Western Spring Weddings. Lynna Banning

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Why, I am traveling to join someone.” She paused and swallowed. “A...friend. I have agreed to be his wife.”

      “Sight unseen?” He thumbed his hat back off almost black hair.

      “Well, yes, actually. When my brother, Anthony, died, Caleb offered to—”

      “Caleb? Caleb Arness?”

      “Why, yes. Do you know him?”

      Gray bit back a groan. Yeah, he knew him. Last time he’d tangled with Caleb Arness, he’d sworn he’d kill the lowlife some day. “Yeah, I know Caleb.”

      “Ah. Could you tell me a little about him? Please?”

      Like hell he would. But her green eyes darkened into an entreaty no man could resist. Not this man, anyway. “What do you want to know?”

      She hesitated. “Well... Caleb wrote that he loves children. That he would treat Emily as if she were his own child. Does Mr. Arness have children of his own?”

      Gray tried hard not to flinch. Caleb Arness was a liar and a cheat, and if he spent a single minute thinking about anyone other than himself, Gray would cut up his Stetson with his pocketknife and eat it. “Listen, Miss Seaforth. I gotta ask why a woman like you would even consider marrying a man she’s never laid eyes on.” A man at the rock bottom of anybody’s list of eligible men.

      She cuddled Emily closer to her body. “Whatever do you mean, a woman like me?”

      “A woman who—” he sucked in a breath “—is, um, attractive. Okay, pretty.” Really pretty. Hot damn, she made him crazy.

      She blushed the nicest shade of raspberry he’d ever seen, and he bit the inside of his cheek. What could he say to save her from the clutches of Caleb Arness?

      * * *

      The train chuffed noisily into the station at Smoke River, and Emily began to bounce up and down and peer out the window. “Ooh, look, a horsie! And a funny wagon. Can I ride in it, Mama? Can I?”

      Clarissa straightened her hat, then stood up and shook the wrinkles out of her bombazine travel suit. “We’ll see, honey. First we must get off the train.” They moved past the dozing cowboy, Mr. Harris, and descended from the train. The red-shirted conductor followed, set Clarissa’s single suitcase on the platform and disappeared back into the passenger car.

      The sun was blinding. She raised her gloved hand to shield her eyes and squinted at the small station house.

      “Oughtta get you a sun hat pretty quick,” said a masculine voice behind her. Graydon Harris stepped into her field of view.

      “Yes, thank you, I will do that.”

      “Dressmaker in town sells hats,” he volunteered. He strode past her and slung the saddlebag he carried over his shoulder into the wagon bed, then climbed up beside the driver.

      “Uh, can we give you a lift, Miss Seaforth?”

      “Yes!” Emily chirped. “I wanna ride on the horse!”

      “No, you don’t, Emily,” Gray said. “Nobody rides this horse.”

      “How come?”

      “Well...” He jumped down and lifted her suitcase into the wagon. “Because he doesn’t have a saddle.” He gestured at the seat he’d just vacated. “You ride up here, ma’am. Emily and I’ll climb in behind you.”

      Well! He gave her no chance to refuse, just grasped her around the waist and swung her up into the empty space. She heard the driver chuckle. “Don’t do no good to say no, ma’am,” he said. “Once Gray makes up his mind, that’s pretty much how things are gonna be.”

      Gracious sakes, what grammar! She sneaked a look at the speaker. Why, he was nothing but a boy! An Indian boy, she gathered from his bronze skin and the strip of red calico tied around his head. He grinned and nodded at her, and she quickly averted her gaze.

      Emily squealed as Mr. Harris lifted her up into the wagon bed and climbed in after her. Her daughter’s next words made her cringe. “Look, Mama, an Indian! A real live Indian!”

      Both Mr. Harris and the driver laughed.

      “I apologize for my daughter,” she said as the boy picked up the reins.

      “No need,” he said. “You must be from back East. Everybody out here’s already seen what us Indians look like, so it’s no surprise to them.”

      The wagon rattled into the rutted road, and Clarissa clutched the edge of her seat.

      “Ooh!” Emily screamed. “We’re moving!”

      “Sit down, honey.” Mr. Harris’s voice came from the back. “Don’t want you to fall out.”

      “I wanna go fast!”

      Clarissa sighed. Emily always wanted to do everything fast—she talked fast, skipped instead of walking sedately and gobbled her food. Part of Clarissa lived in perpetual amusement; the other part endured perpetual exasperation and worry.

      “Miss Seaforth,” Mr. Harris called, “that’s Sammy Greywolf who’s drivin’ us.”

      “H’lo, Sammy,” Emily called. “My name’s Emily.”

      “How do you do, Mr. Greywolf,” Clarissa added.

      “The boy let out a whoop. “Ya hear that, Gray? Mister Greywolf.”

      “Yeah,” Mr. Harris said drily. “I hear. Next thing you know you’ll be wearin’ a black silk top hat.”

      The boy laughed and flicked the reins. “Where to, ma’am?”

      “Oh.” Mentally she counted up the precious few coins at the bottom of her reticule.

      “I—”

      “Take her to the Smoke River Hotel,” Mr. Harris said.

      “Righto, Gray. Then I’ll drive you on over to the livery stable.”

      The wagon thumped along over what must be the main street and stopped in front of a white-painted three-story hotel. The next thing she knew two strong hands gripped her around the waist and lifted her down onto the board sidewalk.

      “You’re shakin’,” he said quietly. “Anything wrong?”

      “N-no. Thank you.”

      He released her. “Nervous about meetin’ up with Caleb, maybe? Woulda thought he’d be there to meet your train.”

      “He—he didn’t know when we were arriving. Exactly.” She couldn’t look at him.

      “Hey, mister, what about me?” Emily stood in the wagon, arms extended. Mr. Harris swooshed her down so fast she screeched with delight. “Again! Do it again!”

      Gray СКАЧАТЬ