"How long is he here for?"
The scowling man pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I don't know. He don't say much." He gave his friend a nudge with his elbow. "Come on. Let's get out of here."
Jaime's breath had caught in her throat. The man she had watched with such fascination and found so fiercely handsome was actually the one she sought to marry.
Suddenly, she felt a mixture of emotions, for she had envisioned an older man, certainly not one so young and attractive. Why would he have to recruit a wife? It seemed to her a man like that could have his pick of women. Then she remembered how Ella said women were scarce in California, so it probably made no difference what a man looked like. Wives just weren't that easy to find out there.
Taking a deep breath of resolve, Jaime got to her feet and went to the counter. The thought of going up to a man's room and knocking on his door at such an hour filled her with dread, but the way things had developed she had no choice. It might be her only chance. And it was also best no one knew about it, like the desk clerk, who would, no doubt, think the worst of her for it.
Making sure no one was around, she quickly leaned to scan the registration book.
The name leaped out at her—Cord Austin—and, beside it, the room number: Eight.
Quickly, afraid the clerk would return any second, Jaime turned and ran up the steps.
Glancing about anxiously in the scant light provided by a small lantern hanging from a hook on the wall, she strained to see the painted numbers on the doors. Finally, she found his room at the end of the hall.
Drawing a deep breath, and pasting on what she hoped was a friendly smile, Jaime knocked softly.
Cord was standing on the other side of the door, gun in hand. The Apaches had taught him to be alert for any sound, even in deep sleep, and he was aware of the quiet footsteps approaching long before they stopped outside his room.
The door was jerked open, and Jaime's hand flew to her throat in terror as she found herself looking at a gun pointed right in her face.
"What the hell?" Cord swore. Then, in a flash, it came to him: Pete had obviously refused to take no for an answer. And as his eyes raked over the comely young woman standing in the hall, Cord decided he was glad.
She was small, petite, but had delightful breasts, emphasized further by an incredibly tiny waist. She had a lovely face but, like most of her kind, wore too much rouge.
He found the fullness of her shiny red lips appealing and was stunned to feel a sudden tightening in his groin. Seldom did a mere pretty face arouse him.
Her hair, the color of buttercups, was piled atop her head in ringlets and held by a ridiculous cluster of satin ribbons and feathers. He found himself wanting to pull those silky tresses free, to see them fanned about her face as she lay beneath him.
He was most fascinated, however, by her eyes, a strange yet beautiful shade of turquoise. But there was something else about them he found oddly disconcerting—fear, mirrored within the enchanting depths. But why? Pete had said she was like a tigress, worth five hundred dollars for a night of unbridled passion. No doubt, he decided with a chuckle, the fear was an act. Part of her allure.
His large hand closed about her wrist, and he yanked her into the room, quickly closing and locking the door.
Plunged into darkness, Jaime waited nervously as he fumbled for a match. Only when the bedside lantern ignited did she dare speak, hardly recognizing her own voice as she endeavored to explain, "I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. Austin, but—"
He had put his gun away. His gaze moved over her again, this time brazenly as he began to circle her. He liked the hint of curves beneath her gown and could not resist confirming that her derriere was, indeed, high and round. Saucy. Impudent.
He grinned down at her, and she jumped, startled by his boldness in squeezing her buttocks. "Sir," she chided, "I don't think this is proper. I mean, we should introduce ourselves, shouldn't we? My name is—"
"You talk too much." He jerked her into his arms to silence her with hard, bruising lips.
Caught by surprise, Jaime could only stand there, trance like, as unfamiliar yet strangely pleasurable feelings soared through her body. For one stunning instant, she actually began to yield, shamelessly enjoying the assault of his mouth.
He was shirtless, and her hands, with a will of their own, moved to shyly touch his shoulders. The feel of his bare flesh jolted her from pleasured stupor, and she tore from his embrace. "Sir, I beg you," she gasped, lips on fire from his kiss. "I'll be a wife to you after we're married, but not before."
