“You never would have told me. You would have let me ride away and never know about the baby.”
Teddy sunk down on a rock. She’d always been told her temper would be her undoing and now it was. She’d been determined to keep her secret and now she had blurted it out like an angry cawing crow. Something had taken hold of her and damned if she even knew what she was doing. “I thought it would be better if you didn’t.” She gritted her teeth, furious at herself for making a mess of one more thing. “I thought you had enough to worry about.”
He sat beside her, feeling as if he’d taken a hard blow in the belly. In rare moments he had thought of having children of his own, even pictured them playing at his knee and calling him Papa. There had been a woman, too, a wife who loved and revered him. But in his fancy he had been a man of wealth and property, not an outcast gambler suspected of murdering his friends.
All this imagining he had laid down to being the illegitimate son of a servant, tormented and teased by the spoiled and coddled children of the master his mother had served. His had been a hard beginning that he had spent years trying to forget. He did not like the thought he was about to foster even a semblance of that fate on another, his child.
“Teddy, a man has a right to know,” he said softly.
“Maybe.”
“No maybes. This matters to me. This baby. Yours and mine. I have to think about this.”
She shook her head miserably, still angry at herself for speaking out and wondering, guiltily, if the transgression had not occurred because a part of her wanted him to know, wanted him to care and to share in what was happening. “It’s a little late for thinking,” she said.
“I mean, I have to think what we are to do about it.” He had never known his father, not even the man’s name. His mother had been silent to the grave about the matter. He surmised that the incident of his birth had severed her relationship with the man who had sired him. He was sure his mother had carried the grief over the parting all her life—not that she hadn’t loved her son. She had. He had been her joy, her only happiness. But he had never known about his father.
Teddy thought he had gone daft. Babies got born and there was only one way about it.
“We must marry,” he said, startling her out of her troubled musing.
“Oh, hell!” She threw up her hands. “We’ve probably got a posse after us and you’re talking about a wedding. Well, it won’t happen. You’re riding away from here and that’s how it is.”
“I’m staying.”
“You’re a fool!” she said acidly. “You’ll be dead before you’re a father if you don’t go. So, please, get on that horse and ride away.”
He caught her wrists and gripped them painfully tight. “Hear me out, Teddy. You’ve called me a bastard and you are right that I am. It is not a status I would willingly give to a child. So, please, for the child’s sake, marry me.”
Teddy leveled angry eyes on him. “It would be good if you loved me and I loved you,” she said, wounded that he had not even tried to disguise his motive with a profession of affection.
“Someday, perhaps, we can talk of love, someday when other things are settled, when I’ve not got the gallows waiting for me.” He let her go, ran his fingers through his hair and looked at her a moment, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I’m not asking that you take me,” he said. “Only that you take my name for the child.”
Teddy smiled bitterly. “I don’t know,” she said.
He felt himself the unworthiest of men. He could give her nothing but a name for the child and even that was tainted. He was an accused murderer, penniless, a man whose word wasn’t good enough to convict a true criminal. He couldn’t help her stop Adams without making things worse for her. She had said long ago that he wasn’t much of a man. She was right.
“You find a man of the cloth to marry us and I’ll sign the shares over to you, Teddy,” he promised. “That ought to help you hold things together until something can be done about Adams.”
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. He wanted the child—their child—to have his name. He wanted that enough to give up the only thing of value he had left. But he didn’t want her. She looked off across the desert. “If I do, will you ride away?”
“Yes.” He owed her that, he thought. And maybe he could turn things around from the other end, get back to London and hope he would have Alain’s help in clearing him of Jenny’s murder. If he did, then he would come back. If he didn’t, then she was better off not knowing what had happened to him there.
***
With the baking sun on their backs and an uneasy bargain between them, they rode a full day. Teddy would not take Rhys where a stage ran or where the news of his escape could have preceded them. Toward the end of the long ride, when the first golden hues of sunset had begun to draw the searing heat from the sky, a cluster of buildings appeared in the distance, a small adobe house, a barn and, in the yard, a well.
Teddy knew the Reverend Jack Cheatam and his wife Bess who ranched the place and ministered to the Indians in the area. Preacher Jack, as he was known by most, was another of her father’s old friends, one of those who had come to Wishbone when it was a stop on a dusty two-rut trail. Later he’d moved on to this spread and the work he’d felt called to do.
