The Negotiated Marriage. Christina Rich

her midsection. He laid the rifle on the bank and offered her a hand. She stared at the calloused palm and started to reach for it until she recalled the last encounter with a hired thug claiming to be with the railroad. Not only had they promised to burn their home if they didn’t accept an offer soon, but they had threatened to dump her and her sisters in the river.

      “I’ll get out myself, thank you.”

      “Very well, then.” Mr. Murray plucked his coat from the ground. The man took the liberty of filling the bucket with water, grabbed her rifle and started up the path.

      “Where are you going?”

      “To find that scoundrel Hamish.”

      He didn’t even have the decency to look at her, or persist in offering her aid to safety. She found herself at a further disadvantage, as Mr. Murray had all of her belongings, heading straight for her sisters. He might not be blond and blue-eyed, but Mara would no doubt swoon and then fawn over his every whim. Ellie, on the other hand, would be packing their trunks and moving them into the safety of town with the likes of folks who were more apt to sip tea in their stuffy parlor rooms than take a walk along the river.

      Over her freezing limbs. “You cannot very well walk around without your shoes.”

      Never mind that detail had not bothered her a moment ago when she told him he had to leave. She eased through the turbulent water sucking at her skirts, careful not to lose balance, and grabbed hold of a root protruding out of the bank. She tested its strength and then, using her foot as leverage against the bank, tried to pull herself up the side. She slid right back into the water, her fingers white-knuckled around the root as the water tugged at her. She wasn’t about to give up. She’d seen him first. And she’d see him gone before Mara laid eyes on him. Before Ellie moved them from their home.

      “Which is one reason why I intend to find Hamish.”

      Little chance of that. She hadn’t seen her uncle since before the leaves fell from their moorings, and that had been months ago, but she wasn’t about to tell Mr. Duncan Murray such truths lest he take it in his head to steal their land.

      “And what is the other, Mr. Murray?”

      He halted halfway up the path and faced her. A lopsided grin appeared, forcing a dimple in his cheek. That field of butterflies fluttered with the force of her clothes hanging out on the line in a southerly Kansas wind. His swollen eye and bloodied lip did nothing to lessen the effect. “To find my horse.”

      She almost let loose a sigh of relief. Nobody could blame a man for searching for his horse. If that was the only reason he was here.

      “And to negotiate the purchase of this land, after I meet Cameron Sims.”

      * * *

      “What did you say?”

      Duncan hadn’t meant for those words to spill out of his mouth, but she’d been so insistent that he get off her land, land they both very well knew wasn’t hers, that he couldn’t help goading her. All he wanted to do was inspect the land Hamish had offered him at a measly sum, a piece of property his friend had claimed rivaled the beauty of Duncan’s beloved Highlands. The fact that it was only miles from Rusa Valley where he could oversee his investment in the railroad as it clanked through town made Hamish’s offer more appealing. Calvin Weston, a member of the railroad committee and the man who had approached Duncan about providing funds for iron and labor for the railroad, wouldn’t be too happy about Duncan keeping a close watch on how his money was spent.

      All he had to do was hand Hamish the bills in his pocket and sign his name on the deed and the land would be his. Of course, there was the little matter about his future bride, a minute detail Hamish had forgotten to mention until they’d made camp. A detail that had Duncan gathering his belongings and heading back to Topeka. That was until Hamish had caught him off guard and rammed the butt of his rifle into Duncan’s face. Obviously his friend was intent on Duncan purchasing the land and marrying a lass. The next thing he knew his ribs were being poked by a wild-haired, wild-eyed beauty.

      Staring at the woman in the water, he was more than grateful she wasn’t the woman Hamish thought to pawn on him. At least he hoped not, as she was far from the description Hamish had given him. Much prettier and full of vinegar with her pink, bow-shaped mouth Not the meek wallflower Hamish had told him about. Not to mention that she looked nothing like his friend and could be of no relation.

      He shrugged. He didn’t need any female luring him into a real marriage. “I’m here to purchase this land.”

      “It’s not for sale.” Her lips flattened into a thin line. Her spectacles magnified the arrows shooting from her frigid eyes, piercing his black heart. As if her aversion toward him wasn’t enough to spark his competitive nature, the mass of dark curls springing from the knot at the nape of her neck tempted him further. Her enticing accent stirred long-forgotten memories of warm hearths and heather-covered fields. Her resolve to do things herself, the strength in her hands as she held on to the root, the mud speckling her gown and the dusting of freckles draped over her button nose, reminded him of all the reasons Hamish Sims’s proposition had held some appeal. Miles from city life promised a reprieve from social gatherings and the matchmaking mamas hoping to pawn their daughters onto his bank account. Besides, Hamish had argued, what better way to halt the incessant schemes than to marry a homely sort of lass? Duncan never expected a man he’d considered a friend to join ranks with scheming mothers. Hamish knew how he felt about marriage, but now Duncan wondered if the old man hadn’t spoken with some wisdom. Perhaps a marriage in name only could be beneficial.

      “I have it on good authority that it is.” Duncan stretched his jaw, testing the damage left by Hamish, and then rubbed the back of his head where he’d landed on a rock.

      “I don’t know what sort of sham you’re trying to pull, Mr. Murray. This land is not for sale.” The light sprinkling of rain turned to fat drops. She lifted her face to the rain. The droplets of mud washed away, leaving a soft glow bathing her cheeks. The corners of her mouth curved into a slight smile, as if she enjoyed the feel of nature’s kiss on her skin. For a small space of time he traveled back to his beloved Highlands, and if he allowed himself the pleasure of lingering she’d soon be twirling about like a wee child, wrapping strands of her hair around his finger, crumbling the hardened brick and mortar encasing his heart.

      No wonder she was hidden out here in the woods—she was a danger to society. Most ladies of his acquaintance ran indoors at the first sight of a rain cloud, not to mention suffering from the vapors at a dunking in the river. She seemed to delight in it.

      She dropped her gaze back to his. A deep scowl appeared before she resumed her efforts to get out of the river. “Hamish will never sell this land. I’d guarantee a month’s worth of cooking and cleaning on that.”

      Too bad he couldn’t take her up on the cooking. It’d been a long time since he’d eaten anything other than beans. He had the funds to eat at Calhoun’s whenever he chose, but no sooner had he settled his napkin on his lap than a gaggle of females congregated at his table full of giggles, batting eyelashes and dinner invitations. Once the matchmaking mamas discovered he had no intention of courting their daughters, they rescinded their offers of dinner. Hot stew, fresh biscuits and homemade apple pie sure set his mouth to watering.

      No matter, it had been a small price to pay to retain his bachelorhood and save the world from the likes of him. He’d seen what happened to women who became slaves to marriage and their husband’s fists, to the children born of such unions. He’d been one of them, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistakes as his father, which meant he had to convince Hamish that any marriage he considered could be nothing more than words spoken before a minister. A marriage in name only.

      She finally pulled herself out of the water and onto the bank. She held her skirt up as if to examine the damage. The curve of her calf clad in wool stockings waved at him. He caught his jaw slacking and he snapped it shut as he shifted his gaze to the sun-kissed freckles gracing the curve of her cheeks. He grunted, disgusted with himself. He focused on a dark freckle above her nondescript wire-rimmed spectacles. He couldn’t