Denim and Lace

by Rice, Patricia

  Samantha blinked, thinking perhaps she was seeing ghosts in the dim light of the chapel. The only windows were slits high up on the walls. The timbered ceiling soared far above them. She could hear sparrows chirping from their nests in the old rafters. The place was otherwise deserted.

  If she was seeing things, she was hearing them, too. The ghostly shape in a priest's robes greeted them in Latin.

  Sloan kneeled at the railing near the altar. He tugged Sam's hand until she kneeled beside him. She had a scary feeling inside, but it was an oddly wonderful feeling, too. Everything felt light and fluttery inside her as she found her leg pressed against Sloan's, her hand gripped tightly in his.

  A band of sunshine came through the partially opened church door, glittering between them. Sam watched the dust motes dancing in the beam as the priest rattled above them in words she couldn't understand. The scary feeling went away, replaced by a blissful sense of peace. She smiled up at Sloan and found him looking down at her with an oddly unfocused expression on his face. At her smile he kissed her forehead.

  At some command from the priest, Sloan stood and pulled her to her feet. Samantha tried to follow some of the words, but they were all foreign to her. The tone was not. She wasn't the least surprised when Sloan followed a particularly long command with the words "I do."

  Sam caught the sound of her own name in the next command. When he stopped speaking, the priest looked at her expectantly. She could feel Sloan's fingers close tightly around hers, felt his tension. She ought to be angry that he had tricked her this way, but he had been right to do so. She would never have agreed otherwise. She would never refuse now. To do so would be to reject Sloan and everything he wished to offer her, and she couldn't do that. And she couldn't give up this sense of lightness that suddenly filled her.

  Her smile beamed brighter than the sun when she met his worried frown. She felt lighter than air when she murmured, "I do."

  Incredulity and wonder filled him as Sloan read the trust and sincerity on Samantha's upturned face. She had actually agreed to this farce. He hadn't dared let himself believe it would work. But it was working. He could see it in the moisture of happiness clouding her eyes. He could see it in the incandescent joy surrounding her.

  He could see it, and for the first time in ten years, he felt the perfect cad that he was. He'd thought he'd come to live with the feeling, but what had gone before scarcely compared to what he did now as he slipped the ring from his pocket onto her finger. What had come before had been accidental, but this was deliberate. His actions ten years ago had condemned him to hell. He sealed the lock on the gates now. He felt truly rotten about the deception, but that wouldn't stop him.

  As the fake priest finished his oratory and Sloan reached to pull Sam into his arms, he became aware that they had an audience. The beam of sunlight that had just been a sliver moments before had grown to a wide band, and long shadows extended down the aisle in front of it. Sloan's guilty conscience made him shove Sam behind him as he faced the intruders.

  When he recognized them, he didn't feel happiness or anger, just resignation. He hadn't wanted witnesses. He'd wanted to keep complete control of this story for Sam's sake and to prevent future repercussions. But he certainly had plenty of experience in rolling with the wheels of fate.

  Sloan pulled Sam back to his side, keeping his arm firmly around her waist as she took in the sight of their unexpected guests. He could feel her face turned expectantly to him. He had to take things in stride, as if everything were perfectly normal.

  "We weren't prepared for guests, but as long as you're here, you can be the first to wish us happy. May I present my wife, gentlemen?"

  A cheer rippled and grew louder and echoed off the old rafters as the miners behind Doc Ramsey threw their hats in the air and rushed up the aisle to buss the bride. Sloan noted with disgust that Joe had joined them. He meant to demand an explanation the first minute he had the gunman alone, but he couldn't do a thing now. Joe gave him an inscrutable look, elbowed a miner aside, and pressed a kiss to Sam's cheek.

  "Can't say as I approve of your choice in grooms, Mrs. Talbott, but if anyone can keep him in line, it's you."

