The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1)

by CiCi Cordelia

  For an instant Retta froze as Cal’s face, etched with the same look of lust, flashed across her mind. She choked, panicked.

  Harrison stilled, then his fingers stroked lightly down her cheek. “Stay with me, Retta. Right here, in this bed, with your husband.” He kissed her, tearing her away from unpleasant thoughts.

  As fast as it’d come, the memory faded, replaced with an overwhelming affection for this man, who’d married a stranger and welcomed her into his life, claimed her daughter as his own, and even now took time to care for her comfort.

  “You’re the only man I see, Harrison.” Her vow came out a mere whisper but she meant every word.

  His hand trembled as he caressed her face. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I can’t wait any longer.” With a groan, he thrust, filling her completely.

  The feel of him moving inside her, oh so slowly, tenderly, then hard and deep, was unlike anything she even knew existed. Unable to keep her eyes open, she whispered his name and quivered.

  Harrison jerked her hips high and plunged deeper, gritting out, “Wrap your legs around me.”

  Eyes squeezed shut, she did as he bade, a low keen escaping her throat as the new position allowed him to reach to the very heart of her. Holding her in place, he drove into her again and again, the mounting pleasure so intense, Retta wasn’t sure she would survive.

  Then her body erupted, and all she could do was cling as he shouted her name against her neck, convulsing above her.

  The warmth of his seed filled her for endless moments, making her womb clench, and she shuddered through another round of rapture, until her mind spun away completely.

  She came back to awareness slowly, as Harrison rolled their bodies to the side, sharing her pillow, still intimately joined with her. He stared into her eyes for a long, silent moment before smoothing a palm over her hip, his thumb drawing a caress there. Her lips parted on a soft exclamation at the feel of him, hardening inside her.

  “Again?” She laughed breathlessly. “Let’s give me at least a minute here to regain my strength, Mister Carter.”

  “I suppose so, Missus Carter.” His slumberous gaze swept over her nakedness, lingering here and there. As he slid from inside her, his smile faded. Lifting his hand, he carefully grasped her chin, studying her cheek. “Does it hurt?”

  It did, but she wouldn’t tell him so. “Not really. I’m fine.”

  He didn’t look like he believed her. “I’m sorry I yelled. Sorry I frightened Addie.”

  “And the puppy,” she reminded him.

  He grinned, the frown line between his thick brows easing. “Right. And Noodle. I’ll make it up to them both tomorrow.” He fingered one of her breasts, rubbing his thumb over the still-sensitive peak. “It makes me crazy to think of what could have happened.”

  Trying to ignore how wonderful his hand felt, Retta forced herself to concentrate on the concern in his voice. As much as his overbearing attitude irritated her, her heart broke to think she’d put Addie in danger. Worry over the evil way Slim Morgan regarded their daughter sent a shiver of terror through her.

  Harrison’s hand stilled. “What?”

  She shook her head to dispel the images of the many ways the man could have hurt her sweet little girl. “Nothing. It’s just . . .”

  He brought his hand to her face and cupped her injured cheek. “It’s what? Tell me, Retta.” Though his expression remained neutral, the urgency in his tone gave away his concern.

  She licked her dry lips. “After I kicked him between the legs, Peter galloped down the trail. Morgan became incensed. The way he looked at Addie, it was like he wanted to hurt her.”

  Harrison’s face hardened, and she could read Slim Morgan’s death in his eyes.

  Fresh worry gnawed at her. “He didn’t actually touch her. Maybe I’m wrong.”

  “No, you’re not. Morgan is an extremely dangerous man who likes to hurt women. I don’t doubt he could easily harm a little girl if he’s angry enough. You have to promise you’ll never travel alone like that again.” He curled her into his arms, up against his chest. One palm smoothed over her hair. “I’ve already lost Jenny, I would never be able to bear losing you too. Promise me. Promise you’ll never travel anywhere again without me or Frank along. Or at least one of our men there to guard you and Addie.”

  Reluctantly acknowledging he was right, this time, Retta gave in as gracefully as she could. “I promise.”

  He kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “Thank you.”

