Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy

by Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda

  He laughed. “No, I meant I figured out how this thing works. Now hold still and I’ll rope it around you.”

  She felt his warm fingers work the lock at the back of her neck. Then his hands drifted down, smoothing the chain along her throat. She didn’t move as his long fingers fanned out over her bare shoulders and gently held her still. She could feel his breath against her cheek, but he didn’t move.

  “Are you finished?” she asked, waiting for him to let go of her shoulders.

  “Yes.” His voice was oddly low. “I’m just enjoying the view from here. I think I like it better than I do the one of you walking away. You seem very nicely rounded in several places.”

  She turned preparing to snap at him, but he was even closer than she thought. They were almost touching. The warmth in his eyes shocked her, as did the honesty. He wasn’t flattering or playing with her, he was simply telling her how he felt. He had no reason to play games with her. They both knew the bargain between them was already set.

  She raised her chin slightly. “It’s time to go downstairs.”

  He took her hand and put it in the bend of his elbow, then led her down the steps to a dozen people waiting to see the newlyweds.

  Cozette smiled when she saw them. Most of the women had been friends of her mother’s from years ago. She remembered them coming to visit when she was little, but they’d stopped dropping by after her mother died. Uncle Raymond would have to be on his best behavior. Even if he was furious about the marriage, he couldn’t afford to let on in front of them or the powerful husbands who stood at their wives’ sides.

  Michael remained near, smiling but saying little. He asked where each guest’s land was and if it bordered San Louise, then talked of the weather, but little else.

  Her mother’s friends seemed to tolerate Raymond more than like him. By the time dinner was served it was plain they came to see her and the man she’d picked to marry. Judging by their smiles, the neighbors liked her new husband just fine.

  The only thing Michael did out of order was pull up her chair beside his when they walked in to dinner. The guests laughed and kidded him about being a new husband. One lady even commented that it was the dearest thing she’d ever seen.

  About the time the main course was served the talk turned to books. Cozette tried to shield questions meant for Michael. She wasn’t sure he was well read and she didn’t want these people to hurt his feelings. But, after a few moments, she realized they were united in their mission to get to know him.

  When she glanced at her uncle she knew that somehow he was behind their curiosity. He must have planted a seed that her new husband was not good enough for the princess of San Louise.

  Finally, a man on their left asked Michael, point-blank, what he thought of Moby Dick.

  Michael set down his fork and said simply, “I think it’s a wonderful study on social status and it makes you speculate on your own personal beliefs as well as your individual place in the universe.” He fought down a smile, probably proud of himself for remembering most of a review he’d read. “I also think, at over eight hundred pages, it’s a bit longer than it needed to be.”

  The room was silent for a moment, and then everyone talked at once. He’d somehow passed the test and been accepted. For the rest of the meal, no one bothered even to look at Uncle Raymond.

  “You read,” she whispered near Michael’s ear when she got a chance.

  “Yes, dear.” His hand moved over her skirt and brushed her leg. Then, without hesitation, he kissed her lightly.

  Cozette blushed and pushed his hand off her skirts. He might read, but as far as his manners, he would barely be considered housebroken. No man, not even a husband, would touch his wife’s leg in public. Thank goodness they were at the end of the table, where no one could see.

  The table roared with approval over the kiss as she slipped her hand beneath the table and pushed his hand away a second time.

  “Do it again! We missed the wedding!” someone yelled. “At least we should be allowed to see a real kiss.”

  Michael waited until she turned in his direction. This time his hand gripped her leg with determination and she felt the heat of his fingers through the layers of her gown. With his free hand, he lifted her chin and lowered his mouth over hers.

  The kiss was sweet, tender, but his hand moved purposefully up her leg with shocking familiarity. After a few moments she pulled away. Anger flashed before she realized they were on the same side. His bold actions made everyone believe they were in love, and her shocked hesitance only led them to believe that the girl was becoming a woman.

  Michael smiled down at her as his hand beneath the table moved back to her knee, straightening the silk gown as he went, as though he could somehow erase the feel of his hand.

  The crowd clapped and yelled. “Look,” someone shouted, “she blushes with just a mere kiss!”

  Cozette wanted to jab him hard in the ribs but he was playing the game they’d agreed to play. No one in the room would suspect they’d married for anything but love or maybe passion.

  All evening he kept her close. He played with her hand while someone read poetry, and when the evening progressed and the wine flowed, and they no longer became the center of attention, he remained close, always touching her hand or arm, or brushing his leg lightly against hers.

  She considered the fact that he might be trying to drive her mad. After all, he’d have everything if she went crazy. Each touch seemed a fraction bolder than the last. She found herself warming to each, waiting for the next.

  People grouped together to sing around her mother’s piano. Two old men were sound asleep near the door, their brandy still in their hands. To her surprise, Michael moved even closer to her after her uncle retired.

  Cozette felt the length of the day. With no sleep the night before, she couldn’t remember when she’d last had any rest. She’d tried for an hour in the afternoon, but there was far too much to do. Now, with the warmth of him beside her, she melted against him, no longer worrying about what was proper.

