He grabbed his wide-brimmed hat from the peg beside the door and settled it on his head before stepping into the cool morning air of early May. His boot heels echoed over the planked walkway as he headed toward the boardinghouse at the south end of town. His salary from the township included room and board at that establishment, but he preferred his privacy. His stomach, however, preferred Mrs. Gurney’s cooking to his own.
He stepped off the boardwalk, ducked beneath the whispery branches of a weeping willow, and came to an abrupt halt. A shawl draped over her narrow shoulders and tucked neatly beneath her crossed arms, a woman stood on the boardinghouse porch. Her gaze was latched on the sunrise.
Her profile to him, he could barely see one corner of her mouth, her soft lips tipped up slightly as though she were appreciating a fine work of art. A black ribbon held her hair in place, one long trail of golden strands that curled at the tiny dip within the curve at the small of her back.
Ethereal. Angelic. A thousand words tripped through his mind, but none did her justice. She was a work of art. He imagined an artist’s brush outlining her shape with soft strokes that created delicate lines.
His stomach growled at his delay in getting to the breakfast table. The woman turned her head, her eyes a deep blue that reminded him of the sky.
Her smile blossomed. “Isn’t it lovely?” she asked quietly as though she feared disturbing the day’s beginning. She shifted her gaze back toward the dawn.
He walked over the dew-coated lawn, stepped onto the porch, and swept his hat from his head as though he’d come into a place of worship. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
“I love the start of a new day. It holds so much promise, and each moment is a secret to be revealed.” She laughed lightly, as though embarrassed by her words. She cast a furtive glance his way. “I’m not usually so fanciful.”
“Are you a writer?” he asked with a generous smile, more than intrigued by her frail beauty.
Her gaunt cheeks flushed pink. “You don’t remember me.”
His smile withered and his heart slammed against his ribs. The mouse in the corner. “You’re David’s sister. Ashton.”
She bobbed her head and extended a hand that looked as fragile as the willow branches through which he’d just walked. “And you’re Christian Montgomery.”
He closed his hand around hers, expecting to feel the cold scepter of death. Instead, warmth greeted him. Holding her gaze, he bowed slightly and brought her fingers to his lips. “I apologize for not recognizing you.”
“There’s little about me to capture the attention of a man such as yourself, and many beautiful women were in attendance the night we met. Have you talked with David?”
Straightening, he released her hand and cleared his throat. “Yes, we spoke late last night. I take it you haven’t seen him this morning.”
“No, I was exhausted once the stagecoach arrived. I went to bed fairly early. He seems to be sleeping in.” Stepping back, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. She pressed it to her mouth before giving several slight coughs.
Kit’s stomach tightened at the sight of her curled shoulders and the rasp of a chest that seemingly lacked air. She glanced at him, her eyes less bright. “Excuse me. You were saying?”
He swallowed hard. Why hadn’t David told him that he had already brought his sister to Fortune, that she was at the boardinghouse, or that their paths might cross before David had a chance to talk with her? Kit preferred never to have set eyes upon her again, much less to have to explain his decision. “I think in spite of your brother’s heartfelt motives and good intentions, our marriage would serve neither of us well in the end.”
She blinked eyes that seemed too large for a face as delicate as hers. “Our marriage?”
“Yes. His notion that you and I should wed.”
With horror sweeping over her lovely face, she gasped and stepped back until she rammed into the porch post. “He asked you to marry me?”
Kit felt as though he’d just learned that he was to be drawn and quartered. “You didn’t know?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head vehemently. “No. He said he needed to talk with you about business. I’d never seen this part of the state, so he let me come along.” She pressed trembling fingers to her lips and tears welled within her eyes. “Did he tell you everything?”
A rusty blade gouged into his gut could not have caused more anguish than he experienced at this moment, having to acknowledge the truth with such inadequacy. “Yes, and I am so incredibly sorry.” He held out a hand imploringly. “Words fail me.”
“How could he ask that of you?”
“His heart was in the right place.”
“His head obviously wasn’t. I am sorry, Mr. Montgomery. So sorry. Dear God, I wish I were already dead. Please excuse me.”
She rushed past him, opened the door to the boardinghouse, and fled inside.
Her wish for death echoed through his head like a scream released within a cave from which there was no escape.
Breathing heavily, Ashton flung open the door to her brother’s room. He shot up in bed, his eyes red, as though he’d had a grueling, sleepless night.
Too bad. She’d had an awful, embarrassing, mortifying morning. She slammed the door shut, and he jerked.
“What’s wrong?” he asked groggily.
She crossed the room and wrapped her hands around the bedpost. She knew she had the advantage because he wouldn’t get out of bed and expose her to his half-clothed—if he were clothed at all—body. Her entire life, everyone had sought to protect her. In death, they were doing the same. “You came here to ask Mr. Montgomery to marry me?”
He closed his eyes and dropped his head back. “Ah, God.” He squinted at her. “You saw Kit?”
She nodded, unable to stop the images of Christian Montgomery from seeping into her mind. The sun easing over the horizon had toyed with his hair, turning it a burnished amber. And his eyes. Those pale blue eyes looked almost silver and seemed to pierce her soul.
