The Dove

by Kristy McCaffrey

  “Why would you do that?” Logan asked.

  “Maggie had trouble with the deed to the land, and she was worried Griffin would somehow get his hands on it. Giving it to Claire’s husband seemed the best way to have access to it but still make it harder for Griffin to get it.”

  “But you work for Griffin,” Claire accused.

  “Yeah, but I’m in love with Maggie.”

  “What?” Claire asked.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but she and I have an arrangement.”

  Logan could imagine what kind. Maggie Waters probably had arrangements with many men.

  “So you know where she is?” Claire demanded.

  “No,” Shorty replied, stricken. “I haven’t seen her in several weeks. But we’d discussed the deed and what to do beforehand, and when I learned you were in town, I came straightaway to see you.”

  “If you’re in love with Maggie, why do you want to marry Claire?” Logan asked.

  His eyes widened. “It won’t be a real marriage, just a paper one. I’ll take control of the land and give it to Maggie. I’m hoping she’ll come back once she catches wind of it.”

  “What about Griffin?” Logan asked. He hitched an arm on a stall gate and remained close to Claire. All this talk of marriage was pissing him off. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned about how he’ll react to all of this?”

  “Sure. I’m prepared to protect Claire. That was part of the deal.”

  Logan decided he’d heard enough. One thing was plain, the boy was in over his head. And Logan sure as hell wasn’t going to pin Claire’s safety on his questionable ability to safeguard her.

  “How did Maggie get the land?” Claire asked.

  Shorty shrugged. “I dunno. She’s a smart lady though.”

  “Luttrell was killed last year,” Claire said. “This implicates her. This implicates me.”

  Shorty stared at her. “Maggie didn’t kill him.”

  “That’s not what your sister says,” Claire shot back.

  “Paulina?” Shorty asked. “She’s got no right spoutin’ off. I know Maggie wouldn’t have done it. And you didn’t know about the land, did you? So you wouldn’t have killed him neither.”

  “And you?” Logan asked.

  “I didn’t kill him.” Shorty shifted from foot to foot, his gaze a little wild-eyed. “I’m just here to help Maggie like I promised her.”

  “I’m not going to marry you,” Claire said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because this whole plan is ridiculous.” She threw her hands up.

  “Maggie was certain this was the best way, and she said you’d agree to anything.”

  “Why would she say that?”

  Logan stood close enough to Claire that he felt her shallow breathing against his rib cage.

  “Because the land was meant to give you money for school. She said somethin’ about you wantin’ to be a doctor.”

  Logan sensed the change in Claire’s body instantly. Stillness filled her and he feared she’d stopped breathing. If Claire was tricking him about Luttrell then he was a fool, because he was beginning to believe she hadn’t known anything about the land. It had rubbed him the wrong way, how Luttrell had taken Dee from him, and now was taking Claire too.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to let her know he understood about her shock. She never expected her own mother to pay such attention to her dreams. Despite everything, Logan’s opinion of Maggie Waters grudgingly went up a notch.

  “Claire can’t marry you,” Logan said to Shorty.

  The young man frowned and replaced his hat. “Why’s that?”

  “Because she’s gonna marry me.” And with that, Logan solved his dilemma of what to do with Claire and his burgeoning feelings for her. He wouldn’t let her slip from his hands as Dee had.

  But first, he’d have to convince her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Logan married Claire the following afternoon before a Justice of the Peace at the town courthouse. It was a simple ceremony well attended by the prostitutes in town, who seemed happy to be in a place of law for a reason other than answering to solicitation offenses.

  Claire appeared distracted throughout the brief exchange of vows, and her back couldn’t have been more straight and rigid. Logan placed a hand just above the flare of her hips to help her relax. She wore one of the cotton calico dresses he’d bought her the day before, her blonde tresses loose and swept away from her face, and he felt both relief and concern for the future. As her husband, he could take control of the land and protect her from inexperienced upstarts like Shorty McClaren, as well as more serious threats from Frank Griffin and Raul Sandoval. Her new inheritance would undoubtedly make her a target. Logan had to believe she hadn’t known about it, had to believe she’d had nothing to do with Teddy Luttrell.

