A long-suffering sigh pulsed between his lips. “Let me be plain. It doesn’t matter to me whether you’re prairie material or not. I don’t want a wife. I don’t want you or any other woman.” He jerked a thumb to the open doorway. “I’ve just come off a three-day search for a gang of outlaws. I’m tired and hungry, and I need to see to my horse. So if you’ll excuse—”
Behind her, the bedroom door creaked open. “Momma?”
Grace froze. Exhausted from the interminable train ride, the girls had been drooping by the time they’d reached the homestead. She’d put them in the only bed in the house.
The intractable sheriff’s focus shot past her, his eyes going wide. He blinked several times.
“You have a kid?”
“As a matter of fact, I have two.”
Kids? She had kids? “I thought it was Miss Miller.”
“You assumed.”
The ardor with which she’d spoken moments ago cooled, and Noah witnessed a mother’s protective instincts surface. She beckoned to the little girls hovering in the doorway, a loving smile urging them not to be frightened. They had obviously been sleeping in his bed. Through the opening, he could see that the plain wool blanket atop his straw-stuffed mattress was creased.
Children were a rarity in these parts. As were females, which was precisely why Daniel, Will and the other businessmen had conspired to locate willing mail-order brides. The railroad terminus had boosted their itinerant population, but they needed families to grow this town.
Huddling close to their mother’s side, they watched him wordlessly. Their dark brown hair and delicate features resembled hers. White aprons overlay their dresses, both solid navy blue, and frilly pantaloons were visible from the knee down. Sturdy round-toed shoes completed the outfits.
“Girls, this is the gentleman I told you about. Mr. Burgess owns this homestead. He’s also the sheriff of Cowboy Creek.” She ran a hand over the nearest one’s rumpled sausage curls. “This is Abigail.”
Big chocolate-brown eyes regarded him solemnly.
Constance reached over and touched the second one’s shoulder. “And this is Jane.”
Jane’s bright blue eyes danced with curiosity. Her skin was a shade lighter than her sister’s, and freckles were sprinkled liberally across her nose and cheeks.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Jane offered.
Abigail kept silent. Circling her mother’s waist with her tiny arms, she hid her face in the voluminous skirts.
“How old are they?”
“They recently celebrated their sixth birthday.”
Twins. Not identical, but there could be no mistaking they were kin.
Noah’s gaze skimmed Constance’s petite but curvaceous frame. Back home in Virginia, a neighbor woman had died giving birth to twins. The babies had perished, as well. He’d overheard his ma saying how dangerous the business of birthing one child could be, much less two. And that woman had been several inches taller and larger boned than the one standing before him.
“Where’s their father?”
“Passed on a year ago.”
There wasn’t a flicker of grief in Constance Miller’s steady gaze. The girls didn’t react, either, which told him they were either too young to grasp the permanency of death or they hadn’t shared a close relationship with the man.
His interest grew. Why was she dead set on hitching herself to a complete stranger? Had he misjudged her financial status? For all he knew, the clothes and jewelry were all that was left of her late husband’s wealth. She could be destitute. With small children depending on her, of course she’d be willing to marry anyone who struck her as decent.
Had she somehow discovered Noah’s worth? The Union Pacific had paid him a small fortune for his original homestead because of its proximity to town and the terminus. He’d used a portion of that money to purchase this new tract of land farther outside town. The rest of it he’d placed in the bank for a rainy day.
The trio stood watching him, waiting for him to speak. His ire stirred anew. His friends had put him in an untenable position.
Snagging his hat, he settled it on his head. “I’m going to take care of my horse, then ready the wagon. You have about an hour before we leave for the hotel.”
Ignoring the widow’s quiet gasp, he pivoted and strode for the exit, not stopping when he heard her order the girls to remain inside. His boot heels thudded across the porch, grew muted when he reached the short grass. The early-summer heat closed around him. Looping Samson’s reins around his palm, he scowled. She sure was desperate. Had to be if she was willing to overlook his disfigurement.
The day his gun exploded in his face, Noah’s life had altered course. In those first days and weeks, he hadn’t known whether or not he’d survive. The risk of infection had been great. As time passed and he began to heal, slowly and painfully, he’d had trouble coming to terms with his new appearance. It had taken even longer to accept that love and marriage were out of his reach. Who could love a freak like him?
These days, he steered clear of mirrors. He couldn’t stomach the sight of the twisted, nightmarish flesh. How could he expect any woman to regard it day in and day out? He couldn’t even grow a beard to hide the damage to his face.
The door clicked shut, and his hold on his temper slipped.
“Listen, lady, I’m sure you’re accustomed to men doing your bidding, but this ain’t Chicago. I—”
All of a sudden, she launched herself at him. “Wild animal,” she exclaimed, seeking shelter behind him, her grip on his arms viselike.
Samson shifted uneasily. Noah dropped the reins and, bracing himself, searched for the source of her fear. When he spotted the rangy black wolf loping across the yard, golden eyes zeroed in on him, Noah’s muscles relaxed.
“That’s not a wild animal. That’s Wolf. My pet.”
Her grip loosened a hair, but she remained pressed against his back, using him as a shield against perceived danger. She peered around him. “That’s no pet. That’s a beast!”
To a city gal like Constance Miller, the Kansas prairie must seem like a wildly beautiful yet untamed land. Made sense she’d be alarmed at the thought of a wolf as one’s pet.
Her vanilla scent enveloped him. Noah hadn’t been this close to a female since before his enlistment. His ma had been liberal with hugs, much to his discomfiture, and his three younger sisters had begged him constantly for piggyback rides about the farm. As they were family, they didn’t count.
Maneuvering around to face her, he gripped her shoulders and edged her back a step so he could concentrate. The top of her head came even with his throat. She had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze, putting her loveliness on full display. Her eyes weren’t an ordinary brown, he noted, but the hue of warm honey. Undeniable intelligence shone there. And indomitable spirit.
“Wolf won’t hurt you. He’s half wolf, half dog. I’ve raised him from a pup.”
Her attention shifted beyond him. “He looks...”
“Intimidating. I know.”
“I was going to say hungry for human flesh.”
“I was just appointed sheriff,” he informed her. “How would it look if I allowed a visitor