Lassoing A Mail-Order Bride Page 7

  Well, he preferred Hez, but at least she’d rid herself of the Mister. A sudden boldness rose up in him, all of Ooma’s predictions having come to naught. “I am a lucky man indeed, Elspeth.”

  He hoped she understood his inflection, got his meaning. And in case she didn’t, he took her hand and raised her wrist to his mouth.

  Chapter Three

  Elspeth’s pulse jumped against his lips. Her bridegroom. Goodness, she’d only read about the lovely gesture in books. Having it happen for real all but upended her boot heels. And this, chivalry from a wild mountain man? She forced her feet to stay stolid, her knees strong. All of Carmichael’s so-called lover-like gesticulations turned to dust and blew away.

  Hezekiah’s slow smile, mouth still on her flesh, didn’t help one single bit. Nothing infirm or one-legged about this gorgeous man who wore the sun-browned West like a second skin. She gulped and slowly drew her arm away, missing him already.

  Giving him her body tonight wouldn’t be difficult at all, truth to tell. Her blood fired up just at the thought. But she had to guard against giving her heart. She might not be staying long.

  “Perhaps we should make our way to the judge’s chambers. We might get acquainted on the way.” Her voice shook a little, so she cleared her throat. “I don’t know much about your life story. Surely, not as much as a wife probably should. Your newsletter advertisement was quite terse.”

  Her breath halted for five full seconds when he took her hand and wound his fingers around it.

  Warm skin, roughened by work. Strong fingers, long and firm. She gulped at the memory, horrid now, of Carmichael’s soft, small hands. Always cool and moist.

  Dust from the street blew around their feet in a tawny cloud as Hezekiah guided her, presumably, to their vows. Something akin to apprehension drifted over her, despite his warm lips. The town itself was tidy in its way. Something she’d find in a children’s adventure book. Perhaps a dime novel. Certainly not a place a debutante would take up residence and put down roots. What on earth had she done?

  What if…what if she had to stay here forever?

  But Hezekiah’s scent, full of the outdoors and pine trees, met her nose and relaxed her. Her belly rumbled in anticipation— of what, she wasn’t quite sure. His gaze, with eyes the color of Madeira wine, hitched her breath. Flat against her skirt, her fingers wiggled, aching to tangle in his dark brown hair

  “My life hasn’t been a very remarkable story. Up to now, that is.” He flirted well over his words. “Expect it to have a good ending, though.”

  Poor thing. Elspeth had to hope not, and her heart gave a sudden pang. She might be gone in a month. Would he be hurt if she left? She couldn’t bear that. And her veins stirred with something akin to jealousy. Certainly, there had to be village maidens or cowgirls ready to take her place. Her bosom tightened.

  “You want kids, Elspeth?” he asked, like her body wasn’t exploding in turmoil. He managed a wave to somebody across the way.

  “Certainly. It’s a wife’s duty.” She sounded like her mother, and shivered at the awful comparison even in the warm air. According to Mama, childbearing was even more dehumanizing, messy and painful than the conjugal act itself. And out here, in the wilderness, with midwives likely fifty miles away…

  Regret swamped her shoulders. What if Judy had been right? What if Carmichael had been the better choice after all?

  No. Her belly never grew butterflies inside it around Carmichael like it was doing now with Hezekiah. Those warm hands…she imagined them drifting over her body in the dark.

  She clamped her lips as her cheeks boiled. She had to halt the feelings. Slow down her heart. The marriage might not last a month. She couldn’t, shouldn’t get involved.

  Not far ahead, Elspeth clearly read a wooden sign carved in neat letters: The Honorable Abraham Nusskracker, Federal Judge. She couldn’t swallow. It was going to really happen. She’d be this gorgeous man’s wife.

  “I’d like kids myself. Never had brothers or sisters. Lost my folks before I turned a year old.” Hez’s voice was soft on the wind.

  Her fingers tightened inside his. The news rent her heart. Whatever Papa’s shortcomings as a husband, he’d been a kindly, generous father. And she’d been grown up when he passed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. How—”

  “Avalanche. My grandparents raised me up. Did a pretty good job, if I say so myself.” Those flirty eyes again.

  Her heart rammed against her ribs. She’d already told him of her parents and Judith in the telegram.

