Playing Herd to Get Page 2

  A nervous flutter took up residence in her stomach, and she placed her hand over the spot to quell the feeling. Yes, she wanted this—didn’t she? Especially when the alternative was her living as an old maid in a matchmaker’s house.

  She scrunched up her nose. No, Chance wouldn’t let that happen. Still, who was this man he’d mentioned? Mr. Swinney? What was his first name? What did he do? Was he young? Old? Kind? Ugly? Handsome?

  She blushed and pushed to her feet. Rather than sit around and stew on this, she’d set about her next chore, which was tending to the kitchen garden. Penny, a woman from town, would be coming soon to help her, and Adeline had to admit she was looking forward to seeing her. They had grown to be friends, and the woman’s advice would be helpful now. She was a widower and always seemed to have the right things to say at the right time.

  Losing herself in weeding near the string beans, Adeline didn’t even hear the woman approach until she stood over her, the shadow she cast startling Adeline.

  “You scared me,” Adeline said, leaning back on her heels with a smile.

  “Not my intention. You were pulling those weeds as if they’ve personally offended you. Is something the matter?” Penny asked, slipping down to her knees next to Adeline.

  The sigh that escaped from Adeline’s lips told the beginning of the story, and Penny’s eyes narrowed. “Something is the matter. Tell me what it is, and we’ll talk it through. That always helps.”

  Adeline smiled and explained everything to the older woman as they worked in the garden. She had shared the tale of how she’d come to the West, but now she admitted her dueling desires and the reality that she’d be meeting her potential match the following day.

  “You desire to write, but you also want to be married?” Penny asked in summation.

  “I think so…” Adeline blushed at her foolishness. “Listen to me. I don’t even know my own mind.”

  “What woman does?” Penny said with a laugh. “But I can understand how this would be difficult for you, dear. On the one hand, you were at peace in Virginia. You had the ability to write as you desired and you were near your family. I’m sure it was a shock for you to find out that your father had made plans such as sending you to the West without consulting you.”

  “He cares for me—for our whole family—but he often doesn’t see past what he thinks is best. It’s as if his way is always the right way. I knew there was no changing his mind, so I went along with it all,” as if I’d had a choice, she thought. “When I got here, I think perhaps I’d made peace with the thought of marriage. But,” here she blushed again, shocked that she would admit this to her new friend, “I think I’d hoped that the man I’d marry would…understand.”

  “You mean, about your love of writing?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t think he will?”

  “I have no idea.” Adeline started to feel helpless. “That’s part of the problem. I don’t know who he is or anything about him. I’m afraid that Mr. Redburn, while acting with the best of intentions, didn’t take into account who I am so much as the fact he’s got another groom waiting for a wife. That’s not exactly matchmaking.”

  “Ah, yes, I see where the problem lies.”

  “You do?” Adeline met the woman’s kind gaze.

  “Yes, dear. You are living in fear.”

  Her answer shocked Adeline. “What do you mean?”

  “I never told you my full story, but I suppose it could be helpful here to you. You see, I was a mail-order bride myself. I escaped from a terrible life to come marry a man I had naught but details about. How tall he was, his hair color, eye color, and the description of ‘kind’ when it came to his demeanor.”

  “That’s all you knew?”

  “Yes. And much like you, I was terrified of marrying a monster. On the train ride out here, I prayed and prayed that God would make him a man like I wanted and had dreamed of. Handsome and strong, kind and brave. You know, the things we women desire.”

  With pink cheeks, Adeline nodded.

  “But do you know what I discovered?”

  “What?” Adeline had abandoned her weeding, engrossed in her friend’s story.

  “The Good Lord showed me that I was so afraid of what I wanted my future husband to be, that I wasn’t focusing on who He was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “God, dear child. And the fact that, when we trust Him, things work out in the way they should. It’s not always easy, nor is it always happy—when my Jack passed, it was the hardest thing I’d ever lived through. But through it all, God remained trustworthy. He knows who it is that you’ve been matched with. Put your worries in His hands. That’s the only place they are safe.”

