The Bad Luck Wedding Dress (26 page)

She needed the words, but tonight, she needed him more. “No words. Just feeling. Give me the feeling, Trace. I need …”

He pulled her tight against him and fit his lips to hers, devouring her with his kiss. His mouth was open; his tongue diving and plundering. She sank her fingers into the thick, soft hair above his temples even as he rolled onto his back, carrying her with him.

He slipped his coat off her shoulders and chilled night caressed her skin, an acute contrast to the heat steaming between them. His hands stroked her buttocks, kneading her, cupping her, pressing her against the hard ridge of flesh that strained against his trousers.

And his kiss went on and on and on.

Jenny shuddered at the pleasure of it. He smelled of leather and sweat and that muskiness uniquely his own. She wanted to touch him, to feel his bare skin against hers. Boldly, she fitted her hands between them and attempted to loosen his buttons.

Low in his throat, he growled. In a flurry of motion, he moved from beneath her. His boots flew through the air, landing with a dull thud in the dirt. Cloth rustled and ripped, and then he was back, on top of her this time. Naked skin to naked skin. Damp and hot.

He kissed her again, hard and fast, then softer, trailing across her jaw to nip at her neck. She hummed and quivered. She burned.

He rose above her, his mouth moving lower. Slowly, ever so desperately slowly, he kissed his way down her body. His tongue circled first one nipple, then the other, bringing both to pebbled peaks.

Finally, he suckled her, murmuring in response to the small moan that escaped her.

She arched her back, giving herself up to that drawing fire that slashed from her breasts to the very core of her womanhood. Her hands gripped his shoulders as sensation bombarded her. Low in her belly, a knot of need tightened. “Trace … I want… I need …”

He rolled back on his knees. “Bend your legs. Open for me, Jenny.”

Anything. She’d do anything. She lay aching, barely able to breathe. Expecting the pressure of his shaft, she was unprepared for the soft tickle on her inner thighs. Rough- soft and wet. The heated tracing of his tongue.

She whimpered and attempted to close her legs, but he anticipated her move, holding them apart, his fingers stroking the sensitive backs of her knees. “Trust me, treasure. Let me do this. I need to do this.”

Treasure? The endearment settled on her heart like an angel’s song.

Then his mouth dipped, touched her damp folds, tasted, and all rational thought fled. He lapped her, his tongue dragging across her most sensitive skin. Rough and silken at the same time. A whirlwind of escalating pleasure. Devouring sounds. Faster, harder. Plunging. Sweet torture.

Hot pressure coiled in her belly, stringing her tighter, shooting her higher than ever before. She teetered at the edge, unable to find her way over. She writhed upon the blanket.

Suction.
Oh, God
. Her thighs clamped around his head.

With a cry, she fell into the intense, swirling, exquisite storm of sensation.

Before she reached the bottom, he slid up over her and slipped into her. Lifting her hips, he withdrew and thrust, over and over again, demanding they climb the peak together this time.

His shout was throaty and harsh; hers a small, keening cry. He collapsed on her, his body quivering and damp with sweat.

He breathed a ragged pair of words that sounded like music in her soul. “My treasure.”

Carrying a buckeye in your pocket brings good luck.

CHAPTER 15

THE NIGHT MARKED A turning point in Trace and Jenny’s marriage. The changes were subtle, but substantial, from her viewpoint. Trace was freer with his touches, his smiles were more intimate, their lovemaking was richer and more intense. One might say he’d progressed to the lope, trot, walk, and stop stage of training, she thought with a smile.

Upon their return from the Lucky Lady, she’d enjoyed a joyful reunion with the girls and attempted to return her life to normal. But her emotions were in flux, and she wasn’t immediately able to put the incident behind her.

Jenny was angry it had happened, furious she’d been victimized. Yet the compassion she’d felt for Frank while he lay dying continued to linger. He’d died a horrible death. No matter how corrupt the man or evil his intentions, no one should have to suffer so.

Her emotions also vacillated where Big Jack was concerned. She both detested the man and pitied him. She understood his reasoning, faulty though it was. In his eyes his children had been hurt, and his orders to Frank had reflected a desire to protect those he loved.

Jenny didn’t doubt that she would kill in a heartbeat to protect Emma, Maribeth, and Katrina.

What would Big Jack do when he learned his son was dead and she was still alive? Would he continue his pursuit of retribution? It was another worry that plagued her, one that didn’t bear thinking about.

Trace thought about it, she knew. He’d assured her he would reach an understanding with Big Jack Bailey the moment he returned to Fort Worth. They would settle this bad luck business once and for all, her husband had declared. Under the circumstances, he thought she would be safe until then.

That no one outside the family knew about the abduction proved to be a blessing. The girls’ efforts to seek help that night had failed because the neighbors were all at the Harvest Ball, and the few people they attempted to stop on the street had paid little attention to their babbling. The reputation they enjoyed ensured that nobody listened when the McBride Menaces were talking.

Trace stressed to the girls the importance of keeping the events of the previous night a McBride family secret. That idea had appealed to them, and they had assured their parents their lips were forever closed on the matter.

“Sealed like a can of peaches,” Katrina said, snapping her lips shut.

