The Cowboy (Montana Men Book 2)

by Vanessa Vale

  I'd considered myself a whore, even told Wyatt how I felt. He'd contradicted me at every turn, was even pleased to say that I was his whore. The way his lids lowered with an unslaked need just by talking about fucking the imposter, he'd made me a whore in reality.

  He'd taken me, used me, and tossed me aside. Just like a real whore.

  I couldn't stand by and watch as the woman took what was mine. If Wyatt was going to be so easily swayed by a pretty face and wifely skills, then he should have her. I deserved better. I deserved a man who wanted me regardless of my complete inability to be a wife. In the meantime, I certainly had a fallback career. It was time to leave. I knew where some coins were, enough to take the next stage, wherever it headed. It wasn't stealing. It was giving Wyatt what he wanted - me gone and the other woman to warm his bed.

  I couldn't let Wyatt see he'd hurt me. Dignity was all I had left, even if it was in shreds. "I am weary after our journey into town. I will rest before dinner." Wrapping my arms around my waist, I walked back to the house, head held high. Wyatt didn't stop me.

  CHAPTER TEN

  WYATT

  I'd never encountered such a situation before. Flash floods, cows dying from foot and mouth disease, blizzards, fighting ranch hands. I'd thought I'd seen it all. But a woman posing as my bride? My second bride? What was her advantage? Why me?

  Instead of going to the house where I had two women to contend with, along with a wary housekeeper, I returned to the stable. It was easier to think as I worked, to consider what I would do. I found a pitchfork and started to toss hay into a wheelbarrow to fill a stall. The woman was beautiful, stunning even. Her size was so small I would consider her fragile. Her figure was that of a boy, thin and with minimal curves. Her skin was like porcelain and her eyes a color I'd never seen before - ice blue like a frozen creek. If she'd come on the stage two days prior, I would have been immensely pleased in her.

  But she wasn't mine. I knew right away she was an imposter, as Emily had said. Mrs. Bidwell's quick missive offered the answer to who was my real bride. My gut told me as well. Emily Winston, the real Emily Winston, with all her curious talk and admitted weaknesses, she was the one for me. I wanted a helpmeet in life, not a housekeeper. And her passionate nature, even the very mention of how I'd discovered her maidenhead was torn had me rock hard. I'd wanted her right there on the bank of the creek. I couldn't be around her and not want her.

  When I looked at the imposter Emily, I didn't feel any stirrings of desire. No interest in pushing her up against the wall and losing myself in her. I had no interest in spanking her bottom at her infractions or rewarding her successes. I had no interest in seeing her belly swell with my seed. She wasn't mine. She wasn't Emily.

  Pegg came in looking for me. "Looks like Borden broke his leg out in the south pasture. Going to need you out there. Charlie's headed into town for the doctor and I've got Borden's horse with me. You don't have to ready another one."

  I leaned the pitchfork against the wall and wiped my brow with my sleeve. What else could go wrong today? Grabbing my hat, I followed the foreman to the horses at the rail, then the two miles to the south pasture. I had to resolve the problem with the imposter wife, but it came second to an injured man. Emily would have to wait.

  It wasn't until the sun started to set that I wearily walked in the house. Borden had indeed broken his leg. The men had braced it for the return to the ranch, then had the doctor set it in the bunkhouse after a dose of laudanum. The horses had been brushed down and fed and I was hungry enough to eat a bear and most likely smelled like one.

  Imposter Emily - I had no idea what else to call her - met me at the door, the apron Mrs. Perrin usually wore about her waist. "I've kept a plate warm for you. You must be tired. Come."

  I removed my hat and hung it on the peg by the door. The house was remarkably quiet. Besides telling me about the dinner, she remained quiet as I washed at the pump sink and dried my hands. She was even quiet as I sat and tucked into my meal. Having her watch me, her hands folded on the table in front of her, was quite disturbing. Once my hunger had abated, I leaned back in my chair. "Where is Emily?"

  "I am Emily," she replied, her lips pursing, not pleased with my question.

  "The other Emily," I clarified with a sigh.

