Riding West (8 page)

She resisted his tug on her hand. “Forgive me if your arrogance irritates me,” she snapped out. “If you told your mother to expect the both of us, that certainly seems to mean you didn‘t ever intend to particularly give me a choice in whether I wanted to marry you or not.”

“Oh Lord, are we going to have an argument
now
? We just walked through the door, sweetheart, and quite frankly, I‘m tired and hungry.”

Thin-skinned and more than a little tired herself, she asked sharply, “Did your mother approve of you riding off to abduct me?”

Parker looked at her, his blue eyes direct. “Yes, she did. Since it was her idea,
your
mother approved of it too. I was a little skeptical because I was pretty sure you‘d be mad as hell at me if I tried it, but I must say it all worked out just fine. Now, please, aren‘t you interested in some hot water, hot food and then afterwards a soft bed? I know I am.”

“My mother?” She felt her mouth fall open, shut it, and then felt more furious than ever. “She told you to tie me up and ride off with me?”

“Not precisely. Let‘s just say she suggested I needed a different approach.”

It was hard to believe but since she knew Parker was not a liar, it must be true. She sputtered, “Well…well…for your information, I was mad as hell.”

“But you got over it.” His fingers raked through his hair in evident exasperation. “Look, I know this afternoon was probably not how you imagined getting married—it wasn‘t exactly my ideal wedding either—but let‘s not fight over it.”

Parker had a vision of an ideal wedding?

There was probably nothing he could have said that would have dissolved her anger more quickly.

He was right, she was being unreasonable and argumentative for no reason.

Well, maybe not for
no
reason, for it had been a pretty stressful day. If her brothers hadn‘t been there this afternoon, who knows what might have happened. She utterly despised Rance Colter.

Something could have happened to Parker. In fact, it was more than likely he would not have survived a confrontation with Colter, for she knew full well he would die to protect her and he‘d have been completely outnumbered without her brothers.

Celia burst into tears.

She had absolutely no control over the sudden emotional reaction and it embarrassed her, but it happened just the same. Obviously it wasn‘t quite what her new husband expected either, for he stood in unconcealed dismay for a moment or two before she felt the comforting strength of his arms come around her shaking shoulders and draw her close.

Her face buried against his chest, she sobbed. He said nothing at first and she felt his mouth graze her temple. Eventually he whispered uncertainly, “Sweetheart?”

She loved the inflection in his voice when he said the endearment. “I‘m sorry,” she mumbled against his shirt, trying to stem the tide of tears. He smelled wonderful, like the forest in summer, clean, with a hint of spice, and entirely male.

“What‘s wrong?” His fingers sifted gently through her hair. After a small hesitation, he asked quietly, “Are you sorry you married me?”

It was so far from what she was actually feeling that Celia gave a muffled laugh. “No.”

His lean body relaxed a fraction. “Then what is it?”

“I love you.”

Pressed against him, she could feel him go very still. His long fingers tightened around her nape. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.” It was a little humiliating to realize she‘d said it before him. In fact, even though he‘d confessed he‘d been in love with her a long time, he had never said it flat out. Celia pulled away and wiped her damp cheeks, giving him a defiant look. “Not that you aren‘t completely irritating in about one thousand ways.”

She expected him to at least smile, but he simply stood there staring at her.

“Parker?”

The sound of his mother‘s voice calling out in question broke through his apparent trance, and he glanced down the hall toward the kitchen. He said in a somewhat uneven tone, “They must have heard us ride up. Come on, sweetheart, we‘d better go on in. I know my family is anxious to welcome you.”

———

The glow of a pipe and the scent of tobacco mingled with the night air. Soft sounds of the insects in the long line of cottonwoods bordering the lane to the house made a backdrop for the distant bark of a coyote. Sitting in a chair next to his father on the long porch as was their habit each evening, Parker said neutrally, “I didn‘t want to discuss it in front of the women, but there could have been real trouble this afternoon.”

Puffing on his pipe, his father, Russ, exhaled and said succinctly, “So I understand. I never did trust Colter, but that was one hell of a high-handed plan, even for him. Did he think the Evans boys wouldn‘t come after him for ambushing your wedding, or for that matter, I wouldn‘t get my men together and track him down?”

