Brazos Bride

BRAZOS BRIDE Chapter 6

"I can't believe your uncle will approve, Miss Mont-um, Mrs. Stone. He was in yesterday and said nothing of any of these changes nor of your impending nuptials."

Hope had never liked this man or the way he catered to her father and uncle. She sent the banker a cool smile. "My marriage releases him from the considerable burden of managing my estate. He will be relieved to turn this over to my husband and me, though, of course, he will be too kind to admit it."

Pumphrey turned up his nose at Micah. "I hardly think a man of your background is capable of managing an estate on the scale of Mis-Mrs. Stone's. Perhaps you'd like for me to handle those details for you."

She suppressed a gasp when Micah's gray eyes turned icy and braced herself for the heated shouts her father would have used. But Micah's quiet, even voice made his message all the more threatening. He looked around the small office and through the window to the bank's interior with distaste.

"Do you know about bloodlines, ranch management? No? My wife is far better qualified to run her business than someone of your limited abilities. If she and I need any help, there are more experienced bankers available. The owner of the Merchants and Farmers Bank in Weatherford is a family friend. Maybe we should move the account there?"

Hope remembered her father had mentioned his account was the largest in the bank, possibly as large as all the others in town combined, except for Tio Jorge's.

The man blanched and words flew from his mouth. "No, no, I meant no offense. I only wanted to let you know I'm at your disposal. Please, feel free to call on me for any reason, any reason at all." By the time they left, Pumphrey followed at their heels like an eager puppy.

Though fatigue dragged at her, she breathed a huge sigh of relief as they stepped from the bank and loosened the taut muscles of her shoulders. She'd done it. Truthfully, she had to admit Micah's help had made the difference, but she'd done it. For the first time in twenty-four years, she controlled her own life.

Not that she hadn't had the responsibility before, because she'd had plenty of that all these years, but she'd never had any power. Now she did. If she failed, at least it would be because of the decisions of Hope Montoya, temporarily Hope Montoya Stone.

No longer would she be subject to a man who spoke for her, took credit when things went right and blamed her if they went wrong. She glanced at the man beside her, hoping she could make this work for both of them. He'd have his water, more land, and cash and she'd have her freedom. She savored the thought.

On the street Micah guided her between shoppers who stared at them with curiosity. "Reckon we'd better check in at the hotel, then get some dinner."

She stumbled and he caught her, then put her hand back on his arm and continued toward the hotel.

"Did you forget our agreement? Certainly we will not need a hotel room. Let us go to my ranch now."

"You said we were to appear as a real married couple. What bride and groom don't want at least one night's honeymoon?"

"I-I do not know if that is such a good idea." She slowed her steps.

He patted her hand. "Hope, if this is gonna work, you have to trust me."

He'd never used her name before. She'd avoided calling him anything since the wedding, though she'd thought of him as Micah since the first time they met.

How could he doubt her trust, since they'd just married? She'd turned to him of all the single men in the area. "Surely you realize I trust you or I would never have chosen you in...in this situation."

"This situation has to look normal." He stopped and looked into her eyes. "We'll have a nice big public dinner and look real cozy, then retire early to our room. Word will spread fast we're wed for real."

She lowered her gaze to stare at the boardwalk. "Then you will sleep on the floor."

"I'd planned to, but no one but us will know we didn't share the bed."

Thank goodness, he didn't plan to force himself on her. She hadn't the strength to fight him. But what man would want a woman in her pitiful condition? Her mirror didn't lie-a bag of bones with dull hair and pasty skin.

She looked up, contrite she'd doubted him. "You are right, of course. Thank you for your consideration."

He patted her hand where it lay on his arm and then they continued the short walk into the hotel.

They registered as Mr. and Mrs. Micah Stone and were given a key by the Herman Stevens, the innkeeper.

On the way to their room, leaning heavily on him for support, she whispered, "Why did you ask for the bridal suite? You know there is no such thing in this tiny place. There could not be more than a dozen rooms in the hotel, and they are probably all alike."

"He got the message we'd just gotten hitched, didn't he? Says this one's the largest room here, called the Presidential Suite. Don't imagine that's saying much. Southwest corner room, though, so leastwise we'll have a little breeze tonight."

At the door, he unlocked it and swept her into his arms in full view of two men who looked like drummers as well as the maid. When they were inside with the door closed behind them, he gently set her down as if she were fragile porcelain.

The plain room belied such a grand title, and was far smaller than her own room at home. A thin rug covered most of the floor. Sturdy furniture offered more in the way of service than beauty. The dark, heavily-carved headboard wedged into a corner between the two double windows allowed the bed to catch whatever breeze drifted in. Not too bad, but the one large room hardly qualified as a suite-not even if you counted the area behind a screen as a dressing room. And she couldn't imagine a president of anything staying here. Compared to her home, it looked bare and inhospitable.

He bowed. "Your suite, Mrs. Stone." He set her small bag on the bed.

She was thankful now she'd included her nightclothes, a wrapper, and a fresh dress for tomorrow. "You are quite good at this pretence." She hadn't meant the words to sound so sharp.

His jaw clenched and his eyes fairly frosted over. "You paid a lot for my services, so I aim to please my employer."

She felt a flush stain her cheeks. "That is not at all what I meant."

He spread his hands in front of him. "Look, this is as difficult for me as it is for you. I've never been married before, but this sure as hell isn't how I pictured matrimony."

She chewed her lip. So, he felt awkward too. "It is not how I pictured my wedding either." She gestured at the room and smiled at him. "Or my honeymoon, but I thank you for agreeing to my plan."

He took a deep breath and exhaled it in a whoosh. "Guess you're all done in. Why don't you rest a bit while I round up a few necessities."

She would like a few things and some of the special soap the storekeeper saved for her. "I do not suppose you could get me a few toiletries and some ladies' delic-"

Looking as if she'd been about to ask him to kiss a rattlesnake, he interrupted, "Don't ask me to pick out women's fripperies, please. We can pick up whatever you want before we leave town tomorrow. For now, I'll be back by six. That should give you over an hour to rest and then we can go down and eat. I'll lock the door behind me."

He left and she heard the key turn in the lock. She was annoyed that he'd kept the key, rather than leaving it with her. He could knock for entry when he returned. Surely she was safe here, locked in a second floor room alone. She sighed. At least he was considerate and he was correct--she needed rest.

Hope removed her dress and shoes and pulled on her wrapper. At the window, she pulled apart the lace panels and stared down at the street. A dust devil whirled dry leaves in its path. Riders and wagons came and went and people walked along the boardwalks. Across the street, under the Mercantile's covered boardwalk, three women appeared to exchange pleasantries. Nearby, two men gestured in a heated discussion. It looked like any other small north Texas town on a weekday.

But her world was not ordinary. Someone here or on her ranch wanted her dead.