The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1)

by CiCi Cordelia

  The lone wall sconce in the parlor still glowed, and he strode over to lower the wick until it blinked out. Women didn’t much like the smell of smoldering kerosene, so he flipped the snuffer in place to keep the smoke from stinking up the air, then headed down the back hallway toward his room.

  Our room.

  Harrison found himself dragging his heels as he thought of the woman who waited for him in the big feather bed he’d ordered from Silver Cache a few months ago. When he’d built the frame and set the bed-slats, he’d anticipated the happy reaction of his bride-to-be. Maneuvering the thick mattress in place and smoothing on the soft linens he’d dried in the sun, he’d pictured the delight on her beautiful face. A handmade quilt he’d also found, bright with embroidered flowers and tiny birds, completed the marriage bed he’d share with—

  Not Jenny, goddammit. Pausing at the half-open door, Harrison inhaled deeply. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. His bride’s pale, frightened face etched onto the backs of his lids. I can’t do this.

  Turning, he trudged back to the kitchen and the bottle of Old James he kept under the sink. Pulling a tumbler from the side cabinet, he splashed in two fingers of bourbon and downed it in a single gulp. Harrison eyed the remaining fifth, which looked to be a goodly amount. He had bought the bottle right before Christmas, and he’d never been much of a drinker.

  That might just be changing tonight.

  Wiping his damp mouth on the back of his sleeve, Harrison poured another.

  Chapter 3

  Retta came awake abruptly, jerking upright in the bed. She must have dozed off despite the attack of nerves that had kept her hunched in the pillows, clutching the bedsheets until her knuckles throbbed. Exhaustion had gotten the better of her.

  Shoving tangled hair out of her eyes, she peered across the room toward the door she’d propped open so she could hear Addie if she awoke anytime throughout the night. Earlier, half-spooked, she’d set a lamp burning on the low dresser against the opposite wall before climbing into bed.

  She strained to hear any noise, any tiny sound of distress. When Addie’s sweet little snores reached her ears, a sign she slept deeply, a hiss of relief escaped Retta’s lips.

  The darling hadn’t raised a bit of fuss when Retta had laid her down, asleep almost before she could fasten a fresh diaper and pull a nightgown over her girl’s curly little head. She’d trimmed the wick in the wall sconce until it burned low, then tucked Addie in securely.

  Fully awake now, Retta did her best to relax into the pillows. A futile attempt. She wouldn’t easily fall asleep again. A faint clinking in the kitchen told her Harrison had finally finished his nighttime chores. She couldn’t imagine what he might be doing. She only knew he’d soon enter the bedroom. Once here, would he shed his clothes and pounce on her?

  Fresh panic had her breaking out in icy chills. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave me be.

  His image flashed in her mind. The man was so big and brawny. Much larger than she remembered from the one time she’d caught a glimpse of him back in Bolster when he’d shown up to collect Jenny for a barn dance. Hard-muscled from laboring in his mines, no doubt. His wide hands, long-fingered and work-hardened . . . how would they feel against her tender skin? Would he be gentle or cruel? What if those hands slapped and his fingers pinched and probed, instead of caressed?

  Like Cal.

  God, stop thinking about it. She was his wife now, legal and binding. Her husband could do as he liked and nobody would stop him. Marriage gave him power over her.

  Nausea gripped Retta’s stomach, pushing bile up into her throat. It was all so unfair. First Cal. Then her sweet sister falling ill. Now this. Trapped forever in a loveless marriage to a hard man.

  Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she tortured herself with a litany of the ways Harrison Carter could cause her pain, and it didn’t matter what Jenny had said about his warm, caring nature. Nor did it matter how gently he’d held her little girl while they’d stood before the preacher and repeated vows neither one of them might ever be able to keep.

  Scuttling across the bed, her cotton nightgown snagging around her knees, Retta’s singular thought was to scoop up her child, the only bright spot in her otherwise drab life, and escape out the door. To run as fast and as far as her legs could take them.

