Desperate Lola (The Mail Order Brides of Boot Creek Book 2)

by Carré White

  “I’m Lola Foster. I’m not anybody else. I’ll behave and react the way I do, because I’m me.” Now he looked confused. “Just because your wife didn’t like that aspect of marriage doesn’t mean I won’t. A woman can enjoy herself with her husband and not be a prostitute.” How on earth I had formed this opinion, I did not know. It certainly wasn’t from experience.

  He remained thoughtful, his attention on me. “But you’re still upset.”

  “I want to scratch her eyes out. She looked at you like you were one of her possessions. That’s the part I found annoying.”

  “I was her best customer. I’m one of the wealthiest men in town, Lola, if not the entire territory. I suppose she thinks I’m in her pocket.” He touched my face, his thumb grazing my chin. “She could never match your beauty. It’s utter perfection wrapped up in an innocence I find refreshing. There’s nothing sharp or hardened about you. You’ve not been trampled by the world and molded by cynicism, and I hope you never will be.”

  “She was so exotic, so mysterious.”

  “That’s face paint and a tight corset. She’s quite haggard looking without all that powder.” He smiled ruefully. “There’s something mean there too. It came from having to fight and scrape to claw her way out of the gutter. I’ve given her enough money to see her through for some time, but I suspect she’s fond of gambling. It’ll all run out sooner than later.” His gaze drifted to my mouth. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore.”

  “I don’t either.” We were nearly to the house. “Do you think they’ve eaten the cake?”

  “Poor, Lola,” he chuckled. “I’ll have Mrs. Boles send up champagne and strawberries. Will that make you happy?”

  “Yes, but only if you have them with me.”

  “That was the plan.” He frowned slightly. “I hope the day isn’t ruined.”

  “It’s not. I value your honesty. You didn’t have to tell me any of this, but I’m glad you did. I don’t know if you’ll ever see her again, and I hope you won’t, but I can’t control any of that.”

  We had pulled up to the house, where Mrs. Boles appeared on the stairs with Otto at her feet.

  “I can guarantee you that I’ll never seek out Miss Lowell’s services again. I’ve no need to engage a clingy mistress. They’re not worth the trouble, I can assure you.”

  I would have to think about everything we had discussed, as some things continued to niggle me, unpleasantly. He had been as honest as I had hoped, and that was more than I could ask for at this time. He was my husband now, and I had given myself over to his care. Our rocky start would hopefully transform into something smoother, more satisfying.

  He waited for me to alight, taking my hand. “There you are.”

  “Are congratulations in order?” asked Mrs. Boles.

  “Yes, they are. We finally found success.”

  “Oh, how wonderful.” She grinned.

  “Can you send up champagne and strawberries?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “With whipped cream?” I asked hopefully.

  “My poor wife wasn’t able to have cake.” Jack and I approached the steps. Otto had been well-behaved, waiting patiently for his master and mistress. “We were forced to leave a tad early.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll make those things you requested immediately.” She winked at me. “A private celebration is far better anyhow.”

  I smiled, agreeing. “Yes.”

  Jack led the way, my hand firmly in his grasp, as he strode towards the staircase. His determination to bring me to my bedchamber was duly noted. Once we had reached our destination, he drew me into his arms. “You’re so lovely, Lola. I long to see you without anything on.” His husky tenor sent a pleasurable shiver down my spine.

  I grasped at his bowtie, pulling it loose. “You’ve too much on as well.”

  Determined hands encircled my waist, pulling me towards the bed. “We’ll remedy the issue soon enough.”

  Gazing into his face, seeing his interest, a sense of gladness rushed through me, as my heart took on extra beats. While he undid the tiny buttons on the bodice, I continued to stare at him, marveling at how handsome he was. I adored the shape of his face, even with the wrinkles and the hints of gray in his hair. He looked like a comfortably worn blanket I wanted to wrap myself in.

  “What are your thoughts?” he asked. “Something nice is going through your mind.”

  “I … think I like you.”

