A Wyoming marriage of convenience...

Agatha Magee has put her difficult past behind her and is living an independent life at the circus. But when William English rescues her—from being shot out of a cannon—their scandalous situation leaves them no option but to get married!

William has no intention of making this more than a marriage in name only. Agatha must somehow change his mind if she’s to have the family she’s always yearned for...

She bent her head, kissed him, and he didn’t have the good sense to end it.

She had been to the bakeshop! The lingering flavor of vanilla invaded his senses. With a twist and a swoop, he shifted her body down. Now he was the one on top, the one directing the kissing.

In a second the aroma of baked goods was gone, leaving in its place the heady scent of woman.

He shoved back her bonnet, loosened a pin from her hair. Soft locks tumbled over his hands, tangled in his fingers.

Why was it he felt triumphant and guilty at the same time? The woman was his wife, dash it! He deserved more than kisses. And, judging by the way her shapely bottom shifted against him, she wanted more...

Author Note

Thank you for picking up The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride. In the hustle-bustle of everyday life, I’m happy that you have chosen to slow down and spend a few hours with Agatha Magee.

If you have read The Cowboy’s Cinderella, you will know that Agatha is nothing like her twin sister, Ivy. They are like sunshine and shadow, with Ivy being confident and outgoing and Agatha being timid and fearful.

But being timid and fearful is not all there is to our bruised Agatha. As she struggles to find her way from helplessness to independence she discovers the courageous woman inside her. She goes after the life that she wants for herself, even when she wants to hide away.

I believe we can all feel some kinship for Agatha. Every day we face challenges that we would like to run from but cannot...the car breaks down, the bills are past due, the computer crashes or your sweet toddler raises the roof while you wait in a checkout line.

Some days we need to call upon our inner lioness, go out and claim life’s joy. And some days we need to find a quiet place and let it all pass.

I hope you find a bit of escape and a bit of cheer in Agatha’s journey.

The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride

Carol Arens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL ARENS delights in tossing fictional characters into hot water, watching them steam, and then giving them a happily-ever-after. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, beach-camping or lounging about a mountain cabin. At home, she enjoys playing with her grandchildren and gardening. During rare spare moments you will find her snuggled up with a good book. Carol enjoys hearing from readers at carolarens@yahoo.com or on Facebook.

Books by Carol Arens

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

Renegade Most Wanted

Rebel with a Cause

Christmas Cowboy Kisses

‘A Christmas Miracle’

Rebel with a Heart

Dreaming of a Western Christmas

‘Snowbound with the Cowboy’

Western Christmas Proposals

‘The Sheriff’s Christmas Proposal’

The Cowboy’s Cinderella

Western Christmas Brides

‘A Kiss from the Cowboy’

The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride

The Walker Twins

Wed to the Montana Cowboy

Wed to the Texas Outlaw

Linked by Character

Rebel Outlaw

Outlaw Hunter

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

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Written in loving memory of my mother,

Catherine Alene Ebert.

Love cannot be separated.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Tanners Ridge, Wyoming, July 1883

“The Devil Wind is blowing and it’s going to make all those circus folks go mad.”

William English pressed his hat to his head. The wind was blowing devilishly, but he doubted it was going to push anyone over the brink of sanity. Unless, maybe it was the elderly woman leaning on her cane and frowning intently up at him.

“I’m sure they’re no more likely to go mad than anyone else, Mrs. Peabody.”

“If you’d seen the things I have, Mayor English, you would be running for the hills.” She pounded her cane on the boardwalk in front of Tanners Ridge Community Bank. Twice. No doubt the extra thump was to make sure he was paying attention.

A third thump might have been in order, given that he really was paying more attention to keeping his dearly priced bowler hat on his head than to her unrealistic fears.

“I’m sure you’ve seen some interesting things—”

“The skeleton of a three-headed dog,” the woman declared, cutting off his attempt to ease her fear. “And a man swallowing a sword—a flaming sword—and a fellow putting his head in the mouth of a lion! And that happened without the wind blowing. Who knows what might happen tonight.”

“Everyone will have a fine time. Just you wait and see.”

“What I’m waiting for, is for you to hire Tanners Ridge a sheriff.”

William smiled, his lips pressed tight. As mayor—and hopefully future governor—of Wyoming, it would not do to let his emotions show.

The fact that Tanners Ridge had no sheriff was no one’s fault but the good folks living here. He had presented no less than four candidates and they had all been voted down or refused the job because of low pay.

“Will you be at the meeting this afternoon? I’ve another candidate to introduce for the job.”

“Of course—unless I’m murdered by a fat woman with a beard who has gone raving.”

“Would you feel better if I went down to take a look at things?”

“Why, that would be a good idea.” Mrs. Peabody’s smile brought out the charming wrinkles in her cheeks. Her look of relief made the trip down the hill to where the circus was camped seem worth the effort.

He tipped his hat to her, nodded. “I’ll see you this afternoon at the meeting, then.”

“Be careful,” she warbled after him.

Chances were, the only danger in going down had to do with walking the steep, rocky path, not circus folks gone wind-mad.

A quarter of a mile down the path the ground leveled out, giving the traveling circus plenty of room to set up their big tent.

Even buffeted by wind, the huge structure barely moved. Still, it couldn’t hurt to have a look around and make sure folks would be safe inside tonight.

A fair distance from the tent there was a circle of colorfully painted wagons. He supposed this was where the performers and other employees lived.

The scent of baking pastries and simmering stew came from one of them. Had to be the chuck wagon, or the circus version of it.

On the way to the big tent, he passed by a circle of large, wheeled cages. A dozing leopard lifted one eye when William passed. In another of them, dogs of all shapes and sizes barked at him. Other dogs roamed freely about, so he imagined the ones who were confined were not pets but performers.

Within the circle of cages, a pair of elephants were tethered to a pole.

This was something he’d never seen! True-to-life elephants. All he could do was stare in amazement while dust swirled around their big feet and their swaying trunks.

Because he wasn’t paying attention, his bowler blew off. It rolled over the ground toward the big tent.

On a run, he snatched it up. He secured it to his head with a thump, straightened his bow tie, then brushed off his lapels before stepping inside the canvas tent.

It was an impressive space. For all its size, it didn’t sway overmuch in the wind. Perhaps if the roustabouts who raised the tent had used a few more ropes it wouldn’t sway at all. If William had been in charge of things, he would have—

Done nothing different. Even though his mother lived twenty-five miles away and he hadn’t seen her in months, her narrowed eyes and firmed lips appeared in his mind. Her voice whispered as clearly as if she had been standing beside him.

“William Byron English, you do not need to be in charge of everything.”

Maybe not, but still he wondered if heavier wood should have been used on the risers where folks would sit.

Letting go of control was a lesson he’d been trying to learn since the time he was a boy and had decided that the fire in the hearth would be better with six logs rather than the two the butler had put in.

It had taken a week before his mother would smile at him and a week after that before the stench of smoke cleared out of the house.

Gazing at the two brightly painted rings used for performing, William couldn’t think of a way to improve them. That was a relief, and good enough to send his mother’s voice home to Cheyenne where it belonged.

He’d heard that P.T. Barnum had three performing rings, but Tanners Ridge was not a big enough town to attract that man’s attention.

Hell, it wasn’t even big enough to attract a reliable sheriff.

“Halloo!” came a voice from the far side of the tent.

He turned toward the voice to see a short man, his belly round as a ball, step from behind a curtain. The fellow waved his arm, indicating that William should cross to where he was.

The crossing took some time because the tent was large.

While this circus production was not as grand as some, it was the most exciting thing to come to Tanners Ridge in a long time, so he’d been told. Having only been mayor here for six months, there was much he was still learning about his new home.

“Halloo to you, sir.” The man extended his pudgy hand. “I’m Frenchie Brown, owner of this fine production.”

“William English.” He shook Frenchie Brown’s hand, surprised to find so much strength in that soft-looking fist.

“Ah, the mayor!” The man nodded vigorously. He had no hair and the smooth skin of his head glistened in a ray of sunshine that cut through a gap in the tent. “I ought to have known who you were by the fine cut of your clothes. Welcome, Mr. Mayor.”

Back home in Cheyenne no one ever remarked on his wardrobe. Gentleman ranchers of the area dressed the same way.

“I just came down to see how you folks were faring in the wind. It’s blowing like the devil outside.”

“We’ve held up fine in worse than this.” His grin was wide, exposing a gold front tooth. The stench of strong cologne trying to mask the scent of cigars and clothes that hadn’t been washed in some time made William back up a step. “Come, I’ve something special to show you. Tonight, folks will have to pay to see her but being that you are the mayor—well I’ll give you a peek at her for free.”

A free peek at a woman was not something that William figured he really wanted. But in case the lady was in need of help, he followed Frenchie around the curtain.

“Meet Gloria.” Frenchie stroked the curve of a huge gray hip. William backed up several paces. “The only taxidermized pachyderm known to the civilized world.”

The creature’s trunk was lifted high as though she were trumpeting, her tail was also lifted, forever proud.

“During her lifetime this good old girl earned me plenty of money.” With what appeared to be a loving embrace, Frenchie stroked her ivory tusk. “Couldn’t see any reason that should change.”

