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  The lantern on the sheriff’s desk lit a slice of enticing white flesh through a rip in her bodice. More skin showed when she hauled air into her substantial chest, spreading the torn fabric. Her waist flared out to woman-sized hips. She could do with a bit of fattening up, but everyone was lean and hungry in the spring.

  Her hair must have been blonde when clean. He couldn’t tell if she had color under her dirty face and hands, but he hoped she wasn’t one to burn easily. Over the years, he’d dreamed of places where he’d take his wife if he ever found one. He’d spread her out on sweet Elliott grass and explore every inch of her in the bright sun. Then he’d make her scream her passion so his name echoed through the valley.

  Never had he thought the dream would come true.

  “Get out before I take that badge,” said Sheriff Chambers to Charlie. The deputy scowled in Trace’s direction. He straightened up, spat on the floor, and squinted into the dark corner where Trace waited.

  “Who’s the coward what drew a gun on me? Yah might as well put a red circle on yer back.”

  “Shut up,” said the sheriff. “You’re lucky Trace didn’t shoot you right off for lifting your hand to his woman.”

  “She’s Elliott’s woman?” Charlie gulped. “Since when?”

  “Since now,” croaked Trace. He stepped out of the shadows. Charlie’s face paled from belligerent red. “No one touches what’s mine and lives,” said Trace. He holstered his gun, staring hard at Charlie. He gave a sharp jerk of his head in an unspoken order.

  Charlie understood the motion and scuttled from the jail, keeping far from Trace on his way to the street. Sheriff Chambers walked over to the woman who would soon become Trace’s wife.

  “Miss Elizabeth James, this is Trace Elliott. You need a husband to get you out of town, and he needs a wife to let him in.”

  The woman’s high forehead crinkled as if she couldn’t understand his words. She brushed strands of loose hair away with a grimace.

  “Come say howdy to your fiancé,” continued the sheriff. “You got a few minutes to get to know each other while I haul the preacher out of Baldy’s Saloon.” His boots thumped across the quiet jail. He stopped a few feet from the door and turned back.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am. You wanted a real man for a husband, and you found one. Nobody in Montana Territory messes with an Elliott.” He nodded and closed the door behind him.

  Trace rolled his shoulders and sighed. If he and his twin brothers were so good, why had the sheriff banned them from town? His stomach grumbled. One look at the burned beans Jack called supper and he’d headed to town for one of Sophie’s hot suppers. The hotel did a raging business as there was nowhere closer than Bannack City where a single man could get a decent meal.

  Now what? With Ma dead for seven years, most of what he knew of females came from Miss Lily’s experienced gals.

  What the hell could he say to a smart-talking, Eastern virgin?

  Chapter Two

  Elizabeth James pressed her back against the cold jail wall. The stone, solid and sturdy, helped to steady her. A few months ago she’d thought marrying old Mr. Carter was the worst thing that could happen to her.

  Ha! She’d escaped that life but found more of the same, only worse. Mr. Carter was rich, and when he died, she would have been a very comfortable widow. He was far older than she. With luck, she’d have only a few years of wifely obligations to tolerate.

  She looked at the man on the far side of the room and gulped. Compared to Mr. Carter her fiancé was young, healthy, and, from the state of his clothing, poor. At least her flesh didn’t crawl when she looked at him, as it did with Mr. Carter. Instead, a heated shiver struck her.

  Mr. Elliott idly rubbed his flat belly when it rumbled loudly. She flushed when hers answered the call. Hunger wasn’t new to her and she’d often gone hungry on the train. However, three days of Sophie McLeod’s wonderful food from the hotel dining room had reminded her belly that it could be filled.

  With the poor state of this man’s clothing, she’d be getting used to hunger again. She didn’t mind if it brought her freedom. As a daughter, she was under her father’s control. As a wife, she belonged to her husband. After weeks traveling on her own, she would not become a compliant wife like her mother. She would protect her children from everything, even their father if she had to. No child of hers would be beaten with a cane.

