Orchids in Moonlight (4 page)

Rescue came just before he was to endure the test to become a warrior, the year he turned twelve. He was following a group of braves out hunting, with orders to clean and carry back anything they killed, when their party was surprised by a cavalry attack. One of the officers noticed Cord was white, and he was spared from being massacred along with the others.

At the settlement where he was taken, a parson and his schoolteacher wife took him in. There he was ostracized by the other children, an object of ridicule and scorn. When he dared fight back, the parson would drag him out behind the outhouse, yank down his pants, and proceed to paddle Cord's backside till he drew blood, while he swore to beat the savage out of him.

Cord figured he lasted maybe a month there, till one day he could stand it no longer. The parson had taken a whip to him on that occasion, because he'd dared punch some kid for pushing him down in a mud puddle and calling him a stinking Indian dog. When the whip cut into his cheek, leaving a scar he still carried, he had caught the leather strip in his hand, jerking it right out of the parson's hands. He thought about raising a few welts on him, but his wife had appeared about that time to cry for mercy, so he had relented. Stealing the parson's horse, he ran away.

A loner, fending for himself in the years following, Cord had roamed the West and learned more of its secrets. When the War Between the States broke out, he sided with the Union. The prejudice and injustice suffered at the settlement school had left him with a deep respect for the freedom of all mankind, and he was willing to take a stand for it.

There had been women along the way, but Cord had kept a tight rein on his heart. If the lady of the evening hinted at anything to do with love, he was always honest, promising no more than the pleasure of the moment. More than that he would not, could not, give.

The image of his father drinking himself to death beside the body of his mother, as he cried out over and over how much he loved her, was firmly entrenched.

Love had made his father weak and had ultimately destroyed him.

Cord vowed it would never happen to him.

Shaking away the cobwebs of the past, Cord set aside the rest of his drink and lay down across the bed.

Maybe, he decided drowsily, if Pete's offer for the woman was still good tomorrow, he'd take him up on it. It would be nice to have a woman to love, if only for a little while.

Sometimes the nights could get real long... and lonely.

* * *

Almost entirely hidden from view behind a large potted plant, Jaime waited in the lobby.

It was a terrible time, she knew, to be offering herself for marriage, especially to a man she had never met, but the desk clerk had told her Mr. Austin was playing cards in the saloon and he didn't dare interrupt. Certainly, she was not about to approach him herself, not in there, so all she could do was wait for him to come out.

It had been nearly ten o'clock when she arrived. She'd had to clean up after her aunt's party, then pretend to go to bed and wait awhile before sneaking out of the house. Running all the way back to be dressed up by Ella and Hannah, she had then gone to the hotel.

She was still uncertain about the way she looked. The gown Ella had sneaked out of the laundry for her to borrow for the night was gaudy, a bright green satin with bodice cut so low her breasts were practically spilling out. But both the girls had waved away her protests, saying she had to make Mr. Austin sit up and take notice from the first instant they met.

Jaime thought of the miserable evening just past, with everyone else celebrating her aunt's announcement that she was going to marry Mr. Slawson. The Rupert sisters bragged about how they would soon be the new owners of the boardinghouse and began ordering Jaime around as though they already were, treating her like the slave they intended her to be.

But worst of all was the arrival and introduction of the Ruperts' nephew, Howard. He had taken one look at Jaime and become her shadow, which provoked teasing remarks from everyone there. Jaime had recounted it all to Ella and Hannah, and they insisted it was another reason to make a good impression on Mr. Austin—so she could escape the boardinghouse.

Finally, when they were done with her, Jaime had looked at herself in the mirror, only to gasp, "Why, it doesn't even look like me!"

Ella cried, "See? We told you what a real beauty you are."

Well, if the desk clerk's reaction had been an indicator, Jaime decided maybe she was pretty, after all, because he had actually stammered as he spoke to her, his eyes flicking over her appreciatively.

He had promised to keep watch for Mr. Austin to come out of the saloon, so he could introduce her, but the night wore on and he failed to appear. Then the clerk politely told her he was going to his own quarters for a late supper but would return soon. "If the game has lasted this long," he advised, "it's likely it could go on till dawn. You sure you want to wait, little lady?"

She nodded her head but knew she could not stay much longer. Hie dress had to go back on the rack by the time the laundry opened.

Only one man had come out of the saloon and gone upstairs. She had instinctively drawn back in her seat as he passed, for there was an air about him that was almost frightening in its intensity. Yet something told her it was more an aura of power rather than threat.

He was big, tall, with broad shoulders, and his open buckskin shirt revealed a muscular chest. She caught a glimpse of dark eyes and blue-black hair, and a face that was ruggedly appealing. His breeches looked to be made of doeskin, and they were tight, covering large muscular thighs.

As he ascended the steps, Jaime, with a wicked smile, could not help thinking he had nice buttocks, firm and well shaped.

He took the steps two at a time. She watched him until he was out of sight, then leaned back once more to wait.

Right after he had passed, however, two men came out of the saloon. One of them, she noted, had a very angry expression on his face as he looked in the direction of the man she had been watching. Curious, she listened as they talked.

"You think Austin was cheating, Pete?"

"Could be, but I wasn't about to say so. I got an idea he can use that gun he totes, and the way I see it, a thousand dollars ain't worth dying for. I'll pay it, but I don't mind telling you I'll be glad to see him leave town."

"How long is he here for?"

The scowling man pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I don't know. He don't say much." He gave his friend a nudge with his elbow. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Jaime's breath had caught in her throat. The man she had watched with such fascination and found so fiercely handsome was actually the one she sought to marry.