Cord threw his head back and laughed with delight. He always had enjoyed a prostitute with asense of humor. He found them more adventuresome in bed than those interested only in money. "Well, let's do it right away," he said, falling into easy banter. "Do you think we can find a parson at such an ungodly hour?"
Jaime bit her lip thoughtfully. She could not tell whether he was serious but decided it was safe to assume he was. After all, that's why she was here–to marry him. "I hadn't planned on a wedding so soon, but I suppose it could be arranged. If you're sure, I mean."
"Oh, I'm sure." He grinned. He went to the bed, and, folding his arms behind his head, leaned back, crossed his legs, and settled down to enjoy himself. The shy scared-virgin act was a delightful preliminary to the wild night Pete had promised. "But maybe I need a little sample of what I'm hitching up with. How about lifting those skirts? I sure as hell don't want to marry a woman with ugly legs."
Lift her skirts? Jaime swallowed hard, wondering if he could hear her knees knocking together. Hannah had said a wife was expected to do anything her husband wanted in the bedroom, and that included letting him see her undressed, of course. She had not said anything about a preview before they were married, but perhaps it was different when a man was buying a wife instead of asking her to marry him because he loved her.
A mock frown wrinkled Cord's brow. "Well, what are you waiting for? You don't have ugly legs, do you?"
Jaime shook her head and was, at once, further embarrassed. She began to stammer, "I... I don't know. I mean, no one has ever said." She felt her cheeks flame.
"Well, let me be the judge."
When she continued to stand there, he reminded her, "I've got to see what I'm getting, sweetheart."
She decided it was an expected ritual. Like inspecting merchandise before purchasing, he expected to see the wares. Well, she would go only so far. With a deep breath of resignation, she closed her eyes and reached to lift her skirt and petticoat to mid calf.
Cord nodded appreciatively. "Nice, so far. But take it higher. I'll just bet you've got real nice thighs." He was deliciously anticipating what she was going to look like when he had her completely naked.
"I... I'd rather not." She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the way he was looking at her.
Cord groaned softly and wondered how long he could stand playing the game. He felt as though he was going to bust right out of his britches. "Come on. When a man is going to marry a woman, he's got a right to a few things."
Gritting her teeth, Jaime lifted her skirt higher, but only for an instant before quickly yanking it down. "That... that's all," she whispered.
Cord blinked in surprise. Beneath her petticoats, she was wearing cotton drawers all the way down to her knees. She took this game seriously, by God.
"Well, I think it's time we got down to sampling." She was making him crazy with her playacting, even though anticipation was a sweet kind of torture. Still, a man could take just so much. He indicated her bosom. "I want to make sure they're real, not pushed out with lace hankies stuffed in your dress to make me think they're more than a mouthful. Scoop them out. Let me see."
Jaime gasped at the brazen command. "Sir, you go too far," she exploded, backing towards the door, bristling with anger. "I came here to offer to be your wife, but I didn't expect to be treated with such disrespect.
"You should be ashamed of yourself," she raged on, further infuriated by the way he
kept on grinning at her, obviously not caring that he had insulted her. "With your attitude, you'll never find a decent woman to wed."
She turned to go, but, with a delighted laugh, Cord bounded off the bed to grab her. He kissed her again, harder, and this time she struggled against him mightily. All part of the game, he thought, and held her face in a vise-like grip as he assaulted her mouth with his tongue.
Jaime pushed against his chest but to no avail.
He shoved her back across the bed and chuckled. "Forgive my manners. Here I've been asking to see your wares, and I've neglected to show you mine."
Stunned, Jaime could only watch in silence as he rapidly stripped off his doeskin breeches to stand before her in his ankle-length underwear.
Her rapt gaze moved to powerfully molded thighs. His thumbs hooked into the band of his underwear, and he began to peel it downward. Jaime had only a glimpse of a dark mat of hair before she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and began to scream.
The sound was immediately silenced as Cord sprang to cover her mouth with his hand. Harshly, he said, "There are people around here trying to sleep, goddammit. Don't take things so far. I don't want the law crashing through the door."