“No...” William glanced about, wondering if the skeleton of a three-headed dog would come bounding by chased by a sword-swallower, his foil aflame. “I imagine not.”

* * *

Agatha noticed the spider in its web a second before it saw her.

The startled bug scrambled across the delicate threads it had spun between the spindles of the porch of the trailer that she shared with Laura Lee. The small arachnid disappeared nearly as fast as she spotted it.

How she envied that quick little creature. Spiders were not required to face the world beyond the shadows.

Agatha closed her eyes, took a deep breath, feeling the wind buffet her hair, tug at her hat.

As much as it frightened her, she did have to face the world. She had spent most of her life shut away. Not by choice—far from it. She hadn’t even known that she had a choice.

“Good day to you, Miss Agatha,” greeted Hugo Fin as he passed by carrying a ladder.

Hugo was the boss canvas man in charge of raising the big top and keeping order among those who worked for him. As rowdy a bunch as the roustabouts were, no one dared step out of line with Mr. Fin’s leveled stare upon him.

A frizzle of apprehension shot up her neck but she forced a smile and returned his greeting.

After he rounded the corner of the next trailer, she wrapped an imaginary cloak of confidence about her shoulders and walked down the stairs. In her mind she tugged it tight.

Without thinking she turned toward the path leading to the chuck wagon. It would be less traveled. She stopped so suddenly that a cloud of dust puffed about the toes of her shoes.

She was behaving like the spider when she needed to act like Leroy. The circus lion was always assured of his status as king of the beasts.

Spinning about, she strode purposefully along the more populated path.

Several yards ahead of her three women, two of them brave aerialists, had stopped to talk. Their skirts blew madly and they held their hats to their heads.

Instead of walking wide around them like her feet itched to do, she approached them.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted, noticing that her hand had broken into a sweat. What must they think of her just marching up and boldly beginning a conversation.

“You’re our new kitchen girl!” the youngest of the three declared.

“Agatha, isn’t that right?” asked the one who was known as the Fat Lady. “I hope you are more talented than the last girl we had. Her cooking was so bad that I began to waste away. You’d think butter and sugar were short of supply. Lands of glory, I was close to losing my job.”

“I hope I am more talented, too, ma’am.” She surely did. She did know for a fact that there was plenty of butter and sugar in the larder.

Too bad it was Laura Lee who was the cook. Her friend had worked in the kitchen back home on the Lucky Clover under Mrs. Morgan’s skillful guidance. Laura Lee was the one who had been given the job. Agatha only helped as best she could.

Agatha’s talent for food was to consume it. For most of her twenty-three years, she hadn’t known what a pleasure eating could be. Her ever-watchful nurse, Hilda Brunne, had insisted that anything with the smallest amount of spice would ruin her charge’s health.

After all the years of deprivation, she was still too thin, but she was slowly gaining.

Agatha nodded goodbye to the three ladies then continued on her way, leaning into the wind.

That hadn’t been so bad. In fact she felt proud, buoyant of step, even. Only a week ago she would never have approached them.

The choice to leave the only home she had ever known had been a good one. Very hard and frightening, to be sure, but it was what she had to do.

If she was ever going to be an independent woman who could stand on her own, she needed to face a fear that had been planted bone-deep in her.

It hadn’t been an easy thing to do, leaving her twin sister, Ivy, and her husband, Travis, and kissing their baby daughter goodbye. Truly, all she’d wanted was to sit in the shadow of her balcony and be safe.

What she had to remind herself, each and every hour it seemed, was that by hiding in her suite back at the Lucky Clover, she was not living life.

Life with all its tension and thrill, was what she needed—wanted—desperately.

With renewed purpose in her step, Agatha continued along the way to the cook trailer. It circled around outside of the circus settlement, the backyard, as Hugo Fin called it.

There had been a time, and not long ago, when Agatha could not even walk. For her own twisted reasons, her nurse had made sure to keep her helpless.

Now, if she had to march twenty miles a day to build her strength that was what she would do.

“Lady,” came a voice from between two trailers. “Can you help me?”

Agatha stepped into the shadow between the trailers to see a woman sitting on the ground, her back propped up by the wheel behind her.

A young coochie girl, by the looks of her. Agatha had heard enough gossip to know that the dancing girls who worked for Frenchie Brown did far more scandalous things than dance without their clothes.

What had happened to her in her young life to make her a slave to prostitution and addiction?

Poor thing. Agatha understood more than most people did, that life could take a person in a direction she would not have chosen.

She scanned the ground near the sallow-skinned woman, looking for a bottle. Yes, there it was, just under her hand.

“I’ve run out of laudanum.” The woman gazed up at her with unfocused eyes, her mouth slack. “Go into my trailer and fetch me another bottle, won’t you?”

Something dark, fearful, raised its head inside of Agatha, snarled its claws about her. As clearly as she heard the wind rustle the brush, she heard its seductive voice.

She backed away without answering the prostrate woman.

Even though her hands grew damp and her stomach nauseous, she was not going to pick up the laudanum. If she did, she feared she would find a dim corner and drink it down.

It was time for a visit to the elephant. She cut across the yard, rushing past the bull hand who guarded the huge pachyderms against curious townsfolk.

It was not those elephants she sought. It was the one inside the big top that drew her.

Pausing beside the entrance, she glanced behind her. In the distance she spotted a man making his way up the stony path toward town. Something about him, the way he moved, seemed familiar—reassuring.

That was odd since she could see nothing of him but the back of his coat as he huddled against the wind. Odder still, that a stranger could give her a sense of comfort.

Agatha hurried across the floor of the Big Top. Glancing about, she ducked behind the canvas where Gloria stood still and majestic even in death.

She wouldn’t visit for long. Mr. Brown did not like people near his elephant unless it was by a personal invitation or purchased ticket.

This was a rule that Agatha had ignored from the first moment she saw the beast.

“I’m not you,” she whispered to the hulking gray corpse.

But she had been. Under the influence of the laudanum that Hilda Brunne had kept her subdued with, she had been as lifeless as this elephant.

Dead inside, gray and still outside, appearing to have life but with no spark of animation.

Some people might think it strange that she likened her past to this petrified creature—she even thought so sometimes. But other times, when she was afraid, when simply giving a stranger the time of day made her want to hide away—she needed to be reminded that she was alive—to vow that she would never again be a slave to laudanum.

She feared this great hulking creature that seemed to represent life in death.

She feared herself, what she might have become without the help of William English.

Yes, Ivy had been the one to help her overcome her addiction, but it had been William who kept her from going back to it when, fearing her sister had died, she wanted to find oblivion again.

On that wicked stormy night, he’d placed a book in her hands and made her read it out loud to him. It hadn’t been easy to do, given that she was mightily distracted by the masculine scent of him, by the warmth of his arm and the lean muscle of his thigh touching hers while they sat on the couch waiting.

Of course, she’d had a crush on him for years. But whenever her young heart would begin to flutter, Nurse Brunne would point out that she was not fit for any man, especially not one like William English.

She’d been right about that. William was a prince and she had been—dead—like this poor elephant.

But she would not be again.

Today she was breathing, alive and getting stronger. No one, or nothing in a beguiling little bottle would take that new freedom from her.

* * *

The stew was not thickening as it should. No matter how long it cooked, it remained broth and not gravy.

The Fat Lady would hate it.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, Laura Lee.” The Fat Lady was not the only one who was going to be displeased. “Frenchie Brown will be angry.”

“I’m homesick,” Laura Lee stated as though Agatha had not spoken.

“He’s going to bellow at us if his food isn’t correct.”

“It’s been two months and I miss the Lucky Clover to my bones. I’m going home, tomorrow.” Laura Lee turned to look at Agatha, moisture glittering in her eyes. “Did you add flour?”

“Going home!”

She couldn’t go home! The two of them had come on this adventure together. Why, Ivy and Travis would never have allowed her to come if Laura Lee hadn’t accompanied her.

Especially had they ever dreamed the adventure would lead to this cook trailer.

As far as anyone back home knew, she and Laura Lee were working in the kitchen of a fancy hotel in Cheyenne.

Before Agatha had even become skilled at peeling potatoes, the hotel closed for good. Within a couple of days, Laura Lee had secured them this job.

Maybe she ought to have gone home then, let her friend go on alone, but she had set out to find independence. What could be more daring than living among circus folks?

“I’ve got to go. You know how I was sweet on Johnny Ruiz?”

How could she not know? At only five miles from home Laura Lee had begun to sigh over him and hadn’t quit.

“We’ve been writing to each other every day. He’s coming for me and we’re going back home to be married.”

“But you haven’t finished teaching me to cook.”

What a cowardly thing to say! Agatha regretted it the instant the words left her mouth.

“You came here—joined a circus for mercy’s sake—in order to learn to stand on your own.”

Yes—it was true that she had. Still, she hadn’t learned nearly enough about cooking to do it on her own and she’d discovered that circus people did enjoy their meals.

“You should go, Laura Lee!” She really should. “Go home and have lots of sweet little babies with Johnny.”

Dropping the wooden spoon into the large pot of watery stew, Agatha wrapped her arms around her friend. With luck she would believe the tears on her cheeks were tears of joy, and they were for the most part.

