Three of the young girls who served drinks walked out from the back room where they had their breaks, all dressed for work. Preston swung his attention to the bar where Pat stacked clean glasses, the bar spotless. His manager, David Links, checked the card tables, replacing cards that were worn.
Yes, indeed, they were ready for the night’s business. With his added duties due to the building of the restaurant and hotel, he was thankful he could count on his employees. He took one more glance around the room and, happy with all he saw, he gave Crystal a salute. “In that case, I believe I will go on home.”
“Have fun.” Crystal winked at him.
He knew what she meant, and he certainly hoped her words were true. He snapped his fingers and turned on his heel and walked to the bar. “Pat, give me a couple bottles of our best wine.”
He ignored Crystal’s snort, grabbed the bottles, and left the building.
Woody slammed open the jailhouse door and strode up to the marshal’s desk. The man sat on a chair with his feet propped up on the desk.
“Go back and close that door before I put you in jail,” the marshal growled.
“Put me in jail for what?”
“Annoying me.”
He turned and closed the door and came back, leaning over the marshal’s desk, his hands fisted on the stack of wanted posters. “Did you send Miranda to Santa Fe?”
Either the man was ready for the question or he truly had not done that. “Why do you ask that?”
“Don’t piss me off, Jones. I heard you had a few gals in this here jail about a month and a half ago and sent them all to Santa Fe to marry up with some loser men there. I want to know if my stepsister was one of them.”
“Now, why would you think that?”
Woody thumped the desk. “Because she killed my Pp. You knew about it so you must have arrested her. I ain’t seen nor heard of her since I came back. You won’t tell me why her ass is not sitting in jail right now.” He pointed his finger at the marshal. “I think you sent her out of town to keep me from giving the bitch what she deserves for what she’s done.”
“Get your finger out of my face.”
Woody stood up straight, a smile on his face. “Well, it looks to me like I’m gonna have to take a trip down to New Mexico territory and see for myself if my stepsister is there.”
Jones stood and came nose to nose with him. “You stay away from Santa Fe.”
“So, she is there.”
“I said no such thing. I don’t want you going down there and starting trouble. I know the sheriff in Santa Fe, and I’ll send him a wire to lock you up the minute you set foot in the town.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’ll kill someone and then the good sheriff can send me out of town to find me a wife. Ain’t that how things work here, Jones? Might be the same there.” With those words, he turned and left the building, slamming the door once more.
Marshal Jones ran his fingers through his hair. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone told Woody where Miranda was. He could send a wire to the sheriff there, but he didn’t trust the man to look out for Miranda.
He sat back down and considered what he’d been thinking about for quite a while. He was sick of Dodge City. Tired of breaking up fights, hauling drunk cowboys into jail to turn them loose to come back and do the same thing again. Hell, he was getting too old to keep doing this. Just like Miss Nellie said she was too old to start up again after the fire took her business.
Nellie.
Damn, but he missed that woman. Once she’d given up whorin’ herself and only allowed her customers to use the services of her girls, he found himself thinking more and more about how it would be to have her all to himself. Permanently.
With that bastard Woody heading down to Santa Fe and his years as a lawman losing its appeal, it might be time to turn in his badge and see what the fine town of Santa Fe had to offer. He’d saved plenty of money over the years so maybe it was time to retire. His lips parted in a wide smile.
And see what Miss Nellie was up to.
Preston unlocked the front door, and his stomach growled as he took in a whiff of something delicious. “Miranda?”
She came through the doorway from the kitchen, and his hunger—for food—disappeared. A simple blue-and-white striped cotton dress covered her body, outlining every delicious curve. A long apron protecting her clothing ran from her lovely breasts to her ankles, but what had him almost swallowing his tongue was her flushed cheeks surrounded by a mass of curls that had fallen from her hairdo and were plastered against her damp face.
She held a cooking spoon and grinned as her pink tongue came out to lick the spoon. “Um, tastes good.”
He groaned, wanting to grab her, cover her lips with his, and hustle her to the closest bedroom. Hell, he wouldn’t even need to do that. The sofa would work just fine. Trying his best to slow his heartbeat down lest he scare her to death, he walked slowly toward her. He placed the two bottles of wine on the closest table and covered her hand with his.
He licked where she had and smiled. “Yes. Tastes very good. What is it?”
“Chicken gravy.” Her darkened eyes never left his for an instant as she ran her pink tongue around her lips.
Again.
He’d had enough. Gathering her into his arms, he held her snugly and moved his mouth over hers, devouring its softness. Her body slumped, and she gave a slight moan. He tightened the arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her closer until he could feel her soft warm breasts pressed up against his chest.
Her mouth was his playground. He licked, sucked, nibbled, and soothed, all the time holding her head in a position to give him the greatest access. After a few minutes, he pulled away, gasping for breath. She dropped her head on his chest with a sigh of pleasure as her trembling limbs clung to him.
He murmured against her lips. “What do you say we skip dinner and test out that bed upstairs?”
She shook her head and backed up, not leaving his embrace, but putting definite space between them. “No. I have dinner all ready.” Her face was even more flushed, and her deep breaths drew his eyes to her delectable breasts.
