by Amy Sandas
Entering the office, her erstwhile escort brought her right up to the clerk who sat at a tall desk in the corner. “We’re here for one of those civil proceedings.”
The clerk’s gaze widened comically as he took in Courtney’s elaborate white gown and noted the way the light-eyed man’s hand was still wrapped around her arm.
As though just realizing he still held her, the cowboy quickly released her elbow. The clerk gave a slow nod and turned to enter the back room, leaving them alone in the small foyer.
The cowboy turned toward her, and Courtney again found herself stunned by his gaze. In the dim light of the small room, without the blazing reflection of the sun, his eyes seemed even more intense. With a hint of surprise, she noted the tiny fan of lines at the corners of his eyes. Oddly, rather than detracting from his appearance, the detail made him even more striking.
For a second, it seemed as though he might say something, but then the clerk peeked his head back through the door to give them a wave. “This way, please.”
Hiding her confusion and internal disquiet behind an imperturbable facade, Courtney preceded the cowboy into the back office. Whatever they were there for, they might as well get it over with so they could be on their way.
The judge was seated behind a large, scarred desk with papers scattered haphazardly across the surface and a thick cigar smoking in a dish on the corner near his elbow. He was a man in his sixties at least, with white hair that fell straight to his shoulders, an iron-gray beard, and small, dark, deep-set eyes. He eyed them both with an intimidating scowl that didn’t seem to affect her companion in the least.
The man beside her walked right up to the desk and said with impatience, “Let’s get this done quick.”
The judge slid a glance at Courtney, where she stood three steps behind the grumpy cowboy.
“The lady is willing?”
“Look at her.”
The judge took in her appearance in another sweeping glance. “You’re prepared to see this through?” he asked her.
“Of course,” she replied in clipped tones. She was getting tired of repeatedly having to answer that particular inquiry. She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t ready for a new life.
The judge gave a grunting nod, then rang a bell set to the side of his desk. The clerk from out front immediately appeared at the door.
“Fetch Mary and come back down here.”
The further the scene progressed, the more confused Courtney became. The sense of being off-balance had not left her from the moment she collided with Mr. Martin outside the post office and had only gotten worse the longer she was in the cowboy’s company. Looking to the judge for some clarity, she straightened her posture and regulated her voice into one of calm inquiry. “Your Honor, I am rather unfamiliar with these particular proceedings. Might I ask what we are waiting on?”
The white-haired man replied gruffly. “A wedding needs witnesses.”
A wedding? What? Why would they need her to witness a wedding?
She swung a questioning gaze to the cowboy, but he stood still and stiff beside her, staring straight ahead. She was not going to gain any clarity from him.
Courtney pressed her fingertips to the spot between her eyebrows where a fine little headache was starting to spark behind her eyes.
She just wanted to reach Alexandra. Why on earth had they stepped in on someone’s wedding?
Within only a few minutes, the clerk returned with a young woman dressed in a flowered cotton dress covered by a blue apron. Her fair hair was pulled back in a simple knot at her nape, and her hands appeared to be covered in a fine layer of flour. When the woman caught sight of the cowboy, her eyes widened in shock. Her gaze swung to Courtney, and she gave a shy little smile before she approached the judge’s desk.
The judge had called her Mary, and as the young woman’s gaze slid covertly to the slim clerk, a pretty pink blush warmed her cheeks. The clerk came to stand beside Mary, giving her a sweet sideways smile before he too faced the judge and waited.
And Courtney finally understood.
She was here to be a witness for the union of this young couple. Though why the cowboy felt he had to drag her here to participate was beyond her. Surely, there was someone else in this town who was willing.
Courtney almost smiled at the silent little courtship occurring between the young couple. They were both all shy glances and sweet smiles. And so young.
Maybe that was the reason a stranger had to be called upon to witness the rites. Maybe their families were against the union.
The two were obviously smitten and old enough to decide their futures for themselves. If they wished to be married, Courtney believed they should be given every opportunity to find their happiness with each other.
“All right then. Sign here.” The judge pushed a document across the desk toward the cowboy, who immediately took up the pen and scrawled a hasty signature.
When he stepped away, the judge nodded toward Courtney. “Now you. On this line, here.”
The judge was clearly anxious to see the task finished. The cowboy stepped to the side, his attention focused hard on her in a way that had the muscles along her spine tightening. She glanced to the young woman and then to the clerk, who were both so distracted by each other they barely acknowledged the proceedings.
She stepped forward to glance down at the document, noting the scrolled heading stating Montana Territory, Meagher County, Certificate of Lawful Union.
“Just sign it, and we’ll be on our way,” the cowboy said, his tone low and annoyed.
Courtney shot him a stern look. His impatience was extremely irritating, but if the soon-to-be-married couple was not concerned with his attitude, then she could endure it. Courtney leaned forward to sign her name where the judge indicated, directly below the cowboy’s scrawl. As soon as she lifted the pen, the judge slid the document toward Mary and the clerk. They each stepped forward and signed their names.
