“I read by the fire with Fella. Sometimes I whittle or do whatever mending I need to do.”
A chuckle escaped. “I have a hard time picturing you sewing.”
“I have a hard time doing it.”
“I’ll change and join you in the front room if that is all right?”
Barrett nodded. “All right. Not sure it’s what people do on their wedding night, but it’s acceptable to me.”
An hour later, Christina could barely keep her eyes open. With her legs curved up, she sat idly by on the sofa as Barrett read. Fella whimpered in his sleep, no doubt chasing rabbits or such.
Warmth came over her when Barrett pulled her against him and kissed her temple. “You’re tired. We should go to bed. Don’t worry, Christina. Nothing has to happen between us tonight.”
She remained silent, enjoying the solid feel of his body next to hers. Intuitively, she placed her arm around his stomach. This was her husband. He belonged to her as much as she did to him. For the rest of their lives, they would depend on each other for much more than either expected.
“You are my husband now, Barrett. I am proud of it. I can honestly say I am very happy right now.”
He let out a long breath. “I believe it will be a long time before I come to fully believe you accepted marrying me.”
Christina looked up at him. “Why?”
Instead of a reply, his mouth covered hers. This was not a tentative kiss like the one when they were pronounced husband and wife, but one filled with want and passion.
As his mouth moved over hers, his hand cupped her jawline, moving down her throat and back up again.
Waves of heat rushed through every inch of her body, pooling in her center as Christina gave in to him. Her lips parted and Barrett continued to kiss her, his breathing becoming labored.
Christina wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing against him as much as she could since they continued sitting next to each other. His lips trailed slowly, each inch delicious as he moved to her ear.
“Let’s go to bed, Christina.”
She stood on wobbly knees and waited for him to stand. Together, they walked to the bedroom leaving Fella alone with his dreams and the warm fire.
Once in the bedroom, Christina removed her clothing while not looking to Barrett. She didn’t want to know if he watched while at the same time wishing he did. Once in her chemise, she sat and removed her stockings before slipping between the blankets.
Barrett moved to the opposite side. He stood uncertainly for a moment as if waiting for something. Finally, turning so his injured side was away from her, he pulled his shirt up over his head. With tentative moves, he sat on the bed and bent down to remove his prosthesis and his pants.
This was not a time to look away. Christina knew he waited for a reaction to his scarring. She could see several that inched around his right side, but had not yet been able to see the front. Her attention, however, was more captured by his well-muscled torso and the bunching and softening of his biceps as he went about undressing.
Finally, he lay down, his left side to her. His eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Rest well.”
Christina cupped his jaw and turned his face to her. “Alexander. Let me see you.”
For a scant moment, his eyes widened. He’d expected her not to want to consummate their union. Of course, he was an honorable man and would give her time to become accustomed to his injuries. However, she agreed with Olive, who’d said, “The sooner you become true husband and wife, the easier it will be. Don’t let him put it off.”
She waited for him to turn and push the blankets down. Angry gashes slashed from his right side down to his hip. The blanket was not down low enough for her to see where his leg ended, but that didn’t matter for the time being. She knew it was below his knee.
A giggle escaped, as she could not keep from looking at his manhood. The scars disappeared once she noticed how it pointed toward her.
He moved his hand to cover it, but his lips twitched in an attempt to keep from smiling. “Sorry. I’m aroused from kissing you.”
Christina reached out and slid her finger over the scars. “This and the rest that make you are just as I expected. The scarring will always remind me of your valor.”
Barrett released a harsh breath. His eyes searched her face as if ensuring she was being truthful.
With a wide smile, she leaned forward. “I rather enjoy kissing.”
When he finally came over her, she let out a sigh of relief. This night, she would become one with him. She would join with the man who was to be her husband forever.
Sensations clashed as they made love. Everything Olive said vacated and Christina abandoned herself into Barrett. She allowed him to show her the wonders of what her body was meant for, how beautiful it was to discover each other until the point of losing all control.
“You are glowing, dear.” Olive leaned into Christina and smiled. “Is it safe to presume you had no troubles with the wedding night?”
Rose Withers frowned at them from across the table at the church hall. “I don’t believe that is an acceptable conversation for Christmas Eve.”
Christina attempted to keep from smiling, however, across the room, Barrett looked at her and their gazes met. Immediately, heat rushed to her cheeks as she attempted not to grin like a mad woman.
“Well, I’m very happy for you both.” Olive patted her arm.
A day of food and fellowship after the church service was planned. Although Christina could barely wait to be alone with her husband, she was glad for the day and the reminder of how much her life had changed since arriving in Ranchester.
From a life of servitude and abuse, to marriage and good friends, she still had a hard time believing how much things had changed.
There was bustling at the door as a group entered. Men in overcoats dusted with new fallen snow and two women entered. The younger woman seemed scared and confused as she searched the room.
Fella, who lay next to her feet, lifted his head and gave a halfhearted bark in welcome before settling back into his blanket.
“I believe a stagecoach has arrived,” Mrs. Wilkes announced and stood. “Let me go get that poor child before she faints from nerves.” She hustled to the younger woman, who seemed to melt with relief when Mrs. Wilkes approached.
