The Cowboy (Montana Men Book 2) Page 8

  Wyatt turned to look at me, and then rubbed the back of his neck again. Something wasn't quite right, it seemed, but I wasn't sure what. Choosing a blue dress to go with the yellow one, I joined Wyatt, placed the clothing on the counter.

  "I assure you, Mr. Townsend, that my wife was with me last night."

  He meant nothing by the words, nothing lascivious, but it still made me blush remembering what we'd done.

  Mr. Townsend shrugged. "I never pay much mind to what's being said. I'm sure the two of you know the truth of it."

  WYATT

  The wagon lumbered across the rutted road that led to back to the ranch. Emily was quiet, which was unusual for her. I'd come to recognize that her energy, her curiosity was what made her so endearing. Had it only been a two days since I took this same route, with her a stranger by my side? In some ways she was still a stranger, but in others, it was as if she'd been made just for me. Mrs. Bidwell had been uncanny in her ability to match make, for Emily was everything I'd ever wanted in a woman - beautiful, intelligent, a spitfire. And a little hellcat in bed.

  When Ryder and I had each listed the attributes we looked for in wives, the woman readily understood the need for a wife to be desirous enough to meet our sexual demands. I was a man, plain and simple and I'd wanted a wife I wanted to fuck. If I was to bed her, and only her, until death do us part, then her being comely and adventurous were requirements.

  The sentiments weren't overly gentlemanly, but I knew even a gentleman wanted to fuck his wife, and fuck her well. No man wanted to fumble in the dark beneath the covers. Even a gentleman wanted his wife to suck his cock, to beg to be taken. Even a gentleman wanted a whore in bed. Me included.

  Emily was embarrassed, ashamed even, by her lustiness. She didn't understand that it aroused me to see her so eager for my touch, to feel her body respond to mine, to hear her cry out in pleasure because I had given it to her. It would take time for her to see that I was pleased with her. Words would only go so far. Emily had to know in her heart - her heart - that we were perfect for each other.

  As the ranch came into view, I realized I was being sappy. The men at the saloon would laugh if they knew my thoughts. I wasn't in love with my wife; there hadn't been enough time for it to form. But I most certainly was falling for her.

  Pulling on the reins, I stopped the horse in front of the house. I hopped down, tied the lead onto the rail, then helped Emily down. Her waist was so narrow my hands almost spanned her. "You've been quiet," I said, looking down at her. A curl had come loose - as it always seemed to do - and I tucked it behind her ear. "Emily, I--"

  "There you two are," Mrs. Perrin said, coming out onto the porch. A woman followed her. I'd never seen her before; everyone from Lewistown was known to me. She was young, perhaps close in age to Emily, but the similarities ended there. Where Emily was dark, this woman was fair. She was waif thin and petite, with a long graceful neck and hair the color of cornsilk. It was combed back neatly into a bun at her nape. She was actually quite stunning, with pale blue eyes, a narrow nose and full lips. When I realized I was staring, I glanced back at Mrs. Perrin.

  If I hadn't been so focused on the stranger, I'd have seen sooner how the older woman's hands nervously fidgeted in the fabric of her skirt. I led Emily up the steps to meet the woman, my hand at the small of her back.

  "Mr. Blake, Mrs. Blake, this is...um, well." Mrs. Perrin stumbled over her words. Her eyes shifted between the three of us. "This is Mrs. Blake." The woman lifted her chin slightly, but remained quiet. "Mrs. Wyatt Blake."

  CHAPTER NINE

  EMILY

  I heard Mrs. Perrin's words, but it took me a moment to understand. I was Mrs. Wyatt Blake. I was Wyatt's wife. This woman said that she was his wife as well? Wyatt was as still as a statue as he stared at the pretty woman. She was lovely to look at. Her countenance was calm, her eyes direct but a little demure. She was so small as to be considered tiny. Her hair was sleek and pulled back neatly. Everything about her was...perfect.

  Wyatt did not look like a man caught in a polygamous situation. From the way he stared at the woman, he most certainly hadn't seen her before. He wasn't trying to hide her from me. Besides, if he were married to this woman, Mrs. Perrin would most assuredly have known.

