Dahlia (Wildflowers Of Montana Book 3) Page 2

  I nodded my head, my mouth open as I was still trying to catch my breath.

  He shrugged, and then lowered our joined hands to my lap. “I guess one of these days, you'll just have to say yes to being my wife.”

  I leaned my head against his hard chest, savoring the clean, spicy scent of him as I pondered his words. I couldn't marry him, for I couldn't lose what we shared. Once he knew the real me, he wouldn't want me any longer. He didn't deserve to be stuck with me as his wife. For now, for this brief time in the stage, I could just be content in being held and savor the remnants of my pleasure, for once we arrived in Carver Junction, I'd have to fortify my defenses against him once again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GARRISON

  Dahlia was going to drive me to the brink of insanity. Not only was she pushing me away, denying every one of my overtures of marriage, but she was lying. Blatantly and inexorably lying. There was no Opal Banks, for I'd known Dahlia so long that I knew all of her friends. Hell, everyone knew everyone within fifty miles. If there were a woman who was unwed in that range, she’d have been known to every bachelor.

  For over fifteen years, we'd bickered and fought and dared and cajoled and all but tortured each other. It was true, I had stuffed a snowball down the front of her coat, but even at the very young age of five, she'd been… different. I'd been a hellion—my mother's word—and I'd recognized a kindred spirit in the sprite-sized Dahlia. When we were older, I hadn't wanted to just pester her. I'd wanted to kiss her. By the time she was fifteen, she had a woman's body—lush curves, thick dark hair and skin so pale and creamy to be akin to milk. But I'd been too old for her and I'd retreated, allowing her the time to grow up.

  Had that stopped her from bothering me? No. My lack of attention only seemed to spur her into more outlandish antics, including her stunt with Esther Marin. While the girl hadn't been as unassuming as I'd made her out to be, it had been Dahlia I'd wanted. No one else compared. All these years later, Dahlia was still the one for me.

  Unfortunately, I had to get her to see me in the same light. After courting her for several months, she knew my intentions, knew my attraction to her, even showed her the extent of it. I wanted to fuck her five ways to Sunday, to get her beneath me—or over me—and show her how it could be between us.

  She was passionate; I had no doubt. I tasted the proof of it on my tongue.

  But while she'd gripped my shirt to pull me closer for a kiss, she also pushed me away with her refusals and trite comments. She was hiding something. She was denying me because of something. When her brother-in-law, Jackson, told me she was going to Carver Junction, I had to wonder why. The reason she’d given him was the same as the story she'd shared on the stage, but I could see right through her lie. She was very adept at it, offering me no true reason to doubt her words, but not everyone knew her as I did. Not everyone could see beyond the crafted tale and see… her.

  But, knowing Dahlia as I did, I knew I couldn't push her. I'd love to toss her over my knee and spank the truth right out of her, but she wasn't mine. I couldn't control her without claiming her. Once mine, once legally wed, I'd most certainly learn her every secret using whatever motivational method necessary. For now, I could only watch out for her and protect her, most likely from herself.

  When I helped her from the stage and there was no Opal Banks waiting for her, I tipped my hat to her and walked away. It was only when I rounded the first block did I veer back and follow her. She was in Carver Junction for some reason and I was going to find out what it was.

  ***

  That night, my fingers all but itched to grab her, toss her over my shoulder and carry her out of the saloon. She didn't belong in such a filthy, dangerous place. Why the hell she had gone inside? It made my gut churn and my anger flare at her complete disregard for her personal safety. Did she see the men who'd followed her inside, whispering to each other the crude intentions they had for her? I wanted to smash their faces in for speaking that way, but then she would have discovered I was her shadow and would abandon her plans and I’d never know what she was up to.

  Had she gotten herself into something sinister? Did she owe someone money? Had she found a man who was blackmailing her? Did she have a beau? I leaned against the railing outside the saloon and doubted the last. She felt for me as I did for her; I was sure of it. The way she settled into my lap, her hands all but clinging to me was all the indication I needed.

