Gerrity'S Bride (10 page)

She nodded in answer, her eyes intent on the shadowy corner, where a lone man sat at a square table.

“Heard tell you were in town. ‘Course, I could tell by the red curls anyway, ma’am. You sure have the look of yer pa about you,” he continued as she turned her back and made her way across the room.

“They’re not red, just bright auburn,” she whispered, and her hands clenched, her nails biting into her palms as she skirted the table in her path.

The man was dressed in black, with a glistening white shirt that buttoned up to the collar, and was bedecked with a black string tie. His hat was wide and cocked low over his brow, so that his eyes were shadowed beneath the brim. He was big, she could see that much. Even sitting down, he was a giant of a man, and she stopped before the table where he sat, unsure now, as his gimlet eyes took her measure.

“Judge Whitley?” She was proud of the firm tone she was able to produce.

He nodded once.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, unsure of her welcome, but determined to accomplish her task.

“Talk away, young lady,” he growled from the other side of the table, where one hand clutched a full glass of some sort of liquid.

Surely he wasn’t partaking of hard liquor so early in the day, she thought distractedly. Yet, even as she considered him, that big, fleshy hand lifted the glass to his mouth and he tipped his head back as he drained it of its contents.

“Be quick about it, girl,” he said harshly. “I’m holding court in a few minutes.”

“I’m Emmaline Carruthers,” she said carefully, wondering how to begin her quest.

“I figured that already, what with that headful of red hair, and that Carruthers look you’re wearing,” he said gruffly. He leaned forward a bit, and his gaze was searching.

Emmaline stiffened. “I beg your pardon? What is the ‘Carruthers look’ if I may ask?”

“You’re a lot better-lookin’ than your daddy, but you’ve got that same determined chin he had.” The judge’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed as he surveyed her. “I suppose you’re wondering about the will he wrote, aren’t you?”

Emmaline nodded vigorously. “Yes, I am. I want to know if there’s any way it can be broken. I want my sister, but I don’t know if I want to get married right now. I’d like to maybe wait awhile.”

This is all Gerrity’s fault, she decided with an irritated toss of her head. If he weren’t so pushy, so bossy, so... She couldn’t come up with a word that described him best. That masculine, hard-edged attitude that irritated her so. The aggravating way he’d maneuvered her last night that had spurred her into this morning’s mission.

And yet there was the softer side of the man. The side that appealed to her, that had caused her to be acquiescent to his bid for marriage. Not to mention the power he held over her when he touched her and held her and—

She shook her head distractedly. Her mind was made up. If this wedding could be postponed without her losing the chance to have her sister with her, she’d surely be better off.

The night spent with the memory of him had convinced her. He would capture her heart if she let him. He’d hold her in the palm of his big, callused hand, like so much booty acquired from the reading of the will, if she allowed it. Already she was halfway in his thrall, and he’d accomplished it with a few kisses and a little sweet talk.

“Not any way to circumvent that will, Miss Carruthers. Your daddy sewed it up tight as an old maid’s pucker.” Judge Whitley made the pronouncement and leaned forward, his hands folded on the table before him.

Behind her, the doors flapped open again, and she realized that it was not for the first time. Gradually the room had been infiltrated by several men, who stood about as if fascinated by her presence here. Now heavy-booted footsteps approached, and the flesh on the back of her neck shivered as a chill of foreboding passed over her body.

Before she heard his voice, she knew who it was at her back. Before she felt his hands on her waist, she knew whose touch would burn through the layers of cotton and leather to sear the flesh of her body.

“You’ve met my bride, Judge,” Matt said gently as he gripped her and held her immobile. He spoke over her head to the magistrate, and was met with a look of devilish delight.

“This young lady is less than eager to marry you, young man,” Judge Whitley intoned.

Matt’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “She’s hard to persuade,” he allowed as his hands tightened imperceptibly against her.

“Let go of me,” she whispered through unmoving lips.

“Not a chance.” His voice was a murmur in her ear, his mouth brushing against her vibrant hair.

“Now, let’s just settle this thing, once and for all, and then I’ll get on with my business,” the judge announced, rising to his feet and towering over the table.

