Return to 1800’s Defiance, Colorado, in this beguiling story of finding love in the most unexpected places from #1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery

Lucas and Jackson MacIntyre stand to inherit the saloon, gold mine and ranch that define the town of Defiance, Colorado. There’s just one problem: the uncle who has left them the properties created a clause in his will stipulating that both brothers must marry if they want to claim their inheritance.

Emily Smythe knew she’d likely never marry, and she’s moved to Colorado to prove her independence from her family. She has a shrewd business sense, so when she approaches Lucas about turning the saloon’s vacant upper level into a hotel, he sees the logic in the idea. Lucas has a proposition for Emily, too: become his wife in name only so that he can claim his inheritance, and she can run her hotel in his saloon. But though the marriage may be a business arrangement, Lucas soon finds it difficult to resist his new wife…

Previously Published Historical Novel.

Praise for SUSAN MALLERY

“Susan Mallery is warmth and wit personified. Always a fabulous read.”

—New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd

“Ms. Mallery’s unique writing style shines via vivid characters, layered disharmony and plenty of spice.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

Lucas’s Convenient Bride

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise for Susan Mallery

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Defiance, Colorado, 1875

Emily Smythe was more than ready to dance with the devil—if only he weren’t so large. Still, walking away now would be nigh on to shirking and she’d never once shirked in her life. She squared her thin shoulders, raised her chin and told herself that she had righteousness on her side. Righteousness and a plan. With the right plan, a person could take on the devil himself and win.

Ignoring the trembling of her limbs and the way her stomach seemed to be jumping around inside her, she pushed through the swinging doors of the Silver Slipper saloon and stepped into a smoky world.

She had a brief impression of a much larger crowd than she’d expected for a midweek afternoon. There were at least two dozen tables spread out around the main part of the room, nearly all of them occupied. On the far side of the saloon, men sat playing cards. Gambling, she thought with both distaste and shock. Gambling in the middle of the day. Who could imagine such a thing?

Her gaze drifted right and she saw the long, wide bar that stretched the length of the room. It was polished wood, nearly chest high and crowded with men. Behind the bar she saw mirrors, dozens of bottles of liquor and a big bear of man. Lucas MacIntyre, the devil himself.

Emily pursed her lips together in disapproval as she took in the tall, muscular man dressed in black trousers, a white shirt and fancy red vest. Lucas MacIntyre didn’t wear a coat like a respectable man, but considering he operated a saloon, allowed gambling and sold spirits, she doubted the lack of formal attire would be noticed on his very long, very serious list of transgressions.

A voice in her head screamed at her to turn around and leave before anyone noticed her. She didn’t belong here—she couldn’t possibly do this. Yet she knew she didn’t have a choice. Lucas MacIntyre was her only hope for success and she didn’t allow herself to think of failure. She had right on her side. She was a hard worker and she had her plan. She would make him listen, then she would make him agree. All without giving in to the very real temptation to turn on her heel and run.

Emily raised her chin one more notch, sucked in a breath and made her way to the bar. She knew the exact moment that the men in the saloon noticed her presence. There was a heartbeat of excruciating silence followed by an explosion of voices. The crowd in front of the bar parted to allow her access. She marched directly forward, looking neither left nor right, until she could press her hands against the arm rail, then cleared her throat.

“Mr. MacIntyre, may I have a word with you?”

At the sound of her voice, the crowd grew quiet again. Lucas MacIntyre stood with his back to the room, polishing a freshly washed glass. In the time it took him to turn to look at her, she was able to surreptitiously glance about, noticing that while the smell of liquor and cigars was most unpleasant, the saloon was much tidier than she had imagined. The floor appeared to be freshly swept and the glasses were clean. Perhaps Mr. MacIntyre was a man with whom she could reason.

He turned slowly, first putting down the glass then taking the two steps to the bar. It was only when he reached the polished wood that he settled his gaze on her.

She knew the man by reputation but wasn’t sure she’d ever actually seen him around town. Or if she had, she’d never really looked at him. He was tall and broad shouldered, which she already knew, but he was also handsome. Sinfully so. He had strong features with large, dark blue eyes and a full-lipped mouth topped by a silky brown moustache.

He looked her up and down, as if she was some kind of horse for sale, then he smiled.

“I’m going to guess you’re lost, ma’am. Because you don’t look like you’re from Miss Cherry’s and no other female would dare set foot in a saloon. Maybe you’re looking for the Ladies Social Club. They meet on the first and third Wednesday of the month, over at the church.”

Emily heard the sounds of male laughter. She felt her face grow hot and her limbs begin to tremble more. But she couldn’t speak, nor could she move from her spot on the wood floor. It wasn’t his words that kept her firmly in place; it was his smile.

Lucas MacIntyre’s smile had transformed his face from just handsome to impossibly attractive. Tiny lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes and there was a hint of a dimple in both his cheeks. He looked teasing and irreverent at the same time. Emily knew she should be outraged and insulted, but all she could think was that she’d never seen a man smile quite like Mr. MacIntyre.

“I…” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to remember what she’d wanted to say. In all her twenty-six years she’d never been as affected by a man. Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid it was going to jump right out of her chest.

“Mr. MacIntyre, I assure you I am not lost. I wish to speak with you for a moment.”

Lucas gave her another smile, this one not quite so bright. “No offense, ma’am, but you don’t look like the type to be bringing a man good news, so I’d rather say good-afternoon and suggest you go on your way.” Then he turned and walked to the far end of the bar.

Emily practically sputtered. How rude! How ungentlemanly of him, although she shouldn’t be surprised. Manners were a rare commodity in the West, as she’d learned in the nearly two years she’d been in Colorado. She was also used to being dismissed and ignored by men, although that unpleasant activity had begun long before she’d left Ohio. Emily was a realist. She knew she wasn’t a pretty woman, nor was her appearance the kind to command attention or respect. She’d had to struggle to make herself heard more times than she liked to remember. Most of the time she no longer even bothered. But this was different. This was her future and her dream and she wasn’t about to let this bear of a saloon owner upset her perfect plan.

