Free The Christmas Bride - A Western Romance Novella (Book 4, Burnett Brides Series) by Sylvia McDaniel

explain to him on the ride home why I could never marry you,” she said with a rush. “I had to tell this sweet child that I never intended to marry another man,” Eugenia said, her body tense.
    Wyatt took a deep breath and tried to calm her down. “I’m sorry. It was an innocent conversation. I had no idea where it was going until he started asking me to ask you to marry me,” he said. Then leaned over and whispered. “You should have ridden home with me.”
    It was the wrong thing to say. Eugenia bristled like a porcupine ready for battle.
    She stepped closer to him, her blue eyes flashing with enough heat to set the prairie afire. “I don’t need you, Wyatt. You have managed to finagle your way into my family. You have convinced my children that I would be better off with you by my side.” Her voice rose. “But I have no intentions on ever marrying again.”
    Wyatt reached out and pulled her to him. His lips covered hers, his mouth greedily drinking from her mouth. He held her until he felt her body relax, her mouth opening for him to plunder.
    His mouth effectively shut her up. He was tired of her protests. He was tired of her refusing him. He wanted her willing and wanting.
    She pushed away from him. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m trying to put a stop to this, and you’re kissing me.”
    He wanted to laugh, but she was riled up madder than a bantam rooster at a cockfight. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. The time was upon them to either make hay or go their separate ways.
    “If it’s over because your grandson is smart enough to see the attraction that you’re denying, then I wanted to end it properly. I wanted to give you a send-off that will hopefully keep you awake at night,” he said, his voice lowering. “I want you to miss me.”
    Her brows drew together in a frown, and she stared at him. “I like my life. I don’t need a husband.”
    He touched the rim of his hat with his fingers. “Okay, then like I said, I wanted to give you a proper send-off.”
    She crawled back up in her wagon.
    “I’ll see you Tuesday, Eugenia.”
    She gave him a quizzical glance. “At rehearsal?”
    “Yes, rehearsal.”
    She hesitated. Finally she turned the wagon around, and Wyatt watched it roll out of the gate.
    Damned woman refused to recognize the attraction between them. He didn’t want to give up, but what else could he do?
    If they were going any further, she had to come to him.
    #
    As Eugenia urged the horses through Wyatt’s gate, she took a deep breath and sighed. That had certainly gone well. Hadn’t it? He’d agreed with her, and she’d believed him right up until the moment he kissed her.
    Then the doubts overwhelmed her. Was she doing the right thing? Was her grandson right, and she should really consider Wyatt? Was he like her previous husband and had to control everything?
    Still, so far he’d remained in the background for the Christmas pageant.
    The man had so many good qualities about him that she liked, but she didn’t want to get married again. She didn’t want to be under the control of a man again.
    So, why was she leaving with her chest aching and her heart bruised and battered? Why was she suddenly doubting her decision?
    She needed Wyatt to be unavailable. She had to find him another woman. A lucky woman who wanted to marry. A woman who would make him happy. A woman who would put him out of reach for Eugenia.
    She slapped the reins against the horses back and headed the wagon into town to Myrtle’s house. Now there was a woman looking to find a man.
    #
    The next day, Wyatt heard a timid knocking, and for a moment he hoped it was Eugenia returning, though he doubted she’d be out again.
    He opened the door and there stood Myrtle Sanders, her hands shaking, holding a covered dish. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. Damn Eugenia was up to it again.
     
    “Good morning, Myrtle. How are you today?”
    She bit her lip nervously and handed him the