Chapter Five
Malika
“And this is the church,” Jayce said.
He opened the door into yet another simple building where no self-respecting architect had been consulted prior to construction.
The inside of the church proved a pleasant surprise to Malika.
It had been decorated for the upcoming wedding, and garlands of wildflowers, bouquets of sweet grasses, and baskets of greenery adorned plain wooden pews and the steps to the altar.
Light shining through the colorful windows added to the general appeal.
Despite the stark simplicity of its buildings and the unpaved streets, Burning Scrub was not without charm.
Under other circumstances she might have considered a brief stay a pleasant diversion, especially with Beau Jones in town, but as soon as she met him and attended his wedding, she was leaving.
The moon would be full tomorrow night, and Adeel would discover that all was not forgiven.
The skirt of her dress swirled enticingly around her legs as she inspected the church.
She loved the way the dress highlighted the slenderness of her waist and added a pert hike to her breasts.
The town’s seamstress was a genius. She had altered the dress for her from an existing supply and found shoes she could wear—she served as the town cordwainer, as well.
Malika was amazed by the woman’s vast number of skills.
She also had children to care for, and a husband to please.
Where did she find the energy, let alone time?
“My children are feral,” Pearl said cheerfully, when asked. Something about Malika’s question amused her. “Linda has the run of the town, which explains her lack of manners. No one corrects her. And Grady”—who was her husband—“is ridiculously easy to please.”
Jayce should take lessons from Pearl’s easy-to-please husband on how to relax.
“The church was established in 1867,” the handsome cowboy droned on. “It also served as the schoolhouse, town hall, and theater until silver deposits were discovered nearby. The local silver mine turned Burning Scrub into a boom town and its population exploded.”
To what? The thirty-six proudly proclaimed on the town’s signage?
He seemed determined to bore her with facts and launched into a long story about the first minister to serve in the church.
He’d never replace the irreplaceable Belle if he didn’t learn how to read women as well as he read horses.
The skills weren’t so very different. For instance, he was wound tighter than an Arabian waiting for the signal for the race to begin.
She could help him with that. It would help pass the hours with the additional bonus of preparing her for her new career. An exchange of flattery was always a good place to begin.
She moved closer and pressed her hand to his bicep.
She tightened her fingers a little, testing its firmness, because she couldn’t resist. Goodness, but it felt solid.
He was exquisitely built. His eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a startled bird as his gaze flew between her hand on his arm and her face.
Her heart fluttered in tandem. He had magnificent eyes too.
They could have so much fun together, if only he’d try.
“You know so much about the history of Burning Scrub and these mountains,” she said, tilting her chin and delivering a smile infused with an ego-bolstering admiration intended to charm him.
Her sisters said their husbands loved to be praised, in the bedroom as well as outside it.
“But I’m curious about the wedding that will take place tomorrow.
Tell me more about the bride. According to Linda, she’s prettier than me. ”
That was an easy one, cowboy. A genuine gift.
His cheeks turned a dull red. She waited.
“Belle’s perfect,” he said.
And to think the beautiful bride passed him up for Beau Jones. The man truly was hopeless.
She peered up at him through lowered lashes, drawing attention to her own incredible eyes. Most women had at least one attractive feature to recommend them. She was fortunate to have several, although her eyes were her best.
But no one was perfect.
“How boring,” she murmured. “Everyone has a flaw.”
“Belle doesn’t.”
He’d made up his mind to be miserable for the rest of his life, but she wasn’t ready to give up on him.
Yet. It might sound romantic to pine for the unattainable forever—medieval bards built entire careers on entertaining lovestruck women with poetry and song telling exactly such tales—but what a waste of a beautiful man.
She scrambled to find something that might highlight a flaw. If Belle was about to be married to another man, then it stood to reason that Jayce would be jealous of him, did it not? Of course he’d be jealous. Belle was marrying Beau Jones.
“What about her taste in men? What does that say about her judgment?”
