Bounty Hunter's Bride

Chapter Three

Hanna stood in the middle of her cramped room, which contained nothing but crude necessities—a narrow, lumpy bed, washstand, lantern and small towel. Grumbling, she plopped down on the bed. Her perfect, would-be husband had turned out to be as demanding as her father. Furthermore, Cale Elliot was an unscrupulous scoundrel. He wanted a wedding night and six grand, did he? Hanna silently fumed over the fact that a man had manipulated her again. It was the story of her life.

On second thought, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by Cale’s counteroffer. Expecting any man to blithely agree to a wedding without the night that customarily followed was asking a bit much. As for the extra thousand dollars, Hanna would be more than compensated when her trust fund was released to her. That really wasn’t the issue here.

Spending the night with Cale Elliot was. The mere prospect of the unknown caused uneasy sensations to ripple through her.

Hanna glanced across the room to stare in the mirror that hung above the washstand. She pulled the pins from her hair and shook her head to send curls streaming down her back. Although Cale Elliot was as rough around the edges as a man could probably get, and they had nothing in common, there was something about those intense dark eyes and that bronzed face that intrigued her. Not enough, of course, to agree to going to bed with him, unless all other possibilities of gaining his assistance were exhausted. To Hanna, intimacy was just one more way for a man to control and dominate a woman. According to her married friends, lust was much more enjoyable for a man, and it was a woman’s duty to tolerate her husband’s physical desires. It seemed blasted unfair, but there you had it. That was marriage for you.

Hanna called up Cale’s mental image as she stretched out on her bed to rest. Despite her irritation at him, there was a wild nobility, an aura of dynamic power about Cale that she envied. Although he would make a most inappropriate husband if they were brushing shoulders with the upper crust of society, undeniably, there was something about the man that appealed to her. She was at a complete loss to explain or define her reaction to him. The fact that she had reacted to him on some basic level disturbed her.

Surely she couldn’t be attracted to Cale Elliot. He looked too rugged for her tastes, and she naturally assumed from his appearance that there would be nothing gentle or enjoyable about his embrace. He certainly hadn’t showed any tendencies toward tenderness when he’d clutched her to him, then searched her for weapons as impersonally as he might search a criminal.

The question was how determined was she to marry? Determined enough to sacrifice her innocence to a stranger who would take what he wanted from her and likely give nothing in return?

The thought caused Hanna to shiver, and she reflexively reached out to flip the thin bedspread over her shoulders. She lay there for a moment, asking herself just how much she was willing to sacrifice for her long-awaited freedom. She’d come this far. She’d given up all that was familiar and comfortable, but she was not returning to her father’s home to marry Louis Beauchamp, no matter how many French titles his uppity ancestors had flaunted.

Hanna drifted off to sleep, knowing that she would meet Cale Elliot’s stipulations, as distasteful as subjecting herself to his lusty pleasures would undoubtedly be. It was only one night, she consoled herself. She could endure that sort of physical torture for one night, couldn’t she? After all, nothing worth having came without a price, did it? This was the price she had to pay to call her life her own.

Her freedom and independence were worth it.

Walter Malloy stormed to the far end of his elegantly furnished study, wheeled around, then stalked back in the direction he’d come. Curse that devious daughter of his! He’d thought he’d finally got that willful girl under his thumb and convinced her to wed the man of his choice. Walter had found the perfect social match, but Hanna had defied him.

When Walter had stood at the church a few days earlier, staring in disbelief at the open window and realizing Hanna had fled, he’d vowed all manners of punishment when he located his runaway daughter. He would never forget the humiliation and embarrassment he’d suffered when he was forced to enter the sanctuary and announce to the guests that the wedding had to be postponed.

Walter scowled sourly and pivoted to wear another path on the imported Aubusson carpet. He’d been left to deal with Louis Beauchamp’s outrage and indignation. Even Walter had gotten sick of hearing how the entire lineage of Beauchamps had never been left at the altar, and that Hanna’s deceit ranked right up there with high treason.

Gad, what a disaster! By the time Louis had finished ranting and raving about the potential shipping monopoly being null and void if Hanna didn’t return to voice a public apology and follow through with the wedding, Walter was in the throes of a full-blown headache—and it hadn’t let up yet!

