Wildblossom

by Wright, Cynthia

  Her own hands moved convulsively over his chest, soaking up the lean strength she'd dreamed of, night and day. Was it possible that nothing could part them again? Shelby pressed forward against his hard manhood, begging wordlessly for fulfillment.

  Geoff came into her an inch at a time. "Oh!" she exclaimed, momentary panic replaced by a powerful surge of passion. The buoyancy of the water lent a new dimension to their lovemaking, and she was able to return his thrusts with ease.

  The candles threw dancing golden light over the tiled walls and over the newlywed Duke and Duchess of Aylesbury as they clung together in joyous torment. They kissed, tasting and savoring, then shared a gaze of miraculous understanding. Closer and closer they came to the precipice, to that little death that so intensely affirmed life. When at last they reached the edge, gasping, Geoff and Shelby fell... not down, but upward, toward the stars.

  * * *

  Strolling along the vast, spotless deck of a newly christened passenger ship, Shelby closed her parasol and turned her face up to the June sun. The ocean stretched out to the horizon, reminding her of the endless prairies of her childhood.

  Soon, she thought, she would see America again, and then Cody... and the mountains, the ranch, and all their friends....

  No matter how many times Shelby envisioned their homecoming, her sense of euphoric anticipation could not be diminished. What a wonderful summer lay ahead of them!

  "Your Grace," a steward murmured at her side, "would you care for refreshment?"

  "No, thank you, Mr. Collins." She gave him her complete attention. From her elegantly coiffed hair to the hem of her new Parisian demi-saison gown, Shelby exuded the grace, beauty, and kindness of a genuine aristocrat. "Is it true that we may reach land by tomorrow evening?"

  "Oh, I should think so." He dipped his head. "We expect to make this first crossing in record time."

  The great steamships that were being built in the new century seemed to become faster with each Atlantic crossing. It was no longer uncommon for one to be able to sail from Europe to North America in less than a week. Shelby thought that they were very lucky to be living in so advanced an age. Why should she and Geoff not travel from London to Wyoming as often as they desired? English Society would scarcely miss them!

  "Can I assist you in any other way, Your Grace?" the steward inquired before backing away.

  "Yes." She gave him a radiant smile., "Have you seen my husband by chance? I left him in the smoking room."

  Collins looked rather uneasy. "I... I think I may have seen His Grace on the upper sundeck, having a nap."

  Shelby smiled to herself as she went in search of Geoff. For now, they were playing the roles of duke and duchess, but soon enough they would be at the ranch, wearing old familiar clothes as they raced on horseback to the base of the mountains. It was amazing, but it seemed that, with care and compromise, she and Geoff could make all their dreams come true.

  It's more than luck, Shelby thought as she moved along a row of deck chairs filled with passengers basking in the sunshine. Everything comes together when the time is right. Her willfulness was giving way to trust: trust in God, in herself, in Geoff, and in the wonder and goodness of their love.

  Nearing the last few deck chairs, Shelby wondered if Collins had been mistaken. There was no sign of Geoff. She was about to turn back when she noticed the man in the next chair. His face was covered by a large white Stetson hat, but there was something very familiar about the rest of him.

  He wore a white shirt with tasteful cufflinks, tailored tan trousers, and handmade shoes. His hands were folded over his chest; a signet ring glinted on one lean finger.

  Shelby's joy was so profound that her heart ached. Blinking back tears, she perched on the edge of the next deck chair, set down her fluffy parasol, and watched him for a few moments.

  When he stirred, Shelby leaned forward and lifted the Stetson hat just enough so that he could see her. Her eyes twinkled. "The Duke of Aylesbury, I presume?"

  Chuckling, Geoff reached up to caress her cheek. "Have you, by chance, heard of a disreputable card-sharp called Coyote Matt?"

  "Your Grace would not lower yourself to consort with such a person, would you?"

  He drew her down, hid their faces with the Stetson, and murmured, "Lower myself? Nothing I'd like more."

  They both were laughing as they kissed.

  The End

  Page forward for more from Cynthia Wright.

