“Monty’s supposed to be on his way back to Denver.” He set her down, but kept his hands on her waist.
“You knew he was here?”
“Yes, we’ve talked—ouch!” He let go of her to rub his chest.
Abby stalked away. Until she’d met Max, she’d considered herself a genteel lady. Now she found herself actually hitting people.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“One of these days, Maxwell Jeffery Grant, you are going to learn to trust me. Or there simply is no future for us.” She walked back to the tree, plopping down beside Monty. Pain etched his features. Abby dug into her reticule for her flask and handed it to him. He took a sip and handed it back.
“I’m sure I got the wound clean, but it wouldn’t hurt to see a doctor,” she said to Monty, deliberating ignoring Max.
“I suppose that’s your fearless suffragists’ doing again,” Max said. “Teaching you how to take care of bullet wounds and carrying whiskey around with you.”
“Brandy,” she corrected.
He gave her a disgruntled look, squatting and checking the bandage she’d put on Monty’s shoulder.
“Why the hell were you here in the first place?”
“I followed you,” she said. “Well, I thought it was you, but it was Monty.”
Max looked at her, one brow raised.
“I followed Dillon,” Monty said, giving Abby a wink over Max’s head to let her know he would take the brunt of his brother’s anger. “He must have backtracked on me. When I got here, he came out of the woods behind me.”
“Damn, I wish you two would let me do my job,” Max grumbled.
“Is he always so testy?” Abby asked Monty, tired of Max’s attitude when she was only trying to help.
“Always,” Monty replied with a grin. “Ever since he was a little boy. Why, I remember the time—”
“I saved you from trouble is what you’d best be remembering,” Max interrupted.
Abby watched Monty’s smile fade.
“Forever looking after me, aren’t you, Max? Cleaning up my problems—”
“That’s what big brothers are for,” Max interrupted, putting an arm around him and helping him to his feet.
As Abby grabbed her bag and hurried after the two men, she fell in love with Max all over again. He had compassion and more love than he knew. All she had to do was get past his stubbornness, rudeness, bossiness and his inability to tell her he loved her.
* * *
The trip back to Denver was uneventful and went faster than Max had anticipated. Monty’s shoulder gave him some trouble, but he didn’t develop a fever and he could sit a horse. Abby was quiet. Considering what she’d gone through, he didn’t consider that unusual.
Now, two days after returning to Denver, he walked along the train platform with Monty and Simon Court, one of the government field agents Max used periodically. Simon would be traveling back to Boston with Monty.
“Don’t trust him, not even to pi…sleep,” Max corrected himself when two ladies walked by.
Simon nodded in understanding.
“I’m not some boy in short pants,” Monty protested.
Max raised an eyebrow. His brother had his arm in a sling and the bruises on his face were not yet healed. “Right.”
“It’s my problem. I should be the one going to San Francisco after Dillon.” Monty continued the argument they’d been having for the last two days—four, if Max counted the trip down the mountain.
“You’ll be lucky if there’s time to get home before Sarah’s confinement. If I let you go with me, she may decide she doesn’t want you back at all.” Sarah was his ace in the hole, for he knew Monty would move heaven and hell for his wife. Max wasn’t above using underhanded tactics to get his brother to obey him.
The train whistle blasted to clear the tracks. Monty climbed on the steps after Simon. When the train began to move, he turned to Max one last time.
“Give Abby a kiss for me.” He grinned wickedly and Max glowered.
Monty had been hounding him since their return to marry Abby while he was there to witness their union. He’d become her champion and extolled her virtues to Max anytime he was within hearing distance. And still, Max had refused to confess to his brother what he’d finally accepted in his heart.
He decided to walk back to Garland House, and for the better part of an hour thought about Abby.
How did he go about convincing her…asking her? Hell, he didn’t even know for sure what he wanted from her.
“That’s a lie.” He closed the garden gate behind him. “You know damn straight what you want.” The problem was, what did Abby want?
