Carol Arens - Wed To The Texas Outlaw

Just like Mama when she’d lost her sparkle and shackled herself, and her young daughters, with society’s every little directive.

“Our wedding could not have been the one you dreamed of.” He arched a brow.

Naturally not. What woman could possibly dream up such a wedding? But it did have to be said that it was adventurous. And there was no denying she was intrigued at the idea of being a wife, of having a man of her own, even for a short time.

“I just want to make it clear that you won’t miss out on the one with all the frills and fancies because of me. I promise that I won’t compromise you.”

She felt the blush staining her neck and face but in the dim light he would not see it. Really, he had no way of knowing that in the deep hours of the night she had entertained intimate thoughts of him.

What wife would not? Boone Walker intrigued her in ways that no man ever had. Even men she had known for quite some time.

“That goes without saying,” she said demurely, but there was that in her that stuffed down a sliver of disappointment. If a woman was to be compromised by such a man, it could not truly be called a compromise.

Prudent women might call her a fool for feeling such stirrings for a stranger—a reportedly dangerous stranger—but Rebecca would not. Rebecca knew that Melinda was an astute judge of character.

“I won’t make unreasonable claims upon you, unless we are playing our parts.”

“I do appreciate your restraint.” She tried not to smile.

He nodded, sighed even.

“I’ll protect you with my blood if it comes to it. I just ask that you respect my decisions when it has to do with your safety.”

The last thing she wanted was his blood on her conscience. She had come to restore him to his family not take him away.

“I will do my very best,” she answered more somberly.

“Well, then.” He offered his hand, as though to seal the conditions of their agreement. “I believe we’ll have a good marriage.”

He might not think so if he knew how the press of his palm on hers made her stomach flutter.

“Good night, then.” She withdrew her hand, scooted down beside the dog and closed her eyes.

Sadly, no matter how tightly she squeezed them shut, she could not hide from a niggling suspicion.

It was not impossible that there might be something between her and Boone and it wasn’t Stanley Smythe.

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