Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1

by Debra Mullins

  The other men gave way in the doorway, and Donovan met the newcomer’s gaze squarely. “Morning, Ross.”

  “Donovan.” Ross’s gaze slid to the slumbering Sarah, then back to Donovan. His mouth thinned.

  A rustle of the tarps drew everyone’s attention. Sarah sat up, rubbing a hand across her eyes and yawning.

  “Jack?” she said in a sleepy voice. Then her eyes focused, and she cried out, jerking the blanket to her chin. Her face flushed redder than any tomato as she glanced from one man to another.

  “Good morning, Sarah,” Ross said. He looked at Donovan. “I think we’d all better wait outside while Sarah gets dressed.”

  With a sigh, Donovan got to his feet, grateful he had slipped back into his trousers when he’d last checked the perimeter sometime before dawn. He followed the posse outside. Ross brought up the rear, his expression grim and his fingers tight around the rifle in his hand.

  The instant the door to the shed closed behind him, the rancher turned to him. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Donovan asked, his tone deceptively mild.

  “Your horse showed up at the Calhouns’ last night, right around the time Mrs. Calhoun was asking around about Sarah. The whole blasted town knows the both of you were missing all night.”

  “Bet they’ll be glad to know we’re alive,” Donovan said sarcastically. “People should be more concerned about Petrie running loose than whether or not Sarah and I are going to get married. Which we are going to do, by the way.” He scanned each man in turn, daring them to protest. But instead their bodies relaxed as the worry left their faces.

  “I’m sure glad to hear that,” Amos said, voicing what was obviously a shared opinion. “I like that gal. Didn’t want to see her get hurt again.”

  “I take care of what’s mine.” Donovan looked at Ross as he spoke.

  Ross gave a nod of understanding. “Then it looks like I’m not needed here anymore. I’ve got cattle to see to.”

  “Turner,” Donovan warned as Ross mounted his horse. “I expect to see you dancing at my wedding.”

  The two men held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Then Ross gave him jerky nod. “Tell Sarah I’m sorry about the other night,” he said. “And that I hope she’ll be happy.”

  “She will be,” Donovan assured him.

  With a nod to the other men, Ross kicked his horse into a gallop.

  “Sure hope he can dance,” Amos mused. He spit a wad of tobacco juice into the hoofprints left by Ross’s horse.

  The door to the shed opened. “Please take me home, Jack,” Sarah said.

  Donovan came to her and took her hand, pressing her trembling fingers over his heart. “You are home.”

  One week later, the entire town of Burr attended the wedding of Sarah Calhoun and Jack Donovan. After the ceremony, everyone rode out to the Donovan spread for an enormous wedding reception.

  Sarah clung to her new husband’s hand as they walked among the guests, greeting and being congratulated. The yard was full to overflowing with people in their Sunday best. Trestle tables covered with white tablecloths had been set up for dining, and a steer was slowly being roasted over an open fire. A line of tables alongside the house sagged with the weight of hot corn and potatoes, biscuits and gravy, and dozens of other delectable foods. Smack in the center of all this bounty rose a three-tiered wedding cake, baked by Honoria Westerly and her daughter, Marianne.

  A bunch of Donovan’s hands had built a wooden dance floor that stood just outside the white picket fence that surrounded the huge yard. Mort, Johnny and Gabriel had taken their places atop the dais and kicked up a foot-stomping tune. Someone handed Sarah a plate full of food, and she even sat down with it, but she couldn’t eat. Donovan, however, ate heartily, accepting congratulations and slaps on the back with sociable good humor.

  Sarah made an effort to pick at the delicious offerings on her plate, but finally she just pushed it aside. She was too edgy to eat anything. Every time someone came up behind her, she jumped, expecting to see Luke’s leering face. She had spent the week before her wedding expecting him to step out of some corner and threaten her again.

  As if he sensed her turmoil, Donovan reached over and took her hand without pausing in his conversation with Matt and Amos. He caressed her fingers with his thumb, and she found herself relaxing. Even if Luke was still around, she was safe with Donovan.