“Mr. MacIntyre,” she said in as loud a voice as she could manage, then headed for the far end of the bar.

The crowd was thicker there, and the men less likely to let her through. She found herself in the uncomfortable position of having to push between people when her polite “Excuse me” was ignored.

Conversation spilled over her. She ignored the swear-words, the calls of the gamblers on the far side of the room and the odor of too many unwashed bodies. Fortunately Mr. MacIntyre was tall enough that she could easily see him over the heads of his patrons. She moved steadily toward him, only to have him suddenly move back the way she’d come. She was forced to stop and turn herself.

“Excuse me,” she said, trying to squeeze past two miners drinking beer.

Before she knew what was happening, they’d trapped her neatly between them, their heavy bodies pressing against hers. One of them put down his drink and grabbed both her arms.

“Not so fast, little lady,” he said, his voice slurred from the alcohol. “Seems to me if you want to keep brushing against a man the way you are, you have to be ready to accept the consequences.” The last word broke on a hiccup.

Emily turned her head from the horrible stench of his breath. “Unhand me, sir,” she demanded, not exactly afraid but not comfortable, either. She didn’t like the way the man’s fingers seemed to be squeezing her arm, or his nearness, not to mention the closeness of his friend behind her.

“Don’t you sound real uppity,” the man said, his narrow eyes squinting at her. “What’d you think, Bill? She’s got a mouth on her, which I ain’t fond of with any woman. And she’s skinny and ugly.”

Emily gasped as a hand settled on that part of her she didn’t even like to think the name of. That place where she sat. She tried to speak, but all that came out of her mouth was a high-pitched squeal.

“You know,” the one named Bill said, “if we wait until dark, we won’t have to see her face anymore, and if we’re drunk enough, we won’t care that she’s as bony as an old mule.”

Emily didn’t have time to think or react. Suddenly a large hand settled on the shoulder of the man in front of her. The man looked startled, then he was flying through the air, landing on a table and crashing into the ground. She caught a glimpse of Mr. MacIntyre turning toward the one called Bill. That miner went sailing across the room, as well.

Emily couldn’t catch her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say as she started to thank her rescuer. But before she could speak, a different man threw a punch toward Mr. MacIntyre and the fight was on.

Fists flew, bodies tumbled, men grunted, yelled and cursed. And Emily was trapped in the middle of the fray. She told herself she needed to get out of the saloon as quickly as possible, but the swinging doors seemed so far away. She huddled close to the bar, trying to stay out of the way. But when a strange man reached for her, she reacted instinctively. She grabbed a bottle from the bar and crashed it over the man’s head.

At that same instant, she saw a flash of movement. Something hard and horribly painful connected with her eye. She yelped in pain. Stars appeared in her head. She felt her lower limbs starting to give way when she suddenly recognized the man she’d assaulted with the bottle. Her last thought before the blackness reached up to grab her was that she’d accidentally cracked a bottle over the head of the local deputy.

* * *

Lucas didn’t remember ever visiting a woman in jail. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering now. Miss Emily Smythe—former schoolteacher and spinster—had gotten herself in plenty of trouble without any help from him. It wasn’t his fault she’d hit Deputy Wilson over the head with a bottle of Lucas’s most expensive Scotch. Hell, he wasn’t even going to make her pay for the liquor. And he was sure that Wilson would get over his temper soon enough and release the woman from jail. So Lucas should just mind his own business and head back to the Silver Slipper.

Except he couldn’t. He paced outside the sheriff’s office that also housed Defiance’s small jail and swore under his breath. So what if that skinny, pinched-mouth miss had wanted to speak with him? He didn’t owe her his time. He doubted she could have looked more disapproving of him or his place of business. Like he’d thought before—he didn’t owe her anything.

Lucas walked back and forth on the wooden plank sidewalk, hating himself for being curious about what she wanted and wishing he wasn’t thinking what he was thinking. That she might just be the answer to his problem. Yes, he needed an answer and fast, but Emily Smythe? He couldn’t really be considering her could he? He shuddered.

But time was passing quickly and he’d run out of options with last week’s post. Grumbling under his breath, he pushed into the sheriff’s office and asked to see the pinched-faced spinster.

Emily Smythe sat on the edge of the thin mattress in her jail cell. Her back was straight, her expression haughty. Even her black eye looked almost regal. She was the kind of woman who made a man feel he hadn’t washed good enough and that he was going to put every foot wrong. She was cold enough to freeze off a man’s privates. He shuddered again, wishing he could bring himself to ask one of Miss Cherry’s lovelies to help him out. There he’d find a warm, willing woman with plenty of curves and the skill to keep a man purring long into the night.

At least the sheriff kept a clean jail, and it was nearly warm in the spring late afternoon. No doubt Wilson would see reason within an hour or so and let the lady go free, despite her unfortunate aim.

“Miss Smythe,” he said, nodding his head.

He’d remembered to slip on a jacket before leaving the saloon, but he hadn’t grabbed a hat. So when he reached up to tip it, he found his fingers gasping for air. He had to think quick and instead smoothed back his hair, as if he’d planned that gesture all along.

Emily regarded him with as much pleasure as she would an infestation in her flour. “Mr. MacIntyre. What are you doing here?”

Lucas cleared his throat. “Yes, well, ma’am, you mentioned wanting to talk to me.”

“You weren’t interested before.”

He wasn’t now, either, but he felt guilty. Why the hell couldn’t he have lost his conscience when he’d lost his soul? He’d had more use for the former than the latter these past years.

“I was trying to be polite,” he said. “I can see my effort is not welcome. Good day, Miss Smythe.”

But before he could leave, she sprang to her feet and approached the bars. “No, wait.” She grasped the metal with both hands and squared her shoulders. “I would very much like to speak with you, sir. I have a business proposition.”

He was too startled to give her any reaction. In the space of time it took him to absorb her words and wonder if she really meant what she said, he noticed that she’d seemed to brace herself. As if she was expecting him to be angry…or perhaps laugh. There was pride in the haughty angle of her chin, but there was something else in her blue eyes. Apprehension? Fear? Embarrassment?

