Marriage For Sale. CAROL DEVINE

her before paying his money, as was his right, but he didn’t ask her to read anything or test the strength of her arms. Instead he pulled out his wallet and paid in one-hundred-dollar bills. That might be a problem, breaking those bills into lesser currency, she thought.

      “Follow me,” he said curtly, cutting his way through the throng. She barely had time to accept her selling price from the cashier and pocket the roll of money in her skirt.

      He should have ordered her to walk before him, so all in The Community could see, at last, that she was worth coveting. But he was unfamiliar with her customs and striding fast, as well, and because her legs didn’t match the long length of his, she had to trot to keep up. Some folks snickered, but she kept her gaze focused straight ahead and concentrated on the comforting solidity of her buyer’s broad back.

      The denim he wore fitted his legs with little material to spare, hiding his cowboy boots down to the well-worn heels. His cowboy hat offset the thick coalblack hair at his nape. The length was trimmed neatly compared to most men she knew but Rachel decided that his matched the angular lines of his body and no-nonsense strides. The trim of his forelock in front had done little to soften the rather grim expression he had greeted her with, but she no longer cared about that. She knew how to gentle any soul, human or otherwise.

      Just thinking about her future with him made her heart beat like a tiny bird’s. She had learned long ago that a person’s appearance wasn’t nearly as important as the content of their character. But when it came right down to lying together and the business of making babies, she couldn’t imagine how it might be done if the man and the woman didn’t see some sort of beauty in each other.

      He halted at his rig, and Rachel had a moment to examine the large black truck, taking in the fat wheels and metal frame. It was the outsider’s version of a wagon, made for hauling heavy loads, only it roared like a bear and spewed noxious-smelling smoke. Rachel told herself to prepare to get inside it. The marriage ceremony would only take a few minutes. Then she would be his and he, hers.

      She was glad to see that the horse trailer behind the truck was clean and in good repair. The filly, raised free on The Community’s pastures, deserved fine quarters and the best of care. Fortunately the truck was parked close to her corral. She already had plenty of opportunity to familiarize herself with such a modern contraption.

      “Where’s your stuff?” Linc asked.

      Rachel broke from her reverie. “Stuff?”

      “Bags, luggage—whatever it is you want to take with you,” he replied.

      “My trunk contains most of my possessions.” She pointed to a large trunk close by. “The rest I will fetch myself.”

      She literally ran off. Linc examined the trunk. Bright brass rivets stretched the leather over the wooden frame. New leather, not dyed. It hadn’t had a chance to age like the one that had been passed down to him from his great-grandmother. But in every other way it was identical.

      Rachel returned, lugging her saddle with both arms in front of her, with her most precious possessions tucked into the parfleche slung over one shoulder. Linc got one look at her and wrested the saddle from her. “This is way too heavy for you to carry.”

      “I’ve been carrying it for most of my life,” she replied, her tone milder and more pliant than she intended. She had heard rumors about how outsiders often took their women for granted. He must not feel he had dominion over her.

      Linc threw the saddle alongside her trunk in the bed of his truck. “You’ve been treated like a beast of burden. That’s not going to happen anymore.”

      “Hard work soothes my soul.”

      “Yeah? Is that why you agreed to be auctioned off like a piece of meat?”

      “My last relation died last year.” She shrugged. “Obviously, I could not live alone.”

      “Obviously.” Although he had been called a male chauvinist more than once in his life, even he understood the misogyny implied in her statement. It was one more strike against this supposed utopia, The Community. “Let’s go,” he said in a clipped voice. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

      “I thought Granny Isaacs explained our customs to you during the auction. You and I must be married first.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “An unmarried man and an unmarried woman of similar age are not allowed to live together.”

      He took her arm, hurrying her toward the truck. “Don’t worry. We won’t be living together.”

      “But—”

      The old lady who had given him such a hard time separated from the watchdog crowd and pushed her way between them. She stabbed a gnarled finger at the middle of Linc’s chest. “Are we of The Community, who have had Rachel with us for her whole life, supposed to take you at your word?” she demanded.

      “You of all people know what my intentions are,” Linc retorted.

      “Do I? You are little more than a stranger to us.”

      “Please, Linc,” interrupted Rachel. “Granny Isaacs is right. Unless we are wed, you will not be allowed to take me with you. It is for my protection should I be ill-treated.”

      “You have got to be kidding.” Tempted to just pack her into the cab of his truck, Linc realized that strong-arming her was precisely why these people were insisting on the commitment that marriage implied. “What if I’m already involved with someone else?” His casual relationships with various women didn’t exactly qualify, but he wasn’t about to back down. Not when his freedom was at stake.

      “Rachel will be sold to another.”

      Linc appealed to Rachel. “Look, you and I are on the same side here. I wouldn’t have spent my money if I wasn’t going to take good care of you.”

      “Money is not enough of a guarantee,” interrupted Granny Isaac.

      “I can’t believe this,” he said. “If the granny’s bid had won over mine, you wouldn’t have to marry her.”

      “The commitment The Community requires is the same,” Rachel explained. “Both parties must pledge to treat each other with respect.”

      Granny Isaacs chimed in. “Certainly we can require no less from you.”

      Linc wheeled on her. “Yes, you can. You have my word.”

      “We require more than your word,” she replied. “We require you and Rachel to be legally wed.”

      “How in hell can this be legal? There’s no blood test, no waiting period.”

      “The federal laws of this country waive such requirements when they violate certain religious practices.”

      “You can’t force me to get married,” Linc said. The no-promises, no-demands, confirmed-bachelor part of him wanted to throw his hands up and leave the place. But he refused to walk away, not when a human being’s freedom was at stake.

      “There is nothing forced about this marriage,” Granny Isaacs informed him. “Rachel gave her consent when she agreed to be sold at the auction. You, on the other hand, are free to refuse.”

      Their little discussion was drawing quite a crowd. Linc folded his arms over his chest in disgust. “What’s to stop me from going through with this idiotic marriage bit, then annulling the thing the minute we hit the nearest town?”

      “An annulment requires both your consent. If it is granted, there is nothing I can do to prevent it.”

      The noise of a sharply rude whistle ripped through the air. “Rachel Johnson!” yelled a woman, her face sneering. “He doesn’t want you, after all.”

      “Give ’im back his money!” another woman screamed.

      Linc grabbed Rachel’s hand and tugged her toward the truck.