Frontier Woman (33 page)

Creed now knew why Angelique had pried so deeply the past evening into the details of his marriage to Cricket. He’d only wanted to be sure Angelique understood that the marriage was legal under Texas law, so she wouldn’t think there was any chance he was free to come to her. Looking at the stunned faces around the table, he realized her revelation was going to have some unwanted repercussions.

Creed took a deep breath and said in an amazingly calm voice, “In Texas a man and woman often begin living together as husband and wife and then have their marriage vows solemnized when the preacher comes to call.”

“I could have married you at sea on the trip to New Orleans, if you’d only said something,” the commodore admonished.

LeFevre’s concerned voice asked, “So you’ve never had your wedding vows to each other confirmed before a man of God?”

Creed swallowed hard. “No. We haven’t.” He could see what was coming. Anger rose in him. His lips thinned, and the muscles along his cheek jumped as his jaw tightened. He’d wanted to make Cricket his wife, but not this way. Now she’d never believe he wanted her for herself. She would think he’d married her because he’d been cornered by circumstance. Damn it, he loved her! Couldn’t she see that?

Cricket closed her eyes to escape Creed’s intense gaze and clenched her fists in her lap.
Rip’s brat
had done it again. Creed would never forgive her for this.

“I’d be pleased to officiate at your wedding,” LeFevre volunteered.

The commodore steepled his hands before him on the table. “And I’d be proud to assist.”

LeFevre stared pointedly at Creed. “When shall it be?”

“What better time than the present?” Creed replied with no trace of the cynicism he felt.

Cricket glanced up at Creed, aghast. Did he expect her to attend her own wedding dressed in buckskins? From the disparaging look on his face, he did. It was clear he believed the coming ceremony to be a mockery. He’d already said once he’d divorce her when it was convenient to do so. The vows he was forced to speak tonight weren’t going to change that. But, oh, how she wished things were different.

By the time a midshipman arrived with a Bible, the table had been completely dismantled and removed from the ward room. A sailor had appeared with a harmonica to provide music, and the chargé and the commodore had taken their places at the center of the room with Creed and Cricket standing side by side before them.

Angelique could have chewed through nails, she was so enraged. She’d only intended to embarrass Cricket, and to show how low she stood in Creed’s estimation if he’d never bothered to really marry her. She’d had no idea Creed would allow himself to be coerced into matrimony like this. If she had anything to say about it, this was going to be one of the shortest marriages in the history of marriage. And the next time Creed got backed into a corner, she intended to be the blushing bride.

The brief ceremony seemed endless to Cricket, whose eyes never left her feet until Creed took her hand in his to place a ring upon her finger. Then she glanced from the ring to Creed’s face. He didn’t look any happier than she felt. Somewhere over the passage of time she’d come to love this man. She wanted to be a good wife to him. She just didn’t know how.

Creed was determined to make Cricket happy. Right now she looked about as miserable as he felt. Somehow he’d make her understand he loved her as she was. He’d act the way he supposed a good husband should act. He wanted to do the right thing. He just wasn’t sure what that was.

Cricket knew her fate was sealed when Beaufort LeFevre announced, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Creed put his hands on Cricket’s shoulders and turned her to face him. His fingertips brushed her chin, tipping it up slightly, and his mouth came down to meet hers in the lightest of kisses. It was over before Cricket realized it had happened.

“This calls for a celebration,” the commodore said with a grin on his face. “Grog for all hands,” he ordered, “in recognition of my first wedding as commodore of the Texas fleet.”

A sailor with a fiddle joined the one with the harmonica, and gay music filled the ward room. A cheer was heard from the berth deck when the announcement came that a ration of grog would be served. Creed shook hands with LeFevre and Commodore Moore. Several young lieutenants took advantage of the opportunity to kiss the bride. When Angelique LeFevre offered snide congratulations, Cricket couldn’t stand the farce any longer and fled the room.

Creed saw Cricket’s desperate escape. He had to find her and talk with her alone. He turned quickly to the gentlemen who’d performed the ceremony. “If you’ll excuse me . . .” he said with a confidential wink. Creed left the ward room with the sound of friendly laughter following him out the door.

He searched first on the spar deck. Despite the danger, he half expected to find her in the rigging. Then he checked the berth deck and the steerage. He went lower into the bowels of the ship to the magazine, the spirit room, and the purser’s stores. No Cricket. Then he came back up to investigate the bread locker on the starboard side of the steerage. All he found there was thousands of pounds of sea biscuit. She could be hidden anywhere. She could even have jumped overboard.