  She managed to untangle herself from the voluminous material and gain her feet, only to shrink back in apprehension when the hallway floorboards creaked, closer and closer.

  Then, a heavy exhale right outside the slightly ajar door. Harrison.

  Teeth chattering, Retta dove for the bed and burrowed under the covers. Eyes squeezed closed, the phrase pretend you’re asleep, pretend you’re asleep, pretend you’re asleep became a mantra in her mind.

  The sound of the door clicking shut sent her into fresh panic. A few seconds later, the mattress dipped on the far side of the bed. In the anxiety-laden quiet, she heard the rustling of clothes, the chink of a belt buckle, the whisper of a shirt. She breathed in and out as quietly as possible. Biting her bottom lip to stop it from trembling, Retta curled into the tiniest ball of shivering flesh possible, trying to will herself into unconsciousness.

  Sudden heat engulfed her shoulders, her spine, the backs of her legs, as she felt him nestle close. One large, muscled arm curved around her waist and tugged her against his completely naked body.

  She swallowed a whimper, her limbs locked so tightly she ached. He adjusted slightly, as if searching for the most comfortable dip in the feathers, his wriggling movements fusing him against her quaking frame.

  Please—

  “I know you’re awake, Retta.” His deep rasp vibrated in her ear.

  Startled, she jerked, which brought her even closer to his hot, firm flesh. Refusing to contemplate the meaning of that heavy firmness, now pressing into the small of her back, Retta froze. Still, a tiny sob burst from her throat.

  He stroked her arm with fingers every bit as rough-hewn as she’d imagined. “Shh. You don’t know me.” His mouth stirred the hair at her nape. “I don’t know you.” He brought her around to face him, and the shock of this new position made her gasp and slam her eyes shut.

  Sighing, he cupped the side of her head with one wide palm and pushed her cheek into his shoulder, his thumb rubbing along her jaw. His other hand slipped over her nightgown and rested lightly on her hip.

  The heat of his fingers burned through the thin cotton material. His nakedness, pressed against her, was terrifying, yet at the same time the gentle way he held her was a comfort.

  “Look at me.” The command in his tone left her no choice but to obey.

  With a nervous gulp, she opened her eyes and met his level gaze. In the dimness from the lamplight, his eyes glittered, their expression shrouded. The smoky hint of bourbon washed over her face.

  Her heart sank. He’d been in the kitchen, drinking. Heaven only knew how much. Liquor and lust made for a very bad combination. She’d learned that the hard way.

  “I’m not the kind of man to demand or force. Nothing’s gonna happen tonight.”

  She blinked. Could she believe him?

  His hands were careful with her, easy. Non-threatening. “I can’t—” He broke off and ground his teeth so hard she heard them gnash. Finally, he muttered, “I know you had a rough time of it. I saw Jenny’s note. You’re not ready. Neither am I.”

  Her cheeks heated from such unfamiliar and intimate contact as they lay facing each other. The man was a contradiction she couldn’t figure out. One moment a growling bear, the next a gentle giant. In a situation like this, what kind of man would put off taking advantage of a woman whose body he had every right to use?

  “As my wife,” he continued, in the same easy tone, “you’ll eventually have to get used to my touch.�
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  Retta’s tense muscles slowly loosened. She wouldn’t be able to deny her new husband forever. But at least for now, she was safe. Inhaling, she detected a trace of lye soap and the natural musk of a man who worked hard. The mixture of scents further soothed her.

  Hesitantly, she let her fingers unclench, though they remained pressed against his chest. The skin covering all those muscles felt smooth, with a hint of silky hair.

  He was so warm that Retta relaxed.

  “That’s better.” He stroked her hair, brushing at her curls. “I’m sorry we got off to a rough start. I won’t lie to you, this is hard for me. I . . . care for your sister.” He exhaled roughly. “I don’t much remember you, but if this is Jenny’s final wish then we must abide by it.”

  He tipped up her chin with two fingers. “You agree with that?”

