Evangeline squinted, trying to make out the dark figure in a long duster moving stealthily toward them. He appeared menacing, his face dark and hidden beneath the brim of his black hat, his spurs churning up dust in the street. He looked more like an outlaw than a cowboy, and a chill skittered up her spine. She’d read about unsavory sorts in western cities these days. Oh, my! He was fast approaching.
She concluded he must be a bandit set to pounce upon a woman and child alone in a strange town. Lifting her full skirt with one hand, she grasped her son’s hand in the other and hurried toward the safety of the hotel. One glance over her shoulder and she realized he was on their heels. She picked up the pace.
“Come with me, Mac, and don’t encourage him.”
“But, Mama, the luggage is heavy.”
She paused to take it from him, then continued on.
“Hey, he’s waving at me.”
Evangeline never broke her stride. “It matters not. We do not know that man. Now hurry.” How unseemly. They had been in Luling but a few minutes and some ruffian had the audacity to approach them on the street.
She’d almost reached the hotel steps when a strong, gloved hand snagged her arm from behind. Evangeline whirled around. A scream caught in her throat. She looked up at the dark figure casting a formidable shadow over them.
“Evangeline.”
The deep rich voice slid over her warmed skin, reminding her of someone she once knew. His face was undeterminable, shadowed by the brim of his hat. He was dressed similar to one of her father’s hands—a long leather duster, thick gloves and boots. Still, his presence, his very touch on her arm sent a tremor of fear through her. Before she could ask his name, he removed his hat revealing his identity. Her knees buckled. Oh, dear God! What was he doing here?
A strong hand reached out to steady her.
“Hello, Evangeline,” he said again in that deep, sensual voice that sent ripples of scorching heat washing over her flushed skin. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
She swallowed hard. It became difficult to breathe. His black eyes were cold and no emotion registered on his deeply tanned face.
“Or perhaps I should say good afternoon, Mrs. Smith?”
He released her and she swayed unsteadily. What were the odds that Gray Wolf MacKinnon would find her? “How did you know my married name?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
“Because I am Mr. Smith, Evangeline—your loving husband of little more than one week.”
He caught her before she hit the ground.
***
Wolf carried an unconscious Evangeline to his hotel room and laid her on the bed. The desk clerk, a short prissy man named Perry with a pencil-thin black moustache, lingered at the door, staring as if he feared Wolf might harm her. Wolf turned and glared at the man.
“That will be all. Leave me to tend my bride.”
The man waited, a sour look of disapproval on his face. The same look of disgust as last evening when he’d arrived and registered at the hotel. “No Indians” the man had said, scowling until Wolf produced a bill of sale for goods bearing his legal name of Smith, silencing the bigoted man.
“You’ve been asked to leave.”
In a huff, the man closed the door behind him. Wolf turned Evangeline on her side and began unbuttoning the back of her dress.
“Bring a wet cloth,” he told the boy. “There’s a pitcher of water and fresh towels on the wash stand.”
He didn’t see it coming. The child jumped onto his back and swung from his neck like a wild cat.
“You leave my mama alone! Take your filthy hands off her, you hear!”
Wolf peeled the boy off and dropped him to the floor like a sack of potatoes. “Your mother can’t breathe and she’s overheated. Calm down or I’ll put you across my knee.”
The red-faced child picked himself off the floor and dusted off his pants. Wolf had dropped him hard on his rump and he figured he’d bruised more than the youngster’s pride.
“I just don’t want you lookin’ at her undressed and all. She’s a real lady, you know.”
Wolf eyed the kid up and down. Brave little cuss. He rather admired the child for protecting his mother.
“I won’t look at her, kid,” he lied, suppressing a smile. The hell he wouldn’t. They were legally married now and he’d do a lot more than look if the notion struck.
He finished working open the annoying row of tiny pearl buttons on the dress, then tugged open the laces on her corset. Damned contraption. Why did women feel the need to truss themselves in this ungodly heat? Within moments of his loosening the binding garment, she gasped for air like a banked fish. He turned her onto her back and her eyes fluttered open, a look of confusion on her beet-red face.
