Lassoing A Mail-Order Bride Page 9

  Goodness and gracious God, his bride was lying next to him. His arms ached to hold Elspeth closer, but blankets got in the way. She was lying atop them. No matter. Her heat singed him through the covers. Her perfume climbed up his nose, far sweeter than the chicken soup on the air. Saw a bowl of it congealing on the bedside table. No matter. She still wore her wedding gown, and for a powerful second, he imagined how she’d look without it. Without anything at all.

  His groan sounded like pain, but it was frustrated pleasure, was all.

  “What is it, darling?” She raised up on her side to peer at him, like an angel peeking down from the clouds.

  His heart burst, hearing the darling, until he recalled saying it in a meaningless way to Sissy herself.

  “Are you in pain?”

  A grunt.

  “Hungry?”

  “Yep.” He might as well tell her the truth. He was starving for her, in pain with his longing for her. Doubted she could fix things, but she was his wife. She might as well know. And truth is, she had to suspect a husband’s needs.

  “Well, you only managed a few spoons of soup before you fell asleep for the night.”

  Good heavens, either the whiskey or the morphine had been more powerful than he thought. Didn’t remember tasting any such thing. “You stayed. By my side.”

  “You’re my husband.” Dawn brushed pink across her cheeks. “Where else would I be?”

  “Wasn’t much of a wedding night.” Heat tickled his cheeks now, but he kept on. “I meant…I’m hungry for you. And I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t read indifference in your eyes, yet—”

  “Oh goodness, Hezekiah.” Her cheeks burned brighter yet. “You please me more than I ever imagined. I—am not so prudish I won’t admit that I…long for you, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if…”

  “If what?” He had to ask, she’d stopped so long he’d held his breath. And he needed air.

  “If I love you already.”

  “What?” His heart stopped.

  “Actually, I’m certain of it,” she whispered.

  She loved him? How could… Then, he recalled it had happened to him. The magic, the mystery, the music for both of them at the same time.

  “What’s not to love?” Shy, her chin dropped and hid the pearls around her neck. “You’re brave and kind and hardworking and a loving grandson. In spite of…”

  “In spite of Ooma, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Truth is, she’s powerfully admiring of you. Told me so after you hightailed it to the kitchen.” He touched her cheek. “You might have told me you…never killed a chicken. It’s not an easy task ’less you’ve grown up with it.” It didn’t matter though, not since she’d told him she loved him. That was the important thing.

  “You’d think I’d already know, Papa having a meat enterprise, but Hezekiah, you need to know I’ve never really prepared any kind of food. Not edible at least. Or done much of anything, really.”

  He swallowed a chuckle at her pretty tribulation. “Well, Tremmie can help you out. As for that matter, I won’t be a bit surprised if Ooma heals up real fast. And lends you a hand.”

  “Oh, dear, I don’t want her to overdo or leave her sickbed too soon.” Elspeth tied her fingers up with his.

  He guffawed, but liked her heat. “It’d be better for us all, her admitting her fakery. She’s been mixing up just which leg has got the rheumatism.”

  Suddenly, Elspeth moved from him. “Hezekiah, truth is, I’ve something to admit, too. I’m keeping something from you. I’ve got some secrets I think you should know. If we’re to be husband and wife.”

  “We already are, and I want us this way forever.”

  “But it’s not really permanent until we…consummate.” Her face glowed like fire. “In the meantime, you could annul—”

  “Why would I want to?” Shock thumped in his veins. “You just said you already love me. Why, I fell for you at first sight. Once Granny Hunsaker left my view.” He wanted to tell her his fears upon seeing the old lady on the platform at the station, to make her laugh, but she was so danged serious.

  She unknit their fingers, then grabbed both of his hands again. Everything sparked like lightning. “I want to say we are meant to be,” she said. “That our being together is fate, or God’s will, or serendipity or what have you. I believe it could have been true. But you’ve been so honest with me. And Ooma’s fakery has so frustrated you. I need—I mean—you deserve the truth, as well.” Her gaze snared his.

