The Negotiated Marriage

A Business Arrangement

When the railroad pushes to buy her land, orphaned Cameron Sims will do anything to keep the only home she and her sisters have ever known. Even if she must marry a stranger. But she’s determined her agreement with the mysterious, dashing man—who’s unlike anything the Kansas railroad town has ever seen—will remain simply business.

Duncan Murray doesn’t want a wife. He wants Sims Creek, a sanctuary that can help him forget a troubled childhood. But his reluctant, and captivating, bride-to-be is key to making his dreams a reality. And despite their business arrangement, Camy and Duncan might be signing on the dotted line for true love...

“Get your stuff and get off my land.”

“Your land?”

“That’s right, mister.” Camy rooted her feet in place.

He swayed toward her, one corner of his mouth curving upward as if he knew something she didn’t, then held out his hand. “Duncan Murray.”

The earthy scent emanating from him assaulted her senses, catching her off guard. The name suited his towering height and brawny muscles. If she pulled on her memories she could hear tales spun by her mother and could almost imagine him brandishing a sword in the plaid buried at the bottom of her mother’s trunk. His name was strong and true to his heritage.

“I dinnae care who you are, Mr. Murray.” She allowed her own accent, faded through the years, to thicken as she straightened her spine and propped the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. “I do not want to shoot you, but I will if I must.”

“I have no wish to be shot.”

Born and raised in Kansas, where she currently lives with her husband and children, CHRISTINA RICH loves to read stories with happily-ever-afters, research, take photos, visit the ocean, write stories with happily-ever-afters and talk about her family and Jesus.

The Negotiated Marriage

Christina Rich

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Then Peter opened his mouth, and said, “Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: But in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.”

—Acts 10:34–35

Mom and Dad, thank you for being some of my biggest fans. Thank you for believing in me.

Love,

Chris

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Rusa Valley, Kansas

Spring 1867

“Hold it right there!” Camy Sims drew a bead on the man lying down at the bank of the creek, his feet dipped in the water. She eased the bucket to the ground. How dare anyone trespass on their land? Her land, given that Uncle Hamish disappeared with the wind and her sisters Ellie and Mara seemed to have other things in mind like carriage rides and frilly dresses. Not Camy. She didn’t have aspirations for anything other than staying right here on Sim’s Creek and enjoying the solitude of country life. A solitude sorely interrupted by a man who refused to acknowledge her presence. “I said, don’t move.”

He didn’t. Not a single muscle. Tilting her head away from the rifle resting against her shoulder, Camy squinted through the dappling of grey morning light filtering through the thick canopy of leaves until the man came into focus. His bare feet ebbed and flowed with the current of the river. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. She couldn’t blame him for succumbing to the beauty here. Wisps of smoke rose from the charred firewood, telling her he’d camped the night in her favorite place of solitude, a place away from Mara’s continuous chatter of prospective husbands and Ellie’s melancholy, a state she’d been in since she returned home last August after months with a distant cousin. Anger sparked and burned through her veins at the intrusion.

After all the railroad’s attempts at acquiring their land before the winter, Camy should have known they’d come creeping through the woods once the weather warmed. She only wished she knew why they wanted the Simses’ land. It was far from ideal, at least to her way of thinking. There were places closer to town where the land lay flat and the banks were more even, places where the river wouldn’t wash the railroad’s bridge downstream. If only this man were a simple passerby who had been lured by the languorous song of the water trickling over the rocks and the serenade of the birds. Given that a wayward stranger hadn’t passed by here since she could remember, his presence meant one thing: he was trying to gain access to her land. And that just wouldn’t do. Did he come expecting their gratefulness at a measly offer, or did he come ready to make threats and burn their home down?

She intended to find out even though her sisters would complain at her dallying too long as Mara, no doubt, would be anxious to complete morning chores so they could go to town. Camy’s younger sister loved the social blur of town life, whereas Ellie and Camy only wanted to discreetly discover details about any strangers who might be a threat to them. The latest gossip from Mrs. Smith, Rusa Valley’s socialite, was about a man. Tall, handsome and more important, according to Mara, richer than King Solomon. As if those things were all that mattered in a prospective husband.

But from the looks of this man, he wasn’t rich or handsome, at least not in the sense her sisters claimed. No doubt they’d thank her for taking the time to scoot the scallywag right off their land once they got over their anger at her dealing with him on her own. Besides, if Ellie knew about the stranger, she’d demand they all move into town as she’d threatened to do after the last incident with a group of ruffians. No amount of money, bluff and bluster could entice Camy to leave her home.

Picking up the water bucket, Camy crept down the well-worn path, focused on the still figure. After all, it wouldn’t do for her to be caught unaware. Why, what if the man was only playing possum? Her sisters would think her silly, as no man in his right mind would play dead in his bare feet. Not around here leastways. There were too many thorns ready to pierce clear to the bone, and she should know given that Ellie had doctored her feet plenty of times. As she got closer to the stranger, she knew that no man would played possum with his feet in the icy water and the rest of his body at an odd angle with his arms strung out. His lip bloodied.