  Then his eyes turned so serious a shutter might have closed over a window. “Thing is, Elspeth, I’d have liked to court you proper. Send you love letters. But you need to know the truth. Why I need a bride so fast. I need an heir before my cousin beats me to it, or I’ll lose my ranch.” His liqueur gaze traveled her face, quick, then dropped to the dusty boardwalk. “I apologize for the haste. But I promise I’ll be good to you. You got my word.”

  Her heart tumbled again as Hez took her hand. The truth? They had reached the judge’s chambers. This was a good man, an honest one, who didn’t choke over words or make excuses. He’d laid his plan all out in front of her. How could she ruin his resolve, his future?

  His life?

  Why should she stay…if she wasn’t with child? But, if she was, she just might be the answer to Hezekiah Steller’s prayer. She relaxed, almost as if she was on a sacred mission.

  Knowing shamefully, someday she’d have to tell him the truth of her decision to wed him.

  But that day didn’t have to be today.

  Cool air inside the judge’s chambers warmed against her hot skin. A large woman standing next to the jurist beamed, while another younger one glared at Elspeth and fiddled with a large bunch of roses.

  Hezekiah let go of Elspeth’s hand, but she grabbed it quick, lest the rivers of fate wash her away. His strength, his heat, covered her with courage.

  “Hello, Miz Deb. Howdy, Sissy.” Hezekiah coughed over the last name.

  “It’s Cecilia.”

  Elspeth tried a smile. Good heavens, if all the marriageable womenfolk around here looked like they ate lemons twenty-four hours a day, she understood Hezekiah’s reasons for reaching out for a bride. But this woman, this Cecilia, looked about her age. Maybe they could be friends.

  “Howdy, Hezekiah. These are for your bride. I’m Deborah Heisler.” The large woman wrenched the flowers from the sour-face future friend, and thrust them in Elspeth’s hands. The girl had held on a second too long. “Grown in my very garden and harvested just for your wedding up with Hezekiah.”

  Elspeth’s heart melted. Every color rose but blue, tied up with a white ribbon outlined in little pearls. Tears wet her lashes at the thoughtfulness. “Why, they’re beautiful, Mrs. Heisler. I’m Elspeth. I—goodness. How dear of you. Thank you.”

  “It’s Deb, dear, and sure enough, you look like a bride, wrapped in your lace shawl. And that gorgeous hat. My flowers just frost the cake.” At that, Deb’s face fell. “Oh, dear goodness, I ought to have baked you something.” Her shoulders heaved. “I doubt his granny did a thing to mark the occasion.” She muttered and turned to pin a flower on Hezekiah’s lapel. Then she grabbed another and reached for Cecilia’s hair.

  But Sour-face shoved her head clear, glared even more fire at Elspeth. “I’m no bridesmaid. I’m here for Hez.”

  Goodness, even her voice smoked. Elspeth beheld her non-bridesmaid with new sympathy. Had Hezekiah broken Sissy’s heart along the way?

  Hezekiah cleared his throat. “Um, we best be getting the vows struck, your honor. Miz Deb and Miss Cecilia have a busy day going on.” Then he touched Deb’s shoulder, like a loving son might. “Thanks. Those flowers, well, I…”

  Deb gathered Elspeth to her bosom, nearly knocking off the hat. “He’s as beloved to me as my own two boys. No mama to guide him. Just that granny of his.” She snorted. “Glad to step in, my dearies. And Elspeth, welcome to East Slope.”

  Goodne
ss, the way Deb said granny—the same tone of voice one used for cholera or dysentery. Elspeth swallowed so hard she prayed no one heard. Her mistake was mounting fast. She’d be sharing a household with the woman.

  But her nerves stilled when that strong, work-worn yet gentle hand held hers against his chest. He only let go to slide on the ring. Elspeth didn’t really hear the judge’s words but she clearly heard Hezekiah’s “I do.”

  In fact, the sound sang in her ears, and probably always would. At her vow, Hezekiah’s smile took her breath clean away.

  “You may kiss your bride, Hez.”

  Every drop of air spilled from her lungs as he bent his face down to hers. Lips, strong but soft, tangy with life, with the outdoors, brushed hers, then firmed to part hers. Just a smidge. With a delicious promise of more to come.