  Then, rolling her beneath him again, and with great tenderness and attention to her needs, Harrison made love to her, until hours later she fell asleep, exhausted and content in her husband’s arms.

  Chapter 17

  Tossing the reins onto the seat, Harrison jumped down from the wagon. Accustomed to the wider buckboard bridle, Copper wouldn’t budge. Patting his stallion on the rump, he strode to the other side, eyeing Frank as he climbed stiffly from the seat.

  Stubborn jackass.

  There’d been no use trying to talk Frank into staying at the ranch with Retta. Instead, he’d rode to the miners’ cabins and rousted Peter for guard duty. Retta didn’t like it, but that was too damned bad. He wouldn’t leave her alone after what’d happened with Morgan.

  He nodded toward Frank, who used Copper’s wide flank to balance himself. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Quit fussing over me, dammit.” Frank swiped his dusty Stetson from his head and slapped it on his knee, wincing as he dropped it back in place. “Shit.” He gingerly rotated his injured shoulder.

  “Hurts?” Harrison edged closer, ready to offer a helping hand, whether his idiot brother asked or not.

  Scowling, Frank awkwardly sidestepped around Copper. “I’ll live. Let’s get this done.” He started toward the two-room log cabin that served as Little Creede’s temporary jail.

  A few of the town’s founding fathers had drawn up plans for a larger building. In the meantime, the cramped enclosure held a desk in one room. Another contained a single cell, made from nice, thick iron bars. Harrison would like nothing better than to see Morgan rotting in it.

  He followed his brother through the door.

  A picture of relaxed contentment, Sheriff Joshua Lang sat back in his chair, fingers laced over his chest and his spurs propped on the battered desk. A Stetson rested over his eyes as he lightly snored.

  Harrison swept an arm toward Lang’s boots and knocked his feet off the desk.

  Joshua snapped forward in his teetering chair, hat flying off sideways, cursing, “Goddamn-the-hell—”

  Frank slammed a hand down on the desk, swaying, unsteady on his feet. “Why aren’t you out digging in the muck for Morgan?”

  “Jesus.” Harrison dragged a beat-up wooden stool from against the wall and positioned it under his brother’s backside, pushing on Frank’s good shoulder. “Sit down before you fall over.”

  Frank slumped on the stool, holding his arm and grumbling under his breath.

  Harrison yanked off his hat and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Mornin’, Sheriff. Now that the niceties are over, why aren’t you going after Slim Morgan?”

  Joshua regarded Harrison for a few, drawn-out seconds, before rasping, “Charges?”

  “You know damned well the charges.” Frank punched a fist into his open palm. “Try setting our mine with explosives, trespassing on Carter land, and threatening our females. I bet there’s a half-dozen barmaids between the Lucky Lady and that bordello in Spiketown who’d give you an earful of the pain he’s put them through.”

  Scooping his hat off the grimy floor, Joshua fingered the rim. He brushed at a streak of dirt, then plopped the once-pristine Stetson back on his head. “Y’all crudded up my goin’-to-Sunday-Sermon hat, boys. Oughta make you buy me a new one.”

 
When Frank bristled, Joshua waved him off. “Settle down, Frank. I’m only funnin’.”

  Joshua’s deep-blue eyes settled on Harrison. “Tell me about your womenfolk. I’m assuming you mean your wife and that sweet gal of hers. Addie, right?” He rubbed at his chin. “She’s just a babe. What happened?”

  Harrison propped a hip on the corner of the desk. “Morgan came sniffing around after I brought Retta and our daughter to the ranch. He frightened my wife. Then, a few days ago, he followed her back from town and accosted her on the road to the mine.” His back teeth ground together just thinking about it.

  Joshua’s face hardened. “He tried to force—”

  “You heard right. Didn’t succeed thanks to one of our men running him off. According to Retta, Morgan also made threats toward Addie.” Harrison leaned in so the sheriff didn’t miss his next words. “Either you do something, or I will.”

