right, mister.” Camy rooted her feet in place. It wasn’t exactly hers alone, but Hamish had promised it to her and she wouldn’t allow this stranger’s height to intimidate her and make her give up her fight so easily.
He swayed toward her, one corner of his mouth curving upward as if he knew something she didn’t, and then held out his hand. “Duncan Murray.”
The earthy scent emanating from him assaulted her senses, catching her off guard. The name suited his towering height and brawny muscles. If she pulled on her memories, she could hear tales spun by her mother and could almost imagine him brandishing a sword in the plaid buried in the bottom of her mother’s trunk. His name was strong and true to his heritage. However, the way he stifled his accent indicated he was not so proud to be a Scotsman. If there was one thing both her parents taught her and her sisters, it was to never be ashamed of their heritage. Never.
“I dinnae care who you are, Mr. Murray.” She allowed her own accent, faded through the years, to thicken as she straightened her spine and propped the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. “I do not want to shoot you, but I will if I must.”
“And I have no wish to be shot.”
Before she knew what he was about, he closed the distance between them and removed the rifle from her hands. Losing her footing, she slid down the bank and sucked in a sharp breath as the icy water soaked through her clothing. The current tugged at her legs, rocking her. She held her arms out to gain balance and then wrapped them around her midsection. He laid the rifle on the bank and offered her a hand. She stared at the calloused palm and started to reach for it until she recalled the last encounter with a hired thug claiming to be with the railroad. Not only had they promised to burn their home if they didn’t accept an offer soon, but they had threatened to dump her and her sisters in the river.
“I’ll get out myself, thank you.”
“Very well, then.” Mr. Murray plucked his coat from the ground. The man took the liberty of filling the bucket with water, grabbed her rifle and started up the path.
“Where are you going?”
“To find that scoundrel Hamish.”
He didn’t even have the decency to look at her, or persist in offering her aid to safety. She found herself at a further disadvantage, as Mr. Murray had all of her belongings, heading straight for her sisters. He might not be blond and blue-eyed, but Mara would no doubt swoon and then fawn over his every whim. Ellie, on the other hand, would be packing their trunks and moving them into the safety of town with the likes of folks who were more apt to sip tea in their stuffy parlor rooms than take a walk along the river.
Over her freezing limbs. “You cannot very well walk around without your shoes.”
Never mind that detail had not bothered her a moment ago when she told him he had to leave. She eased through the turbulent water sucking at her skirts, careful not to lose balance, and grabbed hold of a root protruding out of the bank. She tested its strength and then, using her foot as leverage against the bank, tried to pull herself up the side. She slid right back into the water, her fingers white-knuckled around the root as the water tugged at her. She wasn’t about to give up. She’d seen him first. And she’d see him gone before Mara laid eyes on him. Before Ellie moved them from their home.
“Which is one reason why I intend to find Hamish.”
Little chance of that. She hadn’t seen her uncle since before the leaves fell from their moorings, and that had been months ago, but she wasn’t about to tell Mr. Duncan Murray such truths lest he take it in his head to steal their land.
“And what is the other, Mr. Murray?”
He halted halfway up the path and faced her. A lopsided grin appeared, forcing a dimple in his cheek. That field of butterflies fluttered with the force of her clothes hanging out on the line in a southerly Kansas wind. His swollen eye and bloodied lip did nothing to lessen the effect. “To find my horse.”
She almost let loose a sigh of relief. Nobody could blame a man for searching for his horse. If that was the only reason he was here.
“And to negotiate the purchase of this land, after I meet Cameron Sims.”
* * *
“What did you say?”
Duncan hadn’t meant for those words to spill out of his mouth, but she’d been so insistent that he get off her land, land they both very well knew wasn’t hers, that he couldn’t help goading her. All he wanted to do was inspect the land Hamish had offered him at a measly sum, a piece of property his friend had claimed rivaled the beauty of Duncan’s beloved Highlands. The fact that it was only miles from Rusa Valley where he could oversee his investment in the railroad as it clanked through town made Hamish’s offer more appealing. Calvin Weston, a member of the railroad committee and the man who had approached Duncan about providing funds for iron and labor for the railroad, wouldn’t be too happy about Duncan keeping a close watch on how his money was spent.
All he had to do was hand Hamish the bills in his pocket and sign his name on the deed and the land would be his. Of course, there was the little matter about his future bride, a minute detail Hamish had forgotten to mention until they’d made camp. A detail that had Duncan gathering his belongings and heading back to Topeka. That was until Hamish had caught him off guard and rammed the butt of his rifle into Duncan’s face. Obviously his friend was intent on Duncan purchasing the land and marrying a lass. The next thing he knew his ribs were being poked by a wild-haired, wild-eyed beauty.
Staring at the woman in the water, he was more than grateful she wasn’t the woman Hamish thought to pawn on him. At least he hoped not, as she was far from the description Hamish had given him. Much prettier and full of vinegar with her pink, bow-shaped mouth Not the meek wallflower Hamish had told him about. Not to mention that she looked nothing like his friend and could be of no relation.
He shrugged. He didn’t need any female luring him into a real marriage. “I’m here to purchase this land.”
“It’s not for sale.” Her lips flattened into a thin line. Her spectacles magnified the arrows shooting from her frigid eyes, piercing his black heart. As if her aversion toward him wasn’t enough to spark his competitive nature, the mass of dark curls springing from the knot at the nape of her neck tempted him further. Her enticing accent stirred long-forgotten memories of warm hearths and heather-covered fields. Her resolve to do things herself, the strength in her hands as she held on to the root, the mud speckling her gown and the dusting of freckles draped over her button nose, reminded him of all the reasons Hamish Sims’s proposition had held some appeal. Miles from city life promised a reprieve from social gatherings and the matchmaking mamas hoping to pawn their daughters onto his bank account. Besides, Hamish had argued, what better way to halt the incessant schemes than to marry a homely sort of lass? Duncan never expected a man he’d considered a friend to join ranks with scheming mothers. Hamish knew how he felt about marriage, but now Duncan wondered if the old man hadn’t spoken with some wisdom. Perhaps a marriage in name only could be beneficial.
“I have it on good authority that it is.” Duncan stretched his jaw, testing the damage left by Hamish, and then rubbed the back of his head where he’d landed on a rock.
“I don’t know what sort of sham you’re trying to pull, Mr. Murray. This land is not for sale.” The light sprinkling of rain turned to fat drops. She lifted her face to the rain. The droplets of mud washed away, leaving a soft glow bathing her cheeks. The corners of her mouth curved into a slight smile, as if
