by Jodi Thomas
On impulse, Ronny walked to the curb. If her mother wanted to say something to her, Ronny decided she’d listen. She no longer had any energy left to be angry at Dallas Logan for kicking her out. In truth, it had been the start of her awakening, and she knew, even if asked, she’d never go back.
When Dallas’s old Buick circled one more time, she made it almost even with Ronny before she gunned the engine and sped away.
Ronny smiled at the taillights as she buttoned her coat and tied back her hair with a band she kept in her coat pocket. She was sure her mother thought the gesture of driving away fast would hurt Ronny. One more insult. One more time that Dallas could reject her child.
Only Ronny no longer felt it. She knew she was loved and needed by the man inside, and her mother’s anger no longer mattered. She moved silently through the streets, no more than another layer of shadow between the streetlights. She liked the night when she could disappear and let the darkness hold her for a while.
When she went back inside, Marty was awake. He must have been watching her from the window. “Come here, honey.” Not only did his eyes show the pain he felt inside, but he seemed sad for her as well.
She walked to the chair that always sat close to his bed. “You saw my mother’s car?”
“I did. If I could I’d take away all the bad memories of your growing up with that woman, but I’ve come to believe that the bad only makes us appreciate the good, and you are the best thing that ever came into my life.”
“Really?”
“You’re the only person who ever needed me. I wish I could always be here for you. When I was away, every day I tried to remember details about you. The way your hair moved. The way you stood up to me that first day we met even though I was yelling at you. I even remember that funny hat you used to wear when you delivered the mail. I thought it was the ugliest hat I’d ever seen, but you were cute as a bug wearing it. Funny, no matter what was going on when I was away, the thought of that hat would always make me smile.”
She laced her hand in his. They’d agreed days ago not to waste time saying things like “How do you feel?” or “You need to rest” to one another. They took the short periods of time they had. It was all that was left and somehow, it had to be enough.
“Tell me about your adventures,” she said, curling against the bed so that she was as close as the machines would allow her. “Tell me about the world you’ve seen.”
He began telling her of mountain climbing and hang gliding and skiing in the Alps. For a moment, as she listened, he wasn’t a frail man in a hospital bed. He was the man she had met and fallen in love with. He was whole again, pulling her along with him on his adventures . . . pulling her into a perfect world.
Chapter 19
APRIL 4
THEY’D BEEN MARRIED ALMOST A MONTH WHEN CORD woke Nevada at dawn with a rough kiss. They’d kissed good night for over a week—soft, gentle kisses—but this was different. This tasted of passion.
“I can’t hold out any longer, Babe.” His hand spread wide along her side. “I got to get closer to you, so if you don’t want this, you’d better stop me now.”
She stared up into his warm eyes, still half asleep. He looked more like a man being tortured than someone about to make love to his wife. His jaw was set. His gaze never left hers as his hand moved down her, hungry for the feel of her. The silk nightgown bunched and tugged against his callused hands. He wasn’t holding her, only brushing over her, as if learning her every curve.
“You’re so soft,” he whispered against her ear. “So soft.”
She didn’t budge as he pulled off her short gown and moved above her. The feel of his body pressing over her warmed her as he shifted her arms and spread her blond hair across the pillow. For a minute he waited, matching his breathing to balance hers, letting his warmth blanket hers.
He braced his elbows on either side of her face and kissed her with feather kisses along her cheek. With each breath his hard chest lowered and pressed against her as his lips trailed over her skin. When he returned to her mouth, she opened to his hunger and moaned as the kiss turned molten.
The kiss was deep, and neither thought to breathe. When he finally broke away, she gulped for air and waited for him to pull her into heaven.
His big hands moved into her hair and tugged her gently as he tasted the flesh of her throat like a man starving for her.
She could feel her whispered moans of pleasure pushing him beyond reason.
If she didn’t tell him how she felt, he’d move away and she’d never know this man she’d married any better than she knew him now. Pressing her lips against his ear, she whispered, “Make love to me, Cord. Just love me.”
He pulled away and looked into her eyes, then lowered his mouth to hers with one last gentle kiss before passion consumed them both.
Without a word he made love to her with great tenderness. The only sound was her soft cry when he entered her. He wasn’t taking, but giving in loving touches and slow kisses that moved over her skin like warm water. What he lacked in polish, he made up for in gentleness. He hesitated at times, giving her moments to anticipate pure pleasure and rushed at others as if he couldn’t wait to be closer to her. His body never smothered or dominated, but comforted and sheltered her from all the world except his touch.
As he moved over her, so close they became one, she had the sense of coming home, of being complete.
When they were finished and both too tired to do more than breathe, he pulled her against his chest and floated the covers over them both without saying a word.
Even in the shadows of passion, he held her as no man had ever held her. His hand moved slowly down her body, cherishing one last touch before he fell asleep.
Tears dripped down her cheeks. She’d wondered what making love to him would be like. Violent, savage, wild, but it was none of those. He’d made no promises. Whispered no endearments. Told no lies. But his every touch told of caring deeply, so deeply he’d lost himself in satisfying her.
