Clay (2 page)

Garth spoke up instead. “We’re heading to California on the wagon train, too. That makes us neighbors, so to speak, for at least the next four months.” He offered a wide smile, his teeth even and white against the deep tan of his face.

Oh, they were attractive, all right—even if they were Johnny Rebs. Both were tall with dark hair, ruggedly handsome faces, and compelling brown eyes. An air of confidence about them made them even more appealing.

Garth had a friendly, gregarious personality, while his brother was more reserved. And besides those probing eyes, there was a set to his jaw that suggested a stubborn streak.

Of course, she was in no position to criticize since no one had ever accused her of being complaisant.

By the time they finished their meal, Rebecca had found out that both had been cavalry officers in the Confederate army, and that neither of them were married. What she failed to find out was the reason why the two men had joined the wagon train.

Rebecca hated Rebels. And with good cause. Her husband had been killed by one—maybe one of these very men.

So now, with time running out with every tick of the clock, not only did she have to make a choice between the two men, she had to decide which would be worse on the long journey: tolerating a stinking Rebel, or a Yankee who literally stank.

She glanced up and discovered Clay was staring at her again. There was a mysterious gleam in his eyes, one that was dangerously seductive. Common sense warned her to avoid him at all costs. But his reserve made him a better candidate for annullment than Garth, whose engaging warmth suggested that he’d want more than a business arrangement. So she decided on Clay. Stubborn jaw or not, he was less talkative and would probably not encourage a real relationship between them.

Having made the choice, she had one final decision to face: Did she really have the fortitude to go through with the outrageous scheme? Or the selfishness to affect someone else’s life—even that of a damn Rebel secessionist—to serve her own purpose?

On the one hand, she wouldn’t be in this predicament if they hadn’t started the miserable war. On the other hand, she had to live with her conscience. And the Lord knew how desperation often brought out the weakest qualities in one’s character, rather than the finest.

But she had sold everything she owned and had nothing to return to back East. The only way to get to California was on this wagon train. And the only way to be able to do that was to find a husband and…

She glanced up again and met those seductive, dark eyes.

Didn’t the woman ever shut up? She’d talked incesssantly throughout the whole meal. And even though she was doing a damn good job of trying to disguise it, he could tell that something was bothering her.

Clay glanced at his brother again. Garth appeared smitten with her, but he always did around an attractive woman. And she was pretty enough, with that blond hair and those incredible green eyes. His own taste had always run to dark-haired women. Like Ellie, with her blue eyes and hair as shiny and dark as black silk. But Garth liked women any way they came, and right now he was gobbling up her words like a mouse in a grain trough.

They stood up when she finished and excused herself. True to her word, she had left the seventy-five cents on the table to pay for her dinner. It was a good thing, too; they were down to their last few dollars. The hotel room was a luxury they really couldn’t afford, but Garth had convinced him it might be the last bed they’d get to sleep in for six months.

“The way you were nestling up to the widow, I figured you had the same plans for the night as that desk clerk,” Clay said when they sat down again.

“I do have plans,” Garth said, “but they don’t include the widow. I’m all set with a little redhead down at the Alhambra.”

“The Alhambra! Dammit, Garth, are you going to waste what little money we have on a whore?”

“We’ve got a long drought ahead of us, Clay. You heard what that wagon master said. If we’re signing on as riders, we’re not allowed to say much more than hello and goodbye to any woman on the train. So I’m not about to get mixed up with the Widow Elliott. Six months, Clay! That’s a long time to go without a woman. Tonight’s the last opportunity we might have, and you ought to be considering it yourself. It’ll be money well spent.”

“I’ve already let you talk me into a hotel room we don’t need. Besides, the last thing I need right now is a woman,” Clay said, disgruntled.

“You’ll be singing a different tune a couple months from now.”

“I doubt that. Thanks to Ellie, I wouldn’t trust any one of them. Like they say, ‘One bad apple spoils the barrel.’ ”

Garth chuckled. “Women aren’t apples, Brother Clay. They’re like peaches—rosy and round, and delicious to the taste.” He slapped Clay on the shoulder. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Clay had no intention of waiting up for him. He was tired and might as well get his money’s worth out of that bed they’d rented. He paid the bill and went back to the room.

