The Union (13 page)

"Not before this afternoon, but soon." Patterson laughed again. "No later than a month from now. Looks like you may be right—married bliss won't have to last you too long."

"What have you heard?"

"Nothing definite."

Dietz nodded. Patterson slapped him on the back. "Treat Miss Byrne well. A month may have to last her a lifetime."

Dietz grunted. "Yeah. Don't worry. McCullough will leave this world like a hero, at least as far as Keely is concerned. Which is more than I can say for the real McCullough." Dietz looked toward the boardinghouse. "I've got to be going. I'd invite you to the wedding, but you and I aren't supposed to be friends."

Dietz found Keely in the kitchen cleaning up the last of the breakfast dishes, humming a sweet little tune. It surprised him how well he like the sound of her voice. She looked lovely all flushed from the exertion. His mind drifted to another kind of flush he expected to see tonight. She turned and saw him before he could finish his thoughts.

"McCullough." She sounded startled. "I didn't expect you back so soon. I thought you were meeting with union officials, making plans to end this strike."

It wasn't hard to look sheepish. "Lass. I've been making plans all right, plans of another nature. I hope they don't displease you." He tried to sound light and a bit hopeful.

A look of confused consternation flitted across her face. "What have you been up to?"

"Nothing evil, I assure you." Liar. "Don't sound so suspicious." He gave her a lopsided grin. "It's a fine day. You got any plans for this afternoon?"

"What do you have in mind?"

Dietz stared her down directly, trying to look devilish. He smiled and shrugged. "Nothing much. Maybe a wedding. I found a preacher who isn't busy."

Keely's mouth popped open and then she screamed. An instant later she threw herself into his arms and hugged him ferociously. So much for having to convince her. "I'll take that to mean you're available. How's four?"

"I love you, McCullough." She sounded rapturous.

"We'll see if it lasts when I tell you that I've still got a big meeting to attend this evening." He laughed and for some unexplainable reason felt some happiness along with it. "You won't be mad, will you?"

"As long as you come directly home and we get a real wedding night, I won't care."

A real wedding night—yipes! Damn guilt again. "Keely, you're one in a million."

Oh, what the hell. She looked up at him ripe for a kiss and he took it.

Dietz signed McCullough's name with a flourish to a marriage license, thereby ending McCullough's bachelorhood well after his death. Dietz copied the fancy, dandified moniker from memory, and as for the rest of McCullough's handwriting, as best as Dietz could remember—chicken scratch.

As he watched Keely sign the license with her rounded, feminine script, a sense of relief washed over him. Keely would be safe now, as safe as he could make her. Maybe he should have had regrets, doubts. Yet the only real guilt that assailed him involved lying before a preacher and God. An air of condemnation surrounded the act, despite his noble motives. But who knew? Maybe God did understand his actions. Maybe they weren't so damnable. God knew he'd done worse, with less motivation.

Alone in her room, their room, Keely sat on the bed wearing only her chemise, hugging her knees, waiting for McCullough to come home from the union meeting and consummate their marriage. A kind of abject joy filled her. How could happiness be so miserable? She hugged her knees tighter against herself. Details of the wedding and the afternoon rode through her mind.

Despite his stoic manner, and confusing air of reluctance given his earlier insistence that they marry today, McCullough married her for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sickness, and in health with a garnet and gold wedding ring more beautiful than any she could have conjured up in her imagination. It weighted her ring finger, but by no means restrained her. It freed her to love McCullough openly.

Men seemed to think women felt no physical passions. Come to think of it, she'd felt that way herself until McCullough had showed up. But McCullough set her pulse thudding and her heart hammering. Since his arrival, she had wondered at her own virtue. How much longer could she have hung onto it with him around? Now she didn't have to.