  She sagged against this man, this stranger. Her husband. She wondered anew what she was doing here at all. Yet gladness, because she was right where she wanted to be, clung to them both.

  But it wasn’t love, was it?

  Deb Heisler’s coo and Sissy’s snort somehow made Hezekiah lengthen the kiss. Elspeth’s knees weakened even more.

  Then the judge spoiled things. “Let’s get this marriage recorded and legal,” he ordered. “Witnesses, the bridal couple, all y’all please sign your names to the register.”

  Such a simple yet complicated task, writing Elspeth Marguerite Verbena Maroney. Realizing she’d written it for the last time. Realizing she was now Mrs. Hezekiah Steller.

  Mrs. Hezekiah Jedediah Steller, his touch on her cheek. His voice soft in her ear. “Welcome to the family, Elspeth. Welcome to my life, wife.”

  Wife. The tender, precious look on his face was nothing like she’d seen on Carmichael’s, ever. Nothing possessive, predatory, or triumphant like she’d witnessed on her erstwhile mate clung to her husband’s visage. Hezekiah just might be the man she’d been born for. But she’d just made a promise she might not be keeping.

  Her heart stilled as he grasped her elbow and led her outside. Above her, the wide Colorado sky rose up forever. Around her, the mountains dwarfed her. Could she belong here? She was better suited for the canyons of the city.

  Judy had been right and wrong at the same time. Elspeth might not be staying, but right now, she didn’t want to leave. Tonight, oh, tonight? Giddiness warred with her beating heart.

  From the intense look on Hezekiah’s face, she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if his heart was doing the same.

  “Be careful, darlin’.” As they crossed the street, he held her at his side like she might break. “We can get us a nice celebration meal at the boarding house.”

  “Watch out!” A voice, panicked and loud, shattered the breeze, and Hezekiah flung Elspeth back on the boardwalk.

  Out of the way of an unruly boneshaker bicycle. It knocked her husband to the dust and ran over his knees.

  Chapter Four

  Pride ran through Hezekiah’s veins as much as the pain. Heat, too, and likely not from fever, with Elspeth curled next to him in the wagon bed. She’d decreed it, to help sop up the bumps in the road. Oh, he liked it.

  And he liked how his wife had taken full charge when he’d been injured. Renting the wagon, hiring the Heisler twins as ranch hands. If he hadn’t fallen in love with her in that first instant, hell, it hadn’t taken much but a half-minute. His heart throbbed at the thought. She was his wife, and he loved her.

  “Sorry about your wedding shawl,” he murmured into her side. The blood-stained length of lace pillowed his head now.

  “No need. Those fools…thinking they could haul you to the clinic, your legs dragging on the ground.”

  He grinned, swallowed the breath that hitched from pain. Well, her nearness, too. His bride had sure taken to task the pals who’d jumped out of the saloon to help him. She’d set them quick to making a lace stretcher to support his legs.

  Bride. His. Her perfume danced up his nose along with the dust from the road. Sure better than Doc Martinez’s medicinal potions.

  He didn’t want her to leave his side, but…“I told you to sit up with the driver,” he said, trying to sound like a husband. “It’s grimy and vile in this wagon bed.”

  “I’m fine, Hezekiah.” Her hand brushed his forehead, then smacked his cheek without meaning to at a particularly angry pothole. Then she rubbed his face. Her speaking his name sounded better than any lullaby. And that touch of hers. Easy to imagine those fingers— Raising his eyes, her warm, pretty gaze covered him like sunshine because he saw true concern there. “Let’s turn back to town. This ride can’t be good for you. I’ll book us a room at the boardinghouse.”

  She sounded very married now.

  “No. We’ll keep heading home,” he grumbled, despite the pleasure at winning his first marital battle. “I want my own home. My own bed.”

  Bed. The word choked him. His own bed, but lonely and empty.

  For a month or more.

  He gritted his teeth. Some of it was the springboard bucking and clattering on its way to Ladyface. But most of all, he was still discomposed at Doc Martinez’s diagnosis. Both knees, torn to the bone from the velocipede’s iron wheels. No lasting damage, the good doctor had claimed, sewing him up. Elspeth standing by, brave as could be. Even handing over a bandage.