The boy rushed to her side. “Mama, are you all right? Can you breathe now?”
She sputtered, then coughed. “What happened?”
“You fainted,” Wolf said. “Your corset was too tight.”
She glanced at the child, then fixed her gaze on Wolf. “Where is my husband? Where is Mr. Smith?”
“You’re looking at him, sweetheart.”
A shadow of alarm crossed her face. “No. I married Adam Smith. That’s not your name.”
“It has been my name for the past nine years, Evangeline. At least on paper. I legally changed it.”
The boy piped up. “You sure don’t look nothin’ like I imagined.”
Wolf eyed the kid. That made two of them. Evangeline had stated in her letters the child was quite young, but this boy appeared to be older—at least eight or nine by his estimation. He stared at the boy for the longest time, studying the planes and angles of his face, his coal black eyes, the high-set cheekbones. His hair was the same shade of dark blonde as his mother’s, but thick and straight as a post, not wavy. His skin color was the shade of coffee diluted with a lot of cream. If Wolf didn’t know better, he’d swear the child was of mixed blood heritage.
Then a thought occurred to him, and it took him in a direction he wasn’t certain he wanted to go.
“You don’t look like a Smith,” the boy said, interrupting his thoughts. “Is that your alias? Are you an outlaw, mister?”
Wolf chuckled, amused at how the boy’s eyes lit up at the prospect of meeting an outlaw. Every boy’s dream. “No. It’s not an alias and I’m not an outlaw, son. My real name is Gray Wolf MacKinnon, but I legally changed my name to Adam Smith a few years ago so I might acquire land.”
“Gray Wolf? You’re an injun?”
“Mac!” came Evangeline’s admonishment.
The boy shrugged. “I just want to know.”
Wolf hesitated. He’d changed his name on paper, but it altered nothing. People only saw his Indian-ness. “Don’t scold the boy, Evangeline. He’s curious.” He turned back to the child. “Yes, son. I’m what they call a half breed. My mother was Chiricahua Apache, but she died long before I had any memory of her. My pa, James MacKinnon, was a miner and fur trapper who raised me.”
Wolf tossed a room key to the child. “Mac is your name, is it?” He looked at Evangeline. Interesting name. Short for MacKinnon, perhaps? Pieces of this odd puzzle began to fall into place and he didn’t much like the conclusion. “That’s for your room next door, Mac. Run along and allow your mother time to rest.” As if he had any intention of allowing her to rest. Once the boy was out of earshot, they’d have a serious discussion.
Wolf pitched a coin to him. “First, go down to the hotel lobby and buy a candy stick from the jar on the desk. New peppermints and licorice arrived this morning. Afterward, return to your room and bathe. We’ll call on you when it’s time for supper at the restaurant. Just don’t eat too much candy.”
The boy jostled the shiny penny from palm to palm. “Mama, is it all right if I have candy?”
Evangeline sat up and pushed the golden hair that had come unbound away from her face. The sleeves of the dress slid from her shoulders, revealing delicate porcelain skin and a hint of cleavage.
Wolf swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes from her. His sex stirred to life as blood rushed to his groin. She was still as beautiful and youthful as he remembered. Looking at her, he’d almost forgotten her eyes were the same shade of blue as a Texas sky in summer, her skin the color of fresh cream. How many nights had he caressed her body, tasted her soft, sweet skin?
“Yes, Mac, it’s all right for you to have one piece of candy. Please do as Wolf... I mean, as Mr. Smith asked.”
After the boy left, Wolf locked the door.
He turned to find Evangeline standing near the bed, clutching the loosened bodice to her bosom. “Where is my luggage?”
He leaned casually against the door and eyed her from head to toe. She was a mess from her trip, but a pleasing mess to look at. Her silken hair had come unbound and cascaded over one bare shoulder. Her cheeks were tinged bright pink, her lips dark as rubies. He allowed himself a moment’s fantasy—kissing her and divesting her of her dress—which did nothing to quell his desire. Still, he dared not touch her with this much anger and resentment clouding his heart.
