Brazos Bride Read online

  Zach rubbed his chin while he thought it over, slapped Joel on the back. "Hate to interrupt this much fun, but it couldn't hurt to cover Micah’s back. Some of his good neighbors might take him being alone as a gift." He leaned his shovel near Micah’s and mounted his horse.

  Micah and Zach rode off, with John trailing them. Back at the cabin, Micah peeled off his shirt and dunked his head, shoulders, and arms into the horse trough. Zach did the same. After a hasty change of clothes, they followed John into town.

  In his mind Micah went over the words of her note. Urgency and discretion are essential. Again he wondered what new problem had arisen that forced Hope to contact him. Not anything financial. She’d inherited one of the largest ranches in North Texas and the fat cattle that grazed there. Probably had a bank full of cash, too. He tried to think of something else serious enough to trouble her.

  The Good Lord knew he had a desperate need for water. Even with his brothers’ help, how much longer could they hold out? Seeing his cattle die daily from thirst when the river lay only a quarter of a mile across Montoya land ate holes in his heart.

  Shaking his head, he concentrated on weaving his way through other riders and wagons on Radford Crossing’s main street. The town was growing, and boasted boardwalks in front of the few stores. The Mercantile looked busy with two wagons being loaded with supplies. As they passed the saloon, Micah heard someone pounding out a cheerful tune on the piano.

  No one called a friendly greeting to him and Zach, or even smiled. Sheriff Ryan, who stood talking to another man, watched with narrowed eyes as the two Stone brothers rode by. No doubt the sheriff still believed Micah guilty of Alfredo Montoya’s murder, regardless of the trial’s verdict.

  Micah ignored the glares of several people they passed. Instead, he wondered what it’d be like seeing Hope again. Did she believe he’d killed her father? Had she listened to all the talk against him? By the time they arrived at the house where John and his wife Theresa lived with John’s parents, Judge and Mrs. Tom Henderson, Micah’s misgivings almost outweighed his curiosity. Although a circuit judge had ruled at Micah’s trial, Judge Henderson packed plenty of influence hereabouts and had spoken in his defense.

  John rode around to the Henderson barn, but Micah and Zach stopped at the hitching post near the front gate. Micah dismounted, then took off his hat and slicked back his hair with his fingers. Dang, he wished he’d made time to shave. Both he and Zach looked more like they’d come to rob the bank than visit a fine lady in Judge Henderson’s home. He stood staring at the gray frame house, wondering why Hope needed his help. He registered the white gingerbread trim across the porch’s roof, the white rail across the front, the two chairs near a wooden swing, the bowed window on the house’s other side.

  Zach started through the gate, then stopped and turned. “You rethinking this, or you going inside?”

  Micah gathered his courage. “We’ve come this far. Let’s see what she has to say.” He strode up the walk, onto the porch, and knocked.

  Chapter Three

  Theresa Henderson opened the door. Inside the house, Micah’s heart hit his boots when he saw Hope. One of the first things he’d noticed the day they met was her thick, glossy black hair that shone with red and gold in the light. Now it looked dull even in the sunshine pouring through the window.

  Her robust beauty had reminded him of a china doll with rosy cheeks, full pink lips, and smooth-as-satin skin. Today she offered him a thin smile that failed to light her wide eyes. Dark circles shadowed her cheeks beneath her sad gaze. The rose colored chair she sat in contrasted to her skin, creating an effect that more resembled a death mask than the vibrant woman he recalled.

  Remembering her striking figure, he thought she had lost at least twenty pounds. He reckoned he did a poor job of hiding his shock because, when she met his gaze, her sherry brown eyes shone with what he took for understanding tinged with sadness.

  His dirty hat clutched to his chest, he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Miss Montoya, you sent for me?”

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Stone.”

  Back straight and head high, she sat with her delicate hands folded on her lap. Whatever was on her mind didn't stop her from conducting herself like a queen. But then, she'd always been an elegant lady. Too good for a man like him.

