Brides of the West

by Michele Ann Young

  She sat up and pushed the damp hair from her face. “I have told you the truth. Garrick did die from a head injury and he was in a fall, Wolf, but it wasn’t by my hand, or by Mac’s.”

  “You’re protecting someone else.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “I simply cannot speak of it now.” She gasped, placed a hand on his forearm. “Did you hear that?”

  He lay still and listened to the rippling waters of the nearby creek. Was this her attempt to change the subject? “What did you hear?”

  “It sounded like the snap of a twig beneath someone’s foot.”

  He sat up and listened a moment, again hearing nothing. “Perhaps you heard a deer.”

  She rubbed her hands briskly over her arms. “I don’t feel safe here. Our clothes are still at the river bank where we left them. We must get cleaned up and hurry back to the wagon.”

  Still, she avoided the subject. Why?

  Rising to his feet, he offered his hand. Her tiny palm slid over his and he lifted her. She was beautiful standing there in the moonlight, nude, muddy, her wet hair clinging to her head and hanging in ringlets. He took her by the shoulders and kissed her hard.

  “I’d almost forgotten what a lusty man you are.” She laughed softly when he released her. “I’d also forgotten the uninhibited passions you raise in me.”

  “You have a body made for lovemaking, Evangeline. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you—the night of your eighteenth birthday at the ranch.”

  “I remember.” A hint of sadness tinged her voice.

  “I watched you dance with other men, wishing I could have been your partner. I dared not approach you before any of them. They would have hanged me if I even touched your hand.”

  “It was you I wanted to dance with that night, Wolf.”

  He led her down the now muddy trail toward the water. The night sky had cleared after the storm, the moon pinned like a pearl on a swatch of black velvet. He watched as Evangeline scooped handfuls of water and splashed them over her chest and throat. As if she were suddenly shy, she turned her back to him, ducked into the water and rose up, her lush curves glistening as water cascaded from her body in the hazy half-light from the moon. He moved in behind her, slid his arms around her and reached up to caress her breasts. Her nipples were tight beads.

  “Cold?” Drawing close, he pressed his cheek against hers.

  “A bit.” She leaned back against him. “This night has been so perfect, Wolf. I don’t want it to end yet.”

  He didn’t want the night to end either. “In many ways it reminds me of our last night together all those years ago.”

  She turned in his embrace, her arms sliding around his neck to pull his mouth down to hers. She took his mouth hungrily, hotly, her hand reaching down to caress him as her tongue plundered his mouth. He’d already taken her twice that morning and once tonight. He wasn’t certain he had the stamina for another round.

  “Whoa, there, Mrs. Smith.” Drawing back, he broke the kiss. “Shouldn’t we save a little something for when we arrive home?”

  She laughed, then slipped from his embrace and gathered their clothing. “I’m only Mrs. Smith on paper. In my heart I’m Gray Wolf’s bride.”

  After dressing, they strolled back to camp, his arm looped in hers. Regrettably, there wasn’t enough room in the wagon for the three of them.

  “You stay with Mac,” he told her, assisting her up. “I’ll sleep in the tent tonight. See you in the morning.”

  As he watched her lift the flap and disappear, a familiar ache tugged at his heart. It had always been this way when he’d watched her go.

  She still hadn’t given him all the details of Garrick Payne’s death, but he hoped in time she would open up and trust him. He pitched his tent and bedded down near his family.

  ***

  Two days after leaving Luling, they arrived in Gonzales.

  The log cabin on Wolf’s property was small, but cozy. Though it had been built more than forty years before, the structure was in remarkably sound shape. A roofed porch wrapped around the house. The floors were puncheon, the windows lacking glass, but shuttered. Since Mac had taken ill with pneumonia last year, she would ask Wolf to remedy this situation before winter arrived.

  Wolf left her to explore the cabin while he and Mac went to check on John Patterson, his hired man. She recalled what Wolf told her, that John had rescued him on the road after her father’s brutal attack. She was grateful to the man who’d saved his life and hoped to one day offer her sincerest thanks.

