Forbidden Fires

by Madeline Baker

  “That’s very funny,” he said when his laughter died away. “Very funny. You, marrying a half-breed. I always wondered if you had a sense of humor and now I see you do, in spades.”

  “I’m quite serious,” Caitlyn said. “You’re the first to know.”

  Abner’s face went pale, and then angry color flooded his cheeks and stained his neck. “You can’t be serious!” he shouted. “Dammit, I—”

  Rafe stood up in a smooth, effortless movement and took his place at Caitlyn’s side. His arm went around her shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “Sorry you have to leave so soon, Wylie,” Rafe said in a voice that left no room for argument. “We’ll let you know when we set the date.”

  Abner looked at Caitlyn, unable to believe his eyes and ears. She was actually going to marry Gallegher! It was inconceivable.

  He started to object again, but the look in the half-breed’s eyes stilled his tongue. Jamming his hat on his head, Abner muttered a hasty farewell and stalked out of the house, the door slamming loudly behind him.

  Caitlyn stood very still, aware of Rafe’s arm around her shoulder, of his presence at her side. She had not looked directly at him since she said she would marry him and now she did so reluctantly, wondering what she had gotten herself into. She had expected to feel dismay, regret, even remorse, but all she felt was relief. Rafe would find a way to make everything right—the repairs that needed to be made, the bank loan. She could now shift all her problems to his capable shoulders.

  Rafe grinned at her. “Well, ma’am, you have but to name the day. I’m sure news of our engagement will be all over town before the sun sets tomorrow.”

  Caitlyn nodded. She had agreed to marry this man, a man she knew almost nothing about, a man who was a half-breed, a virtual stranger. She would marry him, and in so doing, she would become his. He would make all the decisions regarding her ranch. His word would be law; the ranch would be his. She would be his, to do with as he pleased.

  The relief she had felt only moments ago quickly turned to doubt. What had she done? A married woman had no rights other than those her husband gave her. He could abuse her, neglect her, beat her, and no one would lift a hand to stop him. She would be his property, like his horse or his saddle. She thought briefly of insisting that theirs be a marriage in name only, but she knew Rafe would never agree to such a thing. He was a man, with a man’s needs, a man’s desires.

  Rafe took his arm from Caitlyn’s shoulder and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Her changing emotions were clearly reflected in the depths of her eyes, and he could almost read her thoughts. She was afraid of him, afraid to be his wife. He was a half-breed, after all. Tainted blood. Perhaps he should just forget the whole thing and ride on but he didn’t want to leave her. If he stayed, he would finally have a place to call his own, a sense of security he had never known before.

  “Change your mind already?” he asked sardonically.

  Caitlyn saw the anger lurking behind his eyes, the muscle that twitched in his jaw. She hardly knew this man and she was suddenly certain she had made a dreadful mistake when she agreed to marry him. Perhaps she should have accepted Abner’s proposal after all. Much as she disliked the man, they came from similar backgrounds, and he would be much more manageable than Rafe Gallegher.

  “Well?” he asked impatiently, and waited, hardly breathing, for her answer. He watched the firelight playing in her hair like loving fingers, dancing among the honey-colored strands, turning it to gold. Her emerald green eyes were dark fathomless pools and her slightly parted, full lips were ripe for the taking. Her silky skin had been kissed by the sun, and her softly rounded figure cried out for a man’s touch. His touch…

  Caitlyn blushed under his bold scrutiny, felt her blood warm and her heart race. He wanted her, and if the truth be told, she wanted him.

  “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  Rafe let out a deep breath. “Name the day and I’ll be there.”

  “Next Saturday morning,” Caitlyn said. “I’ll arrange it with Reverend Wilson.”

  Rafe nodded, his gaze lingering on her mouth. He knew he should go, but her nearness held him. Abruptly, he grabbed her by the shoulders and drew her up against him. Before she could protest, he covered her lips with his, his tongue invading the sweet warmth of her mouth, his hips grinding against hers.

  She struggled for only a moment, and then she was kissing him back, her tongue darting out to taste his.