When he spoke, his deep voice sent shivers of pleasure rippling through her. Only once had she ever experienced anything like it—the night he’d come to her brother’s house and regaled the guests with tales of his adventures. She’d hung onto every word like a smitten schoolgirl.
This morning, his touch had been the gentlest she’d ever known, and yet his hand had also possessed strength. So much strength.
She released her death grip on the post and took a step toward him. “David, how could you ask a friend to marry your dying sister?”
She saw in his eyes that he wanted to deny that she was dying, but his words were honest. “Because he is a friend.”
“That was an awful thing to ask.”
“I know that now, but when I saw you in Mother’s dress—” She watched him swallow. “There’s so much I want to give you, and so little time to give it to you.”
Suddenly drained from the turbulent emotions swirling within her, she sat on the edge of the mattress. “But a husband?”
He held up his hands. “No, just a bridegroom.”
She furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“I only wanted him to make you a bride. You would go through the marriage ceremony, have a day like you dreamed of having, and then come back to Dallas with me.”
“A pretend marriage? That’s even worse.” She would have shot off the bed if she’d had the strength.
“A pretend marriage, but a real ceremony. Kit is British. He understands that people get married for reasons other than love and that often husbands and wives don’t live together. That’s why I thought this idea would work.”
She shook her head. “Ludicrous.”
David smiled warmly. “He said the same thing.”
“But why him? You know men in Dallas—” A horrible thought struck her mind. “You found my private journal.”
He averted his gaze.
She slumped forward, tears burning her eyes. “Yo
u read my most intimate thoughts,” she rasped in a hollow voice echoing betrayal.
“Not everything. I only know that you favored him.”
“Did you tell him that?” How would she ever face the man again if David had told him what she’d written in her journal?
“No, of course not.” David leaned forward and took her hand. “I only wanted to give you a dream.”
“Instead, you’ve given me a nightmare.”
Kit heard soft footfalls and lowered the newspaper he’d been staring at while Ashton’s parting words continued to intrude on his thoughts. David walked down the stairs, Ashton clinging to his arm, her face a reflection of calm. Slowly Kit came to his feet.
“So you two have talked,” David said, his smile mocking.
Kit felt the heat suffuse his face, his gaze darting between brother and sister. How different they looked. He had grown up with a sibling who was his mirror image. “I apologize for speaking out of place. I thought she knew.”
David pulled out a chair for Ashton. “I decided against telling her until I’d tested your feelings on the matter. I didn’t want her to be disappointed.”
“David!” Ashton snapped.
Kit raised a brow. She might be ill, but she wasn’t weak. Elegantly she sat, picked up a cloth napkin, and settled it across her lap. Images drifted through his mind of another time when she had sat across from him—at David’s table. He had been too caught up in his own hell truly to notice her, to notice any of the women that night.
Kit took his seat as Mrs. Gurney bustled into the room, carrying platters laden with biscuits, eggs, and bacon.
“Good, everyone’s here for breakfast. Nothin’ worse than cold eggs lessen it’s no eggs at all.” She set the platters on the table. “You folks hear that our marshal was a hero last night?”
Grimacing, Kit reached for the plate of biscuits and extended it toward Ashton. “I simply prevented a few men from murdering a floor.”
Laughing boisterously, Mrs. Gurney patted his back with her beefy hand. “You are too modest, Marshal. You stopped a man from havin’ to dance to their tune, is what I heard.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Mrs. Gurney, unless it’s the rumble of my empty stomach.”
“Well, then you eat up. All of you, eat up!” She hurried from the room.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kit watched Ashton place a small portion of eggs and one piece of bacon on her plate. He remembered how little Clarisse had eaten at the end. His throat constricted, and he wondered if he’d be able to swallow.
“I was surprised to hear you’d taken on the job of marshal,” David said as he scooped up a large serving of eggs.
Kit shrugged. “It was something to do.”
“Risking your life for others is a bit more than that, Mr. Montgomery,” Ashton said softly.
He stilled, wondering how he could explain that everything he did was an attempt at retribution for the one life he had been unable to save. He couldn’t. “You make too much of it, Miss Robertson. My main duty involves carting drunks to the jail so they can sleep off indulging in too much whiskey.”
She met his gaze. “I believe Mrs. Gurney is right. You’re too modest.”
“I assure you that modesty has never been one of my character flaws.”
“David told me you have no flaws.”
He darted a quick glance at David, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I spoke more of your virtues than your flaws,” David explained.
“That must have been a short conversation,” Kit said.
Ashton laughed so sweetly that Kit wanted to capture the sound and hold it deep within himself.
“Are you trying to convince me that I should be grateful you thought David’s idea was as ludicrous as I did?” she asked.
He met and held her gaze. “I’m attempting to convince myself.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she lowered her gaze to the small amount of food on her plate.
Bloody hell! What did he think he was doing? The last thing he needed to do was flirt with her, charm her, or give her cause for hope. He jerked his gaze to David, not surprised to see the man’s eyes narrowed. “When do you leave?” Kit asked.
