The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1)

by CiCi Cordelia

  He reached the barn and jumped from the saddle before Lightning stopped completely. Landing on one knee and ignoring the pain shooting up his shin, Harrison bolted down the lane and across the yard, stomping the patch of daisies Retta had been nurturing all month into the dirt as he leapt over all five steps of the porch.

  “Retta!” He pushed at the door, fumbling with the latch, finally getting it open and flinging both halves of heavy wood so hard, they crashed into the wall. Uncaring his muddy boots left clumps on the floors Retta polished religiously, he strode into the kitchen, desperate to hold his wife and kiss her. Check on his daughter, too.

  He halted in the doorway, his focus locked on the sight of Retta, slumped at the table. Knotted hair hanging over one shoulder, a tear in her blouse and a rent in her skirt, she looked exhausted and in pain judging by the way she cupped her face. From across the room he could see the bruises her dirt-stained hand failed to hide. Next to her, Frank clutched a mug of coffee no doubt left over from breakfast. Addie slumped in his lap, sucking on her thumb, half-asleep. Under the table, Noodle lay curled in a snug ball, dozing.

  Harrison advanced slowly when all he wanted to do was rush to his wife’s side and scoop her up, then lock her away somewhere so she wouldn’t put herself in danger again. Lord knew he didn’t mean to scare her, but the injuries to her face made him crazy.

  He squatted in front of her and raised her chin gently. “Let me see.”

  Obediently she lowered her hand and tilted her head. Harrison sucked in a breath at the damage. Dark bruises, a gash already split open high on her cheek, the eye on that side puffy and black-rimmed. A damp dishtowel streaked with dirt lay on the table, but blood still crusted her nose and the corner of her mouth. She’d clearly cried many tears, her lids red-rimmed, lashes spiky and damp.

  As furious as Harrison found himself, he couldn’t do anything other than hold out his arms, clasping them around her shivering frame when she launched off the chair into his embrace. She sobbed against his neck.

  “Mama huwt,” Addie whimpered around the thumb jammed in her mouth.

  “Shh, shortcake. She’s just tired.” Frank met Harrison’s frown as he stroked Addie’s hair. Sighing, she settled instantly, closing her eyes. “She was in the wagon playing with her doll,” Frank murmured. “I don’t think she saw much.”

  “Jesus.” Harrison’s grip tightened on Retta. She didn’t protest, but her fingers dug into his muscled arms. He set her away until he could look in her eyes. “He hit you.”

  “No, he grabbed my skirt and it ripped. I got off-balance. Smacked my face on the wheel.” Retta patted his chest, as if such a simple gesture might hold Harrison back from his rage.

  His jaw rippled with tension. Thoughts of all the things that could have happened to her and Addie, traveling unprotected, made something snap inside him. The feral emotions he’d managed to keep at bay, during the short ride from the mine, burst to the surface.

  “Retta, you let yourself get into a situation where the bastard had a chance to go after you.” Harrison gave her arms a shake. “Going to town, alone . . . What was so necessary, you couldn’t wait until I got back?”

  “I had the rifle, Harrison. I’m not a complete ninny.” She tried to push away from his grip, but he wasn’t having any of that.

  Instead, Harrison turned to Frank. “Where’s the Winchester?”

  Frank shrugged. “Well, let’s see. I found six bullets in the dirt near the wagon, and the rifle on the ground. Would appear to me Morgan got hold of your fine weapon and unarmed your wife.”

  Retta shot him an annoyed stare. “You’re not helping matters.”

  Frank scowled back. “You dodged a passel of trouble, in case you haven’t figured it out. If Peter hadn’t come along when he did, what do you think would’ve have happened?” At her sharp inhale, he gave a nod. “Yeah. I see you got it sorted out.” He snuggled Addie closer, cradling her as if she were made of spun glass.

  The entire mess was taking a toll on Frank, his face drawn tight from pain. Addie’s head lay against his bad shoulder and broken collarbone, yet he hadn’t moved her aside, love for his niece glaringly obvious.

