Naughty Marietta

by Nan Ryan

  “No,” she said stubbornly, wondering suddenly if he intended to tear off her clothes. He might. He was unpredictable and he was a lot bigger than she was. Marietta took a protective step backward.

  Cole wrapped the reins around the saddle horn. Marietta cringed. He was to her in three long strides. Towering over her. Tall and intimidating. He said nothing, just plucked her from the ground with the greatest of ease, carried her to the waiting black and lifted her up across the saddle.

  He swung up behind her and told her, “Baby, you can wear that cumbersome ball gown all the way to Galveston if you like. I couldn’t care less.”

  “Why, of course not,” she retorted. “The fact that I’m cold and miserable is of no importance to you. Is it?”

  “Not really,” Cole replied as he touched his heels to the black’s flanks. “After all, it’s your fault, not mine.”

  “My fault? My fault? Well, I never! What a ridiculous statement! You take me by brute force, carry me off into the dark, cold night, and then have the gall to tell me it’s my fault that I’m freezing. Let me tell you something—”

  “Tell me later,” he interrupted and put the horse into a canter. “Lean back against me and get some rest.”

  “No,” she said. “I certainly will not. In case you’ve failed to notice, I do not want to touch you and I do not want you touching me!”

  “Again, that’s your prerogative. But when you feel like your back’s breaking from sitting straight up, don’t whine to me.”

  “I never whine,” she quickly defended herself.

  But she was already tempted to complain. She was seated across the saddle, legs dangling, her position precarious. She constantly felt as if she might fall off the horse. She clung tenaciously to the saddle horn and leaned as far away from Cole as possible. Such stiff posture atop a moving horse was incredibly uncomfortable. But Marietta was determined that she would stay just like this no matter how miserable she was.

  She forgot her misery for a moment when the trail once again started its steep descent. Her teeth clenched, she said a little prayer, promising the Almighty that if he would get her safely out of this dilemma, she would never, ever do another bad thing for the rest of her life.

  The prayer finished, she stole a covert glance at Cole. He appeared to be totally relaxed and totally comfortable. She hated him for it. And for not caring about her discomfort. Damn him. Admitting that he didn’t give a fig if she was cold and miserable. Which she most certainly was.

  Marietta’s teeth began to chatter. She attempted to clamp them firmly together, but it didn’t work. They continued to chatter. She began to shiver from the frigid night air. She glared at Cole. Anybody with one ounce of human kindness would see that she was suffering and take pity on her.

  He didn’t.

  He just guided the black down the narrow, rocky trail, slouching lazily in the saddle, paying her absolutely no mind.

  For a time, her anger and the chill enveloping her kept Marietta awake and alert. But as the long night dragged on, she became more and more weary. Her fingers were numb from clinging to the saddle horn. Her back was absolutely breaking. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her chin from sagging to her chest, nor her eyes from slipping closed.

  But she opened her eyes and jerked her head up when Cole abruptly pulled up on the black. The big beast halted. Marietta was horrified when Cole reached down and jerked her long skirts up past her knees. Dear Lord, he was going to ravish her right here atop the stallion!

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” Cole drawled, knowing what was running through her mind.

  He then deftly turned her about and urged a slender leg over the horse, seating her astride the saddle. Marietta was struggling to shove her raised skirts down, when Cole cupped her shoulders and gently drew her back against him. She couldn’t keep from sighing. With gratitude. His long arms safely enclosing her and his solid chest supporting her aching back were pure heaven.

  Marietta sighed again, squirmed a little, settled back, relaxed.

  And fell asleep.

  It was Cole’s turn to sigh with relief. He liked her much better asleep than awake. She was a handful and no denying it.

  Just then a strand of flaming-red hair came loose from the oyster-shell comb that held the heavy tresses in place atop her head. The silky lock blew across Cole’s face, tickled his lips and nose. He automatically inhaled deeply. The pleasing scent of the subtly perfumed hair filled his nostrils.

  Cole exhaled.

  Then immediately frowned and reaching up, swept the intrusive lock aside before giving the sleeping Marietta a sharp look.