  Dear Reader,

  So many of you have written to tell me that you loved Fireblossom, the story of Shelby's parents, and I appreciate every message. I hope you have enjoyed Wildblossom just as much; this book is especially close to my heart.

  I had a lot of fun doing the research. During a wonderful stay in Cody, Wyoming, I was able to garner a lot of valuable research material. I spent many hours at the incredible Buffalo Bill Historical Center, which encompasses four unique western museums, and stayed in Colonel Cody's own suite at the still-operating Irma Hotel!

  Many of the characters actually lived: Jacob Schwoob, Etta Feeley, and all the Wild West Show performers named and described. The events surrounding the opening of the Irma Hotel were recorded carefully, and I adhered closely to those details.

  I should mention that Shelby's family home in Deadwood was inspired by the real Adams house which was restored in 1987 and transformed into an inn. I was able to stay there, in the room that is described as Shelby's own bedroom in Wildblossom. What a fascinating showplace! After she was widowed, Mary Adams closed up the house in 1934 and left it completely intact until she sold it in 1987. From the sheet music in the piano bench to the exquisitely embroidered sheets on my bed, the house was a time capsule. In 1992, Adams House was sold to Deadwood's Historic Preservation Committee, and it is now a museum.

  As for the English settings, the Wild West Show did tour there during the weeks I placed them at Earl's Court. Also, the train crash that killed Cody's horse and injured Annie Oakley really happened—so the situation I created for Shelby was, theoretically, possible! The new king and queen did attend the Wild West Show, as described, on March 14, 1903.

  Buffalo Bill grew older, his debts mounted, and he tried to keep the Wild West Show in business. Annie Oakley never rejoined the show. In 1912, when Cody was sixty-six, everything had to be auctioned to pay his creditors. Later, he organized a film recreating the Indian Wars and toured with other circuses to generate an income. His health deteriorated and he died in January, 1917, in Denver. Although Colonel Cody's wish was to be buried in Cody, Wyoming, he was laid to rest on Lookout Mountain in Colorado.

  Consuelo (Vanderbilt), Duchess of Marlborough, was an intriguing historical figure, and the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire were real as well. London at the turn of the century was a fascinating place!

  One more note: Yes, Geoff's look-alike ancestor was Andrew Weston, Marquess of Sandhurst, and hero of Of One Heart, which was set in 1532.

  Adam Raveneau, Viscount Thorncliff, made a brief appearance in Wildblossom, and you will meet him again as the hero of his own novel. Tempest is coming (at last) in 2012! It will be my first new release in many years and I'm very excited.

  I hope you'll come back and join me for more adventure and heartfelt romance.

  Until then, happy reading!

  Cynthia Wright

  Page forward for an excerpt from

  FIREBLOSSOM

  Matthews Novel #1

  Excerpt from

  Fireblossom

  Matthews Novel #1

  by

  Cynthia Wright

  July 7, 1876

  Daniel Matthews rode into Deadwood from the south, downhill into the crazy zig-zagging gulch. It was hot and the town stank, revealing its character before he could take a visual inventory.

  The Black Hills themselves, one hundred miles long and sixty miles wide, were still nearly as enchanting as they had been when he'd first visited them with Lakota people half a dozen years ago. A lush, forested, game-rich i
sland rising miraculously out of an endless sea of grass, the Hills possessed a unique beauty that far surpassed any grander mountains he'd ever seen. Even now, the land was still breathtakingly beautiful... until Deadwood's assault on the eyes.

  Most of Main Street was blocked by two newly arrived bull trains. The oxen, mooing plaintively, were slumped in the mud in front of supply wagons now being unloaded by surging crowds of men. People were everywhere, scurrying in and out of tents, shouting at one another in the street, leaning out of windows in various states of undress. The town was pure, unbridled chaos.

  Matthews pushed back his brown slouch hat and slowed his roan, whom he'd christened Watson during one particularly endless day in Wyoming. It made him feel sad and frustrated to see what his own people had done to this pristine haven. On the other hand, Deadwood was exactly the kind of town he needed. Disreputable characters of every sort wandered in and out of gold towns virtually unnoticed; scoundrels, outlaws, and others running from something or someone were the rule rather than the exception. Right now, Dan welcomed the prospect of blending in among them, unnoticed and unknown. He was grateful to have planned for an extended stay in the West; he had brought plenty of money.