  Harrison’s heart hurt at the thought of the precious child being hurt or traumatized in any way. Which got him hotter under the collar at Retta’s foolish actions. Abruptly, he straightened and deposited her on the chair. He had to do something even if only to pace the room and kick the furniture.

  His boot connected with the far wall, making Retta scramble to her feet. Slapping her hands on her hips, she stormed over to him. “Stop that. You’ll break your toe and then I’ll have two surly, injured men to deal with.”

  “I’m not surly,” Frank protested.

  She rounded on him. “Oh, yes you are. You’ve been lecturing me since we got back to the ranch. I’m not some child you have to nursemaid.”

  “Don’t yell at my brother. He cares what happens to you, Retta. If you’d goddamn waited for me to get home, we wouldn’t be having this little discussion.”

  “Is that what you call this bullying?”

  Harrison jabbed a finger in her direction. “Did you even thank him? I’ll bet you didn’t. Probably didn’t thank Peter, either.”

  “Stop it!”

  “You’re not leaving this ranch until Morgan’s caught and in jail.” Harrison folded his arms decisively over his chest.

  Retta’s cheeks flushed deep red and her hands fisted as if she’d like to bury one or both in his gut. If he wasn’t so angry, he’d have found amusement in her orneriness and even pleasure that she wasn’t frightened of him any longer. But this wasn’t a laughing matter. Retta had to understand how serious it had become.

  Frank shot Harrison a disbelieving look. “Now you’ve done it. Don’t you know women at all, brother?”

  “Stay out of it, Frank.” Harrison broke off as Retta advanced. Eyes burning a hot blue, she flattened her pretty mouth in irritation. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to rattle the stubborn right out of her or kiss her until neither of them could think straight.

  Probably both.

  “You listen to me, Harrison Carter.” She shoved a fist in his face. “I had your rifle. I know how to shoot it. There’s no reason I can’t go to town as part of my household chores. Other wives go by themselves. You think I’m going to stay inside all day, every day, and wait for you to come home and escort me? We’d all starve to death.”

  “Other wives don’t have Slim Morgan sniffing around them like a damned rabid dog. For Christ’s sake, woman, the bastard’s dangerous. Peter said when he rode up he saw you on the ground and Morgan hanging over you, ready to pounce.” Harrison shoved his hands into his hair and yanked hard, trying to dislodge the image his own words invoked, but it didn’t work. He did his best to speak reasonably and rationally, but instead shouted, “You’re forbidden to go into Little Creede until I say differently.”

  At a sudden yowl, he turned. Noodle cowered under the table, head flung back, baying and shivering. Before Harrison could grab for him, the pup peed on the floor.

  “Son of a bitch,” he began, only to whirl at the sound of Addie’s sob.

  “Damn it, are you both happy now?” Frank brought Addie to his shoulder and rubbed her back. He jostled her gently, until she quieted. “I’m taking her to my ranch. I think you two better hash this out. Alone. I’m taking the dog, too.” He whistled sharply, and Noodle slunk out from beneath the table with his tail between his legs, still whining. Before Harrison or Retta could react, Frank strode from the kitchen, Addie huddled in his arms and the pup following.

  Thick, tense silence formed as they stared each other down in the kitchen, while twilight descended outside the open window. In the other room a few drawers slammed, Noodle woofed softly, Addie released a high-pitched, wordless chirp, and over both was the sound
of Frank’s deep voice. A few minutes later, he trooped back into the kitchen, carrying Addie, a partially-filled pillowcase clutched in his free hand.

  “I’ve got a change of clothes, her blanket, that ragdoll she drags everywhere, and some diapers for tonight.” Frank hitched Addie higher on his shoulder. Harrison wisely didn’t approach. Instead, he blew his daughter a kiss and mugged a silly face, making her giggle. Taking her cue from him, Retta managed a smile and a pat to Addie’s head. Their daughter was too busy playing with her Uncle Frank’s eyelashes to pay any mind to leaving for the night.

