The Brides of Evergreen Box Set

by Heather Blanton

  A few times they had tentatively asked him questions about his background, but he’d turned them down some side roads, or climbed a little higher on the ladder and pretended not to hear.

  Busy nailing down cedar shingles, Dillon caught sight of Audra leading a horse out to the corral and paused to watch her lunge the filly. He didn’t even notice the hot July sun beating down on him. She and the horse were things of beauty, their work together magical.

  A few feet down from him Bobby stopped, too, and whistled. “Look at her, would ya? My, she’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she? I bet a man could fall asleep on top of her.”

  “Hey,” Dillon tossed a nail at Bobby to get his attention. “If you’re talking about my wife, I reckon there’s going to be a fight.”

  The man’s eyes bugged and his cheeks flushed bright red. “Holy cow, Mr. Pine, I would never. I was talkin’ about that little filly and her smooth gait.”

  Dillon chuckled and went back to work, but, oddly, he felt a sense of relief that the young ranch hand didn’t have eyes for the boss’s wife.

  “Hey, boss,” Dale hollered from below. “Rider comin’.” He pointed off behind Dillon.

  Dillon turned carefully on the ladder and scanned the open hills. He spotted the man coming in at an easy lope, but couldn’t identify him. He hung his hammer in his belt and climbed down. Dipping his bandanna in the rain barrel, he wiped off some sweat as he walked around to the front of the barn.

  The man entered the gate and slowed to a trot. Dillon’s eyes narrowed when he saw the visitor carrying flowers. Somehow, he knew they weren’t for Audra.

  She stopped her horse and waited, but the cowboy ignored her and rode straight for Dillon. “You Mr. Pine?” Steely gray eyes and a smirk delivered a clear message.

  “I am.”

  “Compliments of Mr. Fairbanks.” The cowboy tossed the bouquet, long white ribbons trailing. Dillon caught it with one hand. “He heard you didn’t have a bouquet at your wedding. Said every mail-order bride ought to have flowers.”

  Off in the distance Dillon heard Bobby and Dale snort, then hide it with coughing. Heat rushed to his face and he lost the fight to stop a sneer. “Tell Fairbanks he’s poking the bear.”

  “You mean bride, don’t ya?”

  Audra ran up, snatched the flowers away from Dillon, and threw them at the rider, who swatted down the missile. Petals rained to the ground.

  “Get out of here and don’t come back.” Her gloved hands curled into little tight fists. “You’re not welcome here. And remind Jess he isn’t either.”

  The man’s grin widened. “She does your fightin’ for ya too.” Chuckling, he tugged on the reins and rode back the way he’d come.

  Dillon ground his teeth as he glared at the flowers on the ground. He was the biggest joke in the county. Livid, he turned his glare on Audra. “Just what do you think you were doing? Oh, wait,” he tapped his temple then snapped his fingers. “Running everything. Well it may surprise you to learn I can fight my own battles, Mrs. Pine. Your meddling is not helpful.”

  Startled, she stepped back, but embarrassment overtook her surprise. She brushed a sweaty strand of golden hair out of her eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry. I guess I overstepped.”

  “By about a mile.” He lowered his voice, “You want this marriage to look real, quit stepping on my toes and let me lead.”

  9

  That night was quiet, even more than when Audra had actually been alone in the house. She’d suffered through a tense dinner with Dillon, their conversation limited to work subjects, his responses short and clipped. She’d apologized again, but he’d merely stared at her and whispered, “One year.”

  At a loss on how to restore civility between them, she’d taken a bath in the back room, then settled by the fireplace with her Bible. Her attention, however, kept wandering to Dillon’s door.

  She couldn’t find the right balance for this marriage. She had to lead because she was the one in need of respect, not him. Yet, it almost hurt watching him get humiliated by Jess’s man.

  A wedding bouquet, of all things.

  Oh, Lord, please forgive me, but the next time I see Jess Fairbanks I’m going to shove a daisy in his mouth.

