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“Infernal man! Son of a…cockchafer!” Yes, that felt nice. Her cheeks were on fire and she chugged breath like a racehorse, but she didn’t care. He demanded she marry him? Demanded it? If any less-romantic gesture existed, she couldn’t name it. Decidedly uncivil of him. “Hey, let’s get married today. I have to get the cattle to the market,” she mocked in a deep, unattractive voice, swinging her hips.
Hiding a slight smile, Lenny held up the cream-colored dress.
Eliza glared at the flashy garment, biting her thumbnail. “I think not.”
****
The look on Garret Shaw’s face as she strode onto the front porch was a vision she would treasure for the rest of her life. Her dress was a daring red color and recklessly low-cut. Though the skirts were full and modest, the bodice clung to her form, and had small sleeves and layers of black beadwork. Never intending to wear the dress again, she’d brought it because it represented a cherished memory.
She had dared to wear it to a ball in Boston to upset her aunt, and indeed, Aunt Elizabeth almost had a conniption. The doctor was summoned to sort out her frayed nerves. For once in her life in that cold home—she’d experienced the euphoria of victory.
At the party she had worn a large necklace to cover her décolletage and make her feel more covered, but today, in the stifling heat of the afternoon on Garret’s land, she had left her collarbones exposed and cleavage bare. Though the necklace had once covered enough, the fabric’s lack of coverage was utterly scandalous. She had pulled her hair back with her boldest pins to expose the fair skin of her back. Several layers of rose salve and dab of perfume between her breasts had finished her wedding look.
She’d never had more interested suitors nor a fuller dance card than on the night she’d worn the red dress to that ball.
Open-mouthed, the look in his eyes icy with fury, Garret stared. The other men turned to see what had so fixed his gaze, and their expressions became eerily similar. Beside her, Lenny stifled laughter.
Garret was standing next to a stranger with ridiculously bright green eyes and a black, well-tailored suit—she guessed he was the preacher from his disapproving glower at her marital dress—in front of the wagon. The other three men, Cookie included, were standing loosely around, or sitting on the ground looking like they were trying to hide smiles.
“Okay, boys, I do believe there is a wedding to be had. Let’s get this done, shall we?” Eliza snapped as she marched to Garret and stood beside him. The preacher took his place in front of them.
“What happened to the white dress?” Garret gritted out from between clenched teeth.
“I lost it,” she said, glowering up at him.
“Go find it,” he said low.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
His narrowed gaze drifted to her décolletage, then he spun toward the preacher, took his hat off, and ran a hand through his hair.
The preacher cleared his throat and slid a glance to her dress. Once. Twice. He cleared his throat again and began the service. The look on Garret’s face should’ve turned her to stone. At the edge of her vision, Cookie stood, shoulders shaking from laughter that didn’t quite reach her.
The vows were simple enough, but as she tried not to think of what she was saying, she fumbled. This is my wedding day. I am marrying Garret Shaw, nagged at her mind and sent her pulse racing faster than it already was.
This day wasn’t at all how she’d imagined it would be. The entire time she and Garret repeated the vows, she glared at him and he at her, and when the preacher announced he may now kiss his bride, she gasped. Certainly not. “I would rather kiss a porcupine.”
By Garret’s startled expression, he hadn’t considered kissing her either. “That’s all right,” he said, almost growling. “I think Miss Flemm and I would like to forgo that one.”
“Mrs. Shaw,” the preacher corrected. “Now, kiss her so we can go home. This entire day has been strange.”
Garret stared at the preacher just long enough to make it awkward, then sighed and turned that steely-blue gaze on her. Her breath caught in her throat. She’d never kissed a man before. Which was as it should be, for she was a gently-raised young lady. She didn’t doubt for a moment that a man like Garret Shaw had experienced intimacy by the wagonload.
Eyes closed, she waited, unable to look at his angry face another second for fear of losing her courage. She felt his hands on her arms, a gentle touch, and the softest, barest brush of his lips against hers. A beat, then he pressed his mouth more firmly to hers. The fabric on his chest caressed the bare skin on hers. A warm sensation deep inside her pressed downward. The need to feel closer to such a powerful creature was staggering.
He pulled away, but left his hands on her arms for a moment longer. When she opened her eyes, a menacing glower rode his face. He pulled his hands away, and the absence of his strong arms made her stumble forward.
“Load up,” he snapped, then headed into the house, and without a look back at her, disappeared inside.
A trembling hand over the exposed skin of her chest did nothing to stifle the acute shock.
At long last, she’d kissed a man.
****
The men had stayed busy the remainder of the day, and Garret especially had been absent. She knew because she’d looked out the window for him many times. Was she supposed to be helping to prepare them for the cattle drive? What did one even do on a cattle drive?
She leaned against the wall opposite Garett’s bedroom and glared at the closed door for what seemed like a considerable amount of time. Would he expect her to share his bed? Naïve though she was about the intricacies of intimacy, she was well aware of the marital duties expected of a woman. Garret’s angry leer did not bode well for gentleness from him tonight. She chose the room across the hall from his instead.
