Книга - The Scoundrel

The Scoundrel
Lisa Plumley


Schooling the scoundrel…Brawny blacksmith Daniel McCabe is not the marrying kind. He likes his freedom just fine, and no Morrow Creek lady is going to change that! But an unexpected delivery makes the bachelor rethink his roguish ways.Daniel suddenly needs a wife–and longtime friend Sarah Crabtree is quick to oblige. After all, she's been sweet on Daniel for years. But then Sarah's dream turns into a nightmare. Her love match is nothing but a marriage of convenience! Now Sarah has to convince the biggest scoundrel in Arizona Territory to let her into his bed–and his heart….









The mattress sagged. Sarah rolled over, a smile on her face.


Daniel started in surprise, his heart pounding. He clutched the bed linens and stared back at her. His first thought was, She looks angelic. Which was daft. Then, What the hell is she doing here? He didn’t remember having gotten in bed with her last night, but that didn’t mean… Could he have sunk so low as to seduce Sarah?

What was the matter with him? Of a certain, he was a scoundrel. But to have taken advantage of an innocent like Sarah? His friend?

Hoping to figure things out, he risked a wary second glance at her. Yep. She gazed back at him as steadily and as trustfully as ever. Just as she had yesterday, when they’d…exchanged vows.

All at once, Daniel’s wedding rushed back to him, complete with Sarah’s prettiness and that disturbing thing she’d said after he’d carried her inside the house.

Now I believe we’re married.




Praise for Lisa Plumley


The Matchmaker

“…will have readers laughing out loud throughout most of the book. This is another keeper by Lisa Plumley.”

—A Romance Review

“…filled with charming characters, a sassy love story and laugh-out-loud antics. THE MATCHMAKER, as creative and unique as Molly’s cinnamon buns, will satisfy your sweet tooth. It’s a winner.”

—Old Book Barn Gazette

The Drifter

“A sweet Americana tale…this gentle love story will touch your heart!”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

“In this charming tale of acceptance Ms Plumley has touched a universal chord. Sparked with whimsy and humor, this is a thoroughly enjoyable book!”

—Rendezvous

“There’s a lot to like in THE DRIFTER. If you’ve missed those wonderful romances by LaVyrle Spencer, you might want to check it out!”

—Romance Reader




The Scoundrel

Lisa Plumley







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In loving memory of Verna Plumley




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen




Chapter One


August 1882

Morrow Creek, northern Arizona Territory

T here was only one thing Daniel McCabe didn’t understand about women—how a man could be expected to choose from among them. Beginning with the raven-haired ones and ending with the feisty ones, there was an endless variety of females for a man to sample. Settling down with just one seemed nigh unthinkable.

Curling his fist ’round the pint of Levin’s ale on his table at Jack Murphy’s saloon, Daniel smiled at the rouged-and-powdered beauty before him. Her costume shimmered of fiery satin; her bosoms pushed at its neckline in a way that made him wonder about the architecture of corsets. To make so much of so…much, the garments had to be fashioned of something sturdier than mere muslin and whalebones. Something more akin to tiny versions of the sleigh runners he’d been shaping at his blacksmith’s shop before coming here today.

The matter might require closer investigation, he reckoned. Much closer. How else to further his grasp of architecture and design? A man never knew when an intimate knowledge of such things might prove handy.

With a wider grin, Daniel propped both booted feet on the nearest ladder-back chair. Who was he fooling? If there was one thing he understood, it was ladies’ undergarments. The corset or garter had yet to be designed that could defeat him. ’Twas a point of pride, much like his knack for forging steel and wielding a twenty-pound hammer.

The snap of Jack Murphy’s bar towel pulled Daniel from his reverie. He glanced up to see the man scowling at him.

“Yes, Rose’s charms are a sight to behold,” the barkeep said in his drawling brogue. “But I brought you here to get your opinion on building a stage in that corner, McCabe. Not to watch you beguile my dancing troupe.”

“It’s unavoidable, Murphy. I can’t help it.”

“Try harder.”

“All right.” Reluctantly, Daniel spread his arms. “You heard him, ladies. I am not in the least charming, nor as irresistible as you might think. I am a serious man, with serious work to be done.”

The women on either side of Daniel giggled, plainly disbelieving. They did not budge.

Both were costumed as extravagantly as Rose. Both flirted just as boldly as she did. One laid her arm enticingly across his shoulders and pressed herself against him, her feathered headpiece tickling his nose. The other cooed over the fineness of his arms, honed by years of blacksmith’s labor. Each lady had promised him admission to her boardinghouse room later that evening, if he desired to receive “private dance instruction.”

To be sure, a man could hardly help but develop an interest. In waltzing, of course.

The lady to his right snuggled closer, not the least bit daunted by Daniel’s claims of seriousness. Their traveling ensemble had arrived in Morrow Creek two days past. They were set to perform at Jack Murphy’s saloon before moving west to San Francisco, if Murphy could construct a stage for them.

The barkeep’s exasperated gaze signaled his interest in doing exactly that. The Irishman was new to the territory, and Daniel liked him. He decided to try a bit harder.

“I warn you,” he told the troupe next. “I’m not a man for settling down. Neither am I a sweet talker, a fine dancer or even the least bit a dandy.” He nodded at his flannel shirt and rough-hewn canvas trousers. Although both were clean, they had seen hard use. “Stay away. You’d do well to cozy up to Murphy, instead. He’s a man of industry. Purpose. And coin.”

“Coin?” Murphy scoffed. “I was, before your aces turned up last night.”

“I never said I wasn’t lucky.”

The barkeep rolled his eyes.

“Only that you were a fine prospect for these ladies. Far finer than me.”

The women turned contemplative gazes upon the Irishman. One fluttered her fan. Another fluttered her eyelashes. As a group, they returned their attention to Daniel, undeterred.

Murphy snorted. He strode to the corner of the nearly empty saloon, his boots ringing across the scarred floorboards. With hands on hips, he surveyed the area where the makeshift stage was meant to be built.

Daniel shrugged, his grin wide. “See?” he called out to his friend. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“Hmm.” Rose sashayed a little closer. “I’d wager there are a few things you can do. Quite well, at that.”

Her ribald gaze swept over him, taking in his oversize frame and nonchalant pose. Daniel gave her a wink. He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted—just so long as what she wanted wasn’t him in a marriage noose.

Contemplating what diversions the night might hold, he pulled out a Mexican cigarillo. Eagerly, the lady to his left held out the table lamp to light it with. With an arch of his eyebrow, he murmured his thanks. These women were uncommonly bold. But at least they weren’t like most of the women in town—many of whom were inconveniently marriage-minded. Dallying with one of Murphy’s dancers would prove pleasurable…and pleasure, above all, was what Daniel lived for. Life was too short to be spent among missed opportunities.

It was also too short to shirk a promise to a friend.

Regretfully, he stood. His cigarillo’s plume of rich tobacco smoke trailed his progress across the room to join Murphy. In his wake, the dancers sighed.

Daniel offered them an apologetic over-the-shoulder glance—coupled with a smile to promise he’d make up for their disappointment later. Maybe he’d finish his ale, order a bath and invite one of the ladies to join him. Cleanliness was a virtue, after all. Or maybe that was patience. Either way, he reckoned he had things square.

He squinted at the space Murphy indicated. “You already talked to Copeland about getting the lumber from his mill?”

The barkeep nodded. “It’ll cost me plenty. But even after paying Rose and her girls, a dance show ought to make a profit.”

“Even after you factor in paying off Grace Crabtree?”

Murphy tilted his head in confusion.

“She’s bound to cause a ruckus once she hears you’ve got dance-hall ladies here,” Daniel said. “I’ve known them Crabtree girls all my life. Grace is the most trouble of the lot. She’s all het up over women’s suffrage. Other things, too.”

“That’s got nothing to do with me.”

“You’ll see. Grace is a meddler. If she decides to make this place one of her damnable ‘causes’—”

“My saloon isn’t a—”

“That’s what Ned Nickerson thought,” Daniel interrupted. “Until Grace and some of her friends chained themselves to the awning of his Book Depot and News Emporium, protesting because he didn’t have some lady author’s highfalutin book or other. In the end, Deputy Winston had to haul ’em away.”

Murphy frowned. Most likely, Daniel figured, he was imagining a passel of troublemaking females all picketing his saloon. With reason. Grace was a handful, and she knew most everyone in town. The Crabtrees in general were a bunch of original thinkers, prone to all sorts of oddball behavior. With one exception, of course.

“I could put in a good word for you with Grace’s sister,” Daniel offered. Murphy was out of his depth—whether he realized it or not. “Sarah’s the only sensible one of the lot. She’ll see that Grace ought to leave well enough alone.”

With a skeptical shake of his head, the barkeep strode the width of the corner, measuring the space available for his stage. For a moment, he was silent.

Then, “I can cope with Grace Crabtree.”

The man was deluded. “Have you never tangled with a woman before? Most of them are beyond reason.”

“I can cope with Grace Crabtree.”

Clearly, Murphy hadn’t spent much time with the fairer sex.

Daniel shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”

“No, it’s my saloon. I’ll see no one interfering with it.”

“Oh, yes, you will. Mark my words.”

One ale and two flirtatious encounters with the pouting dancers later, Daniel finished his measurements for Murphy’s stage. Although he wasn’t a carpenter by trade, he’d done his share of building, all the same. By the time he was old enough to reach for a straight razor for his peach fuzz, he’d grown a head taller than most men. Because of that, he’d learned to erect barns, raise roofs and rebuild storm-damaged houses…all while apprenticing as a blacksmith.

Now that he’d finished his plans for the stage, it had grown late. Murphy’s saloon was packed to the rafters with miners and merchants, ranchers and lumbermen. Tinny music accompanied Rose’s impromptu dance beside the piano—as did raucous cheers from the men watching. She fluttered her fan and swiveled her hips, belting out a rowdy rendition of a sentimental tune.

Comfortable at his table with dancers again on either side, Daniel smoked his second cigarillo. He tilted his head and aimed smoke rings at the fancy lanterns overhead, feeling satisfied. He had a whiskey at his elbow, a bellyful of Murphy’s tinned beans and bread, a friendly obligation fulfilled and the promise of a delectable evening’s entertainment ahead. A man’s life didn’t get much better than that.

“Daniel McCabe!” someone yelled. “McCabe?”

He glanced sideways. Several men stepped aside for a boy in a baggy suit and low hat. Daniel recognized him as the clerk from the railroad depot. He made his way through the crowd, an expression of urgency on his young face.

“Is Daniel McCabe here?”

“Over here, boy.” Lazily, Daniel indicated the one remaining chair at his table. “Why don’t you sit a spell?”

The dancers murmured their agreement. The clerk gawked at them, at their impressive bosoms, then at the empty chair. A blush rose clear from his starched collar to his eyebrows.

“No, thank you, sir. I couldn’t.”

“Sure, you could. I have one lady more than I can handle, anyway.”

The dancers tittered. They leaned his way with joint protests. Another minute and he’d forget the boy was there at all. Resolutely, Daniel focused on the clerk.

“Well?”

“Well, uh… I came to bring you a message. You’ve got a delivery down at the railroad depot.”

“A delivery? I’m not expecting anything. Are you sure it’s for me? McCabe?”

“I’m sure. We haven’t been able to determine much else about it, but we know one thing for sure. It’s for you.”

“I’ll get it tomorrow.” Daniel raised his whiskey in the clerk’s direction. “You man enough for one of these? I’ll buy you a boost for your trouble in coming down here to find me.”

“Oh, no. You’ve got to come with me. Tonight.”

