Temptation’s Tender Kiss

by French, Colleen

  "He'd be a fool not to."

  She could feel her heart taking flight, soaring again. She dared a smile. "I'll get my riding clothes on. You get the horse."

  In less than half an hour Reagan was on Spruce Street outside her grandfather's house and Grayson was handing her up into Giipa's saddle.

  "Now you understand how to get there? Those roads should be safe, but if anybody messes with you, you blow a hole through his head with that pistol you're carrying and ask questions later."

  Reagan nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. It's not that far."

  Grayson gave a nod, stepping back. "Go on then, and I'll tell all of your neighbors that you left me for a Colonial clod."

  Her laughter filled the afternoon air. "Goodbye and take care. You'll be in our thoughts. " Grayson tipped his grenadier cap and she rode away.

  Down two blocks she dismounted and went up to a stately brick-and-frame house. A few minutes later she emerged carrying a covered picnic basket. It was a wedding gift for Elsa. Walking the remainder of the way to the blacksmith's, Reagan carried the basket, taking care with it.

  In the blacksmith's yard she tied up Giipa and went to the door. Hesitantly, she knocked.

  It swung open and the red-faced man who was now her brother-in-law answered the door. The sound of stringed instruments and laughter filtered through the air. It was celebration—a wedding celebration.

  Ethan smiled. "I told my Elsa you would come. Please come into our home and share some wine."

  Reagan shook her head. "I'm leaving. I'm going try and find Sterling. " She stated at the toe of her riding boot. "I think I may marry him."

  "I'll get Elsa," the blacksmith said gently. "But come in."

  "No. I'll wait here. I . . . I have a present."

  He disappeared and a moment later Elsa came outside. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes danced. She threw her arms around her sister. "I'm so glad you came. But Ethan says you're going away."

  Reagan nodded. Her eyes were getting misty again. "You're married now?"

  She nodded excitedly and held up her hand to show a dull gold wedding band.

  "You certain this is what you want?"

  "I love Ethan," she answered simply.

  "Then here's my wedding gift. " She offered the basket. "I don't know how long it will be until we see each other again. If Sterling will still have me, I think we'll marry."

  Elsa lifted the lid and gave a squeal of delight. She dropped to her knees. "Oh, sister!" Out of the basket she pulled a mewing black-and-white kitten. She held the little fluff of fur against her cheek. "He's so sweet!"

  "Better look again, Elsa."

  She reached into the basket and pulled out another kitten. "It's orange!" Elsa's eyes widened. "There's still something scratching in there, can you hear it?"

  Reagan nodded and Elsa reached into the basket extracting two more kittens. "Four kittens! I can't believe it!"

  Ethan stepped outside. "That was a very nice thing to do," he told Reagan. "She really misses Mittens."

  Elsa looked up at the bridegroom. "Can I bring them inside at night, Ethan. I don't mind cleaning up the piddles."

  Ethan laughed, grasping Elsa by the hand and lifting her to her feet. The kittens ran and tumbled in the grass. "Anything you want, dear. A house full of kittens if you like."

  Elsa beamed. "See, Sister. Ethan's going to let me keep them in the house."

  Reagan smiled. "Give me a hug and get back to your party. I have to go."

  Elsa embraced her sister, then went back to her husband's arms. "Write to me," Elsa said. "Ethan reads good."

  "I will. I promise."

  Ethan followed Reagan to her horse and helped her into the saddle. He cleared his throat. "I'm not a man for words, but I wanna thank you. I'm sorry we had to marry this way, but I thank you for being so good about it now that it's done. You or Sterling ever need anything, you can count on me."

  Reagan offered her hand and he took it in his meaty one. "You take care of her, Ethan, and we'll try to get back soon. In the meantime you two lay low and try not to cause too much trouble. Let someone else be a hero."

  Ethan tugged on his sleeveless waistcoat. "We're just doing our share, Miss Reagan. Nothing more, nothing less. You know how Elsa is. She gets something in her head and there's no stopping her."

  Reagan joined in his laughter as she sank her knees into Grayson's fine steed.

