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  She trembled like an aspen leaf in a brisk autumn wind. Momentarily overcome at the prospect of the bleak, loveless future she faced with the man behind the desk. But she persevered.

  “I’m not the same girl you proposed to in Sacramento, Mr. McCallum. I’ve changed. For the better, I think. And if you’ll do this one thing for Cort, I promise you …” Her voice broke. “I promise you …”

  This time she couldn’t stop the flow of tears streaming down her cheeks. “I beg you, Mr. McCallum to hear my humble plea for Cort’s farm.” She clasped her hands under her chin.

  In a rustle of skirts, she dropped to her knees amid the deep, plush carpet. “And then I promise I’ll be the best wife you could ever imagine.”

  Chair squeaking, the copper king pivoted. But Junius Rutherford arose.

  She gasped. “Father? I—I don’t understand.” She collapsed in a puddle of fabric. “I thought I was talking to—Why are you here?”

  In a silk cravat and waistcoat, her father rounded the desk. Bending, he extended his hand to her.

  “Daddy …” Her eyes awash, she inserted her hand into his. “I’m so sorry for the things I said. For running away. For everything.”

  He grasped her hand. “Oh, my darling child, how I’ve longed for this moment when we could be together again.” He helped her stand. “With no distance between our hearts.”

  “But …” She couldn’t look at her father. “After the way I treated you, I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

  “It’s not a matter of deserving, my precious girl. I forgave you the moment the words left your mouth.”

  She lifted her gaze to meet his.

  “We must forget about the past and embrace the future that lies before us.” He raised her hand to his cheek. “With much joy, I anticipated this day. When your heart came home not only to me, but to the beloved heavenly Father your mother and I served with such devotion during our brief married life.”

  She tucked her head into his shoulder. And inhaled the comforting scents of her childhood—the trace of pipe tobacco, the clean aroma of the shaving lotion he wore.

  Her father stroked her hair. “You’ve become the woman your mother and I dreamed you could be. Until after her death, in my grief I spoiled you and allowed you too much your own way.”

  “It’s not your fault, Daddy. It’s mine.”

  “Blame doesn’t matter, not between you and me, dear child.” Her father cupped her face between his hands. “We were separated briefly so one day, in the fullness of time, we could be together forever. United in spirit, heart, and true faith.”

  She hugged him close. “I’m ready to betroth myself to Mr. McCallum.”

  Junius Rutherford smiled. “You were wrong about Cort. He is a fine young man. The finest. He does indeed love that farm, but I think not more than he loves you.”

  “But the debts, Daddy. I must—”

  “You must, of course, tell Mr. McCallum what you just told me. And I think you’ll find him a fine man as well. Quite accommodating.” Her father’s mustache broadened. “To the most outlandish of schemes where love is concerned.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  Her gaze followed the motion of his hand to the tall, hanging curtain. The fabric rustled. Her eyes widened.

  “Eugenia, my darling girl, allow me to reintroduce you to the real copper king. Cortland McCallum, Esquire of Silver Strike, Montana.”

  The curtains parted. Her mouth dropped open. And Cort Dahlgren—McCallum?—came out from behind the drapes.

  Chapter 10

  Her eyes darted between him and Junius.

  Cort felt ashamed of how he’d stormed over to the ranch. Ashamed for doubting Eugenia. Of his lack of faith in the woman he loved.

  She’d been willing to bind herself to a man she didn’t know, much less love, to save his farm. He could barely wrap his mind around that kind of sacrifice. That kind of love. “Cort?” she whispered. “You’re the copper king?”

  Junius Rutherford fingered his snow-white goatee. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

  “Daddy—”

  “No matter what Cort tells you, I take full responsibility for everything. It was my idea entirely.”

  “What idea?”

  But the wily silver tycoon departed quickly. Leaving Cort alone to face the lion … uh … lioness.

  “What’s going on?”

  Repositioning his hat on his head, Cort fixed his gaze on the carpet between them. She had every right to be angry. She’d hate him for deceiving her. His stomach turned to mush, dreading her condemnation.

