Brazos Bride (6 page)

Pumphrey turned up his nose at Micah. "I hardly think a man of your background is capable of managing an estate on the scale of Mis—Mrs. Stone’s. Perhaps you’d like for me to handle those details for you.”

She suppressed a gasp when Micah’s gray eyes turned icy and braced herself for the heated shouts her father would have used. But Micah’s quiet, even voice made his message all the more threatening. He looked around the small office and through the window to the bank's interior with distaste.

“
Do you know about bloodlines, ranch management? No? My wife is far better qualified to run her business than someone of your limited abilities. If she and I need any help, there are more experienced bankers available. The owner of the Merchants and Farmers Bank in Weatherford is a family friend. Maybe we should move the account there?”

Hope remembered her father had mentioned his account was the largest in the bank, possibly as large as all the others in Radford Crossing combined, except for Tio Jorge's.

The man blanched and words flew from his mouth. “No, no, I meant no offense. I only wanted to let you know I'm at your disposal. Please, feel free to call on me for any reason, any reason at all.” By the time they left, Pumphrey followed at their heels like an eager puppy.

Though fatigue dragged at her, she breathed a huge sigh of relief as they stepped from the bank and loosened the taut muscles of her shoulders.
She'd done it.
Truthfully, she had to admit Micah’s help had made the difference, but she’d done it. For the first time in twenty-four years, she controlled her own life.

Not that she hadn’t had the responsibility before, because she’d had plenty of that all these years, but she’d never had any power. Now she did. If she failed, at least it would be because of the decisions of Hope Montoya, temporarily Hope Montoya Stone.

No longer would she be subject to a man who spoke for her, took credit when things went right and blamed her if they went wrong. She glanced at the man beside her, hoping she could make this work for both of them. He'd have his water, more land, and cash and she'd have her freedom. She savored the thought.

On the street Micah guided her between shoppers who stared at them with curiosity. “Reckon we’d better check in at the hotel, then get some dinner.”

She stumbled and he caught her, then put her hand back on his arm and continued toward the hotel.

“
Did you forget our agreement? Certainly we will not need a hotel room. Let us go to my ranch now.”

“
You said we were to appear as a real married couple. What bride and groom don’t want at least one night’s honeymoon?”

“
I—I do not know if that is such a good idea.” She slowed her steps.

He patted her hand. “Hope, if this is gonna work, you have to trust me.”

He’d never used her name before. She’d avoided calling him anything since the wedding, though she'd thought of him as Micah since the first time they met.

How could he doubt her trust, since they'd just married? She'd turned to him of all the single men in the area. “Surely you realize I trust you or I would never have chosen you in...in this situation.”

“
This situation
has to look normal.” He stopped and looked into her eyes. “We’ll have a nice big
public
dinner and look real cozy, then retire early to our room. Word will spread fast we’re wed for real.”

She lowered her gaze to stare at the boardwalk. “Then you will sleep on the floor.”

“
I’d planned to, but no one but us will know we didn’t share the bed.”

Thank goodness, he didn't plan to force himself on her. She hadn’t the strength to fight him. But what man would want a woman in her pitiful condition? Her mirror didn’t lie—a bag of bones with dull hair and pasty skin.

She looked up, contrite she’d doubted him. “You are right, of course. Thank you for your consideration.”

He patted her hand where it lay on his arm and then they continued the short walk into the hotel.

They registered as Mr. and Mrs. Micah Stone and were given a key by Herman Stevens, the innkeeper.

On the way to their room, leaning heavily on him for support, she whispered, “Why did you ask for the bridal suite? You know there is no such thing in this tiny place. There could not be more than a dozen rooms in the hotel, and they are probably all alike.”

“
He got the message we’d just gotten hitched, didn’t he? Says this one’s the largest room here, called the Presidential Suite. Don’t imagine that’s saying much. Southwest corner room, though, so leastwise we’ll have a little breeze tonight.”

At the door, he unlocked it and swept her into his arms in full view of the maid and two men who looked like drummers. When they were inside with the door closed behind them, he gently set her down as if she were fragile porcelain.

The plain room belied such a grand title, and was far smaller than her own room at home. A thin rug covered most of the floor. Sturdy furniture offered more in the way of service than beauty. The dark, heavily-carved headboard wedged into a corner between the two double windows allowed the bed to catch whatever breeze drifted in. Not too bad, but the one large room hardly qualified as a suite—not even if you counted the area behind a screen as a dressing room. And she couldn't imagine a president of anything staying here. Compared to her home, it looked bare and inhospitable.

He bowed. "Your suite, Mrs. Stone." He set her small bag on the bed.

She was thankful now she’d included her nightclothes, a wrapper, and a fresh dress for tomorrow. “You are quite good at this pretence.” She hadn't meant the words to sound so sharp.

His jaw clenched and his eyes fairly frosted over. “You paid a lot for my services, so I aim to please my employer.”

She felt a flush stain her cheeks. “That is not at all what I meant.”

He spread his hands in front of him. “Look, this is as difficult for me as it is for you. I’ve never been married before, but this sure as hell isn’t how I pictured matrimony.”

She chewed her lip. So, he felt awkward too. “It is not how I pictured my wedding either.” She gestured at the room and smiled at him. “Or my honeymoon, but I thank you for agreeing to my plan.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled it in a whoosh. “Guess you’re all done in. Why don’t you rest a bit while I round up a few necessities.”