“Planning on going somewhere, my dear wife?”
“You lied to me to trick me into returning to Texas—into marrying you.”
He shrugged. “And you lied to me, too, so I’d say we’re about even on that account.”
She withdrew a handkerchief from inside her dress sleeve and blotted the perspiration on her forehead. “I do not know what you are suggesting. How have I lied? You deliberately withheld your true identity.”
“The boy. He’s mine isn’t he?” he asked point blank.
She flinched and looked away, but said nothing.
“What year was he born, Evangeline?”
She picked at her skirt’s folds. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Oh, but it is. Your letters stated the child was quite young. You married Payne seven years ago, did you not?”
She visibly shuddered as he moved closer.
“The boy is older, Evangeline. He’s at least nine, if not close.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “Mac is tall for his age.”
“Mac,” he repeated. “That’s short for MacKinnon, isn’t it?”
She didn’t answer, reinforcing his suspicions. A sickening wave washed over him. Quickly, he counted the months from the time she’d left the Braddock ranch until the date of her marriage to Garrick Payne. No, there was no way the child was Payne’s. He couldn’t be. The boy he’d dismissed from the room was much older than six or seven.
He stood before her and she cringed as if she feared he might strike her. What the hell? His eyes searched hers. He had never harmed a woman, and despite his anger, he didn’t intend to now. “You were pregnant with Mac when you left Texas ten years ago, weren’t you?”
She lowered her gaze, but said nothing.
“Weren’t you?” His voice boomed in the tiny room.
Her shoulders slumped and her eyes lifted to his. In them he saw the truth before she admitted it.
“Yes.”
He reeled away from her, feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut. He’d suspected it weeks ago when he’d learned the boy’s name was Mac. He drew a deep breath and clenched his jaw, willing himself to calm down. The child was his son! Pain tore at his heart at the revelation. How could she have kept this from him all these years? His body trembled with anger as he looked at her. “And you didn’t have the decency to tell me?”
Words tumbled out in a rush of breath: “Papa threatened to kill you if I ever spoke to you again. He sent me to the girl’s home in Georgia—to Reverend Garrick Payne’s School for Girls. It turned out to be a blessing in some ways, a nightmare in others. Mac’s resemblance to you at birth was indisputable, the dark skin and eyes, his Indian features. Everyone at the ranch would have known you were his father.”
He scarcely heard her words. His hands curled and uncurled into fists. He wanted to punch something. No, he wanted to shake the woman standing before him, shake her until every tooth in her pretty blonde head rattled. She’d denied him his own flesh and blood for a decade, years that could never be reclaimed. Was she even aware what violence her father had perpetrated upon him because of her lies? He doubted so. He blew out a deep, pent up breath and forced himself to calm down before his anger took control and he said something regrettable.
“I would have protected our child!” he thundered out.
Her eyes were wild, frightened. “I couldn’t take that chance, Wolf.”
“Even if it was a chance I was willing to take?” he replied through gritted teeth.
Uncomfortable silence stretched between them for several moments as he absorbed her words. She had fled Texas to protect him? Is that what she expected him to believe?
He tore open his shirt, popping buttons from their threads. She stared, horrified, her mouth open as he exposed the wide scar on his throat.
Her hand lifted as if to touch it. She quickly withdrew. “W-what...happened?”
“Your father gave this to me. He and half a dozen of his hands beat the living shit out of me, then sliced open my throat and left me to die. Only I didn’t die. I had at least one friend on that ranch—John Patterson. It’s because of him I’m alive now.”
Deep choking sobs erupted from her. She turned her face away, but he grasped her by the arm and forced her to look at him. “The time for crocodile tears is long past, Evangeline. I want the truth. Why did you tell your father I forced myself upon you?”
A look of horror spread across her face. “I never told him such a thing! Oh, Wolf. Is that what he said?”
