by Megan Besing
“Yes, my intended should be here any moment.” She scanned the faces of the few men milling about, but none of them matched the tintype she carried.
“Very good, miss.” He nodded then walked over to speak to the engineer before returning. “We’ll wait a few minutes to make sure you meet your intended.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of y’all, but there’s no need.”
He shook his head. “I reckon there is plenty of need in a town like this.”
“What do you mean ‘a town like this’?”
“Why, Hidden Springs…Well…It’s Hidden Springs, miss. Such a lady as yourself shouldn’t walk around unaccompanied. Don’t fret, though. The train was a few minutes early. I’m sure your gentleman is on the way.” He excused himself to speak with a passenger who’d called for him on the train.
Mariah gave her head a little shake. How very odd that the conductor would have such a negative view of a town Jackson had described so glowingly. The poor conductor must be dreadfully mistaken. Surely, he must be.
The sound of a throat clearing spun her around toward the horrid sign again. She took a quick step back at the imposing gentleman standing before her. Actually, “dusty cowpoke” might be a more accurate description.
Everything about him seemed chiseled from steel and granite, from his silver eyes and strong, angular jaw to the wide breadth of his shoulders and imposing height. The thick waves of his rich brown hair stirred in the breeze, providing the only measure of softness to his determined visage. There was nothing disrespectful in his gaze, despite the way it traveled over her like he was committing every bit of her to memory. “Miss Mariah Snow?”
Drawing her shoulders back, she lifted her chin along with an eyebrow. “And you are?”
“Wyatt Coulter, at your service. I’m here on behalf of your intended. Jack won’t be coming. In fact, it’s best you forget the whole scheme.” He opened his hand to flash a few silver dollars, which he unceremoniously pressed into her palm. “This is for your trouble and to get you back home. Thank you for coming. Have a good day.”
Her mouth fell open. She reached out to snag the sleeve of his coat before he could finish turning on his heel. “Just a moment.”
He paused, glancing down at her hand. “You have questions?”
An incredulous laugh slipped from her throat. “I certainly do. Where is Jackson Wilde?”
“He’s unavailable, I’m afraid.”
“Unavailable?” She searched his face but couldn’t read him. “What does that mean? Is he dead?”
“No.”
“Paralyzed?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then what possible excuse—”
“He’s drunk.”
Her eyebrows lifted. She released his coat. “Drunk?”
“Yes, a state that afflicts him anytime he’s in town.” He took a small step closer to her. Lowering his voice, his tone softened. “Please listen to me, Miss Snow. Know that I speak to you as one of Jack’s closest friends. As such, I can honestly say you deserve better—much better. Whatever he may have told you, in fact, everything he has told you about himself is a lie. The best thing you could possibly do is get on the train and go right back to where you came from.”
How much bleaker a scene could a man paint? Surely Miss Snow would see reason, take the money, and go back home. Instead, she stood with tawny eyes so piercing and perceptive they seemed to see into his very soul as they searched for the truth. This once and only this once, he let it shine through. Willing her to know he was more than Wyatt Coulter. He was a good man—or at least tried to be. The son of a preacher, he’d been raised to treat women with honor and respect. She could trust him, trust his word.
Her dark brown lashes fluttered closed then pressed against her cheeks. Any other woman might have swooned, argued, or cried at having her hopes dashed and plans so thoroughly ruined. Instead, Mariah Snow gave the tiniest little head shake that sent the wavy tendrils beside her ears trembling. She opened her eyes to reveal an odd mixture of determination and helplessness. “I can’t. There’s no home to go back to.”
“Then take the money. Start over somewhere else.”
“How? Start over at what? You can’t send me away. I have nowhere else to go. No money of my own.” She glanced down at the coins he’d given her. “This will run out soon. Then what will I do? How will I live?”
He reached into his pocket to see if there was anything more he could give her. There was nothing left other than what he’d been given to buy supplies for the gang. “I have nothing more to give you.”
