The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride (17 page)

“All right,” she answered breathlessly. His body cradled hers, and a sharp ache unfurled inside her.

“What if I want you to talk?”

Her spine went rigid. She knew what he was going to say.

“Tell me what the other night was about. Why you were cursing Powell.”

She’d walked right into that. How could she refuse when he’d just shared something that brought up horrific memories for him?

“Ivy.”

He was the one holding her hand now, keeping her near when she was torn between moving closer or running. It wasn’t right to take so much from him without giving something of herself. But this felt like she was giving everything, completely baring herself emotionally.

And if she told him the truth, then what? It would likely squelch whatever was growing between them.

She swallowed hard. Emotions churning, she tugged her hand from his and turned away.

Behind her, he cursed, moving back.

He’d taken two steps when she finally said in a low voice, “I was glad when he was gone.”

“You feel guilty for that?”

She heard the scuff of his boots, felt him return. So close she could lean back into him if she wanted. “That’s not how a wife is supposed to feel.”

“Did you have a fight before he was thrown from the wagon? Did you have words?”

“Not exactly.”

Gideon’s big hand settled on her shoulder, his thumb making small circles on her upper arm. Despite his soothing touch, she couldn’t look at him.

“You were crying the other night. If you weren’t angry, you were hurt in some way. What did he do?”

She wanted to turn into the wide shelter of Gideon’s chest, but she didn’t deserve comfort. Not after what she’d done.

“Did he cheat on you?”

“No.” If he had, she wouldn’t feel so bad about what had happened.

Gideon went still, his voice rough with leashed fury. “Did he hit you?”

Something tight inside her cracked open. “He tried.”

“Damn.” The word was clipped, vicious.

“When Tom drank, he was mean.”

Despite the ferocity in his tone, Gideon gently smoothed both hands down her arms, embracing her from behind. “Josh said Tom started drinking after the war.”

She nodded. “One night when he was drunk, he became angry about something and took it out on me.”

Her husband had swung at her with his fist, which she’d managed to duck, but then he’d grabbed her arm, hard enough to leave a bruise. “Tug attacked him and he kicked the dog. Repeatedly.”

“That’s how Tug’s leg was broken,” Gideon said softly.

“Yes. Tom lunged at me, pulling my hair and trying to get his hands around my neck. I...”

The word stuck in her throat. She’d never confessed to anyone the whole truth of that night. She wasn’t sure she could do it now.

Gideon turned her to him. “Tom attacked you, then what?”

She didn’t think she could bear it if he looked at her with contempt, but she knew she had to tell him.

“I killed him.”

Chapter Ten

G
ideon’s eyes widened slightly. “You killed him.”

“Yes. I shoved him off the porch.” The words choked out of her. Her legs almost buckled from the sheer relief of finally saying it aloud. Tears filled her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands.

“Hey,” he said softly, pulling her into his chest. His big arms went around her, and she held on for dear life.

Her throat was tight with a combination of dread and uncertainty. What was he thinking? Had she done the right thing in telling him?

As the moment dragged out, her anxiety grew. She drew back a fraction, forced herself to examine his eyes for scorn, revulsion. There was only steadiness, acceptance in his blue eyes. “I’ve never told anyone before.”

“Not even Smith?”

“No. My family thinks Tom was killed because he was thrown from a wagon.” A breath shuddered out of her. “I let them think that.”

He held her to him with one arm; his other hand rubbed her back in soothing circles. He hadn’t withdrawn from her. Instead, he’d wrapped her up in his strength, his unshakable calm.

“It sounds like you acted in self-defense.”

“I could’ve run. Or held him at gunpoint until I could get away.”

“Did you have time to think?” The words rumbled deep in his chest.

“I just reacted.”

“Because you were threatened.” He tilted her chin up. “You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“I wasn’t sorry after it happened. I felt as if I’d been rewarded!” She brushed away the tears on her cheeks. “That’s not how a wife is supposed to feel.”

“It is if she’s been in danger from someone who’s supposed to protect her. Love her.” Gideon took her shoulders in his hands, holding her gaze. “Tom breaking his neck when you shoved him was an accident. It wasn’t premeditated. If you’d really wanted him dead, you would’ve shot him. You don’t miss with your gun.”

She’d never thought about it that way. It didn’t absolve her, but it did ease the guilt slightly.

She wiped at her damp eyes. “It feels good to tell someone. To tell
you.
”

There had been any number of times in the past several years that she could’ve confided in Meg or Smith or their parents. Yet she hadn’t.

For some reason, she’d shared her secret with Gideon. Telling him the truth made her feel as if she’d escaped a trap every bit as vicious as the one someone had set for her.

Here in his arms, she felt stronger. Her fingers slid gently down the side of his face. The hand at her waist tightened.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” he asked gruffly.

“For not condemning me. For not bolting. For not dismissing it.”

“No one would find fault with what you had to do.”

