The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

With a subtle jerk of his chin, he asked, “Dance with me?”

  Courtney hadn’t even realized the musicians had started up again and were playing a waltz. She looked at Dean, her eyes wide with the surprise she couldn’t manage to hide just then. “Now? Here?” she sputtered.

  His lips twitched. “Here and now, princess.”

  He offered his hand and waited.

  Without conscious direction, she laid her palm in his. She’d never relied on proper thought when it came to Dean Lawton. Instinct seemed to come to the fore instead, and right now, everything in her yearned to be in his arms.

  Though some of the guests still watched them with open curiosity, many others had decided to get on with the party, and the dance floor was starting to fill up again with swirling couples.

  Dean led her to the edge of the dancers and turned to take up the proper position. The feel of his large, capable hand at her back nearly made Courtney sigh, but she still somehow retained enough control to hold it back. Laying her hand on his shoulder, she reveled in the way her other hand was held so securely in his.

  When, after a few moments, he didn’t move to start the dance, she lifted a brow in question.

  His expression was stern while his eyes reflected more than the light overhead. “I should’ve danced with you around the bonfire that night.” His hand on her back tensed, drawing her an inch closer. “I should have kissed you under the stars every chance I got.” Another inch closer. “I should’ve brought you flowers every day and taken you for fancy dinners in town.” Another inch.

  Courtney’s skirts swept against his legs. Her lifted, corseted breasts were a breath away from his chest, and her lungs felt tight within the confining stays. But she didn’t protest or resist his improper direction. She was too lost in the movement of his mouth as he murmured the soft words that went straight through her center and made her skin tingle.

  “I shouldn’t have let you go, Courtney.”

  Drawing her body flush against his, he stepped into the waltz with a grand, sweeping stride that pulled a gasp from her lips. There was no chance to reestablish the proper distance between them. It was all she could do to hold on and surrender to his lead. Though it was not quite the vigorous, animated dancing she’d enjoyed with the Lawton ranch hands, Dean’s style of waltzing was still far more robust than what the Boston elite was accustomed to. In a word, it was perfect.

  So she ignored the disapproving looks flying by in her peripheral vision and kept her gaze locked on Dean’s face. His handsome, proud, resistant, wonderful face.

  Except that he didn’t appear so resistant tonight. Certainly not in that moment as his eyes traveled freely over her, pausing over every detail until he reached her mouth. And there he stopped. His eyes sparkled with a familiar light, making Courtney’s knees weak.

  “Why are you here, Dean?” she asked again.

  The question caused a slight stiffening in his body, just a bit across the shoulders, but it transferred down his arms and passed through to her, where their palms were matched, and his hand pressed to her back in what seemed to be an involuntary attempt at holding her tighter.

  “Is there someplace we can go to get away from all these people?”

  “There is a small parlor through that door,” she said with a nod toward the back of the ballroom. “But it might be occupied.”

  “I’ll make it work,” he muttered as he abruptly shifted his hold on her to start walking her directly across the room toward the door in question.

  The stares were revived by the rude intersection through the still-active dancers.

  “We could have gone around everyone or waited until the dance was over,” Courtney noted with a curl to her lips.

  “I don’t wanna wait any longer,” he said, casting her a look from stormy, blue eyes. “I’ve already waited all my life.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Dean didn’t even try to take a more measured stride when what he really wanted to do was toss Courtney over his shoulder and bolt into the private room so he could lock everyone out but the two of them.

  Judging by all the stares he’d gotten since arriving at the fancy mansion, he figured he’d broken at least a dozen etiquette rules already. He didn’t care much, other than hating having everyone’s eyes on him, but these were Courtney’s people, and she might not take too kindly to such a crude display.

  As they stepped into the little parlor, it was to find two couples seated in conversation. They looked up at Dean and Courtney’s sudden appearance. Their voices trailed off and their eyes went wide as Dean continued into the room with purposeful steps, sweeping Courtney along beside him.