  She inspected every inch of the quaint structure. A narrow staircase in the corner near the fireplace led to a small attic loft for Mac’s sleeping quarters, or for an intimate hideaway for her and Wolf. A tiny, square dining table sat in the middle of the room—barely enough room for the three of them. The bedroom, parlor, kitchen and bathtub were all in one room. She wondered if Wolf might add on to the back of the structure for a second bedroom.

  They hadn’t made love again since the night of the storm and she looked forward to their first night at the cabin. Finally, she might be able to use her new rose-scented bath salts.

  Warmed by the thought of a romantic evening, she drew open all the shutters in the house, allowing a cool breeze to enter. She ran her palms over the new stove he’d purchased for her, eager to begin her duties as the mistress of the household. She’d ordered a cookbook from the Montgomery Ward’s catalog and expected her trunks from Savannah to arrive within a few days. They contained a few things she’d crafted, but never used, such as a lace tablecloth and several doilies, two quilts and assorted tea towels and hot mittens. She looked about the rustic room. Although lacking indoor plumbing and much different than her spacious town home in Savannah, she could put her feminine touches here and there and make it a place Wolf and Mac would be proud of.

  After setting her shawl and gloves aside, she untied her bonnet and laid it atop the pile. Still feeling flushed from the heat, she unbuttoned the collar of her blouse and the cuffs, donned a tea-towel for an apron and commenced sweeping.

  On her father’s ranch, she’d had servants for housework. Garrick also kept domestic help. Still, when he was away, she’d worked alongside them, cooking and cleaning. She taught them the art of crochet and needlepoint and taught their children to play simple tunes on the piano. The fine ladies of Savannah would have scorned her more had they known she socialized with the hired help, but in the process, she’d befriended Nell, possibly the most propitious move in her life.

  She shuddered as she remembered her last days with Garrick. He’d become irrational and violent, striking her for merely standing in his path. Nell sacrificed everything to aid her and Mac that afternoon, and she would never forget the woman. She shook away the memories. Garrick was dead now, hopefully rotting in hell if there was any justice in the afterlife.

  She turned her attention to the future, not the past, and opened her new cookbook. Bread. Yes, she’d bake a loaf of bread and perhaps a pie to celebrate their first day home. Then she’d ask Wolf to invite his friend, John Patterson, to join them one day this week for a meal.

  ***

  The next few days passed easily and she and Mac settled in. Soon, it felt as if she belonged there, as if she’d always been the mistress of the house. Wolf had asked no more about Garrick’s death and for that she was thankful.

  They made love every night, but quietly so as not to disturb Mac who’d taken the loft. She silently hoped that the following summer might bring new life into their home.

  A few days later alone in the cabin hanging curtains, she felt Wolf’s presence before she turned around.

  “You’re back.” She stepped down from the chair and laid the tack hammer aside. She hadn’t expected him home so soon and was glad she’d drawn the bathwater earlier. “Shall I heat the kettles to warm your bath?”

  He closed the door behind him and dropped the bolt, the desire in his eyes unmistakable. “I’d rather heat your kettle, woman.”

/>   She bit back a smile, her heart pounding out a near deafening tempo in her ears. Was her excitement due to the fact he’d surprised her in the middle of the day? Or was it from the anticipation of the lovemaking to come?

  “No bath for me.” He grinned like a possum in a sweet potato patch. “I’ll wash in the basin.”

  “Where is Mac?” she inquired.

  He hesitated, then hung his hat on a peg by the door. “John took him to town to the cattle auction. They’ll be back tomorrow or the next day.”

  She almost swooned. “Oh, dear heaven, Wolf! You should have asked!”

  He frowned. “Don’t worry. John will look after him.”

  She gripped the chair’s back to steady herself. “What do you know about this John fellow?”

  “He’s the most honorable man I know, Evangeline. Believe me, I wouldn’t have sent my son with him if I thought otherwise.”

