He fastened his cufflinks, took a last look at himself in the mirror and left the room for the last time as a bachelor.
Who the hell would have believed it?
* * *
"Miss Caroline." Judge Fitzgerald looked up as she entered the parlor at the Crazy Arrow. "Time is a'wasting. The wife and I would like to get this ceremony under way so we can enjoy the fireworks with Doc Willoughby."
Judge Fitzgerald's wife stood to the right of her husband and she motioned for Abby to join her. Abby met Caroline's eyes as if to say, "There is still time to change your mind," but Caroline merely gestured for Abby to do as she'd been asked.
Caroline's skirts rustled softly as she took her place next to Jesse Reardon. This is my wedding day, she thought, and this man is going to be my husband. There in that run-down parlour she was about to pledge her life into the hands of a man who wanted nothing more than to rob her blind. The plan that had seemed so inspired a few minutes ago up in her room, now seemed dangerous and doomed to failure.
"Evenin', Car-o-line," Reardon drawled softly. "Ready?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Reardon smelled of soap and hair tonic and she saw in an instant that he had taken time to shave. He wore dark trousers and a crisp white shirt; his golden cufflinks twinkled by the light of the gas lamp on the side table. An odd swelling of emotion suddenly blossomed inside her chest, making it hard to draw a steady breath.
Foolishness! This was a business arrangement, plain and simple—same as she'd told Abby—and she was not going to behave like a featherbrained female and let herself believe it was anything but what it was.
The judge cleared his throat, adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, then fixed Caroline and Jesse with a look. "Shall we begin?"
Jesse looked at Caroline. "Ready, darlin'?"
She nodded, mute.
"Dearly Beloved," the judge intoned, "we are gathered here together to unite this man and this woman in the holy bonds of matrimony..."
A loud crack of thunder rumbled through the open window, quickly followed by a dazzling display of silver and red and blue glitter scattered across the night sky.
"...I, Jesse, take thee, Caroline, as my lawful wedded wife..."
The floor shook as another barrage of fireworks exploded, calling to mind the hated storms that always managed to undermine her courage. The deafening report echoed in Caroline's ears and she swallowed hard against a rising tide of anxiety.
"...I, Caroline, take thee, Jesse...to have and to hold...to honor and obey...until death do us part." Was that her voice, that soft uncertain whisper?
"The ring." Judge Fitzgerald looked at Reardon. "We need a ring for your bride."
To Caroline's amazement, Reardon's face reddened and he looked as close to apologetic as it was possible for a man like him to look.
"I don't—"
"Here!" Abby scooted over and Caroline saw her press something shiny into his hand. "Use this."
The look of relief on Reardon's face inexplicably tore at Caroline's heart. This is no more real than a Confederate dollar. It is business and nothing more.
Judge Fitzgerald instructed Jesse to take Caroline's hand in his and she trembled at his touch.
"Repeat after me, Jesse: With this ring, I thee wed."
Jesse's midnight blue eyes met hers and held her captive. "With this ring, I thee wed." His voice held a note of unexpected tenderness that was almost her undoing and she wished she had the power to look away as he slipped the tarnished silver band on her finger.
"By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you man and wife."
From the street came the blare of the brass band, followed closely by another wild burst of fireworks, as if all of Silver Spur were celebrating this bogus union. Abby sniffled loudly and Mrs. Fitzgerald dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. The left side of Jesse's mouth lifted in an approximation of a smile. Tradition demanded the groom kiss the bride, and for a moment Caroline wondered if he would kiss her to seal the bargain. She still remembered his kiss, that delightful pressure of his lips against hers, and she wondered how it would be to feel that kiss again, now that they were legally wed.
"Car-o-line?" His voice was all smoke and honey.
"Yes?" Her own voice was but a whisper.
"Let's sign that damn agreement. I got me a party to get to."
To her horror, her eyes filled with tears and she looked away rather than let him see her humiliation. "Yes, Mr. Reardon," she said at last. "Let's sign that agreement."
