by Nora Roberts
Now you tell me, you stand there and tell me why you left.”
“I already told you. It was time.”
“You’re a bar. Worse, you’re a coward.”
Her words had the effect she’d hoped for. The cool, almost bored look in his eyes sizzled into heat. “Don’t push me, Sarah.”
“I haven’t begun to push you. I’ll start by telling you why you got on that horse and rode away. You left because you were afraid. Of me. No, not even of me, of yourself and what you feel for me.” Her chin was up, a challenge in her eyes as she dared him to say it was untrue. “You loved me enough to stand unarmed in front of a madman, but not enough to face your own heart.”
“You don’t know what I feel.”
“Don’t I? If you believe that, you’re a fool, as well as a liar.” The fresh flash of fury in his eyes delighted her. “Don’t you think I knew every time you touched me, every time you kissed me?” He was silent, and she drew a long breath. “Well, you can get on that horse and you can ride, you can run into the hills, to the next town. You can keep running until you’re hundreds of miles away. Maybe you’ll be fast enough, just fast enough to get away from me. But before you do you’re going to tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“I want you to tell me you love me.”
He studied her. Her eyes glowed with determination, and her cheeks were flushed with anger. Her hair, caught by the wind, was blowing back. He should have known then and there that he’d never had anywhere to run.
“A man’ll say most anything when a woman’s pointing a rifle at his belly.”
“Then say it.”
He bent to pick up his hat, slapping it against his thighs twice to loosen the dust. Idly he poked his finger through the hole in the crown.
“I love you, Sarah.” He settled the hat on his head.
“Now do you want to put that thing away?”
The temper went out of her eyes, and with it the glint of hope. Without a word, she turned to secure the rifle in the holder. “Well, I had to threaten it out of you, but at least I heard you say it once. Go ahead and ride off. I won’t stop you. No one’s holding a gun on you now.” She wouldn’t cry. No, she swore to herself she wouldn’t hold him with tears. Fighting them back, she tried to struggle back into the saddle. He touched her arm, lightly, not holding, when he wanted more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life to hold her. “I love you, Sarah,” he said again. “More than I should. A hell of a lot more than I can stand.” She closed her eyes, praying that what she did now would be right for both of them. Slowly she turned toward him, but she kept her hands at her sides. “If you ride away now, I’ll come after you. No matter where you go, I’ll be there. I’ll make your life hell, I swear it.”
He couldn’t stop the smile any more than he could stop his hand from reaching up to touch her face. “And if I don’t ride away?”
“I’ll only make your life hell some of the time.” “I guess that’s a better bargain.” He lowered his head to kiss her gently. Then, with a groan, he crushed her hard against him. “I don’t think I’d’ve gotten very far, even if you hadn’t shot at me.”
“No use taking chances. Lucky for you I was trying to shoot over your head.”
He only sighed and drew her away. “You owe me a hat, Duchess.” Still amazed, he drew it off to poke at the hole. “I guess I’d have to marry any woman who could handle a gun like that.”
“Is that a proposal?”
He shrugged and stuck his hat back on his head.
“Sounded like it.”
She lifted a brow. “And it’s the best you can do?” “I haven’t got any five-dollar words.” Disgusted, he started back to his horse. Then he stopped and turned back. She was waiting, her arms folded, a half smile on her face. So he swore at her. “There’s a preacher comes into town once every few weeks. He can marry us proper enough, with whatever kind of fuss you figure would satisfy you. I’ll build you a house, between the mine and the town, with a parlor if that’s what you want, and a wood floor, and a real bedroom.”
To her it was the most eloquent of proposals. She held out her hands. “We’ll need two.”
“Two what?”
“Two bedrooms,” she said when his hands closed over hers again.
“Listen, Duchess, I’ve heard they’ve got some odd ways of doing things back east, but I’m damned if my wife is going to sleep in another room.”
“Oh, no.” Her smile lit up her face. “I’m going to sleep in the same room, the same bed as you, every night for the rest of my life. But we’ll need two bedrooms. At least we will by spring.”
“I don’t see why-” Then he did, so abruptly, so stunningly, that he could only stare at her. If she had taken the rifle back out and driven it butt first into his gut he would have been less shaken. His fingers went slack on hers, then dropped away. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” She held her breath. “There’s going to be a child. Our child.”
He wasn’t sure he could move, and was less sure he could speak. Slowly, carefully, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her. Then, when emotions swamped him, he simply rested his forehead against hers. “Two bedrooms,” he murmured. “To start.”
Content, she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Yes. To start.”
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