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  “Do you, Micah Luke Stone, take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife, to honor her and cherish her?”

  “I do.” Micah placed his hand over Hope’s where hers rested on the crook of his arm for support. She didn’t pull away. Her soft hand was cold as ice. Was her heart as frosty?

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  Could he?

  Would she allow it?

  Micah lowered his head and brushed a kiss across Hope’s upturned mouth. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were soft and sweet. Then she pulled away and they turned to face the others in the room.

  Judge Henderson said, “I present Mr. and Mrs. Micah Stone.”

  Slaps on the back from Zach and John and a handshake from the Judge made this seem like a real wedding.

  Hell, it was a real wedding. Micah wondered how he'd feel if Hope really were his bride in every sense?

  Damned if he wouldn’t do his best to convince her theirs was a marriage worth preserving.

  Mrs. Henderson produced a pound cake. “This isn’t what I’d have served with more notice, but it’s still a cake. There’s lemonade, too.”

  Hope kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Mrs. Henderson. Mama would thank you, too, if she were here.”

  Mrs. Henderson dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I feel almost as if you were my own daughter, Hope. I do want you to finally be happy.”

  Wondering what Mrs. Henderson meant by finally, Micah stood by Hope's side while she cut the dessert. As if in a trance, he caught himself acting like an ordinary groom.

  Chattering with excitement, Theresa served the guests.

  Hope hugged the Judge. “Oh, thank you for your help, Judge Henderson.” Hope’s gaze sought each of those gathered. “Thanks to each of you.”

  Micah admired Hope's planning. He figured no one would question the validity of documents bearing the judge's signature. Everyone must recognize the marriage as legal, and their agreement as binding.

  Unless something happened to Hope. Then he'd be sure to get the blame and, instead of saving his ranch, likely his gamble would have him swinging from a tree.

  Chapter Six

  The noose of fear and dread that had tightened around Hope's neck had loosened when Micah said, “I do.” She thought surely no bride and groom had ever been more somber during a marriage ceremony than she and Micah. A make-believe marriage brought her a measure of security, but not joy. Only knowing the ceremony completed another step of her plan to stay alive brought any pleasure. Believing she no longer presented an easy target lightened her mood and lessened her fatigue.

  She still had to discover who was trying to poison her. With a husband in line to inherit her ranch if she died, surely the killer would stop his efforts. If, God forbid, her aunt and uncle were the culprits, they’d go back to their own ranch now and leave her in peace.

  Before the ceremony Micah had disappeared after a hushed conversation with John Henderson, then returned shaven and with shined boots.

  While Micah had been out of the room, she’d handed John a letter for her aunt and uncle. By the time Micah and she dealt with the solicitor and the bank and arrived later at the ranch, Aunt Sofia and Tio Jorge would have had time to adjust to the news. But—whether they were party to poisoning her or not—they wouldn’t be happy with her. Would they fight the marriage?

  She looked at her new husband and smiled. Not the joyous grin a new bride should offer, but the closest she could manage. At least, now there were two of them to stand together. She had an ally—even though she’d had to bribe him—to help her in her battle to survive.

  Micah took her hand and looped it through his arm. Surprised at the tingles his touch aroused, she fought her reaction. She must keep her emotions in check, just as she had all her life. Her parents had drummed into her that displays of affection—public or private—equated weakness. Life, more specifically the situation threatening hers, required strength and dignity.

  “Well, Mrs. Stone, are you ready to leave?” His smile deepened dimples on each side of his mouth.

  My word, his eyes devoured her. Micah’s gaze ignited a pool of warmth low in her abdomen. Her legs became young willow branches and threatened to fail her. Oh, dear, she couldn’t betray how he affected her or have him thinking there was a chance for more than they’d agreed on. She straightened her shoulders and spoke with cool measure.

  “Yes, we must hurry to talk with my solicitor before the bank closes. I am sure you will want the legalities out of the way so you can acquire your funds.”

