Marry Me by Sundown

  “They’re all sweet gals as long as they’re well-fed, and they currently are,” Morgan said when she moved to stand beside him. “You won’t get bucked off. Carla here has the lightest load, so she won’t mind your weight. And being at the front of the team, you’ll taste less dust.”

  “How wonderful,” she said sarcastically.

  “You could always walk,” was his terse reply.

  But then his hands suddenly circled her waist and she was lifted high to be plopped down on the mule. Having had no warning, she screeched when he did it. And he just stood there watching her, his thumbs hooked in his belt.

  She felt herself blushing because of the way he’d touched her, no matter that he’d done it to help her. And he seemed to be waiting for something. “D’you expect me to thank you? That will not be happening!”

  But all he said was, “You did notice there’s no horn on that pack saddle to help you keep your balance if you’re going to sit sideways like that?”

  “I’ll manage,” she said primly.

  He shook his head. “I doubt it. And Carla probably won’t like the uneven distribution of weight, might even do some bucking to fix it.”

  “But you assured me—”

  “That was before I saw the silly way you intend to ride her,” he cut in. “Besides, no one will notice if you sit properly.”

  “Your idea of what is proper is different from mine. I’ll manage,” she repeated.

  “Suit yourself,” he replied. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She glared at his back as he turned to mount his black horse. And as soon as he urged the animal forward with the mule string following, she was sure she was going to slide to the ground. It was a long way down. Unlike donkeys, the mules were nearly as big as normal-sized horses, just not as big as Morgan’s mount.

  She gripped Carla’s mane on one side and the edge of the hay bale on the other and tried to scoot back just a little to gain a steadier perch—and appease the mule. But then her valise started to slide off her lap, so she let go of the hay and grabbed the valise and wiggled a little more until her lap was flat enough to keep the valise from sliding off again.

  She felt like laughing hysterically. Good grief, this was ridiculous. And she kept having the urge to bend her right leg for the hook that wasn’t there. She’d learned to ride in England with Sophie. Ladies there only rode sidesaddle, perfectly comfortable, perfectly proper. This wasn’t comfortable at all and the only thing she could be grateful for at this point was that it wasn’t happening in town where it might have created a spectacle, her slowly moving through the streets on the back of a mule. Good Lord, she would have been utterly mortified.

  Chapter Seven

  NOW THAT IT WAS daylight and she was sitting upright, Violet could see the landscape clearly. She found it interesting because it was so very different from England and the eastern half of the United States that she was familiar with. Green and golden grass of different lengths swayed and bent in the breeze. There were trees of different shapes and sizes, hills on either side of the road, and lovely mountains in the far distance. There were also a lot of yellow and purple wildflowers. She wanted to inhale deeply to find out if the air was redolent with their fragrance, but she didn’t dare with Morgan’s large horse kicking up dust in front of her.

  The morning grew steadily hotter, but then every day since she’d arrived in Montana had been excessively warm. She was thirsty again. She was sweating, too. She wanted to take off her jacket, but she was afraid to let go of Carla’s mane long enough to slip it off her arms.

  She began to regret mightily the decisions she’d made since returning to America. And she was angry at her brothers for not checking on their father sooner, and especially angry at Daniel for not following her to Montana as he’d promised. And she was angry at herself for thinking this would be just a quick trip, here and back, that would fix everything for all three of them. She was even angry at her father for frittering away his inheritance and her dowry along with it, and dying before he could recover from that disaster. She shouldn’t be the one here riding on this bloody mule!

  It had already sunk in how much her own future depended on finding the money her father had made from mining, that she was no longer an heiress. And worse, going to her father’s mine might not solve anything. It might not have rich ore in it, it might not be where he’d stored his money, it might not even be worth selling.

  She should at least risk asking Morgan about the value of the mine, but could she trust his answer if he deigned to give her one? Probably not. He’d kept his mine a secret, and if her father’s was near it, he’d want to keep her father’s a secret, too. Yet he was taking her there, wasn’t he? She suddenly froze, wondering if he’d spirited her out of town because he intended for her never to return. Was he planning on killing her to keep his secret? But if so, wouldn’t he already have done it when they’d stopped at the stream?

  She was finding it difficult to see any hope in this situation, but she supposed there was a glimmer of hope in his not having killed her yet. She clung to that until he suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, and her whole body stiffened. He’d had an afterthought! He’d remembered that he ought to kill her!

  He dismounted and glanced at her as he untied something from his saddle. “You’re going to be in the sun all day,” he said. “You sure you want to wear that silly hat?”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding; that certainly didn’t sound like a death threat. And the fright she’d just had made her sound a little more indignant than she would have otherwise. “There’s nothing silly about this exquisite bonnet.”

  “Other than it’s useless in keeping the sun off your face?” he countered.

