The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride (19 page)

Remembering how Gideon had made her feel last night, the expression on his face when he’d been deep inside her, she’d been afraid she might be falling in love with him. The memory sent her back to her room.

The next morning after she’d changed his dressing and they’d had breakfast, she began preparing lunch for the few stage passengers they might have today. She put a pot of beans on the stove then mixed up filling for a pecan pie.

She slid the dessert into the stove. Hearing Gideon whistle for Thunder, she went to the front window. The sling she’d fashioned for his left arm fit snugly. As he checked the corral posts for damage from the horses’ panic, his tan work shirt stretched across his massive shoulders. Shoulders that she had touched and kissed. Just as she had touched and kissed the rest of him.

There was no denying she wanted the man or that his lovemaking made her feel things she never had. Even though the urge to give herself over to that was staggering, she couldn’t let their intimacy cloud her judgment.

Turning away from the window, she checked the beans and added bits of ham. He’d been right. She did want more from their marriage. But she knew how deceptive that thinking could be. She’d learned that from Tom.

What she felt for Gideon wasn’t love. It was a combination of gratitude, affection and attraction. She needed to listen to her head, not her heart. Gideon didn’t make it easy on her, though.

Like yesterday, when he had tried repeatedly to help her. He was always willing to lend a hand. And it had been so sweet of him to suggest a picnic, though she’d rejected that offer, too.

The reason she’d said no wasn’t because she was worried he might try to get her out of her clothes, but because she wanted to get him out of his! She’d never fancied such a thing in her life.

The fact was she couldn’t hold a thought when the man was around, which was a shame because she liked spending time with him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rumble of wheels. She went to the front door and saw a stagecoach bearing the same insignia as the one Conrad drove. It pulled up at the fence, but Conrad wasn’t in the high seat.

Ivy stepped out onto the porch just as Gideon walked up the steps to her.

“I tied Thunder in the barn.” He pushed his hat back. “That’s not Conrad.”

“I know. I wonder if something happened.”

“Guess we’d better find out.” Resting his hand in the small of her back, he walked down the steps with her and out to meet the visitors.

The driver, a burly younger man with sun-streaked brown hair, opened the coach door and an older gentleman got out. Short and round, his features were even more weathered than the driver’s. He came toward her, doffing his cowboy hat.

“Miz Powell?” he asked.

“It’s Mrs. Black now, but yes.”

Gideon eased closer, his touch both reassuring and enticing.

The two men came through the gate, followed by a man Ivy recognized.

“Mr. Nichols?”

The railroad agent, again dressed in a three-piece suit, removed his bowler hat as he reached them. “Mrs. Powell, I mean Mrs. Black. Let me offer my congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” Gideon said quietly.

The other two visitors stood back as Gideon and Ivy shook hands with the barrel-chested man who had stopped here not too long ago.

Porter Nichols beamed at them. “Never would’ve guessed there was something between the two of you when I was here before.”

“What brings you back this way?” Gideon stayed close, which was fine with Ivy.

She knew he was wondering, just as she was, if the railroad might be considering Paladin as a stop.

The scout for the Katy railway smiled. “I had some business to discuss with these two gentlemen. And you, too, once you have a minute.”

He introduced the older man, who offered a hand to Gideon. “Hal Davis. And this is my son, Kirby.”

“Mr. Davis.” Ivy checked the stagecoach and the name painted there. “Territorial Stage Company. You’re the stage line owner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kirby said. “After receiving your invitation to see your operation for ourselves, we decided to do it.”

The elder Davis eyed her for a moment, hazel eyes shrewd. “Are you still willing to show us around?”

“Absolutely.” She gestured to Gideon. “You’ve met my husband. If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to take a pie out of the stove then we can begin.”

“I can show them around until you join us,” Gideon offered.

“Thank you.” She squeezed his good arm before addressing the other men. “I’ll catch up with you.”

The men nodded their acquiescence. As Gideon led them toward the corral, Ivy hurried back into the house and checked the dessert. She left it to cook for a few more minutes and covered the beans with a lid, moving them off the hottest part of the stove. The corn bread could be made after she and Gideon finished with the Davises.

