Shot Gun Grooms: Lucas's Convenient Bride / Jackson's Mail Order Bride

“You weren’t much of a schoolteacher,” he said.

She caught her breath and glared at him. She was a little thing, coming to his shoulder. But then he was tall, so most women were little things to him. She was as scrawny as a plucked chicken and she wore the ugliest gray dresses he’d ever seen. Her blond hair was a decent color and he’d noticed it turned nearly gold in the lamplight of the saloon, but she wore it all scraped back, with not a single curl to soften the effect.

“I was an excellent schoolteacher,” she informed him in a voice sharp with that cold he’d been worried about before. “I taught those children more in the nearly eighteen months they were my students than they learned in the previous three years with the other teacher.”

“But they left.”

“The families returned to their homes in Maryland. That decision had nothing to do with my teaching skills.” She removed her hands from the bars and pressed her fingertips together. “Unfortunately, those eight children were the only ones in town at the time, which left me without a position. I cannot wait for another family with school-age children to appear, which means I have to find other means of employment. A hotel is the perfect solution.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lucas eyed her doubtfully. He didn’t know anything about Emily Smythe save that she’d once been the schoolteacher in town and that she hadn’t been born out West. He would bet that her trip to Defiance had been her first journey west of the Mississippi. So why didn’t she just go home?

“You don’t have any family?” he asked.

“They have nothing to do with this.”

So she did have relatives somewhere. Then why wouldn’t she return to them? He doubted anyone as straitlaced as she could have done something to disgrace herself. Emily Smythe wasn’t the type to cause a scandal.

“You’re a teacher,” he said. “What makes you think you know anything about keeping a bunch of miners, ranchers and who knows what kind of riffraff happy in bed?”

Color flared on her cheeks, but she didn’t otherwise respond to his gibe.

“Mr. MacIntyre, I have traveled extensively along the Eastern Seaboard and abroad. I have stayed in exquisite hotels in dozens of cities. In addition, I have a head for figures and I’m not afraid of hard work. I know I can make the hotel a success. I also understand your reticence in allowing me to open my business above your saloon. Let me assure you that in addition to a modest rent, I would be willing to pay you a percentage of the profits.”

“Generous,” he muttered, taking a step back from her.

She wasn’t ugly, he told himself, despite what the miners at his saloon had said earlier. She was a bit on the plain side, but she had big blue eyes he kind of liked. Her skin was pretty—all soft looking and smooth, with a hint of color at her cheeks. Her mouth was a tad pinched, but maybe if she didn’t stand so stiff all the time, the rest of her would relax.

His gaze moved to her body, and what he saw there made him shake his head. She was skinny and didn’t have even one decent curve. No breasts, no hips and he would bet a ten-dollar gold piece that she had bony knees. Lucas was more enamored with plump knees. He liked to kiss the crease in the back, then nibble around to the front, all the while listening to the lady giggle and feeling her squirm. Emily Smythe didn’t strike him as the giggling, squirming type.

But she was a single woman, and that was what he needed right now.

“Stay right there,” he said, then realized it was a stupid thing to say. Where was she going to go?

Ten minutes later he’d talked Wilson into springing her. He led the proper Miss Smythe onto the sidewalk in front of the jail.

“Let’s go talk in my office,” he said. “It’s around back of the saloon. We won’t be disturbed there.”

Excitement glinted in her blue eyes. “So you’ll consider my proposition? How wonderful, Mr. MacIntyre. I’m sure you won’t regret it for a minute. I’ve done the calculations and I expect the hotel to be turning a profit within the month.”

He held up a hand to stop the flow of words, then led the way onto the muddy street.

It was spring in Defiance, which meant plenty of rain, flash floods and mud. Fortunately the Silver Slipper was only a couple of blocks away. The single horse and wagon in the street in the late afternoon was on the far side of the river of mud and they barely got splashed at all.

When they arrived at his saloon, he walked around to the rear of the building. The small door to his office was set under the stairs leading to the second floor that so interested her. Lucas wondered how crazy she was going to make him and how much he would regret what he was about to say. He thought about his current carefree existence and wished it could be different. But it couldn’t. Damn Uncle Simon and his meddling.

