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The Negotiated Marriage
Christina Rich


A Business ArrangementWhen the railroad pushes to buy her land, orphaned Cameron Sims will do anything to keep the only home she and her sisters have ever known. Even if she must marry a stranger. But she's determined her agreement with the mysterious, dashing man—who's unlike anything the Kansas railroad town has ever seen—will remain simply business.Duncan Murray doesn't want a wife. He wants Sims Creek, a sanctuary that can help him forget a troubled childhood. But his reluctant, and captivating, bride-to-be is key to making his dreams a reality. And despite their business arrangement, Camy and Duncan might be signing on the dotted line for true love…







A Business Arrangement

When the railroad pushes to buy her land, orphaned Cameron Sims will do anything to keep the only home she and her sisters have ever known. Even if she must marry a stranger. But she’s determined her agreement with the mysterious, dashing man—who’s unlike anything the Kansas railroad town has ever seen—will remain simply business.

Duncan Murray doesn’t want a wife. He wants Sims Creek, a sanctuary that can help him forget a troubled childhood. But his reluctant, and captivating, bride-to-be is key to making his dreams a reality. And despite their business arrangement, Camy and Duncan might be signing on the dotted line for true love...


“Get your stuff and get off my land.”

“Your land?”

“That’s right, mister.” Camy rooted her feet in place.

He swayed toward her, one corner of his mouth curving upward as if he knew something she didn’t, then held out his hand. “Duncan Murray.”

The earthy scent emanating from him assaulted her senses, catching her off guard. The name suited his towering height and brawny muscles. If she pulled on her memories she could hear tales spun by her mother and could almost imagine him brandishing a sword in the plaid buried at the bottom of her mother’s trunk. His name was strong and true to his heritage.

“I dinnae care who you are, Mr. Murray.” She allowed her own accent, faded through the years, to thicken as she straightened her spine and propped the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. “I do not want to shoot you, but I will if I must.”

“I have no wish to be shot.”


Born and raised in Kansas, where she currently lives with her husband and children, CHRISTINA RICH loves to read stories with happily-ever-afters, research, take photos, visit the ocean, write stories with happily-ever-afters and talk about her family and Jesus.


The Negotiated Marriage

Christina Rich






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Then Peter opened his mouth, and said, “Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: But in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.”

—Acts 10:34–35


Mom and Dad, thank you for being some of my biggest fans. Thank you for believing in me.

Love,

Chris


Contents

Cover (#u637d3ef3-b4f4-5702-b325-493f7ce4c208)

Back Cover Text (#u2ac6bbb1-1e15-5013-acdc-4cf5214d425f)

Introduction (#u71dd93d0-86e4-54fe-8f32-f5d0c59718a0)

About the Author (#u01f6ec30-08b2-5936-bce9-be77d31b9c05)

Title Page (#ue5603f64-f854-511c-bd5e-21494bea17de)

Bible Verse (#u25c63855-1325-5a75-8cc8-75ebd3759607)

Dedication (#u07dc2cc8-6470-571d-b2af-8b8270c530d8)

Chapter One (#ulink_1ef84244-f012-55e4-99bc-fed69766868b)

Chapter Two (#ulink_6eb53e1a-70e5-53ca-b37d-45873c47b246)

Chapter Three (#ulink_ec631e6c-9234-5276-ab52-a8d852370c02)

Chapter Four (#ulink_f5060971-a36d-5c8b-8596-2bfffda9b49c)

Chapter Five (#ulink_698a01e0-5a7e-566c-883b-8c821a995c58)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_686075e4-0a28-58bd-be42-520b9fd111b3)

Rusa Valley, Kansas

Spring 1867

“Hold it right there!” Camy Sims drew a bead on the man lying down at the bank of the creek, his feet dipped in the water. She eased the bucket to the ground. How dare anyone trespass on their land? Her land, given that Uncle Hamish disappeared with the wind and her sisters Ellie and Mara seemed to have other things in mind like carriage rides and frilly dresses. Not Camy. She didn’t have aspirations for anything other than staying right here on Sim’s Creek and enjoying the solitude of country life. A solitude sorely interrupted by a man who refused to acknowledge her presence. “I said, don’t move.”

He didn’t. Not a single muscle. Tilting her head away from the rifle resting against her shoulder, Camy squinted through the dappling of grey morning light filtering through the thick canopy of leaves until the man came into focus. His bare feet ebbed and flowed with the current of the river. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. She couldn’t blame him for succumbing to the beauty here. Wisps of smoke rose from the charred firewood, telling her he’d camped the night in her favorite place of solitude, a place away from Mara’s continuous chatter of prospective husbands and Ellie’s melancholy, a state she’d been in since she returned home last August after months with a distant cousin. Anger sparked and burned through her veins at the intrusion.

After all the railroad’s attempts at acquiring their land before the winter, Camy should have known they’d come creeping through the woods once the weather warmed. She only wished she knew why they wanted the Simses’ land. It was far from ideal, at least to her way of thinking. There were places closer to town where the land lay flat and the banks were more even, places where the river wouldn’t wash the railroad’s bridge downstream. If only this man were a simple passerby who had been lured by the languorous song of the water trickling over the rocks and the serenade of the birds. Given that a wayward stranger hadn’t passed by here since she could remember, his presence meant one thing: he was trying to gain access to her land. And that just wouldn’t do. Did he come expecting their gratefulness at a measly offer, or did he come ready to make threats and burn their home down?

She intended to find out even though her sisters would complain at her dallying too long as Mara, no doubt, would be anxious to complete morning chores so they could go to town. Camy’s younger sister loved the social blur of town life, whereas Ellie and Camy only wanted to discreetly discover details about any strangers who might be a threat to them. The latest gossip from Mrs. Smith, Rusa Valley’s socialite, was about a man. Tall, handsome and more important, according to Mara, richer than King Solomon. As if those things were all that mattered in a prospective husband.

But from the looks of this man, he wasn’t rich or handsome, at least not in the sense her sisters claimed. No doubt they’d thank her for taking the time to scoot the scallywag right off their land once they got over their anger at her dealing with him on her own. Besides, if Ellie knew about the stranger, she’d demand they all move into town as she’d threatened to do after the last incident with a group of ruffians. No amount of money, bluff and bluster could entice Camy to leave her home.

Picking up the water bucket, Camy crept down the well-worn path, focused on the still figure. After all, it wouldn’t do for her to be caught unaware. Why, what if the man was only playing possum? Her sisters would think her silly, as no man in his right mind would play dead in his bare feet. Not around here leastways. There were too many thorns ready to pierce clear to the bone, and she should know given that Ellie had doctored her feet plenty of times. As she got closer to the stranger, she knew that no man would played possum with his feet in the icy water and the rest of his body at an odd angle with his arms strung out. His lip bloodied.

Camy skidded to a halt. Clumps of dirt rolled down the path until they splashed into the water. Was he dead?

She couldn’t very well leave him there, dead or alive. If he was alive she’d give him a swift kick to his backside, and if he wasn’t, well, she’d just have Ellie fetch the Drs. Northrop, all three of them. Of course, if he was already dead, she could just roll him into the water. The river would wash him past Sims Ferry and on down to Doc Northrop’s Landing where the old doctor most likely dipped his pole in the water. The man would be the doctors’ problem, not hers.

Camy shoved her spectacles back onto the bridge of her nose and shifted her gaze over the still body, looking for any hint of life. She drew in a fortifying breath and eased down the rest of the path until she was only a few feet from his body. Waves of chestnut locks blanketed his brow, covering his eyes. Her fingers itched to brush the strands away for her to see if his lashes were as thick and dark as she imagined. Even with the bloodied lip and shadow of a beard, handsome didn’t even come close to describing the chiseled jaw and aquiline nose. He was beautiful.

Her gaze roamed toward his chest. The tension holding her shoulders taut released at the steady rise and fall. She took note of its wide berth, the way his shirt stretched tight. Corded forearms, visible from his rolled sleeves. He no longer seemed like a stranger, but like a man who belonged in the country. A man who belonged here. In her place. Her secret place, and that just wouldn’t do at all.

She took a few steps closer and jabbed him with the barrel of her rifle. “Mister, are you hard of hearing? Or daft?”

He groaned. As he turned his head, his dark locks fell, revealing thick, dark lashes and mossy green eyes hooded by thick, dark eyebrows. He clasped his hand to his head.

“You need to be getting out of here, mister.”

He groaned again as he eased into a sitting position. He pulled his feet out of the water and his knees into his chest and then buried his face into his hands. Blood stained the rock near where his head had been. Crimson-matted clumps of hair stuck out at odd angles from the back of his head. Someone obviously took a strong disliking to him to leave him here like this. She wanted to help, to inspect his wounds as her sister Ellie would do, but after all the schemes the railroad had pulled last year, she wouldn’t put this one beyond them too.

“Mister, you can’t sit here all day. More than likely the sky is about to unleash a torrent and this here river will flood. If you don’t want to be going for a swim downriver, I suggest you get moving.”

He lifted his head and squinted at her through a swollen and blackening eye as if she’d lost her wits. His gazed roamed over her from head to toe and back again until he settled on her face. “Where am I? Where’s my horse?”

Camy glanced around the trees. “I don’t know anything about your horse, mister. This here’s Sims Creek. At least here in this little bend. Upriver it’s Northrop River and downriver the same. But right here, it’s Sims Creek.”

His brow furrowed. “Hamish Sims?”

A sickening thud dropped into Camy’s stomach. Had her uncle turned yellow-bellied and befriended the enemy? Most certainly not. He’d made a promise, and a Sims always kept a promise. Excepting her da. This was just another ploy. Camy moved back a few paces and motioned toward his coat with the rifle. “Get your stuff and get off my land.”

He massaged the back of his neck and then unfolded to his full height. He narrowed his eyes and gave her a glare that begged for a fight. Gold-flecked daggers flashed from his eyes, causing a shiver of caution to race down her spine. Perhaps she should agree to leave her home and take her sisters to town where they’d be happier and much safer.

He thrust his hands on his hips. “Your land?”

“That’s right, mister.” Camy rooted her feet in place. It wasn’t exactly hers alone, but Hamish had promised it to her and she wouldn’t allow this stranger’s height to intimidate her and make her give up her fight so easily.

He swayed toward her, one corner of his mouth curving upward as if he knew something she didn’t, and then held out his hand. “Duncan Murray.”

The earthy scent emanating from him assaulted her senses, catching her off guard. The name suited his towering height and brawny muscles. If she pulled on her memories, she could hear tales spun by her mother and could almost imagine him brandishing a sword in the plaid buried in the bottom of her mother’s trunk. His name was strong and true to his heritage. However, the way he stifled his accent indicated he was not so proud to be a Scotsman. If there was one thing both her parents taught her and her sisters, it was to never be ashamed of their heritage. Never.

