Bushedwhacked Groom (20 page)

Cory gripped his aunt’s arm. “Aunt Dumpling, please.
Don’t go getting in a catfight with Dulcie Hicks on
Molly’s wedding day. Ma will never forgive you.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right.” Dumpling pursed her
lips, then shook a finger at Wìnky. “But you, make
tracks, you slimy little toad.”

“Not unless the lady tells me to, “Winky snarled back, turning again to Ida May. “Well, ma’am?”

“Oh, go suck a gizzard,” Ida May retorted, and the
others burst out laughing as Winky finally turned on
his heel and stalked away.

Cory grinned at the sight of Winky off huddling with
his brothers and cousins, who had been similarly re
buffed by his brothers and their partners. He winked at
Ida May. “Gracious, I didn’t realize you had such spirit, young lady. Remind me not to cross you.”

“Heck, I don’t mind keeping you on your best be
havior either,” she rejoined charmingly.

“Yeah, honey, you make this boy toe the mark,” ad
vised Dumpling with a grin as she pounded Cory
across his shoulders. She craned her neck. “Well, I
think I see my Billy lookin’ for me . . .”

As a new reel began, Cory sighed in relief. “At last a moment of peace.” He offered his arm. “Shall we dance
again?”

“Why, sir, I’d be honored.”

Both were about to rejoin the dancers, when they
froze at the sound of a loud female voice spewing blas
phemies. Turning, Cory cringed at the sight of Ezra Trumble cowering before Grandma as she bashed him
over the head with her purple silk parasol. “0h, no!
Looks like your pa asked Grandma to dance, after all.
Now our gooses are cooked.”

“Sure are,” agreed Ida May glumly.

Indeed, within seconds Trumble came storming over
to join the couple. Hat askew and face livid, he grabbed
Ida May’s arm. “Come on, daughter, we’re leaving this crazy wedding. Gather your sisters.” He shook a fist at
Cory. “You Reklaw boys stay the hell away from my
daughters. That grandma of your'n is a madwoman.”

Ida May gave Cory a pleading glance as her father
dragged her away.

With a groan, Cory went over to join Grandma, who was angrily expostulating to her friend, the Widow Allgood. “Grandma, did you have to bash Mr. Trumble
over the head like that?”

Eula turned her fury on Cory. “That villain! Why, he
had the gall to say, ‘Sorry to hear ‘bout your dysentery and fleas, Eula.’ Where in the name of buffalo turds did
he get
that
idear?”

With a massive effort, Cory managed not to burst out laughing. “Grandma, you know he’s hard of hearing—”

“Deaf as a post!” she reiterated.

“Yes, ma’am. Well, you see, I just told him you have—w
ell, I knew you needed an excuse not to dance with
him, so I said you have dropsy and phlebitis.”

“Dropsy and phlebitis?” Grandma hollered. “Why, that sounds even worse. Shame on you. As for sashay
ing about with that sidewinder, I’d just as soon dance
with a three-headed cobra.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Grimacing, Cory managed to forge ahead. “But couldn’t you try to be a sight more civil, so
me and the other boys can court his daughters?”

“Hah! You boys need to find yourselves women
from decent families, not the fruit of Beelzebub’s
loins.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Realizing that further argument with
his ornery grandma was futile, Cory gave a sigh and
walked away.

***

Later, while his bride was doing the traditional waltz
with her father, Lucky retreated to the edge of the
group, only to be joined by Jessica, looking beautiful
in her mother-of-the-bride lavender silk dress with
braided satin trim.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Have you come to lecture me on the birds and the bees
now?” he teased.

She laughed. “I’ll forgo that. I just wished you looked
happier, Lucky.”

He sighed. “No offense to you, ma’am. I know she’s
your daughter. But no one has even asked me what I
want. All of this has been against my will.”

“Including when you grabbed my daughter and
kissed her?” Jessica asked gently. “You know, that’s
quite an insult in this day and age, Lucky.”

“I’ve gathered that,” he cynically rejoined. He paused
a moment, watching his bride laugh as her father spun
her about. “You know, everything still seems only half-
real to me.”

She nodded wisely. “I had that same feeling. It will
pass.”

“
Will it?” he countered, gesturing expansively at the
scene. “How do you accept it all, Jessica?”

“I’ve had time.”

“Time,”
he repeated ironically. “Here we are, living in
the year 1911, and with what both of us know about
the future, all the implications—”

“Meaning, what will we do about the
Titanic
going
down next year, or our country entering the First World
War in 1917?” she interjected.

He turned to gaze at her in wonder. “Well, yes. That and much, much more.”

Nodding, she touched his arm. “Lucky, don’t ponder the im
ponderables too much. I tried that, and it can drive
you crazy. I think we have to take things as they come,
prepare where we can.”

“And how have you prepared, Jessica?”

A troubled frown puckered her brow. “Well, we’ve
farmed, for one thing, which means the boys should
be able to get deferments once the war begins.”

“Yes, if they’ll accept them.”

“I know,
if.”
She regarded him curiously. “Actually, by
the time the
United States
enters the war, I’m betting
you’ll be too old to serve, since if memory serves, they initially drafted only men between the ages of twenty-one and thirty.”