“I don’t want anything from you.” She gave him back the coins and lifted her chin. “I demand to see my groom.”
“You demand?” He glanced at the conductor waiting a respectful distance away. “But the train—”
The conductor glanced at his pocket watch. “Four minutes, sir, then we’ve got to pull out.”
“Hurry.” Impatience fueling his movements, Wyatt took Miss Snow’s suitcase then caught her arm to rush down the sidewalk toward the saloon. “That’s the only train coming through today and you’ve got to be on it when it leaves.”
She lifted her skirt away from the mud caking the streets as she trotted beside him. Hopefully, Millie had the situation in hand, but even if Jack was on the loose, he’d been in no shape for a ceremony. One quick look would prove that to Miss Snow. She’d be begging him to take her back to the train. He slowed down a bit as they passed a house of ill-repute, wanting the lady to get an honest view of the kind of town she’d stumbled into.
Rounding the corner, he nearly bumped into Rosie, the Silver Spur’s proprietress. “Sorry, Rosie.”
“That’s all right. I wouldn’t go in there, sugar. Not unless you want a black eye. Petey started another brawl.” Rosie smiled wryly then took in a long drag of a cigar as she eyed Miss Snow. “Is this the blushing bride?”
Not if he could help it. He peered over the swinging door at the melee happening inside. “Yes, ma’am. She needs to see Jack. I guess we’ll go around the back.”
“Wouldn’t do that either. Millie’s tending to him upstairs. He always did have a soft spot for her.”
He glanced toward Miss Snow to find her noticeably paler than when he’d last bothered to look at her. Pink flushed her cheeks. She looked ready to be sick. Good. He took her arm again. “Let’s get you back on the train.”
Finally, her eyes began to water. “I can’t go back. I won’t.”
Rosie straightened with new interest. “You looking for a job, little missy? Pretty face and figure like yours would be welcome at my place. I’d start you out downstairs serving drinks, then—”
Two men tumbled through the window next to Miss Snow. Instinctively, Wyatt pulled her into his arms, turning to block her from the flying glass as he sheltered her between his body and the wooden wall of the saloon. Rosie let out a scream of outrage. “You idiots! How many times have I told you not to throw people through my window, Petey Stanwyck?”
Wyatt instinctively covered Miss Snow’s ears as Rosie let out a tirade of curses so foul it would’ve made a sailor blush. Miss Snow’s fingers clutched his jacket with trembling fingers. This close, he could see Rosie was right. Miss Snow was pretty—awfully pretty. She was also younger and far more vulnerable than her courage and determination had led him to believe.
Her innocent brown eyes stared back at him. They filled with tears that escaped to tangle in her lashes like tiny, pure diamonds. Something in him shifted then clicked into place.
Her whisper seemed to echo over every other sound. “Oh, what am I going to do?”
The answer rose up in him so right and true and unmistakable the fact that it was also crazy and foolhardy seemed unimportant. There was only one way to keep this woman safe, to right the wrong done to her by the gang, and, hopefully, one day give her the better life she so obviously longed for. Uncovering her ears, he braced his hands on the wall behind her and spoke the only words that would
do any of that. “Marry me.”
Chapter 2
She’d married a stranger.
Of course, she hadn’t had much of a choice, and it wasn’t like that hadn’t been the plan to begin with, so what did it matter who specifically the stranger was? It mattered that it wasn’t Jackson Wilde. Or should she call him Wild Dog Jack, the name everyone else in Hidden Springs seemed to know him by? She’d never laid eyes on the man. She hadn’t wanted or needed to by the time Rosie had laid out how fortunate Mariah was to be marrying Wyatt Coulter instead of Wild Dog.
Apparently, if gossip was to be believed, Wyatt never condescended to visit anyone upstairs at the Silver Spurs Saloon or any of the three other brothels in town. That made him a gem of a man—comparatively speaking. Although, as far as character references went, a madam wasn’t exactly the most sterling of endorsements.
