The Horseman

by Jillian Hart

  He drew her into his arms, her back to his chest and, chin on her head, began unfastening the buttons that kept her breasts from his touch.

  He’d waited long enough. He’d not wait another second to bind her to him, make her a little more his. He brushed the dress from her shoulders and the garments beneath and led her to their bed. He laid her down and made love to her, his wife, his love.

  He gave her all the pleasure he knew how to give. Gentle touches and hot kisses and slow deep thrusts that made her arch up to take him deeper. That made her fingers dig into his back as she surrendered. It was his name she called when she broke around him, his name she whispered as she kissed his face afterward.

  She clung to him when, sated and full of his seed, sleep claimed her.

  Even in her dreams, she held fast to him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wasn’t it a beautiful day? Katelyn couldn’t believe how light she felt. As weightless as those tiny snowflakes floating in a crisp morning sky. It was because she’d awakened in the warmth of Dillon’s arms, tucked against his chest as if he thought she was the most precious thing to him.

  He’s that precious to me. Love for him glowed like a noontime sun within her, warming her from the inside out. Memories from last night rippled through her. The passionate taste of his kisses. The possessive gentleness of his caresses. The liquid glide of him inside her, the pleasure of it, the intimacy.

  She’d never known that kind of pleasure existed. And that it could get better each time. As her affections for him did. Each time he made love to her, the feelings inside her heart doubled. How could that be?

  She strolled into the kitchen, warm and toasty. Dillon had lit the stove for her, on his early-morning trip to the stables. Wasn’t that thoughtful?

  A small bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of twine sat precisely in the middle of the table. “To Katelyn, my love,” was written in a bold script.

  Dillon had gotten her a gift? What a thoughtful man. What a wonderful man. He’d gone to town yesterday, and he’d taken the time out of his busy errand running and supply buying to choose a little something for her. Should she open it now? Or wait?

  As if in answer, the wall clock bonged six times. What she’d better do is get breakfast cooking, that’s what! The gift would be all the better for the waiting.

  She sliced bacon and set it on to fry. While the meat sizzled, she sliced potatoes and melted butter to fry them in. She kept stealing glances over her shoulder.

  It was something small. Like a barrette for her hair. Or a pin for her lapel. Ooh, what could it be? She tried to imagine what Dillon would have selected. A bar of scented soap? A length of lace?

  She ground the coffee beans the way Dillon had shown her and put the ground coffee on to boil. The kitchen smelled of sizzling bacon and buttery potatoes and coffee perking. Her stomach growled as she flipped the crisping slices of bacon. Good, she liked them crispy. It was almost time to put on the eggs.

  “Who is this beautiful woman in my kitchen?” Dillon clomped across the kitchen in his boots, bringing with him the sting of a winter’s breeze.

  The cold clung to his clothes as he wrapped her in a big hug from behind, snuggling her against him, as wonderful as a dream. “Wait, I know who you are. You’re my wife.”

  “Imagine that.” She leaned against him, sinking against him. She could close her eyes, relax and stay right here forever. “That’s what happens when you take a woman to the minister. She tends to come home with you and cook your breakfast.”

  “I’m just glad you’re here.” His fingers traced the ring on her left hand. His kiss against her brow. Tender. Heartfelt. True.

  “Me, too.” It was like a dream, being in his house, in his arms. She flipped the potatoes and he held her, held on. He was about as soft as iron, but his heart, why, it was as genuine as heaven’s light.

  It was like a fairy tale, like everything good in the world, and she was living it. Here, in an ordinary kitchen with an ordinary wedding ring on her finger.

  And the man she’d married, why, legends could be written about him and still fall short of the truth.

  When he kissed her brow, it was like soaring on a wind above mountains. When he tilted her head just enough so he could slant his lips over hers, it was like being lifted into the clouds, so fluffy and sweet.

  When he pulled her around to face him, and clasped his strong hands at the small of her back, pulling her against his unyielding chest, it was like gliding in one fast, breathless flight to heaven.

