The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1)

by CiCi Cordelia

  Retta leaned in threateningly. “Lie back down, Frank. You need another day’s rest, at least. Doc Sheaton’s orders. Breakfast is on the table, but after you eat it’s back to bed with you.”

  “The hell,” Frank muttered. “I’ve got shit to do, woman. Like finding out who sabotaged the mine.”

  “I have a pretty good idea.” Harrison’s amusement at his brother’s expense had vanished. “But Retta’s right. You’re no good to me in this condition. Get some rest. Tomorrow I’ll check around town and see what I can find, collect some solid proof before making any accusations.”

  Frank grudgingly conceded. His eyes flashed dangerously. “We lost two damn good men in that explosion, Harrison. Almost lost Clem, too. Someone’s going to pay.”

  “But not today.” Retta was adamant. “Harrison, help your brother to the table so he can eat. He can’t take laudanum on an empty stomach.”

  When Harrison crossed to the bed to help him stand, Frank shot her a defiant frown, his sullen expression so much like a child’s, she nearly laughed.

  “I ain’t taking any of that snake oil. It makes my brain fuzzy.”

  “Don’t waste your breath, Frank. Once my wife sets her mind to something, it’s best to just give in gracefully.”

  As the men took a seat at the table, Retta hurried to the parlor and scooped her daughter off the nest she’d made with her blanket and Noodle’s backside. Carrying her to the kitchen, she plopped her in the chair next to Frank.

  Addie beamed. “Unca Fank all bedda?”

  Frank grinned down at her, ruffling the top of her head. “All better, shortcake.”

  “Lemon dop?” She held out a small, imperious hand for the candy Frank had gotten into the habit of keeping in his pockets just for her.

  Chuckling, he patted his shirt, then his trouser pockets. “She’s got a nose like a bloodhound.” Frank produced a piece and held it out. Bright-eyed, Addie snatched it up.

  After breakfast, Harrison headed out for the mine, and Frank took a dose of laudanum without too much argument before promptly falling asleep on the sofa, despite Retta’s protests that he should rest in an actual bed. His long legs hanging off one end of the cushions, he looked tough and fragile at the same time, the bruises starkly purple on his sun-weathered face.

  Tiptoeing from the parlor, Retta busied herself straightening up the kitchen, and checking supplies for their next few meals. Both Frank and Harrison ate enormous amounts of food, so it was no surprise to find her cupboards and cellar larder running low. She’d take the wagon to town and stock up. Extra medical items wouldn’t hurt, either.

  She glanced over at Frank snoring on the sofa, trying to figure out how mad the men would be if she left on her own. Surely she was perfectly capable of making the short trip to town. Nodding decisively, Retta entered Harrison’s cluttered office, retrieving a piece of paper and the stub of a pencil. She would prop a note on the kitchen table. Harrison and Frank had their hands full with the mine, and she wouldn’t bother them with these little chores.

  Collecting her bonnet, her daughter, and one of Harrison’s rifles, for good measure, Retta hitched up the wagon and headed out.

  ~ ~ ~

  From the shadow of an alleyway between the bank and the barbershop, Slim Morgan watched speculatively as Retta Carter’s wagon approached the general store. Without a male escort, I see. My, my.

  She stepped down, gracefully lifting her skirt out of the way and displaying a slender ankle. Saliva pooled in his mouth at the sight. Then his upper lip curled with distaste as she turned back to pluck her daughter off the seat before entering the store. The damned brat was going to be a nuisance.

  He found it hard to believe Carter allowed his wife to travel the distance to town by herself. Then again, the woman had a defiant streak a mile long, and it was obvious Carter couldn’t control her. High time a real man shows her who’s boss. And he was just the man to do it.

  Silently, he crossed the dusty street toward the general store, casually peering inside, pretending to window-shop, as he tracked her movements. With one of those ratty baskets over her arm, she gathered supplies, chatting with the old harridan who owned the store. The graceful sway of Retta’s hips made his cock throb, imagining what that rounded perfection would feel like, rubbing up against him—

  Brody’s sudden reflection in the glass, as he appeared at Slim’s side, put an end to his lascivious thoughts, and Slim cursed under his breath.