  “Pardon the intrusion, folks,” he said with a nod. “Might I ask you to leave the room for a bit? I’d like a private word with the lady.”

  He thought he heard Courtney make a small sound, but he didn’t shift his gaze from those he was talking to, silently urging them to their feet.

  The room’s current occupants glanced at one another curiously, none of them making an immediate move to depart. One of the gentlemen looked outright mutinous, while the others simply appeared too shocked and confused by the request to respond.

  “Look,” Dean said, growing impatient. “I haven’t seen my wife in over a month. I’m sure you can understand how we’d like a moment alone.”

  One of the ladies finally tapped her companion’s arm and gave him a look. They rose to their feet, and the other couple followed suit.

  “Of course,” the lady said with a gracious nod before turning to Courtney. “You will let us know this time if you decide to leave town, dear?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Courtney replied.

  Dean’s entire body froze. He glanced at the lady leading the group from the room and noticed belatedly the slight resemblance to his wife in her slim form and graceful movements. The gentleman who followed her, however, sent him a striking, green-eyed glare similar to those Dean had received from Courtney in the early days of their marriage. The other couple kept their gazes trained forward as they passed. Dean didn’t move until he heard the click of the door shutting behind him.

  “I suppose that wasn’t well done of me,” he admitted.

  “On the contrary, it was perfect,” Courtney replied. “I swear, I have never seen my mother at a loss for words. It was a pure delight.”

  The laughter in her voice warmed him from the inside.

  Damn, how he’d missed her.

  Turning toward her, he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms. Being so close to her again, seeing the light in her eyes and the curve of her lips, breathing in her soft, female scent—it made him tremble with everything going on inside him. The hope and fear, the joy and reckless desire.

  He wanted to tumble her down onto the nearest sofa and show her how badly he’d missed her. But he had some things he needed to say first, and if he touched her as he wanted to, he’d never get the words out.

  “I’ve been a jackass, Courtney,” he stated bluntly. Her eyes widened at the declaration, but she didn’t refute the statement. “From the very start.”

  He swept his hat off his head, belatedly realizing he probably should have removed it when he’d first entered the party. Tossing his hat to the sofa beside him, he shoved his hand back through his hair. After a ragged breath, he charged forward.

  “When we were first married, we agreed to part ways as soon as possible.”

  She stiffened. “Yes, I recall,” she replied, and in her tone he heard the same sadness and regret that echoed inside him.

  “I was certain that a fine city lady like you wouldn’t last out the day, let alone four weeks, without a load of complaints.”

  She tilted her head at a proud angle. “I think I managed all right.”

  Dean took an impulsive step toward her. “More than all right. You’re an amazing woman, Courtney Lawton. I’
ve never known anyone to take such rotten circumstances and turn them to your favor. No matter what challenge was in front of you, you faced it with a smile and forged ahead bravely.”

  “Do not get me wrong, I adore hearing you extol my virtues,” she said with a rueful smile, “but why are you saying this now? You filed for divorce, Dean. You didn’t want me.”

  He saw the hurt in her eyes and made a silent vow to sweep it away forever.

  “I did want you, Courtney. I swear on everything I hold dear, I wanted you.”

  A furrow formed between her brows, breaking up the smooth planes of her face. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

  Dean dropped his gaze. “That day your friend arrived”—he paused to lift his eyes back to hers—“I heard you telling her that one way or another, you wanted our marriage to end.”

  “No,” Courtney said urgently, stepping toward him. “I expected it to end. I didn’t want it to, but everything you’d ever said to me made me believe it was what you wanted. And then you convinced Wilkerson to allow the divorce. What was I to think?”

  “That I’m a damn fool.”