Camy skidded to a halt. Clumps of dirt rolled down the path until they splashed into the water. Was he dead?

She couldn’t very well leave him there, dead or alive. If he was alive she’d give him a swift kick to his backside, and if he wasn’t, well, she’d just have Ellie fetch the Drs. Northrop, all three of them. Of course, if he was already dead, she could just roll him into the water. The river would wash him past Sims Ferry and on down to Doc Northrop’s Landing where the old doctor most likely dipped his pole in the water. The man would be the doctors’ problem, not hers.

Camy shoved her spectacles back onto the bridge of her nose and shifted her gaze over the still body, looking for any hint of life. She drew in a fortifying breath and eased down the rest of the path until she was only a few feet from his body. Waves of chestnut locks blanketed his brow, covering his eyes. Her fingers itched to brush the strands away for her to see if his lashes were as thick and dark as she imagined. Even with the bloodied lip and shadow of a beard, handsome didn’t even come close to describing the chiseled jaw and aquiline nose. He was beautiful.

Her gaze roamed toward his chest. The tension holding her shoulders taut released at the steady rise and fall. She took note of its wide berth, the way his shirt stretched tight. Corded forearms, visible from his rolled sleeves. He no longer seemed like a stranger, but like a man who belonged in the country. A man who belonged here. In her place. Her secret place, and that just wouldn’t do at all.

She took a few steps closer and jabbed him with the barrel of her rifle. “Mister, are you hard of hearing? Or daft?”

He groaned. As he turned his head, his dark locks fell, revealing thick, dark lashes and mossy green eyes hooded by thick, dark eyebrows. He clasped his hand to his head.

“You need to be getting out of here, mister.”

He groaned again as he eased into a sitting position. He pulled his feet out of the water and his knees into his chest and then buried his face into his hands. Blood stained the rock near where his head had been. Crimson-matted clumps of hair stuck out at odd angles from the back of his head. Someone obviously took a strong disliking to him to leave him here like this. She wanted to help, to inspect his wounds as her sister Ellie would do, but after all the schemes the railroad had pulled last year, she wouldn’t put this one beyond them too.

“Mister, you can’t sit here all day. More than likely the sky is about to unleash a torrent and this here river will flood. If you don’t want to be going for a swim downriver, I suggest you get moving.”

He lifted his head and squinted at her through a swollen and blackening eye as if she’d lost her wits. His gazed roamed over her from head to toe and back again until he settled on her face. “Where am I? Where’s my horse?”

Camy glanced around the trees. “I don’t know anything about your horse, mister. This here’s Sims Creek. At least here in this little bend. Upriver it’s Northrop River and downriver the same. But right here, it’s Sims Creek.”

His brow furrowed. “Hamish Sims?”

A sickening thud dropped into Camy’s stomach. Had her uncle turned yellow-bellied and befriended the enemy? Most certainly not. He’d made a promise, and a Sims always kept a promise. Excepting her da. This was just another ploy. Camy moved back a few paces and motioned toward his coat with the rifle. “Get your stuff and get off my land.”

He massaged the back of his neck and then unfolded to his full height. He narrowed his eyes and gave her a glare that begged for a fight. Gold-flecked daggers flashed from his eyes, causing a shiver of caution to race down her spine. Perhaps she should agree to leave her home and take her sisters to town where they’d be happier and much safer.

He thrust his hands on his hips. “Your land?”

“That’s right, mister.” Camy rooted her feet in place. It wasn’t exactly hers alone, but Hamish had promised it to her and she wouldn’t allow this stranger’s height to intimidate her and make her give up her fight so easily.

He swayed toward her, one corner of his mouth curving upward as if he knew something she didn’t, and then held out his hand. “Duncan Murray.”

The earthy scent emanating from him assaulted her senses, catching her off guard. The name suited his towering height and brawny muscles. If she pulled on her memories, she could hear tales spun by her mother and could almost imagine him brandishing a sword in the plaid buried in the bottom of her mother’s trunk. His name was strong and true to his heritage. However, the way he stifled his accent indicated he was not so proud to be a Scotsman. If there was one thing both her parents taught her and her sisters, it was to never be ashamed of their heritage. Never.

“I dinnae care who you are, Mr. Murray.” She allowed her own accent, faded through the years, to thicken as she straightened her spine and propped the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. “I do not want to shoot you, but I will if I must.”

“And I have no wish to be shot.”