“You knew what they were going to do to me that night, didn’t you. Why didn’t you warn me?”
Her lip trembled as tear-filled eyes lifted to his. “I had no idea. I promised Papa I would never see you again.”
“Liar!”
She clung to his arms, her eyes filled with tears. “Please believe me! I had no idea what they’d done. I begged Papa not to harm you. He agreed to spare your life if I would leave Texas and go to the girl’s home to have the baby. He said I could never contact you again, that if I ever returned to you he would kill you and our child.”
Wolf jerked free from her clutches to pace back and forth. Was she telling the truth? He paused before her. Her face was sincere enough, but... “He said you accused me of raping you.”
“I never said such a thing.”
His stomach roiled as he recalled that night. “They beat me until my face was unrecognizable, until my ribs were broken. They threatened to castrate me. Fortunately, they didn’t.”
Evangeline slumped to the bed. He stared down at her tiny shoulders which shook with each sob.
“Mac doesn’t know I’m his father, does he?”
“No.”
He thought of the years he’d missed with the boy, time that could never be recaptured. Although he was inclined to believe she hadn’t been involved in her father’s sinister plot to murder him, how could he ever forgive her transgression of denying him his own flesh and blood? Didn’t she know he’d have taken them away from the Braddock ranch—away from Texas? He would have protected her and their child with his own life. Her father never had to know of their affair.
He took a seat beside her. “How did Elijah Braddock learn of your pregnancy if you didn’t tell him?”
She sniffled, daubed the handkerchief to her eyes. “One of the housemaids told him. She knew I’d missed my monthly.”
When Wolf had found her advertisement in the mail order bride catalog six weeks ago, he’d reveled in the idea of exacting revenge—of tricking her into marriage and making her pay the rest of her life for the pain she’d caused. Now he had serious regrets about what he’d done. What if she was telling the truth about her father? If so, he’d been terribly wrong. And he’d wronged an innocent woman. The very idea shook him to the core.
“Do you want an annulment?” he asked.
She turned her face to look at him. Tears shimmered in her blue eyes
, but she said nothing.
His body shook with both rage and shame. He’d tricked her into marrying him! He dragged a hand through his hair, his body trembling. There was only one thing to do—the right thing.
“If you want out of the marriage, Evangeline, I’ll give you money today to board a train back to Georgia. There you may obtain an annulment. But the boy stays here with me.”
A look of horror spread across her face. “I would never leave without Mac.”
He rose to tower over her. “And you’ll not take him from me again either.”
Gathering her skirts, she stood to face him. “But he’s my son!”
“He’s mine, too, and I’ll never let him go again. You’re free to leave if you so choose, but my son stays.”
***
Dinner at the restaurant that evening was a near silent affair. Evangeline sat across the table from him, picking at her meal. Mac possessed the appetite of three burly men and ordered a second helping of fried chicken and buttermilk biscuits. After dessert, Wolf dismissed the boy to his room to speak privately with Evangeline.
“You’ve barely eaten,” he commented as he set his napkin on the table. “The apple pie was delicious.”
She turned her face away. “I’ve no appetite tonight.”
He studied her delicate profile, a short, pert nose, small chin, long brown lashes. She’d gathered her shiny blonde hair atop her head, pinned the curls with sparkling, jeweled pins. Delicate wisps framed her oval face. The pale orange dress she’d donned accentuated the natural blush in her cheeks, creating a most stunning sight. She was the most beautiful woman in the room and he hadn’t missed the open stares she’d elicited from both men and women as they’d walked from the hotel.
“Shall I order another coffee for us?”
She bowed her head, folded her hands in her lap. “Do as you wish, Wolf. I do not care for anything.”
He didn’t care for anything either. His stomach had been bound in knots since the moment he’d laid eyes on her outside the train depot. Did she hate him now? Or was she merely angry? He half-wished she’d look at him so he might see the truth in her eyes.
“What are you thinking, Evangeline?”
Brides of the West Page 8