“What sort of business proposition?” he asked warily, thinking of only one way a woman could have business with a saloon. He doubted that was what someone as proper as Miss Smythe would have in mind.

She glanced left and then right, obviously aware of the men in the other cells unabashedly listening to their conversation. She leaned a little closer to the cell door and lowered her voice.

“I wish to speak with you about your saloon, Mr. MacIntyre. Or more precisely, the rooms upstairs.”

“What about them?”

“I understand they are empty. I wish to change that.” She cleared her throat. “I wish to use them to open a hotel.”

Lucas didn’t know what to say. There were plenty of empty rooms upstairs. In fact the Silver Slipper had been built to have a saloon on the ground floor and rooms to rent above, but he’d never wanted the trouble of running two businesses. The saloon was enough.

“Why?” he asked.

She sighed. “I believe a hotel will be successful. I’m a competent businesswoman—”

“You weren’t much of a schoolteacher,” he said.

She caught her breath and glared at him. She was a little thing, coming to his shoulder. But then he was tall, so most women were little things to him. She was as scrawny as a plucked chicken and she wore the ugliest gray dresses he’d ever seen. Her blond hair was a decent color and he’d noticed it turned nearly gold in the lamplight of the saloon, but she wore it all scraped back, with not a single curl to soften the effect.

“I was an excellent schoolteacher,” she informed him in a voice sharp with that cold he’d been worried about before. “I taught those children more in the nearly eighteen months they were my students than they learned in the previous three years with the other teacher.”

“But they left.”

“The families returned to their homes in Maryland. That decision had nothing to do with my teaching skills.” She removed her hands from the bars and pressed her fingertips together. “Unfortunately, those eight children were the only ones in town at the time, which left me without a position. I cannot wait for another family with school-age children to appear, which means I have to find other means of employment. A hotel is the perfect solution.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lucas eyed her doubtfully. He didn’t know anything about Emily Smythe save that she’d once been the schoolteacher in town and that she hadn’t been born out West. He would bet that her trip to Defiance had been her first journey west of the Mississippi. So why didn’t she just go home?

“You don’t have any family?” he asked.

“They have nothing to do with this.”

So she did have relatives somewhere. Then why wouldn’t she return to them? He doubted anyone as straitlaced as she could have done something to disgrace herself. Emily Smythe wasn’t the type to cause a scandal.

“You’re a teacher,” he said. “What makes you think you know anything about keeping a bunch of miners, ranchers and who knows what kind of riffraff happy in bed?”

Color flared on her cheeks, but she didn’t otherwise respond to his gibe.

“Mr. MacIntyre, I have traveled extensively along the Eastern Seaboard and abroad. I have stayed in exquisite hotels in dozens of cities. In addition, I have a head for figures and I’m not afraid of hard work. I know I can make the hotel a success. I also understand your reticence in allowing me to open my business above your saloon. Let me assure you that in addition to a modest rent, I would be willing to pay you a percentage of the profits.”

“Generous,” he muttered, taking a step back from her.

She wasn’t ugly, he told himself, despite what the miners at his saloon had said earlier. She was a bit on the plain side, but she had big blue eyes he kind of liked. Her skin was pretty—all soft looking and smooth, with a hint of color at her cheeks. Her mouth was a tad pinched, but maybe if she didn’t stand so stiff all the time, the rest of her would relax.

His gaze moved to her body, and what he saw there made him shake his head. She was skinny and didn’t have even one decent curve. No breasts, no hips and he would bet a ten-dollar gold piece that she had bony knees. Lucas was more enamored with plump knees. He liked to kiss the crease in the back, then nibble around to the front, all the while listening to the lady giggle and feeling her squirm. Emily Smythe didn’t strike him as the giggling, squirming type.

But she was a single woman, and that was what he needed right now.

“Stay right there,” he said, then realized it was a stupid thing to say. Where was she going to go?

Ten minutes later he’d talked Wilson into springing her. He led the proper Miss Smythe onto the sidewalk in front of the jail.

“Let’s go talk in my office,” he said. “It’s around back of the saloon. We won’t be disturbed there.”

Excitement glinted in her blue eyes. “So you’ll consider my proposition? How wonderful, Mr. MacIntyre. I’m sure you won’t regret it for a minute. I’ve done the calculations and I expect the hotel to be turning a profit within the month.”

He held up a hand to stop the flow of words, then led the way onto the muddy street.

It was spring in Defiance, which meant plenty of rain, flash floods and mud. Fortunately the Silver Slipper was only a couple of blocks away. The single horse and wagon in the street in the late afternoon was on the far side of the river of mud and they barely got splashed at all.

When they arrived at his saloon, he walked around to the rear of the building. The small door to his office was set under the stairs leading to the second floor that so interested her. Lucas wondered how crazy she was going to make him and how much he would regret what he was about to say. He thought about his current carefree existence and wished it could be different. But it couldn’t. Damn Uncle Simon and his meddling.

He unlocked the door to his office and motioned for her to precede him. She did so, moving with a regal grace completely out of place in this mining town. Despite the fight and her time in jail, she looked as crisp and fresh as she had first thing that morning. Of course the black eye added a rakish touch to her otherwise perfect appearance. If only her gray dress weren’t so ugly.

She paused in the center of the small room until he pulled out a chair for her. Then she settled stiffly on the wooden surface, her back as straight as it had been on that cot in jail. He wondered if she ever bent or relaxed. He had a feeling that if a man tried to have his way with her, she would snap in two, like a fragile twig.

“About the hotel,” she said, as he came around to his chair behind the desk.

“Yeah, well, it’s not that simple.”

Despite owning a saloon, Lucas wasn’t much of a drinking man. Still, he pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his bottom drawer and poured two fingers’ worth into a glass on his desk. He ignored Miss Smythe’s start of disapproval and downed the whole thing in one swallow. Heat burned to his belly, giving him a false sense of warmth and courage. He was an idiot. But he didn’t have a choice. Uncle Simon had trapped him good and tight.