  It was as if she had been asleep her whole life, she thought, dazed, and had only now awakened. Her blood was on fire, her skin tingling with awareness, as all her senses reeled under the onslaught of his tongue and lips.

  She felt the press of his fingers digging into her arms, the rising warmth of his manhood against her belly. The shock of it made her stomach quiver, her insides fluttering as though a hundred butterflies were trapped inside, struggling to be free. She swayed against him, her breasts crushed against his chest, her arms twining around his neck.

  Rafe groaned softly as Caitlyn melted against him. Sweet, he mused, so sweet.

  He kissed her neck, let his tongue caress her ear. His hands slid down her arms, traveled over her back, then slid up her ribcage, his fingertips whispering against her breasts.

  “You’d best let me go if you expect to be a maiden on your wedding day,” he whispered huskily.

  It took a moment for his words to penetrate the mists of passion. When they did, she let out a cry of indignation and wrenched out of his embrace.

  “How dare you!” she sputtered. “I never… I wouldn’t… Oh!”

  Rafe shrugged, amused by the anger that flared in her eyes. “I just didn’t want you to think I was easy,” Rafe said, watching the sparks dance in her eyes.

  “Oh, you…you… I don’t care if I never see you again.”

  Rafe chuckled softly. “We’ve got a date Saturday,” he reminded her, reaching for his hat. “Don’t be late.”

  Chapter Ten

  Caitlyn stood at the altar, waiting. She had told no one on the ranch or in town of her forthcoming marriage to Rafe Gallegher, and she was thankful now that she had kept her wedding plans a secret, for it appeared that Rafe had decided to leave her waiting at the altar. She had sent him word that the ceremony was to take place Saturday morning at eleven o’clock, and he had replied that he would be there. Now, as the courthouse clock struck the half hour, she decided he had changed his mind.

  Reverend Wilson cleared his throat, uncertain how best to handle what was rapidly becoming an embarrassing situation.

  Caitlyn felt the color climb in her cheeks as she faced the minister. “I guess he couldn’t make it,” she murmured, wishing the floor would open and swallow her. “I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

  “That’s quite all right, Miss Carmichael, I…”

  The reverend’s voice trailed off as the church door swung open and Rafe strode briskly down the center aisle.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he apologized, his dark eyes on Caitlyn’s face. He shrugged, grinning easily. “Took the tailor longer than he thought to lengthen these pants.”

  Caitlyn nodded as Rafe took his place beside her. It was a Rafe Gallegher she had never seen before. Wearing snug black trousers, a black broadcloth coat, a crisp white linen shirt, and a black silk cravat, he looked quite devastating. She was certain he was the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. His hair was neatly combed, and his black boots were so shiny she could see her face reflected on the surface. A faint scent of lilac water tickled her nostrils.

  “Are we ready, then?” the reverend asked.

  “Quite ready,” Rafe replied, taking Caitlyn’s hand.

  Caitlyn nodded, aware of Rafe’s strong brown fingers threading through her own. She listened carefully to the words that made her Rafe Gallegher’s wife, but it all seemed like a dream, hazy and not quite real. Her voice, when she responded, was faint and slightly uneven. And then, before she quite r
ealized what she had done, the Reverend Wilson had pronounced them man and wife and Rafe was claiming his first kiss as her lawfully wedded husband.

  His kiss, as light and soft as a whisper, ignited a fire within her that spread from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet. She felt his mouth brand her lips. She was his now. Mrs. Rafe Gallegher. For better or worse. In sickness and health. Until death parted them.

  Rafe took a step back, his eyes sweeping over his bride. Caitlyn looked beautiful, beautiful but slightly stunned, as if she could not quite accept the reality of what had just happened. Her hair, as soft and yellow as cornsilk, was swept into a soft chignon at her nape. Her eyes, as green as a new leaf, were wide and filled with a faintly bemused expression as she gazed up at him. Her dress was of pale pink silk, the style rather old-fashioned but very becoming.

  He smiled at her, hoping to reassure her, and then he gave her hand a squeeze. “Shall we go, Mrs. Gallegher?”

