One Texas Night

by Jodi Thomas

  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 Michael 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.

  As before, when she’d awoke, he was gone. She’d found him downstairs making all t
he plans for the funeral.

  Now, as people passed by to tell her of their sadness over the death of her father, Michael did exactly what he’d signed on to do. He acted the part of the perfect husband.

  He even walked her to her room when all had left. She was surprised he’d ordered tea and sandwiches for her. With one kiss, he ordered her to rest. When he left, she had no doubt one of his uncles was just outside the door.

  Chapter 8

  As the day passed, Michael checked on his sleeping wife several times before he finally settled in the study to work. A few of the ranch hands he’d become friends with dropped by to offer suggestions on what needed to be done on the ranch. With the Duke’s illness and Raymond only doing what had to be done, much had been neglected.

  Michael took the men’s advice but knew he’d have to check the books himself. No one could find the bookkeeper named Fiddler or remember exactly when he’d left. Michael noticed there were slight changes in the printing of numbers starting about four weeks ago. The handwriting was close, but whoever had started keeping the books had a heavier hand.

  The nurse passed in front of the desk at dusk and lit the lamps. Michael barely noticed. What he was discovering in the accounts of the ranch was shocking. For the last six months, since Uncle Raymond had been helping run the place, small amounts of money had gone missing. Sometimes bills were double paid while others went weeks on the books without any payment. Each month the amount disappearing off the books grew.

  Then, the last month, the month before Duke Camanez died, nothing went missing. Apparently, Raymond was so sure he would inherit, he’d stopped stealing.

  Michael frowned, wondering if the answer more likely might be that whoever was stealing feared being caught.

  “Sir?” the nurse said softly as she lifted her bag.

  Michael glanced up unsure whom she was talking to, but she was looking straight at him. “Yes?” he managed.

  “If you don’t mind I’ll leave now. I’ve packed up all the doctor’s things.”

  “Thank you,” Michael said. “Thank you for being so kind.”

  She hesitated, then added, “If you and the missus need me when the baby births, I’ll be happy to come.”

  “You know about the baby?” He couldn’t believe Cozette would tell anyone.

  “I’ve seen the signs, but don’t you worry about me saying anything. The first one sometimes comes early. Nobody will count the months. You just send word if you need me.”

  He managed a nod without raising his head as she closed the door behind her.

  He tried to go back to the books, but he couldn’t focus. He’d seen the signs too. His bride hadn’t been lying when she’d said she might be pregnant. She was pregnant.

  Forcing himself to concentrate, he decided to work on one problem at a time, knowing deep down that if she was truly with child, he wouldn’t be able to keep his word and leave her.

  He wasn’t aware of anything but the books for a while, then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cozette slipping through the door.

  With her puffy eyes and red nose, he had no doubt she had been crying. She smiled as she neared. “Thanks for handling everything today,” she said as she moved closer. “I don’t know what is the matter with me. I thought to only nap and ended up sleeping the day away.”

  “You’re welcome,” he answered, wishing he could read her mind as she walked closer. “There was no need to wake you. You needed the rest.”

  When her hand brushed over his head, he jerked in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to touch him. That hadn’t been part of the bargain. A few times she’d taken his hand or put her fingers on his arm, but nothing like this—almost a caress.

  “You look like you belong in that chair, Michael. The housekeeper told me you’ve had the men do more work today than they’ve done in a month.”

  He pushed his chair back. “Come closer,” he ordered gently, loving the easy way she came to him as if they were lovers.

  She slowly moved against his side and he handed her his handkerchief. As she blew her nose, he pulled her onto his lap. As always, she hesitated like she might refuse his closeness, then relaxed against his arm.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, playing with a curl of her hair.

  “Everyone has been so nice,” she said, then laughed that little giggle she had that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “Well, everyone except Uncle Raymond, who is, at present, eating his dinner surrounded by your uncles because he keeps trying to get close to me.”

  Michael brushed his hand over her shoulder and along her arm. The need to touch her grew stronger every hour. He’d learned that once he was close to her, she quickly grew accustomed to his touch and no longer tightened her muscles as if expecting a blow. Either she was learning to trust him, or she saw him as no more than a bothersome gnat to be ignored.

  As Cozette talked about the guests and all they’d said, he slowly moved her hair away from her neck and leaned close enough to brush his mouth along her throat.

