The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (111 page)

Again something rustled.

“Shhh …” she whispered to the fretting horse.

For a moment, only the whispers of a September breeze and the call of some faraway bird interrupted the silence. Even the mare stood stock-still.

Carefully, Charlotte cocked the revolver, and the click seemed magnified a thousand fold.

Then, from behind her, she heard the same click.

And then footsteps crunching on the rocks.

Charlotte froze. Shooting meant turning around. Fleeing meant making a move with someone behind her, likely aiming a weapon in her direction.

In the silence, she heard the familiar rattle.

Alex took aim at the snake, mindful of the fact that the creature was close enough to Charlotte and her horse to strike either should he miss. Then there was the problem of Charlotte shooting him whether he missed or not.

From the look on her face, she felt he deserved it.

Slowly he pointed to the ground then, even slower, put his finger to his lips. When Charlotte nodded, Alex steadied his aim.

The blast killed the rattler instantly. Unfortunately, it also sent Charlotte’s mare skittering across the prairie and out of sight beyond the junipers. Thankfully she had the good sense to jump back. After one more shot to be certain the snake was dead, Alex grabbed a stick and shoved the carcass away from his wife.

“Shall I skin it or do I risk my own life by allowing a knife within your reach?” Alex turned to see that Charlotte still held her pistol, though she’d lowered her arm and no longer pointed it at him.

In the overall scheme of things, that was progress.

“Did you bring the annulment papers?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’ve told you what I think on that, and it’s not changing. But at least I brought my gun. You’d have been bitten had I not found you.”

“Thank you,” she said as she holstered the gun. “Though I’m now on foot.”

“Will the mare come when you call?”

Charlotte gave him a look, then turned her back on him and walked toward her paints. “About as well as I do.”

Alex followed and peered over her shoulder at the painting. “Very nice.” He pointed out a few of the constellations, then paused. “I’m sorry. I tend to get carried away when it comes to the stars.”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind, actually.”

He gave the canvas another look then turned his attention to Charlotte. “You did an excellent job of conveying the night sky. It’s beautiful this time of year.”

Charlotte banged the small folding stool shut, interrupting his conversation. When he attempted to repeat his statement, she banged it again. He took the hint and kept his mouth closed.

She set the chair aside, then went to gather up her paints. He tagged along behind her like a puppy until she turned abruptly and nearly swiped him with her brush. Charlotte gave him a hard look, then stamped her feet.

“Cold?” he asked, but she ignored him. She made short work of cleaning her brush and returning it to the case. “It will be dark soon,” he added, having nothing else to say.

She put away her canvas and easel without sparing him so much as a glance. When she was done, she walked a few yards to the ridge and whistled.

A moment later, the errant horse returned.

“I thought you said she didn’t come when you called,” he said.

Charlotte gave him an even stare. “I said she responds about as well as I do.” She paused. “At least to people she doesn’t want to listen to.” She stowed her painting supplies in her saddlebags, then fitted her stool into place. “And truly, Alex, I don’t want to listen to you anymore. Just get the annulment.”

“Wait,” he said as he watched her climb into the saddle. “It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it is,” she responded. “You and I just stay away from one another until the paperwork is done. Then we ask a judge to declare our
marriage void.” She grasped the reins tightly. “How difficult can that be, Alex?”

And off she went, riding like the wind over a prairie dulled by shadows, the first stars of the evening twinkling overhead. This time when Alex followed her, it was less like a pup and more like a man with a mission.

No matter what Charlotte Beck Hambly said, he had no plans to declare their marriage null and void, and Alex planned to shadow his wife until she gave up her desire to leave the marriage.

The only thing he hadn’t figured out yet was how exactly to convince her to stay.

Charlotte didn’t look back to see if Alex followed her. The fact that he’d come for her should have meant something, but all she could think of was his refusal to keep his promise regarding the annulment.

Unlike her leisurely trip to the foothills, Charlotte urged her horse to fly over the flat land. Soon, however, the rocky terrain near the river caused the mare to slow. Charlotte was forced to allow it, for as much as she wished to be rid of Alex Hambly, she did not wish to land in the icy water in the process.

She kept a tight grip on the reins and focused on the trail as the rising moon traced a crooked silver path down the center of the river. The mare’s breath was visible in the chill air, as was Charlotte’s own, but the borrowed leather jacket kept her from the cold.

She shrugged down into the warmth and allowed the hope that Alex had gone home by another way to take hold. Unfortunately, the sound of a horse echoed behind her. Resisting the urge to turn and face him, Charlotte kept her eyes on the trail ahead.

Until Alex rode up and blocked her path. Looking more like a member of Colonel Cody’s Wild West show than the nobleman she married, the viscount wore buckskins and boots and sat in the saddle as if he’d been born there. Add to this the fact that he obviously shot well enough—

“We’re not finished discussing this, Charlotte,” he said.

She tried to go around him, but he countered her move. Twice.

“Running is for children,” he said, as much a statement as a taunt, for the determination on his face was new, an expression she’d not seen in all their time together. Had she not been fiercely irritated, Charlotte might have found his continued persistence admirable.

