Renegade Bride Read Free Page A

trembling, forcing her to lock them in place consciously to keep from falling back in the mire.
    Beside her, Maeve O'Hurlehy brushed at the mud on Mariah's ruined gown. They had met in Chicago through an ad Maeve had placed in the Daily Tribune for a traveling companion. Both were headed toward the same place and both were alone. Though Maeve was older by a good fifteen years, she had become a good friend whom Mariah would sorely miss after she left with Seth for Virginia City.
    "I'm afraid it's no use, Maeve. It's ruined," Mariah murmured, trying to hide her disappointment. "What will Seth think when he sees me this way?" She'd spent extra time dressing this morning so that Seth would see her at her best after four long years. Now, she looked like something that had been dragged through a rain gutter.
    "Arrah," Maeve replied with a shake of her head and a gentle touch to Mariah's cheek. "'Tis not this poor gown that's important. Nothing's broken and for that we can be grateful. Why, that awful brute might have killed ye."
    Mariah gingerly massaged her shoulder, recalling with a shiver the awful face of the man who'd collided with her. Another memory came rushing back as well: a male voice crying out her name just before she'd been knocked to the ground. The thought creased her brow. She could have sworn it was that dreadful man. That... that bounty hunter.
    Mariah, he'd called, as if he knew her. But that was impossible. She knew no one here but Seth.
    "Where could he be, Maeve?" Mariah's worried gaze swept the sea of men on the levee.
    Maeve glanced up at her. "You mean Seth?"
    "You read his letter, promising to meet me here. He couldn't have forgotten or gotten the dates confused, could he?"
    "Don't ye be worry in'. He'll be along. At any rate, ye'll come along with me an' Jamie and get yerself cleaned up a bit. Why, by the time your Seth see's ye—" Maeve halted abruptly and her eyes widened.
    "Miss Parsons?"
    Mariah gave a start at the sound of a man's deep voice behind her. When she turned, the tall bounty hunter was standing close, not two feet away. His black felt hat was pulled low over his eyes, without the slightest deference to social politeness. The man's gaze traveled rudely down the muddy length of her then back to the swelling bruise on her cheek. "Are you hurt?"
    She felt her world tilt ever so slightly on its axis as he towered over her. His voice was as rough as the growth of beard that darkened his angular jaw. His accent was undeniably French, and despite the fact that she'd just watched him gun down a man in cold blood, it was the most sensual male voice she'd ever heard. Shocked by her own observation and embarrassed by his scrutiny, she averted her gaze.
    "I've had better days, if that's what you mean." There was cool dismissal in her voice as she tugged at the ruined cuffs on her sleeves. She hoped her answer would make him leave, but he didn't move.
    "I'm sorry you were caught in the middle of all that."
    Was that sincere regret in his voice, Mariah wondered. It surprised her that a man like this would worry about such things.
    "Perhaps," he went on, finally lifting his hat, "we should have the fort doctor look at that cheek."
    We? With a sickening start, it occurred to her he'd called her by name again. Against her will, she forced her gaze to meet his. "That won't be necesary..." The rest died on her lips and she found herself staring.
    His eyes captured her attention first. Not exactly green nor truly blue, they were the depthless hue of the ocean just before a storm—stirred up and infinitely dangerous. The thick fringe of lashes fencing those unfathomable eyes were the same ebony as the long hair curling intractably at his neck and the shadow on his jaw.
    An odd-looking choker circled his throat, made of what appeared to be finely-carved bone with blue and red trade beads. It was beautiful, unique, and obviously Indian. A shudder raced through her. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that a