Lily (Wildflowers Of Montana Book 5) Page 5

  Morgan and Crumb both chuckled at Benson’s words. I thought of Lily, her perfect pink nipples, the sounds she made when she was close to coming, the feel of her milking my cock when she did come had me shifting my hard cock in my pants. That I didn’t have to fake.

  “Fine. We all go,” Benson grumbled. “Pike, you’ve been to Bozeman before.”

  The name I went by was Eli Pike. I was used to it now, but that only meant I had been around these bastards too long.

  “Six months ago,” I told them, not moving the hat from my face. “Colder than a preacher’s wife’s pussy.”

  Inwardly I groaned at my sick joke, which I knew would make the others laugh.

  “Three days. We’ll spend three days learning, then we’ll pull out the guns.”

  Three days. Jesus, how much longer could this take? I was ready to rip my hair out with impatience. Didn’t they know I had a feisty woman waiting for me? I didn’t need a woman in Bozeman, I had one in Butte. Shit. Three days. This could all be over in that time, but so could my chances with Lily. Until then, I had to hold onto hope that she’d still want me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LILY

  I’d lain in the hotel bed for two hours, thinking at first Jack had gone to get some breakfast for us. Perhaps to talk with the man at the front desk. A bath even. But then the realization that he truly wasn’t coming back settled over me. I’d been on my own for so long that I shouldn’t have felt so lost, so lonely after knowing Jack for just two days. It was as if I were a miner who’d lost a limb in a collapse. The memory of the missing arm or leg was there and there was a tingly sensation where it had been.

  Strangely, I felt the same way. The memory of Jack was so powerful it sucked the breath from my lungs. I did have proof he’d been there: the tingly soreness deep inside me and his dried seed coating my thighs. None of that brought him back, though, so I’d gone back to the house and picked up my life right where I’d left off, buying bandages, selecting the cuts of steak Dr. Bower enjoyed for dinner, even retrieving larger items directly from the train. I was more than an apprentice to him. I was his housekeeper—since Mrs. Reading was barely part-time—maid, hostess and manservant. The one thing I wanted to do with him—tend to patients—was now barred to me. Permanently.

  I’d asked Dr. Bower after Jack left about it. “Why do you refuse my help when you make calls?”

  I’d just served him his rare roast beef and I put my hand over my mouth, stifling a gag from the smell. Odd, but there was something off about the meat this week. Since he hadn’t gotten sick, I didn’t worry.

  Dr. Bower looked up from his plate, fork and knife in hand like surgical instruments. “I thought I’d been clear about that.”

  He was in his late forties, a devoted bachelor ever since his wife died over ten years ago. He’d never sought out any specific woman in town, although now that I knew the baser needs of a man—Jack seemed to be especially virile—I didn’t doubt he met with a woman or two in secret. That was well and good with me.

  “You made it clear I was not to come,” I countered, sitting across from him at the table and spreading my napkin in my lap with crisp precision.

  He speared me with his clear, dark gaze. “A miner made a comment about you and I refuse to subject you to him, or anyone like him. The mines are not safe for you anymore.”

  I wondered as to the comment, but didn’t ask. Whatever it was, it set Dr. Bower off enough to ban me from something I’d been trained to do. While I wasn’t a doctor by any means, he’d been training me as a doctor’s assistant. I was reassured in knowing that he wanted to keep me safe and that his banishment of sorts was out of fatherly protection.

  “There must be some cases that you deem safe.” I speared a chunk of steamed potato with my fork.

  “If I am to be honest, Lily, I would rather see you married,” he said, taking a bite of his beef.

  I hadn’t told him about marrying Jack. He hadn’t been in town when we wed and wouldn’t be too keen on me being so… spirited about something such as this. He’d see me as impulsive and flippant and even flighty and never allow me on any cases. While I felt as if I were different now that I was a married woman—my body still ached from Jack’s attentions—Dr. Bower didn’t comment. I had to assume it wasn’t obvious I’d been deflowered and ravaged, or legally married. I’d put my ring on my right hand, switching it from my left, but he had yet to notice. He was so wrapped up in his own world that I doubted he would.