  That was true, but she did have a solution, and with Carla standing still for the moment, she would show him. But first, while the mule wasn’t moving, she swiftly shrugged out of her traveling jacket, but didn’t try to pull the jacket’s bustled train out from under her. She didn’t try to get down from Carla, either, which would necessitate Morgan’s having to lift her back up. He wouldn’t like that any more than she would. Instead, she dug into her valise and took out the one parasol she’d brought with her, slipped her hand through the strap at its base, and opened it. Morgan laughed as she positioned it to block the sun. She bristled. Truly, she didn’t like this burly bear one bit.

  He sauntered her way and took the valise from her. “No need for you to hold that in your lap all day, but you’ll need this.”

  He handed her his water canteen. She reached for it so fast, her fingers touched his. Blushing with embarrassment, she almost let go of the canteen, but he didn’t appear to notice and proceeded to tie her valise to one of the straps on Carla’s pack saddle.

  Violet took a long drink of the warm water, then asked, “What about you? Will you halt this journey to get your canteen every time you want a drink?”

  “Won’t need to.” He moved to a different mule, opened one of the baskets it was carrying, and took out another canteen for himself. “I always carry two in the summer, and you’re here smack in the middle of the hottest weather this territory sees.”

  He came back to stand beside her, but he was looking straight ahead at the long stretch of road before them as he said, “The stagecoach from Billings travels this road, and those drivers can get real nasty if something is blocking their way. They’re all about keeping to their schedules. But the coach stirs up a big cloud of dust, so we’ll see it coming from a distance and be able to get off the road.” And then his eyes came back to hers and his conversational tone turned abruptly cold. “Sullivan should have known I wouldn’t escort you to my mine no matter who you pretend to be. What excuse were you going to use to get me to take you there?”

  “Deputy Barnes said your mine is close to my father’s and you are quite likely the only one who can guide me to it.”

  “How the hell would he know that?”

  His sudden snarling tone dec
ided her against mentioning that the town was rife with rumors about him, none of them flattering. So she merely said, “Because you brought my father to the doctor after the accident in his mine.” He just scowled at her. She worked up the courage to say, “Thank you for doing that. Are you taking me to his mine?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. In the bright morning light, she stared back, but she still couldn’t discern what was under all that shaggy hair. But she soon became uncomfortably aware that he seemed to be cataloging her attributes. And she didn’t get an answer to her question. She was asked one instead: “What made you think you could convince me to? Because you’re pretty? I reckon Shawn would have picked his spy carefully. You’re either an actress—or a harlot. Which is it?”

  Oh, good Lord, what he was implying was beyond mortifying. And provoking. Did he want her to yell at him? To give him an excuse to abandon her there on that dusty road?

  She didn’t yell, but there was no way she couldn’t sound as insulted as she felt. “I was looking for you before I even met Mr. Sullivan because I am exactly who I said I am and I have a legitimate claim to my father’s mine and its proceeds. But to answer your question, no reason had occurred to me why you wouldn’t be my guide.”

  “No? I can give you a bunch, but none suitable for a lady’s ears—if you really are one.” Her blush just got much hotter. “I heard there was a fancy harridan screaming in the streets last week. Was that you?”

  She sucked in her breath. “Certainly not.”

  “Can’t imagine there’s more than one fancy harridan in town,” Morgan countered, apparently not believing her about this either.

  “I assure you that was not me. I would never yell in public. It would be beyond the pale.”

  “Beyond what?”

  “The bounds of acceptable behavior.”

  “Then why didn’t you just say that?”

  She gritted her teeth. The man was intolerable and his disbelief even worse. “Why are you so sure I’m not Charles Mitchell’s daughter?”

  “He never mentioned a daughter, just sons.”

  It hurt that her father had forgotten about her. She shouldn’t be surprised—out of sight, out of mind—but it still hurt.

  “Are you going to cry?”

  She blinked, then snapped her brows together. “Absolutely not. I’ve had two weeks to shed my tears. And grieving is done in private or with relatives, certainly not with strangers like you.”

  “Were you fed your lines by Sullivan, or are you just making them up as needed?”

  “You don’t think I would be grieving for a father I dearly loved?”

  “Lady, I told you I don’t believe you’re a Mitchell,” he replied. “You don’t even talk right. Can’t believe Shawn couldn’t afford a better actress.”

  “I am no such thing, and I talk perfectly fine for someone who grew up in England these last—”

  He cut in sharply, “If you persist in the pretense, then we’re done talking.”

  Good. Talking to him was far too infuriating. He obviously wasn’t going to tell her anything that she wanted to know and certainly nothing about his mine and its location, so what was the point?

  Then he said, “We can pick up the pace now.”

  Music to her ears, until he mounted again and the entire string of mules began trotting to keep up with his horse. She nearly screamed, she was so sure she was about to fall off. This wasn’t anything like urging one’s mount to trot while sitting on a comfortable saddle. This sort of bouncing on the hard back of a mule was more than just jarring, it was becoming painful.

  And the bustle of her jacket and the blanket under it that she was sitting on had afforded her some cushioning at the slower pace, but not now. It had already been uncomfortable sitting this way without the anchor of a pommel. Her back was already aching from it. Now her arse would be aching, too.

