A Perfect Arrangement Part 1

A Perfect Arrangement.

Deveraux, Jude.

Chapter One.

1882.

"Mr. Hunter, I would like to ask you to marry me."

Cole couldn't say a word, it was one of the few times in his life when he was actually speechless. There'd been many times when he'd chosen not to speak, but at those times a few thousand words had been racing around in his head and he'd simply refused to let them out. Not now, though.

It wasn't that he was shocked at a woman asking him to marry her. He didn't want to brag, but he'd had a few marriage proposals in his time.

Well, so maybe they were more in the form of propositions and maybe they weren't from women who could be called respectable, but there had definitely been women who had mentioned the word "marriage."

What was shocking was that this woman was talking to him about marriage. This tiny creature was the type of woman who pretended that men like him didn't exist. She was one of those women who swept their skirts aside when he walked by. Maybe later they met him in the back of the barn after church, but they didn't talk of marriage with him, and they didn't ask him in for Sunday dinner.

But he could believe that this little thing would have trouble getting a man. There wasn't anything to recommend her. Except for a rather curvy front-and he'd certainly seen better-she was the type of woman you wouldn't notice even if she were sitting on your lap. Not pretty, not ugly, not even homely, just plain-faced. She had dull brown hair, not a lot of it, and it looked as though a dozen red-hot pokers couldn't make it curl.

Plain brown eyes, plain little nose, plain, ordinary little mouth. No figure to speak of except for the nice round shape on top. No hips, no real curves at all.

And then there was her manner. Cole liked women who looked as though they'd be fun in bed and out of it. He liked a woman who could laugh and make him laugh, but this prim little creature hardly looked capable of pleasantries, much less humor. She looked like the teacher who would accept no excuse for not doing your homework. She looked like the lady who arranged the flowers for the church every Sunday, the woman you saw every day you were growing up but never thought to ask her name.

She didn't look married. She didn't look as though she'd ever had a man in her bed, a man snuggling against her for warmth. If she'd had a man, he probably wore a long white nightshirt and a cap and what they did they did solely for the procreation of the human race.

He took his time lighting a thin cigar to give himself some time to think-and to recover himself. He traveled so much and met so many people that he'd had to train himself to be a quick and accurate judge of both men and women. But so far, he wasn't making any headway with this one. When he was younger than his present thirty-eight years, he used to think that women like this one were dying for a man to warm them up. He'd learned that cold-looking women were, for the most part, cold women. Once he'd spent months working to seduce a plain, prim little woman rather like this one, all the while thinking that a dormant volcano lay under her tightly b.u.t.toned dress. But when he finally got her knickers off, she just lay there with her fists clenched and her teeth gritted. It was the one and only time in his life when he couldn't perform.

After that, he decided it was easier to go after the women who looked as though they might welcome his advances.

So now here was one of these frigid, mousy little nothings, with her dress b.u.t.toned to her chin, her elbows held close to her body, and although he couldn't see them, he was sure her knees were locked together.

He was seated on one of those hard, upholstered chairs the landlady considered fashionable, taking his time lighting his cigar and watching her, waiting for her to make the next move. Of course she had so far made all the moves. She had written him that she wanted to hire his services for a very personal matter and she'd like to come to see him in Abilene.

From her letter-written on heavy vellum in a perfect hand-he'd guessed she was rich and she wanted him to kill some man who'd toyed with her affections. That's what women usually wrote to him about. If a man wanted to hire him, he generally wanted someone killed because of land or cattle or water rights or revenge or some such. But with women it was always love. Years ago, Cole had stopped trying to make both men and women believe he wasn't a hired killer. He was a peacemaker-for- hire. He felt that he was really a diplomat. He had a talent for settling disputes, and he used that talent to do what he could. It was true that sometimes people got killed during the talks, but Cole only defended himself. He never drew first.

"Please go on," he said when the mouse didn't continue. He'd offered her a seat, but she said she'd rather stand. Probably because that stiff back of hers wouldn't bend. And she'd insisted that the door to his room be left open six inches-so no one would get the wrong idea.

She cleared her throat. "I know what I must sound like and look like.

I'm sure you think I am a lonely spinster in need of a man."

Cole had to work to keep from smiling since that is just what he thought. Was she now going to tell him that she didn't need a man? All she wanted was for him to find the neighbor's son, who had jilted her, and wipe him off the face of the earth.

"I try not to lie to myself," she said. "I have no illusions about my appearance and my appeal to men. I would, of course, like to have a husband and half a dozen children."

He did smile at that. At least she was honest about her need for an energetic man in her bed.

"But if I really were looking for a husband, a man to be a father to my children, I certainly wouldn't consider an aging gunslinger with no visible means of support and the beginnings of a paunch."

At that Cole sat up straighter in his chair and sucked in his stomach. It took some doing to keep from putting his hand on his stomach. Maybe he'd better stay away from his landlady's apple pie for a couple of days.