“I dinnae care who you are, Mr. Murray.” She allowed her own accent, faded through the years, to thicken as she straightened her spine and propped the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. “I do not want to shoot you, but I will if I must.”

“And I have no wish to be shot.”

Before she knew what he was about, he closed the distance between them and removed the rifle from her hands. Losing her footing, she slid down the bank and sucked in a sharp breath as the icy water soaked through her clothing. The current tugged at her legs, rocking her. She held her arms out to gain balance and then wrapped them around her midsection. He laid the rifle on the bank and offered her a hand. She stared at the calloused palm and started to reach for it until she recalled the last encounter with a hired thug claiming to be with the railroad. Not only had they promised to burn their home if they didn’t accept an offer soon, but they had threatened to dump her and her sisters in the river.

“I’ll get out myself, thank you.”

“Very well, then.” Mr. Murray plucked his coat from the ground. The man took the liberty of filling the bucket with water, grabbed her rifle and started up the path.

“Where are you going?”

“To find that scoundrel Hamish.”

He didn’t even have the decency to look at her, or persist in offering her aid to safety. She found herself at a further disadvantage, as Mr. Murray had all of her belongings, heading straight for her sisters. He might not be blond and blue-eyed, but Mara would no doubt swoon and then fawn over his every whim. Ellie, on the other hand, would be packing their trunks and moving them into the safety of town with the likes of folks who were more apt to sip tea in their stuffy parlor rooms than take a walk along the river.

Over her freezing limbs. “You cannot very well walk around without your shoes.”

Never mind that detail had not bothered her a moment ago when she told him he had to leave. She eased through the turbulent water sucking at her skirts, careful not to lose balance, and grabbed hold of a root protruding out of the bank. She tested its strength and then, using her foot as leverage against the bank, tried to pull herself up the side. She slid right back into the water, her fingers white-knuckled around the root as the water tugged at her. She wasn’t about to give up. She’d seen him first. And she’d see him gone before Mara laid eyes on him. Before Ellie moved them from their home.

“Which is one reason why I intend to find Hamish.”

Little chance of that. She hadn’t seen her uncle since before the leaves fell from their moorings, and that had been months ago, but she wasn’t about to tell Mr. Duncan Murray such truths lest he take it in his head to steal their land.

“And what is the other, Mr. Murray?”

He halted halfway up the path and faced her. A lopsided grin appeared, forcing a dimple in his cheek. That field of butterflies fluttered with the force of her clothes hanging out on the line in a southerly Kansas wind. His swollen eye and bloodied lip did nothing to lessen the effect. “To find my horse.”

She almost let loose a sigh of relief. Nobody could blame a man for searching for his horse. If that was the only reason he was here.

“And to negotiate the purchase of this land, after I meet Cameron Sims.”

* * *

“What did you say?”

Duncan hadn’t meant for those words to spill out of his mouth, but she’d been so insistent that he get off her land, land they both very well knew wasn’t hers, that he couldn’t help goading her. All he wanted to do was inspect the land Hamish had offered him at a measly sum, a piece of property his friend had claimed rivaled the beauty of Duncan’s beloved Highlands. The fact that it was only miles from Rusa Valley where he could oversee his investment in the railroad as it clanked through town made Hamish’s offer more appealing. Calvin Weston, a member of the railroad committee and the man who had approached Duncan about providing funds for iron and labor for the railroad, wouldn’t be too happy about Duncan keeping a close watch on how his money was spent.

All he had to do was hand Hamish the bills in his pocket and sign his name on the deed and the land would be his. Of course, there was the little matter about his future bride, a minute detail Hamish had forgotten to mention until they’d made camp. A detail that had Duncan gathering his belongings and heading back to Topeka. That was until Hamish had caught him off guard and rammed the butt of his rifle into Duncan’s face. Obviously his friend was intent on Duncan purchasing the land and marrying a lass. The next thing he knew his ribs were being poked by a wild-haired, wild-eyed beauty.

Staring at the woman in the water, he was more than grateful she wasn’t the woman Hamish thought to pawn on him. At least he hoped not, as she was far from the description Hamish had given him. Much prettier and full of vinegar with her pink, bow-shaped mouth Not the meek wallflower Hamish had told him about. Not to mention that she looked nothing like his friend and could be of no relation.

He shrugged. He didn’t need any female luring him into a real marriage. “I’m here to purchase this land.”

“It’s not for sale.” Her lips flattened into a thin line. Her spectacles magnified the arrows shooting from her frigid eyes, piercing his black heart. As if her aversion toward him wasn’t enough to spark his competitive nature, the mass of dark curls springing from the knot at the nape of her neck tempted him further. Her enticing accent stirred long-forgotten memories of warm hearths and heather-covered fields. Her resolve to do things herself, the strength in her hands as she held on to the root, the mud speckling her gown and the dusting of freckles draped over her button nose, reminded him of all the reasons Hamish Sims’s proposition had held some appeal. Miles from city life promised a reprieve from social gatherings and the matchmaking mamas hoping to pawn their daughters onto his bank account. Besides, Hamish had argued, what better way to halt the incessant schemes than to marry a homely sort of lass? Duncan never expected a man he’d considered a friend to join ranks with scheming mothers. Hamish knew how he felt about marriage, but now Duncan wondered if the old man hadn’t spoken with some wisdom. Perhaps a marriage in name only could be beneficial.

“I have it on good authority that it is.” Duncan stretched his jaw, testing the damage left by Hamish, and then rubbed the back of his head where he’d landed on a rock.

“I don’t know what sort of sham you’re trying to pull, Mr. Murray. This land is not for sale.” The light sprinkling of rain turned to fat drops. She lifted her face to the rain. The droplets of mud washed away, leaving a soft glow bathing her cheeks. The corners of her mouth curved into a slight smile, as if she enjoyed the feel of nature’s kiss on her skin. For a small space of time he traveled back to his beloved Highlands, and if he allowed himself the pleasure of lingering she’d soon be twirling about like a wee child, wrapping strands of her hair around his finger, crumbling the hardened brick and mortar encasing his heart.

No wonder she was hidden out here in the woods—she was a danger to society. Most ladies of his acquaintance ran indoors at the first sight of a rain cloud, not to mention suffering from the vapors at a dunking in the river. She seemed to delight in it.

She dropped her gaze back to his. A deep scowl appeared before she resumed her efforts to get out of the river. “Hamish will never sell this land. I’d guarantee a month’s worth of cooking and cleaning on that.”

Too bad he couldn’t take her up on the cooking. It’d been a long time since he’d eaten anything other than beans. He had the funds to eat at Calhoun’s whenever he chose, but no sooner had he settled his napkin on his lap than a gaggle of females congregated at his table full of giggles, batting eyelashes and dinner invitations. Once the matchmaking mamas discovered he had no intention of courting their daughters, they rescinded their offers of dinner. Hot stew, fresh biscuits and homemade apple pie sure set his mouth to watering.

No matter, it had been a small price to pay to retain his bachelorhood and save the world from the likes of him. He’d seen what happened to women who became slaves to marriage and their husband’s fists, to the children born of such unions. He’d been one of them, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistakes as his father, which meant he had to convince Hamish that any marriage he considered could be nothing more than words spoken before a minister. A marriage in name only.

She finally pulled herself out of the water and onto the bank. She held her skirt up as if to examine the damage. The curve of her calf clad in wool stockings waved at him. He caught his jaw slacking and he snapped it shut as he shifted his gaze to the sun-kissed freckles gracing the curve of her cheeks. He grunted, disgusted with himself. He focused on a dark freckle above her nondescript wire-rimmed spectacles. He couldn’t afford the distraction of her natural beauty.

Duncan shook his head. He needed to focus on his current task, and it wasn’t her.

Although Hamish had it in him to knock Duncan in the head when he wasn’t looking, he more than likely hadn’t the heart to rid this place of squatters, not when they looked like her, doe-eyed and hapless. He was no old man with a soft heart; his heart had hardened years ago. He wouldn’t fall for her womanly charm, not that she meant to exude it. Obviously she didn’t, else she’d hold his gaze and bat her lashes like so many of the ladies in town.

Nope. He wasn’t going to give her the chance. Once he hunted down Hamish, paid the measly amount of cash, signed the deed and hired the minister, he’d boot her right off his land. She shivered, as if she heard his thoughts, her arms tightening around her waist to ward off the tepid spring breeze.

“You’re going to catch a cold standing there all day in wet clothes.” He started toward her with the intention of moving her away from the edge of the bank, but stopped himself. No doubt, if he touched her he’d catch the illness that had plagued his father.

“I don’t sicken so easily.”

He imagined not. Just as well. She was none of his concern, even though he wished she would move farther away from the edge. One slip and she’d be back in the water. He hadn’t had the urge to rescue a damsel in a long time, and he’d do well to pay heed to the dinner bells clanging in his head. He couldn’t allow the urge to take root. Wouldn’t. The rain quickened its pace. Turning from her, he headed up the path, away from the strings drawing him back toward her, away from the gleam in her milk-laden, coffee-colored eyes that he couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Why are you looking for Cameron Sims?”

He didn’t need to turn around and see the glare in her eyes, not when fire singed the back of his neck.

“Mr. Murray, I demand you stop, right this minute.”

Demand? Thankful she was definitely not the woman Hamish intended him to marry, he felt the knot of uncertainty that had been balled up in his gut release. She was neither biddable nor undemanding.

“Mr. Murray, I’m warning you.”

He had never been partial to brown eyes, but hers stirred emotions buried deep beneath a thick layer of mistrust, and if he wasn’t careful he’d find himself leg-shackled at the altar with a beautiful lady and a gun pressed against his spine. He flinched at the memory. “To marry her,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Mr. Murray!”

Before he could shake off the memory, he found his foot lassoed and his body jerked upside down. The bucket and the rifle flew from his hands, hitting the ground. A loud crack split the air.


Chapter Two (#ulink_77f97f0f-10e8-5aac-8971-29e0ad3295b1)

Her scream punched Duncan in the gut as the smell of gunpowder wafted around him. He twisted his upper body around to search for her. A plethora of green and brown clouded his vision as he fought against his spinning and throbbing head. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, hoping to gain his bearings, but no one object came into focus. “Miss? Miss!”

Nothing. Inhaling a deep breath, he wrapped his free leg around the one caught in the trap and spread his arms out wide until his swinging, upside-down body slowed. Careful not to start the movement all over again, he craned his neck until he spied the spot where she’d been standing.

She was gone.

