Brides of the West (10 page)

She shook away the painful memories and
turned her attention to her son. The past only brought pain. She
must stop looking backward and embrace the bright new future
ahead.

“I do not know if your new father is here,
Mac. I have never seen a photograph of Mr. Smith. I was instructed
to meet him at the hotel. Hopefully, we might have a chance to
freshen up first.”

“You look real pretty in that new blue dress,
Mama. It matches your eyes. Mr. Smith’s gonna be happy he picked
you.”

Smiling at Mac, Evangeline reached beneath
the seat and grasped the handle of the bag that held a few clothes.
Taking her son’s hand in hers, they wove through the exiting crowd,
a mass of unwashed bodies that had sweltered aboard the train for
hours. Mac jerked free of her grip and she turned in time to catch
a flash of embarrassment in his eyes. Not quite a child, he wasn’t
a man either. She indicated with a motion of her head for him to
follow.

Her heart beat wildly as the porter took her
valise and assisted her from the train. Texas soil was underfoot
for the first time in ten years. Her knees almost buckled, but she
clutched Mac’s shoulder, steadying herself.
This was home
.
Such a foreign notion now.

She blinked back tears once again. She must
be strong for Mac’s sake and not cry for the life she’d once known.
Steeling herself against the heat, she fanned herself with her
hand. She’d forgotten how unforgiving Texas weather was in
summer.

Mac surprised her by looping an arm in hers
like a true gentleman and they stepped onto the wooden walkway and
moved away from the blowing red dust and soot.

Mac lugged the heavy valise as they walked
through the train station.

“Since it appears no one is waiting for us
here, we shall check at the hotel,” she told Mac as they exited and
burst into bright sunlight again. She spied the two story hotel
several buildings away. “Mr. Smith has reserved two rooms for us
tonight, one for you and one for Mr. Smith and me.”

“Why two rooms, Mama? Can’t I stay with you
and my new Pa tonight?”

Evangeline cleared her throat. She supposed
it was time someone explained the delicate matter of male and
female relations to Mac. Perhaps Mr. Smith—
or rather, Adam
,
her new husband should be the one to instruct the boy.

Her breath caught in her throat as a new
revelation struck. She’d written Mr. Smith that she’d married her
first husband seven years ago. What if he learned her child was
nine? He’d know he hadn’t been fathered by Garrick Payne. Her
heartbeat pounded out a deafening tempo in her ears. How could she
have overlooked such an important detail? She paused on the walkway
as her mind went into a whirl. Mac eyed her curiously.

“Mama, are you all right?”

No, she was not. She felt ill, her stomach
roiling about like a pot of greasy broth. Her father had disowned
her when he discovered her pregnancy and forced her to go to a home
for girls in Georgia. Savannah society had also scorned her when
Garrick Payne announced she was to be his bride. As the mother of
an illegitimate child, she was tainted in most people’s eyes. Would
Mr. Smith feel that way, too, if he learned the truth?

She lifted a hand and smoothed back an unruly
lock of hair from Mac’s sweet face. He was innocent. Although he
knew Garrick wasn’t his real father, she’d tried to shield him from
the townspeople’s stares and harsh talk. Should the truth become
light, she would do everything in her power to protect him now. She
prayed her new husband would understand.

As they strolled along the sunny boardwalk,
people passed on horseback or in carriages, churning up the road’s
red dust. A man and woman nodded politely as they moved past.

“You didn’t answer my question, Mama.” Mac
turned to walk backward alongside her. “Why will we have separate
rooms?”

Evangeline sighed. “Mac, turn around and walk
correctly. You’re going to trip or bump into someone.”

“Naw.” He smiled. “I’m gettin’ real good at
this backward walking. I’ve got eyes in the back of my head I tell
you. Besides, I want to know why I can’t stay with you and Mr.
Smith? Won’t he like me? I’ll take a bath if that’ll help.”

She paused and bit back a smile. “Of course
he will like you, but you must have your own quarters because you
are becoming a man. You cannot sleep in the same room with your
parents.”

“Mama, I think I see him!” Mac looked in the
direction from which they’d come.

Evangeline turned and pulled her bonnet to
shield her eyes from the strong rays of the midday sun. “How can
you tell?” She searched through a crowd of people who hurried along
the street. “We have never even seen a photograph of Mr.
Smith.”

