Wild West Wife. Susan Mallery

I don’t imagine any bride wants to hear that her fiancé is a murderer.”

      “Never mind,” she said and closed her eyes.

      She heard Jesse draw in a deep breath. “I can’t tell you about him without telling you what I know he did, but if you ask me something specific, I can probably answer that.”

      “Is he handsome?” Haley wasn’t sure where that question came from. She’d never thought of Lucas as being good-looking or not. In her mind, he simply existed. But now that she’d asked, she found she wanted to know.

      “I’m a man, Haley. How would I know?”

      He had a point. “Is he ugly?”

      “I don’t think so. He has a scar on his face, though. That might bother you.”

      “A scar? What does it look like?”

      “It’s a thin, pale line on the right side of his face, from his cheekbone to about an inch from the corner of his mouth. And before you ask, I don’t know how he got it.”

      Haley drew her knees to her chest and thought about the scar. He must mind having it. Anyone would. In a way it made Lucas a tragic figure, which made him more approachable. The scar wouldn’t matter to her. She would find him just as easy to love. She would tell him after they were married. After all, she’d worked with a doctor for several years and she was completely used to seeing things more unpleasant than a scar.

      She felt herself start to relax and she pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. Tomorrow Lucas would come find her, she was sure of it. They would get married and she would begin her new life.

CHAPTER FOUR

      It was still dark under the trees when Jesse woke up. He could see the first fingers of light filtering through the branches as he rolled onto his back and got his bearings. Slowly he turned his head toward the fire, then rose on one elbow. Haley was still there, curled up on her side, the blankets pulled to her chin. So she hadn’t tried to run. He was pleased, but a little surprised. She was tough and he admired that. He suspected her fighting spirit would cause her to try to escape again. He could only hope that he would be able to catch her. Being tough wasn’t going to be enough to keep her alive out here in a wilderness that didn’t show anyone mercy.

      He continued to study her. Sometime in the night her light brown hair had come loose from its pins. Soft-looking strands spread out on the pile of clothing that was a makeshift pillow. She was, he acknowledged, very pretty. Claire had been pretty, but in a more traditional sense. He supposed at one time his mother had been beautiful, before the hardships of ranch life had leached the color from her face and hair. This wilderness was hard on women, which was why it would be better for everyone if Haley just turned around and returned to Chicago. At least she would be safer there.

      Still, he knew better than to tell her his opinion on the subject. She was about as stubborn as she was tough. He had to admire that, even though he knew it was going to make the situation more difficult for him. Despite everything, despite her sharp tongue and her misplaced faith in her fiancé, he liked her. A useless piece of information, he thought, sitting up and reaching for the coffeepot. Haley wasn’t for him, and even if she was, he wasn’t going to get involved with a woman ever again. He refused to be responsible for another woman’s death.

      He walked to the stream and washed his face, then filled the coffeepot. Six months of living under a real roof at the Baxter ranch had softened him some. He’d spent more than a year on the trail before that and he knew it wouldn’t take long for him to get used to being outdoors again. Of course he wasn’t going to be out here all that long. Just as soon as Stoner agreed to talk to him, he could let Haley go and get on with his quest for justice.

      As he stirred the cold fire and added more kindling, he heard a faint sound. He half turned as Haley’s eyes fluttered open. She drew her eyebrows together as she glanced around. Her gaze settled on him. Fear followed confusion, then she remembered and stiffened slightly. With a reaction that he knew was involuntary, she reached for the buttons of her green dress, checking them as if to make sure they hadn’t been disturbed. At the same time, her other hand reached down to smooth her skirt. Then she blushed.

      Jesse looked away, fighting embarrassment of his own. He’d told the woman he wasn’t interested in ravishing her. Why didn’t she believe him? But he knew the answer to that question. He was a stranger to her. A man who had taken her away against her will and was holding her captive. Why should she believe anything he said?

      “The coffee will take a few minutes,” he said, his voice gruff. “You should go clean up. We’ll be moving out right after breakfast.”

      She scrambled to her feet and walked briskly toward the stream. When she was gone, Jesse collected their blankets and rolled them up. He gathered the saddlebags together and as he set them next to the blankets, he felt something hard inside one of them. Without wanting to, he opened the flap and reached inside.

      The brooch was wrapped in a piece of soft cotton. He squatted down and flipped open the edges of the cloth, until the beautiful piece of jewelry winked up at him. A pink cameo edged in gold. The carved face showed a beautiful woman in three-quarter profile.

      His father had given the piece to his mother before he, Jesse, had been born. He remembered her wearing it nearly every day. She used to laugh and finger it, saying it was too fine for daily wear, but too beautiful to be left in a box. It was, she’d often said, a legacy of the love she and his father shared. When Jesse fell in love, she would give it to him to give to his bride.

      So when Claire had arrived, she’d been given the Kincaid cameo brooch and she’d worn it at the base of her throat. His mother had been pleased by how the jewelry suited Claire. Then Claire had died and his mother had taken the brooch back. Jesse had ceased to believe that it was given as a legacy of love. He doubted the pin was cursed—it just didn’t have enough power to ward off the inevitable. Or maybe love wasn’t strong enough. Or maybe it was something else entirely. For while Michael Kincaid had loved his wife desperately, he, Jesse, had never come close to loving Claire. It was an ugly truth and one he didn’t want to face. But today he couldn’t ignore it. He hadn’t loved her and she’d known. Perhaps that had been the real reason she had died.

      * * *

      Haley crouched in front of the stream and shivered as her hands dipped into the frigid water. This morning there was still ice on the muddy banks. It crackled as she shifted her weight. But she didn’t mind the cold water or the chill of the early morning. Instead she had to hold in a laugh of pure pleasure.

      Everything was so clean. The scent of the air and the earth, the taste of the water, the ground, the sky, all of it. Clean, new and alive. She splashed water on her face, and caught her breath at the coldness. Then she drank several handfuls of the sweet liquid. A few drops ran down her chin and soaked the collar of her dress, but she didn’t mind. Montana was more wonderful than she had allowed herself to believe. It was big and beautiful and, no matter what, she was never going back.

      She rose to her feet and, arms open wide, she spun in a circle. Her loose hair hung down her back. She shook her head, enjoying the feel of the thick strands moving against her. The rising sun touched her face, warming her skin. As she stretched, she felt stiff and a little sore. Probably from her horseback riding yesterday. She rubbed her rear and wrinkled her nose at the thought of getting back on the horse again. But it was unlikely Jesse would have another way for her to travel. At least being on the horse was much better than being trapped in the swaying stagecoach. The first two days of the journey her stomach had been queasy and she’d been afraid she was never going to feel better.

      A familiar and tempting smell caught her attention. She sniffed, inhaling the scent of coffee. Her stomach rumbled. She turned and headed back toward the camp, her nose leading her when she nearly lost the narrow trail.

      As