  She sniffed, then picked at an imaginary piece of dust on her pristine dress. "She's gone, of course."

  My eyes widened. "Gone?"

  She stood and took my empty plate over to the sink, returning with a slice of pie, placing it before me. It looked quite good.

  "You can't have two wives, Wyatt. She knew she wasn't the woman for you and left. I mean, really, she didn't know how to cook and she looked like she'd rolled on the ground with a wildebeest. I have some idea of her strengths, but I assure you I am looking forward to you teaching me everything you know. I will be most biddable in bed."

  The last she said as she looked up at me through her long, pale lashes. She was not as biddable as she presented. It took a crafty, conniving person to plan something to such a grand scale, and also quite an actress. To mastermind a scenario that included impersonation and false matrimony took cunning as well. It also took desperation. But this woman was not my concern at the moment, Emily was.

  "Where did Emily go?"

  When the woman just shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was of no importance that she drove away my real wife, I'd come to the moment where my need for my wife showed. "Tell me where my wife is. Now!" My voice boomed and the woman jumped. Mrs. Perrin came running down the hall from her room.

  With her lips firmly shut, her arms crossed over her chest, imposter Emily was going to be of no use. I turned to my dedicated housekeeper. "Mrs. Perrin, it appears Emily is gone. I am trying to ascertain her whereabouts and this woman--"

  "Your wife," imposter Emily piped in.

  "This woman," I repeated through clenched teeth. I would never hurt a woman, but this gentlemanly rule might not hold much longer. "This woman refuses to tell me where she went."

  Mrs. Perrin looked at imposter Emily then back to me. "I could not say as I have been resting in my room. She was here until at least the middle of the afternoon when I took my nap. You should check to see if a horse is missing."

  I nodded. "Thank you, and I appreciate your clear head. I will look into that now. I will fetch Pegg to come and sit with you until my return. I do not want this woman out of your sight."

  I stormed out of the house and found Pegg, fortuitously, in the stable. After a quick outline of events, I headed toward town on a fresh horse, while the foreman went to stay in the house with Mrs. Perrin.

  A horse was missing, per Pegg, so Emily had been able to put the few hours head start to good use. She wouldn't have ridden away from town; there was nothing but open prairie all around. Being from the city, she wouldn't last long in the open without any food or shelter, and I hoped she'd learned her lesson yesterday when she went off walking. Lewistown would be the smart destination, and Emily was smart. She could wait for a stage or hide, at least in the short term. But there were not many options. It was merely a process of elimination, however it was fully dark by the time I rode into town, which made the task more difficult.

  No stages would come or go overnight, so unless one had come through in the past few hours, she was still in town. I rode by the depot to be sure, but all was quiet. Surely she wouldn't go to the boarding house. If imposter Emily stayed there, it would cause quite a scandal and news traveled quickly in a place the size of Lewistown. The saloons were eliminated, the Mercantile was closed. That only left …

  I steered my horse in the direction of Lucille's. The brothel was the only place in town where a woman could hide in plain sight. Emily had grown up in a brothel and was familiar with the running of such an establishment. She would know how to talk her way into at least a night of lodging before the next stage. It was the perfect place for her to go. What wife would seek shelter in a brothel? It was unseemly, in no part virtuous and amoral. Yet Emi
ly saw herself as all of those things. She'd said again and again that she saw herself a whore. She would not feel uncomfortable in the slightest in the surroundings. I, on the other hand, felt a deep sense of protectiveness and wanted her nowhere near such an establishment.

  The one thing Emily didn't know was that Lucille and I had a long history. Not between the sheets, but in the schoolroom. We'd grown up together and had remained friends. Once the woman sussed out the truth - she could weasel a confession out of a priest - she would watch over Emily until I arrived, which was now. I tied the lead to the rail in front of the building and walked around to the back and entered through the kitchen. I was not a customer. I was a man claiming his wife.

  EMILY

  I didn't know it was possible to cry so much. When I'd knocked on the door seeking employment, the girl who answered led me to the office of Lucille, the woman who owned the brothel. The stage was an impossibility at the moment; the amount of coin I'd taken wasn't enough to get to even August Point. My alternative was bleak, but I'd be adept at it from the start.

