A Stranger's Wife

by Maggie Osborne

  “You’re sighing again,” Paul commented, looking up from the notes he was arranging in his lap. “Actually, Miriam sighed frequently, too. Frankly, I’ve always considered sighing an unattractive quality.”

  Not bothering to answer, Lily pulled aside the curtains and gazed out the coach window, inspecting the mountains. A few of the peaks were sprinkled with snow, which didn’t surprise her as the weather had steadily gotten colder as they traveled north. Wools and cashmere were comfortably welcome now. Today she had added a cape over a dark navy traveling ensemble.

  “You said we’ll reach Denver soon?”

  “Probably the day after tomorrow,” Paul confirmed. “We’ll go directly to the ranch, where you can rest for a week. I doubt you’ve fully recovered your strength. I’ll release an announcement that you’ve returned from Santa Fe and will continue your convalescence at home. The following week you and your husband will move into the mansion.”

  These were the statements that continued to startle her, when he spoke as if the fiction were real. It always gave her a tiny shock. In keeping with the deception, he’d become very solicitous, as if she were actually recovering from consumption. Yesterday, she had pretended to have a coughing fit, just to test him, and he’d rushed across the hotel lobby with the appearance of genuine anxiety.

  “The mansion,” she repeated, trying to imagine a house so grand it could be referred to as a mansion. And hoping to hell that she remembered the servants’ names and how to address them. Hoping she had improved to the extent that they didn’t see through her. “You mentioned that Quinn had the house rebuilt. Is that to accommodate state dinners and balls?”

  Paul glanced at her. “That’s one of the reasons.”

  “Surely you aren’t adding more information, are you?” she asked after watching him struggle against the rocking of the coach to add scribbled notes to the cards.

  Every day they went through the note cards which were filled with details about people Miriam knew. Lily had hoped the cards would reveal a glimpse of the real Miriam, but Miriam remained frustratingly elusive. “Miriam had a lot of friends,” she said, frowning at the thick card collection.

  Paul frowned. “You have a lot of acquaintances,” he corrected. “But you’re too timid to form intimate friendships easily.”

  Like a starving man falling on crumbs, Lily pounced on any information about Miriam and wrung every drop of conjecture from each reference.

  If Miriam was shy, then she would not push herself forward in social situations, would not meet a stranger’s gaze. Entertaining might cause her great anxiety, and repaying calls had probably been a task she dreaded. It also occurred to Lily that shy people seldom expressed their opinions.

  “I’m not very shy,” she said slowly, wondering if she could successfully pretend to be.

  Paul glanced up from his lap desk with a laugh. “So I’ve noticed.”

  “But I think I see how to give that impression.” Pursing her lips, she considered. “If I pretend every person I meet is a prison guard, I’ll remember not to look into anyone’s eyes directly, and not to speak until spoken to. If Miriam is timid, then I’m guessing she’s also a quiet person?”

  “That’s my impression, yes.” Leaning forward, he handed her the stack of cards. “Read through the new notations, then we’ll review the information again.”

  It wasn’t necessary to remind her how important it was to learn everything she could about the people listed on the cards. If a revealing mistake occurred, it would happen here. And the consequences would be disastrous for Quinn.

  “We can’t possibly know everything we need to know about Miriam’s relationships with these people.”

  “About your relationships,” he corrected.

  “I’m certain to make a mistake. It’s inevitable.”

  “You should have been hanged, Lily,” he said flatly. “You managed to slip and slide through a trial for your life. I think you can slip and slide through conversations with these people.”

  Once again the subtle suggestion of a threat hung in his voice and in his expression. She stared at him, then down at the cards spread across her lap. Each person’s name represented enormous potential for error. “I wish I had the faith in my abilities that you do,” she said with another sigh.

  Suddenly the plan of impersonating Miriam seemed doomed to fail. And perhaps dangerous. If she blundered, would they punish her by sending her back to Yuma and Ephram Callihan?

  * * *

  The Westin ranch comprised twenty thousand acres beginning a half a day’s ride north of Denver. The land rolled and dipped like the waves and troughs of a fertile green sea in summer, and reminded Quinn of a rumpled white blanket in winter. Every year the hands cleared more sage and converted more land into grassy pasture. Water was abundant.

