by Lee Savino
So, when correspondence began arriving from a self-described "landed gentleman in need of companionship", she'd been at once flattered and intrigued. When the writer, a Mr. Jesse Oberon of Colorado Territory, spoke of his connection to Susannah's friend Carrie, the blonde Bostonian thought she had all the verification she needed, and promptly wrote back. With the current speed of the postal system, they exchanged several letters throughout the spring. Mr. Oberon wooed her with very sweet words, and before she knew it, she was buying riding habits and imagining herself as a frontier bride.
The last letter came with the photograph, and an exquisitely penned marriage proposal. She accepted by telegraph, and booked her fare to arrive in Colorado Springs by August at the latest.
Laying down her hairbrush, Susannah sank into the bed. The mattress was rough and the sheets a scratchy, poor quality. She hardly cared.
Her new fiancé was perfect, handsome and doting. Perhaps a bit shallow, and certainly a dandy, but a gentleman. He wouldn't treat her the way her former fiancé, Roger, had, and leave her a laughingstock, in disgrace, with escape from Boston her only recourse.
Most importantly, he would never rob a stagecoach.
With that thought, she rolled to her side and dreamed of a black haired man with bright green eyes. Whether bandit or Mr. Oberon she couldn't tell—both faces blended into one man who bent his dark head to her breast.
Jesse walked into the bar at midnight, hat pulled low over his face. Nodding to the bartender, he looked to the corner, where three men were waiting for him, and cursed silently. His luck had run out.
One of the men was Otis Boone, one of the most dangerous men in the West, and Doyle's right hand man.
Without pausing his swagger, Jesse headed for the table. Sitting with his back to the wall, Boone locked onto his approach immediately, and Jesse met his gaze head on. Here was another man who had it out for his sister-in-law, and would've gotten her, too, if his boss, Doyle hadn't stopped him. If Doyle died, Rose wasn't safe from Boone's blood feud.
So, Boone had to die first.
"Boone." Walking up to the table, Jesse extended his hand. Boone was shorter, with a square jaw covered in a brown and white beard clipped close to his face. After a moment, he leaned forward and silently shook with Jesse, but didn't rise. Neither of his underlings did, either.
"Oberon." A second man greeted him, while Boone's steel grey eyes roved over Jesse's form. Jesse sat, letting his coat flap open to show twin pistols holstered at his side.
Three men's eyes on him, and with more lookouts probably waiting in the wings. Otis Boone would be cautious meeting a new potential crew member for the first time; the dangerous outlaw had survived this long for a reason. Jesse had never met a man so hard to kill.
"Never heard a name like Oberon before," the second man said.
Shrugging, Jesse raised a finger for the barmaid to bring whiskey.
Annoyed at his lack of response, the man prodded Jesse. "You're pretty clean for an outlaw. You ain't a nancy, are you?"
Jesse let his lip curl, but otherwise didn't react. "No. Don't have to take my word for it. You can ask the little blonde I have back in my room." He leaned forward. "So what's this job you need done?"
"Just a little ride up to Denver," the second man said. Otis Boone still hadn't spoken. "We ride out in two day's time."
Jesse nodded, thoughts racing. Two days to get close enough to kill Boone and Doyle, and get married to the blonde baggage, not necessarily in that order.
The bartender came with his whiskey, and he took a pull of the swill. Three men's eyes watched him take his liquor without a grimace. "What's the pay?"
The third man frowned. "You don't want to know the job?"
Jesse shrugged. "Don't need to know until I get there. Don't even need to know after. I just do my bit, get paid, get out. I find it saves time, and there's less mess in the end." He met the other man's eyes dead on. "If you're satisfied, and I'm satisfied, I find it best to be done. Less chance I get a bullet in my back for my share."
With a nod, the man sat back, but Otis Boone remained quiet. Jesse sensed that the leader wasn't impressed.
"We'll meet you at Doyle's a day from tomorrow. Dawn. You know where it is?"
Jesse nodded, inwardly he cursed again. Bad enough he had to come to Doyle's town; going to his place of business increased the chance someone would recognize him, or link him to his brother Lyle. He'd just have to set his plan in motion tomorrow night.
