by Tess LeSue
He made a huffing sound and ran his hands through his hair until it just about stood on end.
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this.” She really was. She’d well and truly painted herself into a corner this time.
He gave her a filthy look. “You didn’t seem so sorry when you were telling them about our wedding.”
Georgiana blushed. She had rather blathered on. What could she say? She’d panicked.
“Jesus,” he said, sitting down hard on one of the wingback chairs. He rubbed his face. “You want to tell me what just happened down there?”
Georgiana struggled to find the words to explain it. It was all such a mess. And it wasn’t like she could tell him the truth . . .
“I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, lady, but that was a dumb move.”
She knew it was. It didn’t even save her from Wendell’s plan to marry her, because once they found out her story was a big fat lie, she’d be right back where she started.
Matt Slater looked up at her, his golden-lit eyes utterly exasperated. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go down there right now and tell them we ain’t married.”
Georgiana’s heart was pounding as she sized Matt up. Was there a chance he wouldn’t go down there and tell them? It hadn’t occurred to her that he might keep playing along. He’d clearly been too bamboozled to protest downstairs, and then too concerned for her immediate safety afterward. But she hadn’t considered that he’d continue to lie for her, that he might help her fake a marriage . . .
Was that even possible?
Could they get away with it?
Her mind whirled as she sorted through the possibilities. What was the benefit of pretending to be married to him?
It kept Wendell and Kipp at bay.
Was that all?
Well, there was him . . .
Her gaze swept his long legs and wide shoulders. He caught her looking and she blushed. He was far too gorgeous for comfort . . .
That was a negative, not a positive, she reminded herself firmly. It would be risky to spend time in his company. There were other negatives too, such as the fact that pretending to be his wife meant she couldn’t choose an actual husband, which meant she was stuck with her original problem: taking the children on a two-thousand-mile journey without anyone to care for them if something happened to her.
But it wasn’t like a better husband had presented himself, was it? The candidates so far had been utterly useless, or she wouldn’t even be in this situation.
Say she and Matt Slater did pretend to be married . . .
He would be able to help her get provisioned; he knew the trail; he would certainly be able to keep the children safe until they reached Fort Hall. He would discourage men who might take liberties with her. But what would happen then, when they reached Fort Hall and the California Trail split from the Oregon Trail? They certainly couldn’t continue the lie of their marriage after that, if he went one way and she went another. She and the children would be very much alone, travel-worn and at the mercy of Wendell and Kipp, but this time deep in the wilderness, way beyond the reach of the law.
It wasn’t a good plan. There were just too many holes.
But if they admitted they weren’t married now, Wendell would try to force her to marry him. Georgiana shuddered. No. The fake marriage was far better than that.
She was overwhelmed by the way her mind raced to and fro, hitting dead ends at every turn.
Was Matt Slater even a man she could trust? She examined him. He had his head in his hands, so she couldn’t see his face. He was as big as a grizzly bear and seemed more capable than anyone she’d ever met. And he was without a doubt the best-looking man she’d ever seen, even with his face covered.
But that wasn’t really a positive, was it? In her experience, good-looking men were vain and prone to peacocking. They thrived on the attention of women, and that wasn’t something she wanted in her life again. In her experience, it led to jealousy and hurt and piercing loneliness.
What did she actually know about him? She couldn’t really base her children’s safety on a gut response to seeing him for the first time, in his buckskins with his bristling black beard, looking like a wild frontiersman. That didn’t tell her anything except that he looked fine in buckskins and hadn’t shaved in a while. She needed to consider his qualities. Beyond buckskins and beautiful brown eyes.
What qualities did he have?
Well, he’d been kind to her, for a start. He didn’t always look happy about it, but he had been kind. He’d stepped in when Wendell and Kipp had surprised her in the square today. And when Mrs. Bulfinch had interrupted that horrible scene in the parlor just now, he had defended her then too. And then he’d whisked her safely through the crowd of impatient men, who were sick of waiting to be interviewed. At every step he’d been protective—in an irritable sort of way.
And then there was the way he’d been nice to the boys at breakfast this morning. He’d even made them laugh. They hadn’t had much in the way of fatherly attention in their lives, and it had pinched Georgiana’s heart to watch it.
He’d also thoughtfully deflected the hopeful “husbands,” so she could eat. That had been kind too.
So he was kind, considerate, a protector . . .
You’re being hasty. Her mother’s voice sounded in her head. That was exactly what her mother had said all those years ago, when Georgiana had set her heart on marrying Leonard. And this was exactly the same mistake she’d made with Leonard: forming a character judgment after only a couple of meetings. She should know better by now. It took time to really know someone. A pretty face and a pretty manner could only hide a rotten heart for so long.
I am being hasty, Mother. But I don’t have time to be anything else . . . Sometimes needs must. And this was one of those times. A fake marriage to Matt Slater was better than a real marriage to Wendell Todd. Even without knowing Mr. Slater well, she knew that much. At the very least he wasn’t holding her son to ransom, as Mr. Todd was. It was a low bar to set, but she hadn’t been the one to set it.