And then he saw the genuine terror in her eyes, amidst the glimmer of tears, and suddenly he sensed—knew—she was not pretending. Still, he was driven to make sure. "Pete Rowland did send you here, didn't he? For five hundred dollars?"
Jaime, having problems breathing because one of his fingers was right under her nose, could only give her head a tiny shake.
He released her. "Are you telling the truth?"
Jaime sat up, turned her face to the wall, and shakily said, "Please, sir. Cover yourself."
Remembering his state of undress, he yanked up his underwear, then his trousers, and pulled on his shirt too, for good measure. "Answer me, damn it," he commanded. "It had to be Rowland who sent you here."
"I don't know anyone by that name," she said timorously. "Now may I go, please?"
She had started to get up, but he pushed her back and snapped, "No. We need to get to the bottom of this. Something is mighty odd here."
He began to pace about the room, running his fingers through his hair in agitation, then suddenly stopped to stare at her and gauge her reaction as he attempted to confirm, "You are a prostitute?"
"Oh, heavens no," she cried, aghast. "Whatever made you think that? It's this dress, isn't it? I told Ella and Hannah—"
"Who are they?"
"Friends of mine. Ella was the one who told me you were looking for a wife to take back to California with you."
"Not wife, sweetheart. Wives."
"Ella didn't say you were a Mormon."
"I'm not. And they aren't for me, anyway. I'm taking them to California. You were obviously misinformed."
"You don't want one for yourself?" she asked, unable to keep from thinking how marriage to such a strikingly handsome man might not be so bad.
He was quick to confirm, "No, I don't," then shrugged and added, "Look, we both made a mistake. I thought you were somebody else—a prostitute sent in exchange for five hundred off a man's gambling debt. But since you aren't, just get on out of here and let's forget this happened."
Jaime's eyes grew round with wonder. "I didn't know prostitutes got paid that much."
"Ordinarily, they don't." He threw up his hands, not about to converse with her on the subject. "Just go, little lady."
Deciding she had already thrown pride to the wind, Jaime stubbornly persisted. "But I still want to go to California, and I'm willing to marry you to get there."
He laughed. "I'm flattered but not interested. Now it's late, and in case you didn't know it, only ladies of the night are out and about at this hour, so you'd best get on home before somebody else makes a mistake. And they might not be able to resist your charms, if you know what I mean," he added with an arrogant wink.
Jaime made no move to go. "Well, you can take me to California to be some other man's wife."
"You? You're too puny. You wouldn't make it across the Rocky Mountains, much less all the way to California. I need big women, big and healthy. Not dainty, fluffy little girls."
Jaime bristled. "I went there and back when I was still a child."
"That was different. Probably you were with your parents, and they took care of you. But I'm not willing to be your daddy on this trip."
Jaime leaped to her feet. "That's not fair! You aren't even giving me a chance. Maybe I'm not a large person, but I'm certainly not afraid of hard work. And I can make the journey. I swear I can.
"Please," she added desperately. "I really have to go to California."
Taking her arm, he steered her to the door and opened it. "I'm looking for real women," he told her irritably, pushing her into the hall, "and you, sweetheart, just don't meet my requirements. Granted, you're pretty, and men would pay top dollar to have you for a wife, but you'd be nothing but trouble for me on the way west.
"So find yourself a husband and settle down here," he said with finality. "Forget California. It's not for you."
"But—"
He closed the door in her face.
Chapter 3
As promised, Ella had left the back door unlatched, so Jaime was able to slip inside the laundry. Quickly changing into her own clothes, she returned the borrowed gown to the rack. Deciding it was much too late to wake the girls and tell them about her awful experience, she hurried home.
She tried to sleep but was far too angry and upset. Wide awake, she stared into the darkness of her tiny basement room as anger continued to churn over the way Cord Austin had humiliated her.
What burned to the core was his audacity in declaring her physically unfit. Who was he to judge her strength? Her courage? Maybe she wasn't big and husky like some farmers' wives, who worked side by side with their husbands in the fields, toiling like men, but she was certainly no stranger to hard work.
