Dawson Bride

by T. S. Joyce

  I kissed the side of her temple and looked out the window as the train jolted forward. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” I’d murder anything that even thought of harming her and with a smile on my face, but she didn’t need to know the sordid details my inner monster planned.

  The train ride wasn’t the nightmare I’d imagined. Sure my wolf howled to escape in the confined space, but Lucianna was a beautiful distraction. Accounting for all the stops and if we were lucky to avoid steam engine trouble or a train robbery, it would take us six days to get to Denver.

  I’d never been much for talking as I didn’t have a way with words like my brothers did, but she was an easy speaker with a charitable disposition. She told me of her adventures on the high seas, and though I’d seen most of them, it was like listening to a new story hearing it all from her perspective. She had a different way of looking at the world.

  “Can I see your drawings?” I asked.

  “They aren’t gallery paintings or anything, Gable. They’re just silly sketches.”

  “Please?”

  She gave a put-upon sigh and pulled out the journal. It looked a lot different from the unused loose leaf book I’d bought her in Liverpool. The front was tattered and covered in smudged fingerprints and ink blotches, and the smell of sea and salt wafted from its pages. It had character and history now.

  The drawings and ink sketches of her brother came first. If she thought she had no talent, she was wrong. She’d managed to capture so many faces, I felt like I’d known him. His personality showed through every smirk, every smile, and every somber expression. I moved a picture of him swinging over a creek on a rope out of the way and my breath caught in my throat as if someone gripped it with bare hands.

  There was a picture of me—the me I kept hidden from the human world. The close up of a snarling wolf’s face covered the sea dampened paper. His ears were laid back and his teeth were bared. This is how she’d seen me.

  I flipped slowly through the stack. Some had dark backgrounds and made the wolf look lighter in color while some she’d experimented with shadows across his face and body. Flipping through them was like getting a look into the evolution of her feelings for the animal she thought was just that. Ferocious pictures slowly morphed into something different. One was a sketch of me with my head lowered and my tail out to the side as if it were wagging. In one, my tongue lolled out like she’d seen the humor under the mask of fur. Some were of just the wolf’s eyes—my eyes if she ever looked close enough before or after a change.

  “Do you like them?” She asked it as if my opinion really mattered.

  “I’ve never seen anything like these in all my life, Lucianna.” I lifted my gaze to hers. “Are you trained?”

  “A little. I was being taught oil painting before everything happened. I can paint porcelain too, but my instructor said he wanted more from me.”

  The woman awed me. I had a talent for building furniture, but the way she saw things—created things—was beyond my comprehension.

  The more I got to know of my woman, the more devoted I became.

  ****

  Lucianna

  Four days was all I had with Gable, and it didn’t feel like nearly enough. Our money had run so low, eating would be sparse the rest of the trip in order to cover the carriage fare to Colorado Springs. Guilt sometimes tugged at me for begging him to stay, but when I really thought of it, I wouldn’t have done it any differently. I needed to be with him. To talk about our travels and build our connection again. I’d needed his touch and the warm feeling of safety that brute of a man brought me.

  As the train pulled away, he stood somberly with the others waving loved ones off. Steam swirled around him, and his eyes, the color of cool water, followed my window with a troubled gaze.

  Our separation physically hurt. My chest burned and I found it hard to breath. Paranoia slipped over me like a second skin the moment he disappeared from view. I couldn’t relax or talk happily or enjoy the wild American countryside anymore. Any glance from the other passengers brought a tingle of fear. Were they following me? Had Ralston hired them? I tucked a strand of escaped hair further into my bonnet and faced the window to escape their stares.

  Two days. I’d been separated for a month and a half from Gable. I could make it two days.

  I missed the wolf for the first time since I’d left the ship. I hadn’t had time to think on him overly much but here, on this lonely train bench with nothing but miles of window wilderness and my roiling thoughts to keep me company, the touch of his fur suddenly seemed very far away. Was he happy with his owner? Was he being treated right and fed enough? Did he remember me?