  While Penny’s answer was simple—almost too much so—Adeline found her heart longed for that type of trust. Besides, she reasoned, what good was her anxious thoughts doing?

  “You’re right,” Adeline admitted.

  “It will be all right, my dear. God has not forgotten you. And I don’t think that Mr. Redburn would place you with a cruel man. Just do your best to show this young man exactly who you are.”

  “I will. Thank you, Penny. And, may I ask one question?”

  “Of course, dear, ask as many as you’d like.”

  “Was Jack all you hoped for?”

  A wistful smile took over Penny’s lips, and Adeline thought she saw the glistening of unshed tears. “Dear, he was more than I could have hoped for and completely different than any man I would have chosen. In the end, he was the perfect husband for me. Not that he was perfect or that I was, but that together, we were the right match. I hope the same for you.”

  Later that night as Adeline lay in bed, tossing and turning as her restless thoughts went to the meeting the next day, she thought of what her friend had said. Jack had been different than what Penny would have chosen, but he’d been the right man for her. Was it possible that she could have the same experience with this Mr. Swinney?

  Harley had dodged a bullet with Chance Redburn, that was certain. As he attached the harness to the wagon to take the delivery of beef to the Redburn house, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself about the man’s misfortune. He’d been saddled with a parcel of women and was making up things to get them married off.

  Harley shook his head. There was no other explanation for the man saying that Harley’s name was in Aunt Viola’s files. There was no way on God’s green earth that he’d have given his name to the matchmaker. Nope. Not even a chance.

  His hands stalled on the buckle. He wouldn’t have…but would his mother?

  Shaking his head to shake the thoughts away, Harley climbed up into the wagon, ensuring the men had loaded the right meats there. Satisfied, he clicked his tongue and flicked the reins to urge his horse forward.

  Was it possible that his mother, in her last effort to ensure her son's happiness, had given his name to Viola Redburn?

  Unease twisted his stomach. Was that something of a binding agreement? Could someone do that on someone else’s behalf? No, it couldn’t be possible…

  His gaze searched the road and surrounding areas for answers, but nothing showed. Was it possible that his mother, out of love for her one and only son, had set him up with the town’s matchmaker and died before she could tell him? Was he—or, rather, his mother—the cause for one of those poor women being stranded in a western town without a groom?

  The reality that Viola Redburn had passed was yet another weight on his shoulders. Would the truth ever out? Or would he always wonder what his mother’s involvement was in all of this? Surely there had to be notes in Viola’s office. Something that indicated who had made the request.

  Then again, all Chance had said is that he’d come across Harley’s name in his files and he had the perfect bride for him.

  A bitter taste entered his mouth at the thought of marriage. Besides the reality that he was much too busy for a wife, there was the fact that a woman around his ranch would only compl
icate things. The inner workings of the ranch were like a finely oiled machine. It worked because it incorporated exactly what it needed. Not more hands nor less. Not more land nor less. Not even more cattle than they needed—just the right amount.

  A woman thrown into that mix could only spell trouble.

  He scoffed at the mere idea, laughing at himself for even taking time to consider it.

  Then again, the thought of having the right amount of hands to the right amount of work caused him to remember that he needed to check the post to see if the new hand had responded to his inquiry.

  Entering town, Harley nodded greetings up and down the main street, making his way toward the Redburn house. He’d deliver the beef asked for, and then he’d head to the post office and maybe the general store. Otis was doing better, but he could use some medicine the doc had ordered. It was likely in with the arrival of the train the day before.

  Up ahead, Harley saw the house, his hands starting to sweat at the mere appearance of several women doing chores outside. It was silly, really. He had set Chance straight. He’d told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in a wife and he wouldn’t come to the house for anything else but business.

  He had nothing to worry about—so why was he sweating like a pig?

