The Sons of Johnny Hastings Box Set

by Patty Devlin

  Delia paused to search for her handkerchief in her reticule, but Emmalee thought she needed a brief respite to regain control her emotions before continuing. After dabbing at her eyes, she did just that.

  “Our grandmother fell in love with Andrew at first sight, according to Mama. She told me the tale of how Shosha, as Andrew called her, left her people to follow her heart. Together they farmed a small parcel of land along the Missouri River in Oklahoma. As Mama tells it, they were in love and very happy.” Her smile was soft and her eyes warmed as she spoke of her family. “Our mother was their only child. Unfortunately, society then, as they still do today, frowned upon mixing white with Indian blood. So, Mama had it rough growing up. She stayed mainly to the farm, happy but with few friends, which is hard on a young girl. When Shosha and Andrew died suddenly of fever, she was only eighteen. She couldn’t manage the farm alone, and without a husband to help her, well, she ended up selling it to neighbors and moving to St. Louis. There she became a shop girl, working for a seamstress and using the skills her mother had taught her. It was a low-paying job, but she lived frugally and honorably, that is until she met John Hastings. She told me she fell in love with him instantly. He was tall and handsome. They had a brief liaison, what she called a love affair, which we now know was one-sided. Mama thought he loved her and was going to marry her one day. With him, she thought she would finally get to live out her dream of home and family. After just a few weeks of professing his undying love for her, she woke to find him gone. He’d left her, without a note or his direction. A few weeks later, she discovered she was with child. Unfortunately, she lost her job. No one wanted to keep a young, unmarried woman who was obviously with child around their shop to comingle with the honorable people. She used that word so often, honorable…” Her voice drifted off for a moment, obviously recalling painful memories.

  Emmalee’s mind conjured all kinds of horrible scenarios of how a young woman, alone and without family, would take care of two babies. None of them were good. Gripping Clint’s hand tightly, she waited for the next blow.

  Delia continued softly, “She gave you up when you were just a few days old. She didn’t want to, said it nearly broke her heart. But she didn’t know how to feed one baby, let alone two. She figured a girl would be easier to raise, but nothing was easy. We moved around a lot. In the end, it wasn’t pretty. I cared for her and she died in my arms when I was thirteen.”

  A single tear rolled down her cheek when she finished. Em looked at Clint. His eyes were closed, and his face was tense with pain, anger and so much more. Her heart broke for him, for both of them.

  “Mama was a good woman before John Hastings took her innocence. Later, she had to sell what she had given freely to him out of love to feed his child. You can see now why I have no love for John Hastings. He is no father to me. If he was alive today and I had him in front of me, I’d shoot the son of a bitch and be proud of it.”

  Clint’s eyes opened, and he looked at his sister, who was, he’d found out, older than him by five minutes. Em saw pride as he looked at her. Of the two, she’d had it worst, but she’d survived. A small uptick at the side of his mouth appeared fleetingly.

  “We are going to press on to Denver. I understand you’re not coming along, but these men are surely going to want to meet you.”

  “NO! I don’t want to know them. I’m engaged to be married, and I will not put that at risk for anything. I can’t. He doesn’t know about my profligate father, or my mother and what she became for us to survive. He doesn’t know about my Indian blood and he won’t. I won’t let him. You must honor my wishes in this, Clint. Please.” Tears were flowing down her cheeks, fear of exposure making her fearful. Her desperate pleas broke Emmalee’s heart and she cried right along with her.

  “Of course, honey,” Clint said, his own eyes liquid with emotion. “It is your story to tell, or to keep to yourself, however you see fit. If you decide to tell them one day, then the brothers will just have to understand.”

  “Half-brothers. You are my only true brother, Clint.” She smiled at him through her tears. “I’ve dreamed of you, over the years. Not you specifically, like a premonition or anything too eerie, but of having a brother, playing and laughing as children, mostly. I even asked Mama about it, but she brushed it aside, never owning up to it until her deathbed. How did they find you? Mama said she had no idea where to even begin looking.”

