The Bride Lottery. Tatiana MarchЧитать онлайн книгу.
wobbled in the stirrup as she hung poised in the air. Little by little, she managed to shift her center of gravity forward, until she found her balance and could fling her right leg over the horse’s back.
She was up! She was sitting astride the horse. Alfie beat one hoof against the ground and craned his head backward, as if to look at her and say, How is that for noble behavior? Miranda sank deeper into the saddle. She’d done it. She’d mounted on her own. She gave a tiny whoop of victory and flashed a smile at Blackburn, forgetting his arrogance, even forgetting his crude comment about her riding position.
“How’s the saddle?” he asked.
She wiggled her rump to test the fit. “It’s not comfortable.”
Dismounting was a lot easier, Miranda discovered, with gravity helping instead of hindering. She tried all four saddles, and then she claimed she couldn’t be certain of her choice and insisted on trying two of them again.
The bounty hunter kept swapping over the saddles. She could see a muscle tugging at the side of his jaw. His shoulders were rigid, his face set in stone. His gaze remained locked somewhere on the horse’s flanks, refusing to rise up to her as she sat up on Alfie and gloated over her success, both in mounting without aid and in vexing him.
“The black saddle,” Miranda said in the end, when Alfie started to get bored with the constant fussing. “I like that one best. Take off this one and put that one back on.”
* * *
Jamie gritted his teeth. He had to get her some new clothes. Did the little blonde princess not understand what she was doing? Blithely, she’d yanked up her skirts, exposing dainty leather half boots and a pair of shapely legs.
Then, when she’d hopped around on one foot, the other foot stuck in the stirrup, knee pointing skyward, her skirts had bunched up in her lap, giving him a tantalizing glimpse all the way up to a bare, milky-white thigh and the garter that held up her stocking.
Things had gotten a little easier when she swung astride and the skirts settled around her, but even then he could see a part of her leg. He was covered in sweat, and it wasn’t just from the effort of heaving the saddles on and off the horse. He’d barely had the presence of mind to keep an eye on the entrance to the livery stable, to make sure the owner wasn’t lurking in the shadows, enjoying the spectacle.
“You’ll need a pair of trousers for riding astride,” he informed his wife.
She was crouching on the ground, admiring the black saddlebags with a fascination that made Jamie suspect she had wanted the silver-studded set all along.
She frowned at him. “Surely I can’t wear trousers. It’s not decent.”
Not decent. He made a strangled sound, something between a groan and a laugh. “It will be a damn sight more decent than the way you need to pull up your skirts when you climb into the saddle.”
She stared at him. Her blue eyes kept widening until he could see rims of white all around the irises. Hot color washed up to her cheeks. “Heavens,” she breathed. “I didn’t realize.” She peered into the saddlebag, as if wanting to crawl into it. “I didn’t mean to...”
“It’s all right,” Blackburn said grudgingly. “No one was watching.”
“No one but you.”
“I don’t count, do I?”
She pursed her lips. “I guess you don’t. We are married, after all.”
The answer took him by surprise. He’d meant he didn’t count because she had made it clear he was so far beneath her in social status he barely qualified as a member of the human race. Moreover, her embarrassment confirmed she hadn’t been tormenting him on purpose. Mollified, Jamie squatted beside his little Eastern princess and joined her in examining the saddlebags.
“These are Mexican,” he said. “Silver-studded. They’ll look good on the gray.”
She glanced up from beneath her lashes and flashed him a smile that made his breath catch. “That’s what I thought when I first saw them.” She met his gaze, earnest and eager now, and spoke without a trace of hostility. “I do want to learn how to look after a horse. I always did, but it upset the grooms when I asked. They feared for their jobs.”
“That’s good.” Jamie pushed up to his feet. “Let’s put the bridle and the saddlebags on the horse. Then we’ll go over to the mercantile. We’ll get them to open up even though it’s Sunday, and we’ll kit you out.”
* * *
“These are wonderful. Can I try them on for size?” Jamie watched his little Eastern princess clutch a pair of denim trousers in her hands, as if they were a gown made by a Paris fashion house. He was starting to suspect he might have been too harsh in judging her. The thought gave him pause. It would be better to remain enemies.
The shopkeeper, a small dark man with clipped speech and an oddly precise way of moving, pressed his fingertips into a steeple, as if praying for a sale. “Let me show you some boots and coats. And you’ll need a couple of shirts, and a hat, and a rain slicker.”
An hour later, Jamie was sitting on a wooden stool by the counter, drinking coffee while Miranda kept darting in and out of the small fitting booth at the back of the store. He shook his head as he watched her parade up and down the aisle. How did she do it? She never once looked at the price tags, but she unerringly selected the most expensive of everything.
“I like this hat best,” she informed him.
“Of course you do,” Jamie muttered.
“What?” She stilled, hands raised to adjust the tilt of the brim as she admired her reflection in the mirror. She frowned at him through the glass. “Is it wrong?”
“It’s about ten dollars wrong.”
“Ten dollars?” Her face fell with comprehension. She took down the black leather hat, fingered the band of silver beads around the crown. Her voice was very small. “I thought it would go nicely with the saddle.”
She turned toward him. Her eyes seemed very bright. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I wasn’t thinking... My parents died four years ago, and I haven’t had anything new since, and I’ve never bought any ready-made clothing before. It’s been so much fun, I got carried away.” Putting on a brave smile, she turned to the storekeeper. “Let’s start again. Point me to the cheapest hats and coats.”
Jamie let his eyes drift over her. She’d picked a pair of black knee-high boots and a short coat in black deerskin, cropped at the waist, Mexican style. The hat had straight sides and a short, flat-topped crown. She looked as if she had ridden up from south of the border. If it hadn’t been for the fair hair, everyone who saw her would expect her to talk in Spanish.
“Ring it up,” Jamie said to the storekeeper.
“But...” Miranda studied the price tag on the hat. “You can’t...”
“We’ve spent enough time in here. I’m not going to sit through you picking out something else,” Jamie said gruffly, even though he knew it was a bad idea to let her keep the clothes. The whole idea of marrying her had been to save money. And now his little Eastern princess had become a little bandit princess, a transformation that made her even harder to resist.
Jamie closed his mind to the misgivings and turned to the counter. He pulled up his shirt to reach his money belt and handed over his hard-earned cash. He almost jumped when he felt the light touch of fingertips on the back of his hand.
“Thank you,” the girl said. “It is very kind of you.”
If you expect chivalry from me, you’re sorely mistaken, he’d told her a few hours ago. A nasty suspicion niggled in Jamie’s mind that Miranda Fairfax—his wife—had the ability to turn everything in his life upside down before he could get rid of her.