Rowena's Hellion

by Velda Brotherton

  After the celebration, Grady and Simmons took the women back to Fairhaven. Grady would return the next day to pick up the happy couple and take them home.

  Blair kept his arm around her as both waved goodbye to everyone. Behind them, a steam engine huffed its way into Victoria Station, and men began to unload produce from Denver, shipped there from California, where fruits and vegetables were grown year round. Fifty-pound blocks of ice, packed in sawdust, were unloaded onto dray wagons and hauled to the local ice house for delivery to residents.

  Shielding his bride from the smoke and grit of the engine, he guided her across the platform and to the wide verandah of the Manor, a stately three-story brick hotel. Grant had built it adjacent to the railroad station so property owners would have a decent place to live while their homes were being built.

  The founder of Victoria greeted them in the elaborate foyer, reached out a hand to Blair. “Welcome, Lord Prescott. So pleased to have you. No need to register, I’ve taken care of everything. You’re in Room E. The elevator is this way, and if you find you need anything, just use the bell rope, and someone will help you. Since you have no luggage, you may find yourself lacking some necessities. The room has all that you will need, I think. The elevator operator will give you a key. And I would like to congratulate you both. What a joyous time for you.”

  All the time he spoke, he kept Blair’s hand in his. When he had finished, he executed a slight bow to Rowena. “Lady Prescott, so pleased to have you here. I hope your stay is a pleasant one.” He moved across the lobby toward the registration desk.

  She glanced up at Blair. “Lady?” she whispered.

  “I’m afraid so. Do not let it go to your head. It means very little.”

  “Why, Blair Prescott. Nothing goes to my head but loving you. And that means everything.”

  “Oh, is that right? Well, then I suggest we hie ourselves into that elevator and go to our room so we can begin our honeymoon.” He leaned down. “Have you every ridden in one of these contraptions?”

  “No. How does it work, and what does it do?”

  “Steam powers it. It will take us to the third floor without walking up the stairs.”

  “You’re teasing me.” She flushed, and he laughed, placed a hand flat on her back, and escorted her to the back corner of the building and into the car lined in rich maroon velvet. He held her tight when the car started up, and she trembled in his arms.

  When it stopped, the operator smiled at them and handed them a key before opening the doors on the third floor without being told. “Room E, in case you forgot. Have a nice stay.”

  “I have a feeling we will,” Blair said. I hope to God we do.

  Room E was at the end of the hall on the right. The woman beside him was his wife. How odd, he had not really thought what that meant until this very moment. His hand shook as he poked at the keyhole. She put her hand over his, steadied him so he could turn the key and open the door.

  “I should carry you over the threshold. Is that not the custom?” He gazed down into her lovely face. So happy, azure eyes alight, laugh lines at the corners, her tongue licking her lips nervously.

  “Yes, I believe it is.”

  He lifted her easily and stepped into the luxurious room, pushing the door shut with his elbow as he went.

  “Oh, Blair, isn’t this lovely?”

  Windows along one wall revealed a view beyond town to the vast prairie. But he was not studying the view. A huge bed, covered in red velvet sat on a pedestal. With long strides he carried her there and tossed her playfully into the center of the thick feather mattress, then landed on his stomach near her. Took her in his arms and kissed her, then kissed her some more. She opened her mouth to him, and he explored with his tongue. Moved kisses across her jaw and down her neck. Nuzzled between her breasts. Growled.

  She squealed, tried to help him as his fingers fumbled with the buttons on the front of her dress. She smelled so good, fresh and clean and sweet.

  “I want you all around me. I want inside of you.” Every inch of his body quaked in anticipation. A heated desire began deep in his gut and spread to all his parts, especially the most important one. Every inch of him yearned for her.

  Starting at the neck, she unbuttoned his shirt, trailed both hands along his ribs, bent down and kissed him, ran her tongue along his ribcage, unfastened his pants and moved her moist lips to his belly button. Shivers erupted all over his body. He wanted her so badly his ears thrummed, his heart pounded, his groin ached.