  She pinched her brow and sighed. The Psalms couldn’t comfort her if she was going to harbor that kind of attitude. She’d hoped reading her Bible in front of Dillon might get him to ask some questions about her faith, but lately she’d been a poor witness. Properly humbled, she decided to try apologizing again.

  She rapped softly on Dillon’s door. No answer. She tried again, a little louder. Slowly, she pushed open his door. “Dillon, I just wanted to say . . .” Light spilled into his room.

  It was empty.

  This whole time she’d thought he was in here, but he must have slipped out while she was bathing.

  She rested her shoulder against the frame, unable to deny the sadness that gripped her.

  This was going to be one long year.

  Audra poured Dillon’s coffee and smiled at him, hoping to erase some of the tension between them. “I knocked on your door last night.”

  Dillon’s eyebrow lifted and his lips twitched.

  “To apologize again.” His almost-pleased look made her hands shake. Flustered, she plopped down in front of her own plate. “You weren’t there.”

  “I was out in the shed cleaning tack.”

  Relief warmed her, but she tried to blame it on the coffee. He hadn’t gone to Kit’s Place. “I have to go into town today, if you’d like to ride along.”

  He didn’t smile back, but he nodded. “I could use some different scenery.”

  She tried a little small talk on the way but Dillon was still resistant, as if he was keeping a tight grip not just on the reins, but his mood as well. Finally, she decided to make a serious attempt at humbling herself. “I’m sorry you’ve become the butt of some jokes. I’ll try to let you . . .”

  “Be a man?”

  So his ego was the crux of the matter, and she’d inadvertently done everything she could to crush it. “I didn’t realize . . .” Embarrassed all over again at her insensitivity, she shook her head. “I am pretty dense, I guess. I should have figured, in a small town . . . Uncle Winston doing what he does . . . you not being from around here, people would put two and two together.”

  “And come up with three. But we can’t exactly tell them you plucked me out of jail, either.”

  She tickled the palm of her hand with her braid. “I suppose not.”

  A long minute passed before he finally spoke again. “Maybe I’m being too sensitive. Jokes eventually die down. Egos heal.”

  Aware he was making a peace offering, she let out a breath. “You’re probably already forgotten.”

  Five minutes into town, that proved not to be the case.

  Snorts and giggles followed Dillon and Audra down the street. Two cowboys standing in front of the saloon hummed “Here Comes the Bride” as they rolled by. Audra flinched. Dillon’s face hardened and turned nearly purple. What could she say? There was no doubt who was being taunted.

  “You know, prison is looking better and better. At least there’s no question I’m a man there.”

  Anger sparked in Audra. “We can always change our minds about this, Dillon. Prison isn’t going anywhere.”

  With swift, frustrated movements, he pulled the team over to the boardwalk and handed Audra the reins. “Don’t wait around.” He saluted good-bye and jumped down. “I’ll find my own way home.”

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  He stopped with his back to her. “To drink, smoke, play cards, and do anything else that a man does to feel like a man.” With that he stomped off, the echo of his boots thudding against her ears . . . and her heart.

  10

  Dillon trudged down the stairs of Kit Calloway’s saloon, halfheartedly keeping time with the piano player banging out “Buffalo Gals.” He’d had every intention of letting the gal in room 201 work out the kinks
in his twisted ego. Not a man given to visiting soiled doves, he’d felt pushed into smoothing out his pride. Yet, lying down on the brass bed, all he’d done was think about the pretty little, God-fearing wife he’d left back home.

  For some reason, the soiled dove—Missy, was it?—she’d been content to listen. And Dillon had talked. A lot. A half-a-bottle of whiskey and he’d rattled on about his fake marriage, his probation, and, worse, Audra. He’d shamed her by coming here. He’d shamed her by closing Missy’s door, regardless of what didn’t happen. People would talk.

  Sure another shot would wash down the guilt—puzzling guilt, seeing as how he was not actually married to Audra—he bellied up to the bar and ordered a whiskey. It burned and softened the inexplicable nagging of his conscience, but didn’t silence it.

