“Come with me,” he growled as the lightning bursts of pleasure coalesced into a final crescendo of scalding heat racing from all points to one.
“Yes,” she agreed, her hands coming back to cup his face. “Yes, yes, yes,” she moaned, planting the word on each eye with a kiss before capturing his mouth with her lips. Her sheath squeezed his cock, drawing his seed into her womb and for a long moment they slumped in each other’s arms, the power of their release leaving them both weak and dazed.
“I love you, wife,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. His words were greeted by a startled silence.
“I love you too, husband,” she whispered and bumped her head against his to emphasize her vow.
After they reentered the bedroom, she huffed loudly.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You left your mark on my hair for sure.”
He didn’t bother hiding his smug grin as he looked at her damp locks.
“Guess it won’t matter. I’m supposed to be Beau first, then Miri later, so my hair’s going to get messed up under that wig anyway.”
It was such a feminine comment, Deacon laughed out loud. She crossed her eyes at him and muttered, “I’ll be lucky if I can remember what part I’m playing tonight.” But Deacon didn’t miss the sparkle of excitement in her eyes. “I’d do better if I had a female to mimic.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Find a woman who does things right and make believe I’m them. I have to listen close, but after I get it in my head, I can darn near speak like anyone.”
Deacon considered the two McCallister wives, picturing Eden’s sultry beauty and Naomi’s prim smile. “Watch Charlie’s wife in the front room and Eden in the kitchen,” he suggested selfishly. “But you don’t have to change a thing for me.”
“Deacon, you don’t seem to understand. I don’t really have a real me.”
“Sure you do. I fell in love with you. It doesn’t matter what we show the rest of the world. But between you and me, Robert and Miracle McCallister, there’s no pretense.”
“Miri,” she grumbled. “Don’t call me Miracle. Switching from playing Beau to being a female is hard enough. I don’t need to promise divine intervention with my name.”
* * * * *
Hiram arrived first, with Logan Doyle by his side.
“Good to see you, Beauregard. How’s the wolf?” Hiram didn’t let on that he knew Miri was in disguise though Deacon assured her that the sheriff had known for months she’d been fooling him.
She figured a conversation with Hiram was in order but it would have to wait. Miri accompanied Deacon as he ushered the two lawmen to the ranch office. With Hiram confirming Ned’s capture, the Texas Ranger agreed to pay the reward.
Though Miri felt she made a good case for it, Doyle balked at tripling said reward since they were delivering one man and not the three the law had been chasing. He did sign an affidavit guaranteeing them payment on Jackson though.
“Hard to believe a man can playact well enough to be three different characters and fool half the state.”
“Yep,” Deacon agreed, frowning at her smirk as he gave her credit. “Beau figured it out.”
“I’ll mention it to the powers that be. Might be some future work for you, son.” Doyle barely glanced at Miri, directing most of the conversation toward Deacon.
“Best wishes on your marriage, McCallister. I’m sorry I can’t stay to meet your bride. Sam’s bringing Jackson down to the crossroads and I’ll take him in from there.”
Hiram remained behind. Beauregard said his goodbyes and Miri retreated to change her clothes.
Eden, Rachel and Naomi were on hand to help her into the lavender dress again. This time, Naomi insisted she wear the appropriate undergarments. Miri obeyed, not wanting to hurt her feelings. It was nice of them since she’d been so churlish toward the idea earlier.
While they were poking and primping, she heard Judge Conklin arrive.
Sam knocked on the bedroom door and said everyone was ready downstairs. The women all left in a hurry and Miri trailed behind, entering the room in time to hear Conklin’s complaints.
“I think it would be best if you moved that beast from the room.” Red-faced and agitated, the judge didn’t seem real partial to Ketchum. She could have told him it wouldn’t do any good. The McCallisters were a hardheaded bunch. Deacon had said he wanted Ketchum as his best man, so they’d carried the recovering invalid downstairs to the front room.