  “Let’s get out of these clothes.” She shoved across the bed, stood, and slipped out of her dress, the slips and undergarments, lifting each with a graceful foot and kicking it across the room.

  Just watching her excited him till he almost forgot to take off his boots and pants. She was down to the chemise and corset before he undressed. And just in time, too, for she leapt onto the bed, straddled him, coming down hard on his erection and repeating “Oh, oh, oh” in a long-drawn-out, trembly voice.

  Dear God in heaven. He just might go blind, with her wiggling and moving around on him. And then he ascended into that brightest of lights, spilling into her in a hot blaze of glory. The experience was so mind-rending he lost all sense of time and place. He kissed the sky, then burst into a million glittering pieces that fell back and slowly gathered themselves together to form a mere man once again.

  Afterward she lay on him for a long time, sucking in a breath, then letting it out with a tiny noise. He was inside her, where he wanted to remain.

  “You okay, sweetness?” he asked when she made no attempt to move.

  “I am not sure. That was superb. I must admit I have never experienced anything like that. I hope I can again, though. Are you okay, Blair? Did you like it somewhat?”

  He laughed and rolled her over so he was on top. “I liked it so much that perhaps we can do it again in just another minute or two, I think.”

  “Could you help me get out of these stays first?”

  “Okay, but let’s hurry.”

  “Yes, my love, let’s hurry.”

  The corset came off, and he moved hungrily toward her breasts, taking one in his mouth, the other in one hand.

  Perhaps she wasn’t at all what he’d thought when he first saw her sitting on a bench in the sunlight, hair blazing as if a halo circled her head. The nuns smiling and patting all three girls’ shoulders. Damn their souls to hell, it was no better than selling those three to him. And even worse, he accepted the offer.

  When he slipped inside her again, she was wet and hot and tight. A small “ooh” escaped her mouth, and she remained still for a long moment. He waited for her, and when she lifted her legs to wrap him up, he moved languidly for a deliciously long time, then more forcefully when his passion swelled. The world tilted, and he rode the waves, her hanging on and taking everything he gave, begging for more. She was voracious and he was too, and they came together, panting, while contented sounds issued from their throats.

  They slept a while, and when they awoke, they made love again, taking their time, exploring each other’s desires with slow abandon. The next time they slept, he awoke with a frightened start to find it was dark. She lay beside him, holding his hand against her heart. Sometime in the night she had whispered in his ear that he was safe.

  His head throbbed, fear rattled at the gates of his mind, and he snuck a peek from under the covers to make sure they were alone. The door was closed and locked. He remembered doing so. The visitors he looked for didn’t need an open door, and he scanned the room closely. No one was there, and he closed his eyes, felt the beating of her heart in his hand, and slept.

  Chapter Seven

  Hand in hand they strolled along the boardwalk in Victoria City, glancing in windows, remarking about items on display. His relaxed demeanor gave her hope. The streets were in worse shape than the roads in the country. Constant traffic had turned the main thoroughfare into a muddy bog. At the corner he took her arm to halt her stepping off into the
muck.

  “You’ll ruin your dress.” With a twinkle in his eyes, he lifted her into his arms and started across. “This could easily become a habit I’d enjoy.”

  This habit he had of sweeping her up like a child continued to surprise her, and she enjoyed it immensely. Delighted by his good mood, she wrapped both arms around his neck and smiled up into his face. He stopped right in the middle of the street and stared down at her.

  “You are so beautiful, Lady Prescott.”

  Before she had time to consider the compliment, someone shouted, “Look out there,” and he slithered and danced backward to avoid being hit by two cowboys on horseback riding at breakneck speed. The galloping horses’ hooves splattered mud over them. Blair slipped backward another step, and then both feet slid out from under him, depositing the two of them, her on top, into the mess of melting snow and thick clay mud.

  For an instant neither of them said anything. Then he asked, “You hurt?” and made no attempt to get out from under her.

  She shook her head, face so close to his their noses touched. With one of those grins she’d learned to hope for and enjoy, he embraced her. “This is nice.”

