But then, most unexplored situations seemed thrilling to Nellie. That was part of her nature. She loved new places, new things, and new opportunities. She loved challenges and risks. She loved throwing herself into life with zeal and open-mindedness. That was part of what made her her.
It was also part of what made her good at her job with the San Francisco Weekly Leader newspaper…part of what had brought her here to the Arizona Territory—and to Everett Bannon—in the first place.
“Are your lodgings far from here?” Everett Bannon repeated her question in his rumbling, shiver-inducing deep voice. “Well, about that—” He broke off. He took off his flat-brimmed hat. He squinted into the distance. He raked his hand through his hair, then sighed. “I’m afraid there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Yes?” Pertly Nellie waited. “What is it?”
He hesitated anew, still frowning at the hat he held in his capable-looking hands. “You see, the trouble is, I didn’t—”
“Don’t say it, patrón!” blurted one of the men who stood behind her groom-to-be. The patrician Mexicano gave Nellie an apologetic look. “Por favor,” he begged Everett, “don’t do it!”
There was a fraught moment, during which everyone stilled. Passersby glanced at the man who’d spoken; the other men all watched Everett Bannon. Clearly he was in charge here.
Just as clearly, Nellie reasoned privately, he’d meant what he’d said about sending her away the moment she arrived.
She’d overheard that much of their conversation, of course, shortly after she’d stepped off the train. Her first order of business had been to locate her blue-armband-wearing “fiancé.” Her second had been—sensibly enough—to begin surreptitiously eavesdropping on his conversation with his cadre of ragamuffinish men before making her presence known to them.
A woman who’d offered herself up for a mail-order marriage couldn’t just waltz into such an arrangement willy-nilly. She had to prepare. She had to gather as many details as she could.
So far, she’d sussed out that Everett Bannon did not want her here—but his men did. From the charming man with the silver rings to the curly-haired, book-toting poet and the shy, fair-haired young man standing next to him, to the giant with the enormous appetite and the gingham-lined basket of goodies, they all appeared deeply interested in making sure their “patrón’s” engagement went off without a hitch.
Nellie didn’t want to let on her awareness of those facts, however. She still hoped she could salvage this opportunity. She couldn’t do that if Everett Bannon put her back on the return train, lickety-split. So, with no other option immediately presenting itself, she waited to see what would happen next.
“Pedro, you and the others head back to the ranch,” Mr. Bannon finally said, delivering a quelling look to the dark-haired man with the Spanish accent. “You have work to do.”
“But patrón! You can’t possibly still mean to—”
“Work like mucking out stalls. Don’t make me ask again.”
For a heartbeat, they all quieted. Then the bashful-looking young blond man gestured toward Nellie, his expression adorably hopeful and inquisitive. “But…wait. What about…?”
“I said I’d handle this.” Mr. Bannon put on his hat with a decisive yank, casting his square-jawed face in shadows. “All of you say goodbye to Miss Trent now, and get on down the road. I don’t want to find any work left undone when I get back.”
Incredibly they still wavered. Even beneath the stern,
hazel-eyed gaze that Everett Bannon gave each of them in turn, they held fast to their positions. Did his marriage mean so much to them that they would risk his ill temper for it? Evidently, it did. Despite everything, Nellie felt impressed by their loyalty. To have earned that, Mr. Bannon must be quite a man.
“Will you be alone when you get back?” asked the largest man, his tone mistrustful as he cradled his basket of baked goods. “Or will you be accompanied by…someone?”
His not-at-all-subtle head tilt indicated Nellie—who was dying, by then, to intervene on her own behalf. The passivity of just standing there was making her feel downright itchy.
It would have been more in her nature to argue her case—to offer a rebuttal or try a negotiation or propose some sort of blandishment. All those tactics had gotten her quite far in her journalism work. Two of them had gotten her here, in fact.
But Nellie doubted such aggressive strategies would endear her to an old-fashioned rancher who lived in a tiny territorial settlement like Morrow Creek. So instead, as an alternative to asserting herself, she settled on shifting in place in the travel-dusted, boy-size work boots she wore under her skirts, hoping she could outlast Mr. Bannon’s current bout of reticence.
