The Trail Master's Bride (10 page)

Astounded by her brazen behavior, her eyes snapped up to the back of his head, a safe place where her unseemly thoughts didn’t have free rein. She took in the black cloth of his Stetson and the collar-length wavy hair beneath. It was curling on the ends in dire need of cutting. Her fingers itched to touch it, to find out if it was as silky soft as it looked. She could imagine threading her hands through it as his head lowered for a kiss.

Again, she jerked her gaze away, but she couldn’t escape all that he was, tall and broad and oh-so masculine. Forceful, confident, and arrogant at times; still, she couldn’t forget the gentle way he had held her on his lap, the first time he’d come after her. Neither could she put from her mind how his firm hand had rained down on her upturned bottom, her soft belly pressed against his hard thighs as he spanked her. For the most part, he’d been kind, tolerant, teasing at times, and nothing at all like Elliott. And he called her darlin’, in a slow western drawl, often with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes, all of which she liked a lot.

While she was lost in her reverie, every moment of which was consumed with her husband-to-be, he stopped and she slammed into his back. His arm twisted behind him to catch her as she bounced off, nearly landing on her backside in the dirt.

He quirked a brow at her in question.

“I beg your pardon,” she uttered, flushing with embarrassment, as if he might somehow decipher the direction of her wayward thoughts. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Her eyes shifted to the side, finding Reverend Jamison with his bible curled in his arm, most of his congregation behind him observing her as if waiting for more of her antics. Shifting back to Weston, whose steadfast regard was fixed on her, clarity hit her between the eyes like a sledgehammer. She wanted to be his wife, despite all the rules, orders, and the spankings. She wanted to belong to this big, strong, handsome man, whose first instinct had always been to protect her. She wanted to carve out a new life with him in the wilds of Oregon and she wanted all of that because she was already in love with him.

The reverend cleared his throat. “Are you ready to say your marriage vows, Mrs. Hobart?”

Mina looked up at the man she would wed and without further reservation stated plainly, “I do believe I am.”

A slow, heart-stopping grin was his only response.

* * *

With the vows said, there was an immediate change in the demeanor of the other women. It was as if the preacher’s few words had by some divine measure dissolved the cloak of indecency they had enshrouded her with and she was welcomed into the fold. Several women stopped by to offer their best wishes and to admire her antique wedding band.

There had been a moment during the ceremony when the reverend had asked about a ring and she’d stopped breathing, sure that in the middle of the hot and dusty prairie such a thing wasn’t possible, but Weston had surprised her by reaching into his vest pocket and producing one. She’d exhaled, breathing normally again, until she saw it. Crafted in silver and rose-gold, no less than a dozen small rose cut diamonds were mounted in the intricate repousse setting. It was exquisite and very old, a family heirloom possibly, and undoubtedly what he’d been scouring the wagon for earlier.

Her eyes rose to his in question.

“It was my grandmother’s, darlin’,” he said in a hushed murmur as he slipped it on her finger, and her eyes welled with tears. Moved by the sentiment, despite the suddenness of the ceremony and the less than romantic and very rustic setting, some of the onlookers had been moved too, sniffling and dabbing at their eyes while softly tittered words of approval rippled through the assembly.

That evening while they made camp, all the ladies of the train surprised the newlyweds with an impressive wedding meal.

There was a savory pork and vegetable stew, trail beans seasoned with wild onions and ham hocks, soda biscuits with freshly churned butter that melted in her mouth, and for dessert, sweet apple dumplings along with a vanilla cake one of the women had baked in her Dutch oven. She was also introduced to something called ‘spudnuts,’ a sort of doughnut made from potato flour. They were lighter and fluffier than the ones from her favorite bakery back home.

When she complimented the women who prepared the feast, she received offers to give her recipes or cooking lessons. These offers hadn’t come when she was struggling at the skillet while married to Elliott, so she figured being married to the trail master gave her more clout. It smacked of apple-polishing, although she wasn’t too proud, or stupid enough not to accept their help.

