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“You’re a prickly little thing,” he sighed, shaking his head over her success.
“I’m not the least little.”
She was back to deadpan, Asa noticed. A flash of relief, then a flash of anger, colored by a hint of vulnerability, and the woman was back to her poker face.
“At least you didn’t deny being prickly,” he sighed, wondering if his life from here on out was going to be a continuous trek over egg shells.
“You’re entitled to your opinion.”
He turned in the direction of the livery, then stopped. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“I assure you, Mr. MacIntyre, I’m perfectly fine.”
She was going to hold to that story. He could tell from the set of her chin. “Did anyone ever tell you that ladies are delicate creatures? In need of soft words and tender touches?”
Her step faltered. “No.”
As they entered the warmth of the livery, he motioned her to a bench. “Now, that’s going to be a problem.”
She gingerly sat on the rough wood, her back so straight it dared a sliver to lodge in her backside. He had to wait until her hands were properly folded in her lap before she asked, “Why?”
“Because, I’ve had it drummed into my head so much, I’ve grown quite attached to the idea.”
“Of ladies?”
He kept his face as straight as an arrow as he answered, “Nah. Just the part about touching them tenderly.”
* * * * *
“Repeat after me. Do you, Asa MacIntyre, take Elizabeth Coyote to be your lawfully wedded wife? To honor and protect…”
The words to the ceremony droned in Elizabeth’s ears like so many gnats at a picnic. She supposed she should take more notice, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t been through this before. And there was nothing in Asa’s voice as he repeated his vows to cause unease.
He was confident, sure. He’d been that way since Old Sam had pointed him out in the bar. “A man to hitch her wagon to.” That’s what Sam had said. And since her own taste in men had proven so flawed, she’d burst into Dell’s Hair of the Dog, declared herself free of Brent and gambled her future on this one.
From the corner of her eye, she studied his profile. Her soon-to-be, locked-up-as-tight-as-two-dogs-in-a-barrel husband was a handsome man. His square face with that jutting chin would never be called pretty, but there was a no-nonsense strength from within that she found infinitely more appealing than Brent’s carefully groomed confidence. Where Brent had strutted, Asa strode. Whereas Brent brayed his successes to all who would listen, Asa wore his experience and strength like an invisible cloak.
She let her gaze wander the dusty courtroom with its tiny tables, makeshift podium and scattering of chairs, and silently chastised herself for a fool to have mistaken Brent for a man. She should have known Old Sam wouldn’t have steered her wrong when it came to a husband, and he’d hated Brent on sight. She sighed. Old Sam was an excellent judge of character.
She snuck a peek at Asa again. She really was going to have to work on her judgment. Even if the man hadn’t proven his intelligence by stopping by the lawyer’s office and confirming her story, her identity, and her rights to the land before heading out of town yesterday, one look into his eyes should have told her he wasn’t a man given to foolish risk. That he was a man to count on. The judge’s droning took a more staccato note, bringing her out of her reverie. “Do you Elizabeth, take Asa MacIntyre as your lawful husband. To love, honor and obey?”
That was her cue. All she needed was to say two little words, and her ranch had a fighting chance, but God help her, the words wouldn’t slide past her lips. She had absolutely no idea if she could love this man. Wasn’t even sure she wanted to.
Two, three seconds crept by. Her groom’s hand, so casually holding hers, began to tense. She caught her breath, nearly choking on a dust mote. If she didn’t promise to love, honor and obey, she’d fail. MacIntyre would disappear to wherever men of his ilk went. She’d lose the ranch, and she’d become the one thing she abhorred. A silly, helpless female. Good for nothing more than tatting pillow trims and waiting on a man’s good will. Incapable of doing the most basic thing a son could accomplish; keeping the Rocking C in the Coyote family. She moistened her lips, took a deep breath and tried again. To her dismay, the only thing that came out was a blatant hedge.
“I can promise to try.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Well, she’d succeeded in shocking the judge. His fat cheeks were quivering with outrage. Without looking at Asa, she repeated herself. “I said I can try.”
She hoped her groom’s frown wasn’t as heavy as the Judge’s, but she wasn’t going to draw his displeasure by checking.
