All three looked at each other, then answered in unison, “Marry him.”
Heat rose to her face at the knowledge her friends—and her niece—would do something so underhanded, so—she couldn’teven think of the word—but if it weren’t happening to her, the situation would be humorous. These women, her closest companions, more like sisters than friends, were only looking out for her best interest. So was Lucy—dear, sweet, conniving Lucy.
“I don’t need a husband, and even if I did, don’t you all think I couldn’t find one on my own?” She looked at all of them gathered at the back door, staring at the handsome stranger in her yard. “This is so embarrassing.”
“Not at all,” Marisol said. “There are a lot of people who meet and marry this way. It’s perfectly acceptable.”
She looked at her closest friend, then at the women beside her. “You are all out of your minds!”
“You always said you’d look for your own happiness once all the children were married,” Marisol argued. “You said?—”
She cut Marisol off in mid-sentence. “I know what I said, but I didn’t mean on the same day as Lucy’s wedding. That’s just ridiculous! And it should be my decision. I should be the one to choose instead of having a strange man, whom I know nothing about, just show up on my doorstep and tell me we are to be married.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “I don’t know who any of you are!”
Lucy! The instigator in this whole mess! No wonder she had laughed as she and Ben disappeared around the corner of the house. Now her words made sense. He was her gift.
“What are you going to do?” Marisol asked without looking at her—her focus still on the handsome stranger.
Evie had an idea. If this man was truly serious about marrying her then he would have to prove himself, show her what kind of man he was. “I’m going to invite him to stay,” she said. “Now move away from the door and stop ogling the man.”
Once they did as she asked, she left the kitchen, closing the door with a bang behind her.
He—her mail order husband—sat at one of the tables, long legs stretched out before him. A calico cat, the one Lucy had named Flower, sat on his lap. He smoothed his hand over her fur in long, steady caresses. He had helped himself to a cup of coffee and a piece of cake, but they sat on the table, untouched while he stroked the cat, who seemed to be enjoying the attention, which was unusual. Flower didn’t normally take to strangers and never—ever—sat on someone’s lap and allowed herself to be petted like this. They all, at one time or another, bore the scars of her reluctance to be touched.
Evie slowed her pace and just watched for a moment, listening to his voice rumble as he spoke to Flower in hushed tones.
“My apologies, Mr.—what did you say your name was?”
He removed the cat from his lap and stood as she approached him, rising from his chair in one fluid motion, grabbing his hat as he did so, charming smile firmly in place. Oh, what that smile did to her! If she let herself, she could fall under its spell.
“Jake. Jake Hannigan.”
The rich baritone resonated through her. “I am sorry, Mr. Hannigan, but it seems that you were brought here under false pretenses, by people I thought I knew. I did not place that ad. I am not in the mind to marry anyone.” She glanced at the rose arbor and let out a sigh.
“I see.” His fingers worried the brim of his hat. “I came here in good faith, Miss Miller, in order to marry you, as we agreed in our letters.”
She held up her hand to stop him. “I never agreed to anything. I did not place the advertisement in the newspaper, nor did I write any letters. However, you can stay here at the ranch. We can always use another hand.”
His eyes widened as if the thought of actually working was something he never considered. “A ranch hand?”
“Yes.” She glanced at his hands. Not a callous to be seen. Nails perfectly trimmed. Certainly not the hands of a working man. Indeed, he didn’t look like the kind of man who picked up anything heavier than a pen. Looks could be deceiving, though. She glanced at his broad shoulders and the sleeves of his suit jacket, noticing the muscles beneath the fabric. “You can stay in the bunkhouse. Antonio will get you settled.”
“You want me to stay in the bunkhouse?”
“I do.”
“Why can’t I stay in the main house? It’s certainly big enough.” That grin appeared on his face again, doing funny things to her insides. He could probably charm the rattle from a rattlesnake with that smile. “It would be a way for us to get to know each other.”
“Which is precisely why I want you to stay in the bunkhouse. We don’t know each other at all. And as far as marriage is concerned, I am not promising anything.”
“This letter says differently.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a letter, the envelope nearly pristine. He slid the pages from within and unfolded them before handing them to her.
Her hand shook a little, the pages rustling. She recognized the letterhead in an instant, as well as the handwriting. He took a step forward, leaned toward her until his mouth was only inches from her ear and spoke in a voice that was both knowing and sensual. “From this letter, I know many things about you, Miss Everleigh Miller, but I’d like to know more.”
Gooseflesh broke out on her skin in an instant, and a flood of emotions cascaded through her. If the circumstances were different, she could have melted into his arms.
But she had never melted in anyone’s arms, not even Tom’s. She’d never allowed herself to lose control in that way and she wasn’t about to start now, with a stranger she knewnothing about. Everything she had done—or not done—had been centered around the children and what was best for their future.
The children were grown now. Teddy and Esteban even had children of their own, though Heath did not, and Lucy was just beginning her married life.
