SleepyHollow2BookBundle

by Ranae Rose

  A man like Brom wasn’t meant to lie alone in a cold bed every night. Anyone could see that, and God knew John had heard the citizens of Sleepy Hollow state it often enough, gossiping lazily over Brom’s prospects and who he might choose to marry. As far as most of them were concerned, he and Katrina Van Tassel were a match made in Heaven. That was precisely why John suffered from the agonizing feeling that his own role in Brom’s life had ended. After marrying, what could he possibly need from John?

  From their first spur-of-the-moment tumble seven months ago in a lonely field to their tryst the night before, he and Brom had given each other pleasure dozens upon dozens of times. It had seemed natural – surprisingly natural for John, who’d never known another male lover. And why shouldn’t it have been? They’d borne the brunt of each other’s passions, sustaining each other in a sleepy little place where people were few and lovers even fewer. It had seemed a perfect solution for two single men. But a third party, a bride…that changed everything.

  Once he wed Katrina, what reason could Brom possibly have to seek John’s company? John swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat, deeply conscious of the chasm that had reopened inside him at the thought of losing Brom to marital bliss. How could he, a young and virtually penniless male schoolteacher, possibly compete with such an institution, with a bride as beautiful and sweet as an angel? He couldn’t, and he didn’t want to. Well, a part of him did want to, but when he thought of Katrina, he felt like a wicked bastard for even considering it. The truth was, he loved them both, and the only honorable thing to do was to step back, stanch his bleeding heart and leave them alone.

  But Brom didn’t want him to do that. He still wanted John. Could it be that he’d fallen as hopelessly under the spell of their mutual passion as John had? It was difficult to believe that Brom could still entertain thoughts of continuing with him when he was about to claim the most desirable bride in the New York countryside, but there had been a certain undeniable honesty in his voice the night before, in his movements…

  John shifted on the stool, sensing the internal ache that reminded him of where Brom had claimed him. He moaned lowly, suddenly aware of the fact that his cock was hard. He plucked at his breeches, trying to make himself comfortable. After several moments of listlessly changing positions, he cursed. It was fucking impossible. Even the thought of Brom drove him crazy with a desire that sliced straight through his doubts and fears, demanding satisfaction.

  When the distinct clip-clop of a horse’s hooves sounded outside the cabin, he cursed again. Hopefully it was only someone passing by – after all, most people wouldn’t expect him to be inside the schoolhouse during the autumn break. But if it was Mr. Jansen, or one of the boys come to seek an extra set of hands, as they occasionally did, for some task around the farm… He didn’t dare to rise from behind the desk. Not when he was so obviously hard.

  His heart jumped into his throat when the sound of hooves stopped and a horse snorted, clearly from just outside the schoolhouse. He cast his gaze around the room, anxiously seeking something – anything – to feign interest in. He kept all of his precious books in his bedroom at the Jansens’, and hadn’t brought even one along, since there were no classes. Now, he cursed himself for it. His eye landed on something else – a rather ragged-looking writing quill, the tip of which protruded from beneath one of the students’ benches. It looked suspiciously as if it had been trodden on and the feather shaft broken in two. Perhaps he could pick it up and feign annoyance…

  But no. The footsteps were too close, and the schoolhouse door was swinging open. Gripping the edge of the desktop so fiercely that his knuckles went white, John remained behind the desk, determined to hide a massive erection.

  The door creaked faintly on its hinges, and Brom stepped over the threshold, his large frame blocking out most of the mid-morning sunshine.

  John’s cock throbbed rebelliously, even as he felt himself go pale. “What are you doing here?” The words tumbled out, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the other man as he awaited an answer.

  Brom managed to sound remarkably casual. “Came to work on the roof. It needs to be repaired before the winter term begins.” His easygoing façade slipped away as he pulled the door tightly shut and a rather alarming glint lit up his dark eyes.