He was about to enter it when Rebecca Elliott ran out of her room, wearing a dressing gown that offered a good idea of the curves that were filling it. Her blond hair was brushed and hanging in a golden mantle to the small of her back, and the sight of her reminded him of how very long it’d been since he’d been with a woman. Maybe Garth had the right idea, after all.

She rushed up to him. “Oh, Mr. Fraser, thank goodness! There’s a huge bug in my room. Will you kill it for me? It’s just too horrible!” Her shudder drew his immediate gaze to the bounce of her breasts beneath the satin robe.

“It’s most likely just a cockroach, Mrs. Elliott. I suggest you get used to bugs, ma’am, because you’re likely to encounter a lot worse than a cockroach in the next six months.”

He walked over to the doorway of her room in time to see the insect scurry under the door separating their two rooms. “I guess it’s my problem now.”

“Well, I appreciate your willingness to help just the same. May I offer you a drink to show my gratitude?”

What is she up to?
For damn sure, that bug was just an excuse. His instinct—which had gotten him through some pretty tight squeezes during the war— told him that this woman wouldn’t be afraid of a charging elephant, much less a cockroach. The way she was dressed showed plenty enough to heat his loins, and he’d bet his last buck she knew it, too.

What the hell—if her purpose was to seduce him, why not take it? After all, six months
could
be a hell of a long time.

He stepped into her room and closed the door. “It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Elliott.”

“My name’s Rebecca. Do drop the formality, Clay.”

He sat down in the only chair, and as she poured the drinks his hungry gaze swept the length of her. Her neck was shapely and inviting above the low-cut dressing gown. His mouth suddenly felt dry, thinking about sliding his lips down that slender column and along the silky curve of those shoulders. Her breasts were high and firm, her waist narrow, and her hips were slim. He was suddenly itching to get his hands on those breasts and on the rounded buttocks outlined beneath the clinging satin garment.

She turned and approached him with a glass in each hand, the undulating sway of her hips giving him glimpses of her long, slim legs peeking out from the side slits of the gown. He was getting harder by the second.

“We’re going to be friends, aren’t we, Clay?” she asked in a throaty invitation as she handed him the glass.

Her eyes were twin pools of seduction as she raised the glass to those luscious lips he was now dying to taste. “Here’s to new friendships.”

“To new friendships.” He took a sip. “You didn’t drink. That’s no way to finish a toast.”

She smiled and took a sip. Her lips were moist when she lowered the glass, and he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on them. They were as soft as velvet and tasted of whiskey.

His gaze focused on her swaying hips again as she moved away and sat on the edge of the bed. His mouth went dry when she crossed one leg over the other, revealing a bare limb that drew his attention like a magnet. Her leg was long, and smooth, and lily white. He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Since we’re going to be traveling together for a long time, I think we should get to know each other better, Clay.”

He smiled. “Oh, we’re going to get to know each other real well, Rebecca.”

She was ready and willing, so why waste time with idle chatter? He stood up and quaffed the liquor in a single gulp. It burned like hell going down, but it felt good when it hit. “No time like the present. Right, honey?”

Her mouth curved in an inviting smile. “Oh, I like ‘honey’ much more than Rebecca.” Her tongue darted out and moistened her lips. “Much more, Clay.”

God, she hadn’t put a hand on him yet, but she had him hard and hot.

“But look at that, your glass is empty,” she said.

“And you’ve barely touched yours. I don’t like to drink alone, Rebecca.”

She downed her drink, then began to choke and cough. “This isn’t very good whiskey, but it’s the best they had,” she said when she was finally able to speak.

She rose and took his glass from him, then moved to the dresser. “I bet you think I’m being very forward.” She refilled the glass and handed it to him.

“Not at all. I like an honest woman.” He thought of Ellie and took a deep draught of the whiskey. This time it went down smoother and felt even better. “There’s nothing worse than a lying female who deceives you into believing she’s in love with you. It’s all business and no pleasure, with some gals.” He finished off the drink.

“Did some woman do you wrong, Clay?” she asked.

“She sure did, honey.”

She refilled his glass again. “Tell me about it,” she said.