Lucky shook his head. “Hurled back in time and al
ready I’m a fossil. It all just seems so incredible.”

“I know. For me, too, sometimes, even after all these
years.”

“You ever think of going back, Jessica?” he asked
wistfully.

She shook her head as she gazed with love at her
husband and daughter. “Not anymore.”

“But you did before?”

“Well, yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “And I did—
well, once I was actually offered a chance to return to
my own time.”

“You’re kidding!” he exclaimed with avid interest.

She nodded. “Bizarre as this may sound, the stage
coach that brought me here returned to Haunted
Gorge one last time.”

“No lie?”

“No lie. When the stagecoach reappeared, I realized
that I could use it as my vehicle to return to the pres
ent. But I chose not to.”

“Why?”

Jessica’s luminous smile reflected a soul totally at peace. “Because by then I knew I loved Cole and be
longed here.”

Lucky hesitated a long moment before asking, “Do
you think I might have a chance to return, too?”

She appeared crestfallen. “0h, Lucky, please don’t
ask that. There’s no way we can know for sure, but I do
know that continuing to fight your fate isn’t going to
help you at all.”

“I shouldn’t fight?” he countered passionately. “Jes
sica, this is my
life
you folks are tinkering with.”

She squeezed his hand and spoke solemnly. “Lucky,
I hope in time you’ll learn what I’ve learned. Every
thing truly does happen for a reason. You don’t really have a life until you learn to share it. Have you heard
the old adage ‘Bloom where you’re planted’?”

“Would that be six feet under?” he rejoined, but
more gently.

She chuckled, then inclined her head toward the
crowd. “Well, I see folks are starting to leave. I must go
help my daughter change for the ride home.”

Lucky was lost in thought as she walked away.

Chapter Nineteen

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“Ain’t you gonna get ready for bed, darlin’?” Molly asked.

Lucky frowned at his bride, who had just pulled off
her stylish braided jacket and skirt to reveal all her
charms displayed by a low-cut camisole and long, lacy
slip. Her grandmother had left moments earlier, after
filling the bathtub behind the dressing screen and
grinning at them like the very devil.

Lucky was lounging near the bedroom door, primed
for a quick exit in his shirtsleeves and trousers, his
thumbs shoved in his pockets. “You gonna force me at
gunpoint?”

She whirled to face him, curls and bosom bobbing.
“What’s stuck in your craw now, cowboy?”

You.
Gulping, Lucky almost blurted out the word.
She looked sexier than sin itself with that hot color
blooming in her cheeks, and the lamplight glinting
gold in her luxuriant auburn hair.

Somehow he managed to keep his composure.
“Other than the fact that I’ve been forced to marry you
?”

At the dressing table, she leaned forward slightly,
flaunting her voluptuous derriere at him, and began
pinning up that thick, wicked hair, leaving loose curls
dangling about her face and neck with hoydenish al
lure. “Well, we’re hitched now, so you might as well try
to make the best of things.”

He harrumphed. “Here’s the fourth chorus of ‘Look
for the Silver Lining.’ You gonna tell me to bloom where
I’m planted, too?”

She flounced about, a vision of feminine sin as she
headed for the dressing screen. “If you aren’t ornery as a barking squirrel. I’m gonna go take my bath.”

“Take all night if you want,” he managed.

Tossing him a glare, she disappeared behind the
screen.

During the next few moments, Lucky paced about,
doing a slow burn. Despite his anger and frustration,
he found his senses tantalized by an alluring aroma
rising from behind the dressing screen. Rosewater, wasn’t it? A heady scent that seemed to scream, “Se
duce me.” As if the thought of Molly lounging naked in
the tub—her skin glowing, blushing from the warm water—wasn’t enough.

Damned woman! Now what was she doing? Singing
a lilting, sexy waltz tune—”Kiss Me Again,” wasn’t it?
Seemed like his grandma used to listen to a Frank Sina
tra version of that old tune from the early 1900’s. The romantic lyrics drifted
out to torture him:

Sweet summer breeze, whispering trees,

Stars shining softly above;

Roses in bloom, wafted perfume,

Sleepy birds dreaming of love.

Safe in your arms, far from alarms,

Daylight shall come but in vain.

Tenderly pressed close to your breast,

Kiss me! Kiss me again.

She didn’t have a bad voice, either. Hell, she didn’t
have a bad
anything.
Was there no end to the woman’s
ability to drive him nuts?

Just when he thought he could bear no more,
she sashayed back out, dressed in a gossamer-thin
handkerchief-linen gown that hugged her damp,
curvaceous body. He gulped. Moist, sensuous curls clung to her beautiful face and lovely neck, and the
sheer fabric revealed her lush nipples, gently curving
belly and the dark curls nestled in her female place.
And the scent coming forth from her . . . warm, wet,
rose.

Lucky was dying.

