The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1)

by Sharon Ihle

  1. Slothful—How dare he suggest such a thing after getting her up before dawn each day?

  2. Messy—The grandest of lies. This man's home was never so clean as it'd been under her care.

  3. Incompetent farm hand—"Apprentice" farm hand, maybe, but eager to learn.

  4. Too weak and frail to be a ranch wife—Maybe, she wasn't sure but she figured she deserved credit for being strong at heart.

  5. Believes in fairies—Doesn't everyone?

  6. Lousy cook—He had her there—but only temporarily.

  7. Bed partner—This notation stumped Lacey. She'd get to the bottom of what he meant by that later.

  8. Too damn nosy—What had she done to elicit this—other than what she was doing now?

  9. Can't sew—Another area in which she could make no argument.

  10. Lies/can't be trusted.

  Crestfallen over number ten, for she couldn't even fake a fit of anger over the truth in that disadvantage, Lacey sighed and glanced to the right-hand side of the ledger. There under the Advantages column she found only three notations:

  1. Good with horses—Her mood brightened considerably.

  2. Makes good pie—That would have brightened her mood had he not drawn a thick, black line through it, voiding the entry.

  3. Bed partner—Now she was more confused than when it had been in the disadvantage column—and how could one attribute be listed in both places, anyway?

  "Humm," Lacey murmured to herself as she thought about what she'd learned. Tapping a fingernail against the little book, she was sorely tempted to toss the thing into the fireplace, but she decided to consider other options first. The score as she read it, was ten to two, a lack of eight pluses on the advantage side of the ledger. How could she make up that number, or even exceed it in the little time she had left to win Hawke over?

  It occurred to her that she might as well list a few of her qualities now, and worry about proving them to the man later. What could such a plan harm at this juncture? Hawke had already made note of the fact that she was nosy and not to be trusted. Pleased with her rationalization, Lacey lifted the pencil from its little slot, moistened the tip, and got busy balancing the scale in her favor. Adding a new entry in place of the one that had been scratched out, she started with the obvious.

  2. Resourceful.

  Marriage is popular because it combines the maximum of temptation with the maximum of opportunity.

  —George Bernard Shaw

  Chapter 9

  The circuit preacher had shown up a little earlier than expected, but Hawke thought it fitting in a perverse sort of way, that the man would be waiting at Caleb's when he and Lacey drove up to Three Elk that afternoon. That's how he looked at it anyway when the small black carriage and single horse tied to the hitching post did indeed turn out to belong to one Reverend Bob. Except for his white collar, the man was dressed in black from his flat-brimmed hat to his polished boots—an eerie twin to the imaginary hangman Hawke had felt chasing him ever since he'd first laid eyes on Miss Lacey O'Carroll. At the sight of the clergyman, it was all he could do not to bolt and run back out the door.

  But Hawke didn't go meekly into the fray, mind you. He barreled his way into Caleb's home with Lacey hot on his heels, she intent on soliciting the council of her friend, Kate, he determined to get himself out of this predicament once and for all. The Irishwomen hugged and greeted one another, laughing and talking in their strange Gaelic brogues, but once Hawke got over the shock of meeting "the angel of death" in the guise of Reverend Bob, he got right down to business with Caleb.

  "... and nothing you say is going to change my mind."

  "Hold your horses a minute, friend." Caleb was lounging as usual on the couch in the front room. Righting himself, he propped his splinted leg up high on a milk stool. "What's all this about ledgers and lists? I thought we was discussing matrimony, not horse-trading."

  "They're one and the same, as far as I'm concerned." Hawke dropped his ledger into Caleb's lap, then lowered his voice to a low roar. "Go ahead, flip it open to the page with her name on it and you'll see what I mean. She's just not proper wife material, and all the good intentions in the world aren't going make her that way. I thank you for the trouble you went to on my behalf, but we're just going to have to send Miss O'Carroll back where she came from."

  His bushy gray brows bunched in contemplation, Caleb finally found the page with Lacey's name at the top, and began reading the columns, his lips silently mouthing each as he came to it.

