She must have said 'I do,' because the minister pronounced them Man and Wife. Finishing off the ceremony, he brushed his lips across hers in a quick, chaste kiss. His warm lips were there and gone so quickly, it was like a whisper. It wasn’t anything like the kisses they'd shared that morning, or even an hour before in the jail. She remained mute through the brief well wishes from the minister and his wife. She was Mrs. Masterson. She was Grant's wife.
Soon enough, he led her back down the boardwalk, holding her hand to make sure she didn’t fall in the darkness.
***
It seemed Maggie's nervousness was only getting worse, her hand shaking like a leaf in his. He couldn't believe the woman walking next to him was his wife. His wife! How had he gotten into this? She’d been right, he could have come up with a better answer than marriage, but now she was safe with him. Hunt would never touch her again. No man would touch her. She was his.
His thoughts turned to the other reason why he'd told Hunt they were married.
He wanted her.
He'd wanted her from the first time he'd seen her at Croft’s. It was as simple as that. He couldn’t, wouldn't have her without marriage, and this moved things along quite nicely. He certainly knew this wasn’t the easiest way to get her into his bed, and he'd still have to go slowly. Even after all they'd been through, they still didn't know each other well. But many marriages had been started on less.
He desperately wanted to awaken the passion he'd seen when he'd held her in his arms, kissed her senseless. He wanted to hear her call his name in her first throes of desire. He was getting impossibly hard just thinking about it.
Approaching his small house, he stopped and lowered his gaze to hers. “Mrs. Masterson, welcome home.”
***
He smiled and dropped a light kiss on her lips before he opened the door. She knew he was going to want more, to sink deeper into her with his kiss, but to her disappointment, he didn’t. She was discovering that kissing Grant was like tasting a sweet treat for the first time. She’d had her first bite, and now she craved more.
Lifting her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, she gasped in surprise as he carried her over the threshold.
The clapboard house was similar in style to Mrs. Daley’s, painted white, with a cozy front porch. For a bachelor, he kept his home immaculate.
A small parlor with comfortable chairs faced a wood stove. A mirror hung on the wall next to the front door. She supposed he looked into it as he put on his badge each morning.
“Hungry?” he asked as he placed her back on her feet, her body sliding down his hard, muscular frame as he did so.
She shook her head no, remaining quiet. She'd lost her voice along with her senses at his intimate contact.
“Let me show you around.”
The house was small, just three rooms. After the parlor, he showed her the small kitchen with its table and chairs, then led her into his bedroom. It was definitely a man's room. The walls were painted a fresh white and the room was sparsely furnished. There was a dresser and a chair, both made of a dark wood matching the bed's headboard. They were plain pieces, but beautifully built. Her eyes drifted back to the bed with a simple quilt spread across it. The bed they would be sharing in a short time.
“It's getting late. Why don't you get ready, and I'll come back in a bit.” He walked to the dresser and took the pitcher, turned back to her and once again, his eyes raked over her. “Um...I’ll bring in fresh water for you.”
After returning with the full pitcher and a clean hand towel, he finally left her alone, offering her the solitude she desperately desired. The man flustered her. With his heated looks, his mind-melting kisses, what was she to do? He was her husband now, and she...she desired him. But he forced her into marrying him! Now, she was going to have to share a bed with him and...and her body.
She did like his kisses and his touch, but it didn't mean he could have his way with her, even now that they were married. Marriage should have been her choice! Frustrated, she closed the bedroom door and leaned back against it, willing herself not to cry. She'd fallen from one predicament right into another. She balled her hands into fists and hit them against the door in frustration.
Her anger made her forget the positive reasons for marrying him. She was now free of William and his quest for her money and status. He would have no reason to kill her now, since he couldn’t receive a dime of her fortune. Grant would. Nothing William could do could hurt her now. She was free from all the dangers that had driven her from home in the first place.