“And who might this be?” Judge Conklin forgot about Ketchum and focused on Miri. He hurried to her, waiting to be introduced apparently.
“My intended, Miri Beauregard,” Deacon told him, sounding as proud as could be. “You’ve met her kin, Beau Beauregard.”
“Well, you’re a mite better to look at than that young scamp,” Judge Conklin said and beamed at her. “Where is he?”
“Beau’s working and couldn’t be here. That’s why I’m doing the honors tonight.” Hiram stood protectively by Miri. After another swift look at her that left Miri wondering if the women had remembered to button her into her dress, Conklin agreed to continue.
Ketchum stayed. Maybe that’s why the judge rattled off the ceremony sounding more as if he were presiding at an auction than a wedding. Miri was glad she and Deacon had made their vows earlier, though she held his gaze as the judge hurried through the words.
A smile tugged at her lips when Deacon winked at her and she knew he was remembering too.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Conklin announced.
“Done,” Deacon growled, pulling her into a bear hug that turned into a kiss. “Make us a good copy for our records and get that to the county seat to register it,” he ordered the judge when he came up for air.
The judge huffed a bit, but wasted no time gathering up his paperwork. Right before he stuck the documents in his vest pocket he paused and said, “Almost forgot. You both have to sign it.”
Deacon watched Miri scribble her signature and then signed beside hers. Then he nodded at the judge. “Now you can go.”
“Don’t be silly, Robert,” Miri scolded him in her best imitation of Naomi. “Eden has baked a cake for the occasion. Judge Conklin, won’t you join us for coffee and dessert?”
She glided to his side, tilting her head in a manner she’d seen Eden use. “Shall we?” She took the judge’s arm, leading him toward the door. Before he left the room, he patted Miri’s arm and spoke to Deacon.
“McCallister, I guess I should congratulate you.” Then he shook his head when he looked at Miri and blinked as though assuring himself of what he saw. “Mrs. McCallister, best wishes on your marriage. It’s a pleasure welcoming a beautiful young lady such as yourself to Eclipse.”
She inclined her head graciously, quietly closing the office door behind him before she spun around and drawled in her best Tennessee twang.
“Guess Naomi cinched the corset tight enough.”
Fort Worth, November 1884
Deacon watched from his vantage point on a roof facing the alley behind Rusk Street. His focused attention remained on the back door of the Pleasure Dome as he peered through the light drizzle. It was late afternoon and his stomach growled, protesting his hunger. The rain was almost welcome since hours before he’d emptied the canteen of water he’d sipped. He wet parched lips, hoping for good news at the end of this day’s vigil. The back door opened and the sound of footsteps echoed hollowly in the otherwise heavy silence blanketing the alley.
The three cleaning women were uniform in appearance, each hunching under a wool shawl pulled high, protecting her head from rain. Two of the three old ladies carried on a heated conversation that Deacon strained to hear.
“The waste in the kitchen, ’tis a sin, I tell ye.”
“’Tis crumbs from the table of sin we use to bake the bread we eat. Hush now.”
The third woman limped quietly beside them as they picked their way through rubble and refuse littering the rough path behind the brothel.
“Sin or no, I’ll not be spending another day working for that demon woman.” The sound of the Irish lilt carried surprisingly well for an old woman. Deacon tensed.
She’s found them.
“Ye’ll be here tomorrow same as Callie and me,” the other woman scoffed. “Better wear a thicker shawl tomorrow, dearie. It’s that cold out here.”
Deacon agreed, flexing his hands. His fingers were stiff inside his leather gloves and the dress coat he wore over his suit had ceased shedding water hours before.
The old women disappeared from sight, leaving him alone but for the rats scurrying from building to building. He crawled across the slippery roof and lowered himself to the ground, eager to wrap up this case.