But it couldn’t be denied that she was indulging in a big dose of self-pity. She hadn’t a doubt in the world that once Ivy knew where she was, she would send someone to fetch her home.

Ivy would not come herself. She had a newborn to care for, and a ranch to run. But someone would come and she was not nearly ready.

“Don’t look so worried, Agatha.” Laura Lee let go of her and scooped up a cup of flour, mixed it with water. “I know you’re concerned about being forced to go home. But I’ll assure your sister and Travis that you are thriving and the circus people are watching over you like they would their own kin.”

Someone was. Mr. Frenchie Brown. She felt his eyes on her back whenever she ventured from the cook trailer.

In her opinion, his attention was not so protective. He frowned at her often, shook his head. Given the chance he would dismiss her.

Agatha watched Laura Lee stir flour mixed with water into the pot. “Look at that! It’s stew. Nice thick stew.”

“Here’s the secret to cooking, although Mrs. Morgan would paddle me for saying so.”

Laura Lee winked. Mischief made her eyes sparkle.

One day Agatha hoped her own eyes would sparkle. They didn’t now, but one day they would. As much as her friends’ did, as much as Ivy’s did. And Ivy’s eyes always sparkled.

“If a dish isn’t right add butter, lots and lots of butter. If it needs to be thicker, flour, and if it’s dessert lots of sugar, and butter, butter, butter—a good dose of cream doesn’t hurt, either.”

Chapter Two

The door slammed behind the current, and fifth, man that William had presented for sheriff. It was hard to tell if the wind had to do with it or if the fellow was hopping mad to have traveled a hundred miles only to be judged unworthy for the position.

William frowned at the citizens sitting in the chairs facing the council table. The way they were going, they would never agree on a lawman.

“I’m glad to see the back of that one,” uttered Mr. Henry Beal. Henry sat beside William at the long council table drumming his fingertips on the polished wood. His vocation of blacksmith showed in the soot rimming his fingernails. “Too prissy to be sheriff if you ask me.”

“And small,” declared a middle-aged woman perched on the edge of her chair. “We need a larger man.”

“Yes, a much larger man.” This from the younger lady sitting beside the woman.

William glanced away quickly when she winked at him and nudged her companion in the ribs.

The wood legs of his chair scraped across the floor when he stood up. He made eye contact—frowned more to the point—at the four men seated with him at the table.

“I understand that you want the best person for the job. We all do. But that man was qualified and willing to accept the pay you offered. He may have been short, but he came highly respected. You read his letters of recommendation.”

“Still too small.” A man stood up from his chair near the front door of the Tanners Ridge Library where town meetings were held, shrugged his shoulders. “I think we all agree on that.”

“He might be married,” came a muffled voice from the back of the room. Just not muffled enough so that folks didn’t hear the comment.

“Really, Aimee.” The woman’s seat neighbor whispered too loudly. “Why do you care? The most eligible bachelor of them all is standing right in front of you. Forget about winning a sheriff.”

“He’s not married.” William pursed his lips.

This was supposed to be a serious meeting, not a matchmaking fest. He ought to be used to that kind of attention by now. Every unmarried woman and her mother knew he was rich, ambitious and needed a wife.

But the matter at hand was to appoint a sheriff. Surely they understood how urgent the need was.

“We’re running out of time, folks,” he pointed out. The man most concerned about the size of the fellow who’d just stormed angrily out of the library sat down. Feminine giggles stopped abruptly. “You know that Pete Lydle will be here soon. Do you really want him opening up a saloon like the one he had in Luminary?”

“I wouldn’t mind having a nice place to play a game of cards,” Henry stood up to say.

“It wouldn’t be a nice place. Pete’s Palace was a hellhole. Drinking, gambling, prostitution—it attracted a lot of unsavory folks.”

“You been there? How do you know?” Henry spread his arms.

“I’m the mayor. It’s my business to know.”

As soon as the old Bascomb Hotel had been sold and rumors of a saloon surfaced, he’d made sure to find out what he could about the new owner. He’d discovered Pete Lydle to be an objectionable fellow who would do anything to earn a dollar. Didn’t matter if the thing was legal or not.

“There are decent watering holes. This town could use one if you ask me,” said a man near the back of the room.

“Maybe Lydle’s gone respectable,” said Henry. “Otherwise why would he come here? Why would old man Bascomb have sold out to him?”

“It wasn’t him who sold out!” Henry’s wife stood to glare at her husband. “It was those next of kin in New York City, did that. And don’t think you will be going to the Bascomb come an evening. Mark my words!”

“Just so!” agreed another woman, coming to her feet and wagging her finger.

“Folks change. You women are seeing the boogeyman when you might not need to.”

“Are you willing to risk the town’s safety on that? You need to hire a sheriff and you need to do it now,” William declared, trying to drive his point home. “What do you think will happen without a lawman to protect you?”

“Maybe that fellow wasn’t so short after all,” Mrs. Peabody declared from her place in the front row. “He did have a hard look in his eye.”

The glare had been because they insulted his stature and questioned his ability, William figured.

“Who else have you got for us?”

“Who else?” Did they think lawmen just wandered by seeking employment every day? “No one.”

“But we need protection!” Mrs. Peabody stood up to speak her mind. She shook her cane to make her point. “We’ll be murdered in our beds when the saloon gets here—if the circus folks haven’t got to us first.”

“We’ve got more’n a month.” Roy Backley, the banker, stood up beside Mrs. Peabody and placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. The mayor will find us someone by then. For now, I say we all enjoy the circus tonight. Forget about that saloon for a while.”

“I second that,” added the blacksmith. “No need to worry now when it might turn out to be a fine establishment. It’s hard to imagine the Bascomb Hotel turning tawdry.”

The owner of the livery, sitting on the right side of William, stood up. “I third that notion and declare this meeting over. See you all at the circus.”

William had lost count of the times he half regretted accepting the position of mayor of Tanners Ridge, but he had to begin his public service somewhere. He’d hoped to get his start as an appointee to the Territorial Legislature of Wyoming, but it hadn’t happened.

The men who made legislative appointments had voted him down because he was not a married man. In their opinion, married men were more stable of character. In William’s opinion, it was their wives wanting other women to socialize with, hold balls and galas and the like.

The loss had been a great disappointment. Especially since he had planned to be married. He’d made an arrangement with Ivy Magee. His money to save the Lucky Clover from ruin in exchange for her hand in marriage. The union would have given him the prestige that the highly respected Lucky Clover had to offer.

In the end she’d turned him down and married Travis Murphy instead.

She was right to have done so. For all that she would have suited his needs, she was a woman who deserved being loved. And Travis loved her to his bones.

The problem with having befriended Ivy was that it complicated his bride hunt. Eligible ladies who would suit his needs in every way threw themselves in his path daily.

An availability of suitable woman was not the trouble.

The trouble was knowing how Ivy loved her man. Having seen it with his own eyes, well—he wanted that now. Or at least something close to it.

He wanted a woman who sparkled for him. But he also wanted to be governor one day. For that he would need a wife and, God willing, children.

Little girls to bounce upon his knee and little boys to play ball with. He wanted them, governorship or not.

“I’d have voted for your man, Mayor English.” William gazed down into the face of a pretty young woman who smiled up at him with a winking dimple. “May I call you William?”

One day he hoped to be as lucky as Travis Murphy.

Gazing down at the woman preening beside him, he doubted it would be today.

* * *

Agatha reread the first three lines of the book on her lap, unable to concentrate. Here in camp, all was peaceful, although the wind swayed the trailer like a cradle.

Everything added up for a cozy evening in the company of fictional characters whom she knew quite well, having read the book four times already.

But just there, beyond the solitude of the nearly abandoned camp, she could hear a crowd of voices raised in merriment.

A part of her longed to be out there, laughing and enjoying the thrills. But the nightly customers were loud and lively—there were just so many people.

She ought to force herself to go out, she knew that, but the adventures of Miss Maudie O’Hurley would do for tonight. Indeed, the beleaguered Maudie was about to be carried off by her true love. What could be more thrilling than that?

Being carried off by her own true love, of course.

“You aren’t going to meet him sitting here,” she mumbled.

Still, it was windy outside.

“What if the man of your dreams is visiting the circus at this moment?”

What if the man of her dreams was walking about out there with his dark hair glinting in the torchlight that illuminated the shadowed paths? What if his blue eyes...she’d long known them to be the color of the sky just before sunrise...were sparkling with pleasure at all he was seeing?

What if William was here and she missed him because she was sitting in her safe chair reliving Maudie’s happiness...once again.

Now there was a silly thought. William here? If she was going to indulge in daydreams she might just as soon dwell on something that really happened.

She could at the very least relive the time that William had danced with her at a party hosted at the Lucky Clover. He had only asked her to dance because she was Ivy’s sister, she was certain, but nonetheless it had been magical—the stuff of her dreams.

At the time she hadn’t even had strength enough to stand on her own so that handsome man—that prince—had taken her hand, lifted her with an arm around her back and supported her through a very brief dance.

Nothing that Maudie O’Hurely had experienced came close to that!

