by Lily Graison
Neither said a word while they ate. Morgan tucked into his food like a man starved and had seconds, cleaning most of the platters. He’d be ashamed of himself if he hadn’t just spent a week surviving off of dried beef jerky and water.
When his stomach was full and his coffee cup filled to the brim again, he leaned back in his chair and watched her eat. Her plate was barely touched. In the soft light coming from the windows, he could see faint purple smudges under her eyes. She looked tired. Worn down, somehow. The reason she was here came back to mind and he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and he cupped his hands around his coffee mug. “What were you doing in the saloon?”
She glanced at him and looked back down at her plate again before laying her fork on the table. “I was looking for the stagecoach driver. I told you that yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why were you looking for Pete?”
She sighed and pushed her plate away, not saying anything for long minutes. When she said, “I was supposed to be married,” Morgan nearly choked on his coffee.
“Married? To Pete?” he asked, louder than he intended.
She threw him a look before rolling her eyes. “No. Not him.”
“Who?”
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” he said, but that wasn’t the complete truth. The thought of her getting married did matter. Somewhat. Why, he didn’t care to think about. Taking a sip from his mug, he let the silence stretch before saying, “Who were you supposed to marry?”
“Flynn Haggard.”
He did choke then. He coughed and sputtered before catching enough air to breathe normally again. She was staring at him, arms folded under her breasts when he’d caught his breath and looked back at her. “Flynn Haggard?” He frowned. “Why in the world would you want to marry him?”
“Why does it matter? He apparently isn’t available to marry me now so it’s a mute point.”
Wasn’t available… Morgan laughed at that statement. Flynn wasn’t available, all right. He knew that for a fact. He’d arrested the man for cattle rustling and personally turned him over to the circuit court judge two weeks ago. The fact Flynn was getting married didn’t surprise him. Most men from town sent off for brides but those same men always let everyone know. Flynn hadn’t said a word. “How did you meet Flynn?”
“I haven’t. The marriage was arranged through the agency. He was supposed to meet me at the stagecoach station. When I asked about him, I was told he was arrested and had been taken to Missoula. That’s when I went to find the stagecoach driver.”
“And started a brawl and nearly got my face permanently disfigured.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” she said, sitting up straight in her chair, her hands clenched into fists. “That awful man who came in thought I was a whore and started… Well, he grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go. When he tossed me over his shoulder and started for the stairs, that’s when everything went wrong.”
Morgan listened to her vivid account of what happened inside the saloon before he arrived. The fight really wasn’t her fault but, just like Vernon had said, if she hadn’t been in the saloon, none of it would have happened. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Fine. You didn’t personally start the brawl but you being inside the saloon did.”
She gaped at him, her pretty little mouth open. Thoughts flew at him unbidden at the sight, thoughts that involved them both naked and those lush lips curled around his cock. He blinked and looked away to distract himself. He grabbed his coffee and burnt his tongue when he gulped it down. “So,” he said, coughing to clear his throat. “You came to Willow Creek to be married and found your groom gone. What did Pete have to do with all this?”
She sighed. “I was hoping he could take me to the next town.”
“He could have done that today.”
“I didn’t want to stay until today.”
She didn’t want to stay? Morgan stared at her and imagined how things would have been upon his return if she hadn’t been there. He’d have had his liquor, his favorite whore from Miss Angelina’s girls and been blessedly content. Well, until this morning, that is. This morning, things would have been the same as they were every week. He’d wake, fix a barely eatable breakfast, walk the town and sit in the jail, staring out the window until he got too restless, and walked the town again. He’d have done that until the sun went down, came home, ate again and gone to bed, or to the saloon to slake his loneliness with one of the girls, and started the same dull routine all over again the next day.
