Bride of the High Country

by Kaki Warner

  “No undertaker?” Tait asked, helping the other two men wrap Horne’s body in the canvas and tie it with lengths of cord.

  “Visiting his mother in Santa Fe. Any family we need to notify?”

  Tait shrugged. “I’ll send a wire to his banker. He’ll probably know.” And he might also know who Tait had to contact about the right-of-ways Horne and Doyle had bought. He wanted everything free and clear and in Lucinda’s name as soon as possible. He wanted this behind them forever.

  After loading Horne on the horse, they took a back trail down to the graveyard by the church where Tait had sat with Lucinda that morning. He didn’t feel the bastard deserved to rest in holy ground, but Brodie said it wasn’t all that holy since worse folks were buried there, including Lone Tree, the Arapaho who had tried to kill his family.

  There were no prayers offered, and after they filled in the hole, they walked back toward town, Brodie leading the horse and carrying the borrowed shovels. The sky was so heavy it seemed to bend the tips of the firs and spruce trees lining the road, and made the clopping of the horse’s hooves sound unnaturally loud in the hush. It didn’t feel as cold as it had earlier that afternoon, but Tait was shivering by the time he saw the light shining through the lobby windows of the hotel up ahead. He wondered if Lucinda was through with her bath yet, and reminded himself to have a bigger tub made. A tub for two.

  He had almost lost her today.

  “You going to tell us what Horne was doing here, Rylander?” the sheriff asked, breaking into Tait’s thoughts. “It was apparent you knew each other.”

  Tait took his time forming a response. Lucinda deserved her privacy, and although he sensed these two men would think no less of her if they knew the truth about her past, it wasn’t his tale to tell. So he skirted all that and simply told them Horne had been a business associate of her former fiancé. “My guess is Horne saw the same railroad potential for Heartbreak Creek that Lucinda did. In fact, he’s probably the one who’s been buying up the other right-of-ways through the canyon.”

  “What does that have to do with Brin?”

  Tait looked over at the sheriff and saw a man of such honor he was slow to recognize the lack of it in others. It was a refreshing change from Doyle. Both these men were. And Tait hoped after the grisly business that evening, he could count them both as friends. “Horne had a sick weakness for children. Lucinda knew that, and when your daughter went missing, she feared he might have taken her.”

  The sheriff looked away. Tait wondered if he was regretting his hesitation to kill the bastard.

  “I wish the buggering whoreson was still alive so I could kill him myself,” the earl complained.

  “Do you have the knife Thomas threw?” Brodie asked him.

  The Scotsman responded with such a look of innocence Tait almost laughed. “What knife? And how do you know Thomas threw it?”

  Tait had seen the ex-soldier wipe off the blade and pocket the dagger, and he silently applauded the man for covering for the Cheyenne while at the same time saving the sheriff from having to arrest his friend and deputy.

  “Then where is it?” Brodie pressed.

  “I’m guessing it slipped out while we were moving him,” the earl mused. “Do you want us to go back and find it?”

  “It would be easy enough to recognize,” Tait added, picturing the horn grip. “Especially with that fancy carved wooden handle.”

  “Aye,” the Scotsman quickly agreed. “It couldna be the heathen’s. Dinna his have a stock made of antler?”

  “I believe you’re right,” Tait allowed. “Now that I think on it, it couldn’t have been Redstone’s knife that killed Horne. I’d swear to it, in fact.”

  “Bunkum.” Brodie let out a deep breath that fogged the air for a moment before dissipating on a chilling gust. “Do you two actually think you’re fooling me with that crap? Or that Thomas needs your protection?”

  The earl turned to Tait. “Do you suppose it’ll snow tonight, lad? There’s a feel of it in the air, I’m thinking.”

  “I believe you’re right about that, too.”

  It was dark when they walked into the lobby of the hotel. Brodie’s wife and her half sister had already taken Brin to the sheriff’s house on Mulberry Creek, so Brodie headed home, as well.

