The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride (18 page)

Later that afternoon, when he saw her spreading fresh linens on the beds in the guest rooms, he decided to test his theory. This time, he didn’t ask. He just stepped into the room and moved to the opposite side of the bed, snagging a corner of the sheet she’d unfolded.

She frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

“But—”

“You don’t need help,” he finished drily. “I know.”

He tucked the linen in at the foot of the bed then smoothed it across the mattress before Ivy spread the quilt over it. When she moved to the next room, so did he.

“I really can do it myself.” Her voice was soft, even, but she wouldn’t look at him.

He finally understood. What she meant was that she
wanted
to do it herself. He studied her for a moment. Her gray dress was wrinkled, and wisps of hair, damp from perspiration, curled around her face. Her features were drawn, weary.

Maybe she was just tired. She’d been working since sunrise. No lingering in bed for her, even though he hadn’t seen the harm.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He moved around the bed and out into the hall, seeing the pup curled up asleep under the dining table. What was going on with Ivy? Gideon wondered.

All day, she had stayed close to the house, been careful not to touch him if he were nearby. If the dadgum woman had let him help today, even just once, maybe she wouldn’t be so tired.

As he entered the front room, he spied the platter of fried chicken covered with a white cloth. Covered dishes of beets, bread and cake shared space on the table.

They could have a picnic down by the river. That would get Ivy away for a bit, and she wouldn’t have to worry about the dishes.

After gathering the food, he started past the dry sink, aiming for the root cellar and a jar of pickles.

“What are you doing?” Ivy asked behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder. “I thought we could take a picnic to the river. There are plenty of leftovers from lunch.”

“We can eat here.”

Frowning, he turned. “Everything’s ready, and you won’t have to worry about cleanup.”

She threw a longing glance at the meal he’d put together. Good, he thought. She wanted to do it.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“What? Why not?”

“We can just eat here.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She angled her chin at him. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Not a good idea? What the hell? “I thought it would be nice.”

“It would.”

“Then what’s the problem?” He stilled as a thought streaked through his mind. She’d avoided him today whenever possible. “You don’t want to be alone with me.”

“I never said that.”

“You’re not saying anything,” he growled, shoving a hand through his hair. “Do you think I’m going to try to get you out of your clothes?”

She colored, her gaze skittering away.

She did! The idea sounded good to him, but even a half-wit could see she didn’t agree.

Was she embarrassed because they’d been intimate? Surely not. She wasn’t a virgin.

It was something else. Something to do with him, but what? It had never mattered much to Gideon that he couldn’t fathom a woman’s mind, but it sure would come in handy right now.

She was withdrawn, aloof, acting as if he hadn’t seen and touched every inch of her body. And
that
was the problem, he realized with a flash of anger. “You regret that we consummated our marriage.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I asked you straight out if you were sure you wanted to be with me, and you said yes.”

“That’s right. I did.”

“So tell me why you don’t want me around today.”

“I didn’t mean to cause a fuss. Your idea of a picnic is good. Let’s go.”

“No. I want to know what’s going on.” He folded his arms across his chest and stared her down. “Why are you pulling away? Acting like last night never should’ve happened?”

It wasn’t because of his scars. She hadn’t recoiled from those at all. “Answer me,” he said. “Are you sorry about last night?”

After a long moment, she said, “We probably shouldn’t do it again.”

That caught him right in the gut. “Why the hell not?”

“I haven’t changed my mind about having a husband, staying married.”

“We’re good together.” When she blushed, he shook his head. “Not just that way.”

“It’s not you.” Her voice cracked.

He stepped toward her. “It’s Tom. You haven’t told me everything.”

“You won’t understand.”

“I want to.”

She studied him for a long moment.

“He changed after we married.”

“How? In what way?”

“He became lazy, barely helped around here. Blamed me when things went wrong. I thought I was marrying a man who wanted to be my partner.”

“Instead, he wanted you to take care of him.”

“I could’ve dealt with that.”

“Then what?”

“He was always opposed to liquor, but after the war, he couldn’t get enough.”

As gently as he could, Gideon said, “Honey, a lot of soldiers turned to drink. Things we saw, the things some men had to do were just too much. Sometimes liquor is the only thing that will dim those images.”

“I know that. And I hate what he suffered, what all of you suffered, but Tom was vehemently opposed to alcohol. Both of his parents were drunks. Their negligence caused the death of his sister. Tom swore he would never drink, but he did.”

“When he started, he couldn’t stop?”

“That’s right. And he became mean, violent. After a while, I didn’t know him at all.”