Emmaline swallowed. He was even bigger, taller and wider, than she’d thought. More than formidable, he filled her vision, and she found herself sheltering against the firm body of the man who stood behind her.

“Matthew Gerrity, do you understand that you must marry this woman in order to gain custody of your sister and ownership of the Carrutherses’ holdings? Are you agreeable to that?”

His words carried over the whole room, vibrating in Emmaline’s ears even as she heard the answer that came firmly from Matt.

“Yes, I do.”

Emmaline heard his voice resound in her ear. It was a confirmation of the desires of her father, and Matt was more than agreeable. She was fully aware of that.

“And you, Emmaline Carruthers,” the judge continued. “Are you aware that in order to inherit from your father and hold custody of your sister, you must marry this man and live with him and bear his child? Do you understand that?”

Emmaline was silent. Of course she understood the terms of the will, and so did half the population of this town, thanks to the judge’s booming voice. She sighed. So much for privacy. And if this man was certain there was no way out of it, she’d have to abide by those terms. A sense of relief swam through her as she realized the whole thing was out of her hands. The choice was made.

“Miss Emmaline?” The judge was prodding her for an answer.

What had he asked her? Did she understand the terms of the will? Would she marry Matthew?

“Yes, of course,” she said succinctly, aware of the firm grip of strong hands about her waist, the heated length of Matt’s body against her back. Then she felt the
whoosh
of air that escaped his lungs, even as the judge thumped once on the table with his fist.

“Well then, according to the laws of the territory of Arizona, and by your own agreement, I pronounce you man and wife. Kiss your bride, Matt.”

A buzzing not unlike that of a hundred bumblebees clouded her hearing and a haze surrounded her, threatening her vision. Her feet stumbled against the wooden floor as she was turned within his grasp. Then Matt’s hand was beneath her chin, tipping her head up. As if from afar, she saw his mouth widen in a grin and his eyes narrow with tiny creases at the corners. But it wasn’t until his head bent, his lips lowering to rest against hers, that she allowed the darkness to overtake her, and she collapsed in his arms with a tiny muffled moan of protest.

* * *

He’d lifted her and carried her out of the saloon, whistles and whoops of laughter following in their wake. Faintly she remembered the shouts of encouragement from the onlookers who’d witnessed her defeat at the hands of this man, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the memory.

She felt one strong arm about her back, the other beneath her knees, and she sensed the security of his embrace as he held her tightly to his chest. The sunlight burned against her closed eyelids, and she caught the scent of horses and dust and the man who held her.

“Might’s well open those eyes, Emmaline. I know you’re awake,” he said teasingly as he strode with her toward the hotel.

She opened them just enough to peer at him through her lashes, and her teeth gritted at the look of triumph lighting his features.

“I was just faking,” she announced with brittle precision. “I’ve never fainted in my life.”

“Well then, you did a pretty good imitation of it back there,” he said, laughing at her pouting belligerence.

Reaching the porch of the hotel, he allowed her to slide to her feet and held her with careful hands until she caught her balance.

“Are you all right now?” He kept his grip firm, plainly unwilling to let her go until he was sure she was steady.

She twitched away from him, lifting her head and biting at her lip as she looked about her. Across the street and down a ways, in front of the saloon they’d just left, was a scattering of men, all intent on watching the entertainment of the morning. Several ladies were in front of the dry goods store, next door to the hotel, busily taking note of Emmaline’s dishevelment. She smoothed her shirtwaist and brushed with little success at her hair. More than one admiring glance was aimed at the man beside her, and she glared her disapproval at the boldness of the daring females. Foolish women were all over him every time he showed his face. No wonder he was so confounded cocky.

And to top it all, they were giving her the once-over, too, as if she were on display for everyone’s amusement—and all of it was Matthew’s fault.

“I hope you’re satisfied, Gerrity,” she spouted with fervent anger. “You’ve managed to make me the laughingstock of the whole town.”

He looked about with interest, and tipped his hat to the ladies who watched. “Not quite the whole town, Emmie,” he said with good humor.

“Maybe not, but it’ll be all over town before the day’s through.”

