ROMANCE: BIKER ROMANCE: Werewolf Rider (MC Shifter Pregnancy Romance) (New Adult Paranormal Romance Short Stories) (147 page)

“You love me?” she asked in awe, her mouth hanging open in shock.

“I never thought I could love anyone after my family died but I do.  I love you Lacy.  Having you in my life has healed something inside of me.  I thought I put my rage away when I left the gang but I know now that all I did was bury that side of myself.  It is having you in my life that has made me feel like it is worth living again.  I need you to know that.  No matter what happens, I need you to know that and to know that I will never let them hurt you,” he said, kissing the top of her head and holding her close.

“I love you too,” she said, placing her hand on his cheek as she spoke, so mesmerized by the thought that the man that she had come to love so dearly loved her in return.

“Really?” he asked, lifting her up in his arms and spinning her around joyfully.  It seemed to odd to have such a perfect moment in the midst of such chaos, but he was so grateful for her that he could not contain the emotion.

“Yes, since the day that you brought home the puppy.  It was the first time that I realized the kind of man you truly are.  I have never felt so safe in my life, not since the fire.  I love you and I trust you to keep us both safe,” she answered.

“I do not know what I ever did to deserve such an angel as you,” he said as she smiled down at her.

“I am so grateful to the Lord for bringing you in to my life,” she said, lacing her fingers through his hair and drinking in the sight of the love on his face.

“It is going to be alright.  I have to go out after them.  It is the only way, but I swear to you that I will be back,” he said, though he looked like he would rather be shot dead than leave her alone.

“You can't do that.  Please, let's just go.  We can be happy anywhere, as long as we are together,” she begged.

“No, I will not have them hanging over used like a cursed specter.  This ends tonight,” he said sternly.

“Promise me that you are coming back to me,” she pled, looking at him as though she might never see him again.

“I swear on my love for you that I will,” he said, his heart overflowing with love for her.  He swooped down them and kissed her, gently at first but the kiss deepened as her arms wrapped around his neck.  When he finally pulled aware, the broad smile on her face made his heart soar.

“Be safe and return to me soon,” she commanded.

“I will,” he said as he grabbed the gun again and walked out the door.

He was gone for 5 days.  They were the longest days of Lacy’s life.  Each moment, she was consumed by fear of what could have become of him.  Each time she heard a noise, she had a mixture of joy that he might have returned and terror that it was Baron and his men who had come back.

On the fifth day, she heard the beat of the hooves of one lone horse and she knew in her heart that he had returned to her.  She dropped the knitting that had been in her hand and ran out the door with the puppy close behind her.

“You're back,” she cried, throwing herself at him the second he got off the horse.

“I told you I would be,” he said with a laugh as he pulled her in to an embrace.

“What happened,” she asked.

“I picked them off one by one,” he said, pulling off his hat and running his hand through his tangled hair.

“You killed them?” she asked solemnly.  Though she knew that he had only done what he had to do, she hated for him to have to bear the burden of more blood on his hands. 

“No, that part of my life is behind me.  I just had to get them each alone. Together they are no match for a man fighting to protect what he loves,” he said, smiling down at her.

“What did you do,” she asked, confused.

“I just had to round each one of them up.  Then I delivered them to the town where we robbed that last bank. I left them tied up with the money in front of the sheriff's office,” he explained, unable to hide just how proud he was of himself for managing to accomplish it.

“Won't they tell the sheriff about you?” she asked, worried that he would be taken from her just as they had both realized the depth of their love for each other.

“It is over.  Nobody would believe them.  Besides, with the money returned they have no reason to keep looking for me,” he explained with a laugh.

“We are free then?” she asked, unable to believe that they were really free.

“Yes and now I have a question for you,” he said.

“Yes?” she answered before he dropped to one knee before her.

“Will you be my wife?” he asked as he took her hands in his.

“We are already married, you silly man,” she said as tears of joy filled her eyes.

“Legally yes, but what we have now is more of a business arrangement than a marriage.  I want you to truly be mine.  Be my wife and let me love you for all the days of our lives,” he said, looking so sincere that she felt as though her heart was about to burst in her chest.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said.  With that, he surged up and swept her up in his arms.

“We will have a good life, I promise you,” he said, burying his face in her hair.

“We already do,” she said with a smile.

With that, he carried her across the homestead to a large old tree that stood beyond the barn.  There, in his favorite spot on their land, they said their vows again to each other.  This time, there was no one but the two of them, vowing anew to spend their lives together, this time because of the love that bound them.  As they spoke the words to each other again, their souls and hearts became one.

GAMBLERS BRIDE

Annabel Revere had everything she thought
she could ever want. She was eighteen years old, with long auburn curls, a pink porcelain-smooth complexion and catlike blue eyes that were usually filled with slightly naughty mirth. As a wealthy girl from Boston, Massachusetts, she was well-bred, well-educated and well-off. Although she was happy with her life, her parents felt the need for her to be married to a wealthy suitor as soon as possible.

One of the things about money was that, even if a person came to be rich, they would only remain rich as long as the profits continued to come in. Annabel’s father was older now, planning to retire, and a recent strike at his factory had left his company’s finances lower than anticipated for the year. Annabel was aware of this, but being a girl who was much more attuned to parties than to business, she did not understand the ramifications of a personal financial crisis such as the one her father was now dealing with.

