by Cait London
Roman was wearing a new suit—Else had just hurried to him and snipped a price tag from under his arm. A new suit and a new life...new...new...new...
Channing was steady as always, unflappable. “You’re here showing off my sister’s designer wedding gown for one thing—though she never would have thought of white combat boots—and for another, you’re marrying that cowboy. Do you want to?”
Kallista gripped the rose-and-bleeding-heart bouquet in her fists. “Yes, I do. I’m going to make him pay. You have no idea what he said to me on the telephone.”
Roman’s deep uneven descriptions of how he felt when he was inside her, how soft she was against him, and the fragrance she emitted when she... Kallista swallowed tightly. “He can look innocent—he isn’t. He’s quite predatory. He looks slow and easy, but he pounces. Channing, the man is a taker.”
“Whatever he’s doing, you look wonderful, darling. I appreciated the extra futon he sent to your house, after I declined the offer to stay at Llewlyn House. The man has class and good taste. Now don’t worry about a thing. Your precious Bisque Café will be safe in my hands.” Channing chuckled and with a flourish lifted her hand to Roman’s. “Good luck, old man. She’s in a snit,” Channing purred as he stepped back and sat by Else.
Else smoothed Channing’s collar, straightened his tie and patted the little cowlick at the back of his head—he looked wary and edged slightly away from her. She smiled brightly and studied his cowlick as though searching for an idea to hold it in place. A blush began to rise beneath Channing’s tan.
Kallista looked up through the lace to Roman. The message that his eyes were telling her dried her throat and trembled sweetly around her heart. She held his hand tightly and Roman looked down at her sharply. Then he reached to place his arm around her and to draw her to his side. “This will do,” he told the minister quietly.
Roman’s vows were given in a strong, solemn tone, and Kallista heard herself speaking as firmly. When the minister pronounced them married, Roman gently lifted back her veil and bent to kiss the tears from her eyes. Because she saw his eyes mist, she reached to place her hand on the back of his head, tugging him down so that she could kiss his damp lashes. She hadn’t comforted a man before, hadn’t been touched by his tears. As he had before, in that strangely humbling, wonderfully endearing gesture, Roman held her hand, lifting it to his lips before resting his face within her palm. “I will remember you like this, for all the days of my life,” he whispered unevenly. “I’ll see my bride coming toward me.”
He straightened and smoothed her hair, the style old-fashioned and piled high, with tendrils along her face and nape. “My wife.”
The impact of those quiet words and Roman’s tender smile jarred Kallista. She parted her lips to speak, then his mouth brushed hers lightly.
In the rush after the ceremony, Kallista couldn’t spot Roman. Cindi held her hand and grinned up at her impishly.
“He’s got things to do.”
“He’s run off, leaving me to face this...all this. When I get my hands on him—”
“Time to change clothes,” Else said, pushing Kallista into a small room and following her. The Blaylock womer were waiting, hurrying to remove her wedding dress and leaving her veil intact, no small feat. Kallista was hustled into a red shirt with billowing sleeves, skintight tan pants—at which point a royal debate occurred among the womer if the bride’s garter should go on the outside or inside. The) settled for outside, then Kallista was pushed into a chair Bernadette relaced Kallista’s white combat boots. The) tugged her to her feet and adjusted the veil while kissing her. Else swung a broad leather belt around Kallista’s waist and tucked a long musket pistol into it. She straightened the cameo at Kallista’s throat and wiped the tears from her eyes. “It’s the best we could do, princess,” she said before gently pushing Kallista out of the room.
“Well, hello, pirate princess.” Channing and Rio came up behind her, swooped and carried her between them out the church and down the stairs.
There in the early September sunlight, Roman sat on Massachusetts, dressed in pirate gear. His loose white shirt billowed in the early September breeze; an eyepatch covering one eye, and a long scarf tied rakishly around his head, the red cloth fluttering. His Western jeans and moccasins added to the fascinating image.
She caught her breath and felt as if the world were spinning in golden magic and all her dreams were coming true....