It was getting late when everyone returned to their own wagons, leaving Mina and Weston alone. She was packing away the extra food the women had left for them, when his shadow fell over her where she knelt by the fire.

“When you finish there, make up our bed under the wagon tonight. It’s too warm to sleep inside. I’m going to ride the perimeter and check in with the first watch, then I’ll be along directly.”

“Our bed,” she repeated. It came out as a whisper before she could stop herself. She hadn’t told him one important thing about her marriage to Elliott. “But—”

She stopped abruptly, feeling his strong hands wrap around her upper arms firmly and haul her to her feet. He wasn’t rough, his fingers not pinching or bruising as Elliott’s were wont to do. She knew he meant business, however, by him first putting her exactly where he wanted her to be, and second, from the intense expression on his face. His dark eyes simmered with resolute determination.

“Get any ideas of this not being a real marriage out of your head, Mina Carr. You’ll go where I go, sleep where I sleep, and bear my children. I’ll also expect you to work by my side, with me teaching you what you need to know about what will be your new life, and you’ll learn to mind me better than your last husband, that’s for certain. I’m no milksop, mealy-mouthed, citified fop posing as a man. I’m the real thing. Now, I’ve got a job to do before I come to you as your husband in truth. You get settled in as I asked and I’ll be along soon.”

He then pulled her up on her toes and planted a searing kiss on her lips. Once she was too dazed to think straight, he let her go, spinning her around and, with a small nudge to her lower back, sent her on her way. She took four stilted steps toward their wagon, before her head cleared and her temper flared to life. When she whirled back to face him, a set down on the tip of her tongue, she could only make out his shadow as he rode out. Fists clenched, she stamped her foot in frustration. If she’d had Vanessa’s ugly green and orange vase within reach she’d have hurled it at him, damning the consequences.

Sweet, kind, patient Ben Jacobs would never have been that high-handed. Unfortunately, he didn’t make her heart race or create that interesting flutter low in her belly, or spark incredible heat between her legs. Again, she put a halt to her errant and lascivious thoughts. What had she gotten herself into by choosing Weston Carr?

The old adage about making one’s bed and having to lie in it came to mind as she stomped toward the wagon to do exactly that.

Chapter Seven

Sleep was out of the question. Despite the layers of blankets she spread atop the thick pad that served as a mattress, she tossed and turned about. She told herself it was the heat, though inside, she knew she was fooling herself. It was worry over what lay ahead when Weston came to her bed. His intention had been clear. Would he really take her here on the ground, in the open, so late at night? Although vows had been spoken, she knew little about the man she’d wed. She supposed she’d have to tell him she was still untouched. Heaven’s sake, the embarrassment of that conversation. Would he be careful with her, this being her first time lying with a man? Or fiery in his passion as with his earlier kiss?

She worried herself into a dither, having to fix the covers multiple times until the strain and excitement of the day finally took hold and exhaustion overcame her.

A noise near the wagon woke her and she sat up with a start. With a thump she was on her back again in an instant, having cracked her head on something hard. Blinking away the flashes of white light the blow had caused, she looked up at the wooden planks and cross ties that made up the underside of the wagon. She’d forgotten she was underneath, not inside as she’d been these past two months or so. Another noise nearby caught her attention. With one hand rubbing the sore spot on the top of her head, she lay back, rolling to her side to peer out into the darkness. Was it her new husband coming in from watch, or someone else who shouldn’t be lurking around?

A shadow appeared by her feet as a large man squatted then crawled toward her. Large-framed like Weston, but it was too dark to be sure. She scrambled back.

“My husband will return any moment, best you be on your way,” she said, trying to be bold, although her voice shook with fear.

“It’s me, Mina.” A hand came up and his Stetson came off. In the dim light of the quarter moon she could barely make out his features, but his husky voice was instantly recognizable and she heaved a relieved sigh. “Didn’t mean to frighten you, darlin’. I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“I’ve been restless. I’m not used to sleeping outdoors.” And nervous about his return; she wisely kept that to herself.

