Outlaw's Bride

by Maureen McKade

  “Be home by suppertime.”

  He nodded, then scampered away. Mattie remained by the window to watch her son race across the yard to the barn where Herman lived in a small room. A few minutes later the two walked down the road toward their favorite fishing hole, poles in hand.

  As she watched them, Herman blurred and was replaced by the tall, lean figure of Clint Beaudry. Would it be so bad to allow Andy to visit with Beaudry?

  She recalled Sheriff Atwater’s assurances that Beaudry wouldn’t harm her son. Maybe it was time Mattie began to trust him a little, especially after overhearing his conversation with her son.

  She put the clean clothes away and resolutely walked into her patient’s room. Beaudry’s unreadable gaze settled on her immediately.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. St. Clair,” he said.

  Mattie suppressed a sensual shiver at the exaggerated drawl in his voice and inclined her head in acknowledgment. “How’re you feeling, Mr. Beaudry?”

  “You don’t want to know,” he grumbled.

  She couldn’t help but smile, and the tension in her muscles eased. “Let me guess. You’re restless, but if you move around, your wound hurts like the devil. So you just lie there, getting angrier by the minute until some innocent bystander like myself walks in and you take out your short temper on her.”

  Surprise lit his handsome face, then a boyish grin captured his lips and sent Mattie’s heart racing. “Either you’re a mind reader or you made a lucky guess.”

  “An educated guess. I’ve helped Dr. Murphy take care of other patients.” She moved to his bedside, all too aware of his masculine interest in her. “And everybody I’ve dealt with, except Herman, who searches for reasons to sleep, has felt the same way.”

  “Herman?”

  “He came with this place and helps me take care of Andy.” Mattie motioned toward the sheet covering his chest. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

  Clint had immediately noticed a change in her demeanor toward him. The fact that she’d smiled for the first time boded well for his chances of getting to know her better.

  He lifted his arms off the covers. “Be my guest.”

  As she leaned over him to fold the blankets back, his gaze flickered to the high breasts her apron and plain clothes couldn’t hide. All he had to do was raise his hand a few inches and his palm would be treated with the soft fullness of her breast. His blood heated, tempting him to touch her, but he recalled her admonition about throwing him out the window. Clint had little doubt she’d do just that.

  “Have you lived here long?” he asked, hoping to sidetrack his lusty imagination.

  “Most of my life. My parents were killed when I was eight, then I was placed in the Children’s Home in Green Valley.”

  “That must’ve been tough.” Clint and his five siblings had had two loving parents. He couldn’t even imagine how difficult it had been for Mattie, orphaned and alone at such a young age.

  “Yes, it was.”

  Her head dipped close to his and her now-familiar scent of roses tickled his nose. He concentrated on the ache in his side as she checked his wound. Her fingertips brushed his skin and blood pooled in his groin. The bullet wound certainly hadn’t affected anything down there.

  “What about you, Mr. Beaudry? Where are you from?” she asked in a friendlier voice.

  Grateful for something to sidetrack his body’s response, Clint said, “Texas. The only time I’d left was when I fought in the war.”

  “That was a terrible thing,” she said softly. “I knew families who were destroyed by split loyalties, and others who lost all their sons.”

  She rested her warm palm on his chest a moment, and he was afraid she could feel the thundering of his heart. Finally, she covered him with the sheet and ended the sweet torture. He focused on his breathing to sidetrack the delicious sensations the widow had aroused.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked.

  His gaze caught her concerned violet eyes. “No, that’s all right.”

  “You don’t look all right.”

  She leaned so near that he could see faint freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. A few tendrils of shiny dark hair had come free of the loose bun at the base of her neck and framed her face. Her full lips were pursed in thoughtfulness, and Clint wondered how they would taste.

  “I’m a man who says what’s on his mind,” he began with a husky voice. “And right now, you’re on my mind.”

  Her cheeks reddened and she leaned back, well away from him. “I don’t understand.”

