by Kristin Holt
Jacob stood. Tall, straight, and as confident as he could manage.
All knotted up in that ancient history was the shock he’d faced at age twenty, when Pleasance’s love and trust evaporated. She’d walked out rather than follow through.
Jacob Gideon had come a long way since then. A long way. He nodded, pressed his hat in place, pinched the brim in a show of deference the banker didn’t deserve, and strode across the thick carpet.
“Our business has concluded,” Jacob paused at the doorway, “I’ll withdraw my savings and be on my way.”
In a last show of defiance, he left the heavy door open wide.
Chapter Two
Pleasance Benton’s train slowed as it eased into Leadville, Colorado beneath a brilliant summer sun. The bustling town swarmed for blocks and blocks beyond the train station, a beehive of activity. Nothing like New York—but that was good.
New York City sweltered in summer’s heat but this high Rocky Mountain valley’s temperatures were comfortable. Snow still clung to the highest peaks and on north-facing slopes.
The unspoiled scenery stole her breath.
She suspected breathlessness was actually due entirely to nerves.
She must be the oddest mail-order bride on record.
Mail-order brides went somewhere they’d never been, to wed someone they’d never met. Pleasance Benton, who’d never done the expected in her life, had come home as a mail-order bride to wed the only man she’d ever loved.
When Jacob Gideon found her blue dress and blue hat in the crowd, set eyes on her for the first time and realized she was not unfamiliar, he’d be surprised. And cranky. He’d press his lips together and remain silent a while. Twenty minutes at most.
Once outside, she clutched her matching reticule in one gloved hand, her carpetbag in the other. She drew a deep breath of sweet Colorado air—
And immediately noticed Jacob. He’d not seen her yet, thank goodness, because she needed a minute. Jacob had been a man of twenty-three when last she’d seen him.
He’d…grown.
Broader, taller, his features more defined, the power in his lean body evident in every pacing step.
No, the man didn’t pace. He prowled. Stalked.
And collided with her—
Not physically. Just the same, his attention snared and she was caught. A rabbit in his trap.
Every time she anticipated this reunion, she’d known precisely how he’d respond—how could she not? She’d known him forever.
In these many rehearsals, he’d taken her elbow, ever the gentleman, and escorted her away from the crowded platform. He’d never been one to make a scene or cause a lady a moment’s discomfort.
In rehearsal, he’d searched her face for answers, with hope, surprise, and joy in his eyes. She’d open her reticule, remove the bundle of letters he’d penned over the past year, tied neatly with blue ribbon the exact shade as her gown—
Jacob tensed. A mountain lion, ready to pounce.
She’d anticipated cranky—she could deal with cranky. Fury collided with incredulity on his features, hardening his handsome face to granite.
He’d identified her. Instant and undeniable recognition.
He wasn’t looking left or right, making sure she was the blue dress and the blue bonnet, as promised by mail.
He focused wholly on her, as if she were the only woman in the world.
Her heart leapt with remembered joy and a love so strong, so poignant, she smiled. A soft smile, just for him. Without meaning to, utterly unscripted, she took a step toward him. He looked…wonderful.
He whirled about and strode…away?
Directly to the hitching post. Without so much as a by your leave, he swung into the saddle, and with the ease of the accomplished horseman he was, nudged the bay into a canter.
Away.
What—?
Shock stole her breath. Had he—had he just—left? Without exchanging a greeting?
Of every possible scenario she considered, this had never occurred to her.
She blinked, as stunned as if he’d slapped her.
Dully aware a few passengers had taken interest, she thought a matron might have spoken to her, but with her ears ringing, she couldn’t be sure. She stumbled two steps, then three. Following the galloping horse.
No use.
So she watched two seconds more, until Jacob turned a corner and she lost sight of him. She waited, half expecting him to reappear.
He’d return, wouldn’t he? He’d just been surprised. Unprepared. How would he have known she was his beloved Ann? She’d known he wouldn’t put two and two together so easily, but hadn’t his heart known she was on the other end of their correspondence?
People had gathered, watching her, expecting….?
Some no doubt expected her to swoon. Or scream.
She’d grown quite accustomed to people’s eyes and rapt attention. In New York, every time she’d dined in the fashionable districts, ladies and gentlemen identified her on sight.
What to do now?
She quickly took note of men unloading the baggage car, her trunks and crates removed at that very moment. Everything she owned.
No matter what Jacob expected her to do, she would not be so easily dissuaded. He’d sent for her, he’d proposed marriage, he’d fallen in love with her, for a second time, and by golly, she’d keep him.
She shook herself, turned to the squat red brick station and headed for the closest railroad employee.
“Pardon me, sir.” One definitely caught more flies with honey than with vinegar. “Might you be of service?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“Please move my baggage to the station. Those six trunks and two crates. And will you tell me, please, where I might hire a driver to take me to the Running G?”
The fellow swept off his cap and scratched sweat-dampened hair beneath. “Miss? No need to hire yourself a driver.” He nodded at the line of hitching posts and waiting wagons on the street, some occupied now. “See that pair of bays? That’s Mr. Gideon’s foreman, Tuck.”