  The interior of the saloon was bright and I could see her clearly at the table with three other gentlemen. One of the upstairs girls, scantily clad in just a petticoat and corset, leaned over one man's shoulders. There was a bottle of whiskey in the middle of the table and if I didn't know any better—

  Holy hell. She was going to play Poker!

  The man to her left shuffled cards and dealt.

  The tinny sound of piano music drifted out each time the door opened and closed. It wasn't overly crowded within, but every man in the place was keeping an eye on the lady playing Poker. She wore the same skirt and blouse as earlier and, even from the back, she looked so prim and proper in comparison to the bawdy girl who was, most likely, watching to see which man walked away with the pot.

  Cards were turned over on the table, new cards dealt. Coins tossed into the center. The man to Dahlia's right won the first game. Cards were shuffled and dealt. Hands played. Through three games Dahlia lost. She didn't shift in her seat. Her back remained stiff and upright.

  What was she doing? These men wouldn't have let just any lady in to play cards. Well, perhaps they might if she had enough cash. Did she? I couldn't tell from where I stood, but they started a new game. This time she won. I watched as she scooped her winnings from the middle.

  One man took a shot of whiskey. Another lit a cigar. They shifted in their chairs, their unhappiness at being bested by a woman evident. That only escalated when she won the next three hands. The man across from her tossed down his cards in frustration and stood, his chair tipping over. He stomped off with the bawdy girl, but not before saying something to Dahlia, which I could only assume wasn't pleasant. She didn't even quiver. But if she were going to continue to win, the men were going to be less and less happy about it, especially if they kept drinking.

  It was time to make my presence known. Playing Poker wasn't secretly meeting a man. Hell, I almost wished that were the case because I could punch him in the face and be done with it. This… gambling was Dahlia's doing and I was going to have to protect her from herself.

  I stepped inside, went to the bar and asked for a whiskey. I carried it over to stand behind the vacant spot at her table. “I'm joining the game,” I said. I didn't ask. I told. I sat and tossed some bills on the table in front of me.

  I glanced at Dahlia. Her eyes were wide and her mouth open. I had a feeling this was the first slip in her composure all night. No wonder she was so good at lying. She could bluff like the Poker player she was.

  “Deal me in.” I put money in the middle, the others followed.

  With dainty hands, she shuffled the cards with surprising deftness. When the hell had she learned the game? She dealt, then placed the deck before her.

  The man to her right asked for two cards. She dealt them. I asked for one, the man on her left asked for one. She took one as well.

  Everyone raised.

  One folded. The other called.

  We showed our hands. I had two of a kind, the other a straight. Dahlia had a full house and again, pulled the money toward her. Her pile was much larger than the others.

  She was in her element, exuding confidence and a surety that I'd never seen before. While she didn't have a shy bone in her body, she'd never been overly adventurous. What she was doing here bordered on the dangerous. That aside, I'd never seen her so beautiful. She looked like an angel in the dirty saloon, clean and fresh and so perfect.

  Hell, she was no saint, for she was gambling, in secret, in a distant town in a roomful of strange men. To me, though, she was perfect. To kn
ow her mind was this crafty, that she'd concocted this plan and went through with it, even successfully if I had my guess, had me impressed as well as in love with her. I'd only tell her how proud I was of her only after I punished her for being so impudent and negligent. I looked forward to it.

  Play continued for a few more hands and I learned her strategy, learned her technique. I knew when she was intentionally losing, appeasing the male egos that ultimately would be their downfall. They were playing to win. I, however, was playing to learn about Dahlia. The cash I was losing was inconsequential. The real prize was to know the truth, once and for all.

  It was time to change Dahlia's plans, so I stopped losing.

  One hand after another, the pile before her slowly migrated to be in front of me.

  “Well, little lady, looks like you've finally met your match,” one of the other men said.

  She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at me, undoubtedly using every bit of restraint from wanting to either give me a verbal tongue lashing—which had some appeal—or leap over the table and strangle me.