An hour later, he was dressed by the time she woke and crawled from the bed. For a minute they just looked at each other. He wore his jeans and western-cut shirt with the snaps, all pressed and starched. His winter-wheat hair was still wet from a shower and she could smell the shaving cream he’d just used. Down to his handmade boots he looked every bit a successful, powerful rancher.
She stood before him with wild straw hair and a gown strap hanging to her elbow. The top of one breast showed, but after he’d handled her so completely at dawn she didn’t think it would matter much.
“About this morning . . .” He finally broke the silence.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” she interrupted.
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t move any closer.
She crossed half the distance between them. “No one’s ever made love to me like that. Not ever. You made me feel like I was special. Like I was priceless, and I’ll not have you ruin it by saying you’re sorry or that we shouldn’t have done it.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “I was going to ask you if it really happened or if I was just dreaming. Either way I had no intention to apologize.”
She felt like a fool for her outburst. “It happened,” was all she could manage.
“So, I take it, you’ve no objection to it happening again sometime.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Crossing her arms, she tried to look proper. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind at all if it became a habit between us.”
She wanted to run to him and kiss him, but something in the way he stood told her he wanted to keep everything in a compartment, even her.
For a man who never touched anyone, he had certainly touched her before dawn. Even now she could still feel his big hands sliding down her body, moving her gently so that he could satisfy every part of her.
“I have to get over to the bunkhouse.” He pulled her back from her thoughts.
“All right,” she answered, not knowing how to talk about h
ow perfectly they’d made love.
He nodded once and walked to the door. “You might want to go shopping for more of those little gowns that aren’t long enough to cover anything or thick enough to hide anything. I like them.”
Looking down at the silk slip of a gown, she smiled. It had cost her a hundred dollars, and until last night she hadn’t thought he’d noticed. She’d order half a dozen online today and have them sent overnight.
Chapter 20
AT NINE IN THE MORNING MARTHA Q FOUND HERSELF totally alone in the inn. All the widows went to the first-day sale at the Sears outlet store. Mr. Carleon left to stay with Marty in one of his usual pressed black suits. Bryce Galloway said he would be gone all day, and the housekeeper took Mrs. Biggs grocery shopping.
Martha Q wasn’t sure what to do. She hadn’t had the run of the house, completely alone, in months. She told herself she wasn’t a nosy person, but it seemed like a good time to look in every room. After all, it was her house.
She collected the master keys and decided to start on the third floor. Mr. Carleon’s room was perfect. Three black suits, an overcoat, and a half dozen white shirts were lined up in his closet. No color, she observed. All his personal things were lined up neatly in the three dressers. Underwear. Handkerchiefs. Socks. A black shaving kit. Several books were on the shelf by the bed, all in order of size. The man even made his own bed. He folded his underwear and left a thin bookmark in the paperback he was reading. No excitement, no surprises.
In Bryce Galloway’s room, she found the opposite. Nothing was picked up or cleaned. Dirty clothes scattered on the floor, the suitcase left open atop the dresser as if he didn’t realize he had drawers he could have used. The maid had already complained that his was the hardest room to clean. He’d left shaving cream and stubble in the sink, towels on the floor, water stains where his glass sat on the nightstand, and crumbs on the desk along with dirty dishes he’d carried up from the kitchen.
Leaving the door open so she could hear anyone coming up the stairs, she went through his belongings like a spy. Papers were piled on the desk, but they all looked like legal documents or geographic maps, except for one that had simple times written down. 6:10, 6:22, 7:03. All in by 7:15, and so on. There was another list of times with initials beside them, but they made even less sense. Each time had an A or B before it, like he was keeping a log on two people or two houses at the same time. Galloway was watching people come and go, but who and from where had not been written down.
Martha Q fought the urge to call Tyler Wright again and fill him in on the details. Since the man had found out he was going to be a father, he didn’t seem to give his full attention so easily, but the funeral director was the only man she could think of who might be able to solve the riddle. Bryce Galloway didn’t belong here. He wasn’t one of them. From the look of him, he had enough money to stay at a grand hotel, not a little bed-and-breakfast in the old part of town.
Harmony had its share of nuts and odd characters, but Bryce was different. If there was a town somewhere where he’d fit in, Martha Q didn’t want to go there. Tyler Wright would listen to her and probably pat her hand and tell her she didn’t have anything to worry about. He’d be gone soon. After all, if he’d planned to stay, wouldn’t he have bought a house and not stayed at the inn?
She grinned, remembering how she’d driven by the funeral home a few days ago and seen Tyler helping his Kate out of the car. For a moment in the quiet morning air when they thought no one else was around, he’d kissed her cheek as he’d spread his hand across her swollen belly. If Hallmark could get that emotion of pure love on a card, they’d sell a million.
As she walked down the stairs, Martha Q decided she’d have to depend on the widows’ detective agency to find out more about Bryce. She’d put one of them on him from the time he left after breakfast until he returned. No, she’d better make them go in twos. One was bound to get distracted. Martha Q wanted to know where he went, who he talked to.
At the bottom of the stairs, the fat cat swore in cat talk when Martha Q tripped over him. Martha Q swung in an attempt to kick the cat, but Mr. Dolittle just walked away mumbling to himself. If cats really were reincarnated people, he must have been a bachelor. No woman would put up with him if he weighed more than twenty pounds.