“Is that what you think about me?” Gideon struggled to understand. “That I’m hiding my true self?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the problem. I don’t trust—”

“You don’t trust me? What have I done to make you feel that way?”

“It isn’t you. I don’t trust any man. That’s not fair, but it’s the truth.”

His frustration ebbed. She needed reassurance. That was all. He closed the distance between them. “There are no surprises I can spring on you. You know
everything
about me.”

“That’s not true.”

He went still inside.

“I know you went to prison for killing a man, but I don’t know why you killed him.”

“You know I did it, though. Why does the reason matter?”

“Because you know every single thing about me. You know why I killed Tom.”

His skin felt too small. So did the house. How had they gotten on this topic? “Ivy, the point is, you know the worst thing about me.”

“I thought I knew Tom, too.”

I’m not him!
Gideon bit back the words. As much as he didn’t want to share this story, he was going to. Considering what she’d just told him about her late husband and her desire to know everything about Gideon, he didn’t want her to think he was hiding anything.

“All right, then.”

A sudden heavy rustling noise erupted outside, startling them both. Thunder jumped up and faced the door, growling. Something struck a piece of wood with a sharp hammerlike
thwap.

Gideon’s gaze shot to Ivy’s.

“Someone’s out there,” they said together.

Chapter Eleven

D
rawing his gun, Gideon started for the back door. “Stay here.”

“I can help—”

“No.” His voice was harsh, but he didn’t care. Not when they were talking about her safety. “It might be the same person who hit you on the back of the head.”

Though she looked as if she would protest, she nodded. “All right, but I’m getting my gun.”

He quietly opened the door and slipped outside, working his way up the side of the house. A swarm of squawking birds flew from the direction of the woods fronting Ivy’s house. That explained the rustling noise they’d heard. In the corral, the horses jostled each other, crowding against the gate. One or more of them must have kicked the slatted walls in their earlier panic.

Gideon scanned the area around the barn, then the front yard. His gaze shifted to the woods. Was whatever had disturbed the animals still in those trees? The birds and horses had settled, but unease still hummed at the base of his spine.

He started for the woods then decided he should tell Ivy what he was doing. He turned back toward the house. A gunshot cracked the air.

Gideon pivoted just as a bullet slammed into his left shoulder. Searing pain blazed through him. From the house, he heard Ivy scream. The pup barked frantically. The birds burst into flight again.

Scrambling for cover, he skidded toward the far corner of the corral. The horses shied, bumping and pushing at each other. Cows bawled from the pasture.

The shot had definitely come from the woods. Where was the bastard? Gideon scanned the trees then squeezed the trigger on his own weapon, trying to draw fire so he could determine the shooter’s position. There was no return round.

His upper arm burned like blue blazes. Blood plastered his sleeve to his skin. It was pure luck that he’d turned toward the house. If he hadn’t, he would’ve been hit dead center in the chest.

He pulled the trigger a second time. Again, no answering gunfire. Suddenly he felt a slight vibration in the ground, then heard the pounding of hooves heading away from the house.

Was the shooter leaving? There had been only one gunshot, and it had come from one place. A single shooter? Just as Gideon decided the gunman was gone and eased down against the corral post, he saw Ivy racing toward him.

His heart jumped to his throat. There had been no more shooting, but Gideon didn’t care.

When she reached him, he grabbed a handful of skirts, yanking her to the ground.

“Get down, woman!” Cold sweat slicked his palms as anger and fear nearly choked him. “I told you to stay inside.”

“I saw you’d been hit!”

“You could’ve been, too.”

“Whoever it was rode off.”

He peered through the last of the sun’s rays and saw no movement. Heard nothing. The surrounding area was quiet, and he was fairly certain the shooter was gone. Still, it didn’t steady his stuttering heartbeat. “You shouldn’t have come out here.”

“I had to.” Her eyes, stormy with worry, searched his. “I knew there was a possibility you could get hurt if we were somewhere together, but I never thought they would target you.”

Distracted by the agony clawing through his arm, Gideon hadn’t gotten that far in his mind yet, but she was right.

A look of horror crossed her face. “They tried to kill you because we’re married.”

* * *

Ivy didn’t think she took a full breath until the front door was closed and Gideon was seated at the dining table. Leaving the shade down, she moved the lamp in the center of the table toward him.

He had a hand clamped to his upper left arm. Blood covered his fingers and soaked the sleeve of his gray work shirt.

Her hands were trembling as she reached for him. She gently plucked at the fabric stuck to his skin. “How bad is it?”

“Not deep, but I think the bullet’s still in there.” His jaw worked.