  She heard the tinkle of spurs and scrape of boots on the wood floor when he shifted his feet. He watched her warily, as if she was dangerous. What would a man that big have to fear from her? She gulped. What had he done that required him to marry before he could enter Tanner’s Ford? Sophie said to trust Sheriff Chambers, that he was a good, fair man.

  She crossed her arms to hug herself. She had to marry a total stranger, dragged into the jail by the sheriff. Under these circumstances, how would he care anything about her or what she wanted from life?

  His stomach rumbled again and he sighed. He turned more fully toward her and scratched his chest. Long legs clad in stained canvas trousers rose out of scuffed boots. An open buckskin coat revealed a shirt with missing buttons. His hands were huge, with long fingers. Dark hair dripped onto his shoulders. Like every other man, he wore a hat so her quick glance at his face only showed a strong nose above a thick moustache, all surrounded by heavy black stubble. He wore the usual faded gray bandana around his throat.

  When he spoke, he’d croaked like a raven, his voice harsh and raw. She wouldn’t judge him by that. Both her father and Mr. Carter spoke jovially with smiles and pleasant voices when they wished. Behind closed doors their true, violent nature emerged. The huge gun her fiancé had held in his right hand, cocked and steady, had stopped Charlie from hitting her.

  All that didn’t mean she wanted to marry him. Once again, men gave her no choice in her life. But it didn’t matter. She’d marry this stranger rather than Big Joe. After all, she could always run away later.

  “Evening, ma’am.”

  He spoke in the deep, rasping voice of a devil. She watched the brim of his hat drop as he looked from her tangled hair and dirty face to her ripped gown and equally filthy feet. Heat followed wherever he looked. A heat she was sure was indecent, though she’d never felt anything like it before. The fiancé her father chose had made her back away in disgust.

  She curled her bare toes under her dress, both to hide them and to quell the hot shiver running through her. Her nipples budded as if a cold wind whistled past, yet a flush rose from her belly.

  He was everything Mr. Carter was not. Young, handsome, dirty, and poor. If she was lucky, he might also be kind. However, luck was not a frequent visitor in her life.

  His wide chest expanded with each deep breath as he watched her. She grasped her skirts with her fists to stop herself leaning toward him. Something pulled her to him, something strange and unnatural. She blinked for a long moment, then fought back as she had all her life. She’d had enough of men running her life. Too bad if the law said a husband owned his wife. With a strong first impression, half the battle was won. This one, she would win. She raised her nose and spoke like Mama would to one of her pretty sister’s impertinent suitors.

  “I am Miss Elizabeth Katherine James. I do not know you, sir.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. He leaned back on his heels and rested his thumbs in his front pockets. Her eyes dropped at his movement. His tanned hands curled naturally, fingers framing taut pants. Pants that held what proper young virgins should not know about. She gulped, face heating. While locked up, she’d heard a few disgusting men boasting about what they wished to do to her with their unmentionable parts.

  She raised her eyes to his shirt, but that wasn’t safe either. Bleached from the sun and stained with who knows what, the fabric stretched over his chest. A jagged rip allowed dark curls to peek out. Missing buttons and frayed collar and cuffs proved the man needed a wife to keep him.

  “Name’s Trace Elliott, ma’am. You’ll know me a whole lot be
tter in the morning. After I make you my wife.”

  She choked at his quiet words and then coughed. A tornado of desire swirled up from her belly. When Mr. Carter ran his hands over her dress and tried to do more, she’d gagged and kneed him hard. Even though her father tried to beat her into marriage, she’d sworn she’d not let a man touch her again. But she’d never known a man could make her feel all fluttery.

  “I have not agreed to the proposal put forward by Sheriff Chambers,” she said, imitating her most prim teacher. “I do have options other than marriage.” She looked down and dusted her dress from belly to hips as if brushing off a stray bit of fluff. It did nothing to the ground-in filth, unless dirt transferred to her hand from her brown traveling dress. She heard a sniff and the light clink of spurs as he shifted.

