Brides of the West

by Michele Ann Young

  He lifted her and carried her to the bed.

  Evangeline closed her eyes as his mouth sought out her breasts. Her breath caught as his hand eased between her thighs to caress her through the fabric. Her fingers threaded into his hair and she arched against his palm, signaling her need.

  But it was over before it began.

  With a groan, Wolf reeled away. She touched her fingertips to her lips, bereft of his touch. A fine sheen of sweat glossed his face and body. His eyes flashed as his chest rose and fell with every heavy breath he took. Why had he stopped?

  “What happened here,” he paused to catch his breath, “cannot happen again Evangeline. Not until you are absolutely certain you’re ready to be my wife in every sense of the word. You are free to get an annulment if that is what you wish, but I’ll not rush your decision.” He snatched up his shirt and whisked it on. “I’ll also not touch you until I am convinced of your sincerity.”

  Tears stung her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him she did want to remain with him as his wife—she truly did—but he was headed toward the door.

  “Change into your traveling clothes.” He set his hat on his head. “We leave Luling this afternoon.”

  ***

  A storm rolled in before dusk and Wolf was barely able to make camp before it hit full force. He hobbled the mules under the thick cover of live oak so they wouldn’t become spooked and run, then took cover in the cramped wagon with Evangeline and Mac as the lightning and thunder raged. They shared a jar of spiced peaches for supper, along with fresh venison jerky and a few gorditas—thick corn tortillas he’d purchased from the street vendor in Luling. Afterward, Mac read a few verses from the Bible while Evangeline crocheted.

  Later that night, as he lay in his bedroll beneath the wagon, a canvas tarp to protect him from the continuing drizzle, he cursed his decision to leave and set out for Gonzales. If they had stayed in the hotel, he might have been warm and dry tonight. Instead, his new bride and their child lay sleeping in the wagon above while he wallowed miserably in the mud below like a hog.

  He rolled onto his side and drew the woolen blanket up to ward off the damp chill. If the rain eased up in the night and the road was passable by morning, they might be able to make decent time. If not…no, he would not think of the alternative—being forced to remain in camp a day or two. Instead, he turned his thoughts to his last moments with Evangeline in the hotel room and drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  “Hey, mister. You awake?”

  Wolf opened one bleary eye and peered at Mac who was crouched at a wagon wheel, staring. The youngster was backlit by a halo of brilliant pink light. It was morning already? Wolf jerked upright and banged the top of his head on the wagon, then cursed three shades of scarlet as he collapsed onto his rain-soaked bed roll. Smart move, MacKinnon.

  “Bet that must’ve hurt,” Mac said.

  Wolf shot him a look. “If you want breakfast, son, I’d suggest you poke about for some dry wood.” The boy took off toward the woods.

  Momentarily he saw Evangeline taking careful steps toward the wagon, her blue skirts lifted high enough o reveal the white lace hem of her pink drawers, a wisp of petticoat and an enticing glimpse of creamy bare ankle above brown kidskin boots. He swallowed hard. It was going to be hell trying to get through another day without touching her.

  She bent to look at him, her long blonde hair free of its usual tightly coiled bun. A few buttons were undone on the front of her dress, revealing a deep crease of cleavage.

  “The canvas sprung a leak last night during the storm and half the flour is ruined. I think the sugar is salvageable.”

  Wolf rubbed the knot forming on his head as he tried to quell the lump simultaneously rising in his britches. He tried not to stare at her ankles, at the delicate lace trimming of her undergarments, but failed miserably.

  “Since the sun is shining this morning, do you think we might get a late start today? I’d like to hang our bedding out to dry.”

  Wolf rolled out from beneath the wagon and got to his feet. “Sounds like a reasonable request.” Besides, he was hungry and chilled from a night of exposure and his head pounded like he’d been in a saloon brawl. Fresh buttered biscuits with a slice of fried salt pork and strong hot coffee were in order. “Hang this to dry while you’re at it,” he said, stripping off his shirt. He tugged off one boot, then the other.

