Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) (97 page)

Chapter six

     Following up on these words a few days later, Clayton asked MariAnne if he would escort her to a barn dance that weekend at a nearby ranch; one that each Saturday seemed to form the very focus of the Austin social scene.

     Taking her into town to visit the shop of a premiere dressmaker, he promised not to look as his lady friend purchasing a gown for the event; yet when the night of the dance finally arrived, he knew that the rather extravagant purchase had been worth every penny.

      Shining resplendent in a glorious hue of sweet pearl pink, the glowing gown was culled from pure cotton calico and boasted a fitted bodice, a full hoop skirt, and an elegant trim of braided lace that lined its sleeves, bodice, high collar and flowing skirt.

     Arranging her dark hair in a graceful mass of ringlets that served to frame her heart shaped face, MariAnne thrilled as her doting date presented her with a pair of shiny pearl earrings; her gaze illuminating as it held his own brand of evening wear finery—one that seemed far removed from the shirt and jeans he generally wore in his role as a country rancher.

     Dazzling her in a sleek ebony duster coat with a cotton surface and corduroy collar and cuffs, the gentleman also boasted matching frontier pants with a high waist and a button fly, along with a smart black cinch. A form fitting white cotton shirt completed this distinguished look, along with a sharp bolo tie.

     “You’re beautiful,” he praised her, leading her by the hand into the tall apple red structure that would serve as the site of that evening’s dance.

     “Um, so are you!” marveled a dazed MariAnne, wondering at the transformation that had morphed her gentleman rancher into a frontier prince.

     Soon the couple engaged once again in a genuine lover’s waltz; this time moving in radiant tandem across the surface of a heather strewn dance floor.

     Their public surroundings dissolved around them as their bodies moved closer together; swirling as one across the floor as they stared deep into one another’s eyes.

     “You make me feel like a princess,” MariAnne praised Clayton, wrapping her arms around his muscled shoulders as she rested her head on his hard massive chest.

     Clayton shook his head.

     “You are a princess, MariAnne. You always have been—you just needed someone to bring it out in you,” he told her, adding as he clutched her tiny waist between his hands and seared her with a meaningful glance. “And I am so blessed to be that man. You make me laugh, you work so hard with me in the fields and the house, and you challenge me every day to think and to learn.” He paused here, adding as he pulled her closer still, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, in every way—and with your kind consent Ma’am, I would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you.”

     “Now that I have found my princess, I’ll be dag gummed if I ever let her go,” he declared, adding as he leaned forward to touch her lips with a tender kiss. “I want to marry you, MariAnne.”

     “So sorry to tell you, Deputy, but that won’t be possible. This lady just happens to be married to me.”

     MariAnne froze in Clayton’s arms as she heard the voice of nightmares; the low, cold tones she’d hoped against hope never to hear again.

“Leon,” she breathed, raising her head to behold a being who seemed more a demon than a mortal man; a short, stocky man with oily hair and menacing bloodshot eyes.

     “It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you, dear wife,” Leon sneered, reaching forth to clamp down a hard possessive hand on the surface of MariAnne’s slender shoulder. “I’ve been searching for you day and night, and now—finally—we are reunited.”

     Clayton had heard enough.

     “Do not touch her!” he screeched, knocking Leon’s hand from MariAnne’s shoulder and stepping hard and fast between them. “Leave her alone!”

     Leon stared at him for a long, quiet moment; his gaze turning mocking and depreciating as he told the younger man, “She is my wife, Boy, not yours. And as much as you might try to play the role of the pathetic white knight, saving MariAnne from her scoundrel of a husband, you cannot come between a man and his legal property.”

     Clayton shook his head.

     “No man owns’s wife,”  he reminded Leon, adding as he held up his hand for emphasis. “And when a man breaks his marital contract by abusing and mistreating his wife, then he surrenders all claim to her.” He paused here, adding as he pointed his authoritative finger straight in Leon’s face, “The contract that bonded you to this magnificent woman is null and void, Mr. Campbell. And, speaking frankly, you were a complete and total fool to let her go.”

     Leon frowned.

     “Stop spoutin’ nonsense, Boy,” he barked, adding as he pulled himself up to his admittedly impressive height, “I do believe that I could take you in a fight, you varmint—any day of the week. And if you do not step aside immediately and allow me to take what’s rightfully mine, then that is exactly what you will have on your hands: a fight.”

     Clayton grinned.

     “Well if you want a fight, my good man, then you will have one. Just remember that I’ll be bringing both a gun and a badge to this fight—and I am trained and licensed to use both of them,” he pronounced, opening his coat to reveal both in a single smooth flourish.

     His beady eyes widening substantially as they beheld his rival’s polished ivory handled six shooter, Leon stood frozen for a full moment before finally turning away.

     “Fine then, go ahead and take her. Considering the fact that I’ve been biding my time as of late with a couple of lovely saloon girls, I shall be more than pleased to give her the divorce that she so desperately seems to want,” he snapped, adding with a rude gesture in MariAnne’s direction. “The little whore isn’t worth it anyway.”

     Now MariAnne had heard enough.

     “You cretin!” she exclaimed, racing forward to draw back her arm and ball her fist in a threatening manner.

She swore she’d remember and forever cherish the look of abject fear that now crossed her husband’s features; a look that came accompanied by a strangulated moan as she crashed her tiny fist across his jaw—sending him reeling backward through the sheer force of her unleashed, unmitigated rage.

     Regaining his bearings with a pathetic attempt at a moan, a stunned Leon clutched at his bruised jaw as he winced with evident pain; swearing beneath his breath as he straightened his posture and turned dejected in the direction of the door.

