Falling for the Bride (Brides of the West Series Book Twelve) Read online

  That hair! Pulled back so severely, it made her look older, and did absolutely nothing for her. His fingers actually itched to untie it and splay it over her shoulders.

  My God, I've lost my mind!

  "I'm thirty-two years old. I have no wife, no family. I've been so busy fixing this place so it would be nice enough to have a family. But I neglected one thing."

  "What?" She asked, her interest peeking.

  "Never found myself a woman. Never even looked for one. Oh…I've had my share of dance hall girls, for good times and parties, but what we planned on, it just hasn't happened. My brother had a girl. Sweet little thing, but me…just never courted a girl…Never took the time too, and never had the inclination to act upon it. But you are different. You are a mail-order-bride, and what difference does it really make, whether you marry him or me. You don't know either one of us. It's perfect."

  She turned her head, as though she completely understood him.

  "That's a strange way of looking at it…"

  "What?" He jerked his head and looked straight into those all-seeing green eyes.

  "I've been sitting here thinking how little we have in common, and yet, you blurt this out and I have to admit, my life has been void of courtships too. For one my father was too strict to allow anyone that wasn't rich to sit in his parlor. For two, I was busy teaching school. Marriage wasn't something I thought about much. I'm the plainer of my sisters you see. All of them married well. And at my age, they've sort of hinted I'd be an old maid." She sighed heavily and looked away. "Being a teacher the prospect of marriage seemed out of place. I have no idea why I just told you that. But it is the truth."

  "You don't look like no old maid to me." He came closer.

  "I'm twenty-five and unmarried."

  "But…you're going to marry 'Nigel', right? at least you were."

  She blushed, and looked away. "Have you any idea what's it like to be the only girl in the family, unmarried at my age? Of course you don't. Or you'd understand why I'm here. I have all the social breeding and manners Nigel needs. 'Nigel' wanted a woman who had breeding, manners, and knew how to entertain infamous people. I fit that description so he agreed. He sent for me, said we'd be married as soon as possible. That was the plan at least."

  Quint frowned. "Then…this marriage isn't going to be based on love?"

  "Love," She snickered. "Pardon me, but coming from a cowboy, I find that funny. I've never met him; how can I love him. He never wrote to me, never asked for my hand officially. It was just arranged between him and my father."

  "Your father agreed to this mail-order-bride thing?"

  "Yes…. he answered the ad himself."

  "I don't get it. Why would a father send his daughter off to marry a complete stranger?"

  She looked down at Scout now. "I think he was ashamed that I hadn't married already. He seemed eager to send me off. It was a small New England town and everyone talked. Even though I was the school teacher, most were married by my age. Simply put, he was ashamed."

  "That's pretty cold if you ask me."

  She shrugged.

  "So…why are you marrying him? Oh yeah, the old maid thing…"

  She made a face, "I wish you wouldn't put it quite like that." She stood up now and walked about the big and spacious kitchen. She stared out at the land. "This place is beautiful."

  He was watching her.

  "I was tired of being labeled an old maid…Tired of the talk, the whispers, the glances at social events. People began to pity me. You couldn't possibly understand."

  "That's the only reason you want to marry Nigel?"

  She nodded, then finally looked into his eyes. "Pathetic isn't it?"

  He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. "Does he care for you?"

  "I don't think feelings enter into this situation. I have no expectations of that. He needs me, and I needed a change of scenery. I thought coming west might change me some, make me a better, and stronger person." She said dully. "I believe that much is true."

  "My God lady," Quint shook his head. "That takes guts. I don't think you know exactly how strong you are. I told you I was kidnapping you, holding you for the ransom of the deed, and you aren't scared. I've never known a lady stronger than that. I'm a stranger. I could have killed you, or made you wish you were dead."

  "I guess you can't figure me, can you?" She said walking about the room once more.

  "No ma'am, I can't. That makes you all the more appealing."