Before she knew what he was about, he closed the distance between them and removed the rifle from her hands. Losing her footing, she slid down the bank and sucked in a sharp breath as the icy water soaked through her clothing. The current tugged at her legs, rocking her. She held her arms out to gain balance and then wrapped them around her midsection. He laid the rifle on the bank and offered her a hand. She stared at the calloused palm and started to reach for it until she recalled the last encounter with a hired thug claiming to be with the railroad. Not only had they promised to burn their home if they didn’t accept an offer soon, but they had threatened to dump her and her sisters in the river.

“I’ll get out myself, thank you.”

“Very well, then.” Mr. Murray plucked his coat from the ground. The man took the liberty of filling the bucket with water, grabbed her rifle and started up the path.

“Where are you going?”

“To find that scoundrel Hamish.”

He didn’t even have the decency to look at her, or persist in offering her aid to safety. She found herself at a further disadvantage, as Mr. Murray had all of her belongings, heading straight for her sisters. He might not be blond and blue-eyed, but Mara would no doubt swoon and then fawn over his every whim. Ellie, on the other hand, would be packing their trunks and moving them into the safety of town with the likes of folks who were more apt to sip tea in their stuffy parlor rooms than take a walk along the river.

Over her freezing limbs. “You cannot very well walk around without your shoes.”

Never mind that detail had not bothered her a moment ago when she told him he had to leave. She eased through the turbulent water sucking at her skirts, careful not to lose balance, and grabbed hold of a root protruding out of the bank. She tested its strength and then, using her foot as leverage against the bank, tried to pull herself up the side. She slid right back into the water, her fingers white-knuckled around the root as the water tugged at her. She wasn’t about to give up. She’d seen him first. And she’d see him gone before Mara laid eyes on him. Before Ellie moved them from their home.

“Which is one reason why I intend to find Hamish.”

Little chance of that. She hadn’t seen her uncle since before the leaves fell from their moorings, and that had been months ago, but she wasn’t about to tell Mr. Duncan Murray such truths lest he take it in his head to steal their land.

“And what is the other, Mr. Murray?”

He halted halfway up the path and faced her. A lopsided grin appeared, forcing a dimple in his cheek. That field of butterflies fluttered with the force of her clothes hanging out on the line in a southerly Kansas wind. His swollen eye and bloodied lip did nothing to lessen the effect. “To find my horse.”

She almost let loose a sigh of relief. Nobody could blame a man for searching for his horse. If that was the only reason he was here.

“And to negotiate the purchase of this land, after I meet Cameron Sims.”

* * *

“What did you say?”

Duncan hadn’t meant for those words to spill out of his mouth, but she’d been so insistent that he get off her land, land they both very well knew wasn’t hers, that he couldn’t help goading her. All he wanted to do was inspect the land Hamish had offered him at a measly sum, a piece of property his friend had claimed rivaled the beauty of Duncan’s beloved Highlands. The fact that it was only miles from Rusa Valley where he could oversee his investment in the railroad as it clanked through town made Hamish’s offer more appealing. Calvin Weston, a member of the railroad committee and the man who had approached Duncan about providing funds for iron and labor for the railroad, wouldn’t be too happy about Duncan keeping a close watch on how his money was spent.

All he had to do was hand Hamish the bills in his pocket and sign his name on the deed and the land would be his. Of course, there was the little matter about his future bride, a minute detail Hamish had forgotten to mention until they’d made camp. A detail that had Duncan gathering his belongings and heading back to Topeka. That was until Hamish had caught him off guard and rammed the butt of his rifle into Duncan’s face. Obviously his friend was intent on Duncan purchasing the land and marrying a lass. The next thing he knew his ribs were being poked by a wild-haired, wild-eyed beauty.

Staring at the woman in the water, he was more than grateful she wasn’t the woman Hamish thought to pawn on him. At least he hoped not, as she was far from the description Hamish had given him. Much prettier and full of vinegar with her pink, bow-shaped mouth Not the meek wallflower Hamish had told him about. Not to mention that she looked nothing like his friend and could be of no relation.

He shrugged. He didn’t need any female luring him into a real marriage. “I’m here to purchase this land.”

“It’s not for sale.” Her lips flattened into a thin line. Her spectacles magnified the arrows shooting from her frigid eyes, piercing his black heart. As if her aversion toward him wasn’t enough to spark his competitive nature, the mass of dark curls springing from the knot at the nape of her neck tempted him further. Her enticing accent stirred long-forgotten memories of warm hearths and heather-covered fields. Her resolve to do things herself, the strength in her hands as she held on to the root, the mud speckling her gown and the dusting of freckles draped over her button nose, reminded him of all the reasons Hamish Sims’s proposition had held some appeal. Miles from city life promised a reprieve from social gatherings and the matchmaking mamas hoping to pawn their daughters onto his bank account. Besides, Hamish had argued, what better way to halt the incessant schemes than to marry a homely sort of lass? Duncan never expected a man he’d considered a friend to join ranks with scheming mothers. Hamish knew how he felt about marriage, but now Duncan wondered if the old man hadn’t spoken with some wisdom. Perhaps a marriage in name only could be beneficial.

