Marry Me by Sundown by Johanna Lindsey
He left and made his way back to the telegraph office. Still no reply from the sheriff, but he took the time to send word to his family. He didn’t tell them that he was coming home—he wanted that to be a surprise—but he told them that he’d finally struck it rich. He also mentioned Violet vaguely. She was still a thorn he hadn’t yet figured out how to extract from his life—or if he even wanted to. And he mentioned that Degan Grant had got hitched. They would probably get a kick out of that.
Just in case they heard from the sheriff before the end of the day, he went to the stage office and bought tickets for tomorrow, warning the man that he’d expect a refund in the morning if they decided to stay in Butte longer. As he returned to the hotel, a boy caught up with him and handed him a telegram. Morgan read it, then stuffed it in his pocket and went to find the Mitchells.
Before going upstairs, he checked the hotel dining room to make sure they weren’t already there. They were. And it was uncanny how in a room full of people, his eyes went immediately to Violet. Cheeks still porcelain, thanks to her parasol; golden hair prettily coiffured tonight. She never had worn that silly hat again. He supposed he owed her a new one.
She was so damn beautiful, his violet with thorns. He wasn’t sure he could let her leave the territory. He wasn’t sure he could stop her. He wasn’t sure he should try. She was a fish out of water here. She didn’t belong in the West. She belonged in a fancy house full of fancy servants with a fancy English lord. . . .
He growled under his breath and turned to leave.
Chapter Forty-One
“GOOD GRIEF, HE DIDN’T see us,” Violet said to her father, and stood up to wave and call out to Morgan before he left the doorway. When he reached them, she asked, “You aren’t hungry yet?”
“I can eat.” He caught the attention of the passing waiter, saying, “Steak, and a lot of it.” As he sat down, he said to Violet, “You’ll never guess who just got married.”
“You are correct, since I don’t really know anyone in this town.”
“You’ll remember this man. I heard he was in a gunfight near here while you were in town, that notorious gunfighter, Degan Grant. Half the town turned out to witness his wedding today.”
She shuddered delicately. Charles noticed and put a hand over hers, forcing her to explain. “I witnessed him shooting another man my first week here. So utterly barbaric. Dueling has been outlawed all over the world—everywhere except here.”
“It used to be a lot wilder here,” Morgan said. “Gunfights are not nearly as common as they were ten, fifteen years ago. You could say the West is growing up.”
How utterly absurd. That would make the odds astronomical that she would see one in the street and then get dragged into another near the mines in just one month in the West, yet it had happened to her. But she didn’t want to argue the point with Morgan. They’d been getting along well the last few days and she didn’t want to ruin it.
And she was managing to ignore how bloody handsome he was now—well, not really ignore, that was impossible, but keep a tight rein on her prurient reactions to him. Her father’s presence helped. He’d even joined them on that second fishing trip, though he ended up napping in the grass for most of it, so she hadn’t been alone with Morgan. But Morgan had made that day fun again. Every single fish he unhooked for her he then tossed at her until she was throwing them back at him, and at one point she was chasing him to do so. And he talked a lot about his home, telling her about his friends, his family, what it was like growing up on a ranch with such a big family. She was going to have some nice memories of Montana mixed in with the bad when she left. When she . . . left. Good Lord, she felt tears starting! What the devil?
“We don’t have them in Nashart,” Morgan added with a pointed stare at Charles. “It’s a peaceful town.”
Violet blinked rapidly before she glanced up. She almost asked, “Have what?” until she recalled the argument she’d avoided. He was still talking about outlaws and gunfights, or the lack thereof.
“Which is why I’m looking forward to recuperating there,” Charles said.
She frowned. “In Nashart?”
Morgan answered, “We can reach Billings in just under two days since the stagecoach travels day and night at top speeds, stopping only to swap out horses and drivers and to allow passengers a quick bite to eat. Then it’s another day by train to Nashart. Texas will be bringing the horses, since traveling by horse takes two to three times longer. He’s also agreed to show your brothers to the mines, but he insists on getting married to Emma first.”
She tried not to show her conflicted feelings at hearing this surprising news. Another delay in getting back to England, but it would give her more time with her father—and she wouldn’t have to say good-bye to Morgan yet. She wished that didn’t please her so much.
But she kept her tone neutral when she commented, “I thought these stagecoaches were crowded.”
“They usually are, which is why I bought all the seats on the one leaving first thing tomorrow, so Charley can lie down. Can’t do that on the train. I want to see him get better just as much as you do.”
He was right, of course. There would be three train changes on the way back to Philadelphia, even if she and her father took the express, and Morgan wouldn’t be there to help with her father if assistance was needed. Another week or so of rest and Charles might be able to make the long journey home without difficulty, but not yet.
But then it occurred to her. “Aren’t we waiting to hear from Sheriff Gibson?”
“I just got Gibson’s telegram. There wasn’t a jury trial. There rarely is with a circuit judge, especially when a lawman is present to testify to witnessing the crime. Sullivan got fifteen years for the abductions and planned murders that would have happened if he hadn’t been caught, and another ten were added because he committed and plotted those crimes in an effort to steal a mine. Gibson was right, the judge really didn’t like that charge.”