He muttered beneath his breath as the mound of yellow fabric bobbed downstream and around the bend. The report must have startled her, causing her to lose her footing and fall back into the river. He should have insisted she move away from the edge. He should have pulled her out of the water and held on to her until her feet were on firmer ground.

Why wasn’t she hollering for help?

Unless she couldn’t.

He jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out his penknife. Swinging his body upward, he tried to grab hold of the rope above his foot and ended up renewing the back-and-forth motion. He tried again, and again. The sky, declaring war on his situation, began pouring buckets of rain, stinging his eyes. The rope bit into his ankle. If he were a praying man, he’d ask for a bit of mercy, but he’d discovered long ago that God, mercy and Duncan Murray had nothing to do with each other.

Perhaps the good Lord would listen for the lady. “God, if you’re willing to bend your ear to a black-hearted Murray like me, not for me, for her.” The line attached to his leg jerked him upward, and then dropping, he started swinging again. “That woman needs some h—”

The trap released from its mooring without him even making a jab at the rope. Like a wounded bird falling from the sky, Duncan fell, hitting the ground with a hard thud. His breath rushed out of him and he laid there stunned.

A toothless, gray-bearded Hamish, in an oversize patched coat, hunched over him. Had the old man come to bash him in the head again?

“Ye messed that one up, ye did.” Hamish squinted as he glanced toward the river. “Best go get her, as I ain’t none too good at swimmin’.”

“You have some answering to do, my friend,” Duncan said as he rolled to his feet and ran down the path. He dove into the river, icy water engulfing him. He pushed through the water several paces until the current began to quicken and swirl around his legs, seeking to drag him under the surface. Unless she knew how to swim, it would be impossible for her to navigate the waters with her small stature, especially with yards of sodden fabric weighing her down. He dove beneath the murky water and swam toward the last place he’d seen her yellow dress.

The current thrust him around the bend where the banks of the creek widened near the place he’d crossed with Hamish on his ferry only the day before. Spying a heap of yellow lying on the wooden raft, Duncan cut through the water. He grabbed hold of a corner post to keep from being sent farther downriver. Resting his forehead against the hewn wood, he drew in a few calming breaths, and then he glanced at the lady.

She lay on her back, her hand across her midsection. If it weren’t for the rapid rise and fall of her chest, he’d assume she enjoyed resting on her perch much like the water turtles who gathered on rocks to sunbathe. However, the sun remained hidden far behind the clouds and the heavy rain.

Duncan swiped the water from his eyes and pushed himself onto the anchored ferry. The back of his head pounded with the fierce clang of a hammer hitting a rail tie. Leaning on his elbows, he circled his neck, stretching the tense muscles, trying to relieve the thundering in his skull. However, if he was to be honest with himself, which he made a point to do—after all, if a man couldn’t tell himself the truth, he wasn’t worth a fleck of dust—he hoped to settle the fright right out of his bones. He’d known the woman less than a quarter of an hour, and already she’d torn more emotion out of him than any lady of his acquaintance since he’d left Scotland, ten years ago at the young age of seventeen. She’d made him care about her well-being and play the knight.

He could hear her laughter in his mind before he’d even completed the thought. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d still be standing on the bank, hands on hips, commanding him to halt. Her ability to navigate the creek, in a gown no less, and pull herself to safety, impressed him. He should have listened to her. Then he wouldn’t have dropped the rifle.

“I suppose I owe you an apology.”

The sound of the creek rushing around the bend roared in her silence. The tap of each raindrop smacking the surfaces around him increased in intensity. Her lack of sarcasm unnerved him. An uneasiness pricked the base of his neck.

“Miss?” He glanced over his shoulder and noticed her spectacles no longer rested on the bridge of her nose. He turned more toward her and took note of how her hair had come completely loose from its knot. His thoughts jumbled into a knotted ball of yarn. Before he could halt himself, he reached out to tap her shoulder and found his fingers brushing against her hair. Not one, but all of his fingers became captivated by the drenched ringlets. He could almost imagine spending his days like this, with her lounging on a crude, rickety raft in a muddy creek instead of spending his days being wooed by men with ideas bigger than their bank accounts, stiff collars and musky cigars.

A stone settled in the pit of his stomach and he jerked his hand back, his fingers snagging in her hair. He was surprised that she didn’t cry out like he’d expect ladies to do when having their hair pulled.

He turned onto his knees and grabbed hold of her shoulders and began to shake her. Warm, sticky residue seeped through her gown, oozing against his hand. He eased his hand back, knowing what he’d find. That stone in his stomach began to mull around like boulders tumbling from a mountaintop. Blood spread from her shoulder and down the sleeve of her gown.

“Duncan Murray, you’re as black-hearted as they come and you’ve done a lot of rotten things, but ye never shot a lassie afore,” he told himself. He’d never shot anyone outside of the war.

He glanced around the small cove to see if Hamish had followed by land, but only drab gray trees waiting for their spring coats to sprout lined the river banks. The old man was nowhere to be seen. Rusa Valley lay east half an hour’s ride by horseback. A well-worn path to the west would take him back toward Hamish and the hopes of shelter.

Duncan stood to his feet, the ferry rocking beneath them. Scooping her into his arms, he settled her against his chest, her head resting in the crook of his arm. The warmth of her breath filtered through the cotton strands of his soaked shirt, singeing his skin.

He stepped over the ledge, onto the bank and then readjusted her. Her arms snaked around his neck, causing his pulse to thunder. The clanging of bells, much like the ones alerting a town to a fire, roared in his ears, warning him he trod dangerous territory. He should just lay her right down on the muddy bank, forget about Hamish’s offer and hightail it back to Topeka. Perhaps leave Kansas altogether, especially given the certainty the feel of her in his arms would never leave his memory.

This woman had managed to steal his wits. One touch of her left him rattled, ready to jump in his father’s wastrel footsteps. In his father’s case, married to one woman, his mind on another. Several others.

He ducked beneath the limb of a tree and came face-to-face with the end of a revolver and the barrel of a rifle. The revolver clicked as the mechanism slid back. He eyed the two women pulling a bead on him, and he nearly dropped the woman in his arms. The piercing dark eyes and matching scowls told him all he needed to know. These women were all sisters.

“How many more of you are there?” he asked.

The shorter one narrowed her eyes. “You railroad men have tried all sorts of things to get our land, mister.”

“Kidnapping isn’t one of them,” the taller one added.

“Railroad man? Kidnapping?”

What did the railroad have to do with these women? Weston had briefed him on the latest plans to build the iron road through the county only days ago through the middle of Rusa Valley, and this bit of land was far from it. Before asking what they meant, the shorter one let out a high-pitched scream as she removed her finger from the trigger. “You shot Camy!” She whipped her head around and faced the taller sister. “He shot Camy.”

He glanced down at the woman in his arms. Almond-shaped eyes rested in a sun-kissed, heart-shaped face. Her bow-shaped lips were slightly parted. Her dark curls formed a pillow for her head against his arm, and he couldn’t help imagining gazing upon her beauty every day for the rest of his life and calling the name that suited her.

“Cam—Cameron Sims?” Dread curled in his stomach, pounding like wild horses in his head, and he nearly dropped her. So much for her not being Hamish’s relation. So much for her not being the woman Hamish wanted him to marry. Everything in him told him to get away from her as fast as he could.

Her lashes fluttered and then opened. A pool of warm cocoa with flecks of gold blinked up at him, laced with pain. She blinked again. “You rescued me.”

“Not exactly,” he snapped, ashamed of his actions causing her need to be rescued.

Her eyes grew wide at his terse response, and at the moment he wasn’t apologetic. He’d been a fool to follow Hamish out here with the promise of a home worthy of Scotland only to be swindled into marriage by a conniving old man. The woman in his arms was far from homely.

Her mouth opened and closed as if she wanted to say something. Instead she raised her head and looked from one sister to the other and back to him. She started to push against his shoulders and groaned in pain. Eyelids falling, her head fell and dangled over his arm. His protective instinct had him rolling her closer into him. The curve of her cheek resting against his chest.

The sisters lowered their weapons and rushed toward them.

The taller of the two sisters probed Camy’s wound. “Is this her only injury?”

Duncan shrugged. “It’s the only one I see. However, she was washed down the river.”

“You shot her. And you tried to drown her just like the last prospector promised to do,” the younger sister accused as she jammed a fist on her hip.

Duncan’s pulse skipped a beat. Someone had threatened her? A man claiming to work for the railroad? A man Duncan’s money helped pay wages to? No wonder she’d been adamant about him leaving. Now wasn’t the time to be interrogated by this younger sister, nor was it the time for him to ask questions. Camy needed medical attention, and quickly. “If I meant to drown her I wouldn’t be carrying her, now, would I?”

The sister inspecting Camy for injuries glanced at the shorter one. “You best get Dr. Northrop.”

“I don’t like it, Ellie.” The shorter one looked over Duncan from head to toe and back again, before resting on her injured sister. “If any further harm happens to either one of my sisters, you’ll regret it, mister.”

“Ye need not worry, Mara Jean.” Hamish stepped from the shadows and over a log. “He’ll not be causing harm to his future bride.”

Obviously Hamish sought Duncan’s protection for his family, but that didn’t mean hot anger didn’t boil in Duncan’s blood at being manipulated. If Hamish had been truthful about his intention of Duncan marrying Camy from the start, Duncan never would have left Topeka, and she wouldn’t now be suffering from a wound in her shoulder.

The sisters spun around, their faces white as snow.

“What have you done, Hamish?” Ellie held up her hand. “Never mind. We’ll hear the tale soon enough. Come along, let’s get Camy home.”

“Northrop won’t be too happy when he finds out about this.” The younger sister giggled.

Camy flinched and curled tighter against him. Her eyes once again opened, pooling with tears. Tears caused by the wound in her shoulder, when she hadn’t cried before? Had she heard Hamish’s revelation? Or was it the mention of the doctor that caused her to seek his protection, a stranger? Either way, he didn’t like the lines of distress creasing her forehead and mouth. Somehow he couldn’t help wanting to play the knight in shining armor to this damsel in distress. After all, he owed her that much after shooting her. No matter how loud the warning bells clanged in his head, he wouldn’t leave her side until he was assured she was well, and then he’d be gone without a second glance. Before Hamish and his daughter convinced him a marriage of convenience held appeal.

* * *

“I won’t leave you.” She closed her eyes as the huskiness of Duncan Murray’s voice, colored with his accent, vibrated through her and curled her toes. “Unless you ask me to.”

She gave her head a slight shake and then wrapped her arms around his neck as he followed Ellie up the path. Her behavior toward him had been monstrous to say the least, and yet he continued to offer her help. She’d almost be willing to slave over the fireplace and make him a month’s worth of dinners.

