Authors: Johanna Lindsey
T
he Jersey Lilly, where Judge Roy Bean held court whether court was in session or not, was a typical-looking saloon with one exception, the built-in jury box. Bean wasn’t a typical-looking judge, however. He could barely get the top button of his waistcoat closed, he was so fat, and the other buttons were a lost cause.
The judge was approaching seventy, and his bloodshot eyes attested to his passion for rum. Rope burns around his neck spoke of his having met up with a lynch mob at some point in his past. Likely true, since there were rumors that he’d been in a few less-than-honorable gunfights that had ended with him still standing and the other fellow needing a pine box. All this before he got appointed justice of the peace.
Casey had been so upset over getting arrested the night before that she hadn’t actually noticed that there wasn’t all that much damage done to the saloon, certainly not enough to account for Bean’s ranting and raving. But then, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if his fury had been
contrived just to support a new opportunity for levying fines.
In the large room, one table was missing a leg. One chair had been busted over someone’s back. But that was all, other than broken bottles. And she couldn’t recall having seen anything worse than that last night, such as something that might have been removed in an effort to clean up. Actually, it didn’t look like any effort had been made at cleaning up the place yet.
Even that early in the day, some of the judge’s cronies were bellied up to the bar having their morning eye-openers, waiting for him to finish “business” and join them. From what Casey had heard, even if there was a trial and the jury box filled, drinking was encouraged.
Bean himself had a tall glass of rum placed next to his gavel on the table he sat at to pass out his verdicts. No special podium for him. Guess he had figured the jury box was enough to give his saloon the distinction of a courthouse, that anything more would have been a waste of his good money. His court was so informal that even his bailiff shared a corner of his table, sipping a cup of coffee rather than standing alert to protect the court as he should have been doing.
Casey was escorted into this travesty of a courtroom by one of the court deputies. Damian had followed right behind her and, in fact, moved to stand beside her in front of Bean’s table, which drew the judge’s immediate attention.
“Just find yourself a seat, young man. I’ll get
to you as soon as I finish with the little lady here.”
Casey stiffened, wondering how the hell the old coot had discerned that she was a female when everyone else looked at her and saw differently. He actually made a cackling sound, having noticed her reaction, and apparently was pleased as punch that he’d managed to surprise her.
“I’ve got good eyes, missy,” he bragged. “Always could and always will take notice of a pretty lady, don’t matter what silly duds they cover themselves in. I’ll admit I don’t get many before my court, though,” he added with a disapproving frown that almost made her blush.
The judge then raised a bushy gray brow in Damian’s direction. “Why’re you still standing there, son? You hard of hearing?”
“I’m with—her,” Damian explained. “Here to pay her fine so we can be on our way.”
“Well, now, you shoulda said so,” the judge replied with an avaricious gleam in his eye. “For participating in the destruction of private property, as well as disturbing the peace—one hundred dollars. Pay the bailiff.”
“One hundred dollars!” Casey practically screeched.
“You got a problem with that, missy?” Roy Bean asked with a warning look.
She sure as hell did, but Damian’s nudge reminded her that she better keep it to herself. And it was probably fortunate that the wad of bills that Damian pulled out and counted off added up to only a hundred and sixty dollars, or Bean was sure to have come up with some
other excuse to fine them some more. As it was, Damian handed the money to the bailiff, who immediately handed it to the judge, who showed no shame when he stuffed it into his own pocket.
“So she’s free to go?” Damian wanted everything clarified.
“Yes, yes,” Bean said impatiently, eager to get out of his judiciary role now that he had a pocket full of money again. “But why’d you pay her fine? You her husband?”
“No.”
“Her lawyer?”
“No.”
“But you’re traveling together?”
From Damian’s look, he was starting to get worried about these personal questions, so Casey spoke up. “We’re searching for a man who committed a murder back East, to bring him to justice.”
“Commendable.” Bean nodded. “And you’re welcome to bring this killer before my court if you find him. I’ll be glad to hang him quick and proper. But you’re still traveling together, which speaks for itself, missy, now don’t it?” the judge said with a frown.
Casey frowned right back at him. “Speaks for itself how? Just what are you implying, Your Honor?”
“It’s pretty obvious you two have been cavorting in sin, traveling alone together, and I really can’t tolerate that. No, sir. Never could, never will. But I’m glad to say that’s easily rectified. So by the powers invested in me, I pronounce you man and wife, and may God have
mercy on your souls.” He banged a gavel before adding, “That’ll be an extra five dollars for the marriage. Pay the bailiff.”
Casey was rendered speechless.
Damian got out, “Now wait a minute—” before Roy Bean narrowed one of his bloodshot eyes on him.
“You aren’t
really
thinking about arguing with me about due process and moral duty, are you, young fella?” the judge demanded ominously.