"Would you mind telling me what you want?" Not that I would ever, ever take this job, he said to himself. What did she mean, "aging gunslinger"? Why he was as good with a gun right now as he had been twenty years ago! None of these youngsters today- He cut off his thoughts when she started speaking again.

"I'm not sure what to tell you first." She gave him a hard, scrutinizing look. "I was told you were the handsomest man in Texas."

Cole smiled again. "People talk a lot," he said modestly.

"Personally, I don't see it."

At that he paused with his cigar in midair.

"Maybe you were handsome some years back but now... Too much sun has turned your skin to leather, and you have a hard look about your eyes. It's my guess, Mr. Hunter, that you're a very selfish man."

For the second time that day, Cole was shocked into speechlessness.

Then he tipped his head back and laughed. When he looked at the woman again, she wasn't so much as smiling. "All right, Miss..."

"Latham. Miss Latham."

"Ah, yes, Miss Latham," he said snidely, then was annoyed with himself. In fights, he'd faced men who'd said all manner of things about him and his ancestors and they hadn't been able to rile him, but this ordinary woman with her comments about his supposed paunch and whether or not he was selfish annoyed him. Who was she to talk? She was so nondescript that if you stood her against a sand dune you wouldn't be able to see where she started and the sand left off.

"You want to tell me what you want of me?" he asked. He knew he ought to tell her to get out of here, but he couldn't help being curious as to what she had to say. Great, he thought, a curious diplomat. He could get killed being curious.

"I have a sister who is one year older than I am."

She turned and walked toward the window, and when she walked there wasn't the slightest hint of the graceful sway of hips that men loved to look at. This woman walked as though she were made of wood-and she was just about that attractive to him.

"My sister is everything that I am not. My sister is beautiful."

She must have sensed Cole's thoughts because she started explaining.

"I know that those who see me cannot believe I have a beautiful sister.

They probably think that my idea of beauty is undeveloped."

Cole didn't say a word, but this was just what he was thinking. It wouldn't take much of a looker to be pretty beside this little creature. Of course with every unpleasant thing she said about him, she became even less attractive. He wondered how old she was. Not less than thirty was his guess. Much too old to attract any man now. She wouldn't get the half-dozen kids she wanted.

"Rowena is as beautiful as any woman who has ever lived. She's five feet seven, has thick auburn hair that curls all by itself. She has green eyes, thick lashes, a perfect nose, and full lips. She has a figure that has made men tremble. I know this because I have seen it happen more than once."

She took a deep breath. "More important than her beauty-to women at least-is that Rowena is a lovely person. She cares about other people.

She does things for them, makes them care about themselves and others.

She is a born leader." She sighed. "My sister has my mother's looks and personality. In other words, she has everything."

"You want me to shoot her for you?" Cole was making a joke, but the woman didn't laugh, making him wonder if she had any sense of humor at all.

"To take my sister from this life would harm the earth."

Cole coughed, nearly choking on the cigar smoke. He'd never heard anyone say anything like that before, yet she said it as though she truly meant it.

"My sister is a heroine. I mean that in the best sense. Like all heroines, she has no idea of her heroism. When she was twelve, she saw a fire in an orphanage, and without thought for her own safety she ran into the burning building and saved a roomful of children. She is beloved by everyone."

"Except you."

Miss Latham took another deep breath and sat down. "No, you're wrong. She is loved especially by me." When she expelled her breath he could see that she was shaking, but she concealed it very well. He suspected that she often hid her emotions. "It is difficult to explain how I feel about Rowena. I love her but sometimes I... I almost hate her." Her head came up in a gesture of pride. "Perhaps my problem is actually jealousy."

For several moments he watched her sit utterly still on her chair, and he was amazed to see that there was no betrayal of emotion on her face or in her body. No flicker of the eyes, no wringing of the hands. She sat perfectly still. She'd be a brilliant poker player.

Suddenly Cole knew he was in trouble because he could feel himself softening toward her. "What do you want me to do?" he asked more gruffly than he meant to.

"Six years ago my sister married a fabulous man. Tall, handsome, rich, intelligent. Jonathan is the man every woman dreams of marrying. They live in England on a beautiful estate and have two lovely children.

Rowena is the type of woman whose servants would work for her even if she couldn't pay them."

"And what about you?"

For the first time, he saw the tiniest bit of a smile from her. "I overpay my servants and demand nothing from them, and still they steal the silver."

At that he laughed again. Maybe she did have a sense of humor after all.

"My problem stems from the fact that my sister loves me very much.

She always has. At Christmas she used to sneak downstairs during the night and switch labels on packages because people tended to give me boring, utilitarian gifts while they gave Rowena things of beauty. Of course I would then end up with twenty-five yards of yellow silk embroidered with b.u.t.terflies and she would get ten volumes on the life of Byron, so we'd both be unhappy. But she did it out of love for me."

