Marry Me by Sundown

  She started to struggle when he didn’t, until she saw he wasn’t taking her to his horse yet. He set her down, taking a moment to steady her, then simply walked away.

  Grateful for the bush between them and yet so utterly embarrassed, she found it hard to reconcile the two strong feelings. Her only consolation was that it was dark and he wouldn’t notice how red her cheeks were. And then she chided herself for being so silly. Clinging to her civilized mantle was ridiculous when she was smack in the middle of the wilderness. But the conventions of polite behavior were ingrained in her! She wasn’t sure she could shed them.

  Morgan came back to carry her to his horse. She knew he only did it because he was impatient to leave. So even though she was nestled against his chest and had one arm around his neck, she was compelled to admonish him, “Your helping me this way doesn’t improve my opinion of you one bit. You shouldn’t have stolen me away from my hotel. You should have given me a chance to buy a horse and hire servants so I could travel to my father’s mine in a more civilized fashion. Which, I should add, would have caused less trouble and work for you.”

  “You’re no trouble—well, let me rephrase that: you’re no trouble when your mouth is shut. How about you thank me by shutting it now? Or do you need help with that, too?”

  He’d stopped and was glancing down at her. His face was awfully close to hers. Was he talking about a gag or a kiss? She wanted neither from him, so she kept quiet and shook her head vigorously. She was done complaining for the moment and back to blushing.

  When she was seated on the horse, she saw that he’d already put out the fire and repacked. Before mounting, he handed her the hotel blanket. She didn’t need it yet, but probably would as the night wore on since her jacket was designed to look pretty, not to keep her warm. But she didn’t expect this ride through the darkness to last very long, not when he hadn’t gotten any sleep at the last campsite.

  The sky was filled with stars and the moon was indeed bright. The crickets were loud, but a roar in the distance prompted her to put her arms around Morgan. He made no comment, so she kept them there since it made for a steadier seat.

  They continued east, at least she assumed so because he didn’t recross the river they’d camped by. But the shadowed landscape became barren again, so she gave up trying to find some sort of landmark in the dark.

  Two or three hours later, Morgan finally stopped and said, “I need some sleep,” and abruptly dismounted.

  Before he lifted her down, she had a brief unobstructed view of the dark shape of a mountain rather close by in front of them and another in the far distance to her left. Then his hands were around her waist again, only this time he set her down more slowly and she felt her body brush against his. He was standing too close to the horse. Was the man half-asleep already, not extending his arms fully this time to prevent them colliding?

  He made no apology, probably wasn’t even aware that their bodies had touched so intimately. The moment her feet were on the ground he moved away from her, so she didn’t give it another thought. She didn’t move, and wouldn’t until she saw where he was going to place the campfire. She assumed he was going to make one, if only for warmth. It was much chillier now. She felt it even with the blanket wrapped about her like a cloak.

  Following him with her eyes, she saw that he’d apparently gathered a large armful of dried branches at their last camp while she was sleeping and had tied them to one of the mules. She was glad that he’d thought ahead, since there were no trees anywhere in sight, just a few scraggly bushes and a lot of dead grass. And she didn’t see any water nearby.

  Once he got a fire started, she slowly moved over to it and sat down. He tossed her another blanket before unsaddling his horse and spreading out his horse blanket on the other side of the fire. He immediately lay down, using his saddlebag for a pillow.

  He did all this without saying a word to her. Was he not talking because he believed she was an impostor, or was this how he behaved with everyone? It was probably true that he’d become a hermit. He was simply accustomed to silence. Or was he just too tired to talk?

  She wasn’t, and stated emphatically, “I need to reiterate that I am who I say I am. And I know you knew my father.”

  “I knew Charley, which ain’t the same thing.”

  “Then tell me about Charley. You worked with him, you must even have liked him because you took him to the doctor in town when he was hurt. Was he happy out here? Please, I only had two visits with him in the last nine years. Tell me something about his—his last days.”

  He sat up. The look he gave her across the fire sent chills down her spine. “What I’m gonna tell you is I’m tired, otherwise I might applaud. How long did it take you to study for this role?”

  The question infuriated her. “Eighteen years, that’s how long I’ve been Violet Mitchell!”

  “Yet you only show up after Charley dies, ’cause he would’ve called you a liar same as I am. Nice try, lady, but if I don’t get some sleep, you won’t like me tomorrow.”

  A distinct threat, yet she still mumbled loud enough for him to hear, “I don’t like you now.”

  She regretted it immediately, even if it was true. It was still rude, which wasn’t like her at all. And turning him even further against her wasn’t going to get her any answers. So she raised the proverbial white flag with the neutral remark, “There was water not far from here. Why didn’t we camp by it?”

  He lay down again and turned on his side facing away from her. “Water draws animals.”

  And he wouldn’t be awake to deal with them? She started imagining all sorts of creatures lumbering or slithering past them on the way to that last water they’d passed. Those animals had to come from somewhere!

  She gripped her closed parasol like a weapon and glanced around her. Then heard: “I’m not going to tie you. Disturb my gals and I’ll wake up. Run off and I won’t care. You might last a few hours on foot, but I doubt it.”