  “Have you, sugarplum? Met your match?” I asked, my voice low and even. I winked at her.

  While her cheeks turned pink, she remained silent.

  “Is she usually this quiet?” I asked the other men.

  One shrugged. “Has been so far tonight.”

  “You've never played her before?” I shuffled the cards.

  They shook their heads.

  “What's your name, sugarplum?” Surely she didn't share her given name.

  “Opal,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Opal Banks?” I asked. “I've heard of you.”

  I saw the corner of her mouth tip up, but she took a deep breath and collected the cards I dealt. “Cleaned up at Poker all around the area?”

  One man nodded as he exhaled a big puff of cigar smoke. “I heard over in Shelby she bested the sheriff and the town doc.”

  “Enough loot to buy a ranch,” the other added.

  “Really, gentlemen,” she chided, as she picked up another card. I was dealing slowly so the conversation could continue. “Next you'll say I rode into town on a mythical unicorn.”

  The men anted up. Dahlia followed suit, but had nothing left to add.

  We glanced at our cards and then I dealt out new ones as needed.

  Surprisingly, both men folded. It was down to Dahlia and me.

  I raised.

  “Looks like you don't have enough, Miss Banks,” I chided. “Perhaps the name isn't so apt after all.”

  The other men chuckled and Dahlia narrowed her eyes.

  “Perhaps you would accept something else as the wager?” She unclipped one of her earrings and tossed it in the middle.

  I shook my head. “I don't wear them. I would be open to something else, however.”

  She eyed me suspiciously and I tried not to smile. “Oh?” she asked, lifting her chin.

  I scratched my jaw, my whiskers rasping. Another bawdy girl, seeing the pile of money before me, sauntered over, even placed her hand on my shoulder. Dahlia's eyes dropped to the woman's hand and narrowed. I waved her off and the woman walked away with barely a sniff of disappointment.

  “If I win….”

  I let the sentence hang.

  “Yes?” she asked, now impatient. She tapped the deck of cards on the table, her first sign of emotion so far.

  I leaned forward in my chair, placed my forearms on the table. While there might have been other men at the table, it seemed we were the only two in the room. “If I win, you marry me.”

  I heard the others laugh and call for more whiskey, but I didn't look away from Dahlia, from her stunned expression.

  “Marry you? Are you insane?” When I didn't respond, she pursed her lips. “What do I get if I win?”

  I pushed the pile of coins and bills into the center of the table. “Just what you came here for.”

  She bit her lip. “That's it? You won't tell?”

  I slowly shook my head, impressed that she assumed she would win. She was so confident she didn't consider the seriousness of my words. She'd find out soon enough just how serious I was. “I won't tell. Your secret, everything, is safe with me.”

  “You can marry me instead,” one of the men said.

  She fiddled with the cards, ignoring the other man while considering my words.

  “Come on, Opal,” I said, and then winked again. “I dare you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  DAHLIA

  I'd lost. Lost! I had no idea how that happened. With the original cards dealt, I'd had four diamonds. Discarding the club, I'd held my composure as Garrison dealt me the new card. Another diamond, which meant I'd had a flush. A flush! There wasn't much that could beat that. I'd felt confident I wouldn't have to marry Garrison, he'd give me my winnings and he'd keep my secret. Relieved, I'd even let my mouth curl up in a small smile as I laid my hand out on the table. The men at the table had whistled and joked with Garrison about letting me slip away.

  Out of all the times we'd tried to best each other, this was the ultimate. Perhaps once and for all Garrison would find me a worthy adversary and bow out. While pleased, I'd felt something akin to sadness as well.

  But my triumph had lasted seconds when Garrison tossed down a straight flush onto the scarred wood. It wasn't an ace-high straight flush, but it didn't matter. He'd won. I sat motionless staring at the cards. My heart raced and my palms became damp with sweat. Oh dear Lord.

