Once More A Family. Lily George

Are you sure you want to get hitched to that?

      For his part, a grudging respect surged through Jack as he stood beside her, waiting for the ceremony to begin. She was small of stature but stout of heart. It would be hard to picture anyone coercing her into doing anything she didn’t want to do. His first wife had simply gone along with whatever the St. Clair family wanted. Even miles away, they had controlled every movement of the Burnetts. Which, incidentally, his father-in-law still was capable of doing. After all, here he was, marrying a woman he barely knew just to please the man.

      The ceremony was over as soon as it started. Miss Westmore gave him a startled glance as he slipped a ring on her finger. He kissed her briefly on the cheek, and they were married. It was as simple as that.

      Pearl came forward to embrace them both, and Frank shook Jack’s hand as he passed through the parlor and out the front door.

      “I suppose you want some supper.” Pearl smiled at her niece. “You must be starving.”

      “Actually, I prefer to go home,” Miss Westmore replied, her voice sounding tired. But she wasn’t Miss Westmore any longer. Now she was Mrs. Burnett. That would take some getting used to.

      Pearl looked as though she’d been slapped but gave a strained smile.

      “Sure.” Jack stepped in between the two women. “I know you’re probably worn-out.”

      Miss Westmore nodded. No, she was no longer Miss Westmore. She was Mrs. Burnett now, but that seemed too strange to accept just yet. He’d just call her Ada. That seemed less formal. “Is my trunk still in your carriage?”

      “It is. I just need to go hitch up the horses and bring them around front.” He hesitated, glancing from one woman to the other. The air had become distinctly frosty despite the balmy early-spring weather.

      “I’d prefer to go with you to do that,” Ada replied. “Goodbye, Aunt Pearl.” She gave her aunt a curt nod and then flounced out of the room.

      “She’s mad at me,” Pearl fretted, turning to Jack. “Hopefully she’ll come around. I do think this is for the best. I wouldn’t have suggested it, otherwise. You know me—I am always looking for the sensible solution.”

      Jack nodded. It was better not to get involved in a family argument. He’d learned that one the hard way. “We’ll be seeing you, Pearl. Give her a few days to get used to things. I’ll bring her by once she’s settled in.”

      Tears filled Pearl’s eyes, but she said nothing. She merely nodded and patted his shoulder. A prickle of unease worked its way down Jack’s spine. This didn’t feel right—the rushed wedding to a stranger, the tense surroundings. Even Pearl’s tears were unusual and made a fellow feel off balance. He hadn’t seen her cry since the day her husband, R. H. Colgan, had died. She was as tough and salt of the earth as they came. That she was crying now over her niece’s situation was downright odd.

      The sooner they were home, the better.

      He left the parlor and joined Ada on the porch. “Have you ever hitched up a carriage before?”

      She shook her head. “I had my own curricle at home, but the groom always readied it for me.”

      “Well, if you’re going to be as equal as me out here, you might as well start with hitching up your own horses,” he replied. He wasn’t trying to be fresh with her, but, on the other hand, it really was time for her to learn how to handle a few things herself.

      He showed her how to hitch the horses to the harness, and she stroked their necks with a gentle hand. “Such beautiful bays. I’ve missed being around horses. Mine were sold before I left New York.”

      He glanced over at her in startled surprise. “You know about horses?”

      “Of course.” She heaved herself up into the wagon, disdaining his outstretched hand. “I’ve ridden every single day since I was six years old. I’ve been on several fox hunts, of course, and even tried my hand at a steeplechase once.” She leaned forward, her eyes glowing at the memory. “Father never knew about that. He would have been appalled.”

      Fox hunting was a St. Clair pastime, a ridiculous waste of horseflesh and energy. He pulled himself up beside her and flicked the reins. The bays moved forward as he pointed them toward home. He could tell her, on no uncertain terms, just what he thought of the kind of people who went fox hunting in Virginia. That, of course, would mean starting a fight. He’d like to at least get her home before they had another row.

      He lapsed into silence as they rolled over the hilly road that stretched between his property and Pearl Colgan’s. If Ada could ride well enough to keep her seat during a steeplechase, then she might be of help around the ranch. He’d never really had help unless it was his hired hands. Emily had been afraid of horses—the only St. Clair to be terrified of the animal. So it took everything he had to try to get her to drive a gig alone. After all, he couldn’t be at her beck and call to drive her to every social function in the county.

      Ada was quiet, too, but not in an uncomfortable way. He looked over at her once more. Dust still covered her traveling dress and dark circles ringed her eyes.

      “Only one more turn and we’re there,” he said in a hearty tone of voice. “Hope you’ll like it.”

      “I am sure I will,” she replied, so promptly that it was obvious this was her training as a well-bred young woman talking and not any special enthusiasm.

      He guided the horses around the bend in the road, but they were so used to taking this route that he hardly needed to twitch the reins at all. They passed through the front gate and wound their way up the drive to the house.

      They traced the semicircle around the front and drew to a halt before the front porch. He paused a moment, savoring the feeling of the wind. His ranch had the advantage of being on a bit of a hill, the only raised part of earth for miles around on the prairie. This location gave a great view of the patchwork fields down below, some green and others brown, depending on what was growing and what had been harvested.

      He jumped down from the seat and walked around to her side of the carriage. He extended his hand to help her down. “Well, what do you think?”

      * * *

      Ada took his hand, gathering her skirts as best she could in her other hand, and then leaped down from the carriage. As soon as she gained purchase, she dropped his hand quickly. She might be his wife in theory, but too much physical contact was unsavory, given the reality of their situation. She glanced up at the house, shading her eyes from the sun.

      “It’s very pretty,” she said mechanically. Although, to be honest, pretty was an inadequate word. How best to describe this house? She was used to imposing, majestic brick facades, usually with tendrils of ivy clinging to the walls. Jack’s house was very large, too, but airier. It was a two-story structure, painted white, with bottle-green shutters framing each window. A large, curving veranda wrapped around the front of the house, supported by tall columns. Wooden lacework, also painted that same snowy shade, peeked around the columns and was tucked underneath the eaves of the roof. The comparative elegance of the house contrasted sharply with the rough-and-ready Texas terrain. “I don’t understand why your father-in-law finds it inadequate for your daughter.”

      “The St. Clairs are snobs,” he replied tersely. “I’ll bring your trunk in. You’ll be staying in the spare bedroom.”

      “Thank you.” She meant it, too. What a relief to finally be in her own room after what seemed an eternity of travel.

      He nodded and retrieved her trunk and her valise from the bed of the carriage, and she hastened to open the front door for him. He brushed past her, carrying her trunk as easily as if it were no heavier than a small sack of cotton. As she followed, she clutched the banister for support. A heavy layer of dust stained her gloves.

      The stairs creaked as they ascended. At the top of the stairs, Jack made a right turn and opened a door off the hallway. “It’s a little unkempt,” he admitted, tossing