Waiting on Waylon (Cowboys & Angels Book 6)

by Jo Noelle

  When he finished, he lifted her hand and kissed her palm.

  Oh, my goodness! This time, heat burst through her chest.

  If this was what Waylon meant by doing nothing, she didn’t want it to stop. She offered him her other hand.

  A deep chuckle sounded behind a huge smile, and he began to trace again, oh, so slowly.

  To sit here, feel this, and listen to that—she added them all to her list of how to be perfectly content for the rest of her life.

  This time after he kissed her palm, he raised it to his cheek and leaned into it. His other arm circled around her shoulders and pulled her close. His eyes closed.

  Vivian was surprised to find that she had twisted just enough to place her cheek against his, and her lips were at the edge of his mouth. This time, the sound from deep within his chest wasn’t a chuckle but was decidedly appealing. He didn’t turn toward her, but as she remained, the sizzle between them grew. It was delicious—she didn’t dare move for fear of ending it.

  Waylon pulled her hand down from his cheek and kissed the fingers as they passed his lips. Then he turned to face Vivian. “What do you think of staying here?” he whispered.

  Vivian’s head was hazy, still full of him. “I think it’s a very good idea—staying right here.”

  Again, she heard his low chuckle. “I mean at the ranch.”

  “I had thought to stay until spring.”

  His lips touched her ear this time, and he softly said, “I’ll try to persuade you to stay much longer than that.”

  If he kept speaking into her ear, that might be all the persuasion she needed.

  From above where they sat, Vivian heard a squeal. Waylon jumped to the other side of the sofa. Seffi was standing at the top of the stairs with her hands over her heart.

  Just then, Boone opened the kitchen door. “Breakfast is ready. Come now or forfeit your claim on any bacon.”

  Vivian wondered what more Waylon might have said if they had stayed on the davenport.

  Immediately after eating, the men left to do the ranching work. They’d be gone the whole day. She wondered if Waylon would find a place for them to continue that conversation. Her heartbeat sped at that.

  Seffi scooted close to Vivian as they washed the dishes. “I’d never dream of asking you about a personal conversation you were having.” She took the plate from Vivian’s hand and began wiping it with the cloth. She put that one on the stack and reached for another. “If that was a personal conversation, of course.”

  When Vivian didn’t answer, Seffi put the plate down and fisted her hands on her hips, but Vivian just passed her a new plate to dry.

  What would she say? It might have been personal. The way he touched her certainly was. She tingled all over at the memory.

  “You’re blushing.” Seffi pointed an accusing finger at Vivian’s cheeks. “And you’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  Vivian shook her head.

  “Oh, good. It was personal.” Seffi gave her a one-armed hug. “I’m so happy. That’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever had.”

  After dinner, the Morgan family gathered in the large front room, each with a few sacks and packages. Holt delivered wedges of fruit cake, and Boone handed out hot wassail. By the time each person had a cup, Waylon was venturing back to the kitchen for more.

  “We’re going first.” Holt and Boone passed out the packages.

  Vivian opened hers—a pair of white gloves. Truly, she’d never owned anything so fancy. She felt the supple leather. A large cuff at the wrist was embroidered with small red roses. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

  Seffi handed her a package next. “You’d think we’ve all been worried about your hands.”

  Vivian opened the package. There was a white muff made of rabbit fur. She ran her hand over the pelts—so soft. “Thank you. I love it.” Vivian plunged her hands into the muff, and they were immediately warm.

  Boone turned to Waylon. “Well, brother, what do you have for Vivian’s hands?”

  Waylon had to set aside his third cup of wassail to get the gift. “I guess you could say that it is for her hands—in a way.” He carried over a tall wooden crate that he’d covered with a flour sack and set it before Vivian. “If you don’t like it, we can trade it for something else at Crowther’s Dry Goods Store next time we go to Creede.”

