The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride (14 page)

Beside him, she clasped her hands in her lap. After a moment, she gripped the seat, then fiddled with her skirts. She sure was fidgety. Nerves? Or misgivings?

His knee bumped hers as they rolled home. When she shifted again on the seat, he glanced over. “Are you having second thoughts about the wedding?”

“No, none.” Her gaze met his, her midnight eyes earnest. “If I gave that impression, I didn’t mean to.”

He could still see her ambivalent expression at the restaurant. “I heard part of your conversation with Miz Farrell.”

“You did?”

“About why you were set against marrying again.”

She stiffened. “What did you hear?”

“Are you afraid you can’t feel for another man what you felt for Tom?”

“I hope I never feel that again,” she said fiercely before looking out over the rolling landscape.

He got the impression she wasn’t talking about love. He wanted her to tell him more, but after a long moment, he realized she wouldn’t.

She wasn’t ready to tell him. She might never be. Something had happened between her and Powell, and Gideon wanted to know what. For now, he gritted his teeth and let it be.

They reached the farm about ten minutes later. Gideon reined up in front of the gate and jumped out of the wagon to help Ivy. He clamped his hands around her waist and lifted her from the seat, setting her on her feet.

The evening sunlight gave her velvety skin a golden hue. Her bodice sleeked over full breasts then nipped in at a waist he knew he could easily span with his hands. Despite her dainty frame, he knew she was stronger than she looked.

Her hands rested on his forearms as she stared up at him. If he bent his head, he could kiss her again. And for just a split second, her eyes said she would let him.

Then she pulled away and stepped around him, jittery as a spooked horse.

“Wait.” From the wagon seat, he took the cake and gave it to her.

He didn’t know much more about her first husband now than he’d known before he’d asked, except that she went skittish whenever anyone brought up the subject.

Ivy started through the gate.

“I’ll unhitch the wagon and take care of the horses.”

“Oh.” She turned, looking sheepish. “I can help. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No need. I can do it.”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. He’d never seen her do that. What was bothering her? Was it him? She was certainly ready to get away from him. He should probably leave it be, but he couldn’t.

“Hey,” he said softly, “are you worried about something? Is it me? I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.”

“I know that. I’m just tired, I guess. Thank you again for today. Not just for...helping me get the loan, but for all of it.”

“You’re welcome.” Her practical dress gloved her lithe curves.

He watched the sway of her hips as she made her way up the front walk to the porch. Hard want thrummed in his blood, but that wasn’t all he felt. Again there was that odd weakness in his chest. Damn, he wanted her.

The only reason she had married him was to save this place. He’d almost forgotten that earlier when their kiss had knocked the sense clean out of him. But he had his wits now.

This union was still business to her, but not to Gideon. She didn’t belong to him, not yet, but that was what Gideon wanted. And he wanted her to come to him. Which meant he would have to let her decide if she wanted more from their marriage. He hoped the waiting didn’t kill him first.

* * *

She couldn’t say anything else about Tom. After Gideon had asked her about what he’d overheard at supper, a tight pressure banded her chest. The knot on her head began to ache.

She had wanted to tell someone ever since it happened, but not with this same burning need. It wasn’t only so she could selfishly unburden herself, but also because she felt she shouldn’t keep secrets from Gideon.

That made no sense because she knew he was keeping some of his own, specifically what had happened to him and her brother in prison, as well as what had caused him to commit murder in the first place. But she couldn’t tell him.

What if he reacted badly? There was no telling what he would do or say. That alone was enough of an uncertainty to keep her quiet. There was too much risk.

It was close to dark by the time she fetched Thunder from her crate and let her out the back door. Ivy waited to go inside the house until she saw the pup reach Gideon, who was coming out of the barn. He glanced down at the little dog trotting beside him and said something that had the animal’s tail wagging enthusiastically.

Ivy stored the remainder of the chocolate cake in the pie safe. After mixing bread dough, she set it aside in a covered bowl to rise for the next morning’s biscuits.

