Texas Blonde

Chapter Six

Felicity's wedding day dawned bright and clear. She happened to notice this because she was wide awake long before the sun had even peeked over the horizon. Sitting up against the headboard of her bed, she drew her knees up to her chest and clutched them tightly. In the feeble morning light she could see the golden dress hanging on a peg across the room and looking like just one more elegant accessory to this golden room.

Shivering slightly, she pulled the quilt up over her shoulders, even though she knew her chills were not caused by the temperature. She shivered because she was afraid, more mortally afraid than she had ever been in her entire life. In a few hours scores of total strangers would descend on the ranch to witness her marriage to a man she hardly knew. Tonight she would no longer sleep in this golden room, alone. Tonight she would sleep with Mr. Logan in his bedroom next door. And tonight he would do that awful thing to her again.

But it wasn't awful if you were married, she reminded herself sternly. And, she admitted reluctantly, it wasn't even awful if you weren't. Every night since it had happened she had awakened from tormented dreams, her body damp and aching, longing for something she could not even name. She did not dare to let him know her longing, though. Instead, whenever he came close, whenever he tried to take her in his arms, she resisted. She could not allow him one single kiss because even one kiss was more temptation than she could bear. If she gave him her mouth, she would give him everything, and that would be wrong. She simply could not allow it, not again, not until they were married.

Tonight they would be married. Felicity shivered again. Maybe now the quarrels would end, the quarrels that frightened her almost as much as thoughts of the wedding. Mr. Logan's angry voice insisting, "We'll be married in a few days! What will it hurt?" and then, "We'll be married tomorrow, for God's sake!" and her insisting right back, "But we aren't married yet!" Then the fear would come, the fear that he would call the whole thing off. Sometimes he was so angry that she wondered why he didn't, why he didn't just send her away and be done with her.

She supposed he would be embarrassed to call off the wedding after everyone already knew about it. That was the only explanation that made any sense to her. The idea that he might want her, specifically, as his wife was too preposterous even to consider. As exciting as making love with him had been for her, she knew he could easily find a much more exciting woman to take her place. Hadn't Mrs. Delano already indicated her willingness? There surely must be many others whom Felicity had not met. She found the thought extremely depressing.

But in spite of everything, he was still going to marry her today. She had to keep reminding herself of that. As Joshua Logan's wife, she need fear nothing ever again. She would never be alone or poor or hungry or lost. And he would protect her. She would never again have to look over her shoulder to see if someone was following her. She would have a home, and she would have Mr. Logan to take care of her. That was more than she had ever hoped for. She should have been grateful.

But if only she could have his love, too. She understood only too well that the ache she felt for his physical body was just a symptom of her craving for his affection. Unless he cared for her, unless he loved her the way a man loves a woman, she would always be alone and poor and hungry and lost, no matter what luxuries surrounded her.

"Please, God," she whispered into the morning stillness.

Blanche Delano was as good as her word. She arrived soon after the breakfast tray that Candace had delivered to Felicity's room.

"Good Lord, girl, you're as white as a sheet!" Blanche exclaimed the instant she entered Felicity's room. "Lucky thing I brought along some rouge. We'll have you fixed up in no time."

"Rouge!" Felicity said, shocked to her core. "I couldn't paint my face!"

"Of course you could. Everyone does it," Blanche informed her blandly. "Is this your dress?" She paused a moment to examine the garment. Blanche herself was clothed in a stately gown of deepest burgundy crepon, a heavy, crinkled crepe fabric, and a matching velvet hat that tied primly beneath her chin.

"Did you make this all yourself?" Blanche asked, obviously impressed as she spread the intricate folds of the skirt.

"Candace helped," Felicity said. Candace had to help. Making such a dress in so brief a time was simply too big a job for one person.

"I can't wait to see how it looks on you," Blanche said. "But first we'll concentrate on fixing up that face of yours so folks won't think you're scared to death of poor ol' Joshua."

Felicity winced, but Blanche did not seem to notice. Between Blanche and Candace, they got her bathed and combed and curled and dressed by the time the first wagon-loads of guests began to arrive. Once again Felicity knew frustration as she tried to view herself in the small mirror over the washstand.

"You look like a picture in Godey's Lady's Book," Blanche decreed.

Felicity had never seen Godey's Lady's Book, but she knew she looked like a picture. She could hardly believe the lovely young woman staring back at her from the mirror was Felicity Storm. Blanche had insisted on trimming the hair around her face and crimping it with a curling iron until it formed a burnished halo around her head. The face she was accustomed to seeing looked different, too. Her eyes seemed to be larger and a deeper shade of blue, and her cheeks were unnaturally rosy, although Blanche's rouge could be blamed for that.

The dress itself was nothing short of magnificent. Encased in its crisp folds, Felicity felt like a princess. The bodice hugged her tiny waist and fit tightly over the small breasts that Blanche's skillful lacing of her corset had lifted to prominence. The yards and yards of skirt flared out and down, draped into a tidy bustle in the back. Felicity's collar and cuffs were trimmed in golden brown velvet, as soft as bunny fur, and velvet flounces edged her voluminous skirt.

Felicity touched one of the velvet-covered buttons that ran down the front of her bodice, recalling how she had covered them by lamplight, her head pounding from eyestrain as she and Candace raced the clock to have the dress ready in time. Now the effort seemed worthwhile. Felicity Storm might not deserve to marry a man like Mr. Logan, but at least today she would look as if she did.

Felicity spun happily to face Blanche, who beamed her approval. "Well now, do you need any last-minute wedding-night instructions, or has Joshua already taught you everything you need to know?" Blanche inquired with her usual frankness.

