The Rancher's Inconvenient Bride

by Carol Arens

She left her hand on William’s shoulder when Pete placed it there.

  “No thank you, ma’am.” She stared at him, blinked rapidly but could not seem to focus. “I’m here on business.”

  “So is she.” Lydle turned the woman about then shoved her into the arms of a customer just coming in, dust from a long ride still on his clothes. It was late. William couldn’t help but wonder how far the stranger had traveled to get here.

  There were a lot of strangers lately. Unsavory-looking fellows like that one, coming to Tanners Ridge for the tournament.

  “What business does our gentleman mayor have here tonight, given that you’re too fine for my girls—or my liquor. I don’t imagine you gamble. So, as I see things you are spurning my hospitality.”

  “Not here as mayor.” He’d neglected to put on the badge before leaving the office. He dug it from his pocket and pinned it to his coat lapel. “I’m sheriff now.”

  “Well, now, I know we have no business together.”

  “I’ve come about a complaint.”

  “Have you?” Pete waved to the bartender who hustled over with another drink.

  “There’s a widow who lives close by with her two daughters. Your noise is keeping them awake.”

  “A widow, you say?” Lydle scratched the scraggly hair on his chin. “The girls got any charms that show yet? I could use some fresh—”

  “Don’t say it.” William stepped close to Lydle, nearly nose to nose. “If I hear that you’ve even looked at those children I’ll arrest you—if I haven’t already shot you.”

  Lydle raised his hands, palm out in a gesture of false capitulation. He might move like someone raising the white flag, but that was not the story his eyes told.

  William figured the fact that he was wearing a badge and customers were gaily spending money kept Lydle from acting on his anger.

  Young Sweet Blossom tottered behind Lydle, bounced off his back and fell to her knees. She hung onto the legs of his pants to keep from going face first onto the floor.

  “Hilda!” he shouted.

  The woman’s keeper hurried across the floor more quickly than her cane allowed for. Funny that even inside and in this heat she wore her cloak with the hood covering her face.

  Something stirred the hairs on the back of his neck. He reminded himself that Hilda was a common name, but the closer the woman limped, the more pronounced the chill became.

  She knelt beside the girl. Sweet Blossom struggled against the grip on her arm. She knocked the hood from the woman’s face.

  “Get her out of here, Brunne, or you’re fired,” Lydle growled.

  Brunne. Hilda Brunne! It could not possibly be the same one. Agatha’s nurse was dead.

  She swiveled her head, glared sharply at him for half an instant before drawing the hood back over her face.

  But an instant was enough. Even though a lightning-shaped scar cut from her left eye to her chin, he recognized the woman who had stood in the shadows glaring while he danced with Agatha that night at the Lucky Clover.

  There could be no denying that Hilda Brunne was alive, and that she was as menacing as she had ever been.

  Chapter Twelve

  Agatha looped the strings of her bonnet through her fingers, deciding to enjoy the sunshine on her hair for as long as she could before proper rules of dress required her to put it back on.

  “Come along Miss Valentine.”

  She patted her thigh to get the dog’s attention away from the bush she was sniffing. Even through petticoats and skirt ruffles, she felt how her muscle had grown firm.

  After all her hard work, that was something to be proud of. Too bad she could not share her accomplishment with her husband since she doubted he would ever touch her again.

  Ivy would be proud, though. She might burst her buttons since it had been her sister who forced her out of her chair and into the sunshine in the first place.

  It wouldn’t be long now before she could show off her new self. According to the letter Ivy had sent, the whole family would arrive soon.

  It had been a relief to read that Ivy was happy with Agatha’s unexpected marriage. So were Travis, Uncle Patrick and his new wife, Antie. She could hardly wait to hug each and every one of them—most especially baby Clara Rose.

  She sighed. Her joy over her sister’s arrival was tempered by what had happened last night.

  William had claimed to be happy about their marriage, and to be in love with her.

  When he’d made that declaration, he’d looked perfectly miserable. If his heart beat a little more joyfully for loving her, it did not show.

  She’d done what she could to seduce him and it hadn’t been enough.

  Now, it was hard to know what to do about the man given that she was angry with him and wanting him in equal parts.

  “What’s in that bush that’s so interesting?” Tired of waiting for the fascination to pass, Agatha plucked the dog up and tucked her under her arm. “Look at you, full of weeds and dirt. No wonder I don’t usually bring you.”

  “There you are!” William came charging toward her, his hat askew. He’d traded his usual boiler for a Stetson. His coat flared about him and she noticed he was carrying a gun.

  Last night she had wanted to urge him not to take the job as sheriff. Of course it was not her place to instruct him on what to do.

  No, she was a perfectly reasonable human being who trusted others to know what was best for them—unlike the man she had married.

  Since he frowned at her, she frowned back. It was a purely difficult thing to do since he looked dashing in the role of Sheriff English.

