Available March 21 at http://www.ellorascave.com !

 copyright 2008 Emily Ryan-Davis

The wagon bumped and bounced as the driver hopped down. A sudden instinct to hide drove Margaret to crouch in the corner near the driver’s bench.

“This shipment’s overdue,” one of the men called to the driver. Big hands peeled back the canvas flap. He stuck his head and shoulders into the dim recess of the wagon and froze. Margaret blanched.

“You’re a far cry from livestock feed,” he observed.

The brim of his hat hid his eyes and the upper half of his face. The lower half was strong and square. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the full curve of his bottom lip, which quirked in bemused amusement. Heat curled in her abdomen. His shirt, a simple dusty blue, was unbuttoned at the top. Dark blond hair curled in the opening. A few coils tickled the hollow of his throat.

“And you don’t look like the sort to eat up all my feed…which leads me to believe this never was a wagon full of my supplies.” He hitched his elbow atop the wagon’s tailgate and leaned forward. “What’s your name?”

She swallowed and prayed for recognition to show itself on his face. “Margaret.”

His features remained disappointingly blank. “Margaret what?”

Her shoulders slumped. “Margaret Redde. I’m here to see Ethan Carver.”

“Ah.” He shifted and the wagon creaked as he propped his foot on the hitch. The grin that brightened his face melted her inside. “I sure do hope you like what you see, darlin’.”

“I’m sure I will,” she said faintly. “Perhaps you’ll let me out, so I might find him?”

He shook his head. “No need to go anywhere. I’m standin’ right here.”

“You must be mistaken. Ethan knows me, and you don’t.” She frowned and drew up against the wagon’s side, plastering her body tight to the protection of wood. “Please bring him immediately.”

“I’m the only Carver living on this ranch,” he said, his tone turning from playful to bitter. “If you’re looking for Ethan Carver, you’re looking for me. Can I help you with something?”

“I…but you…I’m going to be your wife, and you don’t…” she trailed off, speechless. His features froze, hardened. He didn’t know her. Margaret covered her face, deeply embarrassed. What have I done? “Please send the driver back,” she muttered between her fingers.