The Cowboy's One Night Bride

The Cowboys One Night Bride

Lolita London

Copyright © 2015 by Lolita London

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Chapter 1

“If you step out of that door, you are no daughter of mine.”

Gianna’s hand froze on the doorknob, warm tears rolling down her face. Turning around, she looked into a pair of emerald green eyes – eyes that had watched her grown all her life – and saw only stone-cold resolution.

“Papà,” she fought to keep her voice stable. “I love you, but I am sorry. I will not marry Antonio Martello. I will not marry a man whom I despise.”

“Gianna,
principessa
. Enough of this talk of leaving.” Gianna choked back a sob as her mother wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Listen to your Papà. He only means the best for you.”

“For me, Mamma? Or for this family?” She cringed as she saw the hurt spread across her mother’s face but steeled herself as she glared at her father. “You only care about the status of our family! I am your daughter, not some commodity or step on the social ladder.”

Gianna took an involuntary step back. The sun streamed through the stained-glass windows over the arched doorway, illuminating the anger on her father’s face.

“You have come of age, Gianna. It is time for you to marry.” Mariella stroked her daughter’s hair coaxingly.

“Mamma, Antonio is a monster. His wealth is built on the backs of those under his employ. Giuseppe has been toiling to raise his young children since his wife died, even with that bad leg of his. He needed his wages, but Antonio cheated him of it before casting him out.”

“Nonsense!” Gianna winced. Gabriel Delucca had always been a loving father but in his anger, each word hurt as much as a slap in her face. “Antonio is one of the most influential men in Bari and Giuseppe is but an elderly widower with a weakness for the bottle. To think you would listen to the rantings of a drunk! Did I raise you to be an idiot?”

“You raised me to be a human being, with a conscience!” Gianna cried as she flung her suitcase to the ground in a temper. Drawing herself to her full height, she looked up at her father. “I would sooner stay single than marry him.”

“You preposterous little—” her father burst into a coughing fit as he angrily shook a finger at her.

“Gabriel, calm yourself.” Mariella walked over to her husband, clasping his white face with one hand as she patted his back with the other. Gabriel sighed as he leaned into her caress. He sat heavily down on the sofa and pulled her along with him, clasping her hands in his own.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But Antonio will not be pleased. We will need a reason to decline his proposal in a way that does not offend him.” He looked at Gianna thoughtfully. “You will travel to England and join The Little Company of Mary.”

“A convent?” Gianna’s heart sank. “Papà, I don’t want to be a nun.”

“Well, what do you propose?” Gabriel’s voice was thick with bitterness. “No man in Bari will risk offending Antonio with a counterproposal.”

“There is something.” Gianna smoothed her gown nervously, digging her fingers into the soft velvet fabric. “I have a job offer, Papà. To be a governess for a family. In America.”

“America!” Gabriel spat, as though the word was an expletive.

“Yes, Papà,” Gianna hurried, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I have my savings—”

“You will go to the convent or you will marry Antonio!” Gabriel roared, clenching his fists as he sprang up. He glared into his daughter’s red eyes. “And that is my final say.”

“Final say?” Gianna’s voice was bleak and echoed thinly in the great room. She turned to her mother who sat silently on the sofa. “Mamma?”

“
Cucciola mia
, you must listen to your father,” her mother refused to meet her eyes.

Her mother’s reticence pushed Gianna’s temper over the edge. “I will not live a life as a mindless prisoner, I will not become you—”

Gianna was thrown back by the force of the slap, its sound lingering in the deafening silence that followed. Her cheek throbbing from the impact, she realized the shock and rage she felt was mirrored in her father’s face.

“Gianna,” Mariella ran towards her daughter but was stopped by her husband. Gabriel’s mouth was set in a thin line, his chest heaving.

“Papà,” Gianna whispered, her hand to her face in an attempt to absorb the blow. She watched as her father strode to the door and flung her suitcase out.

“You are no longer welcome in this house.”

“No, Papà,” Gianna ran to him, her hands clutching urgently at his coat lapels. He shoved her roughly in the direction of the door.

