To Wed a Wanton Woman (2 page)

“I’m not looking for hour-long romances, and
I’d never want a woman you’ve had.”

“Then Marion’s your girl. Sandy’s been
around so long her fields have been plowed by every man, but you.”

Train rolled a cigarette and thought about
the woman in the house with Allison. “No harm in having a conversation with the
lady,” he said, not expecting TJ to offer a reply. “After all, she is Sugar’s
best friend.”

* * *

Music drifted through the warm evening air. Marion watched Allison float around the yard on the arm of her husband. The sparkle in her
eye and the contagious smile on her lips affected her, too. Everyone seemed to
be enjoying themselves.

Tables brimmed with food. In a pit set away
from the guests, a large pig roasted on a spit. Honey glaze dripped from the
belly and smoldered in the fire sending mouth-watering aromas heavenward.

“Nice evening,” someone spoke from behind
her. Sitting in her chair at one of the long tables, Marion turned her head to
see who it was.

“Train, isn’t it?” She motioned to the chair
next to her. “Allison pointed you out earlier.” Dimples and a slight tilt to
his crooked grin made her stomach flip. Yes, he was handsome. Men didn’t
usually make her wet with just the sound of their voice. Men were customers. They
held no mystery. Train was different. He actually appeared nervous, making him
even more appealing.

Train sat in the chair she indicated. His
black trousers strained against muscled thighs as he rested his forearms on his
knees. “TJ told me you work for Miss Jensen. It must be nice for her to let you
out.”

Marion
laughed. “You make it sound as if I’m a slave living a life of servitude. I
come and go as I please. I do what I want.” She sipped her coffee. “Don’t look
so horrified. I’m not here to tarnish Allison’s wedding with my wicked ways.
I’m a guest just like you.” She looked in the same direction as his stare.
“They look happy.” She sighed.

They watched TJ spin Allison around the
wooden dance floor erected for the reception. Allison’s wedding dress pooled
around her like a cloud. Her head fell back, laughing at something TJ had whispered
in her ear.

Marion
adjusted in her chair and opened a little oriental fan. Wearing her most
seductive smile, and tilting her head, she created a light breeze against her
neck. “If you don’t want to have a conversation, maybe there’s something else we
can do?”

His head snapped around. “Oh no ma’am.” His
smoke colored eyes stared into hers.

“Good, because I’m not here to work.” She playfully
slapped her fan closed and leaned in close. “Did you know I can read a man’s
thoughts?”

It was true. Years on her back had taught
her to look into a man’s eyes to know his intentions. Train was transparent.

“You like what you see,” she continued, her gaze
trailing down the length of his body and back up again. “But as I said, I’m
here to support Allison in her new life. We can have a good time, Train. But,
if you want to conduct
business
you’ll have to come to town.” She stood.
“I’ll see you later.” How much later was up to Train. She didn’t see him as the
type to act on his impulses. Such a shame.

Marion
found Sandy sitting with TJ’s children.

“Marion, meet Sissy and Michael.”

“Allison’s our mama now,” Sissy said with an
air of authority. “My mama died when Michael was a baby.” She gave her
two-year-old brother another bite of wedding cake.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Sandy said,
smoothing a palm over the little girl’s hair. “Allison will be a good mama for
you.”

“Yes, that’s nice.” Marion didn’t relate to
children. Nervous in their presence, she didn’t even know how to speak to them.
She understood men. “I need to step away for a few minutes.” Marion patted her
small evening, clutch purse. She was sure smoking would meet with the other
women’s disapproval. “I didn’t want you to come looking for me.”

“Marion, my dear, this is your time. Do whatever
you wish.” She laughed when Michael grabbed a piece of cake off the spoon
before Sissy had a chance to put it into his mouth.

Once safely on the other side of the
stables, Marion took a deep breath. Knotted up inside, pretending to be someone
she wasn’t, made her stomach sick. She could put up a good front when she had
to, but she preferred life at the brothel where she could be herself. Truthfully,
mingling with these people made her feel inferior. She saw their stares. No
matter how hard she tried, she could not come off as a lady. She thought of
Allison. Most would assume she was a woman of means. No one would believe she
had once tried to pursue employment in a whorehouse.

Marion
slipped open the top button of her dress. The new fabric was stiff and
uncomfortable in her fingers. She preferred her lived-in clothes at the
brothel. Light and airy, they allowed a woman to breath. Corsets, bustles, and
yards of useless fabric could make a woman churlish. Perhaps that was why women
in town never laughed and why their husbands kept her busy.

She slipped a pre-rolled cigarette from the
silver holder in her clutch. After a deep inhale, she almost felt like herself.

A noise to the left startled her. Someone
stepped from the deep shadows of the stable. “Are you following me?” She put
her hand over her heart, trying to calm its racing.

Train stuffed his hands into the front
pockets of his trousers. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Miss Young. I was
enjoying your company until you up and left. Figured I owed you an apology for
something I said.”

She waved her hand, dismissing his apology.
“I’m not easily offended.” She inclined her head, debating whether to say
something. “Actually, you could make it up to me if you’d go over there,” she
said, pointing to a group of men. “And get me a glass of whiskey. Not a little
glass,” she said, using her thumb and index finger to demonstrate. “But more
like that.” She pointed to a woman drinking a tumbler of lemonade. “Since you
are aware of my disreputable occupation,” she said with a teasing smile, “you
can understand why I would not want to embarrass my best friend on her wedding
day by drinking whiskey and smoking tobacco. But Train, if I don’t get a drink,
I’ll have to hide in my room. I’m not used to proper womenfolk, just whores. I
admit, I’m a touch jittery.”

An easy grin spread across his face.
“Whiskey?”

“Yes, with ice.”

