things. Chase McKnight looked nothing like the man she had imagined from Garvey’s letters. She should have known something was wrong.

  Palms on her forehead, she trie
d to think. The wedding—and everything that had happened after—was a blur. If it wasn’t for the unfamiliar room and the gold wedding ring on the dresser in front of her, she would have thought the whole thing a bad dream.

  This was no dream. The ring was real, as were her new surroundings. What a nightmare! Her only hope was to get her current marriage quickly annulled so she could marry the right man. That is, if he would still have her. The look on Garvey’s face last night hadn’t been encouraging, but maybe today he would be more forgiving. Or at least more understanding.

  Her spirits lifting somewhat, she reached for her watch. Normally an early riser, she was shocked to see it was well after ten. It had taken forever to fall asleep, and even then, slumber had come in fits and starts. It wasn’t just the strange, oversized four-poster bed that had made her feel small and insignificant and, more than anything, vulnerable. It was also the stillness of the night. Never had she known such quiet. It was almost morbid.

  In Boston, the sound of clip-clopping hooves and iron wheels on cobblestones was constant and sounded at all hours of the day and night.

  Boston. Surprised to feel a wave of homesickness for the town that had caused her so much pain, she turned from the mirror. That was when she noticed her luggage piled up inside her door. Someone had taken it upon himself to fetch her luggage from the hotel and enter her bedchamber while she was still asleep. Mr. McKnight?

  As relieved as she was at not having to appear in front of the judge in her wedding gown, she couldn’t help but worry. Mr. McKnight knew she had no intention of staying. So why would he go to all the trouble of retrieving her belongings? Unless…

  The thought of being held against her will filled her with horror. Running barefooted across the room, she ripped the door open. It wasn’t locked. Breathing a sigh of relief, she quietly shut the door and slumped against the cool, smooth wood.

  Maybe Mr. McKnight was just being thoughtful. So far, he had been a gentleman and had seemed as eager to set things straight as she was. Feeling better, she crossed the room to take care of her morning ablutions. It was easier to face life’s challenges when looking one’s best.

  After filling the porcelain basin with water and washing her face, she picked out the plainest dress she owned. The rust-colored print brought out the golden highlights of her blond hair. The dress molded around her small waist and trim hips and fell into a modest bustle in back. Lace trimmed the square neckline and sleeves.

  She’d worn the dress in the past when shopping and visiting friends. Never could she have imagined that one day, she would wear it to end a marriage.

  After finishing her ablutions and arranging her long, blond hair into a tidy bun at the back of her neck, she stared at the wedding dress tossed carelessly on a chair. The opulent gown reminded her of everything she’d come to Texas to forget. She should have burned it along with all the other reminders.

  Sighing, she turned. She was reluctant to leave the safety of the room, but she was anxious to take care of business. The sooner her marriage was annulled, the sooner she could wed the man she was supposed to wed and get on with her life. With that in mind, she quietly cracked open the door. Silence greeting her, she stepped into the hall.

  It was but a short distance to the staircase. She’d been too tired from her journey and too overwhelmed by her disastrous wedding to take much notice of the ranch house the night before. Now it commanded her full attention.

  The stairs led down to a large masculine-looking room filled with oversized leather furniture. Used to the lavishly furnished rooms back home, Emily found the ranch house stark, almost cave-like in appearance. No heavy draperies or curtains adorned the windows that stretched from baseboard to ceiling. Instead, the windows had been left bare, allowing for panoramic views of sparse land and rolling hills. Never had Emily been able to look so far and see so little until coming west.

  Pulling her gaze away from the windows, she studied her surroundings. Framed photographs adorned the upright piano, most of the subjects looking as grim as the decor. The only embellishments on the painted white walls were steer horns and antlers and the stuffed head of a snarling wild cat.

  Shuddering, she followed the smell of coffee through a large dining room with an oak table that could seat twelve. An open door led to a barn-size kitchen.

  She was greeted by a man with a broad face and a wide smile. His long, white hair was brushed from his forehead and tied at his neck with a length of rawhide.

  “Ah, you must be the new Mrs. McKnight,” he said, drying his hands on his apron. “I’m the chief cook and bottle washer. The boys call me Cookie.”

  Encouraged by his friendly face, she allowed herself to relax. “Nice to meet you, Cookie. But please, call me Emily.”