  But she deserved the truth. And he deserved her scorn.

  Indignation wreathed her features. “Why did you pretend to be Cort Dahlgren, a homesteader?”

  “I never said I was Cort Dahlgren. You assumed.”

  “An assumption you never bothered to correct.” She quivered with fury. “Was the whole town in on the conspiracy to make a fool out of me?”

  “There was no conspiracy. No one was out to deceive you—”

  “Except you and my father.”

  “The townsfolk probably assumed Junius Rutherford’s daughter would know Cort McCallum. And when you couldn’t pay your bill after your father cut off your credit, the incident with Mr. Penrod and the sheriff was all too real.”

  “An incident you were quick to take advantage of.” Her bottom lip trembled. “Was it revenge for Sacramento, Cort?”

  “I can’t say I wasn’t still angry when you showed up practically on my doorstep in Silver Strike.” He jutted his jaw. “And I’m not going to lie and tell you the irony of you slopping hogs and feeding chickens didn’t occur to me. But then, you … We …” He bit his lip.

  Hurt sharpened her beautiful blue eyes. “What about Granny? Was she part of this elaborate scheme to humiliate me, too?”

  “No … She wanted me to tell you the truth immediately. And this was not about humiliating you.”

  “What then was this farce about?” Her eyes flashed. “Why pretend to care about me?”

  “That was no pretense.” He moved forward. “Granny loves you.”

  He swallowed. “As do I. Since the first moment I laid eyes on you at the wedding of a mutual friend last year in Chicago.”

  “At Muriel Treadwater’s society wedding?” She blinked. “I don’t remember meeting you.”

  Her mouth thinned. “Nor Cort McCallum, either. As for loving me? Does your idea of loving someone involve betrayal?”

  “I never meant to …” Shame smote his heart. “After these past weeks together, I’ve come to realize what I felt that weekend wasn’t real love. Only a shallow love at first sight.”

  She held herself aloof from him. And he didn’t blame her.

  He hung his head. “Real love must spring from proven character. From shared experiences. And now I’ve proven to you my utter lack of character.”

  “Cort … That’s not—” She reached for him, only to let her hand fall. “Why did we not meet that weekend if you imagined yourself so in love with me?”

  “I was too shy to speak with you.”

  She made a most unladylike snort. “You’ve not a shy bone in your body, Cort McCallum.”

  “I was shy. I am shy when it comes to expressing deep feelings. Feelings such as I’d never felt for anyone before. Feelings, which even now …” He gulped.

  She stepped closer, and he took courage.

  “You were knee-deep in potential suitors. And one by one, you cast them aside. Finding fault with each.”

  She had the grace to blush. “I acted horribly.”

  “Then I was called home.” He gestured at the house. “Granny had suffered a stroke. The doctor believed her to be dying. I kept a bedside vigil beside Granny until the immediate danger passed.”

  He gave Eugenia a small smile. “Apparently, I blathered on about a certain silver heiress. When Granny recovered her powers of speech, she urged me to plead my troth to you post haste. So I hurried to
Sacramento.”

  She sighed. “Where I took one look at your disheveled clothing, rough beard, and threw you out of the house.” Her gaze dropped to her shoes. “Without the beard, I didn’t recognize you.”

  He took Eugenia’s hand in his. And she let him.

  “I shaved the beard off when I returned to Silver Strike. I told myself I never wanted to see you again.”

  He squeezed her hand. “But I promise you, I truly, truly never meant for this … this deception to betray you.”

  Eugenia let her shoulders rise and fall. “But how did I—we—end up in this scheme of my father’s?”

  He pushed back his hat with the tip of his finger. “Everyone believed Granny was withering away. She’d lost the fighting spirit that enabled her and my grandfather to pioneer this rugged land.”

  Cort cut his eyes to the window. “It was her husband—Lars Dahlgren—who made the first silver strike in the territory.”

  “Your grandfather Dahlgren? The town’s named after his silver strike?”

