The Colorado Bride

by Mary Burton

  “Tomorrow?” She resisted the urge to rake the back of her hand over her lips.

  “The picnic. You haven’t forgotten our plans?”

  “N-no,” she stammered.

  “I’ll pick you and the children up at four.”

  “Yes. Lovely.”

  “Until then.” He nodded and left.

  When Rebecca turned three sets of eyes were staring at her. The children didn’t hide their shock. Cole didn’t hide his anger.

  “That’s gross,” Dusty said.

  “Gross,” Mac chimed.

  Cole winked at the children. “You each get extra candy for that. Dusty, take Mac out back for a minute then I’ll run you both down to the mercantile for that candy. I need a word with Miss Rebecca.”

  “Can I pick any flavor I want?” Dusty asked.

  “You can buy out the whole damn store, kid.”

  “Great!” Dusty shouted.

  “Great!” Mac repeated.

  Dusty tossed the untouched candy Wade had given him on the table and guided Mac outside. The boys quickly settled into a game of good-guy, bad-guy.

  “You’re bribing those boys with candy,” Rebecca challenged.

  He ignored her. “You’re not considering marrying that guy, are you?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Rebecca pretended an indifference she didn’t feel and focused on Cole’s bleeding hand. “Let me have a look at your hand?”

  He jerked away from her when she reached for the dirty bandanna wrapped around his hand. “Don’t change the subject.”

  “You’re bleeding on my floor.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I just cleaned this floor and I’d like it to remain presentable for another day or two.” She took a hold of his wrist.

  He stared down at her, his body rigid, his breathing hot and fast. She didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. Then relenting, he relaxed a fraction and allowed her to guide him to the sink.

  Her stomach flip-flopped as she peeled back the blood-soaked rag, afraid what she might discover. To her relief, the wound wasn’t bad. The skin on Cole’s thumb was jagged and the thumbnail blue, but the cut wasn’t deep. A good washing and a proper bandage would do.

  “Did you hit your thumb with the hammer?”

  “I was doing fine until old Ernie arrived.”

  “He’s not old.”

  “He could be your grandfather.”

  “Stop exaggerating.”

  “I never exaggerate.”

  “Mind your own business.” She pumped water into the sink, letting it splash over the wound.

  Cole winced. Rebecca’s shoulder brushed his naked skin and she found concentration difficult. She washed the wound thoroughly, then reached for a clean tea towel. “I’ve got bandages in the closet. Have a seat at the table.”

  He sat down, leaning back with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. “You can’t tell me that you actually enjoyed that kiss.”

  “It was quite pleasant,” she lied. She dug through the basket of torn linens she used as bandages.

  “Better than mine?”

  She dropped the basket. “Yes.”

  A slow grin spread across his lips. “Right.”

  She gripped the handle of the basket to hide her trembling fingers. Careful not to meet his gaze, she took a seat next to him. Her knee brushed his hard thigh. Heat burned in her body.

  She swallowed a lump in her throat as she rolled out a neat white strip of fabric. “Lay your hand on the table.”

  He complied, watching her every move as a hawk did a mouse. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She smoothed out his clenched fingers. Their roughness brought back memories of him touching her shoulders, her cheek.

  She mopped the blood still oozing from the wound with a fresh wad of cloth. Then she pressed more fabric against the gash before wrapping a long thin strip around his thumb, palm and wrist.

  Grateful the task was done, she stood ready to make a hasty retreat.

  As she rose his good hand reached for her wrist. His gaze was like a caress. She stood frozen unable to react. He drew small circles on the inside of her wrist with his thumb. Slowly, he pulled her down, beckoning her to kneel in front of him. He tugged her closer until each of his thighs pressed against her arms.

  “Stop this,” she whispered.

  “Stop what?” Releasing her wrist, he captured a curl between his fingers.

  “Driving me crazy.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

  “I could say the same for you.” He traced the curl along her cheekbone then over her lips. “God help me, but I can’t get you out of my mind.”

