“Wanna bet?” Big Jim grinned broadly and curled his finger over the trigger.
Clint squeezed his eyes closed. “Jesus Christ! Do what he tells you, Rachel!”
Rachel’s stomach plummeted. “Daddy, this has ceased to be entertaining. What do you think you’re doing, threatening an innocent man’s life like this?”
“Innocent,” Clint inserted, “there’s the key word.”
The preacher cut in once more. “And, do you, Rachel Marie Constantine, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love, honor and obey until death do you part?”
Rachel rolled her eyes and smiled sweetly at the minister. “Mr. Rafferty may be quaking in his boots, but I certainly am not. Blizzards will fly in August before any of you hear me say ‘I do.’”
Big Jim smiled at the preacher. “You heard her. She just said ‘I do,’ clear as you please.”
“I did not!” Rachel said with a scandalized gasp.
“You did so!” Big Jim argued.
Glancing apologetically at Rachel, the preacher said, “I heard her, Big Jim, but I’m not entirely certain she meant—”
“Keep your opinions to yourself and just finish the ceremony,” Big Jim instructed.
“By the authority vested in me…” the preacher began.
Clint overrode him in a louder voice. “Marshal, would you mind pointing that gun somewhere else besides at my head?”
“Such tactics will never hold up in a court of law,” Rachel cried. “These are the nineties, I’ll have you know. You men can’t marry us women off against our wills anymore. We have legal recourse!”
As though to punctuate that pronouncement, the preacher said, “I now pronounce you man and wife!” and slapped his prayer book closed.
A sudden silence descended over the church. A silence so thick that Rachel felt as if she were drowning in it. She stared at her father, scarcely able to believe he’d betrayed her like this. Her father, who had always loved her so well. Ever since the death of her mother, he had been the only person she could trust.
With a sad smile, he finally drew the gun barrel from Clint’s temple. As he slowly let the hammer back down, he said, “Well, honey, for better or worse, you got yourself a husband.”
5
Less than an hour later, Rachel found herself a mile outside of town, alone with a complete stranger who also happened to be her lawful husband. To complicate matters further, he’d chosen not to rent a wagon for the return trip to his ranch, which meant that she was ensconced on the saddle in front of him and forced to endure the intimacy of his touch for the duration of the ride. Her valise and satchel, joined together at the handles by a length of rope, were draped over the horse’s rump behind him like an ungainly pair of saddlebags.
Convinced he must be furious—she couldn’t imagine his being anything else, despite his denials inside the church—Rachel racked her brain for a way to defuse his anger before they reached his ranch and he did something they both might regret.
“Mr. Rafferty?”
At the sound of his name, he stiffened slightly, his hand on her midriff shifting position, the proximity of his fingertips to her breast a subtle reminder that she was now his wife and therefore his possession. “You can call me Clint now, Rachel. It’s more or less an accepted thing, the use of first names between husbands and wives.”
“Yes, of course, Clint.” The lump of anxiety in Rachel’s throat felt the size of a goose egg. “I, um…” She tried desperately to swallow. Tears of frustration filled her eyes, making the surrounding woods seem even more blurry. In the distance, she could see the craggy peaks of the Cascades, which, without her spectacles, looked like gigantic, indistinct lumps, their snow-swept slopes glistening brilliantly in the July morning sun. “I was just—well, I know you must be angry. Possibly even livid. I certainly can’t blame you for that, and I want you to know that I’ll do whatever I possibly can to resolve matters.”
“Really?” He hunched his broad shoulders around her and tipped his hat back so he might watch her face. “And tell me, Rachel, just how do you plan to resolve matters?” His smoky blue eyes twinkled warmly into hers. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought things were already pretty much settled.”
“Settled? We’re married, Mr. Rafferty! Don’t you realize what that means? I can’t believe you’ve agreed to this.”
He smiled slightly, his ebony lashes drifting low over his eyes to partially conceal his expression. “I guess maybe the situation is a little more frightening for you than it is for me.”