  “It’s fine, Ellie. You bearing another man’s seed.” And it was, wasn’t it? Didn’t he need an heir, no matter? He looked away, anyway.

  “What?” She pushed his face straight into hers. “What are you saying?”

  “Well, that’s what this is about, isn’t it? I won’t be judging you. Ooma warned me it might happen.” Oh, her lips were so close. “You wedding me so quick, and all.”

  It might gall, Ooma being right, and Hez’s heart might fall a tad, but it was Granddaddy who’d taught Hezekiah not to judge. Women had a tough enough time in a man’s world. Besides all that, Elspeth was still his legal wife. She was beautiful and she loved him—and tarnation, he wanted her! And she wasn’t one of the town gossips, or greedy. It had hit him, though. A woman of privilege needing a hurry-up husband like him was likely in some sort of a bind. Whatever it was.

  He glued his gaze to hers. “Whatever it is, I’ll stand by you, Ellie. Forever…however…whenever you need.”

  “Ouch.” Suddenly she cringed, hands at her belly. Like something had punched her deep down. Like any loving husband, he grabbed her close.

  “Ellie, what is it? Are you ill? Forgive my misspeaking—”

  Concern walloped him until she pulled back and started to laugh. He chuckled too until she started to cry.

  “No, darling. I’m not ill. And I am not with child. I can say it true. But I can’t deny…I—” Her lovely eyes studied the window and beyond. “I could have been, Hezekiah. I’m ashamed to say it, but I—I gave myself to my betrothed prior to speaking our vows.”

  Her hot tears chilled against his cheek as he held her close. “But you’d made promises, darlin’. It’s fine, I’m sure.” Not like she was a lady of the night, a painted dove flying in the moonlight. Hez was no judge. Granddaddy had taught him better. Ran his finger down her hair gentle, with love. “It’s all right, my love. So, you had a life before me.”

  Elspeth breathed hard against his chest. “Yes, but I ran away from our wedding after his—fornication with someone else. The day of our wedding. The gossiping hens from hell are having a frenzy about me in Omaha. And I became your bride out of desperation. Out of my shame and fears. Not love. Oh Hezekiah, my Hezekiah, can you ever forgive me?”

  Her sobs wet his shirt. His fingers kneaded her hair so hard he felt her skull.

  “Does it matter how we came together, darlin’ Ellie? I didn’t want a bride to love. Just one to mother my heir. Yet, it seems love we now have. And I ache to have you, to be your man in all the ways a man can be.”

  At that, she sat up next to him, looked him straight on, but blinked fast. “So you won’t mind? Not being my first?”

  “Not one whit, darlin’. If you can excuse you being mine.”

  “Being your what?”

  “Um, my first.” It warmed rather than shamed him to say. She’d been worth waiting for.

  “Your what? Your what? How can it be?” She grabbed his hair and pulled hard. “My darling, my Hez, you’re a gallant, handsome cowboy with town girls like Sissy champing at their bits to be yours.” Once again, her eyelashes widened like blooming flower petals.

  “Guess I saved myself from ’em. Saved myself for you, it seems.” He held his breath and reached down her bodice. Her gasp tweaked his toes and then some when she raised fingers to keep his hand there.

  “Well, I am no expert at all, but it seems—” His palm cupped her chin and her face turned all the colors of sunset. “It seems you m
ight have some, um, know-how in this matter. I bet we can…improvise.” Hez reckoned his face turned purple in return. “Protect my knees.”

  “But doctor’s orders? We can wait. Honest, my darling. There’s no rush at all now. I promise.” She leaned into him.

  “Nope, my darlin’. I waited my whole life for you, but I can’t wait any longer. Besides which—” His lips met hers and drank like he was dying of a thirst he couldn’t explain. “We got a good hour before Ooma’s up, needing her coffee.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR—TANYA HANSON

  Tanya Hanson loves those cowboys and writes Western romance, both historical and contemporary, both sensual and inspirational. Claiming His Heart, her first full-length inspirational romance is a recent Prairie Rose Publications release.