  Speechless, she glared at his back. The man was utterly coldhearted. She decided she preferred his silence to nasty warnings like that one.

  Chapter Ten

  VIOLET DIDN’T GET ANY more sleep. She just sat there huddled in her blanket for the remainder of the night. Morgan’s proximity didn’t help one bit to ease her fear when she knew she could be bitten by a snake or dragged off by a wolf or eaten by a bear before she could wake him up to kill it. There were just too many wild animals in this land, not enough people, and the towns were too far apart. Every little sound, even the swish of a mule’s tail, startled her, making her gasp.

  It seemed incredible that only a few months ago she was being fitted for beautiful ball gowns. She’d been so excited with the Season approaching, had such hopes and wonderful possibilities before her. Thanks to her aunt and uncle’s sponsorship, she, an American, was going to have her debut in London. And she’d found the husband she wanted before the Season had even started, only to have to sail away the next day—to this.

  All of her dreams had been coming true, but she couldn’t return to that upper-class world if her father’s mining venture wasn’t successful. That future, the one she wanted, hinged on finding his mine and it being a lucrative endeavor.

  She kept feeding the fire with the extra branches. As the night wore on, she got hungry, but after Morgan’s warning, she wasn’t about to go looking through the mule packs for food. But she was going to wake him the very moment she saw the break of dawn, and kept watching the sky in all directions for it.

  “Still here?”

  She gasped and glanced back toward the fire to see him standing up. She wondered what had awoken him. It wasn’t dawn yet. But then he walked about ten feet away—to relieve himself. She rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet to head to the closest bush to do the same. She felt no embarrassment this time, and after massaging her legs all night, it wasn’t as painful to walk as it had been yesterday. Her leg muscles still hurt. It would probably be days yet before they returned
to normal. Or before she was back in Butte.

  She actually looked forward to that, which was amazing because she didn’t consider it a civilized town, but at least she could get a bath there, and a proper meal, and a laundress. And a new hat! Hers must have fallen off yesterday during all that trotting, and she hadn’t even noticed until last night. Morgan had already ruined it, so she’d only sighed a little over losing it. Two days in the same clothes, however, was scandalous and worth crying over, but she couldn’t very well change without taking a bath first, and she wasn’t going to get one out here. She felt so dirty after yesterday’s ride!

  When she returned to the campfire, she saw Morgan saddling his horse. She had a feeling there wouldn’t be any breakfast before they departed, at least nothing that she couldn’t eat while riding. He confirmed that thought when he handed her two strips of hard jerky before stamping out the fire. She retrieved her canteen and parasol, slipping her hand through each strap to keep them on her wrist, then tried to gnaw off a piece of jerky. It wasn’t easy. If it didn’t have a salty taste, she would have suspected he’d given her leather to chew on.

  “Put this on.”

  She scowled when she saw him holding out a small empty sack. “Put it on what?”

  “Your head. The rest of the way, you don’t get to see.”

  She was mortified. But there was a bright side. If he didn’t want her to see how he reached his mine from here, it was because he intended to release her eventually. So he didn’t plan on killing her after all. But she couldn’t bring herself to put a sack on her head and refused to take it from him.

  “I’ll faint with that covering my face if it gets as hot as it was yesterday,” she warned. “And a blindfold will do just as well, won’t it?”

  He said nothing. He didn’t move either. If he insisted, she was going to balk and fight tooth and nail. Of course she’d fail. He was too bloody big. But he finally pulled the bandanna off his neck and tied it over her eyes. A concession! So he was capable of reason?

  He picked her up again and placed her on his horse, but this time he mounted behind her. She even guessed why: so he could easily see if she tried to remove her blindfold. This extreme tactic smacked of fanaticism about keeping the location of his mine a secret from her, or perhaps anyone. Which made her wonder why he hadn’t shot her father for showing up near his mine. Or were the two mines not really that close together? Maybe it was only Shawn Sullivan that Morgan didn’t want in the area. But the man had seemed nice, his daughter even nicer. What exactly would happen if Sullivan learned of the location?

  She really didn’t like being seated in front of Morgan. She felt too much of him behind her, and every time he did something with the reins he was holding, his forearms brushed against her waist. But she held her tongue, afraid he might turn around and refuse to take her to the mines if she fussed too much. Good grief, it was abhorrent that her future depended on this particular man!

  As the morning grew warmer, she shrugged the blanket off her shoulders and opened her parasol, not realizing it would block Morgan’s view. But she found that out quick enough when he snatched it from her hand. He didn’t close it, simply placed it on her head as if it were a hat!

  “Don’t lift it any higher or I’ll toss it away,” he growled as he put the handle back in her hand.

  Violet sighed, aware that, once again, she must look ridiculous. Not that she cared. After all, for whom did she need to keep up appearances out here?

  “How much longer before this nightmare ride ends and we reach your mine?”

  “Depends.”

  She snorted. “I’m beginning to think you don’t know.”

  He laughed. Again, the sound of genuine humor coming from him surprised her. It made her wonder if he wasn’t always a rude, bearish brute. He used to be a rancher, from a family of ranchers to the east. What would they think if they could see him now? And why had he left home? Kicked out for being the black sheep? One dastardly deed too many?