Though a virgin, thoughts of the marital bed didn't cause her any alarm, just a fluttery, nervous anticipation. She had only sketchy instructions, awkwardly given to her by Michael after he’d learned McCullough had proposed. But she came from generations of women with passion. They said that's what had killed her mother. That she had insisted on making love with Keely's father even though he was coming down with the fever. Mam might have escaped the fever except for that last, passionate act. Keely didn't know about that. The fever struck with apparent randomness and cruelty. What one did or didn't do, didn't seem to make much difference. Anyway, as for herself, Keely had no doubt that when McCullough caught her between him and the sheets, nature would have its way and she hers.

It wasn't that particular passion that worried her—it was the way she loved McCullough. If he walked through the door right now with a whore on each arm, she'd forgive him. She forgave him, even admired his sense of duty at attending the union meeting that kept him from her now, on their wedding night. He'd probably stay out late, go drinking with the boys after the meeting, the way Michael always had and McCullough had taken to doing. She forgave him that and waited, albeit impatiently, for his return. He let them burn Jack Catridge's cabin, and though she'd been angrier than she'd almost ever been, she couldn't go through with turning him out. She couldn't imagine anything that she couldn't forgive him for, loving him in the strange, wild way she did. That gave him a kind of frightening power over her.

But today her love brought joy, while the knowledge that she loved him more than he loved her, misery. Self-pity did not prompt the thought. Somehow she knew. His reserve, his calm, his holding back. Even his sudden capitulation and impromptu wedding planning seemed motivated by other reasons, though she couldn't imagine what. No, she loved him more than he did her.
 

He fought his feelings; any astute observer could see it. Yet he did love her; he had to. What else explained his jealousy over Lunn? Or the looks he gave her when he assumed she wasn't looking? Or the years of letters and their tender sentiments? But what explained his restraint? She wished she knew, or maybe she didn't. Did it matter, as long as she had him?

Chapter 8

Dietz crossed the street and stumbled toward the boardinghouse, whiskey from Dutch's Saloon hot on his breath. A man probably shouldn't go out drinking on his wedding night, but he wasn't certain he could face the night cold sober, and the opportunity to be one of the boys had been too good to pass up. Seemed like every man in camp wanted to buy him a drink and toast the bride. Everyone except Gaffney who made a point of following Dietz from bar to bar, fingering his gun, giving Dietz death looks. Sure enough, Gaffney would be trouble. But as long as he didn't hurt Keely, Dietz could handle him.

As the alcohol flowed, so did tongues. Dietz had picked up many useful tidbits. Nothing like a celebration to make quick friends of near strangers.

Dietz slowed as he came to the boardinghouse steps—a contrast to his usual behavior when a woman waited for him. He knew where his hesitation sprang from. Keely wasn't a whore, and as fickle as it sounded, that bothered him. Not that he doubted his ability to please her with his lovemaking. He was ladies' man enough for that. But he'd never had a virgin. What would she be expecting? How much pain would she feel? He swallowed.

And not being a whore, Keely wouldn't know anything about contraception. He carried a supply of those fancy French condoms with him, but how could he explain using one on his wedding night?

He wiped his damp palms against his pants. He'd never been with a woman who didn't practice some form of birth prevention herself, or not expect him to. Marrying Keely was one thing, but leaving a little Dietz behind, to be passed off as a McCullough, left him cold. A fatherless bastard. How could he do that to a child, to Keely? Hadn't the source of his problems started when his father died? Hadn't that been when he'd become a liar?

He'd have to withdraw early and hope she didn't question it, didn't know better. Being an operative was hell.

He sauntered up the steps, through the dark kitchen, and back to her room, pausing to listen at the door. All quiet. He doubted she slept. What nervous bride would? The thought of her sitting quietly, waiting for his return while he went carousing, laid him with a heavier burden of guilt.
Buck up, man,
he chided himself. Time to start play-acting. Time to become McCullough and forget Dietz's existence. At least for a few hours.

He swung the bedroom door open without knocking. The sight that met him took his breath away, stunned him.

