Santa's Mail-Order Bride (American Mail-Order Bride 34.5)

by E. E. Burke

  On his way to her, he passed the buggy’s rear wheel, lying on its side in the brush like a wounded animal. Odd, he’d never seen a wheel fly off like that. Generally, the metal rim popped or a spoke snapped. Had the axle nut been loose when she started out? She was damn lucky the buggy hadn’t rolled on top of her. He had seen that and it wasn’t pretty.

  His stallion whinnied, excited by the scent of the woman’s horse. The mare threw its head and answered.

  The lady hadn’t noticed him because she was so focused on unhitching the fidgety bay. But now she whirled around. Her hood, drawn low over her face, shadowed her expression but it was clear by her startled response she hadn’t expected anyone to come up on her. Rather than calling out for help, as he anticipated, she dashed toward the buggy’s compartment.

  The mare shied away from the sudden movement, then reared up, squealing. The buggy started to rock.

  “Look out,” Buck hollered.

  The woman didn’t move away from the danger. Instead, she dove into the compartment.

  “Goddamn it!” The curse was lost in the wind. He came out of the saddle, dropped the reins on the ground. In a few long strides he’d reached her. “Get out of there.”

  What the hell was she doing? Trying to crawl beneath the buggy’s seat?

  The contraption tipped dangerously to one side. Buck snaked an arm around her middle and hauled her out of the death trap.

  She twisted around, yowling like an enraged cat. “Get your hands off me.”

  Her horse squealed and tried to run. The lame buggy hopped.

  “Stop screechin’. You’re scaring the hors—” Something blistered Buck’s cheekbone. “Ouch! What the devil?”

  “Let me go!” She went for his face again with her claws.

  “Stop that.” He swatted her hands away, but managed to keep hold of her while he backed away from the buggy. “I’m just tryin’ to—”

  Her sharp teeth sank through the leather glove into his finger.

  “Blazes!” He yanked his hand away and then grabbed a flailing arm, pinning her against him. Splaying his fingers over the side of her head, he smashed her cheek against his chest to prevent her from biting him again.

  Furious screams became muffled growls. Her booted feet, dangling above the ground, lashed out to kick him. Thank God her skirts got in the way or she would’ve hammered his shins.

  “Stop fighting, you loony woman.” He sucked in a breath and checked his temper. Large as he was, and with her no bigger than a minute, he could easily break her.

  As he adjusted his hold on her, the hood of her cloak fell back. His fingers slid through a silken mass of hair. In an instant, he became aware of the woman he held—her soft breasts and flaring hips, a delicate fragrance like wildflowers. Something hot and primitive coursed through him. His body responded before his brain could catch up.

  She must’ve sensed his reaction because she started swinging her legs again.

  He held her tighter. “Will you listen? I’m tryin’ to help.”

  “Not…helping.” She gasped the words. “You’re…choking me.”

  Buck eased his hold. His physical reaction couldn’t be helped, but he could sure as hell control his strength and keep from hurting her. “All right. I’m setting you down.” He hesitated a moment before releasing her. “Don’t fly at me with those nails.”

  She raised her eyes. The black centers swallowed the golden irises like an eclipse of the sun.

  His gut clenched. He’d seen that look in the eyes of men he’d faced down, but not women he aided. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. He frowned, more comfortable with being annoyed. “That horse about pulled the buggy over on top of you. That’s why I grabbed you.”

  Her dark brows winged up. “You…you were helping me?”

  “That was the plan.”

  She seemed further confused when he snatched his blanket off the ground where it had fallen during their tussle and flung it around her. Then he set off to retrieve her horse. That buggy wasn’t going anywhere.

  He approached the nervous mare with soft, shushing sounds and laid his hands on its quivering withers. The frightened creature stilled and let him remove the traces.

  Sleet peppered the brim of his hat, although the worst of the storm seemed to have passed. He took a look around the bleak surroundings. They were still were in danger of freezing if he didn’t find shelter soon.