  I nodded off to pirate memories and woke to the chatter of the other passengers. A woman and her three small children crowded the window behind and pointed excitedly.

  I squinted at the woods and through the dense trees, a wolf ran alongside the train. I blinked and it was gone. I looked for a long time after that but never saw it again. It was light colored like the wolf I’d cared for.

  A dream, I decided. A dream born of wishful thinking.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lucianna

  I almost didn’t recognize the cowboy on the train platform but his height gave him away. Gable had ditched his threadbare pauper garments for ones that seemed to suit his accent and body much better. Tanned animal hide pants slid over leather boots scuffed and dusty with use. Spurs jangled from the heels of his work shoes, and under a fitted gray vest, he wore a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to accentuate the rippling muscles of his forearms. A dark cowboy hat rested on his head and the smile underneath the brim was genuine and only for me.

  The silhouette the outfit cut was one of strength. The breadth of his shoulders pushed against the fabric and the contrast against his small waist was great. Scarred face or not, I’d never seen a man more alluringly made than Gable Dawson in his own western clothes.

  He grabbed my hand as soon as I poured from the train. “Come on. There’s a carriage leaving right now. We can make it if we hurry.”

  “What about something to eat? I’m famished.”

  He held up a brown paper-wrapped bundle. “Already taken care of.”

  I laughed when he picked me up and lifted me across a muddy street to a waiting carriage. Besides a few surprised looks, no one seemed to mind our inappropriate behavior like they would’ve in London. He set me onto the carriage step and while I situated myself inside, he talked to the driver and paid our fares. My heart hammered away with the happiness of our reunion. Gable slid into the seat next to me and looked into my eyes with such a bewildered smile, as if he hadn’t seen me in weeks.

  “Hi,” he said breathlessly.

  I couldn’t contain my grin. “Hi.”

  Outside the carriage, the city bustled with life but inside, it was as if we were the only two people in the world. He brushed a strand of hair away from my cheek and leaned in. He hesitated and I closed the space between our lips. It wasn’t hurried and violent like our first kiss near the Anna Gale had been. He tasted me and sucked lightly on my bottom lip until a delightful shiver hummed up my spine. His hand went gently around the back of my neck and I groaned as he pulled me closer. A contented rumble sounded from deep within him and I was filled with the knowledge that I could have such an effect on such a dashing man.

  He pulled away suddenly with his eyes tightly closed. His hand remained on my neck, but still, the separation of our lips was shocking. Had I done something wrong? I touched his scarred face with a light fingertip. It had become one of my favorite things about him. It made him different. Those scars made him strong. None other on earth had a fearsomely beautiful face like my man.

  “Look at me,” I pleaded.

  He kissed the palm of my outstretched hand but just as I was sure he was about to oblige me, the door to the carriage opened and flooded the small space with sunlight. I jumped away from Gable like I’d been burned.

  An older lady
with a tall, feather adorned hat and her tired looking husband hoisted themselves into the other seat of the covered carriage. Gable and I sat on completely opposite sides of our bench but the woman wasn’t fooled.

  “Harrumph,” she said.

  I smiled politely but inside I growled. It was going to be a very long trip if I was to be so close and so far away from Gable.

  The final five days proved to be the longest leg of the trip. So weary was I from travelling, the prospect of our final destination being so close had me unable to sleep. The carriage made stops in the small towns that sprinkled the countryside to relieve ourselves, stretch our legs, and eat at ramshackle restaurants here and there, but I found myself eager to get back in the carriage and continue our journey. Mr. and Mrs. Higgins, our unfortunate traveling companions, didn’t feel the same. They were determined, instead, to stop at every scenic view and shop at every store in every tiny town we passed through.

  If I was irritated, Gable was going absolutely mad. Over the days, his body stiffened. The tenseness in his shoulders and neck seemed only to grow and when he slept, he groaned in pain.

  “Are you sick?” I asked, as worry for him threatened to engulf me.

