The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride. Carol ArensЧитать онлайн книгу.
The lady started to protest because clearly she wanted William and she wanted him now.
Dismissing her, Leah turned her gaze on William. She smiled at him, then oddly, she winked one more time at Agatha.
“Now you, my handsome one, you will marry sooner than you think. It will come as quite a surprise to you—and to your bride. Oh, I see you are worried, but this will be a long marriage blessed with many children.”
“I don’t believe her!” the woman exclaimed. “You don’t, either, do you, William?”
It was an odd reading. Agatha had heard a few of Leah’s fortunes and they all ended with happily-ever-after for the hopeful lovers who paid their pennies.
“I believe I was entertained,” William said. Agatha imagined he was smiling, although she could only see the back of his head. “Thank you, ma’am.”
With that, he placed another penny on the table and walked away with the woman who, very clearly, had not been entertained.
With a crook of her finger, Leah motioned for Agatha to come out from the shadow.
“Most of the time, this is no more than a ball of water—but once in a while it does see things.”
“How do you know the difference?”
The fortune-teller tapped her chest with her crimson fingernails. “It’s in here.”
“How lovely for Mr. English, then.” He did want a horde of children. Ivy had told her that about him.
“Go on your way, Miss Agatha. Enjoy your evening.”
Yes, but first she needed to feed scrawny Miss Valentine. It was distressing to feel her ribs, so sharp and angular under her fur.
While walking away, she heard Leah’s throaty laugh, then seconds later, “I see your future young ones. For a penny I’ll tell you what it is.”
* * *
Sitting on the steps of the chuck wagon, Agatha listened to the distant wail of the pipe organ.
Miss Valentine had finished her second plate of stew and was nosing about in the dirt for fallen scraps.
Agatha drummed her fingers on her knees and wondered if William was going to marry the bouncing woman or the one who would bear him many children.
She sighed. She had never truly considered the possibility that she would ever be William’s bride. Although she could hardly control her nightly dreams. But the light-of-day truth was, she was not at all the woman he needed.
That was why, when the Lucky Clover had been threatened with financial ruin, Travis had gone in search of Agatha’s missing sister and brought her back to marry William.
Everyone knew Agatha would never be a suitable match for their wealthy neighbor. She didn’t have the stamina; she was too shy.
Sadly, her father had been informed by the doctor that she should never have children, being much too frail for the stress. Over the years Nurse Brunne made sure Agatha understood that she was not fit for any man because of it.
“I don’t care if you think you’re in the family way!” Frenchie Brown’s voice slammed the wall of the food trailer, bounced off and echoed down the dim pathway.
“I will not be shot out of the cannon!” came the outraged reply.
“I have a signed contract, Mrs. Otis. You have no choice.”
Agatha stood up and peered three trailers down.
Frenchie Brown’s big fist was clamped about the pregnant human cannonball’s arm. No wonder the woman was struggling to get free. This was a dangerous act—even when the wind was not blowing.
“Put the costume on or take it up with my lawyer.”
The red-sequined outfit lay on the ground glinting in lamplight—flaunting its indecency. Why, the wicked garment didn’t even have a skirt. It was no more than a pair of fancy long johns.
“Take it up with God!”
“Around here, I am God.” Now his voice was low, but unmistakably growling.
What a terrible situation! No one was in the area who might help Mrs. Otis.
No one but—
Agatha stepped into a wavering beam of torchlight. “I’ll run for help!”
Frenchie Brown let go of Mrs. Otis. She dashed away into the darkness.
“You! Girl! Come here.”
In spite of the fact that she had been willing to go get help, she was not good at dashing. No, she doubted she could do it if she tried.
She approached her boss, who apparently believed he was equal to the Almighty, with her heart beating madly against her ribs.
He studied her silently, walked around her in a slow circle.
“You’ll do.” He snatched up the costume from the dirt and tossed it at her. “Put it on.”
“I couldn’t.” She really could not. It was a comfort that Miss Valentine had trotted up to stand beside her.
“Do not try my patience. Folks paid good money to see a woman get shot out of a cannon. The reputation of this company depends on you.”
“No, it does not. My contract is to feed you.” Be bold, be bold be bold! “It’s far too windy for that stunt, anyway.”
“Danger is what it is all about! Folks like to get all het up inside. Gives them a real thrill.”
“I must decline,” she said while he tried to shove the costume at her. “Most firmly.”
“You leave me no choice, then.”
With a grunt, Frenchie squatted down.
Really, folks might pay to see that feat.
He snatched up Miss Valentine. “Put it on or I’ll break the mongrel’s neck.”
She did believe that. No doubt he would stuff the dog and mount her high on the elephant’s trunk.
“Very well.”
Agatha snatched the long johns and marched into the cook house. She would put the awful thing on, act like she was going to comply, then when the dog was safe, she would run. She would make a dash for it—as best she could. Clearly she would need cunning as well as speed.
Her plan fell apart when Frenchie’s fist anchored about her arm before he dropped Miss Valentine in the dirt.
He yanked her toward the cannon exhibit. She dug in her heels.
“I won’t do it!”
He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground.
She wriggled and pounded his arm, tried to peel his fingers off.
“Put me down!” she shouted. “I will not do this!”
“Take it up with your lawyer later—if you are able. It is a blustery night. Anything can happen.”
The thing William regretted most about the evening was the encounter with the fortune-teller.
Somehow Aimee Peller had convinced herself that the seer intended to say that they would be married soon. For the past half hour she had clung to him, pride of conquest clear in her smile. He’d lost count of how many times she’d stared at her hand, at the finger a wedding ring would circle.
While it was true that Aimee would be an appropriate wife—she was beautiful and socially accomplished—he would never marry her.
He’d