“I can show you my figures,” she said, leaning toward him. “I have them in my room.”

“I’m sure you’re prepared to do things real proper like.”

He leaned back in his chair and glanced around the small office, at the crates of liquor stacked in the corner and the barrels of ale. The bare wood walls weren’t much, but they were his. He’d taken the Silver Slipper from a run-down place with a reputation for watered drinks and trouble to a successful, honest saloon. He ran clean tables, served decent liquor and never cheated anyone. If he lost the saloon, he lost the ranch. Without the ranch, he lost everything.

He returned his attention to Emily. She wasn’t who he would have picked, but then he hadn’t planned on this at all.

“I’ll let you open your hotel,” he began.

“Oh, Mr. MacIntyre, you won’t be sorry,” she assured him.

“You might be,” he said dryly. “Because there are a couple of complications. You can open your hotel, if you cut me in for fifty percent of the profit. And if you agree to marry me, I won’t even charge you rent.”

Chapter Two

Emily stared at the man sitting in front of her and had the most unreasonable urge to cry. Since they’d left the sheriff’s office, she’d allowed herself to hope that Lucas MacIntyre was going to listen to her plan, understand and let her open the hotel. She’d thought she’d convinced him of her abilities, her business sense and her sincerity.

She’d been wrong. He had no interest in her plan. Instead he was humiliating her for the humor it brought him. She was disappointed, hurt and determined that he would never know how her insides trembled and her throat felt all tight and sore.

“How interesting,” she forced herself to say, keeping her voice low and even. “A proposal of marriage.”

She wanted to stand and walk out, but she didn’t yet have the strength. Was he doing this because she was a woman or because she was a plain woman?

Emily sighed. All her life she’d longed to be pretty, like other women. However the simple truth was that she was plain. Sometimes she wanted to scream out loud, proclaiming that her looks were not her fault. God had blessed her with many other fine qualities. She was intelligent, loyal, honest and caring. Why didn’t people—men, mostly—care about that? Didn’t they know that a pretty face aged with time, but that the heart and character of a person lasted forever?

Obviously not. She recalled what the miners in the saloon had said. How she was so skinny and unattractive, they couldn’t possibly ravish her in the daylight. They would have to wait until it was dark. Probably they would have to be very drunk, as well.

Familiar pain filled her. The ache for a husband and children. She would never have either. She’d learned that lesson well over the years. Wishing for the impossible was a sign of weakness, and she’d always prided herself on being strong.

Remembering that, she stiffened her spine and drew in a deep breath. But before she could open her mouth, Lucas spoke.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he said, leaning toward her and resting his hands on the desk in front of him. “But I doubt it reflects well on me.”

She rose to her feet. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time, sir. I can see I misjudged you and the situation completely. I apologize for that.”

“Hold on there.” He stood and moved toward her. “What’s got your tail feathers in a twist?”

She blinked at the vulgarity of the question, then raised her chin. “I hadn’t thought of you as a cruel man. I have provided you with an afternoon’s entertainment. That should be enough. If you’ll excuse me?”

“What are you talking about?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “You could have simply told me no. Instead you have chosen to mock me.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded surprisingly like a swearword. Emily willed herself not to react. If she wasn’t going to be conducting business with Mr. MacIntyre, there was no point in taking him to task on his language.

“I’m not mocking you,” he said, then lightly touched her arm. “I’m completely serious. Please, don’t go. Give me a chance to explain.”

She wanted to tell him no. She wanted to jerk her arm free of his distasteful touch and stalk out of his office. But she couldn’t. For one thing, she didn’t find the light pressure of his fingers the least bit distasteful. Instead they were warm and caused a most disturbing tingling sensation that crept up to her shoulder. Her chest tightened a little, the way it had when she’d seen him smile in the saloon.

Unable to do more than keep breathing, she allowed him to lead her back to her chair where she settled onto the seat.

Once there Emily touched her temple to see if she had some kind of fever. Her skin felt cool as ever. Perhaps something at her noon meal had disagreed with her. Regardless of her brief physical ailment, she seemed to have regained her senses.

“What did you want to explain, Mr. MacIntyre?” she inquired, because trying to leave again would look foolish.

He grinned. “Considering what I’m about to say, you might want to call me Lucas.”

Her mouth went dry and she could feel her eyes widening. She wasn’t sure which shocked her more—his improper suggestion that she use his Christian name or the way his mouth had parted in that luscious, sinful smile.

Inside her sensible black shoes, her toes curled. Her knees actually seemed to bounce off each other in a most peculiar way. The chest tightness returned. But before she could put a name to her condition, he was speaking again.

“It’s all because of my Uncle Simon,” he said, settling onto a corner of the desk.

His left…limb…swung back and forth, nearly brushing against the fullness of her skirt. She shifted slightly in her seat in an attempt to pull back from the contact.

“My parents died when Jackson and I were pretty little. Jackson’s my brother. Uncle Simon raised us right here in Defiance.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t much of a town back then. Just a few mining shacks and an outpost that served as the general store.”

She didn’t think it was much of a town now, but if Mr. MacIntyre had grown up in the West, he couldn’t possibly understand about the beauty of a large city.

“There’s a mine up in the mountains,” he continued. “Jackson sees to that. We bought this saloon about eight years ago and I run it. We also bought a ranch, just outside of town. We’re going to catch wild horses, plus breed our own. For the army. We own the land free and clear, but we have to build corrals, barns, a house, plus pay for feed and stock. That’s what the income from the saloon and mine are going for.”

“That’s all very interesting, Mr. MacIntyre,” she said impatiently, “but I fail to see—”

“Lucas.”

She pressed her lips together. “It wouldn’t be proper for me to call you that.”

He smiled at her again. His mustache twitched slightly. “I bet you can. Why don’t you kinda roll your tongue around the word? Come on. Say it. Lucas.”

She felt heat on her cheeks. Had he actually said that word, the one naming that inner part of her mouth? Next he would probably name her limbs or something even more intimate. The man was impossible.