Gideon stepped into the house and put the pup down. Thunder rushed across the room to Ivy, and she leaned down to scratch the animal. Gideon closed the door, hanging his hat on the wall peg.

He watched her carefully. “I checked the woods. No one’s been here. The branch hasn’t been broken.”

“Good.”

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been around the house, barn or chicken coop, either.”

She nodded, relieved. As long as their absence had been today, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Gideon had found more unidentifiable boot prints. Thank goodness he hadn’t seen any signs of a visitor.

Ever since she’d blurted out what she had about Tom, her nerves had been raw. What if Gideon asked her more questions? What if she said something else?

She opened the cupboard and rearranged some plates she’d already stacked. Moved a covered butter dish from one shelf to another.

Gideon took a step toward her. “Anything I can do to help?”

“No. I’m tidying up.” She gave him a bright smile. “I just finished the dough for tomorrow’s biscuits.”

It had been a long day—Jumper coming for his horses, learning her parents couldn’t help financially and marrying Gideon. He’d been steady and calm, and she’d enjoyed their supper at The Wildflower. Until Meg had brought up Tom. And Gideon had followed suit.

She had to be careful. Gideon hadn’t asked her anything else about Tom, but Ivy was afraid he might.

Exhausted and on edge, she closed the cupboard. “I’m going to turn in. Do you need anything?”

“No.” He gestured toward the bedroll he’d stowed in the corner beside the fireplace. “My bed’s ready whenever I am.”

“You should sleep in one of the guest rooms.”

“I feel better if I stay out here.”

She tried to smile, feeling as if the walls were closing in. “Shall I put the dog back in the crate?”

“No. She can stay up with me for a while, and I’ll take her out again before I hit the hay.”

“Thank you.”

She walked to her bedroom, acutely aware of his gaze on her. “Ivy?”

Putting a hand on the door frame, she looked over her shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re okay? That you ain’t bothered by somethin’?”

“I’m just tired.”

He was plainly skeptical, but he didn’t push. She didn’t want him to think he was the cause of her unease. Her gaze met his. “Gideon, everything you’ve done has been wonderful and much appreciated. I really don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.”

“You’re welcome.” A muscle worked in his jaw, and he looked as if he were fighting the urge to say something.
Do
something. Was it about Tom?

Ivy didn’t want to find out. “Well, good night, then.”

“Good night.” His deep voice stroked over her, somehow soothing and arousing at the same time.

She slipped inside her room and shut the door, standing there for a moment with her head against the wood. He hadn’t asked, thank goodness.

It was a wonder she hadn’t blurted out something else.

Frustration and dread had risen steadily inside her since Gideon had asked her about Tom. She didn’t want to think about her late husband, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

How relieved and giddy she’d been when the war ended and he’d come home. She’d looked forward to starting their married life, which had barely begun when it had been interrupted by the fighting. But Tom hadn’t been the same.

At first, it was nothing she could define, but as time passed, she realized he was changed. He wasn’t the man she thought she’d known, the man she thought she’d married.

Telling herself to stop thinking about him, she pushed away from the door and walked over to light the lamp on her bedside table. She took her pistol out from under her pillow, double-checked that it was loaded and laid it next to the lamp within easy reach. In short order, she undressed and slipped into a soft light blue nightgown.

Pulling back the quilt and sheet, she sank down on the edge of the mattress. Tom had been home barely a month when he began disappearing for hours at a time. If she asked him about it, he grew surly. Sometimes he even left again.

She had told herself he just needed time. That she had no idea what horrors he’d seen on the battlefield, how he might have suffered. But his moods grew darker, and then he began to drink.

Head aching, tired to the bone, Ivy’s frustration boiled over, and she slid under the covers. Why did she have to think about him? No matter how she tried, she couldn’t squelch the flood of memories or the sharp-edged guilt.

When he was drunk, there was nothing of the man she’d married. He’d become short-tempered, grim and downright mean sometimes. After a while, she began to keep her distance, but the night he’d died, she hadn’t been able to, and she would always pay for that choice.