“It’s not enough,” Violet said tersely. “Not when his intentions were so clear. Had he succeeded, he would have killed all three of us to cover up the theft of the mines. And he falsified your death, Papa! The grief that caused me and Evan and Daniel is unforgivable.”
“Of course it is,” Charles said. “But twenty-five years for a man his age pretty much amounts to a life sentence. It’s certainly more than I was expecting, so I’m satisfied with the verdict.”
“So am I,” Morgan said. “A ruling like this will send a clear message to other unscrupulous miners and businessmen in the territory.” Then he asked Violet, “So we’re in agreement then? We catch the stage in the morning?”
He’d been in doubt? But then her father added, “Morgan has already telegraphed the boys for me, to tell them to meet us in Nashart.”
Hearing that, she stood up immediately. “Then I need to tell them to bring one of my trunks with them. I’m suffering from an appalling lack of clothes because I never expected to be here so long. Don’t wait on me to eat.” Violet hurried out of the room.
CHARLES GRINNED. “THAT WAS easier than I expected. Are you sure she’s in a hurry to return to England?”
“She’s mentioned more than once that she intends to marry a particular English lord in London. Has she really not told you yet?”
“I’m not surprised she hasn’t. She would consider it a delicate matter, because she knows it will disappoint me. When I let her go to London with her Aunt Elizabeth nine years ago, I never intended for her to live there permanently. I thought she had come home to Philadelphia to stay until you mentioned she has plans to marry in England.”
“Could you forbid her to go?”
“Not if it’s what she really wants. That particular child of mine has been known to—dig in her heels? Is that how you say it out here?”
Morgan chuckled. “To say she’s stubborn? It sure is, and I already knew that. But she’s your only daughter. Her place is with you right now, at least until you’re fully recovered.
“I don’t doubt she intends to make sure of that before she goes anywhere. She may have tried a few times to broach the subject of her plans for the future, but I interrupted her before she could. I don’t want her to go or to turn insistent about it. But I do owe her a full and honest discussion about what she wants to do.” And then Charles gave him a curious look. “You know, I’ve seen how carefree and happy you two can be when you think no one is watching. You get along exceptionally well, considering that you haven’t known each other for very long. It’s almost as if you’ve already formed a bond with Violet. So tell me, is her helping me to recuperate the only reason you think she should stay? Just for me?”
Morgan grinned, only slightly abashed. “I can’t deny I enjoy her company, when we aren’t fighting—hell, even when we are. I surely wouldn’t mind exploring that more fully. So, no, I won’t be happy if she leaves the country.”
“Does she know that?”
Chapter Forty-Two
AS SHE PREPARED FOR bed that night, Violet couldn’t stop smiling. She realized that, like her father, she was looking forward to seeing Morgan’s “peaceful” town. Could it really be so different from bustling, overcrowded, and dangerous Butte? And she would be able to regale her cousins with a description of an authentic American cattle town when she returned to England.
With this unexpected detour to Nashart, it felt as if another weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The misgivings she’d been having about getting on the train with her father weren’t only about his health; they were also about saying good-bye to Morgan. She was dreading that. It had nearly brought her to tears in the dining room tonight.
Yet it wasn’t as if she could marry a man like him, even though he didn’t look like a bear anymore. Before leaving London, she’d picked out the perfect husband. She’d been planning on marrying someone like Lord Elliott Palmer for at least six years, ever since she started talking and dreaming about love and marriage with her cousins. Morgan simply wouldn’t do. He was excitement, passion, wicked pleasures, while Elliott was refined, sophisticated, and everything proper. There was just no comparison—and besides, she was sure Elliott could be exciting, too. There hadn’t been time for her to find out.
She was getting into bed when a knock came at the door, and she pulled the spread off the bed and wrapped it around herself like a robe. It must be her father—hotel employees wouldn’t knock at that hour. So she opened the door wide instead of just a crack.
Morgan must have considered that permission to enter her room, because he did. She stood there with one hand still on the doorknob and the other making sure the spread was covering all of her nightgown. It didn’t help her composure that she’d just been thinking about him.
Before he even turned around to face her, he said, “Your pa pointed out to me that you might not know that I’m partial to you.”
Partial? What a tepid word! He favored her? Was fond of her? Or he just wanted her? But she’d already surmised the latter, because she had those exact same feelings about him. But just because they wanted each other . . .
He turned, their eyes met, and she sucked in her breath. There it was again, that overwhelming attraction that flamed up between them. She forced herself to keep still. She wasn’t going to run to him no matter how much she wanted to. She didn’t have to. In the blink of an eye, he was beside her, his hands on her shoulders, his body pressing in closer, then his mouth. Her back was shoved up against the wall and part of the still-open door, which slammed shut. As he kissed her, he slipped one arm around her waist, lifting her and guiding her right leg up around his hips. She raised her left leg and didn’t hesitate to wrap both around him, or wrap her arms tightly around his neck.