  “Howdy,” Beans said, coming out onto the porch as Harley pulled up. “See ya brought us some o’ that good old meat of yours, Swinney.”

  “Sure did.” The tightness of Harley’s chest eased at the familiar sight of Beans. Harley could conduct businessman to man, no problem.

  “Head on in. Chance is in the office and will pay you. I’ll get this inside.” He eyed the side of beef greedily.

  “Thanks.”

  Harley jumped down from the wagon and nodded at a woman cleaning the window from the outside. He had a feeling this was the cleanest this house would ever be.

  Once inside, he let his eyes adjust to the space, getting his bearings. It had been a long time since he’d been inside Viola Redburn’s house. He took a few steps forward and remembered the parlor was to the right. He stepped into the doorway and froze.

  A woman stood in a light blue gingham dress. Her dark blond hair was pulled back into a braid, but strands fell around her face, framing it like a golden halo. Her eyes widened at his presence, and he suddenly felt all of the dirt and grime of the last week caked on his skin and clothes. Why hadn’t he washed before coming into town?

  He roughed a hand over his chin and felt the prickles there as well. Rats! He’d forgotten to shave too.

  But what did it matter?

  He reminded himself he was here for a delivery only. Get in, get paid, get out.

  “I see you’ve missed your bath for…what? The last few months?”

  At her sharp-tongued reply, Harley felt gut-punched. “Wh-what?”

  “Were you even going to try? Or were you just going to come and take what you wanted?”

  Her cheeks turned a violent red and Harley couldn’t help but notice it brought out the color of her cornflower blue eyes.

  “That’s why I’m here,” he said dumbfounded. What did she think he was doing?

  “So that’s the way of it?”

  Was she shaking? He took a hesitant step toward her, some long-buried instinct to help surfacing in the presence of this fiery but beautiful woman.

  “I-uh, shouldn’t you be off meeting your future husband or something?” He decided humor was the way of it. He wasn’t sure what was happening, why she was looking at him like she was, but he figured if they could both laugh, perhaps the tension would break.

  “My…my husband?” she said. Her anger was a living thing now, as if sizzling from the very tips of that golden hair. She took a step toward him.

  “Yes.” It came out more like a question than an answer.

  A humorless laugh escaped her rosy lips, and she shook her head slowly back and forth. He tried desperately to read the situation, to see where he’d gone wrong, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand her anger. He’d just walked in, for heaven’s sake. How could he have angered this woman already? Then again, women were unreasonable creatures at times. Perhaps she wasn’t having a good day.

  “Well, Mr. Swinney,” she said, surprising him that she knew his name, “it seems that I have met my future husband and you are very much lacking.”

  Chapter 3

  Adeline thought she might be sick. Was this really Mr. Swinney she’d just met with his dusty chaps, clanging spurs, and sarcastic attitude? She couldn’t even see what he looked like beneath all that scruff.

  She yanked her gaze away from its perusal of his buried facial features and tried to take a calming breath.

  “I—there’s been a big old mistake, miss.”

  Her gaze flicked back to his. Had she been wrong? “You’re not Mr. Swinney?” Her tone sounded too hopeful.

  “No, I am,” he said, “Harley Swinney, but I am not anyone’s future husband.”

  “I—I don’t understand.” She swallowed, trying to comprehend what he was saying.

  “I—”

  Just then, Chance Redburn stepped into the doorway. His clasped hands and darting eyes betrayed his nervousness. But why was he—

  “Tell me you did not say I would marry her,” Harley said, thrusting an angry pointed finger in Adeline’s direction.

  “I—well, hello and good morning, Harley. Perhaps you and I could talk about—”

  “We already talked. I told you that I was not interested.”

  Adeline gasped. Was this true? Had Mr. Redburn already known that Harley wasn’t interested in marrying her and yet he hadn’t told her?

  “You didn’t say a word,” she said.

  Both men’s eyes snapped to hers.

