River's Edge (Unlikely Gentlemen, Book 1)

by Sivad, Gem

  Once they were in the judge’s office and Judge Stanley confirmed the scar on Edge’s rump, he sat at his desk, staring at his hands as if deep in thought.

  Finally the judge looked up and leaned toward her. “I knew your parents. Your mother was a lovely woman.”

  “Yes,” River agreed. “As you’ve noted many times, I resemble my father.”

  “Your father and I were friends. We agreed upon most things.” As if her words recalled him to his duty as a friend, he said, “For instance, we agreed that marriage is a great reforming agent for wild women.” His reasonable tone began to alter. “River, what do you call those indelicate breeches you wear while you’re gallivanting all over the county on that contraption of yours?”

  “Bloomers,” she said crisply. “They were designed by—”

  “I don’t give a fig who invented ‘em. They’re not decent.” The judge cut her off.

  “My daughter says she’s getting a pair; says she wants one of those Rovers like yours, too.”

  Judge Stanley stood up, glaring at River, his voice rising. “She says she intends to go away to school—like you. She wants to be independent— like you. The other day, her mother found a book by the English female seditionist, Mary Wollstonecraft.”

  “Miss Wollstonecraft was a feminist, not a seditionist,” River corrected him, her demure posture replaced by a pugnacious stance as she glared at the judge.

  “Mr. Grayson, rise.” Judge Stanley glanced at Edge and motioned him to stand up. “This is your lucky day.”

  “Release the prisoner,” the judge ordered the clerk. “Amos, get over here. You’ll do fine to give the bride away.”

  The clerk took off the handcuffs and Edge stood beside River.

  “Amos, would you fetch that box from my saddlebag?” Edge asked, looking mysterious.

  “What,” River asked.

  As soon as Amos handed him the box, Edge flipped it open, took out the ring and handed it to her. “It’s not big but the way it twinkles and catches the light, it reminded me of you.”

  So he was planning to ask me to marry him? River was confused. But, her bewilderment didn’t slow down Judge Stanley. In less time than Edge claimed it took an ostrich to win a horse race, River Prescott became Edge Grayson’s wife.

  After the judge pronounced the words, he pointed his finger at Edge. “Son, you just got saved from the hangman. Be grateful. And remember, it’s a husband’s task to keep his wife on the straight and narrow. I figure I just sentenced you to a life of hard labor.”

  “We need a word with Hank before we go home,” River told the judge, interrupting his pithy matrimonial instructions.

  “You need to go home, with your husband, and behave like a married woman should.” In the absence of his gavel, he smacked his desk with the flat of his hand and told the clerk to clear the room. River expected no less. Her first moments as a wife and her wishes meant nothing.

  “Hold up,” Edge said. “River says we need to talk to the sheriff, so get Hank.”

  Well that was certainly better. Amos stepped to the office door and called for Hank. Seeing the handcuffs off and River and Edge side by side, Hank stalled in the doorway and would have retreated had the lawman from Annon not been behind him and bumped him through the door.

  “Hank, I have some questions,” River told him.

  “Aw, River, it’s late. Can’t it wait?” the lawman whined, answering her at the same time he watched Edge move to the door to cut off his retreat.

  “I’ll be quick. Just a word about your evidence I’d like to clarify since I missed the beginning of your testimony.” River appointed herself the town sleuth in lieu of anyone else qualifying for the job. When she laid her satchel on the table, the tiny diamond in her ring caught the light and the sparkle made her smile.

  “Hank, I know you want to help us get things straightened out. Judge Stanley has confirmed that Edge was with me, as I testified. But, we all know that until Emmett’s murderer is identified, there will always remain doubt.”

  She laid her satchel on the table in front of them and rummaged inside.

  “See, look at this, Hank.” She laid her drawing on the table and pointed at the dead body she’d sketched. Emmett was face-down and she’d marked an x where each blood splatter had landed.

  “How close would the killer have to be to cause that kind of impact spray?”

