The sun beat against her eyelids until Gussie was forced to lift them. She sat up, alarmed at being in an unfamiliar place. Staring at the bare walls, small stacks of clothing on the floor, and the empty chifforobe, it took her a minute to remember yesterday.

Pushing her hair out of her face, she sighed. The house. New house. Her muscles ached and her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest. Stoically, she shoved off the mound of quilts and blankets that had kept her warm through the night, and shivered when the cool air feathered over her skin. She dressed quickly in clothes that had belonged to other women, tugged on stockings and shoes that she’d never worn before, and felt like someone she didn’t know.

Who was she? Gussie Horton, pretending to be a happily married lady or was she Mrs. Augusta Lonestar, who loved a man and wanted to believe that he loved her back? Maybe she was both people, and they warred inside her.

Placing a blanket over her shoulders instead of a shawl, she trudged from the bedroom into the parlor where a sagging loveseat and two rockers were shoved against the far wall. The kitchen was empty, save for two skillets, tea kettle, and some mismatched dishware and silverware sitting on the counter. No stove. No heat. Something had to be done about that, she thought. And soon. Winter was knocking at the door.

She looked out the window toward the barn. Nothing stirred. He had to be up by now, she thought. Lonestar always rose ahead of the sun to see to the livestock before breakfast. Of course, she wouldn’t be cooking breakfast. There was food left from yesterday. Fried chicken, potato salad, slaw, biscuits, two loaves of bread, three jars of preserves, a jar of pickles, and slices of cheese. Also, someone had left a can of ground coffee beans and another of tea leaves. She checked the egg basket and counted fourteen. Maybe she’d start a fire outside and boil some eggs, toast some bread, brew some coffee. They had to eat.

The sound of an approaching horse, drew her to the window again and what she saw made her eyes go wide and her breath hiss down her throat. Max Lonestar sat bareback astride Majesty, his black hair streaming behind him, his torso bare, his long legs clad in buckskin britches. What in heaven’s name?

Gussie opened the front door and stepped out, hugging the quilt closer as the chilly air spread goose bumps across her skin. Majesty stopped in front of the porch, reared up, and pawed the air before settling down on all four hooves again. The man astride the black horse was someone out of a novel. A red kerchief stretched across his forehead. He even had a feather stuck in his midnight hair, standing straight up at the back of his head. Streaks of white and black slashed across his cheekbones and chin, mixing in with the blue and purple bruises. He held a long pole with a pointy end and feathers and strips of leather fluttered from the top of it.

Recovering from her momentary shock, she scowled at him. “Just what in tarnation are you doing?”

He grinned at her, then shook his head. “This isn’t funny. But that expression on your face is the same one I saw the first time I laid eyes on you. That scowl and your brows pulled together and the corners of your pretty mouth tipped down. Like you were mad enough to eat the devil with his horns on. Right then, I suppose I was struck by your brand of lightning.” He hitched back his shoulders and tipped up his chin. “So, here I am. I’m living out your fantasy, Augusta. You’ve told me more than once about the tales you’ve read about the tribes.” He swung his leg over Majesty’s neck and dropped lightly to the ground. “I want to be your fantasy. Your dream man. Your wild, savage Indian. I want to protect you, defend you, and honor you.”

She stuck out her lower lip, wondering if he was making fun of her. “You sent me packing.”

He winced. “That’s not true. No!” He held up a hand to stop her words. “It’s not what I meant.” All humor drained from him and his eyes darkened with grave intent. “I didn’t want you to feel that you had to stay after the fire. After we lost everything. It was too much to ask of you.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” she said, refusing to give an inch, although looking at him in his getup made her insides heat so that she felt the cold much less. “And we didn’t lose everything.”

“You’ve gone through so much.” He ran a hand down his face, smearing the colors he’d painted there, and she realized that he’d shaved off his whiskers, too. “Drawn here by a pack of lies, marrying me – a stranger – and working day and night on this place only to have it destroyed by Babbitt. I just thought that you might feel obligated.”

