Handpicked Husband. Winnie Griggs

want to be the one to have to do the picking.

      * * *

      Reggie stared at the contract, the words blurring into a meaningless jumble. There had to be a way out of this. Marriage wasn’t an option for her. It hadn’t been for a long time.

      If only her grandfather had come himself so she could talk to him, could read his expression, hear the shades of meaning in his voice as they discussed this.

      He’d never understood her easy acceptance of maiden aunt status, but she never dreamed he’d take things this far, even if he did believe it was “for her own good.”

      Clearing her head from the useless what-ifs, Reggie forced herself to read the contract. It appeared to say the same thing as the letter, but in more formal terms. One thing she did learn, however, was exactly what each of her suitors stood to gain from the arrangement.

      Everett Fulton would be set up with his own newspaper press, a first for Turnabout.

      Mitchell Parker would be given a house in town and a job as teacher, thanks to the new wing the judge was having built onto the schoolhouse. Ahh, so that was the motive behind Grandfather’s unexpected altruism.

      And, oddly enough, Chance Dawson was being given the burned out Blue Bottle Saloon and money to renovate it.

      Plump carrots indeed. No wonder the men had agreed to take part in this backward marriage lottery. Not only were they being given fresh starts, but they would come into the community as men of consequence.

      She glanced up to see Adam leading his horse to the shade of a nearby tree. At least he’d quit watching her with that unnerving stare.

      He stretched and corded muscles strained against the confines of his shirt, muscles he’d no doubt acquired while in prison. A powerful reminder that this was not the same man she’d known all those years ago. This man was both powerful and dangerous.

      Abruptly, Reggie turned her focus back to the contract. She had no reason to fear Adam—Grandfather would never have sent him here if he hadn’t trusted him completely.

      Quickly finding her place, Reggie skimmed over the next few paragraphs. What it all boiled down to was that, in exchange for her grandfather’s generosity, the trio agreed to “court” her, to truthfully answer any questions about their past and their aspirations, and ultimately, each of them agreed to abide by her final selection without hesitation.

      Reggie paused and reread that part. Now here was something she could use. She was no prize catch to start with. The fact that her grandfather had offered such extravagant bribes showed he thought so, too.

      Best not to dwell on the sting of that right now.

      Instead, she explored how she might take advantage of the small chink in the contract’s armor. If she could hone in on which of her would-be suitors was least enthusiastic about marrying her, and play up whatever would most intensify his reluctance, she might manage to get out of this yet. She just had to make sure, when she made her choice, the man in question would decide he was better off without the judge’s bribe than hitched to her.

      Tricky, but she could pull it off. She had to.

      Surely the judge wouldn’t follow through with his threat if she’d done her part? If nothing else, it would serve as a delaying tactic while she planned a countermove.

      There was an interesting catch to the agreement—exactly the sort of stipulation her deviously-minded grandfather loved to impose. If the man she picked balked at the idea of marrying her, the deal was off for all of them. The trio were in this together.

      If her plan worked, she would squash the dreams of not one but three men.

      Reggie refused to feel even a smidgeon of guilt. If they truly wanted to start a new life in Turnabout, they didn’t need her grandfather’s backing to make it. They’d just have to do it with the sweat of their own brows rather than with handouts.

      From what she’d seen, a stretch of hard work and diet of humble pie wouldn’t hurt any of them.

      If they chose to turn tail and head back to Philadelphia rather than dig in and try to make a go of it on their own, well then, they deserved just what they got.

      Reggie read the section that addressed Adam’s duties with returning indignation. She glanced up and caught him watching her, an admit-you’re-beaten expression on his face.

      The earlier attraction she’d felt was extinguished as if it never existed. What had Grandfather been thinking to entrust this heart-of-stone man with so much power over her and Jack’s future? If the arrogant Mr. Barr thought he held all the cards, let him. She had no intention of showing her own hand just yet.

      Feeling better now that she had a plan, Reggie lowered the contract and faced Grandfather’s henchman.

      “Do I need to explain any of the legal terms to you?” he asked.

      She shook her head. She’d changed her mind about hiring a lawyer. Given her options, she’d have no choice but to sign anyway. And there was no point risking having this humiliating situation made public. “I believe I understand the terms. Given my choices, I will, of course, sign the document.”

      Seeing his satisfied smile, she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “But I must say, it proved interesting reading.”

      His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Let him wonder what she had up her sleeve. It would work to her advantage if she could keep him off balance.

      He nodded. “There are copies for each of us. Everyone has signed them but you.”

      She would sign the contracts, all right. But Adam was sadly mistaken if he thought she would give in without a fight. Her take-no-prisoners campaign was just beginning.

      * * *

      Adam didn’t like the battle-ready expression Regina wore as she signed the papers. She’d seen something in the contract to raise her spirits, and that didn’t bode well for the judge’s plans. But what had she seen?

      He’d have to take a closer look when he had a moment.

      She handed the packet to him, holding one copy back for herself. Her fingers brushed against his—not drawing-room-smooth skin but feminine nonetheless.

      “I imagine your friends have had enough time to stretch their legs.” She slid her copy into her dress pocket. “Shall I call them back?”

      “Call them?” Surely they’d traveled too far for a simple hail?

      With a schoolgirl grin, she placed two fingers between her lips and let out a piercing whistle, immediately followed by a second blast.

      He winced at the shrill sound. “Are you in the habit of calling your people as if they were dogs?”

      In the blink of an eye the schoolgirl transformed into an indignant woman. The heat in her cheeks complimented her dragon’s eyes.

      “I do not treat people like animals.” She waved a hand. “We tend to scatter when we’re out here. The whistles are signals we’ve worked out to get each other’s attention.”

      She took a deep breath and her expression lost its high emotion. “Mrs. Peavy knows two whistles means she’s wanted back at the cabin, and Mr. Peavy and Jack know they can ignore the call.”

      As if to support her words, two answering blasts came from the distance.

      “There,” she said, “that’s Mrs. Peavy signaling she heard me.” Dusting her skirt, she flounced down the steps. And promptly tripped on her hem.

      Adam reacted on instinct, catching her before she could land at his feet. With his arms around her, their gazes locked. Her eyes widened and she gave a breathy little gasp that shot through him. Suddenly the world shrank around them as if they were figures in a water globe, the very air swirling around them.

      He’d almost forgotten what it was like to hold a woman—to feel her softness, to