She thought about leaving, but she knew if she did she would never get a chance at the hotel. And then what choice would she have but to find another teaching position? At that rate of pay, it would take several lifetimes to save enough to open her establishment. She knew that she would never return home—at least not as a someone who had failed. She couldn’t bear the humiliation.

Which meant she was going to have to humor Mr. MacIntyre.

“Fine,” she said through only slightly gritted teeth. “Lucas.”

He winked. “I knew you could do it. Now as I was saying, Jackson and I have this plan for the ranch. The money from my share of the profits of the hotel would really help. The problem is Uncle Simon died.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“He left a will.”

Emily frowned. “That sounds more responsible than problematic.”

“You’d think. But there’s the matter of what’s in the will. You see he’s the actual owner of the mine, the saloon and the ranch. According to the terms of his will, if Jackson and I haven’t each married within three months of his death, we lose everything.”

“That can’t be right,” she said without thinking. Why on earth would a family member put that kind of restriction on his only relatives?

It was as if Lucas read her mind. “I know what you’re thinking, Em,” he told her. “But Uncle Simon had his reasons. He wanted the family name to continue. For the past nine years he’d been waiting for Jackson and I to up and marry. I guess he finally figured that wasn’t going to happen, so he decided to force our hands. The old coot.”

The last sentence came out as a grumble, but Emily—who couldn’t believe the man sitting in front of her had had the audacity to call her “Em”—heard the affection in his voice.

She wanted to ask why he and his brother had never married. She silently counted back nine years and realized Uncle Simon’s expectations had started in 1866. The year the war ended. Of course, Lucas and his brother were of an age where they would have fought. When they returned safe, their uncle had wanted them to start a family. Why had they both resisted?

“So you can see that I’m rightly serious about my proposal, Em,” Lucas said cheerfully. “You get your hotel and I get to keep what’s mine.”

“But why me?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “There are other women you could marry.”

“Single ladies aren’t that easy to find.”

“But there are those…” She cleared her throat. “What I mean is there are nearly a dozen attractive young women who would suit your purpose.”

She was speaking, of course, of the ladies of ill repute who lived in the great house across from her rented room. Emily would rather sleep on hot coals than ever admit that she might have, on one occasion or another, peeked out her window and seen men entering that building. She’d seen Lucas go in more than once. And she’d seen the beautiful women inside leaving. While her good Christian heart was appalled by their disregard for righteousness, her woman’s soul envied their easy laughter and pretty clothes.

“Why, Em, you do me proud,” Lucas said with a grin. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d even acknowledge Miss Cherry’s existence, let alone that of her girls.”

“I don’t.” She squared her shoulders and avoided his teasing gaze. Which helped her ignore the tingling brought on again by his smile. “I’m simply saying they might be more suited to your needs.”

He nodded. “You know, I gave it a lot of thought, but there’s a problem. I don’t want a real marriage—I want one in name only. Then in a few months, I can get an annulment. One of Cherry’s girls would undoubtedly tempt me into consummating the marriage and then where would I be?”

He stood up and paced the length of the small room. “I thought I’d solved the problem by sending for a mail-order bride. Actually I sent for two. One for me and one for Jackson. However, mine changed her mind. I received a letter a couple of days ago and now I find myself without a bride and not much time left until Jackson and I lose everything. Then you showed up today, wanting to rent the second floor of my saloon and I knew you were a gift from heaven.”

Had Emily been the fainting kind, she would have found herself crumpled on the floor. His insult had been made so casually, she doubted he’d realized the import of his words. But she’d recognized the meaning and it burned. She clasped her hands together in an effort to hold in her pain and not let him know that she cared what he thought. Did it really matter that Lucas MacIntyre considered her charms so meager that she would be easy to resist in the marriage bed? With her he didn’t have to worry about temptation. He could have his marriage of convenience and keep his inheritance, with almost no trouble.

She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, but that wasn’t her way. Instead she told herself she was going to refuse him.

Except the marriage would help her, too.

The thought came from nowhere. At first she wanted to dismiss it, but then she considered the meaning. If she married Lucas, she could write her family and tell them that she finally had a husband. A rancher would be considered respectable, even romantic, by her sisters and her mother. She wouldn’t have to say anything about him owning a saloon or their marriage being one of convenience rather than affection. When she left Defiance to start her establishment, she could pass herself off as a widow. Again, respectable.

She glanced at the man sitting in front of her. He waited patiently. Yes, there was something in the situation for her, but he needed the marriage far more than she did. Which meant she was in the better bargaining position.

“I might be interested, however, I want to know what’s in it for me.”

Lucas knew he’d won. The prim Miss Smythe was going to agree to marry him, which meant he was halfway to his goal. “What do you want?” he asked. “I said if you married me, I wouldn’t charge you rent.”

“You suggested that before I knew all the facts. However, I know them now. Therefore, I’ll pay you ten percent of the profits, no rent, and I want a cash settlement at the time of the annulment.”

Had he been drinking, he would have choked. “Why?”

“Because you need to marry me more than I need to rent your hotel.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows. Em might be a scrawny thing on the outside, but she had the heart of a lion. And she was a damn fine businesswoman. He was in trouble and she didn’t hesitate to take advantage of that.

He stood and crossed to the door connecting his office to the main room of the saloon. He opened it and yelled for Perry to bring him a pot of tea and two cups. He glanced back at Emily.

“Bargaining is thirsty work.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later Lucas knew he’d been had—cheated by a professional in spinster’s clothing. In exchange for Emily’s hand in marriage, he was getting a mere thirty percent of her profits, she wasn’t paying rent and when the marriage was annulled he would pay her five hundred dollars. He should have been furious. Instead he was impressed.

“I think that’s everything,” she said, rising to her feet. “Thank you, Mr. MacIntyre.”

He shook his head. “Lucas. Or the deal is off.”

She pressed her lips together. “All right. Lucas. And I must tell you, I don’t particularly care for you shortening my name. Emily is perfectly fine.”

“I know, Em. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“When did you want to get married?”

“How about tomorrow morning? Say ten?”