  She already knew the answer because she’d discussed it with the coroner in depth. But she didn’t volunteer her knowledge.

  “Ten feet or such, I expect,” the sheriff answered.

  “More like six, I’d think,” she corrected him, whipping out another rough drawing, this one showing a standing figure. “In my work, I often have to consider angles and distance.” River droned on about scatter, and trajectory, pointing at one sketch after another.

  After satisfactorily convincing them that she knew what she was talking about, which she didn’t, she concluded. “I would like to enter these pictures as evidence into the investigation of Emmett’s murder.” She bundled them into a stack and turned them face down. “I’m sure if we band them together, one signature from each of us should suffice to mark them as today’s evidence.”

  “Anything to get this done,” Judge Stanley grumbled.

  “We’ll use this page. Sign the back please.” She laid the document next to the other papers on the table. The judge scribbled his name and pushed the papers toward the Annon sheriff. He signed too and handed the pen to Hank.

  Hank scrawled Hank Simpson on the paper and laid the pen on the table. As he turned to leave, River slid a second sheet of paper next to the first, lining up the two signatures side-by-side.

  “A moment please, Hank,” she said. Without speaking further, she tapped the son on Grayson and Simpson and then stared pointedly at the Isaca sheriff, waiting.

  “Dammit, dammit, dammit. How did you know?” Hank asked, shaking his head, not even trying to deny his crime.

  “Carl’s your brother-in-law, isn’t he, Hank?”

  Hank nodded and started mumbling and crying. “That damned sonofabitch… my niece… fifteen… had to send her away.”

  River felt sorry for Hank and his family troubles caused by Emmett.

  “When was that?” Edge asked.

  “Two months ago,” Hank muttered.

  “So you decided to kill him with a shotgun when you saw the opportunity to blame me?” Edge asked.

  Put like that, River’s sympathy evaporated. The Annon sheriff didn’t have any trouble taking charge and hustled Hank off to occupy the cell Edge had just vacated.

  “I’m going outside now. I’ll be waiting with Talia and Beth.” River tried to seem self-effacing and hesitant. Only a fool would have believed her meek pretense but for the sake of her mother and father and the scandal that could be brewing, she thought pleasing Judge Stanley might be a good idea.

  “Mind you don’t forget Millie’s picture,” he told her as she left.

  Edge didn’t say anything, which for some reason made her want to cry. In fact, she felt perfectly awful as if she might break into a thousand pieces. Her wild emotional inner despair at the idea of Edge’s death had turned to relief, leaving her feeling weak and teary-eyed.

  If I’d wanted to marry I would have chosen a man like Edge. Now, she’d never know whether he’d married her because he wanted to or because he’d had to. River looked at her hand and her somber thoughts turned to delight. Of course I know. The little diamond twinkled up at her, reminding her of the teasing gleam in Edge’s eyes when she’d proposed being lovers.

  *

  Edge felt almost light-headed at the speed of changing events.

  “She’s an original.” The trial’s prosecuting attorney spoke, jerking him to attention. “It’s a shame she figured out it was Hank. As worthless as Emmett Price was, it would have been better if we’d just called it suicide. He was a sonofabitch.”

  “Kind of hard for a man to blow the back of his own hea
d off,” Edge observed.

  “Yes, there is that.” The old man stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “You might not have caught my name in all the excitement. I’m Horace Murdock. I fill in as the town’s attorney when it’s needed.”

  Edge could almost have liked the lawyer if he’d not been trying to hang him less than an hour before. There wasn’t a lot to say all things considered.

  “You’re a Grayson for sure. It’s nice to see the family still represented here.” Not deterred by the tepid encouragement, Murdock continued the one-sided conversation. “From River’s pictures, I see you’ve been hard at work on your place. I knew your granddad. Glad he found his kin before he died. Welcome to Isaca.”

  Edge shook Murdock’s hand and listened to the old gentleman tell a few stories about Arthur Grayson. It cost him nothing to let the prosecutor meander along about things long past. As a matter of fact, it made Edge feel proud to be related to his grandsire who’d grudgingly given him a better life.