“Some would.”

“Not someone who’s been threatened. Not me.” He looked so fierce, so protective that she almost smiled.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she lightly grazed his lower lip with one finger. His eyes darkened.

She’d thought about that missed kiss for a week. And every day she had regretted not doing it when she’d had the chance. She wasn’t going to miss this one.

Rolling up on tiptoe, she rested a hand on his chest. His heart thumped steady and reassuring beneath her touch.

He stilled. “Ivy?”

“I wish I’d kissed you the other night.”

Desire flared in his eyes, but he didn’t pull her closer, didn’t lean toward her. He gave her no encouragement at all.

Moving her palm to his strong, corded neck, she tried to bring him to her. He wouldn’t budge. She let out an exasperated breath and threw back his words of the other night. “You said you wouldn’t put up a fight.”

He went hard against her, his entire body. This time, when she tugged at him, he dipped his head to meet hers.

A voice in the back of her head sounded a warning, but her need was stronger. This man touched her deep inside where no other ever had. She felt a bond with him, a completely unexpected bond. She needed more of that connection.

Their mouths touched, and a sudden near desperation filled her. She wanted another slow, thorough kiss like the one he’d given her at their wedding, but that wasn’t what she got. This one was demanding and deep, hungry. And every bit as devastating as their first one.

A simmering mix of relief, longing, hunger swept through her. A burning urgency to be as close to him as a woman could be to a man.

He filled this emptiness inside her, the hollow ache of loss that she’d carried even when Tom was alive. The only thing she cared about was being close to Gideon, satisfying the fiery itch in her blood.

She wanted him. All of him.
Now.

He slanted his head at a different angle, moved his mouth from hers to her cheek, then nipped lightly at her earlobe.

She shivered. It was a good thing he was holding her because the starch went right out of her, and her legs nearly gave. She clutched him tighter.

His breathing ragged, Gideon pulled away. “You’re goin’ to my head. We’d better stop.”

“No.”

“Ivy?” His voice was hoarse, his muscles drawn taut with restraint.

She didn’t want restraint. “I want you,” she whispered.

Desire sharpened his features, then a pained expression crossed his face. “You gotta be sure.”

She had confessed her deepest, most awful secret to him. She wanted to share all of herself. Going up on tiptoe, she nipped at his lower lip then pressed light kisses along the scar on his jaw.

That got him moving. He swung her up in his arms, and by the time they reached her bedroom, he had her bodice undone. The glide of his hot mouth down her neck only fueled her impatience to feel his naked flesh against hers.

He laid her on top of the blue star quilt, pushing her blouse off. Her skirt and petticoats followed, falling to the floor along with her drawers. His callused hand moved between her legs, and he gently slipped one finger into her silky heat.

Arching against him, she tugged his shirt over his head.

When she touched the hot, supple skin of his chest, he froze.

Her finger traced a web of scars beneath the dark hair on his chest. The wounds were barely visible in the shadowy light. “Is this okay?” she whispered.

He gave a sharp nod, ridding her of shoes and stockings. She ran her hands over granite-hard shoulders, palms skimming ragged patches of flesh. Each stroke had her heart aching.

His mouth skimmed down her throat, moved to her breasts as he tugged the ribbon of her chemise and anchored her to him so he could shove off the undergarment.

When she lay there without a stitch, his gaze locked on her with an awe and appreciation that sent a rush of heat through her entire body.

“I’ve never seen anything like you in all my born days,” he breathed reverently. His eyes were hot with a raw need she’d never seen in another man.

She kissed him again, fumbling with the button on his trousers. He shucked off his boots and socks then his pants. He came down on top of her, his hair-roughened legs nudging hers wider. His big hands glided up her sides to cup her breasts, his thumbs teasing her tight nipples before he put his mouth on her.

Sliding her arms around his hard shoulders, she moved beneath him, unable to help the plea in her voice. “Gideon, don’t wait.”

He lifted his head, his chest heaving against hers. His skin was sheened with sweat and shadow.

His clean male scent had her nuzzling his neck. “Now.”

Staring into her eyes, he smoothed her hair back and slid inside. She cried out at finally connecting with him, the moment unexpectedly poignant. His eyes blazed with such naked emotion that her chest tightened. Something huge and scary rolled through her, and for an instant she felt emotionally raw, completely vulnerable.

Then her body took over. They moved together in a blur of heat and pleasure. She held on tight as Gideon drove her up a dizzying peak. Her hips met every stroke of his body. He possessed her, silently demanding she surrender every bit of herself. It sent her over the edge and he joined her, his muscles bunching beneath her hands.

He collapsed against her, his face buried in her hair. At some point, he had unraveled her chignon. She hadn’t even noticed.

He rolled to his back and brought her on top of him. His heart beat heavy and quick beneath her, slowing as they lay together.

Gideon kissed her shoulder. “That was somethin’.”

