Prisoners of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Hutton , Callie

  Everything inside him exploded. His tongue nudged her lips until she opened, and he delved in, searching, touching, sucking, enjoying the taste of her. She crumpled against him, whimpering as his hand moved up to cup her breast. He flicked her nipple with his fingertip then rubbed his thumb over the peak.

  She was heaven in his arms—the scent of her, the sweet sounds coming from her, the thump of her heartbeat pushed him further and further to a point where he should never go.

  He pulled away, gazing at her face, her eyes closed, her lips swollen from his kiss.

  What the hell am I doing?

  “Please don’t make me marry Mr. Stillwater.”

  He was almost brought to his knees with her pleading voice and trembling lips. But he had to be strong for them both. Despite years of being on her own, she somehow had remained innocent of the ways of the world. If he gave into her, she would eventually be sorry, grow to hate him, and that would crush him.

  “I’m sorry, little one, but marrying Mr. Stillwater is for the best.” Before she could try to change his mind, he backed up, turned, and left the jailhouse, slamming the door behind him, ending the temptation.

  His rounds took only about an hour, but, reluctant to return to the jailhouse and run into Becky, he walked to the café for an early supper. Pastor Nelson Devon sat at one of the tables, finishing up his meal. When he saw Mace, he waved him over. “Join me.”

  Mace always liked the preacher, even though he only attended services on a hit-or-miss basis. Devon was what Mace would call a straight shooter. No hogwash. He always let you know exactly what’s what. Mace drew up a chair and joined him.

  “When are you coming back to church?” The reverend took a sip of his coffee.

  “Oh, one of these days. You know, sometimes things happen on a Sunday morning that need my attention.”

  Raised brows were the reverend’s only response, causing Mace to shift uneasily in his seat, feeling like his mama was scolding him.

  “I hear the two ladies are still looking for husbands.”

  Well, so much for having an early supper so as to put Becky far from his mind. “Yes, sir.”

  “Quite pretty lasses. They’ve been to church a few times.”

  Mace nodded, wishing the waitress would interrupt the conversation. He looked around and waved at Aggie. “Special, please, Aggie. And coffee.”

  She nodded and pushed open the door to the kitchen.

  “I also hear you’re sweet on one of them. Miss Becky Davidson.” The preacher wasn’t about to give up.

  Hell and damn. Nothing happened in this town that didn’t end up being gossip. Mace shrugged. “No matter. You of all people should know she’s not the gal for me. Or should I say, I’m not the man for her.”

  “Why is that?” The man tried to look like he really didn’t know, but Mace wasn’t fooled for one minute by that innocent look. It had to be something they learned in ministry school.

  His annoyance growing, Mace said, “Well, since you have decided to play dumb, I’ll lay it out for you. In case it hasn’t caught your eye, Reverend, I’m a Negro man, and she’s a white woman.”

  The preacher leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, giving Mace his best “I’m about to give a sermon” look. “I’m not stupid, Sheriff, nor do I pretend to live in a make-believe world. I know marriage between the races is not well thought of by some. However, I don’t believe Santa Fe is a place so intolerant that the citizenry would turn on its sheriff because he married a fine woman he loved and who loved him, regardless of their skin colors.”

  Mace snorted. “And Miss Becky seems to think it makes no difference to her, either, but let a few nasty remarks follow her around, and slights and insults to her as she shops, and she’ll grow to hate me and what I’ve done to her.” He nodded to Aggie as she placed his food in front of him.

  Instead of attending to her business, she continued to stand there, glaring, apparently ready to put in her own two cents’ worth. “Miss Becky is an intelligent woman who knows her mind and is not one to kowtow to a bunch of meddling nobodies.”

  Mace stared up at her then looked at the preacher. “Neither of you know what you’re talking about.”

  Aggie shrugged. “Ain’t no skin off my teeth. Just looking out for you and Miss Becky. Go ahead and play the fool. It’s your loss.” She shook her head in disgust and picked up dirty dishes from the table next to them and sashayed to the kitchen.