“Frightening? Why should I feel frightened?” she asked. “I think it would be more accurate to say I feel uneasy.”
The creases that bracketed his mouth became deep slashes as his firm lips drew into a smile. “All right, you probably feel more uneasy than I do, then. And I can’t blame you for that. You barely know me, and now I suddenly have control over your life. That has to be unsettling.”
Rachel could have gone all day without hearing him put it into words like that. Control over her life? Oh, God…She blinked and averted her face, uncomfortable with the silence that fell over them but uncertain how to break it. With nervous fingers, she plucked at the folds of her skirt, wishing she were anywhere but there.
“If it’s any comfort at all,” he finally added, “I’m not a mean-natured man. You don’t need to feel afrai—” He broke off and fell silent. “Uneasy, you don’t need to feel uneasy.”
Looking up at him, she felt breathless. To her frightened mind, he seemed taller and broader across the shoulders than he had earlier, a muscular wall of power that might at any moment be targeted at her. Control over her life? Oh, it was far more than that, she thought dismally. Far, far more.
Clint heaved a weary sigh and shifted his weight in the saddle. For just a moment his thoughts turned toward home, where his brothers, completely unsuspecting that they had a new sister-in-law, awaited his arrival. Because of them he hadn’t protested the marriage to Rachel, and for the life of him, he couldn’t regret that decision now. The Raffertys, Clint included, needed a woman in the house, and left to his own devices, Clint wasn’t at all sure he could have found one who compared to Rachel Constantine. She wasn’t just beautiful, which was a definite plus as far as he was concerned, but she had nice manners and was well-spoken. She’d be a good influence on his brothers, a real good influence. He pictured her in a bib apron with a streak of flour on her cheek. His stomach growled just at the thought. Lord, he couldn’t remember when he’d had a good home-cooked meal.
No, he couldn’t muster up any regret about marrying Rachel Constantine. The words “manna from heaven” kept popping into his mind. To him, that was what she was, a miracle that had accidentally dropped in his lap. Besides, it wasn’t as if this was his fault. He hadn’t set out to entrap her or anything. Far from it. And he wasn’t the only one benefitting. His own selfish reasons aside, Rachel would have been crucified by the so-called righteous citizens of Shady Corners if he hadn’t made an honest woman of her. This marriage was the best thing for her.
Glancing down at her, Clint saw that the bewildered, worried expression was still in her beautiful blue eyes. If they knew each other better, he might be able to guess what she was thinking. How did a young woman feel when she’d just married a man against her will? And a stranger, at that? Clint didn’t suppose she felt like whooping for joy.
For just a moment, he toyed with the idea of waiting until he exercised his conjugal rights. Just as swiftly, he discarded the idea. From the instant he’d said “I do,” he’d been determined to make the best of this marriage. With that aim in mind, he had no intention of sharing a bed with Rachel and refraining from touching her. Just the thought set his nerves on edge.
He already had enough on his plate without having no deal with sexual frustration. The way he saw it, intimacy between him and Rachel would only make it easier for them to forge a friendship. Some people might say he was going at things ass-backward, but so what.
He was new to this marriage business and was making up the rules as he went along.
Though his recollections of last night were a little muddled, some parts were picture clear. He recalled how she had felt in his embrace, how unbelievably sweet she had been, as if God had made her especially for him. Her kiss, as he remembered, had been awkward and shy, definitely not that of an experienced woman, but even so, he knew there was passion within her to kindle. That had been apparent in the way she’d opened her mouth to him and molded her body to his. His main problem would be to get her back into his arms again. Once he had her there, he didn’t doubt his ability to arouse her. At the thought, a searing heat formed low in his belly.
Becoming more mindful by the moment that it was still morning and, therefore, a long while till nightfall, Clint forced his thoughts away from love-making. “About your sister Molly,” he said softly. “If Matt truly did humiliate her in front of her friends and make her cry, I’m really sorry.”
