The Lawman's Bride (Harlequin Historical Series)

by Cheryl St. John

  Whatever happened, she would have this. She had trusted him to make the right decision regarding Garrett. Now she was trusting him with her heart. It wasn’t fair to say it to him, so she showed him her love with kisses and touches that came from her soul.

  She hoped that a month from now, a year from now, he would still feel she’d been a risk worth taking.

  She wanted to kiss him hard and keep him with her forever. She wanted to let him go before it hurt more than this, before he could be hurt more. But she was selfish enough to want this night.

  His kiss was so tender, she would have cried if she hadn’t already purged every tear earlier. He unbuttoned his trousers, dropped them to the floor, and eased her onto the crisp sheets. His lips trailed down her neck, blazing a path between her breasts. “So beautiful…soft everywhere…smell is in my head…”

  He cupped her breast and kissed her.

  She arched toward him, eager for his touch, famished for tenderness, for the sheer joy of each intimate moment in his arms.

  “Sophia,” he said on a gruff sigh. “I can’t get enough of you. Sophia. Yes, kiss me like that.”

  How was it he could wound her with words of love and kill her with tenderness when another man’s cruelty had never pierced her armor? She clung to each kiss as though it could be the last, carved his face and body into her memory with her hands. He would remember her; she would see to it. She wanted to love him so well and so thoroughly that she would be a part of him forever.

  When he joined their bodies, she was so overcome by the sheer beauty and inconceivable goodness that her throat constricted and tears welled in her eyes. She gulped them back, but an emotional flood had been unleashed, and there was no restraining it. Her chest heaved with her feeble efforts to hold back, and a wail escaped her lips.

  “Sophia?” he asked, holding her gently, pushing her hair from her face with one hand.

  “Don’t stop,” she said. “Please d-don’t stop.”

  “But you’re cryin’.”

  “Yes. And it’s s-so good. It’s such a relief to feel.”

  Clay pressed his lips to her wet cheek, tasted her tears, kept his movements slow and easy. From that moment on nothing would ever be the same. She’d never voice it, but she loved him. Loved him enough to want to protect him. Loved him enough to open herself up to him. Loved him enough to cry.

  Her eyes fluttered closed when he wanted to see them, wanted to know what she was thinking…feeling…He wanted more. He wanted promises. He wanted forever. The desperate way he wanted her hurt.

  “Look at me, darlin’.”

  Her eyes were dark and wet with tears that still flowed.

  He’d wanted more than physical possession. He wanted her to be his. Not in the way Garrett had wanted to own her, but in an intimate, almost spiritual way.

  With an ache he needed to ease, he drank at the sweetness of her lips, threaded his fingers into the silken texture of her hair. He forgot she’d never said the words because her demonstration spoke to his heart.

  He loved to say her name, loved her reaction when he did.

  “Sophia.”

  She trembled.

  “Sophia.”

  She kissed him, openmouthed and tasting of tears.

  Was this her goodbye then? “You cryin’ because it might be the last time?” he asked.

  She cradled his cheek. “I’m crying because it’s the first time,” she answered.

  He had never expected to experience the hollow ache of loss again, but here it was, a claw ripping at his gut. He wouldn’t lose her. He’d do whatever it took to keep her with him.

  She met him kiss for kiss as he realigned his mouth over hers. He rolled her with him so they lay on their sides and eased her thigh over his hip. She became impatient with his leisurely lovemaking and moved to straddle him, surprising them both, releasing a soft gasp, and then discovering her position of control.

  In the nearly-diminished glow of the lamp, she fulfilled all the dreams he’d ever had. Her expressions were real, her inexpert movements endearingly erotic. She wasn’t crying now. She was concentrating, her breathing telling him she’d found her way.

  He caressed her breasts.

  She caught her lip and dropped her head back.

  Her thighs trembled.

  He cupped her bottom and helped her.