  She lives on California’s Central Coast with her firefighter husband and considers their son and daughter the best thing she’s ever done. Volunteering at the local horse rescue is a treasured activity. Best of all are two little grandsons whom she considers the halves of her heart. www.tanyahanson.com

  anyanovikov.blogspot.com

  A PERMANENT WOMAN

  Kaye Spencer

  He needs a wife to get custody of his grandchildren. She needs a fresh start and a new reputation. Desperate men--and women--sometimes take desperate measures...but can she be A PERMANENT WOMAN?

  May 9, 1889

  Platte River City, Northeastern Colorado

  Simon Driscoll splashed a generous dollop of whiskey into his coffee, swirled the dark liquid, and took a hefty swallow, grimacing as it went down. “What the hell am I going to do, Ben? I’m all out of ideas and time’s running out.”

  Ben moved the bottle out of Simon’s easy reach. “This is not the solution to any problem.”

  “Yeah, well, it sounds pretty damn good right now.” Simon blew out a heavy breath. “There’s not a widow woman or old maid in three counties crazy enough—or desperate enough—to hook up with an old cowboy like me.” He gulped another mouthful of laced coffee. “I asked every one of them. Must have been upwards of two dozen. Took me nigh onto a month. Even if there was time to do some courting the right way, I’m no good at it. Most were polite enough, but they all laughed at me. I even asked Elsie Rutledge. She slapped me! Called me depraved. I didn’t expect that from a divorced woman. Now the whole community’s poking fun at me. I’m too embarrassed to even show up at church now.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard a few stories, but they’ll forget soon enough.” Ben shook his head, laughing softly. “Although well-meaning and certainly amusing, your initial wife-gaining approach did lack in planning and execution. It’s unfortunate I was in Chicago purchasing a new printing press. I could have assisted with your matrimonial efforts for a more positive outcome—or at least a less disconcerting one to your pride.”

  Simon went to the opened window where the view of his pastureland sloped the mile toward the river bottom and ran on west for five miles with a railroad right-of-way along the river. It had been a snowy winter followed by a wet, grass-growing spring, and he hadn’t lost a single calf this year. With just a little more luck and continued cooperative weather to keep the grass green, he’d make a decent profit on the calves when he sold them. But not enough yet to buy more land and water rights. Maybe in a few more years. Sure want to leave something solid for the grandkids when I’m gone. Something they can build their futures on. He turned and leaned against the windowsill, half sitting on the ledge, staring at the floor deep in thought.

  Ben talked while replenishing his coffee cup from the pot on the stove. “I don’t consider myself old at fifty, with two grown sons, a daughter-in-law, my first grandchild on the way, and a daughter still two years away from high school graduation. You’re younger, so stop complaining.” He studied Simon. “There is another possibility. You could make a foray into the world of the demimonde. Maybe you’ve asked the wrong sort of woman—”

  Simon bristled. “No. No shady ladies. I’ve got a responsibility to my grandkids to get them a real grandma, a permanent woman. A respectable woman. They’ve lost their parents. They don’t need any more heartache. Ben, you know I haven’t talked to Latham since Mamie died four years ago. Given her illness—the cancer—and then how she died…” The old tightness welled in his chest, and he downed the rest of the coffee to force it back. “Latham and I said some things we were too pigheaded to take back. I’ve been carrying a lot of regret for that, and now I’ve lost him, too. I’ve got a chance to make it right.”

  “We’ve talked of this into the wee hours of the night. Mamie took it out of your hands when she pulled the trigger. She didn’t want to put you or herself through the agony of another surgery. She found her relief. Let it rest—let her rest.”

  Simon nodded, looking into his empty cup. “I know, but it still ties me up inside when I think about her suffering.”

  “Yes. She was a good woman taken from life much too soon.” Ben patted Simon on the shoulder as he returned to his chair. “Now, where is this letter that prompted your hapless wife-hunting excursion?”

  Simon put his cup on the table, took an envelope from under the flour canister, and offered it to Ben, who declined with a head shake.

  “I’d prefer you read it aloud. I want to hear in your voice what it means to you.”