There was no need to rush her since they had all night, plus the bottle of wine he would open with dinner. He had her warmed up and was pretty sure they would end up with tangled limbs and sweaty sheets before they fell asleep.
He took a deep breath and dropped his arms and tapped her on the nose. “I must say, dinner smells wonderful.”
Hand in hand, they strolled to the kitchen. Steam rose from pot boiling on the stove and a lovely, golden chicken sat on the table, ready to be carved.
“I can cut up the chicken.” He’d never done it before, but how difficult could it be? He rattled around in the drawer until he located a knife.
“No. Not that one.” She pulled the knife from his fist and handed him another one, a smirk on her face. “Have you ever carved a chicken before?”
“Ah, not exactly.”
She covered her mouth and laughed. “Well, go ahead and try. I’ll get the rest of dinner on the table.”
He hacked, sawed, cut, tore, and pulled, all the while Miranda glancing at him from time to time as she bustled around the kitchen. Finally, the chicken looked ravaged, but there were slices and pieces of meat on the platter. If he was going to be a respectable businessman, husband, and father, he had to learn these things. He proudly picked up the meat and set it in the middle of the table along with the glazed carrots, mashed potatoes, creamy gravy, and biscuits. “Darlin’ I’m going to be unable to fit into my clothes in another few weeks.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder and looked at the feast. “I think I did go a little overboard. Frankie and Woody had ferocious appetites.” She immediately looked as if she was sorry she’d made that last statement.
He pulled her chair out, and after she sat he took the seat across from her and reached for the dish of potatoes. “Tell me a little bit about your stepfather. I believe you said yo
ur mother re-married after your father passed away.”
Her face flushed once again, but not from passion or the heat from the kitchen. It was obvious she was uncomfortable with the subject. He was certain from the start that she was hiding secrets. Maybe she trusted him enough now to tell him.
“Yes. She married Frankie Smith a little over a year after Papa died.”
“How did your mother and stepfather die?” He knew so little of this wife of his. He’d only learned she was sent down to Santa Fe with other ladies by the marshal of Dodge City when she told the story to the town council. At the time he was so overjoyed at having been given the permit, he forgot until now to ask her about that.
Her breathing picked up, and she placed the bowl of carrots back on the table with shaky hands.
“What’s wrong, Miranda?”
She tried to smile, but she didn’t quite make it. “Nothing. I guess I’m just a bit tired.” She hopped up. “I forgot the coffee. Turn your cup over.”
Preston watched her as she made her escape, which was the only word that fit her exit from the dining room. She took more than a few minutes to return, holding the coffeepot with a towel. Whatever had rattled her was no longer evident. Her face was no longer flushed, and her breathing had returned to normal. For the sake of a calm meal and what he planned for after dinner, he decided to drop the subject of her parents. But one day, he needed to delve into that subject.
Was that the secret she was hiding?
Chapter 9
Miranda breathed a sigh of relief when Preston dropped the subject of her parents. She’d known it was merely a matter of time before he questioned her about her background. The fact that she told the town council that she came to Santa Fe at the request of and with the help of the marshal was sure to raise questions in any man’s mind.
She was smart enough to sense the protectiveness in Preston as well as his growing feelings for her. The same feelings she was afraid were dancing around her heart. She could not allow that to happen. One year ago, if she were asked what she wanted in a husband, she would have described Preston. Strong, caring, easy to look at, no excessive alcohol, financially secure.
Well, it was not to be so she might as well push any ideas about them together forever from her mind.
They finished up the dinner, along with one of the bottles of wine Preston had brought home with him. She’d never had wine with her dinner before but found it made the food taste better and relaxed her quite a bit. Thankfully, she’d only had one glass and Preston finished the rest since she was feeling a bit lightheaded.
Preston helped her clear the table and dried the dishes as she washed them. As she was drying her hands on a towel, he walked up behind her and wrapped her in his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder. “How about if we relax in the parlor for a while? It’s early. Maybe you can read some Shakespeare.”
Remembering his statement about them reading Shakespeare while cuddled in bed brought a flush to her face. Having him this close also did strange things to her insides. Even though she was untouched, she knew where this was headed if she allowed things to continue. Perhaps it was the wine, or the new house, or just Preston’s effect on her, but she heard the sound of her determination shattering like a glass dropped on the floor.
“I don’t have any Shakespeare. All my books are still in Dodge City.” Lord, she could have bitten her tongue off. Here she went and opened up the subject of her past again. Marshal Jones had asked her if she wanted to get anything from her house before they’d left for Santa Fe, but she shuddered at the thought of entering that house again. To see the spot where she shot Frankie and he collapsed in front of her, blood puddling on the floor. So, she left Dodge City with the clothes on her back and a few personal items that Miss Nellie bought for each girl. That would certainly seem strange to Preston.
She fumbled, knowing her face had grown red again. “With the three of us in the wagon, there wasn’t room for us to take much with us.” Hoping that kept him from asking any more questions, she gave him a bright smile. “We can go over your business books. I did some more work today.”