  This wasn’t the last time. He wouldn’t lose her. She was everything he wanted. He would find a way, and he would make her happy for the rest of her life.

  With a series of delicate gasps, Sophie collapsed on his chest. He turned her beneath him, shuddered in release, then held her protectively in his arms.

  “Please stay with me,” she whispered.

  She’d never asked for anything that he could remember. “I won’t leave.”

  Moments later, her soft breathing told him she slept. He wondered how she could when her future—their future was questionable. She had developed so many other protective instincts, perhaps learning to close off fear and uncertainty was another survival instinct she’d perfected in order to stay sane.

  He woke during the night with her head on his chest, his arm still around her. The wick had burned out and moonlight highlighted the curve of her hip, the length of her leg. He wanted to pick her up and carry her away where no one would ever find them. He wanted them to live out the rest of their lives in a place where the past and the future didn’t matter. If only there was such a place.

  Sophie woke at the sound of a buckboard on the street below. Clay’s solid warmth told her he still held her. Lifting her head, she discovered the tenderness in his blue eyes. “Did you sleep?”

  He nodded. “Some.”

  She sat, pulling the sheet to her breast, but away from his torso. He didn’t seem to mind and neither did she. “Thank you for staying the night.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He didn’t looked pleased. He looked the way he had the night he’d told her he’d buried old Sam. He’d spent the night because she’d asked.

  She almost wished he was asleep, so she could look him over without embarrassment. She placed her palm against the flat plane of his belly. Over the place on his broad chest where his heart beat beneath. The heart of a kind, strong man.

  She’d never seen him show fear. Never seen him act rashly or in anger.

  She’d seen him arrest a man. She pretty near knew everything he ate. She knew he danced fairly well.

  He closed his eyes and she looked her fill. Skimmed her fingertips over his muscled arms and the taut brown circles of his nipples.

  This man had run along a riverbank and waded into a river for her straw hat. She could still see him, feet bare, denim trousers darkened and saturated to his thighs. The image would always make her smile.

  She knew all about his kisses and the tender way he made love.

  “What’re you thinkin’?” he asked.

  She lifted her gaze to his. “I’m saving everything I know about you.”

  He frowned. “Sayin’ goodbye?”

  She blinked back the sting of tears. Once she’d given in to them, she could barely keep them at bay. “No.”

  She found her wrapper at the foot of the bed and slipped it on.

  A knock at the door had them exchanging a look.

  Clay got up and found his pants on the floor. Sophie called out. “Yes?”

  “Message, ma’am.” A youthful voice.

  “Just a moment.” She got a coin from her bureau drawer, unlocked the door to ease it open a couple of inches, then took the note and handed the young man a tip. He thanked her and she closed the door to tear open the envelope.

  On Strong Hotel stationery she read Garrett’s distinctive handwriting. “Tonight. Eight-thirty. The Silver Spike.”

  She glanced at Clay to ask, “Gaming hall?”

  “Fancy one.”

  She folded the note and looked at him.

  “This is it then,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “
I’ve already rented the rooms on either side of yours.”

  “Good.”

  “You will not take any chances,” he said firmly.

  “I’ll do what I do. I’ll bring the man to this room. Garrett will give me about five or ten minutes and then he’ll show up. He’ll pretend to be my offended lover and blackmail the man with a threat to tell his wife.”

  Clay cast her a curious glance. “It won’t make any difference this time, but what would happen if the man didn’t care and told him to go to hell?”

  “It’s never happened. Garrett knows people’s weaknesses. He wouldn’t use this scheme if the man wasn’t a prime candidate. He’ll be someone who thinks highly enough of himself to believe he can seduce me. It will all look like his idea. He will also be a man who will want to protect his marriage.”

  “I guess I’ll be interested to see who it is.” Clay sat at the edge of the bed and Sophie picked up his shirt for him. He didn’t take it, but instead just looked at her. “How did you ever keep from thinkin’ all men were alike?”

