ROMANCE: MC BIKER ROMANCE: Bad Boy Biker's Baby (Bad Boy Alpha Male Motorcycle Club Romance) (Contemporary MC Biker Pregnancy Romance)

by Tia Siren

  A gift from her date for the evening, who had purchased the exquisite garment from a dress shop downtown, this exquisite frock boasted a full scarlet-hued calico skirt adorned with a pattern of bright yellow roses—appropriate, she supposed, especially when topped with a lush ivory cotton top graced with lacy sleeves and a high lace collar.

  A pair of sleek ivory hand gloves and a gold-tinted heart shaped choker—also gifts from an attentive Cal—completed the look, which she wore with pride as she strode headfirst into the barn that had been morphed this evening into a social hall.

  Her soft dark hair piled high atop her head; Abigail lifted her chin as she clutched her smooth, voluminous skirts and made her way between lines of people who talked, danced and nibbled on cheese, corncakes, and bon bons.

  Several onlookers performed marked double takes as they identified the mysterious beauty who roamed among them; their eyes flying wide as they identified the lady as good ol’, hardworking Abigail Tompkins.

  One man, in particular, stared enrapt as Abigail came to stand stock still before him; his mouth falling agape as he beheld his date for the evening.

  “You’re beautiful, Abigail,” Cal breathed, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips for a soft, sweet kiss. “Absolutely lovely.”

  Abigail snorted loudly, adding a very human dimension to her glamorous façade.

  “Yeah, well don’t let it get around,” she chided, adding as she waved an admiring hand down the length of his tall, muscled form, “And may I return the compliment? You are even more handsome than customary this evenin’ Cal; how’d you manage that?”

  Cal did indeed shine resplendent in a fine curved cutaway coat with a red brocade vest and white cotton shirt underneath; also cutting an exquisite form in black pin-striped pants and a smooth dark cravat that completed the look.

  Also, striking was the charming white toothed smile he now flashed in her direction.

  “Well thank you, Miss,” he praised her, adding as he struck a low courtly bow in her direction, “On this night, though, I do not want you to think of me as Cal, the rancher and good friend whose land you happen to work. I want you to regard me as a mysterious handsome stranger who has swept into your life to show you the meaning of romance.” He paused here, adding as he clasped her hand in his and led her in the direction of the dance floor, “May I have this dance?”

  Although still surrounded on all sides by bundles and bales of fresh-sown hay, the candlelit center of the dance floor proved an ideal platform for a couple who seemed to want little more than to lose themselves in one another’s arms. And with a single smooth flourish Cal launched them into a dance that felt more like a romantic embrace.

  Abigail thrilled as her ardent date gathered her up in his muscled arms; wrapping his sturdy hands around her full waist and swinging and swaying her across the floor.

  Bracing her arms around his bulging shoulders, she finally allowed herself the sublime pleasure of touching the man she’d admired for so long; pressing herself against his hard massive chest as his trim toned hips cradled hers.

  Losing herself in his masculine presence, she relaxed in the cocoon of his muscled embrace as he made her feel as light as air; most literally sweeping her off her feet as he now flew her across the floor.

  Two became one as the couple writhed together, timing their moves to the melodic rhythm of a live fiddler who played with fervor at the head of the room.

  Abigail brightened at the resounding notes of “San Antonio Rose,” one of her favorite classic ballads, and she nestled closer to her attentive dance partner as his hands ran like warm spring water down the planes of her back.

  She felt his tender touch even through the tight corset that threatened to claim her sanity; yet as they moved as one with feather light steps in time with a timeless tune, all elements of discomfort and self-consciousness subsided abruptly—giving way to nothing but feeling.

  Closing her eyes tight, the besotted woman felt her heart pound as he clutched her closer still; soon it was difficult to tell where one ended, and the other began as they dissolved in a dance that likened an embrace.

  These eyes flew open moments later, as her dance partner drew back only slightly to stare deep into her eyes.