  For a moment, John was struck by the irrational but sure thought that Brom could see straight through the oaken desk to where his cock stood tall in his lap. It was absurd, but he’d never felt so exposed. Mentally analyzing Brom and his words was one thing, but now the man had stepped unexpectedly out of John’s memory and was here in the flesh. How could he face this when he hadn’t even sorted through his memories of the night before yet?

  “It can wait until another day.” John heard the words drift through the air, as if they’d been spoken by someone else. “The weather is fair – there’s no danger of rain or snow.”

  “Fine.” Brom had reached the desk, and laid his hands down on it. His palms were flat against the wood, the set of his shoulders determined. His dark eyes locked with John’s.

  John knew he’d been played. The look in Brom’s eyes was not a look that any man had ever displayed while intent on repairing loosened shingles. “Why are you really here, Brom?”

  “I said I’d see you again soon.”

  “Last night,” John said, recalling the moment in perfect clarity. “Just before you left.” He hadn’t imagined that Brom meant this soon – the morning after their last emotionally charged encounter.

  “I had to leave.”

  John remembered watching Brom ride away, flying through the night, careless as he sped by the darkened forest. A shiver raced down his spine, and a surge of longing swept through him. Obviously, Brom had made it home unharmed. “Did you?” Brom’s flight had been reckless and unnecessary.

  A tendon popped beneath Brom’s jaw, a familiar sign of his rising temper. “Yes. If I’d stayed, I would have had to either take you again, or choke the life out of you with my bare hands.”

  “So you chose to leave,” John said, fighting the way one corner of his mouth seemed to want to quirk up into a wry smile. “It was a noble flight, then, intended to preserve both my reputation with the Jansens and my life.”

  Brom’s mouth twitched too, though it seemed more likely to be out of anger than the sort of detached amusement John was experiencing. It was remarkably strange that he should be fighting even the most sarcastic laughter while the dark cloud of his attempted suicide still hung over him, and yet, he was.

  “You can mock me,” Brom said, “but yes, it was.” He was silent for a moment, his dark eyes boring into John’s. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

  John continued to resist the bitter humor that was welling up inside him, tempting him to goad Brom into outright anger. If the man had a fault, it was his temper. “I suppose I don’t,” was all he said.

  Brom snorted, reminding John of a bull, as he had the night before. “Well, I’ve come here to make it clear.”

  “And let the roof be damned?”

  Brom waved one hand toward the ceiling, his mouth twisting in a crooked, tight-lipped smile that made his dark eyes appear all the more fierce. “It can wait until another day.”

  John opened his mouth to reply but was shocked into silence when Brom moved quickly, laying a hand on his cheek and guiding his jaw so that their gazes were deadlocked. The gesture certainly wasn’t gentle, though it wasn’t quite rough.

  “I was too furious to tell you last night,” Brom said, “but a sleepless night spent in a cold bed was enough to cool my temper, and now I intend to see that you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

  John didn’t ask “know what?”, but knew that the question was written on his face.

  “I will not abandon you,” Brom said firmly. “Not now, and not after the wedding.”

  A terrible mixture of fierce joy and bitter guilt erupted within John, the emotions so entangled that he scarcely knew where one end
ed and the other began. Brom’s promise hadn’t merely been something said rashly during a fit of passion. He’d known that, deep down, but was now forced to acknowledge the truth of it. “But Katrina…” Her name rushed to his lips, causing his guilt to surge.

  “Katrina loves you. She would not want you to die from despair of our happiness.”

  John didn’t know what to say to that, which was just as well, for a thick lump had formed in his throat, effectively rendering him mute. He struggled silently with it for a few moments, finally managing to swallow. Raising a hand to his face, he pulled Brom’s hand from his cheek. Pressing it onto the desk, he covered it with his own. “It’s not your happiness that tortures me. It’s the thought of being cut off from both of you.”

  Brom’s hand was still but tense beneath John’s. “Then you have nothing to fear.” He pulled his hand away, pressing it to John’s face again. He traced the arch of John’s eyebrow with his thumb, then threaded his fingers through his hair, sending the ribbon that secured it fluttering to the floor. “Maybe it’s as you say, and there’s some spell on this place – on us. I’ve felt the magic of it tingling in my veins from the first moment I saw you, and I have no desire for it to stop.”

