“Why are you still standing there?” Dean bit out between clenched teeth.
Randall finally carried the sack of flour to the porch and dropped it on top of one of the crates. “Helping,” he said with a grin.
“If you value your life, you’ll get yourself gone real quick,” Dean warned. He could see the laughter about to burst from his brother’s chest. The man took nothing seriously.
Randall gestured toward the wagon. “Did you manage to pick up my package? I’d understand, I suppose, if the task got lost in all the excitement of your nuptials.”
“Randall.”
“Sure do wish I could have been there,” Randall continued in a remorseful tone. “Family should be present for such an auspicious event.”
“Randall.”
His brother chose to ignore the warning tone in Dean’s voice, though he did start sidestepping toward his horse. “I’m sure you made a handsome groom.” His grin was downright irritating. “An ornery one, but handsome.”
“Dang it, Randall. Get!”
“I’m gone,” his brother replied with one last laugh and a leap into his saddle. Dean watched his brother ride away. Mainly because he didn’t know what else to do. Then he remembered the wagon still half-full of supplies that needed to be taken to the barn.
Grateful for the task, he jumped into the driver’s seat and drove around the house to the barn beyond, silently fuming over everything that had happened over the past few hours.
He’d made a mistake. A big one. Huge, to be honest.
Dean didn’t often make mistakes. He made choices and decisions all the time. Some turned out well, some not so well, but those were simply the consequences to having more than one option. He always made the best of any outcome he received.
He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a true error.
The woman inside the house deserved an apology. And an explanation.
Well, as good a one as he could manage without coming off as a complete jackass.
Truth to tell, he was a jackass.
He’d completely lost his head when he’d seen her there, stepping out of the post office in that white gown, all ruffled and laced and fancy. She had been so obviously out of place on that dusty boardwalk, looking exactly like the images of those women in the pamphlet Randall had brought home several weeks ago. Ladies of the East willing to travel to the Western Territories for promise of a husband.
Randall had thought one of those ladies would be the perfect solution to Dean’s problem—never mind the fact that Dean didn’t have a problem.
Dean had been stunned by the sight of her. Stunned by the thought that his brother would go ahead and bring one of those brides to town without consulting him. Whether Dean wanted her or not, she’d become his responsibility the moment she’d stepped from the stagecoach, and in his frustration, he’d acted without fully thinking things through.
He stopped the rise of his panic by reminding himself that he’d be taking her back to town first thing in the morning to have the little civil union annulled. It would be like the whole thing had never happened.
Except for the woman’s righteous fury over having been manhandled into a marriage she didn’t want. Even if she had come to Montana expecting marriage, she was dead right about the fact that Dean’s actions had not been honorable. He had behaved as despicably as she’d accused.
His only excuse was that he’d lost his head. It was not something he did often.
Reckless behavior ran in the Lawton bloodline. His granddad Augie Lawton was well known for his hotheaded bluster and damn-the-consequences attitude, and Dean’s dad had been as impulsive and wild as they come. More so even than Randall.
Dean had always believed those family traits had skipped over him. But today had proven otherwise.
The woman had been right on another score as well. He’d have to make this right.
But first, he had to finish unloading the wagon. And he really should go fix that hitching rail. And hadn’t the boys mentioned something about a warped floorboard in the bunkhouse? He should probably check it out before it got worse. Then he’d go talk to…his wife.
Shit. He didn’t even know her name.
* * *
Courtney stood alone in the center of what appeared to be a small parlor. She’d been standing there a good fifteen minutes and was still fuming. She had never before experienced such a complete unleashing of emotion. Had never had reason to give such a scathing speech to anyone.
In all honesty, it had felt wonderful. The release of tension was noticeable almost immediately. She was still furious, but at least the anger wasn’t all pent up inside her like a volcano desperate to erupt.
If her parents knew she had let loose with such a display of temper and lack of self-control, they would have expired on the spot. Such things were simply not done. In addition to wealth and influence, her family was dedicated to the strict cultivation of dignity, virtue, and restraint in all things.
Though she felt a little better after her tirade, it was an uneasy feeling. She was not accustomed to behaving in such a liberated manner. It was confusing and exciting and more than a little scary.
But this was what she had chosen. This, over a life of buttoned-up boredom, of passionless companionship.
It had been the right choice. Right?
Courtney nearly groaned. She needed to get to Alexandra.
Seeing her old friend was the only thing that made sense in her flight from Boston. Though Alexandra had been raised in the West, she had spent several years being groomed by her aunt in Boston. Alexandra would understand in an instant what Courtney had been going through since she’d made the decision to jump out that window.
Those men outside—Dean Lawton and the other one, Randall, who hadn’t been able to stop grinning during the whole disastrous revelation—were strangers.
They were also quite possibly completely insane.
What kind of mess had she landed herself in?
Her fury threatened to slide into despair with that thought, but she held it in place.
This was not part of the plan, and it was assuredly not her fault. She thought she had been helping a young couple get married. Of course, the cowboy’s rough demeanor had caused some wariness, but how was she to know his manner was anything out of the ordinary?