Somberly, Parker stared over the corrals and neat fences, shadowed in the thin light of a rising moon. “Think about it. His ranch is built like a fortress and would be damned easy to defend. Once he got holed up, especially with Celia inside, anyone would be hard pressed to do much. Unfortunately, if he had managed to forcibly marry her and get her back to his place, he could do whatever he wanted with her—and we both know exactly what that is—and her brothers would have damned little recourse. Legally wedded and bedded, even if it is akin to rape, would brand her as his for the rest of her life, even if she managed to get out of there. He‘d own her, and around here, possession means a lot.”

His father raised a brow and said dryly, “Luckily, you beat him to it, though I have a feeling that wasn‘t the exact order of things.”

“It worked, that‘s all I care about. I‘ve finally figured out a very direct, firm approach works best with the former Miss Evans.” Parker grinned.

“I‘m happy for you, son. Your mother and I both are. She is a fine young woman, though I suspect you aren‘t going to have a calm, uneventful life.” Chuckling and shaking his head, the older man murmured, “She may look like an angel, but she has a lot of fire.”

Yes, she certainly did. Parker couldn‘t help but think of her wild, flaming passion in bed. Or for that matter, the turbulent look in her blue eyes after she told him she loved him. “She‘s a handful,” he said in rueful agreement, “but I always knew it. I guess I just can‘t help how I feel. There have been times, believe me, when I would have preferred to be head over heels for someone else. Hell, for that matter, Rose is sweet and pretty and utterly docile and we probably would suit each other better, but I‘ve always just regarded her with brotherly affection, whereas Celia…”

“I understand. There‘s nothing platonic about the way you look at your new bride, Parker, but that‘s how it should be.”

“Yes, sir.” Parker stood and smiled. “Speaking of which, this is officially my wedding night and as much as I enjoy talking with you—”

“She‘ll be waiting, I expect.” Even in the gloom, his father‘s eyes twinkled. “I‘m counting on grandchildren, so I wouldn‘t dream of keeping you. Try and get
some
rest, son. Tomorrow we need to repair the cut fences and get an idea of how much stock we lost. I think it would be prudent to hire more hands, to stock up on ammunition and make sure they are all well armed, and take charge of what is starting to be a real problem around here.”

Parker agreed completely, but his attention was not particularly on missing cattle and damaged fences. With a nod, he went into the house. His mother sat by the fireplace in the living room, her sewing in her lap, and he bent and gave her a kiss on the cheek before heading toward his room. The bedrooms were at the back of the ranch house, down a long hallway, and his was the first on the left. The door was shut, and he paused for a moment, the concept of knocking on his own door novel and a symbol of the change in his life.

He had married Celia Evans. She was his wife, and every single night she would sleep in his bed, in his arms. His heart tightened in pure joy and even as he lifted his hand to knock, he decided against it and simply opened the door.

She was in bed already, her shining hair spread over the pillows, sleeping soundly. Stifling a small oath, he felt a small wellspring of amused chagrin as he began to undress in the unreliable moonlit illumination let in by the thin curtains at the window. It had been a trying afternoon, and he really couldn‘t blame her for being tired. She‘d even wept, and he had never seen that before from his gorgeous, but obstinate and willful, bride. He sensed her sudden trepidation over her new wifely role, especially since she had lived her entire life in the same house with her protective family constantly around her. Though his father and mother welcomed her without reservation, finding her place in a new household was going to be a drastic change.

Slipping under the blankets, he moved closer, doing his best not to disturb her slumber. Inhaling her sweet scent, Parker closed his eyes.

The house looked dark except for one lone lamp burning in an upstairs window. John dismounted and quietly led his horse around to the back, where a small, weathered barn sat behind the house. The lone occupant was a raw-boned draft horse and it nickered softly in the shrouded gloom, the smell of hay and manure in the air. John put Mercury, his sorrel gelding, in one of the empty stalls, tossed in some hay, and made his way soundlessly toward the porch. He knocked, two very soft raps of his knuckles, and waited.