  “I’m taking the dog for a walk.” That was all he needed to know. If he did not recognize the results of her fight to be healthy, she would not point it out or confide in him how it happened.

  “I’d rather you stay inside the mansion.”

  She smiled to help control the steam beginning to cloud her judgment.

  Turning in a circle, she gazed at every degree of the horizon. “I don’t see a storm gathering, do you?”

  “Don’t test my patience, Agatha. I know what is best.”

  Perhaps a storm was coming after all.

  Had he any idea how difficult it had been for her to get to the place she was today?

  He ought to know it since he’d held her up when she could barely stand on her own.

  She had learned confidence since the night he’d kept her from the laudanum. She was not going to cower inside because William Byron English told her to stay in the house.

  And, she had to wonder, why did he suddenly want her to stay inside when he had never restricted her goings and comings before.

  “Take the dog home and give her a bath.” She shoved Miss Valentine into his arms. “I’m going to town for tea and cake.”

  “Agatha, stop!” she heard him call but pretended she hadn’t.

  Placing her hat on her head she tied the ribbons under her chin with a yank on the bow loops. Her boots hit the ground with more force than they needed to, her strides long and determined.

  Here was one man who was going to learn that Agatha Marigold English had found her backbone.

  Half an hour later she realized that lesson was not going to be so easily taught.

  Instead of taking the dog home to bathe her, he had followed her, never more than ten steps away.

  What on earth had come over him? Had becoming sheriff changed him in some way? Perhaps now that he was acting in that role, he saw villains behind every bush.

  Purposefully, she had taken her time getting to the bakery. If she stalled, he might get tired of trailing her and leave her to her sulk over chocolate cake.

  She’d turned aside into the milliners’ shop and purchased the hat she had admired. In the window of Cl
ara’s Fine Apparel she spotted a pair of gloves that she could not do without.

  Noticing how dusty her boots had gotten, she spent some time at the shoemaker having them polished.

  At last when it became clear that he would follow her about all day, she went into the bakery to try and enjoy her cake and coffee.

  It wasn’t proving to be an easy thing to do, not with William sitting on the stoop outside and Miss Valentine jumping up and down trying to see her through the window.

  Finishing the last inch of coffee in her cup in a single gulp, she got up and went outside.

  William stood. He did not smile at her but the dog jumped upon her skirt, unable to contain her joy at the reunion.

  “Do you love me?” she asked outright because the question gnawed at her and needed answering. Although he’d said so, he had not convinced her of it last night.

  “I told you I did.”

  “Humph. Your hat is askew.” She reached up, straightened it then spun about and went home.

  * * *

  Once again he had declared his love. Agatha’s response had been to straighten his hat.

  He hadn’t expected a kiss, but a smile would have done.

  At least she had finally decided to return home. Following her about in the heat was not on his schedule of things to get done today.

  Neither was feeling heartache. Agatha’s continued anger hurt him in a way he’d never experienced. Being in love was not the rosy condition poets liked to go on about.

  There was one way to deflect her anger away from him. Tell her the truth. Reveal that her former tormentor was not dead but living two blocks away.

  No, he would keep that to himself. There was no telling what the knowledge might do to her. What if it plunged her backward to where she had been?

  The safest thing would be to deal with Brunne on his own. Since charges had never been filed against the woman, would he be able to arrest her?

  A real sheriff would know. For now his plan was to keep Agatha indoors. His gut told him that the witch was not here by accident.

  It was hard to imagine how she’d found Agatha. How she’d gone from presumed dead to working at Pete’s Palace. In the end the how of it didn’t matter. The woman was here.

  So he would do what he needed to in order to keep his wife safe, even if she hated him for it.

  Which, apparently she did. No matter. Agatha was going to stay indoors unless she was with him.

  And he was going to resist the temptation that nearness would create. No matter what, he was going to keep his hands off her.

  Yet another thing she was unhappy about where he was concerned.

  Didn’t she understand that leaving her bed when he’d wanted to stay was the greatest way he knew to express his love and respect for her?

  All day she had been acting like he’d tossed dirt in her face.

  Now, standing on the patio and gazing into the moonless sky, he dug his fingers into the rail. How could he make this impossible situation right?

  “Well, there’s my big, handsome sheriff!”

  His mother joined him at the rail. He leaned down to kiss her cheek.

  “We’ve hardly seen you tonight, son.” She arched a brow at him. “Is something wrong?”

  Denying it would do no good. This was the woman who had known him since birth. He did not doubt that she already knew what was wrong and had come to state her opinion about it.

  An owl hooted in a tree at the edge of the yard. A block away a dog barked. Miss Valentine, dashing about and sniffing bushes, barked in answer. Seconds passed, he remained silent.

  “Son?” She set her hand on top of his. “It’s time to share a bed with your bride. It’s no wonder she’s cranky with you.”

  Good thing he hadn’t been drinking anything. He’d have sputtered it halfway across the yard.

  A scolding for his tendency toward bossiness was what he expected.