“Leave.”

Mariella’s voice rose in a wail in the background, but all Gianna could focus on was her father’s impassionate face.

“Papà, please. No,” she protested wildly, as he grabbed her by the arm and pushed her out. “Papà!”

Gabriel held out a restraining hand. “Don’t call me that. From this day forth, you are no longer my daughter. I, Gabriel Delucca, am childless.”

“No,” Gianna whispered as the door slammed in her face. She knocked desperately, her fists thumping painfully against the sturdy wood.

“Papà! Mamma!” There was no response. Gianna felt the earth falling beneath her feet.

“Papà! Mamma!”

“Gianna?”

A voice broke into her frenzied train of thought.

“Good heavens, Gianna! Stop that.”

Gianna sobbed uncontrollably. Her heart clenched, the pain coursing through her veins like poison.

“Gianna! Oh goddamnit, WAKE UP!”

Gianna sat up straight in bed, her eyes blinking at the sudden brightness. Her breath escaped in gasps as she took in her surroundings. She was lying on a thin mattress in a dingy little bedroom. A soft ray of light broke through grime-coated windows, illuminating the specks of dust floating about her worn copy of
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
on her bedside table.

“Are you alright?” a tentative voice asked. She turned and saw a slight Chinese woman sitting next to her, concern apparent in her almond-shaped eyes.

“Feng Ling,” she croaked, her voice heavy with sleep. “I’m fine, it was … just a nightmare.”

Smiling, her roommate reached out a hand and smoothed the hair stuck to Gianna’s sweaty forehead to the side.

“It must be the nerves,” she mused in her musical voice. “Well, come on then. Breakfast’s ready and you don’t want to be late for your new job!”

The weight over Gianna’s heart lifted. “Oh! Right!” She threw the covers off and ran to the window. The sun was rising over the New York skyline. She turned back and grinned at her friend.

“Well, today’s the day! My new life begins.”

++++++++

As Anthony walked into the store, an overwhelming cloud of sickly sweet incense rushed up his nose, causing him to cough.

“Well, well,” a dry voice greeted him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Ethan,” Anthony tipped his hat at the store’s proprietor while avoiding the statue of a stone lion at the door. “I see that your olfactory senses are as stilted as usual.”

Ethan scoffed as he walked around the store counter. “You wouldn’t know quality if it knocked you on your nose. This here’s an import from Bombay. The very best!”

Anthony laughed as he clapped the man on the back. “Ah, it’s good to see you again, my crusty old friend.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Likewise, I’m sure. Now what are you doing all the way down here? You know you can just fill in one of those mail catalogues.”

His eyes wandering over the well-stocked shelves of exotic knick-knacks, Anthony mused, “Yes, well, I needed to get away for a bit. Clear my mind, you know.” Eyeing him critically, Ethan set down the jadeite statue of a cat he had been polishing.

“Suppose you join me in my study,” he suggested, tipping his head towards a curtained doorway. Anthony shook his head. “Wouldn’t that affect your business with no one at the storefront?”

“Ah, Anthony,” Ethan chuckled as he walked over to the door and flipped the store sign. “We both know that you’re the only rich simpleton who keeps my business afloat.”

“That is true,” Anthony admitted as he followed Ethan’s tubby frame past the lush velvet curtains.

He sank into a leather armchair and accepted the shot of whiskey that his friend offered him. Taking the seat opposite him, Ethan peered over his spectacles.

“Now speak. What brings you all this way over the border? I know you didn’t come all this way to insult my furnishings.”

Anthony downed the whiskey in one gulp, the alcohol setting his throat on fire. “I’ve reached a new low, Ethan.”

“Pray tell.”

“Well, so I went down to the old bed-house and managed to procure this lovely set of … comfort women. Both steaming hot and beautiful, with full breasts and the tightest little cunts I ever did fuck. Excuse my language.”

Ethan banged the table in mirth. “Well, that’s the language of saints to me. So what seems to be the problem? You fucked the bed-fagots, and yet for some reason, you’re here bellyaching to me. Something must have gone wrong in between.”

