The Unexpected Bride

“Ben! Pack your things and get out of town now!”

Haydon’s gaze jumped up to a tall man with a shiny badge splayed against a black leather vest.

“I warned you if you caused any more trouble, I’d run you out of town. I mean to keep my promise. Now get out of here and don’t ever show your face around here again.”

Haydon stood and hauled the man the sheriff called Ben to his feet. When he released him, the only way to describe what he saw in his beady eyes was evil intent. It tried to curl its way around Haydon, but he shook it off like he would a snake crawling on his hand.

“This won’t be the last you’ll hear from me,” Ben hissed. He scooped up his sweat-stained hat and slammed it on his greasy head. “You an’ yore lady friend’ll be sorry you ever messed with me!”

“That’s enough!” The sheriff aimed his pistol at Ben’s heart and cocked it. “Whether you go peacefully or draped over a saddle makes no difference to me. The choice is yours.” Wrinkles gathered around the lawman’s narrowed eyes, and his burly mustache buried his lips.

Haydon swung his gaze between the sheriff and Ben, not at all sure that he and the lady weren’t about to witness a deadly showdown at point-blank range.

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” Ben spat as he lifted his hands in the air.

The lawman gave a quick jerk of his head and gun, motioning Ben forward. The two of them headed down the boardwalk. Their boots clunked against the wooden planks, and neither of them looked back.

Haydon relaxed his shoulders for a full two seconds, until he remembered the lady. He let out a quick breath and turned toward her. Seeing her stooped over, he snatched up his hat and hurried over to her. “Are you all right, Miss?”

Like a well-trained woman of society, she rose gracefully and faced him. Having grown up with the socially elite, he recognized one when he saw one. And she was definitely one.

“Yes, sir, I am.” Her lavender plumed hat tilted back, and she looked up at him. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

Haydon’s pulse throbbed in his ears and his breath hitched. Staring up at him were the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen, soft as a doe’s hide. The color reminded Haydon of a whitetail fawn, complete with white specks. Thick but not overly long lashes spread across her eyelids. And that Southern accent. It skipped across his heart before drilling right down into him.

“Merciful heavens. Your nose is bleeding.” She opened the little beaded bag hanging from her wrist, pulled out a lace hanky and raised it toward his nose.

He yanked his head back. “Don’t soil your hanky.” He reached into his inside vest pocket and removed his handkerchief, then pressed it against his nostrils, ignoring the pain the gesture produced. Confident he’d gotten all the blood, he folded his handkerchief and shoved it back into his vest.

“I am so sorry, sir, you were injured on account of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

She studied him for a moment, and he squirmed under her scrutiny. “Would you happen to be Mr. Bowen?” Her drawn out words, mixed with a tremor, snapped Haydon back to reality. No matter how beautiful she was, she was still a woman. The last time he had fallen for a beautiful woman, not only had he ruined her life, but also his.

He slammed his hat onto his head and stepped back. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Haydon Bowen.”

She daintily clasped her skirt and curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. I am Rainelle Victoria Devonwood. But please call me Rainee.”

He knew his eyes had to be popping out of their sockets, but he couldn’t help himself. This little beauty placed an advertisement for a husband? Someone who looked like her and bled confidence? His eyes narrowed. What was wrong with her that no one had claimed her for his own? She’s a woman, Haydon. That’s reason enough.

Slanting her pretty little head, she blinked several times before her eyes snapped onto his. Innocence clothed her face, making her even more of a threat.

This was going to be a lot harder than he thought. Why did she have to have eyes that penetrated the very depths of his soul, connecting with that spot he had purposely kept shut off for years?

He broke eye contact with her. He didn’t want her or anyone else invading that private place. Nor did he want her coming home with him. Think, Haydon, think fast. Maybe he could buy her a one-way ticket home and set her up in a hotel here in Prosperity Mountain until the next stagecoach came around.

He scanned the mining town. Several men stood in front of the saloon with their arms crossed and their legs spread, gawking at Miss Devonwood as if they hadn’t eaten in days and she was a fresh piece of meat. Prosperity Mountain was definitely no place to leave a lady without an escort. Women were scarce around these parts, and too many men were less than honorable. From what he had experienced, the place overflowed with raucous silver miners and thieves who wouldn’t hesitate to steal a person’s silver or something even more valuable—a woman’s virtue.

With a sideways glance, he battled with what to do. Frustration toward Jesse for putting him in this mess seeped through his mind again like a deadly poison. His brother should be dealing with this. Not him. But that wasn’t going to happen. The sight of Jess unconscious on the floor of the barn slashed through Haydon, and he detested Jess all the more for making him so angry he had lost his composure, and flanked his horse. Haydon knew better than to touch a horse’s flank; spurring that tender spot between a horse’s ribs and hips was bad enough, and yet he had not only kicked it without meaning to, he had also hit it hard enough that it caused Rebel to rear and knock Jesse unconscious. Haydon still felt badly about that.