  John exhaled slowly, reveling in the pinpricks of pleasure that raced down his spine as Brom’s fingers cupped the back of his skull. He could feel the man’s breath on his lips, hot and gloriously familiar. In that moment, there wasn’t a single fiber of his being that wanted it to stop, ever.

  “Do you remember that day?” Brom asked, his voice low and rough. “In the field between here and the Jansens’ farm?”

  “Of course.” John was aware of his own voice becoming rougher as he spoke. How could he not remember? It had only been his second day in Sleepy Hollow. Brom had volunteered to show him the lay of the place, and neither of them had expected an erotic tumble in an empty field. But it had just…happened. Things had a tendency to do that in Sleepy Hollow, and sometimes it really did feel as if there was a spell on the place. John was unsure of whether he thought the enchantment lovely or terrifying.

  Brom crushed his lips against John’s, pulling him into a kiss that reminded John of their first. It was rough and thorough, but with a tender edge. Brom kept his hand in John’s hair when they finally pulled apart. “You tried to take yourself away from me,” Brom said. “I would never do that to you.”

  John had been left somewhat breathless by the kiss. “Surely you see that I had no reason to think that you would wish to continue our relationship.”

  Brom frowned, and the expression carved fierce lines around his mouth that weren’t usually there. “What reason did you have to think that I’d rather see you dead than carry on with our relations?”

  John felt the color rise in his cheeks, burning fiercely as his stomach contracted into a hard ball of stunned rage. “Is that what this is about?” he demanded, dashing Brom’s hand away and rising to fume over the desk at the other man. “You wish to continue our relationship in the interest of keeping me alive?”

  “No!” Brom bellowed, shocking John so that he almost took a step backward. Almost.

  Standing his ground, John stared directly into Brom’s eyes, which looked absolutely black when he was angry. “That’s what it sounds like.”

  “It’s not that at all.”

  “Then what is it?” John demanded, knowing he was provoking Brom, but not caring. The man had struck a serious blow to his pride – something he hadn’t realized was even possible anymore, after the previous night’s events. The thought of Brom fucking him as a charitable act made him want to blow his brains out, after giving Brom a couple of black eyes to remember him by. He knew he’d been a fool in his relations with Brom and Katrina…but damn it all, he’d thought that Brom had at least returned his passion – his addiction – if not his bone-deep affection.

  “I love you,” Brom said, as if he were simply stating the time of day. “That’s what it is.”

  John froze, barely managing to keep himself steady with a vice-like grip on the edge of the desk. Brom’s confession had hit him with all the power of a gunshot, and for half a moment, he almost thought he could hear the pistol fire from the night before. Brom’s anger took on a new meaning, and John felt suddenly chilled. His heart beat in double-time as he continued to hold Brom’s gaze, and he touched the tip of his tongue to the rim of one lip, still tasting the other man. “I—”

  The sound of hooves caused his words to die in his throat, and he looked past Brom, glancing worriedly toward the entrance. Several silent moments passed, and then a light rapping sounded against the door.

  Brom turned on one heel, striding toward it before John could regain enough of his composure to make even the slightest movement.

  “Brom, I didn’t know you were here.” Katrina’s musical voice drifted across the threshold, causing John’s heart to race even faster with alarm.

  Brom stepped gallantly aside, laying a hand on Katrina’s arm and escorting her into the tiny schoolhouse. She was wearing a fine blue gown that set off her golden hair, and a basket hung from her arm. She smiled when she saw John. “If I’d known, I would have baked more,” she said, gesturing modestly with her basket.

  John straightened, finally letting go of the desk. Being here, alone with Brom and Katrina…it was like something out of a dream. Whether a good one or a bad one, he couldn’t say. The aroma of fresh gooseberry pie wafted toward him, and his stomach growled, as if to spite him and the seriousness of the situation.

  Katrina laughed, the sound of it refreshingly clear and light. “Did you have any breakfast, John?”

