A Stranger's Wife

by Maggie Osborne

  “There’s something I want to say. You may not believe this, but I deeply regret the necessity to interfere with your plans.”

  “Then don’t do it,” she said bluntly.

  Standing, he walked to the porch rail and pushed his hands into his back pockets. “If I don’t produce Miriam soon, the party will select another candidate.”

  “That’s supposed to matter to me? I don’t give a damn if you get elected.” Her eyes flashed as brightly as the fireflies darting through the desert night. “Your goal of becoming governor ain’t no more important than my goal of finding my daughter again. So don’t tell me you’re sorry about putting yourself first, and don’t hint that you ain’t got a choice. You sure as hell do, and you’ve chosen to step on me!”

  He flipped his cigar over the porch rail and silently cursed. “Circumstances force people to do things they might not otherwise do,” he said after a minute.

  “Circumstances?” Her laugh was short and harsh. “Maybe for you it’s circumstances. For me, it’s always been men who have forced me to do things I don’t want to do. You men always find a way to twist wrong into right.”

  Standing abruptly, she dropped her cigar on the porch floor and ground it under her heel. “I’ll get my mind turned around to this because I’m the one without a choice. I’ll put your needs before mine, and I’ll make the impersonation succeed because I ain’t going back to prison. But don’t you ever forget. Even when I’m pretending to look at you with the adoring eyes of a wife . . . inside I’m hating you and Kazinski. When this is over, I’m going to spit on you both!”

  Turning on her heel, she walked into the house, slamming the screen door behind her.

  He stood at the porch rail for another minute, fighting an urge to smile, and wondering if she realized how puny her threat was or how vulnerable her bravado made her appear.

  Long after the lights were extinguished and the house fell silent behind him, Quinn remained on the porch, his fingers tented beneath his chin, thinking about Lily Dale.

  He would have only one chance to be Colorado’s first governor, whereas she would eventually be reunited with her child regardless of how the election turned out.

  After thinking about it, he dropped his head and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Disgusted with himself, he conceded that he was capable of justifying whatever he felt he needed to do. Miriam was proof of that.

  * * *

  After a hurried breakfast, they left the house and walked to the waiting Rockaway.

  “Stop,” Paul Kazinski said sharply. “A lady never enters a conveyance unassisted. Wait for the driver or your escort to hand you inside.”

  Feeling foolish, as if somehow she should have known this, Lily reluctantly accepted his arm only to be corrected again once she was inside the coach.

  “A lady always takes the forward-facing seat. If you’re riding with other women, the oldest or most honored and respected lady takes the forward-facing position.”

  After changing seats, she smoothed her heavy black skirts with an irritable swipe and made herself as comfortable as possible for the long day’s ride. It was cooler today, but still hot.

  “Never cross your legs at the knee. Always at the ankle,” Paul instructed as the coach rattled away from the house.

  Slowly Lily uncrossed her legs, and her lips tightened. Paul Kazinski had maintained a steady flow of criticism from the instant she appeared for breakfast. She couldn’t just sit down. She had to wait to be seated. She held her fork wrong. She ate too fast. She made slurping noises while drinking her coffee.

  She hadn’t felt shame often in her life, but their expressions as they watched her eat had made her feel about one step above a brutish animal. The irony was that her friends in prison had believed she had good manners and teased her about how daintily she held her knife and fork and cup.

  Frowning, she looked down at her hands. Even walking to the coach had earned criticism. Her stride was too long. She hadn’t opened the parasol Paul had given her. Although the distance from porch to coach was only a few feet, she should have donned her gloves and hat.

  Lily was quick, and a lot was at stake. She would learn what she had to and swiftly, but so far the rules seemed foolish and ridiculously inconvenient.

  “Do you mind if we smoke?” Quinn inquired politely, patting his leather vest for the silver cigar case. This morning he was clean-shaven and smelled of barber’s soap. He didn’t stare as openly as he had yesterday, but she could tell that her uncanny resemblance to his wife intrigued him and perhaps repelled him a little. When his hard gaze settled on her, he frowned as if he hadn’t yet decided how to react to her.