  “Mistress or whore, ma’am?”

  “I beg your pardon!” She straightened her back and gave him the full force of her most intimidating glare. After weeks of being ogled by odorous men, she’d perfected the look while quaking inside. He rubbed his finger under his nose where a bushy moustache obscured his lips.

  “You’re a woman. In Montana Territory, a female’s got three choices. Wife, whore, or mistress.” He looked at his hand as he counted them off. Thumb, pointing finger, middle finger. “If you throw out wife,” he pulled his thumb back in, “that leaves two.” He wiggled his two fingers at her. “Mistress or whore?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Her pounding heart seemed to twist, a sharp pain shooting from it to her head. She felt her lip curl.

  “How dare you? I am a woman of good breeding!”

  “Breeding don’t matter out here ’less you’re talking horses, cattle, or sheep.”

  “I would die first.” She thrust the words out like spears, each one sharp and controlled.

  “Your choice. Just stating the facts, ma’am.” He pulled his mouth into a grimace and scratched the dark stubble on his right cheek with the fingers that had pointed out her fate.

  “Mistress, now, that’s a problem. The only single man in town able to pay for a fresh piece like you is Orville Rivers, the mayor.” He shrugged and lifted his hands in a shrug. “He’s the one said you had to get hitched tonight so I guess he’s out. That leaves one choice.” He held up his first finger and then pointed it toward her like a pistol. “Whore.”

  “No!”

  “Miss Lily runs a right nice place,” he continued calmly, as if she hadn’t screamed at him. “I hear the whores at Baldy’s Saloon do it fast and cheap. They spend most of the night on their back or their knees. Lily’s gals, now, they only entertain a couple men a night. Costs more but you get a whole woman, not just a pussy.” He touched his hat, not bothering to lift it. “Pardon, ma’am, but that’s all it is to those drunken miners. The woman don’t matter a’tall.”

  The walls pressed in on her as if she was already in her tomb. For a moment she heard nothing over the hoarse rasp of her violent breathing. Finally the deeper rasp of his voice penetrated her horror.

  “Course, if we get hitched, you won’t have to worry about that.”

  He stuck his thumbs in his gun belt and looked at her, eye to eye. She fought to keep from fainting, using his face as the only stable place in the spinning room.

  He was right. She let out a shuddering breath. When she’d defiantly headed west it was with dreams of being a person in her own right. She would open a business of some kind, be a strong woman able to hold her own. She had no intention of being owned by a man.

  Now it was time to face reality. She’d had her dreams, but they were now dust under her bare toes. Her reality would be marriage to this man. She’d live with him wherever he chose. From the look of him, it would be in a small cabin far from town, likely with a sod roof and dirt floor. No matter what he did to her, no one would know. Nor would they care, for she would belong to him, body and soul, until she died.

  Sheriff Chambers had brought this man here to save her from marrying a brute. She’d learned to trust the older man while she was in his jail. Sophie McLeod, the closest person to a friend she had, did as well. Elizabeth managed to calm her breathing but couldn’t stop shaking. She clenched her hands behind her back. His eyes dropped to her chest.

  “Bet you’re pretty under all that dirt.” She startled when he spoke, quiet and calm. She met his eyes. “Ma’am, I know I ain’t much to look at. I wrecked my throat years ago and ended up with this croak so I don’t talk much neither.” He shook his head. “I said more tonight than in five or seven years altogether.”

  His dark eyes seemed to expand, enfolding her.

  “Me and my brothers got a place on the Rocking E ranch west of town. Won’t be much to a city gal like you, but it’s home. We work long days and come home to bad cooking and a cold bed. It’s not an easy life, but it’s all I know. If we get hitched, I’ll still work long days, but it’d be right nice to come home to good food and a warm bed.”

  She just stared at him. Her mind whirled so fast her ears buzzed like an angry swarm of bees. She knew about hard work. She’d cared for her grandparents and their hardscrabble farm. She’d worked dawn to dusk and then some, but she felt almost free. Only when her father decided to marry her off did he bring her back to the city, taking away her first taste of freedom.