  Joshua sighed. “All right, simmer down.” He tugged on a desk drawer and fumbled around, unearthing a pencil broken in half and a piece of grit-stained paper. “Tell me everything you know.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The second the jail door slammed behind them, Frank growled, “Not enough evidence. That’s pure horseshit.”

  “Then we’ll find some evidence.” Harrison didn’t like it any more than Frank, but he couldn’t blame the sheriff. “Without a witness, it’s Retta’s word against Morgan’s. A woman’s word doesn’t hold much sway against a man’s. And Peter really didn’t see anything.”

  “Well, it ain’t right.”

  Harrison nodded. “Fair or not, that’s how it is.”

  Frank pulled his bandana from around his neck and mopped his face. “Let’s head to the mine. More than one of the men must’ve seen Brody sneaking around. I’m thinking Mills might bend under the right kind of pressure.”

  Harrison rubbed his shirtsleeve across his forehead, catching the sweat before it dripped into his eyes. The thought of spending the rest of the day in the miserable suffocation of the mines didn’t hold a speck of appeal. Worth it, though, if they got hold of the witness Sheriff Lang required.

  Maybe then he could go home to Retta. A cool bath sure as shit sounded good. Then falling into bed with his lovely bride. His cock pulsed at the image of Retta, naked and smiling up at him from a tub of water.

  Except Retta’s still sore at me.

  He turned to consider the girth of the wagon bed. Probably wide enough for one of those fancy washtubs he’d spotted at the mercantile. The old basin they’d been using wasn’t fit to bathe in any longer.

  In his mind’s eye, Harrison could visualize the pleased smile on his wife’s face when he presented her with such a gift.

  Reaching Copper, Harrison gave the stallion a scratch behind the ears, and waited for his brother to catch up. Finally, Frank settled onto the seat, releasing a string of colorful curses as he tried to find a comfortable spot.

  As Harrison grasped the bench bar to heft himself up, a husky, feminine voice called out, “Mister Carter.”

  Easing back to the ground, Harrison watched as Cat Purdue picked her way across the rutted street. In the bright sun her bronze hair gleamed, piled high on her head, a silly excuse for a hat clinging to her curls. The woman had fine taste in clothes. Even Harrison could spot quality when he saw it. Despite Cat’s chosen profession, she could easily dress the part of a lady when she wanted to.

  Holding her skirts high enough to reveal her laced-up leather boots, Cat paused near Copper’s head, crooning softly. She offered her free hand and the smitten horse dropped his nose into her palm, snuffling, his eyes closed as if ecstatic.

  Harrison watched in amazement. “You know, Copper doesn’t cotton to women much.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” Cat gave him a wink, but her smile faded when she spotted Frank.

  His ornery brother returned her annoyed stare, looking like he was sucking on a sour lemon. Just because the jackass couldn’t admit his attraction to the winsome Cat, didn’t mean Harrison would snub her.

  He gave her a welcoming smile. “Miss Purdue, you look lovely as always. Other than making my horse melt like butter, is there a reason you’ve graced us with your presence?” Had she heard something? Cat knew a great deal of what went on in this town. She sang for her supper at the popular Lucky Lady, but she also listened subtly and well.

  “Might I trouble you for a ride, Harrison? And the other Mister Carter, of course.” She nodded toward Frank, who grunted and turned away as if finding the front buckboard wheel fascinating.

  “Well, sure. As soon as I’m done over at the mercantile. Where can we take you?” Harrison placed his hands on Cat’s tightly corseted waist and lifted her to the bench. How the hell a woman can breathe in a contraption like that is beyond me. No wonder Retta refused to wear one most of the time.

  Cat settled herself gracefully on the wide seat. Harrison took note of the inches she managed to put between her pale green skirts and Frank’s leg. Snorting, he jumped up to the foot rest and plopped down next to Cat, catching the reins. “Miss Purdue? Destination?”

  “Now, you know you can call me Cat. I promised Nell Washburn I’d stop by for a bit.” She held up her arm. A frilly, beaded bag swung from her elbow. “I’ve got medicine for Clem. I wanted to look at his leg, too. Doc Sheaton can’t get out to the miners’ village until this evening, but I can change Clem’s bandages and get some of this pain medicine down the stubborn man’s gullet.”

