you were egged in the last parade? This man is just obviously mad.
“Mrs. Colgan said she wrote to you and explained everything.” He took a step backward and tilted his hat brim up. “She said that we were all set.”
“What are you talking about?” Ada was ready to stamp her foot in frustration. He must be deranged, and yet he looked perfectly sane. More to the point, the dawning comprehension on his handsome features showed that he knew more about this entire farce than she did. “Perhaps you would care to enlighten me, since apparently you know me better than I know you?”
“Sure.” His expression darkened, as though he were unsure how to proceed. “You see, your aunt told me she had already arranged everything. We’re getting married. You and I.”
* * *
Jack Burnett waited, watching Miss Westmore with a wariness that served him well on the prairie. In height she stood only to the middle of his chest but gave the impression that she could lay him low if she got really riled up. She gazed up at him, her blue eyes darkening.
“That joke is in poor taste.”
“It’s not a joke.” He didn’t want to explain the whole thing out here, so close to the station platform. Too many people would see them, and this was not exactly the way he planned to start his married life. “Come on, I’ll take you to Mrs. Colgan.”
He handed her up into the buggy, then made his way to the driver’s seat.
She sat, rigid on the bench, an expression of utter confusion on her face. He climbed beside her and started the horses. When they’d gotten far enough away that they could no longer be heard by people on the station platform, he glanced over at her, anxiety building in his chest. Why didn’t she know about the arrangement? If she decided not to marry him, he would lose any hope of bringing his daughter home from boarding school.
He should explain, since it was pretty obvious that she’d never gotten her aunt’s letter. On the other hand, when trouble brewed, sometimes it was better to just leave things simmering for a while. Whenever he and his first wife, Emily, had fought, he’d go for a long ride on the prairie. Eventually, when he came home, they’d pretend nothing had happened. This was the best way to handle it. In fact, it would be better for her to hear it from her aunt. That news was probably better told from one woman to another, anyway.
“Do you mind telling me what’s going on?” She turned to look at him, her complexion drained of all color. “You are taking me to my aunt’s home, aren’t you? I warn you, I can kick hard, so don’t try anything untoward with me, sir.”
He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or groan. “I was going to let your aunt have a talk with you.” He would take himself out of the picture until things had settled down a bit. A man’s place was nowhere near an angry woman.
“I would prefer not to wait,” she replied crisply. “After all, you say we are betrothed. Why should I hear that only from you? Unless, of course, you are quite mad and this entire scenario is a figment of your imagination.”
He slowed the horses. “I’m not crazy.”
“Well, then.” She settled herself against the back of the seat. “Tell me.”
He sighed. This was not his strong suit. Confession didn’t come easily to him; nor did asking for help. Telling Miss Westmore that he needed her in order to win his daughter back from his autocratic father-in-law was humiliating and humbling. There was no way to beg her assistance nicely, which was why he’d depended on Pearl to do it for him. Even when he had married for love, as he’d done with Emily, he was not the type to say flowery things to a lady. When he was a green young man, he would have at least tried to court a lady. But he was twenty-six and, thanks to his life experiences, jaded beyond his years. If only they could already be married, with him out working the ranch and Miss Westmore at home making things cozy. Laura would be there, his sweet little girl. She was the only reason he had agreed to this outlandish scheme.
“It’s like this,” he began, hesitantly. “I need a wife.”
“Well, I don’t need a husband,” she shot back. “I can function quite well without one, thank you.”
“I’ve known your aunt for many years,” he went on, ignoring her. “When she got your letter, she came over and talked to me. I have the ranch next to hers. Anyway, she said that your family was pretty nigh desperate...” He trailed off. It was true that Mrs. Colgan had revealed that, but not, perhaps, the nicest thing to say aloud.
“So my aunt agreed to sell me into servitude, like a mail-order bride?” Miss Westmore’s voice had grown dangerously high, and two bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks. He gazed at her. Mrs. Colgan had been right. She was a very pretty girl, even if she was a termagant. “I don’t want to hear another word, Mr. Burnett.”
“Well, all right, but you do deserve an explanation,” he began. He’d be angry, too, come to think of it, if he came out to a new place and his whole life had been rearranged for him. “Sounds like Mrs. Colgan’s letter never did reach you.”
“Not another word,” she breathed, her eyes snapping. “I need to speak to my aunt.”
“I understand,” he replied. “The justice of the peace is likely to be waiting there, anyway.”
She shot him a look of pure loathing, and he was hard-pressed to keep from smiling. She certainly wasn’t dull, and that was refreshing. Emily would have sweetly gone along with the plan and then gotten little digs in here and there. He preferred a woman who was direct. A man knew where he stood with someone like Miss Westmore.
He whipped up the horses with a click of his tongue and a flick of the reins. Anyone would have a hard time adjusting to life in Texas after a life of comfort back east. To come to Texas so quickly—and after such tough times—would be even more difficult. Miss Westmore had shown gumption, and that was a prized commodity out here. Besides which, she was very pretty. He had a marked weakness for large blue eyes ringed with long dark lashes.
As he adjusted in his seat, the letter in his pocket crackled. When he’d arrived at the station, a note from Laura had been waiting for him. She was now ten years old, and her handwriting had improved to the point that she had been allowed to write the address on the outside of the envelope. That was good. Her boarding school was all right for the time being, but soon enough he would bring her home and he’d have a family again, once he was married to Miss Westmore.
If she would agree to it.
Mrs. Colgan would surely help with that, wouldn’t she?
He was so close to having his daughter home. What if Miss Westmore refused? She was really the perfect candidate for the job—wellborn, educated, cultured and refined. Without her help, everything would be just as it had been, with his wife’s father controlling everything regarding his daughter from the St. Clair estate in Charleston. It didn’t matter that Emily had died, or that the last few years of their marriage had been a sham. The St. Clairs were such an autocratic bunch. What a shame he’d married into them. At least he had gotten Laura out of the deal.
He clenched his jaw reflexively, as he always did when thinking about his daughter. He knew to the second when he’d last seen her. It was this past Christmas when he’d made the trip to St. Louis.
Miss Westmore was still stubbornly silent, staring fixedly at a point just in front of them. Pearl
