Authors: Madeline Baker
She felt as if she had waited her whole life for Creed Maddigan, but it had been worth the wait.
“Where did you get the dress?” Jassy asked a long time later.
“It belonged to the hotel clerk’s mother. I asked him if there was any place to find a wedding dress in this town, and she overheard me and offered to let me borrow hers. She decorated the dining room, too.”
“And the suit?”
“Borrowed it from the undertaker,” he admitted with a wry grin.
Jassy laughed softly. “Thank you, Creed, for everything.”
“You deserve more than a borrowed gown and a bouquet of wildflowers,” he replied, his voice laced with bitterness. “Hell, at the very least, you deserve a man who doesn’t have to sign a phony name to the marriage license.”
“I’ve got what I want.” Jassy traced the line of his jaw with her forefinger. “More than I ever hoped for.”
* * * * *
The town held a party at the Big Store for the newlyweds that night. Creed had tried to get out of it. He was a man on the run, after all, and being the center of attention didn’t seem like a good idea, but the miners refused to take no for an answer, viewing the occasion as a good excuse to raise hell. Jassy was embarrassed to be the center of attention, but Creed urged her to join in the spirit of it all, since there didn’t seem to be any way to avoid it.
The music was furnished by a fiddle player, who was accompanied by a jug, an accordion, a banjo, and a harmonica.
The band, such as it was, played loud and lively, and Jassy found herself dancing with men old enough to be her father, and young enough to be her brother.
Creed stood on the sidelines, watching good-naturedly, cutting in every now and then to twirl her around the floor.
Two hours into the celebration, Jassy begged Creed to take her outside. “I need some fresh air,” she complained softly, “and my feet hurt.”
Smiling proudly, Creed took his wife’s arm and led her outside. Wife, he thought. Damn, but that was going to take some getting used to. In all his life, he’d never had to look out for anybody but himself. And now he had Jassy to protect, to provide for. A wife meant responsibility. Children… He swore under his breath, hoping she would never be sorry, hoping he would never let her down.
Jassy drew in a deep breath. The night was cool and clear, the sky bright with a million twinkling stars. She slid a glance at Creed. Her husband. He had held her and loved her until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. She had responded to his caresses with a boldness, a shamelessness, that had embarrassed her even as it had pleased him.
She let her gaze move over his profile, thinking again how handsome he was. She wished he would take her in his arms and hold her close. And then, to her surprise, she did just that.
Creed grinned as Jassy wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Something I can do for you, Missus Maddigan?”
“Yes, indeed,” she replied.
Jassy pressed herself against him, hoping he would understand what she wanted so she wouldn’t have to say the words aloud.
“You wouldn’t be wantin’ to dance, would you?” Creed drawled, a hint of laughter in his tone.
“No,” Jassy replied, letting her hands glide up over his shoulders and down his shirt front.
Creed grunted softly. “A walk, perhaps?”
With a frown, Jassy slipped her hand under his shirt and caressed his skin. It was warm and solid and touching it made her whole body quiver with desire. “Creed…”
He laughed out loud as he swept her into his arms. “Don’t worry, Jassy, I’m pretty sure I know what you want.”
A flood of heat burned its way up her neck and into her cheeks. “Do you think I’m terrible?”
“I think you’re wonderful.” His lips nuzzled her hair. “Don’t you think it’s what I want, too?
“What about the party?”
His eyes blazed with a fervent heat as his gaze met hers. “We’ll have our own party, Missus Maddigan,” he replied, his voice thick with desire. “Just you and me.”
She buried her face against his shoulder as he carried her down the street to their hotel, her heart hammering with anticipation, her nostrils filling with his scent. She threaded her fingers through the long hair at his nape, loving the way it felt in her hand.
Effortlessly, he carried her up the stairs to their room, and then they were alone, just the two of them. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered her feet to the floor, letting her body slide over his, letting her feel the proof of his need, his desire. His love.
He had promised to tell her he loved her every day of his life, and now, as he undressed her and caressed her, he murmured the words over and over again, fervently, solemnly, so she would never forget.
“And I love you,” Jassy replied, her body welcoming his sweet invasion, rising up to meet him, to gather him close. “Love you, love you, love you!”
And then she was reaching for the moon and the stars, and he was giving them to her with both hands, until she was wrapped in moonlight and starlight, safely cocooned in her husband’s arms.
* * * * *
He had to coax her out of bed in the morning. Weary from a night of lovemaking, shyly eager for his embrace, Jassy tried to pull Creed back into bed with her. Instead, he lifted her into his arms and carried her across the room. Standing her on her feet, he bathed her from head to foot. He might have got through it okay if she hadn’t started caressing him, letting her fingertips slide over his chest, down his belly. She poked one finger into his navel, then dropped her hand until it rested on the rising bulge in his trousers.
“Imp,” he growled, and made love to her, there, on the floor.
The sound of the train whistle reminded him that they didn’t have all day. Drawing Jassy to her feet, he tossed the washcloth at her.
“You’d better wash yourself this time,” he said, “or we’ll miss the train.”
* * * * *
She had never ridden on a train, and she could barely contain her excitement as Creed helped her aboard. She was going to San Francisco!
San Francisco. It conjured up images of miners and cable cars, mansions and millionaires.
She followed Creed down the narrow aisle until he came to an unoccupied seat. Jassy slid in first so she could sit near the window.
Her heart was pounding so loudly she thought it would surely drown out the wail of the whistle and the sound of the wheels as the engine lurched forward.
She sat with her nose pressed to the glass, watching the countryside race by. When the conductor came by to punch their tickets, he told her proudly that the train traveled at an amazing speed of twenty-five miles an hour, more than twice as fast as a stage coach. He also told her that there were thirty thousand miles of track laid from one end of the country to the other.
