The Lawman's Bride (Harlequin Historical Series)

by Cheryl St. John

  He shrugged into his shirt and assisted her onto the horse.

  “You’re better at this than you let on,” he said. “You sure it’s been years?”

  “Guess it all comes back,” she replied and secured her hat before taking the reins and nudging the Appaloosa into motion.

  Clay mounted and led the way. Riding gave her a giddy sense of freedom. She enjoyed the feeling of control.

  They passed farmland and fields of bright yellow sunflowers waving in the breeze. They led the horses through a field, and the flowers brushed the hem of Sophie’s skirt. It seemed as though they were in a fantasy world of vibrant color. Clay leaned over to pick her a sunflower and break off the stem. She tucked it in among the silk flowers on her hat.

  “Ahead is my land,” he told her. “It’s just a few acres. But there’s a stream and a wooded windbreak.” The closer they got, the better she could make out the stable and another outbuilding as well as the square one-story house.

  When they reached the dooryard she slid from the horse’s back and stretched. Her posterior had grown a little sore.

  “I’ll give the horses water,” Clay said. “The necessity’s out back there.”

  She didn’t reply, but made a quick trip. Returning to watch him with the animals, she wondered how difficult his days and nights had been without Sam. Clay’s attachment to his dog had touched her.

  Her experience with the Sioux had shown her that men were hunters and warriors and that women and children were servants. She’d been an asset to Garrett, like a valuable horse, and he’d taught her how greed blinded men. She had never detected that trait in this man.

  Clay’s profession declared what kind man he was. He was honest and hardworking. Though kindhearted, there wasn’t a weak bone in his body. He was strong and brave and human all at the same time. He had never treated her less than special. He showed true interest in her as a person of merit.

  How could she not be falling in love with him?

  He led her to the house where he ushered her through the back doorway into a large kitchen. The room held open shelving, a stove and a counter holding a basin and pump. He pumped water so they could wash their hands.

  “I’ll slice ham and cheese and bread. You set the table.” He gestured to a shelf with a few plates and cups.

  Seeing him in his home, learning how he lived seemed quite intimate. His hospitality spoke again of trust.

  If she told him the truth about her past and it disgusted him, she would have to move on and get over him. Being disenchanted would spare him hurt later. Him withdrawing would take the decision away from her.

  However, his change of opinion would break the heart she’d only today realized was alive and vulnerable. Honesty was a huge risk. But she owed him the truth.

  Clay made sandwiches, but she only broke off pieces of meat and cheese. Her stomach was so nervous she didn’t have much appetite.

  He finished eating and explained how he’d made a few changes to the house since he’d bought it half a dozen years back. Getting up, he took cups from a shelf. “I only have water,” he said. “I could make coffee.”

  “No, no, don’t heat the house up by starting a fire.”

  He poured two glasses of water, then turned to a towel-draped pan. “The First Baptist ladies supply me with bread. The Methodists bake me a cake or pie every week.” He drew off the towel. “Apple.”

  “Just a tiny slice for me.”

  The apples were tangy and the cinnamon not overdone. She finished her slice and watched him enjoy his.

  Their eyes met as he finished chewing. “Want more?”

  She shook her head.

  He laid down his fork.

  “I’ve noticed several churches in Newton. Amanda invites me to hers on occasion.”

  “Plenty of volunteers,” he replied. “The Lutheran ladies clean the jailhouse, cells and all, and the Congregational women offer Bible readin’ if there’s a prisoner.”

  “I haven’t heard you say anything about the new jail.”

  “Ordered brick this time. Unloaded a rail car into three wagons to get it all there without taxin’ the teams. Foundation’s done. Walls are almost up. Next week the roof goes on.”

  “I’ll have to have a look.”

  He stood and gestured for her to follow. “I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

  Someone had wisely built the dwelling beside a row of trees whose spreading branches provided shade in the afternoon.

  Clay showed her a simply furnished room with a fireplace and two comfortable chairs. A shelf held several books and a collection of small animals carved from wood.

  “Did you make those?”

  He shook his head. “Belonged to my mother. Her father made ’em.”

  Sophie stepped closer to examine the tiny figures. “How lovely to hold a piece of your family’s history.”

  “Don’t you have somethin’ that belonged to your ma or pa?”

  “I had my mother’s wedding ring.”

  “Had?”

  “Someone took it from me.”

  His expression showed sympathy. “Family here before me had a passel o’ kids,” Clay told her. “That’s why there are three bedrooms.”

  One wood-paneled room had bare bunks built into two walls. The other bedroom was empty. The third held a rope bed constructed from sanded and stained logs, a chest of drawers and two trunks. A table by the bed held a lamp.

  Sophie studied the plain wool blankets on the bed. Everything about his home was so like him. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.

  “I like your home, Clay.”

  “Simple,” he said.

  She nodded. “That’s what I like the most.”

  Memories of elegant hotel rooms and fancy dining cars spun through her head. No expense had ever been spared in their accommodations when she’d traveled with Garrett. He’d insisted on the best, the most lavish. As quickly as the money was gone, there was more to be made. He always wanted more, even from her. Everybody owed him—especially her.