Ivy grimaced. “We should get you to the doctor.”

“I can get it out.”

“You? No!”

“The slug has to come out.”

He was in a lot of pain. Ivy licked her lips, feeling slightly nauseous at the thought of what she must do. “I’ll get it out.”

Gideon must have noticed her hesitation because he said, “I can do it.”

“No. I’ll do it.” It was the least she could offer after he’d come close to dying for her. She fought a surge of red-hot rage at whoever had done this.

Her movements sharp and jerky, she gathered up a knife, a pair of pliers and scissors, two basins of water and several cloths. When she returned to the table, she pulled the lamp closer and turned up the flame.

As she washed her hands and the tools, she stared at his arm. “Can you get out of your shirt, or should I cut it off?”

He glanced down at the red-stained sleeve. Blood spattered his shirtfront, too. “Do you think you can get the blood out?”

“Probably not all of it.”

“Just cut it off, then.”

Dragging in a deep, calming breath, she ripped his sleeve where the slug had torn a hole, then snipped off the whole thing. She grimaced as she got her first full look at the ragged hole in his flesh.

Blood streaked his arm, stained his fingers and hands. Thank goodness he’d turned back toward the house. She reached for a cloth and wet it, her fury bubbling up again. Why hadn’t she agreed to go to the river for a picnic?

“Ivy, are you okay to do this?”

“Yes.”

He set a hand on her waist until she looked at him. “You’re angry.”

She searched his eyes for blame, resentment, but she found none. “I thought this was all about me, but they hurt you this time.”

“That tells me that whoever is behind your troubles is after something besides you.”

“The farm?”

“Yes.” Pain etched his features. His skin was waxy, sweat beading on his forehead.

Here he was, reassuring her when he was the one who needed help. “I’m sorry. We can talk about this later.”

Trying to steady her hands, she cleaned the wound as gently as she could. Finally, she saw the bullet. Gideon was right. It wasn’t very deep, and luckily it hadn’t hit any bone, but she would still have to dig it out.

Picking up the pliers, she stared down at the ragged hole, steeling herself. She didn’t want to hurt him, but this was going to hurt like the devil.

She grimaced. “I don’t have any laudanum or liquor. Do you?”

His eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t be any more surprised at her question than she was. “You said you don’t hold with drinking.”

“I don’t, but you need something to dull the pain. Alcohol could help, and I don’t have a drop.”

“Neither do I.”

She bit her lip.

“Ivy.” At his labored tone, she met his gaze. “It’s okay.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

“There’s no help for that. Do what you need to. I’ll stay still.”

“All right.” The sooner she got this done, the better.

Fresh blood seeped out of the wound. Pliers in hand, she took a deep breath and shakily reached in for the bullet.

The muscles in his arm rippled and veins stood out in his neck, but he didn’t move. Ivy worked as quickly as she could.

His upper arm was just like the rest of him—hard, solid muscle. Though she gripped the lead ball on her first try, the tool was slick with blood and the bullet slipped out.

Gideon made a noise deep in his throat, and she knew he must be in agony. Sweat trickled down his temple. His free hand gripped the table so forcefully that his knuckles were white.

She tried not to tremble. After what seemed much too long, she worked the lead out then cleaned the wound again and pressed a clean cloth firmly against it. “Hold that tight.”

He did, panting slightly. His dark hair stuck damply to his forehead.

She gave him a wobbly smile. “The hole isn’t too deep.”

“Do you think I need stitches?”

Oh, she hoped not. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep her composure.

He lifted the soiled rag and studied the tear in his flesh.

“Do you think I should stitch you up?”

“If I say yes, are you going to faint?”

“No,” she huffed, relaxing when she saw he was teasing her. “I think I’ve done a pretty good job so far.”

“You have.” His lopsided grin belied the shadows of pain in his eyes. “I don’t think I need to be stitched up.”

“All right. Until the bleeding slows more, I don’t want to bandage you.”

Taking another clean cloth, she handed it to him, and he held the pad firmly against the wound. She carried the basin of red-tinted water down the hall and dumped it out the back door. When she returned, she gathered the items she’d used and began to wash them.

She glanced over to find him watching her intently. Sensation fluttered low in her belly. “Do you need anything?”

He shook his head, his gaze warm on her. “Our conversation was interrupted.”

“Forevermore, Gideon!” Her head jerked around. “You don’t have to tell me now!”

She hadn’t really expected him to share, much less bring it up himself.

“It was right after the war.” His voice was low and gravelly. “Her name was Eleanor.”

Ivy went still. He had killed another man over a woman? She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear more.