Jayce jammed his hands into the flat pockets on the attractive back side of his jeans. “Her taste in men does leave a lot to be desired,” he said slowly. “Beau is an ass. Pardon my French. He’s not good enough for her.”
He was most definitely jealous. What man wouldn’t be?
Beau Jones, with his gorgeous blond hair and blue eyes, looked like a young Keith Urban and sang like an angel.
She’d watched many of his interviews, and heard him perform hundreds of times, and he had an excellent sense of humor as well, unlike some men she could think of.
“There you have it,” she said kindly. “She didn’t appreciate you enough. It’s her loss, not yours.”
Jayce, however, was finally warming up. “She also sat on her front steps in her underwear in front of the whole town. Can you believe it?”
Good heavens. Malika found that she couldn’t. Although in all fairness, if Belle was wearing undergarments similar to what Malika had on under her costume, it wasn’t as shocking. “Why would she do such a thing?”
“She was trying to pick a fight with her mother.”
A fight with her mother, including an attempt to embarrass her in public, was an intriguing development.
“A daughter who doesn’t show proper respect for her mother doesn’t sound perfect.
” Malika’s mother had accepted her position as a third wife—third—with meek obedience, and yet Malika would walk through fire to defend her.
“You’d have to meet her mother to understand,” Jayce said.
She would look for the bride’s mother at the wedding and clear up the great mystery as to why she deserved so little respect.
Right now, she was making headway with the sad, jilted cowboy. “We’ve established that Belle isn’t so perfect. What about her led you to believe that she was? Is it because she’s attractive?”
He bristled at that. “Of course not. She’s kind and sweet and smart.”
He didn’t want to admit he was as shallow as the next person, so he was grasping at straws. If all he wanted was kind and sweet and smart, he should consider a mail-order bride. The success rate for contractual marriages was reassuringly high.
“She’s unkind to her mother,” Malika said. “That leaves you with sweet and smart. She also has terrible taste in men, and poor judgment, so maybe she’s not as smart as you seem to think. Can you be certain she’s really all that sweet too?”
“She shot Adam. So maybe not,” he conceded.
She shot a man. Boring, beautiful Belle was beginning to look a great deal more interesting than she had a few moments ago—but Malika was trying to make Belle less appealing to him, not more.
“An attempted murderess is the woman of your dreams?”
Jayce’s feet shifted restlessly. His gaze wandered the church. “The gun had blanks in it. Besides, she would never have done any of those things before Beau came to town. He ruined her.”
Lucky Belle. Malika would love to be ruined. She was losing him, however. She searched for something that might help reclaim his attention. Perhaps if they had something in common…
“I understand how you feel. Belle is marrying another man, which goes against your wishes. My brother has arranged a marriage for me, and I don’t wish for it, either.”
Jayce frowned. “I confess, I don’t understand why Ali thinks that you should. But he has more than one wife, too, and from the way he was talking, he doesn’t see it as a problem.”
Adeel had discussed her engagement with an outsider as if it were a fait accompli. How dare he.
“Because it’s not a problem for him,” she said.
Pent-up, angry passion boiled over. “He had a say in the matter. So does the man he wants me to marry. Under the law, they must agree to treat each of their wives equally. They’re both very rich men, and they believe that all they must do to obey the law is give their wives an equal standard of living.
But within the family, where the law has no eyes, the wives and the wives’ children don’t share equal status. ”
Family was very important to her. She couldn’t be happy if she had to abide by another woman’s wishes, and her unhappiness would spill into the home.
Even if the two wives maintained separate houses, there would be competition between them.
Extended families remained very close, and their children would be raised together—the same way Malika had been raised with her brothers and sisters, despite having different mothers.
Adeel’s mother made certain of it, even though Malika’s mother had tried to keep Malika apart, early on.
“That’s your objection?” Jayce said. “If you were the first wife and your husband married a second one, would you be okay with it?”
He’d spent the past hour spouting Montana’s history to her, and yet he didn’t seem to know that polygamy was once a perfectly acceptable and common practice within indigenous communities in this very region.