“There’s a stagecoach coming through tomorrow afternoon. Since my plans fell through here, I’ll make arrangements today for us to take it.”
“David, will you stop these uncalled for subtle rebukes? They grow wearisome,” Ashton chastised, her gaze never wavering from her food.
Kit scraped his chair across the floor and stood. She lifted her gaze then, so fragile and incredibly innocent. She had yet to learn the ugliness of death. He had no desire to be near when life taught her that lesson. “I wish you both a safe journey.”
She gave him a charitable smile. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Montgomery.”
“The pleasure was mine, Miss Robertson.” He turned to leave, stopped, and knew he would regret the words even before he spoke them. “Miss Robertson, you mentioned earlier that you had a desire to see this part of the state. Will you honor me with the privilege of escorting you through the area this afternoon?”
“You’re too kind, Mr. Montgomery,” she said softly.
“Hardly. But for one afternoon, I can pretend.”
Kit. Kit. Kit. In her mind, Christian Montgomery was and would always be Kit. But the years since she’d first met him had created a chasm and a formality between them that caused her to now address him as “Mr. Montgomery” when she hadn’t before.
She twirled around the room. Christian Montgomery had asked her on an outing. How many times over the years had she dreamed of him returning to Dallas because he’d been unable to forget her…?
She came to an abrupt standstill. He had forgotten her. So easily. That knowledge had hurt but not nearly as much as knowing that he had refused David’s offer of Ashton’s hand for marriage. She didn’t hold his decision against him. After all, he was strikingly handsome and cultured. Ashton had not been the only woman to admire him in Dallas.
With a sigh, she cautiously approached the cheval glass. At twenty-six, Ashton thought she should know how to dress for an afternoon outing with a gentleman. She’d certainly read an abundance of books, living through the written word a life that she had thought her poor health would forever keep her from experiencing. She’d been a sickly child, tutored at home, and sheltered from people who might bring disease into the house.
In the end, influenza had taken her parents when they’d feared it would take her. The only comfort she’d found in knowing her own death was near had resided in the knowledge that she would be with them again.
She shook away the melancholy thoughts. She was going on an outing. She’d napped, bathed, and put on a white summer dress and a straw hat with daisies lining the brim. Critically she gazed at her reflection. White made her look like a ghost. She wished she had something a bit more flamboyant.
The unexpected knock on the door nearly had her leaping into the mirror. Taking a shallow breath, hoping to prevent a coughing seizure, she tucked one errant strand of hair beneath her hat and strolled across the room. She opened the door and smiled at David. With his dark hair and eyes, he hardly seemed related to her. Until she’d met Christian Montgomery, she hadn’t realized men more handsome than her brother existed.
“He’s here,” David said.
Like a silly schoolgirl, she pressed her hand over her fluttering heart and tried to sound as though this moment wasn’t the most exciting of her life. “Where all do you suppose he’ll take us?”
David crooked his elbow, and she slipped her arm through his, drawing her shawl closely with the other hand, resenting the chill that never seemed to leave her.
“I doubt he’ll take us far. I’ve already explained to him that you tire easily, and he’s not to keep us out long.”
Her heart stopped its fluttering, and the moment took on the gravity of reality. She could do none of the things she wanted: shout with joy, skip thro
ugh flowered fields, and stay out until midnight.
But she held her silence because she would gain nothing by hurting David and condemning his good intentions. As her older brother, he would sway her with common sense.
Arriving in the foyer, she saw Kit, and what little breath she had nearly left her. This morning he had been dressed is a brown jacket, plain shirt, and trousers similar to those her brother often wore.
Now he wore dove gray trousers, a black jacket, a pristine white shirt, and a cravat. Tilting his head slightly, he smiled at her the way she’d often imagined a beau smiled at the woman he intended to woo into his bed.
“Miss Robertson.” He offered her a solitary white rose.
She stepped away from David and accepted the flower, bringing it to her nose, and inhaling the delicate fragrance. He had whittled away the thorns. A bouquet could not have pleased her more. She peered up at him. “How lovely. Thank you.”
He crooked his arm. “Shall we see what other secrets today’s moments hold?”
The heat suffused her face. “You tease me, sir.”
His smile deepened. “It is the rake in me. I cannot always control the impulse to be a bit devilish.”
She slipped her arm through his. Such sturdiness. Confidence emanated from him. She knew he was accustomed to having his way, especially with the ladies.
They strolled outside, and the day suddenly seemed warmer. Perhaps she would be able to dispense with her shawl after all. She despised feeling like an ancient woman.
“The carriage will only hold two,” David said, his footsteps echoing behind her. “Am I to take the extra horse?”
She glanced at the waiting carriage. Two dappled gray horses were hitched to the front of the buggy. A large black beast was tethered behind it.
Kit stopped walking and glanced over his shoulder. “My invitation was for your sister only. I brought the gelding because I’ll have need of him later.”
Her heart patted against her ribs. She looked back to see that David had narrowed his eyes.
Never Marry a Cowboy Page 3