it every time she saw him.
“This is different,” she told him, catching a stray hair the wind had freed from her bun and tucking it behind her ear. “There’s a plot afoot, and you must be wary.”
He stiffened, but then there was nothing soft about him. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t noticed before confessing her feelings. Hart was all planes and angles, his brows a slash, his lips an uncompromising line. Some in Seattle were afraid of him. She wasn’t. She wouldn’t allow it.
He slung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Tying his horse Arno to the hitching post in front of Kelloggs’, he followed Beth around the corner onto a quiet side street.
“What’s this about a plot?”
His gravelly voice stroked her skin. Beth stood taller, even though that brought the top of her feathered hat just under his chin.
“The Literary Society has designs on you,” she informed him.
His brows shot up. “The Literary Society? Mrs. Howard, Mrs. Yesler, Mrs. Wyckoff, the Denny ladies and Mrs. Maynard?”
Beth nodded. “The most influential women in Seattle. They are determined that every upstanding citizen do his or her part to grow the territory.”
He relaxed, arms hanging loose at his sides. “As deputy sheriff, I’m available to help as needed.”
Beth licked her lips. “Not in this particular area, I fear.”
He shrugged. “If they need a lawman, they have only to ask. They didn’t need to enlist your aid to turn me up sweet.”
“As if that would work,” Beth muttered.
His eyes narrowed. “See? I told you we were done talking.”
And she hadn’t noticed how stubborn he could be, either. Beth stamped her foot. “Oh! Will you listen for once? I’m trying to save your life!”
Once more tension slid over him. “What do you mean?”
Finally! Beth met his gaze. “The ladies of the Literary Society have decided it’s time for you to wed. They’ve even compiled a list of candidates. And they’ve asked me to play matchmaker.”
* * *
Hart stared at her. For a moment, when she’d mentioned saving his life, he’d thought she’d stumbled into something dangerous. She couldn’t know how the suggestion chilled him. He’d have cheerfully walked barefoot through a raging forest fire before he saw her harmed. But marriage?
He barked a laugh. “Well, you can try, but we both know it won’t work.”
The pink was rising in her cheeks again. Better that than the pallor she’d worn the day he’d refused her overtures. He’d been shocked when she’d confessed she admired him. He’d known her since she was a girl, had thought her sweet, had nothing but respect for her older brothers and their wives. That day he’d looked closer and recoiled as if he’d run into a brick wall.
Little Beth Wallin had grown into a fine woman.
That didn’t mean she was the right woman for him. She had always been everything pure and bright, her enthusiasm as shiny as a new penny. She didn’t need his shadow covering her. He’d been curt, almost rude in refusing her. It was for the best, or so he’d told himself every time he’d seen her since.
“You don’t understand,” she said now. “If I had declined the request, they would have asked someone else.”
Perhaps they would. He knew each of the ladies. They were used to getting their own way. They had been the vision and the drive to transform the tiny frontier town into the second biggest city in the territory. There was nothing more dangerous than a woman with a vision.
“I’ll speak to Mrs. Wyckoff,” he told her. “There’s no need to look for a bride for me. I’m not marrying.”
She sighed. “That’s what my brothers said, and look at them now.”
Her five older brothers were happily married, and she’d had a hand in it.
“I’m not your brothers,” he replied. “I’m not pining for a wife.”
Her head came up. How did such a little chin look so hard? Everything about her was feminine, from the silvery-gold curls tumbling down behind her head to the curves hinted at when her cape swung about her. But Beth Wallin was another lady who wasn’t used to being told no.
“And why don’t you want a wife?” she demanded. “You have a position of authority. You’re well respected in the region. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
Despite himself, he winced. Two-and-thirty wasn’t so old, for all he sometimes felt twice that. Chasing after criminals could sap the joy from life at times.
Watching the woman you love die in your arms, knowing she’d sacrificed herself for you, did worse.
“Some men aren’t meant to wed,” he said. “Thank you for the warning, but I’ll be fine.”
She shook her head. “You really think it’s that easy? They’ll be throwing women at you. You won’t be able to turn around without stepping on one.”
He chuckled. “I’ll take my chances.”
“I give it a month. Maybe two.”
Hart turned for Second Avenue. “Good day, Miss Wallin. Give my regards to your family.”
“Oh! It would serve you right if I followed through with the agreement to match you up.”
A chill ran through him again, and he turned up his collar, even though he knew the feeling had nothing to do with the brisk March weather. “You do what you have to do. So will I. No one can make me walk down the aisle, say my vows before a preacher. Not even you, Beth.”
“I know.”
The words held such pain, such sorrow, he nearly turned back. But if he did, he’d only give in to the need to gather her close, be the man she wanted him to be, promise to protect her.
And he could only protect her if he kept his distance.
“You don’t have to encourage them,” he murmured, gaze on the busier street beyond. “Tell them you have better things to do. It’s only the truth.”
He heard her sigh, the rustle of cloth as she must have shifted on her feet. “But Hart, if I decline, the next person they ask might not have your best interests in mind.”
And she did. Whatever their differences, he knew that. Beth Wallin only ever acted from love and compassion. He had refused to accept her as his bride, but she would willingly find him another, if that pleased him.
How did anyone grow up so selfless? He’d been practicing for more than ten years, and he still failed some days.
And was he doing any better today? As much as the high-handed machinations of the Literary Society annoyed him, the ladies
