Wyoming Bride

by Joan Johnston

  Flint tied Buck’s reins to the back of the cook wagon, made sure Emaline was settled comfortably, then climbed onto the bench, took up the reins, and set the horses in motion. Once they were moving, he asked, “How did you end up at the camp alone, Emaline? What happened to everyone?”

  “I went looking for Ransom this morning, since he didn’t come home for supper last night,” she explained. “When I got here, everyone but Ransom was dead. He was conscious long enough to tell me they were attacked by renegade Indians with brand-new rifles.”

  “Did he speculate on where they got them?” Flint asked.

  “He thought Ashley Patton might be responsible. That he gave guns to the Indians so they could attack the smaller spreads.”

  “It makes a crazy sort of sense. Patton’s enough of a greenhorn to think he can control a bunch of savages.”

  “Then you think Patton’s responsible, too?” Emaline asked.

  “Nobody else I know is greedy enough to do something that stupid.”

  “What happens now?” Emaline said.

  “You do your best to nurse Ransom back to health.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Find a way to prove Ashley Patton sold guns to the Indians, and make sure the full force of the law comes down on his head.”

  Hannah fell fast asleep after Flint put her back to bed, but woke up when the first gray light came through the bedroom window. She stretched like a cat, aware of her body in a way she never had been before. The sex had been surprising, fierce and frenzied. She still marveled at the raw intensity of what had passed between them.

  She’d only gone downstairs hunting Flint because she’d felt guilty for falling asleep—again—as soon as her head hit the pillow, thereby avoiding her brand-new husband’s attentions.

  It was the pregnancy, of course.

  Hannah wasn’t as tired these days as she had been in the very beginning, but she had nowhere near the stamina she’d had before a life had begun growing inside her. When she’d woken up and found Flint gone from bed, she’d suspected he was going to the roundup camp to find his brother. And Emaline.

  She despised herself for feeling jealous of the other woman, but that did nothing to make the feeling go away. She’d run downstairs hoping he hadn’t left yet and wishing there was something, anything, she could do to end her husband’s infatuation with his brother’s fiancée.

  She’d buttoned Flint’s coat because it gave her an excuse to close the distance between them. She’d wanted to tell him that she was his wife now, that he had to forget about Emaline. But how could she accuse him of loving another woman, when she was guilty of hiding her pregnancy by another man?

  She hadn’t expected what came next. The first kiss was hesitant and tender. The second sent the blood thrumming through her veins. By the time his coat came off, she was lost in a rush of sensations that left her reeling. Her breasts were exquisitely sensitive to his touch. His mouth and hands brought delightful torment wherever they roamed.

  Hannah still couldn’t believe her wanton behavior. She’d shimmied out of her nightgown as Flint pulled it off over her head and stood proudly before her husband, not flinching as his gaze roamed her naked body. She forgot about everything except the heat in his eyes and the brush of his callused hands over her willing flesh.

  Hannah shivered at the memory of how good it had felt to thrust her fingers through Flint’s hair and pull his head down to hers for a kiss. How salty the skin at his shoulder had tasted. How her body had moved with his once they were joined. How she’d exulted in his passion and felt exalted by his pleasure.

  Hannah shivered. The gray light in the bedroom window was turning pink and yellow, telling her that dawn wasn’t far off. She should get up and get dressed. If Flint did find Ransom and Emaline, he would likely bring them home with him. If she was going to be compared to the other woman, she wanted to look her best.

  Hannah wished she had something feminine to wear, but since that wasn’t an option, she settled for tying her hair away from her face with one of Emaline’s ribbons and letting the golden curls fall on her shoulders. She pulled on jeans and tucked in a borrowed blouse, then grabbed a shawl and tied it in a knot to hold it in place before heading downstairs.

  Hannah had barely made it to the kitchen when she heard a wagon rolling up to the back of the house. She hurried to the kitchen door and opened it to find Flint pulling the cook wagon to a stop.

  She ran outside and asked, “Where are Ransom and Emaline?”

  “In the wagon,” he said tersely. “Ransom’s been shot.”