“All right,” she said with a sigh. “If you insist on continuing this discussion, why don’t you start by telling me why you’ve chosen not to keep your promise?”

“Actually, I
am
keeping my promise.” An owl’s call split the evening air, and Alex paused to calm his skittish horse. “The same one you made. In the chapel.”

“The same one we
both
agreed was temporary.”

Alex sobered and glanced toward the horizon. “Can we talk about this back at the ranch house? It’s getting dark.”

Shadows did gather long and dark, and the blue sky wore a tint of deepest purple at the edges. But though the moon had risen above the horizon, there was still plenty of time to find home without losing the trail to lack of daylight.

Charlotte regarded Alex with narrowed eyes. Taking a stand might cause him to rethink his stubbornness. “What’s left to say, Alex?”

“Let’s go.” He turned his horse toward the ranch, expecting her to follow.

But Charlotte had a stubborn streak of her own, and the light was
quite lovely here by the river. There was just enough illumination to paint the landscape and the beginnings of a starlit evening above.

She dismounted and led the mare to a tree. Using extra care, she secured the apt-to-flee horse, then reached for her paints and stool.

“What are you doing?” Alex demanded.

Ignoring him, Charlotte made short work of setting up a serviceable outdoor studio and began mixing tints.

Her temporary husband looked down from his horse and shook his head. “You’re a madwoman.”

Again, she ignored him. The stars were popping out by the dozens. Soon the night sky would be filled with the pinpricks of light she adored to capture on canvas.

“You are my wife, Charlotte, like it or not, and—”

“I don’t.” She met his stare. “I do not like being married.”

“To me or in general?” he asked.

She turned back to her work, unwilling to answer. Had she not been forced to agree to a sham marriage, Charlotte would have enjoyed life without Papa’s rules.

“I think you don’t like being told what to do.”

Charlotte’s gaze collided with Alex’s stare. He’d practically read her thoughts, but she knew she must protest.

“You don’t know anything about me, Alex,” she managed before returning to her work.

“I know you’re a menace,” he said. “And I know you’re quite talented at painting. And your persistence is legendary.” He looked to her for a response. When she offered none, Alex continued. “And then there’s your creativity. Goodness knows you’ve come up with some of the most interesting ideas.”

She continued to pretend to ignore the Englishman as he listed a few more of her positive traits and a few more of her negative ones. Through it all, Charlotte held her tongue.

“But one thing I do not know about you is where you stand with your faith,” Alex finished.

“Faith.” She stabbed her brush into the holder and turned to face him. “You too? Have you been talking to Papa? Because my faith is just fine.”

“I see.”

His tone alone told Charlotte that he didn’t, but she wasn’t continuing this discussion, especially now that it had turned far too personal.

“And I’ll thank you to keep your opinion of the matter to yourself,” she said.

One dark brow rose as Alex adjusted his leather glove. “I’ve offered no opinion on the matter, wife.”

The last word caused his lips to turn up into a grin, crinkling the corners of his eyes. A chill wind lifted his hair then skittered down Charlotte’s spine. She shuddered and shrank deeper into the heavy coat.

“You’re cold,” Alex said.

He climbed off his horse and reached for her paints, but Charlotte grabbed them first. In her haste to close the case, the entire thing tumbled from her hands and landed in a heap at the water’s edge.

“Oh no! Look what you’ve done.” She hurried after her treasure only to stumble on the sandy riverbank, fall, and roll past them.

“Charlotte?” Alex called. “Are you injured?”

“Only my pride,” she muttered as she climbed to her feet and swiped at her riding skirt. Charlotte took a step toward her paints and then another, edging around a rocky outcropping and across sand that
was more shift than solid, carefully making her way up the bank. She could not lose her last link to her mother. She simply could not.

Almost within reach of the precious case, Charlotte heard the shriek of an owl.

Her mare skittered and kicked, causing Alex’s horse to bolt. He held tight to the reins just long enough for the animal to yank his shoulder hard and cause the viscount to cry out. His horse disappeared into the shadowy prairie.

“Alex?” Charlotte called. “Are you all right?”

She turned, intending to climb toward him, but her foot slammed against a rock, sending her reeling backward into the sand. As she fell, Charlotte’s arm knocked into the paint case, sending it skidding down the bank. She rolled to her side and grabbed for it, but she missed. Her fingers just brushed its edge as it plummeted toward the river. It landed with an awful plop and disappeared beneath the rushing waters.

“No!” she cried, still reaching vainly toward the water.

Alex somehow kept his footing as he hurried to her side. “Hold my hand and don’t let go,” he said as he scooped her into an upright position with his right hand. He held his injured left arm close against his side.

“My paints,” she said through the haze of her anger and grief. “They’re lost.”

“Forget the paints. You’ve done enough for today. Let’s go home.”

“No.” Charlotte pushed him away and started toward the river, determined to dive in if she must in order to retrieve her paints. “You don’t understand. The box. It belonged to my mother.”