  “That’s a private matter, Mother.”

  “I’ve known everything about you from the day you were born. Try as you might, you cannot keep anything private from your own mother.” She folded her arms across her bosom, tapped her bottom lip in thought. “I know that you love Agatha. Anyone with eyes can see how much. So why won’t you bed her? I’ve given it a great deal of thought.”

  “You’ve what?” His mother had been thinking about his intimate life? In lurid detail? His stomach clenched. He wondered if he was going to keel over the rail, hit his head on the ground and never come to.

  “Been thinking about you and your sweet wife. I do not believe the reluctance is on her part.”

  “I wish it was. Life would be easier.”

  “What do you mean? She’s lovely! Any man would be fortunate to have her. You ought to count your lucky stars.”

  “Believe me, Mother, I do. All those things you said about her are true—but this is Agatha Magee.” He looked at the stars he’d recently thanked, wishing there was a moon to fix his attention on. Anything to keep from having this conversation with his mother.

  “Of course she is.”

  “And you’ll recall that the doctor warned her father that she could die giving birth.”

  Mother waved the idea away with a flick of her fingers. “That was a very long time ago. She was ill. I’m sure she is a different person now. Really, son, open your eyes and take an honest look at her.”

  “All I know is what a doctor told her father. I cannot act as if he had not.”

  “I’ve thought about this a lot,” she said, patting his hand where he gripped the rail.

  “I’m surprised you had time to think about anything but the reception.”

  “Even the most efficient planner has room to be concerned about her child. And I am concerned about you, William.”

  “I’ll get by.” Somehow.

  “Yes, once you face what the problem really is.” She reached up and ruffled his hair as if he were five years old again.

  “I don’t want to kill my wife is what the problem is.”

  “No man does. But William, your fear goes deeper than most men’s. You watched me nearly die in childbirth. Your sister left this world while you held her in your arms. As sick to death as I was, don’t think I was not aware of the way you knelt by my bedside for a week praying. The reason I did not die was because you needed me. I fought hard to live.”

  “It would break me to see Agatha like that.”

  “No doubt, but it would not break her.”

  “Dying would break her! And me. Look what it did to Father.”

  “Never mind him. He was always weak. You are not like him in any way. You are strong and honorable, a good man to your bones.” She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned her head against the side of his arm. “Do you think that had I known I would die giving birth to you, I would not have done it anyway? Death comes to us all at some point, but how sad to have lived one’s life without love.”

  “Do you think Agatha would survive giving birth?” He wanted to know her opinion, not that her opinion would have any bearing on the situation.

  “Very likely, but nothing is guaranteed, dear. But I do believe that she has the right to make her own decision about it. As much as you want to be in control of everything, you are not.”

  The longer he lived, the more apparent that became.

  His plan had been to be appointed to the territorial legislature; instead he was Mayor of Tanners Ridge. His plan had been to serve the town as best he could; now he was sheriff as well.

  His plan had been to marry a socialite to advance his career. He’d married a woman who was shy in a crowd.

  He’d accepted the fact that his fate would be to merely like his wife. To his everlasting wonder, he loved his wife.

  Nothing it
seemed was under his control. Especially Agatha Marigold English.

  “It’s good to see your smile.” Mother went up on her toes, kissed his cheek then went back in the house.

  Damn, one more thing not under his control. His emotions. Now he was smiling, besotted with Agatha, when a moment ago he wanted to shout his frustration at the non-present moon.

  * * *

  At some point during the day, someone would knock on the front door, wanting her husband’s attention.

  Given that he was both mayor and sheriff, he was going to be needed. It was only a matter of time before she would see him leave the house and she could make her escape.

  Not that she should be required to escape. But William had changed toward her and blamed if she knew why.

  The ladies at the saloon needed her help, not tomorrow or next week, but today. This morning!

  If she didn’t warn them that they were slowly dying, she would be no better than Hilda Brunne was. She had been where these women were, helpless, hopeless.

  She wanted to be more like her sister. This was her chance. Just as Ivy had dragged Agatha to freedom, she would do it for the filles de joie at Pete’s Palace.

  Exactly how she was going to help them was another problem altogether.

  She’d considered writing letters to each woman, but from all she’d seen Pete was a wicked man. He might punish them if he found the notes.

  There seemed to be only one way to go about it. Speak to them face to face.

  Perhaps when they were leaning out of their windows recruiting customers. It seemed the safest way to go about it since at this hour of the day Pete Lydle was probably asleep.

  Her challenge was a big one. For now all she could do was sit in her chair by the front window and pretend to read.

  The clock seemed to tick endlessly but in reality it was only a few moments before the library door opened and her husband strode out, looking far too handsome for her frame of mind.

  If he matched her mood, his hair would be disheveled, his shirt ripped. Three days of shaggy beard growth would shadow his chin.

  Oh, drat. That image did not suit her mood, either. It was rugged in a way the made her heart stutter.