Wyoming Bride (15 page)

There was nothing
friendly
about the feelings she was having now. Or the brash look in Ransom’s eyes. No joking or joshing was involved. This felt deadly serious. This felt like the rest of her life was at stake.

Maybe it was.

Emaline knew she was walking a very fine line, asking Ransom to go so far and no further. She’d trusted the man with kind eyes to let her go if she asked. She wasn’t so sure about the man with the wintry gaze who stared down at her now. The lover holding her in his arms looked so distant. So different.

This man was tense, his muscles bunched. His hands were tender but much more possessive. That was to be expected, since she’d told Ransom to consider them married in all but actual fact. So this was what he would be like as a husband. Tender but demanding. Possessive but gentle.

And determined. She mustn’t forget that. Even though neither of them had said a word—or even moved an inch—he hadn’t let go of his hold on her. Their bodies were locked together at the hips by the weight of his large hand on her behind.

She could feel the heat and the hardness of him. The insistence of his body. The demands of her own.

She hadn’t expected to want him so badly. Hadn’t known her body would beg her to rub herself against him like a cat. Hadn’t known she’d feel like purring—or growling—as the pleasure spiraled through her body. Hadn’t known that her knees would threaten to buckle, putting her on the ground, where it would be easier for him to cover her body with his own.

Her limbs felt heavy, as though she were moving underwater. She realized she was panting, that her pulse was pounding in her throat, that her chest and throat felt flushed, and that her cheeks were hot. Her eyes were so heavy-lidded she wanted to close them and surrender.

That word brought her up short.
Surrender
. If she had sex, she would get pregnant. If she got pregnant, she would die. Surrender meant death. She jerked to free herself.

But Ransom held on.

“Let me go, Ransom,” she said in a brittle voice. “That’s enough.”

“That’s not near enough, Em. We’re just getting started.”

He tried to kiss her again, but she turned her face aside.

“You said I could stop whenever I wanted. I want to stop.”

She could feel his body throbbing against her own, feel his muscles turn to stone as he fought against his body’s need to finish what he’d started. He let go of her buttocks, then let his other hand drop, and finally took a step back.

He turned away from her and took a deep breath and slowly let it out. His shoulders were rigid, his body as taut as a bow.

She felt the need to apologize and felt resentful that she did. She said the words anyway. “I’m sorry, Ransom.”

“I knew what I was getting into,” he said gruffly.

She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he yanked himself away and whirled on her. His blue eyes had turned to polar ice.

“Make up your mind, Em. You can’t have it both ways. Either we’re done touching, or we’re not. Which is it?”

“Why are you so mad?”

He made an exasperated sound. “I knew this was crazy when I agreed to it. It’s my own fault. I should have kept my distance. I thought you were backing out of our agreement entirely when you sent me on that fool’s errand across the house. When you let me kiss you, I guess I got carried away.”

Emaline shoved a curl that had fallen free of her night braid away from her face. When it fell forward again, Ransom reached out and tucked it behind her ear. The intimate gesture felt so natural, so right. Emaline held his hand against her face and said, “I thought kissing would be safer, since we were standing up.”

He smiled ruefully. And pulled his hand free. “Not hardly. I could have had you on your back in a heartbeat. Would have, if you’d been willing.”

“So what do we do now?” she asked. “Do you still want to sleep in the same bed?”

He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know. I want to hold you in my arms through the night, but I can’t guarantee I won’t end up in the same condition I’m in right now.”

Emaline flushed and said, “You mean aroused.”

His lips quirked. “Yeah. Aroused. It doesn’t take much. All I have to do is look at you to want you. That would normally be a healthy reaction, and it could be resolved by the two of us satisfying each other. But that won’t work for us, since we can’t have sex.”

Emaline’s blush deepened at his use of a word she’d never used in mixed company. Or in any company, for that matter. She’d only thought it a couple of times in her own mind. But this was a grown-up relationship, and such words needed to be spoken if she and Ransom were ever to find their way to some sort of compromise that would work for both of them.

“Can we go back to bed?” Emaline said. “Things were fine before Hannah cried out. We were laughing and teasing and—”

“All that ended when you let me hold you in my arms,” Ransom interrupted brusquely. He shoved a hand through his hair in agitation. “I don’t think this is going to work, Emaline. I know you planned for us to spend this time together figuring things out, but I think I already have the answer I was looking for.”

He turned to her, his eyes bleak. “I can’t do this. I can’t lie beside you and want you and never touch you. Not for a minute. Not for a night. And sure as hell not for the rest of my life.”

Tears welled in Emaline’s eyes and one spilled over. “Are you saying you won’t marry me?”

He shook his head. “Not unless you change your mind. Do you want some time to think about it?”

“I’ve had my whole life to think about it. My mind is made up,” she said.
And my heart is breaking
. But she didn’t tell him that. He might take her in his arms again. And if he did, she might not stop him.

He cocked his hip and stood with his hands at his sides, a man without a direction to go.

So she asked the question. “What do we do now?”

“I think I take you home tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “That won’t work.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“You’re forgetting about Aunt Betsy. I need my chaperon to confirm my whereabouts. Otherwise, my father is likely to come after you with a shotgun—and force us to marry.”

His eyes narrowed. “He could try.”

His response told Emaline how serious he was about not wedding a woman who wouldn’t make love to him. “I guess that means you’re going to have to put up with my presence for a while longer.” Somehow, during the time she had left, she’d get him to change his mind.

“I don’t have to sleep in the same bed with you.”

“Where else can you sleep?”

“In the barn.”