  “Pinkerton found me through you. The orphanage I was placed in as an infant had a file on me. In it was a note that no one ever shared. It had our mother’s name. She was going to leave us both there but at the last minute changed her mind and took only you.”

  Delia mopped up more tears as the proprietor came up to their table and told Clint the café was closing.

  “It’s getting late anyway, Clint, and I need to get home.”

  “Of course, Delia, but I don’t want to lose you again. Can we correspond?”

  “Certainly, you are my twin brother. If I lost you again, it would be like losing part of me. Does that make sense?”

  “Strangely, it does.” His smile was sad. “I wish we were closer.”

  “We are transcontinental now in Council Bluffs. Maybe one day I’ll get the nerve to tell Steven. I’d love to see Boston and the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “I’ll look forward to your visit. Until then, I’ll write.”

  “As will I,” Emmalee agreed.

  “I’m glad you found me, Clint. To know I have a brother,” looking to Emmalee, she was sincere as she added, “and a new sister, makes this all much easier to bear.”

  Chapter Seven

  Rolling over in bed, her hand reached for her husband beside her. It fell on rumpled, cool sheets, but no Clinton. Drowsily, she opened her eyes. Scanning the room, she found him standing at the window, broodingly looking out into the darkness.

  Lost in thought, he didn’t move as she pushed back the covers and padded across the room to him. Standing behind him, she pressed her palm against his bare back. Immediately, he turned.

  “Em, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to bed, sweetheart.” His voice, though low and quiet, still rumbled throughout the darkly shadowed room.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  Well, that was to the point. Undeterred, she slipped her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek to his strong, muscular back, and squeezed. His hands came to her forearms, and instead of pushing her away and sending her to bed as she’d expected, he slid his palms across her skin.

  “We don’t have to talk. We could cuddle. Or I could rub your shoulders and help you relax or anything else you might have in mind.”

  He unclasped her hands and turned, bringing them chest to chest, or rather her chest to his belly since he towered above her. She tilted her head back and looked up at him.

  His dour expression had eased a bit. As he looked down at her, his lips kicked up on one side. “That’s a temptress’s smile if I ever saw one. Are you angling for my attention, Em?”

  “Yes, but I’ll settle for whatever will make you relax and come back to bed. I don’t like to see you so troubled, husband.”

  “I could do with some distracting, baby, but it’s late. We have more long days ahead of us.”

  “Yeah, but we’ll be on a train. We can nap on the train.”

  “I like the way you think, Mrs. Ryan.” He bent, startling her by scooping her into his arms and carrying her back to bed. Setting her on her feet at the bedside, he pulled her nightgown over her head. “You won’t need this any longer. I’m not sure why you even bother.”

  Standing exposed and vulnerable before him, she put her modesty aside for him. Distraction was her goal, the pleasure he gave her secondary, but if that happened for her again, then who was she to complain? Smiling like the temptress he’d called her, she leaned in, sliding her hands up his smooth chest until they were skin to skin, her breasts pressing against his warm flesh, nipples peaked and achy.


  “I love you, honey.”

  His head dipped to hers, his lips crushing as his hands slipped behind her and gathered her close. Cupping her bottom, he lifted her against him while he sank a knee into the mattress and then laid her back on the soft sheets. Rising above her, his hands searched out the buttons of his trousers as he worked them free. All the while, his passion-filled eyes scanned her body.

  No longer did she see pain or confusion in his eyes. His entire focus had shifted to her. Pleased with her newly acquired skills of seduction, she stretched languidly, arms above her head, back bowed like a luxuriant cat.

  His trousers gone, he climbed over her, caging her body with his. As he gazed down on her, his brilliant blue eyes snapping like the hottest of flames, he said, “I love you, too, Emmalee Ryan. Just know that I am fully aware of what you’re playing at.”