With a sly grin revealing that she knew the effect she
was having on him, she slinked over to the dressing
table, sat down and unpinned her hair, then began
slowly brushing the thick strands until they shone like
warm copper. The urge to sink his hands into that hair, haul the little tease close and kiss her senseless was all
but overpowering now. Lucky’s breathing grew ragged,
and he was surprised his heart didn’t jump out of his
chest.

Then their gazes locked in the mirror, his smolder
ing, hers coy. “You want a bath, too, hon?” she asked,
her voice low and intimate, smooth as silk.

“You think I want your leftovers?” Actually, the
thought of drowning himself in her essence was
enough to make Lucky harden in agony.

“Grandma can bring more hot water.”

“I’ve had about enough of your family for one day.”

She turned, her expression impish. “Have you had
enough of me?”

He grunted as if she’d knocked the wind from him.
He’d never have enough of her—not that he would
ever admit it.

“You still determined not to smile?” she cajoled.

“You got that right, lady. I see nothing to smile about.”

Now she was angry, her mouth pursed in a pout. She
flounced over to the bed, plopped herself down and
hurled him a determined look. “All right then, slick.
Let’s get it over with. I need a young’un.”

Lucky’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know whether to
laugh, cry or strangle her. Her gall was unbelievable!

“You actually think I want to sleep with you now?” he
asked in disbelief.

“Sure, you do.” Brazenly she glanced at his crotch. “Or
is that a billy club you’ve got stuffed in your britches?”

Lucky blushed furiously, quickly covering his pri
vates with a hand. “You leave my britches out of this.”

“Cowboy, this is all about your britches.”

He whistled. “For a gal who claims to be a vir
gin, you got one filthy mouth on you.”

“Filthy?” she mocked back, laughing. “So you really
think doin’ what nature and the good Lord intended
for us is dirty?”

“I’m talking about how much you seem to
know
about doin’ it,” he shot back. “Like maybe you’ve
burned up the sheets with a stud or two already.”

Rather than be insulted, she chuckled. “Stud, eh?
Cowboy, this is a farm. You think I ain’t never seen a stallion mounting a mare?”

At that electrifying image, Lucky could only blink at
her, sagging against the wall and beseeching the
Almighty to rescue him.

And here he thought he’d lost all faith!

She tried a softer tack, batting her long eyelashes at
him and patting the bed beside her. “Now come on,
Handsome, quit being so stubborn. We’re wasting time.”

At last Lucky recovered himself. He strode over and
glowered down at her siren face. “Get something
straight, lady. I’ll sleep with you when hell turns to blue
ice.” He turned and strode for the door.

“Where are you going?” she cried.

“To the barn!”

Ignoring her cry of dismay, Lucky stormed into the
hallway and burst out the front door, only to spot Cole sitting on the porch swing, smoking a cigar. “Going
somewhere, Lucky?” he drawled.

“Shit.” Lucky turned on his heel and reentered the
house.

He strode inside the bedroom to find Molly grinning at him. He shook a fist at her. “You hush before I stran
gle you.”

“But why are you back? I mean, if you don’t want—”

“Because your father gave me no choice.” He stalked
over to an easy chair, sat down and blew out the lamp.
“Go to sleep.”

He heard her gasp in the darkness, then ask more
tentatively, “You really gonna spend the whole night there in that chair?”

“Yep. Now are you gonna quit gabbing, or am I
gonna hang you by your toenails?”

Blessed silence was his only answer.

***

In the darkness Molly tossed and turned. She couldn’t
believe Lucky had done this to her—he had actually
rejected her. Indeed, he had only returned to the bedroom because her pa had forced him to.

She had assumed that once she was married to him, getting him to fulfill the rest of his husbandly duties
would be easy. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
And here, she’d really thought he wanted her. Or did
men get hard like that when they were angry, too?

Her pride hurt, and though she hated to admit it,
she hurt. She realized she wanted much more than a
baby from this man—he intrigued her and tormented
her. She wanted to get to know him, to know more
about his world—and that was scary as hell. For he continued to hold himself apart from her, he’d made
his contempt for her clear and her budding feelings for
him could lead her only to heartbreak . . .

 
She felt a tear welling up. No, she wouldn’t cry—she
had more pride than that. She would find a way to
make Lucky Lamont fulfill his duty if it killed her. She
would win—and win without humiliating herself.

***

Lucky squirmed in the darkness. He knew Molly
wasn’t sleeping, either. He could hear her tossing and
turning. God,
he could still smell her, could see her in his mind’s eye, all ripe and beautiful and damp, and he
wanted nothing more than to join her in that bed, rip
off her nightgown and lose himself in her. But then she
would win—win after brazenly using and betraying
him, in some ways worse than Misti had.

Was that a small sob he heard in the darkness?
Could this she-devil possess a heart after all? Like most
males, Lucky could not abide the thought of any
woman crying, and he felt a lump rising in his throat,
as well as a torturous yearning to go rushing to her
side. Good Lord, despite it all, was he actually coming to care for
this spitfire? The urge to comfort her was almost over
whelming. But he knew he couldn’t. Consolation would lead to kisses, which would lead to . . . And he refused to be used like a prime stud.

Refuse he might, but his resolve did nothing to di
minish his passion. He groaned, wondering if morning
would ever come.