“Can we afford all of that?” she asked, looking up at him in awe.
“I’ll have to impress you with my bank account,” he teased. “We can afford whatever you please. I’ve worked for years, dug gold from the earth and led four wagon trains across the country, and every penny is in the bank, here in Denver.”
She followed him from the dining room, remembering to thank their hostess for her hospitality. She’d watched her father pay the amount required for their meal, but knew that her own thanks would be welcome to the lady who had fed them so sumptuously.
They left the house and walked in the twilight back to the small church. A young man awaited them on the porch of the parsonage and led them into the white church building next to his home. A familiar sense of awe enveloped Elizabeth. She walked down the aisle beside her father, noting with pride the tall, handsome man who would soon be her husband standing at the altar. Who now awaited her with a semblance of patience, an emotion she was willing to guarantee he was not in possession of tonight. He was ready for a wedding night, needy of his wife by his side in that room at the hotel.
Elizabeth could only hope she was able to please him, willing though she was, she laid no claim to knowledge of the marriage bed. She only knew that she loved this man, was willing and eager to spend her life with him.
The words of the ceremony were brief, the reading from the Bible admonishing them to be loyal and honest and faithful. And she had no doubt that Cameron Montgomery was all of those, that he would be a good husband to her.
George Travis walked away, back to the boardinghouse where his belongings would be packed by morning, his future assured by the man known as Cam Montgomery.
“We’ll pick you up after we get some supplies together,” Cameron said, and George waved in acknowledgment as his daughter left his side to become Cameron’s wife.
The hotel was silent as they crossed the threshold, the desk clerk sleeping at his post, his head cushioned on the leather-covered book Cameron had signed earlier. Quietly, the newlyweds made their way up the stairs and down the hallway to their room. The key slid into the lock and the tumblers clicked as Cameron turned his hand, then twisted the doorknob and opened the portal into the room where his marriage would begin.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked quietly. “Do you want me to go downstairs and leave you alone till you get ready for bed?”
“No.” Elizabeth shook her head quickly. “Don’t leave me, Cameron. I’m just a little worried about all this, but I know I need you here to help me.”
“Can I undress you?” he asked hopefully. His hands went to the buttons on her bodice, and not waiting for permission, he undid them carefully, slid the simple gingham dress down her arms and onto the floor. She stood before him in her white petticoat, her vest and drawers as pristine as the woman whose body was covered by their fabric.
With care, he knelt, taking her shoes and stockings from her legs and feet, then stood before her again, his hands grasping the white muslin undergarments she wore and carefully removing them, to reveal the shimmering beauty of her body. She was rounded, yet slender, her curving breasts looking all the more abundant because of the narrowness of her waist. Her hips filled his hands and he brought her against himself, gritting his teeth, lest he frighten her with his aroused body.
It was not to be, for she lifted her hands to his shirt and undid the row of buttons, giving her a view of his chest, of the mat of dark hair that curled there, inviting her fingers to touch as she was being touched, of finding the muscular frame beneath the satin skin, of pressing her palms flat against him, her eyes closing as she explored the skin she’d exposed to her sight.
“There’s more,” he reminded her, undoing the waistband of his trousers, allowing them to fall to his feet. And then she was before him, pushing him to sit on the bed, kneeling at his feet to remove his shoes and stockings, sliding his trousers down, even as she eyed his drawers with barely concealed apprehension.
He would not allow her to become frightened. Her gaze had attached itself to the bulge of his manhood, and even as he drew in his next breath, he realized the arousal had grown beyond that which he normally attained.
Lifting her to her feet, he stood before her again, turned her in his arms to face away from him, and removed the drawers that hid his manhood from her. She shivered as his warmth pressed against her, inhaled sharply as his hands lifted to possess her breasts and then sighed with pleasure as he owned the softness of the woman he held.
His hands were slow in movement, sure in their aim, and she knew but a slight moment of apprehension as he placed her on the bed and joined her there, the candle burning beside them burning low.
“Blow out the candle,” she whispered, and her eyes pled for his understanding. Without words, he leaned toward the table, his big body covering hers, and with the sound of his breath toward the flame, the room was dark. His hands found her again, and he lay beside her, his breathing harsh, his body trembling. He bent to her, his mouth touching her breasts with care, lest she be frightened, and he felt a surge of delight as she clung to him.
“I want to be your wife, Cameron,” she whispered. “I don’t know much about all of this, but I’ll do whatever you ask me.”
She should have known better than to give him free rein, for his flesh surged at her words, his passion almost out of control. His bride was truly innocent, unaware of a man’s needs, and so had offered to accommodate him in any way he chose. A choice that might make any man forget himself. But Cameron had vowed to himself that he would be patient.
And so his choice was simple. He chose to pleasure her. With strokes designed to arouse her desire, kisses that were intended to entice her passion, and with hands that strove only to give her a woman’s delight, he led her down the path of seduction. Yet it was not truly a seduction, for she was willing, her hands exploring him with tentative movements, stroking fingers finding new places to visit. And when her palm reached his arousal, and did not hesitate, but circled that throbbing organ, he heard the sigh of surrender she offered.
