Her smile slipped. “Do you promise to love me even on those days I forget to trust?”
“I will love you always.” Tears misted her eyes. He couldn’t stand to see her cry. He pulled her in for another kiss. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t spank you when it’s called for.”
He slapped her sexy ass for emphasis. Then, because she tightened and squealed so delightfully, he did it again, shivering as those hot, silky muscles clenched around him and another drop of fluid followed the first, bathing them both in desire. “But just to be clear, this is how it’s going to be between us,” he managed to grind out through the haze of lust. “First you’re going to fuck me, then we’re going over to drag the judge out of bed and then—”
She worked down on him. Taking a quarter, a half, and it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.
He thrust. She gasped as she took him all, her nails digging into his chest. “And then?”
“And then,” he gritted out, tilting her head back farther. “You’re going to stand in front of him, still wet with my seed, and you’re going to make an honest man out of me.”
“I am?”
“You are.”
On a soft, pleasure-filled sigh, she sealed their fate.
* * *
IT DIDN’T GO the way Ace had planned. The judge wouldn’t get up. By the time he did answer the door, Hester was awake. As soon as the word wedding was mentioned, all control slipped out of Ace’s hands and into the women’s. His access to Petunia had been cut off, and even his time with her had become limited because of all the plans that somehow “had to happen” in addition to the holidays. Now a month later, Christmas had come and gone, and he was standing at the altar, the bluest balls a man ever had tucked inside his pants, family and friends filling the pews, waiting for Pet to formally give herself to him.
He folded his hands in front of him and immediately changed his mind when his ribs protested. Beside him, Luke chuckled.
“Petunia’s dad weighed in a bit heavily on his daughter’s pregnancy?”
He wasn’t happy. But Ace was. In a soul-deep way he’d never expected to feel.
He touched his tender rib. He’d have been happier if Petunia’s dad wasn’t a big Swede with fists like sledgehammers and an uncompromising attitude. “The son of a bitch wouldn’t approve the marriage without tossing an opinion.”
Cocking his eyebrow, Luke asked quietly, “How many of those opinions did he land?”
“Three or four?” Truthfully, the first had left him so befuddled, he’d lost track. Been a long time since a man had been able to do that to Ace. Jarl Wayfield was a man to be reckoned with. The grudging respect irritated him even more.
“Shit, didn’t you fight back at all?”
But not as much as that comment. It was Ace’s turn to cock a brow. “He’s going to be my father-in-law. What do you think?”
“I think you should have forgotten he’s going to be your father-in-law. That man has fists as big as a summer ham.”
Ace pressed that tender spot again. “No shit.”
Another clearing of his throat from the reverend.
“Oh, give it a rest, padre.”
“We are in the Lord’s house.”
“Can’t be disrespecting the Lord now, Ace,” Tucker offered helpfully from where he sat with his wife, Sallie Mae. Even sitting he towered over everyone.
“Especially when you’re skating on thin ice with His good graces as it is,” Caine added.
The front four pews were filled with the men of Hell’s Eight and their women. Only Sam and his Bella couldn’t make it. Center front was Tia and her husband, Ed. He wanted to pitch every smirking one of them out the brand-spanking-new stained-glass windows. The men anyway. “Why don’t you send out a telegraph, all of you?”
So far no one outside the family knew for sure of Petunia’s pregnancy.
“We considered it,” Tracker tossed out.
“Even had my horse saddled up,” Tracker’s twin, Shadow, said too casually in that quiet, powder-keg way he had.
“What stopped you?”
It was Caden who answered. “Her father stepped off the stage.”
“Those boys sending that letter saved me a heap of trouble.”
Ace glared at Shadow. “If you wanted a fight so much where were you when he was kicking my ass?”
“Close enough to interfere if necessary.”
That Ace didn’t doubt. “You want a thanks for almost stepping in.”
Shadow bared his teeth in that cold smile of his. “Wouldn’t hurt.”
Luke covered a laugh in a cough.
“It’s not more than he deserved, taking advantage of Petunia like that,” Maddie muttered loud enough for the whole congregation to hear.
“Damn it, Maddie. I asked her to marry me.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“Actually—” The preacher began.
“It doesn’t!” Maddie snapped.
Ace sighed. No, it didn’t. “I’m sorry, Maddie. I know she’s your friend.” Too much of Maddie’s past haunted her for her to be relaxed when it came to the people she loved.
Caden took Maddie’s hand and tucked it under his arm. “Petunia is marrying the man she loves. Focus on that, Maddie. She loves him.”
Ace rubbed his bruised jaw. Another gift from Petunia’s father. With a name like Wayfield, he’d been expecting someone small and...businesslike. Not a bruiser like Jarl. Not even Tucker hit that hard. “No shit.”
The preacher frowned at him. Frustration had Ace snapping, “The good Lord bore up under worse than a cussword in his day.”
“Easy, Ace.”
“I’m not some damned horse pitching a fit at the sight of a bridle, Luke.”
“Didn’t say you were, but you are jittery.”
