Territorial Bride. Linda Castle

thoughts away from Brooks.

      “I’ll teach you to be a lady,” Ellen whispered. “We could make a bargain.”

      Missy’s heart beat a little harder within the confines of her chest. “Now you are teasin’ me, just like he does.”

      “No, I’m not.” Ellen curled her index finger in a strand of wispy blond hair hanging beside her cheek. “I wouldn’t tease about this.” She looked up. “Trust me, Missy.”

      Missy swallowed hard. “I think you’re funnin’ me. I put on that dress for Trace’s weddin’ and I tried, I really did, but I saw the look on Brooks’s face. He was shamed and embarrassed for me.”

      “He did look sort of stricken, but I am not sure you were the reason—at least not in the way you mean.” Ellen regarded her cousin across the narrow aisle. “He has changed.” She nodded in his direction. “Just look at him. If he can learn to be a cowboy, then why can’t you learn to be a proper lady?”

      Missy squinted her eyes and tilted her head as her gaze roamed over Brooks’s long lean legs. He wore the clothes as if he were born to them.

      “I’d find some way to repay you for your kindness.” Missy allowed herself to consider the offer. “But it isn’t possible, and what could you want that I have?”

      “There is something.” Ellen lowered her voice to a whisper. She raised her head slightly and glanced around as if she expected someone to be listening to their conversation.

      “You name it.” Missy leaned closer, inspired to whisper by Ellen’s behavior.

      “Teach me how to ride.” Not a trace of humor could be found in her wide-eyed expression.

      “You ain’t serious.” Ellen was obviously funning her. Missy’s stomach dropped a little as the small glimmer of hope died.

      “I am serious. I was a sickly child. My father insists I am still frail. It took weeks of begging my father just to be allowed to take this trip.” A sheen of moisture sparkled in her eyes. “You can’t imagine what it is like to be treated like a fragile china doll. I’d like to prove that I am strong and capable—like you.”

      Missy released the pent-up breath she had been holding. “But you…you’re a real lady.” Undisguised admiration rang in her voice.

      “You can be refined, Missy. Though for the life of me I can’t understand why it is so important to you.” Ellen cheeks flushed and she ducked her head. “If you teach me what you know, then I’ll do the same.”

      “I don’t think it will be so easy for you to turn me into a lady—like makin’ a silk purse from a sow’s ear.” Missy smiled. “But you’ve got yourself a deal.”

      “There is just one more thing, Missy.” Ellen’s pale blue eyes turned icy. “This has to be our secret. If my father finds out he will put a stop to our plan. He is a stubborn man, and he’s afraid of losing me.”

      “It will be our secret,” Missy swore solemnly as her defiant gaze raked over Brooks’s form once more.

      

      Brooks flopped over in his bunk. He was unable to sleep, even though the mattress was well padded and the sheets were fresh and sweet. As mile after mile slid by, he wondered why on earth he was going home. He told himself it was to keep an eye on Missy, to keep her from wreaking havoc over the whole of New York City.

      Why had he hopped on the train?

      He hadn’t even had time to pack his clothes. But at least his mother was pleased by his impulsive decision.

       If only I were.

      As their journey was nearing the end he had finally come to accept that stubborn little Missy was going to see this thing through to the end.

      It was a courtesy to his family and Trace that he was going along—just to keep her out of trouble.

       It had to be that. What other reason could there be?

      He had tried to speak to Missy, to let her know what a mistake she was making by leaving the Territory, but she always seemed to have her head bent in secretive conversation with Ellen.

      “What on earth can they have to talk about?” he asked the night sky.

      Brooks had tried to trap her somewhere and tease her into speaking to him. But so far he had not been able to steal a single moment alone with her. It was frustrating. And what was more puzzling was his unrelenting desire to speak to her.

      Why did he care if she went to New York and made herself miserable? So what if she made a fool of herself by trying to be something she was not?

      She had ridden rough and hard over him for a full year. He should be tickled to think of her going to New York, where she would be as out of place as a house tabby in a cougar’s den.

      He should’ve been, but he wasn’t. And he knew why. There were men in New York—lots of young unattached men—who would find the unpolished Missy O’Bannion a novelty too tempting to pass up. She was innocent, had no experience with the jaded cads who would flock around her.

      “Why should I give a good damn?” he muttered to himself. “She can go make a fool of herself, get her feelings hurt—hell, she can even get her heart broken. I don’t care one damn bit.”

      But he did care.

      “Only because she is Trace’s sister. Hell, I owe it to Hugh to keep an eye out for her.” Brooks mollified himself with that thought until sleep overtook him.

      But he did not rest. Instead he dreamed of chasing Missy across the moonlit prairie. She was a fleet-footed sprite with flowing black hair, who remained forever just beyond his reach.

      

      “Missy, you are still dropping your g,” Ellen whispered in the darkness. The pair were curled up in their flannel gowns inside the snug sleeping berth as the train rocked and clicked rhythmically through the night. The only illumination was a weak shaft of moonlight peeking through the partially opened curtain, turning Ellen’s pale hair to liquid silver. A late frost covered the early grass with a mantle of diamonds that sparkled as the train sped by.

      “I never knew speakin’—I mean speaking—could be so goll-darn hard.” Missy sighed.

      “That’s the other thing, Missy. You can’t say things like ‘goll-darn’ and ‘consarned.’ And you’ll have to quit damning Brooks in every other breath.”

      Missy giggled, fell back on her pillows and laced her fingers behind her head. “I may quit sayin’…saying it, but I won’t promise to quit thinking it.” She emphasized her g with precision.

      “Just as long as you don’t say it aloud.” Ellen giggled in turn and pulled the carved bone brush through her hair. “In your mind you may curse my dear cousin to whatever degree of perdition suits you, but a lady never lets such thoughts cross her lips.”

      “That cousin of yours is going to be in for quite a shock. I can’t hardly wait until he gets a gander at me.” Missy closed her eyes and imagined it in her mind.

      “A look at you,” Ellen corrected softly. “Not a gander.”

      “A look at me,” Missy repeated.

      Ellen smiled at the enthusiasm of her pupil. “We must spend some time working on your hair. It is so silky and thick, I am sure we can find a very flattering style for you. Perhaps something up off your neck…You have lovely features. We need to accentuate them.”

      “Lovely features?” Missy opened her eyes and sat up. She wasn’t quite sure how to take the compliment. Nobody, not even Bellami, had ever talked to her the way Ellen did. Missy realized with a poignant tug on her heart that Ellen was her first real female friend. Missy had grown up talking to roadrunners, dogie calves and taciturn cowhands who spoke