  Lily hadn’t made up her mind on that point either. She was determined not to let another troublemaking man into her life, yet here she was with two of them. And when Quinn’s stormy eyes met hers, she felt as if she were drowning in grey heat, and her stomach did a slow roll and her throat flamed hot.

  Irritated by her unwanted reaction to him, she turned her face to the window. “Smoking don’t bother me. I’d like a cigar, too.”

  Horror widened Paul’s dark eyes. “Never! Ladies do not smoke cigars. Or drink whiskey,” he added firmly.

  Five years in prison had conditioned her not to object to a man’s instructions. The punishment for disobedience was severe. Therefore, her first instinct was to accept his decree without a whimper. But she was free now, even if her freedom was conditional, and she had promised herself that once she regained her liberty, she would never again meekly accept a man’s word as law.

  “I’m willing to be a lady in public, but in private I should be allowed a few pleasures,” she insisted stubbornly. She didn’t have much hope that they would agree and issued the statement simply to test their reaction.

  Actually, the pleasures she had already experienced left her feeling almost giddy. She had gone to bed with a full stomach for the first time in years, and the sheets had been clean and sweet-smelling, the mattress and pillow soft and downy. She hadn’t had to share her bathwater with four other women, and the soap had been smooth on her skin and rose-scented. She had slept in a private room and, amazingly, her morning coffee had been served on a bed tray by a servant who pretended not to notice the yellowed, much-mended state of her nightgown. Best of all, her world was no longer defined by high, stuccoed walls. Anytime she wanted to, she could look outside and see the horizon.

  “Your pleasures will not include smoking or whiskey,” Paul stated sharply in a voice that left no room for negotiation.

  Prompted by resentment, she impulsively decided to try an experiment. “If I can’t have a cigar, then yes, I sure as hell do mind if you smoke,” she said to Quinn, a challenge blazing in her eyes.

  He paused in the act of clipping the end of a cigar. Then his face settled into craggy lines and he replaced the cigar inside its case. “As you wish,” he agreed in an expressionless voice.

  His submission astonished her as much as the small hint of amusement flickering at the back of his eyes. She didn’t figure out why he agreed until the end of the day. If Quinn and Paul expected her to behave like a lady, then they had to treat her as one. Interesting. Spirits rising, Lily decided a lady wasn’t as defenseless as she had assumed. She’d found one small weapon among the mannerly dos and don’ts, perhaps there were more.

  Like the house Paul had borrowed for their first night on the road, the second house they stayed in was also isolated from any nearby town or neighbors. Both houses were larger and more luxurious than any Lily could have imagined. Until now, she had never seen an indoor water closet or stayed in a home that employed servants.

  “In this instance, ignorance works to your advantage,” Paul commented, taking a seat in the courtyard after dinner. “You’re striking the right tone with the servants. Coolly polite, a little distant.”

  Intimidated half to death would have been a better description, and intimidation accounted for her behavior. The servants tota
lly cowed her. Their smirks of superiority plainly stated they knew she was no lady.

  As if to refute Paul’s offhand compliment, Senora Menendez stepped into the courtyard and asked Lily if she wanted coffee served outside. The Senora’s expression remained bland, but her dark eyes resented deferring to someone dressed so shabbily.

  The simple question paralyzed her. She had no idea if the men wanted coffee, and wasn’t comfortable making a decision for them. She wasn’t accustomed to being waited on, and didn’t blame the Senora for resenting an ex-convict issuing orders. She imagined the servants took one look at her and knew she’d been behind bars only days ago. Feeling her cheeks heat, she cast a wild glance of indecision toward Quinn. He examined her expression, then gave Senora Menendez a lazy smile of easy charm.

  “Bring us a bottle of whiskey and three glasses, por favor.”

  Paul’s head snapped up. “Bring two glasses and coffee for the lady.”

  “Three glasses, and no coffee,” Quinn repeated firmly.

