by Sara Orwig
She wanted to call him back, but always she felt a nagging uncertainty. She entered her room and touched the book from Jeddy, dropping the shawl over it, each gift treasured and special.
Honor glanced at her reflection and drew the combs from her hair, running her finger over them, tears suddenly coming because she loved Luke. All she wanted in return was his love and to share whatever terrible thing lay in his past.
She wiped her eyes angrily, glancing at the door. Always her hurt and tears changed to anger that he would keep something between them when she might be able to help.
She stared at the door a long time. She was Luke’s wife, and she knew he desired her. She bit her lip, glancing at her image. He said she was beautiful.
Maybe she had given in too easily to Luke when he said he couldn’t share his past. She blinked and continued studying the door. She was his wife—could she win his love and confidence if she really tried? Could she stand the rejection if she didn’t?
The question floated in mind because so many taunts and rejections in the past had hurt, yet she was willing to risk rejection to try to win Luke’s trust.
Honor lifted her chin, unfastened her hair and brushed it. Taking off her dress and hanging it in the wardrobe, she opened a drawer and withdrew the silky red nightgown with the thin straps she had worn only a few minutes once before.
When she was almost ready, she put the new combs in her hair on either side of her head, catching the long strands to hold them away from her face, letting her hair fall freely down over her back. She opened the bottle of French perfume, inhaling the sweet mysterious scent that was somewhat like orange blossoms. She studied herself, wondering if she would succeed or fail.
Her heart hammered as she went to the door and walked down the hall with deliberation, a determined set to her shoulders.
Nineteen
Luke lay in bed, his hands behind his head, sleep as elusive as ever. He smoked a thin cheroot, watching a stream of gray smoke spiral into the air as he thought about Honor tonight and all the men hovering around her. If Horace Roth had just lived a few more years, Honor could have been courted and had a marriage that would have brought her joy. If Roth had lived, she would have gone East to school, and she might not have come back home again.
He heard a faint creak of the boards in the hall and turned his head. Jeddy slept like the dead, and Honor didn’t roam at night, although he knew she slept as poorly as he did. He sat up and stubbed out the cheroot.
He heard another creak and the knob of his door rattled. He frowned, staring at the door and waiting, his muscles tense. The door swung open slightly, and an ethereal figure drifted into the room, the shimmer of the red nightgown visible. Luke’s heart thudded. “Honor?”
He caught a faint sweet scent as she closed the door. Turning, she crossed the room to take the covers in her hand and slide into bed beside him.
He shifted, frowning, wondering if she were walking in her sleep. “Honor?” He could barely get his breath. “What are you doing?”
She sat up to face him, trailing her fingers over his bare chest. “I’m your wife, Luke. I belong here.”
Her fingers slipped down over his stomach and he couldn’t get his breath. He felt as if his heart would thump out of his chest, and his pulse roared in his ears. His shaft responded to her, swelling and becoming hard as she slid over him. With her knees on either side of him, she knelt and faced him then leaned forward to brush his lips with hers.
Shock, desire, caution all went up like smoke in high wind. Luke wrapped his arms around her slender waist, pulled her against him, and kissed her hard, his tongue entering her mouth while he growled deep in his throat.
She was soft, supple, and a flame in his arms, kissing him passionately, her hands wandering all over him, her hips moving against him until he rolled over, shoving her down beneath him and stretching his length on top of her.
And he couldn’t wait another minute for her because he had already waited too damned long. He wanted her now. He straddled her while he tugged off the flimsy gown and tossed it away. Then he slipped down and thrust his shaft inside her, filling her and feeling her softness.
“Honor! Oh, love!” He ground out the words, holding her, feeling her legs lock around him while she arched wildly beneath him, her cries driving him to a frenzy.
They moved together, and Luke held her as if he feared she would vanish as swiftly as she had appeared. He drove into her, his pounding heart and roaring pulse making their cries dim in his ears. Finally she arched with release and then began again beneath him, moving with abandon until he couldn’t hold back.
