by Lily Graison
“Marshal! There’s trouble out at the Samuels place. Better come see.”
“Son of a bitch,” Morgan grumbled, opening his eyes as Abigail released him. He looked down at her, saw her flushed face, the lust dancing in her eyes, and decided to just shoot whoever was at the door. When they banged on it again, he sighed, tucked himself back into his pants and grabbed his shirt. “Go upstairs. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
He put his shirt back on while watching her pick up her discarded dress and run for the stairs. When he was presentable, he glanced at his gun belt hanging on the coat rack. The desire to pick it up was strong. He ignored it and jerked the door open instead. “What is it?”
Percy Goins, one of the hands working the livery stable stood on the porch, breathing heavily and sweating. He looked as if he’d run half the countryside. “Sorry bout interrupting your wedding night and all but I ran into Harland Samuels kid on my way out of town. He was running like the devil himself was after him and had a wild look in his eyes. I couldn’t make no sense out of what was wrong he’s crying so much. I took him down to the stagecoach station hoping Miss Ellie could calm him down a bit but he’s out of his head about something. They told me come and get you.”
Of course they did, Morgan thought. Who else would they go to when something went all to hell? He heaved a heavy breath and grabbed his gun belt, strapped it on and walked out the door. As he turned to shut it he saw Abigail on the second floor landing. She smiled at him, telling him to, “hurry back,” before blowing him a kiss. He couldn’t say why exactly his heart skipped a beat then but as he walked down the sidewalk toward town, he didn’t think he’d ever been happier than he was at that moment.
Chapter Eight
Abigail glanced out the kitchen window and squinted at the morning sun shining off the dew-dappled grass. Her first night as a married woman had been spent alone as Morgan was off doing lord knows what. She sighed as disappointment caused her chest to ache. Her wedding night had been ruined and she didn’t even know why.
Placing the last biscuit on the pan, she turned to wash her hands, and was startled to see Morgan standing in the kitchen doorway. She hadn’t even heard him come in. His appearance shocked her a bit. He looked haggard and tired to the bone. His eyes were bloodshot, he needed a shave and his clothes were wrinkled. He was staring at her and the look on his face warmed her clean to the toes. A look that told her he was glad she was there. Barefoot in his kitchen with flour to her elbows.
She walked around the table, holding her hands out in front of her so the flour and wet dough wouldn’t drip to the floor. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to eat or not. Would you rather I run a bath for you instead?”
He didn’t reply, just crossed the distance between them, placed both hands on the side of her face and kissed her. It wasn’t like the kisses they’d shared before. This one was soft and warm, a gentle probing of his tongue, a slow glide of his lips against hers. Abigail lifted her arms but remembered the flour dough and stopped herself from embracing him. He broke the kiss, smiled down at her and guided her arms around his neck, ignoring the mess on her hands.
“I was cheated out of my wedding night, Mrs. Avery. The only thing I want this morning is you.”
He took her there in the kitchen, lifting her skirts to her waist and fumbling with the ties of her drawers before sliding them down her hips. He backed her up toward the table, lifted her until she was sitting on top and stared down at her while unfastening his pants. Abigail’s stomach clenched in anticipation and watched him through lust filled eyes as he bared himself to her. When his cock sprang free, she licked her lips and reached for him.
Unlike the first time he bedded her, he didn’t tease today. He slid between her thighs and sheathed himself with one forceful jerk of his hips, setting a pace that rocked the table. His mouth was hard and firm against her own, his kiss demanding. Abigail was surprised at his stamina considering his lack of sleep. He fucked her with a single mindedness that forced small gasps from her. She clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist, one arm around his neck and the other bracing her weight on the table, and rocked her hips in time with his. His grunts grew louder, his kisses more hungry and when he reached between their bodies, his fingers finding that small bundle of nerves and started flicking and rolling it with the tip of one finger, Abigail’s stomach clenched, her legs shook and she threw her head back, screaming out her release. He followed her moments later, her name a whispered promise gasped near her ear.
When he stilled, their bodies slick with moisture, Abigail felt something sticky beneath her bottom. A glance down and she laughed. “I don’t think we’ll be eating those biscuits now.” He’d rocked her so much on the table, her bottom was on the side of the biscuit pan.
Morgan grinned, picking her up and sitting her feet on the floor before reaching around and peeling the dough off her rear. “I’m too tired to eat anyway.”
“Too tired to eat but not too tired to have me on your kitchen table?”
He gave her a look before smiling. “It’s our table now. You can sit on it bare ass naked anytime you like.” He helped her with her drawers, pulling them back up and tying them before lowering her skirts. “As a matter of fact, I plan on having you naked and in every room of this house before the week is out.”
Abigail couldn’t explain the joy she felt then but it blazed like a living thing in her chest as she stared at him. There was flour in his hair, bits of dough stuck to the side of his neck and in the whiskers on his jaw from where she’d touched him. He looked like hell but she’d never seen a more handsome man. Nor one who could be so gruff one moment and gentle the next. He was a contradiction. She wondered if his curt manner was an act. A town marshal would have to be tough to a certain extent. People would expect him to be but as he stood there looking down at her, she knew what he showed the world, and her, most days just wasn’t whom she was seeing now. This man, a man who wore his heart in his eyes, looked at her as if nothing else mattered. She fell a little bit in love with him then and knew the feeling would grow. With a man like Morgan Avery, it was impossible not to.
