The Marshal's Rebellious Bride (8 page)

He shoved away from the table he’d been leaning on
while they talked. “I’d been figuring on getting married in a couple of weeks,
but I reckon a month is all right, too.” He planted his hat on his head and
asked uncertainly, “Suppose I should court her? I’m not much good at that
business.” Fact was he’d never actually courted a woman. Not even Sarah.

“It’s up to you. I imagine that a little romancing
might make getting her to march down the church aisle easier.”

Taos glanced out the window toward the corral where
Whiskey was brushing the camel with a horse brush. “That damn beast tried to
eat my hat yesterday. It smell’s something awful, too.”

“The one-eyed mule of hers is pretty rank as well.”
Morgan chuckled, something he didn’t do a lot of. “Stubborn mule is named after
you. Fitting.” He chuckled again.

Taos looked surprised at the rare sound coming from
him. Then he grinned. “So what does a skunk being named after you mean?”

“It means your sister has got a wicked sense of humor.
Along with that mile-wide stubborn streak all you
Wakefields
have.”

He looked across the ranch yard, too, and watched her
reach up a hand to gently stroke the camel’s neck.
Such a
small hand, a delicate hand.
Her touch would be soft, soothing. A shot
of yearning tore through him, surprising him, unnerving him. He’d felt a taste
of it when they had stood nose-to-nose earlier. Her scent had drawn him.
Her fire as well.
He’d wanted to reach out and touch her cheek.
He’d wanted to…

Drawing in a sharp breath, he went to the door. “I’m
going into town. There are some supplies I want to pick up. Probably will stop
in at the Dusty Trails, too, and see Keno for a spell.” He’d draw out his time
in town as long as possible.

“Hold on. I’ll ride in with you.” Taos followed him
out the door. “I want to check on an empty building on Front Street I spotted
the other day. It might make a good office for my law practice.”

They walked quietly across the ranch yard and then
Taos stopped next to the corral. Morgan stopped as well, curious about the
expression on Taos’ face.

A second later as Whiskey glanced in their direction,
Taos said, “We’re going into Dodge. You need anything from the general store?”

She shook her head and patted the camel’s side.

“I’m going to check on a place for my law office.” He
turned toward the barn and the corral with their horses behind it. “I think
I’ll stop in to see Reverend Chester. Maybe set a date for the wedding with
him.”

Morgan’s steps faltered at that. Before he could say
anything, though, she yelled out, “I told you I
wasn’t
getting married.”

He didn’t know where he got the crazy notion, but he
suddenly blurted out loud enough for her to hear, “I suppose we should find a
dressmaker, too. Arrange to have a right nice dress made for the wedding.”

She marched over to the fence and yelled, “
I don’t want a nice dress
. I don’t want
any
kind of dress, especially not for a
wedding that is
not
going to happen.”
She sounded so furious that he found himself smiling for the first time
in…well, in a hell of a long time.

She stomped her foot in outrage.

He tipped up his hat brim and let her see him raise an
eyebrow. “Temper, temper.”

Her pretty face flamed and he knew she remembered the
feel of his hard hand on her bottom. Good. “You’re not wearing britches for our
wedding. I’ll tell the dressmaker that you’ll be in to see her soon.”

“Are you deaf, Marshal? I’ve said repeatedly that I
will
not
marry you.”

Tired of the little verbal battle, he turned away and caught
up with Taos. They hadn’t gone a half dozen feet before she called out, “I
assume a couple of the men are going to bring my balloon back from town today,
like you promised.”

He shifted to glower back at her, about to speak when
Taos beat him to it.

“There’s no sense pulling any of the men away from
their chores. We’re taking in the wagon anyway to get some supplies.” Taos
looked at him. “We’ll bring it back.”

The smile she flashed hit Morgan right in his gut. Any
protest he would’ve made was swallowed up by the sharp wave of lust that nearly
took him to his knees.

Well, shit.

