She wasn’t there.
At first he worried he might have scared her off with his demands, though he knew she’d loved what he’d done to her last night, the way he’d touched her, tasted her. Then he cupped a hand over his new daughter’s silky curls. Of course she’d never leave Addie behind.
Hearing muffled banging noises in the kitchen, he relaxed against the mattress. His wife was cooking him breakfast. Harrison drew the blanket up, cuddling Addie close as she snored softly into his neck. He’d remain here a bit longer and let his little girl sleep while he waited for Retta to come back to bed. Finding his own eyes growing heavy, he thought he might just doze a bit as well.
Sometime later, he woke to Retta lifting Addie off his chest. He blinked up at her and she blushed, but her eyes held a softness as she whispered, “Sorry, I didn’t know she was this wet. Let me change her and I’ll finish making breakfast.” Carrying Addie over her shoulder, she exited the room silently.
Harrison rose up on an elbow and listened to the sounds of mother and child, soft chatter and tender admonishment. Addie might want to play, while Retta would try to pin her down, clean her up, and get her dressed. Clearly Retta was losing the battle, because he caught a glimpse of a bare little backside as Addie ran past the open bedroom door, giggling happily at being unclothed, while Retta chased after her.
“Adeline Marie, you get back here.”
“Hoecake!” The one-word shriek echoed in the kitchen.
Harrison sniffed the air. Yep, smelled like hoecakes to him. Also smelled like she’d used the bacon fat he’d rendered last week. “Nothing better than bacon-fried hoecakes,” he mumbled through a yawn.
Dragging his bones out of bed, Harrison yanked on his drawers and stumbled down the hall to the back door, intent on taking care of some pressing business.
By the time he fumbled into his trousers and made it to the kitchen to wash up, Retta had set a mound of golden cakes on the table, and Addie bounced on a chair, eyeing the stack with avarice. Harrison dug in a cupboard for the honeycomb Retta had purchased last week at the mercantile. “I’d double that batch if I were you,” he commented, bringing the honey and some plates to the table. “Frank can sniff out hoecakes a mile down the road.”
“Is that where he lives?”
Harrison nodded. “His land butts up to ours. His ranch isn’t as finished, though.”
She flashed him a quick smile. “Making extra is easy enough to do.”
Building on the progress they’d made, he crossed to the stove and brought her close enough for him to snag her around the waist and nuzzle a kiss to the back of her neck. Under his lips she tensed, then went limp. After making sure Addie wasn’t watching, Harrison snaked a hand up her ribs to palm a breast.
She wasn’t wearing a corset today and her soft flesh, covered by a few layers of linen and cotton, felt so good against his palm. “Mmm,” he rasped against her ear. “Good morning, wife.” He stroked her nipple and stifled a groan when it budded under the pad of his thumb.
“Harrison . . .” Her breath hitched but her head rested on his shoulder, neck arched as if begging for his mouth.
He angled her chin with a finger and caught her bottom lip in a nibbling kiss. Without giving her a chance to retreat, he spun her around and took her mouth in a hungry kiss. She’d been so receptive under his touch, and he wanted it again.
“Hoecake.” Addie’s demanding voice piped up behind them like a dash of icy water. Harrison broke off the kiss with a muttered curse that held no heat.
A fine tremor moved over Retta’s delicate frame. “It’ll only get worse if I don’t feed her and then take her for a walk.”
“Feeding and walking? Is she a child or a puppy?”
“Puppy,” Addie hollered, jumping up and down on her chair.
“Adeline, sit.” Retta glanced at Harrison with a sigh of exasperation. “Now you’ve done it. Gotten her all riled up.” She dumped a thick hoecake on Addie’s plate and drizzled honey over it, then grabbed a fork and cut the cake into bite-sized pieces. “She’ll screech about wanting a you-know-what for days, mark my words.” She handed the plate and a spoon to their daughter.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about getting a you-know-what for a while now,” he mused, taking a seat next to Addie and tousling her curls. She looked up from her plate and beamed at him, all tiny white teeth and half-chewed breakfast.
