Outlaw's Bride

by Maureen McKade

  “No,” Mattie admitted. “But I still think it’s too early for you to be trying to get up.”

  “Will you wrap it up tight?”

  She knew it would be useless to argue with him. Cabin fever could be ten times worse than any other fever, if it went unrelieved for too long. “All right, but you have to promise me you’ll only sit on the porch.”

  “I promise.”

  Mattie sighed and set to work removing the old dressing. She found that only the exit wound had broken open, and it had stopped bleeding already. She cleaned it, then rewrapped a bandage about his trim waist.

  Overly aware of his close-fitting black jeans, Mattie tried to keep her attention averted, but her traitorous gaze kept returning to the bulge beneath the buttoned fly. She finally tied off the bandage and found herself suddenly faced with his chest—bare except for the captivating triangle of chest hair that tapered down to his waist.

  She cleared her throat. “I’ll get your undershirt.” Opening a dresser drawer, she pulled out the one she’d cleaned and mended—the one he’d been wearing when he’d been shot. She handed it to him. “Here.”

  Clint put his arms in the sleeves, then tried to lift it over his head. He grimaced and his arms fell back to his thighs.

  Without asking, Mattie helped him pull it on over his head and tugged it down to cover the temptation of his chest and snug jeans.

  “Thanks,” Clint mumbled.

  “You’re up!”

  Mattie looked over to see her son enter the room.

  “You need help with your boots, Mr. Beaudry?” Andy asked.

  One of them was partially on, while the other lay on its side on the floor.

  “I’d be obliged, Andy,” Clint said.

  Her son knelt and struggled to tug on the boots. Clint’s jaw muscle twitched, revealing his discomfort, but Mattie knew he’d endure almost anything to get out of this room.

  “There,” Andy announced as he scrambled to his feet. “You gonna have breakfast with us?”

  “If your ma doesn’t mind.”

  “As long as he can make it downstairs without passing out, he’s welcome to join us,” Mattie said, arching a dark eyebrow.

  “You’re a hard woman, Mrs. St. Clair,” Clint teased.

  “And here I was going to offer to help you downstairs.”

  “In that case, you’re an angel of mercy.”

  Mattie laughed. “We’ll see if you’re thinking the same thing by the time you get downstairs.”

  Clint took hold of the bedpost and slowly pulled himself to his feet. His face, which had gained some color while he’d been sitting, paled again.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Mattie asked.

  He nodded without hesitation.

  Reluctantly, she stepped up beside him and wrapped her arm around his waist, heedful of his wounds. He placed his right arm around her shoulders and they shuffled out of the bedroom. His harsh breathing told Mattie of the pain he was in and she gritted her own teeth in empathy. As they descended the stairs, he held tightly to the banister with his left hand while leaning heavily on Mattie on his other side.

  She ached with tension and his extra weight, but the feel of his body against hers diminished her burden. Clint Beaudry was lean, but sinewy muscles gave him a strength she wouldn’t have thought he possessed.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Clint drew away from her, but she remained close by his side in case he stumbled. She had better things to do than spend another two weeks playing nursemaid to a stubborn fool.

  Even a stubborn fool as handsome as Clint Beaudry.

  Chapter 5

  Despite the morning’s coolness, sweat beaded Clint’s forehead when he finally lowered himself into a chair in the kitchen.

  “You look whiter’n Herman’s beard,” Andy exclaimed.

  “That… must be pretty white,” Clint said as his head spun.

  “You gonna be all right, Mr. Beaudry?” Andy asked, his young face worried.

  “He’ll be fine once he rests for a few minutes. Go on and gather the eggs, and have Herman milk Jewel.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Andy skipped out of the kitchen.

  “So aren’t you going to say I told you so?” Clint asked.

  Mattie glanced at him. “Would it do any good?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’d be wasting my breath, wouldn’t I?”

  Clint chuckled. There were a lot of things to admire about Mattie St. Clair. He watched her mix a batch of biscuits, content to sit in the silence of her comfortable kitchen.