  He clenched his jaw and the sparkle left his eyes. Instantly she regretted her cold words.

  He looked down at her. "Water's what I need most. Soon as your cowboys know we're wed, I'll move my cattle to the river."

  She nodded. Why couldn’t she be friendly and open? She'd never learned how, that’s why. No wonder Theresa and Ramona were her only friends. And now Micah. Even though Micah benefited from their arrangement, he’d agreed to put himself in jeopardy to aid her.

  He helped her into the buggy, and she sagged against the cushioned seat. She'd been on her feet far too long after the jouncing buggy ride to town this morning. Thank goodness Theresa and Mrs. Henderson had urged her to rest.

  Hope usually brought a change of clothes and her night things when she came to visit Theresa in the event she was too tired to return home that day. Micah set Hope’s bag under the seat then he climbed into the buggy beside her.

  How easy it would be to run away, escape from the horrible pain of knowing someone near her wanted her dead. Although she had shouldered adult responsibilities in the household and on the ranch for most of her years, never has she received a kind word when things went well. Her father had plenty to say—often accompanied by hard blows—when she failed to meet his wishes. She refused to abandon the birthright she’d earned. With Micah’s help she’d defeat the villain trying to kill her.

  They drove the few blocks to the solicitor’s office. Mr. Anthony could not have been more astonished when she introduced Micah and produced their marriage license.

  Mr. Anthony glared at Micah. “So, Yankee, you’ve married well, have you?”

  She opened her mouth to respond to the tactless statement, but Micah spoke.

  “Any man who’s married as beautiful and intelligent a woman as Mrs. Stone should consider he’s married very well indeed.” Micah emphasized her new title, but his even speech contrasted to the steel of his gaze.

  Mr. Anthony turned his anger on Micah, "You may have tricked the jury and this vulnerable young woman, but you'll find not all the people in this town are so easily fooled. Marrying her won't excuse your past or make you accepted in the community."

  Micah stepped between her and Mr. Anthony. “It’s not your place to judge either of us. You’re paid, probably very well, to do a job. Now get on with whatever it is you have to do to give my wife control of her estate.”

  Red flooded Mr. Anthony’s face and he looked apoplectic. “I’ll do it, but I’ll be watching you, young man. If anything happens to Miss Montoya, you’ll hang for sure this time.”

  “Her name is Mrs. Micah Stone." He pointed to the paper in the solicitor's hand. "We need that marriage certificate back to show her banker.”

  Mr. Anthony's eyes narrowed when he thrust the paper at Micah and repeated, “I’ll be watching, and don’t you forget it.”

  Micah rolled the certificate carefully. “Yeah, well why weren’t you watching while someone tried to poison her?”

  She cringed, for she hadn't wanted anyone but Micah to know about the poison. Not yet.

  Mr. Anthony looked like a fish out of water, gulping for air with his eyes bulged out. “What are you talking about?”

  “It is true, Mr. Anthony,” she said. “I expect you to keep this information in strict confidence, but I am sure of it. I did not want to say anything, for I have little proof.”

  “Impossible." He waved a hand as if dismissing the idea
as preposterous. "Who would dare such a thing?”

  Justified, she looked at Micah then back to Mr. Anthony. “This was the very reaction I had feared from anyone I told of my suspicions. For that reason, I did not seek help from anyone except the Hendersons and Mr. Stone.” She thanked her lucky stars Micah had agreed to her plan. Without his protection, she was certain she would not survive.

  As if reading her mind, Micah smiled at her. “Doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “You’re no longer fighting alone.” Answering the solicitor’s question, Micah said, “It’s a fact, Anthony, and I aim to find out who’s responsible.” Micah placed a hand at her waist and they left the office.

  She snapped, “I had not planned to tell anyone about the poison. You should have consulted me before you mentioned it.”

  Micah shrugged. “He got my dander up. Besides, he didn’t believe us, so he’s not likely to tell anyone.”

  “Nevertheless, you should have discussed it with me first.”

