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Authors: Eugenia Riley

Tags: #Time Travel, #American West, #Humor

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BOOK: Bushedwhacked Bride
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“Stop it, Cole.”

“The hay is sweet in the barn, you know,” he coaxed. “We could answer this question right quick.”

At last she managed to push him away. “You are such a jerk! You expect me to just drop my drawers
for the likes of you?”

He grinned. “Honey, I’m praying you will.”

“Well, you can pray till hell freezes over.”

He laughed.

“Just out of curiosity, what would you do if we did go
to bed together, and you found out I was a virgin?”

“I’d marry you,” he said cockily. “But then, I ain’t
worried.”

Now she did try to slap him. He caught her wrist and
glowered.

“You are so contemptible!” she hissed. “At least your
brothers would marry me, while you want to—”

‘Take you to my bed,” he finished baldly. “You see,
Miss Jessie, I figured you out long before you tripped
yourself up with all your haywire stories tonight. You’re
no schoolmarm, and you’re not expected in Mariposa. As
for what you are—”

“Please, do tell me,” she taunted.

“I think you’re a liar and a charlatan. I think you’re a
soiled dove, putting on hoity-toity airs and playing with
my brothers’ affections. I’m going to give you just what
you deserve—and maybe what you need, too. So now we’ve got that straight.”

“You’ve got it straight. Good night.”

He caught her shoulders again. “Do we have a deal
about tomorrow?”

Jessica wished she could throttle him. “Do you have
any idea how exasperating you are?”

He didn’t answer her question, doggedly forging on. “Usually a bargain is sealed. I’ll take a kiss.”

“You can take your kiss and shove—”

But the rest of Jessica’s remark was cut off by Cole’s au
dacious kiss, his bold tongue, his hard body pinning hers
against the barn. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Jes
sica knew she should be outraged, that she should fight him
tooth and nail. Instead she found herself captivated by two
hundred pounds of raw male sex appeal. Cole kissed like
no man Jessica had ever known before—his lips rapacious,
all-consuming. His tongue made love to her mouth with a
wicked sensuality that wrenched a helpless moan from her.
And his body pressing into hers felt so good, so hard, de
manding that she give up her pride and surrender to him.

What was happening to her? It was bad enough to be
hurled across time, but devastating to feel such raw, over
whelming lust for a man she should despise.

At last the kiss ended. She glared up at him, but he
only smiled back and stroked her cheek again.

“Oh, Miss Jessie,” he murmured. “We could have something good together. I could make it so good for you. Stay with me, sugar.”

Appalled by how very tempted she felt, Jessica pushed
Cole away and fled into the night.

***

Moments later Jessica lay in bed, Cole’s bed, staring out
at the moon. The sounds of Ma’s soft snores drifted in
from the room next door.

She should be furious with Cole, livid at his insulting
questions, his presumptuous kisses. Instead she felt weak
and giddy. She could still smell him in this room. Could
still taste him on her lips. And she ached with desire.
Ached for Cole. She didn’t know what was happening to
her. Normally, caveman types weren’t her cup of tea at
all, but Cole Reklaw had changed all that. Not only had she run amok in time, but her hormones had gone retrograde as well. Her response to Cole conjured up images of her girlfriends back in college reading historical ro
mance novels and saying breathlessly, “They don’t make men like
that
anymore.”

How true. And maybe she’d been sent to the nineteenth
century to find one. She knew Cole infuriated her, insulted
her, demeaned her . . . and yet she hungered for him.
She felt so confused. She didn’t know where she was or
what had happened to her. She didn’t know how long this would last, or if she’d ever see her family or the twentieth
century again. And yet never in her life had she felt so
alive . . .

***

Cole stood in the darkness, still tasting sweet Miss Jessie
on his lips. This woman they had captured maddened and
intrigued him. Her spirit, her sass, roused not just his de
sires but also his admiration.

He knew he shouldn’t let her beguile him, but she had.
He still burned from their kiss, still hungered to taste
every inch of her. This girl was clearly no wide-eyed in
nocent but a siren well schooled in the art of love.

Who was she really? Why had she claimed to be the
new schoolteacher, then all but admitted it was a lie?
Clearly she was fleeing some sort of unsavory past;
clearly he never should have brought her here in the first
place, much less trust her to go into town with Ma tomorrow. Not that his mother wasn’t equal to the task of keeping the girl in line.

He smiled. He was, too. Perhaps it wasn’t essential that
Jessie be trusted. There was one way to ensure her si
lence, her cooperation—and that was with his mouth on
hers and him buried deep inside her.

