by Debra Cowan
She had to be the least happy-looking bride Quentin had ever seen. His admission about wanting more than a business arrangement was probably the main reason, but he wasn’t taking it back.
She started to turn away then paused. “Thank you, Quentin. I really appreciate this.”
“You’re welcome.”
That hadn’t gone at all the way he’d expected, but he wanted a future with her. This marriage of convenience might be his only chance to convince her she wanted the same thing. He just hoped he could.
She was getting married.
Quentin had agreed, which relieved Zoe and made her wary at the same time. Even if she had wanted more than a business arrangement, she couldn’t let herself get close to him again.
She knew how silly that sounded when she was fixin’ to marry him. Still, she could resist the man who had once broken her heart. She’d spent seven years doing just that.
Keeping her guard up around her husband-to-be didn’t concern her nearly as much as the possibility that Grandfather might see through the whole thing.
The next two days passed in a haze. Annalise and Josie helped with the preparations. Josie even altered one of her sample dresses for Zoe. That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, she walked toward the buggy where Quentin waited. Their friends stood around the carriage beneath the copse of trees at the northeast corner of the church.
The buggy wedding had seemed the perfect idea. Zoe knew how Quentin hated being in that wheelchair. This way, they could both remain seated in the buggy with their guests nearby.
As she walked with Grandfather from Annalise’s clinic, where she had dressed, to the church a few yards away, Zoe smiled at their friends. Annalise was with her beau, Matt Baldwin. His brother, Russ, and wife, Lydia, were there, as were Ef and Naomi Gerard and Josie and Davis Lee Holt. Cora Wilkes, newly married to J. T. Baldwin, was alone due to her husband’s convalescence from back surgery. Jericho and Catherine Blue were absent; they had taken a trip back east to visit the nuns who had raised her.
Of those in attendance, only Grandfather and Zeke believed this would be a real marriage. When Zoe had gone to Josie about a wedding dress, she had explained about her sudden nuptials to Quentin. Josie had expressed hope that the marriage-of-convenience would turn into a real and lasting union.
Zoe knew Quentin had told Annalise the truth about their marriage, too, and she wondered what the doctor had said. Zoe and Quentin had thought it better not to share the information with Zeke in order to reduce the risk of him telling Grandfather.
Reverend Scoggins stood to the side of the buggy with Zeke. Shade from the oaks’ spreading branches and a slight breeze kept the day from being unbearably hot. Zoe reached the buggy and took the hand Quentin extended across the seat to help her up.
The black suit and white dress shirt made his eyes coffee-dark. The square line of his jaw looked freshly shaven. His sun-burnished features, though still sharp, weren’t harsh as they had been in the past. Instead, they looked strong. Commanding.
Their eyes met. Though his hand didn’t waver, the smile slid right off his face. He looked…poleaxed.
Heart sinking, her hand trembled as she let him help her up. It must have hit him exactly what he had agreed to do for her. Was he going to back out?
The thought disappeared when he squeezed her hand. Those dark eyes burned with hunger as his gaze moved from the intricate upsweep of her hair, down the length of her neck, over her breasts and down to the hem of her white silk alpaca skirts. “You’re a vision,” he said in a deep, low voice that shot sensation straight to her toes.
Zoe blinked, her cheeks burning. “Thank you.”
Everything faded to a blur as the reverend began the ceremony. Rattled by the way Quentin had looked at her, she reminded herself he was putting on an act for Grandfather.
But it didn’t feel like an act when Quentin slid a wedding ring on her finger. His mother’s ring.
Zoe was suddenly, startlingly aware of exactly what they were doing. She didn’t want the ring. It made things seem too permanent. Plus she hadn’t gotten one for him. Still, she couldn’t refuse it, not here.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the reverend boomed. “Quentin, you may kiss your bride.”
Zoe leaned over to brush her lips against his cheek, but he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close and cupping her cheek with his free hand. Pure panic shot through her.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “Our friends know this isn’t a real marriage.”
“It’s real to me.” His mouth covered hers and her heart kicked hard.
Her senses narrowed to only him. The unapologetic press of his lips to hers, the clean male scent of him, the solid wall of his chest against her breasts. Sensation whipped across her nerves and sent her pulse haywire. She’d forgotten how his kiss affected her, how her heart filled with warmth.
She kissed him back before she could stop herself. He finally drew away, the flush of arousal streaking his cheekbones. Heat burned her from the inside out.
She became aware of a smattering of applause and looked out at the crowd. Her gaze lit on Grandfather, who looked surprised. And pleased.
As people gathered around to congratulate them, Zoe got herself under control. She hadn’t expected Quentin to kiss her like that, but it was over now.
They wouldn’t be doing it again. Despite returning his kiss, Zoe didn’t want a real marriage. She didn’t think she needed to worry about him trying to seduce her. With the condition of his body, she didn’t know if there would be any point.
They made their way to the Fontaine where Russ and Lydia had prepared a reception with cake and champagne punch.
They greeted their guests, Zoe standing beside Quentin in his wheelchair. After a few moments, she felt a sudden tension in him. Glancing away from her conversation with Josie and Davis Lee, she saw Jake Ross approach her husband.