  Lucille had been kind, but wouldn't take to falsehoods. A madam could sense lies readily enough. I stuck to the truth as closely as possible, stating my experience and familiarity with the workings of a brothel. When she'd asked me some very explicit and crude questions regarding my experience and skills I was willing to perform, I'd been able to answer with firsthand knowledge this time, instead of just hearsay. The fact that she'd given me tonight as reprieve was a surprise, but I'd placed myself in the other Mrs. Wyatt Blake's position and said I'd arrived on the incoming stage. Unless someone was there to verify hair color, the story was legitimate; therefore I needed my rest before spending the night with several handfuls of customers.

  Once in a room of my own, I'd fallen face first on the ruby red bedspread and cried and cried. I must have cried myself to sleep for I awoke and the room was dark. Muffled music came up through the floor and for a moment I thought I was back in Minneapolis. But reality came crashing back and I wanted to cry all over again. I rubbed a hand over my face as I sighed, sitting up to light the lamp on the bedside table.

  The warm glow slowly brightened the room and I startled when I realized I was not alone. A dark figure sat in the chair in the corner, hands on knees, watching me. Turning up the flame, I was able to discern who had been watching me sleep.

  "Wyatt," I murmured, my voice scratchy from sleep and crying. Pushing my hair back from my face, I tugged and pulled on my dress to put it to rights. I wanted to run to him, to climb in his lap and kiss him. I wanted his hands on me, his whispered reassurances that everything would be all right. I would even take a spanking, if that meant I was his once again.

  "You've been crying," he said.

  I frowned, realizing how terrible I must look. "How did you find me?" It had only taken a few hours for him to track me down, and he'd been waiting for me to wake.

  "Do you know how beautiful you look when you sleep?"

  Instead of answering my question, he asked one of his own, and one so wholeheartedly unexpected. It made me laugh dryly. "Not as beautiful as your wife."

  "You are my wife."

  I closed my eyes and shook my head in disappointment. I let my shoulders sag in defeat, a most unladylike posture. "Please, I saw how you looked when we talked about her. You want her, not me."

  He stood abruptly, his power and size over me abundantly clear. "No, you saw how I looked when we talked about you being beneath me. About the first time I fucked you and found your maidenhead gone. It made me want to press you up against one of those cottonwood trees, wrap your legs around my waist and fuck you until you stopped talking."

  His pulse throbbed at his neck, his eyes sparking with frustration.

  "You want me? Why? Tell me, Wyatt, why do you want me when you can have her?"

  She was perfect. She would lie there and look up at the ceiling while Wyatt fucked her and think of her shopping list. She wouldn't have her ass spanked or need her ass trained. Surely she could take anything that Wyatt gave her.

  He took the few steps to close the distance between us and grabbed my shoulders. "Because you're my wife! Because I can't get enough of you. My dick is hard with just your scent in the room. I don't want that woman!"

  "But you said--"

  "No. I didn't say. You surmised that I wanted her instead of you and you ran."

  "I'm a whore and she's a lady!" I shouted. There. I said it.

  Wyatt knelt down on the floor at my feet so we were eye level. His hands slid up to cup my jaw so I couldn't look anywhere but at him. "Emily, how many times do I have to say this for you to understand? Growing up in a brothel does not make you a whore. Have you given yourself to anyone besides me?"

  "No."

  "Were you prepared to sell yourself here at Lucille's?"

  "No. I told Lucille that I would, but I know I...I couldn't. Can't. Won't."

  "Why?" His gaze held mine so intently it was as if he could see into my soul. His breath mingled with mine and I could feel his calloused hand against my jaw.

  "Because I only want you," I admitted.

  The corner of his mouth ticked up. The anger that burned brightly in his eyes switched to something else. Something I now knew was desire. "And I only want you."

  "But--"

  "You won't take my word for it, will you?"

  I tried to shake my head, but he held it too securely. He released me and stood, strode to the door, flung it open and shouted. "Lucille!"

