The Lawman's Bride (16 page)

She nodded and helped him unbutton it and strip the garment away, eager to have her hands on his skin. His chest was broad and muscular, silky dark hair curling around her fingers. She couldn’t get enough of him and dared to test the sleek feel of his rib cage.

He drew her onto his lap, and she wrapped her arm around his neck. Their kisses grew more heated, his tongue teasing hers until her pulse pounded in her head. What was it he did to her? How was it she found herself returning his kisses and craving more? This was so new, so shocking and exciting, she could hardly absorb it.

He cupped her breast through her dress and groaned, then suggestively skimmed the row of buttons with a fingertip.

Sophie’s pleasure dimmed. The lies were undermining what she felt for this man. Clay had always been honest with her. If he knew all about her he wouldn’t want her, wouldn’t find her so worthy. If they gave in to this all-consuming fire, he would know he wasn’t the first. She owed him that much honesty ahead of time.

He toyed with the top button, and she pulled away enough to look into his eyes.

“Didn’t mean any disrespect,” he said.

“Clay.” She took his hands between hers and moved from his lap so she could think. “There’s so much you don’t know about me.” Seeing Garrett had reminded her afresh of everything he’d stolen from her, her innocence, her chance to have a life with a wonderful person like this one.

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered.

She couldn’t even enjoy this experience to the fullest because of the lies. “It matters to me, and it will matter to you.”

“Tell me then.”

The only way to enjoy this was to tell him. “I’m scared. You won’t want me if you know.”

“Try me.”

She hated Garrett. Despised him for putting her in this position. Now it all came down to whether or not she trusted Clay. The irony in that fact didn’t escape her. She wanted to experience the happiness she knew was waiting for her with this man. If she was going to go through with what she wanted, she had to clear this part of her conscience and be honest with him.

Amazingly, the sky hadn’t fallen when she’d told the truth about her mother. It would still be overhead after he knew even more. And at least she would have been truly loved for the first time since she was too young to remember.

“Why don’t you show me your place now?” she asked.

“Don’t have to if you’re not comfortable.”

“I definitely want to.”

He shrugged into his shirt and assisted her onto the horse.

“You’re better at this than you let on,” he said. “You sure it’s been years?”

“Guess it all comes back,” she replied and secured her hat before taking the reins and nudging the Appaloosa into motion.

Clay mounted and led the way. Riding gave her a giddy sense of freedom. She enjoyed the feeling of control.

They passed farmland and fields of bright yellow sunflowers waving in the breeze. They led the horses through a field, and the flowers brushed the hem of Sophie’s skirt. It seemed as though they were in a fantasy world of vibrant color. Clay leaned over to pick her a sunflower and break off the stem. She tucked it in among the silk flowers on her hat.

“Ahead is my land,” he told her. “It’s just a few acres. But there’s a stream and a wooded windbreak.” The closer they got, the better she could make out the stable and another outbuilding as well as the square one-story house.

When they reached the dooryard she slid from the horse’s back and stretched. Her posterior had grown a little sore.

“I’ll give the horses water,” Clay said. “The necessity’s out back there.”

She didn’t reply, but made a quick trip. Returning to watch him with the animals, she wondered how difficult his days and nights had been without Sam. Clay’s attachment to his dog had touched her.

Her experience with the Sioux had shown her that men were hunters and warriors and that women and children were servants. She’d been an asset to Garrett, like a valuable horse, and he’d taught her how greed blinded men. She had never detected that trait in this man.

Clay’s profession declared what kind man he was. He was honest and hardworking. Though kindhearted, there wasn’t a weak bone in his body. He was strong and brave and human all at the same time. He had never treated her less than special. He showed true interest in her as a person of merit.

How could she
not
be falling in love with him?

He led her to the house where he ushered her through the back doorway into a large kitchen. The room held open shelving, a stove and a counter holding a basin and pump. He pumped water so they could wash their hands.

