by Paige Tyler
Before she could protest, he was sitting on the side of the bed and tugging her into his embrace. She should resist, knew it was improper not to and yet she melted into his arms. His large hands smoothed her back and then held her tightly. With only her thin nightgown separating them, she felt his heart pounding against hers.
Pull away. But she couldn’t.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a husky tone after several seconds, still holding her to him. He’d threaded his hands in her hair, fingered it now.
Taos stood beside the bed and frowned, probably not liking how closely Morgan was holding her. “You can probably let her go now,” he said, touching Morgan’s shoulder. “It must have been one of her nightmares about…”
Morgan slowly released her and climbed off the bed. His jaw clenched and then he said in a tone shimmering with barely suppressed jealousy, “About that lawman you were going to marry? The one who died?”
She wasn’t surprised he knew about Ace’s death. He’d known about her engagement to Ace because she’d babbled about it to him well over a year ago when she’d burst into her brother’s bedroom and found him instead. His reaction now surprised her. But then he’d been surprising her a lot lately. Like when he’d kissed her so intensely her toes had almost curled the evening she’d cooked that awful dinner.
Embarrassed, she pulled the sheet up over her nightgown and held it in place. “No. I was dreaming about our wedding day.” She shuddered, felt sick, and let them see the tears still in her eyes. “You…someone shot you as we left the church. You died right there. I couldn’t bring you back.” Her admission came out shakily, quietly.
He blinked and all the irritation in his expression disappeared. He lowered his voice into a gentle, rumbling tone, “It was just a dream. Nothing but a dream.” He started to reach out to touch her cheek but she pulled back, then he did, too.
Taos looked uneasy, worried. “Do you want some water? Something else?” Clearly he was at a loss for helping her, but needed to do something.
She shook her head. There were times when he could be such a bad ass, and others when he could be caring. “I’m fine.”
Taos left the room anyway. “Yes, you do. I’ll go get a pitcher of water and a glass.” It was obvious he wanted to do something and that was all he could think of to do.
Morgan stared at her, looking helpless, looking guilty.
She swiped away tears and said quietly, “I can’t go through that again.”
His brow pinched together in uncertainty and a lock of thick, black hair fell forward. He jammed it back. “I’m not going to die on you like that, Angelina. I’m not!”
“You don’t know that for sure. You can’t know.” She tugged the sheet up higher.
His frustration returned and he blew out a heavy breath. “I’m not a fool kid with a gun and a badge like that deputy was. I’m not him.”
She felt almost like he’d slapped her, accused her of being a foolish child. “No, you’re nothing like Ace.” The differences were becoming stronger every day. To her irritation, it was Morgan who appealed to her, who she knew in her gut would make a better husband. If she could allow it, which she couldn’t.
He rubbed at his beard-stubbled jaw and then said firmly, “You’ve got to get past your fears. You’ve got to let yourself live.”
She gaped at him. Was she really so caught up in fearing what had happened, what might happen, that she was closing herself off from happiness the rest of her life? Not all lawmen were shot and killed. And, yes—if she were truthful with herself—she realized now just how young and foolish Ace had been. He’d always been anxious to prove he was good with a gun, when he wasn’t really. He’d always been eager to prove he was a tough lawman, which he wasn’t.
Morgan was nothing like Ace. He didn’t have to prove he could handle a gun. His reputation was well-earned and well-known. He was fast and deadly with a gun. He could be ruthless, too, when hunting down an outlaw. She knew all of that about him and wasn’t afraid of him…except of him being killed. Fast and deadly didn’t mean he couldn’t have a bad day, that some other gunman wouldn’t get the better of him.
She fought not to let tears return. Her throat hurt from swallowing so hard. Her mind couldn’t get past the knowledge that he had enemies, one of whom was now threatening his son in some way. It was that threat that concerned her, that haunted her dreams.
“I just don’t know if I can live with all the worrying,” she whispered after a few awkward seconds.
“You didn’t say can’t. You said don’t know.” Some of the tension drained from his expression. He looked hopeful.
Weary of the conversation, of the mixed feelings she had about him, she didn’t respond. She didn’t want to talk any more about the matter.
Slowly she became aware that he was half-dressed or more aware anyway. She should look away, but couldn’t. His shoulders were wider than Taos’s; his chest muscles bigger. A four-inch thin white scar ran diagonally across the left side of his ribs. Two small, jagged round wounds marred the perfection of his right shoulder area. Battle wounds, some would say signs of his strength of will. He’d survived. Oddly, she found that she wanted to touch those wounds, kiss them…heal him.
Heat crept up her neck, up her face. She didn’t want him to know she found him fascinating to look at. “You can leave now. I’m fine.”
But at the same time, she wanted him to stay. She wanted him to kiss her again, like he had the other day. And that would be a mistake.
As if he sensed something changing between them, something that would be wrong, he headed for the door, and then faced her. “I’m still taking you into town today for that dress fitting.”
“But…” He’d threatened that the night of the ruined dinner, the night he’d kissed her breath away. Fortunately he’d gotten busy around the ranch and the trip had been delayed, until now.