  She held the shirt open and waited for him to stand. “The chief who took me in was a good man. Over the years there were men who couldn’t be conned into our schemes. I saw some with integrity, so I knew they existed.”

  Clay stood and turned away from her to place his arms in the sleeves of the wrinkled shirt.

  “Make sure you go out the back way,” she told him unnecessarily.

  He buttoned up, tucked the tail into his trousers and buckled on his gun belt.

  “Thanks for staying,” she said.

  He found his hat and adjusted it on his head in that familiar way she found endearing. Without a word, he snagged her around the waist and drew her against him in a bone-crushing embrace.

  Sophie was comforted by the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, the strength of his arms around her, and the knowledge that she was loved. Whatever happened from here on out, she had that.

  Clay released her. Backed away and turned without another look. Opened and closed the door, shutting himself away from her.

  Sophie stared at the back of the door, her chest aching with loss. Emotion that had been buried for so long welled up, and she flung herself on the bed. The sheets smelled like him, making her cry harder.

  Minutes passed. An hour. The sun had risen hot, and the room held the promise of another sultry day. She lay on her back, drained. This was it. Her sad-sweet day of liberation.

  Her determination in place, Sophie rose and began preparations. There was much to do to be ready.

  Clay looked up from the discussion he and the other marshals were having when two women entered the jail. Two grim-faced lads followed at reluctant pace.

  “May I have a word with you, Marshal Connor?” the taller of the two women said.

  Clay handed Owen a list he’d been holding and guided the citizens to his desk, where he cleared a stack of papers from one chair and a pair of spurs from another. With a quick swipe of his hand over the seats, he gestured for them to make themselves comfortable. The boys remained standing, one on each side of who he assumed were their mothers.

  “We’ve come with some disturbing news, Marshal,” the taller woman said. “I’m Grace Hadley and this is my boy, Quentin.”

  “Prudence Saddler,” the other woman said by way of introduction. “This is Lawrence.”

  “Pleasure,” Clay said, hoping they’d hurry with whatever they’d come about so he could get back to the tasks at hand.

  “I’m not sure you’ll find it such a pleasure when you learn why we’ve come,” Mrs. Saddler said.

  The two women looked at one another, then at their sons.

  “Quentin and Lawrence have something to tell you,” she added.

  Clay narrowed his gaze and leveled it at one lad and then the other.

  “Quentin?” his mother warned.

  “Din’t mean no harm, Marshal,” the boy said, his face flushed and damp. “We was trying some of Larry’s pappy’s tobacco.”

  “Could you come to the point, son?” Clay asked.

  “We was smokin’ behind the jail—the old jailhouse that is. Thought we wouldn’t get caught there.”

  “Quentin was the one what dropped the match,” Lawrence finally piped up.

  “But you brung the tobacco an’ matches,” Quentin accused.

  “Newsprint don’t work so well for rollin’ smokes,” Lawrence added. “Burns too fast.”

  What these boys were stammering to confess became clear and Clay rose to his feet. “It was you two that caught the jail on fire?”

  The boys cringed back and toward their mothers. “Weren’t on purpose!” Quentin shouted.

  The other marshals caught the drift of the conversation and came closer to hear the rest.

  “I only learned this yesterday,” Mrs. Hadley told them. “I went to Pru and we decided to bring the boys here for you to decide their punishment.”

  Clay was decidedly relieved to have an explanation for the mysterious fire that had burned the jail to the ground and started the rest of the recent events in motion. The fact that the culprits were two mischievous young boys was easier to take than any of the other, more sinister, possibilities that had crossed his mind.

  “It’s a serious act,” Clay told the boys. “Even if it was an accident, you should have stayed and owned up to it.”

  Tears ran down Lawrence’s cheeks. “I’m awful sorry, Marshal. My Pa already done whupped me good, an’ my Ma ain’t givin’ me no desserts for a month.”

