Patrick's Charm (The Bride Train, #2) by E.E. Burke Page B

him.
    She took long swinging strides across the stage, aping the railroad agent’s mannerisms right down to the unfriendly glower. Spinning around, she projected her voice over the laughter. “You won’t find women like these anywhere in the territory...”
    That was a sure bet, she couldn’t have selected a homelier bunch.
    “As agent for the railroad, I have the responsibility of seeing these ladies married off tonight. They can cook, sew, plant a garden, dig a well...” She counted each trait on her fingers. “And plow your fields!”
    Howling laughter erupted.
    “I’ll plow your field,” hollered an inebriated settler near the front.
    Patrick tightened his grip on the baseball bat in case any of the men got too excited. With a bat, he could take down three attackers in less time than it took to cock the hammer on a revolver after dispatching one bullet. He wouldn’t kill his customers, just crack a few heads.
    Charm didn’t act like she’d heard the coarse remark. She caught one of the volunteers by the arm and pulled him to the front of the stage. “I hear this lovely lass can skin buffalo!”
    Bob Scritchfield, better known as Buffalo Bob, grinned, displaying a mouthful of tobacco-stained teeth. His wig sat askew and golden curls dangled over a thick black beard covering most of his face. “Skin yer own dang buffalo,” he bellowed.
    She raised her hands high. “Do any of you fine gentlemen want one of our brides?”
    “Yes!” the men in the audience roared.
    Charm whipped up the crowd better than a traveling evangelist peddling salvation.
    “Well, boys, here’s all you gotta do.” Settling the hat on her head, she marched over to a small chest on a table at the side of the stage and gathered a handful of newspaper clippings cut to resemble greenbacks. “Pay the railroad LOTS of money!”
    Laughter turned to loud booing.
    Patrick watched, amused. She pranced over to where he stood and lifted the bundle high. Fake money rained down on him. “Mr. O’Shea doesn’t want one of our brides. He wants a performer to bring him riches.”
    Cheeky monkey. She rubbed his nose in his own words...more or less. He’d never said anything about riches, and had made it perfectly clear how much he wanted to marry her. Something he intended to settle later tonight.
    “Do I get my pick?” yelled a man at the back of the crowd.
    “I’ll take the railroad agent!” Arch Childers waved at Charm. The bootlegger must not value his skin.
    Patrick tapped the bat against his palm in warning. He didn’t experience the mad rush of jealousy because now he knew Charm had a weakness for him. Her prancing and posturing on stage was an act. The way she responded to his kiss, that wasn’t an act. Although it appeared to surprise her, based on how flustered she got—right before she threw him out of her room.
    He wouldn’t regret kissing her, but he should’ve waited until after the performance and proposed to her first. Discovering their mutual attraction had given him the courage he needed to ask for her hand. Well, he hadn’t asked, exactly. He’d informed her that he intended to marry her. After the show, he would ask properly. They could be wed before the next night’s performance and he would make an announcement. That would put an end to any ideas these horny settlers had, including Arch Childers.
    After the bride lottery skit, Charm ducked behind a canvas curtain hung across the back of the stage. When she reemerged, she’d shed the coat and hat. She sat on a chair, arranged the skirt of her pretty red grown, strummed her banjo and began to sing.
    The room quieted down at the mournful ballad. The lyrics were silly, something about a sailor and a mermaid, but she sang it with such heartfelt emotion he got choked up.
    McLaughlin lurched out of his seat and staggered toward the stage. “M’god, she’s fizzing!”
    Patrick planted his hand on front of the man’s shoulder. “She’s brilliant, I agree. Now take