  His emotions had been intense following the final scene with Custer and his departure from the Seventh Cavalry. Now, however, Dan mainly felt fed up. He'd considered returning immediately to Washington, but he didn't much feel like facing the president. Custer had been right on one count—Grant was the person responsible for setting in motion the chain of events that led to the insanity at Little Bighorn.

  Lying awake these past nights under the starry Wyoming sky, Dan had gone over the scenes between Custer and himself. He felt faintly sick about the whole business, since it was clear that his arguments had only incited Custer further. Perhaps if he had taken a different tack, less true to his own beliefs but tailored to appeal to Custer, he might have had more success.

  The hell with it, Dan thought now. Deadwood was just the place to lie low for a while and wait for the dust he'd raised with Custer to settle.

  Smiling grimly, Dan reflected that he'd be a bit difficult to recognize these days. He was scruffy and much leaner, having barely eaten during much of his ride through the unceded territory, where there were no forts or white settlements. He'd bought some of his clothes off friendly Cheyenne Indians near the border of Wyoming Territory. Snug buckskin trousers were stuffed into well-worn boots, and he wore a shirt of faded blue chambray with a brick red kerchief knotted loosely around his neck to soak up excess sweat. A holster and a Smith & Wesson Schofield .45 single-action revolver completed the picture. It wasn't showy, just extremely effective.

  When it became nearly impossible to guide Watson through the dense crowds, Dan tied up the horse in front of a false-fronted building bearing a sign that read "Pioneer Printing Office". As he dismounted he was met by a man wearing a paper collar and a worn brown suit.

  "New here, aren't you?" He thrust a newspaper into Dan's hands. "Permit me to introduce myself, pilgrim. I'm C. V. Gardner, publisher of the Black Hills Pioneer. We've only been printing a month."

  Gardner wore a beard and his deep-set eyes made Dan think of a mournful hound. "Pleased to meet you, Gardner," he said, shaking his hand. "My name's Fox, and I've just ridden in from the southern Hills." Glancing down at the newspaper, Dan saw stories on Deadwood's celebration of the centennial Fourth of July. "Where can I get a bed and a decent meal?"

  Gardner winked almost imperceptibly. "Depends on what sort of bed you had in mind. North of Wall Street, you can get yourself plenty of whiskey, a warm little chippie, and probably a bed, too. Try the Gem Theatre first, if you're interested."

  Sensing that his eyebrows were about to fly up at this information, Dan nodded soberly and went on his way. He'd encountered his share of hard drinkers and soiled doves over the years, particularly during the war, but such pastimes were indulged in with a measure of discretion. Clearly Deadwood was a different sort of place.

  The prospect of a bed warmed by a willing woman was tempting, but first he needed food. Salvation appeared in the form of the Grand Central Hotel, which, with just one story constructed thus far, served only meals. Dan went in and consumed huge quantities of mutton, beans, mashed potatoes, and apple dumplings with cream, all for fifty cents. While he ate, he read most of the Black Hills Pioneer and drank three mugs of coffee. Finally, his hunger appeased and many of his questions about Deadwood answered, he found himself dreaming of a whiskey, some leisurely conversation at a bar, and perhaps some female companionship.

  He swung into the saddle again, bound for the makeshift livery stable down Main Street. They called this part of Deadwood the "badlands," he'd read in the Pioneer and it was wilder than any place he'd ever seen. The freight wagons were unloaded now, and bullwhackers cracked their long whips as they moved the protesting oxen down Main Street. Crates containing everything from store fixtures to caskets were stacked in front of buildings. Now that the excitement was dying down, the gamblers and serious drinkers were wandering back into the saloons.

  The Gem Theatre had a balcony that was currently crowded with fancy ladies, rouged and scantily clad. They'd come out to investigate the latest shipments of goods, calling out questions about lace, perfume, and other hoped-for finery. Now, the sight of Dan riding slowly in their direction caused the girls to linger.