“It’s done,” the judge declared. “I will have this submitted to the registry.”
That was it?
Without another word, the cowboy turned and gestured for Courtney to precede him from the room. What an odd and shockingly brief ceremony—if it could even be called that.
Stepping back outside, Courtney lifted a hand to shield her face from the sun. “That was not very romantic,” she said now that they were out of earshot of the newlyweds.
The cowboy slid her a dark glance as he turned and started walking. She had no choice but to fall into step beside him.
“You expected romance when you decided to come out here?”
She’d had just about enough of his snide tone. “Of course not,” she snapped. She hadn’t really expected anything, to be honest. Just something…different.
“Good,” he replied just as curtly. “’Cause I might as well break it to you now—you’re not gonna get it. The marriage isn’t gonna last.”
His blatant pessimism was irritating.
Considering the state of her own disastrous nonmarriage, she wasn’t exactly trusting of the idea that happily-ever-after truly existed, but at least she was willing to hope it might. She thought the young couple was rather cute and obviously quite taken with each other. Despite their youth, there was no reason to think they wouldn’t make it and have a very happy life together.
“That is a terribly cynical assumption.”
“Not an assumption. Fact. You’d better get used to the idea.”
She would have loved to argue the point, but he abruptly turned toward a wagon hitched to two horses waiting on the street. Stopping beside it, he gave a jerk of his head. “Hop up.”
Courtney cast a disdainful glance at the rough wooden conveyance loaded up in the back with a variety of crates and sacks. There were no cushions on the bench seat and no cover from the sun. “I am not riding in that.”
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His lifted his brows. “You’ve got another option, princess?”
Of course not. She just hated having to acknowledge it to this arrogant, disrespectful cowboy.
“Didn’t think so. Now, hop up.”
Why Alexandra had chosen to send this bad-tempered, rough-handed man to fetch her was beyond Courtney’s comprehension.
Or perhaps all the men out here were like this?
Grasping fistfuls of satin and brocade in her hands, she lifted her foot toward the step board on the side of the wagon. But her skirts were too narrow to allow the maneuver. Before she could attempt an alternative method of ascending to the upper seat of the wagon, the man gave a grunt of annoyance. Then he gripped her waist and hoisted her off the ground.
Courtney’s gasp was half surprise, half outrage.
His familiar manner was as stunning as his bad attitude.
Needing a moment to catch her breath after the unexpected assistance, Courtney settled herself stiffly on the rough wooden plank that passed for a seat while the man—she still had no idea what his name was—walked around and jumped up to take his place beside her.
“A bit of a warning would have been polite,” she chastised as she straightened her skirts.
He did not bother to reply, just lifted the reins and issued a low sound from his throat that had the horses starting off down the road.
“How far is the drive to—”
“Look,” he interrupted without taking his gaze off the road ahead. “I’m not much for chitchat, and if I were, I sure as hell ain’t in the mood for it today.”
Courtney gaped with wide eyes—though really, how she could be surprised by further evidence of his rudeness after the way this man had been behaving was beyond her. She was not about to satisfy him with any sort of response or waste any more time expecting anything from him but abject insolence. Turning her gaze forward, she decided to ignore him altogether.
She hoped Helena was not too far away.
Chapter Four
Dean Lawton had never been so burning mad in all his life.
His brother had gone too damn far.
Dean should have known something was up that morning. There had been an odd tone in Randall’s voice when he’d mentioned the special package waiting at the post office. But Dean had blown it off. Randall was easily excitable and often got worked up over inconsequential things.
This, however, was anything but inconsequential.
His brother had actually brought one of those brides from the brochure all the way to Montana.
Randall had a tendency to be impulsive and reckless, but this was just plain crazy.
If his brother thought bringing the woman here—dressed up in all that bridal fluff, with her fiery-red hair and those tilted green eyes of hers—was going to change Dean’s mind about the whole idea, he was about to find out just how wrong that assumption was.
Dean had married the woman all right. But only to make sure she had the benefit of his lawful protection while he figured out how to clean up the mess his brother had made.
Dean hated to admit that when he’d realized who the woman was and why she was in White Sulfur Springs, he’d been sorely tempted to just turn and walk away. But a quick look around had proven how vulnerable a lady as green as she was would be on her own.
He couldn’t bring himself to just leave her. And the only way to ensure no one would bother her was to make it very clear that she was under his protection.
Temporarily.
Once he got her back to the ranch and Randall saw how totally unsuited she was to being a rancher’s wife, his brother would have to see how stupid the idea had been in the first place.
Sometimes, the only way to get his brother to see reason was to force it down his throat. He’d get Randall to admit he was wrong and promise he wouldn’t ever interfere in Dean’s life again. By then, Dean would have figured out how to help to woman return to wherever she came from, or he’d arrange for her be transferred into someone else’s care—someone of her choosing, preferably in another town. Then it would just be a matter of having their hasty civil union annulled, and his responsibility to the woman would be at an end.