  “No,” he answered in a strange voice. “I just need to get out of this carriage.”

  His smell had changed into something just on the tip of my senses. Surely it meant he’d taken some sort of illness during our travels. Nothing else explained it.

  When at last, the jaunting carriage pulled over a small wooden bridge that led to the primary street in Colorado Springs, he nearly poured from the carriage. I said goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Higgins and the driver, and hefted our small bag to my good hip. The evening was early still but orange and deep purple stretched across the horizon with the promise of a clear night to come.

  Gable walked ramrod straight and left me to trail behind.

  “The Gable’s back, the Gable’s back,” townspeople whispered as we passed.

  I frowned at his receding back. The Gable?

  I hobbled faster to keep up but when I was close he said, “No,” and wouldn’t turn around. “I need some time. Go to the saloon and get us a room. I’ll meet you there later.”

  “I don’t understand. Have I done something wrong?”

  “Please,” he said in a ragged voice as he scrubbed his hands roughly over his face. “Just do as I ask. I’ll be back soon.”

  I stood there at a loss for a long time. Finally, after months of travel and fear, we’d landed in the place he was sure I’d be safe, and now I was alone to see Colorado Springs for the first time. Connected shops lined both sides of the street. Even in the evening hour, people stood talking under the protective awnings on sprawling front porches, and near loaded wagons that sat in front of what looked to be some sort of general store. The saloon Gable had mention was brightly lit with lanterns and candles, and men and whores boisterously laughed as they sang a song I didn’t recognize.

  A dainty, blonde-haired girl locked up the door to a restaurant named Cotton’s. A sign in front boasted it was the best home cooking in all of Colorado and only ten cents a plate. The sound of it brought a hungry rumble to my stomach. It had been a long time since the early lunch we’d devoured on the road.

  I wandered into the saloon. Maybe they served food here. The drunken patrons were too busy with the three over-rouged and scantily clad women near the piano to take much notice of me. I opened my mouth but was interrupted by a bartender who was pouring whiskey from a bottle.

  “Men and whore’s only. You don’t look like neither. Get out.”

  How rude. “Pardon me, sir, but is this the only establishment in town to get a room?”

  “Yes, and no you can’t get one here. Sunday’s are our busiest day. You can’t be takin’ rooms away from our girls over there.”

  My pride was too big to ask about food. I turned and ducked through the swinging doors. The night was growing darker by the minute and I didn’t know a single soul in this town. A bench sat temptingly in front of the general store. The shopkeeper was in the midst of turning the sign in the window from ‘open’ to ‘shut’ so I braved the thin layer of partially dried mud in the street and made myself comfortable. I didn’t know how long Gable would stay away, but I had little other choice than to sleep on the bench if it got too late.

  The night air was chilly as the last tendrils of late winter reached for my exposed arms and neck. I pulled the ratty shawl from the canvas sack and wrapped it tightly around my shoulders. This wasn’t exactly the new homecoming I’d imagined. A trio of slurring, stumbling men exited the saloon and saluted me. I pulled my sack closer and tried to ignore them.

  I don’t know how long I sat here in the dark, but the stars had popped out one by one and the half moon was high in the sky by the time a familiar silhouette approached. By then my teeth were chattering and I couldn’t stop shivering to save my life.

  The moonlight illuminated Gable’s frown in blue shadows, and he rushed to me. “Lucianna,” he said, kneeling in front of me and rubbing my arms. “Why aren’t you inside?”

  “They wouldn’t give a room to a woman.”

  He sent a poisonous glare to the swinging saloon doors. “I wouldn’t have left you to find a room on your own if I were in my right mind.”

  He lifted me until I stood in front of him, looking into his eerily lightened eyes. The color in them churned like melted iron in a blacksmith’s cauldron. Memories of the night I’d lost everything tumbled through me. Those demon eyes, not quite as bright as I remembered, looked beseechingly at me now. It was hard to breathe around the suffocating fear clawing its way up my throat.

  “I need to tell you something,” he whispered.