  "Hello," the woman said, her voice soft and mild. "I have finally arrived. I became ill on the journey and had to recuperate at Fort Mandan, the stage continuing on without me. I had to finish the trip after a week of rest abed, otherwise I would have been here sooner. I had hoped that you would have met me." The last bit she added with a tone of disapproval.

  "What is your name, besides Mrs. Wyatt Blake?" Wyatt asked. He stood calmly by my side, but his brow was furrowed.

  Her gaze flicked up to his. In order to do so, she had to tilt her head back, the discrepancy in their height that great. "Emily Winston."

  I gasped. It slipped out as I stared at the woman wide eyed. She was an imposter! I took a step back, but felt Wyatt's hand still at the small of my back. "But...I am...I mean--"

  "Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside. I'm sure we'd all like some refreshment." Wyatt clamped his jaw tight, but did not stop looking at the other woman. It was as if he were enthralled. The woman had him under her spell, bewitching him!

  When I saw a slight tug at the corner of her mouth, I knew she would take Wyatt from me. I didn't know who she was or why she was here, but her intentions were clear. She wanted Wyatt.

  Mrs. Perrin led us indoors, veering off to the kitchen as Wyatt led us into the parlor. The other woman - I couldn't call her Emily as that most certainly wasn't her name - sat in a chair by the cold fireplace. I sat across from her, and Wyatt remained standing. He did not remain at my side, but took up a neutral spot equidistant between the two of us. This action was like a knife to my heart. I could see this move for what it was, separation.

  "May I introduce you to my wife, the former Emily Winston?" Wyatt said by way of introduction. I lifted my chin and the other woman looked to me, her full lower lip dropping in false surprise. It could be nothing else if she was an imposter.

  "Why are you here? Why are you pretending to be me?" I asked. I didn't feel that formality and genteel manners were a choice at this juncture. Diplomacy was not required; direct talk was needed.

  She frowned, her smooth brow crinkling in confusion. "I'm Emily Winston. What do you mean you are his wife? I am Mrs. Blake. The wedding took place by proxy in Mrs. Bidwell's office."

  I hissed out a breath at the woman's name and the blood drained from my face.

  "Perhaps you can share with us your journey?" Wyatt asked. His hands were tucked into his pockets and he leaned against the wall.

  The woman looked to Wyatt in a most adoring of ways. It was nauseating. The entire situation was nauseating. "Mrs. Bidwell approached me, as she thought I would be a match for a man who was searching for a wife. She said I met the required traits he desired and asked if I was wanted to leave my situation to become a wife of a rancher in the Montana Territory."

  Mrs. Perrin entered then with a tray laden with a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses. A plate of cookies made it seem as if we were entertaining company, not ferreting out an imposter.

  "Mrs. Blake. Well, that one," Mrs. Perrin pointed to the newcomer. "She helped make the cookies while we waited for your return."

  Mrs. Perrin placed the tray onto a low table between us, then made her leave. Of course she made cookies. I'd been here for several days and I almost burned the house down. This woman made cookies. Bitterness and a tinge of jealousy coated my tongue.

  "Go on," Wyatt prompted, none of us touching the refreshments. I wasn't going to be congenial enough to offer her any.

  The woman's posture was as straight as an arrow, her hands clasped daintily in her lap. She looked down at her hands as she spoke. "They’re oatmeal raisin," she said.

  I wouldn't touch one if it were the last food on earth.

  When neither of us took one, she continue
d her tale. "My situation was dire, my father did not wish to be burdened with me any longer and I found myself at the mercy of Mrs. Bidwell." I saw a flush creep up her cheeks.

  How the woman feigned embarrassment, I had no idea.

  "So you accepted the woman's offer."

  She looked to Wyatt. "Yes, it was that or...."

  The unspoken words were clearly understood. She'd matched her story quite closely to mine, blurring the definitive line for Wyatt to determine which of us was being truthful. If we told the same story, he couldn't choose based on that alone.

  "I don't understand," she continued. "You are my husband and this woman is here claiming to be me. How can you let her be here? Clearly, she is an imposter." A tear slipped down her cheek.