“It was a nightmare. Not a vision of what will happen. Get that straight, Angelina,” he said grimly, and then his expression softened. “It’s still early. Try to get some rest.”
He had no sooner walked away than Taos carried in a ceramic pitcher of water and a glass. He set them on the small table next to the bed and gave her a wary smile. “Trust in him, Sis.”
“Trusting him is one thing, but…”
Taos bent down to gently kiss the top of her head. As he straightened and walked to the doorway, he said, “Morgan will make you a good husband. You can let yourself love him.”
*
Two days later Whiskey was riding into Dodge City on her favorite horse and continuing to thank her lucky stars that Morgan hadn’t been able to follow through on his promise—threat—about taking her into town for a dress fitting. When she’d dragged herself down to breakfast the morning after her nightmare, she found he and Taos talking intently with a couple of the ranch hands. Several fences had been knocked down and some cattle were missing. They’d ridden out to deal with the problems and she hadn’t seen them since. Yesterday she’d kept busy working with her animals and tending to the horse with the bum leg. Today she was on her way into town to see Camelia and to get some supplies at the general store.
The ride had been good, settling. As she finally spotted the buildings of Dodge City ahead, a soft breeze swirled around her carrying the scent of prairie grass mixed with wildflowers. Even the summer heat wasn’t unbearable today. It was a good day.
She was happy to be away from the ranch and the constant worry over when Morgan might show up and demand to take her into town. She was more than happy that Manuel had returned and banned her from his kitchen. And she felt good about the progress the injured horse was making. She was good with animals, really good, which made her even more determined to prove that to others. So another reason for going to town today was to put up a poster advertising her services as an animal doctor on the community board in the general store. Her brothers and Morgan wouldn’t like that, she suspected.
The notion spoiled her mood ju
st a little. Somehow she had to convince not only Morgan and her brothers but also the other ranchers in the area that she could doctor their livestock. Morgan worried that one of the big animals would hurt her. She suspected the other ranchers would worry about the same thing. It seemed that all her life she’d been trying to prove herself. Probably it was harder for her because she always seemed to want to do something that wasn’t considered “right” or proper for a woman. It seemed to her that men only thought a woman capable of cooking, cleaning, and basically doting on them.
She frowned in disgust. She wasn’t that kind of woman. Maybe Brandy was like that, she didn’t know at this point, since she hadn’t seen her twin in over two years. But Brandy had always been more ladylike, taken after their gentle, beautiful mother more than she had. She was what she was. Either a man accepted her ways or he didn’t. Either Morgan…
A flock of birds suddenly flew out of the bushes alongside the river.
She tensed, stiffened in the saddle. Her heart raced. Something didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel alone.
But when she glanced toward the river and then scanned all around her, she couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. Still, it didn’t feel right.
Wary now, she nudged her mount into a gallop. Maybe she’d talk Keno into riding back to the ranch with her later.
*
Morgan stepped out of Mueller’s Boot Shop, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his mouth, and glanced around. After a long day mending fences and chasing down cattle rustlers, he’d ended up coming into town to wind down. He’d stayed the night in one of the rooms over the Dusty Trails Saloon and decided to check on some new boots this morning.
He rolled his sore shoulders and knew he should be heading back to the ranch. Back to fetch Whiskey and bring her in to see that dressmaker. But he wasn’t ready to see her just yet. Her nightmare had bothered him. The tears on her face, the fear in her eyes…they’d torn at him. Was he doing wrong by her? He had come to accept their getting married, in truth looked forward to it. Which had to mean he was half-crazy. But he wanted her, wanted her in his bed and, strangely, wanted to share in her zest for life. A zest that maybe he threatened to shatter by marrying her. Damn.
His hand automatically went to check the leg ties on his holster, and then skimmed the handle of his Colt .45. The jingling of spur rowels on the wooden walk nearby drew his attention. He instinctively tensed.
Two cowboys stopped in front of the Occident Saloon, gave him a quick nod, noted where his hand rested, and they hurried through the batwing doors. Guess he looked pretty damn scary.
He reached up to finger his whiskered jaw. He probably ought to get himself a hot bath, a shave and maybe even a haircut before he headed home. Home? It surprised him that he was already thinking of the Wakefield Ranch as home. It had been a hell of a lot of years since he’d stayed in any one place long enough to call it home.
An hour later, he stepped out of the barber shop feeling a damn sight better. He propped a foot on a hitching rail and rolled a cigarette. His gaze shifted around. It always paid to know what was happening around you, especially when you wore a badge and had a reputation others wanted. Down the road, he spotted Wyatt Earp stepping onto the boardwalk outside the Dodge House. Doc Holliday and Kate Fisher were right behind him. Odd little group, he thought.
Dust flew up on the far end of the road coming into town from the east. He tipped up his hat and squinted into the sun. Whiskey. She was back to wearing her britches and riding her favorite horse, a big golden Palomino with attitude. The horse worried him, but then all of her odd critters worried him. No amount of talking against them had mattered. She was as stubborn as he was. Hell of a pair they’d make.
