Wyoming Bride (21 page)

Hannah felt so much remorse for what she was about to do that she almost turned and ran. Almost. She had to think of the tiny being inside her, who deserved a better life than she could give it on her own, who deserved to be loved. And would be, if she had anything to say about it.

Hannah made herself take the last few steps to join Flint at the altar. When he reached out to her, she set her hand in his, feeling the warmth and the strength of it.

He turned to face the altar and said, “We’re ready, Reverend Scofield.”

“Dearly beloved,” the preacher began.

Hannah didn’t hear any more of this wedding ceremony than she had of her first. She was too busy worrying her lower lip with her teeth, feeling guilty. Just not guilty enough to stop what was happening.

Flint’s voice sounded strained when he said, “I do.” Her voice was no louder when she responded in kind. She was surprised when Flint put a plain gold ring on her finger. She had no ring to give him in return.

Then it was all over and Reverend Scofield was telling Flint he could kiss his blushing bride, as though it were the first time their lips would touch, when this man had already, and quite thoroughly, made love to her.

Hannah held her breath, waiting. She felt the brush of Flint’s soft lips on the edge of her mouth and glanced up as he stepped back in time to catch the look of pain in his eyes.
Pain?
This was different from the
torment
she’d caught flashes of in the brief time she’d known him.

Hannah felt a spurt of panic. Flint was the one who’d suggested the sudden wedding. Was he regretting it already? What had that look meant?

“Are you all right?” she asked, searching his eyes, which were shuttered again, showing no signs of the suffering she’d seen.

“I’m fine,” he said curtly. “Let’s go say hello to everyone.”

Hannah felt her heart sink. She didn’t understand why he’d pressed her to marry, and marry so quickly, if he didn’t want her for his wife. Why had he done it?

The answer was niggling in her mind, out of reach. Before she could find it, he put a hand to her elbow and ushered her toward the ladies who’d gathered in the aisle to wish them well.

Phileda had a hanky pressed to her mouth and tears brimming in her eyes. “Honey, you’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

“No one’s as beautiful as Emaline,” Flint said.

Phileda looked taken aback.

Hannah glanced at her new husband. There it was. It had been staring her in the face all the time! Flint hadn’t wanted to marry her. He’d wanted to marry Emaline Simmons.

But Emaline was engaged to his brother.

Hannah stared at Flint with eyes opened wide to the truth.

His jaw was taut, his lips pressed flat, as though he regretted what he’d said. But it was too late to take it back.

No wonder he’s in pain
, Hannah thought.
He’s married to a woman he not only doesn’t love, but one he can never love
.

It was as simple—and as complicated—as that. Flint was marrying a substitute, because his brother had laid claim to Emaline Simmons.

Hannah’s heart wasn’t broken. After all, she wasn’t in love with Flint, either. But she felt justified in keeping her secret. Especially since it seemed Flint had at least one dreadful secret of his own.

Phileda tutted and said, “Surely the bride is always the prettiest lady in the room on her wedding day.”

Flint turned wary eyes in Hannah’s direction and said, “You’re certainly right about that, Mrs. Strauss. You look lovely, Hannah. I’m a very lucky man.”

Hannah smiled at him, but the smile never reached her eyes. He was lucky, all right. Lucky she didn’t reveal this sham of a marriage to his friends and neighbors. This was all playacting and, by God, she could do it as well as he could.

“Thank, you, Flint,” she replied. “You look very handsome yourself.”

She couldn’t wait to get him alone. She would demand he tell her the truth. Had she guessed right? Was he in love with his brother’s fiancée? She would forbid him the use of her body as a proxy for the woman he couldn’t have.

Hannah pulled herself up short. Who was she to be making demands? Who was she to be criticizing Flint for marrying under false pretenses? What if he became suspicious in return, when she announced so quickly that she was pregnant? Especially if she got on her high horse and denied him his marital rights?

No, she’d made this hellish marriage bed. Now she was going to have to lie in it.

How could he have been so stupid as to compare his bride—unfavorably—to another woman on his wedding day? Flint wondered. On the other hand, he’d never claimed to be in love with Hannah, and she’d certainly made no bones about the fact that she didn’t intend to love him.

“Congratulations, Flint.”

Flint turned to find himself facing the fort commander, who had his hand outstretched. Flint took it, managed a smile, and said, “Thank you, Colonel.”

“What’s your brother going to think about this?” Simmons asked.

“I’m sure Ransom will be happy for me, sir. After all, he’s going to have a bride of his own by the end of the month.”

The colonel cleared his throat and said, “About that. I’ve had some disturbing reports that I wondered if you can explain to me.”

Flint’s heart skipped a beat. He’d never indicated by word or deed that he had feelings for Emaline. How on earth could the colonel have found him out?

His stomach clenched as he had another thought. It was that accusation from the war, that label of
coward
. He knew exactly who to blame for that rumor. But there was no excuse that would suffice for a soldier not following orders. No excuse that could explain withdrawing when he’d been commanded—by a leader who’d then retreated behind the lines—to hold an untenable position.

Luckily, he was too surprised to speak.

The colonel had his mind on something else entirely. “I’ve heard there’s some chance the Double C won’t have enough stock to supply the fort with beef if you were to get that yearlong contract.”

Flint gritted his teeth to keep from uttering an oath. He had a pretty good idea who was responsible for putting that kind of doubt in the colonel’s mind, but he wasn’t about to make an accusation when he had no proof. Instead, he said, “We’ve had a few cows stray, but we’re rounding them up.”

The colonel tugged on his mustache and said, “Ashley Patton has been making a pretty good argument that he’s a more reliable supplier. After all, he has five times the cattle you do.”