  Her gaze slid over his chest, the unmistakable look of desire in her eyes as he unbuttoned his pants. At least he thought it was desire. Was she remembering their last moments in the hotel?

  “I need dry clothing. Mine is in the black trunk in the back of the wagon. Think you can fetch it?”

  She averted her gaze when he dropped his pants. He didn’t wear drawers—never had—and he didn’t intend to start now simply because he was married. He kicked out of his britches and handed them to her. No, it wasn’t wishful thinking. The sultry look in her eyes told him she wanted him.

  Her eyes darted to the woods, then back to him. “I would appreciate your exercising some measure of propriety around Mac, Wolf. He’s not accustomed to nudity.” Her lips thinned into a pout as she whisked off her shawl and tied it around his hips.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You will cover yourself until I return with your clothes.”

  Wolf looked down at himself—at the ridiculous green and red paisley shawl wrapped around him. “Evangeline, I’d be more concerned if Mac saw his father traipsing through the woods wearing his mother’s shawl than if he saw me naked.”

  “He doesn’t know you’re his father.”

  His gaze held hers. “A matter I intend to remedy today.”

  Alarm spread across her face. “You wouldn’t.”

  “The boy must know the truth.”

  “But he just met you two days ago! At least give him time to settle into his new home and become accustomed to you before springing such a surprise on him. This isn’t a good time.”

  “If we wait, there will never be a good time. Nine years have already been lost.”

  Tears shone in her eyes. “Then you will make me a liar in my son’s eyes.”

  For a fleeting moment he felt sorry for her. Then he reminded himself she’d helped herself into this situation and it was the consequence of her actions. She’d had plenty of time in the past twenty-four hours to prepare the boy for the news. Mac needed to know the truth and the sooner the better.

  She followed him to the chuck box at the back of the wagon and laid a delicate palm on his arm.

  “Wolf, I’ll tell him when the time is right.”

  He looked at her hand, so pale against his dark skin. There had always been differences between them, but he’d never realized how much so before now. They had both come from different worlds. That hadn’t changed. Even now they couldn’t agree on the proper course to take with their child. “I will tell the boy after breakfast,” he said.

  She sighed. “Do you hate me so much that you would jeopardize my relationship with my son?”

  He didn’t hate her, but too much time had been wasted on lies. Mac deserved to know the truth. He adjusted the damned ridiculous shawl that kept slipping from his hips. Impatient, he yanked it off and tossed it aside.

  Evangeline picked it up and shook it out, then attempted to tie it on again.

  “Stop.” He danced out of her reach. “I’m not wearing your shawl!”

  She made a face. “Mac is a child. Please put it on. He should not see you in such a state.”

  Gritting his teeth, he allowed her to tie the shawl around him again. “You’d better get used to nudity, Evangeline. The Guadalupe river runs near my property and if I know Mac, he’ll be joining me for a skinny dip from time to time.” He wiggled a brow at her. “So will you once I’ve rid you of the inhibitions you apparently acquired in Savannah. I don’t recall you ever being this stiff and straight-laced.”

  Her blue eyes flashed. “Mac will wear proper bathing a
ttire. So will I should I choose to swim.”

  Wolf snorted. “If I leave any more of his raising up to you, woman, you’ll turn him into a lily boy. Now go and fetch my clothes.”

  At that she stormed back to the wagon.

  Wolf opened the chuck box and gathered a coffee tin and the pot. On the way, he lifted the shovel from the hook on the side of the wagon, then dug a shallow firepit in the mud a few yards away.

  Mac returned with an armload of wood.

  “Hey, that’s my mama’s shawl.” Mac grinned and dropped the wood. “Why are you wearing my mama’s clothes, mister?”

  Wolf grimaced. “My clothes were soaked from last night’s rain. Now stop looking at me like I’m a freak in a traveling carnival and arrange those logs in the pit.” He turned and whistled toward the wagon, but Evangeline didn’t answer. What was taking so long?

  The boy stared at the shallow dug out. “I don’t know how to start a fire. Can you can show me how, mister?”