At that point Casey dug in her own pocket to toss the five dollars at the bailiff, grabbed Damian’s arm, and dragged, yanked, and otherwise got him out of there before they both ended up back in that lousy jail cell.
Out on the porch, though, she ran out of steam, since Damian wasn’t cooperating in being rushed. And she was still too dazed herself over what had just happened to point out that they really ought to get on the train pronto.
“That wasn’t what it sounded like, was it?” Damian asked her.
“If you mean that it sounded like he hitched us together then, ’fraid so, that’s what he did.”
“Very well, at least tell me it wasn’t legal.”
“Sorry, wish I could. But he’s a bona fide judge, legally appointed.”
“Casey, things like that just don’t
happen
,” he said in a frustrated tone. “Usually the bride and groom have to say a few words—like they agree.”
He was being sarcastic, and she couldn’t blame him one bit. “Not in all cases,” she was forced to remind him. “And not when faced with the kind of arbitrary power that Bean
wields. That ornery old coot was determined to be ornery, and there isn’t a thing we can do about it—here.”
“Why’d you pause?”
“Because it’s occurred to me that we’re getting upset over nothing.”
“I’d hardly call suddenly being married
nothing
.”
“Well, no, ’course not, but the thing is, we can get unmarried just as easily. In fact, all it will take is to come across another judge and explain what this one did. And for sure it’s easier to find a judge than it will be to find Curruthers, so let’s just get the hell out of Langtry before something else goes wrong, okay?”
He had no trouble agreeing with that, and they did manage to collect the horses and make the train just as it was whistling its departure. But Judge Bean’s bailiff had no trouble catching up to them either and held the train up even more. He had Casey’s gun to return to her—she was amazed that she’d been walking around half naked without it and hadn’t even realized it. He also had a couple signatures to collect for the court records, concerning their marriage.
Casey turned stubborn at that point. “And if we don’t sign?”
“Then I’m instructed to escort you back to the court,” the man told her.
She had her weapon back, barely sheathed. The decision was really hers, whether to comply or just kick the bailiff out of the train car.
She was leaning toward the latter when Damian said, “We’ve already decided to remedy this, so just sign the damn book, Casey.”
She supposed he was right. And since he’d already said her name aloud, she signed the book “Casey Smith.” Seeing what she’d done, he signed “Damian Jones.”
At least they had
something
to smile about as the train pulled out of that hellhole.
E
ven though she realized that it was only temporary, being married to Damian preyed on Casey’s mind something fierce. There was something nice about it—in her mind. He was probably hating it, and in fact, the first thing he asked in each town they came to was if there was a judge, or where the nearest one could be found.
Casey hated that an event that was supposed to be really special had been accomplished in only a few seconds, without the courting, without the asking—without the bedding afterward. And for some fool reason, her thoughts kept coming back to the bedding part.
But the fact was there, staring her in the face: She could make love with Damian now and not suffer a bit of guilt over it. She hadn’t asked to have it so. A rum-soaked judge had made it so. But it
was
so. And that knowledge was very hard to live with day after day, because having “permission,” so to speak, made her want to experience Damian’s lovemaking even more than she had previously.
In the town of Sanderson, Casey had another scare, which at least got her mind off her “marriage” for a while. She could have sworn she saw her father again, entering one of the local boardinghouses. She hadn’t seen his face, though. And really, anyone could wear the type of clothes that Chandos favored. Besides, it would be quite impossible for him to have traveled this far from Fort Worth by horse so soon—unless he’d been on the same train as she. And he hadn’t been on the train. There
had
been other horses riding the stock car with theirs several times, but none had been Chandos’s horse. She would have recognized him immediately.
Later that day, they came up with new information. A new town, barely a year old, had sprung up along an old trading route about a two-day ride north of the Southern Pacific tracks. The railroad didn’t have a spur line to it yet, though one was planned in the near future, since Culthers was growing so fast. It had its own schoolhouse already, three churches, its own town council and mayor.
The mention of a mayor had Casey and Damian heading that way, though it meant taking to the trail again. Also, the name alone, sounding so much like Curruthers, might have drawn their quarry in that direction. But, still worried that her father might be in town, Casey didn’t want to take any chances. So when she woke before daybreak, she sneaked into Damian’s room and roused him out of bed, and they more or less fled town then and there.
Damian, unexpectedly, complained. “You know, though I haven’t benefited too much from
this ‘marriage’ of ours,
you
certainly have.”
Casey ignored him. Keeping to a slow, careful pace on the road, at least until sunrise, she had no trouble hearing Damian grumble again, “No, this temporary ‘marriage’ of ours hasn’t given
me
any benefits.”
He sounded so sour Casey was primed to argue, “What benefit do
I
have?”