  As he waited for his friend to digest the entire list, Hawke embellished his complaints against the comely Irishwoman. "The way I have it figured, Miss O'Carroll comes from blue-blooded stock or something like that. For all we know, she might even be a runaway princess or whatever it is they call their royalty in Ireland."

  Listening to his friend with one ear as he continued to read the ledger, Caleb said, "That don't make no sense. What would a princess be doing in Wyoming Territory of all places, and as a mail-order bride of all things? That don't make no sense a'tall."

  "Hell, I don't know. I also don't know why she's here or what she's really up to." Aware the women had finally disappeared into the back bedroom and that the preacher was resting on Caleb's hammock out back, Hawke raised his voice. "I only know that something is wrong with her, and not just that she can't cook or sew. Something we're both missing somewhere."

  "Humph. Not according to this here ledger of yours, there ain't. Why you've even got that gal scored one point higher on her advantages!" Caleb raised a squinty-eyed gaze to his friend. "Just how high does a woman have to rate to be good enough in your book, son?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Hawke stuck out his hand. "Let me see that book. You're probably on the wrong page." But even before Caleb dropped it into his palm, he could see Lacey's name clearly inscribed at the top of the page. Hardly able to believe what his eyes told him after he'd studied the ledger a minute, Hawke sank down to the hearth in complete, mind-numbing shock.

  "I—I didn't write all of this." Hawke's tongue felt curiously heavy, as if whittled out of wood. The neatly printed block letters did look a lot like his own handwriting, but there was no way he'd written what he was seeing. "Someone's been messing with my ledger."

  "Now, Hawke, my boy," said Caleb in his most cajoling tone. "I don't know what you're up to, or why you're a writing one thing and saying another, but if you mean to—"

  "It's the truth, Caleb. I swear it." Desperate to prove that he hadn't lost his mind or his ethics, Hawke dragged his fingernail along the advantage column, then jabbed it against one of the entries. "Does this sound like something I'd write? Knows all manner of charms, riddles, and prayers from memory." Searching further, he stopped at entry number seven. "Or this? Even-tempered for a red-haired person of Irish extraction." Then up to the entry in place of 'makes good pies,' which Hawke himself had scratched out. "And I don't even know what this is supposed to mean—resourceful."

  Caleb was chuckling by now, his round little belly bouncing like the south end of a northbound ass. "I got to admit, them are some mighty strange reasons for wanting to keep the woman on. My guess is you're a wantin' to get hitched to her so bad, you just made that nonsensical stuff up."

  Hawke let out an exasperated sigh. "You're not listening to me, Caleb—I'm not the one who put those remarks in the book. Apparently, Lacey did—who else would have written that last entry?" He was referring to number eleven, the advantage which tipped the scales in Lacey's favor and really got Hawke's goat. "Probably the only female in all of Wyoming Territory willing to marry a hard-headed man like you."

  Caleb's chuckles evolved to out and out belly laughing, and until he calmed down, Hawke knew it was useless to continue the increasingly frustrating conversation.

  * * *

  In the back bedroom, Kate was all questions. "And he didna seem to mind that ye canna so much as boil cabbage?"

  Lacey shrugged. "He did not say really, but I
think I can learn cooking and such fast enough to suit him. I just do not think he means to give me the chance."

  "Ye mean to say the man does not wish to marry ye?"

  "It would seem so." Tears sprang into the corners of her eyes, and until that moment, she hadn't realized how much she wanted this marriage between herself and Hawke. "Oh, Nurse Kate—what am I to do?"

  "Hush, lass, and dona be calling me nurse." She handed Lacey a handkerchief, waited a moment for her to dry her tears and wipe her nose, then went on to ask, "If not for yer lack of cookin' and wifin' duties, then why do ye think he will not wed ye, lass?"