  She’d worked a farm once and she could do it again. But as a wife, it would be her home. She would decide what and how they ate. Not cantankerous old people who thought they still had a dozen servants rather than one too big, too strong, too opinionated granddaughter.

  “You want me to marry you? This is what you get, ma’am.” He held his hands wide, palms up.

  Her fiancé was honest, both about himself and what he faced. She had to be as honest as to what she’d face, with or without him. How could marriage to this man be worse than her other options? When she didn’t answer, he pursed his lips and nodded. He took a deep breath and then exhaled.

  She looked at his broad chest and strong legs. With all the marks against him, he was still more of a man than any she’d seen in her life. Not pretty, rich, or well-mannered, he was tall enough that she felt almost normal. Not petite and sweet like her mother and sisters, but at least she didn’t tower over him. Even better, he stood up to the bully of a deputy to protect her.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes, what?” His hoarse rasp was worse, more of a grinding noise.

  “Yes, I want you to marry me.” She met his eyes. They stared at each other, neither breaking the glance. Heat rose from below her belly up her chest to her face. When it reached her cheeks she dropped her eyes to his boots, giving in to him.

  But only for a moment. After one deep breath, she straightened, gritted her teeth, and stared into his face. One corner of his mouth lifted into a quick smile. His straightened and doffed his hat as if he strolled on a city’s main street. No, he would never stroll unless he had a lady on his arm. This man would stride down the sidewalk, his boots loud on the wooden boards. With that smile and nod he went from ruffian to courtly, though unkempt, gentleman.

  “But I…” She stopped. She concentrated for a moment before continuing. A wife had certain duties, horrid ones according to her mother. “Mr. Carter, the man my father wished me to marry, forced a kiss on me. It made me ill. Your touch may do the same.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head at his growl. “I fought him off with my knee. He was most upset. So was Father.” It had taken weeks for her bruises to fade after he broke his cane thrashing her. Never again.

  “Good for you.” He almost smiled at her. “Are you afraid of me hurting you? I’ve never raised a hand to hurt a woman.”

  A part of her heart melted at his gentle, encouraging words. She shook her head. Compared to the simmering violence shared by Big Joe and Charlie, she couldn’t see him beating her.

  “Then let me show you how a real man kisses his woman,” he said. “You tell me to stop any time, and I
will. But if you want more, I’ll be glad to oblige.”

  His knowing wink sent chills through her body. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on a wall peg. She swallowed hard when he turned toward her. Eyes down, she watched his feet approach, the steps slow and steady. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, he stalked her like an experienced bull after a heifer.

  Never had a man looked at her like that. He didn’t seem to care that she was too tall and loud. He knew nothing about her other than her refusal to be cowed.

  He stopped with the scuffed toes of his boots only a few inches from her bare feet. She heard his rasping breath over the pounding of her heart. She inhaled a mixture of sweat, horse, tobacco, and something else. Something elusive, but tantalizing.

  His hand rose, palm open, slow and sure. She watched it as she’d once seen a rabbit with a rattlesnake. The rabbit knew the end was near but could not move a muscle to escape.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

  She heard no sign of his broken voice when he whispered. Her shoulders lowered as her tension retreated. His knuckle brushed the tip of her breast. She inhaled a gasp and lifted her eyes to him. He winked, lips twitching in amusement. Her nipples tightened in a way she’d never felt before. Her camisole pressed back against rising flesh, straining to meet his touch.

  His fingers reached for her chin. He cupped it, holding her face still. His dark eyes watched her as if learning more about her than anyone, including herself, would ever know.

  “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  She gulped again and inhaled. He brushed chapped lips against hers, his moustache lightly scraping her skin. A shiver ran outward from his touch. A deep throbbing followed, reaching her neck, bosom, belly, and even lower. She pressed her thighs together, not knowing why but trying to ease the needy feeling.