Preacher Jack could be trusted to perform the simple ceremony that would bind her to Rhys Delmar, in name if not in fact, and to keep his silence about the deed. At times his place was teeming with Indians and wayfarers but today there was no one about to greet them except Preacher Jack himself. With a rifle at his side, he was at the well drawing water for the stock when they rode in.
“Welcome, strangers,” he called out. “Well, Teddy!” A cheerful look replaced the wary smile that had first beamed from his face. “You are a surprise!”
She leaped from the horse without using the stirrup and gave the old man a hug so vigorous it knocked his hat from his head, exposing a thick thatch of hair bright as polished silver. “How’s Bess?”
“Fine and she’ll be delighted to see you.” He pulled away from her and turned to Rhys who had silently dismounted. “Who’s your friend?”
Teddy introduced them but waited until they were all in the house and Bess, too, had recovered from her surprise to tell them why she and Rhys had come.
“I only wish your pa could be here,” Bess said. She was white-haired as her husband. Her face, like his, was lined from years of toil in the Arizona sun. But her smile was quicker and deeper than his. “But I’m not in the least shocked that you would ride out here for a wedding.” She gently touched Rhys’s hands. “No fuss and frills for Teddy, young man. Do you know what kind of bride you’re getting?”
“As well as any man can know a woman,” he said, smiling guilelessly for Bess but letting Teddy see the two-edged meaning in his eyes.
Teddy’s face lit up with color. “We understand each other,” she chimed in. “And we are anxious to get it done.”
“Of course you are. And we’ll get to it as soon as you two wash the trail dust off.” Preacher Jack showed them a barrel of water and a cake of soap behind the kitchen and left them to wash while he got his Bible and Bess got together a bouquet of the small, yellow-centered blue asters that grew wild around the barn.
“We do understand each other,” Teddy reiterated when Preacher Jack had gone inside. She had cleaned her hands and face and she was drying them on the towel that hung above the bucket. “We get hitched and you ride out of the territory. For good.”
He nodded. “I’ll write out a contract assigning my shares to you. Preacher Jack and Bess can witness. Mae Sprayberry has my belongings in safekeeping and you’ll find the documents you need among them. Teddy—”
She hurried inside, not wanting to hear any more. It wasn’t as if any great illusions of a glorious wedding day were being shattered. She hadn’t given much thought to marrying, ever. But somehow it seemed there ought to be more shine to the occasion. Still she balked at wearing Bess’s wedding veil.
“Over buckskins?” she said.
“I’d be honored if you did.” Bess tenderly held in her weathered hands a sheer piece of lace anchored to a coronet of faded silk cornflowers. “I’ve kept it packed up for forty years and—” Tears misted in her eyes. “A bride ought to have something borrowed. And the flowers in the bouquet are blue and about as new as anything.”
Teddy relented. “I’m the one honored, Bess,” she said, and kissed Bess’s wrinkled cheek and hoped God would forgive her the deception. Teddy took the little bouquet in her hands though the tender stems suffered from the anguish in her grip. She allowed Bess to fasten the coronet and lace over her hastily brushed out hair. She was a reluctant bride and now a laughable one too, though she had made Bess happy. And Rhys, well, there was no accounting for him. He looked cocky as a genuine bridegroom. He smiled at her like an idiot and told her she could not have looked prettier in satin and silk.
She scowled at him, glad there was no mirror to show what a sight she must be with that delicate swath of lace draped above her fringed shirt and britches and high leggings. Maybe it was fitting for what the occasion really was, half desperation, half resignation.
Bess was making a fuss about getting her to stand just so beside Rhys. Trying to muster a smile, Teddy let herself be led around like a sheep going to slaughter. She wanted to scream out her frustration, her disappointment. How the hell had she gotten herself in a fix like this?
She almost did break out into a fit of hysterical laughter but managed to stem it by biting the inside of her jaw. Thank goodness the veil half hid the grimace on her face. Poor Preacher Jack. She hoped she wasn’t making too much a mockery of the sanctity of marriage he was talking about.
The other words Preacher Jack was saying came to her like a loud hum but she must have understood, because she answered him something and then Rhys was speaking, too.
“Is there a ring?” Preacher Jack looked at Rhys.
“No. No ring.”
