Texas Bride: A Bitter Creek Novel

by Joan Johnston

  She scratched and bit with nails and teeth that caused just enough pain to inflame his desire.

  He sucked and bit with a ravenous mouth that claimed his mate as surely as she had claimed him.

  He felt her body clench and knew from the guttural sounds she made and the frantic grasp of her hands that she was losing control. He thrust harder and faster, rushing toward the edge of the cliff with her, until he finally fell with her into an abyss of deep and immeasurable pleasure.

  Breathing hard, struggling to suck enough air to survive, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and begged, “Don’t leave me.”

  He laughed with gusto and said, “I’m going to squash you if I don’t.” He always marveled at the fact that she could bear his weight when he inevitably collapsed onto her after lovemaking. He was too big and she was too precious for him to stay long where she wanted him. He pushed himself onto his side and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and kissing her mussed hair.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you, too,” she replied. “Which is why I’m asking you to back off of your ultimatum to Jake.”

  He’d known she wanted something even before that first kiss. The problem was, he always realized after he’d made love to his wife exactly how necessary her love and respect and happiness were to him. Which meant he inevitably gave her what she asked.

  This time, he couldn’t do it.

  In a harsh voice that revealed just how much he was struggling to deny her, he said, “I can’t do that, love.”

  “How can you call me your love in one breath, Alex, and tell me you’re planning to ruin my son in the next?”

  She had a point.

  He was willing to explain. He just wasn’t sure which argument would hold the most sway with her. “You don’t understand.”

  “There’s no explanation you can give that justifies what you’re doing,” she said. “Jake is grieving the loss of his wife and stillborn son. He’s married some woman barely out of the cradle herself, who brought along her two younger brothers from Chicago. Slim can’t help anymore, now that he’s paralyzed. How much more weight do you think you can lay on my son’s shoulders without crushing him?”

  During her speech she’d pulled herself from his embrace. He knew she had friends—cowhands on the various nearby spreads and tradesmen in San Antonio—who kept her informed of Jake’s comings and goings. Still, it was amazing how much she knew, when not even a day had passed since his stepson’s marriage to a mail-order bride. He’d known about the wedding but not about the two stowaways.

  He crossed his arms behind his head, linking his hands at his nape, and said, “I’d be as hard on any rancher who couldn’t pull his weight. Why should your son be any different?”

  She sat upright staring down at him, her gray eyes stormy with anger and … disappointment.

  Cricket always expected him to be better than he was. Always expected him to show mercy, when he went for the jugular. Always expected him to be generous, when he sought more power, more land, more wealth.

  She had no idea of the cutthroat family he’d left behind in England, who’d made him what he was. There, it had been survival of the fittest. He’d learned to fight tooth and claw because anything less would have left him dead. He understood the wreckage left by cruelty well enough not to condone it. That didn’t mean he wasn’t brutal when he needed to be.

  Survival skills honed in a desperately unhappy childhood had helped him to thrive in a savage land like Texas, where Indians or outlaws or wild animals or the ruthless weather or even the desolate land itself could kill you.

  He released his hands and sat up, feeling her shiver as he brushed a stray curl behind her shoulder. He wanted her again. He half expected her to pull away, to resist his caresses until she got the answer she wanted. His wife was stubborn and persistent, almost to a fault. He knew she would give in to him if he pressed her. Her nostrils were flared to catch the scent of their prior lovemaking, and her eyes were smoky with desire.

  But he didn’t merely want to seduce her. He wanted her to see the reason behind his actions, to understand why he was doing what he was doing. He smiled inwardly when he realized that what he wanted was his wife’s approval.

  “If I’m not the one who takes Jake’s land from him, someone else will,” he explained. “I’d rather not have another fight on my hands with whoever that someone else is, to protect the borders of Bitter Creek. Better I should be the one who convinces Jake to give up and get out. The sooner Three Oaks becomes a part of Bitter Creek, the better.”

