The Widower's Unexpected Fierce Wife

Chapter One

Amelia Stone had never been one for daydreaming, not even as a child.

She didn’t understand it, couldn’t see a point in it; there was no use in wishing one was elsewhere, no matter how bad things were.

It seemed cruel in a way to construct a different life solely in her head that had no more substance than a spiderweb.

It wouldn’t change the facts of her real life.

Even so, she found herself staring down into the water of the washtub, the blue sky and white cotton-batting clouds reflecting imperfectly in ripples.

Her eyes were unfocused, and she could feel herself slipping away for just a moment, going somewhere that was anywhere else but here.

Though only twenty years old, she felt world-weary already, her hands red from the lye soap.

“Amelia!” an angry voice barked from the front of the small, clapboard house that Amelia shared with her sister.

There was no one else for miles, just them and an endless stretch of flat land that their father had won in a land claim.

He’d entertained thoughts of being a farmer, but like so many of his schemes, his plans of being a landed gentleman had fallen through his fingers like water.

There were no neighbors, no one who would pay calls on them, just dust, dirt, and scant grass.

Amelia knew precisely who it was, and the thought made her jaw tense.

She straightened up, wiping her hands slowly on her threadbare apron, her eyes locked on the house.

The house, small by any measure, seemed smaller, as it was the only thing that stood between Amelia and the interloper.

“Amelia Stone!” the voice called out again, an extra dose of vinegar in it.

Though she would have liked to say it was purely stubborn bravery on her part that kept her steps slow, the truth was that Amelia was weighed down just as much, if not more, by dread. Her legs were heavy, her feet turned to lead.

There was a commotion from the house—slamming doors, scuffling feet. Amelia halted, her jaw set. She knew it wouldn’t be long now.

At least Kate isn’t here to witness this, Amelia consoled herself.

Her younger sister had trekked the few miles to a neighboring farm to enquire after work in the dairy, anything to keep them afloat through the looming winter.

Poor little lamb, Amelia thought absently, Kate’s pale face swimming up in her imagination.

She had no more time to think about that, however, for suddenly a man was bursting through the back door of the house.

He hesitated for a moment, scanning the scene in front of him, his arms held out from his sides, and his fists clenched.

Though his wide-brimmed hat shaded his face, Amelia knew in an instant who it was.

He spotted Amelia and stalked toward her.

She resisted the urge to fidget, refusing to cower or shrink back from him.

She was suddenly extremely aware of her bare feet, her calico blouse so faded as to be nearly uniformly grey.

The approaching man, by contrast, wore a shirt with a crisply starched stock and collar, a fine brocade weskit beneath his charcoal-brushed wool coat.

His boots were polished to a high shine.

“Explain yourself,” he demanded without preamble the moment he reached her. His face was stony, carved into hard lines.

“It’s as I said Sunday last week,” Amelia replied, forcing her voice to be steady. “We’re ill-suited, and I’m certain it would only lead to misery for us to be married.”

“Do you believe for a moment that will suffice?” he answered, stepping even closer.

His voice was tight, and she could see the muscles in his jaw clench just above his collar.

“It’s bad enough that you reject me out of hand, but to return my letters, unopened?

” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the stack of them, tossing them at Amelia’s feet. She winced in response.

“I didn’t see a point in drawing it out,” Amelia explained. Careful, now, she thought to herself, watching his nostrils flare.

If anyone else in their small frontier town had seen the way he was behaving, they wouldn’t have believed it.

Dean Chase was a man of means, and he prided himself on his reputation for coolness.

He never raised his voice in public, and he never allowed himself to become flustered.

As he was wont to explain, as one of the foremost citizens of the county, it was his job to curtail untoward behavior wherever he saw it, criminal or otherwise.

“It was ill-mannered of you,” Dean said. He lowered his voice further, which was somehow worse than shouting. “You returned my ring!” he hissed.

“I… I thought it was the proper thing to do,” Amelia offered. “I thought it would be wrong to keep it, in light of our separation. At least, that’s what I read in—”

“There is no separation,” Dean replied, his face and his tone closed off with finality. “It’s been decided and announced already.”

“Dean, surely you cannot want to marry a girl like me,” Amelia sighed, trying to appeal to his vanity.

