by West, Everly
With her still holding the revolver on him, he stopped. "Cora, put the gun down and let's talk. I don't know what lies they told you, but I don't want you to leave."
"The note you wrote said for me to go," she said, staring at him, wondering if they tricked her.
"What note? I never wrote a note."
Confusion rippled through Cora.
August sighed, removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. "Your mother was right about one thing. You are the most obstinate woman I've ever met. But you're my obstinate bride and I never wanted you to go to New York.”
Blood rushed through her. He didn't want her to go?
Taking another step toward her. "Since we married, I have fallen deeply in love with you, and after last night, how could you ever think I would want you to leave? These last few weeks, I’ve lived in fear, afraid you were going to insist on attending that fashion school. No, I don't want you to go, but if that's what you want, I understand."
Her chest clinched at the words her husband said and tears welled up in her eyes. Why had she believed their lies? Lowering the gun, she stared at him. "For you, I gave up my dream. You're my life, now."
In the firelight, she saw his face soften with relief. "Thank you."
She had to ask the question to quell all her doubts. "There's no one in Cheyenne you're going back to."
"No," he said. "We're never going back to Cheyenne."
"You don't want the annulment?"
"All right, I have a confession. The letter my friend sent, gave me detailed instructions on how to dissolve our marriage, but I didn't want our union to end. No, I don't want an annulment, a divorce, or anything else. All I want is for you to be my wife," he said, walking to her.
With her heart pounding, she began slowly walking to him. "Please tell me you're not going off and leaving your grandmother alone?"
"Now that is the worst lie of all. No, my obstinate bride. If you'll have me, I love you and want to be your husband in every sense of the word. Our life will be here at Riverbend."
Dropping the gun, she ran the rest of the distance to him. "Oh, August, I love you too. I'm sorry I listened Della, but it sounded just like the August you use to be."
They came together in the pasture with the last rays of the sun sinking, their lips covering for a brief, heartfelt kiss. August broke the kiss.
"No, I'm not that man anymore. You've changed me into a better man, and I want our marriage to be a real union." He released her and dropped down to one knee. "Cora O'Brian Moonlite, will you marry me in a real ceremony at the little church in Doggett. In front of my grandmother and the congregation, will you pledge to be my wife?"
Cora gasped, her hands flying to her face. "Yes, oh yes, and thank you, August. Our first wedding was not one of love and this one will be."
When he rose to his feet, she threw her arms around him. "This time, we'll make our vows real."
"This time our union will last forever," he said. "Only one problem I see in our future."
"What's that?" she asked.
"If you climb out another window, I'm going to nail them all shut, do you understand me?"
With a laugh, she kissed his lips, loving the way her husband fit against her. "At least there wasn't a trellis. So I went down the tree."
"And I wasn't there to catch you," he said, nuzzling his mouth along her neck. "No matter what happens, I will always be here to catch you."
With a sigh, she pressed her body against his. "August Moonlite, I love you more than I ever thought possible."
"What if we spent the night together in the cabin" he asked. “We can go by and tell grandmother everything is okay and then go to the place I love to begin our life together. I promise to keep you warm and love every inch of you."
A giggle escaped her and she sighed. "I would like that very much. Promise me our life will be filled with love and family."
"With every beat of my heart, I promise," he said, reaching for her hand as they walked toward their future.
* * *
It was Cora's wedding day. Her until death did they part day and she felt the need to make peace with her family. Dressed in her wedding gown, waiting at the church, she penned a letter to her mother and father.
Dear Momma and Papa,
I hope this letter finds you doing well. Today, I am remarrying August in a church with friends and family. After such a tumultuous start to our life together, we decided we wanted to redo our vows in a real ceremony. One where we pledge our love to one another.
Truly, I believe, Mother, you thought you were doing what was right for me, even though it was not what I wanted at the time. Over the weeks, I did fall in love with August, but he was not who you thought he was, he was so much better. He was not rich, nor was he the womanizer everyone believed.
Now we will have a normal life together.
And Papa, maybe you didn’t want me to leave the state, but you should have been honest. Never lie to me again or I will never speak to you again.
Both of you want the best for your girls, but promise me you will never treat Jennie and Hattie this way. It worked out for me, but only because August is a wonderful man. Let them find their husbands their way.
One other bit of news. I'm opening up my very own dress shop this spring in Doggett, where dresses I design will be available for sale.
Your loving daughter,
Cora Moonlite
Grandmother came to the door just as Cora folded the letter and put it in an envelope. She'd taken the first step toward reconciliation. Now it was up to her parents.
“Cora, it's time,” Bessie said.
Cora took her arm. "Thank you for walking me down the aisle."
"I'm honored dear. Let's go have a wedding,” she said smiling.
* * *
August Moonlite stood in the front of the church and waited for his bride. One of the men from the congregation stood beside him as his best man. Cora elected to have his grandmother as her maid of honor. The three of them lived together in harmony and the wedding was a mere formality and yet it wasn't.
When they said their vows at the Valentine's ball, they had been angry and hurting. This time, the words would hold special meaning, and this time, they were in God's house of worship, pledging their love to one another.