He shuddered, spilling his seed into her, release washing over him in great spasms while his heart thudded with joy. “Honor, love,” he whispered, letting his weight come down on her, holding her close. Their hearts were pounding, her body as heated and damp as his as he rolled over and sat up to pull covers over them. He looked down at her in dismay. Her hair was spread over the pillows, her hand on his waist, the gold wedding band a dull sheen in the darkness.
He covered her and caressed her, studying her before he lay down and pulled her into his arms. Showering kisses on her, he knew he couldn’t go on this way. He would have to go back and stand trial and take his chance with the consequences, because this kind of life was tearing him apart. He loved Honor; he wanted her in his arms every night, in his life every day. He stroked her smooth back as he held her against him while he stared into the dark, knowing this time he wasn’t going to let her go and try to live under the same roof without having her in his arms at night.
“I’m going to light a fire,” he said, and slid out of bed, crossing to the hearth. Turning on her side, she watched the flex of muscles along his back, the clench of his firm buttocks.
He stacked logs on the fire and got a flame going, then stood up and pulled on his pants. “I’ll be right back, Honor.”
In minutes he returned with a decanter of brandy and glasses and poured one for her and one for himself. Honor watched him in silence, wondering why he was getting brandy and moving restlessly around the room. He went to stand in front of the fire and suddenly she grew cold, frightened that he was about to tell her he was leaving her.
She sipped the fiery liquid, shivering in spite of the warmth of the fire and the brandy. Propping pillows behind her, she sat up and pulled the covers high, suddenly feeling terribly naked and vulnerable. “Toss me my gown, please.”
He had a fleeting smile as he held up the wisp of silk and threw it to her. She slid it over her head, knowing it was the flimsiest of covers, yet better than nothing.
“Honor, I’ve worried about us and what to do since the night your pa asked us to marry. The past months have been unbearable for both of us. We can’t go on the way we were and neither of us want to—”
She felt as if something were crumbling inside, yet she clenched her fists and raised her chin because she was not leaving without learning about his past.
“I’m going to share my past with you because we can’t go on this way and what I do will affect you,” Luke said solemnly. He strode over to her, sitting on the bed beside her and winding his fingers in her hair to kiss her hard. “I love you, Honor Roth,” he said in a deep voice, and her heart missed a beat as she stared into his jade-colored eyes that were dark with emotion.
“Luke,” she said, suddenly overcome, dropping the covers and moving into his arms so swiftly, she felt him momentarily lose his balance and then recover it. “Luke,” she whispered, and his mouth covered hers and he kissed her until her pulse pounded and she wanted to love him again.
He leaned away, his expression solemn as he ran his finger along her lower lip. “Honor, none of this is fair to you. You’re going to be hurt, but you will hurt so much more later.”
She was silent, waiting for him to go ahead. “I’m from Missouri, not Kentucky,” Luke said quietly. “I was born and raised on a farm outside Saint Joseph, Missouri.” Easing her away, he crossed th
e room to the fire, standing with his back to it while he looked at her. “I was the oldest of four boys. Our father was killed in a brawl when I was twelve and I started taking his place in many ways. When I was seventeen, one of the neighboring men came by the house and attacked my mother.”
Luke paused and picked up his brandy to take a sip. He set the glass back on the table, and Honor waited quietly, letting him get to everything in his own time. “It was afternoon and I was plowing when I heard Mother scream. I dropped the plow and ran to the house to see my mother on the floor, trying to defend herself against Odell Smith.”
Luke paused, staring beyond Honor, then continued his story. “I grabbed Odell and hit him. He hit me back, and we fought all over that small parlor until I hit him so hard he fell back against the hearth and cracked his head on it. That killed him.”
Luke moved impatiently, remembering the brief fight and the moment Odell had fallen against the stone fireplace. If he had to do it all over, he would still go to his mother’s defense, yet he was paying for his rash act now. He looked at Honor, who was so desirable and lovely. She sat in bed, the covers around her hips, the red silk gown clinging to her round breasts, her dark eyes watching him intently.