  She swallowed hard, the hysteria slowly calming. Wolf was right. He’d never put Mac in harm’s way. Then she realized he’d sent their son with John so they might have privacy. He began unbuttoning his shirtsleeves.

  “I thought you might appreciate my exclusive company tonight” He stripped off his shirt and strode to the washstand. “What do you think of the house, Evangeline?” He kept his back to her as he splashed water over his face and throat. “Now that you’ve had a chance to survey every nook and cranny, will it do until I can add another room?” He dropped his trousers and kicked out of them. “By the way, have you seen my carved handled pocket knife?”

  Evangeline perused his bare back, bronzed and muscular, narrowing down to lean, tight buttocks. It became hard to breathe as she studied his physique. Knife? Had he said something about a knife? She unbuttoned the next few buttons on her blouse. “N-no, I’ve not seen your knife.”

  “Must’ve lost it.” He turned around, his manhood thick and jutting in the air. He smiled. “What’s wrong, woman? Cat got your tongue?”

  She composed herself as desire washed over her in waves. “I…I hung curtains today.” She gestured to one of the windows. “On our next trip into town I’ll purchase more fabric, if that is acceptable.”

  He glanced at the window, then returned to bathing. “They brighten the place up. I like them. You should know I plan to add an indoor privy soon—just like the fine homes in town. And next spring I’m going to build a hen house on the east side of the barn and fill it with a hundred Leghorns. The added egg and poultry business will help pull us through any lean times or droughts.”

  He snatched the towel and turned around to dry his face and throat. His face was somber.

  “Evangeline, I sent Mac with John so that we might continue our discussion from the other night.”

  Oh, no! He wanted to talk about Garrick again.

  Crossing the room, he stood before her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “We’ve been officially married for two weeks. There can be no more secrets between us as husband and wife. I need to know the truth about what happened to your first husband.”

  Her knees buckled, but he quickly righted her.

  “Payne didn’t fall down those stairs on his own, did he?”

  She shook her head.

  “Who pushed him?”

  The room grew darker and it became difficult to breathe. She fanned herself with her hand as her cheeks began to burn.

  “You caught him with Mac didn’t you?”

  A sob escaped. “Oh, Wolf!” She tore away from him and slumped into the chair as the world around her careened off course. “Yes!” She bit to still her trembling lips as her stomach twisted into a knot at the sickening memory.

  “And in a rage you killed him?”

  “No! I didn’t kill Garrick.”

  “I would understand if you did. I would kill the bastard, too, if I’d caught him molesting my child.”

  She could hold back no longer. Resolve crumbled and she burst into tears. “I am so sorry, Wolf.”

  Then he was at her side, lifting her from the chair. He pulled her into his arms and she sagged against his solid form, clinging to him as if to extract strength. She needed him, needed his steadfastness right now, yet there remained between them suspicion and bitterness. He claimed to not understand the sacrifice she’d made to protect their unborn child so many years ago. Would he ever?

  It had been a terrible year following Garrick’s death. She’d endured the accusing stares of the town folk, the whispered rumors that somehow she’d contributed to her husband’s demise. Before she’d left Georgia for Texas, the anonymous letters had frightened her so much that she and Mac ceased appearing in public. The secret remained, however, lying dormant, waiting for the right moment to reawaken and ruin their lives forever. Someone out there knew the truth. Now Wolf would know, too.

  “Tell me everything,” he prompted as his gentle fingertips stroked up and down her arms.

  “I can’t.”

  “You must.”

  She drew in a steadying breath as she composed her thoughts. “Very well. One evening I walked into the study and caught Garrick with his pants open. Mac was crying. Fortunately, things hadn’t gone very far.” She shuddered and put her face into her hands.

  “The son of a bitch.”

  “Garrick was enraged I’d discovered his dirty secret, the real reason he kept an orphanage on the back property. I threatened to tell his congregation of his perversions. He came after me and beat me nearly unconscious. I don’t remember much, except before I fainted Mac pounded on the other side of the door, screaming for Garrick to open it. Then I heard Mac call for Nell, our housekeeper. She used the spare key I’d given her to open the door. Garrick pulled a pistol from the drawer and aimed at me. Nell intercepted. She slammed Garrick’s head with an iron. The blow killed him.”