Felicity gaped at the older woman in horror and guilt, the scarlet in her face no longer the result of cosmetic enhancement. Felicity realized instantly that she had revealed her shame, that she should have pretended innocence instead, but it was too late for such subterfuge. Blanche knew the truth.

"I see," Blanche murmured to herself. "There now, don't look so worried. You won't get any lectures out of me. Here, sit down. I reckon there's still a few things you need to know." Blanche directed her to sit on the edge of the bed, helping her spread her skirts so they would not wrinkle. "And don't look so guilty. I doubt Joshua wasted much time talking you into it, or even getting your consent, for that matter."

"He didn't force me," Felicity said, answering some perverse need to defend her betrothed. "I didn't fight or scream." Felicity watched her hands twisting in her lap so she would not have to see Blanche's reaction to such an infamous confession.

"Of course not," Blanche said softly, gently patting Felicity's shoulder. "You probably wanted it, too."

This brought Felicity's face up, her startled blue eyes meeting Blanche's green ones. Instead of the condemnation she had expected, she saw only kindness.

"Listen, honey, you'll have to do worse than that to shock me. Maybe I should tell you about myself before you start feeling too guilty. I was born in a whorehouse." She did not seem to hear Felicity's gasp of horror. "I grew up there, and when I was fifteen, ray mother turned me out to whore, too. I'd been working in a dance house for a couple months, one of those places where they have cribs in the back. Do you know what a crib is?"

"A baby's bed," Felicity said innocently, her voice a fascinated whisper.

"It's also a small room with just a bed where a man can go with a woman for a quick… roll in the hay." Blanche gave her a self-mocking grin. "One night I was in one of the cribs with a man. He got nasty because I wouldn't… do something special that he wanted. He hit me a few times, and Sam Delano came busting in to see what the ruckus was all about. He'd never set eyes on me before that night, but when he saw how young I was, he took me out of that place."

"I don't guess he really had any plans about what to do with me. I think he might've wanted to adopt me or something, in the beginning. He was almost forty, and I wasn't sixteen yet. That first night he took me outside of town to where he was camped. He only had one set of blankets, so we slept together. I thought I knew what he wanted, but he just held me that first night. Then I got scared he'd send me away, so I seduced him. After that, adoption was out of the question, so we got married instead."

"If you think your wedding was a shock to people, you should have heard folks talk when Sam showed up here with me. I was a feisty little trollop who could swear a blue streak. It took him a while to tame me down and turn me into a lady… or as much of a lady as I'll ever be," she corrected with another grin.

Felicity was so stunned, she could barely speak. "Why did you tell me all that?" she wondered aloud, certain that Blanche would never have told another person such a story.

"So you'd understand," Blanche said, kneeling before her in a cloud of burgundy skirts. She took Felicity's hands gently in her own. "Sam tamed me, but he taught me how to love, too. I'd never loved another living soul until I met him. And he loved me, too, me, as bad as I was. Don't you see? If two people can fall in love the way Sam and I did, then you and Joshua can fall in love, too. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it's started already. Why do you think he took you to bed?" Her wise eyes glittered shrewdly, making Felicity look away.

Felicity wasn't certain if what she felt for Mr. Logan could be called love or not. More than likely, it was simply lust. But she did care about him in a very special way, and that might grow into love under the proper conditions. Of course, she knew Mr. Logan did not love her. He had told her so. "He just did that to make sure I'd marry him," she said.

"Felicity!" Blanche chastened. "A man doesn't buy the cow if he can get the milk for free! Think about it. He must have been pretty desperate for you to say 'yes' if he seduced you to get that 'yes'! He wants more than just a little roll in the hay. He wanted you for a wife, for always. Why do you suppose he went to such great lengths to make sure you had to marry him?"

Felicity had never considered this aspect. She voiced the first thought that came to her mind. "He wanted to get married, and I was handy."

Blanche made a rude noise. "I've known Joshua Logan for twelve years, and he's never wanted to get married, not until you came along. If he had wanted to, there's a hundred women within the sound of my voice he could have had for the asking, myself included. But he never asked, not once. Then he found you and practically forced you into taking him. Now, why do you think that is?"

Felicity could not think of a reason, so she simply shook her head numbly. All of this was too much to take in all at once.

"Well, you think about it. Especially think about it while Joshua is making love to you tonight," Blanche advised with a mischievous smile. She rose gracefully to her feet. "Although, now that I think about it, he probably won't get much of a chance. I'll bet the boys have a shivaree planned. They'll probably kidnap either you or Josh so you can't be together tonight. That's a pretty common trick."

"I doubt they'll do anything like that," Felicity said, glad the topic had changed from such terribly disturbing subjects. "I heard Cookie tell Candace that Mr. Logan had threatened violence to any men who pulled any pranks."

Blanche sniffed in annoyance. "What fun is a wedding if you can't cause some mischief? Maybe I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

"Please don't!" Felicity implored, jumping to her feet. She found the prospect of being separated from Mr. Logan even more terrifying than the prospect of being married to him.

"Don't worry, honey," Blanche assured her. "I won't do anything mean. Maybe I can think of a little something to liven things up, though." With that cryptic remark, she made a swift foray outside to determine if it was time to begin the ceremony.

The walk from the front porch of the house to where Mr. Logan and the preacher stood out on the hastily constructed dance floor in the middle of the yard was the longest of Felicity's life. The myriad staring faces blurred as she moved by, concentrating only on reaching her goal.

Blanche Delano's regal figure cut a path through the crowd for her, which she gratefully followed. As if from a distance, Felicity could hear the murmur of voices rolling before her, but she never caught up with it. As she passed, the crowd grew silent. By the time she reached Mr. Logan, an anticipatory hush had fallen over the entire ranch yard.