Keely stood in front of the half-open window wearing a light cotton, formless white chemise tied closed at the neck. Alluringly backlit by moonlight, she might as well have worn nothing. He shut the door, reminding himself to get hold of his nerves. When he turned back to her, she pulled the chemise over her head, revealing lush curves, and full breasts that bounced as she dropped the chemise to the floor.

How did she do that? Look innocent, unjaded, and horribly seductive at the same time. An erection tugged at his pants. He was losing himself to this woman.
 

"Michael always told me men were visual creatures. Give your husband an eyeful." Keely laughed softly, nervously. "That's the advice he gave me for my wedding night. That's all I know about this business, McCullough."

"That's all you need to know." Did she hear the hoarse desire in his voice and recognize it for what it was? Be smooth, man, Deitz reminded himself, irked by reacting to her like a boy who'd just gotten his first squeeze of breast.

A soft breeze fluttered the open curtains, drawing his attention, making him feel uncomfortably vulnerable. He denied the obvious—that again she'd rendered him assailable, that he could lose his heart to her.

"For heaven's sake, Keely. Close the window."

She laughed again. "Didn't think you were shy, McCullough. There's nothing but woods rising up the hill behind the building. No one can see us."

"No?" He stepped past her and pulled the thing shut, latching it, suddenly craving privacy. Suddenly wanting them to be the only two people in the world. Crazy. "Maybe not, but half the town will be straining to hear our love sounds. I'm in no mood for entertaining anyone but you, lass." He pulled the curtains together.

McCullough traced Keely's shoulders from behind as he turned from the window. Despite the warmth of his touch, goosebumps rose on her arms. Was it possible to be hot and cold at the same moment? Nervous and eager? Oh, she loved this man, wanted him. Too much, too much.

He kissed the hollow of her neck like no man ever had. The wonder of it. The feelings his touch aroused. She was so innocent. She'd never let any man near enough to kiss her at all. Lunn tried once, but she rebuked him easily enough. In this town any willing acceptance of affection caused a line of suitors to form a mile long outside your door. But she had her man, McCullough. Long distance, where she wanted him. Until he came and snatched away her soul with his violet eyes.
 

His breath warmed more than body, it warmed her soul with its sweet whiskey scent. He reached around from behind and gathered her breasts in his hands. She melted into him. Her nipples tightened and swelled into peaks like they did when very cold. But they weren't cold, far from it. She gasped. She felt him staring at them over her shoulder as he pressed into her, his bulge, restrained by his pants, splitting her buttocks.

"Keely, ah, Keely."

Her name on his lips sounded like a sonnet, melodic, deep. She pulled away and turned to face him and unbuttoned his shirt. His clothes fell away, shed like unnecessary layers of onionskin. Naked, facing each other, he took her into his arms and began to dance. Slowly, face buried in her neck, deep with breathing, manhood pressed between her legs, they moved together.
 

On tiptoe she danced, as the passion of generations of Irish ancestors built within her. McCullough spun with her gently and pressed her against him in a fine dance whose steps she didn't know. It didn't matter. He led. He could lead her anywhere. Once around the room. Twice, until her breath came in small gasps. Until a frustrated pleasure built between her legs. He danced them to the bed, scooped her up under the knees and laid her gently down.

"Open up to me, Keely."

"Oh, I have, McCullough." If only he knew. But she supposed at this moment he didn't mean her heart. She flattened her legs open against the bed, revealing herself to him. He positioned himself above her.

His eyes, violet in the night, pierced her with their desire. At that moment, his look made her feel irresistible, the most beautiful woman alive, the only one. He bent to kiss her, found her mouth, and washed away every thought she had, except of him. At the same time, his fingers played between her legs. She gasped again as pleasure built.

With one long, sweet drive, he was in her. As if he hadn't been from the moment she first saw him. He rocked her in another kind of dance. One mixed with pain, and pleasure. One unfamiliar and timelessly natural. One she should have known. But somehow, she got the rhythm wrong. Their bodies arched out of step, in mock battle. One she didn't want to fight.