A Texan's Luck (2 page)

Lacy stood and walked to the window. She didn't come to his shoulder, but he sensed her nearness even before he turned around.

"Your father died three months ago." Lacy touched his arm, offering comfort he did not know how to accept.

"He'd been ill for almost a year, but he wouldn't let me write you and tell you." She took a deep breath. "I did the best I could, moving him in with me above the print shop as he grew weaker, partly to save money, but mostly so I could check on him more often. Though he was in pain, he seemed happier there than alone at the boardinghouse."

Walker clenched his teeth and stared out the window, seeing nothing but memories.

Lacy continued, "I buried him next to your mother. I think everyone for twenty miles around came to the funeral. I'm sorry to have to tell you like this. I wrote you three letters giving all the details and even the newspaper clipping, but when I didn't hear back, I knew they hadn't caught up with you."

"There's no easy way. Straight out is fine. I knew he was failing, more crippled up every year." He faced her and was surprised to see unshed tears floating in her beautiful eyes. He covered her hand with his own, wishing he could grieve for his father as she obviously did. "Thank you for coming to tell me, but you really must go." They'd already wasted precious minutes.

"I didn't come just to tell you he died," she whispered, her bravery building with each word. "I came because I want to be your real wife."

Walker felt her fingers tremble beneath his. "Go back to Cedar Point. Sell the print shop, keep the money. I want no part of it." He didn't have time to explain. She needed to be on the stage. Even if she shared his name, she was no more to him than a stranger, a civilian. "Move away and change your name, or tell everyone I died. Get on with your life, Lacy. I've never been a part of it; I never will."

She shook her head. "No," she answered as though they talked of something debatable. "I'm not leaving today until I'm your wife. Your real wife."

Peterson tapped on the door before opening it, something Walker never remembered the sergeant doing. "The stage driver says he'll give us fifteen more—" Peterson froze as he took in the scene. The sergeant's gaze focused at the point on Walker's sleeve where Lacy's hand rested.

Walker didn't introduce Lacy; after all, Peterson would never see her again. In truth, all he needed was a few more minutes with this woman to convince her to move on with her life and forget about this make-believe marriage she thought they had.

"Fifteen minutes will be fine." When Peterson didn't move, Walker added, "That is all, Sergeant."

Peterson saluted and backed out of the room.

Walker listened for the latch to snap before he gave Lacy his full attention. "What are you talking about? You are my legal wife. The only one I'll probably ever have. But, I'm setting you free from whatever bargain you made with my father."

Her hand slipped from his arm.

"I wish we had time to talk, Lacy," he added, surprised at how truly he meant the words. "I thank you for all you did for him, but you really must be on that stage. Your safety is my responsibility."

Lacy moved her head slowly back and forth.

"This is not a game or a clash of wills." Walker fought down anger. "You will be on that stage."

"Not until I'm your wife, full and proper." Her pride returned as she lifted her chin.

Walker's limited patience snapped. "What are you suggesting, Mrs. Larson, that I bed you here and now before the stage leaves?"

To his surprise, she nodded. "I'm not budging until I'm your wife. I'll not go back and wait to be a widow unless I've been a wife, even if only for fifteen minutes of my life."

It crossed his mind that he might be dealing with madness. No sane woman would want to stay in a town where trouble boiled. He frowned. No sane woman would want to bed a man she barely knew.

He decided frightening her might be his only weapon. "Well, if that is the way it has to be, Mrs. Larson, my quarters are beyond that door." He motioned with his head toward the door behind his desk. "If those are your terms, we won't be disturbed in there."

To his shock, she moved to the door.

He followed, determined to call her bluff.

She walked to the center of the small, sparsely furnished bedroom and turned up the lantern's wick, casting shadows into corners. She didn't turn around as he threw the latch, insuring their privacy.

"Go ahead and take off your clothes." He fought down a smile, knowing she'd turn and run any moment. He'd seen the fear in her eyes when she'd first entered his office. She wouldn't be able to play this game for long. "You can lay them over the chair. I'm sorry about the small bed. I'm not in the habit of entertaining company in my quarters."

Without turning around, she removed her traveling jacket and placed it over the chair. A moment later, her skirts and petticoats pooled around her ankles.

Walker swallowed, wondering how far she planned to carry this challenge. Or, how far did he?

She stepped from her shoes and turned to face him, unbuttoning her blouse as rapidly as her shaking hands could move.

He questioned how many times she'd played this game before. After all, she might look young and pure, but Walker remembered where she came from. Pure, proper ladies don't buy their way out of jail. He hadn't even bothered to ask his father what she'd been accused of or to what she'd confessed.

"Keep going," he ordered, determined to wait her out.

When her blouse parted, it took every ounce of his control not to move. Her thin camisole did little to hide the body beneath. He saw the rise and fall of her breath in the exposed flesh of her breasts. Her skin was cream from her riieek to where she tugged at the ribbons of her undergarment.

The lace and silk fell away, and she stood before him a hundred times more beautiful than any picture of a woman he'd seen over any bar. To his amazement, she stretched and pulled the combs from her hair and let the brown locks tumble. Then, as though she'd done so a hundred times, she crawled between the sheets of his bed.

Walker searched for something to say in a brain filled to the rim with the vision before him. "I thought you'd run by now."

She looked at him with frightened, determined eyes. "I'm not leaving until I'm your real wife. I promise I'll not bother you again, but I'll not step foot on that stage until this marriage, no matter how it started, is consummated."