Her husband. As odd as that sounded, Zoe was focused on the uneasiness between Quentin and the man whose bullet had cost him the ability to walk. Was Quentin still as bitter as he had been after his sister’s death? Did he still blame his former brother-in-law?
Zoe realized she was holding her breath, waiting to see what happened between the two men.
Jake’s blonde, petite wife, Emma, reached out to shake Quentin’s hand. “Congratulations,” she said quietly. “You, too, Zoe.”
The women hugged as Jake and Quentin stared at each other. Jake cleared his throat. “Ike and Georgia would’ve been here, but they had to make a trip to Sweet Water. And Bram’s chasing Cosgrove. They wish you the best. So do I.”
“I appreciate you coming,” Quentin said gruffly.
Zoe could see he was moved by his former brother-in-law’s presence. He stuck out his hand and she knew she wasn’t the only one waiting to see if Jake would take it. Long ago, before Quentin had blamed Jake for Delia’s death, the men had been close.
After a moment, Jake shook the other man’s hand. “Good luck to you both.” Relief welled inside her as the rancher moved to her and offered his congratulations.
Zeke shook Quentin’s hand and welcomed him to the family then stepped over to Zoe. He gathered her up in an exuberant hug. She hugged him back.
Burl Upton followed, his gaze searching her face. “I have to admit I didn’t quite believe you would marry.”
Quentin took her hand and she gave it a grateful squeeze.
“Your brother and I will stay at your house tonight,” the older man said. “That will give you and your new husband some time alone.”
No! Her hand jerked in Quentin’s. After the way her toes had curled during that kiss, she didn’t want to spend the night alone with him. Of course, she couldn’t say so.
Quentin laced his fingers with hers. “Thank you, sir.”
A couple of hours later, Zoe and Quentin were at his home. The modest white house was distinguished by a fancy arched window over the front door. By the light
of the low-burning lamp, she took in the dining table and chairs across the large front room. A solidly built cupboard and glass-front cabinet holding his late sister’s china were on the adjacent wall.
The kitchen and stove were visible through the door in the corner. Zoe hadn’t been here since she had paid her respects following Delia’s death. Except for the addition of the cupboard, things looked the same.
The excitement and anxiety of the wedding had taken its toll and Zoe was worn-out. Even though she was here alone with Quentin, she didn’t think she would have trouble sleeping.
His gaze, dark in the soft light, fixed on her face. “You’re tired.”
“You must be, too.”
Lines fanned out from his dark eyes. He dragged a hand down his face. “I made up the second bedroom for you.”
“Thank you.”
“I wish you’d stay in mine. We’re married now and you’ll be with me after Zeke moves in.”
“I’d rather be alone tonight,” she said quietly.
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Very well.”
“Good night, then.”
“Good night. If you need anything, holler.”
She nodded though she couldn’t imagine she would need anything. In the bedroom he had prepared for her, she found a valise containing her nightdress, stockings, her brush and mirror. Her few dresses hung in the heavy wardrobe against the wall at the foot of the narrow bed. A small vase of bluebonnets sat on the table next to the bed.
She tugged off her shoes and stockings then took the pins from her hair. She shook it out with a big sigh of relief. Fatigue made her movements and thoughts slow, a little clumsy. Able to reach only the top four buttons at the back of her dress, she realized that she would need help with the rest of them.
Staring down at the fall of her white silk skirts, she considered sleeping in the garment, but she didn’t want to muss it. There was nothing to be done except ask for Quentin’s help, and that seemed like trouble waiting to happen.
Still, she had no choice if she wanted the dress off. She walked across the hall and knocked on his door, opening it when he told her to come in.
He sat on the edge of his big bed, wheelchair to the side. A leather strap attached to the wall at the head of the bed provided assistance for getting in and out of bed. Stacks of books drew her attention to a small desk on the wall behind him.
He grasped the strap as she stepped inside the room.
“No, Quentin, stay there.”
“Change your mind about sleeping in here?”
His teasing tone actually made her smile. “No.”
Now without his coat, he wore only trousers and his dress shirt, no boots or socks. Something about seeing his bare feet on the pine floor sent a flush of warmth through her.
“What is it?” Fatigue drew his features tight.
“I’m sorry to bother you.”
“It’s no bother, Zoe. Whatever you need.”
She touched her bodice, giving him a small smile. “I need some help getting out of my dress.”
His eyes flashed hotly. “Maybe my luck is changing,” he drawled.
“Quentin.”
“Okay.” He motioned her closer.
Turning away from him, she eased back between his legs and pulled her hair to one side. Being this close to him made her pulse race and when he laid a warm, broad palm at her waist, she nearly jumped a foot in the air.
His other hand moved to her spine, undoing one button then another. Air brushed her skin. Through the fabric of her dress, she could feel the warmth of his body, the occasional tease of his breath against her skin. She flattened a palm against her suddenly jumpy stomach.
His fingers flexed at her waist and a breath shuddered out of her. How many stupid buttons were there? How long had it taken Josie to fasten the dress before the ceremony?
