“This is not a fair trade for the glove, big boy.”

He stopped his chore in mid-lick, his tongue looking stuck to his paw as he lifted his canine eyebrows at her. Satisfied that she understood that he didn’t care, he went back to washing his feet.

Sadie went back to examining his gift. Using her sleeve, she rubbed some of the rust from the spoon and squinted at what looked like initials scratched into the bowl.

J.L.

Sadie stretched out her legs and straightened her spine.J.L.? Jean Lavoie? Was this the old cook’s spoon from one of the logging camps? She looked back at the wolf.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, waving it at him again, not wanting to question the fact that she was talking to a wolf. “Can you show me?”

He stood up, wagging his tail as he stared at her. He suddenly turned, trotted down through the woods, and stopped and looked back at her. He let out a sharp bark, took several more steps, and whined.

Her worry over finding herself married suddenly forgotten, Sadie hastily folded her damp camisole and scrambled to her feet. She quickly picked up her boots and forgotten clothes and ran after the wolf.

But she slowed to a walk the moment she realized the treacherous beast had led her back to her own camp. The one where Morgan MacKeage was waiting, sitting by the now roaring fire, cooking breakfast. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and frowned at her gear sitting beside her tent. How was she going to pack her things without having to face the delusional man?

“You should have something to eat before we leave,” he said without taking his eyes off his chore.

Sadie stormed into camp and walked past him to her tent. She crawled inside and quickly rolled up her sleeping bag, backed out, then zipped the door closed and carried her gear to her dry bags.

She continued to pack in silence, all the time feeling two sets of piercing green eyes watching her every move. Sadie willed her frazzled nerves to settle down; she needed for her hands not to shake, her throat not to close, and her eyes not to blur with tears.

Sadie MacKeage.

Mercedes Quill MacKeage.

She made a fist and hit the clothes in her bag, driving them deeper. Dammit. She didn’t care if it sounded nice. She was not that man’s wife. They couldn’t be married just because he said so.

Sadie snapped her bag closed with a violent jerk, picked it up and tossed it over her shoulder, and headed to the river.

Morgan MacKeage stood up and blocked her path.

She stared at his feet.

“You’ll eat breakfast first, wife.”

She brushed the hair out of her face and glared at him. “Stop calling mewife!” she shouted, shaking her fist at him. “And stop telling me what to do! I’m not a child, we arenot married, and so help me,” she hissed, taking a step back and pointing her finger when he advanced toward her. “If you tackle me again, I’m going to bloody your face.”

Morgan dropped his head so she wouldn’t see his smile and was careful not to hurt her when he pounced on her again, twisting so that he took the brunt of the fall when they landed.

And he held her tight as she cursed him again, all the time thinking he must have been drunk on her kisses the night he’d stood on the mist-shrouded cliff and claimed her as his.

He could see now, this was not going to be a peaceful union.

Morgan grabbed at her flailing arms, buried his face in her neck, and smiled again. Who the hell cared if life was peaceful? He was just pleased she was no longer looking as if she wanted to cry.

He pinned both her hands between their bodies, holding her firmly on top of him with his arms wrapped around her back, and let her struggle in vain until she finally tired herself out.

Only then did he gently brush the hair off her face. “You’re making threats again,gràineag, that you can’t back up.” He kissed her flushed, angry cheek. “This recklessness must come from not having older brothers who plagued you as a child.”

“Let me go,” she whispered, trying to get free again.

Morgan rolled them over and sat up, pulling her onto his lap. “As soon as we negotiate a truce,” he promised, settling her comfortably but still keeping her trapped.

“You don’t negotiate.”

“This once, wife, I will try.” He touched the end of her nose. “But if you wish my cooperation in the future, don’t make me sorry this time. Now, which one of my sins would you like to begin with?”

He felt her take a giant, shuddering breath, and when Mercedes finally lifted her face to look at him, Morgan realized she was trying very hard to appear calmer than she was feeling.

“This married thing,” she started, her voice trembling.

Morgan fought the knot in his gut. “What about it?”

“You can’t just decide that we’re married, just like that,” she said, trying to snap her trapped fingers. “It takes two people to make a marriage. Twoaware people.”

“I asked you,” he countered. “Do you not remember saying the words to me?”

“I thought you were asking for permission to… to… well, to do it,” she ended on a faint whisper, looking down at his chest. “Not if I wanted to marry you.”

“Then I’ll ask you now. Will you marry me, Mercedes?”

“No.”

He didn’t think so. Morgan lifted her chin to look at him. “Then we have a bit of a problem, lass. I consider the deed done.”

Her eyes widened, then suddenly narrowed. “And if I don’t?”

He gave her a huge grin and once more touched the end of her nose. “I’ll give you the answer to that in one week.”

Her eyes widened again. “What happens in one week?”

“We will sit down and discuss this marriage then. But for the next seven days,” he said quickly, before she could examine his plan too closely, “you will consider yourself my wife.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for last night, Mercedes. It shouldn’t have happened.”

Her head snapped up. “It shouldn’t?”

“Not that way,” he clarified. “Not under a ledge in the middle of such a violent storm.

That was not well done of me.”

“I started it,” she blurted out. “I mean, I followed you. And I… I wanted it, too.”

“Ah, yes. This affair you spoke of.”

She gave him a frown. “What’s wrong with a good oldfashioned flaming affair? Most men would jump at the idea.”

“But not most women,” he countered. “You demean yourself.”

“Yeah, well. How many frogs have you had to kiss?”

“What is it with you and frogs?”

“Never mind. I have another question. Why are you so hell-bent on us being married, anyway? Do you want to sabotage the park so badly that you’re willing to get married to do it?”

“Sabotage?”

He felt her exasperated sigh move through both of their bodies. “That’s the only reason you’re here, isn’t it?” she said. “You went on a blind date with me because you knew I was building a park. And you’re here now, demanding to be my husband, so you can stop me from finding the gold that will fund it.”

Holy hell. The woman had a warped mind—and a very low opinion of him. No, this was not going to be a peaceful union.

“There will be no park,” he replied. “And the gold has nothing to do with it, because I’m not selling my land to your group of people. And without that land, there will be no park,” he repeated, just in case she hadn’t heard him the first time.

He gave her a less than gentle squeeze. “And the park has nothing to do with our marriage,” he continued fiercely. “I want you, and now I have you. It’s that simple.”

“Well, I don’t know why,” she said, her voice quivering. “I can’t even do it right.”

“Do what?”

“M-make love,” she whispered. “When you stopped,” she said, somewhat louder this time.

Morgan could only stare at this poor, confused woman. She really did know nothing of men. Without thinking how she would react, he threw back his head and let out a deep laugh.