  He grinned. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Do you like me?” He’d removed the bodice, working on the corset, pulling loose the stays.

  “Yes, Lola. I married you, didn't I?”

  “But you felt obligated.”

  “Not at all. I could’ve given you ample money and sent you back home.”

  My skirt had come undone, and I stepped out of it, standing before him in nothing more than my chemise and drawers. I grasped his face, and not being able to help myself, I kissed him. A knock on the door interrupted us, and I reluctantly let go.

  “Hold that thought, my love. Come in!”

  Mrs. Boles appeared with a tray. “Here you are. Everything you asked for.” There were two wine glasses and a bowl of strawberries with cream. She left without another word.

  Jack poured the fluid into the glasses, handing one to me. “To a new beginning.”

  “I’ve never had champagne before.”

  “To new experiences.”

  I sat on the bed, with a leg beneath me. “Bring everything over. I really don’t want to sit at the table.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Then you should take those clothes off.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Demanding.”

  I giggled, sipping the champagne, which tasted dry, yet bubbly. “I don’t have to be shy with my husband, do I?”

  “I would hope not.” He set the tray near me, although he left the bottle on the table. “Here you are. It’s not the cake you wanted, but it’ll have to do.”

  He undid his waistcoat, leaving it on a chair. His shirt and trousers followed this, while I eyed him curiously, finding his body pleasing. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean torso, his belly toned and flat. A patch of dark hair hid his anatomy, and, when he turned to retrieve his glass, I glimpsed the contours of his buttocks. I longed to touch every part of his flawless, manly perfection.

  “You’ve had an eyeful.” He sat on the bed, grinning teasingly.

  “I have.”

  “Do you like what you see?” He lifted an arm, flexing a muscle. “I might not be as young as my wranglers, but I’m in the stables more often than not. I do my share of manual labor. Sitting behind a desk isn’t good for overall health, or so my physician says. I enjoy riding my property.” Dunking a strawberry into whipped cream, I brought it to his lips; he ate it in one bite. “Thank you.” I kissed him while he still chewed, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’m so grateful your warmth is back, Lola. I like this side of you.”

  “I like this side of you,” I murmured, shivering with pleasure at the closeness.

  “You seem to bring out a variety of responses in me. I do so prefer when we’re not arguing.”

  He felt soft beneath my fingers, while I ran a hand across his shoulder. As my husband, it was my right to see him thusly unclothed. It was like birthday and Christmas all wrapped up in a pretty bow. The desire to explore him—every inch of him—left me nearly euphoric with anticipation. I climbed onto his lap, heedless of the strawberries, which the movement unsettled, tossing the fruit across the covers.

  “You’re surprisingly aggressive,” he murmured.

  “Hum … I don’t want to talk. I just want to touch you. I want to kiss every inch of you.” My only thought was to kiss him, finding his mouth, and invading with my tongue. “Jack … ” He grabbed me, crushing me to him.

  A pounding on the door broke the spell. “Boss! We got trouble!” said a voice that sounded like Mr. Brittle. “Oliver Trundle and his boys are comin
’!”

  Chapter 11

  I was not aware of the history—the acrimony between the cattle barons of the New Mexico Territory and the longstanding resentments of the smaller farmers. All I knew was that my wedding had been a disaster, the reception a total failure, and my honeymoon had now been ruined. I refused to remove my arms from around my husband’s neck.

  “Sweetheart, I have to go.” Regret laced his tone.

  “No.”

  He rubbed my back, while I buried my face in his neck. “I’m sorry. We’ll continue this shortly. I promise you that.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to see about this situation. It’s business.” He tried to remove me, grasping my arms. “Lola.”

  I held his face, kissing him, hating that he would go. “I don’t like this one bit. Everything’s ruined.”

  “No, my dear.” He pushed a strand of hair away from my eyes. “We’ve bonded rather well, I should say, in such a short period of time. I’ll finish this business as quickly as I can, because all I can think about is being with you.”

  “Can’t Chuck take care of it? Tell him to make those men go away.” I sounded petulant, but I did not care.