  His shinbones and kneecaps remained unharmed, but Hez needed to keep still while the stitches mended his muscles and ligaments together.

  A month or more.

  Worse was, the old sawbones leaning close so Elspeth didn’t hear. You won’t be up to mounting a horse any time soon, son. Or anything or anybody else, for that matter.

  Disgruntled at the now-postponed wedding night, Hez rustled and wiggled and tried to sit. Elspeth clamped her hands on his shoulders. “Rest now.” She clucked her tongue. “I just wish you’d taken some of the doctor’s morphine. It’d stand you in good stead against the pain.”

  “Won’t be getting myself any Soldiers’ disease,” he grunted. Although he liked her warm fingers on him, imagining it all to be a real caress, he tensed against her, wracked in misery. “I’ll be fine once I’m back at my Ladyface. Our Ladyface.”

  Elspeth smiled, but rocks on the road jostled her and shook her words. “I do understand that. One heals better at their own hearth and home. With you to be laid up—” For some reason, Elspeth’s voice shook worse over the words.

  “I can’t be laid up.” He swallowed a groan as the springboard bucked and clattered down the road. “I need to heal fast. I got to get the last of my beeves up to summer pasture.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. The Heisler twins can help.”

  “They’re good kids, but town folks. My other ’hands are already there. Up the green crevices of Johnny’s Mountain. The rest is up to me.”

  “Well, we’ll leave this matter for another day. I’m sure the twins can learn,” Elspeth said, very wifely. “How much farther, Tremaine?”

  Tremmie Heisler was driving the rig. Although she gave Hez one last smile, worry wrinkled the edges of her eyes. Hez could tell. And he liked it.

  “Not too long, Miz Steller. You could come up here beside me. Give Mr. Hez more room to sleep. You must be weary from your long journey yourself. You could—you could—” his voice cracked—“rest your head on my shoulder, if you want.”

  Jealousy charged through Hez’s veins worse than the pain. What? How old was the kid? Fourteen? His fingers clenched into fists, but Elspeth had him relaxing right off. She curled more against him, softening the blows.

  “Thank you, Tremaine. But I’m a married lady now. I’ll stay with my husband. I’d like you to get Hezekiah home quickly, but safely. Don’t jounce him about too much.”

  His twin Ronnie sped ahead with Fanatic and the buggy. But despite Tremmie’s deft hand at driving the springboard, pain pounded through Hez’s veins. Fortunately, Doc Martinez had slipped him a flask, and he snuck some when Elspeth wasn’t looking. Hez didn’t hear or feel too much after that.

 
Next thing, his boyhood quilt cuddled his neck…and truth was, he lay a bit dazed in his own bed back at Ladyface.

  His own bed big enough for two, and him temporarily maimed. For a month or more.

  That much he remembered.

  And there she was, Elspeth, His Elspeth. Sitting in the rocker from the corner. She’d pushed it close to his head. Late afternoon sun glimmered through the window and drew gold lines in her dark hair.

  “How…how’d I get here?” he asked, shamed at his puny voice.

  Like a butterfly, her hand landed on his forehead. “Tremaine and Ronald and Theodore and I.”

  Oh, good Lord. Hez would only imagine what the big oaf had revealed to her. But Elspeth hadn’t mentioned Ooma. She was worse.

  The trial by fire.

  “My grandmaw?” He braved the question.

  “Napping.”

  Of course! Hez snorted. God forbid the God-fearing woman be on hand to welcome her new granddaughter.

  “How long have I…” he swallowed. The whiskey badly needed water.

  “We got here an hour ago or so. How do you feel?” The hand moved softly. All he could do was imagine it moving softly on him elsewhere. Goodness, even blind with pain, he wanted her.

  And couldn’t have her, for a month or more.

  “Like a fool.” But he’d never tell her exactly why.

  “No need. It wasn’t your fault at all, but those rambunctious children. I’m so sorry, though.”

  “Not me. It could have been you.”

  “Of course. I meant, I’m sorry for your pain and—”

  “How’d you like the Ladyface?” Hez had to know.

  “Oh, Hezekiah, it’s beautiful. The rolling pastures, the fine horses. And the house, it’s a mansion.”

  “Got named for that ridge.” Hez pointed out the window. “Up past the barn. Said to be a woman’s profile. See it?”