“Haven’t you realized that, as a married woman, your father can’t drag you home or anywhere else, for that matter—at least not without my permission? Husband’s rights do take precedence over parental rights.”
Casey was grinning by then. “You know, that’s an excellent point. Not that I would dream of standing up to my father like that, especially since this isn’t a real marriage—but
he
wouldn’t know that, would he?”
“Not unless you mention it.”
“Yes, well, I’d just as soon not put it to the test, if you don’t mind. So why not stop complaining about missing a few hours’ sleep? We can make camp early today if you like.”
He didn’t stop complaining. She hadn’t really thought he would. He was just in a complaining kind of mood today, she supposed. But they did make camp early, and luckily, near a freshwater stream.
Casey had planned on suggesting forgoing a fire that night, just to be on the safe side. She’d stocked up on supplies that didn’t require heating, and the weather was quite warm. But Damian was so disagreeable she didn’t mention it. Then she spotted fish in the stream. Fried fish sounded too good to pass up.
She left Damian to see to the horses while she went off to whittle herself a fishing spear. She was standing knee deep in the stream, having caught only one fish so far, when Damian showed up.
“There’s an easier, more relaxed way of doing that,” he remarked from the riverbank.
She didn’t bother to look up, too intent on the fish that kept darting away from her. “I don’t see any string lying around handy—unless you’re of a mind to unravel one of them fancy shirts of yours.”
“I’m of a mind to wash the dust off. You won’t look, will you?”
Casey blinked. “Look?” Her eyes swung up to him, to see him in the process of removing his vest. “Now hold on. You can just wait on doing any washing until after I’ve finished catching dinner.”
“I’m too dusty to wait.”
“You’re going to scare all the fish away!” she shouted up at him.
“I’ll barely make a ripple,” he replied as he started unbuttoning his shirt.
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m dusty.”
She’d never heard anything so ornery-stubborn, but she could be just as stubborn. “Suit yourself then,” she growled, “but you’re the one who won’t be eating fish tonight if I don’t catch any more, not me.”
She refused to budge from the stream merely because the fool man was going to get naked. It didn’t make her no nevermind. She’d just keep
her back to him and go about her business. But that was easier decided than done.
A few seconds later, he was in the stream. It was slowly driving her crazy, knowing that he was just a few feet away from her and buck naked. She could hear him splashing water on himself. No ripples indeed. Not that it mattered, because if she saw a fish just then, she wouldn’t have really seen it. Her mind, her whole body, was centered on Damian and what he was doing.
She tried moving inconspicuously farther upstream so she at least wouldn’t hear him. The water was colder there because it was deeper due to a debris blockage, but not freezing cold. She barely noticed the cold, though, her body had grown so hot.
And then she heard, right behind her: “Are you running away from me, Casey?”
She swung around in startlement. Damn, what a mistake that was, and too late to correct.
Damian had come up silently behind her. He was sunk down in the water, but he slowly rose up, the water slewing over his chest and arms as he did, glistening in what little sunlight remained, until his whole upper torso was revealed. And Casey was purely mesmerized by the masculine shape and contour of him. He was more muscular than she had imagined, his arms so thick, his hair-covered chest so very wide in comparison to a taut, narrow waist.
She hadn’t answered him, couldn’t even recall there had been a question, but he asked another. “Or perhaps you just decided on a bath yourself, up here where it’s deeper?”
She still wasn’t really hearing him, but she sure had no trouble seeing him, or feeling him when his finger came to caress her cheek and dribbled cold water down her neck. It was the shiver that followed that brought her out of her daze, if she could be said to be thinking clearly yet, which wasn’t exactly the case.
But she did hear “It looks like you need some assistance, though.”
Her poncho was lifted off her, and from the corner of her eye, she saw it sail through the air to land in a heap on the riverbank. Her gun followed and managed to land right on the poncho. It was seeing her gun thrown out of her reach that brought her out of her mesmerized state quite quickly.
“What are you—?” was as far as she got.
In truth, she did get the rest of that question out, but it was lost to anyone hearing it underwater. He had dunked her. He had actually pushed her under the water.
Casey came up sputtering in disbelief. She glared at Damian through a face full of wet hair, saw the grin he didn’t have sense enough to hide at the moment, and shot a palm stream of water in his direction. He gasped at the new coldness hitting him square in the chest, raised a brow, then dived at her.
Casey shrieked and leaped to the side, but the splash of Damian hitting the water full blast with his body completely drenched her again. By the time she got the water out of her eyes enough to see, she couldn’t find him. And then her legs were yanked out from under her.
It had been a long time since Casey had ca
vorted in a pool of water with her brothers, but she hadn’t forgotten how to “get even.” About twenty minutes later, Damian was calling for a truce. Casey was completely out of breath, mostly from laughing. Who’d have thought she could have “fun” with an Easterner? She certainly would never have imagined it.