Alexandra had told her more than once that the men who carved out their lives in the Western Territories were very different from the gentlemen in Boston. Courtney had simply had no point of reference to imagine just how different they were. The other man, Randall, looked a lot like his brother, with the same lean height, sandy-brown hair, and light eyes, though his features were less angular and his expressions far less fierce. But he too behaved very differently from the gentlemen back home, with his loose-limbed movements and overt, friendly demeanor.
Taking a heavy breath, Courtney strode toward the wide window overlooking the front of the house. The wagon was no longer outside. She had been so wrapped up in her righteous anger that she hadn’t even heard it being driven away. Both men were gone as well.
In fact, everything was eerily still.
Having lived in Boston all her life, she was accustomed to the constant motion and clamor of bustling city life. She leaned closer to the window and swept her gaze as far as she could in all directions. An expanding stretch of green dotted with clusters of shrubs and rocks and trees extended beyond the small yard and the long dirt road they had come down.
Aside from the house, barn, and other outbuildings, she was surrounded by nothing but nature.
Courtney turned back to the interior of the house.
It was small, though certainly larger than the other shack-like structures she had seen in the distance along the drive from town. At least there was a parlor. She wandered out into the entryway and noted the staircase that led up to the second floor, where she assumed the bedrooms were located. Continuing down the hall, she headed back toward what she hoped would be a kitchen. Surely, there had to be a servant about somewhere. The kitchen seemed a logical place to start looking for someone who might assist her in finding her bearings.
Not to mention she was absolutely starving. The last meal she’d had was early that morning. Bitter coffee and some bread with jam. She would give anything for some glazed ham or baked fish smothered in creamy lemon sauce with a steaming baked potato.
Her stomach grumbled at the thought.
After passing a rather impressive dining room holding a long wooden table and matching chairs that would easily seat a large family, she stepped into the kitchen.
It was a cheery room painted in white and yellow with a sturdy wooden counter running along one wall beneath a row of windows. There was a large iron stove to one side, and opposite that was another smaller table, painted white, with two chairs set up beside a back door.
The room was neat and tidy with no evidence that anyone was about.
At this time, back home, the kitchens would have been flooded with staff beginning preparations for the evening meal. Then again, the meals back home were likely a bit more elaborate than what she’d find here.
As she stood there, uncertain of her next move, the back door opened and a woman swept in carrying a basket on her hip and two loaves of bread tucked under her arm. Dressed in a bright-colored skirt and red blouse, the woman was short of stature and rounded in a matronly way. She had warm, brown skin and her hair—ink-black with strands of gray liberally threaded through—was pulled back into a long braid down her back.
Noticing Courtney standing there, the woman, who appeared in her midfifties, startled and made a sound somewhere between a harsh gasp and a smothered shriek. Dark-brown eyes widened as she pressed the bread loaves to her ample chest. “Ay, dios mío.”
She clearly hadn’t expected to see someone standing in her kitchen.
Courtney’s smile came naturally as she spoke. “Good evening, how do you do? I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you.”
The older woman continued to stare at her with big eyes that roamed swiftly over Courtney’s appearance—from her slipping coiffure to the fine lace details of her dress’s bodice and down over the draped layers of satin and brocade with touches of velvet that made up her bridal skirts. By the time the woman’s brown eyes met Courtney’s again, a wide smile had spread across her lips. She bustled forward quickly to set her burdens on the table, muttering under her breath as she did so.
Courtney had always been fascinated by foreign cultures and had loved learning new languages. She was actually rather good at them and could speak fluent French and Italian. She also knew a smattering of Russian and possessed enough Portuguese to manage a basic conversation. Unfortunately, she knew very little Spanish. In truth, she knew only enough to recognize by its similarity to Portuguese that it was the language the woman was speaking as she approached with her now-empty arms spread wide to take Courtney into a welcoming embrace.
Courtney was shocked as the stranger wrapped her up in a hug, still speaking in rapid Spanish and smiling brightly. The physical contact was unexpected. She could not recall the last time she had been embraced in such a way, or by whom.
Drawing back, the woman grasped Courtney’s face gently in her hands and met her stunned gaze. She seemed to have asked a question, though Courtney had no idea what it might have been. For a brief moment, it felt like she might be able to interpret some of the words, but just when she thought she grasped something recognizable, the language took a turn and she lost all comprehension. “I am sorry. I do not speak Spanish.”
The woman laughed, and her eyes sparkled with amusement as she shook her head and gave Courtney’s cheek a little pat before she turned back to the table to begin unloading the basket.
Courtney watched, listening for any words she might recognize, as the woman continued her one-sided conversation. She thought she caught the word for hungry, which made sense since the woman was throwing together a large plate of food. And possibly the word for chief, though that did not seem to make sense at all.
Finally, the woman turned back to Courtney and gestured for her to come forward and sit at the table, where she had set the plate holding a generous portion of bread topped with thin-sliced beef and crumbles of white cheese. Despite its simplicity, the meal looked amazing and smelled even better. The beef seemed to have been seasoned with something Courtney couldn’t quite identify but was anxious to taste.
