The Lawman (The Willow Creek Series #1) (8 page)

Abigail wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms encircling his neck gripping tighter as she buried her face against his throat. She made an anguished sound, the noise sounding distant even to her as Morgan increased his thrusts.

The climax rushed over her in such a manner, Abigail was too weak to do anything as Morgan gave his own harsh shout and spilled himself inside of her. He collapsed on top of her, his weight holding her firmly in place. Their breaths were labored, their skin damp with moisture. The chill in the room was a blessed relief after the burning heat she’d felt.

He was the first to recover, groaning before rolling off of her to lie beside her. Abigail stared at the ceiling, too numb to do much more than try and breathe and blink her eyes. Long minutes passed before she turned her head to look at him.

His eyes were closed, his chest rising rapidly. He looked asleep and she thought he was after he didn’t move for so long. When he turned his head and looked at her, he grinned. “Now that, Miss Thornton, was worth every bit of torment you’ve caused me since stepping foot in this town.”

Abigail rolled her eyes at him. “You’re the one who tormented me, Marshal Avery. Locking me up for nothing more than walking into a saloon.”

“And getting my pretty face messed up.”

She snorted a laugh. He rolled toward her and lifted his hand, pulling a hank of her hair forward over her shoulder. He stared at it, rubbing the strands between his fingers before looking up at her. “So, what happens now?”

Abigail wasn’t sure what he meant. Was he asking her about what she’d do after tomorrow? Their teasing marriage plans or something else? She wasn’t sure and didn’t want to assume anything. She’d done that already and was still confused by it. She sat up, slid to the edge of the bed and looked back over her shoulder at him. “At the moment, I’m going to try out that fancy washroom you have at the end of the hall. Is that tub big enough for two?”

He grinned and sat up. “Yeah. Want some company?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” She stood and walked to the door, not bothering to look and see if he was following her. She was sure he was. Any man who could go that long and love a woman so completely surely wouldn’t be sated after one roll across the bed. It’s probably why he spent so much time over at that saloon. Abigail frowned while thinking of those women. Come tomorrow, Morgan would probably be back over there giving one of them a mind blowing orgasm strong enough to shake her entire world.

Opening the washroom door, she glanced over her shoulder. He was walking the length of the hall toward her, his predatory gaze fixed to her backside. She smiled while looking at him. If she had anything to do with it, Morgan Avery wouldn’t step foot inside that saloon again for anything other than a shot of whiskey. She may not have known if him agreeing to marry her was just his way of teasing her or not but by morning, she’d be damned sure he thought twice before telling her no.

Chapter Six

The walk to the jail was for once, done with a whistle and a lively step. Morgan couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so—alive. He’d woke to the feel of warm lips wrapped around his cock, soft hands running laps over his chest and belly and hadn’t wanted to leave the bed all day. He wouldn’t have either if his stomach hadn’t started growling. Abigail had laughed, kissed him until he was ready to take her again and crawled from his bed. He’d watched her walk away, her heart shaped naked bottom swaying from side to side, with a smile on his face.

That smile vanished at breakfast. When he engaged Abigail into a discussion about where she was from, she fed him a line about being an orphan. He’d believed her until those funny little splotches broke out on her neck and she refused to look at him. He knew then she was hiding something.

When he reached the jail, he shut the door behind him, walked to the desk and pulled the drawer open, grabbing the stack of old wanted posters he kept inside. He studied each one, reading the description of every person listed and the crime they’d committed. Of the few women pictured, none of them even came close to resembling Abigail and he had to wonder if that was even her name. He remember asking her in the saloon the day the brawl broke out, and her hesitating when giving him her last name came back to him in an instant. Thornton wasn’t her last name. He’d bet his badge on it. If she wasn’t who she said she was, then who was she and what was she running from?

Placing the posters back in his desk, he leaned back and stared across the jail, his gaze landing on the cell he’d locked her in. A brief thought of putting her back in there washed over him before he dismissed it. He’d left her in his kitchen, kissed so completely she’d been breathless when he turned to leave. She’d looked happy for the first time since he’d met her. Putting her back in that cell would accomplish nothing. Well, nothing other than making her mad at him again and he was enjoying her company too much at the moment to do that.

