mine.”
Another frown. “You don’t love me.”
But he liked her, was fascinated by her, and had been attracted to her from the moment he’d seen her stop a cowpoke in the middle of the street so she could sketch him against the sunset. She’d been oblivious to the man’s annoyance. Brad doubted, even if she’d known that the wrangler had been more interested in whoring than art, that she would have cared. She was a little single-minded when it came to her work. “Then we’ll just pretend.”
She wrinkled her nose and squinted. She always did that when she got close to things. He’d wondered, though he’d never seen her in them, if she needed spectacles. “More influencing fate?”
“Just smoothing the path.”
Enough so she didn’t need to be scared. As if she read his mind, her head cocked to the side and she whispered, “Are you going to hurt me, Brad?”
“No, what makes you ask?”
“You’ve got to be mad. It’s my fault we’re married.”
“I’ve got to admit, I’m a little annoyed things went as they did. No man likes to be forced.”
Her fingers curled into fists. “I understand. It is pretty unforgivable.”
It probably should be, and he’d thought it was at first, but over the last two weeks, his initial rage had faded to annoyance as he’d come to understand that Evie had never intended any maliciousness. He’d piqued her curiosity, and she’d responded by investigating. For Evie, that meant she followed him, drew him, studied him, and eventually, painted him. And when her family’d backed her into a corner, she’d rebelled by putting the painting she’d done of him on display. In an effort to prove . . . he wasn’t sure what. “Why’d you show your mother the painting, Evie?”
Her response, though immediate, didn’t make a lot of sense. “Leverage.”
“That you’ll have to explain.”
“You know how when you apply a lever to a fulcrum, the job gets a lot easier?”
He did, but he was surprised that she did. Not that he doubted her intelligence. The woman was as smart as a whip—it was just the terminology. He should have known she would be a big reader. “I’m not following your drift.”
She sighed as if he were being particularly dense, then she actually pouted. Up until that moment he would have sworn Evie didn’t know how to pout. It was too passive. “My family wanted to send me back East to learn from my aunt.”
“Learn what?” He leaned over the bed.
“How to be a dried-up, bitter wreck of a person, if you ask me.” She let go of his neck and dropped onto the mattress. “But no one ever asks me.”
She didn’t seem to know what to do now that she was on the bed. He slipped his arm behind her back and under her legs and slid her around. “So the painting was to show them how much trouble you could get up to if they sent you away.” He leaned her back against the headboard. “You didn’t want to go back East?”
“I have more freedom here.”
Maybe, maybe not. He’d learned a long time ago that while the grass on the other side of the fence might look greener, it was still the same grass, just located in a different spot. “That didn’t quite work out like you planned, did it?”
She frowned at him as he straightened, her bun listing off center as she adjusted herself down against the pillows. “You weren’t supposed to agree to marry me.”
“Funny, I had the same thought about you.”
She shoved her falling bun back upright. “It is kind of funny when you think about it. Everybody thinks we’re so stubborn, but we ended up getting married because we weren’t stubborn enough.”
“I guess that means then, that neither of us has a right to be mad at the other.”
She didn’t look comfortable in that dress, not to mention it was getting completely wrinkled. As excuses to get a woman naked went, it was thin, but he could probably make it sound good, come morning. After all, with him being a preacher, she likely didn’t
Another frown. “You don’t love me.”
But he liked her, was fascinated by her, and had been attracted to her from the moment he’d seen her stop a cowpoke in the middle of the street so she could sketch him against the sunset. She’d been oblivious to the man’s annoyance. Brad doubted, even if she’d known that the wrangler had been more interested in whoring than art, that she would have cared. She was a little single-minded when it came to her work. “Then we’ll just pretend.”
She wrinkled her nose and squinted. She always did that when she got close to things. He’d wondered, though he’d never seen her in them, if she needed spectacles. “More influencing fate?”
“Just smoothing the path.”
Enough so she didn’t need to be scared. As if she read his mind, her head cocked to the side and she whispered, “Are you going to hurt me, Brad?”
“No, what makes you ask?”
“You’ve got to be mad. It’s my fault we’re married.”
“I’ve got to admit, I’m a little annoyed things went as they did. No man likes to be forced.”
Her fingers curled into fists. “I understand. It is pretty unforgivable.”
It probably should be, and he’d thought it was at first, but over the last two weeks, his initial rage had faded to annoyance as he’d come to understand that Evie had never intended any maliciousness. He’d piqued her curiosity, and she’d responded by investigating. For Evie, that meant she followed him, drew him, studied him, and eventually, painted him. And when her family’d backed her into a corner, she’d rebelled by putting the painting she’d done of him on display. In an effort to prove . . . he wasn’t sure what. “Why’d you show your mother the painting, Evie?”
Her response, though immediate, didn’t make a lot of sense. “Leverage.”
“That you’ll have to explain.”
“You know how when you apply a lever to a fulcrum, the job gets a lot easier?”
He did, but he was surprised that she did. Not that he doubted her intelligence. The woman was as smart as a whip—it was just the terminology. He should have known she would be a big reader. “I’m not following your drift.”
She sighed as if he were being particularly dense, then she actually pouted. Up until that moment he would have sworn Evie didn’t know how to pout. It was too passive. “My family wanted to send me back East to learn from my aunt.”
“Learn what?” He leaned over the bed.
“How to be a dried-up, bitter wreck of a person, if you ask me.” She let go of his neck and dropped onto the mattress. “But no one ever asks me.”
She didn’t seem to know what to do now that she was on the bed. He slipped his arm behind her back and under her legs and slid her around. “So the painting was to show them how much trouble you could get up to if they sent you away.” He leaned her back against the headboard. “You didn’t want to go back East?”
“I have more freedom here.”
Maybe, maybe not. He’d learned a long time ago that while the grass on the other side of the fence might look greener, it was still the same grass, just located in a different spot. “That didn’t quite work out like you planned, did it?”
She frowned at him as he straightened, her bun listing off center as she adjusted herself down against the pillows. “You weren’t supposed to agree to marry me.”
“Funny, I had the same thought about you.”
She shoved her falling bun back upright. “It is kind of funny when you think about it. Everybody thinks we’re so stubborn, but we ended up getting married because we weren’t stubborn enough.”
“I guess that means then, that neither of us has a right to be mad at the other.”
She didn’t look comfortable in that dress, not to mention it was getting completely wrinkled. As excuses to get a woman naked went, it was thin, but he could probably make it sound good, come morning. After all, with him being a preacher, she likely didn’t
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