The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1)

by CiCi Cordelia

  She let loose with a breathless squeak when he grabbed her around the waist and bent her over his arm. To her dismay, her heart raced in anticipation. “Harrison, let go.”

  “Give me a kiss and I’ll think about it.” He swooped, his mouth within a breath of hers. Those stormy gray eyes, gazing into hers. Those full lips, so temptingly close. Helpless to resist, Retta curved a hand behind his head and sighed when the kiss he gave her spun from gentle and easy to moist and passionate.

  It didn’t matter that she was still at odds with him, or they were in the kitchen with Addie playing in the next room. Or that the front door stood half-open, where anyone could peer around the corner, getting themselves an eyeful. She craved his touch, his hands stroking her ever so gently as his mouth stole her last bit of resistance.

  Retta kissed him back with all the passion rioting inside her.

  An eternity later, Noodle’s high-pitched yips brought Retta to her senses, and she pushed against Harrison’s chest until he released her. Her face felt boiling hot, and his quiet laugh confirmed her state of disarray as he set her on her feet and straightened her blouse.

  Somehow, he’d managed to unbutton her from neck to mid-bodice. Looking down, she blinked at the sight of her left breast, exposed almost to the nipple. Wresting away, she frantically tucked and fastened just as Addie bounced into the kitchen followed by Noodle, as usual tripping over his own clumsy paws.

  “Harrison, good grief. How many hands do you have?” she grumbled, as he swung Addie onto his shoulder, making her shriek with glee.

  He offered a wickedly smoldering grin. “More than enough to get the job done, wife. More than enough.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Retta poured another kettle of hot water into the washtub. She tested it with her elbow. “It’s pretty hot. Ready?”

  Turning, she caught the sight of her unclothed husband in the dimly-lit kitchen. Fully aroused.

  Yes, I’d say plenty ready. Mercy.

  She bit back a moan, eyeing Harrison shamelessly as he approached the tub and climbed in. Think of other things. Cow-pies. That chicken you beheaded for supper. Garden muck.

  Wasn’t working. And by the way his mouth formed a wide smile, Harrison clearly knew it.

  Blasted man.

  He held out a hand. “Want to join me? It’ll be a close fit, but we can snuggle up.” He waggled his brows suggestively.

  “Addie just fell asleep.” Even as she spoke, Retta drifted closer, unable to resist touching her husband. Her fingers stroked over his shoulder, glistening with bathwater. Warm, wet, smooth, browned from the sun. She uttered a sigh saturated in longing, quivering when he pulled her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm.

  “Harrison . . . we can’t.” But she allowed him to tug on her hand and bring her within a few inches of his mouth. Eyes hooded, he waited, until with a low cry, she lowered her lips to his.

  Oh, his mouth. The way he kissed her, so deep, hard one moment and tender the next. Her last bit of defiance faded. Never had she imagined a man would give so much of himself, send her to the edge of heaven with a simple touch of mouth upon mouth.

  When he tumbled her into the tub, still dressed in her skirt and blouse—and apron, for pity’s sake—she didn’t protest, but nipped playfully at his tongue. Between their four hands, they managed to divest her of her sopping garments, until she straddled him, their hips aligned so perfectly and her breasts one nibble away from his teeth.

  “Retta,” he groaned, urging her down on his hardened flesh. His mouth took possession, opening over her aching peaks, pulling at one after the other, until her cry of need echoed around the kitchen.

  Thoughts of their child waking, possibly interrupting them, flared once, then disappeared. The entire population of Little Creede could have stomped through the house and it wouldn’t have yanked her from this single, heated moment.

  Retta wound her arms around Harrison’s neck and buried her fingers in his hair as he arched beneath her and filled her to bursting. Shudders wracking her, she rose and fell over him, uncaring that her knees scraped the floor of the tub with each bounce of her hips. His mouth roamed her neck and the arch of her throat, wet from the slippery soap bubbles, and she keened in response, clutching his head, her sopping curls clinging to her back.

  Bathwater sloshed over the side of the tub as they made love in the overly warm, dim kitchen.