“Fine. I trust you’ll make all the arrangements?”

“Sure. Just meet me at the church.”

“After the wedding I’ll start moving my things in upstairs. I want to get the hotel open as soon as possible.”

She nodded slightly, then turned to leave. Lucas watched her go. He had the oddest feeling that he should do something to seal the deal. But what? Shake hands? Kiss her?

That last thought came from nowhere and he quickly pushed it away. Kiss Emily Smythe? That would be about as exciting as kissing a block of ice. She might have a head for business, but she had the heart of a spinster. Her idea of warming her husband’s bed would probably be to set the mattress on fire.

Chuckling at the thought, he watched her leave, then had the disquieting realization that by this time tomorrow, they would be married.

* * *

Curled up in a small chair just to the left of the window, Emily watched the men entering Miss Cherry’s house. From across the street she could hear the music spilling out the open windows. There were faint sounds of laughter and occasional drifting bits of conversation. Bright lights illuminated the front of the house, as well as the well-kept wooden sidewalk.

Emily’s room was at the top of the stairs, the third story of a building on the town’s main street. The floor below housed the baker and his family and the ground floor held the bakery. When Emily had first arrived in Defiance, she’d been pleased with her narrow but private quarters. She’d spent many nights staring with fascination until she’d finally realized the purpose of the house across the street. The comments she’d heard around town had suddenly made sense. She’d been shocked and embarrassed, afraid someone might have seen her practically hanging out of her window, staring.

Unfortunately, her curiosity had never lessened, so she’d found a way to sit in her chair, out of sight of anyone on the street and yet still watch the goings-on.

Miss Cherry’s girls were lovely in a way Emily could never be. They had large eyes and beautiful hair. Their bodies were full and womanly. They knew how to talk to men, to tease and laugh and flirt. Sometimes Emily’s stomach hurt so much when she watched them.

She knew she wasn’t pretty, but she also knew there had to be something else wrong with her. Other plain girls had managed to attract beaux and eventually husbands. Why couldn’t she? Why didn’t she know how to start a conversation with a man? She’d listened to her sisters flirting with their gentleman callers. Everything they said sounded so silly and the men had loved it. When she tried it though, men simply stared at her as if she were completely without sense.

A tall man turned in to the house. At first Emily’s heart leaped into her throat. Lucas? But then the light caught the side of the man’s face and she realized she didn’t recognize him at all. No. Not Lucas. Not tonight. But he had visited Miss Cherry’s before. Would he after they were married? She knew that some other husbands did, and theirs was to be a marriage in name only. Wasn’t he marrying her because with her he wanted to be sure he wouldn’t be tempted to consummate the marriage?

She continued to stare out into the night and ignored the single tear that trickled down her cheek. She told herself that she had made peace with her life a long time ago. A husband and children were not for her. She had other plans. Yes, of course it would have been lovely to fall in love, but she wasn’t the kind of woman men responded to in that way. She had a greater purpose. She had a plan. And that was going to have to be enough.

* * *

Despite the fact that nothing about the marriage was going to be real, Lucas found himself surprisingly nervous the next morning as he waited for his bride-to-be and the minister to make an appearance in the wooden church on the west side of town. He’d come alone after making arrangements for Pastor Bird’s wife and oldest boy to act as witnesses. He’d thought about sending a message to Jackson but figured his brother either wouldn’t show or would make a scene. A brawl during the wedding wouldn’t help anyone.

“Good morning.”

He turned toward the sound of the voice and saw Emily had entered the rear of the church. She removed her dark cloak to reveal that she’d dressed for the occasion. Today’s dress was light gray and edged in cream lace. At least she hadn’t shown up in black. Not that he’d ever seen her in anything but gray.

Nothing else about her had changed in the night. She still wore her hair tightly pulled back in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her posture was straight, her thin shoulders square.

“Miss Smythe,” he said, bowing slightly.

She raised her eyebrows at his formal address. He only did it to throw her off balance. While he hadn’t spent much time in Emily Smythe’s company, he’d learned several things about her. She was intelligent, determined, a damn fine negotiator and great fun to tease. If he had to be married, the last thing he wanted was some grim woman who didn’t know how to laugh. He wasn’t convinced Emily enjoyed humor, but he’d received a few hints that she might be tempted into a giggle now and again.

“I spent most of last evening packing my things,” she said, walking up the center aisle of the small church. She placed her cloak and her gloves over the first pew. “I thought that after the ceremony I would begin to move in my belongings. I assume I may use the back stairs.”

“Sure. There’s a way up from the hallway behind the saloon, but I don’t guess you’ll want to walk through my place very much.”

Her blue eyes widened at the thought. “No. Thank you.”

He pretended to consider the idea. “In case you change your mind, seeing as we’re going to be business partners as well as man and wife, I want you to know that any liquor you drink is on the house.” He squinted at her. “I can’t see you sipping whiskey, but you might enjoy a nice glass of apple brandy in the evening. To help you sleep.”

Color flooded her face, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “How considerate,” she murmured. “I’ll have to let you know later.”

“Whenever. The offer stands. Oh, and I’ve put a couple of my men to work on cleaning the rooms. They haven’t been used in years, so they’re quite dusty. There’s also more furniture up there than I’d remembered. Plenty of beds and dressers. All you’ll have to do is provide mattresses, curtains and whatever other doodads you like.”

“Thank you,” she said, obviously pleased. “How very thoughtful and kind of you.”

Her words and her smile made him slightly uncomfortable. “It wasn’t anything.”

“I disagree. It was a very nice something.”

Light seemed to fill her blue eyes. That, along with the color still lingering in her cheeks, made her look…different. Not exactly pretty, but not quite so plain. But before he could figure out what, if anything, that meant, Pastor Bird, his wife and his oldest boy arrived. It was time for the ceremony.

Lucas and Emily stood together at the front of the church. Except for the exchange of vows, the large open space was quiet. Lucas tried to remember if he’d ever been to a wedding before, and, although he couldn’t recall a time, the words he and Emily repeated sounded familiar.