  It was time for her to get past her anger and helplessness. Clay didn’t deserve all the resentment burning inside her. She’d been holding herself in check for as long as she could remember.

  She made up her mind once and for all to tell him the truth about her background. Maybe then she could let some of her past go and build the new life she wanted so badly.

  “I have some things to tell you. About me,” she began. Her knees felt so weak at the words she’d managed to get out, she sank onto the side of his bed.

  Clay took off his holster and hung the gun belt on a hook beside the door. He got a wooden chair from the corner, sat it directly in front of her and seated himself.

  It was hard to meet his eyes. Hard to face herself in their depths. She looked everywhere else in the room and then forced her gaze back to his. “I told you I hadn’t been honest. And the reason is because I’m ashamed. Well, one of the reasons.”

  Without a word, he nodded.

  “It’s true my family was from Pennsylvania, but I was too young to remember much at all. I have early memories of my parents and brothers, but they’re vague and jumbled up with so many other memories.”

  The blanket under her fingers was rough, and she grounded herself in its simplicity. “I was about five when we were part of a wagon train headed west. I’m not sure of our destination.”

  Clay’s expression changed as though he expected bad news. “You sure you wanna talk about this?”

  She’d come up with this much courage, she wasn’t stopping now. “I have to.”

  He nodded.

  “A party of Sioux attacked us. My father and my brothers were killed.”

  He held his mouth in a grim line as he listened.

  “My mother and I were taken captive. We became part of the tribe. My mother was given to a brave and she took care of his children and cooked. It was all right because we saw each other often.”

  “And you?”

&nbs
p; “The old chief took a liking to me and took me into his tent. I was regarded as a favored child. I learned from his wife and his grown daughters.”

  “That’s how you understood what was going on with the Indians in front of the Arcade that day. You speak their language.”

  Sophie nodded. “I played out of doors, had plenty to eat. But the other children never accepted me because I was different and because I received preferential treatment.”

  “But you’re such a lady. Your speech, your manners…the dance lessons. Where did you learn all that?”

  “That was only a small part of the story. I’m not finished.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  “One winter an epidemic spread through the camp. My mother took ill and died. She had taught me all along to be brave and strong and to adapt. Since we hadn’t shared the same tent, I pretended she was still there and I could see her whenever I wanted.”

  “You were brave,” he said.

  “Or unrealistic,” she said with a shrug.

  “You did what you had to.”

  “It got me through. I was about twelve when the chief died. It’s hard to know exactly, because the days and the years were marked by hunting seasons and tribal celebrations. Even though we weren’t sure of which day it was, my mother had reminded me of my birthday each spring. Once she was gone, I lost track.

  “I was sad when the old chief died because he’d been kind to me. Once she was gone, I was afraid of what would happen. That same season I was taken to a trading post where the tribe traded furs and beads, and I was offered up for sale.”

  Clay’s eyes revealed shock and then anger.

  “A man bought me.” She didn’t know if she could go on. The rest of this tale was one of shame and degradation. But she’d made up her mind. Suddenly she was sure he would be disgusted and what they had would end before it went further. She didn’t have a hope that he would accept her the way she was.

  But Sophie hardened herself to continue.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She refused to analyze and fret over any more of Clay’s silent reactions from here on out. “I was frightened,” she said. “But he seemed kind enough. He bought me clothing. Hired tutors for my education, speech and deportment. He taught me to be a lady.

  “We never stayed in one city long. I was always locked in the hotel room at night while he went about his…business.”

  By not mentioning his business, she was leaving herself a margin of safety. She cared too much for Clay to place him in the position of knowing her part in their crimes. She was telling him the part he needed to know now.

  “He’s the one who took my mother’s ring.”

  His expression was indecipherable. Pausing in her story, she looked away from his face and held back her humiliation so she could think about her next words. “There came a time when I realized I was as much a prisoner with him as I had been with the Sioux. I had to get away. I packed a few things in a small bag and picked the lock while he was out one evening.

  “It took all my courage to overcome years of submission and do this one thing. I got out and I ran.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I didn’t even make it across town before he found me. He took me back.” Sophie concentrated on breathing evenly. Here the story took another sordid turn, and she gripped the wool under her fingers. Now that the floodgates had been opened there was no holding this back. This was the part he needed to know.

  An ache welled inside her chest at bringing this truth to the light and forming the words. She trembled inside. “That night our arrangement changed.”

  Her ears rang with what she was going to reveal. “After that…I—I didn’t have my own room or a separate bed.”

  Clay swiped a hand down his face and dropped his gaze to look at the floor.

  Her heart was beating so fast she worried it would burst. Was this the end of it, then? He couldn’t bear to look at her?

  “How old were you?” he asked, his deep voice troubled.

  “About fourteen.”

  He looked up and met her eyes with dark emotion in the depths of his. “He forced himself on you?”