  Sinking down on the mattress of what was soon to be Kate's marriage bed, Lacey bit her lip and fiddled with the pile on the chenille spread as she tried to think of a delicate way to address the subject. "I can not say for sure that this is the problem exactly, but..." Her cheeks grew hot, her throat closed, and her breathing began to get erratic. "I—it's just that I have some concerns about... Hawke, and what he might think he's allowed to do to... I mean as a husband, of course, but if I did not please him in that way and cannot do—"

  "God save ye, lass. Ye were alone and defenseless with the man last night." Kate fell to her knees before Lacey and took both of her hands in hers. "Are ye tryin' to tell me that divil of a man has already taken some liberties with yer person?"

  She hadn't thought it possible, but Lacey's face grew even hotter. "He, well... I do not know what liberties you speak of, but Hawke did..." Try as she might, she simply couldn't find a way to tell the woman who'd practically raised her that Hawke had slipped his tongue inside her mouth. It all seemed so sordid now that she was actually trying to put words to the embarrassing thing she'd let him do—and God help her, to remember the uncivilized way it made her feel. "I—I can not say what we have done, for it shames me to think of it."

  "Arrah." Kate's nostrils flared, and in her rage, her voice dropped to a deep guttural growl. "May that heathen's last dance be a hornpipe on the air, the scurvy cur. He'll be makin' things right with ye, or he'll be payin' the divil till doomsday if Katherine Quinlin has a say about it."

  With that, she leapt to her feet still holding Lacey's hands, and jerked her up off the mattress. "Come with me, lass. We'll be gettin' settled on this 'fore another minute runs round the clock."

  And because if she listened and obeyed anyone, it was former Nurse Quinlin, Lacey allowed herself to be dragged into the front room of Caleb's home where he and Hawke were still deep in discussion.

  "Mr. Weatherspoon," said Kate as the women approached the back of the couch. She would go no further, certainly not around to the front of the couch where the devil in question sat resting his lecherous hide on the hearth. "Your good neighbor here has committed a terrible indiscretion against my dear sweet Miss O'Carroll, and I'm afraid I can not entertain the thought of pledging my troth to you until the matter is settled to our satisfaction. What does your dishonorable Mr. Winterhawke intend to do to make things right with Miss O'Carroll?"

  Hawke slowly raised up off the bricks, his mouth a big round O. "What in blue blazes are you talking about?"

  "Easy, Hawke," cautioned Caleb, who'd also gotten up from his couch. Leaning heavily against the single crutch he used to get around, he turned toward his lovely intended. "What's all this about dishonor, my dear?"

  "'Tis about the scurvy cur standin' beside ye and the liberties he took with my innocent young lass here. I demand to know what ye intend to do about it."

  His gray head swiveled toward the fireplace. "Hawke? What in tarnation is she talking about?"

  Both hands raised high above his shoulders, he shook his head. "I swear to Christ, I don't have the slightest idea."

  Kate lunged forward, nearly toppling over the back of the couch. "A high hangin' to ye then, ye dirty liar."

  "Liar?" Hawke stepped forward, bringing his nose within a foot of the enraged Irishwoman. "If there's a liar in this room, it's that sweet innocent lass over there with the big blue eyes."

  Lacey drew up alongside Kate, her breast puffed with self-righteousness. "I ne'er lied to you."

  "Excuse the living hell out of me," Hawke said, cocking his head in Lacey's direction. "But I call stealing a man's private ledger and filling it with... with whoppers, is the same thing as lying—worse."

  Kate pushed her arms between the two, then spread her hands, effectively separating the quarreling couple, even though the couch did a fair job of that anyway. "Ye see what I mean about yer friend, Mr. Weatherspoon? The man's a bosthoon and a blatherskite, among other things, a divil who deserves a good beatin' with an oak shillelagh, but if ye can extract his promise to make an honest woman of my innocent Miss O'Carroll, then we'll just naturally have to be forgivin' him, then."

  "In a pig's eye." said Hawke, furious over the names he'd been called even though he didn't know exactly what they meant. "I'll be damned if I'm going to be tricked, forced or bullied into doing anything I don't want to by a pair of lying, cheating—"

  "How dare you." Lacey stomped a spur against the floor to help her gain extra courage. "I will not stand here and watch you pointin' your finger and shoutin' names at my Miss Kate. She's only looking after my best interests—which is a lot more than I can say for the likes of you."