“While I was away at war, she up and married another man.” He took another drink. “A damn Yankee, on top of it.”

“She must have been a fool to pass up a good-looking fella like you.”

“I was the fool, to ever think I loved her,” Clay said as she refilled his glass yet again. He felt a little dizzy and sat down on the bed.

“Some women don’t know when they have it good. I’d never run off and marry another man if you asked me to marry you.”

“Ha! I’ll never make the mistake of asking any woman to marry me, ever again.”

His loins felt on fire as his gaze followed the sway of those hips again. He downed his liquor, hoping to squelch the fire, but it stoked it instead. Setting the empty glass aside, he cocked a finger, “Come here, honey.”

When Rebecca approached, Clay pulled her down on his lap and covered her mouth with a hot kiss.

Maybe it was the whiskey she’d drunk, but to Rebecca’s surprise, the kiss wasn’t altogether unpleasant. As a matter of fact, it was… mind-numbing, toe curling delightful! This man could kiss all right, and it had been a long time since she’d been kissed.

The next kiss was even more potent. His tongue slid past her lips, and the hot, darting sweeps sent shivers of excitement through her. Charley had never kissed her like this. It felt far too good to stop.

With a smothered groan, she slipped her arms around Clay’s neck when he pressed her back to the bed and cupped one of her breasts. The heat of his palm was an added weapon against her dwindling resistance.

When he brushed aside her dressing gown, shivers of arousal raced up her spine. Ignoring the thin barrier of the nightgown, he drew both the fabric and her nipple into the moist heat of his mouth. Oh, that felt
so
good. It had been so long since she’d felt a man’s touch.

Rebecca’s eyes popped open. What was she doing? This wasn’t part of her plan! She pushed him away and sat up.

“Slow up, Handsome, we’ve got the whole evening ahead of us,” she said, fending off the hand cupping her breast.

To her relief, the whiskey finally caught up with him; he was having trouble sliding the dressing gown off her shoulders.

“Let’s get that off you, honey.”

She smiled teasingly. “Let me do that before you rip it.” Slipping out of his grasp, she stood up. “I think you could use another drink.”

“I don’t want another drink. I want you.”

“And I want you, but I’m ready for another drink.” She refilled his glass, and then picked up her own barely touched one. “Let’s drink to us, lover; then I’m going to make you feel so good.” She tipped up her glass. “To us.”

“To us,” he slurred.

They clinked glasses and Rebecca brought hers to her mouth but didn’t drink, watching as Clay gulped his down. He had to have a cast-iron stomach. What was keeping him from passing out? Those weren’t single shots she’d been pouring him.

She put her glass on the dresser and went back to the bed. Slowly she removed her robe. He was finally so drunk he couldn’t do much more than stare at her.

“Lay back so I can get your boots off,” she said. It was a struggle, but she finally succeeded in removing his boots and stockings. As she was about to toss a stocking aside, a shiny object caught her attention. A closer look at it revealed a small, diamond-studded wedding band tacked by thread to the top of his stocking.

Had he intended the ring for this Ellie woman he’d planned to wed? Rebecca began to feel sick in the pit of her stomach. The whole situation was becoming worse by the minute. She wasn’t proud of what she was doing to begin with, and now she felt she was no better than the woman who had betrayed him.

“Now the shirt and pants,” she said lightly, feeling heavy with guilt. She had to fend him off as he groped at her breasts when she leaned over and worked the shirt over his head.

Clay rolled over, his body pinning her to the bed. Drunk or not, those hands of his had a will of their own as his mouth captured hers in a hot, moist kiss. The thin fabric of her gown was no deterrent against the warmth of the palm caressing her breast, or the other hand sliding up her thigh to nestle between her legs. She squirmed beneath him and tried to budge him off her while trying to fight off his hands, but one or the other always found its mark.

Her chest was heaving from breathlessness when he finally broke the kiss.

“Let’s get rid of this, baby.” His fingers tucked around a strap of her nightgown and began to slip it off her shoulders.

Drawing a deep breath, Rebecca succeeded in shoving him off her and onto his back just as his fingers got caught in the strap. It tore lose, ripping the gown down the front from neckline to hem.

Clutching the gown together, she bolted off the bed.

