A Stranger's Wife

by Maggie Osborne

Genres: Historical Fiction; Westerns; Victorian Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

Lily Dale is released early from prison under one condition: she must temporarily impersonate the wife of powerful gubernatorial candidate Quinn Westin. Lily is identical to Westin's runaway wife, Miriam. The transformation from convict to society woman goes smoothly and Quinn and Lily find themselves drawn to each other--for real. But as Lily discovers more about her "twin's" disappearance, she wonders if she can trust this man she can't seem to resist.

Release date: April 1, 2001

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 362

Sample

Not until Lily heard the iron gate clang shut behind her did she release the anxious breath she had been holding. Outside the high adobe walls, the air tasted cleaner, fresher, freer, just as she had believed it would.

Hurrying away from the hated gate, she scanned the barren horizon, watching heat waves shimmer above a sweep of short desert grasses broken only by the outstretched arms of giant saguaro cacti.

For five seemingly endless years, she’d been counting the minutes until she could leave this godforsaken wasteland. Now, she was finally free. Blinking at tears of relief, she thought about Rose as she had done every day since she had placed her infant daughter in the arms of her aunt before she stepped into the sheriff’s wagon. She’d wondered if she would ever see Rose again or hold her baby daughter. Now, thank God, it would happen.

“Here’s your satchel,” the warden said, dropping a worn and faded canvas bag near the hem of her skirt.

“Is that the stage?” she asked eagerly, shading her eyes and peering toward the road.

“The stage don’t come by here for another three hours.”

“Oh.” Well, she was used to disappointment. Turning, she spotted a bench near the hitching post. There wasn’t a scrap of nearby shade, but she didn’t care. She would luxuriate in the novelty of having absolutely nothing to do, would sit and daydream about going home to Missouri and her reunion with Rose. Picking up her satchel, light because she hadn’t accumulated anything during the last five years, she carried it to the bench and seated herself on the hot wooden boards.

The warden contemplated the spiral of dust approaching along the road. “There’s some things we got to talk about.”

“All I want to hear from you is good-bye.” Careful, she warned herself. He could drag her back inside the walls. Folding her hands in her lap, she lowered her head and examined his dusty boots. He wore the brown boots today, with the odd white spot near his left instep. She had spent countless hours speculating about what might have caused that white spot.

“I’d a sworn we beat that defiance outta you. Guess you still got some things to learn.” Leaning to one side, he spit in the sandy dirt. “That visitor we had about six weeks ago… His name is Paul Kazinski.”

Cutting her eyes to the left, she watched his spit drying in the October heat and remembered the man he mentioned. The visitor had spent almost an hour watching her wash sheets in the laundry yard. His attention had made her uncomfortable, and later, a dozen jealous slaps had paid her back for his interest.

“Mr. Kazinski has a proposition for you.”

Now she looked up and her eyes narrowed. “I ain’t interested in any propositions.” That she was sitting here outside the Yuma Women’s Prison proved she wasn’t lucky with men. Men had been her downfall, and she didn’t want anything to do with another one. She’d learned her lesson.

The warden’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not that kind of proposition. If Kazinski wanted a whore, he could buy the best there is. You think he wants a broken-down jailbird in his bed? You’re dreaming.”

There were things she could have said. She might have reminded him that he and his stinking guards had found her attractive enough. But she sat too close to the iron gate, and the stage wouldn’t arrive for three hours. She bit her lips, seethed, and said nothing.

“Are you listening, Lily? Kazinski is almost here.”

The visitor who had watched her was in the conveyance speeding toward the prison? “What does he want?” she asked, sitting up straight, alarm flaring in her eyes.

“He wants to talk to you, that’s all.”

But that was never all. Men always wanted something more.

“Who is he and why should I talk to him?” She didn’t want to waste time with Paul Kazinski or any other man. She just wanted to go home to her daughter. That’s all she had thought about for five long years.

The warden tilted back on his boot heels. “They call Kazinski the Kingmaker. He’s a big man in politics up in the Colorado Territory. Lately, he’s been touring prisons in the West, talking about reform.” Leaning, he spit again. “You owe him. If it wasn’t for Paul Kazinski, your butt would still be on the other side of the wall. He pulled some strings to get you out early.”

