Still, for all her bravado, he sensed an inner vulnerability that brought out his protective nature.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “’Bout what happened, I mean.” His apology failed to ease the tension or earn him any favor. All he got in return was a glare that would do an angry bull proud.

Not that he blamed her for feeling the way she did. This mess was partly his fault. If he hadn’t been so anxious or so rushed, he might have noticed that the woman behind the veil was not the woman he was supposed to have wed.

True, both women had blond hair and were near the same height, but that was where the similarities ended. The sun had turned Cassie’s skin the color of leather. Hard work had made her as brawny as any man. In contrast, his new bride’s slender form and gentle curves were bound to wilt beneath the rigors of ranch life. Her soft, white hands looked more suited to soothing an infant’s brow than hauling hay or roping a calf.

His uncle and that blasted shotgun hadn’t helped either. Uncle Baxter had made things worse. A whole lot worse. Easterners depended on lawyers to settle disputes, not shotguns. Was it any wonder that the woman by his side wanted nothing more to do with him or his uncle?

Then there’d been the stampeding cattle. Had it not been for all the noise and confusion, her Boston accent would have given her away. As it was, they had hardly been able to hear each other.

She struck him as somewhat of a puzzle, and he couldn’t help but be curious. The way she spoke suggested she’d come from good stock and probably had much in the way of book learning.

He didn’t know much about fashion, but never had he seen a finer wedding gown. It was hard to imagine that much lace could be found in all of Texas. The way the soft fabric hugged her tiny waist and slender hips suggested it had been made special for her and wasn’t one of those hand-me-downs worn by most local brides.

Why a looker like her would have to resort to setting herself up as a mail-order bride was a puzzle. What was wrong with the men in Boston? Why would she settle for a simple druggist in a small western town when she could probably have any man she set her cap for back home?

She was a puzzle, all right, in more ways than one. She sat as far away from him as the buggy seat allowed and looked ready to fight him at the least provocation. No surprise there. It was only after much persuasion on his part that she’d agreed to let him drive her to the hotel.

That was turning out to be more of a challenge than he’d imagined. The cattle had created havoc in the town. Wagons had been overturned, and bales of hay and produce were scattered everywhere. Frightened horses milled around looking for a means of escape. Goats and sheep darted around stranded wagons and carriages. Finally, traffic stopped altogether.