  Cort nodded. “My mother was their only child. Born on the homestead. Which they soon left for the lure of finer things.”

  He blew out a breath. “After the stroke, Granny’s dying wish was to spend her last days where she’d been the happiest—on the homestead as a young wife and mother.”

  Eugenia laced her fingers in his. “And you, Cortland McCallum, out of love for her, wanted to make sure Granny’s last dream came true. I remember now where I heard the name. Mrs. Anderson was Granny’s nurse.”

  “Your father made her a job offer via telegram she couldn’t refuse. I was in Silver Strike that day in a vain attempt to convince her to return to the homestead when I received a telegram, too.”

  She tilted her head. “Also from my father?”

  “‘Next move, yours,’ it said.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I had no idea what he was talking about until the commotion erupted outside the hotel. Later, he unveiled the plan he’d set in motion. He arranged a one-way ticket for you from Sacramento straight to Silver Strike.”

  She gaped. “He planned for me to live on the homestead as Granny’s nurse?”

  “A vision he left for me to implement.”

  She tapped her shoe on the carpet. “An arrangement into which I unwittingly and oh so conveniently fell.”

  Cort grimaced. “And he proceeded to set up residence in my house.”

  She shook her head. “So he could play puppet master with our lives and watch the drama unfold.”

  “Don’t think too harshly of him, Genie. He loves you and wanted only happiness for you. He knew my parents quite well when he himself was a young man.”

  She deflated. “I won’t stay angry at him. I know in my heart he desires only the kind of true love for me he once had with my mother.”

  “His motives, I swear to you, were pure and noble. Never to humiliate.”

  “Just to humble.” She bit her lip. “And rightly so.”

  “You weren’t the only one with a pride problem, Genie. You weren’t the only one whose rough edges needed smoothing. After getting to know you, I realized I no longer desired your comeuppance.”

  He crimped the brim of his hat with his hand. “I rode over here Saturday morning to tell your father I couldn’t go through with his scheme. I planned to tell you after the dance. But after we kissed …” He dropped his eyes to his boots.

  Eugenia’s pulse quickened. “What about after the kiss, Cort?”

  “I thought once you knew the truth that I’d lose you for good. I told myself to wait till morning to tell you the truth. But the fire—”

  “Everything went up in smoke.”

  His eyes bored into hers. “And you rejected not only Cort Dahlgren, but once again unknowingly rejected Cort McCallum, too.”

  “Rejecting you for your own good. I was trying to save the farm.”

  He took her into his arms. “There is no good for me without you. I don’t understand why you believed marrying the copper king would save the farm.”

  Eugenia straightened the cuff of his sleeve. “You said McCallum held the title to the homestead.” She couldn’t resist the urge to touch him.

  “So he does—I mean I do. It’s all in the family.”

  Her brow puckered. “But the debts Granny spoke of …”

  “What exactly did Granny say?”

  Eugenia placed her palms on the broad length of his shoulders. “She said the farm hadn’t made a profit in years.”

  “Which isn’t the same thing as being in debt.”

  “No, you’re right.” It felt so right to be in his arms. “Once again, I assumed wrongly. Leaped to a false conclusion.”

  “The farm hasn’t been worked in years. Not since Granddad built this house. I decided to bring in one last harvest for Granny’s sake. Before she, too, passed.”

  Eugenia smiled at him. “I don’t think Granny is going anywhere. Not anytime soon.”

  “Because of you, Granny found her will to live again.” His voice turned gruff. “We’re both so grateful for you.”

  Frowning, she removed herself from his arms. “Gratitude?”

  He didn’t allow her to drift far. “Gratitude, my dear Genie, I assure you is the very least of what I feel for you.”

  Something eased in her heart. “Why, Cort McCallum …” She fluttered her lashes. “Do tell.”

  His eyebrows rose. “And reinflate your vastly overrated opinion of yourself, which your father and I have gone to such great lengths to quell?” He smirked. “I think not.”