Unfortunately it appeared to be of the abiding variety, and Nellie’s store of patience was definitely not infinite.
Perhaps, neither was Mr. Bannon’s. Because next he crossed his arms over his broad chest, making his muscles flex with impressive amplitude beneath his plain white shirt. “Ivan, do you want me to quit buying cone sugar for Edina’s baked goods?”
The big man, Ivan, went pale. “Nyet. I do not want that.”
“Then quit pestering me. All of you, get going.”
Nellie felt almost positive this standoff was concluded.
“Your soul, patrón!” the poetic one cried in a German accent. He waved his book. “Bitte! Think of your soul!”
Then again, perhaps she was wrong. Mustering up a soupçon more patience, Nellie rocked up on her boot heels. She vastly preferred wearing useful footwear rather than sporting typical high-buttoned, fashionable but impractical ladies’ shoes. She preferred, overall, being nimble to being prim or well-behaved. If that made her a bit unconventional, well…Nellie didn’t mind.
“My ‘soul,’ Oscar?” Mr. Bannon asked in an amused voice. For an instant, his gaze touched Nellie’s directly, then roved over her face and personage in turn. “Have you seen Miss Trent? Next to her, a soul feels about as meaningless as a handful of penny candy. A man would give up heaven itself to have her.”
Shocked by his lyrical turn of phrase, Nellie gawked at him. Maybe there was hope she could stay on in Morrow Creek.
Maybe there was hope Everett Bannon would truly like her.
Nellie certainly liked him. Now more than ever—now that he’d come up with such a quixotic notion about his soul…and her own supposedly irresistible claim upon it. This was by far the most unusual group of rough-riding Western males she’d ever encountered, and she’d only been here a short while so far!
The men of Bannon’s ranch seemed similarly taken aback by his statement. One of them jostled another. They all grinned.
“But I doubt a mail-order contract is the way to accomplish such a miracle,” Mr. Bannon went on. “And the longer you no-goods hang around, the unlikelier my chances get. So skedaddle.”
“Wirklich?” Oscar exclaimed. “Then you’re not going to—”
“I’m going to speak with Miss Trent alone,” Mr. Bannon interrupted firmly. “I believe I owe her that much, at least.”
At that, all his men blanched. But Nellie was too busy daydreaming about her handsome “fiancé’s” unexpectedly starry-eyed nature to let their obvious consternation discourage her. Because, in a single statement, Everett Bannon had just made her mission in Morrow Creek a personal one—a very personal one.
In that moment, Nellie didn’t want Everett Bannon to simply accept her as his mail-order bride; she wanted him to accept her. She wanted him to say more sweet words. She wanted him to liken her blue eyes to the springtime bluebonnets sprouting between the railroad ties. She wanted him to hold her hand.
She wanted…him. She wanted to know everything about him.
Because even while aggrieved, as he was now, Everett Bannon was…wonderful. His features were even, his eyes kind, h
is dark hair as long as his collar and as shiny as silk. She wanted to touch it—to sift her fingers through it—and felt shocked by that untoward impulse. She didn’t know where it had come from. She’d never been intimate with a man; she’d never even come close. For all her bravado and all the inroads she’d made into what was largely a man’s world back in San Francisco, she was still a good woman with all her morals and personal strictures intact.
But oh…how Everett Bannon tempted her to abandon them!
Especially this Everett Bannon—the one who spouted romanticisms and watched her blush…however inexpertly she did so. Her own feminine wiles were certainly rusty, but his masculine appeal seemed more than intact. Most likely, he could have had his choice of marriageable women in town. For the umpteenth time since she’d stepped off the train, Nellie wondered why a man like him required a mail-order bride.
He was neither asocial nor ugly. He was not infirm or indigent. He appeared respectable. He owned property. He gave every impression of intelligence and good humor. So why—
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, ma’am.” The reticent young man stopped in front of her, apparently having been ordered to do so—again—while Nellie had been woolgathering. He gulped, nodded, then shook her hand. “Goodbye, ma’am.”