  After unhitching the harness, he brought the horse around. Thankfully, the woman hadn’t run off. She’d inched over to the buggy compartment and was rummaging around again, maybe looking for something.

  “Unless you’ve got an axle nut in there, we can’t fix this buggy. Can you ride?

  She whirled around with a tiny pistol clutched in her hands. “I’m not g-going anywhere with you.”

  Buck’s pulse kicked up a notch. Her hands shook so hard he worried she might actually fire the damn thing before he could talk some sense into her. “You plan on staying here?”

  Her chin came up. “I plan on taking my horse.”

  He bit back a curse. Did she think he was stealing the nag? Why was he even bothering to help her? He might as well head off down that road, leave her to her own devices. No one could blame him. Only…he’d never abandon a woman. Not even one that was stark raving mad.

  “Blast it, I don’t have time for this foolishness,” he muttered.

  He offered her the reins, but when she reached out to take them, he locked his fingers around her wrist and nabbed the gun. Then he hauled the reluctant damsel to where he’d left Goliath.

  The stallion had remained, as trained, right where they’d stopped. He didn’t dare put the woman on her horse. Frightened as she was, she’d probably race off and end up breaking her neck. He looped her mare’s reins around his saddle horn.

  “Wait!” she burst out. “I have m-money. I can p-pay you more.”

  “What are you clatterin’ about? I don’t want your money.” Buck nearly added if he’d wanted to rob her, he’d have done it and been gone by now. “We got to find shelter before we freeze to death. You live nearby?”

  The woman stared up at him, her eyes rounding. Was she so addled she couldn’t understand what he was asking? Maybe the cold had gotten to her. He’d take her and head down that road, which he assumed led into Girard.

  He lifted the woman onto Goliath and mounted behind her. There wasn’t enough room in the saddle for two, especially with all those skirts, but somehow he managed to get her situated across his lap. Thank the saints she didn’t go into conniptions.

  The ends of her cloak snapped in the wind. She shuddered so hard it made his teeth rattle. He opened his greatcoat then wrapped them both in the blanket and oilskin.

  She burrowed into his chest like a baby rabbit. Her vulnerability tugged at his heart. Wouldn’t kill him to offer her comfort.

  He curled his arm around her. “Warmer now?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Where do you live?”

  “I…we have a farm…I’ll see to it you’re well compensated if you take me there.”

  So, she was married. No surprise. With so few women out here, even a crazy one would be snatched up, especially one smelling this sweet and with soft curves in all the right places.

  “How far is it?”

  “Up the road, just a little ways.”

  “A little ways? As in few minutes?”

  “I…I’m not sure exactly.”

  Buck snorted in disbelief. She didn’t know where she lived? “We can’t wander around. It’s getting dark.”

  “We could make Girard. It’s maybe a half hour’s ride.”

  Maybe? He turned the stallion and peered in the direction she’d indicated, gave a grumbling assent. He was going to Girard anyway. Although he wasn’t sure they’d make it before night set in and the temperatures dropped even lower. “Anything else nearby?”

  “Our farm…”

  “That you can’t find.”

  Shit.


  Grudgingly, Buck nudged Goliath onto the road. According to his cousin’s letter, thousands of settlers had poured into these former Indian lands. If so, where were they? Did they all live in town? Or was this strip of land reserved for the railroad’s use? The exorbitant price they’d put on a godforsaken wilderness seemed ludicrous. Of course, why anyone would want to farm it was also a mystery. Didn’t matter though. Sean had settled here, had worked the land, and now the railroad’s owner—rich bastard—was trying to cheat him out of it.

  Buck tilted his head down to keep the wind from snatching his hat. The woman turned her face into his vest like she was trying to warm her nose. He cradled her closer, felt her relax in his arms. Warmth spread through him, and not just from the heat of their bodies, it came from someplace deep inside, a part of him he’d thought was long dead.

  He squelched a flare of alarm. Concern for another living creature, that’s all it was. Nothing more. He didn’t give a tinker’s damn about anybody, save his family—what was left of it.