  Mattie’s slender fingers moved gracefully as she worked. She brushed back a strand of hair from the side of her face, leaving a dusty white trail behind. Her unpretentiousness crept into Clint’s chest, lodging too close to his heart. She was nothing like the sporting women he’d kept company with since Emily had died, and therein lay the tender peril.

  “Here.”

  Mattie’s voice startled him out of his musings and he glanced up to see her offering him a glass of water. He smiled gratefully and his fingers wrapped around hers as he accepted it. Her smooth warm skin ignited a spark of desire that he quickly squelched. “Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair.”

  Her smile could have brought a dead man back to life. “You’re welcome, Mr. Beaudry.”

  Clint drank the water, not even aware if it was warm or cold. All he knew was that he needed to find something else to dwell on besides the lilt of her sensual voice and the light in her violet eyes.

  “Would you like more?” she asked.

  He nodded and she took his glass to fill it at the pump in the sink. Her slim back curved gracefully as she worked the pump’s handle, and the profile of her high breasts captured Clint’s undivided attention.

  Mattie finished her task and returned, handing Clint the glass. “Looks like you’re getting some color back into your face,” she commented. “Are you feeling better?”

  Better wasn’t the word he’d use, but it was close enough. “Yes, ma’am.” This time he drank the water more slowly. It was cold and fresh; too bad he couldn’t douse himself in it. Maybe he could do the second best thing. “I’d like to take a bath.”

  “You shouldn’t be getting those wounds wet.” She frowned, and her cheeks pinkened. “I can give you a sponge bath later.”

  His erection throbbed at the thought of Mattie’s hands sliding across his body, caressing and tantalizing … No, that wouldn’t be a good idea.

  “I’d rather take a bath,” he said.

  “But—”

  “I’m a grown man, Mrs. St. Clair, not a little boy. So if your intention isn’t to seduce me, then you’d best let me take a bath on my own.”

  Mattie’s flush deepened to crimson, and he knew he’d won the argument. “It’s your choice,” she said flatly.

  Despite his victory, he didn’t feel like gloating. His blunt talk had embarrassed her, as well as himself. His manners had grown rusty and he’d forgotten what it was like to be around a decent woman like Mattie.

  After breakfast, she and Andy helped Clint out to one of the old rockers on the porch. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the sweet smell of freshly cut hay carried along on the breeze. It felt damn good to be alive.

  With a start, he realized he’d forgotten his customary morning greeting since he’d been shot. He gazed up at the blue sky brushed with white clouds that looked like horse tails and whispered, “Maybe today, Em.”

  For the first time, the words seemed harsh and were difficult to speak aloud.

  He could hear the sound of Mattie’s footsteps as she cleaned up after breakfast. Near the barn, Andy’s call to Herman startled some cooing pigeons on the roof and the beating of their wings signaled their departure. A horse nickered and Clint looked over to see Dakota prancing in the pen, the sun shining off her sorrel hide. He smiled, glad to see his old friend was being well taken care of.

  Tranquillity tempted him to relax his guard and give in to the drainin
g exhaustion that had dogged him for over a year. He’d been pushing so hard for so long that he’d forgotten there were peaceful places like this one. Maybe that’s why the words were so tough to say today—they didn’t belong here, among people like Mattie and her son, who were truly alive.

  Unlike him, who had been dead inside since he’d found his wife’s body.

  Clint shifted and pain arrowed through his side. The man who’d shot him had also destroyed his life. He couldn’t let anyone or anything lull him into abandoning his quest for revenge.

  Mattie finished pouring steaming hot water into the tub that sat in a corner of the kitchen. Then she added enough cold water to bring the temperature down to a comfortable level. Shoving aside her nervousness, she stepped onto the porch. “If you’re up to that bath, it’s all ready for you.”

  Clint appeared startled. “You didn’t have to do that, Mrs. St. Clair. I could’ve waited until you weren’t so busy.”