  “What?” Harley snapped.

  “He didn’t say anything to me. He said you were coming today to meet me and—”

  “Chance,” Harley ground out, his piercing gray eyes reminding her of a storm.

  “I…uh…I might have not mentioned that part. I mean, you had to meet her. I did have your name down, and I think that—”

  “No. I told you in no uncertain terms yesterday that I am not interested.”

  Adeline watched as Harley stood his ground, his decisiveness coming out in his firm words. He stood taller than Chance by several inches and, now that she was closer to him, she could make out the definition of muscles beneath his loose cotton shirt pulled tight by his fisted hands. His jaw was barely visible beneath the unshaven scruff and, despite the situation and his angry demeanor, she found that he was indeed handsome.

  Blushing for her traitorous thoughts, she looked to Mr. Redburn. “You lied to me,” she said. The quietness of her voice drew both men’s attention back to her, and she fought back the tears that threatened to come.

  “I—I—I—” Chance stuttered.

  “I’m sorry,” Harley said.

  Her eyes moved to his, and she felt another type of heat course through her at the shocking warmth of his gaze. What had been ice and granite had turned to warm pools of gray as he looked down at her. “I tried to avoid this very thing by telling him it wasn’t me who gave my name. I,” he frowned and dropped his gaze.

  She immediately missed the warmth of his eyes when he looked away, and boldly, she took a step forward. “And I’m sorry for accusing you.” She blushed. “I was under the impression that you’d come to take me as your wife and,” her gaze traveled over his appearance.

  “Gosh,” he said, and she caught the first glimpse of a smile. It sent a lightning bolt of awareness through her. He was handsome beneath all of that scruff and dirt. “Believe me, ma’am, if I’d come for a wife, I’d have taken care with my appearance.”

  She smiled, and something shifted inside of her. The anger she’d felt at his carelessness was quickly replaced by something akin to attraction.

  “A little soap and water can work miracles,” she said, happy to see his responding smile.

  “My Ma used t
o say the same thing.”

  They stood like that for what felt like several lifetimes but was only mere seconds until he turned away. Was there reluctance in his action? Or had her own hesitance caused him to turn away?

  “I don’t appreciate the deception, Chance,” Harley said. “You’re a good friend and I want to do good business with you, but I can’t have you lying to me and this nice woman here.”

  His eyes trailed hers again, and her butterflies returned in a flurry.

  “You’re right. I just…I wanted you two to meet. That’s all.”

  The situation turned awkward in the silence that followed Mr. Redburn’s statement, but Harley broke it with a shrug.

  “How about paying me for the meat?”

  The abrupt change in subject shocked Adeline and left her mind whirling with questions. Had he not felt…whatever it was that she’d just felt? Was he really so oblivious to the situation—to her?

  “Right. Yes. Well, this way, Harley.”

  Chance turned and left, and Harley made to leave, but paused, turning back to her. “I…I’m sorry about all of this, Miss.”

  “Please, it’s Adeline. Adeline Miller.”

  “Miss Miller then.”

  A brazen part of her wanted to insist he call her Adeline, but it wouldn’t be proper, as it wasn’t truly proper for her to be standing this close to him in the sitting room unaccompanied. And yet, she couldn’t seem to pull herself away as propriety dictated.

  “Mr. Swinney,” she said, dipping her head.

  “Uh, have a good day.”

  She couldn’t find words to offer him and instead nodded her head in return. She watched as he left to go and felt an odd sensation taking over her body. Her hands trembled, and her stomach pooled with warmth.

  Harley hadn’t come to the Redburn house for a wife, but Adeline was fairly certain she was going to marry him no matter what it took for her to break through the gruff exterior that was Harley Swinney. She was going to marry that man.

  Harley slammed into the wood with a grunt of pain.

  “Watch out there, Harley. If that woulda been a cliff, you’d have walked right off,” a fellow rancher said with a chuckle.