Miranda continued to stare at him, every muscle in her body tightened enough to snap if someone so much as touched her. She shook her head to clear it of the nonsense she thought she heard. Marry him? Surely, she’d misunderstood. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stone, but I could swear I just heard you say you would hire me as a bookkeeper if I marry you?”

He nodded “That’s right.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Do all your female employees have to marry you first?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I like your sense of humor, Miss Beamer.”

She wasn’t one hundred percent sure she’d been joking. “Mr. Stone—“

“Preston, please.”

“—surely, you aren’t serious.”

“Yes. I am. I am very serious, and I’ll explain it to you.” He pushed aside his empty bowl and leaned his forearms on the table. “Right now, I have hundreds of dollars’ worth of lumber arriving in Santa Fe in about two weeks. A couple of months after that, thousands of dollars in furnishings will be shipped from New York to Santa Fe. Do you know what all that is for?”

Miranda shook her head.

“I have a piece of land all cleared and ready to build a hotel and restaurant that Santa Fe desperately needs. We are growing, and very soon the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad will come down this far.”

The determination on his face and the strength of his words drew her in. Even though she still hadn’t any idea where marriage to her fit in all of this, she found herself fascinated by his enthusiasm.

He fiddled with the spoon lying next to his bowl. “I applied to the town council for a permit to build my hotel and was turned down.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“I’m not respectable enough.” He viewed her from under shuttered eyelids.

“Because you own a gambling house and saloon?”

“Yes.” He waved his hand. “And for other reasons I don’t want to go into right now. They said if I got married and moved out of my saloon, they would reconsider my request. You see, a wife would make me respectable.”

Still confused and not at all sure this man was not missing some important part of his brain, she said, “You have all these women working for you. Can’t you marry one of them?”

He leaned forward. “Miss Beamer, did you look at those girls when Crystal brought you upstairs to my office? For the most part, they are decent girls and hard workers, but do you think the town council considers them respectable?”

That did give her pause. The girls she’d seen did seem nice and friendly, but something about them had made her wonder if she would suit in a job like that. “And I am?”

“Absolutely.”

She tried very hard not to smile at the irony of him trying to gain respectability by marrying a murderess. But then, there was no reason to offer that information. What she needed to do was convince him to give her the bookkeeping job without insisting she marry him. She really wanted that job but really didn’t want a husband.

* * *

Preston found Miss Beamer a puzzle. Everything about the woman’s demeanor and appearance told him she should be anxious to find a husband and settle down to make a comfortable home and raise children. Instead of following that normal course of events, she was desperate for a job. Desperate enough to want a job in a saloon.

With her looks and delectable curves, men would be lining up to make her theirs. Which could only mean one thing—she was hiding something. At this point, he really didn’t care what those secrets were; he just needed her consent to marry him. And fast.

“What can I do to convince you to marry me?”

Miss Beamer blew out a huge breath of air. “Can’t I just have the job?”

He shook his head. This might be his only chance to obtain a wife quickly enough to be able to accept his deliveries and actually get his hotel and restaurant started.

“That’s sort of like blackmail.”

“Probably.” He cleared his throat. “Look, Miss Beamer, I’m not a bad sort. I’m willing to buy you a small house to start out and make sure we always have food on the table and all the little extras that ladies like. I’m fairly easy to get along with, bathe regularly, and have all my teeth. Maybe someday there would be children.”

His gut tightened at the blush that rose on her face. He’d had his share of women over the years, but there was something intriguing about this one. Never having been attracted to the innocent type, he was confused at his reaction to her. Everything about her had fascinated him from the minute she followed Crystal into his office.

He imagined marriage to her, watching as she took her hair down at night then removed her clothes. The body under her dress made his hands itch to run them over the dips and curves, feel her smooth, warm skin, touching her in places he was sure no man ever had.

The sound of her voice drew him from his musings. “I agree to your proposal, but I have one condition.”

He shifted in his seat to accommodate his body’s response to his thoughts. “And that would be?”

She raised her chin, two bright red spots appearing on her cheeks. “I would prefer a marriage of convenience.”

“What?” He really should see about getting his hearing checked.

“I believe we should think of this as a business arrangement. I will work for you and become your wife so you can build your hotel. And be respectable.”