She would like a few things and some of the special soap the storekeeper saved for her. “I do not suppose you could get me a few toiletries and some ladies’ delic—“

Looking as if she’d been about to ask him to kiss a rattlesnake, he interrupted, “Don’t ask me to pick out women's fripperies, please. We can pick up whatever you want before we leave town tomorrow. For now, I’ll be back by six. That should give you over an hour to rest and then we can go down and eat. I'll lock the door behind me.”

He left and she heard the key turn in the lock. She was annoyed that he’d kept the key, rather than leaving it with her. He could knock for entry when he returned. Surely she was safe here, locked in a second floor room alone. She sighed. At least he was considerate and he was correct--she needed rest.

Hope removed her dress and shoes and pulled on her wrapper. At the window, she pulled apart the lace panels and stared down at the street. A dust devil whirled dry leaves in its path. Riders and wagons came and went and people walked along the boardwalks. Across the street, under the Mercantile’s covered boardwalk, three women appeared to exchange pleasantries. Nearby, two men gestured in a heated discussion. Radford Crossing looked like any other small north Texas town on a weekday.

But her world was not ordinary. Someone here or on her ranch wanted her dead.

Chapter Seven

Hope folded back the quilt. After removing her wrapper, she laid it across the foot of the bed then climbed between the sheets. Curling into herself, she wanted to bawl. But she'd long ago given up on tears. They solved nothing.

Planning would save her, not weeping. Yet the thought plagued her—who hated her enough to poison her? Worse, what if she was wrong and really was dying of some mysterious disease that had killed her mother?

No, she was certain her test proved poison’s use. Though she could die still, she refused to consider the possibility. Taking action to save herself, she ticked off the steps of her plan she'd completed.

Many aspects still plagued her. But now she had an ally in Micah. He would help her, protect her. With that pleasant thought, she drifted to sleep.

The sound of a key in the lock awakened her. Quickly, she pulled the sheet up under her arms. She reached for her shirtwaist where it lay on a chair and looked at the little watch pinned to the bodice. Quarter of six.

Micah entered laden with packages and dropped them onto the floor near the chair. It appeared he had wasted no time spending his money. He must have needed many things, and the thought that she’d been able to provide help pleased her.

He sank onto the chair. "Town gossips are already at work." His lovely dimples appeared with his conspiratorial smile and he winked at her.

"So, people know we are married?" she asked. Drat, another oversight. She had forgotten to include the townspeople in her plan. How would they react when the marriage was annulled? Probably scandalized.

"Bowman at the Mercantile knew. He acted almost civil when I bought these." He picked up one of the packages and untied it, then shook out a new shirt.

"Mr. Bowman has always been quite nice to me."

Micah shook his head and picked up another package. "Yeah, well, he hasn’t been civil to me, especially since your father's death."

Heedless of her presence, he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. She gaped, unable to turn away. Dear Lord, her mouth went dry as the weather and she couldn't speak. He was almost as tanned on his chest as on his face, and his muscles rippled with each movement. Dark hair furrowed down his chest to a vee that disappeared at his waist just below his belly button.

Good heavens, why couldn't she stop staring at the man? She licked her lips and wondered why she had the oddest urge to taste the indention of his navel. Where had such an outrageous thought come from?

In the mirror he faced, his eyes met hers and he sent her a smile. Caught staring. Her cheeks heated.

She gulped and regained her voice, though she croaked, “Sir, how dare you disrobe in front of me.”

“
Changing shirts is hardly stripping naked.” He stood and poured water into the bowl on the dresser. “Look, Hope, I’ve lived around only men for a long time.” He bent to splash water on his face and wiped his wet hands on his chest and underarms.

“
You will be in my home and I expect you to remember I am a lady.”

“
How could I forget?” He dried himself then scooped up his new shirt and slipped it on, buttoning it and looking at her. “This marriage is likely going to cause a lot of adjustments for both of us. You have to make allowances too.” He shoved the shirttail into his britches.

“
I understand that, but I expect you to be careful in the future. Do not take liberties just because we are thrown together.”

Ignoring her comment, he weighed the second package as he had the first, then untied it. "Bowman said you always use this, so I figured you'd want some for tonight and tomorrow." He handed her three bars of the French lavender soap she preferred.

That small gesture touched her, even though she knew Mr. Bowman should receive credit for the purchase. "Thank you. Looks like you bought a lot." She took advantage of his back being to her and slipped on her wrapper then took the chair near him.

"Guess I got carried away. Money's been real tight for quite a spell. Couldn't resist getting things for my brothers and my ranch hands. Bought you something else." He dropped a new pair of denims to the floor and dug into his pocket. His hand uncurled and revealed a ring.

"Reckon this will be too big now, but I figured it would fit when you gain back some of the weight you've lost."

"A—A ring?" A knot formed in her stomach. Obviously, she hadn't thought this through even half as well as she’d believed. Given the circumstances, it amazed her he’d bought her
a wedding ring
. "Y—You bought one for me? That really was not necessary, but it does make our marriage more convincing. I will reimburse you."

When his gaze met hers, anger sparked in his eyes. “Hard as it was to accept that two thousand dollars, I took it because it was part of the bargain. I needed it more than you could ever imagine.” He stepped toward her. “But I’m not taking another dime from you. Ever. This may not be a real marriage, and maybe my money is same as yours since you gave it to me. But as long as you’re my wife, I’ll provide for you.”

She stiffened. “Your protection is what I need, not your income.”

He snapped, “Well, you get both, so get used to it.”

Perhaps she’d gone too far. “Do not rile so easily. I meant no offense. It is just that ours is a...a business arrangement rather than a normal marriage.”

There was a hint of pain in his eyes now. “Do you think I can forget it for a minute?”