This time they were happy to make this their official day of joining and August knew his wife longed for a wedding filled with love. Cora and his grandmother quickly designed a gown and worked on the dress every day while he labored in the field, keeping the design a secret until today.
Though only a few people gathered for the ceremony, mainly his grandparents’ friends, he didn't care. Although he wished his grandfather would’ve been here to celebrate with them, he felt incredibly blessed. In the last month, he found his way in life and also a woman he loved more than his next breath.
The Valentine's ball had a happy ending.
The organ began to play and the people in the church stood as his wife appeared at the door, his grandmother escorting her down the aisle.
The gorgeous white dress Cora wore was stylish, but the main thing he noticed was the smile on her face and the love reflecting from her gaze.
With a grin, he realized these two spunky women would keep his life interesting. His grandmother guiding him in the ways of the ranch and his wife, guiding his heart to make the right decisions. With a sigh, he stepped down and took his bride’s hand in his.
The moment for them to join as man and wife again had arrived. This go-around, God was upon them.
"This time, it's for keeps," he said softly.
"This time, it's forever," she responded.
August Moonlite led his bride to the altar. He couldn't wait to experience life with his obstinate bride.
* * *
Next up The Wagered Bride
A searing need for retribution blazed through Mason Mayfield’s veins as he entered the White Buffalo Gentlemen’s Club. He stopped in the foyer, took off hi
s fur-lined overcoat and handed it to the attendant waiting by the door. Winter in Wyoming could drive even the most wicked of people inside to huddle by a fire. Luckily, the last week had been comparatively mild.
As Mason sauntered among the club’s patrons with no apparent destination in mind, he stopped now and then to visit with friends and associates. In truth, he was a man on a mission.
A little over a year ago, he had vowed Whispering Pines—his ancestral lands—would once again be the home of Mayfields for generations to come. The estate had been lost over twenty years ago. Harrison Mayfield, Mason’s father, had been suckered into a “friendly game of cards” with a slick gambler by the name of JP Wortham. Before the sun rose the next morning, everything Harrison owed belonged to the card shark.
Wortham had made his fortune at the gaming tables while still a young man. But he'd given up gambling and settled down after he married his wife, Lydia. Long forgotten rumors hinted Lydia had threatened to take their son and newborn daughter and leave after he returned home with the deed to Whispering Pines in hand.
As far as Mason could tell that “friendly game of cards” between his father and JP Wortham was the last time Wortham gambled for more than mediocre amounts of cash or for sheer entertainment. That is, until six months ago when his wife died. During the time between then and the present, no lands had been wagered but a great deal of money changed hands at card tables where Wortham sat.
After Mason's father died, he had Wortham watched for over a year, waiting for the right time to reclaim what was rightfully his. Finally, late the previous evening, opportunity knocked on his door. Strangely enough, opportunity came in the form of Seth Wortham, JP’s only son.
Mason and Seth met shortly after Mason returned to Laramie. At first Mason instigated the friendship as a way to keep tabs on JP, but soon a true bond formed between the two men. Soon Mason trusted Seth enough to reveal his plan to regain possession of his family lands. Seth was appalled by his father’s actions and vowed to help Mason set things right.
Last night, Seth sashayed into Mason’s hotel suite and announced he’d been invited to join his father and some friends for a poker game the following night. A simple plan was devised. Mason would wait until the last minute to inform JP and his cronies Seth wouldn’t be coming. Mason would be conveniently available should they wish to replace Seth at their table.
Forty-five minutes after entering the men’s club, Mason found Wortham and his friends waited for their fifth player to arrive. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Are you waiting for Seth Wortham?”
“Yes, we are,” one of the men answered.
“I’m afraid he’s been unavoidably detained and asked me to inform you he will not be attending tonight.”
“That’s a shame, I hate playing four-handed poker,” complained another man.
“Well, I’m off to see if I can scrounge up a game for myself this evening,” Mason said as he turned toward the larger common room. “Good evening, gentlemen, and sorry about your game.”
But before he could step away from the open doorway, a man with thinning red hair spoke. “Would you care to join us?”
Mason looked at each man sitting around the circular oak table before nodding his acceptance. “If there are no objections, it would be my pleasure.”
He walked further into the small salon, pausing behind the empty chair at the table.
A robust man, whose hair parted near the top of his left ear, stood. Three long strands of light brown hair had been combed over to the other side of his head in an attempt to cover his growing bald spot. He introduced himself as he offered his hand. “Roy Greenleigh.”
Mason shook hands and nodded.
“Barry Lowell.” A man of medium to small stature with thinning light red hair stood as he reached across the table to shake hands with the newcomer.
The next man in the circle stood and introduced himself. Not that it was necessary. “JP Wortham.”
Mason would have known the bastard who had stolen his birthright without benefit of good manners. JP’s physical appearance had been burned into Mason’s mind years ago. He hadn’t lost his distinguished looks or his greater-than-thou way he carried himself. Still, time hadn’t been oblivious of him either. In his early fifties, JP’s full head of dark brown hair had turned a silvery-gray. The man’s girth had grown considerably as well.
