His Wild West Wife

by Lauri Robinson

  Mrs. Sinclair nodded. “It’s been good having her home again. But it’ll be good to know she’s far away again, and safe.”

  The last bit hit his ears as the door closed and an involuntary shiver rippled his shoulders. Safe? The land he’d traveled across had been barren, but civilized. Some of the towns he’d spent the night in had all the amenities of Chicago. Not the population base, but in many ways that was safer.

  More confused than ever, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, covered with the sheet when the door opened again. His heart lurched at the sadness in Clara’s eyes, and he bolted off the bed. “What’s happened? What’s—”

  “Nothing,” she said, attempting to smile. “Leg’s better, huh?”

  Embarrassment at how he’d used the minor injury to trick her burned his neck. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  She handed him his clothes, which he quickly donned, while she turned her back. When he sat on the bed to pull on his socks and boots, she walked across the room and set the rest of his clothes on the chair before bending to pick up his saddlebag.

  Boots on, he stood and froze as she lifted the papers off the table. Without saying a word, he crossed the room and took them from her hand.

  “Did I sign in the right place?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, taking the bag from her other hand and tossing it as well as the papers onto the bed. “I didn’t look.”

  The sound of a child crying filtered into the room, reminding him of how many people did live in the little house. “Could we go for a walk?” he asked. “Someplace private?”

  Her gaze left the papers to glance toward him. “But your leg—”

  “It’s fine,” he said. “We need to talk, about the divorce. I’d like us not to be interrupted.”

  She gave a half nod, half shrug, almost as if exhausted. Blake issued a silent curse, knowing he was the cause of her fatigue. He’d rather see her snapping mad than so solemn. She led the way out of the room, and continued out the front door and around to the back side of the house. There she gestured toward a faint trail that led up the hill.

  “The terrain out here surprised me, how it went from flat land to these bluffs and gullies so fast,” he said, attempting to pull her into a conversation as they walked.

  “It’s because of the Smoky Hill River,” she said, pointing toward the highest hill in the distance. “It’s on the other side of that hill. The Smoky Hill.”

  “I crossed the river a couple times,” he said. “But never saw the farm, would have rode right past it again if not for Nathan and his old gun.” He’d been in towns north, south, east and west of here, showing their wedding photo and asking questions. The few people who thought she looked familiar had pointed in this direction, but no one gave specifics. Just said there were a few homesteads he could visit. Not many. He’d discovered that, and those he had approached were about as tight-lipped as the town folks. For a while he’d considered returning to Chicago, hiring a Pinkerton agent, but he wanted to be the one to find her.

  “I’m sorry you went through so much trouble. And I’m sorry Nathan shot you.”

  Her apology was sincere, but it didn’t sound like her speaking, and Blake held his silence until they’d topped the hill. There he gestured for them to sit on a sun-bleached log that seemed to have been placed there for just that purpose, to sit beneath the shade of a nearby tree and watch. Almost a lookout of sorts.

  Blake questioned how to start. Clara never seemed fragile to him, she’d always been too alive and outgoing for that, but right now, he felt as if she was as frail and delicate as blown glass. Or maybe it was the air between them that felt that way. The result of last night. Her animosity was absent this morning, but so was the shine from her eyes.

  “I’m not sorry,” he said. “I’m glad Nathan shot me.” Nodding toward the farm well hidden by the bluffs, he added, “I’d have never found this place.”

  “That’s why it was chosen,” she said.

  He frowned, picking up a hint of disgust in her tone. “What do you mean?”

  Keeping her gaze off him, she said, “Outlaws don’t want their hideouts found.”

  Chapter Six

  “William?”

  The shock in Blake’s voice made a tiny grin play at the corners of his lips, but Clara was too numb to smile, knowing what she had to do. “No, not William,” she answered. “Our father. He was one of Quantrill’s Raiders, and continued his outlaw ways long after the war.”

  Blake had gone stock-still and that had her insides churning as though she’d been poisoned. She had been, years ago, by birth.

  “He’s in prison now,” she said when he hadn’t responded. “Down in Yuma.”

  “Since when?”

  As a lawyer, he knew Yuma was where they sent the worst of the worst. “Seven years ago.”

  “That explains why Mrs. Sinclair knows so much about bullet holes. I was wondering about that.”

  Surprised by the humor in his tone, Clara turned. His smile slipped away as he took her hand. “Why didn’t you go live with Oscar before this year?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t know about him until William found his letters behind a loose board in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”

  Blake caught her beneath the chin when she attempted to bow her head. “Oscar said finding you was a miracle.”

  Her eyes stung. “I never told him about my father, either.” She couldn’t handle the compassion in his face and pulled her chin from his hold. “I didn’t want him to know the life my mother had, how everyone hated us. It wasn’t until a couple of years ago that people in town started speaking to us.” She stood up, needing space in order to say, “You said you’d never defend an outlaw.”