  “I think you do. You’re a widow—you know about a man’s needs, and you’re a powerful temptation, ma’am.” Shocked indignation widened her eyes and she tried to escape, but Clint grabbed her wrist. “Listen to me before you run off in a huff.”

  “Why should I?”

  Damn, this hadn’t been the answer he’d hoped for. “Because you should know this,” he said in a low voice. “I want you, Mattie St. Clair, but I won’t take anything you don’t want to give.”

  “Then you won’t be getting anything!”

  Her spirited reply made him chuckle, but he regretted it when pain sliced through his side. He released her and put a hand against the wound. “Even when you’re saying no, those eyes of yours blaze like heat lightning, tempting even the saints.” An ache more powerful than his wound tightened Clint’s gut. “And I ain’t no saint, lady.”

  She studied him, her expression revealing nothing of her thoughts. “Thank you for being honest with me, and I’ll extend you the same courtesy,” she said stiffly. “I may be a widow, but that doesn’t mean I’m easy pickings for a drifting man. You don’t have anything I need or want, so I’ll ask you to refrain from mentioning this ever again.”

  “Is there another man?”

  Her gaze sidled away from his. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, there is.”

  It had been foolish of him to believe a woman as beautiful as her wasn’t being courted by someone. Unless all the men in this town were blind, which wasn’t likely.

  “All right,” he ceded.

  She seemed startled that he would capitulate so easily, but Clint Beaudry wasn’t about to pursue a woman who clearly didn’t have any interest in him. There was enough gentleman left in him to bow out gracefully.

  “I heard you and Andy talking a little while ago,” she said.

  “It was my fault,” he said. “I called him in because I couldn’t stand another minute of my own company.”

  Her lips hinted at a smile. “I can understand that.” She crossed her arms beneath her bosom and her gaze strayed to the window. “Andy never knew his father, Mr. Beaudry. He died before he was born.”

  “I’m sorry,” Clint said awkwardly.

  “It was ten years ago. I’d only been married to him a couple weeks.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she inhaled deeply. “I was sixteen at the time. Jason was twenty-two and the most exciting man I’d ever met.”

  Clint wasn’t certain he wanted to hear about the man she’d married. Especially one she’d obviously loved a great deal.

  She turned around to face him once more. “Do you have children, Mr. Beaudry?”

  His stomach clenched. “No.”

  He and Emily had wanted children in the beginning, but they’d been unable to have them. Maybe if they’d had a family, Clint would have resigned his U.S. marshal position and Emily would still be alive.

  “If you ever do, you’ll know why I worry about my son so much.” She paused, and he looked over at her to find her eyes blazing with intensity. “Don’t hurt him, Mr. Beaudry, or so help me God, you’ll curse the day you ever came here. Do I make myself clear?”

  A she-grizzly protecting her cubs had nothing over this woman. “I understand,” he replied solemnly.

  Her mouth eased into a tremulous smile. “All right. I won’t forbid Andy to visit you anymore, and once you’re on your feet, I’m sure he’d enjoy taking you fishing if you’d like to go.”

&
nbsp; Warmth spread into Clint’s long-frozen heart. How long had it been since anyone had given him that kind of trust? What had changed her mind about him?

  “I’d like that,” he said softly.

  She cleared her throat and turned toward the door. “If you’re going to heal, you have to rest.”

  He nodded reluctantly, and his fingers curled into fists—he couldn’t afford to stay in this bed much longer. The longer he did, the colder the murderer’s trail became.

  “I’ll bring your supper up to you later.” She walked out, leaving him alone.

  He closed his eyes, and images of Mattie St. Clair dressed in a frilly white camisole and drawers with her long black hair spilling across her breasts bedeviled him. She had made her position crystal clear.

  But that didn’t mean he had to give her up in his dreams.

  Mattie had almost an hour to weed the vegetables before supper would be ready. Removing her apron, she tossed it on a chair and grabbed her wide-brimmed hat to protect her face from the sun. She tied the ribbon strings beneath her chin, then went out to the porch, snagging her gardening gloves from the bench.