  I couldn’t tell him about Jack now because how could I answer any question he had? I didn’t know where he was. I only knew that he was Pinkerton and that he was off on a case. I didn’t know when he’d be back. He had said two weeks at the most that he’d be gone. I could survive that long without him. Couldn’t I? My body craved his. He’d taught me enough about fucking that I wanted it. More. All the time. With Jack. I inwardly groaned. It was going to be a long two weeks.

  I found an outlet to my sour mood with a sharp knife and a side of beef or a lamb in the butcher’s back room. It didn’t help all that much, for I only felt more alienated from the ladies at church, as I did not divulge that I’d been married. What could I tell them? Yes, I married a man I just met and now he left me. That would only add tinder to the fire of the gossipmongers. Because of this, I kept Jack to myself. I kept to myself. I clenched my fist and felt my ring press into my skin, remembering. Remembering that I did belong to someone.

  All I could do now was wait for that someone’s return.

  ***

  A week later, I walked by a boy on the street who was busking the newspaper. While I never usually paid it much mind, I stopped in my tracks when I heard his loud pronouncement. “Pike’s done it again! Villain robs the train! Murder and mayhem!”

  I’d heard about outlaws before. Living in the Montana Territory meant wild behavior. Deadly behavior. But that had always been people I didn’t know, faces drawn on wanted posters I never recognized. The man on the front page of the newspaper, though, wasn’t a stranger. No, he wasn’t a stranger at all, but my husband.

  All at once, I was hot all over. Little black dots floated over and around Jack’s likeness. My heart had jumped into my throat and I swear it skipped a beat. No, it had stopped entirely. Blindly, I stumbled over to a lamppost and gripped it with cold fingers. Jack had robbed a train? Glancing down at the paper, I waited for the words on the page to become clear, but I realized the tears in my eyes made everything blurry.

  Wiping at them with the back of my hand, I fumbled for a coin for the boy and took the paper, careful to fold it so Jack’s picture didn’t show as it stuck out of my basket. Taking a deep breath, then another, I pulled myself together. I dashed home, afraid to read the article on the street. Dr. Bower wasn’t there, thankfully, so I was able to take the stairs two at a time—a difficult feat with a long skirt—and close the door behind me with an unladylike slam. I was breathing hard as I read the article word for word.

  Outlaw Eli Pike, well known for his daring and deadly escapades in Colorado and Kansas, has moved into the Montana Territory. It seems he was drawn to the richest city in the world and the strongbox on the train from Bozeman. The risky crime was committed just as the train reached the peak of Homestake Pass, where it inevitably was at its slowest speed. A cunning move, Pike did not even stop the train, only boarded it and at gunpoint, held up the guards escorting the large quantity of money. While the exact amount is unknown, it has been made public that it was the property owner of the local newspaper owner (this author’s own boss). Needless to say we are all eager to discover whether our jobs are in good standing or that you will read another account of this man’s crimes if the paper were to fold.

  I rolled my eyes at the journalist’s witty prose. It would take more than a train robbery to shut down the newspaper.

  Thievery is not the man’s only crime, for a train engineer, a Mr. Ralph Baker, was killed in a brief flurry of gunfire before Pike escaped, strongbox in tow. As new informa
tion surfaces, this reporter will keep you advised.

  Above all that damning text was a very distinct likeness of Jack, right down to the little nick in his right eyebrow. I felt sick then, thinking of Jack and how he’d lied. Dropping onto the edge of my bed, I sat there, stunned. He’d saved me—that hadn’t been faked—but everything after? Was it a ploy to gain my good graces? Why? What did I have that he wanted? I had no money. I wasn’t interesting. He’d even called me prickly. Why would he even concern himself with me? Was I just a conquest to him?

  I shook my head. He’d married me. Covering my mouth with my fingers, I realized perhaps that was the most spectacular conquest of all.

  Between my thighs, I no longer felt the soreness of our one night together, but that didn’t mean I’d forgotten. I lay in bed at night, my empty, cold bed, and relived every moment. Every caress, every deep plunge of his cock inside me.

