The Dangers 0f Love (Hero Hearts; Marrying A Marshal Book 2)

by Natalie Dean

  In Greta’s possibly outlandish imagination, she had already agreed to marry Simon. It was bold in a way she wasn’t used to being, but she knew that she had never thought about a man like she did Simon. But what did the man himself think? Was he content with taking her to dinner and then taking his leave the next day? She didn’t even know where he lived or what he would do now that he’d completed his task in taking Boomer to Dry Gulch.

  Finally, did he know that she had no options? He did know that she had no money; she’d had to make that clear in the most humiliating way. But did he realize how vulnerable that made her?

  She chided herself. Of course, he did. He was a marshal. He knew the wiles of the West better than she did—and she was only working off of rumor as it was. But did that mean he would do something about it?

  Groaning at the questions that only Simon could answer himself, she held her breath and submerged into the tub, making sure to wet her hair completely. She would give it time to dry in the air as she rested this afternoon, but this would also ensure it held the scent of the lavender oil. She wanted to look—and, of course, smell—her best for their dinner.

  When she had finally dried the last of the sweetly scented water from her skin and dressed in just her underclothes, she laid down on the bed and looked up at the rough plank ceiling. This was the nicest room she could have imagined, even nicer than her own room back in Germany, but it all felt fleeting. She couldn’t stay here indefinitely.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes and forced herself to stop thinking of the future. She couldn’t control it, couldn’t even plan for it, despite the fact that she might try. Instead, she focused on regulating her breathing and allowing her tired, aching body to absorb some of the mattress’s softness. The lack of rhythm from the train’s movement felt strange at first, but as her tired muscles relaxed, she fell into a peaceful sleep.

  * * *

  Hours later, well rested and dressed once again, she put the finishing touches on her hair. She had braided it the way her Oma, her grandmother, always had, and it wrapped around her head. Her mother had told her once that seeing her hair that way made her think of a princess and Greta had loved that thought. Tonight, thinking of dinner with the most handsome man—all but a prince to her—she wanted to feel the part too.

  She had just tucked in the last end when a knock sounded on the door.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “It’s me. Simon.”

  Heart fluttering, she opened the door and her breath caught. He was dressed in a fine pair of trousers and a dark brown vest that was buttoned up. He had a shy grin on his face, and she noticed he’d even shined his boots. The cowboy hat covering up his messy tangle of hair was the perfect addition to the look, though he quickly removed it when he caught her looking at it.

  “Hi,” he said. His eyes took in her appearance, stopping on her hair. “I like your hair.”

  She smiled, liking his look of awe at the intricate braid. “Thank you.”

  Then, as if unsure of what to do with himself, he held out his arm. “Shall we go?”

  Greta knew that stepping out of this door with this man was the right thing to do. In fact, it was more than the right thing, it was the thing she wanted most. What she didn’t know was what would come next? What could come next of two people who had met on a train in the midst of conflict and confusion? Had it all just been that? Emotions wrapped up in tension and the intrigue of meeting in a special spot where time seemed to stand still?

  “Greta?” he said, his brow creasing. “Is everything all right?”

  She was doing it again, and she realized it the moment he said something. She was attempting to live in the future. To ask questions that she couldn’t know the answer to until later—much later.

  “Everything is fine,” she said, decisively slipping her hand through the crook in his arm. She held tight and allowed him to lead her down the hallway. Then, rather than second guess what she would say and rather than think ahead to the end of the night, she decided to enjoy the moment of the night that she was currently in. It was the only true thing she could count on.

  The dinner was even better than she had imagined. They spoke of normal things—things not associated with being held at gunpoint or things that ended up with her being teased or belittled. She found that she felt free with Simon in a way she never would have imagined. She even thought of her family and how she wished they could meet him. She thought of her papa taking him out to his shop and showing him how to use the tools he had and her mother making all sorts of dishes for him.

  More than that, she found herself hanging on Simon’s every word. He was funny, charming, and caring. He asked her opinion on things. He wanted to know about her culture and shared freely about his grandmother. He even laughed at the small jokes she made, not making her feel silly for her humor but cherishing it.

  When the night came to a close with a piece of pie shared between them, she hated to put down her fork and napkin and admit that it was time for them to part ways.

  “Would you consider a stroll with me? Before I take you back to your room?” The look of hope in his eyes wasn’t necessary. She already knew she would agree to anything he said, but she decided to toy with him if only a little.

  “I’m not sure, I am rather tired…”

  He looked hurt, and she laughed. “Of course, I would prefer a walk with you over returning to my room.”

  The smile he gave her was as brilliant as the sun, and they set out for a grassy area behind the hotel. A light wind blew across the grass, making a rustling sound, and Greta took in a deep breath. She liked the smell of Texas. It was hot, and she hadn’t seen much of it, except from the train, but being here with Simon made her see things she hadn’t anticipated. He pointed out things to her, special types of trees, landmarks, and things of interest that she wouldn’t have looked at had he not been with her.