While Courtney filled her empty stomach, the cheerful woman continued to bounce around the kitchen with limitless energy. Occasionally speaking in Spanish with a smile or curious look tossed in Courtney’s direction, she readied food for the evening meal. Much of what she pulled from her basket appeared to have been prepared elsewhere and just needed to be warmed, while other items were quickly thrown together with what was available in the kitchen as the woman loaded the stovetop with pots and pans.
Just as Courtney finished the food on her plate, feeling wonderfully satisfied by the savory meal, the woman rushed forward to sweep the dirty dishes away. Then she returned and grasped Courtney’s hands to urge her to her feet.
“Por favor, ven conmigo,” she said with a series of nods.
Courtney understood the woman wanted to take her somewhere. Satiated and relaxed by the delicious meal, she followed the woman a short way down the hall to another small room. It was a bathing room, complete with an enormous porcelain tub that had a curved headrest on one end and a water pump and spout on the other.
Just the idea of a bath made Courtney’s skin tingle with anticipation. It had been days since she’d last had a proper washing. She glanced at the woman with wide, hopeful eyes and received a grin and a nod.
“Sí, puede bañarse.”
As Courtney debated whether she could take the risk of completely disrobing in the house of a man who had married her against her will, the woman pumped the handle of the spout until clear water began flowing into the tub. She looked over her shoulder at Courtney and waved her free hand to indicate Courtney’s gown. “Desvistete.”
Courtney looked down at the dress she’d been wearing since leaving Boston with only one washing in between at a small laundry outside the train station in Billings. Then she looked to the tub longingly before glancing back at the door. “I, ah…” She didn’t feel like she was in any particular danger, but the impropriety of stripping down and bathing in the house of a stranger was not easy to overcome.
Then again, the stranger—What was his name? Dean. Dean Lawton—was her husband. Which made this her house. Surely, there was no impropriety in bathing in her own home.
Without any further debate, Courtney carefully removed her gloves, making sure her money stayed safely tucked inside before she reached around to start tugging at the tiny buttons running down her back. Her new friend swiftly stepped around behind her and brushed her fingers aside.
The older woman made short work of releasing the gown, then held it for Courtney to step out of. She made tsking sounds of dismay as she tried to shake out some of the deep-set wrinkles and brush off the trail dust. Seeing the futility of the effort, she draped the gown over a long bench set in the corner of the room, then turned back to assist Courtney with her many layered petticoats, bustle bump, and corset.
Courtney could not understand what the woman was saying as she peeled away one layer after another, but there was obvious humor in her voice as she addressed the contraptions worn to create the silhouette preferred by Boston’s elite.
Once Courtney was down to her chemise and drawers, the woman swept from the room, making sure to draw the door gently closed behind her.
Courtney eyed the tub. It had been half-filled with water from the spout, and although she suspected the water would be quite cold, the bath looked infinitely inviting. After setting her gloves on the bench beside her gown, she began the task of removing the many dozen pins holding her hip-length hair in the thick chignon she’d managed to create.
From the day she’d stopped wearing her hair free down her back as a girl, a maid trained in creating the most current and stylish coiffures had managed the daily task. Courtney had been quite proud of herself for figuring out how to keep her hair contained once it had started falling from her bridal coiffure. Luckily, the original elaborate style had come with a grand supply of pins, so Courtney was able to get the unruly tresses twisted and tucked enough that the pins had done the rest.
A gentle knock at the door made Courtney jump. She heard the woman’s familiar voice a moment before she opened the door again, carrying a large pot of steaming water. After pouring it into the tub, she left and returned two more times with more water, turning the cold water into a warm, luxurious bath.
Bustling around with quick, efficient movements, the older woman withdrew a large square of cloth from a cupboard, then a dish of soap, setting them both on the stool that stood beside the tub.
Turning to Courtney again, she smiled and nodded as she gestured to the tub. “Señora, báñese, por favor.”
“Thank you. Gracias,” Courtney replied, trying to recall the very little Spanish she knew. “Ah… ¿Cómo se llama?”
Though Courtney’s accent was probably deplorable, the woman’s grin widened at her attempt.
“Me llamo Jimena.”
“Jimena. That is beautiful. My name is Courtney. Me llamo Courtney.”
Jimena repeated the name, then gave a smile and a shake of her head as she spoke too rapidly for Courtney to make anything out, although she again thought she heard the word for chief.
Backing out of the room, Jimena seemed to instruct Courtney to shout if she required assistance.
After the door closed and Courtney was left alone again, she did not to waste a moment in slipping off her underclothes and getting into the water. She had no idea where the cowboy had gone and no idea when he’d be back. She did not want to be naked and vulnerable in a bathtub—even one as long and deep as this one—when he did.
Sinking into the warm water, she sighed as it lapped at her chin and completely covered her everywhere else. It was heaven. After allowing herself only a few minutes to close her eyes and relax, she sat up and reached for the cake of soap. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled the delightful scent of orange with a hint of spearmint.
The bath did not nearly approach the degree of luxury she was accustomed to back home, but at that moment, Courtney couldn’t imagine anything more decadent.