The wall of his broad chest and his brawny arms reminded her of the days when her da had held her tight during a frightful storm, or when he’d taken her riding. Those days had been forever ago, before her mother had died, before he’d left her and her sisters with Hamish. She hadn’t felt safe or protected since. She wanted to soak it in, and yet she did not. She opened her eyes.

“You may put me d-down now,” she stuttered, releasing her arms from around his neck and pushing at his shoulders. He tightened his grip. She smacked his shoulder and grimaced at the fire burning in her arm. “Oaf!”

Ellie halted her steps. “Something wrong?”

“I’m not a child, Ellie. I can walk.” She released a puff of air. She didn’t want to trust that he had good intentions. There had been too many men of recent months travelling through Rusa Valley seeking land along the river, and some unsavory fellows vying for Sims Creek. However, she didn’t wish to be overly rude, given that he seemed intent on helping her. “He’s injured and has no business b-bearing my burden.”

“Cameron is as stubborn as my Millie.” Hamish’s thick, gravelly accent warmed her heart, even if she took offense at being compared to his mule. He’d inform Mr. Murray that the Simses’ land was not for sale, because Hamish promised it to her when she turned of age on her next birthday, and perhaps he’d help Ellie see reason as to why they shouldn’t give up their home and allow bounders to take over their home.

“I’ve noticed,” Duncan mumbled as he released Camy’s legs. “Far from biddable.”

His fingers anchored around her waist, leaving her light-headed and breathless. Her swim in the river had taken more of her strength than she’d like to admit. The pulsating, searing pain in her arm churned in her stomach.

Peeling his fingers from her sides, she shuddered at the loss of his warmth and wobbled. Duncan’s palm, branding the curve of her back, offered support and propelled her away from him and the delight of his protectiveness. She wouldn’t covet something she could never have. Not from him. He was too handsome by far, and she was too plain. Too unladylike.

She lifted her foot over an exposed root, and a wave of dizziness spun around in her head. Reaching her hand out to steady herself against the tree, she missed and lurched forward. Before she hit the ground, she found herself swept back into the arms of Duncan Murray.

The rumble of his laughter shook through her. “I’m afraid she’ll find I’m just as stubborn.”

Ellie and Hamish laughed too, and if Camy hadn’t been so offended at their jests over her stubbornness, she would have released the tears of pain and frustration begging to spill from her eyes. Ellie rarely smiled anymore, and she hadn’t laughed since she returned home.

Camy crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. “I’m glad to amuse you, but can we go home now?”

The sooner they were home, the sooner she’d be out of his arms, and the sooner they could correct him about purchasing their home. Then he could be on his way. But then one of the Northrops would soon arrive, and no doubt, Miller Northrop would hear of her mishap. She could handle Duncan Murray and the emotions he elicited, but she couldn’t handle Miller’s persistent pursuit. The last time almost cost her her freedom, in more ways than one. Camy shivered at the idea of being shackled to that boy. Only a year older than her twenty, Miller had gone from a polite young man to acting like a petulant child over the last year.

“Are you cold?” Duncan’s slight accent rolled over her, somehow setting her nerves on edge, yet giving her a great deal of comfort as it reminded her of her parents.

“I’m fine.”

He snorted, as if she’d tell an untruth, and then pulled her closer. If word caught on that a man carried Camy, no matter the reason, Mrs. Smith would call for a wedding. This man confused her, and she’d no more wish to marry the yellow-bellied oaf of a Scotsman than Miller.

A life with Miller would be worse than tea with Mrs. Smith and her daughters. The socialite had taken it upon herself to mother the Sims sisters, as they had no mother, and Camy always walked away from her teas with a stiff neck from sitting all prim and proper like. Not to mention her nose nearly took on a permanent wrinkled disposition. It was no small chore containing a sneeze, especially when Mrs. Smith insisted on waving her fan, stirring up every imaginable fragrance she’d doused her person with moments before the appointed time of tea. Third Tuesday, every month, weather permitting. A necessary evil, according to Ellie. After all, Mrs. Smith knew all the going-ons within three counties, which kept the Sims sisters ahead of the railroad. Most of the time. All they had to do was smile, nod and sip tea while they listened to drivel about the latest fashions and how a woman should glide and not amble in the presence of polite company. If Mrs. Smith had known about Duncan Murray, she certainly failed to mention it. The old goose needed to step up her game if she intended to continue tea parties in her parlor room. Unless, of course, she had intended to keep him a secret. But then, only men with fat wallets perked Mrs. Smith’s ears.

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

Camy wrinkled her brow. Her gaze shifted to his. The sharp retort clinging to the tip of her tongue halted when she caught sight of his moss-colored eyes. She jerked her gaze from his and pushed her finger up the side of her nose. The wire rim that should be there was gone. No wonder everything but Duncan Murray seemed to blur before her.

“What’s that, you say?”

“My spectacles.”

Duncan flexed his arms around Camy as he stepped over another large limb that had fallen during the last winter storm a month back. He’d probably handle the oxen as if they were no more than small babes from their mother’s womb.

“I didn’t see them. You must have lost them when you fell in the river.”

“Most likely.” Even though Camy knew every inch of their land with her eyes closed, Ellie would insist on Camy staying in the house until they could be replaced. Mara wouldn’t be too happy about trading chores with Camy and giving up the cooking, although their stomachs would be a mite grateful for the change. Mara’s attempt at potatoes still soured Camy’s gullet. Dr. Northrop would grumble about her being a simpleminded female who needed a husband, one like Miller.

“Can you see at all?” he asked.

“I’m not blind,” Camy snapped, and then sighed. “I can see you. That’s about it. My sisters treat me like I’m daft.”

“We do not.” Ellie’s voice floated toward her. “The last time you lost your spectacles you stepped in a hole and twisted your foot. You hobbled around for weeks. The time before that you nearly shot Hamish thinking he was a wildcat.”

Duncan chuckled. “Hamish resembles a lot of things, but a wildcat?”

Camy shrugged. It was odd Duncan seemed to know her uncle well. “I knew it was him. I missed him on purpose.”

“So the lass says,” Hamish responded. “Too close for my liking.”

“Too close? You have a hole in your hat,” Ellie added. “We’re almost to the path. Can you manage her up the hill?”

“Yes.”

His accent curled her toes. “I can walk if it’s too much for your head.”

“We’ll manage just as we are, Camy.”

She liked the way he said her name. Not as a curse or as if she’d once again displeased her sisters. Her name almost sounded pleasant, even if it meant crooked nose. A name her da had given her because he felt all out of sorts at his wife producing another girl.

Camy’s mind darted in all directions as Duncan maneuvered the path leading to her home. She didn’t want to like him. She didn’t want to like any man, given that they seemed to be as flighty as birds during the first fall of leaves. Her da always moving place to place looking for that one thing to fill the void her mother had left when she passed from this earth. Hamish leaving for months at a time.

Duncan Murray was handsome, and somewhat gruff, but somehow she’d found a bit of courage when he challenged her instead of constantly stuttering like a timid wallflower hiding behind a book during Mrs. Smith’s social gatherings. Beneath the layers he seemed to be caring and kind. He hadn’t left her in the river, he’d come after her. She was tempted to giggle and become woolly-headed like Mara did whenever she talked about a gentleman, carriage rides and arm-in-arm walks beneath the light of the moon. Camy’s younger sister didn’t understand what it was like to have a man abandon them; she’d been too young to recall. Ellie knew, but she hadn’t been the one to chase Da’s coattails everywhere he’d gone. She hadn’t been the one sitting beneath the stoop waiting for his return.

Camy promised herself she’d never do it again. She’d never allow her heart to be owned by anyone other than her sisters. She had the land Hamish promised to give her. That was all she needed.

“Mr. Murray, what is the truth as to why you’re here?”

He halted his steps, his hold on her slackening. She could tell by the lighting that they’d reached the top of the path, and she could tell by his reaction that he hadn’t expected what was before him.

“He’s come to marry you, lass,” Hamish said as he stepped past them.


Chapter Three (#ulink_312480cd-e137-52ac-87a2-e551c4b5817f)

“No! I have no need for a husband,” Camy said as she propelled out of Duncan’s arms.

Although he felt a tad shaky on his own feet, Duncan grabbed hold of her arm and steadied her. He’d been both shocked and unsurprised at Hamish’s revelation, and he didn’t know which irritated him more, the fact that his friend hadn’t been completely truthful about the acquisition of the land until last night, or that the Lady Hamish intended him to marry hadn’t been told about the bargain. Either way, he wouldn’t wed an unwilling bride. “It seems we are in agreement. I have no need for a wife.”

“Excellent. Wh-why are you here?”

Duncan looked about him. Although the spring had yet to produce buds on the trees and the green of the grass had yet to sprout from the muddied land, the sight before him was more than he could have hoped for. In this Hamish had not exaggerated. A flat valley for planting gave way to gentle-rolling hills. Hens pecked around the yard. Several goats stood on top of a small wooden shed. A pair of oxen huddled beneath a lean-to. A hound as ugly as any he’d ever seen poked his head from around the door of a large barn before lying back down.

“This.” Duncan motioned to the land stretched out before them.

“Is mine.” Camy glared at Hamish. “You promised.”

“You expected Hamish to keep his word?” Ellie crossed her arms.

“My shoulder’s been shot, not my head, Ellie.” She turned toward Hamish. “You gave your word. A Sims always keeps his word, right, Hamish?”

“Cameron, ye know I would if I could.” The old man glanced at his feet. “The river is thawing.”

A look passed between the sisters. Eyes narrowed, Camy turned toward the small cabin and wobbled. Duncan swept her into his arms. Her limbs turned to stone. “We can discuss the situation after the doctor tends to your shoulder.”

“I agree.” Ellie motioned for him to follow her into the small cabin.

Ellie went directly to the fire and poked at the logs in the fireplace, stoking the embers to life. She placed a pot on a hook over the flames. “Sit her on the bed, if you will.”

Camy’s cheeks took on a rosy hue. “I’ll sit on the chair.”

Ellie glanced over her shoulder. Her brow furrowed; she seemed unware of the awkwardness. After a moment, she gave a quick nod. “Do as you please. However, Northrop will have you moved to the bed before he examines you.”

Camy shivered. “All the more reason I will insist on sitting in the chair. I will not be perceived as a weak-kneed ninny. Besides, I could use dry clothes.”

She had threatened him with a gun, demanded his obedience, received a bullet in her shoulder without so much as a bat of an eyelash and taken a dunk in the river. She was the furthest thing from a ninny, and his chest welled with pride at her courage. A shame he couldn’t marry her. Unlike many of the ladies who’d vied for his attention in order to appease their vanity, she wouldn’t demand his every waking hour, leaving him free to do as he wished. However, he feared her lack of dependence on him for her emotional well-being would only draw him nearer as she did now, intriguing him to get to know her even better. Realizing he was a little more reluctant than he should be about relinquishing her, he plopped her onto the nearest spindle-back chair.