“They don’t want you marrying,” Matt said, breaking into her thoughts, “that was perfectly clear. Unless it’s to one of them.”
Georgiana nodded absently. How could she convince him to keep up the charade? Or better yet, make the marriage real . . . She wasn’t really safe from Wendell and Kipp until she was married for real.
“They’ve got something on you, don’t they?” he asked shrewdly.
“Not exactly.” She paused, trying to choose her words carefully. “They’ve got something of mine I need to get back.” She took a deep breath. There was no harm in trying, was there? “Mr. Slater, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me . . .”
He looked suspicious.
She couldn’t really blame him for that. She tried to think of how to broach the subject, and in the end opted for bluntness. “I need a husband,” she said.
He blanched.
“And I’d like that husband to be you.” Oh my. It was like stepping off a ledge and dropping into empty space. Her stomach was headed for her toes as she waited for his response.
“Oh no.” He was on his feet in a heartbeat, towering over her until her neck was sore from looking up. “I told you: I ain’t actually going to marry you.”
“You probably heard just now in the parlor, I have a piece of land on the main street of a gold mining town,” she said quickly. “It’s not much, but it should be a perfect place to build a mercantile store.”
“That’s nice for you.” He was looking at her like she was a rabid dog. She half expected him to start backing toward the door.
“I have enough funds put aside to set up the business.” She nervously smoothed her skirts. “I’m young enough, and obviously fertile. And I hope I’m not too displeasing to look at.”
�
�No.” His fierce black eyebrows drew together, and he started shaking his head. “No. No way in hell.”
“I need a husband, Mr. Slater. You must see that. I can’t be traveling alone, not with children.”
“So pick one! There’s dozens of them crawling around down there. And dozens more out there in town.” He flung a hand at the window. “The place is seething with them!”
“Trust me, I would choose one of them . . . if even one of them was so much as halfway suitable.”
He gave a short laugh. “That ain’t much of a compliment to me, is it?”
“You said you weren’t married,” she continued.
“You can stop right there, missy. I ain’t married and I ain’t looking to be married. So you can get all these ideas out of your head.”
Georgiana pulled a face. No. He wasn’t open to the idea at all. Oh well. It had been worth a shot. She’d try another tack.
“If you can’t marry me,” she suggested, “can you at least pretend to be married to me?”
“Lady, you’re unhinged.”
“No,” she sighed, “just desperate.”
“Again, that ain’t much of a compliment to me.”
“Were you looking for compliments?” She looked up at him. “I can do compliments if it would help?”
“No!” He was startled. Then horrified. “Don’t.”
“You said you join up with a California train for the journey? That you travel together?” She kept her voice calm and reasonable as she prepared to explain why a pretend marriage wasn’t a completely insane idea.
He nodded, still looking at her like she was rabid.
“Couldn’t we simply pretend to be married until the wagon trains separate? That should keep me safe from Wendell, at least for a while . . . and then you can go on your way to Oregon. With no harm done.”
“You want me to pretend to be married to you for the next few months?” Disbelief wasn’t a strong enough word to describe his reaction.
“Yes, please,” she said meekly.
“And what are you going to do then?” He seemed astounded by her stupidity. “I don’t see what good this does.”
Georgiana flushed. She knew it sounded ridiculous. But she couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t; the whole situation was ridiculous. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “but it gives me time to think of something.”
Matt sighed and rubbed at his face. He wasn’t saying no, she thought hopefully.
“I just need some time,” she pleaded. “Otherwise, Wendell will drag me to the altar first thing tomorrow.”
“If he does, you can always say no,” he told her. “There’s a whole bit in the wedding where they give you the chance to do that.”
“No, I can’t.” She clutched her stomach at the stabbing fear, which was all too constant since she’d learned of Leo’s kidnapping. “I can’t tell you why . . . but I can’t say no.”
“What in hell do they have against you?”
She couldn’t tell him. It was too risky.
He made a disgusted noise. “Lady, it won’t work.”
“It doesn’t have to work for long!” But the longer the better, as she didn’t have a clue what to do next.
He had a patient look on his face, and when he spoke it was like he was talking to a small child. One who was slow on the uptake. “And if they don’t want you getting married, what’s to stop them getting rid of me?”
Georgiana frowned, not following.
Matt sighed and drew a finger across his throat. “You know, getting rid of me.”
“They wouldn’t!”
“You sure of that, lady? They seem to have some mighty strong incentive to keep a tight rein on you, even if you won’t tell me what it is. And that—Wendell is it?—he seems set on you for himself. Wouldn’t it be a damn sight easier for them to get rid of me than to put up with me?”
Oh my. He was right. What was to stop them killing him? He was in their way. Georgiana wasn’t used to dealing with men like this. Her knees went weak under her, and she sank to the desk chair, her skirts ballooning around her.
“What’s your real name, lady?” he asked, a touch of concern in his voice.
“Georgiana Smith.”
“Ha. You might want to tell those boys of yours. They introduced themselves by some fancier names than that.”