  "Godspeed," Ethan called as she rode out of the yard and down the street, heading south toward New Castle.

  Sterling sat in the back of the public room, his head cradled in his hands. An empty ale jack rested in front of him along with a half-eaten plate of stew. "Barmaid!" he bellowed, his speech slightly slurred. "Another."

  A dark-haired girl retrieved his leather jack and returned it filled with frothy ale. "Anything else, luv?"

  Sterling's eyes narrowed as he tried to focus. He heard the feminine voice. Was it Reagan's? No, some wench, but not his Reagie. His Reagie was gone. She was in Philadelphia with Grayson. She hated him. She'd called him a liar. Sterling gave a hiccup. He was a liar.

  "No. " Sterling waved the barmaid away. "Don't want anything you've got. Don't want anything but what I can't have," he added softly as the servant flounced off.

  He took a long drink of the ale. He was drunk, but he thought he just might get drunker. Anything to make him forget. He was so angry at Reagan, but he still loved her. His heart ached for her. She said she wouldn't marry him because he'd deceived her, because of Elsa, but none of that made any sense! If she'd loved him enough, she'd have come, and he supposed that that was what hurt the most.

  Sterling drained his jack and pounded the table with it, indicating he wanted another. While he waited he pushed back on the bench, throwing a boot up on the scarred wooden table. He'd removed his telltale bandages and now wore a wool hat to cover his stitches. He wiped his numb lips against the back of his hand.

  The door to the public room swung open and a woman stepped inside. She stopped to speak to a grizzled old sailor who stood guard at the door. The man pointed a gnarled finger in the direction of the public room and the woman stepped into the lamplight.

  Sterling blinked. Damn! His eyes were playing tricks on him. He could have sworn the woman looked just like Reagan. He licked his dry lips, leaning forward on his elbows. "Reagie?" He formed her name. He knew it wasn't her; she was in Philadelphia.

  She came closer and he became more confused. This was why he didn't drink hard. He just couldn't handle it like Grayson. He squinted. "Reagan?"

  The woman's face lit up and he rose slowly to his feet. She was putting out her arms to him. She was laughing, she was crying. He wondered numbly if he'd died and was headed for heaven.

  "Reagan, is that you?" His voice sounded odd in his ears.

  "Sterling. " She threw herself against him and he lowered his face to bury it in her sweet-smelling hair. "I'm so glad I caught you. I was afraid you'd go before I made it here."

  He stroked her smooth cheek. "You came . . . you came. Why?"

  She laughed, staring up at him, her cinnamon eyes filled with love. "You're drunk."

  He gave a hiccup. "Either not drunk enough or too drunk. Are you sure you're real?"

  Her laughter filled his ears. "This is real," she murmured. She pressed her mouth to his in a searing kiss. When she pulled away they were both breathless. A cheer rose from the tavern patrons.

  "Give me another chance," she told him. "Ask me again."

  The reality of the situation was wearing away the effect of the ale. "Ask you?"

  "To marry you."

  He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. He couldn't believe she was really here. "No," he told her.

  Her face fell.

  "No," he said quickly. "I told you I'd ask that one last time."

  "But—"

  "Ask me," he whispered.

  A smile filled her face with white light. "Will you marry me?" She took his hand, lowering it until it brushed
her stomach. "Will you give our child a father?"

  He swept her into his arms. "A baby? We're going to have a baby? I thought you said you couldn't have children."

  Reagan shrugged. "So I lied," she murmured against his lips.

  Epilogue

  Williamsburg, Virginia

  June 21, 1778

  Nervously, Reagan glanced into the beveled mirror that hung on the wall of her new bedchamber. It had been Sterling's parents' room here in the Georgian brick farmhouse at Thayer's Folly, but after today Reagan and Sterling would be sharing it. Since her arrival in Williamsburg, she'd been staying with his maiden aunt to assure her acceptance in the community. No one would ever know what had passed between them in the winter months in Philadelphia. Their child would simply be born early.