  She moistened her lips. “Please, just leave.”

  “No.”

  In the next instant, his mouth was on hers. This was no slow, easy kiss like the last. It was demanding, designed to plunder, possess and lay claim to what he thought was his.

  A wave of desire shot through her. Ernie’s kiss had left her cold. Cole’s set her on fire.

  She lost herself in the taste of him. His masculine scent enveloped her as easily as his hands. She couldn’t resist him, couldn’t stop herself from wanting.

  She leaned into him, savoring the feel of his muscular chest against her breasts.

  A primal growl rumbled in his chest as if he struggled with his own war of resistance. He caressed her mouth with his tongue as his hand slid to her breast. If not for the support of his thighs, she surely would have collapsed. Lord help her, but she sensed her surrender—even anticipated it.

  Then suddenly, he tore his mouth away from hers, stood and stepped back. She remained kneeling on the floor, still numbed from their embrace as she looked up at him, spellbound.

  The lines around his eyes were deep. He raked his fingers through his black hair. “Let’s see if old Ernie can beat that.” He turned and strode away.

  Chapter Nine

  The next afternoon the sound of fiddle music drifted to the Shady Grove Inn. A tattered welcome banner hung in the center of town greeting riders and wagonloads of people who’d traveled from all around the county for the picnic.

  Cole stood by a pile of freshly split wood near the side of the inn. He had an ax handle in one hand and a thick log balanced on the chopping block, ready to be split. He’d cut nearly a half cord of wood and his muscles ached with fatigue. But the unending restlessness that plagued him remained.

  He kept thinking about Rebecca. And touching her. And wanting her. After their kiss yesterday, she’d stayed beyond his reach.

  She had no business marrying a man like Wade. She was a fool to think he could make her happy.

  Cole swung the ax over his head, ready to strike the log when Rebecca and the children gathered on the front steps. They were waiting for Wade to escort them into town.

  He lowered the ax blade and set it aside. He tugged off his gloves and flexed his bruised hand.

  Rebecca was dressed in a sage-colored dress and she’d swept her golden curls back with a white ribbon. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled, with what he guessed was anticipation. She held a large wicker picnic basket in one hand and a parasol in the other.

  She looked breathtaking.

  Too damn breathtaking.

  Rebecca set her basket and parasol aside and knelt in front of Mac to brush his bangs off his little face and tuck in his shirt. Turning to Dusty, she wet the tip of her finger with her tongue and wiped a smudge from his face. Dusty turned his face away, trying to avoid her primping but Rebecca got the spot she was after.

  She smiled at the boys. “You both look very handsome today.”

  Dusty stamped his feet. “I hate these new shoes,” he complained. “They’re pinching my toes.”

  Rebecca pulled on lace gloves. “They fit just fine. You’ve just got to get used to having shoes on your feet.”

  “But I never needed them in the summer before.”

  She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “No child of mine is going to
run around town without shoes.”

  Dusty ducked his head to hide a grin. His complaining was all bluster, for clearly he cherished his new place in Rebecca’s family.

  Rebecca’s family.

  Cole had been an outsider all his life, but he was never more aware of it than he was right now. He wasn’t a part of Rebecca’s family. Seeing her with the children made him yearn for his son all the more.

  Wade strode up the front walk, his chest puffed out like a proud peacock. He carried a bunch of wilted columbines in one hand and peppermints in the other. He climbed the front steps and kissed Rebecca on the cheek as if he owned the place.

  Rebecca laughed at something Wade said. Her voice was clear, intoxicating. It irritated him that she encouraged the attentions of a man twice her age. But it irked him more that he cared.

  Damn.

  Why did he care what happened to her? And why did it matter that this poor excuse for a town was dying?

  The whys didn’t have answers and likely they never would. The plain truth was that he did care about Rebecca and White Stone.

  Two days ago he’d met with Gene Applegate and the other members of the town council. He’d presented the idea of reopening the Lucky Star, reasoning that if they all pooled their capital, they could have the mine reopened in a month.