Then there was Tom. She felt badly because he was so kind and thoughtful and now he'd have to be content with her as a sister instead of a bride. Facing him, then explaining things, would be difficult. Hopefully he’d understand the dire circumstances she had been in to marry Grant.
Tired and ready to sleep, she started to unbutton her blouse and realized she didn’t have a nightgown to put on. Walking to the dresser, she opened a drawer and found Grant’s shirts. She pulled one out and changed her bedraggled skirt and blouse for a soft flannel shirt. As she pulled back the covers on the bed and climbed in, she wondered when he would come to her.
Her answer came ten minutes later by a light rap on the door.
***
Grant found Maggie with her back propped up against the headboard, quilt smoothed out across her lap. He recognized that she wore his blue shirt, and quickly decided it looked better on her. The deep V of the neck only forced his gaze toward her ample breasts, which thrust out against the soft material. Trying to stave the desire pulsing through his veins, he sat down on the bed next to her legs, the bed dipping beneath his weight.
“Grant, I...I think you should leave,” she said, her voice cold. He wondered why, then it hit him. She was scared of him, of his presence, his nearness. The look of passion he'd seen earlier when they'd kissed in the jail was absent now. In its place was a look akin to when they'd bumped into Hunt. Not a good sign for a bridegroom.
“I don't think I want to leave my wife on our wedding night,” he replied, his gaze traveling the length of her body. “I didn't get to explore your body enough this morning in the line shack.”
He lifted a hand to her face to brush a wayward curl. She flinched and turned away from his hand. Sliding across the mattress, she pulled herself up so she kneeled at the far corner of the bed, pressed against the wall. The quilt was gripped beneath white knuckles by her chin.
“I don't want you here,” she said, her voice frantic. “You forced me into this marriage, which doesn’t give you the right to share my bed.”
She didn't really mean it. He knew it as sure as the sun rose in the East. She was only afraid of the passion she'd just had a taste of. She had readily admitted she didn't want to marry Hunt, yet her body readily admitted her desire for him. Now if her brain would only catch up with her body, they could have a mighty pleasurable night.
“God gave me the right tonight in church.”
She squealed in frustration and threw a pillow at him, the only weapon within reach.
He could see he wasn't going to get anywhere, in bed or out, with her like this. She’d gotten herself all riled up over being forced into marriage. But he’d saved her from a man whom she clearly disliked. The truth was, he was glad he’d married her, for many reasons. The most important, at least in the past hour, was thinking about how much he was going to enjoy sharing a bed, and everything done in it, with her for the rest of his life. But he held up his hands as either a peace offering or a sign of defeat and stood up, placing the thrown pillow down on the quilt.
“I’m sorry if you didn't want to marry me, but Maggie, I won't ever hurt you. I will protect you from men like Hunt and Dalton. You have my promise.” Their eyes met. “I won't lie though, I want you, and I'll have you, but as I’ve already told you, I never force myself on a woman.”
He moved to the doorway, realizing it was going to be a long night without a bed. Hell, he knew she wanted him, he’d
seen it in her eyes when he’d held her, heard it in her sighs when he’d kissed her, felt it in her body as she trembled from his touch.
But fear of the unknown was defeating her passion. This was a battle he refused to lose. Pressed up against the wall, she looked scared and furious at the same time. He wanted her to be willing and pliant, not petrified of him, and cowering in the corner. He’d have to think of a way to have her begging for his touch.
“Grant Masterson, if I was a man, I wouldn't need you to protect me from William or Dalton!” She shouted at him as he walked out the door.
Turning to face her, he smiled and said, “Maggie, if you were a man, I don't think I’d have married you.” He took the lamp and closed the door behind him, leaving her to fume alone in the dark.
***
They returned to Tom's ranch sooner than Grant had wanted. Although he hadn’t expected to be married to Maggie when they did so, either. His goal of finding the stage robber would have to wait another day. It was only right they share with Tom the change of plans, that the wedding had already occurred and he was no longer the groom.