  He seemed to understand, putting his arm around her and pulling her close, then brushing her cheek as he encouraged her to rest her head on his chest.

  She didn’t protest, surprised at how good it felt to have someone watching over her. The guests fell away, their good-nights little more than buzzing around her. Even the doctor’s report that her father was resting comfortably hardly registered.

  When they were alone, Michael pulled her onto his lap and cradled her against the soft arm of the settee. “Sleep, my dear. I’m right here to watch over you.”

  She felt his hands brush along her side and his lips kiss her temple, and then she drifted deep into sleep.

  When she awoke, he was carrying her up the stairs. Embarrassed at being carried to bed like a child, she didn’t move or open her eyes.

  He went to his room and crossed the space between to hers. Without a word, he gently laid her down on the bed. She didn’t move as he unlatched her heavy necklace. His fingers drifted down and brushed lightly over the rise of her breast, and then he moved to her feet and removed her shoes. His hand glided up her leg to just above her knee where a strap held her gun in place. He didn’t seem surprised by the weapon but simply removed it and pulled her skirt back down.

  The thought crossed her mind that if he went any farther she’d scream, but she knew no one would come to stand between a husband and a wife on their first night together.

  His hands slid along her sides from knee to shoulder, and then he tugged the covers to her chin and moved off the bed.

  She expected him to cross back into his room, but he didn’t. He locked her door, pulled the curtain across the alcove, stoked the fire, and removed his boots and jacket.

  Then, very carefully, he lay down atop the covers at her side.

  With her eyes closed, she tried to breathe slowly as if asleep as his hand moved across her waist. He stretched, then was still and his breathing calmed.

&nbs
p; She risked a glance as she turned to face him.

  He was sound asleep.

  Chapter 7

  When Cozette woke the next morning, Michael was gone but his new boots and coat remained in her room, looking very much like he’d tossed them there before taking his bride to bed.

  She stood, removed her wrinkled dress, and hurried into her morning clothes. She wanted to check on her father before the rest of the house came awake.

  The doors between her room and Michael’s were open. His room was empty and for a moment she thought her part-time husband might be gone. She stared out the window until she spotted him in a corral near the main barn. He was on horseback, circling the corral as if testing one of her father’s horses. He wore the tailored trousers and starched shirt she’d left for him along with the leather vest. He looked the part of a rancher.

  Two of her three uncles-in-law were hanging on the fence watching Michael. She had no doubt the third little round man was outside her door on guard.

  The two on the fence both had on the clothes she’d sent down for them to wear. She’d picked the largest clothes from their stock of work trousers and flannel shirts and asked one of the girls to hem all the pants up at least six inches.

  How could Michael be so tall and lean and have three relatives who looked like tree stumps?

  As she watched, one of the uncles opened the gate and Michael bolted out across open land at full gallop. He could ride. Not like a gentleman from the East might ride, but like a cowhand used to living in the saddle.

  After a few minutes, he turned the horse and raised his hand. Several riders joined him. Within minutes they were galloping at full speed toward the open range. Just before they crossed the ridge, he turned his head toward the house . . . toward her.

  Cozette stepped back as if she’d been caught spying. She darted out the bedroom door and headed down the back stairs to the kitchen. The sound of her chubby bodyguard rattled along behind her.

  In the kitchen she sat Uncle Moses down at one of the work tables and promised not to try to slip away. “Stay here and have your breakfast. I’m going to check on my father. You can watch the door to his office while you eat.”

  Moses nodded, liking the idea of being able to stand his guard while sitting at a table eating.

  Cozette hurried down the hall wishing she’d checked on her father before she’d gone to bed. She knew there was nothing she could do for him, but still she needed to know when anything changed.

  The doctor was sitting beside the bed when she entered the office. A stack of bloody towels nearby was almost as high as the mattress.

  The doctor shook his head slowly. “No change and I don’t think we could wake him this morning if we tried.”

  She moved to the other side of the bed and took her father’s hand. His fingers were colder than they had been the first day she’d returned home. He no longer opened his eyes, or spoke to anyone. He might not be in pain, but he was less with the living than he’d been yesterday.

  “I’ve made him as comfortable as I can,” the doctor whispered. “His heart grows so weak I’m not sure I hear the beat sometimes.”

  She looked up at the doctor and he added in a voice so low he almost mouthed the words, “I’ll be surprised if he’s here much longer.”

  Cozette nodded and took her place beside the bed. A few hours later she was aware of the doctor leaving and of Michael coming in. He walked to her side and kissed her cheek without saying a word. She watched as he moved to the massive desk and began looking over the accounts. His trousers were stained, his shirt was sweaty, and his old boots were dusty. Her husband was looking more and more like the rancher she’d asked him to become.

  When the housekeeper brought lunch, he stopped long enough to sit across from Cozette by the window. She ate only a few bites. When she smiled her thank-you to him for not trying to talk to her, he seemed to understand.

  As they finished and stood, he pulled her to him for a tight hug, and then she tugged away and went back to her watch. He followed as if she’d need him to hold her chair. When she was seated once more, Michael brushed his hand over one lock of her hair.