  Theresa indicated the rose velvet sofa. “Please, won’t you gentlemen sit down? Mother Henderson asked you to excuse her absence, but she's supervising something in the kitchen.”

  Micah nodded. That explained the tempting aromas that reminded him that he and his brothers had hardly taken time for breakfast before sunup. "John said he needed to get back to the newspaper office. He'll work through until the paper's ready to print."

  Theresa laughed. “As I expected. He lives there more than here.”

  Zach perched on one end of the fancy sofa as if he feared it would break. Micah took the other end with as much caution. He and his brother were each big men packed with plenty of muscle. When he didn’t hear cracking wood, he exhaled and eased back.

  Though Hope’s eyes no longer sparkled, she smiled at him. His heartbeat increased and he offered her a grin. Damn, he probably looked like a sappy schoolboy. He sure as hell felt like one. His heart beat a tattoo and a tornado twirled through his stomach simply from being in the same room as Hope Montoya.

  He hadn’t seen her since the horror of his court trial. “Your note—“

  She held up her hand to stay further conversation. "Theresa and her mother-in-law have offered the judge's study to allow us privacy. Mr. Stone"—she glanced from Micah to his brother—“Mr. Micah Stone, perhaps you will offer your arm?"

  Micah leapt up while Hope rose slowly and looped her hand around his arm. Her slight weight tugged when she leaned on him for support. He slowed his steps to match hers and she led him down a wide hall to the side of the house.

  After they entered the judge's study, she sank onto a cushioned chair by the hearth. “Would you close the door, please?”

  Micah complied then sat across from her.

  “First, please allow me to tell you why I am here.” As if she shared his tension, she toyed with the folds of a silky skirt the color of spring lilacs. Her fingers made nervous little pleats in the fabric and then smoothed them out.

  "My friend Ramona, my aunt and uncle, and the doctor say I have the same sickness that took my mother's life, but I disagree to a point." Her gaze met his. “Someone has been poisoning me. I think whatever the killer used was put in my food or medicine for several months. But then, perhaps the same thing happened to my mother." She paused, breathing heavily from the exertion of talking.

  Micah raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think it’s poison?”

  “Lying in bed all day, one has a lot of time to mull over things." She offered a sad smile. "But in case I only wished it to be poison instead of a fatal illness, I tested my theory.”

  “You have proof?" He pushed down his anger at the idea of anyone evil enough to poison a fine lady like her.

  She shrugged. “Of sorts.” Pausing frequently to rest, she explained how she’d secretly tested her theory by replacing her food and medicine. Finally, she rested her head against the back of the chair and pressed her lips together. The little color left in her skin had faded to greenish-gray.

  Micah stood. "Are you all right? Shall I get Theresa?"

  "No, I must continue." She motioned for him to resume his seat. “Ah, where was I?” She took a deep breath, as if gathering in the energy to go on. “Each day afterward, I scraped my meals into a crock I had hidden in my room so it would look as if I had eaten, but I did not taste a bite except from my secret store of food. Soon all my symptoms lessened and a little of my strength returned.”

  She leaned forward and stared into his eyes. “Someone wants me dead.”

  “Why?” Micah wanted to cradle her in his lap, protect her. She looked fragile, as if she could disappear in a puff of wind.

  “You know my
father left me a large estate, but I cannot control anything. Tio Jorge has complete control over my estate and over me. I am powerless until I turn twenty-five, unless I marry. Should I die before then, Tio Jorge inherits everything.”

  Micah hated her uncle. The harsh words the man had hurled at him on several occasions still stung. But not as much as the fact that he refused to honor the verbal agreement Micah had made with Hope's father the day before Alfredo Montoya’s murder.

  She continued, “I do not want to think it is him or my aunt, but each has the opportunity and my estate is motive enough.” She shrugged. “Or, perhaps it is someone else. My aunt let slip that my cattle disappear almost daily from rustlers.”

  “Rustlers? Here?”

  “Someone hates me enough to want me dead and my estate in ruin.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against the chair’s back.