A portion of Daniel’s good cheer evaporated. “I’ve got plans for tonight. Believe me, they don’t include hightailing it to the train depot.”

Inconveniently, the boy held fast. He didn’t so much as glance at the proffered glass of Old Orchard.

Daniel held out a coin instead. “Here. If you’re not a drinking man, take this to the apothecary. Get yourself one of those medicinal soda waters they sell. Maybe it’ll grow some hair on your chest.”

The clerk’s blush deepened, but he straightened his spine doggedly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist you come with me.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows. “You insist?”

The boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Uhhh…yes, sir.”

Squinting against his cigarillo smoke, Daniel eyeballed the clerk. He was plain ruining his night—and his plans for Beatrice, the dancer to his right, too. There was something downright intriguing about that feather in her hair….

But if the boy had to “insist” one more time, he looked as if he might piss his britches. Daniel had that effect on men sometimes. He didn’t mean for it to happen. There was just something about his size, his strength…his reputation for bending steel.

He heaved a sigh, drained his whiskey, then stood. “All right. Stay here, ladies. I’ll be back before you can say ‘lickety-split.’”

He would not be back before “lickety-split.”

In fact, he’d be lucky to get back before his dancing girls pulled foot for San Francisco, Daniel realized. That much became clear the moment he stepped on the platform at the train depot and spotted the commotion there.

He surveyed the gathering crowd. At this time of night—when lanterns illuminated the platform and a dark breeze made the nearby ponderosa pines swish and creak—most people should have been abed, not at the depot. But there was a sizable crowd there, all the same. Ambling nearer in the clerk’s wake, Daniel cocked his head toward the mysterious thumps and muffled swear words he heard. Some kind of scuffling reached him next.

“C’mere, you little hooligan!” the stationmaster said, grabbing for something Daniel couldn’t see.

Whatever it was, it managed to duck away. Several women squealed. The whole group surged backward in a clatter of boot heels and ladies’ button-ups.

“All aboard!”

To Daniel’s right at the waiting train, the conductor issued his standard boarding call for the westbound 8:47 passage. Then, hardly waiting for any response, he jumped on the train and signaled the engineer. Smoke bellowed from the engines as the cars pulled out. The train looked, Daniel would have sworn, to be in a marked hurry.

Curious.

The clerk nudged him. “Looks like your delivery’s still here,” he observed, nodding to the crowd.

From within it came more scuffling. More swearing. More squealing. Apparently, Daniel’s “delivery” was a part of that mess.

At the realization, a sense of prickly unease rushed over him. Something was akilter here. Worse, he’d just been called into the thick of it.

Regretfully, Daniel let pass a moment’s mourning for the waltz lessons he’d doubtless be missing. Then he strode forward. He wasn’t a man to back down from a challenge, no matter how much cussing and fighting was involved. Or how much mystery.

At Daniel’s approach, the murmuring crowd parted. In its midst, he glimpsed the beleaguered-looking stationmaster, then someone about waist height. A child. Before he could do more than take note of the boy’s dirt-smudged face, big dark eyes and wild demeanor, the child glanced up. Recognition sparked in his expression.

“You’re here!”

An instant later, the boy hurled himself at Daniel’s midsection. The tinned beans, bread and ale he’d consumed for dinner were jostled mightily by the impact. Wincing, Daniel took the child by the shoulders and set him apart.

Or at least he tried to. The boy was uncommonly wiry and determined, to boot. When Daniel gently pulled, the child merely…stretched a little, his grimy fingers clenched fast on Daniel’s leather belt.

Confused, Daniel looked up. Although the crowd had not dispersed in the least, the stationmaster had already begun retreating to his usual post. The man brushed his palms together and waddled across the platform, shoulders sagging with relief. The clerk, too, scurried to the depot’s entrance.

They both moved, it occurred to Daniel, with the same haste the train conductor and engineer had employed.

“Hold, there!” Daniel bellowed.

At his shout, the boy started. His scrawny shoulders jerked. A mighty snuffle issued from the vicinity of Daniel’s shirtfront. Awkwardly, he lowered his voice.

“What about my delivery?” he demanded.

“You’re holdin’ it,” the stationmaster said.

The clerk nodded.

Daniel frowned.

The crowd watched avidly. Their expressions put him in mind of the sight that probably greeted a lion tamer when he looked out from inside the circus ring. What the hell was going on here? Had everyone gone daft?

“I was not expecting…a child.”

“We’ve heard that afore!” someone shouted from the crowd.

Titters followed.

“Yeah. Long about April, after a long winter’s rest.”

More chortles. Daniel didn’t find this situation funny in the least. A child had attached itself to him—a child who appeared to know him. Experimentally, he took a step sideways. The boy trundled right in time with him. ’Twas like having a third boot. Or an extra arm. Or a squirmy, four-foot shadow. One that smelled like cabbages and surreptitiously wiped its nose on Daniel’s shirtsleeve.

Again he tried to wrench the boy free. This time, he accomplished a full three-inch space between them before the child locked his bony arms around as much of Daniel’s middle as he could reach and hurled himself forward once more.

Something inside Daniel lurched a little, as well. Most likely, it was the further settling of his dinner. But it felt a scant bit like some mush-hearted emotion…concern, maybe. Staunchly, he shoved it back. He placed both hands over the urchin’s ears.

“You’ll have to take him back,” Daniel commanded in a low voice. “This is a mistake. I can’t take delivery on a child.”

“He’s yours,” the stationmaster said. “Good luck.”

“He’s not mine.”

Several onlookers snickered. Exasperated, Daniel rolled his eyes. There’d be whispers now. By morning, rumor would have it that he’d fathered ten bastards between swallowing his morning coffee and arriving at the depot. That was the way of things in Morrow Creek.

Drawing in a deep breath, Daniel moved his hands away from the child’s ears. As he did, he became aware of the boy’s gritty, unkempt hair—and the striking disparity between his beefy hands and the child’s small head. Clearly, the boy was too helpless to take care of himself. He needed someone to watch over him. At least for tonight.

But it could not be Daniel. The notion was preposterous.

Who would place a child—however stinky, scrawny and troublesome—in the care of a renowned bachelor like him?

The boy shifted. From someplace within his bedraggled coat, he produced a packet of twine-wrapped papers. He let loose of Daniel’s belt just long enough to offer the bundle.

“I’m s’posed to give this to you.” His gimlet gaze latched on the stationmaster, who’d lingered to watch. “Only you. I rec’nized you from the picture my mama showed me.”

Daniel examined the boy’s defiant face. Though dirt-smudged, his features looked familiar. They looked…a little like his own. God help him.

Scowling, he accepted the papers.

The crowd pushed nearer. A deeper scowl sent them back again, affording Daniel room—and lantern light—to read. The moment he glimpsed the handwriting on the fine stationery before him, he knew nothing would ever be the same again.

Briefly, he closed his eyes. He’d need strength to confront the revelation awaiting him. Strength, and a goodly measure of whiskey, too. But since the whiskey was back in his old life—the life that included dancing girls, carefree days and no one watching him with hopeful, little-boy eyes—Daniel knew he might as well get on with it.

A minute later, he put his hand on the child’s shoulder. Ignoring the curious onlookers, he hunched low, so only the boy would hear him.

“Eli, you did a fine job of this. You should be proud, coming all this way on the train by yourself.”

Solemnly, Eli met his gaze. “I know. I won this coat playing marbles.”

After that, the truth was plain. Daniel could harbor no doubts at all.

Gently, he squeezed Eli’s shoulder. Then he addressed the waiting crowd. “This boy is mine,” he said gruffly.

New murmurs whisked across the platform. Daniel couldn’t be bothered by them. In truth, he’d never cared for rumors. He couldn’t be troubled even by those concerning him.

“Come with me, Eli. It’s time we went home.”




Chapter Two


Two months later

S arah Crabtree’s first proposal of marriage came between geography and literature during her inaugural year of teaching. She blamed it largely on student boredom and vowed to make her lessons more involving. The second came a year and a half later, coupled with a ten-year-old’s favorite frog and a promise to “study ’rithmatic harder.” She pinned her pretty pink gown for that one and vowed to dress more sensibly.

Neither of those proposals prepared her for the third one, though, which she received on a blustery afternoon in late October. For it, she could find no excuse at all…but she did promise herself to remember it. Because it came from the man she’d been sweet on for years, and it wasn’t likely to be repeated.

It started out innocently enough, after lessons had ended for the day. She’d just climbed on the schoolhouse ladder to shelve some books when her longtime friend Daniel McCabe strode in, filling the small timber-framed room with the scent of the outdoors, his loud footfalls and his undeniably masculine presence.

“That’s it,” he announced, stopping beside her ladder in clear exasperation. “I need a wife.”

I volunteer, she almost blurted.

No, that would never do. She’d hidden her feelings for too long now. She couldn’t go casting them about willy-nilly at the first opportunity. Clenching her hand on the next book, Sarah made herself affect an airy tone.

“My, my, Daniel. Those are four words I never thought to hear from you.”

“Well, you just did. I mean it, too.”

At the grumble he gave, Sarah chanced a downward glance. Yes, Daniel looked exactly as burly and wonderful as he always did. Also, fairly perturbed. The realization stifled the sigh she’d been about to unloose. Hoping to improve his mood, she tried teasing.

“You don’t fool me.” She moved down a few rungs, skirts swishing, for the next armload of books. “You’d as soon pluck out every hair on your head as settle down with one woman.”

“Hmmph. I think I’m doing that anyway. Maybe it’s time to get some help.”

“Help pulling out your hair?” Sarah grinned. “Grace would volunteer. Her ladies’ aid group is making hand-woven hair switches for convalescents this week.”

He stared, agape. Hiding her grin with a studious-looking scrutiny of the volumes in her arms, Sarah grabbed the ladder. She climbed higher. Sometimes she thought Daniel truly didn’t understand her sister’s altruistic nature. Many people did not.

“No. I want to keep what’s left.” Ruefully, he rubbed his scalp.

She caught the telltale motion and looked around for the one person who could always rile up Daniel McCabe. Little Eli was just visible through the schoolhouse window, hopping outdoors in the autumn-crisped grass.

Hmm. Perhaps Daniel had reached the end of his renowned patience. A child like Eli could do that to a person. The whole town had been predicting it since Daniel took the boy in.

He saw the direction of her gaze. Frowned. “Last month, Eli nicked penny candy from Luke’s mercantile. Two days after that, he let loose all of old lady Harrison’s chickens. It took her hours to find them all. A week ago, he got caught pulling the girls’ hair on the way home from school.”

“An eye for the ladies,” Sarah murmured. “Like father, like son.”

His sharp-eyed look stopped her. She didn’t know what he was so irritated about. Although Eli was the very image of Daniel himself, Sarah didn’t really believe all those rumors about Daniel having illegitimately fathered the boy. Daniel claimed Eli was his nephew, and she trusted him. He knew that. But whatever their relationship, the saying fit.

Daniel was a rogue. Eli was a rapscallion. They were a matched set, an ideal—if troublesome—twosome.

“Yesterday, he swapped my coffee beans for dirt clods,” Daniel went on, obviously too beleaguered to take exception any further. He strode across the schoolroom, past the desks and the children’s hastily pushed-in benches. “When I took a big slurp of the brew, he laughed his fool head off.”

“You couldn’t tell the difference?”

“Afterward, I could. And now.” His glare could have pierced the windowpane, it was so severe. Beyond it, Eli frolicked, unconcerned. “Another tussle at school. This is the third time this month.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Sarah said gently. Eli’s adjustment to life in Morrow Creek had not been easy—and it had not yet been fully accomplished, either. “I’ve been trying to help him. To help you both. You know I have.”