“Well, of course I do!” She jabbed a finger at him. “I’m obligated to you! We’re married. I recall the preacher saying something about richer or poorer.” She narrowed her eyes. “I took those vows to heart. Guess you didn’t.”

“I did. I do.” He stepped closer and frowned when she stepped back. “Augusta, I’ve been a stubborn fool. I know that. Every night without you has been pure misery. I told myself that what I was doing was the noble thing, but my body burned for you and my heart bled for you. I’ve been wandering around here like a sleepwalker, unable to do anything but remember the taste of you, the touch of your hands on me, the sweet heat of your body.”

Her breath shallowed as her heart expanded. There he goes, she thought. There he goes with those words she never imagined she’d hear from anyone, especially from a man such as him with his handsome face, his gold-flecked eyes, and his smile that would melt the coldest heart.

“I want you with every breath I take, every beat of my heart.” He went down on one knee, holding the spear in one hand, extending his other to her. “I was wrong to give up on us. I was wrong to suggest that you leave. I was wrong about so many things. But I was right about one important thing and that was when I asked you to marry me. Now I’m asking you to stay with me and allow me not only to be your husband, but also your devoted lover, your protector, your hero. Augusta Adele Horton Lonestar, will you give me another chance?”

She refused to cry with happiness, although everything in her wanted to. Instead, she regarded him as coolly as possible, wanting to test his mettle. “What if I refused you?”

His face tightened and his eyes darkened to almost black. “I wouldn’t allow it.”

The starkness of his statement and the near-growl of his tone made her knees wobble. She released her pent-up breath. “That’s more like it.” She huffed out a breath. “But . . . well, the thing is . . . do you . . . I have to know, Lonestar. Do you love me?”

“Do I . . ?” He stared at her as if she were loco. “What do you think I’ve been saying? Yes. Of course, I love you.” His gaze lifted to the sky before swinging back to her. “I love you. And I’ve only said that to two other women; both related to me.” His eyes softened. “I love you so much, Augusta, that I’ll never be able to love you enough.”

She gasped, remembering that he’d said that about the woman who had meant the whole world to him. Gussie squeezed her hands together in a moment of piercing elation. Rising on tiptoes, she nodded vigorously. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He tipped his head to one side and the gold sparkles filled his expressive eyes again. “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

Swallowing the cotton ball that had somehow lodged in her throat, she drew in a lungful of air. “I love you.” The words rang within her like church bells tolling. “And I’ve never said that to anyone. Ever. I so dearly love you, Lonestar.”

“Does that mean you’re staying?”

Unable to form another word, she nodded and let out a little yelp when he let go of the spear, bounded forward, and swept her up in his arms. His mouth landed solidly on hers, an eager predator to its willing prey. Gussie framed his face in her hands and opened her lips so that he could deepen the kiss.

The quilt fell away, but she felt only the heat of his skin and the hot press of his mouth on hers. He held her head between his hands and slanted his mouth this way, then that way, his tongue sliding in and out, her name whispering past his lips.

Never in her wildest imaginings had she conjured this bliss, this wild abandon, this magical man. She looped her arms around his neck and arched her body into him. His hands smoothed up her hips and back.

“You’re mine, Augusta Lonestar. Mine.”

“Yes. Oh, yes.” She slipped her fingers through the thick silk of his hair. “And you’re mine. Oh, and by the way. I was never leaving.”

“Hmmm?” He pulled back to gaze into her eyes.

“You asked if I was staying.” She wrinkled her nose playfully at him. “And I’m telling you that I was never leaving.”

“You did leave,” he pointed out.

“No. I gave you some time to come to your senses and realize that life without me is too darned dull. And you finally did.” She gave a quick nod. “Just needed to set the record straight.”

He shook his head, a smile dawning in his eyes and tugging up the corners of his mouth. “You are the prickliest woman.”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed, pulling his mouth down to hers for another kiss. “And you’re stuck on me.”

His chuckle warmed her, through and through. “I surely am.”

 

THE END