  “Yes, it is, but people are staring. We should get up.”

  “There’s really no hurry.” His arms tightened around her. “Did you see those damned fools? Racing through town that way. You could have been injured. Did you see who they were?”

  “Didn’t have time.” She struggled to get off him. It was nearly impossible, with him holding on and her heavy, wet skirts weighing her down.

  He laughed, and released her. Tried to help her up, but she ended on hands and knees beside him. After a bit of an effort, he managed to stand, and reached a hand down, still chuckling.

  “What is funny?” She grabbed hold of him, her feet sliding out from under her twice before she was upright.

  “You have mud…” He gestured at his cheek, then hers. She took a swipe where he’d pointed, but her glove was dripping and she only smeared her face worse. He laughed harder.

  “Blair, this is not funny. Besides, you’ve got a big gob of it”—she touched his forehead—“right there.” He hadn’t, but her touch put one there. His laughter was catching. Soon they were standing there immersed in inane hysteria.

  A few people had gathered around to join in the gaiety, which attracted more people caught up in hopeless frivolity.

  A remark from the crowd only added to the general amusement.

  “Did you see those two yahoos? Ought to be a law against riding that fast through town. Two bits I’d turn ’em in to George Grant. He’d shear the hair off their heads.”

  “Good as no one is hurt, reckon it’s okay,” another said.

  A woman’s voice added, “Ruined her dress, I imagine. Isn’t that Lord and Lady Prescott? They were married yesterday. I went to the wedding.”

  “The wife did too. Said it was a lot of fun and they ate at the High Plains Restaurant.”

  Their conversation drifted off, and Rowena embraced Blair’s nearness. The tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. The perfection of his features. How he could turn her world upside down with a grin.

  “What we need to do is get cleaned up, dear heart. If we could just stay up long enough to get back to solid ground.” He was having a hard time being serious, and she loved it.

  She reveled in the blissful man who shared this body with the haunted Blair. “Dear heart” was an endearment he’d never before uttered. Impossible to give voice to her feelings—her throat had closed up. How happy she was to have married a man she loved so much. A man who appeared to return the feeling. He would be all right now. All he needed was a reason to be happy. And she would be that reason.

  He continued to gaze upon her with those unfathomable dark eyes. A look she could never quite read.

  Nervously she rubbed the back of one glove over her cheek. “Do I have it all off?”

  “All but right here,” he said, and lightly kissed the corner of her mouth.

  She stood on tiptoes and kissed him full on the lips. A good long kiss that sent shivers through her.

  He responded by circling her waist and increasing the ardor of the kiss until the few people left from the crowd cheered and urged them on.

  He moved the kiss along her jawline to her ear, where he breathed her name like he was struck dumb and couldn’t express himself.

  “I know,” she whispered. “Believe me, I do.”

  Her hand in his, he climbed onto the boardwalk, then lifted her up, her mud-heavy skirts dragging.

  On their way to Marguerite’s to clean up, the door to a nearby store opened and a man tossed something into the bed of his waiting wagon with an enormous crash.

  Blair turned loose of her, ducked down, and began to yell something she could not understand. Then, before she could stop him, he leaped from the boardwalk and into the street directly in front of a dray heavily loaded with ice. He bounced off one of the horses and went down under the wheels. For a split second, it was all a bad dream. Something unreal.

  People shouted, and the driver hauled up. Blair lay sprawled face down beneath the wagon, one leg trapped under a wheel.

  She screamed and slogged through the thick muck to his side, dropping on both knees to lift his face clear of the mud.

  ****

  Shouting, confusion, and pain mixed in a dark circle that whirled through his brain and cut off all sensations. All noise faded, and he walked along a dark canopied lane. In the distance shots boomed, women screamed, horses neighed. Before him Roger’s blood-smeared face looking up from what was left of his mangled body, begging, begging to be shot. The rifle raised, finger on the trigger pulling, ever so slowly pulling, till the world bloomed in vivid reds and blacks.