* * *

By noon the day was sweltering hot and Whiskey wished
she could strip down to nothing, wished she could go skinny-dipping in the
nearby river like she’d done a few times as a child. Instead she had to be
satisfied with leaning against a Cottonwood along the riverbank trying to
absorb the coolness of the shade. She tugged up the long skirt and petticoat
enough that the meager breeze teased her legs. Still, even as hot it was, she
was happy to be home. She missed Aunt Mae, but she’d also missed the ranch a
great deal.

Her gaze took in the miles of land that the Wakefield
Ranch encompassed. Good land. Acres and acres of rolling grass land, a fair
chunk of river running along the west side, strong, solid buildings built with
only a small portion of their father’s wealth. Yes, this was a ranch to be
proud of.

Then she thought of Morgan, God’s most pigheaded man
ever.

She pursed her lips in disgust. She only owned a
fourth of the property. He owned half. And Brandy still owned a fourth, but her
brothers—and Morgan—were certain she would send a wire any day now
saying she’d sell her shares to Morgan as well.
The idea of
her twin sister going against her hurt.
Twins should stick together.
Twins should know how each other felt. But that had never been fully true with
them. In so many ways they were complete opposites. She just didn’t know what
Brandy would decide in this instance, and, in truth, her brothers couldn’t know
either. None of them had seen their sister in over two years.

The sound of wheels rolling along the gravel road
leading from town carried over the grassy area and lured her back to the
present. When she spotted the wild hat with enormous flowers on the wide brim,
she hurried toward the road. She waved her arms and smiled to get her friend’s
attention. “Camelia! Camelia, stop!”

Her closest friend in the whole world jerked on the
reins so hard she nearly caused the carriage to tip over. She didn’t seem at
all concerned about the near disaster—used to going from one disaster to
another—and jumped to the ground, barely missing falling flat on her
face. Righting herself, the petite woman ran with outspread arms toward her.
“Oh, Whiskey, I’ve missed you something awful!”

Within seconds both of them were crying in happiness
as they embraced. Camelia hugged her so tight she had trouble breathing, but
she didn’t care. “I’ve missed you too,” she managed to squeak out.

Camelia stepped back and looked hurt. “Why didn’t you
come see me yesterday? I had to hear from my father that you’d come back to
town.”

Whiskey worried her lower lip for a second, blushed
and said, “Everything was a little out of my control.”

Camelia snorted. “A little? I heard you flew to town
in a balloon.” She sounded both stunned and amused. “At first when my father
told me, I didn’t believe him. Then I thought about it and knew that if anyone
would ever do such a wild thing, it would be you.”

“Well…”

“You haven’t changed at all, have you? Thank heavens,”
Camelia prepared to hug her again.

Whiskey resisted being crushed once more. “My brothers
had hoped differently.
They’d hoped that my spending time
with Aunt Mae would, I don’t know
,
somehow make me
less daring
. More proper, like Brandy…or like you.”

Camelia blinked. “Like me? Why in the world would they
want you to be like
me
?
I’m mousy, too shy most of the time
,
everyone
says so
. I can barely get a man to even notice me, especially not…” She
clamped her mouth shut and looked down at her feet.

Feeling annoyed with her oldest brother all over
again, Whiskey moved to take Camelia in her arms for a commissary hug. “Believe
me, Camelia Sanderson, you can do far better than the likes of Taos Wakefield.”

“But he’s so…well, so handsome. So smart, too.”
Camelia gave one quiet sniffle and then pulled away. “Never mind about my sorry
life. It is what it is.”

She looked steadily at Whiskey and smiled. “Gossip has
it that you’ll be getting married soon. To your brother’s partner, Marshal
Morgan Rydell.” She smiled wistfully. “I’ve seen him around town. There isn’t a
woman in the area
who
doesn’t feel a flutter in her
breast at just the sight of him. Of course they’re all scared right down to
their wobbly knees of him, too.”

