Regina Scott - Frontier Matchmaker Bride

“The wind has changed, Scout,” she murmured, keeping her gaze on the cinnamon roll. “I’ve changed. I don’t think I’ll ever marry either.”

“What?” He leaned closer, and she could feel him searching her face. “But you’re the matchmaker!”

“Just because I can match other people doesn’t mean I can pick my own husband reliably,” she said, voice prim. “That’s why people need a matchmaker, you know. They lack the vision to see the right person for them.”

“Funny,” Scout said, leaning back. “I thought it was lack of skills in society or lack of confidence.”

“Those can be overcome,” Beth assured him, raising her gaze with certainty. “But I’m beginning to believe none of us can reliably choose a mate on our own.”

“The human race is doomed,” he teased.

“No,” she replied with a grin. “I’ll save it.”

He laughed. “We’re a pair, I guess. I doubt any woman would want me given my family history. You doubt the man you want will return your affections.”

“I don’t doubt,” Beth told him. “I asked him. He doesn’t.”

She wasn’t sure why she told him. He could very well take the tale back to Levi and the rest of her brothers. But there was something about Scout, something sweet, something approachable.

And it was very nice to have someone commiserate with her.

His reaction was everything she might have hoped for. He drew himself up, color rushing back into his lean cheeks. “Then Deputy McCormick is nothing but a low-down skunk, and you’re better off without him.”

“That’s what I keep telling her,” Hart said as he stopped by their table.

* * *

He watched as Beth washed white. She’d been so intent on her conversation with Scout Rankin she probably hadn’t heard the shop bell. Georgie Howard had told him Beth had come to visit. The boy often joined Hart at the paddock to help him rub down Arno. But Beth hadn’t approached Hart, and he found himself eager to speak to her. After all, he needed to know how she intended to follow through on her threat to find him a wife. Then he’d spotted her through the window and had decided to ask.

Besides, he still wasn’t any too sure about Scout. He’d known the fellow since Scout was seventeen. He’d seemed the sneaky, weak-natured son of a crooked, cruel father. Ben Rankin’s homemade liquor and high-stakes card games had been the ruin of many a man in Seattle. His son might be living in a fancy house instead of the shack along Lake Union where his father had raised him. He might be wearing better clothes than the torn trousers and rough wool shirt that had been his habitual outfit, but until Hart knew this apple had fallen farther from the tree, he couldn’t feel comfortable with Scout spending time with Beth.

Scout flushed now, but he rose to his feet and met Hart’s gaze unflinchingly. “Deputy. I’m glad to hear we’re in agreement.”

“Stranger things have happened.” He turned to Beth, who seemed to have recovered by the way her chin came up. “What brings you to Seattle, Miss Wallin?”

Scout bristled. “Seems to me this is a free country. Beth can go wherever she likes.”

“Deputy McCormick isn’t questioning my rights, Scout,” she said, keeping her dark blue gaze on Hart. “He’s concerned what I may be doing. You must know I’ve deposited my things with the Howards, Deputy. I will stay in Seattle as long as it takes to accomplish my goal.”

At least she hadn’t mentioned that goal aloud. It was bad enough the Literary Society had been discussing his matrimonial prospects. He didn’t need Scout Rankin laughing behind his back.

“Your family will miss you,” he told her.

Her look softened. “And I will miss them. All the more reason to settle things quickly. I believe you have this afternoon off?”

How did she know? He took care to vary the days and times so no criminal would guess when the law might be absent. Had Mrs. Wyckoff learned his schedule from her husband?

“I do,” he acknowledged.

She nodded. “Good. You have an appointment at Ganzel’s at two.”

The barber? He certainly hadn’t made that appointment. “Do I, now?”

“You do.” The twinkle in her eyes was unmistakable. “And I believe Messieurs Black and Powell are expecting you at three.”

The tailors as well. She had been busy.

“And if I had other plans for the afternoon?”

The twinkle became a gleam. “Cancel them.” She rose suddenly, and Scout stepped to her side as if protecting her, his gaze defiant as he looked toward Hart.

“I must be going,” she said. “Scout, it was lovely to see you. Let’s keep in touch while I’m in town. I haven’t given up on our plans.” In her usual impetuous manner, she gave him a hug.

Hart was more interested in her words. Plans? What plans did she have with the fellow? Was Rankin looking for a bride, too?

Releasing Scout, Beth nodded to Hart. “Deputy. Don’t disappoint me.” She swept from the shop to the chime of the bell.

Scout sighed like a moonstruck schoolboy.

“Someone should marry her,” Hart spat out.

Scout started, then peered more closely at him. “I have it on good authority the only man she ever wanted turned her down.”

Had she confessed? He had been under the impression she’d told no one. After all, none of her brothers had come calling demanding an explanation. If Beth trusted Scout so much that she’d share her secret, perhaps Hart had been mistaken about the man.

On the other hand, the gang along the waterfront had risen to prominence in the month since Scout had come back. Maybe he hadn’t returned wealthy. Maybe his money was coming from somewhere else. Maybe, like his father, he saw other men as victims rather than friends.

Hart straddled Beth’s chair. “Sit down, Rankin. I’d like a word with you.”

The sullen look reminded Hart of Scout as a youth. One of Scout’s jobs had been to come in to Seattle and entice men out to his father’s place to drink and gamble. It struck Hart now that the pattern was a great deal like what the gang was doing.

Still, Scout obeyed his command and sat, gaze hard on Hart’s face.

Hart leaned back. “You arrived in town the middle of February, didn’t you?”

Scout nodded.

“Any particular reason you wanted to return?”

Scout’s smile was more sneer. “It’s home.”

Hart stuck out his lower lip. “Not much of a home to return to. Your pa’s gone. He lost his claim.”

“Because you drove him out.”

Now, there was some venom. The color was rising in his cheeks again.

“Guilty,” Hart said. “But then, so was he, of moonshining, cheating at cards.”

“Oh, he was guilty, all right.” Scout leaned across the table, gaze drilling into Hart. “But I’m not. I intend to be a fine, upstanding citizen, Deputy. You have no call to hound me.”

Hart nodded, and Scout rose. Instead of leaving, however, he came around the table, forcing Hart to his feet. Though Scout was a good six inches shorter, the heat radiating off him made Hart take a step back.

“And you have no need to hound Beth Wallin, either,” Scout said, tenor voice surprisingly hard. “She’s been through enough on account of you. If I hear you’ve hurt her further, you’ll have to deal with me. And I promise you, Deputy, I can be even less forgiving than my father.”

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