“Two of my younger brothers helped me load the body into the wagon and take him back to his family.” Luke ran his hand across the back of his neck and then looked at her. “When we delivered the body and I told them what happened, the man’s father and brothers wanted to hang me.”
“Weren’t they going to take you to the sheriff?”
“We didn’t have a sheriff anywhere close at hand. They should have gone to the law, but they didn’t. My mother went to find my brothers, and, along with two of my cousins, they came after me to try to save me. I already had a noose around my neck when they started shooting. But my family rescued me and got me out of there, and I fled Missouri that day and I’ve never been back. I caught a boat on the Mississippi and went north, working where I could and then joining the Union Army.”
“Luke, is this what’s worried you?” she asked in dismay.
Feeling a battle coming, he shook his head. “Honor, I knew you’d want to forget it, but it could change my life anytime a bounty hunter or a lawman realizes who I am. You don’t even know my real name. It’s Luther Webster.”
She scrambled out of bed and flew across the room to him, to place her hand over his mouth, her dark eyes fiery. “It’s Luke McCloud to me, and that’s the way it’ll stay! Luke, the past is over. How many years ago was that?”
“They don’t close the books on murder,” he said, taking her wrist to kiss her palm. “Honor, you’re thinking with your heart and not your head. You don’t know anything about bounty hunters. They have no heart. And the moment one recognizes me, he’ll take me in since there’s a reward offered for me.”
“Is it offered whether you’re dead or alive?” she asked, suddenly solemn.
“No.” He shook his head. “The poster says nothing about dead, so I assumed the reward is for bringing me back alive.”
“Luke, Texas is filled with men who’ve turned their backs on their pasts! It’s over. We can forget it. No one will find you now—”
He caught her shoulders and held her, giving her a slight shake. “Listen to me, Honor,” he said, leaning close. “My poster is nailed to the wall of the jail and is tacked up inside the sheriff’s office. Bounty hunters go through those posters and they remember the faces, particularly ones they’ve seen over and over. You and I can’t go on this way, so I’m going to turn myself in—”
“No!”
Honor’s cry of anguish tore through him, and she flung herself into his arms. He braced himself and wrapped his arms around her, feeling desolation swamp him. He wanted her so badly—he loved her. This slender, beautiful, half-Comanche woman who had given him her heart and body was his, but he couldn’t go through life looking over his shoulder, and he didn’t want her to see her husband hauled away to hang someday.
“No, you can’t, Luke,” she said fiercely, her head buried against his neck, her voice low and intense. “You can’t hurt me like that. I won’t let you turn yourself in. Please, please don’t do that!” she whispered, and he felt her hot tears dampen his shoulder.
“Honor, I have to,” he stated grimly, knowing he was going to have to fight her over this just as much as he had guessed he would.
“No, you don’t have to go to the law,” she cried, her arms tightening around him. “No. I can’t bear the thought of you doing that. Please—”
“There’s no other way.”
“You can’t give yourself up to Branigan.”
“I wouldn’t do that. I’ll go to Marshal Weitzman.”
“No!” Her cry was even more agonized than before. “Luke, you don’t have to do anything! It was so long ago.”
Luke gazed down at her. He framed her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers. “Honor, if I don’t do anything, somewhere years from now we could have little children and a lawman could appear and take me. Do you know how that would hurt a child? How much worse it would be for you?”
Tears welled in her large dark eyes and spilled over her cheeks, yet he knew he had no choice. She shook her head. “I don’t agree. The West is filled with people who’ve run from their pasts. Take a chance, Luke. I’m willing to take the risk.”
He enveloped her in his arms, wanting to do what she said, to take her as his wife and never look back. “Honor, my love,” he whispered, in agony over his choices, knowing the easy one could be so devastating later.
“I love you, Luke. I want you.”
