Bushedwhacked Groom (21 page)

Chapter Twenty

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Morning came, following a long, sleepless night.

After snoozing briefly, Lucky awakened in the half-
light, stiff and sore. With a groan he got to his feet and
crossed the room. His bride lay half in shadow, lovelier
than words, her features angelically peaceful, one
shapely hand curled on the pillow beside her, as if she
were seeking him out, inviting him to join her. He caught a sharp breath. He needed to get out of here
before his tight loins and roaring blood impelled him
to do what he’d been dying to do to her all night long.

Barely bothering to wash up, he changed into a
shirt, jeans, and boots, then went straight to the barn
and saddled up the brown sorrel Cole had given him
permission to ride on ranch property. Dawn was
breaking as he galloped out onto the range. Now
what?

Lucky rode hard for the next half-hour, as if trying to
outrace his raging thoughts and feelings. He found
himself inexorably drawn back to Reklaw Gorge,
where this nightmare had all begun. The dikes lay
softly painted in the half-light, dew-drenched wildflow
ers emitting their delicate aromas.

Carefully guiding his horse down into the narrow
canyon, Lucky could see the wreckage of the old
stagecoach still lying there. He pulled up close, dismounted and stared at the pile of rubble. Jessica had mentioned that this very stagecoach had brought her
across time, then had returned once again, giving her
one last opportunity to leave the past and go back to
her own time. She had declined the gift that Fortune
had offered her.

Well, he sure as hell wouldn’t if given the chance. Did
the old stagecoach hold the key to his time-travel expe
rience, as well? Could history repeat itself, as it had with
Jessica? Was there really an escape route for him?

But Jessica had not been pushed off a damn dike—
and her time-travel vehicle had not been smashed to
smithereens in the process. Lucky stared up at the high
ledge above him, where the stagecoach had been
perched precariously back in the present, right before
his enemy had launched him across time. He could haul the wreckage up there, try to reassemble the
stagecoach . . .

Then what? Push himself off the dike, hope he sur
vived the fall—surely a hundred feet or more—and got
returned to his own time in the process? The whole no
tion was sky western crazy. How could he dare hope
he might endure a second flight, when logic argued he
never should have survived the first one? Hell, he’d
have about as much of a chance as he’d had yesterday when the Reklaw boys had tried to launch him into
space.

Lucky was about to remount his horse and ride
away when some instinct urged him not to simply
abandon the wreckage. Taking some lengths of rope
from his saddlebags, he tied the debris into several
large bundles. Mounting his horse, he hauled off the
packets one by one, hiding them at the edge of the
gorge behind a windbreak of pines.

He would have to think about what, if anything, he should do with the remains of the hussy wagon.

And where should he go now? He was free, actually
free. He could ride off for
Denver
or
Alaska
or any
where else he chose in this new world.

Except that he couldn’t. Like or it not, he was still
bound by his word to Cole Reklaw, bound by his vows
to Molly, whether those nuptials had been forced or
not. He had to deal with all of that, as well as the unsettling new feelings he had for the she-devil he had wed.

Plus, instinct argued that if Reklaw Gorge was the
place where he’d traveled back in time, then this was likely his only escape route. And Jessica was here, a
fellow time-traveler, with possibly more wisdom to offer him. Why run away from the only answers he might
ever find? No, he had to resolve his problems here.

Which meant returning to his precious little
bride . . .

***

When Lucky stepped back inside the bedroom, Molly lay slumbering in the full light of dawn. She looked so
gorgeous with her pink cheeks and sensuous red
mouth, she took his breath away. His gaze trailed hungrily over the lush curves outlined by the knitted coun
terpane. Damn, but she was hard to resist.

He went to sit beside her, inhaling her scent like the
most powerful aphrodisiac. Drawing a harsh breath,
he pulled down the counterpane slightly and stared at her breasts, so enticingly revealed by sweet virginal ribbons and sheer handkerchief linen. The subtle rise and fall of her bosom, the delicate shading of her nip
ples, the creaminess of her flesh, all fascinated him.
He ached so much he had to touch himself, but even
that brought no relief.

His.
She was his. Not until this moment had it really sunk in that they were married now, that she was
really
his—and the thought made him drunk with awe and
power and an unexpected humility. His wife.

How much longer could he torture himself this way?
All at once he knew what he had to do. He had to
touch her. His fingertips reached out to stroke her
cheek—heavenly soft. He drew a teasing finger down
her creamy throat, and heard her sharp little intake of
breath. He slid his hand downward to her breast,
traced the outline of one dusky areola, watched in fas
cination as the nipple pebbled against his finger.

Her eyelids fluttered open, she gasped and stared up
at him. Her cheeks flamed and her lovely lips trembled.

