The Lawman's Bride (10 page)

Sophie’d seen many a Hudson Bay blanket like the one Clay had placed in the back of the wagon. The Sioux traded beads and moccasins for them, and she’d slept beneath one for most of her childhood. Something about its familiar simplicity was comforting. Avoiding exposed roots, she spread the blanket under the knobby branches of a tree, removed her hat and gloves and unwrapped fried chicken.

Clay set his hat on the corner of the blanket and eased himself down to reach for one of the jars of lemonade.

They ate in comfortable silence, commenting only on the food or the sound of the river. A chattering squirrel inspected their feast from a safe distance, scampering off after Clay tossed it a crust of bread.

He scooted back against the trunk of the tree. Overhead shiny leaves rustled in the breeze. “Did your mama teach you to cook?”

She shrugged. “She’s a wonderful cook, but I’m afraid I never acquired the knack. What about you? Tell me about your family.”

“Not a very excitin’ story.” He plucked a clover leaf and twirled it between long blunt fingers. “My father lost nearly everything we owned gambling. Eventually he just ran off or got himself killed, we never knew which.”

Sophie had expected a pleasant tale of home life and family, so she didn’t know what to say.

“My mother cooked and cleaned for the ladies in Florence. I worked at the mill ’til I was old enough to be on my own. A few years ago she got married again and moved east.”

“I’m sorry,” was all she could manage.

“Nothin’ for you to be sorry about.”

“It sounds as though you had a difficult childhood. Did you have brothers or sisters?”

He shook his head. “My mother made sure I went to school. I had clothes and enough food, and she’s a kind generous woman. She deserved to find a good husband.”

“What about…?”

“What?” he asked.

“Have you ever been married?”

He studied something in the distance, giving Sophie a chance to observe how blue his eyes were in the bright daylight. “I herded cattle up from Texas for a few years, learned to use a gun. Did some sheriffin’ from time to time.”

He hadn’t answered her question, but she had no room to pry, so she held her curiosity in check.

“There was a woman once.”

Sophie pretended interest in the flow of the river over the rocks, but her attention was riveted on his words.

“Settled here with her pa. He was a newspaperman. I called on her. We made plans to marry.”

Reaching for his hat, he used it to swat away a bee. As though deep in thought, he ran his fingers through his dark hair. She prepared herself for a tragic explanation of his fiancée being struck down by a carriage in the street or pierced by the stray bullet of a bank robber.

“Cowboy passed through one spring. Young, he was. Full o’ piss’n vinegar.” He grimaced. “Sorry.”

Sophie waved away his apology. “What happened?”

“She took a shine to ’im. Packed everything she owned plus her pa’s valuables and left a note.”

“What did it say?”

“Said she was sorry to disappoint him, but that she had to live her life the way she wanted.” He flicked the clover away. “Guess she wanted that cowboy.”

He picked a blade of grass and shook his head. “Soon after I took this job and came here.”

“So you think all women are untrustworthy now?”

He grinned. “That would be unwarranted, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose.” The relentless prairie wind caught Sophie’s hat where it lay on the edge of the blanket and swept it into the air. She jumped up to chase after it, and Clay followed.

The lightweight straw hat tumbled end over end until it reached the bank, where it sailed out into the slow-moving water.

Sophie stood with her fists on her hips. “Shit!”

“How much do you like that hat?” Clay asked, shading his eyes with a hand. His own hat was lying safely on the blanket behind them. Amusement turned up one side of his mouth.

She realized she’d just sworn in front of him again. “It was the first thing I bought with my pay from the Arcade,” she told him honestly. She owned several nice hats, but that one symbolized her freedom of choice.

Quickly Clay bent over and removed his boots. He unbuckled his gun belt, laid down the holsters and loped along the bank to get ahead of the hat as it was carried by the current. Without hesitation he waded out into the water.

With a mixture of disbelief and appreciation she watched as he plunged in.

“Ouch! Damn!” he muttered, apparently discovering the rocks beneath his feet. Fortunately the hat was bobbing along only a few feet from the shoreline. He was in water up to his thighs by the time he reached it.