  He had every right to be here. He didn’t owe Audra anything and he certainly hadn’t betrayed any vows. They were both doing each other a favor. Simple as that.

  He stared at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar and recalled that wedding-day kiss. He’d never had a kiss haunt him before, but it came back often, especially when they studied the accounting books together or worked shoulder to shoulder rolling out barbed wire. Her nearness and the gentle scent of vanilla and leather often planted unbidden ideas in his brain.

  Beyond that, however, he’d honestly enjoyed the quiet nights in front of the fireplace playing poker with her, learning about cattle, watching her read the Bible. She’d not tried once to cram her religion down his throat. Instead, he found her peace . . . calming.

  Suddenly the stupid bouquet and the smirk on the jackass’s face who delivered it loomed before him, reminding Dillon why he was in this establishment. Growling at the ridiculous ruminations regarding Audra, he thrust the empty glass out for a refill.

  “Friend, we need a third. Care to play?”

  Dillon glanced over at the table to his right. Two men, one a cowboy, one most likely a traveling salesman judging by his plaid suit, waited for his response. “Sure.”

  He settled in and gave the game all the attention he could muster. His thoughts wandered back and forth between the gal he’d just visited and how pretty Audra was the other day lunging that filly. Before the flower delivery.

  “Dum dum da dum . . .”

  Dillon clenched his jaw. A group of cowboys sauntered up to the bar, one of them humming “Here Comes the Bride.” Though none of them looked at Dillon, he knew he was the object of their none-too-subtle humor.

  He pushed a chip into the center of the table and waited to hear more. The cowboys didn’t disappoint.

  “That Winston has been holdin’ out on us.” Beers slid down the bar to waiting hands. “All the while he’s been helping us bring girls in, when he coulda been shippin’ us out to marry rich women.”

  The group laughed. “I reckon I’ll go see him,” another said, “and tell him I want to go off and marry a governor’s daughter.”

  “Yeah, but the only thing about this, Sully, is you got to carry the bouquet.”

  The raucous laughter grated on Dillon’s nerves.

  “Mister, your bet.”

  Dillon blinked and slid another chip forward.

  “Now, now, boys, the one thing you’re missin’,” Dillon recognized the man speaking now. The cowboy who brought the flowers to the ranch. “The one thing you’re missin’ is the type of woman who is willing to marry a total stranger.” He cut his eyes at Dillon. “I reckon she ain’t much different than Kit’s girls.”

  Dillon knew what he had to do. He folded. Asked the salesman for a puff from his cigar, which the man gave, then he rose and strode over to the big mouth. The surrounding cowboys quieted down and backed off a few feet.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Titus.”

  “Well, Titus, I want to be clear. Are you comparing my wife to a whore?”

  “Mostly I’m just trying to figure out who wears the pants in your house.”

  Retorts ricocheted in Dillon’s mind, but he skipped them and simply threw a ball pein hammer of a right hook. Titus went pin-wheeling backward, landing on and shattering a table. Men skittered out of the way as drinks, cards, and chips exploded in every direction. Titus scrambled clumsily back to his feet and he and Dillon traded several impressive punches. He hit the cowboy with one direct blow to the nose. The man stumbled but shook it off fast, ignoring the trickle of blood.

  Face burning, arms heavy, knuckles bleeding, Dillon was still far from done and swung again at that bloody nose. This time, Titus didn’t recover so fast. Not wasting the opportunity, Dillon stepped in to throw another punch, but sensed movement behind.

  “We ride for the brand, mister,” a voice said. “This is your wedding present from Fairbanks.” White-hot pain fired up Dillon’s kidney and he growled. Another fist slammed into the back of his head. Titus hit him in the gut. Suddenly, punches came from everywhere, falling on him like a black rain.

  The world dissolved into darkness and pain.

  11

  Audra knocked on Dillon’s door. No answer. She tried again. After a moment, she pushed open the door, fully expecting to see him tangled in the sheets. His bed, however, was untouched. So he hadn’t come home.