“Mother, I would like to buy a new dress for the ball next Saturday,” she said, striding into the living room where her father read the newspaper and her mother was writing a letter.

Her mother set down her pen and looked at Annabel’s father.

Mr. Revere lowered his newspaper and looked into the eyes of his daughter. He was embarrassed and sad to upset his daughter. “I’m afraid that we cannot make any more purchases like that, my dear… Times being what they are, we need to keep a close watch on everything we buy from here on out.”

Annabel watched her parents, confused and a little irritated. She was far too used to getting whatever she wanted. “But I need to have a new dress at the ball! All of my friends will be there. Mother…”

Her mother sighed a little bit and shook her head at Annabel. “I’m sorry, Anna. You can wear your red dress to the ball. It is so pretty and you always look beautiful in it.”

“I’ve had that red dress for ages,” Annabel complained. “I want something new. You two are always talking about how you want me to get married. Well, how am I going to find a beau if I only ever go out to parties in- in old rags?”

She started crying, not because she was actually feeling sad enough to cry but because she knew that crying often worked in getting her what she wanted.

Her father rose to console her, giving her a light hug and patting her back gently. Her mother, on the other hand, was onto her theatrics. “There shan’t be any danger of you not finding a husband,” she said calmly. “At this very moment, I am writing a letter to a Mister George Hughes. He works with the Railroad.” She said the last bit with her blue eyes all lit up as though she had just admitted that Mister George Hughes could make rabbits disappear and walk on water, too.

Annabel furrowed her red brows together. Her face had become rather red as well. “I do not want to marry some stuffy Railroad tycoon,” she declared. “Why- Why he is nearly fifty years old!”

“Almost fifty years old, but very successful,” her father said, trying his best to appease her. Annabel was his little angel and it was due to his attempts to pacify her over the years that she had become so spoiled.

Her mother looked at her, becoming cross. “Annie, please,” she said. “This is for your own good, and your family’s. You will see in time that marriages can work out well when the parents carefully select the spouses. It was how your father and I came to know one another.” She picked up her pen and continued to write to that detestable old man, as though that was the end of the discussion.

Annabel stamped her little foot against the floor. “This is not for my own good! This is all for you and Daddy, and I hate it.” With that, she stormed from the room. She was no longer so concerned about which dress she might wear to the ball that weekend. The more pressing concern was protecting herself from a loveless marriage to a man who was old enough to be her father!

She dressed herself up in a modest, dark blue dress, tightening her bodice to the best of her ability. She was not used to tightening it herself – her mother usually helped her – but she did not want her mother’s help. Nor did she want her mother prying into her affairs and finding out where she was going.

Once she was dressed to go out, she left the house and got into a carriage. She rode to the nearest mail order bride office, blushing as she thought about what she was planning. Upon entering the office, she went up to the counter and dictated an advertisement, placing herself up for matrimony.

If she married a stranger, she wanted it to at least be a stranger she had chosen! Anyone who responded to her advertisement had to be better than that awful old Mister Hughes.

Miss Annabel Revere is eighteen years old and hoping to find the husband of her dreams
, her advertisement said. She was advised to describe the suitor she looking for in that way, because it served to butter up the men who were reading about her, and make them feel as though they might be filling a hole in her sweet young heart. She had wanted the ad to say,
hoping to find someone to take her away from her wretched parents
… But that wording was frowned upon.

As soon as the advertisement was written out to her liking, she paid the man behind the counter who had assisted her and went back out to find a carriage to take her home.

Jasper Daniels sat at a poker table amidst a cloud of cigarette smoke. Each time he downed his glass of whisky, a barkeep came and refilled it. He looked down at his hand of cards. A royal flush. He would not be losing tonight. He seldom lost at poker, which was why he played it so often with his friends in this bar. His reputation was that of a young man who thought he was better than everyone. He was also known for never shying away from a bet. Why should he, if he always won?

“Your move,” his friend Billy said. “I ain’t sitting here all night to watch you smirk at your cards.”

“All right, here’s my move,” Jasper said cockily, laying out his royal flush for all around the table to see. “’Fraid I’m not going to stop smirking tonight, Bill.”

Billy threw his cards down on the table, cursing loudly and clearly beaten. Everyone dropped their money into the pile and Jasper eagerly swept it all toward himself with his long arms. “Better luck next time, boys.”

Clayton looked at him and slowly shook his head. He was biting onto a toothpick that was little more than a splinter at this point. “You wouldn’t be so smug if you were up against a bet you couldn’t win,” he said in his slow, Western drawl.

“There’s no such thing as a bet I can’t win,” Jasper said, stuffing his wallet and pockets with the bills and valuables that he had won off the men. The very thought was ludicrous to him. He had been betting – and winning – against his cronies in this bar for years now.

One of the barmaids came by the table to refill his whisky. With one arm, he pulled her close to him. “Tell me, gorgeous, do you think I can lose?”

She smirked at him, blushing as though she was not the constant target of drunken flirtations. Most of the drunken flirtations even came directly from Jasper, but he could not keep the girls in that bar straight.