  Comforted by her husband’s soothing presence, she took more of an interest in her surroundings. Donovan’s yard was little more than hard-packed dirt, and she envisioned how it might look once she took the gardening in hand. Perhaps a trellis on the side of the house. Rose bushes maybe, or petunias. Someone laughed, breaking her free of her imaginings.

  At the next table, Mr. Castor stuffed his mouth with beef while arguing politics with Harve Heinman, the owner of the Four Aces Saloon. The cattlemen crowded in a corner of the yard, glasses of whiskey in their hands, debating the vagaries of the cattle market. Across the way, the Tillis family sat with Kate O’Brien and the Westerlys amidst the bedlam created by their collective children. The Tremont sisters sat with their uncle Mortimer. Sarah’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she noticed Ross Turner fetching lemonade for a blushing Emmaline.

  Over near the house, Susannah was surrounded by most of the eligible young males of Burr. She handled the crowd of eager suitors with a casual aplomb that Sarah had always envied.

  Just a few yards away, her mother was engaged in a lively discussion with Mrs. Castor and two other matrons. She positively beamed with happiness as she described the making of her daughter’s wedding gown, a fantastic creation of white satin, snowy lace, and seed pearls that was the culminating achievement of her career as a seamstress. Having one of her daughters marry the most eligible bachelor in town had made June Calhoun the envy of her contemporaries.

  Sarah noticed the Mercers in deep conversation with the Pearsons, and sitting with them was Marshal Brown.

  He seemed fit enough now, she thought, though his arm was still in a sling. He was tall and lean with wheat-colored hair that fell to his shoulders and a mustache of the same color. His dark eyes scanned the crowd, a habit, no doubt, from years of having to watch his back. He looked personable enough in a white shirt and fawn-colored pants with a matching coat, but the way he held himself made her think that he could move quickly in any direction at a moment’s notice.

  Just like Jack.

  As if he heard her unspoken words, the marshal turned his gaze on her new husband. He watched Donovan with a measured thoroughness that made her edgy.

  She knew Jack had a past. Only now did she think to wonder whether or not it had been a legal one. But what could Donovan have possibly done to draw the attention of the authorities? She glanced at her husband, who was talking to Ned Gorman and Amos. He had told her that he wasn’t wanted anywhere, and she believed him. But Donovan had definitely seen some dark times in his past.

  Frowning in concentration, she looked back at the marshal and jolted when she realized the lawman was now looking at her.

  Her deductive instincts sprang to life. Rising, she headed for the marshal, determined to get some answers.

  Donovan knew he was being watched.

  He continued to converse with Ned and Amos as if nothing were wrong, even as his senses pricked him with the knowledge that he was the object of intense scrutiny.

  His first thought was Petrie. Had the bastard managed to sneak up on them after all? He shifted so he could get to the knife in his boot if necessary, silently cursing his decision not to wear his gun. But he’d known Sarah would object if he showed up at the church with the obvious weapon.

  To the casual observer, he appeared relaxed. Smiling and bantering, he slowly turned his head until he could see his observer out of the corner of his eye.

  Marshal Jedidiah Brown.

  Several conversations with the man over the past week had indicated that the lawman was excellent at
his job. Donovan’s instincts told him that the marshal’s interest stemmed from more than worry that Donovan might take the law into his own hands and go after Petrie.

  But there were important reasons why he had left Blade behind, Donovan thought. Blade had been ruthless, a cold-blooded tracker of men. He had lived on the edges of society, alone. He had no friends, no wife, no lover. No family. And while those circumstances had made it possible to survive, he’d grown tired of living in shadows.

  He’d taken back his real name. He had changed his appearance—cut his hair, shaved his mustache and beard—to leave Blade far behind and make a new start as Jack Donovan.

  And he was tired of being alone.