  When they reached a small stream, he offered to help her sit on a log and then joined her.

  “I’ve only been to Dry Gulch a handful of times, but I think this time is my favorite.”

  “You mean getting shot at is something you enjoy?” she teased.

  His grin widened. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor, Miss Fischer.” She blushed and looked down, but he reached out and tipped up her chin. “I like it.”

  Her breath caught, and she couldn’t move. He was so close to her, his gray-blue eyes pouring into hers and filling her up with their admiration. Was this real? Was she really sitting here by this stream in Texas with such a wonderful man so close after thinking that she would be relegated to marrying the likes of Daniel Evans?

  “What are you thinking?” he prompted at her silence.

  This was it. The moment where she could either share the truth from her heart or hedge it. Would it be too much for her to say she wanted to know what was next? One dinner and she would be pressing him for more, but that was on her mind. Still…

  “You can tell me whatever it is. Truly.”

  His prompting was what finally broke her. It set loose something inside that made her reckless but, she hoped, for a good reason.

  “I’m thinking that I don’t want this to ever end.”

  * * *

  Simon knew it was now or never. He licked his lips and decided that he didn’t care what propriety said. Besides, Greta’s admission had his heart racing and his palms slightly sweaty. Was it possible she felt the same way as he did?

  He’d thought long and hard that day about what it would mean to care for her. About how he wanted to do more than simply take her to dinner, but he wanted to provide for the things she didn’t have. And then he’d considered the fact that a woman alone in the West was a woman open to all sorts of problems and harassment.

  Simon didn’t want that for her. In fact, he wanted much more.

  “What are you thinking?” she finally said, her cheeks pink. He realized he’d just been staring at her after her admission, and she clearly felt as if she�
�d said too much.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, laughing at himself. “I didn’t mean to ask you a question and not respond to it. I was just…lost in an answer of my own.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. Her eyes narrowed, and he felt his pulse race. It was time.

  Sliding off of the log, he got onto one knee and took her hands in his. He wasn’t sure what they did in Germany, but he only knew the American way to ask a woman to marry you.

  “Greta,” he began, then stopped. His lips were dry. He licked them and tried again. “I know we’ve only just met, and I realize that this may be too sudden or possibly unwanted, but I must tell you how I feel.” Her expression didn’t change and that gave him hope. “I must tell you that I care for you and have since the first time we met. I’ll admit I was shocked and dismayed when it looked as if you were married—I felt horrible and like I’d crossed a line in my mind and heart—but now I see that it was merely a misunderstanding, and for that I am so thankful.”

  He paused to take in a deep breath.

  “I will tell you that what happened today could happen again—not with you involved,” he rushed to explain, feeling foolish it had sounded like that, “but that I will likely be in danger in the future. It’s part of my job.” Her eyes moistened with tears, likely remembering what had happened earlier that day. He felt like a fool. He was messing this up. “But,” he rushed on, “I want you to know that I’ll do everything I can to come home safely. To you.”

  Her eyebrows rose, and it was his turn to flush.

  “What I mean to say is,” he took in another deep breath, “would you consider becoming my wife?”

  Chapter 14

  Greta walked on shaky legs toward the Justice of the Peace. Her hand was securely held in the crook of Simon’s arm, and she felt a peace deep in her heart that went beyond knowing that she already loved the man she walked next to. The shakiness was mainly due to the fact that today was a day she’d waited for ever since she was a little girl. She and her friends had played at weddings and pretended to get married often, but she’d never considered what it would be like when she was standing next to the man she would pledge her life to.

  Her pledge to Daniel had been one wrought of compliance and obligation, but to Simon it was one of pure joy. She’d embraced him the night before when he’d asked, whispering her agreement into his ear as he held her close, but today she would shout it from the rooftops. She was marrying Simon Brown!

  “Are you ready?” he asked, as they neared the door to the small building.

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation.

  They stepped inside, and at once were greeted by the scent of cigar smoke. It was heavy and made Greta’s nose burn, but soon her senses cleared a little, and she grew used to it in the way all strong scents dissipate. She looked around but found almost nothing to rest her eyes on. Just flat boards, a desk, a grouchy-looking man, and two chairs that had seen better days.

  “You that deputy marshal?” he asked without looking up.

  “Sure am. And my bride-to-be, Miss Greta Fischer.”

  “Right.” The man continued shuffling papers around.

  When they’d discussed their options for getting married, she had been saddened by the reality that the town’s preacher was not around. Apparently, while she’d been sleeping and fretting over what their dinner would bring, Simon had been planning without her knowledge. He’d said that they wouldn’t have a church wedding, but that he would pledge before God to love honor and cherish her, even if it was to a Justice of the Peace. To Greta, that had sounded just as good to her.

  Now however, she felt the informality of it all and wondered if this man were truly authorized to wed them.

  “Sir?” Simon prompted.

  “Yes, right. Well…” He finally pulled a paper from a thick stack, set it down, and then looked up at them, pulling off a pair of spectacles as he did. “What was the name again?”