  Dean sighed, heavily and deeply, as he brought his hands to her trim waist and finally drew her in against him. He was encouraged when she didn’t resist; rather, she seemed to melt against him in the most wonderful way. “From the moment I met you,” he continued roughly, “I convinced myself you were too much like my mother. She didn’t stay. She’d tried, but as soon as things got too tough, she took off, leaving me and Randall without a backward glance. She chose a comfortable life over us. Even Anne didn’t choose me in the end. I couldn’t fathom that you would.”

  Courtney opened her mouth to reply, but he shook his head. “Naw, let me finish.” He took a deep breath to try to expel the pressure that been building inside him for way too long. “I told myself you’d leave me like they had. I needed to believe it. It was the only thing keeping me from begging you to stay. Because somewhere along the way, I fell so deep in love with you that I didn’t seem to know up from down anymore. I figured that in getting that divorce, I was saving myself from heartbreak.” He sighed, and his lips tilted with self-deprecation. “But my heart broke anyway the day you rode away.”

  She laid her hand softly against the side of his face and whispered his name. “Dean.”

  Doubling his arms around her waist, he looked into her shining eyes. “I’m so sorry I chased you away.”

  She sighed, sliding her hand up the back of his neck. “I’m just glad you’re here now. I missed you, Dean. Terribly,” she whispered as she rose onto her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

  The sweet female scent of her surrounded him, fanning those flames deep inside where his love for her burned unheeded.

  With a shaky breath, he stepped back, fully releasing her to lower himself to one knee. Pulling out the ring that was burning a hole through his breast pocket, he lifted it toward her.

  “Courtney Adams Lawton, will you do me the greatest honor of my life and allow me to love you for the rest of my days? We can make a home here in Boston, if that’s what you want. Randall will get the hang of things at the ranch eventually. He’s been doing fine enough so far. I just can’t imagine going on another day without you.” He dragged in a harsh breath. “You have a choice this time. Won’t you choose me and say you’ll be my bride?”

  She glanced at the ring, then back to his face. Her silence caused sweat to bead beneath the snug fit of his collar. Emotion swirled in her gaze. The hope and love he saw there was humbling.

  “You would give up the ranch for me?” she asked in a quiet whisper.

  Dean answered readily. “If that’s what it takes.”

  She gently grasped his face in her hands, urging him to his feet. When she spoke, her voice was husky with emotion. “I would never want you to do that. You belong in Montana, riding across the prairie under that big, blue sky.” Her lips tilted upward. “And so do I. The ranch is my home too. I may have signed those divorce papers, but I never stopped being your wife, Dean. I love you, and I want nothing more than to marry you. Again,” she added with a smile.

  Relief and so much more flooded through him as he took her hand to slide the ring onto her slim finger. Then he swept her up in his arms and kissed her full and hard on the mouth before spinning her around in a whirl of silk and lace.

  Her laughter filled the room and every lonely, shadowed space that might have been left inside him.

  For more Runaway Brides

  check out book one in the series

  The Gunslinger's Vow

  On sale now

  Take a journey back to where it all began! Malcolm Kincaid has no desire to escort a pampered Eastern lady to Montana, but the longer he and Alexandra Brighton travel together, the harder he’s falling in…

  Chapter One

  Boston, Massachusetts

  August 2, 1881

  “Miss Brighton? Miss Brighton, did you hear me?”

  Alexandra blinked away her shock to meet the concerned gaze of her unexpected suitor. “I…yes,” she said finally, though her voice felt off—not quite her own. “That is, I believe so.”

  Mr. Shaw’s worried expression smoothed into a handsome smile. “I have just declared that I would like to make you my bride, Miss Brighton.”

  His words were no less a surprise the second time around. Peter Shaw was the quintessential Eastern gentleman of distinction. Though only twenty-six, he was already gaining momentum in political circles. He was charming, attractive, full of confidence, and met every one of Aunt Judith’s criteria for an advantageous match.

  And for some inexplicable reason, he had just asked her, Alexandra Brighton, to be his bride.

  She couldn’t have heard him right.