Creed raced to the spar deck and peered out over the dark gulf waters. He couldn’t believe Cricket was desperate enough to end her life, but it was plain he wasn’t going to find her until she wanted to be found. Discouraged, anxious, he returned to the captain’s cabin to wait.

And there he discovered his wife.

Cricket’s first inclination when she’d reached the captain’s cabin was to bar the door against Creed. She’d quickly realized that to keep Creed out was to send him right back to Angelique’s arms. He hadn’t wanted to marry her, but he was her husband now in the eyes of God and man. She had the opportunity to show him how much she loved him, and she intended to make good use of it.

She had taken off her buckskins and put on the only feminine night dress she had, a plain chambray gown. She’d quickly released her braid and let her hair, still wavy from the heavy plait, spill over her shoulders and down her back. She’d turned down the covers and perched on the edge of the cot, one bare foot atop the other on the wooden floor. Creed was welcome in her bed, and she wanted him to know it.

When Creed came through the door, Cricket raised her eyes to greet him. His loins tightened at the promise of passion in the smoky gray orbs.

“I looked everywhere for you.”

“I’ve been here, waiting for you to come to me.”

It was an invitation no husband could deny. Her willing gaze reassured him that tonight there would be none of the initial restraint that had marred their loving in the past. Creed took the few steps that brought him to his wife. He seized her hands and bid her stand up before him. Under his steady perusal her nipples peaked beneath the chambray wrapper. He brought his hands to either side of her face and tenderly stroked the soft skin with his callused thumbs. He splayed the fingers of one hand through her hair, grasping a handful of the silky stuff while his other hand encircled her throat.

Then his lips took the kiss he’d forgone at the end of the wedding ceremony. His tongue boldly searched her mouth, claiming the territory as his own. He gently sucked her lower lip into his mouth and nipped at it, then allowed her the freedom to possess him as he’d possessed her. Cricket gave herself wholeheartedly to her husband and took from him what she wanted and needed.

She put her hands on Creed’s chest and felt the strength beneath his linen shirt. She broke the kiss between them, undressing him slowly, carefully, tantalizingly, unable to endure the cloth barriers between them but prolonging the moment when he would be unclothed to her gaze. She slipped off his frock coat and shirt, then his trousers and drawers, until he stood before her resplendently naked, his manhood full and ready. Cricket stepped back to look at what she had—a magnificent man, a tender man, a stubborn man—a man with a very pleased grin on his face.

She grinned back at him.

“You look very satisfied with yourself,” Creed said.

“That’s because I am.” Cricket put her lips to one of Creed’s nipples and smiled against his salty skin when his whole body tensed in response.

Creed had opened his mouth to tell her of his love when her lips drifted downward. When her tongue came out to lave the sensitive skin of his belly he had to hold his breath to keep from groaning aloud. His hands grabbed her at the waist, intending to stop the delicious assault, but before he could move her away, her mouth tasted its way even farther down his body.

“Bra-va . . .”

Then it was too late to stop her. He grasped her hair in his hands and held her where she was, his feet wide apart, his head thrown back, nostrils flared, eyes closed, mouth gaping wide in an agony of ecstasy, while he surrendered himself to her love.

Cricket loved the taste of him, loved the soft-hard feel of him, loved the power of bringing him such intense pleasure. At last, she kissed her way back up his body, until her tongue found the pulse behind his ear. She nipped his neck and buried her nose in the slick wetness of his hot skin.

Creed held her tight against him, fitted them together like staves of a barrel, waiting for some measure of control to return. He kissed her ear, dipping his tongue inside. He kissed her throat, finding the pulse that raced unchecked. He kissed her temple, her cheek, her chin, her closed eyes, her nose. He found her mouth and ravaged it, tasting himself there.

Creed laid Cricket down on the captain’s bed and followed to lie next to her. He began a thorough search for all the spots on her body that were sensitive to his fingers and his tongue.

He found one beneath her arm.

Cricket quivered.

Another on her hip.

Her hands grasped his shoulders and enjoyed the feel of
the corded muscle there.

The pads of her fingers and the spaces between.

Sweet Lord, how good that felt!

Her breasts.

He sucked like a babe, and she wished to succor him like
this always.

The small of her back.

She stretched her arms above her head and arched, making a deeper dish for him to drink from.

Her buttocks.

He made her laugh with his nips and then choke on that
laughter, as his love bites released a flood of passion.

The hipbones that protruded beyond her concave belly.

His tongue was rough like a cat’s, and wet, and she
wished he would go lower with it.

Her thighs.