She did see the wagon. Sturdy-looking. Worn, and in good repair. The team of bays were gorgeous. The foreman stroked the face of one, then the other. As if he’d not witnessed Jacob tear off, abandoning her on the platform. “Mr. Gideon’s, you say? Mr. Jacob Gideon?”
“Yes ma’am. I figure Tuck is here to fetch you.”
Jacob may have won himself a spare five minutes to collect himself, but that’s all he’d get. Adjusting for the speed of that thoroughbred against the weight of the wagon, her trunks and crates, and the time to load them…plus the crates, sacks, and supplies already in the wagon bed…
She conceded Jacob may have won himself a minimum of three hours to gather his thoughts.
Good. More time to prepare herself for round two.
She tipped the railroad employee a half-dollar.
“Thank you, Miss.” He darted for the largest of the unclaimed trunks. “Yours?”
She nodded, giving the young man her most winning smile, then marched directly for Jacob’s man.
Three miles beyond Leadville, on the open road toward home, Jacob finally slowed Notorious.
Why in Sam Hill had he folded when the bankers pressured him to marry? One or two fellows might find themselves lucky, but far and wide, women were a fickle lot. Some marriages lasted but happiness definitely did not. He’d rather be alone than miserable with a female hen-pecking him to death.
He guffawed, picturing Lycurgus Sandusky in his pompous wool suit and Miss Pleasance Benton—no, Miss Ann Robbins—in her citified blue dress.
Couldn’t take the city out of folks like them. In contrast, his heart was entwined with the soil and trees and mountain peaks. He’d suffocate if forced to live in Leadville.
Notorious tossed his head, anxious to run.
Jacob had not handled the shock well. She’d thrown him off the saddle. Again.
He’d landed. Hard. Had the wind knocked clean out o
f him.
Again.
Now he remembered why he’d clung to his bachelor ways. Women weren’t worth the trouble, weren’t worth the pain.
How had he thought himself ready to try again?
He rubbed his eyes and intentionally worked the ache in his jaw loose.
But he still saw her, all gussied up in that blue dress, the same deep blue of a Colorado summer sky. The same blue of her eyes.
That blue frippery had cost more than his entire house.
Ann Robbins, his catalog bride, had written that she’d wear a blue dress and a blue hat, so he could find her at the train. He’d expected something normal, something appropriate. Like calico. And a straw hat with maybe one blue ribbon.
At the station, only one woman had worn blue.
Ann Robbins.
And that woman had looked at him with recognition in her eyes. No way, no how, was anybody else his mail-order bride.
She looked…
She looked ridiculous. Obscene. Like the stage strumpet she’d become.
He cursed and reined in Notorious.
Pleasance had looked wonderful.
Despite the fact he’d bolted in terror, Tuck would bring her home. They’d talked about this. Tuck had brought the wagon, picked up supplies at the grocer, the implement, and the lumber yard. He’d planned to ride Note back, giving Jacob privacy to cart his bride home in the wagon with her trunk.
Two trunks, at most.
Pleasance, dressed like that, wouldn’t have just two trunks.
One or two of anything had never been enough for that woman.
He’d never been enough.
This wouldn’t work—it couldn’t.
But Tuck and his housekeeper, Frances O’Kane, knew Jacob had promised his catalog bride she’d stay on at the ranch, Fran acting as chaperone. Unless Jacob told them differently, that’s exactly what they’d do.
No way could he let Pleasance get all the way to the ranch. He wheeled Note around and headed back into Leadville at a trot. He’d intercept Tuck on the road, clear this up, and send her back.
He hated to admit it, but based on this afternoon’s circus, hoity-toity Lycurgus Sandusky had been right to reject Jacob’s loan application ‘cause he’d changed his mind.
No way was he gettin’ hitched.
Chapter Three
Pleasance clutched the wagon seat as the conveyance struck a rock, swayed dangerously to the side, and plunked back to earth. The road was atrocious.
Her backside would be bruised by the time they reached the ranch.
Ahead, a rider approached at full speed. Jacob?
She held her hat in place, the brim shading her eyes, and peered through the dusty haze at the man’s face, the color of the horse’s coat.
“Mr. Tuck, stop! That’s Jacob.”
The foreman had already directed the team to the side of the road, though she couldn’t tell if other travelers were on the road or not, with all the dirt churned by the horse’s hooves.
Tuck halted the team.
The springs on the hard seat bounced as she surged to her feet.
“He’s coming back.” She glanced quickly at the foreman. “Why is he racing? He is coming back for us—for me—isn’t he?”
Tuck had spoken less than five words from the moment she’d approached him. Now he shrugged in answer. Was he always so silent? Uncomfortable around women? He might have tried to be friendly and carry on polite conversation on the long drive home.
No matter. Jacob had turned about, his mouth set in a grim line.
Good. She was determined too. She liked determination on a man, especially Jacob.
Determination had carried her this far. She wanted Jacob, and if she had to check her pride at the door, she’d do it.
Near enough now that she could see the color of his eyes, he reined his mount to a stop. The vigorous creature pawed the earth, tossed its head and snorted. So very male…and so much like his master.
