His Most Wanted (17 page)

She gasped. “This can't be the same room.” A small bouquet of wildflowers bound by a blue ribbon lay on one pillow. She set her valise gently on the bed, afraid her mundane bag might disturb the beauty of her surroundings. Like all the other rooms, this one was spotless: floor swept, rugs beaten, walls painted, mildew gone. No drafty walls or even rogue raccoons.

“Ben's worked hard. I'm giving him two days off.” He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“He deserves more than two days. He's performed miracles.”

Kit kissed her cheek, and his warm breath made her shiver with pleasure. “He worked a little harder in this room. I asked him to.” He worked his lips down her neck. “Tonight's special,” he murmured.

She leaned back, loving the way their bodies molded together as if designed for each other. Had she heard him correctly? She wanted to ask what was so special about the night, but she dreaded hearing another of his jokes. If he cared so little for her that he had nothing serious to say, she wasn't going to coax it out of him.

He moved his mouth to her collarbone, closing his fingers over the buttons of her bodice. Unsteadily, he opened the first and moved to the next. Already her objections about waiting for the bath were vanishing, her fears subsiding beneath the escalating desire his kisses had stoked. As usual, he'd abandoned words for actions, and she would do nothing to slow him down. Her need equaled his, and she would save her concerns for later. All that existed was now, loving Kit and living in this perfect moment.

He slipped his hand inside her bodice to cover her breast. Loving the sensation of his rough hand fondling her flesh, she leaned against him, arching her back to give him more access.

A knock at the door drifted through the fog of euphoria in her brain.

Kit groaned and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

“Shouldn't you answer that?” She felt her heart beating hard against his hand and instantly dreaded his response.

With a hiss of air between his teeth, he slipped away and opened the door. It was Ben. She heard him speaking to Kit in a lowered voice. A prickle of unease ran down her spine. Something was amiss. The old man had tried to tell him something in the barn. What were these two up to?

Kit turned back around, his expression puzzled. “I'm not sure what this is about, but I'll be right back. Wait for me?”

He left before she could answer, what else would she do?

Ah, but there was her valise and the lacy things she'd brought to wear. Now she had her chance to put them on before he came back.

Holding the letter to the afternoon light streaming through the window, Kit read the message twice more. The signature belonged to the Wainwrights' lawyer. And yes, he did recall drafting the note to the solicitor asking him to acquire a mail-order bride for him. But hell, he'd never meant to actually send the damned thing.

“When did Hastings contact you?” He returned the letter to the woman standing across from him and was barely able to meet her gaze after she'd traveled all the way from St. Louis.

He must turn her away, of course. He couldn't very well have two brides.

“A week ago, sir. I boarded the steamboat immediately afterward, and we were able to make the passage up the Arkansas River.” Her blue eyes sparkled with what seemed to be remembered pleasure from her traveling experience. “I've never been this far west before. I've always wanted to live on a cattle farm.”

Ben returned with a cup and saucer. “More tea?” He grinned at the lady.

She nodded and returned his smile, carefully taking the cup from his aged hands. A widow, she was slightly older than Kit but still beautiful with dark hair threaded with silver and laugh lines around her eyes.

Presently, Kit noted the color high in his friend's cheeks. Ben had entertained their guest for most of the day while waiting for Kit's arrival. The old man had tried to warn him, but with Kit being a love-struck fool when he was around Cora, he hadn't listened.

Now what to do with an unwanted bride?

“Mrs. Tambor, I feel most beholden to you for coming so far at my solicitor's—no—
my
request. But this has been a mistake.” He gestured at the sofa. “Please have a seat with me so I can explain.”

After awkwardly recounting the events that had inspired him to write his letter to Hastings, he then told the lady about Cora and how he'd planned to propose to her. He'd never thought his request for a bride had been mailed. He'd left it on a desk and someone in the house, perhaps Andrea, had thought they were doing him a favor by taking it to the postmaster. “Forgive me, ma'am. It's a horrible thing to learn after coming all this way.”