     Looking after him with a satisfied smile, MariAnne further reveled in the round of raucous applause that met her bold action; a response delivered by a crowd that obviously shared her poor opinion of her soon to be ex-husband.

     “Feel better now, Sweetheart?” Clayton asked her, taking her hand in his as he graced her with a warm, encouraging smile. “Well, I hope that this will make you feel better.”

     Without further hesitation he took her hands in his, dropping to his knees before her as he reached deep into the pocket of his fine tailored trousers; withdrawing a gleaming diamond ring and held it in the air for her appraisal.

     “My dear MariAnne,” he addressed her, tone both loving and respectful as he asked, “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

     MariAnne nodded, her public surroundings dissolving around her as she squeezed Clayton’s fingers between hers.

     “I will, my prince,” she told him, adding as she returned his smile. “I love you Clayton, so very much.”

     MariAnne showed her love a few months later; returning with her groom to the barn that served as the site of their grand proposal.

     The organizers of the barn dance offered the use of their site as the setting for their nuptials; adorning the barn’s interior with lustrous arrangements of pure golden roses.

     Standing at the door of the barn, MariAnne’s admiring gaze cast down the length of her beautiful handmade wedding gown; a luxurious dress of ivory satin that sported a rich jacquard pattern, a fitted, lace lined bodice, wide sleeves and a high collar accentuated by streams of rich ebullient lace, and a plethora of elegant ruffles adorning the length of its shining satiny surface.

     “I never thought that I would live to see this day,” she mused in silence, reaching upward to pat the upswept, diamond studded strands of her luxurious ebony hair. “The day that I married for love.”

     Stepping into the barn that had morphed into a wedding chapel, she watched with a smile as a laughing Ellie—dressed this day in a formal dress of lilac patterned calico with puffed sleeves and a long full skirt—ran in front of her on a makeshift aisle layered with a long sheath of scarlet red carpeting, enacting her designated role of flower girl by showering a rain of golden rose petals across the sleek fabric of the carpet. Then she nodded toward the assembled family members who had gathered that day to witness her nuptials; including her parents who had begged her forgiveness for passing her into the hands of a madman like Leon. Now they looked on with quiet pride as their resplendent daughter walked down the aisle for a second time; this time venturing forth to meet the man of her heart.

     Dressed that day in a glorious silver jacquard vest with a matching long string tie and a high brown hat, Clayton also wore a smart, form fitting shirt of white cotton and black silk pantaloons; sporting a luminous white smile to enhance and complete the look.

     And as the hero and his princess joined hands at an altar blooming forth with their favorite yellow roses, both knew that they would never let go.

Second Chances

Sleep was a friend to Elena O’Reilly; and, sadly, this distant crony grew more and more elusive with the passing of each day.

     When sleep arrived in grand fashion at the end of an exhaustive day, it would whisk her away to a place of dreams and fantasies; a place where she could rejoin the man of her life in a haven of love and romance.

     She’d enjoyed five years of blissful living with her husband Blake; a friend she’d met back in the school house on the border of the prairie; the same expanse of gem green grasses that separated their family farms.

     With the passing of years their friendship ignited into something far more; a romance that filled their hearts and beings with the greatest love, inspiring Blake to propose marriage to the blonde beauty that he deemed the woman of his dreams.

     Settling after their wedding on a Dallas ranch where they grew golden roses side by side in the fragrant fields of their 50-acre ranch, a wedding gift from their families, Elena and Blake seemed to be living a dream—talking and laughing through their toils before retiring to the modest two story ranch house where they planned to raise a family.

Whether enjoying a robust homemade dinner at their intimate dining room table, or kissing and spooning on an even more intimate loveseat that formed the center of their drawing room, the couple basked in one another’s company and celebrated their passion; also planning for a future that they hoped would include children, pets, and increased prosperity out on the ranch.

     This dream died one cruel winter, when—determined to try and save their crops in the wake of brutal snowstorms—Blake contracted a nasty case of pneumonia; one that quickly confined him to his bed.

     Abandoning all of her duties at the ranch, Elena stood steadfast by her husband’s bed; working with the country doctor to help and heal the man who was slowly slipping away.

     Even as the color left Blake’s face and the strength slipped away from his dissipating limbs, Elena refused to abandon hope; wishing and praying that some God-given miracle would save her husband’s life.

     All hope—and love—abandoned her weeks later when her husband died in her arms; taking with him all of the love, laughter and divine promise that had marked their life together.

     Soon their big house, built by hand for two, became the habitat for one; one lonely person who sat alone on their loveseat, pondering as to how she would manage this ranch without the aid of her life partner.

     All too often she would heave a resigned sigh and retreat to her bed; escaping to the calico confines of her sole retreat, shutting her eyes tight so she could finally and fully rejoin the man of her heart.

     They danced in her dreams, stealing kisses and sharing secret smiles as they left their troubles behind.

     Then, all too often and abruptly, she woke up; alone once again.

     Pulling herself from her bed, Elena ventured alone into the fields and tended the crops they’d planted together; straining her back and chapping her hands as she struggled to harvest the corn, the wheat, the beans, that would line both her tables and her pockets—and especially the beautiful, rich petaled yellow roses that had once counted as her favorite crop.

     Elena had once taken great joy in tending her garden of velvety gold florals; the pride and joy of the Belena Ranch, and the source of her sense of wonder and joy as she sometimes took a step back to behold their sheer, nature made ebullience.

     Now, however, there was simply no time to stand back and admire the fruits—or flowers—of their labors. The death of her romance had rendered useless the power of the flower; with all beauty and sentimentality dissolving quick as she ripped the florals from the ground beneath them and prepared them for market.