  Vivian was very curious what might make Waylon go into the dry goods store when she’d seen his apprehension to do so when they were there together. And what could come in such a big crate? By the way he carried it, it was heavy, too.

  “When I saw this, I knew it should be yours.” Waylon’s voice sounded as excited a Vivian felt.

  She tugged at the sack. When she pulled it off, she could only see the wooden box and blankets wrapped around an object inside. He helped her lift it from the box, then stepped back as she began to unwrap the packaging from around it.

  As the blankets fell to the floor, Vivian recognized a beautiful Singer sewing machine. With a quick jump, she was in Waylon’s arms, her lips on his and her feet off the floor. For a long moment she drank him in, and his lips caressed hers. Finally, his arms loosened, and she slid down Waylon’s chest until her toes touched the flooring.

  Vivian realized she’d made a terrible mistake and looked at her feet. Waylon tipped her chin up and kissed her on the nose. When she turned around to see the sewing machine, at first she only saw Holt and Boone looking equally shocked, their mouths hanging open.

  Then she saw Seffi, bright-eyed and smiling. “Well, that’s settled, or it will be soon. Let’s open the rest of these presents.”

  Vivian gave Seffi an apron she’d been making in her room at night. She gave Boone and Holt each a woolen scarf.

  She saved Waylon’s present for last. “This is from me and your mother.” She handed him the square package she’d wrapped in a colorful dishtowel.

  He pulled on the twine and unwrapped the gift. Inside was a silver frame with a picture of his father. His chest expanded, trying to contain the sorrow and love he felt toward this man and the women who had given this to him. Somehow Vivian had known how much his father had been on his mind. There was a dull ache with the memories, and also happiness squeezing it to the back of his mind. His father would have liked Vivian.

  He kissed both women on the cheek and then cleared his throat. “Thank you.” His voice was thick and soft. “This means so much to me.”

  When the evening was at an end, Waylon approached Vivian before she could start up the stairs. He shuffled his foot back and forth, reminding her of the younger girls at the children’s home. “I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.”

  “I would like that very much.” Vivian was rewarded by a huge grin as he stood taller, more confident.

  He led her back to the sofa and sat next to her. Silently.

  Vivian hoped this was the kind of private conversation that included a proposal. As she looked closer, she noticed that his eyebrows were pinched, and his mouth was set in a line now. What was causing him—sorrow? Pain? She couldn’t tell which.

  “I have a confession to make, Vivian. And if you’d rather not become involved with me after you hear it…” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “…please let me know.”

  Vivian couldn’t imagine Waylon carrying a big secret, big enough to change her good opinion of him.

  “I’m not the man you think I am.” After a long pause, he continued “Three years ago, we were taking the cattle to the summer fields. We were set upon by rustlers. I shot two of those men.”

  Vivian placed her hand on top of his, and he flipped it and grabbed onto hers. He needed a buoy before he sank.

  “I understand if you’d rather not associate with a man who could do that.”

  Vivian’s heart ached for him and the burden that he’d carried since that day. However, even his darkest moment revealed to her the amazing man Waylon was. “Do you know the man I see? He’s someone who puts others before himself. He w
akes early and works hard. He loves his family and protects those he’s responsible for. He’s a man of honor, and I look forward to as much association with him as possible in the future.”

  Waylon’s arms circled her, pulling her close. She reveled in his warmth and strength. He had trusted her with his wounded soul. A more precious gift could not be received.

  He brushed a kiss on her forehead and helped her stand from the sofa. “I have one more thing for you.” From the secretarial along the wall he pulled out a soft package and placed it and a letter in her hands.

  “What’s this?” she asked. “You can’t give me another present.”

  “I’m not. It’s an invitation of sorts. And the package isn’t a Christmas gift but something I hope you’ll wear tomorrow.” Waylon again cupped her cheek and looked into her eyes. “I’m going to be sleeping at the old homestead tonight. Read this before you fall asleep, then give me your answer tomorrow.” Before he left, he leaned to whisper in her ear. “I love you, Vivian Leete.”