  Chapter 18

  Slim studied the numbers before slamming the ledger shut. “Shit.”

  The Lucky Lady Saloon was bleeding money faster than his girls could spread their legs. If he hadn’t lost so much in a poker game last month, he wouldn’t have had to ask Lambert for an extension of credit.

  And since Harrison and his bitch of a wife raised suspicions, Slim couldn’t get the sniveling Jenkins to skim what was needed to pay the bank note coming due. He’d be lucky to have enough cash on hand to resupply the liquor for the next month.

  At the thought of all he stood to lose, he slammed his fist on top of his desk. This was Harrison Carter’s fault. The man should’ve accepted his offer to buy one of the mines. After an unusually high-winning hand, he’d actually had enough to pay a fair price. He could be raking in the ore this very moment, collecting enough valuable minerals to replace all he’d lost, and more. Instead he’d been impulsive enough to think another hand of five-card stud would double his winnings, and he’d lost every cent he’d set aside to fork over for a Carter Mine.

  Hate and jealousy crawled through him. The Carter brothers had it all. Wealth, with their steadily producing mines. And women, too.

  Harrison possessed the wife Slim craved. And all Frank had to do was walk into the saloon—my saloon, for Christ’s sake—and the whores couldn’t offer themselves up fast enough. Except for Cat, probably the only woman in the Lucky Lady the man hadn’t bedded.

  Much to Slim’s annoyance, Cat considered herself too good to entertain the men upstairs. Even the threat of violence hadn’t convinced her. If not for her singing voice drawing in crowds, he would have put her in her place long ago. Didn’t matter to her that he owned her, right along with the Lucky Lady. The woman was far too bold.

  He stroked his mustache, plotting. Maybe if he sweetened the deal by offering her too, Frank would reconsider and talk Harrison into selling. Except now I don’t have the goddamn money. He couldn’t afford an extra chamber pot to piss in. And after Brody’s inept fumbling at the Carter mine, Cat rode out there each day, nursing those wounded men, instead of doing her job at the saloon. Another reason his profits were down.

  He’d tried to remind her once, how she belonged to him and the Lucky Lady. Slim’s fingers moved from his mustache to the scar that ran from behind his ear to the edge of his starched collar. She’d almost slit his throat with that damned knife she kept strapped to her leg. “I do as I please, Morgan,” she’d spat, flashing the knife—stained with his blood—right in his face.

  The slut has disrespected me for the last time.

  Slim ground his back teeth together. It was time to rid himself of her, for good. Think, damn it. How could he get what he wanted? What were the Carter Brothers’ weaknesses?

  Then it hit him. Both men had a soft spot for women. Frank had once stopped him from berating Cat for spilling a drink in a patron’s lap. Not that she appreciated any man’s chivalry. Frustrated, Slim discarded the idea. He didn’t believe Frank cared enough about the songbird to meet any demands. But Harrison with Retta? That was a different matter.

  As a plan formed in his mind, Brody burst through the door to his office. “Boss, we got trouble.”

  Annoyed at the interruption, Slim snapped, “What?”

  “Them Carter boys visited Sheriff Lang the other mornin’. Got the sheriff riled up and askin’ around about the explosion. Seems one of their men spotted me scoutin�
�� out the mine.”

  “There’s nothing against the law about that. Just keep your mouth shut and you’ll be fine.”

  Brody frowned, reaching into his pocket to pull out his tobacco pouch. “Dunno, the sheriff’s like a bird dog when he’s on the trail.” Shoving a hefty chaw in his cheek, he tied off the leather pouch.

  “Where are the Carters now?”

  Brody grinned, tobacco juice leaking from one corner of his mouth. “Still diggin’ out rubble at the mine. And lookin’ for you on account you sniffed after Harrison’s wife.”

  A commotion from the saloon sounded through the door. Angry voices, breaking furniture. A woman’s scream. The sound of fist hitting flesh.

  “Check on that for me,” Slim ordered. “I don’t have time to settle a bar brawl.”