  “Oh, no!” Hannah hurried to the back of the wagon and looked over the tailgate. She saw a bedraggled Emaline sitting beside Ransom, who lay unmoving, his eyes closed. “How is he?” she asked.

  “Burning up with fever,” Emaline replied.

  Flint appeared at the back of the wagon, opened the tailgate, and said, “Come on out of there, Emaline.” He turned to Hannah and said, “I’ll need you to hold the kitchen door open for me.” He caught Emaline at the waist when she reached the back of the wagon and lifted her to the ground, then said, “Go upstairs and turn down Ransom’s bed.”

  Flint used the pallet under Ransom’s body to pull him far enough out of the wagon that he could slide his arms under his brother’s shoulders and knees, then hefted him into his arms. Hannah found it ominous that Ransom didn’t move or make a sound when Flint picked him up.

  She ran in front of Flint to open the kitchen door, then stood back as he carried Ransom over the threshold.

  “Bring a pitcher of water upstairs,” he said. “Emaline will need it to sponge Ransom’s body. We have to get this fever down.”

  Hannah saw the fear in his eyes as he walked past her with his brother’s lifeless body in his arms. Hannah closed the door, then filled a pitcher with water at the kitchen pump and hurried upstairs after him.

  She found Emaline sitting on the bed beside Ransom weeping. Flint stood with his back to Hannah, his hands resting on Emaline’s shoulders, his face close to hers.

  Hannah stopped by the door, telling herself to pull her claws back in, that Emaline probably needed comforting. She tamped down the savage jealousy she felt and asked, “Is he dead?”

  Flint let go of Emaline’s shoulders as though he’d been caught embracing her, turned to Hannah and said, “No. I was just … offering comfort.”

  Hannah felt a flare of fury. Emaline might have been seeking comfort, but Flint had wanted more than that. The look of regret in his eyes told Hannah how much he wished he hadn’t married her. He might not want his brother to die, but if he did, Flint was already saddled with an unwanted and unwelcome wife.

  Hannah bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something she would be sorry for later, swallowed over the knot of anger in her throat, and said, “Are you all right, Emaline? Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Emaline swiped at her eyes with a lace hanky and said, “I’m fine. It’s silly to cry now. I’m just so relieved that we’re here, and that Ransom is still alive.”

  Hannah set the pitcher of water on the table beside Emaline. She took a good look at Ransom and saw a man who had one foot in the grave. She placed her hand on his forehand and found it fiery hot. She’d dealt with fever at the orphanage in Chicago. It was relentless. And it killed without mercy.

  “You should get him out of these filthy clothes,” she said to Emaline. “You can cool him down while you wash him up. I’ll be glad to help. In fact, I can take care of Ransom while you clean yourself up.”

  Emaline looked down and seemed surprised to discover that her white blouse and tan riding skirt were stained with dirt and dried blood.

  “Hannah’s right,” Flint said. “You need to take care of yourself first, Emaline. I’ll undress Ransom while you wash up.”

  Hannah realized Flint had solved the problem of having either of the two women undress his brother. But he was only postponing the inevitable, unless he
wanted to nurse Ransom himself.

  “Come on, Emaline,” Hannah said, eyeing Flint over her shoulder as she helped the other woman to her feet. “You can dress in my room. It sounds like you’ve had quite an adventure. I want to hear all about it.”

  Hannah found Emaline reticent about discussing the events of the previous evening. “You mean you stitched his wounds yourself?” she said, amazed at Emaline’s courage in the face of such adversity. “Where did you find the nerve?”

  “It was either that or watch him bleed to death,” Emaline replied as she scrubbed at her face and arms with a wet washcloth. “You would have done the same thing.”

  “I can barely mend clothes,” Hannah said. “I can’t imagine sticking a needle through someone’s flesh.”

  Emaline shuddered. “I hope I never have to do it again.” She swiped once more at her chest, then threw the washcloth into the bowl next to the pitcher and began dressing herself.

  “Wait,” Hannah said. “You must be tired. Did you sleep at all last night?”

