Cold Night, Warm Stranger

by Jill Gregory

  "I'd appreciate your help, Emma—if you can spare the time."

  Emma Garrettson assured her that she could, and Maura hastily returned to Kent's main room to pay for the dress and watch impatiently as Jimmy folded it into a box. But as she lifted her parcel the door to the mercantile opened and a tall, handsome, gold-haired man in a buckskin jacket and wide-brimmed Stetson strode in.

  "Thought you were only buying flour and hairpins." He walked right up to Emma, lifted the awakening baby from her arms, and gave the tiny cheek a kiss. Then he turned, tucking Tory comfortably in the crook of his arm, and leaned down to give Emma a quite different kind of kiss, long, deep, and possessive. "I missed you, Malloy," he growled.

  If Emma had looked beautiful before, now she positively glowed. "Hold on to your horses, Garrettson," she told him, but there was a soft breathlessness in her casual tone. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. This is Maura Reed."

  "Pleasure, Miss Reed."

  Maura smiled into razor-sharp blue eyes. She couldn't help but notice how Emma and Tucker Garrettson looked at each other. As if they couldn't get enough.

  A twinge of envy raced through her at their obvious happiness.

  "So..." Emma concluded her explanation of Maura's situation as Maura focused her thoughts. "I'm going to help her dress for the wedding. Would you mind taking Tory for a little while?"

  "No problem. My father and yours are making a bet about her right now in the saloon. They've bet ten dollars over who gets the bigger smile when I bring her in and she sees them both together."

  Emma snatched the baby back from him and kissed the top of her head. "You're not taking my daughter into a saloon," she began with mock indignation, but suddenly, the door opened yet again and this time Quinn Lassiter stalked in.

  The mercantile fell silent.

  The gunfighter paused just inside the doorway, his hard gaze riveted on Maura.

  He paid no attention to anyone else, his eyes locked on hers as if no one else in Whisper Valley existed.

  Slowly, he came toward her and took the parcel. "Reckon you forgot the preacher's waiting."

  "I didn't forget."

  "Having second thoughts? This whole thing was your idea."

  "Of course not!" Indignation swept over her. "We have an arrangement and I'm prepared to stick to it."

  She felt Emma Garrettson's eyes on her, and forced herself to glance at the other woman. Staring back and forth between Maura and Quinn, Emma looked both puzzled and concerned.

  "Then we'd best get a move on." Quinn took her arm. "The day's not getting any younger," he added grimly.

  "I still have to change—"

  "Forget it. You look fine." With the parcel tucked under his arm, he began steering her toward the door, pausing only long enough to nod coolly at Tucker Garrettson.

  "Oh, no, Mr. Lassiter—you can't do that!"

  Emma Garrettson stepped into his path before Tucker could stop her.

  "Malloy," her husband growled, but she ignored him.

  "Maura has bought the loveliest dress—she must be married in it. I insist."

  Quinn stared at her and the gurgling baby girl in her arms. He wasn't sure he'd heard right. "You insist?" he repeated, sounding somewhat dazed.

  "I do." Though the winning smile she bestowed on the gunfighter did nothing to soften his granite features,

  Emma nevertheless ignored her husband's warning look and continued with airy determination, jiggling the baby as she spoke. "Every woman ought to be married in a beautiful gown. I do believe it's a law in Montana, isn't it, Tucker?" She breezed on, unperturbed when her husband rolled his eyes. "Besides, I promised Maura I would help her dress for the wedding and so I will. It won't take long at all, I give you my word. Besides, you two will need witnesses, right? Tucker and I would be happy to help out. Wouldn't we, darling?"

  "Emma, I reckon these folks wouldn't welcome two strangers horning in on—" He broke off as he caught the urgent light in Emma's eye. Quickly, he glanced over at the auburn-haired woman his wife had befriended. She looked tense and pale and none too eager to go off with Lassiter.

  Something was going on here, something that his wife had picked up on with female intuitiveness but that left him baffled. Nevertheless he trusted Emma's judgment in such things. Maybe the girl needed help. Maybe she was being forced into this marriage? She sure didn't look happy.