There was only one way to find out.
He knocked on her door. When she opened it, she stood a little behind the panel, but motioned him in. The door shut with a soft click, but to Max it sounded like a cannon blast. His heart was in his throat. He turned to tell her how he felt when he noticed what she had on.
The chemise, though demure by fashion standards, was still shockingly intimate to him. For long moments, he simply stared, taking in the gentle swell of her breasts, delicately covered in white cotton with just a hint of lace at the top. Her arms were bare, and his fingers itched to touch her softness again.
“I…had to wash my things,” she stammered, and he thought she couldn’t possibly be as flustered as he was. Even though he considered himself a man of the world, she had him trembling. Then he noticed the heavy pulse at her throat and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
Now that the moment was upon him, he hesitated. “I’ll come back later.”
She stepped between him and the door. “I have a confession to make.”
“I’m not playing Fishbone today.”
“Max, I love you.”
Even though he’d longed to hear those exact words, he had to make sure she knew the truth. “I’m not the kind of man a woman should fall in love with.”
Abby frowned. “Nonsense. From the first day I saw you, or rather Mr. O’Flagherty,” she smiled, “you have been all that is good and kind. Why do you keep saying you’re not?”
All the years of hearing his father denigrate him came back to haunt him in those few seconds. “I’ve killed people, Abby.”
“Only to see justice done.”
She moved right in front of him, winding her arms around his neck. She heaved a dramatic sigh, looking at him with dreamy eyes. Max longed to caress those bare shoulders, but forced himself to keep his hands at his sides.
“Max, I have been traveling with four men for some time now, and I must admit
that you are the best of the lot.”
She waved a hand airily, her green eyes twinkling. Max should have known what
was coming.
“There’s Mr. O’Flagherty, but he’s so ornery. And of course, Reverend Fishbone, who is far too pious for me.”
Max had to chuckle. “What about Markham? Don’t you have anything to say about his southern charm?”
“Ah, Jeffery Markham. So suave, such a gentleman.” She traced his jaw with her finger, and he felt the tension build. “I love all of them, Max, because in actuality they are all bits and pieces of you that you won’t let others see in real life.”
“Abby—”
“Shh,” she whispered against his lips, rising on tiptoe to kiss him. She hadn’t initiated their kisses before, and he wasn’t about to refuse her, even though he ached so desperately with longing it almost doubled him over.
After a kiss that went on forever, Max dragged his mouth away. “Marry me.”
“What?” Her eyes grew round.
He shrugged. “If you do, at least your mother can’t make you marry Dilbert Crabtree. Besides, you need someone to take care of you.”
Abby sputtered. “I don’t need to marry anyone and I certainly won’t marry you just to keep from marrying Dilbert.” She pulled away, planting her fists on her hips.
“Fine, then marry me becaus
e I love you,” he shouted, exasperated at her quicksilver change in attitude.
“Don’t yell at me,” she said, then her eyes widened. Her mouth formed a small “o”.
“That was badly done,” he said, pulling her hands away from her sides to kiss her knuckles. “I love you, Abigail Faith O’Brien. More than the number of stars in the sky, for as long as the moon glows. My heart is yours long beyond the time it quits beating.”
“Oh, my. I don’t recall Mrs. Nye-Starr having anything to say about so eloquent a declaration.”
“Say yes,” he replied, plying her with kisses along her bare arm.
“Say yes,” he repeated, peppering kisses across her collarbone to the pulse at her throat.
Abby breathed the word he needed to hear as his lips found hers. His finger hooked under the strap of her chemise, sliding it off her shoulder.
The clock in the downstairs foyer chimed the hour, bringing him to his senses with a groan.
“Can you be ready to get married in an hour?” he asked, studiously avoiding looking lower than her chin, afraid her lack of dress would drive him over the edge.
“An hour?”
