Joy and relief had abounded in the Karlsson household with the news of an impending wedding and Mr. Poindexter’s agreement to sell Max Lonestar his homestead. Susan had barely contained her brimming excitement and had finally given in and bear-hugged Gussie. Max had turned aside so that Gussie wouldn’t see his amusement at the stricken, uncomfortable look on her face.

Get used to it, he’d thought. Susan and Erik were not shy about showing affection – or any other feeling, for that matter. Suze came by it naturally. Their mother had never skimped on demonstrating her love to her children in everything from rib-crushing hugs to gentle sweeps of her hand over their hair.

After changing into work clothes, Max had gone back to work with Erik, chopping weeds and picking the last of the cotton. The sun beat down on them as they moved along the rows, tugging long burlap sacks behind them as they plucked white balls of fluff from prickly bolls. Sweat tickled its way down Max’s sides and ran circles around his neck. He stood upright to give his back muscles some mercy and swept his straw hat from his head, using it to fan his hot face for a minute.

“Looks like we only have a few more rows to pick,” Max said.

Erik’s straw hat bobbed as he nodded. “She’s pretty when she smiles, eh?” he said, moving along the row next to Max. He straightened and shifted the shoulder strap of the heavy cotton sack. Sunlight sparkled in his blue eyes. “Your soon-to-be wife.”

Max grinned in spite of himself. “She is. She sure got my attention, all fancy in that dress. “But, you’re right. She doesn’t smile much.”

“Could be that life hasn’t given her many opportunities for smiling. Her father hauled her from place to place. That’s not much of a life for a girl.”

He’d thought the same thing after hearing a little about how she’d grown up. “She’s not easy to figure out. Like at Mr. Poindexter’s. I sure didn’t expect her to tell him that we were getting married.” He ran his shirtsleeve down his face to soak up beads of sweat.

Erik chuckled. “Predicting any woman’s next move is tricky, Max.” He peered up at the cloudless sky. “Has she said anything about you being part Osage?”

“I think she likes it.”

Erik’s pale brows arched. “Eh?” A big grin split his red face. “How about that? Makes me like her even more.”

“You like her, then?”

“Sure, sure. She’s making the best of the bad hand she was dealt. Got to admire that.”

He quirked his brows at his brother-in-law. “That doesn’t make me sound like much.”

Erik chuckled. “I’m joshing with ya. One thing’s for sure. When she finally gets a gander at Babbitt, she’ll realize that she ended up with a winning hand.”

Max swept his hat across his midsection in a gentlemanly flourish. “Thank you for that compliment.” He winked at Erik before setting the hat back onto his damp hair. “And the truth of it. Babbitt will bust a gut when he finds out I married his letter bride and got the deed to the land.”

Erik began picking again. “He could try something crazy, Max. Watch your back.”

Max shrugged off the warning. Babbitt was all bluster. The only way he found courage was in a whiskey bottle. Max hadn’t been surprised to learn that Babbitt had finally ended up in a jail cell for making a drunken spectacle of himself. Ever since Babbitt had come into his inheritance, he’d gone from being occasionally foolish to being a fool most of the time. What had surprised him was Babbitt’s idea of sending off for a wife so that he could claim the Poindexter land. That was genius, which wasn’t like Babbitt at all. Made him wonder if someone else had come up with that scheme for Babbitt to follow.

When he thought of how close he’d come to losing the land . . . Damn and hellfire! He could have lost it all and he would have never seen it coming.

“You nervous about getting married?” Erik asked, eyeing Max’s frown as he bent to his work again.

Max drew in a deep breath, chasing aside the dark thoughts as he turned his attention to answering Erik. “Can’t say that I’m nervous. Concerned is more like it.”

“About what? That she’ll back out?”

“No. I think her word is good. I’m wondering what she expects of me.”

Erik paused and raised up to look at Max. “What do you think she expects other than a husband who will provide for her?” He hunched over, grabbing the next snowy fluffball.

Max ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek, pondering how to put his concern into words. “I wonder if she’ll put up a fuss. You know, when we bed down.”