She could feel his silk hair on one thigh and his warm
tongue on the other.

The heat and the heart of her.

She wantonly spread her legs so he could rest his head
between them and taste, and suck, and lick, and . . . oh,
God . . . oh, God. . . .

Cricket’s pleasure pleasured Creed. He couldn’t get enough of her. He gave her only a moment’s respite before he seated himself deep inside her, possessing her, being possessed by her, making them one.

Cricket wrapped her legs around him and clutched his shoulders with her hands, holding him tight, fearing the closeness would not last, fearing that when all was said and done he would drop her off at her father’s door and return to the beautiful Angelique.

Creed forced himself to be still. A moment from now it would be too late to stop. He wanted to speak the words. He wanted Cricket to know how he felt.

“Look at me, Brava,” Creed rasped.

Cricket’s glazed eyes focused on the angled face so close to her own.

“This ceremony was forced on both of us tonight. But you should know Angelique means—”

Cricket stopped his words with her hand. She couldn’t bear to hear him say Angelique meant more to him than she did. “You don’t have to say any more.” It was better to live with the illusion of love than to face stark reality. He belonged to her tonight. And she intended to fight and keep on fighting for his love. She burrowed against Creed, holding him tight.

Creed brushed the hair away from her forehead, glad that she understood his love without the need to have the words spoken aloud. He kissed her lips and found there the promise that she returned his love. They spoke through their passion. Creed’s powerful thrusts were met by the strength of the woman beneath him. The sense of desperation that seized them both lent ferocity to their lovemaking. It was a tumultuous coupling, a merging of bodies and spirits that left them exhilarated and exhausted.

Cricket lay beneath Creed, his breath coming in heaving bellows that forced the air in and out of her gasping lungs in time with his. He had desired her. She knew he had. Surely he could not leave her now at her father’s door. But he hadn’t said he loved her. Nor had she said she loved him.

But they had the rest of their lives to say the words. Didn’t they?

Chapter 23

CRICKET KNEW SHE WAS HOME WHEN SHE HEARD Rogue’s ululating cry of welcome.

“My God! It’s a pack of wolves!”

Cricket followed Angelique’s pointing finger to the three young wolves running on a parallel course with them. She whistled and the wolves changed direction, heading directly for the two riders who flanked the open carriage carrying Angelique LeFevre and her father.

“They’re coming this way. Somebody do something!”

Cricket exchanged a conspiratorial grin with Creed over the top of Angelique’s head. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Shoot them! Kill them!” By now Angelique was hysterical and had practically climbed into her father’s lap. The chargé, true diplomat that he was, geared his behavior to that of Cricket and Creed. Seeing they weren’t particularly alarmed, he remained outwardly calm, hiding his agitation.

“All right,” Cricket said, warming up to the game. “Here goes.” She pulled a Paterson from her saddle holster and began shooting high above the wolves’ heads.

The three wolves split apart, Rascal and Ruffian breaking off to the right and left, while Rogue came straight ahead. In fact, Rogue appeared to be coming faster now than he had before Cricket had blasted away with her gun.

Angelique clung to her father but turned to Creed, the whites of her eyes huge, and begged, “Save me!”

Creed flashed an admonitory glance at Cricket. Teasing Angelique was one thing. Scaring her half to death was another.

“Angelique, there’s nothing to be—”

“Look at that!”

The chargé had interrupted Creed to point with disbelief at Cricket. She’d spurred her mount away from the carriage toward the center wolf and now dismounted directly in the vulpine creature’s path.

Angelique’s wide-eyed fear had become wide-eyed wonder. Was Cricket about to get herself killed? How absolutely marvelous!

The chargé pulled the carriage to an abrupt halt, watching aghast as the three wolves converged on the defenseless girl. “Do something, man,” he shouted at Creed.

“Cricket is—”

Then there was no more time for words. The three wolves were all over Cricket. The chargé turned his face away, hearing the wolves’ ferocious growls and Cricket’s shrieks and unable to bear the sight of the poor girl being torn to shreds by the wolves’ sharp fangs.

Angelique, however, wasn’t about to miss her moment of glory. Her eyes stayed on Cricket, who disappeared beneath the mound of gray fur—and bounced back up again with a grin on her face. Cricket ruffled the fur on the largest wolf’s neck, petted the ears of another, and scratched the chin of the third. She was
playing
with the wolves. Angelique blinked her eyes once to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.

“The wolves are
licking
her!”

The chargé whirled to confirm his daughter’s discovery and laughed out loud with relief.

Angelique turned to Creed, her eyes narrowing to an unflattering squint and her lips flattening in anger.