  He saw the face she made when he called his ranch by the new name he’d given it. Lion’s Dare had been a part of her life with another man. She lived now at Bitter Creek, the empire he was building for her and their ten-year-old twin sons, Nash and Noah.

  “Besides,” he argued, “with your sister Sloan and her husband moving back to Spain, and your sister Bay and her husband running off to Boston during the war, you were the logical one to inherit Three Oaks from your half brother, not your son. How do we know that will Jake showed us wasn’t a fake? Rightfully, Three Oaks should be yours, and therefore, by the law of the land, mine.”

  “I told Luke a long time ago I didn’t want it,” she said. “He must have changed his will when Jake came home so badly wounded from the war, to be sure his favorite nephew would have a place of his own, especially if Jake didn’t manage to get back on his feet.”

  “He’s back on his feet, all right,” Alex muttered. “And stepping all over mine.”

  “Do you love me, Alex?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then do this for me. Step back. Give Jake room to succeed. I know he’ll be fine once he—”

  He couldn’t let her go on asking him for mercy, not when he knew he wasn’t going to do what she asked. “Jake’s not going to be fine,” he said in a voice made harsh by the knowledge that he was hurting his wife. “He’s on a sinking ship, and he’s not smart enough to get off while he still can. He’s going to go down, love,” he said as gently as he could. “There’s nothing anybody can do to save him.”

  “You don’t have to shove his head underwater and hold it there,” she said. “You could throw him a rope. You could help to save him.”

  He shook his head. “How often? For how long? The rest of his life? Besides, he’s too proud to take the help, even if I offered it. Which I won’t. There’s been a break in the fence between Bitter Creek and Three Oaks that he hasn’t mended for a week. His cattle are on my land, eating grass intended for my cattle. What am I supposed to do?”

  “It’s just a little grass, Alex.”

  “It’s my grass,” he said implacably. “I want his cattle off my land. Today.”

  “Or what?” she said, her gray eyes flashing.

  “Or they’ll be my cattle at sundown.”

  “He just got married! He has a new wife and new responsibilities. At least give him some time to move them!”

  He knew it was a mistake to give his wife a finger’s worth of leeway, because she tended to turn it into an entire arm. So he said, “A day won’t make any difference.”

  “It might. Please, Alex.”

  He watched her gray eyes brim with tears and felt an ache in his chest at the hurt he could see she was feeling. She knew the truth he was speaking. Out here, the strong survived. The weak—and those, like her sisters, who’d tired of the terrible death toll this land took on the living—moved on and lived out their lives somewhere more civilized.

  He opened his mouth to agree to anything his wife asked and shut it again. He swallowed over the knot in his throat before he spoke.

  “I can’t let up, love,” he said as he kissed a tear from her cheek. “Jake wouldn’t want me to treat him like any less than the man he is. If he survives, if he thrives, it’s because he belongs here. If he doesn’t … then he should move on.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears, and said in a choked vo
ice, “Do what you have to do, Alex. Just know that if you ruin my son, if you drive him away, I’ll leave you.”

  Miranda was cold. Freezing. She pulled her stocking feet under the covers to warm them. She reached for the thin wool blanket that never kept her warm enough at the orphanage—and felt an entirely different fabric. She slowly sat up in bed, wincing when her back twinged, and looked around.

  This wasn’t the orphanage. She was lying in her marriage bed—alone—but it felt as cold as the icy day she’d left Chicago. In fact, she could see her breath in the air.

  Miranda glanced at the window that had been left open last night to allow the breeze to cool the terrible heat from the day. It was closed and covered in a layer of frost.

  “What happened?” she wondered aloud.

  From beyond the closed door, she heard muffled voices that gradually became louder, along with pounding footsteps on the stairs. Then, right outside the door, “I want to see my sister right now!”

  She recognized Nick’s angry voice, and then Jake saying, “You can see her when she wakes up. Not before.”