  Quentin’s hand strayed to his backside as though remembering a tender spot from the encounter. He looked fearfully at Clay. “Are you gonna lock us up now?”

  “I guess we’ll have to talk that over.” Clay motioned Owen and Marshal Vidlak across the room where they remarked about the confounded luck of havin’ a couple kids burn down their jail.

  When the men came back, the boys appeared thoroughly shaken. “We’ve decided not to press charges,” Clay said, though they’d never even discussed the possibility. “You’ll be doin’ your time sweepin’ floors and hauling wood and ashes for the next six months. I don’t think that can even come close to payin’ for the new building, but you’ll learn the value of a day’s work and of takin’ responsibility for your actions, mistake or not.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He directed the boys to wait outside while he briefly spoke with their mothers. The women were grateful for his decision.

  “You’re a fair man,” Mrs. Saddler said. “It’s going to do Lawrence good to work around here.”

  Clay made arrangements for the boys to begin working off their debt and wished the women a good day.

  At least the fire was one thing he didn’t have to concern himself with any more. If only the rest of the mess he faced could be solved so easily.

  At eight o’clock she stood before her mirror. The room was straightened, but with a few dispensable items remaining visible so the room appeared lived in. She had packed her belongings and stashed the bags beneath the bed so it would look to Garrett as though she was ready for the quick getaway.

  Despite her dark eyes and brows Sophie’d always been able to pull off blond wigs. She simply stained her skin a shade darker and played up her lips.

  She wore a blue satin dress that bared her shoulders and dipped dangerously low in the front. With so much cleavage showing, men never spent much time analyzing her eye color. She checked the delicate watch she usually wore on a chain around her neck but had tucked into a pocket she’d designed on a garter.

  She wore pearls at her throat and on her ears. Classic. Sophisticated. She had twenty-five minutes left, and this morning she had timed the walk. It would take ten to get there.

  There was a tap on the door.

  She opened it to discover Marshal Vidlak. She gave the man credit for keeping his eyes on her face. “Clay said to make sure you knew we was right next door,” he told her.

  “T
hank you, Marshal. I don’t expect to leave the Silver Spike until after eleven. You’ll be watching?”

  “We have two men watchin’ the Spike. Soon as you leave, one’ll follow, the other will run ahead t’ let us know you’re comin’.”

  “That’s reassuring. Thank you.”

  He touched the brim of his hat and backed away. She stared at the door, wondering why Clay hadn’t come himself. He was busy getting things ready, she assured herself.

  She knew what Garrett was doing now, playing a friendly game of cards with his new best friend, making sure the mark barely broke even or lost a little. He was creating the atmosphere, buying drinks and swapping stories.

  Sophie had done this more times than she could count. There was always an anticipatory tingle of nerves which Garrett had taught her was good. That little jolt that said she wasn’t complacent, that she wouldn’t be taken unaware by anything that transpired.

  Waiting had never felt quite like this before, though. There’d never been so much to lose.

  Much as she regretted it, she was still a professional. Sophie calmed her nerves, breathed slowly and evenly and dabbed on flowery cologne. She was ready.

  The walk took nine minutes. She entered through the double doors into the foyer of the Silver Spike. Since it was a gaming hall and not a saloon, the appearance of a woman drew less attention. Men often brought wives and female partners to these fashionable halls. And there were a few women, widows mostly, who frequented the tables without male companions. Sophie pretended to be one of those women.

  Garrett had known about what time the games would break and when the tables would change, and he’d been sitting with their mark the entire evening.

  She leisurely surveyed the tables, working her way to where he sat with three companions.

  “Mrs. Saxton!” Garrett pushed back his chair and rose to greet her. “I didn’t know you were arriving today.”

  “Just this morning, Mr. Morgan. You may recall that a cousin of my late husband is employed at the Sante Fe’s Western Union. I accepted an invitation to accompany his daughter on a trip, so I’m here to meet her.”