"You like Byron?"

"I like books. And research. I am the sensible one while Rowena is the flamboyant one. When I see flames coming out of a building, I call for the fire department. I do not run toward flames; I run away from them."

Cole smiled. "I'm more like you."

"Oh, no, you're not," she said with some strength. "You, Mr. Hunter, are like Rowena."

The way she said that made it sound like the worst thing anyone had ever said about him. His first reaction was to defend himself. But defend himself from what? She had said nothing about her sister that wasn't highly complimentary.

"I have researched you rather thoroughly, Mr. Hunter, and you are as blindly heroic as my sister. You act first and then think about what you are doing. According to the sources I have consulted, you have settled at least two range wars with fewer deaths than anyone believed possible."

He knew he shouldn't, but he had to pay her back for her earlier remark. "No ma'am, I'm just what you see-an aging gunslinger."

"That's what you look like, and it's true that you have no future. Your usefulness will end when your eyesight fails. As far as I can tell, you have not managed to save any money from ail that you have made, mainly because you tend to work for little or nothing. On one hand you are heroic, and on the other you are a fool."

"You do know how to flatter a man, Miss Latham. I can't imagine why you don't have a husband and a dozen kids."

"I am immune to insults from men, so you might as well not try. I merely want to hire you for a job and that's all. After two weeks you may walk out of my life and never see me again."

"And what you want me to do is marry you?"

"Not actually marry me, just pretend to be my husband for the two weeks that my sister will be here in Texas visiting me."

"I'm curious, miss, why me? Don't you think that an aging gunslinger is the worst choice for a husband?" No matter that she'd said nice things to him, that one remark about his age got under his skin. And there was the thing about his eyesight. He could see as well today as when he was eighteen. Well, maybe newspaper print was smaller than it used to be, but- He made himself stop thinking. If she made another one of her belittling comments, he was going to strangle her.

"It's because of who you are that I want you. I want to... to impress my sister." In the first real emotion she'd shown yet, she threw up her hands in exasperation. "Who can understand love? I certainly don't. It seems to me that if you're going to marry a man, you should choose a man who would be a good provider, reliable, a caring father. But women don't seem to want men like that. Women want men who are dangerous, men who do really childish, stupid things like shoot people faster than they themselves can be shot. In short, Mr. Hunter, women want men like you."

Cole gave up trying to remember to smoke. He was so fascinated by her that a keg of dynamite couldn't have moved him. "I would impress your sister?" he asked softly.

"Oh, yes. You're just the type who would impress Rowena. You're rather like her Jonathan, except that he has used his... I'm not sure you would call it talent, but he's used his ability to frighten people and terrify them to make enormous amounts of money."

"Sounds like a real devil."

"He is. But that's what women seem to like. I don't mean that Jonathan is a bad person. I think he's generally considered a very good businessman. And he's compa.s.sionate in his way, just as you are, but he thinks that any means is justified, as long as everything goes his way in the end."

"And I am like that?" He could have bitten his tongue for asking, but he couldn't help himself.

"Yes. It really wasn't your business to settle those range wars, and I am amazed at the vanity it took on your part to think that you could settle them."

"But I did settle them," he couldn't help pointing out.

"Yes, there is that. You see, Jonathan goes about making money just the way you go about interfering in people's lives and killing them if they get in your way."

Cole felt as though he should apologize for having been born. "I am sorry to have displeased you, sorry that women like your sister think I'm worth something," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, that's all right," she said, taking his words seriously. "We all have our vanities. I am extremely vain in what I'm doing now. You see, my sister has only good intentions toward me, but she plans to come to Texas to find me a husband. She says that I am becoming a dried-up, sour..." She waved her hand in dismissal. "It doesn't matter what Rowena says. She says whatever comes to her mind."

"Unlike you, who are the very essence of tact and graciousness."

She gave him a hard look to see if he was joking, but she could see no humor in his eyes. "Rowena has decided to manage my life, and she will do so if I don't do something beforehand."

"I'm having difficulty understanding something. You say that you want a husband and kids, and obviously, with your charms, you're not going to find a man by yourself, so why don't you allow your sister to find one for you?"

"Because she will sweet-talk some man like you into marrying me."

Cole just sat there and blinked at her. It was difficult to think of oneself as the worst thing that could happen to a woman. There had been a few women who thought he was the best thing that could happen to them.

She let out a sigh. "I see that I'm not explaining myself thoroughly."

"It's probably my fault," Cole said sweetly. "All that gunpowder going off near my head has made me rather stupid over all the many, many years of my life. Please do explain everything to me."

"I do want a husband, and I plan to get one... eventually. But the man I want is not the sort that Rowena would want for me. I want a nice, plain man. I don't want a man like her Jonathan or like you. I don't want a man who is so handsome that I have to worry every night that he's out with other women."

Cole thought there was a compliment in there, but he wasn't sure where it was.