He crawled forward and settled onto the crude bed alongside her. As he eased back on the pillow, blowing out his breath in a long, drawn-out exhale spoke of his tiredness. “Everything’s quiet. Try to rest.”

He said nothing more, nor did he make a move of any sort to touch her. Mina lay back thinking she got a reprieve, but when the sound of his steady breathing came to her, a sure sign that he slept, she frowned. The speech he’d made about being a husband in truth seeming meaningless now. At the time, he’d been so resolute, but if his words were true and he wanted her for a wife, why hadn’t he touched her?

For a long while, she lay there wondering what it was about her that her husbands didn’t want to take their marital rights. She’d been told that she was pretty, despite her unfashionable red hair. She’d also been told that she was sharp-tongued and willful. Lord knows Elliott had found her so. Conversely, Weston often seemed amused by her, teasing her as if enjoying sparring with her, except the few times she had pushed him too far.

Confused and feeling unwanted, she rolled to her side with her back to him. Not wanting him to hear, she pressed her face into her pillow and muffled the sounds of her tears.

* * *

As they always did, Weston’s eyes popped open well before daybreak. After years spent on the trail, he was used to getting little sleep, rising early and taking first watch in the wee hours of the morning. Tonight, someone else had kindly volunteered. He stretched, his body brushing up against the warm softness of the one by his side.

Mina.

Exhausted when he came to bed last night, he was afraid he wouldn’t have the patience or control to make their first time together all that it should be for her. That wasn’t the case now. The few hours of shuteye had refreshed him and as was usual upon waking in the mornings, his body was hard and ready. Ordinarily, he had no choice except to ignore it, a trip to the creek cooling his need and discomfort. But he was married now, to a spirited beauty with enough curves to tempt a saint, so self-denial was no longer necessary. And he for damn sure wasn’t a saint.

He rolled toward her, his hand finding her hip in the dark as he molded his long body against her back. Feeling the thickness of her skirts and her long-sleeved blouse, he smiled. The silly woman had gone to bed fully dressed. He lifted a foot, grinning when he encountered her shoes. Her hair lay in a long, thick braid over her shoulder. Uncoiling the knot she always wore low at the back of her head appearing to be the lone concession she’d allowed for her comfort.

Curious about its texture, his fingers followed the plait to its end and pulled off the ribbon tie. He then worked through the twisted locks until it was undone and he could run his fingers through the bounty that flowed in thick waves down her back. Naturally, the next step was to bury his face in the silky mass and breathe her in, which he did without reservation.

His cock twitched, filling and lengthening further. This wasn’t unusual around Mina, except this time, it was much worse. Knowing she was his made him more than hard, it made him yearn for her, the ache of which grew nearly unbearable as his length pressed uncomfortably against his button fly. He had to have her.

Brushing her hair off her neck, he nuzzled her warm skin, kissing the soft spot beneath her ear. The hand at her hip moved in front until his arm encircled her waist. Reflexively it tightened and pulled her closer.

“Time to wake up, Mina.” His low murmur was no more than a whisper in her ear.

She stirred briefly, then settled back, a soft snore escaping her lips.

Finding it adorable, he chuckled.

“Darlin’,” he persisted, urging her to wakefulness once again. This time she woke, sleepily turning to him.

“Is it time to get up already?”

“Not just yet.” He shifted a bit, rolling her onto her back. His lips returned to her sweet skin, this time finding the softness of her throat just above her collar. “I thought to have our wedding night, while it’s still night.”

His hand moved up the flat of her belly to rest beneath a breast, curling around the lower curve as his lips traveled to her jaw, then over to her lips that were parted slightly. Taking that as an invitation, he propped on an elbow and lowered his head, his lips opening over hers, his tongue boldly dipping inside for a long awaited taste.

He felt her small hands on his chest and heard a whimper from her throat.

Knowing she was a widow, not a naïve first-time bride, he took it as an amorous response and deepened the kiss. His fingers made quick work of the buttons of her blouse and in no time his hand delved inside her camisole, locating the warmth of the full breast beneath.