Mason choose to continue the pretense of a first meeting. As he shook Wortham’s offered hand, he noted the small almost delicate hands of the otherwise large man. An asset to any true gambler.
“Charles Rayburn,” the last man at the table said as he thrust his overly large hand out to Mason in a firm, friendly greeting. He stood to Mason’s immediate right. Rayburn's tall six-and-a-half-foot frame towered over Mason’s six-foot two height, leaving him with a feeling of smallness. A sensation he was not familiar with nor did he enjoy.
“Mason Mayfield.” He gazed intently at Wortham, searching for any sign of recognition. When none came Mason’s thirst for vengeance increased tenfold.
Wortham had taken more than Whispering Pines those many years ago. He had also taken Harrison Mayfield’s pride and self-esteem, only to replace them with depression and self-doubt. Mason’s father had walked away a broken man; a shell of the man he was before he crossed paths with JP Wortham.
Wortham had crushed Harrison Mayfield’s spirit and soul between his two small hands—and didn’t even remember his name!
Mason tapped down the urge to wrap his hands around Wortham’s throat and squeeze—hard. Instead he faked an easy-going smile and said, “I look forward to a profitable game.”
“Don’t we all, sir.” Charles nodded toward the chairs, indicating they all be seated.
“Now see here, I’ve been the low man out the last three times we’ve played. I expect to win tonight and none of you forget it.” Roy announced as he lowered himself into the chair to Mason’s left. He grinned, thinking he could almost hear the chair groan beneath Roy’s weight.
“Now, Roy, you know how forgetful I’ve become of late. If I was to be the big winner tonight, you wouldn’t hold it against an old friend, would you?” Charles joked as he picked up the cards and shuffled.
“Forgive me, Charles, of course I’d understand a man, in the twilight of his years, becoming forgetful or disoriented.” Roy bantered back.
“If I’m in my twilight, you old fool, you stand in the blackest of midnight,” Charles countered good-naturally.
“Enough,” Barry hollered over the laughter of the small group. “If age is a factor this evening, Mason here will have to send for his wet nurse and then we might once again be one man short for our game. In his youth, he probably still has his priorities intact. A warm, willing woman over four graying old men and a deck of cards would win out every time. Let’s play cards before his interest falls elsewhere.”
“We play dealer’s choice, dollar ante, table stakes only.” JP informed Mason as the shuffling ceased.
Mason nodded his agreement.
“Ante up. We’re playing five-card draw, jacks or better to open.” Charles waited until all five men had anted before clumsily dealing the first hand of the night.
Hours later and many hundreds of dollars having exchanged hands, the five men sat under a thick cloud of cigar smoke hovering over their poker table.
“Last hand for me,” Barry announced, looking down at his small stack of money. “Hopefully I have enough for an ante.”
Roy and Charles agreed to last hand after a short bout of good-natured bickering about how much sleep the elderly required. JP picked up the cards.
“The game is five-card stud.” JP deftly shuffled the cards after the men seated in the circle anted.
He dealt one card face down in front of each man and then followed it with a second card, face up. With a quick glance around the table, JP nodded to Barry. “Ten bets.”
“Three dollars,” declared Barry. “Not much showing.”
A chorus of “I�
�m in” answered Barry as four hands tossed money into the center of the table.
“Pot’s right. Cards coming,” JP atoned. Once again, starting with Charles and going around the circle in a clockwise direction, JP dealt each man a card face up. When he dealt Roy an ace, he commented, “The price of poker just went up. Roy, your ace is betting.”
“Fifty dollars.”
Barry released his breath as he placed his cards face down in front of him. “I fold.”
“I’m in this time,” JP said as he threw money into the pot.
“I’ll go one more time,” Charles announced, nervously drumming the table with his fingers.
“I’ll pay to look at another one,” Mason informed the other players.
“Pot’s right.” After JP doled out the remaining men and himself another card face up, he had control over the betting by virtue of a pair of fives showing. A twinkle sparkled in his violet-blue eyes when he spoke, “It’s time to play poker, boys. Let’s say, five hundred on my fives.”
“No, I’m through,” Charles conceded, standing to join Barry at the liquor cabinet.
“I'm still in.” Mason slid all his remaining money on the table into the pot. "Let's make it a thousand."
“I think I’ve got the two of you beat, but I don’t have the intestinal fortitude or finances to stay. The game is too rich for my blood. I fold.” Roy stood and joined Barry and Charles on the other side of the room.
JP met the thousand dollar raise then calmly stated, “This is where we’ve been heading all night, isn’t it, Mason?”
“Just you and me,” Mason agreed in the same calm manner as JP, ignoring the zing of excitement racing up his spine. “Turn the cards.”
JP slung the ten of hearts across the table to join Mason’s seven, eight and nine of hearts already showing.
“That certainly opens all kinds of possibilities. Straight flush, flush, straight or maybe just four lonely cards,” JP narrated to anyone listening. JP flipped over the top card of the remaining deck to place it with the pair of fives and one seven in front of him. A seven. “Ah, two pair—sevens and fives.”