“Ow.” Camy teetered toward the table but caught herself with her good hand. She scooted toward the edge of the chair with her chin held high and her back straight as a plank. “If I was such a b-burden, you could have let me walk.”

“My apologies.” Duncan’s cheeks flamed. “I should have been more careful.”

Of course, he would do well not to touch her again. He wouldn’t wish to be caught in her womanly charm. He scrubbed his palm over his face and winced as he brushed his hand over his eye. The cabin grew a few shades darker and the air closed in. Duncan needed to think about how he could seal the purchase without her as part of the negotiation. He turned for the door. Swinging it open, he stepped into the mud outside.

“Mr. Murray,” Camy called.

His hand on the door. “Yes?”

“Where are you going?”

“To gather your belongings from the river.” He needed air. He needed to get away from her to regain his wits about him. He’d found many ladies attractive over the years, but none as interesting as Camy Sims. The very lilt of her speech tempted him with a desire to sit and chat about nonessentials, a temptation he hadn’t experienced in many years, since before his mother fell ill and lost the will to speak. He could imagine himself sitting across the table with her, sipping tea and eating biscuits, while she regaled him with some tale or another. All he had to do was agree to Hamish’s terms. And gain Camy’s acceptance to be his wife. Absolutely not.

“It is raining. You have no shoes.”

“Rain has never stopped me from enjoying the outdoors.” Glancing down, he held his arms out. “A little more won’t hurt me.” As much as he would enjoy a warm fire to dry his bones, he needed to walk, to think. Why had Hamish brought him out here to no more than a shack housing three sisters? To play on his charitable nature? The old man would find his charity didn’t extend to marrying a brown-eyed lass with tumbling locks as wild as his beloved Highlands. He had to find Hamish and be done with his business so he could remove himself from Camy’s presence.

“You’ll catch your death if you’re not careful.”

If he was not careful he’d catch something much worse than death, like her for a wife. He’d much rather marry one of the simpering young ladies who cared more for proper social graces than was necessary, as it would be easier to maintain his distance. Besides, he felt at home with his bare toes in the cool grass—a little mud would not make a difference.

“I assure you I will be fine, Miss Sims. Besides, I wish to look for your father.”

Deep lines creased her forehead. “My father? You’ll have a time of that. He’s not been seen ’round here in years. He left us with Uncle Hamish when Mara Jean was a tot.”

“You cannot blame our father, Camy.” Ellie dropped a pile of clean cloths into the boiling water and stirred it around. “He had no means to care for three little girls.”

Camy scowled. “Either did Hamish.”

“Hamish had Naomi,” Ellie countered.

“Even so, Da dinnae even try.” Camy’s voice wobbled.

The soft lilt of her accent ignited the black heart confined behind the brick and mortar of his chest. Her words pummeled him like a battering ram. Her words were similar to those he’d said to his own mother after his father left them with a leaky roof, no wood for the winter and no food for their bellies. Even in her illness and after all his father’s abuses, his mother had continued to defend him, but Duncan knew the truth: his father hadn’t even tried. Duncan had done what he could, but there weren’t many folks willing to help the son and wife of a scoundrel like Ewan Murray.

The pain of old wounds sliced through him like an ax splitting wood. To make matters worse, the sisters’ raw emotions filled the room. Duncan understood the rejection and the loneliness all too well and he did not wish to recall the depth of pain he’d felt when his father abandoned him and his mother. However, he could not stop his heartstrings from pulling taut and drawing him closer into their midst, closer to Camy. The sheen of her brown eyes dulled, beckoning him to shield her from all the hurts of this life. If he stayed, as he’d promised, he wouldn’t have the strength to resist his need to protect her. He reminded himself that he was no better than his father, no better than Camy’s. No matter how much he wished it otherwise.

With escape the only thing on his mind, he pulled the door closed and stepped beneath the stoop and off the porch, his toes sinking into the mud. He lifted his face to the punishing sting of the rain. Would his father’s past always chase him down and haunt his thoughts?

The land beckoned to him. However, the pounding in his head and the promise he’d made to Camy to remain by her side kept him from giving in to the need to run barefoot across the countryside as he’d done when he was a lad whenever his father had left, sometimes for months at a time, leaving his mother to suffer days of melancholy.

* * *

Camy slumped against the chair as the door closed behind him. The effort to act the lady almost forced her to embarrassment as she fought the roiling in her stomach. The sharp sting had long since turned into a deep burning, which seem to be spreading throughout her body. Although she was grateful he’d left, giving her a moment of reprieve from proper decorum, disappointment cut into her thoughts and she had a deep suspicion it had something to do with Duncan and his promise to stay by her side, and little to do with memories of her father’s abandonment. She’d long since carved him from her mind.

There were few men of her acquaintance who kept their word, so she didn’t understand why she believed Duncan would be different. Perhaps it had been the look in his eyes when he gave his word. As if he meant it. Hamish, with all his faults, had the same look when he meant to do as he said, which wasn’t often. It was why she had been convinced Hamish would never sell the land. Her uncle might be a lot of things right down to a no-good yellow belly at times, but when he made a promise with a look of determination, he kept it. Until now, it seemed.

“Here.” Ellie cupped her elbow and helped her stand to her feet. “Let’s get you out of your wet things before Dr. Northrop arrives.”

Camy groaned with each pull and tug as Ellie helped her change into a dry skirt and a loose-fitting bodice. She was near to suffering from the vapors by the time her sister fastened the last of the buttons after covering her wound with strips of linen. A quick tug of her hair had her knees wobbling and Camy didn’t think she’d be able to stand much longer. Ellie released Camy’s hair with an irritated sigh.

“We’ll not worry about tidying you up any more than necessary, but we do need to get your hair dried.” Ellie moved the chair closer to the fire and helped her sit. “Do you wish to speak about Mr. Murray before Northrop arrives?”

Turning sideways in the chair, she rested her head against the back of the chair, the spindles biting into her sensitive flesh as she sank against the hard wood. “There’s not much to tell. I found him unconscious by the river, beaten and with no shoes. Once he woke up he asked after Hamish and claimed to be purchasing my, er, our land.”

“I meant to discuss the wedding, Camy,” Ellie responded.

“There is nothing to discuss.”

“I tell you, Hamish is up to no good.” The sound of Ellie scrubbing the table met Camy’s ears. How many times could a person scrub an already well-scrubbed surface? A blur of purple squeezed between Camy and the warmth of the fire, chilling her limbs. The spoon clanked against the kettle. Camy didn’t need her spectacles to see Ellie’s frenzied state. Every brisk movement and every mumble beneath her sister’s breath spoke clearly. Water cascaded as Ellie scooped another cloth out of the kettle. Everything in the cabin seemed to halt until the dripping of water subsided. Ellie’s purple shadow swiveled away from the fire. The wet linen smacked against the table. “No doubt, he lost the land gambling.”

Camy lurched off the chair with a yelp, her hand pressing against the wound. “He wouldn’t. He promised. Besides, Mr. Murray doesn’t seem to be the gambling type.”

“And what do gamblers look like?” Ellie tossed.

“Miller,” she said without thinking. The young man who’d once been a friend had since gained shadows beneath his eyes and hard lines of worry creasing his mouth.

“That just goes to show you that you shouldn’t trust a man’s words.” Ellie scrubbed the table with a greater force than normal. “Not a Northrop’s, not a stranger’s and most definitely not Hamish’s. Who knows what he does while he’s gallivanting about leaving us here to fend for ourselves?”

“Our uncle may have left us at times, but he’s never broken his word to us, Ellie. And he wouldn’t gamble. He’s too tight-fisted with his purse.” Camy once again slumped onto the chair.

Ellie knew Hamish would never do such a thing. She had to. If she wavered and began believing the worst from their uncle, then Camy’s faith in him would begin to waver too. Was it possible he thought marriage was the only way to keep her and her sisters safe? With Mara too young, Camy knew she was the obvious choice to sacrifice for her sisters, especially since Ellie’s heart remained bruised from Benjamin Northrop’s rejection. “You didn’t have to send Mara for Northrop. You’ve tended all our scrapes and cuts thus far and we’re still alive.” With Dr. Northrop and his three sons practicing medicine, they had no way of knowing who would arrive. Camy didn’t relish Miller treating her. Especially if Mara told him about Duncan, but for Ellie’s sake she prayed Benjamin was nowhere close. And, no doubt, Hamish would shoot the elder Dr. Northrop once he crossed onto the Simses’ property before asking questions ending years of disagreement between the two old men.

“A bullet is quite another thing, Camy. How did you get shot anyways?”

Even with the burning in her shoulder, Camy almost laughed. “Entirely by accident.”

Ellie did laugh. “All of your mishaps are entirely by accident, dear sister.”

Camy recalled the last incident when Hound took off after Uncle Tommy, her pet hen. The poor, one-legged gal nearly lost her other leg when she became tangled up in Camy’s skirts. Somehow she was able to save the hen, but not without injury to her own shin. It wouldn’t have been so terrible if she hadn’t have been heading out to chop branches. Good thing Ellie excelled with a needle, leaving tight stitches and little scarring. Miller didn’t need another reason why one of the Sims sisters needed a husband. Particularly him, to particularly her. If she were to wed Duncan, she would no longer have to concern herself over Miller’s endless pursuit. She had no idea which would be the better of the two. Wedding a wastrel of a man who tried to dominate her with a heavy hand, or a man who would one day leave her broken just like her father had done?

“Sometimes I wonder if you enjoy having the Northrops over.”

Camy’s eyes grew wide. “Absolutely not! Besides, Mr. Murray carried the rifle and the bucket of water. I tried to warn him about the trap, but he didn’t listen.”

“He doesn’t seem like the kind of man to take orders kindly.” The table groaned under Ellie’s scrubbing.

“Orders?” She had been quite rude to him, and she had demanded he stop when she could easily have told him about the trap. She wouldn’t be sitting here wounded, and Duncan wouldn’t be out coveting her land. Camy glanced at the weathered door and wondered if he’d decided to return to where he’d come from. Disappointment tickled her nose, as she’d like to interrogate the man Hamish had chosen for her. Was he a farmer or just a man hoping to tame the wild countryside? It was just as well, even if she worried over his shoeless feet and the bumps on his head. “I clearly thought to warn Mr. Murray, not give him orders.”

“As I recall—” Duncan’s voice rumbled into the cabin. A brisk wind blew in with him, proving the morning’s warm spring rain had given way to the cold.

Camy eased to a proper sitting position, careful not to cause any more discomfort than she already experienced.