He gingerly climbed back to dry ground, made his way to Sophie and extended the prize he’d recovered. “I don’t usually take a swim with my clothes on.”

She accepted the hat with a lump in her throat. His kindness was still new and surprising. She was used to greed and didn’t know how to react to this man’s unselfishness—she’d never felt anything like this before because she never allowed herself to feel. Apathy was how she protected herself.

He picked up his boots, socks and guns.

“Thank you,” she managed and followed him back to the blanket.

He sat and motioned for her to join him. Below the darkened denim of his wet trouser legs she couldn’t help noticing his long feet, his toes dusted with dark hair. He curled them into the grass. “Feels pretty good.”

Sophie settled a couple feet of away and plucked soggy silk daisies from her hat. She laid a rock on the brim so it wouldn’t blow away. “I can replace the flowers.”

He was wiggling his toes. “Try it. Take off your shoes and stockings and put your feet in the grass.”

She wanted to. She’d gone barefoot all her summers with the Sioux, and the daily discomfort of shoes had been a big adjustment. Choosing, she unlaced her boots and removed them.

“Be a gentleman and look aside,” she told Clay, and then unrolled her stockings and folded them away. The cool shady grass felt delightful under her toes.

Clay grabbed his hat and shot toward the stream. He returned with it brimming and trickled the water over her bare white feet.

She had the prettiest toes Clay had ever seen, though he hadn’t really looked closely at a lot of toes. He imagined the rest of her skin was as white, as soft-looking…calves…thighs…

Dangerous thinking.

When she smiled like she was doing right now, her pretenses seemed to slip aside, and that sweet vulnerability twisted a knot in his belly. She was more beautiful than any woman he’d known, curvy and dark-eyed, with full perfectly shaped lips and hair that begged a man to sink his fingers into its silky tresses.

He didn’t stop to think, he just followed his instincts and dropped to his knees beside her. She glanced up in surprise, and her lips parted, though no sound came out. Wide-eyed, she studied him in return, her gaze falling to his mouth.

Irresistible. Clay leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. She tasted like the lemonade they’d shared, sweet and tangy. She made a sound of surprise or pleasure and raised her fingers to his jaw.

At her touch, Clay lowered himself over her, pressing her back against the blanket without separating their joined lips. He was astonished by the sweetness and rightness of this first taste of her, by the way his mouth fit perfectly over hers.

He didn’t want to end the bliss he’d only just discovered, but he wanted to look at her, assure himself she was flesh and blood and not a fantasy, so he eased away. Her eyes were deep dark pools of wonder, her lips damp from their kiss.

He threaded his fingers into her hair. “It’s as soft as I imagined.”

She skimmed her fingertips over his jaw until one reached his lower lip, where she drew a line. “I never imagined.”

Clay felt a little disoriented, as though he was in a dream. He was strangely hungry, though he’d just eaten. Drunken, though his only drink had been lemonade. He was dizzy from wanting her. He knew every moment since he’d met her had been leading to this one, and he was afraid this flash of pure joy would disappear before he could capture it. “Don’t wake me up.”

Their lips met again, a bond of warm sensations. Teasing, yet complete. Enticing and absolute. Everything he needed. Nothing compared to what he wanted. He wanted her, Sophie Hollis. Pennsylvania farm girl away from home for the first time.

Clay eased kisses across her chin to her neck, where he tasted her skin, felt her pulse against his lips and inhaled lilacs and woman. With resolve, he sat back and pulled her up with him.

Sophie straightened her hair without meeting his eyes.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

She shook her head. “You didn’t.”

“Meant no disrespect.”

“None taken.”

“Can we still meet again next week?”

She looked up then and their gazes locked. “Yes.”

Sophie polished the last of the silver and washed her hands, hoping Mrs. Winters didn’t come looking for her for at least another hour. The week had been blistering hot, and as she worked she kept thinking of that riverbank with the shade trees. Maybe this Sunday she would dangle her feet in the water. Maybe Clay would kiss her again.

She knew better than to get involved, than to lead him on—especially a lawman! But she’d never known there could be pleasure in a man’s kiss. The new discovery kept her awake nights. Kept her thinking of little else.

She was losing her control, and she needed to be more guarded.