  When Yancey told the earl his wife had retired, too, the big Scotsman gave Tait a quick good night and bounded up the stairs, obviously intent on making up for his drunken incapacitation of the previous night.

  “Miss Hathaway’s turned in, too,” Yancey added. “Looked beat to hell. I didn’t have the heart to wake her when the new guests arrived. Shoulda booted them out. Old lady demanded the best room. I told her it was taken, and she almost whacked me with her cane. But when I explained it was rented to an earl and his missus, she settled down somewhat. Cranky old broad, that one.”

  Tait grinned. “I know. Treat her well or you’ll be answering to Miss Hathaway.”

  “Uh-oh. Family?”

  “Guardian.”

  “Hell.”

  A single lamp burned in Lucinda’s deserted office. Stepping in, Tait closed the door behind him, then crossed to the bedroom and looked inside.

  Another lamp burned by the bed where Lucinda lay curled under a mound of quilts, her damp hair spread over the pillow. He moved closer, needing to see her face to assure himself that she was safe and unharmed.

  He had almost lost her today.

  After all his promises and pledges of protection, he had still almost lost her to the enemy he knew was coming. The thought sickened him. Brought a rush of that same throat-choking panic he’d felt in the woods earlier when he’d seen Horne lunge toward her.

  But now it was finally over. As far as he knew, there was no one left who was a threat to her. She was safe. That realization brought such a welcome relief his legs felt suddenly wobbly. Stumbling to the chair beside the window, he slumped down, his heart pounding.

  He had almost lost her today.

  Jesus.

  Sitting in the dim lamplight, the fingers of one hand spread over his trembling mouth, Tait watched her sleep.

  * * *

  Lucinda awoke to a soft snore. Sitting up, she tracked it to the wingback chair beside the window, where a big form sat slouched, elbows sagging over the sides of the armrests, long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.

  “Tait,” she called softly.

  He jerked awake, saw her sitting upright, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Did I wake you?”

  “Come to bed.”

  He looked at her for a moment, then leaning forward, rested his arms on his thighs and stared down at his clenched hands. “I’m sorry. I should have gone after Horne instead of coming to you in Heartbreak Creek.”

  “Tait—”

  “I knew he was in Denver. I should have gone there first.”

  “No. It happened as it should have. I needed to face him. And I couldn’t have done that if he hadn’t come here, or without you beside me.”

  “I was almost too late.”

  “Almost doesn’t count. Now come to bed.”

  He rose and walked toward her. Leaning down he gave her a slow, sweet kiss, then straightened. “I need to bathe. Wash the taint of death off my hands.”

  “Hurry, then.”

  When he came back into the bedroom several minutes later, his hair glistened damply in the lamplight, and he wore only a towel that did little to hide what his intentions were.

  Laughing, she pulled it away so she could admire his lean form. He was all sinew and muscles and long, strong limbs. All hers.

  She lifted her arms to him and drew him down to her side. “Lie back,” she ordered. When he did, she began a slow exploration with her hands and lips and tongue.

  He smelled of the pine soap she had left out
for him, and tasted slightly salty, and felt like sleek, warm marble coming alive beneath her questing hand.

  “You better stop that before it’s too late,” he whispered hoarsely.

  Chuckling, she bent and circled his navel with her tongue. Muscles rippled. His breath caught, then came faster when her hand slid lower to close around him.

  “Jesus.” His eyes fluttered closed.

  She knew what a man liked. She had been tutored in the most explicit and brutal way. And she had hoped that once she’d left Mrs. Beale’s, she would never have to suffer this degrading act again.

  But this wasn’t any man—this was Tait. And because he demanded nothing of her, she gave more than she thought she could.

  “Sweetheart,” he said in a strained voice, his hips flexing. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Hush.”

  His hands fisted in the sheets. With a groan, he rose up to meet her. And as the taste and smell and feel of him moved through her mind, the past slipped back into the shadows and all that was left was the joy she could give him, and the love he gave back.