Lucky couldn’t help himself then. His large hand en
veloped Molly’s breast, squeezing softly, and he felt her
nipple go even tighter against his palm.

Her eyes went dark and luminous as midnight
ponds.
“
W-what are you doing to me?”

He grinned. “Maybe what you want me to do, darlin’?”

“Please,” she panted, “remove your hand.”

She was squirming, and Lucky relished it. “I don’t
think so,” he replied huskily. “I’m your husband now
and I’ll do what I please.” To demonstrate, he moved
his hand to her other breast, teasing the nipple with a
fingertip.

She shuddered. “You—you’re trying to—”

“Get you hot and bothered?” he offered. “0h, yeah, darlin’.
Very
hot and bothered.”

With that, Lucky tugged down the bodice of his
bride’s gown, leaned over and drew the taut little nip
ple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. Molly screamed, though not with fright. Her hands shoved at
his shoulders and her hips writhed up off the bed.
“Please, please,” she implored.

Lucky knew she wanted him to stop, and perversely he sucked harder, deeper. She yelled and bucked, then
moaned and quit fighting, tossing her head and claw
ing at his shoulders until he felt a shudder rip right
through her. Good Lord, had he already given her her
climax?

He pulled back and stared down at her face, all aglow with heat and wanton pleasure, her eyes so
huge and dilated, her mouth trembling on a pant. The
urge to kiss her, to thrust his tongue into that ripe mouth and drive his aching length deep inside her,
was almost his undoing.

Instead, with a supreme effort, he stood, smiled and
left her.

Even though he still trembled with unassuaged de
sire, Lucky felt a rare sense of power and triumph as
he strode out of the house onto the porch. Why had he not thought of this surefire solution before now—teas
ing Molly, tormenting
her?
The woman had tortured
him long enough. Now it was time to turn the tables
on her.

Yes, he’d get his little bride hot and bothered—so
hot and bothered that she would soon go crazy and
eagerly send him packing. He’d tempt her, beguile her,
bewitch her, just as she had done to him. He’d do
everything except
do
it, or give her the baby she
craved to win the contest.

In this delightfully wicked way, he would surely de
feat her.

Yes, this was precisely what he must do. Otherwise,
she would win—and soon. She’d snare him just like a
hunting trophy and mount him on her wall. It had be
come a matter of survival now.

Funny how, throughout this whole ordeal, he’d been
so blinded by his outrage that it had never occurred to
him to use his charm to best the vixen.

And as many a twenty-first-century woman knew, Lucky Lamont’s charm could be deadly.

***

Back in the bedroom, Molly burned with horror and fascination. She couldn’t believe what her bridegroom had just done to her. Stroking her in her sleep, rousing
her to unbearable desire. Then touching her breasts,
taking her nipple in his mouth.

Oh, the stimulation had been unbearable! She was
actually wet between her thighs, her womanhood crying out for Lucky’s hard length. And he’d looked like
the devil incarnate sitting on her bed—unshaven, hair
rumpled, something riveting and fierce burning in his
eyes. His mouth on her nipple had been hot and wet, his unshaven cheeks had abraded her breasts so deli
ciously. And his tongue—what pure, wicked pleasure
he had brought to her, like nothing she had ever felt
before!

But what was on his scheming mind now, avoiding
her like the plague all this time, only to charge in like a
rutting stallion? Was he actually planning to take his husbandly rights? Then why hadn’t he finished what he’d started?

Molly didn’t know what to expect next and felt to
tally rattled. If Lucky did claim his husbandly due to
night, she might win the contest—but she feared she might also be totally undone in the process.

Chapter Twenty-one

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Molly was completing her toilette when she heard a
ruckus out on the front porch. Glancing out the win
dow, she spotted a surrey with a black horse parked in
the front yard. Seconds later, she emerged from the
front door to see Grandma at the foot of the steps, con
fronting Sheriff Hackett and his lady friend, Dulcie
Hicks, who looked like a painted hussy with her heavily rouged face, garishly dyed straw-blond hair and low-cut, sleazy gold satin dress. Molly paused to listen
to the exchange in fascination.

Grandma’s face was purple and she was wagging a
finger at the sheriff. “I told you, Hiram Hackett, to get
your harlot off our property!”

“0h!” cried Dulcie, her ample bosom heaving.
“You’re one to talk, Eula Reklaw. Everyone knows
you’re the mother of outlaws.”

“Reformed
outlaws,” Eula corrected. “There’s a big
difference, you ignorant bumpkin. My boys saw the
light long ago. As for you, everyone knows you’re the
town harlot and your youngest don’t look nothing like
his pa. Why, Winky was born a year after Otis passed on, and got that there eye-twitch from Jiggles Jenkins,
after you whored yourself with him.”