“It’s that man.” He pointed. “The tall cowboy
in the black hat and long coat.”

Evangeline squinted, trying to make out the
dark figure in a long duster moving stealthily toward them. He
appeared menacing, his face dark and hidden beneath the brim of his
black hat, his spurs churning up dust in the street. He looked more
like an outlaw than a cowboy, and a chill skittered up her spine.
She’d read about unsavory sorts in western cities these days.
Oh, my! He was fast approaching.

She concluded he must be a bandit set to
pounce upon a woman and child alone in a strange town. Lifting her
full skirt with one hand, she grasped her son’s hand in the other
and hurried toward the safety of the hotel. One glance over her
shoulder and she realized he was on their heels. She picked up the
pace.

“Come with me, Mac, and don’t encourage
him.”

“But, Mama, the luggage is heavy.”

She paused to take it from him, then
continued on.

“Hey, he’s waving at me.”

Evangeline never broke her stride. “It
matters not. We do not know that man. Now hurry.” How unseemly.
They had been in Luling but a few minutes and some ruffian had the
audacity to approach them on the street.

She’d almost reached the hotel steps when a
strong, gloved hand snagged her arm from behind. Evangeline whirled
around. A scream caught in her throat. She looked up at the dark
figure casting a formidable shadow over them.

“Evangeline.”

The deep rich voice slid over her warmed
skin, reminding her of someone she once knew. His face was
undeterminable, shadowed by the brim of his hat. He was dressed
similar to one of her father’s hands—a long leather duster, thick
gloves and boots. Still, his presence, his very touch on her arm
sent a tremor of fear through her. Before she could ask his name,
he removed his hat revealing his identity. Her knees buckled. Oh,
dear God! What was
he
doing here?

A strong hand reached out to steady her.

“Hello, Evangeline,” he said again in that
deep, sensual voice that sent ripples of scorching heat washing
over her flushed skin. “You look as though you’ve seen a
ghost.”

She swallowed hard. It became difficult to
breathe. His black eyes were cold and no emotion registered on his
deeply tanned face.

“Or perhaps I should say good afternoon,
Mrs. Smith
?”

He released her and she swayed unsteadily.
What were the odds that Gray Wolf MacKinnon would find her?
“How did you know my married name?” she asked, barely above a
whisper.

“Because I am Mr. Smith, Evangeline—your
loving husband of little more than one week.”

He caught her before she hit the ground.

***

Wolf carried an unconscious Evangeline to his
hotel room and laid her on the bed. The desk clerk, a short prissy
man named Perry with a pencil-thin black moustache, lingered at the
door, staring as if he feared Wolf might harm her. Wolf turned and
glared at the man.

“That will be all. Leave me to tend my
bride.”

The man waited, a sour look of disapproval on
his face. The same look of disgust as last evening when he’d
arrived and registered at the hotel. “No Indians” the man had said,
scowling until Wolf produced a bill of sale for goods bearing his
legal name of Smith, silencing the bigoted man.

“You’ve been asked to leave.”

In a huff, the man closed the door behind
him. Wolf turned Evangeline on her side and began unbuttoning the
back of her dress.

“Bring a wet cloth,” he told the boy.
“There’s a pitcher of water and fresh towels on the wash
stand.”

He didn’t see it coming. The child jumped
onto his back and swung from his neck like a wild cat.

“You leave my mama alone! Take your filthy
hands off her, you hear!”

Wolf peeled the boy off and dropped him to
the floor like a sack of potatoes. “Your mother can’t breathe and
she’s overheated. Calm down or I’ll put you across my knee.”

The red-faced child picked himself off the
floor and dusted off his pants. Wolf had dropped him hard on his
rump and he figured he’d bruised more than the youngster’s
pride.

“I just don’t want you lookin’ at her
undressed and all. She’s a real lady, you know.”

Wolf eyed the kid up and down.
Brave
little cuss
. He rather admired the child for protecting his
mother.

“I won’t look at her, kid,” he lied,
suppressing a smile. The hell he wouldn’t. They were legally
married now and he’d do a lot more than look if the notion
struck.

He finished working open the annoying row of
tiny pearl buttons on the dress, then tugged open the laces on her
corset.
Damned contraption.
Why did women feel the need to
truss themselves in this ungodly heat? Within moments of his
loosening the binding garment, she gasped for air like a banked
fish. He turned her onto her back and her eyes fluttered open, a
look of confusion on her beet-red face.