  “You didn’t open your present,” he murmured against her lips. “I hurried in just to see the look of delight on your face. Now you’ve disappointed me.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sure there’s something you can do to make it up to me.”

  “What? Let me think. Oh, I could burn your breakfast.”

  “Ah, not what I had in mind.” Chuckling, he released his hold on her just enough to let her turn but not let go.

  He kept both hands on her hips and his chest to her back while she flipped and stirred the potatoes and turned the browning bacon strips.

  “I’ve got to get the eggs on,” she said, as if she expected him to move away from her.

  No force on earth or in heaven was strong enough to make him. Dillon stayed right where he was. Breathed in her sweet female scent and treasured the silken tickle of her hair against his shaven jaw. Filled his fingers with the soft feel of her. Remembered how it had been last night, loving her, inside her, making her his.

  His fingers crept across her stomach and cradled her low. He knew she’d had a tough pregnancy and miscarriage, but maybe one day their son would take root.

  Their child. Tenderness left him weak.

  Having Katelyn in his life…Overcome, he couldn’t find the right words. It had changed everything. Already his life was completely new. Where once he’d been a lonely man with nothing to anchor him, now he had a loving wife and a happy home and a reason to risk building his dreams. For the son that might come along one day.

  For the woman who held his heart in her hands.

  She didn’t appear to know it as she flipped the eggs with care, the way he’d shown her, to keep the yolks intact. “Today is the sewing circle gathering at Mariah Gray’s house.”

  “Need a ride, do you?”

  “I don’t like that tone in your voice, sir. You sound mischievous.”

  “No, just call me a man who sees an opportunity. You need a ride, and I can hitch up the horse for you. The question is, what will you give me?”

  “How about your breakfast served on a plate and not tossed at your head?”

  She was laughing. He could feel it move through her, and it was good. She trusted him enough to be playful. “Hey, I’ll behave. All right. I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go, all you have to do is say. Just don’t pelt me with fried food in my own kitchen.”

  “This is my kitchen now, too.”

  “And I thought marrying you would be a good idea.” Chuckling, he pressed kisses into her hair. He loved her so much. And this was only the beginning. Right?

  “Go open your present.” He stole the spatula away from her. “I’ll finish up.”

  “Hey, it’s my kitchen. I’m in charge.” She stole the spatula back.

  “Whoa, there. I didn’t know you were so bossy.”

  “That’s what you deserve after the short courtship you gave me.” Laughing, she flipped an egg with a splatter of grease.

  “Short? I admit it. You are the first woman I ever courted. I had no notion of what I was doing. I’m pretty inexperienced as a married man, too.”

  “That’s not true.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing at him. “You seemed to know what you were doing last night.”

  Heat crept up his face. “I, uh, am not without, um, experience.”

  “I am a very fortunate woman to have such a skilled husband.” She took delight in the way the pink staining his no
se and cheeks changed to a bright, pure red. Even the tips of his ears were red.

  Poor Dillon, all six feet of him, so mighty and invincible. And bashful. Then he lifted one shoulder in an uncertain shrug. “Am I skilled enough to make you want to stay?”

  “What? Why would I leave?”

  “You might regret your decision to stay.” He stole a second spatula from the drawer, not looking at her, keeping his face averted. “This isn’t a life you’re used to. We’ve talked about this.”

  “I see.” She tested a yolk, found it done, and flipped the eggs onto a plate. “So you think I’m the kind of shallow and insincere woman who would marry a man so he could take care of me, so I wouldn’t have to work or some such nonsense. Is that what you think?”

  “You know it isn’t.”

  “No, I don’t.” She removed the pan from the heat, remembering to count before her temper got away from her. “I’m happy here. It would help if you had faith in me.”

  “Oh, darlin’, I do.” He snatched the egg-filled platter and carried it, along with his plate of crisp, golden potatoes, to the table. He didn’t look at her. “It’s me. I just want you to say you’re here because you want to be.”