Erik chuckled. “She surely knows what a husband and wife do in bed. She’s not some green fifteen-year-old.”

“But we’ve only known each other a couple of days.”

“She came here to marry a stranger, Max. She couldn’t have expected Babbitt to sleep out in the barn while she took his bed.” He waved his free hand at him. “Go on with you! There’ll be no problem with that. You’re both grown.”

When he put it like that, Max had to agree with Erik. But it would be awkward as hell and he’d never been what one would call “gentlemanly” when he bedded women. In fact, he’d been called “bossy” more than once and one gal had said he barked orders like an army captain. He’d have to curb those tendencies at first with her. He’d have to go slow. He gritted his teeth as a burning need seared him. Just the thought of bedding her tightened him and made him throb.

It had been a spell since he’d taken pleasure with a woman. When he’d been released from prison, he’d gone to the Bishop farm and worked. Hadn’t seemed proper to slip off to town and have some fun with a willing gal. Then when he’d arrived at the family farm, he’d waited a few weeks to get some money in his pocket before he’d gone into town and paid for a saloon girl. He’d done that twice, but neither time had been more than a release of pent up frustration.

He’d had some fun with the flower sisters – Daisy and Pansy. He’d done practically everything with them, except the main event. Babbitt had bragged to him that he’d bedded both girls, but was partial to Pansy, the youngest at eighteen. Daisy was twenty and experienced in the ways of pleasuring. She and Max had kissed and petted and found release, but she’d remained a virgin.

Forcing himself to concentrate on picking instead of rutting, he decided to worry about his first night as a husband after he’d said his wedding vows.

“You gonna give her your mother’s ring?”

His head came up, the notion pinging him like a ricochet. “Her wedding band?”

Erik nodded, squinting at him with curiosity. “You got a different ring hidden away?”

“No. I just . . .” More perspiration popped out on his forehead as he pictured himself slipping his mother’s wedding band onto Gussie’s finger. “That ring is special.”

“Special, yes, but so is the woman you’re marrying, eh? Who you saving the ring for if not for her?”

Max bent to this work again, leaving that decision alone for now. His mother had given him that ring when he was fourteen, instructing him to offer it to the girl he married one day. Of course, he’d scoffed at that, unable to even think about getting married. Still, he’d treasured the keepsake and had asked Susan to keep it safe while he’d been in prison.

This ceremony wasn’t what his mother had envisioned for him, but what option did he have but to give Gussie the wedding ring? Probably wouldn’t fit her finger, he told himself, and she wouldn’t like it. It would do for now, but then he’d buy her a plain band later and take back his mother’s.

“So, the wedding day is tomorrow,” Susan said, peeling the last potato and slipping it into the pot of boiling water on the stove top. The kitchen was hot, and Susan opened the front door. “You’re okay with that? You can wait a few days if you’re feeling rushed.”

“Might as well do it and then Mr. Poindexter can sign the deed over. I reckon we’ll have to stay here a few days until we can move into the Poindexter place.”

“That’s fine.” Susan faced her and clasped her hands together. Her eyes were bright with glee. “I want you to wear my wedding dress.”

Sitting on the floor and helping the Karlsson children stack wooden blocks, Gussie stared in shock at their mother. “What? No. I can’t do that.”

“Of course, you can. I know it will fit you. Might be too long as I’m an inch or two taller than you, but that can be altered easily. It’s not a fancy dress. It’s plain, cream colored, with white lace trim at the cuffs and bodice. You’ll look lovely in it.” She gestured excitedly. “Get up and try it on. I want to see you in it before the men come back from the fields.”

Gussie shook her head continuously through Susan’s assertions. “I can’t do that. This wedding isn’t like yours.”

“That’s right. This wedding will be like yours. But you’ll be married in a suitable garment. You want to start off right, don’t you?” She extended her hand. “Please. Do this for me, Gussie? If you don’t dress pretty, then Max won’t go to any trouble. He’s my only brother and I want him and his bride to be breathtaking on their special day. Please?”