“How dare you!” Dulcie accused, red-faced. She
whirled to Hackett. “Hiram, are you going to stand for
this?”

Hackett, who appeared miserable as he stood there
holding his ten-gallon hat and chewing on his handle
bar mustache, barely managed to meet Eula’s eye.
“Ma’am, just because Miss Dulcie here favored a ride
in the country this morning—”

“
Oh, yeah? What else has that Cyprian of your'n been
riding?”

Hearing this, Molly stifled giggles.

“Hiram, did you hear what she called me?” Dulcie
shrieked.

Miserably, Hiram chided, “Ma’am, Miss Dulcie’s ac
companying me today has nothing to do with—er—
my investigation—”

“Don’t give me that hokum, Hiram Hackett,”
Grandma bellowed. “Her bein’ here has everything to do with how you favor her no-account boys and their
trashy cousins over my grandsons. You’re always accus
ing my boys of thievin’ and lawbreaking, instead of
looking under your own big nose.”

Self-consciously, Hackett scratched that prominent
nose. “Ma’am, I just need a word with ‘em—”

“Not while I have breath left in my body. For all I
know, you been out there yourself, leading the outlaw
charge with them lowlifes.”

“Me?” Hackett protested. “But I’m the sheriff!”

“Then start actin’ like one, ‘stead of some bull on the prowl, looking for a heifer to mount.”

“Oh!” shrieked Dulcie.

By now Molly figured it was time for her to inter
vene. “Sheriff, what do you want with my brothers?” she
asked, coming down the steps to join them.

Hiram turned to her with an expression of intense
relief. “Morning, Miss Molly. I just gotta talk to ‘em,
that’s all. Ya see, during the night, a gang of cut
throats broke into the Dillyville Bank and absconded
with the safe.”

“And you think my brothers had something to do
with this?” she asked sharply.

Before he could respond, Eula snapped, “And did
you question all five of them Hickses afore you come out here to hurl false accusations at us good folk?”

Hackett shifted from boot to boot. “Ma’am, Dulcie al
ready told me all five of them boys was at an all-night poker game at her place.”

“And you took her word over our'n?” Grandma
snarled.

“Ma’am, you ain’t even given me your word—”

“And ‘sides, Hiram was with me all night, too,” Dulcie
finished self-righteously, only to blush in obvious real
ization of what she’d just said.

“Aha!” Grandma sneered, wagging a finger at Dulcie.
“And what was you two doin’? Playin’ tiddlywinks?”

Even as Dulcie gasped in outrage, Hackett’s face
went beet red. “Ma’am, I just need to know your grand
sons’ whereabouts last night, and for someone to—er,
vouch for ‘em.”

“Then you have my word,
”
Eula retorted. “Them boys
was in the bunkhouse here, all night.”

“Yes, ma’am. And where are they now?”

“Not that it’s any of your nevermind, but the eldest three is working the range with their pa, while Cory is
helping his ma take chicken soup by the widow
Hicks’s place. Wilma’s ailing again.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry to hear about Wilma.”

“Now get your painted hussy out of my yard.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Hackett, donning his hat.

Dulcie’s mouth hung open. “Hiram, ain’t you got no
grit a’tall? Letting her insult me three ways to sundown.
And are you just going to take the word of this—”

“For now, yes, I am,” he cut in tensely, grabbing Dul
cie’s arm. “Come along, Dulcine, let’s go.”

Despite her continuing protests, Hackett dragged
Dulcie off to the surrey and hefted her inside. She waved a fist at Grandma and spewed epithets as he
drove her away.

Molly shook her head at her grandma, who was grin
ning like a cat with a field mouse. “Grandma, weren’t
you a little hard on Sheriff Hackett?”

She waved a hand. “Hard, my butt. How dare that bangtailed weasel just show up here with his whoring
floozy—and accuse my grandsons of lawbreakin’.”

“But Grandma, the way you were carrying on, you
might just make him more suspicious.”

“Ah, pshaw! And since when have you cared if your
brothers end up in the hoosegow?” Before Molly could
respond, she winked. “So how’s the little bride this
morning? And where ya hiding your bridegroom,
missy?”

Molly was frowning at the question when a whistling
sound drew both women’s attention to the side of the
house. Molly watched as her clean-shaven, freshly
groomed husband rounded the corner, whistling,
“There’ll be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.”

“Well, there you are,” Eula called. “Where you been,
sonny? Your little bride here has been complaining
you’re neglecting her.”

“I have not,” Molly retorted, her face burning.

Reaching the front steps, Lucky chuckled. “I was
washing up in the bunkhouse so my darlin’ could
sleep.” He winked at Molly. “Last night pretty much did her in, I reckon.”

Molly’s mouth dropped open. “Why of all the lying—”

“Mornin’, angel.”