There was no complaint in his drowsy voice. She certainly had none. She had never known marital relations could be like that. Exciting, yes. Consuming, almost frightening? No.

She eased away slightly, looking up when he didn’t protest. He was already asleep. His clean soap scent teased the air. Out back, a cow bawled. Down the hall, she could hear the pup’s snuffling snores.

She tried to quiet her mind, but she couldn’t. Making love to Gideon had been more than she’d imagined. More delicious, more intense, more...disconcerting.

The entire time he had kept his gaze on her, and she had been unable to look away. He seemed to see all of her, and he wanted everything. It scared the daylights out of her.

Not only had she seen desire in his blue eyes, but also tenderness and what she feared was love. Love would ruin everything.

She had reached out to him on impulse. Though she wasn’t sorry for it, she was on the edge of a risk she didn’t want to take. Ivy had shared her entire self with Gideon, but had he done the same? She had no idea.

Trusting another man completely, wholly? She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let herself be caught in that quicksand again. No matter how much she might wish things were different.

* * *

When Gideon woke the next morning, he lay there enjoying the feel of his wife against him. In the hazy state between asleep and awake, he drowsily savored the softness of her sleek curves. Her hair, an inky curtain of silk between them, tickled his chest. The scent of their loving mingled with a subtle whiff of magnolia from Ivy’s skin.

She lay quietly, snuggled into him. After her initial reference to his scars, she hadn’t mentioned them again. She hadn’t seemed bothered by them, either. Then again, their lovemaking had been fast, urgent, more so than he had wanted, but it did mean she hadn’t dwelled on the vicious marks on his body.

The mattress gave a little, and she slipped out of bed, waking him fully. He opened his eyes in time to see her drawing on her blue wrapper. He propped himself up on one arm, admiring one bare shoulder and the gorgeous fall of her hair.

“Morning,” he said.

“Oh!” She jumped, turning with a sheepish smile. “You startled me.”

“Sorry.” He glanced at the watery sunlight creeping under the oilskin shade. “Do you have to get up so early today?”

“Laundry day.” She threw him a quick smile, belting her wrapper.

He itched to turn her right around and unwrap her. Sitting up instead, he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, reaching for his trousers. They were half-hidden under the bed.

He snagged them and pulled them on as he stood.

“Oh,” she breathed behind him.

He tensed. Was she looking at his scars? When he turned, she quickly shifted her attention, but he felt the heat of her gaze. What he saw there was appreciation, not revulsion or disgust.

If he thought he stood a chance, he’d toss her back on that bed, but he could tell she was ready to get moving.

He buttoned his trousers then tugged his shirt over his head. “I’ll see to the livestock and come back in to help you with whatever you need.”

“Thank you.”

He moved around to her side of the bed for his socks and boots. She ducked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area. As he finished dressing, he stared at the rumpled sheets on the bed.

He was smiling when he strode out of the bedroom and found her lighting a fire in the cookstove.

“Need me to bring in some water?”

He thought she hesitated briefly before nodding. “Yes, please.”

On his way past her, he stopped and stroked a finger down her cheek. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yes.” She offered a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

A sudden disquiet needled at him, and he didn’t know why. “Be right back.”

He jogged outside to the pump. Ivy appeared to be of the same mind about their marriage as he was. A sense of contentment rolled over him, a satisfaction he’d never experienced before.

After breakfast, he offered to help her clean up, but she shooed him off. He made his morning check around the farm and the woods, glad to see there were still no signs of any trespassers. Though he wanted to believe there would be no more trouble, he wouldn’t bet on it.

Shortly following the noon meal, he made his way to the backyard, where Ivy was doing laundry. The pup trotted alongside him. His wife had changed into a gray day dress and was bent over a tub of water, scrubbing at a garment on the washboard. Her bodice pulled taut across her back, outlining her slim waist.

She had braided her hair and coiled it into a low chignon, exposing her elegant neck. Gideon could still feel the velvety softness of her skin. Remembered that she tasted like sweet cream.

She rinsed what he now saw was one of his shirts. The dog raced up to her with a happy yip. He closed the distance between them, his boots making no sound on the grass.

“You need any help?”

Ivy jumped, frowning at him as she wrung out the garment. “This is the last of the wash.”

“I can hang it for you.”

She seemed to hesitate before giving the damp shirt to him. After draping it over the clothesline, he turned to find her struggling to tilt the kettle onto its side.

“Here.” He reached her in two steps and tipped the cast-iron pot over, draining out the water.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Anything else I can do?”

“Not right now.”

“Okay.”

The dog stayed close to Ivy when Gideon returned to the barn and began to muck out the stalls. Less than an hour later, he saw her wrestling a rug from one of the guest rooms. It took some doing, but she managed to drape it over the porch railing then began to beat out the dirt and dust.

This time when he offered assistance, she refused. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she didn’t want help or anything else from him.