“I might as well get dressed,” she said to no one. “I may have to do some investigating of my own. I’ll have to stop by the bookstore and buy a tablet first. He’s not the only one who can keep records.” If Bryce was keeping track of someone’s comings and goings, she’d bet it was for no good.
Chapter 21
APRIL 4
CORD SPENT THE MORNING TRYING TO KEEP HIS MIND ON work. No matter how hard he pushed, there never seemed enough hours in the day, and now he had a feeling there wouldn’t be enough hours at night either. If Nevada was ever agreeable to it again, and she seemed to be, he’d die of exhaustion before he’d give up making love to her. At one point he was so wrapped in passion that lightning could have set fire to the bed and he wouldn’t have noticed.
But as the day aged, he told himself he didn’t have time to think about her and what they’d done at dawn. The ranch had more than its share of problems. One of the fences was down in the north pasture and cattle were everywhere, even on the county road. Galem said men had to stop their trucks and shoo a dozen cows away before they could get to work. An hour later they discovered that the pump to one of the main water supplies had broken.
To make matters worse, the day turned cloudy about eleven and so did his mood. Try as he did, he couldn’t keep his mind away from thoughts of Nevada. There were probably words he should have said to her before he left, but he had no idea what they would be. He found himself wishing for the night as thunder rolled in the distance. Wishing it could be just the two of them in the world again. She’d looked so adorable with her hair all wild and her little nightgown half falling off.
The thought of how Nevada felt in his arms returned again and again like a merry-go-round of pleasure circling in his mind. She’d lain back on the pillows and let him touch her, only moving slightly now and then when she showed her pleasure. He’d taken his time, learning every part of her. The softest spot just beneath her breasts and the way she laughed when he brushed his fingers down her spine. He loved the smell of her when she was warm and wrapped in the sheets. He loved the taste of her throat as he felt her pulse against his open mouth.
“You asleep, Cord?” Galem shouted above the thunder.
Cord jumped out of the way of a cow coming down the branding chute. A few men smothered laughter until Cord laughed at himself, and then full all-out teasing began.
“You’d think the boss was on his honeymoon,” one said.
“He does look like he needs sleep.”
“Got that calf-eyed look about him.”
“We’d better watch out for him or he’s liable to get trampled.”
“Maybe you should consider taking a nap somewhere besides where five hundred pounds of beef can knock you down.”
Cord grumbled, but he couldn’t hide the smile or even fake anger at the time they were wasting. Let them laugh; in a few hours he’d be going home to Nevada and it wouldn’t take long to get her back between the sheets.
“Let’s get back to work,” he ordered, and added to himself, “We’ve got loads to do before it rains.”
The men went back to business, and Cord forced his mind to focus on what he was doing.
Around one o’clock he ordered everyone to take a break. Galem handed him one of the sandwiches he’d packed for the men. They were too far from headquarters to go in, so sandwiches and lukewarm water would hold hunger at bay. The men broke into groups, most talking about plans for the weekend, while Cord sat down beside Galem.
“Wouldn’t do you no good to go back to headquarters for lunch anyway, Cord,” Galem said. “Ora Mae went to Amarillo with Little Miss. Phoned an hour ago to tell me they were in the middle of a shopping spree and would be
lucky to make it in by six.”
Shaking his head, Cord admitted, “I don’t see why she likes to shop. I always hated it.”
“Ora Mae told me once that Nevada’s mother only showed her any attention when they shopped. She liked to dress the little girl up. I guess that was her way of showing love.”
Cord almost mentioned that Nevada was probably shopping for him, but he doubted she considered it a show of love in his case.
He took another sandwich. “Why do you call her Little Miss? She’s five seven before she puts on her heels. She’s not exactly a little miss.” He smiled, thinking of how his chin touched the top of her head.
“I know, but I remember the skinny little girl who followed me around when I came to work at the Boxed B. I was still in my teens when I quit school, my folks kicked me out of the nest. Helping out in the bunkhouse wasn’t just my first job, it was my only home. Back then Nevada’s father was running the place and he wanted men at the bunkhouse day and night. We didn’t just work hours, we signed on for the season. He was always pushing his three grown sons to cowboy up, but he ignored his half-grown daughter. Near as I could see, the boys followed his lead. I never saw them do anything but tease her or tell her how dumb she was ’cause she couldn’t keep up with them.”
Galem took a bite of his sandwich and continued, “I never heard the old man say a kind word to anyone. He mostly yelled at everyone, except Little Miss. To him, she wasn’t even there. He told me once that she was something his wife wanted, like she was nothing but a pet around the place. I didn’t know a lot, but I taught her to ride and tried to teach her to cook. Cooking lessons were a waste of time, but I never saw a kid love horses like she did and still does. She’d come home every summer and nag her mom until she got a new mare. She always said she’d raise horses to sell as show horses. Her mom gave in to her, kind of the anything-you-want-as long-as-you-go-away brand of raising a kid. By the time she was fifteen she was showing horses and winning every trophy around.”