  “It’s not that simple.” He slid from the bed, but not before I caught a glimpse of that part of his anatomy that had been hidden in hair. It had risen rather dramatically.

  “Boss! You comin?”

  “Yeah,” Jack muttered. He thrust his arms into his shirt, while casting regretful glances in my direction. His sudden grin was disarming. “You’ve had an eyeful now, eh?”

  “I have. I really would like to get a better look at that.”

  He shook his head, as if trying to un-hear what he just heard. “Shush now. Don’t say that. I’m half tempted to let it all go to blazes just to be with you. You’ve no idea how fetching you look—how seductive.”

  I appreciated the compliment, but I would have rather had him next to me. “I suppose I’ll get dressed too.” I sighed, reaching for a drawer, wanting to wear something that was not as form-fitting as my wedding ensemble. I found a variety of dresses neatly folded, choosing a simple, blue calico.

  Jack had dressed, sliding his feet into his boots. I had done up the last of the buttons, before he opened the door, finding Mr. Brittle standing there.

  “Boss! It’s not looking good. Oliver claims you’ve been stealin’ cattle from him, which we all know is untrue. But he claims it anyway, saying you want him off his land so you can claim ownership of it.”

  “He’s as loco as ever.”

  I approached the door, running fingers through my long, tangled hair. “Must you go?”

  Mr. Brittle’s eyes skimmed over me. “I guess congratulations are in order. Did you marry?”

  “Yes, we did,” said Jack, reaching for me. “I’ll be back shortly, darling.” He kissed my forehead. “You wait here. This shouldn't take more than an hour or so, then we can resume … the honeymoon.”

  He broke free from my grasp, hurrying down the hallway, while Mr. Brittle continued to stare, his gaze lingering on my mussed hair. “Just remember, I was the one who kissed you first, darlin’.”

  How annoying! The gall! “I do prefer my husband’s kisses, Mr. Brittle. They’ve all but erased any previous memory.”

  A scowl appeared. “Don’t get too comfortable at The Kelly Ranch, Mrs. Kelly. Being a cattle baron is a hazardous occupation. I could count the number of widows on both hands.” He nodded. “That’s a lot.”

  Those words sat unpleasantly in my belly. “Are you threatening my husband?”

  “Not at all. I’m just telling you not to get too comfortable or too smug in that ivory tower. It could all come crashing down around you. Then you might find yourself desperate enough to marry a cowpuncher.”

  He turned and left before I could say anything else, feeling quite disturbed by what I had just heard. There seemed to be a commotion outside, and I hurried for the stairs to find out what it was. I met Mrs. Boles in the foyer, where she stood staring at the door with a worried expression.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Oliver Trundle and his men have come to settle an old score.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A neighboring rancher, but he’s also working on the wrong side of the law. We suspect he’s been the one responsible for culling cows from the herd. Mr. Kelly’s gathering men to find the animals.”

  “I don’t know anything about this business.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “He never mentioned it in his letters.”

  “It’s the unpleasant aspect of what he does. Being as successful as he is, someone’s always trying to steal from him.”

  There were other men on the porch as well, and they had brandished weapons. “Do they work for Jack?”

  She nodded. “He’s got his boys with him, but so does Oliver.” I made a move to pass her. “It’s better not to go out, my dear.” The dog appeared in the hallway. “Keep that animal inside!” One of the maids went to fetch him, leading him to the study.

  Glancing out the door, I spied my husband, who stood with his hands on his hips. He had donned a belt, which held a holster. Mr. Brittle stood with him and three other men, who I had not met yet. Before them were several men on horseback. The person at the front seemed the most authoritative, his expression stern. I assumed this was Oliver Trundle.

  “You stole my cattle,” the man on horseback accused.

  “I did not. I merely retrieved property that belonged to me.”

  Oliver dismounted, his booted feet touching the ground. “I beg to differ.”

  “I’ve the cattle in a small paddock, if you wish to examine them. Your boys branded over my K, but I can assure you, the original brand is still visible. I don’t take too kindly to having my property stolen.”

