by Bobbi Smith
They were married.
They were alone.
Michael sat beside Casey in the carriage, preparing himself for the night to come.
They had an arrangement.
He'd agreed to it.
Theirs was to be a marriage in name only, and he had to remember that, tonight and every night from now on. He almost admitted to himself that he regretted agreeing to her proposition. Not that it would matter. Casey had made it clear from the start what she thought of him. Theirs would be a peaceful coexistence, but never anything more. That was the way she wanted it.
Michael wondered why that knowledge was bothering him so much as he drove off into the darkening night with his beautiful bride by his side.
John was drunk, and he planned to get much drunker. He'd deliberately gone to the Full House saloon tonight. He hadn't wanted to see Rosalie yet, after what had passed between them the last time they'd been together.
At the time, John had thought he'd passed out in her bed from all the liquor he'd drunk. When he'd gotten up in the wee hours of the morning, Rosalie had been nowhere to be found and he'd had a terrible headache. He'd left straight for the Royal, not bothering to look for her. It had only been later, after he'd returned to the ranch and sobered up a bit that he'd realized his savage headache had been from a lump on the back of his head and not from liquor. Rosalie had hit him.
Women they were all stupid sluts!
At that moment, John hated all females, but Casey and Rosalie most of all. If he could have gotten hrs hands on either of them, he would have given her a taste of his fury.
The longer John drank at the Full House, the better the idea sounded to him.
"Welcome home," Michael said to Casey as they pulled up in front of their house.
"The house is wonderful, Michael," Casey complimented him.
He climbed down and helped her out. They walked up the short path to the door. Michael opened it, then scooped Casey up in his arms. Casey had been expecting it, but she still gasped at his ploy. She looped her arms around his neck to steady herself as he carried her across the threshold. The pleasure of being in his arms ended far too quickly as he set her on her feet and went to light a lamp.
"What do you think?" he asked, turning to watch her reaction to her first look around. She hadn't been there since his mother had helped him arrange the furniture.
Casey stared around in surprise and delight. A settee and two chairs were grouped before the stone fireplace. A small table and chairs were set off in the kitchen area.
"It's wonderful. Thank you, Michael."
"You can thank my mother, too. She helped me get everything ready."
"It's perfect."
"And here's the bedroom." He led the way in and lit the lamp on the nightstand.
Casey tensed as she stopped in the doorway to stare at the bed that dominated the room. There was only one bedroom and one bed, just as she'd known there would be. The settee was too small for either of them to sleep on comfortably.
"Where are you going to sleep?" she asked, trying to sound innocent as she posed the dreaded question.
"Right here," Michael answered. He didn't let on, but her question annoyed him.
"If you're sleeping here, where am I going to sleep?"
"Right here with me," he answered easily.
"But..." Her nervousness was definitely showing. Did Michael really want her? Was he ready to forsake their arrangement and love her as she loved him? Hope blossomed within her as she looked at him. "But what about the deal we made?"
"What about it? Just because we're sleeping in the same bed doesn't mean anything is going to happen between us. I gave you my word that this would be a marriage in name only, and I plan to stick to that."
His tone was so cold and indifferent that any hope Casey had had that things could be different was dashed. He didn't love her, and she believed he never would. "All right."
"I'll go see to the horses," Michael said in a flat voice, and he left her alone.
Casey wanted to get undressed before Michael returned, so the minute he went outside, she went to find her nightgown. She'd sent a trunk with her personal things over a few days before, and she found her nightgown neatly folded in one of the drawers in the bureau.
Elizabeth had had Sissy include a silken negligee with her fancy underthings, but there was no use in wearing that.
Michael wasn't interested.
She would wear her high-necked cotton gown.
Hastily Casey tried to shed her wedding gown. The process started off smoothly enough, but when she tried to undo the buttons midway down her back, frustration overwhelmed her. She was trapped in her dress. Short of forcing it off and risking tearing it, or sleeping in it, she was going to have to ask Michael for help.
The thought unnerved Casey. She had hoped to be in her chaste nightgown, in bed with the covers up to her neck, when Michael returned from the stable. She'd even thought she could fake being asleep so she wouldn't have to deal with the situation tonight, but now there was no way out. Michael's hands were going to be upon her. She shivered in anticipation, then struck the thought from her.
Michael had made it plain to her.
He didn't care.
There was nothing to worry about.
Michael took his time with the horses. He and the men had built a small makeshift stable some distance behind the house, and he lingered there as long as he could. The thought of being alone in bed with Casey bothered him.
She didn't love him.
She never had and she never would.
He'd told her he would stick to their agreement, and he planned to do just that.
He was not going to touch her or kiss her tonight.
With the horse taken care of, there was no reason to stay away any longer. Michael started back up to the house. He girded himself for the dark hours of the night to come. It was going to be a long one.
What Michael expected to find when he reached the house and what Michael got were two veiy different things.