If Kazinski had arranged for her early release, then she was grateful. She was also worried. Not for a minute did she imagine that Kazinski had arranged her freedom from the goodness of his heart. Her hands twisted in her lap, and anxiety thinned her voice. “Why is he interested in me?”

“How would I know? Maybe he’s so deep into reform that all he wants is to help you begin a new life.” The warden’s expression indicated he didn’t believe this any more than Lily did. “All I know is I said you’d listen to his proposition.”

It didn’t surprise her that he had made a promise he expected her to keep. For the past five years Ephram Callihan had been the supreme deity in her life and in the lives of every woman behind the walls. On his whim additional food could appear on the mess plates or meals could shrink to bread and water. He decided how they would dress and how they wore their hair. They slept when he told them to and awoke on his schedule. His mood determined if and when they had a rest hour, if and when they could speak. He made the rules that governed their lives.

She had forgotten there might be men like Kazinski who could wield authority over the warden. Being reminded pleased her intensely.

“What if I refuse to talk to Mr. Kazinski?” With the Kingmaker’s carriage in sight, a bit of her old courage asserted itself, and she felt brave enough to display a flash of defiance.

His eyes narrowed in an expression she well knew, and she jerked back from the heat and the stink of him. “You’re released into Kazinski’s custody, and that means he owns you. It means he can dump you back here if he wants.”

Her heart stopped. “I’m going home to Missouri,” she said, trying to sound firm, her gaze fixed on the approaching coach.

“You’re going to do whatever Kazinski tells you to do.”

The carriage skidded onto the side road leading toward the walls and the gate. “Kazinski spent some political chips to get you out. He bought and paid for you, and don’t you forget it.” The warden stared down at her. Then he shouted at one of the guards to bring water for Mr. Kazinski’s horses, and he knocked his hat against his hip, shaking off the dust.

Damn it. She should have guessed it wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing had ever come easy. Lowering her eyes, Lily clasped her fingers together and worried about what was coming. Sun pounded the frayed hat she wore, penetrating the straw and heating her scalp. Sweat trickled down her sides, drying almost as rapidly as it soaked through the mended black jacket she wore over skirts that were a slightly different shade. A hundred years ago in a different lifetime she would have fretted about meeting a Kingmaker in her present state. All traces of vanity had disappeared long ago, but she was plenty worried about meeting this man.

She didn’t look up until she heard the coach stop in front of the hitching post, then it surprised her to discover a closed Rockaway and not an open gig. Heavy silk shades protected Kazinski from curious onlookers and against the heat and dust; a fine pair of matched blacks stood in the traces. The conveyance was as elegant as any Lily had seen.

The door opened before the driver could climb down to offer assistance, and an impeccably dressed man emerged. She thought he might be forty or so, younger than she had expected a Kingmaker to be. He was so immediately and completely in command of his surroundings that she didn’t at first realize how ordinary his features were. He was slightly below average in height, with dark hair and eyes, and broad cheeks that made her think of peasants tilling fields. But his confidence and obvious importance, the powerful way he moved and the cool authority in his eyes made her forget about peasants and think instead of feudal lords. People would not want to cross this man, and they wouldn’t forget him.

Ignoring the warden, Kazinski walked directly to the bench where she sat, and removed his hat. That simple act of unexpected politeness melted the coldness she had intended to show him, and a hot lump rose in her throat. It had been a long time since anyone had shown her a bit of courtesy.

He gazed at her for a full minute, studying her intently. “Miss Dale? My name is Paul Kazinski. I believe Mr. Callihan explained that you and I have some business to discuss.”

Unnerved by his frank scrutiny, she swallowed hard and strained to detect a hint of his intentions. Nothing came to her, indicating that he was skilled at concealing his thoughts and purpose. Those were probably good traits in a Kingmaker. Shrugging, hoping to hide her nervousness and appear indifferent, she said, “I’m listening.”

“It would be more comfortable to converse in private, don’t you agree?” Clearly their business did not include the warden, which pleased Lily. “May I offer you a ride?”