  A moment later the woman came into the room. She was in the same blue dress as earlier, her hair in artful curls piled high on her head. This woman was also quite lovely. "Wyatt, you are so demanding," she said, in an overtly friendly way. I wondered to their relationship and it left a sour taste in my mouth. Jealousy rose again. Would I have these feelings for every woman who came near Wyatt?

  "Please give the definition of a whore."

  Her dark brows arched at his question. "A whore is someone who sells their body to many people in exchange for money."

  "Do you think Emily is a whore?"

  Both of them looked to me.

  "She knows the life, knows the language. She's been to a brothel before, there's no question. But a whore? No."

  "How do you know this?" Wyatt asked.

  "Because she's your wife."

  The woman knew who I was. She'd been playing with me, perhaps even protecting me until Wyatt found me. I'd been tricked again.

  "That's not an answer," I responded.

  "Honey, a madame has an uncanny sense to see the truth."

  I thought of Aunt Trina, then Mrs. Bidwell. They were very discernible and could read someone easier and more quickly than most. It served them well in their profession and in life.

  "If she likes being fucked, does that make her a whore?" Wyatt asked.

  I felt a flush creep up my cheeks.

  Her eyebrow went up again. "By you? It's not a surprise she's a happy woman with a man like you on top of her."

  I pinched my lips and narrowed my eyes.

  She must have read my mind because she added, "Honey, don't you worry none. Wyatt and I go way back. We're like brother and sister ever since he dunked my braids in ink in the schoolroom. Now you, you're a lucky lady. Many a woman from these parts have been hoping to wrangle Wyatt to the altar. You hooked him good. If he's pleasing you - as he should - then that just makes you his. There's a big difference between being a whore and being his whore. I expect he'll like it if you are."

  "Does that ease your mind, wife?" Wyatt asked.

  "What's your story, sweetheart? You grow up in a brothel?"

  I nodded.

  "Then you'll know how to keep Wyatt happy. That doesn't make you a whore. Now, the woman who showed up on the stage today, she's a whore."

  I held up my hand to stop her. "You know about her?"

  She put her hand on her hip and stared at me, insulted. "I know everything that goes on here, especially a woman alone arri
ving on the stage. You're a terrible liar if you thought I bought your story about arriving on the stage. That other woman did. I can spot a woman in the business from fifty paces. Butter wouldn't melt in that woman's mouth." Lucille turned to Wyatt. "Oh, hell. What's she done to you?"

  Wyatt shook his head and chuckled. "Seems she is also Emily Winston and my wife."

  Lucille laughed heartily, one hand on her belly. "Surely you could tell which one was the wolf in sheep's clothing?"

  "Of course," Wyatt countered.

  I stood and held up my hand once again. "Wait. You knew she was an imposter?"

  Wyatt nodded. He'd known this and didn't tell me?

  "How?"

  "From Mrs. Bidwell's letter."

  I frowned, thinking back to the missive. "Letter?"

  He pulled the paper from his pocket, unfolded it and read aloud. "I have no doubt you will soon discover her character is as wild as her hair an innocence combined with a voracious curiosity brought about by living among whores - will meet your every expectation in bed, and out. Please take this upbringing into account when training your new wife."

  His gaze met mine. Held.

  "I don't understand," I replied.

  "Your wild hair," he replied, looking at my tangled mess that went down my back. "The other woman doesn't have hair as nearly as wild, nor as nearly as beautiful as yours."

  "Oh," I whispered.

  "I heard tell the woman had blond, stick straight hair. Not wild at all."

  "I assume your source was the stage driver?"

  "McAllister likes little Millie and stops in whenever he's waylaid."

  That answered quite a bit. If Lucille wanted information, she could get one of her girls to slyly wheedle it out of a man.

  Wyatt knew I was really Emily Winston. He knew I was his wife. He didn't care that I was lusty in bed. He wanted me that way. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from me. Slowly, I walked across the room to stand before Wyatt. "Then...then I'm not a whore."

  "I need this room for the night." He spoke to Lucille, but his eyes never left mine.