Justin's Bride (35 page)

A thought intruded on her happiness as she suddenly wondered if he planned to stay in Landing permanently. He hadn't said anything about it. If he was the rich man he claimed to be, not that she cared about the money, she had enough for them both, what would he do here? If he was planning to leave, would he expect her to go with him? Could she leave everything she'd known behind?

“It doesn't matter,” she said aloud and picked up the lantern. “We love each other. Everything else will work out fine. I know it will.” She walked into the hall. It had to work out. She refused to lose Justin again.

J
ustin didn't bother with a lamp when he unlocked the door and stepped into the sheriff's office. The faint glow of the moon outlined the three desks and he moved until he was sitting behind the one in the middle.

After opening the bottom right drawer, he pulled out an unopened bottle of whiskey. He set the bottle on his lap, then raised his feet until his heels rested on the corner of the desk and he could stretch out in his chair.

It was quiet tonight. No drunks slept it off in the lone cell in back. He hadn't had to arrest more than a half-dozen troublemakers since he'd taken over as sheriff. The job wasn't hard or even time-consuming. He could be doing something else if he wanted. Maybe start up that horse ranch he'd been dreaming about ever since he'd had that job at the livery stable when he was a teenager.

He picked up the bottle, then set it down on the desk and closed his eyes. Had it really been that long ago when he'd quit school so he could make money to help out his mother? It felt as if it were just a couple of months ago. He'd still been on the scrawny side, getting beat up regularly by bigger boys who had nothing better to do than taunt the town bastard. His mother had cried over his cuts and bruises. She'd wept silent tears for his pain, and by the time she'd finished tending him, he'd been the one offering comfort.

Had she known the truth? he wondered. Had she figured out that the reason he'd stopped coming back beat up was that he was sending other boys home that way? Or had she assumed he was getting along better? What would she say about his marriage to Megan Bartlett?

He didn't want to think about that, but he couldn't help it. Megan was as much a part of him as his soul. Ripping her out would cost as much. He suspected his mother would be pleased with the union and would only see what she wanted to see. That was how she'd survived her grim life living above the saloon, spending her days on her knees scrubbing and cleaning.

But it had all been for nothing. His job at the livery stable hadn't saved her. She'd died, despite his earnings. He'd come back to make the past right and had found himself caught up in it, instead. He was married to a woman who could never love him. The fragile peace with the town was meaningless in the face of his dilemma. How could he walk away from Megan? Knowing the truth, how could he bear to stay?

He leaned over and pulled open the top left drawer. In the back, tucked under a couple of wanted posters and some bullets, was a small cloth bag. He drew it out and held it in his hand. Seven years ago, he'd gone back to the forest and spent the better part of a night looking for this. He opened the bag and tilted it so the slender gold chain spilled out onto his hand. He'd given it to Megan the afternoon he'd asked her to marry him. She'd tossed it back at him the afternoon she'd sent him away.

Justin held up the chain, turning his hand so that it caught the moonlight.

“I don't love you. You're a fool if you thought I ever did.”

Her words screamed in the silence. The fact that he'd heard them more than seven years ago didn't lessen their impact.

“I know who my father is. You're just that bastard Justin Kincaid. You'll only ever be a bastard. Go away. Go away!”

He closed his fist over the chain, squeezing as hard as he could. The gold work was too fine to bite into his skin. He knew he could never create a physical pain to match the bleeding in his soul.

And now she cared about him. Seven years too late he found favor. Not because she loved him or needed him, but because he was accepted by the town. Because it was easy and the right thing to do.

He knew now why the opinions of others mattered so much to her. What her father had done was inexcusable. But it wasn't enough. Justin knew he needed more. He needed to know she loved him for him and not because doing so was simple and correct. If only she'd come away with him when he'd asked her. They could have been together all this time. They could have had a child of their own, maybe a daughter like Bonnie. A six-year-old who—

Justin sat up suddenly. His boots hit the floor and the sound echoed loudly in the still office. Something nibbled at the back of his mind. Something that almost made sense, but not quite. Bonnie was six. Her mother had been murdered. Seven years ago, her mother had been beaten and left for dead. Had someone tried to kill Laurie because she'd found out she was pregnant?

He stood up and started pacing the office. It made sense. But why wait all that time to kill her? Why didn't the killer do it when he found out she was pregnant? Unless Laurie had known her killer and had been convinced the first attack was the result of temper, never to be repeated. Justin grimaced. A lot of men beat up women, and prostitutes were more susceptible to injury than most. From what he remembered about Laurie, if she'd known and cared about the man, she would have given him another chance.

He continued to pace. “Mama said we'd be a real family,” Bonnie had told him.

He stopped suddenly. Had Laurie been pressuring her lover? If so, that meant he was married. Justin frowned. Almost all the men in Landing were married, and with the possible exception of Colleen's minister husband, most of them visited the saloon girls regularly. It could be anyone.

But it was a start. In the morning, he would leave for the neighboring towns and talk to the sheriffs there to find out if they'd had similar problems. If he could figure out a pattern, his gut told him he would have his answer.

He walked toward the door and stepped outside. After turning the lock behind him, he started down the boardwalk. As he moved through the quiet town, he wondered if he could consider staying here permanently. He would for Megan. Which made him an even bigger fool, he supposed.

He still held the delicate chain in his hand. He dropped it into his vest pocket and tried to think about something else. By the time he walked up the front steps to the Bartlett house, he'd managed to plan his routes to the nearby towns and come up with a list of questions to discuss once he got there.

The hallway was dark, but a lantern had been left by the stairs. He picked it up and carried it with him. At the second-story landing, he paused in front of Megan's closed door. How many times had he wanted to go inside and watch her as she slept on her virgin's bed? How many nights had he imagined opening the door and finding her waiting for him, her body clad only in her wicked French lingerie? He placed his hand against the wood as if he could feel her warmth through it. He swallowed hard against the need welling up inside of him and turned away. He only had to be strong for tonight. In the morning, he would be gone and when he returned, well, he would get through that night when it happened.