A hundred reasons should have come to mind about why he could not do this, but not one seemed to matter. Into his world filled with war and death and pain, something perfect had fallen. Even if she were a mirage, he had to hold her this once.

Walker crossed the room, unbuttoning his uniform. He stood above her and ran his hand down the length of her body, marveling at the softness. He wanted to tell her how perfect she was, or how there had been no women in his life for years, but there was no time now. The stage would be leaving in a few minutes.

His jacket fell atop her coat as he leaned down, letting his chest press against her. The pure pleasure of her beneath him shot through him unlike anything he'd ever dreamed of experiencing. He thought of himself as a man of action whose emotions were buried years ago. Only this woman, who called herself his wife, brought them all back, an avalanche of sensation.

She didn't move. She only waited.

When he tried to kiss her, she turned her head away, and he realized what he'd been about to do was not a necessary part to this mating she wanted. Anger and relief blended, for he knew he'd never wanted to waste time kissing on the few brief encounters he'd had with women of the night. For some reason, she felt the same.

"Are you sure?" He had to know that this was what she wanted. "You'll leave as soon as I do this?"

She nodded.

He unbuttoned his trousers, reminding himself she was his wife. Though he'd never asked for the part, it was his duty to see her safe. He gripped her thigh and pulled her legs apart. Maybe this was his duty, too. She'd asked for no love. No forever. No pretense. Only this.

Walker pushed into her hard and swift, angry that he'd allowed her to call his bluff, that he hadn't been able to stop after he saw her waiting. He had no idea what game she played, but he'd do his part and be done with her.

With his second thrust, all thought vanished as her body took him in, wrapping around him. A passion strong and wild jolted through him. His senses shot in rapid fire. The fragrance of her washed over him, the feel of her, the soft sound her breathing made, the perfection of her nearness, the taste of her skin as he opened his mouth against her throat.

He wasn't prepared when his very soul shattered. He pushed into her and let out a long breath that he felt he'd held in for years. They became one, two strangers married now on paper and by action.

When he was able to form a thought, he rose a few inches off her and looked down at this woman who insisted she was his wife. Her warm brown eyes were tightly closed, her teeth biting into her fist, holding back any sound as tears streamed from the corners of her eyes into her hair.

It took a few moments to realize that the unexpected ocean of pleasure that had washed over him like a tidal wave had held only pain for her.

Peterson pounded on the door. "Two minutes!" he yelled. "The driver threatened to shoot me if I asked him to wait any longer."

"She'll be there!" Walker shouted back as he climbed from his bed and buttoned his trousers, realizing he hadn't bothered to remove even his boots.

"I've done what you asked," he said, irritated that she seemed to be suffering through some great tragedy when she'd been the one who insisted on the mating. He glanced at her body one last time as she pushed back tears. The buckle from his uniform belt had scratched across her abdomen. "Now, you have to go, Lacy Larson. We've no more time."

Walker grabbed his jacket and turned his back, hating himself more than he had since the night he'd left Cedar Point. He thought of saying something kind to her, but there were no words. What they'd done was as far from making love as heaven from hell. He wasn't fool enough to tell himself that it was all her doing. She might be his wife. She might have insisted. She might have had a body made for love. But he'd been the one who accepted her challenge when he should have turned away.

He waited, his back to her, telling himself he would allow her a margin of privacy while she dressed. Telling himself he wasn't afraid to face her.

Walker straightened his jacket and checked to make sure all was in place in the mirror over his washstand. The reflection was the same as always. A young, professional soldier on his way up in rank, but somehow, inside, something had changed. He didn't turn around until he heard her walk to the door. He wanted to speak but could think of nothing to say. She'd gotten what she wanted; he had taken her.

He heard the latch move and the door opened, then closed behind her.

Without a word, she was gone, leaving him fuming at how he'd been manipulated by a woman not out of her teens. Maybe she'd manipulated his father also, or the old sheriff in Cedar Point.

He was back in full control, not only of his men, but of himself. He didn't need anyone. He didn't want anyone in his life. No matter what her game was, he would not play it again.

Walker had all emotion drained from his mind as he glanced around his quarters, making sure she hadn't left something that might give her reason to return. A single hairpin rested on the table, forgotten in her haste. He slipped it into his pocket and looked toward the bed.

The lantern's light caught the few drops of blood staining the white sheets where she'd lain.

The sight knocked him to his knees.

Cedar Point

November 1888

Lacy folded a few dollar bills into the last pay
envelope and stuffed it in the bottom drawer of her desk. She leaned back, breathing in the familiar smells of the print shop: ink, sawdust, paper, poverty. Home.

In the three years since she had taken over the shop, she managed to make the payroll every month but one. Once she'd taken all the money from the cashbox and traveled halfway across Texas to meet her husband. She shrugged. Once she'd been eighteen and a fool.

As the wind howled outside, Lacy closed her eyes, remembering how excited she'd been when she learned that Frank Walker Larson was stationed little more than a day's ride by train and then stage from her. Finally, her husband would be more than just a name on the marriage license and a few letters he'd written his father the first year he'd gone into the army.

She'd dreamed of how it would be when they met. He would be young and handsome in his uniform. She'd run into his arms, and he would tell her everything was going to be all right. After the long year of taking care of his father and keeping the shop running, Lacy would cuddle into her husband's embrace and forget all her worries.

She opened her eyes to the shadowy world of her small print shop. The real world. Her husband had been handsome, she admitted. So tall and important he took her breath away. But he hadn't welcomed her. His arms had folded around her in duty, nothing more. The Frank Larson she ran to was only a cold captain who preferred to be called Walker. And their time together had chilled her heart.