Rachel. I’m Lincoln Monroe.”
He had the kind of low and dusty voice that led people to listen closely. Tremors traveled up her arm as she pumped his swallowing hand. “Pleased to meet you, Lincoln Monroe.”
“Linc is fine.”
“Linc.” Accustomed to the biblical names the people of The Community favored, his name felt foreign on her tongue. The tremors she felt were also foreign to her and traversed across and down her body, flushing it with unfamiliar warmth. She tried not to show it, acting natural as could be, but he must have sensed the power of her feeling, for his jaw tightened and he questioned her with his gaze.
She did not move. He possessed the penetrating gaze of a hunter—ever hungry and ever searching. The direct force of it pinned her in place as surely as if she were his prey.
Confusion hit her—she refused to be prey for anyone or anything. Yet the danger she felt emanating from him exhilarated her. Instinct told her he was different from everyone else, that he was worthy of trust. In spite of the fact that she was a stranger to him, he had bid for her, confirming the fact that she truly wasn’t as strange and ugly as so many claimed.
She met his gaze for a long, wordless moment before he broke it off, his jaw set more tightly than ever.
Attuned to his changing mood, Rachel straightened her backbone and watched him turn to the cashier as the people surrounding them witnessed in hushed silence. She wasn’t surprised by their reaction. No other member of The Community, man or woman, had ever been sold for such a high price.
She expected Lincoln Monroe to examine her before paying his money, as was his right, but he didn’t ask her to read anything or test the strength of her arms. Instead he pulled out his wallet and paid in one-hundred-dollar bills. That might be a problem, breaking those bills into lesser currency, she thought.
“Follow me,” he said curtly, cutting his way through the throng. She barely had time to accept her selling price from the cashier and pocket the roll of money in her skirt.
He should have ordered her to walk before him, so all in The Community could see, at last, that she was worth coveting. But he was unfamiliar with her customs and striding fast, as well, and because her legs didn’t match the long length of his, she had to trot to keep up. Some folks snickered, but she kept her gaze focused straight ahead and concentrated on the comforting solidity of her buyer’s broad back.
The denim he wore fitted his legs with little material to spare, hiding his cowboy boots down to the well-worn heels. His cowboy hat offset the thick coalblack hair at his nape. The length was trimmed neatly compared to most men she knew but Rachel decided that his matched the angular lines of his body and no-nonsense strides. The trim of his forelock in front had done little to soften the rather grim expression he had greeted her with, but she no longer cared about that. She knew how to gentle any soul, human or otherwise.
Just thinking about her future with him made her heart beat like a tiny bird’s. She had learned long ago that a person’s appearance wasn’t nearly as important as the content of their character. But when it came right down to lying together and the business of making babies, she couldn’t imagine how it might be done if the man and the woman didn’t see some sort of beauty in each other.
He halted at his rig, and Rachel had a moment to examine the large black truck, taking in the fat wheels and metal frame. It was the outsider’s version of a wagon, made for hauling heavy loads, only it roared like a bear and spewed noxious-smelling smoke. Rachel told herself to prepare to get inside it. The marriage ceremony would only take a few minutes. Then she would be his and he, hers.
She was glad to see that the horse trailer behind the truck was clean and in good repair. The filly, raised free on The Community’s pastures, deserved fine quarters and the best of care. Fortunately the truck was parked close to her corral. She already had plenty of opportunity to familiarize herself with such a modern contraption.
“Where’s your stuff?” Linc asked.
Rachel broke from her reverie. “Stuff?”
“Bags, luggage—whatever it is you want to take with you,” he replied.
“My trunk contains most of my possessions.” She pointed to a large trunk close by. “The rest I will fetch myself.”
She literally ran off. Linc examined the trunk. Bright brass rivets stretched the leather over the wooden frame. New leather, not dyed. It hadn’t had a chance to age like the one that had been passed down to him from his great-grandmother. But in every other way it was identical.
Rachel returned, lugging her saddle with both arms in front of her, with her most precious possessions tucked into the parfleche slung over one shoulder. Linc got one look at her and wrested the saddle from her. “This is way too heavy for you to carry.”
“I’ve been carrying it for most of my life,” she replied, her tone milder and more pliant than she intended. She had heard rumors about how outsiders often took their women for granted. He must not feel he had dominion over her.
Linc threw the saddle alongside her trunk in the bed of his truck. “You’ve been treated like a beast of burden. That’s not going to happen anymore.”
“Hard work soothes my soul.”
“Yeah? Is that why you agreed to be auctioned off like a piece of meat?”
“My last relation died last year.” She shrugged. “Obviously, I could not live alone.”
“Obviously.” Although he had been called a male chauvinist more than once in his life, even he understood the misogyny implied in her statement. It was one more strike against this supposed utopia, The Community. “Let’s go,” he said in a clipped voice. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
“I thought Granny Isaacs explained our customs to you during the auction. You and I must be married first.”
“Excuse me?”
“An unmarried man and an unmarried woman of similar age are not allowed to live together.”
He took her arm, hurrying her toward the truck. “Don’t worry. We won’t be living together.”
“But—”
The old lady who had given him such a hard time separated from the watchdog crowd and pushed her way between them. She stabbed a gnarled finger at the middle of Linc’s chest. “Are we of The Community, who have had Rachel with us for her whole life, supposed to take you at your word?” she demanded.
“You of all people know what my intentions are,” Linc retorted.
“Do I? You are little more than a stranger to us.”
“Please, Linc,” interrupted Rachel. “Granny Isaacs is right. Unless we are wed, you will not be allowed to take me with you. It is for my protection should I be ill-treated.”
“You have got to be kidding.” Tempted to just pack her into the cab of his truck, Linc realized that strong-arming her was precisely why these people were insisting on the commitment that marriage implied. “What if I’m already involved with someone else?” His casual relationships with various women didn’t exactly qualify, but he wasn’t about to back down. Not when his freedom was at stake.
“Rachel