She raised a hand to wave, smiling in greeting. “You came back. I knew you would.”
Jacob’s eyes narrowed and fury unlike she’d ever seen—at least from him—boiled over. “You lied!”
“I—” She didn’t know what to say. “I know you’re upset. It’s understandable—”
“Don’t make excuses.”
The foreman seemed unperturbed, as if accustomed to the boss’s tantrums. Jacob had always been calm and rational. But she’d hurt him. She’d known she had…just as he’d hurt her. “I know things ended badly between us, but do you suppose—”
“Ha!” He snorted, his nostrils flaring. “Badly? That’s the best word you can find, Pleasance Benton?”
Heat surged into her cheeks. Must he insist on discussing this in front of the foreman? Airing dirty laundry in front of others—employee, friend, neighbor, it didn’t matter—this wasn’t like Jacob.
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t suppose.”
He’d never been one to mock her, flinging her words back like so much rubbish.
“Tuck,” Jacob ordered. “Turn the wagon around. Take Miss Benton back to the train depot. She can find her way anywhere she wants to go—anywhere but the Running G.” He’d turned the horse away from Leadville, prepared to ride.
Away.
Again.
“Jacob Gideon! Come back here. We’re not done discussing this.”
She’d anticipated surprise, lack of trust, and cool distance…but cold and utter rejection? The Jacob Gideon she loved wasn’t capable of cruelty.
“I’m home for good!” She had to make him hear—right away, before he distanced himself beyond the range of her voice. She never yelled. Her vocal chords were too valuable, far too much an investment.
“We must talk!” The strain burned her throat. She’d pushed too hard, for too much volume. She clutched a hand to her neck, already regretting the choice.
The idiotic, fool man.
She would follow him. If Tuck wouldn’t take her to the Running G, she’d find someone who would.
This was not over.
She turned to inform Tuck of her intentions. But Tuck had not obeyed. Instead of turning the wagon back toward Leadville, he’d set the brake, folded his arms, and put her in mind of a man leaning against a barn wall, in the shade, his Stetson lowered over his eyes to catch a nap.
She dropped down beside him. “I see you refuse to return to Leadville.” Her voice had lost the smooth tonality she’d cultivated with year after year of work. Scratchy. Primitive. She shoved aside aggravation. “Might we proceed? Drive on.”
Tuck made no effort to take up the reins. He’d tied them around the brake handle.
She ought to count to ten. Maybe twenty. Perhaps by then, she’d have calmed enough to ask him to explain his actions.
Instead, Tuck leaned against that imaginary barn wall. Seconds passed. Finally, he dipped his chin, pointing at the road ahead.
What? Did he see an oncoming stage? Did he intend to send her back to town on a stage? She couldn’t wrestle six trunks and two crates onto the top of a stage coach, not with her patience worn thin and her throat raw.
She glanced up in time to note the passing traffic.
Jacob.
Again.
He slid from the saddle with the grace of a dancer, the reins in his left hand.
She would have laughed with relief if he weren’t still furious.
“Take Note home.” Jacob passed the reins to his foreman. Tuck mounted up, the stirrups an adequate fit for his long legs. That surprised her. No one was as tall as Jake. The foreman had seemed smaller, less imposing. He didn’t present himself with the same intensity as Jacob.
No one did.
Jacob climbed into the wagon, the entire vehicle swaying and rocking with his weight. She clung to the seat once more. He plopped onto the board, filling up twice the space Tuck had.
Warm, big, hard, lean—and taking up at least two-thirds of the seat.
She wanted to throw her
self into his arms. The urge came on so strong she could have wept.
“We,” he said by way of greeting, “are going to solve this mess once and for all.”
She nodded. Holding her tongue seemed prudent.
The breeze carried his scent—sun-dried cotton, soap, horse, and man. Clean, rugged man, who had no use for perfume or oils in his hair or beard. His hair had been so soft, a temptation calling to her fingers. She wanted to touch him.
He glared at her. His hostility made her heart ache for all they’d lost. Everything she’d given up, believing he’d held her back. So foolish.
“You tricked me.” He sounded as angry as he looked.
She couldn’t entirely deny that accusation. She had tricked him...but it wasn’t done out of vindication or evil. “Every word I wrote was entirely truthful.”
He grunted, disbelief and disdain all tangled in one big snarl. “Except your name.”
“My name—my stage name, is Ann Robbins. Everyone in Paris, Philadelphia, and New York knows me as Ann Robbins. I did not lie.” Or so she’d told herself for a good long while.
She’d rationalized, hadn’t she? Now, in the light of day, beside Jacob once more, she saw things from his viewpoint and knew how things looked. Nausea crested.
“Where’d you find Robbins?”
She swallowed. Her fingers touched her throat again. She smoothed the flesh of her neck, willing her voice and her stomach to settle. “Mother’s maiden name. I asked permission to use it professionally.”
“Ann isn’t your middle name. You don’t have a middle name.”
“I took it from Pleas-Ann-ce.”
“Awful plain for a fancy woman like you.”
That stung. She wasn’t so fancy. She wanted to take his hand in hers and plead with him to forgive her. So she clutched her hands together in her lap and lowered her head.