Josh could hardly believe the beautiful woman approaching him was the same bedraggled girl he had carried into his house a scant week earlier. How could he ever have mistaken her for a child? She was every inch a woman now, and in every way. His body tingled with the memory of his flesh against hers and with the knowledge that before this day was over, he would know her again. She would be his, completely his. His gaze snagged hers, sending her that silent message, and he thought she faltered slightly as she approached.

Felicity's heart lurched in her chest. How could he look at her like that in front of all these people? she wondered frantically. What would they think? Would they guess that she was not the virginal bride she should have been, that she should rightfully have worn a dress the color of Blanche's, the one Blanche had jokingly referred to as the dress of a "scarlet woman"?

In spite of her dismay, she could not help the tremor of reaction that rippled through her at the sight of him standing so tall and straight in the same black suit he had worn for his photograph. He looked like some mythical patriarch with his silver hair glittering in the sunlight and ruffled by the breeze, his handsome face solemn and intent, his gray eyes glowing as if from some inner fire.

When he reached out to take her hand, the air around her seemed to evaporate, leaving her in a breathless expectancy. The minister prompted her for vows which came from her throat on a feeble thread of sound, in marked contrast to the confidence with which Mr. Logan uttered his. At last the ceremony was over and Mr. Logan bent to kiss her. His lips touched hers chastely and briefly, but when he drew back, his eyes were stormy with desire. She felt a scorching heat, and her body quivered as if he had touched her intimately.

For the rest of her life, Felicity remembered that day as through a vague mist. The whole event seemed to be happening to someone else. First there were a hundred people coming up to meet her and shake her hand and wish her well on her marriage. A few gentlemen were bold enough to steal a kiss, but only a few. Not many dared defy Mr. Logan's discouraging glare. She was grateful for that.

Then came the dinner, a feast fit for a king, or so everyone said. Felicity could barely swallow a bite. After that came dancing, all afternoon and into the night. At first Felicity was embarrassed because she did not know how to dance, never having had the opportunity to learn. Her new husband laughed off her concerns, quickly showing her the steps. She was grateful to have something else on which to concentrate when he took her in his arms. Dancing with him, standing so close, touching him with such familiarity left her breathless and disturbed. But, she quickly discovered, she only suffered those symptoms when dancing with her husband. When another man-someone whose name she had forgotten- claimed her for the next dance, she experienced only self-consciousness over moving her feet correctly.

To her amazement, virtually every man present wanted to partner her for a dance. Only the fact that the fiddlers and the caller took frequent breaks saved her from lameness.

Oddly, in spite of her popularity and the swarms of people around her at every moment, Felicity never lost sight of her husband. As if some invisible cord bound them, she was constantly aware of his every movement, of the people he spoke to, of the women he danced with, even of how many times he visited the whiskey barrel. Their gazes met frequently, his silver eyes sweeping over the crowd until they found her, and Felicity felt their intensity like a physical touch.

It was very late when he came to claim her for a waltz. "Are you having a good time?" he asked, drawing her close to the warmth of his body.

"Yes," she lied, secretly wishing that all the strangers would disappear.

"You look tired," he remarked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"I am. I… I didn't sleep very well last night. Excitement, I guess," she admitted reluctantly.

"Would you like to go to bed?"

Felicity's stomach did a flip-flop. He wanted to go to bed with her. Right now. "Can we? I mean, with all these people here?" she corrected, glad that the soft lights from the lanterns would not reveal her blush.

But he saw her embarrassment anyway. "No," he chuckled softly. "We can't go anywhere. If they see us sneaking off together, we'll never get away. You can, though. Just pretend you're going to the… uh… little house, and then just keep going."

"Oh," she said, unbearably disappointed. Now that she was in his arms, she did not want to let him go, not for a moment, and she certainly didn't want to go off to bed by herself. After the long week of struggling against her own emotions as valiantly as she had struggled against his, she was more than ready to give up the battle.

He chuckled again, pulling her even closer so she could feel his heart pounding against her own. "Don't worry," he assured her in a delicious whisper against her ear, "I'll be along as soon as I can sneak away myself."

Shivers raced down her back to tingle in secret places. Felicity had to call upon all her willpower to maintain a dignified pose when what she wanted to do was press her mouth to his and make him kiss her the way he had kissed her on the night they had first made love. Desperately needing some reassurance that he felt the same, she pulled away from him slightly so she could see his face.

"Oh, God," he muttered, his gray eyes glowing. "Don't look at me like that, or I'll carry you off right now in front of everybody."

Her knees went so weak that she never knew how she had the strength to step away from him when the music ended. By conscious effort, she turned from him and put one foot in front of the other until she was walking in the direction of the outhouse.

The ranch house was dark and quiet when she entered, the only sound, the rustle of her skirts as she stepped into the front room. For a moment she paused in indecision, prickles of unease and anticipation tingling over her body. She would need to fetch her nightdress from her own bedroom. Should she change in there and then go to Mr. Logan's room or…

"In here," Candace called from the opposite side of the parlor.

Felicity looked up to see her standing in the doorway of a room she had never entered. Curiosity drew her. The room was a bedroom, much larger than the other two and furnished with an elegance that seemed out of place on a western ranch. The chestnut hues of the oversize mahogany bedstead and chests gleamed richly in the lamplight. Heavy blue velvet draperies hung at the windows over cream-colored Irish lace, matching the velvet and lace counterpane that lay neatly folded at the foot of the huge feather bed.

"Whose bedroom is this?" Felicity asked in amazement.