  He was happy to let his legendary past self fade into Western folklore. But there were some people who wouldn’t be content with that—people who had been tracked by him, or simply wanted to kill a legend to make a name for themselves. He could handle whatever ghosts from his past that chose to challenge him. But the innocent people that surrounded him—friends, family—would be endangered. And that he could not allow.

  Sarah was his wife now, and so precious that he would die to protect her.

  For a moment a twinge of guilt pinched at him. He hadn’t told Sarah the whole truth about himself, but he knew what would happen if he did. Her words to him that day had rung true and clear: I swore when my father died that I would never again become involved with a dangerous man…even if he was on the right side of the law.

  As long as nobody knew where to find Blade, no one would come to Burr looking for him. And Sarah would never have to know.

  But Marshal Brown’s interest made him wonder if the lawman had already figured it out.

  “Marshal Brown, I don’t believe you’ve danced with the bride.”

  Jedidiah Brown gave Sarah a smile that was surprisingly sweet. “I don’t reckon I can dance much with this arm, ma’am.”

  “Now, Marshal, I simply won’t take no for an answer.” Sarah touched his shoulder with a flirtatious grin. The man hadn’t said two words to her the entire ten minutes she’d stood there talking to the Mercers; it was obvious she was going to have to arrange things to get him into a more private conversation.

  “Go ahead and dance, son,” Doc Mercer said with a laugh. “It’s your shoulder that’s wounded, not your feet!”

  Sarah took his free hand and tugged playfully. “Come now, Marshal. You know you’re supposed to listen to your doctor.”

  “I suppose so.” The lawman rose gracefully and allowed Sarah to lead him to the dance floor.

  “You do know how to dance?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. He took her hand in one of his. “Why don’t you put your other hand on my shoulder there, and try not to squeeze too tight.”

  “All right.” Once positioned, she barely had time to smile at him before he whisked her into step.

  “Good heavens, Marshal.” She laughed. “You surely can dance!”

  “My mama would turn over in her grave if I couldn’t.”

  “Where are you from, Marshal?”

  “Jedidiah, please. And I’m from Charleston.”

  Sarah smiled up at him. “And how do you like our little town?”

  “Bunch of nice folks,” Jedidiah replied. “And you sure do make a pretty bride, Mrs. Donovan.”

  Sarah laughed. “Be sure to call me that a few times so I get used to it.”

  “Guess it takes a while to settle in.” At her quizzical look, he clarified, “ I mean getting married and all. Especially to a man as prominent as your husband.”

  Sarah’s senses sharpened at the mention of Jack. “He is that,” she agreed.

  “You two know each other long?”

  “Long enough.”

  “I’m only asking because he seems familiar to me somehow.”

  “Really?” Her flesh prickled with the sensation that a disclosure was imminent. “Perhaps he resembles an acquaintance from Charleston.”

  “No, that’s not it.” He fixed her with a steady stare. “It’ll come to me.”

  Sarah swallowed hard and glanced away from that implacable look. “I’m certain it will.”

  A disturbance amongst the dancers drew her attention, and she saw Donovan approaching them through the crowd.

  She had to keep him away from the marshal.

  “Excuse me, Jedidiah,” she said with an apologetic smile. “My husband is looking for me. Thank you for the dance.”

  Jedidiah barely had time to nod before she broke free and hurried to Donovan.

  Her husband smiled at her as she came up to him and took his hand. “Is it possible for me to claim my own wife for a dance?” he teased.

  “Absolutely.” Without hesitation, she went into his arms and allowed him to guide her into the rhythm of the music. To her dismay, his gaze drifted to Marshal Brown, who stood at the edge of the dance floor.

  “Good. I was worried he might upset you with talk about… Well, I was worried that he might upset you.”

  “He didn’t mention Luke,” Sarah assured him. “It was quite an unremarkable conversation, all in all. Did you know he’s from Charleston?”

  “Is he?”

  “He’s a very nice man.” She paused, then said casually, “He thought you looked familiar. I suspect you must resemble someone he knows from home.”

  Donovan’s muscles stiffened beneath her hands. “Maybe I have one of those faces,” he said. The indifference of his tone indicated that he couldn’t care less, but the tension of his body told another tale.