  “Only if you’ll stop calling me mister.”

  Wolf blew out an exasperated breath. Garrick Payne had neglected his fatherly duties. A boy Mac’s age should know how to build a fire. At nine he should be able to clean a gun, swing an axe, and hunt and skin game. He doubted Mac knew how to do any of those things. Apparently Evangeline’s first husband never taught the boy anything except how to be a clingy mama’s boy.

  Wolf arranged a few logs in the pit and added strips of kindling beneath.

  “There’s a box of matches in the chuck box.” He rose to his feet. “Use them sparingly. Light the kindling first. Once the fire catches, shield the flame from the wind. Understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good.” He patted the boy on the back. “You can do it. Stay with it now, and don’t set the woods on fire.”

  Mac smiled at him. “I won’t. I promise.”

  Although it was time Mac learned to do things on his own, Wolf still had much to teach the child. Once they were home, he’d be expected to pull his weight at the ranch. Evangeline as well. She’d grown up privileged with servants to tend her every need. He supposed her life with the Reverend Payne in Savannah hadn’t been much different. The only assistance Wolf had at the ranch was his best friend, John Patterson.

  He headed to the wagon. Where was the confounded woman? Sidetracked with her nose in one of those ladies magazines?

  “Hey mister . . .”

  Wolf wheeled around.

  “Sorry, I forgot not to call you that. Where are you goin’?”

  “To get my clothes, son.”

  ***

  “You’d better have a darn good excuse for taking so long, woman,” Wolf growled as he climbed up and threw back the canvas flap on the wagon. Evangeline sat stone still next to his black trunk, her back turned to him. “What’s going on?”

  She turned and her tear-filled eyes lifted to his. “Here are your clothes.” She set a folded stack before him.

  “What’s wrong, Evangeline?”

  She dabbed at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. “What must I do to convey how sorry I am for everything that happened?”

  He wasn’t sure if there was anything she could do. His bitterness over the lost years with his son ran deep. Hatred for her dead father also remained fresh. Perhaps in time he might forgive her where his son was concerned, but today was too soon.

  “Do you want my forgiveness? Do you want me to forget you left Texas without so much as a word to me knowing my child was in your belly? Do you expect me to forget what your father did to me?”

  “No. I do not expect you to forget, but I had hoped we might begin anew.”

  He swallowed hard as he studied her shadowed face. What was she talking about? “Anew?”

  “I fear you don’t believe the things I’ve told you.”

  Oh, he believed her. Elijah Braddock was a hard man and Wolf had no doubt he’d threatened both his and Mac’s life. Still, the truth did nothing to quell the hurt.

  Her eyes lifted and she met his gaze. “Papa forced me to go to the girl’s home in Georgia. He eventually paid Garrick Payne to marry me.”

  Wolf blew out a breath, not wanting to hear any more. “Hand me my clothes.”

  She complied. “It’s the truth, Wolf. He swore he’d kill you if I ever returned, if I ever contacted you again. The girl’s home was Mac’s and my only hope of survival.”

  He shook the wrinkles from his shirt, then flung it aside, anger spewing forth again. “I would have taken you and our child far away where no one could harm us. I would have married you, would have cared for you and Mac!”

  “Things were different ten years ago. There was nowhere for us to go. After what happened in Palo Duro canyon the year before with the Comanche, no town would have accepted our union, considering you’re half Indian and I’m white. No minister would have married us.”

  “Enough of this talk.”

  She implored him with her eyes. “You know what I say is true, Wolf. You were forced to change your name to acquire land. Have you forgotten that fact?”

  No, he hadn’t forgotten the bigotry he’d encountered all his life.

  She drew closer to him on her knees. “Please, Wolf, I can’t bear to see hatred in your eyes. I would rather you not look at me at all, than have you look at me with such contempt.”

  His heart softened. He almost reached out and touched her beautiful face, but refrained. “I do not look at you with contempt, Evangeline.”

  “But you do! How long before our son realizes you despise me?”

