“Your maiden name!”

“Emily…Emily Rose.” She had dropped her real name, Fields, and used her middle name instead—a precautionary measure. She doubted that anyone in Texas would recognize the name Fields, but she didn’t dare take chances.

The groom reared back to glance at the registry she’d signed as if to check the legitimacy of her claim.

A sick feeling washed over her. “Y-you’re not Mr. Garvey? Mr. Jake Garvey?” she stammered.

A dark look crossed his face. “I’m Chase McKnight, and I was supposed to wed Mrs. Decker here.” He tossed a nod at the other bride, who stood clutching her son and gaping at Emily with an openmouthed stare.

The uncle pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. “Oh boy.”

McKnight’s eyes bored into Emily. “How do you know Garvey?”

Before she could explain, another man rushed into the chamber. “Sorry I’m late.” He brushed the dust off his trousers and shirt. Unlike the other four men in the room, the newcomer was casually dressed in black trousers, plaid shirt, and vest.

“Those blasted cattle…” Clamping his mouth shut, the man stared at the uncle’s raised shotgun. “What’s going on?” His gaze swung between the two brides. “I’m looking for Miss Emily Rose from Boston.”

The full impact of what had happened finally sank in, and Emily felt her knees threaten to buckle. “I-I’m Emily R-Rose.” Or at least she was until a few minutes ago.

“Well now,” the newcomer said, his face bright with approval. He hung his thumbs from his suspenders and added, “I’m Jake Garvey, and I reckon a man couldn’t ask for a purtier bride.” Grinning, he glanced at the others. “I’m a lucky man!”

Struck speechless, Emily covered her mouth with both hands and stared over her fingertips with horror-filled eyes.

A druggist by trade, Mr. Garvey’s face lacked McKnight’s rugged countenance. His arms appeared to be too long, his face too narrow, his clothes ill-fitting. But what he lacked in appearance, he more than made up for in eagerness.

No one seemed to know what to say, and a stunned silence filled the room.

At last, the judge cleared his throat. “I’m afraid there’s been what you might call a bit of a hitch.”

The druggist afforded the judge a questioning look. “What kind of a hitch?”

With a toss of her head, Mrs. Decker set her son down. “That’s what I want to know.”

The judge shot the widow a look of apology. “Well, it’s like this.” He eased his hefty bulk into his groaning chair. “The lady—Miss Rose here—is already spoken for.”

The druggist cast a look in Emily’s direction before turning back to the judge. “What do you mean, ‘spoken for’?”

McKnight answered for the judge, his voice rough. “He means she’s married to me.”

Mrs. Decker’s face turned the same creamy white as her dress. “You…you’re already married?” she asked, her voice hollow with disbelief.

Looking like he’d been shot, the druggist reared back. “Whoa, now. That can’t be right. Miss Rose here sent me a letter agreeing to be my wife.”