“I tried to tell you there was no danger,” he placated. “The wolves are Cricket’s pets. She raised them from pups.”

The chargé laughed again to release the last of his nervous tension. “You had me worried there for a moment,” he admitted. “You know, this really is an uncivilized place if a girl makes pets of wolves. It looks like you and I will have to learn to expect the unexpected in Texas,” he said to his daughter.

Creed didn’t deny the chargé’s observation. Those who lived in Texas met the ruthless demands of the wilderness and did what they had to do to survive. To be always on the cutting edge of danger made life a precious thing, always to be lived to the fullest. Life promised plenty of misery, so you took your joy where you could find it. It was hard to blame Cricket for the harmless trick she’d played on Angelique. He’d seen a lot worse. Frontier fun was often as hazardous as frontier life.

Hazardous. That word brought to mind Creed’s coming meeting with Rip Stewart, which he expected to be anything but fun. He’d been thinking during the whole ride from Galveston to Three Oaks how best to approach Rip. He hadn’t found any answers.

Cricket had barely sent the wolves on their way when they had another visitor. “Luke!”

The young man greeted Cricket with a grin. “Nice to see you again, Cricket.”

“You, too,” Cricket said.

“Hello, Creed. Glad you’re back. Your timing couldn’t be better. It’s about to get real busy around here.”

Creed could tell Luke wanted to elaborate but not in the chargé’s presence.

“I expect you’re Beaufort LeFevre,” Luke said, extending his hand to the chargé. “Luke Summers.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. Summers. This is my daughter, Angelique.”

“Ma’am.” Luke touched the brim of his hat to acknowledge Angelique. He could see she was one of those women who found her worth in a man’s compliments, and his assessing look quickly labeled her an easy woman. He smiled knowingly. Luke never refused a woman’s gift, freely given.

Angelique thought Luke Summers might as well have touched her down between her legs, the way she felt beneath his smoldering gaze. She hadn’t expected to find this Texas character appealing, and the fact she had irked her. She allowed herself to be rude in retaliation, ignoring the man as though he didn’t exist.

Such cutting behavior might have worked in Boston and New Orleans, but it was soon clear the rules were different in Texas. Luke spurred his horse up close to the carriage and murmured for Angelique’s ears only, “Give a holler when you’re ready, Angel, honey. I’ll be there.”

Angelique opened her mouth to snap a biting response, but the man’s husky voice had sent chills down to the very bottom of her spine, and by the time she recovered he was speaking to her father.

“If you’ll excuse us, Mr. LeFevre, I need to speak privately with Creed for a moment,” Luke said.

“Certainly.”

The two Rangers rode ahead of the carriage some distance, speaking in low voices that made Cricket certain they were discussing Sloan and the rebels. She had no intention of being excluded any longer. She kneed her horse and brought him abreast of the Rangers.

“You might as well tell me what’s going on. Otherwise, I’ll ask Sloan and find out from her,” she said.

“This is none of your business, Brava,” Creed warned.

“Why not tell her what’s going on,” Luke said. “If she knows Sloan’s not going to be in any danger maybe she’ll stay out of the way.”

Creed snorted. “I doubt it.”

Cricket rolled her eyes.

“All right, but hear me well, Brava. If you get Sloan involved in what we have planned, she’s liable to wind up getting hurt or killed. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Cricket nodded.

“Antonio Guerrero is meeting tomorrow morning with several Mexican military officers. Our spies have found out they’ll have documents with them that outline plans to invade San Antonio with a Mexican army. As soon as we’re sure everyone is present, we’ll spring our trap. According to our spies, Antonio has agreed to meet Sloan
after
the meeting, so she’s not expected to be anywhere near the revolutionaries’ camp when we make our move. And I want it to stay that way.”

“Yes, sir!” Cricket snapped off a reckless military salute.

“Dammit, Brava, I mean it.”

Cricket turned her face away from Creed. She wasn’t going to interfere. She wanted this all over with as much as he did. But what if she couldn’t convince him to stay with her when his business was done? If she wasn’t going to be Creed’s wife anymore, did that mean she could go back to being just Rip’s brat? Somehow, Cricket didn’t think so.

Creed knew what he’d promised Cricket: The end of the rebel threat meant the end of their relationship, as well. He’d racked his brain for a way to make things come out differently, but she’d never said she loved him, and if she wanted to be free of him he’d have to let her go. The hell he would. He fought the anger and frustration that rose within him. He’d be in no shape to deal with Rip Stewart if he didn’t keep his wits about him now.