“Wait!” Nellie lay her hand on his forearm. With concern, she gazed into his face. “I don’t even know your name.”
He shrugged. “I reckon that ain’t gonna be necessary.”
Then he screwed up his face in almost comical determination and strode away toward town, his posture ramrod straight.
Pedro smiled at her. “Do not worry,” the Mexicano said with a gallant sweep of his arm. “He is always as skittery as a preacher in a whorehouse. He will be fine. I’ll make sure of it myself.” With elaborate gentility, he held her gloved hand in his, then bowed over it. “Encantado, Señorita Trent. Adiós.”
The somber-eyed poet, Oscar, followed him. “I will treasure your letters always,” he confessed, tenderly squeezing her hand.
Nellie blinked. Oscar had her letters? But why? How?
She could not pursue the question. The bearish Russian, Ivan, approached her next. “Give him this,” he advised with another significant nod toward Mr. Bannon. With elaborate care, Ivan pressed something in her hand. “It will work magic for you. It always has for me.” With his covert mission accomplished, Ivan tipped his hat to her. “Ycnex. That means good luck.”
Unaccountably touched by their kindness, Nellie held on to whatever he’d given her. “Thank you. Thank you all so much!”
Curtly Ivan nodded. Oscar bowed. Pedro blew her a kiss.
Mr. Bannon looked on in disgruntlement. “Quit it. Next you’ll all be caterwauling, and I didn’t bring my handkerchief.”
Glancing at him, Nellie grinned. His gruff demeanor didn’t fool her. He clearly felt a great deal of affection toward his men. “Hmm. You must have left it in your other suit.”
At that, Mr. Bannon glanced down at himself. He regarded his plain, button-placket shirt, brown canvas trousers, braces and scratched-up boots, then frowned. “I only own one suit.”
“Well, then. If that’s true, you’d better quit looking at that ensemble as though you’d like to start a bonfire with it.”
He started. “Are you…teasing me?”
“It certainly sounds as though I am.”
“But no one teases me.” His frown seemed proof of it.
“Then I think I will be the necessary exception. While I am here, I’ve decided to tease you as often and as mercilessly as possible, Mr. Bannon,” Nellie declared, alluding for the first time to the possibility that he might make her leave, “until you either give me a genuine smile or— Nope. No, that’s all I want. A genuine smile from you. Then I will be satisfied.”
He seemed on the verge of giving her a genuine smile just then, merely at her mention of her just-discovered plan. But with what must have been a mighty effort, he resisted. Mostly. A corner of his mouth still quirked. Satisfyingly so. She loved having an effect on him, however meager it was. For now.
“I’ll wager you do not always get your way, Miss Trent.”
“Ah. Now that’s where you’d be wrong. Because I do traditionally persist until I get my way. Indefatigability is the secret, you see.” She picked up her two slim satchels—all her baggage—from the spot where she’d set them at her feet, ready to have this settled once and for all. “Also, you simply must call me Nellie. And I will call you Everett! If we’re to be married, we may as well begin as we intend to go on—informally.”
It was a bluff, plain and simple. Nellie reasoned that he would not turn her away—not now. Not after he’d said all those lovely things. She rarely misjudged a bluff, but this time…
Worryingly Everett gazed at her satchels. He glanced over his shoulder at his men, most of whom were already at the hitching posts where they’d left their horses. He took off his hat again, turned it in his hands, then put it back on.
It was, she’d learned, a signifying gesture. He’d decided something. Now he was going to tell her what it was.
“We’re not going to be married,” Everett said flatly. “I didn’t order you from the mail-order marriage bureau. My men did it for me. They wrote all those letters to you, too.”
“Mmm.” Nellie thought about that. Yes, that answered several niggling questions she’d had about this whole process. “That explains their peculiar emphasis on the rangeland, the bunkhouse furnishings and the variety of livestock present.”
He winced. “I believe they took turns writing to you.”