  He had used me! I had been so naive, so awestruck by a man as captivating and handsome that I’d fallen easily into his snare. One day. It only took him one day to get me into bed. And the things we’d done! I covered my heated cheeks with my hands. Oh, God, he’d directed me to my knees and I’d put his cock in my mouth. I’d wanted it.

  Realizing I was spinning his gold ring about my finger, I growled at it and tugged it off. I blindly tossed it across the room where it pinged off the wall to roll across the floor and under the bed below me.

  I’d thought the men Dr. Bower had brought home were uninspiring, unattractive, duds even. But they seemed normal now in comparison to Jack. God, he must be laughing his head off wherever he was. He’d fucked me and left me. A virgin conquest!

  He’d said he had to work, that he had a job to do and would come back after about a week. Was this the job? Robbing a train? No wonder he couldn’t tell me anything about it. Had he been afraid I’d run to the police with the information? Had he been afraid he’d have to murder me, too, if I knew the truth? Now, when—if—he came back for me, I was truly caught. I knew what he was, knew what he’d done and I was legally married to him.

  I started crying then, tipping over onto my side, the newspaper crunching beneath me. I was ruined. Not just because I was no longer a virgin, but he’d ruined me for all other men. I couldn’t go back to the ranch now. Surely Chance and Ethan and the other men would track Jack down better than any Pinkerton and shoot him. I wanted a chance to do that for myself.

  I cried even harder, knowing the things we’d done together, the way he’d worked my body, surely no other man could compare. Jack—that wasn’t even his real name!—might be an outlaw and a liar, but he had been everything I wanted in a man. I just hadn’t known it until he was gone, until he’d used me and left.

  ***

  I barely left my bedroom the first day after reading the article in the newspaper, telling Dr. Bower I had female troubles, to which he replied with a simple, “I understand,” and left me blissfully alone. In that moment, I was glad for his forthrightness as a doctor. I’d cried like a simpering fool, but there was no help for it. In the beginning, I cried because he’d left, that he’d played me the fool, that I was more of a ninny than any of the women in town who actually were ninnies. Then, a few days later, I cried because I could no longer feel the soreness from our one night together. My body had recovered from the way his cock had stretched me, had used me for his own pleasure. But that wasn’t true, for he’d seen to my own climax each and every time he fucked me, which made me cry even more.

  A week later, as I stared listlessly at the pale yellow curtains fluttering in the windows, I realized several things at once. First, I was married to Jack. There was no denying that the church, the minister, the vows, or the ring. Wherever the man was, I was his wife. Second, I remembered his words: Promise me, Lily, that no matter what you hear while I’m gone, that this is real. I’m coming back. That this is the only place I want to be. With you. In you.

  He’d said this when his cock had been deep inside me, our breaths mingling, his body pressing me into the bed. I’d seen the sincerity, the vehemence of his words in his eyes. I’d even promised.

  I knew he was a Pinkerton, knew his work was often secretive and often dangerous. Was this the case? What was the truth? The articles, the depth to the story had me questioning him, had me questioning everything. He’d said he’d only be gone a week, but it had been more than that. Should I question him or the story?

  I sat bolt upright in bed. My hair was a dirty, snarled tangle about my face, my dress wrinkled. I doubted Jack, the only man who saw the real me and still wanted me. He’d sworn he’d return. He’d pushed me to promise that what we shared was real. It had felt real. Everything about him had been real. Too real. In fact, if it hadn’t been so intensely real I doubted I would have lain in bed miserable for a week. I was so miserable that what Jack had told me must be true. That was absolutely ridiculous, but reasonable.

  I smiled as hope filled me. Something was afoot with him. Something big. He’d known it then and couldn’t tell me, for it was a dangerous secret. A secret so big it ended up on the front page of the Butte newspaper. Regardless, I’d promised. I’d promised to believe in what we had and the past week I hadn’t. Shame filled me then, realizing I hadn’t done the thing I’d vowed. I’d spent the week pushing him away.

  Resolute, I knew I had to keep that promise to him and know that he’d come back, that he wanted to be with me. That didn’t mean I had to sit by idly and believe what the newspapers said. No, what the newspapers said about him were lies. I wanted to know the truth about my husband’s work, what he was involved in and the dangers he faced. If he couldn’t come back to me, for whatever reason, then I’d go to him. With a renewed sense of purpose, I swung my feet over the side of the bed.