  For that matter, neither did Lassiter. But then, who would ever imagine a man like him getting married?

  "We'd be glad to oblige," he said steadily, and gave Maura a reassuring smile before turning to the gunfighter.

  "How about if I buy you a drink over at the Jezebel while the ladies get ready?" he suggested lazily.

  Quinn's jaw tightened and he started to refuse, then something made him look at the girl who was going to become his wife.

  She was watching him, her chin angled forward in that defiant way of hers, but there was a wariness in her eyes. Mixed with something that could only be hope. Hope that she'd have a chance to wear that new dress?

  Hell, what was wrong with him? He was going to rush her off to the wedding without giving her a chance to get all gussied up—all because she'd kept him waiting?

  "Reckon I could use a drink." It took every effort of will he possessed to hide the agitation churning through him. This marriage business was turning out to be damned difficult. And he had a suspicion it would only get worse. Already he couldn't wait to get away.

  "Maybe two drinks," he told Tucker grimly, then forced himself to smile at Maura.

  "Take your time, angel. I'll come fetch you when you're ready. The preacher will keep. After all," he added dryly, "last thing I'd want to do is break any of Montana's sacred laws."

  He tipped his hat to Emma and held the door for them to pass through.

  The moment Maura reached her hotel room, she sank down on the bed.

  "Dear Lord, what am I doing?" she moaned, burying her face in her hands.

  This was wrong, the entire situation was wrong. How could she marry a man she didn't love, a man who didn't love her?

  The sweet sparks and easy accord she'd seen between Emma and her husband only served to emphasize just how much was lacking between her and Quinn Lassiter. Their business arrangement of a marriage would be a disaster. But she had to endure it for a while. For the sake of her baby...

  "Why don't you tell me the whole story?" Emma Garrettson spoke softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Peering into her lovely, earnest face, Maura saw something she'd never seen in her entire life.

  Caring. Concern. Friendship.

  "Perhaps I can help," Emma murmured encouragingly. "I'd like to try."

  The story poured out of Maura. She held nothing back. Drained and exhausted, she ended on a note of despair. "I want to do what's best for my baby. But I don't even know how long Quinn will stay. He's trying to do what's honorable, but he doesn't care for me. Maybe this whole temporary marriage idea is a horrible mistake!"

  "No, no, don't think that." Emma put her arms around Maura's shoulders and hugged her. To Emma's surprise, the fragile young woman hadn't begun to cry. She was upset, but not overwrought.

  She's stronger than she looks, Emma thought. Which was good. She'd need to be if she was going to marry that handsomer-than-sin flint-eyed gunman Emma'd met in Kent's Mercantile.

  And yet... Emma had sensed something more beneath the surface of Quinn Lassiter's hard exterior. It was honorable of him to want to marry Maura and take care of the child. And he had backed down about the wedding gown. It took a strong man to change his mind. Many men were too stubborn to give in to a woman, fearing they'd appear weak, but Lassiter had done the right thing as soon as he saw the hopeful look on Maura's face.

  Perhaps Lassiter was like Tucker, mule-headed on the outside, and gentle as a lamb underneath that ornery exterior.

  "I happen to think there might be hope for you two yet," she said slowly, easing back and smiling into Maura's eyes. "Believe it or
not, Tucker and I hated each other for years. So did our fathers. If we could become a family—a wonderful, happy, united family—anything is possible."

  "It's not like that with us." There was a lump in Maura's throat. "Quinn has made it plain—he's leaving as soon as he has me settled on his land. This is only a temporary marriage—so that the baby will have a name, and a home. And that's for the best," she said quickly, trying not to sound as miserable as she felt. "It was my idea. I...wouldn't want a man who felt trapped, like he'd been roped into something he only wanted to get out of. It's not as if we...love each other."

  "No, that's true. Right now. But in time...well, you never know what might happen between two people," Emma suggested gently.

  For a moment Maura felt a stirring of hope, a wild, ridiculous hope. Then she remembered Quinn's words, the grim purpose in his eyes. I get you started on the ranch, hire some men to work it, and then I'm gone.