“—you demanded me to stop.” Duncan Murray’s shadow loomed over her as he moved closer, quickening her pulse. The smell of rain and freshly churned earth danced around her with each of his movements. She’d make a year’s worth of pies to have her spectacles at this moment, to see the contours of his hardened jaw, to see how the rain fashioned his russet curls. Camy’s cheeks warmed as she sensed his gaze on her.

“I could not find Hamish.” He laid the rifle on Ellie’s clean table and received an irritated huff from her sister. “Where would you like the bucket of water?”

“Right here is fine.” Ellie snagged the rifle, her skirts swishing across the room. Camy heard it settle on the rack beside the door, and then Ellie once again began scrubbing the table.

“Don’t mind her. Ellie doesn’t like the Northrops and one of them is on his way.”

“I don’t dislike them, Camy. Well, not all of them.” Ellie’s voice softened to a near whisper and the scrubbing abruptly halted.

“Anytime we need a doctor, Ellie scours every nook and cranny.”

“Which seems to only be when Camy has an accident. I’ve considered sending her to live with the Northrops to save us all the bother.”

“I would never forgive you!”

“I know. And I would never wish it on anyone, not even Levina Smith.”

Camy smiled at Ellie’s teasing. Levina had done all she could to turn the eye of at least one Northrop, particularly Ellie’s former beau. “No doubt, Levina would enjoy residing with the doctors.”

“Does she have accidents often?” Although Duncan spoke to her sister, Camy sensed his gaze on her.

“Not Levina.” Camy giggled. “Never once have I seen her falter. She glides across the floor with the grace of a queen and sips her tea without an unladylike slurp.”

Certainly jealousy hadn’t taken a foothold in her thoughts. Not of Levina. Just because Camy couldn’t walk across the room with stacks of books on her head didn’t mean anything. There were plenty of things Camy could do that Levina could not. Embroider without poking a finger, cook and plow a field. Those were practical things, things that would allow Camy independence to survive without a husband, not foolish things like useless chatter about the latest fashions and the weather that caused a man’s eyes to cross and his mind to go numb in utter boredom. “Did I mention Levina bats her lashes in precise intervals?” Camy blinked and counted the required one, two count and blinked again for effect.

Duncan burst into laughter and then cleared his throat. “Exact intervals? Do ladies have a book for such things?”

“That, Mr. Murray, is a secret best kept.” Ellie’s mood lightened. “Besides, we’ve only heard tales of such a book.”

“Tales spun by Mrs. Smith and her daughters,” Camy mumbled beneath her breath.

“To answer your question,” Ellie continued, “Camy does have a way of finding trouble when none should be had.”

“Like today?” Duncan chuckled.

“Yes,” Ellie answered. “Although I must say this is a first, as I’ve never recalled her having an accomplice.”

“That is not so.” Camy dipped her head to hide the embarrassment staining her cheeks as she recalled the time her sisters talked her into climbing a tree. “What about the time you told me Red had climbed the tree and couldn’t get down?” She glanced at Duncan. “Red was an old tomcat, so old we made up stories about how he’d been on the boat with Noah. He couldn’t climb over a pebble, let alone up a tree. In my worry, I never once thought my sisters were telling a tale.”

“Oh, we weren’t. I promise. Red had climbed the tree like a spry wildcat. Of course that was after Mara had dunked him in the water bucket to give him a bath. How were we supposed to know he’d gotten himself down while we fetched you?”

“It sounds as if you’re quite the adventurer, Camy.”

“Quite.” Ellie laughed. “The exact reason the Northrops visit us often.”

“At least, I’ll be saved the sight of whoever attends me, even if I have to suffer their poking.”

“Oh. I found these.” Duncan lifted her chin with the pad of his thumb and then brushed the tips of her ears as he settled her wire rims into place.

Camy sucked in a breath as the lines of his face and the dusting of his dark beard came into focus. Or was it from the warmth of his fingers as they curved around her ears? The dark shadow gracing the curve of his jaw illuminated the gold flecks vibrating in the bed of his moss-colored eyes. Dark-colored curls clinging to his brow and curling near his collar dripped droplets of rain. She could have stared at him for hours, learning every detail, as if he hadn’t already been branded into her thoughts. He’d make a fine husband. Too bad she would never be agreeable to the idea.

He glanced at her wound and then rubbed his palm over his prickly jaw. “My apologies for what happened at the creek. I should have listened to your warning.”

A flutter swirled deep within her chest, a desire to have a husband as handsome as him, to be a wife. A mother. Her thoughts trailed into dangerous territory. She’d be a rabbit thoroughly caught in a trap if she didn’t remove Duncan from her presence. A rabbit chasing a carrot never to be had. No doubt, Duncan had plenty of ladies vying for his attentions, ladies much more efficient at balancing books on their heads. “My th-thanks.”

She tore her gaze from him and stared at the fire. Her heart cracked a little with each snap of an ember. Her faults would keep her from finding a decent husband, just as they had kept her and her sisters from having a father to love them and protect them. It had been one of her many accidents that had propelled her father to rid himself of his daughters. Did Hamish think to buy her a husband with her land because she couldn’t find one any other way? Camy wasn’t foolish enough to believe loyalty could be purchased. It had never worked with her father on the rare occasions he’d visited.

Duncan nodded. “Your spectacles must have flown off before you started downriver. I’m just glad I found them.”

“I cannot marry you.”

“I know.” He opened the faded blue curtains Ellie had made from one of their old dresses and propped his shoulder against the frame.

“Then why are you still here?”

Looking at her, he held her gaze for a moment. “I keep my word.” He glanced out the window. “It looks as if you have company.”

“Most likely Mara with the doctor,” Ellie replied.

“By the looks of it, I’d say there is more than one man and they’re armed.”

Camy’s heart climbed into her throat and then dropped to her toes. “Thugs.”

She sprang out of the chair when she realized the possibility of the danger walking toward their front door. The room swam before her eyes and she pressed her palms against the table to gain her balance as Ellie grabbed hold of her arm to steady her.

“What, you think to take them on in your condition?” Ellie’s voice teetered on bitterness and Camy knew that if these men weren’t the Northrops, Ellie would have them moved from the farm before the sun set.

“I won’t let them intimidate us, Ellie.”

“Neither will I.” Duncan yanked the rifle from the rack and swung open the door.

“You can’t go out there!” Camy squeaked. Her heart pounded against her chest. Her ears began to roar. “You don’t know what they’re capable of doing. What they’ve done. What they said they’ll do if we don’t relent.”

Fear tugged at her insides. Nightmares of masked men and torches had plagued her sleep for months. Cruel jests toward her sisters and the threats made against her came crashing into her thoughts.

“If they intend harm, I’ll see them gone.”

“This is not your business,” Camy argued. She’d accused him of being one of them and he’d shown her kindness. He’d carried her from the river, up a steep incline. True, she didn’t want a husband. True, she had wished him gone, but she did not wish him dead, which was a certainty if he came between the Simses and the men who coveted Sims land.

He looked over his shoulder and straight into her eyes. “Until we decide things between us, it is.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_750ef98f-b656-5b14-b3c9-4ccf0be4af43)

Decide things between us? The words had rushed out of his mouth without thought, and he watched her mouth open and close like the wings of a butterfly. A response must have formed on the tip of her tongue, but not a single one released. And truly he knew how she felt, as he didn’t have anything else to say either. Nothing could ever be between them, but for the time being he’d pretend otherwise and let her think so, as well. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if she and her sister decided to stand against three armed men, and if these men were on a payroll financed by his bank account as the sisters seemed to think, it was his business.

“Camy, sit down before you fall over,” he demanded, and prepared himself for a possibility that these were men hired by the railroad to torment innocent, helpless females.

As he stepped beneath the stoop, pulling the door closed behind him, a tall lanky man with a rifle propped against his shoulder jumped from the back of the buckboard before the driver even slowed his horse. Another man of smaller stature climbed from the passenger side and rushed to the other man’s side. The driver slid the brake into place and dropped the reins. He pulled a black bag from the back of the buckboard, and Duncan eased the tightness from his lungs. These were no railroad thugs. “You must be the Northrops.”

The tall one pushed his bowler above his brow and squinted through the pouring rain. “And you must be the one who shot my fiancée.”

Duncan felt his brow rise beneath his hair at the news. If this man was Camy’s fiancé, then why was Duncan’s marriage to her part of the land acquisition? “Your fiancée?”

The man curled his nose. “Cameron Sims.”

“Come, now, Miller. She hasn’t agreed to be your wife.” The more distinguished-looking gentleman with the black bag dried his palm down the front of his coat and held it for Duncan to shake. “Dr. Benjamin Northrop. This here is my brother Dr. Julius Northrop and of course this is my other brother, Miller, who has yet to gain the lady’s agreement.”

“That is a minor detail.” Miller stepped onto the stoop and, hovering over Duncan, glared down at him. “She will be my wife.”

Duncan did not appreciate the underlying threat, as it seemed more directed at Camy than himself even though she was on the other side of the door. Miller’s hawklike nose, and ashy pallor reminded Duncan of a devious captain he’d encountered during the War Between the States who’d seized homes when he felt it necessary and stole food from the mouths of babes to feed his hounds. That reminder alone did not bode well for Miller, not if Duncan had anything to do about it.

Miller made to move around him, but Duncan shifted, blocking his entrance, and glanced at Benjamin. “If, as you say, your brother is not Miss Sims’s fiancé, I must insist only one of you attend her. Preferably you, Dr. Northrop,” he said, nodding toward Benjamin. “As you seem to be a professional seeking to give medical help, not a jaded beau come to demean the lady.”

Miller puffed out his chest like a rooster on the strut. “Listen here,” he snapped as his brother Julius cocked back the hammer on his revolver.

Resting his hand on Julius’s, Benjamin lowered the weapon. “Julius, he has the right of it. Miller, you are in no condition to speak to Cameron. Allow me to assess her, and then if she wishes to see you, you may enter. Until then you two may wait out here.”

“What about him?” Miller’s lip curled in disgust.

Benjamin shook his head. “I suggest he wait out here with the two of you.”

The corner of Miller’s mouth twitched in an arrogant smirk. Duncan didn’t blink at the young man’s bluster. He’d dealt with shiftier men in his days, men who’d threatened life and limb if he didn’t bend to their will, men like his father.

“However,” Benjamin continued, “I do not wish to treat another gunshot wound. After you,” he said to Duncan, sweeping his hand in front of him.

