by Tamara Gill
“Mrs. Shannon, it’s time for you and the marshal to cut the wedding cake.” Arnold’s wife, Myrtle, recently recovered from her bout with influenza, held out a knife to Anna and interrupted his lustful thoughts.
“Certainly.”
Dammit, I can’t get up in front of this crowd now. Everyone will know where my thoughts have been.
Sweat beaded his forehead as he pulled the cake closer to Anna so it wouldn’t be necessary for them to stand. She placed his hand on the knife and covered it with her own, and they cut. Anna took over from there, serving up large pieces of cake that several women passed around to the guests.
Still attempting to get his body under control, Wes took deep breaths and ran multiplication tables through his head. He pushed the cake aside, hungry for sweetness, but not that kind.
An hour later, he and Anna thanked the last of their guests as a few women gathered the last of the dishes to wash, and men took down the tables and chairs.
“I’ll just help a bit in the kitchen.” Anna spoke over her shoulder, leaving him standing in the middle of the room, not sure what to do with himself.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Alice came bustling through the door. “You two go on home, and start your honeymoon.” She winked at Anna, and Wes swallowed several times, trying to work moisture back into his mouth.
***
The late afternoon sun, lower in the sky, shadowed parts of the town as they pulled away from the church. “Is something wrong?” Anna studied Wes as he steered the borrowed wagon toward the center of town.
“No. Why?”
“Well, you’ve been awfully quiet all afternoon. Almost as if you’re sorry we had to do this.”
“No. Not sorry.”
She kept her eyes glued to his hands as he worked the harness straps. “Are you still feeling sick?”
“No. Not sick.”
She threw her hands up. “Wes, talk to me. What’s the matter?”
“We’ll talk when we get home.”
His muscles tensed as they neared his house. Although in truth he wasn’t actually sorry they were forced to marry, he had no idea how she would take his insistence on this being temporary. He had to do this; keep her at arm’s length. It would be too easy for her to wriggle her way into his heart, and then he’d be devastated when she left. “I’ll just return the wagon to the livery, and stop in real quick at the jailhouse.”
Anna studied him with curious eyes. “All right. I’ll use the time to get ready.”
His heart slammed against his chest, galloped into his throat. Visions of her peeling her dress off—much as he’d done in his mind already—then sliding a silky nightgown along her creamy skin, almost brought him to his knees.
“Wait.” He jumped from the wagon, landing on shaky legs. He strode to her side and wrapped his hands around her waist, lowering her quickly to the ground, then marched her to the front door like a prisoner. Determination driving him forward, Wes scooped her up, carried her across the threshold, and deposited her on the other side of the doorway.
She stared at him, her eyes wide. “What was that all about?”
He inhaled deeply to calm his racing heart and took both her hands in his. How he wanted to fold her against his chest and stoke her hair, kiss her forehead, her face, and then take possession of her mouth in a searing kiss. She gazed up at him and he saw the pulse point beating a rapid tattoo in her neck where he wanted to place his lips, inhale her sweet scent. Desire was written plainly on her face, and he could feel his hardness pressing up against his pants.
If he didn’t speak now, he’d strip her right here and take her on the floor. He pulled back, strengthening his resolve. “I think we need some time to get to know each other. This all happened too fast.”
She tilted her head, her eyebrows drawn together. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Take advantage of me?”
He paced in a circle, studying the floor as he moved. “We shouldn’t get too . . .”
“Too what?” She dipped her head to peer into his eyes.
He met her gaze. “Too involved. Only a week ago you told me you were from the future.”
“That’s right. I am. You seemed to accept it.”
“I did. Rather, I do−I think.”
Anna stepped closer, and took his hand. “Is that what this is all about? Do you still think I’m crazy?”
No, I’m crazy for letting things go this far. I can’t be a decent husband to you, or anyone. And even if I could, you will disappear on me one day.
“No crazier than you were before you told me.” He gave her a half-hearted grin.
“Then I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you are from the future, you have another life, in another place. What about that?”
She shrugged. “I doubt I’ll ever get back to that place.”
“And that’s all? You’ll just stay right here, and not try to find a way to return?”
Anna threw her hands up. “I have tried. I can’t find the ‘peace chair’ that brought me here.”
Wes shook his head. “I still think we should take our time.”
Arms folded across her chest, she tapped her foot and glared at him. “And what exactly does that mean?”
He hesitated for a moment. “You can have the bed, and I’ll sleep on the sofa,” he finally mumbled.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What?” Anna stepped back, her eyes wide. “Why would we do that?”
Wes ran his fingers through his hair, then rested his hands on his hips. “It’s better that way.”
“Better?” After all she’d been through the last few weeks, she’d thought there was very little left to surprise her. Wrong. His words had just taken her breath away. How could he calmly stand there and declare they sleep separately? Especially with desire so evident on his face, in his eyes, his body language. Hell, she could practically smell his arousal through his clothes. She glanced down. And see it beneath his pants.
“I don’t understand. We’re married. I’m not your typical 1800s-era woman. I know for a fact you want me.” She moved closer, touching him lightly on his arm. “And I want you, too.”