* * * *
Morgan didn’t wake until early afternoon. Abigail fixed him a late lunch and sat with him at the table. “So, what happened last night that you couldn’t get back until this morning?”
He glanced at her, swallowed the bite in his mouth and washed it down. “Percy found the Samuels boy, Jesse, running toward town, crying. He was a bit hysterical and they couldn’t get a word out of him. He’s ten. His ma’s been sickly for a while, ever since she took a bad fever last winter.” He sighed, stared at his plate for long moments before continuing. “Jesse found her in the kitchen on the floor. His pa was out on the range checking on their cattle and he got scared and ran. That’s when Percy found him.”
“Oh, poor kid. Is he all right now?”
Morgan shook his head. “No. Catherine was dead when I got out there. Took me two hours to calm everyone down. Harland has worked himself ragged since his oldest boy, Rafe, left home and with Catherine gone now, I’d hate to think of what will happen to them. Harland can’t keep on the way he is. I’ll have to see if I can find Rafe before Harland keels over, too.”
Abigail knew nothing of the people who live in and around Willow Creek but Morgan did and she could tell finding Catherine Samuels dead had shaken him. The sadness in his eyes gave testament to it. He knew these people. Cared for them and tried to protect them. Knowing there was someone he couldn’t save was probably harder than she could imagine.
She reached out and laid her hand on his. When he looked over at her, she smiled reassuringly. “Is there anything I can do for them?”
The look that crossed his face was mixed with awe and gratitude. He nodded and turned his hand, gripping hers instead. “The other ladies will probably need help. They always fix up a mess of food and take it out to the family when someone passes. I’m sure they would appreciate another hand.”
“All right.” He went back to eating and although Abigail had more questions about the family, she refrained. She could tell he didn’t really want to talk about it. He knew this family personally, from the look in his eyes, and was taking the death harder than most probably would.
When he’d finished eating, she cleared away the dishes and poured him another cup of coffee. As she sat the pot down on the table, he looked up and asked the last thing she ever expected. “Was Thornton your real name?”
The question stunned her so much, Abigail could do nothing but stare at him. Her throat closed and she found it hard to breathe all of a sudden. When he continued to just stare at her, she found her composure and smiled best she could. “Of course. Why would you think it wasn’t?” She turned her back to him, hoping the look on her face didn’t give her away. The legs of his chair scraped across the floor and she heard him cross the distance between them, his booted feet against the floorboards sounding like gunfire going off in her head. When he touched her back, she jumped.
“If you’re in trouble, Abigail, then just tell me what it is so I can make it right.”
Make it right. Tears clouded her eyes and she blinked them away before shaking her head. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Morgan. What sort of trouble would I be in?”
“Don’t know. It’s why I’m asking.”
Images of Fletcher filled her mind and she buried them, filling her head with the only thing she wanted. Her new life in Willow Creek and Morgan. She pasted on a smile and turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a quick kiss. “Everything is fine. Well, except the fact you promised to take me in every room of this house and so far you haven’t lived up to that promise.”
He didn’t smile and the look in his eyes remained hard and concerned. “You’re changing the subject.”
Abigail laughed. “No, I’m not. I’ve told you everything is fine and it is. Now, are you going to have your way with me Marshal Avery or shall I take it upon myself to have you instead?”
The conversation didn’t progress beyond that point. Abigail made sure of it by seducing her new husband and making him live up to the promise of having her in every room. By the time he left to check the town and see what arrangements Harland Samuels had made for Catherine, Abigail was a nervous wreck. Morgan knew something but how he did was a mystery. No one in Willow Creek knew her. She’d purposely picked this town because it was out of the way, a tiny speck on the map and so far from the nearest large city it took an entire day to travel there by stagecoach. So how did Morgan know Thornton wasn’t her real last name? A better question would be, did he know of Fletcher and what she’d done?
Chapter Nine
When summer gave way to fall, Abigail wondered if things could get any better for her. She woke every morning and set about tending to her husband, and the house she was coming to love, and spent every night in Morgan’s arms, surrendering to his kisses. It was bliss, or the closest she’d ever been near. Life was exactly how it should have been. Even the small inconvenience of her stomach revolting every morning was welcomed. She didn’t want to speculate why, in case she was wrong, but the thought made her happier than she already was. She was near bursting to tell Morgan but kept the secret to herself.
She stopped off at the jail on her way to the mercantile, rolled her eyes when he asked if she missed her cell and kissed him long and hard enough he wanted to take her there in that smelly little building. She declined the offer, telling him she’d make it up to him when he came home for lunch.