But it hadn’t been so dull as that. No, he’d walked into that saloon and got an armful of Abigail Thornton, had his face smashed in, and woke to find her straddling his hips. He held back a smile at that lovely memory. His entire evening had been so far from the normal he couldn’t help but be grateful. Of course, that didn’t mean he enjoyed her sharp tongue or her biting remarks. Knowing what had caused her surly attitude, though, he could understand it.
He refilled his coffee mug and topped hers off with what remained. “So what are you going to do now? I mean, once I let you out of jail, that is?” He grinned and watched her face turn red.
Abigail had to wonder if he deliberately tried to provoke her. The way he was smiling led her to believe he did. He enjoyed riling her. Grabbing her plate, she rose from her seat and walked to the counter and the washtubs. “Well, since I won’t be marrying Flynn, I’ll be looking for a new husband.” She turned and offered him a smile. “Is your brother, Holden, married?”
* * * *
The expression on his face was priceless. Abigail wanted to laugh but refrained from doing so. He narrowed his eyes at her and pinched his lips tightly together while a slight red tint covered his cheeks. Did Marshal Avery not like the fact she wanted to marry his brother? Or was it the fact she wanted to marry at all? Only one way to find out. “If he is, then I’m sure you can help me find a suitable prospect. You’re bound to know every single man in the county.”
“I do,” he said. “And they’re all married.”
Liar. Abigail walked back to the table, removing the dirty dishes and carrying them one at a time to the counter. She kept the smile wanting to form at bay and didn’t dare look at him. “There isn’t an unmarried man in all of Willow Creek?”
He didn’t answer for long minutes then finally smiled. “Actually there is. Jarvis McNally is single. He’s got a pig farm a couple miles from town. He’s been widowed for a few years now. I’m sure he’d take to you if you cooked him meals like the one you cooked for me. Hell, he might even let you sleep in the house if you ask him real nice.”
Abigail ignored the “cooking a meal for him” bit and latched on to the other instead. “Sleep in the house?”
He nodded. “He’s a bit afraid of women.”
“Afraid of…” Abigail shook her head and scowled at him. “If he was married, why would he be afraid of women?”
“You never met Frieda.” He shuddered. “Hell, I was afraid of her.”
Abigail knew he was joshing her and didn’t give in to the temptation of telling him so. Instead, she stood behind her chair and asked, “How old is he? Can he still father children?”
The look on his face changed all of a sudden and something in his eyes let her know what he was thinking. She knew that in that moment, to Morgan Avery, she was standing in his kitchen in nothing but her hairpins. His gaze traveled the length of her, lingering on her breasts and she felt her nipples tighten in response. Maybe the thought of marrying someone in town irked him for other reasons. Yes, because he’d probably rather have you here cooking and warming his bed for him than off doing the same for someone else.
The thought irritated her. Marriage was more than cooking and seeing to a mans needs day and night but the male population didn’t see it that way and probably never would. She knew her options were few regardless of her own desires. Either she married someone in this town, and fast, or she�
��d have to move on. Doing the latter would cause problems as her funds were down to a few coins. She had no choice but to marry someone before Fletcher found her and she knew he would. She’d barely managed to get away from him in Tucson. Posing as a boy and stowing away on the train were the only things that saved her.
Looking at Marshal Avery, Abigail knew the chances of finding someone who was pleasing to the eye were slim to none. Most men, the ones she knew could protect her, were either work-worn, old or already married. Morgan Avery was neither of those things. He was strongly built, towered over most other men, looked to be in his early thirties and he was a town marshal. He held a position that guaranteed protection and protection is what she needed. When Fletcher found her, she’d need someone to stand up for her and who better than the local lawman? Too bad he didn’t seem to like her much. He would have been the perfect candidate for the job. Assuming she could ever get past his bristly attitude.
Sliding back into her seat, she smiled at him. Seeing him so speechless was pleasing in more ways than one. Goading him into thinking naughty things even more so. “Bedding a man would be a more pleasing task if he were nice to look upon. I can’t imagine baring my body to someone who is—less than desirable. Is this Mr. McNally young or old?”
