Never Marry a Cowboy

by Lorraine Heath

  “Yes.”

  The sadness in his eyes tore into her heart, and against her better judgment, she found herself nodding.

  “Why would Ashton have her own death certificate drawn up?” Elizabeth asked Christopher as he leaned against the porch railing, one hand stuffed in his pocket, his head bent.

  He slowly shook his head. “I can only presume that she thought she was giving Kit what he wanted.” He lifted his gaze. “Theirs is a complicated relationship, not unlike ours.”

  Elizabeth furrowed her brow, pressed her shoulder against the beam that supported the roof over the porch, and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I don’t see our friendship as being complicated.”

  Christopher shifted his stance. “It’s not complicated here, no, but it would be in England. I am nobility, you aren’t. I am well educated, whereas life more than schools educated you. I am expected to project a certain mien, and you are refreshingly adept at revealing your true self.”

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m being insulted?”

  “Believe me, it is not my intent to insult you. I’m merely striving to realistically and tactfully identify obstacles that we might have to overcome if we were in England.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes, wondering why he was pursuing this path of conversation. “I don’t see the point in identifying anything. We’re not in England.”

  “No, we’re not.” He held her gaze, and she saw uncertainty reflected in his pale blue eyes. “But we could be.”

  She furrowed her brow. “I don’t see how.”

  “If we wished it to be so.” He took a step closer. “My father arranged both my marriages. The first one worked out splendidly. Clarisse and I were well suited, and until she took ill, I was extremely happy. I have immense doubts regarding the second one. I cannot envision that I shall be content.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I know you’re feeling guilty because you don’t remember her name—”

  “My misgivings regarding this second marriage have nothing to do with my inability to remember my intended’s name. They reside in the fact that I shall be unable to forget you.”

  She felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her, and all she could manage to his flattering declaration was a soft, “Oh.”

  She turned and looked toward the fields that had lain fallow since Daniel had left to fight for the Confederacy.

  “I realize that we have not known each other long,” he continued, “and perhaps my feelings are premature but I must confess that I’ve fallen in love with you. I was hoping that you might consent to marry me.”

  Tears burned her eyes, blurring the fields that her husband had planted and harvested. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips. It had been a good many years since she’d captured a man’s fancy, a good many years since she’d wanted to. But lately, the wind whispering through the leaves, her daughters’ voices and their laughter, weren’t enough to ease the loneliness. “Everything here reminds me of Daniel,” she rasped. “It would be like leaving him.” The tears rolled down her cheeks as she turned and looked at Christopher. “I know I told you that I haven’t thought of him lately…and I haven’t, but I can’t leave here, leave what I know.” An unexpected sob escaped her.

  He drew her into his embrace and pressed her face against his chest. He didn’t smell of sweat, horses, soil, or crops. He smelled like lemon, crisp and clean.

  “I’m so sorry,” she croaked, hating this weakness that made her feel incredibly young and vulnerable.

  He closed his arms more securely around her. Oh, Lord, he was sturdy. He would have made a fine farmer.

  “The apology is mine to give,” he said quietly. “I should not have placed you in this awkward position of having to reject me. My earlier blathering was an attempt to get an idea of how you might feel on the matter. I handled it poorly.”

  She snapped her head back to meet his sorrowful gaze. Her heart tightened into a painful knot. She didn’t want to hurt him, but the thought of leaving what she’d known her entire life scared the living daylights out of her. “It’s not you,” she reassured him. “I just—”

  He shook his head slightly. “It’s all right. You don’t have to explain. I realize that what I was proposing was selfish on my part. I’ve enjoyed being with you, and I wanted to prolong our time together, for the remainder of our lives, actually.” He smiled warmly, his gaze traveling over her face as though he wanted to memorize every curve and hollow. “I’d even planned to have a porch built around the manor so we could watch the sunset.”

  She felt more tears surface. Gently he wiped them away.

  “Don’t weep,” he ordered softly. “I don’t want my last memory of you to be with tears dampening your lovely face.”

  She clutched his shirt and pressed her face against his chest. Why was this parting so hard? She twisted her head slightly, and her gaze fell on the long stretch of road, a dirt path she looked down every morning when she woke up. Of late, she hadn’t been looking for Daniel. She’d been looking for the man who now held her, and she’d still be looking for him when he left. “I love you,” she said quietly.

  “Then accept my proposal. I know it won’t be easy, and I know it must be as frightening to consider being my wife as it was for me to contemplate being a farmer.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and bent her head back until their gazes met. “But I promise that you’ll never come to regret your decision if you agree to be my wife. I can’t deny that your life will change drastically, and the demands will be many, but I’ll gladly teach you all that you need to know, and I rather think you’ll enjoy the challenge.” He kissed her cheek, her temple, her brow. “Say yes, Elizabeth.”

  The plea, spoken with such tenderness, melted her heart. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned away from him slightly, and looked into his pale blue eyes. “Yes.”

  A beautiful, joyous smile eased across his face before he lowered his mouth to hers, his passionate kiss easing aside the doubts until she could readily admit that no other answer had been possible.