“It won’t be very comfortable.”

“It’ll be a hell of a lot better than sleeping next to a woman I can’t touch!”

“You can touch,” she retorted. “And kiss and fondle. You just can’t—”

“Put myself inside you,” he finished for her with brutal frankness. “I’m not a glutton for punishment, Em. I don’t enjoy being in the condition I’m in now, hurting because I can’t finish what I started.”

Emaline looked at him in shock. “You’re hurting?”

He made a disgusted sound in his throat, as though he regretted speaking. “You had no way of knowing. It’s the sort of thing women never hear about. Forget I mentioned it.”

“Hurting how?” she asked, curious now to know what he was talking about. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

He shot her a look of chagrin, then said, “When a man’s body is ready to plant the seeds that start a child in a woman’s womb, it’s painful not to finish what he started.”

“Oh.” She glanced down and saw the male part of him had created a hard ridge against his denim jeans. She lifted her embarrassed gaze to his face and asked, “Are you still in pain?”

“It goes away after a while.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Like I said, it was my fault. I knew what could happen, but I let myself get carried away anyway. I guess I thought you’d feel what I was feeling and want to make love with me.”

“I
did
feel what you felt,” Emaline retorted. “But I don’t want to do what you wanted to do enough to die for it!”

“So you’ve said,” he shot back. “I don’t intend to repeat that mistake. Which is why I think I should sleep somewhere else.”

Emaline was certain that if Ransom left her bed, whatever chance she had of changing his mind would be lost. She searched for a reason to keep him with her and said, “What will your brother think if he finds out you slept in the barn?”

Ransom looked thunderstruck.

That seemed to have made an impression, so she said, “I have a suggestion for how we can get through these upcoming weeks in the same bed.”

“I’m listening.”

Emaline’s mind was scrambling for something to say that would convince him not to leave. “Clearly, touching and kissing is going to wreak havoc on both of us,” she began.

He lifted a brow. “I didn’t notice you in any pain.”

She met his gaze and said, “My heart hurts. Because I want so badly to do what you want me to do and be what you want me to be. But I can’t!”

He’d gathered her up in his arms and hugged her tight, his cheek pressed hard against hers.

“Em, Em, there has to be a way for us to make this work. There has to be a way for me to convince you—”

She put a hand over his lips to stop him from speaking. “For now, I think we have to treat each other like good friends. So this hug is fine, because it’s meant to comfort.”

As soon as she defined it that way, he let his hands drop as though she had some contagious disease and stepped back. His mouth sobered, and his face looked bleak again.

She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes for him to give them a chance, to give them the time they needed to see what life could be like if they lived it together. “There’s more to a marriage than the part I’m denying you,” she argued. “There’s companionship and laughter. There’s talking and sharing adventures. Shouldn’t we try those things before we throw out the baby with the bathwater?”

“No touching?”

She shook her head.

“No kissing?”

She shook her head.

“Just companionship. And laughter.”

“And talking,” she said. “And sharing adventures.”

He made a wry face. “I hope you know a few good jokes.”

Emaline smiled with relief. “I can do better than that. I know how to tickle.”

He wagged a finger at her. “That’s touching.”

“Oh, yes. Right. Well, I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

She’d better. Or this marriage was going to be over before it even got started.

“Are you all right?” Flint asked as he handed Hannah a cup of coffee.

“I’m fine.” She took the blue-and-white-speckled metal cup from him and sat down at the kitchen table.

“You didn’t sound fine last night,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve heard so much bawling since I rescued an orphaned day-old calf.”

Hannah flushed. She wasn’t sure how long she’d cried, but tears had still been drying on her cheeks as the sky lightened into grays and pinks outside the window. She hadn’t slept well, if at all. “I wasn’t crying because of what we did,” she said.

He arched a skeptical brow. “No?”

“I was crying for my sisters, Hetty and Josie.”

He made a sound in his throat to acknowledge what she’d said, but that didn’t tell her what he was thinking.

She’d risen with the sun, anxious to find her way back to the wagon where she’d last seen her sisters. Even so, Flint had been awake and dressed before her. Hannah wished she’d had the courage to explain that she’d only been seeking escape last night when she’d begged him to put himself inside her. But he looked so forbidding she remained silent.

“There’s smoked ham and biscuits for breakfast,” he said, pointing to a plate on the table.

Hannah wasn’t the least bit hungry, but if she was going to spend the day on horseback, as she hoped she was, she needed to eat. She picked up one of the biscuits with smoked ham stuffed inside and took a bite. The ham was salty, the biscuit stale. She chewed and swallowed and took a careful sip of hot coffee to wash it all down. The coffee was tarlike and so strong she barely managed to avoid choking.

She glanced down the hallway that led to the stairs, wondering how soon Emaline and Ransom would respond to the smell of coffee. She needed to talk to Flint, and she didn’t want to do it in front of the other couple.

She kept her voice low and quiet as she said, “I was too upset last night to tell you, but I remembered what happened.” She took a deep breath and said, “We were attacked by Indians.”

“You and your sick husband?”

“Mr. McMurtry was already dead. Me and my two younger sisters.”

“How old were your sisters?”

Hannah noticed he’d used the past tense and made sure she didn’t. She refused to believe that Hetty and Josie were dead. “My twin, Henrietta—we call her Hetty—is seventeen. Josephine—she goes by Josie—is only sixteen.”

“Why aren’t they with your parents?”

“My parents were killed in the Great Chicago Fire. I married Mr. McMurtry and came west with him because he offered the three of us a way out of the orphanage where we lived.”