  He gritted his teeth and felt a muscle dance in his jaw. He would, he silently swore to himself, get this beautiful bundle of feminine trouble home to her waiting grandfather without laying a hand on her. So help him God.

  When the first gray light of the summer dawn streaked across the cloudless sky, Cole and Marietta had made it all the way down out of the mountains. They had not encountered Maltese’s men or any other misfortune.

  On level ground at last, they were approaching the little mining community of Golden, nestled at the eastern base of the Front Range.

  Marietta began to stir.

  Cole grimaced.

  No more peace and quiet. How long, he idly asked himself, would it take before she started grumbling. Yawning and rubbing her eyes, Marietta looked sleepily around, scowled and wondered where she was and what she was doing out here on horseback at dawn. And then remembered. Everything.

  She anxiously leaned away from Cole, looked over her shoulder and snapped, “I will not put up with any more of your nonsense, Texan. I want you to let me go!”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. I gave my word to your grandfather that I’d bring you home.”

  “How much did he pay you? Maltese will double it. Take me back to Central City. Tell my grandfather you couldn’t find me. That I wasn’t there.”

  “Why, now, that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?”

  “As if you never lie. Really! Do you expect me to believe that of an unscrupulous man like you?”

  “Believe anything you choose, but understand this, princess. If I never do anything else in my life, I am going to deliver you to your grandfather in Galveston.”

  “Oh, you are impossible,” she declared, knowing there was no reaching him.

  At the edge of the dense forest, on the banks of the gently flowing North Clear Creek, Cole drew rein, dismounted. He reached for Marietta. She drew away and wildly kicked her feet against the stallion’s belly, meaning to flee. But Cole held the reins. The black didn’t budge. And that angered Marietta. Thwarted, she cursed the stallion and she cursed Cole. Cole let her rave, allowed her to blow her top for a while.

  Then finally said, “That’s enough, Marietta. Get down off the horse or I’ll get you down.”

  “Don’t you touch me!” Marietta warned, throwing her leg over and dropping to the ground. “And just why are we stopping out here? Why don’t we ride into town?”

  “I’m going to ride into town.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “No, you’re going to stay here.”

  She tilted her head to one side and looked up at him. “So you’re going to leave me here alone?”

  “I am.”

  “And you expect me to still be here when you return?” She shook her head and regarded him as though he were dimwitted.

  “You’ll be here,” he said, unconcerned.

  “Don’t bet on it, Texan,” she declared with a smirk. But the smirk left her face when she saw him take a coiled lasso from the saddle. Eyes gone wide, she said, “No! You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t tie me up.” She backed away from him.

  He followed. “You leave me no choice, Marietta. If you could be trusted to keep quiet, why then I’d gladly take you into town with me.”

  “I will. I promise. I won’t make a sound, won’t say a word.”

  “Why is it that I don’t believ
e you?” he asked as if not knowing the answer.

  Marietta angrily whirled about and started to dash away, but Cole caught her skirts and reeled her back in. She fought him furiously for as long as she could lift her rapidly tiring arms. Soon out of breath and perspiring with exertion, she gave up and slumped against him.

  Cole patted her back in a brotherly fashion and told her, “I won’t be gone long.”

  “Mmm,” she murmured, the sound muffled against his shirtfront.

  “Will you miss me?” he teased.

  Her head snapped up. Her face a study in wrath, she attempted to push him away, but he held her fast.

  Minutes later Cole rode away, leaving her tied securely to the thick trunk of a huge sheltering evergreen with a promise that he would be back soon. Marietta worked at getting her hands free of their bonds and prayed that Maltese’s men would find her while Cole was gone.

  They did not.

  Nor did anyone else.

  For several long minutes she screamed and shouted for help before giving up. Within an hour, Cole returned, leading a saddled black-and-white-spotted piebald gelding. Marietta felt her heart leap inside her breast. She was an excellent horsewoman. If she were allowed to ride the gelding, she could escape her cruel captor.