Excitement fluttered. If they were here to evaluate the stage stop, that meant they were reconsidering a deal with her, didn’t it?

She hurried out the front door and down the steps, meeting the men as they left the barn.

“Your stalls are some of the cleanest I’ve seen.” Kirby Davis sounded bemused.

Ivy shared a look with Gideon, who shrugged. They walked toward the back pasture.

“Mrs. Black,” Hal Davis said. “I just told your husband that you have some fine horses here. All healthy, all strong.”

“My wife has an eye for good livestock,” Gideon said.

Ivy wasn’t sure if it was the rumble of his deep voice or the compliment that sent a rush of warmth through her. “The Holsteins give plenty of milk, so that’s fresh every day. It makes good butter, and we have our own chickens that provide a ready supply of eggs.”

Gideon pointed out the lush alfalfa where the cattle grazed then the river that bordered the farm. The father and son examined everything thoroughly, asking a lot of questions.

As the visitors stopped at the pump near the house, Ivy leaned toward Gideon. “They’re checking everything!”

“They act almost like they’re surprised at what they find.”

Ivy nodded. “They were really impressed that all the chickens are alive.”

“And that the livestock is well fed,” he added.

“I don’t understand.” She kept her voice low, too. “They seem to expect poor conditions or sickly animals.”

Gideon nodded in agreement.

Hal Davis turned from the pump to them. “You have a fine operation here, Mr. and Mrs. Black. Better than any we’ve seen.”

“Thank you.” Ivy smiled. “Conrad should arrive just in time for lunch. I’ll be serving if you’d like to stay.”

“We would. Thank you.”

While she went inside and stoked the stove fire, Gideon fetched soap and toweling so the visitors could wash up. With the aroma of nuts and sugar filling the front room, she poured corn bread batter into two skillets. Thunder’s yips sounded faintly from the barn.

As the bread sizzled on the stove, Ivy set out plates and utensils. Gideon showed their guests the rooms available for overnight accommodations.

She filled two large serving bowls with beans and placed them on the table, returning to see if the corn bread was done. It was, so she sliced it and put the pieces in a large basket, covering it with a cloth.

“It’s ready.” She set a plate of butter at each end of the table.

Gideon pulled out her chair, and the men remained standing until she took her seat. After the first bite, the visitors didn’t speak at all. They seemed to enjoy the meal, and when she served the pecan pie, they complimented her effusively.

Under the table, Gideon squeezed her knee, and she smiled at him. Had the Davises reconsidered signing a contract with her? She wished they would say something.

When the older Mr. Davis pushed away his plate, he gave Ivy a broad smile. “Miz Black, that was excellent.”

“Thank you.”

“And it’s the one thing we were told about your place that’s true.”

She frowned. “What do you mean? Has someone been talking about my stage stop?”

“We’ve heard some things, most of them not complimentary.”

“What!”

Kirby spoke up. “We were completely misinformed.”

“But why—” Ivy broke off, stunned.

“Who would do something like that?” Gideon’s mouth tightened. “Where did you get that information? From a passenger?”

“We’d rather not say,” Hal answered. “But we’re glad you invited us to judge for ourselves.”

The younger man set his fork on his plate. “We were given the impression that your animals were poorly cared for, your place becoming a shambles.”

No wonder they hadn’t wanted to do business with her. Furious, Ivy could barely keep her voice from shaking. “I think I have a right to know who’s telling such lies about me.”

“I really can’t say. It was told in confidence.” Hal gave her a sympathetic smile. “However, now that we’ve seen what a fine operation you and your husband run, we’d like to discuss contracting with you if you’re still interested.”

“We are.” She seethed. Who had slandered her reputation? It had to be the same person who was trying to run her and Gideon off.

Mr. Nichols excused himself and went outside so Ivy and Gideon could discuss business with the Davis men. They quickly worked out a lucrative agreement with the stage line owners. They all shook on the deal as the railroad agent returned to the room.

