Colorado Bride Read online

  THE HEAT OF PASSION

  “You ought to head back East,” Lucas declared, steeling himself against the agonizing thought of never seeing her again. “You’re a woman trying to do a man’s job, and you’re a woman alone in a country where no female is safe without a man.”

  “I can see you’re just another one of those men who think females are good for nothing but cooking, cleaning, and having babies,” Carrie said furiously. “I suppose it’s a waste of your precious time to even talk to a female, especially one from back East.”

  “Ma’am, I never said time spent with you was wasted.” There was a light in his eyes that sent a thrill through her whole body; it seemed to be equally divided between pleasure and apprehension.

  Without warning, Lucas took her by the arms and kissed her soundly on the lips. Then, thinking better of it, he took her in his arms and kissed her in a way Carrie didn’t know a woman could be kissed.

  There was nothing gentleman like about this kiss; it was rough, demanding, and completely devastating, and his hard, muscled body pressed against the length of her merely added fuel to a fire that blazed out of control before Carrie even knew what had started it….

  Other books by Leigh Greenwood:

  THE RELUCTANT BRIDE

  THE INDEPENDENT BRIDE

  SEDUCTIVE WAGER

  SWEET TEMPTATION

  WICKED WYOMING NIGHTS

  WYOMING WILDFIRE

  REBEL ENCHANTRESS

  THE CAPTAIN’S CARESS

  SCARLET SUNSET, SILVER NIGHTS

  The Night Riders series:

  TEXAS HOMECOMING

  TEXAS BRIDE

  BORN TO LOVE

  The Cowboys series:

  THE MAVERICKS

  JAKE

  WARD

  BUCK

  DREW

  SEAN

  CHET

  MATT

  PETE

  LUKE

  The Seven Brides series:

  ROSE

  FERN

  IRIS

  LAUREL

  DAISY

  VIOLET

  Colorado

  Bride

  Leigh Greenwood

  Copyright © 1990, 2011 Leigh Greenwood

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Green Run Pass, Colorado, 1868

  Carrie Simpson took several slow breaths, forcing herself to inhale deeply to steady her nerves. It was absolutely essential that no one see the doubt at the back of her eyes or suspect the churning fear that had turned her insides to mush. Her whole future hung on what would happen in the next few minutes, and she was determined that neither her uncertainty nor female frailty would rob her of this chance to create a new life for herself. So closing her eyes long enough to direct a brief prayer to heaven, Carrie garnered up her skirts, took a firm grip on the door to steady herself, and stepped down out of the stagecoach into the full glare of the Colorado sun.

  The brilliance of the midday sun blinded Carrie to her surroundings, and she was relieved that for a few extra moments she could postpone the announcement that she had come to dismiss the present manager and take over the running of the Green Run Pass Stagecoach Station herself. This was going to be her home. She had come to stay.

  A coarse, booming voice bellowed a welcome from the station house, and Carrie looked up to see a monster of a man roll out of the door and down the steps, his bulging bloodshot eyes savoring the picture of feminine loveliness she presented. Her courage nearly deserted her on the spot. Baca Riggins was a bear of a man, standing over six feet four and weighing close to four hundred pounds, much of it fat, and he looked as though he hadn’t changed his clothes or taken a bath in weeks.

  It had been difficult enough to leave her family home in Virginia and travel to St. Louis by herself without having to face Baca Riggins alone. She was terrified. And the memory of what the passengers had said of the man’s character during the last miserable leg of the journey did nothing to bolster her courage. Her first impulse was to turn around and go back to St. Louis, but she had to stay; she had nowhere else to go.

  “Grub’s on the table,” Baca informed the disembarking passengers with a morose growl. “Help yourself.”

  “Last time I tried to choke down some of the stuff you serve up, I had a bellyache for a week,” complained Bap Turner from his seat in the driver’s box.

  “Nobody’s forcing you to eat,” growled Baca, indifferent as to whether anybody ate or not; his eyes were on Carrie.

  “You might have a care for the passengers,” Bap continued, feeling braver in the driver’s box than he would have on the ground. “They didn’t know they had to eat enough for two meals at breakfast.”

  “Then you should have told them. I’m shorthanded today so you’re going to have to fetch out your own team. You’d better hustle if you want to keep to your schedule.”

  “What’s wrong with Buck doing it, or you? It’s what you’re paid for.”

  “Buck’s laid up with a cold, and I’ve got to see to this here little lady. Do it yourself or drive them horses another sixty miles. It makes no difference to me. Course you could ask Lucas to give you a hand,” he said over his shoulder as he turned his attention to Carrie. “He ain’t never doing nothing half the time.”

  Involuntarily Carrie’s eyes turned in the direction Baca had indicated and she saw a man seated under a tree, his chair leaned back against the trunk, his feet hooked into the bottom rung, and his hat pulled down over his eyes. He seemed to be dozing and completely unaware of their presence.