  * * *

  “Yes, Mr. Stillwater, I will accept your proposal.” Becky had practiced those words in front of the mirror for over ten minutes, and still, she wasn’t ready to say them to him. Miss Nellie had just told her Mr. Stillwater awaited her in the parlor.

  This was it. Miss Nellie was growing impatient with her, and after seeing Mace yesterday, she was finally ready to admit he did not want her and never would. She expected any day for the marshal to ride into town and haul her back to the Dodge City jail.

  Mr. Stillwater would most likely be an acceptable husband. From what she’d heard, he was hardworking, didn’t gamble or drink a whole lot, and was on a first-name basis with the preacher.

  But she didn’t love him.

  Both Miss Nellie and Mace had said love would grow. That, of course, was quite possible, but would her heart ever let go of Mace so she could at least try to love her husband? She sighed, taking one more glance at herself in the mirror. No knight in shining armor was going to arrive to sweep her away from her obligations. She had to marry. Mr. Stillwater had proposed. Mace had turned her down.

  It was time to face her future, and make the best of it.

  “You look lovely, Becky.” Miss Nellie stared up at her as Becky descended the staircase. Three days ago she’d accept Mr. Stillwater’s proposal, and this morning was her wedding day. When she had agreed to marry Mr. Stillwater—she still thought of him that way, although he asked that she call him Joseph—he had given her a perfunctory kiss that did not curl her toes the way Mace’s kiss had done.

  When he held her close, she didn’t feel the warm and bulging muscles under his jacket as she had when Mace had done the same thing. Mr. Stillwater felt different, smelled different, and sounded different.

  Oh, God. What had she done?

  She reached the bottom of the steps and, swallowing in an effort to keep her breakfast where it belonged, offered Miss Nellie a slight smile. “Thank you.”

  Miss Nellie patted her shoulder. “It will all work out, Becky. You’ll see. Mr. Stillwater is a good man and will make you a fine husband.” She kissed her lightly on the cheek. “With you and Miranda now married, I guess my job here is done.”

  “What will you do, Miss Nellie?”

  The former madam shrugged. “I’m not sure. I haven’t given it much thought, but it’s not something you need to be concerned with. This is your day.”

  They left the house and headed in the direction of the church. Would she have one more glance at Mace before she became Mrs. Stillwater? One thing she was grateful for was that Mr. Stillwater’s house was far enough from the jail that she would not see him every time she left the house.

  She could make her shopping trips during the time he was doing his paperwork. From working with him, she knew his schedule, and she would avoid the times of the day when he made his rounds.

  Even though it was a small building, the church loomed in front of her, slowing her steps and once again threatening to bring her breakfast up. They reached the top step of the church, and she broke into a sweat. Marriage was forever. She knew so little of this man she was pledging her entire life to.

  “Miss Nellie, you go on ahead to your seat. I just need a few minutes to compose myself.” She tried very hard to sound normal, but her head was spinning and she felt on the verge of collapse.

  “You do look a little pale, sweetie. Can I get you a glass of water?”

  “Yes, yes. A glass of water would be wonderful.” She took a deep breath as Miss Nellie hurried away. Becky peeked through
the doors of the church. The pastor stood at the front of the church speaking with Mr. Stillwater. Miss Nellie spoke to them briefly, and the preacher turned and entered a door in the sanctuary.

  Becky closed her eyes and gripped the handle of the church door to enter. She turned the knob, and before she could pull it open, her hand dropped to her side.

  No.

  She couldn’t do it. If Mace would not marry her then she would marry no one. She had some money in her pocket that she had intended to bring with her to her new home. Mace had paid her a little bit for her work at the jail, and she’d saved every dime.

  Before she could change her mind, she tossed the flowers she held into the bushes alongside the church, picked up her skirts, and ran like the devil toward the stage depot. She dodged dogs, kids heading to the schoolhouse, hurried past women starting their morning shopping, and nodded briskly at the old man who occupied his normal seat in front of the mercantile.