  She shook her head. "No. Quinn isn't the kind of man to..." She sighed. "There will never be love between us," she finished quietly.

  A small silence fell.

  "Maura, if you've changed your mind about this arrangement you've made, if you want to back out of it, you're welcome to stay with Tucker and me until you figure out what to do. You don't have to marry Lassiter if you think this agreement between you won't work or if you simply don't want to go through with it."

  Maura stared at her gratefully. Emma looked so determined there was no doubt she meant what she said. A weight lifted from Maura's shoulders.

  She had a choice after all.

  But she knew what she was going to do. Her momentary panic had passed. She had made this bargain in the first place because it was good for the baby—and that hadn't changed. Nothing had changed. It was still her best course of action. If only...

  What? she asked herself bitterly. If only Quinn Lassiter wasn't a gunfighter, wasn't a roaming, no-ties kind of man?

  If only he wanted to try to make a real home for her and the baby, to see if they could find a way to stay together, to find some tiny thread of love to bind them?

  She knew better.

  He didn't want love. Or a home, or a family. He never would.

  And the sooner she accepted that and stopped wasting time with such idiotic dreaming, the better.

  "It's all right." She heard her own voice as if from a great distance. How calm she sounded. How sure. "I'm going to marry him," she said softly.

  "Maura, you're certain?"

  She opened the box and, with a rustle, lifted out the pale blue gown. It drifted like a cloud as she laid it across the bed.

  "Yes, I'm certain. I want my baby to have a name." Determination swept through her as she gazed at the other woman. For as long as she lived, she would never forget the kindness of Emma Garrettson. Just as she would never forget her duty to her child.

  "Please." She touched Emma's hand. She'd delayed long enough. It was time to see this through. "Will you help me to get ready now?"

  Chapter 11

  The wedding was over in nearly less time than it had taken Maura to don her dress. A few words from the preacher about the holiness of matrimony and the power of love, a mumble of prayers, and then Maura Jane Reed had taken Quinn Lassiter to be her lawful wedded husband, and Quinn Lassiter had taken her to be his lawful wedded wife. In sickness and in health, forsaking all others, and not till death would they part.

  Emma and Tucker Garrettson were the sole witnesses. They'd left Tory in the Jezebel Saloon with her two grandfathers, and Emma had even given Maura her pretty opal earbobs to wear with her new gown, since Maura had precious little jewelry of her own—only the ivory cameo necklace in the shape of a rose, which her mother had left her. She'd brought along Ma Duncan's enamel jewel box, but aside from the cameo necklace tucked inside, there were no other jewels in it—only hairpins and buttons. Ma Duncan had been buried in what little jewelry she possessed, and when Maura explained this to Emma, the other woman had instantly removed her own dangling earbobs and insisted that Maura have them as a wedding gift.

  Then there was the matter of the ring. When it came time for that part of the ceremony, Quinn Lassiter had frozen.

  He'd turned toward Tucker Garrettson, his expression that of a man who has gone out to face an enemy in a gunfight without either his holster or six-shooter.

  But bless Tucker. He'd tugged a cigar out of his pocket, slipped the paper ring off it, and handed it to Quinn without blinking an eye.

  Maura's hand trembled when Quinn took her slender fingers in his and slipped that paper ring into place. It didn't matter that it was poor paper—it might have been an emerald for the way her heart slammed against her chest as Quinn pushed it past her knuckle and settled it into place.

  Then the preacher had told Quinn he could kiss the bride.

  Maura had lifted her face to his and closed her eyes. But the kiss he'd brushed across her lips had been quick, cool, and abrupt, a stranger's kiss. When she opened her eyes as he pulled away, his expression had been grim.

  The last fragments of her silly hopes faded.

  This was a marriage of convenience and she'd better not forget that. Quinn Lassiter obviously hadn't. She was expecting far too much, even now.

  Stop being an idiot, she told herself after a wedding supper served in the Whisper Valley Grand Hotel, with Emma and Tucker as their guests.