Something in Morgan’s eyes gave Abigail so much pleasure she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. He looked dazed, his gaze once again resting on her breasts. He sat ramrod straight, his nostrils flaring slightly and looked transfixed on her flesh. He was thinking about this McNally man seeing her naked, she just knew he was. She leaned forward, pushing her breasts up by crossing her arms under them. “Of course, seeing how you’re unmarried, I wouldn’t have any objections to you taking on the task of marrying me. I’d have no problem crawling naked into your bed, marshal.”
He looked up quickly then, shock registering on his face. Her composure broke and she grinned. “Just something to think about,” she said. “I’m sure we could reach some arrangement. I’ve not had a man in ages so please make a decision soon. A woman has needs, too.”
Abigail rose and walked back to the sink. She was barely able to concentrate on the dirty dishes for wanting to turn and look at Morgan. She knew he’d be the last person in town to agree to marry her but the look on his face had brought her the first bit of mirth she’d had in longer than she wanted to think about. When he stood and crossed the room to her, leaning close to her back, she sucked in a quiet breath. She hadn’t lied when she said a woman had needs. She did. She missed having a man in her bed and having Morgan so close to her sent shivers racing up her spine.
He leaned in, trapping her body against the cabinet by placing both hands on either side of her. She could smell the soap on his skin and buried under what she knew was distinctly him, the faint hint of gun oil. Morgan Avery was every bit the kind of man she’d fancy. Strong, arrogant and just a little bit demanding. Turning her head to look at him, she was taken aback by the smile on his face.
“Anytime you fancy crawling into my bed Miss Thornton, feel more than welcome to do so. Hell, I’ll marry you myself if that’s what it takes. I’ve done worse things in life and a rash decision usually ends up working out in the long run. Crawling between your thighs every night would be no burden whatsoever.”
Abigail was stunned when he leaned closer and she felt the proof of his claim stabbing at her backside. He was aroused and the look on his face confused her. Was he serious about the marriage? When he leaned toward her, angling his head to kiss her, she realized he must have been.
The kiss shocked her for more reasons than one. What she thought would be a light teasing play of lips turned out to be so soul stealing, she had to grip the cabinet edge to keep from falling. Morgan Avery kissed like his world was ending. He devoured with a single mindedness, his tongue forced into her mouth to dominate and claim possession.
His arms banded around her waist, his body flush against her back and at the odd angle, Abigail couldn’t seem to get close enough. She tried to turn but he pulled away, her bottom lip caught between his teeth for a brief second before he let go of her.
Dazed, she watched him turn and walk out of the room, his footsteps creaking on the stairs moments later. What the hell had just happened? Did his kiss promise things she’d only half-heartedly meant?
Raising a hand to her lips, Abigail thought back over their conversation. Had she said something to make him think she was asking to marry him? She’d said it all with a smile, a teasing lilt to her voice. Surely he knew that. The thought of marrying him filled her head then and she realized the thought wasn’t a burden. She hadn’t been lying about crawling into his bed. Sure he was an ass at times but he was pleasing to look at. Even as scruffy as he was the first time she’d seen him, she’d been attracted to him. She could only imagine what he looked like stripped bare. A pleasant shudder wracked her body then and she turned back to the dishes. She had time to think on that later. For all she knew, he’d been teasing her back. There was little use in getting worked up over something that wouldn’t happen anyway. Of course, just because she didn’t marry the marshal didn’t mean she couldn’t slake her desire for him. No one ever accused her of being an angel. She could seduce the opposite sex along with the best of them and with Morgan Avery, the desire to be just a little bit wanton was a pleasing prospect. He’d have no aversion to it. He’d already said as much.