  “You gonna stand here and jaw all day or come home?” Amos interrupted one of Murdoch’s stories and rescued Edge from the conversation.

  Home. The very word filled him with satisfaction. River had rescued him, claimed him and married him. He had to fight back the grin.

  “Where’d you get the ring?” Amos asked as he urged Edge toward the court room door.

  “Paris. I conducted my other business, went ring shopping, found the one I gave River, and traded my handguns for it.” He eyed Amos and growled, “Might be better to be vague about the when, since that was the day after I supposedly spent the night in River’s bed.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Excuse me, I love you…

  Edge accompanied Amos from the courtroom and approached the wagon where the three women stood waiting.

  “We all came together,” the old foreman explained.

  Introductions were made, and, after Talia and Beth tendered their congratulations to him for marrying their friend, it was time to load up and be on the way. After an awkward moment when everyone tried to decide who would ride where, Edge took charge.

  “Amos, if you don’t mind, you and the ladies sit up front on the ride home. I’d like to take the backseat with my bride.”

  “Don’t get in yet,” he told River. He borrowed a double hitch from the livery and hooked Sandy in front with the other horse. Then, with her consent, he lifted River, cradling her in his arms and seating them back to bench, as they left Annon and headed home. She didn’t start to shake until they were out of town.

  “Cold?” he asked. He pulled the blanket from under them and wrapped it around them instead. Since the sun was still up and the day had been a scorcher, it seemed unlikely.

  She said nothing but squirmed closer and pulled the blanket tighter around them. Her hand was icy cold when she slid it inside his shirt, before resting her head on his chest. She remained silent during the trip and had fallen asleep by the time they reached Isaca to drop off her friends.

  She woke long enough to raise her head and say her goodbyes before she curled back into a deep sleep for the rest of the ride to the Prescott Ranch.

  Edge didn’t know what was ahead for them, but staring out the back of the wagon, he figured it would be better than the dust of the past. Once they reached the ranch, River stayed asleep.

  “Is this normal?” he asked Amos, beginning to get more than a little concerned.

  Amos shrugged. “Not normal for most, but I’ve seen her do it before. She slept for three days after the time Emmett tied her to her horse. When her mama died, God rest her soul, River went to the funeral then came home and took care of her daddy. When her daddy died, she slept for a week and missed the funeral.

  “Well, okay.” Edge carried her inside and followed the older man upstairs to her room.

  After he’d tucked her in and Amos had left, Edge sat down on the chair next to the bed to watch her sleep. He dozed there until the next morning and woke, stiff, and unsure about what to do next. River wasn’t in the bed, and a blanket had been thrown over him as he slept.

  His saddlebags had been unpacked, and his spare clothes were stacked on the chest of drawers. He’d never been so aware of the paucity of his possessions. It embarrassed him that she’d seen how little he owned.

  She’d laid his straight razor on top of his notebook, and he took the hint, using the pitcher of water, bar of soap, and towel to clean up, and scrape the whiskers from his face.

  He went downstairs for breakfast and the cook said, “Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. Grayson.” That eased him some since it appeared River was claiming him.

  He snagged a piece of bacon and wondered out loud where River was. The cook took pity on him and sent him to the shed at the back of the house.

  When he walked in, River looked up from wrestling a picture frame bigger than her.

  “I’m glad you’re awake. Would you pack these in that crate for me?”

  She pointed at her stack of finished pictures, told him how they needed to be wrapped, and left him to his work. He finished packing the crate and went to the barn.

  “River left on her Rover.” Amos announced. “She said she needed to finish the willow tree landscape promised to Judge Stanley.”

  Amos had Sandy groomed and ready to ride.

  It seemed odd approaching the willow tree from this side, and when Edge reached the top of the bluff, he paused to scan the area below, looking for River and her easel. A spot of blue in the willow tree pinpointed where she’d perched for the day, reminding him of the first time they’d almost met.