With Jess injured, it was now up to Haydon to do what he had to do to keep this woman safe. No gentleman would do anything less. And if Haydon was anything, he prided himself on being a gentleman. Most of the time anyway.

His chest heaved at the idea of being in such close proximity to the flaxen-haired beauty on the long ride back to the ranch. It was the last place he wanted to be. But he would not leave her here, not even to save himself the trouble.

Rainee locked her knees to keep them from giving out. What kind of ruffians filled this desolate land anyway? Why, if Mr. Bowen had not come along when he had, she did not know what might have happened to her. Just thinking about it made her shudder.

As he stared forward, Rainee took the opportunity to study him. Her gaze landed on his arms.

Arms that had easily plucked away her attacker.

Mountainous arms that drew her attention and admiration.

Rainee knew she should look away, knowing if her mother were here, she would reprimand her for her blatant impropriety. But she found she could not help herself. Nor did she want to. The bulges beneath his pale blue shirtsleeves captivated her attention as did the width of his broad shoulders and chest.

Her eyes moved to his firm jaw, and she watched in fascination as the muscle in his jaw worked back and forth. Something about the strength of it set her heart all aflutter.

“Do you need anything before we go, Miss Devonwood?”

She whipped her gaze up to his eyes. Warmth rushed to her cheeks. From the icy tone of his voice, he must have seen her gawking at him.

Perhaps he was agitated because of her blunder in telling him to call her by her Christian name. That was far too forward of her, even if this man was to be her husband. Would she ever learn?

How she despised all those ridiculous rules of etiquette and propriety. Aristocratic rules her British father insisted they follow and her Southern mother had taken pride in enforcing. But, she refused to distress herself further about her social blunder because there was nothing she could do about it now anyway.

“It’s a good hour and a half before we get to Paradise Haven. Would you like to get something to eat before we head out?”

Rainee loved the deep sound of his voice. Even though his mannerisms at present were somewhat aloof, some of her doubts about coming here eased. After all, Mr. Bowen had rescued her from that vile man with the overpowering stench and yellow teeth. Not to mention his looks were far superior to those of any man she had ever encountered. Granted, she knew from experience looks could be deceiving, but still, his sapphire eyes and blond hair were quite pleasing to her eyes. In fact, the color reminded her of her father’s eyes. Immediately Rainee regretted the comparison. Her heart yearned for her father—to be held in his arms again and to feel the security his protection and love provided.

The back of her eyes stung, but she plucked up her courage, knowing crying would solve nothing.

She forced herself to focus on the gentleman in front of her. “Thank you, but no. I am fine, sir.” Even if she had need of anything, it would be far too humiliating to inform him she was penniless because some scoundrel at the last stagecoach stop had stolen her money. Good thing she had already purchased her ticket for the last trek of her journey. Otherwise she shuddered to think what might have become of her.

For the millionth time, Rainee wished she had secured her funds underneath her skirt. Her personal maid and dear friend Jenetta had advised her to do so, but once again Rainee’s stubbornness had overruled any such logic.

Many times her father had warned her that her stubbornness would get her into trouble one day. He feared he would not be able to secure a husband for her because of her flawed temperament. Inwardly Rainee sighed. So far, Father was right. Well, that was not entirely accurate. Many a man had pursued her. Not because of any burst of feeling toward her but because of her father’s money. Except one man. And she would rather go live with savage Indians than marry him.

Mr. Bowen cleared his throat. She looked up at him.

“That your trunk?”

“Yes.” Rainee glanced at the medium-size chest containing everything she owned. With a weighty sigh, she decided to not think about what and whom she had been forced to leave behind. It was all too vexing. And so was this man’s aloofness toward her. Gone was the warmness his letters contained. Perhaps his journey had tired him. That she understood. Tiredness had seeped into her bones until every part of her ached with fatigue.

She watched him lift the trunk as if it weighed no more than one of the plumes on her hat. He stepped off the platform and headed around the corner of the stagecoach stop. Rainee followed him, careful to keep her eyes anywhere but on his retreating form. One glimpse of his leg muscles had been enough to make her chastise herself for acting like a wanton woman instead of the lady she had been brought up to be.

Once her belongings were secured on the wagon, he headed to the front of the buckboard where she stood, and he extended his hand.

Rainee glanced at his large palm, admiring the strength of it, then looked up at him. Impatience covered his face. She quickly placed her satchel and parasol on the wagon seat, then settled her hand in his, allowing him to help her onto the wagon. She arranged the bustle of her dress and sat, then snatched her satchel and parasol off of the seat and placed them in her lap. “Thank you, sir.”