Married in Montana

by Jane Porter

  “So your father doesn’t approve of me, he just doesn’t disapprove.”

  “He’s trying to let me choose.”

  “Which brings us back to my question, why me when you know I don’t want you, and I don’t want to marry, and I cannot see how I will bring you a minute’s joy or happiness—”

  “You don’t intend to beat me, do you?”

  “I don’t beat women.”

  “So why would I be unhappy? You’re healthy, ambitious, and, from all appearances, accustomed to hard labor.”

  Thomas looked at her for a long moment, not sure why he felt like giving her a good shake.

  Was she mentally deficit? She knew nothing about him, nor did she seem inclined to find out anything important about him. She wasn’t even asking the right questions. Instead, it was enough for her that he was young and physically fit. “I can ride and work late, rounding up cattle or harvesting a field, but there will be plenty of nights where weather or illness will keep us trapped in the house together. Don’t you think you should know more about the man you marry than if he can carry heavy things?”

  Her brow lifted. “Should I interview you, then? Or write to someone, requesting references? Or, maybe, you have those references on your person, which would be wonderful since time is of the essence.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you sarcasm is unattractive in a lady?”

  “I try not to spend a lot of time worrying about what people think of me. I know who I am, and I know what I want, and I’m determined to keep my father’s land, and pass it on to my children. And maybe I’m not the simpering sort of lady you prefer—you can blame my father for that—but my instincts are good and they tell me if I want Burnett Ranch to survive for the next generation, you’d be the one to help me do it.”

  Her voice deepened and her eyes shone but she never looked away from his gaze. “If my instincts are wrong, tell me. But I think you wouldn’t just keep the property intact, but you’d love it the way the land needs to be loved.”

  She was a puzzle. Spoiled to a fault, high-handed, and sharp-tongued, she was also heartbreakingly loyal to her father and she would suffer when he died.

  “Where is your mother?” he asked bluntly.

  “She died when I was five.”

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  “She died in childbirth.”

  He looked away, not wanting to care, not wanting to be concerned, but he was concerned. “Aunts, uncles, grandparents?” he asked gruffly.

  “Maybe in Texas. Or Massachusetts. My mama was born in Boston.” Her slim shoulders shifted. “But I’ve never met any relations. Apparently there was a falling out years ago when Mama married Papa.”

  So she would be alone. And she would grieve and her grief would be made worse because there was no one else.

  He looked away, frustrated. “You need to marry someone who will be kind to you, and patient. I am neither kind, nor patient—”

  “I’m not looking for a girlfriend. I have Miss Douglas for gossip and girlish confidences—”

  “You say that because you’ve been sheltered. Not all men are the same—”

  “Exactly. I don’t want a gentrified man from the city. I don’t care about etiquette. I don’t need a dance partner. I need a husband who won’t be afraid of blisters and hard work, a husband who isn’t frightened by the howl of wolves and willing to rescue the stray calf even in the middle of a storm. If that is you, I want to marry you. If that is not you, then tell me, and I will continue my search and respect you for not wasting my time.”

  He was not tempted, and the only thing he felt was irritation. He didn’t need people, or entanglements, and this woman with her gleaming red hair and wide, bright eyes would be nothing but trouble. He’d left Rathkeale to get away from complications and he liked Montana. He was beginning to settle in here in Paradise Valley. It almost felt comfortable, but it wouldn’t be comfortable with her around.

  In fact, just sitting next to her in this damn wagon made him exceedingly uncomfortable. His trousers were too tight now and his body felt thick and hard, his pulse quick, his temper stirring.

  “Was there never a suitable groom?” he asked shortly, wanting nothing more than to drop her off at the church and be done with her.

  So why didn’t he just end this miserable conversation?

  Why didn’t he just leave her to her fate?

  He didn’t care.

  He didn’t care.

  He didn’t want to care.

  But, as the silence stretched, and he could see how she struggled with words, color coming and going, washing her pale cheeks with red before fading again, he felt tense and impatient with the men of Marietta who should have wanted her, men who wanted wives and babies and stability. Men who needed anchors and partners.