  I was mad at myself, furious even. I felt for his ring on my finger, my only connection to him, but it wasn’t there. I gasped, panic washing over me. When I remembered what I’d done with his ring—tossing it negligently across the room—I gasped and dropped to the wood floor and wiggled partway under my bed to reach the only tangible thing I had of him.

  With the ring settled heavy on my finger once again, I took a deep breath and all at once felt closer to Jack. I was resolved. I had the truth to uncover and I knew just where to start.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JACK

  This was the stupidest fucking thing I’d ever done. I stopped outlaws from robbing banks, I didn’t help them. But here I was, riding into town, a loaded gun at my hip. It wasn’t for protection, but to wave in front of innocent people to get what Benson wanted. Money. The only way I kept my horse plodding along beside the others was knowing that this would all soon be over. The plan was in motion. I just had to get through a fucking bank robbery first. Of course, I had to get away alive. The sheriff in town didn’t know I was a Pinkerton. Hell, I barely remembered that fact. Living with the bastards for a month had made me jaded and mean. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be good. I hadn’t forgotten what it looked like though, for every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lily’s face. I saw her hair like a waterfall across my pillow. I saw her eyes widen as she came.

  When she saw me next, she wouldn’t recognize me, wouldn’t see the man she married. My beard had grown in, my hair longer and over my collar. I’d only bathed in a fucking river or stream the past weeks. My clothes were covered in dust and I surely smelled. When we’d gone into town to study the bank, I’d had to follow the men to the saloon for them to drink whiskey and fuck whores. I’d had to pay a girl to take me upstairs and bounce up and down on her bed, pretending a good, hard fuck. With her dark hair and overly voluptuous body, I should have been aroused. In the past, I would have gotten a cock stand at just the curvy swell of her breasts, easily enjoying a playful few hours, but she wasn’t Lily.

  My cock didn’t want anyone but Lily. My mind didn’t want anyone else either. Neither did my heart.

  The thought of her had me nudging my horse to move a little faster.

  The bank w
as new, made of stone and formidable next to the more ragtag structures that lined the town’s main street. While the town was booming from mining in the area, there was no copper and it wasn’t Butte. It was toward closing, when the streets were quieter, but there would still be witnesses, innocent bystanders. Employees. I just had to ensure that Benson didn’t shoot any of them.

  Morgan went in first and Crumb followed with Benson. I was to enter last, to be the watch. While my story was that I was an outlaw like them and I’d stolen the strongbox from the train, I wasn’t a bank robber. These men were. In this situation, thank fuck, I was just the lookout.

  When I slipped into the cool interior of the bank, that changed. I was always sharply focused, my mind honed to a razor’s edge when dealing with dangerous situations, but when I saw the familiar glint of fiery red, I thought I would die from apoplexy. I’d spent the past six weeks—six fucking weeks—dreaming of that hair, the feel of it, the scent of it. My fingers had itched to touch it again. But now? Here?

  Lily was here, in the bank with a gun pointed at her.

  Fuck. Shit. Damn. Fuck!

  I couldn’t tear my gaze from her. She looked… perfect. Even with her arms up in the air, I thought of how well it showed the swells of her breasts beneath her green dress. She glanced my way. Had her eyes always been that deep emerald? I swear her skin seemed more peaches and cream, more translucent than ever. I got hard just looking at her.

  Hard and completely panicked. I’d never been so scared in my life as I was right now. Jesus, Benson was here, riled and ready to steal some money. No one stood in his way. Here was Lily with her fucking arms in the air because she was his hostage.

  No. Fuck. She was my hostage, too.

  I noticed the imperceptible slumping of her shoulders, as if she was relieved to see me. Had she planned this? Just looking at her, I knew. Of course, she fucking planned this! Why else would she be in Bozeman in a bank at the exact time I was robbing it? She’d found me. How the hell she’d done that, I had no idea. She was an admitted bluestocking and had the smarts to work it out. Her brain worked faster than anyone I knew. When I married her, though, I hadn’t expected that intelligence to take her right into danger. Shit. Her smarts were to keep her out of it!