“Oh? And since when have you been thinking about getting a puppy—oh, damn,” Retta moaned, as Addie slammed down her spoon and bounced at hearing that word again.
“Since right about now.” Harrison scooped up the dainty girl and rubbed beard stubble in her neck, loving her screams of laughter as his whiskers tickled her. “What d’ya say, sweetpea? You wanna go to town with me and Uncle Frank, and pick out a puppy?”
“Yes!” Addie wrapped her arms around his neck and peppered his face with sticky kisses.
Fifteen minutes later, with Copper hooked up to the buckboard and ready to go, Addie snuggled up next to her Uncle Frank and tugged at his beard. “Puppy, puppy,” she chanted.
His normally ornery brother smiled down at the child with real affection in his eyes, then patted her on the head. “Hold on to your hosses, shortcake. You’ll have your puppy soon enough.”
~ ~ ~
The afternoon sun beat down as they left the mercantile, Addie clutching a squirming beagle puppy in her arms, the runt of the litter. Two mournful eyes stared out like a bandit from circles of varying shades of brown, split with a splash of white running over its snout and onto the top of its head. The pup’s one outstanding feature was a perfect circle of gold fur, the size of a large thumbprint, nestled in the middle of its white forehead.
As the pup continued to give her face a soaking with its sloppy tongue, Addie’s sweet giggle sang in the air. Each step she took, the pup slipped down her body, since the little tyke didn’t have enough strength to hang onto the squirming animal.
To keep the puppy from dragging on the ground, every so often Frank patiently heaved the pup back up into her arms. It was a side of him Harrison had never seen before, and it filled him with a great deal of amusement.
When he opened his mouth to give his brother a hard time, Frank narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even . . .”
Harrison grinned. “I didn’t say anything.”
After giving the puppy’s bottom another shove, Frank straightened. Although he didn’t smile, Harrison could easily read the laughter in his eyes as he thoughtfully tugged at his beard. “Quite a family you’ve got yourself, little brother. A bit more than you’d bargained for.”
“That it is,” Harrison admitted. “But I’m determined to make it work.”
“Your bride seems as skittish as a newborn colt.”
Recalling the hard way he’d greeted her at the train station sent a burst of guilt through Harrison. He hadn’t handled the situation as well as he could have. “We had a rough start, but I’m working on it.”
Frank leaned down to readjust the dog again. Addie peered up at him with a broad smile on her adorable face. “Tank you, Unca Fank.”
Frank ruffled the top of her head. “Welcome, shortcake.”
They continued down the dusty street, heading toward the wagon at a slow pace. Once she’d gotten her hands on the pup, Addie refused to relinquish him for either of them to carry.
“So,” Frank began, “I heard Slim Morgan accosted your missus in the mercantile the other day. What’re you gonna do about him? The man’s a bad egg.”
Harrison tensed as anger curled in his gut. “He gets anywhere near my wife again, and he’ll be a dead bad egg.”
Frank opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Addie’s wail. “Puppy!”
The dog darted past them, scrambling down the boardwalk, only to be block
ed by Cat Purdue, a barmaid from the Lucky Lady saloon. With a husky chuckle, she scooped up the yipping beagle.
Harrison eyed the young woman warily as she scratched the puppy behind one floppy ear. She wasn’t much older than Retta, maybe a year or two. Although Cat was strikingly beautiful, unlike his sweet bride, the shine of innocence had long worn off this one.
She wore a gown that fit snugly against a waist made wasp-thin by a fancy bodice that laced up the front. The low neckline bared creamy white shoulders and full breasts, set off by some kind of red material, covered in black netting. One side of the skirt had been knotted high, held in place with bright red ribbons, showcasing a shapely thigh peeking through black net stockings. Harrison recognized the costume of an entertainer. Not surprising, since Cat Purdue also sang at the Lucky Lady.