The quiet rap at the door prompted him to lurch around and glare at the agent he’d sent to locate Hanna. “Did you find that ungrateful child of mine?” he boomed.

Rutherford J. Wiley stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “No, sir, I’m afraid not. Miz Hanna seems to have vanished into thin air. I checked the train depot, shipping yard and riverboat depot, but her name didn’t appear on any of the passenger lists.”

“Well, of course not, you dolt!” Walter bellowed. “You think she’d traipse off, dragging her real name behind her?”

The agent shrank as Walter’s buglelike voice ricocheted off the walls. “Of course not, sir.”

Walter’s stubby arm shot toward the door, as if the feather-brained hireling didn’t have enough sense to know where it was. “Wire the Pinkertons immediately,” he barked. “Give them my daughter’s description. Instruct them to name their price, and I’ll double it. I want every available detective on this case and I want them now!”

“Yes, sir, at once, sir.” Rutherford spun on his heels and scurried through the foyer posthaste.

“Hell and damnation,” Walter muttered as he resumed his restless pacing. He’d lost his only son, the child who was to become the heir to the vast fortune Walter and his wife, Clarissa, had amassed. Now his wife was gone and he was consumed with such grief that there were times Walter swore constant work was all that kept him from losing his mind. He was left with a daughter whose appearance reminded him so much of his beloved Clarissa that staring too long at Hanna caused his heart to squeeze painfully in his chest.

Now even Hanna had abandoned him, and Walter had the raging Louis Beauchamp breathing down his neck, vowing all sorts of revenge if the missing bride didn’t turn up within the month.

Walter threw himself into his chair to brood. When he got his hands on Hanna, he swore he’d never let her out of his sight for a minute until she’d been delivered into Louis’s hands and had spoken her wedding vows. Then she’d be Louis’s headache, and Walter would gladly relinquish his responsibility.

Other men had dutiful daughters who honored and respected their fathers’ wishes. Why was he stuck with an unruly misfit who’d been taught her place but refused to remain in it?

Cale waited until he heard the quiet click of the door across the hall before he gathered various weapons and tucked them into his boots, at the small of his back and inside the sleeve of his buckskin shirt. Then he strapped the double holsters around his waist and tied the wicked-looking Bowie knife to his thigh. He’d armed himself to the teeth for so long that he felt naked without the feel of cold steel resting against his skin.

When he was sure Sarah—or whatever her real name was—had made it to the staircase, he opened the door and stepped into the hall. Cale had no intention of damaging the woman’s reputation further, if they didn’t reach an agreement. Escorting Sarah downstairs would send gossip flying. Cale was too well known in town, and she was so stunningly attractive that he suspected she drew considerable attention and speculation without unnecessarily linking her name to his.

Cale halted at the head of the steps and watched Sarah descend to the lobby. Sure ’nuff, she was already the object of scads of male attention. A throng of men congregated at the door and huddled inside the foyer to feast their lusty eyes on her. Cale gnashed his teeth, surprised by the sudden possessiveness that gnawed at him. He knew exactly what this gaggle of men was thinking. Hell, he could practically hear their collective speculations ringing in his ears. They wondered, as he did, how this ravishingly attractive female would look in the altogether.

When Sarah stepped into the restaurant and disappeared from sight, hungry male gazes lingered on the empty space she’d occupied, and whimsical sighs caused a warm draft to whisper through the lobby. Hell. A woman as bewitching as Sarah was definitely trouble, Cale mused as he descended the steps. He’d be asking for a barrel of it if he instigated the clever plan that had been buzzing around in his head since he awoke from his nap.

Cale wanted nothing more than to apprehend Otis Pryor, shut down that bastard’s illegal operation and seek personal revenge. The perfect solution to infiltrating Pryor’s stronghold in Cromwell, Texas, had hit him like a bolt from the blue. It was an ingenious cover—if he could convince Sarah to participate in the sting. In hopes of gaining her cooperation, Cale had devised a tempting incentive while he dressed for supper.

His thoughts trailed off when he entered the restaurant to see Sarah seated in the middle of the busy establishment, awaiting his arrival. Another unfamiliar sensation spiked through him as he strode forward. Despite all the male gazes focused on her, she was staring directly at him, as if he was the most important individual in the room.