Spurred on by Jassy’s interest, the conductor spent the next ten minutes telling Jassy more about trains than she had ever cared to know. He mentioned that the first locomotive to run on rails had been built in 1825 by Mr. John Stevens of Hoboken, New Jersey. The train ran on a half-mile track located behind his house.
“Fascinating,” Jassy murmured.
“Isn’t it?” the conductor agreed, then went on to tell her that the first railroad company in America was the Baltimore and Ohio, chartered in 1827.
“Very interesting,” Jassy said.
“Enjoy your trip, ma’am,” the conductor said, and tipping his hat, he made his way to the next car.
The novelty of riding on a train quickly lost its charm and Jassy decided that, while traveling by rail might be quicker than traveling by coach, it wasn’t a whole lot more comfortable.
As the hours passed, and the train rattled on, she found herself wondering what would happen if the engineer fell asleep. Would the train keep going? Would the cars jump the tracks?
Occasionally, ashes and cinders drifted through a window. She overheard the conductor telling a young boy that trains had once been called brigades of cars, but, way back in 1830, the Baltimore and Ohio had used the term “train of cars” in an advertisement, and the word train had stuck.
Later, Jassy heard one of the lady passengers complain that she had once counted thirteen holes burned in her dress due to the engine’s constant belching of sparks.
Fortunately, there were stops along the way. At Bryan, there was an hour’s delay to change locomotives.
Creed and Jassy left the train to walk through the town. Creed pulled his hat low, his gaze darting right and left as they made their way to a small restaurant.
“What’s the matter?” Jassy asked.
“Just being careful. I’m still a wanted man, you know.”
“I didn’t see a sheriff’s office,” Jassy said. “Maybe you’re worrying for nothing.”
“Maybe.”
Creed stared out the window, hoping Jassy was right, hoping that he was, indeed, worrying for nothing. They were a long way from Harrison.
They ate quickly, then returned to their seat in the train. Soon, they were on their way again, passing through Evanston on their way to Ogden. The country they passed through was beautiful. The Bear River Mountains rose in the distance and Jassy felt a sudden longing to go exploring, to climb mountains and explore caves, to ride in a canoe, to wander through the vast wilderness.
A new husband, a new world, a new life. She had never been happier, she thought, snuggling against Creed. Gradually, the hum of the wheels and the motion of the train lulled her to sleep.
Carefully so as not to awaken her, Creed eased Jassy down on the seat, cradling her head in his lap, his hand lightly stroking her hair as he stared out the window. He felt a mild twinge of regret as he realized his bounty hunting days were over. Like a bird whose wings had been clipped, he was no longer free to fly from place to place, following the wind or a whim. He had a wife now, responsibilities. Sooner or later, he’d have to find a place to settle down, a job…
He swore under his breath. Who in hell would give him a job? He was wanted by the law. The only things he was any good at were tracking and fast drawing a Colt.
Damn. He’d thought he had overcome his doubts, but now they rose in full force once again. Who did he think he was, to take on a wife when he had nothing to offer her? He was an escaped convict with a price on his head. A half-breed. People would never forgive him for that, or forgive Jassy for marrying him. And what if she got pregnant? The thought chilled him to the marrow of his bones. What if she was pregnant even now?
He placed a hand over her flat stomach, trying to imagine it swollen with his child. What kind of father would be he? He didn’t have any experience at all with kids; he wasn’t even sure he wanted any, but most women wanted a passel of kids. Damn, he thought again, why hadn’t he kept his hands off Jassy McCloud and left her in Harrison where she belonged? Except she wasn’t Jassy McCloud anymore. She was Jassy Maddigan. Missus Creed Maddigan, even though the name on the license said Monroe.
He glanced down at her face and knew why he hadn’t left her behind. He needed her, and he loved her, loved everything about her. She was the best thing to ever happen to him, and he was terrified that he would let her down, that he wasn’t good enough for her, that, in the end, he would prove himself to be no better that most people thought.
Damn, but women sure made life complicated.
The Union Pacific line ended in Ogden. Leaving the train, Creed went to the Central Pacific depot and bought two tickets for Sacramento, then they made their way to the hotel.
Creed didn’t miss the look of contempt that passed over the hotel clerk’s pasty face as he tossed their room key on the counter.
“Room six, top of the stairs, Mr. Jones.” the clerk said. His voice was high-pitched and filled with disdain, his gaze speculative as his gaze slid over Jassy.
“She’s my wife,” Creed said, his voice hard and flat.
“I…what?” the clerk stammered.
“I thought you might be wondering what our relationship was,” Creed retorted. “Now you know. So keep your eyes off her.”
“Yessir,” the clerk replied quickly.
Creed grabbed Jassy by the arm and practically dragged her up the stairs.
“Creed, you’re hurting me!” Jassy exclaimed.
He loosened his hold on her arm instantly. “Sorry,” he muttered contritely.
“You can’t fight the whole world, you know.”
He paused on the landing. “Dammit, Jassy, he was leering at you like you were a…”
“Whore?” she supplied.
“Yes, dammit, that’s just what he thought. Because you were with me.”
Anger boiled up inside her—anger at all those thoughtless people who had made Creed feel that he was inferior because he was half-Indian. And anger at Creed himself, because he let those opinions affect the way he saw himself.
“Listen to me, Creed Maddigan,” she said, her hands fisted on her hips. “I don’t care what anybody else thinks of me or you. All that matters is what you think, and what I think. And I think you’re the most wonderful man in the whole wide world.” Her eyes threw a challenge at him. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re beautiful when your back is up,” he said, grinning broadly as he reached for her hand. “Come on, I want to show you something.”