  “What did you find out?” Slim never took his eyes off the prize, watching as Retta grasped her daughter’s hand and walked her over to the penny candy. His ears twitched in irritation at the girl’s high-pitched squeal when she pointed at the display.

  Brody tipped back his Stetson with grubby fingers. “Carter headed for his mine early this mornin’. It’ll take ‘em days to clear out all that damage from the blast. Not sure what they lost, though. You’ll have to ask Jenkins how much it’ll hit ‘em in the purse. But they’re down three men.”

  Slim rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Only three men? Not enough to hinder his operation, Mills. Especially if they didn’t have to close down that main mine.” He paced along the window, his eyes still locked on Retta. “The idea was to make the Carters sell—”

  He broke off as Retta stopped to look closely at a display case, bending over with her backside in the air. Slim adjusted himself in his drawers to obtain some relief.

  Goddamn, the woman was delectable.

  Brody bumped him from behind when he crowded closer to the window. His gaze caught on Retta, still bent over a display. “Ain’t that the Carter woman? If you’re wantin’ to poke that skirt, I’d get started today.”

  “Button your lip and just tell me about the brother.”

  “Word is, he’s lickin’ his wounds at Carter’s ranch. Sounds like he’ll be out for a couple days anyway.”

  They both backed into the alley when Retta exited the mercantile. While Loman stacked her purchases in the bed of the wagon, she swung the little girl onto the seat and climbed up after, showing more leg this time. Slim couldn’t take his eyes off her as she settled herself and picked up the reins. Clucking her tongue at the horse, she released the wheel brake. The wagon rolled smoothly down the rutted street out of town.

  Inhaling a deep breath, Slim turned to Brody. “Keep an eye on things for me.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Dismissing his employee, Slim waited until Brody ambled off in the direction of the saloon, before returning his attention to the wagon wheels churning up dust on the narrow road out of town.

  A ten-minute head start should do it.

  The sun was high, a warm breeze blowing across the prairie as he followed her trail. Lust roiled through him, his cock already hard at the thought of taking her in the back of her wagon. Too bad she had the girl with her, but it was never too soon for the brat to learn a woman’s place.

  Staying back far enough so she didn’t spot him, he waited until they passed the fork between her ranch and the Carter mines before making his presence known. Maybe if she pleased him, he’d keep her for a while in one of those back rooms at the Silver Cache Inn, so they could continue their fun in private. If not, he’d slit her throat here and make it look like an Indian attack. He didn’t care what happened to the girl. She was too young to say anything. He’d leave her further out where the coyotes could deal with her.

  Urging his horse into a gallop, he noted the instant Retta realized she wasn’t alone. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes widened when she saw him. She snapped the crop, urging the horse faster, but it was too late. With ease, Slim closed the remaining distance and grabbed the reins.

  “What’s your hurry, Missus Carter?” Bringing the wagon to a halt, he dismounted his horse, dropping the reins to the ground as he approached her.

 
She stared down at him with wide eyes. “What do you want, Mister Morgan?”

  “Why, I spotted you in town, my dear, and thought we could finish the conversation your husband so rudely interrupted the other day.”

  Retta’s eyes flicked to the floor of the wagon, but before she could go for the rifle propped near the seat, he reached in and grabbed it.

  “I don’t think you’ll be needing this.” He unchambered the bullets and let them drop to the ground. “Nice repeater.” He fondled the barrel suggestively. “I’ll just keep this. Otherwise, you might hurt yourself.” He set it aside in a patch of nearby scrub.

  Nudging back his hat, he squinted through the blinding sun at her. “Now, are you going to come down here and talk to me, or do I have to come up there?” He lifted a brow, nodding toward the little brat sitting next to her.

  Retta’s cheeks went chalky-white. “No. No.” She turned to the girl, stroking her hair. “Stay here, Mama will be right back.” Retta plucked the old ragdoll off the seat and gave the ugly thing to her.