Minutes later, Mrs. Wilkes, with the young woman in tow, returned to the table. “This is Charlene from Boston.”
Charlene, a pretty blonde, bobbed her head and settled next to Rose Withers. “I beg your pardon. I haven’t had a chance to freshen up.” Her rounded eyes moved to each of their faces. “I came here with my aunt and uncle.” She looked over to where an older couple sat next to the large hearth. The man looking around the room had a wide grin while his wife sat with a dour expression. “They are here to start a new life. My uncle’s idea anyway.”
“Your aunt doesn’t look very happy to be here,” Olive pointed out. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t believe my aunt is as enthusiastic about leaving city life.”
“What about you, dear?” Mrs. Wilkes asked. “What do you plan to do?”
Immediately, Charlene blushed and rubbed her hands together. “I hope to find a husband. My parents sent me with them so that I can get married. You see, back in Boston, I was set to marry. But it didn’t come to be.”
She didn’t have to elaborate. Christina knew full well how fickle society was. No doubt, whatever had happened meant the man could continue with not a worry, while the woman was scorned and dishonored by society.
A fiddler began playing a happy tune and the conversations became louder, more animated.
And for many hours, Ranchester celebrated Christmas.
Snuggled against her husband, Christina bid her farewells. She and Barrett would only return to town weekly at the most now and then less once winter set in completely.
Rose Withers took her hand and pulled her down so to whisper in her ear. “Don’t forget the kissing bough.
When you feel the moment is right, pass it along.” Her gaze went to Charlene. “You will know.”
That night, as she lay next to a slumbering husband, Christina snuggled closer and thought about the kissing bough.
She studied Barrett’s face in the moonlight and her lips curved. He’d not been hesitant this night. They’d rushed to bed as soon as the horse was settled.
The kissing bough would be passed. She would do as Mrs. Withers asked. Not because it was magical, for she didn’t believe in magic, but because it was romantic. And a romantic she was.
Christina pressed her lips onto her husband’s and whispered, “Good night, my love. I love you.”
He let out a sleepy breath and mumbled. “I love you, too.”
The End.
Excerpt of Colter Vally by Hildie McQueen
Montana 1860
Not exactly how he planned to die. Patrick Callahan pulled his gaze from the barrel of the man's gun to meet the hard stare. "If you wanted me dead, you would've shot me by now."
He should have known better than to sit down to the card game, when he'd had one too many whiskeys and now he paid for it.
The gunman spit on the floor, his aim not wavering. "There's nothing I'd like more than to kill an Irishman right now. I'll just take the money instead. All of it."
"It's my money. You well know I won it fair and square," Patrick said in spite of the warning look he got from his friend Jerrick who sat across the table. Jerrick rolled his eyes and shook his head knowing Patrick would not give the man what he asked.
When the gunman gave him a pointed look, Patrick pushed the man's gun aside. "If you don't like it, that's your issue."
The man was short and from the red veins on his bulbous nose, spent a great deal of time in the saloon. "The both of ya think you can just come into this town and do as you please. You're nothing but a couple of..."
"Watch what you say about me, old man," Jerrick brought his gun to the man's temple. There was an icy tone under the calmly spoken words. "’Cause if you shoot off at the mouth once more or shoot that gun, you're gonna die whether you get lucky enough to kill my friend or not."
There was dead silence in the room as everyone waited to see what the man would do. Patrick let out a breath not happy that Jerrick was coming to his rescue. He had things in hand...mostly. He lifted a brow at Jerrick in silent question.
The man lowered his gun and got to his feet, all the while Jerrick kept the gun at his head. Yellowed eyes met Patrick's then flickered to the stack of money in front of him. "This ain't the last of it." He shuffled to the bar and ordered a drink.
Jerrick leaned back in the chair keeping his gaze on the man at the bar. "Damn sore losers. Can't stand them. If you can't afford to play, then don't."
"Thanks for the help. Not sure if you meant for the man to shoot me or not." Patrick began dealing another hand to the other men at the table. "You in?"
Jerrick chuckled. "I'd done something if he'd cocked the gun."
"Hope so." Patrick played on, not wanting to give thought to the man's unfinished sentence. Bent Branch was not the town for him. It was time to move on, find a place to settle down and begin a cattle ranch. Move forward with his plans. His parents hadn’t moved all the way from Ireland for him to end up in a backward town like Bent Branch.
A huge cattle ranch was what he'd build. With a handsome house and plenty of land for the cows to graze.
His mind was made up. No matter what the obstacles, he would accomplish it. Make his father proud, if he were alive.
"No use in losing my life over something as useless as a card game," Patrick told Jerrick as they looked at the cards.
Jerrick nodded. "Men die over stupid things everyday."
Another man at the table cleared his throat. "You boys got that right."
Patrick considered his father who'd run their ranch into the ground, lost everything he'd worked so hard for his entire life in the last few years after going deeply in debt in an attempt to save his wife's life. She'd died anyway, despite all the money his father spent on medical treatments. Just a year later, his father followed. A broken man, unable to face life without his beloved wife.