“I’ll slice ham and cheese and bread. You set the table.” He gestured to a shelf with a few plates and cups.

Seeing him in his home, learning how he lived seemed quite intimate. His hospitality spoke again of trust.

If she told him the truth about her past and it disgusted him, she would have to move on and get over him. Being disenchanted would spare him hurt later. Him withdrawing would take the decision away from her.

However, his change of opinion would break the heart she’d only today realized was alive and vulnerable. Honesty was a huge risk. But she owed him the truth.

Clay made sandwiches, but she only broke off pieces of meat and cheese. Her stomach was so nervous she didn’t have much appetite.

He finished eating and explained how he’d made a few changes to the house since he’d bought it half a dozen years back. Getting up, he took cups from a shelf. “I only have water,” he said. “I could make coffee.”

“No, no, don’t heat the house up by starting a fire.”

He poured two glasses of water, then turned to a towel-draped pan. “The First Baptist ladies supply me with bread. The Methodists bake me a cake or pie every week.” He drew off the towel. “Apple.”

“Just a tiny slice for me.”

The apples were tangy and the cinnamon not overdone. She finished her slice and watched him enjoy his.

Their eyes met as he finished chewing. “Want more?”

She shook her head.

He laid down his fork.

“I’ve noticed several churches in Newton. Amanda invites me to hers on occasion.”

“Plenty of volunteers,” he replied. “The Lutheran ladies clean the jailhouse, cells and all, and the Congregational women offer Bible readin’ if there’s a prisoner.”

“I haven’t heard you say anything about the new jail.”

“Ordered brick this time. Unloaded a rail car into three wagons to get it all there without taxin’ the teams. Foundation’s done. Walls are almost up. Next week the roof goes on.”

“I’ll have to have a look.”

He stood and gestured for her to follow. “I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

Someone had wisely built the dwelling beside a row of trees whose spreading branches provided shade in the afternoon.

Clay showed her a simply furnished room with a fireplace and two comfortable chairs. A shelf held several books and a collection of small animals carved from wood.

“Did you make those?”

He shook his head. “Belonged to my mother. Her father made ’em.”

Sophie stepped closer to examine the tiny figures. “How lovely to hold a piece of your family’s history.”

“Don’t you have somethin’ that belonged to your ma or pa?”

“I had my mother’s wedding ring.”

“Had?”

“Someone took it from me.”

His expression showed sympathy. “Family here before me had a passel o’ kids,” Clay told her. “That’s why there are three bedrooms.”

One wood-paneled room had bare bunks built into two walls. The other bedroom was empty. The third held a rope bed constructed from sanded and stained logs, a chest of drawers and two trunks. A table by the bed held a lamp.

Sophie studied the plain wool blankets on the bed. Everything about his home was so like him. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.

“I like your home, Clay.”

“Simple,” he said.

She nodded. “That’s what I like the most.”

Memories of elegant hotel rooms and fancy dining cars spun through her head. No expense had ever been spared in their accommodations when she’d traveled with Garrett. He’d insisted on the best, the most lavish. As quickly as the money was gone, there was more to be made. He always wanted more, even from her. Everybody owed him—especially her.

It was time for her to get past her anger and helplessness. Clay didn’t deserve all the resentment burning inside her. She’d been holding herself in check for as long as she could remember.

She made up her mind once and for all to tell him the truth about her background. Maybe then she could let some of her past go and build the new life she wanted so badly.

“I have some things to tell you. About me,” she began. Her knees felt so weak at the words she’d managed to get out, she sank onto the side of his bed.

Clay took off his holster and hung the gun belt on a hook beside the door. He got a wooden chair from the corner, sat it directly in front of her and seated himself.

It was hard to meet his eyes. Hard to face herself in their depths. She looked everywhere else in the room and then forced her gaze back to his. “I told you I hadn’t been honest. And the reason is because I’m ashamed. Well, one of the reasons.”