When Hal and Kirby asked to see the horses again, Gideon took them out to the corral.

Mr. Nichols helped Ivy carry dishes to the dry sink. “The Katy is seriously considering making Paladin a stop on the railroad. If that happens, it won’t be long before we start laying tracks. Would you consider leasing your land, as we discussed when I was here?”

“I would.”

“Good. I’m headed into Paladin to speak to Mayor Jumper and the other city leaders about the possibility. After that, I’ll have a better idea about what to propose to you.”

“Hullo!”

Recognizing Conrad’s voice, Ivy went to the door. The stage driver braked at the fence behind the other coach. He lifted a hand in greeting. As the Davises walked over to speak to him, Gideon made his way up the steps to her.

Nichols slipped past them. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He hurried down the steps toward the father and son. “Hal, I can probably catch a ride into town with Conrad, and that way you won’t need to go to the trouble of taking me out of your way. You can head on back home.”

Gideon leaned slightly toward her, murmuring, “No passengers again. If Conrad knew yesterday that Nichols wouldn’t be riding with him, he could’ve returned early and hidden in the woods.”

“And shot you,” Ivy finished angrily. She walked down the steps with Gideon, calling out to the stage driver. “Conrad, there are beans and corn bread left from lunch.”

“Are you doin’ what I think you’re doin’?” Gideon asked in a low voice.

“If he’ll climb down, you can compare his prints to the ones we found.”

Conrad waved. “That sounds good, Ivy, but I need to get on to town.” His gaze shifted to the railroad agent. “Porter, I appreciate you letting me know early that you wouldn’t be taking my stage today. That way, we both stayed on schedule.”

“Could I hitch a ride into Paladin with you?”

“I stopped by to see if you needed one.”

After goodbyes all around, Conrad set off down the road toward town. Hal and Kirby Davis again stated how pleased they were to have a contract with the stage stop then left in their own stage.

As they drove away, dust plumed beneath the wagon’s wheels. Ivy waited until they were down the road a bit.

Bracing her hands on her hips, she spun toward Gideon. “Who do you think told all those lies?”

“The same person who’s caused all the other trouble.” His voice was hard.

“It has to be someone who knows something about my operation. And who’s met with Hal and his son.”

“There probably aren’t too many people who fit that bill.”

“Could it be Conrad?” Ivy hated the thought, but she wasn’t surprised at the possibility.

Frustration creased Gideon’s features. “It could be.”

“Is there someone else?” Stung by a thought, she frowned. “What about the mayor? He could still be angry about his horse being killed here.”

“Maybe,” Gideon said slowly. “Or maybe we aren’t the only people Nichols has told about the railroad’s plans to move forward. Jumper is the only other person we know of who’s familiar with your operation and has contact with the stage line owners.”

“Would he or Conrad want my farm badly enough to kill for it?”

“I’ve seen men kill for less.”

“We may never get a look at Leo’s footprints. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him walk anywhere except in town. Anytime he has business outside of Paladin, he takes a buggy or the stage.”

“He doesn’t ride at all?”

She shook her head. “How can we find out about his prints? What are we going to do?”

“Hey. Don’t look so worried.” He stroked her cheek. “We’ll come up with a way.”

“I’m so glad—” She stopped. She’d almost said she was glad she wasn’t alone. “I’m so glad we worked out a new deal with the stage line.”

“It’s a nice one, too.”

She smiled.

The sound of Thunder’s barking had Gideon starting for the barn. “I’d better untie her before she gets the horses rattled.”

Ivy watched him go, feeling a surge of affection and satisfaction and an emotion she didn’t want to name.

He was a good man, and she really was glad she wasn’t alone. After Tom, she had believed she would never feel that way again. It was unsettling.

As unsettling as Gideon saying he wanted theirs to be a real and permanent marriage. Ivy didn’t doubt his commitment for a second. She just wasn’t sure she could make the same one to him.

Chapter Twelve

T
he rest of the day passed quickly. Gideon and Ivy stayed up later than usual, talking about the contract with the stage line and their suspicions of the mayor and Conrad.