  Retta searched his intense gaze for any sign of treachery, and found none. Slowly, she nodded. “I— Yes, Harrison.”

  “All right, then.” He brought her cheek back to his shoulder, and she felt a yawn shudder through him. “Tomorrow we’ll sit down and talk. Figure out what we need to do to make this work.” His arms kept her pinned to his side.

  Too weary to worry about their intimate position, she mumbled, “Goodnight, Harrison.”

  “Goodnight, Retta,” came his soft reply.

  ~ ~ ~

  The faint sound of snoring awoke him, right before he became aware of the warm woman next to him, her silken arm draped across his bare stomach, her cheek resting close to his heart. But what surprised Harrison the most was to find himself holding her.

  He lay perfectly still, not wanting to disturb the moment, enjoying the feel of Retta pressed against him. One of her long, slender legs, free from the constraints of the cotton gown she wore, hitched across his thigh. A smile curved his lips. The cumbersome material, meant to cover her from neck to toes, had failed in its attempt to keep him disinterested.

  Inhaling her clean, fresh scent, Harrison entwined one of her golden curls around his finger. It felt damned nice having a woman in his bed. Unbidden, his shaft hardened. He could no more stop his body’s reaction to her, than stop breathing.

  Always mindful of his innocent bride-to-be back home waiting for him, he hadn’t lain with anyone, though he’d used his hand when desperate urges overtook him. As often as the girls at the saloon tried to entice him, Harrison had resisted, much to his brother’s amusement. Frank wasn’t under the same constraint and he partook liberally of their charms.

  Tucking the pale tendril behind his wife’s ear, Harrison let his thumb linger against the base of her throat, all too aware she wasn’t the one he loved, but his body didn’t understand the difference. It’d be too easy to tug her beneath him and enjoy his new bride. She was no virgin, and he doubted she’d deny him.

  Disgusted with his train of thought, as well as his desire for her, he lifted Retta’s arm off his stomach and placed it by her side, then slid from the bed, careful not to wake her.

  Though she was now his wife, he knew she wasn’t ready for his touch. Jenny hadn’t actually spelled it out in her letters, but he’d been able to read between the lines. Retta hadn’t exactly been a willing partner when her daughter was conceived.

  Scowling, he raked his fingers through his hair, studying the delicate beauty asleep in his bed, determined to ignore the way his cock bobbed with eagerness. Overcome with the sudden urge to track this Cal bastard down and put a bullet between his eyes, Harrison figured if he ever saw the man, he might do just that.

  Spinning away from temptation, Harrison quickly dressed, shoving his swollen appendage into his trousers and carefully buttoning up. He’d promised Retta patience, and he was a man of his word. Heading into the kitchen, he set kindling and wood in the stove to start heating the griddles. Three eggs, nestled in their basket and collected from yesterday, weren’t enough for all of them, so he’d check his laying hens before he began anything else. Whatever he ended up collecting could be cooked up alongside slabs of the pork shoulder from Sunday dinner.

  Frank planned on stopping by today to meet Jenny. Well, this oughta be fun. Self-restraint wasn’t his brother’s best quality, and who knew how he’d react to finding Retta instead? Harrison didn’t want her upset. Even though she wasn’t the woman he’d expected, she was now his responsibility, as well as the child. Harrison took his duties seriously, and would do right by both.

  Grief tightened his chest as he recalled fond memories of Jenny and their far too brief time together. It was hard to believe that only yesterday, he had awoken filled with happiness and hope for the future.

  A sigh shook his chest. Yesterday seems so far away.

  Now, his future was uncertain, wed to a stranger. Though his heart would always belong to Jenny, the only way forward was to gain his new bride’s trust.

  Harrison trudged outside to the chicken coop with a spare basket to scrounge for more eggs.

  A few minutes after he returned to the kitchen, he heard the girl stirring. Certain Retta was still sleeping, no doubt worn out from her long journey, Harrison set the half-full basket down on the floor and headed into the spare bedroom. The tot had crawled from the bed and now stood in the middle of the room, one fist clutching the edge of a blanket. The rest of it dragged behind her tiny frame.