  “We’re all dead, all dead,” he shouted as a bullet ripped through his leg and everything slipped away into nothingness.

  “No!” Rowena screamed. He lay oh, so still, dark hair over one eye, his skin pale. With a trembling hand she brushed the hair back, felt the coldness of his cheek. Sick to her stomach, she leaned down and said in his ear. “Blair, I’m here. We are all here. You are going to be all right.” He didn’t stir.

  Doctor Weatherby hurried through the crowd, his little round wife on his heels. Both knelt at Blair’s side opposite Rowena.

  Panicked, she looked up at Weatherby, who shook his head. “Get some of these people back, would you?” he instructed. “And back that gawd-damned wagon off this man’s leg,” he yelled up at the wild-eyed driver.

  One of Blair’s hands splayed out beside him, covered in mud. She folded hers around it. “Is he dead? Please, tell me he’s alive.”

  “I didn’t see him,” the driver whined. “He come right out into my team, like he wasn’t seeing anything.”

  The man who had helped her when Crouch beat her, Creighton Holmes, appeared next to her. “May I be of assistance?”

  “Yes, Mr. Holmes,” Doc said. “If you could get some men to help carry him to my surgery, that would be most helpful.”

  Three men stepped up to assist, and Rowena reluctantly let go his hand, rose, and moved out of their way. Her head swam, and she fought swooning. She had to remain strong for Blair. She bit at the knuckles of one hand. If he died, she wouldn’t want to live either.

  “Support that leg and be very careful with it,” Doc said, supervising the men who lifted Blair and headed toward the pharmacy. Doc’s surgery was upstairs, and they made their careful way, Rowena stumbling along behind them.

  Though Blair did not regain consciousness, he uttered moans deep down in his throat.

  “Oh, God help us! Is he dead?” The driver hunched over, holding his head.

  “No, man, he ain’t dead yet,” one of the bystanders shouted at him. “They’re taking him to Doc’s.”

  Filthy skirts that had dragged through the churned-up street were so heavy she had trouble climbing the stairs behind the struggling procession. Blair looked so pale, so helpless. Much worse than w
hen he was drinking and passed out. What if he died? She refused to face the possibility. Could not even bear thinking about it. Had he rushed out in front of the dray on purpose? She did not think so. It was more like he had suffered one of his episodes and thought he was back on the battlefield.

  Do not die, Blair. Please. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she stumbled up the stairs. Muddy boots clomped on the wooden steps, leaving great clods behind. No one said anything. It was an eerily quiet group who gently laid Blair on a bed, then backed out of the room. One arm fell off the side, and she went to him, lifted his hand, carefully removed his soiled glove, and clasped the cold fingers to her cheek. “Please, please, please. If you die, I shall never forgive you. Never.”

  Mrs. Weatherby moved to that side and took her by the shoulders. “My dear, you’ll have to leave him to our care. Wait outside.”

  A sob tore through her, choking her. “I can’t leave him. What if he dies and I’m not with him? Please don’t make me leave him.”

  “Dear, we have to treat him, and you don’t want to be in the way of that, I’m sure. Let me take you just outside the door. If he regains consciousness, I promise we will call you.”

  “He is alive, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, of course he is.”

  As if in reply to her question, Blair rolled his head toward her, mumbled something she could not make out.

  “You see. Now, come with me.”

  Miserably, she kissed his hand, laid it across his stomach, and bent down to kiss him on the mouth. His lips responded briefly, then went slack.

  “I love you,” she whispered, then brushed hair off his mud-streaked forehead and let the nurse lead her from the room.

  When the woman started to leave, she grabbed her hand. “Do not let him die alone. I mean it.” She could not go on. No words were left inside, only the sickness and dread that comes with knowing something one does not wish to know.

  “I will keep you informed.” With a reassuring nod, Mrs. Weatherby disappeared into the room and closed the door.

  Grady stood in the small waiting room, staring down on the street through a small window. She went to stand beside him, grabbed his arm to keep from swooning. “When did you get here?”