  Paul waited until Senora Menendez had withdrawn. “No one knows better than you that Miriam never drank hard liquor.”

  “Lily is not Miriam.” Quinn studied her a moment, then returned his gaze to Paul. “Lily applied herself today and made excellent progress, but let’s not lose sight of our expectations. We expect her to impersonate Miriam, not become Miriam.”

  “At present, it’s important that she totally submerge herself in her role,” Paul stated angrily.

  “Which she has done for the last ten hours.”

  “All it takes is one slip at a crucial moment, and everything comes crashing down around us,” Paul warned. He gave Quinn a long look. “Everything,” he repeated firmly.

  Lily observed the sharp exchange with fascinated interest. Both men were authoritative and powerful, unaccustomed to being countermanded. Today she’d learned they had been friends long before Quinn decided to toss his hat into the political ring. Had friendship not been involved, Lily suspected the Kingmaker would have claimed final authority on every decision, large and small. Instead, they occasionally clashed, and she sensed their friendship complicated a professional association.

  After she accepted a glass of whiskey from Senora Menendez’s tray, she murmured a silent word of appreciation that Quinn was not a man who backed down easily. Catching his eye in the dying rays of sunset, she lifted her glass in a salute of gratitude. He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded.

  Although it annoyed her to focus on such things, she had decided the Stetson and string tie suited him. In the past, she had believed there must be something soft about men rich enough to wear rubies in their cuffs, men who decided to be politicians, men who rode in private coaches and lived in luxurious houses.

  Two days of near constant exposure to Quinn Westin had altered her opinion. There was nothing soft in his flinty grey eyes, or in the ruggedly strong lines of his lips and jaw. His ambition was as diamond-hard as his hands, shored by ruthless determination. And beneath that surface polish, she suspected he was tougher than the outlaw types she’d known in her past. Already she knew that nothing would stand between Quinn Westin and whatever he wanted.

  Therefore, it surprised her that he had interceded on her behalf.

  The next morning when they entered the coach for another long day of travel and etiquette and deportment lessons, Lily gazed into his eyes and felt her pulsebeat quicken. He was one good-looking son of a bitch. He made her remember things she had vowed to forget.

  “I guess you can smoke if you want to,” she said, striving for an offhand tone.

  “You may smoke,” Paul said, correcting her automatically. “Can means you are able to smoke, may means you have permission to smoke.”

  Lily ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes. Miriam had learned these stupid rules. Damn it, so could she.

  When she glanced at Quinn, he was clipping a cigar with a half smile on his lips. The breeze from the coach window teased his hair into an appealing rumpled look, and already he had loosened his collar and arranged his long legs as best he could in the limited space. She inhaled the scent she was beginning to associate with him, the pleasant tang of hair oil and shaving soap and leather.

  Lily watched him light the cigar and felt a stirring in the bottom of her stomach. His hands were darkly tanned, slender and sure. The nails were cut square across and were scrupulously clean. Irritated, she stared down at her mended gloves.

  He was darkly handsome, powerful and wealthy, and she secretly enjoyed the intense interest he focused on her. And he’d shown her a small kindness last night when he allowed her a glass of whiskey. Given these facts, she supposed it wasn’t too surprising that she might feel drawn to him.

  Once again she thought about Miriam as she supposed she would be doing from now on. Why on earth would Miriam run away from a man like Quinn Westin? Lily would have wagered everything she owned that he was every woman’s secret dream, not just hers.

  On the other hand, a man willing to replace his wife with an impostor was a man driven by cold ambition to the exclusion of all else. A man capable of ruthlessness. As a husband, such a man might well have been a nightmare rather than a dream.

  Feeling the heat inside the closed coach, she fanned her face and watched him tilt his head back and release a perfect smoke ring. “Are you trying to find Miriam?” she asked curiously. “Have you hired someone to search for her?”

  He coughed, waved at the smoke, and swore.