The woman who opened the door wore her dressing gown, and she stepped back without a greeting. He slipped inside and closed the door, dropping the latch into place. The place smelled good as it always did, like cinnamon and fresh baked bread, and he said quietly, “We saw Parker and Celia safely home. I rode straight back.”

“You haven‘t eaten, then. I‘ve got stew, pie and coffee.”

He nodded, following her toward the kitchen. Alice Reed motioned him to the table, but didn‘t light a lamp, so he watched her in the semi-darkness as she moved to set the pan of stew back on the cookstove and pour the coffee. Dark hair, thick and curly, hung down her back, and her profile was clean and calm as she worked.

As usual, they didn‘t talk, but sat companionably while he ate, the faint howl of the rising wind outside the only noise. When he finished his coffee and the last bite of pie, he nodded his thanks and she smiled slightly. He helped her clear the table, and when her hand slipped into his, followed her into the bedroom.

With her three children sleeping in the next room, quiet was a necessity. The first time they‘d been together, he had been disconcerted by the situation, but he was used to it now.

He undressed quickly, unbuckling his gun belt and making sure it was within reach. Alice took off her robe and prim nightdress and lay down on the narrow bed, her nude body gleaming in unspoken offering.

Just the sight of her, compliant and waiting, made him harden painfully, and he unfastened his pants with a suppressed groan and eased them down over his erect, pulsing cock.

She made love like a lady always, all soft, quiet sighs and light touches, but there was nothing ladylike about her opulent body. Her breasts were generous, the translucent skin showing a faint veining of blue, larger than ever since she was still nursing the baby she‘d had last fall. He took the soft, heavy weight of one in his hand, lightly stroking. Her expression, shrouded in the dark room, went from almost wistful to dreamy as he gently touched and fondled her to readiness, knowing it was time by the way her breathing grew erratic and the urgent glide of her fingertips down his spine. When he moved over her, she opened her legs and grasped his hips, her eyes drifting shut in the darkness. John was hard as hell, throbbing, and he pushed inside the wet, warm heat of her welcoming vaginal passage with a low growl of pleasure locked in his throat.

Perhaps it was her fragile vulnerability that always made him so gentle, maybe it was because her bastard of a husband was abusive, but he moved slowly, almost reverently loving her with his body. Sexual intercourse was a matter of soft, wet sounds as he slid his cock deep inside with slow penetration, and withdrew in a delicious slide of carnal friction.

It was heaven to be inside the woman he loved. It hurt like the very devil to know he couldn‘t claim her because she belonged to someone else.

Her inner muscles began to contract around his possession, he could feel the tiny, subtle ripples around his rigid penis, and Alice made a small noise, no more than a low whimper as she started to climax. She clung to him, shuddering, and his heart began to pound as he felt his own orgasm rise in response.

At the last moment, he withdrew and held his rigid body above her as the force of his ejaculation spilled hot sperm over her stomach and ribcage. It was too soon for her to have another baby and it was the last complication she needed right now, anyway.

The entire time, they didn‘t say a word. But then again, there was nothing to say. She was married, and though her husband had disappeared about six months ago, Harold Reed had done that before and turned up again like the no good drifter he was. John knew she struggled during the times her husband was gone, but any offers of money had been met with quiet, dignified refusal.

He worried like hell about her, and about the children, especially because he was damned sure her last baby was his. Alice hadn‘t confirmed or denied it, but he‘d done some figuring and if Reed wasn‘t such a self-absorbed, selfish drunk, he might have come to the same conclusion.

She‘d named the child John, which might easily have been a small act of defiance her husband would never appreciate.

“I was worried today,” she whispered so low he almost couldn‘t catch it. “They‘re saying in town Colter was trying to strong-arm your sister into marrying him and he‘d paid off the judge.”

He reached for his kerchief and carefully wiped his discharge from her smooth skin. “Yep, I think that‘s pretty damn close to the truth.”

“Be careful. The man‘s a snake.”

“Parker is the one who needs to be careful.” He spoke in the same almost inaudible tones.