There was no real choice about accepting his offer, and she understood that, but she hesitated, pretending there was. Not until she saw him lift a questioning eyebrow toward Callihan did she reach for her satchel and stand. “I guess I wouldn’t mind a ride.” At least she wouldn’t be sitting here for three more hours worrying that Ephram Callihan would throw her back inside.

Immediately the driver hastened forward to take her satchel and drop the step in front of the coach door. It was hard to grasp that she would depart five years of squalor in such a splendid conveyance, difficult to wrap her mind around the contrasts. She stepped forward, then stopped and held herself rigid when she heard the warden call her name.

“You have paid your debt to society, Lily Dale, and you have a new life before you.” Callihan delivered a sermon worthy of a preacher, a speech Lily suspected was designed to impress Paul Kazinski more than herself. When he finally finished, she raised her head and looked him squarely in the eyes.

“I hope you die a painful death and burn for all eternity,” she said in a low, shaking voice. She’d waited five years to deliver her own speech, and she took great pleasure in watching a dark flush of fury and embarrassment turn Callihan’s cheeks florid. He would have backhanded her into the next territory, she knew, except the Kingmaker stood watching.

“I have a long memory, Lily.” Not taking his eyes off of her, he leaned forward and spit near her scuffed boots, spattering her hem.

“Go to hell, you bastard,” she said before she shook her skirts and climbed into the carriage. She hoped someone made him pay for his brutality and for all the beatings she had endured. One thing was certain. She would die rather than return to the Yuma Women’s Prison.

The interior of the carriage was dim, perhaps a degree or two cooler than the desert heat outside. But it was the upholstery she noticed first, sinking into the seat. Removing one glove, she pressed a hand against real velvet, gently stroking the nap back and forth and wishing the calluses on her palms would instantly vanish so she could better enjoy the sensation.

A sharp hiss of breath from the facing seat startled her and she jerked her head up. “Oh!”

At once she became aware of the scent of hair oil and barber’s cologne and a residue of cigar smoke. If the luxurious trappings had not distracted her, she would have noticed the other passenger immediately. The man stared at her, then hastily lifted a finger to his lips. Lily frowned, then nodded, inspecting him in silence.

His features were anything but ordinary, and he wasn’t dressed in business attire like Paul Kazinski. This man wore a Stetson, a leather vest over a white shirt, and handsomely tooled riding boots. Although he was younger than Kazinski and looked like a cowboy, Lily gazed into eyes the color of hard-polished pewter, and she understood he was as powerful a man as the Kingmaker. In fact, his request for silence suggested he was someone the warden might have recognized.

Although he continued to stare at her openly and rudely, he, too, removed his hat, revealing wavy dark hair sun-streaked with reddish highlights. He was tall, Lily guessed, judging by the length of his legs, broad-shouldered and lean. His face was square, strong jawed and clean-shaven; it looked like his nose had been broken at one time. His was a craggy, lived-in face that men would respect and women would find slightly dangerous and arresting.

She met his eyes and felt her face grow hot in the sudden realization that it had been a very long time since she had been with a man. Not that she wanted to be. She didn’t want any more men in her life. But this man’s rugged handsomeness sent a tiny frisson of electricity down her spine.

Mr. Kazinski entered the carriage then and fell heavily against the velvet upholstery. No one spoke until the coach had lurched forward and settled into a steady rate of speed.

“Well, Miss Dale, are you happy to be free?” Kazinski inspected her through the dust motes dancing between the seats.

“I ain’t in no mood for polite conversation,” she said, striving to give the impression that riding in a fancy coach with a Kingmaker didn’t intimidate her, that she wasn’t nervous and wary. “What do you want?” It puzzled her that Kazinski didn’t acknowledge the second man’s presence.

“For the moment, I’d like to hear your voice and how you speak.” Paul Kazinski smiled, as if trying to put her at ease. As if that would happen. “Would you care for a glass of lemonade?”

Now she noticed the basket at his feet. The thought of something wet and cool made her mouth seem drier, and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d tasted real lemonade, but she shook her head. She didn’t want to add to her indebtedness until she knew what this was about.

“Perhaps you’ll change your mind later.” Leaning back on the coach seat, Kazinski opened his collar, then placed his hat on the seat between himself and his silent companion. The other man continued to scrutinize Lily through narrowed grey eyes, making her acutely conscious of every small movement she made. “I believe you grew up on a farm in Missouri?”