* * *
"Are you certain, miss?" Abby hovered near the door to Caroline's room. "You be lookin' a bit peaked to me, if you don't mind me sayin' so."
"I'm certain, Abby." Caroline waved her hand in what she hoped was her best cavalier fashion. "I shall be fine."
"You wouldn't be used to spirits, miss. I'd be thinkin' twice before having another rum."
Caroline lifted her chin indignantly. "I am twenty-three years old, Abby. Almost a quarter-century as you are so fond of reminding me. Certainly I should be able to hold my rum at this late date."
"It wouldn't be the end of the world, miss. 'Tis a business arrangement like you told me and nothing more."
"I know, Abby." She looked at the tarnished ring on her left hand then eased it off her finger and handed it back to her fiercely loyal maid. "Thank you for this but I won't be needing it any longer."
"I wouldn't be mindin' if you kept it."
"No." Caroline was adamant. "It isn't necessary."
She was married in name only. Rings were for the bride who could shout her happiness to the world, not for a counterfeit bride whose marriage papers would be locked away in a bank vault, far from prying eyes.
"Is there anything else I can be doin' for you, miss?"
"You can stop looking so worried." Caroline gave the girl a quick hug. "Now, off with you, Abigail O'Brien."
"You'll be alright, miss?"
She nodded. "Go, Abby. I'll be fine."
The door closed behind Abby and Caroline was alone with her rum at last. The ruffled curtains at her window billowed with the night breeze as moonlight danced across the wooden floor.
"A perfect night for romance," she said aloud, pouring herself a tumbler of spirits. A perfect wedding night spent alone with a bottle of rum in a house filled with spinsters. It simply couldn't be more perfect, now could it? She was Caroline Bennett, the woman who didn't want a husband or a family; the woman who had never once dreamed of white lace dresses and a rose-covered cottage.
Except there was one thing wrong with that statement. She took a long sip and shivered as the rum seared its way down her throat and into her belly. In the eyes of the law—if not in the eyes of God—she was no longer Caroline Bennett; she was Caroline Bennett Reardon, and nothing on earth would change that.
Not so long as she wanted to keep all that was rightfully hers.
Music and laughter rang out from the Golden Dragon as a male voice boomed, "Drinks on the house for everybody!" Caroline sat down on her bed, legs curled beneath her, and drank some more rum. Jesse Reardon was probably over there, installed like a king in that velvet-and-satin room with the enormous bed that any decent God-fearing man would know had seen a lot of night-time visitors.
She could just imagine him, naked beneath the ruby-red sheets, puffing on one of his big fat cigars while Jade entertained him, doing she-dared-not-think-what.
He had barely waited for the ink to dry on their marriage certificate and the agreement before he bounded down the stairs of the Crazy Arrow and disappeared into the crowd of holiday celebrants leaving Caroline to pay the judge for his services. Why couldn't he have shared a glass of wine with the Fitzgeralds and Abby, and tried to put a veneer of respectability on this sham of a marriage, if only for a few minutes? Would it have been so difficult a task?
"Who needs you, Jesse Reardon," she said aloud, scrambling across the feather bed to pour herself another rum. She certainly didn
't. Why, she—
She stopped, clutching her tumbler of spirits, at the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside her door. Please don't let it be Abby, determined to save Caroline from the horrors of rum and loneliness. She didn't believe she could cope with the girl's earnest concern tonight of all nights.
"Go away, Abby," she said in response to a knock.
"Open the door, Car-o-line."
She jumped at the sound of Jesse Reardon's voice, spilling rum on the coverlet. "Go away," she repeated, a bit less forcefully this time.
"I got somethin' for you, darlin'."
She leaped from the bed and ran to the door, making certain the lock was bolted. "Oh, I can just imagine what you have for me." More papers to sign, no doubt, papers that would systematically strip her of everything she owned.
"I got us a wedding dinner."