  Emaline shook her head.

  “Why don’t you lie down in my bed for a while and rest? Flint and I will watch over Ransom. I promise to come get you if anything changes.”

  “I want to be with him,” Emaline said, continuing to dress. “I need to be with him.”

  Hannah didn’t want to like Emaline. She certainly didn’t want to admire her. But she wondered if she would have done so well if she’d found herself in the same situation. Clearly, Emaline needed rest. She crossed to the other woman and caught her hands, stopping her from buttoning the blouse she’d put on. Hannah slid it back off Emaline’s shoulders, leaving her in her chemise and underdrawers.

  “Lie down, Emaline. If you’re still awake at the end of five minutes, I promise I’ll let you go to Ransom. Otherwise, I’ll call you if there’s any change in his condition.”

  Emaline was clearly torn. And clearly exhausted. She glanced at the bed, then toward the door. “You promise you’ll come get me?”

  Hannah crossed her heart with a finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

  Emaline smiled. Her eyes were watery with tears. “Thank you, Hannah.”

  Hannah quickly pulled down the covers so Emaline could crawl under them. She covered her up and said, “Rest. Try not to worry. I’ll be back in five minutes to check on you.”

  Emaline closed her eyes and sighed as her body sank into the mattress. “Oh, I almost forgot. Best wishes on your marriage, Hannah. Flint told me the two of you tied the knot.”

  Emaline’s eyes remained closed. Obviously, she didn’t expect a response. Hannah was glad, because she wasn’t sure what to say. She wondered what else Flint had discussed with Emaline on that long drive back from the roundup camp. She waited to see how restless Emaline would be, but within two minutes, the other woman was lightly snoring.

  Hannah turned and left the room. She had a vested interest in making sure that Ransom Creed survived. She wanted Emaline married to Flint’s brother. Then maybe Flint could stop pining for his brother’s woman.

  Over the next three days, Hannah, Flint, and Emaline took turns nursing Ransom, whose fever raged. Hannah shared Flint’s bed with Emaline, while he stayed in the room with his brother. On the third night, it was touch and go, and Hannah thought for sure Ransom would die. She tried to offer Flint comfort, but he kept his distance. He looked grim and said nothing.

  On the fourth morning, the fever broke, and Ransom woke up long enough to speak to Emaline, who collapsed in tears. Hannah had to take her out of the room while Flint reassured his anxious brother that Emaline was only tired.

  Hannah ushered Emaline downstairs to the kitchen and poured her a cup of coffee, patting her shoulder and agreeing with her that it had been a long four days and surely now that the fever had broken Ransom would recover.

  She was pouring herself a cup of coffee when someone began pounding on the back door. Hannah shared a worried look with Emaline before she crossed to the door and cautiously opened it.

  Emaline’s father stood there in an impressive blue military uniform with a lot of gold buttons across his chest. A man with a clerical collar, the same preacher who’d married Hannah and Flint, stood beside him.

  “Let me in,” the colonel said.

  Hannah stood back, responding automatically to the authority in the colonel’s voice, and the colonel and the cleric stepped into the kitchen.

  When Emaline saw her father, she jumped up and threw herself into his open arms, sobbing and speaking incoherently. He patted her shoulder awkwardly and spoke softly to her, but Hannah could see his eyes blazed with anger and his mouth flattened to a thin, uncompromising line.

  “Where’s Ransom?” the colonel asked his daughter.

  “In bed. He was shot, Father. His fever broke this morning, and he’s finally conscious.”

  “Good,” the colonel said. “Take me to him.” He put an arm around Emaline’s shoulder, urging her toward the hallway, and gestured for Hannah to precede them. He turned to the preacher and said, “Come along, Reverend Scofield.”

  Hannah led the way up the stairs and then down the hall to Ransom’s room. The bedroom door was open, and Flint sat on his brother’s bed talking quietly with him. “Flint, we have company,” she said to give him some warning.

  Flint rose abruptly and turned, hands fisted, ready to fight. He stiffened when he saw the colonel. Hannah watched him grit his teeth when he caught sight of the preacher standing behind him in the doorway.