He grasped her elbow and guided her toward the doorway of the hotel and ushered her within.

“You didn’t have breakfast, my dear wife,” he said briskly. “That’s probably why you passed out back there.”

“I just lost my breath for a minute,” she argued, unwilling to concede him the battle.

“Well, before we go any farther, you’re going to eat something.” He grasped her elbow, aiming for the doorway of the dining room, where the same white-aproned girl stood guard.

The growl that rumbled beneath her pleated shirtwaist was in full agreement with him, and Emmaline nodded. “I could use a piece of bread and butter, I suppose,” she said grudgingly.

“You’ll eat breakfast, and then we’ll decide where to go from there,” he told her as they were shown to a table near the front window. He held her chair for her to be seated, then bent low to whisper in her ear.

“I’ll be back in just a minute. You can order, if you like. Just coffee for me, though.” He turned and made his way quickly through the tables to the doorway, and Emmaline watched him go, caught up in the sheer bewilderment of the day.

* * *

The hotel room was large, the best in the house, the desk clerk had assured them.

The bed was large, at least, Emmaline decided as she finally allowed her gaze to fasten on that enormous piece of furniture. She’d ignored it studiously since Matt had guided her into this room, still sputtering from her outrage at his insistence that they spend their wedding day and night here.

Rather than make a fuss in the lobby, in full view of the clerk and the assorted guests who had been amused by the sotto voce arguing, she had clamped her lips together until they should achieve some degree of privacy.

Unwilling to look at him, sure his face would reflect the triumph of his victory, she glanced instead about the room. It was heavy with crimson velvet and gold braid, lavishly draping every window and hanging in rich folds from the canopy over the bed. The walls were covered with a flocked wallpaper of flowers of some sort and, as if that were not enough, had been garnished with ornately framed pictures. She pretended interest in the landscapes and walked about from one to the other, aware all the time of the man who watched her from near the door.

“You might as well look at me and have your say, Emmaline,” he said finally. “We’re going to stay right here in this room till we make peace of some sort between us.”

“I didn’t know I was allowed to say anything. Seems to me you’ve had it all your own way up to this point.”

“It was your choice to go to the saloon,” he reminded her. “I was intending to speak my vows in front of the preacher.”

She spun to face him. “That judge tricked me, and you know it.”

His face softened and his smile faded. “I know it, Emmaline. Believe me, that wasn’t what I had planned. But you never can count on old Judge Whitley to do what you expect. I reckon he just thought to get the deed done and send us on our way. He was a good friend of your pa’s, you know. Maybe he just wanted to perform the ceremony himself, sorta for old times’ sake.”

“Ceremony?” she asked unbelievingly. “You call that a ceremony? It was a farce.”

“It was legal. You’re my wife, Emmaline Gerrity,” he told her stubbornly.

“I don’t feel legal,” she admitted glumly.

“Would you feel better if the preacher said the words?” He took three steps toward her and raised one hand, palm up, as if he were begging for alms.

Her eyes fastened on that callused hand, and she recognized the significance of his gesture. He was asking her compliance. He was willing to find the preacher and make it easier for her to accept.

Once more he’d surprised her with a degree of understanding she’d not credited him with. Lifting her hand, she offered it to him, allowing him to draw her to his side.

“Let’s go do it again, Mrs. Gerrity,” he said in a whispering, rasping invitation that brought a wistful smile to her lips.

“I don’t have a wedding dress,” she said ruefully.

“No, but you’re getting married in something borrowed and old, and you’ve got a blue ribbon tied in your hair back here.” His fingers circled the nape of her neck and rubbed with gentle comfort. Then, turning, his hand brushed in a lingering caress over the hair hanging down her back, and his fingers tangled in the curls that clung tenaciously to his rough skin.

“But nothing new.” Her lips trembled as she looked up at him.

“Maybe that can be arranged,” he told her, allowing the bright ringlets to slide free from his touch. His gaze held hers for a moment, and then he bent to drop warm kisses across her forehead, closing his eyes to better savor the silken texture of her skin. It would be so easy to claim her now, he thought. To melt the last shreds of resistance she was clutching so fiercely.