Loving Against the Grain (Into the West #2)

Chapter 6

 

The words were out, may he burn in hell for them, and for the motivation behind the offer. Noah remained sitting forward, eyes trained on Edward Townsend, waiting for some sort of response to this life-changing suggestion he’d thrown out into the ring. The hiss and pop of the fire in the grate interrupted the continuing silence enveloping the small space, yet Noah kept his unwavering gaze locked onto Miss Emmaline’s brother. Speak, dammit! Before I retract the outrageous proposition I’ve just submitted in a moment of shameless weakness! I’ve watched your sister for months, lusted after her in my subconscious, and now I’ve dressed in my sheep’s clothing in hopes to win her hand under the pretense of sacrificing my bachelorhood. I don’t deserve her beauty, her fire, her independent spirit; I’m a shell of a man, if you only knew. But even the lowliest beggar dreams of a banquet fit for a king. Am I any different, wishing to spend my life with the loveliest woman of God’s creation?

These thoughts and more tumbled about in Noah Lawson’s troubled mind, threatening to spill from his tight-lipped mouth as he tensed for what would surely be a scoffing rejoinder from his friend. After all, when had Noah ever professed a desire to marry, let alone marry Edward’s suddenly pregnant sister? Surely there would be a moment in which he could recant.

Problem was, Noah had no intention of doing so.

Nope; not one iota. What his shyness couldn’t do, his kindness and innate sense of right and wrong had managed to accomplish: the once in a lifetime opportunity to yoke himself to the one woman Noah thought he could eventually open up to, if given enough time.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Suddenly Edward Townsend lurched forward in his chair as if prodded by a pitchfork, bleary eyes sharpening upon Noah as that man’s words sank into his whiskey-sodden brain. Dark hair flopping over his forehead, Edward continued, “It sounded an awful lot like you just said you’d marry my sister.”

“I did.”

“You’re drunker’n me, then, if that’s the case, ‘cause my sister would chew you up and spit you out for breakfast, and that’s a fact.”

Noah smiled slightly at his friend’s comment, though his heart had begun to pound. Emmaline’s brother sagged till he practically lay on the table top, right arm stretched across it and head hovering barely six inches off its surface.

“I’m stronger than I look, my friend,” Noah drawled, methodically pouring a half glass more of whiskey for himself, pretending a nonchalance he didn’t feel while shoving the stopper back into the bottle with finality. Edward didn’t argue over the action, a sure sign he’d passed beyond the belligerence stage of inebriation, although he did rouse himself enough to speak again.

“That may very well be in most instances, Lawson, but we’re not talking about normal cases here. This is Emmaline we’re discussing, and I’m afraid you’d end up the mouse to her cat in this situation. She’s got one wicked temper when she’s crossed. A quiet man like you would do better to commit suicide than sentence himself to as slow an’ painful a death as marriage to her would turn out to be.”

At this last comical statement, Noah actually laughed out loud, tossing back the last of his whiskey and savoring its now expected warmth in his throat. Setting the glass down with care, Noah speared his drunken friend with a tolerant look.

“I’ve handled many a fractious horse in my time, Edward. A contrary woman can’t be that much different. A firm hand and a gentle voice go far in both instances, I wager.”

It was Edward’s turn to laugh uproariously at Noah Lawson’s oblivious comment, swaying to a sitting position and pointing a wavering finger at the double image of the horse wrangler seated across from him.