Libbie: Bride of Arizona (American Mail-Order Bride 48) by Linda Carroll-Bradd Page B

creases of his denim pants. Was that mud swiped along his thigh?
    “Look, I’m sorry for not meeting the train. Don’t know why the arrival had to be earlier than normal. On today of all days.” He shook his head, glanced upward, and then snatched off his hat, exposing a headful of wavy brown hair.
    Yes, on what she’d hoped to be a wonderful day. Unable to stop herself, she tapped the end of the parasol on the tip of her shoe. This man needed to explain himself so she decided to remain quiet until she heard a satisfactory answer.
    “Being late was out of my control. Rustlers attacked my ranch last night and made off with some cattle. Naturally, the hands and I had to give chase to retrieve my stock.” He glanced around the empty room and then back at her. His gaze narrowed on the ends of her bobbed hair then he took in her length from top to bottom before meeting her gaze again.
    Under his frank perusal, she heated and a flush crept up her neck. Curiosity sparkled in his eyes, but she refused to address his unspoken question about her short hair. If she hadn’t been in such a panic about acquiring transportation for her birds, she would have taken inventory and sold anything else to get the needed sum. A woman with short hair was indeed an oddity in these times, and she’d be smart to prepare a pat response.
    After settling his hat on his head, he crossed his arms over his chest and rolled back on his boot heels. “Seeing as how you wrote about growing up around cattle, you ought to appreciate…no, you ought to understand the need to get back the stolen animals.”
    Of course, she realized the value of stock and that he had to get them back. But today? Before she allowed pitying thoughts to overtake her, she nodded. “I do understand, sir. I’m peeved by the clash with my expectations.”
    “Peeved, eh?” An eyebrow cocked and he flashed a smile. “How does a little snip of a thing like you act when peeved?”
    His cajoling tone washed through her and she relaxed. Indifference she couldn’t tolerate, but teasing was familiar. “Don’t get on my bad side and you won’t find out.”
    After a long look where their gazes tangled and held, Dell swept an arm toward the room. “I don’t see any suitcases. Didn’t you bring luggage?”
    Letting out a breath, Libbie wondered at the fluttering in her chest. “William from First Livery has taken charge of—”
    “You’ve already been to the livery?” Dell paced to the door, running a hand over his jaw. “What did he say?”
    Had she overstepped her fiancée boundaries by conducting a transaction that normally would have been completed by a male? The problem was, he hadn’t been present to do so. If only Grace were nearby to ask about this nuance of relationships . “Well, we discussed rental of a wa—”
    “No need. The Bar S wagon will be outside in a few minutes.”
    What had changed the teasing man to this tense one? “What occurs next? Do we go in front of a justice of the peace?” In truth, she had never been to a white person’s wedding. She’d witnessed tribal ceremonies in South Africa where negotiations over the bride price occurred while the elders sipped wine or singing by family members kept the groom outside a locked gate until a dowry agreement was reached. And one where a broom had been circled over the couple’s head to show the wife’s willingness to keep the groom’s courtyard clear. With no family to represent her, she hoped a bride price wasn’t part of Dell’s tradition.
    Dell dropped his chin to his chest, set both hands on his hips, and huffed out a long breath. “Again, Miss Van Eycken, I must apologize. I am handling this first meeting all wrong.” Looking up, he gave her a crooked grin, turned slightly, and then extended his hand.
    She slipped her hand in his and felt him pull her back toward the bench, letting him clasp her elbow and guide her to sit.
    Angling sideways, he sat, leaving several inches between their