Chapter Two
Nolan Avery had been told to expect a willing bride. That was the first thing he found very curious.
He flicked the reins lightly, the wagon rolling forward in a steady rhythm as Willowhaven faded behind them, the sounds of town giving way to the wide, open quiet he trusted far more than people.
The horses knew the road well enough to follow it without much guidance, leaving him free to keep his attention where it belonged...
On the woman seated beside him. Deborah Prescott.
For the past ten years, he had been a U.S. Marshal, but then he retired his badge to become a rancher. Now he could better care for his daughter and invalid brother. But as he studied the woman next to him, his lawman skills returned and sharpened his senses.
The second thing he found curious about Miss Prescott was that she held herself too carefully—her hands remained folded tightly in her lap, and her posture never relaxed, as though she were intent on maintaining control over her every movement.
She wasn’t stiff with pride, and neither was she fluttering with nerves like most women traveling west under promises of marriage.
No, this woman was different. She appeared to be in control, as though every movement had been considered before she allowed it.
He got the impression she was trying not to give anything away.
Of course, that just made him more curious.
Nolan’s gaze shifted briefly to her hands again. Gloved, despite the warmth. Her satchel rested close against her side, her fingers brushing it now and again, in a way that wasn’t absentminded. In fact, it was as though she was trying to protect the item.
He looked back at the road. “Did she tell you much?” he asked after a while, his voice breaking the quiet without force.
Deborah turned slightly, as though pulled from her thoughts. “I’m sorry?”
“The woman who runs the agency,” he clarified. “I believe her name is Milly Crenshaw. We exchanged a few letters back and forth, but I suspect you would have written to her as well.”
There was an uncomfortable pause, then she cleared her throat. “There weren’t letters. Not in that sense.”
That confirmed his suspicions, and he tightened his jaw. “What sense was it, then?”
“I wrote once,” she said. “Inquiring about employment. I was searching for respectable work, but that was all.”
He let that settle in his mind. But no matter how hard he tried to fit the pieces together, he was still left confused. All the years of being a U.S. Marshal came back full force, and his investigative mind was determined to figure out the dilemma.
The horses continued to pull the wagon along its slow journey, wheels dipping into a shallow rut before creaking back onto level ground. Around them, the wind threaded through the tall prairie grass, stirring it into a gentle, persistent murmur—a sound that once might have brought him peace.
But today, that comfort eluded him.
“Milly Crenshaw wrote me,” Nolan said at last, his tone even, “and said I was getting a wife. Mrs. Crenshaw wrote that you were a genteel-bred lady and ready for a new life out here.”
Deborah let out a small, humorless breath. “Then you and I are both due an apology.”
Despite himself, the corner of Nolan’s mouth twitched. She wasn’t what he’d expected. She wasn’t soft-spoken in the way of someone easily led. And Deborah wasn’t naive... or willing.
He glanced at her again, more directly this time. “You could’ve turned back when you figured things weren’t right.”
Her gaze lifted to meet his, and there it was again—that quiet strength edged with something deeper that didn’t belong to a woman, but simply inconvenienced by a clerical mistake.
“No,” she said. “Mrs. Crenshaw was right about one thing. I, um... The one truth in Mrs. Crenshaw’s letter was that I am eager to start a new life.”
Nolan studied her for a long moment before looking forward again. “That is good to know, but why travel all this way, realizing that an error had been made? Most women wouldn’t have taken the journey on the train.”
“I’m not like most women.”
That, at least, was the one clear thing he realized about her.
A pause resumed between them, marked by a sense of significance rather than absence. Unspoken questions lingered, awaiting articulation from either side.
Nolan shifted slightly on the bench seat. “Tell me, Miss Prescott. Are you running from something?”
He’d learned during his lawman days that the truth didn’t respond well to politeness, which was why he was blunt. He needed to know now if there was something in her life that would disrupt his.
Deborah sat very still. And for a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer. Finally, she exhaled deeply.
“If you must know, I’m leaving something behind.”
Once again, she was being careful with her words. Indeed, something was in her past that she didn’t want to share.
Nolan nodded once, accepting it for what it was.
People came west for all kinds of reasons. Some were looking for an opportunity. Some were looking for redemption. And some were just looking to disappear.
He’d been one of them once, so he understood very well.
The road curved slightly, leading them away from town and toward more open land. His land. The fences stretched in long, clean lines, the house just visible in the distance now—a solid structure built for weathering storms rather than impressing neighbors.
He glanced at her as she took it in. She observed without any emotion in her expression. Did she like what she saw? Or was she thinking about when she could leave him and this so-called arrangement?
“Are you any good with horses?” he asked.
A faint crease appeared between her brows. “I’ve ridden before.”
“Before,” he repeated, not quite knowing what she was really saying.
“In a park,” she added, as though that might clarify things.
Nolan huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “That’ll do for now.”
She didn’t smile, but something in her face softened just slightly. A second later, it was gone. He suspected it had something to do with her past.
Her hand shifted once more, seemingly without deliberate intent, in the direction of her bodice. Initially, his observation led him to believe it was a sign of nervousness. But now he considered she might be concealing an item and was momentarily touching it to ensure its continued presence.
His gaze sharpened, though he kept his voice neutral. “Miss Prescott? Are you carrying something valuable?”
Deborah’s fingers stilled. Then slowly and deliberately, she lowered her hand back to her lap. “Of course not.”
A lie to be sure. This time, he would let it slip and not call her on it. But if it happened again, he would certainly say something. Instead, he let the wagon roll on, the distance between town and ranch growing with every turn of the wheels.
“Did Mrs. Crenshaw say anything else in that letter?” he asked after a few moments of silence between them.
Deborah sat straighter. “She confirmed my arrival.”
“That’s all?”
She shrugged. “She mentioned accommodations,” Deborah said. “And...” Her voice faltered, just slightly. “You, of course.”
Nolan waited for her to say more. He glanced at her profile. “What did she say about me?”
Deborah turned her head to look out across the land. “Only your name.”
That didn’t sit right. This whole situation had been off. “She didn’t describe the arrangement at all?”
“No.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose. Irritation grew inside him. Why couldn’t he figure out what was going on? Whatever this was... wasn’t an accident.
The wind shifted, carrying the dry scent of earth and something else beneath it. Nolan’s grip on the reins tightened just a fraction as instinct stirred low in his chest. He’d had that feeling before—right before something went wrong.
He looked over his shoulder to observe their previous path. The road extended behind them with no visible activity; neither an isolated traveler nor an unguarded wagon was present. There was only the expanse of distance.
Still...
He turned forward again, gritting his teeth. If he didn’t know better, this was some kind of setup. But what did he and the lovely Miss Prescott have in common that would make someone try to arrange this meeting?
“You’ll stay in the house,” he said, his tone leaving little room for argument. “You’ll have your own room. For now, we will keep the mail-order bride situation a secret.”
She finally turned and met his eyes. “Does that mean you plan on keeping me a prisoner in your home?”
“Not at all, but neither do I want the whole town thinking I’m getting married.”
“How long will that last?”
“Until we figure this out.”
Deborah nodded once. Her rigid frame seemed to relax slightly. “That seems... reasonable.”
Nolan studied her one last time before the house came fully into view, rising solid and sure against the wide Montana sky. She didn’t belong here, that much was obvious. But neither did the situation that had brought her.
As the wagon rolled closer, another thought settled firmly into place. He hadn’t been sent a wife. He’d been sent a problem.
And problems...had a way of bringing trouble with them.