“I have it on good authority that it is.” Duncan stretched his jaw, testing the damage left by Hamish, and then rubbed the back of his head where he’d landed on a rock.

“I don’t know what sort of sham you’re trying to pull, Mr. Murray. This land is not for sale.” The light sprinkling of rain turned to fat drops. She lifted her face to the rain. The droplets of mud washed away, leaving a soft glow bathing her cheeks. The corners of her mouth curved into a slight smile, as if she enjoyed the feel of nature’s kiss on her skin. For a small space of time he traveled back to his beloved Highlands, and if he allowed himself the pleasure of lingering she’d soon be twirling about like a wee child, wrapping strands of her hair around his finger, crumbling the hardened brick and mortar encasing his heart.

No wonder she was hidden out here in the woods—she was a danger to society. Most ladies of his acquaintance ran indoors at the first sight of a rain cloud, not to mention suffering from the vapors at a dunking in the river. She seemed to delight in it.

She dropped her gaze back to his. A deep scowl appeared before she resumed her efforts to get out of the river. “Hamish will never sell this land. I’d guarantee a month’s worth of cooking and cleaning on that.”

Too bad he couldn’t take her up on the cooking. It’d been a long time since he’d eaten anything other than beans. He had the funds to eat at Calhoun’s whenever he chose, but no sooner had he settled his napkin on his lap than a gaggle of females congregated at his table full of giggles, batting eyelashes and dinner invitations. Once the matchmaking mamas discovered he had no intention of courting their daughters, they rescinded their offers of dinner. Hot stew, fresh biscuits and homemade apple pie sure set his mouth to watering.

No matter, it had been a small price to pay to retain his bachelorhood and save the world from the likes of him. He’d seen what happened to women who became slaves to marriage and their husband’s fists, to the children born of such unions. He’d been one of them, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistakes as his father, which meant he had to convince Hamish that any marriage he considered could be nothing more than words spoken before a minister. A marriage in name only.

She finally pulled herself out of the water and onto the bank. She held her skirt up as if to examine the damage. The curve of her calf clad in wool stockings waved at him. He caught his jaw slacking and he snapped it shut as he shifted his gaze to the sun-kissed freckles gracing the curve of her cheeks. He grunted, disgusted with himself. He focused on a dark freckle above her nondescript wire-rimmed spectacles. He couldn’t afford the distraction of her natural beauty.

Duncan shook his head. He needed to focus on his current task, and it wasn’t her.

Although Hamish had it in him to knock Duncan in the head when he wasn’t looking, he more than likely hadn’t the heart to rid this place of squatters, not when they looked like her, doe-eyed and hapless. He was no old man with a soft heart; his heart had hardened years ago. He wouldn’t fall for her womanly charm, not that she meant to exude it. Obviously she didn’t, else she’d hold his gaze and bat her lashes like so many of the ladies in town.

Nope. He wasn’t going to give her the chance. Once he hunted down Hamish, paid the measly amount of cash, signed the deed and hired the minister, he’d boot her right off his land. She shivered, as if she heard his thoughts, her arms tightening around her waist to ward off the tepid spring breeze.

“You’re going to catch a cold standing there all day in wet clothes.” He started toward her with the intention of moving her away from the edge of the bank, but stopped himself. No doubt, if he touched her he’d catch the illness that had plagued his father.

“I don’t sicken so easily.”

He imagined not. Just as well. She was none of his concern, even though he wished she would move farther away from the edge. One slip and she’d be back in the water. He hadn’t had the urge to rescue a damsel in a long time, and he’d do well to pay heed to the dinner bells clanging in his head. He couldn’t allow the urge to take root. Wouldn’t. The rain quickened its pace. Turning from her, he headed up the path, away from the strings drawing him back toward her, away from the gleam in her milk-laden, coffee-colored eyes that he couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Why are you looking for Cameron Sims?”

He didn’t need to turn around and see the glare in her eyes, not when fire singed the back of his neck.

“Mr. Murray, I demand you stop, right this minute.”

Demand? Thankful she was definitely not the woman Hamish intended him to marry, he felt the knot of uncertainty that had been balled up in his gut release. She was neither biddable nor undemanding.

“Mr. Murray, I’m warning you.”

He had never been partial to brown eyes, but hers stirred emotions buried deep beneath a thick layer of mistrust, and if he wasn’t careful he’d find himself leg-shackled at the altar with a beautiful lady and a gun pressed against his spine. He flinched at the memory. “To marry her,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Mr. Murray!”

Before he could shake off the memory, he found his foot lassoed and his body jerked upside down. The bucket and the rifle flew from his hands, hitting the ground. A loud crack split the air.