The Rancher (30 page)

reminded himself he wasn’t worthy to have any emotional connection with her.  Not yet.  He hadn’t courted her or earned her trust.   They knew nothing of one another and he would not start his life

with her with resentment or regrets.

He walked into the house and down the

short corridor to their bedroom.  His hand rested on the knob for a moment before

nudging the door open.

Abby had wanted to jump from thestairs and rush into Cole’s arms themoment she’d seen that he was all right,but when he’d stopped to talk to hisbrothers, she’d lost her nerve and hadretreated into the house.   To theirbedroom.

Abby had been kissed before.  Twice. But why she was thinking about it now, inthe midst of what they’d just lost,astounded her. She sat on her hope chest,legs crossed, leaning backward heavilyinto the footboard of the bed.

“Fire’s out,” Abby heard a man yellfrom across the yard.

Cole would be coming in at anymoment.   Her body protested when shejumped up and grabbed the large pitcherfrom the table.   Cool water would feelnice against her heated skin and maybe shecould remove some of the grime from herface before he came in to retire for thenight.

Pumping the water from the kitchen sinkbrought vivid, but distant memories to herrecollection. She and Alaric had been no

more than children when they’d fallen in love—if that’s what it had been.   Five

years seemed another lifetime, but she would never forget the sweet sensation his first kiss had imprinted on her heart. It was hard to believe he was gone.

Jeremiah Carson had kissed her too, but it hadn’t been the same.  He’d crushed her against a large maple tree just outside of town and had greedily bruised her mouth with violent kisses.   It hadn’t been

enjoyable in the least and she had been thankful when the Spencer boys had seen them and Benjamin pulled him away.

Thoughts   of   Cole   invaded   her memories. She raised her hand to her

mouth, her fingers caressing the exact spot where his lips had brushed across hers at their wedding.  They still tingled at the

thought.   Looking through the kitchen window, she smiled at the lock of hair that fell across his forehead as he walked toward the house.   Kissing Cole would

definitely   be   different.   Anticipation fluttered in her belly like fireflies in the night.

She hurried back to their room, spilling a little water on the floor, and placed the pitcher back on the table next to the empty basin.  Her fingers had just curled around the drying cloth hanging from a post in the wall, when the click of her door knob sent her spinning and she whirled around to face her future.

All at once their bedroom closed in

around her.   Cole’s presence was everywhere all at once.   The slow creaking sound of the wood on rusting

hinges heightened her anticipation and when the door opened completely, he took his first step inside the room.  Abby felt her knees go weak.

Cole’s large masculine form framed the doorway.  The only sounds she could hear now were the echo of his worn leather

boots on the hard wooden floor and the delicious pounding of her heart.  His face, soot stained and weary, had been carved to perfection with deep contours and planes that defined his chiseled features.  The browned bare skin of his chest

glimmered with sweat in the lantern’s light.

She’d almost forgotten he had lied to her about his reasons for coming to Silver Falls.  Almost.

He tossed his hat onto the bed and

started toward her. He ran his fingers through his still damp hair, stopping mere inches away.  Abby could all but taste the sweat emanating from his taut body.

“Fire’s out,” he rasped, his voice husky and dry as he reached up to touch her face.  “You look tired.”

The feel of his fingers along her jawlinesent tingles to the pit of her belly.  Shelooked up at him and could see theexhaustion in his eyes.  This stranger, nowvery much a part of her life, had workedhard to help extinguish the fire that hadthreatened the barn, the bunkhouse, and thecorral.  She was grateful to him and hisbrothers.

“So do you.”

He smiled and dropped his hand to his

side, but did not take his eyes off of her.

Now, she decided, would not be thebest time to bring up her concerns abouthis reasons for being in Silver Falls.

“Thank you,” she said in its place, “forhelping with the fire. We’ve had a busycouple of days.”  She turned her back tohim and grasped ahold of the handle on thewater pitcher.  She hoped he couldn’t seehow her hands shook as she poured him atall glass.

“Thank you.”

His eyes crinkled at the edges in anattempted smile and his normally darkbrown eyes melted into black. Her eyeswere drawn to the bandages encompassinga good portion of his left arm and hand.  She was grateful he’d walked out of thatbarn alive.  She hadn’t known he’d goneinside until Doc Knight had passed her as

he ran to retrieve his bag from his carriage.  She’d sat on the steps, staring at what she’d lost, grateful for what she hadn’t.

When Cole caught her stare, he movedto the far side of the bedroom and satdown in the oversized chair her father had

moved to their room, and removed his boots.   He pulled his legs onto the footstool with some effort, then leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You should get out of that dress,” he spoke, his lids remaining closed.  “I won’t watch.  I promise.” His tone was even, but Abby saw the corners of his mouth twitch and self-consciously she looked down at her purple dress, wet and ruined.