  “See, Miss Abigail?” Cal asked her, tone both tempting and teasing as he rubbed her broad shoulders and tilted his forehead gentle against hers. “Dancing isn’t as bad as all that—and neither, for that matter, is romance.”

  Abigail smiled.

  “Very true,” she assented with a dreamy sigh, adding as she pursed her lips in a mock show of skepticism, “I am still not at all convinced, however, about this thing they call kissing.” She paused here, adding as she inclined her head teasing in his direction, “Care to do some convincin’ this evening, Cowboy?”

  She took in her breath as Cal met this challenge with a downright devilish smile.

  “Well I’d much obliged Ma’am,” he assented on a growl, accenting his words with a good bit of action as he swept her up in his arms.

  Claiming her lips in a passionate kiss, his full moist mouth massaged hers in soft hypnotic strokes.

  Moaning outright in response, Abigail plied her date’s mouth with feverish kisses as their tongues entangled between them; their public surroundings dissolving around them as they engaged in their first passionate kiss.

  Sinking full into his sheltering arms, Abigail trembled outright as his ardent kiss set her heart and body afire; sending thrilling tingles down her spine as his long wet tongue licked and laved her mouth.

  The moment was fleeting.

  “Well, I never!”

  The couple broke their kiss as the sound of a pronounced sniff resounded just beside them; one produced by a petite, beautiful ebony haired woman dressed in a gown of stark black taffeta that seemed to befit her frowning—if still dazzling—face.

  “Well, I never!” she repeated, regarding the couple with a condemning gaze as she stood beside them on the dance floor.

  Unphased in the face of this blatant umbrage, a cool Abigail shrugged her shoulders in reaction to these words.

  “No Ma’am, you probably haven’t ever,” she replied, adding with arched eyebrows, “And that’s the whole problem.”

  The woman gasped.

  “Well I guess that I’d expect nothing more from such a common woman as yourself,” she sniffed, adding as she pointed an accusing finger straight in Abigail’s direction, “You really have some nerve, Girl, living in sin with one of our finest citizens—and under his wife’s roof!”

  Cal had heard enough.

  “Now you listen here, Mrs. Susie Marks,” he bellowed, stepping between the two women as he seared their critic with a cold hard gaze. “Of the two women I see here before me, I’m afraid that only one could be called a lady,” he paused here, adding as he made a broad gesture in Abigail’s direction, “The fine woman you see before you works hard and diligent on my land—coming home at the end of the day to seek some deserved respite in her own room; one that’s separate from my own. You, on the other hand, made an inappropriate advance toward me in town two years ago; while both of our dearly departed spouses still lived. And, if you will rightly recall, I rejected you flat.”

  Susie shook her head, her delicate cheeks flushing as she considered these words.

  “Yes, well, I guess I went a bit out of my mind when Doc told my husband that he didn’t have much longer on this earth,” she explained, adding as she once again faced the couple before her with a rough, cutting glare, “It still ain’t proper for an unmarried man and woman to be sharin’ the same living quarters.”

  Cal nodded.

  “Well on that point Madame—and that point alone—you and I just happen to agree,” he acknowledged, adding as he wrapped an encompassing arm around the shoulders of his wide-eyed date, “And that is precisely why Miss Abigail and I plan to be married next month.”

  “We do?” Abigail sputtered, recovering quickly as she kissed the che
ek of her smiling “intended,” “Oh I mean, yes we do! I do, most literally!”

  With this she grabbed her date’s muscled arms and pulled him into the spirited reel that had now erupted on the dance floor; a riotous square dance set to the tune of a lively fiddle.

  The couple laughed and chortled like free-spirited youths as their steps became fast and frantic; soon they launched into a fast-paced do si do that sent them spinning across the floor.

  “You make just about everything in life so much more fun!” Cal praised his dance partner, adding as he pulled her off to the side, “Still and all, I do believe I need just a bit of a rest. Care for some punch?”