  Was that defensiveness? she wondered. How could he not know? What was he trying to tell her? Was he having regrets?

  “You haven’t opened your gift.” Cutting her off before she could speak, he shoved the small package across the smooth wood to her.

  She didn’t want to open the gift. What she wanted to know was if he were wishing he hadn’t proposed. No, that couldn’t be true, because he’d been so persistent. And last night…Pleasure thrilled through her at the memory of his touch, his kiss, his loving.

  She tugged the string and the bow unraveled. She tore away the brown paper to the small wooden box beneath.

  A carved box. “You did this?”

  He nodded. “I made it a long time ago. I meant to make a cigar box, but it didn’t turn out that way. I figured that maybe it was a sign that I would meet a woman to fall in love with one day. And when I did, I would give it to her.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She ran her fingertips over the etched layers of roses embedded in the lustrous cherry-wood grain.

  “Look inside.”

  Dillon appeared intense, shoulders straight, back straight, his jaw clamped tight. Or was he worried?

  She lifted the lid. Inside, on a snug bed of blue satin, winked a row of small diamonds strung on gold. The bracelet felt like a silken thread between her fingers.

  “To replace the one you lost. The one your stepfather tried to pay me with.”

  “How did you know it was mine?”

  “It sure as hell wasn’t his, and a small dainty thing like that wouldn’t fit your mother. That only left you.” He curved his hand against the side of her face, bold and gentle in the same moment.

  Uncertainty pinched the corners of his eyes, and he appeared so vulnerable, his heart wide open, this great warrior of a man. “It’s not as expensive and the diamonds aren’t as big as the original, and I’m sorry for that, but I hope you like it anyhow.”

  “I love it. Because it’s from you.” On tiptoe, she brought her lips to his. “You don’t need to buy me diamonds and gold to make me happy.”

  “I do want you to be happy here.” He drew her to him when she moved away, sealing her against his hips and chest, against his heart. “I do love you.”

  His kiss was like dawn. Shy and sweet, a gentle glow that warmed her and gave her hope.

  “I married you,” she confessed, “because I had to know what this was. This feeling inside me.” She clasped her fist between her breasts. “What I feel for you, I’ve never known before.”

  Relief left Dillon feeling as if he’d downed a good portion of a whiskey bottle. “Me, too, darlin’.”

  To hell with breakfast. He felt her melt against him, felt her need as if it were his own. A need not for a husband to provide a roof, food and safety.

  But a need of the soul for its match. For completion.

  He was that man.

  With her new bracelet sparkling in the gray winter’s light, Katelyn reined in the red gelding Dillon had hitched to his smallest sleigh. “He’s a tame fellow who will do what you want, not at all like me.” She remembered how Dillon had winked, as if he knew darn well he wasn’t always a tame kind of man.

  Remembering their lovemaking in the kitchen, her pulse skipped through her veins. She’d driven less than a mile, and already she missed him. He’d be working with his horses right now, in one of the corrals with a lariat in hand. Or maybe he’d be riding today, putting the mares through their paces.

  “Katelyn, welcome.” Mariah swept down from the porch step. A shawl draped her shoulders to protect her and the baby she snuggled in her arms from the falling snow. “Just leave your horse and rig. My husband will be by to take care of them. I’m so glad you came. I hope you like chicken.”

  “I do. It’s so good to be here.” Katelyn tried not to look at the baby, snuggling close to his mother.

  “Come in and take off those wraps.” Mariah led the way into a spacious, warm kitchen that smelled like chocolate cake and coffee.

  Two women sat at a large oak table in the corner. One had long curling dark hair and the other was fairer of hair and complexion. “Hello,” the women greeted in friendly unison.

  “We have all been friends together since public school,” Mariah explained after laying the baby down in his cradle near her chair at the table. “You are the first woman we’ve invited to join us. Wait, no, not the first.”

  “Remember, we invited that woman from the farm down by the river,” the dark-haired woman added. “But she was awful. She was a gossiping sort.”