  And it felt right. And good.

  * * *

  The next time Lucinda awoke it was to bright sunlight, a familiar voice in her office, and Tait’s hands on her breasts.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “I know,” murmured a sleep-hoarse voice beside her. “It’s a grand way to meet the day. Roll over.”

  “No. Listen!” She bolted upright, head cocked. She couldn’t discern the words, but that cranky voice she would know anywhere. “She’s here!” she hissed, thrusting his hands away. “Get up!”

  “I am up. All you have to do is climb on.”

  “Not now! It’s her! Mrs. Throckmorton. She’s in my office. What if she finds you in here?”

  He yawned and scratched his chest. “Then she’ll force me to marry you.”

  “Tait!”

  “Margaret?” a voice called from outside the bedroom door. “Are you awake? That nasty little creature in the lobby said I mustn’t disturb you. As if. Are you decent?”

  “Yes. No!” Lucinda called back. “Let me throw on my robe.” In a lower voice to Tait, “Go hide in the water closet.” Throwing back the covers, she jerked her robe from the foot rail, then picked up the towel Tait had worn last night and threw it at his chest. “Hurry.”

  “You’re serious?” He blinked at her. “You want me to hide from your guardian? She already knows I’m marrying you.”

  “We’re not married yet, so go.” She shoved him hard.

  “Margaret, dear, who are you talking to in there?”

  “Myself. I’m just talking to myself. I can’t find my robe. Oh, there it is.”

  Muttering, Tait stumbled toward the water closet door.

  Lucinda yanked on the robe just as the door into the water closet closed and the door into the office opened.

  To cover her discomfiture, Lucinda rushed over to give her guardian a hug. “You’re here! You’re actually here! I was going to send for you, but—”

  The elderly lady drew back to study her. “What is that rash on your neck? You’re not coming down with measles, are you?”

  Lucinda’s hand flew to her neck. “What?”

  “Humph. Of course you’re not. I know bristle rash when I see it. Did you think I was born yesterday?” Waving Lucinda away, Mrs. Throckmorton looked around. “And where is that scalawag?”

  “In here, ma’am,” Tait called through the door. “Just draining the pipes . . . ah . . . in case we have a freeze later.”

  Lucinda stared up at the ceiling and prayed for patience.

  “Draining the pipes, my Aunt Fanny’s bustle,” the old woman muttered. “Come out, you rascal, and face the music.”

  The door opened and Tait came out, fully dressed and looking quite rakish with his morning stubble and crooked smile. “Mrs. Throckmorton, what a lovely surprise.”

  “Nonsense. You knew I was coming.”

  Lucinda spun toward him. “You did?”

  He answered with a grin and a kiss on her cheek.

  “It’s apparent that you have anticipated your vows, you grinning rogue.” Mrs. Throckmorton batted Tait away from Lucinda with her hanky. “I will not countenance such immoral behavior. You will marry today.” To drive home her demand, she thumped Tait’s foot with her cane. “Are we clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tait said.

  “Excellent. Mrs. Bradshaw and that nice Mr. Quinn will handle all the details. Come, Rylander. You may beg my forgiveness for your reprehensible behavior over breakfast. I’m famished. You have ten minutes, Margaret.”

  Thus began Lucinda’s second wedding day.

  Again, dear Mrs. Bradshaw worked wonders. And with the help of Maddie and Edwina and Pru, as well as Biddy Rickman and the choir ladies, by late afternoon, all was in readiness, and the pews of the little Come All You Sinners Church were filled to capacity.

  “Is this one more to your liking?” Mrs. Throckmorton asked Lucinda as they stood before the church doors, awaiting the signal to enter.

  “Infinitely so. He’s kind and thoughtful and endearing and smart and—”

  “But do you love him?”

  “To distraction.”

  “Excellent.”

  “And you, too, ma’am.”

  “Of course you do. You’re my daughter. Chin up, and do stop crying. I get enough of that from your friend, Edwina.”