  The men jumped up and hollered for someone to get the sheriff. For the briefest of moments I thought I was being arrested, but realized the lawman would perform the ceremony. I had no doubt Garrison would hold me to our wager and I expected the other players to do so as well. If I ever wanted to play Poker again in the Montana Territory, I needed to honor my gentleman's agreement, even though I was most definitely not a gentleman. Word spread fast and I would most likely be infamous, not as the lady Poker player, but as the lady Poker player who had to wed her opponent.

  Through my lashes, I glanced at Garrison. He hadn't moved, just looked at me, a small smile on his face. I assumed it would be laced with smugness, but instead he looked almost… tender. This—marrying me—was what he'd wanted all along. He'd been ready for it, so this wasn't just a wager to him. It was just a means to an end.

  “Buck up, sugarplum. It's not all bad. Just think, tonight's your wedding night.”

  I swallowed hard at images his words painted. That meant Garrison could finally fuck me. He'd been waiting for the opportunity, and so had I. I’d no longer have to touch myself as I thought of Garrison. But that meant he'd see me naked, see the real me, all of me, including my scars. It would be the beginning of the end. No man wanted a woman whose flesh was marred and ugly. Puckered and pink from being burned in a long ago fire. He might want to fuck me, he might get hard kissing me and touching me over my dress, but just like the whores who circled the saloon looking for business, their outward appearance was just a façade.

  The men from the game returned all too quickly with the sheriff. Garrison stood, shook the older man's hand. He had the stub of an unlit cigar pinched between his lips.

  “When I'm called to rush to the saloon it's usually for some kind of scuffle,” he said, pulling up on his belt and giving himself time to catch his breath. He spoke clearly, even with the cigar in his mouth. “A wedding was not something I expected.” He tipped his hat to me. “Ma'am.”

  I gave him a small smile and stood when Garrison went to the back of my chair and pulled it out for me. Garrison took my elbow in hand. I wasn't sure if he wanted to keep me close because he was claiming me or to keep me from possibly running away.

  “I'd heard there was a woman in the saloon playing Poker, but I didn't know it was a lady. I assumed it was Belle or Lorelei—” he tilted his head to the women who had come to the table during the game, “—who were looking for some attention. I have to ask, miss, if this wedding is what you truly want. No gentleman will hol
d you to such a commitment.”

  He looked pointedly at Garrison.

  I tilted up my chin. He was questioning Garrison's honor. While the man insinuated Garrison had none if he forced me to uphold my wager, but I would be less than honorable if I didn't. “I assure you, Sheriff, that I am not under duress.”

  He pulled out the cigar, narrowed his eyes, considered. The men from the game stood flanked him on either side.

  “Very well,” he finally replied. “Names, please.”

  Garrison looked down at me and told the man, but didn't turn. Was this what I wanted? Was he what I wanted? Deep down inside I jumped for joy. I hadn't had to actually tell him yes. I was marrying him because of a bad hand of Poker, not because of anything else.

  When the sheriff cleared his throat, prompting me, I told him, “Dahlia Lenox.”

  “I thought your name was Opal,” one of the other men said, but the sheriff spoke over him.

  “Do you, Garrison Lee, take this woman to be your wife?”

  I turned to look at the sheriff. He placed the cigar back in his mouth.

  “I do,” Garrison said. His hand slid down my arm and he took my hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

  “Do you, Dahlia Lenox, take this man to be your husband?”

  This was it, the moment where I could not go back. I could yank my hand free and run for the door. Garrison most likely wouldn't follow me and haul me back. I knew him well enough that he wasn't truly coercing me into this. If I refused, I would feel the shame of my actions for years to come. Besides, I loved him and did want to marry him. Whether he rejected later me or not, whether he was repulsed by my body was not something I could worry over in this moment. It would come soon enough, but for now, I relished the fact that Garrison wanted me. He loved me and was committing to me for the rest of his life.

  For that alone, I said, “I do.”

  “Then you are man and wife. Congratulations.”