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but I had enough decorum left to resist. Wyatt would most assuredly see through the woman's lies and tell her to leave. Our marriage had been consummated, several times in fact. There could be no question that Wyatt had truly claimed me.

  "Yes, that is an interesting point. Emily," Wyatt said, but both of us looked up at the man expectantly, although his eyes were on me. "What was the date of the proxy wedding in Minneapolis?"

  I licked my dry lips and felt my heart about to beat out of my chest. "June fourth."

  The other woman's eyes widened and eagerness had her practically jumping out of her seat. "The papers were signed on May the thirtieth and I was on the stage by June first."

  Lies! Everything she said was lies.

  "How did you end up here after me if you began your journey first?" I questioned.

  Her chin went up to match her regal bearing. Even though I was taller, she was clearly looking down her nose at me. "As I said, I was ill and waylaid."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Wyatt said, his voice sympathetic. "You will stay for dinner and the night. This does not seem to be something easily resolved."

  He wasn't dismissing her! That meant he was considering the value of her words, perhaps questioning if I were the imposter here. "Excuse me, please." I stood and nodded at the woman and fled, trying to keep my thoughts from overwhelming me. Afraid to look at Wyatt - I didn't want to see any doubt on his face - I made it as far as the kitchen where I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

  "Two wives!" Mrs. Perrin murmured, her voice low.

  My eyes flew open to watch the woman scrub at the already clean table. Her frustration was evident in every abrasive motion.

  "You know she's an imposter?"

  She eyed me speculatively as she continued to clean. "One of you is."

  My mouth fell open. "You don't believe me? You...you think she's really his wife?"

  The older woman shrugged. "She's sweet. Timid. I can't see the likes of her pulling a prank like this."

  I felt cold all of a sudden at what she didn't say. She thought I could mastermind something of this sort. "You think I have the skill to do something like this?" My voice was a thready whisper. In a perverse way the woman was offering me a compliment, however in this situation, I couldn't take it as such.

  "You're smart enough, certainly. A woman has limited opportunity to better themselves in this world, and must take any chance that's offered, especially a woman whose only skills are...in the bedroom. Mr. Blake is a fine catch. Handsome, rich, amiable. I wouldn't blame you if you had."

  I pushed off the wall and stood before Mrs. Perrin, ignoring the embarrassment I always felt around her. "You said ‘if.’"

  The woman made a dismissive noise and left me, going down the hall to the bedroom. I heard the door close with a soft click. Grabbing hold of the chair back, I gripped it for dear life. Mrs. Perrin hadn't outright said that I was a poor wife, but I was adept enough to understand her clearly. I was only skilled on my back. I couldn't cook, couldn't clean, couldn't do anything a normal wife could do. No one knew these deficiencies better than she. There was no doubt now she'd heard Wyatt and me - my screams, the bed moving, even Wyatt's dark groan of pleasure at the end. I knew what she thought of me, for I felt the same.

  Remaining in the kitchen wasn't an option; I couldn't leave this other Mrs. Blake - whatever her real name was - alone with Wyatt. I moved with haste back to the parlor, only to find the Wyatt sitting in the chair I'd vacated. There was a mild, tender smile on the imposter’s face as she adoringly looked upon my husband. Even her laughter was soft.

  I stormed in, all wild hair and brash ways. Wyatt stood. "I see you availed yourself of refreshment."

  The cookie plate was practically empty. Only one remained amid a few crumbs. I doubted she ate the sweet treats, which meant Wyatt gobbled them all.

  "You must be tired after your journey. Perhaps I can show you to your room?" It wasn't a subtle dismissal and I hoped the woman would see it as such.

  She just looked up at me and smiled, her teeth straight and white. I wanted to reach over and strangle her. I clenched my hands into fists to keep myself from doing just that when she replied.

  "My room is with my husband."

  My eyebrows went up at that. I wasn't sharing Wyatt with her. He was mine. Perhaps Wyatt could see my diplomacy was at an end. I was jealous and I didn't care if Wyatt knew.

  "Perhaps until this is resolved, you may rest in the guest room. Mrs. Perrin will call for you when dinner is ready." He stood, forcing her to rise as well. She didn't have much choice.