  “We’re given to gossip now and then,” the blond woman chimed in. “But we only tell nice gossip.”

  “And she brought this horrible sauerkraut dish. Now, I like good sauerkraut.” Mariah took Katelyn’s wraps with efficiency, shook the snow out of them in front of the stove, and began hanging them up on wall pegs with the other coats and scarves. “But the woman put what had to be raw fish in that perfectly good dish.”

  “No, I don’t think it was raw,” the blond woman said with great consideration. “Just not terribly well cooked.”

  “How well cooked does a fish have to be? A few minutes on the stove and it’s done. I’m sure it was raw. Sure of it.” The dark-haired woman smiled and pointed to an empty chair. “Please, sit and join us. If you’re not too afraid of us.”

  “I would be,” the blond woman confessed.

  “Rayna, what a thing to say!”

  “Well, it’s true. If I didn’t know us, I’d think, who are these crazy women? Get me away from them as fast as greased lightning.”

  This wasn’t the sort of social gathering Katelyn had been to in nearly a decade. What a waste, all those stuffy, proper dinners with Brett’s somber friends. Years passed by, whether a person lived them or not.

  Brett casting her out and severing all legal ties had been the best thing that had ever happened to her. He couldn’t love her-well, that didn’t mean much. He couldn’t love anyone, save himself. And she’d been existing in shadows for too long.

  She had a whole new life. She had a cozy house to take care of, a great man to love and who honestly cherished her, and now this chance for real friends, the kind she used to have long ago when she was young.

  She set her sewing basket on the floor, took the offered chair and joined in the merriment.

  Dillon noticed the small brown sparrows stopped in midsong to scatter in their hiding places in the deep white meadows. He drew the gray mare to a halt on a tight rein, reassuring her when she started to sidestep. Was someone coming? Or was it a wild predator? A cougar or a wolf come to cause trouble?

  He quieted. Listened. A gopher dove into his burrow with a loud protest, his snow-clearing task interrupted. The road was clear. Katelyn wasn’t back yet from her visiting. The mare was scenting s
omething, lifting her well-shaped head to the east, nostrils flaring and ears pricked.

  It sure as hell wasn’t danger, or she wouldn’t be so interested in the newcomer. He caught a flash of color in the dips and draws of the snowy meadows. Yep, it was Dakota, riding his white pinto bareback, the reins knotted and left to lie on the mare’s neck.

  “C’mon, girl.” He reined the mare around, opened the gate and pushed her hard across the silent prairie.

  “Brother.” Dakota greeted with a nod. “I heard you made it official. You made her your bride. Is that wise?”

  “I think so.”

  “You look like hell, but then your ugly mug always does.” Dakota turned his pony toward the ranch, leading the way home. “Does she make you happy?”

  Overjoyed. “Happy enough.”

  “That’s all a man can expect from a woman.”

  Dakota’s judgment of marriage had never been a good one. Dillon understood that. He’d seen a lot of unhappy marriages in his life. In his line of work. It was rare to find your match, he knew.

  I’m so lucky to have her. Longing filled him in one slow sweep.

  He knew she felt this, too, the indefinable connection between them. A bond that was deeper than emotion, more substantial than flesh and bone. That went so deep that his love for her was everything. Everything he was. Everything he wanted. Everything he would ever be.

  For a man who never could get up the courage to court a woman before Katelyn, he was doing damn good. He’d do his best to keep going, to prove to her beyond a doubt that she could trust him. That she could give him the pieces of her heart she was holding back.

  One day, the wariness and the shadows would be gone, and when she looked at him she would see the man she loved and trusted beyond anything. Without question. He simply had to keep doing his best.

  “How’s that new stud of yours doing?” Dakota signaled his pinto to the corral where the stallion watched.

  When the Appaloosa spotted Dakota, he laid back his ears and showed his teeth.

  “Guess he remembers you, brother.” Dillon laughed as he told the stallion, “If you feel the urge to bite one of us, make sure it’s him.”