Trace used connections in Hell’s Half Acre to get word to Marshal Courtright of the body out at the Lucky Lady’s homestead, and he and Jenny were relieved when Frank Bailey was buried at Pioneer’s Rest Cemetery only two days after his death.

That wasn’t enough for Jenny to put the incident behind her, however. In the week that followed, she suffered nightmares most every night. Visions of giant-sized scorpions and gleaming knives and guns intruded into her dreams and sent her screaming from sleep into her husband’s comforting arms. He’d hold her while she poured out the tales, offering comfort that often ended in lovemaking.

By the time a week had passed, life had settled down. Jenny concluded that their efforts the night of the Harvest Ball had fended off the worst of the gossip about the gown, thank God. Although Mary Rose’s accident had stirred up some talk, Jenny still had customers flocking to Fortune’s Design, and she still heard her dress referred to as the Good Luck Wedding Dress.

Now if that good luck would only hold after Big Jack returned from New Orleans.

Life at Willow Hill was good, family members for the most part happy. Not that they didn’t fight upon occasion, because they did. All of them. All possible combinations of combatants. But they were normal family squabbles offset by normal family laughter. Jenny had never been happier.

Even though her mother had taken to dropping by Willow Hill unannounced.

Monique became a regular passenger on the Texas & Pacific run between Dallas and Fort Worth. She’d arrive at their doorstep unannounced and bearing gifts. Once she made up her mind to play the doting grandmother role, she went all out.

If only she’d be a bit more grandmotherly toward Trace. Jenny bristled at her mother’s flirtatious behavior. “I wish she’d reconcile with my father,” she told Trace in the privacy of their bedroom following one particularly annoying incident. “She could go pester him for a while and it would be just fine with me.”

Trace paused in the act of brushing her hair, a task he volunteered for nearly every night. “Is she still angry with him for not coming to our wedding?”

Jenny nodded. “Furious. She hasn’t spoken to him since. I don’t know why she’s acting this way. I’m the one who should be upset, not Monique. If I’m not angry, why is she?”

“Are you disappointed in your father for not attending?”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “Well, yes.”

Finished, he set her hairbrush on the dressing table. “Remember last week when Emma was so disappointed for not winning a ribbon for her recital at the Literary Society festival? How did you feel about Mrs. Hander?”

Jenny wrinkled her nose. “That woman couldn’t judge her way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes gleaming knowingly, Trace simply smiled and Jenny got his point. “Why don’t you go check on the girls,” she groused. “I heard some suspicious bumping a few minutes ago.”

He left wearing a superior smile. Ten minutes later, he returned with a frustrated frown. Climbing into bed beside her, he groaned. “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand those girls. All that noise I used to hear about wanting their own rooms. The bickering at bedtime—Katrina sometimes sings in her sleep and the older girls used to drive me crazy complaining about it. So what happens? I work my butt off to provide them what they’ve begged me for, and what do they do?”

He sat up and punched his pillow into the shape he preferred for sleeping. “They pile into Emma’s bed like a litter of puppies.”

Jenny laughed and snuggled up against him. “They’ve been together all these years, and I imagine they’re lonely sleeping by themselves. I know I was.”

He wrapped his arm around her and nuzzled her neck. “At times I used to envy them. It’s nice to have someone with you when you fall off to sleep.”

“See there, McBride?” She lifted her head and teased him with a satisfied smile. “Just one more problem I’ve solved for you. Now you needn’t feel lonely when you go to sleep.”

“Lonely, hell. I’m too exhausted to feel anything. Every night it’s the same thing— ‘Kiss me, Trace. Make love to me, Trace.’ I’m telling you, Jenny McBride, if I’d known ahead of time what a demanding hussy you’d turn out to be, I might have thought twice about saying ‘I do.’ I can see it now engraved on my headstone.” He extended his arm, palm out, and moved it from left to right as he said, “Trace McBride. His wife plumb wore him out.”

She leaned over and nipped at his chest. “You did think twice. You thought twice at least two hundred times. And now I see where Katrina got her flare for the dramatic. Wear you out, hmm?” She laved the spot she’d just bitten and added, “Tell me, McBride. Can you think of a better way to go?”

The growl came from low in his throat. “Nope, can’t say that I can.” He rolled her over on top of him and said, “Kill me some more, treasure. Please?”

She proceeded to give it her best effort.

By Jenny and Trace’s two-month anniversary, the McBride family had adapted well to the changes the wedding had wrought. They were settled into their new home. The girls were doing fine in school and causing relatively little mischief. Fortune’s Design appeared to be well on the way to financial health. The girls were happy. Jenny was happy. Trace was happy.

It scared the hell out of him.

The fear was like a chigger bite that had taken weeks, instead of days, to fester. The itch came on slowly in the form of unease. As it bothered him more and more, doubt began to nag him. By the tenth week of their marriage, distrust and suspicion had him scratching like mad.

And that led to trouble.