Smoky amber light from the lamp spread across the dining table where they sat. She had included Gideon in all the decisions today, but he didn’t know if that was because she was a fair businesswoman and he owned half of the farm now, or because she was considering a future with him.

She rose from her seat and picked up the lamp. “We’d better get to bed.”

He wished they were going to bed together, but he didn’t react to her phrasing.

He stood, too, and walked over to the opposite corner where he kept his bedroll.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor. You should be in a bed.”

Maybe so, but pillowed on that plump mattress last night, his head had been filled with memories of being there with Ivy. Staying on the floor tonight might be more uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t be reaching for her as he’d done on waking up this morning.

He gestured to the area in front of the fireplace, which shared a wall with her bedroom. “I’d rather sleep out here. Closer to the door.” And to her.

She shook her head. “What about your arm?”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Why you want to be on the hard floor rather than a mattress is beyond me.”

Using his good hand, he spread out his bedroll.

Ivy shook the pup awake from her spot under the table. Thunder stretched and yawned before finally getting up to follow her mistress down the hall to her crate.

Gideon took off his boots, setting them beside his blanket as Ivy returned.

“Do you have any ideas about what we can do to find out if Conrad or the mayor are behind what’s been happening?”

“Not yet, but tomorrow I think we should go to town and talk to the sheriff. He needs to know what’s going on, and we can tell him about our suspicions.”

“Maybe he’ll have an idea.”

Gideon nodded. “You said the mayor never walks anywhere, that he always stays in the buggy.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen him use that cane, and he doesn’t have a limp.”

“What’s your point?”

“Maybe he does walk, just not anywhere outside of town.”

Realization spread across her face. “Where no one would be able to distinguish his prints from anyone else’s.”

“Right. We need to figure out a way to get footprints from both Conrad and Jumper.”

“Maybe Josh will have an idea about that, too.” She paused in her bedroom doorway. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Heady words from a woman who hadn’t wanted anyone around just weeks ago. Warmed by what she’d said, he eased down onto his blanket, folding his good arm behind his head. Maybe she was coming to accept the idea of him staying as her husband?

The throb in his arm reminded him of the attentive care she’d given him. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he belonged somewhere. His life before Ivy seemed bleak. He had been empty, searching and not understanding why until now.

It was too soon to ask if she’d made a decision about their marriage, and he wanted her to come to him on her own. The truth was, he was loath to ask because he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her answer.

He filched a pillow from the nearest guest room and lay back down. It felt as if he’d only just drifted off when a series of sharp barks jolted him awake.

Thunder.

Gideon pushed up on his elbows, cursing when pain razored down his injured arm. Clamping a hand on the wound, he sat up, looking toward the hall.

Thin ribbons of gray mist snaked out from under Ivy’s bedroom door. Not mist, smoke! The pup clawed frantically at her crate.

“Ivy!” Gideon bellowed. He jammed his feet into his boots and jumped up, crashing through her door. “Ivy, wake up!”

She sat straight up, blinking sleepily at him. “What’s going on?”

“Fire!”

Even as he spoke, alarm widened her eyes, and before he could reach her, she flew out of bed. Pulling on her brown work shoes, she coughed.

Smoke thickened in the room, and Gideon saw orange flames licking around the window above her bed. The fire hissed then snapped as it ate through wood.

He started to pluck her up and run for it, but she grabbed his hand and bolted down the hall. Gideon seized Thunder’s crate, barely aware of the agony in his arm. He pushed Ivy out the back door ahead of him.

They raced for the nearest pump, the one next to the corral. The horse trough was full of water Gideon had pumped for the horses before dark. He released the dog so she wouldn’t be trapped if they couldn’t contain the fire.

Grabbing two of the closest buckets, Gideon filled both and ran to throw water on the blaze. The flames spread quickly, climbing up the wall. They had to stop it before it reached more of the house.

Ivy’s window shattered. She hurried up behind him, her nightgown fluttering around her as she tossed her own bucket of water on the fire.