Yet, here she was. Mariah Coulter. Sharing a saddle with her husband while a mule packed with supplies plodded behind them.
Wyatt had promised to protect her, treat her with caring and respect. All of that before they’d said their vows in front of a justice of the peace who’d assured them repeatedly that he didn’t want any trouble. No wonder the town was…Well, Hidden Springs. It couldn’t even be Hidden Sins, because no one was hiding anything. Except for Wild Dog, of course, but even his treachery had come to light.
“Better hold on tight, Miss—uh, Mariah.” Removing her hand from where it clutched his brown coat, Wyatt moved it to his waist. “The trail is going to get rough.”
A grimace pulled at her lips. Husband or not, she’d been raised to keep her distance from men, to refuse them even a chance to mistake any of her actions as encouraging their affections. It felt purely odd to wrap her arms around this man’s waist. It was also entirely necessary, for as soon as she did, Wyatt guided the horse down a steep, treeless hillside to wade through the shallow depths of a lazy flowing brook.
She’d seen her share of beautiful scenery while growing up in Texas, but nothing like the gray mountains that loomed ever closer. The landscape was so pure, untouched, and peaceful. So different from the town they’d left behind. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to get to know her husband better, but he’d hardly spoken a word since they’d left Hidden Springs behind.
Then again, she certainly didn’t want to delve into her own past. He’d already told her he was taking her to the ranch where he worked as a hand. What else was there to say?
The clomping of hooves on the flat, rock-hewn banks of the creek echoed around them to fill the silence as they entered the canyon. They rode through a maze of twisting, turning corridors that would have made even the most skilled tracker hopelessly lost—not that there would be any signs to follow with the ground as hard as it was.
The corridor tightened to a narrow pass and forced them back into the brook. A man could disappear in a place like this and never be heard from again. Every muscle in her body tensed. Was that the point? Did Wyatt want them to disappear?
The path seemed to come to a dead end boasting of nothing but a few large trees. The horse picked its way over the roots then made a sharp right turn through a slot smaller than a wagon into a corridor that widened out again. What kind of ranch would—
A face appeared over the edge of the canyon wall then disappeared. Her fingers dug into Wyatt’s waist. Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “Indian.”
“What?”
“There’s an Indian on the top of the ridge. I saw him.”
Wyatt nodded, the essence of calm. “Where about?”
“Left side. Twenty yards ahead of us.”
His right hand hovered near the gun at his hip. “Stay behind me.”
As if she had anywhere else to go. She might be a sitting duck, but she didn’t have to be a lame duck. “Give me a gun.”
“No.”
There was no time to argue. The Indian emerged on the rim of the canyon with his bow drawn and aimed directly at them. She reached for the gun on Wyatt’s left hip. Rather than drawing his weapon, Wyatt wrestled the gun from her hand. A single word of warning rang from his lips. “Woman!”
“Wyatt! Shoot, you fool!” She sent a panicked glance upward, but the Indian hadn’t moved an inch. She reached for Wyatt’s other gun. “He’s going to kill us!”
Laughter washed down over them, filling the canyon as the Indian lowered his weapon to brace his hands on his knees. Wyatt knocked her hand away from his gun then swung down from his mount. He reached up to pull her down beside him. His gray eyes were as hard and flinty as granite. “Never touch my gun. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she said distractedly as she watched the Indian climb down the side of the canyon with his bow on his shoulder. “I’m guessing that must be a friend of yours.”
“Well, we aren’t dead, are we?”
“No thanks to you and your slow reflexes.”
His eyes narrowed, but he turned to the buckskin-clad man approaching them with a harshly spoken, “Hawk.”
Laughing dark eyes surveyed Mariah. “You stole Wild Dog’s bride and his bride nearly stole your guns. Seems about right, my friend.”
“I wouldn’t call it stealing, exactly. The lady made her choice.” Wyatt turned to her with something she’d almost call humor in his gaze. Maybe even a little bit of warmth. “Didn’t you, Mariah?”