Daniel inclined his head, silently acknowledging the visits she’d paid to their bachelor house, the books she’d read, the meals she’d delivered courtesy of the Crabtrees’ cook. But he didn’t stop pacing—and he didn’t look much relieved, either.

“But,” she continued, “I won’t allow any child to disrupt my classroom or my other students. That’s why I had to ask you to come collect Eli yourself today.”

Daniel fisted his hand, frustration evident in every line of his hardened body. “I can’t keep leaving my blacksmith’s shop like this. I need to earn my living.”

“You need to be a father to Eli.”

He shook his head. “That’s not enough.” He wheeled around, his expression newly determined. “What I need is a wife. A good one.”

That again. He couldn’t be serious. Daniel McCabe was the most well-known scoundrel in the northern part of the territory. Although Sarah hadn’t captured his heart for herself, she knew she didn’t have to worry about another woman accomplishing that miracle, either. Daniel didn’t honestly want a bride. The very idea was outlandish. He was simply overwrought right now because of Eli’s shenanigans.

She shelved another book, then gave him a complacent wave. “A ‘good’ wife, hmmm? I may be wrong, Daniel, but I don’t think you’re in any position to be dictatorial.”

He snorted. His raised eyebrows made her smile. Clearly, the notion that he might not always be in command of things came as an astonishment to him.

“A wife will take care of Eli,” he said, his enthusiasm for taking a bride undimmed. “A wife is what I’ve needed all along. I should have gotten myself one weeks ago.”

“You can’t order a wife from the Bloomingdale Brothers’ catalog, like a new suit.”

But Daniel wasn’t listening. He was running his hand through his hair again, thinking. He pulled his palm away and frowned anew.

“I’ve pulled out more hair than I thought these past weeks. At this rate, I’ll be bald before winter’s out.”

She glanced downward, bemused. Nothing had changed—Daniel still possessed enough thick, dark hair for a man and a half. Besides, he’d still be handsome to her, even with no hair at all. Sarah wanted to tell him so, to put his mind at ease. But experience had taught her better than that.

Instead, she settled on, “Bald, eh? All right, then. I guess you’d better hurry up with that wife business.”

“Hmmph.”

Pointedly, she peered at the crown of his head. “You wouldn’t want to scare away any potential brides.”

Amid another surreptitious examination of his locks, he stilled his hand. “They’re that fussy?”

As a spinster herself, Sarah had no idea. But she knew Daniel didn’t, either. So she nodded knowledgeably. “The savvy ones are. The ones who want a husband with a full head of hair.”

He furrowed his brow, looking increasingly worried. She felt a little deceitful, carrying on this way. But she simply couldn’t resist. It wasn’t often Daniel was uncertain about anything—especially anything to do with women. Besides, this was all in fun. He’d forget the whole idea by tomorrow.

“But you don’t want a potential bride who scares easily,” she cautioned. “That wouldn’t do.”

He nodded, encouraging her. Perhaps foolishly.

“You need someone with fortitude,” she opined.

Another nod.

“Someone who’s organized,” she offered. “Someone who’s efficient and orderly.”

He made a face. “I’m not opening a mercantile. I’m getting hitched.”

Noncommittally, she shelved another book. Daniel was taking this far too seriously. Ordinarily, the two of them teased each other often. But this time…a prickle of unease nagged at her. Could Daniel really mean to find himself a wife?

Before Sarah could contemplate the matter further, a rustle at the schoolhouse doorway alerted her to another presence in the room. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hello, Emily.”

The nine-year-old girl murmured a quiet greeting.

“Your slate is there at your desk, right where you left it. I thought you might be back for it.”

“Thank you, Miss Crabtree.”

Emily snatched up her slate and ran out, pigtails flying. Satisfied, Sarah blew a dust mote from her shelf and resumed working.

Below her, Daniel glanced out the window. Emily—one hand protectively on her hair—was making her way cautiously around Eli. After she’d passed, the boy went back to hopping.

“How did you know who that was?” Daniel asked. “You didn’t even turn around.”

She shrugged. “This is my job. Just like your new mercantile will be your job. Yours and your organized new bride’s.”

He did not take the bait. He only went on discussing his impending marriage…as though it might actually take place.

“All I need is a woman who’s amenable,” Daniel said, his usual certainty firmly in place. “And knowledgeable about children. That should be easy enough to find.”

Sarah rammed in another volume. She’d had just about enough. A jest was a jest, but this… Daniel was beginning to sound downright resolute about finding a wife. Even worse, he’d already rejected her as a candidate! No matter that he didn’t know it yet. Those wifely qualities she’d suggested to him—bravery, fortitude and keen skills in the areas of organization, efficiency and order? They happened to be some of her personal best. He’d dismissed them out of hand.

A woman who’s amenable. And knowledgeable about children.

Hmmph. She possessed plenty of amenability. And who could be more knowledgeable about children than a schoolmarm?

It wasn’t that she wanted to make herself a potential candidate. Not exactly. Not for an arrangement like this. Sarah wanted a love match. She wanted Daniel. She’d already made up her mind to wait until she could have both. This new scheme of his was trying her patience in the extreme, though.

Experimentally, she plastered an amenable simper on her face. She glanced down to gauge its effect.

Daniel looked oblivious. He’d crossed his arms over his broad chest and was studying the pine plank floorboards.

“She should be passing fair to look at, too,” he said decisively, adding another item to the list of his potential wife’s qualifications. “That wouldn’t hurt.”

His anticipatory chuckle got her dander up. Sarah shoved in the next book. There were any number of women who were “passing fair to look at” in Morrow Creek. Not one of them was good enough for Daniel. Or Eli, for that matter.

She’d obviously have to do something about this. Scuttling her plans to give Daniel time to realize the obvious—that they were meant for each other—Sarah set her expression in a dubious frown. The amenable simper hadn’t felt a natural fit, anyway.

“Having a wife might help,” she agreed as she put away a book of poetry. “But on the other hand…”

At her hesitation, Daniel squinted upward impatiently. Just as she’d known he would.

“Out with it, Sarah. ‘On the other hand,’ what?”

“On the other hand, planning a wedding can require an awful lot of time. Time you don’t have, as you pointed out yourself.”

“Fine. I’ll let my bride plan the wedding.”

Oh, that would be lovely! Seduced by the very thought, Sarah let her imagination run unchecked. Visions of a fairy-tale wedding swirled in her head—a wedding between her and Daniel. Her imagination dressed her in her finest gown and Daniel in a fancy suit. Eli carried flowers. The whole of Morrow Creek gathered for a celebration fit to rival even her sister Molly’s grandiose marriage to Marcus Copeland last month.

She would serve spice cake from her sister’s bakery, Sarah determined, and memorize all her vows….

“Because I don’t have time to waste,” Daniel said, interrupting her reverie. “Eli needs a woman’s influence. Now.”

Her daydream popped like so many soapsuds. But perhaps there was still a way to salvage this situation.

“Are you sure there’s not more to it than that?” Sarah glanced downward. Her heart squeezed painfully at the sight of him. “Maybe there’s another reason you want a wife.”

Like love. Longing. An overly delayed realization that your ideal partner has been here all along, alphabetizing dusty tomes about literature and history.

He scoffed. She wanted to kick herself for voicing the question at all. Aggravated, Sarah shelved the next book. She often forgot herself around Daniel. They’d been friends for so long.

Her family always said that her tendency to ignore the obvious—usually in favor of some dreamy notions of her own—would get her in trouble someday. Dangling her lovelorn hopes in front of a confirmed bachelor like Daniel McCabe most definitely counted as trouble.

Well. She’d simply stop doing that, then. Easy as that.

“Steady my ladder, would you, please?” Sarah asked briskly, needing very much to move on. “I want to grab that next pile.”

Instead of doing as she’d asked, Daniel slid the stack of books from her desk himself. Effortlessly, he offered up the heavy volumes one by one. Then he absently steadied her ladder with both big hands on a lower rung. She felt its wooden frame wobble with the impact, then turn as solid as the earth beneath Eli’s kicking feet.

That was Daniel, Sarah reflected. He set her off balance without even knowing it…yet always remained nearby for her to rely upon.

Although she’d never have revealed as much to him, his presence was the aspect of her day she looked forward to most. Between planning lessons, grading schoolwork and traversing the path between her schoolhouse and the Crabtrees’ lively household, Daniel was always in her thoughts. Without him, her days would feel half as sunny…and twice as lonely.

An unwelcome thought occurred to her. What if he found a disagreeable wife? One who disapproved of their friendship?

Obviously, she could not leave such an important decision up to Daniel. Sarah decided to return to the reason for his newfound interest in matrimony—the wayward boy he’d found unexpectedly in his charge.

“About Eli,” she began. “I know you’ve had your share of troubles with him, but I’m not so certain he needs a woman’s influence. After all, you’re a capable man who—”

“Does my smithing fire need its pit to contain it?”

Oh, dear.

“I’ve decided,” Daniel said. “That’s that.”

No. That most definitely wasn’t “that.” It couldn’t be. If Daniel got himself a wife, he’d be lost to her forever. Desperately, Sarah cast about for another tactic.

“And you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“Do you also need a woman’s influence?”

His hearty laughter rang out. She’d have sworn it rocked the very ladder she stood upon. Sarah clutched its top rung, then ladled some starch in her voice.

“I expect that’s a no?”

“I influence women. Not the other way ’round.”

“That’s what you think,” she grumbled.

“What’s that?”

“I said, ‘Not for the better, either.’”

“Pshaw. I’ve never dallied with a woman who wasn’t willing.”

Much to her chagrin, Sarah didn’t doubt it. Glancing down at Daniel with an attempt at impartiality—the way his potential bride might—she surveyed his brawny shoulders, rugged upturned face and devilish dark eyes. At one glance, she knew his words to be true. Women would be willing to dally with Daniel.

Although not as fancily turned out as some of the dandies who came through Morrow Creek, he was, to her eye, more perfectly formed than all of them. He had a special quality about him, too. A quality that promised laughter and protection in equal measure.

To her, he also promised strength. Kindness. Affection. He had since they’d trod this same schoolroom together years ago—she in short skirts, he in mended britches.

“Well. Not all women are so easily influenced,” she said.

“I’ve yet to find the one who isn’t.”

Instantly, a rebuttal jumped into her head. Sarah thought it best to leave her disagreement unspoken. After all, she could hardly count herself the exception to Daniel’s charm. The fact that he was oblivious to his effect on her was probably for the best. It helped preserve her pride, at least. For a woman born into a family as exceptional as hers, pride was nothing to be taken for granted.

Apparently, neither was her friendship with Daniel.

Sarah didn’t know what to do. She’d fancied him for so long, she’d half convinced herself he’d return her feelings eventually…once he’d finished sowing his wild oats, of course. But apparently Eli’s arrival had set something new in motion.

Outside, the boy’s movements caught her eye. He stomped in a pile of fallen oak leaves, scattering their rusty colors to the wind.

“It’s getting colder outside these days,” she said, welcoming the distraction from her troubling thoughts. “You should put a warmer coat on Eli.”

“He won’t give up that coat. He won it playing marbles.”

She chose not to pursue that. “And a hat. And a scarf. And some mittens, too.”

Silence. Then, “I’ll just get busy knitting all that.”

At his gruff jest, Sarah smiled. That was the Daniel she was used to. His teasing didn’t daunt her. In this, she knew she was right.