  “Was Mac an eyewitness to Garrick’s death?”

  Evangeline nodded, realizing her body was trembling so hard her teeth were chattering. “Mac told me later what happened. In her rage, Nell dragged Garrick’s body out of the room and shoved it down the stairs.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the authorities?”

  “Nell saved my life, Wolf. To tell the authorities would have meant certain death for her. Do you know what they would have done to a black woman who’d killed a white man? She wouldn’t have received a trial, no matter that I claimed she came to my defense. Savannah society viewed Garrick as a saint. He made his ministry larger than life so he’d be above reproach should his dark deeds become light. He told his congregation he’d found me in a brothel, cleaned me up and gave my illegitimate child a name. People believed him, only tolerating me because I was Reverend Payne’s wife. They praised him for his orphanage work, for founding a girl’s home for unwed mothers…for turning my depraved life around. If I dared try to speak out against him, he’d have beat me severely. He was brutal and twisted, Wolf, the most evil human being I’ve ever known.”

  “Does Mac ever talk of what happened to him?”

  She bit down on her lip. “No, but sometimes at night he cries in his sleep. I believe it’s then he remembers.”

  “You do know if the truth is discovered, you can be held as an accessory to Payne’s murder?”

  “No one will ever know, Wolf. Nell passed away two months ago from a weak heart, bless her soul. Only you, Mac and I know the truth—with perhaps the exception of the author of those anonymous threat letters.”

  “What about Payne’s body? Could they exhume his remains and reexamine the injuries? An examination of the skull might prove exactly how he died.”

  Her heartbeat sped up. “Wolf, you’re frightening me.”

  “Surely you’ve thought of it.”

  “No. I never considered such.”

  “A look at his skull might reveal what type of instrument damaged it. I would think a ten or fifteen pound sad iron did a great deal of damage, more so than a mere tumble down the stairs.”

  “It was a closed casket service. I never saw Garrick’s body. I was told by
the undertaker’s assistant that his injuries were so extensive that he wasn’t suitable for public viewing.”

  “Who else besides you, Mac, and your housekeeper could have known the truth behind Garrick’s accident?”

  “No one. Not another soul witnessed anything but Mac and me.”

  ***

  Wolf shuttered the windows, then lit a lantern and hung it on the hook beside the bed. Although he believed her story, he still worried for her and Mac’s safety. Apparently someone else knew the details.

  He sighed, dragging a weary hand down his face. This was why Evangeline was so protective of Mac. His stomach turned at the thought of Garrick Payne abusing his son. He looked at Evangeline. Tears streaked her pale face. He brushed them away with his fingertips.

  “We’ll talk no more of this tonight. You and Mac have endured enough, and since no more letters have arrived I feel you’re safe in Gonzales. Perhaps the person who wrote them has lost track of you now that your last name is Smith. Besides, you’re here with me and I’ll never let anything bad happen to either of you.”

  In the buttery glow of lamplight, he undressed her, assessed her with his eyes and fingertips. Dark blonde hair framed her delicate face and shimmered with highlights he could only compare to spun glass. He laid her on the bed, sat beside her and fanned the silken strands over her shoulders. Splaying one palm across her flat tummy, he imagined what she would look like heavy with his child and his heart swelled with joy as a new image rose up in his mind—Evangeline cradling a tiny new life they'd created. He bent to kiss her belly reverently.

  "Evangeline," he said quietly, keeping his ear to her stomach. "I hope soon to hear our baby moving inside you."

  "I’m pleased you want another child, Wolf. I do hope I conceive soon.”

  He lifted his head and looked at her. "I want children more than anything." He leaned over and cupped her cheek in his palm as he bent to brush his lips lightly across hers. “I want us to fill this cabin with a dozen.”

  He lowered his mouth to her breast and suckled tenderly. She whimpered, arching into him. Her fingers locked behind his neck and she held him firm.