Greeting Mrs. Jenkins in the mercantile, Abigail gave her the list of items she needed and browsed the store, picking up items and looking at the prices. She’d never had to worry about such when she was with Fletcher. Anything she wanted, she bought and charged it to him. She wore the latest fashions, had more jewelry and baubles than any one woman could want and had never given a thought to what she spent. Coming from nothing and then having the world at your feet usually did that. Now though, the prices of things did matter. Morgan had the nicest home in town but she wouldn’t assume he had a bank account to rival Fletchers. How much could a town marshal make? She didn’t think it was much. His family owned the largest horse ranch for hundreds of miles but she wasn’t going to assume any of that money came his way and she wasn’t about to ask. If felt wrong, somehow, to pry into his private life. Being his wife didn’t erase the fact her past was a guarded secret she didn’t ever want to share. One she hoped never caught up to her.
She should have known it would. Mrs. Jenkins proved it the next instant. “I didn’t know Morgan smoked.”
Abigail turned to look at her. “He doesn’t.” She smiled and shrugged her shoulder. “I used to enjoy the taste every now and then. Now, I just want to smell it burning.” She laughed. She would add that small craving to her list of ever growing speculations about her current physical state. “I wasn’t sure if you carried that brand here, though.”
Mrs. Jenkins looked scandalized, probably due to the fact Abigail had smoked. The woman shook her head and gave her a disapproving look instead of saying anything about it. “No, I’m sorry to say we don’t. It’s a bit fancy, and expensive, for way out here.” She looked down at the counter, back at the list. “It’s the most peculiar thing though,” she said. “I had a man in here the other day ask for this very same tobacco.”
If it was physically possible, Abigail was sure her heart stopped beating then. When it started back up, it hammered against her rib cage so hard she was dizzy from it. She grabbed the table next to her as her vision blurred and Mrs. Jenkins’ voice was nothing but an echo in the distance.
The woman was in front of her the next instant, grabbing her arm and yelling for someone. Her rapid demands to an unseen person. Abigail was guided into a chair, her head swimming.
Thoughts she’d rather not be having flashed before her eyes so quickly she shut them, blocking out everything around her. Images of Fletcher came to her unbidden then, his face, and the cruel smile he used to give her. The smell of his tobacco. The same tobacco she’d put on her list. The tobacco someone else had asked for.
She was going to be sick. Her stomach revolted and she inhaled deeply to try and control the urge. She heard Morgan’s voice and wanted to weep when she caught his scent. Opening her eyes she saw him, there on his knees in front of her. “I don’t feel so well.”
He smiled, leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I can see that. I’ll take you home.”
Lifting her and tucking her into his arms he turned to Mrs. Jenkins and asked if she’d send Edna to his house. Abigail knew he was concerned if he asked for Edna. The two still didn’t get along well but the town didn’t have a doctor and Edna was the closest thing to one Willow Creek had. Abigail started to protest the need to be looked at but Morgan silenced her with a look.
When they were on the sidewalk headed for the house, Abigail couldn’t help but look over his shoulder. The street was busy with people and she glanced at every face she saw. None looked like Fletcher but she knew without seeing him that he was there. She could feel it in her bones. He’d found her. After months of hiding and finally being happy, the monster who whored her out and made her an accessory to murder had found her. And now, Abigail knew without a doubt, he’d not let her escape him again. This time he’d kill her.
* * * *
Edna walked out of the room to wash her hands and Abigail sat up, pulling the blankets to her chest. Her thoughts were so confused she wasn’t sure what to do. The need to run to Morgan was strong but fear stopped her. If she knew anything, it was that Fletcher was a ruthless man. She’d seen it firsthand and putting Morgan in front of him, on purpose, was the last thing she’d ever do.
When she arrived in Willow Creek expecting to marry a faceless man, she hadn’t given a thought to what she was asking of him. In exchange for her hand in marriage, for someone to cook and clean and warm his bed, what she expected of them in return was an extraordinary price.
Especially if their death was the end result. And she was sure it would be. Before, it hadn’t crossed her mind what she’d do if and when that happened but ever since Morgan had walked into her life her thoughts hadn’t strayed from them. She’d never put him at risk like that regardless of the fact she knew he would protect her without even having to ask him.
Every thing had been so perfect the past several months. She was happy and if she had nothing but the look on Morgan’s face, and the way he loved her in their bed, she would say he was too. He hadn’t said as much but he didn’t need to. He said it every time he touched her. With every caress he loved her. She didn’t need to hear the words to know it. And she loved him too much to put him in danger.
Edna walked back into the room and started collecting her things. Abigail watched her, seeing a look on her face that said she was bursting to shout what she knew to the world.
Saying her name, Abigail got her attention. “Edna, don’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t tell? Why ever not? I’d be shouting it to the entire town if I were you.”
Abigail tried to smile but failed miserably. “I know and I will. I just want Morgan to be the first to know and I’d really like to be the one to tell him.”
Edna looked agitated for a moment before she huffed out a resigned breath. “Don’t you worry about a thing, dear, your secret is safe with me.”
Somehow Abigail doubted that. “Thank you.” Edna left then, leaving her alone. The sound of the front door closing moments later and footsteps on the stairs told her Morgan was coming up. She tried to push thoughts of Fletcher away and even managed a smile when he opened the door and looked in at her.
