A deleted scene from my western historical, Montana Belle (Unedited excerpt)
Augusta Springer has come home to her father's Montana cattle ranch at his insistence, leaving behind her life at an exclusive Boston school for ladies with reluctance. She soon learns why her father beckoned her home: He wants her to ensure the succession of his ranch by forcing her to marry a local rancher, Joshua Bradley. Augusta was infatuated with Joshua as a child, but has no intention of abandoning the life she's built for herself in Boston. Joshua, on the other hand, has always wanted Augusta, and he sees this as his golden opportunity to make his case.
The next morning, Augusta was still wondering what had possessed her to agree to this mad excursion. She had agreed, after some negotiation, to go on an outing with Joshua . . . Mr. Bradley, she reminded herself . . . today. Her father had been a little too eager to agree to the idea and seemed to have no compunction about sending her out without a chaperone. Then again, he'd probably love it if she were compromised: It would give him the perfect opportunity to march her off to a wedding with a shotgun pressed against her back. She ignored the shiver of interest that went through her at the thought of being compromised by Joshua Bradley, telling herself that it was only natural for a young, healthy woman such as herself to be curious about . . . that.
She had deliberated for a ridiculous length of time in front of her wardrobe. She'd finally settled on a walking suit of coppery calico that was just a la mode back in Boston: The hem, sleeves, and modest collar of the blouse were trimmed with a rich fall of white lace. The shirt had a hem, also trimmed in lace, ruched up in front just enough for an underskirt of white to peep out. The outfit was perfectly modest and should serve to depress any inappropriate intentions. With its coppery color and flattering cut, however, it also brought out the warm highlights in her hair and set her figure off to best advantage, a benefit she decided not to dwell on. She also chose not to wonder why she had chosen the outfit instead of a less-flattering but equally modest gray gown that hung shapelessly around her waist and hid her curves.
She waited quietly on the front porch, and when he pulled up, in a smart yellow buggy pulled by finely matched bays, she felt her heart speed up at the sight of him in spite of herself. She had decided not to wear gloves in deference to the heat and dust, and she was vividly aware of her fingertips settling into his warm grasp as he pulled her up to sit beside him. She reminded herself that she wasn't eager to see him: It was simply better to get this over with and hear what he had to say, since he was obviously intent on making a fool out of himself. She wouldn't even talk, she vowed, except to answer his questions. In her heart, she knew she would at least be safe with him. Joshua had never been anything other than kind to her when they were children. He had been considerably kinder her to her than her own sometimes tyrannical brother, she thought, with a pang of misgiving for thinking ill of the dead.
Still, she thought, sliding him a sidelong glance as he started the horses with a gentle cluck, his reputation was likely still questionable. His family had been a troubled one, and her father had once told her that Joshua had left town to seek his fortune not long after she was sent to Boston. Apparently, casting her eyes around and noticing the newness and quality of the buggy they rode in, he had succeeded.
The body was a shiny yellow, and the leather work and harness all looked in top shape. In the shock of learning her prospective groom's identity, she hadn't paid attention to his dress yesterday, but today, she took notice: He was dressed in a severely elegant charcoal pinstriped suit whose tailoring would have done her father's costly wardrobe proud -- a far cry from the dungarees and work shirts Joshua used to wear when he helped out on her father's ranch to earn money. His fine-grained cowboy boots looked custom-made, and a Stetson set atop his close-cropped dark hair.
"I see that you've prospered in my absence," she said, gesturing in the direction of his fancy rig, having forgotten the resolve she'd made earlier to stay silent until he spoke.
"I have. Does that make the prospect of marrying me any sweeter?" Joshua asked with a grin, nodding casually to a cowhand as they passed the draft barn. In the corral, other cowhands worked with the big Clydesdales that did the heaviest chores on the Bar D.
"Of course not," Augusta responded briskly, looking straight ahead. "If I cared about money, I wouldn't be returning to Miss Levon's school to teach," she pointed out.
"True enough," he acknowledged. "So you're a virtuous woman, one who cares nothing for rubies, hmmm?"
The Biblical allusion surprised her. "I didn't take you for a Biblical scholar," she blurted, and then blushed, realizing how rude she'd been. She snuck a quick look at him. He didn't appear to be offended. His eyes were as blue as ever, a piercing blue, she'd thought when she was thirteen, but time and long days out in the sun, wind, and cold had added tiny lines across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. The lines did nothing to diminish his attractiveness, unfortunately.
"I've read lots of things: the Bible, poetry, newspapers, novels, catalogs, and even those religious tracts promising that sinners will perish in a lake of fire, when I couldn't get anything better. Time spent in a gold camp lies heavy on your hands. After all, I couldn't drink, gamble, and consort with loose women all the time."
Loose women? Augusta was about to upbraid him for speaking so vulgarly in front of her, before she remembered that she didn't care what kind of woman he chased anyway, because she wasn't going to marry him. Still, the thought of him chasing after another women stirred a feeling in her breast that was uncomfortably close to . . . jealousy. Jealousy? Why should she feel jealousy about a man whom she'd never see again after this week, when she returned to Boston? "You'd have been better off sticking to religious tracts warning you about the dangers of remaining unrepentant," she said primly. "I'm sure they were on to something, in your case, anyway."
If she had hoped to rattle him, she didn't succeed. He merely grinned and said, "Life's too short to go through it without anything to repent. What about you? Any sins on your lily-white conscience?"
She hadn't actually committed any major ones yet, but she'd contemplated a few, not that she would ever tell him that. Lifting her chin, she decided to ignore the question. "Where are we going?" Augusta asked him as the buggy rattled on.
"To the lake."
"The lake?" she asked, puzzled. "Why are we going there?"
He shrugged. "No particular reason. Just thought it would be a good place to talk." He grinned, and she couldn't help but be struck by the brilliant white of his smile against his skin. He had always had a dark beard, even when he was little more than a boy, and he was showing the traces of a five o'clock shadow even this early in the day. The inherent masculinity of it forced her to swallow the saliva that suddenly pooled in her mouth and cast her eyes around for somewhere innocent to put her gaze. She was acutely aware of his warmth and solidity when the jostling of the buggy pushed her shoulder and the outside of her breast against his arm. She wondered if he had noticed it too. If he had, he gave no sign.
Augusta felt her heart flutter inexplicably, and it flustered her. "You're not going to try to convince me to marry you again, are you?" she blurted out, and then bit her lip, realizing she's sounded foolish.
"Why? Are you afraid you might say yes?"