The hum started again then it died down and Rhys was turning her, lifting the veil, taking her in his arms. The pressure of his lips brought her back with a start but not before he plunged his tongue deep in her mouth and kissed her with a ferocity that took her breath. She couldn’t hold back a silly little sob. She had done it now. She had married the fool and he was holding onto her like he cared, kissing her again. She felt limp as a rag doll and wound her arms around his neck to keep her legs from buckling and then she was kissing him back, moaning softly as every particle of her trembled and shook and burned for him.
“We should celebrate. All of us,” Bess said.
Preacher Jack had a bottle of whiskey that he kept for emergencies and such. He poured each of them a round and made a toast to long life and happiness. Teddy drank her portion down fast, hoping it would ease the tightness in her throat and calm her racing heart. But when it was time to sign the documents, the marriage certificate and the contract which Rhys had prepared, her hand was unsteady and she was still in a daze of disbelief that she had married Rhys Delmar.
His head was perfectly clear, and when Preacher Jack offered the spare room for the newlyweds, he was quick to accept. The thought of spending his wedding night on a soft bed with Teddy was not an opportunity to pass up. He made damned sure she saw him slide the marriage certificate and contract into his coat pocket before they sat down to supper.
Seething at the audacity of him, Teddy helped Bess repack the treasured wedding veil. Rhys Delmar might think he was getting a wedding night but that had never been part of the bargain. The only thing he would get was a piece of her mind. A big piece. He’d ridden roughshod over her enough. Damn him! She had barely been able to hold her life together before he’d shown up and blasted it into so many pieces she might never get it together again.
He kept smiling at her all through the meal, acting as if there were nothing strange about the whole event, as if she were not an unhappy, unwilling, pregnant bride, and he was not a reluctant father, a man accused of murder and on the run from the law. It was absurd and sad and he didn’t seem to care that it was. He kept on talking, charming Preacher Jack and Bess. He kept on smiling, at every chance turning that seductive, maddening half-smile of his on her. She could feel his eyes on her, too, those pale, mercurial eyes that could turn her to butter. Which was what he wanted, no doubt. And wasn’t going to get.
Beneath the table, Teddy clenched her fists tight. Rhys was talking to Bess, his voice silvery and mesmerizing. “Teddy has no equals,” she heard him say.
Dammit! Why hadn’t she shot the scoundrel and saved herself all this trouble? Her temper continued to build, steadily, but she managed to hold it in check throughout the meal. She felt bad enough about rooking Preacher Jack and Bess into thinking she and Rhys were a happy, loving couple. She’d save her heavy guns until she and Rhys Delmar were alone.
Hours later, when Preacher Jack and Bess had gone to bed, she was ready to fire the first salvo. And fire it she did, behind the closed door of the spare room. Shadowed in the light of a single flickering candle, she waved her fist in his face. “I know your game, you varmint, and I remind you we had a deal!”
Ignoring her threat, Rhys patted the pocket which contained the documents. “These are yours come morning,” he said and slipped out of the coat and tossed it on the back of a chair which stood behind him. Teddy thought of grabbing for the coat but was distracted, then lulled into fascination, as he pulled the tails of his shirt from his trousers and slowly unfastened the row of buttons running down the front. He slid the garment off and cast it on the chair with his coat, smiled warmly and said, “I’d like to enjoy the night.”
“Damn you!” She raised her fist to him again. “You said you would ride on. I should have known you wouldn’t keep our agreement.”
He sighed, turned around and tugged off his boots, treating her to a glimpse of the flexing of bands of muscle in his broad back. She saw, too, that his hard frame still bore the scars of Taviz’s knife and she was reminded, painfully, that they had been the price of her rescue, the price of her life. Remorse and regret rose in her, briefly, only to be cut down by the greater weight of her anger.
The heat of it flared in her eyes and they burned critically over him, looking for something to despise and finding only feelings of admiration. The candlelight was no help. It played delightfully on the sinew and muscle of his lean body, rendering him even more appealing than nature already had. Naked to the waist, he bent over the bed and turned back the covers and turned his persuasive eyes on her. Teddy drew a sharp breath and felt the familiar quickening of her pulse.
“Have a heart, Teddy.” His voice was low and husky, heavy with desire. She was his wife, for only a night, perhaps, and he wanted to spend it in her arms, more than anything he wanted to spend it in her arms. “I fully intend to keep our deal,” he said softly. “But tonight...”