“I was courting her. Or thought I was.”

Turning to tell him to stop, she saw his face, taut with agony as he stared at a spot on the floor. Ivy realized he was talking to distract himself from the pain.

“Her daddy owned a big spread in Kansas, and I worked for him.” He gave a grim smile. “She said I ‘rescued’ her from her previous beau.”

Laying the wet tools on a dry cloth, Ivy used another to dry her hands.

“We were supposed to go for a buggy ride one night, but she said she didn’t feel well.”

Ivy walked over to him and carefully exchanged the bloodied pad for a clean one.

He pressed it to the wound, and she slowly pulled away.

“After taking care of some business in town for her father, I came upon her and her old beau just outside of town. Just as I rode up, he hit her. Backhanded her so hard she stumbled. I didn’t think. I just jumped off my horse and punched him. We fought until he went down. When I turned around to check on Eleanor, she came at me, clawing and hitting.”

Ivy drew in a sharp breath, easing down onto the edge of the table.

“I managed to get her off of me, then Doyle hit me from behind with a whiskey bottle.”

“Is that how you got the scar on your jaw?”

“Yeah. He tried to hit me twice, but I shot him. Killed him.”

“Good,” she said vehemently. “But it was self-defense. Why were you sent to prison?”

“Eleanor wouldn’t back my story.”

“You were trying to help her!”

“She was enraged that I’d interfered.”

“Stupid woman! You might have saved her life.”

“She told the sheriff I’d been ‘taking liberties,’ and when Doyle tried to defend her, I shot him. So I was arrested.”

Ivy fought the urge to stroke his hair. “Did you get a trial?”

“Yes, but it didn’t matter. Nobody was going up against Eleanor’s daddy or Doyle’s. Between the two of them, they owned everything in town.”

She checked his wound, glad to see the bleeding had slowed. Cutting a cloth into strips, she folded one length into a thick pad. “So you were sent to prison.”

“The judge thought their story was suspect, but he had no proof. He sentenced me on a lesser charge, though I still had to do time at Leavenworth.” He shifted in the chair as she laid the bandage against his wound then began wrapping the longer piece around his upper arm. “Now you know every last thing about me.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“I said I would.”

She kind of wished he hadn’t. If he hadn’t shared that part of his history, it would’ve confirmed her belief that he wasn’t showing her his whole self, that there were parts of himself he was hiding. Instead, he seemed willing to let her know everything.

“And because I’d like to stay.”

Aware of how long he had wanted his own place, she had expected that. What she hadn’t expected was the pleasure that spread through her at his words. Tying off the end of the dressing, she surveyed her work. “As my partner.”

“As your husband.”

“But...I don’t want a husband.” She stood, her fingers tangling in her skirts. “That’s why we shouldn’t make love again. It will only complicate our arrangement.”

Gideon snorted. “We already complicated it. We complicated the hell out of it last night.”

“That was just one time. It was a mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He reached up, skimming his thumb along her lower lip. “Can you forget about it? I can’t. I won’t.”

“We should.” A blush heated her cheeks.

He spoke carefully, calmly. “I told you I won’t do anything against your wishes, but I want more from this marriage and I think you do, too.”

“What if I don’t change my mind? What if I’m never ready?”

“Just say you’ll think about it.”

She didn’t refuse, although the word was on the tip of her tongue.

He was slowly, steadily chipping away her resolve to stick to their arrangement.

* * *

At first, Ivy was too wound up over Gideon’s being shot to think much about him staying as her husband.

The image of that bullet hitting him was seared into her brain, and her stomach was still queasy. She hadn’t wasted her breath trying to get him to leave; she knew he wouldn’t go.

After cleaning everything up, they went to the woods to look for signs of the shooter. Sure enough, the branch Gideon had arranged was broken and there were clear boot prints, as well. But they still didn’t have any idea who they belonged to.

Even though there had been no more trouble, Ivy didn’t sleep well. Her mind began to churn with thoughts of the shooting and Gideon’s desire to make their marriage permanent. Unable to bear the idea of him lying on the floor with his injury, she insisted he take a bed in one of the guest rooms. He had finally given in and agreed, though he didn’t like the idea of the front room separating them.

She lay in bed, restless, finally getting up to check on him. Relieved when she saw he wasn’t bleeding, she stood beside his bed for a few moments.

The moonlight washed silver over the lines lashing his torso. Last night when she’d first seen them, she’d wanted to cry, but she hadn’t. He would have hated that. And the truth was, once he touched her, she hadn’t thought about them. They were just another part of him, like his blue eyes and dark hair.