An Unwilling Husband. Tera Shanley

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       AN UNWILLING HUSBAND

      By TERA SHANLEY

      LYRICAL PRESS

      An imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/

       For my little buckaroos, Olivia and William.

       Acknowledgements

      So many people contributed to this story and deserve a giant “much obliged.” Thank you to my husband, Anthony, who has supported me from day one in this crazy writing adventure, and who gives me an incredibly romantic life to draw from. To my little cowgirl, Liv, and my little cowboy, Will, for their patience with the odd hours I keep during rounds of edits. Thanks to my parents, Paul and Paula, for setting such a beautiful example of romance over decades. To Grammy, the strongest lady I know. Your years of running cattle, and taking the time to teach your grandkids about ranching gave me both inspiration and experience when tackling Maggie’s story. To Mary Murray, my lovely and at times magical editor, for helping me give this story a clean voice. And lastly, this book wouldn’t be possible without Renee Rocco and Lyrical Press taking a chance on a Wild West tale of a smart-mouthed proper lady and her unwilling husband.

       Chapter 1

       Margaret Flemming. What an intolerable name. The last name wouldn’t be so unbearable if it wasn’t directly preceded by the first. To be sure, Margaret is a fair name on other girls who are more suited to it, but for me it is a constant reminder of who I am named after. One Margaret Hall; the sole benefactor of the very wealthy William Hall and a hard soul with an acute and bitter dislike for me. She also happens to be my aunt. My mother thought naming me after her sister would increase my chances of that wealth trickling down to me, though she was absurdly wrong. What my kind and loving uncle ever saw in that woman, I fear I shall never know; but I digress. I have made a decision. Since no one will know me where I’m going, I think I shall call myself Maggie…

      The slowing of the train pulled her against the seat, and she caught the small vial of ink that slid toward her. She plugged it up, wiped the pen, blew on her journal before closing it, and placed the writing materials into the side pocket of her luggage that was packed and waiting patiently beside the small table in the compartment. She stood and smoothed the soft material of her full dress. The wide hooped skirts and cream colored bombazine dress were completely inappropriate for the dusty Wild West cattle town of Rockdale, Texas.

      The outfit wasn’t her choice. Dear Aunt Margaret had made it a last request that she wear a proper dress as she rode off to her new wanton life. And now she would undoubtedly stand out as the proverbial sore thumb in this small town. “An adventuress,” Aunt Margaret called her, though she’d used the term like a curse. Aunt Margaret’s bitterness and condemnation still stung.

      The train let out a shrill whistle and the brakes screeched loudly. The force made her brace against the nearest wall in the tiny space. She picked up her luggage as the train came to a stop, and left through the trim door. Her skirts swished and folded unbecomingly as she moved through the small doorway. No doubt she looked like a bowl of gravy being poured from the compartment. A heavyset man gave her a wide eyed look and shook his head. Maggie stifled a laugh. She had never been good at first impressions, and Rockdale would have something and someone new to talk about for at least a week until the next gossip stole their attention.

      The thought made her nervous all over again, and her smile faded as she stepped out of the train and onto the platform. Her bags were terribly heavy and she set them down beside her. All along the platform her recent train mates and their loved ones reunited with happy embraces, handshakes, and smiles. No such reunion was to be expected for her. The man she had traveled to see was unaware of her intentions to visit.

      She needed to find a coach and quickly. The mid-day sun bore down relentlessly, and she already roasted in her full skirts. A drop of perspiration raced southward between her breasts, and she sighed as she hefted her baggage. Ignoring the open mouthed stares from the crowd, she headed through the small station and congratulated herself on only being slightly flustered at their attention.

      She dropped the heavy bags with an embarrassing thud onto a wooden porch directly in front of a carriage. An older gentleman in a dusty waistcoat and full, gray beard perched on its seat. “May I bother you for a ride, sir? I can pay,” she said.

      He studied her with a slight frown. “Where you headed, miss?”

      “Roy Davis’s place. I’m a relative.” Well, close enough to a relative anyway.

      “I know Roy Davis, and I reckon I can take you to his place. I ain’t no coach though. Those only come through a few times a week right now.”

      “Oh.” How embarrassing. “Terribly sorry. I saw you waiting out here and just assumed.”

      “Nope. I’m in town pickin’ up a few things. If you’d wait a minute, I can give you that ride. It’s not too far out of my way and Roy is an old friend.”

      “Thank you. I would appreciate it.” Could she trust this man? He looked unassuming enough but one could never be too careful. Out of options, she nodded. He jumped out of the buggy and loaded her bags in the back. True to his word, the man returned shortly with two boxes of supplies. After they were off, he introduced himself as Bill Borland.

      “Maggie Flemming,” she said, only hesitating a bit as her lips formed the name. “Pleased to meet you.”

      “So you’re kin to Roy Davis?” Bill asked.

      “I’m his daughter, sir.”

      “His daughter? You don’t look nothin’ like him!”

      Bill’s surprise was sincere, and her cheeks flushed with heat as he studied her face. She knew what he was thinking. How could dark-as-an-Injun Roy Davis have a daughter with auburn hair, bright green eyes and a smattering of freckles over her fair skin?

      “I take after my mother’s side,” she lied.

      “I thought you said your name was Flemming.”

      “It is. I didn’t take Roy’s name. It’s a long story.”

      “Well, good thing we got a few hours before we get there so you have plenty of time to tell that long story of yours.”

      “A long story I don’t care to share,” she clarified.

      “Suit yourself, Miss Flemming,” Bill quipped, and was quiet.

      She may have frustrated the man, she didn’t know, nor did she pretend to understand the inner workings of men’s minds, but the last thing she needed was to unload her family’s skeletons on a stranger who would, no doubt, go gallivanting straight back to town with the gossip. She’d at least try to keep her reputation intact in this new place she was determined to call home.

      How would it be to see Roy after so long? She’d never called him Father because, biologically speaking, he wasn’t. Blood aside, though, he was the closest to a father she’d ever have in her lifetime. She hadn’t wanted to leave the caring man behind all those years ago, but Mother was a fearful creature who’d never accepted the wilderness as home. Maybe if Mother hadn’t been brought up in London Society with all the conveniences of city life, she could’ve found happiness out there.

      The leaves on the passing trees lifted lazily in the wind and sang a quiet song of homecoming. How Mother hadn’t seen the beauty of the wide openness of this place, she’d never know. Scandal did awful things to people, and Mother had endured her share of heartache. Maybe she’d had a broken heart, and that hadn’t allowed her to see the secret promise in life.

      Maggie reached out and