Of course, she was right in her opinions of his wife-hunting plans, too. If she had anything to say about his choice… Well. Naturally, she’d have a say. She only needed to regroup. He’d caught her by surprise. For now, Sarah determined, she’d finish working and handle this matter later.

That settled, she waggled her fingers in a no-nonsense way, gesturing for Daniel to hand up the last volume from her desk. As the book passed between their fingers, his regard fell upon her. A speculative expression crossed his face—almost as though he saw her for the first time. Which, given their long friendship, was hardly likely.

“You,” he said, “would make someone a fine wife.”

Or maybe it was.

Her heart pounded. She had to be hearing things. Her tendency to flights of fancy had finally gotten the better of her.

“I would make a fine wife?”

“I reckon so.” A little of the revelatory manner left his voice. Daniel’s tone grew surer. “Don’t know why I didn’t see it before. You’re a fine schoolmarm and a practical person. You can see children without even turning around. You know all about warm winter clothes. You’re perfect. You, Sarah Crabtree, would make an excellent wife.”

This she hadn’t foreseen. Daniel sounded nearly jubilant, too. That was never a good sign. He was as given to impulsiveness as she was to stubbornness. As proof, she looked to his reckless smile. It had grown twice as wide just now.

She needed time to think. Also, time apart from that charm-filled smile in which to do it. Drawing in a deep breath, Sarah made herself finish shelving the book in her hand. It was a volume on mathematics, clothbound and heavy. She frowned slightly, as though in concentration, but her mind flew.

“That’s true,” she agreed. “I would make an excellent wife.”

After all, her feminine pride would allow nothing less.

But as she chanced another look at Daniel, she felt herself being pulled in even further by the force of his appeal. Like other men brandished crooked noses or blue eyes or bowed legs, Daniel wielded irresistible charm. It was a part of him. She’d never been very adept at ignoring it.

Until now, she’d been directing this conversation about wifely qualities—and Daniel’s need for the same. Uneasily, Sarah felt her control of the situation slipping. She didn’t like it. But Daniel quite obviously did.

He stepped away decisively, leaving her ladder to wobble.

“We’re in agreement, then. Good. Will a week be enough time for you to plan?”

“Plan?”

“Our wedding.” He gave her a smile, pleased as punch to have things settled. “Yours and mine.”

She opened her mouth to…what? Disagree? This was what she’d wanted. Mutely, Sarah nodded. Lord, what was she doing?

“Good.”

Daniel strode to the schoolhouse doorway, his shoulders lightened without the burden he’d carried when arriving. There he paused, glancing over his shoulder. Relief brightened his features. Clear enthusiasm shone in his eyes. In his every aspect, he was a man prepared to conquer the world around him—including his future bride.

For one wistful instant, Sarah let herself wonder how this moment might have passed, had theirs been a typical proposal…a true engagement. She envisioned Daniel smiling down at her, pulling her in his arms, murmuring promises and sweet words of affection. She imagined him touching her face, bringing his mouth to hers, kissing her with passion and love. Those were the things she wanted most.

But instead, Daniel’s hearty, rumbling voice interrupted her daydreams.

“One more thing,” he said.

“Yes?” Sarah lifted her gaze to find a peculiar expression on his face. Her heartbeat quickened once more. Was this it? The moment he’d realize the truth? Just in case, she prepared herself for him to stride across the room and take her romantically in his arms.

“You should know, Eli has a distinct appreciation for cabbage. Be ready to eat it at least three times a week.”

Daniel watched her expectantly. Sarah had no idea how to respond. As it turned out, a response wasn’t necessary. In the next moment, her bridegroom-to-be offered a wink, then disappeared from sight. Probably off to finagle himself a church and minister, Sarah thought in a daze.

Or more cabbages. After this day’s surprises, she just couldn’t be certain.




Chapter Three


T he day of Daniel’s wedding dawned clear and chilly, filled with cold sunlight. The mountain air fell to rest, leaving the pine and oak trees still. ’Twas a good day for a wedding—a practical day. As far as Daniel was concerned, the no-nonsense weather suited a no-nonsense arrangement. An arrangement like the one he’d come to with Sarah.

He figured he would enjoy being married to her. At least as much as he could enjoy being married at all. If a man had to get hitched, Sarah was a good prospect—sturdy, sweet and biddable. She fit his qualifications of being both amenable and experienced with children, and she’d be able to bring mischievous Eli in line right away. Hell, he reckoned she’d probably enjoy exercising her mothering instincts while she was doing it. Daniel was practically doing her a favor.

Feeling good about that, he tossed through his wardrobe for the pair of fine britches he rarely wore. Made of sober scratchy wool the color of tree bark, they matched his only suit coat and were the best he could manage for a special occasion. In honor of that occasion, he also searched for a fancy shirt. Sarah deserved a bridegroom who arrived at the church looking a mite finer than Daniel usually did—fit for better than sweating over a hot blacksmith’s fire all day.

He paused, considering what his bride might look like when she arrived. The furthest he could imagine was a billowy white dress—and even that was stretching things, given that Sarah generally wore the plainest clothes she could find. In fact, her whole appearance was plain. Ordinary brown hair scraped in a bun at her neck. Teasing eyes. And…what else?

Daniel squinted, trying to bring Sarah’s face in view. All he conjured were the vaguest details. He guessed he’d never examined her closely. With a shrug, he dismissed the effort. That was probably the way Sarah wanted it. Anyone could tell that ladies like the dance-hall troupe wanted to be looked at. His longtime friend clearly did not.

As far as he could recall, though, Sarah did look serviceable enough that she wouldn’t be an eyesore over bacon and eggs in the mornings. That would be right fine, Daniel told himself as he got dressed. There were more important considerations than whether or not Sarah made him question the architecture of her bustle.

Striding through his small house, Daniel paused at the kitchen table. Eli sat there with one foot bolstered on his chair seat, spooning up the leftovers of last night’s beans and corn bread. Daniel ruffled the boy’s sleep-rumpled hair, gave him an affectionate tickle under the arm, then moved on to stoke the stove. Maybe he’d borrow a flatiron from old Agnes Harrison next door and fancy up his and Eli’s duds but good. Ironing couldn’t be that difficult. Hell, Daniel handled hot metal every day.

After he’d wolfed down the rest of the corn bread and a quantity of honey, Daniel found his thoughts turning again to Sarah. Although she was a female, most of the time she was nearly as sensible as a man. He’d never known her to be anything less than agreeable, faithful and tolerant. And she shared Daniel’s views—their simple marriage arrangement was proof of that.

He hadn’t had to charm her, cajole her or engage in mush-hearted, untrustworthy nonsense like courting her, either. Truthfully, the businesslike nature of their arrangement had come as a relief. He was not a man who believed in giving over to sentimental pap—now, since Eli’s arrival, more than ever.

Most importantly, Daniel assured himself, Sarah knew him. Since their days in the schoolroom together—he, copying answers from her slate; she, charitably allowing him to—they’d been inseparable friends. Uniquely among women, Sarah understood his fondness for late nights, good whiskey and masculine disarray. She wouldn’t expect to change him. That was a quality he valued in her.

Not that he intended to cheat Sarah in this marriage arrangement. Frowning at the very notion, Daniel washed up, then stropped his shaving razor. It would be good for her, too. She wanted children. He now had a child, and he didn’t mind sharing Eli one whit. The boy was too much trouble for one person. Even one person as skilled as Daniel ordinarily was.

Caring for an eight-year-old boy was more than he’d ever counted on. It would be unnatural for him to prove talented at womanly arts like cooking, coddling and making sense of sewing up Eli’s tiny britches when they ripped through after a bout of snake hunting. Hell, Daniel hadn’t been able to find a pair of clean socks for either of them for the past week. That proved something, didn’t it?

Satisfied this arrangement would be right for everyone concerned, Daniel spent the rest of the morning preparing for Sarah’s arrival. For the first time in his life, he wielded a flatiron—then gave thanks it would be the last he’d have to do with the puny thing. For the first time in weeks, he got Eli into a bath—then gave thanks Sarah would be the one to threaten, bribe and chase sixty-five pounds of slippery, defiant boy next time.

For the first time in recent memory, Daniel even tidied up. He counted it as a demonstration of how much he looked forward to the meal Sarah would doubtless cook for them that night. After a frowning perusal of the kitchen, he paid special care to sweeping a clean path between the cookstove and food cupboard. There. That was better.

All the while, he listened to Eli. The boy followed him from room to room, chattering about the clouds, the spider in the corner, the white horse he’d seen two days earlier, the candy he wanted in the mercantile…it went on and on. Ever since their walk home from the train depot on the night of Eli’s arrival, the boy had rarely shut his mouth. Daniel figured he must have stored up lots of conversation on the train ride from the East. He could think of no other explanation.

“It’s time to head out to the church,” Daniel said, ending a debate about whether tadpoles were fish or frogs. “We don’t want to keep Miss Crabtree waiting.”

Eli blanched. “Church? Miss Crabtree?”

That was when, looking down into the boy’s astonished face, Daniel realized the truth. In his haste to get on with his marriage by arrangement, he’d forgotten to do one thing.

Tell Eli about it.

In the Crabtree household, events were proceeding as per usual. Which meant that mayhem was the order of the day. Much bustling and chattering ensured it would remain so—at least until after the middle Crabtree daughter was safely wed.

Sarah sat in the midst of all the hubbub, contemplating the hurried days that had brought her here. She’d written invitations until her fingers were ink-stained. She’d mended and washed and ironed all the things she owned, along with a few items Fiona Crabtree had decided her daughter should take to her new household. She’d experimented with hairstyles, rebutted Grace’s warnings about the patriarchal aspects of marriage and—most difficult of all—had done her best to hide from her family the true nature of her “arrangement” with Daniel.

They’d been surprised, of course. Especially by the haste with which Sarah and Daniel wanted to go forward with their marriage. But in the end, the Crabtrees seemed to conclude that Sarah and Daniel’s longtime friendship had finally blossomed into something more. They’d not questioned her any further. Her father, in particular, had thrown his support to her wedding with as much enthusiasm as he’d shown her sister Molly’s recent nuptials.

“I suppose matrimony is in the air now,” Adam Crabtree had said, blinking at her through his spectacles. “Ever since your sister got herself married, I expected either you or Grace would be next.”

Grace, passing by in her grass-stained bicycling costume and gloves, had only snorted. With their father the sole exception, everyone knew Grace had other ambitions. Marriage was the very least of them.

Daniel had wanted to tell everyone the truth of their convenient match. Sarah’s pride hadn’t allowed it. For once in her twenty-five years, she was at the center of life in her boisterous household. She couldn’t bear to see her family looking at her with pity instead, for having accepted such an arrangement.

Especially her sister, Molly.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Sarah?” she’d asked, looking concerned. “I’ve never known you to be this hasty. Marriage is nothing to be rushed into.”

“I’m absolutely certain,” Sarah had said. Then she’d snatched another piece of gingerbread from the tray Molly had baked and munched heartily to forestall further questions.

It was true. As she sat in the parlor now in her finest Sunday dress, quietly arranging the lace on her sleeves, Sarah didn’t feel the least bit concerned. She knew beyond a shadow of doubt that she could make a marriage work between her and Daniel McCabe—and that, sooner or later, he would love her.

She’d conquered difficult challenges before. Getting herself appointed Morrow Creek’s schoolteacher certainly hadn’t been easy, but she’d done it. She’d done it the same way she’d accomplished everything else in her life, with persistent effort and creativity. This situation with Daniel would prove no different. After all, he was only a man. How much of a challenge could he possibly be?