  This was the place he most liked to be, he thought, drawing up on the reins and crossing his arms atop the pommel. Here life seemed simple, reduced to fundamental issues of survival. Nature favored the predator, and that was a truth he understood. One was either a predator or a victim, no middle ground existed.

  He watched a bushy-tailed fox devour a rabbit, then raised his eyes to the jagged skyline of snowcapped mountains scraping the western sky. The Great American Desert fell away toward the east. Denver lay behind him, and farm communities were springing up north of his property. One day the ranch would be squeezed by Denverites and farmers, moving toward each other.

  But that problem was for the future. There were more immediate problems to consider. A few weeks at the ranch had honed his muscles and restored his spirits, but Lily Dale was never far from his thoughts.

  In the crisp November air of late afternoon, with his horse beneath him and the land around him, hiring a convict to impersonate Miriam seemed an absurd idea. He didn’t trust his memory of Lily’s astonishing resemblance to his wife, believed he must surely have deceived himself into imagining similarities that couldn’t exist.

  Frowning, he shifted in the saddle to observe a small herd of Texas longhorns as they ambled through the lengthening shadows toward a shallow creek that crossed this section of land. The longhorns were crafty, mean-tempered animals, and lately he’d been considering an experimental program of crossbreeding. He thought it possible to blend the steely endurance of longhorns with the milder temperaments of more domesticated breeds.

  That thought returned him to Lily as so many thoughts did. Could Lily Dale be domesticated to the point of deceiving people who knew his wife? Today, he doubted it. Not a woman who snatched bread from the table and hid it in her pocket.

  Still frowning, he shaded his eyes from the sun sinking toward craggy peaks.

  For the past five years the Westin Ranch had trailed two thousand steers to the railheads in Kansas and from there to the beef markets in Chicago. When he became governor, his primary market would be closer to home. The party bosses had promised a guaranteed market in Denver for as many cattle as he wanted to sell. This was a perquisite of the job. To Quinn it smelled like graft.

  Lowering his head, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. There were so many things he wanted to change about government and how it operated. But none of his ideas stood a chance of becoming reality unless he won the election.

  His thoughts circled back to Lily Dale.

  That his future and perhaps the future of an entire state depended on an unwed mother fresh out of prison made him grimace and shake his head. When he considered how easily she could destroy him, the cords rose like wire along his throat.

  Jerking on the reins, he turned his buckskin back toward the ranch house and urged the horse into a full gallop, letting a twilight breeze cool his face.

  Within the hour the deception would begin in earnest.

  The men knew very little about Miriam, as she had seldom visited the ranch, preferring the house in town. But Smokey Bill, his foreman, had met her last year. Quinn couldn’t part with Smokey Bill, but he had replaced the house servants. He had decided to
test Lily with Smokey Bill, and afterward he would make his final decision as to whether the deception would go forward.

  He would know soon enough, he thought, riding up to the barn as Paul’s coach circled the drive in front of the house. Handing the buckskin’s reins to one of the hands, he drew a breath, straightened his shoulders, and walked forward with a stony expression.

  But he stopped in his tracks when the driver opened the coach door. First Paul emerged then turned to hand Lily down. No, not Lily. He was to call her Miriam now.

  When he saw her, he sucked a sharp breath through his teeth. She wore a grey jacket and skirt, a feathered black hat atop piles of ashy blond curls. Her figure was fuller, rounder, her skin lotion-smooth and pale in the fading light. Unlike the last time he had seen her, she wore her traveling ensemble, it didn’t wear her.

  Quinn stared. This wasn’t—could not be—the woman he had first seen outside the Yuma Women’s Prison. She also could not be Miriam, although he had to struggle against the conviction that he was staring at his wife.

  Forcing himself to step forward, a scowl on his face, he tried to recall how he would have greeted Miriam after an absence. It surprised him to discover that he couldn’t remember.

  When she spotted him, a delighted smile lit her face, and his chest tightened painfully. It had been years since Miriam had smiled at him like that. If she ever had.

  “Quinn!” Stepping forward, she placed her gloved hands lightly on his leather jacket and lifted her face.

  Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gazed into eyes as deep as the violet heart of a pansy. He didn’t see Lily in her expression, nor did he see Miriam. This was a hybrid creature, partly one thing and partly another, a beautiful chimera.

  Releasing a breath, he forced himself to speak her name. “Miriam.” He would have kissed her; therefore, he should do so now for the benefit of any ranch hands who might be watching.

  Her skirts wrapped around his boots, followed by a curve of warmth as she leaned into him. For the first time in his life, he felt awkward with a woman, unbalanced by her closeness and the scent of forget-me-nots, Miriam’s favorite perfume. His hands tightened on her waist.

  He intended to hold her away from him, but her momentum carried her forward, and he found himself pulling her hard against his hips instead. Eyes flaring, she paused in the act of lifting her cheek and turned slightly to cast him an uncertain look. The unexpected movement brought her lips within inches of his.

  It was an invitation no red-blooded man could resist. He hesitated for the span of a heartbeat, then kissed her on the mouth, feeling a tremor of shock ripple down her body. She stiffened slightly, and her hands curled into fists on his chest.

  A public kiss should have been light and impersonal, and that’s what he intended. But his mind exploded when his lips covered hers. It had been a long time since he’d held a soft, vibrant woman in his arms, a long time since a kiss had set him on fire with sudden intense desire.

  His embrace tightened, and his body radiated sudden heat and urgency. The feel of her hips pressed to his, the taste of her mouth, her hands on his chest, he felt her in his blood.

  When he made himself release her, he was breathing rapidly, stunned by the forces unleashed by a single kiss. She raised a hand to her lips and looked at him with wide eyes, her breasts rising and falling beneath her cape.

  His mind reeled. What the hell had happened? He hadn’t had such a powerful reaction to a woman since he was a moonstruck adolescent.

  Dimly, he was aware of Paul studying his reaction, stepping forward to shake his hand, a frown drawing his eyebrows. Then he heard Smokey Bill behind him.

  “Welcome to the Flying W, Mrs. Westin.”

  Lily gave her head a light shake and arranged a smile on trembling lips. “It’s a pleasure to be here, Mr. Johnson.”

  Quinn’s boots felt rooted to the ground. But her hesitation was so brief that he doubted Smokey Bill had noticed. It utterly astonished him that she had not looked to Paul for prompting, had named Smokey Bill on sight. The tight knot that had gripped his chest for weeks eased, and he glanced at Paul, who was watching him with a lifted eyebrow.

  “Something is different from the last time I visited,” Lily said thoughtfully, looking around her. It was a clever guess, and her delivery was convincing. “That would be about a year ago, I recall. September, I think.”

  Smokey Bill beamed. “Yes, ma’am. We installed another well this summer, so that windmill is new.” Turning, he pointed toward the source of a grinding, squealing whir. “And we enlarged the bunkhouse and the summer kitchen.”

  When Lily walked away from them, following Smokey Bill to the edge of the veranda to peer through the deepening darkness at the new bunkhouse, Quinn stared after her. “I wouldn’t have believed this if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” he said in a low hoarse voice.

  Her gestures were not as fluttery as Miriam’s, she was more controlled, and her husky voice would never match Miriam’s lighter tone. But she was no longer Lily. She didn’t meet Smokey Bill’s admiring gaze directly, but cast him shy, sidelong glances. She glided forward with a graceful step.

  Paul watched her with pride. And why shouldn’t he feel proud, Quinn thought. Lily is his creation. Paul had taken a lump of rough clay and polished it to resemble a diamond.

  She strolled back to them, gave them a smile, then lifted those incredible eyes to Quinn. “Please ask Curly to bring my valise inside. I’d like to rest before Jamison serves us one of his heavy beef-and-potato suppers.”

  She was showing off for him and clearly enjoying the disbelief in his eyes. But she kept lifting a hand to her lips, and she hadn’t met his gaze for more than an instant. She, too, had responded to their kiss.

  “Curly’s gone, and so is Jamison,” Quinn said after a minute, watching Smokey Bill jump forward to assist the coach driver with her valise. He shouldn’t have kissed her.