  She nearly smiled, then shrugged again. "The fate of my life is in your hands now, not his. Not much difference. You don't know me; he doesn't care about me. I will be like a placemat to him. I will say and do all the right things. That's what a gentleman expects of a proper wife. That doesn't scare me. All that it accomplishes is getting rid of the whispers. With you, I simply take orders. Given a choice, it doesn't much matter to me."

  "It has to matter." He said and stood up.

  "You both want to use me. You to get your ranch. Him to keep his position. What's the difference?"

  "And what is it you want?" He came closer, hovering over her. She was selling herself short and he didn't like it.

  "I guess a chance to find out what I want. You see I didn't just come west to be a bride. I came early, to look things over. I'm not stupid, no matter what you might think. I don't know Nigel any more than I know you. In fact, I probably know you better. So I wanted to see what I was letting myself in for. Marriage is a lifetime commitment. If I felt I couldn't cope, I was simply going to refuse his proposal." She said in a shaky voice. When she saw his expression change to one of contemplation she went on. "I've been cooped up all my life in that same little New England town, with the same people for so long, I feel a sense of freedom here, it is so big and wide open. I think I want to be free, to explore what I really want here. I'm not surrounded by my father's or anyone else's pity."

  "You aren't my prisoner. And I certainly don't pity you. All I ask is that you don't leave. Do we have a deal?"

  She stared at him for a long moment. "We have a deal."

  He nodded and left the room.

  She made a pot of coffee and took it to her room.

  He heard her door close and he wondered about the lady he'd kidnapped. There was something about her! He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something.

  But if what she said was true, it was possible that Banks would laugh in his face. He might not want her that badly. Although, a lady of breeding was hard to find in the west.

  A schoolteacher! That's what she had been. No wonder she wore her hair like that. Schoolteachers were known for looking like old maids. To remain a schoolteacher, one could not marry in most places. So, she had purposely dressed herself down. That made sense to him.

  He smiled to himself, as he lay across the bed. What would it be like to unravel the schoolteacher?

  Where in hell did that thought come from!

  He raised up in the bed and looked around his room, as though something had changed, was out of place.

  It was the lady; she was getting to him! He hadn't been around enough ladies to compare her. He simply liked her, for no apparent reason. He'd seen her standing at that train station, waiting in the heat, trying to look dignified and yet she looked so vulnerable. He knew that was why he approached her in the first place. His intentions were not to kidnap her, just help her. She'd been a little snotty, a little uppity, until he brought her here. Now she was unraveling quickly, like a spool of thread running down hill, and right into his lap.

  He needed to keep his mind on his business, and she wasn't his business.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning when he got up, she was in the kitchen, cooking.

  He glanced around, Scout was by the back door, sunning himself. Scout really liked the lady, that was unusual. Scout didn't like many people. Quint laughed to himself, sometimes dogs had more sense than people.

  It was a big, open and wide kitch
en with plenty of room. Coffee was already brewing.

  "Where's Dancing Tree?" He asked in a husky voice.

  "She went home I guess."

  "Now why would she do that," he muttered almost to himself. He closed his eyes and shoved his long hair back away from his face. She didn't answer.

  "W-what are you doing?" He asked, his face screwed up in a gosh-awful frown.

  "I'm cooking breakfast." She said simply.

  He wiped his eyes but when he heard her he popped an eye open and looked at her.

  Something was different. What was it?

  Her back was to him, so all he saw was her flannel robe and—her hair.

  Then she turned around and looked at him.

  His eyes widened. It was her hair!

  Her dark hair was loose and falling around her shoulders, and some fell over one of her eyes. It was appealing as all get out and she looked ten years younger.

  He swallowed hard. He blinked.

  He rubbed his face, so she wouldn't know he was staring.

  "How do you like your eggs?" She asked casting him a glance over her shoulder. She seemed to be looking him over too, this morning.

  "Huh?" He squinted. "What?"

  "How do you like your eggs, sunny side up, or over easy?" She asked.