She returned the silver to its wooden trays and got herself a drink of water. Maybe she should slow down a little, stretch out the tasks. Dawdling didn’t suit her, however, and she’d just as soon be busy.

“Miss Hollis!”

Sophie turned at Mrs. Winters’s voice to be sure she hadn’t conjured it up. “I’m finished with the silver.”

“I’d like you to run and buy sugar. We shouldn’t have run out, but there was none on the train yesterday. I’d go myself, but my foot’s bothering me something fierce.”

“I’d be glad to,” Sophie replied.

“You remember where?”

“Iverson’s on Seventh.”

“That’s right. Charge it to our account. Can you carry twenty pounds?”

Sophie nodded and hurried out the door, pleased for the opportunity to get out of the hotel and walk. The day would be a scorcher later, but for now a breeze stirred her hair and rustled her skirts. The sun was pleasantly warm on her face.

Rigs and wagons of all types passed her on the dusty streets. Shop owners waved from their doorways and the few women she met on the boardwalk greeted her courteously. As always, she marveled at how the uniform lent her respect. Mrs. Iverson hurried to take her order and left to fill a bag with sugar.

Enjoying the change of scenery, Sophie wandered about the cool confines of the mercantile, absently looking over the supplies, paying scant attention to the other customers.

“Well, well. I wondered when our paths would cross again.”

At the sound of that voice her world turned inward.

The hair on the back of Sophie’s neck stood on end.

Dread and recognition tumbling in her stomach, she turned to face the man behind her. The man she’d hoped never to see again. Tormenting thoughts of him had shadowed every moment of her life for the past two years. Yes, life certainly did have a way of turning the tables.

“Tek,” she whispered in stilted horror.

Chapter Eight

S
ophie refused to show the fear numbing her scalp and propelling her heartbeat.

“Mr. Morgan,” he corrected.

It would have taken her a moment to recognize him had she not heard his voice. The man she remembered usually wore a thick mustache, so the shape of his mouth was unfamiliar. His hair was darker and longer, but his eyes were unmistakable: steel gray and chilling in their intensity. “How did you find me?”

His relentless cool gaze assessed her clothing, but she refused to wince at the caustic smile that creased his otherwise handsome cheek.

“A Harvey Girl. That’s rich.” He laughed aloud, attracting the attention of other patrons. “Positively rich.”

“Hush,” she warned, glancing to the side and questioning the miserable luck of him finding her. With all of Kansas to search, with the entire West to cover for that matter, he’d uncovered her refuge. Sophie didn’t even know a curse word fitting enough for this situation.

“Is everything all right, miss?” A fatherly looking rancher in dungarees and a faded work shirt ambled toward them, appearing genuinely concerned. “Do you know this man?”

Sophie stiffened, angry at having attention drawn to her in the company of this man. How could Garrett be so stupid as to attract the notice of the other patrons? “Thank you for asking, sir. No, I don’t know him. He was inquiring about the food at the Arcade. I’ve assured him that the best fare in the West is available along the Santa Fe.”

The ranch hand nodded. “That’s so.”

“Well, then I’ll jest mosey on over there and get me some vittles,” Garrett deliberately drawled in an insulting imitation of Midwestern speech.

The man’s eyes narrowed, but his voice still held its friendly quality, as though unsure if Garrett was mocking him.

“You do that.” With a nod to Sophie, he said, “Miss,” and retreated to the back counter where he kept a protective eye on the two of them.

Garrett’s gaze narrowed on her. “You’re a gem,” he said with that superior, gall-provoking smile lurking at the edge of his naked mouth. “My most apt and ingenious pupil. I can’t wait to hear how you passed the requirements for employment.” One eyebrow rose suggestively. “Mr. Harvey make an
arrangement
with you?”

Anger welled inside her chest, but Sophie held herself in rigid check.

“What
are
those lucky customers finding on the menu these days? Two bits for a cup of coffee and a quick grope under that dowdy skirt?”

Hating him, Sophie turned her head. If his attire was any indication of how he’d fared since their last encounter, he’d come up smelling like the proverbial rose, as usual. He wore deep-green trousers with matching vest and a loose white shirt rolled back at the cuffs in deference to the temperature.