The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) (18 page)

Caleb was chuckling by now, his round little belly bouncing like the south end of a northbound ass. "I got to admit, them are some mighty strange reasons for wanting to keep the woman on. My guess is you're a wantin' to get hitched to her so bad, you just made that nonsensical stuff up."

Hawke let out an exasperated sigh. "You're not listening to me, Caleb—
I'm
not the one who put those remarks in the book. Apparently, Lacey did—who else would have written that last entry?" He was referring to number eleven, the advantage which tipped the scales in Lacey's favor and really got Hawke's goat. "
Probably the only female in all of Wyoming Territory willing to marry a hard-headed man like you
."

Caleb's chuckles evolved to out and out belly laughing, and until he calmed down, Hawke knew it was useless to continue the increasingly frustrating conversation.

* * *

In the back bedroom, Kate was all questions. "And he didna seem to mind that ye canna so much as boil cabbage?"

Lacey shrugged. "He did not say really, but I think I can learn cooking and such fast enough to suit him. I just do not think he means to give me the chance."

"Ye mean to say the man does not wish to marry ye?"

"It would seem so." Tears sprang into the corners of her eyes, and until that moment, she hadn't realized how much she wanted this marriage between herself and Hawke. "Oh, Nurse Kate—what am I to do?"

"Hush, lass, and dona be calling me nurse." She handed Lacey a handkerchief, waited a moment for her to dry her tears and wipe her nose, then went on to ask, "If not for yer lack of cookin' and wifin' duties, then why do ye think he will not wed ye, lass?"

Sinking down on the mattress of what was soon to be Kate's marriage bed, Lacey bit her lip and fiddled with the pile on the chenille spread as she tried to think of a delicate way to address the subject. "I can not say for sure that this is the problem exactly, but..." Her cheeks grew hot, her throat closed, and her breathing began to get erratic. "I—it's just that I have some concerns about... Hawke, and what he might think he's allowed to do to... I mean as a husband, of course, but if I did not please him in that way and cannot do—"

"God save ye, lass. Ye were alone and defenseless with the man last night." Kate fell to her knees before Lacey and took both of her hands in hers. "Are ye tryin' to tell me that divil of a man has already taken some liberties with yer person?"

She hadn't thought it possible, but Lacey's face grew even hotter. "He, well... I do not know what liberties you speak of, but Hawke did..." Try as she might, she simply couldn't find a way to tell the woman who'd practically raised her that Hawke had slipped his tongue inside her mouth. It all seemed so sordid now that she was actually trying to put words to the embarrassing thing she'd let him do—and God help her, to remember the uncivilized way it made her feel. "I—I can not say what we have done, for it shames me to think of it."

"Arrah." Kate's nostrils flared, and in her rage, her voice dropped to a deep guttural growl. "May that heathen's last dance be a hornpipe on the air, the scurvy cur. He'll be makin' things right with ye, or he'll be payin' the divil till doomsday if Katherine Quinlin has a say about it."

With that, she leapt to her feet still holding Lacey's hands, and jerked her up off the mattress. "Come with me, lass. We'll be gettin' settled on this 'fore another minute runs round the clock."

And because if she listened and obeyed anyone, it was former Nurse Quinlin, Lacey allowed herself to be dragged into the front room of Caleb's home where he and Hawke were still deep in discussion.

"Mr. Weatherspoon," said Kate as the women approached the back of the couch. She would go no further, certainly not around to the front of the couch where the devil in question sat resting his lecherous hide on the hearth. "Your good neighbor here has committed a terrible indiscretion against my dear sweet Miss O'Carroll, and I'm afraid I can not entertain the thought of pledging my troth to you until the matter is settled to our satisfaction. What does your dishonorable Mr. Winterhawke intend to do to make things right with Miss O'Carroll?"

Hawke slowly raised up off the bricks, his mouth a big round O. "What in blue blazes are you talking about?"