“Come on, baby, I’m waiting.”

Though his speech was heavily slurred, he didn’t show signs of passing out. She began to worry that maybe he wasn’t drunk enough to implement her plan. And who knows if his brother might show up at any minute. Rebecca pulled a dress over her torn gown.

“Where are you going, baby?” he slurred.

“Just down the hall to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Rebecca hurried downstairs, and after a hushed conversation with the desk clerk, she returned to the room.

God had delivered her! Clay was fast asleep.

For the next quarter hour she paced her room nervously, sparring with her conscience. It wasn’t too late to abort her plan, which was shameful and self-serving. But in truth, as long as he was heading out on the wagon train anyway, she couldn’t see how she was doing him any harm. They could have the marriage annulled once they reached California, and neither would be worse off then they were now.

She opened the door in response to a light knock.

“Rebecca Elliott?” the caller asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Judge Wilkins. Sam said you have a problem and that it’s important that you wed tonight, is that correct?”

“Yes, please come in, sir.”

He stepped inside and looked around at the figure in the bed. “Is this your intended?”

“Yes. You see, Clay and I planned to get married and leave with the wagon train. Unfortunately”—she blushed appealingly and lowered her eyes—“in our excitement we… ah… we got overly… ah, well, you know. My poor mama and daddy would turn over in their graves if they thought I’d…” She bit her lip. “You understand, it’s best we marry right away. Please, Judge Wilkins, will you marry us now?”

“I have to say it’s most unusual, young lady, and it appears the intended groom is sleeping.”

“He said to wake him when you arrive.”

“Very well, madam. But under the circumstances, it will cost you ten dollars.”

“Ten dollars!” Her money was dwindling quickly.

“There is the matter of my services, certificates to issue, and the marriage to be properly registered, young lady. Now, if you wish to go through with this marriage, I suggest you wake up the intended groom.”

Rebecca went over to the bed and shook Clay by the shoulder. “Clay, darling, wake up.”

“Come to bed, honey,” he mumbled.

“Clay, Judge Wilkins is here to marry us.”

“Marry us? Okay, Ellie.”

Ellie?
Oh, no, he was going to ruin her plan! She helped him up and he staggered to his feet.

The judge frowned. “He appears inebriated, madam. Are you sure it’s his wish to marry you?”

“Of course,” Rebecca declared. “Clay’s a gentleman, Your Honor. He would never have compromised my reputation if he didn’t intend to marry me. Clay, darling, you want to marry me, don’t you?”

He pulled her back against him and put his arms around her. His breath ruffled the hair at her ear. “Of course I do, sweetheart. You know that.” He began to nibble at her ear, and she sucked in her breath. “Thought of nothing else for the past five years. Now, let’s get back to bed, Ellie.”

He started to tickle her sides chanting, “Ellie, Ellie, with the ticklish belly.” She giggled and tried to ward off his hands but only succeeded in putting her neck in a vulnerable position for him to trail a string of kisses down the column of it.

“Darling, behave yourself,” she said breathlessly.

“You’re embarrassing me in front of the judge.” Her legs were trembling. “You must excuse him, Judge. He’s had too much to drink, celebrating our intended nuptials.”

“Hello, Judge.” Clay extended his right arm for a handshake, as he pulled her tighter against him with his left one, so tight she could feel his arousal.

“Glad to meet you, Judge.” He blew lightly in her ear, making her shiver.

“Shall we proceed, Judge Wilkins?”

The judge eyed her dubiously. “He calls you Ellie. I thought your name was Rebecca.”

She didn’t even blink. “Yes, it is. Ellie is a nickname… from my last name, Elliott.” The lies were coming faster and easier.
Dear Lord, please forgive me.

Clay’s hands crept upward to her breast, and Rebecca’s eyes widened in shock. “Can you hurry this along, Judge? He’s, uh, very eager.”

The judge shut the book he held. “I think we’d better get you two married right away. Do you…” He looked questionably at Clay.

“Clay Fraser,” Rebecca said.

“Do you, Clay Fraser—”

“Clayton Fraser,” Clay corrected. His warm breath was at her ear again, sending more shivers down her spine. “Captain Clayton Hunter Fraser, Confederate States of America.”