  “Yes, Mama.” She began playing with her doll.

  Retta swung around, glaring at him, before scooting to the edge of the high seat. When he didn’t step back, she lifted an imperious brow. “Move please, Mister Morgan.”

  Slim held up one hand. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t help a lady down?”

  Anger filled her eyes, but he could also see her fear. Satisfaction surged through him. Considering how the little bitch had held a rifle on him . . .

  Oh, he was going to make her sorry for that.

  She hesitantly stretched out her hand. Impatiently, he grabbed her fingers, and with a sharp tug he pulled her from the wagon. Retta tumbled against him, her breasts flattening against his chest, and he slid an arm around her waist, crushing her to him. His cock surged to attention, and he pushed her back against one of the wheels, pressing his hard length against her.

  Slim groaned, lowering his head to nuzzle her ear. Retta pushed against his chest with both hands. Ignoring her struggles, he caught the edge of her ear in his teeth and bit down, forcing a yelp from her throat.

  “Mama?”

  Cursing, Slim released Retta’s lobe and glanced at her child. The little brat played with her doll but stared at her mother. “Tell her everything is fine,” he muttered harshly.

  Quivering in his arms, Retta quietly pleaded, “Please, let me go.”

  “You don’t mean that, Retta. I saw the way you looked at me that first day we met. Admit it. You want me.”

  “I don’t.” She pushed ineffectually at his shoulders, and hissed, “Get off me.”

  He stared into her pretty blue eyes, snapping with fury. A hunger, like nothing he’d ever felt for a woman before, clawed at him. There was no denying her beauty, and he had to have her. Twisting a long golden curl around his finger, he lowered his head, his mouth a scant inch from hers. “One kiss, and I’ll think about it.”

  Liar. You have no intention of releasing her. You’re so hard for her that in two seconds you’re going to toss her into the back of that wagon and fuck her. Once she had a taste of what he could give her, she’d never want another man.

  Judging from her reaction, he knew she could read his lusty intention in his eyes. The frantic beat of her heart against his chest gave away her fear. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, she was frightened.

  Power swept over him at her reaction to his advances.

  Women were weak. Submissive. Good for only one thing. And Slim loved to show them exactly how weak and submissive they were meant to be. The ones that’d tried to deny him, thinking they were better than him, quickly learned their mistake.

  He swooped in to take the kiss he’d wanted since the first day he’d set eyes on her—

  Sudden pain exploded between his legs where her knee connected hard. He released her, bending over to shield his injured groin, and snarled at the agony.

  She stumbled toward the back of the wagon, trying to escape.

  One hand still cupping his throbbing cock, Slim cursed and lunged for her, managing to get hold of her skirt.

  With a cry, she tripped and her face smacked the side of the wagon wheel.

  “Did that hurt, sugar? Wait till I take when I want from that body of yours,” he grunted, looming over her. “You’re gonna know plenty of hurt.”

  Once, he might have been gentle with her, but no more. Retta Carter would soon learn her place in this world, right before she left it.

  As he reached for her, she flipped onto her back, holding her bloodied cheek. Stark terror now shone in her eyes, firing his lust.

  A sudden gunshot rent the stillness and he whirled around, spotting a horse and rider fast approaching. Shading his eyes against the blazing sun, Slim recognized one of the miners, a pistol clutched in one hand, aimed straight at him.

  “Goddammit!” Deprived of his prey, he jumped to his feet. Then his glare swung to the child, and for a split-second he itched to snap her scrawny little neck, just out of spite. But such an act would get him lynched.

  For now, he needed to escape. Slim rushed to his horse and mounted.

  They’d have to finish this another day.

  ~ ~ ~

  Retta stood unsteadily, cradling the side of her face, blood dripping between her fingers. Fear pounded through her with debilitating force . . . not for her own safety, but for Addie’s. She stumbled around the wagon and climbed up to tug her daughter on her lap, her eyes burning with unshed tears. The sound of hoofbeats as Slim Morgan galloped away eased her panic, but there’d been a moment when she knew the bastard intended to harm her daughter.