Suddenly, she felt a mixture of emotions, for she had envisioned an older man, certainly not one so young and attractive. Why would he have to recruit a wife? It seemed to her a man like that could have his pick of women. Then she remembered how Ella said women were scarce in California, so it probably made no difference what a man looked like. Wives just weren't that easy to find out there.

Taking a deep breath of resolve, Jaime got to her feet and went to the counter. The thought of going up to a man's room and knocking on his door at such an hour filled her with dread, but the way things had developed she had no choice. It might be her only chance. And it was also best no one knew about it, like the desk clerk, who would, no doubt, think the worst of her for it.

Making sure no one was around, she quickly leaned to scan the registration book.

The name leaped out at her—
Cord Austin
—and, beside it, the room number:
Eight.

Quickly, afraid the clerk would return any second, Jaime turned and ran up the steps.

Glancing about anxiously in the scant light provided by a small lantern hanging from a hook on the wall, she strained to see the painted numbers on the doors. Finally, she found his room at the end of the hall.

Drawing a deep breath, and pasting on what she hoped was a friendly smile, Jaime knocked softly.

Cord was standing on the other side of the door, gun in hand. The Apaches had taught him to be alert for any sound, even in deep sleep, and he was aware of the quiet footsteps approaching long before they stopped outside his room.

The door was jerked open, and Jaime's hand flew to her throat in terror as she found herself looking at a gun pointed right in her face.

"What the hell?" Cord swore. Then, in a flash, it came to him: Pete had obviously refused to take no for an answer. And as his eyes raked over the comely young woman standing in the hall, Cord decided he was glad.

She was small, petite, but had delightful breasts, emphasized further by an incredibly tiny waist. She had a lovely face but, like most of her kind, wore too much rouge.

He found the fullness of her shiny red lips appealing and was stunned to feel a sudden tightening in his groin. Seldom did a mere pretty face arouse him.

Her hair, the color of buttercups, was piled atop her head in ringlets and held by a ridiculous cluster of satin ribbons and feathers. He found himself wanting to pull those silky tresses free, to see them fanned about her face as she lay beneath him.

He was most fascinated, however, by her eyes, a strange yet beautiful shade of turquoise. But there was something else about them he found oddly disconcerting—fear, mirrored within the enchanting depths. But why? Pete had said she was like a tigress, worth five hundred dollars for a night of unbridled passion. No doubt, he decided with a chuckle, the fear was an act. Part of her allure.

His large hand closed about her wrist, and he yanked her into the room, quickly closing and locking the door.

Plunged into darkness, Jaime waited nervously as he fumbled for a match. Only when the bedside lantern ignited did she dare speak, hardly recognizing her own voice as she endeavored to explain, "I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. Austin, but—"

He had put his gun away. His gaze moved over her again, this time brazenly as he began to circle her. He liked the hint of curves beneath her gown and could not resist confirming that her derriere was, indeed, high and round. Saucy. Impudent.

He grinned down at her, and she jumped, startled by his boldness in squeezing her buttocks. "Sir," she chided, "I don't think this is proper. I mean, we should introduce ourselves, shouldn't we? My name is—"

"You talk too much." He jerked her into his arms to silence her with hard, bruising lips.

Caught by surprise, Jaime could only stand there, trance like, as unfamiliar yet strangely pleasurable feelings soared through her body. For one stunning instant, she actually began to yield, shamelessly enjoying the assault of his mouth.

He was shirtless, and her hands, with a will of their own, moved to shyly touch his shoulders. The feel of his bare flesh jolted her from pleasured stupor, and she tore from his embrace. "Sir, I beg you," she gasped, lips on fire from his kiss. "I'll be a wife to you after we're married, but not before."

Cord threw his head back and laughed with delight. He always had enjoyed a prostitute with a
sense of humor. He found them more adventuresome in bed than those interested only in money. "Well, let's do it right away," he said, falling into easy banter. "Do you think we can find a parson at such an ungodly hour?"

Jaime bit her lip thoughtfully. She could not tell whether he was serious but decided it was safe to assume he was. After all, that's why she was here–to marry him. "I hadn't planned on a wedding so soon, but I suppose it could be arranged. If you're sure, I mean."

"Oh, I'm sure." He grinned. He went to the bed, and, folding his arms behind his head, leaned back, crossed his legs, and settled down to enjoy himself. The shy scared-virgin act was a delightful preliminary to the wild night Pete had promised. "But maybe I need a little sample of what I'm hitching up with. How about lifting those skirts? I sure as hell don't want to marry a woman with ugly legs."

Lift her skirts? Jaime swallowed hard, wondering if he could hear her knees knocking together. Hannah had said a wife was expected to do anything her husband wanted in the bedroom, and that included letting him see her undressed, of course. She had not said anything about a preview before they were married, but perhaps it was different when a man was buying a wife instead of asking her to marry him because he loved her.

A mock frown wrinkled Cord's brow. "Well, what are you waiting for? You don't have ugly legs, do you?"

Jaime shook her head and was, at once, further embarrassed. She began to stammer, "I... I don't know. I mean, no one has ever said." She felt her cheeks flame.

"Well, let me be the judge."

When she continued to stand there, he reminded her, "I've got to see what I'm getting, sweetheart."

She decided it was an expected ritual. Like inspecting merchandise before purchasing, he expected to see the wares. Well, she would go only so far. With a deep breath of resignation, she closed her eyes and reached to lift her skirt and petticoat to mid calf.

Cord nodded appreciatively. "Nice, so far. But take it higher. I'll just bet you've got real nice thighs." He was deliciously anticipating what she was going to look like when he had her completely naked.

"I... I'd rather not." She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the way he was looking at her.