  Mrs. Talbott. Sam turned and gave Sloan a look that struck a knife through his heart. He didn't find much comfort in knowing she would be the only Mrs. Talbott. He couldn't have said the same for the Montgomery name. He ought to feel comfort in knowing he did this for her own good. But the radiant look on Sam's face told him she was thrilled, and Sloan already knew that marriage wasn't anything to be thrilled about.

  With some persuasion he got the men out of the church and over to the cafe, where they drank toasts in wine and chowed down on eggs at the same time. When the chance offered, Sloan jerked Joe aside. "What in hell are you doing here? How did that sorry lot find us?"

  Joe took a swig from his mug and wiped his mustache clean with the back of his arm. He looked at his employer speculatively. "I followed Ramsey when I heard he'd left after the two of you did. I caught up with him after he'd seen you. The turd had already talked your men into finding your brother so they could visit Sam." His eyebrows lifted in cynical question. "You never told me about a brother, especially one with a different name. Ramsey knew where to ask though. We caught the first steamer out this morning. You're the shit who left your horse standing outside the church."

  Sloan grimaced. He'd been so certain no one would follow that he'd grown careless. More likely, he'd been so engrossed in finding a way to get Sam back in his bed, he hadn't given precautions a second thought. He'd better get her out of his system real soon. Once he got himself back to normal and had a woman in his bed on a regular basis, he'd think clearly again.

  When the party grew so rowdy they even made Sam blush with their increasingly drunken jests, Sloan decided it was time to get the hell out. He wanted to be back on the mountain right now, where he could have Sam to himself.

  But they still had to take their leave of his brother and his wife. That would be a sticky tangle, but he'd worry about that when he got there.

  "Come on," he whispered in Sam's ear. "I want to do a little private celebrating, if you don't mind. These plug uglies will be here the rest of the day drinking themselves under the table."

  Satiated with ranch eggs and big rounds of bread, Samantha gave him a glittering smile of acceptance and took his hand. Sloan remembered her earlier comment about ownership, and he had to smile back. Only Sam would have the courage to think she'd put her brand on him. He wouldn't do anything to discourage that notion. He liked having her a little brazen.

  The knot she'd made in her shawl was starting to slip, reminding Sloan of the promise he'd made. His promises tended to be ambiguous at best, but this one was simple enough to keep. Outside the cafe, he led her back to the silversmith's.

  She'd scarcely even noticed the ring he'd given her, so he figured he wouldn't impress her much with a brooch, but it would relieve some of the strain of guilt. He knew he'd get over the guilty feeling eventually, but it was a simple enough matter to ease the pressure now.

  When he took her inside the shop, she grew suddenly quiet, so he had to look down at her to make sure he hadn't done something wrong. She had an odd look in her eyes that he couldn't interpret, so he shrugged and spoke to the shopkeeper.

  When the man brought out the selection of brooches, and he didn't see anything that suited him, Sloan almost bought one just to say he'd kept his promise. But something in Samantha's gaze made him turn around and remember the window display. After a few words, the shopkeeper emptied the contents before him.

  The silver and onyx brooch jumped out at him immediately. When Sloan picked it out and carefully fastened it to her shawl, he could almost see her eyes light up. It was a simple thing, really. The price was three times anything else he'd looked at, but the money didn't matter. He had more than enough of that now. It was the look in Sam's eyes when he chose the one she wanted that counted. It made him feel damned good.

  He h
adn't felt good about himself in a very long time. He had no reason to feel good about himself now. Still, Sloan scarcely knew how much he paid the clerk before he ushered his bride out the door.

  "I'm not going to make it back to the ranch," he whispered against her ear as they approached their horses.

  He knew she would understand what he was saying, even if he said it crudely. A certain amount of shyness softened her eyes at his words, but there wasn't anything shy about the way she rubbed the knuckles of their entwined hands against his trousers. He nearly went up in flames at her boldness.

  "I suppose we're too far from the ocean," she murmured before he set her on her saddle.

  "Will a river do?"

  He could tell by the way she smiled that a mud puddle would suffice if he asked it of her.

  Damn, but it would feel good having his own woman again. It would be even better than the last time, because this one was innocent enough to think she found something worth keeping in him.