  Cole dismounted, came over and crouched beside Marietta. He said, “I bought a gentle gelding for you to ride.”

  “That’s the ugliest horse I have ever seen in my life,” she said. “Looks just like you.”

  Cole ignored the barb and looked pointedly at her wrinkled, low-cut gown as he untied her hands. “You ready to change into the riding clothes now?”

  Marietta quickly decided it would be wise to start holding her tongue and appear more docile. She smiled at Cole and said, “Yes, I am. And thank you for the horse.”

  “You’re very welcome.” Cole drew her to her feet. “I’ll get the clothes. You can change behind this tree.”

  Rubbing her raw wrists, Marietta nodded.

  With the shirt and pants over her arm and the moccasins in her hand, she went around behind the towering, lush-limbed evergreen. Already forgetting her decision to be more agreeable, she warned Cole that he’d better not spy on her if knew what was good for him.

  And then, to her frustration, she found that she could not get to the tiny hooks going down the back of her dress. She reached and worked and tussled and strained and muttered to herself.

  “Everything all right?” Cole called out, knowing exactly what the problem was, expecting her to enlist his help at any minute.

  “Everything’s just fine, thank you very much!” she shouted.

  Several minutes passed.

  Finally Marietta dropped her arms to her sides and huffed loudly. It was futile. She could not get out of the costume.

  “Heflin, I need help with this danged dress. Come here!” His full lips stretching into a devilish grin, Cole stayed right where he was. Marietta waited, exhaling heavily. “Did you hear me? I said come here!”

  “You didn’t say please,” Cole replied.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. The day won’t come when I’ll say ‘please’ to you.”

  Her face bloodred with anger, Marietta began violently yanking on the dress, determined to get it off and not caring if she tore it. Cole appeared, turned her around, brushed her hands away and easily unfastened the tiny hooks.

  The gown now open down the back, he said, “Step out of the dress and I’ll fold it and put it with our gear.”

  “Why don’t we just leave it here?” she casually suggested, sure it would be the smart thing to do. Lightnin’ and his men would find the dress and know they’d been here.

  Cole knew what was going through her mind. He said, “Sure. Leave it if you like, but it will do no good. You’re forgetting, Lightnin’ and the boys are ahead of us. By the time they turn back and find the dress, we’ll be halfway to Texas.”

  Holding her open dress up with one hand, Marietta whirled to face him. Her chin lifted in defiance, she told him, “Lightnin’ will not turn back. He will find you!”

  “He will find me ready.”

  Thirteen

  When the sun came up in Central City, a haggard, sleep-deprived Maltese was wearily pacing back and forth in the upstairs sitting room of Marietta’s private quarters. He had been pacing off and on all night. When he wasn’t, he was crossing to the tall front windows to push back the heavy curtains and peer out. Eagerly, he looked down Eureka Street, hoping to see his beloved come riding up the road and into his waiting arms.

  Sophia, twisting a tear-dampened handkerchief in her plump fingers, sat on the rose-and-gold brocade sofa watching Maltese walk the floor. Both he and Andreas had urged her to go home and get some rest, but Sophia refused. She wanted to be here when her dear Marietta returned.

  “They will find her? She will come back, won’t she?” she asked again and again.

  “Of course she will,” Andreas assured her. “Lightnin’ will find her.”

  Shortly after Marietta’s disappearance, Sophia had told Maltese about the singer’s strange behavior just prior to the curtain rising. She confided that Marietta had seemed unusually anxious, as if she had a premonition that something like this was going to happen.

  Maltese had questioned Sophia at length after her disturbing revelation. Had Marietta mentioned any reason for being nervous? Had she met someone who might want to harm her? A deranged fan perhaps?

  Con Burnett had gotten a glimpse of the dark stranger who took Marietta. Lightnin’ had said that a Texan fitting that description was in town. No one knew why he was in Central City. Could it be that Marietta knew the Texan from her past? Could it be that she was secretly planning to run away with another man? If that were the case, Maltese no longer wanted to live!

