Hat pulled low on his forehead, Raven crossed his arms over his chest. Stretching out his long legs then crossing them at the ankles, Raven settled in to get some more shut-eye before the stage departed.
The whiskey he’d consumed the previous night left him with a dull headache. Missing several nights of sleep to remain on constant alert was catching up with him.
From beneath the shadowed brim of his hat, he could see the men and woman fidgeting nervously at the prospect of sharing confining space in the coach. If he cared in the least—which of course, he didn’t—their distaste of what he represented would dent his pride. But, like a cougar in the wilds, he had come to terms with his isolated lifestyle and didn’t brood about it.
Tracking criminals for bounty was what he was good at. He supposed he could sign on as a deputy marshal or city marshal in some nameless little town. As long as he clipped his hair, dressed strictly in white’s man’s clothing and made a conscious effort to look civilized. Yet, the very idea…
His rambling thoughts scattered like a covey of quail when the door creaked open and a woman entered. Raven had learned to school his facial expressions and give none of his thoughts away years ago. But he was stunned to the bone when he recognized the woman whose curly auburn hair danced like flames in the sunlight. She was the very same female who had dared to approach his room and make demands the previous night. She was even more fetching in daylight, especially when she discarded shapeless masculine clothing in favor of feminine apparel.
This morning she had dressed in a modest but flattering calico gown that accentuated every voluptuous feminine curve and swell. And she had plenty of them in all the right places, he noted. She carried a matching parasol and wore a hat that boasted a couple of feathers and ribbons. War bonnet, most likely in her case, he mused as a wry grin crossed his lips. Indian custom had nothing on white civilization, he decided. Undoubtedly, the woman had girded herself up for another confrontation to urge him to take her assignment. Waste of time though it was.
Without acknowledging her arrival, he surveyed Miss Calico. She stood about five foot six inches and weighed about one hundred and ten pounds—give or take. She passed a polite smile around the depot then focused her full attention on him. Still he didn’t move or alert her that he recognized her from the previous confrontation.
If she planned to open another lively debate with an attentive audience on hand then he would refuse her not only in private, but also in public. No matter what, Raven wasn’t taking the assignment. He needed time to rest, relax and to train Buck’s replacement. Period. End of story. No exceptions.
He shouldn’t have been surprised when the gutsy female walked straight up to him—but damn if he wasn’t. Then she shocked him speechless when she said, “Did you purchase my ticket, J.D.?”
Calling him J.D. suggested they were on intimate terms. He sat there, too stunned to react, while the three men and woman glanced back and forth between him and the daring female. Even the agent at the ticket window perked up at the unexpected scene unfolding in the depot.
She sighed dramatically, shook her curly auburn head then smiled at him in tolerant amusement. Miss Calico, with her matching parasol, set her two carpetbags on the empty chair beside him.
To his further astonishment, she doubled at the waist, pushed his hat back to stare him squarely in the eye and said, “Honestly, love, I know we were married recently but you’ll have to remember you have a wife to consider now.”
You could have heard a pin drop on the planked floor of the depot. Everyone’s jaws sagged with incredulous disbelief. If Raven hadn’t trained himself not to show the slightest reaction, his mouth would have dropped open and his teeth would have clattered to the floor.
Married? What the hell was she talking about? Sure, he’d been drinking last night but he certainly would have remembered something like that!
Seemingly unaware or unconcerned with the rapt attention she’d attracted, Miss Calico kissed his bearded cheek then sashayed over to purchase her ticket. She returned to take her place beside him. By that time, Raven had managed to sit up a little straighter in his chair and shake off the alluring scent of her perfume that had clogged his senses.
When Miss Calico brushed her shoulder affectionately against his and smiled at him as if he were the sun in her universe, something very strange and unfamiliar unfolded in the region of his chest. It was probably indigestion, he decided. He’d wolfed down his breakfast in a rush so he’d have time to swing by the bank and dry goods store before catching the southbound stagecoach.
When she glided her hand over his, giving it a seemingly affectionate squeeze, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wasn’t sure he could have formulated a sentence at the moment if his life depended on it.
“I’m very much looking forward to the rest of our honeymoon, J.D.,” she said in a stage whisper.
Beneath lowered lashes, Raven observed the expressions plastered on the faces of the other passengers. Something in the way they stared at him had altered drastically since his supposed bride arrived to make over him as if he were special to her. He seemed to have acquired instant respectability because everyone thought he was married to the stunning female—whose name he still didn’t know, damn it.
“The stage has arrived,” the ticket agent announced.
Miss Calico was the first one on her feet. She grabbed her satchels then tugged him from his chair. “Don’t forget your saddle, sweetheart. And I’m so sorry about the loss of your favorite horse. I know how much he meant to you.”
The comment confirmed to the other passengers that she knew specific details about him. She sealed their connection by adding, “I’m anxious to watch you train the replacement. In time, I’m sure the new saddle horse will be as invaluable as the last one.”
Then, to his absolute amazement, and that of the onlookers, she pushed up on tiptoe to press another kiss to his bearded jaw. Again, the tantalizing fragrance of her perfume infiltrated his senses and fogged his brain. He couldn’t recall, but he presumed she had led him outside like a stupid lamb to slaughter. Then she directed the other passengers where to sit so the newlyweds could cozy up side by side in the coach.
It was only while Raven was tossing his saddle and the satchels into the luggage compartment on the back of the coach that his head cleared long enough for him to realize that he hadn’t shut down the woman’s charade and sent her packing. Worse, several passersby heard her call out to him. When she referred to him as sweetheart, she stopped traffic on the boardwalks and attracted owlish stares.
While she stood there, all smiles and cheery disposition, he stepped up beside her and bent his head to ask confidentially, “Who in the hell are you?”
“Evangeline Raven, of course. Really, J.D., you’ve been calling me Eva for weeks. Last night you swore I was the love of your life.”
“Ha, curse of my life is more like it,” he said and grunted. “Last night you interrupted a perfectly good drunk. And here you are this morning to ruin a perfectly good hangover. Be warned that you’re going to regret this little charade of yours, I guaran-damn-tee it, Eva.”
He wheeled around to tuck his Winchester rifle beside his saddle and she followed after him. Flashing an impudent grin, she said, “I told you that you hadn’t seen the last of me. You were warned, darling.”
“I thought you were a man-hater.”
“Can you think of a better way to get even with a man than to pretend to marry one of the worst offenders?” she countered in a syrupy tone.
“What the hell—?” came a startled voice from overhead.