  Caitlyn nodded, her heart beating a mile a minute as Rafe pressed money into the reverend’s hand before escorting her from the church.

  Rafe paused outside. “Hungry?”

  “A little,” Caitlyn admitted, though she wasn’t sure she could keep anything down, her stomach was fluttering so.

  “Good.” Taking her arm, he steered her down the street toward the town’s only restaurant.

  People turned to stare as Rafe and Caitlyn passed by. Saturday was a busy day in town, a time when the women did their weekly shopping and the men lingered over the seed catalog or stopped at the smithy to have plows or wagon wheels repaired. The sight of a man in a black Sunday-go-to-meeting suit and a woman in a pink silk gown drew every eye, and the townspeople nodded sagely as they put their heads together. So, the rumors had been true. Caitlyn Carmichael had married one of the hired hands.

  The women looked at Caitlyn with quiet envy, for Rafe Gallegher was a very handsome man and one to be admired despite his Indian heritage. Looking at him, they could almost forgive her for marrying a half-breed.

  The men looked at Caitlyn and shook their heads in disapproval. No matter how much she needed a husband, she should have married a man of her own kind, not some dirty half-breed.

  At the restaurant, Rafe ordered an enormous lunch, then pulled a long black cigar from his coat pocket, and bit off the end.

  “Do you mind?” Rafe asked.

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” she admitted candidly. “I don’t care for the smell of cigars.”

  With a nod, Rafe laid the Long Nine aside. “Caitlyn Gallegher,” he murmured, trying the name, trying to believe it was real, she was real.

  Caitlyn’s gaze dropped to the red-checked tablecloth. There was something intimate in the way he said her name, in the pull of his eyes when he looked at her. She was glad when the waitress served their meal.

  Rafe ate without tasting anything, all too conscious of the woman seated across the table. She was his wife now, lawfully and legally his to do with as he pleased.

  He studied her face, the smooth peach-colored skin, now lightly powdered, the tilt of her nose, the graceful curve of her cheek, the delicate brows, and incredibly long lashes. Desire rose within him, hotter than any flame, shaking him to the core of his being. Lord, how he wanted her, warm and willing, in his arms.

  Caitlyn glanced up suddenly, and he wondered if she had somehow divined his thoughts. He held her gaze for a long time, saw the confusion in her eyes, the faint hint of what might have been fear, or perhaps regret.

  Rafe clenched his jaw. Was it possible she was already sorry she had married him? “What is it?” he asked gruffly.

  Caitlyn nodded toward the front window. Outside, a group of townspeople had gathered on the boardwalk. “I think our secret’s out.”

  Rafe glanced over his shoulder, frowning when he saw the crowd.

  “I guess by now everyone knows that I married a…that I married you.”

  “Married a half-breed, you mean,” Rafe muttered. “Go ahead, say it.”

  Caitlyn flushed guiltily. “I’m sorry. I never thought about what people would think, what they’d say, when they found out.”

  “What will they say?”

  “I’m not sure. I suppose they’ll be shocked.”

  Rafe stood abruptly and tossed a handful of coins on the table top. “Come on, Mrs. Gallegher, let’s go satisfy their curiosity.”

  He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her outside. The crowd parted to let them pass, but Rafe stood on the boardwalk, his dark eyes sweeping the crowd.

  “You heard right,” he said loudly. “We were married this morning.” He smiled at Caitlyn, a hard smile that did not reach his eyes. Then he swung her into his arms and carried her down the street to where she had left the carriage. Effortlessly, he placed her on the high spring seat, vaulted up beside her, and shook out the reins. “Giddap, horse,” he growled, and they drove out of town at a lively trot.

  It wasn’t until later that he realized he’d left the black mare at the livery barn.

  Caitlyn sat silent beside her husband, her hands balled into tight fists. How dare he embarrass her before her neighbors! What made him think everyone would frown on their marriage, on her choice of a husband? Perhaps the townspeople had gathered around to wish them well. And perhaps not.

  She grunted softly as she recalled the way the crowd had looked at her, the faces strong with disapproval, shock and outrage.