  “No. No. No” was Sophia’s answer to all of Maltese’s questions. “Marietta would never have run away. She loved the opera, it was her life.”

  At that, Maltese bristled. “I would hope that perhaps I am as important to her as the opera.”

  “Oh, yes,” Sophia amended. “She is very fond of you, Maltese.”

  “And I worship her,” said the distraught multimillionaire.

  Tears suddenly sprang to his eyes and Maltese excused himself. Needing to be alone, he hurried into Marietta’s bedroom and closed the door behind him. For a moment he stood quietly leaning back against the door, trembling with rising despair.

  Then all at once his gaze fell on a delicate pair of satin high-heeled bedroom slippers. One slipper lay on its side, the other stood straight up on its slender heel. Marietta had apparently kicked off the slippers and left them there.

  Maltese’s heart raced in his chest. He crossed the room, sank wearily onto a comfortable chaise lounge and reaching down picked up one of the small pink slippers.

  He sat staring fixedly at the exquisite footwear, imagining Marietta’s dainty naked foot slipping seductively into it. Impulsively, he raised the slipper to his lips, pressed eager kisses to the heel, the toe, the instep. He rubbed the slipper against his cheek, again and again.

  Exhausted, he lay back and stretched out on the long chaise lounge to rest for a minute. Brushing the toe of the satin bedroom slipper back and forth across his mouth, Maltese experienced a sweet mixture of excitement and relaxation.

  His hand, firmly gripping the shoe, slipped down to his chest. Maltese sighed and drifted off to sleep.

  “Wake up, damn you!”

  “I wasn’t asleep.”

  “Yes you were, Jim,” accused Lightnin’. “You were dozing in the saddle, about to fall off your horse.”

  “Sorry,” Jim Burnett apologized.

  “Listen to me, all of you,” Lightnin’ said, pulling up on his paint stallion. “I know you’re tired, so am I, but we must press on. I told you that we will not stop until we find Marietta. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Have I made myself clear?”

  No one said a word.

  It was midmorning.

&n
bsp; The men had ridden all night. They had arrived in Golden shortly before sunrise. They had found the little town already astir, many early risers on the streets. The riders had fanned out, questioned anyone they saw, searched for any trace of the missing Marietta.

  No one had seen or heard a thing.

  Lightnin’ was worried.

  He had known from the start that if the Texan managed to get Marietta down out of the mountains, it would be almost impossible to find them. He was baffled. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t been able to overtake the pair on the one route down. Throughout the night, he and his men had stopped only briefly to water and rest their winded mounts each time they had reached a plateau. All the way down they had kept a careful lookout, but had seen no signs of the two.

  It made no sense. They should have overtaken the pair somewhere along the narrow, twisting trail. The fine hair rose on the nape of Lightnin’s neck. If he couldn’t find Marietta, he would have to answer to Maltese. If he failed Maltese, Maltese would fire him on the spot. No more generous salary and fancy living accommodations. No more pretty women and fine Kentucky bourbon to enjoy in his free time.

  Now at shortly after 10:00 a.m., Lightnin’ and the men were nearing the outskirts of Denver. Denver was a big, sprawling city. Even if Marietta and the Texan were there, it would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack. No matter. If the pair were in Denver, he would smoke them out.

  He had to find that spirited red-haired singer or pay the consequences.

  Cole and Marietta were not in Denver. Had never been in Denver. They had continued to trail Lightnin’ and his riders at a safe distance, but Cole rightly figured that Lightnin’ would look for them in Denver. So he avoided the city, much to Marietta’s chagrin.

  Once the two left Golden, Cole headed due south. This despite the fact that by doing so they would once again be riding into timbered, mountainous terrain. While it would have been easier on them to ride through Denver and then head directly out onto the plains, it wouldn’t have been as safe.

  So now, at straight up noon, Cole and Marietta were well south of Denver and the coolness of the night was long gone. The landscape was shimmering with the fierce heat of June. Marietta was hot and miserable and didn’t hesitate to let Cole know it. He, too, was hot and tired. He had not yet slept a wink.