  "What happened to the squaw?"

  "I gave her the day off…" She laughed.

  "You gave her…. the day off." His words slurred.

  "Rather than try to explain to her who I was and what I was doing here, I gave her a day off and decided I would do the cooking."

  "Why?"

  "Why not?" Priscila asked. "I have nothing else to do all day around here. I'd rather be useful than sit around like an ornament."

  "Look Cilla, before you go making the rules around here, you need to ask first." He barked.

  "My, you got up on the wrong side of the bed, didn't you?" She smiled undaunted by his nasty humor.

  Dear God in heaven, she was beautiful! Of all the things he expected, that wasn't one of them. He liked it better when he saw all her flaws. When he thought her plain. Now what was he gonna do with her? With dark brown hair all over her face and shoulders, and standing there in a big flannel robe, she looked cuddly! Cuddly? Where did that come from? Had he lost his mind? He was still asleep, he had to be.

  She brought him a cup of coffee and went back to finish the eggs. She'd made toast in the oven and found jelly on a shelf.

  Bringing the food to the table, she sat his plate down and then sat down on the other side of the table, staring at him.

  "Well go on, eat." She encouraged. "I promise it won't kill you.

  He picked up a fork, then looked at her, "Are you going to eat?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I already did. I hope you don't mind. I'm used to getting up early and going to teach, so I eat early too." She smiled at him.

  He frowned, "Do you always get up this chipper in the mornings?"

  She chuckled seeming to enjoy his grouchy mood. "I try to. Makes the kids happier when I'm happy."

  "Why haven't you married and had kids of your own?" He slung the question at her in a biting tone.

  She shrugged and the smile faded. "Never found a man I wanted, I guess. The men back east…they're…how can I say this without sounding snotty. They are more delicate. I don't like delicate in a man. Although, I don't mind one that shows some emotions. Personally, it doesn't appeal to me for a man to be so picky than I am at the table or anywhere for that matter. I'm sick of them wiping their chin with a handkerchief. I know this will sound almost crude to you, but as much as Nigel wanted a lady, I did not want a genteel man."

  "Wiping their chin with a handkerchief?" He repeated.

  "Yes, and afraid of animals and afraid to talk to a woman like they do their men friends. I guess I'm just not a genteel lady. In other words, I don't fit in. And truth be known I wouldn't have been a genteel lady for Nigel. Not once he got to know me. I have quite a temper. I've been known to snore, too."

  "Were you ever asked to marry?"

  "Once…"

  "What happened?"

  "He wasn't romantic enough…" She giggled. "I know that sounds the opposite of what I just said, but when it comes to actually proposing, I like a man that has some imagination. A proposal should be from the heart, not planned and thought out. Now granted, he got on bended knee, he did all the things expected of him, but he didn't make my heart giddy. When I say romantic…I mean, he didn't look me in the eye, he didn't cherish me for who I am. He was doing all those things because they were expected. His heart wasn't in it. He was a gentleman, too much so, for me."

  "Romantic…. I thought getting down on one knee was romantic." His mouth refused to repeat what she said.

  "He was too stuffy; I couldn't marry him." She laughed. "They are a different breed of men in New England. They spend so much time being proper, they are stuffy."

  For some reason that brought a smile to his lips. He started laughing. "Stuffy huh?"

  "Very!"

  After a silence she looked up at him. "I don't suppose you've heard from Nigel yet?" She asked sweetly.

  "Uh…no, I just got out of bed. And if he's up, he's out with his cattle right about now. It'll be nearly noon before he realizes anything has happened to you."

  "It'll be longer than that." She blurted.

  "What do you mean?" His eyes nailed her.

  "He wasn't expecting me this soon." She admitted.

  "He wasn't? Why not?"

  "I came earlier than I planned. I told you that. And I didn't let him know it. That's why he wasn't there to meet me at the station." She shrugged. "I know you think I’m pretty careless coming west to marry a man I didn't know. But I wanted to see him, know of him beforehand. My father arranged this, I didn't."