  Brody spun on his oversized clodhoppers, dropping the pouch as he reached for his holster. The bag landed on the dirty carpet as he lurched toward the door, gun in hand.

  Ignoring the noise, Slim got to his feet and scooped up the pouch, examining it thoughtfully before shoving it inside his waistcoat. The smelly thing might prove useful.

  He paced his office. Maybe if he grabbed Harrison’s lovely bride while the man was distracted . . .

  And finish what they’d started. Slim’s loins throbbed in anticipation.

  Then he’d ransom her and collect the money needed to pay off his debts. Not that anyone will ever see Missus Carter alive again. He’d make sure of it.

  Whistling, he plopped his favorite black Slouch on his head and strode out the back door.

  Somebody’d take the fall for murdering poor Retta, but it wouldn’t be him.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I’m sorry, Missus Carter, but I can’t leave you alone.” Peter twirled his battered hat in his hands, nervously shuffling his feet in the dirt outside of Clem’s cabin. “I promised Harrison I’d escort you back to the ranch. He’d have my hide if anything happened to you or your little one.”

  Juggling her cranky daughter in one arm, Retta worried her bottom lip. “I won’t be alone. Clem and Nell are both here.”

  “Clem can’t walk,” Peter said, frowning.

  “But his shooting arm is fine. I’ll be perfectly safe. It’ll take most of the day to help Nell with the wash and cooking. And with her children down with chickenpox, she needs my help more than ever.”

  “I don’t know.” He shifted again, looking uncomfortable. “How ‘bout I stay outside with the youngin’ until you’re ready to leave?”

  “Addie can’t stay. My sister Jenny had chickenpox as a child and it nearly killed her. I’ve been exposed to it but Addie never has.” Retta stroked a hand over her daughter’s silky head. “Please, Peter. I promise I’ll stay put. I won’t leave until someone comes for me.”

  Peter released a gusty breath, then nodded. He plastered on a smile and held out his hands for Addie, who was still fussing. “All right, little one. I bet that puppy of yours is missing you ‘bout now.”

  “Noodle,” Addie whined, rubbing at her eyes.

  “Yep, that’s the one.” Peter hefted her onto one beefy arm.

  ~ ~ ~

  Slim wiped at his sweaty brow, growing impatient. He’d been camped out near Harrison Carter’s ranch for hours, with no signs of Retta anywhere. The curtains were drawn, the wagon missing from the barn. When at home, the woman liked to have the house opened up, and often left half the damned door flung wide. A fact he was very aware of since he’d spent several afternoons watching her as she’d gone about her day.

  More than once, he’d considered going in to take what he wanted. If he thought he could’ve gotten away with it, he would have done it. The time had never been right.

  Now, Slim had no such reservations. He was a desperate man. Ransoming her for the money to save his business was his top concern. Finally getting under her skirt only served to sweeten the deal.

  Hearing an approaching wagon, he eased out of sight behind the barn. He’d left his horse out some distance in the rocks, to avoid being tracked. A burst of anger shot through him when he spotted one of Harrison’s men, and the Carter brat.

  Retta wasn’t with them.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered as his brain recalculated his options. He was running out of time. The bank wouldn’t wait much longer. He’d have to take the girl instead. From what he could tell, Harrison had claimed her as his own. It should still get him what he wanted, though he’d never killed a child before.

  I’ll have Brody do it.

  With that problem solved, he watched as the buckboard stopped in front of the ranch house. The man, one of the older miners Slim recalled was named Peter, hopped down and began to lead the horse into the barn. Curled up on the bench seat, the child appeared sound asleep.

  Rifle cocked and ready, Slim slunk from his hiding spot, aimed, and fired, a kill shot through the heart. Peter flew back and lay sprawled in the dirt.

  The girl slept right through it.

  He walked over and kicked the fallen miner in the side to make sure he was dead, not that he had any doubts. A Smith & Wesson made quite an impact.