  As Mattie knelt in the dark soil, the hot sun beat down upon her back. Though she enjoyed working in her garden, she couldn’t help but think of the numerous other chores that had to be done, including Jewel’s evening milking and the peaches she’d hoped to pick today.

  Instead, she’d allowed her son to play while she toiled. She removed a glove and brushed her hand across her brow. Self-pity was a useless emotion. She’d spent too much time wallowing in it after Jason had died.

  Searching for something else to occupy her thoughts, she settled on Clint Beaudry. He’d surprised Mattie by speaking so frankly. She probably should have been outraged by his outspokenness, but her feminine vanity had appreciated his honesty. Besides, now that it was in the open, temptation could more easily be laid to rest.

  So why wasn’t she thinking about Kevin and wondering how he was faring? When he’d left Beaudry in her care, she’d hoped he would return quickly. But now Mattie wasn’t certain what she wanted.

  The late afternoon’s rays slanted across her back as she worked, and perspiration trickled down her brow and between her breasts. She ignored the discomfort, concentrating instead on the smell of the loamy earth and the ripening vegetables she tended so diligently.

  The sound of an approaching wagon drew her attention and Mattie shaded her eyes against the sun. As if her thoughts had conjured them up, she recognized the horse and buggy as Kevin’s, and her breath caught—not because she was glad to see him, but because now she might lose Clint’s company.

  She stood and walked over to the buggy as he drew it to a halt. Kevin climbed down and smiled, then leaned over to give Mattie’s cheek a chaste kiss. “Hello, Mattie.”

  “Kevin,” Mattie said, forcing a note of happiness in her voice. “How did things go with the influenza outbreak?”

  The doctor’s face grew somber. “We lost nine, seven of them children.”

  Mattie grasped Kevin’s hands. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

  He nodded, his expression easing. “I’m fine, and glad to be home.” He glanced at the house. “How’s Beaudry?”

  “He’s going to make it,” she replied, unable to keep the satisfaction from her voice.

  Kevin smiled slightly, but the gesture didn’t touch his eyes. “I knew you were the best nurse in the territory.” He glanced at the house. “I’d take him back to my place, but I’m on the way to deliver a baby. Would you mind keeping him here?”

  Warm relief filtered through Mattie. “No, that’s fine. We’ve reached an understanding.”

  He studied her, his intense gaze making Mattie nervous. “Are you sure it’s all right? I hated to leave him here in the first place.”

  She squeezed his slender hands reassuringly. “Don’t worry. He wouldn’t hurt us.”

  Something flickered in Kevin’s gray eyes. “As long as everything is all right.” He paused. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but I really have to go.”

  “I understand.” She released him. “Go on. Next time you stop by, you’ll have to stay for supper.”

  “I’d like that.” He smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

  Mattie watched the doctor climb back into the buggy, then lifted her hand in farewell as he rolled out of the yard.

  Clint would remain here until he was well enough to travel. She tried to tamp down the happiness within her, but couldn’t. It had been too long since something had made her feel this elated, and she was going to hold on to the feeling as long as possible.

  Mattie carried a tray of food up to Clint’s room. He lay on his back, snoring softly. His shaggy hair needed a trim and he hadn’t shaved since the day he’d been shot, but he still oozed a sensuality that lured Mattie like apple blossoms attracted a honeybee.

  Fine-looking specimen, Mattie. You’d be a fool to let him get away.

  She could almost hear Ruth’s voice in her head.

  Ruth had not approved of Mattie’s decision to never marry again. She had thought Mattie was being overly dramatic, denying herself the comfort of a man’s arms simply because she’d made a mistake with the first one.

  Mattie shoved the memories aside. Clint needed to eat and she’d have to wake him. She leaned over to touch him, but stopped before her hand reached his shoulder. He’d told her not to touch him, only to call his name to awaken him.