Agatha snapped the book closed then crossed the small space to stare out the window. Moonlight cast shadows of tree branches on the roof of the trailer across from hers. They looked like malevolent fingers all twisted and spooky.

“Idiot,” she murmured. “They are shadows and you need to go out.”

Not to find her prince, but to find her strength. The very last thing she needed at the moment was to find a royal protector—or the Wyoming equivalent.

One day that would be a fine thing. Loving a man and having him watch over her, while she in turn watched over him.

At the moment, finding that companion was the very last thing she needed to do. If she fell into a life of being protected, it might be akin to seeking relief in a small blue bottle of laudanum. She would gain strength by standing on her own two feet and no other way.

Plucking her wrap from its hook on the wall, she tugged it tight about her. If she was to become a woman whom men would respect, she had to be a woman that she respected first.

Surely she could be as brave as Ivy’s pet mouse. That sweet creature ventured out nightly.

The moment she stepped outside a small shaggy dog met her at the bottom of the steps.

“Where were you at feeding time, Miss Valentine?” A short time ago the dog had been star of the show, well-groomed and pampered. Now that she was beginning to show her age she’d been cast off, left to fend for herself or die.

As far as Agatha could tell, no one cared about her fate one way or another. It was the same for the other mutts Agatha fed with the scraps left over from dinner.

“Come along. We’ll stop by the chuck wagon and see what’s left.”

Valentine wagged her curly tail and limped along after Agatha. The poor creature hadn’t been limping yesterday. Perhaps that was why she didn’t show up with the other dogs to be fed.

Bending low, she scooped Valentine up. “It’s a crime how they tossed you out. Why, if you were earning them money I reckon they would have the veterinarian look at your foot right off.”

The distance to the cook trailer was not so far, maybe a couple of hundred yards. But the path was dark, isolated and a bit unnerving. The shifting light cast by the torches seemed creepy rather than reassuring.

This was a challenge, nothing more. The shadows at her back didn’t really cry her name. The rush of leaves across the ground was only that. It was her imagination turning them into light, quick footsteps pursuing her.

Hilda Brunne was dead. Everyone believed it. There was no reason not to. Because her body hadn’t been found, Ivy and Travis had hired the Pinkerton agency to search for her.

Even the professionals presumed Hilda was dead. The moaning presence pursuing her was nothing but a dark, emotionless wind.

Agatha no longer needed to fear her. What she did need to fear was what her nurse had tried to make her. A girl afraid of everyone—believing she could only trust one, twisted woman.

Until she became be strong enough to live among strangers, she would never be free of Hilda Brunne’s ominous ghost.

All at once the shadows gave way to bright light, crowds and laughing people.

Tattooed Joe stood on a stage flexing the tiger emblazoned on his back. Near him, Sword-Swallowing Smithy consumed red-hot flames.

From inside a tent Agatha heard the guffaws of the Fat Lady.

Couples strolled arm in arm, gazing more at each other than the bizarre things happening around them. Parents covered their children’s eyes at every turn while their own eyes popped wide open.

Over to the right, a group of young men gathered around a painting of three-breasted Josie. It seemed they could not hand over their quarters fast enough for the chance to see the oddity. They were, of course, being duped. Josie was as two-breasted as any other woman. But the fool boys would see what they expected to see in the dim light of the tent.

Valentine wriggled in Agatha’s arms, trying to lick her face.

The distraction nearly caused her to slam into the back of a tall gentleman who had stopped at the fortune-teller’s stall. A finely dressed woman clung to his arm.

“I see your future, young people.” Leah Madrigal, the fortune-teller, tapped her red fingernail on a glass globe filled with colored water. “For a penny, I’ll share it with you.”

“Oh, yes—please do tell.” The lady clapped her hands. “Mr. English, do you have a penny?”

Mr. English!

Agatha stumbled backward. It couldn’t be—but yes—it was! She knew that silhouette! Indeed, she’d half recognized him earlier in the day when he’d been climbing the hill toward town. The sense of familiarity she’d felt had not been misplaced.

“Come now, Mayor!” The woman fairly bounced on her toes. “I know you have a penny!”

William—her very own William was here! He was mayor?

She wanted nothing more than to hug him about the ribs and feel safe. He’d made her feel that way once before—safe and protected on that awful afternoon when no one knew what her sister’s fate might be. If not for William standing between her and an evil blue bottle she might have succumbed to it.

Leah noticed her cowering in the shadow, nodded and winked.

She prayed that William would not see her! How would she act? What would she say? No doubt she’d trip over her words. It had been some time since she’d seen him. He hadn’t been to the ranch since Ivy turned him down.

What if he didn’t remember her?

The bouncing woman snatched the penny out of William’s fingers then dropped it on the fortune-teller’s brightly decorated table.

“What do you see for us?” The eager miss clung to William’s hand. His fingers had to be going numb, her grip looked that tight.

Leah caressed her glass ball, made a show of staring into it. All at once her brows arched, her lips curved. She leaned sideways to peer around William and his lady. Her puzzled-looking gaze held Agatha’s for five full seconds before she returned her attention to her customers.

“I see marriage—for you both. But not to each other. You, my dear girl, will make a lovely match that will make your parents proud and your friends jealous. But you must be patient. This will not happen in a moment.”

The lady started to protest because clearly she wanted William and she wanted him now.

Dismissing her, Leah turned her gaze on William. She smiled at him, then oddly, she winked one more time at Agatha.

“Now you, my handsome one, you will marry sooner than you think. It will come as quite a surprise to you—and to your bride. Oh, I see you are worried, but this will be a long marriage blessed with many children.”

“I don’t believe her!” the woman exclaimed. “You don’t, either, do you, William?”

It was an odd reading. Agatha had heard a few of Leah’s fortunes and they all ended with happily-ever-after for the hopeful lovers who paid their pennies.

“I believe I was entertained,” William said. Agatha imagined he was smiling, although she could only see the back of his head. “Thank you, ma’am.”

With that, he placed another penny on the table and walked away with the woman who, very clearly, had not been entertained.

With a crook of her finger, Leah motioned for Agatha to come out from the shadow.

“Most of the time, this is no more than a ball of water—but once in a while it does see things.”

“How do you know the difference?”

The fortune-teller tapped her chest with her crimson fingernails. “It’s in here.”

“How lovely for Mr. English, then.” He did want a horde of children. Ivy had told her that about him.

“Go on your way, Miss Agatha. Enjoy your evening.”

Yes, but first she needed to feed scrawny Miss Valentine. It was distressing to feel her ribs, so sharp and angular under her fur.

While walking away, she heard Leah’s throaty laugh, then seconds later, “I see your future young ones. For a penny I’ll tell you what it is.”

* * *

Sitting on the steps of the chuck wagon, Agatha listened to the distant wail of the pipe organ.

Miss Valentine had finished her second plate of stew and was nosing about in the dirt for fallen scraps.

Agatha drummed her fingers on her knees and wondered if William was going to marry the bouncing woman or the one who would bear him many children.

She sighed. She had never truly considered the possibility that she would ever be William’s bride. Although she could hardly control her nightly dreams. But the light-of-day truth was, she was not at all the woman he needed.

That was why, when the Lucky Clover had been threatened with financial ruin, Travis had gone in search of Agatha’s missing sister and brought her back to marry William.

Everyone knew Agatha would never be a suitable match for their wealthy neighbor. She didn’t have the stamina; she was too shy.

Sadly, her father had been informed by the doctor that she should never have children, being much too frail for the stress. Over the years Nurse Brunne made sure Agatha understood that she was not fit for any man because of it.

“I don’t care if you think you’re in the family way!” Frenchie Brown’s voice slammed the wall of the food trailer, bounced off and echoed down the dim pathway.

“I will not be shot out of the cannon!” came the outraged reply.

“I have a signed contract, Mrs. Otis. You have no choice.”

Agatha stood up and peered three trailers down.

Frenchie Brown’s big fist was clamped about the pregnant human cannonball’s arm. No wonder the woman was struggling to get free. This was a dangerous act—even when the wind was not blowing.

“Put the costume on or take it up with my lawyer.”

The red-sequined outfit lay on the ground glinting in lamplight—flaunting its indecency. Why, the wicked garment didn’t even have a skirt. It was no more than a pair of fancy long johns.

“Take it up with God!”

“Around here, I am God.” Now his voice was low, but unmistakably growling.

What a terrible situation! No one was in the area who might help Mrs. Otis.

No one but—

Agatha stepped into a wavering beam of torchlight. “I’ll run for help!”

Frenchie Brown let go of Mrs. Otis. She dashed away into the darkness.

“You! Girl! Come here.”

In spite of the fact that she had been willing to go get help, she was not good at dashing. No, she doubted she could do it if she tried.

She approached her boss, who apparently believed he was equal to the Almighty, with her heart beating madly against her ribs.

He studied her silently, walked around her in a slow circle.

“You’ll do.” He snatched up the costume from the dirt and tossed it at her. “Put it on.”

“I couldn’t.” She really could not. It was a comfort that Miss Valentine had trotted up to stand beside her.

“Do not try my patience. Folks paid good money to see a woman get shot out of a cannon. The reputation of this company depends on you.”

“No, it does not. My contract is to feed you.” Be bold, be bold be bold! “It’s far too windy for that stunt, anyway.”