Duncan opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit cabin. “It’s all right, ladies. It’s the Northrops.” It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but not long enough that he didn’t notice Camy now sat on the edge of the bed, her hands properly folded in her lap, her cheeks pale. Despite the relief in her eyes at his words, lines of agony creased her brow. It also didn’t go beyond his notice that the bed swayed as if she’d recently jumped on the mattress. Ellie’s skirts had a similar motion while she hunched near the fire. He had no doubt the ladies had eavesdropped on the conversation between him and the Northrops.

As Benjamin Northrop closed the door behind him, Ellie straightened, ran her hands down her skirts and nodded. “Dr. Northrop.”

“Ellie.”

“Where’s Mara?” Ellie asked, easing some of Camy’s agitation at not seeing her youngest sister.

“I insisted she stay with my sister, Bella, until I knew what sort of trouble you ladies have gotten yourself into.”

Ellie huffed. “You could have sent one of your brothers in to treat my sister if we’re such a bother.”

“Yet I am the one with experience with these sorts of injuries.” He shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the end of the bed. “What have you done to yourself, Camy?”

Even in her discomfort she teased, feigning innocence. “I haven’t done a thing. This t-time.”

“So I’ve heard.” Benjamin laughed as he pressed his fingers to her wrist. “Pulse is strong. That is good news.”

Duncan knew he should turn away as the doctor pulled Camy’s sleeve from her shoulder to inspect her wound, yet he could not tear his eyes from hers. He’d caused her this pain, and he intended to bear as much as he could with her. If only he could trade places with her.

“Mr. Murray.” Ellie’s voice pulled his attention from Camy’s crinkled eyelids. “Would you mind moving the table closer?”

Once he moved the table, Ellie placed a bowl of steaming water next to the doctor along with strips of clean linens and then scooted a chair beside Camy for Northrop to sit. It was as if the two had worked together before and the woman understood what he needed.

“Thank you, Ellie.” He dipped one of the clothes into the water and cleaned the wound. Bright red rivulets streamed from her wound, soaking into her shirt. Camy groaned.

Camy’s sister grumbled something unintelligible and then said, “I know you would save her the pain if you could...” Her words muffled beneath the hand covering her mouth. Dr. Northrop reached out toward her, but Ellie spun from him.

“I’ll be fine, Ellie.” Camy put on a brave face even as she grimaced.

Duncan sat next to her and took her cold hand in his. Although she wore dry clothes, she had yet to warm from her fall into the river. Dr. Northrop swabbed a clean cloth over the wound. Flinching, Camy gripped Duncan’s fingers.

Dr. Northrop looked up from his work and frowned. “I’m sorry, Camy. I’m afraid your discomfort has just begun. Would you rather sleep until we’re done?”

She shook her head, her damp hair dancing around her. Dr. Northrop pulled a silver implement from his bag. Duncan clenched his teeth and then positioned himself and turned her toward him so that they faced each other. He’d seen men die as they rushed into battle. And he’d seen men die in the surgeon’s tent, not from the procedure itself, but from the chloroform. He didn’t wish her to die, but he didn’t wish her to be awake either.

She pulled her hand from his and brushed the tips of her fingers over the bruising of his eye. “Benjamin, you should tend to Mr. Murray’s injury.”

“After we see the damage done to your shoulder,” Northrop responded.

Her attempts at distracting herself distracted him. The touch of her fingers against his skin near made him forget that she wasn’t his wife. Yet. Where had that come from? She would never be. He pulled her hand down and rested their clasped hands between them.

“Are you ready?” Northrop asked.

Drawing in a breath, she closed her eyes and nodded. Northrop cleansed the wound once again and then inserted the probe into the wound. Tensing every muscle, Camy cried out and then pressed her lips into a hard line. She fell forward, her head resting on his shoulder. For a moment, Duncan thought she’d passed out, but the grip on his fingers and the tears warming his shoulder through his rain-soaked shirt told him otherwise.

Benjamin sat back. The probe dropped into the bowl with a clink. “It doesn’t seem to have shattered the bone.”

Camy pulled away from his shoulder as air rushed from Duncan’s lungs in relief. He hadn’t realized how much he feared she might lose her arm until this very moment. His closest friend during the war had lost his leg when bone fragments caused the limb to become gangrenous.

“However, the ball is tucked in there tight. Camy, I know you don’t wish it, but I’m going to have to use the chloroform to dig it out.”

Pulling her lip between her teeth, she shook her head.

“I’ve seen grown men try, Camy. It’s too much to bear.” Ellie set another bowl of water on the table.

“Your sister’s right.” Dr. Northrop rested his elbows on his knees.

“I will not have my mind taken from me,” Camy argued, and then her voice quieted. “I know people have died. Ellie told me so.”

“That is true. I’ve seen it myself,” Duncan said, worried either way, knowing Northrop had no choice. “Do you trust Dr. Northrop?”

After a bit of hesitation, Camy nodded.

“He seems competent. It is right as rain to be brave, lass.” Duncan smoothed a wayward curl from her forehead. “I’ve been shot before.” He pushed his sleeve above his elbow and showed her the scar. “I have another here,” he said as he pointed to the middle of his chest. “And here on my leg. Chloroform was not always available on the battlefield. As much as I dislike telling you, the fact is, the pain is too much, even for a woman of courage such as yourself.”

Her brown eyes pooled with tears. He’d give every coin he had to trade places with her, to go back and choose not to be swayed by Hamish’s offer. “If it makes you more comfortable I will not leave your side and I’ll be here when you wake.”

She blinked. One lone tear crept from the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. She lowered her chin and drew in a slow breath. She glanced at him, the hint of a smile curving her mouth. “This is not your business.”

He patted her hand and smiled back. “As I said before, your business is my business until things between us are settled.”

* * *

“What things?” Miller ducked into the cabin, his bowler falling off as it skimmed against the frame. His straw-colored hair was plastered to his head, his hands were clenched at his sides and his face was ruddy. His bloodshot eyes, telling her he’d been drinking, narrowed when he caught sight of her hand held in Duncan’s. His glare deepened when he lifted his eyes to hers. “There is nothing that needs to be settled other than our marriage. The sooner the better, since it’s obvious you can’t care for yourself. What sort of fool gets herself shot?”

Camy stared at Miller in disbelief. He’d called her many things over the last months, had insinuated even worse, but he had never outright called her a fool to her face. Her face must have reflected the sting of his words.

As he unclenched his fist, Miller’s eyes softened. “I am sorry, Cameron. I don’t like you being hurt. If you would quit resisting the inevitable...why can’t you see that I am the only man willing to care for you?”

Willing. Camy had heard his argument before. There was never a confession of love, but what did she expect when her own father hadn’t loved her? Did Miller always have to make her feel helpless? Worse, did he have to speak her fears aloud? No man wanted her. Her father had proved that when he left her with Hamish. Even Miller’s pursuit had everything to do with Sims Creek.

Suddenly she felt tired and weak. She wanted to curl up in a corner and cry until all her troubles disappeared. The only thing keeping her from doing so was the warm palm anchored to her. Duncan gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before releasing his hold on her hand. The mattress shifted beneath his weight and released as he rose and crossed his arms over his chest. The loss of his calloused palm had her lying back against the pillow. She closed her eyes in hopes of keeping the tears from spilling. For good measure she covered her eyes with her uninjured arm.

“First,” Duncan said, “I will remind you that you are standing in Miss Cameron’s home and that you would do well to respect all of the ladies of this house, even if they have an inclination toward accidents. Second, I have known Miss Cameron only a short time and I have concluded she is capable of caring for herself. She does not need a husband. Certainly not one who abuses her with his sharp tongue.”

Despite the searing pain radiating throughout her upper body, and the ache in her heart, she felt giddy and had the urge to applaud Duncan’s performance. It was a performance, right? After all, he’d met her only a few hours ago, not enough time to judge her capabilities.

“You have no right to tell me what she needs and does not need,” Miller argued. “I have courted her for nigh unto two years.”

Camy snorted and felt Miller’s intense glare. His attempts at courting were akin to falling in a thornbush. His last attempt had landed him in the river near to drowning, and her under Mrs. Smith’s condemning eye for breaking the unspoken rule about a lady pushing a man into the river after he stole a kiss. A rule saying she was compromised and must marry. Camy had yet to discover if it was the river washing or the stolen kiss that deemed a lady soiled. But given that Mrs. Smith felt the need to act like a mother to the poor Sims sisters, the woman was adamant that Camy save her reputation and marry Miller. Much to Camy’s relief, Pastor Hammond came to her defense and spoke sound reasoning to Mrs. Smith, defusing the matter altogether.

Duncan stared Miller down. “At this moment, Mr. Northrop, I have every right.”

The cabin fell silent. The pop and crackle of wood as it burned in the fireplace and the drips of water seeping through the roof plopping into strategically placed pots were the only sounds. Slightly lifting her arm, she peered at the occupants in the cabin. All of them seemed to be holding their breath waiting for Duncan’s next words. Duncan leaned forward.

Lord, please don’t let him say anything about Hamish’s proposition. Please. I’m in no position to argue with Miller.

Although he was a head shorter than Miller, his fierce countenance caused Miller to shrink. “Miss Sims needs tending to without further delay.”

Miller grunted. His cheeks looked as if he’d been attacked by rouge. “You’ve no business here. In fact, as I see it you should be in jail. Has the sheriff been fetched?”

“Miller.” Ellie touched his arm. “Please, now is not the time.”

“Outside, Murray.” Miller circled his fists in front of him, ready to fight Duncan. Duncan looked as if he pitied the younger man.

Camy didn’t think Miller meant much harm. Only a year older than she, he was foolish and young, determined to get his way in all things. Mostly with her. And Sims Creek, the property adjoining his father’s. Miller’s father had coveted Sims Creek for years, even before the railroad’s interest, and it was obvious Miller carried on his father’s determination, but why, as it was decent farming land, nothing more? And Miller despised the idea of plowing fields and milking goats. Worse, he didn’t seem to like her much. He was always the first to tell her when her hair was unkempt. When the color of her dress was wrong. He even dared give her a tonic to do away with her freckles. Of course, she’d tried to scrub them away on occasion, but to no avail. She’d given up long ago on trying to obtain her sisters’ perfect complexions.

“Miller, I think you should return home if you won’t wait outside.” Benjamin, always the calm one of the brothers, tried to defuse the situation.

Miller crossed his arms. “Not until I hear what rights he has to tell me anything about my fiancée.”

Camy jerked her arm from her eyes. “I’ve never agreed to marry you, Miller Northrop.” Nor would she ever!

“It seems we all have things we wish to discuss,” Duncan added.

“Yes, we do,” Miller added.

“I am not discussing marriage.” Camy tried to sit, but Benjamin halted her progress by pressing a warm cloth to her shoulder. “To anyone.”

“She is right. Everyone outside, now.”

She could have kissed Benjamin Northrop’s cheek for intervening.