  Soon the couple stood beside a sparkling crystalline punch bowl that rimmed with scarlet liquid; sipping from delicate rose print tea cups as their gazes remained clenched.

  “Listen, I’m really sorry about that miserable shrew back there,” he told her at one point, adding with a distinct wince, “She’s been chasing after me since we were kids, and never got the hint that I was never even remotely interested.”

  Abigail shrugged.

  “Oh that’s all right,” she allowed, adding with a slight wince all her own, “I’m just sorry that you had to lie for me.”

  Cal frowned.

  “Lie for you?” he repeated, adding as he shook his head in a show of pure confusion, “Not sure what you mean, love.”

  Abigail gritted her teeth.

  “Well in a noble effort to save my reputation,” she reminded him, “You told him that we were going to be married next month.”

  Cal smiled.

  “Well Miss,” he began, putting aside his punch glass and taking her hand in his, “I don’t see those words as a lie, as much as they are a wish or a dream.” He paused here, adding in a whisper, “I’m in love with you, Abigail. And with your kind permission, I would indeed like to marry you next month.”

  Sniffing back some unbidden tears, his lady squeezed his fingers tight as she gave a vigorous nod in response to this warm proposal.

  “I love you too, Cowboy—dang me, but I do,” she told him, adding as she reached forward to sear his carved cheek with an affirming kiss, “And yes, I will marry you.”

  *****

  Abigail felt as though he was floating in a dream; most literally.

  Never had she imagined herself ensconced in a frock of such regal ivory finery; but indeed, the wedding gown that she now wore was a study in elegance. This white lace ball gown was culled from pure organza trimmed at the top with a fitted boned bodice and engraved lines of vertical ivory lace. A flowing train and an antique veil completed the look, as well as delicate satin slippers that took her through the door of the Dovecrest Chapel; a small but elaborate place of worship that would serve as the site of a wedding that day.

  Staring with quiet admiration at the ebullient stained glass windows that lined all sides of the chapel, the bride stepped into a plush scarlet carpeted aisle that took her slowly in the direction of the man she loved.

  Cal himself shone resplendent in a sleek brown wool davenport coat with a black velvet collar and matching trousers; an ensemble accented by a silver brocade vest and an ebony cravat with a gleaming diamond pin.

  Another diamond glittered on Abigail’s finger moments later, as she and Cal faced a brass bordered altar lined with a wreath of resplendent yellow roses.

  Inspecting this lush floral display with an analyzing eye, Abigail cocked her head as she whispered to her groom, “These flowers were taken from our ranch, yes? Well, they are lovely, but I’ve been thinking that we might try a new brand of seed….”

  She broke off as her impatient groom silenced her with a binding kiss.

  “Hush up and marry me already, sweet Abigail.”

  Abigail thought a moment, then nodded.

  “All right then. Have it your own dag gum way,” she relented, adding as she took her husband’s hand and turned with him in the direction of the altar, “Ring first, seed later. One thing I know for sure; for you and me Cal, there will always be roses.”

  *****

  THE END

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  A Heart in the West – A Clean Western Romance

  Chapter 1

  It was the late summer of 1871 when Cora Sutton left from the big city and boarded the Lil’ Miss, a prize addition to the East Missouri Rail operations. She boasted less than a week’s journey from Boston to the Western territory, and just two and a half weeks to California, notwithstanding unexpected delays in the form of weather and shady characters with sights on her cargo.

  It can’t very well be all that bad, Cora Sutton had thought as she boarded the train, her carpet bag nearly falling at the seams. Perhaps she should have stowed away books in a travel chest, and not in her bag. But what else was she to do with the time? Cora laughed as she bumbled down the aisle to her coach, chiding at her wandering imagination.

  Train bandits don’t really exist, not in real life, she said to herself. And the Western territory surely isn’t all that wild…

  The thought would prove a cruel stroke of irony in the days to follow.