Of course, he couldn't very well ride out with an outlaw gang to rob a coach with a new bride on his arm, either.
"My men Johnson and Bigs in the Royal Mountain Gang say you're the man we need." Boone spoke in a low, raspy voice, result of a throat damaged in a failed assassination attempt. After almost choking to death, Boone had gotten the upper hand, shot the man in the gut and staked him out in the desert to die slowly, or so Jesse had heard. The cold metal glint in his eyes bespoke a dangerous man. Many a man had under estimated Otis Boone, and died because of it; Jesse was determined not to be one of them. "If you're at Doyle's place on time, we ride together."
Jesse waited until he was sure the man was finished before nodding. "I'll be there."
"May have to shoot a few men. You squeamish about that?"
"Don't have a bounty on my head in three states for just stealing cattle."
"You're a traveling man, aren't you?" Boone asked.
Jesse shrugged.
"Reason I ask. Coach was robbed coming into town last week. Lone rider blew a safe, took the gold belonging to an important personage about town. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"Not gonna lie," Jesse drawled, and paused for dramatic effect. The table, and the room behind him fell silent. "I've been shacked up with a little blonde filly for the past week. She's got a mouth like you wouldn't believe and a fierce love for what lies between my legs. She's so good, I'm thinking of marrying her. Talk to the minister tomorrow."
One of the men snorted, and the whole room breathed. The second men grinned at him and slapped Jesse's back. "Lucky man. Bartender! Get this man some bottled courage. He's marrying before he rides out with us."
Only Otis Boone wasn't smiling.
"How'd you get 'er?" the second man asked.
"Catalogue," Jesse said, and the man choked.
"Mail order bride? Really?"
"Yep."
The bartender delivered the rotgut that passed for whiskey, and the men toasted Jesse.
"Here's to roping yourself a heifer."
"Ready to get back to her?"
"Naw." Jesse stretched. "I wore her out earlier today. Let her sleep awhile."
"If you're marrying her," Otis spoke up. "What about the job? Will she stay out of your business?"
"She'll do what I tell her to," Jesse scoffed, mind racing. It was time to drop the bait. "I don't stand for a woman who doesn't mind. Few months ago shacked up with a redhead who never sat quiet. She caught the back of my hand before I scraped her off, I tell you."
"Redhead?" one of Otis' men spoke up. "Boone here likes redheads. What's her name?"
Jesse shook his head. "My advice, you stay away from this one. She'll set your bed on fire as soon as look at you."
"I like spirited women," Otis rasped. "What's her name?"
"Rosie," Jesse said after pretending to think. "Rosie something."
"Rosie May?"
"That's it. You know her?"
Otis slammed his glass on the table. "That little whore killed my brother Joseph. Where did you say she is?"
Jesse raised a brow. "Damned if I know. I was with her in Santa Fe."
Otis cursed.
"Wait," one man said. "I thought Rosie married a man. Walsh or something."
"Wilder," Otis growled, and Jesse's blood ran cold.
"Well, he's not around anymore." Jesse shot the rest of his whiskey. "Or at least, I never saw him." He waved to the bartender, playing the part of a drinking outlaw. He could f
eel Otis Boone's eyes stripping him to the bone. Doyle's man stayed quiet, but menace was written clearly in bristled brows and flat gaze.
"We might have a job for you, then, after this," Otis said at last. "I hope you have no qualms about killing women."
Jesse shrugged. "Usually like to play with them first. But I don't care who's in the sights of my rifle. Long as I get paid."
A few more shots, and Jesse walked out, pulling his hat low over his face. Last time he was in this town, he'd taken care not to be seen with his brother or sister-in-law. If Otis Boone even suspected Jesse was Lyle Wilder's brother, he was a dead man.
Since last fall, Jesse had been plotting. Distract Doyle, weaken his position, and drain him of his money. Then, infiltrate his gang and kill Boone, and finally Doyle.
Not the best plan, but planning wasn't Jesse's strong suit. Riding a horse and shooting people was.