Not trusting anyone, including the government agents and Pinkerton detectives, he and Miri had arrived in Fort Worth and rented a suite of rooms at the Ellis Hotel across town. Deacon had let it be known when they’d checked in that he and Miri were honeymooning and would be leaving early each day for social visits and shopping. When they were in, they wanted to be left alone.
Miri had worked in the Pleasure Dome long enough to know the cleaning service schedule. Nobody questioned the stooped and gnarled Irishwoman who appeared for work at the brothel one morning when the regular maids entered.
She’d cleaned her assigned rooms while she waited for an opportunity to search the attic. It had taken her three days, arriving at dawn and leaving at dusk while Deacon remained on his roof perch, prepared to go in with guns blazing if she missed one of their arranged hourly signals.
“We felt the ground shake when you fell, brother. The woman’s got you tied up in knots and you’re not escaping,” Sam had teased him about being besotted. Deacon figured that was as good a description as any.
He planned on keeping Miri safe and happy. To that goal, Deacon kept his mouth shut, didn’t talk about how he felt and didn’t make the mistake of trying to corral her high spirits. He understood his role as her protector and guide. He accepted that she saw him as a friend and partner and told himself he was a lucky man.
He hadn’t quarreled after the wedding with her plan to retrieve the plates. He’d watched her assemble her cleaning lady costume, admired her performance when she auditioned the disguise for him, and they’d left immediately for Fort Worth.
Once they’d checked in to the Ellis Hotel, they set the plan in motion. Deacon knew without doubt that Lydia’s guards would be merciless to any man or woman they caught snooping in the brothel’s attic. From the moment Miri went in each morning with the cleaning crew to the afternoon when she emerged from the Pleasure Dome, he died a thousand deaths.
From her oblique message, it appeared his vigil had ended. Instead of following the cleaning women, Deacon lowered himself to the ground, cut through the alley and hurried to the street in front of the building. Once there, he strolled down the sidewalk, greeting the fashionable woman waiting for him.
“Did you complete your shopping?” he asked.
“Most certainly,” she assured him in the sweet Southern drawl he’d now come to recognize as her real voice.
Her shawl, no longer covering her head, had been turned into an elegant cape fitting over her shoulders. With her skirts let down and a hat pinned above the twist of silver hair at her nape, no one would have recognized the woman who emerged from the alley as the old lady who’d entered the other end.
“You need a heavier coat.” Miri tilted her head, scolding him as she brushed beads of ice from his jacket sleeve. Under cover of her fussing, her words were pure business. “The plates were wrapped in an oilskin pouch and hidden in a trunk under a stack of paintings.”
Using a slippery spot on the walkway as an excuse, he put his hand on Miri’s back, smoothing the fabric of the cape. He grunted, feeling the extra bulk that signified the plates were inside the hidden pouches.
Once back in the room, she slipped off the outerwear, unpinned the fancy hat, set it aside and curtsied. Then the imp looked at him from sly eyes and said, “I’m fixin’ to have my way with you, McCallister, so if’n you’ve got somethin’ to say that needs tellin’, best spit it out quick.”
Miri crossed the floor to where he stood, stopping in front of him and frowning at the damp condition of his coat as she removed it. Then she pulled his shirt from his waistband. Her hands were warm and he shivered, not realizing until her heated flesh caressed his bare chest how chilled he was.
“I knew you had to be freezing up on that roof,” she said grimly. “What is it about
catching pneumonia
that you don’t understand?” She continued the argument they’d started before dawn. When she’d felt the cold temperature of morning, she’d decided she’d be fine alone. He’d disagreed.
“You can make it up to me,” he grinned, enjoying the way she pet him, playing in the hair on his chest before teasing his nipples.
“I intend to do just that,” she murmured as she shifted her attention to his buttons. In a moment, she’d divested him of his shirt and had his suit pants undone, ready to remove.
“I need to take my boots off first,” he said mildly.
“Then sit on the bed and I’ll put them off,” she ordered him. Her expression remained serious.