Brazos Bride

Chapter Three

Micah raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think it's poison?" 

"Lying in bed all day, one has a lot of time to mull over things." She offered a sad smile. "But in case I only wished it to be poison instead of a fatal illness, I tested my theory."  

"You have proof?" He pushed down his anger at the idea of anyone evil enough to poison a fine lady like her. 

She shrugged. "Of sorts." Pausing frequently to rest, she explained how she'd secretly tested her theory by replacing her food and medicine. Finally, she rested her head against the back of the chair and pressed her lips together. The little color left in her skin had faded to greenish-gray. 

Micah stood. "Are you all right? Shall I get Theresa?"  

"No, I must continue." She motioned for him to resume his seat. "Ah, where was I?" She took a deep breath, as if gathering in the energy to go on. "Each day afterward, I scraped my meals into a crock I'd hidden in my room so it would look as if I'd eaten, but I didn't taste a bite except from my secret store of food. Soon all my symptoms lessened and a little of my strength returned."  

She leaned forward and stared into his eyes. "Someone wants me dead." 

"Why?" Micah wanted to cradle her in his lap, protect her. She looked fragile, as if she could disappear in a puff of wind. 

"You know my father left me a large estate, but I can't control anything. Tio Jorge has complete control over my estate and over me. I am powerless until I turn twenty-five, unless I marry. Should I die before then, Tio Jorge inherits everything."  

Micah hated her uncle. The harsh words the man had hurled at him on several occasions still stung. But not as much as the fact that he refused to honor the verbal agreement Micah had made with Hope's father the day before Alfredo Montoya's murder. 

She continued, "I do not want to think it is him or my aunt, but each has the opportunity and my estate is motive enough." She shrugged. "Or, perhaps it is someone else. My aunt let slip that my cattle disappear almost daily from rustlers." 

"Rustlers? Here?"  

"Someone hates me enough to want me dead and my estate in ruin." She closed her eyes and rested her head against the chair's back. 

Micah hadn't heard talk of any rustling hereabouts, not even from Comanche renegades. He sure as hell couldn't imagine anyone hating Hope, but greed was a powerful motivator. He fiddled with his hat brim until she opened her eyes. "What's your plan?" 

"It is over eight months until I turn twenty-five. Alone, I will not be able to withstand whoever is doing this for half that long. But if I were married, I would control my estate now and my husband would be my beneficiary instead of Tio Jorge."  

She paused and looked at him, then took a deep breath. "I believe this would give me time to find out who is behind this and to regain my strength." 

"May or may not remove you from danger." 

"True, and certainly a marriage would place my husband in danger." 

Micah figured she was correct about her husband being a target if someone really meant her harm. Her mention of marriage startled him, but he refused to let his mind go in that direction. If she married, he'd lose his dream forever. He gave himself a mental kick.  

As if he'd ever stood a chance with her.  

He asked, "Can't you visit someone until your birthday? At least move into town?" 

"With my cattle disappearing, who knows what else might go wrong? I have given my options a great deal of thought. No, I must marry so I am on my ranch and in charge of my estate." 

Micah shook his head. "Won't work. In Texas, a husband controls any money which comes to his wife." 

Hope nodded. "I have an agreement ready to provide exception to this." She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. "Mr. Stone, probably you have already realized that I am asking you to marry me."  

Micah couldn't speak. Had his wildest fantasy just come true? Marriage to the woman who haunted his nights-that is, when he wasn't too worn out to dream? No, this kind of luck didn't come to Micah Stone. 

Hope took a folded paper from her bag and smoothed it on her lap. "This states that in exchange for the half-league of my land adjoining yours and two thousand dollars in cash, you agree to marry me but relinquish control of the rest of my estate, including my home."  

Micah couldn't breathe. His weary heart pounded with joy. Maybe his luck was turning. Twenty-two hundred acres with access to the Brazos River? His ranch and cattle would be saved. And he'd be wed to the woman of his dreams. His mouth dried up so he couldn't speak. Before he could offer thanks, she leveled her gaze at him. 

"And it also states you agree to an annulment whenever I wish. It would be a marriage in name only, but would of necessity appear a genuine marriage to all save the two of us." 

Hell's bells!  

Her words dashed his dream to shards. How could she ask it of him? Like being given a fancy cake and told not to eat it.  

Micah recalled the warning her arrogant father had issued, that no dirt-poor gunman turned cowpuncher had the right to even look at his daughter. And Hope had stood near and watched, saying nothing. The hurt then and now scalded through him. Looked like she agreed with her puffed-up old man. 

"What you really want is a hired gun with the added respectability of a husband without the benefits."  

Her offer emphasized that Micah wasn't good enough to socialize with, certainly not good enough to be a genuine husband. No, but sure as hell good enough to act as bodyguard and get shot at-or killed.  

"It is my understanding that you are quite capable at defending yourself. Were you not a hero in the War at a young age? And did you not capture criminals for a living until you settled here last year? I heard you were considered exceptional with a gun and a champion at capturing dangerous badmen." 

Her understanding? He knew the townspeople-hell, everyone in the county-speculated about him. The trial had dredged up everything he'd done-good and bad-and his soul had been scraped bare. Gossips took those facts and twisted them, building him up into some kind of hero or tearing him down as a back-shooting murderer, mostly the latter.  

"In spite of what you or anyone else thinks of me, when I came here, I put killing behind me." He touched the gun in his belt. "Since the day I filed on my ranch, I haven't shot at anything but snakes and coyotes-and cows too weak from thirst to survive calving." 

If possible, she blanched even paler at the mention of cows dying from thirst.  

He couldn't help himself. Her offer had cut him raw. "There are plenty of men hereabouts who could fill the bill for you. Hire one of them."  

He stood and clamped his hat on his head. Damned if he'd play games with lives at stake. He needed the water, but he already hurt enough. He sure as hell didn't need to have his heart stomped to bits on a day-to-day basis.  

"Wait!" She stretched out her hand toward him. "There is no other source of water open to you. If you reject my offer, your ranch is doomed to fail." Anger or frustration brought color to her cheeks, but her voice was pleading. "Mr. Stone, I need your help and you need my water. You just admitted your cows are suffering. Please...reconsider."  

In spite of her apparently angry reaction to his refusal, tears appeared in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. If he saw her cry, that would do him in, but he couldn't agree to her insane arrangement. His spirit was already near to breaking-he couldn't take being near her yet forbidden to touch her, treated like no more than a hired gun. Damned if he didn't feel like bawling. 

"Look, Miss Montoya, you want a puppet with firepower, not a husband. You'll have to pull the strings on someone else." He turned and strode from the room.