“Danger is what it is all about! Folks like to get all het up inside. Gives them a real thrill.”

“I must decline,” she said while he tried to shove the costume at her. “Most firmly.”

“You leave me no choice, then.”

With a grunt, Frenchie squatted down.

Really, folks might pay to see that feat.

He snatched up Miss Valentine. “Put it on or I’ll break the mongrel’s neck.”

She did believe that. No doubt he would stuff the dog and mount her high on the elephant’s trunk.

“Very well.”

Agatha snatched the long johns and marched into the cook house. She would put the awful thing on, act like she was going to comply, then when the dog was safe, she would run. She would make a dash for it—as best she could. Clearly she would need cunning as well as speed.

Her plan fell apart when Frenchie’s fist anchored about her arm before he dropped Miss Valentine in the dirt.

He yanked her toward the cannon exhibit. She dug in her heels.

“I won’t do it!”

He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground.

She wriggled and pounded his arm, tried to peel his fingers off.

“Put me down!” she shouted. “I will not do this!”

“Take it up with your lawyer later—if you are able. It is a blustery night. Anything can happen.”

Chapter Three

The thing William regretted most about the evening was the encounter with the fortune-teller.

Somehow Aimee Peller had convinced herself that the seer intended to say that they would be married soon. For the past half hour she had clung to him, pride of conquest clear in her smile. He’d lost count of how many times she’d stared at her hand, at the finger a wedding ring would circle.

While it was true that Aimee would be an appropriate wife—she was beautiful and socially accomplished—he would never marry her.

He’d been cursed with knowing what could be between a husband and wife. He’d seen it in Ivy’s eyes whenever she looked at Travis.

Hang it, but he wanted to see that look in the eyes of the woman he married.

All he would see in Aimee’s eyes was triumph over her social position.

Maybe he ought to have married Ivy’s sister last year like he’d considered doing after Ivy turned him down.

But no. Marriage to Agatha was out of the question. While she was a sweet and docile girl who touched his heart with her shy smile, she would never be able to stand up to the rigors of political life.

It had been a good while since he’d seen her. He had not visited the Lucky Clover since Ivy turned down his marriage proposal.

He did wonder about Agatha from time to time. What had become of her? He hoped that Ivy had managed to restore her to health. He prayed that she had not become addicted to laudanum again.

Had life treated her differently, she might have been as bright and sparkling as her twin sister. That night he’d carried Agatha about the dance floor, he’d seen a spark of joy in her eyes.

Somehow, that brief encounter had left him feeling tender toward her. She had gazed up at him as if he were her hero. It could not be denied that he’d looked down at her, warming to the role.

“If we were to marry, William,” Aimee began again. He did not recall encouraging her to call him by his given name. “When do you think it would be?”

In a hundred years was what popped into his mind, but he needed to be careful not to say something to alienate her, or the votes her family might cast for him when he at last ran for governor.

A noise interrupted his thoughts.

“What was that?”

“We were discussing our wedding date?”

“I thought I heard a scream.”

“Well, my dear, this is a circus after all.”

“I’m sorry, Aimee. You’ve gotten the wrong idea about—that was a scream.”

Very clearly a woman was in distress. The trouble sounded like it came from the area where the cannon was.

The cannon that was due to spew a human being out of it.

That was one circus act he would ban when he had the power to do so.

He ought to bid Aimee farewell and send her back to her friends, but the cry was becoming more urgent.

Surely others would arrive to help before he got there, but regardless, he turned his back on Aimee and ran full out.

A few men had arrived before him. Judging by their manner of dress, they were employees of the circus. Unbelievably they shifted from foot to foot, watching silently while Frenchie Brown tried to stuff a small woman down the mouth of the cannon.

A dog latched its teeth into the leg of Mr. Brown’s pants. Luckily the critter was agile and avoided the circus owner’s attempt to stomp on it.

But the woman was not faring as well. She was no match for the brute strength being forced upon her.

While she cursed at Brown, he caught the back of her long red hair, wound it around his fist, then yanked downward, forcing her further into the cannon.

“Mr. Brown!” William shouted. “The lady is unwilling!”

“This is circus business, Mayor. You have no say-so here.”

“When I catch you trying to force a woman, it damn well is my business.”

“Boys?” Frenchie Brown stared at his men. “The show will go on. Escort the mayor to an appropriate area.”

“Where’s Mrs. Otis?” one of the fellows asked.

“Packing her bags as you’ll be doing if you don’t obey me.”

“I don’t think this here tiny lady will survive being blown out of Old Bessie,” the youngest of the men said.

All of a sudden Frenchie yelped. Blood welled from his fat hand.

It seemed the tiny lady in the cannon had taken that moment of distraction to bite him.

He lifted his bleeding fist, balled it up. William caught it on the downswing and shoved him backward.

The woman scrambled out of the cannon then crumpled on the ground, shaking.

“William?” her voice quavered under the fall of red hair that hid her face.

She knew him? There was something familiar about her voice—he couldn’t place—

“Help me up, William.” She lifted her hand toward him. Her pale fingers trembled.

He squatted beside her, drew the hair from her face.

“Agatha Magee? Is that you?”

“He’s on the ground, boys! Get him.”

Feet shuffled in the dirt. Glancing up, he gathered Agatha closer to his chest.

Two of the roustabouts were walking away, but the other two advanced, bulging arm muscles glistening, flexing.

“Oh, my word!” A woman’s gasp drew Frenchie Brown’s attention to the shadows.

William recognized her and her young fellow when they stepped into the lantern light. They had both attended today’s meeting.

“Nothing to be alarmed at folks. All a part of the cannon act.” Frenchie Brown’s voice was suddenly friendly as a slice of peach pie. “Naturally the lady was fearful, it being her first flight. But this act is widely known to be safe.”

Hell, the man lied as easily as most of William’s fellow politicians.

William stood up, keeping Agatha close to him. She was breathing too hard. Reminded him of a small bird he’d rescued once.

Scooping her up, he backed away.

“Take my girl and you’ll hear from my lawyers!”

“She’s no longer your girl.” He’d never had reason to growl, but now he thought he did it as well as the circus owner.

Frenchie Brown made a motion to run his hand through his hair, but given that he was bald, he only slapped his scalp.

“Fetch me another girl,” he said to the single remaining roustabout.

“Shut down the cannon attraction,” William ordered.

“You have no rights here!” Frenchie Brown insisted, his belly jiggling in outrage.

Maybe he did not, but he wasn’t going to take Agatha away only to have some other unfortunate girl take her place.

“Find Mrs. Peabody,” he said to the young couple. “Tell her the circus folks have gone mad in the wind. Let her know to spread the word to everyone that they should seek the shelter of their homes.”

If there were no customers, no one would be shot out of the cannon.

He strode away, hugging Ivy’s sister tight, hoping that she was strong enough to withstand what she had been through, that she would not lapse into some sort of malady or seek escape in a drug.

“Wait!” Her voice was hoarse, no doubt raw with all the screaming she had done. “Miss Valentine. I can’t leave without her.”

“We’ve got to get out of here now, honey.”

She blinked up at him. Her green eyes were prettier than he recalled them being.

“Frenchie will kill that little dog if I don’t bring her along.”

William glanced over his shoulder. Agatha was right. The wicked round man had picked up a piece of lumber and begun to swing it at the dog.

“Can you stand?”

“Of course.”

He was not convinced and set her down with care.

“Hold on to this rope.” It was one of the cables on the outside of the tent.

He dashed back, ripped the plank out of Brown’s fingers and tossed it away. He scooped up the dog, cursing at the circus owner and not bothering to do it under his breath.

Sprinting back to Agatha he found her still standing. Judging by the way her fingers looked bloodless while gripping the rope, he figured it took all her effort to remain upright.

Placing the bedraggled mound of fur in Agatha’s arms, he scooped her up again, charging quickly through the crowd.

Must have been a sight to see. The mayor of Tanners Ridge carrying a woman dressed in glittering, skintight long johns in his arms.

Sure enough, folks were staring. Especially Aimee Peller and her group of friends. Poor Aimee looked like she’d been run through.

Charging ahead, he carried Agatha around the animal trailers then started up the hill. It was a good thing she didn’t weigh more than a dime.

Glancing back, he noticed people beginning to leave the circus. Whether they believed the circus folks had gone mad, or just wanted to see what he was up to, he had no way of telling.

At least Agatha’s breathing was no longer as quick as a trapped dove’s.

First thing in the morning he was going to wire Ivy and Travis to come and fetch her.

* * *

“Mrs. Bronson!” William called, being propelled into his house by a gust of wind. “Mrs. Feather!”

His housekeeper and his cook had not gone to the circus, claiming a dislike for such nonsense.

The events of the evening had proved their wisdom.

Pushing the door closed with his backside, he called again.

“Surprised they ventured out in the wind,” he murmured more to himself than to Agatha. Was she even conscious after the rough treatment she had been through? She’d been silent all the way up the hill and the walk across town to the Mayor’s Mansion, as the folks of Tanners Ridge took pride in calling it. “Sure hope that tent holds up.”

“I’d give it only even odds.” Agatha wriggled in his arms indicating that he should put her down. “Mr. Brown does take shortcuts.”