He was agreeable, for the most part. He was handsome, strong and reliable. Despite being male, Daniel was both considerate and even-tempered. Sarah had never known him to raise his voice to her—not even when she’d confided some of her most outlandish daydreams. He might not love her—yet—but he did understand her. She knew he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised by any of the changes she intended to make once she’d settled in his and Eli’s household.

Just as encouragingly, she hadn’t had to charm him, cajole him or engage in silly flirtatious maneuvers to coax him into matrimony. It was just as well. Such feminine fripperies had never been her strong suit. With Daniel, they weren’t needed. He already knew and appreciated her. Wasn’t that why he’d issued her the proposal in the first place?

Indeed, if Grace was the independent, practical Crabtree sister and Molly the coddled, pampered Crabtree sister, Sarah had long considered herself the clever, creative—if overlooked—Crabtree sister. Daniel probably valued her qualities of imagination and verve—two she’d forgotten, in her surprise over his quest for a suitable wife, to enumerate.

She’d simply have to do her best, Sarah vowed, to show them to Daniel at every opportunity. A man would never want a wife who bored him, she reasoned. She would make sure, above all, that their life together was filled with stimulating changes.

Soon she and Daniel would be sharing that life together, along with their days, their laughter…their marriage bed. At the thought, Sarah felt a frisson of excitement rush through her. Despite its unconventional start, soon enough their marriage would be real. From there, anything could happen.

In the foyer, the big grandfather clock chimed three. Instantly, everyone quit moving to stare in its direction.

“Heavens, we’re late!” Fiona Crabtree cried. “Get up, Sarah, get up! There’s no time now to indulge in those daydreams of yours. Daniel will be waiting for you.”

Tying her hat ribbons beneath her chin, Fiona bustled into the parlor. She grabbed her reticule, then Sarah’s elbow. An instant later, Grace was at the other side.

“Yes. You mustn’t be late. Your life of domestic servitude awaits.”

“Grace!”

Sarah didn’t know how her mother could continue to be scandalized by Grace’s unconventional views. She would have to have been blind—or to be sporting a much larger hat—not to have spied the women’s suffrage posters, picket signs, political texts and other rebellious accoutrements in her elder daughter’s attic room.

“Someday you’ll be nicked by Cupid’s arrow yourself,” Adam Crabtree warned Grace as he entered the parlor. Absentmindedly, he fiddled with his necktie. “Love makes strange bedfellows, you know. Just look at your mother and me—”

“Adam! I resent that,” Fiona protested, goggle-eyed.

“Or Molly and Marcus.”

Molly gave a yelp of protest. Marcus Copeland, her husband of only a few weeks, gave his wife an indulgent smile.

“We need to talk. About that ‘domestic servitude’ idea.” His grin widened. “I may be missing a prime benefit of marriage.”

“Keep up talk like that,” Molly returned archly, “and you’ll be missing my next batch of cinnamon buns. Don’t forget, Grace taught me how to properly stage a protest.”

She whirled on her heel, first out the front door. Marcus followed. Soon, Sarah heard much laughter coming from the front porch—along with the unmistakably intimate murmur of a couple in love. She wanted to sigh with yearning. How long would it be before Daniel used those same romantic tactics on her?

Not long, she vowed, and swept toward the door.

It wouldn’t do to keep her future love waiting.

Sarah looked beautiful.

Daniel blinked, but nothing changed. She still looked the same—unusually pretty as she moved toward him on Adam Crabtree’s arm. They walked beneath the paper garlands someone had decorated the small church with, their passage setting the carefully cut flowery shapes aflutter. Piano music played, courtesy of old lady Harrison. Bright territorial sunlight streamed in through the church windows.

Sarah’s dress was not white, as he’d imagined, but a pale blue the color of a summer sky, with lacy cuffs and a big lace collar. He’d probably seen it a million times before. But today it looked different—as different as Sarah herself did, all at once.

She held her head high, meeting his gaze directly. That wasn’t different. She smiled at him, as though they shared a private jest. That wasn’t different, either. But the blush in her cheeks was new, the sparkle in her eyes was new, and the intriguing curve of her lips…that he’d never noticed before, either. Confused, Daniel tilted his head.

Then her father released her. Sarah stumbled slightly.

“Horsefeathers,” she muttered, righting herself.

All at once, she became herself again. Daniel relaxed. Things were going to be fine.

A loud clunk echoed through the church. As one, the friends and family gathered in the frontward pews turned toward the sound. Without a shred of guilt, little Eli bashed his foot on the pew in front of him. Another thump was heard.

Daniel shot the boy his sternest look. ’Twas possible he should have given a better explanation than he had for the day’s events. Especially if he expected Eli to behave himself. But it was too late now. Eli would just have to settle down on his own. The sooner he did, the sooner this would be finished.

Standing beside him before the minister, Sarah drew in a nervous-sounding breath. The bodice of her gown swelled accordingly. Again Daniel experienced that strange sensation. Never in his life did he recall having noticed Sarah’s bosoms. Yet there they were—drawing his attention in a way he wholly disagreed with.

Clunk. Eli again. With relief, Daniel speared the boy another quelling look. Then, feeling more like himself again, he returned to the task at hand. He was about to marry Sarah. When the ceremony was done, she would doubtless know how to tame the little ruffian. Daniel wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

A blessing and their vows followed. Feeling uncomfortable—no doubt due to his scratchy suit—Daniel answered in all the right moments. He even produced a pair of wedding rings. Gruffly, he held out his Irish grandmother’s plain gold band, prepared to slip it on Sarah’s waiting finger.

At the surprise in her face, he felt a curious warmth spread all through his chest. She liked it. He was pleased. She gave a small “Oooh!” and raised her gaze to his…but there were tears in her eyes, too.

Panicked, Daniel hesitated. Tears? He didn’t know what was wrong. Would Sarah prove as blubbery as all women? Was she, despite all her schoolmarmish practicality, secretly sentimental? Misgivings assaulted him. If she expected their marriage to become more than it was…

Fortunately, Eli chose that moment to cough loudly. And repeatedly. Truly, he sounded as though he’d swallowed a pound of chalk dust and was determined to dislodge it. Despite the sympathetic pats the boy received, Daniel knew nothing of the kind was true. Not when Eli kept sneaking glances ’round him to make sure he was fully disrupting the proceedings.

By the time Fiona Crabtree had calmed the boy with a hanky and—Daniel would swear—the whispered promise of one of Molly’s special snickerdoodle cookies, Sarah’s weepy moment had passed. She straightened her spine and regarded Daniel expectantly. Again he felt reassured. At Eli’s shenanigans, another woman would likely have gone all fussy. But Sarah was different. That was why this marriage arrangement was going to succeed between them.

Confidently, Daniel relaxed the taut muscles of his shoulders and neck. He slipped the ring on Sarah’s finger. She admired it, briefly tilting her hand while Daniel waited for further instructions from the patient minister. He’d been to many weddings—everyone in Morrow Creek had. But he’d attended far more to the ale that followed afterward than to the boring ceremony itself. He had no idea what came next.

Sarah seemed to, though. Nervously, she again drew a breath. Wise to that trick by now, Daniel determinedly sent his gaze to the minister’s dusty shoes. She would not catch him flatfooted more than once. He might not know marriage, but he did know women—and he decidedly knew Sarah. From here, things would go exactly as he expected.

Except they didn’t. The minister droned on, describing the obligations, duties and wonders of marriage. In the midst of his talk, Sarah reached forward. She took Daniel’s hand.

Her touch jolted him. He realized he’d never touched Sarah with anything but commonplace courtesy—or, more likely, teasing intentions. But now he felt her fingers twine with his, felt the steady pressure of her grasp, felt the smoothness of her skin…and the cool contact of their wedding bands. All at once, the reality of what they were doing struck him.

This was not a game. Not a prank. Not even strictly a convenience. This was a union between them. It was as plain as the ongoing clunk of Eli’s little boots against that pew. Sarah regarded this as seriously as she did everything else in her life.

Belatedly, Daniel remembered how easily hurt Sarah could be when her various hopes and plans failed. How solemn she could be, in between jesting with him. How very earnest she was, and how everything she felt tended to show upon her face.

She’d never been able to so much as fib to him. Not even the time when he’d misguidedly grown a dandy’s mustache and waxed it to within an inch of its scraggly life. She’d told him it looked as though his chin hairs had migrated north and received a terrible fright in the process, most likely from finding themselves in the shadow of his oversize nose.

Daniel reckoned it had been true. But Sarah had been the only one who’d admitted as much to him—and the only one who’d urged him to his razor. He trusted her. And she, him.

Because of that trust, Daniel made himself a vow. No matter what happened, he would never hurt her. Sarah would never, he promised himself, have cause to regret marrying him.

He lifted his gaze to hers, determined to communicate his intentions to her. As the minister jabbered on, Sarah looked mistily back at him. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. Relieved, Daniel smiled. He was glad she understood.

She squeezed his hand again, harder this time. When he didn’t respond, she cast a wobbly smile toward their wedding guests. She did her best to crush his fingers in her fist.

Confused, Daniel looked around as well. He didn’t know what was wrong. For the moment at least, Eli seemed to have tired of causing trouble and had his head down studiously. That couldn’t be it. He glanced down. His suit coat was still buttoned on, slightly singed at the edges but otherwise fine. That couldn’t be it. The minister was…

…not talking anymore.

The silence felt somehow accusatory.

“Kiss me!” Sarah urged in a whisper.

Her command seemed nonsensical. Sarah was his friend. Sarah was reliable, schoolmarmish. She was not a woman to be kissed, especially by Daniel.

“You may now,” the minister intoned, “kiss your bride.”

A rustle swept through the church. Daniel had the sense this wasn’t the first time they’d heard that suggestion. People were waiting, wondering. In a minute, they’d be gossiping. He didn’t care about that, but he did care about Sarah.

Resolutely, he lifted his free hand. He cupped her chin, marveling briefly at the unexpected warmth of her skin. Then he lowered his head. A small kiss would do to seal their deal, to finalize their marriage and satisfy everyone gathered there. Most likely, Sarah dreaded this formality as much as he did. For her sake, he’d finish this kiss as quickly as possible.

His lips neared hers. An uncommon sensation seized him…something akin to anticipation but more muddled than that. His heart pounded. Sarah’s hand tautened in his. Quickly, quickly…

Something small and wet plinked his temple. Then his cheek. Then his temple again. Hastily, Daniel planted a kiss on Sarah’s waiting lips. That accomplished, he swung his face ’round to see what had struck him.

Eli sat, defiant and surly, with his fingers at his mouth to withdraw the next spitball.

“I’ll pound him,” Daniel growled.

“No, Daniel. Wait.” Sarah grabbed for him.

But she was too late. Daniel strode down the aisle after the miscreant boy. Widow Harrison took up a cheery tune at the piano. Everyone stood in their pews, looking confused. A scrabbling beneath one of the long wooden benches alerted Daniel to Eli’s position. Scowling fiercely, he hunkered down.

One long sweep of his arm retrieved Eli, squirming, from beneath the nearest pew. His small suit was covered in dust and torn bits of paper. His round face wore a mulish expression.

“I don’t care!” he said. “I got you fair and square.”

“Fair and square has nothing to do with this. I already told you, you had better beha—”

“You didn’t tell me anything!”

Sarah gave a startled sound. Daniel glanced at her, stranded beside the minister. Too late, he realized exactly what he’d done. Only two minutes married and already—one look at her face told him—he’d broken his promise to her. Judging by the narrowing of her eyes, she already had cause to regret their arrangement.

“Well,” Adam Crabtree said heartily, blundering into the awkward silence that followed, “I’d say congratulations are in order!”

