No cattle had ever been purchased with investors’ money. Had prices not dropped, her uncle’s scheme might never have been discovered. When investors tried to bail out, there was no money to pay them.

His company had also purchased small ranches in Wyoming and Montana at low cost and resold them at great profit. This was done by making buyers purchase the same herd at least twice. This was easily accomplished. Cattle were simply driven around a hill two or even three times during census, making it appear that a herd was larger than its actual size.

The months that followed her uncle’s arrest had been a nightmare of publicity and scorn. Though she’d known nothing about his business practices, Emily had been forced to testify against him. The prosecutor had used her college degree to discredit her.

“Surely, an educated woman would recognize unsavory practices in a family business,” he’d said, casting doubt on her testimony.

Her uncle’s property had been seized, leaving her without a roof over her head and precious little money to her name. No one wanted to hire Harry Fields’s niece, so there was no way to support herself.

Answering a mail-order bride ad had been an act of sheer desperation. She’d hoped that Texas offered a far-enough escape from her uncle’s shadow. Now, seeing the article in the newspaper, Emily wondered if such a thing was possible.

Stomach churning, she took a hasty sip of coffee and tried to convince herself that her secret was safe.

So far, everything had gone according to plan. Except, of course, for marrying the wrong man. That she hoped to quickly remedy.

At first, she’d thought Baxter McKnight’s veiled threats related to her background. That had turned out not to be true. He’d thought she was Mrs. Decker. Last night had been one misunderstanding after another.

Thank goodness she’d thought to drop her surname, Fields, and use her middle name instead. Nothing could be done about her Boston accent, but she could tone down her clothes so as not to call undue attention to herself.

Confident that her true identity was secure, she finished the last of her coffee and stood. A movement caught the corner of her eye, and she jerked her head around. A tiny mouse scampered along the baseboard, mere inches from her foot.

With a cry of alarm, she leaped onto a chair and screamed to high heaven.

5

Chase had just ridden up to the ranch house when he heard the scream. “What the—!”

Quickly dismounting, he tossed the reins over the hitching post, bounded up the porch steps, and burst into the house.

He raced through the dining room and came to a skidding stop just inside the kitchen door. There he found his new bride standing on a chair, waving her arms and screeching like a train whistle.

He glanced at Cookie, who simply shrugged and said, “She saw a mouse.”

The woman was making so much noise, it was necessary to read his cook’s lips. A mouse? The woman who had thrown an ironclad punch at him was now carrying on over a danged mouse?