Cale took a seat across from her and nodded a greeting when she forced a smile. He could tell she was apprehensive after the live grenade he’d dropped in her lap before she exited his room earlier. Judging by the look in her eyes and the pinched expression around her mouth, she’d reached a decision. He doubted she was comfortable with it, but she was determined to meet his demands, in exchange for his name on the marriage license.

“I took the liberty of ordering a steak for you. My compliments,” she said, doing a damn fine job of holding on to her composure.

“No, my compliments,” he contradicted as he leaned his elbows on the table and met her gaze directly. “That is, if you’ve decided to accept my terms.”

She tensed up and sucked in a deep breath that drew his betraying gaze to the rising swell of her breasts. After a moment her gaze dropped to the tabletop and she fiddled with the silverware. “Yes, I will agree to your terms, sir.”

Relief washed through Cale. If she was that determined to see this match made, even if it meant sacrificing something as personal and irreplaceable as her innocence, then he felt certain he could convince her to meet his new terms.

“The rules have changed slightly since we last spoke,” he announced.

Her chin came up and her entrancing eyes narrowed warily. “I cannot fathom what other personal sacrifices you expect me to make, other than the one I’ve already agreed to, sir,” she said through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t get more personal than that!”

There was spunk, spirit and a hint of temper behind her words, he noted. He liked that. Women without backbone bored him to tears. This little lady could be pushed around a bit, but she refused to be shoved.

“First off, Miz Magnolia, I told you to drop that suh business,” he said, emphasizing her drawling accent. “Secondly, you can keep your money and forgo the wedding night.”

Her delicately arched brows shot up like exclamation marks and her jaw dropped. She stared at him in wide-eyed dismay. “Am I to understand that you won’t marry me then?”

Her voice rose steadily, drawing the attention of the other patrons in the restaurant. All eyes zeroed in on them, as if they were specimens under a microscope. Cale swore under his breath when the room became dead silent. Well, hell. So much for keeping rumors and speculations to a minimum.

Cale draped his arm over the back of the chair and twisted sideways to address the attentive crowd. “My fiancée,” he announced, gesturing toward his flush-faced companion. Several startled gasps broke the silence. “Does anybody here have a problem with that?”

Dozens of curious gazes swung to Sarah. Cale said, “Go ahead. Tell ’em, Miz Magnolia. Then maybe we can all get on with supper.”

Her face turned crimson, but he had to give her high marks when she tilted her head to a proud angle and tossed her very radiant—and very convincing—smile around the room. “It’s true that Mr. Elliot and I plan to marry very soon.”

More dead silence. Cale knew what the onlookers were thinking—the same thing he’d thought when she’d proposed to him. Why would a lady of obvious quality and refinement want to hitch herself to an unsociable half-breed gunfighter when she could take her pick from the cream of the aristocratic crop?

To Cale’s amazement, Sarah defended him when the crowd of inquisitive patrons glanced distastefully at him. “Cale Elliot is my perfect match,” she declared with absolute certainty. “I am honored and proud to become his wife. In fact, there isn’t another man on the face of this earth who would suit me better.”

Cale slumped back in his chair, as stunned as the rest of the owl-eyed patrons. She didn’t have to go that far. Why had she?

Suddenly, folks were staring at him, as if trying to determine what hidden qualities she saw in him that they’d obviously overlooked. It made him squirm uncomfortably to be the subject of such deliberate concentration.

Hanna smiled in amusement when the big, brawny bounty hunter shifted awkwardly in his chair. Her glowing accolades had unsettled him. Apparently he wasn’t accustomed to having his praises sung.

Although Hanna had no idea what new stipulations he’d decided to place on the bargaining table, her opinion of him had escalated the moment he’d announced he wasn’t forcing her to share a wedding bed and that no money would exchange hands. No matter what he asked, she’d agree, she decided instantly. Well, short of shooting someone for him, that is.

“Now that we’ve cleared the hurdle of announcing our engagement, what are these new stipulations?” she asked. “I…”

Her voice evaporated when the buxom waitress set two platters of steaks, fresh bread, beans and fried potatoes on the table. Hanna glanced at Cale, anxiously awaiting his reply.

He leaned forward, his whiskered face set in a serious expression. “I want you to pretend to be my loving wife for a month.”