  “Why isn’t she awake? What have you done to her? Miranda’s always the first one up in the morning!” Nick sounded almost hysterical.

  “I want Miranda,” Harry whined pitifully.

  “I want to see my sister!” Nick demanded.

  “Don’t touch that door,” Jake warned.

  Miranda launched herself out of bed, anxious to avert violence between Jake and Nick, but her bad knee didn’t bend right and her toe got caught in the sheet and she fell out of the bed onto her shoulder on the rag rug.

  “Aaaaah!” She was more embarrassed than hurt. Fortunately there was no one to see her foolish fall.

  “Miranda!” Nick yelled. “Are you all right?”

  She freed her foot from the linens and shouted, “I’m fine, Nick.”

  “He won’t let us come in!”

  Miranda struggled to get upright and limped to the bedroom door. She opened it to find Jake with a grip on Nick’s wrist to keep her brother from knocking on the door.

  “Goodness gracious!” she said. “What’s all this fuss?”

  Harry grabbed her leg and hung on. Nick jerked his fist to get free, and fortunately, Jake let go.

  “These two were determined to wake you up,” Jake said in his defense. “I thought you needed your rest.”

  “He was lording it over us, Miranda,” Nick complained. “Telling us what to do. I told him he’s not the boss.”

  “Then who is?” Jake asked.

  “Not you!” Nick said.

  “Your sister—”

  “Is the only one who can tell me what to do,” Nick interrupted. The ten-year-old glared at Jake.

  To give him credit, Jake looked more annoyed than angry.

  Miranda could feel Harry shivering against her leg. The boys weren’t dressed yet, and the house was cold. “We need to get some warm clothes on you two. It’s cold in here.”

  “I’ve got the fireplace and the stove going downstairs,” Jake said. “No sense lighting a fire up here, since you’re getting up.”

  “Does this happen much?” she asked. “I mean, going from blistering heat one day to freezing cold the next?”

  “Often enough,” Jake said. “Blue northers blow in without warning. Temperature can change forty degrees in a couple of hours.”

  “What if you were working away from the house, and you didn’t have a coat?” Miranda asked.

  Jake shrugged. “You never go unprepared. That’s Texas.”

  “Will it stay cold like this?”

  Jake shrugged again. “Could be eighty degrees again tomorrow. By the way, I knew the boys must have coats, since you came from Chicago in winter. When I asked Nick where their coats are, he told me a story I couldn’t believe.”

  Miranda made an apologetic face. “I sold our coats in New Orleans. I needed money for the boys’ passage.”

  Jake’s hands landed on his hips. “How are the bunch of you supposed to do outdoor chores without coats in this weather?”

  “We weren’t expecting this weather,” she said pertly. “It was warm in New Orleans. It’s been warm every day since.” She lifted her chin and asked, “What would you like me to do about it now? I can hardly go back to New Orleans and get them.”

  “I have a couple of wool shirts you can cut down for the boys.” He hesitated, then added, “Priss had a nice wool cape with a hood you can use.”

  “Thank you, Jake.” She wasn’t used to dealing with someone so reasonable. She shuddered to think what Miss Birch would have done if a few coats had turned up missing.

  “I can see you’re cold,” Jake said, misinterpreting her shudder. “Go get dressed.” He turned to Nick and Harry and said, “Come on. We need to give your sister some privacy.”

  Miranda could see Nick was reluctant to go, so she said, “I’ll be down soon, Nick. Help Harry get dressed, would you, please?”

  “I can take care of the runt,” Jake offered.

  Nick shot Jake a mulish look, grabbed Harry’s hand and said, “We don’t need any help from you.”

  Miranda watched as Nick dragged Harry down the stairs. Jake remained standing at the bedroom door shaking his head.

  “That boy has a big chip on his shoulder,” Jake said.

  “He doesn’t trust grown-ups.”

  Jake looked offended. “I would never lay a rough hand on either of those boys.”