  Nestled between Kit’s thighs as he sat astride Lancelot and guided the horse, Ashton heard the thunder of the waterfalls long before they reached them. Their time here had been short, and in spite of the circumstances that had caused them to discover this small Eden, she’d thought it beautiful and peaceful.

  But she had not expected Kit to bring her here.

  With the lush green surrounding her so unlike the flatness of Dallas, for a fleeting moment, she felt as though they had returned to paradise. But it was only a beautiful illusion, an elaborate unforgettable tapestry in which explanations could be rendered, understanding could be reached, and a final farewell be exchanged.

  She would not allow Kit to return to Dallas with her. She would go alone, for she had no desire to taint Dallas with a memory that she felt certain would break her heart.

  This place was appropriate, for its majesty would sustain the most painful moment of her life. Why had Kit not been content with her letter of explanation? What could he possibly say to change her mind?

  She knew he loved her, knew she loved him. Love required sacrifices, and he had made them all for her. Now she wanted to return the favor. How could he not understand?

  She saw the falls in which she’d bathed when he’d been injured. The current was not strong as it hit the rocks below and journeyed through cracks and crevices toward destinations she could only imagine.

  Kit drew Lancelot to a halt and dismounted. Reaching up, he wrapped his hands on either side of her waist and brought her slowly to the ground, her body brushing against his, causing warm tendrils of pleasure to curl through her. She refused to give into the temptation to wrap her arms around his neck and draw his head down for a kiss.

  She must remain dispassionate and project a false image of strength when all she truly wanted was to remain in his embrace forever. She wanted to die within his arms, and for a brief moment, she envied Clarisse.<
br />
  Perhaps if his father were stronger, Kit could stay with her until the end, but she knew in her heart that if he did not return to Ravenleigh now, he would never return. He would be the one who placed the solitary rose on her grave. He would lead the lonely life he’d always envisioned for himself.

  She stepped back. “Is this where we intend to talk?”

  He smiled lazily. “I said nothing of talking.”

  “But you wanted to convince me—”

  “With actions, not with words. Let me see to Lancelot’s comfort, and then I shall see to yours.”

  He led the horse away, and she walked to the babbling water. What did he have in mind?

  Whatever it was, he would not sway her from her decision or the path she knew she must follow.

  His hands came to rest on her shoulders as he pressed his warm mouth against the nape of her neck. If it were not for the coolness of the mist caused by the cascading water, she thought she might melt on the spot. She felt his tongue tease her flesh just before he whispered, “’Tis a wise dead woman who packs her valise.”

  She spun around. He had spread a blanket over the ground and her case rested near it. She looked up into his light blue eyes. “Kit—”

  “Shh.” He cradled her chin and touched his thumb to her lips. “No words, not yet.”

  He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.

  “Kit, passion isn’t the answer.”

  “I know that now, but it’s a splendid substitute,” he rasped, before capturing her mouth totally with his, his tongue seeking entry she could not deny him.

  Like a vine seeking purchase, she entwined her arms around his neck and pressed her body flush against his. Regardless of the pleasure he brought her, she would not stay with him; she loved him too much. She’d tried to show him the last night they’d shared a bed. Perhaps that had been her mistake, pleasuring him as he had pleasured her.

  But still she had felt the emptiness. It would always be there between them, a chasm they could not fill because he would not give all of himself to her, and damn her heart for understanding and for hurting so painfully. And for wanting so desperately what she could never give him.

  With another woman, he would not have to deny himself complete surrender to passion’s glory.

  As he trailed his mouth along her throat, she tried not to think of his lips touching someone else’s neck, igniting another’s flesh.

  She felt as though her knees were turning into pools of wax, and she would soon melt at his feet. He wrapped one arm sturdily around her waist, holding her upright, while the fingers of his other hand began to deftly unbutton her bodice.

  “What are you doing?” she asked on a breathless sigh.

  “What I’ve wanted to do since I first saw you beneath the flowing waters of the fall. Only duty called then, and I had no time to enjoy you.”

  “As duty should be calling you now.” She cradled his face between her hands. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable.”

  “Perhaps that’s what I’ve been doing all along.”

  He crushed his mouth to hers with a desperation she’d never felt in him before, as though he were clinging to her, fearful of his own demise should she not be within reach. She heard the material of her bodice rip, and quite frankly, she didn’t care.

  Nothing would change her mind, but she could take this memory with her, hold it near when death hovered close, and smile. Eagerly, she moved her hands over his strong shoulders and along his sturdy chest until her fingers found the buttons on his shirt.

  She felt the cool mist touch her bare shoulders and soon her bare back as he removed her clothes with an efficiency that left them in tatters. With only half his buttons free, he stepped back and she stood nude before him, his gaze wandering slowly over her as though he were painting an image in his mind, soft sweeping strokes of the brush.

  His gaze left her only momentarily as he pulled his shirt over his head and cast it aside. His boots followed. Then he stripped off his remaining garments, leaving her with the breathtaking sight of his nudity. Always before, shadows had played over him, hiding portions here and there, careful to never reveal the full measure of his magnificence.