  "Thank you," she replied. "You will show me the way?"

  I would not let Wyatt lead her, or any woman, to a bedroom. "I will be happy to assist. Wyatt has work to tend to."

  She had no choice but to follow me. Opening the door to the guest room, I let her enter. "What are you trying to accomplish with this falsehood?" I asked.

  She inspected the room, then turned to face me. "Whatever do you mean? Wyatt and I are married. You may have warmed his bed for a night or two, but I will be his wife, not you."

  I narrowed my gaze. "We'll see about that," I countered.

  "Yes, we shall. You can't do anything, Emily, that’s expected of a wife. I can organize his household and cook for twenty if required. I have poise, manners, and a genteel nature. I look good on any man's arm and can please him in bed, after he instructs me accordingly."

  Tears clogged my throat but I held them back. I couldn't let this woman see any weakness, even though her words hit their mark. Her lies were like barbs.

  "How do you presume to know so much about me?"

  "I don't have to know, I can just look at you and tell. It's obvious."

  I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

  "Look at you." Her disgusted gaze raked over me. "Your hair is a mess, your dress dusty and wrinkled. Your manners are forthright and undignified. A housekeeper is needed, therefore you are sorely lacking. With all those deficiencies, you must have some skill and I can guess in what. The question is, can you hold his interest before he strays?" Her lips pursed into a little moué. "I will rest now. You may go."

  She dismissed me. Of all the gall. There was nothing I could say, only a battle of words would ensue and I would only appear to be justifying myself. It didn't matter what she thought. The only person whose thoughts mattered was Wyatt. Wyatt.

  I pulled the door closed behind me and went in search of my husband. The house was quiet and so I spread my search further afield. I found him in the stable talking with Mr. Pegg.

  Remaining by the door, I let the men finish their conversation. Wyatt joined me and Mr. Pegg tipped his hat and walked toward an open stall door. Wyatt took my arm and led me outside. His grip was gentle, his hand warm. It was reassuring, the feel of it, but he didn't smile, didn't offer any kind of emotion at all. It was as if he'd closed himself off from me.

  He guided me to the bank of the creek where it was shady and away from everyone else on the ranch.

  "We won't be disturbed here," he said, removing his hat, running his fingers over the brim in a now familiar gesture.

  "You aren't considering her claims," I replied, s
tating it not as a question.

  "Your stories are very similar, almost identical."

  "Yes." When he didn't offer more, I glanced up at him. Gone was the man who'd brought me to climax just this morning. Before me stood a man with a mask firmly in place, almost devoid of emotion. I had no way of knowing how this situation could be resolved. A letter could be written to Mrs. Bidwell, but a reply could take months. I didn't have months. I needed to know now if my husband considered me a fraud. I'd been expecting him to put me on the next stage heading east because of my lack of maidenhead and once again when he discovered my other wifely deficiencies. Would he consider my only skill - my ability to please him sexually – to be a negative? I had no knowledge where I stood with him, especially with the other woman not thrown out, but beneath our roof, in a bedroom just down the hall.

  "I'm never going to be the perfect wife, Wyatt."

  His whiskey hued gaze met mine. "I am well aware of that."

  "In fact, my only talent is on my back." I spoke crudely, but this was not the time to mince words.

  "Or on your hands and knees."

  My mouth fell open and shame heated my cheeks at his crude talk. I'd started it, of course, but he wasn't gentleman enough to refrain. "As you said, I'm your whore."

  "This other woman is not."

  "A whore? How can you tell so readily? You did not know my true nature until you had me beneath you in bed. Do you plan to test her in the same way? Discover if her maidenhead is intact by fucking her, then deciding?"

  I saw heat flare in his eyes. It was arousal that made his jaw clench, his skin flush. It was in that instant I knew. He wanted her. He wanted to bed, to fuck this other woman. To claim her as his. She was beautiful and she made cookies. Cookies! What man wouldn't want the combination of pleasing his belly as well as his cock? I couldn't compete, not with the look of desire on his face. I'd just been a temporary way for him to slake his lust until someone more...everything came along.