by Martha Hix
“That’s not what bothers me.” Turning his hat around in his hand, he said, “Lisette, your hiring on has a stipulation. The only way it’ll work is for you to get yourself a husband.”
“You’ve been unfair, leading me on.” Frustration and the edge of defeat wilted her shoulders. “It takes two to make a marriage.”
“True. But what I’m suggesting has nothing to do with tradition. You’re needing the kind of union that doesn’t ask too much of you.”
Confused, she whispered, “Pardon me, but I thought the only reason men and women married was for love, and with the hopes of raising a family.”
“In this instance all you need is the protection of a man’s name. I’m referring to a marriage of convenience.”
Her mouth dropped. No wonder his own marriage hadn’t worked out, what with his attitude. “You seem to hold a low opinion of the sanctity of matrimony.”
He studied the ground before elevating his jutted, clefted chin. “You know I’ve been divorced, so it goes without saying that I’ve had trouble in the past.”
She wanted to ask the source of the problem. She knew some things from gossip. He’d been married during the war but was divorced by the time he reached Texas. Anything more was none of her business, just as her past was none of his.
Yet the hurt issuing from his heart and soul compelled her to step forward to offer comfort. Instinctively she took his hand to give warmth. He’s as lonely as I’ve been, she realized.
“I’m so sorry, Gil,” she murmured, half realizing she’d called him by his given name. “Please forgive me for calling attention to your heartache.”
Like butter on fresh toast, his frown melted into a smile. “You make me feel good,” he murmured. “I need that.”
He needed her, and she needed him to need her.
These realizations were a powerful aphrodisiac. Nothing remained but the need to assuage a corner of his pain.
She lifted a palm to his face, feeling the firm set of his jaw, the whisper of day-old whiskers. Beneath her thumb, he swallowed, and then his arms were around her, hers around him, his Stetson toppling behind him. The strong beat of his heart tapped against her breasts as his mouth descended to take hers. And she responded to him, responded as she never had with Thom Childress.
When Gil lifted his lips–his wonderfully warm and evocative lips–she smiled at the contentment and desire illuminating his features. Or was she smiling at her own passion, the emotion she’d long tried to quell?
“I’ve spent six months, dreaming about kissing you,” he admitted in a voice soaked in sensuality. “And I’m not disappointed in the reality of it.”
She blushed, lowering her eyes. He had been dreaming about her . . . when she’d been lonely, so lonely, and had yearned for attention. While she’d known rejection along with solitude of the heart, she hadn’t realized the extent of it until this moment.
“Do you ever think of me–more as a man than an employer?”
She shouldn’t admit it. If she did, she’d be placing her trust in him. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought of you. As a man.”
“You don’t know how that pleases me, because I’d come to the conclusion you wanted only the job.” His hands at her waist, he squeezed gently. “And it makes it easier to say what I’m wanting to express. I want to marry you.”
“What?” She flinched as if stung by a bee. “Are you up to some sort of tomfoolery, like snipe-hunting?”
With a look of hurt, he answered, “No.”
It wasn’t a joke; he was serious. Her inner defenses slammed down to surround her heart again. “M-marry me? Mister McLoughlin, you don’t even know me.”
“I know enough–and I know my mind.” Solemnly, he gazed into her eyes. “We could be good together. Give us a chance.”
“I–I can’t accept. Why, we don’t love each other.”
“I’m not a great believer in that love nonsense. That could change in time, of course. For both of us.”
“But it might not. And I won’t take the chance. Marriage is sacred. Promises are sacred to me. I wouldn’t vow to love you if I didn’t mean it.”
“Can’t you find something to love about me? Then you wouldn’t be lying.”
Was there anything to love about him? She searched his eyes. She loved the way he looked at her. She loved the way he looked to her. She loved the way he made her pulse race and her limbs quiver.
Deep trouble. She was in it.
“I’m not looking for anything that even resembles love,” she finally replied.
