Della: Bride of Texas (American Mail-Order Bride 28) by Trinity Ford Page A

would react to him after Saturday night. Hank could tell when a woman liked him, and although Della outwardly spoke as if she was repelled by his mere existence, he knew she was intrigued.
    It wasn’t like Hank to steal another man’s woman—although he’d had his fair share of opportunities in the past. It wasn’t the gentlemanly thing to do, and while Hank had a long record of troublemaking in town, meddling in another man’s marriage was a transgression he wouldn’t even do when liquor was involved—at least, up ‘til now. He had to admit he was mighty captivated by the stubborn Miss Owens.
    It wasn’t the same with Della and Milton. It’d be one thing if they were in love, or if Milton was even a bit worthy of a woman like her. But he wasn’t—and Hank wasn’t sure he was, either. The only thing he did know is that he found himself thinking about her during every waking moment—wondering if she was thinking about him, too. He wanted Della to let him spoil her and make her smile. It drove him nuts to think about her signing away her happiness to marry a man like Milton Tidwell.
    “What now?” Hank asked himself aloud as he looked in the mirror and put on his hat. What plan could he conjure up to make Della see what a wretched life she’d have with Milton? Even if things didn’t work out for him and Della, Hank knew that Milton wasn’t the ultimate answer for her future. The whole way into town, Hank played each scenario in his head. I’ll just save her from a life of misery—show her a good time, he thought. But Della wasn’t the kind of woman who was looking to be entertained with dancing and drinking.  Maybe I’ll court her for real, he considered, trying to picture himself settling down with a sensible woman for good. Hank shook his head. No, I’m not cut out for that.
    He decided to forego the planning and just let the chips fall where they may. But Hank knew one thing…he’d never have a chance with her if he didn’t learn to show her another side of himself. He’d have to bare his soul, and that was something Hank Hensley had never done before. For the first time in his life, he worried that maybe his instincts about whether or not he’d win a wager could be wrong.
    “Good morning, Hank” three ladies said in unison as he walked into the Hensley General Store, passing them on their way out. They were workers from Hell’s Half Acre—woman Hank doted on from time to time. He was sure from the look of disgust in Della’s eyes, she thought it meant something more.
    “Want to pay their bills, too?” Della sneered.
    “If they need me to, I will,” Hank shot back, before remembering his goal of putting an end to the teasing so he could show his true colors. “Everyone needs some help from time to time—like how you were lent a hand after that situation up in Massachusetts.”
    Della was taken aback that he remembered that part of her life from previous conversations. “It’s just…well, you must know what everyone thinks when you pay their way,” Della said.
    “People think a lot of things they shouldn’t,” Hank said. “Like you think it’s a good idea to blend in with the wooden walls. Why, if it wasn’t for your golden hair, I wouldn’t even be able to see you standing here.”
    Della looked down at her dowdy, brown dress. Every one she’d worn so far had been some shade of brown, and Hank was tired of seeing her dressing like a servant. “I believe my attire is perfectly suitable for work here,” she said defiantly.
    “Well I’m the boss, and I say it isn’t,” Hank said. “In fact, I’m ordering you to come with me so we can purchase some new uniforms for you to wear here. Roy? You got this?”
    “Got it, boss,” Roy said, chuckling at the exchange between the two of them as he arranged some heavy sacks of flour on a shelf.
    Hank grabbed Della’s hand, pulling her like a feather toward the door even though she pulled back with all the strength she could