  “Then you would’ve waited forever,” she said wryly. “There’s always something to be done around here.”

  “As soon as I’m feelin’ stronger, I’ll give you a hand with the chores.”

  “You’re a patient and a guest. You don’t have to work.”

  “Even paying you double your rate, it won’t come close to what I owe you for everything you did for me. By helping you out some, maybe it’ll come out a little closer to even.”

  Sincerity glimmered in his green eyes. Without his gunbelt and insolence, Clint Beaudry was a very appealing man—too appealing. “I never said you had to pay me double.”

  “I offered and I don’t go back on my word.” His voice gentled. “You earned it, Mattie.”

  The sound of her name spoken in his deep timbre brought goose bumps to her arms. How was she to resist him if she turned to mush every time he spoke her name?

  “All right, if you insist,” she relented. “Think you can stand by yourself?”

  He placed his hands on the chair’s arms and tried to push himself upright. Mattie kept her arms wrapped around her waist as his face paled with pain and exertion. Finally he succeeded in standing. She unclenched her fists. “Would you like a shoulder to lean on, Mr. Beaudry?”

  “Clint,” he said with more breath than sound. “I’d appreciate it.”

  He lifted his arm so she could slip beneath it, and she helped him inside.

  “Would you mind giving me a hand with my clothes?” he asked.

  Mattie’s heart jumped into her throat, and she chastised herself for her indecent thoughts. After he sat on a chair, she lifted his undershirt over his head, then squatted down in front of him to remove his boots.

  She felt a touch on her hair and glanced up to see Clint rolling one dark strand between his fingertips. “You have beautiful hair, Mattie. Soft.”

  His husky voice fueled her hunger and her breath tripped in her lungs. “Thank you,” she managed to say.

  “You shouldn’t hide it.”

  “Vanity is a sin, Mr. Beaudry.”

  “Clint, remember?”

  If she called him Clint, she would surely give in to the urge to splay her palm against his muscled arm and feel the heat of his skin against hers. She removed his socks, leaving him clad only in his black jeans—his tight black jeans. Her hands shook and she cursed the man for his blatant masculinity.

  “There, you should be able to do the rest yourself,” Mattie said as she got to her feet.

  “You aren’t going to help me take my pants off?” His eyes smoldered with banked passion and the promise of fulfillment.

  Mattie forced herself to take a step back, bridling the temptation to take him up on his unspoken offer. “If you need help, I’ll call Andy.”

  He shook his head. “I think I can handle it from here.”

  “I’ll be outside working in the garden if you need me.”

  “What if I only want you?”

  Mattie’s belly tensed with desire, and she pretended to misunderstand him. “Let me know what you want and I’ll get it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he responded dutifully with a boyish grin.

  Turning on her heel, Mattie fled for the sanctuary of her garden.

  Half an hour later, she set a bowl of newly picked peas on the porch. The silence from the kitchen made her uneasy. What if Clint had slipped beneath the water in his weakened condition? Or what if he’d stumbled getting into the tub and knocked himself out?

  Mattie’s heart thundered in her ears. She shouldn’t have allowed him to take a bath by himself—he wasn’t strong enough yet. If he was dead, she would never forgive herself.

  Throwing propriety aside, Mattie rushed into the kitchen, only to stop abruptly. Clint still sat in the tub, his head resting against the rim. A soft snore told her he had fallen asleep.

  She should wake him. So why didn’t she call out his name or walk across the kitchen to him? Instead, she studied his tranquil brow and blond eyebrows, his generous mouth and strong jawline, his smooth-muscled shoulders and arms. Her gaze traveled to his bent legs in the too-small tub, which hid the rest of him from her devouring eyes.

  “Like what you see?”

  Mattie jumped and sucked in her breath in surprise, then the swift, burning heat of humiliation flooded her face. “I, uh, I was … You fell asleep,” she finished lamely.

  “I tried to get out by myself but couldn’t, so thought I’d rest a little first. I guess I fell asleep.”

