The Scoundrel's Bride

by Geralyn Dawson

  Morality tugged sharply on her stocking. She refused to indulge in such thoughts. They were unseemly. She had no business remembering the hardness of Zach Burkett s body, the heat of his bare skin against hers. The weight of—

  She clenched her teeth and despaired of her impure thoughts. But it was no wonder she encountered such difficulties. Nothing about this entire matter was proper.

  Nor was it as sordid as he claimed.

  Zach Burkett was lying. She was certain of it. Why he had bothered to lie, she couldn’t guess. It was something she’d want to ponder, but not right at this moment. He wasn’t her most immediate problem. Reverend J. P. Harrison was. Reverend Uncle would kill her.

  Morality pulled on her other stocking and sighed. Oh, he wouldn’t really kill her. He’d just make her life so difficult she’d wish she were dead. She’d spent the night unchaperoned with a man—a bachelor man. A slow-drawled fast talker with a wicked smile and devilish blue eyes that could steal a woman’s heart. And her chastity.

  Oh, dear. Maybe Zach was telling the truth. Maybe he stole her memory, too.

  She jerked on one shoe, and then the other. If only she had a better understanding of the procreation process. No one had ever explained the details; Aunt Harrison had died before she’d had the opportunity. Was it possible for a woman to sleep through the marriage act?

  A small part of her, the portion less concerned with self-preservation, hoped so. It would serve Zach Burkett and his vanity right. The man needed to be brought down a peg or two, and from the look on his face this morning, she’d taken him all the way down to bare wood.

  Her lips twitched with a tiny smile of satisfaction until a scratching sound at the door caused her to look around. The collie waited at the door.

  “You need out, little mama?” she said, rising and walking toward the door. “Let me get my cloak and I’ll go with you.” She’d best take care of personal business before the trip into town. She had the feeling that once she got back to the Marstons’, she’d not be allowed so much as a visit to the backhouse by herself.

  Morality opened the door to a harsh landscape and an even harsher reality. Ice coated everything in sight, and a bank of green clouds promising even more moisture hung off to the north. She wanted to scream her frustration.

  Making the trip to the Marston mansion today would require a pair of wings, and she was certainly no angel. Despite what Burkett liked to say.

  “Angel,” she muttered. Why did he persist in calling her that? It was totally inappropriate.

  She looked up into clouds. If a real angel hovered anywhere nearby, she hoped he’d be of the guardian variety. The events of the last twenty-four hours had proved her to be in desperate need of a guardian angel. And now she faced at least one more day and another night alone with Zach Burkett.

  With that thought uppermost in her mind, Morality closed the door, dropped to her knees, and began to pray.

  THE DOOR groaned a protest as Zach pushed it open and stepped inside. After the brightness of the ice, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. When they did, he nearly dropped the pail of milk in his hand. “Morality, what do you think you’re doing?”

  Her hands white with flour, she looked up from the worktable. “I glanced outside. It’s obvious we won’t be leaving anytime soon, so I thought I’d fix breakfast. I’m making biscuits.”

  Oh Lord, anything but that. Zach set down the bucket, then shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the hook beside the door. Stomping the ice from his boots, he rubbed his hands together briskly, then lifted the pail and carried it over to the table. “Why don’t you let me help you?”

  “I can do it,” she said with a shrug.

  That’s what he was afraid of. He forced a pleasant smile. “I know that. There’s not a doubt in my mind that you can create a biscuit the likes of which I’ve never imagined. The thing is, I have a hankering for flapjacks this morning. How about if I whip up a batch to go along with your biscuits— maybe fry some bacon and crack a few eggs?”

  With a little luck, he could slip his biscuits to the pooch.

  Morality lifted her hands from the dough. Her mouth twisted as she slowly stripped the gooey mess from her fingers. “You don’t like my cooking,” she accused.

  Zach held up a hand, palm out. “Now, Morality.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Zach Burkett.”