  When she didn’t react to his light kisses, he opened his mouth and tasted her skin. He could feel her pulse beneath his lips. Curling his fingers into the collar of her dress, he tugged to reveal more of her neck. The material gave to his demand, showing the rise of her breasts against the black of her dress.

  “Are you listening?” she said, tugging away so that she could look him in the eyes.

  “Yes, dear,” he lied. So she wouldn’t consider standing, he circled her waist as he pushed the chair closer to the desk. He wanted her close enough to feel her breathing. “But before you continue I need to show you something I’ve found.” His hand rested just below her breast and he almost forgot what he was saying. She was perfection in his arms.

  She leaned over the books unaware that he now cupped the bottom of one breast in his hand.

  He pulled her back and whispered against her ear. “I love touching you.” His fingers closed gently over her breasts. “Am I hurting you?”

  She shook her head. “I think I like the feel of you touching me.” She took a breath, letting the front of her dress press lightly against his hand. “It seemed a strange request but I’ve found it comforting.”

  He moved his fingers over her, needing to feel all of her. “And pleasurable,” he whispered.

  She stopped breathing for a moment, then took a deep breath and sat perfectly still while his fingers tightened once more. “And pleasurable,” she admitted.

  He watched her face for any sign that she wanted him to stop. He saw none.

  He kissed her ear. “I love being near you. The best part of the bargain we made was you agreeing to let me hold you.”

  She giggled. “I had a feeling you’d say that. You’re an easy man to get used to.” She gently pushed his hand away. “Now, tell me about the books.”

  He smiled in agreement to her suggestion, knowing he’d never be able to concentrate if he didn’t. As his hand brushed over her one last time, he promised, “Later.”

  She managed a shy smile. “Later.”

  They pored over the books for half an hour with her questioning and recalculating every step and him fighting the urge to touch her as he answered her questions.

  When she took extra time refiguring what he’d already checked, he didn’t mind at all. As she studied the books one last time, he lightly began to brush his fingers over her gown. He’d gone long enough without the feel of her in his hand.

  She’d grown used to him and except for now and then absently pushing his hand away she didn’t seem to mind his attentions. He kept his touch light, a promise between them.

  Finally, when he thought he might go mad, she turned to him and smiled. “You’re brilliant. Now I have a reason to demand my uncle leave. It’s obvious he’s been robbing my father for months.”

  To his shock, she leaned close and kissed him quickly on the mouth.

  When she started to pull away, he whispered against her ear, “Do that again.”

  And s
he did. Soft, light kisses that turned to fire as they lengthened. When she’d pull away her eyes were huge with wonder and her mouth pouty. Then, she’d smile and he’d ask for more.

  They played the game until the housekeeper tapped on the door to remind them that it was well past dinnertime.

  When they sat down to a late meal, neither seemed to want to talk. They both knew the bargain they’d set. As soon as Raymond left, there would be no reason for Michael to stay. Their time together was coming to an end and neither wanted to waste a minute of what they had left.

  Finally, when they moved to the parlor with their cobbler, Cozette smiled. “You played your part of loving husband well. I’m growing very used to your kisses, sir.”

  “You’re an easy woman to kiss, to cherish. That first man you knew, who hurt you and left you, was a fool.”

  “How do you know he was the first man? Maybe I’ve had many lovers before.”

  Michael shook his head. “In the study you were learning to kiss. If you’d had a lover, you would already have known.” He winked at her. “By the way, you’re learning very well.”

  She blushed as she winked back. “I think I need a little more practice if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all. A woman with child should already have learned such things.”

  He watched her carefully, guessing she was about to lie. “The truth, remember. Always the truth between us.”

  She looked down at her bowl. “It’s worse than you think. He didn’t just hurt me and leave me with a child, he was paid to do so. Paid to dishonor me.” She gulped down a sob. “And somehow it is all my fault. I should have fought harder or killed him. I should have . . .”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  She shook her head. “My father said I have my mother’s blood. Several times I heard him tell my uncle that it was just a matter of time before I disgraced the family.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “I didn’t know your mother, but if you are like her, she must have been a wonder.” He moved his thumbs across her cheek. “Tell me about her.”

  In the shadows of a dying fire she told him all she remembered of a loving mother. When she could think of nothing more, they sat side by side.