  They’d gone only a few miles when something caught his eye. He straightened and peered at a shadow. Whatever it was, it was big. Then he sighed with relief. “There’s a barn over there.”

  She peeked out from beneath her hood. “It’s abandoned, and the house was burned down. We can’t stop there.”

  The hell they couldn’t. “So long as there’s a roof, we’re stopping.”

  * * *

  The stranger wrestled the barn door open and then dragged Amy off his horse. Before she could protest, her feet left the ground and he carried her into the dark interior. He dumped her on a pile of hay before vanishing back into the night, taking his warmth with him.

  The wind shrieked in a wild tantrum and the barn creaked and moaned, as the stranger rustled about getting the horses settled somewhere on the other side. Amy stared blindly into the darkness, hugging the blanket, shivering, both from cold and lingering fear.

  Seemed her rescuer wasn’t the mysterious assailant who’d been skulking around after her. When the towering stranger had come up on her out of nowhere, she’d feared the worst and had gone for her gun in the buggy. The first time, he’d pulled her away before she could find it. Then, once she’d retrieved her pistol, he’d disarmed her. That he’d done it so easily was beyond humiliating. The cold must’ve slowed her mind and her reflexes. Even after he assured her he meant no harm, she’d worried he might only be telling her that so he could take her somewhere and abuse her before killing her. But he hadn’t done more than cuddle her close, as if he wished to comfort her. For some inexplicable reason, she’d let him.

  She chewed her lip, her thoughts whirling. If the Land League hadn’t sent this frighteningly large fellow after her, where had he come from? He didn’t look like a farmer, not with that Henry repeater holstered by his saddle and those revolvers strapped to his hips. Not to mention the knife as long as her forearm, which she’d discovered while huddled close to him. On the other hand, he might’ve armed himself in light of the increased violence in these parts.

  Was that why her typically protective suitor hadn’t made it back to town to escort her? Had Fletcher been waylaid by thugs working for the Land League? Or had he, too, been caught unawares by the change in the weather? If she’d known a late winter storm was imminent, she would’ve found someplace to stay in town, despite the risk.

  Her nerves jumped at the scrape of a match. Light flared. Amy blinked as the stranger approached with a lit taper. Not just well armed, but well prepared.

  Her gaze traveled from his scuffed, square-toed boots up long legs encased in checkered gray trousers of the California style cowboys favored. A heavy greatcoat hung past his knees. Around his neck, he wore a faded bandana, its color indistinguishable. His hat looked older than his shoes and its brim shadowed his expression. Was he one of the countless drifters passing through, looking for work?

  “At least we’ll have some light.” His spoke in a low drawl, raspy as gravel in a dry creek bed. Strangely enough, she found the sound soothing. After securing the candle to the underside of a bucket, he set it nearby. “Careful not to knock this over. I’d build a fire, but with all the hay this place would go up like a torch.”

  Why did he feel the need to explain as one would to a child or a very old person?

  “My mental faculties aren’t so deficient I’d set the barn on fire.” She tried to adjust the blanket more securely, but her numb fingers wouldn’t obey and it kept slipping off.

  The stranger knelt, removing his hat. Flaxen hair fell in tangled waves past his collar, and the light revealed a ruggedly handsome face—in sore need of a shave. Brown whiskers bristled on lean cheeks and a tawny mustache nearly hid his mouth. But it was his eyes that captured her, their color, so unusual—somewhere between blue and gray, but pale as a washed-out sky.

  “Give me your hands.” He stripped off his gloves as he issued the command. Rather than waiting to see whether she’d obey, he began to chafe them between his calloused palms. “How come you’re not wearing gloves?”

  She bristled at the disapproving tone. He’d made it clear he believed she was a simpleton.

  “I had need of my fingernails.” She didn’t explain the problem with the frozen harness strap, which had necessitated the removal of her gloves to pick away the ice. No doubt she’d dropped them during their struggle, and she’d been too flustered to retrieve her muff. Not that he would’ve let her go back to the buggy after she’d pulled a gun on him.