“Let me take you to the parlor. The divan is quite comfortable.”

“I’d rather walk.”

“Can you?”

Could she? Last time he’d seen her she could only manage a few steps without help.

Something about her did seem different, though. She was frail as a waif—he knew that because he’d carried her up the hill and to his house without much exertion. The difference was in her expression. Where she’d once looked wounded, cautious, she now gazed up at him with confidence. Somehow the mix of fragility and pluck touched his heart. Made him regret having to put her down right away.

“You’ve been through an ordeal.”

Why had she been through an ordeal? What was she doing so far from home and at, of all things, the circus? Perhaps she had been kidnapped! He’d always assumed she would remain at the Lucky Clover where Ivy and Travis could watch over her.

Ivy was not older by much. Truth be told it was only by moments since Agatha and Ivy were twins. But the sisters were not alike in any way.

In his mind, Agatha had seemed quite a bit younger.

“I can walk.”

Maybe so. “I’d feel better setting you safely on the couch.”

So he did, in spite of her protests.

“I’ll hunt up Mrs. Bronson to prepare your room for the night. As soon as I find Mrs. Feather I’ll have her bring you some soup. Would you like that?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Nevertheless, you shall eat.”

Why was she frowning at him? He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that expression on her sweet face.

“Mrs. Bronson! Miss Feather!” he called, rushing out of the parlor and into the grand entry. The sooner Agatha was settled into a warm bed the better he would feel. “Mildred? Ida?”

* * *

As soon as William left the room in search of his employees, Agatha eased up from the couch.

She was a bit wobbly and overwhelmed by what she had been through. Defending oneself took more energy than she could have imagined—could she have imagined that she would ever be called upon to do so.

But William was wrong in his assumption that she was an invalid. She could easily have extracted herself from his big wonderful arms, had she the mind to.

“I didn’t, though,” she murmured to Miss Valentine. “And how are you, you sweet girl? I’m so proud of how you avoided getting kicked, even with your hurt foot.”

Agatha bent over, felt light-headed. She traced the line of white that shot through the tan on the dog’s forehead.

Miss Valentine turned her head, pressing her face against Agatha’s shin.

“What a sweet hug. I’ll get William to call a veterinarian to look at your foot.”

From upstairs she could hear him shouting for Mrs. Bronson and Mrs. Feather.

While she listened, purely enjoying hearing the sound of his voice, she glanced around the parlor.

Opulent was the best word she could think of to describe it.

Not a cozy place like the Lucky Clover. The ranch was grand, to be sure, but for all its grandness, it never felt stuffy or overdone.

Did William feel comfortable with all this fuss and frippery? She did not—although he was right about the divan, it was a nice place to sink into.

Heavy brocade drapes hung on every window. Regal paintings adorned the walls.

She wondered if his ranch near Cheyenne had this royal look.

It sure was noisy outside, with the wind slapping the walls. It wasn’t hard to imagine the sound being Frenchie Brown’s fist pounding out his anger.

She wanted to cower in a corner remembering the way that hand had looked like death coming upon her, dripping blood and wrath.

Straightening, she stiffened her back, pictured energy and strength pulsing through her muscles. Even if William had not stopped Frenchie’s blow, the worst she would have been was bruised, or maybe had a bone broken.

Compared to other things she had been through in her life, a bruise was insignificant. Nothing could be worse than helplessly opening her mouth and allowing Mrs. Brunne to pour laudanum down her throat.

There had been a time, before Ivy came home, when she had called that woman Mother. Nothing, she now knew, could be further from the truth. All Agatha ever was to her was a replacement for her own lost daughter. There were times when her nurse did not know the difference between Agatha and the kidnapped Maggie.

In the end, Hilda Brunne’s perception of what was past and what was present had become blurred and driven the woman insane.

Something smacked the window hard, might even have cracked it. Crossing the room, she drew the heavy curtain aside.

The night was dark. Dirt and sand blew everywhere. By the light of the lanterns lining the sidewalk, she saw folks hurrying along, bent against the wind and blocking grit from their faces with lifted arms.

A group of young ladies crossed through a beam of light, all of them looking well-to-do.

One of them stopped to stare at her. She recognized her even though she’d only seen the woman from behind while she clung to William hoping for the fortune-teller’s blessing.

The lady pointed her finger. Her companions gawked, nudging each other in the ribs.

It was understandable. Who would not stare at someone dressed the way she was? Indecent was how she looked.

“Oh, my!” It suddenly occurred to her that everything she owned was in her trailer back at the circus encampment.

She was not going back there! Elephants could not drag her back down that hill. Which meant this was all she had to wear.

When the women on the sidewalk did not move on, but continued to look at her as though she were a sideshow attraction, she let go of the curtain.

All of a sudden her arms ached, and her legs. The altercation with Frenchie must have taken more out of her than she first thought.

With some effort, she returned to the couch. Lying down, she motioned for Miss Valentine to join her. It would be polite to ask William if dogs were allowed on his furniture, but that would mean hunting up her prince.

She hadn’t the strength for that.

One day she would, though. One day she would run for a mile and not become winded.

For tonight, she was going to sink into this couch, close her eyes and find comfort in the small but solid weight of Miss Valentine pressing into the curve of her belly.

* * *

Impossible!

William paced the upstairs hall, crushing the note in his hand.

He stopped, pressed it open one more time. Even reading it for the fifth time did not change the words.

Mrs. Bronson and Mrs. Feather had been called away to tend their ailing mother. In the future, he would have to remember not to hire sisters.

They had written that the situation was urgent, and a wire had arrived to summon them home. They’d given an address for him to send their wages, which left him wondering if they would return at all.

“Impossible!”

He had carried a woman dressed in glittering, morality-defying underwear into his house. Many of the folks in town had seen him do it.

And now there was no chaperone when he had expected there to be two.

Unless he wanted his reputation smeared, his career ruined, there was only one thing to do.

Going down the stairs, he tried not to think of everything all at once. If he did he’d be overwhelmed.

He could only be in control of one thing at a time.

Coming into the parlor with the note pinched in his fingers, he found Agatha asleep on the divan.

The dog’s head was resting on her ribs but it wasn’t sleeping. Its brown eyes tracked his progress while he crossed the room, built up a fire in the hearth then settled into a chair facing the couch.

The last thing he wanted to do was wake her. Someone as tender as she was would need to regain her strength, maybe shut out the ordeal she had been through for a time.

The poor thing looked a proper mess with dirt on her nose, twigs and leaves in her hair—and just there on her chin, a faint smear of Frenchie Brown’s blood from when she had bit him.

Even with it all, she didn’t seem as gaunt as he recalled she’d been the last time he’d seen her. She’d filled out some, with curves in womanly places—

Curse it! Why was he looking there?

Because where else was he to look? The girl was wearing something that looked like sin, designed to draw a man’s attention.

But why was she? What was she even doing in Tanners Ridge? It was twenty-five miles from home.

In the end it didn’t matter why she was here, how she had ended up in a circus and was being forced into the mouth of a cannon. Here she was, under his protection. The details would sort themselves out later.

“Agatha,” he whispered. “Honey?”

Not an eyelash stirred.

“Hey, dog. Lick her face, do something to wake her up.”

Without the household staff present, he didn’t dare even touch her shoulder to shake her awake.

The dog sighed deeply and closed its eyes.

“Agatha! Wake up!”

She sat up suddenly, eyes blinking in confusion. The parts of her that had filled out, which he should not be seeing the outline of but could not help it, jiggled.

The dog moved to the far side of the couch. After he settled the situation between them he would tell Agatha dogs were not allowed on the furniture...or in the house for that matter.

“William?” She looked confused, as though she did not recall that he’d carried her here.

“You’re safe, honey. Don’t worry, we’ll be married as soon as this wind lets up and the preacher can get here.”

Chapter Four

“William Byron English!” Agatha stood up, used the arm of the couch for balance since all of a sudden the world had gone tipsy. “What makes you think I would marry you?”

She felt a blush throb in her chest. It crept up her throat to her cheeks because it occurred to her that he might think it odd that she knew his middle name.

Please don’t let him guess that she used to sit in her chair repeating it over and over in her mind until Mother Brunne would reprimand her for smiling.

“I didn’t know you knew my full name.”

“Ivy told me—it just slipped out.” What a bald-faced lie! “I don’t dwell on your name—in fact, I rarely dwell on you at all.”

Rarely! Now he knew that she did occasionally dwell upon him.

“That’s neither here nor there. Once we are wed you can use my full name, dwell on me or don’t.”

How utterly mortifying! No doubt she was red as flame.

“I can’t imagine the woman who would not swoon at such a marriage proposal, as absurd as the notion is.”

He mumbled something—Aimee Peller—she thought it was. His ladylove no doubt, the woman who had stared at her from the sidewalk earlier, the very one who had tossed down a penny wishing for the proposal Agatha was getting.

No, probably not this proposal quite.

“We have no choice about it. People saw me carry you into the house. They’ll know we spent time alone.”

“There’s your staff. We are hardly alone.”

“There’s only two of them who live in the mansion. They aren’t here. An emergency came up with their mother and they left. I have no idea when or if they are coming back.”