Giving herself a stern mental kick, she blew out the lamp, settled on her back and attempted to blank her mind. Moonlight streamed in through her window, and she stared up at the play of silvery shadows on the ceiling until she felt her body relax.

Her eyes closed, and she let out a big sigh. An image of Gideon flashed through her mind. How ruggedly compelling he’d looked at their wedding, the dark sapphire of his eyes. The way his mouth had felt against hers.

Suddenly, abruptly, that picture was fractured by an image of Tom and her on the front porch that night.

She forced away the memory and gradually relaxed until she hovered between sleep and wakefulness. Tom’s face floated in front of her, then his broken body. The night around them was heavy with summer heat and the scent of wildflowers, underlined by a hum of foreboding.

She felt the sharp slap of his hand against her face, the crack of her head against the wall. Tug growled, lunging for Tom; Tom kicked the dog, hard enough to break his leg.

“Damn you, Tom!”

The words snapped her fully awake. Before she could gather her thoughts, she became aware that someone was in her room. A huge masculine shadow loomed over her. She fumbled for her pistol and thumbed down the hammer.

“Whoa! Ivy, hold up!”

Gideon. She slowly sat up in bed, releasing the hammer and letting out a deep breath as she returned the gun to the bedside table.

“What the hell?” He sounded more confused than angry.

“Sorry.”

He stepped closer, into the moonlight, and she could see the alarm creasing his features. Shoulders rigid, his gaze searched the shadows and corners of her room.

“You startled me,” she said with a half laugh.

“
You
startled
me.
”

“What do you mean?”

“You yelled out in your sleep.”

She had? She realized then what had happened. She had cursed Tom, not waking fully until Gideon was in her room. “Did I wake up Thunder?”

“No.” His gaze locked on her face. “You were upset. Were you dreaming?”

“No.” Her hair had come loose from its braid, and she pushed the wisps out of her face.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

He was barefoot, his shirt untucked from his trousers. The four buttons of his placket were undone, and she could see the muscular plane of his chest and the dusting of dark hair there. Her pulse thudded hard.

“Ivy?”

“Yes.” She dragged her attention to his face. “I’m all right.”

“You don’t sound it. Something was wrong, still is.”

“No.”

He moved another step closer. Close enough for her to draw in his dark masculine scent. Close enough to touch if she’d had the courage. She fisted her hand against her leg.

His gaze moved over her slowly, heatedly, stripping her bare emotionally.

The tenderness in his eyes was almost her undoing. She wanted so badly to tell him her secret, but she couldn’t.

Even so, she wasn’t sure she could keep her mouth shut. He had to leave now. “I’d like to go back to sleep.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.” She eased back against the headboard, pulling the covers up to her chin.

Gideon didn’t move, just watched her with a piercing intensity that made her feel as if he knew the truth. But he didn’t. No one did.

Thoughts of Tom had bombarded her because of her conversation with Meg then Gideon. A deep, gnawing guilt pinched her gut. She’d managed many times to bury it, keep it inside, but beneath Gideon’s prolonged silence, Ivy felt her resolve crumble.

“Good night,” she finally said.

He reached toward her and very lightly brushed a knuckle against her cheek.

Her throat tightened. She wanted to grab his hand and hang on, fold herself into him, but she stayed still.

“You’ve been crying,” he said huskily, pulling his hand back.

“What?” She swiped at her face and forced a laugh that she could tell didn’t fool him. “No, I haven’t.”

Backing up, he stared at her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry for pulling the gun on you.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Guess I’d better be more careful in the future about startling you.”

She nodded, urging him silently to go, even though what she really wanted was for him to climb into bed with her and hold her.

He stepped out of her room and pulled the door partially shut. “I’ll be right out here.”

She nodded.

“I’m going to leave the door open a bit.”

“Okay.” She eased down onto her side and watched as he gave her a last once-over then disappeared from sight.