  He rode Sandy down the hill, past the tree, and to the fence on the other side. After he laid out his tools, he pulled off his shirt and started hammering.

  By midmorning, he’d worked up both a sweat and an appetite, and he decided a visit to the spy in the tree was in order. To his shock, somehow while he’d been banging away on the fence, she’d climbed down and left.

  Feeling hollow inside as if something fine was slipping from his fingers, he tried to figure out how to handle his new bride. He wasn’t completely stupid. As friendly as she was with the judge, if she wanted the marriage set aside, she’d make it happen.

  He didn’t want to ride back to his barn. The last time he’d been there, Emmett Price had been dead on the floor. Edge stalled as long as he could and finally returned to the Prescott Ranch. He hung around in the barn, happy that at least Sandy had a solid roof over his head and fresh straw under his feet.

  By supper, Edge had shifted from pillar to post and back again, trying to find something to do with himself. River seemed oblivious to his unease.

  The closer it got to bed time, the less he knew what he should do. She was awake tonight. They were married.

  She was already in bed by the time he finished in the bathing chamber and went to her bedroom.

  “We’ll need a bigger bed,” she said as soon as he walked in.

  He had on his clean denims and before he shed them and climbed in beside her, he blew the light out. As soon as he slid between the sheets, his naked thigh touched her naked thigh and heat sizzled up and down his skin. He turned on his side, curling around her body. She’d left off her nightgown, which told him right off she wasn’t scared or shy. Regardless of whether she was afraid or not, he was. Next to her diminutive size, he felt like a giant.

  What if I hurt her? “River.” He said her name, half in question as doubts assailed him. Edge leaned above her, trying to see her face through the veil of night.

  “Yes,” her husky one-word reply floated in the air between them.

  “Before anything else, I want you to know, I love you.”

  “I hoped,” she whispered back, “because, I love you too.” Her fingers entwined with his and her other hand touched his hip, stroking her fingers over his flesh.

  “I’m real proud you decided to become my wife,” he continued awkwardly.

  “I never thought I’d marry.” Her words reminded Edge of the
ir afternoon tryst when she’d proposed being lovers.

  “I know that,” he admitted gruffly. “I’m real sorry my situation caused—”

  “You’ve only been my husband a few days, but now I can’t imagine not being married to you,” she reassured him. “I will celebrate our wedding by painting a magnificent full length portrait of you. All of you.” Her tone sounded reverent as her hand explored the length of his thigh, the distance from hip to chest, and the circumference of his nipple.

  “You do understand that what you’re doing right now is perilously close to torture,” he muttered, his voice sounding strained to his own ears as River clasped his shaft in her hand and tentatively stroked.

  “River,” Edge drawled, laughing at her just a little bit. “Let’s start things off right with a kiss.”

  He ran his hand down her back, pausing to caress her as he pulled her tighter against him. Tasting River for the first time, he caught the sound of her husky moan with his lips and held her trembling body closer in his arms, nuzzling his face against her neck, taking pleasure as he inhaled the scent of lilacs and of her.

  She was so small, so delicate, so determined. “Does that feel good?” she whispered, resuming her attentions to the rigid flesh between his thighs. He groaned, and in response she gripped him tighter, pumping up and then down again, slowly.

  “Sweetheart, me being so much bigger than you, and you being new to this, maybe we should…” Edge figured him being more experienced than her, he ought to take charge soon, but what she was doing felt real fine, so he didn’t quarrel with the immediate bliss.

  “I have a book,” she informed him, and those were the last words she said before she ducked under the sheet.

  Edge remained rigid, grasping the bedding on either side of him with a white-knuckled grip as River kissed her way from his nipple, down his ribs, to his navel. When her warm breath skated over his groin and centered on his cock, he shuddered in ecstasy.

  *

  River had never been so happy. She talked Edge through the initial consummation since he was certain he’d kill her with his size. He did not. She had studied the pictures in her manual and offered him suggestions, which as it turned out, he didn’t need.