I was in love. It hit me like a mudslide, taking me out at the ankles and carrying me away. The best part of it was that I was in love with a woman who was already my wife. And that made it all the better.
Patricia Strong. Yes, the name suited her.
Following her down the boardwalk, I took in her size. Tiny. Her waist. Slim. Her bosom. Ample. Her hair. Brilliant fire. Her spirit. Wild. The sway of her hips. Seductive.
I’d have to wire the mail order bride office in Wichita and thank the man. She was everything I wanted in a woman, but never knew. Usually, I preferred mild women with pale hair and a lithe figure. Perhaps that was why I had been a bachelor for thirty-two years. I’d been drawn to the wrong sort. But it was just looking at a petite, curvaceous hellion that made me hard as a railroad spike. I hadn’t even talked to her yet. I hadn’t kissed her, stripped her of her clothes, made her cry out my name. Filled her with my seed.
“Your wife?” I asked Lane, responding to his comment. He walked beside me. With the heat, I was glad we were on the shady side of the thoroughfare. We’d been thrust together as brothers when we were eight and knew each other well enough to banter easily. Even drunk. Even over the same woman.
At least this time we were in agreement. This one belonged to both of us. Together. Legally everywhere, she was mine. Hopefully stuffed in that reticule of hers—along with a smoking gun and a stash of poker winnings—was a piece of paper that said we were proxy wed. Legally, in Slate Springs, she was married to Lane as well.
I closely interacted with women more than most men. Being a doctor, I tended to them when they were hurt, visited when they had sick children, delivered their babies when the time came. I saw more of them than even some of their husbands. I always looked at women from a clinical lens, ensuring the appropriate doctor-patient conduct was met. But with Miss Strong, I thought differently. I thought… more. Paper or not, town laws aside, she was ours. I saw the intent and purpose in Lane’s gaze as he watched her. I felt it down to my marrow.
“Lil’s going to love her,” I said.
Lane stopped, forcing passersby to walk around us. “Probably, but I don’t want them to meet. Do you think Miss Strong will mind she’s married to two men with mothers who were whores? That we now take care of the woman who’d put a roof over our heads, food in our stomach? That she, too, was a whore, then brothel owner?”
This had always bothered him, the way his birth had cast a stigma over him. Me, as well, but I hadn’t let it fester as he had. But then his mother hadn’t just been a whore, she’d been miserable and mean, even selling her son to her more depraved customers. He didn’t talk about it, didn’t even confirm what had been done to him. It was as if he’d walled off that part of his soul. Fortunately, we’d both risen above it all, he a wealthy mine owner and I was a doctor. We’d turned out better than anyone had imagined and perhaps we’d done it to prove them all wrong. But Lil had always believed in us, taken us in. After our mothers died, she’d been the one to take care of us—save us—as much as any brothel owner could with two wild boys.
“She swears like your miners and is a better shot than both of us, combined. I doubt she’ll get upset over our past.”
“Lil’s still with us. The past isn’t dead yet.” I recognized the flat tone of his voice. No, for Lane, I doubted the past would ever be dead.
I thought of the stout woman who’d taken no guff from anyone, now diminished in body because of sickness. Sadness hardened both our hearts. She’d been there for us when we’d needed it most, and now it was our turn to be there for her. As a doctor, it was hard to watch her wither away, especially since it was my job to save people. “No, not yet.”
I glanced down the block. Miss Strong was stopped on a street corner, waiting for wagons and horses in the street to pass.
“Lil’s going to love her,” I repeated. Words weren’t always accurate, but saying them made me feel better. When Lane nodded his head, even grudgingly, I knew he felt the same. Lil wanted to meet the woman who would be our wife before she died, but Lane still refused the idea.
But first we had to claim our bride. We caught up with her before she stepped off the boardwalk.
“Miss Strong,” I said to her back.
She didn’t turn, only glanced left and right, waiting for a wagon laden with whiskey casks to pass.
“Miss Strong,” I called again, this time louder, thinking the din of the busy thoroughfare kept her from hearing me.
Lane glanced at me. She wasn’t deaf; she’d heard everything the asshole in the saloon had said to her.
We moved to stand on either side of her and I gently took her elbow. “Miss Strong,” I repeated once more as I looked down at her.
Surprise widened her green eyes as she tilted her chin up at me, stepped back out of my hold.
While I wasn’t keen on her startling at my touch, I was glad she didn’t pull her gun out and shoot me.
“Oh, um, yes.”
With my free hand, I tipped my hat. “I am Spurgeon Drews, although since my name is a mouthful, everyone calls me Spur. I apologize to have missed you when you arrived. The stage is not usually so early.”
Her eyes widened slightly as she looked at me. Studied me, just as I did her.
“Spur? Intriguing name. Um… yes, the driver was in a rush to continue on.”
From a doctor’s perspective, she appeared to be in her early twenties, well nourished, healthy, with hips and breasts to birth and sustain a baby. Her coloring didn’t indicate any liver problems, her eyes clear, informing me she wasn’t a lush. She wore no glasses, and it seemed my only concern was that she would lose her hearing from gun report
s.
From a man’s perspective, she was gorgeous. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were as red as the wild mass on her head, all of which only highlighted the emerald color of her eyes. With pale skin, freckles dotted her nose and across her upper cheeks. Her mouth was full, with a plump lower lip. Her face was round and I had to assume she’d have a dimple in her cheek when she smiled. She came up to my shoulder, making her quite small, but she did not lack in curves. I was quite eager to get my hands on her, and my cock in her.