LITMIR.BIZ

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have her pick of beaus, and she claimed she wanted to marry him? There was definitely a catch, he decided. Was she a ruined woman who desperately needed a name for her unborn babe? Was she intent on punishing an unfaithful suitor by taking a husband far below her social status?

      Another thought, of a dark and violent nature, bombarded Cale. If this lovely creature had been set upon by some lusting, abusive bastard, who’d left her with child the same way—

      Cale jerked upright, refusing to let bitter memories of the past intrude and distract him. It was true that he was rough around the edges, had very little formal education and no sophistication whatsoever, but if there was one thing his Cherokee mother had taught him it was never to misuse a woman to satisfy his own needs. He had never forced himself on a woman and he didn’t hold with men who did.

      “Well, Mr. Elliot?” she prompted when he lingered so long in thought. “I’ll pay you half the money now and half after the ceremony. Do we have a bargain?”

      “First off,” he said, settling his forearms on the back of the chair, “don’t call me Mistah Elliot or suh,” he ordered, mimicking her drawl. “The name’s Cale, pure and simple. Secondly, why do you want to marry me? It’s obviously not because of my refined manners, my dashing good looks and endearing charm.”

      He watched her astutely as she folded her hands in her lap, squared her shoulders and lifted her amethyst gaze. Cale steeled himself against the hypnotic lure of her eyes, her elegantly formed features. He felt as if reality had somehow been suspended, leaving him drifting in a world so remote from the daily rigors of staying alive that he could scarcely conceive of it.

      He was sharing conversation with this astoundingly beautiful woman? In his room? That in itself was scandalous. Her reputation would be in shambles if anyone saw her arrive or exit.

      He watched her draw a deep breath that caused her full breasts to strain against the dainty bodice of her gown. Her delicate brows drew together, as if she were carefully choosing her words.

      “I’m offering no illusions, Mr.—Cale,” she quickly corrected. “I wish to take your name in a marriage of convenience. The union will not be consummated, of course. There will simply be an exchange of cash for possession of the marriage certificate. I’ve no intention of restricting or altering your life, nor mine. After the ceremony you are free to go your way and I will go mine.”

      Well, he thought, so much for that titillating fantasy of having this lovely vision naked in his bed. He should’ve known she wouldn’t be the slightest bit inclined to cuddle up with the likes of him.

      “If there comes a time when you meet a woman you wish to marry, you need only to contact me and I’ll tend to the divorce proceedings quickly. In essence, I’m simply asking you to put your signature beside mine on the dotted line. You’ll be well paid for your assistance.”

      Cale studied her for a long, pensive moment, trying to figure her angle. He wondered which scenario fit her situation. The jilted Southern belle out for revenge? The ruined lover trying to save face? The abused woman who’d come to fear intimacy because of a nightmarish assault, and who sought protection with his name and reputation?

      “What do you get out of this marriage of convenience?” he asked curiously.

      He watched her squirm beneath his piercing scrutiny, but eventually she composed herself and flashed him a smile that did funny things to his pulse. He tried not to become distracted, but damn, she was so pretty that her beauty kept sidetracking him. Forcefully, he concentrated on her reply.

      “I want the freedom to go where I please, do as I please,” she declared with noticeable determination. “I want the freedom to answer to no one but myself for the first time in my life. I am sick to death of being stifled and controlled and maneuvered by men who see me as nothing but a pawn. I want to discover who I can be in the West.”

      He cocked a brow at that. Little Miss I-Wanna-Be-Independent didn’t have a clue what dangers she’d face while traveling across Indian Territory to reach the land of milk and honey she envisioned. Well, the fact was that the milk was curdled and the honey came with dozens of bee stings. She’d have to wise up and toughen up considerably before she could handle herself in places where law and order didn’t prevail the way they did in N’Awlins. It went without saying that she was naive and obliviously unaware of the difficulties she’d encounter on the road to her much-sought-after freedom.

      Life beyond Indian Territory was brutal. Life anywhere was a bitch, and you just had to learn to deal with it.

      Because of his background and line of work, he’d become jaded and cynical. He dealt with liars, cheats, thieves and killers on a day-to-day basis. He’d brought in dozens of criminals who would drop a man in his tracks, just to seize possession of his fancy boots, his fast horse or his pocket change.

      The prospect of turning this unsuspecting female loose in dangerous territory made Cale cringe.

      His thoughts scattered like buckshot when she doubled at the waist to lift the hem of her skirt. Curiously, he watched her wrestle with her cream-colored petticoats. She straightened in her chair and laid a roll of money—that had been inconspicuously hidden inside the hem of her petticoats—on the table between them.

      “Here’s half of the easiest money you’ll ever make, Mr.—Cale.” She stared him squarely in the eye. “Do we have a deal?”

      “You’re running from someone or something,” he guessed accurately.

      He noticed her telltale flinch before she composed herself and flashed him a distracting smile. Cale was an expert at reading faces, and he noticed the guarded expression in her eyes. He could almost hear the cogs of her brain cranking, as she tried to decide how much of the truth to tell. He figured white lies and half-truths were all he’d likely hear from her.

      “I am on the run, in a manner of speaking, but not from the law. Only from an intolerable situation.”

      “Are you with child?” he asked bluntly.

      Her face flooded with so much color he wondered if she’d go up in flames. She shook her head vigorously, causing a few more tendrils of silver-blond hair to cascade over her shoulder. “No, I’m not,” she assured him in a strangled voice.

      Judging by her reaction to his probing personal question he suspected she was as pure as the driven snow. Damn, he and this pixielike female were polar opposites. Cale had been purged of purity and cured of naiveté years ago. He’d seen the worst that one human could inflict on another. He’d been cursed frequently and fluently. He’d been to hell and back so many times that the devil himself had nothing new to teach him.

      Impatiently, she rose to her feet, then reached for the money on the table. She pivoted to modestly tuck the roll into her bodice, then wheeled back to face him. “If you aren’t interested in my bargain, perhaps you could refer me to one of your acquaintances who might be agreeable.”

      Cale stood up, sighed, then stared at her for another long moment. “I’ll think about it,” he said, stalling. “I need a bath and a sleep. I’ll meet you downstairs in the restaurant for supper in two hours. Surely you can wait that long to get yourself hitched.”

      She smiled faintly as she turned toward the door. Cale’s betraying gaze dropped to the graceful sway of her hips—hips that he’d touched familiarly while searching for concealed weapons. No wedding night, she’d said. No more than a chaste kiss to seal their hasty union at the ceremony. That didn’t sound like much fun.

      Well, hell, even the best of men—and he was the furthest thing from the best of men—would object to being denied one night in this woman’s arms. After all, he’d be legally entitled, wouldn’t he? He’d rather spend one night with her and opt to let her keep her wad of money.

      Always on alert, Cale reflexively grabbed his six-gun when she halted abruptly, then lurched toward him. He was definitely cynical and mistrusting, he mused. He didn’t even trust this vision of refined beauty not to double-cross him. But then, life had taught him to trust no one but himself if he

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