Hanna frowned dubiously. Maybe she’d been too hasty in complimenting him in front of the crowd. Had she just agreed to forgo one night of unwanted intimacy for an entire month of it? “I don’t understand what you’re implying.”

Cale sighed audibly. “Look, Miz Magnolia—”

“The name is Sarah Rawlins,” she corrected tersely.

“No, it isn’t. I’m not as ignorant as I look. And until you trust me enough to divulge your real name it’s gonna be Miz Magnolia, so you better get used to it.”

“Very well, Mr. Elliot,” she drawled excessively. “Now about these new terms.” So as not to appear overly apprehensive, she plucked up her knife and fork and began whittling away at the thick steak.

“Here’s the deal,” he began, glancing around to ensure he wasn’t overheard. “I need a cover to track down my half brother’s killer. I recently learned that Otis Pryor has established a stronghold in Texas and he’s paid off the local authorities. If I ride in as a deputy marshal I’ll probably get my head blown off before I can serve a warrant for Pryor and his army of ruffians.”

Good gad! He did want her to shoot someone for him. Hanna gaped at him in astonishment, her fork poised inches from her open mouth. “You want me to kill him when he least expects it?” she chirped.

Cale camouflaged a bark of laughter behind a cough. Nonetheless, he drew considerable attention. “Hell, no. I plan to establish myself as a shopkeeper. I figure that with my knowledge of weapons I can pass myself off as a gunsmith, change my appearance and polish my manners so Pryor won’t be suspicious of my arrival in town. That’s where you come in.” He paused to take a bite of juicy steak.

“Go on,” she encouraged him. “What’s to be my role in this scheme?”

“You travel with me across Indian Territory with the wagonload of weapons to stock the store. During our journey I’ll teach you the skills you’ll need to survive in the West.”

Hanna smiled agreeably. “I find no fault with that. I’m aware that I have a lot to learn if I’m to become as self-sufficient and capable as you.”

“In exchange for my expertise, I want your expertise,” he insisted.

She frowned, befuddled. “I have no expertise. Heavens, I’ve never been allowed to explore my potential talents.”

Cale smiled at her and she felt a peculiar flutter in her chest. The man was almost attractive when he smiled, even with all that facial hair concealing his features. “You have more skills than you can imagine,” he said. “You possess the social graces and refinement I lack when it comes to fitting into society. I need to learn to fit in.”

The way he said it touched her heart. She, because of her wealth and the prestige of her family name, had been automatically accepted. But Cale’s background and occupation made him a social pariah. It wasn’t fair, but Hanna had learned long ago that life wasn’t necessarily fair.

“I’ll teach you to be a capable survivor if you’ll teach me to be a gentleman,” he continued. “Plus I’ll be your personal bodyguard during the trek through the wildest country you’ve ever encountered.” He stared at her grimly. “I won’t lie to you, Miz Magnolia. The journey through Indian Territory won’t be a Sunday stroll through the park. We’ll be traveling through rugged terrain. We’ll encounter bears, mountain lions and poisonous snakes—the worst of them being the two-legged variety. We’ll be camping out in the open most nights, subjected to inclement weather and possible attack. But you have my vow that I’ll protect you with my life, if you agree to this charade.”

Hanna swallowed uneasily. He wasn’t painting a pretty picture here. Perhaps she’d been too hasty when she decided to head west to claim her independence. Maybe she should’ve lost herself in the bustling crowds of Philadelphia, Boston or New York.

Yet this man claimed he’d take a bullet for her, if need be. Hanna had never experienced that brand of protective loyalty and devotion. Where she came from, her physical appearance—which she had nothing whatsoever to do with—elegant wardrobe, social status and wealth, drew empty pledges that were quickly given and hastily forgotten when an easier target and better opportunity arose.

Hanna’s respect for Cale rose another notch. She had the instinctive feeling that she’d finally met a man she could trust not to betray her or forsake her. They would both benefit from this bargain. She’d have a private chaperon, a tutor and bodyguard to accompany her to Texas. He would benefit from her social skills and her charade as his wife while he investigated his brother’s death. Although Cale hadn’t offered the gory details surrounding his brother’s demise, this was vitally important to him—as important as her need for freedom.