He beat her back to the trough, scooping up water and dumping it on the blaze. The horses neighed, the whites of their eyes showing in the darkness. All of the animals crashed to the back of the corral, as far from the flames as they could get. Some of them reared, their hooves striking out at the air or another horse. A splintering crack of wood told Gideon the animals had kicked down a section of the pen. He couldn’t worry about that right now.

The flames writhed toward the roof, giving off heat like an inferno. Gideon and Ivy concentrated their efforts on that section. She half jogged, half walked back to him with another full bucket, trying to spill as little water as possible.

“Trough’s getting low,” she yelled above the sound of wood splitting and crackling.

He spun, rushing for more water. Ivy was at the pump, working the handle as hard as she could. Water gushed out, and Gideon scooped up two more pails of water then dashed back to the house. Smoke stung his nostrils, his chest hurt, but it looked as if the fire was dwindling. It had shifted direction and was now headed sideways rather than up toward the roof.

Alongside Ivy, Gideon continued to drench the burning wood. The flames began to sputter and die. Ivy pitched more water on an ember that kept rekindling. Finally, the glow disappeared; the blaze died. Water soaked the ground around Ivy, dripped from the eaves and the side of the house.

Intending to further wet down what he could, Gideon started toward her with two more buckets of water. A creak sounded overhead, and he realized it was a weakened beam. That would have to be fixed. Ash fluttered down. The acrid odor of smoke bit the air. The charred screen of wall began to crumble and sway. Toward Ivy.

“Move!” he bellowed. “Ivy!”

She looked over her shoulder and sprinted forward. The side of her bedroom collapsed, crashing down on her. She screamed and stumbled, falling facedown.

Cold, piercing fear shanked his spine. Not even aware he’d moved, he found himself clawing at the charred wood, breaking and slinging pieces of blackened lumber out of the way. He could see her pale nightgown beneath the torched planks.

Ignoring the sting of heat and splinters on his hands, he muscled the wall off her. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest.

She pushed herself up, her gown muddy, her hair wet and streaming over her shoulders. Her dazed eyes met his. “Gideon?”

Finally, he reached her. He knelt and gathered her up, carrying her several yards away from the broken glass and smoldering timber. The pup raced toward them from the direction of the woods.

A huge searing knot lodged in his chest. Gideon coasted his hands gently over his wife. “Where are you hurt? Are you bleeding?”

She shifted in his lap so she could sit up more fully and check herself.

“I’m okay. I’m not burned at all,” she said in a half whisper, staring up at him in wonder. “My back’s a little sore, maybe scratched, but nothing feels out of place.”

Unable to draw a full breath, he examined her as thoroughly as he could. The capped sleeves of her nightgown were torn and a few scratches raked down the silky length of her arm, but he saw no other injuries.

He couldn’t believe it. He carefully angled her face so he could see her neck and shoulders. Aside from the scrapes, soot and mud, she looked fine. She felt even better.

She cupped his face in her hands. “I’m all right. Truly. How’s your arm? It has to be paining you after all that.”

“It’s fine.” It hurt like the devil, but all he cared about was that she was here in his lap, and she was okay.

Moonlight spilled down on them, illuminating the singed table and lamp next to her bed, the scorched back side of the headboard.

He hugged her to him.

She drew back, her face streaked with ash and soot. Apprehension clouded her eyes. “Somebody did that on purpose.”

“Yeah,” he said grimly.

“Do you think it was intended for both of us?”

“Yeah.” He thumbed away a smudge of black on her cheek. “They probably thought we were together in the bedroom.”

A whine behind them alerted him to the pup’s presence. Gideon glanced back, glad to see the animal looked unharmed. “C’mon, girl.”

Thunder crept warily toward them. Ivy laid her head on Gideon’s shoulder, coaxing the dog near until it finally crawled into her lap.

The animal stared up at Gideon, nosing his chest in a plea for a scratch, but he wasn’t taking his hands off Ivy.

“Good dog,” he said gruffly, resting his chin on Ivy’s head. “She knew there was trouble before I did.”