  “Frank?” Retta called hesitantly. When he turned, she offered a faint smile. “Thank you for taking care of Addie. And for protecting me.”

  His stern expression softened a bit, and he nodded once before heading for the front door. “See you both tomorrow afternoon.”

  “But—”

  “Wait—” Harrison and Retta both spoke at once.

  Frank kept on walking. “Better yet,” he called over his shoulder, “one of you come get me when you’re all up and around.” The door slammed behind him.

  Harrison remained facing the empty foyer, at a loss. Behind him, the scrape of a chair across the wood plank floor indicated Retta had taken a seat. He peered over his shoulder as she sank her head into her palms, her elbows on the table, the very picture of dejection.

  Which only made him angrier. So fragile. So delicate. How could she think to keep herself safe enough, traveling the road to town alone, rifle or not? Before he could rein in his temper, Harrison found himself hovering over her. “You promise me, Retta.” When she didn’t raise her head, he slapped both palms on the table surface and loomed. “Did you hear me? I want your promise you’ll obey me and stay away from town.”

  For uncounted seconds, he waited for her to look him in the eye, to speak, nod. Something that would indicate she’d heard him.

  Nothing.

  “Retta, answer me.”

  She suddenly lurched to her feet so fast, her head made contact with his chin and he almost bit his tongue in half. Chest heaving in agitation, she confronted him, the tips of her breasts brushing his untucked shirt. Jutting her chin out in defiance, her lips came within an inch of his own.

  Her usually soft voice had grown to an enraged snarl. “You don’t own me, Mister Carter.”

  Meeting her accusing glare, the lingering bit of control he’d been desperately hoarding, afraid he would put his hands on her in the heat of anger, vanished. Now, a different kind of heat took control, and he could no more have stopped his reaction than sprouted wings and flown.

  Days of trying to court her, slowly entice her to accept him, their marriage. Their lifelong commitment to make a life for Addie, keep a promise to a young woman he could barely recall any longer.

  Nights of sharing a bed, blankets, and body heat. Telling himself she wasn’t ready for more, pretending he didn’t want her under him, over him, every second of every night, that it was vital he give her time for their attraction to grow—

  It all went up in a blistering flare.

  Her lips parted to speak, probably to rail at him some more about how she wasn’t chattel to be owned in holy matrimony, or some such nonsense. But before she could draw breath, he clamped his arms around her, one hand cupping her backside as he wound rough fingers through her hair and gripped, hard.

  Lifting her at the waist, he carted her over to the kneading counter next to the sink and sat her on its edge, then pushed between her thighs and plundered her sweet mouth.

  Deep and sure. Hard, passionate . . . He poured frustration, worry, need all into a kiss that might be too bruising for her lips, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even ease up the slightest speck, though he was careful not to put pressure on her injured cheek.

  She was his wife, and he’d never hurt her. But it was his responsibility to make sure she and Addie stayed safe. Today, she’d put herself in danger. Tonight, he’d be laying his claim, and by the time he was through making love to her, there’d be no doubt in her mind that she belonged to him. As her husband, he’d be damn certain she never acted so foolishly again, even if he had to keep her too exhausted from his loving to venture into town.

  For frozen moments, Retta remained passive under his demanding onslaught, her limbs trembling, her breathing erratic and her heart thumping against his. Even her inability to respond wasn’t enough to make him stop. He only kissed her deeper.

  Then she kissed him back. Arching into him, elegantly slender hands clutched him, nails digging through his shirt to score his arms.

  “Retta.” Her name left his throat on a thick edge of want as he buried his lips in her neck and nipped the soft, tempting curve.

  Chapter 16

  Retta trembled as Harrison pressed seeking lips along her throat. The feel of his tongue licking the fluttering pulse under her skin elicited a burn deep within. A sensation she’d come to recognize since that first night he’d touched her.

  So, so good. She melted against him.

  Even as anger and desire thrummed through her in equal measure, she knew there'd be no stopping this time. She wanted to feel Harrison moving inside her, wanted to truly be his wife in every possible way.