  “Mama,” Addie sobbed, staring at Retta’s face. “Huwt.” Her wailing increased.

  “It’s all right. I’m all right.” She rocked Addie, trying to calm her down as she pressed her uninjured cheek to her child’s sweaty curls.

  Retta raised her head and stared as another man approached on foot from the opposite direction, leading his horse. Recognizing Peter, she slumped with relief.

  If he hadn’t come along right when he did . . . Unable to keep her own emotions at bay any longer, she burst into tears, hugging Addie.

  “Missus Carter, are you all right?” Peter reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, handing it to her. Catching the end of Slim Morgan’s dust trail, he turned back and eyed her worriedly. “Did he hit you?”

  Weary, Retta held the handkerchief against her throbbing cheek. “I fell on one of the wheels. Can you follow me home, please?”

  “Of course, Missus Carter.”

  Minutes later, almost to the ranch house, another horse approached, this one carrying her angry brother-by-marriage. Still favoring his shoulder, Frank snapped, “What happened, Peter?”

  Retta bit her lips to keep them from quivering, helpless to staunch the tears stinging her wounded cheek under the handkerchief. She shouldn’t have gone into town. She’d put not only herself in danger, but also her innocent child. She’d only wanted to help.

  “Not sure, Frank. But I came upon Missus Carter bleeding, and that weasel Slim Morgan galloping away.”

  Rage darkened Frank’s face. “Did he touch you or Addie?”

  “He— I—” Retta felt a shudder sweep through her body. “It was an accident. I fell.”

  Frank eased his horse closer, eyeing Addie, who’d fallen asleep, her face still flushed from crying. He reached out and lightly stroked the top of her head, a look of relief flashing across his features. When he carefully pulled Retta’s hand away and studied the damage to her cheek, his eyes turned as hard as flint.

  “Peter,” Frank gritted out, “ride back to the mine and send Harrison home.”

  “No, Frank.” Retta crumpled the stained linen in trembling fingers, stretching out h
er free hand to grasp his arm. Beneath her palm his muscles were like stone. “Please don’t say anything.” She tugged until she regained his attention. “Harrison will go after Morgan. You know he will. And if he does, think of what could happen—”

  “Retta, we believe Morgan’s responsible for the disaster at the mine. Because of him, we lost several good men. Clem’ll probably lose a leg. I’m not hiding this from my brother.”

  “And if he runs off in a lather, looking for blood? What then?” Retta propped her sleeping daughter on her shoulder, rubbing her back as Addie roused and whimpered. “I agree, if Slim Morgan committed a crime then he’s got to pay, but do it the right way. Send for the sheriff.”

  “If you think your husband’s gonna let this go, little sister . . .” Frank removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh, dislodging a cloud of dust, before dropping it back on his head. “You should know better by now.”

  Chapter 15

  Harrison dug his heels into Lightning’s sides and the black and white stallion leapt forward, tearing up the narrow trail leading to the ranch. He’d left Peter’s gelding, Boomer, in the dust, struggling to keep up.

  With each pounding hoof, Harrison vowed to find that bastard Morgan and end his life for daring to lay his filthy hands on Retta. Adding that crime to the mine explosion was like pouring kerosene on flames.

  I’ll flay his rotten hide and string him up for the buzzards to finish off. Harrison spurred Lightning on harder.

  Peter said her face was bloody and swollen.

  Don’t think about it. He’d probably half-kill his horse trying to force the poor beast into flat-out racing over a path rutted with gopher holes and rocks. If Lightning twisted a leg, he’d have to put him down. It cost Harrison mightily, but he eased up on the reins, encouraging the horse to slow.

  Rounding the final bend, his ranch house visible up ahead, Harrison fought to swallow his fury. If he confronted Retta in this condition, he’d say things he’d later regret. Or worse, spank the shit out of her rounded little backside, until she promised never to leave the ranch again—