  “Yes, ma’am. You’re the boss.” His jaw clenched.

  She regretted her outburst, but she didn’t intend to let good manners cause the loss of her independence. She’d waited too long for freedom.

  It took under an hour at the bank to add Micah’s name and remove her uncle’s from her account, transfer funds to Micah’s ranch balance, withdraw cash for Micah’s pockets, and ask for a complete record of all action on her funds since her father’s death. They dealt with the owner, Dennis Pumphrey.

  “I can’t believe your uncle will approve, Miss Mont—um, Mrs. Stone. He was in yesterday and said nothing of any of these changes nor of your impending nuptials.”

  Hope had never liked this man or the way he catered to her father and uncle. She sent the banker a cool smile. “My marriage releases him from the considerable burden of managing my estate in addition to his own. He will be relieved to turn my holdings over to my husband and me, though, of course, he will be too kind to admit it.”

  Pumphrey turned up his nose at Micah. "I hardly think a man of your background is capable of managing an estate on the scale of Mis—Mrs. Stone’s. Perhaps you’d like for me to handle those details for you.”

  She suppressed a gasp when Micah’s gray eyes turned icy and braced herself for the heated shouts her father would have used. But Micah’s quiet, even voice made his message all the more threatening. He looked around the small office and through the window to the bank's interior with distaste.

  “Do you know about bloodlines, ranch management? No? My wife is far better qualified to run her business than someone of your limited abilities. If she and I need any help, there are more experienced bankers available. The owner of the Merchants and Farmers Bank in Weatherford is a family friend. Maybe we should move the account there?”

  Hope remembered her father had mentioned his account was the largest in the bank, possibly as large as all the others in Radford Crossing combined, except for Tio Jorge's.

  The man blanched and words flew from his mouth. “No, no, I meant no offense. I only wanted to let you know I'm at your disposal. Please, feel free to call on me for any reason, any reason at all.” By the time they left, Pumphrey followed at their heels like an eager puppy.

  Though fatigue dragged at her, she breathed a huge sigh of relief as they stepped from the bank and loosened the taut muscles of her shoulders. She'd done it. Truthfully, she had to admit Micah’s help had made the difference, but she’d done it. For the first time in twenty-four years, she controlled her own life.

  Not that she hadn’t had the responsibility before, because she’d had plenty of that all these years, but she’d never had any power. Now she did. If she failed, at least it would be because of the decisions of Hope Montoya, temporarily Hope Montoya Stone.

  No longer would she be subject to a man who spoke for her, took credit when things went right and blamed her if they went wrong. She glanced at the man beside her, hoping she could make this work for both of them. He'd have his water, more land, and cash and she'd have her freedom. She savored the thought.

  On the street Micah guided her between shoppers who stared at them with curiosity. “Reckon we’d better check in at the hotel, then get some dinner.”

  She stumbled and he caught her, then put her hand back on his arm and continued toward the hotel.

  “Did you forget our agreement? Certainly we will not need a hotel room. Let us go to my ranch now.”

  “You said we were to appear as a real married couple. What bride and groom don’t want at least one night’s honeymoon?”

  “I—I do not know if that is such a good idea.” She slowed her steps.

  He patted her hand. “Hope, if this is gonna work, you have to trust me.”

  He’d never used her name before. She’d avoided calling him anything since the wedding, though she'd thought of him as Micah since the first time they met.

  How could he doubt her trust, since they'd just married? She'd turned to him of all the single men in the area. “Surely you realize I trust you or I would never have chosen you in...in this situation.”

  “This situation has to look normal.” He stopped and looked into her eyes. “We’ll have a nice big public dinner and look real cozy, then retire early to our room. Word will spread fast we’re wed for real.”

  She lowered her gaze to stare at the boardwalk. “Then you will sleep on the floor.”

  “I’d planned to, but no one but us will know we didn’t share the bed.”