“Then Oscar must have sent me the poetry. And Pedro the pressed flowers. And Ivan the stale cake crumbs, and—”
“I didn’t even know you were arriving until an hour ago,” Everett confessed, seeming unwilling to indulge her attempts at humor. “I didn’t want to turn you away outright—”
“Because I’m better than penny candy.”
At that, he briefly closed his eyes. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. So did Nellie. When Everett opened his eyes again and looked at her, something indefinable passed between them. Something laden with possibilities, risks…and potential success, too. Nellie had never experienced anything like it.
It moved her in a way nothing ever had. It made her want to linger near Everett by whatever means possible—a bold idea, perhaps, but Nellie had never been a woman who’d shied away from those. Given the stirring and unexpected way he made her feel, staying near Everett Bannon might be the boldest idea of all.
“But I didn’t want to lie to you, either,” Everett went on doggedly. “So here it is—I will gladly buy you a return train ticket. And I will happily invite you to stay at my ranch house—with my cook and housekeeper in attendance as chaperones, of course—until you feel strong enough to travel.” His gaze swerved to hers, full of indomitable honesty and integrity. “But I’m very sorry to say that I cannot promise to marry you.”
Evidently on tenterhooks, he waited for her response.
Doubtless, he expected her to be crushed—to have no other options for marriage. But there were things that Nellie knew about herself that he did not—beginning with the fact that she’d always expected to end up a spinster…and ending with the fact that, with one reckless touch of his hand, Everett Bannon had made her hope for something more. Now, she hoped for him.
“I see.” Attentively Nellie nodded at him, fighting a powerful urge to dismiss his wrongheaded notion that she might be too fragile to travel again immediately. No one had ever suggested that Nellie Trent was anything but sturdy, tomboyish and inconveniently ambitious—especially for a woman. No one had ever tried to cherish or protect her. She was “unusual” and occasionally “unruly”—especially to the men in her life—and that was that. It could not be helped. “Why did your men believe you might not only promise to
marry me but actually do it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must know.”
“I can’t begin to guess.” Everett blew out a breath, seeming overwhelmed. “You’ve met them. You must understand.”
“I thought they were very kind,” Nellie insisted. “You’re fortunate to work with men who are so devoted to you.”
“Yes. I am.” Mulishly Everett said nothing more.
“They seem to believe marriage would be good for you,” she prompted leadingly. “There must be a reason for that.”
He refused to speculate—at least for now. But the jut of his jaw suggested there was a reason. Innate curiosity demanded that Nellie uncover what that reason was. She simply had to.
“All right, then. That’s fine. You can tell me later.”
Brightly Nellie unwrapped the item Ivan had given her. She saw that it was an unfamiliar cookie-shaped thing and wrinkled her nose in confusion. This could be magical?
“Why does Ivan believe this cookie is magical?”
“Because he believes everything Edina touches turns to gold,” Everett grumbled. Then added, “Is that all you have to say?”
“Er…” Nellie thought about it. She raised her cookie. “Would you like half? I’ll share with you. Frankly I’m famished. The stops along the way left much to be desired.”
When he did not answer, she transferred her gaze from the cookie to his face—and received an unwelcome surprise.
Why was Everett gawking at her? Confusedly Nellie waggled the cookie at him in an enticing manner. “Please. Take some.”
He did not. Perhaps he thought she was being too forward again. He’d accused her of that once already. She didn’t want to irk him needlessly now. Stymied, Nellie considered what her most ladylike female friends might do in this situation. Aha!
“It’s far too much for me to eat all by myself,” she fibbed demurely, knowing full well she could have gobbled that cookie and another one besides. But she wanted to impress Everett Bannon somehow. She wanted to make him see her. She wanted to learn more about him, too. Attempting to fulfill his stated vision of her as a dainty flower of womanhood seemed a good way to do those things. Regrettably Nellie preferred being brash and—occasionally—groundbreaking. Being decorous was hardly her forte.
Weddings Under a Western Sky: The Hand-Me-Down BrideThe Bride Wore BritchesSomething Borrowed, Something True Page 18