  “Looks like I’d have to wake him up first,” Bap said as he dismounted from the box with a string of pungent curses. “One of these days, somebody’s going to throw you out on your ass, Baca, and it won’t be none too soon for me” Baca turned a threatening gaze on the little man.

  “You aiming to try?” he asked, bringing his bulk close enough to Bap to emphasize the difference in their size.

  “I just drive this dang-blasted stage, but Duncan Bickett ain’t the kind of man to put up with you running one of his stations like this for long. This place looks worse than a squatter’s shanty.” Carrie guessed the buildings had been painted at one time, but the whitewash had pealed off by now; the yard was unkept and the windows were thick with dust. She shuddered to think what the inside must look like.

  “I like it here,” Baca said, unmoved by Bap’s censure. “And when I like a place, I stay.”

  Carrie listened to this exchange with a sinking heart. Her first look at the sullen, bad-tempered station manager had warned her he wouldn’t take his dismissal meekly. Now she suspected he’d fight, and she had to face him without Robert at her side. She had to do it all by herself. Carrie cleared her throat.

  “Excuse me,” she said, speaking as calmly as she could. “Are you Mr. Riggins?” Baca turned around slowly, like a big grizzly, cautious but secure in the knowledge that he was too powerful for anyone to be a danger to him; the frown lifted from his unsha
ven face.

  “Yeah. You better hurry inside if you expect to get anything to eat, little woman,” he said, coming as close as he ever did to smiling. “No matter what Bap here says, folks’ll eat up every scrap of that food.”

  “That’s because there’s never enough for more than two or three people,” Bap said irritably as he started to lead away the team he had just unhitched.

  “You want to change that team, or are you going to bicker all afternoon?” Carrie turned in surprise at the sound of a wonderfully resonant bass voice. The man they had called Lucas was no longer under the tree. He had brought up a fresh team, and now he was just standing there, negligently resting his weight on one hip, waiting. One look at this impassive stranger, and all of Carrie’s carefully rehearsed words went straight out of her head.

  Though Lucas lacked less then two inches of being as tall as Baca, at one hundred and ninety-five pounds he should have looked almost puny next to a behemoth like Baca, but it was immediately apparent there was nothing insignificant about this man. His worn Levi’s clung tightly to well-muscled legs and thighs, his belt was cinched in tight over a flat stomach, but his shirt, open at the throat to expose a thin cover of brown hair on his chest, hung loose, giving his broad, heavily muscled shoulders room to move freely. His battered hat was still pulled down over most of his face, but Carrie could see a firm jaw and thin lips in a tanned face. He gave the impression of quiet, almost insolent power, an impression that was heightened by the lazy impudence of his voice.

  There was something about his presence that Carrie found reassuring. It didn’t matter that she had never seen him before or that he could have been one of the outlaws her father had warned her about when she told him of her decision to go west. She felt less alone than she had at any time since leaving St. Louis, and from what she had seen of Baca Riggins, the presence of any stranger who was not actively hostile was a blessing not to be spurned needlessly.

  “I’m coming,” Bap said, disgust apparent in his voice. “I don’t have time to talk anyway. What little food Baca does set out is greasy and tasteless, and the passengers will be back out in five minutes, hungry and anxious as hell to get to the next station.” He handed the reins of the used-up team to Lucas and started to back the new team into position.

  Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, Carrie had the eerie feeling this strange man was watching her, and that unnerved her. She didn’t know why she should notice him any more than the dozens of other strange men she had encountered in the last week. At least he wasn’t openly staring at her, and nearly everybody else had. She was petite, barely over five feet, and the rigors of the trip had reduced her to a wraith, but Carrie Simpson was a beautiful woman, and her appearance had caused a sensation at every stop since leaving St. Louis.

  Carrie’s wardrobe was exceptional by Western standards. Even though her family had suffered financially in the recent war, and in spite of the privations of the trip, which had been far greater than she expected, she had continued to dress with all the care and richness she had at home. Her dress, which rustled pleasantly when she moved, was made of a stiff green plaid taffeta with a billowed-out skirt supported by the crinoline she wore underneath. Her naturally slim waist was encased in a corset which lifted her bosom and thrust it forward in a most provocative manner. Her rich, chestnut brown hair was parted in the middle, gathered into a chignon, and held in place by several ivory combs. Her bonnet was decorated with flowers and bows inside the brim and tied under her chin with a wide green ribbon. Because of the dimensions of her skirts, she had been allowed the entire side of the stagecoach for most of her journey while the male passengers squeezed into the seat opposite her, their discomfort allayed by the pleasure of looking at her.

  She was the kind of woman that usually caused men to scramble to their feet, to open doors for her, to help her down from carriages, to give her most anything she wanted, but this Lucas person didn’t act like she was anything out of the ordinary, and that piqued her vanity. She didn’t want Baca to admire her, and she was relieved when his spat with Bap caused him to turn his leering gaze away from her, but even though she ordinarily condemned staring as unpardonably rude, she was irritated that this Lucas person hadn’t even looked at her. He probably couldn’t tell her from any other female in the world.