  Simon shrugged. “All right.” Holding the letter at arm’s length, he squinted to bring the words into focus.

  Shaking his head with exasperation, Ben removed a narrow, hinged leather case from his inside jacket pocket. “Have you ever considered carrying a pair in your pocket?”

  Simon grunted thanks. “Mine are around here somewhere.” He slipped on the bifocals and adjusted the fit on the end of his nose. “I’ve read this letter so many times, you’d think I’d know every word by heart now.” Clearing his throat, he began reading.

  “‘Yankton, Dakota Territory — April 5th in the year of our Lord 1889

  Mr. Simon Driscoll,

  It is with condolences that I write of the recent deaths of your son and daughter-in-law, Latham and Janie. Their selfless missionary endeavors saw them in the homes of the poor and needy, and it was in this service to the less fortunate that cholera found them. Their dying wishes were for the children to grow up together with family, and they believed you to be the only remaining blood relative. Your son assumed you had remarried after his mother’s death, and this brought him peace that his children would have the guidance and nurturance of two parents. As the children’s duly appointed guardian, I do not take their welfare lightly. You and your wife must come to the orphanage together to take custody of the children, and you must provide satisfactory evidence of your identities and lawful marriage before I will release the children into your care. In that regard, you have until the fifteenth of July of this year to assume custody, which allows a goodly amount of time for your travel, as well as account for delays in mail delivery, even though this letter sends by special delivery. This expediency is vital for the children to regain a measure of stability within a loving home as soon as possible. Kindly acknowledge this correspondence and your intentions toward your grandchildren. In the best interests of the children, after the fifteenth of July, I will pursue appropriate adoptive placement.

  Yours in Service to the Lord,

  Sister Miriam of the Sisters of the Humble Shepherd Convent

  Protectors of the Homeless, Orphans, Fallen Women, and Wayward Souls’.”

  Simon peered over the top of the bifocals at Ben, who was drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “We’ve been friends since Gettysburg, and I can tell you’re hatching a plan.”

  “Perhaps. Once you sift through the extraneous details, your ultimate objective is to gain custody of your grandchildren, not acquire a wife—a distinct difference.”

  Simon considered his argument. “The two are inseparable. I don’t see how I can get the grandkids without taking on a wife.”

  “Let’s return to your shady ladies and permanency comments. Ladies o
f the evening are not necessarily un-permanent. But putting that aside, for a price, a satisfactory business arrangement for this specific purpose could be readily accomplished. Nothing in the letter stipulates the continued presence of a female in the household.”

  Simon sat across from Ben and put the letter between them. “All right, I’ll give you that, but I’m not marrying a—”

  Ben held up a hand. “Hear me out. Your words permanent woman imply once you find a woman, you intend to keep her, if I may be so crass.”

  Simon crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Caring for young’uns is all day, all night work, and I can’t afford to hire somebody to help me. Anyway, I’ve been good for my word all my life. I can’t see changing now.”

  “You’re assuming any woman who agrees to enter into this union intends to make this a permanent arrangement also. After all, you’ll have only her word that she doesn’t have hidden motivations, or that she isn’t a shady lady, which I still maintain could ultimately serve you better than taking on an inexperienced virginal, blushing bride.” Ben flicked a speck of lint from the cuff of his black broadcloth suit jacket. “Which, by your own admission, is all that’s left to ask, since you’ve exhausted the pool of older marriageable women in your recent quest.”

  “Whoa.” Simon pushed back from the table, his eyes wide. “I’m not a cradle robber. Folks already have enough to talk about. Damn, this has gotten complicated in a hurry.”

  “It has indeed, but there may be a way to simplify your dilemma.”

  “Just where are you headed with all this?”

  “I’m familiar with a Kansas City newspaper—a weekly magazine, if you will. The Matrimony Courier.” Ben cut a glance toward Simon, a sly smile working at the corners of his mouth. “Advertise for a wife.”

  Simon rolled the idea around, rubbing his chin and nodding. “I’ve heard of that. Mail-order bride from a catalog.”