“How do you mean?”

“Well,” Amelia hedged, glancing around at their surroundings significantly. “I’m the poor daughter of a poor farmer. Surely someone of your standing would be better suited by someone more… genteel.”

“No,” Dean said. “I decided on you. I have no desire for ugly or stupid children, and I am reasonably confident that they will be handsome with you as their mother.”

Amelia blinked up at him, unsure of what to say to that statement.

“Now, if you are done with all this foolishness, then you’ll be coming along with me,” Dean continued. Faster than she would have credited him for, he reached out and snatched her up by her left wrist.

She balked instinctually, digging her heels into the ground. “Now, wait just a minute here!” she protested. Her bare feet scrabbled along the sparse grass as she tried to find purchase.

“This is what is going to happen,” Dean continued, dragging her along as if she hadn’t said anything at all. “You are going to come live with me until we are wed. Clearly, you need educating on the way of things. We are going to be married, and you will know your place.”

“My place?” Amelia repeated, bristling. She grabbed at Dean’s fingers with her free hand, trying to pry them off her wrist. “I don’t need anyone to tell me my place, least of all—”

“Amelia?”

Amelia’s head whipped around. Standing just outside the back door of the unpainted house stood a woman with the same dark hair that shaded to auburn in the summer as Amelia’s.

Amelia stilled and felt her skin come over cold as she caught sight of her younger sister.

They shared the same hazel eyes, too, though her sister’s looked larger on her face because her face was thinner.

“Kate, go back inside,” Amelia said, wishing her voice didn’t tremble. Whatever trouble she had gotten herself into, she didn’t want to involve her sister. Though only two years younger, Amelia sported a protective streak that ran deep.

Kate, her eyes shifting warily from Dean to Amelia and back again, bit her lip and stepped closer. Her sleeves were rolled up, and like Amelia, her feet were bare. “I… I didn’t know we were expecting you, Mr. Chase,” she said in a thin voice.

“You heard your sister,” Dean replied, his voice low but with a razor’s edge. “You get back in that house and mind yourself.”

Amelia saw Kate’s eyes glance back and forth again.

Her face, perennially pale, looked even paler and thinner than usual.

“No,” she said softly, stepping forward so that she was next to Amelia.

She laced cold fingers into Amelia’s free hand, which had dropped back to her side, and Amelia was glad of the comfort.

“So,” Dean said, straightening. “It seems this whole family is in need of a hard lesson. That’s fine—I’ve broken plenty of willful horses; a pair of silly girls will be no trouble at all.” He locked eyes with Amelia and drew back his free hand, clad in a black leather riding glove.

Amelia braced herself, her eyes blazing, fairly daring him to strike her. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to do if he followed through on this threat, but at that instant, she felt as if she could eat him alive, spurs and all. She bared her teeth at him, a defiant grimace.

They stared at one another for a moment, and then his hand was flying through the air.

It struck with a sound like a whipcrack, the back of his hand colliding against her cheek.

Amelia stared for a split second longer, not understanding what had happened.

Beside her, Kate crumpled suddenly, a small sound of distress escaping her as she clutched at her face.

“Kate!” Amelia cried. She bent to check on her, but Dean’s grip on her arm prevented her.

He hauled her closer, so close that she could feel him breathing, his chest rising and falling.

“Now, see what you made me do?” he asked calmly as if discussing the weather.

“Do you really think I haven’t taken the time to consider what exact methods would bring you to heel?

Oh yes,” he continued, lifting his chin proudly, “I knew that you were willful, and that would need to be curtailed and corrected. I doubt that I could ever force you into behaving, though I would mightily like to try. No, your weakness is something else—or should I say, someone else?”

Amelia stared back at Dean. How could you ever have fancied this man? she wondered, in disbelief. The worst part is that he was right: She could have, would have, endured anything he could possibly do to her. Her sister, however, was another matter entirely.

“I believe we have an understanding now, yes?” Dean asked. When Amelia didn’t answer immediately, he shook her hard once by the arm he still gripped. “Yes?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Amelia answered, trying to moderate her voice.

“Good. Now, I don’t expect any further hysterics. Let’s go,” he said, and turned to make for the house again.