He sighed, leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk. If Abigail was in trouble, he needed to find out from what. Or who, he suddenly thought. Was that why she was so adamant on finding a husband? Was she running from something? Or someone?

Shaking his head as the questions kept pilling up, he stood, repositioned his hat on his head and left the jail, walking the length of town to the new telegraph office at the end of the street.

Fergus McDonald greeted him with a toothy smile. “Morning, Marshal. What can I do for you today?”

Morgan walked to the counter, leaned against it and studied the man. He was tall, lean and had more hair on his arms than he did his head. He was new to town, setting up the telegraph service just the year before. It had been a time saver for many since the lines came through, especially him. Not having to ride to Missoula every time he needed information from the sheriff there was a blessing. “Need to get a message to Sheriff Bower over in Missoula.”

“All right then.” Fergus handed him a slip of paper and a pencil. “Just write it all down for me and I’ll get it sent off for you.”

Morgan wrote the message, paid Fergus and waited until the message had been sent. When he turned to leave, Fergus wished him good luck on the day and happy blessings to boot. He wasn’t sure what the hell that was supposed to mean and his confusion grew as the day wore on. Every person he met seemed to be in a good mood. Well wishes from people he rarely spoke to came unbidden but the girls in the saloon weren’t so welcoming. They were acting funny. They shunned him, tossed their noses in the air and wouldn’t even come down to talk to him. Ungrateful, the whole lot of ‘em. He’d tossed his drink back and left without another word. He didn’t need them anyway. Not with Abigail taking up residence in his house. Lord knows having her in his bed was a damn sight more enjoyable than those whores were.

* * * *

Abigail chewed her thumbnail and paced the length of Edna Pierces’ bedroom. What was she supposed to do now?

When Edna had showed up at Morgan’s moments after he left, the woman had been in such a jovial mood, Abigail hadn’t hesitated about following her out of the house and down the street. She’d looked in the jailhouse window at Morgan as they passed and the urge to run in and kiss him again had been strong. She’d refrained as Edna wouldn’t have let go of her arm long enough to do so and had dragged her to her house instead. Once inside the modest home, she’d been met by a host of other women. The merchant’s wife, Mrs. Jenkins, was there with an armful of pretty lace dresses. An elderly lady asking what flavor of cake icing did she like best, orange or lemon, and a young girl of no more than sixteen armed with brushes, hair pins and small dainty flowers.

After the commotion grew to an orchestra of shrill voices, Abigail yelled, “Stop,” to get everyone’s attention. When they all turned to look at her, she smiled, cleared her throat and tried to keep her voice in a low, even tone. “Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?”

They stared at her like she suddenly grew a second head before laughing. The young girl, Miranda Talbert, was the first to recover. “Why its your wedding day. What else?”

“My wedding…” Abigail’s eyes widened.
Her wedding day!
The cake, the dresses and young Miranda’s tiny flowers rushed at her in a flash. They were going to prepare her for a wedding? She was almost afraid to ask to whom. “Um, a wedding?”

“Of course, a wedding,” Edna said, smiling as she stepped in front of her. “When you told me yesterday that Marshal Avery asked you to marry him I knew that it was up to me to see that your day be perfect. Lord knows that man would have botched the whole affair and with you new in town, I assumed you didn’t know anyone. Just think of this as our gift to you. A welcome to Willow Creek, so to speak.”

Speak was something Abigail couldn’t do at the moment. She sank into a nearby chair, stared at the ladies around her and went numb. Last night, and most of the morning, had been perfect. Her plan to seduce Morgan in hopes he wouldn’t toss her out of his house had resulted in one of the most sensual nights of her life. She’d been pleasured to this side of pain and would have begged for more if hunger hadn’t forced them from the bed. The whole teasing marriage thing hadn’t even crossed her mind. What would she do now? Did Morgan know any of this was planned?