Tall and slender, Cat’s dancing shoes brought her almost eye level to them. To Harrison’s amusement, Frank hadn’t taken his eyes off the lovely songbird, even as he frowned fiercely all the while.
Tumbled waves the color of deepest honey framed the face of an angel. Though this woman was anything but angelic. Harrison knew a little about her past, and the girl had been dealt a bad hand, for sure. It was hard living a virtuous life when your own father lost you in a game of cards—along with The Lucky Lady Saloon—to Slim Morgan.
Harrison took Addie’s hand before she could run down the street after her dog. The way Frank tensed when Cat headed toward them, puppy in her arms, didn’t go unnoticed. The woman’s gaze locked on his brother. And she didn’t look happy to see him.
Interesting. Although Cat regularly performed at the Lucky Lady Saloon, Harrison didn’t think she worked as one of the whores, too. Though he couldn’t know for certain, since he seldom entered the establishment. Frank normally kept his dalliances with women who offered no entanglements, and this woman had entanglement written all over her.
With the squirming puppy in her arms, she strolled up to them, hips gently swaying. The closer she came, the tighter Frank’s muscles got as his jaw clenched. Even Addie seemed to know something didn’t seem right, and waited silently at his side.
Reaching them, she murmured, “Hello, Frank.” Her voice, soft and melodic, made her an invaluable source of income for the saloon. Men came from miles around just to listen to her sing. The fact she was stunningly lovely helped too.
Frank gave a curt nod. “Cat.”
When it became obvious that his brother wasn’t going to offer anything else, she sighed, then glanced down at Addie. “Did you lose something, pretty one?” She knelt and placed the ecstatic puppy into her arms, gently patting her cheek. “Be sure to hang on tight to the things you love, baby.”
Without another word, she breezed past them and kept walking toward the saloon, head held high.
Chapter 8
Retta scraped the remnants of breakfast from the plates and stacked them in the metal dishpan. Water heated on the stove, ready for washing off all the stickiness only hoecakes and honey could manufacture. She hummed as she worked, fragments of a tune she and Jenny used to sing together when they cleaned up after a meal. She could almost hear their awkward harmony, almost smell the sweet lilac water Jenny loved to dash behind her ears—
If she’s still alive. It’d been two months since she’d said goodbye to her sister at the train station.
A single, sharp pain pierced her, and Retta clutched a damp hand to her heart to ease it away. A sob caught in her throat, before she determinedly set aside the grief threatening to overtake her. Here, in this sunny kitchen with the fragrance of breakfast lingering on the air and a pan full of dishes, grief would have to wait. Jenny was safe back in Dewfield with Aunt Millie, well-cared for. Everything that could be done to make her comfortable and content, Aunty would surely do.
Now that Retta was settling in, she’d pen a letter to her sister, letting her know she’d arrived safely and that she and Addie were happy.
Someday soon, perhaps remembering their childhood together would bring fond smiles instead of tears and feelings of guilty abandonment. Retta could only hope.
“Enough of that,” she admonished herself, as she attacked the dishes anew. With Harrison gone into town with Addie and Frank, she had plenty of time to set the ranch house aright. Maybe even change some things around more to her liking, and look through her patterns for the clothes she wanted to make for Addie. Busy work, indeed, and exactly what she needed right now.
Except as she rinsed and stacked dishes, she found her mind wandering far from Dewfield and centering on other things.
Such as the way Harrison touched her each night, in their bed . . .
“Oh, God.” The oath shuddered from her mouth and pinged around the quiet kitchen like a stone skipping over water. The mere recollection of his mouth, his hands on her skin, made her woman’s core clutch and moisten. How could something so immense exist inside her, yet not rip her apart as it built and then burst?