As though his words were a signal, the other guests began milling around, talking. As Daniel attempted to glare Eli into behaving, Adam stepped nearer with the rest of his family in tow. Fiona and Molly dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs. Even stoic Grace looked a bit red around the nose. Although, Daniel reasoned, that might have had more to do with her dire views of marriage than with sentimentality.

Jack Murphy stepped nearer. “Shall we all toast the bride and groom?” he asked.

“Err…” Daniel glanced to Sarah, his grasp still firm on Eli. An ale sounded heartily good to him. But something told him that admitting as much wouldn’t be wise. His demure new bride looked fit to throttle him. Or at the least, to dump a pint on his head.

“Yes, indeed!” she announced. “An ale sounds fine!”

Sarah hitched up her gown. Then, with a tilt of her head, she swept past everyone assembled, headed back to the Crabtrees’ residence for the wedding reception. ’Twas the very last tack he would have expected her to take.

It was also his very first inkling that things might not go as he’d planned.

Most likely, though, Daniel comforted himself as he followed her with Eli dragging behind, this would be the last surprise Sarah dealt him. Between turning up beautiful—even temporarily—and ordering him to kiss her, she must have used up her ration of surprises. For a year, at least. She couldn’t possibly have more held in store for him.

But if she did, he vowed, he’d be sure to be ready.

Next time.




Chapter Four


J ust as Sarah was beginning to appreciate the fine qualities of a good ale, Daniel fisted his hand around her cup and took it away from her.

“I’d say you’ve had enough of that.”

Stupidly, she stared at the simple gold band adorning his hand. Although her brain commanded that she protest the loss of her ale, all she could do was stare. Stare at Daniel’s big, rough, wonderful hand, so familiar and yet so changed. It was hers now, in a sense. Just as he was.

They were married. Well and truly married. Or at least they were, provided Daniel’s hasty kiss had correctly sealed their union. Everyone had seemed to consider that meager peck to be adequate. Privately, Sarah had hoped for so much more.

“I have not had enough,” she informed him. “Of ale or of kissing.”

He arched a dark brow. Drat it. Had she said that aloud?

It didn’t matter. Daniel was her husband now. He deserved her uncensored opinions. In fact, her freethinking sister Grace would have encouraged as much. Aside from which, Sarah felt certain that kissing and ale must both hold pleasures she’d missed until now. From here on, she was determined to miss nothing more.

She shook off her reverie to reach, unsuccessfully, for her cup. “You’ve had four ales. That’s only my second cup. Next to you, I’m a paragon of sobriety.”

“That might be true. I am a scoundrel.” Cheerfully, Daniel admitted the truth. “A slightly drunk one, in honor of the occasion.”

He smiled at that, leaving her to wonder if he felt happy to be married or merely giddy at the prospect of not having to scrub behind Eli’s ears anymore. Probably the latter, Sarah mused. She frowned. Making a proper and loving husband of Daniel McCabe would prove a challenge, to be sure.

“But I’m not the one who’s been dancing, now, am I?” An unaccountable glimmer lit Daniel’s brown eyes as he settled on the divan beside her. “With arm waving and skirt swinging and…what did you call that thing you were doing?”

“A fan dance.” If he’d noticed that, she was making progress already. Heartened, Sarah leaned nearer. None too subtly, she whispered, “It’s used for seduction.”

“Seduction?” Her new bridegroom nearly choked on his next mouthful of ale. “What in God’s name does a woman like you need seduction for? You’re a mother now. And a wife.”

Daft man. As if that summed her up in any way.

“I learned it from Molly.” Sarah gave a blithe wave. “She had plans to become a gypsy once, you know. Before she opened her bakery. She can tell fortunes, too.”

Daniel seemed unimpressed by her sister’s versatility. “She doesn’t need any of that now. She’s a wife, too.”

He said it as though that settled everything.

“Marcus doesn’t mind Molly’s interests.” Offering Daniel a nudge, Sarah nodded to her sister and her husband. “He loves her just as she is. See?”

At the other end of the Crabtrees’ parlor, Molly and Marcus engaged in conversation, smiling at each other. Unabashedly affectionate in spite of the family and friends gathered around, Marcus took Molly’s hand and cradled it to his chest. He listened, then laughed at something she said. They both fairly glowed with happiness.

Seeing their togetherness, Sarah couldn’t help but feel wistful. What was the matter with her, that her sister could make an effortlessly perfect love match, while she…she endured spitballs at her own nuptials?

Perhaps this was what came of marrying too quickly. And for all the wrong reasons. And to a man who did not know she was just the merest bit—desperately—in love with him.

Contemplatively, Daniel also surveyed the newlyweds, a move that offered Sarah the perfect opportunity to retrieve her ale—and to observe him. She hadn’t been able to do so during their vows. Then, the sheer remarkableness of their marrying had occupied her every thought. Now, after a fresh gulp of ale, she peered dazedly at his dark suit, his necktie, his enormous feet in his laced-up dress shoes.

She’d married a prince, she thought in an ale-woozy haze. A colossal-footed prince, wise and poetic and handsome.

Daniel gave a dismissive sound. “We’re lucky to be clear of all that hogwash. Romance. Bah.” Companionably, he slung his arm over her shoulder. “Who needs it?”

I do, Sarah thought plaintively. I need it. But what she’d gotten, it turned out, was a man who embraced her with all the seductiveness of a fisherman hooking a trout. Only with none of the attendant prize-winning demeanor one would expect in the event of a catch.

She wanted to feel like a prize. Wanted to feel like a real wife, one who inspired conversation and smiles and tender touches. Not to mention proper kisses. Feeling overlooked—as Sarah sadly did now—was already familiar to her. It had worn out its welcome long ago, during her years growing up.

“Daniel, I have a suggestion.”

He glanced back at her, impossibly appealing and woefully ignorant of how strongly she felt drawn to him. His expression looked open, his eyes clear, his demeanor happy-go-lucky. At any moment, he seemed liable to burst out with a hearty, “Look! My very own trout!”

Sarah stifled a sigh. Just then, she would have gladly sacrificed a month’s wages—no, her most treasured arithmetic text—to see Daniel regard her with one-tenth the romantic affection her brother-in-law had for her sister. But since that wasn’t likely to happen without some prodding, she knew she’d have to be clever.

“Let’s dance.” She stood, her skirts swaying, to urge him to his feet.

He resisted her efforts, his fist still curled around his ale. “You already have danced. After a fashion.” Another grin. “For a schoolmarm, you’ve got a fair amount of vigor.”

“I mean a proper dance.” He owed it to her after that stingy peck of a wedding kiss. “A dance together.”

Daniel eyed her suspiciously. “Are you turning sappy on me? Just because it’s our wedding day doesn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let the sentimentality of the day go to my head.” Sarah rolled her eyes, then tugged his hand. “Just so long as you promise not to tread on my toes with those oversize feet of yours.”

He grunted. “My feet go along with the rest of me.”

“Yes. They’re sized to match your big, fat head.”

“Careful, wife. People might think you’re not head over skirts for me.”

Wife. At the careless endearment, her heart swelled. If only he knew….

“Or perhaps you don’t know how to dance?” Pretending concern, Sarah propped her hands on her hips. She examined Daniel. “I’ve seen you flirt. I’ve seen you pour on your so-called charm with ladies visiting here from the States and beyond. I’ve even seen you parade through town with your britches split up the backside.”

“A bachelor’s not supposed to know how to sew.”

“But I’ve never, it occurs to me, actually witnessed you dancing. Hmm…”

“Pshaw. I can dance.” He gulped his drink. “Everyone can dance.”

“Prove it.”

“I don’t need to. Sit, wife. Or make yourself useful and bring me another ale.”

“Sweet heaven, I wouldn’t have believed it.” She gawked, shaking her head. “Grace was actually correct. Marriage truly is a step-and-fetch institution created solely for the benefit of men.”

He scoffed. “What’s the benefit in your carping at me? I said I can dance. That’s that.”

“Hmm.” Sarah glanced to the couples near the parlor window, most of whom danced to the piano’s tunes. She sighed. Elaborately. Then she nodded to another group. “Perhaps one of those kind gentlemen would partner with me.”

“My cousins?”

She clucked at him, holding back a grin. “There’s no need to turn red in the face. They’re my family now, too. I believe George would make a fine dance partner.”

“George has two left feet and a laugh like a whinnying nag.”

“Frank?”

“Pickpocket. Leave your reticule with me.”

“James?”

“Only if you don’t mind his inviting you to pose nude for one of his ‘sketches.’ He claims to be an artist.” A contemplative pause. “Wish I’d thought up that one myself.”

My, but his family was a veritable rogue’s gallery—those who lived in the territory at least. His parents and sister had moved east some time ago. Sarah tossed another glance to the cluster of jovial, ale-drinking McCabe men. “Nathan, then?”

“Nathan is more of a scoundrel than I am.” Daniel shook his head—whether in admiration or consternation, she couldn’t tell. “He has only to look at a woman and her skirts fly up.”

“Really? Well. That would be inconvenient for dancing, now, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. It would.” Wearing a dark look, Daniel finished his ale. He set his cup beside hers. “Behave yourself. Sit down.”

“If I do, will you tell me what scandalous things happen when you look at a woman?”

“That grin of yours is not very wifelike.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

For a long moment, he only gazed at their wedding festivities, probably lamenting the day he’d been born a relation to so many scoundrels. Then he lifted his suddenly somber gaze to hers.

“Doesn’t matter anymore. Because none of those things will ever happen again.” With a heavy sigh, Daniel stood. “How long will it take you to say your goodbyes? It’s time we collected Eli and started home.”

For a woman who was supposed to make a convenient wife, Sarah had so far proved herself anything but, Daniel reflected as he strode homeward. First she’d shown up inconveniently beautiful for her own wedding. Then she’d ordered him to kiss her, gotten tipsy and volunteered to dance with his idiot cousins. And now…

“You cannot have lost your own shoes.” He frowned at her, disbelieving. “’Tis like leaving behind your ears.”

“I have, Daniel.” She shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”

“I suppose you can’t explain your mother’s sudden interest in corralling Eli for an overnight visit, either?”

Sarah blinked up at him with what he’d swear—if it weren’t impossible—was a coquettish gaze. “I can’t help it if Mama wants to be better acquainted with her new grandson. Or if she believes a bride and groom should spend their first night alone together. What should I have done? Refuse her?”

“Yes.” He set his jaw. “I’ll not be beholden to anyone. Especially not family.”

“‘Not family’? Don’t be silly. My family lives and breathes for helping other people.”

“For meddling, you mean. No need to put too fine a face on it. I’ve known the Crabtrees as long as I have you, remember?”

“Then you ought to understand they only have the best of intentions at heart.”

“Intentions change.” Darkly, Daniel shifted Sarah in his arms. When she’d lost her shoes, she’d insisted he carry her home. Fortunately, he was more than strong enough for the task. “So does your size. Damnation, woman. When I used to toss you up to that old tree we climbed, you were light as a feather.”

She gave him a mulish look. “I was only ten years old.”

“As I recall, you didn’t mind walking barefoot then, either.”

There’d been more than one time Fiona Crabtree had accused Daniel of being a poor influence on her daughter for that very reason. And others. She’d claimed he was turning meek little Sarah as wild as an Indian, and unladylike in the process.

Reminded of that now, he peered curiously at her lace-frothed form. By accident, his gaze nearly went to her bosoms. They rose cheerfully from her bodice in a way he couldn’t quite countenance. Now that he noticed it, Sarah didn’t seem especially lacking in female attributes. Even if they were usually shrouded in ugly dresses. Smugly, he decided he hadn’t been such a poor influence after all.

