Free Summer's Fury by tba Page B

pulling the cowboy hat off his head and slapping at the dust that had accumulated on his pants. He wore denim waist overalls, scuffed boots, a long-sleeved shirt, a leather vest, a kerchief tied around his neck, and of course, the traditional cowboy hat, which he promptly shoved back on his head while he stared straight ahead. She noticed that people gave him a wide berth as he passed. Perhaps it was the gun he wore low on his hips, or the determined walk that personified a confident man. Then again, perhaps it was the menacing frown he wore, which Summer noticed as he got closer. The rest of his face was wreathed in shadow from his hat.
    The sound of a crying child pulled her attention from the man and toward a middle aged woman holding tightly onto the hand of a five or six-year-old who was dragging his feet as his obviously frustrated mother tried to pull him along. The little boy literally dug in his heels and came to a complete stop, causing his mother to nearly fall over by his sudden lack of momentum. Summer watched with amusement while the mother tried to coerce the child into movement again.
    Heavy footsteps from nearby caused Summer to turn from the mother and child and glance up. She barely managed to stifle the startled cry of dismay that nearly escaped her lips. The tall man from outside stood in front of her, staring down at her as he pulled the hat from his head.
    “Miss Summer Percy?”
    Summer gazed up at the man with wide eyes, trying not to stare at the thick white scar that ran from the corner of his left eye all the way down his cheekbone and along the bottom of his jaw toward his chin. Dark brown eyes riveted to her face, his expression inscrutable. “Yes?” she said, swallowing nervously.
    “The name’s Beau… Beauregard Kearny. Your… fiancé,” he said.
    Summer stared up in stunned amazement for several seconds and then shot to her feet. “Oh! Excuse me, I didn’t recognize you! The daguerreotype you sent—”
    “It’s an old image,” he gently interrupted.
    He towered over her. Literally. Summer fought the urge not to take a step back. She strove to remember what Martha had told her. She pasted a smile on her face though her heart pounded with doubt and uncertainty as she tilted her head to look up into her future husband’s face. He looked so rough, so… so….
    “Miss Percy?”
    “Please, call me Summer,” she said. “After all, we are to be married in the morning, aren’t we?” He nodded. She felt somewhat relieved to discover that he seemed to be as nervous as she was.
    “Miss Summer,” he said. “Have your belongings been unloaded yet?” He gestured vaguely outside the station. “I have a wagon just around the corner. As soon as your luggage is offloaded I can take you to the hotel and you can rest up for a while.”
    She nodded. “We can go outside and check,” she suggested.
    He nodded and then held out his arm, elbow bent. She hesitated a brief instant, then placed her hand on his arm. Solid. Strong. Large. She allowed him to guide her outside, trying to ignore the wobbly feeling in her knees. It looked like the luggage had been taken off the train, stacked in a haphazard fashion on the edge of the boardwalk. She recognized her trunk and pointed.
    “That’s my trunk there, the green one.”
    He nodded, glanced around, and gestured for her to take a seat on a nearby bench. “You wait right here and I’ll go fetch the wagon.”
    With that, he quickly left her side. Summer’s heart pounded hard in her chest. He looked so intimidating! So severe. What had she gotten herself into? Several moments later she heard the clinking of trace chains and wagon wheels and turned to watch as Mister—as Beauregard brought his wagon, led by a team of bays, around the corner. She said nothing as he ground-hobbled the team, stepped onto the covered boardwalk, bent down, and with one hand lifted her heavy trunk up onto his shoulder. Her eyes widened in surprise. It had taken two