“You’re hard, yet soft and silky at the same time,” she whispered and he smiled at the awe she made no attempt to conceal.
He relished the slender touch of her fingers, the reaching of her hand for the source of his masculinity, and knew afresh that he’d been blessed beyond measure.
Rising over her, moving her legs apart and exploring the treasures exposed, he sought the center of her being, caressed the warmth of her womanhood, and bent low over her, whispering words of love as he made her his wife.
Cameron’s head bowed as he found his place in her depths, his heartbeat rapid, his breathing harsh and yet he would not be satisfied until she had received pleasure to match his own. He rose to his knees and touched her more intimately, his hand roaming over her breasts and stomach, finally claiming the center of her pleasure and leading her to a knowledge of the joy her body was capable of.
It was not really a painful ordeal, such as she’d expected, but a blending of bodies, of minds and of the souls of two people who had found love in an unlikely time and place. Elizabeth felt the small stab of pain at his entry, lifting to contain him and gifting him with the prize of her virginity. For she was truly virgin, truly untouched, a woman of purity and virtue.
“I love you,” she whispered, after her heart had finally stilled a bit. “I want to spend my whole life with you, Cameron.”
“I know.” He kissed her then, and repeated the vow of love she offered, his words firm and filled with promise. “I love you, too, Elizabeth. I love you now, I’ll love you as long as we live, and I’ll always be there to take care of you and our children.”
“I’d like to have a baby,” she whispered, her hand rising to touch his face, her fingers tracing the long line of his jaw, the firm texture of his skin, the warmth of his mouth.
“As soon as we can,” he promised.
Epilogue
Six years later. Spring, 1854
> The house was large, growing yearly as Cameron added rooms, the one-room cabin he’d started with now spreading to offer four bedrooms, a big kitchen and parlor. They shared the space happily with George Travis, who delighted in being a grandfather to the children of his daughter’s marriage. He thrived there, aware that Elizabeth and Cameron were happy, fulfilled and enjoying their life together.
That they had chosen to include him in their plans was a bonus he’d not expected, but he’d been given free rein with a herd of horses, training, breeding and, with Cam’s help, developing a profitable line of buying and selling the horses that were necessary to life in the West.
Now his third grandchild was about to be born. In fact, if the sounds he heard from the big bedroom down the hall were to be believed, his newest delight was even now being delivered. He heard the sharp cry of a baby, the sound of Cameron’s deep voice, and finally the words he’d waited to hear.
“Daddy? Cam, where’s my daddy? Is he here?” Bethy asked, her voice carrying through the bedroom door Cameron had just opened. He walked through the portal, down the hallway to the parlor where the rest of his family awaited.
“I have something to show you,” he said, his arms holding a tiny bundle, his smile looking like that of a smug warrior who has won a hard battle and glories in it.
“A girl?” George asked hopefully, rising from the sofa, and Cameron’s answering nod gave him the answer he delighted in. “Can I hold her?”
“Here’s your grandpa, little one,” Cameron said softly and delivered the child into the waiting arms of her grandfather. From the sofa beside their grandfather, two small boys ran full-tilt, toward their parents’ bedroom.
“They’ll be fine,” Cam said as George watched them racing toward their mother.
“Can I see Elizabeth now?” he asked and at Cameron’s nod, he walked down the short hallway to the big bedroom at the back of the house.
Elizabeth was propped up in the bed, three pillows beneath her head, a joyous smile on her lips, her arms filled with two small boys who could not be refrained longer from seeing their mother.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” she asked her father, her eyes on the bundle he bore, and was not surprised by his choked reply.
“More beautiful that anything I’ve seen,” he said. “What will you call her?”
“Faith.” Without explanation, with a smile of beauty, Elizabeth named her daughter. And George understood. For faith had brought them thus far in their journey. It had sustained them through danger, uplifted them in the hard times life brought into being and given them courage to walk unfalteringly into the future.
“Faith.” It was Cameron’s deep voice that spoke the name now. “Faith Elizabeth,” he said. “The first girl to be born into this family, but hopefully not the last.”
Elizabeth raised weary eyes to him, yet found a smile for the man she loved. “No, not the last,” she vowed.
George placed the babe in her mother’s arms and lifted the two little boys from the bed. “Come on, fellas,” he said, eyeing the small replicas of their father who looked up at him with adoration. “Time to feed the horses. Your mama needs to rest now.”
In moments, the doctor had finished his work, and with a promise to return in a few days, left the house, leaving Cameron alone with his wife.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her and she smiled.
“You always say that, Cam. I don’t feel very beautiful right now. Just lonely in this bed. Do you suppose you can come lie with us for a minute or two?”
So it was that they slept, mother and father with a tiny bundle between them, the man’s strong arm circling his woman’s waist, his watchfulness fading into slumber as he knew once more the peace and happiness of being with the woman he loved.
It was almost dark when George closed the bedroom door, leaving the three of them alone to rest. Caring for the two little boys was a pleasure, and George Travis happily fed them both and then undressed them for bed, keeping them quiet to ensure their parents a restful night.