He watched her riding closer, watched her easy sit in the saddle. Evidently she was well over that experience with the strop, which was fine with him. Not that he regretted tanning her hide. Whenever he thought about what she’d done, what could have happened to her… well, he was ready to take her over his knee and spank her all over again. He had a feeling that he’d suffer a sore hand and she’d go to bed many a night in their future with a hot backside.
The sun reflected on her and that bronze braid dangling over her shoulder. She was quite a beauty, unique, too. She defied society’s rules whenever she felt like it, like wearing britches and wearing her hair down as a single young woman. She was a rebel and strong-willed, wanting to doctor animals when that was normally done by men. But he had to admit she was good with beasts of all sizes. Even that damn skunk named after him. Still, they would be butting heads over the subject for a while. He wouldn’t allow her to put herself in danger.
He watched her stop and smile down at a group of children sitting on the bench outside the railroad station. She said something he couldn’t hear, something that had them all jumping to their feet in obvious excitement. People liked her, young and old. It was hard not to.
Dropping his leg from the rail, he decided to walk down the boardwalk and meet up with her. He was also of a mind to lecture her about riding into town alone. She didn’t like lectures much and resisted being told what or what not to do. He didn’t want to spook her, but he’d heard a rumor that Rafe had been seen recently in Wichita. It wouldn’t take the Comanchero bounty hunter long to head this way. This was something he would have to insist on: no more riding off alone.
He hadn’t gone a half dozen feet when he watched Whiskey use her easy skills to encourage her horse, Shadow, to walk backwards a few feet. Then he nearly swallowed his cigarette when she tugged back on the reins and the massive horse reared up on his powerful back legs. She kept him up like that and urged the Palomino to walk forward, front legs pawing the air as she waved her hat at the children with her free hand.
The children, as well as a few other people on the boardwalk nearby, clapped in encouragement. Men emerged from the saloons to see what was going on, hooting and hollering at her little show. The small amount of wagon traffic halted, too. He admitted she was skilled, but he was anxious as well. His gut warned him that his pint-sized betrothed wasn’t finished showing off and that he wouldn’t like whatever came next.
Proving his instincts right, she let the animal drop back down. The horse danced around a bit as she appeared to study the dirt road ahead, noted the stopped wagon traffic. Then she glanced toward the children and nodded.
They jointly yelled out, “Go!”
His immediate thought was Oh Hell!
With a quick flick of her reins to each side, she commanded the Palomino to run. His muscles bunched and he put his head down and then he tore off down the street at near blinding speed. Fastest damn horse he had ever seen. The ride down to the Dodge House wasn’t all that long, but it was the most frightening one he’d ever watched. And it was the last race she would ever do! That was for damn sure. His heart couldn’t take it.
He thundered down the boardwalk, people scrambled out of his way.
He stormed across the road, dust drifted up behind him with each determined footstep. Not a soul got in his way; no one was stupid enough to attempt to stop the grim-eyed marshal on a mission.
He spotted her still sitting on the Palomino near the hitching rail of the Dodge House. Wyatt was grinning like an idiot at her shenanigans. Doc’s pale blue eyes glimmered with humor and Kate’s homely face beamed in delight.
Fools all of them! The horse could have balked, could have gotten scared of something. She could have been thrown, killed. He was cold all over, hot at the same time.
A dozen feet away he roared, “Angelina Wakefield!”
She turned in his direction, caught his furious expression, and started to wheel the horse around.
Exhausted, the Palomino resisted. Smart horse.
“Get down. Right. Now.” He strode closer unconcerned at the flash of fire in her eyes. He was equally unconcerned at the worried expressions on her friends’ faces. “We’re gonna have a talk.”
She, of course, didn’t move. “I was just havin
g a little fun. Entertaining those children.” She nodded back at the young’uns still watching her.
Morgan stood his ground, trying to calm down. “I said to get off that damn horse.”
“Shadow needs cooling down, water,” she insisted, still not moving, but she did fidget uneasily in the saddle.
He sent a warning look at the curious spectators around them and most of them shuffled away. Wyatt and his friends remained, to his annoyance. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” he bit out.
Wyatt’s mustache twitched in amusement. “Reckon so. Just taking a moment to admire the way you’re taking on our favorite mischief maker. I’m thinking she’s finally met her match.”
Whiskey sneered at him. “Thanks.”
The trio walked off, chuckling. Whiskey was furious. She was so caught up in her irritation with them that she didn’t see Morgan grabbing for the reins until it was too late. He took firm hold of them and then began leading Shadow toward the livery stable.
She knew that she looked ridiculous and her cheeks flamed at the amused glances she caught on the people they passed. Why did every blessed person in this sorry town think it was funny to see the big lawman treating her like this?
“Stop right now!” she snapped. “I can take care of my own damn horse.”
When he glanced back at her, she wished he hadn’t. His jaw was tight; his eyes grim. “It’s not only the horse I’m planning to take care of.”
She sucked in a breath. “You can’t mean—”
He didn’t say a word, just kept on marching down the road. Every nerve in her body tingled with dread. She should have stayed at the ranch. She should have stayed in Arkansas at Aunt Mae’s.
The liveryman met them at the doorway, smiling. “Want me to wipe down her horse?”
