Frontier Matchmaker Bride. Regina Scott

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      She made herself step to the edge of the boardwalk and raised a hand. “Deputy McCormick! A word, if you please.”

      His gaze swung her way, and the world seemed to narrow until she could see nothing but him. Shoulders broad in his worn black leather duster, the flash of metal that was the badge on his chest. Long legs in denim and black boots. Her breath was hard to find as he guided his horse across the street and reined in in front of her.

      Gloved fingers brushed the brim of his black hat. “Miss Wallin. What can I do for you?”

      Beth swallowed. Where was the speech she’d so carefully rehearsed? Why did one look at those chiseled features still serve to make her tremble?

      She refused to be a ninny in front of him again. He wasn’t the man for her. Her experience and his determination had confirmed that.

      “Hitch Arno a moment,” she directed him. “We need to talk.”

      He leaned back in the saddle. “I thought you and I were done talking.”

      Heat rushed up her. He had to remind her of the most ignoble moment of her nearly twenty-three years, as if she wasn’t reminded of it every time she saw him.

      “This is different,” she told him, catching a stray hair the wind had freed from her bun and tucking it behind her ear. “There’s a plot afoot, and you must be wary.”

      He stiffened, but then there was nothing soft about him. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t noticed before confessing her feelings. Hart was all planes and angles, his brows a slash, his lips an uncompromising line. Some in Seattle were afraid of him. She wasn’t. She wouldn’t allow it.

      He slung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Tying his horse Arno to the hitching post in front of Kelloggs’, he followed Beth around the corner onto a quiet side street.

      “What’s this about a plot?”

      His gravelly voice stroked her skin. Beth stood taller, even though that brought the top of her feathered hat just under his chin.

      “The Literary Society has designs on you,” she informed him.

      His brows shot up. “The Literary Society? Mrs. Howard, Mrs. Yesler, Mrs. Wyckoff, the Denny ladies and Mrs. Maynard?”

      Beth nodded. “The most influential women in Seattle. They are determined that every upstanding citizen do his or her part to grow the territory.”

      He relaxed, arms hanging loose at his sides. “As deputy sheriff, I’m available to help as needed.”

      Beth licked her lips. “Not in this particular area, I fear.”

      He shrugged. “If they need a lawman, they have only to ask. They didn’t need to enlist your aid to turn me up sweet.”

      “As if that would work,” Beth muttered.

      His eyes narrowed. “See? I told you we were done talking.”

      And she hadn’t noticed how stubborn he could be, either. Beth stamped her foot. “Oh! Will you listen for once? I’m trying to save your life!”

      Once more tension slid over him. “What do you mean?”

      Finally! Beth met his gaze. “The ladies of the Literary Society have decided it’s time for you to wed. They’ve even compiled a list of candidates. And they’ve asked me to play matchmaker.”

      * * *

      Hart stared at her. For a moment, when she’d mentioned saving his life, he’d thought she’d stumbled into something dangerous. She couldn’t know how the suggestion chilled him. He’d have cheerfully walked barefoot through a raging forest fire before he saw her harmed. But marriage?

      He barked a laugh. “Well, you can try, but we both know it won’t work.”

      The pink was rising in her cheeks again. Better that than the pallor she’d worn the day he’d refused her overtures. He’d been shocked when she’d confessed she admired him. He’d known her since she was a girl, had thought her sweet, had nothing but respect for her older brothers and their wives. That day he’d looked closer and recoiled as if he’d run into a brick wall.

      Little Beth Wallin had grown into a fine woman.

      That didn’t mean she was the right woman for him. She had always been everything pure and bright, her enthusiasm as shiny as a new penny. She didn’t need his shadow covering her. He’d been curt, almost rude in refusing her. It was for the best, or so he’d told himself every time he’d seen her since.

      “You don’t understand,” she said now. “If I had declined the request, they would have asked someone else.”

      Perhaps they would. He knew each of the ladies. They were used to getting their own way. They had been the vision and the drive to transform the tiny frontier town into the second biggest city in the territory. There was nothing more dangerous than a woman with a vision.

      “I’ll speak to Mrs. Wyckoff,” he told her. “There’s no need to look for a bride for me. I’m not marrying.”

      She sighed. “That’s what my brothers said, and look at them now.”

      Her five older brothers were happily married, and she’d had a hand in it.

      “I’m not your brothers,” he replied. “I’m not pining for a wife.”

      Her head came up. How did such a little chin look so hard? Everything about her was feminine, from the silvery-gold curls tumbling down behind her head to the curves hinted at when her cape swung about her. But Beth Wallin was another lady who wasn’t used to being told no.

      “And why don’t you want a wife?” she demanded. “You have a position of authority. You’re well respected in the region. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

      Despite himself, he winced. Two-and-thirty wasn’t so old, for all he sometimes felt twice that. Chasing after criminals could sap the joy from life at times.

      Watching the woman you love die in your arms, knowing she’d sacrificed herself for you, did worse.

      “Some men aren’t meant to wed,” he said. “Thank you for the warning, but I’ll be fine.”

      She shook her head. “You really think it’s that easy? They’ll be throwing women at you. You won’t be able to turn around without stepping on one.”

      He chuckled. “I’ll take my chances.”

      “I give it a month. Maybe two.”

      Hart turned for Second Avenue. “Good day, Miss Wallin. Give my regards to your family.”

      “Oh! It would serve you right if I followed through with the agreement to match you up.”

      A chill ran through him again, and he turned up his collar, even though he knew the feeling had nothing to do with the brisk March weather. “You do what you have to do. So will I. No one can make me walk down the СКАЧАТЬ