And then he sat on the porch, watching the stars, admiring the moonbeams that silvered the land. Land that was surely more to his liking than would have been Oregon. For here was the family he’d longed for, the children of his old age, the daughter and son who would look after him. And three little ones to fill his days with happiness.
In the house, Elizabeth roused and was hushed by a kiss from the man she slept with. “It’s all right, sweet,” he whispered. “Your father has put the boys to bed and he’s out back. This little one between us is waking up a bit, wanting her mama to feed her.”
“Umm.” Elizabeth opened her gown and settled the newborn at her breast, her nose buried in the fragrance of the child, that definitive scent that would disappear all too soon, but now filled her with love for the helpless infant.
Her murmur was soft, a whisper of happiness she could not contain. And the man who held her smiled as he recognized the delight that filled her voice as she spoke, was filled with joy as he watched the serene features of the woman he loved.
“Faith.” It was a single syllable, a word of promise and a pledge for the future.
Dear Reader,
I hear from many readers who ask about characters from past books, so it was a pleasure to give Luke and Annie from Sweet Annie and Noah and Kate from His Secondhand Wife roles in this story.
After her cousin Annie married, Charmaine was promised the next too-good-to-be-true man who came along. Charmaine is more than ready. She has dowry trunks stacked against the wall in her bedroom. Idealistic to a fault, Charmaine tries to be the perfect lady to entice a perfect young man. When challenged with writing her story, I asked myself, “Who would be the perfect man for Charmaine?” And then I brought in the most unlikely fellow I could imagine. Once married to a half-Cherokee woman, Jack Easton is a man solidly grounded in reality. Nothing frivolous for Jack. He has time for nothing but work and his son.
I love taking story people of differing backgrounds and with opposing goals and watching them fall in love. Charmaine and Jack are just this couple. I hope you enjoy their spring love story! It was a pleasure to write.
Cheryl St. John
ALMOST A BRIDE
Cheryl St.John
It’s my pleasure to dedicate Almost a Bride to my readers. Thanks to each one of you who has ever taken time to write. Your letters and e-mails are an encouragement I deeply appreciate. I have kept every last one of them. To those who have sent pictures of yourselves, I want you to know those photos are thumbtacked to the bulletin board that surrounds my desk. Your faces remind me that each story I write is for you. Thanks for your support. You are special to me.
Chapter One
Copper Creek, Colorado, 1892
“Spent three winters in the stable, you say?” Jack Easton studied the appaloosa with dark spots on white hips, brown-and-white leopard pattern in the middle and white speckling on dark head and forelegs. The haltered filly trotted around the perimeter of the corral with the other horses Jack had come to look over. He appreciated the animal’s erect ears and ease with their presence. The signs promised acceptance of a rider’s demands.
Noah Cutter, owner of the Rockin’ C, nodded. “She’s halter and saddle broke.”
“Used to havin’ her foot lifted?”
“She’s been shod for a year,” the rancher replied. “But she doesn’t have long lines or a deep chest. You buyin’ for yourself?”
Jack shook his head. “For my son. I want him to train his own horse. She’s not broke to gaits?”
“Nope. But she can be ridden. My wife has exercised her several times.”
Since Noah raised the finest horses this side of the Rockies and Jack was a saddle maker, Jack had done trade with Noah on many occasions. Because of the man’s past evasiveness, dealings had been strained, but since his marriage, Noah had been conspicuously more approachable.
“Want to see her ridden?” Noah asked. He flicked away a fly, drawing Jack�
�s attention to the back of his hand.
The scars that marred his hands and face had never bothered Jack much, now he hardly noticed. “I trust you, but I would like to see how she moves. Would your wife oblige us?”
Noah actually grinned. “She has her gaggle of women friends comin’ over this afternoon, but maybe she’ll spare us a few minutes before they descend.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Newt!” he called to one of the hands. “Run up to the house and ask Kate if she’ll ride the appaloosa for Mr. Easton.”
The ranch hand waved his compliance and loped toward the house.
As they waited, the men discussed the animal’s size and how much growth was still to come.
“How old is your boy now?” Noah asked, catching Jack by surprise. He’d brought Daniel along a few times, but this was the first Noah had shown interest.
“Just turned eight.”
“Our Rose will be three soon. And little Levi is just one.”
Jack wasn’t sure how to respond. They’d never discussed anything more personal than the types of leads and snaffles they preferred. “I bought a place outside town,” he said finally.
“Heard you’d moved closer to town. Wife knows all the latest news. Don’t even need to read the paper.”
“What are you saying about me?” a teasing female voice asked.
Jack noticed the expression on Noah’s face soften even more and turned. Katherine Cutter was a fine-featured woman with a bright smile. She wore a practical split riding skirt and a pair of kid gloves. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
“Kate, this is Jack Easton.”
She gave him a friendly smile. “We spoke at the mercantile last week. Good to see you again, Mr. Easton.”
Wed Under Western Skies Page 11