Covered in soot and laced with mud, she knew she didn’t exactly look the part

of a new bride. Maybe she never would.  She just wasn’t fit to be a lady. Pants were

more   practical   and   comfortable, especially for the kind of work she did every day.

Wearing nice dresses and pretty things had never been important to her, but she realized that when Cole had agreed to this marriage, he’d had no idea just how far from a lady she really was.

At the last thought, she snorted.

Her fingers shook as she reached for the fastenings at the back of the new dress. Another  reason  she   hated  women’s

clothing. Frustrated that she was unable to reach all of the fancy buttons, she thought of calling Martha, but quickly decided against it.   She dropped her hands in exasperation and sat on the edge of the

bed with her back toward Cole.

“Cole?” she inquired.

“Hmmm?” was his tired response.

She hated to bother him, but she did not want   to   sleep   in   the   filthy   and uncomfortable dress. “Would you mind helping me? Please?” she added for good

measure.

Abby looked over her shoulder to see Cole open one eye first and then the other. He didn’t move. She waited.

In one swift movement Cole joined heron the bed, sitting behind her.  The touchof his fingertips against the back of herneck sent shivers dancing through herbody.

She’d lost hope a long time ago of evergetting married. But here she was, in herbedroom, inches away from her husband.

She bit her lip.  Her mother and father hadbeen so happy together.  Clay McCallisterhad   loved   Clara
 
because
  
of  herdifferences and as Cole touched her, hisbreath hot against her skin, she realizedher hope for sharing her life with a manwho would love
 
her
 
had returned.

Tonight, however, she wasn’t sure whatto expect.

Fool girl,
 
she thought to herself.
 
Colemarried you for the ranch, not out ofsome silly notion of love at first sight.

The idea pained her a little, but shehoped that could change, with time.

“Where are your brothers?” she asked,forcing herself to focus.

“They’re staying in the bunkhousetonight.”  His voice cracked.

Abby leaned forward and reached for

the empty glass he’d returned to the washstand.   Her  dress   slid  off  her

shoulders a little, taking the strap of her chemise with it.  She caught the material at her bosom, and clasped it tight in front of her before it exposed anything more.

One moment Cole was next to her on

the bed and the next he was stumbling over his boots, scrambling for his footing.

Amused, Abby handed him a newly filled glass.

“Thank you,” he croaked.

The heat in his eyes enveloped her and she managed a slight smile. He drank the contents of the glass without a breath and handed it back to her.

“You should get some sleep.”  Abby pointed to the bed and felt the blush creep into her cheeks.

Cole nodded, but returned to the chair,pulling his feet back up onto the footstool.

Abby didn’t know whether to feelrelieved or rejected.

Time.

That was what they both needed.  Shewalked   over  to   the   old  Victorian

wardrobe that had graced this room since she was a child, and opened the cabinet doors, hiding herself behind them.   She removed the dress and allowed it to fall to

the floor, kicking it aside.

Abby opened the top drawer to the right of the closet.  Lying on top of her old, very plain and unappealing underthings was a thin white night shift with pink rosebuds adorning the severely scooped neckline.  The flimsy robe that matched it hung on the open door of the closet.  She smiled.

Martha
.

Once she donned the simple garment,she peeked around the door separatingthem.   Somehow, the emptiness shethought she’d feel without her hope ofseeing Alaric again, of being
 
his
 
bride,didn’t emerge and she stole a quick lookat the man resting in the chair. Hisuninjured arm dangled over the side andhis body slouched awkwardly. His evenbreathing told her sleep had finallyclaimed him.

Cole shifted his position.  A chair wasno place for a man to sleep on whatshould be his wedding night.  She paddedher way to the side of the bed next to thechair and boldly raised her hand towardhis face.   She gingerly caressed hisswollen and bruised jaw, her finger

outlining  the  chiseled  flesh  of  his features.  A twinge of guilt swept through her as she recalled slapping him across the face yesterday.

It seemed like such a long time ago.  It was hard to believe he had only been a part of her life for little more than a day.  She liked having him around, enjoyed his company. She knew there must be some explanation to why he’d lied to her about coming here to start a ranch, but decided her questions could wait until morning. For now, after the night they’d had, he deserved some sleep.

The room was chilly.  She reached for the spare blanket on the end of the bed and draped it up and over her husband’s sleeping form, then turned back to the bed.  She caught a glimpse of herself in

the small intricately carved mirror just above the washstand.  She stood back and

looked at her reflection.

She had never worn anything so exquisite as the dainty night shift and the thin material felt heavenly against her bare skin.  Just before she blew out the lantern

and slipped into the large oak bed, she thought she heard a low groan come from the chair.

“Goodnight,” she whispered into the darkness and pulled the heavy patchwork quilt up over her.

Chapter Fifteen