"This was the room Mr. Josh's parents slept in, at least until Mrs. Logan decided… Well, anyway, it's the master bedroom. This is the room where the master of the Rocking L Ranch should take his bride." Candace stood back, her dark eyes glittering with an emotion Felicity could not name.

"It's beautiful," Felicity said, glancing around again. Then something else occurred to her. "When did you do all this?" she asked, gesturing to include the freshly ironed sheets on the turned-down bed, the brightly oiled furniture, and the cut flowers gracing the bedside table.

Candace shrugged modestly. "This afternoon." Before Felicity could respond, she added, "I moved your things over, and Mr. Josh's, too. Here, I'll help you get out of that dress."

Felicity gratefully accepted Candace's offer, suddenly realizing how very tired she was, so tired that even her previous excitement now seemed blunted. By the time Candace helped her into her nightdress and tucked her into the huge bed, she was having a difficult time keeping her eyes open.

"Thank you… for everything, Candace," Felicity said as the black woman carefully hung the wedding dress in the enormous wardrobe.

Candace waved away her gratitude. "I was glad to do it. I was starting to think I'd never get a chance to make up Mr. Josh's marriage bed," she said with a twinkle. Then she came over, closer to where Felicity lay propped up against her pillow. Her face grew grave. "I know Mr. Josh will be good to you tonight, but if he goes too fast, you tell him to slow down. Sometimes men get excited and forget that the woman has feelings, too."

Felicity nodded, blushing furiously as she realized that Candace did not know what had already happened. What could she think when she found no bloodstains on the sheets tomorrow? Felicity had already scrubbed those stains from her petticoats days ago. She lowered her eyes so Candace would not read her shame.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," Candace said, patting Felicity's shoulder comfortingly. "It's a natural thing when two people love each other." Felicity watched Candace's ebony hand lightly stroke the golden hair she had left loose at the older woman's insistence. "You do love him, don't you?" Candace asked softly.

Felicity nodded again, unable to speak around the lump of pain clogging her throat. Yes, she knew it now. She did love him. But how would she ever get him to love her in return?

As if sensing her anguish, Candace allowed her comforting hand to slip around Felicity's slender shoulders in a small, reassuring hug. "Don't worry. There's nothing to be afraid of. My Joshua is a good man. You'll see."

Felicity closed her eyes against the tears that threatened and allowed Candace to adjust her pillow so she could lie flat. "Good night," she whispered in response to Candace's parting words, aware that Candace had turned the lamp down low in preparation for what she imagined would be the romantic interlude ahead.

In the darkened room, beneath the silken sheets, Felicity curled herself into a ball of misery. Her feet and legs ached from all the dancing she had done, but that was nothing compared to the pain in her heart as she waited for her husband to come to her. The tingling anticipation she had felt earlier settled into dread. She had almost forgotten how angry he had been with her all week, how often they had quarreled. Was he still angry beneath the courteous facade he had worn for their wedding guests? Would he take that anger out on her?

Or would this night be as passionate as their first encounter? Would he raise her to the heights of ecstasy once again or use his strength to degrade her? Strangely, she found both possibilities equally terrifying. As much as she would hate his cruelty, she also feared the mindless abandon his touch would elicit, the loss of control and her own feverish need. Thinking back to how she had acted that first time, she hardly recognized herself, hardly credited her own behavior.

Straining to hear the sound of booted feet approaching, she shifted restlessly beneath the bedclothes, aware that whatever demons her mind might be wrestling, her body still craved his touch. Sighing in resignation at her own uncontrollable desires, she waited.

Josh opened the door carefully, suspecting that she might be asleep. Sure enough, she was, lying in a tangle of flaxen curls that glittered like gold in the pale light. He closed the door silently behind him, never taking his eyes from her. She was, he realized, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he wanted her in a way he had never wanted another woman, with a need that having her once had only inflamed.

Swiftly, he stripped off his clothes, heedless of where they fell and only vaguely aware of the room to which Candace had sent him, a room he had not entered in years. Only one thing mattered, holding her and claiming her.

She lay on her back, one delicate hand resting on her stomach, the other flung up beside her head amidst the gold of her hair. Josh silently cursed the well-wishers who had insisted on toasting his happiness time and again, keeping him from her for almost an hour.

He watched the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath the sheer fabric of her nightdress, so sheer he could see the shadows of her nipples nuzzling against the cloth. Desire ripped through him like the hot blade of a knife, making him gasp aloud. She stirred, but did not waken.

After a moment, when he thought he might be able to move again, he put out the light and slipped into the cushiony softness of the bed beside her. Her fragrance enveloped him in an invisible cloud, stirring his blood, urging him on. He reached for her, gentling his touch with the last shred of his willpower. "Lissy?"

Felicity responded to her name, emerging slowly from the dark oblivion into awareness equally dark. Robbed of her sight, her other senses grew more acute.

"Lissy?" a blessedly familiar voice beckoned as callused fingers stroked her cheek in well-remembered intimacy. Warmth surrounded her, his warmth, and with it the musky male scent that she recognized. But when he whispered her name again, she knew something was wrong.

"You've been drinking," she murmured drowsily, identifying the sickly sweet odor on his breath.

Josh chuckled at the faint note of censure in her voice. She was acting like a wife already. "Yes," he admitted. "I had to drink some toasts with our guests."

His words only half registered with her as she came completely awake and realized that she had fallen asleep waiting for him. She was embarrassed. "I didn't mean to fall asleep," she said in confusion. Only after she spoke did she think perhaps this was for the best since now he would not guess how eagerly she had awaited him.

He chuckled again, a rich, bubbling sound in the darkness. "It's no wonder that you did. You've been in here over an hour."

