His wife. He liked the sound of that. Yes. He would make Elizabeth his wife. And, if she were willing to have the wedding soon, he might be able to make himself wait to claim her. It was an idea he’d never entertained, but it felt absurdly right. He sighed and gave her cheek a light kiss before he rose and went to the door.
• ♥ •
Elizabeth awoke the next morning feeling more refreshed than she had in days. She allowed herself the luxury of stretching fully and then curling languorously under the covers. Sunlight splashed across her bed and she could hear the first robins of spring singing in the tree outside her window. Miguel had said he loved her. And she loved him. She had never been so sure of anything in her life. What could be more right in her world?
Was the nineteenth century her world? She tried to push the thought away, but the voice was persistent. She sighed and reached over to open the drawer to the little table beside the bed. Picking up the fetish, she rolled it between her fingers, once again wondering how it had enabled her to time-travel.
The first two or three weeks she had obsessed over it, trying to remember exactly what her last words were before she’d gone to bed the night before Christmas. She’d repeated what she could remember over and over, thinking it would send her back.
Gradually, though, she lost the desire to try. More and more, Miguel’s century felt like home to her. Horses, not cars. Clean air that still smelled of sage and mesquite. No pollution. Talking to people, not social networking. No smart phones permanently attached to people’s ears. Real cooking, not take-out. Real family…Olga, Olaf, Raul and Miguel. Especially Miguel. A man of honor. A man who did the right thing because it was the right thing to do, not for any other reason. A man who had risked his life to rescue her. A man who said he loved her.
Miguel loved her. There couldn’t be anything more wonderful than that. Would she want to return to the twenty-first century, even if she knew how? No, she realized, she wouldn’t. Modern conveniences weren’t that important. This was her home now and she would make the most of it.
She tossed the fetish back into the drawer and hopped out of bed. If she hadn’t slept too late, maybe she could catch Miguel in the kitchen before the day’s work began. Just to feel his arms wrapping around her, drawing her body hard against his, his sensual lips brushing hers, then becoming more demanding—
She nearly bowled Olga over as she swung through the kitchen door. “Where’s Miguel?” she asked as she steadied the older woman.
“Ach, child. Sit.” Olga turned to finish scrambling the eggs in the skillet. “Miguel’s been gone most of the night.”
“Gone?” Elizabeth felt a sharp pang of disappointment stab through her.
“Ja. There’s been trouble at the fort on account of those Indians and what happened to you. He’ll be back as soon as the Army returns. Don’t you fret yourself.”
She spooned eggs onto a plate and heaped sizzling bacon beside them. “Now, eat.”
Elizabeth dutifully took a forkful of food. There was never any winning with Olga when it came to eating. Elizabeth had so wanted to see Miguel this morning. She wanted to make love. At long last. She sighed with pleasure at the thought, an intense passion kindling deep within her, ready to ignite into a blazing inferno. When was he coming home?
• ♥ •
Miguel rode into the ranch yard the next afternoon, the side of his face bruised and his eye swollen.
Elizabeth rushed out to him. “What happened? How badly are you hurt?”
He dismounted and gave her a kiss. “It’s nothing. Just a little skirmish with some men who didn’t think the Rangers were the law. They’ve joined the braves in the brig now.” He looked around for Olaf. “I’m leaving again. I just came to get cleaned up and get some clothes. Word came that the circuit judge is on the mend. Tate-Johnson thought it best if some of us rode to escort the judge here as quickly as possible. Trouble is brewing. The sooner we can decide the fate of those braves, the better.”
Elizabeth sighed. So he wouldn’t be home again tonight. A thought crept into her mind, making her blush. He was going to take a bath. Why should she wait any longer? She leaned on tiptoe and kissed the good side of his face. “I love you,” she whispered shyly. “I’ll bring you some salve for the bruises.”
His eyes turned darker and she could sense his desire, but he only gave her an affectionate smack on her rump as she turned to go. “Do that.”
