Walkers widow, p.28
Walker's Widow,
p.28
As the ceremony came to a close, Clayton was allowed to kiss his bride—which he did with utter abandon, giving no mind to the large group of witnesses surrounding them. Regan's cheeks glowed a rosy red when Clayton finally let her go, and they turned to face their wildly applauding neighbors for the first time as man and wife.
From there, the exuberant crowd moved down the street to the saloon where tables of food and drink had been set up for the guests. Always the perfect hostess, Martha bustled around making sure everyone's glasses were filled and that they tried the pecan pie. After all, it was her own special recipe and she'd made twelve of them; she intended to see them properly appreciated.
Not thirty minutes into the reception, Martha noticed a distinct absence. The bride and groom, it seemed, had disappeared. She considered getting her sister to help her search for them, then thought better of it. Clayton and Regan were young, full of life, and newly married. Let them run off and do what young, newly married couples did; there would be plenty of time later on to visit with friends and well-wishers.
Clay didn't take his hands or eyes off Regan as they made their way down the boardwalk toward the jail. He'd wanted to get away from the reception, get Regan alone, and walking down the street to visit his new office was the only thing he could think of—other than tossing her over his shoulder and hieing off to parts unknown.
He opened the door to the empty building and ushered his new wife in ahead of him.
His wife. Lord in heaven, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to that. Before coming to Purgatory, he'd never wanted a wife. Never thought there'd be room for one in his life as a Texas Ranger. Now here he was: town sheriff, husband, soon to be a father. And he'd never been happier.
Just the thought of Regan, just a glance in her direction, had his pulse picking up and his palms sweating like an untried boy.
He cleared his throat, shaking off his sudden nervousness. “What do you think?” he asked, closing the rough plank door behind them.
It wasn't her first time inside the office, but she acted as though it was. She took in the front jail cell, the scratched and stained desk, and the wall of Wanted posters lined up behind.
"I think you're going to look much better here than Jensen Graves ever did.” With her hand still linked with his, she turned to face him and stepped close, smiling. “You're going to make a wonderful sheriff. Purgatory is a very lucky town.” She lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the line of his jaw. “And I'm a very lucky woman."
Clay let his hands drift over her waist, coming to rest on the very slight swell of her belly where his child safely slept. “I'm the lucky one, sweetheart. I was a lonely, empty husk of a man before I met you."
She gave a low chuckle at his over-exaggeration. “You were a very attractive husk."
He shared her smile, then grew serious once again. “I don't know what I'd do without you, green eyes."
Her mouth moved to his, her arms winding up around his neck. “I'll do my best not to let you find out."
"Good,” he said with feeling, squeezing her tight. “I love you, Regan."
"I love you, too, Clay,” she whispered in return.
He kissed her hard and deep, bending her back over his arm as they shuffled step by awkward step across the worn floorboards.
They were both breathing heavily when they broke apart and it took him a minute to regain his equilibrium. “So, Mrs. Walker,” he managed finally. “Is there any chance I might interest you in a tour of the back room? I understand there's a cot back there."
"A cot,” she teased. “How romantic."
She was right ... a ratty old cot in the corner of a jail cell wasn't exactly the ideal spot to spend a wedding night—or afternoon, as the case may be. But damned if he wanted to take the time to find a better place to make love to his new bride.
"We could head home,” he offered. “Mother and Aunt Martha probably won't return for a few hours yet. Or we could run over to the hotel and see if anyone's there to give us a room."
"Clay.” She took his face between her hands, smoothing her thumbs over his rough cheeks.
"We've made love in a barn loft, in the woods, and in our bedroom with your mother across the hallway ... do you really think where we make love now matters to me?"
God knew it didn't matter to him; he'd take her anytime, anywhere. But she deserved better. “I just want you to have the best of everything. Always."
"I have the best of everything,” she said, kissing first one corner of his mouth and then the other. “I've got you."
Reaching behind her, she opened the door that led to the back of the office and took Clay's hand in her own. “Care to carry me over the threshold?"
Needing no further invitation, he swept her off her feet and into his arms. “Darlin', it would be my pleasure,” he drawled as they moved through the doorway and toward the rest of their lives together. Clayton Walker, ex-Texas Ranger, and his former-burglar bride.
Damn, sometimes life was sweet.
Heidi Betts, Walker's Widow