“But what about…”

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

He would be satisfied with a business arrangement sort of marriage, without any silly ideas of romance. However, if he were to complete his dream of a proper life with an acceptable business and family, he needed children. Children who would never go without food or clothes. Who would not be taunted in school for their parent’s sins. Who would know the security of a father’s love. Not the sort of existence his childhood had been.

But the little minx knew she had him over a barrel. He needed a wife, and he needed her now. Again, he wondered about her reluctance to take the most natural course for a woman like herself. He sat back and studied his prospective wife. What secrets are you keeping from me, darlin’?

“I will agree with one condition of my own.” He leaned forward and gave her his best seductive smile. “You will allow me to try to change your mind.”

The pulse jumping in her throat told him she wasn’t immune to him nor unaffected by the idea of sharing his bed. Yes. It would take some doing, but he was sure he could change her mind. “Well?” As much as he needed a wife, she seemed equally desperate for a job.

“Very well.”

Preston smiled. This could turn out to be a very interesting arrangement.

* * *

“I am happy for you, Miranda, and relieved I won’t have to wire Marshal Jones and tell him you refused to marry.” Miss Nellie hugged her close, then moved her back, her hands braced on Miranda’s shoulders. “The marshal gave me enough money to see that each girl had a nice dress for her wedding. If you like, we can go shopping now so you’ll be all ready for tomorrow.”

Once Miranda and Preston had agreed on their terms and conditions, he insisted on a quick wedding. Since he wouldn’t permit her to step foot in the saloon until they married, she had no choice. She had to begin earning money.

She thought back to Preston’s edict that she allow him to try to change her mind about having a real marriage. Despite her fear and loathing of Frankie and Woody, the notion of her future husband taking her into his strong arms and making love to her appealed far too much.

This marriage was a convenience for him, but for her, also. When she packed up and left Santa Fe, she didn’t want the complication of a child or a broken heart. No, it was best to remain immune to his advances.

The trip to the mercantile produced a lovely pale-pink, long-sleeved taffeta dress with small yellow and pink flowers embroidered on the cuffs and hem. A wide, dark-pink grosgrain ribbon encircled the waist with a large bow that tied in back.

Miranda gazed at herself in the mirror at the mercantile. She hadn’t owned anything this lovely since before her father died. Once Frankie had gotten his hands on the little bit of money her mother had received from the sale of their home, there was never any more new clothing for either her or her mother. But always plenty of his whiskey.

Pushing aside the gloomy thoughts, she smiled at the clerk. “Yes, I’ll take this one.”

“You’ll make a beautiful bride, Miranda,” Miss Nellie said.

Miranda turned to allow the clerk to unfasten the back of the dress, which she then wrapped in paper and handed to her. “Good luck with your marriage, Miss Beamer. I’m sure you and Mr. Stone will be very happy.” She leaned in close, red dots on her cheeks. “And he is quite handsome.”

The bright sunlight as they left the store offered her a sense of hope. Maybe this would work out well. She would begin work at the saloon, save her money, and catch a stagecoach out of Santa Fe. No more looking over her shoulder to see if Woody’s gun was pointed at her back.

“Now that we are all married, Miss Nellie, what do you plan to do for yourself?” They both lifted the hems of their skirts to avoid the mud and manure as they stepped off the boardwalk to cross the street.

“I’m thinking of running a mail-order bride service. I really enjoyed watching you all select fine men for your husbands. It was so different from my past business; it gave me a warm feeling to know you are all well taken care of and won’t have to worry.”

This was the first time she and Miss Nellie had actually spoken of her life as a brothel owner. From what little Miranda knew of that type of work, Miss Nellie sure didn’t seem to fit, except when she’d first seen her with her red satin dress and face paint as Marshal Jones introduced her to the girls.

“Then you will stay in Santa Fe?”

“There isn’t anything for me in Dodge City. My business burned down, my girls scattered. It was time for me to move on.”

“What about Marshal Jones?”

Miss Nellie’s head snapped in Miranda’s direction. “What about Marshal Jones?”

Miranda shrugged. “Nothing. I thought maybe the two of you were friends.”

“Yes. Well, we are friends.” She smiled brightly. “But he’s in Dodge City and I’m here.”

Miranda got the feeling Miss Nellie was trying very hard not to say something. But she had her own worries. Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, Mr. Preston Stone, gambling hall and saloon owner, and aspiring respectable hotel proprietor, would be calling for her. They would present themselves at the church to stand before Preacher Finn where they would be married.

Till death do you part.

Or as soon as she saved enough money.