  In the past, none of them would have given him the time of day. But they were desperate to save their town and would make a deal with Lucifer if necessary. They promised him an answer tomorrow.

  Mac’s childish squalls broke Cole’s train of thought. He looked up in time to see Wade hoist the boy up on his shoulders.

  Cole swung the ax blade over his head and drove it into the wood with a loud whack. The log splintered in two.

  Rebecca’s head turned at the sound. Their gazes locked. A primal urge welled inside him. She was his! He longed to reach out and touch her, to pull her in his arms and savor her scent.

  Yesterday, he’d tasted her passion, but instead of feeling satisfied he was ravenous for more. He wanted to strip away her modest dress and see her naked body beneath his. He wanted her to scream his name as he made love to her. He wanted Rebecca!

  As if sensing his thoughts, a fine blush colored her cheeks before she looked away. She smoothed unsteady hands over her skirt before she offered a faltering smile to Wade.

  Cole tossed the blade aside. Rebecca was always out of his reach.

  “You look to me as if you could spit nails.” Bess emerged from the back door, dressed in a freshly pressed black dress with a wide-brimmed bonnet. She carried a glass of lemonade in her lace-gloved hands.

  Cole accepted the glass without comment and drained its contents. The sour-sweet liquid cut through his thirst and eased the pounding in his head. “Thanks.”

  “You best get dressed if you’re gonna make the picnic in time.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not in the mood for a party.”

  Cole watched Wade, Rebecca and the children start down the hill toward town. He scowled.

  Bess’s gaze trailed Cole’s. “Cagey old coot thinks he wants children,” Bess said. “Thinks a younger woman can give him back something he lost long ago.” A touch of sadness shrouded her words.

  “He’s welcome to her.” Cole didn’t sound convincing.

  “Liar. You’ve got eyes for Rebecca.”

  Cole thrust the glass back in Bess’s hand, embarrassed his emotions were so transparent. “I damn well do not.”

  “Your problem is that you’re too young and proud to admit you’ve got feelings for her.”

  The sheriff pressed another light kiss on Rebecca’s cheek. He offered her his arm and she took it. Cole gritted his teeth.

  “If you’re smart you won’t let her slip through your hands.”

  “I can’t hang on to someone I’ve never had.”

  Bess shook her head. “I think you’re a fool but you do what you please. But I ain’t too young or proud to go after what I want.” She handed the empty glass back to Cole and started toward town.

  He stared at the glass. He’d felt at a disadvantage ever since he’d returned.

  Ten years ago when he’d rode out of town, he’d sworn to make a success of his life. And by God, he had. He’d traveled from Virginia to Mexico, fought renegades and argued with generals. He had gained a reputation as a risk taker and a man who got the job done. He wasn’t wealthy, but he’d saved a small fortune from his military pay and he had his sights set on the Lucky Star. He was a success by any man’s standards.

  And there’d been women—officers’ daughters, ladies of quality—who had had an eye for him.

  Yet, even the military, promises of California gold or other women could never erase the memory of Rebecca.

  Music and the hum of voices floated from town. There’d be dancing and likely Rebecca would be a popular partner. In a town with so few unmarried women, it was a marvel she’d remained unwed these last two years. No doubt she’d be the belle of the party and every eligible bachelor in the territory would have his hands on her today.

  His fingers clenched around the glass.

  Over his dead body.

  * * *

  The fiddle player struck up a lively tune and the crowds broke off into couples to dance a jig.

  Rebecca stood next to Bess and the children, her foot tapping. She felt out of place at the festivities. Like a forgotten china teapot, she had been left in the cupboard too long and now had been dusted off and put back into service.

  Three years had passed since she’d attended one of the Fourth of July festivities. She’d stayed cloistered alone in the Shady Grove, not always happy but safe from men like Curtis. Then Cole McGuire had arrived and changed everything. His presence had turned her well-ordered life upside down.