  His hands sought the space under her arms, and he slid her more fully on to the bed. Settling between her parted thighs, he lowered his head. Their eyes connected.

  “Your harmless seduction tonight meets both our needs, so I’m allowing it. Truth be told, I’m enjoying the hell out of it. Be warned though: you won’t always be able to manipulate me so easily, even with this delectable body. Do you understand?”

  “I do, honey. I just wanted to take your mind off things and make you happy. I swear.”

  “I know, baby, and I thank you.” He moved his hips slightly and slipped inside her. The next instant she was filled, swift and true. “That’s why you’re on your back with me deep inside you, instead of over my knee.”

  Kissing her gently, he began to move, leisurely, unhurriedly. At times, he pulled back so far, she thought she would lose him, but his control was extraordinary. His return glide would be excruciatingly slow so that she felt every inch, every nuance of his hard length, deep inside her. Clint did this, repeatedly, for what seemed like forever, nibbling, licking and teasing her lips all along. He was driving her insane.

  Trying to encourage him to speed things up, she wrapped her legs around his hips, her heels pressing against his muscled behind.

  “Stop manipulating and enjoy, baby. This is my seduction now, which means I’m in charge.”

  “But I can’t bear it.”

  “Then talk to me. Tell me what you want; don’t scheme and contrive, Em.”

  She groaned in frustration, lifting her hips to take more of him faster.

  He laughed. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you to move faster.”

  He plunged into her then, quick and hard. Emmalee groaned.

  “Yes, like that. Do it again.”

  “My pleasure, baby,” he growled as rocked into her, setting up a breathtaking rhythm of plunges and glides. “Does that feel good, Em?”

  “Great heavens, yes, just don’t stop, Clint. I’ll die if you stop.”

  “Can you take more?”

  “Uh…” More what? She wasn’t sure what he meant. Tentatively, she breathed, “Yes, please?”

  He chuckled. “Trust me.” Lifting up, he sat back. Sliding his hands to the back of her legs, he pressed them toward her chest.

  Emmalee gasped as he sank deeper. Then he leaned forward, his arms going to the outside of her legs, his chest pushing them higher, until they were clear up to her shoulders. With his forearms propped onto the mattress, he began to move. As he did, he watched her.

  The first deep glide made her grunt, as he filled her fuller and deeper than ever before. Instinctively, her hands came to his chest, her palms flat.

  “Too much, baby?”

  “No, it’s just different.”

  He plunged again, her knees now pushed against her chest. She grunted again, breathless from her legs and his weight pressing on her. He moved faster. Each plunge into her center stretched her and filled her, his body pressing the air from her lungs.

  Emmalee’s head was spinning, and she couldn’t decide whether it was from his intense possession or the lack of oxygen in her lungs. After a few more deep thrusts, he eased back onto his heels. Moving her legs effortlessly, he hooked her feet over his shoulders. He began to move again, and her eyes flew to his.

  “I was afraid you’d faint, Em. This way is even better, because I can play.” His thumb found her intimately and began to rub against that special, exquisitely sensitive place that he seemed to know so well. In fact, he knew more about her body than she did. She didn’t even want to think about why. All she wanted was to savor the wonderful things he was doing to her, which were inconceivably fantastic.

  Unsure what to do with her hands, she gripped his broad wrists, squeezing as he thrust faster, his thumb constantly circling and rubbing her flesh. She couldn’t help the near constant moan that accompanied his taking of her body. Setting into a keening wail, she spiraled closer to that burst of pleasure. Having experienced it each time with him, she eagerly anticipated it, the sweet release his body always gave her.

  “Clint,” she groaned.

  “I know, baby. Let go. I’ll catch you.”

  With his reassurance, she did just that and let go. Giving into the pleasure and the ultimate release of her body’s tension, she cried out as the sensations swept through her. Clint joined her, his masculine groans rising above her own. Em knew he found the same burst of pleasure. That they’d found it together was even more satisfying.