Now she worried her lower lip. “The man doesn’t smile
and his eyes… His eyes—if you look closely, like I did once—tell
you so much about him. He’s sad and hurting all the way to his soul. He’s
cautious of everyone except maybe your brothers. And he’s deadly. No sane
person would dare to take him on.”

Sad,
hurting?
The big, bad marshal?
Camelia often saw things in people that no
one else did. All Whiskey had seen was a man bent on destroying her life,
stealing her ranch, planning to take her for wife in spite of her wishes. Well,
she’d also seen a man who just might be too much man for her to deal with. A
thought which
sent hot little tingles through her once more

She forced the disturbing feelings aside. “Are you
saying
I’m
not sane?”

“What?”

She guided Camelia back to the carriage, although she
wasn’t looking forward to the ride. She’d walked to the
river
bank
having known riding horseback would provide her nothing but misery.
“Let’s go get some tea and out of the hot sun.”

They climbed up into the high carriage and she eased
gingerly onto the seat. As soon as Camelia was settled she urged the horse into
movement and she looked curiously at her. “Explain yourself.”

Her poor bottom was still very tender and she winced
as the carriage rolled over a bump. She hoped Camelia didn’t notice.

Of course Camelia did, she noticed everything. “I
heard your brothers were sort of upset with you yesterday. They didn’t…” She
looked worried and embarrassed at the same time.

Frustrated with the uncomfortable ride and the
situation all over again, Whiskey said, “Yes, they did. Both of them.” She
huffed. “So did that annoying Marshal Rydell.”

Camelia pulled up on the
reins which
drew another wince from her. “He didn’t?”

“He most certainly did. The rotten scoundrel spanked
me right there on top of Kelly’s Opera House. People on the street below
probably heard it, but, thank the Lord, didn’t see it.”

She reached to rub her tender bottom. “I will
never
forgive him. And I will
never
marry him.
Never,
never, never.
Which is exactly what I told him.”

* * *

Morgan’s mood had grown sourer as the day wore on.
From the second he and Taos had walked into the Dusty Trails Saloon for some
whiskey and a talk with Keno, he’d been harassed. Bat Masterson and his good
buddy Wyatt Earp had ambled in and snickered all the while congratulating him
on his upcoming marriage to the town’s most notorious troublemaker: Angelina
Wakefield, better known as “Whiskey.” They’d tormented him with replaying the
events of her arrival in town yesterday. And then a dozen other men in the
saloon had started in on talking about the amazing event, about that crazy
balloon. He’d come close to pulling out his Colt and shooting them all.

Now, working in the late afternoon hot sun to get the
balloon loaded in the ranch wagon with lots of curious eyes watching, lots of
chuckling going on around them, he again considered pulling out his gun. He
didn’t like being laughed at. He sure as hell didn’t find this particular chore
amusing. He grumbled under his breath and tugged hard on his side of the rope.

As he tied a knot, he looked around the jumbled mess
and found Taos scowling and mumbling, too. At least he wasn’t alone in his
frustrations.

When Taos stepped away from the wagon, he met Morgan’s
eyes. “Are you up to stopping by to see the reverend before we head back to the
ranch?”

His stomach roiled. The day just kept getting worse
and worse. Resigned, he nodded. “Best to get all the unpleasant chores done at
once, I guess.” He wasn’t sure which was worse: loading up the balloon or
making plans to get hitched. No, he knew for sure it was anything to do with
getting married.

Keno walked around the end of the wagon parked outside
his saloon. “After all the ribbing you took today, I figured you would be
demanding to sell the ranch back to us and then fleeing the area.”

“The thought crossed my mind.” He wiped the sweat from
his brow and shot a stay-the-hell-away look at a pair of young cowboys
sauntering closer to look at the balloon. As they hurried on down the
boardwalk, he said, “Yep, it definitely crossed my mind. But I want the ranch,
all of it, even if I have to take that crazy sister of yours for a wife.”