  Alexandra gave a tiny shake of her head to free up some words. “I am sorry, Mr. Shaw. I am a bit stunned. I had not expected such an offer.” Nor had she expected the creeping sense of anxiety that came with it, making her throat tight and her palms clammy. Had he been falling in love with her all this time, and she had never even noticed?

  Despite her awkwardness, he was all grace and charm. “See, that is what I like about you, Miss Brighton—your innate modesty and lack of pretense. You are unlike other young ladies in town. Their perspectives are so narrow, so limited. Most of them have never experienced anything beyond our tight little social niche, let alone life outside of Boston.”

  His eyes were a soft brown in the light that extended from the ballroom just visible beyond the balcony doors. “I admire your story, Miss Brighton. It is my opinion that your…unusual childhood afforded you a more valuable view of life.” He took a slow breath as he clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his chin, as if confessing some great secret. “I have ambitions, Miss Brighton, plans for my future—for the future of Boston and this great state of Massachusetts. In order to secure that future, it is imperative that I appeal to a broad audience.” He smiled again, his eyes crinkling gently. “You can help me do that.”

  Alexandra released her breath in a slow decompression of tension.

  Now it made sense. Mr. Shaw hadn’t inexplicably fallen in love. He was proposing a business arrangement.

  She should have known.

  Shaw was a member of the elite Boston social group known as the Brahmins, and marriages amongst his exclusive set were not made out of such an inconstant, imprudent thing as affection. The acknowledgment cleared away some of her confusion, but had no effect on her growing sense of dread.

  “You leave me in a state of suspense for your response, Miss Brighton,” he teased. Despite his words, he was as self-assured as ever.

  Alexandra smiled, but the act felt tight and forced. She would accept. Of course she would accept. Not a single person of Alexandra’s acquaintance would understand if she refused. An offer from a gentleman such as Peter Shaw was everything her aun
t had been grooming her for.

  He was waiting.

  “I would be honored,” she finally replied. But as the words left her mouth, she felt a moment of panic and wished she could call them back.

  What was wrong with her?

  Now that he had her agreement, Peter gave no sign of joy beyond a shallow nod. He did not appear the slightest bit aware of her growing discomfort. She had no idea she had gotten so good at maintaining a social face, as her aunt called it.

  “I have already spoken privately with your aunt and obtained her blessing,” he said, “but I will come by tomorrow to finalize the details. I have no doubt this marriage will be a tremendous success.”

  Then he stepped forward and very deliberately propped his fingertips beneath her chin, tilting her face upward as he bent down to press a quick kiss to her lips. It was Alexandra’s very first kiss, and was over just as soon as it began. The impact of it faded away almost faster than she could acknowledge its occurrence.

  Peter offered his arm and flashed another one of his charming almost-smiles. “We had better return to the ball before people start to talk.” He led her, unresisting, back through the crowd to where Aunt Judith stood with her group of friends.

  Alexandra’s stomach churned the entire way. The ballroom felt too cloying, too hot. She was assailed by a fierce desire to return to the fresh air on the balcony. Alone.

  Stop, she thought, even as she fought to remember how to breathe. Aunt Judith will never forgive you if you make a scene.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to care about that—to care about any of the fine Eastern manners she had so carefully been taught.

  Mr. Shaw offered a few complimentary words to the matrons gathered with Aunt Judith before he bade his farewell to Alexandra with another comment about calling the next day. Then he walked away. Alexandra barely caught sight of the triumphant gleam in her aunt’s eyes before she was set upon by her two best friends.

  Courtney Adams was a flurry of pink silk and lace, vivid red curls, and sparkling green eyes set within pert features that also boasted elegantly arched brows and impishly curved lips. She was beautiful, but it was her bright personality that most people were drawn to. Courtney stepped in close to Alexandra to murmur dramatically, “You and Mr. Shaw were out of sight for quite a while. I wonder what the two of you were up to.”