  “Emily, uh?” His face grew serious. “The boss told me about the little mix-up.”

  She regarded the cook with a look of curiosity. “Marrying the wrong person hardly seems like a little mix-up.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe not, but I have to say, you sure are a sight for sore eyes. You don’t look like no rancher’s wife I’ve ever seen.”

  Not sure if he meant it as a compliment, she wrinkled her nose. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  “Well now, ma’am, there’s coffee, and there’s what is known as my famous son-of-a-gun coffee. You won’t find better. That I’ll guarantee you. Would you care for some chow to go with it?”

  Emily shook her head. Last night, the housekeeper had brought a bowl of stew to her room, but she’d been too upset to eat, and her nerves were still in a tangle. “Just coffee for now.”

  Cookie turned to the cookstove and reached for the coffeepot.

  It was a large kitchen with tall windows, a brick fireplace, and a wood-burning stove. An icebox stood next to an open door leading to a well-stocked pantry. Beneath rows of shelves lined with canned goods were large sacks of flour and rice.

  A bowl filled with plump, black berries and four empty pie plates were spread across the butcher-block counter.

  Following her gaze, Cookie nodded. “Picked those dewberries fresh this morning. I reckon they’ll make some mighty fine pies.”

  Emily had never heard of dewberries, but if the berries tasted as good as they looked, they would make fine pies, indeed.

  “I’ll bring you your coffee on the veranda, if you like.”

  “Thank you, but this will do.” Despite its barn-like size, the kitchen appeared to be the friendliest room in the house.

  Emily sat at the table and reached for the Haywire Dispatch. Sipping her coffee, she scanned the headlines. The coffee was every bit as good as the cook had promised. The paper, however, was a week old, so there was nothing about the stampede. The main news story was about a desperado tracked down by the Texas Rangers.

  She was just about to turn the page when a smaller headline caught her eye. It read, BOSTON BUSINESSMAN SENTENCED TO PRISON.

  Dear God, no! Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined such news showing up in a small-town newspaper so far away from home. The article gave few details except to say that her uncle had been sentenced to prison for cattle fraud.

  Fields & Fields had been started by her father as a loan company with a fine reputation. But under her uncle’s leadership, the company had also ventured into other moneymaking schemes, some legal, most not. His latest scam was to convince Eastern investors to sink thousands of dollars into what he touted as the new gold—cattle.

  No cattle had ever been purchased with investors’ money. Had prices not dropped, her uncle’s scheme might never have been discovered. When investors tried to bail out, there was no money to pay them.

  His company had also purchased small ranches in Wyoming and Montana at low cost and resold them at great profit. This was done by making buyers purchase the same herd at least twice. This was easily accomplished. Cattle were simply driven around a hill two or even three
times during census, making it appear that a herd was larger than its actual size.

  The months that followed her uncle’s arrest had been a nightmare of publicity and scorn. Though she’d known nothing about his business practices, Emily had been forced to testify against him. The prosecutor had used her college degree to discredit her.

  “Surely, an educated woman would recognize unsavory practices in a family business,” he’d said, casting doubt on her testimony.

  Her uncle’s property had been seized, leaving her without a roof over her head and precious little money to her name. No one wanted to hire Harry Fields’s niece, so there was no way to support herself.

  Answering a mail-order bride ad had been an act of sheer desperation. She’d hoped that Texas offered a far-enough escape from her uncle’s shadow. Now, seeing the article in the newspaper, Emily wondered if such a thing was possible.

  Stomach churning, she took a hasty sip of coffee and tried to convince herself that her secret was safe.

  So far, everything had gone according to plan. Except, of course, for marrying the wrong man. That she hoped to quickly remedy.

  At first, she’d thought Baxter McKnight’s veiled threats related to her background. That had turned out not to be true. He’d thought she was Mrs. Decker. Last night had been one misunderstanding after another.

  Thank goodness she’d thought to drop her surname, Fields, and use her middle name instead. Nothing could be done about her Boston accent, but she could tone down her clothes so as not to call undue attention to herself.

  Confident that her true identity was secure, she finished the last of her coffee and stood. A movement caught the corner of her eye, and she jerked her head around. A tiny mouse scampered along the baseboard, mere inches from her foot.

  With a cry of alarm, she leaped onto a chair and screamed to high heaven.