An hour! Felicity winced, hearing his previous promise echoing in her mind: "I'll be along as soon as I can." Obviously, he was not nearly as eager for her as she was for him. Her embarrassment became mortification, and all her previous uncertainties came flooding back until she thought she might choke on them. He preferred drinking with his friends to his wife's bed. When his arms slipped around her, she stiffened, turning her face away from his liquored breath. "What the…?" he muttered when his lips encountered her ear. "Where are you?" Humor flavored his question. His own desire blunted his perceptions, and he did not sense her withdrawal. The softness of her body, the scent of her skin inflamed that desire, blotting all other thoughts from his mind. He swept her up, drawing her into the heat.

Felicity tried to resist. If she meant so little to him, she would not surrender, but she was no match for his strength. When his mouth finally found hers, he held her so tightly that she could not even turn away. She felt a groan rumble from deep in his chest and the bulk of his weight shifted over her, smothering all her protests.

As if from a great distance, Felicity heard an ominous creaking sound. For one awful moment, she imagined that all her bones were breaking, crushed under this unwanted burden. And then they both fell with a loud thump.

With difficulty, Josh and Felicity untangled themselves from the bedclothes and each other to find they were now lying on the floor surrounded by the high sides of the enormous bed.

"What the hell?"

"What happened?"

Slightly dazed, Felicity could not quite get her bearings. She sat up carefully, feeling for the headboard and sides of the bed so she would not bump her head. She heard Mr. Logan swearing some more. "What happened?" she asked again.

"The bed ropes broke, I guess," he said, twisting around to a sitting position beside her. "Nobody's slept in this bed for years. The ropes must have rotted."

"But Candace said she put new ones on," Felicity remembered. Candace had carefully listed all the preparations she had made to the room as she was undressing Felicity. Felicity recalled this one in particular because Candace had mentioned the bed would now be able to hold up to a lot of tossing and turning, a remark that had made Felicity blush.

"Are you sure?" Josh asked, but he was feeling along the side of the bed where the ends of the ropes still dangled. "Somebody cut them!" he informed her in outrage.

"Cut them? Who would do a thing like that?" she asked in confusion.

"Somebody who's going to regret the day he was ever born when I find out who he is," Josh muttered furiously.

But Felicity was remembering another conversation she had had earlier in the day. "I don't think it's a 'him,'" she said thoughtfully.

"You know who did it?" he asked ominously, turning to her in the darkness.

Felicity hesitated a moment. "I… I think it might have been Blanche."

"Blanche?" he echoed incredulously. "Why would she have done it?"

"She was… disappointed when I told her you weren't going to let the men have a shivaree. She said maybe she'd think up some mischief herself…" Felicity let her voice trail off, and she winced at a new spate of profanity.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Sitting there in the dark, on the floor, among the ruins of their marriage bed, Felicity began to feel a little ridiculous. She tried to remember that only moments ago she had been trying to fight off her husband's amorous attentions because she was angry with him, but somehow that seemed very long ago and far away. Now he, too, was sitting on the floor, fury having replaced passion as his most dominant emotion.

Although his large body was only a darker shadow in the blackness, Felicity could picture exactly how he would look, his broad shoulders stiff with frustration, his handsome face scowling grimly, his gray eyes glittering with rage. And his silver head the only thing visible above the side of the bed, had anyone happened to see them at that moment. His whole head and only the very top of hers. And they were sitting on the floor.

The absurdity of it all twitched at her lips. She slapped a hand across them, but the twitch continued. Before she could stop it, a bubble of laughter burst in her throat. She muffled it as best she could and it came out as a strangled sob.

"Felicity? What's wrong?" he asked in alarm. "Are you hurt?"

His concern, under the present circumstances, struck her as hilarious, and she had to use both hands to check the squeals trying to escape from her mouth.

The awful sounds raised gooseflesh along the back of Josh's neck. He reached for her with gentle hands. Good Lord, she was trembling. "What is it?" he insisted. "Where are you hurt?"

This undid her and she convulsed, collapsing against his chest. "I'm… not… hurt…" she gasped between shrieks.

She had to repeat it twice before he understood, and still he held her as tenderly as if she were spun glass. "Then what's wrong with you?" he demanded, though his voice and hands were infinitely gentle.

"We're… we're sitting… on the floor!" she explained raggedly, still half choking with her laughter. "It's so funny!"

His hands tightened on her arms. "Funny?" he repeated. "Funny! Are you laughing?"

She nodded her head furiously against his chest, too limp to even straighten up.

"Funny!" he said again, incredulously, sending her into another fit. Instinctively, he pulled her closer to allow her laughter to spill over his bare chest. The sensation was fantastic, much the same as receiving a refreshing rain shower on a sultry day. He smiled in the dark as her small body quivered against his. He had never heard such a wondrously joyful sound. His own smile began to twitch.

Felicity felt his laughter before she heard it. The silent quaking shook her and then the sound came pouring out like a jubilant geyser to splash over her.

Josh sank backward onto the pillows, carrying his wife with him, clinging to her until the last rumbles of their mirth died away and they lay together, weakly gasping for breath.

After a long time, he spoke. "What do you think we should do now?" he asked a little breathlessly.

"Do?" Felicity repeated stupidly, too drained to even figure out what he was talking about.

"Yes, do. About our bed."

Felicity found this cryptic remark entirely beyond her depleted ability to analyze. "Huh?" she asked, lifting her head attentively.

He sighed with exaggerated patience. "Our bed is broken. Remember?" he said slowly. "I could, of course, carry you off to one of the other bedrooms, but I'm not exactly dressed for a move."