  Heading into the barn, he found a length of rope, and strode out, toward the wide boxelder in the side yard. He formed a makeshift noose with one end, then flung the other over the lowest branch he could reach. Dragging Peter’s carcass toward the trunk was backbreaking work, but Slim finally yanked him into a sitting position. He slipped the noose around the man’s neck and hauled him up until he dangled, tying the rope off on another branch.

  “I want Harrison Carter to know I’m dead serious.” He smirked at his own pun.

  How to make a clear point to the Carter Brothers? Slim thought a moment, then sprinted to the front door of the ranch and kicked it open. Rummaging through the rooms, he found Harrison’s study, which yielded a few blank ledger papers and a pencil stub. Quickly he scrawled on the paper, then crowed aloud to see a silver letter opener shaped like a dagger.

  Perfect. He snatched it up and headed for the door.

  Back outside, Slim heard the girl fussing. Mouthy, like all females. Giving the buckboard a wide berth, he slid the note onto the pointed end of the letter opener, then embedded the tip into the miner’s chest.

  As he admired his handiwork, the brat’s caterwauling increased. Anger flared inside him. Slim loved the sound of a woman crying as he’d administered his own form of punishment to them, but the sound of a whining child was irritating as hell.

  Doing his best to ignore her, he searched for a good spot to leave the evidence in his pocket. He finally decided on a hedge near the barn and carefully tucked the leather pouch underneath the needles where it would be found.

  Eventually.

  The best plans take a bit of time to properly mature, don’t they? And I know how to make things go my way. He dusted off his hands.

  This plan was foolproof. When everything fell into place, he would be in the clear.

  Crossing to the buckboard, Slim yanked the girl off the wagon seat. Her whining turned into sobs, and she began flailing her skinny arms and legs around, screeching for her mama.

  “Shut up,” he snarled, giving her a hard shake.

  She stilled, her big brown eyes widening and overflowing with tears, her cheeks bright red. But at least she’d quieted. Tucking her under one arm, Slim made haste toward his horse and mounted up.

  ~ ~ ~

  Harrison studied the sky, enjoying the vibrant colors of the setting sun. It’d been a hard day at the mine, clearing out rubble from the explosion, and even their horses were worn out.

  “I’m starving,” Frank said, giving his horse a scratch behind the ear. Beauty, a Paint with more white than brown markings, softly whinnied her appreciation at the attention. “Think Retta will have enough grub for me to join you for sup
per?”

  The hole in Harrison’s stomach stretched clear to his spine. Thinking of Retta’s cooking made his mouth water. “Don’t worry, Retta prepares extra food just in case you drop in.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Shortly after your first meeting, she told me family meant everything.” His heart hurt to think back on the sadness in his wife’s voice. “Said since she’d never see her sister again, she was adopting you as a big brother. Believe her exact words were, ‘There will always be a plate for Frank at our table.’”

  Frank’s eyes took on a glassy sheen before he looked away, mumbling, “That’s one sweet little woman you got.”

  “Can’t argue there.” Harrison understood Frank’s reaction. They’d been out West without any family. Having Retta here felt like home.

  Frank turned back to him. “You’re one lucky bastard.”

  Harrison scowled. “If you’d quit dallying with the barmaids at the Lucky Lady and spend a little time looking for a proper wife, you could have it too.”

  “Nah.” Frank tugged at the reins, guiding Beauty to the left as they neared the fork leading to the ranch. “Nobody here appeals to me.”

  “Now I don’t believe that, Frank. I’ve seen how you look at Cat Purdue. And if I’m not mistaken, she’s just as interested.”

  Frank snorted. “Cat’s not exactly wife material, Harrison. I don’t want to settle down with a woman who’s bedded half the town.”

  “You don’t know that for certain. You’re assuming.”

  “She works at the Lucky Lady Saloon, doesn’t she?”

  Harrison’s lips twitched at the hard note in Frank’s voice. His brother’s anger gave away his interest in Cat, even if he was unwilling to admit it. “Well, maybe you should find out—”

  They rounded the barn and the words died in his throat as they both spotted Peter strung up on the old boxelder in front of the cabin.