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you think is true, or what you believe about me, Maggie, I didn’t cheat him to win. And this,” he stated, once more waving the paper, “proves that he was worried about what would happen to you.”
    “You’re a liar, McCready.”
    “At times.” He answered with candor, without hesitation. “But this isn’t one of those times. Pete said that if I would marry you by proxy, he would make sure that I knew which of his seven claims were to the gold. You wouldn’t believe anything I’ve tried to say these last few months since he died. You just pushed and pushed until you backed me into a corner.”
    She raised her hand as if to do that very thing, shuddered, and dropped it back to her side.
    “Maggie, listen to me. When Quincy came along and you decided to marry him, I had to protect what’s mine. I had to protect you just as I promised Pete.”
    Shaking her head in denial, Maggie whispered, “Married? To you?” Her husky voice had a deep, choked quality to it. Still shaking her head, disbelieving every word McCready spoke, she felt a pounding begin over her left temple. Hog-tied to McCready? Shackled by marriage?
    “Aye, Maggie, married to me. I came up to your cabin almost every day since Pete died. You either refused to open the door or weren’t there.”
    “I was doin’ me grievin’.” Rubbing her forehead Maggie gazed around the room, feeling the pull to look back at McCready’s face. “Married?” she repeated yet again.
    “Legal as can be. Of course, it would be nice since the preacher’s here, ready to perform a ceremony, if we were to make sure that no one doubts it’s true. Miss Mae went to a great deal of trouble—”
    “Never.”
    “Pardon?”
    “You heard me—never, McCready.”
    He shrugged. “You’ll need time to get accustomed to the idea. Mohawk Pete was your only relative. That made him your legal guardian. You’re underage, Maggie. Well, you were until two days ago. This proxy marriage took place three months before he died.”
    Seven months! McCready knew about this for seven months and never said a word. “Why would Pete trust you?” It just couldn’t be true!
    “Why not me?” he countered, daring her now with his look to add further insult.
    Maggie violently shook her head. She wanted to wrap her arms around herself, as if that would protect her from this verbal battering. She was frightened and didn’t dare give McCready that knowledge, or he would use it as a weapon.
    “You … are me … h-hus-band?”
    McCready’s engaging grin died aborning. Maggie’s pride and spirit had disappeared. He never knew that she could fear anyone or anything. Nothing had daunted her. But her eyes, those damnable, haunting eyes accused him, revealing for a brief moment her vulnerability. He could not falter now.
    “In the legal sight of man, if not God, I am.”
    “You only want the gold claims.”
    “I’ve made no secret of that, Mary Margaret. You’re the only one who knows which of those seven claims is for gold. The assay report on one shows a rich vein that men would kill to possess. And I admit, after seeing you dressed like a woman, Maggie, my … er, greed, shall we say, is no longer for the gold alone.”
    Her eyes, the green of ancient jade, snapped to life. “Think I’ll make it easy for you? You figure some piece of paper’s tyin’ me to you? Let me set you on the right path, McCready. I’ll make meself a widow before I’m your bride.”
    “Would you now?” His voice was soft, almost friendly, but utterly pitiless.
    The look of his eyes sent shivers up her spine and a loop of heat curling around her belly. Never once had McCready ever gazed at her like he was coming off a steady diet of roots and berries and she the perfectly sizzled steak set before him. Maggie felt an attack to her senses that sent panic streaming through her.
    “Mary Margaret,” he chided, shielding his eyes with lashes that were thick and curling, “why would you desire to take this to