After checking on Bonnie and making sure she was covered and sleeping soundly, he started down the hall to his own room. The door was partially open. He pushed it and stepped inside. If he hadn't tightened his grip instinctively, he would have dropped the lantern on the floor and started a fire.

Megan lay curled up on top of his bed. Her long blond hair was loose on his pillow, her body covered only with the sheerest silk and lace. One bare foot peeked out from the hem of her robe. Her hands were tucked under her cheek.

Desire hit him like a thunderbolt. His legs almost buckled as his blood heated to boiling. Hot need swept through his groin, hardening him instantly. On the heels of the compelling urge to go to her and claim her was the thought that he should turn and run in the opposite direction. Bedding her would expose him even more. He was already too close to being destroyed by his feelings for her.

Then she stirred slightly and he was lost. It wasn't that he could see more of her perfect body, or inhale the sweet scent of her skin. It was that she trusted him enough to risk his rejection, and that she dared enough to come to him virtually naked.

“Megan,” he said softly and put the lantern on the dresser by the door.

She opened her eyes and stared at him. He wondered if she would remember where she was, but she didn't look surprised or ashamed. Instead, she smiled and stretched. “I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was trying to wait up for you.”

“Why? What do you want with me?”

She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. Her expression was fearless. “I'm your wife, Justin. I want—” She ducked her head but not before he saw the first hint of a blush on her cheeks.

It took every morsel of his self-control to stay where he was. He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms, greedily supping on all she offered. But he couldn't. Not after what had happened between them. Not after he'd told her he'd never stopped loving her. He wouldn't bed her because she felt sorry for him.

She stood up slowly. The thin, delicate fabric and lace hid nothing. He could see the shape of her breasts, the elegant curve of her waist and hips, the shadowed place that hid her secrets. Her eyes met his. In the lamplight, the hazel faded to a pale gray. He'd always thought the color cold, but now he saw fire could burn there hotly. Desire straightened her mouth and won against her modesty. She untied her robe and drew it off her shoulders. It fell to her feet, leaving her dressed only in the sheerest of gowns.

Thin straps held embroidered lace against her breasts. The rest of the fabric flowed uninterrupted to the floor.

“I'm here because I—”

But he didn't let her finish what she'd been going to say. He'd thought of being strong and turning away from her. He'd thought he should protect the last whole part of his being so she couldn't leave him completely shattered. He'd been a fool. He couldn't resist her; he'd never been able to. And why should he? Wasn't a single night in her bed worth a lifetime in hell?

He crossed the room in two long strides, not caring that he crumpled her delicate robe beneath his boots. With one quick pull, he drew her gown over her head and tossed it behind him. Then he picked her up in his arms simply because he wanted to feel her naked body next to his. A fire ignited inside of him and it burned away his slender hold on convention and manners. He prayed Megan would not protest his possession, because he had to take her or die.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her head to his shoulder. He bent over and lowered her onto his wide mattress, then moved close to stretch out beside her. She was silk and satin, fresh cream and roses. He couldn't think of all the words he would need to describe her beauty, her softness. As she lay on her back staring up at him with wide eyes, he ran his hands over her. From her shoulders, down her pale arms to her long fingers. Across her waist, down her hips to her thighs. Below, to her slender calves and ankles, and finally to the arch of her foot. Everywhere he touched, she was smooth and soft. Sleek skin, sensuous curves, the supple willingness of a woman who trusts a man. She moved with him, her muscles rippling where he stroked her, her body shifting in subtle appreciation of his attention.

He knelt at her feet. Her nakedness pleased him. He smiled faintly. Pleased. What a foolish word to describe his feeling of awe. It was as if he gazed into the face of God this moment and saw a miracle. Her blond hair lay against the pillow like golden water spilling on lace. Every inch of her body, every line, every curve, brought him pleasure. He would touch them all this night, taste them, make her writhe and scream, make her cry. Only then would he claim her, and only then would
he
weep. Deep inside. Hard ugly tears for what would never be, and the permanence he would never know at her side. But the pain was for later. For this next hour, there was only this woman and her perfection.

He started to unbutton his vest. His finger bumped against his pocket and he felt the slight bulge there. The chain. He hesitated, then pulled it out.

“Justin. You found it.”

He held it up so it caught the light of the lantern, then took her hand and pulled her until she was sitting up in front of him. Without saying anything, she moved her hair over her shoulder, leaving the back of her neck exposed. He unfastened the chain and slipped it under her hair. His fingers brushed against her bare skin, making her shudder and him clench his teeth with longing.

The tiny catch resisted at first, then he secured it and straightened. She drew her hair away from her chest. The gold chain rested on her bare skin, less than two inches below her throat. It clung to her as if it too had spent the last seven years wishing to return to her. She reached up and traced its curves with her fingertip.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her lips trembled.

He finished unbuttoning his vest and ripped it off. He pulled his shirt from his trousers and tugged at the buttons. When they were free, the shirt joined the vest on the floor. Then he bent over her and grasped her shoulders. She arched her head back, raising her chin toward him. Her mouth parted as if she needed no seduction to be ready.

He gave her none. He pressed his lips hard against hers and instantly thrust his tongue inside her mouth. She moaned deeply. Her fingers touched his chest and sides, moving up and down quickly, fluttering against his heated skin. He wanted to grab her hands and force them down so that she held his throbbing hardness, but he knew if she touched him there, he would explode. Not yet, he reminded himself. Not until he'd branded her with his passion. Not until she was mindless with exhaustion and could do nothing but feel.