  Carrie struggled to get her mind back on Baca Riggins. She was going to have to stop letting her thoughts wander or she’d never fire this man. And she had to do it now! Every minute she waited just made it harder. It also showed her up for a coward, and Carrie had never been able to abide cowardice in anyone, particularly herself. Things that had to be faced should be faced promptly and squarely. It was easier and quicker that way.

  “Mr. Riggins,” Carrie began, desperate to get the words out before her courage failed, “I’m Carrie Simpson, Mrs. Robert Simpson, and I have a letter from the Overland Stage Company authorizing me to assume the running of this station in my husband’s name.”

  The three men stopped in their tracks, all three gazes riveted on Carrie. Suddenly, here in the dust and the squalor and the heat, she felt that none of her finery mattered, that she looked ridiculous, a figure of fun. She had no way of knowing that at least two of the men disagreed with her. Her rich clothes and creamy white skin might have seemed out of place on this rough stage road through the wilds of Colorado, but her golden-brown eyes and vibrant beauty would have been welcome anywhere.

  Looking into the angry, red eyes of Baca Riggins, Carrie knew her appearance would have no softening effect on him; he wasn’t going to quietly accept his dismissal and go away.

  “I must not have heard you right,” Baca growled, his voice alive with menace.

  “I said I have come to take over the station in my husband’s name,” Carrie repeated. “We should have arrived earlier, but Mr. Simpson was laid up with a serious illness and then had to wait for some equipment, so I decided to come ahead. I have a letter from the company headquarters in Denver. Actually you were dismissed as of three days ago.” Even though Baca’s face was black as thunder, Carrie felt much better now that the news was out.

  “Let me see that letter,” demanded Bap. He didn’t even take the time to hand the reins to Lucas, just dropped them in the dust. He scanned the letter quickly and then let out a whoop. “It’s about time. I said you’d get fired, you mangy cuss. Now maybe we can get something decent to eat around here.”

  “Nobody’s going to fire me,” Baca roared. “Not Duncan or anybody else.”

  “But you’ve already been fired, Mr. Riggins, and you’ve been replaced by my husband.”

  “I don’t see no husband,” Baca said, his expression more threatening than ever.

  “Nevertheless, I have one, and he will be here within a day or two. Please be so kind as to gather up all your personal belongings immediately. If you have nowhere to stay tonight, you may sleep over at the station, but I would prefer that you be gone by tomorrow.”

  “I ain’t leaving tomorrow or any other day.”

  “But you must. I have a letter—”

  “No letter can throw me off this place, and a little bitty thing like you can’t do it neither.”

  “You might as well go now, Baca,” Bap advised, making no attempt to conceal his happiness over the news. “You heard her say her husband would be here in a day or two. You’ll have to go then for sure. Wait till the rest of the boys hear this. They’ve been begging Duncan to get rid of you ever since you took over as a temporary?

  “I ain’t temporary, and I ain’t leaving. Not for no Mr. Simpson, and not for his woman.” Carrie could almost feel a tangible threat in Baca’s gaze.

  “You got no choice,” Bap said. “That letter gives her husband your job.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Baca tore the letter from Carrie’s grasp. It took him a little while to puzzle his way through all the words, but by the time he had finished, he no longer doubted he was out of a job, and blind rage shook his huge frame. With a roar that w
as more animal than human, he tore the letter into fragments and trampled them into the dust of the yard. The passengers, having eaten what food Baca had provided, were attracted by the commotion and began leaving the station.

  “Now you ain’t got no letter saying nothing, lady,” Baca said, the threat of violence in his voice, “so you get on that stage and go back to where you came from. And you can tell your husband to save himself the trouble to coming out here. I ain’t leaving for you, and I ain’t leaving for him neither.”

  For a moment Carrie was tempted to take his advice. Nothing about this trip had turned out the way she had planned. She didn’t have to look around to see the grime, the lonely isolation of the station, or to guess the foreign nature of the life she would lead here. Sitting in her comfortable home in Virginia, the trip west hadn’t seemed like much of a risk. She had assumed that things would be very different, but she had expected to have Robert at her side to depend on. Now here she was, alone and facing a man who was determined to defy her. Why didn’t she use her common sense and go home?

  Carried didn’t know why, but she found herself looking to the man called Lucas, and she encountered a questioning, measuring look in his eyes that caused her to turn away angrily. She at least had the satisfaction of knowing he was now really looking at her out of his silver-gray eyes, but his quizzical, almost mocking, glance proved an unwelcome shock to her pride, and her wavering resolve immediately stiffened.

  All her life she had made her own decisions, all her life she had been out of step with her family, and all her life she had promised herself that someday she would find a place where she would not be judged by the standards set by previous generations of a virtually closed community. Well, now she was in Colorado, about as far away from Virginia as she could get. And as far as she could tell, it was totally different from any kind of society she knew. This was her chance to begin anew, and if she let this contemptible excuse for a man drive her away now, she would never have any place she could call her own. Nor did she intend to allow this man called Lucas to continue to laugh at her.