  “Harrison, please.”

  He lifted his head, pinning her with eyes that burned molten hot. “Please what?”

  The only sound in the room was their panting breaths.

  “Make love to me.” Even now, she couldn't quite keep the anger from her voice.

  Harrison's lips quirked, though his eyes remained hard. “Is that a plea or a demand?”

  Emotion flooded her with dizzying force. Anguish over Jenny's illness. Fury at Cal, and his disregard for her feelings, but gratitude for her daughter. Uncertainty, warring with a determination to stand up for herself . . . and desire.

  So much desire.

  It all rolled together into one big knot of need.

  Desire surpassed every other emotion. Clenching her fingers into his hair, she tugged his face close to hers, flicking her tongue against his lips. “Demand.”

  Harrison chuckled, but there was no amusement in his tone as he fisted her skirt and lifted it to her waist, then slid his hand to the part of her that burned for him. “Tonight, I won’t be stopping, Retta.”

  “I didn’t ask you to,” she retorted. She could feel the heat of his palm clear to her womb.

  He took her mouth in an unyielding kiss, thrusting his tongue past her lips the same way he probed the slit of her pantalets and pushed two fingers inside her. She panted into his mouth. Harrison eased her back onto the wide counter, and all sane thought fled as he delved deeper.

  A moan filled the air. Hers? His? Retta was too lost to the ecstasy coursing through her to care.

  Harrison edged closer, spreading her legs wider as his fingers stroked a spot that sent a shudder of delight through her. Then his mouth covered her breast through the cotton material of her blouse, nipping its taut peak just enough to cause a jolt that quickly dissolved into a throbbing ache as his fingers twisted inside her, sending her over the edge.

  Her back bowed and a scream tore from her at the intensity of her release. She was barely aware of Harrison’s hoarse groan, when his weight lifted and she felt his tongue at the juncture of her thighs, thrusting inside her body where tiny shudders of bliss still pulsed.

  “Oh God, Harrison,” she pleaded, pressing one hand to the top of his head, “I don’t . . . I can’t take any more.”

  A groan was all the answer she got, before he cupped her bottom and lifted her up to bring her weeping center tight against his mouth. Flinging her arms along the counter, Retta scrabbled for purchase but could find none on the smooth wooden surface.

  She struggled for breath as Harrison nipped her womanhood, sliding a finger back inside her and reach
ing for the spot she knew would throw her into another sea-storm of ecstasy, unlike anything she had ever envisioned happening between a man and woman.

  And that was her last coherent thought as Harrison sucked the tiny bud at her entrance into his mouth, running his tongue around it, his throaty growl ringing in her ears as she flew apart.

  By the time she came back to her senses, Harrison was carrying her into the bedroom. He placed her gently on the bed, then stripped off his clothes. His darkened gaze raked over her. “Tonight, wife, you become mine in every possible way.”

  Too sated to move, all she could do was nod. How much time had they spent in the kitchen? The first faint beams from the moon shone through the window, giving her a wonderful view of her husband, hard and lean.

  Harrison Carter was no dandy, but all male, with solid muscles that only came from hard labor, toiling in the mines. Her eyes lowered to his cock, pointing at her like a divining rod. She licked her lips, recalling the salty taste of him, thirsty for more.

  “Retta,” he said, “keep looking at me like that and this will be over far too soon.” Moisture gleaming at the tip, his thick shaft bobbed.

  With a sigh, Retta lifted her eyes to meet his. The tense lines on his face eased, as he leaned over her.

  He caressed her undamaged cheek with his knuckles. “I need you naked, now, sweetheart. My restraint has cracked.” Not waiting for an answer, he quickly stripped her, tossing her dress and camisole, her pantalets, to the floor. His heat pressed her into the mattress.

  He nudged her legs wider with his knee, positioning his shaft at her entrance. With a gentle thrust of his hips, his hard length slid across the moisture at her cleft. “I want you too badly.”