“Hell.” Ever since last night’s confrontation with his soon-to-be father-in-law, Ace had been possessed of an odd emotion. This morning he’d finally identified it. Fear. He was afraid Petunia wouldn’t walk down that aisle today. Jarl Wayfield had made it very clear he had enough money and influence to buy his daughter out of anything, including the scandal of being an unwed mother.
A door hinge creaked at the back of the church. A squeak from the stool in front of the organ as Hester checked the disturbance. Turning back, she caught his eye as she flexed her fingers. “It’s that time. If you’re going to bolt, best do it now.”
“I’m where I want to be.”
“Let’s hope Petunia feels the same,” Luke hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
“Shut up, Luke.” He didn’t need his fears made real by speech.
Luke patted his coat pocket. “Just in case, I brought a flask.”
Ace’s response to that would have had him thrown out of the church if just then the organ hadn’t wailed with one long, discordant note.
“Oops. Sorry about that,” Hester apologized. “It’s been a while.”
She started again. The notes flowed. Ace clenched his fist. The door opened. For a heartbeat, nothing filled it. Something was shoved into his hand. Inside, a growl started. Where was Petunia? There’d be hell to pay if she thought she’d get out of this. If he had to, he’d follow her all the way to Massachusetts and drag her ass back. Let her daddy buy her out of that scandal. He started for the back of the church. Luke grabbed his arm. “Hold on. She’s coming.”
And so she was. Dressed in a pale blue dress with a fitted bodice and a voluminous skirt, a white veil covering the pale blond of her hair in a shimmering cloud, she walked beside her father, head high. Around her neck she wore his wedding gift. To others it looked like a gold necklace with an intricate clasp. Only they knew the significance of the collar. Only they needed to.
Luke elbowed him in
the side. “Smile before you send her packing with all that glowering.”
Ace didn’t feel like smiling. He felt like...fetching his bride. Shoving the flask back at Luke, he did just that. Ignoring the murmur of the crowd, he met her halfway. Jarl frowned. Petunia smiled wider.
“Hi.”
The gold of the collar glowed through the mesh. “Hello, my Pet.”
“I detest that nickname,” Jarl snapped, his blue eyes so like his daughter’s flaring beneath the thick head of graying blond hair.
Ace didn’t spare Jarl a glance. “Then I won’t call you it.”
The man said something in his native tongue. Pews creaked as Tucker stepped free. Sallie Mae caught his arm. “Tucker!”
Ignoring the commotion with her usual calm, Petunia stood on tiptoe and tugged her father down so she could kiss his cheek. “Daddy?”
“What?”
She turned and faced Ace. Beneath the veil her fingers touched the choker. Love and confidence lit her smile as she said loud enough for everyone to hear. “This is my choice.”
Four words he hadn’t even known he needed to hear. Four words that shredded fear and replaced it with a bone-deep joy. With a crook of his finger he motioned her closer. With a cheeky smile, she took a small step. Terrance and Phillip alternately cheered and groaned. Hester just beamed.
He shook his head and pointed to the spot directly in front of him. Two more steps and she was there.
“Lift the veil.”
She did. She was so beautiful, her eyes bright and shining, her skin flushed and glowing. She was radiant. His wife. His lover. The soon-to-be mother of his child. His other half.
“Now, kiss me.”
“Right here?”
He nodded. “Right here. Before God, our family and friends. Pledge yourself to me, Petunia Wayfield.”
Her hands slid up the wool of his suit. Her legs pressed against his through the layers of clothing. The bliss of contact.
“Here, now?” the reverend protested. “But I haven’t performed the ceremony yet.”
“Looks like they’re doing their own,” Caine observed.
And they were. Hands linked behind his neck, Petunia tugged him down, breathing into his kiss as his mouth met hers. “I give myself to you, Ace Parker. All I am, all I ever will be, I give in to your care. You are my choice. For this lifetime and for all the ones to come, I’m yours.”
He inhaled the vow, taking it deep, feeling it sink into that hollow core that had only known wildness for so long. Feeling it expand, filling all the nooks and crannies until certainty ruled. The words when they came, came from there. Her gift magnified and reflected back. Slipping his hand under the bun at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back just a little more, he felt that quiver of pleasure that always went through her when he took control. And it was his turn to smile. The only time he’d bet on the wild card. And he’d won. Grabbing her around the waist, he spun her a quarter turn.
“I goddamn love you, Petunia Parker. With everything in me, I love you and always will.”
He kissed her then, hard and deep, letting his love, his passion, his everything, pile into that kiss. Stealing her balance and her breath in one smooth dip. It was hot. It was torrid. It was scandalous. He couldn’t imagine it ending. Fifty years from now he’d be kissing her just like this and she’d be taking it, begging for more, just like this, because she was who she was and he was who he was and together they were...this. Heat. Magic. Balance. Perfect. Around them he heard cheering, shocked exclamations, protests. He didn’t fucking care. He had his Pet. The world was right.
His smile faded. Seeing the question in her eyes, it was his turn to whisper. He only had one word. One word to convey his love. His guidance. His loyalty. His protection. His forever.
His thumb pressed the delicate gold collar against her throat. “Mine.”