In a flash Lucky hopped up on the porch beside her,
taking full advantage of her confused state and parted
lips by kissing her heartily. Molly squirmed and
protested inarticulately as his tongue greedily ex
plored her mouth, stroking her, teasing her, unnerving
her. Her nipples tingled and a hot, staggering weak
ness swept over her. Again she felt herself go all achy
and wet between her thighs.

What was
wrong
with her? Why did he affect her this
way, making her weak as a just-born lamb?

At last he pulled back and said wickedly, “Thanks for
a night from heaven, angel.”

Molly went speechless with shock.

Grandma hooted a laugh. “0h, praise the Lord!” She pounded them both across their backs. “Good for you,
sonny. I’ll be expecting that great-grandchild by spring.
And my stars, Molly gal, I reckon you
are
plumb tuck
ered out.”

Molly stared daggers at Lucky. “Just wait till I get
done with
him.”

Dodging her insult, Lucky proudly wrapped an arm
around her waist. “See how crazy she is about me,
Grandma?” Still ignoring his seething bride, he nodded
toward the surrey disappearing over the hillside. “Did
we already have visitors this morning?”

Eula harrumphed. “Sheriff Hackett came out with
that slut of his’n, Dulcie Hicks, to investigate another
robbery. He had the gall to accuse my grandsons of
raiding the Dillyville Bank, ‘stead of arresting them
miserable Hicks boys.”

Lucky whistled. “Ah, yes. Heard some talk about the
recent robberies at church yesterday. One of the men even mentioned rumors about the Dempsey gang pos
sibly riding again—”

Eula waved him off. “Ah, every time there’s a robbery
hereabouts, folks are wabashing about the Dempsey
gang. Don’t you believe that hokum.”

Lucky nodded. “Er, do you think Hackett’s going after
Molly’s brothers now because of Cole’s—um—history?”

“Yeah, but it ain’t right and I told him so.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She grinned. “Well, it’s Monday and I’ve tons of wash
to do. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

“0h, yes, ma’am.” Lucky wiggled his eyebrows at
Molly and squeezed her tighter.

Molly surged forward. “Grandma, wait. I’ll help you.”

She guffawed. “A fat lot of help you’d be, not know
ing a wash pot from a scrub board. You tend to your
husband, honey.”

Lucky grabbed her arm and hauled her back against
him. “Yeah, honey, tend to your husband.”

Squirming and shooting him a murderous look, she
implored, “Grandma, make him stop it.”

Eula turned. “Stop what?”

“Grabbing me and kissing me.”

She howled with laughter. “Great Jumping Je
hoshaphat, granddaughter, don’t come sobbin’ to me.
You’re the one who wanted this fella, who shanghaied
him home and dragged him to the altar. Now he’s all
yours. If you don’t like him kissing on you all the time, then
you
make him behave.”

Grandma was still laughing as she ambled into the
house.

Molly glanced at Lucky, caught the devilish gleam in
his eyes and again tried to wiggle away. “You let me go.”

“Let you go?” he teased. “But, darlin’, I’m only giving
you what you really want, right?” He leaned over and
nibbled at her bare shoulder.

“Stop it! Why are you doing this?”

He feigned astonishment as his hand boldly stroked
her bottom through her dress. “‘Cause we’re married,
angel, or have you forgotten?”

“But I thought you didn’t, didn’t want—”

He shoved her up against his hardness and winked
wickedly. “Didn’t want what?” Looking determined—
and sexy—as the very devil, he leaned toward her
and brushed his lips over hers, causing her to suck in
her breath sharply. “That’s better. Now come sit on my
lap on the porch swing and I’ll teach you more about
kissing.”

Molly writhed frantically.
“
I—we’ll do no such thing.
Why, that’s indecent, it’s—”

“Come on, now. Boy, that wiggling of yours is getting
me hot.”

Her jaw dropped in horror.

He was still tugging Molly toward the swing and she
was digging her slippers into the porch when she was
relieved to hear the sound of approaching hoofbeats.
Thanking her lucky stars, she pointed to the west.
“Look. Cory’s driving Ma home.”

“Saved by the buckboard,” he teased back. “But don’t
think you’re safe from me, Molly girl.” He swept her with
a look hot enough to scorch her clothes. “You know
what they say: You can run but you can’t hide.”

Molly could only stare at him, overwhelmed, as the
buckboard pulled up in the yard. She didn’t draw an
easy breath until Ma and Cory had joined them on the
porch.

Smiling, Jessica embraced Molly. “Molly, darling, how
are you? Why, you’re all flushed. Are you feeling well?”

Lucky stepped forward to pull Molly close again.
“She’s just fine, ma’am. You know, a blushing bride.”