  The sound of another carriage rolling up to the front door two stories below caught her attention. She gave her elegant coiffure one last pat and went to the window to see if she recognized the latest arrivals. The last month had passed in a whirlwind of confusion and activity. She and Sterling had come to Williamsburg and opened his parents' home just outside of town. Sterling had settled into his safe, respectable post with the Patriot Army in Williamsburg, and he had begun plans to clear another three hundred acres to grow food for Washington's army.

  A knock at the door startled Reagan, and she turned away from the window. She didn't know why she was so jumpy! "Yes?"

  "Reagie, the reverend is waiting."

  "I . . . I'm not quite ready. " She felt like a schoolgirl, giddy and breathless.

  Sterling laughed, coming through the door. "You're as ready as you're ever going to be, now come on. " He offered her his hand but she refused it.

  "Sterling Thayer!"

  "What?" He looked at her innocently, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

  "If you think I'm marrying a man wearing that, you're mistaken!"

  "What are you talking about? Sterling patted the brocaded scarlet coat he wore. "The dressmaker says its all the rage in Paris."

  Reagan rested her hands indignantly on her hips. "Take it off, Sterling, or I'm not coming down."

  "There's no time for me to change. I told you, the good reverend's waiting."

  "The good reverend can wait until the Second Coming for all I care. I'll marry no man in a red coat!"

  Sterling broke into laughter as he pulled off the offensive garment. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

  Her stern expression dissolved. "I can't believe you're making jokes on our wedding day."

  Sterling tossed the coat onto their bed and reached out to take her in his arms.

  "Sterling, you'll crush the silk ribbon," she protested weakly. His embrace was reassuring.

  He stroked her cheek, kissing her gently on her rosy lips. "I don't give a hang about your silk ribbons, sweet, all I care about is you."

  "Sterling!" She pulled away, but still held on to his hand. "We'd better go down. I hear the music."

  "Come along then," he said, feigning exasperation. I guess I'll have to marry you and then give you your gift."

  "Gift?" She stopped in midstep. "You have another gift? Sterling, you've already bought me enough gowns and jewels to clothe half of Philadelphia!"

  He raised a blond eyebrow. "Yes, but this is a special gift. " He shrugged. "You're right, though. We'd better get this marriage over with first."

  Her curiosity piqued, Reagan couldn't resist. "What is it?"

  "No, no. Later. " He looped her arm through his and started to lead her down the hall.

  "Sterling!"

  Laughing, he grasped her hand and made a sharp turn, taking her down the servants' back staircase. "There's really no room in the cellar. I thought an office in town might be better."

  "An office in town? For heaven's sake, what are you talking about?"

  He stopped at a door. "Close your eyes."

  "Sterling!"

  "Close your eyes, or no present."

  She squeezed her eyes shut, letting him lead her through the door.

  "All right, you can open them."

  Reagan's eyes flew open. "Sterling!" she gasped. In front of her stood the major components of a new printing press. "For me?" she breathed, running to touch the polished wood and metal.

  "For you, my love. " He took her hand in his. "To keep you out of trouble . . . or in trouble as the case may be."

  Reagan's eyes brimmed with tears. "Thank you," she whispered.

  "You're welcome. Now shall we go? I believe we have a wedding to attend."

  The End

  Want more historical romance?

  Here's an excerpt from Judith E. French's

  MORGAN'S WOMAN

  Chapter 1

  Sweetwater, Colorado

  Spring 1866

  Tamsin MacGreggor rose at first light and tiptoed across the bare, splintery floorboards to the washstand. The room was unheated and smelled of lye soap and tobacco. Shivering, she poured water from a pitcher into the cracked crockery basin.

  Sweetwater, Colorado, hadn’t impressed her very much, but it was farther west than Denver. And the ugly boardinghouse room was cleaner and cheaper than the hotel in Wheaton, Nebraska, where she’d worked in a general store for two months. Best of all, she’d left Jack Cannon behind her.

  Tamsin scrubbed her face, then rubbed her aching back. She was still tired, despite ten hours’ sleep. Sometimes it seemed as though she’d been weary since she left her home in Three Forks, Tennessee. There’d been so many small towns she couldn’t remember them all, most cold and muddy. She’d traveled by train when she could manage the expense of shipping her horses. The rest of the time she’d ridden them, stopping only when her funds ran low or the weather was too awful.