He turned toward the creek. The spring breeze ruffled his hair, and despite herself, she longed to pat those tousled black strands into place. Stop it! she warned herself.
Pitching a pebble into the water, he said, “You may not be looking for love, but you are wanting safe passage to the railhead. Therefore you need the protection of my name. It’s a matter of practicality. If you’re my wife, my men will keep their distance out of respect for both of us.”
His offer was tempting, so utterly tempting: a name to protect her against attentions such as Blade Sharp’s, plus an avenue to her dreams. Strangely, all that freedom didn’t hold its former appeal. And it all had to do with the tall, virile cattleman who was beseeching her with his words and kindness as well as with his mesmerizing eyes and all-too-handsome face.
If San Antonio hadn’t happened. If only . . . Since she couldn’t in good faith accept his offer, Lisette realized she had to make a decision–and now.
“I am flattered and honored you’d go to such lengths to make your proposal appealing,” she said earnestly. “My only choice is to be on my way. But I do thank you for not turning me out. I bid you a heartfelt auf Wiedersehen.”
“Don’t be hasty.” His hand took her forearm, forestalling her departure. His thumb made circles on her wrist, stoking the fires she kept trying to dampen. “Lisette, maybe I haven’t made myself clear. If you aren’t attached to me by the time we reach Kansas, we’ll get an annulment. In the meantime, I’m not asking for husbandly rights.”
Oddly disappointed that he wouldn’t demand such license, she cautioned herself not to be weak.
“I am not going to marry you.”
The faint lines radiating from his eyes deepened; a frown bracketed his lips. “You showed a lack of judgment, tearing off after my cattle drive in the first place. Now you’re ready to jump into hot water, when I’m willing to protect you.”
Wary, she studied him. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that nothing is given freely. You would expect something in return.” Just as she’d expected Thom not to break their engagement by marrying another woman. “And, no matter what you say, I imagine that something is bedroom privileges.”
“My bedroom is back in Fredericksburg.”
“You know what I mean! I am not willing to trade my body for passage to Chicago.”
“I’m glad to hear that, cause I wouldn’t want to give my name to a woman who would. Let’s give this marriage scheme a try. And on my oath, I’ll respect your chastity.” Winking boldly, seductively, he grinned. “Unless you don’t want me to. Then we’ll have a real marriage. Till death parts us.”
If only she could give him the one thing he expected. She couldn’t; it wasn’t there.
“You asked what I want in return,” he said. “I’d expect you to cook for the Four Aces outfit. My men have a right to the best I can give them, and honey, they’re dreamy-eyed over your cooking skills. I’m dreamy-eyed over it. That supper you fixed was the best I’ve ever eaten. If you’ll help me, I’ll help you.”
Chewing her lip, she stared downward. Just as when he’d told her not to be frightened of Tecumseh Billy, she trusted his word. Matthias trusted his word, too. “He’s a good man, Lise,” he’d said. He was a good man, this Gil McLoughlin. And she drew comfort from giving her trust . . . without fearing it was misplaced.
And he did need her.
Evidently he took her hesitatio
n as an affront, because he asked, “Why are you stalling? Would you rather not sully your name with mine, since I’ve got the taint of a first marriage attached to it?”
“The stigma of divorce? I do not hold that against you, rest assured. I–”
“Thank God.”
She’d started to confess everything, but his interruption lowered her courage. In no way could his disgrace match hers, for Monika had been right. She would need chicken blood to fool a husband into thinking her pure. To deceive this wonderful man thus would be a sin she couldn’t live with.
But it would be a marriage of convenience.
How long would that last? She wanted him–wanted the comfort of his companionship, needed his arms around her, yearned to explore the passions he roused. If she allowed her heart to rule her head, though, he would know her dreadful secret.
Maybe he’d accept her as she was. Maybe he wouldn’t. She turned; she ran–toward Willensstark, and away from facing up to her lack of judgment in 1865.
Women. Gil McLoughlin had never understood them. Probably never would. He had offered Lisette all he thought she wanted, but she had turned him down flat. Scratching his jaw, he took a look at her. She was fitting that damned old mule for her sashay into the wilds.