“I’m not so very heavy, Daniel. But you are getting on in years, you know. Nearly twenty-eight. Perhaps your advanced age is making you weaker. Too weak even to carry little old me.”

He grunted a denial. If he didn’t know Sarah to be the gentlest, most sensible of creatures, he’d have sworn she was trying to bait him. Just in case, though, he flexed his arms.

There. Let her see the kind of man she’d married.

“Goodness!”

That was better.

“Do your arms hurt? You seem to be straining to carry—”

He gritted his teeth. “My arms are fine.”

“If it would make you feel better, we could send for your cousin Nathan to carry me home.” Solicitously, she patted his shoulder. “I’m sure he’d be willing.”

“Maybe. But you wouldn’t be.”

She stilled, staring up at him. “I wouldn’t?”

Why did she look so startled? So…hopeful? “No. You’re far too sensible for the likes of Nathan. You’re practical, Sarah. Once you find your shoes, I expect you’ll make a fine and loyal wife.”

She snorted. “You make me sound like a hound dog.”

“Dependable, too.”

“Or a trout!”

Now that just didn’t make any sense at all. “You’re not nearly so slippery as a trout.”

Teasing, he squeezed her in demonstration. She laughed and squirmed against him. To Daniel’s relief, no strange, unexpected feelings assaulted him in response—no revelations of Sarah’s curvaceous figure or long, feminine limbs. Clearly he was cured of whatever malady had assailed him before.

Arriving at his house—their house—he stomped up the steps. On the threshold, he set down Sarah and opened the door. For some reason, she only stood there.

“What’s the matter? The door’s open.”

She slanted him a meaningful, if completely undecipherable, look. A look as cryptic as any Daniel had received from a cardsharp over the gaming table. Frowning, he peered past her. The path looked about as clear as it ever did, barring a few mislaid shoes and some of Eli’s playthings.

“I’m barefoot,” she said. “I’ll get a splinter.”

“If you do, I’ll pry it out. I’ve got a pair of blacksmith’s tongs handy someplace.”

Sarah seemed unimpressed by his practical suggestion.

“Carry me over the threshold, Daniel.”

“Why? It’s four steps, maybe five at the most. You’re an able-bodied woman. I’ve seen you corral three hooligans by the ear and drag them inside the schoolhouse all by yourself.”

She didn’t move.

He searched for more proof. “I reckon you can throw a baseball nearly as well as any man in the Morrow Creek league.”

A gasp. “You swore you’d never tell anyone about that!”

“I haven’t. I’m the one who taught you to do it.” After she’d pestered him endlessly when he’d joined the league himself. “But you’re no weakling, and we both know it.”

She crossed her arms over her middle. Arched her brow. “All I know for certain is that I begin to believe I’ve married the weaker McCabe. Next thing you know, I’ll be wielding your blacksmith’s hammer myself to spare you the exertion.”

Enough was enough. “Fine.”

He scooped her up in a flurry of lacy skirts and girlish squeals. Befuddled but determined—and slightly more deafened than he’d started out—Daniel carried her the few steps inside the house. He stopped with her still in his arms.

His burly, brawny, hammer-wielding arms. Blast it.

He glanced downward, keeping his expression fierce. His new bride needed to know that this order-giving of hers was a wedding-day exception. It would not be an everyday occurrence. He was the master of his own household.

Opening his mouth on a warning to that effect, Daniel gazed at Sarah. At the shining look on her face, the stern words he’d meant to say flew clear from his head. Had he ever seen her look so pleased? So…pretty?

“Now,” she said, eyes shining, “I believe we’re married.”

“Just because I carried you inside?” It was the most outlandish thing she’d said to him today, short of “kiss me.” Yet there was something about the look on her face….

He didn’t want to think about it.

“Stop talking nonsense,” Daniel said gruffly. He put her down, then rammed his hat on his head. “I’m off to Jack Murphy’s saloon.”

Her husband had gone carousing. On his wedding night.

Still smarting at the realization, Sarah kicked aside a pair of gargantuan muddy boots. They had to belong to Daniel. No one else possessed feet that big. Or an arrogance to match. Did he truly expect her to stay here alone while he tossed back pints at the saloon?

Frustrated, she raised her skirts and went to the window. Daniel was just disappearing around the bend, his shoulders broad and his manner carefree. She’d done all she could to make him stay with her, short of clamping herself on his leg and begging. She did have some pride. But he’d refused to linger. In the end, Sarah had decided that if Daniel didn’t want her, she didn’t want him.

Until she’d made him love her, of course.

Resigned for now, she released the curtain. As the fabric flopped in place, it raised a billow of dust. Sarah frowned at her hand, then rubbed her fingers together. They felt gritty.

Daniel’s parting words came back to her.

“I tidied up this morning, on account of the occasion,” he’d told her. “I reckon you won’t have a thing to do while I’m gone but unpack all your dresses and whatnot.”

He nodded at the belongings she’d had carried over earlier. With one sweep of his beefy arm, he indicated the appropriate chamber down the hall. It had been Eli’s room, Daniel explained further, until he’d moved the boy’s things.

“You and I aren’t to share a bedroom?”

A frown. “Didn’t seem quite right to me. Seeing as how we’re only married on account of Eli.”

“Oh. That’s true. That’s fine, then. An excellent idea,” Sarah bluffed, not wanting him to know the notion bothered her. As near as she could tell, sharing a room was one of the cozier aspects of being married. She had—she was embarrassed to admit—looked forward to it. Dismayed, she peered down the hall. “But if I am in that room, where will Eli sleep?”

Clearly, Daniel hadn’t thought of that. “I guess we’ll likely take turns with my bed. Yep. That solves it.”

Then he’d set his hat at a rakish angle, given her an unreadable look and stridden from the house as if his heels were on fire.

Sarah didn’t understand it. Now, picking her way among the bits and pieces of his bachelor’s household, she realized that while she had spent the past several days in frantic preparations, Daniel had…not. In fact, he didn’t appear to have considered her arrival at all. Their marriage—a monumental event in Sarah’s life—didn’t mean anything to him beyond a means of solving his troubles with Eli.

She knew she should have expected as much. She’d gone into this arrangement with her eyes open, after all. Daniel hadn’t tried to deceive her. But somehow, a part of her had still hoped things would be different.

“Why, Sarah!” Daniel was supposed to have exclaimed upon seeing her today. “You’re beautiful! I don’t know how I haven’t noticed till now.”

She’d have blushed prettily, glowing with his praise.

“In fact, now that I think on it, I’ve been in love with you all along!” he’d have continued. “How could I not be? You’re an ideal match for me. So lovely, so kind, so clever.”

It would have been immodest to agree. She’d merely have smiled, linking her arm with his in a way that bespoke gentle, long-standing affection. He’d have chivalrously offered her a flower. A rare blossom, perhaps, like the ones from her mama’s greenhouse. She’d blink back sentimental tears, planning to press the flower and cherish it always, and—

A clatter in the kitchen shattered her reverie. Jolted into alertness, Sarah glanced to the cast-iron cookstove. A tabby cat streaked from amid the handmade pots and pans scattered atop it, giving her a baleful glare as it slipped beneath a chair.

“Hello, there.” Surprised, she stepped nearer. “I didn’t know you lived here, too.”

Frankly, Daniel had never seemed the sort to nurture a pet. Especially given how much of his time was devoted, of necessity, to blacksmithing. Perhaps the cat was Eli’s.

She crouched, her skirts whispering, then extended her hand. “Come here, little kitty. I won’t hurt you.”

The tabby regarded her suspiciously, whiskers twitching.

“Are you hungry? I am. I didn’t have a bite to eat at the wedding party.” She’d been too busy trying to catch the eye of her new husband for anything so mundane as food.

Straightening, she surveyed the kitchen. Her new kitchen. It looked as if a pack of donkeys had been here last, attempting to rustle up a noontime meal with two hooves tied behind their backs. Open cans of tinned fruit littered the tabletop, along with crumbs, pieces of twine and paraffin-coated baker’s wrap—the latter, more than likely, from Molly’s bakeshop. Most unmarried men in Morrow Creek bought their baked goods from her sister.

To the left, scrubbed plates and bowls sat higgledy-piggledy on the worktable, beside a bag of green coffee beans and a grinder. Near the unused cookstove stood a barrel of pickles—popular with the men of the household, judging by the blobby green trail of pickle juice on the floor nearby. Another barrel held oats, and a third, dried beans.

At least Daniel possessed some foodstuffs. He also had on hand at least a month’s worth of the Pioneer Press newspaper—her father’s broadsheet—and some cornmeal. The gritty stuff coated every horizontal surface in a fine dusting, as though a bag of it had exploded in here. Knowing Daniel and Eli, it probably had. There were tracks in the yellow meal here and there, as though someone had palmed up a handful to cook with and left the rest where it lay.

Ugh. Wrinkling her nose, Sarah left the mess for now. Her bridegroom may have absconded, but she refused to spend her wedding night tidying up.

Minutes later, she’d prepared a simple meal of bread and cheese. Between bites—some of which she fed to the cat as she carried it in her arms—she wandered through the rest of the house. The front room held hardy furniture, doubtless handmade. Clothes lumped on the chair seats and served as draft-catchers in the corners; Eli’s puzzles and toys had set up camp on the round braided rug. A cadre of blacksmith’s tools occupied a prominent spot near the fireplace, apparently keeping company with the supply of cut and stacked firewood.

Although Sarah had come calling on Daniel and Eli many times, today their home held new interest. This time, it was partly hers, to do with what she pleased. In her mind’s eye, she saw the windows stripped of their dreary, dust-clogged curtains and brightened with ruffle-trimmed adornments instead. She saw the chairs embellished with embroidered pillows and the floor scrubbed clean. Perhaps a new rug, as well.

“It’s so homey!” Daniel would say when he saw it, reaching impulsively for her hand. His expression would shine with amazement. “You are a marvel, Sarah. No wonder I find myself more in love with you every day. I don’t know how I ever lived without you.”

Satisfied at the thought, Sarah smiled. Daniel truly did not know how lucky he was. She was going to have a marvelous time putting everything in order—including her new husband. She could hardly wait to start putting her own special stamp on their shared household.

But first… Feeling her heart skip a beat in anticipation, she sauntered to the other end of the house. The tabby purred in her arms, content with their makeshift meal. It seemed Sarah had made at least one friend here. That was good. She entered the hallway, her footsteps loud on the floorboards, and approached the private chambers there.

She stuck her head inside the first, an austere room with bare walls, a small bed and a row of pegs on the wall. One of her trunks sat beneath the single window. Another waited just inside the door. Clearly, this room was meant to be hers.

Frowning, she crossed the hall. Daniel’s door stood slightly ajar, inviting her to investigate the room within. She’d never entered it before, of course. It wouldn’t have been proper, even for two friends as close as she and Daniel had always been. But now…now they were wed. She was well within her rights to explore the entire house.

“I expect he’ll want me in this room when it’s time to clean it,” she reasoned to the cat, giving it a gentle pat. “Let’s have a look.”

Inside, she found a brass bed covered with a patchwork quilt, a bureau with a washbasin atop it, several pegs hung with rough-hewn men’s clothing and a braided rag rug. A sheet of muslin tacked over the window provided privacy; a lantern held the promise of light. It wasn’t fancy, but it offered myriad possibilities…exactly like Daniel.

Arranged on the bed, a length of fabric caught her eye. Edging closer, Sarah lifted it. She gasped in surprise. ’Twas a fine lawn nightgown, trimmed in lace and finished with a deep ruffle at the hem. It was easily the most beautiful gown she’d ever seen—and the most seductive. In this, a woman would be nigh irresistible.

