She could see that he struggled not to smile at her rebuff, which irritated her. She didn’t see any humor in her valid concerns. He cleared his throat. “Weston isn’t Boston, Charlotte, but it’s not the boondocks either, which is why we have the need for a lady such as yourself. There are plenty of people there, including plenty of children who need a schoolmarm. Do I look like a ruffian or thief?”
“Please be so kind as to call me Miss Rose.” She paused, wondering if she should hold her tongue, but the man had irritated her and so she continued. “Are you sure you want me to answer that question regarding your appearance, Mr. Harrison?”
He smiled then, which crinkled the corners of his eyes. He removed something from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “The marshal gave me your photograph so I’d know what you look like. Not that I needed it. Your appearance hollers greenhorn from a mile away. Is your photo proof enough he sent me?”
Charlotte glanced at it, then tucked it under her dress near her bosom. She glared at the man, who, to his credit, did not remove his gaze from her face, despite her hand resting near one of her finest assets. “If my appearance hollers greenhorn, then your appearance screams ruffian, Mr. Harrison.”
He laughed. “I might just be a ruffian. I don’t have a woman at home nagging me about my appearance and manners.”
Everything she said seemed to amuse him, which perplexed Charlotte. She was known for her beauty, not for her humor. She sighed, feeling much more fatigued than worried about his character by this point. He seemed to notice her weariness. The amusement left his face, replaced by resolve. He put his hat back on his head and took the bag from her hand. She didn’t try to stop him.
“Enough blather. Come along now. You still have a spell of travel before you can rest properly.” He walked toward what Charlotte assumed was his buggy, which looked very small and dirty. She followed him. When they reached it, he placed her bag in the back and picked up an old army canteen, which he handed to her. “Drink some water,” he ordered. “Are you hungry?”
Charlotte took a long drink. Her thirst properly quenched, she said, “That depends on what you have. Somehow I doubt you have anything I’d find edible.” She knew she was being rude, but his casual manner and presumptuous nature rankled her. She was accustomed to being spoken to in courtly tones, not laughed at and ordered about.
Max raised an eyebrow slowly and studied her for a moment. “I’ve got bread, jerky, and apples, if that suits your fancy, but we can stop at a restaurant before leaving if it doesn’t. Which would you prefer, Charlie?”
Charlotte could hardly believe her ears. How dare he not only use her first name, but also a bastardized, male version of it? She lifted her chin and gave him a withering look. “I informed you that I prefer to be called Miss Rose, not Charlotte, and certainly not Charlie.”
“Yes I know you did, Charlie, and that was your first mistake. Your second is not answering my question about whether you’re hungry. That could try a lesser man’s patience.”
Charlotte scowled. “I fail to see how asking to be regarded properly is a mistake, Mr. Harrison.”
Max folded his arms in front of him and leaned against the back of the buggy. “I’ll tell you how. You shouldn’t let people know what raises your bristles if you wish to keep that smart mouth of yours. Folks out here won’t appreciate you looking down your nose at them. You do that to a man, he’ll find a way to annoy you, as I managed to do without even hardly trying.”
Charlotte’s mouth hung open for a moment before she closed it and set her jaw angrily. The man had actually lectured her about proper behavior, despite his own being anything but! His impertinence overshadowed his good looks, and she decided that she didn’t think much of the brazen man she was unfortunate enough to be dependent on for the next eight hours.
“I’ll do without your chicken feed and forego the restaurant. The sooner I can be alone in my new dwelling, the better.” She lifted her skirts and stormed to the front of the buggy. She stopped and stared up at the seat. “Where are the steps, Mr. Harrison? How am I to get up?” she asked, genuinely flummoxed. “Am I to run and jump, or would you have me clamor up the muddy wheel?”
She heard a coughed laugh before she felt her feet leave the ground. Max deposited her on the seat like one might a sack of flour, then rounded the buggy and climbed up next to her. Without a word, he released the brake, clucked to the horse, and slapped the reins on her back. The horse moved forward at a quick clip.
Charlotte’s heart beat wildly. She felt outraged, but she also felt something else—a fluttering in her stomach. No man had ever dared touch her without her consent. Men were generally shy around her. She knew she was a beauty and that her beauty rendered men weak, yet here was a man who, after minutes of knowing her, had not only scolded her but also taken her into his arms. If he thought she was beautiful and felt shy over it, he certainly didn’t let on.
“I suppose it’s considered proper out here for a man to grab a lady’s person without her consent. Is that the case, Mr. Harrison, or are you unique in that respect?”
He chuckled. “Proper isn’t a big concern of most men out here, I’d say.”