  “When there is time,” he said as he rested his hand gently on her shoulder, “I’d like to talk to you about the books.”

  She nodded, thinking more about how she liked this man’s gentle touch . . . almost comforting, almost loving. “I don’t know much. Mr. Fiddler can answer your questions.”

  “I’ve asked about him,” Michael said as he brushed her shoulder. “No one has seen him in days.”

  “I’ll worry about it later,” she said as she stared down at the man who liked being called Duke but never took to the name Father.

  He had never been there for her, or her mother if the stories were true, but she had to sit beside him now in his last hours. Maybe she just wanted to show that she was a better person, or maybe she didn’t want even him to be alone. All his life he’d considered his only daughter worthless, yet she was the only one to stand near in his final hours.

  She listened to the shallow intake of breath after breath . . . until there was none. The late sun shone golden across the windows as she realized he’d passed.

  “Michael,” she whispered, knowing that he’d come to her side.

  When she felt his arm circle around her, she collapsed into his embrace wanting nothing more than to step away from the world for a moment.

  She was barely aware of him taking her upstairs. When he laid her beneath the covers, she curled into a ball and cried softly. For a while she was alone, but then she felt his weight move the bed and he was at her side again. He pulled her into his arms and held her without saying a word. As always, his hands moved over her, only tonight she found comfort in his touch.

  The next morning Cozette moved as if in a dream through the funeral of her father and the reading of his will. She ignored the angry looks from her uncle, knowing he wouldn’t dare say a word with people filling the house and spilling out onto the yard. To no one’s surprise, her father’s will was short, leaving everything, not to family or kin, but to his only daughter’s husband with the request that he always treat her fairly.

  She slipped up the back stairs as Michael saw the lawyer out. Cozette needed a few moments alone. She’d lived in the eye of a tornado for weeks and, finally, the storm was settling.

  After refusing to let a single tear fall in front of others, she washed her face in cold water and went to greet those who came to pay their last respects to a hardworking but never-loving man.

  She noticed Joseph watching her from his chair near the back stairs as she stepped into the hallway. Reluctantly, he abandoned his breakfast and downed the last of his coffee before following.

  From the other direction, Uncle Raymond appeared suddenly in her path and stopped her progress with an iron grip around her arm. He twisted cruelly, slamming her against the wall. “We need to talk.” Anger flowed like hot lava around her. “You think you got away with something here, but . . .”

  Uncle Joseph bumped into Raymond like a blind bull, knocking her uncle a few feet down the passage and away from her.

  “Oh, s-sorry,” Joseph said. “I was so busy eating I didn’t even notice you blocking the w-way.” He smeared sticky fingers covered in warm cinnamon and sugar along Raymond’s buckskin vest. “You really should go get you one of those rolls w-while they’re hot.”

  Raymond hissed, “You’ll be as sorry as your nephew.”

  “Oh, I am,” Joseph whined. “There w-was still some g-good finger licking on that hand when I touched you. I’ll miss those few b-bites.”

  Raymond swore.

  Joseph straightened. “I don’t think it’s right to talk that w-way in front of Mickey’s dear one.”

  For once Raymond was too upset to form words. He decided to storm off.

  Cozette smiled at Uncle Joseph, seeing for the first time how her husband could love such a man.

  “Thanks,” she said, realizing that Mic
hael might have been right to enlist three bodyguards for her.

  “I d-do my best,” Joseph said simply. “You’re Michael’s pretty little bride. I can’t let anything happen to you on my w-watch.”

  He followed her into the huge dining room and stood in the corner looking about as invisible as a two hundred–pound frog, but she didn’t care. This morning he was her knight in shining armor.

  She greeted her guests, offered them food and coffee. The room was almost full when Michael walked in. He didn’t seem to see anyone in the room but her. He walked right up to her, circled her waist, and kissed her forehead with tenderness.

  Two wranglers she recognized as having worked for her father for years followed a step behind Michael like war lieutenants storming into battle.

  “It will all be over soon,” he whispered to her. “Until we have time to talk, these men will be on watch.”

  She looked into his blue-gray eyes and saw worry. Something had changed, but her father’s funeral was no time to talk.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said, brushing his hand over her arm.

  She had no idea what he was talking about, but she believed he’d keep her safe. She’d picked an outlaw to trust, and somehow, he’d proved worth the loving.

  She remembered the way he’d readied her for bed last night. He’d carried her to her room, tugged off her shoes, and pulled the pins from her hair. He’d even slid his hand beneath her skirts and removed the small Colt strapped to her leg just as he had the night before. Only last night she thought she remembered his fingers lingering longer along the soft flesh above her knee. When he’d unbuttoned a few buttons of her blouse, his knuckles had traveled down the valley between her breasts.

  She’d moaned softly meaning to pull away, but his gentle touch calmed her. The next time his hand moved between her breasts, he’d caught her moan in his kiss.

  He’d done everything almost exactly like he’d done the night before, only last night he hadn’t slept on top of the covers. They both might have been fully clothed, but they’d slept with their bodies pressed together.