Well, she brooded, maybe he would never know about it, but she would eventually make the trip to California. She had a whole year to plan for it before the first wagons rolled out from Independence in the spring. Meanwhile, there might even be a letter from her father.
As she lay there, dwelling on the experience she knew she'd never forget, Jaime thought how there was something else about Cord Austin she would always remember—how he had held her, touched her. Thinking about it sent strange little shivers of delight up and down her spine. She told herself she was being silly. He had been expecting a woman being paid to make love to him, that's all. His behavior certainly had not been motivated because he found her desirable, for heaven's sake.
Trying to get him off her mind, Jaime sadly turned her thoughts to how much she was going to miss Hannah and Ella.
* * *
The next morning, Jaime rushed to the laundry, anxious to talk to the girls, but they had gone to see about signing up for the wagon train and did not return till mid-afternoon. With a grin and a nod to let her know they had been accepted, they threw themselves into their work, and there was no time for conversation.
At last, they were able to gather upstairs. Jaime didn't care that she'd be late getting home. She had been waiting all day to explain. "You were wrong. Cord Austin wasn't looking for a wife for himself. He—"
"We know, we know." Ella cut her off as she gave her what was meant to be a consoling hug. "We found that out this morning. He was there, making final decisions as to who was accepted and who wasn't, and he made it clear he wasn't in the market for a wife."
Hannah was quick to attempt to soothe by adding, "But it's nothing to worry about, Jaime. All you have to do is go to the depot where we went this morning and sign up to go with us."
"Then you're really going?" Jaime looked from one to the other.
Ella nodded. "Yes, but you can too. There's still room for more. I heard Mr. Austin telling someone he was real disappointed with the turnout so far."
With a little laugh, Hannah said, "I guess it didn't tak
e long for him to clear things up last night, did it? I could tell he's a stern sort. Handsome, too. Some of the girls were talking about how it's a pity he's not looking for a wife himself, because they'd leap at the chance." Her words trailed off as she saw the look on Jaime's face. "What's wrong? He wasn't rude, was he? I mean, it was an honest mistake."
Jaime was not about to confide the entire encounter, afraid they would suspect she hadn't altogether minded some of it. Instead, she related only her frustration. "He says I can't go, because he thinks I'm puny."
"Puny?" Ella said.
Hannah chimed in. "What did he mean?"
Jaime gestured helplessly. "He says I'm not strong enough to make the trip, that's what he meant. Look at the two of you. You're taller, larger. It doesn't matter I'm a hard worker. He called me a 'fluffy little girl,'" she added bitterly.
Ella scowled. "He's crazy."
Hannah spoke up. "In all fairness, I can understand his reasoning. It is a long, hard journey. Six months, two thousand miles, traveling fifteen to twenty miles a day. And we've heard about all the potential dangers along the way: Indians, outlaws, bad weather sometimes, rough terrain, dust storms." She shuddered to recall the tales of woe and admitted, "I've had second thoughts myself."
"He doesn't know Jaime," Ella argued. "She works as hard as we do, and she never complains. And when we're done for the day, she's slaving for her aunt till all hours of the night, then back up at dawn. Where she's concerned, he isn't being fair."
"I agree, but he's still in charge. She'll just have to wait till next spring for someone not quite so fussy."
Jaime asked fearfully, "Then this wagon train is definitely the last one this year?"
"I'm afraid so." Hannah said.
"When will you be leaving?" Jaime dreaded the answer.
For a moment, neither girl spoke, but Ella finally, reluctantly, told her. "Next week."
Jaime swallowed a cry of protest. She could already feel an emptiness in her heart.
Fighting the selfish instinct to throw her arms about them and burst into tears and beg them not to go, she moved swiftly toward the door. "Well, I'm happy for you, I really am," she lied. "I guess I'd better be going now. Aunt Arista is going to be wondering where I am, Thanks for trying, for helping me with the dress and everything."
Orchids in Moonlight Page 3