“He didn’t just make her cry,” she corrected. “He broke her heart.” Her large blue eyes flashed to his. “Just because she’s only fourteen, that doesn’t mean she’s too young to fall in love, you know.”
“Of course not,” he agreed. “If anything, she’s probably capable of loving even more intensely because of her age. It’s my experience that we tend to guard our feelings a little more closely as we get older.”
She looked mildly surprised to hear him say that. “You aren’t going to say it’s all nonsense then? About Matt breaking her heart, I mean?”
Gazing down at her, Clint had an almost irresistible urge to kiss the little frown wrinkles from her brow. Why, he couldn’t say. True, he’d cast an admiring eye in Rachel Constantine’s direction more than once since moving to this area. But being a young and healthy bachelor, he’d cast an admiring eye in lots of girls’ directions. Maybe that was his trouble. He and his friend Henry hadn’t had the pleasure of a lady’s company in a good long while, and pent-up need was playing heck with his self-control. “No,” he said hoarsely, “I don’t think it’s nonsense. That isn’t to say I believe Matt meant to hurt her, or that he even knows he did.”
“How could he not know?”
Clint sighed. “Rachel, my brother has probably broken a dozen hearts, and I doubt he ever realized it. He’s a very handsome fellow with a charming way about him. More than one—”
For the first time that day, she smiled. Only slightly and very fleetingly, but it was a smile just the same. The brilliance of it cut him short and left him with absolutely no recollection of what he’d been about to say. “Handsome and charming, is he? Do you realize how much you two look alike?”
For a second, Clint couldn’t think how to reply. Then he decided to fall back on plain old honesty, which had never failed him yet. “Matt and I are like two identical chunks of agate, one polished and the other not. I have all the same surface, darlin’, but I’m missin’ the shine.”
Her large blue eyes moved slowly over his face. After looking her fill, she smiled again, still only slightly, but with devastating impact. Looking down at her, Clint decided he could probably become a millionaire if he could figure out a way to bottle that sweetness of hers. “I’ve never seen your brother, so I can’t say for sure, but I find it difficult to believe he outshines you by much.”
Uncertain how to accept the compliment graciously, Clint decided to ignore it. “What’ve you been doin’, girl? Walkin’ around town with your eyes shut?”
“Pardon?”
“How else could miss seein’ my brother?”
Her cheeks turned an embarrassed pink. “I misspoke. Of course I’ve seen him, just never from up close.”
Clint found it rather incredible that Matt, who was attracted to pretty women like bees to honey, had never homed in on Rachel. She was one pretty little gal, make no mistake. “Well, trust me, honey, he doesn’t just outshine me. If women’s reactions to him are any indication, we’re talkin’ a total eclipse. Just you make sure you don’t fall for any of his blarney. Mistake or no, you’re married to me, not to him.”
He clicked his tongue to the horse and nudged it to a faster pace. At just that moment, a jackrabbit bounded out from a clump of brush onto the road. The unexpected flash of movement spooked Clint’s roan, and before he could react, the stallion reared to strike the air with its front hooves. Rachel had no stirrups with which to balance her weight, and the only thing anchoring her to the saddle was Clint’s hold on her. Fearful that she might get hurt, he tightened his arm around her waist as he struggled to regain control of the horse.
When the huge animal had finally quieted, Clint realized that in the confusion, he had moved his palm upward on Rachel’s ribs to partially cup her breast. She clearly didn’t appreciate the familiarity. Either that, or the stupid horse had scared her half to death. As near as he could tell, she had all but stopped breathing.
“Rachel?”
Very carefully, he slid his hand back down to its former resting place, then leaned slightly forward so he might see her face. His heart caught at her expression, her eyes squeezed tightly closed, her sweet mouth acquiver as she waged an obvious battle not to cry out.
“Rachel…” he said more softly. “It’s all right.”
“Did we smash it?”
The question took him totally off guard, and he slowly circled it, not entirely sure what she was talking about. “Did we smash what?”
“The poor bunny,” she asked thinly.
