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      Before she’d written him back after receiving his photograph.

      Her pale features twisted in anguish and that perfect Cupid’s-bow mouth opened to speak or squeak as she was wont to do. “I had to—”

      “Don’t make it worse.” He warned. The words of caution were for him as much as for her. Her beauty should have been the first clue. She wasn’t a regular mail-order bride. But like a sore tooth, he couldn’t resist probing it. “The mill closed. And you had no other options?”

      “No.” She ducked her head again, and perhaps that was better. She hadn’t come West because she wanted to be married. No, she had considered marrying him a last resort. Given that she wasn’t suited for life out here, she wouldn’t last long if her heart wasn’t in it.

      He leaned over and snatched up the rifle and stalked toward the wagon. Blood roared in his ears, and his stomach churned. She didn’t want to be here. The neatly penned words of eagerness were lies.

      God, how could he have been such a fool?

      * * *

      Olivia wished she hadn’t blurted out about the mill closing. She had picked him from all the other advertisements, but saying so seemed to leave her too exposed. She sank down.

      When she received his letter and photograph, she’d been so grateful. She’d thought he wanted her.

      But his impatience was tangible. Her shortcomings overshadowed everything else. Not being wanted shouldn’t surprise her. She wasn’t calm natured or brave, or much of a helpmate in this unfamiliar environment, but she could learn. He just needed to give her a chance.

      Rocking back and forth, she fought the chill that was not only from the night air, but deep in her heart. Since her parents’ deaths, she hadn’t been wanted anywhere.

      She would show him marrying her hadn’t been a mistake. Just as she had convinced them at the mill she was worth keeping. The shock of hard work had almost made her fail, but she wasn’t a pampered young teen anymore.

      A decade ago she thought she’d marry a man who wore suits and worked in an office like her papa. Men like that in Norwalk regarded mill girls as social inferiors and steered clear. While no man in Connecticut had ever approached her, the men in Denver City had swarmed her. He had to see that she had value.

      Jack returned and nestled an iron skillet down in the coals and set a heavy lid on the top. “We might as well get an early start. Seeing as how we’re both awake.”

      Demonstrating her lack of cooking skills wasn’t the best way to show her worthiness. Uneasiness curdled her stomach. She stood. “What should I do?”

      He grabbed the lantern and lit it. The light illuminated his stoic expression. He strode back to the wagon and shoved things around. “Just sit. I’ll get things done faster if you aren’t in my way.”

      “I know I’m not what you expected,” muttered Olivia as she sank down onto the buffalo hide.

      She wanted to curl into herself and disappear. “When you sent your photograph, I wanted...wanted to marry you.” She could hardly speak to a man for most of her life and now she blurted out the most pathetic details.

      The rattling in the wagon stopped. “Because of a photograph—” incredulity rang in his voice “—you decided to marry me?”

      Olivia twisted her hands together. “You looked like a man who could face the world and survive.” His appearance of solid strength drew her like metal filings to a magnet. Yet his descriptions of the beauty of his home showed he was not a brute. “I thought you could protect me.”

      “I can’t protect you, Olivia.” His rustling resumed. “I spend weeks at a time trapping. Life here is demanding and a woman needs to hold her own. I thought I was clear about that.”

      He sounded resigned.

      “You were clear,” she mumbled. She was the deceiver.

      “You had choices. There are men in town looking for brides.”

      “Because not being able to cook would have been an asset in town,” she spit out.

      “You’ve never cooked at all, have you?” he asked with a deadly quiet to his voice.

      “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d marry me if I told you.”

      He bent forward and didn’t say anything for a bit. Then he picked up the shirt she’d made for him and held it up. “A lot of the miners in California are wearing rags. A shirt like this would fetch a dollar, maybe five. They can get material, but they don’t know how to sew.”

      How would she have known? But that was neither here nor there. She lifted her chin. “I chose you. I only wrote to you.”

      “Lucky me.”

      Selina had written to at least three men and Anna never would say how many different advertisements she answered. Olivia swallowed hard. Surely she hadn’t been the only one to respond to his request for a wife. He must have chosen her, too.

      “I didn’t want to live in a tent or a...or a dugout.” She had to hold her hands tightly to keep from waving them around to make her point.

      “Fine,” he said with finality, as if the subject had been exhausted. “It’s done now.”

      But it wasn’t done. The preacher had said they had a month to decide. Jack could still reject her. Tremors rolled down her spine and her stomach knotted. She bit her lip. “Do you intend to take me back to Denver City and pretend this marriage never happened?”

      “Is that what you want me to do? Have you decided you’ve made a mistake?” he asked, his voice rough.

      Had she made a mistake?

      “N-no.” She shook her head and stared down at her clasped hands. “I’m not the one who is disappointed.”

      “Yes, you are, if you expected a full-time protector.” He left the wagon and his boots stopped in front of her.

      She drew in a deep breath, hoping for an olive branch. Her gaze traveled up his buckskin-clad legs. Her breath left her in an unexpected whoosh. He was the embodiment of the man in the photograph. Strikingly attractive, strong yet domesticated with a pot cradled against his ribs... Just grouchy. His eyebrows knit. He had stayed up all night protecting her and the livestock.

      Jack dropped a tin pan beside her. Outstretched in his hand was a chunk of butter. “Here.”

      She stared at the butter. What was she supposed to do with it?

      “Grease the pan with that.”

      Olivia picked up the tin and carefully took the butter. She smeared the butter in a circle in the bottom of the pan.

      Jack dropped to his knees beside her.

      He hadn’t denied being disappointed in her. She fought back the bitter familiarity of failing to meet expectations. Determined to show she could do a good job, she dragged her fingers in left and right lines. She СКАЧАТЬ