The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride. Carol Arens

eyes used to have the most appealing twinkle. It was not evident at the moment.

      Honestly, he could not want to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him.

      “I’m running for governor one day. You know that. I’ll have enemies who will go looking for any way to discredit me.”

      “That’s still many years away. New scandals will come along. No one will recall this.”

      “I wish that were true, Agatha. But politics is an ugly game. People will remember and in the nastiest way.”

      She pressed her fingers to her temples to try and lasso her stampeding thoughts. He was right, wicked-minded folks would remember—remember and talk.

      It made her sick to her stomach to think he might lose his dream because he came to her aid.

      “If it’s such an ugly game, why not forget about running for governor. Go home and care for your ranch.”

      “The ranch doesn’t need me. My mother runs it better than any man.” A punching wind blew something over outside. She heard it tumble across the yard. “And why aren’t you at home? What were you doing involved with the circus?”

      “That’s a talk for another time. Right now we are discussing why you want to be involved in such dirty business.”

      He shrugged one shoulder, tipped his head. “I see injustice and I want to make it right. It’s like an itch in my bones, righting things while crooked politicians act on things that only benefit them.”

      Suddenly she suspected that lamplight was reflecting on the crimson sequins of her costume in a way that did not protect her modesty.

      Agatha picked up the dog, positioned the furry little thing over her breasts. Too bad the tip of her wagging tail would not be hiding anything, but accentuating it.

      Marry William? No! She could not possibly marry him—the very man she had dreamed of since she knew how to dream.

      He was far too safe. Why, she could live in his house and never have to worry about anything for the rest of her life. She could sit in a chair by the window and watch the world go by—just like she used to do.

      “I don’t know, William. You might make a difficult husband. You are just plain bossy.”

      He laughed, low in his chest, and there in the corner of one eye, the mysterious twinkle flashed.

      “You and my mother will like each other.”

      “And you are assuming I have accepted your proposal.” The weak-kneed child inside of her wanted to—urged her to—crawl up into her prince’s arms where life would never hurt her. Where shadows would never chase her down and threaten her. “I have not.”

      Speaking her mind in such a forceful way was not what she was used to. She would become used to it, though, once she spent enough time on her own.

      William walked to the window and drew back the curtain. He traced his finger over the crack in the glass. With a curse, he let the drape fall into place.

      “Is the wind worse?” She set Miss Valentine gently on the floor, exposing herself once again. It was not as though she could take back anything he had already seen.

      “It’s worse, but not so bad as to keep half a dozen people across the street from ogling their mayor’s front door.”

      “I don’t wish to marry. I’m sorry, William, but I don’t.”

      Except, that maybe she did.

      “It wasn’t what I woke up wanting, either.”

      Without warning, Leah Madrigal’s wink flashed in her mind. The fortune-teller said that sometimes the glass ball saw things. No—that could not be. More likely the perceptive woman had seen the look of longing on Agatha’s face while she had been staring at William’s back.

      “You, at least had a bit of warning.” She must be getting desperate to even bring this nonsense up. “I heard the fortune-teller tell you that you would soon marry.”

      “She also said it would be a long, happy marriage.”

      “With lots of children.” Leah had said that, too. “It can’t be me you are supposed to marry.”

      William’s gaze dropped away. He jabbed fingers through his hair.

      He glanced back up suddenly, stealing her breath with the determined set of his eyes.

      “Also a subject for another time. I believe in facing one problem at a time.”

      Even though she was not going to marry him, she did wish he had not called the proposal a problem. It felt like a tiny dagger twisting in her heart to hear it put that way. No matter that she completely agreed.

      “If I did give in to this insanity, the issue would have to be faced at one time or another.”

      “Another, then.” He strode forward so that they stood toe to toe. He cupped her cheeks in his long fingers, looked her steadily in the eyes. “I like you, Agatha. I always have. I’ve seen you fight things that wanted to enslave you. I am not one of them. Please don’t fight me.”

      “It’s not so simple as that. I like you, too. But I need to stand on my own. Make my own decisions and live with the consequences.”

      Dratted consequences! The result of William rescuing her might cost him his dream—the ambition of a lifetime.

      Ruined reputations were not easily overcome.

      Yes, she might keep her independence at the cost of her reputation—all on her own become the strong person she was learning to be. But in the end others would still see her as pitiful.

      Worse, they would see William as unworthy of their trust. How could she live with herself knowing he lost everything for her sake?

      She stepped away from him because she wanted to lean into him, feel his arms fold about her and deflect the ugly words that were bound to be spoken about her.

      “You would want to be in control of me.”

      “Only insofar as it’s for your own good.”

      “Do you understand that it’s up to me to decide what is for my own good? I spent my whole life trusting Hilda Brunne to know what was best for me. I won’t allow anyone to have that power over me again.”

      “That was evil power, honey.” He caught both of her hands in one of his, pressed them against his chest. The steady beat of his heart thumped against her palms. “I would never treat you that way.”

      “I know that, William, but—”

      “What if I declare, in the wedding vows, to try not to be overbearing, excessively protective. Even though it would be my duty as your husband to do so.”

      How could she not laugh? He looked so sincere about saying vows that he did not agree with.

      She could not let herself be swayed by that consideration, though. William English was a man who wanted control. He might be ever so sweet about it, but it didn’t change anything.

      Freedom to grow was what she needed. For as much as he might not want to tell her what to do and when to do it, such behavior was in his nature.

      A test. She would give him a test to see if he could really let go of control.

      Sliding her hand down his shirt, she felt the firm ridges of his chest. She yanked her hand away then slowly, deliberately, picked up Miss Valentine and set her on the expensive divan.

      The dog scratched the fabric then circled searching for a comfortable position. After finding the cushion to her liking, she settled in to lick her injured paw. A damp circle darkened the fabric.

      Agatha watched William frown. Purse his lips.

      As she suspected, he did not want animals