All question disappeared.
It was enough.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from CADEN’S VOW by Sarah McCarty.
“Another mind-blowing installment of The Hell’s Eight…a remarkable story.”
—Fresh Fiction on Caden’s Vow
If you loved Ace’s Wild, be sure to catch the rest of Hell’s Eight, the steamy Wild West series by
New York Times bestselling author Sarah McCarty:
Caden’s Vow
Shadow’s Stand
Tracker’s Sin
Tucker’s Claim
Sam’s Creed
Caine’s Reckoning
Available wherever ebooks are sold.
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CHAPTER ONE
HELL’S EIGHT WAS doing Tia proud. Caden Miller looked around at the normally peaceful garden Tia had started and Tucker’s wife, Sally Mae, now helped maintain, at all the people crammed into its well-tended confines to celebrate Tia and Ed’s wedding, and couldn’t help a smile. Ten years ago he wouldn’t have given a snowball’s chance in hell that Caine could pull off his dream. But like the others, where Caine had led, Caden had followed. And Caine’s drive to succeed was evident in the sturdy outbuildings, the assortment of equally sound houses and the contentment reflected in the faces of those in attendance. The men of Hell’s Eight weren’t just content; they were flourishing. They were settling down, marrying, having children, sinking their roots deep into the east Texas soil. Of the original eight, only he, Ace and Luke remained footloose and fancy-free. Something that should have pleased him but instead had him feeling a pang of...envy? Shit. Since when did he feel envy for something he didn’t even want? He wasn’t a settling man. He’d always been as restless as his father before him. As all the Hell’s Eight used to be.
Glancing around the garden, at the tables laden with food, at the couples standing side by side, the contented smiles where he was used to seeing hardness and purpose, Caden again felt that strange tightness in his gut. Hell’s Eight was changing. The reckless rage that had driven them for so many years had smoothed into something just as durable but...calmer. Caden rolled his shoulders. He didn’t like calm, but it seemed to be settling all right with Hell’s Eight’s most notorious members. Shadow, Tracker and Tucker, three of the most feared men in the territory, known for reckless deeds that were as dark as their looks, were hovering over their wives, every bit the doting husbands. Caine and Sam, wild men known for getting the job done no matter what, were looking as confident as rich bankers—that is, if one discounted the subtle tension in their muscles and the alertness in their gaze that spoke of men accustomed to surviving by their wits. Not to mention the guns strapped to their thighs and the knives tucked into their belts. Shit, they were all going soft, and if he stayed here, so would he.
Caden sighed and took a drink of the fancy champagne Desi had ordered all the way from Chicago for Tia and Ed’s wedding. It tasted like cat piss to him, but what did he know of the finer things? He was the son of an Irish nomad, a dreamer. A man who’d sworn his pot of gold was just over the next horizon, around the next bend. Caden had a brief mental flash of his father’s face. Rigid with determination as he’d told Caden to hide when the Mexican army had raged into their town. He’d been seven going on eight, anticipating the gun his father had promised him for his birthday two days hence. He hadn’t wanted to hide. He’d wanted to fight, but his father hadn’t given him any choice. He’d shoved him into the hidey-h
ole under the kitchen floor, and on a gruff “Remember who you are, son,” he’d replaced the planks above him and left him in the dark. Those were the last words his father had ever spoken to him. His mother he hadn’t found until...after. She’d been at the mercantile when the army came.
Caden took another swallow of the champagne, wishing it were something stronger. There were times when a man just needed something to drown out the noise of the past, but champagne wasn’t whiskey, and the memories kept coming. He’d lain beneath the floorboards for what seemed hours, listening to the shouts and screams, wincing at the gunshots, straining to hear his father’s voice, feeling helpless and scared until he couldn’t stand it anymore.
By the time he’d climbed out of the hole, the battle was over. He’d never forget the smell that struck him as he’d stood—gunpowder, smoke and...blood—nor the carnage that spread out beyond his front door. Bodies of friends and neighbors littered the road like trash left by the wind, changing the street from familiar to macabre. He’d found his father’s body lying in the doorway of the still-burning mercantile, his head caved in on the right side, blood pooled around his shoulders. His father’s legs had been on fire as Caden had dragged his body into the street. The stench of burning flesh fused indelibly into his memory that day as he’d beaten out the fire consuming his father’s body with his bare hands. He hadn’t felt the pain, hadn’t felt anything. And when he’d looked up and seen Sam, his expression had reflected the blankness that Caden felt. And then he’d learned what Sam already knew. Everything that had made up their lives was gone. The town. Their parents. Their childhood.
The only survivors of the massacre were the eight friends. By agreement, none had buried their own parents. They’d thought it would help. It hadn’t. And, also by agreement, they’d vowed revenge. Extracting justice one by one as they grew up, earning the label of Hell’s Eight along the way. Caden didn’t know what would have become of them if Tia hadn’t caught them that day, starving, stealing that pie, and taken them under her wing. They sure as shit wouldn’t have become Texas Rangers. Tia was one in a million. Strength and softness mixed in one. If he ever met another woman like her, he’d marry her in a minute.
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