  Thank goodness, he didn't plan to force himself on her. She hadn’t the strength to fight him. But what man would want a woman in her pitiful condition? Her mirror didn’t lie—a bag of bones with dull hair and pasty skin.

  She looked up, contrite she’d doubted him. “You are right, of course. Thank you for your consideration.”

  He patted her hand where it lay on his arm and then they continued the short walk into the hotel.

  They registered as Mr. and Mrs. Micah Stone and were given a key by Herman Stevens, the innkeeper.

  On the way to their room, leaning heavily on him for support, she whispered, “Why did you ask for the bridal suite? You know there is no such thing in this tiny place. There could not be more than a dozen rooms in the hotel, and they are probably all alike.”

  “He got the message we’d just gotten hitched, didn’t he? Says this one’s the largest room here, called the Presidential Suite. Don’t imagine that’s saying much. Southwest corner room, though, so leastwise we’ll have a little breeze tonight.”

  At the door, he unlocked it and swept her into his arms in full view of the maid and two men who looked like drummers. When they were inside with the door closed behind them, he gently set her down as if she were fragile porcelain.

  The plain room belied such a grand title, and was far smaller than her own room at home. A thin rug covered most of the floor. Sturdy furniture offered more in the way of service than beauty. The dark, heavily-carved headboard wedged into a corner between the two double windows allowed the bed to catch whatever breeze drifted in. Not too bad, but the one large room hardly qualified as a suite—not even if you counted the area behind a screen as a dressing room. And she couldn't imagine a president of anything staying here. Compared to her home, it looked bare and inhospitable.

  He bowed. "Your suite, Mrs. Stone." He set her small bag on the bed.

  She was thankful now she’d included her nightclothes, a wrapper, and a fresh dress for tomorrow. “You are quite good at this pretence.” She hadn't meant the words to sound so sharp.

  His jaw clenched and his eyes fairly frosted over. “You paid a lot for my services, so I aim to please my employer.”

  She felt a flush stain her cheeks. “That is not at all what I meant.”

  He spread his hands in front of him. “Look, this is as difficult for me as it is for you. I’ve never been married before, but this sure as hell isn’t how I pictured matrimony.”

  She chewed her lip. So, he felt awkward too. “It is not how I pictured my
wedding either.” She gestured at the room and smiled at him. “Or my honeymoon, but I thank you for agreeing to my plan.”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled it in a whoosh. “Guess you’re all done in. Why don’t you rest a bit while I round up a few necessities.”

  She would like a few things and some of the special soap the storekeeper saved for her. “I do not suppose you could get me a few toiletries and some ladies’ delic—“

  Looking as if she’d been about to ask him to kiss a rattlesnake, he interrupted, “Don’t ask me to pick out women's fripperies, please. We can pick up whatever you want before we leave town tomorrow. For now, I’ll be back by six. That should give you over an hour to rest and then we can go down and eat. I'll lock the door behind me.”

  He left and she heard the key turn in the lock. She was annoyed that he’d kept the key, rather than leaving it with her. He could knock for entry when he returned. Surely she was safe here, locked in a second floor room alone. She sighed. At least he was considerate and he was correct--she needed rest.

  Hope removed her dress and shoes and pulled on her wrapper. At the window, she pulled apart the lace panels and stared down at the street. A dust devil whirled dry leaves in its path. Riders and wagons came and went and people walked along the boardwalks. Across the street, under the Mercantile’s covered boardwalk, three women appeared to exchange pleasantries. Nearby, two men gestured in a heated discussion. Radford Crossing looked like any other small north Texas town on a weekday.

  But her world was not ordinary. Someone here or on her ranch wanted her dead.

  Chapter Seven

  Hope folded back the quilt. After removing her wrapper, she laid it across the foot of the bed then climbed between the sheets. Curling into herself, she wanted to bawl. But she'd long ago given up on tears. They solved nothing.

  Planning would save her, not weeping. Yet the thought plagued her—who hated her enough to poison her? Worse, what if she was wrong and really was dying of some mysterious disease that had killed her mother?