Jillian Hart - Jonah's Bride

"Horace Walling?" Jonah roared. "What kind of cruelty is a rumor like that? He was a wife-beating drunkard ten years ago when I left this town. I doubt he has changed his ways."

"Aye," Thomas agreed, dark eyes somber. "He has twelve children to care for since his last wife died in childbed before Thanksgiving."

And that was to be Tessa's fate? Rage burst through Jonah's chest, but he checked it in time. Hell, it was not his concern if she married some no good drunkard. Jonah had his own problems, even if his conscience nagged him.

"I shall stay home and tend Father today," he ordered, reaching for the pitcher. "You two bachelors can go to meeting and terrify all those pretty young maidens with your ugly faces."

"Not likely, big brother." Thomas cracked an uncommon grin. "Every marriageable female in this town will be done up in their finest, sitting expectantly on those meeting house benches waiting for the first sight of Major Jonah Hunter, town hero. Andy and I would be a sore disappointment to them."

"Speak for yourself, Thomas," Andy teased. "I would like to see all those beautiful young females for myself. Besides, Jonah may need my help in fighting them off. He knows plenty about Indians, but not one thing when it comes to handling a woman."

" 'Tis true," Jonah sighed. "I have given my word to Father, so there is no going back. Andy, come with me to today's meeting. Protect me from all those dangerous women."

He'd meant to joke, but sobered when neither brother laughed.

Sure enough, every unmarried girl from miles around crammed the hard board pews. Jonah froze in the aisle, shoulders braced, unabashedly terrified by the expectant shine in so many female eyes.

"They have not yet fainted from the sight of your ugly face." Andy nudged him in the side. "Wait, there is one wobbling a bit."

"Mayhap she got a good whiff of your feet." Jonah felt the weight of all those eyes, saw all the beribboned hats and dresses and nearly fainted himself.

One face after the other blurred in his mind, and a sick horror gripped him. Sweat broke out on his brow. How did one just pick a wife? There were so many young women. Why, they must be half his age. What did Father expect him to do? Wed a mere child?

A bad, bad feeling grew as he led the way down the aisle. Whispers rose with each step he took. He felt expectation rise like fog above a river. They thought him a war hero, thought him brave for killing savages. The truth clawed at his heart and he could not bring himself to meet one gaze or to focus on a familiar face, perhaps an old friend, and smile.

"No woman has lost consciousness so far," Andy reported as they settled onto the family pew.

"I swear it would be better for me if they did," Jonah whispered. The sharpness of so many gazes arrowed into his back. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this uncomfortable.

"Scared, big brother?"

"Aye." Jonah forced a swallow past his too-tight throat. "If they all fainted, I would be saved from having to marry."

"They would revive, dear brother, and then you would be no better off." Andy folded his hat in two. "Mayhap it is best just to pick one. Toss a coin or something. All women are just about the same in my opinion."

"Aye, that they are." Jonah thought of his stepmother and shuddered. Selfish to the core, that one. Were all marriages like that? Already dreading the bickering and the constant demands, he dared to turn a fraction and gaze about the church.

The back of a woman's head caught his eye. A white cap neatly hid the luxurious beauty of her hair, but tiny ringlet wisps peaked out from beneath the cap, dark silk against the white satin of her neck. She wore no cloak in this unheated meetinghouse. Why, 'twas so cold frost gleamed along the inside walls.

Tessa Bradford. He remembered the sight of her tending Father, the gentle caring of her hands, the softness in her face as she sat unguarded, unaware he was watching.

"Too sharp of tongue," Andy whispered. "And she is kind of ugly."

"No, she is just plain." Jonah remembered the light in her eyes, unique and compelling. She'd gone without sleep to tend Father, she'd walked away from a fine cloak when she had none. Nay, there was no ugliness, no selfishness to that one.

"Headstrong," Andy argued. "Now, her cousin is a beauty."

"Her cousin is half my age," Jonah ground out. Were there no other women over twenty years in this village?

"Well, the only other woman even nearly as ancient as you is the Widow Hawkins. She would be tolerable if a man could look past her warts."

"Andy, when I need your comments about a woman, I will ask." Jonah forced his gaze to the pulpit when the reverend cleared his throat. "Sensible. That is what I need. A sensible, undemanding woman."

"Pretty," Andy whispered as the sermon began.

Pretty? The place was packed full of pretty women with ambitious mamas. Jonah managed a forced grin when Charity Bradford, Tessa's stepgrandmother, cast him a huge smile. The blond girl seated next to her turned to smile too. But he wasn't dazzled.

Too many choices, and none of them what he wanted. Hell, he didn't want a wife. How could he? He'd lost his heart long ago when he'd taken his first step on the battlefield.

The tale of the wolves had grown to gargantuan proportion. Larger than life, the story grew-Jonah battling nearly a dozen wolves with his lone musket and saving the skating boys.

Of course the boys walked rather stiffly today, no doubt from angry spankings, but punishment hadn't dimmed the admiration shining in their youthful eyes, nor the tale itself.

Tessa listened with fear raw in her throat as her young cousin, a boy no more than ten, repeated the legend for the family. To her relief, no woman was mentioned. No one remembered or noticed her presence there that night.

Not that it mattered now. Grandfather had found a way to punish her. He'd finally found a way to rid his house of her presence. And she'd made matters much worse this morning, when he'd been scolding her like a five-year-old in the stable as she hurried her chores, by asking who would do all the work if she left? Not his lazy wife or his useless daughters, that was for certain. Grandfather had turned a frightening shade of purple and if she hadn't the pitchfork firmly in hand, Tessa knew without a doubt the cruel old man would have struck her.

Yes, her temper had made the situation much, much worse. And all because of Jonah Hunter and his bold arrogance. True, his father had needed her help desperately and he'd been right in coming for her, yet the truth remained. Had he not insisted that she leave the stable, she would have been home for her chores and no one would have noticed her absence or found the wet cloak in the cow pen.

"He's a dream," Violet murmured to her friend Thankful Bowman. "Too good to be true."

Tessa clenched her jaw as she finished clearing up the packed meal. A dream? Jonah Hunter was a decent woman's nightmare.

"And he has the most gorgeous house," Thankful sighed, shaking her blond curls just enough so that a carefully curled lock tumbled into her eyes. "The finest house from here to Boston."

"And servants," Violet sighed. "Yes, Major Hunter is an absolute dream."

Tessa fitted the lid on the crock and nearly threw it into the basket. Major Hunter, indeed. Call the man anything respectable, it didn't change the arrogance inside.

"Good afternoon, Ely." A deep voice broke through her malicious thoughts.

Both girls gasped. Tessa's fingers lost control and a knife tumbled from her grip.

Dark eyes met hers, laughing. "Let me fetch that for you, Mistress Tessa."

"I am perfectly capable," she argued, bending as he did. They knelt together beside the board table, the sunlight behind him covering her with his shadow.