Free The Marshal's Rebellious Bride by Starla Kaye Page B

bit as energetic in bed as
she was in everything else she did. Mostly he’d just decided he wanted her for
his wife.
    She huffed and drew his gaze again. The tears were
gone now. “You silly men and these ‘death bed’ promises. Taos was wrong to ask
that of you. You were wrong to make such a foolish agreement.”
    Before he could object, she added, “He didn’t die,
thank the good Lord. Whatever manly pact you two made should be void. You don’t
have to marry me. I can—no matter what my brothers think—take care
of myself, just like Aunt Mae.”
    He studied her for a few seconds. Mulishness set her
chin. In spite of what she’d said, there was vulnerability in her eyes, pain
and sadness, too. He knew that she’d loved once and been hurt deeply because of
it. She didn’t want to take a chance on it happening again. They both knew he
was a bad risk. He still wore a badge and intended to for some time yet. Any
number of men could decide to come after him to make a reputation. And Rafe was
a definite threat to any kind of peace and happiness in his life.
    “I won’t hurt you.” The words slipped out of his mouth
before he could stop them. He meant them, though. He would do everything within
his power not to hurt her. He’d stay alive. Now, with her, with the ranch, with
Tyler coming here…well, he had more to fight to stay alive for than ever
before.
    She blinked at him, appeared surprised at the force of
his statement. He thought he saw a flicker of hope, too. Longing. Maybe she
didn’t dislike him nearly as much as she tried to show. He gave her a final
glance filled with determination before he turned back toward the barn.
    “I’ll have the buggy ready to go in a couple of hours.
You can fix the food. I’m taking you on a picnic.” He’d never done anything
like this in all his years. He sure hoped he didn’t mess this up. He strode
quickly away before she could protest.
    She just yelled louder. “I’ll go…for my reasons. Like drowning you in the
river.”
    * * *
    Whiskey moved in irritation around the kitchen,
calling herself all kinds of idiot as she packed up leftover biscuits, a chunk
of cheese, some tomatoes from the garden, and an over-sized piece of apple pie
that her brothers had somehow missed. She stopped to look in the wicker hamper
and grumbled, “Pitiful. Just pitiful.”
    She’d never gone on a picnic before and her skills at
cooking were barely enough to keep someone alive, so she hadn’t even attempted
frying up chicken or anything else. Not that she’d had the time to round up a
chicken, wring its neck, de-feather it—pluck it, she think it was called—so
on and so on.
    Taos wandered in the back door and took one look at
the hamper and asked, “What’re you doing?”
    When she glanced in his direction, she saw him
grinning like a fool. He’d taken in how she’d changed from the britches she’d
started the day in to her best riding skirt and a clean blouse. She’d even
taken her hair down from the braid and let the heavy mass drape freely down her
back, which she was now regretting. Regretting almost as much as getting caught
preparing a picnic basket.
    “Fixing myself a lunch, that’s all.” Her cheeks had
heated and he’d see her lie because of that, so she scurried to the pantry
having decided to throw in a jar of pickles.
    “So Morgan is courting you after all,” he said with a
chuckle that had her hurrying back with the jar. He had lifted the hamper lid
and was peering inside as he shook his head sadly. “What the hell kind of meal
is this? Not very impressive, Sis.”
    She grabbed the basket away from him and jammed the
jar inside. “I’m not trying to impress anyone, especially not that annoying marshal.
And he’s not courting me. I’m not being courted. Got it.”
    Still, in spite of her frustration with the situation,
she was inordinately pleased about the courting efforts the broody marshal was
making.
    Taos chuckled and she punched him in the