“Hello, princess,” he said quietly, holding out his hand to her. There was just that heartbeat of wary hesitation that told her of his uncertainty and yet he’d given her a sense of freedom, of dreams coming true.
She’d dreamed of being a pirate princess, of freedom tc choose her own oceans, to raise her own flag. Roman’s outstretched strong hand offered her the excitement and the calm she’d needed for years.
She glanced at his family. Else held by Joe, was dabbing tears from her eyes, and all the Blaylocks had the same soft expression. In that moment, she felt a part of them, the family she’d never had. With delighted laughter that came from her heart, Kallista took Roman’s hand and stepped on his moccasin covered foot. When he lifted her up in front of him, she threw her arms around him and gave him the kiss she’d been wanting. She opened her heart to him, slanted her lips to his and gave him everything in the sunlight. When the kiss was finished, Roman looked down at her tenderly. “Ready?”
“Not yet.” Kallista found Cindi, huddled against Else, and beckoned to her. “Avast me, matey. Cindi, want a ride on my pirate ship?”
“You bet, I do, pirate princess. I haven’t sailed the seven seas for years, haven’t lopped off any heads, either.” Rio lifted Cindi, placing her in front of Kallista, and after placing his eye patch on Cindi, Roman nudged the gelding into an easy trot. As the horse circled in front of the church, Cindi giggled and waved at the crowd. She glowed as she turned to Kallista and Roman. “Thanks, Dad. Thanks...er...Mom.”
“We’ll be back in two days. If you need me, Rio or Tyrell will get word to me and we’ll come back,” Roman stated carefully as Rio lifted Cindi from the horse.
“I’ll be just peachy,” she said. “I get to stay at Patty’s the whole time. She’s got lots of kittens.”
Amid the falling confetti thrown by the crowd, the hoots and cheers, Kallista held Roman tightly, her arms around his waist, as he urged Massachusetts onto the trail behind the church.
Roman had been too silent, intent upon their journey. Loves Dancing had been saddled and waiting, and they rode silently up the winding mountain trail leading to Boone’s cabin. In early September, the trembling aspens had turned to gold and fire, their trunks brilliantly white against the foliage. A mule deer, a doe with her fawn, turned to watch the passing riders.
For Kallista, it was a strange, fearsome journey to answers Roman would give her and to a life she could easily leave or enter. He hadn’t asked for promises, and she studied her hand, resting on the saddle horn. The wide gold band gleamed, the design simple and strong, and terrifying in the shadows of the pine and fur. She hadn’t thought to buy him a ring; she hadn’t known she’d be so terrified. Easy, girl, Boone’s voice slid along her nerves and she could almost catch his familiar scents of leather and earth and love. She glanced at a doe, a white mottled fawn against her side. Kallista was alone now, without her defenses, without Boone....
At the cabin, Roman lifted her from Loves Dancing and she placed her hand on his cheek. Was she so sensitive to Roman Blaylock that she knew his needs without words? Her terror soared; what did he know? What made him look so concerned, his dark face turned to her palm?
Whatever lay in store, she trusted him.
“I want to know now. Everything,” she whispered as Roman unsaddled the horses, tethering them to a fallen pine.
Roman turned slowly and bent to pick her up in his arms, carrying her to the old cabin’s porch. His throat worked, his jaw tensed and she knew Roman was thinking of how to tell her.
“It’s co
ld up here...winter coming.... You’ve been my wife since that first time,” he said slowly, emotion running beneath his deep tone. He held her hand, toyed with the wedding band. “But today was the sweetest moment in my life and when I saw you coming to me, to our marriage, I—” His voice broke and Roman gathered her closer. “I didn’t believe it was possible to be this happy, to feel like this, as if I’m complete.... The cabin is cleaned and stocked. I thought we’d stay here a couple days, for appearances. I’ll sleep on the porch. The cabin is nice and clean for you...Else, Hannah, and the rest of the women wanted to do this for you, Mrs. Blaylock.” He spoke as if testing the words reverently upon his lips.