  He blew out a breath of disgust. “For God’s sake, I don’t despise you.”

  She sniffled. “Yes, you do. You wish I’d go away.”

  “I never said such a thing.”

  Her lower lip quivered. “Perhaps not, but two days ago you were prepared to put me on a train back to Georgia, ready to give me an annulment.”

  True, but only after he’d realized the wrong he’d perpetrated against her. “Only if that’s what you wished.”

  She shook her head. “It is certainly not what I wish. And after what happened between us yesterday at the hotel, I do not think it is what you wish either.”

  Then he touched her, lifted a few strands of her hair and twirled them around his fingertip. “It does not matter what I want. What do you want, Evangeline?”

  “I wish to be your wife. In every sense of the word,” she said, quoting him from the previous day.

  He watched as she reached up and finished unbuttoning the bodice of her dress and drew it open. “Please do not make me beg you to touch me, to make love to me.”

  He swallowed hard and stared at her breasts, both surprised and pleased she hadn’t donned a chemise or corset. She rose up on her knees and shimmied out of the garment.

  Quickly, he dropped the canvas flap behind him. Darkness filled the cramped space.

  “What if Mac comes looking for us?” He unknotted the shawl and drew it from his hips.

  Cautiously, she struck a match and lit a small candle. Her eyes lifted to his and he heard her breath catch, saw her swallow hard as her eyes caressed him. “I am certain Mac will be no bother. Yesterday I explained you and I need our privacy. He’ll not interrupt when we are alone.”

  After setting the candle aside, Evangeline turned her face away and lay back on the feather tick, clad only in pink, lace-trimmed drawers. She was beautiful, gloriously so, her waist-length golden hair spread out on the pillow, her firm breasts full and luscious, the tips erect and waiting to be tasted.

  Wolf knelt and moved closer to fan out her long silky hair among the pillows. He wanted her, wanted the physical pleasure her body could give, yet this would change nothing between them. Ten years of hell, lies, and betrayal still burned hot between them.

  She gazed up at him with soft, misty eyes. A part of him wanted to forgive the hurt, but the wound in his heart was too fresh. Perhaps someday, but for now he would take what she offered and hope it would be enough to sustain him.


  He drew the pink, satin drawers down her legs, over her ankles and feet, pausing to feast his eyes on her nude form. So lovely and perfect. He brushed his knuckles against her cheek and she trembled.

  “You are uncertain?”

  “Not at all,” she replied.

  Still he wasn’t convinced. He sensed her apprehensiveness, saw it in the rapidly beating pulse along the side of her throat. Did he expect too much from her too soon? How could he come to their marriage bed with this much anger and resentment clouding his heart? He started to ease away, but she reached for him, lay a delicate hand on his arm, stilling him.

  “Don’t go.”

  His eyes searched hers. “Do not toy with me, Evangeline.”

  “I’m not. Please,” she whispered, “stay with me.”

  “This isn’t a game.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Her hands reached behind his neck and she pulled his mouth down to hers. Her lips were soft, warm, and she moaned low in her throat, opening her mouth to receive him. She returned his kisses hungrily.

  Unable to control his raging desire, he tore his mouth away, eased down her body and kissed the side of her throat. He nipped at the tender skin, tasted her sweet flesh and she cried out. Her hands threaded into his hair and urged him lower. He suckled at her breast, rolling the pebbled nipple over his tongue like a sun-ripened berry. She arched beneath him, her hands cradling his head. She smelled fresh, of soft rain and talcum powder and he went back and forth between her luscious breasts, unable to get enough of the taste of her.

  He plucked her rosy nipples into stiff peaks, loving the soft mewling sounds she made in her throat as he pleasured her. His hand moved lower and she moaned her approval, arching upward as he reached between her thighs to test her readiness for him. He listened to her sharp intake of breath as his fingertips skimmed over the delicate petals of her dewy sex. Finding her slick, he paused to brush his thumb in a circular motion over her pleasure center. His gaze locked with hers as he slid one finger into her core, followed by another. She appeared ready enough, but her body tensed.