  He was not one of them.

  “There was someone,” she said faintly. “We were briefly engaged, but he loved another.” Her smooth jaw firmed, expression cool. “I wouldn’t have allowed the courtship to proceed so slowly if I’d known he wasn’t going to marry me. Now there is no time for anything but exchanging vows.”

  “I understand the urgency. You are being practical. But I had sisters. Girls are not boys, women are not men. You can’t possibly expect me to believe there is nothing you want for yourself.”

  “Before my father became ill, I had dreams, but what is the point of dreaming when your heart is breaking?” She looked at him and suddenly her guard was down and he could see in her eyes her despair. She was hollow and scared.

  “I want my father to live,” she said. “And I’d give everything up—the land, the livestock, the income—just to have another year with him. But God’s not listening and so here we are. I’m not good at begging. I don’t have a lot of experience pleading, but if I need to—”

  “No.” He cut her off swiftly, brutally, unable to stomach anymore.

  He hated grief. He had no use for emotions, good or bad. Work made sense. He understood blood and sweat. And sex. But that was all. Because that was all he had left. Whoever he’d been before was gone, buried with his family in County Limerick.

  “I can’t give you tenderness, but I’m not afraid of wolves or bears or banshees—”

  “Banshees,” she interrupted with a gurgle of tearful laughter. “My mother was always warning me of the banshees. Hooligans and banshees.” She reached up and swiped the tears before they could fall. “It’s good to know you’re not afraid of fairies or mischief makers.”

  “How can I, when I was one myself?”

  “Not a fairy, I hope.”

  “No, but I did get into my share of trouble as a boy, and I suffered the consequences. I don’t look for trouble anymore, but if there’s something that needs to be done, I’ll do it.” He looked into her eyes, held her gaze. “But know, if we do this, you won’t be playing lady of the manor. You’ll be expected to do your share, and there won’t be anyone to wait on you hand and foot.”

  “No one waits on me now.” She hesitated, her expressive face revealing her uncertainty as well as hope. “So... is that a yes?”

  He wanted to say no. He wanted to walk away but, God help him, he couldn’t. “I need to speak to your father first.”

  “To ask for his permission to marry me? If that is the case, it’s not necessary. He’ll say yes because at this point, it’s merely a formality—”

  “Not to me.”

  “When would you approach him?”

  He hated this, all of this, but something in him couldn’t allow her to lose everything. He couldn’t save her father, but he could save her land. He understood the land because he understood sun and rain and the cycle of life. He could make something of the ranch.

  She was another matter.

  “I’ll call on him late this afternoon,” he said grimly. “And we’ll see what happens then.”

  Chapter Four

  Ellie was in her second-floor bedroom trying on her Easter dress with Johanna when her father rang the
little bell he kept next to his armchair, the bell only used when he needed her.

  Ellie slipped out of the pale coral dress and into a simple gingham cotton dress before hurrying downstairs to check on her father. She stopped short in the doorway when she spotted the Irishman in the front parlor standing before the fire. She hadn’t heard him arrive, and hadn’t realized he was in the house, closeted with her father.

  “Oh!” She blinked, suddenly breathless from the rush of emotions—surprise, anxiety, excitement. She pressed her hands against her skirts to hide her nervousness. “You did come.”

  “I said I would,” he answered, his gaze moving slowly over her, taking in every inch from the top of her head to the hem of her skirt.

  She flushed beneath the inspection. This was new. He’d never looked at her quite so intently, or possessively. It was almost as if he was examining an expensive purchase, checking for flaws in the merchandise.

  Uncomfortable, Ellie glanced to her father in his winged chair. Her father’s shoulders were slumped and yet his eyes were bright, even over bright. She wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign.

  “Well?” she asked, struggling to hide her impatience.

  “I’ve given my blessing, if you can be persuaded,” her father said. “I’ve told Mr. Sheenan I’m not sure you can be persuaded. After all, you’ve said no to a half dozen proposals by men with far more than what he has to offer.”