She crawled to the bank, leaving Damian sitting back in the water, watching her. She was still smiling to herself. So was he, for that matter. And then she finally noticed why. Her clothes had been plastered to her skin. She might as well have been as naked as he was.
Her blush was immediate, but it didn’t last, not once she noticed Damian’s eyes. They were usually a very soft gray, pale almost, but right now they were a darker, more turbulent color, indicating strong emotion. And he’d started to wade toward her. He wasn’t really going to walk out of the water with her staring at him, was he? He wasn’t…He did, and before she had sense enough to look away.
She’d probably carry that image to her grave, so strongly did it imprint itself on her mind. He was like a statue carved to perfection, the artist too proud to add the slightest flaw to such a splendid creation. And just that brief sight of him made her feel all tingly inside.
She sensed more than heard him kneeling there beside her on the bank. She wasn’t going to look again to be sure, but her breath caught in anticipation. She ought to get up and leave, yet she couldn’t get her legs to cooperate for some reason. And then his hands were cupping her cheeks, forcing her to meet his gaze.
A fire raging out of control; that was what his eyes brought to mind. The sun was beginning to set, casting them both in a golden glow, but there was still enough light to recognize such immense intensity.
“It’s not working anymore, Casey,” he remarked in a husky rasp.
Did he expect her to say something when she could barely think? “What…isn’t?”
“Telling myself our marriage isn’t real.”
“But it isn’t real.”
“Right now, at this exact moment in time, it’s very,
very
real.”
He must not have wanted another reply from her, because his mouth was now preventing any further comments. Raging fire?
Volcanic eruption
was more like what his kiss was all about. And within mere seconds, Casey’s own passion was ignited to a similar degree of intensity.
This
was
what she had been thinking about ever since that ornery judge had hitched her to Damian, so she was inclined to agree wholeheartedly with him. Right now, right this minute, their marriage was real—and Casey was tired of fighting to ignore the things her
husband
could make her feel.
There was no ignoring what she felt right now, even if she still wanted to, which she didn’t. The wild turmoil simply took over as she rose to her knees to get closer to Damian, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back for all she was worth. Having his own arms gather her even closer to each shape and nuance of him was thrilling beyond belief, while his lips continued to ravish her mouth, pulling
her even deeper into his passionate kiss.
She was so consumed with his kiss that a while later, she wasn’t even aware that he had to pry her arms away from him to get her shirt off. The silky camisole he ran into next gave him pause, as did her lacy drawers, but only because they were so feminine compared to the rest of her attire. And she barely noticed him spreading her poncho out on the ground, or picking her up to place her on it. But she noticed when he lay beside her and began to introduce her body to the feel of his hands.
There was no hesitancy in his touch. His hand moved over her arms, her neck, spent a great deal of time learning the shape and sensitivity of her breasts before continuing down her belly, all with a possessive boldness she wouldn’t have expected but which she reveled in.
And then he set about inflaming her passion beyond what her limited experience could handle. He bent to lick at the hard nub of one nipple, drawing an uncontrolled whimper from her. She tried to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t budge. He was going to torment her breasts for as long as he liked, never mind that they were so sensitive already that it was driving her crazy. When he finally did bring the full heat of his mouth over her breast, she thought she was going to go up in flames.
And that was when the hand on her belly moved again, lower, until his fingers slipped into the moistness between her legs. Casey’s response was immediate, a burst of such incredible pleasure, she could never have imagined the like. It spiraled outward, that pulsing ecstasy,
spreading languor, draining all tension.
Damian’s weight settled on top of her as a reminder that she wasn’t alone. She opened her eyes to see his gentle smile and couldn’t help returning it. She felt a closeness to him now that had nothing to do with the proximity of their bodies. It was a nice feeling, too nice, actually, but she wasn’t going to worry about that now.
He kissed her again as another part of him pushed for entry between her legs. Much thicker was this new intrusion, much hotter, too, and then she felt a brief popping sensation inside her that startled her eyes open again. That intensity was back in his. And immediately the tension returned, pulsing around that part of him that had gained entry and was steadily filling her.
Casey forgot to breathe, so wondrous were these new sensations that his deep penetration caused, and then she was breathing too hard, because he had started to move inside her, started a tempo that she couldn’t help but join. It was happening again, but she expected it this time and held on tight, gasping, letting the pleasure surround her and take her swiftly to repletion.
Afterward, as he held her to his chest, his lips on her forehead, one hand tenderly caressing her back, she felt the most incredible contentment. She could have stayed there indefinitely if she hadn’t heard Damian’s belly rumble. She smiled—and ended up sharing that single fish for dinner after all.