  “Mr. Beaudry.” His face remained relaxed in peaceful slumber. “Mr. Beaudry, time to eat,” she said more loudly. He shifted and lifted his arm, laying it across his eyes. This was getting her nowhere. “Clint,” she nearly shouted.

  He jerked awake and drew his arm away from his face. His green eyes were sleepy, but at least they were open.

  “What is it?”

  “Supper’s ready.”

  “First you tell me to get some rest, then you wake me up to tell me it’s time to eat. Next thing I know you’ll be waking me to tell me when it’s time to use the privy,” he grumbled.

  Mattie almost laughed. “I can wake you for that, too, if you’d like, Mr. Beaudry.”

  His scowl deepened, but there was a twinkle in his green eyes she hadn’t noticed before and her heart beat a little faster. “No, I don’t think you need to. Waking to you that often might give me other ideas.”

  Her cheeks warmed, ideas of her own flitting through her mind. “I think you’re strong enough to feed yourself now.” She set the tray down on his thighs, much too conscious of what lay beneath the covers.

  He picked up his fork as if it weighed a hundred pounds. “I’m not so sure of that.”

  “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”

  “What about three times?” he asked, his lips quirked upward.

  “Then shame on both of us,” she quipped. “I’ll come back in a little while to get your tray.”

  “You aren’t even going to keep me company?”

  She’d like nothing better, but the ground rules had been laid and she knew better than to tempt a man like him. “I have to set the table. Enjoy your supper.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Mrs. St. Clair,” Clint called.

  Stopping, she looked at him. “What?”

  “You have a smudge of dirt right”—he touched a spot on the left side of his jaw—“there.”

  Embarrassed, she rubbed the place on her own jaw.

  “It’s still there,” Clint said. “Come here.”

  She hesitated, then crossed to his bedside.

  He dipped a corner of his napkin into the glass of water on his tray. “Closer.”

  She leaned over him and he wiped away the dirt with the damp cloth while his other hand cupped her cheek. Her skin tingled where his fingers touched and her heart fluttered.

  “Were you working in the garden?” he asked, his warm breath fanning her neck.

  She nodded, unable to put two words together coherently.


  “There, I think I got it.” He released her and she straightened on trembling legs. “You should have Andy do some of that work.”

  “He likes to fish with Herman,” she said defensively.

  “And I’ll bet you have things you’d like to do, too. Instead, you do more than your share of the chores around here,” Clint said with far too much perception.

  She stiffened her spine. “You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

  Mattie hurried downstairs, away from the confusion Beaudry made her feel. Pausing in front of the stove, she lifted her fingers to her face where Clint had cradled her cheek in his palm. She closed her eyes as desire raced through her. Not even Jason had heated her blood like Clint Beaudry had done with such a simple gesture.

  Clint was just as dangerous as she’d thought—and the danger lay in his ability to arouse her with a single touch.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded of her patient one early morning two weeks after he’d been shot.

  Clint’s face was the color of chalk. “I’m getting dressed.”

  Mattie forced herself to remain standing just inside the doorway. She had a feeling her aid wouldn’t be well received by the proud man.

  She watched him struggle with a boot, amazed that he’d donned his trousers without any assistance. Though she’d often seen his bare chest, the sight of him partially clothed made her heart pound.

  He pressed a hand to his side and sank back on to the mattress.

  Mattie went to him to check his bandage and found fresh blood. “You’ve broken the wound open.”

  “I’m not going to lie in that bed another day,” he stated through thinned lips.

  “You’re only going to set back your healing if you don’t.”

  “I don’t give a damn.”

  “Mr. Beaudry, you will not swear in my house.”

  He glared at her and Mattie met his hostile gaze with an obstinacy that matched his. After a few moments, he relinquished his glower and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “You’re more cussed stubborn than my first horse.”

  “No doubt he was more intelligent than you, too,” Mattie said in a bantering tone.

  Beaudry’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “That he probably was, ma’am.” He glanced down at his bandage. “Is it bleeding bad?”