  This time, she doubted he’d spent the night cleaning tack. Had he changed his mind about everything? Had he run off? Would she ever see him again?

  The jangle of a wagon perked her ears up and she hurried to the porch. Bobby and Dale, still in their long johns, lounged in front of the bunkhouse, at nearly eight in the morning. Clearly, somehow they knew the boss wasn’t at home. Well, she would be having words with them.

  Winston drove up in his buggy, a bloody, black-and-blue Dillon by his side.

  Her hand flew to her chest. “Good Lord, what happened to you?”

  Dillon scowled at her, one eye swollen shut. “I was proving who wears the pants in this family.”

  “Did a pretty good job, too, till the other four jumped in,” Winston said, winking at Audra. “But he defended your honor. As a good husband would. You can take him off my hands now, though. I’ve got to meet the stage. A couple of brides come in today.”

  Audra hurried to help Dillon down. He leaned heavily on her as they staggered inside. “Thank you, Uncle Winston,” she called over her shoulder.

  Audra bustled about the kitchen, gathering up the necessary supplies for tending to the swollen eye, raw knuckles, and fat lip. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  “I do not.”

  Huffing at his ornery attitude, she sat down at the table with him and pulled his right hand forward. She’d rarely seen such a mess of bloody knuckles. “Does the other fella look this bad?”

  “Fellas. And no.”

  She wiped away the blood as she talked. “How were you defending my honor?”

  He fidgeted a moment before answering. “It was about your honor, but mine too.” She freshened the alcohol on the rag and touched it to his skin, working a hiss from him. “Ouch.”

  “Sorry.”

  He watched her work for a moment before he spoke again. “I swear, I don’t think I ever want to hear “Here Comes the Bride” again. Sort of lost its meaning for me.”

  “Oh,” she said, drooping a little. “That again.”

  “That again. And comparing a woman who would take a mail-order husband to a . . .” Her hand poised to dab at his lips, he let the sentence die.

  “Is that what they’re saying about me?” Admittedly, it hurt. They both needed respect so badly, yet neither was getting it. She hadn’t realized how much hinged on it. Sighing, she finished wiping his lip. “Did you prove it? Who wears the pants, I mean.”

  “To an extent.”

  She pulled away and folded her hands in her lap, perplexed as to how this had gone so awry. Admittedly, she hadn’t for one second thought how this plan of hers might impact the poor husband. An idea came to her then. One that launched a billion butterflies. They had to start somewhere, though.

  “Come
with me.” She took his hand and led him out to the porch. Facing him, and stepping in close, she said, “Bobby and Dale aren’t even dressed yet. Somehow they knew you weren’t here. They don’t respect me. They only respect the fact that you’re a man, I think. They sense, I don’t know, that you’re not—we’re not . . .” She couldn’t find the words. Dillon’s eyes drilled into her, questioning, making her feel so foolish. “I think we have to be proxies for each other when it comes to running the ranch. And we have to show them that we’re . . .”

  “A team?”

  “Yes . . . and no. Something more.” She took a deep breath and rested her fists on his biceps. “Don’t read too much into this.”

  “What?”

  She put a hand on his neck, stood on her tip toes, and kissed him. Again, that amazing feeling flooded over her as her lips touched his, like standing in a warm summer rain. Then his arms encircled her, pinning her tight against him. He groaned in pain, but his mouth sought hers hungrily—caressing, craving. The kiss deepened, stealing her breath, making her head swim. Heat as if from an oven encircled her, and she tightened her grip on him. Dillon groaned again but not in pain, and the desire she heard made every inch of her—body and soul—cry out for him.

  But suddenly terror sliced through the passion and she pulled away, shocked at herself. She fumbled blindly for the door. “Just for show,” she whispered nonsensically and disappeared into the house like baying hounds were after her.

  Dillon stood frozen on the porch. His mind stopped, but deep inside, far past physical reaction, he craved more of Audra, like a man dying of thirst in the desert. He’d kissed plenty of women, but this one little gal had the strangest effect on him. She was both terrifying and intoxicating.