  “I haven’t heard talk of any rustling hereabouts, not even from Comanche renegades. Sure can’t imagine anyone hating you, but greed is a powerful motivator.” He fiddled with his hat brim until she opened her eyes. “What’s your plan?”

  “It is over eight months until I turn twenty-five. Alone, I will not be able to withstand whoever is doing this for half that long. But if I were married, I would control my estate now and my husband would be my beneficiary instead of Tio Jorge."

  She paused and looked at him, then took a deep breath. "I believe this would give me time to find out who is behind this and to regain my strength.”

  “May or may not remove you from danger.”

  “True, and certainly a marriage would place my husband in danger.”

  Micah figured she was correct about her husband being a target if someone really meant her harm. Her mention of marriage startled him, but he refused to let his mind go in that direction. If she married, he’d lose his dream forever. He gave himself a mental kick.

  As if he’d ever stood a chance with her.

  He asked, “Can’t you visit someone until your birthday? At least move into town?”

  “With my cattle disappearing, who knows what else might go wrong? I have given my options a great deal of thought. No, I must marry so I am on my ranch and in charge of my estate.”

  Micah shook his head. “Won’t work. In Texas, a husband controls any money which comes to his wife.”

  Hope nodded. “I have an agreement ready to provide exception to this.” She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “Mr. Stone, probably you have already realized that I am asking you to marry me.”

  Micah couldn’t speak. Had his wildest fantasy just come true? Marriage to the woman who haunted his nights—that is, when he wasn’t too worn out to dream? No, this kind of luck didn’t come to Micah Stone.

  Hope took a folded paper from her bag and smoothed it on her lap. “This states that in exchange for the half-league of my land adjoining yours and two thousand dollars in cash, you agree to marry me but relinquish control of the rest of my estate, including my home.”

  Micah couldn’t breathe. His weary heart pounded with joy. Maybe his bad luck was turning. Twenty-two hundred acres with access to the Brazos River? His ranch and cattle would be saved. And he’d be wed to the woman of his dreams. His mouth dried up so he couldn’t speak. Before he could offer thanks, she leveled her gaze at him.

  “And it also states you agree to an annulment whenever I wish. It would be a marriage in name only, but would of necessity appear a genuine marriage to all save the two of us.”

  Hell’s bells!

  Her words dashed his dream to shards. How could she ask it of him? Like being given a fancy cake and told not to eat it.

  Micah recalled the warning her arrogant father had issued, that no dirt-poor gunman turned cowpuncher had the right to even look at his daughter. And Hope had stood near and watched, saying nothing. The hurt then and now scalded through him. Looked like she agreed with her puffed-up old man.

  "What you really want is a hired gun with the added respectability of a husband without the benefits."

  Her offer emphasized that Micah wasn't good enough to socialize with, certainly not good enough to be a genuine husband. No, but sure as hell good enough to act as bodyguard and get shot at—or killed.

  "It is my understanding that you are quite capable at defending yourself. Were you not a hero in the War at a young age? And did you not capture criminals for a living until you settled here last year? I heard you were considered exceptional with a gun and a champion at capturing dangerous badmen."

  Her understanding? He knew the townspeople—hell, everyone in the county—speculated about him. The trial had dredged up everything he’d done—good and bad—and his soul had been scraped bare. Gossips took those facts and twisted them, building him up into some kind of hero or tearing him down as a back-shooting murderer, mostly the latter.

  "In spite of what you or anyone else thinks of me, when I came here, I put killing behind me." He touched the gun in his belt. "Since the day I filed on my ranch, I haven't shot at anything but snakes and coyotes—and cows too weak from thirst to survive calving."

  If possible, she blanched even paler at the mention of cows dying from thirst.

  He couldn’t help himself. Her offer had cut him raw. "There are plenty of men hereabouts who could fill the bill for you. Hire one of them."

  He stood and clamped his hat on his head. Damned if he'd play games with lives at stake. He needed the water, but he already hurt enough. He sure as hell didn't need to have his heart stomped to bits on a day-to-day basis.