All and all, Gil’s mood was black. Beyond the Lisette debacle, three good men had lost their lives to the frigging Comanches. This was not a good day.
He gave himself a mental kick for trying to bend this willful German girl. He had had to try, nonetheless. His grandmother used to say, “The worst someone can say is ‘no.’ ” Lisette had said no. Then another of Maisie McLoughlin’s pearls came to her grandson’s mind: If they don’t answer the front door, knock on the back one.
As Lisette continued to load her pitiable traveling companion, Gil checked the harnesses on the draught horses. He called to her, “Ready to go?”
“Yes.” She didn’t appear any too ready or eager, yet she yanked on the mule’s lead-rope; Willensstark dug in his hooves.
Gil ambled over to them, gave the beast of burden a pat. Thank you, old lad. I need all the help I can get.
“My men near about cleaned out your food supply,” Gil said. “What are you planning to eat along the way? Dandelions?”
“You could compensate me for my stores.”
He tsked. “Lisette Keller, that would make you an Indian giver, taking back what you gave of your own free will. Now tell me, what are you planning to eat?”
“None of your business.”
“Funny, I never heard of such a dish. Is it a German specialty, like sauerkraut?”
She shoved an empty canning jar into the mule’s packs. “Mister McLoughlin, if you keep talking like that, I’ll leave here with a bad impression of you.”
She was not leaving here, not unless his ploy failed, and if that were to come to pass, she’d leave with money, food, and an escort even though he would regret having to lose another cowhand for days on end. Mostly he’d regret losing Lisette.
Leaning his elbow on Willensstark, he crossed his ankles. “Say, do you know how to shoot a rifle?”
“No.”
“Then I guess there’s no use in giving you one. ’Course, you need some sort of protection against redskins and coyotes and predators like them, you being in the middle of nowhere. Excuse me. You’re at a gravesite, if you wanna count that. Middle of Comanche country, too. I’ve tried to be hard-hearted about burying good men along the way, but it still hurts.” Gil grimaced. “This is my third trip up this cowpath, and Ernst and José and Willie make the eighth, ninth, and tenth casualties.”
He watched the fear she tried to hide. Pleased for getting to her but regretful for his means of persuasion, Gil offered, “Maybe you ought to take a rifle anyway. I’ll load it for you. Who knows? You might get a lucky shot.”
Her fingers tightened on Willensstark’s lead. “I–I’ll hide during the day. I did it before, and I’ll do it again.”
He fingered a blond braid lying over her breast. “Boy howdy, would those redskins love to get their hands on this. It’d be quite a coup for some hatchet-faced brave, having a blond scalp decorating his tepee.”
Her face ridden with fright, she pulled up her shoulders. “You’re trying to s-scare me.”
“Maybe I am getting carried away. They’d think first before scalping you. No doubt they’d find a better use for all this blond bounty.” He gave Willensstark another pat. “Why don’t you tell me which route you’re taking? If Adolf Keller never sees the whites of your eyes again, I can tell him where to search. In which redskin camp, that is. You ever gotten a whiff of a tepee? Phew.”
“Cows smell, too.”
He chose not to reply to her statement. “Comanche men like being waited on hand and foot, so it’s a good thing you don’t mind hard work. Squaws do everything but the hunting and warring. Well, sometimes they do those, too. Whatever keeps them occupied–outside of keeping the buffalo hides warm on a cold night–they’ve got a papoose strapped on their back and a passel of younguns squalling at their feet.”
“If a woman is looking out for her own husband and children and home, I doubt she resents the work.”
Damn, his schemes weren’t working. Yet he replied, “See, you’re already thinking like a squaw.”
“No, I’m thinking like a woman.”
“Glad to hear you don’t make a distinction. It’ll make life easier. I hear the Injuns are fine ones for needlework, what with their beading and so on. Those braves, why, I bet they’ll let you keep your needles to stitching, though I don’t think they hanker for ribbons and lace and frou-frou on their headbands.”