“So?” As far as she knew, it wasn’t a crime to grow up in Missouri.

“If you would, Miss Dale, please elaborate on your answers.” Because for some strange reason they wanted to hear her speak. “How did you happen to come to the New Mexico Territory?”

“I expect you know.” The second man kept staring like she had two heads or something. Fidgeting, she shifted on the seat. “I think your cowboy friend might be ill.” His face seemed paler beneath his tanned jaw, and although he pressed his hands flat against his thighs, she noticed a tremble in his fingers.

“He’s not ill. I’d like to hear your story in your own words,” Kazinski said.

She wasn’t naive enough to suppose he’d arranged her release without knowing her history, but she owed him her freedom. If he wanted to hear her story now, she supposed she was obliged to tell it. “When I was eighteen I ran off with a man just home from the war. We drifted west.” It felt like a hundred years ago, something that had happened to a different person. She might have been reciting a story she had read or recalling a half-forgotten nightmare. “When that man went bad and went off to prison, I found another. Cy wasn’t much good either. When he couldn’t find work, he got into trouble just like Albie did.”

“And you along with him?”

“Eventually.” An expectant silence told her that he wouldn’t be satisfied with less than the whole sorry tale. “This last incident… well, Cy decided to rob one of the gambling halls in Tombstone, but his partner got sick.”

Then had come the talk, talk, talk that she hated. Cy wouldn’t wait for Charlie to recover from the fever, he said he could manage the job alone if Lily would help. All she had to do was dress like a man and hold a gun in her hand. Make it appear like she was covering him. He would never ask this of her again. He was only doing it for her, so he would have money to buy her and Rose some nice things, money to move on to another town. Eventually their luck would turn, but he had to do this one thing first, and she had to help him. Talk, talk, talk, until she was worn to a frazzle.

She shook her head, marveling that she had been stupid enough to finally agree. “Everything went wrong. The men in the hall jumped Cy, and in the melee the gun I was holding discharged. At the trial they said I tried to kill Mr. Small, but I didn’t even realize the pistol had fired. I just… if Mr. Small had died, they would have hanged me. They did hang Cy.”

“How old are you, Miss Dale?” Kazinski might have been discussing the weather for all the emotion in his tone. Her story and how she had ended in a women’s prison didn’t touch him.

“I turned twenty-eight last month.”

But she probably looked older. Five years of harsh summers and bitter desert winters had wreaked havoc with her complexion. Her hair was dry and lackluster, her eyes dull and tired. The lye soap used in the laundry had reddened her hands and chapped them raw. Finally, gaunt cheeks and a thin frame probably added years to her appearance. Lowering her head, she clenched her teeth and blinked hard, remembering once upon a time when she had cared about how she looked.

“You also have a daughter, is that correct?”

Drawing a breath, she turned to the subject dearest to her heart, feeling the usual painful twist of joy and sorrow. “Rose was three months old when I went to prison. She’s with my aunt in St. Joe, Missouri.” Lifting her head, she leveled a warning look on the Kingmaker. “Whatever you’re selling, mister, I ain’t buying. I’ve been waiting five years to see my baby girl, and there ain’t nothing going to keep me away from her. So I’m telling you right now. Whatever you want from me, the answer’s no. I ain’t got no time to waste.”

Finally, the unidentified man spoke. “Her voice is husky. It isn’t an exact match. We couldn’t hope for that, but it’s close.” He hadn’t looked away from her since she entered the carriage. Reaching into his vest pocket, he withdrew a gold heart-shaped locket and tossed it in her lap. “Does this woman look familiar to you?”

Starting to lose patience, Lily lifted the locket, tested the weight of real gold in her palm, and wished they would get to the point of all this. With a sigh she opened the small clasp and glanced at a miniature portrait inside.

Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her fingers. “Well, son of a bitch!” She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Someone had painted a portrait of her. The artist had painted her heavier than she was and all gussied up, but it was her.

“She sees it, too,” Kazinski said, leaning against the upholstery with a satisfied smile.

“It’s uncanny,” the second man said, his gaze fixed on her face. “You’re enough like her that you could be twins.”