“I imagine our reputations can survive until the weather lets up,” she said, knowing it was not true. Both of their reputations would be gleefully danced upon.

He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on parts of her body where a man’s gaze had never lingered.

Why, in the upheaval, she had nearly forgotten that she was dressed like a harlot!

People would think he had carried a coochie girl into his house!

This was a mess—but marriage? Surely there was another way?

“It’ll be morning before I can get you to a boarding house. Besides, you can’t go outside in that.”

Not if her life depended upon it! But, she had nothing else.

“Folks have short memories.” Hopefully she sounded confident, convincing. But folks also had long memories. Some old-timers at the Lucky Clover still gossiped about Agatha’s mother, how she had divorced Papa and taken only one of her twins with her. “This won’t be much of a scandal a few weeks from now. Oh, you’ve got a cracked window, by the way.”

He stared at her in silence for so long it became uncomfortable.

His eyes used to have the most appealing twinkle. It was not evident at the moment.

Honestly, he could not want to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him.

“I’m running for governor one day. You know that. I’ll have enemies who will go looking for any way to discredit me.”

“That’s still many years away. New scandals will come along. No one will recall this.”

“I wish that were true, Agatha. But politics is an ugly game. People will remember and in the nastiest way.”

She pressed her fingers to her temples to try and lasso her stampeding thoughts. He was right, wicked-minded folks would remember—remember and talk.

It made her sick to her stomach to think he might lose his dream because he came to her aid.

“If it’s such an ugly game, why not forget about running for governor. Go home and care for your ranch.”

“The ranch doesn’t need me. My mother runs it better than any man.” A punching wind blew something over outside. She heard it tumble across the yard. “And why aren’t you at home? What were you doing involved with the circus?”

“That’s a talk for another time. Right now we are discussing why you want to be involved in such dirty business.”

He shrugged one shoulder, tipped his head. “I see injustice and I want to make it right. It’s like an itch in my bones, righting things while crooked politicians act on things that only benefit them.”

Suddenly she suspected that lamplight was reflecting on the crimson sequins of her costume in a way that did not protect her modesty.

Agatha picked up the dog, positioned the furry little thing over her breasts. Too bad the tip of her wagging tail would not be hiding anything, but accentuating it.

Marry William? No! She could not possibly marry him—the very man she had dreamed of since she knew how to dream.

He was far too safe. Why, she could live in his house and never have to worry about anything for the rest of her life. She could sit in a chair by the window and watch the world go by—just like she used to do.

“I don’t know, William. You might make a difficult husband. You are just plain bossy.”

He laughed, low in his chest, and there in the corner of one eye, the mysterious twinkle flashed.

“You and my mother will like each other.”

“And you are assuming I have accepted your proposal.” The weak-kneed child inside of her wanted to—urged her to—crawl up into her prince’s arms where life would never hurt her. Where shadows would never chase her down and threaten her. “I have not.”

Speaking her mind in such a forceful way was not what she was used to. She would become used to it, though, once she spent enough time on her own.

William walked to the window and drew back the curtain. He traced his finger over the crack in the glass. With a curse, he let the drape fall into place.

“Is the wind worse?” She set Miss Valentine gently on the floor, exposing herself once again. It was not as though she could take back anything he had already seen.

“It’s worse, but not so bad as to keep half a dozen people across the street from ogling their mayor’s front door.”

“I don’t wish to marry. I’m sorry, William, but I don’t.”

Except, that maybe she did.

“It wasn’t what I woke up wanting, either.”

Without warning, Leah Madrigal’s wink flashed in her mind. The fortune-teller said that sometimes the glass ball saw things. No—that could not be. More likely the perceptive woman had seen the look of longing on Agatha’s face while she had been staring at William’s back.

“You, at least had a bit of warning.” She must be getting desperate to even bring this nonsense up. “I heard the fortune-teller tell you that you would soon marry.”

“She also said it would be a long, happy marriage.”

“With lots of children.” Leah had said that, too. “It can’t be me you are supposed to marry.”

William’s gaze dropped away. He jabbed fingers through his hair.

He glanced back up suddenly, stealing her breath with the determined set of his eyes.

“Also a subject for another time. I believe in facing one problem at a time.”

Even though she was not going to marry him, she did wish he had not called the proposal a problem. It felt like a tiny dagger twisting in her heart to hear it put that way. No matter that she completely agreed.

“If I did give in to this insanity, the issue would have to be faced at one time or another.”

“Another, then.” He strode forward so that they stood toe to toe. He cupped her cheeks in his long fingers, looked her steadily in the eyes. “I like you, Agatha. I always have. I’ve seen you fight things that wanted to enslave you. I am not one of them. Please don’t fight me.”

“It’s not so simple as that. I like you, too. But I need to stand on my own. Make my own decisions and live with the consequences.”

Dratted consequences! The result of William rescuing her might cost him his dream—the ambition of a lifetime.

Ruined reputations were not easily overcome.

Yes, she might keep her independence at the cost of her reputation—all on her own become the strong person she was learning to be. But in the end others would still see her as pitiful.

Worse, they would see William as unworthy of their trust. How could she live with herself knowing he lost everything for her sake?

She stepped away from him because she wanted to lean into him, feel his arms fold about her and deflect the ugly words that were bound to be spoken about her.

“You would want to be in control of me.”

“Only insofar as it’s for your own good.”

“Do you understand that it’s up to me to decide what is for my own good? I spent my whole life trusting Hilda Brunne to know what was best for me. I won’t allow anyone to have that power over me again.”

“That was evil power, honey.” He caught both of her hands in one of his, pressed them against his chest. The steady beat of his heart thumped against her palms. “I would never treat you that way.”

“I know that, William, but—”

“What if I declare, in the wedding vows, to try not to be overbearing, excessively protective. Even though it would be my duty as your husband to do so.”

How could she not laugh? He looked so sincere about saying vows that he did not agree with.

She could not let herself be swayed by that consideration, though. William English was a man who wanted control. He might be ever so sweet about it, but it didn’t change anything.

Freedom to grow was what she needed. For as much as he might not want to tell her what to do and when to do it, such behavior was in his nature.

A test. She would give him a test to see if he could really let go of control.

Sliding her hand down his shirt, she felt the firm ridges of his chest. She yanked her hand away then slowly, deliberately, picked up Miss Valentine and set her on the expensive divan.

The dog scratched the fabric then circled searching for a comfortable position. After finding the cushion to her liking, she settled in to lick her injured paw. A damp circle darkened the fabric.

Agatha watched William frown. Purse his lips.

As she suspected, he did not want animals in the house.

“I believe that dogs belong—” he closed his eyes, shook his head “—where their mistress says they belong.”

My word. She had not expected that.

“She needs to be taken to the veterinarian. No doubt he will agree that she must have a soft place to recover.”

“I’ll have him look at her tomorrow. I’ll put her back on the couch, myself.”

“I’m grateful, William.” More than he could guess. “She’s a brave little soul.”

“Now will you marry me?”

She could not possibly marry him. With her gaze fastened on his eyes, she slowly shook her head.

“Please don’t turn me down. For both of our sakes, you’ve got to become my wife—tonight.”

“I suppose we could marry then divorce after the risk of scandal has passed,” she suggested even though it was not what she had ever dreamed she would say to this man.

He shook his head. Reflected light from the flames in the hearth danced in his hair. If she did agree to marry him, maybe one day she would be bold enough to run her fingers through those dark locks.

“There will be no divorce.” Funny how she was relieved to hear that. “If you choose not to live with me, I will support you financially. But a divorce will not do.”

“I suppose I could make a very long visit to the Lucky Clover.”

“I would permit that.” He was far too handsome, flashing that teasing smile. “Will you marry me now?”

“I would go home to the ranch according to what I decide. Not what you will permit. You must understand that I need to make my own choices.”

“I’ll do my best, Agatha. I swear it.” He did look sincere. “Do you choose to marry me?”

Did she? He’d saved her future that awful night when he’d kept her from turning to laudanum for comfort. He’d sat down beside her, put a book in her hands and become the comfort.

Now, his future depended upon her.

“I can’t. I have nothing to wear.”

“Step right up close to me, honey.”

She did. He measured her height with the flat of his hand. She was as tall as the button on his collar. Next he cupped her waist with his fingers, seeming to judge its size.

The last thing he did before he stepped away from her was to kiss top of her top of her head, pluck a dried leaf out of the tangled mass. From the corner of her eye she saw it drift to the floor.

“Will you marry me if I show up here with a preacher and a wedding gown?”

“And a witness. Don’t forget a witness.”

* * *

It had been a couple of hours before that William had decided that a tornado was not poised at the edge of town ready to rush in and blow everyone away.

The dressmaker had not been pleased to be awoken at four in the morning, but she hadn’t minded being paid triple the amount for the three gowns he’d purchased.

Her expression had been miles beyond curious so he’d simply told her the truth—nearly the truth, that they were for his wife.

No one need know that the preacher had not crossed his threshold until nearly five o’clock. That the man’s good wife had found Agatha reading a book on the couch in the parlor and hustled her upstairs to dress her in the wedding gown draped over his arm.

The dress had been intended for a bride in Cheyenne, but given what he was willing to pay, the seamstress said she could make another.