She stroked his hair, aware of his tense body, and whatever he feared to tell her. The very nice thing about Roman Blaylock, she decided, was how he responded to her touch...as though something calmed within him. The comforting of Roman Blaylock, her new husband, soothed the restlessness within her. “Thank you for today, for the pirate outfit.”
“It seemed right. Boone would have liked that, his pirate princess. That’s what he called you, his pirate princess. Else liked being in charge of the shirt sewing and the wedding. There wasn’t time before the wedding, but she’s planning some big shower-reception thing after we return. If you’re uncomfortable with that—”
“Tell me now.” She wanted to know, to sort out her emotions and push away whatever troubled Roman.
He lifted his head, tracing the woods, the rippling stream. His hand smoothed her hair, bringing her head upon his shoulder and rocking her. “Jeremy Llewlyn is your uncle. Your father, Michael, was killed in a wreck nine years ago, leaving his current wife pregnant.”
“Why—” she began only to be hushed by Roman’s finger on her lips.
“Let me tell the story...Boone’s story. It isn’t sweet, dear heart....” He took a deep breath and continued, “Boone didn’t want either of his sons to return to the land. He knew they’d destroy it and the honor of the Llewlyns. They were his shame, born to a cold wife while he was making his kingdom away from Jasmine. Both sons were bigamists, marrying under different names. But the children that they produced were Boone’s grandchildren, and he loved them.”
“That’s why there were always other—”
“Children. Their parents left them with Boone.” Roman brushed his lips upon her temple. “Kallie, Boone’s sons and their illegal wives receive monthly payments to keep them away from Llewlyn land. But Boone’s will provides for those grandchildren—The Innocents, he called them.”
Kallista’s heart raced as quickly as the rabbit scurrying under the brush. She sat up to look at Roman. “I’m Boone’s granddaughter? Why didn’t he...?”
“Because he loved his sons, too, and he thought that children belonged with their mothers. I differ on that—”
Kallista froze. A gentle burst of cold September wind sent a spray of leaves to the earth. They rustled against the old board porch as she asked, “Is Cindi his granddaughter?”
Roman nodded solemnly. His black gaze traced her face. “She is. She’s also your half sister. You look exactly like Boone’s maternal grandmother and mother.”
“You knew all this. You allowed people—me—to think that you were taking advantage of Boone.”
Roman looked as if he’d traveled too many miles, weary to the bone, the lines deepening around his mouth and on his forehead. “The man needed his pride to die, honey, and it was the least I could do. He wanted the Llewlyn name to remain good, at least here where he was raised. I intend to keep it good...and there are more grandchildren to reclaim.”
“My father and my uncle were bigamists. Boone cleared the legalities to keep them from jail, isn’t that so? He wiped out all records.”
“He did. He wanted to keep the children away from his shame, his sons’ cruelty.”
Kallista eased from Roman’s arms to stand. He looked wary, as though he’d been battered and couldn’t fight anymore. She ached for him. “He must have paid a terrible price, keeping this secret. But you’ve paid, too, Roman.”
“Boone was a wealthy man and building his kingdom cost him what he wanted most—family to live on the land. You’re to have this—” Roman reached into his pocket and placed a gold doubloon in her palm. “And one thousand acres. And there’s a fat Swiss bank account with your name on it. Boone wanted to keep his financial affairs very private. You’re a wealthy woman, Mrs. Blaylock, and I’ll help you do whatever you want.”
Kallista gripped the gold doubloon in her hand, tears welling to her eyes. “I have to think about all this.”
“Yes, you do. I thought it best to come here, where you were happy with Boone. You can think without distractions... and make decisions... about your life. But Boone doesn’t want the land to go to outsiders. I am to buy out your portion at market value if you don’t want it.”
“You think I’d sell my grandfather’s family land? Think again, Mr. Roman Blaylock. One thousand acres... Boone has ten thousand acres of fields and rough land. Roman, there’s Cindi and me. Does that mean there are eight more grandchildren?” Overwhelmed, Kallista waited, her heart pounding.
“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I have to contact eight more.”
“Who are they...my...brothers and sisters and cousins?”