  If Luttrell hadn’t already been dead, Logan would’ve enjoyed an encounter with the man.

  As Logan knew she would, Claire had argued against the marriage. She didn’t believe he should make this sacrifice for her, couldn’t understand why he would do it. Not entirely certain himself, all he’d had to do was look into Claire’s green eyes to catch a glimpse of a future that for whatever reason made sense to him. He wanted her—maybe more than he’d ever wanted Dee—so took the opportunity presented him and stacked the cards in his favor as much as possible.

  Claire hadn’t stood a chance once he made up his mind. In an uneasy truce, they shared the hotel room last night—he on the floor, she on the bed—and came to the ceremony in an awkward silence.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the Justice said.

  Logan lightly kissed Claire while she watched him, her eyes haunted with distress.

  “Smile,” he murmured. “It’s your wedding day.”

  An uncertain flick of her gaze was the only response he received.

  Logan grinned. Despite everything, it was a mighty fine day to get married. The sun was shining and Claire looked damn pretty. She had told him she worried the disarray of her life would burden him, but he felt quite the opposite. It made him feel more confident that together they would resolve the mystery of Maggie’s disappearance, and then move on with their lives. Logan was generally an optimistic fellow and having Claire at his side made him…well, it made him happy. A mighty fine day indeed.

  His thoughts turned briefly to Texas. Eventually he’d take his wife home. The thought swept through him with a rush of possession. He wouldn’t let her go, he wouldn’t let her slip away from him as Dee had.

  “Congratulations, Claire,” Betsy said and hugged her. “Congratulations to you also, Mr. Ryan.”

  “Thank you,” Claire replied woodenly.

  “You take care of this little lass,” Ellie said. “She’s a catch, and don’t you ever forget it.”

  “No, ma’am, I won’t.” Logan held tight to Claire’s hand as other women came to wish them well. Some of them he recognized from Southern Charm.

  Louisa whispered something into Claire’s ear and a blush crept across his wife’s face, reminding Logan of her innocence. But he took heart that she responded to him in small ways. With a little charm and patience, he’d be able to nudge her into his bed, and as her husband he now had every right to the lushness of her body. Marriage, he hoped, would affect her willingness to open up to him, to let him get close to her.

  The crowd dispersed.

  Tia and One-Eyed Jack, who served as their witnesses, came forward. Logan knew their presence would mean a lot to Claire and he refused to take no from the Indian couple, despite their protests that Claire might want someone else.

  “We go now,” Tia said.

  “Thank you for coming.” Claire bent to hug the Indian woman.

  “Jack.” Logan shook the man’s hand.

  “Watch out for our Claire,” Jack said, then turned to embrace her. Logan watched as a genuine smile crossed her face.

  “No,” Tia said. “They will watch out for each other.” She took Loga
n’s hand and tugged at it until he leaned closer to her face. “The truth flies beyond our grasp. Remember, your heart will always tell you the way to go.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Jack asked. “Have you been reading my Bible?”

  Tia shook her head and waved him off. “I no read that book. And I do not know why you spend so much time with your nose in it.” She grinned at Logan and Claire, then moved to leave.

  “Has it occurred to you that all these Christians running around might be on to something?”

  “Jack, you cannot even read.”

  “I do read…” Their voices trailed off.

  Logan ushered Claire toward the outer door.

  “Who’s that?” she asked, looking at the gentleman across the room.

  Logan almost forgot. “He’s from the Las Vegas Optic,” he said and stepped back for her to precede him outside. “He’s going to include our wedding in the paper tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Claire asked, her alarm apparent.

  They stopped on the front steps as Logan placed his hat on his head. “Because everyone in town should know.”