  He stood, too, but kept his distance. “Is that why you married me? To defend your father?”

  “No. No.” Wondering how she’d led him to that belief, she said, “I’m the one that turned him in, told the sheriff where to find him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was tired of the life I had.” She gestured to the farm below. “We had.”

  “Is that why you left me?” he asked. “Because you were tired of the life you had?”

  Clara spun to face him, ready to deny such a thing, but there was a touch of truth in that. “Yes, and no,” she said, confused how to explain. “I was afraid you’d discover who I was and send me away.”

  “Who you were?”

  “Who I am. An outlaw’s daughter.”

  “I don’t care who your father was, Clara.”

  “You said you’d never defend—”

  “I won’t,” he interrupted, “defend a known felon, if I know they’re lying, but that has nothing to do with you. Why did you leave me?” His gaze was direct, questioning. “The real reason.”

  She took a deep breath. “Because I saw you with another woman. One you would be proud to have as your wife.”

  “Proud— What woman?” he asked, cupping her cheeks when she wanted to turn away.

  “You met her across the street in the park and then she was at the train station with you.”

  His hand slipped from her cheek and he took a step back.

  Her heart clenched.

  “That woman you saw me with...” he said slowly.

  Though her heart was now in her throat, threatening to choke her, she nodded.

  “Was my mother.”

  Unable to think for a moment, she stalled
by asking, “Your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  If there was relief, knowing who the other woman was, Clara didn’t feel it with all the confusion rising inside her. “I assumed your parents were dead.”

  He turned, walked back to the log and rested a foot on it. “Yes, I know, and I never said anything for you to think otherwise.”

  “Why?” Fearing she knew the answer had her trembling. “Because you were embarrassed to be married to me?”

  He spun around, covered the space between them with little more than one swift stride. “I could never be embarrassed of you.”

  Bitterness welled inside her. “An outlaw’s daughter?”

  Blake grabbed her, kissed her, long and hard, until her mind was reeling and her blood was pounding. His hands were on her cheeks again and he kept them there as the kiss ended. “I don’t give a damn about who your father is. It’s you I love.”

  Her entire being started to tremble.

  “I’ve been such an idiot, Clara,” he whispered. “I love you more than anything. More than I even knew was possible.”

  His hold wouldn’t allow her to move, nor would his eyes. They were so serious, so full of emotion, they stalled her breathing.

  “I never told you about my mother because she never wanted anyone to know I was her son. She’s a brothel owner, has been since she was very young. I have no idea who my father was.” He shook his head. “Unlike you, I never tried to change anything. Just accepted it for what it is and kept the secret hidden.”

  “But you’re a lawyer,” she interjected. “A prominent, well-known one.”

  “And everyone believes my parents are dead. That my education was paid for by a rich uncle, who died when I passed the bar ten years ago, when I was seventeen.”

  Still not understanding, she said, “Plenty of women in your mother’s profession have babies. William’s mother had been a prostitute.”

  “The difference would be the men. Those my mother associates with are affluent and eminent. They pay excessively to assure no one ever knows about their activities. It’s made her a wealthy woman. She’d give up her life before she’d betray one of her clients.” He shook his head. “She’d come to Chicago to insist I go to Springfield to defend one of them in a land dispute. She wanted to meet you, but I refused.” His thumbs ran over her cheeks. “Not because I was embarrassed of you, because I was embarrassed of me. That you wouldn’t love me if you knew my past.”

  Clara could no longer hold back the tears. “I’d have loved you more because of it,” she whispered. “I do love you more. You’ve succeeded despite who your mother is.”

  Blake had learned a lot about love from Clara, but today’s lesson was probably the most profound. He’d been so busy trying to hide his past, he never thought of others, their pasts, the things they’d overcome. “And I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “More for what you’ve overcome.”

  “That’s not possible,” she argued.

  He kissed her then, a gentle coming together that left him as breathless as any other. Following up with a few tiny pecks, he said, “I can’t believe it’s been our parents keeping us apart, when they truly don’t matter.”

  “Yes, they do,” she said. “If someone in Chicago learns who my father is, it could ruin your reputation, your law practice.”

  The worry in her eyes was real and increased his determination. “No it won’t. They’ll be just as amazed as I am at how strong and courageous you are.”

  “What about your mother? What will she think of me?”

  “I’ve never jeopardized her secret, and for that she respects my life, my decisions.” Clara was still in his arms and he tightened his hold. “I’m your husband, and I’ll never stand for anyone harming you. Ever.”

  The apprehension was still there, still gazing up at him. “What about the divorce papers?” she asked. “I signed them.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Let me tell you one final secret. I never wanted a divorce. The papers were just an excuse to find you. I’ll burn them as soon as we get back to the house.”