  The Garrettsons had sent the baby home with her grandfathers and had done their best to make the meal seem like a celebration. The only awkward moment had come when Tucker had inquired about their plans.

  "I'm taking Maura to Hope, Wyoming. Starting up a little ranch there. Then I've got a job lined up in Laramie." Quinn had tossed back a swig of whiskey.

  "A gunfighting job?" Tucker had looked startled. "You're...staying in the same line of work even after getting married?"

  "That's the idea," Quinn said evenly.

  Tucker had glanced swiftly back and forth between Maura and the gunfighter, then leaned back in his chair with a frown. Under the table, Emma had reached over to give Maura's hand a reassuring squeeze.

  A little while later the Garrettsons had departed for their ranch—but not before Emma had taken Maura aside and said fervently, "Try not to worry. I'm sure everything will work out for the best."

  Maura's eyes had shone with tears as she hugged Emma goodbye.

  "Write to me when the baby is born!" Emma whispered just before she and Tucker took their leave and went home to their ranch and family.

  Which had left Maura and Quinn all alone in the lobby of the hotel.

  "We ought to turn in early." Quinn had pulled a pocket watch from his black vest and frowned at it. "We'll be making an early start."

  With Mabel Barnes watching in openmouthed fascination, he'd taken her arm and escorted her up the stairs.

  So it was that with the crimson shadows of a magnificent sunset streaking the sky beyond the window, and silence settling over the town, Maura sat on the edge of her bed and faced this man, this stranger, who was now her husband. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at him. He was so handsome in his dark shirt, vest, and fitted trousers, all of which set off to perfection his broad-shouldered, muscular physique. The fading sunset threw rich glints of light across the splendid hard planes of his face and illuminated the cool silver depths of his eyes.

  But there was no warmth in him, she noted with a shiver. Only tension, and reserve, and a cool aloofness, which had been there ever since they'd spoken their vows.

  "We're going to leave at first light for Wyoming," he told her shortly, pulling up a chair and straddling it, his long legs stretched out to either side of him.

  She nodded. "The town is called Hope?"

  "That's right. Last time I rode through to check on my land, Hope was a nice, pleasant little town. I reckon you'll like it well enough. And there's about a hundred acres of land—as I said, it was payment for a job. The man who hired me already had a spread in Kansas—he'd been intending to sell
this land that was left to him by an uncle, but he signed the deed over to me after I wiped out the rustlers who'd been bleeding him dry."

  She smoothed her skirt. "I see. And you accepted it as payment. So did you plan to start a cattle ranch someday?"

  Quinn bit back a laugh.

  "No, I never planned to start a cattle ranch. Not in a million years," he snorted.

  He'd never planned to be married, either, even a marriage like this one. The last thing he'd expected was to have to worry about a wife and child.

  He wanted to be riding over the plains, sleeping under the stars, following the scent of water, gold, money, or blood.

  He wanted freedom, open skies, with no one he had to talk to, no one he had to listen to. He wanted his horse, his saddlebag, and a whiskey flask in his pocket. He wanted to cook his own dinner over a campfire at night, to pick out any whore he wanted from whatever saloon was handy and bed her and walk away in the morning. He wanted to keep every human being he encountered a stranger.

  He didn't want to be responsible for the thin, delicate, red-haired beauty sitting opposite him in a pale blue wedding dress, watching him as if what he had to say was the most important thing to her in the world.

  But he was responsible for her. For now.

  He stood up and stalked to the window. "But I will start a ranch," he said in a low tone. "For you. And I'll hire some good men to run it. Then you can take over, make a go of it. Just like we talked about. You game, angel?"

  Though she nodded, her gaze was bleak. Sad.

  What the hell did she want from him? He was doing right by her, he would make sure she and the kid had a place of their own and a steady income.

  So why did he feel like the walls were closing in on him?

  There was something about her, Quinn thought, his gut clenching. Something that tore at him like nothing else ever had. This girl with her freckles and her wide mouth, her deep, soft eyes, she made him sweat. She made him want to kiss her again, and that was something he wouldn't do. Ever.