  The words pierced her deeply, floating through her with a warm glow. A soft gasp escaped her. She’d waited for him to say exactly that. With certainty she knew his words were true and hers were as well. “I love you, Waylon.”

  Waylon pulled her into a hug, then separated much too soon. “Until tomorrow,” he said and tipped his head toward her before leaving the house.

  Vivian unfolded the paper as she climbed the stairs. Only a few lines were written in the middle of the white page. She left the package on her bed, then tapped on Seffi’s door. She entered with the note in hand.

  “This is from Waylon. I don’t know what it says.” She held it out.

  Seffi took it and moved closer to the lamp on her table. She moved the page back and forth to focus, then read, “Will you meet me at the train station tomorrow at one p.m.? If you do, bring my family.” Seffi handed the paper back. “It’s signed the Quarter-Circle-V-Quarter-Circle Matrimonial Service.” She chuckled.

  Vivian held the paper to her heart. Why wait until tomorrow? It sent her pulse spinning. And why did he leave? Although she wanted answers, she savored the anticipation of the wait. She felt like she would burst. When she looked into Seffi’s face, she saw the same happiness Vivian felt herself.

  Vivian threw her hands in the air. “I can hardly wait for tomorrow,” she said as she twirled.

  Seffi clapped and laughed. “I had offered once to guide you in the absence of your mother. I believe it would be in your best interest…” Seffi winked at her. “…and in mine, to travel to Creede tomorrow. What do you think?”

  “I do believe you’re right.”

  “Now come sit by me. Let’s talk.”

  An hour or so later, she returned to her room. The brown-paper package was sitting on her bed at odds with the bright-colored patchwork quilt. It made her heart flutter. This was a private gift. She sat on the bed and set it on her lap. She tugged one side of the twine bow and then the other. When she pulled the paper back, Vivian recognized the forest green velvet. She ran her hand against and then with the grain, feeling the fine pile rough as a cat’s tongue then smooth as silk. She traced the delicate scallop of the cream-colored Venice crown lace. Before she turned the dress over, she knew she’d see the pearl buttons lining the back.

  Waylon had caused the bidding war and won the gown back for her. She’d made hundreds of fine dresses and never once thought she’d own one. She shook the dress out and hung it over the door on the clothespress. When she finally snuggled under the quilt, she willed herself to sleep, hoping the night passed quickly, so morning would come, and she could meet Waylon in Creede.

  Chapter 14

  Waylon Morgan

  The train station was empty, and no trains would be expected in Creede on Christmas Day. He’d been lucky that Otto Clay was outside the livery and agreed to keep Waylon’s horse and buggy for a couple of hours. He had left that detail undone in his preparation the day before. The streets of Creede were desolate. Most miners were given at least a half-day off on Christmas.

  Waylon paced on the platform outside the train station as he’d been doing for an hour. He wished he’d asked Vivian to come sooner. He just hadn’t known if he could get everything done any earlier. He went through the list to make sure everything was ready. The old homestead—done. Sleigh—done. Provisions—done. Guests—done. Preacher—done. Now, he just needed a bride.

  Although he’d been planning this for a few days, there was no guarantee that Vivian would come. He hadn’t asked her to marry him. That might have been a mistake. He supposed she knew that’s what he was planning after receiving his gift. Still, she might not come.

  The memory of the night before with her body against his and her lips under his reminded him that there was true emotion there. That was not a thank-you peck. That was a woman giving herself to a man. It had filled him with courage to go ahead with his plan. He immediately began wondering what else he might give her.

  Waylon sat on the bench outside the station and checked his pocket watch again—ten ’til one. Even the preacher hadn’t shown up yet. Did he know something Waylon didn’t?

  As he slipped the watch back into this vest pocket, Boone and Holt came walking up. Waylon stood and looked past them. Where was Vivian? Or his mother? His heart sank, and he swallowed hard. She had decided not to come. He hadn’t earned her yet.