  A frown was pulling her delicate brows downward, but her lips were twitching as if she was keeping a smile at bay. “You still want to be married to me?” she asked. “After knowing—”

  “Yes,” he interrupted. “More than ever. That is if you still want to be married to me.”

  Her smile again lit up his world. “More than ever,” she said.

  One kiss led to another, and soon they were on the ground, lying side by side in the splattering of grass beneath the shade tree. Blake ran a hand down the side of her face. “I remember the first time I saw you, sitting in the park, feeding the birds, I stopped dead in my tracks. Had to take a second look. You were so beautiful. Want to know what I thought?”

  She nodded.

  “That I could spend the rest of my life looking at you.”

  “You did not.”

  “Yes, I did,” he answered, kissing the side of her neck. “I also hoped the woman I was supposed to meet wouldn’t show up so I could talk to you instead.”

  “I thought you were too tall and handsome to be a lawyer.”

  “Oh? Are lawyers supposed to be short and ugly?”

  “The only one I’d ever met had been.”

  He laughed and so did she, and the sound resonated inside him. She was all he would ever worry about again. “Want to know what else I thought about that first day?”

  She nodded as she bit her bottom lip when his fingers started playing with the buttons on her blouse. This time he was going to take his time, make every moment count.

  “I was thinking how wonderful it would be to kiss you.” He touched his lips to hers. “Here and,” running kisses over her chin, he continued, “and here, and here.” By then her blouse was open and he pushed aside the material. “And here.” He licked a nipple through the material of her chemise. “Most definitely, here.”

  Clara’s entire being was alive. Especially her heart. It had never been so full. She dug her hands deep into Blake’s hair, not wanting him to ever stop. Ever.

  On fire and wishing she’d already shed her clothes, the moment Blake lifted his head, she started squirming out of her blouse.

  “You know what we’re going to do?” he asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea,” she answered, untying her boots.

  Blake’s laugh had never sounded so good, and her eyes refused to leave him as he stood, dropped his pants over his hips. He was so glorious with the sun glistening off his skin. All those curves and contours. Her insides liquefied, but she had the strength to scramble to her feet, stand before him.

  “Yes, we are going to do that, too.” He brushed her hands aside, removed her skirt and pantaloons. Soon they stood before each other, bare, on top of the hill as if it was the top of the very world. It was spectacular, the sight of him, smiling down on her, and she’d never been more excited. More thrilled to be who she was.

  “Too?” she asked, running a single fingertip down the center of his chest.

  “Well, first,” he said, grasping her waist and pulling her forward.

  Undeniably restless and eager, her body throbbing and begging for more, Clara looped her arms around his neck, aching harder and quivering as their flesh merged. “First?” she asked, running kisses under his chin.

  She had to muffle a husky cry as his hands cupped the plumpness of her bottom. He chuckled, teased her by swaying
against her. “Yes, first.” After a long and solid kiss that had her reeling and ready to beg him to lay her on the ground, Blake picked her up, swung her around. They both laughed so loud it echoed against the hills, and then, slowly, sweetly, he lowered her to the grass, stretched out beside her.

  “When we leave here,” he said, trailing a finger down her neck, “we’re going to get on a train and head west. All the way to the coast.”

  The way he rolled the tip of one breast between his finger and thumb had her groaning and heat exploding between her legs.

  “And then,” he whispered, “we’ll get on a train and head east, all the way to the east coast.”

  He was teasing the other nipple now and she was moaning aloud, needing him inside her so badly.

  “Maybe then we’ll board a ship,” he said as his hand slid down her stomach, “sail across the ocean. Have the longest, most amazing honeymoon ever.”

  Her legs had parted, her center anticipating him finding it. Bliss was somewhat fogging her mind, especially when his hand did settle between her thighs, yet she found the ability to ask, “What about Chicago?”

  “What about it?”

  “Your practice—” Her breath caught as one finger entered her.

  “The attorneys who work for me are very capable. I don’t need to be there to continue to earn a living. They’ll get along fine without me.”

  “I won’t,” she said, arching into the delightful pleasure. “Get along fine without you. I missed you so much the past few months.” She took his mouth then, kissing him as wildly and fierily as the tumult inside her.

  The conversation lost its focus as a feral power overtook her. She couldn’t think beyond the indulgence building inside, unleashed only by his touch, and building with every stroke, every kiss. It was almost merciless, the way he teased and coaxed her body to the peak and held it there as his hands, his mouth, would focus on another section of her body.

  She grew frantic with want, and at that moment, knowing her so well, he leveled himself over her. His entrance was perfect, satisfying in a mysterious way that took her to the next level, like climbing a ladder, higher and higher. Eventually there were no more rungs, nothing to reach for, and his name echoed around in her head, clattered against the back of her throat.