  His wintery eyes narrowed. Along his cheekbone, a crusted line of dried blood marked a scratch she’d put there. Her insides coiled tighter. She shouldn’t have made it sound as if she’d intended to hurt him. She didn’t even remember doing it. All she recalled was the sheer terror that had overcome her when he grabbed her.

  He released her hands and began to unbutton his vest and shirt.

  Her heart fluttered with renewed fear. “What…what are you doing?”

  “Ravishing your frozen fingers.”

  Capturing her hands, he threaded them through the opening in his shirt, then sandwiched her palms against his chest. His body radiated heat like a furnace, and soon her fingers began to burn. With a moan, she tried to pull away, but he held fast.

  “It’s good if you feel pain. That means you won’t lose your fingers.”

  Lose her fingers? God forbid. She burrowed through crisp hair on his chest, seeking the warm skin beneath.

  His eyes widened a split second before his features turned to stone.

  The heat she’d taken from him went straight to her face. What was she thinking to touch him like that? She stilled her hands.

  The muscles beneath her fingers flexed. Her skin tingled in response. The startling sensation spread up her arms and curled around the tips of her breasts. With a gasp, she yanked her hands away and tucked them under her arms.

  Almighty. Was she attracted to him? She’d never been drawn to rough men like this one. It had to have something to do with the strangeness of the situation. She hugged the blanket as her teeth started chattering. He hadn’t molested her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t if she kept touching him. Cold or not, she wasn’t taking the chance.

  He reached over and snatched away the blanket.

  She squeaked in protest. “What are you doing?”

  “We need to get you warmed up.”

  “If you t-take my blanket, how do you suggest I get warm?”

  He grasped a handful of her damp cloak. “You won’t, if you stay in those wet clothes.”

  He was right. Amy cursed another lapse in reason. Her fears had rendered her senseless. “I should’ve retrieved my valise. There is a dry outfit in there—”

  “Fair to say it ain’t dry any longer.” He snagged his saddlebag. Thrusting his hand inside, he withdrew several items of clothing. “Here, put these on.”

  She wrinkled her nose. He didn’t really believe she’d don his undergarments, did he?

  He frowned at her and sh
ook them. Yes, he did. And she’d be a fool to refuse dry clothes. Perhaps his shirt over her underclothes, just until her other things dried out.

  Before she could act, he plopped down, yanked her foot into his lap and began to undo the laces on her boot. His touch set off another bout of shivers that had nothing to do with the temperature of the air.

  “What are you doing?” She jerked her foot out of his hands.

  “Taking off your wet clothes, since you seem too addled to take care of it.”

  “I am not addled.” She scooted back. “I can tend to myself, if you would be so kind as to give me some privacy.”

  He stood, seemingly tall as a mountain, his eyes gleaming like polished silver. “Good to see you recall how to get undressed. I wasn’t looking forward to doing it for you.”

  * * *

  Buck strode to where he’d stabled his horse, anxious to get away from the all-too-appealing woman he’d rescued. He’d held her close enough to feel those sweet curves. Come to find out, her face was just as nice. Still, he hadn’t been prepared for the surge of lust when she’d splayed her fingers over his chest.

  She’d felt something, too. He’d seen it in her eyes. And for a half second, he’d considered taking her right there on the hay. Only, she was frightened…and crazy. Couldn’t forget that.

  Inside the stall, he scooped up a handful of straw and began to dry the remaining dampness from the stallion’s smoky coat. Goliath pawed and snorted, preening for the mare in the adjacent stall.

  “You better behave,” Buck whispered. “If she’s like her owner, she’ll kick you into next Sunday for messing with her.”

  The stallion whinnied.

  “You’re right. Might be worth it. Still, better not take the chance. Besides, that woman’s none of my business.” Buck’s hand stilled. He’d made her his business when he brought her in out of the cold.

  He sighed, shaking his head. They were stuck here for the night, so he had to make the best of it. But once he got her safely to wherever it was she was going, he’d find his cousin and focus on the only business he cared about—getting justice for his family.

  From the other side of the stall came the unmistakable shush of garments being shed.