Patrick understood the love and dedication, he loved his mother after all. But she suffered too long, hanging on through all kinds of painful treatments, which only served to make her linger in horrible pain. In the end, he'd almost been relieved at her finally finding liberation in death.
With distaste, he scanned the dim interior of the saloon in the small Wyoming town of Bent Branch. Restlessness had bothered him for days. Patrick put a card down and looked at Jerrick. "You know when we arrived a few months ago, I considered that perhaps this was a good place to settle. But I've got an inkling it's not."
"I'm thinking Montana," Jerrick, two years younger than Patrick's twenty-eight, said while looking at his cards. "It's time to go. Lots of land there, plenty of lush open spaces where we can let cattle roam. We can build big houses with stables and barns." It was uncanny how well his childhood friend seemed to read his mind.
He agreed with Jerrick. "I think you're right. This town has nothing for us."
Two days later, they packed up and left Bent Branch without a backward glance. The promise of a new start made it easy to leave the dreadful town. Patrick wasn't sure exactly where he'd finally decide to settle, but he heard of a blossoming town in a Montana valley where people were prospering at ranching and farming thanks to the rich soil and pleasant weather. He wasn't interested in farming, but cattle needed to graze on good grass and if it was plentiful there, then it would ensure an abundant healthy stock.
The first night on the trail, they settled into bedrolls next to a campfire. Patrick looked up at the star filled sky and mused at the beauty. Perhaps tonight somewhere in the world, his future wife did the same. Not prone to fanciful daydreaming, he scowled at the direction of his thoughts.
It would be a long time before he married, if ever. The farther west one went, the more scarce women of a marriageable age were. "You reckon we'll settle in that valley in Montana?" he asked Jerrick while knowing the cowboy had no more idea than he did.
"Yeah. I've got a good feeling about it. Don't know about you, but I am ready to find a small parcel and get to working it." Jerrick pulled out his harmonica and began to play, the melody wafting into the air joined by the sound of the wind's soft whisper as it blew through the trees.
Jerrick never aspired to more than a simple life. In a way Patrick envied his friend's modest dreams. Not that Jerrick lacked ambition; he'd been raised in an affluent family and knew the life money could bring. Unfortunately what his family had in wealth, his parents lacked when it came to love, caring, or support for each other. Rarely did they spare a kind word or any demonstration of love.
When Jerrick was eighteen, his ruthless father banished him from the family fold over the simple transgression of falling in love with a business rival's daughter. The sad thing was after he'd been ostracized from the family, the young girl cut ties with him as well. She'd only been interested in him when he had money and social status.
Patrick felt his eyes get heavy. "I have a good feeling about the valley, too. Both of us will find what we're looking for and twenty years from now we'll remember this day. Out here without a care in the world except our horses and our bellies."
"Yep."
The following days were a repeat of the one before. Upon waking, they gathered up their bedrolls and after washing up in a nearby creek continued on. The days were warm, but the mornings still had a cold chill to them, which made them move at a hurried pace.
"Sure would like a hearty home cooked meal and a good cup of coffee," Jerrick muttered as he mounted one morning. "Hope there's a town near by."
Patrick looked up at the sky and nodded. "I agree with you. I can hardly call what we drank this morning more than muddy water." He shuddered at the thought. "We need more provisions."
The sun was high when they finally spotted
a small smattering of buildings. Looked to be a prospecting town by the lack of care in which the buildings were erected and small tents scattered along a shallow creek.
Patrick maneuvered his horse around deep muddy ruts. No one greeted them when both walked into what looked to be a makeshift eatery. The woman beside the stove shuffled over. "If you got money, set on down. I'll get ya some coffee. Got eggs and bread comin'."
Jerrick answered for them both. "Thank you, ma'am. Can you tell us what the name of this town is?"
The woman wiped her hands on her apron. It was hard to tell her age, as she seemed to have lived a hard life. Her thin dreary brown hair was pulled back from her round face as she made her way back to them with two mugs and a kettle of coffee. "Gunner's Creek," she replied dryly. "Not much to it. My husband and I are leaving as soon as he finds gold."
Patrick and Jerrick exchanged looks, not sure how to respond.
In spite of the lack of character to the place, the food was flavorful, the coffee strong.
"How far from the Montana border are we?" Patrick asked when the woman began to clear their plates. "We're headed to Colter Valley."
She got a wistful look and lowered her head as if fatigued by life. "You're in Montana, just crossed over when you got to Gunner's. A family passed through not but a day ago headed there to Colter Valley. Sure wish it was me. I'd like to leave this decrepit place."
Lightness entered his chest at the woman's wistful statement. They were on the right track and soon would arrive at their final destination. His anyway. Although he assumed Jerrick was more than ready to settle down after all these weeks on horseback.
"Is there a place to purchase some supplies here?" Patrick asked.
"Just down a couple buildings on the right. The mercantile is small but well stocked." The woman watched them stand and gather their hats with a longing expression. "Have a safe trip, gentlemen."
A couple miners lingered in front of the mercantile, both looked to them with suspicion, no doubt seeing them as competition for prospecting.
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