The promise of more business had apparently been enough to keep her from asking questions and simply extend her good wishes.

With any luck this marriage would be accepted without a great deal of unwholesome talk.

He’d lose votes for sure if anyone spread lies about Agatha’s virtue.

No one voted for a candidate who punched them in the nose—which he might do if anyone maligned sweet Agatha.

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts and staring at the dust he’d forgotten to wipe from his boots, that he failed to hear the rustle of fabric at the head of the stairs until the preacher nudged him in the ribs.

“Your bride awaits, young man.”

Glancing up, William had to catch his heart. It felt like it had escaped his chest and gone running up the steps to embrace her.

Agatha Marigold Magee was captivating! Out of the blue, without warning, she enchanted him.

Dawn light shone through the window onto the landing, igniting the flame color of her hair and reflecting fairylike sparkles in the crystals bordering her lace collar. Her eyes glittered bright green, but not by any trick of early sunlight.

How had this dazzling creature been his neighbor for so many years without him noticing how lovely she was?

Because she had not always been dazzling. Before Ivy came home, Agatha had been a wraith hiding in shadows and seldom seen in public.

With one hand on the bannister, she descended to the foot of the stairs. When she placed her pale, slender fingers in his hand, he was struck by the enormity of what he was about to do.

In moments this fragile woman would become his—to protect for the rest of his life.

There was something about Agatha Magee that hit him deep in his heart. Ever since the night of the barbecue at the Lucky Clover, he’d felt touched by her.

There had been a storm that night, and seeing her sitting in a corner of the parlor watching the dancers whirl by, he’d been moved in an unexpected way. Not with pity, exactly, but something akin to it. Compassion for her plight, maybe?

Yes, she was the sister of the woman he had hoped to marry, but his attention toward her had not been only for Ivy’s sake.

He’d been overcome with a strong urge to make her smile, to whirl her about the dance floor until she did.

Of course, she could not whirl about the dance floor. He’d had to support her, lead her with slow precision. He could not help but wonder what would she have been like that night had she not spent years as the captive of her nurse?

He liked Ivy, but had Agatha been the healthy one—?

It didn’t matter, because at that time, she hadn’t been.

Before Agatha’s father died, when he had approached William about a marriage deal—his wealth to save the Lucky Clover in exchange for the social prestige the ranch would give him—he had been assured that Agatha was too weak to ever suit his needs. Bearing a child would kill her, so the doctor had said.

So it had been arranged that he would marry Ivy—just as soon as she could be located.

Now here he was, marrying Agatha after all.

It was true that he needed this marriage to safeguard his reputation for his political future, but that was not the whole of it. He wanted to protect Agatha’s reputation as well.

Looking at her now, she did not quite seem the forlorn girl he remembered. For one thing, it was apparent that she was not a girl, but a woman.

A strong-minded woman, but one who was still far too thin, too frail.

Something about her made him want to stand in front of her, arms spread to deflect every stressful thing life might place in her path.

As her husband, he could. Although, apparently with great discretion.

Clearly, his hovering presence would be no more welcome than Hilda Brunne’s had been.

With the four of them gathered in front of the grand fireplace in the parlor, the preacher went through the vows. They were the typical, sacred ones that brides and grooms recited.

Amazingly, Agatha held his gaze through them all. She did not shy away, look frightened or even resentful, as she might have.

Preacher Wilson asked if he would love, honor and cherish her. Yes, he would. Perhaps in some small way he already did cherish her. In a short moment she would share his name—become his family.

Next, the preacher asked Agatha if she would love, honor and obey him.

She blinked, frowned then slid her attention to Mr. Wilson.

“I imagine I might come to love him—in time, sir. Perhaps honor him as well. But obey? In truth I cannot vow to do that, as Mr. English well knows.”

“Oh! Well said, my dear,” Mrs. Wilson gasped. “It’s as though you have been married for ten years already.”

“Mr. English, shall I proceed or do you wish to—”

“Agatha, honey, I vow to you that I will do my best not to interfere with your free will—as best I can. You may continue, Mr. Wilson, if my bride is willing.”

Seconds ticked by. Agatha cocked her head, studying William this way and that.

“Yes,” she said when he was good and sure his heart had quit beating. “And I do promise to obey you—as best I can. Please do carry on, Mr. Wilson. I wish to—”

Agatha took a long slow breath, held William’s gaze. What was it she wished? He only hoped it was something he could give her.

“I wish to kiss my groom.”

* * *

There! She’d spoken what was on her mind! It hadn’t been easy. The girl she had been all her life wanted to run upstairs and hide under a blanket.

But the woman she hoped to become wanted to kiss her husband—to feel his arms curl around her, lift her off her toes and make her feel—wanted.

Now, there it was. Spoken for all to know. She wanted William to want her.

Apparently the preacher did not know what to make of the unconventional vows. He blinked at her, his mouth half-open on a stalled comment.

“Hurry up, Herbert. Let the youngsters have their first kiss.”

“Oh, my—well—by the power invested in me by God and the territory of Wyoming, I now pronounce that you are man and wife. Please do kiss your bride, Mr. English.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it was not the briefest graze of his lips across hers. Why, she barely felt the warmth of them.

In her many dreams, kissing William had always felt warm and exciting, holding the promise of the commitment of a lifetime.

While she was suddenly committed for a lifetime, the warm excitement was lacking.

By six thirty, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson had departed, leaving Agatha alone with her groom.

She didn’t know what to do—barely knew what to say. This time yesterday she had been wiping sleep from her eyes while helping Laura Lee make fried potatoes and eggs. Less than twelve hours ago she had been living the adventure of a book character.

“You must be hungry,” she said, taking note of how her wedding gown swirled about her when she turned. How it caught the first rays of dawn streaming through the window.

She had never worn anything more lovely in her life.

Unable to help herself she twirled again just to watch it shimmer. If Mother Brunne was watching from the great beyond, it would be with much disapproval.

“I’ll fix us something to eat after I change out of the gown.”

“I’m sorry, there’s no one here to help.”

“I’ll manage. Just yesterday I was helping Laura Lee fix breakfast for a hundred people.”

“I meant with the buttons on the back of the gown. You can’t reach them.”

Her breath caught. He was right. She could not. Either she could fry up potatoes in her wedding gown and risk a splatter, or she could allow him to help her take it off.

Then what? Put on the red costume again because she did not care if eggs exploded on it? Be humiliated? Or flip eggs wearing her corset and petticoats? Cooking in her underwear would still be humiliating but it would also be prettier.

There were two more dresses upstairs, but she would not risk ruining them, either.

“How hungry are you, William?”

He spun her about and opened two pearly buttons at her nape. The heat of his breathing brushed her skin. “Hungrier than I thought.”

“Are there eggs and bacon in the kitchen? Bread for toast?”

“I assume so—but it’s been a long day. Let’s think about food tomorrow.”

“But you said you were hungry.”

His breath skimmed the back of her neck, his fingers clenched briefly on her shoulders. “Very—but I’m also tired.”

“Let’s sleep, then.” At least she didn’t have to risk ruining anything lovely by cooking in it.

Cool air touched her back when two more buttons fell open, which reminded her. “What happened to my wedding kiss?”

Why was it that, around William, she blurted out what was on her mind so readily?

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you married me.”

Three buttons popped free all at one time.

“And I’m grateful that you kept me from being blown out of a cannon.”

The hall clock ticked away a long silence. Outside, the wind didn’t sound loud as it had.

With a quick flick of his fingers, William freed the button at the small of her spine. The front of the gown sagged so she grabbed it close to her chest.

“Can you manage the stairs?” he asked, taking a deep breath, then several steps away from her. “If it’s too trying I can give you a downstairs bedroom.”

Ivy and Travis shared a bedroom.

“I managed them fine a short while ago.” It would not be a hardship to share a bed with William. “I’m no longer an invalid. You don’t need to fear for my health.”

“I owe you, Agatha.” Dragging his fingers through his hair, he frowned at the floor then looked up at her. “I’ll take care to make sure no harm comes to you.”

“Really, I don’t know why it would. I believe that I’ve proved that I can take care of myself—unless someone is forcing me into a cannon and I doubt that will happen again.”

“I imagine not. But you are mine to protect, nonetheless.”

The bodice of her dress flopped down when she balled her fists and anchored them at her waist, but she did not care at the moment.

“If a situation arises in which I do not feel comfortable, I will let you know—then you may protect me to your heart’s content.” She wagged her finger at him, which was not quite polite but her temper was heating by the second. How odd was it that for most of her life she hadn’t known she had a temper. It must have been drugged out of her. “But I must—and will deal with problems on my own.”

“Of course.”

He caught her hand, folded it up in his. “I was speaking of getting you with child.”

An image of tangled bed sheets and entwined limbs flashed in her mind. Secret kisses and touches. Heat pulsed in every nerve of her body, especially—

“I won’t endanger you that way.”

What? She yanked her hand free, remembered that her bodice was dangling about her waist and decided to let it remain there.

“I might have something to say about that, William.”

Outside the creak and rattle of a wagon passing by filled a long silence between them. A dog barked. Tanners Ridge was coming to life.

So was Agatha Marigold English.

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