  Kate tossed in her opinion, spearing Hawke with a purposefully beady eye. "And I'll just be addin' my amen to that, ye malarkey-spewin'—"

  "Just a dad-burned minute, all of ya," hollered Caleb. "If'n you don't all stop talking at oncet, we'll never git this figured out."

  "A—hem," came a deep baritone from the back door. "Is it always this difficult for your guests to get a little rest around here?"

  All four of the principals turned toward the Reverend Bob, each of them coloring from pale pink to bright red.

  "Ah, beggin' your pardon, Reverend," said Caleb, master of the house. "It seems we have a little disagreement 'twixt friends, is all. Sorry if'n we woke you."

  "Aye," said Lacey. "'Tis my fault I think, for mentioning some things to—"

  "Now, lass, dona be taking the blame for insults this miserable cur has set upon ye."

  "That's it." Hawke hitched up his jeans. "I've had just about all the name calling I'm going to take from your big—"

  "A—hem!" Reverend Bob's voice was even deeper, more authoritative than before. "It's clear to me that you folks have some grievances to work out, but I think the Lord, and the rest of us, will best be served if you split up to continue your discussion. What is at issue here?"

  All four of them opened their mouths as if to speak, but Caleb shot each of the other three a vicious, warning glance. Then he proceeded to explain as best he could. "It seems these two youngens here are having a speck of trouble deciding if they want to get hitched or not."

  "Then may I suggest that we let the youngens in question work it out between themselves—alone?"

  Kate bristled. "I'll not be lettin' the lass out of my sight with that, that—"

  "I assure you," said Hawke in the kindest voice he could manage, "your friend will be quite safe with me." He turned to the reverend. 'You have my word on it."

  The preacher clasped his hands together and nodded solemnly. "Then why don't the two of you go on outside now and have yourself a calming walk around the property. When you decide what you're gonna do, let us know." He pulled a pocket watch out of his vest pocket, checked the time, and added, "We've planned the nuptials around a wedding supper Miss Quinlin has been preparing for a better part of the day. I'd like to get the ceremony underway within the hour, if possible."

  Feeling a lot like the hangman had just pronounced the hour of his death, Hawke stepped around Caleb and his crutch, gave Kate a wide berth, then extended his elbow and said to Lacey, "Shall we?"

  Her nose still angled at a properly offended tilt, Lacey slipped her left hand into the crook of Hawke's arm and allowed him to escort her outside to the grounds of Three Elk Ranch. They walked in silence for several moments, passing by a corral fill
ed with both cow ponies and cattle, then around to the back of Caleb's small barn. From there Hawke led her to a large fallen log near the bank of the Little Laramie River where he invited her to sit down.

  "This," he said, settling in beside her, "is my favorite view from Caleb's ranch." He pointed west to the rising slopes leading to his ranch and the Snowy Range Mountains behind it. "Winterhawke ends just past that last stand of aspens."

  Looking up at the majestic mountains surrounding Winterhawke, she sighed. "'Tis lovely and peaceful your ranch, a place even the angels might call home."

  Done with ducking the issue, Hawke turned to Lacey and caught her chin with his index finger, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Exactly what are you looking for in a home, Irish miss? Now that you know a little more about what to expect, are you really so sure you want to marry someone like me?"

  She hesitated only a moment. "Aye. If you're willing to have me, that is."

  Those beautiful blue eyes didn't flicker with even the slightest hint of duplicity. Releasing her chin, Hawke slowly shook his head and returned his gaze to the mountains he loved so much. "I just can't understand why a good looking gal like you would even consider marrying someone like me. From where I'm sitting, it seems I'm the only one who stands to gain anything by the match."

  "You truly think so?" She sounded surprised, even pleased. "And what gains might those be, sir?"

  Looking back at her, Hawke couldn't keep the sarcastic smirk from his tone or off of his lips. "For starters, the kind your dear Miss Kate seems to think I already helped myself to. Where'd she get the idea that I've already, well... touched you in a way I shouldn't have?"