Chapter Four
Tabitha
His profile didn’t do him justice. Marshall was younger in his Army portrait with a youthful exuberance, but I prefer the way he looks now.
He’s older with grey at his temples and a stern expression that makes something deep inside me snap to attention.
I worried the attraction that pulled me to his profile would fizzle out in the cool light of day, but it only burns brighter.
The stubble in his photo is now a short dark beard that causes my stomach to clench. I don’t miss the prosthetic resting where his left leg should be. He stands on it comfortably, so it must be an old injury from his service days.
“Howdy,” I say with an awkward finger wave.
Should I introduce myself? The photos I used for my profile are more recent. He should recognize me. I don’t look any different stepping out of the boarding area than I do at work. I didn’t even wear my contacts.
“Hello clever girl.”
The nickname rolls off his tongue with ease.
Smooth and confident like he’s used to giving compliments.
I’m not used to accepting them and my only response is completely physical.
For once my brain betrays me and ties my tongue as heat races through my body to pool low in my stomach.
Two words shouldn’t twist me into knots, but they do.
His voice is deeper than I expected with a brisque tone that reminds me of the panel I presented my thesis to in graduate school. They weren’t impressed by the teen who sailed through college, and they grilled me for three hours before allowing me to escape.
I earned their respect then and I already have his.
Melissa beat me here by three days and she did some extracurricular recon that I didn’t ask her for.
Our relationship might be strictly professional, but it does warm my heart that she checked him out.
Whether out of concern or nosiness, I appreciate the gesture all the same.
By all reports, Marshall is a good man. Nothing I didn’t already know but her messages were reassuring that I wasn’t dropping everything to marry an axe murderer.
“Did you get the boxes?” I ask for lack of something better to say.
I mean what do you say to a man you’ve never met in person but are already engaged to? In less than two hours we’ll be married, small talk seems painfully unnecessary.
“Doesn’t my leg bother you?” he asks instead of answering my inquiry.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why should it?” I ask raising one of my eyebrows.
His brown eyes stare at me like he’s analyzing a subpar sample under a microscope. I can’t help but feel that I’ve stepped onto a rocking boat. Every word out of my mouth threatens to send me teetering over the edge into cold fathomless depths.
“Follow me,” he mutters after a moment.
His stride is confident, only the slightest hitch in his step betraying his prosthetic.
The same shaky breath that left my lips when I finished my dissertation leaves me now. I didn’t expect an evaluation when I met my groom for the first time, but a small smile pulls at my mouth as I follow him out of the airport. For better or worse I passed.
“So that’s a yes on the boxes?” I ask.
“They’re waiting for you at the cabin.”
“Have you met any of my staff? Melissa said the town is small.”
“I’ve seen a few but I don’t socialize much with the locals and even less with newcomers.”
“Oh.”
He stops so abruptly I almost run into his back.
This close I can feel his body heat and I’m struck by the sudden longing to hug him close and burrow into that cozy warmth.
We haven’t even shaken hands and I’m already hoping for cuddles.
Marshall spins to face me, and his stern expression makes it clear there will not be cuddles happening anytime soon.
“Do you really want to marry me?” he asks.
“More than anything.”
My brutally honest response catches us both off guard. It’s too emotionally charged for two strangers who only met, and it takes me far outside of my comfort zone. Marshall turns away but not before I notice the slightest darkening of his cheeks above his beard.
“Okay then.”
He doesn’t say much as he leads me to his truck.
It’s nondescript in a parking lot filled with similar vehicles but by comparison it’s impeccably maintained.
Where other trucks have rust along their fenders or faded and chipping paint, Marshall’s black truck glistens and shines.
Before I can open my door, he beats me to it.
I bite back an admonishment. He’s trying to be nice, and I can do the same. Even if I’m a little offended he doesn’t think I can handle opening my own door. I’m setting up and running a field lab with only minimal support for crying out loud. I think I can handle the door.
“Why’d you sign up to be a mail order bride?” he asks.
The keys aren’t even in the ignition and he’s already asking me questions. Ones that he could have asked a month ago. Questions that he’s had days to ask and that I expected. It’s like he’s realized the severity of our situation and is now frantically seeking a way out.
Too bad for Marshall Kent. I’m here to stay.
“Men in my field are intimidated by my success and it’s difficult to meet new people with my workload.”
Minutes later we’re on the road headed up to Crescent Ridge when he asks his next question.
“Why me?”
It’s too late for these questions. This is a conversation we should've had weeks ago. I should rip into him but the underlying hint of vulnerability in his gravelly voice won’t let me be snippy with him.
“Why not?” I reply, trying to for nonchalant but to my own ears sounding callous.
“Surely there were better men in your hometown,” he mutters.
“City,” I can’t help but correct him.
“What?”
“I grew up in a city.”
“Ah.” The sound isn’t remotely ashamed or guilty as it should be. This man not only didn’t put any effort into our impending marriage but it’s becoming resoundingly clear that he didn’t put much effort into selecting a wife either.
“You didn’t even read my profile, did you?”
His shameless grin makes my breath catch. It’s absurd.
“Not a single word,” he confesses.
“Are you insane?” I shout.
My voice is loud enough in the enclosed space of his truck’s cab to make my ears ring. He doesn’t seem remotely bothered by the high pitch or my outrage.
“Probably.”
His grin only grows bigger. A startling thought occurs. The nickname—
“Do you even know my name?” I burst out.
“Of course.”
My silent glare prompts him to add, “Tabitha Carter.”
“Dr. Tabitha Carter,” I correct him automatically without realizing that it might offend him.
“I’m sorry. I knew that,” he says and the slight twinge of guilt lacing his words eases my prickled pride.
At least until he opens his mouth again.
“You’re rather young.”
Oh, for the love of—
“My age was listed in my bio,” I snap. “Are you so old that you can’t read the tiny print anymore?”
His laugh startles me. The rich rumble fills the cab as he hunches over the steering wheel and clutches it like a pillow to his chest.
“You don’t give an inch do you, clever girl?” he asks.
The nickname twists something sharp in my stomach. I thought he meant it as a compliment, but now I think it’s an insult.
“My field of study is academic, and male dominated. If I give an inch they take a mile. I am the youngest among my peers. So, no. I don’t cater to weak minded men who think their gender makes them superior to me, soldier boy.
” I snap out the last two words with enough heat to melt tungsten.
Let him belittle me and I’ll show him exactly how fierce I can be.
He's quiet for a moment and when he does speak his tone is sincere.
“I served with women. They were as capable as any man. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Letting his earnest apology soothe my irritation, my breathing evens out and my heart rate slows. It’s still a quick fluttering in my chest but that’s quickly becoming the norm around this man.
“I’m sorry for overreacting.”
“Nah, don’t be,” he says grin back in place. “I’m well known for being a bit of an asshole.”