  “Wait!” She stretched out her hand toward him. “There is no other source of water open to you. If you reject my offer, your ranch is doomed to fail.” Anger or frustration brought color to her cheeks, but her voice was pleading. "Mr. Stone, I need your help and you need my water. You just admitted your cows are suffering. Please...reconsider."

  In spite of her apparently angry reaction to his refusal, tears appeared in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. If he saw her cry, that would do him in, but he couldn’t agree to her insane arrangement. His spirit was already near to breaking—he couldn’t take being near her yet forbidden to touch her, treated like no more than a hired gun. Damned if he didn’t feel like bawling.

  "Look, Miss Montoya, you want a puppet with firepower, not a husband. You'll have to pull the strings on someone else." He turned and strode from the room.

  Chapter Four

  Barely slowing to nod to the Hendersons, Micah couldn't get out of there fast enough. He mounted his horse and headed for the Texas Star saloon. If he had to waste time on a fool's errand, he’d at least have a drink. Damned if he didn’t need to wash the taste of humiliation from his craw.

  He wanted to punch something or someone hard and dared anyone to cross him. Indignation burned in his craw. Worse, his chest ached from the pain of Hope’s hurtful offer. How many times would he have to be insulted or snubbed before he realized the so-called good people of this town would never accept him? He dismounted and waited for Zach, who followed close behind.

  "What lit a shuck under you?" Zach asked quietly as he looped his horse's reins over the hitching rail.

  Micah took a deep breath to calm him, but he still ached inside. "I didn't cotton to the lady's request." He walked into the saloon and sat at a front corner table, his back to a wall.

  Zach took the seat next to him, his back to the corner’s other wall. "Yeah? Mind telling me what she said?"

  Micah recognized some of the dozen or so men in the saloon. A few nodded in greeting, others glared at him or ignored him. Smoke and dim light hid others but he recognized Hope’s cousin across the room. A frowzy saloon girl in a soiled and drooping red dress drifted near.

  Zach barely spared her a glance. "We're only here for the whiskey and a private talk. How about a bottle and two glasses?"

  The girl pouted at the dismissal, but did as he requested. Zach slipped her some coins—too many as far as Micah could see—and turned back to him. Zach raised
his eyebrows, obviously waiting for an answer.

  "Miss Montoya wants to hire me." Micah spat out the words in anguish. What a fool he'd been to get his hopes up.

  "Dang, I was hoping she’d offer water. Don't know how much longer those cattle will last otherwise—or you. You can’t keep this up, Micah. Neither can the rest of us."

  He knew, and that’s another reason her proposal galled him. "Oh, she offered water, but at a high price."

  Zach leaned forward. "You gonna tell me or sit there stewing about it?"

  Micah glared at his brother. He glanced around to see if anyone could overhear before he spoke. "She thinks someone is poisoning her to get her land and cattle. Offered me half the league of land next to mine and two thousand in cash."

  Zach raised his eyebrows and exhaled through his teeth. "Man, that would save your hide. Give you access to the river and twenty-two hundred acres of good land. How'd that get your hackles up?"

  "I'd have to marry her for it." Micah tossed back a drink. The memory of his conversation with Hope burned a hole in his pride, stung his craw more than the rotgut whiskey.

  "The devil you say?" Zach's surprise changed to a puzzled frown. "Wait, I thought you went sniffing after her 'til her old man chased you off. You still get moony-eyed when you hear her name. Lose interest of a sudden?"

  Micah stared at his empty glass, ashamed to admit the truth. Lose interest? Hell no. He figured he'd be interested in Hope Montoya 'til his dying breath. But damned if he'd settle for being the hired help, nothing but a gunfighter. Look but don't touch? Not possible.

  Zach said, "Well?"

  Micah’s voice shook when he gave in and explained the deal Hope had offered and why. It galled him to admit the woman who haunted his dreams thought of him as no more than a hired gun, a man to be bought, used, and discarded.

  Zach looked impressed. “Whew. Two thousand cash and a twenty-two hundred acres of prime land to add to yours, with access to the river.” Zach leaned back and studied him. "Ah, I see. Wounded your pride, did she?"