Mrs. Tambor's cheeks were ashen when he finished. His gut clenched, and he prayed she wouldn't cry.

She stared into her teacup, turning the handle back and forth distractedly. After a length, she took a deep breath and let it out. “No matter. I'm here, finally. Just like I intended.” Perking up, she lifted her chin and glanced between him and Ben, who was looking on with concern. “I shall simply have to find some means of providing for myself. What do other unmarried women do in Fort McNamara?”

Cora had washed up in the basin and was dressed by the time Kit finally arrived. With his back to her as he closed the door, he didn't see her right away. But his mouth fell open when he finally noticed her sitting on the edge of the bed.

Exactly how she'd hoped he would respond.

She leaned back on her elbow and traced her hand across the lace and ribbons of her finest corset. The crimson undergarment was supposed to be seen, like many of the things her girls wore, but this one was unique. She'd purchased the fine French garment for her trousseau, though she'd never dreamt she'd actually wear it for any man.

Although Kit had seen her naked many times now, his earnest gaze always filled her with pleasure. This time, however, she felt the temperature of the bedroom rise with each second he watched. He moved toward her, staring at the places where her exposed skin peeked through the lace, the dark pink of her nipples straining at the peek-a-boo lace and the rest of her body waiting to be exposed by him.

She hadn't been in the business of grooming ladies for men's pleasure without knowing a thing or two about the art herself. She slid her legs onto the bed, stretching provocatively on her side like a buffet for his hungry gaze. Hopefully, he'd brought his appetite.

Beckoning him near with the curl of her index finger, she opened the top hook of her corset, exposing more of her breasts. She tilted her head back, allowing her loose hair to slide off her shoulders, just the way he preferred.

Kit slid out of his coat and slung it on the bed behind her, never taking his eyes from her. “Sweetheart, you look—” he wet his lips and lifted his gaze to hers, “—like you've been waiting for me.”

She smiled, and he sank onto the bed beside her. Taking his hand in hers, she said, “I certainly have and for far too long. Now how are you gonna make it up to me?”

“Cora,” he murmured, stroking her hand between both of his. His gaze darted from hers. “I have to tell you something unpleasant.” A line appeared between his eyes.

She'd not seen this much concern in his expression since she'd been in jail. This certainly wasn't the way a man should begin his profession of love—if he'd even entertained the idea. “What's wrong?”

“I…don't even know where to begin.” His breathing had become shallow, and the muscle in his jaw worked. “There's been an appalling mistake.
I
made a mistake.”

He'd told her before of his sense of worthlessness, how he'd always felt useless for anything but being a gunslinger or a sponging idler.

Suddenly, worry for him replaced her own sense of self-preservation. She sat up and reached out to him, touched his arm soothingly. “I'm sure it's not so bad. What happened? Is it the ranch? The cattle are here?”

Each of her questions brought a shake of his head. “No. Something I did the first week I stayed at the Willows. I was being a rash fool.” His gaze flicked up to hers briefly. “You had me so rattled that I started thinking about things, what my life had been, what it ought to be…”

She eased back to study his eyes. If this was his declaration of love, it was starting from a very auspicious beginning…unless it was a declaration of something else, perhaps the opposite.

Her heart began to ache. “Are you telling me you made a mistake being with me, Kit?”

He frowned. “No. Of course not.” He reached for her cheek and caressed her. “Oh, Christ, I didn't mean you. Or us. That we're a mistake.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, seemingly torn apart.

She thought back. Whatever he was having such difficulty saying had begun the week he'd arrived in Fort McNamara. Had it been when he'd accepted the position of sheriff? “Did you break a law? Is it one of the men you arrested? What, Kit?”

He put his hand behind her neck and pulled her gently forward until his lips touched hers. His kiss was slow and hard, bittersweet yet achingly tender. When he broke the kiss, his eyes were the color of a rainy day.

“I ordered a bride,” he mumbled.

She eased back a fraction to read his expression. Was this another of his jokes? “What do you mean?”