She waited until she’d seen him return from talking to Olaf and seen the servants hauling buckets of water to his room. Then she turned the knob to the door and entered.
Miguel stood with his back to her, water glistening on his bare skin and dripping from his tight buttocks. Thick muscles defined his thighs leading down into well-shaped calves. Elizabeth let her gaze sweep upward noting the narrow waist expanding to his broad shoulders and hard traps and deltoids. He reached for a towel and she watched the muscles ripple in his back.
She must have made some sound, for he turned slowly, the towel still in his hand. Her gaze dropped and she gasped at the size of his manhood. It would never fit inside of her! Elizabeth let the jar of salve slip to the floor. She knew she should look away. Sweet Mary. Did he have any idea of her reaction? Apparently he did, for his shaft was extending itself, becoming more engorged. Mesmerized, she continued to stare.
“If you keep on looking at me like that, I’ll not be responsible for my actions,” he said, and wrapped the towel around himself, tucking the end in at his waist. He held out his arms. “Come here.”
Elizabeth flew into his embrace, circling her arms around his neck, her lips parted for his kiss. He did not disappoint. His hands stroked her back and slid down to cup her buttocks against his hardness while his tongue explored her mouth thoroughly, deepening the kiss only to withdraw and tease her lips with his, applying more pressure until she sucked his tongue back into her mouth and whimpered.
He nibbled his way down her throat to the nape of her neck causing her to quiver. Elizabeth gyrated her hips against him, seeking more contact. Never had she felt this urge to actually meld with someone. She heard him groan, low in his throat.
“Make love to me, Miguel.”
He leaned lower to kiss the tip of her breast through the fabric of her shirt and then straightened, separating them. “Not now. There’s not time.”
She looked at him, her lips swollen from his kisses and her eyes glazed from desire. “There’s time. How long does it take, anyway?”
Miguel laughed and pulled on his denims. “The rest of the afternoon and all night. Until you are so satisfied you beg me to stop. Or so exhausted you can’t say the words.” He zipped the pants and reached for his shirt. “Besides, there’s no need to rush. We can wait.”
Elizabeth stared at him exasperated. The man was impossible. “Wait. You’ve made it clear since I got here you wanted me in your bed. Now, you tell me we can wait.” She put her hands on her hips. “Are you playing some kind of game with me? Just to see how long it would take before I said yes?” She closed her eyes. Maybe he didn’t want her. Maybe he just said he loved her to get the chief to agree to the release. Had she been foolish to tell him she loved him too? Maybe that’s all he wanted to hear, and he could go on to his next challenge. Her eyes flew open. “Is it the schoolmarm you really want?”
“What?” Miguel reached her in two strides and put his hands on her shoulders. “I thought my body had made it perfectly clear I wanted you. Don’t tell me you didn’t understand.”
No doubt he was the most infuriating man she had ever known. “Then why, now when I want to go to bed with you, you don’t?”
“I do, love. Never think I don’t. I just thought—” He paused and tilted her chin up with his fingers. “I thought that you might want to wait until your wedding night.”
Wedding night? She felt a swish of dizziness sweep over her. She clutched at him, her eyes wide. “Are you saying—”
“Yes.” Miguel seated her on the edge of the b
ed and knelt beside her. “Let me do this as properly as any knight of the Round Table would.” He took her hand in his and turned it over, kissing the palm softly. “I love you, Elizabeth. Will you marry me?”
She stared, committing to memory the sight of him, on bended knee, his shirt open, exposing his broad chest, the dark hair falling forward over his forehead. Just a hint of a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. How could she not be in love with him? A fleeting thought from nowhere flitted through her dazed mind. Round Table? Ironically, the two most gallant of its knights—the pure Galahad and his father, Lancelot, the adulterer,—had never proposed marriage. And yet Miguel—her knight—he’d certainly earned the title riding after her!—was doing just that. With a start, Elizabeth came out of her reverie.
“I…do you still think I’m a prostitute?” Well, that really wasn’t what she meant to say. Why did it still niggle at her? Miguel loved her!