Great jumping Jehosaphat! How could she say no to this woman? She’d never known anyone like Susan Karlsson with her sunny disposition, endless energy, and kindness overflowing. With a sigh of defeat, Gussie grasped her hand and Susan hauled her upright, then tugged her along to her bedroom.

“It’s in here. I keep it in a trunk. Haven’t looked at it since my wedding day.” Susan dropped to her knees beside the trunk and flung up the lid. She rummaged through the contents, digging her way to the bottom, and then pulled out a folded dress. “Here it is. It’ll have to be pressed, but it should be clean.” Standing, she shook out the cream-colored garment and held it up to herself. “My mother and I made it. What do you think?”

Gussie’s mouth hung open and her tongue refused to move. What did she think? It was a dress for a fairy princess with three inches of Irish lace forming cuffs, hugging the bodice, and circling the high neckline. She touched the fabric, tentatively, then sucked in a breath at the feel of satin. “Oh, my.” Those two words slipped over her lips.

“You like it?”

She nodded, feeling foolish as tears built in her throat and eyes.

“Oh, Gussie!” Susan’s laugh was full of warmth and awareness. “Don’t cry!”

“I ain’t!” Gussie scolded herself for slipping into her habit of showing no weakness. Ever. Then she grimaced for uttering the poor speech Miss Irene had schooled her against. “I mean, I’m not. I . . . it’s just so pretty. I can’t wear it, Susan. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Not right? It will be perfect. Max will wear his best suit – his Sunday suit – and you will wear this. Years from now, you’ll be ever so glad you did because you can tell your children how lovely you looked and how handsome Max was standing at your side.”

Gussie shook her head, flummoxed by Susan’s unbounded cheerfulness and golden outlook for her future. “How’d you get so happy?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.

Susan blinked, then smiled in confusion. “Why, what a funny question!”

Gussie ducked her head. She had to be more careful. These folks probably already thought she was touched in the head to be a letter bride. She didn’t want them to know that she was lacking in social skills. “Never mind. I should keep my mouth shut.”

“Oh, stop that,” Susan admonished, then ran her hand down the skirt of the dress to chase wrinkles from it. “I’m happy because I’m blessed. I have a wonderful family and friends and this farm. And now I have a sweet sister-in-law-to-be! Try this on, Gussie. I insist.” She shoved the dress at her, forcing her to accept it. “I’ll go check on the children and supper while you slip into it.” Giving her another sunny smile, she left.

By the time Susan returned, Gussie was wearing the dress and standing before the full-length mirror, gazing at herself, utterly spellbound. Susan clapped her hands and brought them under her chin in a seizure of delight.

“Oh, Gussie, you’re beautiful!”

Gussie blinked and felt her face flame. “No, no. But the dress is.” She let her fingertips whisper over the satin and lace. “So very beautiful. I can’t wear this.”

“It’s a little long, but I can shorten the hem tonight,” Susan, said, ignoring her admonition. “What shoes will you wear with it? Do you have white or cream gloves?”

“I . . . no.” Gussie shook her head, coming out of her momentary charmed state. “I don’t have any fancy gloves. I only have the pair of shoes and a pair of boots. And I can’t wear this, Susan! Your mother made this. It’s too fine! What if I rip it or spill something on it? What if dirt gets on it? My pa always said there wasn’t any reason for me to wear anything pretty because I’d just ruin it.”

Susan frowned at that. “What a hateful thing for him to say to you. Why would he say such a thing to his daughter?” She rested her hands on Gussie’s shoulders. “You listen to me, Gussie Horton, you are wearing this dress tomorrow. You’re also wearing a pair of my gloves.” She looked at the shoes on the floor beside Gussie. “Are those the ones you’re speaking of? We’ll shine them up and they’ll be fine.” Her bright gaze landed on Gussie again. “And I’ll help you with your hair in the morning. Maybe a braided crown with some flowers stuck here and there?” She laughed at Gussie’s bewilderment. “Oh, I do so love a wedding!”