  Claire stared at him and began to fidget. “Why? What about Sandoval?”

  “He already knows you’re alive; I’d venture to say most folks do. The burning of the White Dove was front page news today. Now everyone will know that to get to you, they’ll have to go through me first. I’m just your typical thickheaded cattle rancher, Claire. I protect what’s mine.”

  He watched, somewhat amused, as she tried to think of something to say.

  “It’d be my pleasure to buy you dinner, Mrs. Ryan.” He offered her his arm.

  She yielded and put her hand in the crook of his elbow.

  Claire felt more than a little uncomfortable about this marriage. She would be the first to admit she had no idea what she was doing or where to go from here. Her dress and petticoats rustled around her feet as they walked around the corner toward the plaza, Logan’s tall frame moving easily beside her. She wanted—needed—his presence but couldn’t believe this marriage was what he wanted, what he needed. Their shared kisses and compelling attraction aside, she had the sense Logan wasn’t the kind of man to be tied down.

  And now he planned to announce their nuptials in the newspaper. Such public scrutiny troubled her. Claire was accustomed to hiding—her thoughts, her dreams, herself.

  Would it make her more respectable in the eyes of the townsfolk? Or would suspicion be cast on her in Luttrell’s death when knowledge of the land grant became public? Would her mama finally come forward if she learned her one and only daughter had gotten married?

  “You look worried,” Logan said as they crossed onto Pacific Street.

  “Just a little.”

  “Can we talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

  Claire looked into his blue-green eyes and it suddenly struck her—Logan is my husband. Life had just taken a profound and startling turn, and here she was, standing beside the man of her dreams. Yes, Logan was everything she could have ever wanted in a man, in a husband. Tomorrow anything might happen, and Claire was hard-pressed to believe it would be for the good. But here they stood, together.

  Live for the here and now, Tia had told her often enough, but Claire had never really understood it. Until now.

  “I’ve never been married,” she blurted out.

  “I know, Claire.”

  They settled that the previous night when Logan had accused her of being more than friendly with Luttrell. A thought struck from out of the blue. “Have you?”

  “Almost…once. It didn’t work out.”

  That was a distracting image, but Claire pushed it aside.

  “We’ll work this out,” he added. “Somehow.” His gaze darkened and he said in a low voice, “There’s no pressure for anything else, but you should know…I want this to be a real marriage.”

  Exhilaration rippled through her; her weakness for this man was thorough and complete. If this was his price, then he’d hooked her because she wanted everything he offered—marriage, security, himself. Everyone had a price, and Logan was hers.

  “Yes.” The promise of having Logan brought her to this—uttering as bold a declaration as she was ever likely to make. She took satisfaction that she briefly rendered him speechless.

  Logan took her hand and led her off the street into the semi-privacy of shaded area near a mercantile shop. He urged her back against the wooden exterior and propped a hand near her head.

  “You sure?” But his voice was a caress, an enticement.

  A shiver ran down her spine. “Yes.”

  “Then it must be my birthday.”

  “Why?”

  He leaned close. “All my wishes are coming true.”

  Their lips met, barely making contact. Claire closed her eyes, closed out the sounds of horses and wagons on the street beyond, closed out the chatter of men and women moving about. Logan’s mouth was warm and sweet and gentle. His smooth face smelled of soap, attesting to his efforts to look his best for their wedding, and Claire’s mind swirled with what was to come.

  Don’t think.

  Her arms came around his neck and his mouth molded to hers. Excitement exploded in her belly and Claire felt an overwhelming greed for more. She kissed him with abandonment, aware for the first time how much her body hungered for this—for him—and liberated by the fact that finally she would have the satisfaction she craved, the satisfaction that could only be found at his hands.

  Logan wrapped her into himself and she gave herself to the sharp physical pleasure of his touch, her injury but a minor flinch, easily ignored. No thought occupied her mind except to hold him and kiss him like a woman who knew of such things. She didn’t know, not firsthand at least, but Logan didn’t seem to care. And neither did Claire.

