Magic and the Texan Read Online Free

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    Beth honey. She liked it when Jon Marc called her an endearment. It gave her enough strength not to keep arguing for a quick marriage, which would serve only to draw more attention to how desperate she was to change her name to O’Brien.
    That he had stalled in going through with the wedding had her worried, though. How long would he drag his feet? Would Liam Short’s keen old eyes spot more inconsistencies?
    â€œAnything I can do or say that’ll make you feel more at home?” Jon Marc asked. “Or more welcome?”
    Get me to the church, big fellow! Before I do or say something that triggers the truth about me.
    â€œI—You—You have welcomed me, sir. I’m relieved to have arrived.” You can’t imagine how relieved. Or how daunted.
    Filling angelic Beth Buchanan’s shoes? It would be Cinderella’s stepsister jamming fat toes into a glass slipper.
    Too bad I couldn’t jam these feet into her dainty shoes.
    How would Jon Marc react, should he learn what had brought Bethany to both slippers? Bethany Todd—daughter of a criminal, long-estranged sister to his enemy, discarded mistress of a double-dealing lawyer—had let Miss Buchanan talk her into this ruse, “to save Jon Marc from grieving and being lonely.”
    The last full sentence Bethany recalled the tragic miss uttering: “You need him, too.”
    Yes, but what if Jon Marc discovered the truth?
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    Imposter and prey departed the post-office grounds, setting out in a rose-bedecked buckboard of antebellum vintage for the short trip to the church of Santa Maria, where Jon Marc would tell Padre Miguel to “douse the candles.”
    â€œBe right back,” Jon Marc said, once they were braked in front of the wooden-steepled structure.
    He strode toward the tall doorway, Bethany’s eyes on his shoulders and lean hips. It was a grand appreciation she had for his form. If they ever got there, what would he be like in bed?
    Shy to his toes, when Mighty Duke arose.
    The minutes ticked by, one after another. Bethany fidgeted on the wagon seat. Why was it taking this long to tell that Miguel fellow to douse the candles?
    â€œI can’t let anything go wrong,” she whispered to her wringing fingers. “Just can’t.”
    She sprang from the wagon and started toward the church, but hesitated. This was a Catholic place of worship. Such had been the final ruin of her drunken father, when he’d broken into one in the Red River town of Liberal, thought it wasn’t liberal at all, despite its watering hole, the Long Lick Saloon.
    Bethany didn’t want to think about Pa or how he’d broken her heart. Why she’d accepted his sole possession of worth, a gold timepiece, was another thing she’d best not mull.
    â€œSeñorita?” a small voice asked, causing Bethany to glance down to the right. “Are you the bride?”
    The question came from an olive-skinned girl of about eight with hair the color of tea, her eyes every bit as hazel as Bethany’s. She held an orange in her grubby hand.
    Bethany had no problem understanding the child. She’d learned Spanish from the other hired girl at the Long Lick, before Hortensia gave up cooking and dishwashing chores to move to the upstairs section. Where bedsprings sang, day and night.
    Bethany bent at the knees to get closer to this child. “Good afternoon, little one. Yes, I am the bride. Who are you?”
    â€œI am Sabrina.” Frays at her sleeves, she offered the orange. “This is for you, pretty bride. For your wedding. Padre Miguel says I must give something for your special day.”
    Although Bethany hadn’t eaten for two days, nervousness having brought that about, she searched for a way to honor and nourish Sabrina. She thanked the child, then began to peel the fruit. Tearing a section open, she took one bite and offered a large portion to the giver.