  The stagecoach that was headed to Trinidad, Colorado, sat on the corner of Main and First Streets. The driver’s seat was empty, bringing a sigh of relief to Becky since she would have time to buy a ticket and get as far away from Santa Fe, Sheriff Jensen, and Mr. Stillwater as her money would take her.

  She would find a job somewhere and take care of herself. Maybe one day she would have enough money to go to California and find her brother. How big could California be?

  Luckily, her path did not take her past the jailhouse. The last thing she wanted to do was go flying by, her skirts billowing behind her, if Mace was there. Where he probably would be at this time.

  “A ticket to Trinidad, please.” She barely got the words out as she fished in her pocket for the money. The man behind the counter in the leather store where the stagecoach tickets were sold pulled out a box from underneath and opened it. “Fifty-five cents.”

  She counted out the coins and slid them across the counter. With her ticket fisted in her hand, she left the store and took the step up into the coach at the same time the driver climbed onto his seat.

  With a shout, the driver snapped his reins, and the vehicle moved forward. Leaning her head against the cushion, Becky closed her eyes as one small tear slid down her cheek.

  10

  Mace sat at the jail, his feet crossed on the top of the desk, his hat pulled low over his forehead. By now, Becky was married. As hard as he’d tried to not know about it, word had gotten back to him that Miss Becky Davidson and Mr. Joseph Stillwater were taking their vows this morning.

  Miss Nellie stopped in to tell him.

  Aggie from the café stopped in to tell him.

  Pastor Devon stopped in to tell him.

  Miss Miranda—now Mrs. Stone—stopped in to tell him.

  Miss Priscilla stopped in to tell him.

  Hell, he swore the next person who came through that door to tell him what he didn’t want to know but everyone in town seemed to think he should know he would toss him or her in jail. He would think of the charges against them later. There must be a law somewhere against telling a man what he didn’t want to know.

  Especially a stubborn, foolish man.

  He jerked as the front door flew open and slammed against the wall. “What the hell?”

  Miss Nellie strode into the room, her face flushed, panting heavily.

  Swinging his feet off the desk, he stood. “What? Did something happen to Becky? Is she all right? Is she hurt?”

  Miss Nellie was having a hard time catching her breath, but he hated wasting time not knowing what horror she was about to tell him. “Becky.” She gasped the one word out.

  “What about Becky?” His heart was now hammering in his chest so hard it was choking him. “Woman, you better spit it out.”

  “She’s run off.”

  “Doesn’t her husband know where she is?” Damn and hell, he hated that word.

  Miss Nellie shook her head. “No husband. Ran off before the ceremony.”

  He collapsed back into his seat, dropping his head into his hands. She’d run off. Before the wedding.

  “You have to go after her.”

  His head jerked up. “Why me? I have no claim on her.”

  Miss Nellie looked as if she could chew him up and spit him out. In fact, he’d seen friendlier eyes over the business side of a shotgun. Pointed at his heart.

  “She has broken the law.” Miss Nellie’s voice was returning to normal. “Marshal Jones has ordered her to marry. If she does not, she is to be returned to Dodge City to await the circuit judge’s return to face charges of running a scam.”

  “You really expect me to arrest her?”

  She leaned over the desk her hands fisted on the pile of wanted posters. “It’s your job, Sheriff.”

  Well, wasn’t this a fine pickle. But then he thought of Becky being out there, all alone, with nowhere to go, no one to care for her. She was too innocent. She would likely get hooked up with another scam artist. Get abused. Raped. Left in an alley somewhere to die.

  Before he could block that vision from his mind, he strode past Miss Nellie and after checking his guns, headed to the door. “I’ll get her. And bring her back to be married. I refuse to send her to Dodge City.”

  The doorjamb rattled as he slammed the door shut. He headed to the leather shop since most likely Becky had taken a stagecoach. Once he had confirmed where she was headed, he’d be right behind her.