Then it wasn’t a portrait of her, but of someone else. Astonished, Lily lifted the locket to the light at the edges of the shade so she could examine the miniature in detail.

The woman’s hair had more yellow in it than Lily’s sun-bleached shade, but her hairline dipped into a widow’s peak just as hers did. The eyebrows were straight and feathery, like hers, but the eyes were the most remarkable similarity. The woman’s thick-lashed eyes were a shade of lavender-blue that Lily had never seen except in a mirror. If she gained thirty pounds and arranged her hair differently, she could easily be mistaken for this woman.

The peculiarity of it raised goose bumps on her arms. With a light shiver, she tossed the locket back to the second man, who watched her intently.

“Who is she?” she asked uneasily, shocked to discover there was someone else in the world who resembled her so exactly.

Paul Kazinski shifted to face his companion. “It’s up to you. We can go forward, or end it right here.”

It surprised her that after ignoring him, Kazinski now deferred to the cowboy. But this was no ordinary cowboy. He wore ruby-and-gold cuff links, and a ruby set in his belt buckle. His shirt was woven from fine Irish linen, and she suspected that his boots had cost more money than she’d seen in her lifetime.

He considered her for a long moment, staring until she felt her cheeks flush and she looked away. Then he leaned forward. “My name is Quinn Westin, and the woman in the portrait is my wife. Forgive me for staring, but looking at you is like looking at Miriam. The resemblance is stunning and shocking.”

His voice didn’t fit Lily’s idea of a cowboy either. He spoke with authority, in a full-throated baritone that vibrated with power and energy and a hint of anger.

“It’s her eyes,” Kazinski agreed, studying Lily intently. “That’s what gave me the idea.”

There it was, Lily thought, uneasily. Men hadn’t changed during the last five years. They still used women to further their interests, and as sure as the sun would set tonight, Mr. Kazinski’s idea involved using her in some way. Now the talk, talk, talk would begin in earnest.

But these men were too polished to begin with something as obvious as reminding her that she wouldn’t be out of prison if it weren’t for them. First, they would attempt to convince her that whatever they wanted was in her best interest. That’s how men induced women to ruin their lives.

“I’d rather have a whiskey, but if all you have is lemonade, I’ll take some now,” she said in a weary voice, leaning against the seat back and closing her eyes. “Then you gents can tell me how you want to use me and why I should be grateful to let you do it.” She cut a glance across both of them. “But if what you want involves a delay in me going home, then I ain’t going to agree.”

No one spoke until Mr. Kazinski placed a crystal tumbler in her hand and she had raised it to her lips. The sweet-and-sour lemonade slipped down her throat like ambrosia, and she had to struggle not to gulp the treat and beg for more.

Kazinski cleared his throat and opened his tie, preparing for the talk, talk, talk. “It’s true that we wish to use you, Miss Dale, but not as callously as you appear to assume. We wish to hire your services.”

There was the first dangled benefit. Undoubtedly they knew that she had just enough money to get to Missouri and not a penny more.

“I ain’t interested, mind you, but what kind of services are you looking to hire?” she asked suspiciously. She doubted they would have gone to all the trouble to arrange her freedom if they wanted to hire a housekeeper or a washwoman.

Mr. Kazinski rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his dark eyes intent on her face. “Do you recognize Mr. Westin’s name?”

“Should I?” She glanced at Quinn Westin who continued to regard her with a slightly stunned expression.

“Mr. Westin hopes to be the first elected governor of Colorado after the territory joins the union next May. The election will be held in April, six months from now, and Mr. Westin’s campaign is well under way. His chances of winning the governor’s race appear excellent.”

“I don’t know anything about politics except that politicians are always making speeches.” She thought of politicians as old men dressed in frock coats and top hats. Not hard-angled cowboys in their mid to late thirties. She tried to imagine Quinn Westin striding across a bunting-draped podium, speaking to an enthralled audience. Maybe the Kingmaker would insist that he dress differently for such an occasion. Or maybe she had the wrong idea about politics.

Regardless, she could imagine him capturing a crowd’s attention with his rich confident voice and intense eyes. From the moment she had first noticed him, his powerful presence had slightly overwhelmed her.