He uttered a curse and wrapping his hand around her neck, tugged her toward him, claiming her lips. She melted against his hard chest, shocked at her immediate response. Sparks shot to her fingers and toes, leaving in its wake pulsing heat throughout her body. Wes slid his warm tongue against her lips and she eagerly opened her mouth. Her senses reeled, every inch of her aware of his musky smell, possessive touch, and the dance of their tongues, as he plundered, took control as if he’d never let her go.
Anna whimpered, and he abruptly released her, backing away, his chest heaving. He stood for a moment, watching her. Her tongue savored the taste of him on her lips. When he didn’t move toward her, she ran her palms up and down her arms, trying to re-capture the heat so brutally wrenched from her.
Wes’s body tensed, his hands fisted at his side, as if trying to keep himself from reaching for her. He opened and closed his mouth once, twice, then finally said, “I’ll see you later.”
Grabbing the doorknob, he wrenched the door open, slamming it, leaving her swimming in frustrated desire. What the hell just happened?
***
Wes stormed down the steps, his body throbbing with unrelieved lust. What had he been thinking? If he intended to keep this marriage unconsummated, there would be no touching, and certainly no kissing. When Anna opened her plump red lips and whispered she wanted him, all his restraint dissolved like sugar in his coffee. And sugar was exactly how Anna tasted. Sweet, soft, and oh, so warm.
He leapt into the wagon and set off toward the livery. His new wife must think him a complete dolt. Or worse. He hoped to God he didn’t leave her thinking he didn’t desire her. Nothing could be further from the truth. His body h
ad reacted to her the moment he’d glanced into the stagecoach and his eyes landed on her lush figure, wrapped in a yellow bandana and tight men’s trousers.
Wes sucked in air through his teeth. He had to get his mind off her, or he wouldn’t even be able to spend the night under the same roof. The cot at the jail was looking more and more tempting.
“Congratulations, marshal, I understand you’ve taken a wife. That new gal?” Dennis Meade, the livery owner, snagged the leather straps Wes tossed at him and grinned a toothless smile.
“That’s right.” Wes hadn’t meant for it come out a growl, but he was still wrestling with the whirlwind of sensations he’d left the house with. “Got married this morning.”
“Well, we better get you on your way, so you don’t neglect the little lady.” Dennis winked and guffawed.
“Yeah. Gotta go.” Wes forced a smile. “What do I owe you for the wagon?”
“Nothing.” Meade scratched his flannel-clad chest with dirty fingernails. “Not every day a man gets hitched now, is it?”
“No. Guess not.” Wes tugged at the brim of his hat. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”
During the short walk from the livery to the jailhouse, he encountered several people who stopped him to offer best wishes. His illness had kept him from the townsfolk for over a week and he couldn’t help but wonder how many of them had already heard the story about Anna being in his bedroom, and the reverend insisting on marriage. Hopefully he wouldn’t give the impression he’d been forced. Anna deserved better than to be held up to ridicule.
Hell, she deserved better than him. If she hadn’t hated him already after he’d told her about the rape and murder of the young girl and his part in covering it up, by now she probably realized she’d married a coward. A man afraid to make love to his desirable wife.
Arnold sat behind Wes’s desk, his feet propped up on an open drawer as he cleaned his fingernails with a small knife. “Hey, marshal, whatcha doin’ here? Shouldn’t you be home with the new missus?” His feet hit the floor and he shoved the drawer closed.
“Just checking on things. Make sure everything’s running smoothly.”
“Smooth as my baby’s behind,” Arnold chortled.
“Marshal!” Wes and Arnold turned toward the door as a large, well-dressed man burst into the room. His dark suit was covered in dust, and his face beet red, sweat running down the sides of his rounded cheeks. “The stage’s been held up again, but this time they shot two passengers and the driver.”
“Where is the stage now?” Wes hurried to the door, Arnold dodging his footsteps.
“I drove it in.” The man removed a large handkerchief from his vest pocket and mopped his face. “I’m lucky I wasn’t shot to death myself.” He gripped the back of a wooden chair by the door, and used his bowler hat to fan himself. “I think I’ll just sit for a minute.”
Wes’s hurried from the jailhouse to the stage depot two streets down, where the stagecoach stood in the middle of the street, a crowd of onlookers surrounding it. The four horses were still hitched, and they swung their heads and stomped their feet, no doubt anxious after the robbery and race to town. Foam dripped from their mouths onto the dusty ground.
“Where’s the driver?” Wes barreled up to the crowd, elbowing gawkers out of the way.
“Shot.” A small, wiry man with spectacles and a very pale face turned to Wes and gulped. “Dead.”
“His body?”
A middle-aged woman, dirt smeared on her face where she must have wiped away tears, pointed in the direction they’d just come. “Out there. As soon as the outlaws rode off, Mr. Walters climbed onto the top of the stage and brought us here.”
“Is he the man that came to the jailhouse?”
The woman and small man nodded in unison.
“And the two passengers who were shot?”
“Dead.” She swayed on her feet.
As Wes lunged forward and shouted, “Someone catch her,” the woman’s legs gave out from under her, and she slowly dropped to the ground like a stone.