"Easy, Hawke," cautioned Caleb, who'd also gotten up from his couch. Leaning heavily against the single crutch he used to get around, he turned toward his lovely intended. "What's all this about dishonor, my dear?"

"'Tis about the scurvy cur standin' beside ye and the liberties he took with my innocent young lass here. I demand to know what ye intend to do about it."

His gray head swiveled toward the fireplace. "Hawke? What in tarnation is she talking about?"

Both hands raised high above his shoulders, he shook his head. "I swear to Christ, I don't have the slightest idea."

Kate lunged forward, nearly toppling over the back of the couch. "A high hangin' to ye then, ye dirty liar."

"
Liar?
" Hawke stepped forward, bringing his nose within a foot of the enraged Irishwoman. "If there's a liar in this room, it's that sweet innocent lass over there with the big blue eyes."

Lacey drew up alongside Kate, her breast puffed with self-righteousness. "I
ne'er
lied to you."

"Excuse the living hell out of me," Hawke said, cocking his head in Lacey's direction. "But I call stealing a man's private ledger and filling it with... with whoppers, is the same thing as lying—worse."

Kate pushed her arms between the two, then spread her hands, effectively separating the quarreling couple, even though the couch did a fair job of that anyway. "Ye see what I mean about yer friend, Mr. Weatherspoon? The man's a
bosthoon
and a
blatherskite
, among other things, a divil who deserves a good beatin' with an oak shillelagh, but if ye can extract his promise to make an honest woman of my innocent Miss O'Carroll, then we'll just naturally have to be forgivin' him, then."

"In a pig's eye." said Hawke, furious over the names he'd been called even though he didn't know exactly what they meant. "I'll be damned if I'm going to be tricked, forced or
bullied
into doing anything I don't want to by a pair of lying, cheating—"

"How
dare
you." Lacey stomped a spur against the floor to help her gain extra courage. "I will not stand here and watch you pointin' your finger and shoutin' names at my Miss Kate. She's only looking after my best interests—which is a lot more than I can say for the likes of you."

Kate tossed in her opinion, spearing Hawke with a purposefully beady eye. "And I'll just be addin' my amen to
that
, ye malarkey-spewin'—"

"Just a dad-burned minute, all of ya," hollered Caleb. "If'n you don't all stop talking at oncet, we'll never git this figured out."

"A—
hem
," came a deep baritone from the back door. "Is it always this difficult for your guests to get a little rest around here?"

All four of the principals turned toward the Reverend Bob, each of them coloring from pale pink to bright red.

"Ah, beggin' your pardon, Reverend," said Caleb, master of the house. "It seems we have a little disagreement 'twixt friends, is all. Sorry if'n we woke you."

"Aye," said Lacey. "'Tis my fault I think, for mentioning some things to—"

"Now, lass, dona be taking the blame for insults this miserable cur has set upon ye."

"That's it." Hawke hitched up his jeans. "I've had just about all the name calling I'm going to take from your big—"

"A—
hem
!" Reverend Bob's voice was even deeper, more authoritative than before. "It's clear to me that you folks have some grievances to work out, but I think the Lord, and the rest of us, will best be served if you split up to continue your discussion. What is at issue here?"

All four of them opened their mouths as if to speak, but Caleb shot each of the other three a vicious, warning glance. Then he proceeded to explain as best he could. "It seems these two youngens here are having a speck of trouble deciding if they want to get hitched or not."

"Then may I suggest that we let the youngens in question work it out between themselves—alone?"

Kate bristled. "I'll not be lettin' the lass out of my sight with that, that—"

"I assure you," said Hawke in the kindest voice he could manage, "your friend will be quite safe with me." He turned to the reverend. 'You have my word on it."

The preacher clasped his hands together and nodded solemnly. "Then why don't the two of you go on outside now and have yourself a calming walk around the property. When you decide what you're gonna do, let us know." He pulled a pocket watch out of his vest pocket, checked the time, and added, "We've planned the nuptials around a wedding supper Miss Quinlin has been preparing for a better part of the day. I'd like to get the ceremony underway within the hour, if possible."