Georgiana winced. All four children were finding it difficult to remember to use the pseudonym.
“So is it Leavington Bee Fairchild? Or Blunt Fairchild Leavington?”
They really had given their full names, she thought dryly. “My name is Georgiana Bee Blunt,” she admitted.
“Suits you better than Smith.”
She didn’t know if he meant it as a compliment or not. It was difficult to tell. “Please don’t say anything tonight,” she begged. “That’s all I ask. Just give me tonight to work out what to do.”
Matt promised, but that was all he was going to promise. He planned to stay well out of it from here on in.
10
“I KNOW YOU AIN’T married.”
Matt kicked himself for answering the door. He should have known it would only bring trouble. He’d just got back to his room, and he was out of temper. Time was getting away from him. He still had to get his whole train provisioned and staffed, and sign up paying customers, and he was weeks behind schedule. He hadn’t managed to get free of Mrs. Blunt until late afternoon, and all he’d achieved so far today was meeting a few potential scouts. Hopefully, Seb had signed up some more customers, or the day would be a total loss.
He’d just come back to the hotel to feed his animals and check on Deathrider before heading out again to find Seb. Doc Barry had been by and seen to Deathrider’s wound. He’d agreed to keep quiet about the gunshot and instead to tell people Tom Slater had been snakebit—for a price. The doc and his wife were coming along with Matt’s train, at a whoppingly discounted rate. That was another one Deathrider owed him.
Matt thought for sure he’d had his fill of trouble for the day, especially since he’d been lucky enough to avoid running into Mrs. Blunt on his way up to the room. It had been a close call, as not five minutes after he’d closed his door, he heard her tribe emerge onto the landing. They made enough noise to wake the dead.
They certainly woke Deathrider, who was in the filthiest mood Matt had ever seen. The Indian was usually implacable. Matt had seen him face down grizzlies, plow through blizzards and withstand white people slinging insults at him without so much as twitching. But now, the mere fact that the sheets were scratchy was enough to send him into a fit. He was clearly in pain, but stubborn as ever, he thrashed at the sheets until they pulled free, and then he flung them across the room. Which was stupid, as it only pulled at his stitches and caused more pain.
He was getting ready to hurl the pillows after the sheets when the knocking sounded at the door.
“Well, get it,” Deathrider snapped.
Matt moved at a snail’s pace, just to annoy him. It was good to see he was well enough to annoy.
“Don’t be a horse’s ass.”
Matt slowed down even further. He heard Deathrider growl. He turned his back on him and opened the door.
“I know you ain’t married.” Wendell Todd was standing on the landing, his expression an oily mix of smugness, irritation and triumph. He spat the words at Matt before the door was even all the way open, and his rodent eyes gleamed with pleasure.
Matt didn’t invite him in. He had a half a mind to simply close the door in his face.
“You know what I did today, while you were closeted away with her?” Wendell’s rat face grew crafty. “I went out hunting. I’m a good hunter, Slater.”
“That so?” Matt felt nothing but boredom. He was utterly sick of the whole stupid situation. He shouldn’t have come back to the hotel. He should hav
e left Deathrider to his thirst and his scratchy sheets. If he had, he wouldn’t be talking to this rat-faced fool.
“I spoke to the judge and went around to all the churches in town. There weren’t no wedding today between you and the lady.” Wendell’s triumph was clear.
Sorry, Mrs. Blunt, Matt thought, glancing at her closed door. Looks like the lie won’t even last the night. Matt felt a pang for her, but not enough to protest. It had been a dumb lie in the first place and was never going to hold up for long.
“Who in hell is that?” Deathrider complained from the bed. “Tell them to go and get me some water.”
Wendell’s gaze darted over Matt’s shoulder, and his eyes sprang wide as he saw Deathrider. “I know you!” he blurted.
Hell. Matt grabbed Wendell by the shirt and yanked him into the room, kicking the door closed behind him.
“I know you!” Wendell repeated, looking awestruck.
Matt rammed Wendell against the wall. “No, you don’t,” he snapped.
“You’re that Indian,” Wendell blathered, his gaze still fixed on Deathrider, who was naked except for a pair of long underwear, his chest tattoos and the bandage over his wound clearly visible. “You’re the Plague of the West!”
Goddamn this town and its nosy people!
“We was there at the trading post when Saltbush Pete tried to shoot you!” Wendell was excited. “We saw it!”
Matt shoved him hard. “No, you didn’t.”
“We did.” Wendell looked confused.
“You’re mistaken. This is my brother Tom.”
“You were there too! I didn’t recognize you without the beard.” He clearly wasn’t that bright. “Are you an Indian too?”
“Clearly not.” Matt sensed Deathrider rising from the bed behind him. “And he ain’t either. He’s plain old Tom Slater from Oregon.”
Wendell was transfixed by the sight of Deathrider. “Saltbush Pete tried to shoot you in the back, and you moved just in time. I saw it. It was like some magic Indian trick.”
“Kill him,” Deathrider said flatly.
Wendell flinched. “You cain’t kill me.”