  Blasted woman.

  * * *

  “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a stagecoach by herself?” The annoying man who they’d picked up at the last stop had continued to ask Becky questions since he’d joined them. He’d taken the seat right next to her, even though the one across from her was empty. Becky had scooted over as close as she could to the wall of the coach, and the man still touched her thigh with his knee.

  “I’m meeting my husband.” She mumbled the words to the window.

  The man smirked. “If you have a husband, why are you not wearing a wedding ring?”

  “I lost it.” Oh, Lord, would he ever stop talking to her? The only blessing in his constant chatter was the distraction the annoyance caused her, so she didn’t have to think too hard on what she’d done.

  She’d left Mr. Stillwater standing at the altar. What a horrible person she was. He would likely never forgive her, but then she would not ever see him again, anyway.

  The man leaned in as if he was sharing a great secret with her. “If I had a sweet little gal like you, I would make sure she never lost my ring. And I would never allow her on a stagecoach by herself.”

  Becky refused to acknowledge his words, hoping if she did so, he would leave her alone. No such luck. “If that husband of yours doesn’t show up, I’ll be mighty glad to bring you along with me.”

  She cringed just as the coach came to a rolling stop, most likely to give the passengers a chance to stretch their legs. The driver jumped down and opened the door. “We have about a ten-minute stop here, if y’all want to get out and move around.” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder to the ramshackle building behind him. “If you can stomach it, Saul serves food in there. Or at least what passes for food.”

  With a chuckle at his own comment, the driver wandered off. Becky climbed down and entered the building. Whatever this Saul was cooking did nothing but turn her stomach even more than it had been since she’d awoken that morning.

  Grateful that the annoying man had found someone else to talk to as he leaned on the counter, gabbing away with the cook, Becky made an abrupt turn and went back outside. She found a seat on an old wooden bench in front of the building and sat there, fanning her face with her bonnet.

  She tried not to think of what she’d done, and the predicament she found herself in, because now not only was she without a husband, she was a criminal running from the law.

  How in heaven’s name had her life become so mixed-up?

  * * *

  Mace swung his leg over his horse, Whiskey, and headed out of town. Luke at the leather shop
had confirmed that earlier, Becky had bought a ticket to Trinidad, Colorado, and left on the stagecoach. What was that fool woman thinking?

  He made a quick stop at the church to tell the preacher he was on his way to fetch the bride. He hadn’t cared too much for the grin on the preacher’s face. You would think a man of the cloth would be a bit more serious about the dilemma she’d created. “I’ll be here waiting for you,” the man had said as Mace rode off.

  The knot in his stomach grew as Whiskey’s hooves pounded the earth beneath them. What if he caught up to the coach and she’d already gotten off? Just because she bought a ticket to Trinidad didn’t mean she would go all the way there. She could get off at any one of the stops along the way.

  One comforting thought was the stagecoach hadn’t left more than an hour before, and since he was riding his horse, he should catch up to them before she could get into too much trouble.

  He hoped.

  He arrived at the first coaching inn, and a quick conversation with the innkeeper confirmed the coach had stopped and gone on its way, and there had been a young lady traveling by herself. At least the innkeeper said he thought she was alone, but there was a man who kept talking to her that she seemed to be annoyed with.

  Mace pressed on, ready to smash the man in the face who’d been bothering Becky. That was precisely why she needed a husband. She managed to get herself into trouble all the time.

  His thoughts were still tying him into knots when he spotted the stagecoach about half a mile up ahead. She had better still be on the coach, or he would throttle the driver. In fact, he might throttle him, anyway, since he allowed her to get on to begin with.

  “Pull over!” He rode alongside the driver, shouting at him. The noise of the horses and jangling of the reins muffled his voice. Mace rode farther up and turned to shout at the driver again. He dared not bring out his gun to shoot into the air. If the driver didn’t recognize him, he could end up bleeding to death on the ground.