The word "dressed" lodged in her mind. What did he mean, he wasn't dressed? Suddenly she realized that the fuzz beneath her cheek had been hair. And naked flesh. Tentatively, she moved the arm draped across his waist. Her fingers grazed bare skin.

"You aren't wearing any clothes!" she squeaked, jerking her hand away. She would have jerked the rest of herself away, too, but he was holding her too tightly.

"No, and you're wearing too many," he said, running his hand up and down her back, testing the warmth of her through the thin fabric. The desire that the fall had quenched proved only to be banked. It now flickered to life again, but the raw edge of his need was gone, replaced by a languorous sensuality. His other hand reached for her face and drew it down to his.

Had he tried to force her, she might have resisted once more, but this time his touch was light, almost teasing. When her lips grazed his, all thoughts of resistance vanished.

"Mmmm, you taste so good," he murmured against her mouth as he nibbled at her bottom lip.

And he did, too, she realized. The whiskey flavor was no longer offensive, but intoxicating. Unconsciously, she lifted her hand to his face and slipped her fingers into the soft silver of his hair to deepen the kiss.

His moan of response emboldened her, and when he shifted her to lie on top of him, she cooperated gladly. His tongue was doing such marvelous things inside her mouth that she barely noticed the way his hands had rearranged her nightdress until one of them cupped her bare bottom. Her breath caught in her throat as a thousand sensations rippled through her, every one of them deliciously pleasant.

He moaned again, coaxing her until her legs parted and she was straddling him. She felt the heat of him, and sensed the strength beneath her, strength willingly restrained. Testing her own power, she tightened the grip of her knees against his flanks and playfully nuzzled her hips to his. He made a strangled sound down in his throat and retaliated by clutching at her thighs. His rough fingers mercilessly teased the sensitive inner flesh until her hips bucked against his out of need. And all the time his mouth continued to play with hers, tasting and probing and nipping, until she thought she might well drown in the wonder of it.

Then the whole world turned upside down, and he was looming over her, a faceless silhouette in the darkness. "I'm going to take your nightdress off," he whispered raggedly.

"Are you?" she asked faintly, vaguely aware that he was already working at the buttons.

He did not bother to reply. In a few more moments, the garment slipped over her head, leaving her naked and aching with need. Grateful for the darkness that hid her body, she was equally grateful that it hid her face. Surely her love for him must show in her eyes. It heated her blood until she feared her very skin might glow.

Knowing that her secret was safely hidden, she reached for him hungrily. He came to her, but it was he who devoured. His fevered kisses rained over her body, exploring every inch of her. When she was a quivering mass of desire, he leaned down to taste of that desire.

The shock of his touch shook her, and she cried out with the force of her pleasure. He lifted her higher and higher until she knew she could not stand another moment.

"Please!" she begged.

"Please, what?" he teased, his breath a scorching torment against her throbbing flesh.

"Please!" she repeated, not knowing the words to ask for what she wanted.

But he understood. Slowly, torturously, he stroked his way up her body. Her hands clutched at him in a silent entreaty to hurry, but he took his time. When his face was over hers, she felt the gentle nudging below. Her hands grasped his hips to urge him on, but he held back.

Josh stared down at her, trying futilely to see her face. His own control was dangling by a single thread of willpower, but he needed one thing from her first. "My name. Say my name," he rasped.

"Please!" she almost sobbed. "Please, Joshua."

He filled her in one swift thrust, but even that was not enough for her. She wrapped her legs around him in an effort to draw him even closer, into her heart. Into her soul.

This time there were no colored lights, only a blinding flash of brilliance that seemed to consume them both in a white-hot flame. Felicity fell into a contented sleep in the afterglow.

Candace hummed softly as she made her way to her tiny cabin behind the main house. The last of the guests had gone, so she no longer needed to stand guard over the master bedroom. She smiled again over the memory of her own reaction to the loud thump she had heard from that room earlier. Rushing to listen at the door, she had caught Mr. Josh's outraged."Somebody cut the ropes!" That, she realized, would explain why the Delano woman had been looking for a sharp knife earlier in the day.

Remembering the sounds of laughter she had heard next from the bedroom made her chuckle. She was still chuckling when she entered her cabin. The single room was pitch-dark, but Candace moved with the confidence of familiarity over to where a lamp rested on a table in the center of the small room. Feeling for a match, she struck it and lighted the lamp.

"Hello," a masculine voice said from the shadows behind her.

Candace cried out in alarm, the lamp chimney slipping from her startled fingers. It smashed onto the floor as she whirled to face the voice.

The man stepped into the circle of light. An evil smile twisted his coffee-colored face, and his brown eyes glittered ominously.

Candace looked up at that face. "Who are you?" she asked with false bravado, one dark hand pressed to her clamoring heart.

The man stepped closer, making Candace aware of how huge he was, how powerful. And how dangerous. "Don't you know me, Mama?" he asked, tilting his head as if such a possibility were inconceivable.

Candace stared at him. The flickering lamp cast eerie shadows over the room, increasing her sense of unreality while she studied the stranger's face, a face that was as familiar as her own. "Jeremiah," she whispered, not wanting to believe it but knowing she was right all the same. Jeremiah. Her Jeremiah. But not at all the way she remembered him.

"Ah, so you do remember me," he said, taking another step toward her. Instinctively, she backed away until she bumped the table. Her hands clutched convulsively against its edge. "I thought maybe you'd forgotten that you even had a son," he added, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"No!" she said, and her mother's heart echoed, "Never!"

But something told her not to say it to him, not to reveal the depth of her emotions. The fright she had felt upon first hearing his voice only increased now that she knew his identity and heard the hatred in his voice. "What… what are you doing in Texas?" she asked, trying to still the tremor in her own voice but only partially Succeeding.