She remained quiet riding alongside him. Even though she’d spent the night comfortable in his bed, alone, her face showed signs of a restless and sleepless night. Dark smudges beneath her eyes were the most obvious ones. Good.
Breaking the silence, he asked, “So Hunt forced you to into an engagement?”
She nodded.
“Couldn't you just tell him you didn't want to marry?” This was the question he'd wanted to ask since they bumped into the man yesterday. What hold did Hunt have over Maggie?
“No. William forced my hand. A fait accompli. We went to a dinner party that was, to my surprise, an engagement party for us. The only person who didn’t know was me. William asked me to marry him in the carriage, and when I said no, he told me I didn’t have any choice in the matter. Then, over dessert, in front of all my friends and acquaintances, William announced I’d accepted his proposal, which was an outright lie. He put a ring on my finger and kissed me in front of the other guests.”
“So he lied to everyone you knew?”
She nodded glumly again. “Where I come from, sealing a marriage proposal with a kiss is a done deal. There's no way out of it. In my case, all of my friends—everyone there—saw the kiss. If I didn't go through with it, I would have been ruined. I wouldn't have been able to show my face in Philadelphia society again.”
He recognized her predicament. It was the same everywhere, including Cranston. That's why he’d said they had to marry. He couldn't show his face to his neighbors over such a substantial lie.
She sucked in her plump lower lip as she paused a moment. “Everyone saw our marriage as the perfect union, but no one understood. William had been pushing me, more and more...pawing at me...and....” She was unable to finish. She wrung her fingers in her lap.
The blush creeping up her cheeks told what she couldn’t. His anger, at a man he barely knew, was strong. A fist to the gut sensation was swift in coming thinking about Hunt forcing himself on Maggie. His Maggie.
“You know the rest.”
They’d ridden up to Tom’s house while they talked. “So my forcing you into marrying me was just as bad as what Hunt did to you?” He dismounted.
“William was planning on killing me for my inheritance. You aren’t. At least I hope not.” A glimmer of a smile brightened her weary face.
“How much are you worth?” he jested.
“Very funny. I was prepared to marry Tom next week. I will admit that yesterday took me by surprise. But I....” She cut off as he helped her down. Was she always so small, so willowy?
“What?” He looked into her eyes, hoping she’d continue to confide.
“I wanted to marry for love and now that's not possible. But I guess that would have been the case with Tom, as well,” she said honestly.
He, too, hoped to be in love someday. A horse and rider approached at a breakneck speed.
“Sheriff!”
He turned at the shout.
“Masterson’s hurt. Leg’s probably broke. His horse stepped in a snake hole. We're out by the south pasture.”
“I'll get the wagon,” he replied hastily. The man rode off to return to Tom and the other men. The conversation with Maggie was instantly forgotten at the possibility of Tom being seriously injured. There was plenty of time to finish their conversation later. The rest of their lives.
He led the horses to the stable to hook them up to the wagon. Maggie had to run to keep up with his long strides.
“You’re staying here,” he commanded.
“No! I'm going with you.” She tried to catch her breath. “Tom needs us both. Besides, the horse could be hurt and I might be able to help.”
He didn’t want to waste time to argue further, so he nodded. Wagon ready, they both climbed up onto the wooden bench and rode off to the south pasture.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It took thirty minutes to reach the men over bumpy ground. Margaret gnawed on her lower lip and worried, only thinking of the worst, that Tom was injured horribly and might die. It was a distinct possibility, since they were so far from any kind of doctor. Grant reined in the winded animals and tied off the leads. She jumped down before he could assist her.
They rushed to Tom, ready to help. He was surrounded by his men, standing, and to her, appeared perfectly fine. Worried, she asked after the horse. One of the hands pointed behind her. Two men knelt over the animal, lying on its side, its flank rising and falling in obvious distress. It was Dalton’s horse, the one she’d ridden into the night to escape and to save Grant. She dropped down on her knees and stroked the horse’s head, talking to it, trying to keep it calm.