Feeling a lot like the hangman had just pronounced the hour of his death, Hawke stepped around Caleb and his crutch, gave Kate a wide berth, then extended his elbow and said to Lacey, "Shall we?"

Her nose still angled at a properly offended tilt, Lacey slipped her left hand into the crook of Hawke's arm and allowed him to escort her outside to the grounds of Three Elk Ranch. They walked in silence for several moments, passing by a corral filled with both cow ponies and cattle, then around to the back of Caleb's small barn. From there Hawke led her to a large fallen log near the bank of the Little Laramie River where he invited her to sit down.

"This," he said, settling in beside her, "is my favorite view from Caleb's ranch." He pointed west to the rising slopes leading to his ranch and the Snowy Range Mountains behind it. "Winterhawke ends just past that last stand of aspens."

Looking up at the majestic mountains surrounding Winterhawke, she sighed. "'Tis lovely and peaceful your ranch, a place even the angels might call home."

Done with ducking the issue, Hawke turned to Lacey and caught her chin with his index finger, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Exactly what are you looking for in a home, Irish miss? Now that you know a little more about what to expect, are you really so sure you want to marry someone like me?"

She hesitated only a moment. "Aye. If you're willing to have me, that is."

Those beautiful blue eyes didn't flicker with even the slightest hint of duplicity. Releasing her chin, Hawke slowly shook his head and returned his gaze to the mountains he loved so much. "I just can't understand why a good looking gal like you would even consider marrying someone like me. From where I'm sitting, it seems I'm the only one who stands to gain anything by the match."

"You truly think so?" She sounded surprised, even pleased. "And what gains might those be, sir?"

Looking back at her, Hawke couldn't keep the sarcastic smirk from his tone or off of his lips. "For starters, the kind your dear Miss Kate seems to think I already helped myself to. Where'd she get the idea that I've already, well... touched you in a way I shouldn't have?"

Her cheeks flushed to a deep crimson, Lacey quickly averted her gaze. "I—I swear by the cross o' Christ that I ne'er told Kate what you done to me at the corral."

"Maybe not that, but you must have told her something."

"I ne'er said a word. I tried, but could not bring myself to say what we, what you done when you... kissed me."

"That's
it
? This is all about that one little kiss?" Still blushing, Lacey gave him a little nod, then blinked her long coppery lashes at him and looked away. Groaning to himself, Hawke rolled his eyes. To think he and Caleb—all four of them—had practically come to blows over almost nothing. Lord, what if things had gone further? What if—

"Well, then?" Lacey asked. "What's it to be? Are ye thinking you might like to marry up with me?"

Hawke sighed. "I honestly don't know what to say. I still can't understand why you'd want to hitch yourself to the kind of man decent white women wouldn't even look at, much less marry. You could waltz into Laramie or anywhere tomorrow and have your pick of fine upstanding citizens. Why choose me?"
What's wrong with you?

She gave a tiny shrug. "You're the neighbor needin' a mail-order bride according to Mr. Weatherspoon's letter, and you seem to be a nice enough sort—most often, that is."

"Most often, huh?" Hawke pulled off his hat and began to smooth the eagle feather which hung down from the brim. "Apparently you don't have Indians or prejudice against them in Ireland, but here I'm considered, well... folks in these parts look down on my sort. Understand what I mean?"

"I can not say that I do."

Sorry he'd ever brought the subject up, Hawke considered dropping it entirely. He knew in his heart what fine white citizens thought of him, and had known since he was a small child, but to try and explain that kind of rejection was not only difficult, but extremely personal. Yet he couldn't just ignore that very real issue should Lacey continue to insist that she wanted to marry him. Sooner or later she'd understand the whispers and feel the hatred most whites held for their Indian brothers and those low enough to befriend them. William Braddock's recent visit was enough to remind Hawke what would become of Miss Lacey O'Carroll should she be fool enough to toss her lot in with that of a half-breed.