“It’s not a wedding, though. We’re just getting married. We’re not in love. We don’t even know each other. It’s more like an agreement. A pact.”

Susan’s radiance dimmed, and she sat on the side of the bed as if her knees had suddenly given way. “Don’t think of it like that or you’ll be starting off on a bad foot. You know, there are girls in the county who will be envying you tomorrow. I see them eyeing my brother and twittering like little birds when he walks past them. He’s a handsome brute and he has a good heart. He really does.” She reached out and grasped one of Gussie’s hands. “He’s dependable, loyal, and works from sunup to sundown. He’s always shown me nothing but kindness and he’ll do the same to you. In no time, you’ll be in love with each other. You mark my words.” Susan squeezed her hand before letting go. “Now let me pin where the hem needs be.”

Gussie knew when she was whipped. Going against Susan Karlsson was like going against a swift river current. You weren’t going to get too far before giving up. She would wear the dress and the gloves and anything else Susan wanted to put on her. But Lonestar falling madly in love with her just because he married her? Even Susan couldn’t ordain that to happen.

She placed the dress on the bed before joining Susan in the kitchen where she helped her feed the children a light meal. She swept the floors and brought in two more buckets of well water while Susan finished preparing supper. The sun had nearly set before the men came in from the fields. They made their way out back to wash off the day’s grime. Gussie set the table and tried not to think about tomorrow – like she’d been trying all day and failing. The notion that tomorrow her life would completely change was hard not to dwell on.

At supper, it seemed that everyone was trying to act naturally. Susan and Erik teased their children and each other while Lonestar and Gussie managed to not glance at each other. Relief almost made Gussie feel faint when Susan began stacking dishes, ending the ordeal.

“Could I speak to you alone for a few minutes, Gussie?” Lonestar asked.

Gussie jerked all over and her gaze finally latched onto Lonestar. He raised a brow and motioned to the front door.

“Take a walk with me, please?” he insisted.

“Yes, you go on, Gussie.” Susan shooed her, giving her a push toward him.

“I should help wash up,” Gussie complained, not ready for a moonlight stroll with Max Lonestar.

“No, no. Go on. I’m sure you two have plans to make and such.”

Once again, Gussie weakened against Susan’s will. Defeated, she headed outside with Lonestar right behind her. The air had cooled some and the breeze on her warm face gave her some comfort. Gussie slowed her steps and glanced at Lonestar at her side.

“We heading anywhere in particular?” she asked.

“No.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Just wanted to get some things straight before tomorrow.”

“Oh. Like what?”

“I’ve written out the agreement we talked about if you decide you can’t stay in the marriage. We can both sign it in the morning and Susan and Erik can witness it. I’ll give it to you for safekeeping.”

Unable to find suitable words for a situation she never imagined herself in, she bobbed her head. It was more than agreeable that he’d provide her a means of escape. She hadn’t even thought of it herself! But he had. Was it because he knew what it was like to be shackled with no hope of escape?

“The pastor who will marry us tomorrow is Arvil Sherman. He’s also the school master and his wife is the teacher.” He shrugged. “Their daughters are Daisy and Pansy.”

Whoa. She stopped and swung her gaze up to his. “The flower sisters?”

He nodded, his face set in a slight frown. Standing beside him, she became acutely aware that he was about a foot taller than her. His shoulders were wide and his waist and hips lean. His stride was long but liquid. No doubt that the flower sisters weren’t the only females nosing around Max Lonestar.

“Will they be there?”

“I shouldn’t think so.”

“Could be awkward if they are.”

“Don’t know why.”

Her short laugh was heavy with sarcasm. “You don’t, huh? I don’t know them, but what I’ve been told, one or both have taken a shine to you at one time or another.”

“Nothing serious.” He kicked at a tuft of grass and started walking toward the barn again. “Rev. and Mrs. Sherman made it clear that their daughters are to have nothing to do with me.”

“And, of course, like good girls, they obeyed them to the letter.” Gussie clasped her hands behind her back and strolled along beside him, amused at his hedging. She had a bit of experience at slipping around rules and into shadows for some spooning. She’d also seen girls in the towns they traveled through making eyes at boys when their parents’ backs were turned.

