He stepped away from the rain barrel. “Since we’re now official, I’ll show you around.” Without waiting for her to agree, he started across the yard and obviously expected her to follow.

Dressed as he was for work, his spurs jingled, and his holster creaked beneath the weight of his firearm. A red kerchief was tied loosely around his neck, and his ever-present Stetson rode firmly on his still-wet head.

Like a man on a mission, he pointed out the stables, the bunkhouse, and other outbuildings, including a root cellar, the blacksmith/farrier works, and the icehouse.

Walking by his side, Emily fanned her heated face with her hand. The relentless sun didn’t seem to bother her escort, and it was all she could do to keep up with his long strides. It wasn’t just her straight skirt that hampered her movements. Her shoes, made of thin Moroccan leather with paper-thin soles, were better suited for a Bostonian tea party than a romp around a cattle ranch.

Chase stopped by a fence in the shade of a sprawling sycamore and hung his clasped hands over the wooden rail. The fence surrounded one of several pastures, each serving a different purpose. “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes keen and assessing beneath the brim of his hat.

He sounded genuinely concerned for her welfare, but Emily still felt shy and unsure of herself in his presence, though she did her best to hide it. Somehow, she sensed he respected strength.

“I’m fine,” she said brusquely. It was bad enough that she had to depend on him for her very survival. The last thing she wanted was his pity.

She joined him at the fence, careful to keep a safe distance between them. Could she trust him to keep his end of the bargain? Legally, he had every right to demand full privileges as her husband. For that reason, she was acutely aware of his strong masculine presence. He oozed virility in a way that no other man of her acquaintance ever had. How long could such a man be satisfied with a marriage in name only?

The air quivered with heat, and the distant outbuildings looked like they were underwater.

“I didn’t know Texas was this hot,” she said, dabbing at her wet forehead with a dainty lace handkerchief.

He glanced at her. “Doesn’t it get hot in Boston?”

“Yes, but not in March,” she said. “It’s even been known to snow as late as May or June.”

“Sure glad I’m not raisin’ cattle there. Hard enough to raise ’em here.”

She studied his strong-chinned profile. It seemed that he measured everything by how it would affect his ranch.

“Hey, Rusty,” he called to the wrangler exercising one of the horses. “How ’bout bringin’ Daisy out so my wife can get acquainted with her?”

Emily stiffened at the word wife. Though legally he had every right to call her that, it still sounded strange and unfamiliar. She’d always hoped to marry for love. To keep herself for that one special man. Crazy as it seemed, she still hoped to fulfill that dream, though her chances now looked slim if not altogether impossible.