“I’m not leaving.” Ellie’s soft voice cut through the tension. Camy knew it cost her sister more than she’d ever say to be in the same room with the man who’d broken her heart, but she was beyond thankful for the sacrifice.

“I’m not leaving either.” Miller stomped his foot like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “I am your apprentice and can help more than Ellie.”

“Ellie is a better doctor than most,” Camy argued, not wanting Miller and his unsteady hands to come anywhere near her.

“Any other patient and I would accept your assistance. However, brother, you’ve already done more harm than good by upsetting Camy. Her agitation has caused her wound to bleed more than it should. Besides, your hands are unsteady and your judgment is clouded by too much whiskey.”

Relieved at Benjamin’s soundness, Camy released the air she’d been holding.

“What about him?” Miller tossed.

“I’ll be staying.” Duncan’s words were like a boulder, unyielding. He glanced at her, his voice softened. “I gave my word.”

He had, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Duncan soothed her fears and gave her a sense of peace. “All right,” Camy said.

Miller huffed, swung the door wide and slammed it behind him.

“Shall we begin?” Benjamin asked.

Kneeling beside the bed, Duncan held her hand as Benjamin took a brown bottle from Ellie. The white cloth hovered outside her vision and then over her head before covering her nose and mouth. Her head dizzied, and her eyelids became heavy. The deafening silence broke with the opening of the cabin door and Hamish’s gruff voice.

“Ellie, lass, you best cook up a feast. The rev’nd will be here for dinner.”


Chapter Five (#ulink_f54911e9-09cd-5f2d-b1f6-baf6b375f4ee)

Steam rose from his cup of coffee. The sky had long ago darkened with nightfall. What had begun as a warm spring morning had turned into a blistery winter night. White snow now fell, covering layers of ice left by the freezing rain. Thinking back over the last several days, Duncan wondered what had propelled him to follow Hamish out here in the country miles from the city. Of course, he knew. It had been the promise of a home with lush, rolling hills. It had been the promise of good farmland surrounded by untamed ruggedness. The promise of a home similar to what he’d left far behind. It had not been the promise of a wife with more courage than most men. An idea he was beginning to warm to but could never have.

He leaned against the window frame, his eyes resting on the woman who made him see that not all ladies were like many of his acquaintance, calculating behind their simpering. Her hair, long since dried, lay in stark contrast to the pale linen of her pillow in a wild array of dark curls. Thick, dark lashes rested against pale cheeks dusted with freckles. He didn’t want a wife, did he? It didn’t matter. He couldn’t have a wife. Especially one who enticed him to take long walks with his head bent in rapt attention, to share more than a few meals, to steal a kiss. But if he could, he’d move Ben Nevis, Scotland’s highest peak, to court her.

Why would Hamish make her part of the agreement? If he wanted her to keep the land, then why not let her have it? Because she had yet to turn twenty-one? Were their fears about the railroad genuine? Had unsavory agents threatened the sisters in hopes of gaining this parcel of land? Agents paid from his bank account? Did Hamish’s generous offer have anything to do with the threats?

Duncan massaged his neck, wondering if his business associate, Calvin Weston, had anything to do with what was happening at Sims Creek. Calvin had, on the occasion, given red flags as to his character since the day he’d approached Duncan about helping finance a railroad to Santa Fe, New Mexico, but Duncan had brushed the flags aside as a doggedness to succeed. Now he wondered if his partner had had something to do with the attack on Hamish that nearly left him dead in a dark alleyway.

Fortunately Duncan had been unable to sleep that night and had been out for a stroll when he’d come across the miscreants beating the old man. It was the start of an odd, yet cherished friendship nearly a year ago. Duncan twisted his lips, digging through his memories of conversations he’d had with Hamish over warm cups of coffee. Not once had he mentioned his home in the country until a few weeks ago. And the old man had never said a word about relatives until they’d made camp on the banks of Sims Creek.

“Would you like more coffee?” Ellie pulled the black kettle from the fire.

“Thank you.” He took a couple of steps toward her and held out his cup, which she filled with the dark liquid. “I am sorry for all this.”

“It is not your fault,” Ellie said, setting the kettle onto a trivet in the middle of the table. “I was just thanking the Lord that it was purely an accident and not a more purposeful deed.”

The bandage on his forehead pulled as he raised his brow. More mystery? She had accused him of being a thug for the railroad, just as Camy had. Had other accidents occurred, accidents that were not purely accidents? What would they say if they knew he helped finance the road to be built through Rusa Valley, if they knew he was on the committee? “A more purposeful deed?”

She looked upon her sister with motherly affection. “It is not something I wish to discuss with or without my sisters, as it’s been a source of contention between us. However, today’s accident has made me realize that I can no longer put off making a decision.”

“What decision is that, Ellie?” Camy uttered in a hoarse whisper.

Duncan set his cup on the table and then moved to her beside. He rested the back of his hand upon her brow. “No fever. How are you feeling?”

Camy tried to sit but fell back against the pillow. “Like I’ve been dragged by the oxen through a pile of rubble.”

Ellie’s skirts rustled as she neared the bed. “You should have listened to me then and not shot off the revolver while holding on the lines leading the oxen.”

“Th-then I wouldn’t have anything to compare my wound to,” Camy gritted out with a slight smile.

Duncan chuckled, believing the banter between the sisters to be true.

“Here, this will ease your pain,” Ellie said, holding a spoonful of laudanum in front of Camy.

“If I take that, will you tell me what decision you’ve made?”

“First, we need to know why Hamish felt the need to find you a husband.” Ellie slipped the spoon between Camy’s lips as she opened her mouth to argue. “And then I would prefer to wait for Mara to return, as it concerns her, as well.”

Camy grimaced, swallowed the liquid and then tilted her head to look outside. The curtains had been drawn hours ago. “They haven’t returned her yet? How long did I sleep?”

“As you know, the Northrops had her stay at their place with their sister until they could assess the situation here. The weather worsened and it wasn’t safe to bring her back, but Dr. Northrop assured me they will as soon as they are able. Of course, your fiancé wasn’t agreeable.” Duncan winked to let her know he was teasing.

Camy’s eyes grew wide. Ellie laughed as she handed her the spectacles. “You shouldn’t tease her. Miller’s obsession isn’t exactly her fault, nor has it been pleasant for any of us.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Camy said. “And we should not discuss our personal matters with mere strangers.”

Duncan winced. True, they’d met hours before, but he felt as if he’d known her his whole life. Perhaps, given the distress in her eyes, it was his teasing her about Miller that caused her to be surly. However, curiosity about the personal matters between Miller Northrop and Camy stirred in his mind. Any man with a lick of sense would be obsessed with gaining her hand, which obviously proved Duncan didn’t have any sense. And he intended to keep it that way, at least until all was settled and he returned to the city far from the unsettling peace he experienced watching her rest.

He cleared his throat. “My apologies. You’ve slept the afternoon, and beyond dinner. As I said, Dr. Northrop will escort your sister home tomorrow when he comes to check on you.”

Camy rolled her eyes. “Ellie is a fine enough doctor to treat me.”

“We’ve discussed this. I know nothing about these sorts of wounds.” Ellie laid the spoon in a pan of steaming water. “Are you hungry? Benjamin said you could have some broth as long as your stomach can handle it with the medicine.”

“Where is Hamish?”

Duncan had hoped Camy held no memory of her uncle’s announcement before entering the cabin. He didn’t want her upset any more than what she was, and any mention of marriage would certainly do just that.

“I banished him to the barn.” Ellie dipped broth into a bowl. “Mr. Murray, would you mind helping Camy to sit?”

Careful not to jar the arm held against her in a sling, he pulled back the heavy quilt and scooped one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, and settled her against the headboard. He stuffed pillows and a folded quilt behind her back for support.

“And Pastor Hammond?” Camy whispered near his ear as he settled the quilt around her.

So much for her not recalling Hamish’s words. “Fortunately—” he smiled at her “—for both of us, winter decided to reappear. It gives us the evening to rest and enjoy one last snow.”

“But—”

He touched his finger to her lips. Soft and warm. Dangerous. He jerked his finger away and began tucking the blanket beneath her legs. “No buts. We will worry about tomorrow when the sun rises. Today has had enough cares of its own. Sip your broth, renew your strength and enjoy the peace. I have no doubts Hamish will be rambling before your rooster cries.”

Duncan stepped away from the bed and glanced around the small cabin for a place to escape. He’d kept his promise. She was awake, and seemed well, but he had far too much experience to believe she was truly well. Memories of men writhing around incoherently, only to slip beyond the here and now, pressed into his mind. He would never forgive himself if she died. He most certainly did not wish to watch her in the throes of agony. He could leave if he chose. However, he wouldn’t be able to until he knew for certain she was well. Besides, Hamish had yet to return his horse and his shoes, Duncan’s toes would freeze if he left. He’d been too concerned with Camy to interrogate Hamish. He believed what he told Camy, that tomorrow would be soon enough to demand the return of his shoes. For now, he needed to determine how to occupy the time without losing his wits, er, or regaining them. Massaging his neck, he contemplated making a run for the barn to seek shelter with Hamish. No doubt, he would be tempted to throttle his old friend for placing them all in a difficult situation.

“Would you like to join us for our nightly reading of scripture?”

He glanced over his shoulder to see Camy toying with an invisible string on the quilt. How long had it been since he’d opened a Bible? Since the war?

She lifted her chin and looked at him from beneath her thick lashes. “Afterward we pray, and then Ellie knits while Mara and I play chess. I suppose you could stand in for Mara.”

He was still caught on the word pray. “Pray?” he repeated.

Camy released a nervous giggle.

The last time he prayed, he’d been holding Geoff Walters’s hand as the young soldier took his last breath. He promised himself he’d never pray again. His earlier mishap of releasing a prayer as she washed down the river was an act of desperation and he wasn’t yet convinced that it had been his prayers that had been answered, for surely she had cried out to God too.

Ellie laid a thick Bible on the table. “Do not feel obligated, Mr. Murray.”

“Are you not a praying man?” Camy asked.

He jammed his hands into his pants pockets. “I, uh, haven’t in a few years. Seems God doesn’t hear much of what a Murray has to say.” After all his father’s sins, who could blame Him?

“What would ever make you think that?” Ellie sounded dismayed at the idea.

“I didn’t realize God was selective when it came to surnames,” Camy added. “Selective when it comes to the intention of a man’s heart perhaps, but never with his name. Did we not read from the tenth chapter of the book of Acts last night, Ellie? I believe verse thirty-four said God is no respecter of persons. He does not show favoritism whether rich or poor, male or female, Murray or Sims. If He does not show favoritism, He certainly does not decide to ignore a man because of his name.”




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