  “Oh?” She cast Paul a look of reproach. “I don’t recall anyone telling me.”

  Her performance was for Smokey Bill’s benefit, but also for his. And he was undeniably if reluctantly impressed. But this hybrid beauty was not Miriam. When Miriam had visited the ranch, she had elicited curiosity as the owner’s wife, but not the look of near adoration he now read on Smokey Bill’s face.

  Miriam could be charming in her quiet way, but only after she knew someone well enough to overcome a natural timidity. Lily’s charm, however, was immediate. Curiosity and high spirits sparkled in her glance, and she moved with unconscious sensuality. He understood she was trying to imitate timidity, but her lowered lashes appeared more coquettish than shy, her sidelong glances more flirtatious than timid.

  A burning sensation flared inside Quinn’s chest, and he narrowed his eyes on the swing of her bustle as she lifted her skirts and swayed up the steps of the veranda. She had been with another man. She had borne that man a child. She was wearing Quinn’s name, but she was not his.

  “Quinn?” Paul said for the second time. “Shall we talk here, or inside?”

  Lily retired to her room as they crossed the veranda and entered the house, but a light fragrance of forget-me-nots lingered in the foyer. Quinn clenched his fists and imagined her stepping into Miriam’s room, laying out her toiletries on top of Miriam’s vanity. Sleeping in Miriam’s bed tonight. She was not Miriam, he reminded himself, bringing his thoughts back into line.

  Waving Paul toward one of the chairs facing his desk, he crossed his office and went straight to the whiskey cart. He tossed back a long swallow, letting the liquor scald down his throat, then poured a glass for Paul.

  “You’ve accomplished a miracle,” he said, sinking into the wooden chair behind his desk. He raised his glass in a salute. “I didn’t believe it was possible.”

  Paul tossed his hat on the desk then rubbed his neck. “Don’t forget the transformation is a veneer as thin as perspiration. She’s just as likely to make a blunder or swear like a muleskinner.” But the pride ret
urned to his dark eyes. “I doubt such a thought has occurred to her, but she would have been a skilled actress if she’d chosen to go on the boards.”

  “An hour before you arrived, I was determined to call off the impersonation.”

  “She can pass for a lady right now.” Paul packed his pipe and frowned. “But she isn’t Miriam yet. That part of her instruction rests with you. At present, anyone who sees her from a distance won’t question they’re seeing Miriam. But she’ll raise questions at close quarters. Her gestures are wrong, and she’s too forthright, still too confrontational.” Leaning back in his chair, he puffed on his pipe. “But the changes are astonishing. I doubt anyone noticed her between Yuma and Santa Fe. And I doubt anyone ignored her between Santa Fe and Denver.”

  Quinn lit a cigar and waved out the match. “Do you have any idea how unsettling this is?” he asked after a moment.

  He wasn’t accustomed to confusion or uncertainty; such feelings had played a very small role in his life. But he looked at Lily and reality melted and re-formed, and his mind reeled as he saw a new personality inhabiting his wife’s form. Her face was familiar, but the expressions were foreign. He knew her body, but she used it differently in the way she walked and stood. Her hands moved in motions less graceful but more provocative. It was like meeting Miriam without having known her before, a Miriam that might have been but never was.

  Suddenly he recalled Miriam as he had seen her last and a heavy pain sliced at the walls of his chest. Angrily, he stubbed out his cigar and tossed back the whiskey. “How long will you stay?”

  “I’ll return to Denver early tomorrow. I’ll need a week to catch up the paperwork that’s undoubtedly accumulated during my absence.” He touched his collar and smiled. “And there’s a certain lady I’m eager to see.”

  Nodding, Quinn swiveled to gaze at his late father’s portrait. At this moment he envied Paul Kazinski. Paul had no need to prove himself—he’d built a solid reputation as the best behind-the-scenes man in the territories; his quick mind and an opportunistic eye had amassed a substantial fortune. Paul was untroubled by compromise, a master at finding the middle road. He did what had to be done and never looked back; past deeds would never haunt him. Perhaps most enviable, Paul had decided not to burden himself with a wife and amused himself with a series of delightful mistresses whom he discarded with ease when they displeased or began to bore him.