Luke rode with them the rest of the way to the plantation house. When he saw Rip waiting on the front porch he grinned and said, “Uh-oh. Think I’ll leave you here. Good luck.” Then he was gone.

Cricket had imagined this reunion a hundred ways. The one she liked best was Rip standing on the front porch with his arms open wide to welcome her back. Well, Cricket thought wryly as she dismounted, she had half her wish.

Rip stood on the front porch with his hands bunched on his hips. “Go to your room, Cricket,” he ordered.

Not even a hello. Not even an “I missed you.” If her father was going to ignore the fact she was Creed’s wife, then so was she. Rip’s brat let him have it with both barrels.

“Like
hell
I will!”

“Like hell you
will!
”

They faced off as though the interim had never happened. This was normal. This was comfortable. This was safe.

“Do as your father says, Brava.”

Rip and Cricket both turned on the Ranger in astonishment. Creed looked only at Cricket. He said quietly, but firmly, “Go to your room, Brava.”

Cricket had expected Creed to rid himself of her but not like this. She’d defied her father out of habit, but if this was Creed’s way of telling her their relationship was over, there was no reason to deny Rip’s request. In fact, the privacy of her own room began to look quite appealing. She only hoped she could contain her grief until she reached that safe haven.

“All right, I’ll go,” she said at last, all signs of fight gone.

Rip frowned. Cricket had shouted down his order, then obeyed that—that—kidnapping sonofabitch without so much as a peep. He watched Cricket, head held high, enter the front door and close it softly behind her. This wasn’t like his Cricket at all. Something was very wrong. He whirled on Creed.

“What have you done to her?”

“I made her my wife,” he answered simply. “I need to leave Cricket in a safe place while I take care of some dangerous business. Is she welcome to stay here?”

“Of course.”

Creed stepped aside so Rip could see the white-haired man and the pretty young woman who’d accompanied the Ranger to Three Oaks. Creed made the introductions that confirmed they were, as Rip had suspected, the American chargé d’affaires to Texas and his daughter.

“I have to leave you now,” Creed said to LeFevre, “but you’re in good hands.” Creed turned back to Rip. “I’ll return when my business is finished. We’ll talk then.” Without another word, he stalked away to his horse, mounted, and rode away.

Rip didn’t know when he’d ever been dismissed quite so completely by someone he’d as soon have shot as given the time of day. That penniless bastard had kidnapped his youngest daughter right from under his unsuspecting nose and ruined his carefully laid plans to have Cricket marry one of the richest men in Texas. Juan Carlos Guerrero had withdrawn his son’s offer of marriage the instant he’d learned Cricket had run away with the Ranger.

But he had only himself to blame for Creed’s presence at Three Oaks. He’d been the one to ask Jack Hays for a Ranger to help curb the theft of his horses by the Comanches. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of a Comanche in months! It was unfortunate Creed had returned to Three Oaks with Beaufort LeFevre and his daughter in tow. Otherwise, Rip could have shot the Ranger on sight and been done with it.

It was probably a good thing he hadn’t gone off half-cocked, because from the look of things Cricket was a bit enamored of the fellow. At least, he didn’t know what else to make of her blind obedience to the Ranger. He shook his head disgustedly, then turned back to the diplomat he’d agreed to escort to a meeting with President Mirabeau Lamar.

“Come on in,” he invited. “You might as well freshen up before supper.”

Cricket’s worst fears had been realized when Creed dumped her at her father’s front door. She went to her room, lay down on her bed, and closed her eyes, trying not to think, trying not to feel. She ignored Bay’s pleas through the closed door to be allowed to come in and talk with her. She didn’t know how long she’d been alone in her room when there was another knock at the door, but the shadowy darkness suggested the day was nearly gone.

“Cricket? It’s me, Sloan. Can I come in?”

“Go away.”

The door opened and Sloan came in, closing it behind her. “I missed you, Cricket.”

“Humph.” Cricket sat up in the center of the bed. “Looks like you and Bay are the only ones who did.”

Sloan stopped long enough to pull her boots off, then joined Cricket on the bed, sitting Indian fashion across from her. “You missed supper.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“So. How’s married life?”

“Damn, Sloan. You don’t tiptoe around the pansies, do you?”

Sloan laughed. “I never did. I want to know, Cricket, really. Imagine you married. I never thought I’d see the day.” Sloan didn’t say aloud what else she was thinking.
I’m so
jealous.

The two sisters looked each other over for changes that might have occurred while they’d been separated.

“You don’t look any different,” Sloan said at last. “Marriage must agree with you.”