  She was wrong, but he'd try not to let her discover that too soon.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The spot Sloan found beside the river was as peaceful as the church had been. He spread a blanket from the horse over the coarse grass in the full sun. Except for the chilly wind, the day almost felt like spring instead of January, and Samantha drank in this aspect of her new home. She was a Californian now. She would embrace this new setting fully, as she would embrace her new husband and make him a part of her.

  She lay down on the blanket and watched the clouds float by in the sky above. She'd had entirely too much wine on an empty stomach, and even the breakfast she'd finally managed to consume hadn't absorbed all of its effects. She felt as pleasantly floaty as those clouds up there when Sloan finally kneeled down beside her.

  "I don't think I love you," she told him honestly as he bent to kiss her and take her breast in his hand.

  "I don't think it matters," Sloan answered without inflection as he brushed aside the loose blouse and reached inside.

  Sam felt his touch so deep inside her that he might as well have opened her chest and caressed her heart. She looked up and saw the angular profile of her husband's face silhouetted against the sky. Lines from his chronic frowns creased his forehead, but crinkles from long-ago laughter marked the corners of his eyes. He was a man, not a boy, with all the experience and prejudices of someone set in his ways. But she thought perhaps there were a few things he had just forgotten how to do. Maybe she could remind him.

  "You tricked me," she murmured languorously, lifting her arm to stroke his thick curls. The breeze off the river blew over her bare breasts, but she wasn't cold, not while Sloan looked at her. She was hot inside, and wet where he wanted her, but she wasn't fully aroused yet. She was still feeling the wine.

  "I know I did. But you could have said no. You didn't have to go through with it." He kissed the upper curve of her breast while his thumb thrummed over the crest. He pushed her legs apart with his knees and lay between them, fully clothed, keeping his weight off her with his elbows.

  "Yes, I did. I couldn't leave you standing at the altar." When Sloan bent to suckle her breast at this admission, she sucked in a deep breath before she could continue. "I didn't think anyone would ever like me enough to bring me to the altar."

  Sloan stopped what he was doing long enough to meet her eyes. "There might be times when you're going to hate me, Samantha. I'm not your easygoing father. I'm an ogre to live with. But no matter what I do, remember that I like you one hell of a lot better than anyone else I've ever met."

  Sam didn't think she could even do him the favor of returning the sentiment. She liked a whole lot of people more than she liked Sloan Talbott. But she'd never wanted any man as she wanted him, either. It seemed fair trade.

  She opened the buttons of his shirt and slid her hands over the powerful chest beneath. His muscles rippled beneath her caress, and the silken hair curled around her fingers. "I have no idea what I promised back there in that church, but I can promise I'll always be there when you need me. If you ever need me," she amended.

  "I need you now, Sam. Tell me you're ready." He rubbed his hips against hers to show his meaning.

  She was ready. She'd been ready all morning. With a smile of joy, she pulled his head down to hers and told him with her kiss.

  They made love beneath the winter sun, drank part of the bottle of wine Sloan had brought with them for lunch, and made love again. Time didn't seem to have any particular meaning when they were naked in each other's arms.

  Sloan kept her covered with his warmth, but as the afternoon waned, Sam could feel the gooseflesh rise up on him as she ran her fingers over the lean muscles of his buttocks. She found his man's body quite fascinating, but he would turn blue with the cold if they dallied much longer.

  Regretfully, she returned her hand to the powerful ridges of his chest and circled his flat brown nipples. “The wine's all gone," she told him sorrowfully, with a little hiccup.

  He grinned down at her and kissed the corner of her mouth. "I think I'll keep you drunk these next few weeks. You're mighty inventive when you're not trying to be proper."

  Her eyes opened wide as she regarded his face hovering over her. "I am? What did I invent?"

  "Nothing any skilled courtesan doesn't already know, but you seemed to have discovered for yourself." He sat up and pulled her up with him so that she was nearly sitting in his lap. He reached to pull the wrinkled blouse over her head.