"I don't believe you," she said uncertainly, although her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
His laugh was low and delightfully enticing. "Chicken with biscuits and gravy."
"You're a cruel man, Jesse Reardon."
"Come on now, darlin'. Your wedding supper's gettin' cold."
Caroline unbolted the door and cautiously opened it a crack. "I don't see anything."
"You're a real suspicious gal, Car-o-line. Open up wide and I'll bring it on in."
It must be the rum, she thought, as she opened the door wide and stepped aside. Certainly she wouldn't have invited the devil himself into her room if she hadn't lowered her defenses by sipping the potent liquid.
Caroline clapped her hands together in delight as Reardon walked in, carrying a tray piled high with covered dishes. "You were telling the truth!"
He placed the tray atop her dresser and arched a dark brow. "I don't think I much like the surprise in your voice, darlin'."
Reardon lifted the silver lid from the largest platter and the aroma of succulent chicken tantalized her nostrils. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she gripped the doorframe for support. She hadn't realized how hungry she was; coupled with the rum, it was a potent combination.
"Where on earth did you find such wonderful food?" she asked, closing the door to her room.
"Aunt Sally's."
"Really, Mr. Reardon! I had the misfortune of dining at Aunt Sally's once and I doubt if the woman is capable of cooking anything that did not originate in a tin can."
"You got a mighty harsh opinion of the old gal."
"Just of her culinary skills." She stepped closer and the aroma intensified, causing her mouth to water. "This is not Aunt Sally's cooking," she declared. "Where did you get it?"
"I don't think you really want to know, darlin'."
"But I do, Mr. Reardon. If someone in Silver Spur is capable of such fine fare, I'd like to know so I can hire her away for the Crazy Arrow."
"Old Lucy cooked it up."
His eyes were twinkling a bit too brightly for Caroline's taste. "And who, pray tell, is Old Lucy?"
He gestured over his shoulder. "Cook at the Golden Dragon. Want to meet her?"
The memory of the mirrors and satin and flocked velvet wallpaper was still fresh and Caroline shook her head. "Thank you, no."
He shrugged and then, to her amazement, sat down on her bed, put his feet up on the coverlet and met her eyes. "Anytime, darlin'."
The rum again. Certainly she was imagining this terrible sight. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Reardon?"
"I said: anytime, darlin'."
"That's what I was afraid you said." She grabbed his feet and pulled. "Get up! Get off my bed this minute!"
He captured her hands in his. "Watch the spurs, Car-o-line. Don't want to cut up those pretty hands of yours."
Rum on an empty stomach had taken its toll and she tumbled onto the bed right next to him. "Let go of me this instant!"
"Just doin' this for your own good."
She lashed out with her foot and caught him in the shin.
"Damnation, gal! You gone crazy with hunger?"
"I'm furious, is what I am!" She struggled to her feet and smoothed the bodice of her gown with short, angry movements. "How dare you push your way into my room under the pretense of offering me dinner and then try to ravish me!"
"Ravish you? What in hell are you talkin' about."
She gestured toward the bed. "I think you know exactly what I mean, Mr. Reardon."
"I wanted you to serve up supper, gal, not yourself."
"A likely story, Mr. Reardon," she sniffed.
He swung his long legs over the side of the mattress and stood up. "Don't you think it's time you stopped callin' me mister, Car-o-line?"
"You're evading my question, Mr. Reardon. Will you not admit you came here intending to seduce me?"
He glanced toward the tray piled high with food. "It may not be real flattering, darlin', but I came here plannin' to feed you supper."
"Can you not be honest for once in your life?"
"You want the truth?" He advanced toward her.
She nodded, taking a step backward. "It would be a most refreshing change."
"I got to thinkin' about it and, this being a holiday and all, figured we should celebrate our wedding."
"Wedding?" she asked with a sharp laugh. "We didn't marry, Mr. Reardon, not really. All we did was sign some papers and go on about our business. Certainly nothing we should celebrate."
Liar! she thought. You were just sniffling into your glass of rum with loneliness that the occasion had come and gone with so little fanfare.