  She remembered the day Curtis had arrived in town on the stage as if it were yesterday. He’d worn a fine suit made of rich dark wool and a brocade vest that shimmered in the noonday sun. His lace-trimmed cuffs brushed the tops of smooth hands, accentuating their long lines and grace. He had dark hair, combed back with precision and a fine wide-brimmed hat that shadowed vibrant gray eyes.

  He was nothing like the clumsy town suitors. She had been drawn to him from the instant she’d seen him strutting out of the Rosebud.

  Curtis had flashed her one of his heart-stopping smiles and lazily made his way over toward her. They’d talked and she danced with him three times, which had sent the gossips’ tongues wagging. But Rebecca hadn’t cared. He was handsome, and so charming.

  He’d said he was a scout for the railroad and that he wanted to make a home in White Stone. As they’d finished their third dance he’d even whispered that he was half in love with her.

  And dear Lord, she’d believed all his lies.

  But he was a con man. He’d known who she was before she’d first laid eyes on him. Curtis had had a talent for sniffing out money. He knew her father, the richest man in the district had just passed away, and that she was alone and wealthy.

  Thanks to Curtis, she’d learned a lifetime’s worth of lessons. But she was no longer a silly girl, hidden from life by an overprotective father, ripe for a man like Curtis.

  “Ah, Rebecca,” Gladys Applegate called. Behind her stood Olivia and Prudence. Mrs. Applegate glanced quickly from side to side. “I don’t see any sign of Mr. McGuire.”

  Rebecca’s stomach clenched. She remembered the way he’d looked at her before she’d left the inn. The raw longing in his eyes had startled and excited her. “I don’t think he’s coming.”

  “He has stopped asking questions about his son,” Prudence said proudly.

  “No one has said a word,” Olivia amended.

  “He’ll forget about the boy soon enough,” Mrs. Applegate said. “He’s got his own future to think about.”

  If success was within Rebecca’s grasp, then why did she want to weep? “I suppose.”

  “Rebecca.” Cole’s clear voice glide
d over their heads. She stiffened, turning slowly to face him. Her jaw dropped, as she stood with the other three ladies in stunned silence, staring at Cole.

  Cole had combed back his dark hair still damp from his bath. He’d shaved, which had sharpened the jagged planes of his face. Everything about him, from his newly purchased white shirt buttoned up to his throat, to the snug denims to the tips of his rugged boots spoke of power.

  The other women stared wide-eyed at Cole.

  “Dance with me,” he said.

  Rebecca shut her mouth. “I’ve got Mac to watch.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Applegate can keep an eye on him for a minute or two.”

  “I couldn’t impose.”

  Mrs. Applegate’s cheeks had taken on a rosy hue. “Of course you could. Dance with him.”

  “But Ernie is getting me punch.”

  “He’ll find you soon enough,” Mrs. Applegate said. “Dance with Cole.”

  Before she could come up with another excuse or figure out Mrs. Applegate’s change of heart, Cole took her hand in his and tugged her through the throng of people. Wade stared at them with his mouth agape, two cups of punch in his hand. Bess was at his side smiling her approval.

  Cole pressed his hand into the small of Rebecca’s back, guiding her to the grassy area, matted down by the dancers. The fiddlers played a fast-paced reel, but Cole expertly steered Rebecca into the center of the dancers.

  The high-stepping jig made it impossible for Rebecca to talk as she concentrated on the dance. Twice she stepped on his toes. Cole led her through the moves.

  “Let me lead,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Easier said than done.”

  Slowly, she began to relax. It had been so long since she’d danced. It felt good to move, to be held in a man’s arms. She felt as if she were sixteen again.

  She’d just gotten accustomed to following his lead when the music stopped. But Cole didn’t release her. Instead he held her hands in his. Breathless, she looked past him to check on Mac. He was playing happily with two sticks by Mrs. Applegate’s feet.

  “He’s a fine boy,” Cole said. His gaze had trailed hers.

  Rebecca’s defenses slammed into place. “Yes.”