  As she regained her breath, she felt him moving more slowly inside her. Their release had been explosive, his bringing the warmth of his essence surging inside her. A flood of tenderness and a sense of joy washed over her as her eyes filled with happy tears.

  A minute later, he settled her against a stack of pillows. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her to his chest and said, as his lips pressed against her temple, “Thank you, baby. You were just the diversion I needed tonight.”

  “Any time, dear husband,” she giggled, tilting her head back and kissing his slack lips with a smack. At the sight of his heavy-lidded gaze, she knew he was nearly gone. Whispering, she asked, “Do you think you can sleep now?”

  “After that seduction, I have no doubts. Sleep will be not be a problem.”

  “I love you, wife.”

  “I love you more, husband.”

  “Impossible.”

  Chapter Eight

  The dining room was only half full when Emmalee and Clint came down at half past nine. A little later than usual to start the day, they had time because their train for Cheyenne didn’t leave until four o’clock. The plan for the day was to visit some shops in the morning to find Em a suitable dress for travel and hear the reading of the will at the attorney’s office in Denver. Then Emmalee would stay at the hotel and pack while Clint ran his errand to the sheriff’s office to swear his statement about Homer and provide his particulars, as well as head to the telegraph office. There he planned to wire both his and Emmalee’s parents about her whereabouts and their impromptu marriage.

  “Daddy will have a conniption fit, Clint.”

  “There is no help for it. You can’t have him find out somehow that you are not at your aunt’s and be frantic with worry.”

  “Hmph, I can’t imagine that happening. He will be happy to have me out of his hair. My stepmother will be ecstatic.”

  “I think you are selling yourself short, Em. Your father cares about you very much. As far as Paulette, I’m sure you are right about her excitement over our early wedding.”

  “She is selfish beyond belief. I won’t mind being shed of her, for certain.” A thought occurred to her and she said, “Clint, don’t forget to wire Stanton and check on Mr. Harrison and poor old Mr. Hampton. I cannot believe Homer Barton had the effrontery to shoot that poor man. He was well into his seventies if he was a day.”

  “The man was mean as a snake, which was compounded by his sheer madness. He planned to shoot me and rape you, but you can’t believe he shot Mr. Hampton?” Doubt rang clear in his voice as he shook his head in disbelief.

  She ignored his sarcasm and declared,
“I hope he hangs.” A shudder passed through her at the thought of his leering gaze as he’d stalked her by the river. “Actually, hanging is too easy for him. Maybe a firing squad would do better.”

  “My blood-thirsty bride,” Clint said, obviously amused by her hidden—unto now—vengeful nature. “Sorry, Em, he’ll have to rot in jail. Lucky for Homer, the governor of Iowa abolished the death penalty earlier this year for capital crimes, so the sheriff told me last night.”

  “Capital? That would only apply if Mr. Hampton were…” Her voice trailed off at the thought of the poor man lying somewhere bleeding to death from Homer’s bullet as thanks for trying to help her, another misdeed to lay at her feet in this fiasco.

  “All we can do is pray that he’s all right, Emmalee. I’ll send the wire and find out, but we likely won’t know until we arrive in Denver on Sunday.”

  ***

  Clint returned a few moments before one o’clock. By that point, she had everything packed including the ready-made dresses they had bought that morning. When he walked in, she was seated at the dressing table, brushing her hair. She turned with an uneasy smile.

  “Any word on my would-be heroes?”

  “No sweetheart,” he said with regret. “I’m sure the sheriff is a busy man and I didn’t expect him to be waiting for a wire from me at the telegraph office. In the wire I asked the sheriff to send his response to Denver.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him and turned back toward the mirror. As she brushed out her long hair, she saw him approach from behind. He stood behind her and picked up a glossy curl, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.

  “As I was running my errands, I was reminded of how disobedient my new wife was back in Stanton, and then again last night. I believe a lesson is in order on the importance of following instructions. I also thought it might be a good preventative measure so we avoid similar problems for the rest of the trip.”