  Snippy little thing this morning. Unpredictable, too. Of course, this argument she appeared determined to pick had nothing to do with her cooking, and both of them knew it.

  What the woman needed was an hour or two of tension relief between the sheets.

  The chances of that happening were colder than the well water.

  Drawing a deep breath, Zach exhaled it with a sigh. “All right. If you’re bound and determined to bicker, let’s do it with the honest problem. I sure as hell don’t want to war over biscuits.”

  Morality slapped the table. “Your language, sir!”

  “English and Spanish,” he shot back, feeling a bit snippy himself. “Little bit of Chinese I picked up in California.”

  She snapped her mouth shut, glaring at him.

  She looked good enough to eat. Despite being out in the cold so long, he’d heated up like a cookstove as soon as her eyes went to flashing. Feeling frustrated and a little bit ornery, Zach couldn’t help but stir the fire. “On second thought, I think I’ll skip the bacon and eggs. All that grease along with your acid tongue would give me indigestion.”

  She froze. “Acid tongue?”

  He’d a sudden mental vision of her tongue licking his skin. It could certainly make a man burn.

  It was making him damn uncomfortable. “I’ll be out after that ice yet,” he grumbled beneath his breath.

  Shaking off his lustful thoughts, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, this is stupid. Neither one of us will enjoy our breakfast if we don’t get last night out of the way first. Let’s discuss it, all right?”

  “There is nothing to discuss. Nothing happened.” She tossed her head and her long braid whipped across her shoulders like a fiery rope. “Don’t try to change the subject, Zach Burkett. I want an answer to my question.”

  The woman was like a dog with a bone. “I asked the question, not you,” he muttered, his gaze drifting over her curves as she washed and dried her hands on the flour sack tied around her waist. Watching her, a sense of awe stole through him. Where had he found the strength to leave her alone last night?

  She stared at him expectantly.

  “What?” Then he remembered. Her cooking. He repeated his sigh. Maybe it was time to address the subject. They were getting married, and heaven knows his stomach couldn’t take months of abuse. “Look, Morality. Some folks are just naturally better at some things than others. You certainly have more than your share of talent—look at the way you stand up before a congregation and pull everybody to the edge of their seats with your story. That’s something not just anyone is able to do.”

  “You can do it.”

  Lord, she was cute when she wrinkled her nose. “Yes, but I can do most anything.”

  She cocked her head and amazement lit her expression. “Humility is not something you struggle with, is it, Burkett?”

  “Not usually, no.” He lifted an iron skillet from its hook on the fireplace and set it over the fire to heat. Crossing the room, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew five eggs. Then, returning to the table, he set aside the bowl of biscuit dough and proceeded to mix a pancake batter.

  Zach dipped a ladle into the water crock and tossed a few drops into the skillet, watching the liquid bounce in a test of readiness. He wondered how to say what needed saying in a kindly manner. He didn’t have a lot of practice at being kind. Hell, maybe he should just come on out with it. Besides, wasn’t she always clamoring for the truth?

  He poured batter for four palm-sized flapjacks, then turned to look at her. “All right, Morality. I don’t like your cooking. I reckon you cou
ld manage to scorch water while trying to boil it.”

  Observing the stiffening of her spine, Zach returned the bowl of batter to the table and hurried up his tongue. “Listen. Nobody is born knowing how to cook. I picked up what little I know from my mama. I didn’t have a sister around to help, so we worked together to do what needed doing. That included both the fishing and the frying.”

  He checked the bottom of his pancakes, pleased at the even, honey-gold color. “It’s part of a mother’s job to teach her daughter how to fry and bake.”

  She gave an unladylike snort and he shrugged. “Of course, you women don’t need instruction on how to stew and steam—that comes natural. You’re good at it, too. Look at how your foot’s a-tapping.” He flipped the flapjacks, and when they were done, started a second batch.

  “I didn’t have a mother to teach me to cook,” Morality said a few moments later.