  “Hello, Colonel,” Flint said.

  Hannah noticed the colonel didn’t offer his hand. Instead he said, “I understand from Mr. Patton that my daughter and your brother spent the night together. If I had my way, I’d finish the job those renegade Indians started, but my late wife’s sister, whom I located in Denver, tells me my daughter loves that scoundrel.”

  “I do love him, Father!” Emaline cried.

  “Don’t interrupt me, Emaline,” the colonel said doggedly. “Under the circumstances, I see no reason to delay their wedding three more weeks.”

  “I presume Mr. Patton also told you that my brother was shot and near death when he and Emaline spent the night together,” Flint said through tight jaws.

  “That’s beside the point,” the colonel said.

  “Ransom’s too sick to go through any kind of ceremony,” Flint objected. “Especially a shotgun wedding.”

  “I’m fine,” a hoarse voice interjected. “I’ll be happy to marry Emaline right now, Colonel.”

  “I see you’re still kicking,” the colonel said, eyeing Ransom dubiously. “Mr. Patton seemed to think the issue was in doubt. I brought along Reverend Scofield, just in case. It seems he’ll be of some use after all.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Ransom,” Flint said.

  Ransom reached a feeble hand toward Emaline, and she hurried to his side and grasped it. “I want to marry Emaline,” Ransom said. “The sooner the better.”

  Hannah felt guilty because she was glad the colonel had shown up. Glad that he was insisting Emaline and Ransom marry. The sooner they were wed, the sooner Flint would have to let go of his dream of a life with the other woman.

  Guilt that she was feeling so glad, when Emaline would be robbed of her lovely wedding, prompted her to ask, “Emaline, do you want to change into something prettier?”

  Emaline shook her head. “I’d be happy to marry Ransom barefoot and wearing a shift.”

  The colonel harrumphed. “That won’t be necessary, my dear. Well, Reverend Scofield. Get to it.”

  The preacher was carrying a prayer book, which he opened, and Hannah listened to him speak the words she’d heard so recently herself.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here …”

  Hannah glanced at Flint and saw his eyes were riveted on Emaline. A muscle worked in his jaw, and his mouth became a thin line. His gaze skipped to his brother as Ransom spoke the words that would bind him to Emaline forever. />
  Hannah felt her heart squeeze. Why did she care so much what Flint felt for Emaline? Theirs was merely a marriage of convenience. Flint needed a wife. She needed a father for her child. When had her feelings gotten engaged? When had she started wanting him to desire her and her alone?

  Maybe she was simply being a dog in the manger. She hadn’t insisted that Flint love her, but she didn’t want him loving Emaline, either.

  Their wedding should have been sufficient to take Emaline out of the picture. But she had caught that yearning look on Flint’s face once too often. Perhaps this ceremony would kill his feelings for Emaline Simmons, soon to be Emaline Creed, once and for all.

  Or maybe not.

  Hannah felt sick to her stomach. Maybe it was the sausage she’d eaten for breakfast. Maybe it was morning sickness. All she knew was that if she didn’t get out of this room right now, she was going to embarrass herself.

  She bolted for her bedroom, yanked the chamber pot out from under the bed, dropped to her knees, and promptly lost the contents of her stomach in the porcelain bowl.

  She felt her hair being pulled back from her face as she vomited. When she was done, someone handed her a wet cloth, which she used to wipe her mouth. That same hand pushed the chamber pot back under the bed.

  A moment later she was being lifted into Flint’s lap as he sat down on the bed. She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes as she fought against further nausea and tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You should have told me you were sick.”

  “I’m not sick.”

  “Then what the hell was that?” he demanded.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Hannah knew she’d made a mistake the instant the words were out of her mouth. Every muscle in Flint’s body tensed. They hadn’t been married long enough for her to know for certain she was pregnant if Flint was the father. Certainly not long enough for her to have morning sickness.

  It didn’t taken long for Flint to figure out that he wasn’t the proud papa of her child. “I see,” he said. He sounded upset.