  Movement emerged from the darkness and my gaze fell on two giant men sauntering toward us. They looked every bit as dangerous as the man who gripped me tightly now, and I panicked.

  “Gable,” I gasped.

  He stood straight and his nostrils flared before the dimple in his left cheek deepened under a slow smile. “It’s okay. I know them.”

  How could he be sure he knew them if he hadn’t even turned to see them yet?

  A dark-eyed man with raven black hair cocked his head to the side and glared as Gable turned. Electricity filled the air like the end of a lightning storm. A lackadaisical smile flittered across the man’s features and he threw rough arms around Gable’s shoulders. He patted his back so hard it sounded painful, but Gable’s chuckle said he would survive the affectionate mauling. The other man’s startling green eyes flashed in the lantern light of the saloon and he wrapped his arms around the other two. He didn’t smile like the other. He clenched his eyes tightly closed and held them.

  “Welcome home,” the dark-eyed one said.

  “That’s what Da said,” Gable said.

  “You saw Ma and Da?” the green eyed one asked.

  Gable jerked his head toward me. “Had to introduce them to my woman.”

  The look of shock that flitted across those giant men’s faces was almost comical. In fact, I’d have laughed if I could control my chattering teeth.

  The green-eyed man was first to respond. He held out his hand in a very manly fashion. I’d never shaken a hand before but I placed my palm in his. “Luke Dawson,” he said. “We’re Gable’s brothers.”

  “Jeremiah,” said the other as he offered a hand.

  I smiled shyly. “I’m Lucianna.”

  Gable alone was an intimidating man, but all three of them side by side? The waves of raw power that seemed to emanate from them made it very hard to speak. Gable seemed to see my dilemma because he came to stand beside me and wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulder. It did help. Even through the myriad of questions floating around my panicked mind, he always had a way of making me feel completely safe.

  “Why aren’t you at the homestead?” Gable asked.

  It was Luke who answered. “A friend of ours just had a baby girl.”

  Gable’s nose scrunched up.
“Why would you want to be around for that?”

  “It’s a long story. We’re staying there tonight. It’s too late to go back home. You staying at the saloon?”

  “Yeah. I need to get Lucianna warmed up and get some food in her. When are you leaving in the morning?”

  “First light,” Jeremiah said. “You can ride out with us if you like.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Gable said.

  “Lucianna,” Jeremiah drawled. “Would you mind terribly if we bought Gable a round of drinks. You’re welcome, too, of course.”

  Ha. The thought of me trading drinking stories with these barbarians in a cathouse was almost laughable. It was awfully kind of him to include me though. “Of course. I think I’ll retire early though so you boys can have a proper reunion.”

  Luke’s impossibly green eyes narrowed with mischievous challenge. “Gable’s gone and found himself a proper English lady, Jer.” He held up a finger. “One drink.”

  “Luke,” Jeremiah warned.

  Gable only shrugged and said, “Up to you.”

  I wanted to be brave and it would be nice to have a reason to be in the establishment I’d been kicked out of. “Fine. One drink and then I’ll leave you boys to it.”

  Luke whooped and led the way to the saloon as Jeremiah shook his head slowly behind him. Gable took my hand and kissed the side of my forehead and I found it very hard to stay mad at his earlier abandonment. He seemed to be feeling much better and the exit of my worry added another layer to my jubilation.

  The bartender frowned when I came in but one look at Gable had him tipping an imaginary hat to me instead. I thought we’d find a table, but no. Luke led us right to the bar and ordered whiskey in oversized shot glasses. He held his up and we followed suit.

  “To the return of our brother. Our family is complete again. And,” he said before anyone sipped, “to the newest member of our pack. Lucianna, I don’t know how you tamed this grumpy old bastard, but you must be some woman to have done it.”

  The boys downed their shots neatly while I didn’t make it look nearly as graceful. The amber liquid scorched my throat the entire way down, and I sputtered with the back of my hand against my lips. It tasted horrible. “What’s a pack?” I asked over their laughter.