  He nodded. “An enormous one. Mrs. Jansen takes breakfast very seriously.”

  This seemed to amuse Katrina further, and she laughed again as she rested her basket on the desk. “Well, I’ve come to return your favorite volume of poetry, and I thought that a pie wouldn’t go amiss.”

  John felt a spark of surprise, as much at Katrina’s words as at how easily he found himself slipping into one of their typical, easy-going conversations. “You’ve finished with it already?” Her news brought a twinge of regret. It really was his favorite, and he’d thought that she’d like it, too. Surely she hadn’t read it through already – he must have been wrong. This small misjudgment felt like salt in the wound of his recent misinterpretations.

  “Yes,” she said, laying the heavy book on his desk. “It was wonderful.” Her rosebud mouth curled in a convincing smile, but there was an unusual glimmer in her blue eyes.

  John took the book, caressing the leather spine as he contemplated her expression. That glimmer…was it only a bit of guilt, or something else? It seemed almost…knowing. Could she be thinking of the night before? His mouth went dry at the thought. Could she know what had really transpired? Surely Brom wouldn’t have told her, and this had to be the first time the two of them had spoken since then anyway… This line of logic did little to loosen the uneasy knots in his stomach.

  “I baked you a gooseberry pie,” Katrina said. “Your favorite.”

  John smiled, hoping that the expression seemed genuine enough. He did love a good gooseberry pie, especially one of Katrina’s. “How kind of you.”

  She reached into her basket and pulled out the pie, which was resting in a shallow glass dish and covered with a light cloth. She whisked it aside, revealing a glorious confection with a latticed top crust that was haloed with little hand-shaped dough leaves, baked to a perfect golden brown. The sweet and tart smell of it wafted up and hit John in the face like a ton of bricks, causing his mouth to moisten in anticipatory appreciation.

  “And a fork,” she added, smiling at him as she lifted the utensil from the bottom of her basket.

  A pleasant tingling sensation raced up his arm when her fingers brushed his as she pressed the fork into his hand. He took it, feeling wistful when her soft skin brushed his for the last time. Though the pie’s aroma was strong, he imagined that he could smell her scent too, sweet and delicate. �
��Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry Brom,” Katrina said, smiling at her fiancé. “I would have made a pumpkin pie too, if I’d known I’d be meeting you this morning.”

  He returned her smile good-naturedly. “That’s quite all right – I’m sure John can’t possibly manage to eat all the gooseberry by himself.” There was a hint of sarcasm to his tone – all three of them knew very well that John could down an entire pie on his own.

  Katrina gazed at each man, her eyes sparkling. “If you say so, Brom. But the two of you will have to make do with one fork.”

  “Ah, we’ll manage,” Brom said, and cast one last glance at the pie before turning to face the door. “Is that your father in the carriage?”

  Katrina nodded. “We’re heading into Tarrytown. I thought I’d stop by the Jansens’ on the way to return John’s book, but they told me he’d come here.”

  Mr. Van Tassel was waving from the carriage, seated behind a pair of handsome grey horses. Like Katrina, he was dressed for going into town. “What’s the occasion?” John asked, enjoying the temporary suspension from reality that Katrina’s presence seemed to have granted him. Her laughter and thoughtfulness were a balm to his nerves, and the pie had wakened his appetite, which had taken temporary precedence over his worries.

  “I’m going to have a new dress commissioned,” Katrina replied, smiling demurely. “A wedding gown.”

  John had taken his first bite of the gooseberry pie, and it seemed to turn into a small stone in the pit of his stomach at the mention of the wedding. His conversation with Brom leapt to the forefront of his mind, and it was all he could do not to dwell on it. “How lovely,” he managed to say, shoving another bite of pie into his mouth so that he wouldn’t have to worry about controlling his facial expressions.

  “I’m going to say hello to your father,” Brom said, ducking away from the desk and toward the door. “Back in a few moments.”

  Before John or Katrina could say anything, he was gone, bellowing a greeting as he strode toward the plump man seated in the carriage outside.