  “You should’ve called out,” she scolded him, hoping to make him forget her too-avid interest in his body.

  “Would you have come?”

  “I would’ve sent Andy or Herman.”

  “So why didn’t you have one of them check on me?”

  Damn the man! “I got worried.”

  A strange light came into his eyes and his expression became thoughtful. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For worrying about me.”

  What kind of solitary, lonely life did he live? She couldn’t let him see how his words made her want to care all the more for him. “Don’t get used to it. Once you’re healed, you’re back on your own.”

  “I’ve been on my own more years than not.”

  She tried not to hear the forced indifference in his voice, but it was there, as real as the dirt under her fingernails. If only he had remained a villain in her eyes, she could continue to dislike him.

  “Could I ask you a favor?” Clint spoke up.

  “What?”

  “I’d like to shave, but my razor’s in my saddlebag.”

  “I’ll get it.” Mattie hurried up the stairs, relieved to escape his devastating presence. She unstrapped one side of his saddlebag and found a razor amid his extra clothing. Returning to the kitchen, she studiously kept her gaze aimed at his face. “Here you are.”

  “How about a mirror?”

  “It’s in my bedroom.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  Aghast, Mattie’s mouth dropped open. “Of course not.” She took the razor from his hand. “I’ll shave you.”

  “Fine by me,” Clint said with a shrug, and crossed his arms over his bare chest.

  Mattie had intentionally filled the tub with only about six inches of water so his bandage and wound would remain dry. Her gaze flitted to the water’s surface, and from her vantage point she could make out … She quickly looked away, and from the smile on Clint’s face, he knew exactly what she had been doing.

  Determined not to be embarrassed by his audacity, or her own, she said, “I’ll add some more water.”

  Taking the kettle from the stove top, she carried it to the foot of the tub and added the warm water carefully. Once his nether regions were well hidden beneath the soapy water, Mattie set the large pot back on the stove.

  He sighed. “That feels better. Water was getting downright cold.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? Herman or Andy could’ve helped you out.”

  “And miss having you shave me?” He winked. “Not a ch
ance, Mrs. St. Clair.”

  She smiled in spite of herself as she knelt beside the bathtub and lathered his face with soap. Leaning forward, she concentrated on dragging the razor down his cheek and across his jaw. The whiskers rasped away under the sharp blade.

  Mattie’s face was so close to Clint’s that he could have turned his head and met her lips with his. He focused on his breathing as second thoughts plagued him. He hadn’t expected her to accept his challenge and now that she had, the joke was on him.

  She laid her free hand against the opposite side of his face as she carefully drew the razor across his whiskers. The discomfort of his wound was surpassed by the feel of her palm on his cheek. And if the water hadn’t been covering his privates, Mattie St. Clair would know exactly what he was thinking.

  He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation while at the same time fearing it. He could get real used to this woman’s touch … as long as he could finish what she so innocently began.

  Sweat glided down his neck. Mattie completed her task and Clint opened his eyes to see her gaze locked on the bead of sweat rolling down to his chest. She drew her tongue along her lips, leaving them pink and glistening. His heart pounded in his ears as he lifted his hand and curved the palm around the side of her slender neck.

  Her eyes widened and darkened with passion. She didn’t attempt to escape, but instead leaned closer. Her mouth was slightly open and her warm breath caressed his neck. His need before was nothing compared to the heat that burned in Clint’s blood now. He brought his other hand to her cheek, barely grazing her peach-soft skin.

  Footsteps on the porch broke the spell, and Mattie jerked away.

  “Well, look-ee here,” Herman said with a grin. “Am I interruptin’ anything?”

  “Of course not,” Mattie replied too quickly. “I was just shaving Cl—Mr. Beaudry.”

  “Looks like you was doin’ more than shavin’ there, Mattie.” Herman’s eyes twinkled.

  “Nope, that was all,” Clint interjected, easily injecting a note of genuine disappointment in his tone.

  “I was jest wonderin’ when lunch was going to be ready.”