Biting back a reply, she simply offered a smile. She wanted to tell him not to feel too honored. After all, she hadn’t had much of a choice. However, she’d pushed him far enough over the last few minutes, especially since she knew very little about his temperament. She nodded to Wyatt’s compadre. “Mr. Hawk.”
“It’s just Hawk, little lady.” The amusement tilting his lips turned a bit wry. “Wild Dog isn’t happy. He’s about two hours behind you and riding like the devil. Better take this matter to the General before he catches up.”
“You work on the same ranch as Wild—as Jackson?”
Hawk’s eyebrows lifted. “Seems there’s a lot you haven’t told your bride, Wyatt. She is your bride, isn’t she?”
“She’s mine all right and don’t you forget it. C’mon, Mariah. We’ve got to get going.” He mounted the roan then reached down and pulled her up behind him.
“I’m not the one you should be worried about,” Hawk called. His laughter chased them down the hillside now interspersed with rocks, grass, and trees. Still, her husband didn’t bother to speak to her.
She had no problem squeezing his waist now. Maybe it would loosen his tongue. “What did Hawk mean? What else haven’t you told me, Wyatt Coulter?”
“Well, to start with, Jack and I work on the same outfit.”
“How…awkward. I’m guessing he’s the one you’re supposed to be worrying about?”
Wyatt shrugged. “He’s likely to be angry that you married me even though it was his own fault for getting drunk and going off with Millie. Course, I might have encouraged him some.”
“You encouraged him? Why?”
“I already told you. Friend or not, he wasn’t good enough for you. None of that has changed.”
She shook her head. “So you just up and married me?”
“No. I tried to send you home. You wouldn’t go.”
She pulled in a deep breath. “That’s just perfect.”
He threw a challenging look over his shoulder. “It was either that or let you work for Rosie and her ilk, so you’re welcome.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong. She was grateful to him—as much as she hated to admit it. “Who’s the general Hawk mentioned?”
“Our boss. He wanted one of his hands to get married so he could have a housekeeper.”
“So I’ll still have the same job on this place? Cooking and cleaning and the like?”
“Yes, you’ll simply be married to a different man. A better man. The best one here.” She let out a short laugh. “And humble too.”
“You have no idea what…” He shook his head. “You’ll see that I’m right.”
The trees cleared, revealing a green, verdant valley. It encircled a milky blue lake that abutted a mountain range of craggy peaks both beautiful and forbidding. Feeling as though she’d forgotten how to breathe, she pulled in a gasp. “Oh, my.”
A hint of a smile filled Wyatt’s voice. “Sometimes I forget how beautiful this place is.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“About a year.”
“And before that?”
“All over. I traveled a lot.”
She caught sight of several log cabin homes and a small barn interspersed among the trees peppering the valley. “Which cabin is ours?”
“I’ve been living in the bunkhouse so we’ll have to see what the General says.”
“Is he really a general?”
“We call him that out of respect since he fought in the war. Don’t ask him a lot of questions, all right? He’s not much of a talker. Best let me explain everything. I’m not sure how he’ll react to the changes I made in his plans.”
She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “As long as he gets a housekeeper, what does it matter?”
“I’m hoping it won’t.”
He raised a hand to wave at the lanky blond cowboy who sat whittling on a porch step. The man tipped his head back to stare at them for a moment. Brushing the wood shavings off his clothes, he went into the two-story cabin then returned a moment later to lean against the porch railing. A Negro cowboy emerged next and paused near the top of the porch step. He crossed his arms and watched them with a bemused smile on his face.
An older man strode past him to stand on the grass with his hands on his hips. Gray hair whitening at the temples, his commanding air left little doubt which of the men claimed the moniker of General. He frowned as they dismounted. “Where is Jack?”
“About two hours behind me.” Wyatt took Mariah’s hand and met her gaze with a faint smile before turning back to the men. “I’d like all of you to meet Mariah…Coulter.”
Shocked silence filled the air. The blond man recovered first. “What?”