With any luck, from here on out, that's all he'd be called upon to do. Then Rose and Lyle would be safe, and Jesse could go home.
He glanced up at the night sky, and loped back to his rented room. He still had a few hours before he had to be up at dawn to find a minister. After all, he was getting married in the morning.
The next morning, Susannah stood in front of the mirror, smoothing her hair for the umpteenth time. With the help of Mrs. Marsh's cleaning woman, she'd finished her toilet and all that remained was to go downstairs, meet the minister, and say the vows.
After months of letters and weeks of travel, now she was nervous. Could she marry this stranger? Certainly, he looked fine and seemed a gentleman, at least, he said very pretty things. But was he someone who could take care of her? Not just feed and clothe and house her, but truly care for her heart?
The pain her former fiancé had put her through had taught her the consequences of choosing a man who looked good, but lacked substance. She wanted someone who would stand up for her, who would commit himself to her no matter what. A strong man, determined to get what he wanted, and who wanted her.
Again, her thoughts returned to the man who robbed the coach. Now there was a man who went after what he wanted. What would it be like to marry such a man, powerful, confident and capable? To be the one he desired above anything else?
The thought flooded her with heat, even though she knew it was ridiculous. She put her hands to her face, staring into her dark blue eyes. In a few minutes, she would marry the man she'd crossed half a country to meet. If he had any of the passion he'd poured into his letters, she would end up a happy wife indeed. She would simply have to give him a chance to woo her in person.
The ceremony was short, Mrs. Marsh served as witness. Susannah stood straight-backed and still, her heart beating fast. Beside her, Jesse Oberon was a presence, a force, and she could hardly keep her eyes off of him.
Perhaps it was her decision to see him in the light of his letters, but he seemed nothing like the foppish young man who she had met yesterday. There was something so familiar about the crinkle of his eyes, the humor in his raised brow.
When the minister finished the ceremony, her new husband pivoted to her. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, green eyes intent on hers, filled with enough promises for a lifetime.
His lips touched the back of her hand, and she felt their warmth through the lace glove. Heat burst through her, starting at her cheeks and staining them pink before spreading down her neck and bosom, hardening her nipples and shooting further south.
She stared at him, mouth parting as her breath came faster. By the glint in his eye, he seemed to know the effect he had on her. For a second, Susannah knew she'd married a man she could spend the rest of her life with.
Then she looked down and saw the scar on his hand.
Damn, Jesse thought. Discovered again, and by the same woman. His new bride, flushing prettily just a second ago, her lips parted with the promise of a thousand pleasant nights, suddenly turned pale.
Her hand went out to grab his, and he looked down at his ungloved hand, and the telltale scar that betrayed him.
Damn and blast.
"Oh my," Susannah gasped, still staring at his hand.
"You all right, sweetheart? You look faint." Jesse crowded closer to his bride, stepping between her and the only two wedding guests.
"Poor, dear, it's all the excitement," Mrs. Marsh said.
"Thank you, minister." Jesse dismissed the man with a nod. "Mrs. Marsh, if I may have a few moments alone with my bride before we have our lunch?"
"Your lunch is all served in Miss Moore's—I mean, Mrs. Oberon's room. Of course, it's your room now too."
Susannah was swaying on her feet. Before she could fall, Jesse put his arm around his bride, guiding her from the parlor. She struggled a little, very feebly, and Jesse kept a smile pinned to his face, hoping she would not faint at his feet. At least she wasn't shrieking. At the staircase, he gave up trying to propel her along and dipped to scoop her up in his arms.
"Almost there, my lady," he whispered as his bride's head lolled on his shoulder. "You can rest a bit in the room, and we can have a nice, long chat."
As Susannah lay gasping on the bed, the bandit—her new husband—crossed the room to get water.
A fine luncheon had been laid out in their room, just as Mrs. Marsh had said. From the quantity of food, she expected them to be holed up in their bedroom a good long while.
Just the thought sent Susannah's head swimming again.
The outlaw leaned over her. "Here you are, sweetheart." His tone was mocking, but his hands were gentle, helping her sit up, propping pillows behind her.