"This and that. Mostly I came to see the place that might've been my home if my loving mama had brought me along with her when she left." His lips were still twisted in that parody of a smile, but Candace could feel the hate emanating from him like a palpable force. She swallowed to ease her dry throat.

"I couldn't bring you here. You must know that," she said, still trying to remain calm. Surely someone had explained it to him, how she had begged to bring him along and how they had refused to let her. How she had left him with her mother to raise, knowing that at least he would be well loved and taken care of.

If so, he gave no indication. Instead he said, "I also wanted to see Joshua Logan, the boy you raised instead of me."

The implication was vicious and Candace gasped. "I didn't-" she began, but he cut her off.

"Oh yes, you did," he corrected maliciously, closing the small distance remaining between them. "And don't try to tell me they wouldn't let you come back home. Mrs. Logan told me different. She was only too happy to tell me different, time and time again, over and over and over." His hands came up, clutching at her shoulders until Candace cried out in pain. "She told me how she wanted you to come back with her, back home to your son, but you wouldn't come. You wouldn't leave the other boy."

The loathing in his eyes was a flame that seared her very soul, but that pain was nothing compared to the old agonies she had endured, the agony of leaving him behind in the first place, so long ago. She had to make him understand. "But you were twelve years old then, practically a man, and I'd been gone since you were three. You wouldn't even have known me! And you didn't need me! You had my mother and my sisters. They raised you! They loved you, didn't they?" she challenged.

Something flickered in those hate-filled eyes, a hint of secret torments, and Candace continued desperately. "Joshua was so little and he didn't have anyone! His mother left him and he only had his father…"

Those dark eyes grew cold again. "Oh yes, his father," he repeated mockingly. "We all have to do what his father says, don't we? He wouldn't let you bring me along to Texas because a little nigger bastard might embarrass Mrs. Logan, isn't that right?" But he didn't pause for her reply. "And when he wanted you to stay here, you stayed here, with his son!"

At the time her reasons had seemed so important, but in the face of his hostility, she knew they were meaningless. The words she would have spoken in explanation died on her lips. She spoke the only ones that still seemed to matter. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Sorry!" he exploded, shoving her away from him in disgust. The table behind her toppled with a crash, and she fell amidst the broken glass. A shard sliced the palm of her hand, but she did not even feel the pain.

His hands balled into fists as if he would strike her, and that was when Candace noticed the guns he wore. Two guns, slung low on his hips and tied down to his lean thighs the way a gunfighter would wear them. "No!" she murmured in protest at what her son had become.

But he misunderstood her. "Don't beg! I'm not going to hurt you," he informed her with contempt. "Even though I have every reason to kill you for what you did to me, I'm going to let you live so you can see what I've got planned for Joshua Logan."

"No! Not Joshua!" she cried, scrambling to her feet. She could not let the two of them fight. If they did, she knew one of them would not survive, and she could not bear to lose either of them. "I'm the one who hurt you! Joshua never did anything to you!" In desperation, she grabbed at his arms.

Jeremiah's broad mouth curled into that evil smile again. "He stole everything that should have belonged to me. I'm going to get a little of it back. I might even take his bride!"

"No!" Candace screamed, frantically clutching at him as if she might somehow shake him loose from his evil intentions.

But he shoved her away again. She staggered, almost falling. "Don't do this, Jeremiah, please!" she begged, but he only laughed, a horrible sound that sent prickles of terror racing down her spine.

Then she noticed the crimson stain on his sleeve. "You're bleeding," she said with genuine concern.

He glanced down to where she was pointing and plucked at his sleeve in momentary confusion. Then he noticed her hand. "That's your blood, old woman. How fitting. Your blood in me and now on me. It's like a baptism. And pretty soon, with a little luck, I'll have Logan's blood, too!"

With that awful promise, he slipped silently out the door and disappeared into the shadows of the ranch yard. "Wait!" she called, but he was gone. For one instant she considered raising an alarm, calling out the men to hunt him down and bring him back. Then common sense stopped her. He had, after all, done nothing except threaten and frighten her. Perhaps that was all he wanted to do; perhaps that would be enough to satisfy his craving for revenge. Although her mind knew she was grasping at straws, her mother's heart longed to believe the lie. She remained silent, weeping in the doorway until the throbbing in her hand grew so intense, she could no longer ignore it.

Josh awoke with a start, disoriented and confused to find himself still abed with the sun shining so brightly outside. And what was wrong with the bed? The sides were so high and… Then he remembered. He turned his head on the pillow and smiled. All he could see was a cloud of yellow hair. She was lying on her stomach, her face buried in the pillow, one hand stuffed beneath it.

Still smiling, he reached over and brushed the silken hair away from her cheek. Asleep, she again resembled the child he had once thought her. No trace remained of the tigress who had driven him insane last night. His smile faded as he wondered if it had really been as wonderful as he remembered. All he was really certain of was that he had never made love to a woman so completely before. He had wanted to devour her, to absorb her into himself. Even the piercing pleasure he recalled so vividly had not been quite enough to satisfy him.

A slight sense of unease prickled against his skin, and he turned onto his side to study her face. As he did, his disquiet grew. Emotions he had hoped never to feel again churned inside him, the same emotions he had experienced after the first time they had made love. That time he had blamed them on guilt, but he no longer needed to feel guilty. He had married her. He had made everything right. Last night was sanctioned both legally and morally.

And still he felt the weakness, that debilitating weakness he knew could destroy him. He wanted her, of course. He understood that much of it. She was the most desirable woman he had ever known. But there was more. There was the need, the need that having her simply did not satisfy. In fact, having her only made it worse.