His hands slid up her arms and came to rest possessively on her shoulders, holding her fast against the edge of the bed. "Independence Day," he said, lowering his head toward hers. "Whole damn country's celebratin'. Why shouldn't we?"
Why shouldn't they, indeed? The room was dark, save for the weak flicker of light from the gas lamp on the wall near the rocking chair and the warmth of his breath against her cheek was both thrilling and comforting—although, for the life of her, Caroline could not figure out how two such different emotions could co-exist.
But, they did and as Jesse Reardon moved his hands lightly across her shoulders and stroked her back, she felt herself swept up into his strong arms and gently placed upon the mattress. How easily her body melted into the softness of the feather bed, eased by rum and the seductive promise of his touch.
"This isn't right," she murmured as he pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat. "We shouldn't—"
"Quiet, darlin'." His words vibrated sweetly against her skin then faded away as those words became kisses. The neckline of her dress dipped below her collarbone and his mouth found and claimed each inch of hot and tender skin exposed.
She lay beneath him, arms at her sides, her limbs so heavy she felt she would be pinned there forever, captive to the sweet swell of sensation flooding through her body.
Deftly he unpinned her hair and the heavy tresses drifted across the pillows. He smelled sharp and clean, of leather and spice and pure male strength and desire sprang to life inside her belly, full-blown and dangerous and frighteningly out of control.
This simply couldn't be and she had to tell him so.
"Stop," she said, turning her head away from his kisses. "Please..."
He ignored her and, cradling her face between his large hands, he brought his lips to hers, his mouth open and hot and hungry.
"No!" The word went from her mouth to his, more thought than sound, and she brought her hands up between them, pushing against his chest. Again he ignored her, pinning her to the bed with the weight of his body, her hands captured like helpless birds between them. "Please, no..."
But he seemed not to hear her as his hands stroked her back and hips and then teased the undercurve of her breasts. "...sweet...so soft and sweet and good..." Words of love, dark and secret and perilous, surrounded her, imprisoned her, curled inside her ear, threatening to become part of her.
She struggled to find her footing on the quickly shifting terrain. "We can't—" Dear God, but his hands wer
e hot and knowing... "It isn't right—"
Those knowing hands found the mother of pearl buttons that Abby had done up only a few hours ago and she felt the sudden rush of night air against her bare skin. "It couldn't be more right, Car-o-line. Don't you remember? This is our weddin' night."
She'd tried so hard to pretend it didn't matter, to pretend the wedding was no more than an insurance policy meant to protect the things she owned. But it seemed she'd inherited more than her father's wanderlust and thirst for adventure; she had inherited his romantic nature, as well.
Suddenly all the feelings she'd kept at bay since her father died broke free of her control, and to her utter humiliation, Caroline burst into tears.
* * *
Jesse Reardon was normally quick on the trigger but Caroline had caught him unawares. He'd been drowning in the flowery smell of her golden hair. His body had been on fire for her, burning hotter than he'd ever known it to, but the flames went out the second he saw her tears.
"What the hell—?"
"This isn't a wedding night," she cried, kicking at him wildly as he quickly rolled just beyond reach.
"Whoa, darlin'!" He rubbed his knee where the tip of her kid slipper had caught him. "This ain't exactly a friendly way to treat your new husband, now is it?" He'd always known fillies were a mite skittish but this gal put them all to shame.
Tears coursed down her cheeks as she glared at him, all fuss and fury. "You're not my husband, Mr. Reardon. You're nothing but a monster who would take a simple business arrangement and twist it to suit his own base, animalistic needs."
"There you go again, Car-o-line, using all those fancy words you don't need. You stood before the judge willingly, didn't you?"
She nodded, tears still streaming.
"Nobody twisted your arm when you said 'I do,' did they?"
"No," she said. "Not literally."
"Judge Fitzgerald blessed our union."
She sniffled. "Well, yes, but—"
Midnight Lover Page 19