“While I was seeing Monty off this morning, I instructed the stationmaster to have the Pullman coupled to the three o’clock westbound. That only gives us three hours.”
“Max, I—”
“We’re already days behind Dillon, and I can’t afford to delay any longer.”
“Oh?” Her imperious tone of voice told Max he was in trouble.
“Not good enough, huh?”
She slowly shook her head. “Not by a long shot.”
As he captured her gaze, her twinkling green eyes full of love, Max knew he would say or do anything she wanted, just to have her look at him like that.
“Abby, I love you and I can’t imagine my life without you. You’ve pushed me to the limit of my control, and if we spend one more night together in the confines of that train car, I’m going to make love to you, married or not.”
“Oh.” This time it was a breathless gasp, but it didn’t affect Max as much as the gloriously sexy smile which followed it. “Really?” She snuggled close, rubbing her chest against his.
He bent his head to kiss her. He relinquished his heart to her safekeeping, and all the burdens he had carried for so many years vanished. He understood both Monty’s and Jessica’s attitudes. Love was truly liberating.
“You’d better get moving,” he said, releasing her from his embrace. “If the train leaves without us, you’ll be sitting on a hard bench all the way to San Francisco, instead of lying on my soft feather bed.”
He opened the door to leave and found the maid, Rebecca, prepared to knock, a breakfast tray in hand.
“We’re getting married,” Max said.
“Why does it take a man so long to see what’s as plain as the nose on his face?” she asked, adding a tsk when she walked right past him into the room.
Max hurried downstairs, issuing orders to various household staff. He hurried through rooms looking for his aunt. He sent Forbes after a minister. There wasn’t time to procure the church or a lot of fancy trappings, but Abby hadn’t protested. He would make it up to her in Boston when this case was settled.
Thinking of her parents, he jotted a note and added a stop at the telegraph office to Forbes’s errands.
When he found Hickory and gave him instructions to get flowers, a huge grin flashed white in his dark face. “I see you’ve finally come to your senses.”
Aunt Elizabeth wagged her finger under his nose. “Well, it’s about time,” she stated. “You’re very lucky Christopher Stanwick hasn’t snatched her up.”
It appeared that his falling in love came as no surprise to anyone but him.
* * *
It took longer than an hour to get everyone and everything ready and now Max nervously paced in the formal sitting room. The servants scurried around placing vases of flowers on the tables and opening the drapes to let in the warm afternoon sun. The minister stood before the fireplace with a slight smile on his face. Max guessed he wasn’t the first nervous bridegroom the man had seen.
He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. One-fifteen. They had only a little over an hour. Abby was out of time.
He took a step toward the double doors when they opened. His aunt came in, dressed to the nines in pink with a wide-brimmed hat on her head, even though they were inside.
“Go on,” she shooed him with a hand. “She’s coming.”
Aunt Elizabeth walked him back into the room, taking him to stand beside the minister. He kept his gaze glued to the door.
When Hickory threw open both doors, Max found heaven on earth, for before him stood an angel more beautiful than anything he’d ever imagined.
She wore a pale green morning dress, the delicate eyelet along the hem and sleeves giving it the appearance of lace. Her glorious hair was pulled atop her head, entwined with ribbons and flowers, and a cascade of curls fell across one shoulder. For all the beauty of her appearance, it was her expression that made all the difference to Max.
Her gaze was fixed on his, and he hoped the glistening he saw was tears of happiness. She hesitated just inside the door, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. He smiled and watched her lips curve upward and her shoulders relax.
His chest swelled with pride when she reached him and placed her hand on his arm. They turned to face the minister. The vows they exchanged were etched forever in his heart. When the minister said the prayer, Max sent his own message to God, thanking Him for sending Abby his way, and promising to protect her with his life.
“The ring?” the minister asked.
Max mentally groaned. Damn, he’d wanted this day to be perfect for Abby.
Aunt Elizabeth stepped forward and pulled her wedding ring from her finger.