  There was no help for it now. She abandoned propriety and swung one leg over the mule’s head to sit astride. She felt warm air on her bare legs just above her boots. She didn’t dare lean over to push the sides of her skirt down to cover her legs, if the hem would even stretch that far. Good Lord, she could just imagine what Aunt Elizabeth would say if she could see her now.

  “How are you holding up now?” she suddenly heard.

  “I’ll—manage!” she snarled.

  He didn’t look back to see if she would. The despicable man was probably laughing and didn’t want her to see it.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’M HUNGRY!” VIOLET SHOUTED.

  She’d had no breakfast, thanks to Morgan Callahan’s despicable abduction, and lunchtime felt as if it had come and gone. But he didn’t appear to want to stop for anything, not even to eat. She assumed there was food among his supplies. Or was he looking for an animal to kill? Did he expect to reach his mine before he ate?

  They were still traveling on the road, heading mostly east. They’d passed that lovely mountain range she’d been able to see when they’d left Butte. She’d thought that might be where they were headed, but obviously not. They passed over creek after creek, many of which had dried up, followed a river for a while, got out of the way of the stagecoach he’d predicted would come along. North of the road the land was still verdant with green grass and trees, but to the south there was only dirt, dried grass, and scrub brush as far as the eye could see. She couldn’t stop thinking about that beautiful mountain range that had looked so inviting. She’d bet it was cooler up there!

  “Did you hear me?!”

  “You screech like a harridan, so how could I not?” he answered without looking back.

  “So it’s your intent to starve me?”

  He didn’t answer, of course not, because that was his intent! Violet had never been this sore in her life. Even that bout she’d had with flu her first year in England when her whole body had ached hadn’t been this bad. Morgan had kept up a bouncing pace for a good hour before he’d slowed the animals to a walk for the next few hours. That allowed her to actually lean back a little against the large bundle of hay at her back. Gently. She’d be mortified if she pushed it off of Carla’s rump and the bale rolled away.

  She was silently crying in pain by then, though the heat dried the tears so fast, they probably didn’t leave streaks on her dusty cheeks. A few times, she thought she might faint. More than a few times, she wished she would, anything to end this misery, however briefly. Oh, how she wished she were back in England traveling in her aunt and uncle’s comfortable, elegantly appointed coach. There would be a basket of rolls and pastries on the mere chance that they would get hungry. She was hungry!

  “If you don’t tell me when we will eat, I’m dismounting right here,” she threatened.

  She wanted to, but she hesitated long enough to realize that he wouldn’t care, would probably be glad that she’d made the choice to leave herself there in the middle of nowhere. To die. She growled to herself, refusing to give him the satisfaction of having his problem solved so easily. She’d never disliked anyone this much in her life. She disliked him so much, it felt more like hate.

  And then he turned directly north into a hilly area. A few minutes later, she screamed when he fired his gun. She hadn’t expected him to do that, and the sound was so loud and close to her. He dismounted and picked up a long, fat snake near his feet. It had orange, white, and black stripes. And he took out a knife and cut off its head.

  She winced, disgusted, and heard him say, “It was going to slither past my gals. They would have started bucking to kill it, and you would have landed on your ass. They don’t like snakes.”

  So he’d saved her from falling? Ha! More likely he enjoyed the fright he’d just given her. But instead of tossing the dead reptile aside, he moved to stuff it into one of his baskets. Taking the trophy home? She grimaced at the thought.

  Passing Carla again, he handed Violet a strip of dried jerky. She didn’t thank him. He could have done that hours ago! And it certainly wouldn’t satisfy her hu
nger for very long, but the first bite she ripped off the strip did take the edge off. And then they continued on.

  It was much greener as they rode north, long grass, a few pine trees, more wildflowers, but the day was still sweltering. She had no idea what time it was, late in the afternoon? The last time she’d glanced at the sun to gauge the time, she’d been blinded for the longest time, so she didn’t do that again. But her sore body might be making it seem like they’d ridden longer than they had. Where the devil was his mine? And then they were trotting again! But not for long this time.

  “We’ll rest the animals for a while,” Morgan said, stopping beneath the shade of a large tree.

  Violet stared blissfully at the lake they’d come to. Carla had already moved to the water to drink and Morgan was walking toward her. “Let me help—”

  Not waiting for him to finish, Violet slid off the mule by herself and immediately dropped to her knees, which was not her intention, but her legs just gave out. He shook his head and offered her a hand up, but as long as she was down, she sat to remove her boots.

  “I wouldn’t recommend—” he began, but didn’t finish the warning.

  Her legs still shaky, she stumbled to the water’s edge, sat down on the grass, and stuck her feet in it. It felt sublime, even if the water wasn’t as cold as she’d hoped it would be. She wanted to swim in the lake, which was what he must have assumed she was going to do, but she didn’t want her clothes to get wet and she certainly couldn’t remove them, not with the bear lurking behind her. Her upbringing forbade it. Her legs probably wouldn’t cooperate anyway if she tried to swim. Sitting astride might have kept her from bouncing off Carla’s back when the mule was trotting, but constantly gripping Carla’s sides with her thighs and calves to keep her balance had worsened the aches in her legs.