Dreaming Of A Western Christmas - Carol Arens Mills & Boon Historical

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reckon so. Kept callin’ him Mr. Monroe,” Jase said. “She ain’t said more’n two words since she got here. Wagon was pretty well burned up. Burial detail took the body.”

      Brand leveled a long look at the man he’d slogged through the war with. “So why’d you signal me? Nothing I can do to bring this Monroe back, and you say the wagon’s destroyed.”

      “Yeah.” Jase scraped the toe of one boot back and forth across the plank floor. “Thought you might be willin’ to—”

      “No.”

      “Ah, hell, Brand, she’s all alone. Said she’s on her way to Oregon to get married. You bein’ a tracker an’ a damn good guide, I thought mebbe—”

      “Double no.” The last place on earth he ever wanted to see again was Oregon.

      But just then the woman looked up. Damned eyes were like two pools of emerald-green water. Shiny. As if she was gonna cry. Or already was.

      Ah, hell. He squatted in front of her. “Miss Cumberland? My name’s Brandon Wyler.”

      “How do you do, Mr. Wyler.” Her voice sounded scratchy.

      “I’ll make this short, ma’am. You got two choices. One is to head back where you came from. Two is to stay here at Fort Hall until a detail goes east. The colonel’s got guest quarters, and maybe Jase here could use some help in his store.”

      She studied him, working even white teeth over her lower lip. “I wish to go on to Oregon. My fiancé is expecting me.”

      “I can’t help you, ma’am.”

      “Oh, but—” She sent Jase a desperate look. “Mr. Brownell said you might—”

      “Yeah, well, Mr. Brownell didn’t check with me first. I’m not goin’ to Oregon this late in the season. Besides, I’m heading in the opposite direction.”

      Jase bumped his arm. “No ya ain’t, Brand. Colonel said he’s sendin’ you to Fort Klamath.”

      “Colonel didn’t check with me, either,” Brand growled.

      “I have money, Mr. Wyler.”

      “So have I, Miss Cumberland. Don’t need yours.”

      “But...”

      “Sorry.”

      Jase edged toward the curtained doorway and signaled Brand to follow. “Ya might wanna check with the colonel, Brand.”

      Brand’s heart sank right down to his boot tops. “You know somethin’ I don’t, Jase?”

      * * *

      “At ease, Major Wyler.”

      Brand rolled onto the balls of his feet and stared at the photograph behind Colonel Clarke’s bald head. His wife, maybe.

      The colonel tented his stubby fingers under his chin. “We wouldn’t want to leave a lady in distress, now, would we? That’s not the army way.”

      “Colonel, I don’t think—”

      “This is the army, Brand. You’re not paid to think. Now, you’ve got your orders.”

      “Well, hell, Colonel, I’m not in the army. Not anymore.”

      “Prove it.”

      “Now, wait a damn minute...”

      “That’s an order, Major,” he snapped. “Dismissed.”

       Chapter Two

      “Yeah, she’s waitin’ for ya, Brand. Ain’t too happy, but she’s waitin’.”

      Brand glanced at the slim figure pacing determinedly back and forth in front of the sutler’s canned goods display. Small as they were, her leather shoes made sharp staccato sounds on the wood floor, and her white hands were clenched at her sides. Looked as if she was as mad as hell.

      Well, so was he. Every bone in his tired body was shouting don’t do this. But the colonel had other ideas. His only hope was to get her to change her mind about going to Oregon.

      “Jase, lay out some flannel shirts about her size and some jeans and a boy-sized pair of boots.” While the older man selected the items and piled them up on the counter, Brand approached his charge.

      “Miss Cumberland?”

      She stopped pacing and spun to face him. Her face had lost that dazed look she’d had an hour ago. Now her green eyes flashed with anger.

      “Yes? What is it, Mr. Wyler?”

      “I’m taking you to Oregon, like you wanted.”

      “Oh? Have you hired a carriage?”

      He laughed out loud. “A carriage! Ma’am, you’re smack in the middle of Indian country. We don’t have roads out here, just rough trails. If we’re lucky.”

      “Perhaps a wagon, then?” She eyed the growing stack of clothing Jase was collecting and raised one eyebrow.

      “Look over there on the counter, ma’am. See those boys’ duds? That’s what you’ll be wearing.”

      “Surely you are joking?”

      Brand clenched his jaw. So, Miss Fancy Drawers wanted to ride in style and wear dresses and corsets, did she? Tough luck. So what if her eyes still looked kinda funny—made his chest go tight—he still didn’t want to do this.

      “We’ll be traveling on horseback.”

      Her mouth sagged open and then snapped shut. “Horseback! You mean I will be riding on a horse?”

      “That’s what horseback means.” His voice sounded exasperated, even to him. “You ever been on a horse?”

      “No, I have not. Where I come from, ladies do not—”

      “Well, they do out here, Miss Cumberland. So if you’re in such a lather to get to Oregon, you might as well get used to the idea.”

      She just stared at him with that hurt look in her eyes. Then she stared at the pile of shirts and jeans Jase had loaded up on the counter. “I do not think...”

      “Take it or leave it,” he said. “Or you could go back east, like I said.”

      She bit her lower lip, considering the matter, and Brand tried not to think about how lush her mouth was.

      “Very well,” she said at last. She stuck out her hand. “I agree. We have a bargain, Mr. Wyler.”

      Without thinking he gripped her hand and shook it. Never in his life had he shaken hands with a woman. He’d waltzed with them, flirted with them, kissed them, made love to them. But shaken their hand? This one was so proper she squeaked.

      But her hand felt small and warm and womanly in his. Maybe not squeaky, just stiff and overproper.

      “Ya wanna try on them boots, miss?” Jase said from behind the counter.

      “Boots! I have proper shoes, thank you.”

      “Boots,” Brand snapped. “Winter’s just around the corner and on the trail you’ll want all the warmth you can get. Might hold those other duds up to you, see if they fit.”

      Again she stared at him, her eyes even wider and greener than before. Kinda slow in the brain department; you’d think she’d see the clothes and put two and two together.

      She dropped her gaze and very tentatively fingered the shirt on top of the stack, a red plaid. Jase shook it out and held it up to her frame. “Too big,” he muttered. He snaked it and two others out of the pile and replaced them. The jeans looked about right.

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