  She play punched his shoulder. “Fine then. Be that way. See if I—”

  He swung her around. Her skirts swirled. “I love you because you never fail to surprise me. You make me laugh—”

  “Usually at me.”

  “—I love your intelligence. Your joy of life. Determination—”

  “Otherwise known as my obstinacy?”

  He gave her that lovely, lopsided smile of his. “I’m not above admitting to a growing fondness for a beautiful, blue-eyed silver heiress.”

  “And I’m not above admitting to a growing fondness for Cort McCallum, or whatever he chooses to call himself henceforth.”

  Widening his stance, he peered at her upturned face. “Once upon a time, an heiress and a homesteader?”

  She winced. “I’m the one who wasn’t good enough for you.”

  “There’s the thing, Genie.” His dark eyes lit as if from within. “No one is good enough, not compared to God’s indescribable goodness. Yet God loves us anyway.”

  “I love you, Cort. So much. And thanks to you and Granny, I discovered God’s great love for me. A love I never comprehended before.”

  When Cort looked at her like that … Her heart ached with love for him.

  “If you’ll allow me.” He nestled her closer. “I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you, Eugenia Alice Rutherford. Always and forever.”

  “Oh, Cort. God has been—is—so good to allow us this second chance to love Him and one another. I’ll never take His love or yours for granted ever again, I promise you.”

  His eyes took on a teasing glint. “Shall we plan a grand honeymoon tour of Europe?”

  She planted a light kiss on his lips. “Who needs Europe when you have Silver Strike, Montana, and a honeymoon homestead cottage? If Granny wouldn’t mind vacating to the main house for a week or so.”

  “Definitely a week. Or so …” He brushed his mouth over her fingers. She shivered. Deliciously.

  He stroked his jaw. “And I’ll be sure to bring my razor. I have it on good authority, you prefer clean-shaven men to rough-bearded yokels.”

  Catching his chin between her thumb and index finger, she tugged his mouth till only inches separated his face from hers.

  “What I will always prefer—Cort McCallum—is you. Any which way I can kiss you.” She gave him a beguiling look. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

  And he never did.

 
; Lisa Carter and her family make their home in North Carolina. In addition to Mule Dazed, she is the author of seven romantic suspense novels and a contemporary Coast Guard romantic series. When she isn’t writing, Lisa enjoys traveling to romantic locales, teaching writing workshops, and researching her next exotic adventure. She has strong opinions on barbecue and ACC basketball. She loves to hear from readers, and you can connect with Lisa at www.lisacarterauthor.com.

  The Reluctant Heiress

  by Mary Davis

  Dedication

  To the Displaced Modifiers—Donita, Jill, Carol, Faye, Heidi, Jim, Vikki, and Ross. Your input, encouragement, and support have been invaluable.

  Chapter 1

  Boston, 1905

  Victoria Dewitt sprang to her feet in a swish of black silk despite her long corset. “I have to do what?” She directed her question to her late great-uncle’s elderly attorney sitting behind his large cherrywood desk.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the young attorney off to the side bolt out of his chair a half a second after she did. Mr. Wellington was Mr. Frye’s grandson and in attendance to observe.

  The elderly man used his desk for support and shoved to his feet as etiquette dictated. “Miss Dewitt…”

  “Did I hear correctly?”

  “I am sure you did. Please return to your seat and allow me to finish.”

  She took several quick breaths and settled back into the padded chair, waiting for the elderly attorney to continue.

  He sat, adjusted his spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and focused on her great-uncle’s will before him. “‘My grandniece and only living relation, Victoria Dewitt, has three months from the reading of my last will and testament to marry in order to inherit the totality of my estate, businesses, and holdings. I know this puts her in a predicament, but I don’t want her to cloister herself away and mourn me out of some misplaced sense of duty. She should go live her life while she is still young.’”

  Victoria harrumphed. Very unladylike. Mrs. Tishell from finishing school would have shot her a hot glare for such conduct. Ladies were not to “voice” their displeasure with words, sounds, or expressions.