Days and days of being jostled about, first on the train when she left Little Rock, Arkansas, and now even more so on the stagecoach heading to the Idaho Territory, were taking its toll on her overtaxed body. Rainee rolled her head from side to side, pressed her palm against her aching side, and shifted in the seat for the twentieth time in the past few minutes.
Horses’ pounding hooves, jingling tack and squeaking leather were the only sounds she had heard for miles upon miles until Daniel, the stagecoach assistant, leaned his blond head near the window. “Only a few more minutes, folks, before we arrive at our destination.”
A destination Rainee wanted to avoid but knew she could not because her very life and sanity depended on it.
Within minutes, she would soon meet her betrothed.
Her betrothed.
She still could not believe she was about to be married.
To a complete stranger.
But then again, if Haydon Bowen turned out to be even half as nice as his letters had made him sound, with the help of God’s grace and a passel of mercy, her life might not end up so dreadful after all. Anything had to be better than her current situation.
Or was it?
A horrid thought fluttered through her mind. What if the man she was about to wed was not the gentleman he had portrayed himself to be?
Merciful heavens, what had she done?
You ordered what?
Haydon Bowen’s own words rang through his brain like the continual clang of a church bell. How could Jesse, his own brother, do this to him, knowing he never wanted to marry again? Knowing marriage to his deceased wife had been a disaster. The hour-and-a-half ride from his family’s ranch in Paradise Haven to the stagecoach stop in Prosperity Mountain had done little to abate his frustration. Anger over Jesse’s latest outlandish scheme clung to him like trail dirt on a sweaty body.
After reining his draft horses to a stop, Haydon pressed his booted foot on the wagon brake. He sat stone still, dreading the task before him, wishing he could forget this whole thing and hightail it back to the ranch. But wishing wasn’t going to change a thing. He raised his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his shirt sleeve.
Knowing he couldn’t put off the unpleasant mission any longer, he hopped down from the buckboard. As he went to wrap the reins around the brake handle he heard the stern sound of a woman’s voice coming from the direction of the stagecoach platform. “Unhand me this instant.”
“Aw, I jist wanna little bitty kiss.” The man’s barely intelligible words slurred together.
Haydon tied off the reins and headed around the corner of the depot to see what was going on. He rounded it just in time to see a petite lady in a frilly lavender dress kick some shoddy-looking man in the shin with the toe of her laced-up boot. It took Haydon so by surprise that he had to stifle a laugh.
“Ouch! Why you little—” Filthy words poured from the scruffy man’s mouth. He yanked the woman close to his sweaty, grime-stained body, his face a mere inch from hers.
The woman managed to jerk back and swing her unopened parasol in a wide arc, striking the man’s head. That only served to anger him more, and he yanked her close again.
He’d seen enough. Haydon leapt up the wooden step, took five steps to cross it, grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and shoved him away. “You heard the lady. Unhand her. Now!”
The man landed in a crumpled heap, but quicker than the snap of a whip, he darted back and rammed his head into Haydon’s gut. All air fled from his lungs. He doubled over and struggled to pull in a breath. His hat slid from his head and onto the ground.
The man punched Haydon’s face, causing him to stumble backward. Sharp pain pulled through his nose, and his eyes watered.
His attacker lunged toward him, but Haydon sidestepped him.
The man slammed against the wooden planks face-first.
Haydon jumped on him, yanked his arms behind his back, and pressed his knee between the man’s shoulders.
Squirming, the man tried to break free, but Haydon held him in a tight grip.
“Ben! Pack your things and get out of town now!”
Haydon’s gaze jumped up to a tall man with a shiny badge splayed against a black leather vest.
“I warned you if you caused any more trouble, I’d run you out of town. I mean to keep my promise. Now get out of here and don’t ever show your face around here again.”
Haydon stood and hauled the man the sheriff called Ben to his feet. When he released him, the only way to describe what he saw in his beady eyes was evil intent. It tried to curl its way around Haydon, but he shook it off like he would a snake crawling on his hand.
“This won’t be the last you’ll hear from me,” Ben hissed. He scooped up his sweat-stained hat and slammed it on his greasy head. “You an’ yore lady friend’ll be sorry you ever messed with me!”
“That’s enough!” The sheriff aimed his pistol at Ben’s heart and cocked it. “Whether you go peacefully or draped over a saddle makes no difference to me. The choice is yours.” Wrinkles gathered around the lawman’s narrowed eyes, and his burly mustache buried his lips.
Haydon swung his gaze between the sheriff and Ben, not at all sure that he and the lady weren’t about to witness a deadly showdown at point-blank range.
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” Ben spat as he lifted his hands in the air.
The lawman gave a quick jerk of his head and gun, motioning Ben forward. The two of them headed down the boardwalk. Their boots clunked against the wooden planks, and neither of them looked back.
Haydon relaxed his shoulders for a full two seconds, until he remembered the lady. He let out a quick breath and turned toward her. Seeing her stooped over, he snatched up his hat and hurried over to her. “Are you all right, Miss?”
Like a well-trained woman of society, she rose gracefully and faced him. Having grown up with the socially elite, he recognized one when he saw one. And she was definitely one.
“Yes, sir, I am.” Her lavender plumed hat tilted back, and she looked up at him. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
Haydon’s pulse throbbed in his ears and his breath hitched. Staring up at him were the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen, soft as a doe’s hide. The color reminded Haydon of a whitetail fawn, complete with white specks. Thick but not overly long lashes spread across her eyelids. And that Southern accent. It skipped across his heart before drilling right down into him.
“Merciful heavens. Your nose is bleeding.” She opened the little beaded bag hanging from her wrist, pulled out a lace hanky and raised it toward his nose.
He yanked his head back. “Don’t soil your hanky.” He reached into his inside vest pocket and removed his handkerchief, then pressed it against his nostrils, ignoring the pain the gesture produced. Confident he’d gotten all the blood, he folded his handkerchief