To cover her nervousness, she asked, “Who did you tell about our wedding?”
“You mean, the real reason we got hitched?”
She nodded.
“Just Annalise,” he said. “I don’t have a lot of friends these days.”
No, he didn’t, but Zoe knew he was working on rectifying that.
“I told her the truth.”
“What did she say?”
“She said good, and that she hoped it would work out.”
“That’s what Josie said, too,” Zoe murmured.
Quentin’s hand paused on her back. “I owe you an apology.”
The deep baritone of his voice set her blood to humming. Relaxing in spite of herself, she shook her head. “You just married me so that I could help my family. I hardly think you owe me anything.”
“I’m sorry for hurting you.”
She went still, keenly aware of the burn of his knuckles through her chemise.
“After Delia died, all I cared about was making Jake pay.”
“And me,” she said flatly.
“That was wrong, but I couldn’t see it for myself until the hate began to fade.”
“Well…thank you.” How much longer before he came to a button she could reach so she could finish for herself? “You could’ve told me this back then instead of just shutting me out.”
“You’re right. And that’s what I should’ve done, but anger wasn’t the only reason I pushed you away.”
“Quentin, get on with my buttons. Please.” She shifted uneasily. “I know your other reason was because you lost your ability to walk. That never mattered to me. Never.”
“I know it didn’t.” Instead of continuing to unfasten her dress, he toyed with a lock of her hair. “But it mattered to me. I felt like half a man.”
And did he still? She shouldn’t want to know. She didn’t want to care. He had hurt her deeply.
“I didn’t want you having to care for me in addition to your siblings.”
She looked over her shoulder. “That isn’t how I saw it. It’s not how I saw you.”
“I’m glad.” The smile he gave her had her facing front again. “Will you accept my apology?”
“Yes.” There was a deep, sudden longing to try again with him. Because of their enforced distance over the years, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him.
But wanting another chance and doing something about it were two different things. She couldn’t reconcile with him. Surely he wasn’t working his way around to asking her to consider it.
Shifting against the edge of the bed, she asked, “How are you coming with those buttons?”
“Almost finished.” His fingers threaded through her hair.
The motion was soothing, enough so that Zoe inched back into him a little more. No one had taken care of her, had paid any attention to her like this since her parents’ deaths.
Time slowed, moving like warm honey, making her limbs feel weightless. He smelled of light sandalwood and the outdoors.
She involuntarily arched beneath his touch. She wanted to curl up and let him stroke her hair all night. Stroke her.
She stood between his legs and she realized she was pressed right up against him. The strength in his chest and arms gave her a sense of safety.
“That feels heavenly.”
“Good.” He lifted her hair up and brushed his lips across her nape.
She froze, knowing she should move, but she couldn’t make herself do it.
“Your hair is gorgeous.” He buried his face in the thick mass.
Against the small of her back, she felt something hard. Hot. Him. He was aroused.
She jumped away, whirling toward him. Her face flamed. “Was that—are you—can you feel me?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, don’t!”
He didn’t look as stunned as she felt. In fact, he was smiling in a way that made her feel half-naked.
“I didn’t think you could…” She drew a deep breath. “You know.”
“I wasn’t sure.” There was no mistaking the excitement in his voice. “I’ve had sensation on and off, but nothing
like this until earlier. When I kissed you at the wedding, I felt something although it was too quick for me to be sure. I definitely felt you just now. And you felt me, too.”
No. No, no, no. Zoe didn’t want to feel him. “What does Annalise say? Does she think the surgery might, um, fix that?”
“She isn’t sure, but she’s hopeful.”
Not Zoe. She was leery and grew even more so when he said quietly, “We might be able to make this a real marriage.”
Zoe didn’t want that. She had only been able to make herself marry Quentin because she knew it wouldn’t be forever. Knowing there was a possibility that he could regain feeling in his lower half had Zoe’s stomach knotting up because she wasn’t sure she would be able to resist him if he tried to change her mind.
If she slept with him, Zoe knew she would never be able to walk away. And she had to walk away.
Chapter Three
Last night had been the closest thing to a whole man that Quentin had felt in seven years. And he wanted to keep feeling that way.
Zoe was imprinted on his brain. He could still smell the clean soap scent of her, feel the thick silkiness of her fiery hair. Since his body had gone hard against hers, she hadn’t let him close enough to even touch, let alone hold her again.
The feel of him had spooked her. Not that he was anywhere near an expert on women, but Quentin was pretty sure it wouldn’t have bothered her so much if she didn’t still care for him.
In the enclosed shed where he was overseeing Zeke’s first extraction of honey, Quentin watched his wife through the lone small window beside the door.
She stood at the corner of his house. Her eyes met his and even from here he could see her flush. She was remembering last night. He knew it.
Ever since then, all he’d been able to think about was making love to her. She would probably run faster than a six-legged jackrabbit if she knew how badly he wanted to make that happen. If he didn’t want to spook her, he would have to court her, move slowly so she would gradually accept the idea.
“I put the hive box on the table with the other three, Quentin.” Zeke turned toward him, lifting the protective netting on his hat to look at him. “Now what?”