“Thank goodness for both of you.” Ivy shuddered against him.

He became aware of the cool air, their wet clothes, the dank smell of sodden wood. Smoke and ash spiraled to the sky, and he tightened his hold on Ivy, ignoring the sharp jab of pain in his left arm.

He wasn’t letting her out of his sight tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, either.

* * *

They cleaned up what they could, and Ivy grabbed a chemise from her wardrobe as well as a dress. Then they shut the door to her bedroom.

Though the air was still laced with the odor of burned wood, the smell faded somewhat on the opposite side of the house. Ivy draped the garments over the handle of the pump on the other side of the house in hopes that most of the smell would dissipate. She then helped him tack quilts across the entrance into the guest hallway in order to close off that part of the house.

Building a fire in the fireplace, he filled the kettle and hung it to heat along with a brick. He hauled more water to the bathing tub and washbasin set up in a small closet across the hall from the guest rooms. He kept a close eye on the flame under the kettle. The water was barely warm when he dumped it into the tub and added a heated brick.

Ivy looked worn to a frazzle. He didn’t know how much longer she’d last. The bathwater would be tepid, but she said she didn’t care. All she wanted was to wash away the acrid stench of smoke.

While she bathed, Gideon brought the pup’s crate into the far guest room. Thunder padded behind him, sniffing the floor, around the bed and bureau before curling up in her box.

After Ivy finished in the tub, Gideon used her water to wash. He then tugged on the dry trousers he’d retrieved from his saddlebags in the barn. The pants, too, carried a smoky odor, but it was the best he could do. And on this side of the house, he and Ivy were as far from the charred remains as he could get them.

Barefoot and bare-chested, he stood in the doorway of the bedroom where she was already asleep. Only now did his pulse slow to a normal rate. He’d never been so damn scared in his entire life. If something had happened to her—

He cut off the thought. She was fine, which was a miracle. And he was fine. And they were together. He had determined what damage he could in the darkness. They would know more in the daylight, but first thing tomorrow, they were going to town to talk to the sheriff.

Gideon would try to convince Ivy to stay in Paladin until he found the low-down snake who’d done this and stopped him. From now on, 100 percent of his efforts would be spent tracking down this bastard.

His wounded arm ached to the bone, but he dismissed the discomfort. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke Ivy’s hair, still slightly damp from her towel-drying.

She slept on her side facing him, huddled on the mattress as if protecting herself from something. He needed to be closer to her.

Stretching out on top of the covers, he gathered her to him. She pressed close, her body relaxing. His chest hurt, and it had nothing to do with smoke or danger. The fullness in his heart was all about this slip of a woman.

The fire might have cast a haze over the night, but it had brought things into sharp focus for Gideon. He loved her.

It wasn’t some need to “rescue” her, as he’d felt with Eleanor, or because half of the farm was now his. It was about Ivy and only Ivy.

He didn’t want to ever let her go. He wanted her to be his wife in every way. Though he still had to let her decide if she wished to make a real go of their marriage, he knew exactly what he desired. Her. For the rest of his life.

He brushed a light kiss against her forehead and felt her stir against him.

“Gideon?”

“Hmm?”

“This is real? We’re both okay?”

“We’re both okay,” he said softly.

She tilted her head back so she could see him. Moonlight skimmed over her petal-smooth skin, the arch of her dainty eyebrows and thick dark lashes.

“I’ll move if you want. Not out of the room, but off of the bed. I just needed to feel for myself that you were all right.”

“I don’t want you to move.” She touched his face, something new and soft in her eyes. Need. Invitation?

Was he reading that right? Somehow, he didn’t know how, they were kissing. Hard and urgent at first, as if she needed the same reassurance he did that they were all right. Then her mouth softened under his. The kisses became slower, longer. Hot and sweet and giving.

The sound that came from deep in her throat set off something fierce and demanding inside him. He pulled her tight into him, hungry to feel the fullness of her breasts, the warmth of her body through the light fabric of her chemise.