  Frank tossed her a dismissive stare. “Laudanum, you mean. That stuff is rotgut. And when did you become a nurse?” His upper lip curled. “Then again, guess you’ve got plenty of drunken men at the saloon to practice on.”

  Harrison frowned at his brother’s lack of manners. “Frank, shut up.”

  “No, it’s all right.” With a haughty sniff, Cat ignored Frank and instead gave Harrison a sweet smile. “I apprenticed in Boston, with a well-known surgeon who maintained a small private school of nursing. Until my family decided my education cost too much, and made me come home.”

  She tilted her head toward Frank. “Is that acceptable to you, Mister Carter?” When he refused to answer, she abruptly presented her back to him and locked gazes with Harrison. “I heard something last night. Brody Mills sat at the bar, skunk-drunk and bragging about doing a job for Slim Morgan. I could have sworn he mumbled something about a mine.”

  Harrison frowned as he snapped the reins for Copper. The buckboard jerked forward and Cat grabbed the nearest arm—Frank’s—to steady herself. For once, his brother wasn’t complaining.

  A few yards from the mercantile, Harrison brought Copper to a halt.

  Frank snapped, “Now what?”

  Harrison hopped down. “I’m gonna ask Lang to bring Brody in, see what he knows.”

  ~ ~ ~

  A commotion at the front door had Retta hurrying from the kitchen to the parlor, where she stopped and gaped at what sat, perched on its side, halfway over the threshold.

  “Harrison, what on earth . . .? Is that a washtub?” She ventured closer, stretching out a hand toward the shiny copper surface. The metal felt warm against her fingertips.

  His head popped up over the riveted edge, damp tendrils clinging to his perspiring brow, eyes bright as they met hers across the wide expanse. “We needed a new one. That rusted heap of metal we’ve been using is going out to the barn for the horses as soon as possible.”

  “This is bigger than any washtub I’ve ever seen. It must have cost a fortune.” She studied the tub as Harrison rolled it through the parlor. It was fancy with a hammered surface and brass handles. She followed her husband, watching him maneuver the tub into a corner of the kitchen a few feet away from the cellar door.

  Settling it into place, Harrison dusted his hands off and stood back. “Last winter I did some work for Silas Loman. Told h
im someday I’d swap for a household item of equal value. When this tub came in a few days ago, I knew I wanted it.” He shot her a quick grin as he caught her close. “Probably big enough for two,” he whispered enticingly.

  Retta shivered at the brush of his lips against her ear. Although she hadn’t worked through all of her frustration and ire where his high-handedness was concerned, she couldn’t deny his muscular frame, so warm next to hers, sent prickles over her skin every place their bodies touched.

  Today’s decision, dragging the still-recuperating Frank into town and leaving Peter as her personal guardian, rankled. Yet at moments like this, when Harrison showed her such sweetness and consideration, she was hard-pressed to dwell on the ways he could get her dander up.

  Regretfully she eased away, fussing with her blouse. A sideways glance almost became her undoing, noting the hot glow in his eyes. Retta swallowed and mumbled, “Addie is in the parlor. Behave yourself, Mister Carter.”

  “Maybe I will,” Harrison drawled, a teasing glint in his eyes.

  As she moved toward the tub, he slapped her on the bottom.

  She whirled on her heel, firing him a glare.

  He winked at her. “Then again, maybe I won’t.”

  “Well, make an effort,” she suggested sternly, even as her belly fluttered like clean sheets in the wind.

  Peering inside the wide tub, Retta found it all too easy to imagine a wet, delightful frolic in warm water . . . with Harrison and his roaming, talented hands. It was hard to hold on to her pique when her body craved his touch. “I hope you know, filling that tub will drain the well.”

  “We’ve got a very deep well.” Harrison ran a hand along the rolled edge, then nodded toward the shiny interior. Invitation shone brightly from his heated gaze.

  Resolutely she turned toward the pantry. “I’m starting supper. Unless you want to pluck a chicken, I recommend you make yourself scarce.”