They arrived at the barn and Lonestar stopped in front of it and tipped back his head to gaze at the star-studded sky. Gussie did, too. She located the Big Dipper, then the Little Dipper, remembering nights when her pa had shown her how to find them and navigate by them. Sensing Lonestar’s attentiveness, a shiver of awareness passed through her and she lowered her gaze to the one fixed on her upturned face. He didn’t look away; just took his fill of her, his dark eyes glittering in the nightlight as his gaze lingered on her nose, her chin, back up to her lips. He looked at her lips for long, breathless moments before his eyes leveled on hers again.

She tipped her head to one side, not sure if she were insulted, irritated, or pleasured. “You see something you like or not? I’m not used to being stared at.”

“No?” Surprise flitted across his face. “I don’t believe that.”

Brushing imaginary dust from her skirt, she busied herself with something besides his alluring mouth and dancing eyes. “It’s true. Nobody likes being stared at.”

“I see something I like.”

Her gaze flew back up to his face. His smiling face.

“You,” he whispered. “I like you.”

She eased back a step. “I reckon that’s good since you’re marrying me tomorrow.”

“Do you like me?”

She eyed his broad chest and shoulders, the column of his neck, his strong jawline, and those slashing cheekbones of his. “Sure. You’re a likeable sort.” She scolded herself for holding back. “I like you,” she declared. “You’re a handsome man and you seem to be truthful.”

“Thank you.” He dipped his head. “I am truthful, so I tell you true that I get enjoyment from your orneriness and the way you scowl at the world, in general, as if you’re waiting for it to do something disagreeable.” He chuckled at the expression that covered her face. “Yeah. Just like that.” He held up one finger to stop her from saying anything. “But I also very much like the color of your hair and the shape of your mouth. The way your eyes tip up at the corners is right pretty. And their shade of blue makes me think of a cool, mountain stream. Oh, and I like your rare but lovely smile and I do so want to see it more often.”

Her breathing had become shallower with each surprising admission. She’d never had a man speak to her in such glowing terms. Men just didn’t talk like that. Did they? Only in novels. Not in real life. But here he stood in a pool of starlight, telling her what he saw when he looked at her. She backed away, not trusting what she’d heard. The men she’d been around told her they wanted to see her breasts, feel under her skirt, and take what she wasn’t ready to give. Sometimes they’d called her “a pretty, little gal,” or “a feisty, little heifer,” but never words like a cool mountain stream!

“Why are you backing away from me?” Lonestar asked, laughing under his breath. “What did I say to scare you?”

“I’m not . . .” She made her feet stop moving. “I’m not scared.” Her voice held a traitorous tremor. “I didn’t figure you for a man with a silver tongue is all.”

“Me neither.”

“We should go back inside.” She would have whirled away from him, but his fingers closed on her wrist and held her in place.

“Gussie, wait. I don’t want our first kiss to be after we say our marriage vows.”

“Wha?” She didn’t finish the word or the question because his lips were suddenly sealing hers. Warm, pressing, coaxing. She sucked in a breath when the tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips and he hooked one arm around her waist. He bowed her body into his and she was vividly conscious of the firmness and strength of him. A strangled sound vibrated in her throat and he let go of her. She leaned away from him as the world around her whirled before it finally stopped. “Is that how Indians kiss?”

A laugh jostled out of him. “I guess so. Why? Did I kiss different somehow?”

“I . . . yes.” She pulled her stinging lips between her teeth. He’d touched them with his tongue! Was that normal? How would she know? She’d only been properly kissed six times in all her years. Fleeting, quick, fumbling kisses. Not rightly on purpose like his had been!

“How?”

“How what?”

He smiled. “How was mine different?”

She could feel warm color pool in her cheeks and she was glad it was dark. “You didn’t even ask, for one thing! A gentleman is supposed to ask for permission. Not just grab on and do it like he was wrestling a steer.” She squinted at him when his smile widened. “I see that I’m amusing you again.”