He wasn't smirking this time. Instead, he nodded, hanging his head as if deeply remorseful. “One of your ladies must've found my letter and mailed the request to my lawyer. Hastings had her sign a contract and everything.”

“You're married?” She gasped. A chill flashed across her skin. “Of
all
people, Kit, tell me you aren't married.”

“No. Not yet. I mean—” he grasped her shoulders as if fearing she would flee, which she might, “—I'm not going to marry the lady. I never intended for her to come here.”

“She's here?” Oh, this was getting more dreadful by the second. She stood and went to the wardrobe to look for some clothes to put on. What she really needed was time to collect her emotions. Tears pricked her eyes. Kit would never be hers. Now they couldn't even be lovers. How could she make love to him when he belonged to another woman?

She found a shirt and explained over her shoulder as she dressed, “I know my employees take married men all the time. That's how we're able to keep our doors open. But I don't have to. And I'm not gonna start now.”

She pulled her skirt on and turned around to find Kit standing behind her. He held his coat in his hands and was rummaging in its pockets.

“I'm gonna pay for her to go back home, Cora. I don't want a mail-order bride. I was stupid to think any woman would do.” He stopped digging and tossed the coat aside. “Uncle Bart always said if I found the right woman, I should marry the gal and never let her go. Now I know he knew exactly what he was talking about.” His mouth quirked up at the corner in the way she found so adorable.

She shook her head as her eyes swam in tears. “But she's here for you. You asked for her.”

He held out his hand between them and opened his palm, showing her a silver ring. “I was gonna ask
you
. That's what I'm doing right now…in my own inept way.”

Oh, gracious.
She picked up the ring with trembling fingers and examined it. The piece was slightly heavy with a single perfect rose standing in relief on the top. A new tear formed in her eye, and she wiped it away.

“I thought you liked roses. Asa made it,” he spoke in a quiet, hesitant voice.

“I love them. It's stunning.”

Perhaps the most beautiful piece of jewelry she'd ever seen. She curled her fingers tightly around it, basking in the sentimentality of the gift and his thoughtfulness. But a ring wasn't what she'd been waiting for.

She put the ring back in his palm. “I can't accept it. It should be hers.”

“Cora, no.” His voice wobbled.

She moved past him, hurrying for the door, needing to be away from him before she changed her mind. “Give it to her. Make the most of this. She chose to come here.”

He caught her hand, keeping her from heading downstairs. She pulled against him, but he drew her clenched fist to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. “Lady, you can't make me marry anyone else. You're the only one for me.”

Her stomach dipped as he turned her hand over and held the ring out to her again. “Let me handle the mess I made, but first hear me out. I don't want to marry anyone but you. Would you…
mind
being my wife?”

She swallowed a bubble of laughter at the absurdity of that question. “Of course I wouldn't mind, but—” she wiped at the tear on her cheek with the sleeve of her blouse, “—why do you want me? You could have someone less…”

“Troublesome? Sure I could.” He brightened, not quite smiling. “But trouble makes life more interesting. Besides, I don't think Mrs. Tambor would like this ring much.”

She frowned, nonplussed. “Why? It's perfect.”

Seemingly undeterred by her objections, he slid the ring on her finger, causing a riot of butterflies within her.

“Just push the button.” He motioned at the ring and waited, rocking back and forth on his boot heels.

On closer examination of the ring, she saw a tiny indentation on the side. She pressed her thumbnail against it, and the face swung open, revealing a smooth, shiny surface. “A mirror?” She looked again and noticed behind the rose face was an engraving:

To Cora, with my love always, Christopher.

The air left her lungs as she read the words over and over. The most beautiful words in the world, but they would be so much better said aloud. She glanced up sharply and found him watching her, his expression tense.

“The writing's very tiny. Do you think you could read it to me?” she asked sweetly. When he stood there looking tongue-tied, she stepped closer, lifting the ring under his nose as she slid an arm around his waist. “Please?”