  “Exactly my point.” He waved his spatula at her. “You learned to cook because you were hungry, and you do the very best you can with the skills you’ve picked up. There’s no shame in that, Morality Brown.”

  She remained pensively silent as he dished up their breakfast and poured them each a cup of milk. When she looked down at her plate, then back up at him, Zach got the feeling that were she not so hungry, she’d fling her breakfast in his face. He bent his attention to his plate and hoped she’d do the same. Morality would be much easier to deal with once she put something in her stomach.

  While he ate, Zach considered his goals and developed a strategy. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. God, he loved being a schemer. This plan was perfect; a true work of art. He’d figured a way to take care of two problems at once.

  Choosing his next words carefully, he said, “Morality, aren’t most of your meals provided by your uncle’s flock?”

  She nodded. “Other than the bread I make for the meetings, the only time I cook is when we’re traveling. Even then Reverend Uncle usually manages to find us food and lodging, so the times I must provide for us are few.”

  “There you go. You’ve proved my point.”

  “What point?”

  Zach sat back in his chair. “Knowing how to cook is way down on your list of need-to’s. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to know how to do everything. Even I don’t know some things. I can’t sail a boat, for instance.”

  “Earlier you said you could do anything,” she said in a dry tone.

  “Well, I li—” He frowned. “I’m not falling into that trap again. The point is, up until now you haven’t had much need for cooking skills. Now that you do, you can learn.” He took a long sip of milk. “I’ve heard Eulalie Peabody knows her way around a kitchen. I’m certain that after I’ve taught you what I know, she can finish the job. You’re a quick learner, angel. You’ll do just fine.”

  Morality laid down her fork. “If what you’re saying is true—and I’m not necessarily agreeing that it is—then why should I need to learn to cook at this particular moment in my life?”

  Here goes nothing. “Well, honey, I don’t mind cooking breakfast this morning, but I’m not doing it every day. That’s for certain.” He set down his cup.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Slowly lifting his fork, he cut a bite of flapjack, swirled it in the pool of honey collected on his plate, and brought it toward his mouth, stopping just inches away. “Angel, you’ll have to carry your load of the work once we’re married.” He popped the pancake into his mouth, enjoying the mingled tastes of his cooking and his scheming.

  She cleared her throat. “Married?”

  “Yep, married. And after I teach you how to do it proper, you can bake my biscuits anytime you like.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “In bed or out.”

  Her chin lifted. Her eyes flashed. The contents of her cup hit him square in the face.

  Chuckling, he reached for her flour sack and wiped his face. “Think I’ll start you off on my chili recipe. Something tells me you’ll fix it just the way I like it—hot and spicy.”

  Morality was horrified at the violence of her behavior. What was it about this man that stirred her to such…passion. “I don’t want to learn to make chili,” she said, her voice betraying a slight tremble. Both of them knew what she was really saying.

  She didn’t want to marry Zach Burkett.

  “Sure you do.” His smile was positively wicked.

  “No, I’m sure I don’t.”

  “It’ll keep you warm on a cold night.” He slowly licked his lips. “Make you burn inside.”

  “It’ll make you burn in hell,” she said sharply.

  His eyes flamed blue heat as he deliberately shook his head. “Uh-uh. My chili is heaven, angel. Pure heaven.”

  She hung her head. “Oh Lord, help me.”

  “He already has,” Zach said with a devilish chuckle. “He sent you me.”

  The nerve of that man! Morality’s spine snapped straight. She met his heavy-lidded gaze with a furious one of her own. “I’m tempted to do it, just to give your vanity the comeuppance it so richly deserves. Think about it, Burkett. If your chili is so fiery hot, how come I slept right through it?”

  “Ouch,” he said, the twinkle in his eyes making a lie of his grimace. “See what I mean? You’re already halfway there to giving as good as you get.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “And Morality, I’m gonna see to it that you get the very best.”

  Heat sizzled through her. Scaring her. Exciting her. “I won’t marry you.”

