Miri grimaced at the long hair hanging stick straight down her back. It was so fine, it fell out of any braid she tried to secure it with. She usually wrapped it under a kerchief before she put on her wig and then her hat. She currently didn’t know where her hat and the wig were, and that made her anxious.
“I need to get my costumes back together,” she grumbled as she returned to the big open room they all lived in.
“Miri, I’ve never before seen silver hair on one so young.” Eden McCallister reached out her hand and picked up one of the pale strands, staring at it as if mesmerized.
“It’s a sight all right,” Miri agreed, thanking Naomi for the use of the comb on her way through. ”I keep it covered as best I can. It’s unhandy in my business because it’s something people always remember. I should have cut it years ago, but…” She shrugged, not ready to admit that it was her one female vanity.
“It’s lovely. I can show you several styles that would accommodate the fine texture,” Eden assured her.
“If it’s your intent on making me into a passable-looking female, it’s wasted time and effort.” Miri frowned at Sam’s wife. “I need to check on Ketchum. No sense in letting him get stupid and die.”
When she entered Deacon’s bedroom, Ketchum lifted his head and yawned. She crouched by him, scratching him behind his ear to reassure him that it was really her.
Evidently he had no difficulty identifying her. He closed his eyes and dozed, showing no interest in her female costume.
Miri held the hand mirror she found on Deacon’s chest of drawers, trying to see herself in the tiny reflection. Her hair was shiny, hanging straight and long. She brushed her hand down its length.
That concoction Naomi gave me really made it soft.
She twitched at the bodice of the dress, trying to make herself smaller or the material looser. Neither thing happened.
Maybe if I bind myself again.
Ketchum raised his head, alerting her that while she’d been primping, Deacon had ridden in the ranch yard.
One thing for certain, she didn’t feel ready to debut her new costume. Hastily she pulled the dress off. When Deacon came upstairs to join her, she’d changed into her spare set of buckskins. She hadn’t had time to bind her breasts or put on her wig, but he didn’t comment on her clothes or hair.
“Hiram’s on his way out with Judge Conklin. They’ll get here after supper tonight.” He looked at her expectantly as if that news was supposed to mean something to her.
“And?” she asked.
“And we’re making our partnership official. I can’t do it myself. It’s not legal or I would.”
“Exactly what is it that we’re doing?”
“Conklin is marrying us. Hiram’s introducing you to the judge as a friend and standing witness to the event.” Deacon tried to school his expression to unconcerned, as though the occasion was of little importance. But she didn’t miss his white-knuckled grip on the back of the chair, contradicting his nonchalant look.
When she remained silent, he continued with his plans and it was easy to see he’d been busy while gone.
“Ranger Doyle invited himself to the party too. He also wants a meeting with Beau, after which he says he’s taking the prisoner to jail.”
Miri leaned against the chest of drawers, drawling in Beau’s best Tennessee twang, “It’s not escaped my notice, McCallister, that you’ve fallen into making the big decisions and left the little ones for me to chew on.”
She folded her arms, daring him to deny it. At her jibe, a smile curved his lips but he didn’t disagree with her assessment.
“In case it slipped your mind, being Beauregard is how I make a living.”
“
You
aren’t Beau. He’s a part you play and a lot of work has gone into that character. I agree there’s no sense in throwing it away.”
“So you’re saying I’ll keep using Beauregard when I need.” The knot in Miri’s stomach began to ease. Deacon crossed the room and stood in front of her, drawing her from her militant stance into his arms.
She knew there were other questions she should ask and things that needed to be discussed but it was hard focusing with him nibbling on her ear and nuzzling a spot on her neck.
“And then what did you plan?” Her words came out in a gasp as he slid his hands under her buckskin shirt and touched bare skin.
“After tonight, you’ll be Miri McCallister and for all anyone around here knows, Beauregard moved on.”
As she considered that possibility, hands that had been stroking upward stilled. Their heat hovered tantalizingly close to her unbound flesh, as if waiting for her response.
“Well,” she heard the hesitance in her voice and wanted to slap herself. “I don’t see why we have to get married. I like this part just fine.” She stiffened her spine, coincidentally shifting his hands high enough to cup her breasts.
While they’d been talking and touching, he’d been walking them toward the closet. It wasn’t any more than a curtain across an arched alcove.
“Deacon?” Her startled question came when he pulled her inside the tiny space.
“Trust me,” he said. And before she could decide whether that was a good idea or not, he’d guided her to a spot behind the curtain.
“Oh yes.” She sighed as rough calluses caressed her flesh. She couldn’t see his face and maybe that was a good thing. She said in a rush, “You make me feel like a woman, Deacon. Like I’m the prettiest female ever put on earth.”
“You are,” he said gruffly, rotating his thumbs over her nipples as he spoke. “I want more than a swive or two before we go separate ways. I want you with me always.”
Miri enjoyed his seduction but recognized it for what it was. “You think you can keep me senseless and get your own way, don’t you?” She half laughed at the idea but since she felt dizzy with lust, the description fit.
Miri ached when Deacon abandoned her breasts, one hand sliding to her waist, the other pressing against her rump, moving her so that not so much as a feather could have fit between them.
“Folks get naked and fuck all the time. I want more than that. I want to be so deep inside of you that I’m part of your soul.” He growled the words at her, the sound making her insides quiver in response. “I want to be part of your dreams and hopes. I trust you to hold my spirit in your hands and make me a better man. Hell, you already have. Believe in us, Miri.”
Well there he went talking about spirits and souls, all the time herding her toward his own private corral. Miri was pretty damn sure heaven couldn’t be any finer than Deacon’s arms but regardless of that fact, she stepped away from him and out of the closet before she could change her mind.