"Help," Casey said the minute he came through the door. She was standing in the middle of the main room, holding up the bodice of her gown, the back of the garment partially unfastened. "I can't reach all the buttons."
She went to him and presented her back.
Michael swallowed tightly as he stared down at her exposed flesh. "Let me wash my hands first."
He went to the sink and washed his hands in the bucket of water there, stalling for as long as he could.
Casey appreciated his thoughtfulness. The gown was precious and needed to be handled delicately. When he'd finished washing and was drying his hands, she went to him again and waited.
Michael carefully began to unfasten the small buttons. It was a tedious task at the best of times, and right then, it proved torture to him. With every button he unfastened, more of Casey's back was exposed to him.
True, she was wearing a chemise, but his imagination was in good working order too good for his own peace of mind.
A sudden unbidden image of Casey standing before him unclothed seared through his thoughts and left him swearing under his breath. He dropped his hands away for a minute.
"What's wrong?" Casey asked in all innocence.
"These buttons are hard to work with," he growled.
"I know. Anne helped me get dressed, and she had quite a time with them, too," she answered, completely unaware of his dilemma.
Michael gritted his teeth and started again.
Casey controlled a shiver as his fingers brushed against her through the chemise. The silken fabric only heightened the sensuality of his touch.
He continued to work at the buttons, denying his desire to turn her around in his arms and kiss her. He offered his self-denial up to God as a sacrifice, but the voice in his head taunted him with But she is your wife.
Michael slaved away and finally finished. The gown gapped open all the way to her hips. He stared down at the sweet line of her back revealed to him
there, then lifted his gaze up to her neck.
A driving urge filled him to press a kiss to the juncture of neck and shoulder. He told himself "no." He fought against the desire. He knew it would lead to nothing but frustration, but he was, after all, only a mortal man.
Michael slowly bent down to her and pressed a soft kiss to her bared shoulder at the nape of her neck.
Casey had been waiting for Michael to announce that he'd finished unfastening her. She'd been holding herself stiffly in spite of the touch of his hands at her back. She'd fought against the shivers that had wracked her every time his fingers brushed against her. She was proud of the control she was showing. She didn't want to appear weak before him. There was no point in even thinking about Michael that way. She might be aroused by his touch, but he was only doing a job nothing more.
And then his lips caressed the sensitive skin of her neck.
Casey gasped and stiffened in shock as excitement radiated through her.
Michael felt her reaction and thought she was angered by his daring. He stepped away from her, needing to put a distance between them.
Casey glanced over her shoulder at Michael, wondering what had prompted him to do that, but his expression was stony and revealed nothing.
"I'll go finish changing," she said, moving toward the bedroom.
"You do that," he growled to himself.
Michael went to the cabinet in the kitchen and took out the bottle of whiskey he'd left there for moments such as this. He'd known they were coming, and he'd made sure he was prepared. After pouring himself a stiff drink, he sat in one of the chairs before the dead fireplace. He drank slowly and deliberately. He wanted to give Casey all the time she needed to get into bed. The last thing he needed was to see her in any further state of undress.
Taking a deep drink of the potent liquor, Michael enjoyed its power as it burned through him.
He wanted to forget Casey's kiss.
He wanted to forget the way she'd felt in his arms when they'd danced together.
He wanted to forget the need that burned deep within his body.
Michael tried to think logically. He was a man. She was a pretty woman. It was normal for him to be attracted to her. He'd been attracted to other women in the past, and it had never troubled him this way.
You've never been married before. Casey's your wife.
The thought haunted him.
His wife.
He was her husband.
They were going to live together forever.
In name only!
Michael gave a disgusted shake of his head and took another drink. He tried to reason it out, but there was no denying the truth. He desired Casey. He could accept his feelings, but he could not act on them.
He downed the rest of his whiskey, then realized it had gotten very quiet in the bedroom. He set the glass aside and put out the lamp.
A lamp was still burning in the bedroom, and he walked into the room to find Casey in bed with the blanket drawn up to her chin, her back to his side of the bed, her eyes closed. He stood there in silence, staring at her for a long moment.
So this was to be his life his existence.
He was Adam in the Garden of Eden, and Casey was his temptation.
Michael extinguished the lamp, stripped down to his underwear and climbed into bed.
Michael did not know that Casey had opened her eyes and was watching his reflection in the mirror.
Illuminated by the pale moonlight coming through the window, Casey had watched in silent awe as Michael undressed. He was beautiful. There was no doubt about it. His shoulders were broad, his chest tightly muscled, tapering to his lean waist and
She'd dragged her gaze back up higher, not wanting to risk seeing more of him than she could handle right then. Only when Michael had climbed into bed with her did she shut her eyes. She lay tense and unmoving for long hours, waiting for sleep to overtake her, but haunted by the fiery, erotic memory of the touch of his lips on her neck.