  They were both looking at her now, Mr. Sheenan’s expression sardonic, her father’s heavy-lidded and inscrutable.

  “I suppose she can’t answer,” Mr. Sheenan said, breaking the awkward silence, “if she hasn’t been asked.” He left his position at the hearth and crossed the room in a few long strides.

  In front of her, he extended his hand, palm up. She glanced down at his hand, large, calloused, strong, and then up into his face. His dark eyes glinted at her, and she wondered if he would kneel and formally propose. Reluctantly she placed her hand in his. His skin was warm, the palm dry and firm.

  His fingers curled around hers. “Miss Burnett, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  There was no kneeling proposal. No tenderness. Nothing remotely romantic—which was good—because she hadn’t wanted romance.

  This was a business agreement. She was getting what she wanted—the ranch. And he was getting what he wanted—wealth.

  They didn’t have to like each other, or have feelings for the other. They were strangers, and they’d remain strangers for a long time to come.

  “Yes,” she answered, her voice low but firm. “I will.”

  Johanna was waiting for Ellie at the top of the staircase, eyes wide, mouth gaping. “Did that really just happen?”

  Ellie blushed and allowed herself to be pulled back toward the privacy of her bedroom. “Did what just happen?”

  “The marriage proposal. And you accepted, didn’t you?”

  “You were eavesdropping!”

  “Of course I was, once I realized it was Thomas Sheenan calling on you.” Johanna closed the bedroom door firmly and put her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you’re seriously considering—”

  “Not considering, I accepted his proposal, and I’m marrying him. Now let’s finish the fitting—”

  “Do you know anything about him? He’s considered to be very mysterious. Sinclair said he’s been in Crawford County for months and hasn’t tried to make any friends.”

  “Maybe he’s too busy working to socialize.”

  “Maybe he has something to hide.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but is he really the man you want to marry?”

  Caught off guard, Ellie stiffened. “I’m not in a position to be choosy at this point, and he’s certainly better than Mr. Baker or Mr. Fridley!”

  “Well, I thought Mr. Fridley could be charming at times, and Mr. Baker wasn’t handsome but he was rather sweet.”

  “And dull.”

  “But at least manageable, and Mr. Sheenan is not going to be manageable. He’s going to be a problem—”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do! Just look at him. He’s not like any of the men who are from around here. He reminds me of the men who worked in the mines in Butte, the ones from Dublin Gulch. They were rough and hard and they didn’t make good husbands.”

  Ellie turned away, moving to the bed where her Easter dress was spread out. “I think we should change the subject.”

  “Don’t be upset with me, Ellie. I’m trying to be a good friend.”

  “I appreciate that. I do.” She ran her fingers over the elegant skirt and delicate tulle on the bodice. “But I’m not going to wear this for Easter,” she said quietly. “I’m going to save it for my wedding. I’ll be getting married just after Easter and there’s no time to make me a wedding dress. My Easter dress will be more than adequate—”

  “Now you’re just being mean. You must have a proper wedding gown! White or cream silk. Very elegant, very fashionable, just as if you were in New York—”

  “Oh, Johanna, I don’t care about New York. The fashions and customs of the East Coast have never interested me.”

  “But they interest most ladies here, and people look to you, and they all know I dress you.”

  “So this is about you. I’m to be your advertisement.”

  “You’ve always been. Why do you think I have so many customers now? You make my clothes beautiful. Everyone wants to be as elegant and stylish as you, which is why you’re not wearing your Easter dress.”

  “Does my dress look like everyone else’s?”

  “Of course not. This year everyone is wearing lavender and violet. During the parade you’ll see violet with blue, or violet with green, or a ruffled cape in violet over a dress that is robin egg blue.”

  “My gown is pink—”

  “Pale coral.”

  “So it could serve as a wedding gown.”

  “No, it can’t. You must wear white.”

  “I’ll never be able to wear it again.”

  “And when has that ever bothered you? Your wardrobe is filled with things you’ve only worn once.”

