Handpicked Husband. Winnie Griggs

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      Her gaze flickered to Adam’s again. Some trick of the light lent a luminosity to her irises, made them appear to change from green to blue and back again. The image of a statue he’d admired in a museum years ago shimmered through his memory. The scales of the dragon had seemed to glow, had rippled with a fluidity of color that was mesmerizing.

      This girl’s eyes were just like that.

      She turned to the men behind him, and the spell was broken. Adam collected himself, annoyed at the fanciful turn his thoughts had taken. This trip must have worn on him more than he realized.

      Mitchell remembered his manners first. “Are you all right, miss?”

      She slid the stem of grass to the other corner of her mouth with bucolic nonchalance. As she did so, Adam saw her size up the speaker, no doubt weighing Mitchell’s intimidating size against his concerned gaze.

      She finally flashed a friendly grin. “Fit as a filly in a field of clover. Why’d you ask?”

      Let it go, Adam silently advised. But Mitchell apparently hadn’t figured out what was all too obvious to Adam.

      “It’s just, well, that screeching we heard. I thought maybe something had frightened you.”

      Adam watched for her reaction with interest. Would she dissolve into tears of mortification, or give Mitchell a blistering set-down for his innocent blunder?

      To his surprise, she did neither. Instead she winced and gave a rueful smile. “My kinder friends call what you just heard a ‘joyful noise.’”

      Adam tilted his hat back with one finger. A female who could laugh at herself? Now there was a novelty.

      Ruddy color crept into Mitchell’s face along with the belated light of understanding. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I—”

      She smiled and raised a hand. “Don’t fret none, mister. No offense taken. Why do you think I wait ’til I’m out in the woods to really give it my all?”

      She looked around, including each of them in her gaze. “You fellas lost? There’s not much out this way but trees and critters. If you’re looking for the road to Bent Willow, you passed the turn about three miles back.”

      “Actually, we’re looking for Miss Regina Nash.” A flicker in her expression told Adam she knew the name. “I understand she’s staying somewhere out this way.” He’d hand it to the judge’s granddaughter, she’d taken great pains to make it as difficult for him to find her as possible. But she obviously didn’t know who she was dealing with if she thought a trek through the woods would deter him.

      The girl nodded, pulling the stem from her mouth and waving it in the direction they’d been traveling. “Her place is about a twenty-minute ride farther on. Can’t miss it.” She rolled the stem between her fingers, eyeing him speculatively. “I was by there a bit ago, though, and it didn’t seem like they was expecting company.”

      He swallowed a sour laugh. “No, I don’t imagine they are.” He watched her toss the blade of grass away, still intrigued by her in spite of himself.

      Goodness knows it didn’t have anything to do with her looks. In that grubby getup and with smudges on her face, and her hair indifferently tamed into a bushy braid, she lacked anything resembling sophistication or feminine wiles. No, it was more the glimpse of personality he’d seen in her eyes, and the complete lack of apology for her untidy appearance, even after the tactless comments from the men in the carriage. The girl seemed a product of her environment, completely lacking artifice or slyness.

      “Do you live nearby?” he heard himself ask. “Can we give you a ride?”

      Now why had he made such an offer? It wasn’t like him to act impulsively. Too late to retract the offer now, though.

      “No, thanks. I’m headed that’a way.” She waved toward the trail behind her.

      Adam nodded with more relief than disappointment. As interesting as this backwoods miss was, he didn’t have time for distractions right now. The sooner he found Regina Nash, the sooner he could be done with this mess.

      “Then I suppose we’ll be on our way.” He gathered the reins. “Good day.”

      “Nice talking to you fellas.” She hooked her thumbs under the straps of her overalls and rocked back on her heels. “Tell Miz Nash I said hello when you see her.”

      Adam raised a brow. “Who shall I say sends her greetings?”

      “She’ll know.”

      Being coy, was she? He’d already decided the girl wasn’t quite as guileless as she seemed. That drawl was a bit too thick, that gleam in her eyes a bit too knowing.

      Not that he thought the worse of her for it. Under the circumstances, she probably felt safer pretending to be simple. Living down to their expectations, as it were.

      He turned back to the carriage. “All right, gentlemen. Time to move on.” But as he set Trib in motion, Adam felt her gaze on him, like a prickle between his shoulder blades.

      A moment later when he glanced back, however, she’d disappeared.

      He mentally offered a salute. It was as if, by getting him to look back, she’d managed to have the last word.

      Mitchell’s gaze followed Adam’s. “Who do you suppose she was?”

      Everett clapped Mitchell on the back. “So, you like an earthy quality to your women, do you?”

      Mitchell shot him a contemptuous glower. “The kind of woman I like is none of your concern.”

      Adam faced forward again, wondering why Everett took such pleasure in needling his companions. Did he think his polished manner somehow made him superior?

      “Oh, she wasn’t so bad,” Chance offered. “Seemed a bit simple, but she was friendly enough.”

      Chance saw her as simple? Adam shook his head. Was he the only one who’d glimpsed the intelligence in those changeable eyes?

      “What does it matter?” Everett’s question had an irritable edge. “Until Miss Nash makes her selection, none of us has any business looking at another woman.”

      A pall descended on the trio. The clink of harness and the rattle of carriage wheels suddenly seemed unnaturally loud. The question of who would be selected as the sacrificial lamb in this unorthodox lottery rode alongside the carriage like a black-clad specter.

      Would the man who drew the short straw really follow through with his end of the bargain? Adam shrugged off any feelings of sympathy for their predicament. They’d known the terms before they signed the contract. His only concern in this matter was to see everything settled according to the judge’s wishes, and the sooner the better.

      For six eternal, nightmarish years, he’d waited for the day he would be free to pursue the truth, to clear his reputation and unmask those who had blackened it. The proof he needed was almost within reach now, he could feel it. Soon, very soon, he’d be able to exonerate himself, to reclaim the life that had been stolen from him.

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