Michael lay on his half of the bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to ignore Casey's nearness. At first, he'd resented the pillow between them, but now he realized it was a good thing. He didn't need to wake up in the middle of the night and find her curled up against him. He would keep to their arrangement. He was a man of his word, but he finally admitted to himself that he was only human, after all.
Sleep was long in coming for Michael.
"I now pronounce you man and wife," said Brian Kennebeck, the justice of the peace in Hard Luck as he completed the ceremony that united Nick and Anne in matrimony. He smiled warmly at the couple. "I hope you'll be very happy."
"We will be," Nick assured him.
Nick looked down at Anne, who stood by his side smiling up at him. He took her in his arms.
"Mrs. Paden," he said softly before he kissed her to seal their vows.
"I like the sound of that," she said.
"So do I."
They left the office and stepped outside into the night. It was late and the town was quiet. Everything seemed peaceful.
Nick and Anne shared a knowing look.
"There's nothing I want to do more than take you back to my hotel room right now, but I think we'd better go find your parents and give them our news first."
"You're right. It wouldn't be good if my father came looking for you with a shotgun tonight."
Nick drew her close and kissed her hungrily one last time. Then they hurried off toward her home, eager to share the joy of their good news.
Anne knew now that sometimes fairy tales really did come true.
Rosalie was tired. It had been a long day, and she was more than ready to retire for the night.
"The Donovan wedding really cut into our business tonight," Bill said as they closed down the saloon,
"Big weddings like that don't happen often in this town," she remarked. "Everybody who was invited must have shown up."
"Things will be better next weekend. It's payday."
"We could use a little excitement around here."
"Good excitement," Bill cautioned, thinking back to the previous weekend and her trouble with John McQueen.
"You're right about that."
"Good night, Rosalie. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Good night."
She locked up after he'd gone and went on upstairs to her room. It was dark as she let herself into her private quarters, but she wasn't worried. She knew where everything was and went over to the dresser to light the lamp there. As the flame flickered to life, she lifted her gaze to the mirror and went completely still at what she saw reflected there.
John was sitting on her bed behind her, and he was watching her carefully.
"John!" she gasped, startled. She spun around to face him.
"I've been waiting for you," he said quietly as he got up and walked toward her.
"How did you get in here?" she demanded.
He laughed coldly at her. "I've been here often enough to know how to get in without being seen."
Rosalie watched him coming toward her, and she wasn't sure whether to try to run away or stay. She'd loved John for so long that it was hard for her to accept that he truly was as vicious as he'd been the past weekend.
"What do you want?" she asked warily.
He stopped before her and smiled thinly. "You, of course."
The week before, she would have fallen into his arms, but now she held herself back. "Why?"
"What do you mean, `why'?" he asked, reaching out to her. "I haven't seen you in a week. I missed you."
Rosalie could tell he'd been drinking heavily, for his words were slurred. She deliberately eluded him and kept a distance between them. "I'd like to believe that. I want to believe that, but--"
"But what?" he asked, his barely controlled fury grow ing even hotter. How dare she reject him this way?
"After what happened between us, I don't know if I can trust you anymore."
"Of course you can trust me," he insisted smoothl
y, already fantasizing about what he was going to do to her when he got his hands on her.
"Then many me, John." She threw the words at him in a demand. "We've been together for a long time now, and I've always hoped that one day we would get married. So, if you really care about me, marry me."
"What?" He stared at Rosalie as if she'd lost her mind. "You expected me to marry you? Why would I? You're nothing but a slut! You're a whore."
"Why, you-" All the anger she'd felt toward John erupted then. She swung at him and slapped him across the face.
Rosalie felt good for a moment, but her moment of triumph was brief.
John reacted with a violent rage. He grabbed her arm and jerked her to him.
"Who do you think you are?" he snarled. His grip on her was bruising. The hatred he felt was evident in the threatening look on his face.
"Let me go! Get out of here before I scream!"
"You can scream all you want. There's no one to hear you," he said, yanking her even closer to him. "We're all alone here."
Rosalie managed one cry for help before John began to beat her. His intent was vicious and savage. She represented everything he hated; she was the embodiment of Casey and her rejection. He was going to make Rosalie pay for the sins of all women.
"Why are you doing this?" she whimpered, cowering weakly on the floor before him.
"Because I hate you!"
"But, John"
"I hate you and all the other stupid women in this world!" he spat at her. "How dare Casey many Donovan!"
"You cared about Casey Turner?" Rosalie was trying to understand his full-blown fury, hoping to find a way to reach him and make him stop.
"I cared about her ranch! It was bad enough that Frank Donovan didn't die in the ambush, but---"
"You're the one who shot him?" Rosalie gasped.
"There are people who can be hired to do the dirty work," he sneered, dragging her up to her feet. He liked seeing the terror in her eyes. He liked having this power over her.
He hit her again with all his might. Rosalie fell backwards and crashed against the nightstand, hitting her head. She collapsed onto the floor and lay unmoving.
John stared down at her, seeing the blood seeping from the injury to her head, and he smiled.