She would be nigh irresistible.

In that moment, Sarah realized the truth. She’d been mistaken about Daniel’s carousing! That rascal. He’d left her, certainly—but only long enough for her to find the romantic gown he’d gifted her with…and for her to prepare for their wedding night. He was a simple man, she knew, given more to action than words. Leaving this gown for her was exactly the sort of thing he’d do.

Well. This made her new husband’s intentions plain, didn’t it? Daniel wanted their marriage to be more real than he’d first implied. This nightgown was proof enough of that. Doubtless, he couldn’t wait to see her in it. Perhaps he was even waiting round the bend, eagerly anticipating her unveiling.

Excitedly, Sarah clutched the gown to her heart. When her new husband came home, there was one thing for certain. She’d be ready for him!




Chapter Five


T he next morning, Daniel awakened with a curious sense of impending disaster. He couldn’t reckon why at first. His head ached, but that was to be expected after a night at Murphy’s. His mouth felt parched, but that would be easily remedied with a drink from his bedside pitcher. His bed felt lumpy, but that was because his mattress was occupied on the other side.

Occupied?

“Eli.” Realizing what must be afoot, he cleared the hoarseness from his voice and tried again. “Go back to your own bed. Whatever bogeyman you’re scared of is gone now.”

“It’s not Eli. It’s me.”

The mattress sagged. Sarah rolled over, a smile on her face. She got herself comfortable with both hands flattened on the pillow beneath her cheek, then regarded him steadily.

Daniel started in surprise, his heart pounding. He clutched the bed linens and stared back at her. His first thought was, she looks angelic. Which was daft. Then, less groggily, what the hell is she doing here? Which was better. He didn’t remember having gotten in bed with her last night, but that didn’t mean… Could he have sunk so low as to seduce Sarah?

A flood of feelings washed over him, led by remorse and tailed by…damnation, it felt almost like curiosity. What was the matter with him? Of a certain, he was a scoundrel. He freely admitted to that. But to have taken advantage of an innocent like Sarah? His friend?

With a mighty effort, Daniel managed to relax his grasp on the sheets. No matter how odd this was, he could not leap from the bed straightaway. That would only hurt Sarah’s feelings. Clearly, she felt at home with…whatever had happened between them.

Hoping to figure things out, he risked a wary second glance at her. Yep. She gazed back at him as steadily and as trustfully as she ever had. Just as she had yesterday, when they’d…exchanged vows.

All at once, Daniel’s wedding rushed back to him, complete with Eli’s shenanigans, Sarah’s prettiness and that disturbing thing she’d said after he’d carried her inside the house.

Now I believe we’re married.

Hell. They’d really done it. This was what it was like to find himself hitched. Carefully, Daniel considered things. It turned out he felt more married upon finding a bride in his bed than he had upon acting as a pack mule yesterday. He guessed that was just one way he and Sarah were different. Probably the only way. Aside from the obvious.

Without his permission, his gaze went to her bosom. From beneath the quilt, he could just glimpse the top of her—

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully.

Daniel whisked his gaze upward, still feeling on the wrong side of the situation. Sarah beamed back at him, limned by the dawn—which explained the angelic notion he’d experienced upon seeing her. She fairly crackled with alertness, while he felt barely capable of scratching his beard stubble.

“Oooh, you’re a slow riser. I wouldn’t have guessed that. Especially given how early you must wake up to get to your smithy. And how active Eli is. Why, he must keep you hopping! You’re probably busy from sunup to sundown, aren’t you?”

He blinked. Lord, she was a talker. Was she always so…awake in the mornings? He’d seen roosters with less vigor, and they were responsible for waking folks.

“I’ve been awake for ages,” she said, wiggling a little beneath the quilt. She sighed happily. “Waiting for you. After last night, I thought we’d—”

“I don’t want to talk about last night.”

At his hasty tone, her eyes widened. “Why not? It was ever so promising, until you—”

“Stop.” Hell. What had he done? He had to fix it somehow. But in the meantime… “I need time to think.”

At her abashed look, guilt swamped him.

“I mean, wake up. No more talking.”

Wrinkling her nose in puzzlement, Sarah complied. Grudgingly. Her silence lasted approximately as long as it took Daniel to realize he was naked beneath the linens. Naked! With Sarah! Not that sleeping in the altogether was unusual for him, but…hell. He and Sarah spent their time talking and fishing and dunking each other in Morrow Creek. Not lying comfortably abed after a night spent…doing things he couldn’t even recall.

“So,” she piped up, “if you don’t want to talk, what do you want to do?”

Immediately, several wicked suggestions leaped to mind. Ferociously, Daniel tamped them down. If Sarah had been an ordinary woman, things might have been different. He enjoyed a roll in the sheets as much as the next man—possibly more. But as it was, the two of them had a marriage to tend to. They couldn’t muddle the issue by lolling abed and behaving like two people who were besotted with one another.

“I want to get up,” he decided.

She looked stricken. For naught, as it turned out. Because no sooner had Daniel grabbed a handful of quilt to toss aside than he remembered. He was still naked. God forbid, Sarah might be naked, too! If he threw off the coverlet…

Tarnation. They might both need smelling salts.

He stayed put, frozen in the wake of Sarah’s confused gaze. The bed shrank to a cozier size, making him intimately aware of their nearness. And the potential for swooning. Not that Sarah had ever been particularly delicate. Typically, she was sturdy and sensible and extremely handy with a bamboo fishing rod. But she had turned all weepy on him yesterday. There was just no telling what getting hitched might have done to her.

Forlornly, he missed the old Sarah. The one who made sense.

“We could have a walk along the mountain trail after breakfast,” she suggested breezily. She snuggled deeper in the quilt, her unbound hair silky and tousled. “That would be nice. Of course we’ll have to go to church with my family this morning, too. I told my mama we’d collect Eli after services are over. But until then…”

He’d have sworn she fluttered her eyelashes at him. Suggestively. With all the feminine allure of a dance-hall girl. Befuddled by the very notion of Sarah doing something so unabashedly flirtatious, Daniel stared at her.

He’d never seen her with her hair loose like that, he realized. It looked nice. Soft. Touching it would be…

A mistake. Damn it. He had to concentrate. Unless his years of bachelorhood had made him incapable of ignoring a woman—any woman—in his bed.

She’s Sarah, he reminded himself sternly. Sarah.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“Why…it happened last night. Don’t you remember?”

Was it his imagination, or did she suddenly seem to be hiding something? Frowning, Daniel tried to recall what had happened after he’d come home from Murphy’s saloon.

He had a vague recollection of finding Sarah in her nightgown. Of turning away, his face burning, while she scrambled barefoot to her own room. Of realizing, belatedly, that he should have been clearer on exactly whose chamber was whose. Although, come to think of it, he’d thought he’d done a good enough job of that.

He recalled further that he’d felt Sarah crawl in bed beside him sometime later. That he’d decided it would be better to deal with her in the morning when he hadn’t had quite so much whiskey. That he’d dreamed he’d felt her snuggle up to him sometime in the night.

That he’d dreamed he’d liked it.

“You told me we’d finish things this morning,” Sarah said.

She looked expectant. Alert. And, he couldn’t seem to forget, possibly naked.

“This morning. Right.” Wondering what sort of finishing she expected of him, Daniel cleared his throat. He always had had a habit of putting off problems till they were nigh unsolvable, he admitted to himself. Look at his troubles with Eli. But this time, he knew he’d have to deal with Sarah straightaway. “This morning.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He didn’t know what to say. Or what to do. He and Sarah had an arrangement…didn’t they? A businesslike agreement. Perhaps she was simply feeling extraordinarily friendly. Her family was a famously freethinking one, after all. She probably thought nothing of hugging her sham husband. In the dark. While they were both—he felt compelled to remind himself—completely unclothed.

Silence fell. Clearly, peacefulness was more than Sarah could stand. “I’ll start, since we didn’t have much time to talk last night. As you can see, I found your gift.”

“Gift?”

“The nightgown.” Shyly, she bit her lip. “I’m sorry I didn’t thank you properly for it when you came home. It’s beautiful.”

The heartfelt gratitude in her eyes was his undoing. Daniel didn’t have the will to argue. But the truth was, he hadn’t given her any… “Nightgown?”

Sarah nodded. In demonstration, she allowed him a peek beneath the quilt. He spied lace over creamy skin, feminine curves swathed in white and one long leg bent at the knee before he forced himself to close his eyes. The image of her still swam before him. It looked as if schoolmarming did a great deal for a woman’s…feminine assets.

Dry-mouthed, he opened his eyes again. He pointed. “It’s, uhhh, hitched up. Right there.”

“Here?”

She patted ineffectually at the wrong leg, doing nothing to end his view of her bare, curvy thigh. With any other woman, Daniel would have taken her movements for coquettishness, but this was Sarah. Sensible Sarah. She couldn’t possibly be trying to snare him with a forbidden glimpse of her thigh.

She’d already caught him in wedlock, hadn’t she? What more could a woman possibly want?

“Ahhh.” She stretched, arms overhead. She offered him a brazen smile. “I slept splendidly. I guess we wore ourselves out, didn’t we?”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Agreeing with her wouldn’t quite put forward the no-nonsense marriage he’d hoped for. But despite that fact, Daniel couldn’t help preening a little. He was good at satisfying a woman—most likely due to his enjoyment of the task.

Enough of that. He needed to get to the bottom of things. “When I came home last night,” he said, “after you left here—”

“Oh, that,” Sarah interrupted hastily. “Yes, I figured you needed some time to prepare yourself. To freshen up for our wedding night.”

Freshen up? He arched his brow. For…?

“So I went to the other room to brush my hair, to give you some privacy. But by the time I got back…” Trailing off suggestively, she chuckled. “Well, that’s neither here nor there, is it? A proper wife keeps her husband’s secrets, and she keeps him warm at night, too.”

Hmmm. Maybe he hadn’t dreamed the feeling of her arms around him. What, exactly, had happened when she “got back”? For the life of him, Daniel could only remember stripping off his clothes, hastily washing, then collapsing on his bed, done in by the unusual events of the day.

“You clearly know more about being a good husband than you’ve let on, Daniel. I don’t know where you learned it, but I’m glad.” Looking contented, Sarah dragged the quilt over herself again. “A gift on our wedding night? So generous of you. I’ve never owned anything as beautiful as this nightgown.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt. He was an honest man, and Sarah deserved the truth. He needed to tell her he hadn’t given her that gown. But when she looked at him that way, all appreciative and sweet, he just couldn’t do it.

“It’s very lovely,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

It was. Especially on her. But it ought to have been in her own bed, along with the rest of her.

“It doesn’t look very warm,” he grumbled.

She smiled, her whole face shining with a mysterious sort of feminine wisdom. Likely she believed him to be teasing her, as usual. Daniel stewed.

He still couldn’t figure out why Sarah wasn’t across the hall where she was supposed to be. The question occupied most of his thoughts, leaving room for little else. Had he, in a whiskey-fueled bout of stupidity, invited her to sleep with him instead?

“Ahhh. I’ve just realized why you’re so grouchy this morning.” Sarah peered at him, apparently confirming her suspicions. “But you needn’t look so troubled. I understand about last night.” She offered him a gentle pat on his shoulder. “Mama warned me that some men have…difficulties when they’ve been imbibing.”

“Difficulties?” He all but choked on the word. She could only mean…no. That kind of talk absolutely couldn’t continue. “I never have difficulties.”





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