  Caitlyn shook her head. She had never considered how others would view her marriage to Rafe. She had spent her whole life doing what was proper, what was expected, trying to be the kind of daughter her father could be proud of. In town, she had always behaved as a proper young woman should, never doing anything to call attention to herself, never stepping beyond the bounds of propriety even when she yearned to do so. And now, in one fell swoop, she had outraged a whole town. She had married a man who was a half-breed, a man who would, in all probability, never be accepted by any of her friends. Indians were hated and feared by the people of Cedar Creek; half-breeds were regarded with suspicion. How could you trust a man who had mixed blood? How could you be sure where his true loyalty lay?

  As they pulled into the ranch, it occurred to Caitlyn that the cowboys might not accept her new husband any more readily than the townspeople. In an effort to keep the ranch together, she had foolishly done the one thing that would no doubt drive all the help away.

  A wave of hopelessness swept over Caitlyn. How could she have been so blind? Even though she disliked Abner, she realized now that he would have been accepted as a suitable husband by the townspeople, and viewed as a suitable boss by the cowhands.

  She slid a glance in Rafe’s direction. His profile was clean-cut, like a statue cast in bronze. His cheekbones were high and well-defined, his nose straight, his jaw square and strong.

  Caitlyn lifted her head, her expression changing from defeat to defiance. Despite what anyone else might think, she would rather be married to Rafe Gallegher than to a man like Abner Wylie. She had never liked Abner, never trusted him. Rafe might be a half-breed, and considered inferior by many, but she knew deep in her heart that she could trust him, that he had her best interests in mind. Perhaps he would never love her, perhaps he would forever be a stranger to her, but he would never cheat her, never abuse her.

  Her heart felt suddenly light as Rafe reined the horse to a halt near the front porch. With lazy grace, he swung to the ground. Walking around the carriage, he placed his hands around her waist and lifted her down. Their eyes met and held as they had so often that day, and Caitlyn felt a little thrill of excitement dance along her spine.

  “Welcome home, Mr. Gallegher,” she murmured shyly.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. Gallegher,” he replied, and sweeping her into his arms, he carried her up the steps and over the threshold.

  Caitlyn nudged the front door closed with her toe and then felt suddenly warm all over as he continued to hold her close. She could no longer meet his eyes and she lowered her g
aze to his mouth. It was a nice mouth, very masculine, very inviting. She remembered how he had kissed her the night they agreed to be married. The memory was enough to heat her blood and she wondered what it would have been like if he had not stopped with just a kiss… A sudden flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She would find out soon enough.

  “Aren’t you going to put me down?” Caitlyn asked, risking a look at Rafe’s face.

  Rafe nodded, though letting her go was the last thing he wanted to do. Her hair was soft where it brushed his chin, and the scent of her perfume lingered in his nostrils. He was tempted to carry her down the hall to the bedroom and satisfy the yearning that had plagued him since he first saw her standing at the altar. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he had all night to hold her, to touch her. All night.

  Caitlyn felt abandoned when he released her. Running a hand over her hair, she glanced around the parlor. Everything looked the same as it had that morning, yet everything was different now. She was Mrs. Rafe Gallegher and nothing would ever be the same again.

  “I guess I’ll go change,” she remarked.

  Rafe nodded, sensing her need to be alone.

  “Do you want to tell the men about our marriage, or shall I?”

  Rafe smiled wryly. “I don’t think it’ll make any difference, but it might be better coming from you.”

  “Very well.” She felt awkward standing there and she hurried out of the room and down the narrow hallway to her bedroom.

  Closing the door behind her, she stood there for a long moment, gazing at her bed and dresser, the knickknacks on the shelf, the stuffed doll on her bed. She had been a girl when she left home this morning, but she was a married woman now.

  She quickly changed out of her pink silk and donned a blue cotton print. For the next hour, she moved her personal belongings and clothing into the room her father had shared with her mother. She changed the sheets on the large brass bed, plumped the pillows, hung her clothes on one side of the wardrobe, then stood there imagining Rafe’s clothes hanging next to hers.