She couldn’t count how many times she’d let such an encounter play through her mind since that momentous night in his cabin, but now that it was actually happening again, she knew her imaginings had lacked the real passion, the explosion of feelings, the want, the need, the heat that were overwhelming her now. She even felt a little frustration that their lovemaking wasn’t happening fast enough, yet at the same time such delight that it was happening at all, despite her warnings and proper disclaimers that it couldn’t.
Her nightgown was hiked to her waist. Having been alone in her room, she had nothing on underneath it. Incredibly, the friction of the rough fabric of his pants pressing between her legs brought her first orgasm while she was still pressed to the wall. She dissolved, her head dropping back, his lips scalding her neck as little gasps escaped her. He carried her like that to the bed, both of them falling down on it in unison so her hold on him didn’t break.
But he was kissing her deeply again, so she didn’t pay much attention to his unbuckling his belt and taking off his pants, or lifting her nightgown, until he stopped kissing her and pulled the thin cotton garment over her head. Her loose hair fanned out behind her. His lips were back on hers, and then he was inside her, thrusting exquisitely, causing gasp after gasp and then no breath at all as the second orgasm rose up and washed over her. He joined her in that one. Sharing it gave her the most sublime feeling.
She didn’t want to move, probably should, but didn’t want to. The bubbly warmth she was feeling inside was worth savoring. He rolled to her side and pulled the sheet up over them. He even gently lifted her long hair and draped it over the top of her pillow for her, then lay down next to her. But when his arm went around her as if he meant to spend the night there, her eyes widened and she rolled out of bed. Fell out would better describe it, but she didn’t hit the floor because she straightened in time. But, realizing she didn’t have a stitch on, she dropped down below the edge of the bed and pulled the sheet her way. When she finally stood up, somewhat covered, she saw he was lying on his side, his head propped up with a hand, and completely naked because she’d just swiped the sheet from him!
She’d done it again, tossed out all thoughts of propriety and rectitude. She was appalled by her behavior once again. She swung around so she couldn’t see him before saying, “Get dressed!”
She heard vague sounds that assured her he was at least putting something on; then he said, “I know that wasn’t supposed to happen again, but it was a mutual impulse, we both loved it. Think about that before you run back to England.”
All she got out of that statement was that he did want to treat her like a wife without offering to make her one. Of course she would refuse, but he could at least ask!
She could hear him walking away. She turned to see he’d only put his pants on and was carrying his shirt and boots. Before he reached the door, she had to make him understand why they couldn’t keep doing this.
In a stiff tone that mimicked the one her aunt used when she gave one of her scolding lectures, she said, “A lady always has a chaperone with her to guard her virtue for this very reason—so things like this don’t happen. Due to unexpected circumstances, mainly my maid’s quitting as soon as we reached America and my brother’s being detained at the train station in Philadelphia, I was forced to travel alone. I thought I could manage, and I was managing—until I met you.”
He didn’t look the least bit contrite when he turned around with a grin. “I can do that. You want me to?”
Her virtue was gone, and she wasn’t sure what he was suggesting, unless . . .”You can’t chaperone me when you are the very thing from which a chaperone is supposed to protect me!”
“Sure I can. I can beat myself up if I have to.”
Now he was just teasing, and amazingly enough, she burst out laughing. Good Lord, exquisite sex and then he made her laugh? There was something good to say about a man like him, after all. But she still pointed a finger toward the door.
“No hugs or cuddles?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Go.”
“At least a kiss good night?”
She rolled her eyes, repeating, “Go!”
But she grinned the moment the door closed behind him. Incorrigible bear.
Chapt
MORGAN HAD TOLD HER to bring a pillow, had yelled it from the other side of her door early that morning. She’d told him not to be absurd. When she had to sleep sitting up in a moving stagecoach that night, she kept leaning in his direction, waking, and apologizing. She realized then why he’d suggested a pillow.
The fourth time she fell toward him, he pulled her closer, put her head on his shoulder, and said, “I can’t sleep if you keep crashing into me. Stay put.”
Violet would have argued if he hadn’t made it seem like she’d be doing him a favor. But when she woke again in the daylight, her head was on his chest instead of his shoulder, and her hand rested on it, too. His arm was around her back, holding her close to him. She leaned away slowly in case he was still sleeping. And caught her father watching her. She wasn’t fully awake yet, or else she would have blushed.
She whispered across the aisle to him, “Did you get a good night’s rest?”
“Better than you two did, I imagine,” Charles said in a normal tone of voice, adding, “And he’s awake.”
Now she really was embarrassed, but Morgan straightened up in his seat and said, “We’ll have our own beds tonight in Billings, and get you settled in at the ranch tomorrow.”
The ranch? She hadn’t imagined they would be staying with his family in Nashart, though she probably should have after her father had said he was looking forward to his stay there. And it might be nice. Morgan had told her enough about his family to make her feel like she already knew them. She wondered how he would behave around them.
He didn’t come knocking that night at the Billings hotel. She kept listening for it, not that she would have opened the door. Maybe he’d been serious about appointing himself her chaperone. The thought was silly enough to make her smile.
After riding in a stagecoach for two full days and all of one night, Violet found the train ride on the third day quite comfortable. Bo seemed to prefer it, too. They pulled into the Nashart station late in the afternoon.