As soon as she caught her breath, she grabbed at his hand. He was wearing a fine black suit, fit for a groom, complete with long jacket and black vest. At the ceremony, he hadn't worn gloves.
He was wearing heavy riding ones now. Gripping his wrist, she tugged off the right one, revealing the angry scar that ran over his hand. It matched the scar of the coach robber. Her chest tightened again; none of this could be real.
"If you're so eager to see me undress, you'd but to ask," Jesse Oberon said. He made no move to cover the scar that gave him away.
"You're... you're..."
"Breathe, baggage." His hand settled at her back, rubbing soothingly.
"But you're..." She couldn't choke out the rest.
"I'm Jesse. Your husband."
"No." Susannah felt what little blood she had left drain from her face. "No, we cannot be married." What had she done?
"In the eyes of God and man." His black brow quirked at her, humor glinting in his green eyes.
"Oh, no." She put her head in her hands. "Oh no."
The man called Jesse Oberon watched her with a half amused, half resigned air.
Grabbing for her little bag, she drew out the last correspondence from Mr. Oberon, along with his picture. With shaking hands, she held it up next to her husband's face.
"How can this be?" she whispered, feeling almost ill. The green eyes, the dark hair, the rough but well-boned face. How had she not seen it before? Was she so enamored with the fantasy of a husband that she'd let her imagination transform the rogue to a gentleman?
"Not a bad likeness." The man called Oberon plucked the daguerreotype from her fingers and gazed at it critically. Finally, he handed it back, and when she made no move to take it, tucked it back into her purse. His long fingers handled the picture and her little silken bag with a level of care she would've put past most men. "I knew you would've found out sooner or later."
Susannah felt numb, head to toe. All her hopes and plans, dashed. She'd left Boston for nothing. She could almost hear her aunt nagging her.
Oh, god. She would have to tell her aunt. And Mrs. Marsh, and everyone back home. What would people say?
Burying her head in her hands, she fought down nausea. She would be a laughingstock. Again. Susannah Moore, disgraced and discarded. Breathing hard, she fought to control her heaving stomach.
"Relax, baggage. I won't force you to stay mar
ried to me."
She peered out from behind her hands. Jesse's head was bent to hers, his green eyes twinkling as if he'd told a joke. "If you want, I'll put you on a coach back to Boston; we can just chalk it up to a misunderstanding."
Her voice came out calm—the pause before the storm. "You're making very light of this."
"Of the situation? It's not ideal. But light of you? Never, Susannah." Her fiancée sat on the edge of the bed, too far to reach, but too close for comfort. Even with her body in shock, his presence still excited her. What was wrong with her?
Jesse pulled off his left glove and cast it aside, before taking her hands in his. "You have two choices, my dear. Annul the marriage and take a trip back to Boston. Or stick it out with me. I never lied once to you in the letters. Everything in them—the land, the claim, my family, it's all true." For a moment, his mischievous green gaze turned sincere.
"What do you mean, you never lied to me?" Susannah pulled her hands away as fire started coursing through her. "You're an outlaw."
"Lower your voice, ma'am." Jesse stood, broad shoulders blocking out the light from the window. "I'm not going to hurt you; let's just talk this out."
Part of her recognized he was bigger, stronger, dangerous. The rest of her wanted to rip his face off.
She slid out of bed, her faint forgotten. "You're a criminal. Oh my god, I married a criminal!"
His hand clapped over her mouth, one steadying the back of her head. Susannah squeaked against his large, calloused palm as he tilted his head closer, his eyes glinting dangerously.
"Listen to me. The circumstances of our meeting aren't what I had planned, but I promise you are safe with me. I'll put you back on the first coach to Boston if you want, and pay you for your trouble. You have nothing to fear, Susannah. Nothing."
Again, he sounded sincere. Susannah added liar and scoundrel to her mental tally of insults, and glared at him over his palm.
"I'm going to take my hand away now, if you promise not to scream. If you do, there will be consequences. I have no wish to hang on the morrow." He half chuckled, shaking his head. "With your luck, baggage, you'll be accused as an accomplice."
