Handpicked Husband. Winnie Griggs

way to find out.” He nudged Trib into a trot.

      The others didn’t appear to share his impatience. Not only didn’t they increase their pace, Adam sensed a definite slowing of the carriage. The closer he got to the cabin, however, the less certain he was that they’d reached their destination. He studied the place while the carriage caught up.

      “The judge’s granddaughter is staying here?” Everett’s words echoed Adam’s thoughts.

      They’d all been inside Judge Madison’s stately home. Adam had assumed the granddaughter lived in a comparable level of luxury, albeit a more countrified version. Of course, this wasn’t the household’s primary residence, but even so...

      “This is a hovel.” Everett sounded horrified.

      “I wouldn’t go that far.” Chance’s response lacked conviction. “It’s plain, but—”

      “Look at it.” The British undertones in Everett’s voice sharpened. “The walls are unfinished logs and the whole lot isn’t much bigger than a respectable parlor. Those benches on the porch—bah! They look as if they were put together with odd bits of scrap timbers by a drunken carpenter. There aren’t even glass panes on the windows.”

      Adam turned to face them. “We don’t know for certain that this is Miss Nash’s place.” He narrowed his eyes and added a flintiness to his tone. “But even if it is, she’s Judge Madison’s granddaughter and is to be treated like a lady. Is that understood?”

      He might be as irritated as a picnicker in a rainstorm by Miss Nash’s delaying tactics, but he’d given his word to protect her honor, and these men better remember that.

      He waited for their reluctant nods, then faced forward again. Now that he’d had time to get a good look at the place, he found he didn’t agree with Everett’s assessment. True, the structure was rougher than he’d expected. But the swing hanging on one end of the porch held calico cushions, and the whole area seemed well-tended. Maybe it was because of the years he’d spent in that iron-barred rat hole, but this place had a simple, homey appeal.

      Wisps of smoke curling from the chimney and an abandoned checkerboard on the porch assured him someone was in residence, but was it Miss Nash? It seemed more likely this was home to the girl they’d encountered earlier. Not that she’d had time to make it here. Still, there might be someone else about.

      Sure enough, a stocky, older woman appeared from the side of the cabin. The banshee’s mother perhaps?

      Whoever she was, she eyed them with as much suspicion as the muddy yellow cur padding along beside her. The dog had a feral quality that didn’t bode well for anyone the creature took a dislike to.

      Chance gave a low, appreciative whistle. “Look at that mutt, will you? He’s big as a pony, and those teeth are like spikes. Do you suppose he’s part wolf?”

      “Given our surroundings, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Everett responded. “I, however, don’t intend to get close enough to examine his features.”

      “Afraid?” Chance’s tone matched the sneer on his face. “Are you a coward as well as a dandy?”

      “Listen, boy.” Everett flicked a spot of dust from his sleeve. “I have no intention of rising to an adolescent dare just to prove I can live up to your idea of manly valor.”

      The dog watched the men without blinking. The woman’s expression was even less welcoming than that of the cur.

      Doing his best to ignore the squabbling men, Adam tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, ma’am. We’re looking for Miss Regina Nash. Can you tell me where I might find her?”

      “Who’s asking?”

      The lack of warmth in the woman’s tone was punctuated by a low growl from her companion. She lowered her hand to stroke the creature’s head, never taking her gaze from Adam.

      What did it take to get a straight answer around here? Adam tamped down his impatience. “My name is Adam Barr. Miss Nash’s grandfather sent me.”

      She nodded acknowledgment, but remained stone-faced. “Funny, the judge didn’t send word about your coming.”

      Did that mean this was Miss Nash’s place? In which case, was the female major domo bluffing, or had Miss Nash kept the letter a secret?

      Not that it mattered. Adam would play along, as long as it got the judge’s granddaughter out here. “As a matter of fact, he did. Perhaps his letter arrived after you left town.”

      Her manner remained stiff. “I see.” She gave the dog’s head another pat, then moved to the steps. “Miss Reggie’s inside. I’m Mabel Peavy, the housekeeper. If you gents will make yourselves at home out here, I’ll let her know we have company.”

      A housekeeper for this place? It was almost laughable, if he’d been in the mood to be amused. If Regina Nash was inside she’d doubtless overheard them. Why didn’t she come on out? Surely she knew it was futile to continue hiding?

      As Mrs. Peavy reached the door, she glanced back. “Don’t worry about Buck. He won’t bother you as long as you don’t make any sudden moves toward one of the family members. He has a strong protective streak. Otherwise, he’s just a big overgrown puppy.”

      The dog’s baleful glare seemed to contradict her statement.

      Adam dismounted, glad to stand after sitting in a saddle for so long. He moved toward the porch, but only climbed the first two steps before lounging back against a support post. No shaded bench for him. He preferred to feel the sun on his face. He couldn’t seem to get his fill of fresh air and open spaces ever since he shook off the dust of prison two months ago.

      Besides, from here he had a clear view of the door.

      Everett climbed onto the porch, giving Buck a wide berth. He dusted a chair with his handkerchief, then sat down with the air of royalty stooping to grace a mud hut.

      Chance paused in front of the dog. When the beast bared his fangs, though, Chance continued up the steps. Glowering at Everett’s smirk, he sauntered to a bench on the other side of the porch and slouched down on it.

      Mitchell remained on the grass in front of the porch, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He kept a respectful distance from the dog, but otherwise seemed more concerned with watching the front door than the animal.

      Adam thought about who these men were and what they were being offered, and he still couldn’t find the logic in the judge’s selections. Everett—an officious dandy who’d destroyed an entire family with his sloppy reporting. Mitchell—a man who’d let his bottled rage get the better of him and killed someone in a gunfight. Chance—the spoiled younger son of a politician who’d gotten into trouble one too many times for the law to continue turning a blind eye.

      As a prosecuting attorney, Adam would have had little trouble convicting any of them. Sure, there had been extenuating circumstances in all three cases, but that was neither here nor there. In Adam’s view, there was right and wrong, good and evil, black and white. Trying to see shades of gray only resulted in confusing the issues of guilt or innocence.

      He himself, an innocent man, had spent six years in prison, and was still struggling to pull his life back together. Yet these three self-proclaimed wrongdoers not only remained free, but were being given a generously funded opportunity to start over.

      Where was the justice in that?

      Adam heard the murmur of voices from inside and pushed away his sour thoughts. Had Miss Nash finally decided to join them? His three companions were strung so tight he could feel the tension crackle in the oppressively still air.

      A deerfly buzzed by and landed on his cheek. Swatting it away, he stared at the door, barely controlling the urge to march up and demand Miss Nash show herself.

      When the door finally did open, his three companions snapped to attention. The dog also stiffened, eyeing them as a predator would its prey. But it was only