  “Your days of heavy handed tactics are coming to an end, Jack. It’s my land you want, but you’ll never get it, not over my dead body.”

  “I’ve enough land, Oliver. What I’d like to do is continue to raise my cattle without your men stealing from me.”

  “Those were my cows!” he hissed, spitting on the ground.

  “They were not.”

  Ignoring Mrs. Boles warning about not appearing on the porch, I went out anyhow, wanting to have a better look at who my husband’s nemeses were. All the men noted this, as their eyes fell on me.

  “Is this your new wife?” asked Mr. Trundle. “She’s a sight better than I thought she’d be. Somebody said you brought in a mail order bride.”

  Jack swung around to look at me, grinning slightly. “Yes. This is Mrs. Lola Kelly.”

  “Heard you were gonna get married again.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “It’s smart to try for a son. It’s important to have someone to carry on the family business. My boys know how valuable they are.”

  The thinly veiled threat sat poorly with me, my skin crawling from the lascivious look on Oliver’s face, as it traveled over my person.

  “Judd, why don’t you bring one of the cows around that Mr. Trundle claims is his. I’d like him to have a look at the shoddy branding. We’ll see whose brand came first. We’ll settle this once and for all.”

  “Yes, sir.” He took off down the steps.

  “Don’t bother wastin’ your time,” said Oliver.

  “But you’re here wasting mine. I’m growing tired of these games. I’m reaching the end of my tolerance for the thievery that continues unabated. Sheriff Ballew’s seen your handiwork, and he agrees with me. This nonsense needs to stop.”

  Unperturbed, Oliver spat on the ground. “I want my property back. The way I see it, you owe me twenty head of cattle.”

  “Which belonged to me. I owe you nothing. You’re just cross, because I discovered your little hiding place. Leaving the cows with Mrs. Langston was a stroke of genius, but it’s just like you to hide behind a woman’s skirts, isn’t it?”

  “Leave Penn
y outta it,” he warned.

  “I know you got a soft spot for whores, but using her property to warehouse livestock?” Jack shook his head. “I expected more from you.” A rider appeared in the distance, kicking up a fair amount of dust. “Who is that?”

  Judd had brought the cow around, having roped it. The animal trotted towards us, while the rider approached. I stood by the door watching, wondering what would happen next. The person who had arrived belonged to Mr. Trundle, because he stopped near the horses.

  “She’s dead!”

  Oliver’s head snapped in his direction. “Who’s dead?”

  “Penny. Found her hanging from a tree.”

  A thunderous expression distorted Mr. Trundle’s face. “What?”

  “She was hanged. The cattle are gone, and so is she.”

  “I sent my men to round up my property,” said Jack. “Nothing more.”

  “You killed Penny!”

  “I don’t know who killed your whore, Oliver. I had nothing to do with it.”

  The tension had escalated, and, from the looks of it, there would be bloodshed. I had to wonder if my husband had ordered Mrs. Langston’s death, but at that moment, I did not have time to ponder this question. Feeling the eyes of men upon me and knowing it was not safe to be amongst them, I reached for the door, meaning to go inside. A piercing pain registered in my shoulder, as a loud bang went off. The force of whatever hit me sent me tumbling to the porch, where I landed in an unceremonious heap. A white-hot pain registered in my shoulder, while something wet began to drench the cloth of my sleeve.

  “You son of a ... ” shouted Jack, as gunfire erupted, the shots echoing, as bullets struck the wood around me.

  Someone stood over me, lifting me. It was one of Jack’s men, but he was suddenly hit, stumbling with me in his arms. We landed just inside the house, and Mrs. Boles grasped one of my arms, pulling me further into the parlor. “Oh, my heavens!” she exclaimed, her face awash with horror. Bullets sprayed the interior, as works of art sported holes and gilded frames came crashing to the floor.

  “It’s an eye for an eye!” shouted Oliver. “Now you’ll know what it feels like to have something you love taken away.”