  She kissed his cheeks and ran her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, inhaling his potently familiar scent. It wasn’t enough. Logan devoured her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers, and a jolt of restlessness shot through her body.

  “Claire,” Logan rasped as his hands framed her face. Her hair fell free from the pins she used to make herself look presentable for her wedding. Not just presentable—she’d had a strong urge to look pretty. And she’d wanted Logan to notice.

  “Let’s skip dinner,” she said, nipping at his mouth with her teeth.

  He exhaled a ragged breath. “Fine with me, sweetheart.”

  He ran a thumb across her lower lip and grinned, the action igniting a fire in her abdomen. He looked toward the street, took her hand again, and guided her back to the dusty thoroughfare. Claire struggled to keep pace with Logan’s long strides as they crossed the open plaza. Upon reaching the Wagner Hotel they moved quickly through the lobby, up the stairs, and Logan unlocked their hotel room door so swiftly Claire wondered if he hadn’t left it unlocked. As soon as they were inside the darkened room, Logan pinned her against the now-closed door and kissed her with an intensity that made her tremble. She decided she’d forgotten how to breathe.

  In the cocoon of anonymity the hotel created, she pushed her inhibitions aside and let her body act purely on instinct. She rarely released the rigid control by which she lived her life day in and day out, rarely took the risk of opening herself to another human being. But with Logan, she burned to consume him, her passion obliterating all else.

  Never had she thought it would be like this—shaking from his touch, wanting to be a part of him so completely that reasonable thought slipped from her mind.

  As they kissed and their lips exchanged breath and heat and need, Claire pushed off Logan’s hat and jacket; both fell to the floor with a muffled thud. His hands moved to the front of her dress, quickly unbuttoning it and pushing it from her shoulders.

  He yanked off his tie and she pulled his shirt from his trousers. Next came her camisole, which he peeled down to her waist. Her breasts reacted to the exposure, tightening, tingling as he touched her more intimately than anyone ever had. His lips mov
ed down her neck. He knelt and his mouth covered first one nipple, then the other. Claire inhaled sharply as the sensation nearly undid her.

  “Logan,” she gasped.

  “I’ll be careful.” His hand gently skimmed the bandages on her ribcage.

  “Not that.” She could barely speak the words.

  “I know, sweetheart.” His voice sounded desperate, almost strangled. Like hers. “I can’t wait, either.”

  He pulled her into his arms and his mouth ground onto hers. He steered her toward the bed. When Claire felt the mattress against the back of her knees, she gratefully sat down on the edge—her legs had outlived their usefulness anyhow. Logan unbuttoned his shirt and trousers and removed his boots.

  Then he shed all of his clothes.

  The haze of their lovemaking lifted for a moment and Claire wondered what she was doing. In the darkness, Logan loomed large and otherworldly, a man not of this place, a man who wanted her and with that wanting changed her life. She swallowed against the dryness in her mouth, against the uncertainty pounding in her heart.

  He came forward and with fingers that left a trail of fire on her skin steadfastly removed the dress and petticoats from her hips.

  The vulnerability of a woman in this position became starkly apparent to her.

  “Spread your legs.” His deep voice vibrated at the very center of her body.

  How could a woman do this without trust?

  Did she trust Logan?

  It was too late if she didn’t.

  She ignored another sudden burst of anxiety that hovered on the outskirts of what was left of her rational mind, and slowly spread her legs. Logan watched her face as he reached down and touched her with his hand. Her hips jerked as he pushed a finger inside her. She gasped, clutching the bedspread in an effort to keep from flying off the bed.

  “Jesus, you’re ready,” he said to her. “But you’re so tight. Hang onto me.”

  Claire didn’t understand. He brought his arms against each side of her head to support himself and pushed forward with one thrust, completely entering her. The sensation was unexpectedly thorough, unexpectedly personal. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she grimaced and strained to suppress her moans.