  "Then why did you think I was working for him?"

  "Because he wrote and said he had the biggest spread this side of the Red River. And I assumed it because you looked like a well dressed cowboy."

  "Working cowboys aren't well dressed, ma'am. They wear worn out boots and sweat rimmed hats And you came early to check him out, huh?"

  "Yes, I'm not a complete idiot." She made a slight wrinkle in her nose. "Like I said, I haven't met him, and I wanted a chance to get to know him before I said yes. Does that make sense to you?" She asked softly. "You see, my father said yes to him, I didn't."

  He stared into those gray-green eyes and smiled. "Yes ma'am, it does. And it fits you. But what was your plan if you didn't like him?"

  "What do you mean? It fits me." She asked wrinkling her forehead, not sure if he was insulting her or complimenting her. "And I had no real plan of action."

  "You seem like a real sensible woman. Not prone to just jump out there and do something without some thought to it." He sipped his coffee now and bit into his eggs.

  "Hmm…" He looked up at her. "These are good."

  "Glad you like them…" She smiled, amused that he was easy with the compliments. "It's kind of nice to please someone."

  "Dancing Tree never understood over easy." He told her, with a chuckle, as he continued eating. The look of satisfaction on her face was the reward. Her sense of being appreciated obviously was lacking. The woman could cook.

  "I used to cook for my father all the time. He took his eggs boiled, two minutes every morning, and dry toast with black coffee." She chuckled. "He never changed. Always the same. It's that sameness I'm trying to escape."

  "What's so strange about that?" He chuckled too now.

  "Sometimes I'd cook them three minutes to see if he noticed."

  "Did he?"

  "No…not once." He smiled at her. "He never commented one way or another whether he liked the way I fixed them or not. I was just trying to get a reaction from him. He was quite stoic. Perhaps that's why I don't like— stoic men."

  "And how does Nigel like his eggs?" He asked his voice going husky.

  She cleared her throat, "I don't know. I've never cooked for him."


  "You don't know much at all about him, do you?" Quint watched her as she answered.

  "No, I don't." She had to admit he had a point.

  "Do you and Nigel have anything in common? That you know of?" His gaze went from the top of her head to her feet, she was barefoot. Another smile lit his lips. She hadn't been here two days and already she was comfortable enough to not put shoes on. He liked that.

  She looked down at her hands in her lap, remaining calm under his interrogation. "I'm not sure. And that Mr. Hadley is why I've come early, to find the answers before I marry him."

  "Then why the hell are you marrying him? If you don't already know. You're deliberately setting yourself up for a lifetime of heartache." Quint brows narrowed, perplexed. Strangely, he sounded concerned for her.

  "I told you it was arranged." She answered curtly. Realizing how foolish she sounded, she hesitated to explain. "For your information, mail-order-brides are quite common out here in your west. They say there aren't enough women here. It's a gamble I suppose, but this early visit was to explore those very questions."

  "There aren't enough women, especially of your caliber."

  "My caliber. And what is that?" She asked with a smirk.

  "You're a real lady. We don't get many real ladies out here. I'm sure after you've been here a while you'll see that. At least not the marrying kind of women. We got our fair share of saloon girls. But, you don't look like the kind of girl that settles for an arranged marriage." He argued, his voice holding sudden agitation. "You're too intelligent."

  "Normally, I'm not. You are right. And I'm must say very observant."

  He smiled.

  "But…I am twenty-five and unmarried…and a school teacher to boot. And even out here, that adds up to only one thing. An old maid!" She scrunched up her nose at the thought.

  "You see, everyone used to whisper about me, calling me the old maid of the community. Every time a new man came to our town, he got pushed off on me. It was uncomfortable, for me and for him. I was tired of it. Anything was better than that. I wasn't unhappy about my life; I simply hadn't found the right man yet. If there is such a creature."