  He was determined. He would.

  Boone put his large hand on Waylon’s shoulder and guided him back to the bench he just left. “This have something to do with all that extra work you’ve been about these past few days?”

  Holt now towered over him too. “He’s been real secretive. Hasn’t he, Boone?”

  “Real secretive.” Boone stepped in front of Waylon. “Now, we have a little secret for you.”

  Since Vivian wasn’t with them, Waylon thought he knew what that secret was. And he’d rather be alone than hear it from his brothers. He picked up his hat from beside him, tugged it onto his head, and stood to walk away.

  Boone stepped in front of him before he could take two steps. “Things could have happened another way big brother.”

  “Yeah, it all got off track.” Holt came up on his other side. “Don’t worry none though, you’ve got us. We’ll show you how it should have happened. Hey, Boone. Didn’t that pretty little gal say she was supposed to be a mail order bride?”

  Each brother took one arm and swung Waylon around to walk in the other direction. “Sure did,” Boone answered.

  They hurried him around the west end of the station to the tracks where the rail cars and engines were parked when they needed servicing. There was indeed a passenger car on the rail. On one side of the metal steps leading into the car stood his mother and the vaquero with Reverend Theodore on the other side. Through the darkened back window, he could see the outline of Vivian’s face.

  He was still walking closer when she stood and moved toward the exit. They reached the steps at about the same moment, and time stood still for Waylon—Vivian at the top and he at the bottom. Her hair had been braided and twisted onto her head. She was perfect—her eyes bright with happiness, staring into his. Her red lips widened into a dazzling smile. She was alluring—her womanly curves accentuated by the dark green gown. His knees weakened at the sight of her. She had become his family, and he’d make it official this day.

  Waylon pulled off his hat. He would ask her proper since he hadn’t yet. “Miss Leete, I do believe you’re the bride for me. I want a wife who sings while she cooks, hangs pants upside down on the line, can’t hitch up a horse or carry a milk can, and a woman who is sagely afraid of chicken and other evil fowl.

  “I want to be a husband who carries the dishwater and shoos the calves from the gate to let you enter. I will love, honor, and cherish you. I will help you and love you. I want to hold you late into the night and kiss you each morning.”

  Waylon kneeled down on the icy platform. “Miss Leete, Vivian, will you marry me?”

  H
e watched as her tiny feet carefully descended the steps, her gown trailing behind her like a queen. His heart pounded as if it would burst at any moment. Her hand reached out to him, and he stood at her beckoning.

  “Yes, Waylon, I will be your wife. I’ll love you with all my heart. I already do.”

  Relief and elation warred for supremacy in his heart. He reached for her, but his mother stepped between them, throwing her arms around her son. “You can hug Vivian all you two want as soon as we get this done.”

  She might have a very good point. Waylon turned to the preacher. “We’re ready if you are.”

  Waylon assumed that the words of the ceremony were the standard fare, but he wasn’t really listening. His gaze, his heart, and his mind were filled with Vivian. The preacher cleared his throat. “Waylon Morgan, do you take Vivian Leete to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to honor as long as you both shall live?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Soon, Vivian’s voice uttered the sweetest words he was ever likely to hear, “I do.”

  “Before God and these witnesses, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

  Waylon was near sure the preacher hadn’t invited him to kiss the bride yet when Vivian’s arms wrapped around his neck and her warm lips stunned him. He returned her affection with fervor until his brothers began slapping his back and pulling him away to shake their hands.

  As they all walked to the hotel for a quick meal, Waylon wished he hadn’t planned a reception. That way he’d already have her in his sleigh headed to the old homestead. Friends lined up to congratulate them and then to eat a bite.

  An hour later, they slipped away. Waylon tucked her into the carriage and laid a bear fur blanket over them. The skids made for faster traveling and a more comfortable ride than when they used wheels. He hadn’t thought much of that until now—he had precious cargo aboard.