 

Chapter Eight

Back to Contents

 

Morning found Jessica in the rattletrap mule-drawn buck-
board with Ma. The two women were heading for town,
following the same crude road the stage had taken yes
terday—whenever
that
had been. The day was balmy and
slightly cool, and the landscape surrounding them looked
little changed from the world Jessica had evidently left
behind. Beyond them loomed a raw wilderness of blue
mountain ranges interrupted by occasional homesteads and glistening lakes.
Aspen
, fir, and pines climbed the
hillsides flanking the road, and the air was redolent with
the scent of evergreen. Blue birds and gray jays flitted about lofty branches, while below, mule deer grazed on
summer grasses. On a distant ridge, an abandoned sluice
and gouges in the hillside gave grim evidence of rapacious mining in the region.

Nowhere were there road signs, utility poles, or auto
mobiles that might indicate Jessica was still in the twen
tieth century. The reality that she had evidently traveled across time was heavily sinking in.

Ma loudly cleared her throat, interrupting Jessica’s
musings. “Well, before we get to Mariposa, Miss Jessie, I reckon I’d best lay down the law on a few matters.”

Jessica harrumphed. “That seems to be a habit in your
family. Don’t worry—Cole already gave me this same
lecture.”

The widow slanted Jessica an apologetic look. “Now,
honey, don’t go getting riled. As the eldest, it’s Cole’s
duty to protect his clan. We Reklaws must live by a strict
code, else we’d all be bound to the bone orchard.”

“I know,” said Jessica tiredly. “I mustn’t tell anyone
who you really are.”

“There’s more to it than that. You see, in town I’m not known as Eula Reklaw, but as Eula Lively. I go by my first husband’s name so as not to give away my boys.”

“I see. What are the boys called when they go to
town?”

“They ain’t called nothing. They never show their faces
in Mariposa.”

“They don’t? Why?”

“Well, the boys have always been right suspicious of
the town. It’s new, been around less than five years. Mari
posa kinda sprung up like a bean sprout after the Aspen
Gulch Consortium made that big strike out at the eastern
branch.”

“Are the boys afraid of the local sheriff?”

“Nope. The town’s still smaller than a gnat’s butt, so
there’s no lawman yet, though once in a while one of them
U.S. Deputy Marshals will pass through a’huntin’ for my
boys.”

Jessica frowned at this sobering thought. “I see.”

“But I reckon Mariposa is too close for comfort, anyhow. Too many men from town work at the mines, and
them’s the gold shipments my boys robs.”

“How contemptible of them.”

Eula waved a hand. “You think I can stop ‘em, honey?”

“You did a pretty good job yesterday with your broom.”

“Yeah, I can keep the varmints under control at the
farm, but once they’re loose, they’re wild as Injuns with
firewater.”

Jessica groaned. “So that’s all they do—hide out and
rob gold shipments? Your sons have no social life?”

Eula let out a hoot. “What ‘social life’ they have is at
the saloons and dancing parlors of
Colorado
City
—with
whores and cardsharps—even though it’s a good day’s
ride from the ranch.”

Jessica recalled her history. “Ah, yes.
Colorado
City
is near
Colorado Springs
, and it’s pretty much the Natchez-
Under-the-Hill of old
Colorado
, isn’t it?”

Eula appeared confused. “If you say so, honey.”

Jessica struggled to digest this as more questions swirled
in her mind. ‘Tell me a little more about your family and
what brought you here. You say you had a first husband?”

Eula sniffed. “Yep,
Chester
Lively was one of the
finest men God ever put on this earth. Way back in the
fifties, we married up in
Arkansas
, and Cole was born our
first year together. Then
Chester
wanted us to head
Colorado
way so he could seek his fortune as a miner. That’s
when we homesteaded our land here and started a small
farm. But
Chester
was killed in a cave-in when Cole was
still a wee thing.”

Jessica’s heart was filled with sympathy for both Cole
and Eula. “I’m so sorry. Then Cole and the other boys don’t have the same father?”

“Nope. A year later, I married Joseph Reklaw, another fine man who worked at the mines. Joseph gave me my four younger boys. And since Cole was so tiny when he
lost his real pappy, he always wanted to be called
‘Reklaw’ like his brothers.”

“That explains why he looks somewhat different from the others.”

“They’re all thick as thieves, anyhow.”

“Indeed. But I have wondered at the differences—par
ticularly the fact that Cole seems better-educated.”

Eula nodded. “When he was still a young fella, a neigh
bor lady used to tutor Cole with her own young ‘uns,
learned him to read and write proper-like. Then that
whole family took sick with scarlet fever and died, so my
younger boys didn’t have no teacher. They can barely
write their own names.”

Jessica fell silent, thinking of how very difficult these times were on families. “What happened to your second
husband, if I may ask?”

“Joseph Reklaw was a good upstanding man, a Bible-
pounder even.” Ma sniffed again. “He was a fine father to
all five of my boys—till miner’s lung took him soon after Billy was born.”

Jessica was aghast. “So you’ve lost two husbands to
the mines?”

“Yep. And the owners wouldn’t have cared if I’d lost a
hundred more.”

“How terrible,” Jessica sympathized. “No wonder all of you are bitter toward the mining industry.”

