Page 118 of Conveniently Wed
She knelt in front of the long wooden box, hands shaking as she spread them on the worn, scarred top.
“I can’t believe you did this.”
She pushed open the lid and froze again. He thought he heard her sniffle so he moved up beside her.
She reached inside and held up a white, fancy-looking dress. “It’s my grandma’s wedding dress.” She said the words almost reverently.
“Well, it’s too late for you, but maybe Emma can wear it in a few years.”
She sent a wobbly smile over her shoulder. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Next, she untucked a stack of faded letters tied with a ribbon. “My papa sent them to my mama when they were courting.”
And in the bottom was a family portrait. It was several years old, because she’d been a teenager in it, but it had all five members of her family together.
She set it down gently in the chest, then got to her feet and threw herself at him.
He caught her and her arms went around his neck.
“You’re not upset?” he asked, because he still couldn’t be sure about all feminine emotions.
She shook her head, the top of her hair brushing his still-shaved chin. “I’m so…happy. I can’t believe—it’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”
She raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him.
Moments later, he held her face in one big paw. “That’s exactly how I feel about you. You’re the best gift God could have surprised me with.”
Thank you for reading THE WRANGLER’S INCONVENIENT WIFE. I hope you loved Ed and Fran’s romance. Looking for more marriage of convenience? Try WILD HEART’S HAVEN.
"Hollis will be out with the lead wagon."
The woman walking beside Owen Mason barely acknowledged his words, and he felt a stirring of irritation. He worked to quash it.
Rachel Duncan might be the stubbornest, most independent woman he'd ever met. Her dark honey-colored hair and blue-eyed gaze might’ve been pleasing if not for the irritation he felt every time she opened her mouth to speak. She bothered him like a burr under his saddle. Made his skin itch like it was crawling with ants.
And Owen had promised to marry her.
That's why he needed Hollis Tremblay, the wagon master of their company. To perform the ceremony.
The sun had been up for almost an hour. The wagon train camp along the Platte River was bustling with activity as every traveler, even the children, helped prepare to pull out for the day. Their caravan had been on the trail West to Oregon for weeks now, and the company knew the routine for readying for a day of travel.
Owen needed to find Hollis, fast. The bugle—the signal to pull out—was about to blow. He skirted a girl no older than ten who was trying to shoo two chickens into a large wicker basket.
"Sorry."
He glanced over his shoulder at Rachel's murmured apology to see chickens scattering in opposite directions. The girl's basket was on the ground, and she was glaring at Rachel.
Rachel had one hand pressed against her opposite elbow, as if she'd bumped it.
Probably bumped it on the little girl. Had she run into her?
It was plausible, given Rachel's condition. The woman was due to give birth in the next few weeks. He doubted she could see her feet when she was standing up, and she was clumsy. He'd seen it himself, watched her knock over a pail of fresh water from the creek because she hadn't seen it on the ground in front of her.
She caught his gaze and her lips pinched. She always wore a sour expression when she looked at him.
Guilt surged. Maybe he deserved it.
The wound in his arm—a thin line between a scrape and a cut on the outside of his biceps—pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He slowed his stride slightly so she could keep up, but the urgency inside him didn't go away.