As he promised to love and honor the stranger standing next to him, he felt a flare of resentment that he had to go through all this to keep something that was already rightfully his. Damn Uncle Simon. Did the old bastard really think he could force his nephews into marrying?

Obviously he had and it had worked. But he couldn’t keep them married. Lucas had never planned on taking a wife and he didn’t intend to keep this one for very long. He sure wasn’t going to turn the marriage into a real one, so there weren’t going to be any children. It was unlikely that Jackson would think any different, so the MacIntyre name would die out with them.

“You may kiss the bride.”

The pastor’s words brought Lucas back to the present. Apparently he and Emily were well and truly hitched. He leaned down to do his duty, but she shook her head and took a quick step back.

“A handshake will do, Lucas,” she said primly as she extended her hand.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, taking her slender fingers in his and squeezing gently.

She seemed startled by the contact, or maybe she hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly. She pulled away as fast as she could and busied herself thanking the pastor and his family for their assistance. As he watched her, Lucas had the crazy idea that it might be kind of fun to seduce Mrs. Emily MacIntyre, just to see what happened.

Then he reminded himself that he had enough troubles already, the main one being getting his brother married before the three-month deadline was up. He hoped Jackson’s mail-order bride had plenty of backbone and didn’t scare easy.

Chapter Three

“I heard you got hitched,” Mangus Reeves said, then waved his beer in the air. “Say it ain’t so, Lucas. Not you.”

“I heard he married that schoolteacher lady.” Barney Jefferson—a tall redhead with a temper to match his fiery looks—shook his shaggy head sadly. “It’s a terrible day when one of our own gives in to a female. And that one in particular. It’s not just that she’s skinny. It’s worse. She has a way of lookin’ at a man as if she knows all the black secrets of his soul.”

“And disapproves,” another man added.

Lucas ignored the comments and kept pouring liquor. He’d known that he would get some ribbing about his sudden marriage, not to mention his choice of a bride. He could silence them all by telling them why he’d married, but strangely enough, he couldn’t bring himself to do that. As if by telling the truth, he would embarrass Emily. Although why he cared about her delicate feelings was beyond him.

“She ain’t so bad,” Hep told the crowd collected around the bar.

The old miner was on the far side of sixty. Small and wiry, he’d worked the mountain most of his life without ever once striking it rich. Now age and pain in his bones kept him from his chosen profession. Hep was honest and a hard worker, so Lucas gave him small jobs to tide him over through the cold Colorado winters.

“What do you know about the schoolteacher?” Mangus demanded.

Hep raised his chin and stared up at the man more than a foot taller and nearly two score younger. “She taught me some learning last winter. My letters and my numbers.” The old man flushed slightly at the confession but kept on talking. “I’d tried before, but figured I didn’t have a head for it. Miss Smythe—” he shot a look at Lucas and amended the title “—Mrs. MacIntyre was real patient and now I can read.”

Lucas frowned. He hadn’t known that prim Emily had ever bothered with the likes of old Hep. Maybe she wasn’t as spinsterish as he’d thought. Damn. Until Hep had said something to defend her, Lucas had been content to let the men talk themselves out. Now he had to speak up.

“Emily MacIntyre is my wife,” he said to the crowd. “I’m proud to have her as my bride. Anyone who says a word against her is going to answer to me.”

He spoke the words easily, but their meaning was clear. He wasn’t a man to go looking for a fight, but he wasn’t afraid of one if it found him, and he generally left his opponent much the worse for wear.

Everyone got very quiet. Mangus and Barney avoided his gaze while Hep looked pleased.

“I’m sure she’s very nice,” Mangus muttered into his beer.

In the silence Lucas heard the sound of people climbing the steps leading to the second story. Emily had three men hauling trunks and boxes up to her new hotel. How many things could she have and how long was this going to take? He had a sudden sense of having gotten more than he’d bargained for when he married Emily that morning. Perhaps he’d better go see what she was up to.

* * *

An unexpected delivery, not to mention a brawl over a “friendly” card game, delayed Lucas’s trip upstairs until nearly three that afternoon. He left Perry in charge and made his way up the rear stairs to the top story of his saloon.

The men Emily had hired had finished a couple of hours before. He found the rear door propped wide and dozens of boxes and trunks open in the large foyer area. Curtains, sheets, blankets and lace things that looked unfamiliar were stacked together in foot-high bundles. A stiff breeze attested to the open windows in all the rooms and he could hear banging from a far room.

He followed the sound, taking in the swept-and-washed floor and relatively clean walls. Lucas had never paid much attention to the upstairs of his saloon, but obviously this section of the building had been intended as a hotel all along. In addition to the foyer, he counted fifteen bedrooms, two linen closets and a small office just off the built-in reception desk.

Most of the rooms had at least a bed frame and a dresser. Some even had wallpaper. As he came to the end of the hall, he heard a sneeze, followed by a ladylike sniff.

“Em?” he called.

“In here.”

He turned to his right and found himself in a large bedroom overlooking the main road. The bed was large and, unlike the others in the hotel, covered with a feather mattress thick enough to make Miss Cherry’s girls envious. Emily had already hung crisp white lace curtains at the windows. She was in the process of hanging blue velvet drapes over the curtains. On the high dresser stood a basin and pitcher sitting on a lace table runner. A gild-edged mirror hung opposite the window. There was a rocker in the corner and two table lamps, pillows on the bed, along with sheets, blankets and a coverlet in deep blue.

“I just can’t…” Emily’s voice trailed off as she tried to reach the last hook of the drapes.

“Allow me.”

He motioned for her to step off the stool, then he reached up and slid the hook into place. When he was finished, he glanced around the room again because it was much easier than looking at the woman he’d just married.

“It’s very nice,” he told her.

Emily gave him a tight smile. “Thank you for both the assistance and the compliment.” She picked up the stool and surveyed her handiwork. “I have enough linens for fifteen beds, although only mattresses for five. I’ve ordered the rest. I’ve also ordered more lamps, towels.” She paused, then shrugged. “By the end of the day I’ll have at least five rooms for rent. More tomorrow.”