  Sam squirmed her arms into the proper places and wiggled her back end against his thighs. She felt his instant response to the maneuver and laughed. She liked making Sloan Talbott respond to her.

  "Damn, Sam, you're going to make me feel old if you keep that up. I can't remember the last time I was with a woman who giggled." He caressed her breast as he pulled the blouse down, and she arched into his hand.

  "Maybe you should have drunk more of the wine," she answered saucily.

  "That's more wine than I've drunk these last ten years, so don't go pushing it. I'm a mean drunk."

  "You're a lot of things, Sloan Talbott, most of which I know nothing about. But I do know you're my husband, and if you're mean to me, I'll shoot your toes off." She leaned her head back against his shoulder and let him pull her stockings on. Her hair spilled in red curls across his chest.

  "Just as long as it's not the important parts of my anatomy you go shooting off." He smoothed the stockings over her knees and ran his hand the rest of the way up her thigh. "Or we'll both be mean." He touched her where she would feel it most.

  Sam pressed instinctively into his hand. "I'll be most careful about my target then," she whispered huskily, her heart quickening with anticipation.

  She felt a moment's disappointment when Sloan set her aside and returned to his feet, but he was right. The time had come to return to the real world. The sun was dropping fast, and the wind had turned cold. They should continue this conversation in a warm bed.

  They rode to the ranch in relative silence. The giddiness of the wine had worn off, reminding them that they were not alone in this world. They had lives and responsibilities to return to. Sam looked at the ranch house sprawling across the horizon in front of them and wondered what Sloan's family would think of their marrying without asking them to attend the ceremony. Somehow, now that the glory had worn off a little, it seemed a strange thing to do.

  Matthew was in the yard when they rode up. He lifted a hand in greeting as they dismounted, but went about his chores without questioning their activities. Sam glanced hesitantly at her husband. Sloan's expression had grown taut and unreadable again.

  "You'd better leave me to explain this to Matt and Jeanne," he said as he lifted her from the horse.

  At any other time, Sam would have objected to him hauling her down like a helpless infant, but right now she needed the reassurance of Sloan's hands around her. While Sloan touched her, the scariness of what they had done faded to the background. She gave him a brief nod to ind
icate she understood.

  He made no effort to kiss her or reassure her in any other way. He merely released her and sent her into the house while he took the horses to the stable. Sam followed him with her eyes, wishing she could follow him in reality. Maybe she could use the excuse of seeing how the foal was doing?

  But Jeanne was already calling to her from the doorway. Resolutely, Sam plastered a smile on her face and went in to help with supper. This was Sloan's family, and he would know best how to deal with them. After all, she knew very little about him and his relationship with these people. Keeping her eyes and ears open and her mouth shut seemed the best policy.

  Matthew and Jeanne remained genial and accepting throughout the meal, making no mention of Sam and Sloan's new status. They asked about their day, questioned Sam about her family, and showed an interest in her father's theories about horse-breeding. No mention of marriage came up. They didn't even question why she traveled unescorted with Sloan.

  Deciding Sloan was waiting until after the meal to break the news, Sam did her best to act as if everything were normal. Still, the thought that they would soon share a bed under this roof made her glance toward the bedrooms uneasily. It suddenly seemed a trifle embarrassing that these people would know what she and Sloan were doing when they retired to that bed together.

  After the meal they started a fire in the front parlor fireplace and took seats to continue their earlier conversation. The men sipped brandy, and the women had tea. Sloan still made no mention of what they had done. Sam imagined that her hosts watched her with curiosity. She had changed into the dress Sloan had bought for her. She played nervously with the brooch she had pinned to it, then remembering the ring on her finger, she pushed it around for a while. It was old and heavy and well-worn. She'd have to ask Sloan if it was a family heirloom.

  When Sloan spoke directly to her, her mind had drifted elsewhere, and he had to repeat himself before she heard. She blinked without comprehension when she finally understood what he was saying. He wanted her to go to bed now, without him?