  When her sleepy gaze landed on Harrison, it held no fear this time.

  Harrison vowed to keep it that way. If he was going to persuade his new bride to stay with him and make this marriage work, the first step would be winning over her daughter. Careful, all good intentions pave the road to perdition.

  Plastering on a fake smile, not ready to admit he knew nothing of how to handle a child, he said brightly, “Are you hungry, little lass?”

  Addie nodded. Thrusting her thumb into her mouth, she tugged the end of the blanket to her face and mumbled, “Potty.”

  Harrison sniffed. From the smell of it, a diaper change was already in order. His day was just getting better and better. For one desperate moment, he considered waking up Retta, then remembered the dark circles under her pretty blue eyes and the weariness in her voice.

  He rolled his shoulders back. I run a profitable silver mine. I can handle one small child.

  The closer he got to Addie, the less certain he was of that. The babe smelled worse than a dead carcass that’d baked in the sun a good long while. Glancing around for a clean diaper, he spotted one of the newfangled things lying on the dresser, along with a change of clothes Retta must have laid out.

  “Potty,” the girl whined again.

  “Yeah, I’m working on it. Hold your hosses.” Harrison scooped up the items off the dresser, turning back to Addie. The stench of that soiled diaper grew stronger as he approached. He wrinkled his nose. “What did your mother feed you yesterday?”

  It couldn’t have been anything good.

  At the sharpness of his tone, the girl’s lower lip trembled as her eyes welled up.

  Forcing another smile to his lips, Harrison squatted down in front of Addie. “Hey, sweetheart, you ready for some grub?”

  The child blinked, two tears tracking down her cheeks. Then with a sniffle, she nodded. Tossing the diaper and clothing across his shoulder, Harrison tried to tug the blanket from her pudgy hands, but Addie wouldn’t let go, instead looking perilously close to crying again.

  “All right, you can keep it.” Wrapping the blanket loosely around her, Harrison scooped Addie up and strode briskly down the hall, over to the fireplace. Laying the child on the woven rug in front of it, he noted sourly how the diaper had leaked onto the blanket. “Let me get some water to clean you up with.” He pointed a finger and ordered, “You stay here.”

  Harrison hurried to the foyer and lifted the pitcher of water he usually kept on the spare washstand, pouring some into a bowl. When he turned aro
und, he nearly stumbled over Addie, who was now standing right behind him, still hanging on to the end of the dirty, smelly blanket. He frowned, not used to being disobeyed.

  The toddler plucked her thumb from her mouth and burbled, “Hungwy.”

  Harrison eyed the trail of pee Addie had left in her wake, the hem of her little nightgown damp. The overstuffed diaper had fallen off about halfway across the parlor and now lay in a stinking mess on his oak planked floor.

  “Holy. Hell.” Again, he thought about waking Retta, then dismissed the idea. “I can handle this.”

  “Hungwy,” Addie repeated with a pout.

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time,” he muttered to himself, feeling a bit panicked. Reentering the parlor, Harrison plopped the bowl of water onto the table and collected babe and blanket, placing both on the polished surface. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He refused to think about what now smeared across his former fine piece of dining furniture.

  “Mama,” the child wailed, twisting around and trying to crawl off the table. Her poop-covered bottom stuck out from beneath the filthy gown.

  Grabbing the girl by the leg as gently as possible, Harrison slipped his hand between her birdlike shoulder blades and eased her over onto part of the blanket. “Adeline, lay still,” he said sternly, hoping his usage of her full name would compel her to obey.

  Addie stared accusingly, her lower lip trembling worse than a drunk gunslinger’s shootin’ arm.

  Tension gripped him. If things had played out the way they were supposed to, he’d still be in bed, holding his exhausted and well-loved wife in his arms. How in blazes had his life come to this?

  Jenny’s lovely image flashed in his mind, and his heart constricted.