Free Wedding Night With the Ranger by Lauri Robinson Page A

and marched to the door beside him. To her credit it only took a moment before she seethed, “I may have married you this morning, but I’ll never be your dear wife .”
    A twist of her shoulders tried to release his hold, but it didn’t work. He tightened his grasp and kept up with her strutting steps as the swinging doors clattered behind them. They crossed the boardwalk but paused before stepping into the street.
    Two boys, no more than half-a-dozen years or so, tussled in the dry dirt. A swirling cloud of dust obscured their scuffling bodies. Angry grunts and shouts were muffled as they rolled, arms and legs intertwined.
    Colt didn’t want to release his hold on Annalee in case she bolted, but he really had no choice as the two youngsters could easily get run over by one of the wagons rolling up and down Front Street. Besides, the distraction might assist in relieving some pressure from his groin. It felt as if the front seam of his britches was ready to burst and spring his throbbing manhood for all of Dodge to see.
    As his hand slipped from her arm, he held up one finger, silently asking her to stay put. Praying she wouldn’t take off for parts unknown, he stepped into the street.
    “Hey there, partners,” he said, trying to snatch the back of one of the boys’ shirts.
    The child, slithering about like a baby bull snake, slipped right out of his grasp. Colt set the gun on the ground and took a step closer, to where he could grab both boys. Catching one by the shirt collar, and the other by the waistband of his britches, he pulled the two apart. “Come on, fellas, break it up,” he said, lifting them until their bare toes dangled above the ground.
    The cloud of dust slowly settled, exposing two dirt-smeared and freckled faces. He recognized one as Mort Tyler, the blacksmith’s, son, but the other one he didn’t know. Lowering their feet to the ground, but still holding on to them, he asked, “What’s all the ruckus about?”
    “I saw it first—” Mort’s son started.
    “But I’s the one who got it!” the other interrupted.
    “Saw what? Got what?” Colt asked, shifting a steady gaze between the two of them.
    The unknown child opened a grubby hand. Lying in the dirt was the faint image of a penny.
    Colt let out a low whistle, as if enamored with the money. “Quite the find,” he said, letting his grip on both boys relax. He knelt down to more closely examine the palm. “A treasure indeed.”
    “It’s just a penny,” Mort’s son offered, trying to sound indifferent.
    Colt hid a smile. “No, that’s not just any penny.” He shook his head. “Nope, that there’s the exact kind I’ve been looking for.”
    Their little faces scrunched with frowns. “It is?” the penny holder asked.
    “What you needin’ a penny for?” Mort’s son asked.
    “Well, you see, Miss Sapp and I were married this morning—”
    “We know,” Mort’s son interrupted. “My ma said it was about time someone married her, afore Rev—”
    “And,” Colt interjected before the child could continue, “a penny just like that is what I’ve been looking for to give her as a wedding gift.”
    It appeared Mort’s son was as gruff as his father. “A penny ain’t much of a gift,” he scoffed.
    “But this isn’t just a penny,” Colt said, picking the coin out of the other boy’s hand. “This here is a found penny. That means it’s full of luck.”
    “It is?” the other boy asked, eyes agog.
    “Yup,” Colt said, and dug his other hand into his pocket. “How about I make a trade with you boys?”
    “What sort of trade?” Mort’s kid wanted to know, somewhat skeptic.
    Colt held out two dimes. “I’ll trade this here penny for two dimes. One for each of you.”
    Their faces lit up like the flame of a struck match head. “Two dimes for one penny?” the original penny holder asked.
    “That’s a lot of money for a penny.” Mort’s son stated, folding his arms. “What ain’t you telling us?”
    A tiny