Josh frowned down at her lovely face. How could so tiny a creature be having such a profound effect on him? He considered this question for a long moment before shrugging it off. Really, he was being top analytical about the whole thing. He wanted her and he had her. She would share his bed every night for the rest of his life. Surely in the course of the next fifty years he would be able to slake this mysterious desire. At least he would have a lot of fun trying, he decided.

His smile returned.

He leaned down and kissed her sleep-flushed cheek at the exact spot where her dimple would appear. Slowly, her eyes opened, and gradually recognition dawned. "Good morning, Mrs. Logan," he said.

Felicity blinked at the brilliance of his smile. How handsome he looked with his silver hair falling in his eyes and his jaw shaded with dark stubble. Her own lips stretched into an answering smile. "Good morning, Mr. Logan," she replied impishly.

His eyebrows arched with disapproval. "Are we back to 'Mr. Logan' again? Last night you called me 'Joshua,'" he reminded her wickedly.

Felicity blushed furiously at the memory of how she had sobbed out his name. His fingers reached out to lovingly stroke her burning cheek. "What do I have to do to get you to call me that again?" he taunted.

Certain he was teasing her, Felicity hastily scrambled up to a sitting position, being extremely careful to keep herself covered with the sheet. Where on earth was her nightdress? she wondered. Could she really have slept all night in bed with Mr. Logan without any clothes at all? "It's awfully late," she said, squinting at the partially draped window. "I guess we'd better be getting up."

"Not so fast, Mrs. Logan," he said, capturing her arm and drawing her back down beside him. "I'd like to enjoy my wife once more before I do that."

Felicity stared at him in disbelief. Now she was certain he was teasing. "It… it's broad daylight," she pointed out, even though her lower limbs were already starting to melt against his.

His gray eyes danced. "I don't think I can wait until dark," he said, pressing the heat of his desire against her thigh.

She gasped, but his words stirred an unpleasant memory. "You didn't have any trouble waiting last night," she said aloud before she could stop herself.

He frowned, obviously confused.

"You kept me waiting for an hour," she reminded him, angered anew at that slight even though she knew she should not mention it. She knew only too well that men didn't like women who were shrewish, and here she was nagging him on her very first day as his wife.

But to her surprise, he smiled. "Did you miss me?" he asked hopefully.

Felicity gasped in outrage, but when she would have pulled away, he threw a leg over hers, pinning her to the bed. "Did you really think I stayed away on purpose?" he asked, grinning down into her furious face. "I had to stay there and drink with them because if they'd thought I was trying to get away, they would have guessed where I was going and followed me. I wouldn't have liked that one bit. Would you?" he asked cheerfully.

She tried to think this over, but the heat of his body seemed to be melting her brain. "N… no," she finally admitted, forcing herself to study his chest so she would not see the teasing look in his eyes. The hair on his chest was black, lightly sprinkled with silver. Although her fingers itched to touch it, she kept them tightly clutched into the sheet that still guarded her modesty.

"Lissy," he whispered.

Instinctively, she raised her gaze to his.

"I'm going to make love to you again," he said. His eyes were smoldering charcoal.

Felicity swallowed the lump in her throat. "In the daylight?" she asked apprehensively. There were things she did not want him to see, and not just the parts of her hidden under the sheet.

"Yes, in the daylight," he said, gently pulling the sheet loose from her grasp and confirming her worst fears. "This time I want to see your face when you say my name."

"I'm telling you, Asa, they've disappeared off the face of the earth!"

Asa Gordon nodded understanding. He could readily sympathize with Smythe's frustration. The poor man had been chasing rabbits for months now, and still no sign of Storm or the girl. "Do you think they're dead?" he asked.

The two men were in a stuffy hotel room in San Antonio. Asa lounged on the sagging bed and Smythe straddled a rickety straight-backed chair.

"I don't know," Smythe grumbled. "But even if they were, somebody would've seen that wagon. It looks like one of them medicine show wagons, all painted up fancy. I'm starting to think they must've left Texas altogether. Maybe they went north, or west."

Asa shook his head. "I don't think so. The old man might be scared, but he wouldn't take the girl into Indian territory. Too dangerous. And there's still some Comanches on the loose out West." He considered Storm's third option for a moment. "I doubt he'd go east, either. Seems that he once swore he'd never even let the girl back across the Mississippi. He was a fanatic about protecting her. No, I think they're still here, somewhere. Maybe they got rid of the wagon, maybe they changed their names and took up a new profession, but I'd bet a month's pay they're still in Texas."

In spite of his apparent confidence, Asa was really going more on gut instinct than anything else. He had learned to trust that instinct, and even though he had never met Storm, he believed he understood how the man's mind worked. The photographer might crawl into a hole somewhere, pull it in after him, and stay hidden for a while, but he would never risk the girl's life, nor would he take a chance on people and places about which he knew nothing. Sooner or later, they would surface again, and when they did, Asa would hear about it.

"I'll start in the town where they disappeared." Seeing Smythe's disgruntled frown, he smiled placatingly. "I know you've already questioned everybody there, but I'll be a new face. I've got a good cover story, too, one that'll make people eager to help me. Maybe somebody will remember something new. Now, I need some advice on a rooming house that I can use as a base of operations. Any suggestions?"

"The one where I'm staying is fine," Smythe offered.

Asa shook his head. "No, I've seen your landlady. She's too skinny. Skinny women are never good cooks," he said with a sly smile.

"Oh, I forgot your preferences there for a minute," Smythe said, returning the smile. "I think I know just the place you're looking for."