“I can’t help it if I find you entertaining and charming.”

“Charming?” She scoffed. “Anyways, it wasn’t the worst kiss ever, but I wasn’t ready for it.”

His smile slipped away and his eyes glittered darkly. “Very well. You ready now?”

“N-now?” She gulped. “Right now?”

His jawline firmed with determination. “Right now.”

Was she? Before her mind could engage, her head was nodding. Both of his arms circled her this time and her hands came up to rest against his chest as he bent to kiss her. His lips enveloped hers, sucking gently before lifting, shifting, and melting over hers.

A moan broke loose from her and shimmied up her throat as she gripped his shirt and hoped her heart wouldn’t burst. His tongue swept across her lips once, twice. He emitted a frustrated sound and then pulled away from her.

“You going to let me in?”

“I don’t . . .” She scowled, unsure of what he wanted, but deciding to refuse anyway. “No.”

“Ever?”

“In where?” Her heart? Her bed? What?

He cupped her chin in his hand and plucked at her lower lip with his thumb. “In there. I want to taste you.”

Astounded, she pushed against his chest. He let her go and she stumbled away from him. With wide eyes, she stared at his questioning expression. “I’m sure that ladies don’t let men do that.”

He tipped his head in blatant curiosity. “You’ve never been bedded, am I right?”

“Of course, I haven’t!” She stomped one foot, enraged that he’d ask such a thing of her. “What do you take me for? I might not be educated and all, but I’m no trollop!”

“Settle down now. I’m only getting the lay of the land. You’ve kissed fellas, haven’t you? Been kissed by them, too?”

“Yes,” she hissed and folded her arms in front of her in a defiant pose. “I have!” She was glad that he didn’t ask how many.

“And none of them used their tongues when they kissed you.”

“No.” It wasn’t a question, but she answered it. “I’ve been kissed properly.”

“Ah.” He arched a brow. “And when you received those proper kisses, did you moan and pant like you did just now with me?”

Feeling cornered, she lifted her chin in a show of affront. “I’m going inside. This is not a conversation we should be having.” Not waiting for him to agree, she pivoted and marched toward the house, half expecting him to catch up with her and stop her. But he didn’t. She entered the house in a rush. From the worried and concerned looks on Erik and Susan’s face, she realized that her eyes were probably as wide as dinner plates and she was breathing heavily like she’d been running. Her face was probably the color of a ripe apple.

“Something wrong?” Susan asked.

Gussie shook her head, not trusting her voice. She moved aside when she heard Lonestar behind her.

“I’ll say my ‘good evenings’ to you all,” he said from the doorway. “Big day tomorrow, so I’m turning in.”

“Yes, it’ll be a big day,” Erik agreed with a chuckle. “And this is your last night as a free man, Max! See you bright and early in the morning.”

He nodded. “We’ll do morning chores before we head out.”

“Yes, and have a celebration breakfast. Can’t get hitched on an empty belly.”

Gussie’s stomach was all aquiver along with the rest of her. She barely heard anything else that was said, nodding in agreement with whatever plans Susan espoused as she made her way gradually to her bedroom – Lonestar’s bedroom. Finally, inside and alone with her thoughts, she fell onto the bed and stared blindly at the ceiling.

He wanted to taste her.

What did that mean? Did he want to bite her? Lick her? Did men and women do that to each other? Would someone like Susan allow such a thing from Erik? She couldn’t imagine it.

And yet . . . what was truly appalling was that she had to admit a little thrill when she thought about him saying that.

Let me in. I want to taste you.

Rolling onto her stomach, she buried her hot face in the cool pillow. Oh! Good! Lord! She wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. Not with her head full of such things, such words, such odd, tremulous feelings! She’d have black circles under her eyes tomorrow when she said her vows to Max Lonestar.

Taste her.

How would he taste? Like wild, green things? Like dark, rushing water? Like the tart, tantalizing edges of sin?

She groaned into the pillow and cursed her wicked imagination.