Ma’s expression seethed with resentment. “It ain’t the
industry, honey, but the sidewinders that own the mines.
Them serpents is holed up in the Springs. They be rich
folk that own mines all over the state. They call them
selves respectable businessmen, but they ain’t nothin’ but vipers in my book.”

Jessica digested this. “What about your farm?”

“What about it?”

“Well, last night Cole said it’s his now.”

“That’s right. It fell to him as
Chester
’s son.”

“Well, couldn’t the boys make a go of farming instead
of robbing the mines?”

Eula snorted. “When the mine owners’ evil doin’s have
raped our hillsides, and most of our streams are poisoned by metal runoff?”

Jessica sighed. “Good Lord. Then these robber barons
in
Colorado Springs
have seen to it that your sons can’t
earn a decent living off the land.”

“You’re beginning to get the picture, honey. They ain’t
doin’ much for the families of Mariposa, neither.”

“And your sons are helping by robbing the mines?”

Eula shook a finger at Jessica. “My boys ain’t never
robbed no payroll—only the gold leaving the mines.”

“But aren’t you afraid they’ll be caught?”

Ma clucked to the mule. “Not as long as they’re care
ful. Cole had a close call in
Colorado
City
a few years
back due to some pure-dee tomfoolery, but I think he
learnt his lesson. You can bet all my boys are watching
their p’s and q’s these days. There’s no reason they’ll get
caught—long as we’re
all
careful.” She gave Jessica a
pointed look as she spoke the word “all.”

Jessica frowned. “But if your second husband worked
the mines, aren’t there miners around who would remember his name—perhaps even remember you—and
put two and two together?”

Ma snorted. “You’re forgetting, missy, that Joseph died
nigh onto twenty years ago. Just how long do you think miners live in these parts?”

“I see your point.”

“There’s maybe one old-timer left who remembers
Joseph and knows who my boys really are—and he’ll
never let on.”

“Meaning he approves of what they’re doing?”

Ma smiled smugly.

Jessica was about to question her further when she
was distracted by the sight of a wanted poster nailed to
a pine tree just off the roadway. Although they were too far away to read all the small print, she could just make out the larger words: “Wanted Dead or Alive . . . The
Reklaw Gang.”

Pointing at the poster, she cried, “My God! Do you see
that?”

“Yep, I seen posters like it a hundred times,” came
Ma’s grim reply. “Now do you see why we have to be
careful?”

Jessica nodded. Although she sympathized with the plight of the Reklaw family and could even understand
why the boys had turned to a life of crime, the men were
clearly bound on the wrong path, a dangerous road that
could lead them only to the gallows. And, due to her own
bitterness, Ma Reklaw gave her tacit consent to her sons’
lawbreaking . . .

***

Moments later, Jessica was gaping at the small
Colorado
town materializing at the crest of a rise. First they passed a
small, ornate sign emblazoned with “
Mariposa
,
Colorado
,
Population 204.” Next they rolled past a picturesque white
clapboard chapel with a sign proclaiming “
Mariposa
Com
munity
Church
,” and beyond it an equally quaint school-
house. Then as they continued down the rutted dirt street, Jessica stared amazed at antique storefronts flanking them
on either side. It was as if they’d stepped onto a
Hollywood
movie set, complete with every nineteenth-century detail,
from western saloon doors to delicate porch railings to
frosted-glass windows to old-timey boardwalks. Every
thing was there—the feed store, saloon, bank, general
store, the old-timers playing dominoes, the horses tied to
the hitching posts, the buggies in the streets. As they
passed the small hotel, an old gentleman in an elegant
brown frock coat tipped his hat to them, and Jessica stared back frozenly. She went wide-eyed at the sight of two old
ladies in floor-length calico dresses emerging from the post
office. Then she watched a young family troop along—the
father in buckskins, the wife in full-skirted gingham and
matching bonnet, the little boy in overalls and straw hat,
the girl in linen dress and lacy pantaloons.

Jessica glanced at Ma, who seemed to be taking every
thing in stride. So she really
had
traveled back in time!
By now no other explanation made sense. It had been one
thing to assume the Reklaws were crazy, but were all the citizens of this town demented, as well? Once again, Jes
sica spotted no signs of electricity, cars, modern struc
tures, anything to indicate they were still in the twentieth
century.

“Here we are,” Ma said, pulling the team to a halt be
fore the dry goods store. “Come along, Miss Jessie. We’ll
get you fixed right up.”

The two women alighted, crossed the creaky boardwalk, and entered the store to a jangling bell. Jessica in
haled the scent of crisp fabrics and gazed at the store’s
charming interior—the tables stacked with bolts of cloth,
the floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with clothing and notions. She saw no signs of electricity, telephones, com
puters, anything modern. Even the wrought-iron and
frosted-glass chandelier hanging from the high ceiling
appeared to be fueled by kerosene, judging from the
black smudges on the glass.

BOOK: Bushedwhacked Bride
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