“So what does Mr. Westin’s ambitions have to do with me?”

“A candidate for governor must lead a circumspect life, Miss Dale. There can be no whiff of scandal or impropriety, do you understand? At this stage of the game, a candidate must be like Caesar’s wife, above suspicion. He must be cleaner than clean, the most noble beast in the jungle. After the election…” Kazinski shrugged. “But right now and during the next six months, unpleasant rumors or malicious gossip could destroy the promise of a brilliant political career.”

Her uneasiness increasing, Lily lowered the lemonade glass, waiting to learn what lay at the heart of this discussion and how it could possibly apply to her.

“My wife has disappeared,” Quinn Westin stated quietly, watching her as if unable to look away.

“I’m sure you grasp the difficulty,” Kazinski interjected. “How do we explain Mrs. Westin’s untimely disappearance?”

“Well, gents, this is merely a suggestion,” Lily commented, raising an eyebrow, “but have you considered saying Mrs. Westin has disappeared?”

The cowboy’s expression didn’t change, but Kazinski gave her a chilly smile. “Such an announcement would give rise to damaging speculation which ultimately would destroy all the effort that’s gone into positioning Mr. Westin as a viable candidate.”

“If it’s that important, then you should find your wife,” she said to Westin. “Where did she go?”

“That isn’t your concern.” Dark brows came together, and she watched his hands curl into fists.

Suddenly, Lily grasped their intentions, an idea so startling that she almost dropped the crystal glass. “Good Lord. Are you suggesting that I…”

“Of course that’s what we’re suggesting, Miss Dale. We want to hire you to impersonate Mrs. Westin.”

She stared in disbelief. “That’s crazy. I ain’t going to do something lunatic like that. I’m going home.”

Kazinski waved aside her protest. “We only require seven months of your time. Once Mr. Westin has won the election, we’ll release an announcement stating the sad news that Mrs. Westin’s consumption has returned, and she must leave at once for Santa Fe to recuperate. Shortly thereafter, we’ll announce that she succumbed to the disease.”

“Seven months? Never!”

“For appearances’ sake, we’d prefer that you remain in position for a month after the election.”

“No!” She shook her head hard enough that her hat tilted to one side. “When I went to prison, my Rose was a baby. She’s five years old now, and she doesn’t remember her mama.” Her voice shook with emotion. “You’ll have to find someone else because I won’t wait another seven months to be with my baby!”

“Yes, you will, Miss Dale.” Kazinski’s dark eyes went flat. “First of all, there is no one else, not with your eyes. Secondly, perhaps this is the moment to mention that you have a provisional pardon. Do you understand what that means? It means we can return you to the Yuma Women’s Prison at our discretion. Think about that, Miss Dale.”

“You sons a bitches,” she said softly, striking the upholstered seat with a gloved fist.

Quinn Westin turned his face toward the window, but Kazinski met her furious stare head-on.

“Would you rather wait seven months to be reunited with your daughter… or serve out the remainder of your term and wait another five years?”

Fighting to control the helplessness and fury burning in her chest, Lily made herself think. Anger wouldn’t help, it never did, but reason might. “This plan ain’t going to work,” she said finally, struggling to keep her voice even.

“And why is that?” Kazinski inquired, as if he were genuinely interested in her opinion.

“I look like your wife,” she admitted to Westin. “But we ain’t the same person. No one will believe I’m her.”

“It will take some work on your part,” Quinn agreed. He was still frowning, and squinted at her through narrowed eyes. “But I’m starting to think it’s possible.”

Kazinski nodded. “With your hair arranged differently and decent clothing… when the sun damage fades and some attention is paid to your skin… Right now you’re as thin as a candlewick. Once you gain a little weight, the resemblance will be even more amazing. And we’ll work on your speech and mannerisms. At the moment, the public believes Mrs. Westin is in seclusion battling consumption. People expect changes after a long, debilitating illness.”

“I can read and write, and I speak fairly well because the aunt who raised me is a schoolteacher. But I ain’t what you would call educated.” She gazed at both of them, anger burning in her eyes. How could they imagine she would be willing to give up seven months of her life to further a stranger’s ambit. . .