  After her nervous, wakeful night, the lack of sleep caught up to her as soon as the trotting ended. With Morgan’s arms on either side of her holding the reins, the horse’s slow, steady motion was making her drowsy. She drifted off, unaware that she was leaning back against the man behind her.

  The shot from a rifle was a very rude awakening. Another snake? She lowered one side of her blindfold, but didn’t see anything dead nearby, so she put the cloth back in place before he noticed.

  “What did you shoot this time?” she asked curiously as he dismounted.

  “The cougar loping toward us. Got him just as he pounced. He thought he’d found dinner.”

  Pounced? Had she almost died? She shivered slightly, glad that she hadn’t seen that coming. She might have gotten hysterical, then he might have missed his shot. What a horrid thought! God, she hated being out here in the wilderness where death lurked all around them and she had only this man to protect her. She wished she knew how to shoot, wished she had the courage to if she did know, but mostly wished she didn’t feel so grateful that she didn’t have to—because of him.

  “Will you make camp to cook it?” she asked when he didn’t get back on the horse right away.

  “No, it’s one of the bigger wild cats. Some people out here consider it a delicacy since it tastes like pork, but I’m guessing you’d turn up your nose at it as you did with the snake.”

  “You guessed right.”

  “I still need to take it home to dispose of,” he added.

  “Why?”

  “Because it will draw vultures that can be seen from far away. And most men would investigate what the birds are after.”

  She figured they must be near his camp if he was worried about that. She peeked out of her blindfold again and saw him tying the cougar to one of the mules. Apparently they didn’t like the smell of blood, because several of them were making a ruckus. Morgan mumbled something that might have passed for soothing. He really did value his animals, and from the way he talked about them, calling them his gals, she guessed they were more like pets to him.

  When he mounted up again, he placed an apple in her hand. She smiled, well aware that he didn’t have to feed her. She wasn’t going to die from missing a few meals. She had complained when she was hungry and, of course, would continue to do so, but still, he didn’t have to oblige.

  He also didn’t have to allow her to lean against him and fall asleep in his arms. But that’s what she’d been doing when he’d shot the wild cat. Maybe he hadn’t noticed or didn’t care as long as she kept quiet, so she didn’t give it another thought and refused to feel the least bit embarrassed by it.

  The horse did a lot of zigzagging and climbing. She even heard its hooves striking rock. She could vaguely hear running water in the distance, so she assumed they were following the course of a stream or creek. But it definitely wasn’t an ideal path, and she kept getting rocked backward as the horse continued to climb, making it difficult to maintain her erect posture.

  She was tempted to take another peek, but Morgan definitely noticed her raising her hand to her face and sharply said, “No.”

  She growled to herself and called him all sorts of nasty names—silently.

  Chapter Eleven

  WHEN MORGAN FINALLY REMOVED her blindfold a while later, Violet was sure they’d arrived at his mine, but she was wrong. He took back his bandanna because they were surrounded by pine trees now and she couldn’t see anything beyond them. They continued climbing slowly upward. She could still hear water trickling somewhere nearby; she just couldn’t see it yet.

  With so many hills surrounding Butte, when she’d been in town it had been easy to spot a number of mining camps in the distance because of the workers’ tents. There were so many of them, they made the camps look like little tent cities. She’d thought Morgan’s mine would be on a hill, too, but they’d been riding uphill for so long she realized they were actually on the side of a mountain.

  Eventually the trees on their left
thinned and she could see a very steep rock slope that gradually grew steeper and steeper until it looked like a cliff face. A lower slope had formed some distance to their right. Now she realized that they were riding through a narrow valley or ravine.

  The trees thinned out further, and soon they came to a western-style fence that blocked their way, just two horizontal planks between posts. Morgan dismounted but didn’t help her down from his horse. She was transfixed for a moment when she saw the cabin farther up the slope. It even had a front porch with a roof. She hadn’t imagined him living in a wooden structure up here, when all the miners near Butte slept in tents—well, except for well-to-do mine owners like Shawn Sullivan. She’d walked past his big house.

  Morgan was unlocking a gate. A sign was posted next to it that read: TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT. If she weren’t so tired and uncomfortable, she might have laughed, since they hadn’t seen another soul in the day and a half it had taken to get here.

  “Does anyone besides you ever come up this way to trespass?” she called down to him.

  “Charley Mitchell did. He followed me here. Had a damn spyglass so he stayed far enough back that I didn’t notice him.”

  That was clearly a complaint, yet it made her chuckle. “That was rather clever of him.”

  “More like suicidal.”

  She gasped, thinking of the warning on the sign. “Did you shoot him?!”

  He scowled at her. “Of course not. I gave him time to get off my hill.”

  He obviously didn’t like the fact that her father had started a mine somewhere in these hills, yet eventually he must have accepted him as a neighbor. Her father always had been a charmer. If anyone could tame and talk his way around this bear, Charles could. She smiled at the thought.

  She noticed the chimes and cowbells all along the fence when she heard them jingling and ringing as he opened the gate. The chimes were melodious; the bells weren’t.