“Which creates a big problem for him,” Flint pointed out.

“How so?” Simmons asked.

“You may not know this, Colonel, since you’re from back East, but out here, a single steer requires from twenty acres of the best land to thirty acres of the worst. Despite how many settlers he’s bought out, Patton still has too many cattle grazing on too little land. He can supply beef, all right. But they’re going to be scrawny critters compared to the fattened cattle you’ll be getting if you buy from the Double C.”

“Hmm.” The colonel straightened the other side of his mustache, apparently deep in thought. “I had no idea it takes so much pasture to support a single cow. No wonder everyone out here is so land hungry.”

Since Flint was as guilty as every other rancher in the Territory of claiming and controlling as much land as he could hold with a Winchester, he let that comment pass. Instead he said, “Over the past year, Patton’s been able to buy out a lot of folks who underestimated this land. My brother and I have been here nine long years. We’ve learned what it takes to raise a calf into a prime piece of beef. The Double C deserves to be considered for that contract.”

“I’m getting some pressure from Patton to be fair,” the colonel explained. “It’s understandable, when my daughter is marrying one of the partners in the ranch I’ve been favoring.”

Maybe
marrying one of the partners, Flint thought. Even more reason for him to encourage the colonel to look at the merits of the Double C’s claim to be able to supply the very best beef to the fort.

“Send someone to check out the average weight of the cattle Patton has been shipping to eastern markets from Cheyenne,” he suggested. “Compare it to our numbers last year. I think you’ll have all the evidence you need that our beef is better.”

The colonel smiled. “By George, I’ll do it. And congratulations again, Flint. I hear the music starting. I presume you and your bride will be sharing the first dance.”

“Of course.” Flint realized he was going to have to dance with Hannah. He should have thought more carefully about that story they’d made up about how they’d met. It had been Hannah’s idea, really, but he’d gone along. Now they were going to have to dance together for the first time and act as though it was something they’d already done for an entire evening.

He found Hannah in a circle of well-wishers, mostly women, and said, “May I have this dance, Mrs. Creed?”

She blushed prettily when he addressed her with her married name, as a new bride might be expected to do.

Except she was a widow and had already been through all this before. He was the one feeling out of sorts. He was the one who had gotten married for the first time. He was the one feeling the weight of the lifetime of responsibility he’d taken on. She held out her hand and said, “I would love to dance.”

There was something strange about her voice, something low and sultry that skittered down his spine and settled in his loins. Flint’s body felt hot. He stuck a finger under his collar, which suddenly felt tight. Then he reached out to take Hannah’s hand and draw her onto the dance floor.

The fiddler played a slow, melodic waltz. Flint slid his arm around Hannah’s waist and felt nothing beneath his palm but warm silk, and beneath that, a flesh-and-blood female. Instead of keeping her gaze averted, Hannah looked up into his eyes. She was taller than Emaline, so her face was closer, and he had the sensation of falling into those two deep blue pools.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when she moved with him as though they’d been dancing together their entire lives. He saw the sheen of perspiration above her bowed upper lip and wondered if she was nervous. He could feel her breath on his face.

He admired the fine arch of her brows and the length of her dark eyelashes as they brushed her cheeks when she lowered her gaze. He smiled faintly at the spattering of freckles across her nose and said, “Well, we did it.”

She raised her eyes to meet his and managed a wobbly smile. “I’m trying to look happy. Am I succeeding?”

“Let me see if I can help.” He lowered his head and kissed her lightly on the lips. And felt a sizzle shoot down his spine.

The crowd around them applauded, and there were even a few hoots of laughter.

Hannah blushed rosily and ducked her head shyly.

He grinned in an attempt to hide how stunned he was by how much he wanted her. He had to swallow before he could speak. When he did, his voice was hoarse. “There. Now you look like a bride.”

And he was acting like an idiotic groom.

It was obviously doing him no harm with either Hannah or the officers and their wives standing around them on the dance floor. It dawned on Flint that he’d made vows to this woman. He was pretending affection for her right now, but the wedding had been no sham. They were well and truly married.

First and foremost he felt regret. That he hadn’t tried harder to wrest Emaline from his brother before Ransom had captured her heart. That he’d been so desperate to avoid the pain of losing Emaline that he’d agreed to marry the first woman who came along.

He felt sorry it was Hannah he’d found. Because if things had been different, he would have been proud to marry a woman like her. This just felt wrong.

Not that he wasn’t grateful for all the things Hannah was. But she wasn’t Emaline.

Flint realized he’d been woolgathering, and the music had stopped.

“Flint?” Hannah said.

He let his hands drop and took a step back and bowed to her. She curtseyed to him.

The crowd applauded, and he made himself smile at the sea of faces as he took Hannah’s hand in his own and moved toward the table where refreshments had been laid out.

“I’m not thirsty,” Hannah said. “Can we go outside and get some air?”

“Sure.” Flint didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it himself. They worked their way through the crowd to the door and out onto the front porch, which was lit by several lanterns that had attracted both moths and mosquitos. Hannah led him down the stairs and out onto the moonlit quadrangle.

When they stopped, she turned to him and said, “This was a mistake.”

“Maybe so,” Flint agreed. “But it’s a little late to do anything about it.”

Her chin was quivering, but she didn’t cry. “I could leave. I could go …” Her voice drifted off.

“Where?” he said, knowing she had very few options. “You’re safer staying with me, Hannah. Besides, you’re my wife now. You belong with me.”

She shook her head. “You don’t want me.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised to hear her say it. He hadn’t exactly been playing the part of the happy bridegroom. But the facts hadn’t changed. “I need a wife.” That was true, but so much less than the truth. “And you need a husband.”