The Bride Wore Spurs. Janet Dean

He’d done it to keep her attention on him and off her father.

      He bit back a sigh. Why not be honest? He’d become an expert at holding women at arm’s length. He had no intention of falling for a woman, especially a female with an iron will.

      A scowl on her face, Hannah folded her arms across her chest. “You look like a man sentenced to hang.”

      An apt description considering his throat had constricted with the pressure of a squeezing noose. He took a step closer. Lifted a hand toward her. “I’m sorry, I...ah, you surprised me.”

      She whirled out of his reach. “Forget it!”

      “Wait.” He shot after her, taking her by the arm. “You can’t blame a man for being taken aback. A request for help doesn’t usually include a marriage proposal.”

      “These aren’t usual circumstances.”

      He released a gust of air. “No, they’re not.”

      “I don’t want marriage any more than you do.” Her eyes flared. Then drifted in the direction of her house where disease and worry dwelled. “I don’t see another option.”

      “Reckon marriage to me means you get help with your pa, an experienced cowhand and a husband all rolled into one.”

      “Husband?”

      “That is what you call the groom once you tie the knot.”

      “I...” Her cheeks bloomed. “I hadn’t thought about a husband.”

      “A husband does come with the wedding band,” he ground out.

      That chin of hers shot up. He hadn’t meant to sound testy, but matrimony was sacred, not to be entered lightly. If they wed, they’d be hitched for life. With that stubborn streak of hers, marriage would feel like a life sentence, too.

      Her gaze dropped away. She fiddled with the sleeve of her dress. “We’re not in love so we’d, ah...well...”

      “Have no proper marital...union, is that what you’re trying to say?”

      “Yes.”

      Why didn’t he feel relieved by her answer? If he married, a marriage without love was what he’d want. Even four years later, Amy’s death haunted him. He clamped his jaw. He’d never again risk that kind of anguish.

      Tears brimmed in Hannah’s eyes. Eyes filled with desperation. Disquiet. A host of emotions he couldn’t handle. A damsel in distress. How could a man look into those eyes without wanting to save her?

      But, at what cost? “What do I get out of this marriage?”

      Her eyes widened. Like the question surprised her. “You?”

      “Yes, me. I’d be half of the man and wife.” He didn’t mention her opposition to a proper man and wife relationship, but the arrangement hung over them just the same.

      “Well, you’d, ah, get a home. Good food. Rosa’s an excellent cook. And—” she wrinkled her nose that cute way she had “—you wouldn’t have to ride to the Lazy P twice a day to help Papa and...” Her words trailed off. “That’s not much.”

      Without a doubt, Hannah wouldn’t have turned to him if she’d had another candidate for the position of husband. “What I’d get is another ranch to run.” He removed his Stetson and slapped it against his thigh, raising dust and his ire with each whack. “You’ve resented what you called my interference. Now you’re asking for it?”

      She straightened her shoulders, but didn’t look him in the eye. “I’d prefer you not interfere. I’d make the decisions on how to run the Lazy P. I will work on my ranch. None of that nonsense about leaving the job to the men.”

      Mercy, if he married her, he’d have to put up regularly with this spitfire. One thing he’d give Hannah, she had bravado, more like audacity, considering her lack of alternatives.

      “All I need a husband for is...” Her brow furrowed, groping for the word.

      “Respect,” he finished for her.

      She nodded. “I’m seen as an upstart, not a boss. With a husband—” She shot him a defiant stare. “In name only, well...if you showed your support, the hands would listen to me, figure the instructions came from you.”

      That much was true.

      “Well, will you marry me or not?” She crossed her arms over her bosom, trying to look in control, but her lips trembled like a terrified toddler.

      As long as he’d peered into those pretty, haunted eyes, how could he expect to make an intelligent decision? Could any decision be called intelligent that involved marrying a woman he didn’t love? And who didn’t love him?

      Lord, I need the wisdom You gave Solomon.

      “I’ll think about it. Pray about it. This isn’t an agreement a man enters into lightly.”

      With that assertion, he plopped his Stetson on his head, strode to his horse and rode for the Circle W, leaving Hannah behind, from what he’d heard, sputtering. Had she expected his answer on the spot?

      He needed time to wrap his mind around her proposal. He supposed marriage to Hannah would mean no risk of entangling his heart and no more of Jenny Sample’s cakes. And, marrying Hannah would allow him to care for a dying man he saw as a second father.

      Amy’s death had killed his capacity to risk his heart. A marriage of convenience would work for him, but didn’t seem fair to Hannah. She deserved love. Even if he could love again, he didn’t deserve her, any woman.

      If only—

      He refused to let his mind travel to the day of Amy’s death. As much as he lived with regrets, nothing could change the past.

      * * *

      A bright, sunny morning didn’t fit Hannah’s mood. As she and Jake finished the last of the chores, she’d prayed for an answer to her dilemma. Never thinking God would put words in her mouth, she’d never have spoken if she hadn’t been desperate to give Papa peace. Marry me, Matt, she’d blurted out. Yet marriage was the last thing she wanted. If Matt agreed, would the solution bring even bigger problems? If he refused, she’d have no recourse but to sell.

      She felt out of control, swept along like the cattle she’d often witnessed in Fort Worth, driven through narrow chutes and onto waiting railroad boxcars that would deliver them to their final destination.

      Annihilation.

      She shivered. Surely marriage wouldn’t be that bad. She knew little about wedded life, had no more than an outsider’s view. Would a husband want to herd her into the narrow shoot of his will and destroy the freedom she held dear, freedom to work, freedom to run the ranch? To have purpose and meaning, be part of something bigger than her?

      Across the way, Matt emerged from the back door, no doubt finished helping Papa shave and dress, the actions of a thoughtful, caring man. Why had she thought he had ulterior motives for his kindness?

      With a strong, hardworking, no-nonsense air about him, Matt’s long legs gobbled up the distance as he strode to his horse. Where was he headed?

      She caught up with him just as he took Thunder’s reins. “Heading back to the Circle W?” she said, trying to sound casual, when every muscle tensed with wondering if he’d come to a decision about marrying her.

      He turned to her, a smile on his lips. The sight of that dimple winking at her and his dark eyes, soft, kind, whooshed the breath out of her lungs. Why couldn’t she stop reacting to the man? He saw her as a gangly kid to be teased, barely tolerated.

      “Several of your cows will be dropping calves. Thought I’d ride out to check on them.”

      Here was an opportunity to take back the reins of her life. “If you can wait while I change out of this dress and saddle Star, I’ll ride along. See for