Retta dropped the plate she’d been scrubbing and sagged weakly against the waist-high slab of wood that served as a counter. Vaguely she registered the sound of the sturdy pottery shattering in the metal dishpan. “I’ll clean it up later,” she whispered, unable to concentrate on anything except her husband. How he touched her, kissed her. The words he’d groan as she clasped his length in her hand . . .
Her own heart pounding furiously, Retta abandoned all pretense of housework and sank into the nearest chair.
The way he’d hold her, his warm palm against her cheek as he pressed her close to his heart. His unlimited patience, never pushing her for more than she was willing to give. That, most of all.
Barely a month as Retta Carter, and her world had upended in the most amazing way. What could have begun as a travesty of a marriage had become a wide-open opportunity for affection and acceptance. For her. For Addie.
A firm knock on the front door had her jumping to her feet, whipping off her stained apron. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but perhaps the mercantile lady—Betsey, if she recalled—had decided to pay her a visit. Retta hurried to the foyer, wishing she had anything besides cold hoecakes and leftover coffee to offer a visitor. Well, it wasn’t as if she’d had much time to bake up a storm. Surely the woman would understand.
Smoothing the loose bun at her nape and weaving wayward strands back from her face with one hand, Retta rounded the corner to the narrow foyer . . . and stared dumbfounded through the split porch door at the sight of Slim Morgan, dandy-dressed and dapper as he stood with his hat in his hands and a wide smile on his mustachioed face.
His dark eyes moved over her in a way that shot unease right through her. Retta inched backward, wishing she had thought to close and latch both halves of the door. She couldn’t imagine any harm befalling her in broad daylight, yet she wasn’t naïve enough to think a man such as Morgan might not try something untoward.
“Mister Morgan, what are you doing here?” Her voice held calm reason when she felt none at all.
“Ah, Missus Carter. Lovely to see you again.” Morgan stroked the brim of his hat with one long-fingered hand, a silver ring sparkling on his pinky. “I wondered if I might speak to your husband. I’ve some business to discuss with him.” He edged toward the threshold.
Retta swallowed a relieved sigh to see the bottom panel firmly latched. The situation reminded her of a tonic salesman who’d once tried to gain entrance to the front parlor of her childhood home in Bolster by sticking his foot in the door. Her father had tossed him out on his ear.
A split-door open at the top—at the moment—wasn’t much of a barrier, but it was better than nothing.
She folded her hands at her waist and strove to appear collected. “Might I ask what this pertains to, Mister Morgan? I was under the impression you and my husband are not very well acquainted.” Not exactly true, but it served little purpose to repeat Harrison’s thinl
y-veiled loathing of the man when she had no idea what might have caused it in the first place.
Morgan’s gaze slid over her a final time. Inexperienced with men in general, still Retta recognized the look in those nearly-black eyes, and it made her skin crawl. He placed both palms on the half-door, effectively blocking any attempt to slam and latch the upper section. With one casual move, he’d lessened her ability to defend her home.
She hated it, but remaining civil and polite was her only recourse. With a fortifying breath, Retta held firm. “Mister Morgan—”
“Call me Slim. I would so enjoy watching those lovely lips of yours forming my first name.” His smile broadened, revealing white, straight teeth. Neither the smile nor the teeth instilled any reassurance as he continued, “I must say, Retta, your presence in our little boomtown is a spot of fresh beauty.” Lifting one hand from the edge of the door, he stretched it toward her face as if to cup her cheek.
Retta jerked back. “Sir, you had best state your business.” She fought to keep from trembling and locked her knees. If she showed a speck of uncertainty or weakness, Morgan would take advantage, she was certain.
“Why, I would be most happy to, my dear. If you would please tell your, er, husband I have come to call.” Morgan gestured with his hat toward the wagon barn. “I wonder, is he even at home? I took the liberty of peeking here and there as I rode up, and didn’t see him. Or his buckboard.” His smarmy smile sharpened. “Dare I hope you and I might be all alone in this idyllic setting, under the warm sun and the soft spring breeze?”
The Substitute Wife Page 7