  She’d have made faster progress if she hadn’t had to work her way across the country. Lawyer Crawshaw had been right when he’d said that Atwood had left her nothing but the two animals. She’d sold her mother’s jewelry and most of her own clothing and personal items for what little money she could get.

  Now she was down to ninety-two dollars and sixty-three cents. There would be no more trains. From here to California, across desert, mountain, and plains, she would ride her horses. Heaven help them all if one of the animals broke a leg or pulled a tendon.

  Randolph Crawshaw had laughed at her when she’d told him that she intended to take the mare and stallion to California to start a new life. The lawyer had scoffed that a gentlewoman, alone, in these lawless times since the war had ended, wouldn’t get as far as the Tennessee line with such valuable horseflesh.

  “I guess I showed you, didn’t I, Randolph?” she declared as she twisted her carrot-colored hair into a sensible braid and tied her hat strings under her chin. One thing she hadn’t sold was her grandfather’s Navy Colt. And any man who tried to take Fancy or Dancer from her would have to come through a hail of lead to get them.

  The small looking glass over the washstand was blackened with age. Tamsin didn’t bother to glance into it as she dressed. Years of rushing out in the darkness to aid a horse in distress had taught her to find her clothing and plait her thick hair by touch. Besides, a twenty-six-year-old woman, as tall and sturdy as she was, had no need of mirrors.

  Tamsin had left her black widow’s garments behind in Tennessee. Her clothing was as sensible as her plain freckled face: a dark green wool skirt, divided for riding astride, a neat white shirt, and a short green jacket to match the skirt. Her russet boots were old but crafted of the finest leather with heels high enough for riding and low enough for comfortable walking.

  She gathered her few belongings and stowed them in the saddlebags, then slid the heavy pistol into the holster hidden beneath her skirt. It was amazing how little a woman could get by with when it had to be carried on two horses. Her entire future, all her hopes and dreams, was wrapped up in those animals.

  Thoroughbreds both, the stallion and mare were the results of her grandfather’s life as a breeder of champion racing stock. Surely, suc
h speed and noble lines would be appreciated in California. And with luck and hard work, she intended to build another stable of purebred horses, one that no spendthrift husband would ever wrest away from her.

  She hurried through breakfast, paid for her accommodations. Pausing for a moment on the uneven wooden walkway outside of the boardinghouse, she swung the saddlebags over one shoulder and looked carefully around.

  Except for a farmer leading a workhorse into the smithy and a boy washing the window in front of a dry goods store, the muddy street was nearly deserted. A block down, she could see someone raking the dirt in front of the livery stable where she’d left Fancy and Dancer for the night.

  It had rained sometime after midnight. Tamsin remembered hearing the rhythmic downpour against the tin roof. Yesterday’s choking dust was gone, replaced with brisk, fresh air. Fingers of fog hung over the town, but the golden rays piercing the clouds promised a fair day.

  Then, to her left, she heard the creak of saddle leather. She glanced at the tall rider coming around the corner and quickly looked away when their eyes met.

  “Morning, ma’am,” the big man said. He shifted his rifle to his other arm and touched his hat with one gloved finger.

  Tamsin gasped as she took in the stranger and the two horses trailing behind him. Each animal carried a gruesome cargo, a dead man slung over the bloodstained saddle.

  Muffling a cry of distress, she seized the doorknob, preparing to rush back into the boardinghouse. The quick glimpse she’d had of the ruffian was enough to convince her she didn’t wish to be on the same street with him.

  A wide-brimmed hat had shaded stark features bronzed by sun and wind. His sensual mouth was a thin line, his sharply chiseled jawline unshaven. The broad shoulders, long legs, hard-muscled arms were barely concealed by the black calf-length leather coat.

  Tamsin had seen her share of desperate men since she started traveling west. This one reminded her of Jack Cannon. The polished rifle, and the gun belt visible where the stranger’s duster hung open, didn’t belong to a cowhand who had innocently stumbled upon two bodies.