  He put down his fork and sat back in his chair, folding his arms. “That’s your choice, I reckon. But don’t forget, we spent the night together. Alone. And we’ll be iced in for who knows how long. By the time I can manage to get you into town, your good reputation will be history.”

  She’d worried about that herself. “I’m the Miracle Girl,” she declared, denying both his claim and her concern with a shake of her head and a sniff of disdain. “My reputation— well-deserved I might add—can withstand the siege of gossip.”

  “Not if they learn you’ve been intimate with me.”

  She blinked. “Are you planning to take aim on my reputation by spreading falsehoods, Mr. Burkett?”

  “Angel, I don’t kiss and tell. But you can bet someone will up and ask you.” He rubbed his hand across his bristled jaw. “My money’s on Eulalie. I doubt she’s afraid to air her mind about anything.”

  Morality closed her eyes and moaned, “No.”

  “Yep. And what will you do then, Miss Morality?” His chair squeaked as he tipped it back onto two legs. “Tell a lie?”

  Morality’s hand itched to hit him. What was it about the man that caused her to react so fiercely? She glared at him. “I’ll tell the truth. As always. Nothing illicit has happened between us, nor shall it ever.”

  He snorted. “And you fuss at me for dancing with the facts. Yes, Morality, you hold on to that story. Try real hard, and you and everybody else in town might get to believing it—at least until your belly swells with my baby.”

  “Oh.” Her whimper sounded similar to noises coming from the puppies.

  Long minutes passed without either of them speaking. Zach rose from his seat to make a second helping of pancakes. When they were ready, he silently offered some to Morality. She silently declined.

  Then Morality broke the quiet with a softly voiced word. “Why?”

  He looked at her. “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to marry me?”

  Zach opened his mouth to answer, then stopped abruptly. Why did he want to marry her? Suddenly, none of his good, totally selfish reasons felt right. The lies lined up on his tongue didn’t want to leave his mouth. So he answered her question with one of his own. “You don’t really want to marry your uncle, do you, Morality?”

  “No.”

  “Will you be able to refuse him?”

  After a pause, she said, “Probably not.”

  Zach cleared his throat. “I’m offering more
than a marriage to save your reputation, here, Angel. I’m offering you a choice. I’m offering a whole helluva…uh…heckuva lot more freedom than you’d have if you married Reverend Rumble.”

  At that, she finally met his gaze. “Freedom?”

  “That’s what you were ranting on about when you stormed in here yesterday, wasn’t it? Freedom to say what you want to say, do what you want to do, when you want to do it? Well, if you marry me, I’ll allow you that sort of freedom—within reasonable bounds. I mean, I wouldn’t want you up and doing anything scandalous that would hurt my business.”

  “Why?” she asked again.

  This time when he tried to speak the lies, they rolled off his tongue. Except, they didn’t feel much like lies anymore. “It’s like I told you that first night. Cottonwood Creek is my home. I’ve been all over this country, and nowhere fits me like here. I want a place to sink my roots, a place to raise a family. I’ve watched you with Patrick, Morality. You’ll make a wonderful mother, to this baby or any others we might have.”

  Zach paused, confused at the emotions rolling in his gut. Good Lord, he had himself half believing his own lies! He looked at the fiery-haired angel who gazed at him with eyes filled with hope.

  Why do I want to marry you, you ask? I’ll tell you why. I want your help in bringing my daddy to ruin. I want your assistance in driving this godforsaken town to ruin. I need to piggy-back on your good reputation because mine isn’t good enough to get the job done—at least in a timely manner.

  Standing, he said, “I need to dump last night’s water from the bathtub. If you’d like, I could fetch you some water to heat, and you could have a soak yourself. I’ll be in the loft cleaning the place up for Patrick, so you’d have some privacy.”

  If possible, her eyes rounded even more. She said softly, “Patrick?”

  “He’ll live with us, of course, after the wedding. I wouldn’t have it otherwise.” He reached across the table and gently brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

  “You really want to marry me?”