If looks could have stitched Gil McLoughlin, he would have been tattooed with embroidery.
“It’ll be tough, Lisette, breaking the news to Adolf.”
“You won’t be needing to tell him anything. I’ll write from Chicago.”
“How you gonna get there? Not on that, I hope.” He gestured at Willensstark, who brayed.
“He got me here. He’ll get me away.”
“Right. Say, one more thing. When the Comanches capture you, better not try to escape. They don’t take to that sorta stuff. I’ve heard they’re not as bad about cutting off women’s noses as they used to be. ’Course, you can never trust gossip.”
Her face whitened during his oration; he was glad for it. “I saw a couple of noseless white women toting breeds around San Antonio. White folks usually shun the women, which I think is an abomination, since it wasn’t their fault they got captured and pregnant and maimed.”
Lisette’s chin trembled. Again, Gil leaned against Willensstark’s scrawny, pack-laden back, else he would have drawn his frightened quarry into his arms to assure her that no harm would befall her . . . as long as he drew a breath.
“You ever seen a woman after Comanches are done with her?”
Shaking like a leaf, she murmured raggedly, “Ja, meine Schwester.”
A multitude of emotions skipped over her face, indecision and consternation and agony among them. It was then that she buried her face in her hands and sobbed. He didn’t know what she’d answered, but whatever it was, it was bad.
He took her into his arms, pressing her face to his chest and whispering, “Shhh, it’ll be okay, honey. I promise.”
She cried against his shirt, wetting it, and his fingers held her there. Her arms locked around his back, holding on as if he were a lifeline.
What had she said a moment ago? He asked her to speak slowly, and she did.
“My sister Olga was captured by the Comanches. We found her . . . dead at the foot of Cross Mountain. She was only twelve years old.”
“Damn.”
He groaned, feeling awful. Matthias had told him Lisette had lost a sister, but he’d figured the girl had died of natural causes, just as the mother had during the trip from Germany. What else had the strawboss neglected to tell him?
“Lisette, forgive me for scaring you.”
Her reddened eyes lift
ed. “I am so frightened of being abandoned.”
“I’ll take care of you. If anyone leaves, it’ll have to be you, because I’ll never leave you.”
“You mean that? You won’t make me go away?”
“I stand by my word.”
“Oh, Mister McLoughlin, you are such a good man.”
“Keep spoiling me with your praise.” I love it.
A tentative smile softened her ravaged face, and the devil within him lowered his mouth to hers. He tasted her salty lips; his arms wrapped around her. With a sigh, she opened to him, her hands climbing to his shoulders, and he took more than he ought to, considering she was overset with fear.
Yet as the moments wore on, she continued responding to his kisses, to his caresses, to his gently spoken endearments.
Their first kiss had been great; these were even greater. She was more than he’d ever expected, was warm and responsive, all innocence and awakening passion.
If he didn’t stop kissing and cuddling her, he might get carried away. He wanted a virgin bride, not a virgin lover. For once, marriage would start on the right foot.
Through wedlock, he would cultivate her feelings and they would celebrate the act of love.
Pulling away, his heart slamming against his breastbone, his blood having centered in his groin, Gil cut around to the far side of Willensstark. He exhaled heavily. Behave, Old Son.
“We’d better talk,” he said. “When we’re married, you’ll get my protection and the freedom to do as you please, as long as you go along with the pretense of being a loving and devoted wife. We mustn’t bring suspicion on ourselves and let the men think it’s only a sham.”
“That would be wise.”
“You’ll decide whether we keep it as a marriage in name only, or make it a real one. You’ll have the option of getting on that train for Chicago . . . or returning to the Four Aces with me.” He leaned across the mule to touch Lisette’s cheek. “I do, however, reserve the right to change your mind about the convenience part of the marriage.”
Her eyes closed. “I–I can’t marry you. I’m not a–”
Here we go again. “Shhh. Don’t say anything but yes.”