  A jolt of regret shot through her. She never wanted any woman to gaze upon him as she did now, bathed in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the thick branches and leaves above.

  She wanted him forever.

  She gave him a tremulous smile as he held out his hand, so much larger than hers. So much stronger. With his hands, he had saved a town, and each time he touched her, she felt as though he spared a portion of her, created a memory that might never fade.

  She slipped her hand into his and his fingers closed securely around it. He pulled her close and wound his arm around her as he led her to the falls. The mist grew thicker and a shiver traveled the length of her body. Her nipples puckered.

  Kit released his hold on her and nudged her toward the cascading water. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Aren’t you coming?”

  He shook his head slightly. “I want to watch you for a while.”

  Ashton felt the heat of embarrassment suffuse her body from head to toe. “I feel like you’re wanting me to put on a performance.”

  “I want nothing more than memories, Ashton. Should my power of persuasion be less than I think it is, should you not tear up the death certificate that’s in my saddlebag, memories are all I’ll have to sustain me through my grief. Is that too much to ask?”

  She felt the tears sting her eyes. “Kit, you have to understand—”

  “I do understand, sweetling. That’s why I need the memories. I have so few of the first woman I loved that I’ll not make that mistake again.”

  With a sigh and a burning desire to give him more than he asked for, she averted her gaze and walked beneath the shower of water. Its strength was as palpable as its gentleness. She allowed it to wash over her, cleansing her heart as well as her body.

  She would leave him so he could follow his destiny.

  Standing proud, she turned and faced him. Even through the mist, she could see the intensity of his gaze, feel its vibrant heat as he watched her. He stood as still as any statue, as any animal waiting for its prey.

  She suddenly felt vulnerable and unprotected. His penetrating gaze never left hers as he stalked across the rocks and ferns, a man with a purpose.

  Lord help her, she didn’t know if she had the strength to withstand the assault on her heart that she knew he was capable of delivering.

  He stepped into the falls, and she watched as the sheets of water washed over him, plastering his hair to his head as they continued on their journey. He drew her to him, and she looked through the droplets into his eyes.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said in a low voice. He cupped one of her breasts, lifted it slightly as he dipped his head and closed his mouth around her hardened nipple. The fury of passion exploded within her.

  “You’ve gained weight,” he said quietly.

  She had. She knew each time she put on her clothes, but all the weight in the world would not defeat death.

  He cupped her other breast and drew the tip into his mouth, suckling gently. She grabbed his shoulders, seeking to remain standing when all she wanted was to lie beneath him, to have her body a molten pool of wax shaped by his hands into the raging passion that she knew he could bring forth.

  He brought his mouth to hers and an insatiable appetite swept through her. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, wanting him as she’d never wanted him before, with fierceness and needs that were almost frightening. More than receiving the pleasure, she wanted to give it to him again, to witness his body’s reaction, his eyes darkening as passion consumed him like a fire gone unfettered.

  She wanted it all, and God help her, she wanted it for the remainder of her life whether it was measured in hours, days, or weeks.

  Kit slid one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back and lifted her into his arms, crad
ling her against his chest. “Kiss me,” he commanded, and she could no more deny him than she could cause the sun to stop shining.

  She tasted the purity of the water rushing over them, drenching them, and more she tasted him, a flavor as distinctive as the man himself. Intoxicating. Her arms wound around his neck, and she pressed her body more closely against his as the urgency of his kiss increased.

  He carried her from beneath the falls. She shivered and his hold on her tightened as though he wanted to warm her. Carefully, he dropped to one knee and laid her on the quilt. He grabbed one end and began to blot the droplets of water from her skin.

  “Bloody hell, I can warm you more quickly,” he murmured before laying his body over hers.

  Instinctively, she spread her thighs until he was nestled snuggly between them. He covered her completely from hip to chest. Raised up slightly on his elbows, he cradled her face and kissed her forehead, her closed eyes, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, working his way along her body.

  “Kit, this won’t change anything,” she whispered, her argument sounding weak even to her.

  “I know,” he murmured as his tongue circled her nipple. He moved back up until their gazes were even. He held hers steadily. “I want to be inside you, Ashton. If only once more.”

  With one palm, she cradled his cheek and nodded.

  “Promise me that you won’t close your eyes,” he rasped. “I want to see the rapture in your eyes when the passion overtakes you.”

  She swallowed hard. He wanted from her what she could never have from him. Yet she would gladly give him this one last gift, accepting the pain of bereavement that she knew would accompany it when he stilled without giving her what she craved most: his complete surrender. To be so lost in her that he forgot his vow, forgot everything but her.

  She slid her hands around to his back and urged him forward. “Come to me.”

  He kissed her deeply, hungrily before levering himself over her, capturing and holding her gaze. Her hands stroking his back, she noted the tenseness in his muscles as he drove himself into her. Moaning with pleasure, she lifted her hips, meeting his initial thrust, relishing the fullness, the rightness of their joining.