“Whooee, it’s mighty warm in here,” she said, fanning her face and looking at Ketchum instead of Deacon. “I’m going to check on Possum,” she muttered.
Lame excuse or not, it got her out of Deacon’s bedroom and away from his gaze. She risked one glance at him before she went through the door, but couldn’t really read his expression.
She avoided the McCallister women, hurrying from the house to the barn. Once there, she gathered her grooming equipment and entered Possum’s stall.
“He says I hold his spirit in my hands. Daggone, Possum, that’s a big order to tend.”
Her horse snorted and stomped his foot as she brushed too hard across his flank.
“Sorry. This mating business has me flummoxed. I don’t rightly see why things can’t just stay this way for a spell. Heck, more likely than not, McCallister will get tired of partnering with me soon.” But she didn’t believe her own words and grinned shyly at Possum as she thought about Deacon.
“The Kiowa believe that a woman’s role is to lead her man to the Great Spirit. Shoot, Deacon, being a preacher man and all, doesn’t need me for that.”
Miri’s ruminations turned from resisting the role of womanhood to questioning whether she was the woman for Deacon. Nobody interrupted her as she carried on a one-sided discussion lasting the better part of the afternoon.
Deacon heard Miri before he saw her. She stomped up the steps, warning him that she was on her way. He loved her so much in that moment the very marrow of his bones ached to hold her. He’d been scared, afraid that the kid who’d fooled, terrorized and outthought outlaws would climb on her horse and ride away. Deacon looked ruefully at the wolf lolling on his pallet.
“Ketchum, if you’ve got any influence with her, I’d appreciate your vote of confidence,” he murmured.
The ears of the wolf cocked forward and he gazed at Deacon as if weighing his worth.
“I’ll protect her. Hell, I know you’ve done a damn good job. But you can’t be everywhere she gets herself into trouble.”
Wolf and man stared at each other for a moment before Miri opened the door. Then Ketchum’s tail thumped on the floor in welcome. Deacon remained silent, waiting for the verdict. She stood by the door, arms crossed, glaring at him.
“We’re going to have to do something about my female costumes. I can’t run, kick or ride in the kind of skirts your female kin want me to wear.”
“Our first investment,” he promised.
“And you’ll have to help me fetch the young’uns from Tennessee.”
“Hiram’s looking into it while we finish up the counterfeiting case.”
She crossed to the chair and tugged on his arm, pulling him to his feet. “I don’t know anything about being a female, let alone a wife,” she whispered her real concern.
“I don’t either. We’ll figure it out together.”
He slid his arms around her, took her mouth in a kiss and walked her backward into the closet much as he’d done earlier.
“What are we doing back in here?” she asked.
“More than we were going to do out there with your damn wolf spying on us,” he growled. He massaged a breast, his fingers unerringly finding their way to her nipple. The nub stood stiffly, as if waiting for his attention.
She sucked in her breath when he took it between finger and thumb. He shoved his other hand under her waistband, cupping her sex as he waged a three-prong attack, penetrating her lips with his tongue.
His fingers ruffled the fine hair on her mound, tracing the line separating the petals of her womanhood. Liquid heat invited him to stroke and tease the soft flesh hidden inside the shell of her sex.
“Deacon,” she moaned against his lips. He lifted his head and unexpected words spilled from his heart.
“Robert,” he heard himself correct her. “I, Robert Austin McCallister, take you, Miri Beauregard, to be my lawfully wedded wife in the holy estate of matrimony. I will protect you from this day forward whether we live in riches or poverty and whether you like it or not.”
A snort greeted his words. He continued.
“I will honor your wishes as if they are my own. I will comfort you in times of despair.” He pushed her pants to the floor as he said the words.
When her feet were clear, a situation she facilitated, he freed his cock and lifted her, temporarily interrupting his impromptu wedding ceremony as he seated himself in one thrust.
Deacon leaned Miri’s shoulders against the wall, tilting her rump at an angle that would let him pleasure her nipples at the same time he thrust in and out of her sex. He regretted that it was dark in the closet when he pulled her shirt off because he wanted to see her breasts. He settled for tasting and set his lips on one stiff peak, sucking on the nub.
Her channel clenched and squeezed, tiny fingers of need massaging his shaft. Her orgasm pulsed through her, leaving them both trembling before he gasped out the rest of his pledge.
“I will love and cherish you in sickness and health, forsaking all others.” He shifted his stance, thrusting long hard strokes in time to his final words. His seed spilled, filling her with his promise of tomorrow as surely as his words. “Until death do us part.”
He slumped forward, leaning his forehead against the closet wall as he regained his senses. “Now you say it,” he growled.
“Hmm, let’s see if I heard this right,” she said, teasing laughter accompanying her response.
Deacon couldn’t see Miri’s face but she kissed a spot on his jaw before beginning.
“I, Miracle Beauregard, take you, Robert Austin McCallister, better known as Deacon, to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you and let you think you’re boss along the way. I promise to work side by side with you so we don’t find ourselves poor. I’m not promising to obey you because we both know that’s not going to happen, but I promise to love you until death and after,” Miri recited her own unique pledge.
He slid her legs from around his waist to over his arms, tilting her for long, slow thrusts. The dark closet and her wild response to his carnal hunger unleashed years of restraint. He couldn’t roar his claim, lest he scare her away by the intensity. But everything in him screamed that he bind her to him with this taking.
Someplace between
I, Miracle
and
until death and after
,
Miri stripped him of his clothes as well. His chest rubbed against her breasts, her nipples kissing his nubs as his tongue tangled with hers. She stroked his hair before settling her hands on his back, her fingertips digging into his shoulders as one orgasm rolled into another.
It seemed appropriate to him later they’d come to each other naked to exchange their first vows.