  The memory of Garret’s hands on her body still turned her cold inside. The way he took her in insensitive greed, all the while telling her she belonged to him, always boasting that he owned her and convincing her she was no more than a possession made the shame fresh. “I submitted. I stayed alive.”

  His gaze touched on her hair, and she felt his compassion like a warm wave of sensation. She held in the cry that threatened to spill from her throat.

  “It was another six years before I got away,” she finished.

  Clay got up and walked to the window where he pulled aside the plain muslin curtain and stared out at the sunny afternoon.

  Sophie’s body trembled as she studied his rigid posture, trying to gauge his reaction.

  He clenched and unclenched his fists. “What’s his name? Where is he?”

  “He’s not worth it,” she told him.

  By keeping Garrett’s identity a secret, she was preventing Clay from having to choose the law over her. By sharing only this much she could have now. Today. Just enough so that he knew she cared for him and was willingly choosing him. “I’ve never told anyone. I made up a family and a story because I was ashamed. I’m sorry, Clay. Sorry I wasn’t strong enough. I tried so hard to keep to myself and keep my secret. Secrets are so consuming. And I’m tired of keeping things…from you.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Forcing out a lie now would be a backward step in the progress she’d just made. “It’s over,” was all she said.

  He turned to look at her, and she could feel the nervous vibration of his anger in the air between them.

  “I understand if you’re disgusted,” she told him. “I know I’m not worthy of the kindness you’ve shown me.”

  “Stop.”

  “What?”

  “Stop blamin’ yourself for somethin’ that wasn’t your fault. You sayin’ you don’t know where he is?”

  “I got away from him in Boulder. That was two years ago.”

  “Let me find ’im.”

  “No.”

  “He should pay.”

  “No.”

  Clay came to where she sat and encircled her wrists in a gentle grasp. “What he did was a crime. What if he’s doin’ it to someone else right now?”

  Sophie’s heart ached. He is! He is! Clay was right, Garrett deserved to pay. She would have to tell the rest eventually. She would have to protect Amanda, no matter how much she implicated herself. But not yet. Not like this. Not until she’d known a bare measure of goodness.

  “No more,” she whispered. “Not now.”

  The pain in his eyes was so fresh and deep she recognized he would take all the hurt from her if he could. If she would let him.

  “What we have is the best thing I’ve ever had in my life,” she told him with a trembling voice. “If I’ve lost that because of the truth…because of him…I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers. She recognized the sting of tears forming behind her eyes and closed them so he wouldn’t see. This man’s touch was her salvation, his love a flood that could wash her clean of all the ugliness. She needed him more than she needed her next breath. Was this what love felt like?

  At that moment Garrett’s threat rose in her mind, and she was afraid for Clay. Afraid to lose him. Afraid to tell him the rest. Her secret was a burden of guilt that hurt inside. Love shouldn’t be as painful as hate, should it?

  “I’m so sorry, Sophia. Sorry you had to learn the hard side of life. Especially the dark side of a man. You shouldn’t have had to feel trapped and alone.”

  Clay recognized the shame she’d accepted as her own. All the times she’d avoided him, all the questions she’d sidestepped made sense now. Little inconsistencies in her stories were accounted for. That feeling he�
��d always had that there was so much she wasn’t saying had been right on the mark.

  Her insistence on making her own decisions was perfectly understandable. She’d been some man’s property growin’ up. Sophie needed choices.

  He remembered the day she’d asked to kiss him. Just kiss him. And how she’d enjoyed it. She’d discovered the wonder in choosing to receive a man’s affections. He’d asked her what she wanted and she’d said she wanted to decide things for herself. It was all clear now.

  “When you’re through decidin’ what you want…I hope it’s me.”

  “You’ve shown me true strength,” she told him. Her lower lip trembled. “You taught me kindness. You allowed me to discover who I was.”

  Sophie cradled his cheek in her palm and studied his face, tenderness evident in her eyes. Clay had a lump of hurt in his belly for the child she’d been, for her suffering and loss.

  “I’m not anything special,” he denied.

  “I can’t agree with that,” she told him. “I’ve had so few good things in my life, and I can’t be sorry for wanting the best thing I ever knew. I’m not ashamed of wanting you.”

  “I’m willin’ to wait for you. As long as it takes ’til you’re ready.”

  “I’m not. I’ve waited long enough. I want to know why I get this feeling when you’re near me. Why your kisses turn me to jelly. I need to know kindness. I need you.”

  Clay didn’t require any further encouragement. Meeting her desires would be the best thing that ever happened to him. He kissed her, and the emotion he felt in her response assured him of her willingness.

  “Remember where we were before?” she asked.

  It took him a second to comprehend. “I do.”

  He reached to find pins in her hair and let down the tresses.

  She raised her hands to the row of buttons at her collar. When she had them undone, she reached to her side to unfasten her riding skirt and stepped out of it. He helped her ease the shirtwaist from her shoulders and arms, then draped it over the end of the bed. She took the initiative to sit and remove her ankle-high boots and black stockings. She stood in her prim drawers and chemise, her bare toes white against the dark wood floor. The scent of lilacs enveloped him. So feminine. So sweet.