  Chapter 3

  “The issue isn’t whether you should have lied to her,” Paul insisted a week later, urging his horse up beside the mustang Quinn rode. “The issue is idealism versus reality. Damn it, Quinn. That’s where you and I continue to butt heads.”

  “Reality begins with someone’s idealistic dream,” Quinn said stubbornly, leaning over the saddle to stroke the neck of his horse. He was a big man and preferred a larger mount, but the little mustang had given him a good ride, and he’d needed a hard run. Most of the tension bunching his shoulder muscles had eased the minute he swung into the saddle.

  Paul thumbed back his hat and wiped a sleeve across his forehead. “Here’s the reality you’ve created. Lily is now puzzled as to why we aren’t searching for Miriam. A simple lie would have diverted her curiosity and questions.”

  Quinn’s lips twisted, and he frowned at the desert landscape. “Is there such a thing as a simple lie?” He no longer believed there was.

  Lies required more lies. They piled one on top of the other until the weight crushed a man’s integrity.

  “The world is a hell of a long way from being ideal,” Paul said irritably. “In this instance, we don’t want Lily getting too curious about Miriam’s disappearance. Surely you agree.”

  Of course he did. But there was something about Lily that made him believe men had lied to her all of her life. He didn’t want to be like the other men in her life, and he hadn’t wanted to add another lie to the burden he already carried.

  They rode past a cluster of tall cacti, turning back toward the house and stable. “There’s another thing. I’ve strongly disagreed with your insistence that Lily be allowed whiskey and a cigar at the end of the day. But after thinking about it, I believe I understand what you’re doing.”

  “What am I doing?” Quinn asked, stretching his neck against his hand. Once he returned to Denver, he’d go directly to the ranch and work out the kinks of travel with a few days of riding and ranching. Some satisfying labor and a day or two of solitude might help him sort out the troubling emotions aroused by Lily Dale. She disturbed him on half a dozen levels.

  “You’re making yourself sympathetic in her eyes, building a relationship. That’s good. Lily needs to feel comfortable with you if she’s going to succeed at being your wife.”

  His head snapped up, and he felt his shoulders tighten with returning tension. “Lily and I are never going to be comfortable with each other.” They couldn’t be. He needed her to win the election, and he hated having
to depend on her for his success. She hated him for keeping her from her daughter. The mustang responded to his tightening thighs and danced away from Paul’s mount. “She doesn’t see either of us as sympathetic. She detests us both for interfering with her life.”

  Paul’s scowl deepened. “Don’t start thinking of Lily as Mother of the Year. She isn’t,” he said coldly. “So don’t waste any sympathy on her. In the overall scheme of things, these seven months will be a brief interlude in her life. And in yours.”

  Paul’s steady regard made Quinn realize how angry he sounded, and he loosened his grip on the reins, made himself rock back in the saddle and let his shoulders relax.

  He had spent four years positioning himself for this run at the governorship. To get where he was now, he had compromised nearly everything he believed in, had done things it was better not to recall. Forcing Lily to impersonate Miriam was merely the latest link in a chain of decisions he would live with for the rest of his life. Knowing most people didn’t think politicians had a conscience brought a humorless smile to his lips.

  However, he hadn’t anticipated how disturbing Lily would be. Hadn’t believed he could forget for a moment that she wasn’t his wife. But occasionally he gazed at her face and his chest burned with rage and resentment, betrayal and guilt, emotions he had believed were laid to rest.

  Two weeks had made a remarkable alteration in Lily’s appearance. As her face and body began to fill out, as her tan faded, her resemblance to Miriam became more pronounced. Two days ago, she had borrowed the locket containing Miriam’s likeness, and this morning she’d appeared for breakfast wearing her hair in the style Miriam had worn for the portrait sitting. Quinn had stared at her and felt a sickening lurch in his stomach.

  “She’s making astonishing progress,” he said in a thick voice, touching his heels to the mustang’s flanks. He was tempted to make an offer for the little horse, but knew he wouldn’t. It was simply less upsetting to think about horseflesh than to think about Lily Dale.