Gerrity's Bride
Emmaline Carruthers Shed More Than Her Clothes Under the Brutal Western Sun…Her "citified" ways went next, along with her plans for a quiet, dignified life. Instead, she found herself bound to a hotheaded cowboy in a most inconvenient marriage!Ranch foreman Matthew Gerrity was used to having things go his way. So why was he having so much trouble getting his Eastern beauty of a wife to accept that he was the one in charge?
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To Penny Bice, who has given of her talents with true generosity of spirit.
My world became a better and brighter place the day we met.
And to Brenda Rollins, for allowing me the benefit of her skills and vivid
imagination. I appreciate all you do. Thank you, my friend!
But most of all, to Mister Ed, who loves me!
Contents
Chapter One
Miss Emmaline Carruthers
Rawlings Farms
Lexington, Kentucky
It is my sad duty to advise you of
the death of your father, Samuel
Carruthers, who perished in a flash
flood, along with his wife, Arnetta,
on Tuesday last. We await your
instructions as to your interest
in their daughter, Theresa, five
years of age. Please advise as soon
as possible.
I remain your humble servant,
Oswald Hooper
Attorney
“Surely even Hades could not be as miserable as this godforsaken place.” The whisper was spoken into the wind. The words were gone as quickly as they were uttered, and the disappointment inherent in those whispered syllables might never have been, except for the slender figure of the woman who still gazed with incredulous eyes at the barren landscape of Forbes Junction.
The train bearing her had stopped for a few moments to allow for her departure, then left her behind with a doleful blast of its whistle. Now it was but a dark stain against the horizon, its smoke trail dissolving into wispy tendrils in the still air.
The sun rode high in the sky, its rays reminding her of the unrelenting heat that had been her companion for the past hours. Since shortly after daybreak, she had alternately fanned herself with a folded newspaper and mopped her brow with a dainty handkerchief. Still, the dry, breathtaking heat had penetrated her traveling costume, leaving her with but a trace of her usual vitality.
“Arizona... Even the name sounds hot,” she muttered as she lifted one foot to view the dust clinging to her fashionably booted foot. She stamped it against the wide wooden boards of the platform beneath her and surveyed the choices she faced.
A dusty road ran between a row of buildings, houses and business establishments, built along a fairly even line, for three hundred yards or so. Then it gave way to a sandy expanse that stretched to the horizon, broken only by scattered shrubs and a few stunted trees. The narrow road continued on, running in a straight line as far as she could see. It was less than inviting, she decided quickly.
Directly before her, an unpainted wooden door stood ajar. Beyond it lay a shadowed room, which appeared to be her most likely chance for shelter from the sun. The train station was small. Probably didn’t get much use, she decided, bending to lift her carpetbag, leaving behind the trunk that held her clothing. The weight of the carpetbag dragged at her arm, reminding her of the books she had stubbornly packed within its voluminous depths.
“Why you want all those along with you is beyond me,” Delilah had muttered. “You won’t be there long enough to read them, anyway,” she’d predicted.
“One can only hope!” As fervent as any prayer she’d ever uttered, the words fell from her lips and were wafted away on the hot wind that blew in unrelieved measure. With a sigh, Emmaline Carruthers squared her shoulders and lifted her feet, moving briskly through the open door.
The room was shady, and that was about all that was to be said for it. Small comfort, she thought as she stood in the center of the dingy station. An open window allowed a bit of cross-ventilation, and she took advantage of the moving air, such of it as there was. Her hand lingered over the top button of her suit, her fingers sorely tempted to loosen it. But better sense prevailed, and she approached the window with all her ladylike decorum intact.
“I beg your pardon.” Such decorum, she had decided, was her only defense against the situation. It would sustain her now, as it had for the past hundreds of miles. Once she reached the boundaries of true civilization, she had recognized that only her status as a lady would protect her from the vulgarities that surrounded her.
“Yup...just a minute.” The drawling reply came from beneath the counter, and she stifled the impulse to bend over the narrow ledge to seek out its source.
Two thin lines of perspiration ran down each side of her neck and settled against the white fabric of her collar, dampening it before it soaked through, cooling her flesh. She resisted the urge to brush at the drop that was even now making its way to her eyebrow, and stiffened her spine resolutely.
“What can I do fer ye?” The stationmaster rose to his full height, his stiff collar tight about his skinny neck. He peered at her through spectacles, which slid down his nose, then lifted one bony finger to settle them back into place.