She smiled as she began cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Maybe tonight she’d see how far she could push him. The worse that would happen would be him turning her down and she didn’t see that happening. He’d admitted to wanting her and losing herself for a while in his arms wouldn’t change anything. Fletcher was still after her, she was still without a husband, and Morgan Avery was still her only protector. Besides, if she were going to die soon, she might as well enjoy her last days. Morgan Avery was sure to make them enjoyable. A man that virile couldn’t help but make them so.
Chapter Four
The walk to the jail was less than enjoyable. Abigail’s playful mood from breakfast had vanished in the knowledge Morgan was going to lock her back up. He’d seriously thought after leaving her in the kitchen earlier to just let her go but a small voice in the back of his head told him that would be a mistake.
Her eagerness to marry had been his first clue something wasn’t quite right with her. She seemed willing to marry just about anyone, himself included, which threw off all sorts of warning bells. He didn’t know why he thought so, but Miss Thornton was hiding something. She seemed almost desperate at times and that was when he decided to keep her with him instead of letting her go. Of course, telling her he was keeping her in jail hadn’t gone over very well.
Getting her out of the house had been easy. He just told her to follow him and she had. When she asked where they were going and he told her to jail, she’d exploded into a ranting rage. When they stopped in front of the jail and he opened the door for her, the look on her face should have killed him where he stood. In an instant, she turned hostile. Her composure snapped and the biting, clawing hellcat from the day before returned. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Abigail, now stop fighting me.”
She kicked him for his trouble when he guided her to the cell. “You are a loathsome creature Morgan Avery! There’s no wonder you’re still single. I can’t imagine any woman in her right mind would want to marry you.”
He grinned and slammed the cell door shut with a clang. “You do, if I heard you correctly this morning. In fact, judging that kiss, you were ready to jump into my bed that very instant. Now be a good girl and…” He looked around the cell before shrugging. “Just sit tight. I’ll be back soon and we’ll talk about this wedding you’re so determined to have.”
“Let me out of here, Morgan! I haven’t done anything to deserve to be in here and you know it.”
“We’ll talk about it later, dear.” He grinned at her before righting his hat and walking to the door and out onto the sidewalk. Her shouts could be hea
rd all the way through town and he ignored them as he neared the livery stable. Saddling his horse, he made quick work of it and headed for the ranch.
The valley leading out of town gave a clear view all the way to the mountains in the distance. He paid little attention to the budding life spring usually brought with it. His mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Abigail.
When he reached the ranch, riding under the metal arched entrance at the gate, he inhaled a deep breath. Fresh grass, horses and wood smoke reminded him of a childhood spent roaming the pastures and learning how to wrangle horses. Seeing the ranch house, with its blue shuttered windows and bright flowers dotted along the walkway brought thoughts of his mother to mind. It was also a reminder of his father’s declining health since her passing. That was the main reason he stayed in town. The memories were less painful if he didn’t have a daily reminder of them.
Riding toward the barn, he grinned as he watched Alex, his eight-year-old niece, in the corral trying to lasso a pony. He jumped from his horse, handing off the reins to one of the hired hands before walking to the fence. “You’ve got to get closer than that, sweet pea.”
Alex turned to look at him and her face lit up. She grinned, dropped the lasso and ran to the fence. “What you doing all the way out here?” she asked. “Pa said you had yer hands full with some cat in town.”
Morgan laughed. “I do but I can always spare a minute for my favorite niece.”
She rolled her eyes and shimmed through the corral fencing. “I’m yer only niece.”
Alex was also the only girl he’d ever known that didn’t realize she was one. She hated all things lacy, preferring trousers and a good sturdy horse to dresses and dolls. The old hat she wore was battered and worn, a relic from his youth. It had been handed down to his little brother, Tristan, until he’d outgrown it and stored it in the attic until Alex found it, preferring it to the fancy dress hat she’d gotten as a birthday present. Morgan tipped the front of the hat up so he could see her face and rubbed at a dirty spot on her cheek. “Still my favorite all the same,” he told her. When she grinned at him, he turned toward the house. “Where’s your pa at. I need to speak to him.”