Miguel shrugged. “It has never mattered to me what you were or where you’re from. If your memory returns, we’ll deal with it.” He caressed the side of her cheek with his fingertips. “I’m not in the habit of asking women to marry me. Are you going to answer my question?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth threw her arms around his neck. “Yes. The answer is yes.”
Miguel stood, bringing her up with him and pressed her body against his as their lips found each other, the kiss deep and intense. The hunger of their mouths built into throbbing desire until both of them were nearly too weak to stand.
“If that’s any indication of what sharing a bed with you will be like, Red, maybe we should set a wedding date soon.”
“Tomorrow,” Elizabeth answered. “Stay home and send for a priest.”
“Olga would kill me if I denied her getting ready for this wedding.” Miguel grinned. “Anyway, aren’t brides supposed to be excited about a wedding dress and all of the preparations?”
Bride. What a wonderful sound that word had! Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed. She wanted nothing more than to say, “I do” and be done with the ceremony, but Miguel was an important person. There would have to be invitations, a reception, and political correctness. And, of course, a dress. As a teenager, she had poured over Bride’s Magazine looking at designer gowns. How many years had it been since she’d given up the fantasy of a white dress and all the pomp that went with a big wedding? And where, in the nineteenth century, was she going to find something? She turned to him. “There are a million things to do. Material to buy, a feast to plan, seating arrangements—”
He laughed and kissed her nose. “I’ll be glad to leave you to it. I think escorting the judge and keeping order at the trial will be a lot easier than planning this.” He picked up the satchel he would be taking with him and went to the door. “Just keep me in mind during all the hoopla. After all, it’s you I want, lying naked beside me in our bed.”
• ♥ •
The month it took for the Rangers to escort the judge to Fort Worth and hold the trial was spent in a flurry of activity. Olga badgered the owner of the general store in Johnson Station to order French silk from New Orleans and the finest tulle netting for a veil. She’d thought of and scrapped a dozen menus before deciding to include it all. “A German smorgasbord,” she’d said.
Even Raul got caught up in the excitement. He had a suit specially tailored for him. He complained about the necktie, but secretly, Elizabeth knew he was pleased to be included. She had heard him bragging to Gus that he would be responsible for the ring his father would be giving her.
Elizabeth wondered about that since there were no jewelry stores within a week’s ride from them, but she decided not to worry about it. She didn’t really care if she got a ring. It was Miguel she wanted.
At night, she lay in bed thinking of his solid, muscular body lying naked beside her. Of the ability of his hands to excite her at just the merest touch and the way her blood kindled into a raging inferno when his hands or mouth found more intimate places. Not to mention how his erection jutted out at her from the nest of black curls, thick and long and hard. Her body trembled in anticipation of having that slide into her. And she would have that pleasure, over and over. Miguel was hers, now and forever.
It was the “forever” part she worried about. One morning after she’d had a fitting for the gown, she went back to her bedroom and took the fetish out of the drawer. She studied the smooth carving on the wood, wondering again what power it had and how it had brought her here. There was only one way to make sure it didn’t send her back.
She walked down the steps and out the front door. A patio was attached to the west side of the house and with it was a small pit for grilling steaks. Elizabeth gathered twigs and small branches from a nearby mesquite tree and lit a fire. It didn’t have to burn long. She whispered a small prayer of thanks for the gift and for arriving in the nineteenth century and then laid the fetish amidst the flames. As she watched it disintegrate, she hoped it wouldn’t bring bad luck.
Elizabeth pulled an oak chair close and waited for the fire to die out. As the ashes cooled, she felt a sense of relief. She had done the right thing. Destroying the fetish assured her a permanent home in the nineteenth century. Now, there was nothing that would send her back to her own time.
• ♥ •
Miguel could almost smell the tension in the saloon which also served as a courtroom when the circuit judge was in town. Even though the liquor was locked up until the trial was over, the restless, shifting crowd was spoiling for a fight. The slightest bit of jostling made men spin round with their fists up. He’d already intervened in several disputes.