He finished up his morning appointments early and decided to do a little work on the dollhouse he was building. Having gone to the mercantile to purchase the toy as a Christmas gift for the girls, he’d noted a lack of quality in the piece. Jenny had convinced him to create one of his own design, and he’d found he enjoyed the effort. Needing more wood for the trim, he left the house for the hardware store down on Main. Jenny was working in the shop that day, so after he made his purchase, he swung around by Fortune’s Design.

It was closed.

That’s strange, he thought. Although she’d cut back on her work hours, Jenny kept regular morning hours at the shop. It wasn’t like her not to be here.

Big Jack. Trace shut his eyes, rocked at the thought. Aw, shit. No!

He raced to Marshal Courtright’s office.

“No,” the marshal replied in answer to his question. “I haven’t telegraphed the news about Frank’s death yet. Deputy Scott’s brother lives in New Orleans and he’s been visiting here in Fort Worth. He’s offered to give Big Jack the word when he gets home. What does it matter to you anyway?”

“Are you certain he’s still in New Orleans?” Trace asked, disregarding the question.

“Haven’t heard otherwise. And you can bet he’s not back in town or I’d damn sure know about it. Now what’s put the burr under your saddle, McBride?”

Trace left the marshal’s office without replying, his mind consumed with the question of his wife’s whereabouts.

That chigger itch took to troubling him again, but Trace did his best to ignore it. Maybe she’d gone home. She’d done that a couple of times recently, showing up in the middle of the day for one of those tours they enjoyed so much. Trace nodded and headed for home.

But Jenny wasn’t there. Neither was she at the dry goods purchasing new thread, or at the Fort Worth Literary Society meeting. He checked all the stores on Main, thinking she might be doing some Christmas shopping, but not a shopkeeper in town had seen his wife that morning. By the time he was done, Trace was feeling mean.

He went home and settled in to wait, old ghosts and demons riding his shoulder hard.

JENNY WALKED toward home in a daze. Although she’d had her suspicions, confirmation of her condition had sent her world spinning off its axis. A baby. A squirming, crying, hungry-all-the-time bundle of love.

She’d never been so happy in her life.

So happy or nervous or downright afraid. A baby. What would Trace think? They’d never discussed babies, but then that was no great surprise because they never discussed anything truly important. Did he even want any more children? He must have known the possibility—even the probability—existed.

He’d be happy. She knew it in her heart. Trace loved his daughters too much not to welcome another child into his life.

A baby. Jenny placed a hand over her stomach and smiled. What would the girls think? Would they be happy? Jealous? A little bit of both? She’d have to reassure them of her love and that her feelings wouldn’t change with the new addition to the family.

The new addition. Questions bombarded Jenny like hailstones. How long before her pregnancy started to show? How long before she felt her baby move?

She stopped abruptly. How much longer could she and Trace make love before it might endanger the child?

She turned right around and returned to the doctor’s office. Because she had to wait while he was out on a call, and because once she started asking questions she couldn’t seem to stop, it was well after noon when she finally reached Willow Hill. Now that she had time to get used to the idea, she found she couldn’t quit smiling. In fact, she’d hummed all the way home.

She entered the house through the back, accidentally allowing the screen door to bang shut. Taking a seat at the kitchen table, she propped her feet up on a chair, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back. Smiling, she imagined a green-eyed little boy with yellow curls.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Startled, she opened her eyes to see Trace standing in the kitchen doorway, a half-empty crystal decanter of whiskey in his hand. Jenny’s brow lowered. She knew that bottle had been full when she left the house this morning.

She sat up. Oh, gosh. Had something happened to the girls? Were the Menaces somehow in trouble? A lump of fear clogged Jenny’s throat and made it difficult to speak. “What is it? Are the girls all right? Is it Big Jack? Is he back in town?”

“The girls are fine,” he said carefully, stepping into the kitchen. His voice a symphony of calm, he repeated, “Jenny, where have you been?”

She hesitated, wanting to save her news for the perfect moment, certainly for a more romantic place than the kitchen. “I was at the shop, of course.”

“All day?” The light in his eyes altered, his expression turning mean.

Jenny didn’t like it one bit. “Why are you questioning me?”

He yanked a chair from underneath the table, flipped it around, and straddled it. “I know where my daughters are. They’re in school where they should be. I know where to find them if I go looking. They don’t up and disappear without telling a soul where they’re going. You know why? They don’t have anything to hide.”

Enlightenment burst like a bubble. He must have come into town for some reason and found Fortune’s Design closed. Why, the big clod. She lifted her chin and folded her arms. “Are you insinuating that I have done something wrong, McBride?”

His expression grew stony and cold. “Insinuate, Mrs. McBride? That is your name now. You do remember that, don’t you? You remember you’re a married woman?”

She gasped with shock but he forged ahead, digging himself even deeper. “And I’m not insinuating anything, Wife. I’m asking it right out.” He leaned forward, drilling her with a look. “Where were you, Jenny? I want the truth, and I want it now.”

She almost reached across the table and slapped him. She was furious. She was angry. She was hurt. He thought evil things about her. It was written all across his face. “Just where do you think I was, Husband? At the Cosmopolitan Hotel perhaps? With one of my legion of lovers?”

He shoved to his feet and took a full step backward. The chair banged to the floor. He whispered, “Damn you.”