“Most of them are adults, some older than you. The files are at Boone’s place.” Then Roman stood slowly and looking older than his years, took an ax from a stump and began chopping. His movements were experienced and methodical, those of a strong man pitting himself against a mountain of wood. Kallista glanced at the high stacked woodpile and knew that Roman fought the frustration he’d hidden for so long.
She longed to comfort Roman, to hold him close and wipe away his burdens. Trembling, fighting the past and overcome by the new knowledge of Boone’s relationship to her, she fought tears. Because she couldn’t bring more hardship to Roman, because she had to tend her wounds, to mourn Boone in a new way, Kallista forced herself to enter the cabin. When the door closed, she released a lifetime of tears—
Eleven
In the cold September night, a light spray of snowflakes fell on the old cabin. Roman sat on the front porch and hungered for his bride.
He wanted to hold her and to cherish her, and to take her burdens upon himself. Kallista had the information she needed now, and—Roman inhaled sharply, pain slamming into him. She could leave. Kallista wasn’t a woman who liked tethers, and the extensive Blaylock family was certainly one of those ties that bind.
He’d married Debbie to protect her, he’d married Kallista because his desire for her was greater than his pride...and he loved her, this other part of his heart.
She hadn’t eaten the simple meal he’d prepared; she’d been too quiet, too pale, her expression shattered as she’d wandered by the stream and the woods, traveling through her memories with Boone, trying to adjust. He’d followed her, to keep her safe from the mountain, and when Kallista, turned to him, she seemed so vulnerable and small. One look told him that she needed to meet this emotional passage alone. Wearing his revolver and his sheathed hunting knife, he’d kept his distance, letting her roam amid the fir and pine and aspen, but he never lost sight of her. If anything happened to her...
His heart and soul would simply pour out of him.
Roman scanned deer moving across the clearing as they had done for centuries. He shouldn’t want her now, giving her time to think, but he did, his body ripe with the need to love his wife on his wedding night. Roman rubbed his forehead, the pounding headache brewing there. He scanned the cold snowy mist surrounding the mountain and curled his hand into a fist.
He glanced at his sleeping bag, spread on the porch where he could hear Kallista if she needed him. Then Roman slowly stood. He’d kept his promise to Boone, but he’d made Kallista marry him to get the secret; she’d protect Boone and the Llewlyn legacy. Would she remember what they’d shared? Would she remember how she fit into his body and his heart?
Roman swallowed
and eased open the door to the dark cabin, the small stove casting firelight upon the rough-board room. He smiled tenderly at the white combat boots she’d worn with her elegant gown. He frowned at the basket sent from Channing, loaded with champagne and snacks and a small battery-powered radio. Concerned with the information he would give to Kallista on their wedding day and the addition, and the man staying at her house, Roman had not thought of fruit, or champagne. Instead, when he couldn’t sleep, hungering for her, listening to echoes of her breathing, her passion, Roman had worked on Mrs. Llewlyn’s walnut wardrobe and had confronted Jeremy Llewlyn, no small chore. Llewlyn, when threatened of being stripped of any income, had retreated—for now.
Roman ran his hand through his hair—he wasn’t a champagne man or a model of charm and elegant manners. He could only give Kallista what was in his heart and soul; he found his bride, lying small and curled up on Boone’s massive cot. He shut the door, fearing she would take chill, added more wood to the fire as quietly as he could, then turned to his wife. In the firelight, her eyes were on him, and he sat slowly on the cot, smoothed back the long swath of hair that circled her throat He placed his hand on her head, his fingertips rubbing her scalp. “Tired?”
“Exhausted.”
“You’ll work it through. Boudreaux’s best troubleshooter is tough when it counts. I’ll be right outside if you need me.” He ran his thumb across the silvery, damp, smoothness of her cheek.
“Tough. I feel as if I’ve been mauled.” Her voice was no more than a quiver in the shadows, the sound of tears laced through it. “You looked like a hunter from the Old West today, following me through the woods. Every time I looked back, you were there, that six-shooter strapped low on your hip, and that huge, evil knife on the other side.”