His arms tightened around her, and he held her, wanting all she offered. He gazed beyond her, thinking over what to do. He held her away from him and looked at her, his hands resting on her slender shoulders. “I’ll talk to Judge Tolliver, Honor, before I go to the marshal.”
Honor looked at Luke’s squared jaw and the determination in his eyes and knew she was arguing uselessly. “Promise me you’ll tell me what Judge Tolliver says before you go to the marshal.”
“I promise,” he said. He framed her face with his hand, his gaze piercing as he stared at her. “I love you, Honor. I just never wanted to hurt you. Damn, I tried not to!”
“Oh, Luke,” she said, sliding her arms around him and clinging to him, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. His arms went around her and soon he carried her to bed where they forgot about tomorrow.
It rained the next day and Luke was busy helping with livestock so he had to postpone riding to San Antonio.
While Luke was working, Honor rose, bathed, and dressed. When she entered the kitchen, Dolorita turned to study her and smiled. “Morning, Miss Honor. I have your breakfast waiting.”
“I can get it.” Honor poured a glass of apple juice and took a plate from Dolorita to help herself. “When did Luke leave?”
“Long ago, niñita,” Dolorita said, sounding full of cheer. She hummed under her breath while Honor carried her plate to the table. “Dolorita, did you and your husband ever argue?”
“Of course, but we make up and it was good. You will argue, niñita, because you are your father’s child.”
Honor laughed softly. “Maybe so.”
“Dolorita,” Jeddy said from the doorway. “Can I have another biscuit and preserves?”
“Certainly. Even two biscuits,” she said, placing the golden biscuits on a plate and holding them out to Jeddy.
He sat down across from Honor. After carefully buttering one, he looked up. “Honor, we haven’t been to church in a long time. I think we should go next Sunday.”
Honor lowered her fork and stared at Jeddy as he spread preserves on the biscuit while Dolorita halted in midstep, staring at him as well. Jeddy looked up. “Well, what about it?”
Honor blinked, looking over his head at Dolorita who was staring openmouthed.
“Yes, we can go to church Sunday if the rain lets up and Luke can accompany us. Luke won’t want us going alone,” she sai
d.
“Good.”
Dolorita laughed softly and returned to work while Honor stared at Jeddy. “Jeddy, the last time we went to church, Pa had to drag you out the door to the buggy.”
Jeddy’s face flushed and he glanced at her. “I was just a little kid,” he said in a haughty voice. “I’m older now and you’re married and it’s time we do certain things.”
Honor stared at him, noticing his hair was slicked down and he looked scrubbed. He glanced at her, thinning his lips, and she realized something bothered him. She took a bite of eggs and waited, knowing he would get around to it.
“Honor, I think I’m old enough now to be called Jed.”
Something clattered on the counter, and Dolorita mumbled a string of Spanish so swiftly it was incomprehensible. Honor looked into Jeddy’s dark eyes and nodded.
“If you want to be called, Jed, we can do that, but it will take a little time to remember and get accustomed to it.”
“Well, Jeddy sounds like a baby. Jed Roth is much more mature, and I’m more mature.”
“Sí, señor, old man,” Dolorita muttered, and Jeddy gave her a scowl.
“I heard that, Dolorita.”
She laughed and brought him another biscuit. “And now I’m forgiven. If you are so mature, you also have the wisdom of age. I am the baker of your biscuits, so I suggest you forgive me.”
He grinned and buttered the second biscuit. “Thank you. Anyway, call me Jed. And I need to get new pants because mine are too tight and too short. And new boots. My toes hurt.”
“Great grief! You should have told me your feet hurt.”
“They didn’t hurt until Friday.”
She looked at Dolorita, who shrugged. In a few minutes Jeddy pushed away his chair and carried his dishes to the counter.
“Thanks, Dolorita.”
“You’re welcome, Jed,” she said, and he gave her a broad smile as he left the room.
Honor looked at Dolorita. “Is that because of the party last night?” she asked softly.
Dolorita shook her head. “Who knows, except I noticed he danced all evening.”