She led the way into the hall. “And speaking of customers, I want to talk with you about getting a sign. Something elegant. I thought I would put it on the side of the building, pointing to the rear stairs. Is that all right with you?”

“Order as many signs as you’d like.”

“One should be sufficient,” she said, moving into the bedroom next door. He followed.

Twenty-four hours ago he’d barely known that Emily Smythe was alive. Now she was his wife. He’d also learned that she was a tough negotiator, a hard worker and that she’d taught old Hep how to read, although he couldn’t for the life of him imagine where the two of them had ever met up long enough for her to offer assistance and Hep to accept.

Lucas glanced around and saw a feather mattress placed neatly in the bed frame. Folded linens sat on top. Two open boxes stood on the floor, one containing curtains and drapes while the other held a basin and two lanterns. Afternoon sunlight sparkled through a clean glass window.

He’d ordered his men upstairs the previous day. They’d swept out the place and had washed it down, but it never would have occurred to them to clean a window. Emily must have done that herself.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, pointing to the glass.

“I didn’t do them all,” she told him. “Just the ones in the rooms I can get ready tonight. It’s going to take me a few days to get things in order.”

He tapped his toe against one of the open boxes. “Where’d you get all this? You have enough to fill a couple of houses.”

She set down her stool, bent over the box with the drapes and pulled out the lace curtains. “Or one very large one.”

He didn’t understand. “Did you cart all this west with you?”

“Some of it. The rest my parents shipped to me.”

When she reached for the stool, he grabbed it and the curtains from her. “I’ll do that,” he grumbled. “No sense in you breaking your neck on the first day we’re married.” Although he couldn’t believe he’d just volunteered to hang drapes. Hell, he had a business to run. He didn’t have time to stay up here with Emily. Yet he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave.

She pulled out a lace table runner from the box with the basin and put it onto the long, low dresser in this slightly small room. While Lucas fumbled with the curtains, she put the bowl and basin in place and assembled the lamps. He inhaled the scent of oil as she filled them, then something floral. He glanced over her shoulder and saw her tucking lace sachets into each drawer.

“The businessmen won’t appreciate that smell,” he said.

“They’ll like bugs even less. When I’m sure the drawers are pest-free, I’ll take out the sachets.”

He reached for the length of velvet drapes. These were a deep burgundy. He noticed the coverlet matched. “Come on, Emily, tell me the truth. Why do you have all this? Was a hotel your plan from the beginning? And if that’s the case, why’d you come to town as a teacher?”

She busied herself with making the bed. “I didn’t plan on a hotel from the beginning. I really wanted to be a teacher. I liked the idea of starting a new life in Colorado. It’s so beautiful here. I’ve never seen anything like the mountains in winter.”

“Uh-huh.”

He finished with the drapes and leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. “Just say you’re not going to answer the question. Don’t avoid it like a preacher avoiding sin.”

She glanced at him, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Absolutely.”

She had a nice smile, he thought, wondering why he hadn’t noticed it the day before. And while she was still a skinny thing, when she bent over the bed like she was doing now, he could see that she wasn’t quite as lacking in curves as he’d thought. Her bosoms were small enough that she could never get a job at Miss Cherry’s, but they were a mouthful and sometimes that was plenty.

Lucas realized the dangerous trail his thoughts had taken and quickly jerked them back into safety. No sir, he did not plan to find his wife anything but convenient.

Her smile faded. She sat on the edge of the unmade bed and for the first time her back wasn’t stiff and straight. In fact, her shoulders seemed a mite slumped.

“My family sent me these things,” she said, motioning to the contents of the trunk. “They’re to help me get settled. You see, this is the West and everyone knows there’s a shortage of women. My parents assumed that even I could find a husband.”

Except she hadn’t, he thought. He didn’t count.

“Did you want to get married?” he asked.

“I thought I might, but it’s not really important to me. I have other plans. My establishment.”

“Your what?”

Light entered her blue eyes. They were a lovely color, he thought absently. The color of a summer sky.

“I want to open a school to train women so they’re not so dependent on men.”

He frowned. “I thought women liked being dependent on men. You want them to learn a trade?”

“That’s part of it, but not all of it. I want them to learn to count on themselves. To be strong. I’m fortunate. I knew early I wasn’t going to get married and I didn’t want to stay in my father’s house forever. Coming west solved many problems for me. But not everyone can do that. What about the women who don’t have the education, or who don’t know how to make their way in the world? What about women who are widows, or whose fathers or husbands are cruel?”

“Who was cruel to you?” he asked softly.

She sprang to her feet and busied herself with the sheets on the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My family is ever so kind. My father especially. He was proud of me. When I was little, he used to take me into the office with him and teach me the business. He had a shipping company. Quite successful.”

She smoothed the sheets across the bed. He thought about helping her but figured she would get nervous if the two of them were too close to a bed. After all, she hadn’t even been willing to kiss him at the end of their wedding ceremony. He wondered if Emily had ever been kissed and if she had, who’d been the man brave enough to scale her resolve.

“So why’d you leave?”

“I told you, I…” She pressed her lips together. After giving the sheets one last flick with her hand, she crossed to the window, pushed aside the drapes and stared out at the street.

“I have two younger sisters,” she said quietly. “They’re not very smart, but that isn’t important. They’re both lovely, very accomplished.”

“But your father never took them to the office with him.”

“No.” As she spoke, she continued to gaze out the window. “My mother was thrilled with their social success all the while she despaired of ever finding me a husband. I didn’t really mind.” She gave a small shrug. “My father and I were very close. As long as he adored me, I knew everything would be fine. As silly as it sounds, I used to dream about joining the family business.” She touched the glass. “It would have been better if I’d been born a boy.”

“Not for me,” Lucas told her. “Uncle Simon was real specific about us taking wives.”

She managed to give him a slight smile. “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t born a boy and one night, at a musical, I met a young man who seemed more interested in talking to me than staring at my beautiful sisters. David was kind and intelligent. He worked for my father.”

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