  This didn’t bode well for them.

  “The name is—”

  The door burst open, and Daniel charged in, red faced and waiving a paper in one hand. “Stop! They can’t marry! Stop, I say!”

  Greta visibly flinched at the sight of him, and Simon reached over and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.

  “Just who the devil are you?” the judge said. His gaze hardened, and he looked between Daniel and Simon. “Explain.”

  “I’m—”

  “The scoundrel who hit this woman, belittled her, and does not care for her one ounce.” Simon’s words cut through the tense silence and seemed to make Daniel increasingly angrier.

  “How dare you?!”

  “Well,” the judge prompted, “what do you have to say?”

  “That man stole my wife from me!”

  Greta blushed.

  “Your—did you say…wife?”

  “They aren’t married,” Simon rushed to explain.

  “But by this piece of paper she’s all but my wife!”

  “It’s a sham, and you know it.”

  “How dare you?!”

  “Quiet!” the judge bellowed, cutting off Daniel and Simon’s argument by sheer force of his voice. “I see that there is some issue here, and it may likely take the wisdom of Solomon to know what to do.” He mopped up his forehead with a handkerchief and turned to Greta. “Miss, I think you’ll be a deciding factor here.”

  “But she’s—” Daniel began.

  “I said quiet!” The judge’s bellowing voice silenced the sputtering man, and Greta began to relax though only slightly. She could speak up. She had to speak up.

  “Sir,” she began, sending a wary glance at Daniel, “what Mr. Brown said is true. This man did order me as a mail order bride from Germany, but he treated me poorly. I told him in no uncertain terms that I would not marry him and instead agreed to marry Simon.” She met his gaze and felt her courage surge yet again. “I cannot marry Mr. Evans. Please, sir, do not make me.”

  The judge looked from Greta to Daniel to Simon then back to Greta. Then he held out his hand for the paper Daniel was trying to force on him. He took it and looked at it, taking his time to read through it thoroughly, and then he returned it to Daniel.

  “Well,” he finally said, after almost a minute of waiting. “As a judge, I set a precedent. What I say can—and will, mind you—affect those who come after me. Those who come after you, Miss Fischer.”

  Greta flinched as he used her name. Was that good or bad?

  “What’s your ruling then?” Daniel prodded. The judge did not look happy at his interruption.

  “As I read it, there is no hard and fast rule attached to the paper he holds. You did agree to come West, but I find no binding contract here. You are free to marry whom you choose.

  “No!” Daniel looked about ready to burst, but Simon stepped forward, placing himself between Greta and the angry man.

  “Give up,” he said, his gaze hardening. “Or I’ll be forced to place you in jail.”

  Daniel looked to the judge, as if to ask if he could do that, but the judge merely held his gaze without flinching. With one last look in her direction, he nodded once, ripped the page in half, and left as the pieces fluttered to the floor.

  She was free—truly free—and she was about to marry the man she loved. Greta was all but certain there was nothing more that she could want from this life. Her happiness was complete.

  * * *

  Simon slid off of his horse and reached up to help her down. Greta slipped toward him, her slight weight feather light, and he caught her close to him, taking the moment they were both shielded by the horse to grab a quick kiss.

  She blushed. “Simon,” she said, embarrassed.

  “No one was looking, I promise.” The next moment, a whistle interrupted them.

  “Simon!” she said again, though more quietly, the ferocity of it made him chuckle. “Come meet my friends, dear bride.”

  Her hand slipped easily into his, and he relished the fact that h
e had not only successfully completed the mission he’d been sent on, he’d also come back with a wife. If it hadn’t been for the hard look of his superior, he was walking up to talk to, he might have started laughing right then and there. Life was full of strange things and odd happenstances. This was certainly one of them.

  “What do we have here?” Andy said. His eyebrows quirking in surprise.

  “My wife.” Simon relished the term. They had only been married a few days at this point, but it was already the best decision he’d made.

  “Your…did you say…wife?” Andy said, looking first to Hank then to Greta, as if she were in on the joke and would break first.

  “I know it’s sudden,” he agreed, “but we met on the train, and…one thing led to another.”

  “You happen to have time to deliver the criminal you were transporting?” Hank said. He looked unamused and possibly even a little…jealous? No, that couldn’t be right.

  Simon refocused and grinned. “Sure did. I’ll have to tell you all about that sometime, but in the meantime, I’m going to introduce Greta to the lovely town of Cypress Creek.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both,” Greta said, and Hank finally broke from his sour mood.

  “Welcome to town, Greta, I’m sure my brother’s wife will be happy to have another fine lady in town.”

  Simon’s jaw could have fallen to the ground at Hank’s kind, eloquent words. Was this the same man who barked orders to his deputies and never shared more than a grunt when it came to personal matters?

  “How about we all have dinner tonight?” Andy suggested.

  Simon felt the sting of reality pierce him and gave Hank a look of sympathy he didn’t catch since he’d already turned his gaze back to the paper he was reading. This must be how it felt to be a bachelor in Cypress Creek.