  Sarah’s investigative instincts tingled to life. The only reason for his concern would he if he had something to hide. But what?

  Now, because she loved him, she was afraid of that past he refused to talk about. She was worried that the marshal might know something of Donovan’s former life, and that it would rise like the devil from hell and steal their happiness.

  She would not let that happen. She would keep Jedidiah Brown away from Donovan until the lawman left town. Then everything would be fine.

  It had to be.

  Donovan’s slow caress up her spine scattered every rational thought. She met his gaze and almost melted from the heat reflected there.

  Pulling her more snugly into his embrace, he lowered his mouth close to her ear. “I can hardly wait to get you in my bed, sassy girl,” he whispered. “This has been a long week.”

  His bed: that huge walnut four-poster that had haunted her dreams and fantasies ever since she had first laid eyes on it. Tonight she would be sleeping there.

  Or not sleeping.

  Hunger rose in a wave, a surge of desire too long denied. She remembered that day beneath the tree at the box social—every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise. And in the shed at Miller’s Pond—where every secret had been revealed, every dream fulfilled. Her knees weakened at the thought of what would happen tonight, on her wedding night, in that bed.

  Tonight she would finally be able to lie in the arms of the man she loved without fear of gossip or consequences. Tonight she could openly show her love and trust Donovan with her passion.

  He smiled down at her, the gleam in his eyes showing he had guessed the direction of her thoughts. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, guiding her toward the edge of the dance floor. “Let’s see if we can find a nice dark corner for a minute or two.”

  Her limbs tingling, Sarah followed her husband away from the crowd. But as they slipped away, she was aware of Marshal Brown’s enigmatic gaze following them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Well, aren’t you just the picture of the happy newlywed,” Susannah drawled, seated at the table in the Donovans’ huge kitchen.

  Sarah laughed as she finished preparing two cups of tea. “I am happy,” she said, balancing the delicate china cups and saucers in her hands.

  “That’s obvious.” Susannah ignored the tea placed in front of her as Sarah sat down. What she saw in her sister’s face satisfied her immensely. “S
o I take it you aren’t worried about being married to Donovan anymore? Things are working out?”

  “Better than I thought.” Sarah perused the plate of cookies on the table and selected one. “Jack and I have negotiated a compromise of sorts. I make sure I get home from the paper in time to cook supper, and he sometimes does a chore or two that I can’t get to. Right now, everything is going along wonderfully.”

  Susannah tapped her finger on her saucer. “Sarah, as glad as I am to hear that everything is going well, I feel obligated to remind you that you’ve only been married for two weeks.”

  “Two wonderful weeks.”

  “You’re bound to have a fight eventually.”

  “We’ve fought before, and we’ll probably fight again,” Sarah agreed. “But the thing I was worried about—the day-to-day living—hasn’t been a problem at all.”

  “Well, good.” Susannah reached for her tea.

  “I am worried about Luke, though.” Sarah took a gulp of her tea. “He’s still out there, and sometimes I expect him to just show up and ruin everything.”

  “I’d say your husband can handle him.”

  “But that’s the other thing.” Sarah wrapped both hands around her tea cup, her expression serious. “Suzie, I want you to keep what I’m about to tell you to yourself.”

  “Oh, and I was just itching to run over to the undertaker’s and tell Juliana Tremont all your secrets,” Suzie drawled.

  “All right, I’m sorry I insulted you. But this is important—it’s about Jack.”

  Susannah grinned. “I love the way you call him ‘Jack’ when the rest of the town just calls him ‘Donovan.’ Even me.”

  “I just can’t see myself addressing my husband by his last name,” Sarah said primly, making Susannah chuckle. “It sounds too much like calling the dog.”

  At that, Suzie burst into outright laughter. “All right, what’s this big bad secret?”

  “When I first met Jack,” Sarah began, “I knew he wasn’t exactly what he appeared to be.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Suzie leaned forward. “Is he wanted somewhere?”