Preston dropped his chin on his chest. “No, sweetheart, I don’t want to go over the books. Let’s just make a small fire in the fireplace and open that other bottle of wine. Just sit by the fire and talk.”
She was tempted to say, “Talk about what?” but not wanting to again curse herself for her loose tongue, she kept quiet and just nodded. “Yes. That would be pleasant.”
As pleasant as it could be with her dodging any more questions.
Preston grabbed a colorful knitted blanket she’d purchased from the mercantile to decorate the sofa and dragged it to the floor in front of the fireplace. He took the flint box from the mantle and started a fire while she sat on the sofa watching him work. He stood and shrugged out of his jacket, then removed his vest and tie, leaving off his collar as well and opening the first two buttons of his shirt.
Her eyes grew wide, wondering if he planned to strip right there in front of her. She took a deep breath at the sight of the opening at the top of his shirt with the oil lamp on the table casting a light on his golden skin with whispers of dark curly hair.
She didn’t realize she was staring with her mouth open until he stepped up to her and placing his finger under her chin pushed her mouth closed. He grinned. “You might catch flies that way, darlin’.”
There was no way he missed her red face now. She licked her lips and looked up at him. He groaned and reached out to pull her up, tucking her against his chest. “Keep looking at me like that Mrs. Stone, and I will be removing your clothes.”
Parts of her body she’d rarely been aware of came to life. Her nipples that were pressed up against his warm chest hardened, and the area between her legs tingled. She felt restless, and her clothes seemed tight all of a sudden. And the heat! The fire had just begun, and yet she was already overheated and sweating.
Almost as if he knew what she was feeling, he smirked and pulled her even closer, taking her mouth in a delicious kiss. He nudged her lips with his tongue and she opened, once again enjoying the strange sensation of his tongue in her mouth. Tentatively, she pushed her tongue against his and he sucked in a deep breath and cupped her head to shift positions.
His kiss grew more explosive, possessive, and demanding. She wrapped her arms around his waist to keep herself upright. Then, just as she thought she would expire for lack of air, he pulled away. “Breath, sweetheart.” They were both panting as he scattered small kisses from her jaw to the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Let’s skip the fire and go upstairs to bed.”
How she wanted to do that, but somewhere in the back of her mind a thought nudged her that it was a bad idea. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh, honey, I think it’s a wonderful idea.” He continued his assault on her senses, pushing further back her reason for resistance. He cupped her breast and ran his thumb over her nipple.
“Yessss.”
“I’m glad you agree.” Before she could tell him she was referring to how good that felt, not the idea of them racing toward a bed, he scooped her up and headed to the stairs.
Preston took the stairs two at a time in the race to their bedroom. Once they entered the room and he kicked the door closed, he released Miranda, sliding her body down his. She sucked in a breath, telling him her body had grown sensitive with his kisses.
Assuming as a preacher’s daughter she was a virgin, he had to go slow, but on the other hand if he went too slow she might begin to remind him she only wanted a marriage of convenience. Nonsense.
With the way she responded to him, he couldn’t imagine why she would continue to hold out. She seemed to have no good reason for this, except the fact that they had been strangers. Well, no more. They were married, had enjoyed some pretty hot kisses and shared the same bed even if they hadn’t done anything more than sleep.
It was time to make her his wife in every way. Everything else about hi
s marriage was perfect. He still had moments when he couldn’t believe this wonderful woman had been dropped into his lap just when he needed her the most. The doubts that tease him about this very thing had been shoved to the back of his mind.
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Still clothed, he laid her on the bed and joined her, resting partly over her body. He placed his hands on both sides of her head. “You are so beautiful. And I want you so much, to feel you underneath me with passion darkening your eyes.”
Her slow smile boiled his blood. He covered her mouth as his hands kept busy unbuttoning her shirtwaist. He was stunned to feel her fingers unfastening the buttons on his shirt as well. It seems his wife had decided to join the party. His cock shouted hooray.
He worried about losing control, taking her too fast, frightening her. She seemed to be as anxious as he was, but he was the experienced one in this, and he needed to remember this was his wife, not some doxy from a brothel.
Before long they’d frantically removed all her clothes and everything of his except his drawers. He ran his hand over her body, relishing the dips and curves. She had generous breasts with brown nipples just begging for his mouth. She carried a few more pounds than some women, but she was just the right size for him. He’d always disliked bedding a woman with no more than skin and bones, always being afraid of breaking them or getting jabbed with a sharp elbow.
Miranda had a body a man could hang onto. Soft, cushiony, warm, sweet-smelling. He slid further down and took one of her pouting nipples in his mouth, gave it a suck that brought a moan of pleasure from her sweet lips. He moved his head to minister to the other nipple while she fisted her hands in his hair.
“Oh, I love how that feels. Don’t stop.”
“Darlin’ we’re just getting started.” He continued for a few more minutes while she moved restlessly on the bed. Feeling her growing close to release, he moved back up, his large hand taking her face and holding it gently. Nibbling on her lips before reclaiming her mouth with hunger, he was overcome with her taste, smell, and soft mewing sounds. His heart pounded with the need to take her, make her his.
Prisoners of Love: Miranda (Prisoners of Love Book 4) Page 7
