Free Hanchart Land by Becky Barker

money she'd ever had was what she'd earned teaching some riding classes.
    "You won't have to handle anything now if you don't want to," he told her, "but you're bound to need money at some point."
    Susan nodded in agreement, but she didn't feel very agreeable. She felt like a freeloader. A complete fraud. The parasite people would call her when they learned she'd married him. She didn't want a penny of his money, not even to lift the crushing load of debt Shane had dropped on her shoulders. She wasn't sure what it felt like to be a real wife, but all she felt right now was cheap.
    The only thing she could do was sign the forms to avoid another argument. She couldn't prevent his grim anger about her previous marriage, but she would try being more cooperative. She picked up a pen and filled out the signature card.
    Luke took the form, read her name and then gave her a strange look. His eyes were questioning, making hers furrow in a frown.
    "What's wrong. Did I sign the wrong line?"
    His gaze never left her face. "You signed your maiden name, Lawrie."
    Susan felt warmth creep into her cheeks. She wasn't being deliberately obtuse, she just wasn't thinking clearly. She'd never really thought of herself as a Hanchart, so she'd never gotten into the habit of using the name.
    "I'm sorry, Luke, I didn't think about it," she said, "I swear I didn't do it on purpose. Will they accept that or can we get another form?"
    "It can wait," he replied, crushing the paper and tossing it in the trashcan. "Once we're married you can get used to signing as Mrs. Luke Hanchart."
    The accent on his first name held more than a hint of possessiveness. It troubled her. She didn't want him feeling like he had to compete with his dead cousin. Not on her account. Not for any reason.
    "In the meantime, let me know if you need money for anything," he added.
    Her reply was swift. "I don't need any money."
    Luke's eyes bored into hers. He wondered what kind of game she was playing. She was obviously broke, so why pretend she didn't need his money?
    "Clothes? Personal items?" She was shaking her head. "Rosa said you didn't unpack many clothes. Do you have the rest stored?"
    Susan felt her blush deepen and hated the telltale reaction. In her younger days she'd been a real clotheshorse. She'd owned more clothes and shoes than she'd had room for in her closets, but most of them were gone now. She'd sold her best outfits to help support Butch in the lean years. They hadn't brought a lot of money, but every penny had been needed.
    Shane had liked to show her off to his friends, so he'd bought several flashy outfits for her. She'd hated them and had given them all to Goodwill after he died. The whole issue was a sore subject.
    "Unless you're planning on doing a lot of entertaining, I don't need dressy clothes. I have plenty of jeans and shirts."
    "How about the party Saturday night?"
    "I have a couple of decent outfits," she snapped. "I'll try not to embarrass you." 
    "Dammit, that's not what I meant, and you know it. You're just being bullheaded again."
       "And you're being insulting.
       "I'm trying to take care of your needs. That's what husbands do, or so I'm told."
       Susan was torn. She didn't want to argue anymore. She ran a hand over her eyes and drew in a deep breath. They were both getting testy, and that was counterproductive.
       "I don't need anything right now," she told him very firmly, yet honestly.
       "I hope you're not planning to go back to work at the restaurant." The subject added more annoyance to his tone. "I need you here with the horses."
       "I told you I was replaced, and I prefer working with the horses," she replied, even though he seemed to be managing just fine without her help. "Once we're married, I'll sign the proper name on the proper forms and help myself to your money. Okay?"
      It was obvious he didn't appreciate her tone or attitude. Her weak attempt at humor failed miserably. She could almost see the wheels of