“Leg's broke,” said one of the men.
She nodded, but sadly knew there was no hope for the animal. He’d run like the wind and protected her when she needed it most. He’d saved her. But she couldn’t save the stallion. Nothing in her power could save him. Instead, she talked and comforted him, even with her chaotic surroundings.
After several minutes, she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up at Grant. She ran a hand over the long mane she’d held to so tightly, then brushed her knuckles over his soft ear one last time. Standing, she tried to hold back the tears clogging her throat as she bit down on her lower lip. He took her hand gently in his and led her a fair distance away from the horse.
“How's Tom?” she asked, doing anything to keep the tears from falling.
“He's fine. Not a scratch. I think the man who came to get us mixed up the patients. The horse, you know he's going to have to be put down, Maggie. There's nothing we can do for him now except put him out of his misery.”
He put his hands on her shoulders preventing her from turning to look at the horse again. He gave an imperceptible nod, not to her, but to someone over her shoulder. She jumped at the sound of the shot. The tears finally filled her eyes and overflowed down her cheeks.
He pulled her close as she cried into his warm shoulder. He stroked her hair and whispered in her ear. She couldn't hear what he said, but took comfort, like she hoped the horse had, just in the noise. He kissed the top of her head and lifted her face to his. He wiped the tears away with his finger and leaned in to kiss her again, this time on the mouth. The kiss remained light and the warmth soothed her.
“At least now he won't suffer.”
She knew he was right, but didn't feel very comforted by his words.
***
Thank God Tom was uninjured and was able to ride back with his men to the ranch. Grant thought the ranch hand who mixed up the patients should be shot for scaring him so badly. His blood had flowed faster than a river at spring thaw with worry for his little brother. Hell, he wasn't all that little, but he'd taken care of him most of his life, and didn't plan on stopping now.
Grant and Maggie followed the men back to the ranch, but their pace was slowed by the wagon. She was quiet, no doubt saddened by the death of the beaut
iful animal. No matter how much he disliked Dalton, the man’s horse had been a wonderful animal, not deserving a ruthless owner or such a senseless death. He kept the team at a trot and didn’t push her to continue their earlier conversation. Keeping her occupied would be the best way to keep her mind off the sad events, so he had her assist him with unhitching the horses. When they returned to the house, his hand protectively placed at the small of her back, Tom was sitting on the porch talking with William Hunt. Grant ground his teeth together with anger at seeing the man. He'd wanted to kill his wife. Damned if he was going to be civil.
It didn't look like a comfortable conversation, and Tom's relief was visible as they approached. It appeared as if he’d rather have a tooth pulled without whiskey than sit another minute with Hunt. Grant figured if they’d been much longer, Tom would have punched the man.
Hunt stood and approached Maggie, but she refused his attentions and walked straight to Tom.
“What the hell do you want?” Grant demanded, irritated not only by Hunt’s presence, but also by Maggie going to Tom for protection, not him. He was her husband—the sheriff, for God’s sake—and she didn’t seek him out.
“I found the preacher and he did confirm you are, in fact, married. He didn't say when, but my guess is it hasn't been long.” Eyes now on Maggie, he continued, “My dear, I don't know how he coerced you into marriage, but you can still return with me. I can get this marriage annulled and you can leave this God-forsaken town.”
The comment was a double-edged sword. It not only was directed at Maggie, but at him as well. He had no intention of jeopardizing his male pride for this low life.
“Now Hunt, you can't annul a marriage that's been consummated.” He spoke so casually about sex Maggie's mouth dropped open. So did Hunt’s. Their faces were equally red, but Hunt's was flushed from anger, not embarrassment.
“You've slept with him?” Hunt sputtered in utter shock.
The Lady and the Lawman Page 14