The fancy lady beside him probably wouldn’t be happy about getting an annulment. She hadn’t seemed to believe him when he’d told her the marriage wasn’t going to last. Dean got the sense she wasn’t one to easily accept disappointment.
He almost felt guilty about that. But he told himself she must’ve accepted the possibility things wouldn’t work out when she’d signed up to become a bride to a total stranger.
He purposely didn’t think about what reasons the redheaded woman might have had for coming west to find a husband. It was none of his damn business.
Though he did wonder why she wasn’t already wed to some fancy man back east. Despite her vivid hair and uppity manner, she was young and passably pretty, with a nice enough figure—at least she seemed that way from what he could tell with all the extra fripperies and layers of her gown.
Her fluffy white skirts filled the entire front of the wagon and flowed over his boots. Without even having to look at her, he could tell that she was sitting as stiff as a board, with her spine ridiculously straight and her hand grasped tight to the edge of the wagon as though she were scared she’d get bounced out of the thing. Her other hand was often lifted to shield her face from the sun as she took casual glances at the land they passed through.
She’d remained silent after they’d left town, but she didn’t need to say anything for Dean to be fully aware of her presence. From the moment she’d turned toward him on the boardwalk, he hadn’t been able to shake that awareness.
He knew it for what it was.
That didn’t mean he welcomed it.
He’d just have to ignore how his body got all tight when she turned her eyes on him and how touching her had sent shocks of white lightning chasing across his nerves. She’d only be around a short while. Surely, he could endure his unexpected attraction for that long.
The drive to the Lawton Ranch took more than an hour, and that whole time the woman said absolutely nothing, just continued to sit stiff and straight beside him. But as he turned the wagon onto the long drive that wound through stretches of bunchgrasses and sagebrush as it made its way to the house Dean’s grandfather had built nearly forty years before, Dean noticed the woman leaning forward a bit in her seat, as though she were eager for her first glimpse of the house she believed would be her new home.
He tightened his hands on the reins as he thought of his brother’s reckless decision to bring the woman out here with a promise that couldn’t be fulfilled. Randall must have been drunk at the time, or stupid in love, as the man had been most days since bringing Pilar home as his bride after a cattle drive to Texas two years ago.
Ever since Randall and Pilar had moved into the new house his brother built, Randall had been stuck on the thought that Dean needed what he had.
He didn’t.
He had Lawton Ranch.
The homestead was nestled in a wide, rugged valley between rolling pine-topped hills. As it came into view, pride and ambition flared in Dean’s chest. Dean’s granddad had chosen the spot because of the sheltering stretch of ponderosa pines that spread to the north, the river that twisted and turned along the southern edge of the property, and the thousands of acres of free range extending in all directions.
This was what mattered.
Built from nothing by Augie Lawton, the ranch had grown into a prosperous enterprise under the old man’s stern and roughened hand. Now that it was Dean’s to manage, he intended to follow his granddad’s example and honor his memory by breeding the best cattle in the territory. It’s what he’d been raised to do.
The main house had been built in two stories, with a wide front porch. Painted a cheery yellow with white trim, it was showing the
need for a fresh coat. Dean made a mental note to have that project seen to before the summer was through. The barn, set back behind the house, was of weathered natural wood, as were the bunkhouses and the storage sheds that sat on the other side of the large fenced-in riding arena.
As they neared, Dean noticed a loose pole on the hitching rail in front of one of the bunkhouses that would need to be fixed.
He recalled the summer when he’d been assigned the task of replacing and rebuilding all the fencing on the homestead. It had taken him months to see the job done, working from sunup to sundown. He had been only ten years old but still remembered his granddad’s firm pat on the back when the job had finally been finished—just before the old man told him to go on and muck out the horse stalls.
Dean had learned a valuable lesson that summer. There was always something that needed doing on a ranch like this, and there was no time for self-congratulation. Ranching was hard work. All day, every day.
With Augie’s death five years ago, the property had been passed on to Dean and Randall. No one had been surprised that Dean had received the controlling percentage. He’d been trained by Augie from the time he was seven years old to take over as boss when the time came. Lawton Ranch was Dean’s responsibility, and it was one he took very seriously.
Despite Randall’s insistence otherwise, Dean did not need the responsibilities of a wife added to everything else right now. Especially not some fancy Eastern lady who wouldn’t know the first thing about ranch living. A woman like the one beside him could only cause unnecessary distraction.
“Is it always so quiet? Where is everyone?”
Dean tensed at the woman’s questions as he brought the wagon to a stop in front of the house. The clear and precise way she talked brought up vague memories of how his mother had sounded. He hadn’t thought of her in a good long while. He preferred it that way.