  "Hey, handsome!" called one. Blessed with long black curls, she wore a flowered silk wrapper sliding off her plump shoulders. "Come on in! Tell Al you want Victoria!"

  "No!" countered a slimmer blonde, laughing. "Tell him Bessie! What's your name?"

  "Fox." It was a pleasure to be in a town where surnames and past histories were cumbersome details easier left unspoken.

  Now they all began calling to him at once, leaning over the balcony railing to display their charms. Pushing back his hat, he flashed a grin.

  "I just have to stable my horse," he told the girls. "Pour me a whiskey and I'll be straight up."

  "I'll just bet you will!" one of them answered in a naughtily suggestive tone, then they all scurried back inside, giggling.

  Dan looked around, noticing the strong smell of incense that wafted south from Chinatown. Drawing on the reins, he began to guide Watson across the still-crowded thoroughfare, heading toward the livery.

  Then he saw the boy.

  He couldn't have been more than nine or ten, with brown eyes the size of saucers. First he crept around the corner of the neighboring Green Front Theatre and paused in the narrow alleyway. Since all the rooms weren't finished upstairs, there were a couple of curtained booths that opened off the alley. It was supposed to be a convenience; men in a hurry could have a girl standing up, without going upstairs or even bothering to remove their trousers.

  Dan had seen a great deal but this shocked him. Then, the sight of a little boy leaning forward to peek around the edge of the curtain was more than he could tolerate. In an instant he was at the entrance to the alleyway.

  "Come over here." He spoke from the saddle, high above the child. "I won't hurt you."

  The boy's clothes were soiled, but of good quality. He wore brown pants held up by suspenders, a plaid shirt, and muddy boots that looked as if they'd been custom-made for his small feet. His sandy hair stuck up in cowlicks. "My pa says I shouldn't talk to strangers," he piped.

  "What's your name, son?"

  "Benjamin."

  "Well, Benjamin," Dan said with a slow smile, "I have a suspicion that your pa doesn't want you running loose in the badlands, either. There are a lot worse folks than me around here, so why don't you come on up and let me take you home." He couldn't believe he was saying it himself, considering the other pressing appointments on his schedule, but he didn't see that he had a choice.

  Benjamin retreated, nearly backing right into the curtained booth. However, before he could make matters worse, Dan brought Watson forward until the boy was within reach. He scooped up the struggling youngster as if he were a sack
of feathers and let the roan prance daintily back into Main Street.

  "Now then," Dan said firmly, "I'd be obliged if you'd direct me to your house, or tent, or wherever it is you live."

  "I don't want you to take me home, mister!"

  "I can assure you that I am not delivering you back into your parents' care because I want to do so, either. So stop wasting my time and show me the quickest route. I have other matters to attend to."

  "I know! I heard you talking to those fancy ladies," Benjamin dared to blurt, then pointed south. "This way."

  "Little hellion," Dan muttered between clenched teeth. "Your parents ought to keep you on a chain!"

  * * *

  "Gramma Susan, where did Benjamin say he was going? I can't see him from the windows, even upstairs."

  Madeleine came into the kitchen where her grandmother had begun hanging the blue calico curtains they'd sewn.

  "How charming they look!" she exclaimed. Actually she would never have chosen the calico if there had been a choice, but that was true of the entire house. Maddie felt as if she were spending every waking hour endeavoring to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

  Susan stood beside her granddaughter to admire the curtains. "You'll never be content here if you can't lower your own standards, you know. As for Benjamin, I thought he said he was going down the hill to play with the Gordon boy on Pine Street."

  "I've asked him to stay in sight." Worriedly Maddie peered out the window. "There's far too much mischief for a boy his age to get into in a town like this. I do not intend to lower my standards for Benjamin, Gramma!" Glancing down at her pretty peach-and-cream-striped taffeta walking dress, Maddie thought stubbornly that she would not lower her personal standards, either, no matter what anyone said. She had been raised a lady and would remain one, even in rollicking, sinful Deadwood.