The compelling desire in his voice sent a shiver of need sluicing through her, shaking her to her toes. She fought it, bristling at her weakness and his intent. “I won’t bed down with you!”
Cursing, she spun around to leave, knowing that if she stayed another second in that room with Rhys, looking at him, at that tempting bed, she’d stay the night.
Rhys caught her shoulders and spun her back to him. “Won’t you?”
His mouth came down quickly. His lips twisted across hers in a savage, urgent assault that struck like a bolt of lightning, filling her with fire and steam and such an urgent need for him that she was staggered by the fury of it. She began to struggle, to rail against him, but he clasped her tighter, capturing her like a bird in a net he’d made of his arms.
She thrust her hands against his chest and made a final vain attempt to flee him, but there was no true fight in her and the tension in her limbs fled as she felt the heavy beating of his heart beneath her hands. She sagged against him and her fury ebbed away like a retreating tide, yielding to his strength and warmth.
Her hands slid up and caught his face and she kissed him.
What was the harm, she thought? The damage was done, the seed sown. Let her reap some pleasure before the harvest. In the morning he would be gone and she might never see him again. She could savor the memory, a last sweet memory of him.
A long, whimpering cry came from her as he briefly pulled his mouth away. She was impatient with him now, as filled with need as she had been with anger, anxious for him to tear her clothes away and bend her back upon the bed. In a minute he was by her side, his clothing strewn at his feet.
He touched her face, felt the damp warmth of her breath on his skin. He touched her hair and reveled in the soft feel of it, the fragrance of wildflowers that rose up and wrapped around him. He slipped his hand down the length of her, grazing over her silken skin, stroking gently over the curve of her breast, lightly lingering on her belly. He felt the gentle swell beneath his palm and was filled with yearning, not only to possess her but to possess all the things a man and woman might have together, time, and love—and children. Together.
Some day he would speak to her of love, when things were right, when he was whole and free. Tonight he would take only the physical pleasure she offered—that he had wrested from her. He joyed in it, in the soft responsive sounds she made, the breathless, halting sighs, the silken moans that tore at his heart as he stroked and kissed her flesh. She did not love him, but she desired him as he desired her. Perhaps one day she could love him too.
His hands floated over her, and if there was a part he had not touched before he touched it then, marveling at the softness of her, the beauty of her in the wavering candlelight. He rose up though his hands lingered on her thighs, stroking the center of her, weaving through the mossy curls at the apex of her parted legs, seeking the molten core of her, stroking within, bringing a cry of hunger, of wanton desire from her.
He sought her lips as he gripped himself and guided his way into her, plunging swift and deep, his eyes half-closed, his cry of need rough and passion-laden. He felt he was riding the wild wind as she rose to meet him, tossing beneath him like a gale. Her hair shimmered, gilded streaks against clouds of white muslin. Her green eyes glowed, distant lanterns beckoning, driving him as the storm rose in him, a twisting whirlwind unleashed and clamoring through him, thunderous and wild.
His whole body shook as release came. He felt her shuddering beneath him, felt the squeeze of her body around him, heard the ragged cry of his name.
And so it was through the night, hours of endless loving, brief minutes of sleep. No questions, no promises.
In the hour before dawn Teddy became hazily awake to find the welcome weight of Rhys’s leg across her thighs, the soft touch of his hand upon her breast. She thought he meant to love her again but saw that his sooty lashes rested on his cheeks and that he slept.
She smiled and softly stroked his shoulder, surprised that after a night with more lovemaking than sleep she should feel this aching pleasure at being near him. She had been rash and angry when she broke him out of jail. She had wanted to save him but she had also wanted him out of her sight and out of her mind. She realized that could never be. He was in her heart, in her blood.
She carried his child. Such a blissful, happy thought. She didn’t want him to go. Whatever they had to face, each of them, they would face together. She would tell him that when he awoke.
And she would tell him about the letter that had come for him the day before. She had been too riled, too bewildered, to remember anything that mattered and she had completely forgotten about stashing the letter in his saddle pack. But there was time for that, plenty of time.
Sighing softly, she nestled closer to the warm comfort of his body, expecting him to awaken and take her in his arms at any moment. She would tell him everything then, in the clear light of morning she would bare her heart and soul.
It was not to be. The coziness of his arms and her exertion conspired against Teddy and sleep came and caught her and tumbled her in its darken lair.
When she awoke hours later, Rhys was gone. And her thousand dollars was too.