The boy rushed to her side. “Mama, are you
all right? Can you breathe now?”

She sputtered, then coughed. “What
happened?”

“You fainted,” Wolf said. “Your corset was
too tight.”

She glanced at the child, then fixed her gaze
on Wolf. “Where is my husband? Where is Mr. Smith?”

“You’re looking at him, sweetheart.”

A shadow of alarm crossed her face. “No. I
married Adam Smith. That’s not your name.”

“It has been my name for the past nine years,
Evangeline. At least on paper. I legally changed it.”

The boy piped up. “You sure don’t look
nothin’ like I imagined.”

Wolf eyed the kid. That made two of them.
Evangeline had stated in her letters the child was quite young, but
this boy appeared to be older—at least eight or nine by his
estimation. He stared at the boy for the longest time, studying the
planes and angles of his face, his coal black eyes, the high-set
cheekbones. His hair was the same shade of dark blonde as his
mother’s, but thick and straight as a post, not wavy. His skin
color was the shade of coffee diluted with a lot of cream. If Wolf
didn’t know better, he’d swear the child was of mixed blood
heritage.

Then a thought occurred to him, and it took
him in a direction he wasn’t certain he wanted to go.

“You don’t look like a Smith,” the boy said,
interrupting his thoughts. “Is that your alias? Are you an outlaw,
mister?”

Wolf chuckled, amused at how the boy’s eyes
lit up at the prospect of meeting an outlaw. Every boy’s dream.
“No. It’s not an alias and I’m not an outlaw, son. My real name is
Gray Wolf MacKinnon, but I legally changed my name to Adam Smith a
few years ago so I might acquire land.”

“Gray Wolf? You’re an injun?”

“
Mac
!” came Evangeline’s
admonishment.

The boy shrugged. “I just want to know.”

Wolf hesitated. He’d changed his name on
paper, but it altered nothing. People only saw his Indian-ness.
“Don’t scold the boy, Evangeline. He’s curious.” He turned back to
the child. “Yes, son. I’m what they call a half breed. My mother
was Chiricahua Apache, but she died long before I had any memory of
her. My pa, James MacKinnon, was a miner and fur trapper who raised
me.”

Wolf tossed a room key to the child. “Mac is
your name, is it?” He looked at Evangeline.
Interesting name.
Short for MacKinnon, perhaps?
Pieces of this odd puzzle began
to fall into place and he didn’t much like the conclusion. “That’s
for your room next door, Mac. Run along and allow your mother time
to rest.” As if he had any intention of allowing her to rest. Once
the boy was out of earshot, they’d have a serious discussion.

Wolf pitched a coin to him. “First, go down
to the hotel lobby and buy a candy stick from the jar on the desk.
New peppermints and licorice arrived this morning. Afterward,
return to your room and bathe. We’ll call on you when it’s time for
supper at the restaurant. Just don’t eat too much candy.”

The boy jostled the shiny penny from palm to
palm. “Mama, is it all right if I have candy?”

Evangeline sat up and pushed the golden hair
that had come unbound away from her face. The sleeves of the dress
slid from her shoulders, revealing delicate porcelain skin and a
hint of cleavage. Wolf swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes from
her. His sex stirred to life as blood rushed to his groin. She was
still as beautiful and youthful as he remembered. Looking at her,
he’d almost forgotten her eyes were the same shade of blue as a
Texas sky in summer, her skin the color of fresh cream. How many
nights had he caressed her body, tasted her soft, sweet skin?

“Yes, Mac, it’s all right for you to have one
piece of candy. Please do as Wolf... I mean, as Mr. Smith
asked.”

After the boy left, Wolf locked the door.

He turned to find Evangeline standing near
the bed, clutching the loosened bodice to her bosom. “Where is my
luggage?”

He leaned casually against the door and eyed
her from head to toe. She was a mess from her trip, but a pleasing
mess to look at. Her silken hair had come unbound and cascaded over
one bare shoulder. Her cheeks were tinged bright pink, her lips
dark as rubies. He allowed himself a moment’s fantasy—kissing her
and divesting her of her dress—which did nothing to quell his
desire. Still, he dared not touch her with this much anger and
resentment clouding his heart.