  “Nick doesn’t know that.”

  Miranda saw Jake’s gaze drop and followed it to her bosom, where the cold had caused her nipples to form distinctive peaks beneath the flannel. She crossed her arms and saw a flush rise on his cheeks at being caught looking.

  He ducked his head and said, “Slim has breakfast on the table whenever you’re ready.”

  “In the future, I’d rather you wake me up than let me sleep. I want to do my share.”

  “You needed the rest.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I expect I did.” She looked up at him, feeling grateful for his consideration, unused to small kindnesses, unsure how to respond. She felt a strange fluttering in her stomach and lowered her gaze, suddenly shy. “I’d better get moving.”

  He took a step back. “Yeah.”

  But he didn’t leave.

  She could feel his dark eyes focused on her.

  “How does your back feel?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  She looked up and met his intense gaze and felt warm all over. She tightened her arms over her breasts, trying to contain her feelings. She had to be very careful not to let herself fall in love with a man who was too heartsore to love her back. “It feels better this morning.”

  “That’s good.”

  They stood looking at each other for what seemed like an eternity before he finally said, “I’ll get you some warm water to wash. I figured it would get cold if I brought it before you were up.”

  He was gone before she could thank him.

  Miranda sighed when she realized real baths for everyone were going to have to wait until the weather warmed up again. As she closed the bedroom door, she wondered how long that would be. At least she could wash her face and neck and hands. She reached into her carpetbag for the wrinkled calico dress, since the wool one was still wet.

  She held the dress in her hands and smiled ruefully. She’d desperately wanted to wear it yesterday. The cold weather today made it totally unsuitable.

  The knock at the door came sooner than she expected. When she opened the door, Jake was waiting with the pitcher from her dressing table in hand. She hadn’t even noticed it was missing. “May I come in?”

  She gestured toward the dressing table and he crossed and poured some of the steaming water into the empty bowl, then set the pitcher down next to it.

  “All set?” he asked.

  “Yes, except …” She hesitated, then said, “This calico is the only dress I have. Would you mind if I look for something warmer in the wardrobe?”

  A l
ook of agony crossed his face. It was gone so quickly she would have missed it if she hadn’t been watching so intently.

  “Sure.” He turned and left without another word.

  Despite the cold, Miranda stripped and took her time washing in the wonderfully warm water she poured into the bowl. She found a small bar of rose-scented soap on the dressing table, wet a washcloth, and created a sweet-smelling, soapy lather. It felt heavenly to wash her face and neck and hands and underarms and between her legs with the warm cloth. She left her back alone. When she was done, she felt like a new person.

  She’d taken her hair out of its bun last night and it hung in ringlets around her face. Miss Birch had required all the girls’ hair to be tied up tight in a bun. Miranda realized she could do anything she wanted with it. She decided to pull it up on the sides and tie it with a ribbon she’d found in the wardrobe, letting the curls hang down her back.

  When she was done, she stared at herself with surprised eyes. She might almost have been pretty, if her eyes hadn’t looked so haunted. The despair was liable to remain there until she could rescue her sisters. Her cheeks were too thin, but a few good meals might help that. Her hair looked almost wild. Absolutely untamed. She grinned. She liked it.

  She wrapped herself in the quilt to stay warm as she crossed to the wardrobe. She felt a little like a kid at Christmas. Before the fire, her mother had dressed her in the latest fashions, but she’d possessed very little of her own at the Institute.

  Miranda thought of how much her family had lost in the fire, and how different their lives might be now, if Uncle Stephen hadn’t been so selfish. Looking back, she remembered moments of tension between her father and his brother. But she hadn’t understood just how much her uncle resented her father until he’d refused to help his brother’s children. What had gone wrong between the two brothers? She would probably never know.

  Miranda forced thoughts of Uncle Stephen from her mind. It only made her sad—and mad—to remember his heartlessness and neglect.