Swallowing to moisten her throat, she asked. “Um, does Morgan know what you’re planning today?”

“He’ll know soon enough. I sent my Bert out to his family’s ranch to let them know about his nuptials so don’t you worry none. He’ll be here.”

Something in Edna’s face led Abigail to believe the woman didn’t care if Morgan wanted to be married today or not. He’d do it because she thought he should. There was bad blood there but she wasn’t about to ask. She didn’t care, if the truth were known.

The other questions she had were waved away as Mrs. Jenkins showed her several dresses, making her choose one from the stack she’d brought. The cake preference was given and Miranda had her in a chair, her hair pulled up off her neck and tiny pink and white flowers woven in with the strands before she could think of a way to stall the whole process. When she was dressed, they’d left her alone… which led to chewing her nails and pacing the room. “Damn it, this can’t be happening. Not like this.”

Looking toward the window, she wondered if she could just jump out and run. Run where, she didn’t know. She was sure Edna would track her down. There wasn’t anywhere to go other than back to Morgan’s and that would be the first place they looked for her.

She was stuck, like it or not. She was getting married today. Edna had gone to too much trouble to back out now. Besides, she’d come to Willow Creek to marry and although her plans hadn’t gone exactly as she’d thought they would, all wasn’t lost. If Morgan didn’t want to marry her, then someone would. She was almost positive. Question was, could she go through with it if the man who asked wasn’t even remotely as exciting as Morgan Avery was?

* * * *

Morgan had just propped his feet up on the desk, pulled his hat down over his eyes and leaned back in his chair when the door opened. He pretended he was asleep, hoping whoever was there would just go away and come back later.

His entire morning had been one confusing occurrence after another and he was exhausted trying to sort it all out. The unknown person shut the door but their booted feet on the floor let him know they hadn’t pulled it shut from the outside. Just his luck.

Long moments ticked by and when no one spoke, Morgan sighed and lifted the hat off his face. Seeing Holden standing there grinning at him confused him even more. “Please tell me you’re here to explain why the whole town has gone soft in the head.”

Holden raised an eyebrow and sat in the vacant chair across from the desk. “What? You don’t know?”

Morgan shook his head. “Nope, but every person I’ve seen today has wished me luck, congratulated me for something, or they just stood there grinning before they started gossiping.”

“Have you asked anyone about it?”

“Hell no. I was too confused at first then got this funny feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer so I was trying to ignore it until you came in. Now, what are you doing in town? Better yet, why are you still grinning at me like that?”

Holden laughed before standing up. “You better come on. You can’t go dressed like that.”

“Dressed like this for what?”

“Your wedding.”

Morgan imagined a lot of things today when every one started acting funny but a wedding, his apparently, hadn’t been one of them. It all made sense now, though. The congratulations, the smiles, and the gossip. The whoring, drinking, single town marshal getting married was enough to get the town talking and it had. He just wished someone had told him about it.

He eyed Holden as he lowered his feet to the floor. His brother was dressed in his Sunday best, his boots shined up and his dress hat on. He’d even put on a string tie. He looked quite spiffy. Every bit the well off rancher he was. Standing, Morgan glanced out the window, his eyes widening when he saw Alex in the buckboard sitting beside his pa. “How’d you get him out of the house?”

“I didn’t. Not really. I told him me and Alex was coming to town to see you get hitched and that far-off look usually in his eyes cleared. He stood, walked to his room and came back out with his boots and hat on.”

“He dressed himself?”

Holden laughed. “No. He was still in his drawers but I saw fit to find his clothes for him.”

Rounding the desk, Morgan walked to the door, opened it and looked out at his pa. The man hadn’t been right in the head since their mother died. They weren’t sure what happened to him exactly but it was like a switch had been flipped and he lived in a world of his own making. He talked to himself most of the time, carried on complete conversations with people who weren’t there, and seemed a million miles away. The fact he heard Holden and understood what was happening was a miracle.

“Time’s a wasting, Morgan. Are you going to change your clothes or not?”