  The door opened a crack. Billy peered out at them. “Ready, ma’ams?”

  “And near frozen,” Mrs. Throckmorton barked. “Let’s get on with it.”

  Billy opened the church doors wider, and Lucinda stepped forward on Mrs. Throckmorton’s arm. A bit unorthodox, perhaps, being given away by her female guardian, but Lucinda would have it no other way.

  As soon as she appeared on the threshold, the choir ladies burst into song and Biddy Rickman began beating on the piano.

  The guests stood. Mrs. Throckmorton patted her arm in reassurance. And dressed in her lilac gown and Edwina’s veil, with Maddie’s blue lace handkerchief tucked in her cuff and clutching a tiny book of verse Pru had brought from home, Lucinda walked toward Tait and Pastor Rickman, and all of the beloved faces beaming from the front pews—the Brodies, Maddie and Ash, and Pru and Thomas.

  Her family.

  Never in all of her life had she been so happy.

  She scarcely remembered the ceremony or the vows. Partly because Edwina was blubbering so loudly Lucinda couldn’t hear them, and partly because Brin and Joe Bill got into a whispering match over who got to hold the hymnal. But mostly because as soon as she reached Tait’s side, he bent down and murmured, “You’re a vision of loveliness in that pretty purple dress.”

  “It’s lilac,” she whispered back.

  “No matter, it’s coming off in about two hours.”

  Instantly, scripture and vows and even Biddy’s enthusiastic piano pounding faded under a hot rush of anticipation. Two hours. She wondered how she could bear waiting that long.

  Then the church ceremony was over and they were walking back to the hotel under a darkening sky, laughing and talking amid salacious comments tossed at the bride and groom. Lucinda barely refrained from skipping.

  When they reached the hotel, she told Tait she needed to freshen up and ducked into her office. Mrs. Bradshaw and several of the town ladies had cooked up a grand feast to mark this second Heartbreak Creek wedding, and they would be seating the wedding guests soon. But Lucinda desperately needed a few moments to herself.

  Shutting out the babble of voices in the lobby, she leaned back against the closed door, battling a sudden urge to cry and laugh and twirl across the floor.

  She was a married woman now.

  An astonishing, thrilling, almos
t frightening thing.

  And sobering.

  What kind of wife would she be?

  Crossing to stand at the window in her office, she watched the day fade behind the peaks and tried to imagine what her life would be like now.

  Luckily Tait—unlike Doyle—had shown no attempt to mold her to his demands. But Lucinda knew what was expected of her as a wife. No longer a hotel owner and business woman in her own right, she would be her husband’s hostess, his lover, the mother of his children and keeper of his home. She would live where he lived, put her dreams aside for his, follow in his shadow. That was the way it was.

  She accepted that, and gladly, because she loved Tait with all her heart and couldn’t bear the thought of a life without him.

  And yet . . .

  The memory of those brief days on the run flooded her mind. Days of total autonomy and independence. A frightening, exhilarating, liberating time. The rush of it still swirled in her memory.

  She would miss that thrill of accomplishment.

  But she was a married woman now.

  “So here’s where you are,” Tait said, coming through the door. “They’re ready in the dining room.” Moving up behind her, he pressed a kiss to her neck. When she was slow to respond, he stepped around to look into her face.

  “What’s wrong, Luce?”

  The man could read her every thought, it seemed. She tried to cover her momentary melancholy with a bright smile. “Nothing. This has all happened so fast I’m just trying to sort it out and figure where we go from here.”

  His dark brows drew together. “Go?”

  “We should probably travel back with Mrs. Throckmorton. That way I can be certain she doesn’t overtire herself.”

  “Travel where? New York?”

  Now she was the one confused. “Of course. That’s where your business is. You have a house there. I assumed that’s where you would want to live.”

  “Hell.” He raked a hand over his face, then dropped it to his hip. “You’re right. This has happened too fast. We should have had this conversation earlier.”