  For the time being, all she had to set her sights on was taming her imagination from getting away from her. Cora admitted to herself that she was actually quite excited. A serendipitous ad in the paper. A snap decision. And the promise of a new life out West. It all sounded rather romantic for a simple hosiery girl at Freeman’s Department Store--well, former hosiery girl. One day, she was living a dull, hapless life on the bustling streets of New York City, and the next she was set for life. Or she would be, as there were some small details yet to attend to.

  It started about two months before the Lil’ Miss even slugged her way into Grand Central Station. Cora worked as the assistant stocker at one of the finest department stores in Manhattan. The marble ceilings rose as high as three levels, with bright crystal chandeliers glittering in the light. The sound of women, of the most well-to-do-sort, clicked their shoes and brushed their puffed dresses through the ground floor, eyeing the delights the store had to offer. For Cora, the closest she could ever come to such a life was spent in the back closets of the store, stocking the hosiery and other ladies’ garments. It was quite the accomplishment even getting that far. Before hosiery girl, she had a stay as a seamstress, but not for long as she had little to no skill in such delicate matters. Then there was a brief stint working in a factory making women’s hat boxes, which proved to be a tedious task that required too much focus for a constant daydreamer. Nanny, flower girl, a shoemaker’s store clerk...and the list went on.

  Life, she had long ago decided, was unutterably dull.

  So it came to her surprise when she was informed she would no longer be needed at Freeman’s department store. There were always prettier, talented, more qualified girls to work the store and spruce up the general atmosphere. A new direction for a new age, she was told. And that new age did not include the likes of her.

  That was what brought her to take the first step. To be exact, it was that and the upping of the next month’s rent.

  “But Mrs. MacDonough, I’ll get a new job soon, ma’am. If you just give me a little more time, I can pay you what I owe.”

  Cora’s mind drifted to an earlier conversation she had with her landlord, Mrs. MacDonough, a stout and rather stern Irish woman who rented out her building to all sorts, mostly immigrants and newcomers into the city.

  “Aye, Co-ra, I can’t be bothered’ with ye all the time,” she bustled across the hallway carrying a basket of her linens, and Cora traced after her.

  “Ye never bring yer rent on time,” the wo
man continued in her thick accent. “And on top o’ that, I hear ye been sacked from Freeman’s this mornin’.”

  “You already know about that?” Cora followed behind.

  Mrs. MacDonough stopped and sighed as she waved her finger toward Cora’s face.

  “Now lookee, Miss, I can’t be competin’ like I do with all the other landlords around. There’re plenty of others who need a place, jus’ as much as you. And they deserve it every bit, too. And they’re also in dire straits for an opportunity”

  “But…”

  “No buts, Cora. I’m broken hearted as much as you, but that’s jus’ life, it is.”

  It was a miserable few months following. Cora moved into a dingy hostel in Brooklyn, making her way with measly compensation at a butcher’s shop. The boss didn’t much like the idea of hiring a young woman for such a job, but Cora insisted she could just as easily pick it up. It didn’t mean that the work was pleasant.

  One day, she made her way out from a long shift, after having cleaned the back room, her clothes smelling like raw meat, her boots wet after hosing off the blood. She was headed down a street she headed down every day. Took the same turns, watched the same faces walk past. Everything was quite the same. That is, until a certain leaflet from a newspaper caught her eye. It seemed positively serendipitous. A stray page, a gust of wind, and soon she was staring at an ad that seemed to be shouting directly at her.

  Wanted: Young woman of intelligence, refined, and possessing means. Gentleman landowner seeking a match of high pedigree. Must be willing to relocate at short notice.

  At first Cora laughed. The idea of being a mail-order bride certainly seemed like an odd one, like from a story in a magazine or a tale that old grandparents tell. But Cora was sure of one thing: she had no family, no ties, and no where to go but up.