“You are named after your uncle, so I think it only fitting that you give your bride the ring he gave me fifty years ago.” She handed him the etched gold band, curling his fingers around the warm metal.
“Are you sure?”
Aunt Elizabeth smiled. “I love you and Abby as if you were my own. Jeffery and I would be honored.”
Max slid the ring onto Abby’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body I worship you and with all my worldly possessions I thee endow.” He didn’t wait to hear the minister tell him to kiss the bride. Cupping her face tenderly in his hands, he gazed into her misty green eyes.
“I love you, Abigail Grant, and only hope I am worthy of your regard.”
The kiss she gave him told Max she loved him. When he walked her out of the room, he whispered just exactly what he planned to do to her once he got her alone. And he specifically emphasized the word passion more than once.
* * *
Abby didn’t feel much different as they said their good-byes to Aunt Elizabeth and Forbes maneuvered the buggy through traffic to the train station. It wasn’t until Max had shut the door to the Pullman and began closing the curtains that it dawned on her they were actually married. And while they’d been alone before, there was a definite difference in Max’s predatory gaze.
Her stomach flip-flopped in anticipation of the promise he’d made her. How many times had she wanted Max with a fierceness that made her ache? Now, he would teach her about those secret passions.
He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne. Bringing one glass to where she stood, he took a sip then raised it to her lips. “One glass, one life, one heart,” he whispered.
“You truly are a romantic.” She had to smile, for it was unlike Max to speak so eloquently.
He shook his head. “Only for you. You have become my heart, Abby. Do you realize that?”
He kissed her, and she tasted the champagne on his lips, making the kiss sweet and exotic. She twined her arms around his neck, wanting to hold on to this moment forever.
Max swept her into his arms and carried her along the narrow corridor to the stateroom. Where before Abby had slept he
re alone, now she would share it with her husband. The ache within her was almost beyond enduring.
He lowered her to the bed, and Abby smelled roses. The bed was strewn with petals, their fragrance heady in the small confines. Max scooped a handful of petals and sprinkled them on her.
He sat beside her, taking one petal from her neck and gently rubbing it across her collarbone and lower still to the swell of her breasts above the décolletage of the dress. His gaze followed his hand, and Abby lay there watching the changing expressions on his face.
Possessiveness, passion and tenderness played across his features. Yet his gaze held a question.
She took his hand, the one that wasn’t creating tendrils of excitement to flow through her, and raised it to her lips. She kissed the pad of each finger. “Max, what is it?”
His brow furrowed. “How in the world did I deserve you?”
She smiled. “I think you have it wrong. You are my special gift.”
Shy, yet brave from the knowledge that he loved her, she slid her hand up the inside of his thigh. Heat radiated through the cloth of his trousers; the throbbing pulse of him beat against her palm. When she rubbed gently across his manhood, he seemed to grow, pushing against her hand.
“See what you do to me? I’m wild about you.” Max pulled his shirt over his head. He toed off his boots, kicking them across the room in his haste.
She gasped, looking at him with wide eyes.
“I can’t slow down, Abby. As much as I want to, I’ve waited so long for this night.” She watched him try to slow his breathing.” I know you’re an innocent and I don’t want to scare the devil out of you, but the ache I’m experiencing won’t lessen until I claim you.”
She caressed the planes of his chest, awed by the ripple of muscle when her fingers slid from his shoulder to his stomach. “You are so beautiful,” she whispered. She felt such a sense of power—not over him, but because of him. He had unleashed her sensuality and she gloried in it. Now, if he would only let go totally.
She sat, curling her arms around his neck. “Undress me.” She nibbled on his earlobe before kissing his neck. He groaned when his fingers fumbled with the buttons at the back of her dress. Cool air touched her skin before being replaced by warm fingers. He slid the bodice off her shoulders, baring her to his gaze.
Song of My Heart Page 26