“That’s just the thing,” Anthony leaned forward. “They were the perfect pair. One was feisty and explicit; the other was obedient and submissive. It’s like any chap’s dirtiest fantasy.”

“You sure know how to make a man jealous.” Ethan filled an ivory pipe with tobacco. “Here, got a light?”

Anthony tossed a box of matches across the mahogany table. “Here’s the thing. It’s just not satisfying anymore. I had the best-case scenario thrown at me, and I still felt empty as all hell.” He rubbed his eyes wearily. “I think I’m done with life, Ethan. There’s only so much joy I can get out of collecting these curios and I’m fast turning into an antique myself.”

“Seems to me,” Ethan chewed on his pipe thoughtfully. “That either you’re suffering from an early onset of the barrel-fever or you need something more than a whore or a hobby.”

“Oh yeah?” Anthony raised her eyebrows. “And what’s that?”

Ethan pushed himself off the chair and lumbered heavily to a bookshelf. Muttering to himself as he pawed through the files, he snorted in triumph as he found what he was looking for. Tossing an envelope on the table, he twinkled at Anthony.

“I was saving this for your name day, but here. There’s what you need.”

Anthony reached for the envelope and pulled a stack of papers from it. “The Halcyon Matrimonial Co. procures desirable partners for those romantically inclined,” he read aloud. Raising wide eyes to his smug friend, Anthony thumped the notice with his fist. “This is your answer? A mail-order bride?”

“A wife, Anthony. Compliant, caring and one hundred percent yours. And best of all, willing.” Ethan gestured to the envelope. “I found one that particularly suits your exquisite tastes. The settlement sum was high, but it’s no penny over what I owe you after decades of business partnership and friendship.”

“Feng Ling, age 20. A compliant, obedient Chinese sparrow yearns to serve a Western stallion,” Anthony read incredulously. “You found a Chinese mail-order bride?”

“Indeed,” Ethan’s broad face was smug. “A Chinese Lantern Bride for the Chinese Lantern Hotel’s owner. Could anything be more perfect?”

Anthony skimmed the rest of the advert, several phrases catching his attention. “Slim and soft, touched by no man,” he read. “By God, a virgin?” He looked at his friend in alarm. “You know my inclinations. How can a virgin be a good idea?”

“So you’ll deflower, awaken and educate her. You love a challenge.” Ethan shrugged. “Come on, Anthony, you need this. And not just for the sex. You’re getting old, my friend. The Wild West is dusty, and its women are scarce. Who’s going to care for you when you’re hobbling with a stick and coughing your lungs out?”

Anthony was torn. “I don’t know. Anyway, she’s all the way from,” he squinted at the paper. “New York. It’ll take months for just the correspondence to happen. I have time to think about it.”

“On the contrary, she’s probably boarding the train as we speak,” Ethan laughed as Anthony stiffened in shock. “Come now, I told you I’ve handled the settlement. All fees are paid, the train ticket is sent and she’s on the way to you now.”

“This is madness,” Anthony spluttered, his hands gripping the ends of his chair as his fingernails left marks on the leather upholstery.

“It’s been years since Esther passed. Annie is a mother herself now, all grown up and away in Markleeville. It’s time you started living your life properly again. Open your heart to someone else.”

“Love makes you weak,” Anthony intoned resolutely. “I can’t do that. I can’t go through that kind of pain again.”

“Hey, no one said anything about love. It’s a possibility, that’s all it is. Anyhow, if you find her unsuitable, you can just break off the engagement and send her packing. Just do me a favor, and don’t say no until you’ve given it a fair shot.”

Ethan quirked a questioning eyebrow at him. Anthony sighed.

“Oh alright then. I’d say thank you, but I just know this is going to be a bed of nails.”

“Well, that’s the fun, isn’t it? Another drink to celebrate, I think.” Ethan rose and reached for the bottle of whiskey.

“Wait,” Anthony thumbed through the forms. “There isn’t a picture of her?”