He unlocked the door to his office and motioned for her to precede him. She did so, moving with a regal grace completely out of place in this mining town. Despite the fight and her time in jail, she looked as crisp and fresh as she had first thing that morning. Of course the black eye added a rakish touch to her otherwise perfect appearance. If only her gray dress weren’t so ugly.

She paused in the center of the small room until he pulled out a chair for her. Then she settled stiffly on the wooden surface, her back as straight as it had been on that cot in jail. He wondered if she ever bent or relaxed. He had a feeling that if a man tried to have his way with her, she would snap in two, like a fragile twig.

“About the hotel,” she said, as he came around to his chair behind the desk.

“Yeah, well, it’s not that simple.”

Despite owning a saloon, Lucas wasn’t much of a drinking man. Still, he pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his bottom drawer and poured two fingers’ worth into a glass on his desk. He ignored Miss Smythe’s start of disapproval and downed the whole thing in one swallow. Heat burned to his belly, giving him a false sense of warmth and courage. He was an idiot. But he didn’t have a choice. Uncle Simon had trapped him good and tight.

“I can show you my figures,” she said, leaning toward him. “I have them in my room.”

“I’m sure you’re prepared to do things real proper like.”

He leaned back in his chair and glanced around the small office, at the crates of liquor stacked in the corner and the barrels of ale. The bare wood walls weren’t much, but they were his. He’d taken the Silver Slipper from a run-down place with a reputation for watered drinks and trouble to a successful, honest saloon. He ran clean tables, served decent liquor and never cheated anyone. If he lost the saloon, he lost the ranch. Without the ranch, he lost everything.

He returned his attention to Emily. She wasn’t who he would have picked, but then he hadn’t planned on this at all.

“I’ll let you open your hotel,” he began.

“Oh, Mr. MacIntyre, you won’t be sorry,” she assured him.

“You might be,” he said dryly. “Because there are a couple of complications. You can open your hotel, if you cut me in for fifty percent of the profit. And if you agree to marry me, I won’t even charge you rent.”

CHAPTER TWO (#u6aba967d-99f8-5699-a1d3-7b54fd391008)

Emily stared at the man sitting in front of her and had the most unreasonable urge to cry. Since they’d left the sheriff’s office, she’d allowed herself to hope that Lucas MacIntyre was going to listen to her plan, understand and let her open the hotel. She’d thought she’d convinced him of her abilities, her business sense and her sincerity.

She’d been wrong. He had no interest in her plan. Instead he was humiliating her for the humor it brought him. She was disappointed, hurt and determined that he would never know how her insides trembled and her throat felt all tight and sore.

“How interesting,” she forced herself to say, keeping her voice low and even. “A proposal of marriage.”

She wanted to stand and walk out, but she didn’t yet have the strength. Was he doing this because she was a woman or because she was a plain woman?

Emily sighed. All her life she’d longed to be pretty, like other women. However the simple truth was that she was plain. Sometimes she wanted to scream out loud, proclaiming that her looks were not her fault. God had blessed her with many other fine qualities. She was intelligent, loyal, honest and caring. Why didn’t people—men, mostly—care about that? Didn’t they know that a pretty face aged with time, but that the heart and character of a person lasted forever?

Obviously not. She recalled what the miners in the saloon had said. How she was so skinny and unattractive, they couldn’t possibly ravish her in the daylight. They would have to wait until it was dark. Probably they would have to be very drunk, as well.

Familiar pain filled her. The ache for a husband and children. She would never have either. She’d learned that lesson well over the years. Wishing for the impossible was a sign of weakness, and she’d always prided herself on being strong.

Remembering that, she stiffened her spine and drew in a deep breath. But before she could open her mouth, Lucas spoke.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he said, leaning toward her and resting his hands on the desk in front of him. “But I doubt it reflects well on me.”

She rose to her feet. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time, sir. I can see I misjudged you and the situation completely. I apologize for that.”

“Hold on there.” He stood and moved toward her. “What’s got your tail feathers in a twist?”

She blinked at the vulgarity of the question, then raised her chin. “I hadn’t thought of you as a cruel man. I have provided you with an afternoon’s entertainment. That should be enough. If you’ll excuse me?”

“What are you talking about?”