Major Arnold had the five braves under heavy guard behind the barrier of the bar. It didn’t help their cause that they all looked surly and contemptuous. At least, the major had gotten them to wear western clothes, even though their hair was in ceremonial braids.
Miguel had no doubt the outcome of the trial would result in a guilty verdict. Finding an impartial jury was nigh to impossible. He’d tried to convince Major Arnold to send an invitation to Chief Jim Ned to be included at the trial, but at the last minute the major had declined, saying if an angry mob decided to take its fury out on the chief, there would be no stopping the Comanche. Miguel had countered that without some representation from the tribe, they would be inclined to believe the trial was a hoax. He had even toyed with the idea of asking Cactus Flower to return to serve as a witness to the proceedings. But as much as Western men held most women in high regard, he couldn’t guarantee her safety, either. There were rabble and scum in the crowd, bullies who would encourage a riot for no other reason than to see others injured. Emotions were running too high. Folks remembered Mary’s scarred arms and her total reticent demeanor—it was enough to have the lunatic fringe screaming for vengeance.
Miguel listened to the opening statements Beauregard made regarding the crime, and wondered what kind of defense the lawyer they’d brought with the judge would make. They’d had to ride all the way to Houston to find a lawyer willing to represent Indians. Miguel was just glad that Major Arnold was sending troops to escort the man back. He didn’t want to be gone from Elizabeth another four weeks, which is what the round trip would take.
The defense attorney was surprisingly articulate and well-versed in Indian culture. He made no attempt to deny what the braves had done, but slowly and patiently parceled out the significance of the rituals adding there had never been any intention of killing Mary, only of taking that small amount of blood to infuse them with power in the eyes of their great spirits. The rapes, he contended, were ceremonial and he quoted history from a time when Goddess worship still celebrated the Great Marriage, the ritual of uniting a priestess with the king to insure fertility for the people, livestock, and crops.
Miguel blinked and shook his head. For a moment, an image of an ancient white-robed druid with a sickle in his hand super-imposed itself on the attorney. That couldn’t be. For the slightest moment, he almost thought he heard chanting. He glanced around t
he room quickly. Nothing had changed. Men’s faces were still hardened, their bodies tense with the need to lash out.
He sighed. He hoped the jury would decide on life in prison that the lawyer had pled for rather than hanging. The Comanche would not take kindly to having five of their tribe killed at the hands of the white man.
His hopes were dashed when the jury returned with a verdict less than fifteen minutes after they’d adjourned. Death by hanging, the sentence to be carried out immediately. A roar of approval went up as the crowd pressed forward, hands grabbing and dragging the Indians forward out toward the gallows which had been built in anticipation.
The Rangers shouldered their way through the angry mob and surrounded the braves, brandishing the cudgels Tate-Johnson had insisted they carry. Now, Miguel understood why.
“The verdict’s been given,” he said. “Let these men die with some dignity.”
“They didn’t give Mary any!” someone shouted. “I say we draw and quarter them first!” More shouts of approval swelled from the crowd.
Major Arnold’s troops formed a barrier line as the braves were hustled up the steps. Five nooses waited. Miguel wondered if, indeed, this had been merely a kangaroo court. The gallows should not have been built until the verdict was in.
He glanced up the hill where Chief Jim Ned sat astride his horse, motionless as a statue, the feathers in his war bonnet the only thing swaying in the wind. Beside him, Swift Hawk sat equally still. A dozen warriors lined up on either side of them, forming a formidable silhouette against the sky.
Reluctantly, Miguel removed his red bandana and waved it over his head, signaling the verdict was “death”. The white handkerchief in his pocket would have signaled the braves’ lives were saved.
The line of horses along the hill’s crest remained immobile for a minute. Then the chief stabbed his spear into the ground and turned his horse around. The warriors melted away with him.
Catch a Dream Page 20