The poor bunny? Clint stared down at her pale face, still not convinced he was reading this correctly. True, the girl had been born and raised in town, but surely that hadn’t entirely insulated her from the realities of life, rabbit stew ranking high on the list. “No, we didn’t smash the rabbit,” he replied in a voice that had gone oddly tight. “He made it across without even getting his fur ruffled.”
Her breath rushed from her chest and her eyes fluttered open. Splaying a small hand over her throat, she swallowed audibly and gave a weak smile. “Oh, thank goodness. They’re such sweet little things, don’t you think? I particularly love the way they wiggle their noses.”
After studying her for a moment, Clint gave himself a hard mental shake. There was no point in thinking the worst. Just because the girl was worried about one wild bunny, that didn’t mean she would be squeamish about cooking up the occasional rabbit stew.
Surely not.
6
The Rafferty ranch was nestled among a stand of tall pines in a grassy valley completely surrounded by forested mountains. As soon as she got close enough to see it clearly, Rachel found it breathtaking.
As Clint steered his stallion down to the house, she couldn’t shake the feeling of rightness that came over her. It was as if she’d been waiting all her life for this moment, and possibly for this man. Crazy, so crazy. She was making absolutely no sense. This marriage was a mockery and doomed to be dissolved. To entertain the notion that it might be otherwise was absolute madness.
As Clint drew the horse up at the edge of the porch, she saw a blur of white next to an odd-looking stump. Peering more intently, she realized she was seeing a chopping block, with chicken feathers strewn at the base. Instantly queasy, she jerked her gaze to the house itself. Anything to keep from imagining the blood and gore that must have accompanied the recent slaughter.
The house was simplicity itself, a sprawling structure of rough-hewn logs and a cedar shake roof. It wasn’t pretty by any stretch of the imagination, though it could have been charming if any attempt at all had been made to pretty it up.
To say that hadn’t happened struck her as a gross understatement. In fact, by the looks of things, just the opposite had occurred. Even without her glasses, she could make out a rusted old washtub on one side of the front porch with a weathered scrub board standing on end inside it and a pair of dirt-encrusted gray socks draped over its rim. Next to the tub lay a discarded flour sack, out of which had spilled some flour gone wet and gooey in the rain, then turne
d rock hard in the sun. Behind the flour sack, a partially used sack of spuds had been propped against the house within easy reach of the front door. All in all, the place looked as if a band of none-too-tidy squatters had taken up residence.
“Things could use some cleanin’ up,” Clint said apologetically.
“Oh, it’s lovely. Really. I like log houses. Don’t you?” In actuality, Rachel preferred clapboard, but she would never risk hurting his feelings by saying so.
Glancing back at him over her shoulder, her gaze caught on his firm mouth. She couldn’t help but recall how it had felt to be in his arms last night, how dizzily she had succumbed to his kisses. Thinking back on it, she wondered how it might feel to be kissed by him again. In the light of day, would she find his embrace boring and unexciting, as she had Lawson’s? Or as had happened last night, would the first touch of his lips on hers steal her breath away? It would probably be just as well if she never found out, she decided. Her sister Molly wasn’t the only young girl who’d ever gotten her heart broken. Rachel had as well, and if she’d learned anything from the experience, it was that handsome men didn’t find women like her attractive.
As he shifted forward to drape the horse’s reins over the saddle and get a grip on the saddle horn, she felt the powerful play of muscles in his chest and arms. A shiver of awareness went down her spine as he swung from the saddle and reached up to lift her down.
“I can manage by myself,” she said.
The protest came too late. Before she could so much as blink, he seized hold of her waist. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she kept her gaze locked with his as he lifted her easily from the saddle.
“I don’t want you managing by yourself,” he said huskily. “Not with eight of us here to help you. Just you remember that.”
She was glad to note that his solemn, almost stern expression was belied by a slight smile flirting at the corners of his mouth. She wondered if he was smiling because he’d somehow sensed she’d been wondering how it might feel if he kissed her again. At the thought, a flush began creeping up her neck.
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