“Fetch Doc Oliver,” Wes ordered the closest spectator. He opened the stagecoach door and looked inside. Splatters of blood dotted one side of the coach, and travelers’ belongings were scattered around the floor. He turned to the passenger who looked as if he would join the woman on the ground any minute. “Just the five of you? The man who drove y’all here, the two killed, and you and her?” He gestured to the woman whose head was cradled by a young man holding a cup of water to her lips.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Why did they kill those two passengers, and let the rest of you go?”
The man had loosened his tie, but still looked pale. “They argued with them. It was a man and his grown son, and they didn’t want to give up their money, even when we told them they were stupid.” He shook his head. “I handed mine over right away. I’ve been held up before, and know what these outlaws will do.”
“All right. I need you to accompany me to the jailhouse, so I can collect more information.” Wes swung his gaze to Arnold. “See if you can get the undertaker to pick up those bodies.” He gestured to the man. “Let’s go.”
“What about her?” Arnold nodded toward the woman on the ground, who now sat up, a bit more color in her cheeks.
“Once she’s feeling up to it, walk her to my office. And also get someone to take care of these horses.”
***
The dim coolness of the office was a welcome relief from the heat of the afternoon sun. The man who first notified Wes still sat near the door, fanning himself with his hat. Touching the smaller man on the shoulder, Wes nodded toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
Wes circled around and sat, drawing a piece of paper from the desk drawer. He picked up a lead pencil and licked the end. “All right, let’s start with your names, and where you’re from.”
“Howard Walters.” The older man dragged his chair from the door and placed it in front of the desk. “I live in Ames, Nebraska.”
Wes wrote and glanced up at the other man.
“Kenneth James, Welford, Texas.”
“Where did the holdup take place?”
“About three miles out of town, right before the turnoff to Stagecoach Road,” Kenneth said.
Wes nodded. Close to the location of the other robbery. Now he was sure the outlaws were harboring in Devil’s Dungeon, right along with the other ‘upstanding citizens’ he and Anna had come across in their search for the bandits. And most likely not at all troubled by the local sheriff.
“How many were there?”
Howard thought a moment. “Four.”
“Can you tell me what they looked like?”
Howard cleared his throat. “I would say three of them were brothers. They looked alike. Light brown hair, real dark eyes. But they all wore handkerchiefs over their mouths, so it’s hard to say. Something about the shape of their head tells me they’re related.”
Wes turned to Kenneth. “You get the same impression?”
“Didn’t think of it before now, but yeah, three of them did look alike. The fourth one was older, beefier, maybe could have even been their pa. Who knows?” He shrugged.
“Did you notice anything unusual, scars, pox marks, things like that?”
Howard and Kenneth glanced at each other. “Not that I noticed.” Howard rubbed his chin.
“There was something.” Kenneth leaned forward. “One man−a young’un−wore a heavy silver ring. It had some kind of a design on it, an animal−maybe a lion. I kept staring at it, because it looked so out of place with the rest of him.”
Wes took notes as the man ruminated. The ring could have come from a previous robbery. Usually any jewelry outlaws confiscated was sold right away, but even criminals had hankerings for nice things now and again.
Pulling open his bottom drawer, Wes gathered the ‘wanted’ posters and slapped them on the desk. “Take a look at these, and see if you can identify any of them.” He pushed back
his chair and stood. “I’ll be back soon. Just study those for a while.”
He closed the jailhouse door as Doc Oliver lumbered from the direction of the hotel. “I had to give some laudanum to that woman in the holdup.” Doc shifted his medicine case from one hand to the other. “I don’t think you’ll get much out of her today. She was pretty upset.”
Wes nodded. “I have the two men going through the posters now. I’ll see the woman when she’s up to it. Where is she?”
“At the hotel. She was on her way to Texas, no kin here.”
“Thanks. Maybe tomorrow I’ll see if she has anything to add.”
After a brief conversation with the doctor, Wes crossed the street as the undertaker’s meat wagon drew up in front of the barber shop. He joined Jeb Drayson when the man jumped down, and they walked to the back of the cart. Drayson pulled a large piece of canvas off the bodies. Three men lay on their backs. The driver, who Wes recognized as Pat Murray, and two men. One about fifty and the other, early twenties. The driver had a hole in his chest, but the other two had each taken a bullet between the eyes. A clean shot.
Wes’s fists clenched in anger. Three senseless murders. “Did you get any identification from the bodies?”
Drayson nodded, and withdrew papers from his pocket. Wes unfolded the first one. It was a receipt for a train ticket for a Mr. Martin Dugger and Mr. David Dugger, both of Forest Station, Nebraska. He slapped the paper against his leg. “I’ll send a wire to the men’s family, let them figure out what to do with the bodies.”
Jeb shoved his hands in his pocket. “What about Murray?”
“I’ll have to notify the Wells Fargo people, see what information they have on his kin. The few times I talked to him, he never mentioned any ties.”
“I’ll haul ‘em over to the ice house, but they better come soon.”
“Thanks.” Wes spared another look at the bodies before he walked away. He had to find these men and stop the hold ups.
