Free The Unlikely Wife by Cassandra Austin Page A

seat.”
    “Sir?”
    “Until the rain lets up, then you can see Miss Huntington back to her wagon.”
    “Yes, sir.” The striker was clearly bewildered, but he did as he was instructed.
    Miss Huntington knew exactly what he was doing. She gave him a mischievous grin as she pulled thefour pieces of the game board from under the chessmen and fitted them together.
    “So,” she asked, “who carved these pieces?”
    “My uncle.” Clark sank into the chair. The devil’s own temptation was sitting across from him, mixing her own image and scent with his older memories of his uncle’s chess set. He should have refused. As he watched her put the pieces on their proper squares he wondered how he thought he could have.
    He reminded himself that she wasn’t the perfection she appeared. She was spoiled and manipulative. She would watch his honor, his career, his life go up in smoke if it suited her purposes. Just as he thought he had that clear in his mind, she looked up and smiled her captivating smile.
    “Shall we flip to see who plays first?” she asked.
    “Be my guest, Miss Huntington.”
    “Call me Rebecca,” she said, moving her knight. He shook his head, but she persisted. “We want to keep this a friendly game, don’t we, Clark?”
    He had already had a taste of her friendly games. The stakes were too high, and the odds were in her favor. He should stick to chess. He moved a pawn and found himself saying, “As you wish, Rebecca.”
    She made her move, then taking the ends of the blanket that was still around her shoulders, she rubbed briefly at her hair. She tossed her head and ran her fingers through the short locks, loosening the curls.
    “I can’t believe I cut your hair.” The comment seemed to go from his heart to his lips, bypassing his brain.
    She laughed, tossing her head again. “I like it.”
    “I don’t think that’s what your father will say.” Thinking of the colonel should help him keep his wits about him. He tried to look at the board, but his eyes were drawn back to the dark curls.
    She simply shrugged. “He won’t even notice.”
    He raised his brows in surprise, causing her to grin. “It’s your move,” she said.
    He played. “How could he not notice?”
    She bit her lip as she studied the board. It was a habit he had never noticed before. Why should it be at all charming?
    With a smile, she moved a piece, then answered, “My hair was shorter than this when I was growing up. Mother was terrified that I would be scalped. Her theory was that cutting my hair decreased its value as a trophy. She trimmed it nearly every week until I was twelve.”
    He thought of how his female cousins and their friends would have rejected a girl with shorn locks. Perhaps her flirting stemmed from a desire to prove her beauty. He turned his attention to the board, more from a need to look away from her than from any interest in the game. After he played, he asked, “What happened when you were twelve?”
    “My mother died.” He would have liked to haveseen her eyes, but she was bent over the board. “Two years later the war started. So many of the troops were pulled out of the western forts Father didn’t think it was safe for me. I went to live with his sister’s family in Chicago. My uncle died last winter, and now Aunt Belle and Alicia are coming home with me.”
    She moved a piece. When she looked up her smile was in place. “There you have my life story.”
    He gazed at her a moment A trace of sorrow was visible behind the smile. “I’m surprised you’re so eager to return to life at a frontier fort.”
    “Best possible way to grow up.”
    He was startled by her conviction. “Poor housing. Virtually no education available. Not to mention the fact that there are dangers in the area or the fort would not be there.”
    She shrugged. “Children don’t care about those things. It’s your move.”
    He stared at her a moment before turning his attention to the board.
    “Children,” she