  “But can you do it in time? Because, honestly, Johanna, I need more than a jacket. My father would not approve of me walking down the aisle in a jacket and petticoats.”

  “You’ll be properly, and beautifully covered. I promise. Now let’s put your Easter dress on one more time and let me check the hem and we’re done.”

  Ellie stepped from her gingham into the pale coral confection with the pink and coral and cream braid. It was a mouthwatering dress, like one of those delicious ices she’d had when she’d visited the pleasure gardens in Butte last summer.

  Johanna helped ease the dress up over her shoulders and began fastening the back. “This is gorgeous on you,” she murmured. “I’m so envious of your little waist. You don’t even need a corset.”

  “And I envy you for your curves. I’m built like a boy.”

  “Not so. I’ve dressed girls who are built like boys. You are not one of them. Now hold still and let me check the hem all the way around.”

  It wasn’t easy but Ellie managed to keep still while Johanna tugged and measured and slipped a stitch here and there. “I think we’re done,” Johanna said at last.

  “Good! Because you’re supposed to be at your brother’s for supper and if you don’t leave soon you won’t get there until after dark and he won’t like that.”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “Yes, I am, because I don’t want Sinclair angry with you, and I’m anxious to speak to my father and see what he thinks of all this.”

  Johanna unfastened the hooks and laces and eased the gown off Ellie’s shoulders. “I just think it’s awfully presumptuous for Mr. Sheenan to approach you. He’s virtually penniless—”

  “I approached him.” Ellie stepped from the gown and reached for her gingham dress. “And I actually proposed to him, first. It wasn’t
a pretty proposal, either. I practically had to beg him to marry me. He doesn’t like me. I don’t like him, either, but he’s better than Fridley or Baker. Neither of them would know what to do with the ranch, and Mr. Sheenan will.”

  “And will Mr. Sheenan know what to do with you?”

  “It’s not going to be that kind of marriage—”

  “Oh, Ellie. Marriage is marriage. There’s no escaping certain duties and responsibilities.” Johanna’s gaze met Ellie’s in the looking glass as she gave the new dress a shake. “If you know what I mean.”

  “I do, and we’re not going to... to... jump... right into that side of marriage. We’ve agreed to take our time, and get acquainted.”

  “Very gentlemanly of him. But can you trust him? What do you know about him?”

  “He’s Irish. He looks to be late twenties. He seems strong and healthy. He has a big frame, experience with livestock, he’ll be able to handle the physical labor.”

  “Those are your only qualifications for a husband?”

  “The ranch is a lot of work. The days are quite long.”

  Johanna grimaced. “What about his brain? Or do you not care?”

  “I don’t think he’s a dumb ox, but I’m not worried about his intelligence. I’ll be the one making the decisions. His job will be to carry them out.”

  “And does he know this?”

  “He will.”

  “You’ll tell him just that... that you’re in charge?”

  Ellie lifted a shoulder. “It is my ranch. And it falls to me to make sure it succeeds.”

  Johanna sighed. “I don’t think you understand marriage, Ellie, or the nature of men—”

  “I have been surrounded by men my entire life. I understand them well enough.”

  “If you want to manage a man, marry Mr. Baker. I’m not sure this Irishman—”

  “Thomas Sheenan.”

  “Mr. Sheenan is as you describe, he might not appreciate you managing him. Most men do not welcome an interfering female.”

  “Interfering female? It’s my ranch! He’s lucky to marry me. I’m sure he’s counting his lucky stars at this very moment.”

  “I wouldn’t tell him that. It will only be a thorn in his side, and a source of conflict. I know, because it was very difficult for Sinclair and McKenna. When they first fell in love, she was a copper heiress, and he just a miner. The disparity in position was impossible. Sin never felt worthy of her until he’d succeeded on his own. But by marrying you soon, Mr. Sheenan will have had no chance to prove himself, or to succeed on his own. I’m afraid he’ll always resent you for that, and you won’t respect him the way a man wants to be respected—”