Without a word, he nodded.

“It’s true my family was from Pennsylvania, but I was too young to remember much at all. I have early memories of my parents and brothers, but they’re vague and jumbled up with so many other memories.”

The blanket under her fingers was rough, and she grounded herself in its simplicity. “I was about five when we were part of a wagon train headed west. I’m not sure of our destination.”

Clay’s expression changed as though he expected bad news. “You sure you wanna talk about this?”

She’d come up with this much courage, she wasn’t stopping now. “I have to.”

He nodded.

“A party of Sioux attacked us. My father and my brothers were killed.”

He held his mouth in a grim line as he listened.

“My mother and I were taken captive. We became part of the tribe. My mother was given to a brave and she took care of his children and cooked. It was all right because we saw each other often.”

“And you?”

“The old chief took a liking to me and took me into his tent. I was regarded as a favored child. I learned from his wife and his grown daughters.”

“That’s how you understood what was going on with the Indians in front of the Arcade that day. You speak their language.”

Sophie nodded. “I played out of doors, had plenty to eat. But the other children never accepted me because I was different and because I received preferential treatment.”

“But you’re such a lady. Your speech, your manners…the dance lessons. Where did you learn all that?”

“That was only a small part of the story. I’m not finished.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees.

“One winter an epidemic spread through the camp. My mother took ill and died. She had taught me all along to be brave and strong and to adapt. Since we hadn’t shared the same tent, I pretended she was still there and I could see her whenever I wanted.”

“You were brave,” he said.

“Or unrealistic,” she said with a shrug.

“You did what you had to.”

“It got me through. I was about twelve when the chief died. It’s hard to know exactly, because the days and the years were marked by hunting seasons and tribal celebrations. Even though we weren’t sure of which day it was, my mother had reminded me of my birthday each spring. Once she was gone, I lost track.

“I was sad when the old chief died because he’d been kind to me. Once she was gone, I was afraid of what would happen. That same season I was taken to a trading post where the tribe traded furs and beads, and I was offered up for sale.”

Clay’s eyes revealed shock and then anger.

“A man bought me.” She didn’t know if she could go on. The rest of this tale was one of shame and degradation. But she’d made up her mind. Suddenly she was sure he would be disgusted and what they had would end before it went further. She didn’t have a hope that he would accept her the way she was.

But Sophie hardened herself to continue.

Chapter Thirteen

S
he refused to analyze and fret over any more of Clay’s silent reactions from here on out. “I was frightened,” she said. “But he seemed kind enough. He bought me clothing. Hired tutors for my education, speech and deportment. He taught me to be a lady.

“We never stayed in one city long. I was always locked in the hotel room at night while he went about his…business.”

By not mentioning his business, she was leaving herself a margin of safety. She cared too much for Clay to place him in the position of knowing her part in their crimes. She was telling him the part he needed to know now.

“He’s the one who took my mother’s ring.”

His expression was indecipherable. Pausing in her story, she looked away from his face and held back her humiliation so she could think about her next words. “There came a time when I realized I was as much a prisoner with him as I had been with the Sioux. I had to get away. I packed a few things in a small bag and picked the lock while he was out one evening.

“It took all my courage to overcome years of submission and do this one thing. I got out and I ran.”

“Good for you.”

“I didn’t even make it across town before he found me. He took me back.” Sophie concentrated on breathing evenly. Here the story took another sordid turn, and she gripped the wool under her fingers. Now that the floodgates had been opened there was no holding this back. This was the part he needed to know.

An ache welled inside her chest at bringing this truth to the light and forming the words. She trembled inside. “That night our arrangement changed.”

Her ears rang with what she was going to reveal. “After that…I—I didn’t have my own room or a separate bed.”

Clay swiped a hand down his face and dropped his gaze to look at the floor.

Her heart was beating so fast she worried it would burst. Was this the end of it, then? He couldn’t bear to look at her?