If TJ had it to offer, who was she not to
enjoy some of his hospitality? She didn’t often get the chance to have ice in
her drink. Her life didn’t afford such lavishness. No, her room at the brothel
stayed cold in the winter and muggy in the summer. Dirty miners, whiskey
breath, and a share of the money she earned, her life wasn’t one of luxury.
Luckily, Allison never had to know hardship in the brothel. TJ got her out.

Train looked over his shoulder at her as he
walked away.

Marion
winked.

Train approached the makeshift bar. He
leaned forward to reach a tumbler. TJ said something. Too distracted by the
woman waiting in the shadow, Train didn’t hear clearly. “What was that?” He
finally pulled himself into the conversation.

“How’re you doing?” TJ poured himself a
whiskey.

“Fine.” Train turned in the direction where Marion waited again.

“It’s customary for the best man to dance
with the bride. Sugar’s looking for you. Where’s Marion? She’s supposed to save
a dance for me, but I haven’t seen her.”

“Joseph--” Allison curtsied and grabbed his
elbow. “Dance with me.”

“Here.” He handed Marion’s drink to TJ.
“She’s behind the stable,” he said. Allison dragged him onto the dance floor. He
paused, listening to the band music, and then began their dance.

“You look beautiful,” Train said, with his
arm around Allison, a woman with whom he once fancied himself in love. They
waltzed across the wooden dance floor. Tiny white flowers adorned the loose
knot of hair on the back of her head. Her small frame and delicate features
contradicted TJ’s working man’s build. Funny how looking at her as someone
else’s wife changed the way he felt. “I don’t need to ask if you’re happy. I
can see you made the right decision to marry TJ.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re not
angry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“It wasn’t a mortal wound. Tell me about Marion.” He twirled her.

“If you want to know if she works in the
traditional way, the answer is yes.”

“She made that clear. I know you couldn’t do
it. Marion talks as if she enjoys her work.”

“Maybe that’s true. She accepts where life
has led her.” She slowed their dance and looked hard into his eyes. “Sandy’s brothel is better than where Marion came from. She might be a whore, but I think
she is the finest quality person.” Train led her in another direction on the
dance floor. “I will say she’s outspoken to a fault,” Allison said. “If you
don’t want the truth, don’t ask the question. You’ve been watching her?”

“She’s nice to look at. I bet she’s busy at
the brothel.”

“Yes, she is.”

* * *

TJ found Marion leaning against the stable. “It’s
a custom for the maid of honor to dance with the groom.”

She stepped away from the wall and
straightened her skirt. “My apologies, Mr. Bester.” She searched for the right
words. “I guess I’m just not accustomed to keeping polite company.”

He chuckled. “We’ve spoken enough for you to
feel at ease calling me TJ.” He handed her the tumbler of whiskey. “Everyone’s
a bit uncomfortable. Well, except Allison. A week long engagement doesn’t give
a body much time to prepare.”

She tipped the tumbler, drank, and emptied
it. “The girl doesn’t waste any time once she knows what she wants. She told me
the story of how you met.”

“I admit I almost hired her when she showed
up on my doorstep looking for work as a ranch hand.” He raised his eyebrows. “I
wasn’t thinking of working her in the fields.”

“I’m certain you were thinking of how she
could work up a sweat.”

“I’m sure you’re right, although you’ll
never get me to admit it to her.” He put his hand on Marion’s lower back. “I
want my dance.” He escorted her across the yard to the dance floor.

TJ whispered to Marion, “I see you’ve
attracted someone’s interest. Care to trade partners?”

Marion
turned to see Train staring. “Absolutely,” she purred in response.

“Be gentle with him.”

Sensing his amusement, she laughed.

TJ danced them to Allison and Train. “I’ll
take my wife back now.” He pulled Allison into his arms and they spun away.

Train took a deep breath as Marion stepped into his arms and continued to dance. The transition from Allison to Marion sent his heart rate into a gallop. They danced in silence. Then much too quickly,
the music ended. “Thank you for the dance, ma’am.”

Marion
leaned closer and whispered, “Walk with me.” She linked her arm in his. “It
looks like the festivities are well under way. I doubt we’ll be missed.”

He watched her, fascinated by the way her
lips moved. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Allison will notice.”

“I don’t care. Do you?” she asked.

“Hell no. Wait a minute,” he said, and then
hurried to a nearby table to retrieve his cowboy hat. “Let’s go.”

Marion
took the bottle of champagne from the middle of the table, smiled, and linked
her arm in his. He stared at her fingers against his flesh. Like the heat of a
branding iron, he felt her touch.

The ground crunched beneath their feet as
they walked past the stables. They passed another large building. “The Shack,”
Train said, nodding toward the open door. “It’s where Cake cooks the grub, and
where those of us who don’t have families and homesteads bunk.”

They walked, the sounds of the reception
fading into the night air. Train found it impossible to ignore the sway of her
hips. Damn, she was pretty. He’d never disrespected a woman, not even in his
mind. But Marion had his thoughts running wild. His cock was hard and his balls
were tight. She smelled like heaven and looked like sin. But she was a whore
and he’d never wanted to bed a whore before. Whore or not, a woman deserved to
be respected.

Once, he thought marriage to a woman like
Allison suited him. Refined and delicate, Allison was a kind of woman who
needed protection. Perhaps they could’ve been happy with children, and a little
spread of their own. But even with Allison, there had never been this frisson
of desire. Raw and aggressive. Damn, but he wanted to fuck Marion. What in the
hell was wrong with him? TJ used to fuck whores. TJ’s father used to fuck
whores, Train refused. But yet there was an intense awareness prickling his
skin. He could tell she was doing to him what she did best. Men were business.

Silence stretched out between them.

“What are you worrying about, Train? Are you
simply curious or is there some other reason you’re interested?”